Category: English

1 Two days before our engagement party, my fiancé, Christian, was on one knee, adjusting the hem of my dress when his fingers brushed against my ankle. “Lorna,” he murmured, his touch light, “how come I’ve never seen you in heels? You have such beautiful feet.” I was busy fussing with the waistline of my gown in the mirror. “I can’t get used to them,” I said dismissively. “They hurt when I walk.” “You should try. They’d be perfect with this mermaid dress.” His palm slid up the line of my leg, pausing at the soft hollow behind my knee. “Red-soled stilettos. The kind that gives you a flash of red when you walk, that makes your hips sway… You’d look absolutely stunning.” I met his gaze in the mirror. It was intense, focused. “Since when did you become a fashion expert?” Christian’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting away from mine. “I, uh, flipped through a few magazines.” I said nothing. He moved closer, his fingers gently tipping my chin up. “What, you don’t believe me?” His touch was warm, but his gaze flickered again, just for an instant. “Of course I do,” I said, forcing a bright smile as I poked him playfully in the chest. “I’m just surprised that Christian Price, the esteemed attorney, has time for this kind of research.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “For you, my love, I’d learn anything.” He pulled away. “I’ll go get you a glass of water.” He turned and left the room, leaving his phone behind on the vanity. I hesitated for a moment before picking it up. My fingers typed in the password—my birthday, the same it had always been. It was the first time in all our years together that I had ever looked through his phone. The call logs, messages, and photo gallery were all spotless. Clean. A wave of relief washed over me, and I chided myself for being so suspicious. But as my thumb hovered over the search bar, some dark instinct took over. I typed in “red-soled stilettos.” The search pulled up a blocked contact. The profile picture was blank, the username a single word: “Stella.” It was impossible to unblock and add her from his phone. I memorized the contact ID and switched to my burner account on my own phone. After a quick search, a profile with a blurry side-profile picture popped up. I sent a friend request. She accepted almost instantly. A message came through: “A fan?” My heart seized, and the blood ran cold in my veins. “Yeah,” I typed, my hands starting to tremble. “I saw you in a magazine. A friend of a friend gave me your contact.” She didn’t seem to question it. “Haha, thanks, babe! So sweet of you. Which friend was it? Doesn’t matter, welcome! ” “You know, Mr. Henderson,” I lied, pulling a name out of thin air. Sweat beaded on my palms. She sent back a cute GIF. “Ooh, say no more! That explains it. Thanks for the love! ” After a short exchange of pleasantries, I clicked on her profile feed. The most recent posts were professionally edited selfies and photos from events. The woman in them had vibrant, sharp features and an enviably lean figure. The backdrops were a rotation of high-end restaurants, backstage at fashion shows, and boutique gyms. A model, for sure. I kept scrolling down, my thumb moving faster and faster, until I stopped on a post from a week ago. It was a picture of her back, the pose languid but powerfully seductive. She was on her tiptoes, showing off the flash of a familiar red sole. This photo, unlike the others, had a caption. “Thank you for the gift, Mr. C. ” Mr. C? A phantom hand clenched around my heart, squeezing the air from my lungs. I clamped a hand over my mouth, terrified I would scream, but a broken, choked sob escaped anyway. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The mysterious luxury brand receipt I’d found in his coat pocket last week. His recent string of late nights “at the office.” Even the hushed phone call on the balcony two nights ago—the one he’d abruptly ended when he saw I was awake, claiming it was an urgent case. So this was the truth. Ten years. Ten years we had been together, and we were finally on the verge of making it official. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—believe that the man who had loved and cherished me for a decade would betray me. But a cold, clear voice in the back of my mind whispered the undeniable truth: My fiancé was in love with another woman. 2 My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold my phone. Plink. A single tear hit the screen. I swiped it away and opened my text messages, finding the credit card notification from the day he bought the shoes. A charge for $2,200 from a high-end shoe boutique downtown. The exact same amount as the receipt I’d found. The sound of footsteps approached the door. I quickly locked his phone and placed it back on the vanity, exactly where he’d left it. “Sorry, did I take too long?” Christian asked, walking in with a glass of water. In his other hand, he held a tell-tale orange gift box. His smile was warm, intoxicating. “Guess what I got you?” He opened the box to reveal a new designer handbag, a model that was notoriously hard to find. “An early engagement present. Do you like it?” Any other day, I would have thrown my arms around his neck and playfully scolded him for spending so much money. But now, the gesture felt like a grotesque joke. “Yes,” I managed to say. “It’s beautiful.” He smiled, ruffling my hair. “I’ll get you an even better gift for the wedding. More beautiful than this. You can start looking forward to it now.” I stared at him, a raw, acidic pain rising in my chest. God, how I wished the last ten minutes had been a nightmare. The next day, I stood in the security office of the downtown shoe boutique, my nails digging so deeply into my palms that they almost broke the skin. On the monitor, Christian had his arm wrapped around Stella’s waist, his head bent low to listen as she whispered in his ear. He took the stiletto she’d been trying on and knelt before her, gently sliding it onto her foot. The salesclerk fawned over them as he casually took Stella’s purse, waiting patiently while she admired herself in the mirror. After paying, she spun around on her tiptoes, her skirt flaring out around her. Christian reached out to steady her, his eyes burning with an intensity I hadn’t seen in years. I glanced at the date stamp on the footage. It was the night I’d stayed at the lab until dawn, rushing to finish a project so I could take my wedding leave early. He had texted me a picture of a coffee cup on his desk at the law firm, telling me he was buried in work. It was all a lie. “That gentleman is a regular,” one of the security guards muttered to the other. “Always comes in with that lady, spends ages while she tries on shoes.” “That model,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Do you have it in stock?” The salesclerk, who had been called into the room, blinked in surprise. “We do, yes, but the price…” “I’ll take them all.” I swiped my card and walked out of the store with six large gift boxes. When I got home, Christian was in the kitchen, humming as he stirred a pot of soup. “You’re back!” he called out. He stepped out of the kitchen, and his eyes fell on the small mountain of shoe boxes at my feet. His smile froze. “What… what is all this?” he asked, his voice tight. I calmly opened one of the boxes, pulled out a red-soled stiletto, and dangled it in front of him. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” I said, a razor-sharp smile on my lips. “The clerk told me they’re the most popular style.” His face went pale. “Why did you suddenly buy so many?” “Suddenly?” I tilted my head. “Aren’t you the one who suggested I try them?” His mouth opened, then closed. He looked away, his fingers nervously tracing the rim of the soup bowl on the counter. A suffocating silence filled the room. I stood up and grabbed my coat. “Something’s come up at the lab. I have to go in.” “Now?” He looked up, his eyes wide with panic. “But the engagement party is tomorrow.” “There’s an issue with the data,” I said, my tone flat as I walked out the door. “It’ll be an all-nighter. Don’t wait up.” I got in my car, turned the key, and slammed my foot on the gas. My destination wasn’t the lab. It was the location Stella had tagged in her social media post half an hour ago: a runway show for an indie designer. 3 The house lights dimmed as the final round of applause echoed through the venue. I stood in the shadows, watching Stella get swept backstage by a crowd of admirers. She was even more dazzling in person, her auburn curls bouncing with every step, her waist as fluid as a ribbon. She had a pair of eyes that could melt stone. After the crowd dispersed, I overheard two crew members talking. “Stella seemed off her game tonight. Almost twisted her ankle on the catwalk.” “Heard she’s having relationship trouble…” I followed her up to the rooftop terrace. She was leaning against the railing, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers, its cherry a tiny red star in the dark. “Stella?” I asked, feigning nervousness as I approached. “Can I… can I get a picture? I’m a huge fan.” She glanced at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “A female fan?” She waved me over. “Sure, why not.” After we took the photo, I looked at her with faux concern. “Are you okay? You seem a little down.” Her expression clouded over. She stubbed out her cigarette on the railing. “Whatever. It’s not like I have a date tonight. Might as well talk.” She took a long swig from a flask she’d pulled from her purse. “You know,” she began, her voice laced with bitterness, “I really thought he’d show up tonight.” She let out a harsh laugh. “Men. Every single one of them is a piece of trash.” She took another drink and launched into her story. “I met him after a show. He sent me a bouquet of white roses, said he was captivated by my presence on the runway.” “And then?” I prompted, my own voice a stranger to my ears. “And then?” She smirked, a sly, knowing look in her eyes. “The second time we met, he took me to a private vineyard. Waited until I was a little tipsy, then kissed me. Told me he’d never met a woman as exciting as me.” My heart gave a painful thud. I remembered that night. Christian hadn’t come home, telling me he was pulling an all-nighter at the firm to prep for a major case. “Not long after, he posted a picture of an engagement ring on his social media. His, and some other woman’s.” “I knew he had a fiancée. He said she was sweet, like a little lamb, but totally boring. Spends all her time cooped up in a lab.” “It was a mutual arrangement. I needed his connections to climb the ladder.” “I’ve seen a million guys like him. Two-faced. The second his fiancée was out of town, he invited me over to his place.” “Our first time was in their marital bed.” “He tried to act all innocent afterward. Said he regretted it, that we should stop seeing each other. But all I had to do was send one text, and he’d come running back.” “He’s an animal in bed, completely wild. Refuses to use a condom. And then he has the nerve to talk about ‘not wanting to betray his fiancée.’ But the moment I wrap my arms around his neck, he forgets everything.” “Lately, he’s been trying to play the devoted partner. Says he has to do right by his fiancée, but he can’t bear to break things off with me. Please.” She snorted. “Oh, and these shoes? He bought them for me. Said they make me look like a total siren.” Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, quickly wiped the corners of her eyes, and her bright, dazzling smile snapped back into place. “Alright, little fan, duty calls. See you around.” I ducked back into the shadows of a stairwell corner and watched as she ran into a familiar embrace. Christian. He was wearing the deep gray trench coat I’d bought him for his birthday. A bouquet of white roses sat on the hood of his car. He looked so gentle, and so utterly alien. I raised my phone, my hand trembling as I hit record. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her—a deep, passionate, lingering kiss that seemed to go on forever. In that moment, my heart didn’t just break; it felt like it was being shredded by a blender. The pain was so intense I had to double over. Tears streamed down my face, hot and uncontrollable, and my whole body shook. I bit down hard on the back of my hand, swallowing my sobs. After the pain, all that was left was a hollow, crushing exhaustion. They were long gone. I collapsed onto the cold concrete, staring blankly at the moon. Tomorrow was our engagement party, the day we had been waiting for, for so long. Ten years of love, and only now was I seeing the man I was supposed to marry for who he truly was. What would I tell my parents? How could I possibly explain this? I hated myself for being so blind, for wasting a decade of my life on a lie. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a notification. An email confirmation. Without a second of hesitation, I had added my name to the list. A solo trip. Far away. With a monumental effort, I pushed myself up and staggered away from the rooftop, leaving the city lights behind me. 4 I pushed open the door to our apartment. The entryway light was still on. A sticky note was plastered to the refrigerator. Urgent case at the firm, won’t be back tonight. I promise I’ll be there on time tomorrow. Love you. The words seemed to mock me, their cheerful cursive a testament to my own stupidity. Liar. I ripped the note off the fridge and tore it into a thousand tiny pieces. I walked into the bedroom and pulled out a thick stack of faded love letters from the back of the closet—the ones he used to slip into my textbooks every day in college. I took out the photo albums filled with pictures of our travels, him always hugging me from behind, his chin resting on my head as he grinned like an idiot. From the depths of the wardrobe, I pulled out the shirt he wore on our first date, the one with my initials embroidered on the cuff. And the scarf I’d spent weeks knitting for him… I gathered them all in my arms, carried them to the bathroom, and dumped them into the tub. Then I flicked a lighter. The flame roared to life, a hungry beast devouring every last trace of “Christian and Lorna.” Next was our marital bed. He had picked it out himself, in the exact shade of blue I loved. Now, the sight of it made me sick. I grabbed a pair of shears and started cutting, slicing the mattress and the duvet into ragged strips. Then I moved through the rest of the apartment, taking a hammer to anything and everything that held a memory of him. What was once our sanctuary was now a field of wreckage. I sat in the ruins of our life together, watching the sky slowly lighten outside the window. The sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the silence. Christian pushed the door open, a smile on his face that quickly dissolved into a mask of horror. “Lorna, are you insane?!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “Do you have any idea what day it is? You’ve destroyed our home!” He rushed toward me. “Get dressed, now! Put on the gown, we can still make it!” I slapped his hand away. “The engagement is off.” “Stop screwing around, Lorna! The guests have been notified, our parents are already at the venue.” CRACK! I hurled one of the red-soled stilettos at his feet, then brought the hammer down on its heel with all my might. The heel snapped, and he flinched back as if he’d been struck himself. “What’s the matter?” I sneered. “Does this bring back a memory? Are you remembering kneeling to put it on her foot, or are you just tasting last night’s kiss?” Christian’s face went chalk-white, his lips trembling. “Lorna, please, let me explain…” “Shut up!” I grabbed the other shoe and threw it, hitting him square in the chest. He reached for my wrist, but I twisted away and slapped him across the face, so hard his head snapped to the side. He froze, clutching his cheek, a look of pure shock in his eyes. He’d never imagined his docile Lorna could be violent. I grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head up, forcing him to look at me. With my other hand, I used the sole of the shoe to strike him across the mouth, again and again. His face swelled instantly, and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his lip. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t even struggle. He just let me do it. And I didn’t hold back. I was a cornered animal, venting every ounce of my fury on him. I didn’t stop until the shoe’s heel broke and my wrist ached. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. I scooped up a handful of the ashes from the bathtub and threw them in his face. He looked pathetic. Wrecked. Panting, I sank onto the sofa. Christian crawled toward me, blood and ash streaking down his chin, and wrapped his arms around my legs. “Lorna, I was just… I was confused for a moment…” His voice was a ragged whisper. “Ten years, Lorna. Can’t you forgive me just this once?” I laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “No. I have a thing about cleanliness.” “And once someone’s dirty,” I said, looking down at him with contempt, “they’re worthless to me.”

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I was the man the Celestial Queen had sworn to marry. But on the eve of our wedding, she listened to the venomous lies of my brother, Cain, and with a flick of her wrist, cast me down to the mortal realm. My sentence: to endure ten lifetimes of suffering on the wheel of reincarnation. After endless torment, I finally clawed my way back to the Celestial Realm. The moment my eyes met her icy gaze, my very soul trembled, and I scrambled to confess the sins I had never committed. “My Queen, this wretch knows his error.” “This wretch never should have defied my brother. You and he are the ones who truly belong together. My heart… my heart belongs to a swine-beast from the lower worlds…” Later, when I severed my own Celestial Core and willingly descended into the Underworld, the Celestial Queen—the woman who had hated me to the bone—humbled herself. She led the entire celestial host to the gates of the Underworld to beg for my return. … Ten lifetimes. After ten lifetimes, I stood once more in the Celestial Realm, yet I didn’t dare take a single step toward the Queen’s Elysian Palace. I had been a mere mortal. By a twist of fate, I found the Celestial Queen, gravely wounded after a cataclysmic battle between gods and demons. I nursed her back to health, caring for her tenderly for a decade, and in that quiet solitude, a love bloomed between us. When she recovered, she brought my family and me to the Celestial Realm, vowing to marry me as a reward for saving her life. But that peace was short-lived. A petty argument with my brother was all it took. The Queen and my own father cast me back into the mortal world to “learn my place.” Ten lifetimes of agony. I was reborn as a cripple, wasting away in despair. I was reborn as a pig, a dog, destined only for the butcher’s block. I became the laughingstock of the Celestial Realm. “What are you waiting for? Get in there. Don’t keep the Queen waiting, or she might add another lifetime to your sentence.” My father’s voice, sharp and cold, prodded me from behind. I turned to look at his face, a mask of frosted stone, and a bitter ache bloomed in my chest. I remembered him in the mortal world—a kind, gentle man who indulged my every whim and tantrum. Since entering the Celestial Realm, everything had changed. He grew colder by the day, his heart consumed by ambition and a lust for power. “You deserved every moment of your punishment,” he added, his voice devoid of warmth. “It’s what you get for running your mouth and trying to steal your brother’s glory for saving the Queen.” Once, I would have screamed, cried, and fought back. Now, I just lowered my head in silence. Ten lifetimes on the wheel had extinguished every spark of defiance in me, grinding my spirit down to dust. I’d even come to believe that being a pathetic, cowering dog was a good thing. At least it meant I would live. Suddenly, the great doors of the palace creaked open. A violent, unseen force ripped me from my feet, dragging me into the hall before vanishing just as quickly. I crashed to the marble floor like a puppet with its strings cut. My soul, already fractured from the cycles of rebirth, screamed in protest, threatening to shatter completely. Pain. A white-hot, blinding pain. My cry of agony echoed in the vast throne room, yet no one—not a single soul—cared if I lived or died. My father acted as if he hadn’t seen a thing. And there, upon the throne that marked her as the supreme ruler of the heavens, sat Seraphina, the Celestial Queen. Her expression was utterly indifferent, her eyes barren of pity or compassion. She was a goddess carved from ice. It was hard to believe she had once told me I was like the radiant sun, unique and irreplaceable in all the realms. “You are in the presence of your Queen. Are you not going to kneel?” my father’s impatient voice snapped in my ear. Once, my pride would have refused. I would have stood, defiant to the last. Now, I was the very picture of obedience. I scrambled to my knees, pressing my forehead to the cold floor. “This wretch… greets the Queen.” The silence in the hall stretched for an eternity before her voice, cool and distant, finally broke it. “Raise your head.” Fear coiled in my gut. “This wretch does not dare.” But a gentle gust of wind, a wisp of her power, forced my chin upward. I saw her brow furrowed in a tight knot, and my heart plummeted. “Have you learned your lesson this time? Have you finally learned your place?” Seraphina asked, her voice dripping with frost. “This wretch has learned his lesson.” “This wretch understands the rules.” “I beg the Queen to be merciful. Spare this wretch.” I bowed again and again, my body trembling as if submerged in a frozen lake, terrified of what new punishment she would devise. The celestial officials surrounding the throne began to whisper amongst themselves. “Look at Aidan. So proud before, wasn’t he? Stood in this very hall and swore he’d die before he’d kneel. Now he’s more obedient than a whipped dog.” “Obedient? It’s an act. When defiance failed, he turned to groveling. He’s just trying to win the Queen’s pity.” “I agree. A leopard can’t change its spots. Aidan is the same worthless fraud who tried to steal his brother’s glory and manipulate his way into the Queen’s bed.” Their words were easy, spoken from a place of safety and privilege. If they had been forced to endure what I had, they too would live every moment with their tails tucked between their legs, terrified to even breathe wrong. Seraphina seemed to believe their poison. She lifted a hand, and a wave of force slammed into me, sending me flying across the hall. I collided with a massive pillar and crumpled to the ground, coughing up mouthfuls of blood. The world swam in a haze of pain. I was close to losing consciousness. Even so, I forced myself to push up onto my elbows and plead with her. “My Queen, after ten lifetimes, I finally understand. I will never again stand between you and my brother.” “My heart belongs to a swine-beast from the lower worlds.” “I beg you…” Before I could finish, Seraphina shot to her feet, her eyes blazing with a sudden, sharp fury. I froze, too terrified to continue. “A swine-beast? You dare dishonor the heavens with such filth? Guards! Drag Aidan out and give him three hundred lashes from the divine whip!” she commanded, her beautiful eyes narrowed into cruel slits. “No!” “My Queen, have mercy! Please, just this once, forgive me…” I kowtowed desperately. But Seraphina was unmoved. My father stood by, silent, allowing the guards to drag me from the hall. They bound me to the great Sky-Piercing Pillar and the divine whip began to fall. My blood soaked through my grey tunic, painting it crimson. My shrieks echoed through the plaza. I fainted multiple times, only to be jolted back to consciousness by buckets of icy water. After three hundred lashes, I was cut down and lay in a heap on the cold stone like a broken animal, unable to summon even a sliver of strength. A bottomless, bitter sorrow flooded my heart. What had I done? What had I ever done to deserve this endless torture? “Ten lifetimes, and you still haven’t learned. You truly are a lost cause,” my father sneered, stepping carefully around me as he passed. “Walk home yourself. I don’t want your foul luck rubbing off on me.” I had no tears left to cry. It was I who found Seraphina, bleeding and broken. It was I who had never told a lie in my life. It was I who had given her my whole, honest heart. So why, after a single sentence from my brother claiming my deeds as his own, did she and my father believe him without question? After ten lifetimes, I still couldn’t understand. A long time passed. I finally managed to gather a sliver of strength. I pushed myself to my feet and staggered forward into the biting wind. After a few steps, my legs gave out. As I started to fall, a pair of gentle hands caught me. I turned my head and saw a woman in emerald-green robes. It was Luna, Seraphina’s junior celestial sister. “I was only in seclusion for three hundred years,” she murmured, her eyes filled with a pained confusion. “Aidan, how did you become… this?” For the first time since my return, someone showed me an ounce of concern. The old Aidan would have poured out his heart, desperate for someone, anyone, to listen to his story and believe his innocence. But now, I could only manage a bitter smile. “I committed a grave sin. I was sentenced to ten lifetimes on the wheel.” People change. I had learned that lesson all too well. My father, my brother, Seraphina… they had all changed. I couldn’t trust anyone anymore, terrified that any word I spoke would be carried back to my tormentors, earning me even more pain. “A grave sin?” Luna’s brow furrowed. “I have been in the Celestial Realm for a long time, and I have never heard of anyone being sentenced to ten lifetimes. Your very soul is on the verge of dissipating.” She clearly wanted to know more. I didn’t dare speak. I just lowered my head. “Never mind,” Luna sighed softly. “Let me take you home.” She placed a small, glowing pill in my mouth and then, before I could protest, lifted me into her arms and took to the sky. The warmth of her soft embrace was so foreign, so unexpected, that it left me stunned. I felt a faint heat rise in my cheeks. “Luna,” I managed to say, “you should put me down. Being seen with me will only bring you trouble.” This time, she remained silent. I didn’t know what else to say. The pill she’d given me was already working its magic. I could feel my fractured soul knitting itself back together, and the searing pain in my body faded to a dull ache. When we arrived at my family’s estate, my parents and Cain were at the dining table, laughing and talking. The entire residence was draped in crimson banners and silks. It seemed Cain and Seraphina’s wedding was imminent. No wonder she had been so cruel to me in the throne room. She was proving her devotion to my brother. The moment Luna landed with me in her arms, my father’s chopsticks clattered to the floor. “Aidan!” he roared, his face a mask of fury. “How dare you! You are a condemned sinner! How dare you allow the celestial Luna to carry you! Get down! Get down at once! Don’t you dare soil her robes!” My mother quickly chimed in with her agreement. Cain said nothing, but a flicker of jealousy and resentment burned in his eyes. I still couldn’t understand why he hated me so much. He was an orphan my parents had taken in, and they had showered him with love and affection. I had always treated him as my true brother. When Seraphina brought us to the Celestial Realm, I made sure he wasn’t left behind. And in return, he stabbed me in the back. He claimed it was he who had found the wounded Queen. He claimed that for the first three months of her coma, it was he who had cared for her, even using his own blood as a magical catalyst for her medicine. The truth was, the night I brought Seraphina home, Cain was disgusted. He forced me to move her to a ruined temple deep in the mountains, where I cared for her in secret. But Seraphina believed his every lie, and my parents sided with him completely. “It’s no matter,” Luna said, waving a dismissive hand. She glanced around at the celebratory decorations, her voice laced with meaning. “No matter what terrible crime Aidan has committed, you are still his family. You shouldn’t treat him with such contempt.” “Celestial Luna, you don’t know the whole story,” my father said, rushing to pull her aside to list my supposed transgressions. I didn’t bother to argue. “Aidan, you be a good boy now that you’re back,” my mother said, dragging me towards the back courtyard. “You should learn from your brother.” I just nodded, not daring to even look at Cain, afraid that the slightest thing would displease him and he’d run to Seraphina with another complaint. Another round of whipping was the last thing I needed. My room was stark and bare, containing only a bed. Not even a table. But compared to my life during the reincarnations, it was paradise. When I was an animal, I had no bed, only the filth of a pigsty or a sheep pen. When I was lucky enough to be reborn human, I was a disfigured outcast, abandoned at birth, forced to sleep on the streets. So now, lying on this simple bed, I was content. The moment my mother left, I collapsed onto the mattress. I was so tired. I fell asleep almost instantly and, as I always did, dreamed of my childhood. A time without a care in the world. A time when I could cry when I was sad and laugh when I was happy. Suddenly, a searing pain jolted me awake. I opened my eyes to see Cain standing over my bed, a whip in his hand and a cruel, mocking smile on his lips. “Brother, I was wrong! I’m sorry! I’ll never compete with you for the Queen again, I swear!” I tumbled off the bed and onto the floor, desperately kowtowing. “When you two marry, I’ll… I’ll perform a dance to bless your union!” “Hmph.” Cain snorted, his voice dripping with venom. “You think because you’ve cozied up to Luna, you have a new protector? That your life will be easy now? That’s a pipe dream, little brother. I won’t rest until I’ve tortured you to death.” Hearing this, I began to tremble uncontrollably, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. I couldn’t help but look up and ask, “I’m already like this. Why can’t you just leave me alone?” “Because,” he hissed, his smile turning truly sinister, “I’m afraid that one day, Seraphina’s old feelings for you might reignite.” Just as he finished speaking, the door to my room shattered inward. A celestial guard stood in the splintered frame. “By order of the Celestial Queen, the sinner Aidan is to be apprehended.” The guard bound me with celestial ropes and dragged me away. Behind me, Cain’s triumphant laughter filled the air. I knew, without a doubt, that this was his doing. Once again, I was thrown violently onto the floor of the Elysian Palace. Once again, Seraphina sat high on her throne, looking down on me with cold contempt. “Aidan,” she began, her voice edged with a new fury, “have you no shame? You have barely returned to the Celestial Realm, and you are already scheming to seduce the celestial Luna. The audacity!” This must have been Cain’s new lie. “I did not.” “Is that so?” Seraphina’s eyes narrowed. She raised her voice. “Sister Luna, show yourself and tell this court whether he speaks the truth.” As her words faded, Luna descended on a soft breeze. My heart leaped into my throat. I stared at her, my face pale, my hands and feet turning to ice. I felt a horrifying sense of déjà vu. This was it. Another betrayal was coming. Instead, Luna walked to my side and took my hand. In front of the entire court, as I stared in utter shock, she turned to the Queen and said, “It was my choice to escort Aidan home.” In that instant, my eyes welled with tears. A tiny stream of warmth flowed back into my cold, desolate heart. Seraphina’s gaze locked onto our joined hands. She gritted her teeth. “This is madness! Utter madness! A condemned sinner and a celestial maiden… how can you be together? Sister, do you feel no shame?” So that was it. The real reason she had cast me down so casually. She was ashamed of me. Luna shook her head. “Sister, I am not like you, so paralyzed by what others think, so afraid to face what is in your own heart. The first time I saw Aidan, I fell for him. But he was promised to you, so I entered seclusion to hide from my feelings.” I was stunned. I looked at Luna’s profile, my mind a whirl of confusion and disbelief. She had to be making this up. It was just a desperate ploy to save me. “Sister, you…” Seraphina’s face was a thundercloud. She clenched her fists. “Your shamelessness must be punished! It must!” Her voice boomed like thunder, echoing through the heavens. “From this day forth, Luna is stripped of her celestial rank! She and Aidan are to be banished to the Underworld! They will not return until they have guided every last wandering soul to peace! Everyone, to the Sundering Peak! I will personally tear out their Celestial Cores!” The sentence, like a bolt of lightning, reverberated through all the realms. A cold sweat drenched my body. I turned to Luna, my voice a desperate whisper. “You don’t have to throw away your immortal life for me.” To have one’s Celestial Core torn out and be banished to the Underworld… it was a punishment so severe it would destroy her future, her very existence. “It’s fine,” Luna said with a faint, carefree smile. “I’ve grown tired of the Celestial Realm anyway. A change of scenery might be nice.” She turned and began walking toward the Sundering Peak. I followed behind her, my heart a lump of bitter ash. Every being in the Celestial Realm had gathered around the Sundering Peak. When my parents saw me, they just shook their heads in disgust. My brother, Cain, wore a smirk of triumphant satisfaction. He had won again. Seraphina hovered in the air above the peak, her eyes fixed on Luna. “If you admit your mistake now, you can be spared—” Before she could finish, Luna acted. With a cry of defiance, she struck her own chest, severing her Celestial Core herself. As she did, a cascade of images, her memories, flashed in the air for all to see. Countless moments of her watching me from afar, her eyes filled with a secret longing. Even in the depths of her seclusion, suffering from a backlash of power that left her unconscious, she had whispered my name. The memories faded. Luna, her face pale but resolute, turned and leaped without hesitation into the shimmering portal to the Underworld. I was frozen. I couldn’t believe it. Luna… truly loved me. Loved me enough to destroy herself for my sake. In that moment, the dam broke. Tears streamed down my face. If I survived this, I swore to myself, I would spend the rest of my existence cherishing her. “Aidan, look at the ruin you’ve caused!” Seraphina shrieked, her rage now turning on me. “If you hadn’t seduced her, would she have done this?” With a wave of her hand, she flung me onto the center of the Sundering Peak. “I should never have been merciful! I should have let you be reborn as livestock and cripples for all eternity, to taste every last drop of suffering this world has to offer!”

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1 The third day my son was missing was the day my rival’s daughter got her new heart. Bianca flaunted it, beaming at me, so sure her daughter was destined for a long and happy life. But all I could see was the memory of her eyes, a venomous glint as she once stared at my son’s chest. I had to know. I had to know who the donor was. I became a woman possessed. My husband, a man who valued his public image above all else, was furious. He thought my frantic questions in the hospital hallway were a public disgrace, hissing that I was a lunatic. But I saw it. Through a crack in the operating room door, I saw the body of the child on the table. And on that small body, I saw the birthmark that belonged only to my son. “I need to see the body! That child is my son!” My hair was a wild mess, my voice a desperate, crazed shout in the sterile hospital corridor. A nurse blocked my path, her tone sharp with impatience. “I’ve already told you, the deceased is a boy named Aiden King. He is not your son.” Her hand was firm on my arm. “And without the family’s consent, you have no right to view the remains. Claire, please, stop making a scene and wasting our time.” Other nurses glared at me, their faces a mixture of anger and pity. “I don’t believe you. That has to be my Leo.” My eyes were locked on the operating room door, every muscle in my body coiled to burst through it. But a large hand clamped down on my arm, yanking me back so hard I slammed against the wall. Dr. Hugo Grant, my husband, stared down at me with pure disgust. “Claire,” he seethed, “what’s the difference between you and a lunatic right now? Leo has only been missing for three days. Stop trying to curse him to death!” “And in those three days, have you, his father, even once asked for an update on his case?” I shot back, my eyes burning. A flicker of annoyance crossed his perfect face. “I’m not a detective. What good would asking do? Are my questions going to bring him back?” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a contemptuous whisper. “This is just another one of your pathetic attempts to get my attention, isn’t it? Fine. You’ve succeeded. I’ll take tomorrow off to be with you.” One of his colleagues chimed in with a sycophantic murmur, “But Dr. Grant, you have a major surgery scheduled for tomorrow! What terrible luck, being married to a woman with no sense of propriety.” The small crowd of doctors and nurses nodded in agreement, their whispers like tiny daggers. My lips twisted into a sorrowful smile. My heart felt like a dead weight in my chest. We were in love once, Hugo and I. He pursued me our senior year of college. We married right after graduation. He told me his work was demanding, that he needed me to manage our home. So I gave up my career and dedicated myself to him. For six years, he climbed the ladder, becoming the youngest Chief of Surgery in the hospital’s history. And then, after a business trip, he came back with them. His childhood sweetheart, Bianca, and her daughter. Bianca’s daughter had a congenital heart defect. I’ll never forget the day she’d “joked” that since my Leo was so frail anyway, why not just donate his heart to her little girl? The look in her eyes that day wasn’t a joke. It was a promise. “Hugo, I’m begging you,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Please, just let me see the body. He’s my son.” I knew Hugo’s greatest weakness was his reputation. So I did the one thing I knew would horrify him. I fell to my knees and wept. His face paled. “Fine,” he snapped. “One look.” “Absolutely not!” a frail voice cried out. Bianca was there, supporting a weeping old man. “My dear girl,” the man sobbed, looking at me. “My grandson… his face was the thing he was most proud of. The accident… it ruined him. We don’t want anyone to see him looking so… so broken in death.” Hugo’s expression turned to ice. “This is the donor’s grandfather, Claire. That should be proof enough that the boy inside is not our son. This is all in your head.” I bit my lip until I tasted blood. In my head? No. I refused to believe it. I trusted the invisible thread that connected me to my son. I knew he was in that room. Bianca’s face was a mask of tragic tears. “Claire, I know you’re upset. Hugo is my oldest friend, and I know it’s uncomfortable for you that he’s the one performing my daughter’s surgery. I can handle you taking it out on me, I always have.” Her voice rose, filled with manufactured desperation. “But this is a life! A real, living child! The window for a heart transplant is four hours, the sooner the better! You’ve already delayed this for so long! Please, don’t hold this up any longer. Let Hugo do the surgery. I’ll get on my knees and beg you.” And with that, she dropped to the floor before me. The whispers from the staff grew louder, their scorn for me thickening the air. A shrew. A harpy. No wonder Dr. Grant preferred the gentle, understanding Bianca. A year ago, those words would have shattered me. Now, they were meaningless. I’d stopped loving Hugo the day he brought Bianca into our lives. I only stayed for our son. “Let me see the body,” I repeated, my voice flat. “Have you lost your mind? I never knew you could be so petty, so cold-blooded!” Hugo’s patience finally snapped. “When I met you, you were the kindest person I knew. When did you become this… this monster? I’ve told you a thousand times, there is nothing between Bianca and me! She saved my life when we were kids, and I am repaying a debt. She is ten times the woman you are! If I truly loved her, do you think you would have had any place in my life these past few years?” His anger escalated into a full-blown rage. With a guttural roar, he swung, his open palm cracking against my cheek with all his strength. I crumpled to the floor, my face exploding with pain. He didn’t even glance at me. He rushed to Bianca, pulling her tenderly to her feet. “She’s been a housewife for too long,” he murmured to her. “It’s made her paranoid.” Then he looked up and saw my swollen face, the trickle of blood at the corner of my mouth. He froze. A flicker of regret crossed his eyes—not for hitting me, but for being caught. For doing it in public. His pristine image was tarnished. Almost automatically, his expression shifted to one of guilt. He reached for me. “I’m sorry, Claire. I didn’t mean to… I was just so angry. Let’s get you some ice for that.” I stared at him with dead eyes. As he drew near, I lunged, grabbing his right hand and pressing the tip of a fruit knife I’d grabbed from a nearby gift basket against his wrist. “You’re going to sign the divorce papers,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “But first, you’re going to take me to see that body. If you don’t, I’ll ruin that right hand of yours, and you’ll never be a surgeon again.” My face was a mask of desperate ferocity. Today, no one was going to stop me. “Divorce? You want a divorce? Over this?” He looked genuinely stunned. Then he saw the absolute emptiness in my eyes and finally seemed to realize that any love I once had for him was long, long gone. I saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes and almost laughed. He asked when I had become a monster? Perhaps it was during the years of silent, single-handed parenting. Or maybe it was the slow erosion of my soul from his daily neglect and the endless, thankless chores. I hadn’t become a monster. I’d become a ghost. A madwoman. I remembered when we were first married. He was busy, but he insisted on making me oatmeal every morning, saying my stomach was weak and needed care. He did it for six months, until I was better. The first year of our marriage, I was in a car accident. He cried at my bedside, wishing it was his leg that was broken, not mine. “I swore in our vows to be with you until we were old and gray,” he’d said. “I will never abandon you.” I thought I had married for love. When did it all change? It wasn’t until I found his journal that I understood. I was never his first choice. He loved someone else. When I was about to give birth, I saw him carefully picking out baby supplies online. My heart swelled with hope, thinking he was finally embracing fatherhood. Then I saw the shipping address. He sent everything to Bianca. From the very beginning, he was never on our side. Letting him go was the most natural thing in the world. “Dr. Grant, it’s been nearly three hours,” a nurse interrupted, her voice urgent. “If we don’t start the procedure now, the heart’s viability will drop significantly. Even if the surgery is a success, the patient’s recovery will be compromised.” Bianca fell to her knees again, slamming her forehead against the linoleum floor until it was bruised and bloody. “Claire, I’m begging you! Please, let Hugo do the surgery first! My daughter is my life, I can’t lose her! You’re a mother, too. How can you not understand how I feel?” Her pathetic display won the sympathy of the onlookers. The head nurse’s face hardened. “Claire, if you continue this, we will call security!” Even Hugo, still under the threat of my knife, frowned. “Claire, can we please discuss this after the surgery? I know I’ve neglected you. I’ll do better. I promise I’ll spend more time with you.” “No need to call security,” I said, my voice ringing with cold clarity. I looked straight at Bianca, my gaze boring into her as if to expose the darkness in her soul. “I’ve already called the police.” “It only takes a moment to look at a body,” I announced to the room. “So who, exactly, is the one wasting time here? You’re doing everything in your power to stop me from seeing those remains. What unspeakable secret are you trying to hide?” My words seemed to finally penetrate the fog of prejudice. The nurses and doctors exchanged uncertain glances. It was true. Why would Bianca and the old man protest so violently against something that would take only a minute, especially if a child’s life was on the line? Panic flickered in Bianca’s eyes. Just then, two police officers arrived. “Who called in a suspected homicide?” At the word “homicide,” the atmosphere in the hallway shifted. “I did,” I said, turning to the officers. “I believe the child in that operating room is my son, who has been missing for three days. I request a DNA test.” “Officers, that’s my grandson in there!” the old man cried pitifully. A quick check of their system confirmed that the man did, in fact, have a grandson. “Officers, please, you have to help me,” Bianca wept. “Because of her, my daughter’s life-saving surgery can’t begin.” “Ma’am,” one of the officers said sternly to me, “that’s enough. Let the doctor go so he can do his job.” Seizing the opportunity, Hugo wrenched his arm free. He looked at me with an expression of profound disappointment. “Claire, I never imagined you were this far gone. Bianca has done nothing to you, yet you’re willing to let her daughter die. I must have been blind to ever fall for you.” A lunatic? Yes. I smiled a thin, sharp smile. I had been a lunatic since the moment I knew my son was gone. I turned the fruit knife around and pressed it against my own throat. “I am going to see that body,” I told the officers. “Or I will die right here, right now.” I pushed the blade harder. A thin line of blood welled up, tracing a path down my pale skin. Seeing that I was serious, the police finally relented and escorted me into the operating room. 2 I finally stepped inside. There, on the surgical table, was a small, cold body. My heart seized with a pain so sharp it stole my breath. It was him. It was my son. With a trembling hand, I lifted the white sheet. A small, unfamiliar face, half of it destroyed, stared up at me. It wasn’t Leo’s face. Hugo let out a sigh of relief. He turned on me, his voice glacial. “There. You’ve seen him. Are you satisfied? It’s not our son. Now get out so I can do my job!” I shoved his hand away and carefully pulled back the surgical gown. There, on the pale skin of his abdomen, was the distinct, puckered mark of a burn. And next to it, a small, heart-shaped birthmark. A guttural sob ripped from my throat. I looked at Hugo, my voice a broken rasp. “Look at this scar. Look at this birthmark. Now tell me again that this is not our son.” Hugo’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. The color drained from his face as his trembling fingers traced the outline of the burn. He knew that scar. He had been the one to accidentally cause it while taking care of Leo. The body on the table was his son. And moments ago, he had personally harvested his heart.

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In my last life, my best friend Jenna bought me a stack of scratch-off lottery tickets for my birthday. When I scratched the first one, my childhood sweetheart, the man I was about to marry, died. When I scratched the second, my adoring younger brother became Jenna’s loyal puppy, utterly devoted to her. When I scratched the third, my relationship with my parents shattered, and Jenna became the precious daughter they couldn’t bear to be without. By the time I was beaten to death by muggers on the streets of a foreign city, she had completely taken over my life, my family, my fortune—everything. She was living my happily ever after. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. Back at the exact moment Jenna handed me those cursed scratch-offs. … “Claire, are you ready yet? I’m right outside your building. When are we heading out for your birthday party?” Jenna’s voice crackled through the phone, and the cold reality hit me: I had been reborn. In my previous life, she’d insisted on throwing me a massive birthday bash. The stack of scratch-offs was her “gift.” But the moment I scraped the silver foil off the first ticket, my world collapsed. I got the call that my fiancé, Jim, was dead. I’d rushed to the hospital in a daze, but I was too late. I never even got to see him. His parents, in a strange and grief-stricken hurry, had already had him cremated. I was drowning in sorrow, but Jenna was there, pushing another ticket into my hand. “Scratch another one,” she’d urged, “it’ll cheer you up.” Like a fool, I listened. I scratched the second ticket. And just like that, my little brother, Leon—ten years my junior and always my shadow—announced he was in love with Jenna and wanted to marry her. Before I could even process his betrayal, Jenna made me scratch the third ticket. That was the final blow. My parents decided to formally adopt Jenna, making her their legal daughter, while they shipped me off to Europe with just the clothes on my back, leaving me to fend for myself. It all happened so fast I couldn’t even scream. One moment I was the heiress to my family’s fortune, the next I was destitute on a foreign street. A group of vagrants targeted me, stole what little I had, and beat me until my heart stopped. Meanwhile, Jenna slipped seamlessly into my life. She became the apple of my parents’ eye, she and Leon lived in blissful romance, and she ascended to the pinnacle of a life that was supposed to have been mine. Even as I died, I couldn’t understand how my perfect world had been so thoroughly dismantled, while Jenna, who came from nothing, had everything fall into her lap so perfectly. Now, hearing her voice on the phone was like listening to a death knell. She spoke again, her voice syrupy sweet. “Claire? You’re not saying anything. I’m already at your front door. Why don’t you just buzz me in?” Her words snapped me out of my trance. Whatever dark magic she’d used to steal my life, I knew one thing for certain: I had to get away from her. Now. I forced a lie through my lips, my voice trembling slightly. “Oh, sorry, Jenna. I’m not home.” “Not home?” Through the video doorbell, I saw her eyes narrow with suspicion as they flickered to my signature pink Porsche Panamera parked in the driveway. “That’s weird. Your car is right here.” Her tone shifted, becoming playful and cajoling. “Oh, I get it. You’re still in bed and don’t want to see anyone, right? Come on, it’s me! Just let me in, I’ll wait in the living room. It’s boiling out here, I’m practically melting…” She was insistent. At the same time, I heard my mom, drawn by the doorbell, heading for the door. I lunged forward and grabbed her arm, stopping her just in time. “Jenna, seriously, we’re not home,” I said into my phone, my voice firm. “My parents aren’t here either. The whole family went on a little road trip to the next state over.” I improvised, desperate. “Look, I’ll wire you some cash. Go hang out at the mall nearby for a bit.” Without waiting for a reply, I sent a thousand dollars to her account. Jenna was about to argue, but the notification of the transfer popped up on her screen. Her face instantly changed. “Oh, wow, thanks, Claire! Okay, I’ll just go to the mall closest to your place and wait for you. By the way, what time will you be back?” She was prying, trying to pin me down, but I wasn’t giving her anything else. “Gotta go, I get carsick,” I mumbled, hanging up before she could ask more. The second the call ended, the mask on the video feed dropped. Jenna’s sweet smile curdled into a look of pure, venomous disgust, laced with a familiar, burning jealousy. A chill snaked down my spine. The thought that I had once called this monster my best friend made me physically ill. But I was back. And this time, I still had a chance to fix everything. I sprinted back to my bedroom and started throwing things into a suitcase. My mom, utterly bewildered, followed me in. “Claire, honey, what are you doing? I thought you were going out with your friends for your birthday.” “I’m canceling the party, Mom. I have to go away for a while. And you and Dad need to leave, too.” “And Leon,” I added, my mind racing. “Book him a flight to Europe. He’s always wanted to see the World Cup, right? I’ll pay for his tickets.” I was a whirlwind of activity, booking flights and arranging transport before my mom could even form a question. She opened her mouth to protest, but I had already packed her a bag and was ushering her to the front door. “I’ve already called a car for you, Mom. It’ll pick you up and then get Dad from the office.” I sent a quick text to Leon. “I’ve let Leon know. Have a wonderful time in Europe, and call me when you land, okay?” I watched until the car carrying my mother disappeared down the street, but the knot of tension in my chest didn’t loosen. Mom, Dad, and Leon were safe, for now. If I was lucky, Jenna wouldn’t be able to get her claws into them. That left one person. My fiancé. Jim. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I dialed his number. “Claire! I was just about to call you,” his warm, familiar voice filled my ear. “So, what’s the plan for tonight? I’ve chartered a yacht. We can invite all your friends and have a real celebration.” Hearing him, so alive and happy, a sob caught in my throat, and I almost broke down right there. In my last life, this was how it happened. He’d gone to the yacht alone to set up a surprise fireworks display for me. That’s when the “accident” occurred. I never even saw him one last time before his greedy, degenerate brother rushed his body to the crematorium to get his hands on the inheritance. The next time I saw the love of my life, he was a jar of ash. Hearing his voice again, I could barely control the storm of emotions inside me, but I forced myself to stay calm. “Jim,” I said, my voice thick with unshed tears, “can we put the party on hold? Can I… can I just see you? Right now?” He immediately picked up on the distress in my voice. “Of course,” he said without hesitation. “Meet me at our usual spot? The coffee shop. I’ll be waiting.” I rushed out of the house, too paranoid to take my own car, terrified that Jenna might be watching. I hailed a cab instead. When I arrived, Jim was already there, a concerned look on his face. The moment I saw him, the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free, streaming down my cheeks. He was startled, fumbling to wipe them away with his thumb. “Claire, what is it? What’s wrong? Did I do something to upset you?” “No, Jim, no,” I choked out, grabbing his hand. “I’m just… I’m so happy to see you. Let’s go inside.” I wiped my face and pulled him toward the most secluded corner booth in the cafe. The warmth of his hand in mine was the only thing that felt real, the only proof I needed that he was still alive, still here. Looking at his face, so full of love and concern for me, I swore an oath to myself. This time, I would protect him, no matter what it took. Clutching his hand, I pleaded, “Jim, please, can we just cancel the party tonight?” “Cancel it? Why?” he asked, confused. “You were the one who said you wanted to do something big, since it’s your last birthday before we get married. I pulled a lot of strings to get the best yacht in the harbor…” “I just… I don’t want to anymore,” I said, knowing how weak it sounded. My flimsy excuse wasn’t enough to convince him. Left with no other choice, I had to tell him the unbelievable truth. “Jim, whether you believe me or not, I know that you’ll die because of this party tonight. You are too important to me. I can’t lose you.” My voice was nearly a sob, choked with fear, but he just saw it as pre-wedding jitters. He squeezed my hand reassuringly, his smile gentle. “Claire, I know you’ve been under a lot of stress with the wedding planning. That’s why I wanted to do something special for you. It’s going to be fine, I promise. Just relax and let me take care of everything.” Seeing that he wouldn’t believe me, that he was walking straight into the same trap, I took a ragged breath, my heart pounding with desperation. I had to make him understand. “You’ve arranged a fireworks show on the yacht, haven’t you?” He looked surprised. “Ninety-nine shells in total,” I continued, my voice gaining momentum. “One of them is a custom design, one you made yourself. You call it the ‘Lover’s Gift.’ It’s all in shades of blue, and at the end, it’s supposed to explode into the shape of a giant, shimmering rose-cut diamond ring.” Jim’s jaw dropped. “Did my assistant tell you?” he stammered. “No, that’s impossible. I haven’t shown the design schematics to anyone. How… how could you possibly know that?” Tears of frustration welled in my eyes. I gripped his hand tighter. “Jim, nobody told me! Please, just trust me. Let’s not do the party. Let’s just go somewhere else, you and me. We can just be together, quietly, until the night is over. Please?” The raw terror on my face must have gotten through to him, because for a moment, I saw his resolve waver. He was about to nod, about to agree, when a sickly sweet voice cut through the air. “Claire! So you were already here! Why didn’t you tell me?” Jenna. She was standing over our table, a triumphant glint in her eyes as she took in the scene. “Here,” she said, pushing a familiar object into my hands. “This is your birthday present. May you have a lifetime of luck.” It was a stack of scratch-off tickets. My body went rigid. The horrifying memories of my past life flooded my mind, vivid and suffocating. In a single, convulsive movement, I swept my arm across the table, knocking the tickets to the floor. Everyone in the near vicinity froze, startled by my sudden outburst. Jim bent down to pick them up, but a strangled scream tore from my throat. “DON’T TOUCH THEM!” He stopped, his hand hovering in mid-air. With a feigned gasp of clumsiness, I “accidentally” knocked my full cup of coffee over, sending the dark liquid cascading off the table and all over the scattered tickets on the floor. They were ruined. Soaked through. A wave of profound relief washed over me. “Oh, Jenna, I’m so sorry,” I said, forcing a tone of sincere apology. “I’m such a klutz today. I’ll get someone to clean this up right away.” A moment later, the soggy, useless paper was swept into a garbage can. I saw the flash of bitter disappointment in Jenna’s eyes. I thought it was over. I grabbed Jim’s hand, ready to flee, but Jenna’s fingers clamped around my arm. “Claire, I can’t believe my special gift for you ended up in the trash like that.” Her voice was tight. “Anyway, I bet Jim has a big surprise planned for you tonight, right? Why don’t we all head over to the yacht he rented?” She gestured to a large shopping bag at her feet. “I even brought you an evening gown. It’s gorgeous!” She held the bag out to me. Inside, there was indeed a beautiful dress. Even though this detail was new, not part of my memories from the last life, my entire being recoiled from anything she offered. “That’s okay,” I said, pushing the bag away. “The party’s canceled. I won’t need it.” I tried to pull away, to leave this nightmare, but she held on tight, refusing to let me go. Every excuse I made, she batted away with a saccharine-sweet counter-argument. Finally, her voice took on a sharp, accusatory edge. “Claire, you’ve been avoiding me ever since I called you this morning. I took three days off work just to come celebrate with you. Or is it that you… you don’t want to be my friend anymore?” Of course I don’t, I wanted to scream. The memory of what she did to me made me want to tear her limb from limb. But I couldn’t say that. Not here. Not now. Thankfully, Jim saw the corner I was in and stepped in smoothly. “You’ve misunderstood,” he said, his tone calm and firm. “I’m not feeling well. Claire was just about to take me to the hospital, so we had to cancel the party.” He glanced at his watch. “Our appointment is in a few minutes. If you’ll excuse us.” He guided me out of the coffee shop with a steady hand on my back. I saw a flash of pure hatred in Jenna’s eyes, but I didn’t care. I had escaped her, and I had escaped those cursed scratch-offs. We were standing on the street corner. I turned to thank him, to explain, but the words never came. Out of nowhere, a massive truck came barreling towards us, its horn blaring. I didn’t even have time to scream before Jim shoved me hard, pushing me out of its path. Then, the sickening crunch of metal against flesh. His body was thrown through the air like a rag doll. He landed in a crumpled heap on the asphalt. He lay in a rapidly spreading pool of his own blood. The truck, realizing what it had done, screeched to a halt before speeding away. In the fading evening light, I saw the words stenciled on its side: FLAMMABLE – KEEP AWAY FROM FIRE. It was a fireworks truck.

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At our ring exchange, the ballroom screen flickered to life—showing me bound and violated, not our smiling faces. Julian dropped my hand like poison, sliding the ring onto my best friend’s finger instead. As I stumbled from the red carpet, Dante—her brother, the syndicate boss—caught me. A gunshot silenced the hall. Then, ten chests of gold arrived as his bride price, and he proposed on the spot. Three years later, IVF succeeded. But overhearing Dante’s conversation shattered me: “Leaking Anya’s video let Peaches marry into the Sterling family. Her womb was just a vessel for Peaches’ heir.” I dialed his rival, voice steel-cold: “A billion-dollar deal. Interested?” 1 The vile banter inside the room continued. “You’re a clever one, Boss. Swapping her prenatal vitamins with abortion pills so she couldn’t conceive naturally… forcing her into IVF. She’d probably die of rage if she knew you’d already switched the embryo with one from Peaches and Julian.” “Whether she lives or dies is none of my concern,” Dante’s voice was casual. “After the birth, I’ll just make up some excuse, say the baby didn’t make it. She’ll just blame herself for not being able to carry it to term. It’s her honor to pave the way for Peaches’ happiness.” He tossed the lighter onto the table and stood up, his voice a low warning to everyone in the room. “Not a single word of what was said today leaves this room. I need her to deliver this baby without any complications.” I heard his man, a brute named Marco, slap his chest and laugh. “Don’t worry, Boss. That woman is dumb as a rock. We call her ‘Mrs. Dante’ and she actually thinks she’s the queen of this castle. She brings us food and drinks every day, completely clueless that I was the one who hand-picked the guys for that video.” Someone else roared with laughter. “Marco, you’re too much! Why didn’t you pick me back then? I would’ve loved a taste…” A fruit knife flew through the air, embedding itself in the floorboards right between the man’s legs. He went pale with terror. “Have I not made myself clear?” Dante’s voice was a low growl. “Anya is my wife now. Anyone who dares to bring that up again, I will personally end him.” A younger subordinate mumbled, “Boss, it seems like you’re not entirely indifferent to her. She’s head over heels in love with you. Aren’t you afraid she’ll leave you when she finds out the truth?” Dante scoffed. “So what? I’ll just knock her up again. Support her for the rest of her life. She’s a tainted, love-sick fool. A few sweet words and she’ll be licking my hand like a dog.” The room erupted in laughter again. I stood frozen in the hallway, feeling as if I’d been struck by lightning. I clamped my hand over my mouth, choking back sobs that threatened to escape. Footsteps approached the door. I spun around and fled downstairs, pouring myself a glass of the strongest whiskey and downing it in one go. The burn was searing, a fire racing to my head, and the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. I clutched my chest, the poison of their words echoing in my mind. A week before my original wedding, I was kidnapped and endured a living hell for a day and a night. My then-fiancé, Julian, had held my hand, swearing he still loved me and wanted to marry me. But at the altar, he’d watched that video play and abandoned me, leaving me to be branded a whore by the world. It was Dante who had stormed in, shooting the screen to pieces, pulling me into his arms, and fiercely shielding me from the jeers and insults. He’d presented me with ten chests of gold, telling me he had loved me for years and would die without regret if he could not have me as his wife. His unwavering gaze had conquered me. And now, he was telling me it was all for Peaches. No wonder Peaches had looked at me with that strange, knowing smile on my wedding day to Dante. I was kidnapped because she had called me, claiming her car broke down and asking me to pick her up. She knew all along. It was all a setup. She was mocking my stupidity, reveling in the fact that she had a man who would do anything for her. And the three years of care and affection from Dante? A charade. A performance to squeeze every last bit of usefulness out of me. I had mistaken my executioner for my savior. How utterly laughable. My nails dug into my palms. I bit down, hard, the pain and hatred churning in my chest, the tears unstoppable. A familiar scent enveloped me. Dante was kissing the corner of my eye, his brow furrowed in what looked like concern. He roared at the room, “Which one of you sons of bitches made my wife cry? I’ll fucking kill him.” The hall fell silent, everyone holding their breath. He pulled a gun from his waistband and pressed it into my hand, wrapping his arms around me and guiding my hand to aim at the crowd. “Baby, you see anyone you don’t like, you just pull the trigger. I’ve got your back.” The men he aimed at trembled like leaves, but none dared to move. In this country, Dante was the king of one of the two largest syndicates. No one crossed him. I stopped when the barrel was pointed at Marco. Marco’s eyes widened, his face white with fear. The words ‘I was the one who hand-picked the guys for that video’ screamed in my ears like a curse. My chest heaved. My eyes were red with fury. I was about to squeeze the trigger when Dante pushed the gun down. 2 “Sweetheart, the doctor said the IVF was a success. Let’s not see any blood. We don’t want to scare the baby.” His voice was a gentle coax, his eyes filled with a concern so convincing I almost applauded his performance. Sensing my mood, Dante noticed the empty glass in front of me. He took my hand. “Honey, how long have you been here? Why didn’t you come upstairs to find me?” His words were laced with a careful, probing caution. I looked down. “You men were talking business upstairs. It was all smoke and noise. I didn’t feel like it.” He let out a breath of relief and stroked my head, ordering a maid to bring me a sobering tea. The moment she handed it over, he raised his gun and shot her in the head. I didn’t even have time to react. Thick, warm blood splattered across my face. The maid’s hand was still outstretched, her eyes wide in disbelief as she collapsed. My lips trembled. My stomach seized violently. Dante acted as if nothing had happened. He holstered his gun, carefully wiped my face with his sleeve, and then held the cup of tea to my lips, feeding me sip by sip. I swallowed mechanically, my entire body shaking. In my peripheral vision, I saw Marco’s men drag the maid’s body away, leaving a long, winding trail of blood on the polished floor. “Couldn’t even watch my wife to make sure she didn’t drink,” Dante muttered, his voice cold. “That’s a threat to my son. She didn’t deserve to live.” I stared at his ruthless face, my stomach churning. He touched my cheek, his voice softening again. “It’s all my fault, baby. I’ve made you suffer so much. Now that we finally have our baby, you can’t touch alcohol again, understand?” He added, “No matter what, this child has to be born healthy. You know that, right?” I took several deep breaths before managing a dry, brittle, “Okay.” My heart was frozen solid. In three years of marriage, I had been pregnant six times. Each time, I miscarried for no apparent reason, eventually leading to recurrent pregnancy loss. Six months ago, the doctors told me I could never conceive again. Dante had held me, heartbroken, telling me he didn’t care about children, that all he wanted was my happiness and health. The guilt of not being able to give him a child had eaten away at me. After extensive research, I chose the arduous path of IVF. My stomach became a pincushion, and I swallowed handfuls of hormone pills. All that suffering, only to be a surrogate for Peaches. Because she was afraid of pain, I was to be stripped of my right to be a mother, reduced to a breeding machine. “What’s wrong? You look so pale. Are you not feeling well? I’ll get the doctor right now.” “I’m fine. Just some morning sickness.” Dante’s eyes reddened with feigned sympathy. He stroked my face. “My poor wife, you’re going through so much. I wish I could bear this for you. We rushed our wedding… I’ve ordered you a custom-made wedding gown, your favorite designer. Let’s go try it on tomorrow before your belly gets too big.” I stared at him, at his deeply affectionate eyes, playing me for a fool, time and time again. If he knew I had no intention of carrying this child to term, my fate would be the same as that maid’s. I forced a smile. “I’m going to go rest. You guys carry on.” The moment I was back in our room, I ran to the bathroom and retched until my stomach was a knot of pure agony. Tears streamed down my face, the physical pain a fraction of the agony in my heart. After a long while, I pulled myself together. That’s when I saw it—Dante’s phone, left forgotten on the coffee table. On impulse, I picked it up. I only had to try once. Peaches’ birthday. It unlocked. The screen lit up with a photo of Peaches, leaning against his shoulder, her smile radiant. I scrolled through his photo gallery. Over five thousand photos, and Peaches was in every single one. He had them organized into four folders, chronicling different periods of her life. Each folder was labeled with a single word. Together, they spelled out: My Only Love. In their chat history, I saw that Dante had once risked his life to steal a royal crown for her. I suddenly remembered that night. He’d come back with two bullet wounds, barely clinging to life. It was I who had traded my mother’s only heirloom, a priceless antique amulet, to the royal family to get him back. And why? Because Peaches had casually mentioned she wanted to feel like a queen for her 25th birthday party. A tear fell onto the screen. My heart felt like it was being shredded. It wasn’t the pain of years of deception. It was that for this monster who had destroyed me, I had given away the only thing my mother had left me. Through blurry eyes, my gaze fell on the crescent-moon-shaped birthmark on Peaches’ right shoulder. My own eyes widened in shock. I have the exact same birthmark, in the exact same spot. I remembered when I first met Peaches, she didn’t have it. It was only after I told her about the time I’d saved a man covered in blood while working as a doctor without borders in a war-torn country that she started to distance herself from me. Soon after, she became Dante’s “adopted sister,” and he began telling everyone that Peaches had saved his life. But Peaches was a coward, terrified of hardship. She had never set foot in that country; in fact, she openly despised it. My cold fingers curled into fists. A wild, horrifying suspicion began to form in my mind. So that’s how it was. I collapsed to the floor, caught between hysterical sobs and bitter laughter. 3 A long time later, I wiped my tears, composed myself, and found the number I was looking for. “I have a business proposition for you,” I said. “Worth a billion dollars. Interested?” “What kind of business?” “In three days, I need you to kidnap me.” I gently stroked my stomach. “It’s a ransom Dante will be more than willing to pay.” Just as I hung up, Dante walked in. He was drunk, stumbling slightly, but his senses were still sharp enough to grab my hand. “What am I willing to pay for?” Without batting an eye, I replied, “I saw a necklace I liked. They said I need to put down a deposit.” He laughed, his head slumping onto my shoulder. “Fine, I’ll pay. I’ll pay for everything, Peaches. Whatever you want, big brother will get it for you. I’m yours too.” My face remained a mask. I helped him to bed, covered him up, and lay beside him, wide awake, for the rest of the night. The next day, on our way to the bridal salon, Dante took a call. His expression turned frantic. “Honey, a shipment got held up. I have to go deal with it.” He squeezed my hand, his voice full of apology. “I’m so sorry. I promise, I’ll take you to try on the dress tomorrow. I also ordered us a set of matching rings, ‘One Life, One Love.’ We can try them on together tomorrow, okay?” I pulled my hand away. “I understand. Go on. I’ll be a good girl and wait for you at home.” He squeezed my hand again, and the moment I stepped out of the car, he sped off. Less than ten minutes later, Marco’s car pulled up. As soon as I got in, a photo popped up on my phone. It was Peaches, wearing a stunning diamond ring and the very custom-made gown I had picked out, kneeling on a man’s lap. The man’s hand was on her thigh, visible through the sheer fabric. His lips were kissing the crescent birthmark on her right shoulder, his eyes smoldering with lust. A voice message followed. “I can only get it up at night if I close my eyes and pretend she’s you, Peaches. My sweet Peaches. Big brother misses you so much. Take care of your big brother, won’t you?” The husky voice was followed by a ragged, suppressed gasp. In the silent car, Marco’s sneer broke the quiet. I was startled, only then realizing the scenery outside wasn’t the way home. “Marco, I’m Dante’s wife! What do you think you’re doing?” The car screeched to a halt. I immediately tried to open the door on the other side, but he was faster. He lunged across the seat, grabbed my ankle, and dragged me out of the car. Pain exploded behind my eyes. I gritted my teeth and glared at him. “I’m carrying Dante’s child. If anything happens to me, you won’t live to see another day.” “You idiot,” a shrill laugh came from behind me. I realized we were in a deserted alley not far from the bridal shop. Peaches was standing there, her heel grinding into my face, her eyes filled with triumphant glee. “Did you really think my brother would let a filthy woman like you carry his child?” Marco came over, wrapped his arm around her waist, and squeezed. To my utter shock, they kissed passionately. After a long moment, Marco slowly spoke, “You overheard us at the club the other day, didn’t you? Too bad for you, the embryo in your belly isn’t Peaches’ either. I just grabbed a random one from some homeless beggar in the slums and had it swapped.” I snapped my head up, my pupils trembling. Peaches laughed until she was breathless. “Oh, look at you now. Filthy inside and out. A bastard’s baby and a whore for a mother. Anya, what’s the difference between you and a prostitute? At least they get paid. You’re actually paying to carry a bastard.” She cackled. “Is one enough? Or should we stuff a whole litter in you? Like a pig, hahaha.” My mind roared. A thick, metallic taste filled my throat. I screamed, grabbing a rock from the ground, wanting nothing more than to smash their faces in. Marco kicked me in the stomach. I fell forward, vomiting a mouthful of blood, my face pale with agony. But just then, Peaches suddenly stumbled backward in mock terror, theatrically falling to the ground. She didn’t even have a scratch on her, but Dante, who came running at that exact moment, stepped right over my hand to rush to her side. He pulled her into his arms, his eyes filled with raw panic. “Peaches, what happened? Are you hurt?”

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On the eve of my coronation, my mother erased me from the royal bloodline, declaring Rose—my lowly scullery maid—the true heir of Beaumont. My once-doting father met me with contempt: “How could I share blood with a slave’s spawn?” At the palace gates, my childhood love, the king, turned me away—only to welcome Rose moments later, his voice dripping with affection: “Nothing stops you from being my queen now.” To ensure Rose’s unblemished debut, Mother ordered the guards to break my legs and discard me like trash. As I lay dying in the storm, fever ravaging my broken body, the face in the rain puddle stared back—undeniable proof of my mother’s features. Then I awoke—reborn on the day of my disownment. I woke to the day it all went wrong. Caskets of jewels and silks, gifts from the palace, were being carried into the Beaumont estate like a river of treasure. Yet, as I stood there, a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air settled deep in my bones. I felt as if I’d been struck by lightning, unable to muster even a flicker of joy. The maids in the courtyard buzzed around the lavish gifts, their chatter a meaningless drone. My eyes, however, found her instantly. Rose. Huddled in a corner with a broom, she didn’t join the others. She just swept silently, her gaze darting towards the treasure, a poison of envy and resentment clouding her eyes. A girl like Rose, a mere drudge, was someone even my personal handmaidens wouldn’t deign to speak to. And yet, this insignificant, overlooked girl… My legs trembled, a ghost of that agony, sharp as shattered bone, shooting through me. Because I knew. This very evening, the mother who had cherished me would storm into my chambers with the elders of our house. Her face, usually a mask of serene grace, would be twisted with a venom I’d never seen. She would point a trembling finger at my face and scream: “Behold! The slave’s whelp who has stolen my daughter’s place for more than a decade!” “Honored elders! Today, I cleanse the name of House Beaumont!” In my memory, my mother wielded a thin, cruel cane, bringing it down on me again and again. The places it struck blossomed into ugly, purple bruises, a testament to her newfound cruelty. I had been raised like a delicate flower, sheltered from the slightest harm. Seeing this stranger who wore my mother’s face, I choked back the pain. “Mother! What are you saying? I am to be crowned tomorrow! How can I not be your daughter?” She paused at my words, and for a fleeting second, relief washed over me. I thought I could reason with her, understand this madness. But her eyes were chips of ice. She turned to the elders, her voice ringing with cold conviction. “You all see it! This pretender still dreams of a crown. If she were to succeed, she would bring shame not only upon our house, but upon the entire kingdom!” “Today, as the Duchess of Beaumont, I declare that Catherine is no longer a daughter of this house! Her name will be struck from our family records!” I was trapped in a vortex of gazes—pity, shock, scorn, and a sickening flicker of triumph from the servants. But what broke me was my mother’s eyes. The love that had once warmed me was gone, replaced by a raw, undisguised hatred. She spat the word “slave” at me, her noble bearing, her years of practiced grace, all forgotten. It was as if I was her most reviled enemy. How? How could the woman who had treasured me for sixteen years, who had held me as the jewel of her life, suddenly despise me? A sob tore from my throat, and I fell at her feet, trying to clutch at her gown as I had done so many times as a child seeking comfort. “Mother, I am your daughter… I am…” She recoiled, kicking me squarely in the chest. “Silence! You are the daughter of a slave!” Her gaze, now filled with a tearful, tender light, found Rose cowering in the corner. “The true lady of this house… forced to serve this impostor for sixteen years!” “Rose,” I whispered the name, the memory sharp as glass. The girl who was still just a cleaner, her face hidden behind a thick fringe of hair, stepped forward, trembling. “Yes, my lady? What do you require?” Though my courtyard was full of servants, I remembered her. She’d started in the kitchens, a small, clumsy girl, always bullied by the others. One day, she’d let a pot burn, nearly starting a fire, and the head cook had beaten her mercilessly. I’d taken pity on her—a girl my own age—and had her moved to the courtyard to do simple sweeping. I never imagined my act of kindness would be seen as an insult. That night, cradled in my mother’s arms, Rose had spoken in a pitiful whisper. “Me? Your daughter? A lady of the house? How can that be…? I’m just a cleaner here. Anyone can spit on me.” My mother’s heart had broken for her. “You are not a cleaner! You are the jewel of this house! From this day on, we’ll see who dares to harm you!” Watching the tender scene replay in my mind, I couldn’t help but speak my past words aloud in a bitter murmur. “If you were unhappy with your duties, you could have said something…” In the memory, my mother’s hand had cracked across my face. “Silence! How dare you, a slave’s child, speak to Rose like that? Do you still think you are a lady?” My cheek had swelled instantly. One of the elders, a man who had watched me grow, spoke with hesitation. “My lady Duchess, how can you be so certain? That Catherine is not your child?” “Because I have proof!” my mother had declared, her voice ringing with triumph. “My true daughter was born with a small, crescent-shaped birthmark on her temple.” She had swept aside Rose’s hair, and there it was, for all to see. A small, faint blue mark. The room was empty now, save for me and Rose. “My lady, I’m not assigned to your personal chambers…” she began, her voice meek. I cut her off. Closing the distance between us, I ripped the heavy fringe of hair from her forehead. There it was. The birthmark I didn’t have. Seeing her flinch and cower, I didn’t mince words. “You already know what’s going to happen today, don’t you?” A flicker of confusion—or perhaps, practiced innocence—crossed her face. “My lady? I… I don’t understand what you mean.” I didn’t miss the glint of something else beneath the fear. I leaned in, my voice a low, deliberate whisper. “Rose. Beaumont.” Her eyes darted away, but not before I saw it: a flash of triumph mixed with her feigned confusion. A cold smile touched my lips. “A rat from the gutter,” I murmured, my voice dripping with scorn. “You’ve certainly schemed hard to reach the palace floors, haven’t you?” Her mask shattered. Her face darkened, the meekness vanishing like smoke. “Catherine,” she sneered, “are you introducing yourself?” Just as I suspected. She knew everything. With her victory so close, she saw no more reason to pretend. She strode to the center of the room, to the magnificent gown displayed on a mannequin. The Queen’s Gown. It had taken a hundred weavers half a year to create, a breathtaking masterpiece of silk and gold thread. Rose caressed the exquisite fabric, her eyes burning with an ambition she no longer bothered to hide. “The title of Lady Beaumont is mine. And the throne of the Queen will be mine, too.” She turned to me, her face alight with petty victory. “This gown should be under royal guard until the coronation. Do you know why it’s here, in your room?” She leaned closer, her voice a triumphant hiss. “It’s because Arthur wanted me to see it first. A private viewing, for his true queen.” She had admitted it. She and King Arthur were already lovers. He knew what was coming today. He was in on it all. And the me of my past life had been blissfully, stupidly, waiting to marry him. I had walked straight into their trap, a lamb to the slaughter, and never suspected a thing. In the years of his ascension, every prince had vied for the support of House Beaumont. But only Arthur, being closest to my age, had gotten near me. He was the one who would ride for hours just to pick the first spring blossoms for me. The one who would recklessly scale the walls of our estate, all for a single glimpse. “To others, you are Lady Catherine Beaumont,” he would whisper, his breath warm against my ear. “But to me, you are just Catherine. It has nothing to do with titles or status. Even if you were a commoner, you would be the queen of my heart.” A young man’s promises. So earnest. So easy to believe. So easy to break. The moment I lost my title and my name, the very gates of the palace were barred to me. The boy who was my last hope for salvation simply turned his back. Then, he emerged from the gates to welcome Rose. “Rose, my love,” he’d said, his voice carrying on the wind. “Nothing can stop you from being my queen now.” From her sedan chair, Rose had shot me a look of pure, mocking triumph. “Did you really think he scaled those walls for you? He was climbing for the quiet maid who tended your gardens. He brought you all those flowers because he knew you’d share them with the staff, and that I would get one, too.” Her smile was a slash of red. “What good were your sixteen years as a duchess’s daughter? The truth is, Catherine, you never even stood a chance.” Listening to her taunts, seeing the guilt flicker in Arthur’s averted eyes, I finally understood the words his chamberlain had spoken to me just moments before, a gentle but firm refusal. “The late king decreed that the eldest daughter of House Beaumont would be the future queen. Even if His Majesty holds some affection for you, my lady, he cannot defy his father’s final command.” Arthur. His charming eyes, so full of practiced devotion, could make anyone feel like they were the center of his world. My gaze fell upon the wedding gown before me. With a swift, deliberate motion, I pulled a long, sharp pin from my hair. Rose gasped and scrambled back. “Are you mad?! If you dare to harm me…” The pin sliced through the priceless silk, a clean, vicious tear. I tossed it aside. “You’re new to this world, Rose,” I said, my voice dangerously calm as she stared in horror at the ruined gown. “You’ll learn that the more beautiful something is, the more easily it can be destroyed.” She rushed forward, cradling the torn fabric as if it were a dying bird. “Do you have any idea how precious this is? What am I supposed to wear tomorrow?!” I shoved her aside, snatching the gown back. “This is my gown. You needn’t worry about it.” Her eyes were daggers of pure hatred. “He doesn’t love you!” she shrieked. “And after today, you’ll be nothing but a slave’s daughter! You dare to still dream of being queen?” I raised an eyebrow and pushed open the doors to the antechamber, where my handmaidens were already gathered, drawn by the commotion. “What are you waiting for?” I commanded, my voice ringing with authority. “This woman has lost her mind. Drag her out.” My maids, loyal and unhesitating, seized a stunned Rose, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Fifty slaps to the face,” I added coolly. “Then lock her in the stables. Let her cool her head.” Rose, with a sudden burst of strength, bit down hard on a maid’s hand and screamed, “We’ll see how long your arrogance lasts!” Another maid immediately struck her across the face, and a rough cloth was stuffed into her mouth. I heard one of them mutter, “What was she thinking? A mere cleaner, insulting her lady.” I looked down at the struggling, muffled form of Rose on the floor. “I’d be quiet if I were you. Don’t tempt me to change my mind and have you dealt with right here, right now.” My voice dropped to a glacial whisper. “You wonder how long I can be arrogant? For now, I am the mistress, and you are the servant. Have sixteen years as a slave taught you nothing?” Fear warred with rage in her eyes, but before she could react, she was dragged away. Watching the sun begin its descent, I clutched the ruined gown. “Prepare the carriage,” I ordered. The Gilded Needle was the most renowned tailor in the capital. Its proprietor was a master artisan, sought after only by the highest echelons of nobility. But when I presented the gown and my request, he shook his head, his face etched with worry. “Lady Catherine, this gown is a masterpiece. You know the work that went into it. It is impossible to repair it in a single night.” “If you can’t, someone else can. I wish to see your master.” “You jest, my lady. My master knows nothing of needlework. How could he possibly fix this?” “Oh, he can fix it,” I said, my voice serene. “And if he can’t, he can replace it.” That night, in the pouring rain of my past life, someone had offered me a hand. But with my legs broken on my own mother’s orders, my spirit had already died. This time, I would not allow myself to be trampled into the dust. The sky was bleeding into shades of twilight when the door finally opened. The man who entered surveyed the room, his eyes finally landing on me. “Do you have any idea what you are doing?” he asked, his voice a low baritone. My gaze fell to the intricate chessboard he kept in the room. “Even the most flawless strategy has a weakness,” I replied, meeting his eyes. “And even if I must become a pawn in my own game, I will still win this wager against fate.” Returning from The Gilded Needle, I was met not by a storm, but a hurricane. My parents stood there, their faces contorted with rage, protectively cradling a weeping Rose, her cheeks swollen and red. The accusations were harsher this time, the curses more vile. One of the elders, the same man from my memory, spoke up. “My lady Duchess, how can you be so certain? That Catherine is not your child?” My mother’s voice was laced with venom. “When Rose was born, the labor was difficult. I never saw her face. That was when some treacherous soul saw their chance to switch the infants.” I seized on the flaw in her story. “If you never saw the newborn’s face, Mother, how can you be so sure your true daughter has a birthmark on her temple?” I expected hesitation, a moment of doubt. Instead, she strode forward and slapped me, hard, all remnants of our shared history incinerated in her fury. “It seems you won’t accept the truth until it’s shoved down your throat! Guards! Bring in the slave!” Her voice was a shriek. “Let’s reunite you with your wretched mother. Consider it my final act of charity after sixteen years of raising you.” Even though I had lived this before, the pain was a fresh wound. Tears welled in my eyes. Sixteen years. From a stumbling toddler to the most celebrated lady in the capital. Even if we shared no blood, had she not raised me? Did she not know the core of my being? My mother was frail, prone to terrible headaches every winter. It was I who sat by her bed through every snowfall, tending to her personally, never entrusting the task to a servant. How could she cast aside sixteen years of love and devotion so easily? A woman in rough-spun clothes, her body covered in bruises, was dragged before us. She screamed, her voice cracking with terror. “Stop hitting me! I confess! I did it! I switched my daughter for the Duchess’s baby! Rose is the true lady of the house! Please, stop… I’ll pay with my life! Is that not enough?!” Before anyone could react, the woman launched herself headfirst at a nearby stone pillar. A sickening crack. And then, silence. The key witness was dead. Case closed.

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His first love, the woman my husband called his “moonlight,” suffered from severe depression. The mere sight of me would send her into a self-harming spiral. So, to keep his precious moonlight safe, he sent me away. He didn’t care that I was nine months pregnant. He dumped me in his family’s dilapidated ancestral home in the countryside and forgot I existed. Five years after I was defiled and left for dead, his moonlight was diagnosed with kidney failure. The doctors said a blood relative would be the best match. Only then did he remember me—her older sister. He called, his voice a cold command, ordering me to come back at once. My five-year-old daughter answered the phone. Her small voice trembled. “Uncle…? My… my mommy… she’s been dead for a very long time.” 1 “Who is this?” Wayne Heins’s voice was sharp with impatience. “Where’s Beth? Put Beth on the phone!” My daughter, Jenifer, stammered, “You… you wait a minute.” She put down the receiver and ran to find the village elder. “Grandpa, someone’s on the phone for Mommy.” The old man, his back bent with age, shuffled to the phone. “Mr. Heins?” he asked. “You finally…” Hearing an old man’s voice, Wayne’s face darkened. He pressed his temples, taking a deep, calming breath, but his eyes, when they opened, were filled with a barely contained rage. “Where is Beth?” he snapped. “What, is she too scared to take my call? First she has some kid tell me she’s dead, now an old man? Is she going to try that line again?” His voice dripped with condescending fury. “She just wants me to come get her myself, doesn’t she? Fine. For Claire’s sake, I’ll drag her back myself.” He slammed the phone down without waiting for a reply. The next day, a sleek, black car wound its way through the forgotten country roads and pulled up in the village. Wayne stepped out, his expensive suit a stark contrast to the poverty surrounding him. He stared at the half-collapsed old house, his brow furrowed in disgust. The door hung open on one hinge. The inside was gutted, stripped of all furniture. Broken floorboards lay scattered amidst a thick carpet of dust and cobwebs. The windows were shattered. He shot an irritated glance at the young man who had guided him here. “Where is Beth? Tell her to get out here. If she agrees to donate a kidney to Claire, I’ll take her back.” The young man looked pained. “Mr. Heins, I… well, you see… maybe you should wait for the village elder?” Wayne’s eyes narrowed, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Just then, the elder arrived, leaning heavily on a cane. “Mr. Heins.” Wayne gave him a dismissive glance. “Beth. Where is she?” The elder tucked one hand behind his back. “Beth… she can’t come out to meet you.” A cold, mirthless laugh escaped Wayne’s lips. “What, are you going to tell me she’s dead? Tell her to stop with the petty games. I’m not in the mood. I came all this way to get her. What more does she want?” What more did I want? Nothing. I just wanted to live. I wanted to watch my daughter grow up. But I couldn’t even have that. My soul hovered nearby, watching him, a hollow ache where my heart used to be. Five years ago, on the very night I was sent here, I gave birth to Jenifer. A few weeks later, Claire found me. She was consumed with jealousy—that I had married Wayne, that I was carrying his child. First, she sent thugs to destroy the old house. Then, she sent them to harass me, day after day. Finally, she sent them to rape me and kill me. They left my broken body in the mountains for the wild dogs to devour. It was the village elder who noticed I was gone. He organized a search party. They found what was left of me and gave me a proper burial. 2 The elder stroked his thin beard, his eyes clouded with a deep sadness. “Beth,” he said with a heavy sigh, “has been dead for five years.” A mocking smile twisted Wayne’s lips. His expression grew colder, harder. “Do you take me for a child, old man? A woman like her? She’d never have the guts to die.” His hawk-like gaze swept over the villagers who had gathered. He barked an order at his bodyguards. “Find her. I don’t care if you have to tear this entire village apart.” I floated in the air, a silent phantom, as his men went from door to door, pounding on them violently. They shoved aside anyone who answered, storming into their homes, searching for me. The terrified villagers spilled out into the dirt road. The entire village was there, but I was nowhere to be seen. Wayne’s face grew uglier with every passing minute. He stalked over to the elder, his patience gone. He grabbed the old man by the collar. “Tell me. Where have you hidden her? You tell me now, and I might be merciful. Otherwise…” The elder just repeated what he’d said. Wayne’s temper snapped. With a sharp twist, he broke the old man’s wrist. The elder cried out in pain. A small figure darted from the crowd. A little girl in a clean, simple dress, her hair in two neat braids. Her eyes were wide with fear, but she ran to the elder’s side. “Grandpa, are you okay?” she cried. Wayne froze. He looked the little girl up and down, a strange sense of familiarity prickling at him. Jenifer, my brave little Jenifer, launched herself at Wayne, biting his leg with all her might. He kicked her away on instinct. She tumbled to the ground but scrambled back up, her eyes blazing with fury. “You’re a bad man! Grandpa told you, my mommy is dead! Why are you hurting him?” Wayne’s face changed. A dark, terrifying look entered his eyes as he stared at Jenifer. I panicked, instinctively drifting in front of my daughter to shield her, but I was just a ghost. He walked right through me. He snatched Jenifer up by her shirt, his eyes scrutinizing her face. Jenifer kicked and struggled, suspended in the air. Wayne stared at her face, so much like my own, and his voice was a low snarl. “You’re that bastard child.” His hand moved from her shirt to her throat. “Get Beth out here now,” he roared, “or I’ll snap this little bastard’s neck!” I screamed as I watched my daughter struggle for breath. “Wayne, I’m here! I’m right here! Let her go! Let Jenifer go!” But no one could hear me. Jenifer’s face was turning a deep red. I forgot I was dead. I lunged at Wayne, trying to bite the hand that was choking my daughter, but my teeth closed on empty air. The elder, seeing Jenifer begin to go limp, cried out through his pain, “Mr. Heins, wait! Jenifer is your…” Before he could finish, a bodyguard kicked him to the ground. He lay there, groaning in agony. Suddenly, Wayne let Jenifer go. She dropped to the ground, gasping. He swept his cold gaze over the crowd. “Beth,” he announced, his voice a venomous threat, “if you don’t show yourself in three days, I will kill that bastard child.” I looked at the elder, crumpled and broken, and at my daughter’s neck, bruised and purple. A tremor of pure, undiluted hatred ran through me. In that moment, I regretted ever loving him more than I had ever regretted anything in my life. 3 Three days passed in the blink of an eye. This time, Wayne brought Claire with him. The woman who had been so arrogant and triumphant five years ago was now a fragile, withered husk. Wayne lifted her from the car with infinite tenderness, placing her gently in a wheelchair. He tucked a blanket around her, his eyes filled with a pained adoration. All his gentleness was for her. For me, there was only ever impatience and contempt. The elder and I were waiting for them at the edge of the village. Of course, no one could see me. Wayne saw the elder standing alone, and his fury began to simmer. “Seeing Claire so weak… is Beth really so heartless? Refusing to help her own sister?” “Old man, if you hand Beth over, if she agrees to be tested as a donor, I’ll have this road paved. I’ll improve the living conditions for everyone in this village. I’ll even take Beth back as Mrs. Heins. And that bastard child… I will treat her as if she were my own.” He thought he was being generous. A magnanimous king making an offer to a peasant. But the elder gave him the same answer. “Mr. Heins, when Beth came back five years ago, she was constantly harassed by local thugs. I don’t know the exact circumstances of her death. I only know that when I realized she was missing, the whole village searched for her. We found her body in the mountains. It was… badly mauled. I gave her a burial, up on the back hill. You can see for yourself if you don’t believe me.” Wayne laughed, a harsh, disbelieving sound. “Are you kidding me? If she was dead, how was that little bastard born? How did she survive all these years?” The elder sighed. “Jenifer was born the night Beth arrived. After Beth died so suddenly… we couldn’t just abandon the child, could we?” At this, a flicker of something dark and surprised crossed Claire’s face. She knew exactly how I died. The memory was seared into my soul. I had just finished the traditional month of postpartum confinement. Claire showed up with three men. Before I could react, they seized me. She slapped me, again and again. Not satisfied, she ground her heel into my hand, crushing the bones in my fingers. I screamed. “You bitch, Beth!” she’d shrieked. “Why? Why were you born first? Why did you get to marry Wayne? He was supposed to love me!” I tried to speak, but she unleashed a torrent of kicks and punches, a storm of pure hatred. Her men held me down. Finally, I lay broken and dying on the floor. She leaned down, whispering in my ear. “The thought of you sleeping with him, having his child… it makes me sick, my dear sister. You dared to steal my man. For that, even if you are my sister, you have to die.” Then she gestured to the men. They tore at my clothes. They violated me. I don’t know how many times. At some point, I just… stopped breathing. And my soul watched as she ordered them to dump my body in the mountains. The universe has a way of balancing its books. Five years later, Claire’s karma had arrived. The one person who could save her, she had killed with her own hands. She knew, better than anyone, that Wayne’s efforts were futile. I was never coming back.

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1 I beat my wife, the woman who once loved me more than life itself, and sent her to the hospital. Then I walked into the police station and turned myself in. I did it because I remember my last life. I remember when her old flame, the one that got away, came back to town after his divorce. It started when he lost his mind in a Tiffany & Co., smashing display cases to pieces. It ended with him behind the wheel of a car, a blur of metal and fury, causing a catastrophic multi-car pile-up on the freeway. But it was the Tiffany’s manager and the victims of the crash who came for me. They pointed their fingers, their voices unwavering, and swore it was me. I fought to prove my innocence, but every security camera feed they produced showed my face. My own wife, Katie, insisted it was true, telling everyone my depression had finally pushed me over the edge. They didn’t wait for a trial. The family of a victim cornered me, and a blade in my gut was the final verdict. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. The day before he, Ethan, was set to destroy everything. … This time, I was the one who left Katie, battered and bruised, at the doors of the emergency room. My cold, impatient demeanor, coupled with the constellation of injuries covering her body, screamed a story far more violent than a simple fall. Two officers walked in. “Who called this in?” I immediately held my hands out to them, wrists together. “I did, Officer. I’m here to turn myself in. The woman I assaulted is in the ER right now.” The officer shot me a bewildered look. After a quick confirmation with a nurse, they cuffed me and led me away. The first thing Katie did after being discharged from the emergency room was try to post my bail. “I really just fell,” she pleaded with the police. “It has nothing to do with my husband.” I squared my jaw. “It wasn’t me? Then how did you ‘fall’ into a pattern of whip marks across your back?” Katie’s eyes blazed with a desperate, furious light. “Steve, you’re insane! I’m trying to save you!” But I was a stone wall. “I did something wrong. I deserve to be punished. It’s that simple.” She was trembling with rage, but no matter how she argued or begged, I stuck to my story: it was a deliberate, vicious assault. Given that I’d turned myself in and was so cooperative, the police decided to hold me for five days. Katie had no choice but to be wheeled back to her hospital room. And there, in the sterile silence of a holding cell, a profound peace washed over me. This time, I thought, none of it can touch me. In my last life, the moment Ethan returned to this city, he didn’t just reappear; he ripped the heart right out of my marriage. Katie was gone, pulled back into his orbit, leaving me to face my nights alone. I remember lying in a seedy clinic, enduring some quack’s electroshock “treatment” for a depression I never had. The pain was excruciating. Then my phone rang. It was Katie. “Ethan’s been drinking,” she’d said, her voice rushed. “I have to go get him. I’ll be back for you in a bit.” She left without even bothering to turn off the machine. She was gone for the entire day. I was left there, strapped down, convulsing, my screams echoing in an empty room. It took two full days at home just to regain enough strength to stand. I was about to confront her, to demand an explanation, when the news broke. Ethan had trashed the Tiffany’s downtown. Then, he’d taken his car onto the freeway, hitting 120 mph, and slammed into a chain of twenty cars. I had tried to be the good guy. I’d urged him to turn himself in, told him we could sell our assets, the car, the house, to compensate the victims. Ethan had just sneered at me. “Steve, you’re the one who caused a hit-and-run. You’re the one who smashed up a jewelry store. Why should I sell my things for your mess?” Then Katie had produced the divorce papers I’d been tricked into signing weeks before. “We’re already divorced, Steve,” she’d said, her voice devoid of any emotion. “You’re on your own. The house, the cars, they were always mine. Don’t even think about touching them.” I was lost. It was Ethan who had committed the crimes, so why was I the one being forced to pay? But then the store manager, the accident victims—they all descended on me, demanding blood. They even had the surveillance footage. And on every screen, clear as day, was my face. 2 “The evidence is right here, Steve. Are you still going to deny it? Pay up!” “A twenty-car pile-up! You couldn’t pay for this with your life!” I stared at the screen, at my own face, a phantom committing crimes I never did. My mind was a tangled mess. How could this be? But this life would be different. I would not walk that path again. Five days later, I was released. I hadn’t even taken my first breath of fresh air when a hand clamped down on my arm, hard. “You’re the bastard who put my wife in the hospital!” a man roared, his face contorted with rage. “I’m going to kill you!” He lunged, grabbing for my collar. I sidestepped, my reflexes sharp. Suddenly, I was surrounded. A crowd had materialized out of nowhere, their faces twisted with malice, their eyes hungry for a scapegoat. “Steve, you goddamn murderer!” “He’s faking it! The depression, all of it! He smashes up stores, drives like a maniac—he’s a menace!” The mention of “120 mph” caught the attention of passersby. Phones came out, screens lit up. Someone was live-streaming. Faced with the snarling mob, I clenched my fists. Even after locking myself away, they still wouldn’t let me go. I took a breath and steadied myself. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I projected, my voice loud and clear. “These are baseless accusations.” The guy with the live-stream sneered and held out another phone, a video playing on its screen. “Who’s accusing you? See for yourself.” The video showed me walking into Tiffany’s with my mother. After a brief, tense argument, my face twisted into a mask of rage. I hurled my phone, shattering a glass counter. My mother was there, grabbing at my arm, her voice shrill. “Steve, stop! Stop it! We can’t afford this!” But the me on the screen was unmoved. I shoved her away, sending her sprawling to the floor. My mother, lying on the polished marble, clutched her chest and screamed to the onlookers, “That’s my son, Steve! He has depression! He can’t control himself!” A cold dread washed over me, heavier than any I’d felt before. In my last life, it was Katie who stood outside Tiffany’s, screaming that I was mentally ill. But this time, the very first thing I did was put Katie in the hospital and myself in a jail cell for five days. And the person screaming my name, branding me with the scarlet letter of insanity, was my own mother. How? How could this be happening again? “Nothing to say now, huh?” the man spat. The Tiffany’s story was already a viral sensation. Now, with the “culprit” found, the live-stream exploded, rocketing to the top of the trending charts. I stood there, my expression frozen, my eyes locked on the face in the video—my face. The store manager shoved a crumpled receipt into my chest, his own chest heaving with fury. “You smashed three of my counters! The jewelry inside is all damaged to some degree. The total is five million dollars.” He was almost choking on his words. “Some of those pieces were one-of-a-kind. And now they’re gone. Because of you.” A man whose car was part of the pile-up stepped forward, his face a mask of fury. “My wife is three months pregnant! Your little joyride scared her so badly she’s in the hospital right now, fighting to keep our baby. And you had the nerve to flee the scene. You’re coming with me to the station, right now.” He grabbed my arm, trying to drag me away. “Yeah! People like you should get the death penalty!” someone yelled. The cry was taken up by the crowd, their anger a single, unified roar. I fought to break free, shouting over the noise, “Everyone, just calm down! It wasn’t me who did these things!” The manager scoffed. “Your own mother was shouting your name in my store. How could it not be you?” “The person who did this was Ethan!” I explained desperately. “He’s my wife’s old flame. Go ask her! He’s the one who trashed the jewelry store and drove like a maniac!” Just as I was trying to make them understand, a sharp, stinging pain exploded across my cheek. Katie. She had appeared from nowhere, and her hand had connected with my face in a vicious slap. 3 “You’re still trying to frame Ethan?” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “You’ll never change.” She grabbed the back of my head, trying to force me to my knees. “You’ve done enough damage. Now apologize to them!” I wrenched myself free. “It wasn’t me! Why should I apologize for something I didn’t do?” From behind her, Ethan peeked out, his face a perfect picture of wounded innocence. “Steve, how could you become like this?” he murmured, his voice laced with sorrow. “Katie is so good to you, and you put her in the hospital. Even now, she’s just worried about you, trying to get you a lighter sentence by having you apologize.” Ethan’s words were like gasoline on the fire of the crowd’s anger. Their glares intensified, thick with contempt. The live-stream chat filled with a torrent of abuse, and within minutes, someone had doxxed me, posting my home address for the world to see. I stared at Ethan. “I said it wasn’t me. Why are you so defensive?” Katie raised her hand to slap me again, but this time I caught her wrist. “I told you,” I said, my voice low and cold, “Ethan did this. What are you trying to do? Beat a confession out of me?” Seeing the attention shift back to him, Ethan cried out, “Steve, how can you accuse me like this? Yes, I know Katie and I were close once, but that was just a childhood friendship! To avoid any misunderstanding, I even moved to another city! I’ve put up with your paranoia for years, not because I’m afraid of you, but because I didn’t want to make your condition worse. Steve… it’s time to face reality.” His saccharine-sweet, manipulative performance was a masterpiece. The crowd ate it up. 【This guy’s sickness is his own damn fault. Paranoid, sees rivals everywhere.】 【The dude tries to help him and he just attacks him. What a psycho.】 【I bet his kid won’t be a child model lmao.】 The chat was a cesspool of mockery. Katie’s face flushed with anger. She kicked the back of my knee. “Apologize. Now.” Just then, my mother pushed her way through the crowd. She looked at me, her eyes filled not with maternal love, but with profound disappointment. “Steve,” she said, her voice heavy. “Go turn yourself in.” “We went to Tiffany’s together yesterday. The others might not know, but I’m your mother. How could I not know what you did?” Katie held my leg down. The crowd spat insults. Someone threw a rotten egg. It shattered against my skull, cold, stinking yolk slithering down my forehead. The commotion finally drew the attention of the police. “Stop! Everybody back off!” An officer pushed through, creating a barrier between me and the mob. He saw me and froze for a second, then his expression hardened. “Steve? You’re not even home yet and you’re already causing trouble?” Seeing him was like finding a life raft in a storm. I grabbed his arm. “Officer, thank God you’re here. You have to help me.” The man whose wife was in the hospital snorted. “Why would a cop help a piece of trash like you?” Katie sighed dramatically. “Steve, just confess. You might get a lighter sentence.” The officer looked at the chaotic scene, a frown creasing his brow as he finally pieced things together. “You’ve been out for ten minutes. What could you have possibly done now?” Ignoring the shocked faces around me, I began to speak, my voice steady. “They’re all saying I smashed up Tiffany’s yesterday. A luxury store I can’t even afford to walk into. They’re saying I was doing 120 on the freeway. And they all came straight here, demanding justice from me.” The officer’s face went blank. “How is that possible?” As the crowd exchanged confused glances, Katie shrieked, “Steve! What did you do to get the police on your side too? You caused millions in damages, you wrecked all those cars, people were hurt! How dare this officer cover for you!” 4 Her accusation was all it took. The live-streamer’s phone was instantly shoved in the officer’s face. The comments section flooded with theories of bribery and corruption. The officer’s face darkened as he saw the screen. “What the hell are you people talking about? Steve has been in police custody, in a holding cell, for the past five days. How could he possibly be the one who did all this?” A stunned silence fell over the crowd. The live-stream chat froze for a beat before erupting with even more frantic energy. 【Wait, so Steve was in jail for 5 days… but the guy who trashed Tiffany’s and caused the pile-up YESTERDAY… was also Steve?】 【Impossible. Unless Steve can teleport.】 The victims who had come for my blood now looked hesitant. I stood up straight, my voice ringing with sincerity. “Everyone, I don’t know why my face is on that surveillance video, but I can promise you, at the time of these incidents, I was in a cell, trying to be a better person. I never left.” A user in the live-stream chat suggested the video might be a deepfake. The Tiffany’s manager was the first to shoot that down. “No way. That’s from my store’s internal security system.” To get to the bottom of it, the officer called in a forensics team to analyze the footage. The result was baffling: the videos were authentic, unaltered. And the face in them was undeniably mine. The crowd erupted in confused chatter. Katie, her face a mask of feigned concern, her eyes darting nervously, suddenly had a flash of inspiration. “That is Steve. I’ve slept next to him for years, I know his face. He must have snuck out!” she declared. “He has depression! He probably faked being sick in jail so they’d take him to the hospital, and then he escaped from there!” Ethan gasped, playing his part perfectly. “That must be it! Steve used to do that all the time, use his ‘depression’ as an excuse to get to the hospital and then just sneak out!” He turned to the police. “Officer, the evidence is overwhelming! You have to arrest him!” His words were the spark that reignited the mob’s fury. They surged forward, their voices a unified chant: “Arrest him! Arrest him!” The officer’s face was grim. “During his time in custody, Steve was never taken to the hospital.” But just as he said it, another officer approached, his expression troubled. “Actually, sir… Steve did complain of feeling unwell yesterday. We were worried about his condition, so we did take him to the hospital for a check-up.” The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Ethan’s face lit up with triumph. “You see, Officer? I was right! Arrest him! He deserves life in prison for this!” Now, even the cops were looking at me with suspicion. I turned to them, my voice pleading. “Officers, you have to clear my name. I was brought in five days ago. Even when I was at the hospital yesterday, you were with me the whole time.” The second officer looked down, his voice barely a whisper. “For the urology exam… I didn’t go in with you.” Ethan seized on it instantly. “That’s it! He slipped out during the exam! That hospital isn’t far from Tiffany’s!” he shouted. “Confess, Steve, and maybe they’ll show you some mercy!” He put on a show of heartfelt concern, a performance that had the live-stream viewers praising his magnanimity. How could he be so forgiving to the man who had wronged him so? The crowd grew louder, more aggressive. They closed in, shoving, pushing. Hands grabbed at my clothes, my arms. I was a ship tossed in a storm, my face stinging from a fresh scratch. But as I was buffeted back and forth, a slow smile spread across my lips. Not because I had lost my mind. But because I knew Ethan would never let this go easily. And this time, I had come prepared. “STOP! I can prove Steve didn’t do any of this!” The voice cut through the chaos like a razor. My smile widened. The person I was waiting for had finally arrived.

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At the wedding I had meticulously planned myself, my stoic fiancé, my childhood friend, ran off with his assistant, who was also wearing a wedding gown. His younger brother, however, abruptly got into the wedding car with me, dragged me into the city hall despite my panic, and said we were getting married. The elaborate stage set suddenly collapsed, revealing a room full of guests all laughing at me. To make the little assistant smile, the two brothers I’d grown up with, the ones who’d sworn to protect me for life, tore up our fake marriage certificate and showered me with the pieces. The three of them stood on stage, interlocking arms to drink champagne. “The wedding you planned was so tacky. We changed it to a bachelorette party for Mia. You should be grateful.” “The real wedding is on Sunday! Isn’t Mia’s idea such a fun surprise?” They were so sure I couldn’t live without them. But I just calmly picked up my phone. “Let’s schedule the wedding with the heir of the Lucian family for this Sunday.” … An ecstatic reply instantly flooded my screen: “We’ll arrange the wedding design schedule immediately!” Mia pouted, leaning against Philip. “I’m not really the marrying type, you guys. I just wanted to experience what it feels like, and the Song brothers made it happen for me right away!” I didn’t answer. My phone was violently knocked out of my hand by Philip. “Are you deaf? Where are the manners the Song family taught you? Mia is pure-hearted. Do you have to be so petty that you can’t even answer her?” My fiancé, Nathan, stepped in front of me, shielding Mia. He glanced at my phone. “…What schedule? Are you going on a business trip?” I quickly picked up my phone and turned off the screen. “A company project.” The three of them looked like a perfect trio, making my wedding dress, now littered with shredded paper, look utterly ridiculous. Whispers filled the room. “Look at her. Does she still think she’s the bride? This is a party the two young masters of the Song family threw for Miss Mia.” “The moment one brother runs off, she tries to marry the other. Young Master Philip really has her number… so desperate for a man.” The guests were all wealthy socialites we’d grown up with, and their words were laced with malicious contempt. And the two childhood friends who had sworn to protect me for life were now orbiting Mia, their eyes full of adoration. I looked around. The romantic setting I had so carefully designed was completely destroyed. White balloons and roses were splattered with bright red paint reading “Happy Single Life!” This whole humiliating spectacle, with me as the punchline, had been orchestrated by them to showcase their devotion to Mia. I reached up and plucked a piece of paper from my hair, my hand trembling uncontrollably. Mia faltered, her eyes instantly turning red. “Sienna, it’s my fault. I suggested they surprise you with a bachelorette party. I’m so sorry…” Nathan patted her head, his face cold as he admonished me. “Can you stop playing the victim? You’re a wedding planner. You’ve seen every kind of scene there is.” Philip exploded at his brother’s words, grabbing my wrist and yanking me in front of Mia. “Sienna! Mia’s just a naive young girl! How can you pressure her like this? She’s the only one who’d be fooled by your pathetic act! Apologize. Now!” Pain shot up my arm. I steadied myself and calmly removed the ring I had designed. Nathan’s expression changed. He subconsciously covered his own hand. The custom wedding band I’d spent three months creating for him was gone, replaced by one that matched Mia’s. I answered quickly. “You’re right. Let’s all enjoy the bachelorette party today.” They stared at me, shocked. This was the first time I had ever yielded so easily when it came to Mia. I had always fought with them over her. Like the time Mia threw away all my stomach medication, and they commandeered every available ambulance in the area, leaving me to suffer. Before they left, they had looked at me with cold indifference. “Can you stop throwing tantrums and faking illnesses? You target Mia the second she shows up!” Now, I wouldn’t throw any more tantrums. “Let’s break up.” I tossed the ring. Nathan froze, his face darkening. I smiled. “Happy single life, isn’t it?” Philip was the first to lose his composure. “Are you insane? It’s one thing not to accept the surprise Mia planned for you, but marriage is a once-in-a-lifetime event! If you don’t marry into our Song family, who else would want you?!” The heart I thought could no longer feel pain grew another inch colder. I smiled and calmly tossed the shredded paper at Philip. He grabbed my wrist in disbelief, roaring, “How dare you—?!” The pain was sharp and clear. I remembered how, whenever I used to get hurt, they would fuss over me, applying medicine with grave concern, protecting me like a precious treasure. Now, I was no longer the one they wanted to protect. “This was Miss Mia’s idea,” I said flatly. “You should experience it.” Philip was speechless, his face flushing red and pale by turns. He disgustedly threw the paper scraps back at me. “Have you made enough of a scene? Sienna!” Nathan strode over, his brow furrowed. “Our wedding is next week. If you embarrass us in front of this many people again, I’ll cancel it!” The old me would have begged for their forgiveness. My parents had died protecting me, a fact that made my grandmother resent me so much she refused to raise me. So, I was taken in by the Song family, who were close friends of my parents. The insecurity of being an outsider meant that in our childhood friendship, no matter who was angry, I was always the one to bow my head and apologize first. They felt sorry for me and swore to spoil me rotten, to never let me feel upset again. After seventeen years together, the more stable Nathan and I made our relationship official. Philip threw a fit but eventually accepted it, continuing to treat me like a sister. But things had changed. Mrs. Song had gone abroad for long-term medical treatment, and like an old, forgotten toy, I was cast aside, unloved. The wedding I had looked forward to with all my heart had become a joke, just like me. The jeers from the guests grew louder. Someone started chanting. “Dump her! Teach her to know her place!” The two brothers looked down at me, waiting for my apology, for me to beg. There was no warmth in their eyes. I curled my lips into a smile. “Well then, I wish the three of you a hundred years of happiness. Congratulations on your marriage!” The room fell silent. Philip, enraged, raised his hand to strike me. “What’s that supposed to mean? You know how important a girl’s reputation is! Why are you spreading rumors about Mia?! You’re ruining everything!” He knew. He knew this was the wedding I had designed with all my hopes and dreams. Yet, he still humiliated me for someone else. When his eyes met my tear-filled ones, he suddenly froze. I turned and walked away. Philip, flustered, started to follow, but Nathan’s calm voice stopped him. “Let her go! She’s an orphan with no home. Where else could she possibly go without us?” The footsteps paused for a second, but then Philip bolted after me, shouting into the empty hallway. “You really dare to leave?! We would’ve been better off raising a dog!” Tears streamed silently down my face. I heard him curse a few more times before he returned to the party. The noise behind me gradually faded. I walked toward a car waiting by the street. “Let’s go get the marriage certificate now.” After receiving the certificate, I felt a little dazed. I had met Javone at work, rejected his advances, and now, after all this, we were married through a family arrangement. Since we were married, I decided to use the remaining five days to make a clean break with the past. I went home to pack, but my life was too deeply entangled with the Songs. The financial ties were more than I could ever repay. I nervously called Javone. He transferred the money without a second thought. He had only one condition. “Help me plan a grand wedding. The kind that gets broadcast nationwide.” Javone’s laughter was a low, pleasant rumble. As I looked at the dreamy wedding sketches, a tickle of excitement sparked in my heart. He gave me access to top-tier planners I’d never had before, and the venue decorations could be changed at a moment’s notice to match my vision. It felt like he was determined to lift me up. Meanwhile, the Song Corporation had given all their best resources to Mia. I was left with scraps. And my designs were being passed off as hers. Thinking of this, my smile faded. Nathan was right. There was a time I couldn’t have survived without them. But things were different now. Love, I was learning, wasn’t about controlling someone. It was about giving them the freedom and support to be themselves. On the fourth night before the wedding, drifting in a state of exhaustion, I heard a faint rustling outside my door. “I told you she couldn’t leave us. She talked so tough, but she still came crawling back like a dog.” I forced myself to sit up, but Nathan snatched the sketches from my hands. “Our wedding is just around the corner. What’s the point of planning now?” He didn’t know this was the plan for my wedding to Javone. I silently took the sketches back. He frowned, his tone softening. “Mia just wanted to surprise you. We’re getting officially married next week anyway. Don’t be mad, okay?” I knew this whole charade was Mia’s design. Whether it was our three-person anniversary or my birthday, they always brought Mia along to wreck my plans and make her the shining star of the event, while I was left to shrink in a corner, eating a ruined piece of cake. Just like now. They had abandoned me for two days for Mia’s sake, not a single message to check in. I was exhausted. I mumbled a noncommittal reply without looking up. Nathan finally relaxed. Philip, who had been lurking at the door, reluctantly came in. “Sienna, we were too harsh today. The Song family will always welcome you. We’re sorry.” I nodded. Nathan, relieved, produced a gift box. When he opened it, it revealed a pair of worn high heels. The two of them looked at the box like it was a hot potato, their faces panicked. I watched them with a faint, mocking smile. Philip guiltily put the shoes away, muttering, “One of the guests must have left them by mistake. The boxes look so similar, I must have mixed them up.” Nathan, who had sworn never to lie to me, chimed in. “Yeah, you know how some guests like to be comfortable…” I certainly didn’t know any guests who were allowed to ride in their private car. In fact, since Mia’s arrival, the front passenger seat had become her exclusive territory, her bare feet propped up on the cushion where my back used to rest. But I didn’t care anymore. My placid acceptance made them vaguely uneasy. “Sienna, you don’t seem happy. Are you really not angry anymore?” The next second, their expressions turned wary. “If something’s wrong, you tell us. Don’t take it out on Mia.” I shook my head. “I just think I shouldn’t throw tantrums anymore.” They exchanged a look, surprised by this unfamiliar obedience. Just then, their phones rang in unison. They glanced at each other, a flash of excitement in their eyes, and immediately prepared to leave. I lowered my gaze. “Aren’t you going to give me my gift?” They froze. The excitement on their faces curdled into disgust. They threw the box at my face. “Don’t you understand what’s important? How did we never realize what a materialistic woman you are!” When they saw the blood, they panicked for a second but didn’t stop leaving. “Just open it yourself! The first aid kit is in the usual place!” The door slammed shut. The clock struck midnight. Three days left. I spoke softly to the empty room. “Did you know? Today was my birthday.” Finally, they had reached the point where they didn’t even remember my birthday. But that was fine. At least I wouldn’t be a joke to anyone anymore. I booked a flight for the day after tomorrow, Sunday. Early in the morning, under a gloomy, drizzling sky, I went to the cemetery. When I was a child, I had insisted on going to the mountains for my birthday. My parents were buried in a landslide that day. I could never accept that I had been the cause of their deaths. I grew up consumed by guilt and grief. Javone had been the one to comfort me. “They loved you. That’s why they held you above their heads when the landslide came. They wanted you to be happy.” Tears streamed down my face. No one had ever said that to me before. They all said I was the one who killed my parents. Even the two Song brothers avoided the topic. I wanted to speak to my parents alone first, so Javone waited for me outside the cemetery. To my surprise, I saw Nathan and Philip standing in front of their graves. I froze. They hadn’t been to pay their respects in three years, not since Mia arrived. I took a dazed step forward. But the next second, they picked up shovels and started digging up my parents’ graves. I screamed, rushing forward to stop them. “What are you doing?! Those are my parents!” They looked guilty for a moment, but quickly became defiant. “Mia’s pet spider died. A fortune teller said this was an auspicious spot for it. We found a better place for your parents.” “But they are my parents!” Tears streamed down my face as I shrieked in despair. Mia appeared from nowhere, pushing me aside to protect Philip. “You crazy woman! You’re not allowed to hurt Brother Philip!” In the chaos, the urn was knocked over. Both brothers instinctively rushed to Mia, cradling her ankle where a shard had cut her. I scrambled to the broken urn, tears blurring my vision. As children, they had been showered with my parents’ love. And now, for a spider, they were desecrating their graves. Mia let out a cry of pain, but this time, neither of them immediately turned their attention to her. Philip looked at my tear-streaked, devastated face and seemed momentarily flustered. Nathan was the first to kneel, trying to comfort me. “Sienna, what’s done is done…” I raised my hand to slap him.

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1 Everyone in Silver Creek whispered the same story: Cecilia Newman, heiress to a fortune, had only settled for me, for this gilded cage of a marriage, because she couldn’t have her first love, Leo. I paid the rumors no mind. I believed that true devotion could move mountains. One afternoon, Cecilia called to say the Alaskan king crab she’d ordered for me had just arrived at the airport, and she was going to pick it up herself. My heart swelled. I pulled out the steamer and the good silverware, happily anticipating her return. But the crab never came. Instead, a call came from St. Jude’s Hospital. “Are you the husband of Cecilia Newman? The car she was in with a male companion crashed into a guardrail on the overpass. They’re both unconscious. Please come to the hospital immediately.” My hands trembled as I logged into her car’s dashcam app. The footage was harrowing. After the airbags deployed, I saw her force her eyes open, her voice a ragged whisper. “If I die,” she breathed, “I voluntarily bequeath all my personal assets to Leo.” I rushed to the hospital. Cecilia was lying in bed, a plaster cast immobilizing her neck, lost in a drugged sleep. The doctor pulled me aside, warning me to be especially careful with the left side of her cervical spine, which had sustained the most severe damage. He theorized that in the instant before the crash, she must have wrenched the wheel hard to the right, instinctively shielding her passenger. I remembered when she’d won a championship racing trophy, she’d boasted to me, “In my car, nothing will ever hurt you.” But I hadn’t been in the passenger seat. “Leo…” The name was a faint sigh on her lips, a ghost from her unconscious mind. Her “last will and testament” echoed in my head, a cold wave of disappointment washing over me. When she finally opened her eyes and saw me, the flicker of worry in them vanished. “I couldn’t bring the crab back for you,” she said flatly. Before I could respond, as if my answer didn’t matter, her voice sharpened with urgency. “Julian, the man who was with me… how is he?” “The doctor said he’s fine. ‘Well-protected,’ thanks to you. Just a few scrapes on his arm.” She caught the ice in my tone. “Julian, don’t overthink this. Leo is my assistant. This was a work-related accident, and it’s my responsibility to make sure he’s okay.” Just then, Leo himself appeared at the door. “Cece!” He rushed to her bedside, grabbing her hand. His voice was thick with emotion. “I thought I’d never see you again… I was so worried.” “Oh, Leo, I’m alright.” A blush crept up her cheeks. “Your arm is hurt, you shouldn’t be walking around. I’ll be fine, and you have to be, too.” She gently guided him to sit on the edge of her bed. Then, she turned to me, her tone shifting from gentle concern to brisk command. “Julian, go talk to the hospital administrator. I want Leo’s bed moved in here. I… I have work to discuss, and it’s more convenient this way.” “This is a private VIP room,” I said, my brow furrowed as I watched them. “The monitoring equipment is set up for one patient. How can they add another bed?” Leo looked up, feigning surprise. “Oh, Mr. Quinn, you’re here…” He shook his head at Cecilia. “Cece, I’ll be fine in my own room. I don’t want to be a bother.” “No, it’s no bother at all!” she insisted, a playful pout on her lips. “They can bring in more equipment. I won’t rest easy unless you’re where I can see you.” She looked back at me. “Julian, go handle Leo’s admission paperwork and pay for it. My phone was smashed in the crash.” “There’s no need to trouble Mr. Quinn,” Leo said, a hint of pride in his eyes. He always believed my family’s business was propped up by the Newmans, and his disdain for me was palpable. “Just transfer me the funds for the hospital bill. I can handle it myself.” He held out his phone. “Mr. Quinn, you can scan my code to add me.” As he extended his hand, the silver cross hanging from a chain around his neck caught the light, and the sight was like a needle in my eye. It was the same design Cecilia had admired on our trip to Bali. She had bought the women’s version right in front of me. I never imagined she had secretly bought the men’s version for him. I transferred him the money. As I did, I noticed a red dot on his social media profile, indicating a new post. I clicked on it. It was a video, taken right after the crash. Cecilia, unconscious, was cradled in his arms. The caption read: “Surviving the crash with the love of my life in my arms. What a blessing to finally have my lost love back.” Beneath it, a flood of likes and comments from our mutual friends, offering their concern and their congratulations. So they all knew. Everyone knew but me. I scrolled down. On every date Cecilia had told me she was on a “business trip,” Leo’s feed was updated with pictures: sprawling ocean-view suites, champagne and candlelight, bathtubs filled with white rose petals, and the unmistakable, angry red love bites on Cecilia’s neck. I closed my eyes, steadying myself against a wave of nausea. I walked out of the room and dialed my assistant. “Marcus,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Start pulling our capital out of Newman Industries. Prepare to sever all ties.” 2 Our families had been intertwined for years, our business empires woven together. It would take time to untangle everything. Once it was done, I would vanish from Cecilia’s world for good. When I returned to the room, Cecilia’s friends had arrived. They were clustered around her and Leo, laughing and teasing. Cecilia was taking small, delicate bites of porridge that Leo was feeding her with his own hand. Someone nudged their friend, smirking. “You’ve gotta hand it to Julian. The man is incredibly magnanimous.” The comment drew a round of snickers. Another chimed in, praising Cecilia. “Honestly, our Cece is an icon. A queen with her king at home and a prince on the side. We should all be taking notes.” Cecilia’s face was flushed, and Leo’s expression was one of pure devotion. They were the perfect picture of a loving couple. Even the nurses at the station were whispering excitedly. “I always heard Mr. and Mrs. Newman’s marriage was the real deal, a true love match. Seeing it in person… it’s so sweet.” “You don’t know the half of it! It was a marriage of giants, sure, but the Quinn family’s business is in downstream materials—not exactly glamorous. But she was crazy about him! She bought him a whole island in the Atlantic, named it ‘Quinn Isle’ after him, and had ships bring in enough white roses to cover the entire thing for their fairytale wedding! It was the most romantic thing ever!” At that wedding, Cecilia had declared to the world that I was the love of her life. The language of white roses is “I am worthy of you.” I always thought she did it to silence the rumors that my family was leeching off hers, that I was some sort of kept husband. I thought it was her way of showing the world her love for me. It wasn’t until I saw the bouquet of fresh white roses by Leo’s bedside—undoubtedly meant for her—that the truth hit me. It was never about me. White roses were simply the flowers Leo loved to give her. Finally, someone shattered the cloying fantasy. “Julian, you’re here,” said Nancy, one of Cecilia’s friends, spotting me by the door. I gave a curt nod. The nurses at the door realized they’d been fawning over the wrong leading man and scattered in embarrassment. Leo paused with the spoon halfway to Cecilia’s mouth. She pouted, her disappointment obvious. “Julian, Cece is just so crazy about you,” Nancy said, trying to smooth things over. “Yesterday, she specifically told me to go pick up the Alaskan king crab you love from the airport.” She shot Cecilia a look, as if expecting praise for her quick thinking. But Cecilia’s expression only grew more rigid. “I… I heard there was a problem at the office on my way, so I asked Nancy to pick it up instead,” she lied. Then, looking at me, she added coolly, “Julian, I trust you can distinguish between what’s important and what isn’t.” Yesterday, I was consumed with guilt, blaming myself for her getting into an accident while fetching crab for me. Today, I learned that her “important business” was a date with Leo. She had lied to my face. “Do you remember the vows we made at our wedding?” I asked her, my voice low. Her brow furrowed in annoyance. “Julian, don’t make a scene. The quarterly settlement is coming up.” It was a veiled threat. The Quinn family operated as a downstream supplier to the Newman conglomerate. On paper, our accounts always showed a loss. Every quarter, my father-in-law would have Cecilia transfer a large sum to us as a “subsidy.” Cecilia always believed she was plugging the leaks in my family’s failing business. She never denied the rumors that the Quinns were parasites, sucking the Newman empire dry. Except it was all a charade. It was only after my father passed away and I took full control of the company that I understood the game my father and hers had been playing. A game, it seemed, that Mr. Newman had never bothered to explain to his own daughter. “Tch, the third wheel who stole another man’s love has some nerve, putting on airs like that. Pathetic.” One of Leo’s friends spoke just loud enough for the whole room to hear. Every head swiveled in my direction. “All I know,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence, “is that the man with a government-stamped marriage certificate to Cecilia Newman is me. So who, exactly, is the third wheel here? Leo?” Leo’s face flushed with humiliation. Cecilia’s heart immediately went out to him. “That’s enough!” she snapped. “Are you all here to visit me or to cause trouble? Get out! All of you!” As the room cleared, I turned to leave as well, unwilling to be part of this farce any longer. “Julian,” Cecilia called out, her lips pursed. “I have an IV drip this afternoon. Aren’t you going to stay with me?” She had a history of allergic reactions. I used to stay by her side through every single infusion, terrified something might happen. “Will you be short on company?” I asked without turning back, and walked out the door. Leo followed me into the hallway, blocking my path. “Julian, you know Cecilia and I have history. Are you really content being my replacement?” Cecilia and I were supposed to have been the perfect match. Childhood friends from families of equal standing. Our parents were always creating opportunities for us to be together. 3 As a child, I was quiet and reserved, while Cecilia was a blazing sun, brimming with a fierce sense of justice. When a bully at school tore up my textbooks, she slapped him clean across the face and then made it her mission to hunt him down and slap him again every day for the rest of the semester. Though she was a girl, she was drawn to high-octane thrills like car racing. For every race, she insisted I wait for her at the finish line. A track without me at the end, she’d say, was meaningless. But then, the Newman family caught a wave of fortune and soared, becoming the most powerful dynasty in Silver Creek. Suddenly, Cecilia and I were no longer a perfect match. Her parents began to subtly steer our paths apart, transferring her to the international division of our school. They wanted a more prestigious fiancé for her, someone from a truly noble lineage. That person was Leo. Cecilia, rebellious to her core, resisted. With fifty pounds of bone in her body, forty-nine were pure defiance. Leo, at the time a spoiled scion himself, had no interest in the girl who fought him at every turn. On the surface, they were like fire and water. But a knot of unease tightened in my chest. I saw it in her eyes—a stubborn, obsessive need to win. It was the beginning of her fascination with him. Then, Leo’s family went bankrupt. His father vanished, and Leo plummeted from grace, hounded by debt collectors on the streets. When Cecilia heard the news, she grabbed a suitcase full of cash and stormed into some back-alley clinic to rescue him. From that day on, the love story of Cecilia Newman and Leo became the stuff of legend in our circle. Girls swooned over the fallen prince who had won the heart of Silver Creek’s wealthiest heiress, proclaiming that his good fortune was destined to return. To be honest, I envied him too. But the chasm between Cecilia’s status and Leo’s destitution was too vast. Their story was doomed from the start. As their romance reached a fever pitch, Cecilia’s mother summoned Leo. She made it clear that she would never allow her daughter to marry a man drowning in debt. But, she offered to pay off the remainder of his liabilities on one condition: he had to disappear from Cecilia’s life forever. Leo took the deal. He vanished, reappearing somewhere across the ocean. Cecilia searched for him like a woman possessed. When she couldn’t find him, she sank into a deep depression and finally acquiesced to a family-arranged marriage. “As long as it’s not Leo,” she told her friends, “it doesn’t matter who I marry.” In the end, she chose me. I knew why. Of all the candidates, she knew me best. She believed I would never vanish, that I could offer her the security she craved. Her family, scarred by the Leo debacle, quickly agreed that the Quinns were a safe, respectable choice. And because I loved her, I had no regrets. In my youthful ignorance, I truly believed that devotion could conquer all. At our fairytale wedding, we took our vows, promising to be honest with each other, to never deceive. But now, Leo was back. And Cecilia had broken her promise. A replacement? For the first few years of our marriage, we were like most couples in arranged unions: polite, respectful, and living separate lives, though we were both faithful. The tabloids were ruthless. Microphones shoved in my face. “Mr. Quinn, your company’s latest financial reports show another year of losses! Is it true that Mrs. Newman has to bail you out every year?” “Mr. Quinn, what’s your response to the rumors that you willingly serve as a stand-in for your wife’s first love, all to leech off the Newman empire?” Cecilia would always rush to my defense, shielding me from the flashing cameras. “Julian is the husband I chose with my own heart,” she would declare. “Anyone who dares to slander us again can expect a letter from my lawyer.” In those moments, I felt safe. One night, she came into my bedroom, dizzy from too much wine. “Do you know who I am?” I asked, catching her wandering hands. “My husband, of course,” she murmured, her eyes shimmering in the dark. “Julian, what a silly question.” Her hand rested on my chest. “You didn’t answer the reporters’ questions today,” I said, my heart hammering. I clenched my fists, deciding to be brave, just this once. “Are you still in love with Leo?” She nuzzled against me like a kitten. “Of course not. That’s all in the past.” I could no longer contain the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface. I claimed her that night, fiercely, desperately. After that, something shifted. We became like any other couple. Cecilia started paying attention to my daily life, my every move. The delayed affection burned all the hotter, as if trying to make up for five years of missed opportunities. She knew I loved crab, so every autumn, she’d fly with me to a five-star Michelin restaurant in Alaska. She promised we’d return every year, no matter how busy we were. She even gave up racing, because I told her I couldn’t bear even the million-to-one chance of losing her. Was all of that just a reward for being a good stand-in? My thoughts snapped back to the present. Leo was still blocking my way in the hospital corridor. I shoved him aside impatiently. “Garbage belongs in the trash.”

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