Category: English

Zoey always said she was a creature of deep, abiding love. But on the day her first love was diagnosed with terminal cancer, she handed me a pill designed to erase my memories. “Cary,” she pleaded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, “Leo is dying. Just give me three days. It’s his dying wish—a wedding.” “I won’t let it hurt you,” she promised, her voice a soft, persuasive whisper. “This pill causes temporary amnesia. After the wedding, you’ll take the antidote, you’ll love me again, and we can get remarried. It’ll be like nothing ever happened.” Staring at the resolute set of her jaw, I took the pill from her palm and swallowed it without a second thought. What Zoey didn’t know is that I was the one who developed this drug. And there is no cure. In three days, I will have forgotten her completely. 1 As we stepped out of City Hall, the divorce papers feeling flimsy and unreal in my hand, Zoey glanced at her watch. “The drug will kick in in two minutes,” she said, her tone meticulously practical. “For the next three days, you’ll forget you ever loved me. And once you take the antidote, you won’t remember any of this, so there’s no chance of you getting hurt.” She reached out, her fingers cool against my cheek. “Our divorce is just a formality, a temporary measure. When this is over, we’ll be together again. You’re the only man I’ll ever truly call my husband, Cary. You know that.” I watched her in silence, the bitter truth a stone in my throat. There would be no reunion. As the drug’s lead researcher, I knew its true nature all too well. It didn’t wipe your memory clean in an instant. It was a slow erosion, a creeping tide that washed away the memories of your most beloved, piece by agonizing piece. And the antidote she spoke of? It didn’t exist. Not yet. But she was blissfully unaware. “Are you sure you won’t regret this?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. A fond smile touched her lips as she ruffled my hair. “Leo has loved me for so many years. His only wish is to have a wedding with me. How can I say no? And no, I won’t regret doing what’s right.” She framed my face with her hands. “Cary, you’ve always been the kindest, most understanding man I know. There’s no need to be jealous of a dying man. Once this is all over, we’ll go right back to our happy life.” A humorless smile twisted my lips. I let the acidic wave of sorrow wash over me, saying nothing more. I remembered the year we were most in love. I’d landed a major account for her, drinking myself sick until I was vomiting blood. She’d stayed up all night fighting to get my stolen research back, pushing herself until she developed a heart arrhythmia. Later, I’d teased her. “What if I get old and my memory goes? What if I forget you?” Her eyes had instantly reddened. She’d crushed her lips to mine in a fierce, desperate kiss. “Cary, I love you,” she’d choked out. “Promise me you’ll never forget me. I think I’d go mad.” And now, hearing that her old flame had cancer, she was the one orchestrating my forgetting. Divorcing me, feeding me a pill to erase every trace of our life together. She wanted to give him three days of her love, I guessed. A perfect, untarnished love, free from the inconvenient existence of a husband. An exclusive, complete devotion. But if she was brave enough to betray me so openly, why bother with the charade of a future reunion? I let out a dry, self-mocking laugh. Suddenly, a sharp pain lanced through my skull. My body swayed, and I pitched forward. Zoey’s reflexes were sharp; she caught me, her beautiful eyes filled with a sudden, deep concern. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? If you’re scared… if you’re worried I won’t come back, I can give you the divorce certificate, all the papers. You can hold onto them.” I pushed myself upright, blinking at her with what I hoped was a look of genuine confusion. “What divorce certificate?” Zoey froze, then her expression shifted. “Cary,” she said, her voice cautious, “we just got divorced. Do you remember?” “Divorced?” Seeing the blank look on my face, a flicker of something—relief? joy?—danced in her eyes before she could hide it. My gaze fell to the papers still clutched in my hand. I understood. The drug was starting to work. The first memory to go was the most recent, most painful one: our divorce. Zoey quickly snatched the certificate from my grasp, as if afraid I’d see her name next to mine. She softened her voice, weaving a new reality. “Cary, I’m your sister. You’ve been ill, you’ve lost some of your memories. I’ll keep these important documents safe for you.” I looked up, meeting her darting, evasive eyes, and said nothing to challenge the lie. Fine. If she wanted to play a part, I would play along. Just then, a low voice called out. “Zoey! There you are.” I turned to see Leo jogging toward us. He stumbled on an uneven paving stone, lurching forward. In a heartbeat, Zoey dropped my arm and lunged to steady him. The sudden release sent me stumbling backward into the hard brick wall of the building. My head, already throbbing with a needle-like pain, exploded in a fresh wave of agony. Leo clung to Zoey’s hand, his arm snaking around her waist as he flashed a triumphant smile. “Thanks for catching me, Zoey.” Realization dawned on her face. She blanched, pushing him away as her gaze snapped back to me. “Cary! Are you hurt? I’m so sorry, Leo’s sick… if he falls and starts bleeding, it might not stop. I had to catch him first.” I had already straightened up, brushing the dust from my jacket and swallowing the pain. “I’m fine.” Leo stepped closer again, his hand finding Zoey’s arm, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Zoey, what took you so long? It’s just a divorce. I was waiting forever.” Noticing my stare, Zoey cleared her throat, her guilt palpable. But she didn’t pull her arm away. “It’s done,” she said to him. “We can focus on the wedding now.” Leo’s face lit up. He shot me a smug, victorious glance. “Cary, your sister and I have been in love for five years. We’re finally getting married. The wedding is in three days. You have to be there.” I forced a smile. “It’s my sister’s wedding. Of course, I’ll be there.” His grin widened. “Great. You can be our photographer. Make sure you get a perfect shot of me and Zoey kissing at the altar…” “Leo,” Zoey cut in, her voice sharp with warning. She looked at me, a strange flicker of disappointment in her eyes when she found no trace of pain in mine. “He doesn’t need to come to our wedding.” My expression remained placid. Seeing Zoey defend me, Leo’s brow furrowed. He suddenly sagged against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “Zoey,” he whimpered, “my heart… it hurts. I can’t breathe.” Instantly, all her attention was on him, her eyes wide with alarm. “Is it happening again? Just hold on, I’ll get you to the hospital.” She glanced back at me, her voice low. “Cary, do you remember the way home? Should I have someone drive you?” I shook my head. “I remember.” She hesitated. The staff at the clinic had told her the drug only erased memories of a loved one, leaving everything else intact. The thought that I was her greatest love, the one being erased, seemed to momentarily soothe her. “Okay. You go on home, then. I’m taking Leo to the hospital.” With that, she guided a leaning, weakened Leo to her car. He kept his arm draped around her shoulders, his voice faint but clear. “Zoey, to be held by you like this, out in the open… even if I died right now, it would all be worth it.” “Don’t say such foolish things,” she chided gently. Through the car window, I watched as she leaned over to fasten his seatbelt. He suddenly wrapped an arm around her neck, pulling her close and pressing a soft kiss to her earlobe. The intimate, tender gesture sent a blade of ice through my heart. The sting of betrayal, sharp and undeniable. Her car sped away, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust. A moment later, my phone rang. “Mr. Reed,” a voice with a French accent said, “The Moreau Institute in Paris has prepared your orientation. We look forward to welcoming you in three days.” 2 I hung up and went home, only to find the apartment stripped bare, a hollowed-out shell of what it once was. Zoey and I had designed this place together. This was supposed to be our forever home, our cozy little sanctuary. Now, the tea set we’d designed, the art we’d chosen, every single object that held a memory of her was gone. She must have been terrified of me remembering our past. She’d even dug up the flowerbeds on the balcony, turning over the soil where we’d planted roses together, erasing even the roots of our shared past. Staring at the crushing emptiness, a bitter smile touched my lips. Zoey, in all your careful planning, were you more afraid of my pain, or were you afraid I’d remember everything and crash your perfect wedding? If you knew there was no cure, that my memories of you would be gone forever, would you feel a single shred of regret? I slipped my wedding ring off my finger. I wrote her a letter, sealed it in an envelope with the ring, and tucked it deep into the loose soil of one of the empty planters. Just then, my phone rang again. It was my best friend, Ryan. He hesitated before speaking. “Cary… man, I have to tell you something. I think Zoey’s cheating on you. I just saw her outside the hospital, all over some other guy.” “I know,” I said, my voice flat. “It doesn’t matter. Let her be.” Ryan was stunned by my calm. “Cary? Are you… are you okay?” His genuine panic almost made me laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be? Zoey and I are divorced.” “DIVORCED?!” I gave him the short, brutal version of the story. When I told him I’d taken the pill, a string of curses erupted from the other end of the line. “That son of a bitch! And her—what a piece of work! To marry that guy, she’d really stoop to anything. You gave up that research position in Paris to be with her! Half of her success, she owes to you! And now she does this, for him? And she has the gall to say she’s doing it so you won’t feel pain? Who the hell does she think she is?” Finally, a sliver of pain broke through my numbness, and my face grew pale. Five years ago, when Zoey was at her lowest, I married her without a second thought. I used every connection I had to pull her company back from the brink of bankruptcy. Back then, she would hold me tight every night, whispering in my ear that I was her forever. But somewhere along the way, things had changed. Her heart had found room for someone else. She forgot my sacrifices and started demanding that I be tolerant, that I forgive her “compassion” for Leo. Is it so hard to love one person, and one person only? Because I managed it just fine. Ryan, having exhausted his vocabulary of insults, took a deep breath. “I’m telling you, she is going to regret this for the rest of her life. Divorcing you, drugging you… she’ll be kicking herself forever.” He scoffed. “She has no idea you never finished the antidote, does she? Good. Let her suffer. And you… you’re finally free.” My eyes drifted to the planter where I’d hidden the letter. I knew Zoey’s habits better than my own. When she was upset, she’d drink a glass of wine on the balcony. If, when I was gone, she truly felt regret, she would find it. Late that night, I heard her come in. She was rummaging through the closet in my room. “What are you doing?” Her movements froze. She turned to see me standing in the doorway in my pajamas. She frowned, pulling a scarf from her own neck and wrapping it around mine. “It’s freezing in here. Why are you dressed so lightly?” I ignored her question. “Are you looking for something?” “Yeah,” she said, avoiding my eyes. “I need to borrow your suit. For Leo. He wants to wear it at the wedding.” She paused, then added, “You might not remember. It’s the one you wore for our wedding.” I stared at her, my silence a heavy weight in the room. Of course I hadn’t forgotten. She had designed it for me herself. Two whole months, from the first sketch to the final stitch. A couture piece that was practically priceless. All because I had once casually mentioned, “I wish I had a suit that was one-of-a-kind.” And now, she was taking that suit, made for me, to dress another man for his wedding. The absurdity of it was almost comical. I decided to press her. “Is this suit really that important? Why does it have to be this one?” My question seemed to stir a memory. Her hands stilled for a fraction of a second. The day she’d finished it, she had told me, “This suit, Cary, will only ever belong to you.” I watched her, waiting. She hesitated for only a moment before speaking. “It was designed by a master artisan. It’s the only one in the world. Leo loves it, and it’s his dream to get married in it.” Seeing my gaze drop, she added quickly, “Don’t worry. I’ll bring it right back after the wedding. And then… whatever you want, just ask. I’ll get it for you.” The same smooth, practiced lies. Another blow landed squarely on my heart. On our wedding day, her eyes had never left me. Afterward, she had carefully stored the suit away as if it were a sacred relic. “Why are you so careful with it?” I had laughed. She had looked at me with sincere, earnest eyes. “Because you gave this suit its meaning. I want to preserve that memory forever.” But now, because Leo “liked it,” she was handing it over without a second thought. The suit, once a treasured symbol, was now just a tool to appease another man. “It’s late. You should get some sleep. I have to go out again,” Zoey said, oblivious to the storm inside me. She took the suit and left. I pulled the scarf from my neck and let it fall to the floor. I looked at the empty space in the closet, a hollow ache of disappointment and sorrow filling my chest. It’s okay, I told myself, talking to the suit as much as to myself. Just like me, once she’s done cleaning house, everything will be fine. It was just another form of being thrown away. Once my memory was wiped clean, I could finally let go. As the thought crossed my mind, another vicious spike of pain shot through my head. And just like that, another huge piece of my memory vanished, pulling me violently from the depths of my grief. 3 The next day, Ryan called to tell me Zoey was throwing herself into wedding preparations for Leo. The scale of it, he said, was on par with the wedding she’d had with me. I nodded thoughtfully. For someone so busy, she still managed to have three meals a day delivered to my door. Spreading the love so evenly… it must have been exhausting for her. On the day of the wedding, Ryan took me to the venue. We sat in a corner, far from the main crowd. The ceremony hadn’t started yet. I could see Zoey and Leo, arms linked, surrounded by a laughing group of groomsmen. “I remember when Zoey and Cary had a wedding this big,” one of them said loudly. “Damn, I never thought our boy Leo would be so lucky, marrying such a knockout.” At the mention of my name, Leo’s hand tightened on Zoey’s. Zoey spoke up, her voice clear and firm. “Cary and I are divorced. Today is about Leo. Let’s not bring up the past.” Hearing her so decisively cut ties, another groomsman whistled. “Leo’s young, handsome, and brilliant. Cary Reed never stood a chance.” “Zoey, you better take good care of our boy for the rest of his life. Don’t you dare break his heart.” Zoey smiled sweetly, the same smile she’d given me when she made her vows. “Don’t worry,” she promised. “I won’t let him down. And he won’t let me down.” My gaze darkened. Beside me, Ryan was gritting his teeth. “What a twisted sense of morality. Since when is the other man celebrated for winning?” In the distance, someone started a chant. “It’s a beautiful day! How about a kiss for the happy couple!” The groomsmen joined in, a chorus of rowdy shouts. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Leo stared at Zoey, his expression a perfect mask of adoration. Under the mounting pressure, Zoey raised a hand to his jaw, then stood on her toes and pressed a soft, lingering kiss near the corner of his lips. The crowd erupted in cheers. In the midst of the roaring celebration, all I felt was a profound, echoing silence. She couldn’t guard her heart. Now, she couldn’t even guard her body. A mocking smile played on my lips. Thank God for the memory loss. The pain was already so much duller. Just then, my phone screen lit up. A boarding notification for my flight. “Ryan,” I said, standing up. “It’s time for me to go.” He pulled me into a fierce hug, his eyes red. “Go. Leave all this garbage behind and go be brilliant. I’ll be waiting to see you celebrated around the world.” He grinned mischievously. “As for this party… don’t worry. I’ve got a wedding gift for them.” “See you, man.” I clapped him on the shoulder, not bothering to ask what he had planned. In half an hour, the last of my memories of loving Zoey would be gone anyway. I walked away, pulling my suitcase behind me. As Zoey and Leo stood hand-in-hand, her eyes scanned the room and for a second, I thought she saw me. A flash of panic crossed her face. But she must have dismissed it. If I were here, I’d be attending as her “brother.” I wouldn’t be slipping out the back with a suitcase. She must have imagined it. The lights in the hall dimmed. Zoey and Leo stood center stage, exchanging rings under the spotlight, gazing at each other with saccharine sweetness. The crowd began to chant for another kiss. Suddenly, a massive banner unfurled from the ceiling above them. Ryan stood beneath it, holding a megaphone, a smirk on his face. “A toast!” he boomed, his voice echoing through the silent hall. “To the happy couple—the homewrecker Leo and the lying cheat Zoey! May your lives together be long and utterly miserable!” Leo’s face went white as he stared helplessly at Zoey. Recognizing Ryan, Zoey’s face hardened with fury. “What the hell are you talking about? Cary and I are divorced! Leo is not a homewrecker!” Ryan let out a cold, harsh laugh. “You want to have your cake and eat it too, don’t you? You can’t let go of your ex-husband, but you still have to give this guy his fantasy wedding. You told Cary to wait for you, to remarry you! Do you have any idea how much pain you’ve put him through these last three days?” Zoey’s eyes turned to ice. “You don’t need to worry about that. I gave Cary the memory drug. He won’t remember a thing.” “You idiot,” Ryan spat. “The drug doesn’t work instantly. It takes three full days for the memories of a loved one to disappear completely. Every single thing you’ve done, every lie you’ve told, every moment with him—Cary saw it all.” Ryan tilted his chin up, his eyes filled with contempt. “And here’s something else you don’t know. Who do you think was the lead researcher on that drug? It was Cary. Your ex-husband.”

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For six years, I secretly loved Robert Reid. The night I confessed, someone drugged my drink. I thought I’d spent that passionate night with him. Two months pregnant, Robert agreed to “do the right thing”—until our wedding day, when he flashed a marriage certificate with his childhood sweetheart Isabelle. His twin Ian pulled me aside. “It was me that night,” he admitted, proposing immediately. After four failed pregnancies, doctors said I’d never carry to term. Ian lit candles in every church, begging God for our miracle. Now pregnant again, I overheard them plotting: “Trick her into a hysterectomy,” Robert suggested. “She’ll never bear a healthy heir,” Ian agreed. “The fortune belongs to Isabelle’s child.” Then— “Let’s fetch her firstborn from the orphanage. Isabelle needs entertainment.” “Fine. Just don’t kill him… though his life’s worthless anyway.” I finally understood: We were just toys for Isabelle’s amusement. 1 Ian tossed a photograph of a three-year-old boy onto the table, his eyes flashing with disgust. “This is the one. I couldn’t be bothered to name him. The director at the orphanage calls him Ben. I saw him last year—all skin and bones, completely malnourished.” Ian sneered. “To be honest, though, he has your eyes.” Robert, lounging in his chair, picked up the photo with a look of pure contempt. “He’s just a bastard, the result of a one-night mistake. I’ll never acknowledge him.” He then carefully unlocked his phone, his expression softening as he gazed at the screen saver—a radiant Isabelle in a maternity dress. “My children will only come from Isabelle.” His voice hardened again. “If that scheming bitch Leah hadn’t deliberately drunk Isabelle’s wine that night four years ago, she never would have had the chance to crawl into my bed.” A tremor ran through me, a chill so deep it felt like my heart had turned to ice. That’s not what happened. Four years ago, I had planned to confess my feelings to Robert. I was so nervous at the gala that I had a few too many drinks. My eyes followed him all night, but I never noticed someone swapping my glass. Later, I learned the drugged drink had been meant for Isabelle. But she was too busy flirting with some rich heir, and by a cruel twist of fate, I was the one who drank it. Dizzy and disoriented, I was helped to a room upstairs. A moment later, Robert burst in, his body radiating heat, and pulled me into a rough embrace. He thought I was Isabelle. One passionate, mistaken night. When I woke up the next morning, the warmth was gone. Robert’s face was a mask of cold fury when he saw it was me. He spat out that he would “take responsibility,” but at our wedding, he announced he’d already married Isabelle. It was Ian who stopped me from making a scene. Ian who told me the truth—or what I thought was the truth. That it was him. That the child was his. After we married, I was eight months pregnant when a glass of orange juice sent me into premature labor. I woke up in the hospital to Ian, his eyes red and swollen, telling me our baby had died just moments after birth. The grief was a physical blow; I nearly fainted from the pain. Ian stayed with me all night, holding me, his kisses a tender, heartbreaking comfort on my forehead. “It’s okay, Leah,” he whispered. “It’s okay.” “We’ll have another. And another. We’re still young…” He never left my side, gently guiding me out of the darkness of my grief. In the three years that followed, I had three more miscarriages. The doctors all said the same thing: my body was simply too fragile. Ian even hired a top-tier private physician from overseas to help me, to create special supplements and treatments. I never imagined they were all in on it together. “Leah, are you home?” Ian’s familiar footsteps echoed up the stairs, growing closer. The door swung open. His gaze, as always, was tender as it landed on me. “The driver said you just got back from the clinic?” he asked, his voice soft with concern. “What did the doctor say…” His eyes fell on the table, where the positive pregnancy report I’d forgotten to hide lay in plain sight. Before I could move, he had snatched it up. His brow furrowed as he read the results. I forced myself to breathe, to push down the wave of sorrow and rage. “I’m pregnant,” I said, my voice steady. “Aren’t you happy?” A smile stretched across Ian’s face, a brilliant, practiced performance of joy. “Not happy? Leah, this is wonderful! All our efforts… they finally paid off. We’re finally going to have our baby.” He pulled me into a hug, but his body was stiff, his embrace a cage of lies. I could feel the cold distance between us. “I have to call Dr. Evans right away,” he said, already pulling back. “We need to make sure he takes the best care of you.” He turned and walked quickly toward his study, phone in hand. I heard his voice, muffled but sharp, through the half-closed door. “Dr. Evans, what the hell are you doing? I told you to up the dosage on her ‘supplements.’ I told you to make sure she could never get pregnant again. How did this happen?” A pause. “Fix it. Get something to induce a miscarriage. And just like before, make it look like part of her prenatal care. Be discreet.” I leaned against the wall, a laugh tearing from my throat, sharp and brittle as glass. My tears were silent. This was my husband. The man I had loved and trusted for three years. The man I shared my bed with. Ian returned a few minutes later, his performance flawless. He guided me to the sofa, then knelt before me, placing a gentle hand on my stomach as if to listen. “I need to say hello to our little one,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Tell them to be good in there, not to give their mommy any trouble.” His tenderness was so convincing it was terrifying. He was a true master of his craft. Later, after spending half the afternoon in his study meticulously drafting a “prenatal plan,” he looked up at me. “Leah, since you’re pregnant, you should take a year off from the university. Just stay home and rest.” I was a professor with only two classes a day; my schedule was hardly strenuous. I knew his suggestion wasn’t about my health. It was about keeping me under his control. Before, I would have melted, thrilled to have such a caring husband. Now, I just shook my head, my face a blank mask. “No, thank you. There’s no guarantee I’ll be able to keep this one, either.” Seeing my resolve, Ian didn’t push. He simply said he’d have Dr. Evans make a house call the next day. That night, claiming I had to prepare for my classes, I locked myself in the study. While Ian was out, I began a frantic search. The photo of the boy… it had to be here. He’d hidden it in a bookshelf. Finally, tucked inside a thick volume on the bottom shelf, I found it. My eyes instantly blurred with tears. The little boy in the picture had my nose, my mouth. It was like looking at a childhood photo of myself. But his eyes… his eyes were Robert’s. From their conversation, I knew he was in an orphanage, but they hadn’t said which one. The next day, I announced I was hosting a family dinner at our villa. An impromptu celebration, I called it, mainly to get Robert and Isabelle to come. Ian was surprised. “Why the sudden party? I thought Dr. Evans was coming to check on you.” I managed a small smile. “Isabelle is pregnant, too. It’s a double blessing for the family. We should celebrate together.” In reality, I just needed to find out the name of that orphanage. “Alright,” Ian agreed, his voice instantly lighter at the prospect of seeing Isabelle. “Whatever you want.” The next morning, he spent an eternity in front of the mirror, trying on his most expensive custom-tailored suit, fussing with his hair. It reminded me of something I’d discovered shortly after we were married—a secret room in the basement. It was filled with photo albums, stacks of them, and journals detailing a long, obsessive crush on another girl. When I’d stumbled upon it and asked him who she was, he’d become flustered, mumbling that she was just his first love. I respected his past and never brought it up again. I never dreamed that girl was Isabelle. When I stepped out onto the lawn for the party, Robert and Isabelle were already there. She was six months pregnant, reclining in a lawn chair and screaming at a small, three-year-old boy. “You worthless little gutter rat! Are you blind?” she shrieked. “Do you have any idea how much this dress costs? I could sell you for parts and it wouldn’t be enough! I ought to chop off your hand!” I saw the boy’s face, and my breath caught. It was the face from the photograph. It was Ben. He had been bringing her a cup of coffee and had accidentally spilled some on her skirt. Now he was on the ground, rolling and flinching as she lashed out, begging for mercy. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” “Please, please forgive me…” My eyes fixed on the marks covering his small body. Angry red welts from a whip, and thin, silver lines that looked like they’d been made with a knife. Some were fresh, others were old scars. Robert, who knew this was his own son, watched with a cold, detached amusement. “Get on your knees and apologize to Aunt Isabelle,” he said, his voice laced with scorn. “If you make her happy, maybe she’ll let you get up. Don’t forget, the only reason you’re out of that hellhole orphanage is because she was feeling generous. If you’re smart, you’ll be a good little dog.” As he spoke, he casually popped a grape into Isabelle’s mouth. They looked like a perfectly loving couple. Ben, who was only three, had an unnerving maturity and resilience in his eyes. He did as he was told, getting to his knees without a word. “I’m sorry!” Isabelle preened, a smug look on her face. She stuck out her foot. “Since you’re such an obedient dog, why don’t you lick my shoe clean?” “Stop it!” My voice was a roar. I rushed forward, blocking Ben just as he was about to lower his head, and pulled him into my arms. “Isabelle, he’s a child! Have you lost your mind?” I was shaking with fury. To think this monster was the woman I once called a friend. Isabelle just laughed when she saw it was me. “Well, well, if it isn’t my dear sister-in-law. He’s just some nameless orphan, a stray we picked up. The way you’re protecting him, anyone would think he was your own son.” Her words were dripping with insinuation. Robert chimed in with a sneer. “And who the hell are you, Leah? Don’t think that just because you married my brother, you can tell us what to do. Ian may have taken our mother’s name, but I am the true heir. Only a child born from me and Isabelle will be a real Reid, the future head of the corporation. Who are you to interfere with what Isabelle wants to do?” He ordered me to let the boy go. In my arms, Ben looked up at me with a flash of gratitude, but then he deliberately stepped back, putting distance between us. “It’s okay, ma’am,” he whispered. “Thank you, but you don’t have to.” His small voice broke my heart. “I’m used to it.” That was it. My composure shattered. With a cry of rage, I swept my arm across the nearby table, sending food and drinks crashing to the ground. “Isabelle, you should try to do one decent thing in your life! If not for yourself, then for the child you’re carrying!” So much for the damn family dinner. I was done playing their games. I grabbed Ben’s hand and turned to leave. But before we could reach the gate, Ian blocked our path, his face a cold mask. “Leah, what do you think you’re doing?” I’d almost forgotten. He was Isabelle’s most loyal knight. In the next second, Isabelle was at his side, her face streaked with tears, clutching his arm. “Ian, I know you and Leah are close, but… we just adopted this boy. It has nothing to do with her. She flew into a rage and knocked over the table… she scared my baby!” She dabbed at her eyes, a perfect portrait of a fragile, wronged victim. It worked. Ian’s heart melted. His cold glare returned to me. “You’re the one who wanted this party, Leah. Isabelle did nothing wrong. She was just trying to discipline the boy. What right do you have to throw a tantrum? Now put him down and give him back to her.” I held Ben tighter, my voice dripping with ice. “I’ve taken a liking to him. I want to adopt him.” All three of them refused, their voices rising, pressuring me to release the child. But a cold calm had settled over me. I smiled, my gaze landing on Isabelle. “Isabelle, dear. There’s something I need to talk to you about. In private.” I led her up to the second-floor terrace. I deliberately started an argument, provoking her until she was red-faced with anger. Just as I’d planned, she shoved me, hard. Everyone below, and the security cameras, saw it happen. I tumbled over the railing. I landed on the soft grass of the lawn. The fall didn’t kill me, but a warm, sticky wetness began to spread beneath me. I was bleeding. Ian’s face went white. He scrambled toward me. “Leah! Are you okay?”

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I got into a heated argument with an enemy player in an online game. That very day, a popular starlet took to social media and sicced her fanbase on me. 【Who the hell do you think you are, flaming our precious Amanda?】 【Apologize right now if you don’t want to be doxxed.】 I glanced at the 99+ abusive messages flooding my inbox and sneered. I had my assistant ban her gaming and social media accounts on the spot. Who doesn’t have a secret identity these days? 1 I was in a ranked promotion match when an enemy support player, username “Amanda,” typed in the all-chat: 【Anyone want to flatter me a little?】 No one on my team responded. She typed again: 【OK, fine. Kai, wipe them out.】 And for the rest of the game, our team was slaughtered by the enemy assassin, Kai, ending with a score of 0-20. After the match, I instinctively checked Kai’s profile. His avatar was adorned with a national top-player badge. Outskilled. I sighed. At least I had a loss-protection card. I queued up for another game. Wouldn’t you know it, I was matched with Kai and Amanda again. Amanda seemed to recognize me. As soon as the match started, she specifically targeted me: 【You were the Seraphina from last game, weren’t you? How about it? Flatter me a little this time, and I’ll have Kai kill you a few less times.】 I responded with a string of ellipses. I just assumed she was some young girl. But my silence, she took as a challenge. For the entire match, with Amanda perched on his shoulder, Kai hunted me down relentlessly. No matter where I went, the moment I appeared on the map, my screen went black. She even went out of her way to taunt me over my dead body. 【Seraphina, just say something nice. We’ll let you go.】 【Still not begging for mercy?】 【Don’t push the towers yet. Let’s dive her a few more times.】 I held it in for as long as I could, but staring at my 0-16 score, I finally typed: 【Can you just end it? I have another game to get to.】 Amanda immediately shot back: 【Ooh, someone’s triggered.】 【Nope. I’m going to keep killing you. What are you going to do about it?】 【…】 2 Finally, my own teammates couldn’t stand it anymore and voted to surrender. I was incredibly frustrated and was about to quit the game when a party invitation popped up. Before I could even see who it was from, I instinctively accepted. The moment I entered the lobby, the game started. It was a 5v5 custom match. I randomly picked a mage, and as the loading screen appeared, I saw their names: “Amanda” and her nationally-ranked Kai. Me: 【…】 You have got to be kidding me. Sure enough, the moment the game began, they ganged up on me, slaughtering me in every corner of the map. Every time I died, Amanda would type out a taunt. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I went AFK and started typing. 【What’s there to brag about when you’re just getting carried? You don’t actually think you have any skill, do you?】 【You even have to bring your little boyfriend into a custom lobby. Why don’t you 1v1 me if you have the guts?】 【We’re both girls, what’s with the cattiness? Flatter you? Are you even eighteen yet, little girl?】 After my rant, I voted to surrender and closed the game without a second thought. I thought that would be the end of it. But the next day, my roommate sent me a video. 【Ivy, is this your game account? I remember your name is something like this?】 A sense of dread washed over me. I frowned and opened the video. It was a screen recording of a livestream. A pretty, innocent-looking girl was sitting in front of her computer, holding her phone, a pitiful expression on her face. “I was just joking with her, why did she get so angry? Even if I went a little too far, she didn’t have to curse me out so horribly, did she?” As she spoke, she aimed the camera at her phone screen, which clearly showed my in-game ID. “She’s probably blocked me already. Could you all help me apologize to her? I didn’t mean it, it was all for the stream.” The video went viral almost instantly, racking up tens of millions of views. The comments section exploded: 【Is this lady a sore loser or what? It’s a meme, why is she so bent out of shape?】 【A woman who spews profanity like that can’t be a good person. Why should we apologize to her?】 【How dare she curse at our Amanda! She picked the wrong person to mess with!】 【Guys, her friends list is full now, I can’t add her in the game to flame her.】 【Don’t worry babes, I already found her social media accounts. Let’s go get her!】 3 I closed the video, my face impassive. My roommate messaged again: 【Ivy, you really cursed out Amanda Rose?】 I frowned. 【Who’s Amanda Rose? The streamer?】 Roommate: 【Oh my god, you don’t even know who Amanda Rose is? She’s the second female lead in that super popular historical drama right now! The show hit a new ratings high yesterday, so she promised her fans she’d stream, and she brought the second male lead along to play with her. They were just trying to create some content, and then this happened. I just never thought the girl who cussed her out would be you. You’ve got some serious nerve.】 I was silent for a moment. 【So everyone thinks it’s my fault? Didn’t they even try to find out what really happened?】 【What does it matter? Amanda has over ten million fans across all her platforms. Besides, her whole brand is being this pure, innocent flower. Who would believe she was deliberately provoking you?】 My roommate’s tone was one of resignation. 【Ugh, you just have to take the L on this one.】 The implication was clear: if I just ignored it, it would eventually blow over. But when I got back to my dorm after my morning classes and opened my laptop to do some homework, my notifications were exploding. 【Go die, you bully!】 【Who the hell do you think you are, flaming our Amanda?】 【You think everyone has to put up with your crap, bully?】 【Apologize to our Amanda publicly, or we’ll doxx you!】 A flood of abusive messages, like an overflowing dumpster, assaulted my eyes. I read a few, my frown deepening. Her fans weren’t just flaming me on social media; they were threatening to find my personal information. This was seriously affecting my life. So I opened my social media and posted: 【I will not be apologizing. Since Amanda Rose is a public figure, she should be even more mindful of her words and actions. She was the one who provoked me in the game first. After I quit, she pulled me into a custom lobby to humiliate me. My cursing her out was justified. If we’re talking about who’s at fault, her actions were far worse than mine. Furthermore, she guided her fans to cyberbully and personally attack me, which has caused me extreme distress. I hope she will clarify the situation and act with some integrity.】 4 I thought that by posting this, I could at least correct some of their misconceptions. I wasn’t hoping for an apology, just for the vicious attacks to stop. But the comments below were a unified front of condemnation: 【Everyone knows Amanda was just creating content for her stream. You’re the one who can’t take a joke, and you have a filthy mouth. You nearly made our Amanda cry.】 【Exactly. Amanda is gentle, but we, her fans, are not to be messed with.】 【Why should we show integrity to a bully like you? We’re fighting fire with fire!】 【Less talk, more apologizing!】 And Amanda Rose, the person I tagged in my post, eventually responded with a reluctant-sounding post of her own: 【I’m so sorry this has caused you trouble. I had no idea my fans would go and bully you. But I don’t want to dwell on this anymore, let’s just pretend it never happened.】 My eyelid twitched violently. Never happened? So I was just supposed to take all that abuse for nothing? I immediately replied: 【You don’t get to just say it never happened. I’m the one being cyberbullied and threatened with doxxing. They have seriously disrupted my life. Aren’t you going to do anything to stop them?】 Amanda replied back: 【But I didn’t say anything to them. They’re just worried I’ll be upset. Please don’t blame them.】 Seeing Amanda defend them so ardently, her fans went into a frenzy. In a single afternoon, they spammed my social media until it crashed. Someone even managed to find out which university I attended. They flooded our school’s online forum, publicly insulting and cursing me, demanding that I apologize to Amanda immediately. 5 An apology was out of the question. And Amanda had already blocked me on social media. Since they wouldn’t listen to reason, I had no choice but to go offline and ignore the slander. But I never expected this. During my evening study session, as I was getting settled in the classroom, two girls sat down in front of me and demanded aggressively, “Ivy Lee, are you really going to be so stubborn and not apologize to Amanda Rose?” “It’s bad enough you’re spewing filth online, but now you’re dragging our school’s reputation through the mud.” “No one at school knows it was you yet. You should apologize on social media right now, before we expose you.” I calmly arranged my books, then looked up. “Have you not seen my explanation on social media?” “So what? Amanda was live the whole time, we all saw it. Who’s going to believe you?” “If you don’t believe me, then don’t bother me.” I sneered. “Be careful, or I’ll curse you out too.” The two girls were speechless. They hadn’t expected me to be so tough. With dark expressions, they left, pulling out their phones. I guessed they were going to complain on the forum about how unreasonable I was. The other students in the class who had been itching to talk to me saw how fierce I was and gave up. Just when I thought I could finally have some peace, a basketball slammed onto my desk. My glass water bottle shattered instantly, spilling hot water all over my books and my arm. I yelped in pain. I looked up angrily to see Mark Momoa striding towards me, his face a cold mask. “Ivy Lee. Get on social media and apologize to Amanda right now.” 6 Mark was the captain of the school basketball team. Last semester, I had delivered water to him twice as a favor for my roommate. Because I was known as the school’s “ice queen,” and it was the first time I’d ever been seen giving a guy anything, a rumor started that I had a crush on him. But when he heard the rumor, he had frowned and said, “Ivy Lee? No impression. Not interested.” After I heard that, I never delivered water for my roommate again. But the rumor that I was a desperate fangirl, unrequited in my love, spread throughout the school. I gritted my teeth against the stinging pain in my hand and asked coldly, “Are you insane?” Mark sneered, his eyes filled with disgust. “Anyone who has my number on campus knows I’m a fan of Amanda Rose. You were probably just jealous that I like her, so you stalked her stream and then cursed her out.” I was utterly stunned by his bizarre logic. “Mark, is there something wrong with your brain? I was unlucky enough to get matched with her twice, and you think I was deliberately stalking her? Besides, I don’t have your number. How would I know which celebrity you follow? And who you like is none of my damn business.” Mark looked at me as if I were making excuses, and said impatiently, “You said it yourself, you got matched with her twice. If you weren’t deliberately queuing at the same time, how could that be a coincidence? And you don’t have my number because I didn’t want to give it to you, but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t find other ways to stalk me.” He took two steps closer, his voice aggressive. “If Amanda hadn’t been wronged, you would never have had the chance to even speak to me in your life. I’m not wasting my breath on you. Apologize to her. Now.” I scoffed. “You’re so concerned with right and wrong. So what about you smashing my bottle and burning my hand?” Mark frowned, dismissive. “I can replace the bottle. I can pay for your medical expenses. As long as you apologize, we can settle this.” “Is that so? Then you can start by replacing my bottle. It’s four hundred and fifty dollars.” Mark glanced at the shards of glass on the floor and laughed. “You? Let’s not even talk about whether this cheap bottle is worth four-fifty. Even if it was, could you even afford a four-hundred-fifty-dollar bottle? I think you’re just broke and trying to extort me.” 7 I rolled my eyes and picked up a piece of the shattered glass that had the brand logo and a QR code on it. “You can scan it to see if it’s authentic. After you’ve confirmed, find a personal shopper to buy me a new one. If you don’t know where to look, I can recommend someone.” Seeing my certainty, Mark’s confident expression faltered for a second. A moment later, he changed the subject. “Ivy, you’re just trying to get my attention, aren’t you? This is such a pathetic move. If you insist on not apologizing to Amanda, don’t blame me for exposing your identity on the forum.” I said, deadpan, “Go ahead. I’m not the one in the wrong. When your goddess personally comes out to clear my name, I’ll be holding you accountable.” Mark glared at me and started to walk away in a huff. “Wait.” “What?” He thought I had given in, and shot me a disdainful look. I stuffed the glass shard with the QR code into his jacket pocket. “You think you can just act tough and walk away? Not so fast. Don’t forget to replace my bottle. I’m going to the infirmary later, and I’ll give you the bill for my medical expenses tomorrow.” Mark stared at me in disbelief, as if I were a madwoman. He seemed genuinely shocked that I was actually going to make him pay. But I didn’t expect him to be so brainless. He actually went to the school forum and posted, outing me as the person who had cursed out Amanda Rose in the game. Instantly, the forum was flooded with Amanda’s fans. They found my student ID photo and started photoshopping it into ugly memes and funeral portraits, plastering them all over the forum. The entire site was spammed with posts demanding “Ivy Lee apologize to Amanda Rose.” The rumors became so rampant that the school administration had to call me in for a talk, urging me to resolve the matter quickly. 8 In the principal’s office, he spoke to me in a fatherly tone. “It’s just an apology. When you do something wrong, you have to take responsibility. Besides, cursing at people is a bad habit.” My voice was cold. “I did curse at her, but there was a reason. I was not the one who was wrong first. And after suffering such a massive cyberbullying campaign, shouldn’t Amanda Rose and Mark Momoa be the ones apologizing to me first?” The principal sighed, frustrated. “Even if you did nothing wrong, she’s a celebrity with tens of millions of fans. As the saying goes, a commoner can’t fight an official. You could have ten mouths and still not be able to argue your case. It’s better to just bow your head, put this to rest, and get some peace.” I sneered. “So you’re saying that because she’s using public opinion and power to crush me, I have to submit?” The principal shrugged. “There’s nothing to be done. You’re just one person. No one will listen to your side of the story.” I rolled my eyes. “I will make Amanda Rose beg to clear my name.” The principal clearly didn’t believe me. He rubbed his temples, looking stressed. “The negative attention on the forum is affecting the school. I’m going to have the administrators shut it down for a week. You have one week to resolve this. Otherwise, the school will have to take disciplinary action.” I looked up. “Such as?” “Such as ordering you to write a self-criticism essay, and posting a public notice about it on the school-wide forum.” I pressed my lips together. A self-criticism essay and a public notice would mean that even if it wasn’t my fault, I would be forced to take the blame. I couldn’t swallow that. So I said coldly, “If this matter is cleared up, I expect the school to require Mark Momoa to apologize to me.” The principal nodded. “If it can be proven that you were the victim, then Mark’s actions will certainly warrant a public reprimand.” With the principal’s affirmation, I said no more and left his office. I pulled out my phone and called my assistant, Alex. “Alex, I need you to get me the contact information for an actress named Amanda Rose. I need to speak with her.” Alex was puzzled. “She’s just a minor actress, Ms. Lee. There’s no need for you to contact her personally. We can just notify her agent if there’s an issue.” I gritted my teeth and sneered. “Oh, it’s absolutely necessary.” 9 Alex wasn’t exaggerating. My father, a permanent fixture on the top ten richest list, owned the largest entertainment company in the country, along with a vast network of connections and resources. A minor actress like Amanda Rose wouldn’t even qualify for an invitation to our family’s business galas. The reason I chose to contact her myself, rather than have Alex handle it, was because if Alex intervened, she would most likely be blacklisted or never get work again. I didn’t want to see that happen unless it was absolutely necessary. Everyone has their struggles. I ended the call and sighed, giving myself a thumbs-up. I really was a kind person. But that afternoon, I ate my words. Alex quickly got me Amanda’s number. I dialed, and a delicate female voice answered. “Hello? Who is this?” I spoke calmly. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Ivy Lee. I was the Seraphina you were matched with during your livestream.” “…” A long silence on the other end. Then, a barrage of questions. “This is my private number. How did you get it? Did you use some illegal means? Do you want me to call the police? What do you want? Isn’t this whole thing over? Why are you still harassing me?” I was speechless for a few seconds, too tired to answer her idiotic questions. I just stated my demands. “Who said it was over? You deliberately led your fans to cyberbully me. It was bad enough they were flaming me in the game and on social media, but now they’ve taken over my school’s forum and are seriously disrupting my life. You were the one who started it in the game. I demand that you clarify this matter, and you and your fans must apologize to me.” After hearing me out, Amanda sneered. “Are you okay, lady? Apologize? I’m a public figure. Why should I apologize to some poor student? If you’re trying to ride my coattails, you can start your own livestream now. Maybe you’ll even get famous for being infamous.” With that, she hung up on me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393452”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was a model, five years in the industry, and I’d been criticized for everything imaginable. Worse, I’d offended the darling of the heir to the Holt Corporation. I was blacklisted, my name dragged through the mud. In the glittering world of fame and fortune, I was taught a harsh lesson. Then, the internet dug up my past: I had once been engaged to that very heir, Jason Holt. The trolls were ecstatic. “No wonder Jason Holt hates her so much. With her background, how could she ever be Mrs. Holt?” “It has to be Miss Miller. She’s sweet, a talented actress, and the perfect future daughter-in-law for the Holts.” I walked out of the hospital. For the first time in a long while, I opened my social media and posted a single line. “An engagement can be broken at any time. I will never marry.” Later, I went to the Arctic to see the aurora. I left one final message. “Saw the northern lights. In this one second, I was happy.” 1 The moment I was diagnosed with bone cancer, my world went numb. Leaning against the hospital corridor, my eyes felt dry and empty, my limbs refusing to move. My manager, Sarah, stood frozen for a long moment before gently pulling my head onto her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered. “Maybe there’ll be a miracle. You can be cured.” I didn’t cry. The world just felt… quiet. Finally, I was the one to break the silence. “Sarah, let’s go over my current contracts. I want to finish everything up early, and then I’ll retire.” My words shattered her composure. She hugged me tightly, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The next day, I was trending for all the wrong reasons. “Washed-up model Clara Lynn spotted at hospital, rumored to have had an abortion for a wealthy tycoon.” “Zoom in on the picture. Her eyes are red. The tycoon must not have wanted the baby. She tried to trap him and failed.” “LOL, this is hilarious. The most shameless person in entertainment.” “Three years ago, there were rumors she was beaten up by the tycoon’s wife.” Sarah stormed into my apartment, fuming. “This is absolute garbage.” “That’s it. I’m suing them for defamation. These rumor-mongers need to be held accountable.” But the company’s response was cold. “Sarah, bad press is still press.” It was clear they had no intention of taking down the posts. They’d already branded me as that kind of celebrity. I shook my head, signaling for Sarah to let it go. The online hate… I truly couldn’t feel it anymore. 2 On the set of “The Artisan,” I ran into Jason Holt. And, of course, a young actress named Mia Miller. It was only then that I realized Holt Corporation had invested in the film. Mia, originally cast as the second female lead, had been elevated to co-lead. Sarah was furious. She confronted the producer. “Clara pushed aside all her other work for this film. She spent a year studying with a master carver, who personally requested her for the lead role. Now you’re making the second lead a co-lead? What is the meaning of this?” The producer just shrugged. “Holt Corporation is the investor. My hands are tied.” As the producer walked away, I pulled Sarah back. “Let’s run my lines.” In the break room, I was silently reciting my script when a tall figure walked past the door, followed by a pretty young woman. “Jason,” she said, her voice sweet, “I’m so happy you could be here for the first day of filming.” The man grunted a cool “Mm.” 3 During filming, the director’s standards were sky-high. Mia messed up her lines repeatedly, slowing down the entire production. But no one dared to complain. Even after Jason left, his presence lingered, and no one wanted to cross Mia. We wrapped the last night scene after midnight. Too exhausted to even remove my makeup, I ducked into the bathroom. The sink was filled with blood. My hands trembled. As I came out, I unexpectedly ran into Jason. He glanced at me, his eyes cold. Our gazes met for a brief, charged moment. I clenched my fists. I was about to walk over, to say something, anything. But he had already stubbed out his cigarette and turned away. Five years ago, when we broke up, he’d said, “Clara, if you don’t go abroad with me, we’re over.” Five years ago, he left the country, and I entered the entertainment industry. 4 The next day, Jason hired the best acting coach to tutor Mia on set. Her number of takes decreased dramatically. The filming schedule got back on track, which was a relief for me. My increasingly frail body appreciated the shorter days. But two weeks later, during a scene where I was supposed to be slapped, Mia couldn’t get it right. We spent the entire morning on that one scene. I was slapped more than ten times. And of course, Jason chose that day to visit the set. The director, fuming but helpless, could only patiently demonstrate the correct way to perform the slap over and over. But Mia seemed to have lost her mind that day, unable to learn. Finally, on her last attempt, my nose started to bleed profusely. A flicker of fear crossed her eyes. The next take, she finally got it right. During the lunch break, my head was spinning, and the nosebleed wouldn’t stop. My face was ashen. Sarah, terrified, said she would ask for the afternoon off so I could go to the hospital. I shook my head and told her to close the door. I swallowed a handful of pills, trying to numb the pain that wracked my body. When I seemed a little better, Sarah opened the door to get me some food. Just then, Jason walked past. He glanced in, his brow furrowed at the sight of me wrapped in a thick blanket on a hot summer day, with drops of blood on the floor. Sarah slammed the door shut. “Mr. Holt, you see that?” she snapped. “Acting requires talent. People who can’t act are just here to cause trouble.” “A few slaps and she’s this weak? Then I suggest Miss Lynn quit acting and find a few more sugar daddies.” “You—” Jason turned and walked away. Sarah’s anger still hadn’t subsided. “Mr. Holt, don’t forget, you and Clara still have an engagement.” His footsteps paused. “She’s that filthy. You think I’d marry her?” Crash. The cup in my hand fell to the floor, shattering. Hot water splashed onto my feet. Sarah turned, saw the blood trickling down my leg from a shard of glass, and cried out. “Are you okay, Clara?” As she helped me clean the wound, she continued to rage at the empty doorway. “You don’t want to marry her? In the future, you won’t even have the chance.” The man, as if he’d just heard the funniest joke, was gone. 5 Throughout the shoot, Sarah was constantly on the verge of exploding. The promotional materials released to the public were all edited to show Mia out-acting me, making it look like I couldn’t keep up. That I was unprofessional, constantly delaying the production. I was back on the trending hate list. “So annoying. If you can’t act, just quit. Stop wasting everyone’s time.” “Exactly. I feel so bad for our Mia, having to act opposite someone so unprofessional. What bad luck.” “I was at the set. Clara kept messing up her blocking. Mia had to slap her for the scene, but she kept flinching. They did over ten takes. Mia was so frustrated she was crying by the end.” Sarah turned off her phone, pacing in frustration. “This is insane! They’re twisting everything, completely reversing the truth!” I said nothing, just kept scrolling. Finally, I found a small, quiet voice of support. “Wait, really? I thought Clara’s acting was great. I cried so much watching her as the blind girl in ‘The Last Empress.’” Seeing that comment, my brow finally relaxed. There was no point in getting angry. I tugged on Sarah’s arm. “How can you not be angry? This is clearly Mia’s team, maliciously editing videos to leech off your popularity and build her up.” I shook my head. “When the show airs, everyone will be able to judge for themselves. Don’t worry about it.” “You’re wrong. Her team is powerful. I’m afraid they’ll pull some other stunt.” I fell silent. “Sarah, I just want to finish this film. It’s the most important thing I want to accomplish in my life.” Sarah quieted down. The film was about a master woodcarver, and our family had once been in that business. I wanted to fulfill my parents’ last wish, to bring the traditional art of woodcarving to the big screen for more people to see. 6 As filming neared its end, my body grew thinner. Fortunately, this matched the plot, where my character runs herself ragged trying to get her woodcarving business off the ground. After the final major scene, the director patted my shoulder. “You’ve worked hard, Clara. You were brilliant.” Being praised by the director made me happy. “Thank you, Director.” I headed back to the dressing room to prepare for the next scene. Sarah was also relieved. “This film is finally wrapping up. I was so worried you wouldn’t make it. Thank God.” She clasped her hands together, looking up at the ceiling. Then, she picked up the jade good-luck charm from my dressing table. “No, I should be thanking your aunt. She must be watching over you from heaven.” I smiled and took the jade charm, pressing it to my chest. It was a gift from my mother. Through all the hardest times, it had been my constant companion. But just as I stood up to change my shoes, a sudden force slammed into the dressing table. My jade charm was swept to the floor, shattering into pieces. I froze. Mia stared, wide-eyed. The dressing room fell silent. Everyone knew how much that jade charm meant to me. It was my lucky charm. And now, it was broken. Mia stammered, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. My foot slipped.” I didn’t speak for a long time. Finally, I knelt and carefully gathered the broken pieces, wrapping them in a handkerchief. Sarah lunged at Mia, but the director came in just then, urging us to hurry. I stopped her. “Let’s film first.” 7 After the final moonlit scene, I sat on the stone steps, silently unwrapping the broken jade pieces. “Mia already wrapped and left. She sure ran off fast.” I didn’t say anything, just stared at the fractured characters for “peace” and “safety.” Just then, my phone lit up. I numbly pulled it out. It was Jason, who hadn’t contacted me in five years. A single, short message. “Don’t cause her any trouble. How much? I’ll pay for it.” I stared at the words, a sharp pain twisting in my chest. Did he know what he was offering to pay for? Did he remember that this was the jade charm my mother, on her deathbed, had taken from her own neck and given to me, as I stood there with him by her side? “My dear, I have nothing left to give you. Wear this charm. It will keep you safe for a lifetime.” The faded memories sharpened, becoming painfully clear. After my mother closed her eyes for the last time, I had clung to her cold body, sobbing uncontrollably. It was Jason who had held me from behind. “Don’t cry, Clara. You still have me.” I traced the two halves of the broken characters. As I did, a warm liquid dripped from my nose, staining them red. After five years, I didn’t reply to his message. I just deleted his contact. 8 The next day, I learned that Mia had already posted on social media the night before, tagging me. “I’m so sorry, Clara. I really didn’t mean to break it. I’ll buy you an identical one. Please don’t be mad at me, everyone. If you have to be mad, please be gentle.” The post was followed by two bowing emojis. I had been in the hospital all night, fighting for my life. When I woke up, I was at the top of the hate list. Mia’s comments section was full of people attacking me. My own account was flooded with trolls. “Mia already apologized and offered to pay. What more do you want?” “Why are you being silent? Do you want her to kneel and beg for your forgiveness?” “Live and let live.” Mia’s comments, on the other hand, were full of comfort. “Don’t be scared, sweetie. It was an accident. It’s not your fault.” “Exactly. Everyone makes mistakes. It’s no big deal.” “Mia is the most sincere apologizer I’ve ever seen.” “LOL, those two bowing emojis are so cute!” “Protect Mia! Don’t let that washed-up model make a big deal out of nothing.” “What’s there to be afraid of? Our Mia is dating the heir to Holt Corporation. No one can bully her.” “Haha, her sugar daddy is probably in his forties.” “Not only is Mr. Holt handsome, he’s worth billions. I heard he’s already introduced Mia to his parents.” I turned off my phone. I couldn’t look anymore. I just stared blankly at the tube feeding blood into my body. Sarah tucked the blanket around me. “Aren’t you going to respond?” She knew that if I didn’t, the company wouldn’t either. I would be subjected to the online abuse for a long time. I just shook my head. “Sarah, I’m so tired.” 9 I was in the hospital for a week. My condition had worsened to the point where I had to stay. I was too weak to even get out of bed. My hair was falling out in clumps. After a week of intensive treatment, I was finally feeling a little better. I was getting ready to leave for a voice-over session when Sarah rushed in. “What’s wrong?” I asked, putting on my jacket. She stared at me for a long moment. “Your past relationship with Jason has been exposed.” My hand trembled as I buttoned my jacket. In the car on the way to the recording studio, I stared at the rampant speculation on social media, my face devoid of expression. It had all started with an anonymous blogger. “Explosive news: Five years ago, Jason Holt and Clara Lynn were engaged.” The post created a storm. Jason had always been a mystery to the media. Even with Mia, there were only one or two photos of them together. His private life was a well-guarded secret. This revelation sent the internet into a frenzy. At first, people were skeptical. But then the blogger released photos of us from college. A photo of me at the Holt family mansion. A photo of me and Jason having dinner with his elders. The doubters fell silent. The conversation shifted. “What is going on?” “Didn’t Clara become a model because she needed money? In these photos, she looks so… poised.” Soon, my family background was unearthed. “Clara is the daughter of the bankrupted Lynn Corporation? Oh my god, after the bankruptcy, her father was killed by debt collectors, and her mother committed suicide and couldn’t be saved.” “I believe it. Clara being the daughter of the Lynn family and being engaged to the Holts makes perfect sense.” My past was laid bare. My hands trembled uncontrollably. Then, just as quickly as they appeared, the posts vanished, as if someone had deliberately suppressed them. I guessed it was the Holt family. I thought that would be the end of it. But the hate comments on my own account continued. “Did you leak this yourself? For attention?” “Stop dreaming. Jason Holt is not for you. He belongs to Mia.” “That’s right. Jason only loves Mia.” “Can you even compare yourself to Mia? You started as a trashy model, you’ve probably been passed around by everyone. Mia isn’t like you. She’s pure, a graduate of a prestigious overseas university.” “Haha, no wonder. She used to have an endorsement deal with Holt Corp, but as soon as Jason took over, he canceled it. He must have been disgusted with her for a long time.” 10 It was evening when I left the recording studio. Sarah was squatting nearby, furiously typing on her phone. “Sarah?” I called out. She looked up, quickly hiding her phone. “What’s going on online now?” I asked. She shook her head. “Nothing. We’re done for the day. Let’s go.” But as she turned, I snatched her phone and looked at the screen. I froze. The trolls had started attacking Sarah. Vicious, hateful comments about her parents, her children. I couldn’t stay silent any longer. I logged into my own account. “An engagement can be broken at any time. I will never marry.” When Sarah saw the post, she gently stroked my hair. Only she knew what “I will never marry” really meant. Faced with the overwhelming hate, she had suggested more than once that we release my medical records. But I had refused. It wouldn’t do any good. With the public so firmly against me, even if I was dying, they would probably just accuse me of faking a terminal illness for sympathy. Perhaps only on the day I actually died would the slander finally, maybe, quiet down. 11 I never expected to get a call from Jason that night. The night was still. Neither of us spoke. I didn’t know what he was doing. I looked at the moon outside the hospital window and broke the silence. “You should release a statement. The engagement is off. We have no relationship.” His breathing on the other end of the line quickened. “Clara, are you sure about this? The Holt family’s official channels haven’t said anything. That means you still have a chance.” “Once they do, there’s no going back for us. Ever.” I suddenly spoke. “Jason, do you want to marry me?” “If you did, I wouldn’t have had to wait until now.” I raised a hand to wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. “It was over for us a long time ago. We just never said goodbye.” “This is the real goodbye. Goodbye to the us we were before we were twenty.” I hung up. The silence in the room was chilling. 12 I never expected Mrs. Holt to summon me. When I left the recording studio, the Holt family’s driver was waiting for me. I got in the car. It had been five years since I’d last seen the elegant and regal Mrs. Holt. She was as noble as ever. I no longer had the same cautious timidity I’d had back then. She poured me a cup of tea, a pleased smile on her face. Just as I was about to speak, the butler announced, “Madam, Miss Miller’s shawl was left here last time.” I looked at the pale pink shawl the butler was holding. “Put it away. She’ll be here later for lunch with Jason.” Mrs. Holt’s words were directed at me, her eyes watching my reaction. I showed none. Just then, there was a sound from the staircase. A sharp, piercing gaze fell upon me. The pain in my body suddenly flared. I put down the velvet box I was holding. “I have something else to do. I should go now. I won’t disturb you.” As I stood to leave, the smell of blood filled my nostrils. I quickly covered my nose and hurried away. “Wait.” “Is there something else?” I froze, my body stiff. The person from the stairs came down and picked up the box from the coffee table. “You’re returning the ring?” “Yes. Things should be returned to their rightful owner.” “Take it. I don’t have a habit of taking back gifts.” It was useless to him, of course. He would just buy a new one. But from my perspective, I had no right to keep it. “I can’t accept it. If you don’t want it back, throw it away.” Footsteps approached from behind. I didn’t dare linger. I ran. By the time I was in a taxi, my palm was slick with blood from my nose.

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My childhood best friend, Monica, looked like she belonged on a movie screen. The line of guys hoping to ask her out could’ve stretched around the block. One day, I asked her if I could cut in line. She rolled her eyes and told me I was nuts. “Alright, you think I’m nuts? Fine. From this moment on, Monica Dean, I’m going full-on psycho. I’m shutting down every guy who even thinks about you.” 1 From that day forward, whenever someone tried to confess their feelings to Monica, I would be there to “run interference.” I’d yell at the top of my lungs, “Monica Dean doesn’t shower for weeks at a time! And she has the worst case of athlete’s foot you’ve ever seen! The second she takes her shoes off, the stench could knock you out from a block away!” Every time I did this, Monica would fly into a rage, screaming, “Johnny Vance, you are so dead!” Monica and I were the definition of childhood sweethearts, having grown up side-by-side. She was the kid every parent compared their own to—not just stunningly beautiful, but brilliant in school, too. There was never a shortage of guys trying to win her over. The first thing she did every morning when she got to her desk was to sweep the pile of love-offering breakfasts into my arms. Thanks to the money I saved on food, I built up a pretty respectable comic book collection. Of course, I didn’t get all this for free. More often than not, I’d do her chores at home so she could have quiet time to study. Sometimes, I even took the beatings meant for her. Her father was a drunk and a misogynist who bitterly resented the fact that his wife, frail and in poor health, had only managed to give him a daughter. Having another child, a son, was out of the question. Because of this, he’d beat her mother when he was drunk. Even when he was sober, he’d find excuses to lash out at them. His favorite line was that his life was cursed, that he’d married a woman with a “useless womb” who gave him a “worthless girl,” making him a laughingstock. Monica had a stubborn streak. Every time he said it, she’d fire back. She’d say her mom was the best mom in the world, and she wasn’t worthless. The man standing in front of them, the one who beat his wife and daughter, he was the most pathetic, useless man on earth. And every time she said it, she’d get a brutal beating. Her mother would always tell her to just endure it, that he’d be better once the alcohol wore off. But Monica refused to back down, wiping away tears as she cried, “Mom, you’ve put up with this for years! Has he ever changed? Has he ever gotten better?” One time, her dad pulled off his belt and came at Monica. I saw it happen and rushed forward, wrapping my arms around his legs. I screamed for Monica to run. But she just stood there, refusing to move. “I’m not running,” she said. “If he has the guts, let him kill me.” Her dad cursed at me, telling me to let go or he’d beat me too. But I held on for dear life. In my heart, Monica was someone I had to protect. And so, the leather belt in her father’s hand came down hard on my back, again and again. It stung so bad it felt like my skin was splitting open, and I howled in pain. Finally, my parents burst in and stopped the whole tragic affair. Later, as my mom was putting ointment on my back, she said I had rocks in my head. “Someone’s hitting you with a belt and you don’t even know to run?” “I couldn’t run,” I said. “If I ran, what would happen to Monica?” My mom sighed. “You little rascal. I know you like Monica. But couldn’t you have grabbed her and run together?” My face instantly turned bright red. “I don’t like her! I just… I just didn’t want to see her get hurt.” My mom didn’t scold me for taking a beating for Monica. On the contrary, her heart ached for her. Every time Monica came over to do homework or play, my mom would see the bruises on her arms and couldn’t help but ask, “Honey, does it hurt?” Monica would always put on a brave face. “Not at all, Auntie.” My mom would dab ointment on her wounds, her own eyes welling up with tears at the sight of her. But this was the nineties. A woman in our small town had no voice. Just saying the word “divorce” was considered a sin. 2 Monica had tried to convince her mom to divorce her dad. Her mom had flown into a rage, scolding Monica and accusing her of trying to turn her into a shameless, disgraced woman. In her anger, Monica’s mother, for the first time ever, hit her. Monica had endured countless beatings from that man without shedding a single tear. But this time, the tears flowed freely. After that, Monica never mentioned divorce to her mother again. She also stopped telling me how pitiful her mom was, how unlucky her life had been. When we got to college, Monica essentially cut off all contact with her family. She paid her way through school with work-study jobs. During winter and summer breaks, she barely ever went home, staying on campus to work and earn money. My mom’s heart went out to her. She’d say, “That girl has it so tough,” and would often slip me extra cash, telling me to take good care of Monica. In college, Monica’s aura seemed to grow even more somber. Her cool, distant eyes always seemed to keep people a thousand miles away. She was tall, with flawless skin and exquisitely delicate features. She could just sit there, doing nothing, and outshine everything around her. There was a “Campus Queen” poll on the university’s online forum, and her votes were so far ahead of everyone else’s that she won by a landslide. The number of guys trying to date her back then was staggering. I could have paid for a decent meal just by selling the love letters she received as scrap paper. Because everyone knew we were close, and they’d confirmed we weren’t a couple, a lot of guys tried to get to her through me. Until one day, I asked Monica, “Can I cut in line?” She gave me a long, serious look and told me I was insane. From then on, whenever someone asked me for her contact info, I told them about her supposed athlete’s foot and her aversion to showering, and how the stench could kill a man. I’d add that it was an incurable condition, and whoever ended up with her would suffer for life. After I spread this rumor, the number of her pursuers did, in fact, drop significantly. Monica seemed to enjoy the peace and quiet. But then a post exploded on the university forum. It detailed Monica’s tragic background: her alcoholic, abusive father, the constant fighting at home, her unhappy childhood. It mentioned that she was putting herself through college all on her own. The post shot to the top of the forum’s hot list. Suddenly, my story about her being a smelly girl with foot fungus was completely forgotten. A wave of chivalrous sympathy washed over the male student body. They started sending her all sorts of things, and the number of guys pursuing her became even greater than before. There was always a crowd of them waiting outside her dorm. They wanted to fetch her water, save her a seat in the library, and some even tried to just hand her money. Monica was beyond annoyed. She put a “hit” out on me. She said I had leaked her private life to the world, and she would never forgive me. Growing up, Monica was the undisputed leader of the neighborhood kids. If you crossed her, she would make you pay, and she showed no mercy. 3 I had lived my entire life under Monica’s “reign of terror.” So when I heard she had put a hit out on me, my first instinct was to find a place to hide. But I had seriously underestimated her influence on campus. I thought I’d be safe in the men’s dorm, that she couldn’t get to me there. But when her legion of admirers heard about the hit, they eagerly volunteered to help. They dragged me out of my own dorm room. A mob of guys shoved me in front of Monica, all of them trying to claim credit. Monica dismissed her followers and grabbed me by the ear, parading me across campus for all to see. She dragged me to a secluded spot and told me to get on my knees and repent. I looked at her and said, “Monica, I swear to God, you’ve got the wrong guy. I didn’t post that on the forum.” She stared at me, her gaze like ice. “Johnny, do you really think I’d believe you? In this university, so far from our hometown, who else knows about my family besides you?” “It really wasn’t me.” I didn’t know how to explain. She was right. In this place, miles away from home, I was the only one who knew her secrets. I had only applied to this university because I found out she was coming here. We had left our old lives behind to start fresh. We were from the warm south, and this northern city was freezing. I had a hard time adjusting at first. My mom had told me, “You little rascal, you wear your heart on your sleeve. If you didn’t like Monica, would you really have moved so far away?” “If it wasn’t you, then who was it? Did you tell someone else about my past?” she demanded. I knew it was her private life. Many people had asked, but I had never told a soul. “No, Monica, I swear. I didn’t post it, and I’ve never told anyone about your family.” Her expression suddenly changed. “And you think I’d believe that? When we were kids, you’d sell me out for a single piece of candy. Now, for some petty gain, you’d leak my information. It’s not impossible.” Hearing her say that, a sharp pain lanced through my chest. When we were kids, playing hide-and-seek, Monica was a master. She would always find a spot where no one could find her. But I knew her habits. No matter where she hid, I could always find her. Once, another kid gave me a piece of candy to reveal her hiding spot. Monica was found, lost the game, and chewed me out for what felt like an eternity. She swore she’d never speak to me again. But what she didn’t know was that it was a White Rabbit candy—her absolute favorite. I kept it hidden for a long time, not daring to give it to her while she was still mad. Later, I gave it to her as a surprise. It was a sunny afternoon. We were sitting on a tree branch. She ate the candy, her face lit up with a blissful smile. She even carefully folded the wrapper and handed it to me. “Here, keep this safe for me.” I happily took the wrapper, my own mouth watering a little. But seeing her happy made me even happier. But now, her misunderstanding cut me deep. “Monica, you really don’t believe me?” I asked, looking up at her.

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1 “Let’s try dating if we’re both single at twenty-eight.” Because of his first love’s drunken promise, he rejected my proposals eight times. When I learned the truth, I gave up. “Dad, Mom… I’ll come home. I’ll marry him.” Their relieved voices crackled through the phone. “Nina! As Tang Corporation’s heir, you can’t wander forever. How about a January 19th wedding? When can you meet him—” The bedroom door burst open. “Whose wedding?” Nicholas frowned. I hung up, deadpanning: “A friend’s. She wants me as bridesmaid.” He shrugged. “Go ahead. I’m too busy to join you.” “Fine.” My quick agreement surprised him. As he showered, his jacket buzzed. I pulled out his phone. A message from “Aria” glowed on the screen. “You still remember what I said back then? Don’t tell me you’re actually planning on marrying me, haha.” My hand froze. I swiped up. The message Nicholas had sent her just minutes before stared back at me. “Aria, in thirty-three days, it will be your twenty-eight birthday. Do you remember what you promised me?” I laughed. A drunken joke, and he had been waiting all these years. In thirty-three days, Aria would turn twenty-eight. It was also the day I had chosen to break up with him, go home, and get married. I hoped he got his wish. The bathroom door opened. Nicholas walked out, toweling his hair, and sat beside me. “Your phone buzzed a few times,” I said calmly. He quickly dried his hands and grabbed the phone, his eyes scanning the screen with an intense focus I rarely saw. “Who is it?” I asked lightly. His usual calm demeanor vanished. He stood up abruptly. “It’s work. I need to take care of this. You go to bed first.” I saw the defensiveness in his eyes, the poorly constructed lie, and a bitter self-mockery welled up inside me. I simply nodded. As he disappeared into the study, I turned off the lights and lay down. Hours later, the faintest of footsteps creaked in the dark room. A softly glowing phone was placed on the nightstand, and an arm gently wrapped around my waist. I waited until his breathing became deep and even before I opened my eyes, reached over, and took his phone. The chat was still open. He had added a single, four-word reply. “Never forgotten, never will.” A simple phrase, yet I could picture him typing it. Lips pressed together, eyes glued to the screen, carefully composing and deleting, weighing each word. Desperate for his feelings to be known, yet terrified of revealing too much. He only ever showed this kind of cautious devotion to Aria. A bitter smile touched my lips. I opened his social media profile. The background was a stark black image. But if you looked closely, you could see a single line of text at the bottom. “What you never forget, you will one day have.” When we first got together, I’d asked him about it. He’d brushed it off, saying it was just a random picture he found online. Now I knew the truth. It wasn’t random at all. It was a calculated, heartfelt declaration. He was waiting for her twenty-eighth birthday. Waiting for Aria to finally say yes. I lay awake all night. As dawn broke, he started to stir. I opened my eyes. “Let’s get off work early today.” He paused, fastening his cufflinks. “Why? Is something wrong?” “It’s your birthday,” I said quietly. “Did you forget?” He froze for a second. His mind had been so consumed with Aria’s twenty-eighth birthday promise that he’d forgotten his own. “Let’s just cancel it,” he said. “Keep it simple.” For years, I had been the one to plan his birthdays, pouring my heart into lavish parties just to see him smile. He never appreciated it. So, hearing him say that now, a wave of self-pity washed over me. “It’s already planned. Everyone’s coming. It’s too late to cancel.” I’d started planning this party three months ago, back when I still believed I was the only one. He didn’t argue further. He just grabbed his phone and left the room, a slight frown creasing his brow. I looked down, whispering to myself, “Not anymore.” I would never plan another birthday for him again. 2 The first thing I did at the office was hand in my resignation. The news sent a shockwave through the department. “Nina, you’re leaving? Just like that? Do you have another job lined up?” “So sudden! Don’t tell me you’re going home to inherit a billion-dollar fortune!” a coworker joked. I smiled. “I’m going home to get married.” That explanation satisfied most of them, but my closest work friend, Chloe, pulled me aside. “Nina, did he finally propose? I thought he avoided the topic of marriage like the plague.” I didn’t want to explain. “Thanks for everything all these years. Dinner’s on me tonight.” After a two-hour dinner with a few colleagues, it was already eight o’clock by the time I reached the hotel for Nicholas’s party. As I approached the private room, I heard voices from within and paused. “It’s freezing out. Who did Nick go to pick up?” “Who else? Aria, of course. She said she was coming back today, and he ran off like an eager puppy.” “So he must be thrilled, right? It’s his twenty-eighth birthday today, and she’ll be twenty-eight in a month. She’s not really back to fulfill that promise, is she?” “But if they get together, what about Nina? It’s been seven years, and she doesn’t even know who Aria is. She’s completely devoted to him.” “What can you do? Nick’s been hung up on Aria forever. If she says yes, Nina’s out. It’s just bad luck. At least she doesn’t come from a powerful family, so it’ll be easy to pay her off.” “I know she’s been great to us and to Nick, but we’re his friends. We have to be on his side. When they break up, we should handle it for him. Give her a car, a condo… a nice severance package.” I listened, feeling a strange sense of detachment. Now that I had a plan, the pain from a few weeks ago was gone, replaced by a dark amusement. He was going to have his friends break up with me on his behalf. What kind of relationship had I been in for seven years? Too bad for them. They wouldn’t get to see me humiliated. This time, I was the one leaving first. A waiter pushed a cart of drinks past, and the door swung open, silencing the conversation inside. I walked in, a practiced smile on my face, greeting everyone as if nothing had happened. A few minutes later, Nicholas returned with a woman I’d never met. She looked vaguely familiar, a stranger who shared three or four of my features. He introduced her around the room before finally bringing her to me. “This is my childhood friend, Aria.” Aria extended a hand gracefully. Nicholas hesitated for a beat before introducing me. “And this… is a friend of mine, Nina Collins.” 3 The party roared back to life. Aria was an extrovert, easily charming everyone in the room. She held court, playing drinking games and laughing loudly, leaving the few other girlfriends in attendance on the sidelines. At one point, she was holding cards and wanted a piece of watermelon. Without a thought, Nicholas speared a piece with his own fork and fed it to her. She took it just as casually, then grabbed his wine glass and took a long drink, leaving a bright red lipstick stain on the rim. I watched from a few feet away as Nicholas held that glass, his thumb tracing the lipstick mark, and drank from that exact spot, again and again. Finally, it was time for the cake. The room quieted. I rose and pushed the cart forward, lighting the candles. Staring at the number ‘28,’ Nicholas rubbed his temples as if trying to clear his head. His gaze, hazy with alcohol, swept the room and landed on Aria. He held up a finger. “This year, instead of a wish, I have a question.” His finger curled, pointing directly at her. His voice was thick but his eyes were burning. “Aria, you’re almost twenty-eight. I want to ask you… do you have a boyfriend right now?” A stunned silence fell. Then, Aria, after a slight pause, answered. “Right now? No.” A collective “Whoa!” erupted, and the room exploded. His drunk friends mobbed him, singing and dancing. I sat perfectly still, a silent observer playing the part of the clueless “friend.” The party finally ended in the early hours of the morning. I helped a very drunk Nicholas into the car. He collapsed against my shoulder, his inhibitions washed away by alcohol and joy, and poured out his heart. “Aria, don’t go. Stay with me, please?” “Why can they have you, but I can’t, Aria?” “Aria, do you know how much I love you?” “I’ve waited for you for so many years…” The female driver kept glancing at us in the rearview mirror, smirking. As she helped me get him upstairs, she remarked, “Your boyfriend really loves you, Aria.” I smiled faintly. “He does. But I’m not Aria.” The next morning, hungover and remembering the previous night, Nicholas rushed to explain. “Nina, I was so drunk last night. I probably said a lot of stupid things. Don’t take it to heart.” I hadn’t expected him to remember, or to come up with such a flimsy excuse. Still, I played along. “It’s okay. I know.” My placid reaction seemed to unnerve him. He changed the subject. “I’m sorry I ignored you last night. Let’s go on a date after work today, okay? To make it up to you.” “I’m not angry. But I have plans this afternoon. I can’t.” My refusal only made him more insistent. I finally relented. That evening, as I was getting ready, a text from Chloe popped up. “Nina, you didn’t tell your boyfriend you quit? He just came by looking for you. He seems really mad.” Before I could finish reading, his call came through. His voice was laced with fury. “Your colleague told me you quit your job? To get married?” 4 “I told you, I have no plans to get married right now!” he continued, his voice rising. So that’s what this was about. He thought I was trying to force his hand. “It was just a joke with my colleagues,” I explained patiently. “They must have taken it seriously. I quit because I was tired and wanted a break.” His tone softened. “Don’t make jokes like that again.” He asked where I was, offering to pick me up. I was about to give him the address when I heard a faint laugh in the background. It sounded exactly like Aria. I remembered seeing a selfie she’d posted from inside a car just moments before. She was with him. The “okay” on my lips turned into a “no need.” He hung up quickly. Too quickly. If he really wanted to pick me up, he wouldn’t have been in such a rush. It was just an empty gesture. I hailed a cab and went to the restaurant we’d agreed on. The hostess led me to a private room on the top floor. The table was laden with food, but the room was empty. “Mr. Chen called ten minutes ago,” the hostess explained. “He said you should start without him, as he was delayed by an urgent matter.” An urgent matter. Of course. He was with Aria. I suppose it wasn’t a lie. To him, anything involving her was an urgent matter. I sat down. The table was filled with seafood. I’d grown tired of it during my years in Europe. In the past, I would have forced myself to eat it for his sake. Not anymore. I waved the waitress over and had her clear the entire table. “Ma’am,” she hesitated, “Mr. Chen has already paid for this. It’s quite expensive, and we don’t offer refunds.” I handed her my card. “I know. Just charge the new order to this.” He never showed up. I finished my meal, paid, and went home. On the way, he texted. “Nina, can you stay somewhere else tonight?” “Aria’s back suddenly, and her old place isn’t ready. The lights are broken.” “She’s afraid of the dark. I want her to stay here for the night. Is that okay?” Juggling his precious Aria while trying to keep our relationship a secret from her. How amusing. This time, I didn’t play along. “Why do you have to hide our relationship from your ‘friend’? How long are you planning on keeping this up?” His reply came much later. No explanation. Just a date. “January 18th.”

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1. The second day I owned the new car, the brakes failed. I was thrown from the wreckage, bleeding out on the side of the road. When my wife, Lorna, arrived, her first move wasn’t to help me. It was to retrieve the dashcam, ignoring my desperate cries for help. I was rushed to the hospital and fought for my life for days, with doctors repeatedly telling my family I might not make it. But she never showed up. The day I was diagnosed with permanent nerve damage, condemned to a lifetime of medication and a wheelchair, Lorna’s old flame, Julian, was accepting an award. His award-winning paper was on an improved braking technology. And I was his test subject. The hospital called Lorna to inform her of my condition. Her only reply was, “Tell him to stop with the drama. Julian’s experiment was designed to be safe. The worst he could have is a few scratches!” … After years of marriage, my wife, Lorna, gave me my first truly expensive gift—a state-of-the-art concept car. The very next day, the brakes gave out on a sharp mountain curve. No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop it from hurtling forward. To avoid hitting anyone else, I had no choice but to wrench the wheel and aim for the mountainside. In the final second before impact, Lorna’s call came through. As I answered, I managed to choke out a final, tragic goodbye. “Where are you?” she demanded, her voice urgent. At that moment, a wave of relief washed over me. I thought she was worried about me. I would later learn how wrong I was. I told her my location. The moment the last word left my lips, the car slammed into the mountain. I was thrown clear. Luckily, I landed in a thicket of bushes that cushioned the impact, saving me from a direct collision with the rock face. But I heard the sickening crunch of my own body breaking apart. Blood poured from a gash on my head, blurring my vision. I couldn’t see what was happening, but I sensed a car pull up on the deserted road. I cried for help, my voice a weak whisper. Then, through the haze of blood and pain, I saw a familiar figure. It was my wife, Lorna. But she got out of her car and walked straight toward my smoking wreck. I thought she was coming to save me. I worried for her safety, frantically trying to throw small stones to warn her away, afraid the car would explode. Instead, she pried the door open with a tool and climbed inside. At that moment, tears and blood streamed down my face. Seeing her risk her life, I thought it was all for me. But after she pulled out the dashcam, she walked over and glanced down at me. Her eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth. “Lorna! Help me… please, help me…” Her voice was as cold as her gaze. “Julian is waiting for the data from this brake test. I don’t have time for this. You’re not going to die. Just hang on.” Then she got in her car and drove away. On that remote mountain road, it was a full thirty minutes before someone else found me. By the time I reached the hospital, I had suffered from severe blood loss to my brain. My body was a roadmap of fractures and shattered bones. The doctors were shouting, asking for my next of kin. “Family! We need to notify his family immediately! His condition is critical. He might not… he might not make it.” A young nurse frantically searched my pockets for a way to contact someone. She used my fingerprint to unlock my phone and found the number pinned to the top of my contacts. She dialed. That familiar voice answered. Less than thirty seconds later, she cut the nurse off. “Are you kidding me? I told you I’m busy. Go home from the hospital when you’re done. Stop bothering me.” The line went dead. Everyone looked at each other in disbelief. The nurse tried calling again, but this time, the call was immediately rejected. I don’t know how they handled it in the end. All I know is that as they wheeled me into the operating room, I still hadn’t seen my wife, Lorna. 2. “This patient is such a tragedy. He’s been here for days, nearly died a few times, and not a single person from his family has shown up.” “The hospital is even covering his medical bills for now.” “So sad. They say he might be paralyzed. The nerve damage is severe.” The nurses chattered softly as they changed my dressings. My body was a cage of steel pins holding my shattered bones in place. I couldn’t move. I could smell the faint, unpleasant odor my own body was beginning to emit. The young nurse kindly changed my disposable brief. I tried to nod, to thank her, but no words would come out. “Don’t talk,” she said quickly. “You’ll pull at your stitches. And don’t be embarrassed. We take care of everyone in the ICU. All I want is to see you walk out of here healthy one day.” She gave me a warm smile and left. It was visiting hours in the ICU. Families filed in quietly. Nearly every patient had someone by their side. Except for me. I heard the head nurse talking to one of the others in the distance. “His parents are gone, right? Just a wife. It’s been days, and we can’t even get ahold of her. When we finally did, she just hung up.” I was past the point of tears. My entire body was a symphony of pain. Just then, my test results came back. The doctor approached, her face grim. “Mr. Hayes, I have some bad news for you.” My eyes were fixed on her. I think I already knew, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe it. When she confirmed it—that due to the extensive nerve damage, there was an eighty percent chance I would never walk again, that I would need a lifetime of medication and a wheelchair—I broke. “We need to call your wife,” the doctor insisted. “This is serious.” She used her own phone to dial Lorna’s number. When the call connected, it wasn’t Lorna’s voice that answered. “Is that you, brother-in-law?” It was Julian. “I won my award today! Lorna’s throwing a party for me. She drank a little too much, so she’s staying at my place tonight. Don’t bother calling again. She said you’re really annoying.” He chuckled. “Good night, brother-in-law. Try not to die of anger, okay?” The moment he hung up, the head nurse started cursing under her breath. I tried to move my fingers, to show them there was someone else they could call. When I finally managed to knock a pill bottle off my bedside table, they noticed. They handed me my phone. With tremendous effort, I swiped through my contacts and found the number. As the head nurse dialed, my body trembled uncontrollably. I didn’t know if she would answer, or if she even remembered me. “Hello?” A voice. The head nurse quickly explained the situation. The person on the other end was instantly alarmed. “Thank you for letting me know. I’m booking the next flight. I’ll try to be there by dawn.” When the call ended, a small measure of peace settled in my heart. The head nurse and the younger nurse waited with me through the night. Hours passed. No one came. Just as I began to think I’d been abandoned again, a figure rushed into the ward, wind-blown and weary. “Hello! I’m Beth Hayes, Blake’s sister. How is he?” The head nurse looked at her face, which was so strikingly similar to mine, and said quickly, “Not good. He’s right in here. We’ll take you.” The moment my sister saw me, her eyes turned red. It had been twenty years. After our parents divorced, I hadn’t seen her once. We had even held separate funerals when they passed. The first time she had called me was on my wedding day. She had sent a lavish wedding gift but hadn’t come to the ceremony. I thought she didn’t want me as a brother. I never imagined that when I was broken and dying, she would drop everything and fly across the country to be by my side. 3. “Where is his wife?” When Beth asked, the room fell silent. Finally, the head nurse spoke, her voice laced with anger. “We contacted her. She refused to come. Said the patient was lying…” My sister said nothing, but the way her hands clenched into fists and her body trembled told me everything I needed to know about her rage. That night, she signed a stack of consent forms and liability waivers. She watched through a glass window as I was resuscitated time and time again, helpless. The last time I was wheeled out of the operating room, she just stared at me for a long, long time. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I have money. I’ll get you the best care, Blake. I promise.” My sister worked tirelessly, contacting the best doctors, arranging for specialists, even preparing to sell her own house to pay for my treatment. That night, I suffered from multiple organ failure. The entire department scrambled for an emergency surgery that lasted twelve hours. As I was being wheeled out, I saw my wife for the first time. Lorna was arm-in-arm with Julian. They walked right past me. Julian even glanced over. “He looks like he’s about to die. Are they still trying to save him?” Lorna pulled him away, covering his eyes. “Don’t look at such unpleasant things. It’s bad luck. The important thing now is to get the injury data from Blake to perfect your report.” “You’re the best, Lorna! If you hadn’t volunteered your husband to be my test subject, I never would have finished my doctorate.” Data test? As I was being moved to the ICU, Lorna was at the nurses’ station, asking for my room. “I’m looking for a patient from a car accident. Name’s Blake Hayes. His injuries shouldn’t be serious. Which room is he in?” The nurse gave her a long look. “And you are?” “I’m his wife.” As the words left her mouth, the nurse pointed at me, fresh out of a twelve-hour surgery. “That’s him… the one who just came out of the OR. That’s your husband.” “What!” She stared in disbelief. The truth was right in front of her, but Julian just wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Wow, brother-in-law is really committed to the act, huh?” Lorna, though visibly shaken, grabbed Julian and hurried away, once again leaving without seeing me. Thanks to my sister’s persistence, my condition slowly improved. The day I was moved out of the ICU, I could already sit up in bed. The specialists she’d hired were truly miracle workers. I smiled, trying to praise them. My phone, however, wouldn’t stop buzzing. When I opened it, my feed was flooded with news of Julian winning his award for the “bottom-line brake test.” He was being lauded by the media as a hero who had advanced automotive safety. In one interview, a reporter asked, “This kind of large-scale test requires a human test subject. In the past, it was usually the researcher themselves, or a family member, or a close friend who would make a great sacrifice. The relationship between the researcher and the test subject is often very close. Mr. Singer, could you tell us about your test subject…?” Julian looked out into the audience, his eyes landing on Lorna. “My test subject,” he said with a charming smile, “loves me very much.” The crowd erupted in applause. Today was Julian’s award ceremony. A grand affair, held at the city’s central performance hall. I looked at the time. I opened the cloud backup of my dashcam footage on my phone. And I dialed 911. “Hello,” I said, my voice steady. “I’d like to report a suspected case of attempted murder, involving a Mr. Julian Singer and a Ms. Lorna Hayes.”

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When the Comanches came for Stone Creek, my wife, Emma, had taken the entire town posse to the chapel. Not to pray, but to celebrate the new preacher’s Saint’s Day. The mayor begged me to ride out and bring her back. I refused. In my last life, I’d spurred my horse down the treacherous back trail, dragged Emma from the preacher’s side, and returned just in time to save the town. But the preacher, her shining ideal, was captured by a few stray raiders. They tortured him, then left his body in the woods for the wolves. Emma hunted down those raiders herself. When she returned, she locked herself in our room for three days. She never spoke of it again. Not until the territory, hearing of my “heroism,” offered me the preacher’s position as captain of the posse. The day our son was born, Emma slipped laudanum into my drink. She broke my legs. She took a scalpel to my belly and threw my insides into the woods for the beasts to devour. “It was you,” she’d whispered, her voice a venomous hiss. “You conspired with them, all for your own glory. You murdered him.” “Since you love playing the hero so much, you can die like one, too.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the raid began. This time, if she wanted to protect her preacher, I’d let her. … The moment the first arrow splintered the barn door, I smelled the familiar, acrid tang of gunpowder. God, the damned déjà vu. I scrambled for the door, pulling it open just as Mayor Thompson stumbled in. “Jedediah! The Comanches are upon us! Rally the posse!” Before I could answer, his wife, Martha, rushed in behind him, her face pale. “Frank, I’ve looked everywhere! The men are gone! The rifles from the posse’s office… they’re all missing!” A crowd of the town’s women followed her, their faces etched with terror. The mayor was stunned. “Gone? Where in God’s name did they go?” As the only one who knew, I had to be the one to tell them. “Emma took them. To the chapel, for Reverend Silas’s Saint’s Day.” “Folly!” the mayor roared. “The circuit judge just warned us of increased raiding parties! He ordered constant patrols, and she takes them off their posts for a celebration?” The women erupted in a chorus of curses, damning Emma’s name for luring their husbands away. Another volley of rifle fire cracked through the air. Screams echoed through the small town. The mayor, a veteran of the war, didn’t flinch. “The rest of you men, get to the drawbridge and raise it! Women and children, into the old silver mine! Don’t come out until you hear a friendly voice!” Our town was nestled in a valley. There were two ways in. The main road led to a heavy wooden drawbridge spanning Black Gulch, a relic from the town’s founding days, built to keep out rustlers and raiders. Once raised, it was nearly impossible to lower from the outside. The other way was a treacherous switchback trail behind the mountain. It was narrow and winding, a single misstep sending horse and rider plunging to their deaths. It was a faster route to the next town, a half-hour ride, but no one ever used it. After giving his orders, the mayor turned to me. “Jed, you know that back trail. You’re the best rider we have. Take the trail, find them, and bring the posse back. For God’s sake, hurry.” I clenched my jaw. “Mayor, I can go, but I fear it’ll be for nothing. Emma will stop them. She won’t let them come with me.” A heavy silence fell over the group. Ever since Reverend Silas had arrived to lead our congregation, it was as if my wife’s eyes were fixed on him and him alone. The whole town knew we fought about it constantly. As their gazes burned into me, my brother-in-law, Leo, stepped forward, saving me. “I’ll go. I know the trail, too. If Jed and my sister start arguing, we’ll lose precious time.” The mayor nodded, and Leo didn’t waste a second, running to fetch his horse. Martha led the women toward the mine shaft to wait for a rescue that might never come. I went with the mayor to defend the drawbridge. An hour and a half later, Leo returned. He appeared at the mouth of the mine, and a cheer went up from the women, thinking the posse was with him. But his face was as white as a sheet. “They won’t come back,” he choked out. The women stared, bewildered. “Why?” Tears streamed down Leo’s face. “They said I was lying. Emma… she said I was in on it with you, Jed, trying to trick everyone. I got on my knees and begged, but they just called me a disgrace.” He broke down, sobbing from the weight of the humiliation. His grief infected the crowd, and they began cursing Silas, calling him a plague on the town. A so-called man of God who did nothing but chase another man’s wife. Before the cursing could die down, a tremendous BOOM shook the earth. The raiders had dynamite. They were going to blow the bridge supports. “What do we do now?” someone wailed. “Are we all going to die in here?” Seeing the terror on their faces, I had an idea. “If our posse won’t come, we can get help from another town.” “I’ll go!” Leo cried, not even wiping the tears from his face. But as he tried to stand, he stumbled, his leg buckling beneath him. We forced him to sit and pulled up his trouser leg. His shin was swollen to the size of a melon. He shamefully admitted he’d taken a fall, pushing his horse too hard on the trail. “It’s nothing,” he insisted, trying to stand again. “I can still ride.” I pushed him back down firmly. “No. You stay here. I’ll go.” Ignoring their protests, I swung myself onto my horse. The mayor ran after me. “Jed! You have to get back with help in two hours! The bridge won’t hold much longer than that!” I nodded grimly and rode hard. Halfway down the trail, a figure darted out from the trees. I reined in my horse just in time. My eyes widened as I saw who it was: Marshal Thorne, the lawman from the neighboring town of Redemption. I dismounted, a wave of relief washing over me. “Thorne! Thank God. What are you doing out here?” I was about to explain our dire situation when he suddenly grabbed my arm, twisting it behind my back in a painful hold. Thorne sneered, his voice cold. “Waiting for you, Jed.” A sharp pain shot up my arm. “What are you talking about?” “Aren’t you on your way to meet the raiders?” His expression was one of pure disgust. “Your wife rode out at dawn. Told me to wait for you on this trail. Said you’d come this way to parley with them. Jedediah, your father was a legend who hunted men like these to the ends of the earth. And you, brought so low by jealousy you’d conspire with them? You shame his name!” My mind went numb. The words were English, but it took a long moment for them to register. In my last life, as Emma killed me, she had said the same thing. That I had summoned the raiders myself, all to seize the posse captaincy from Silas. That I had orchestrated his murder. In that instant, I knew. Emma had been reborn, too. That’s why she had ignored Leo’s desperate pleas. She had done more than just ignore them; she had cut off our only path to salvation. There was no time to defend my honor. I swallowed my pride. “Thorne, I’m not conspiring with anyone. The Comanches have hit Stone Creek. They have dynamite, and they’re blowing the bridge. Our posse is gone. Emma took them to celebrate with Silas.” “You have to get your men. Please, ride to Stone Creek and help us. If you don’t, the whole town will be lost.” My earnestness must have given him pause. He stared at me for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. “Jed, you’re a convincing actor. I almost believed you. But claiming Emma would abandon her post to celebrate a birthday with Silas? That’s too far-fetched.” “I know Emma. She’s the most responsible woman I’ve ever met. An educated woman. She would never lack that kind of judgment.” His mockery was a knife in my heart. “I’m telling the truth. If you don’t believe me, go and see for yourself.” “I think you’re trying to trick me into leaving so you can meet up with your raider friends,” Thorne said, shaking his head. “Jed, don’t be a fool. Do you know why I’m here alone? Because Emma asked me to talk you down, to convince you to turn back from this path. She said she still loves you. Otherwise, she would have reported this to the territorial marshal, and you’d be in chains by now.” Emma loves me. Before Silas came, I would have believed that. My father rescued her and Leo from a bandit raid that killed their parents. She was only ten when she came to live with us. We grew up together. On his deathbed, after a retaliatory bandit attack, my father asked her if she would be my wife. She said yes. She went to a finishing school back East, telling me to wait for her. I waited four years, raising Leo as my own. When she returned, we were married. But she was always distant. People told me that’s just how it is with couples who have known each other forever. The fire dies down. I believed them. Then Silas arrived, and I saw a light in Emma’s eyes I had never seen before. She would mend his worn clothes, watch him for hours as he worked, and secretly save her teaching money to buy him a silver-inlaid bible. These were affections I had never known. The memory was a fresh stab of pain. But this was no time for self-pity. If Thorne wouldn’t help, I’d have to ride further. There was an army outpost twenty miles out. I was a good rider. If I pushed my horse, I could make it in an hour. The town still had a chance. I moved to mount my horse, but Thorne grabbed me again. “Where do you think you’re going? To meet your allies?” “If you won’t help, I’ll find someone who will,” I grunted, struggling against his grip. “Let go of me!” “I can’t let you go!” Thorne twisted my arm, and a sickening pop echoed in the quiet woods. My shoulder was dislocated. He produced a rope and tied my hands, pulling me toward his own town. Tears of desperation stung my eyes. “Thorne, you have to let me go! I have to save them!” “Save your breath,” he said, hauling me onto his horse. “You’re not going anywhere today.” He led the horse back toward Redemption. As we reached the edge of his town, we saw several of his posse members running out, rifles in hand. Thorne stopped them. “What’s happening?” “A rider just came through! Said Stone Creek is under attack by a war party! We’re riding to help!” Thorne’s face went white as a ghost.

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1 Thirty years into our childfree marriage, my husband’s twenty-eight-year-old son showed up on our doorstep. This was the second year his son had a legal claim to inheritance, so his reason for being here was painfully obvious. When I asked my husband, Robert, what he was thinking, his eyes darted away. He mumbled something about us getting older and needing someone to look after us, and then, inevitably, “He’s my blood, after all.” Seeing my stony silence, he closed his eyes and played his trump card. “If you had a secret child out there, you could bring them home, too. They could inherit our assets right alongside him.” We’d been together for thirty years, never apart for more than a few months at a time. He was certain I couldn’t possibly have a secret child. But if that was the game he wanted to play, then my guilt vanished. A secret child, you say? Did he really think I didn’t have one? Oh, I did. And I had more than one. … When the young man at my door said he was looking for his biological father, my brain short-circuited for a moment before I told him, logically, “You have the wrong address.” My husband and I had agreed to be childfree before we even got married. How could we possibly have a child? The young man’s polite smile didn’t falter. His gaze slid past me to someone standing behind me, and his voice filled with a sudden, bright surprise. “Mr. Thompson… no, I mean… Dad?” Dad? I turned stiffly, following his line of sight. There, in the middle of our living room, stood my husband, Robert. He looked at us, his expression a guilty, complicated mess. His eyes shifted, darted, and did everything they could to avoid meeting mine. A deep, bone-piercing chill spread through me. At that moment, what was there left to misunderstand? The three of us sat on the sofa. Robert and the young man, Leo, exchanged countless glances, silent messages passing between them. They were already familiar. They must have met in private many times. I was the only stranger in the room. I said nothing. Thirty years of marriage. A husband who had insisted on being childfree now had a twenty-eight-year-old son. I didn’t know what expression to wear, what emotion to feel. We were both nearly sixty, recently retired, and holding onto the life savings we had spent our entire careers building. And now, in the second year that illegitimate children had a legal right to inheritance, this young man’s intentions couldn’t be clearer. 2 Now that the truth was out, all Robert could do was apologize and explain. His excuse was pathetic, boiling down to a single, tired cliché: a drunken one-night stand in his youth. It was laughable. Robert was famous for being able to hold his liquor when he was young. And even if he had gotten drunk, was he even capable of… performing? After more than thirty years together, this man with his salt-and-pepper hair felt like a complete stranger. I looked from him to the young man and asked my first question since Leo walked in. “Why didn’t your mother come with you?” Leo’s lips twitched in a smirk, a look that said, I knew you’d ask that. “Julia, my mom’s a very busy woman. She’s on a trip with some friends right now. She didn’t have the time.” I narrowed my eyes, studying the young man who shared a faint resemblance to Robert. I had a few decades of life experience on him; I wasn’t deaf to the barbs hidden in his words. He held his chin slightly raised, an unconscious air of arrogance about him. Just a secret son, and he thought he had the upper hand with me? A cold laugh escaped me. “So, your mother raised you for all these years without looking for a father, but now she sends you? Did she finally run out of money to support you?” Leo’s face darkened. Before he could speak, Robert barked from the side, “Julia!” I shot him a frigid glare. He still couldn’t meet my eyes, only muttering that I shouldn’t take my anger out on the boy, that the boy was innocent and didn’t know anything. Was the boy innocent? Of course not. As a child born of an affair, his very existence was a sin against our marriage. Leo didn’t stay long. His visit was meant to deliver a single message: he had a girlfriend he wanted to marry, but his current apartment was too small. He wanted to move in with us. After all, our home was a sprawling three-thousand-square-foot condo. What a ridiculous fantasy. I hadn’t worked my entire life just to hand it all over to someone else. I immediately refused. Robert just lowered his head and said nothing. As Leo left, he gave me a look that was half-smile, half-sneer. Robert had already done a DNA test. Even as a love child, his right to inheritance was set in stone. I could block him for now, but I couldn’t block him forever. 3 After Leo left, Robert and I sat in the living room in heavy silence. The situation was what it was. Words felt feeble and pointless. After weighing my options, I swallowed the rage that was threatening to choke me and asked Robert, “What’s your plan?” He hemmed and hawed for a long time. “Julia, look, we’re both getting on in years. We’re not as healthy as we used to be. Having someone around to look after us would be…” “Don’t give me that,” I cut him off. “I will not accept him.” He was his son, not mine. Let him look after us? Was I in a hurry to die? I wasn’t blind. I could see the open hostility in Leo’s eyes whenever he looked at me. It’s not that I hadn’t considered divorce. But divorce meant splitting our marital assets down the middle. Everything we had, we’d earned together over a lifetime of work. I couldn’t stomach the thought of even half of it going to someone like Leo. Robert’s expression shifted, but he managed to suppress his temper. He went on and on, the gist of it being that what’s done is done, Leo was his blood, and he couldn’t just abandon his own son. It wasn’t like he was royalty with a throne to pass down. All this talk of his “only bloodline” was nonsense. Seeing my unwavering coldness, Robert finally gritted his teeth and played his trump card. “Julia, if you have a child out there, you can bring them home, too. They can share the inheritance with Leo.” He dared to say this because we’d spent thirty years together, never apart for more than a few months. He was certain I had no way of having a secret child. I was fifty-seven, well past childbearing age. Their plan was perfectly timed. They’d waited until now to show up, probably fearing I might have changed my mind about being childfree earlier and had a child of my own. But who can really say when it comes to secret children? Noticing my grim expression, Robert softened his tone. “Julia, I admit I made a small mistake when I was young, and I’m sorry. But we’ve been through thirty years of storms together. How many years do we even have left? It’s not like we can raise a child at our age. And Leo… he has half my blood. He can’t be a bad person…” He probably didn’t even realize the smug, triumphant look on his own face. He was the one who had wanted to be childfree, claiming he disliked children, that he had a physical aversion to them. I didn’t care for children either, so we’d reached a consensus. Now, he had stabbed me in the back and was laughing at me for being a fool who didn’t know how to protect herself. 4 Three days. Robert only managed to act meek and subservient for three days. After that, he began contacting Leo openly in front of me. They had voice chats, video calls, phone calls. The once-quiet living room was now filled with their laughter. In the last two days, Robert had even suggested officially changing Leo’s last name to his. I ignored him, watching his smug performance with cold eyes. Scum like him were masters of disguise, their true nature lying dormant for years. But to maintain a facade for thirty years… that was a rare talent. I was nearly sixty. The ambition of my youth had faded. I lacked the courage to start all over again. Besides, the assets Robert and I had built up were already tied together. Making him walk away with nothing wouldn’t be easy. My silence made Robert believe that accepting Leo into the family was a done deal. After all, there was no denying Leo was his biological son. Even the law recognized it. I couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore. I decided to call my best friend, Claire, and get away for a few days. Robert thoughtfully packed my suitcase for me. As I was leaving, he said with a cheerful smile, “Julia, at our age, there are some things you just can’t change. The best thing to do is to learn to let go.” Claire took my suitcase from him, her smile even wider than Robert’s. “You know, Rob, it’s because of that attitude of yours that Julia and I can go on our trips without a single worry in the world.” Robert didn’t catch her double meaning. He just assumed I hadn’t told Claire about his son and thought she was praising him. The car door closed, and Robert’s figure shrank in the rearview mirror. I turned to Claire. “Are the kids back?” Claire nodded. “They all got back last night. They’re waiting for you at the house.” I didn’t say anything more, just wearily pinched the bridge of my nose. She took my hand. I looked down at it. Claire was only a year younger than me, but the wrinkles on the back of her hand were just as pronounced as mine. I sighed silently and gently squeezed her hand back. 5 I was gone for five days, with no contact with Robert. When I returned, the first thing that shot out as I opened the door was a yapping mutt of some unknown breed. The dog barked furiously at me from inside my own home. A strange woman’s voice called out, “Fluffy, what are you barking at? Is that a guest at the door—?” The woman walked to the doorway and froze when she saw me, swallowing the rest of her sentence. Clearly, she knew who I was. And in this house, she was the guest. An unwelcome one. She looked to be about my age, wearing a pale pink dress and a perm of big, rolling waves. Her face was caked in a thick layer of foundation that couldn’t hide the deep lines around her mouth. She looked both overdone and cheap. Our eyes met. My face was a mask of cold fury. Though I had already guessed her identity, my tone was accusatory. “Who are you? And what are you doing in my house?” Panic flickered across her face for only a second before she composed herself, offering me a decidedly unfriendly smile. “You must be Julia. I’m Renee.” Renee. Leo. Another voice came from inside. “Mom, who is it?” Leo and Robert appeared together behind Renee. Well, look at that. The happy family, all assembled. Robert, at least, had the decency to look guilty. “You’re back early,” he stammered. “You didn’t say anything.” I scoffed. “And if I had, would I have been able to see this little show?” As I walked into the living room, I realized it wasn’t a family of three, but four. Leo’s girlfriend was lounging on the sofa, playing on her phone with her feet propped up on my coffee table. When she heard me come in, she glanced up for a second before returning to her game. To actually bring his old flame and his secret son into our home… Robert had gone too far. 6 I slammed my suitcase down on the table. The girl on the sofa snapped her feet off the table and shot me a dirty look. Leo, her loyal puppy, immediately jumped to her defense, yelling at me, “Can’t you be a little quieter?” I didn’t even bother to look at him. “This is my house. I’ll do whatever I want. What does it have to do with an outsider like you?” “This is my dad’s house, too,” Leo sneered, tilting his chin up to look down his nose at me. There was that bizarre sense of superiority again. “Aunt Julia, at your age, you need someone to rely on. I think it would be wise for you to be a little more polite to me.” I met his gaze and memorized his arrogant face. Renee stood next to Robert, a faint smile playing on her lips. Like a wilted white flower. I ignored them and looked directly at Robert, my voice as even as I could make it. “Robert, sit down. We need to talk.” Robert instinctively glanced at Renee and her son. Renee seemed to let out a cold huff, making no move to leave. Instead, she sat down directly across from me, and Leo sat beside her, his eyes full of hostility. They had no understanding of their place here, and clearly, Robert had allowed it. Robert looked at them, then at me, and finally sat down on the other side of Renee. They flanked her, one on each side, as if protecting her from me, the evil villain of this story. I didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Robert, you know exactly how much money we have saved up over the years.” At this, everyone’s eyes snapped to Robert. Even the girlfriend, who had been playing her game, turned the volume down and pricked up her ears. A strange silence fell over the living room. Robert looked at me for a long moment before finally nodding. “I do.” Our savings were in a single joint account. The card had a six-digit PIN. I knew the first three digits; Robert knew the last three. When we were younger, we were both reckless spenders. After Robert had a serious health scare and we couldn’t even scrape together enough for the surgery, we realized the importance of saving. To prevent either of us from slipping back into bad habits, we’d come up with this two-part PIN system. In front of everyone, I took the bank card out of my purse and placed it on the table. “There’s three hundred and fifty thousand dollars in that account.” Hearing the amount, no one but the girlfriend showed any surprise. It seemed Robert had already told them. Robert rubbed his hands together, forcing a sheepish smile. “Julia, uh, I’ve calculated the costs for Leo’s wedding. We’d only need about a hundred and fifty thousand—” Before he could finish, Renee cut him off. “Robert, you don’t understand how things are these days. The reception, the rings, the bride price, the photos… we have to do it properly. That’s nowhere near enough…” The girlfriend, who had been lounging, was now sitting bolt upright, her feet planted firmly on the floor. She nodded eagerly. “Your mom’s right, Leo. My best friend got married last year, and her fiancé’s family gave her a hundred thousand dollars. I’m not worth any less than her, am I?” Leo moved closer to her, stroking her head indulgently. “Don’t worry, you’ll get just as much, if not more. Right, Dad?” The ball was back in Robert’s court. He didn’t answer, just shot me a cautious look. “Julia, a wedding is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. What do you think…?” “Let me finish,” I said, opening the calculator on my phone. “The mortgage on the condo has five years left. That’s eight hundred a month. To pay it off in one go, we’ll need eighty thousand.” We’d bought the three-thousand-square-foot condo early, when prices were low. We’d already paid off fifteen years of a twenty-year mortgage. The only reason we hadn’t paid it off sooner was that most of the interest was already paid, and the remaining payments were manageable on our retirement incomes. Before Robert could speak, Renee frowned. “After that, there’s only about two hundred seventy thousand left. That’s barely enough for Leo’s wedding.” Leo chimed in right on cue. “Dad, we have to pay off the mortgage first. Keira’s and my salaries are just enough to cover our monthly expenses. We can’t handle anything else.” I looked up from my phone, taking in their greedy faces, and a slow smile spread across my lips. “What are you all thinking? Do you really believe you’re entitled to any of that one hundred and seventy thousand?” Their faces fell. Robert’s brow furrowed so deeply you could have lost a fly in it. “Julia, I thought you’d come to terms with this. Why are you saying things like this now? I told you, Leo is my only child—” I held up a hand, cutting him off. “You have one child. That’s your business. This is our joint property. So, of course, it should be split equally between our children.” Before Robert could process what I’d just said, I made a call. “Bring the children in.”

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1 Her father saved my mother’s life. For that, I left my home in the secluded mountain Glades, bound to him by a life-debt. The terms were simple: stay by his daughter Seraphina’s side for six years, to repay ninety-nine acts of grace. Only then would I be free. For six years, I catered to her insatiable appetites, exploring every fantasy with her, letting her drag me into the thrill of the outdoors. She seemed to love me with a fierce, possessive passion, once buying me an entire yacht just to see me smile. The final act of grace remained unfulfilled. She promised me a surprise, something special for my birthday. That day came, and on a massive screen before all our friends, she played a video of me, naked and entangled with a much older woman. My five-year-old daughter, Lisa, smashed my birthday cake into my face. “You’re a bad man!” she shrieked, her little voice cracking. “You’re not my daddy!” Cream and blood slid down my cheek. I looked at Seraphina, lost. She was laughing, her arm linked with her childhood sweetheart, Joey. “Your mother was a home-wrecking whore who seduced my father and drove my own mother to her grave,” she sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “I wanted everyone to see just how filthy you really are.” “Kevin,” she said, her voice a cruel mockery of our shared name, “the final debt you owe me is to watch Joey and me get married.” I stared at her, my world tilting on its axis. The woman who had been whispering sweet nothings and feeding me wine just a moment ago now looked at me with chilling indifference. I stumbled forward, my voice a whisper. “Sera… there must be some mistake…” She shoved me, hard. I tumbled back, splashing into the icy water of the pool. As I flailed, gasping for air, her words rained down on me like shards of glass. “Stop acting so innocent! You and that bitch mother of yours know exactly what you did!” she screamed. “Do you have any idea how much it sickened me to even look at your face for these past six years? Now that Joey is back, you can get the hell out of my sight.” Lisa watched me with cold eyes. She picked up an empty wine bottle from a nearby table and hurled it at my head. It struck my forehead with a sickening crack. As blood streamed down my face, she turned to Joey and smiled, a sweet, terrifying smile. “Joey, I punished the bad man. Can you be my daddy now?” In one single, brutal moment, the wife who had shared my bed and the daughter I had adored with all my heart turned on me, savaging me to win the affection of another man. The pain was a physical thing, a spear through my chest. Tears I couldn’t stop welled in my eyes and streamed down my face. “That’s a bit much, Sera,” a voice cut through the haze. It was Vanessa, Seraphina’s best friend. “Kevin has been with you for six years without any official title. He agreed to have a child with you when you didn’t want to get married, he even let Lisa take your name.” She had security guards pull me from the pool, my body shivering and broken. But her words only fueled Seraphina’s rage. “Oh, I underestimated you,” she scoffed, her eyes raking over me with disgust. “Sleeping with my best friend behind my back now, are we? You’re just as cheap as your mother.” “Always babbling about repaying some debt. I don’t have time for your little games. You’ll be in my debt for the rest of your life!” she spat. “Vanessa, you still want him? I left whip marks on him last night. Go on, take a bite.” Her words were daggers, each one twisting in my heart. There was a time when she would have destroyed anyone who dared call me a country bumpkin. Now, she was the one inflicting the deepest wounds. Her six years of tenderness and love had been a lie, a carefully constructed stage for this single, devastating act of revenge. All this time, she had hated me. I came to repay a debt, but I stayed because I had fallen in love with her. In her eyes, though, I was nothing more than a gold-digger, a parasite clinging to her wealth. I had been waiting for this birthday, hoping, praying she would finally agree to marry me. Instead, the ring she had custom-made now shone on Joey’s hand. Joey looked at me, his face a mask of contempt. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself in that video. Don’t tell me you weren’t a willing participant.” He put a protective arm around Seraphina. “You only had Lisa to trap her! You don’t even love your own daughter!” His accusations were a performance, meant not to defend her but to humiliate me. My face burned with shame and rage, but all I could do was shake my head, speechless. I couldn’t tell them it was Seraphina who had begged me to make those videos, that she was the one who promised me a real family, a real title, on this very day. A sharp, searing pain shot through my lower body, and my legs began to tremble uncontrollably. I felt a horrifying wetness, and saw blood beginning to stain my trousers. I met Seraphina’s gaze, my voice barely a croak. “Sera… I just had the enhancement surgery you wanted…” Joey scoffed. “Who knows which one of your little lovers that was for.” The air left my lungs. I swayed on my feet, the world dissolving into black spots. Vanessa rushed to my side, grabbing my arm. “Kevin, you need a hospital. Let me take you.” But my eyes were fixed on Seraphina. My voice was a dry, rasping sound. 2 “The ninety-eighth debt,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash. “You said you wanted me to get the enhancement, to give you a better experience.” A cruel smile touched her lips. “Do I need you? Your body is bland, uninteresting. The thought of touching you makes me want to vomit. Vanessa, he’s just a dog I kept. He’ll never be able to leave me.” I bit my lip, swallowing the question that clawed at my throat: What did Lisa and I ever mean to you? I already knew the answer would be nothing but more poison. Seraphina had planned this for six years, meticulously crafting a dream for me only to shatter it with her own hands the moment I believed it was real. How could she be so cruel? The pain in my groin intensified, a throbbing, relentless reminder of my own stupidity. My expression went numb. “Please,” I said, my voice flat. “Call an ambulance. The surgical wound has torn open.” Even as I lay on the operating table, her venomous messages kept coming. [Kevin, it’s just a torn stitch, not a death sentence. Your mother killed MINE.] [And don’t forget, next month, you’ll be witnessing my wedding to Joey.] She had promised to marry me, to stand before the world and give me a place by her side so no one would ever look down on me again. Now, all I had was shame and infamy. Because of a debt, my mother, who had died long ago, was branded a seductress. And I was left to endure Seraphina’s merciless revenge. The day of her wedding would be the day my debt was finally paid. The day I would finally leave. In the Glades, we have a saying: a broken heart is a debt that can never be repaid, but a faithless partner is a chain that must be broken. After I was discharged, Vanessa offered to drive me home. I managed a weak smile and refused. “Seraphina will take it out on you. You two have been friends since you were kids. It’s not worth fighting over me.” She looked at my pale face, hesitating. “You really love her that much? Even after all this, you can’t let her go?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “The debt I owe her family… it’s almost paid in full.” She didn’t understand, of course. She just sighed. “You and Sera were never going to work. You’re from different worlds. She and Joey grew up together. You should just try to forget her. As for Lisa, the Steinbergs will take good care of her.” “I’ll help you leave town tomorrow,” she offered. “It’ll be better than watching her get married.” I just shook my head. To the world, I was the pathetic lover, clinging to Seraphina despite her cruelty. No one knew the truth. They didn’t know that my mother’s lungs had failed, a rare condition our healers in the Glades couldn’t treat. It was Seraphina’s father, a visiting scholar, who had rushed her to the city, to the best doctors. Mrs. Steinberg had suffered from severe paranoia and delusions. She became convinced her husband was having an affair with my frail, bedridden mother. One day, in a state of psychosis, she threw herself from a balcony. My own mother passed away soon after. Mr. Steinberg, consumed by guilt, brought me to the city and begged me to stay by Seraphina’s side, who was shattered by the tragedy. It was he who invoked the old ways of my people, sealing the life-debt between us. The rules were absolute: until the debt was paid, I could not go home. Seraphina, lost in her own depression, developed a desperate need for physical intimacy, often keeping me awake all night. She thought my talk of “debts” was just a quaint joke. The tasks I completed were small things—watching a sunrise with her, taking her skiing. When someone once insulted me, calling me a country nobody, she had them secretly beaten. Living with her, day in and day out, I slowly, truly fell in love. When she told me she wanted our child, my heart soared. I thought that even after the debt was paid, I could stay with her forever. How wrong I was. The woman I loved for six years, the daughter I cherished… they now saw me as a thorn in their side. As I reached the gates of the Steinberg estate, a swarm of reporters appeared out of nowhere, their cameras flashing in my face. “Mr. Harrows! Is it true you’re the other man who broke up Seraphina Steinberg and her fiancé?” “Your sex tape is all over the internet! Why would you cheat on a woman like Ms. Steinberg with a sugar mama?” “We heard you were injured down there. Was it a client? Will it affect your… performance?” I tried to back away, but they swarmed me, laughing, taunting. One of them even tried to pull down my pants to “get a look.” They were like vultures, jeering as I stumbled and fell, clutching my chest, struggling to breathe. “Look at him, playing the victim again. Is that how you sell yourself, Harrows? Is that the type of thing these rich ladies go for?” “Check out the hickey on his neck. Must have been a wild night.” “Did he piss himself? Your pants are all wet!” They shoved me, pushing their cameras closer to film the fluid still seeping from my surgical wound. 3 I curled into a ball on the cold pavement, shaking. The tears I’d been holding back finally broke free, and I sobbed, the sound raw and humiliating. The villa gates swung open, and the reporters scattered like roaches. The butler stood there, his face a stone mask. I was left alone, a pathetic, broken heap on the ground. Staggering into the courtyard, I saw Lisa running towards me, her eyes wide and tearful. For a fleeting, hopeful second, she looked like the little girl I knew, the one before Joey had poisoned her mind. “My kite… it’s stuck in the tree…” Her voice was small and sad. Forgetting my own pain, I immediately followed her. But as I pulled on the kite string, a massive, buzzing hornet’s nest dropped from the branches, right onto my head. Lisa was already a safe distance away, laughing. “You stupid idiot!” she screamed, her face twisted with malice. “That’s for using me to get to my mommy! You deserve it!” A swarm of angry hornets enveloped me. Stinging fire erupted all over my exposed skin. I trembled, trying desperately to shield my face as a thousand tiny needles pierced me. Purple welts rose on my skin, and the shock slowly turned into a heart-shattering numbness. I remembered all those sleepless nights, walking the floors with a crying infant Lisa in my arms. The memory was now just a cruel joke. A peal of laughter echoed from above. Seraphina stood on the second-floor balcony, Joey’s arm wrapped around her waist, both of them watching my torment with amusement. “Look at him, Sera,” Joey chuckled. “He looks like a pig’s head.” He raised his voice to mock me. “Hey, Kevin! Think any of your rich old ladies will want you looking like that? I doubt anyone could stomach it.” The woman who used to fret over a paper cut was now watching me covered in stings, a satisfied smile on her face. This must have been what she wanted all along—to see me humiliated by my own daughter, branded a whore by the press. Numbly, I tried to get back to my room to treat the stings, to just lie down. But my belongings were piled in a heap outside the door to the small utility closet. Seraphina looked at me with pure disgust. “Trash belongs with the trash. You have some nerve, Kevin, still hanging around my house.” My eyelashes fluttered. “You forgot,” I said, my voice cold and flat. “I have to watch you get married.” A flicker of confusion, maybe even unease, crossed her face. She hadn’t expected that. She expected tears, pleading. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by her customary sneer. “I’m just worried you’ll stick around like a stray dog even after the wedding.” My face was a mask. After your heart has been shattered, the smaller cuts barely register. Once the ninety-nine debts are paid, I won’t linger for a second. A wife and daughter who despise me? They are no longer mine. I just wanted to rest, but the door to my miserable little room swung open. It was Joey, a smug smile on his face. “Kevin, old pal. Sera tells me you’re a fantastic cook. I’m craving some turtle soup. You know, to build up my strength.” Seraphina, seeing the angry red welts covering my body, actually frowned for a moment. A flicker of something—pity? guilt?—crossed her features. She almost seemed to think she’d gone too far. “He’s not a servant, Joey. I’ll have the chef make it.” But Joey just tightened his arm around her waist. “He’s going to be mooching off us after we’re married anyway. Might as well get him used to his new role.” I took a deep breath, about to refuse. “Didn’t you hear what Joey said?” Seraphina’s voice was sharp, all traces of softness gone. “Get moving or get out of my sight forever.” I couldn’t leave. Not yet. So I clenched my jaw and nodded. Fighting the agonizing itch of the stings, I stood in the kitchen, mechanically washing the ingredients. Joey leaned against the doorframe, a smirk on his face. “Hurry it up. My… happiness with Seraphina tonight depends on you.” I bit my lip. “Is there anything else, Mr. Steinberg?” “Who do you think you are, putting on that righteous act?” He suddenly grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the sink. “Does a bedwarmer like you get to look at me with those eyes?” As I struggled, I knocked over a glass of water. Seraphina rushed in at the sound. Joey was already cradling his hand, hissing in pain. “Kevin’s jealous I’m marrying you! He threw boiling water on me!” “I didn’t—” Before I could finish, Seraphina’s palm cracked across my face. She looked at me, her eyes like ice. “Apologize.” A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I lowered my gaze, my voice dull. “It was my fault. Please forgive me, Mr. Steinberg.” Only then did Seraphina seem satisfied. She wrapped her arm around Joey’s and led him away. “Joey and I are going to pick up Lisa. Have dinner ready when we get back.” I was chopping vegetables when my phone rang. It was the hospital. “Are you Mr. Harrows? You’re listed as Seraphina Steinberg’s emergency contact. She’s been in a car accident. She needs surgery.” My mind flashed back. There was a time Seraphina loved hiking. Once, after a small landslide, I couldn’t reach her, her phone going straight to voicemail. I had run out of the house barefoot, frantic with worry, searching for her in the hills. 4 When she finally came home, safe and sound, she had found me, my feet bloody and torn. Her eyes had filled with tears as she cleaned my wounds. That night, she made me her sole emergency contact, promising that I would always be the first to know if anything ever happened to her. She never changed it. But everything else had. Lisa needed a blood transfusion, but the hospital was out of her rare O-negative type. My type. I watched them draw bag after bag of my blood until my lips were white and I was on the verge of passing out. Seraphina’s injuries were far more severe. Her liver was ruptured. She needed a transplant, and the waiting list was long. I didn’t want to wait. I had my bone marrow tested. I was a match. I insisted on being a living donor. The doctors argued, they warned me of the risks, but faced with my unyielding resolve, they finally, reluctantly, agreed. For the next month, I lay in a hospital bed, recovering. And every single day, all I heard were the glowing news reports about the heroic Joey Steinberg, who had so selflessly donated a part of his liver to save the love of his life. I had asked the doctors to keep my identity a secret. I never imagined someone would have the audacity to steal the credit. By the time I was discharged, the wedding was the next day. The Steinberg villa was draped in white silk and flowers. The moment I walked through the door, a teacup shattered at my feet. Lisa stood there, her face puffy with anger. “You dirty thing! You finally decided to come home!” she screamed. “Mommy was right! You just abandoned us!” Joey swept her into a gentle embrace, then fixed me with a look of disappointment. “Kevin. The moment Sera and Lisa were in trouble, you vanished. Now that they’re safe, you come crawling back.” Every word was a carefully aimed dart, painting me as the coward who had abandoned his family. Hearing him, Seraphina’s face hardened, and she shot me a look of pure disgust. “Just like your disgusting mother. The second you thought I was in real trouble, you ran off to screw someone else. Are you back because you’re afraid I’ll take revenge on you and your new lover?” She turned to Joey, her eyes soft with adoration. “While Joey was giving blood for Lisa and donating his liver for me, you were God knows where, with God knows who. I was right about you all along, Kevin. You’re a heartless, back-stabbing snake.” Their accusations no longer had the power to make me cry. I just felt… tired. On the day of the wedding, I tried to make myself invisible, hiding in a dark corner of the grand hall. But I could still feel the guests’ eyes on me, hear their whispers. “Is that him? The lover she kept for six years?” “I heard she doted on him. Why not marry him after the kid was born?” “Lover? Please. He was a toy. Something to pass the time. His sex tape is everywhere. God knows how many rich women have had a piece of him.” I tried to tune them out. But a moment later, one of Joey’s groomsmen approached me. “Mr. Steinberg needs you to help with his tie.” I was dragged towards the dressing room, the unhealed incision in my side protesting with a dull ache. When Lisa saw me approach, she scowled. “You’re so clumsy! Don’t you dare hurt him!” Seraphina stroked her daughter’s hair. “Our Lisa is such a good girl.” The three of them were a perfect, happy family, leaving me to stand awkwardly to the side. I knelt down and began to polish Joey’s expensive leather shoes. He smiled, rolling up his sleeve, revealing a delicate silver chain bracelet with a tiny bell that chimed softly. “Lisa said this brings good luck,” he said, his voice casual. My blood ran cold. My vision tunneled. It was my mother’s. The last thing she gave me before she died. I had searched for it everywhere. And all this time, Lisa had it, and she had given it to him. I clenched my jaw, my voice a dry rasp. “That’s mine.” Joey’s eyes immediately welled with tears. “Kevin, how can you do this to me? On my wedding day? Are you trying to slander me even now?” he whimpered. “I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t be marrying Seraphina!” He “accidentally” kicked out, his shoe grinding down on the back of my hand before I could pull it away. I fell back onto the floor. Lisa glared at me. “You made Joey upset! You deserve it!” Seraphina rushed to comfort him, her voice a soft coo. She glanced at me, at my numb, expressionless face, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. Was she wondering why I wasn’t crying? You can’t bleed from a heart that’s already turned to stone. I stood in the shadows, watching as Lisa presented them with the diamond-encrusted wedding rings. I watched as Joey lifted the veil and pressed his lips to Seraphina’s in a deep, passionate kiss. “I, Seraphina Steinberg,” she declared, her voice ringing through the hall, “take Joey to be my husband, for the rest of my life.” On my arm, the faint, crimson mark that symbolized the life-debt faded away, disappearing into my skin. The ceremony was over. The debt was paid. As the guests erupted in applause, I turned and walked away. Behind me, I heard Lisa’s sweet, childish voice pipe up. “I love having Joey as my daddy!” Their love was no longer mine. And I was finally going home. Later, as Seraphina was toasting with her guests, Joey’s arm around her waist, she found her eyes drifting to the dark corner where Kevin had been standing. The familiar silhouette was gone. He’s probably hiding somewhere, crying, she thought. No matter how much she hurt him, he would never have the strength to actually leave. She smiled and took a sip of champagne. Just then, her phone buzzed. It was a friend who had just returned from a trip abroad. “Sera? I just saw your little boy-toy at the airport. Where’s he off to?”

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