Category: English

My husband, Elias, was the Alpha of the Dubois pack and the CEO of a major company. Two months into my pregnancy, I saw his Beta, Vivian, post an update on Ins. The photo showed Elias with his arms around her, holding up a red lace bra. “My boyfriend is too passionate, he ripped my bra! Good thing he bought me a new lace one!” I quietly liked the post, then destroyed all the baby items I’d bought. Elias called just as I finished burning the last one. He hurriedly explained: “The company designed new lingerie that needs promotion. Vivian and I were just acting… if you like it…” “No need,” I said, touching my still-flat belly. “Advertising and marketing, I get it.” After hanging up, I called my father, Arthur, the Alpha of the Ashclaw pack. “Dad, I agree to come back as the Ashclaw pack’s Alpha heir and take over your company.” Elias, this time, I’m truly done with you. Outside, the snow fell thick and fast. By the time Elias came home, I had already decided to divorce him. Seeing that I didn’t greet him as usual, he immediately looked annoyed. “Why didn’t you come to meet me?” “It’s snowing so heavily, weren’t you worried I wouldn’t make it back?!” He complained as he kicked off his shoes. Snowmelt mixed with mud stained the carpet. In the past, I would have carefully wiped his shoes with a towel, then handed him a cup of coffee I’d brewed myself. But now, “I don’t feel like moving!” Elias’s expression froze instantly. His Adam’s apple bobbed twice. “Then where’s my coffee?” “Forgot.” “Forgot?!” After a deathly silence, “Clara, what’s gotten into you now?” “Is it just because of those pictures?…” He excitedly reached for my hand, but I deliberately avoided him, still holding my coffee cup. “New products need promotion, I told you about it.” “Don’t always use your pregnant-woman tantrums to pressure me. I can’t handle it…” “You’re overthinking it,” I calmly interrupted, my legs tucked under the blanket, shrinking back involuntarily. Pea-sized snow pellets rattled against the window, reminding me of the blizzard night half a month ago, when he’d frowned just like this. “The company’s new products are launching. You don’t have to drag me along for a prenatal check-up.” Then, he’d spoken softly to Vivian on the other end of the phone, “I remember every one of your efforts. Don’t worry, no matter what the future holds, I’ll do my best to be with you.” But that day, I walked home alone through the blizzard. Elias’s fingertips pressed a red mark between his brows. Finally, he pulled out a cheaply packaged item from his briefcase. “La Perla!” “Same color, same style!” He tossed the lingerie in front of me with a “don’t be ungrateful” look. “Satisfied now?” I stared at the lingerie lying in the most ordinary plastic bag from a convenience store. The gold-embossed logo was crooked and half-missing. It was completely different from the one he’d given Vivian. But I still calmly said “thank you,” then continued scrolling on my phone without looking up. Elias’s brows suddenly furrowed. He grabbed my arm. “I satisfied your vanity, so why are you still giving me attitude?” “Vivian wore this exact collection. Everyone online is talking about it. So many people are fighting to get their hands on it! And this is your attitude?” What else did he expect? “What else should I do?” “Kneel for you? Or transfer money to you?” The flowing air instantly fell into a deadly silence. I didn’t want to argue anymore. I threw off the blanket and walked straight to the bedroom. Behind me, I heard the crash of Elias kicking over the coffee table. But I truly couldn’t think of a way to express gratitude to him—for using a fake to excuse his betrayal under the guise of “promotional needs.” And then, under the name of “vanity,” reducing all my grievances and disappointment to irrational pregnancy hormones. It was utterly pointless. I changed into clean clothes and walked to the front door. Elias’s furious roar followed me to the entryway, “Where are you going in this blizzard? You’re pregnant, what if something happens?!” I fastened the last button on my coat, unable to help but curl my lips into a smile. “So you do remember I’m pregnant, Elias…” I put on my shoes. “Do you remember the last time you left me at the hospital?” “I was thinking the same thing!” “In a blizzard, while pregnant, what if something happens?!” “And what happened?” I spread my hands, then walked out the door without looking back. Just before the security door closed, I heard the sound of a cup shattering on the floor. But I didn’t panic and rush back like before, to clean up the mess and appease him with a forced smile. Instead, I straightened my back and stepped into the waiting cab outside. The swirling snow hit the car windows, and a long-forgotten lightness washed over my heart. My father, Arthur, is the Alpha of the Ashclaw pack. He always hoped I would inherit his company. Before I met Elias, I worked at my father’s company. Everyone there recognized my abilities, and my father wanted me to be the Ashclaw pack’s Alpha heir. Then, I met Elias, my fated mate. We fell in love quickly, married quickly. Because he said “I need you,” I gave up my chance to become the Ashclaw pack’s Alpha heir and became a homemaker instead. I put away company documents, and my ink-stained fountain pen was tucked into a drawer. And now, I could finally pursue my career without any reservations.

The scent of coffee and paper filled the office. The employees buzzed around me, and first among them was my father’s Beta, Joe. He handed me a thick stack of documents. “I knew you wouldn’t be trapped in a gilded cage forever.” I took the documents and said a sincere “thank you!” In the three years I’d been married to Elias, I truly made him my entire world. From taking care of every household chore to being his unwavering support, and finally giving up the most brilliant career of my life. Thankfully, I finally realized that love couldn’t be everything in life. I finished processing the last email, and it was late when I got home. The dim yellow light stretched Elias’s desolate figure. I didn’t pay attention to his expression, only seeing the mess in the living room. He was drinking. This was the first time in three years, outside of company dinners, that he was drinking alone at home. I suppressed my shock and placed my briefcase in the entryway. He rushed over and grabbed me. “Where were you?” I didn’t speak, taking off my shoes. “I asked where you were!” His voice unconsciously rose. He saw the company documents still in my hand and suddenly looked enlightened. “Clara, are you serious? So upset with me that you run away from home? You know how much I hate you meddling in company affairs, but you deliberately went to your Dad’s just to spite me. When are you going to grow up?” I stared at his pale face, speechless for a moment, finally dismissing all his questions with a cold scoff. “What do you mean…” He grabbed me from behind. “It’s not still about that lingerie, is it?” “I already explained, it was for new product promotion, and besides, I bought you the same one. What more do you want?” Dried coffee stains pricked under my fingernails. I coolly pulled my hand away. “Yes, what more do I want?” “Are you done talking? If so, I’m going to sleep.” He suddenly kicked over the shoe rack. Shoes clattered against the wall, dislodging plaster dust that mingled with the smell of paper and ink. “Every time, you put on that deadpan face!” “You’re throwing away a perfectly good life, just to get involved with those disreputable people. Clara, what do you even consider our marriage to be?!” His hysterical accusations were as grating as the howling winter wind outside. But I still said nothing. Before any black-and-white argument, I always believed silence could pierce through all stubborn rationalizations. That night, the sharp pop of an aluminum can being opened sliced through the entire night sky. I sat on the edge of the bed, studying my phone, and heard Elias’s deliberately lowered voice from the living room. “When will she ever be like you?” The next day, I opened my bedroom door. I saw Elias slumped in front of the empty cans, a pile of cigarette butts still askew in last night’s spilled drink. In the past, I would have silently cleaned up the mess and carefully found a way for us to reconcile. Even if my heart ached with injustice, I would have used the gentlest smile and actions to gloss over the argument as a minor bump in life. But now, I walked straight past the cans and out the door. Before closing it, I heard Elias growl, “If you’re so capable, then never come back!” That was exactly what I was planning. Since resigning from the company three years ago, I hadn’t touched those business documents again. Now that I had the chance, I wouldn’t squander this freedom. Following Joe’s arrangements, I signed up for the Alpha heir assessment at my father’s company, three days from now. “It’s a long journey, and you might be gone for a year or more. Are you really not going to discuss it with him?” Joe’s voice crackled with static. I traced the unfinished “Company’s Three-Year Plan” on my phone’s screen. It was a draft I’d worked on three years ago, when I was the executive director at my father’s company, a path I’d stopped for Elias. But now, “No need to discuss it. We’re getting divorced soon.”

Back home, Elias stood in front of the mirror, dressed in a custom-tailored suit. His fingertips combed through his sideburns with an Italian handmade comb. His slicked-back hair highlighted his increasingly handsome and sharp features. “I have a client dinner tonight,” he said without looking up. Then he pulled out his phone, a smile playing on his lips, and walked out the door. That smile was identical to the one Vivian posted on her social media. A laugh so free, so gentle, with an indulgent warmth that lingered in the corners of his eyes and brows. I remembered three years ago, he used to smile at me like that. On a snowy street, he’d wrapped my shivering shoulders in a thick coat, then wound a scarf around my neck layer by layer, saying with a smile, “See, this way my little heir won’t turn into a snowman.” But now, he warmed someone else’s winter with that same smile. The starlight in his eyes no longer belonged to me. I knew he was with Vivian again. Since I got pregnant, he often came home late. Every time I tried to FaceTime him, I could always see Vivian nearby. I became anxious, trying every way to hold onto him. But in the end, all I got was his, “Can you just stop being so annoying?” That evening, I clicked on Instagram on a whim. I saw Vivian’s new photos. Elias stood beside her. Both held the same bottle of champagne, smiling brightly in front of a giant champagne tower. The caption read: “Wherever you are, it’s always radiant.” Below it was a heart emoji from Elias. “Wherever you are, I’m never alone.” In the past, I would have cried hysterically, then screamed and questioned him like a madwoman, “Who exactly is your wife? Did you ever consider my feelings?” But at that moment, I quietly closed my phone and slept through the night. In the early morning, I was startled awake by a violent banging on the door. Elias, reeking of alcohol, threw back my blanket. “I said I had a client dinner, but I didn’t say I wouldn’t eat, did I?” “Clara, are you too lazy to even prepare a late-night snack for me now? How can you be so cold and heartless!” His chest heaved violently, leaving me momentarily stunned. In the past, whenever he had client dinners, no matter how late, I would meticulously prepare a table of late-night snacks. But each time, he would push them away with a frown, then turn around and post exquisite late-night meals shared with others on social media. I rubbed my sleepy eyes and said in as calm a tone as possible, “You didn’t say you were coming back to eat. You always eat out for client dinners. I can’t exactly chase after you asking if you’ve eaten, can I? Wouldn’t that make you look like you’re henpecked? Besides, Vivian was still there.” Before, every time I questioned him, it would provoke his impatience. He hated every text and question from me, especially when he was with Vivian. So, hearing what I said, his tightly furrowed brows instantly relaxed. “That’s not what I meant. Isn’t preparing late-night snacks part of your duty? The only reason I’m with Vivian is for new product launches. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing, or stir up trouble.” I nodded, looking like I understood. “I’m not making a big deal, and I’m not stirring up trouble. I just want to sleep now.” With that, I pulled the blanket over my head, no longer paying attention to his expression as I used to. But that burning gaze didn’t leave me for a long time. That night, the living room light stayed on. The next day, I woke up early, washed up, and walked straight to the entryway to change my shoes. Elias sat at the dining table with his arms crossed. I knew he was waiting for breakfast, but I didn’t give him a chance to speak. I closed the door without looking back. The cold wind bit, and I pulled my coat tighter. In that moment, I felt no sadness, no grief. Only a kind of numb calm. As they say, a heart doesn’t die in a sudden storm, but slowly with countless small disappointments, eroding what was once burning passion. On my way back, Elias sent a text message. He said the new product had successfully launched, and he was planning a celebration party at home. He asked me, for the sake of our marriage, not to make things awkward. It was the first time he’d spoken to me in such a pleading tone, and the first time his voice had an almost imperceptible tremor at the end. The ridiculous thing was, it wasn’t because of me. But I still agreed. Not for Elias, or for anyone else, but to use this opportunity to bring a conclusion to this broken relationship. Just my luck, as I opened the door, I saw Vivian sitting in my spot, holding my wine glass, laughing and drinking with Elias.

The room full of laughter stopped abruptly the moment I pushed open the door. Elias, even more flustered, quickly pulled his hand away from Vivian’s. “The new product sales hit ten thousand, so I invited everyone to celebrate.” His pale explanation couldn’t hide the panic in his eyes. He feigned composure and stepped back, gesturing for me to sit in the empty seat next to him. But I didn’t even glance at it, walking straight to the sofa. Vivian’s gaze swept over me, a triumphant smile on her lips. As she raised her glass and approached, her expression shifted to one of reluctant apology. “Oh, Luna Clara, we got a bit carried away and rudely showed up without your permission. This is the wine I brought, please have a taste.” At that moment, all eyes were on me. Curiosity, scrutiny, speculation – I saw it all. Only Elias stood frozen in place. In the past, he was the most opposed to me drinking. At every gathering, he would rush to snatch my glass, saying in an almost scolding tone, “She can’t handle alcohol, she shouldn’t drink.” Then he would tip his head back and down it himself. But now, the white glare of the chandelier fell on his bewildered face. His Adam’s apple bobbed, yet he said nothing. I took the glass and, under everyone’s gaze, drank the wine. The hot, fiery liquid burned down my throat, much like the burning warmth in his palm three years ago at our wedding, when he lovingly held my hand and swore to give me a home. I thought I had held eternity. I set the glass down. Elias’s phone on the table flashed glaringly. It was him. “How could you just drink wine?” “You’re still pregnant…” “Even if you didn’t drink, no one was forcing you. Can you stop being so angry with me and tormenting yourself like this?” “Please, think about our child, okay?” I stared at the messages scrolling like a barrage of texts, every word packed with “sincere emotion.” Yet not a single one came from the bottom of his heart. I put my phone face down on the table and quietly ate the food in my bowl. Someone at the table looked enviously at Elias. “Alpha Elias’s company is growing stronger, he has a beautiful wife, and soon a new baby – truly a winner in life!” A chorus of agreement followed. Elias couldn’t hide the smile on his face. He uncharacteristically cut a steak and pushed it towards me, but I refused and pushed it back. In that moment, I ignored all his subtle expressions, ignored the constantly vibrating phone, and focused on eating my own meal. Someone suddenly said, “I’ve heard Luna Clara is especially beautiful and virtuous. She and Alpha Elias are truly a perfect match!” Everyone echoed the sentiment. Only I, with a darkened expression, pulled out the medical report for my unexpected miscarriage. “Elias, let’s get a divorce.” “I want to break our mate bond.”

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My dad had been single since my mom passed away. But recently, I heard he was seeing a young woman. I rushed home to check. The moment I pushed open the master bedroom door, I saw Jennifer, my gold-digging friend, lying on my dad’s bed in a camisole, taking selfies with her phone. She saw me, casually ran a hand through her hair, and smirked. “Truth is, your dad has already agreed to marry me.” I couldn’t help but let out a scoff. “Oh really?” She seemed surprised by my calmness, freezing for a moment before looking even more smug. “From now on, I’m your stepmom! As long as you don’t cause trouble, we can still be besties. And I won’t shortchange you on your allowance.” Watching her smug face, I laughed even harder. Had my dad not told her that my mom left all of our family’s assets for me to inherit? My dad was just a broke parasite living in my house! I watched Jennifer’s self-satisfied expression, swallowing the sarcastic retort that was on the tip of my tongue. Spoiling the fun now would be pointless. Since she wanted to play the clown, I’d give her a stage. “So, you and my dad already signed the marriage certificate?” I raised an eyebrow. Jennifer immediately pulled a marriage certificate from the drawer and slapped it onto the nightstand. “See?” She lifted her chin, her eyes full of provocation. “Musa went to Dubai to finalize that multi-billion dollar oil field project. He made sure to marry me before he left.” “He said he didn’t want me to feel slighted, so he didn’t even make me sign a prenup.” I almost lost my composure. Musa went to Dubai? He was clearly hiding from creditors in another city. His marketing company had imploded last week, leaving him with an eighty-million-dollar debt. The creditors were practically at our doorstep. That old scammer actually managed to con an ignorant young woman into marriage before skipping town. He probably just wanted to use Jennifer as a shield. I nodded, pretending to be convinced. “So, what’s the proper way to address you now?” Jennifer giggled, covering her mouth. “Don’t blame me. It’s not my fault your dad is loaded, is it? You used to treat me like a sidekick, throwing a few designer bags my way and thinking you were superior. Well, now I’m your stepmom.” The words had barely left her mouth when a thunderous banging erupted downstairs. Followed by the shouts of several rough voices. “Careful with those! If you scratch this imported flooring, you won’t be able to afford the repairs!” I frowned, got up, and walked to the corridor to look down. A dozen burly men in moving company uniforms were streaming into the living room, carrying large bags and boxes. Leading them, barking orders, were a flamboyant middle-aged couple. They were Jennifer’s parents, Laura and Kevin. Kevin strolled around with his hands behind his back, like a petty king surveying his domain, touching everything. “This couch leather is no good. The color’s too dark. Have someone replace it with real leather tomorrow, and change the color too!” Laura nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. Jennifer’s a wealthy socialite now. This house needs to be redecorated to our taste.” I turned to look at Jennifer, who had followed me out. She met my gaze defiantly. “My parents worked hard to raise me. Now that I’ve married into money, of course, I’m bringing them here to enjoy it.” “This villa has five floors, it’s practically empty anyway.” I watched the farce downstairs with a cold gaze, saying nothing. Jennifer mistook my silence for submission, and her arrogance grew. She walked to the guest bedroom door, pushing it wide open. That was my art studio, filled with many antique pieces my mom had left behind. “This room gets great light, perfect for my parents.” She pointed to the portrait of my mom on the wall. “Get rid of all this junk. It’s bad luck to look at.” My hands, hanging at my sides, instantly clenched. “Those are my things,” I said softly. Jennifer sneered, taking two steps closer. “Victoria, do you even understand what’s happening? “Your dad personally said I’m in charge of this house from now on.” “Don’t think just because you’re Musa’s ex-wife’s daughter that you don’t have to listen to me. I’m the lady of the house now!” She turned and yelled downstairs, “Dad! Mom! Come up and pick your rooms!” Her parents heard the commotion and clomped upstairs. Laura’s eyes immediately lit up at the sight of the bed in my art studio. “Oh, this bed looks so grand!” She plopped down on it, bouncing twice with exaggerated force. “This room is ours now,” Laura declared, pointing at me. “You, hurry up and clear your stuff out.” Kevin chimed in. “Victoria, I’m not trying to be mean. But you’re old enough. Why don’t you hurry up and find someone to marry and move out?” “What kind of sense does it make to just cling to your father’s house all day?” I looked at this family of brazen intruders. These idiots were truly audacious. I pulled out my phone and started recording. “Fine, move whatever you want.” “But I’ll warn you, if you damage even one item in this room, you won’t be able to afford to replace it.” Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Who are you trying to scare? This is Musa’s house! If I break something, I’m only breaking my own stuff!” With that, she picked up an expensive vase from the table, let go, and with a crisp “CRASH!” sound, porcelain fragments scattered across the floor. Jennifer looked at me defiantly. “I broke it. What are you going to do about it?”

The sound of the shattering vase echoed in the hallway. I looked at the pink porcelain fragments on the floor, my heart giving a sudden wrench. That was my mom’s favorite piece. I suppressed the urge to slap her, aiming my phone’s camera at the mess and Jennifer’s triumphant face. Video saved, cloud synced. It was all done in one smooth motion. Jennifer didn’t take my actions seriously at all. She thought I was just having a fit of impotent rage. “What? Heartbroken?” She kicked a piece of the broken vase. “From now on, I don’t want to see any of these old-fashioned things around here.” Laura clapped her hands in approval. “Exactly! Jennifer’s the lady of the house now, what’s wrong with smashing a stupid vase?” Kevin was even more outrageous, walking directly to my jewelry cabinet and violently yanking at the drawers. “What’s the password? Let’s see if there’s anything valuable.” I watched them coldly. “The drawers have fingerprint locks. Forcibly prying them open will trigger the alarm automatically.” Kevin jumped in surprise, quickly pulling his hand back. Jennifer glared at me, then turned to soothe her dad. “Dad, what’s the rush? When Musa gets back, I’ll have him give you the whole cabinet.” I was tired of watching these clowns, so I turned and went back to my bedroom, planning to settle accounts with them when my dad returned. That afternoon, the villa completely became Jennifer’s family playground. Laura invited all her friends over, playing music loudly and without restraint in the living room. Kevin gathered his usual crew of shady friends, having a barbecue and drinking competition by the heated pool. The place reeked of smoke and alcohol, a chaotic circus. I put on my noise-canceling headphones and sat in my study, going through company documents. I had always been the actual controlling shareholder of Victoria Group. Musa was nothing more than a figurehead CEO, drawing a fixed salary every month. Now that he’d stirred up trouble and run off, there was a pile of messes at the company waiting for me to clean up. As I was reviewing documents, my door was suddenly pounded on with earth-shattering force. I took off my headphones and walked over to open the door. Jennifer, wearing a high-end designer nightgown and holding a stack of blueprints, stood aggressively outside. Behind her was a man in a suit, wearing a badge identifying him as the director of a well-known renovation company. “Victoria, you need to clear out those guest rooms on the first floor, immediately.” She slapped the blueprints against my chest. “I hired a top designer. We’re knocking out the walls on the first floor to build a private cinema and a wine cellar.” I didn’t take the blueprints, letting them fall to the floor. “You’re renovating?” “Duh! This old house has such a bad layout, it doesn’t match my status.” The designer stepped forward at the opportune moment, a professional smile on his face. “Ms. Victoria, I presume? Mrs. Musa has chosen our most premium full-home custom design package.” “The initial budget is around eight million dollars.” I almost burst out laughing. Eight million dollars? Musa couldn’t even scrape together eighty thousand right now. I looked at Jennifer with amusement. “Eight million is no small sum. Do you have enough money?” Jennifer looked as if she’d heard the funniest joke. She pulled a black card from her bag, held it between two fingers, and waved it in front of my face. “Open your eyes and look closely. This is a supplementary card Musa gave me before he left.” “Forget eight million, I can swipe eighty million with this!” I was all too familiar with that card. Musa had specifically gotten it from the bank to curry favor with me when I graduated college. The main card was with me; he had always kept the supplementary card to maintain appearances. Last month, after his investment failed, I directly set the supplementary card’s limit to zero. I took a step back and gestured. “Since Mrs. Musa is so well-off, then go ahead and swipe it.” The designer immediately pulled out a portable POS machine and presented it to Jennifer with both hands. “Mrs. Musa, please pay the thirty percent deposit first, which is two point four million dollars.” Jennifer confidently tapped the card against the machine. “Beep—Transaction failed.”

Jennifer’s smile froze. She snatched the POS machine. “How is that possible! Is the machine broken?” The designer’s expression shifted slightly, but he maintained his politeness. “Mrs. Musa, our equipment is checked daily. Perhaps you’d like to try a different card?” Jennifer grew frantic, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. “Why would I try another card! This is an unlimited black card!” She tapped the card again. “Beep—Transaction failed. Insufficient funds.” This time, the machine’s voice was exceptionally loud and clear. I watched her performance. “It seems Mr. Musa’s assets aren’t as substantial as you imagined.” Jennifer spun around abruptly, glaring at me fiercely. “Shut up! This must be your doing!” “Musa is in Dubai negotiating a multi-billion dollar project, how could he be out of money!” She fumbled for her phone and called Musa. “I’m sorry, the number you have dialed is currently switched off.” The mechanical female voice became the final straw that broke her. The designer’s gaze had already shifted from respectful to suspicious. “Mrs. Musa, if there are financial difficulties, our cooperation can be put on hold for now…” “Who says I don’t have money!” Jennifer shrieked. She would never allow herself to be humiliated in front of her rival. She yelled downstairs, “Mom! Come up here!” Laura, who had been swaying to the music, rushed upstairs. “What’s wrong?” Jennifer pulled her into a corner and whispered a few words. Laura’s face changed drastically, and she waved her hands repeatedly. “No, no, absolutely not! That’s the money for your brother Gerald’s house!” Jennifer stomped her foot in exasperation. “Mom! Think long-term! When Musa comes back, this whole villa will be mine!” “I’ll pay you back tenfold, a hundredfold!” Under her relentless badgering, Laura gritted her teeth and pulled out a passbook. A full two point four million dollars was transferred directly into the renovation company’s account. Watching the designer leave, satisfied with the receipt, Jennifer finally regained her composure. She walked up to me, chin held high. “See? That’s what you call leverage.” “Tomorrow night, I’m hosting a housewarming party here, and celebrating my marriage, of course.” “I’ve invited all the socialites and our university classmates.” She reached out and poked my shoulder. “You’d better behave yourself. If you dare to ruin my party, I’ll cut off your allowance immediately!” I patted the spot where she’d poked me. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to prepare a grand gift for you.” The next evening, the villa was brightly lit. Jennifer, wearing a rented designer gown bought with the few thousand dollars Musa had left her, mingled through the crowd. Most of the guests were our university classmates. These people, who used to flock around me, were now all gathered around Jennifer, fawning over her. “Jennifer, you’re so low-key! I can’t believe you became Mrs. Musa without a word.” “This villa must be worth hundreds of millions! I’m so jealous.” Norris, our class monitor, raised his glass, his face dripping with sycophancy. Jennifer covered her mouth, giggling, shaking all over. “Musa just spoils me too much. He insisted on transferring this house to my name.” As she spoke, her gaze dismissively swept towards me, sitting in the corner. “Victoria, you don’t need to be too sad.” “Even though your dad remarried, as your stepmother, I definitely won’t treat you badly.” All eyes in the room instantly focused on me. There was pity, schadenfreude, and most of all, the greedy anticipation of a good show. Norris immediately jumped out to side with Jennifer. “Victoria, what are you waiting for? Why aren’t you coming over to toast Jennifer?” “Exactly, it’s a happy occasion, who are you sulking for?” A few other girls chimed in. Jennifer walked up to me, holding out a glass of red wine. “Victoria, call me ‘Mom,’ and this drink can be our truce.” She lowered her voice, speaking only loud enough for the two of us to hear. “If you don’t, tomorrow I’ll dig up your mom’s urn and throw it into the artificial lake for the fish.” My eyes instantly turned cold. “Jennifer, do you really think that just because Musa married you, this house is your kingdom?” Jennifer was unnerved by my glare but forced herself to maintain her aggressive demeanor. “Isn’t it? Musa is the CEO of Victoria Group!” She pulled a document from her bag and held it high. “Open your eyes and look! This is the prenuptial agreement Musa gave me!” “Half of the shares under his name have all been transferred to me!” A gasp erupted from the crowd. I looked at the flawed agreement and finally couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

Jennifer was infuriated by my laughter. “What are you laughing at! You’re at your wit’s end and still playing dumb!” She violently threw the agreement at my face. I tilted my head slightly, the paper grazing my ear as it flew past and scattered on the floor. “I’m laughing at how pathetically foolish you are.” I took a step closer to her. “Didn’t Musa tell you?” “I am the legal representative of Victoria Group, and I am also the 100% controlling shareholder.” “He doesn’t own a single cent of shares. What could he possibly transfer to you?” At these words, the entire room erupted in an uproar. Jennifer froze, then reacted as if she’d heard the most ridiculous joke. “Impossible! You’re lying!” Laura became frantic, rushing over and pointing a finger at me, screaming obscenities: “Bitch, you think you can swallow our family’s wealth? Over my dead body! Get her out of here!” Kevin immediately rallied a few relatives, who aggressively surrounded me. They pushed and shoved, and I, outnumbered, was directly dragged downstairs and unceremoniously thrown into the front yard. I stood in the yard, looking at these brazen squatters, took a deep breath, and pulled out my phone to call the property manager. “Bring your people over. Someone is attacking the owner at the Victoria residence.” In less than three minutes, several patrol cars pulled up to the villa. A dozen security personnel quickly got out, encircling the entire yard. I looked coldly at Jennifer on the steps. “Get out now, while you still can.” When the property manager walked forward, I froze — it was a completely unfamiliar face. He glanced at us, frowning. “I’m the new property manager, Johnson. Who called the police just now?” Jennifer, initially startled, then became ecstatic. She scurried over on her high heels, shoving the two documents in Johnson’s face. “Mr. Johnson, is it? Open your eyes and see, I am Musa’s legal wife, the owner of this villa! Here’s our marriage certificate!” She pointed at me, her face contorted with rage: “This crazy woman is not only refusing to leave my house but is also trying to seize Musa’s assets! Hurry up and have your security guards throw her out!” Johnson carefully examined the names on the marriage certificate, immediately adopting a fawning smile. “Ah, Mrs. Musa, my apologies. Don’t worry, we will absolutely not let any unauthorized persons disturb your life.” He turned and commanded the security guards behind him: “What are you waiting for? Grab this troublemaking woman and get her out of here!” I laughed in exasperation, pulling out my phone to call Musa, wanting him to get back here immediately and clear things up. However, only the cold, mechanical voice came through the receiver: “I’m sorry, the number you have dialed is currently switched off.” “Still trying to call Musa to complain?” Jennifer walked over, looking smug. “Victoria, you’re a pathetic stray now!” She gave a signal, and Jennifer’s aggressive relatives and the security guards immediately stepped forward, pinning my shoulders down. Norris and his opportunistic classmates also joined in the jeering, surrounding me. During my struggle, my arm was roughly twisted behind my back, and my knee was brutally kicked. A wave of humiliation instantly washed over me. “Let go of me!” I gritted my teeth, glaring at her. “Still daring to glare at me?” Jennifer sneered, turning and running into the house. When she came back out, she was holding the portrait of my mom. “Jennifer, I dare you to touch her!” My eyes blazed with fury, desperately trying to break free, but I was pinned down by several burly men, unable to move. “What do I have to be afraid of?” Jennifer held the portrait high above her head. “Victoria, aren’t you so tough?” “Now, kneel down and call me ‘Mom’! Otherwise, I’ll smash your mother’s portrait to pieces right now and throw it into the grimy ditch outside!” “Kneel! Hurry up and kneel!” The relatives and classmates around us burst into loud laughter. Humiliation and rage surged wildly in my chest, my eyes stung with unshed tears, but I bit my lip hard, refusing to shed a single tear. “Kneel! Not going to kneel, huh?” Jennifer exerted force with both hands, about to violently smash the portrait to the ground— Just at my most desperate, most humiliated moment. “Screech—BANG!” Brake sounds ripped through the air, and a black sedan skidded, slamming into the ornate iron gate outside the yard. The car door opened, and a disheveled man was kicked out from inside. He looked like a pathetic stray. Jennifer recognized the person, excitedly putting the portrait aside, stumbling and rushing towards him. “Musa, you’re finally back!”

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At two in the morning, my water broke, and I was staring blankly at Ethan’s latest Snapchat message. “Vanessa’s bathroom pipe burst, and her kid was so scared he got a fever. I’m going to help out. Won’t be back tonight.” Immediately after, an Instagram notification popped up, a red dot. From Vanessa. The photo showed a man’s hand holding a wrench, fixing a pipe, sleeves rolled up, revealing a long, firm forearm. The watch I’d scrimped and saved to buy him gleamed under the light, a painful stab in my eyes. The caption: “So grateful to have you in this city. Leo’s fever is down, and that back-view fixing the pipe? Hottest ever.” The baby in my belly seemed to sense my emotions and kicked me hard. Sharp pain, accompanied by warm liquid, instantly gushed out, soaking the bedsheet. I panicked, my hands shaking violently as I dialed Ethan’s number. The first call, hung up. The second call, still hung up. I wouldn’t give up, desperately dialing a third time. Finally, it connected. What came through the earpiece wasn’t an anxious inquiry, but a low growl, brimming with anger. “Chloe, are you done yet? Didn’t I tell you? Vanessa is a single mom, it’s not easy for her and her kid. Her house is flooded in the middle of the night. If I don’t go help, should I just watch them drown?” The heavy ache in my abdomen made it almost impossible to breathe. I pleaded with him, my voice cracking. “Ethan, my water broke… I’m in so much pain. Where are you? Can you come back and take me to the hospital…” The other end of the line was silent for a second. Then Vanessa’s panicked voice came through: “Ethan, Leo just threw up again! Is he having a seizure? Please come quickly!” Ethan’s slight hesitation vanished instantly. His tone became extremely impatient. “Are you jealous because of my Instagram post? Chloe, when did you become so manipulative? To trick me into coming back, you’d even lie about your water breaking? Your due date is still three days away. Stay home by yourself. Don’t be unreasonable.” “Beep—” The call was ruthlessly cut off. When I tried to call again, his phone was off. Outside, thunder boomed. Lightning tore through the night sky, illuminating my ghastly pale face. Despair washed over me like a tide. This old apartment building had no elevator. Ethan, in his eagerness to provide “on-call support” for Vanessa and her kid, had bought our marital home in a run-down building just two streets away from her place. Now those six flights of stairs became my gate to hell. I bit my lip until it bled, grabbed my hospital bag, and leaning against the wall, started to inch my way out, step by agonizing step. With each step, my lower body felt like it was tearing apart. Sweat mingled with tears, flowing into my mouth, bitter and salty. When I finally made it downstairs, the rain was pouring down. Soaked to the bone, I stood in the heavy rain for a full twenty minutes before finally flagging down a taxi willing to stop. The driver looked at me, his face turning pale with fright, and he ran two red lights to get me to the nearest hospital. Inside the emergency room, a nurse pushed a wheelchair toward me, shouting, “Family? Where’s the patient’s family? We need to get her checked in!” People came and went in the hall, but I lay alone on the gurney, feeling like trash abandoned by the world. Trembling, I pulled a card from my soaked bag, handed it to the nurse, and forced a smile uglier than a cry. “No family… I’ll sign for myself.”

The labor process felt like a trip through hell. Due to excessive amniotic fluid loss and extreme emotional fluctuations, my cervix dilated agonizingly slowly. The delivery room was filled with heartbreaking screams. The woman on the next bed cursed her husband in pain, and he was wiping sweat, forcing a smile, holding a Red Bull, ready to serve her. Only I lay there, all alone. The midwife looked at me with a hint of pity and asked softly, “Do you want to try contacting the baby’s father again? In situations like this, having family present helps a lot.” I stared at the glaring fluorescent light on the ceiling and shook my head. He wouldn’t answer. Just before I entered the delivery room, I’d seen Vanessa’s second Instagram update. “Leo finally fell asleep. Thank you, best godfather, for staying up all night. With you, we always have someone to lean on.” In the photo, Ethan was asleep by the bedside, his hand tightly holding the boy named Leo. Heartwarming, touching, a picture of fatherly love. And my child was fighting for her life. In that moment, the last shred of my love for Ethan, along with the pain in my body, shattered into dust. “Push! I see the head!” the doctor shouted sharply. I bit down hard on the towel in my mouth, turning all my hatred into strength. Ten hours. After ten grueling hours of torment, with a loud cry, my daughter was born. The nurse held the wrinkled baby for me to see. “It’s a beautiful little princess, six pounds, four ounces.” I weakly glanced at her, tears silently streaming down my face. Back in the hospital room, the anesthetic wore off, and the wound burned. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Ethan: “Are you awake? I just woke up. Leo was a handful last night. You said your stomach hurt yesterday? Try to relax, don’t always overreact. I’ll bring you breakfast later.” Every line was pure perfunctory nonsense. He didn’t even consider that my desperate call for help last night was real. I didn’t reply, tossing my phone aside. It wasn’t until noon that the hospital room door was suddenly pushed open. Ethan rushed in, looking disheveled, carrying a bag of cold sandwiches. When he saw me in a hospital gown, lying in bed, with a baby sleeping in the bassinet beside me, he froze. His expression went from impatience to shock, then to panic. “Chloe… you, you really gave birth?” He rushed to the bedside, trying to take my hand, but I coldly pulled away. “Don’t touch me.” My voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping a table. A flicker of embarrassment crossed Ethan’s face, quickly replaced by angry self-justification. “Why didn’t you call me? Giving birth is such a big deal, and you just came to the hospital by yourself without a word? Do you know how worried I was?” I laughed, a bitter sound that pulled at my wound, making me gasp in pain. “Ethan, did a dog eat your memory? At two in the morning, I called you and told you my water broke. You told me to stop acting, and you hung up on me.” Ethan froze, seemingly recalling last night’s events. A moment later, his eyes darted away, and his tone softened. “I thought… I thought you were just jealous of Vanessa, deliberately trying to trick me. You know, after hearing the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf too many times, who would’ve thought this time it was real…” “So in your mind, I’m someone who would joke about our child’s life just to create drama?” I looked at him calmly, my eyes hollow. Ethan looked a little guilty, placing the sandwiches on the table. “All right, I was wrong, I apologize, okay? Vanessa’s situation was an emergency too, she’s a woman…” “Is she more important, or is our unborn child more important?” Ethan frowned, lowering his voice. “Chloe, can you stop being so aggressive? The baby was born safely, wasn’t she? Vanessa’s kid was sick, it was an emergency! We’re all friends. What’s wrong with helping each other? Can’t you be a little more open-minded?” Friends. Helping each other. I looked at his self-righteous face, and suddenly the man I’d shared a bed with for three years seemed terrifyingly unfamiliar. Just then, his phone rang. A custom ringtone—it was Vanessa. Ethan instinctively glanced at me, then took his phone into the hallway to answer. Through the glass panel of the door, I saw his expression soften, even showing a hint of tenderness, as he nodded repeatedly into the phone. Five minutes later, he pushed the door open, looking troubled. “Chloe, um… Vanessa said she left in a hurry and forgot her keys, and Leo needs a follow-up checkup at the hospital. I need to take her a spare set of keys. Anyway, you’re at the hospital with nurses taking care of you, and your parents will be here this afternoon. I’ll be back soon.” With that, he turned and left without waiting for my reply. From beginning to end, he didn’t even glance down at his newborn daughter sleeping in the bassinet.

Ethan was gone for three days. During those three days, my parents rushed over from back home. Seeing my pale face and the empty bedside, my mother’s eyes instantly welled up, and she turned away to wipe her tears. My father was so angry he smoked an entire pack of cigarettes in the hallway; if I hadn’t stopped him, he would’ve gone straight to confront Ethan. Ethan’s Snapchat messages, however, never stopped. One moment it was, “Vanessa’s car broke down, I’m helping her fix it,” the next it was, “Leo needs an IV at the hospital, Vanessa can’t handle it alone.” Every excuse was righteous, and every one felt like a knife twisting in my heart. My daughter hadn’t been given a formal name yet, so looking at her sleeping face, I gave her the nickname Annie. I only wished for her to live a life of peace and safety, unlike her mother, who had been so blind. On the day of discharge, Ethan finally appeared. He drove up, but Vanessa and Leo were in the passenger seat. The car stopped downstairs from the inpatient ward. Ethan rolled down the window and waved to me. “Chloe, over here! Vanessa needs to bring Leo for a follow-up too, so I just gave them a ride home since it was on the way, saves her a taxi.” My mother was shaking with anger, pointing at Ethan and about to unleash a torrent of curses. I stopped her, and with a blank expression, I held Annie and opened the back door. “Mom, Dad, get in.” The atmosphere in the car was incredibly strange. Vanessa turned around, a perpetually soft and harmless smile on her face, but her eyes held blatant provocation. “Chloe, I’m so sorry to trouble Ethan again. Leo insisted on riding in Ethan’s car, saying his godfather’s car is the safest. Chloe, you’re so generous, I’m sure you don’t mind, right?” I looked at her coldly. “I do mind.” Vanessa’s smile froze. Ethan frowned at me in the rearview mirror. “Chloe, what kind of talk is that? Don’t be so harsh in front of your parents.” “Harsh?” I let out a soft laugh, pulling at my still-healing wound. “Ethan, I just got discharged, my wound hasn’t fully healed, and you make me and our newborn sit in the back, while another woman and her child sit in the passenger seat. Who’s being harsh?” Ethan choked, speechless. Before he could say anything, Leo suddenly shrieked, “Godfather! This bad woman is bullying Mommy! I want her to get out!” With that, he picked up his Transformers toy and violently threw it at me. The hard, sharp edges of the toy grazed my forehead, a sharp pain, instantly swelling red. Annie was startled and cried loudly. “Leo!” Vanessa feigned a scolding, but her eyes were full of amusement. Ethan wasn’t angry; instead, he reached out to pat the brat’s head. “Good boy, Leo, don’t fuss. I’ll take you to KFC.” My mother finally couldn’t take it anymore and slapped the back of the driver’s seat. “Ethan! Are you even a human being?! Your own daughter is crying her eyes out, your wife just got hit, and you’re still planning to take this brat for KFC?” “Mom—” Ethan stopped, then corrected himself. “Susan, why are you talking so nastily?” He slammed on the brakes, his face ashen. “Leo is just a kid. What does he understand?” “If a child doesn’t understand, do adults not understand either?” my father, Thomas, roared. The car descended into chaos. I took a deep breath and pushed open the car door. “Mom, Dad, let’s get out. We’ll take a taxi.” Ethan panicked. “Chloe, what are you trying to do now? Your parents are here. Do you want people to laugh at us?” I ignored him, got out of the car with Annie in my arms, hailed a taxi, and left without looking back. Behind me, I vaguely heard Vanessa’s insincere pleas and Ethan’s frantic honking. On the way home, watching the scenery flash by outside the window, I made a decision. This marriage was rotten to the core. Like a festering wound, it had to be cut out for me to survive.

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Every time I finished a night shift, all I wanted was to sleep. But my mom, Sarah, always insisted I eat three meals a day, on schedule. If I didn’t get up, she’d yank off my covers, throw open the curtains, and slam doors, making as much noise as possible. This constant disruption often left me with chest pains, foggy-headed at work, and prone to mistakes. I absolutely hated it. Still, I knew that for her generation, the fear was starving, not collapsing from sleep deprivation. My mom genuinely thought she was looking out for me. So that day, the moment I heard her knock, I got up. I walked out just in time to hear Sarah complaining to my younger sister, Chloe. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I made big portions of everything.” “I figured, with Audrey here, nothing would go to waste.” “But Audrey either doesn’t get up, or just picks at her food. Honestly, she just annoys me.” My heart sank. So I was just Chloe’s leftover trash can. Then, Sarah started complaining about me living off them. “If this keeps up, I’m going to charge her rent!” Had she forgotten? I was the one paying this house’s mortgage! Chloe, on the other hand, had been sponging off us since she graduated. She was the real freeloader. 1 Hearing Sarah’s words, all sleepiness vanished. A gust of wind swept through the apartment. My bedroom door slammed shut. Sarah and Chloe quickly quieted down, turning to stare at me. Sarah fake-glanced out the window, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, look at that. The sun must be coming up in the west.” “Some people get up on their own after just one call.” Chloe giggled, patting the chair next to her. “Audrey, what are you standing there for? Come eat!” I slowly walked over, studying the dishes. Every single one was Chloe’s favorite. And whichever dish Chloe ate more of, Sarah would immediately push it closer to her. My heart pounded, just like it did every time Sarah forced me awake. Eventually, it twisted into a sharp ache. I wasn’t a picky eater. Most of the time, I was so tired my eyes could barely stay open. I’d truly never noticed. Sarah’s favoritism was so incredibly obvious. I deliberately reached for the fried chicken in front of Chloe. Sarah couldn’t help but snap. “Can’t you see Chloe finally found something she likes? “Can’t you just let her have it? You always have to snatch things!” I couldn’t eat another bite. “Right, I should just wait until Chloe’s done, then come out.” “Eat her leftovers, be her leftover trash can!” Tears of frustration streamed down my face, unstoppable. Sarah’s face showed no trace of panic or guilt. “You clearly heard us, and now you’re just putting on a show to annoy me.” “Besides, what’s wrong with what I said?” “Chloe is delicate; it’s hard for her to find things she likes. What’s wrong with letting her have it?” “And you, you eat like you’re always starving, what difference does it make what you eat anyway!” My eyes widened in shock. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Chloe pushed the plate of fried chicken toward me. “It’s okay, I don’t have to eat it.” She said it, but her eyes were glued to the fried chicken. Since childhood, Chloe and I had almost identical clothes, food, and everything else. Sarah bought us the same things. But every single item was something Chloe liked. For instance, during blueberry season. Sarah would buy a box for each of us. But only Chloe liked them. I hated them! Or when our relatives bought us two backpacks, Sarah always let Chloe pick first, whichever one she liked. I’d always get the one Chloe didn’t want. I used to deceive myself, telling myself it was only right for me to make allowances for her. But now, I had to admit. My mom was undeniably biased. A surge of anger rushed through me. I grabbed the fried chicken and dumped it into the trash can. “This is where trash belongs!” Chloe’s mouth turned down, and her eyes immediately welled up. Sarah exploded in a fit of rage, roaring. “Chloe even gave you her favorite food, why are you being so aggressive?” “I think I’ve been too nice to you!” “From today onwards, if you want to stay in this house, you must pay me $2,500 for rent and $2,000 for household expenses!” I let out a cold laugh. My monthly salary was only $8,000, and the house mortgage was $3,500. To avoid going broke every month, I’d given up renting near my office, commuting three hours each way every day. Now Sarah wanted to completely drain me dry. She was playing a truly brilliant game. I had nothing more to say. I turned and went back to my room. “I won’t pay rent, and I definitely won’t pay household expenses!” “And from now on, don’t wake me up for meals after my night shifts. And keep your noise down!” Otherwise, I’d move out immediately and let the house go into foreclosure! But I couldn’t bring myself to say that last part. This house was in a good school district, bought by my parents so Chloe and I could attend high school in the city. When my dad was alive, we managed to get by. My dad passed away unexpectedly a few years ago. Sarah only had a modest retirement pension, about a thousand dollars a month. The two of them had been living off my dad’s compensation money for the past few years. As far as I knew, my dad’s compensation was almost gone. If I really washed my hands of it, their lives would become incredibly difficult. So, I went to sleep, fuming. I slept until 8 PM, then groggily got up to use the restroom. But I couldn’t open the bathroom door. Sarah sashayed over, handing me a QR code. “Five dollars for a pee, ten dollars for a poop, one dollar per sheet of toilet paper.” “Scan to open the door!” 2 I frowned, staring at Sarah. She explained with a fake smile. “If you don’t pay rent, you’re not entitled to use anything in this house.” “Either pay up now, or you’ll pay me $4,500 every month from now on.” That’s when I realized Sarah was serious. I said coldly, “I’m not entitled? Don’t forget, I’m the one paying the $3,500 mortgage every month.” “Many things in this house, I bought them!” “And Chloe? She’s been living off you since she graduated, sponging off us.” “You want rent and household expenses from me, why don’t you ask her?” Sarah instantly bristled. “So what if you’re paying the mortgage? “The deed is in *my* name. This house has nothing to do with you.” “Besides, you paying the mortgage? That’s just you repaying me for raising you, it’s what you’re supposed to do!” “And what I’m asking for is wear-and-tear fees for the house, and my labor costs for cleaning your room, cooking for you, and doing your dishes.” “These are separate issues, don’t you dare conflate them!” “As for Chloe,” Sarah suddenly stammered, fumbling for a while before finally saying, “Chloe is different from you!” Faced with Sarah’s twisted logic, my heart felt like it had been stuffed with broken glass, searing with pain. “How is she different?” “Aside from being two years younger than me, how is she different?” I took a deep breath, suppressing the bitter turmoil in my chest. Finally, I made my decision. “Fine, let’s keep matters separate.” “Then I’ll just move out. You won’t have any excuse to ask me for money then, right?” “And… figure out the mortgage on your own from now on.” With that, I immediately turned and went back to my room to pack my things. I didn’t want to stay in that house for another minute! Sarah, furious, tried to grab my arm. “You think you can just move in and out whenever you please? It doesn’t work that way.” “If you insist on leaving, you’ll pay me ten years of back rent and household expenses!” I didn’t want to argue needlessly with Sarah. I pushed her away, turned my back, and started looking for my ID and passport in the bedside drawer. Suddenly, Chloe screamed and rushed in, yelling. “Sarah, what’s wrong with you!” I spun around. Sarah was clutching her chest, groaning in pain in Chloe’s arms. 3 I didn’t have time to think. I immediately called 91

Even if a stranger collapsed in front of me, I couldn’t just ignore them. Especially not my own mother. The ambulance arrived quickly. Chloe followed me to the hospital. She wasn’t worried about Sarah’s condition; she just stared at me intently. I knew why. She was afraid I’d leave and no one would pay the medical bills. Soon, Sarah was wheeled out of the room by a nurse. The nurse told me. Sarah had collapsed due to acute myocardial infarction. She needed bypass surgery within three days, or her life would be in danger. But the surgery would cost $100,000. For five years, I’d scrimped and saved, doing odd jobs occasionally. My entire savings amounted to just $50,000. I was just about to completely break free from Sarah and start my own life. If I borrowed money to cover this sum now, my future would be incredibly difficult. As I hesitated, Chloe loudly declared. “Audrey, Sarah used her entire pension to buy a house in the city so you could go to school!” “For all these years you lived at home, Sarah never made you lift a finger.” “Now Sarah is like this, and you have money but won’t pay for her medical expenses? Are you just going to watch her die?” Chloe’s voice wasn’t quiet. People around us all looked over, their eyes filled with scorn. I wasn’t in the mood to argue about her half-truths. But one thing she said was right. No matter how much I resented Sarah, I couldn’t just watch her die. Fine. This $100,000 would be my repayment for giving birth to me. From now on, I owed her nothing. It took me a full day to gather the $100,000. The next morning, I went to the hospital cashier’s office, ready to pre-pay the medical expenses. Just as the money was about to be transferred, the cashier, Nurse Davis, suddenly whispered. “The nurse who told you your mother needed immediate surgery… she seems to be related to your mom.” 4 I was utterly confused. But I could tell something fishy was going on. So, I pulled back my phone. “I won’t pay for now, thank you.” I first found Sarah’s attending physician and asked. “Doctor, what are the chances of success for my mom’s bypass surgery?” The doctor looked confused. “Bypass surgery? Your mom is just having a stent procedure, you must have misheard?” My heart gave a sudden jolt. I tried to sound calm. “I apologize, I might have been too anxious and misheard. So, what’s the approximate cost for this stent procedure?” The doctor rubbed his temples, looking extremely tired. “Didn’t I have Nurse Davis tell you? The surgery cost isn’t high. If your mother has insurance, it’ll be around ten thousand dollars after reimbursement.” After leaving the doctor’s office, I went back to Nurse Davis. I got straight to the point. “If you don’t want me to report you and cost you your job, tell me the truth!” Nurse Davis sighed reluctantly, then spilled everything. It turned out Nurse Davis was Sarah’s distant cousin, Carol. Chloe, who had met Carol once with Sarah, had contacted her on the way to the hospital. The two of them had conspired to stage this scam. Anger consumed my reason. I dragged Carol to the hospital room, ready for a face-to-face confrontation! In the hospital room, Sarah was already awake. Chloe sat in front of her, beaming. “Audrey has already gone to pay.” “After your surgery, Carol will help us get the remaining money back.” “As long as Audrey doesn’t see the surgery report, that money will magically end up in our pockets.” Sarah chuckled with glee. “My daughter is so smart. After we get the extra medical money back, I’ll add a little more and buy you that car you like.” Chloe snuggled into Sarah’s arm, cooing. “Thank you, Sarah! You’re the best!” Sarah dotingly ruffled Chloe’s hair. A loud bang went off in my ears. My mind went blank. After a long moment, I regained my composure. Since she was so heartless, I didn’t need to consider any ‘debt of upbringing’ anymore. From this day forward, whether she lived or died was no longer my concern. I walked into the hospital room openly. The mother and daughter quickly clamped their mouths shut in a panic. Chloe put on an act, squeezing out a few tears. “Sarah, why did your heart condition suddenly worsen?” “But Audrey has already gone to pay, you can have the surgery tomorrow, you’ll be fine.” Then, she pretended to just notice me entering the room, asking excitedly. “Audrey, did you pay the medical bill?” Sarah glanced at me, snorting coldly. “This is all because of certain people making me angry. She wouldn’t dare not pay!” At that moment, I spoke with incredible calm. “Why should I pay for you? You’re going to charge me rent, so we’re just landlord and tenant.” “You don’t ask your own biological daughter for money, but you expect me to pay your medical bills? Don’t you think that’s funny?” Sarah was so angry she couldn’t speak a complete sentence. I suddenly remembered how she’d blocked me from the restroom earlier. I pulled out my PayPal QR code and held it in front of Sarah. “Oh, and I took care of you here last night. According to caretaker rates, you owe me $500.” “Please pay!”

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To celebrate my parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary, I’d gone all out. I picked Lumière, a high-end bistro known more for its hushed atmosphere and hand-painted silk wallpaper than its portions. It was supposed to be a night of soft jazz and expensive Cabernet. Then the check arrived. I stared at the leather folder, my heart skipping a beat before settling into a panicked thud. The total was sixty-two thousand dollars. Our dinner—the three of us—shouldn’t have topped four hundred, even with the wine. This wasn’t a typo; it was a fantasy. I immediately flagged down the server. Her explanation was delivered with a practiced, robotic tilt of the head. Apparently, a gentleman hosted a “Graduation Gala” for his son in the private ballroom and instructed the staff to “put it on his niece’s tab.” She claimed he told them I had authorized it. Then, she handed me a scrap of paper—a cocktail napkin with a scribbled, illegible note that looked like it had been written by someone mid-seizure. I didn’t believe a word of it. Without a second of hesitation, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “I’d like to report a grand larceny and fraud in progress at Lumière on 5th Avenue,” I said, my voice cutting through the ambient noise of the room. “The amount is sixty-two thousand dollars.” 01 My voice wasn’t loud, but in a room designed for “discreet elegance,” it landed like a grenade. At the mention of “sixty thousand,” the clinking of silverware at the neighboring tables stopped. The young server’s professional mask didn’t just slip; it shattered. Her face went from ivory to a sickly, translucent gray. She looked at me, then at the phone pressed to my ear, as if I were holding a live wire. “Ma’am… you… you can’t…” My father, Robert, and my mother, Ellen, were frozen in a state of pure, bewildered shock. They looked at each other, their eyes wide with the “how did we get here?” look of people who had spent their entire lives following the rules. My father, a man who believed “making a scene” was a cardinal sin, was already breaking out in a cold sweat. “Natalie, honey,” he whispered, reaching for my arm. “Maybe there’s a mistake. Just hang up. Let’s talk to them first.” My mother nodded frantically, her face flushed with the embarrassment of being watched. “Yes, the police… that’s so extreme. What if it’s just a distant cousin playing a prank? Someone had too much to drink?” I understood them. They were retired teachers who had lived a quiet, suburban life. To them, the “police” were people who appeared in news segments about tragedies or criminals. They didn’t see themselves as the protagonists of a crime. But I didn’t hang up. I calmly gave the dispatcher the exact address and added, “Yes, I’m here now. I will be waiting for the officers to arrive.” I ended the call. A heavy, suffocating silence descended on the lobby. The server, seemingly drained of all strength, turned and bolted toward the manager’s office. Less than a minute later, a man in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit emerged. He had a prominent stomach, a slicked-back pompadour that shone under the chandeliers, and a nameplate that read: Mr. Prescott. Mr. Prescott arrived with a flourish of false concern. “Ms. Hastings, please! Let’s be reasonable. There’s no need to involve the authorities in a simple misunderstanding. This is a small matter, really.” He stood by our table, his eyes flicking over me—assessing my shoes, my watch, the leather of my handbag. He was calculating my net worth in real-time. Finding it sufficient, his smile widened. He picked up the sixty-two-thousand-dollar bill and the scribbled napkin, squinting at them as if they were ancient scrolls. “Ah, I see… the handwriting… yes…” He dragged out the words. “It looks like it was your uncle. Perhaps he wanted to surprise you? Why don’t you give him a call? Among family, these things are better handled privately, don’t you think?” He said “family matter” with a pointed emphasis, trying to twist a commercial fraud into a domestic squabble. My parents were wavering. I could see my father’s posture wilting under the manager’s “authority.” He forced a nervous smile. “See? Mr. Prescott is right. Natalie, maybe it’s just… you know, that cousin Jerry? He was always a bit of a loose cannon…” My mother was already fumbling with her phone. “Do we even have an ‘Uncle Jerry’ in the city?” In that moment, a cold, sharp anger flared in my chest. My parents were good, honest people, but that very goodness made them vulnerable. They were being gaslit into self-doubt by a man in a fancy suit. This was exactly what scammers and predatory businesses counted on. I took a slow breath, pushing the fire down into a cold, hard diamond of resolve. “Mr. Prescott.” My voice was quiet, but it cut through his prattle like a blade. He stopped, his smile faltering. I met his gaze and spoke with clinical precision. “First, let me be clear: neither I, nor my family, have an ‘Uncle Jerry’ or any relative currently hosting a gala in this building.” “Second,” I continued, “you allowed a sixty-thousand-dollar charge to be transferred to my bill without a signature, without a phone call, and without a pre-authorization on my credit card, based solely on a napkin from a stranger. Tell me—is that the ‘Lumière Standard’ of service?” I didn’t raise my voice, but every word was a nail being driven home. Prescott’s smile vanished, replaced by a dark, offended sneer. “We saw the gentleman speaking with your party earlier. He seemed very familiar with you, and he was quite adamant that you were covering the event. We were simply trying to be accommodating…” I cut him off. “‘He seemed familiar’? ‘He was adamant’? Is that your risk management protocol for a high-end establishment?” I gestured to the sprawling crystal chandelier and the velvet-lined walls. “You spent millions on the decor, yet your billing system is less secure than a lemonade stand? Even a street vendor asks for the money before they hand over the hot dog.” The irony wasn’t lost on the room. Several diners at the next table let out a muffled snicker. Whispers started rippling through the dining room. “She’s right. Sixty grand on a napkin? That’s insane.” “I’m checking my bill twice before I leave this place.” “God, imagine if they did that to us.” The murmurs were like needles pricking Prescott’s ego. His face flushed a deep, angry crimson. He lost his corporate polish and bared his teeth. “Miss! Do not make a scene! You are disrupting our business! The bill has been verified. If you do not settle this amount, we have every right to detain you until the matter is resolved!” A threat. A naked, ugly threat. I didn’t flinch. I smiled. I pulled out my phone, angled the camera toward his contorted face, and hit ‘record.’ The red ‘REC’ light blinked steadily between us. “Please,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Say that again. Look right into the lens and tell the world—and the police who are currently three minutes away—that Lumière intends to hold us under illegal private imprisonment before the authorities arrive.” Prescott’s bravado popped like a pricked balloon. He stared at the lens as if it were the barrel of a gun. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. His face turned from beet-red to a sickly purple. Behind me, I felt my parents shift. They were looking at me with a complex mix of shock and a sudden, burgeoning pride. They were seeing, perhaps for the first time, that their daughter wasn’t someone who needed protecting anymore. She was the one holding the line. The lobby remained in a tense standoff. And I was just waiting for my backup. 02 About ten minutes later, the revolving glass doors reflected the rhythmic strobes of red and blue. Two uniformed officers entered. One was older, with the weary, cynical eyes of a man who had seen every scam in the city. The younger one held a body cam, his expression neutral. Their presence acted like a gust of fresh air, clearing the stagnant, toxic tension in the lobby. Every head turned. Prescott, who had been a snarling dog seconds ago, underwent a miraculous transformation. His face melted into a submissive, oily grin. He practically scurried toward the officers, bowing so low he was nearly doubled over. “Officers! Thank you for coming. So sorry for the trouble on such a busy night. It’s nothing, really—just a little family misunderstanding. A private matter!” He tried to use his bulk to steer them toward a corner for a “private chat.” Officer Henderson, the senior lead, didn’t even look at him. He sidestepped Prescott and walked straight to me. “You the one who called?” “I am,” I said, standing up. In front of the law, I delivered the facts. No fluff, no emotional outbursts—just a crisp executive summary, the same way I delivered risk reports at the firm. “…and that brings us to this. A sixty-two-thousand-dollar bill, and this napkin from a supposed ‘uncle.’” I handed over the leather folder and the scrap of paper. Henderson took them. The younger officer focused his body cam on the evidence. I pointed to the napkin. “Officer, notice a few things. One: there is no full name, only ‘Jerry,’ and no contact information. Would a relative truly intending to host a party act this clandestinely?” “Two: the note claims I ‘authorized’ this, yet there is no proof. No recorded call, no text thread, no signature. The restaurant transferred a five-figure debt based on a verbal claim from a stranger. Logically, it’s a farce.” Henderson nodded slowly. He turned to Prescott, his gaze sharpening. “How do you explain this? You didn’t verify a sixty-thousand-dollar transfer with the party being billed?” The sweat on Prescott’s forehead was now a river, carving paths through his bronzer. He dabbed at his face with a silk handkerchief, stammering. “Officer, we… the gentleman, Mr. Garrick was so certain, and they… they looked so close…” His voice trailed off into a pathetic squeak. Then, the silence was broken by a frantic sound. The young server from earlier came running back, clutching a cordless phone as if it were a ticking bomb. “Mr. Prescott! The phone! It’s for Ms. Hastings. It’s… it’s her uncle!” The word ‘uncle’ hit the room like a physical weight. Every eye, including the officers’, snapped to the phone. I felt a cold smirk touch my lips. Unbelievable. This man was either the bravest idiot in the city or so arrogant he thought he could talk his way out of a police report. Officer Henderson’s eyes glinted. He gave me a subtle nod and whispered to his partner, “Make sure the audio is recording.” He gestured to me. “Take it.” I took the phone from the server’s trembling hand. Under the collective gaze of the entire restaurant, I pressed the speakerphone button. A man’s voice, oily and forcedly cheerful, filled the air. “Hey, Natalie? It’s your Uncle Jerry!” 03 “It’s your Uncle Jerry, sweetheart!” The voice was dripping with a synthetic, “long-lost relative” warmth. Behind me, my mother shook her head, mouthing the words, I don’t know him. My father’s brow was furrowed so deeply it looked painful. I gripped the phone, my voice a flat line of professional indifference. “I don’t know who you are.” A booming, fake laugh erupted from the speaker. “Oh, come on! You always were a kidder. How could you forget your favorite uncle? I used to bounce you on my knee back at the old park near your house! Don’t tell me your memory is that short.” It was clever. He didn’t name the park or the city. He used the “old park” trope, a vague hook that fits almost anyone’s childhood. But I wasn’t “anyone.” I stayed silent, letting the dead air pressure him. He took my silence for hesitation. His tone shifted to something more “fatherly” and manipulative. “Look, Natalie, I heard you were taking your folks out for their anniversary. Such a wonderful thing! I figured, hey, my boy is celebrating his graduation tonight too—why not make it a double celebration? We’re family. We shouldn’t be counting pennies.” Here it was. The first layer of the emotional shakedown. “You’ve done so well for yourself, big job, big money. Surely you wouldn’t begrudge your own blood a dinner? Your parents are right there, aren’t they? You really want to make a scene in front of them? Call the cops? Think of how embarrassed they’ll be. You’re making them look bad in front of everyone.” He was throwing everything at the wall—guilt, shame, the “model daughter” trope. He was trying to tie me in knots with the very values my parents raised me with. It worked on my father. He let out a huff of indignation and snatched the phone from my hand. “Who the hell is this?” he barked. “I’m warning you, stop lying! We don’t have an ‘Uncle Jerry’ and you’re slandering my daughter!” My dad’s outburst was impulsive, but it warmed my heart. In the end, he was a protector. I took the phone back, stepping back into the lead. My voice was like a scalpel. “Mr. Garrick, or whoever you are. If you’re family, this is very easy to prove.” I paused, ensuring the officers were listening. “Right now, in front of these two police officers, I want you to tell me my grandmother’s maiden name. Or my mother’s middle name. Get one right, and I’ll pay the sixty thousand right now.” The torrent of words on the other end stopped instantly. A heavy, static-filled silence echoed through the speaker. Every person in the lobby held their breath. Prescott looked like he’d just swallowed a live wasp. A few seconds later, the mask slipped. “Jerry” turned into a cornered rat. His voice became shrill, jagged, and foul. “You little bitch! Who do you think you are? You talk to your elders like that? You get a little education and suddenly you’re too good for us? I’m telling you, you’re paying that bill. One way or another, you’re paying. Don’t make me come over there and teach you some manners!” A threat of physical violence. The “kind uncle” was gone, replaced by a street-level thug. I smiled—a cold, terrifyingly sharp smile. “Respect is earned, not gifted. What room are you in, ‘Uncle’? Don’t hide behind a phone. The officers would love to discuss ‘family manners’ with you in person.” “Screw you!” he screamed, followed by a string of profanities that made the diners nearby gasp. Then, click. He hung up. The lobby was so quiet you could hear the hum of the air conditioning. Any doubt that this was a “misunderstanding” had evaporated. I set the phone down and looked at Prescott. He was the color of damp parchment. Officer Henderson looked at him too, his voice hard as iron. “Still think this is a ‘family matter,’ Mr. Prescott?” Prescott swayed on his feet. He knew the situation had spiraled completely out of his control. 04 Henderson’s eyes were like ice. “I want the security footage from the lobby, the host stand, and the hallways. Now.” Prescott didn’t argue. He practically tripped over his own feet rushing toward the back office. All his arrogance had leaked out of him, leaving nothing but a desperate, sweaty middle manager. Henderson turned to me, his tone softening a fraction. “Ms. Hastings, think back. From the moment you walked in until you sat down, did you notice anyone following you? Anyone lingering?” I closed my eyes, tapping into the observational skills I used to analyze market volatility. “We were led straight to our booth by the window. There was a man at the table next to us. Mid-fifties, dark navy jacket that didn’t quite fit his shoulders. He looked… restless. I noticed him glancing our way several times. When my father was talking about his retirement, the man leaned back, almost like he was trying to catch the frequency.” “I thought he was just a curious diner,” I added. “But now… he was hunting.” “Do you remember his face?” “Square jaw, tanned, thinning hair on top. When he looked at us, he had these deep crinkles around his eyes—the kind that make people look ‘trustworthy’ or ‘harmless.’ It’s a mask.” Just then, Prescott returned with a technician lugging a laptop. He was a broken man, nodding frantically. “We have it, Officer. Everything.” Henderson had another question ready. “The ‘Graduation Gala’—who booked it? What name and number are on the file?”

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I was two months pregnant when I drank the “wellness tonic” Ken had his assistant deliver to my office. Within minutes, the world tilted. A jagged, white-hot blade of pain ripped through my abdomen, and I collapsed. By the time the paramedics wheeled me into the ER, the pain had blurred my vision into a hazy, pulsing red. I was drifting, caught between the sterile smell of the hospital and the cold reality of what was happening. Then, through the thin curtain of the recovery room, I heard Ken’s voice. He was on the phone, his tone a sharp, hushed hiss. “Who told you to send the abortifacients? Did I not tell you—specifically—never to take initiative on this?” Julia’s voice came through the speaker, trembling and thick with performative tears. “But you’ve been having me pick up her ‘supplements’ for five years, Ken. You’ve been giving her those birth control drops since the wedding. I thought… I thought you didn’t want the baby. I thought I was helping.” She sobbed, a sound that made my skin crawl. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it. Since I took a life, I’ll just… I’ll pay for it with mine!” A long, heavy silence followed. I waited for him to roar, to threaten her, to call the police. Instead, I heard a weary, resigned sigh. “I didn’t mean that, Julia. It’s just… you were too obvious. I’m not sure I can hide this from Margot.” He paused, his voice dropping into a register of terrifying intimacy. “I told you, our situation stays between us. Margot can never find out. That is my absolute line. I’ll cover for you this time, but don’t ever go rogue again.” When I finally opened my eyes in the dim light of the ward, Ken was there. He wasn’t the cold strategist I’d just heard on the phone. He was a man undone. He dropped to his knees by my bed, the sound of his knees hitting the linoleum echoing like a gunshot. Then, he began to slap himself. Hard. Crack. Crack. “It’s my fault,” he choked out, his eyes bloodshot. “The nurse… she swapped the labels. A horrific, localized error. I’ve already had her fired and blacklisted from every hospital in the state. Margot, baby, please don’t cry. We’re young. We’ll have another one…” I looked at him—at the handsome face I had loved since I was twenty, the eyes that used to burn for me. Now, all I saw was a stranger wearing my husband’s skin. I knew then. It was time to leave. 1 For a second, I wished I hadn’t woken up. The physical pain was a dull throb now, but the hollow ache in my womb was a constant, screaming reminder of the truth. Ken knelt there, his cheek swollen and red from his own blows, looking every bit the grieving father. “Margot, please. Say something. Anything. You’re scaring me.” When I remained silent, he shifted closer, his knees dragging across the floor. He took my hand—the one with the IV drip—and pressed it to his face. “I handled it, I promise. That nurse will never work in healthcare again. I made sure of it.” “We’ll have another one.” The irony was a bitter poison in my throat. We had been married for five years. For five years, I had dreamed of a nursery, of tiny socks, of a life we built together. Every time I went for a check-up, the doctors said I was “delicate” and needed “hormonal balancing.” To prepare my body, I drank the tonics he brought home every night. I endured a thousand needle pricks, my stomach a map of tiny blue bruises from the “fertility injections.” I threw away boxes of empty syringes, month after month, year after year. Ken had been so supportive. He told me he’d consulted top specialists in Switzerland, spending a fortune on “designer supplements” with minimal side effects. I had poisoned myself for half a decade on his command. It wasn’t medicine. It was a chemical gatekeeper. He took my hand again, trying to force me to hit him. I yanked it back, tears finally spilling over. “Ken, I’m not an idiot,” I whispered. “Where is Julia?” I asked, my voice gaining a jagged edge. “Bring her here. I want to hear her say it.” Ken’s brow furrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing his face before he masked it with concern. “Julia is just a kid, Margot. She’s only two years out of grad school. She’s messy and she makes mistakes, but believe me, this had nothing to do with her.” I let out a jagged, self-deprecating laugh. I was about to scream the truth at him when the door pushed open. Julia walked in, wearing a mask of practiced sorrow. “Oh, Margot! Thank God you’re awake. Ken was going to fire me on the spot if you didn’t pull through.” She set a bag of takeout on the nightstand. “I didn’t know what you’d want to eat, so I just grabbed something from that bistro Ken likes. Try to eat a little?” She sat on the edge of my bed, her voice tilting into a condescending croon. “I know the baby is gone, but life has to go on. You have to look forward, Margot. For Ken’s sake.” The rage hit me like a physical wave. I swung my arm, the IV line tugging painfully, and caught her square across the jaw. 2 The slap rang out like a whip crack. For a heartbeat, the room went dead silent. Then, the masks slipped. “Done playing the victim?” I spat. “This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?” Julia collapsed into a heap of theatrical sobs, clutching her face. “How can you say that? How was I supposed to know the hospital made a mistake? I know you’re hurting, Margot, but you can’t just take your anger out on me!” Ken moved faster than I’d ever seen him. He stepped between us, shielding her, his eyes flashing with a cold fury directed at me. “Margot, that’s enough!” “I explained the medicine to you! It was an accident! Just because you’re grieving doesn’t give you the right to assault my staff!” I dug my nails into my palms, the sting of the IV forgotten. “I’m the one who lost a child! I’m the one who almost bled out on a cold table while they scraped my insides out! And you’re telling me to be civil? Ken, swear to me. Swear on your life you aren’t sleeping with her!” “You’re being hysterical!” he roared. “Julia and I are professional. Period. I swear to God, if I’ve betrayed you, may I be struck dead where I stand! Is that what you want? Should I jump out the window? Would my death make you feel better about the baby?” He was panting, his chest heaving. “Look at you, Margot. Look at the way you’re acting. You look like a madwoman.” The words felt like a physical blow to the chest. My heart, already fractured, felt like it was being ground into dust. Seeing he had gone too far, his voice softened, though it remained brittle. “Julia and I have work to discuss. You need to calm down. What’s done is done. Arguing about it won’t bring the pregnancy back.” They turned together and walked out of the room. I waited ten seconds. Then, with trembling hands, I ripped the IV needle out of my vein. I ignored the trickle of blood and slipped into the hallway, following them. I found them in the stairwell. They didn’t even wait to get to the car. They were pressed against the concrete wall, kissing with a desperate, hungry intensity. The sounds of their breathing filled the small space. Finally, they broke apart. Julia playfully punched his chest. “Jerky,” she pouted. “You were so mean just now. You actually scared me.” “I told you not to come in there,” Ken grumbled, though his hands were moving down her waist. “Margot is unstable. If I hadn’t stepped in, she would have clawed your eyes out. What am I supposed to do if I can’t protect you?” Julia giggled, leaning into him. “Then let her hit me. It’s worth it as long as I get to take care of you later.” “You little demon,” Ken groaned, his voice thick with lust. “You’re going to be the death of me.” “I have a surprise for you tonight, Mr. CEO. Something you’ve been begging for. You’ll have to come over to unwrap it…” The air in the stairwell felt like it was disappearing. I turned and stumbled back to my room, collapsing into the bed before they could return. When Ken came back, he didn’t stay. He didn’t even look at me. “I’ll have the driver pick you up when you’re discharged,” he said coldly. “Focus on your recovery.” He never came back. I checked myself out the next morning and took an Uber home. That night, a notification chirped on my phone. A text from Ken: Going to London for three days. Business. Just wired you fifty thousand. Get yourself something nice. Think of it as an apology. The adult world is built on things you can’t say out loud—on rage you swallow and faces you save. I sat on our silk-sheeted bed and stared at our wedding photo on the nightstand. He was holding me on a beach in Maui, his smile bright and wild. I could almost feel the phantom warmth of that breeze. But that girl was dead. And the man in the photo was a ghost. Five years ago, we were the “it” couple of the city’s social scene. He had chased me with a persistence that was legendary. Back then, people in our circle joked about it. “Ken Maxwell? Oh, you mean Margot Thorne’s lapdog?” 3 I had been the ice queen back then, barely sparing him a glance. My family was old money, stable, untouchable. Until it wasn’t. I’ll never forget the night the foundations crumbled. My father’s long-term affair went public, and the fallout was nuclear. My mother, usually the paragon of grace, became someone I didn’t recognize. I watched her hold a kitchen knife to her own throat, screaming at my father to end it with the other woman and send their secret son away. Her desperation didn’t buy her an ounce of mercy. My father didn’t even look at her with pity. He looked at her with disgust. The next morning, the scandal was the only thing people talked about. My mother, in a fit of vengeful madness, liquidated assets and sabotaged the family firm, thinking that if she ruined him, he’d have to stay. Instead, the company went bankrupt. My father handed her divorce papers while standing amidst twenty billion dollars of debt. He preferred financial ruin to another day in her presence. The papers were never signed. My mother walked into the Atlantic Ocean two days later. My father fled to Europe with his mistress and the boy. And I became the city’s favorite punchline. Suddenly, no one wanted to be near me. The only people who looked my way were the trust-fund brats I’d once looked down upon. They offered me a hundred bucks for a night, telling me the great Margot Thorne was now worth less than a girl on a street corner. My dignity was a crumpled rag in the mud. I was ready to follow my mother into the dark. I had the pills laid out on the counter. That’s when Ken appeared. He put his entire career on the line, using his rising firm to shield me. He chased me all over again, not as a lapdog, but as a protector. He spent millions on our hundred-day anniversary just to show the world I was still a queen. Our wedding was the event of the season. In front of five hundred people, he knelt and swore, “Margot is my life. I will spend every breath I have protecting our home.” The dignity he had salvaged for me back then, he was now dragging through the filth with his own hands. I picked up the wedding photo, ready to smash it against the wall, when my phone buzzed. An unknown number. A GPS pin for a high-end lounge downtown. I knew what I would find. I went anyway. Standing outside the private VIP booth, I saw him. Ken, the man who was supposed to be in London, was surrounded by his inner circle, laughing and clinking glasses. Julia was draped across his lap in a dress that left nothing to the imagination. Scandal travels fast. One of his friends smirked, leaning in. “So, the Ice Queen lost the heir? You’re not home playing nurse? How do you have the heart to be out drinking with us?” In the old days, Ken would have defended me with a terrifying intensity. Now, he just looked annoyed. “Don’t start. I don’t know what it is lately, but looking at Margot just makes my head ache. I can’t even have a conversation with her. I say one word, and she’s looking for a hidden meaning.” He took a long pull of his scotch. “I go home to relax, not to add to my stress. To be honest, the thought of walking through my front door feels like a stone sitting on my chest. If I keep this up, I’ll be a shell of a human in two years.” His friends roared with laughter. “You chased her so hard, man! Five years and you’re already bored?” “I wouldn’t say bored,” Ken mused, his eyes tracking Julia’s hands. “Just… full. You know? You eat steak every night for five years, eventually, you just want a burger.” Someone chimed in, “They say a kid fixes everything. Why’d you pull the plug on the pregnancy anyway? Why not just let her have it?” 4 Ken’s gaze flickered to Julia. “Go wait in the car, honey. I’ll be out in a minute.” Julia gave him a coy, knowing look. “Fine. But remember my surprise. Don’t be late.” She slipped out. I pressed myself into the shadows of the hallway until she passed, then moved back to the door. Ken’s voice was cold now, clinical. “I’m young. I don’t want a kid tying me down. You think I could come out and do this if there was a baby at home?” His friend nodded, understanding the logic. “And the girl? The secretary? She’s a hell of a consolation prize. Bet she’s more fun in bed than Margot, huh?” Ken smirked. “It’s not even a competition. You eat high-end French cuisine your whole life, then you try some spicy street food… you realize what you’ve been missing.” “You should’ve told me this years ago,” Ken added, a dark glint in his eye. “Told you what?” “That I should’ve finished playing the field before I put a ring on it. Anyway, drink up. No more talk about the ball and chain.” I don’t remember leaving the lounge. By the time I regained focus, I was standing on a street corner, soaked to the bone. A light sleet was falling, the icy slush washing away the last embers of my warmth. In the blurred reflections of the puddles, I thought I saw the twenty-year-old Ken. He was smiling at me. Margot, why aren’t you home? I was worried. Don’t be afraid. I’m your family now. We have no secrets. I reached out, wanting to fall into those phantom arms and sob. My body lurched forward, but there was nothing but cold air. The vision shattered. A taxi driver honked, swerving around me. “You trying to get killed? Watch where you’re going, lady!” I got home at 1:00 AM, shivering. The unknown number messaged again. This time, it was a video. The background was a floor-to-ceiling hotel window overlooking the city. Two silhouettes were entwined. Julia’s voice, breathless: “Ken, who do you love? Look at me.” “You.” “No, say my name.” “Julia… I love you.” “Am I better than her?” “You’re a little demon. You know you are.” “Ken, let me have your baby. A real one.” “Whatever you want, baby. Anything…” The video cut off. A text followed immediately: Do you know why you only got pregnant once in five years? Because the ‘supplements’ Ken gave you were birth control. I bought them myself. He wouldn’t let you carry his child, but he’s letting me. You lost. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over my soul. I dragged myself up and walked into his study. On the bookshelf sat a large glass jar filled with a thousand hand-folded paper stars. He had given it to me on our first anniversary. He told me I had all the jewelry in the world, so he wanted to give me something that cost nothing but time. Inside every star, he said, was a reason he loved me. He told me we’d add one for every day we were together, and when we were old, we’d sit in rocking chairs and read them together. I hadn’t noticed that the level of stars hadn’t changed in a long time. I unscrewed the lid and unfolded a few. The handwriting was a ghost of a man who once loved me. Bought Margot a necklace today. Told her it was a million, but it was three. Don’t be mad when you read this in fifty years. Margot said I look hot in casual clothes. I’m banning suits at the office starting Monday. It’s my birthday, and Margot dressed herself up as my ‘gift.’ Best day of my life.

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That goddamn video was the last thread I had to pull. In the grainy footage, at three in the morning, my parents were standing perfectly still by my bedside. They stared at me for what felt like an eternity before finally turning toward the door. “Don’t wake him,” my mother’s voice whispered through the crack in the door, fragile and haunting. “Just let him stay here. Alone.” By the time I clawed my way out of sleep, the world had fundamentally shifted. The entire city looked like someone had hit the pause button. The streets were hollowed out, filled with a silence so thick it was suffocating. Three hundred million people—gone. Vaporized. My hands shook as I dialed every number in my contacts. All I got was the rhythmic, mocking pulse of a busy signal. … 1 My name is Ben Beckett. I’m twenty-six. Last night was Christmas Eve. We’d finished the big family dinner, and I was so wiped out I crashed early. The last thing I remembered was my mom in the kitchen, nagging my sister to help with the dishes. Everything was normal. Routine. But when I opened my eyes, the sun was already high. I checked my phone: 9:47 AM. The first thing I noticed wasn’t the time, though. It was the quiet. On Christmas morning, there should have been the muffled sound of neighbors’ kids screaming over toys, the hum of traffic, the distant chime of church bells. Instead, the house felt like a tomb. I got up and pushed open my bedroom door. “Mom? Dad?” Nothing. The living room was empty. The remains of last night’s dinner were still on the table, the gravy congealed, the wine glasses stained red. My dad’s ashtray had a few fresh butts in it. His coffee mug was sitting on the coaster, stone cold. Where the hell were they? I shouted my sister’s name. “Zoe!” Still nothing. I went to her room and nudged the door open. Her bed was made, the duvet pulled tight and neat. But she wasn’t in it. A cold prickle of unease started at the base of my spine. I pulled out my phone and called my mom. Ring… ring… ring… No answer. I tried my dad. No answer. I tried Zoe. Straight to voicemail. I stood in the middle of the living room, my brain struggling to process the data. It was Christmas morning. Had the whole family just… gone somewhere without me? That made zero sense. I threw on a jacket and stepped out into the hallway. The silence out there was even worse. I knocked on the door of our neighbor, Mr. Henderson. “Mr. Henderson? You home?” No sound. I tried the door across the hall. Nothing. I started to run. I hit the stairs, flying down flight after flight, pounding on every door I passed. No one. Not a single soul. I burst through the main entrance and stood in the courtyard of our apartment complex. Usually, at this hour, you’d see people walking dogs or loading gifts into their cars. Today? It was a ghost town. The playground was empty. The benches were empty. Even the stray cats that usually hung around the dumpsters had vanished. My heart started hammering against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. I ran to the gate. The security booth was abandoned. The barrier was up. Out on the main road, there wasn’t a single car moving. There were vehicles parked along the curb, but they were empty shells. The Starbucks was closed. The grocery store was shuttered. The pharmacy, the salon, the deli—everything was locked tight. I stood in the middle of the wide, vacant boulevard, surrounded by skyscrapers and glass, yet I was the only thing breathing. The city hadn’t just paused. It had been drained. I started to sprint. I ran through block after block. I passed the mall, the high school, the hospital entrance. Empty. Empty. Empty. I stopped, gasping for air, my lungs burning. This was impossible. This was some kind of sick, large-scale prank. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. It picked up. But no one spoke. Just that steady, mechanical beep… beep… beep… I tried the fire department. The hospital. Same result. I dialed my fiancée, Bella. “The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later.” I dialed my best friend, Wes. “The power to this device is off.” I went through my entire contact list. Fifty people. Not one voice. I collapsed onto the curb, my mind a white-hot blank. Everyone was gone. The whole country, maybe the whole world, had vanished overnight. And I was the only one left. Why? 2 I don’t know how long I sat there. The sun climbed higher, beating down on me, but I felt like I was made of ice. I had to get it together. I had to find a logic to the madness. I stood up and started walking back home. Halfway there, a thought hit me like a physical blow. The cameras. The building had security cameras, and my dad had recently installed a smart-cam in the living room. If something happened last night, the lens saw it. I moved faster. Back in the apartment, I went straight for the living room. My dad had set up the camera to “prevent break-ins,” he’d said. It was linked to a cloud-storage app on his tablet, which he’d left on the side table. I opened the app and scrolled back to last night’s footage. The picture was crisp. 10:00 PM: The four of us were on the couch, watching a holiday movie. 10:30 PM: I said I was tired and headed to bed. My mom told me to make sure I used the heavy blanket. I nodded. 11:00 PM: My dad went to the kitchen for a beer. 11:30 PM: Zoe was curled up on the armchair, scrolling through her phone. Everything was painfully normal. I hit the fast-forward button, skipping into the early morning hours. 1:00 AM: The living room lights were still on. My mom was knitting; my dad was reading on his phone. 2:00 AM: Zoe went to her room. 2:30 AM: My dad stood up and walked to the balcony. He pushed the door open and looked out. Suddenly, his expression shifted. I couldn’t see what he was looking at, but his face went pale, his jaw tightening. He hurried back inside and whispered something to my mother. Her face transformed instantly—fear, sharp and jagged. She dropped her knitting and stood up. Together, they walked toward my bedroom door. 3:03 AM. They pushed my door open. The camera couldn’t see inside my room, only the threshold. They stood there, looking in at me. For a long time. At least five minutes. Then, my mother’s lips moved. There was no audio, but I watched her mouth. I played it back. Again. And again. I’m not a lip-reader, but some things are unmistakable. She said: “Don’t wake him. Just let him stay here.” Then they closed my door. They turned away. 3:15 AM: They woke Zoe. The three of them threw on their coats and grabbed a few essentials. 3:40 AM: They opened the front door and walked out. The footage continued to run. From 3:40 AM until 9:00 AM. No one ever came back. I stared at the screen, my entire body beginning to tremor. “Just let him stay here.” That’s what she said. She chose to take Zoe, and she chose to leave me. Why? Why didn’t they wake me up? Why leave me to wake up to a dead world? What could have possibly happened that required them to flee at 3:00 AM, yet decide—deliberately—not to bring me along? I hurled the tablet against the wall. It shattered, the glass biting into my palm. I didn’t feel the pain. I only felt the sickening, hollow joke of it all. This was what it felt like to be discarded by the people who were supposed to love you most. 3 I tore the house apart. I was looking for anything—a note, a pamphlet, a sign of what had happened. But there was nothing. My dad had taken his phone. My mom had taken hers. Zoe’s room was empty except for a few stray clothes and books. I cracked open my laptop and scoured the internet. The connection was still live, surprisingly. But the web was a frozen time capsule. Twitter was still showing trending hashtags from Christmas Eve. Instagram was full of pictures of turkeys and decorated trees. There was nothing about a “disappearance.” It was as if this had only happened to me. Wait. If three hundred million people really vanished, there wouldn’t be anyone left to post the news. I went to Bella’s Facebook profile. Her last post was from 11:00 PM last night—a photo of her with her parents. The caption read: “Merry Christmas! Can’t wait for the wedding next year.” I stared at her smile, the way her eyes crinkled. We’d been engaged for two months. We were supposed to get married in May. And now, she was gone too. Did she know? Did she know what was coming last night? And if she did, why didn’t she tell me? I remembered something. Her house wasn’t far—a twenty-minute drive. I had to go there. I ran outside and found a car idling on the street, unlocked. The keys were still in the ignition. I jumped in and sped toward her neighborhood. The drive was haunting. I didn’t pass a single moving vehicle. The traffic lights cycled from green to yellow to red for an audience of zero. Twenty minutes later, I arrived at her place. It was just as empty. I ran upstairs and pounded on her door. No answer. I kicked the door in, the wood splintering under my boot. The apartment was vacant. But unlike my house, this place was pristine. The table was cleared. The pillows on the sofa were fluffed. It looked like they hadn’t fled in a panic—they had left with intention. I walked into Bella’s bedroom. Her makeup was organized; her bed was made. I opened her closet. A few outfits were missing. She had packed. She had known. She was prepared to leave. I began frantically tossing her room, looking for clues. In a nightstand drawer, I found her journal. My hands shook so hard I almost dropped it. I flipped to the final pages. December 22nd: “Got the notification today. It’s happening in three days. They told us we can’t tell anyone, especially not Ben. I’m so scared, but there’s no choice. I’m so sorry.” December 23rd: “Today is the last day of normal life. Had dinner with my parents and took a photo. I keep thinking about telling him. Just a whisper. But… I can’t.” December 24th: “Tonight is the night. 3:00 AM departure. I’m afraid to look at my phone; I’m afraid I’ll break down and call him. Ben, I’m so sorry. I’ll marry you in the next life.” The entry ended there. I clutched the journal to my chest, my breath coming in jagged stabs. “Can’t tell anyone. Especially not Ben.” She knew. She’d known for days. This wasn’t a “disappearance.” This was a coordinated evacuation. And I had been blacklisted. My parents didn’t take me. My fiancée didn’t warn me. Why? What did I do? I threw the journal onto the floor and ran back to the car. I needed more answers. I needed to know why the entire world had decided I wasn’t worth saving.

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The roar of the wedding reception suddenly cut to a muffled hum, as if someone had pressed a giant mute button on the world. Right there, in the center of the ballroom, my husband was clinking glasses with his “ex-girlfriend.” Amidst the raucous cheers of the crowd, they leaned in, their lips nearly touching as they shared a single maraschino cherry from a cocktail glass, teeth grazing in a way that was far too intimate for a public stage. The guests’ eyes shifted toward me, sharp as spotlights, waiting for the inevitable explosion—the screaming match, the shattered glass, the drama they could gossip about over brunch tomorrow. Instead, I let a slow, practiced smile spread across my face. I raised my hands and gave two sharp, echoing claps. “Since you two are clearly so committed to the performance,” I called out, my voice cutting through the tension, “why don’t we just find an officiant and let you two tie the knot right here? It would be a shame to let all this romantic energy go to waste.” 1. Mallory licked her lips, a slow, cat-like movement, and looked down at me from the raised platform. “Jackson,” she purred, her eyes dancing with malice, “your wife is here. You don’t think she’s jealous, do you?” Jackson didn’t even look my way. He gave a dismissive shrug, a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t mind her. Let’s keep going.” And they did. They continued to flirt and touch as if no one else existed, eventually leaning into a kiss that lasted far too long for a “bit of fun.” They turned toward a photographer, their hands entwined, and formed a heart shape for the lens. Within minutes, the photos were being blasted across Instagram and Facebook. Someone commented that they looked like “the ultimate power couple.” My phone buzzed. It was a text from my best friend, Callie. Paige, are you okay? This is insane. Are you really just going to let them do this? I looked up at the stage. They were laughing now, a private joke shared between two people who clearly didn’t care about the woman standing ten feet away. It’s fine, I typed back. If they want to play, let them play. When they finally stepped down, Jackson naturally slid into the chair next to Mallory. They sat flush against each other, their thighs touching. Mallory picked up a piece of sushi, took a small bite, and then pressed the rest against Jackson’s lips. Even from across the table, the sight made my stomach churn with a cold, greasy nausea. Mallory looked at me, her head tilted. “We’re just old college friends catching up, Paige. You know how it is—nostalgia hits hard. You don’t mind, do you?” The provocation was as subtle as a sledgehammer. In the past, I would have lost it. I would have caused a scene that people would talk about for years. But now? Now, I just looked at them and saw two pathetic, desperate people. “Knock yourselves out,” I said, my voice flat. This wasn’t the first time. They had been pushing these boundaries for years, testing how much I would swallow. It started back in college. I’d caught them together, sneaking off for “study sessions” that ended in a secluded spot by the campus lake. When I found them, they were breathless and flushed. I had been a firebrand then. I’d grabbed Mallory by her hair, screaming, nearly dragging her into the water. But Jackson had stepped in, cold and calculated. He told me they were just “rehearsing a scene for drama class.” He told me I had a “filthy mind” and that my jealousy was suffocating him. He told me to apologize to her, or we were over. He always knew exactly where to twist the knife. My fear of losing him was a leash he kept short. I had bowed my head. I had apologized to the woman who was trying to steal my life. But my silence didn’t buy me peace. Rumors started spreading through the campus message boards—vicious, twisted lies about my past, painting me as the unstable, abusive one. I knew it was her. I knew she was the source. When I confronted Jackson, he demanded “hard evidence.” Without it, he said, I was just being malicious. He told me I was small-minded, that I didn’t have the “grace” a woman should have. Back then, I was pathetic. I was so desperate for his scraps of affection that I promised to change. I promised to be better. I apologized until my throat was raw. Looking back, I want to scream at that girl. At the table, the other guests picked at their salads, their eyes darting between us like they were watching a tennis match. When the bride and groom came around for the toast, Mallory hooked her arm through Jackson’s. He didn’t pull away. He smiled, and they rose together like the hosts of the evening. Mallory downed her champagne and “stumbled” slightly, collapsing into Jackson’s chest. Jackson didn’t look for me. He didn’t check to see if I was okay. He just wrapped his suit jacket around her shoulders, his eyes filled with a tenderness he hadn’t shown me in months. The table went silent, everyone waiting for my reaction. I just took a sip of my water and smiled at the person next to me. “Don’t look at me,” I said lightly. “The show’s only halfway through. Eat your dinner!” 2. I was used to their blatant disrespect, but the stench of it was still suffocating. Eventually, I couldn’t take the air in the ballroom anymore. I stepped out onto the terrace. The Chicago wind bit at my face, sharp and sobering. They weren’t hiding it anymore because they didn’t feel they had to. The mask was off. Fine. If the mask is off, the gloves are off. As the reception wound down, Jackson emerged, leaning heavily on Mallory. He was swaying, the bourbon finally catching up to him. “Paige,” he barked, spotting me. “Get over here and help me get her to the car.” I didn’t move. I didn’t even look at her. “She’s your woman, Jackson. You carry her.” Jackson’s jaw tightened. He thought this was just another bout of jealousy he could crush with a stern look. “Don’t start with the drama. I’ll explain everything when we get home.” Suddenly, Mallory “woke up.” she threw her arms around Jackson’s neck and planted a messy, wet kiss on his cheek, mumbling loud enough for the departing guests to hear that she was “the only girl who ever lived in his heart.” Then, she drifted back into her “drunken” stupor. The guests stared, mouths agape. Jackson just looked annoyed that I wasn’t helping. He dragged her toward the valet, shoved her into the backseat of his Audi, and then—without a single word to me—slid in right next to her. Mallory’s hand was clamped onto his. He didn’t let go. The car pulled away, leaving me standing under the flickering neon sign of the hotel. As the window rolled up, I caught a glimpse of Mallory. She wasn’t asleep. She was looking back at me, a sharp, triumphant glint in her eyes. I watched the red taillights disappear into the city traffic. My heart didn’t break. It didn’t even ache. It just went still. The whispers started behind me. Can you believe her? Her husband leaves with another woman and she just stands there? Someone muttered that Jackson and Mallory were “soulmates” and that I was just the “placeholder” who got lucky. They forgot one thing: I was his wife. They were blaming the wrong person. I took a separate Uber home. I stripped off my heels and my dress and sprawled out on the king-sized bed. It was the first time in years I felt like I could actually breathe. I remembered how hard I used to work to please him. I’d have dinner ready at six, his gym clothes washed and folded, his favorite craft beer stocked in the fridge. I thought if I was perfect, he wouldn’t look elsewhere. But then Mallory moved back to the city. Every time we went out, his eyes would track her like a heat-seeking missile. I became obsessed with my own perceived flaws. I worked harder, ran faster, stayed quieter. All he had to do was give me one scrap of praise, and I’d be his loyal dog again for another month. Then they got married—wait, no. We got married. He chose me. I thought I had won. I posted the photos, wanting the whole world to see that he belonged to me. Then came the night he came home late, “exhausted” from work. He went to shower and left his phone on the nightstand. A notification popped up. It was Mallory. My stomach dropped. I tried to stay calm as I swiped the screen. Jackson, you were incredible tonight. Below the text was a photo. A photo of them in a parked car, locked in a kiss that looked nothing like “rehearsing a scene.” My world didn’t just crack. It detonated. He had been telling me he was working overtime. He’d been coming home “too tired” to touch me, “too stressed” to talk. And all the while, he was with her. 3. Mallory was back, and they had never truly stopped. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw his phone through the window. But I was just so… tired. We had been married for barely a year, and I felt like I had aged a decade. Over the next week, Jackson announced he had to travel for “consulting gigs.” He’d be gone for days at a time. I just said, “Okay.” I knew he was lying. His firm didn’t even have out-of-state clients right now. He was just playing house with his “unfinished business” in some Airbnb across town. I didn’t bother calling him out. I didn’t care enough to hear the lies. One night, around 8:00 PM, I was curled up on the sofa. In the old days, I’d be frantic by now. I’d be calling him, worried he’d been in a car wreck or that some girl at a bar was hitting on him. Now? He could be face-down in a ditch for all I cared. I turned off my phone and went to sleep. The sound of the front door slamming woke me up hours later. Jackson’s voice boomed from the hallway, commanding as always. “Paige! Get up and get me some water.” In the past, I would have been up in a heartbeat, dimming the lights, warming up a snack, making sure his pillow was just right. I didn’t move. “I’m sleeping. Leave me alone.” Jackson marched into the bedroom. He reeked of expensive bourbon and a perfume that was aggressively floral—Mallory’s signature scent. “Are you still pouting about the wedding?” he snapped. “I told you, I was the best man’s partner for the procession. I had to sit with the bridesmaid. It was a job.” I let out a dry, sharp laugh. “Was the kissing part of the job description, too?” Jackson’s face went cold. “It was a bit! The DJ was egging everyone on. And she was wasted, Paige. What was I supposed to do? Leave her to wander into traffic?” I looked at him, really looked at him. “There were fifty people there, Jackson. Why did it have to be my husband who took her home? Mallory has been a pro drinker since freshman year. She wasn’t wasted. She was performing.” “Think what you want,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m not doing this with you.” “Fine. Go away then.” “What did you say?” “You heard me.” Jackson frowned. Usually, two sentences of “explanation” were enough to make me apologize for being “difficult.” He didn’t like the change in the script. “Paige, what is wrong with you lately? Are you on something?” “I’m fine,” I said, my voice steady. “Better than I’ve been in years.” “Stop being a brat!” Jackson was raising his voice now. “I said I’m fine. You shouldn’t have come back tonight. You should have stayed with Mallory. Isn’t that what you really wanted?” “So you are jealous!” He looked almost relieved. He liked it when I was jealous; it meant he still had power. “Look, I’ll try to stay away from her, okay? God, I’m sticky and I feel like crap. Go turn on the shower for me. I need to wash this night off.” He’d spent the night with another woman, and he expected me to play maid. “I told you,” I said, pulling the duvet up. “I’m sleeping.” 4. Jackson’s eyes flared, a dark, predatory look taking over. “I said I’d stay away from her! What more do you want?” he snarled. “Get up and fix the water. Don’t push me, Paige.” I sat up slowly, the calm inside me hardening into something icy and indestructible. “Jackson, since the day we got married, I have been your shadow. I’ve asked for nothing. I’ve served you. I don’t owe you a damn thing. Leave me alone, or I will start saying things out loud that you won’t like.” Finally, he snapped. “You think you’re so indispensable? Don’t forget who pays the mortgage on this place, Paige. Keep acting like this and see how fast I file for divorce!” I almost laughed. Every time he stayed out late, every time he ignored me, he used the D-word like a nuclear deterrent. He knew how much I “valued” our marriage. He knew I’d do anything to keep the “wife” title. I was bored of it. I looked him dead in the eye and smiled. “Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s get a divorce.” “What?”

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The screen of the burner phone ignited in the dark, and the notification headline hit me like a poisoned ice pick to the gut. “MASSACRE AT WESTBRIDGE ACADEMY: 5,000 STUDENTS AND FACULTY DEAD.” Right below it, in chillingly clinical font: “Only two students unaccounted for.” My knuckles turned white as I gripped the device. I looked up at the boy standing by the window of our grimy roadside motel. Luke. My first love. Six months ago, we were worried about prom; now, he stood with his back to me, his varsity jacket damp with night dew, his shoulders shaking like a leaf caught in an autumn gale. My mind raced back three hours to the study hall. The final bell had just rung when Luke, the undisputed valedictorian of our class, burst through the doors like a madman. He’d grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the parking lot, ignoring the gasps of our classmates. I had fought him, screaming, “We’re six months from graduation, Luke! You’re throwing it all away for a stunt?” His voice back then had been even more unstable than it was now. He just kept repeating, “Don’t ask, just run,” until he shoved me into a waiting car and we sped out of the city limits under the cover of a moonless sky. “You knew,” I whispered, my voice finally returning, my face pale in the reflected glow of the screen. “You knew something was going to happen, didn’t you?” He turned slowly. Beads of cold sweat glistened on his forehead under the sickly yellow light of the motel lamp. His lips moved, but no sound came out. I thought about the biting words I’d hurled at him when we first checked in—”All this drama just to hide out in a cheap hourly rate dump?” Now, the air in my lungs tasted like rusted iron. Fear was a physical weight in my throat. We weren’t just two rebellious teenagers running away to be together. We were the ones who had slipped through the cracks of a death warrant. 1 The nightmare started at the end of evening library hours. I was just stepping out of the mahogany-paneled building, heading toward the dorms, when Luke appeared. Before I could say a word, he grabbed my hand in front of everyone. The look on his face wasn’t the calm, composed expression of the boy I’d grown up with. It was something jagged. Manic. A few students nearby let out low whistles and catcalls. “Damn, Miller’s finally lost it!” someone yelled. At Westbridge, “inappropriate displays of affection” were a fast track to a disciplinary hearing. For a scholarship kid like me, it was a death sentence for my future. For a golden boy like Luke, it was social suicide. But he didn’t care. When our history teacher tried to step in and block our path, Luke didn’t negotiate. He shoved him aside with a ferocity that sent the man sprawling. Screams erupted behind us. Luke didn’t look back. He just kept running, his grip on my wrist so tight it bruised. “Luke, where are we going?” I gasped, struggling to keep pace as my lungs burned. He didn’t slow down. His face was a mask of sheer terror. “There’s no time to explain. We just have to get off campus. Now!” “Off campus?” I stopped dead, trying to anchor myself. “Are you insane? We have finals in two weeks. You’re talking about throwing away our entire lives!” Since the start of senior year, we’d been drifted into different honors tracks. We barely saw each other, holding onto the promise of a road trip after graduation. He was headed for the Ivy League; I was fighting for a spot at a top-tier state school. There was no reason—none—for this. But as I struggled to pull away, he spun me around. His eyes were wide, reflecting a kind of primal, terminal dread. “Casey, please,” he choked out. “Trust me. Just once. If we don’t leave now, we’re never leaving. We’ll be dead by midnight.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He dragged me toward the far corner of the athletic fields, where the perimeter fence met the woods. Someone had already stacked a pile of discarded crates there. “Get over,” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder as if he expected a monster to roar out of the darkness. “Go! Now!” Confused and trembling, I let him hoist me up over the chain-link fence. He vaulted over a second later, his movements fluid and frantic. A black sedan was idling on the dirt road outside. Luke shoved me into the back. “Go! Drive!” he barked at the driver, tossing a thick envelope of cash onto the front seat. The driver’s eyes widened, but he didn’t ask questions. He slammed the car into gear. As we accelerated, I looked back through the rear window. The sight chilled me to the bone. Every single light in the massive Westbridge Academy complex went out at once. Total darkness. And then, carried on the wind, came the faint, muffled sound of a thousand screams. I sank into the seat, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Luke collapsed beside me, his hands shaking violently. He kept his eyes glued to the rearview mirror until the school was nothing but a memory in the distance. Only then did he let out a long, ragged breath. “What was that?” I demanded, my voice trembling. “Luke, what did you do? What is happening back there?” He pulled me into his chest, his arms like iron bands. “Casey, don’t ask,” he whispered into my hair. “If I say it out loud… if I name it… we might not make it out.” 2 His words sent a fresh wave of ice through my veins. What could be so horrific that even speaking its name was a threat? I breathed in the familiar scent of his cologne—sandalwood and laundry detergent—and forced myself to nod. “Okay,” I whispered. “I trust you. It’s not like you’re kidnapping me to sell me off.” He let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Casey, I’d sell my own soul before I let a hair on your head be touched.” The car tore through the night. The driver kept glancing at us through the mirror, probably thinking we were just two rich kids playing at being outlaws. We switched cars twice, traveling through the early hours of the morning until we crossed the state line. We finally stopped at a nondescript motel in a town so small it didn’t even have a Starbucks. The moment we entered the room, Luke didn’t collapse onto the bed. Instead, he pulled a roll of black electrical tape from his bag. He covered the peephole. Then, he got on his hands and knees and taped the gap at the bottom of the door until it was airtight. He looked like a man who had just finished defusing a bomb. “What are you doing?” I asked, watching the black tape with growing unease. “Blocking the line of sight,” he muttered. “They like to watch. They find you through the cracks.” They. I didn’t press him. I just watched him stumble toward the bathroom to splash water on his face. While the faucet ran, I reached for the smartphone he’d handed me earlier. That’s when I saw it. The headline that shattered the world. My fingers went numb. My vision narrowed until all I could see were those words. “WESTBRIDGE ACADEMY MASS FATALITY. ENTIRE STUDENT BODY DEAD OVERNIGHT.” I clicked the link, my brain refusing to process the information. “Five thousand students and faculty were found dead at Westbridge Academy late last night. Preliminary reports indicate massive internal hemorrhaging. There were no signs of a struggle. Forensic experts are baffled.” “Only two students remain unaccounted for.” 3 I sat on the edge of the bed, a violent shudder wracking my frame. “How?” I whispered. “How is this possible?” In one night, everyone I knew—my roommate, my teachers, the girl who sat next to me in AP Bio—they were all gone. I clicked a video link. The footage showed the iron gates of the school, now swarmed by state police and a fleet of ambulances. Long rows of body bags lined the manicured lawn where we’d had our fall festival just weeks ago. The reporter’s voice was thin with shock. “Authorities have cordoned off the area. While they have ruled out food poisoning, the strangest detail remains: security footage shows two students fleeing the grounds just minutes before the event began. A nationwide search is underway for these survivors…” I looked at Luke as he walked out of the bathroom. “You knew this was coming.” He took my frozen hands in his. “Don’t think about the ‘why’ right now, Casey. We’re alive. That’s all that matters.” “But we could have told them!” I cried, tears finally breaking through. “We could have saved them! Why didn’t you say anything?” “Casey, look at me.” His grip tightened, his eyes flashing with a desperate sort of pain. “I couldn’t save them. If I had tried to warn anyone, if I had even whispered the truth to a teacher, we would have died with them. Probably worse. I had to stay quiet to keep our chance alive. I could only save you. You’re the only thing in this world I care about.” He looked so young, yet his face was lined with a weariness that belonged to someone decades older. But the questions were screaming in my head. Why a mass death? How did he have a premonition? What were we running from? Luke reached out, brushing a tear from my cheek. “Try to sleep. We have to keep moving tomorrow.” He checked the tape on the door one last time before lying down on the other side of the bed. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the sun to rise on a world that no longer made sense. 4 The world had turned into a horror movie overnight. In this tiny, cramped room, he was the only thing I had left. I fell into a heavy, feverish sleep filled with distorted shadows. We were jolted awake the next morning by the phone buzzing incessantly. Dozens of missed calls. When I saw the caller ID on Luke’s phone, the hair on my arms stood up. Dad. I frowned, whispering, “Luke… didn’t your parents die in that car wreck three years ago?” He lived with his grandparents. So who was calling? The phone vibrated against the nightstand like a dying insect. Luke’s face went ghost-white. He answered, but he didn’t speak. He pressed his finger to his lips, signaling me to stay absolutely silent. I held my breath, covering my mouth with both hands. The line was open, but there was no voice. Instead, there was a sound that made my teeth ache—a rhythmic, screeching friction. Like fingernails dragging across a chalkboard, or bone grinding against concrete. It wasn’t human. Luke’s pupils dilated. “Rot in hell,” he snarled into the phone. He slammed the phone down, ripped out the SIM card, and crushed the device under the heel of his boot in the bathroom. “We have to go. They found us.” He grabbed the bags and pulled me toward the door. We didn’t even check out; we just sprinted for the parking lot. The morning sun was blinding, but it offered no warmth. “Where are we going?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Farther west,” Luke said, his voice grim. “Into the mountains. We need to go somewhere they can’t reach.” We donned hats and masks, boarding a long-distance bus heading toward the Smokies. Before we left, Luke handed me a physical map with a single red circle drawn deep in the wilderness. “It’s going to get more dangerous,” he warned. “If we get separated, go to this spot. If something happens to me… you keep going. Don’t look back. That place is the only way out.” When I saw the location he’d circled, my heart stopped. I knew that place. The pieces started clicking together, a terrifying mosaic forming in my mind. Why he’d saved me. Why our school was a graveyard. What was following us. I finally understood the truth.

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Fifteen years. That’s how long I spent locked in a one-sided war for the boy next door, twisting myself into a human Swiss Army knife just to make him look at me. From dominating state math leagues to playing the piano until my fingers bled, from a grueling double major at Yale to finally holding that Harvard MBA offer letter in my hands. I did it all for him. But when I stood on the porch of my family’s estate, dragging my suitcase behind me, Pete Carmichael did exactly what he had done a thousand times before. He bypassed my outstretched hand, didn’t even glance at my Ivy League sweatshirt, and walked straight toward my younger sister, Maddie, who was standing behind me clutching her sketchpad. “Have you been waiting long, Maddie?” he asked, his voice soft. The echo of a phrase he’d said years ago—I only like Maddie—felt like a rusted nail driving into my fingertips, making them numb. My best friend, who had driven me from the airport, silently offered me a tissue. I waved it away. Watching the broad stretch of his back as he took my sister’s bag, a sudden, breathy laugh escaped my lips. This is it? I thought. This is the man I spent my entire youth chasing? His white button-down was impeccably pressed, the line of his jaw as sharp and aristocratic as ever. But the longer I stared, the more… hollow the whole picture felt. He was like a vintage fashion magazine I’d found in a dusty waiting room. The cover was still gorgeous, but the content inside was hopelessly out of date. “Am I pivoting too fast?” I murmured later, idly stabbing the tapioca pearls at the bottom of my boba tea. My best friend pulled me into a fierce side-hug. “Oh, honey. It’s not that you changed too fast. It’s that you outgrew him miles ago.” … 1 Maddie and I stepped out of the black town car at the exact same time. Without any warning, the heel of Maddie’s Jimmy Choo gave way, and she pitched forward. Pete, our golden-boy neighbor, didn’t even blink. He lunged forward, catching her firmly by the waist. Leaning into his chest, Maddie peeked over his shoulder and shot me a silent, mocking smile. It was a look dripping with arrogant triumph. Around us, the estate staff lowered their heads, hiding knowing smirks. They knew the script. They were waiting for my cue. This was the part where I was supposed to march over, yank Maddie away, and scream about how she was faking it, how she was a manipulative little brat trying to steal the man I loved. Then, Pete would scowl, scold me for being a toxic, jealous shrew, and I would run off in spectacular, tearful hysterics. But I just stood there. Seconds ticked by. I didn’t move a muscle. For years, I had ground myself into dust trying to earn a single scrap of Pete’s validation. I had thrown myself into academia, launched a tech startup from a dorm room, built a massive digital footprint. I had navigated the cutthroat maneuvering of Silicon Valley boardrooms and held my own in rooms full of heavy-hitting politicians. Standing here now, watching my twenty-three-year-old sister fake a trip on a perfectly flat driveway? It was just… comical. “Glad you didn’t hurt yourself,” I said. My voice was entirely flat. I turned to the housekeeper, handing over a meticulously wrapped box. “Please let Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael know my parents sent this for them.” Maddie’s triumphant smile faltered. Pete shot me a sharp, scrutinizing frown. When we walked into the Carmichaels’ lavish dining room, the mahogany table was set beautifully. But there were only four chairs. Pete, his parents, and Maddie. That was four. Maddie let out a breathy, exaggerated giggle. “Oh my god, Vic, I am so sorry. I totally forgot to tell everyone you were coming back today. They didn’t prep a seat for you.” “Why are you even explaining yourself to her?” Pete’s voice was ice. He looked at me with open disdain. “Vicky, Maddie didn’t do it on purpose. Just go to the kitchen and grab yourself a stool. There’s no need to terrorize her over a chair.” There it is, I thought. The universal constant. Pete would always, without hesitation or logic, throw himself in front of Maddie like she was taking enemy fire. Yet, the strange part was the profound silence in my own chest. My heart wasn’t racing. My throat wasn’t tight. I felt… nothing. I couldn’t even fathom the girl I used to be, the girl who would have gone to war over this boy. “Pete,” I said softly, “I haven’t even said a word.” He stiffened, momentarily thrown off guard. In the past, my eyes would already be red. I’d be shouting, calling Maddie a two-faced snake. “Vic, you’re mad.” Maddie’s eyes instantly welled with practiced tears. She stepped forward, grabbing my wrist. “Please don’t be mad. I’ll go get you a chair right now.” She made a pathetic little move toward the kitchen, but Pete caught her arm, pulling her back. He glared down at me from his towering height. “You’re in the Carmichael house now, Vicky. This isn’t your little kingdom where you get to throw your weight around. If you can’t be civil and get your own chair, then you can leave before dinner is served.” A maid by the doorway failed to muffle a snicker. I caught the whispered exchange between two staff members: “Just watch. Miss High-and-Mighty will drag a chair out here herself.” “Oh, for sure. She’d swallow broken glass if it meant sitting across from him.” “That won’t be necessary,” I said, a genuine, light laugh escaping me. I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “I only stopped by to drop off the gift from my parents. I wasn’t planning on staying for dinner anyway. I actually have somewhere to be. Enjoy your evening.” Pete’s eyes narrowed, searching my face. He looked at me as if I were a stranger. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. I turned on my heel and walked out the heavy oak doors, my stride long and unbroken. From the foyer, I heard Maddie shrink against Pete. “Why is she in such a rush? Is she… does she just hate me so much that she can’t even stand to be in the same room?” Pete watched through the window as I got into my car. I could see the slight furrow between his brows. “Don’t let it get to you,” I heard him murmur to her. “She spent a few years away and thinks she’s learned how to play hard to get. It’s just a new tactic.” Maddie chewed her lip. “It’s working, though. She’s acting so cold. Are you… are you ever going to—” Pete stroked her hair, cutting her off. “I told you. You’re the only one I want.” 2 I genuinely did have somewhere to be. My co-founder and I were running an internet-based tech firm, and the workload was astronomical. I had a dinner scheduled with a major enterprise client. As my driver navigated the evening traffic, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my partner, Val: [Heard you finally touched down in the States. Got a massive surprise waiting for you~] I fired off a quick, noncommittal emoji. If I had known what her definition of a “surprise” was in that moment, I would have burned the company to the ground to stop it. I truly had zero intention of ever crossing paths with Pete Carmichael again. But a few days later, my grandfather’s milestone birthday arrived. Given our families’ generational ties, the Carmichaels were obviously on the guest list. But when I walked into the ballroom of the country club, holding a priceless antique gift for my grandfather, it didn’t look like an eightieth birthday party. It looked like a proposal. Pete was down on one knee. As I walked in, his eyes flicked to me. A slow, mocking smirk touched his lips. With agonizing deliberation, he slid a massive diamond onto Maddie’s trembling finger. “Yes!” My parents were the first to stand and cheer, clapping rapturously. I stood by the ice sculpture, totally lost. “Isn’t today Grandpa’s birthday?” I asked a passing aunt. “It is, sweetheart!” my dad said, suddenly appearing at my elbow. “But your grandfather insisted. He said he wanted a double celebration today.” I frowned, looking between my cheering parents and the newly engaged couple on the stage. “You guys were in this much of a rush to get them engaged? I honestly thought tonight was just—” “Ahem,” my dad coughed, leaning in close. “Look, we kept it from you because we didn’t want you causing a scene. You haven’t heard the news, have you? Pete just got tapped as the new Regional Director for Vanguard Tech.” Vanguard?! I froze. That… that was my company. The startup Val and I had built from the ground up. “A son-in-law of his caliber is one in a million,” my dad continued, oblivious to my shock. “Of course we wanted to lock him down with Maddie. Look, Vic, we know how much you care about the boy. But you can’t force love. He’s never felt that way about you, and it’s been years. It’s time to stop making a fool of yourself. Be a good girl and let it go, okay?” I didn’t say a word. I just looked down at my phone and frantically texted Val. [Your little “surprise.” Please tell me it is NOT Pete Carmichael?!] She replied almost instantly with a tongue-out selfie. [We all know you’ve been pining for him for over a decade! I handled the regional hiring while you were in transit. As the new director, he reports directly to YOU. You’re welcome, boss. Now you get to spend every waking minute with him. ] I pressed the heel of my hand hard against my forehead, staving off a migraine. Whispers began to drift through the ballroom, aimed squarely at my back. “Look… isn’t that Pete’s resident stalker, Vicky?” “Oh my god, it is! I can’t believe she actually showed her face tonight.” “Look at how devastated she looks holding her head. Yikes. I almost feel bad for her. Almost.” The buzzing of their petty gossip made my headache worse. I needed quiet. I slipped out of the ballroom and headed down the hall toward a private lounge to call Val and fix this colossal HR disaster. After a ten-minute call explaining, in graphic detail, that I would rather swallow a live grenade than date Pete, I opened the lounge door to head back. A hand shot out of the shadows, wrapping like a vice around my wrist. Before I could blink, I was yanked hard into the dimly lit stairwell. “Pete!” I gasped. My wrist throbbed. He shoved me back, letting go. He stood between me and the door, his posture rigid, his face carved out of ice. “You saw what happened out there today,” he said, his voice a low, threatening rumble. I rubbed my wrist, glaring at him through the dim emergency lighting. “I am officially engaged to Maddie now,” he continued. “It’s time you find someone to marry, too. Give it up.” “Marry?” I let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “I don’t have time for that right now.” “Are you really going to keep playing this desperate game?” I stopped rubbing my wrist. I stared at him, my mind short-circuiting as I finally realized what he was implying. He actually thought I was still trying to orchestrate my life around him. “Pete, let me be very clear. I’m not getting married because my company is entering a massive growth phase. I’m busy.” He stared at me in the heavy silence. Then, a dark, cynical smile broke across his face. “Don’t you think that’s a pathetic excuse, Vicky?” I blinked. “Excuse me?” “The CEO of Vanguard Tech is a woman around your age,” he sneered, quoting the very corporate lore I had created. “And even a woman of her magnitude isn’t using ‘career’ as an excuse to die alone. Who exactly are you trying to fool?” For a second, I was completely speechless. It was my own fault, really. I had spent fifteen years building a reputation as a textbook romantic martyr. I had been so notoriously obsessed with him that now, when I finally had an epiphany and moved on, literally no one believed me. Not even my own business partner. “Let me tell you how this works, Vicky,” he said, taking a slow, menacing step toward me. He leaned in, his cologne suffocating the small space. “I never loved you. And now that I have a ring on your sister’s finger, I am certainly never going to love you. If you keep stalking me, you’re only going to make me sick to my stomach. Unless…” His eyes darkened, dropping to my lips. “Unless your goal is to be my mistress?” In that claustrophobic stairwell, a profound sense of clarity washed over me. I looked at the man standing in front of me. He was arrogant. He was vulgar. He was aggressively mediocre. Why in the world had I spent the best years of my life treating this guy like he was the center of the universe? Why had I let him tear my relationship with my sister to shreds? I let out a sharp, genuine bark of laughter. Without a word, I shoved both hands hard against his chest, knocking him out of my way. I pushed open the heavy fire door and walked out. 3 Val texted me that she was on her way to the club to apologize in person. I sat at a secluded table near the edge of the ballroom, sipping a glass of sparkling water, enjoying the peace. Then, a sharp whistle cut through the music. Before I could react, seven or eight men—Pete’s frat brothers and country club sycophants—slid into the booths and chairs around me, boxing me in. “Well, well, if it isn’t her royal highness,” one of them drawled, swirling bourbon in a heavy crystal glass. “Can’t believe you actually showed up to watch Pete put a ring on someone else.” “We were taking bets, honestly,” another laughed. “Thought you’d be at home drowning in a bathtub of Pinot Noir.” “Guess she’s still holding out hope.” A clammy hand suddenly reached out, snapping the thin silk strap of my dress. I flinched, my blood running cold. I slapped his hand away violently. “Ooh, feisty!” The first guy leaned in. “Studying abroad gave you some teeth, huh? Whatever happened to the girl who used to beg us to put in a good word for her with the boss?” My stomach turned. It was true. During my darkest, most pathetic years, I hadn’t just worshipped Pete; I had catered to his entire orbit. Maddie had been the effortless, talented golden child. To compensate, I had bribed these overgrown frat boys. I memorized their favorite liquors, bought them VIP tickets to games, bought them designer watches for Christmas—all just to buy their loyalty, hoping they’d convince Pete to give me a chance. Looking at their flushed, entitled faces now, I felt a wave of profound nausea. I truly had been blind. “Look, Vic,” the guy next to me said, dropping his voice into a patronizing register. “Pete is off the market. You lost to your sister. It is what it is.” He leaned closer. The stench of stale tobacco and expensive whiskey hit my face. “But… that doesn’t mean your life is over.” “If you take care of us tonight,” he whispered, a vile smile spreading across his face, “we’ll talk to Pete. We’ll make sure he keeps you around for… extracurriculars. What do you say?” My skin crawled. I pushed against the table to stand up, but a hand shot out, gripping my jaw painfully tight. “Don’t be shy, princess. We’re good at keeping secrets.” “Hey? Pete!” someone suddenly called out. I wrenched my face away and saw Pete walking down the corridor right past our alcove. “Pete!” I stood up abruptly, but the man beside me grabbed my waist and forcefully yanked me back down onto the velvet sofa. Pete stopped. He looked over. He had absolutely heard what they just said to me. “Pete! Tell your friends to back off!” I demanded, my voice shaking with rage, not fear. A flicker of panic crossed the men’s faces. They glanced at each other, suddenly unsure if they had crossed a line with the newly minted fiancé. But Pete just looked at me. His expression was completely blank. He wrapped his arm securely around Maddie’s waist, turned his back to me, and kept walking. “Pete—“ “Hey, calm down, princess,” the man sneered, pulling me tighter against his chest, his fingers digging into my ribs. “How do you still not get it? In Pete’s world, Maddie comes first. Then us. Then his dog. Then you.” My face hardened into stone. “So,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear, “be a good girl. Entertain us, and we’ll convince him to let you be his favorite little pet.” “Yeah,” another laughed. “We won’t tell Maddie.” My fingers curled around the stem of my crystal water glass. I squeezed. Harder. Crack. The glass shattered in my grip, shards raining onto the table, water pooling over the velvet. The men froze, staring at the jagged glass in my palm. “Who exactly,” I whispered, the silence around us suddenly deafening, “do you think you are touching?” Before he could even blink, I pivoted my hips, driving a closed fist with all my weight directly into the man’s temple. 4 When I said I twisted myself into a Swiss Army knife to compete with Maddie, I didn’t just mean academics. I meant everything. Including Muay Thai. The man’s head snapped back with a sickening crack, blood instantly spraying from his nose as he went down. “You bitch!” Another guy lunged, swinging a heavy glass liquor bottle. It smashed against my hairline. The world tilted. A sharp ringing pierced my ears, but years of muscle memory kicked in. I dug my heels into the carpet, grounding myself. As a third guy lunged to tackle me, I sidestepped, grabbed him by the back of his collar, and slammed his face squarely into the mahogany table. I stood over them, chest heaving, blood trickling down the side of my face. “You think you can break me?” I looked down at the men groaning on the floor. “You’re out of your league.” Smack! The sharp sting of a slap exploded against my cheek. I stumbled back, catching the edge of the sofa to stay upright. Pete stood there, his face twisted in fury. “I put a ring on Maddie’s finger and you pull a stunt like this?!” he roared. My parents had rushed over, drawn by the shattered glass. When my mother saw the bloodied men on the floor, her face turned purple. She shoved me hard in the chest. “What is wrong with you?!” she screamed. “Just because your sister gets engaged today, you have to destroy the entire event?! It’s your grandfather’s birthday! When are you going to grow the hell up?!” The gathered crowd hadn’t heard the repulsive things those men had whispered to me. They only saw me, the jilted, crazy sister, standing over bleeding guests. “She’s twenty-five acting like a toddler,” an aunt muttered loudly. “Pete doesn’t want her. Throwing a violent tantrum isn’t going to change that.” Maddie stepped forward, her eyes brimming with spectacular, cinematic tears. “Vic,” she choked out, her voice trembling. “If you really… if you really can’t handle this… I’ll give you the ring. Just please, stop hurting people.” She made a dramatic show of trying to pull the massive diamond off her finger. Pete caught her hand, stopping her. “Vicky, do you have zero self-respect?” Pete sneered, looking at me with pure disgust. “I am engaged, and you’re throwing a riot. You want me that badly?” He pulled Maddie flush against his side. “You want a shot with me? Fine. You make sure Maddie is perfectly happy first. You serve her. Then, maybe, I’ll consider keeping you around.” “Pete?” Maddie looked up at him, her eyes wide. Pete laughed, a dark, cruel sound. “She won’t leave us alone anyway, babe. Might as well make use of her. But I’m only accepting her if she learns her place beneath you.” A flash of genuine thrill danced in Maddie’s eyes before she hid it behind her tears. Pete looked back at me. “Do we have an understanding?” I slowly reached up and touched the cheek where my mother had slapped me. I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. I took one step forward. SMACK. I drove my hand across Pete’s face with enough force to snap his head violently to the side. My mother lunged, grabbing my arm. “Are you insane?!” Maddie screamed, a piercing, theatrical sound. “Vic! If you want to hit someone, hit me! Don’t touch him!” “Hit you?” I laughed, shaking my arm free from my mother’s grip. “You’re a side character. You’re not worth bruising my knuckles over.” “You—!” “Pete Carmichael,” I said, my voice cutting through the chaos like a scythe. “As the CEO of Vanguard Tech, I am officially terminating your employment. Don’t bother showing up for onboarding on Monday.” He froze. “Vanguard?” Then, he scoffed, rubbing his reddening jaw. “You think you can just invent a fantasy where you work at Vanguard just to feel powerful? God, you’re pathetic.” Maddie looked at me with profound pity. “Vic… have you lost your mind? This is my fault. I should have told him to propose in private. The shock has completely broken you.” My mother glared at me. “Vanguard is a Fortune 500 company. If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable!” Laughter rippled through the crowd. “Okay, she’s actually psychotic,” someone whispered loudly. “She stalked him so hard she’s hallucinating that they work together. Vanguard’s hiring process is impossible. I’ve been rejected three times.” Right then, Pete’s phone rang. I glanced at the screen. It was Val’s name. Pete’s arrogant sneer vanished. He cleared his throat and answered, his voice instantly dropping into a tone of deep, reverent respect. “Yes, ma’am? You’re outside? Of course, I’ll come escort you in personally.” He hung up the phone and glared at the security guards. “Get her out of here. Drag her out if you have to. The COO is outside and I will not let this psycho ruin my introduction.” Two security guards immediately grabbed my arms. A murmur of excitement swept the room. “The COO of Vanguard is here? Oh my god.” “Pete is already bringing in tech billionaires. He’s incredible.” “Hurry up, get the crazy sister out the back door!” But before the guards could move me, the double doors at the end of the hall swung open. “Vic!” Val’s voice echoed through the marble foyer. Pete blinked, adjusting his suit jacket. “Ms. Cruz? Who are you calling—” Val blew right past him without a glance. she marched straight toward me. “Vic! Oh my god, this is a massive screw-up!” The security guards holding my arms went rigid. They dropped their hands as if they had touched hot coals.

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