Category: English

On the eve of my wedding, I discovered the invitations were printed with my fiancé Matthew’s name and that of his personal assistant. When I confronted the assistant, she burst into tears, claiming she’d accidentally typed her own name instead of mine. Matthew called moments later. “Flora, she made a mistake on a name. Are you really going to make such a big deal out of it?” He berated me for being narrow-minded and pathologically jealous, unable to tolerate even a junior employee. Five minutes later, the assistant, Vivian, posted a new photo to her social media: the same invitation, but this time paired with an intimate selfie of her and Matthew. The caption read: “My boss said even if I tore a hole in the sky, he’d be there to patch it up for me.” Before, if an employee had provoked me like this, I would have forced Matthew to fire her. But this time, I truly didn’t care anymore. 1 I threw every last one of the invitations bearing Vivian’s name into the trash and walked to my usual salon. The stylist hovered, scissors in hand, asking again and again if I was sure I wanted to cut it all off. I’d spent four years growing my hair down to my waist, all because Matthew once said he’d marry me when it reached that length. Well, my hair was finally long enough, and he was, in fact, about to make good on his promise. But I didn’t want the hair anymore. And I didn’t want Matthew anymore, either. Just as I was about to nod, my phone buzzed. A video call from Matthew. “Where are you?” he asked the second I picked up. I didn’t answer. He caught sight of the scissors in the stylist’s hand over my shoulder, and his brow furrowed in displeasure. “You’re cutting your hair?” I nodded. A laugh escaped him, as if he’d just stumbled upon something hilarious. “You look awful with short hair. After all that time growing it out, why would you do something so stupid?” Years ago, when my hair was short, he’d constantly tease me for not being feminine enough. I used to argue with him endlessly, trying to prove that femininity wasn’t defined by the length of one’s hair. But now, I didn’t say a word. I just looked at the stylist behind me and said, “Do it.” When Matthew saw the scissors rise, he knew I was serious. The smile vanished from his face. “Flora, are you really going to cut off all your hair just because Vivian made a typo on the invitations? What is wrong with you?” When I remained silent, he must have realized his tone was too harsh. He softened his voice, reining in his temper. “Flora, you grew your hair for years, all for this one day. The wedding is next month. Don’t cut it, okay?” I didn’t say yes, and I didn’t say no. “I’m coming to get you,” he continued. “I booked a table at that new restaurant, the one you wanted to try.” It was his classic move. He’d yell at me, then smooth things over with a meal at a trendy new place. It had become our unspoken ritual over the years. He appeared outside the salon a short while later. When he saw my hair was still long, a faint smile touched his lips. The moment I got in the car, I was hit by a wave of perfume so strong it made me sneeze. I’m sensitive to scents and never wear any myself. Matthew’s car had always been fragrance-free. This one was different—a heady, predatory scent that clung to the air. “Who was in the passenger seat today?” Matthew’s smile instantly vanished. “Vivian’s car broke down. I just gave her a lift.” I rubbed my nose. “Hm. Her perfume is… nice.” The rest of the drive was silent. When we pulled up to the restaurant, Matthew didn’t move to get out. He turned to me, his brow knitted. “Why didn’t you blow up at her? Aren’t you supposed to hate her?” I raised an eyebrow. My usual script would involve confronting her, making her cry, and then demanding Matthew fire her. But this time, I didn’t want to. There was no need. “Let’s just go eat. I’m tired and I want to get home early.” I got out of the car and walked into the restaurant without him. He followed a moment later. Once we were seated, Matthew’s smile returned. He told me conspiratorially that he had a surprise for me, then got up and walked away. I watched him go, a sudden thought striking me: he was so childish. He had barely left when his phone, left on the table, started ringing. It was Vivian. She called twice, but Matthew didn’t return. On the third ring, I answered it. The second I did, Vivian’s voice, thick with tears, burst through the speaker. “Matthew, you have to come save me! I’m trapped in the basement!” Just then, Matthew returned, carrying a cake adorned with fresh flowers. The joyous expression on his face froze. He rushed over, carelessly dropping the cake in front of me. The perfect floral arrangement collapsed, and a single, cream-covered rose tumbled to the floor. He snatched the phone from my hand, glanced at the screen, and his face contorted with rage. “Flora, who told you you could answer my phone? Don’t forget, we’re not married yet. You’re not my wife!” 2 After the call, Matthew’s expression was grim. “Vivian’s in trouble. I have to go. I’ll be back soon, just wait for me here.” He rushed out. I stared at the mangled cake, a bitter smile twisting my lips. How could he not see through such a clumsy ploy? If you’re trapped in a basement, wouldn’t you call 911? But no, a person in mortal danger just keeps calling her boss. It was almost funny. I waited until the restaurant was about to close, but Matthew never came back. Thankfully, I’d had the foresight to ask the waiter to bring my order out earlier. Otherwise, I would have been waiting on an empty stomach. Just as I was getting up to leave, Matthew hurried back in. He glanced at the half-eaten dishes on the table, his tone laced with disapproval. “Flora, you didn’t wait for me? You ate by yourself?” In ten years together, this was the first time I hadn’t waited for him. It used to be that I wouldn’t even order until he arrived. After we moved in together, I’d cook dinner and wait for him to sit down before I took a single bite. I offered an apology that held no apology at all. “Sorry. I figured you were with Vivian and wouldn’t be coming back, so I went ahead.” Matthew’s face darkened. He slammed the object he was holding onto the table with a loud thud. “I was picking up the new invitation samples!” I glanced down. The cover design was indeed new. Matthew stared at me, his eyes gleaming with a mix of pride and expectation, waiting for me to open it. I knew he must have checked it. This time, the bride’s name would be mine. But I no longer had any interest in looking. “You’re not going to open it?” he asked, incredulous. I shook my head, my expression cool. Just as I finished my meal, I saw a new post from Vivian. It was a photo of the newly designed invitation. The groom’s name, Matthew, was clearly visible, but the bride’s name had been deliberately blurred out. All you could make out was the first letter of his last name, followed by a hazy, repetitive pattern. The caption: “I love the new version. Do you?” I urged Matthew to leave. The restaurant was well past closing time, and we were the only ones left. But he stood there stubbornly, holding the invitation out to me. He was waiting for me to open it, to gush over it, to soothe his ego. I didn’t want to see it. I raised a hand to block it. He must have thought I was reaching for it, because he let go. The invitation fell onto the cake, smearing it with cream. He froze for a second, then his embarrassment morphed into rage. He slammed his fist into the remains of the cake. “Flora, how long are you going to drag this out over something so small? I’ve already given you an out. What more do you want?” “I just want to go home and rest.” My calm tone only seemed to infuriate him further. “We can go home after you look at the invitation! Why won’t you look at it? I picked this design for you out of thousands! You can’t even be bothered to glance at it?” “Flora, have I been too good to you? Is that why you’re acting so spoiled? Everyone says you’re not good enough for me anymore, that I’ve outgrown you. But I ignored all of them and insisted on marrying you. What more could you possibly be unhappy about?” I looked down, a bitter smile on my face. There it was again. Every time we fought, he’d use that line to force me to back down. He and everyone around him believed he was doing me a favor by marrying me, that I should be eternally grateful and cater to his every whim. But this time, I refused to compromise. “If you don’t want to marry me, then don’t.” 3 Without another glance at him, I stood up and walked out. In the past, he would have let me go, then spent the night out with his friends, not coming home until I begged him to. But this time, I’d only taken two steps before a hand grabbed my arm. Not only had Matthew followed me, but he was insisting we go home together. I stared into his handsome eyes. “Who said I was going home?” His brow furrowed instantly, and he dropped my arm. “You said you wanted to rest. It’s late. Where else would you go if not home?” His rapid-fire questions made me laugh out loud. In this city, it was true, I had nowhere else to go. For ten years, my entire world had revolved around him. I sighed and pulled out my phone. “I just booked a mystery trip. The flight leaves tonight.” As I stepped out of the restaurant, the car I’d called was waiting. With nothing but my phone and the clothes on my back, I began a journey, alone. It was the first time in ten years. When I landed and turned my phone back on, dozens of messages flooded in. Only one was from Matthew, a short, terse sentence: “Happy now?” The rest were from Vivian, a string of apologies culminating in a tearful voice message. “Flora, I’m so, so sorry. Matthew said if you don’t forgive me, he’s going to fire me! I can’t lose this job. You know my family’s situation. Flora, are you really going to be so cruel? Are you going to watch me get fired, watch my mom get kicked out of the hospital because we can’t pay, and my little brother drop out of school?” I looked up at the sky, so different from the one in my old city. I turned my phone off, silencing all the noise. In the past, no matter how big our fights were, I was always reachable. Matthew could ignore my calls and texts, but I always answered his within seconds. This was the first time I hadn’t replied to him. I knew he’d be furious, but I turned my phone off anyway. I traveled for a week. Away from Matthew, I discovered how freeing the world could be. I posted pictures from every new place I visited. Matthew liked every single post, but never commented. After a week, my trip ended. As I exited the gate at the airport, I saw him waiting. He was holding a massive bouquet of flowers, a conspicuous sight in the crowd. The ride home was silent. When we arrived, I found the apartment had been completely transformed, decorated in festive reds and golds. A stack of wedding invitations sat on the coffee table. But these weren’t printed; they were hand-drawn. Matthew had some artistic talent and had even won awards for his work in college. He looked at me, beaming, waiting for praise. I pretended not to notice, went to my room, and began packing my personal belongings, looking for the right moment to make things clear. I had just lain down to rest when I heard the keypad on the front door beep, followed by a cheerful voice. “Matthew, I forgot my sleep mask!” Vivian breezed into my bedroom, heading straight for the nightstand. Our eyes met, and she quickly looked away. And there, standing in the bedroom doorway, was Matthew, wrapped in a towel, his hair still dripping wet.

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I sat at the table, watching the dinner I’d cooked grow cold. My heart felt the same. Today was my birthday. It was also the birthday of Sarah’s childhood best friend, Leo. I opened Leo’s social media feed, and sure enough, there was a new post. “So grateful to have you with me every birthday! Here’s to many, many more!” The photo was of two hands forming a heart over a birthday cake. One of them was Sarah’s. The necklace she was wearing was a gift from me. I liked the post. Then I put down my phone, scraped the dinner—all of Sarah’s favorite dishes—into the trash, and went to a restaurant to order my own favorites for my birthday. From now on, I would celebrate my own damn birthday. 1 Halfway through my meal, Sarah called, her voice edged with impatience. “Alex, you saw Leo’s post, right?” “I saw it.” “I’ll be home as soon as his party’s over. I’ll celebrate with you next year. Just be a grown-up about this, Alex. Don’t start a fight.” I used to. I used to scream and rage. Not anymore. “Okay,” I said, my voice flat. The next morning at seven, my phone rang. It rang three times, then stopped. I glanced at the screen. It was Sarah. That was her signal. She was too lazy to use her key, so she’d call three times and hang up. No matter what I was doing, I was expected to rush to the door and let her in. Today, I didn’t move. I tossed the phone aside, pulled the covers over my head, and went back to sleep. She knew there was a spare key under the shoe rack by the door. I’d been up until three in the morning packing, and my head was still throbbing. The phone rang a few more times. I didn’t even bother to look. Sometime later, I vaguely heard the front door open, slamming against the wall. A moment after that, my bedroom door was thrown open, followed by Sarah’s furious voice. “Alex, why didn’t you open the door? I called you a dozen times! You know I hate using my key!” I opened my eyes and looked at her, feeling nothing. “I was exhausted. Didn’t hear it.” Sarah opened her mouth, then seemed to think better of it. “I’m hungry,” she said instead. “Get up and make me some porridge. I was up all night, I need to eat and get some sleep.” The old me would have been scrambling to the kitchen already. The new me just said, “I’m tired too. You can buy breakfast downstairs.” Her face tightened with anger, but she forced it down. “Are you still mad that I wasn’t here for your birthday?” “No. You’re overthinking it.” She didn’t believe me. “He’s like a brother to me, Alex. His parents died when he was young. If I don’t celebrate with him, who will? Don’t be so petty. You’re going to make me angry if you keep this up.” “You’re right,” I said. “You should be with him. I’m not angry.” Sleep was impossible now. I got up and went to the bathroom. Sarah grabbed my arm, reluctantly pulling a cheap red string bracelet from her pocket. “Here. Stop sulking. It’s your birthday present. I remembered it was your zodiac year.” I looked at the flimsy bracelet, at the cheap-looking metal charm dangling from it. It was the definition of an afterthought. I thought about the expensive watch Leo had flaunted in his post, and a bitter laugh escaped me. All those months I’d seen Sarah pinching pennies, I’d thought she was saving up for my gift. How pathetic. I held up my own wrist, showing her the watch my mother had sent me a few days ago. “Thanks, but I’ve got a watch. This wouldn’t really work with it. You can keep it.” “You say you’re not angry?” she snapped. “You used to love everything I gave you. Now you’re too good for my gifts?” Sarah didn’t earn much. Her birthday gifts to me were always cheap—a few dollars here, a few dollars there. Sometimes she forgot entirely. I never minded. For her birthday last week, I’d bought her a solid gold necklace. I was so tired. I didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. I took the red string and put it in my pocket. “Thank you.” I changed my clothes and opened the door to leave. “Where are you going?” Sarah called out sharply. “To play basketball with some friends.” Ever since I’d gotten together with Sarah, all my free time had been her time. I chauffeured her, shopped with her, cooked for her. I had no time for myself. Not anymore. It was time to live for myself. 2 After a great game, we sat on the sidelines, chugging water. My friends complained, half-joking, half-serious. “We were starting to think you’d ghosted us for your girlfriend, man. We were about to take you off the group chat.” “I’m sorry, guys,” I said, and I meant it. “It won’t happen again. Anything you’re doing, just let me know.” “That’s more like it! C’mon, let’s go hit the arcade for a few rounds.” Her circle never accepted me, and to be with her, I’d slowly distanced myself from my own friends. My entire world had revolved around her. Looking back, I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. It was almost midnight when I got home. I opened the bedroom door to find Sarah sitting up in bed, frowning. “Alex, why are you so late? I had to order takeout for lunch and dinner. It was disgusting.” I opened the closet for a change of clothes. “I ate out too. It was pretty good. You should get used to the taste of takeout if you can’t cook for yourself.” Her eyes widened. “You used to say you’d cook for me every day! That I should never eat takeout because it’s unhealthy!” “I was wrong. If you’re going to live in this world without knowing how to cook, you have to adapt.” A flicker of rage crossed her face. “You’re still angry. You were gone all day, not a single call, not a single text, and you didn’t even come home to cook for me!” “I’m not angry,” I said calmly. “I was out with friends. My phone died.” My detachment seemed to infuriate her more. She threw back the covers, jumped out of bed, and grabbed my arm as I tried to leave. Her voice was shrill. “Can’t you be less insecure for one second? I told you, we’re like brother and sister! Why are you still making a scene? My patience has limits, Alex!” I pulled my arm free. “I’m not making a scene. I’m tired. I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.” I took my clothes into the main bathroom and showered, ignoring her calls from the bedroom. For the first time in a long time, I slept through the night. Sarah was a restless sleeper. She’d kick the blankets off several times a night. When we shared a bed, I never got a full night’s sleep, always waking up to cover her again. The next morning, I found her sitting in the living room, arms crossed, her face a thundercloud. I knew the routine. She was waiting for me to apologize, to grovel and beg and make her happy again. It didn’t matter if I’d done anything wrong. That was always the pattern. She’d make a list of demands, and only after I’d completed them would she magnanimously forgive me. I was done with that routine. I ignored her, got ready, and left. I had important things to do today. 3 I went to my office and submitted my resignation. My manager was surprised and tried to talk me out of it, but I was firm. I’d taken this job to be with Sarah, to take care of her. I didn’t need to anymore. Last night, I’d video-called my parents and told them I was resigning and moving back home. I saw the tears of joy in my mother’s eyes. My dad’s health hadn’t been great lately, and running his small grocery store alone was becoming too much for him. It wasn’t some backwater town. It was a pleasant, mid-sized city on the coast. Sarah was from an inland state and loved spicy food. She had always refused to visit my hometown, complaining about the food and the different culture. So, I had left my parents and moved here with her. That evening, I took my friends out to dinner to tell them the news. They all agreed it was the right move. Parents were more important. After a few beers, someone asked, “So what about Sarah? Is she going back with you?” I was silent for a moment, then gave a bitter smile. “No. I think we’re going to break up.” I used to think Sarah and I would build a home here, and then bring my parents to live with us. But that home was gone now. I was going back to the one I’d left behind, the one with my parents, the one that would never abandon me. When I got back to the apartment, Sarah was wearing a white sundress, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her makeup perfect. She was on a video call with Leo. I could hear his voice from the phone. “Sarah, you look incredible. You could wear a simple white dress and still look like an angel.” Sarah giggled, covering her blushing face with her hand. “Really? You always know just what to say.” I stood there silently. That dress wasn’t simple. It had cost me a month’s salary. When Sarah turned and saw me, her smile vanished. “Gotta go,” she said quickly to Leo. “I’m heading out now. I’ll be there soon. Grab a snack if you’re hungry.” She could be so warm and caring with Leo, but couldn’t spare a single smile for me. She shot me a disgusted look, walked past me, and put on her shoes to leave. She was giving me the silent treatment again. Over the years we’d been together, she’d done this countless times, always over something to do with Leo. Each time, I’d panicked, desperately trying to win back her affection. This time, I wasn’t worried. I just took the groceries I’d bought into the kitchen and made myself a late-night snack. I’d been so busy drinking with my friends that I hadn’t eaten much. For the next few days, I was busy with work handover and packing. The apartment was slowly emptying of my things. Sarah didn’t notice. 4 Today, Sarah went out with Leo again. I sat at the dining table, eating and scrolling through my phone. Leo had a new post up: “Whenever I feel lonely, you’re always there. It’s the best feeling. So grateful!” The photo was of him and Sarah, their heads pressed together, smiling and making peace signs for the camera. Sarah’s friends flooded the comments with likes and messages about how envious they were of their bond. They had always believed Sarah should be with Leo. The childhood-sweethearts trope was too perfect to resist. I was just the third wheel who’d gotten in the way. Looking at the picture, I suddenly thought her friends were right. They did look more like a couple. I used to suffer in silence for a long time before gently asking Sarah to keep a little distance from Leo, just for appearance’s sake. Her friends would mock me, calling me controlling, saying I was suffocating her and denying her the right to have friends. Sarah never defended me. She’d join in, telling me not to be so possessive, to give her more freedom. Sarah had commented on the post, too: “You’re always there for me, too!” I closed the app, my heart a placid lake, and cleared the table. Thunder rumbled outside. It was about to rain. I went to the balcony and brought the laundry in just as fat raindrops began to splatter against the windows. I used to panic on rainy days, calling Sarah frantically to see where she was, rushing to bring her an umbrella so she wouldn’t get a single drop on her. She and her friends would laugh at me, calling me a mother hen, saying I worried too much and ruined their fun. I showered early, got into bed, and fell asleep scrolling through videos. I was woken by the sound of my bedroom door being thrown open. Seeing me asleep, Sarah’s voice was filled with righteous anger. “Alex, it’s pouring rain outside, and your girlfriend isn’t home this late, and you’re not worried at all? If you were my friends’ boyfriends, they’d be calling nonstop, asking where they were, showing up with an umbrella! And you?!”

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My marriage began not with a honeymoon, but with a trip to the clinic. With my mother at my side, I had an IUD fitted, a cold, clinical promise to devote myself entirely to Lewis, my late sister’s nine-year-old son. For five years, I played the part of a perfect mother, transforming myself into the kind of polished, presentable wife Adrian Sterling could have on his arm. On Lewis’s fourteenth birthday, I threw him a lavish party. As I was arranging the finishing touches on his cake table, he gestured toward me and sneered for all his friends to hear. “Her? She’s just the homewrecking bitch who wormed her way in. You think I’d ever call her ‘Mom’?” Adrian didn’t even try to defend me. “It’s all water under the bridge,” he said dismissively. “There’s no need to explain. You’re Mrs. Sterling now, and that’s all that matters.” My nails dug into my palms. I knew that if I let this stand, my reputation would be permanently scorched. Later that night, the air cool against my skin, my husband’s body pressed against mine, his intentions clear. For the first time, I pushed him away. “I’m tired, Adrian. I want a divorce.” “Be reasonable, Ava,” he scoffed. “You can’t afford to leave me.” 1 A faint smile played on Adrian’s lips as he tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “I’ve already dealt with Lewis,” he said, his voice deceptively smooth. “He won’t be spouting such nonsense again.” When I remained silent, he stroked my hair as one might soothe a skittish pet. “He was just a kid back then, Ava. His mother had just died; he didn’t understand why you suddenly appeared in his life. If you make a scene about this, it will only affect his studies, and that won’t do you any favors.” His words were a veiled threat, a reminder that my monthly allowance was directly tied to Lewis’s academic performance. “I don’t want the money anymore,” I said, my voice flat. “Your son has already branded me in public. There’s no point in continuing this marriage. A clean break is better for everyone.” “You’re not thinking clearly. We’ll talk tomorrow, after you’ve had time to remember exactly why you married me.” Why did I marry him? For the money, of course. When my mother proposed the arrangement, I was out of options. Perhaps, from the very beginning, Adrian had looked down on me. The first time I saw him, he was standing beside my sister, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. He held her hand so gently, his eyes overflowing with a tenderness I had only dreamed of finding for myself one day. “I don’t want the money,” I repeated, my voice firmer this time. “I just want a divorce.” His patience finally snapped. He shot up in bed, his eyes blazing with fury, and pointed a finger at the door. “Get out. Stand in the hallway and think long and hard about where you came from, before you got a taste of the good life!” Wordlessly, I slipped on my slippers and, wrapped in nothing but a thin silk robe, stepped into the corridor. The night air sliced through the fabric, chilling me to the bone, but I didn’t flinch. The Sterlings were a dynasty, and Adrian was its undisputed king. He was used to my obedience; my defiance was a foreign concept to him. The next morning, the house staff found me still standing in the hallway, motionless. They were stunned. Since moving into this mansion, I had been up at six a.m. every day, a silent shadow working alongside them to ensure every detail of Adrian and Lewis’s morning routine was perfect. But today, even at nine a.m., I hadn’t lifted a finger. They sensed it immediately—something was different. “The watch my friend gave me yesterday, where’d you put it?” Lewis stormed over, already dressed in the outfit I had laid out for him the night before. He fiddled with his cuffs, his posture a mirror of his father’s casual arrogance. At fourteen, he was already as tall as a man, his features a sharp echo of Adrian’s, radiating a cold, privileged air. “What are you doing, just standing there like a statue? I asked you a question.” He looked me up and down, a flicker of surprise in his eyes as he took in my rumpled robe. By this time of day, I was always impeccably dressed. I saw the corner of his mouth twitch into a smirk; he was enjoying this. “I didn’t touch your things,” I said, my voice level. “And from now on, I won’t be.” From my first year in this house, I had managed every aspect of their lives, from their meals to their wardrobes. Lewis had severe allergies and a picky palate to match. Every pound he lost cost me thousands from my allowance. “You’re talking to me like that?” His expression was pure disdain. “So, the nice little act is over, is it? Now that I’ve exposed you for who you really are?” Five years of my life, poured into caring for him, and it meant nothing. It was just as Adrian had once remarked to a friend, “She tries so desperately to imitate my late wife, but she’s always just a clumsy parody.” At 9:08, Adrian’s bedroom door opened. He glanced at Lewis, then his eyes landed on me. “Where are my clothes?” A bitter laugh almost escaped me. His clothes were in the walk-in closet, where they always were. But for five years, I had been the one to select and lay out his attire for the day. He didn’t know how to function without me. When I didn’t answer, he disappeared back into the room and emerged a few minutes later in a mismatched suit. “That’s ten thousand off your allowance this month,” he threatened, certain he had found my weak spot. He knew how much I supposedly cared about the money, how I’d cried when it was cut before. In their eyes, I was a greedy materialist, my eyes lighting up at the sight of every new designer bag he bought me. “And if you keep this up, you can forget about the rest of the hundred thousand, too.” “You can keep it all. It doesn’t matter to me anymore.” Lewis’s eyes widened. “Oh, listen to her. Suddenly she doesn’t care about money?” I turned, my legs stiff and numb from standing all night. I swayed slightly. “The money you give me isn’t worth my self-respect.” Father and son exchanged a look, and I saw a flicker of realization in their eyes. This was real. hurried off, and Adrian finally met my gaze. “You stood out here all night and you still haven’t come to your senses?” “I’ve never been more clear-headed.” With that, I walked past him, back into the bedroom, and collapsed onto the bed. Adrian closed the door, plunging the room into silence. Exhaustion hit me like a wave, and I fell asleep almost instantly. When I woke, the room was dark. I glanced at my phone—it was already five p.m. I changed and went downstairs to find both of them home. “You slept all day,” Adrian said, his voice tight. “Are you ready to have a calm, rational discussion now?” I just smiled and shook my head. There was nothing to discuss. “I didn’t eat a thing today because of you,” he said, staring at me, searching for a hint of guilt. He found none. In fact, I found his statement hilarious. “I’m not your mouth. Whether you eat or not has nothing to do with me.” His face flushed with anger. “The staff can’t cook for me. The nutritional balance is off. They can’t do it with the same attention to detail you do.” I rolled my eyes, walked into the kitchen, and started pulling ingredients from the fridge. “I want grilled chicken wings. And go easy on the vegetables,” Lewis called out, assuming I was back in my place, cooking for them. He realized his mistake when I placed a single steaming plate of curry rice in front of myself and started eating. “Where’s mine?” Lewis demanded. I ignored him. Adrian’s expression grew darker as he watched me finish my meal and place the empty dish in the dishwasher. Finally, he snapped. “You are determined to be difficult!” he seethed. He grabbed his son and stormed out of the house. The roar of his sports car engine was a shriek in the quiet night. For the next eight days, I was a ghost in that house, leaving early and coming back late. I found a new apartment and started sending out my resume, desperate for a job. The responses were disheartening. Either my applications vanished into a void, or I was met with polite rejections. I hadn’t finished my degree; I was unqualified for any serious corporate position. Five years of my life had been wasted on domestic drudgery. A chilling realization washed over me: without a degree, I would struggle to build a life of my own. I messaged a friend, determined to sort out my education first. Before she could reply, Adrian’s name flashed on my screen. I ignored it several times, but he was persistent. Finally, I answered. “Ava, don’t you forget your place!” he roared into the phone. The force of his anger stunned me for a moment. My place? Was my place to be their caretaker until I died? Five years I’d wasted, orbiting them for money. I could tolerate it when I needed the cash, but now… I was done being their doormat. “Because of your little tantrum, Lewis had an allergic reaction. He’s in the hospital, he’s weak. Have you given a single thought to your responsibilities as a mother?” “A mother? I thought I was the ‘homewrecking bitch.’ How did I suddenly get a promotion?” Silence on his end. He couldn’t comprehend why I was splitting hairs. I didn’t want to argue. “Your son is fourteen years old,” I stated coolly. “He’s old enough to know what he can and cannot eat. Don’t call me again unless it’s about signing the divorce papers.” I could feel his fury radiating through the phone. “You’re serious about this? You really want a divorce?” “What’s the alternative? Wasting the rest of my life on you two?” Suddenly, Lewis’s voice cut in from the background. “You’re just a homewrecker who got lucky! You talk about divorce like you’re the victim here, like Dad did something to wrong you. This is about his company’s overseas IPO, isn’t it? You’re trying to squeeze more money out of him at a critical time!” Adrian, prompted by his son, spoke again, his voice laced with contempt. “If you want more money, just say so. Don’t waste my time with all this drama. If you try to sabotage my company right now, I will make you regret it.” A laugh, sharp and humorless, escaped me. “I had no idea your company was going public. You never tell me anything about your business. This has nothing to do with that. I’m just sick and tired of you.” “You want a divorce? Fine! We’ll go to the city hall tomorrow. But you walk away with nothing!” A genuine smile spread across my face. I was finally getting free. “That’s fine by me,” I told him. “None of it was ever mine to begin with.” I assumed that after signing the initial papers and entering the mandatory cooling-off period, Adrian would finalize the divorce as soon as the waiting time was up. Two months passed. His company’s IPO was a resounding success. But every time I filed the final divorce application, he had it withdrawn. Today marked the end of yet another thirty-day waiting period. I went to his office, but as always, his assistant and secretary blocked my path. “Mrs. Sterling, I’m sorry, Mr. Sterling is not in. He’s visiting a branch office today. Perhaps you could come back another time.” I nodded politely, then pushed past the stunned assistant and burst through the office doors. There he was. Adrian. Sitting at his desk, pen in hand, signing a document. He looked up, not a shred of embarrassment on his face at being caught in the lie. I took the seat opposite him and told his assistant to bring me a coffee. Then I slid the final divorce petition across the desk. His composure finally cracked when he saw it. “If you dodge this again, I’m taking it to court,” I said calmly. “The press will get wind of it eventually. I’m sure the resulting scandal will be far more damaging than just quietly signing these papers.” He snatched the petition and, right in front of me, ripped it to shreds, flinging the pieces in my face. “Don’t you push me, Ava!” His anger didn’t scare me. I just stared at him, my expression unreadable. “We were married for five years. I’m trying to do this amicably, Adrian. Don’t make this ugly for both of us.” He reined in his temper, lacing his fingers together on the desk. “If you’re upset because you and Lewis aren’t close, you can have the IUD removed. I’ll let you have our own child.” So that’s what he thought. This was all because I didn’t have a child of my own. He stood and tried to reach for my head, to give me that patronizing pat again. I flinched away, and to my astonishment, he smiled—a fond, almost doting look in his eyes. “Lewis was young back then. Your mother and I both thought it was best for you to focus on him. But he’s older now. We can have another baby. A child of our own would be a bond, something to stop these… fantasies of yours.” Oh. He thought he could chain me to him with a baby. But… “And what’s in it for me? A baby isn’t what I want.” A flicker of confusion crossed his face. “If you don’t want money and you don’t want a child, then what do you want?” “I dropped out of college to marry you. For five years, my entire world has revolved around you and your son.” I pointed to the framed wedding photo on his desk—of him and my sister. “In all that time, aside from a marriage certificate, I don’t even have a single wedding photo of my own.” His gaze followed mine to the picture, and a look of dawning comprehension crossed his features. “Is that what this is about?” He thought this was all some petty tantrum. He moved toward me, trying to pull me into an embrace. “I can arrange a photoshoot. We’ll hire the best photographer, fly anywhere in the world you want.” He started barking orders at his assistant right then and there, a pleased look on his face. “You should have just told me. Of course I would have done this for you.” He succeeded in patting my head this time. “I’ve just been so busy these past five years, Ava. I forgot you would care about things like this.” A suffocating feeling rose in my chest. I didn’t know where to even begin. This wasn’t about a photoshoot. This was about the fact that I had never, not for one second, envisioned growing old with him. “Ava, you’ve always been a wonderful wife. I’ve been very satisfied. Don’t continue this foolishness. You’re starting to wear away the… affection I’ve developed for you.” I let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Then you should let me go before it’s all gone. I’m done being delayed. I have things to do.” He stared at me, his eyes searching my face, finally seeming to understand that this wasn’t a joke or a negotiation tactic. “I played the part for five years. I did my duty. I even tried to become your dead wife for you, and all it earned me was your contempt. Just let me go.” His eyes turned red. He lunged, his hand closing around my throat. I could feel it trembling. Without a second’s hesitation, I swung my arm and slapped him. Hard. Then I slapped him again with my other hand. “Ava! Are you insane? You hit me!” His grip loosened, and I gasped for air, coughing. He pointed a trembling finger at me, his eyes filled with a raw hatred I’d never seen before. “You’re dead set on this, aren’t you?” I nodded, my voice raspy. “We can still make it to the city hall if we leave now.” He dragged me to his car and drove like a man possessed. When we screeched to a halt in front of the municipal building, I was out of the car in a flash, waiting for him on the steps. He took a moment to straighten his suit, his eyes still red-rimmed and glaring, before striding inside. As we waited in line, his phone rang incessantly. He took call after call, his voice clipped and agitated. Finally, it was our turn. Just as I was about to hand over our documents, my mother appeared out of nowhere. Without a word, she slapped me across the face and dragged me toward the exit. “Who do you think you are?” she hissed, grabbing a fistful of my hair and shaking my head violently. The pain was sharp, my vision swimming. “Getting a divorce without telling me? You will go back in there and apologize to Adrian right now, or I’m stopping the hospital payments.” She continued, her voice a venomous torrent—the most she’d spoken to me in years. “Your father and Adrian are in the middle of a major business deal! Do you want Adrian to abandon our family because of you?” “If you want to starve, that’s your problem, but don’t you dare drag us down with you!” She released my hair, only to poke me hard in the forehead. As she ranted, I gathered myself and slapped her back. Adrian, who had just walked out, froze, staring at us in shock. “Are you crazy? Now you’re hitting your own mother?” he exclaimed. “This is beyond reason.” My mother, emboldened by Adrian’s presence, puffed up with renewed indignation. “Ava, for years, Adrian and I have provided for your every need. We don’t ask for gratitude, but you should at least remember the duty you accepted when you married into this family.”

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The stomach pain hit me like a fist, and that was when Isabelle kicked me out of the car. My crime? My agony was interrupting the witty banter between her and her childhood friend, Nate. She ignored my pleas, the tinted window gliding up with a soft hum. “So dramatic,” she sighed, her voice a cold whisper before the engine purred and she drove away, leaving me hunched over on the curb. I ended up in the hospital with a perforated stomach. I called her over a dozen times, each call instantly rejected. The next thing I saw was her, the woman I’d loved for eight years, nestled intimately in another man’s arms in the hospital corridor, waiting for an OB-GYN appointment. Isabelle, who had been adamant about us being child-free for our entire relationship, was gazing at him with a syrupy sweetness I hadn’t seen in years. “Nate,” she murmured, “if it’s what you want, of course I’ll have this baby for you.” 1 Later, after I was discharged, I spent a week alone, healing my body and soul at Azure Peak. When I came back, my phone, which had been silent for nearly two weeks, was blowing up with frantic calls from her. “Ethan, are you forgetting to keep tabs on me?!” I finally answered the thirty-ninth call on my way out of the airport. “Ethan, your location shows you’re out of state! Where the hell did you go?” The question was an accusation, sharp and immediate. I didn’t answer, my face calm as I stepped out into the crisp air. When Isabelle pulled up to the curb, she snatched my suitcase without a word, a cold, mocking smirk playing on her lips. “I almost thought you were trying to pull a dramatic little runaway act. But look at you, crawling back with your tail between your legs after just a few days.” She lit a cigarette, the smoke instantly filling the car. “Our wedding is just around the corner. I’m swamped, so I don’t have time to babysit you. Just stay put and don’t cause any more trouble.” I winced, cracking the window. The cold wind was a relief. “We need to stop by the wedding planner’s,” I said, my voice flat. The invitations should be ready by now. She scoffed, hitting the accelerator and peeling out onto the street. When we arrived, she refused to go in, leaning against the car door and scrolling through her phone, a private little smile gracing her lips as she smoked. Inside, the consultant beamed, presenting a stack of elegant boxes. “Mr. Grant, Ms. Vance, your invitations are all ready.” Isabelle glanced over, her eyes landing on the crimson-and-gold cards. “So tacky,” she muttered. “Only you would pick something so garishly red. Zero creativity.” I didn’t argue. I just counted the invitations and pulled out my phone to pay the invoice. Just as I was about to speak, her phone rang. She answered it instantly, and a saccharine, theatrical voice poured from the speaker. “Babe, it’s time for my check-up again! I’ll be on my best behavior if my princess comes to pick me up!” Isabelle hung up, grabbing her keys from her pocket and tossing a single, cold sentence over her shoulder. “You can handle this. I have to go.” It wasn’t a question. It was a declaration. She never doubted for a second that I would simply obey. She was gone before I could even reply. I turned back to the consultant. “These are all paid for,” I said, my voice steady. “You can throw them away. And please, cancel everything else. We won’t be needing your services anymore.” The consultant’s smile faltered. “But, sir… we’re already halfway through the design process. If you cancel now, the deposit is non-refundable…” “Keep it.” As I walked out, it occurred to me that the custom-designed wedding attire I’d paid a fortune for should probably be canceled, too. After handling it all, I walked into a small ramen shop, ordered my favorite spicy broth, and started composing a post for my Instagram feed. The scenery at Azure Peak had been breathtaking. I chose nine of the best photos, a grid of snow-capped mountains and crystal-clear lakes. The caption was just two words: “As promised.” The likes started rolling in. Friends, family… and one from Nate. A moment later, a new post from him popped up on my feed. It was a candid shot of Isabelle, her face soft and focused as she looked at him. The caption read: “A lifetime of promises starts now. A huge thanks to my princess for agreeing to be my surrogate and carry our child!” A flood of “congrats!” and “999” comments filled the space below. I tapped the heart icon, put my phone down, and focused on my noodles. A few minutes later, it started ringing. It was Isabelle. 2 I declined the call, but she was persistent. On the second try, I sighed and answered. “Ethan, you went to Azure Peak alone?” Her voice was low, but laced with a simmering anger. “Didn’t we agree we’d go together after the wedding? A place that romantic… for you to go by yourself, are you trying to embarrass me?” The background was noisy. I could hear the faint, tinny sound of a PA system calling out names, the tell-tale murmur of a hospital waiting room. “It wasn’t about you,” I said calmly. “I just needed to go.” Her outrage, which once would have twisted my gut, now felt like a distant echo. For eight years, I had suggested a trip to Azure Peak. It was my mother’s dying wish for me to see it. But every single time, Isabelle had an excuse. “Ethan, I’m just too busy right now. We’ll go when things calm down.” “Something came up with my family. Maybe next year.” “No time!” Last year, when I brought it up, she didn’t even bother with an excuse. Just a flat, annoyed refusal. I was done waiting. “If that’s all, I’m hanging up.” I didn’t wait for her to reply, just tapped the red icon and felt a wave of relief wash over me. That night, I was working on my laptop in the study when a piece of clothing hit me in the face. “Ethan, can you please pick up after yourself?” Isabelle snapped. “Your clothes are all over the place.” A sharp, metallic decoration on the fabric scratched my cheek, a thin line of stinging pain. “I found this under the sofa. Get your things organized. I don’t want to see it again.” I looked down at the ridiculously skimpy flight attendant costume. “It’s not mine,” I said, my voice cold. Isabelle’s face paled. A flicker of panic crossed her eyes as she snatched the costume off the floor, hiding it behind her back. “Oh, it must be Nate’s. He must have left it here by accident last time he stayed over. I’ll give it back to him.” I said nothing, turning my attention back to my screen. But Isabelle, now consumed with guilt, fumbled in a drawer and pulled out an old, faded cartoon band-aid. She sat beside me, her touch hesitant. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I shouldn’t have thrown that at you. I didn’t see it had… sharp bits.” The sickly sweet smell of the old adhesive made my stomach turn. I pulled away. “It’s fine.” I closed my laptop and headed for the spare bedroom. Isabelle was left frozen in the middle of the room, staring after me long after I had gone. 3 “Ethan, you haven’t been keeping tabs on me lately,” Isabelle said, pushing the door to the study open. She was fresh from the shower, a cloud of steam still clinging to her. As she towel-dried her hair, she added, almost as an afterthought, “And… you feel different. Like you’re avoiding me.” My fingers paused on the keyboard. I thought back. For eight years, we had been in constant contact. Texting, calling, sharing every little detail of our days. Even on the busiest of days, we never broke contact. I had built my life around her. But to her, it was always “keeping tabs.” Now, looking at our message history, our last conversation was over two weeks ago. This distance, this freedom, was exactly what she’d always claimed she wanted. And yet, here she was, complaining. I managed a small smile. “You’re overthinking it. I’ve been busy, that’s all. Didn’t want to bother you.” “Get some sleep,” I added, closing my laptop and picking up my pillow. We had been together for eight years, but we’d been sleeping in separate rooms for the last six months. I hated the smell of smoke. She had actually quit for me once, for three whole years. But the moment Nate came back from overseas, all that effort went up in smoke, literally. Nate was her childhood friend, the one who’d always held a piece of her heart. They thought nothing of sleeping in the same bed, claiming it was something they’d done since they were kids. When I was sick with a fever, desperate for her care, a single phone call from Nate was enough to pull her away. At first, I was consumed by a bitter, helpless jealousy. Why was my girlfriend so entangled with another man? But now? Now, there was nothing. A calm, quiet emptiness. The fact that she was carrying his child barely registered. I had already decided to leave. As I walked towards the door, a flicker of panic crossed her face. “Ethan!” she called out, her voice suddenly fragile. “Tonight… I used mouthwash. The smoke smell is all gone. Can we… can we sleep together?” I didn’t move. She rushed forward, wrapping her arms around me from behind. “Ethan, we’re getting married in two weeks. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? A home? A family?” A home. My eyes burned. Yes. For eight years, that’s all I ever wanted. My mother died when I was young, and I’d spent my whole life searching for that sense of security, of belonging. I had been so desperate to build that little world with Isabelle. But I finally understood. Isabelle’s life was a whirlwind of chaos, and Nate would always be at its center. If the rest of my life was going to be this exhausting, this painful… I’d rather have no home at all. I gently pried her hands off me. “We’ll talk about it later.” Then I walked out and closed the door behind me. 4 I submitted my resignation letter first thing in the morning. My boss, who had mentored me for years and guided me up the corporate ladder, called me into his office, confused. “Ethan, is something wrong? Why the sudden resignation?” I smiled. “Just feel like it’s time for a change of scenery. A new city.” He was kind enough not to press. He approved it on the spot. After work, a few colleagues I was close with insisted on a farewell dinner. As we stepped out of the building, a sudden downpour had soaked the streets. We were waiting for a ride when a voice cut through the rain. “Ethan!” A black Audi was parked by the curb. The window rolled down, and Isabelle’s gaze fell on my rain-slicked hair. She frowned. “Get in. I came to pick you up.” I didn’t move. From the passenger seat, a light chuckle. “See, Ethan? I told you she loves you,” Nate said, his voice oozing with false sincerity. “Coming to get you in this weather? I’m so jealous!” He noticed my flat stare and offered a practiced, innocent smile. “Oh, I didn’t have an umbrella today, and I was with her for the check-up, so she insisted on giving me a ride. You don’t mind, right?” I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “I don’t mind.” But I made no move to get in the car. Isabelle’s patience wore thin. Just as she was about to snap, my colleague’s Uber arrived. We both climbed in. As I shut the door, I heard her voice, sharp with urgency. “Ethan, I came all this way for you! Where are you going?” I looked back at her, my expression unreadable. “I have plans. My colleague is heading the same way. I’ll see you later.” I closed the door, and the car pulled away, leaving her in my rearview mirror. During dinner, my phone buzzed incessantly with her calls. I silenced it, flipped it face down on the table, and went back to laughing with my friends. After the meal, my colleague’s wife came to pick him up. “Hey man, need a ride home?” he offered. I shook my head. “No, I’m good. You guys go on ahead.” I stayed in the hot pot restaurant, slowly eating from the bubbling, spicy broth. When Isabelle finally found me, she was soaked to the bone, her hair plastered to her face. Nate was nowhere in sight. She looked lost and pathetic. The moment she walked in, her eyes locked on the crimson, oil-slicked pot, and her nose wrinkled in disapproval. “Ethan, you know you can’t handle spicy food. You’re going to be sick.” I didn’t stop, just lifted a piece of tender meat to my lips. The heat made my eyes water, but I smiled through it. Eight years together, and she still didn’t know that I loved spicy food. She was the one who couldn’t handle it; it gave her mouth sores. So, to make her comfortable, I’d all but given it up, only indulging when I was out alone or with colleagues. Besides, the one who got sick from spicy food was Nate.

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1 The Royal Hunt was in full cry, a thunder of hooves on damp earth and the whistle of arrows in the crisp spring air. Crown Prince Alaric loosed an arrow. He never intended for it to find a human target, but it did. It struck a destitute young woman, a distant, orphaned cousin. Her name was Seraphina, the niece of his own mother—a woman whose name was never spoken in polite company. No one could have predicted that a single arrow would spark an instant, fiery infatuation in the Prince. On the spot, he declared his intention to make her his bride. There was, however, the small matter of his existing betrothal. His fiancée was me, Eleonora, the sole heiress of the great House de Courtenay. Soon after, Prince Alaric arrived at Courtenay Manor. His expression was resolute, his voice ringing with a conviction that left no room for debate. “I wounded my cousin. I bound her wounds myself. We touched. Her honor is compromised. Now, she has no other path but to marry me.” He looked at me then, a flicker of something like pity in his eyes. “You are the Queen’s own niece. The finest men of the kingdom would line up for your hand. Why must you fight a poor, unfortunate girl for one man?” Fight? A daughter of House de Courtenay does not fight over men. The absurdity of his words was laughable. Was he dreaming? The news that he had broken our betrothal had barely begun to circulate when a Royal Decree arrived from the palace. The decree stated that while I would retain the honorific title of a princess, the official position of Crown Princess—the future Queen—was now destined for another. … Prince Alaric stood in the grand hall of my family’s estate, his posture impeccable, his bearing noble. But his gaze never left the delicate figure of Seraphina, who clung to his side. “Seraphina is fragile,” he announced to my father, the Duke. “To suffer such a calamity upon her first visit to the capital… I am the one who harmed her. If I do not marry her, how can she possibly face the world?” He then turned his attention to me. “Lady Eleonora, you must understand. For a young woman, her reputation is everything. Seraphina now has no choice but to become my wife. If you have even a shred of compassion, you will agree to dissolve our engagement.” So this was his plan. He had been captivated by her since that day at the hunt and had spent two months nursing his secret obsession, only to choose my own birthday, in front of all my guests, to deliver this public humiliation. My father’s entire body trembled with rage, the porcelain teacup in his hand rattling in its saucer. Decorum be damned. “Your Highness,” he bit out, “do you use such a flimsy excuse to break this vow, without a single thought for my daughter’s future? For her reputation?” “This union was one you personally begged the King to approve, a matter known to the entire realm. And now you appear at my door to renounce it, casting the honor of House de Courtenay into the mud?” Seraphina, her face a mask of timid distress, tugged gently at Alaric’s sleeve. “My prince, please, do not argue with the Duke on my account. I am not afraid of whispers and rumors. If it comes to it, I would rather die than cause you this trouble.” Alaric wrapped a protective arm around her, his voice softening to a tender murmur. “Fear not. I will never let you face them alone.” He then looked up at me, his expression arrogant, his eyes laced with disdain. “Lady Eleonora, you come from a great house. Surely you wouldn’t deign to compete with Seraphina for a man’s affection. You have a legion of worthy suitors to choose from. To cling to this engagement now would make you seem… desperate. A social climber.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Or perhaps you are just like every other woman in the capital, greedy for the title of Queen?” He straightened, his voice ringing out once more. “Since our betrothal, you have refused my invitations to ride, to attend poetry readings. You’ve been so cold and distant. It’s clear you were never happy with this match. My breaking it simply saves us both the trouble.” House de Courtenay, a name respected for centuries, had never endured such an insult. I was speechless with fury. With trembling hands, I retrieved the ornate scroll that served as our betrothal writ. “Your Highness, here is the contract. From this day forward, our houses are unburdened by this vow. You are free to marry, and I am free to wed, and we shall be as strangers.” My gaze shifted to Seraphina. “And you, Lady Seraphina, need not continue this performance in my home. You have found your prince. You will one day ascend to the most revered position a woman can hold. Should you not be overjoyed?” Seraphina swayed, her face turning deathly pale. “Lady Eleonora, I know my station is low. I would never dare to compare myself to you, and I never intended to steal your betrothed. Why must you mock me so?” Alaric let out a scornful laugh. “You relinquish your claim so readily, Lady Eleonora. Could it be you already have another in your heart? Perhaps my actions have done you a favor?” He scanned the assembled guests, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Since today is your birthday, why not choose a new husband from this fine company? I shall even provide a handsome gift to add to your dowry.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Seraphina’s waist and led her away, leaving a stunned silence and a flurry of whispers in his wake. “Has the Prince gone mad? To cast aside a de Courtenay for some unknown cousin?” “But Lady Eleonora is the Queen’s niece! She is his cousin as well!” “You haven’t heard? He shot this Seraphina girl during the hunt and was instantly smitten. Insists he must marry her.” “I’ve never even heard of this woman. The security at the Royal Hunt is impenetrable. How did she even get in? There’s more to this than meets the eye.” “I heard she’s from his birth mother’s side of the family…” “Hush! Don’t speak of that. The Prince’s origins are a forbidden topic. His mother was nothing but a common maid.” My birthday celebration was ruined, ending in a chaotic, humiliating mess. And overnight, the news that Crown Prince Alaric had jilted the heiress of House de Courtenay for an orphaned nobody spread through the capital like wildfire. 2 The very next day, I was summoned to the palace by the Queen. She is my father’s sister, my own aunt, and she has always cherished me. My aunt has reigned as Queen for many years but has remained childless, a quiet sorrow that has shadowed her entire rule. Alaric’s birth mother was a mere scullery maid the King had a fleeting encounter with at a country palace. Her station was so low that even after bearing a royal child, she was never granted a title. She died of illness not long after Alaric was born. Because of his mother’s lowly status, Alaric was scorned and abused by everyone in his youth, even the palace servants. He nearly didn’t survive his childhood. It was my aunt, the Queen, beloved by the King and holding unwavering power at court, who took pity on the wretched boy. She brought him into her own wing of the palace, raised him as her own, and educated him with the greatest care. And so, despite being the King’s fourth son, his adoption by the Queen made him the logical, undisputed heir to the throne. She took my hands in hers, her touch warm and comforting. “My dear child, I know the injustice you have suffered. That boy, Alaric, he does not know how to value what he has. I poured my heart into teaching him for years, promised him the most beloved daughter of our house, and for what? For him to be swayed by a pretty face, to cast you aside for a cousin he’s never even met!” Her voice was laced with disappointment. “How can a man who acts on such whims ever be a great ruler? All my years of teaching have been wasted.” A bitter sigh escaped her. “The blood of House de Courtenay does not run in his veins. A son that is not your own, it seems, can never truly be yours.” I leaned against her, resting my head on her lap. “Aunt, perhaps it is not such a bad thing that the Prince has revealed his true nature before our marriage. It is far better than for me to suffer such betrayals after I am bound to him.” I forced a smile. “A daughter of de Courtenay will not want for suitors.” The Queen’s expression softened, and she stroked my cheek. “My Eleonora, you are the finest young woman in the realm. Rest assured, the position of Crown Princess is yours. No one else can take it.” The King and Queen were childhood friends, their bond deep and enduring. Even without an heir of her own, she remained the woman he cherished most. Because she had raised Alaric, the King’s affection extended to him, doting on the boy as if he were his own true-born heir. Despite his mother’s origins, the King bestowed upon him the ultimate honor: the title of Crown Prince. The King had heard of the broken betrothal and was now in a towering rage. “That fool!” he bellowed. “The greatest houses in the realm would kill for a match with a de Courtenay, and he casts aside the family’s heiress for some nobody? The Queen arranged this marriage to give you the backing of a powerful house, to support your weak maternal line, and you throw away your greatest asset with your own two hands! You are as dim-witted as a pig!” He stormed out, his fury echoing in the hall. Even after the King’s tirade, Alaric remained defiant. He had the gall to bring Seraphina to the Queen’s chambers to pay his respects. He knelt before my aunt. “Your Majesty, you have always loved me as a son. All I ask is to marry a woman I truly love. I am the Crown Prince. Surely I have the right to choose the woman I desire?” The Queen looked down at him, her disappointment a cold, heavy presence in the room. “You and Eleonora grew up together. I recall you kneeling before me, begging for this betrothal, proclaiming your love for her, promising a life of mutual support. One life, one love. And now, you claim she is not the woman you desire?” Her voice was sharp. “It seems this Seraphina has blinded you to all reason.” Alaric lifted his chin, his hand tightening around Seraphina’s. “Your Majesty, Eleonora is just like all the other dull noblewomen—bound by convention, lifeless, utterly devoid of spirit. But Seraphina… Seraphina is different! She loves to laugh and play, she can dance in ways the court has never seen, she hums folk songs from the countryside. She is enchanting, vibrant! Your Majesty, if you only got to know her, I know you would love her too!” 3 From behind the curtain where I was hidden, I let out a silent, scornful laugh. Humming folk songs and dancing scandalous dances? You could find women like that in any tavern in the city. The Queen’s gaze was like ice. “Alaric, do you have any idea what you will lose without the support of House de Courtenay?” The Prince actually smiled. “I know you speak of the backing of the great houses of the south. But, Your Majesty, I am the Crown Prince. The future King. The entire realm will be my subjects. What have I to fear?” He brightened, a foolish idea taking root. “I know you are fond of Eleonora. Why not let her be my second consort? When I ascend the throne, I can make her a duchess. Surely House de Courtenay would not dare object to such an honor?” My fists clenched behind the screen. The insolent fool. The Queen’s voice was chillingly calm. “A daughter of House de Courtenay will never be a secondary wife. Alaric, you are my adopted son, but you are not the King’s only son. Do you truly believe you can hold your position by your own strength alone?” “Of course,” he replied, his voice ringing with unshakeable confidence. “I am the future King, Your Majesty.” Seraphina spoke then, her voice a delicate whisper. “Your Majesty, I know my station is low. If Lady Eleonora joins the Prince’s household, I promise not to compete with her for his affections. I will treat her as a sister, and we shall serve the Prince together.” The Queen let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Hmph. Alaric, you must be certain. Once you choose Seraphina, there is no turning back.” His reply was firm. “Yes. I will have no regrets.”

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For every surge of love my husband felt for me, the System answered with a jolt of electricity. He’d been shocked nine hundred and ninety million times, and still, he never regretted a moment of our love. I was just about to tell him I was finally pregnant with our child when they came for me. I was taken by a terrorist cell, thrown into a dark room, and handed over to ten of their men. In my deepest despair, I heard a voice in my head—a link I didn’t know was open. It was my husband, Liam, speaking with the System. “Host, how could you make a deal with these animals? How could you let them treat your wife this way?” Liam’s voice was a shard of ice. “Grace has plot armor. A hundred men couldn’t kill her. But Fay can die. Once Grace has taken Fay’s bullet, I’ll make it up to her.” The words sliced through me, and my heart bled out on the floor of my soul. As the men lunged, I simply gave up. “Damn, this one’s a real prize,” one of them grunted, and the small, suffocating room was suddenly packed with bodies. Long nails had been driven through my wrists and ankles, pinning me to the bed. The slightest tremor sent fire racing up my limbs, but now the whole frame was shaking violently. The stench of unwashed men and stale sweat flooded my senses, a choking cloud of grunts and heavy, ragged breaths. Through the haze of pain, I heard Liam’s voice again, crackling in my mind. “How many?” The System’s synthesized voice wavered. “That was the eighth, Host. Grace’s condition is… unstable. Perhaps you should tell them to stop.” “No,” Liam snapped, his voice a bomb detonating in my ear. “In the book, Fay was violated ten times. If Grace is to take her place, she will suffer all of it. Not one less.” His words plunged me into an abyss of ice. Two months ago, a terrifying virus had torn through a war-torn nation in the Middle East. The infection rate was staggering, the mortality rate near-total; no one survived past the third day. As an infectious disease specialist, I was sent to provide medical aid. Liam had insisted on coming with me, claiming he couldn’t bear the thought of me being in danger. I’d actually believed he was worried about me. Now I knew the truth. He’d been planning this for two months. Another man entered. I was numb, a spectator to my own violation. Suddenly, a sharp, clenching pain ripped through my lower abdomen, a new agony that eclipsed everything else. Before I could even process it, the man on top of me cursed. “The hell? What is this?” Another leaned over. “It’s… a baby.” “God have mercy. She’s pregnant.” The room fell silent. The man scrambled off me. Even these beasts, it seemed, had a line they wouldn’t cross. My mind went blank. The words ‘the baby’ echoed in the sudden quiet, and tears began to stream from my eyes, hot and silent. As a doctor, of course, I knew. How could I not? Liam and I had been married for three years. He wanted me every night. Whenever I was too exhausted, he’d wrap his arms around my waist and plead softly, telling me how he’d grown up an orphan, how his greatest dream was to have a wife and a child of his own. He had the wife; now, he only had one dream left. For him, I had meticulously prepared my body, nurturing it into the perfect state to conceive. Three months ago, it had happened. But I never got the chance to tell him. “Host, that was nine. No one else will touch her,” the System’s voice cut through my daze. The connection was still open. “Why?” Liam demanded. The System’s mechanical tone was now tinged with something like pity. “Because during the ninth… Grace… she…” “Don’t tell me the details!” Liam roared. “I can’t bear it!” “I can only say her condition is critical.” Liam was silent. For a fleeting, foolish moment, I thought he might feel a flicker of remorse. Then his voice, colder than ever, shattered my heart for the last time. “If no man will touch her, then find me a dog.” The System’s internal fans whirred, a sound like a sharp intake of breath. “Host, this is too much. Grace has done nothing wrong. Why must she suffer this for Fay?” “You think she’s the only one suffering? My heart is being torn apart,” Liam’s voice was thick with a pain that felt like a performance. “But what choice do I have? If Fay doesn’t survive, I cease to exist in this world.” “One last time,” he whispered, his voice a ghost fading in my mind. “After this last violation, they’ll inject her with the virus, and then I can go in and save her.” The door creaked open. A massive, snarling dog was led inside. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the final wave of despair. Everything unfolded just as Liam had planned. When the weight was finally gone, the room returned to a fragile quiet. I forced my broken body to move, to look at the tiny, blood-streaked form on the filthy sheets. I crawled toward it, a shattered thing reaching for the only piece of my soul that was left. My child. This was my child. A tidal wave of grief crashed over me, threatening to drown me completely. Just then, a man entered holding a syringe. The needle pierced my skin, and as the fluid flooded my veins, a chilling cold spread through me. I knew what it was. I had been studying it for three months. It was the pure, concentrated viral strain, likely drawn from a corpse. At this concentration, I would be dead in 24 hours without the cure. The cure I had just finished developing. The cure we hadn’t announced to the world yet. I had always assumed the terrorists wanted me for the cure. Now I saw how naive I’d been. This was all Liam. All for Fay. He had told me, long ago, that he came to this world to save Fay. Only if she lived could he stay. That’s why, after we were married, he was always helping her, always trying to alter her fate. I’d fought with him over it, so many times. And every time, he’d hold me and sigh. “Grace, darling, I don’t have feelings for her. I’m just doing what I have to for us.” I never imagined he could do something like this. He hadn’t just helped her. He’d fed me to the wolves in her place. The pain in my chest was so immense it turned to numbness. The moment the injection was done, the door was kicked open. In the next second, I was swept into a tight embrace. The familiar scent of Liam’s cologne filled the air—a scent that once meant safety, but now only smelled of my own personal monster. He was trembling. “Grace, I’m here,” he choked out. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry they put you through this.” I let him hold me, my eyes fixed on the empty space ahead, my heart a frozen stone of hatred. It took all my strength to make my voice sound remotely normal. “Liam,” I said, my voice a raw whisper. “You have the System. What took you so long to find me?” His body went rigid. “The System glitched. It’s all my fault, Grace. But listen to me, I don’t care what they did to you. You’re not dirty to me. I’ll get you healed. We’re going to the hospital right now.” He draped his suit jacket over my ravaged body, lifted me into his arms, and growled an order over his shoulder. “Leave no one alive.” At the hospital, my colleagues rushed to my side. Even these seasoned professionals, accustomed to the horrors of this place, drew sharp breaths when they saw the state I was in. They pulled more than twenty long, rusted nails from my flesh. After surgery, I was moved to a private room. I have a high tolerance for anesthetics, so I wasn’t asleep. But I couldn’t bear to look at Liam, so I kept my eyes closed. I heard a nurse recount the details of my injuries to him. Liam’s voice was thick with manufactured pain as he stroked my face. “Grace, my love. I’ll never let you suffer like this again.” Before, those words would have made me weep with relief. Now, they just made me sick. Soon, the door opened again. A voice I never wanted to hear again chirped, “Liam, I’m here.” Fay. “Give her the injection now,” Liam said to her, his tone urgent. “The jet is ready. You can be back home in two hours.” “Liam,” Fay purred, grabbing his hand. “Come back with me.” “I need to stay here and take care of Grace.” “But I’ll be scared,” she whined. “It’s so chaotic here.” Liam hesitated for only a second before agreeing. He never said no to Fay. He always told me he had no feelings for her, yet he never refused her anything, always speaking to her with that gentle tone he reserved just for her… and for me. I used to tell myself it was just part of his ‘mission.’ I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Liam stepped out to finalize the flight plans, leaving Fay and me alone. She walked to my bedside and jabbed a finger directly into one of my surgical wounds. “Stop pretending,” she hissed. My eyes snapped open. Fay smirked, her voice dripping with scorn. “Look at the state of you. I heard ten men had their fun with you. Honestly, I’m surprised you still have the nerve to be alive.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Even so, Liam won’t divorce me to marry you.” I knew she was in love with him, desperate to be his wife. As expected, her face twisted in fury. “So what? He’s disgusted by you now. Do you know why he sent me in here?” she leaned in close. “He knows you’re resistant to normal sedatives. He had me bring a special sleeping drug, something to knock you out cold. That way, when my team announces that we developed the cure, you won’t be able to say a word.” “What?” I was stunned. That cure was the culmination of two months of sleepless work by my twenty-person team. It was a world-changing breakthrough. It was supposed to be the achievement that would launch the careers of so many brilliant, unknown doctors on my staff. How could Liam just give it to her? “You can’t steal our work!” I tried to push myself up, but Fay had already pulled a syringe from her purse. She plunged it into my IV line without another word. “From now on, Grace, everything that was yours is mine,” she whispered, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Including Liam.” Fay’s drug didn’t work as intended. Less than an hour later, I woke up, burning with a fever. Liam and Fay were gone. My colleague, Maya, was by my side. “They’ve already left for the airport,” she told me. I nodded, then managed a weak smile at her full-body protective gear. “What’s with the getup? Is the virus making a comeback?” Maya bit her lip, her expression grim. “Dr. Grace… we just got your test results. You’ve been infected.” I knew. I had assumed they’d given me the cure immediately upon my arrival. It seemed Liam had ‘forgotten.’ “The terrorists injected me,” I said, my voice steady. “Just give me a dose of the cure now. There’s still time.” Her face fell. “There’s no cure left in the hospital.” After our last patient had been cleared, the entire stock had been packaged and shipped to the next outbreak zone. There wasn’t a single dose left. The world went white. Without the cure, I was going to die. But there was a sliver of hope. Someone found a flight leaving in an hour for the city where the cure was. A few colleagues bundled me into a car. At the airport, however, officials took one look at my condition and refused to let me board. They wouldn’t take the risk. As despair began to set in, Maya spotted Liam. She knew he had a private jet. She ran to him, quickly explaining the situation, begging him to fly me to the neighboring city for the life-saving injection. Liam glanced over at me, his face an unreadable mask. “I’m taking Fay home now. I don’t have time.” Maya was stunned. “But… her life is on the line! Without the cure, she will die! Liam, she’s your wife!” He scowled. “Stop the drama. I had Fay give her the cure at the hospital.” He looked past the crowd, his eyes meeting mine. “Grace, I know you’re jealous, but this isn’t the time for games. I’ll come back for you after I get Fay home. Just wait for me.” With that, he turned and walked toward his jet with Fay in tow. His retreating back was a blade in my heart. He thought this was a game. He thought I was faking. But I wasn’t. I was really going to die. A primal need for survival forced my mouth open. “Liam!” I screamed his name. He turned back. “Please,” I sobbed, tears blurring his distant figure. “Please, just take me with you. I want to live. I don’t want to die.” For a second, I saw a flicker of pain in his eyes. He took two involuntary steps toward me. Then, Fay shrieked and collapsed to the ground. Liam’s body moved before his brain could. In a flash, he had scooped her into his arms and was sprinting up the stairs of the jet. The last words I heard from him were, “You won’t die, Grace! I promise I’ll be back!” I don’t want you to come back. I want to live. Please, I want to live. The plane took off, and with it, my last sliver of hope vanished into the sky.

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The morning of my wedding, just as we were about to leave for the church, my mother decided to add a last-minute condition to the marriage. My fiancée, Mindy, furious and humiliated, called the whole thing off and married my cousin instead. In the awkward, painful aftermath, my childhood friend, Isabella, suddenly reappeared. She agreed to marry me, and my mother, miraculously, waived any financial demands. I was married. Three years later, my cousin James and his wife Mindy topped the local rich list. I became a stay-at-home dad. During the annual holiday feast at my mother’s house, I overheard a conversation that shattered my world. It was my mother and my wife, Isabella. “You were brilliant, Mom, thinking up that last-minute demand for money. It was the perfect way to make Mindy’s family back out. Now Leo could finally marry the woman he truly loved.” A pause. “But if James ever finds out you manipulated him into marrying me just so Leo could have you… will he ever forgive you?” … I had just gotten back from the market with groceries, and I froze outside the patio door, listening. My mother’s voice was nonchalant as she spit out a sunflower seed shell. “I’m his mother. I gave birth to him, I raised him. What’s there to forgive? I could tell him to stay single his whole life and he wouldn’t dare say a word.” She sighed, a theatrical sound. “The one I feel for is you, dear. You were in love with Leo too, but you gave up your own happiness for his, willing to marry James just to clear the way.” My wife, Isabella, sighed back. “It was a worthy sacrifice for Leo’s happiness. He’s so pure and kind-hearted; I couldn’t bear to see him struggle through life.” Her voice was laced with a dreamy satisfaction. “Knowing he could marry his true love, into a family of immense wealth and live a life without a single worry… that was all I ever wanted.” My mother patted Isabella’s shoulder. “And now, everything has come full circle. Leo and Mindy have a beautiful son, so handsome and bright. Mindy’s family was so thrilled with the good genes they gave him a ten-million-dollar bonus. They have three nannies. He’s set for life.” Isabella’s smile was audible in her voice. “I know. Did you see how happy he looked today? Even though Mindy was busy, she drove him and the baby over herself. It just proves we made the right decision.” A wave of nausea washed over me. I leaned against the wall, my legs threatening to give out. So that was the truth. My mother had always loved my cousin more than me. And my own wife… her heart belonged to him, too. So what was I? A placeholder? A complete and utter fool? These were the two people I loved most in the world, the people I trusted implicitly, and they had both betrayed me for someone else. Suddenly, the weight on my back shifted. My daughter, asleep in her carrier, woke up and began to cry. I had gone grocery shopping alone, with my one-year-old strapped to my back. I did it because I felt sorry for my mother, living alone all these years, and I didn’t want to burden her. But clearly, her heart ached for a different child entirely. “You’re back?” My mother and Isabella peered out from the living room. “Did you get the crab? It’s Leo’s favorite.” “And the organic yogurt for little Alex?” Neither of them moved to take the heavy bags from my hands. I carried the groceries into the kitchen and quickly unstrapped my daughter, setting her down to mix her a bottle. In the living room, I could hear my mother and Isabella cooing and laughing, all three of them doting on James’s son. The sound was a knife in my gut. I pressed a hand to my chest. It hadn’t been long since my surgery. And here I was, looking after my daughter, and now expected to cook a feast for them all. A familiar burn started behind my eyes. I’d always known my mother favored my cousin, but I never imagined the depths of it. Isabella noticed me in the kitchen and called out, a perfunctory kindness in her tone. “Take your time, James. No rush. We can eat later.” My mother beamed. “See? Bella takes such good care of you! You chose the right wife.” This was her idea of being cared for? Empty words, followed by absolutely no action. My daughter finished her bottle and started tugging at my pants, her arms raised. “Up, Dada, up.” “Go to Mommy, sweetheart. Daddy has to cook.” She shook her head, her little face crumpling as she clung to my leg. She and Isabella weren’t close. Isabella rarely spent any time with her. My mother frowned from the doorway, her face a mask of annoyance. “Bella’s not feeling well. Don’t tire her out. Just carry the baby yourself.” Not feeling well? I glanced into the living room, where Isabella was bouncing James’s son on her lap, dangling a brand-new toy in front of his face. She looked perfectly fine. If she’d given even half that energy to our own daughter, maybe my little girl wouldn’t be so clingy with me. With a sigh, I strapped my daughter back onto my chest and started prepping the vegetables. My back screamed in protest. My stamina had been shot ever since the surgery. Now, with this new, crushing weight on my heart, the physical pain felt a thousand times worse. This house, this family… there wasn’t a single person here who loved me, who protected me, who even saw me. I washed the vegetables, my tears silently mingling with the water. Was this it? Was this my life? I was only twenty-eight. Was I supposed to endure this for another fifty, sixty years? A bitter resentment churned in my stomach. I refused. After a few minutes, my daughter started crying again. What toddler wants to be tied down? I had no choice but to take her into the bedroom and try to rock her back to sleep. As she gradually quieted in my arms, memories flooded back. When I was a kid, only my dad would comfort me. My mom was always over at my uncle’s house, fawning over James. “James is just so handsome, a little prince. Not like Leo, so scruffy and messy.” I was messy because I never had clothes that fit. James and I were the same age, but my mother always bought new clothes for him first. I only got them after he’d worn them out or grown tired of them. They were always too short, too tight. But she only saw me as sloppy, lacking class. My grades were better than James’s, but that never earned me any praise. “For a man, what matters is earning potential. Good grades don’t mean anything.” Later, when I started dating and brought Mindy home, the first thing my mother did was drag James over to meet her. I knew James asked Mindy out a few times behind my back, but she’d turned him down. When I mentioned it to my mother, she accused me of being petty. “James likes her, Leo. Just let him have her.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was the first time I ever defied her. Mindy and I were getting married. But on the wedding day, my mother got her way after all. She made her move, demanding an exorbitant sum of money from Mindy’s family. They could have afforded it, but Mindy saw my mother for what she was: a bottomless pit of greed. Refusing to be taken for a fool, she walked away in a rage. I begged her to stay, but it was useless. The invitations were sent, the reception was booked. And then James stepped forward, offering to marry Mindy with no financial demands, even increasing the customary gifts. Just like that, he stole my bride. And it was all my mother’s design. Her phone, charging on the nightstand, lit up with a text from my uncle. “Sis, thanks for having James over for the holiday. Appreciate you looking after him.” My eyes welled up. That was how a parent showed love for their son. Whenever I went to my uncle’s house, my mother’s only instruction was, “Make yourself useful. Don’t just sit around. You look after them, you hear me? Don’t embarrass me.” I thought of her Facebook profile. It was a shrine to James. “James, 18: My boy got into college! So proud! Got him a new MacBook!” I got into college too. My mother did nothing. I was the only kid in my dorm without a computer until I worked enough part-time jobs to buy my own. “James, 22: Graduated! The sky’s the limit for my brilliant boy! Here’s a $20,000 graduation present!” I had a job lined up before I even graduated. My mother said since I was earning money now, she didn’t need to give me an allowance anymore. Later, when James married Mindy, my mother posted again. “James, 25: A match made in heaven! So happy these two soulmates found each other!” When I married Isabella, my mother claimed she was too sick to attend the ceremony. All these years… it was like James was her real son, and I was nothing. The more I thought, the more the grief choked me, and tears streamed down my face. The silence from the kitchen finally registered. They realized no one was cooking. My mother stormed into the bedroom and saw me still holding my daughter. “What are you doing? Get out there and cook! It’s late! Do you want James and the others to starve?” “Shh,” I hissed. I had just gotten the baby to sleep. I didn’t want her to wake up. “Don’t you ‘shh’ me! Who does she think she is, a princess? I can’t even talk in my own house?” My mother deliberately raised her voice an octave. Startled by the sudden noise, my daughter woke up and started wailing again. Something inside me snapped. “Mom, this is your house. If you’re hungry, you can cook.” Her eyes widened in disbelief. She swung her hand and slapped my arm hard. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, ordering your own mother around. Everyone knows you’re the best cook. We were all counting on you!” Her voice was shrill. “Now put that child down and get to the kitchen.” I kept trying to soothe my daughter, but she wouldn’t stop crying. My mother tried to take her, but my daughter clung to my neck, refusing to let go. Of course she did. My mother never showed her any affection. She’d just plop her on the floor and ignore her, not even blinking if she fell and hit her head. Isabella came in. “Honey, give her to me. You need to get dinner started. James just said he’s getting hungry.” That sent my mother into a panic. The thought of her precious nephew being hungry was a catastrophe. “Oh, no, we can’t have that! He’s so thin, he’ll waste away if he gets too hungry. I’ll get him some snacks to tide him over. Oh, my poor boy.” I passed my daughter to Isabella, ignoring her protests. I went back into the kitchen. The moment the smell of cooking oil hit me, a wave of nausea rose in my throat, and I started to dry heave. It had been less than two months since my lung surgery. The doctor’s orders were explicit: stay out of kitchens, avoid dust and fumes, and rest. But clearly, rest was not on the menu today. My mother saw me clutching my mouth, not moving, and smacked me on the back of the head. “What’s wrong with you? Are you doing this on purpose? You barely visit all year, and now you’re too good to lift a finger?” I clutched my mouth, the pain making it hard to speak. “My lungs… they haven’t healed. It hurts.” My mother’s eyes bulged. “So what? When I was sick, I still had to work!” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “So because you suffered, I have to suffer too? Because you didn’t marry a rich man, you can’t stand to see me have a good life? When you were sick, Grandma didn’t help you, so now you want me to live through your misery? Does my pain make you feel better?” She flew into a rage, her arm a blur as she slapped me across the face, again and again, until I stumbled and fell to the floor. “You ungrateful brat! How dare you lecture me! I’ll beat the disrespect out of you!” Isabella and James rushed in and pulled her off me. “Auntie, it’s okay,” James said smoothly. “If Leo doesn’t want to cook, I can help.” My mother and Isabella both leaped to stop him. “No! You’re too delicate for this kind of work.” “He’s right, the fumes in here are terrible for your lungs. You should go back outside.” So they knew. They knew the risks. It just didn’t matter if it was me. James smiled his sweet, innocent smile. “Well, then I guess we’re counting on you, Leo. Thanks.” They went back to the living room, laughing and chatting as if nothing had happened. My mother shot one last venomous look at me on the floor. “Get up and cook. Stop playing dead.” Her voice was cold. “You can’t compare yourself to James. He was born for great things. You were born to struggle. A man has to know his place.” I bit my lip until I tasted blood and pushed myself up. A sharp pain shot through my chest. The doctor said to avoid stress and strong emotions. Was the surgery failing? I glanced into the living room. Isabella’s eyes were locked on James. They looked at each other as if the rest of the world had melted away. Fine. This house, this woman… I was done. Let this be our last meal together. After tonight, we go our separate ways. After I finally got a few dishes on the table, I went to wash my hands. James followed me into the kitchen, crossing his arms. “You know, cousin, you’re only two months older than me. Funny how different our fates are.” I knew where this was going. I ignored him. “Mindy loves me. Your wife, Isabella, loves me. You’ve really made a failure of your life, haven’t you?” he continued, his voice dripping with condescending pity. “And your daughter… I bet she’ll inherit your pathetic luck. Destined to serve my family, just like you.” My head snapped up. Now he was talking about my daughter. I glared at him. “What the hell do you want, James?” His eyes slid over to where my daughter was playing on the floor. A strange, predatory smile twisted his lips. “My little Alex has some trouble with his eyes. We’re looking for a cornea donor. Your daughter’s look perfect.” He leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Auntie already agreed. And so did Bella, of course.” A white-hot rage, pure and blinding, exploded in my chest. They were monsters. My daughter was barely a year old. I lunged toward the living room to confront them, but James blocked my path. He shoved me, hard. I lost my balance and crashed forward, my chest slamming into the sharp corner of a table. The spot where they had operated erupted in excruciating pain. Suddenly, James threw himself to the ground and started shouting. “Ow! Leo, why did you hit me? Just because I didn’t help you cook, you had to attack me?”

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1 For three years I stood by my husband guarding the Northern Frontier. Upon our return, he brought only his deputy’s widow and children. “He died saving me,” my husband claimed. “Caring for them is my sacred duty.” He gave me a wooden hairpin while installing them in the General’s mansion. When frontier wars raged, they feasted in luxury while I fled through wilderness with our children. Enemy scouts slaughtered them while I foraged. When General Joseph arrived, he shed no tears. “The title needs an heir,” he said. “Liz’s son will do.” “Don’t worry,” he added. “Even if I marry her, I’ll always love you most.” I drew my dagger and ended it all. Then I awoke—back on the day my children would die. … The moment I realized I had been reborn, I dropped the basket and sickle in my hands. I quickly disguised my two children, and together, we slipped out the back of our small dwelling. Perhaps they had grown accustomed to this life of constant flight and hardship. They were obedient, quiet, and cooperative. Their very maturity, born of suffering, only deepened the well of my hatred for Joseph. I had once promised him that I would never return to the Capital without a letter from him. This time, for the sake of my children’s lives, I would break that cursed vow. I sold the jade pendant he had given me when we were betrothed—our token of true love—and scraped together enough money for the long journey. After more than two weeks of jolting travel, we finally stood before the imposing gates of the General’s Manor. “Insolent beggars! The General’s Manor is no place for you to linger! Be gone, before our swords lose their patience!” The guards, assuming we were peasants seeking alms, moved to drive us away. They only stopped when I produced the official token of the General’s household. “Wait here. I will inform the General and his lady.” The guard took my token and disappeared inside. Half an incense stick later, a familiar voice, laced with annoyance, drifted from within. “How could a beggar have the General’s token? Did you even…” Lady Liz’s voice died in her throat the moment she saw me. I, too, stared at her, momentarily stunned. Her skin was fair and delicate, her gown fashioned from shimmering silks from the South. Her hair was a cascade of expensive pins and jewels. My children and I were dressed in coarse, patched tunics. Our skin was rough and chapped from the harsh frontier climate. No wonder the guards had mistaken us for beggars. In three years, aside from the cheap wooden pin he’d given me at our parting, Joseph hadn’t sent us a single coin, not a single morsel of food. All his thoughts, all his resources, had been lavished upon Liz and her children. Liz was clearly thrown by my sudden appearance. Her lips opened and closed, but no words came out. It wasn’t until Joseph appeared behind her, his face a mask of impatience, that the tableau broke. His eyes widened in shock when he saw me and the children. “Aurelia! What are you doing back in the Capital?” he hissed, grabbing our arms and frantically pulling us inside the manor. “We had an agreement! I told you I would write when it was time for you to return! Why didn’t you honor our arrangement?” I ignored his questions, my brow furrowed. “Why did the guards at the gate call Lady Liz ‘my lady’?” Joseph flinched, his gaze darting away from mine. Liz, who had followed us in, quickly interjected. “Aurelia, dear sister, don’t misunderstand. It’s just the servants. They speak out of turn.” She added, her voice dripping with false humility, “The only true lady of this manor is you.” I could hear the bitter resentment simmering beneath her words. Joseph nodded eagerly. “Yes, that’s right. The servants are foolish. Aurelia, you know my heart belongs only to you.” I was too weary to expose his lie. I simply led my children deeper into the manor. Just then, a small boy dressed in rich brocade ran out from one of the inner rooms. He threw his arms around Joseph’s legs. “Father!” he chirped. “You promised you would teach me swordsmanship today!” I recognized him at once. It was Liz’s younger son, Conrad. Three years ago, he had been a scrawny, timid child. Now, he was the very picture of a pampered young nobleman. My own children, by contrast, were little more than skin and bones. To get a single mouthful of food, they had to walk miles with me every day, digging for wild vegetables. Swordsmanship? Even learning to read and write was an impossible luxury. Liz, seeing the storm gathering on my face, quickly pulled Conrad away. Joseph came to me, taking my hand in a placating gesture. “Aurelia, please don’t be upset. The boy fell terribly ill a year ago, and all he did was cry for his father. You know it’s because of me that he has no father. I felt so guilty… I let him call me ‘Father’ to comfort him.” I remained silent. My silence made him nervous. “Aurelia, you’ve always been the most understanding of women. Surely you wouldn’t be angry with a child?” 2 In my last life, Joseph had used those exact same words. Five years ago, the enemy launched a surprise attack on our camp. It was his deputy, Liz’s husband, who had thrown himself in front of Joseph, saving his life. With his dying breath, the man had entrusted his wife and children to Joseph’s care. From that day forward, he brought Liz and her children to live with us. At first, he and Liz maintained a semblance of propriety. Any needs she or her children had were communicated through me. He doted on our own children. Liz and I even managed a cordial relationship. But somewhere along the way, his focus shifted entirely to her. If Liz or her children so much as coughed, he would shamelessly stay by their side all night. Yet when my own children needed their father, he would always use the excuse of military duties. Then came the King’s order for him to return to the Capital. He told me that Liz, a widow with two young children, would face gossip and hardship if left alone. He reminded me of his deathbed promise to his deputy. He would take them back to the Capital first, he said, and send for me and our children later, when things were settled. I understood that a debt of life was paramount. I agreed without hesitation. I never imagined that his “later” would mean three full years. I never imagined he could be so heartless as to completely abandon his own flesh and blood, while cherishing another man’s. I had written to him, my letters filled with hopeful questions about when he would send for us. I never received a single word in reply. In my last life, I understood his burden. I sympathized with his difficult position. I was grateful for the sacrifice Liz’s husband had made. So no matter how hard life on the frontier became, I gritted my teeth and endured it with my children. Every time they asked when their father was coming, I would invent excuses for him. During our time on the run, I would rather eat wild roots with them than sell the jade pendant he had given me. And what was my reward? The cold corpses of my children and a letter of divorce. Even the title of Young Lord, which rightfully belonged to my son, was to be stolen by hers. How could I accept that? How could I not hate him? So, in this new life, I would rewrite our destiny. Just as I was about to speak, Liz’s soft voice cut in. “Brother Joseph, Sister Aurelia, perhaps you can have your private conversation later. The children are hungry. Let us eat first.” The staff had no idea I was coming today, yet the dining table was laden with roasted fowl, fish, and glistening meats. This, clearly, was their everyday fare. My children’s eyes lit up at the sight of the feast. They began stuffing food into their mouths without a shred of decorum. Their manners were crude, uncultured. But I did not stop them. I knew how long it had been since they’d had a full meal. But some are not so understanding. “Mother, why are we eating with three beggars? It’s disgusting!” Liz’s older daughter, Celia, glared at my children with open contempt. I had no patience for it. I slammed my chopsticks down on the table with a loud crack. “Who are you calling a beggar?” Seeing my fury, Liz quickly scolded her daughter. “Celia! How dare you speak to the lady of the house that way? Apologize at once, or you’ll have no dinner.” Celia’s face was defiant. “Why should I apologize? I’m not wrong!” “Fine, I won’t eat! I’m sick of this food anyway!” With that, she stormed off. Liz offered me a perfunctory apology, then took her son Conrad’s hand and followed her daughter out. Joseph, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, looked furious. After the meal, he had a maid take my children for a bath. Once we were alone in the dining hall, he finally spoke. “Aurelia, when are you and the children returning to the frontier?” I gave him a strange look. “Why would we return? We have no intention of going back.” The moment the words left my mouth, I heard the sound of a teacup shattering just outside the hall. I looked up to see Liz’s retreating back. A flicker of worry crossed Joseph’s face, and his tone became frayed with impatience. “What do you mean you’re not going back?” “Aurelia, we had an agreement…” I cut him off. “Joseph, you have killed countless enemy soldiers. Their families see my children and me as targets for their revenge. And how am I, a lone woman, supposed to raise two children on the frontier? If you send us back, we will either be murdered by your enemies or starve to death.” My voice hardened. “And do not forget, they are your flesh and blood.” Joseph frowned. “I sent men to protect you. I sent money and grain every month. How could you not be able to care for the children?” 3 “When did you ever send men to protect us? When did you ever send us money or food?” “Do you have any idea that for the past year, my children and I have been hiding from your enemies, living on nothing but wild vegetables?” “You’re disgusted by how our children eat, by their lack of manners? Have you ever once stopped to consider why they are this way?” My barrage of questions silenced him. After a long pause, he finally mumbled, “I’ll go find out what happened.” He turned and strode away. That afternoon, Joseph came to my room, his face a mask of embarrassment. He explained that he had given Liz control of the household finances. The responsibility of caring for me and the children had been delegated to her as well. But, he claimed, she had been so overwhelmed with managing the manor that she had simply… forgotten about us on the distant frontier. “Forgotten?” The excuse was so absurd I almost laughed. “Did she truly forget about three living, breathing people, or did she see an opportunity to eliminate us so that she and her children could take our place?” My tone angered him. “Aurelia, the fault lies with my negligence. Blame me if you must, but Liz is innocent.” “She has to manage this entire manor for me and look after her two children. It hasn’t been easy for her.” His words were the final straw. “You say it hasn’t been easy for her? Then what about the three years of suffering my children and I have endured?” “If life in the General’s Manor is so difficult for her, why don’t you send her and her children back to the frontier?” Seeing my refusal to back down, Joseph’s anger flared. “Can you stop being so unreasonable?” “And don’t you forget,” he spat, “if it weren’t for Liz’s husband, I would be dead!” I let out a cold laugh. “And don’t you forget, if it weren’t for my father taking you into his army, you’d still be begging for scraps somewhere!” He fell silent. The room was thick with tension.

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The day before my wedding, my best man, Nicholas, hit and killed my father with his car. My fiancée, not only did she not blame him, she posted a picture of their marriage certificate online. I dragged Nicholas to court. I crashed their wedding, demanding justice, and became a laughingstock. At my lowest point, my childhood friend, Rose, proposed to me in front of everyone, promising to be my harbor for life. I said yes. I handed the accident case over to her, trusting her completely. She told me Nicholas was in prison, and I believed her. But in the third year of our marriage, I overheard a conversation between her and her lawyer. “Ms. Monroe, you married Julian just for a pardon letter? For a traffic accident? Was it really worth throwing your own life away?” “It was the only way. By marrying him, I could write the letter in his name, as his family, and set Nicholas free.” “As long as he’s happy abroad, that’s enough. As for me… it doesn’t matter.” So, the marriage I saw as my salvation was nothing but an elaborate lie. The pardon letter, written in my name, and Nicholas’s freedom—that was all she ever wanted. It was me. I was the one who needed to leave. 1 In her office, Rose gazed at a photo of Nicholas on her computer screen, a photo taken somewhere beautiful and far away. Her smile was a fragile, heartbreaking thing. “It’s been three years,” she murmured. “Seeing him happy is enough, even if I’m not the one who gave him that happiness.” “As for Julian… I’m giving him the rest of my life. That should be enough to make up for it. It’s over.” The company’s legal counsel was practically vibrating with frustration. “Ms. Monroe, the company is finally stable. You can’t play games with a homicide case! If our competitors find out about this, it won’t just be you—the entire Monroe family enterprise will be ruined!” “The fact is, Mr. Vance intentionally killed him. Why are you wading into this mess? He doesn’t even love you!” Rose’s face hardened. “That’s enough,” she snapped. “I told you never to bring this up again. I don’t believe Nicholas killed him on purpose. It was an accident. I handled Mr. Jiang’s funeral arrangements myself. I’ve done right by the Jiang family.” Her voice dropped, becoming a fierce, determined whisper. “To save him, I’d give anything. Not just this company. My life.” The lawyer’s voice rose with urgency. “And what about Julian? He’ll find out eventually! The moment he decides to visit Nicholas in prison, your entire plan will fall apart! You used his name to free the man who killed his father! What do you think that will do to him?” Rose was silent for a moment, her fingers reaching out to enlarge the photo on the screen. “Then he’ll never know,” she said finally. “It’s been three years. Nicholas should be getting out soon. Make the arrangements. And remember, don’t let Julian find out.” “Ms. Monroe, as your lawyer, I must remind you: the law has a long reach. You can’t do something like this and not leave a trace. For a murderer, you’re hurting an innocent man. If Julian finds out, you’re finished.” A tear traced a path down my chin. I was shaking so hard the lunchbox I was holding nearly slipped from my grasp. Footsteps approached. I scrambled into the stairwell, my heart hammering against my ribs. So, my father’s fatal accident was never even a real case. Nicholas was never in prison, paying for his crime. He was living it up, free as a bird, in some foreign paradise. And the architect of this whole deception was the woman I loved, my wife. Her humility, her quiet strength, her patient endurance—it was all a performance, all to save the man she truly loved. For three years, I had been living in her beautifully crafted lie. I thought I had found happiness, but I was in hell. The irony was suffocating. I stumbled down the stairs and stood outside the gleaming office building, waiting. For five hours. Finally, the last light in the building winked out. Her silhouette appeared in the doorway. The moment she saw me, her face softened with concern. She took my hand. “You’re here! Why didn’t you come in? How long have you been waiting?” “Not long. I just got here,” I lied. “I know you’ve been busy, so I brought you some soup. Your secretary said you were in a meeting, so I came back out.” “Don’t do this again,” she chided gently. “You’re not well. I’d be heartbroken if you tired yourself out.” She leaned in, pressing a soft, familiar kiss to the corner of my mouth. The gesture was as tender as always, but for the first time, I felt no warmth. A person could really do this. For someone else, they could go to such lengths. She led me to the passenger seat of her car. As she started the engine, she spoke, her tone casual. “By the way, Nicholas should be getting out of prison soon. You two used to be close, and he’s served his time. Besides, the company is working on a lot of projects with the Vance family now, so maybe—” “It’s fine,” I cut in. “It’s all in the past. I won’t cause any trouble. Don’t worry.” She let out a visible sigh of relief, a smile touching her lips. “Thank you for being so understanding, darling. I’m so lucky to have you.” I turned my head to look out the window, silent tears tracing paths down my face. Back at home, while she was in the shower, I opened her laptop. The password was Nicholas’s birthday. The desktop wallpaper was a stunning photo of a beach in the Maldives. That’s where Nicholas had been living for the past three years. I logged into her social media. The profile banner was a photo of her and Nicholas, smiling together. She was only following one person. I clicked on it. The feed was a shrine to Nicholas’s life abroad. The watch on his wrist was the latest model from a brand owned by Monroe Corp. The suit he wore was from Monroe Corp’s newest campaign. Even the villa he was tagged in was a Monroe Corp hotel property. A hotel that had been established three years ago. The only overseas project the Monroe family had ever undertaken. My hand trembled as I clicked on her transaction history. There was only one recipient: Nicholas Vance. A million dollars a month, every month, for three years. I scrolled through the records, my heart turning to ice. I remembered the single word in her social media bio: Waiting. I had asked her about it once. She’d brushed it off, saying it was something she’d written a long time ago. Now, I understood. In three years of marriage, besides the wedding photo on the wall, we didn’t have a single picture together. No matter how much I begged, she’d always say we saw each other every day, so there was no need. Now I knew. It wasn’t that there was no need. It was that I wasn’t a need for her. I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh and closed the laptop. I bought myself a one-way ticket out of the country, for a flight three days from now. And I filed the paperwork to cancel all my official documents. Three days to say goodbye to three years. It was enough. I set a countdown as my phone’s wallpaper, a constant reminder. When she came out of the bathroom, I was already in bed, pretending to be asleep. She didn’t say a word. I didn’t sleep a wink. The next morning, as I was getting ready, my phone buzzed. Rose’s voice, laced with confusion, followed immediately after. “Julian, what documents are you canceling?” I quickly snatched the phone from her. “It’s nothing,” I said smoothly. “My ID expired. I just made an appointment to get it renewed. Don’t you have that project meeting today? You should get going.” She didn’t seem to suspect anything. She just nestled into my arms, her warmth a familiar, painful lie. “Thank you, darling. I’m so lucky to have such a thoughtful husband.” I smiled, saying nothing. “As a reward,” she murmured, “how about your wife gives you a big present tonight?” “Okay,” I said. “I’ll be waiting at home.” She was willing to do anything to keep me from causing trouble for Nicholas. This three-year charade was finally coming to an end. The moment she left, I went to the government office and filed the rest of my cancellation papers. Then I went to see a lawyer. When I asked about the pardon letter, he confirmed that a letter from a family member carried legal weight. It was a done deal, irreversible. I didn’t press further. I just had him print out two copies of a divorce agreement. With the papers in hand, I went to Rose’s office. As I walked in, I overheard some employees gossiping. “Is that Ms. Monroe’s husband? I heard he just got back from abroad. That charisma, that physique… no wonder Ms. Monroe is so smitten. I mean, even I’m feeling it!” “It has to be him. That watch he’s wearing is the new Patek Philippe, one of only ten in the world. I saw Ms. Monroe looking at it in her office several times. She even bought him that… so sweet.” “You don’t think that hotel abroad was built just for him, do you? I heard they were childhood sweethearts. You couldn’t even write this stuff in a movie!” I stood outside the door to the top-floor office. I could hear a familiar voice from within. “These past three years… have you been okay?” “Yeah, great. Waking up to the ocean every day, the air just smells like freedom. And I haven’t even thanked you yet. If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be—” “Don’t say that. It’s all in the past. I know you didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Helping you… was like helping myself.” Nicholas’s laugh was confident, affectionate. “You haven’t changed a bit. If Julian knew you were secretly helping me, he’d probably lose his mind.” “This watch is too much, I can’t accept it. You should give it to Julian. If I take it, I’m afraid he’ll sue me again.” Classic Nicholas. Taking everything for himself while pretending to be the magnanimous one, shifting all the blame onto me. Three years ago, at the wedding. I had exposed him as a murderer, turning against him and his new bride—my ex-fiancée—completely. But every guest in that room had sided with him, calling me unreasonable. I became a joke. Rose’s arrival had been my only salvation. And now, she was the one who had pushed me into the abyss. Her secretary, rushing to deliver a contract, threw open the door before I could move. Rose’s eyes widened in surprise. “Julian? When did you get here? Don’t get the wrong idea. Nicholas just got out, we were just catching up, that’s all…” “Julian. Long time no see,” Nicholas said, standing up. He was wearing a new, custom-tailored suit from one of Monroe Corp’s brands. His skin was glowing, his body fit. He looked nothing like a man who had just been released from prison. I forced a smile, pushing down the knot of pain in my chest. “It’s fine. I was just in the neighborhood. Since you’re busy, I’ll head home.” Rose, thinking I was angry, chased after me, explaining frantically. “Don’t be like that. I was just asking him how he was doing in prison, that’s all…” “It’s been three years, shouldn’t we let bygones be bygones? Didn’t you say it was all in the past?” Seeing her so flustered, I had to laugh. To save Nicholas, she had sacrificed her own marriage, playing a part for three years. Now that he was safe, who was she performing for? “Yes, it’s in the past. Don’t worry. I’m not an unreasonable person. I keep my word.” “You go back to work. I’ll be good and wait for you at home.” The relief on her face was palpable. She had her secretary personally escort me downstairs. Before I left, she reminded me about the Vance family’s banquet the following night, a celebration for Nicholas’s return. He was the president of their company now, he had an image to maintain. The official story was that he’d been studying abroad. No one mentioned prison. I nodded and said I understood. I wouldn’t cause a scene. Only then did she seem to relax.

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I died. I died on the way back for my husband’s birthday. The car crash mangled my body beyond recognition, but perhaps because of some lingering attachment, my soul drifted back home. And there I saw him, Aiden, leading another woman through our front door. With them was a little boy who was the spitting image of him. I watched them eat a cheerful family dinner. I watched the boy knock over the Lego castle I’d spent a year building. I watched as Aiden took call after call, people trying to break the news of my death, and his face remained a mask of indifference. It wasn’t until he saw the package I’d sent him that something finally, terribly, broke. My name is—was—Agnes. The accident stole my life, but it couldn’t sever my obsession. My soul now wanders the halls of the home that was once my sanctuary, a place now tainted with the scent of strangers and betrayal. Aiden ushered Zoe, the woman he’d always wanted, inside. Trailing them was a boy of about three or four. The moment I saw the child’s face, the heart that had long stopped beating seemed to clench. So that’s why he’d agreed to marry me so readily all those years ago. His true love was already carrying his child. “Come on in, sweetheart,” Zoe said, smiling as she ruffled the boy’s hair. He bounded over to Aiden, his voice a pure, innocent chime. “Daddy!” A genuine, unguarded smile spread across Aiden’s face as he swept the boy into his arms. Watching the three of them, a perfect picture of a happy family, my lingering attachment began to curdle into a bitter, gnawing resentment. I followed them inside. Every piece of furniture, every painting on the wall, had been chosen by me. “Where’s Agnes?” Zoe asked, sinking into the sofa as if she owned it. Aiden set the boy down and opened the fridge, pulling out a slice of cake. My cake. The last one. “She’s on a business trip. Won’t be back for a while.” He handed Zoe a bottle of milk. “In that case, can Leo and I stay here for a bit?” Zoe’s voice was velvet, her eyes flicking toward the boy. She added, as if it were an afterthought, “He’s been asking for his daddy so much lately.” Aiden chuckled and crouched down in front of Leo, whispering something in his ear. The boy immediately scrambled up and darted towards the stairs. “Leo, slow down!” Zoe called after him. “And what about you?” Aiden’s voice dropped, and he moved towards Zoe on the couch, leaning in close. “Did you miss me?” A blush crept up Zoe’s neck. She gave a shy nod, and in the next instant, his mouth was on hers, her bright red lips silenced. Their hands intertwined as they lost themselves in the kiss. My suspended soul died a second death. I tried to leave, to flee this place, but every time I tried, I found myself drawn back, tethered to Aiden’s side. No peace, not even in death. “Don’t,” Zoe murmured, turning her head away, her face flushed. “Leo might see.” Aiden froze for a second, then pulled back, straightening the shirt I’d given him for our anniversary. “Later, then.” As the grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour, Zoe smiled. “Time flies. I’ll go make dinner.” But Aiden caught her, pulling her into an embrace. “No, I’ll cook. You’ve had a long day.” She turned in his arms and gave him a quick, sweet kiss. He paused, surprised, then took control, deepening it into something more. In all the years I’d known him, I had never once seen him cook. Not once. In the beginning, he’d complained about my cooking, so I secretly spent a fortune on classes to improve. The thought of him ever making a meal for me was an impossible fantasy. While Aiden went to the kitchen, Zoe headed upstairs. Remembering my Lego castle, I drifted up after her. She ran a hand over the intricate spires of the model on the desk. “Leo,” she said to the boy playing a game on a tablet nearby. “Want to live here for good?” Leo nodded enthusiastically. Zoe pointed a finger at my creation. “Mommy doesn’t like this.” Without a moment’s hesitation, the boy walked over and shoved it. The castle I had pieced together for a year shattered, a cascade of plastic bricks crashing to the floor. The noise brought Aiden running from the kitchen, spatula still in hand. “What was that?” he demanded, his brow furrowed. “It was me! I bumped it by accident,” Zoe said instantly, pulling Leo into a protective hug, her voice trembling with false remorse. “No, it wasn’t Mommy! It was me! I did it!” Leo burst into tears, looking up at Aiden. In the end, Aiden couldn’t bring himself to scold the boy. He just told him to be more careful. Zoe stepped over the scattered pieces, walked up to Aiden, and draped herself over his arm, her pitiful expression melting his anger away in an instant. “Dinner’s ready,” she announced. “Come and eat.” And then I saw it. Behind Aiden’s back, Zoe gave Leo a triumphant thumbs-up. My gaze fell to the plastic wreckage on the floor, and a sharp, phantom pain shot through my chest. Weren’t you supposed to feel nothing when you were dead? Weren’t you supposed to be free? Then why did my heart still ache so terribly? I reached down, trying to pick up a piece, but my hand passed straight through it. I was three years younger than Aiden. His parents had died saving my father, and my mother, out of a sense of profound debt, brought him into our home. He’ll be your husband one day, she told me. I was ten years old. I took her words as gospel. From that day on, I devoted myself to him, right up until the very end, when I was rushing back to celebrate his birthday. His birthday was easy to remember. It was our anniversary. The seventh. “Aiden,” Zoe said over dinner, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Where are we going for our anniversary tomorrow?” For the first time, Aiden was silent. He never let Zoe’s questions hang in the air, but this time, the silence stretched. “Wherever you want to go,” he finally said. “Anything you want.” Every year before, I had planned everything for our anniversary, his birthday gift included. He never had to lift a finger. Not that he ever appreciated it. He’d stand me up every time, leaving me waiting alone. The thought stung. Had he ever stood Zoe up? Later that night, after Zoe was asleep, Aiden went out to the balcony for a cigarette. He pulled out his phone, the screen glowing in the dark. Two minutes until midnight. I knew what he was waiting for. He was waiting for my text. The first “Happy Birthday” of the day. I had sent it every single year, without fail. He, on the other hand, never got my birthday right. It was always a day early or a day late, a careless afterthought. The gift was always the same, too: a tube of lipstick. The clock on his phone ticked from 11:59 to 12:00. Then 12:01. 12:02. No new messages appeared. He switched his phone to airplane mode, then switched it back. He did this three times. Still nothing. He blamed the network, he blamed his phone, but it never once occurred to him that something might have happened to me. He didn’t even bother to send a single message. I was always the one to initiate. The cigarette burned down to the filter, searing his lip. He swore, flicking it into the darkness, and then, with a casual swipe of his thumb, he blocked my number. His duty done, he slipped back into bed, curling up against Zoe’s warm back. A cold curiosity bloomed within me. I wanted to know what he would do when he finally found out I was dead. The next morning, as Aiden carried breakfast out from the kitchen, the doorbell rang. “Who the hell is it this early on a weekend?” he muttered, annoyed, and went to get the door. It was a courier. He signed for the package. It was my birthday gift to him. A pair of custom cufflinks. Aiden tore open the package, his expression shifting to one of confusion as he saw the velvet box inside. The cufflinks I had chosen so carefully. In my naivete, I thought such a thoughtful gift might convey the depth of my love, might make him cherish our marriage a little more. Now, he barely glanced at them before tossing the box onto the coffee table. There was no fondness on his face, only irritation. “Aiden, who was it?” Zoe asked, coming down the stairs. “A package from Agnes,” he said flatly. “What is it?” she pressed, sidling up to him, a vinegary note in her voice. She had a way of prying, of turning every question about me into an accusation. “Nothing,” he said, not indulging her as he usually would. Zoe’s expression flickered, but she quickly pasted on a smile. “Oh, right! You promised you’d take me and Leo out today. When are we leaving?” At the mention of an outing, Aiden’s mood brightened. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Wherever you want to go. I can drop everything for you and my son.” “Really? That’s amazing! I’ll go pack right now!” Zoe squealed, dashing off to the bedroom. Aiden watched her go, a faint smile on his lips, but I saw a flicker of something else in his eyes—a deep, weary boredom. When you’re with her, do you ever think of me? On the coffee table, the cufflinks I had pinned so much hope on looked pathetically small. A testament to my shattered love, a mockery of my wasted life. The sun streamed through the window, but my soul felt darker than ever. I watched their smiling faces and felt the bitter sting of irony. Why marry me, only to betray me? He could have just said no. I had asked him that once. His answer was a single, devastating line: “My family owes yours a debt. I can’t go back on my word.” And so, you felt entitled to hurt me without limit. Aiden, I wish we had never even begun. Just as they were about to leave, his phone rang. It was the police department, calling to inform him of my death. “Yeah, what is it?” Aiden answered, his tone clipped with impatience. He hated being interrupted when he was on his way out. A solemn male voice came through the line. “Am I speaking with Mr. Aiden Sterling? I’m calling to inform you that your wife, Ms. Agnes Vance, passed away in a car accident a week ago. We need you to come to the city morgue to identify the body. Please accept our condolences.”

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