Category: English

To make up for it, my parents adopted him. But when I returned home after three years as an exchange student, I found my two older sisters, who had always doted on me, throwing a lavish birthday party for the adopted son, Brian. In front of all the guests, they announced that Brian was the true young master of the Thorne family, and I was merely his backup blood bank. When Brian wanted my room for a painting studio, they threw my belongings into the maid’s quarters. When Brian wanted shares in the company, they took the stock transfer agreement my father had left for me and gave it to him without a second thought. And when Brian decided he fancied my fiancée, the childhood betrothal was transferred from my name to his. In my past life, I was tortured to death. Bound by a foolish notion of family, I never fought back. This time, I’ve been reborn. And I plan on destroying every single one of them. Through the noise of the grand ballroom, I saw Brian, surrounded by a crowd of sycophants. As they were fawning over him, saying how I, the “other” son, wasn’t fit to lick his boots, I strode forward and ripped the watch from his wrist. “This is ‘The One,’” I announced, my voice cutting through the chatter. “A one-of-a-kind timepiece my father bought for me at a record-breaking auction. You’re just some backwoods nobody. Don’t you have any shame, parading around with stolen goods?” The room fell silent. Then, a wave of ridicule erupted. “Is Caleb Thorne sleepwalking? Causing a scene at his own brother’s birthday party.” “He’s just desperate for attention. You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy.” My two sisters, drawn by the commotion, rushed to Brian’s side, shielding him as if I were a wild animal. Brian clutched his wrist, his face a mask of wounded innocence. My eldest sister, Clara, immediately started shouting for the housekeeper to fetch the first-aid kit, as if the faint red mark on Brian’s wrist might vanish if she didn’t act fast enough. My other sister, Giselle, shoved me hard. “Caleb, have you lost your mind? How dare you hurt your brother!” she shrieked. “Dad bought that watch for his real son. Are you his real son? Don’t be so shameless. Give it back.” I clenched my fist around the watch, a cold sneer on my lips. “His real son? If he’s real, what am I, a fake? Giselle, did you get your head slammed in a door? You don’t even recognize your own brother? Let’s see you say that to Dad’s face!” Giselle’s face turned purple with rage. Brian held her back, sighing with theatrical magnanimity. “It’s alright, Giselle. Caleb came from a rough background. He wasn’t raised with manners. Don’t hold it against him. It’s my fault, as his older brother, for not guiding him better.” He continued, his voice dripping with false humility, “If it weren’t for my rare blood type, Mom and Dad wouldn’t have been so worried about my health. They wouldn’t have been forced to bring him here as a foster son. It’s my own body that’s failed me. It’s only right that I should be more patient with him.” I almost laughed out loud. It was the same old act. In my past life, I had been cut to pieces by Brian’s soft, insidious words. He loved to play the victim in a crowd, saying things that seemed thoughtful but were designed to belittle me and polish his own halo. He made everyone believe I was nothing but trash, while he was the chosen one. In reality, he was an idiot who needed the Thorne family to pull strings just to get him into community college. The guests, of course, lapped it up. “Brian is a true credit to his family. So kind and understanding. Not like some people who stick a feather in their cap and think they’re royalty.” “Exactly. A guttersnipe from the middle of nowhere. The Thornes give him a life of luxury and he’s still not satisfied. Now he’s trying to steal from the real young master. The nerve.” Brian shook his head, a look of weary resignation on his face. “It’s alright if I’m wronged a little. Please, don’t blame my brother. He comes from a place of hardship. I can understand his jealousy. I will do my best to guide him onto the right path.” His performance of generosity won him a wave of sympathy. “Young Master Brian, you’re too kind,” someone gushed. “Yes, if you keep spoiling him like this, that ungrateful viper will only take advantage of you.” Clara’s eyes narrowed on the watch in my hand. Her tone was imperious. “Give me the watch.” My eyes were red with fury. “This watch, ‘The One,’ was a gift from my father. To me.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Caleb, we took you in. Not so you could bully my real brother. If you can’t accept your place as a foster child, then get out of this house.” I couldn’t believe it. These words were coming from the sister who had cherished me, protected me, since I was a child. The chill in my heart wasn’t from a single moment, but a slow, creeping frost. I laughed. “It’s not your place to tell me to get out. And no one is taking this watch today.” Giselle exploded. “Are you all blind?” she screeched at the household staff. “You’re just going to stand there and watch this brat steal from the young master? Get it back!” The butler, Harrison, rolled up his sleeves and was the first to move. I’d seen him exchanging glances with Brian earlier. I knew he’d been bought. I grabbed a wine bottle from a nearby table, smashed it on the edge of a dessert cart, and held the jagged neck out in front of me. “I’d like to see you try! Think very carefully about who the real young master of this house is. The people who sign your paychecks are my parents. Anyone who touches me today will be packing their bags tomorrow.” My ferocity stunned them. Many of them had worked for our family for years. They knew me. They hesitated, unsure. But Harrison lunged forward, snatching the watch from my hand and presenting it to Brian with a fawning smile. “Young Master, I’m an old servant of this house. I’ve watched you grow up. No one can impersonate you, and no one can take what is yours. This watch was made for you.” I kicked the back of his knee, hard. He crumpled to the floor. “You’re an employee. Who gave you the right to snatch things from my hand? What, did Brian offer you more money than my parents do?” Harrison’s eyes darted away, his guilt obvious. Brian rushed over to shield him. “Brother, if you’re angry, take it out on me. Why are you bullying Harrison? He’s an old man. He only spoke up because he’s heartbroken seeing you steal my things day after day. I know this watch is a priceless gift from Dad, and I know you’ve been jealous of it for a long time. You’ve even snuck it out of the house to show off. I can forgive all of that. Just promise you won’t bully Harrison anymore. You can have the watch.” He turned away, his expression a perfect blend of resignation and pain. I pointed at my own nose in disbelief. Me? Jealous? I was the heir to a fortune. Jealous of him? Of his backwoods origins? Of his talent for drama? I felt sick to my stomach. The guests, however, were outraged on his behalf. “What an amateur. He lives a life of luxury for a few days and thinks he’s the real heir. Now he’s bullying the staff. If he doesn’t have a mirror, he should take a look at his reflection in a puddle.” “Caleb is a venomous snake. This is like a real-life fable.” “Poor Brian. The true heir, being tormented by a wild dog.” “This was supposed to be a beautiful party. He’s ruined everything.” Clara’s brow was furrowed in disgust. “Have you made enough of a scene? Are you not satisfied until you’ve dragged the Thorne family name through the mud? The reason Dad called this watch ‘The One’ was to declare to the world that Brian is his one and only true son. Have we been too good to you over the years? Have you forgotten what you are?” Giselle added, “We should just send him back to whatever hovel he came from. With our family’s resources, it wouldn’t be hard to find another match for Brian’s blood type.” I looked at the two sisters who had raised me, and a deep, bone-chilling cold washed over me. My parents had spent a fortune finding several children with my rare blood type. They had let me choose which one to bring home as my adopted brother. But Clara and Giselle had looked at the photos and unanimously chosen Brian. At the time, I thought it didn’t matter who it was. Their job was just to be my companion, and to provide blood if I ever needed it. But looking back, their reaction was strange. Two people with completely different personalities, instantly agreeing on one boy. In my last life, they had used my parents’ business trip as an opportunity to throw this same party for Brian. They had publicly declared him the true heir and me the backup blood bank. Humiliated and ostracized, I was then goaded by Brian’s taunts until my sisters forced a bottle of hard liquor down my throat and locked me in the cellar. By the time my parents returned, my body, dead from a severe allergic reaction to the alcohol, was already beginning to rot. In that life, accused by the sisters I adored, I had been too heartbroken to even speak, let alone defend myself. This time, I stood up straight. “You know perfectly well who the real Thorne heir is. You think you can get away with bullying me in front of all these people? Let’s see how you explain this to Mom and Dad when they get back.” My defiance, even after their verbal assault, gave some of the smarter guests pause. “Could it be… Caleb is the real heir?” “You know, he may be dressed simply, but he does resemble Mr. Thorne.”

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It was the day of the Choosing, when the Order’s apprentices were paired with their Soul-Blades. And just as he had in that other life, Kaelen sent me sprawling with a deliberate trip, snatching Winter’s Grace into his arms before I could recover. That blade was meant for me. It was Winter’s Grace, the most renowned Soul-Blade in the Nine Realms, and its spirit, Grace, was a being of ethereal, chilling beauty. My brothers and sisters in the Order rushed to my side, their voices sharp with reproach. “Kaelen! That blade was a gift for Asher from Archon Valerius, a ward to protect him! What do you think you’re doing, clinging to it like that?” A Soul-Blade and its wielder are meant to empower each other. To bond with a potent sword-spirit is the ultimate dream of any Blademaster. My father, the Grandmaster’s own sworn brother, had been a hero who gave his life for the realm. He was revered, and as his orphaned son, I was showered with sympathy from the elders and looked after by my peers. Kaelen, despite his raw talent, was a new arrival. By rights, he wasn’t even on the list for this Choosing. Let alone for a blade like Winter’s Grace, a treasure Archon Valerius had spent years searching for, entrusted to the Grandmaster to bestow upon me. And now, Kaelen had stolen it. 1 The Grandmaster, my uncle, suppressed his anger, his voice a low growl. “Return the blade to your senior, Kaelen. There will be other Choosings. The Order will find a worthy blade for you. Be patient.” Kaelen’s lip curled in a pout. “But the Order teaches us to respect the will of the Soul-Blades themselves. Asher possesses a Null-Aether. His potential is nonexistent. Wouldn’t leaving such a blade with him be an insult to its power? It would be better with me—” My Null-Aether. A kinder soul might call it a rarity. The truth was, it meant I was a dud, a magical dead end. Everyone avoided the topic to spare my feelings. “Better with you? Don’t be absurd!” The Grandmaster’s patience finally snapped. “You’ll wait for the next Choosing, or you’ll take that one.” He gestured to the corner, where a single, rusted, broken sword lay discarded and alone. Kaelen shot me a defiant look, his grip on Winter’s Grace tightening. As the Grandmaster moved to take the blade by force, Winter’s Grace erupted in a blinding flash of glacial light. The spirit, Grace, materialized—a vision in white, ethereal and cold as a winter wraith, her beauty breathtaking. She positioned herself before Kaelen, a human shield of impossible beauty. Her voice was like the chime of ice. “I acknowledge only Kaelen as my master. If anyone tries to force us apart, I will seal my blade.” For a sword-spirit to seal its blade was to commit a kind of suicide, to extinguish its own power. The greatest blade in the Nine Realms had a pride to match, preferring oblivion to being commanded. The Grandmaster looked at me, his face a mask of embarrassment. A faint smile touched my lips as I walked over and picked up the rusted, broken sword Kaelen had scorned in my last life. “Our Order has always respected the will of the Soul-Blades. Since Winter’s Grace has chosen its master, let it be a gift to Kaelen. A cripple like me can make do with a broken blade.” Grace lifted her chin, a flicker of triumph in her eyes, and took Kaelen’s arm as they departed. My peers stared at me in disbelief. The Grandmaster, thinking I was acting out of spite, tried to reason with me. “Asher, don’t be rash. That thing is scrap metal. Its spirit likely faded to dust centuries ago. It can’t protect you. Please, choose another.” The other apprentices offered me their own newly chosen blades. I refused them all. To possess a Soul-Blade of one’s own was a dream they had all cherished for years. How could I take that from them? One of them muttered angrily, “I don’t know what trick Kaelen used to bewitch that spirit into choosing him.” But I knew. Grace had always wanted Kaelen. 2 My name is Asher. Unlike my father, a righteous man of immense power, I was born with a Null-Aether—a complete inability to channel magic. My father had adored me. “A Null-Aether is the rarest gift of all,” he used to say. “So what if you can’t cast spells? Scarcity creates value, don’t you see? It might just be the heavens’ greatest blessing upon you.” I almost asked him if he’d like the blessing for himself. But my father loved the world more than he loved me. He gave his life to destroy the Lord of the Crimson Maw, the leader of a bloodthirsty death cult, and became a legend. After his death, the elders and my peers doted on me even more, treating me less like their senior and more like a fragile younger brother in need of constant protection. I knew their love was real. And so was their pity. In my last life, it had been the same. My father’s oldest friend, Archon Valerius, found Winter’s Grace for me, hoping its spirit could be my shield. But Grace had no interest in a powerless failure like me. She was drawn to Kaelen, with his prodigious talent and dashing charm. As for me, I was smitten with her. The blade, pure as driven snow, with an edge that shimmered like crystal. The spirit, a vision in white, so transcendent she seemed unreal. She was like the physical embodiment of a Null-Aether—a beautiful, perfect void. What a fool I was. I saw her ethereal form and thought, “Ah, we’re the same… this must be fate.” So, the moment Kaelen’s hand touched her hilt in that previous life, I scrambled to my feet, knocked him flat, and snatched the sword back. Kaelen, determined to be part of the Choosing, was left with no other option but the discarded, broken sword. As the master of Winter’s Grace, I devoted myself to her. I did everything in my power to compensate for the fact that she was bonded to me, unable to join a powerful master in glorious, world-shaking battles. Other spirits would say, “Master, your command is my will.” My spirit would say, “Country bumpkin, I require a bath.” Bonding a sword-spirit is no less expensive than raising a royal griffin, especially one like Grace, the greatest blade in the Nine Realms. She looked down her nose at everything. The celestial herbs other spirits consumed? She wouldn’t touch them. Her bathwater had to be Celestial Dew from the Sky-Peak Sanctuary, her towel, Cloud-spun silk from the Weavers of Iris, and the whetstone for her blade, Adamant ore from the Black-Iron mines. All of it single-use, of course. She had a thing about purity. “This,” she would declare, “is the treatment befitting the finest blade in the Nine Realms.” The cost was astronomical, but the elders, out of love for me, provided for it. Still, they would gently advise, “Asher, while a Blademaster must respect his spirit, remember the distinction between master and servant. Do not spoil her, lest she forget her place.” I was too embarrassed to take their charity, so I would leave payment and flee, leaving their warnings behind me. When my own funds ran out, I took on commissions. My lack of power meant I could only accept the grueling, low-paying, but low-risk jobs no one else wanted. I would return, exhausted and filthy, and Grace would always greet me with a look of disdain before taking the treasures I’d brought for her. Sometimes, when I was alone, I would practice my sword forms. They were empty motions, devoid of any real power, but they brought me joy. They did not, however, bring joy to Grace. One day, I returned from another dirty job, caked in mud but clutching two precious blocks of Adamant ore. I stopped dead. I saw Kaelen in my courtyard, moving with a grace that was breathtaking—a whirlwind of silver and white. And the sword in his hands was Winter’s Grace. Beneath a tree, Grace watched him, a smile of pure adoration on her face that I had never seen before. 3 I never took Winter’s Grace with me on commissions. The work was just dirty and tiring, not dangerous. A simple wooden rod was all I needed. When I confronted them, Kaelen put on his wounded look. “Asher, I… I’ve just never seen such a magnificent blade up close. I couldn’t resist. I’m so sorry…” His feigned remorse immediately soured Grace’s mood. She frowned at me. “You’re his senior. Shouldn’t you be honored to let your junior practice with your blade? I didn’t object, so what right do you have to be upset?” Looking at Kaelen’s pathetic, apologetic face, my own resolve softened. I let it go. Kaelen was overjoyed. To repay my kindness, he offered to personally instruct me in swordsmanship. I thought of how Grace would scowl whenever I practiced, muttering about how clumsy and ugly my forms were. I was too embarrassed to bother the other apprentices, who were always busy. I eagerly accepted. And so, Kaelen came to my courtyard every day, ostensibly to teach me. But he wielded Winter’s Grace, while I was left with a training rod. This was Grace’s demand. “Your movements are an eyesore,” she’d said. “You are not to touch Winter’s Grace with such ineptitude. Not until you’ve learned.” My sword skills barely improved, but the bond between Kaelen and Grace deepened. Even when Kaelen didn’t visit, Grace would take her sword-form and seek him out herself. This continued until the annual Grand Tournament. Kaelen publicly challenged me to a duel. The winner would become the new master of Winter’s Grace. It was only then that I remembered: in all this time, Grace had never agreed to forge a true Bond with me. I hadn’t pushed, believing my devotion would one day win her over. My peers were furious. “Kaelen, you know Asher’s situation! Are you just picking on the weak? This is shameless!” “He’s just trying to steal Asher’s blade! He has no honor.” Kaelen ignored them, holding a standard-issue iron sword. His expression was one of absolute entitlement. “Asher, I don’t want to humiliate you. Grace and I are already one in spirit. Your lack of talent makes you unworthy of her. Surrender now. Let her go.” Rage flared in me. I had cared for her day and night, toiled for her, spent my money on her while my own boots fell apart. And just because I was born without power, I was expected to simply hand over the one precious thing I had? No. I stepped onto the dueling platform. I knew I couldn’t win. But I refused to surrender. Ignoring the Grandmaster’s furious shouts, Kaelen attacked with killing intent. I raised my sword to meet his, but then it happened. Fearing Kaelen might be harmed, Winter’s Grace, my own sword, twisted in my hand, its point aligning perfectly with Kaelen’s blade. Together, they plunged into me. A perfect, four-holed wound, piercing me through and through. She didn’t even glance at me as I collapsed in a pool of my own blood. She rushed to Kaelen’s side, fussing over him, asking if he was hurt. Then, right there in front of my dying eyes, she forged a formal Bond with him. It was then I understood. She had loved him all along. This time, I thought with a vicious clarity, I wish you two vipers a blissful eternity together. Late that night, I stared at the rusted, broken sword on my table and let out my two hundred and forty-fifth sigh. “What a mistake…” The Grandmaster was right. This was just a piece of scrap. It was foolish to hope a spirit still resided within. Looking at the rusted edge, I doubted it could even chop pig feed. But as a man of the blade, I couldn’t bear to see any sword, even a broken one, left in such a state. I brought out the Celestial Dew, the Cloud-spun silk, and the Adamant ore. Without that high-maintenance princess Grace to provide for, I was suddenly quite rich. Under my care, the layers of grime and rust gave way, revealing the sword’s true form. The hilt was a dark crimson, and the blade itself was a deep, fiery red, etched with intricate, swirling patterns. The broken edge was still incredibly sharp; I’d nicked my finger while cleaning it. I made a mental note to get a healing salve from the Fifth Elder tomorrow to avoid infection, and continued my inspection. Unlike the cold, aloof aura of Winter’s Grace, this sword felt… dangerous, but not malevolent. It possessed a wild, bewitching beauty, yet also a sense of immense, ancient power. Even broken, I could glimpse the magnificent weapon it must have once been. The work left me exhausted. My eyelids felt like lead. I flicked the blade lightly with my finger. “You’re actually quite beautiful,” I murmured. “A shame you’re just a corpse… a very pretty corpse. Ugh, I should have just swapped with one of my juniors.” The wave of sleep was too strong to fight. I slumped over the table and fell into a deep slumber. In my dreams, I thought I heard a voice, a strangely pleasant one, whispering. “Of course I’m beautiful. I am the most beautiful thing in the heavens or on the earth. Hiss… that man has some strength, though. Where exactly did he just flick me…?” The next morning, before I could even process whether the voice had been a dream, Kaelen arrived at my door with Grace on his arm. With me out of the picture, they had forged their Bond the previous night. Once a spirit and master are bonded, they share their lives, their fates, their fortunes. It’s not uncommon for a Blademaster and their spirit to become lovers, cultivating their power together. Kaelen held Grace’s hand, a smug grin plastered on his face. “Asher! I’ve been making the rounds, seeing everyone’s new sword-spirits. Such a fascinating collection! Now, let me see yours.” His eyes gleamed with triumph. And why wouldn’t they? What spirit could possibly compare to Winter’s Grace, the finest blade in the Nine Realms? Grace looked at him with doting affection, her tone soft but laced with condescension. “Darling, it’s a rusted, broken sword. Just a piece of scrap metal. How could it possibly have a spirit?” She shot me a contemptuous glance. “A cripple doesn’t deserve a spirit anyway.” Kaelen clapped a hand over his mouth in mock horror. “Oh! I completely forgot! I’m so sorry, Asher. Grace is just so refreshingly blunt. But you’ve always been so carefree, I’m sure you don’t mind, right?” He added, “A broken sword might be useless, but it does match your… laid-back nature, doesn’t it?” He was still bitter about the Grandmaster and the others taking my side yesterday. This was his petty revenge. Carefree? Yes, I was so carefree in my last life that I let you two murdering hypocrites stab me to death. I was about to let loose a string of curses, but someone beat me to it. A voice, sharp and imperious, echoed from within my small house. “What is all this barking so early in the morning? You’re disturbing my rest. Get lost.” 4 Kaelen jumped, startled. Grace immediately stepped in front of him, her face hardening. “Coward! Stop hiding in the shadows! Show yourself and fight!” The bamboo door to my cottage slid open. A woman in a flowing crimson robe emerged, her hair as black as ink, her skin paler than the pear blossoms in my courtyard. A single beauty mark, red as a drop of blood, rested beneath one of her phoenix-like eyes, giving her a devastating, bewitching glamour. She was seated in a wheelchair, which she propelled forward with a slow, deliberate grace. Her gaze was languid, yet it held the profound, chilling indifference of someone who has long sat at the pinnacle of power. Compared to her, Grace looked like a naive, country girl. Grace’s defensive posture relaxed, replaced by a sneer. “Oh. It’s just a cripple.” She failed to notice the look of utter astonishment that flashed in Kaelen’s eyes as he beheld the newcomer. I stared at the woman, at the familiar patterns on her red robe, at the wheelchair beneath her, and a single, resounding thought screamed through my mind: Oh, hell. She stopped directly in front of me. Then, in full view of Kaelen and Grace, she took my hand, lifted it to her lips, and placed a gentle, reverent kiss upon it. “I am the sword-spirit, Ember,” she declared, her voice resonating with devotion. “I pledge my life in service to my master.” So this was what a pledge of loyalty felt like. I’d never experienced it in my last life. And that name… My name is Asher. Her name is Ember… Kaelen finally tore his gaze away from Ember and stated his true purpose for coming. “Asher, you know that Winter’s Grace, as the finest blade in the Nine Realms, cannot be treated like some common sword. I heard your father left you a great many celestial herbs and spirit stones. Since you have no use for them, it would be better if you gave them to me, to care for Grace.” So, he’d discovered how expensive Grace was to maintain, realized his own monthly stipend was a pittance, and come to me to be his sugar daddy? I was baffled. “Grace is your sword-spirit. Why on earth should I pay for her upkeep?” “You can’t look at it that way,” he said, his tone infuriatingly reasonable. “The sword was originally a gift for you from Archon Valerius. Therefore, you have a responsibility to ensure she is cared for. If her power wanes from neglect, how would you face the Archon, or honor the memory of his friendship with your father?” He made it sound so logical. Ember turned her gaze on Kaelen and asked suddenly, “Did you lose your front teeth?” Kaelen blinked. “No, why?” “Because every time you open your mouth, nothing but shit comes out.” Ignoring Kaelen’s face, which was rapidly turning a shade of puce, Ember grabbed my hand and began to shake it, her voice taking on a wheedling, coquettish tone. “Master, I need to be taken care of too! And I’m a poor cripple, you know! You formed a Bond with me last night, master. You even… touched me… right there! You have to take responsibility for me!” A Bond? Oh. She meant when I’d cut my finger. But… touched her where? Where was ‘there’? Kaelen’s face was now crimson, whether from anger or shame, I couldn’t tell. He pointed a trembling finger at Ember and spat at me, “Asher, think carefully! A Soul-Blade is not some ordinary weapon. A broken sword can’t be reforged. A crippled spirit is completely useless! Pouring resources into her would be a total waste.” “If you’re willing to give me your inheritance,” he pressed on, “Grace and I could offer you our protection in the future. It’s a very good deal, isn’t it?” So, I would foot the bill for his expensive spirit, and in return, I would receive a crumb of ‘protection’? From the very two people who posed the greatest danger to me in the first place? What a bargain. My face went cold. “Ember is my sword-spirit. How I choose to care for her is my business. Even if she is a cripple, it is my wealth, and I am willing to spend it on her. You needn’t concern yourself.” I fixed him with a hard stare. “As for Grace, I suggest you figure it out yourself, junior.” Thwarted, Kaelen shot a venomous glare at both Ember and me before storming off, dragging a sullen Grace behind him. Despite her claims of needing to be “cared for,” Ember rarely asked me for anything. She did, however, take every opportunity to get handsy, her fingers constantly finding my own, or tracing the muscles of my stomach. At night, she insisted on being held. If I refused, her eyes would well up, and she’d look like a heartbroken bride. “Does my master despise me because I am a cripple? Fine. Then break our Bond now. Throw me into the Forging Furnace and melt me down. Find yourself a pretty, whole little sword-spirit, so I won’t be a burden to you.” Kaelen was right about one thing: a broken Soul-Blade was nearly impossible to reforge. That Ember was even alive was a miracle. The only hope was to find the other half of her blade. But whenever I asked her about it, she would just smile and say she couldn’t remember. I suspected that was a lie, that the memory was a painful one, and I didn’t want to press her. “You don’t despise me for being useless,” I’d say with a sigh. “How could I possibly despise you? Besides, it’s not like any other spirit would have me…” Ember would lean in close, our noses nearly touching, her voice a teasing whisper. “I would have you. So, my master had better work hard… to protect me.” I thought she was joking. But the next morning, she dragged me out of bed at dawn, insisting she would train me. Not just in basic forms, but in the Verdant Nine Stances—the legendary, lost art of our Order, a technique no one had mastered in centuries. I thought she was insane. The founder of our Order had left behind a hundred sword arts, but this one, the legendary Nine Stances, remained an enigma. Faced with my skepticism, Ember’s lazy eyes showed a flash of pride for the first time. “That is because no one else was worthy.” “No one else was worthy, but I, a useless Null-Aether, am?” Ember’s gaze sharpened, and she spoke slowly, her words landing with incredible weight. “The founder of the Verdant Order… was also a Null-Aether.” I was stunned.

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1 I deleted my account. The one with a million followers. My followers were baffled, speculating that I’d been hacked. But Mary, my direct competitor in the beauty niche, cornered me. “Why did you just give up?” she demanded. “Are you insane?” I ignored the noise. I packed a bag and set off to see the world, alone. In my last life, my content and Mary’s were identical. The internet called me a clone, a cheap copycat destined to fade away. The hate flooded my DMs, and then it spilled into the real world. I tried to fight back. I posted screenshots of my creative briefs, my behind-the-scenes footage, time-stamped to prove I was the original creator. They called it all fake. The relentless cyberbullying pushed me into a deep depression, and one sunny afternoon, I slit my wrists and bled out on the floor of my cramped apartment. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the very first day Mary stole my video. My finger was hovering over the “Publish” button. One more centimeter, one more second, and I would make the mistake that would cost me my life. A violent shiver wracked my body, and I snatched my hand back as if from a fire. My chest heaved, and I gasped for air, like a drowning woman breaking the surface. The familiar room, the half-finished video on my screen… I was back. Reborn on the day I was supposed to launch my new style. After the initial shock subsided, I saved the video to my drafts and immediately searched for Mary’s social media. Her latest video popped up. It was a complete departure from her usual style. Her previous content was bland, the editing clumsy, barely scraping a few hundred likes. This new video, posted only thirty minutes ago, had already racked up tens of thousands. The comments were on fire. “Holy crap, that look would be a final boss in a survival horror story.” “A 10k account doing the work of a million-follower influencer. GO OFF, QUEEN.” “Is that even a human face? That’s illegal levels of gorgeous.” “WIFEY. OMG, someone stole my literal soulmate.” … The moody lighting, the bold makeup, the camera angles, the background music, even the caption—every single element was a perfect, horrifying mirror of the video sitting in my drafts. If I didn’t know for a fact that the idea came from a British drama I’d been binge-watching, that the script was the result of my own sleepless nights, I would have thought I was the copycat. But the reality was, Mary had beaten me to it. And she had gone viral overnight. Last time, this exact video was the start of my long, slow execution by a thousand digital cuts. I had published it, my heart swelling with pride, expecting praise and recognition. Instead, the comment section was a warzone. Accusations of plagiarism, with everyone tagging the “original” creator. I clicked the link they provided. And there it was. Mary’s video, posted just before mine. The similarity was 99.9%. But I knew I hadn’t copied anyone. Fury burned through me. To prove my innocence, I released my scripts and behind-the-scenes footage. It was useless. Mary produced her own “creative process” documentation, timestamped even earlier than mine. The internet mob turned on me with a vengeance. “Pretty sure she had this ‘proof’ ready from the start, just to slander Mary.” “SUPPORT CREATORS! BOYCOTT COPYCATS!” “Ava needs to get out of the beauty community. This isn’t the career for you, honey. Stop trying to force it.” “LMAO, talk about getting owned.” Then her management team and agency issued official statements, declaring their unwavering commitment to originality and outlining their collaborative creative process. I was just a solo creator. Everything, from concept to final cut, was done by me, and me alone. I had no one to vouch for me. And then, my own boyfriend, Joey, delivered the final, crushing blow. He posted a video publicly breaking up with me, claiming my past work was just a “Frankenstein’s monster” of ideas stitched together from other influencers. He called me a serial plagiarist. His betrayal was Thor’s hammer, shattering what little was left of my credibility. I was plunged into a deeper abyss. My comment sections became a cesspool of righteous indignation; my DMs were a gallery of horrors. The constant pressure choked my creativity. No brands would work with me. My savings dwindled. After a series of escalating self-harm incidents, I finally saw a psychiatrist and was diagnosed with severe depression. And on a bright, beautiful afternoon, I chose to end my own life. But I opened my eyes again. Back where it all began. Nothing has happened yet. This time, I have to figure out what the hell is going on. 2 Clinging to a sliver of hope, I switched to a burner account and dug through Mary’s other social media profiles. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the type to share her daily work life. Just as I was about to give up, I saw it. A familiar figure in the background of a group photo. I zoomed in on the live photo, my heart pounding. The image shifted, revealing the person’s left hand. On his finger was a ring I knew better than my own reflection. It was Joey’s hand. That ring was my first-anniversary gift to him. I’d had it custom-designed. There wasn’t another one like it in the world. So, at some point, Joey had been cheating on me with Mary. No wonder he had abandoned me so ruthlessly, throwing his support behind her the moment the scandal broke. There was no time to mourn the scumbag. My mind was already racing. I often vented to Joey about my work, sharing my half-formed ideas and flashes of inspiration. Could he have leaked my concepts to Mary? It was more than possible. But he was supposedly on a “business trip” and hadn’t been home in a while. And even if he were here, he’d never let me touch his phone. I had no hard evidence. But it was a start. I sent Joey the photo, told him we were done, and then blocked his number without a second thought. I immediately changed the passcodes on all the locks to my apartment, making sure he couldn’t get in while I was gone. With that loose end tied up, I turned my attention back to my work. I had to create something new. This time, there would be no mistakes. To be safe, I decided to pivot my style again. The stolen video was my first attempt at breaking out of my comfort zone, ditching the sweet, innocent, skinny-girl aesthetic for something more bold and confident. Since that concept had resonated so strongly, I was sure my next one would be even bigger. After hours of brainstorming, I finally finished the script. I looked at the concept on my screen and smiled, a real, satisfied smile. There was no way she could steal this one. To prevent any leaks, I shot the entire video inside my apartment, avoiding any public locations. As I watched the final cut, I felt a surge of pride. I was a natural-born content creator. To be extra cautious, I went to Mary’s latest video and left a comment from my burner account: “Can’t wait for your next video, queen! Please post soon!” She replied a short time later: “This last video took so much out of me, I think I’ll be taking a little break to recharge. Sorry!” I replied with a crying-cat emoji and breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed she had no plans to post anytime soon. My theory was likely correct. She had probably heard my idea from Joey and rushed to produce it. But could two people have the exact same idea, down to the last detail? For now, I had to chalk it up to a bizarre coincidence. Some people just have similar tastes. I uploaded my finished video to the platform’s backend, typed out the caption, and prepared to hit publish. Suddenly, a notification popped up from my burner account. I tapped on it. And my blood ran cold.

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1 At our New Year’s Eve dinner, the mood was heavy, the faces around the table grim. Confused, I shot a questioning look at my husband, Michael, who sat beside me. He looked like he wanted to say something but just shook his head. I shrugged it off and placed a piece of fish, my daughter’s favorite, onto her plate. Just then, a line of text materialized in the air before me. “The supporting character’s mother is so good to her. Too bad her father is about to make her donate bone marrow to the female lead.” Supporting character? Female lead? What on earth is this? I paid it no mind and continued eating. But my husband’s next words made me realize those floating sentences were something I couldn’t ignore. … “Honey, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” Michael said, his voice suddenly grave. I was busy cracking open a crab claw. “What is it? Go on.” Before he could speak, my sister-in-law, Clara, burst into tears. I quickly put down my crab and rushed to comfort her. “Clara, don’t be so upset. Isn’t Bella’s condition improving?” “The doctor said she could be discharged in a few days. Then…” My words were cut short by my husband’s sharp command. “That’s enough, Amelia!” His shout stunned me. I had no idea what I’d said wrong. Our daughter, Daisy, flinched, her chopsticks hovering mid-air. I soothed her, encouraging her to keep eating, before turning to glare at Michael. “What is wrong with you? It’s New Year’s Eve!” “What’s wrong with me?” he shot back, his face a thundercloud. My mother-in-law stepped in to smooth things over. “Alright, alright, let’s just eat.” I ignored my husband’s bizarre behavior and returned to my meal. I sympathized with Clara—her daughter was sick, after all. I’d let her spend the entire day at the hospital while I single-handedly prepared this feast. I wasn’t about to let my hard work go to waste. “Stop eating. I need to talk to you,” Michael said again, trying to stop me. I didn’t put down my chopsticks, just nodded. “I’m listening.” “Bella’s condition has worsened. She needs a bone marrow transplant.” His words hit me like a physical blow. The text from before flashed in my mind. Was this a coincidence? Before I could process it, more words appeared. “Here we go. The scumbag is bringing it up now!” “Shameless. Forcing his own daughter to donate marrow to his niece. He doesn’t care about his daughter at all.” “Yeah, even though the female lead, Bella, gets saved and becomes super successful, I still feel so bad for the supporting character, Daisy. She gets sick from the donation and dies young.” Reading the lines, the situation began to click into place. The “female lead” was my niece, Bella. The “supporting character” was my daughter, Daisy. My daughter would die because she donated bone marrow to Bella, who would then go on to live a life of success and glory. I forced myself to remain calm, looking from Michael to the still-sobbing Clara. I sighed. “Clara, they’ll find a volunteer to save Bella. Don’t be so heartbroken.” At my words, Clara’s crying abruptly stopped. She glanced at Michael. My mother-in-law shot him a look, a clear signal. As if emboldened, Michael declared, “Amelia, I want Daisy to donate her bone marrow to Bella.” “Absolutely not!” I refused without a moment’s hesitation. I stood up and swept the dishes off the table. If I cooked this meal, then no one else was going to eat it. “The supporting character’s mom is a badass!” “If it were me, I wouldn’t let my daughter donate either!” “Exactly! Donating bone marrow is so damaging. I can’t believe this father cares more about his sister’s child than his own.” The dinner ended in chaos. Michael disappeared, and I didn’t bother asking where he went. He could do whatever he wanted, as long as he stayed away from my daughter. I was on high alert now, constantly watching him, terrified he would do something to Daisy. On New Year’s Day, as I was getting Daisy ready to visit my parents, Michael called. “Amelia, Bella is fading fast. She needs the transplant now.” I moved away from Daisy, hissing into the phone, “What does Bella’s transplant have to do with my daughter?!” The familiar text appeared again. “The supporting character’s mom has no idea her husband already took their daughter for a compatibility test.” “Yeah, so tragic. So many people were tested, but only she was a perfect match.” “Well, what can you do? The supporting character only exists to save the female lead.” A chill went down my spine. “Michael,” I growled, my voice trembling with rage, “when did you take Daisy for a compatibility test?” “I went and got tested myself! I gave my blood! Why would you drag a ten-year-old child into this?” The line went silent. He was clearly shocked that I knew. Before he could answer, I cut him off. “If you want to take my daughter’s bone marrow, you’ll have to do it over my dead body!” 2 I slammed the phone down and immediately started packing Daisy’s clothes. I was terrified Michael would try to take her, so I decided we would stay at my parents’ house for a while. Daisy watched me silently, her sweet face devoid of questions. The roads were empty due to the holiday, and a two-hour drive took only ninety minutes. The moment we pulled up to my parents’ villa, they rushed out to greet us. “Daisy’s here! Come see what Grandma got you for New Year’s!” my mother exclaimed, whisking Daisy inside. My father took my bag. “Amelia, why didn’t Michael come with you?” His question sent a pang of sadness through me, but I didn’t want them to worry. I lied. “He had a last-minute thing at work. He’ll probably come in a few days.” With my parents doting on Daisy, the knot of tension in my shoulders finally began to loosen. After lunch, I went to take a nap. I woke up at dusk, groggy and disoriented. The first thing I saw was the familiar, shimmering text. “The supporting character’s dad is so cruel. He actually took her to the hospital to force the donation.” “Yeah, poor girl. Her own father doesn’t love her at all.” “Even though I’m a fan of the female lead, Bella, I can’t help but feel sorry for the supporting character…” I shot upright, instantly awake, and ran out to find Daisy. Only my parents were in the living room, watching a replay of the New Year’s Gala. “Amelia, you’re awake,” my dad said with a smile. “Michael came by this afternoon. He took Daisy to the amusement park.” “He even went to your room to tell you, but you were sleeping so soundly you didn’t even stir.” “She wasn’t just sleeping. The supporting character’s dad injected her with a sedative.” “I can’t believe how heartless he is.” Reading the text, I quickly pushed up my sleeve. Sure enough, there was a tiny puncture mark on my arm. My blood ran cold. Michael had gone this far. When I reached the hospital, Daisy was already lying in a hospital bed. “Daisy!” I screamed, rushing to her side and checking her from head to toe. The nurse who had been watching her saw me and scurried out of the room. The moment Daisy saw me, she burst into tears. “Mommy, I’m scared!” “It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay. Mommy’s here. No one is going to hurt you.” I pulled the IV needle from her arm, thanking my lucky stars for the nursing courses I’d taken years ago. Just as I finished changing her out of the hospital gown and was about to leave, Michael and Clara rushed in. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Michael roared. “Amelia, please, have a heart. Save my daughter,” Clara begged, dropping to her knees in front of me. “Bella can’t wait any longer. Please, I’m begging you. She’s already prepped for surgery, just waiting for the donation.” The commotion drew other families from the hallway. Seeing Clara weeping at my feet, they began to murmur their disapproval. “My God, how can that woman be so cruel? Someone’s life is on the line.” “It’s a child’s life! And a relative, no less. She’s so cold-blooded.” I fought to control my emotions and looked at Michael. “Go get the head physician.” Thinking I had given in, Michael eagerly fetched the doctor. “Doctor,” I asked, my voice tight with restraint, “is Daisy really a match?” The doctor’s face lit up. He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Bella is a very lucky girl. Once the transplant is done, her condition can be brought under control.” Michael saw me nod and rushed forward. “The doctor has explained everything. Stop making a scene!” “The surgery is already scheduled. Don’t cause any more delays.” I looked at this frantic, desperate man and felt like I was staring at a stranger. “I’ve already called the police.” The onlookers fell silent, their faces filled with confusion. Only the doctor and Michael’s family looked terrified. Just as I spoke, the police arrived. “I’m the one who called,” I said, pointing at the doctor. “I’m reporting this man for accepting a bribe and attempting to forcibly extract bone marrow from a ten-year-old child!” 3 A wave of shock went through the crowd. The judgmental glares turned to expressions of sympathy. “So it’s not her donating, it’s the little girl.” “What kind of family is this? Making a ten-year-old donate bone marrow? That’s a death sentence!” “Is that man the girl’s father? How could he do this to his own child?” Michael’s face darkened under the weight of their accusations. He looked at me with pure venom in his eyes. “What’s happening? The supporting character didn’t donate?” “What about my Bella? Her illness is so serious!” I read the text, my heart turning to ice. So only the female lead’s life matters? My daughter’s life is worthless? After leaving the police station, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I walked up to Michael and slapped him across the face. “Divorce,” I said, the word hanging in the cold air. Then I took Daisy’s hand and walked away. In the car, Daisy’s small, sad voice piped up. “Mommy, why doesn’t Daddy love me?” My heart ached for her. When she was five or six, she’d asked me the same thing, wondering why her father always seemed to prefer Bella. She had asked if she wasn’t his real daughter. Back then, I had held her tight and made a thousand excuses for Michael. Not this time. At a red light, I turned to look at my daughter in the back seat. “Daisy, sweetie, Bella is sick, so Daddy is giving her more attention.” “But this time, we’re going to leave him, okay?” Daisy nodded. “Daddy doesn’t love Daisy, so Daisy doesn’t love Daddy anymore.” When we got home, my parents were heartbroken to see the tear stains on Daisy’s face. “Mom, Dad. I’m divorcing Michael.” To my surprise, my father immediately objected. “No!” “Your life is so good right now. You haven’t been fighting. Why the sudden divorce?” “Michael just got a promotion last year. Things are only going to get better for you two.” I cut him off before he could continue and told them everything Michael had done. Their faces changed instantly. “That monster! How could he hurt our Daisy like that?” “Divorce him! Immediately! A man like that doesn’t deserve to be our Daisy’s father!” But then, the familiar text floated before my eyes again. “The supporting character’s dad won’t agree to a divorce. He needs all their money to treat the female lead.” “I wish I had an uncle who loved me that much.” “Yeah, even the female lead’s own father gave up on her, but her uncle is still trying so hard to save her. It’s so touching!” I felt nothing reading those words. Michael could use his money to save whomever he wanted after the divorce. But I found it strange. Why had Bella’s own father given up on treating her? I realized I hadn’t seen him at all recently, not even at the New Year’s Eve dinner. Normally, he and Clara would have eaten at my mother-in-law’s before going home. What had changed this year? Despite my confusion, I contacted a lawyer and had the divorce papers sent to Michael. It wasn’t long before he called. “Amelia, I never knew you could be so vicious!” he roared. “Bella is critically ill, and not only do you refuse to let Daisy help, but you want to divorce me?!” I feigned ignorance. “I’m divorcing you because I don’t want Daisy to have a father who doesn’t care if she lives or dies.” I heard him take a deep breath on the other end. “No matter what, I will not agree to a divorce!” he shouted. I calmly tried to reason with him. “Michael, your career is taking off. Divorcing me is actually a good thing for you.” There had always been a huge income disparity between us, a fact he frequently resented me for. If the text was wrong, then divorcing me now would be a blessing for him. But Michael refused to sign the papers. And then I got a call from a real estate agent. She said my husband had listed our house for sale and a buyer wanted to see it. Was I available?

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My father loved my mother desperately. And because of me, she died. Later, my father adopted another daughter. A girl who looked so much like my mother. On our sixteenth birthday— He paraded his adopted daughter around like a princess, while I was mistaken for the housekeeper’s child. Just then, my phone rang. “Happy birthday, my love! “It’s been so long. Mommy misses you so, so much!” My world stopped. My mother was back. 1 I was about to wash the car for Isla’s friend, on her command, when my father, Matthew Backman, came home. His assistant followed behind him, carrying an exquisite crystal castle—a gift for Isla. A chorus of gasps and envious whispers erupted from Isla’s classmates. Then, I heard my father’s voice, thick with a doting affection I hadn’t heard in a decade. “A castle for my princess,” he said. “Happy birthday, my one and only little princess.” His one and only princess. I chewed on those words until they turned sour in my mouth. Today wasn’t just Isla’s birthday. It was mine, too. But just like every year before, I got nothing. Because in my father’s eyes, I was a sinner. I didn’t deserve a birthday. I was the one who killed my mother. 2 Ten years ago today, my mother got into a car accident on her way to buy me the strawberry cake I’d been craving. She left us forever. And from that day on, Matthew hated me. At her funeral, he announced to everyone, “As of today, Lynn is no longer my daughter.” I crouched on the floor, blinking my red-rimmed eyes at him, lost and confused. I was too young then to understand the finality in his voice. Only later, as I grew up, did I realize how absolute his decree had been. His company went public. His net worth skyrocketed. And with his new fortune, he adopted Isla. From then on— His affection was for Isla alone. Isla lived in the master suite of our mansion; I was given the maid’s quarters. A chauffeur drove Isla to and from her elite private school. I took the city bus. Her closet overflowed with new clothes. I wore her cast-offs. Isla was the princess. I was the live-in servant. And he was right. I was a servant with no parents to call my own. 3 But I wanted to be a princess, too. I remember, a lifetime ago, he promised me I would be. Back then, my mother was still alive. His company was just a fledgling startup, and the three of us were crammed into a small two-bedroom apartment. To support him, my mother would secretly transfer the gift money my grandfather gave me into his bank account. “Lynn and I don’t need much,” she would tell him, her voice a soft reassurance. “Don’t you worry.” I loved to parrot her words. “Daddy, don’t worry,” I’d chirp. “Lynn’s piggy bank… it’s all for you…” He’d break then, leaning down to press his face between ours. A moment later, hot drops would fall onto my chubby cheeks, tickling me. Looking back, I know they were his tears. Before I turned ten, he used to tell me all the time: “When Daddy makes it, when he makes a lot of money, I’m going to make my little girl a princess, okay?” See? He promised. But he broke it. A sharp, condescending voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Excuse me, maid girl, aren’t you going to wash my car? Or do you think you can ignore me just because I’m only Isla’s classmate?” Isla attended a prestigious international school. Her friends were all heirs and heiresses, and they acted like it. But I wasn’t a maid. I glared at her, about to retort. And then— My father’s voice, cool and indifferent, cut through the air. “Why haven’t you gone?” Why haven’t you gone? The words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest. How could I forget? In his eyes, that’s exactly what I was. “Right away.” 4 Matthew had made it clear: if I ever displeased him, he would cut off my tuition and living expenses. But I had promised my mother I would get into the best university. I couldn’t break a promise to her. So, as long as he continued to pay, I would endure anything. I bit my lip and turned to leave. A moment later, a deceptively sweet voice drifted from behind me. “Daddy, maybe we should let Lynn blow out the candles with us? It’s her birthday, too. She was really looking forward to it. She even secretly tried on my new evening gown yesterday…” My brow furrowed. I spun around, ready to deny it. But a wave of disdainful murmurs had already started. “Oh my god, a servant who dares to steal her master’s clothes.” “Isla, did you have that dress disinfected?” “Unbelievable.” “So she’s a little thief.” 5 Hearing them, I almost lunged forward. I wanted to smash Isla’s face into the cake, to make her choke on her own lies. I admit it. Last night, when she was showing off her new dress, I was envious. But that was all. Just envy. I never touched it… I am not a thief. My eyes burned with rage, but I didn’t dare move. Because Matthew, as if sensing my intent, had already stepped in front of Isla. He looked at me, his face a dark cloud of contempt, hatred, and chilling indifference. “How could she have a daughter like you?” he hissed. “Apologize. Or you can drop out of school tomorrow.” The threat again. Always the threat. A bitter laugh escaped me. “How could she have a husband like you?” The words hung in the air. Matthew’s face went black. I had never seen him look so terrifying. 6 CRACK! The sound of the slap echoed through the grand living room. After years of ignoring my existence, this was the first time he had ever laid a hand on me. Within moments, my right cheek was swollen and hot. Rage and pain warred within me. But what could I do? I was sixteen years old. I had a father in name only. A father who ignored me. Hated me. Threatened me. Hit me. It was true. He didn’t love me. Not one bit. And just then, Isla, feigning confusion as if her “good intentions” had gone wrong, rushed over to mediate. “Daddy, it’s normal for girls to like pretty dresses! I didn’t mean it like that!” Then what did she mean? Whatever. It didn’t matter. The blow had already landed. Nothing else could hurt me now. So, Slap. Slap. Slap. I struck Isla three times, hard across the face. “That,” I said, my voice shaking, “is the price for your lies.” 7 After I hit her, Isla wilted like a trampled white lily. “Lynn!” Matthew’s face contorted with pain as he looked at Isla’s tear-streaked, disheveled face. He personally helped her to her feet, his voice a gentle caress. “Does it hurt? Daddy will call a doctor right away.” Isla covered her cheek, tears streaming down her face. “I’m okay, Daddy. Please, don’t blame Lynn. I’m begging you—don’t hit her again.” Her classmates, snapping out of their shock, began to chastise her for being “too kind.” They all urged Matthew to kick me out. Kick me out. The irony was as bitter as it was tragic. I lifted my head, and for the first time, I met Matthew’s eyes directly. I saw the absolute, glacial coldness in their depths. His voice was devoid of all emotion. “Lynn. I’m sending you to an orphanage. From this day forward, you are never to set foot in this house again.” An orphanage. I was satisfied. I was already an orphan, after all. And I could still go to school from there. It was a thousand times better than staying by his side. …A moment later, Matthew’s assistant was at my side, gesturing for me to leave. I turned and walked away, my stride confident. I wouldn’t miss this place for a second. But I’d only taken a few steps when my pocket began to vibrate. My phone. I wanted to ignore it. But the buzzing persisted, a rhythmic knocking against my heart. Finally, I pulled it out. I glanced at the caller ID. And my world froze. I couldn’t believe it. I blinked hard, again and again. Mom. “It’s Mom!” I whispered, my feet rooted to the spot. The assistant urged me on. “Hurry up, Mr. Backman doesn’t want to see you anymore…” I ignored him, my hand trembling as I answered the call. I knew it was impossible. My mother was dead. It had been ten years. This number had been silent for a decade. Was this some kind of cruel prank? Even so… I answered. But I couldn’t speak. My mouth hung open, my mind blank. Then, a voice came from the other end. A voice I knew better than my own.

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My son was hailed as a guitar prodigy. But on the day of the National Youth Virtuoso Competition, despite being the fan favorite with the highest online votes, he didn’t win the grand prize. In a daze, he missed a step leaving the stage and plummeted to the floor below. I scrambled to help him, but my eyes caught a different scene: my wife, Evelyn, holding another boy aloft, a championship trophy in his hands. He was the son of her old flame. The producers and directors were laughing nearby. “It pays to be Evelyn Croft’s son, doesn’t it? A championship trophy, just like that.” “Tell me about it. That kid, Chris, was incredible, but what can you do? No powerful mother, no connections.” My heart shattered. I never imagined Evelyn would rig the competition against her own flesh and blood for the sake of another man’s child. But my son, with blood streaming down his face, climbed to his feet. He grabbed my hand, his small voice firm. “Dad,” he said, “I don’t want this mom anymore.” I squeezed his hand back, my own resolve hardening like steel. “Okay. If you don’t want her, then neither do I.” 1 Evelyn came home late. I had already coaxed our son, Chris, to sleep. She wasn’t surprised to see me sitting in the living room. She walked over, cool as ever, and tossed a divorce agreement onto the coffee table. “You weren’t happy with the last offer. I’ve raised your share to thirty percent of the assets. That should be enough, shouldn’t it, Liam?” she said, her voice laced with condescension. “Don’t be greedy.” This time, I didn’t beg her to stay. I calmly picked up the papers and read through them. Just as I expected, it was the same old story: the company assets remained untouched, and she was offering me a mere thirty percent of the remaining real estate and cash flow. But on what grounds? I was the one who built that company from the ground up. We kept our marriage a secret purely to stroke her ego and satisfy her vanity. I agreed to stay in the background, but not so she could hand everything over to her old flame and his son. I threw the agreement back on the table and looked up, meeting her smug, ‘I knew it’ expression. I just watched her for a moment, then asked the question that had been burning in my heart. “So, rigging the competition to steal Chris’s championship today… that was also to force me into this divorce?” Evelyn flinched, surprised by my calmness. She recovered quickly, her usual arrogance returning like a shield. “I rigged it? What about you? Chris is naturally talented, but you pushed him into masterclasses, paraded him all over social media. If it weren’t for your marketing, do you think a boy his age would have so many fans? Is that fair to Theo? All I did was level the playing field!” She spat the words out, a torrent of self-righteous justification. “Theo worked so hard for this! He deserved it! It’s about time your son learned that talent isn’t something to be proud of!” Her brazen defense was so absurd I almost laughed. Chris had prepared for this competition for three solid years. In those years, just mastering the difficult six-string tremolo technique had cost him countless hours of pain and frustration. He practiced even when he was sick, never daring to slack off for a single day. And his own mother… she only saw the “hard work” of another child. In her eyes, her own son’s prodigious talent had become a flaw. Love and its absence—the difference was blindingly clear. Seeing my silence, Evelyn scoffed and sat down on the sofa, pulling off her silk scarf. “Pour me some water.” I didn’t move. As I looked down, her phone screen lit up. A text from her lover, Charlie: Did he agree? A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Evelyn shot me a warning glare, snatching up her phone and typing furiously. After sending her reply, she grabbed her coat, ready to leave again. I stepped in her way, frowning. “Chris fell off the stage today. He hurt his head. As his mother, you’re not going to stay with him? Where are you going?” “Chris fell? What is wrong with you? You do nothing all day, and you can’t even watch a child properly? What are you good for, Liam?” My attempt to keep her here only earned me a tirade of blame. After she was done, she shot me an impatient look, clearly having no intention of staying. “I have something urgent to do. You take care of Chris.” Her “urgent business” was, of course, spending time with Charlie and his son. As she walked to the door to change her shoes, not even glancing toward Chris’s room, my fists clenched. “Evelyn, do you just enjoy being a stepmother that much?” She turned, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Watch your mouth, Liam. Theo is a sweet, innocent child. He deserves my love!” So, Chris and I were the ones who didn’t? I watched her slam the door without a second thought, a cold smile spreading across my face. Fine, Evelyn. If that’s how you want it, then you no longer deserve my mercy. That night, I didn’t sleep in the master bedroom. I squeezed into Chris’s small bed with him. He listened to my stories, told me his secrets, and for the first time, he didn’t mention Evelyn’s name once. I knew that, just like me years ago, he had finally given up on her. Truthfully, I had wanted to leave her ever since Charlie returned to the country, when she abandoned me with a raging fever to go pick him up from the airport. But Chris didn’t want us to divorce. He didn’t want to be the child of a broken home; he didn’t want to lose his mother. I stayed only to protect him. But I never imagined Evelyn’s favoritism for Charlie and his son would run so deep that she would be willing to hurt her own child. I gently stroked Chris’s face, a profound sense of guilt washing over me. The next day, a heavy rainstorm swept across the city. The unusual silence at the breakfast table made Evelyn uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and stroked Chris’s head. “Chris, how about Mommy drives you to school today?” I paused, my fingers hovering over the ride-share app on my phone. Chris didn’t light up as Evelyn expected. He just glanced at the pouring rain outside and gave a quiet nod. His indifference made Evelyn frown. She stood up abruptly and dragged me into the kitchen. “Liam, did you say something bad about me to our son?” “No.” I shook her hand off, annoyed. She sneered. “If you didn’t, why is he acting like this? He used to love talking to me.” A low chuckle escaped me. Yes, Chris used to love talking to her. Every morning at breakfast, he would chatter away, sharing everything he’d seen and learned. And how did Evelyn respond? Her patience never lasted more than ten minutes before she would put on a stern face and lecture him. “Chris, no talking while eating. We have rules at the table.” Every time he heard that, Chris would fall silent, his face a mask of disappointment. Evelyn never understood that his endless chatter was the desperate plea of a son craving his mother’s affection. Chris was not an unruly child; his mother was just too busy. She left early and came home late, always caught up in business dinners or overtime at the office. The only time Chris had with her was breakfast. She never realized that in this family, she was the missing piece. My quiet laughter grated on her. She grabbed me, her voice sharp with rebuke. “What are you laughing at? With your passive-aggressive attitude all day, no wonder you’re a bad influence on him.” I turned away and met Chris’s gaze from the dining room. The fire in my chest instantly died down. “Nothing. I’m just happy for you. Chris listened to you. He remembered the rules of the table.” “Is that so?” She didn’t seem pleased by my answer. I ignored her suspicion and went back to the table, asking Chris in a low voice, “Are you sure you want Mom to take you?” He nodded his little head. “Yes. Every time it rains, Daddy gets his clothes and shoes all wet trying to protect me. I feel bad.” I smiled and ruffled his hair, still worried about leaving him in Evelyn’s care. “But the cut on your head…” Before we could decide, Evelyn’s phone rang. After a two-minute call, she strode back over. “Chris, Daddy will take you today after all. Mommy has something to take care of.” Without waiting for a reply, she rushed out the door. I looked at Chris with concern, but he wasn’t sad or disappointed. He just shrugged and gave me a wry look. “Looks like my old man has to do the hard work again!” His humor made me laugh. I pulled him into a hug. “This old man is more than happy to. You’re his favorite person in the world.” After dropping Chris off at school, I got back into the taxi. Just as we were about to pull away, Evelyn’s car pulled up beside us. She got out, opened her umbrella, and carefully walked around to the back door, helping Theo out of the car. Charlie followed, taking the umbrella from her and draping his arm casually around her shoulders. I frowned slightly. When had Theo transferred to this school? Evelyn carried Theo all the way to the school gate before putting him down. He tugged on her sleeve, and she obediently knelt. He leaned in and planted a kiss on her cheek. Evelyn’s smile widened, and she hugged him, kissing him back. What a picture-perfect, happy family of three. Her own son had never once enjoyed such treatment. I gave a sarcastic smile and urged the driver to go. But Evelyn and Charlie’s good mood didn’t last. Before the day was out, the story of the rigged competition exploded online. In less than 24 hours, headlines flooded social media. #YouthVirtuosoCompetitionGrandPrizeFixed? #BigCompetitionBigProductionBigScam? #FanFavoriteGuitarProdigyRobbedByJudgesOnLiveTV #FourPassesTheJudgesPet I clicked on one of the trending topics. The comments were a firestorm of outrage against the show and the judges. ARE YOU BLIND? The kid with the six-string tremolo was clearly on another level. His mastery of the instrument was insane. And the judges gave him a 3? If you don’t need your eyes, donate them to someone who does. This is a complete setup. The other kid, Theo, was fine on the violin, but so by-the-book. The piece he chose wasn’t even difficult. The third-place winner was more impressive. How did he beat Chris for first? He’s only EIGHT. At an age when most kids can’t even get a clean strum, he’s mastering tremolos. I’m coming for you, director. Give him justice. Guys, stop arguing. A master detective online already dug it up. The kid named Theo’s ‘mom’ is the personal assistant to the show’s biggest investor. The championship was just a whisper away. Chris’s online votes were miles ahead of everyone else in the semi-finals. The show claimed to be fair and transparent, so why did they suddenly hide the online voting results for the finale? Before I could scroll further, Evelyn called. “Liam, is this your doing? All this chaos online?” she seethed. “You’ve become so venomous. Just because you know your way around the internet, you’re targeting a child?” “I’m warning you, fix this. Get all of this off the internet right now, or you will face the consequences!” She unleashed her tirade and hung up without giving me a chance to say a word. I stared at my phone and let out a bitter laugh. While Chris’s fans had certainly fanned the flames, neither of us had the power to make this a national incident. Ultimately, this was a mess of Evelyn’s own making. She wanted to rig the championship, but she’d spent the entire season boasting about fairness and transparency, making all the early votes public. When Chris’s numbers got too high for even paid bots to catch up, she simply canceled the public vote for the finale and had the host read out some random numbers. Her scheme was sloppy, full of holes. And today’s internet users are sharp. No one was going to let her get away with it. I had no ability to quell this storm. And even if I did, why should I help the son of her lover? I’m no saint. But I never anticipated how far Evelyn would go to protect Theo. She had the show’s official account release a statement. The production team owes everyone an apology. Out of a desire to protect the children involved, we previously withheld certain information. Considering the current online harassment directed at young Theo, and after much deliberation, we have decided to reveal the truth. In fact, Chris cheated on the day of the competition. The backing track he provided was a full performance, and the guitar in his hands was a lightweight prop, which is how he was able to so easily perform the six-string tremolo with such fluency and rich tone. After this was discovered, Chris’s father, Mr. Liam, begged the production team for mercy. Considering the boy is young and motherless, we did not want to ruin his future, which is why we arranged the results as we did. This was a failure of judgment on our part, and for that, we bow in apology to all our viewers. We will accept the criticism. We only ask that the public be kind to the children. The moment the statement was released, it was met with an even greater torrent of fury and derision. They said, No wonder a kid so young could pull off a six-string tremolo. It was a prop and fake playing. They said, I knew it. Even professional guitarists struggle with that technique. How could an eight-year-old do it? It was too good to be true. They said, So being motherless is an excuse to cheat? This father is clearly just playing the sympathy card. A kid like that deserves to be taught a lesson. … My fingers tightened around my phone, my whole body trembling with rage. Reading those comments, I knew, with absolute certainty, that they were from paid trolls hired by Evelyn, all meant to steer the narrative. Did she have any idea what this would do to Chris? She was trying to destroy his future. My eyes burning, I frantically dialed her number. The moment she picked up, her cold laughter came through the line. “Liam, you’re scared now, aren’t you? Well, I’m telling you, it’s too late. Begging won’t help. You did this to Theo first.” I couldn’t hold it back any longer. I roared into the phone. “Evelyn, Chris is your son! Your own flesh and blood! Are you trying to destroy him?” She scoffed. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s a hobby. Even if Chris does nothing with his life, it’s not like I can’t afford to feed and clothe him. But Theo is different. He doesn’t have a mother. That’s tragic enough.” “Anyway, I’m busy. I don’t have time for this. I suggest you behave yourself and stop pulling these little stunts.” This time, Evelyn had crossed my final line. I stared at the disconnected call, then walked into the bedroom. From the safe, I took out our marriage certificate, property deeds—every document that proved my relationship with Evelyn. I photographed them all. Evelyn, if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me. I was just about to upload the photos, to write the post exposing our relationship and outing Charlie as a homewrecker, when a call came from Chris’s teacher. “Hello, Chris’s dad? Something’s happened to Chris at school. Can you please come right away?” Her urgent voice made my heart pound in my chest. I scrambled downstairs, calling a car on my phone. In my haste, I missed a step and tumbled down the stairs. Ignoring the pain, I picked myself up and kept running. As I reached the office door, I heard Chris’s language arts teacher. “Principal, we can put off talking to the parents for a moment. The priority is to get the child to a hospital.” What happened? Who’s hurt? I was about to push the door open when Charlie’s sharp voice cut through. “Ma’am, I know you’re worried about the child’s injury. But if you take him without a parent present, and something happens on the way, can you bear that responsibility?” “I’ve already told you, his mother is on her way. I’ll pay whatever compensation they ask for. But if you take him now and his injuries get worse, I’m not going to be the one footing the bill for your mistake.” “You—” The teacher was speechless with anger. I listened, frowning, my gut telling me Theo and Chris had gotten into another fight. But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I opened the door. Chris was slumped in his teacher’s arms, his face and lips ashen white. His hands were covered in blood, which dripped steadily onto the floor. He was shivering, as if chilled to the bone. “Chris! How did you get hurt so badly?” I rushed to his side, my hands hovering, afraid to touch him and cause more pain. When Chris saw me, his eyes instantly filled with tears. The dam of his composure finally broke, and he let out a heart-wrenching sob. “Daddy, it hurts so much.” His teacher visibly relaxed and handed him over to me. “Chris’s dad, hurry, take him to the hospital. He’s been like this for almost an hour.” I took my son from her arms, mumbled a “thank you,” and turned to leave. But Charlie blocked my path. “Liam, I’m so sorry. Theo was just trying to play a joke on Chris, he never thought it would go this far. But don’t worry, we’ll compensate Chris for everything. Theo’s mother is on her way. She’s got money. You can ask for whatever you want.” I didn’t have the energy to figure out who the “mother” he was talking about was. All I wanted was to get Chris to a hospital. I shoved him aside without a second thought. “Get out of my way!” Charlie stumbled back, hitting his back against a desk with a pained grunt. Seeing this, Theo snatched a ruler from a teacher’s desk and swung it down hard on Chris’s injured hand. “Bastard! You hit my dad, I’ll kill your son!” Chris screamed, a raw cry of agony. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

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My parents’ legacy—a pair of heirloom lockets they’d sworn never to part with—suddenly appeared on the auction block at the May Day charity gala. But no matter how high I bid, Adrian Rhames’s childhood sweetheart, Chloe, always went a hundred dollars higher. It was the hundredth time she had so blatantly tried to snatch something of mine away. Adrian, however, was unfazed. “They’re just trinkets, Max. It’s Chloe’s birthday. She likes them, so just let her have them.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. With newfound resolve, I called the final price, an exorbitant bid that silenced the room. When the auction ended, my parents’ lockets were safely back in my possession. Adrian wasn’t angry; in fact, our marriage, against all odds, seemed to find a new, searing passion. I indulged his every desire, fulfilling the role of a devoted wife. A year later, I was pregnant. And I received an invitation to a private auction. There was only one item for sale: “The Max Geller Collection: 999 Private Moments.” Adrian appeared with Chloe wrapped around his arm, a cruel glint in his eyes. “Chloe wanted something thrilling for her birthday,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “And since you love outbidding her so much, I figured I’d give you the chance to bid to your heart’s content.” A desolate smile touched my lips. If this was what they wanted, then I would play their game. A pixelated video flickered to life on the massive screen. The setting was all too familiar—it was the master bedroom of my home with Adrian, the sanctuary I had so lovingly built. “Well, well. Mrs. Rhames always looks so prim and proper. Who knew she was such a firecracker in private?” “Now that’s what I call a masterpiece. I hear she’s three months pregnant, too. Adrian Rhames is a lucky man.” The men in the room exchanged lewd smirks and crude remarks. My fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms. I stared at Adrian, my body trembling. “Why?” Ours may have been an arranged marriage, a merger of two powerful families, but we’d built a life on three years of shared history. Despite Chloe’s constant interference, the past year had been filled with genuine affection. I was carrying his child. Adrian pulled Chloe closer, his gaze softening with adoration for her. “Because you always have to compete with Chloe. You make her unhappy.” He gestured to the screen. “You love calling the final price, don’t you? Here are 999 lots. Take your time.” Chloe giggled, a mask of innocence on her face. “Adrian, darling, don’t you think this is a bit much? The Geller family is practically gone. I doubt a pregnant woman like her has the kind of money for this, even if she sold herself.” Laughter erupted around me, and predatory eyes fixed on my body. “Her parents are dead, and Rhames Enterprises absorbed her family’s company. The only ones here who could afford the whole collection are Mr. Rhames and Miss Sterling themselves.” Adrian shot me a look, his eyes stripped of any warmth. “I won’t have Chloe’s eyes sullied by such filth. I won’t be bidding. The rest of you, feel free.” “A generous man, Mr. Rhames!” the crowd cheered. Chloe snuggled into his chest. “Darling, you crushed the Geller family and took over their company for me. Max must be broke now. Should we… help her out?” He kissed her forehead, his voice dripping with love. “Don’t you worry about her, sweetheart. She owes you this.” I stared at the man who had become a stranger. “The downfall of my family’s company… that was your doing?” I whispered, my voice shaking. He sneered, as if the answer was obvious. “The Gellers were an eyesore to Chloe. I was just helping her clear the view.” My breath caught in my throat. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. It was all a long, calculated revenge, all because I had dared to reclaim my parents’ lockets from his precious Chloe a year ago. Adrian looked down on me, his voice a cold command. “Max, I’ll give you a choice. Call the final price, or… get on your knees and apologize to Chloe. A thousand times.” I took a deep, shuddering breath. “I will not kneel to her.” A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by a scornful laugh. “Max, do you really think you’re in a position to choose?” I turned to the auctioneer, my eyes hard as stone. “Begin.” My humiliation was now on full display. The auctioneer, a smirk playing on his lips, raised his gavel. “Lot number one: The Kitchen. Bidding starts at one million dollars!” A collective gasp swept through the room. “The kitchen! Mr. Rhames has exquisite taste in locations.” “I never thought the high and mighty Max Geller could be so… accommodating. I bid two million!” A wave of nausea washed over me as I watched the screen. It was my birthday. Adrian had baked me a cake, and I, moved to tears by the gesture, had let him lead me into a night of passion right there on the kitchen counter. Adrian watched me from his elevated seat, his eyes filled with derision. His gaze was a knife, carving away at my shattered heart. All eyes were on me. The jeers and whispers threatened to drown me. I sank back into my chair, my voice a threadbare whisper. “I call the final price.” But the attendant didn’t light the signal lamp above my seat. Instead, he leaned in, his tone mocking. “Mrs. Rhames, I’m afraid your accounts have just been frozen.” “What?” Disbelief washed over me. After my family’s company was liquidated, I still had a ten-million-dollar trust fund—the last thing my father had left for me. “Accounts frozen? Then what’s she going to bid with?” “I thought she’d at least snag one or two. Turns out she’s got nothing.” I shot up from my seat, my eyes locking on Adrian, who sat enthroned on the second-floor dais. “You did this!” He shrugged. “Rhames Enterprises owns your family’s liquidated assets. Is it really so strange that an outsider’s access has been… restricted?” Chloe let out a delicate laugh. “Oh, Max, if you’re out of cash, why not humble yourself a bit? I’m sure any of these fine gentlemen would be happy to sponsor a beauty like you if you make it worth their while.” The room erupted in raucous laughter. A greasy-looking older man even reached for me, trying to pull me into his lap. The auctioneer pressed on. “Mrs. Rhames, if you cannot call the final price, we will have to resume the bidding for this lot.” I slapped away the groping hands and, with trembling fingers, dialed my emergency lender. “I need a loan. One hundred million.” The men around me smirked, their interest momentarily lost. The auction proceeded. The auctioneer smiled as he brought down the gavel. “Seat 13 calls the final price! Congratulations to Mrs. Rhames on acquiring ‘The Kitchen’.” “What a shame. I was looking forward to seeing the lady of the Geller manor in action.” “Don’t worry. She’s borrowing from the sharks. Payback is brutal. A hundred million won’t last her long.” “Exactly. There are 999 lots. Let’s see how much she can borrow.” I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. The screen had already switched to the next lot. “Lot number two: The Balcony! Bidding starts at one million!” the auctioneer announced with theatrical flair. The room was buzzing again. “First the kitchen, now the balcony! The man’s an artist!” “I bid three million!” A man beside me leaned in close, his hand brushing my leg. “Mrs. Rhames, why don’t you play with me for a bit?” “Yeah, Adrian Rhames doesn’t want you, but I do. You be a good girl and take care of me, and I’ll buy this next one for you.” “Get away from me,” I hissed, my voice dripping with ice. The man sneered. “After what we’ve seen on screen, you’re still playing the saint?” “Five million!” another shouted. “Ten million! And when I get it, I’ll project it onto the Geller family mausoleum for all to see!” A chill shot through my entire body. Trembling, I raised my paddle. “I… I call the final price.” The gavel fell again, the auctioneer’s smile widening with cruel delight. “Seat 13 calls the final price. Congratulations again, Mrs. Rhames, on your acquisition of ‘The Balcony’!” The gavel fell. Lot three. Lot four. The videos kept coming. And I could only keep raising my paddle, my hand shaking more each time. Calling the final price. Again and again. Until I had acquired 99 lots. “Lot number one hundred: The Rooftop Garden! Bidding starts at one million!” “I call—” “Mrs. Rhames,” the auctioneer interrupted, his smile laced with pity. “Your current balance is no longer sufficient to call the final price.” The men in the audience started whistling and catcalling. “Out of money, are we? Perfect. I’ve always wanted to see how a prestigious family like the Gellers raised a woman who enjoys… alfresco encounters.” “You play with me, and I’ll buy it for you.” I ignored the filth being thrown at me and dialed the lender one last time. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Rhames. You’ve reached your credit limit. We cannot extend you any further loans.” I lowered the phone in despair, my gaze instinctively flying to Adrian on the second-floor dais. He was holding Chloe, but he felt my stare. The last embers of what I once thought was love in his eyes died, replaced by cold contempt. Every eye in the room turned to him. After all, he was the only person left who could afford to buy the remaining 899 lots for me. Adrian simply looked down at me. “Max, my earlier offer still stands.” Kneel and beg? A cold, humorless laugh built in my chest. Chloe stirred in Adrian’s arms, her voice a saccharine whisper, feigning magnanimity. “Darling, Max took care of you for so long. Even if there was no love, there was effort. Why don’t I buy the rest for her?” The crowd murmured in approval. “Miss Sterling is so kind. Even now, she’s willing to help.” “No wonder Mr. Rhames adores her. How could a shameless woman like Max ever compare?” I squeezed my eyes shut, branding the humiliation Adrian was heaping upon me into my soul. I would never forget this. Chloe rose from Adrian’s side and glided towards me. She leaned in, her voice a triumphant hiss. “Listen, you little bitch. Divorce Adrian, get rid of that bastard in your belly, and I’ll give you a billion dollars to buy the rest of these videos. How about it?” “Get lost,” I snarled. Chloe dramatically stumbled backward, as if I had shoved her with all my might. She collapsed to the floor, her body wracked with sobs. “I’m sorry, Max! I… I was only trying to help…” Adrian rushed to her side, scooping her up. Then he turned and slapped me across the face, the sound echoing in the silent room. “Who gave you the right to touch Chloe!” I wiped a trickle of blood from my lip, my gaze locking with his, cold and unyielding. It was the first time I had ever seen him so furious in all the years of our marriage. And it was for another woman. “Continue the auction!” Adrian roared at the auctioneer. “Sell every last one! Let the whole world see the real Max Geller!” But Chloe clung to him, her voice a gentle balm. “Adrian, it’s alright. I’m fine. Max is just having a hard time accepting all this.” She looked at me with pity. “Ultimately, she can’t stand seeing how much you love me. She has every right to hate me.” Adrian cradled her, his gaze on me turning glacial. “Chloe is still defending you, and yet you act with such venom.” It was utterly, laughably absurd. This was the man I had loved for four years. “Adrian Rhames,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “Let’s get a divorce.” “What did you say?” “I said, let’s get a divorce.” I met his gaze, my own unwavering. This marriage was nothing but a tool for his revenge. Now that he had gotten what he wanted, it was time for it to end. He seemed stunned for a moment, then a cold sneer twisted his lips. “What game are you playing now, Max? You think this little act will make me pity you?” “I don’t need your pity. We’re over.” I signed the divorce papers without a moment’s hesitation. As my pen left the paper, Adrian’s expression darkened into a thunderous scowl. Chloe, however, couldn’t hide the triumphant glee in her eyes. She looked down at me as if I were a stray dog kicked to the curb. Minutes later, a notification pinged on my phone. A billion dollars had been deposited into my new account. I looked at the auctioneer. “Continue the auction.” Chloe pressed herself against Adrian’s chest, her expression aggrieved. “Adrian, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault…” “It has nothing to do with you,” he bit out, his usual comforting tone absent. His eyes were fixed on me. “I’d like to see what she has left to bid with now that she’s no longer a Rhames.” Lot #101 appeared on the screen. “Lot one-oh-one, a… multi-person video,” the auctioneer stammered, “starting bid, two million dollars!” The room exploded. The jeers grew louder, more vicious. “The Gellers were such a respected family! I can’t believe their daughter is into this kind of thing! If her father knew, he’d claw his way out of his grave!” “If you have such needs, Mrs. Rhames, you should have called me!” “Five million!” “Ten million!” “I bid twenty million!” The bids escalated, a frenzy of voices clamoring for my deepest shame. The auctioneer looked at me, a sly smile on his face. “Mrs. Rhames? Are you still calling the final price?” Adrian watched from above, a conqueror’s smugness on his face. He was certain I was out of options, that I would have to crawl back and beg him. “Max, my conditions haven’t changed…”

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After I got pregnant, my husband became obsessed with his young, delicate secretary. On New Year’s Eve, he was in a private suite, “ringing in the new year” with his secretary, who was poured into a slinky red dress. When I burst in, she tilted her head back, displaying a constellation of angry red love bites on her pale neck. “Oh, Mrs. Brolin, don’t misunderstand! A new year is coming. I’m just helping Arthur cleanse all the bad luck for a fresh start.” My husband, irritated at the interruption, just grumbled. “You’re pregnant, you can’t satisfy me. I’m a normal man. I have needs, and Charlotte is just kind enough to help me out.” I was seven months pregnant. The shock sent a jolt through my body, and my water broke. The secretary sneered, accusing me of peeing my pants on purpose just to embarrass my husband. Furious at the humiliation, my husband locked me in the bathroom. He and his little secretary spent the next three days and nights together before he decided my punishment was over. But when he finally came home and saw my now-flat stomach, he lost his mind. 1 It was New Year’s Eve. My husband, Arthur Brolin, was out celebrating with his buddies. I, being pregnant, stayed home. As midnight approached, I received a text from him with an address. Wifey, I have a surprise for you. My heart filled with joy as I hailed a cab, my seven-month belly making the simple act of moving feel like a chore. I rushed to the exclusive club, imagining a sweet, romantic gesture. That bubble of happiness was instantly burst by a bucket of ice-cold reality. The private suite was a haze of expensive cigar smoke and the glittering chaos of a high-roller’s party. Arthur’s little secretary, Charlotte, was perched on his lap, her eyes hazy with desire, the tips of her ears flushed a deep red. She was a vision of pure, yet provocative, innocence. The veins on Arthur’s right hand bulged as he gripped her waist, her dress hiked up to her hips, one shoulder bare and gleaming. That red silk dress… it was a one-of-a-kind custom piece a famous designer had made for our wedding reception. A treasure. Now, he was using it as a prop for his sordid thrills. The sliver of Charlotte’s pale, slender waist was a knife twisting in my gut. “Arthur, darling, be gentle with me… a little slower,” she purred. “You little liar,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “You beg me for it five times a day, so why pretend to be so innocent now?” They kissed, a deep, tangled mess of limbs and lips, completely oblivious to the world around them. The others in the room didn’t even blink. I think I knew, then, who had really sent me that text. Arthur’s friends, each with a girl draped over them, watched the scene with amused, knowing smirks. One of them, Trevor, raised his glass. “Damn, that’s some killer New Year’s Eve battle armor, Charlotte. No wonder Arthur was willing to ditch the missus tonight.” Arthur tightened his grip on Charlotte’s waist, letting out a breathy chuckle. “You marry the respectable one, but you fuck the fun one. There are some things Josie just won’t do, so I have to find an outlet. I know where my priorities lie.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that still carried across the room. “Besides, since she got pregnant, Josie’s ballooned up. Honestly, it kills my appetite just looking at her. She’s got none of the fire that Charlotte has.” Charlotte’s manicured fingers traced circles on Arthur’s chest as she pouted playfully. “Arthur, you’re awful. What do you take me for? I’m a good girl, you know.” “Yes, yes, you are. Happy New Year, my darling girl.” Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a stunningly expensive diamond necklace, slipping it down the front of Charlotte’s messy dress. Her delighted giggles echoed in the suddenly quiet room. Someone joked, “Careful, Arthur. Aren’t you afraid Mrs. Brolin will find out and divorce you?” He just shrugged. “So what if she finds out? She loves me too much. Besides, where’s she gonna go, pregnant with my kid?” Their filthy flirtations resumed, punctuated by the cheers of his friends. “Arthur Brolin, you’re the fucking man!” My stomach churned, a wave of nausea washing over me. My face as pale as a ghost, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. My arrival shattered the laughter. Arthur quickly grabbed a jacket from the sofa and draped it over Charlotte’s shoulders. The irony was so thick I could taste it. I clenched my fists, my voice shaking with rage. “What’s the matter? She’s brave enough to ride you in front of a crowd, but you’re afraid to let her show a little shoulder?” “Don’t talk like that,” he snapped. “She’s a young girl. Have some decency.” Charlotte, now safely shielded by my husband, shot me a defiant look. “We’re just ringing in the new year, Josie. Out with the old, in with the new. You should try to understand.” The others scrambled to smooth things over, shooting me pleading looks, begging me to let Arthur save face. “Josie, we were just playing Truth or Dare! Things got a little wild, we’ve all had a bit too much to drink. We’ll do three shots right now to apologize. Just forgive Arthur, okay?” 2 I didn’t move. I didn’t say a word. Arthur’s face darkened with displeasure, his tone laced with blame. “What are you doing here? I told you to stay home and rest.” It felt like a thousand tiny needles were pricking my heart. I couldn’t believe this was the same man who had joyfully helped me decorate the nursery, who was now shielding another woman while spewing venom at me. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood before I could speak. “Arthur, you’re the one who said it. A cheater deserves to die a horrible death.” His expression turned ugly. “Watch your mouth, Josie. Charlotte and I are just… scratching an itch. You’ve let yourself go since you got pregnant. The fact that I can even stand to sleep next to you is a testament to my patience.” “Besides,” he scoffed, “in our circle, who doesn’t have someone on the side? At least I plan on coming back home to you after the baby’s born.” I cradled my belly, a wave of despair and fury rising within me. Pregnancy had inevitably made me gain weight, my legs swelling until they looked like carrots. I suffered from excruciating leg cramps in the middle of the night and was tormented by morning sickness that kept me awake for hours. My once-smooth skin had become rough and sallow. Arthur’s initial sympathy had curdled into impatience. He started “working late” every night. The disgust in his eyes whenever he glanced at the angry purple stretch marks on my stomach was impossible to miss. For the sake of our child, I pretended not to see it. I kept telling myself, it’ll be better once the baby is born. But how could he use the suffering I endured for him, for our child, as a weapon to belittle me? I shouldn’t have to stay with a monster for the sake of a child. “Arthur,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Let’s get a divorce.” His condescending smirk froze on his face. His voice held a note of absolute certainty. “Divorce? You’re pregnant with my child. Where would you go? As long as you two can get along, the title of Mrs. Brolin will always be yours.” Seeing the shattered look on my face, he softened his tone, as if speaking to a difficult pet. “Be a good girl, Josie. I promise you, the only Brolin heir will come from your belly.” Charlotte squirmed on his lap, feigning discontent. “Arthur, darling, don’t make Josie angry because of me. She’s carrying your child, after all!” He gave her slender waist a sharp squeeze. “That woman doesn’t get to be difficult. She’s the one being overly dramatic.” Watching these two dogs flirt shamelessly in front of me, I couldn’t control the violent spasms in my stomach. “Retch… hork…” The contents of my stomach sprayed outwards, hitting Arthur and Charlotte, who were closest to me. Charlotte, in particular, was covered. The expensive jacket was drenched in foul-smelling vomit. Her eyes turned red. She tore off the jacket and screamed, “You bitch! Did you do that on purpose?!” My own rage erupted. I slapped her hard across the face. “Who are you calling a bitch?” She shrieked and shoved me with all her might. “Arthur, you have to stand up for me! This was my New Year’s dress! She ruined it!” A waiter rushed over with hot towels. Arthur shot me a warning look. “Josie. That’s enough.” The shove had sent me off-balance. My heavy, cumbersome body crashed to the floor. I struggled to get up, my movements clumsy and pathetic, a source of amusement for the onlookers. “Hey Arthur,” one of them snickered. “Doesn’t Josie look like a turtle on its back, trying to get up?” “A fat turtle! Hahaha!” Tears stung my eyes. Before I could even process the humiliation, a sharp, cramping pain shot through my abdomen. A warm gush of fluid flooded out from between my legs. I looked down. A large, dark patch was spreading across the plush carpet beneath me. Oh no… Instinctively, I cried out to Arthur for help. “Arthur! Get me to a hospital, now!” “My water just broke…” 3 The words sobered Arthur up instantly. He scrambled to his feet, a flash of pity and regret in his eyes. “Josie, don’t be scared. I’ll take you to the hospital right now.” But then Charlotte’s voice, dripping with saccharine malice, cut through the air. “I’m so jealous of you, Josie. No matter what lies you tell, Arthur will always believe you without a second thought.” Arthur shook off the pale, slender hands that were wrapped around his waist, his voice like ice. “Get off me. If anything happens to my wife, you’ll be the one I hold responsible.” Shoved aside, Charlotte draped herself dramatically over the sofa. Undeterred, she used her red-stockinged foot to rub against his leg. “Arthur, darling, can’t you see? Josie was just so worked up she peed her pants.” “She’s only seven months along. It’s not her due date. How could her water have broken?” His friends clicked their tongues and shook their heads, their disgust palpable. “I heard pregnant women often lose control of their bladder. I guess it’s true.” “Can’t even control her own piss. No wonder Arthur needed to find a new plaything.” Arthur’s motion to pick me up halted. He let out a long breath, and the momentary concern on his face was replaced by a wave of furious embarrassment. He grabbed a throw pillow and hurled it at my head. “Disgusting! To get my attention, you’d resort to any cheap trick, wouldn’t you?!” “No, it’s not a trick! I’m really in labor! My stomach hurts so much…” He watched me writhe on the floor, his eyes cold, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “A very convincing performance. If Charlotte hadn’t pointed it out, I might have actually fallen for it.” Charlotte’s eyes danced with glee. She threw herself into his arms, cooing, “Hmph. I’m your smartest little secretary, aren’t I?” The pain was so intense my voice trembled. “Help me… the baby… save the baby… Please, someone, call an ambulance.” Trevor let out a derisive snort. “Wow, Josie’s really committed to the bit. Pissing all over the floor and now she wants to waste medical resources.” Charlotte added fuel to the fire. “Imagine if word got out that Mrs. Brolin wet herself in public. What would that do to your reputation, Arthur? Josie, you’re being so thoughtless.” The thick cigarette smoke in the room made my head spin. A chilling realization washed over me. No one was going to help me. Ignoring the searing pain in my belly, I gritted my teeth and began to crawl toward my handbag a few feet away. My phone was in there. I could save myself. The sound of their laughter followed me, a chorus of mockery. “Damn, Arthur, your wife’s acting is top-notch. She deserves an Oscar!” “Maybe you should go comfort her, man! If she keeps pissing, she’s going to ruin the whole party.” Sweat poured down my face, soaking the hair at my temples. I ignored the taunts of the scum around me and finally, my fingers brushed against my purse. I fumbled inside, my hand closing around my phone. Just as my trembling finger was about to press the call button, Arthur’s shoe came down hard on my hand, kicking the phone across the room. “Enough! Are you insane? It’s New Year’s Eve, and you’re trying to harass emergency responders.” The pain was blinding. I curled into a ball on the floor. “I’m really in labor. The baby’s only seven months… it’s dangerous. This is your child, too. Please, let me go to the hospital…” An unnatural, violent pain ripped through my stomach. I wasn’t sure if I’d landed on the baby when I fell. For the sake of the life inside me, I swallowed my pride. I reached out and grabbed the hem of his pants, my voice a pathetic whisper. “Give me my phone. I’ll call the ambulance myself. I’m begging you…” “This is your own flesh and blood.”

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1 The Thanksgiving holiday was looming, and the plan was to drive to my mother-in-law’s for the week. The day before we were set to leave, my wife, Lillian, announced that her childhood sweetheart wanted to catch a ride with us. I stared at her, incredulous. “But Aiden doesn’t drive, does he?” Lillian, who always complained about being behind the wheel, suddenly volunteered for the long haul. Even my daughter, Mia, sided with them. “Daddy, Uncle Aiden isn’t feeling well. You wouldn’t make him squeeze onto a crowded train, would you?” I stopped arguing. Right there in front of them, I booked my ticket. Only, it wasn’t to their destination. It was to my own parents’ house. A wife who played favorites and a daughter I couldn’t seem to win over. I was done with them both. … The phone call had been blunt. Lillian didn’t even try to soften the blow. “Bryan, Aiden needs a ride back to his hometown for the holiday, too. There won’t be room in the car, so you’ll have to book a train ticket.” My hands, busy packing a suitcase, froze. I looked at her, trying to process what she’d just said. “What do you mean?” Lillian, assuming I hadn’t heard, repeated herself with a sharp edge of impatience. “My car only seats five. With Aiden, we’ll be full. You can just take the train. It’s the same difference.” Aiden. Her high school flame. The one that got away. If he hadn’t married someone else all those years ago, Lillian would never have settled for me, the guy who’d been quietly in love with her for years. I was the consolation prize. I’d always hoped that time would wear away his place in her heart, but I was a fool. Ever since Aiden got divorced and moved back to Riverwood, everything had changed. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “You want me to take the train?” I asked, just to be sure. “Is there a problem?” she replied, genuinely confused. I couldn’t help but smile, a cold, humorless thing. “Have you forgotten who’s actually on our marriage certificate?” Her hand slapped the table. “Bryan, don’t start this again! I’m just asking you to take a train home. Are you some kind of prince? Are you too good for public transport? It’s fine for everyone else, but not for you?” It’s always the ones with something to hide who protest the loudest. This wasn’t the first time she’d lashed out at me to defend Aiden. Watching her now, her anger a flimsy shield for her guilt, all I felt was a profound sense of disappointment. It was as if all the years of my quiet devotion, my endless compromises, had just evaporated into nothing. I stopped packing and spoke, my voice flat. “Fine. I just won’t go. You all have a good time.” Lillian blinked, caught off guard. She struggled for a moment before softening her tone, a familiar tactic. “Honey, come on. Aiden has had claustrophobia since he was a kid; he can’t handle the tight spaces on a train. And my parents are getting older, Mia’s still so young… I had to ask you. I know it’s a lot, but you’re so understanding. You can see why I had to, right?” She leaned in, trying for a sweet, conspiratorial tone. “Besides, the train doesn’t get stuck in holiday traffic. You’ll get there early! You can air out the old house and get it ready for us. It’s a win-win!” In our family, I was the stay-at-home dad. I’d sacrificed my own career so Lillian could climb the corporate ladder, happily taking on the role of homemaker. But my sacrifice had earned me nothing but her indifference. Her heart had always belonged to Aiden. She had considered Aiden’s phobia, her parents’ comfort, her daughter’s needs. I was the only one left out of her circle of care. And that last line—about me getting the house ready—that was the real point. “I seem to recall Aiden doesn’t drive,” I said quietly. Lillian waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll drive. He can sit in the passenger seat.” I remembered when I’d sprained my ankle last year and couldn’t drive. I’d asked her to pick me up. She’d thrown a fit. “Bryan, I’m your wife, not your chauffeur!” I always thought she just hated driving. Now I realized the truth. She didn’t hate driving. She just hated who was sitting next to her. In that single, clarifying moment, my long-held obsession with Lillian shattered. It was over. 2 “If there’s no room for me,” I said, my voice hardening, “then what’s the point of me even showing up?” Seeing my resolve, Lillian’s patient facade crumbled. “What is your problem? We promised my parents we’d all be there. You’re the son-in-law! If you just don’t show up, what will my family think? How does that make me look?” I stared at her, speechless. You’re the one kicking me out, and now it’s my fault? At that moment, our daughter Mia, hearing her mother’s raised voice, came running. She looked up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Daddy, are you not coming with us to Grandma’s? Who’s going to cook for me?” Lillian seized on the comment, nodding as if it were perfectly logical. “Exactly. Are you going to let your daughter starve?” So that’s what I was to them. A cook. A tool. A dry, mirthless laugh was all I could manage. “Then let Aiden take the train.” Before Lillian could even form a rebuttal, five-year-old Mia jumped in. “Daddy, Uncle Aiden isn’t well! How can you be so mean and make him take the train?” I looked at my daughter, at the self-righteous certainty on her face, and my blood ran cold. My chest felt tight, like a band was squeezing my ribs. This was my little princess, the one I doted on, and her words were a betrayal. My voice rose, escaping my control. “Do you even know who your father is anymore?” Mia burst into tears. “You’re a mean daddy! I don’t want you to be my daddy! All you do is stay home while Mommy makes all the money! I like Uncle Aiden! I want him to be my dad!” Her words, full of childish contempt, struck me dumb. In that instant, the last bit of hope in me died. Lillian snatched Mia from my side, cradling her protectively and glaring at me. “She’s just a child, Bryan! Why are you taking it out on her?” she hissed. “I asked you to take the train. Is it really worth making such a scene over?” Emboldened by her mother’s support, Mia’s voice grew louder. “You’re a bad dad! I don’t want to ride with you! Uncle Aiden said he bought me lots of snacks for the road. You’re just a loser! You should take the train!” Lillian tried to clamp a hand over Mia’s mouth, but it was too late. “She’s a kid, Bryan,” she said quickly. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.” Oh, but she did. She had ears to hear, eyes to see, and a mouth to repeat what she was taught. I finally understood. In the eyes of my wife, her precious Aiden, and even the daughter I had raised with all my heart, I wasn’t a husband or a father. I was the live-in help who handled the chores. A good-for-nothing failure. And to think, I once had a promising career of my own. I looked at the two of them, mother and daughter, two faces like mirror images, their affection for Aiden a shared, ugly trait. Fine. If that’s how it is, I’m done. A housekeeper gets paid. Why the hell was I serving a bunch of ungrateful vipers for free? Seeing my silence, Lillian tried to reason with me again. “Honey, don’t be angry. Just do this for me this one time. My parents are old, Mia’s young… it just makes sense for you to take the train. Remember those headphones you were looking at online? I’ll buy them for you on Black Friday, how about that?” I scoffed. It was her signature move. After every fight, instead of an apology, she’d buy me the cheapest item on my wish list to smooth things over. For years, I told myself she was just being frugal for our family’s sake. Then I found out she’d spent a month’s salary on a custom-made designer suit for Aiden’s birthday. That’s when I learned the truth: a woman spends money on the man she loves. And I was an afterthought. The argument we had over that suit was epic, and it ended with her calling me “childish and irrational.” That, I think, was when the first major crack appeared in our marriage. I had swallowed my pride and stayed, for Mia’s sake. And here she was again, dangling a pair of headphones she wouldn’t even buy until the Black Friday sales. The reality of my marriage crashed down on me: a demanding wife who treated me like a servant, and a daughter who despised me for not being a breadwinner. What was I even fighting for anymore? My entire life revolved around them, a boring, thankless loop of chores and errands with no space for myself. Suddenly, I couldn’t stand being in that house a second longer. I pulled out my phone. As Lillian and Mia watched, I booked the train ticket. She and my daughter left the room, smug and satisfied. What she didn’t know was that my ticket was for a different destination entirely: my own parents’ house. 3 The next morning, Aiden arrived bright and early, dragging a suitcase behind him. Lillian had insisted on an early start to beat the holiday traffic on the highway. The moment she saw him, she rushed forward. “You’re here so early! I was going to pick you up from your place.” Her voice was laced with concern. “They said it’s going to get cold. Did you pack warm clothes?” I just stood there in the doorway, a silent observer to their tender reunion, feeling nothing at all. My eyes drifted to my own large suitcase, which I had packed the night before. I remembered Lillian’s words: “Bryan, the trunk isn’t big enough for all that. You’re a grown man, what do you need so much stuff for? You can just take that big one with you on the train.” Two suitcases, roughly the same size. For him, it was a question of whether he had enough clothes. For me, it was an inconvenience. The message was clear: Lillian knew how to care for someone. Just not for me. I didn’t argue. Her suggestion suited my plans perfectly. After a few minutes of fawning over Aiden, they finally seemed to remember I was there. Aiden turned to me, his face a mask of feigned apology. “Bryan, man, I’m really sorry about this. It just so happens I was heading home for Thanksgiving too, so… well, thanks for taking the train.” The words were contrite, but his tone was pure gloating. I raised an eyebrow at the amateur actor in front of me. “If you feel so bad, why don’t you head to the station and buy a ticket now?” Aiden froze, clearly not expecting me to call his bluff. Like a mother hen, Lillian immediately stepped in front of him, shielding him from me. “Bryan,” she said, her voice sharp with displeasure, “we talked about this last night. Don’t go back on your word.” From behind her, Aiden chimed in with a saccharine, cloying explanation. “It’s not your fault, Bryan, really. I’ve just had this thing since I was a kid… can’t do trains. The enclosed space… I can’t breathe. Lily was just worried about me, that’s all. She insisted I ride with her. Please don’t let this come between you two because of me.” It was a masterclass in passive aggression, a blatant declaration of his importance over mine. And in that moment, I was so profoundly grateful that I had given up on her. I watched them, standing so close they were practically one person. A sudden laugh escaped me. “Relax. I was just joking. Why so tense?” Lillian’s expression softened, and she busied herself with loading the luggage into the car. Just then, Mia, hearing the commotion, came tearing out of her bedroom. She barreled right past me, shoving me aside, and threw herself into Aiden’s arms. “Uncle Aiden! You’re finally here! I missed you so, so much!” The force of her push sent me stumbling into the doorframe. A sharp pain shot up my arm, and I knew a nasty bruise was already forming. Not once since she started elementary school had Mia ever shown me that kind of affection. She only ever complained that I was too strict, too overprotective. I was cautious because she’d always been a sickly child. But my care had curdled into a reason for her to resent me. In contrast, she adored Aiden. Her bright, cheerful voice cut through the air. “Uncle Aiden, can you be my new daddy?” “If you were my daddy, I could see you every day!” “We could go to theme parks and eat yummy food all the time! I’m so tired of just doing homework, homework, homework!” Each word was a razor blade slicing across my heart, turning years of fatherly devotion into weapons against me. No one stopped her. Aiden just shot a triumphant glance at me over her head. He hugged her close, his voice dripping with faux tenderness. “Well, if you want to call me ‘daddy,’ I suppose you can. I’d be lucky to have such a cute little girl.” I stood there, watching this grotesque little play unfold. Suddenly, I began to applaud, a slow, deliberate clap. “A real touching scene. Betrayal looks good on you both.” Mia’s face flushed with shame. Aiden, however, doubled down, positioning himself as the righteous one. “Kids are pure, Bryan. They know who’s good to them. Isn’t that right?” I nodded slowly. “You’re right. Though unlike some people, I don’t have a thing for playing dad to other men’s kids.” His face darkened. Seeing Lillian returning from the elevator, he raised his voice, performing for her benefit. “Bryan, I was just trying to remind you to pay more attention to your daughter! How could you twist my words like that?” Lillian glared at me, ready to jump to his defense. But before she could say a word, I slapped a folded document onto her chest. “I’m setting you two lovebirds free,” I announced, my voice ringing with finality. “There’s the divorce agreement.” Then, without a backward glance, I grabbed my large suitcase and walked out of their lives.

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My mother was dying. I begged my fiancé, Ryan, to advance part of our wedding fund for her surgery. He turned around and got engaged to Serena. In my deepest despair, my childhood friend, Richard Blackwood, knelt before me in the hospital, proposed, and handed me a check for a million dollars. I accepted without hesitation, rushing to schedule my mother’s operation. But in the end, she never made it off the operating table. Drowned in grief, I let Richard handle all the funeral arrangements. Our wedding went on as planned. Five years later, I overheard a conversation that shattered my world. “Richard, you never thought about what would happen if Brittney found out? That you sacrificed her mother just to save Serena’s? You were willing to risk everything for her?” “If I have to pay, I’ll pay. For her, I’d do anything. It was just one life. I’ve given Brittney the rest of mine to repay the debt. That should be enough.” Tears fell, hot and uncontrollable. I finally understood. The marriage I had so carefully nurtured was a lie from the very beginning. His heart had only ever belonged to Serena. Fine. If that’s what he wanted, I would get out of their way. 1 Through the thin wall of his study, I heard Richard’s voice, thick with a sorrow that was not for me. “Since she didn’t choose me,” he said, “saving her mother was the only thing I could do for her, to ensure she had no regrets. As for Brittney… I’m giving her my entire life as compensation. That has to be enough.” His best friend, Mark, sounded uneasy. “It’s a shame Serena still has no idea what you did for her. That was a life, Richard! If anyone finds out, you’ll spend the rest of yours in prison. Is a woman who doesn’t even love you worth all that?” “My heart decides if it’s worth it. As long as she’s happy, I’d do anything. Forget Brittney’s mother—I’d give her my own organs without blinking.” His voice hardened. “Don’t bring this up again. It’s in the past. All that matters is that she’s happy now.” “And Brittney? I think she’s really fallen in love with you. What happens if she finds out you murdered her mom?” A moment of silence, then the soft click of a lighter. Through the haze of smoke, Richard’s voice was laced with self-mockery. “Then I’ll pay with my life. The money I’ve made these past few years… it’s enough for her to live on forever.” “Man… I don’t get you,” Mark sighed. “Brittney’s a good woman. Why are you still so hung up on… never mind. It’s your life. If this is what you want.” The sound of footsteps approaching sent me scrambling back to my room. The hot tea I was holding spilled onto my hand, but all I felt was a profound, bone-deep cold. My mother hadn’t died in a life-saving surgery. She had died in a conspiracy he orchestrated for Serena. When Ryan had broken off our engagement, leaving me a laughingstock, Richard’s proposal wasn’t meant to give me happiness. It was meant to deliver the final, killing blow. Our entire marriage had been his guilt-ridden compensation. And I had proudly paraded his pity around like a trophy, thinking it was love. How utterly absurd. The front door clicked shut. Mark was gone. A moment later, Richard stumbled into our bedroom, reeking of alcohol. He cupped my face, his drunken eyes filled with a tenderness that now felt like poison as he planted a soft kiss on my forehead. “Why were you standing by the door?” “It’s nothing,” I lied smoothly. “I just spilled some tea and was about to clean it up.” “Leave it for the housekeeper. You’re not well, you should be resting. It breaks my heart to see you tired.” He leaned in and kissed me again, his touch as gentle and loving as it had always been. But this time, I felt no warmth. To think a person could go to such lengths for someone else. I closed my eyes, and a single tear escaped, tracing a cold path down my cheek. I helped him into bed and pulled the covers over him. He was asleep in moments. Sitting beside him, I picked up his phone. I only had to try one password. Serena’s birthday. I navigated to his files, pulling up the business contracts he’d signed over the past five years. Without exception, every major deal was a partnership with Ryan’s company. I’d never set foot in Richard’s office, but I didn’t need to be a businesswoman to see the profits he’d sacrificed just to work with her. The company’s brand ambassador was Serena’s favorite celebrity. The real estate projects were in neighborhoods Serena loved. Even the final payment amounts on the invoices were coded with numbers significant to her: her birthday, her wedding anniversary, the date she and Richard first met. My hand trembled as I opened his private photo album. It was filled with picture after picture of Serena smiling. Serena at charity galas as Ryan’s wife. Serena celebrating a successful project with Ryan. In every photo, Ryan’s face was neatly cropped out, leaving only her. A thousand photos, a perfect chronicle of her life over the last five years. Beyond that, there were records of countless jewelry purchases from high-end auctions. He’d had them all sent to Serena, officially billed as corporate gifts to a valued partner. His hidden love was a roaring, secret flame, tucked into every corner of his life. The details burned, leaving a sour ache in my chest. I recognized some of the jewelry brands. He had given me pieces from them, too—the cheap complimentary trinkets the auction houses threw in with major purchases—and told me they were special gifts he’d picked out just for me. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I couldn’t look anymore. Instead, I booked a one-way ticket to a foreign country, departing in three days. Then I filed an application to have all of my official identification documents canceled and reissued under a new name. Three days. It was more than enough time to erase five years of lies. I didn’t sleep at all. The next morning, as I was getting ready, my phone buzzed with an official notification. Moments later, Richard’s voice called out from the bedroom. “Brittney? What’s this about canceling your documents?” I quickly walked back in and took the phone, my voice even. “It’s nothing. My driver’s license expired, so I scheduled an appointment to get it renewed.” I changed the subject. “Don’t you have a big meeting today? You should get going.” He didn’t question it. He just pulled me into his arms, his lips brushing against my ear. “Thank you, my love. Marrying such a thoughtful wife is the best thing that ever happened to me.” I smiled but said nothing. “As a reward, how about I get you a huge present today?” “Okay,” I said. “I’ll be waiting at home.” The moment Richard left, his assistant delivered a gourmet breakfast from my favorite hotel. For five years, he had done this every single day. I used to think it was a symbol of his love. Now I saw it for what it was: a convenient, thoughtless gesture. If he really loved me, wouldn’t he have learned to cook a single one of my favorite dishes in five years? He had put so much effort into keeping me placated, keeping me away from Serena. I dumped the breakfast into the trash and walked out the door. It was time to end this five-year charade. The government office wasn’t busy. I filled out my final forms and then went to a lawyer’s office. A divorce agreement where one party leaves with nothing was a standard template. I had two copies in my hand within the hour. I took the papers to Richard’s company. As I walked in, I could hear the employees whispering. “Is that Mrs. Blackwood? She’s stunning! No wonder the boss keeps her hidden away like a treasure.” “That’s definitely her! I personally delivered that necklace she’s wearing last week! I heard it went for five million at auction! I could work since the Stone Age and never afford that. I’m so jealous!” “I heard they were childhood sweethearts, and she was his first love! He built an empire and still only has eyes for one woman. It’s like a real-life fairy tale, isn’t it?” I reached the top floor and stood outside his office. I could hear a familiar voice from within. “Is he treating you well?” It was Richard. “Yes, he’s wonderful,” Serena replied. “He just bought me a small island a few days ago, said he wanted to give me a proper honeymoon. Honestly, married for five years and he’s still such a romantic…” Richard’s voice was heavy with a pained, suppressed longing. “That’s good. As long as you’re happy, I can rest easy.” “You too,” Serena said, her tone shifting. “Why did you send such an expensive gift again? Brittney will be upset if she finds out.” That was Serena’s way. Take everything she could get, then turn around and mock me with feigned concern. She was the one who had rushed to the hospital after Ryan broke our engagement, gleefully announcing the news at my mother’s bedside. The shock sent my mother into a seizure, and she was rushed into surgery that very night. When I confronted Serena, both Ryan and Richard had shown up, and both of them had sided with her, scolding me for being unreasonable. That was the day I cut ties with Ryan and Serena for good. And Richard became my only savior. Now I knew he was the one who had pushed me into the abyss. His secretary, in a hurry to deliver some contracts, rushed toward the door and threw it open before I could move. Richard’s eyes widened in surprise. “Brittney? What are you doing here? Don’t get the wrong idea, Serena just stopped by to chat… and to discuss the new project collaboration. She’s the lead on it for her company…” “Brittney, long time no see,” Serena said, rising from her chair. She was dressed in the latest haute couture, making me feel like a frumpy country mouse. I forced a smile, swallowing my bitterness. “It’s nothing. I was just shopping nearby and thought I’d stop by. Since you’re busy, I’ll head home.” Richard, thinking I was angry, chased after me, tripping over his words to explain. Seeing him so flustered for my sake, I almost wanted to laugh. He had deliberately taken a loss on the deal with Ryan’s company just for a chance to be near Serena. Now that she was here, who was this performance for? “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice gentle. “I’m not that unreasonable. You focus on your work. I’ll be a good girl and wait for you at home.” He let out a visible sigh of relief and had his secretary escort me downstairs. The moment I stepped out of the elevator, the employees’ gazes turned sharp with ridicule. They pointed and whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. I ignored them and left. After we married, he told me he didn’t want me to tire myself out with work, that he wanted me to live a life free of worries. I believed him, and I became a housewife, tethered to our home. Meanwhile, Serena, my former classmate, had become a project director at a major corporation. The gap between us was now a chasm—in perspective, in ability. I could no longer compete with her. This is what you wanted, isn’t it, Richard? Your precious Serena is safe from me now. I am no longer a threat. Back home, I gathered everything he had given me over the past five years into a large box. I took it outside and set it on fire. Just as the flames began to lick at the contents, Serena appeared out of nowhere. She kicked the box over. Burning photographs scattered across the pavement, some embers landing on her clothes, but she just smiled. “Brittney, after all these years, you’re still just as pathetic.” “You couldn’t protect your own mother then, and you can’t protect yourself now. You’re a joke!” She knew? She knew about the surgery? A white-hot rage flared inside me. I slapped her across the face. I didn’t use much force, but she stumbled backward dramatically, falling right into the fire. I froze, stunned. Before I could react, a figure shot past me, shoving me hard to the ground. Richard scooped Serena into his arms, his eyes blazing with a fury I had never seen before. “Brittney! What are you doing? Are you insane?” he roared. “Serena came here out of the goodness of her heart to see you, to clear up the misunderstandings from the past, and you attack her?” His face was a mask of rage. All traces of love were gone. I smirked. “She mentioned my mother, Richard.” I met his furious gaze. “Speaking of past misunderstandings, don’t you two owe me an explanation?” His brow furrowed, and a flicker of panic crossed his eyes. “What explanation? Your mother was critically ill, the surgery failed. You know this.” He shook his head, his voice hardening again. “Whatever happened back then is no excuse for you to hurt Serena! Apologize to her. Now!” Before I could speak, Serena wrapped her arms around his neck. “Don’t… don’t be hard on Brittney,” she whimpered. “It was our fault for what happened with Ryan. Just let this be my way of making it up to her…” She looked at me with tear-filled eyes. “Since she hates me so much, maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore. I don’t want to make things difficult for you.” My nails dug into my palms, drawing blood. Watching them walk away, clinging to each other, I knew. We were finished. I calmly picked up the scattered contents of the box and threw them back into the flames. Five years of love turned to ash. An hour later, a text from Richard arrived. “Serena is the project lead, after all. Hurting her is bad for business. Making you apologize was just a tactic, a show for her. Don’t overthink it.” “I’ll make it up to you tonight when I get home, okay? I told you I have a gift for you. Don’t be sad.” But I knew the show wasn’t for Serena. It was for me. He had been acting out this deep love for five years. Now, it was time for the curtain to fall. I waited at home with the divorce papers until after midnight. He never came. Instead, news broke online: The CEO of Blackwood Enterprises had caused a scene at the hospital, all for a woman. Serena had a few minor burns, but he had summoned the entire hospital’s team of specialists to treat her, sparing no expense and reportedly spending over a million dollars. In the photos, he held her protectively in his arms. The look in his eyes was a mixture of tenderness and passion I had never seen directed at me. The hospital was lit up all night, all for one woman’s minor scrapes. The next morning, I called him. He answered but was busy giving instructions to his secretary. “Mr. Blackwood, are you sure you want to amend the contract?” the secretary asked, aghast. “Our company will lose over a hundred million on this project!” “Please, reconsider, sir!” “No need,” Richard said firmly. “Just do it. It’s the compensation I promised her. Also, draw up another contract. Transfer half of my shares in the company to Serena.” The secretary left, and only then did Richard seem to remember he was on the phone. “Brittney? Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m on my way home now. Did you need something?” I looked down at the angry red burn on my hand from the day before. “No, it’s nothing. Go on, I won’t disturb you.” “Okay. You be good and wait for me. I’ll be right there.” I didn’t wait. I signed my name on the divorce papers, packed a small suitcase, and left the house for the last time. I went to the hospital where my mother had died and requested the records for her organ transplant agreement. At the bottom of the page, where the signature should have been mine, was a masterful forgery of my handwriting, signed by Richard. I made a copy of the agreement and mailed it to his office. By my calculations, he would receive it just as my plane was taking off. I was gone for a day and a night. He never came home. Just as I was boarding the plane, a message from him finally came through. “Brittney, I had the assistant deliver your gift. Why aren’t you opening the door?” “Are you still mad at me?” “Don’t be difficult. Be a good girl. I’m on my way home now.” Another lie. Thirty minutes earlier, a social media influencer had posted a live video of him shopping with Serena, gushing about the chance encounter. As I boarded, the video was still streaming. He was busy helping Serena pick out a dress for the press conference that would announce her as a major shareholder. I didn’t reply. I received a text confirming my old identity had been successfully voided. I deleted his number and all our conversations. In the live video, his secretary suddenly rushed into the boutique, holding a document, his face pale with panic. “Mr. Blackwood, it’s bad! Your wife… she knows about the surgery from five years ago! I can’t reach her!” Richard looked at him, confused. “What surgery? What are you talking about?” The secretary, frantic, held up the forged agreement I had mailed. “This! Your wife sent this to the office! This is the consent form you signed for her on the day of the surgery! She knows!” He was almost shouting. “I tried calling her the moment the package arrived, but her number is disconnected! I think something’s happened to her!”

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