Category: English

The day they held me down and forced the bitter draught down my throat, a pool of blood spread beneath me on the cold stone floor. My voice had been stolen by a poison, and all I could do was make desperate, clicking sounds with my tongue, trying to tell Lord Damian it was his child I was losing. But his handsome face was a mask of ice, his voice a lash. “Pregnant before marriage. Trysting with another man. Do you know your sin, Lyra?” He had forgotten. At the midwinter feast, it was he who drank the spiced wine, he who cornered me, he who forced himself upon me. He had whispered my name in my ear, Lya. I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. He gently wiped them away, even as he brought the bowl of poison to my lips. “Be rid of this bastard child, and I will find a good match for you.” I bit down hard on the heel of his hand. He merely frowned, soothing me as if I were a frightened animal. “The process is a little painful. You must endure it.” A woman in a gown the color of blood clung to his sleeve. His expression softened instantly. He called her name. Belle. “It’s foul in here,” he murmured to her. “You shouldn’t have come.” A new wave of blood, hot and bitter, rose in my throat, and I choked. Belle… Lya… The name he’d whispered that night… it was never meant for me. 1 A deep, tearing pain radiated from my womb. The blood beneath me was a shocking, vivid scarlet. Damian’s usually placid face finally showed a flicker of panic. I lay in bed for three days, a ghost in my own body. Beyond the partition screen, I heard his mother, the Duchess, speaking to him. “Damian, Lyra is a good girl. She’s of an age to be married. What are your thoughts on the matter?” Her words were a weight, pressing down on me. I peered through the silk screen, my eyes fixed on his silhouette. “My cousin is indeed a fine woman,” he said. The Duchess’s teacup rattled in its saucer. Her tone was carefully casual. “Are you saying you wish to marry her, Damian? Or…” His dark lashes lifted. His voice was a final, damning judgment. “No. She can only ever be my cousin.” A sigh of relief escaped the Duchess. She smiled, saying she would find a good family for me, and that it was time to set a date for his own wedding to Lady Isabelle, the daughter of a neighboring Duke. Damian’s expression remained unreadable. As he left, he said only, “As you wish, Mother.” The Duchess’s voice, now stripped of its warmth, drifted through the screen, mocking my silent hopes. “You heard him, didn’t you?” My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms. My empty womb felt as if it were being wrung out by a coarse rope, the pain so intense it stole my breath. I was a distant relation of the Ashworths, the ruling family of this duchy. After my parents died, I sought refuge here. The Duchess had intended to turn me away. “Mother,” a young Damian had said, “the estate is vast. We can spare a plate for our cousin. Let her stay. She can be a companion for me.” With that one word, “cousin,” he had given me a home. We were inseparable, two children against the world. He gave me the warmest room in the east wing, taught me my letters, and guided my hand as I learned to paint. Anything the other young ladies of the house had, he ensured I had as well. And the things they didn’t have, he would find just for me. “Our Lyra,” he used to say, “deserves the best of everything in this world.” I had once joked, “Then if I ever marry, cousin, you must prepare a grand dowry for me.” Damian, who so rarely showed emotion, had suddenly gone cold. “If that day ever comes,” he had said, his voice tight, “I will be the one to give you away.” But at the feast, drunk on spiced wine, he had backed me against the cold stone of the garden wall, his breath hot against my skin. “Lya,” he’d rasped, “don’t be afraid… Lya, I desire you.” I thought he meant it. I thought he cared for me. But now, all he said was, “Pregnant before marriage. Trysting with another man. Do you know your sin?” The Duchess stood over me. “If you are clever, I will not only give you the antidote for your voice, but I will find you a respectable husband and see you married with all due ceremony.” “But you will take this secret to your grave.” After that night with Damian, I had fled in terror. When I discovered I was carrying his child, I had tried to find him, to confess everything. But his mother’s maids intercepted me. They forced a draught down my throat that stole my voice and sent me into darkness. When I woke, Damian was there, his eyes black pools of fury. “Cousin, what is the meaning of this?” The physician knelt, trembling. “My lord… the young lady… she is with child.” Damian’s face became a mask of cold fury. He seized my wrist, his grip like iron. “Tell me,” he demanded, his voice a low growl. “Who is the bastard’s father?” I could only shake my head, my throat raw from silent screams, trying to tell him it was him. I cried until my eyes were swollen shut, but not a single word could escape. He threw my hand away from him, a strange, cold sneer on his lips. “Is he worth this? You’d protect him even at the cost of your own honor?” I wept, shaking my head frantically. He gently wiped my tears, even as he brought the bowl of poison to my lips. “Be rid of this bastard child, and I will find a good match for you.” I bit down hard on the heel of his hand. He merely frowned, soothing me. “The process is a little painful. You must endure it.” A woman in a scarlet gown appeared, clinging to his sleeve. Damian, who was notoriously fastidious and hated to be touched, allowed her proximity without a word. “Belle,” he said, his voice softening with concern. “It’s foul in here. You shouldn’t have come.” Something inside my head fractured. The Duchess’s words when she’d poisoned me echoed in my mind: Belle… Lya… You foolish child. Did you really believe the ramblings of a drunken man? If he hadn’t mistaken you for Belle, do you truly think he would have touched you? Belle… Lya. So it was true. I clutched my chest and coughed up a mouthful of blood. That night of stolen passion was nothing more than a fever dream. The Duchess had said they were a perfect match—noble blood, equal standing. A union blessed by fate. And I? I was nothing. The chasm between us was as wide as the sky. How could I ever be worthy of carrying his child? Using his hand, she had destroyed our baby and my last hope. Now, she held out a small vial—the antidote. “Will you marry him, or not?” I took the vial. After a long, silent moment, my voice returned, a raw, broken whisper. “I will.” 2 For days, Damian tried to see me, but I refused him, citing my poor health. Isabelle came instead, bearing gifts of expensive broths and tonics. She made a great show of adjusting her sleeve, revealing a delicate silver filigree bracelet on her wrist. “It was a gift from Damian,” she said, a shy blush on her cheeks. “I told him I’m not fond of bracelets, but he insisted. He said it’s a family heirloom, passed down to the brides of House Ashworth for generations.” “He also said it looks beautiful on me. Don’t you think so, Cousin Lyra?” I had seen that bracelet once, years ago. I’d found it in a small, carved box in Damian’s study. He had snatched it from my hands, his face tense, before promising he would give it to me as a wedding gift. And now, he had given it to her. If it was never meant for me, why make the promise at all? A bitter smile touched my lips. “It’s beautiful.” To think that he, a man of so few words, could speak such praise. He must love her dearly. Isabelle suddenly insisted on taking it off for me to try. I refused. In the clumsy push and pull between us, there was a sharp crack. The bracelet lay on the floor in pieces. Her eyes welled with tears, her expression one of a startled, wounded fawn. I was speechless. How had it broken so easily? “I’m so sorry, I…” “It’s alright, it’s alright…” she whispered, scrambling to pick up the shattered silver. That’s when Damian arrived. He helped Isabelle to her feet, his brow furrowed. “Be careful, you’ll cut your hands.” She leaned into his embrace, her shoulders trembling, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. Damian’s gaze fell from the broken bracelet to me. His voice was glacial. “Aren’t you going to explain?” I met his dark, unreadable eyes, searching for something, anything. But there was nothing there for me. The dead, placid thing that was my heart gave a painful throb. My throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. “Damian, I…” Isabelle spoke first. “Damian, it was my fault. Cousin Lyra said she liked my bracelet, so I wanted to let her try it on. I didn’t expect it to fall.” His expression softened immediately. “It’s not your fault. The silver must have been too fragile. If it’s broken, it’s broken. It doesn’t matter.” Then he turned to me, his face a mask of stone once more. “Lyra. Apologize to Isabelle.” The ache in my womb returned, a phantom pain. When I was a child, a servant knocked over a brazier and a single spark singed the hem of my dress. Damian had chased the boy with a riding crop for a mile, dragging him back to apologize to me. The next day, he had a bolt of the finest silk sent to my rooms for a new gown. Now, the way he looked at me was the same way he had looked at that terrified servant boy. Tears burned behind my eyes. I lowered my gaze. “Lady Isabelle, I am sorry.” Isabelle shot Damian a look of feigned annoyance. “How can you be so harsh with her?” “She made a mistake,” Damian said, his voice devoid of pity. “She will make amends.” He reached out and, with a swift movement, unpinned the Starfall Brooch from my cloak. He fastened it onto Isabelle’s gown. “This suits you better.” My hair, freed from the clasp, tumbled down my back. I watched them, the perfect couple, and my heart felt as if it were being pierced by a thousand needles. That brooch… he had won it as the champion’s prize at the Autumn Hunt. The crowd had cheered, telling him to give it to the lady he favored. Amidst the noise, he had pinned it on me, his voice clear. “I have no favored lady. Or if I do, it is only Lyra.” Everyone knew he cherished me. And now, he had given it away with his own hands. Isabelle touched the brooch, a triumphant smile playing on her lips. “Thank you, Cousin Lyra.” “You are welcome,” I managed to say. “Damian,” she pleaded, “my chambers feel so bare. I wish to purchase some new things. Could you ask Cousin Lyra to accompany me?” Damian scoffed. “Her? Her taste has always been… common. You’d be better off taking a maid.” Ice flooded my veins. In his eyes, was I now worth less than a servant? The old me would have argued, would have berated him. But that Lyra was gone. I looked at him, my voice trembling with a sorrow he would never understand. “My lord cousin is right. My taste is poor. I wouldn’t be of any help.” I don’t know what nerve I struck, but his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. “If your taste weren’t so poor,” he sneered, “would you have thrown yourself away on some stable boy?” My back hit the wall with a sickening thud, the impact forcing tears from my eyes. His face was inches from mine, his voice a cold whisper. “Why are you crying? This is the path you chose.” “Damian,” Isabelle called from behind him. He released me instantly. I could scream in pain and he wouldn’t flinch, but a single word from her, and his anger vanished. He was truly different with her. He turned to Isabelle, his voice warm again. “If she will not go with you, I will give you her chambers.” “However…” he paused. A flicker of anticipation lit Isabelle’s eyes. My own heart tightened. “She has just… lost a child. Her room is tainted with the smell of blood. Be careful not to be soiled by the filth.” A dense, suffocating pain filled my chest. My empty womb ached as if it were being flayed. He didn’t care about my pain, my grief. He only cared that she might be sullied by my presence. Isabelle let out a musical laugh, her eyes darting to me with pure malice. “I see.” Her laughter was a blade, mocking my foolishness, mocking the unclean thing that had dared to desire the noble Lord of House Ashworth. As they left, Damian threw one last warning over his shoulder. “Try not to cause any more trouble.” A single withered petal drifted from the window and landed in my palm. Cause any more trouble, I mouthed to myself. And then, I began to laugh. Very well, cousin. I will give you exactly what you wish for. 3 In the past, whenever we argued, Damian would be the one to make peace. A plate of rosewater tarts was brought to my room. The servant said they were from him. But I had never liked rosewater tarts. My maid, Clara, tried to comfort me. “My lady, Lord Damian must be so worried about you that he’s muddled. He simply forgot your preference. Don’t be angry.” Her eyes shone with hope. “He still cares for you, my lady!” My heart stirred. I was about to take a bite when Isabelle’s maid rushed in and slapped the tart from my hand. “That’s for Lady Isabelle, from Lord Damian! How dare you eat it?!” A cold wind seemed to blow through the crack in my heart. So, it wasn’t for me after all. Clara’s face flushed with shame. “My lady, I didn’t know…” I shook my head. “It’s fine. It was never meant for me.” Isabelle waved a dismissive hand. “It’s no matter. Damian has been sending a river of gifts to my rooms these past few days. If you like rosewater tarts so much, cousin, you only had to ask.” Clara, incensed, shoved the entire plate back into Isabelle’s arms. “Here, take them!” Isabelle stood frozen, tears welling in her eyes. Damian, arriving at that very moment, rushed to her side, dabbing at her tears with his own handkerchief. “Don’t cry.” When he looked at me, his eyes were full of cold fury. “When did you become so envious? I send Isabelle a plate of tarts, and you must snatch them away?” “I didn’t…” I tried to explain that the servant had brought them to me, that it was a mistake. But he wouldn’t listen. “I don’t need your excuses. I see the truth with my own eyes.” He took the plate and contemptuously emptied its contents into the fish pond. “Anything she has touched…” he said, his voice dripping with disgust. “Is tainted.” He turned back to Isabelle, his voice softening. “If you still wish for tarts, I will have the kitchens send more.” He was the perfect, gentle lord. Isabelle leaned close to my ear, her lips curved in a triumphant smile. “What does it matter that you were once his favorite? In his eyes, you are nothing now.” Damian had my allowance cut. The servants, seeing which way the wind blew, stopped tending to my needs. Autumn arrived, and I wasn’t even given fabric for a new cloak. In years past, Damian would have taken me to the city tailor himself. Now, he spent his days with Isabelle. She brought me a bolt of hideous, moss-colored wool. “I was going to use this to line my boots,” she said with a sweet, cutting smile. “But then I heard you had no funds for new clothes, so I brought it straight to you.” I felt no anger. “Thank you, Lady Isabelle.” “Oh!” she cried out, “accidentally” knocking over a candlestick. Hot wax spattered across the back of my hand. A searing pain shot up my arm. Damian, who had appeared from nowhere, rushed to Isabelle, carefully examining her hands, turning them over and over. “Are you hurt anywhere? Does it hurt?” My own hand was blistering, the pain so sharp tears sprang to my eyes. But no one asked if I was in pain. Isabelle shot me a triumphant look, then began to cry, complaining that her hand was burned and that only Damian’s kiss could make it better. Their intimate display made me feel like an intruder in my own room. From beginning to end, Damian never once noticed my injury. Instead, he rounded on me. “She brings you a gift out of kindness, and you deliberately knock a candle over to harm her?” “You are incorrigible.” “I should never have let you stay in this house.” He had forgotten. He had forgotten holding my hands in his, all those years ago, and saying, “Keeping you here, Lyra, was the best decision I have ever made.” And: “Our Lyra deserves the best of everything in this world.” I closed my eyes, a wave of nausea and sorrow washing over me. A single, hot tear escaped and traced a path down my cheek. 4 The Duchess informed me that a blacksmith, a commoner, had agreed to marry me. He didn’t mind, she said, that I had… lost a child. The wedding would be after the Autumn Hunt. “As you wish, my lady.” My life belonged to this house. I would marry whomever they chose. Every year, Damian took me to the Hunt. This year, another woman stood at his side. He was, as always, the champion. He won the grand prize and began to walk toward the crowd. Toward me. My palms grew damp with sweat. But then, just before he reached me, he turned. He presented the prize, a magnificent hunting falcon, to Isabelle. “For you.”

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My wife gave my $600,000 mattress to her intern, Will. Will immediately posted a picture on his social media, a blatant, gloating display. “Thanks to Carol for looking out for me! No more sleepless nights. I’m going to sleep so soundly.” The moment I saw it, I sent a message directly to my wife. “Explain to me why my mattress has mysteriously appeared in another man’s bed.” Carol called me instantly, her tone breezy and dismissive. “It’s just a mattress, Nolan. Do you really have to be so petty?” “If you like it that much, I’ll have someone buy you a new one. Is that so hard?” I fought down the rage simmering in my gut, my voice dropping to an icy calm. “You have ten minutes. I want my property back. Now.” Half an hour later, Sterling Corporation’s stock had plummeted by ten points. If she wouldn’t listen to reason, I’d have to use a language she understood. 1 Sterling Corp’s stock was in a freefall, but the first people to call me were my parents-in-law. “Nolan, dear, have you and Carol had a disagreement?” “We’re so sorry on her behalf. Please, have mercy on us. Let the Sterling family off the hook this once.” I felt no sympathy, but I maintained a polite tone. “This is between me and Carol. Have her call me to explain.” “Otherwise, I’m not stopping.” They knew my temper. They knew further pleading was useless. “Find that wretched girl if you have to dig up the entire city!” I heard my father-in-law roar before hanging up. She didn’t respond to my messages, and I didn’t bother contacting her again. If she refused to do what I asked, someone else would make her. Sure enough, not five minutes later, my phone began to vibrate. I ignored it. I let it buzz again and again, letting the caller’s anxiety build with each unanswered ring. Finally, I answered. A furious shriek assaulted my eardrum. “Nolan Thorne! Are you insane? It’s a mattress! Are you really going to do all this over a damn mattress?” “I told you I’d buy you a new one! Did you have to orchestrate this attack on my family’s company?” “If my parents change their minds about me being the successor, you’ll lose out too!” She was threatening me. I hadn’t realized the sweet, pliable woman I thought I married had fangs she was willing to bare for another man. But she seemed to have forgotten why the Sterling family had chosen her as their heir in the first place. I toyed with the jade stone in my hand, its cool surface soothing my irritation. “That mattress was a bespoke, one-of-a-kind creation. There is only one in the entire world.” “Furthermore, you gave away my private property without my consent. To a man. Do you think that’s appropriate?” “You have ten minutes. Get my mattress back here, professionally cleaned, and in perfect condition.” “Or Sterling Corporation will lose a lot more.” There was a long silence on the other end, then a single word, bitten out through clenched teeth. “Fine.” In the past, whenever she was upset, I would have rushed to comfort her, cooked her favorite meal, bought her a limited-edition handbag just to see her smile. Now, I couldn’t be bothered. Ours was a marriage of convenience, a business alliance. I never expected undying love, but I did expect a baseline of mutual respect. Since she couldn’t even manage that, I saw no reason to indulge her any longer. The mattress was returned shortly after, meticulously cleaned. I didn’t coddle her. I walked to her closet, took several of her most expensive handbags, threw them in the trash, and sent her a picture. “Consider this a lesson.” She didn’t reply. She didn’t come home that night. It was a silent protest. And I couldn’t have cared less. 2 Thorne Industries provides the capital; Sterling Corp provides the proposal. In the conference room, as Will prattled on, I saw several of our shareholders begin to frown. I couldn’t believe Carol would entrust such a critical project entirely to this intern, only for him to make a complete mess of it. Our investors had only agreed to partner with Sterling Corp on this venture as a favor to me, to Thorne Industries. If this proposal failed, it wasn’t just Sterling Corp that would look incompetent. It would be a reflection on me. I stopped the meeting immediately and demanded that Sterling Corp replace the project lead. Not long after, Carol stormed into my office with Will in tow. She was radiating a fury I had never seen before. “Nolan Thorne, you are a manipulative, treacherous snake! How dare you sabotage Will like this!” “Do you have any idea how disgusting you look, using your power for petty revenge?” She didn’t even bother to get the facts, just pointed a finger at my nose and started screaming. I was baffled. We had only been married a year. How could she have changed so dramatically? Or was her past sweetness all just an act? Several of my secretaries rushed in, trying to block her and Will. “Please, ma’am, you can’t shout in here!” Carol, enraged, raised her hand to strike one of them, but a security guard intercepted her arm. “How dare you touch me! Do you have any idea who I am?” she shrieked. “I am the wife of the heir to Thorne Industries! Your future boss!” The guard glanced at me. I gave a subtle nod, and he released her. I had no intention of lowering myself to her level. I simply asked, my voice dangerously quiet, “You remember you’re my wife? From the way you’re acting, I thought you were a business rival.” “I suggest you ascertain whether Will is actually competent enough to lead this project before you come in here making accusations.” “Let’s talk about who’s mixing business with pleasure, shall we?” She was stunned into silence. A look of belated regret flickered across her face as she calmed down. I turned to Will. “Tell me your perspective on the Southern New City development project.” Will stammered, unable to produce a single coherent word. I then asked one of my secretaries the same question. As my secretary delivered a clear, concise, and insightful analysis, Carol’s face went from white to red, then to a mottled purple. It was quite a spectacle. Carol tried to save face. “Will is leading a project for the first time. He’s just nervous. He’s not usually like this. He’s very capable.” “Why don’t you give him another chance, for my sake?” I almost laughed. “If you insist on using him, then this partnership is suspended. Effective immediately.” The color drained from Carol’s face. She knew how important this deal was. The Sterling stock had already taken a massive hit because of her. If she lost the Thorne partnership on top of that, her position as heir would be untenable. As she hesitated, Will put on a pained expression, his voice thick with unshed tears. “Carol, it’s all my fault. I’m always being targeted. I’ve dragged you into this.” “I’ll just quit. It’s better that way. I won’t let you be put in a difficult position. Don’t worry about me.” Any lingering resentment Carol felt towards him evaporated, replaced by a wave of protective sympathy. I had no more time to waste on their melodrama. I had them escorted out. As she was leaving, Carol shot me a look of pure hatred, as if I were the one who had ruined everything. A sharp pain pierced my chest. For another man, she was truly ready to become my enemy. 3 Because of Will, I refused to cooperate with Sterling Corp. Left with no choice, Carol had to remove him as the project lead. But to make it up to him, she decided to buy him a gift. After browsing for some time, they ended up in the Vacheron Constantin boutique. Will stood transfixed before a custom, one-of-a-kind timepiece, his eyes gleaming with greed. “Carol, this watch is magnificent!” “The man who wears this must be incredibly distinguished. It’s probably not for me, though. Let’s forget it.” He said to forget it, but his feet were planted to the floor. “If you like it, it’s yours,” Carol said, puffing him up. “You are brilliant. You don’t need to be envious of anyone.” The sales associate glanced over, looking apologetic. “I’m terribly sorry, but that timepiece belongs to Mr. Thorne. It’s here for final adjustments. Perhaps you’d like to see something else.” “Nolan Thorne?” Will blurted out. “That would be me.” I hadn’t expected to run into them here. I had just come to pick up my watch. When Will saw me, he looked startled, and a flash of malice crossed his eyes before he quickly rearranged his face into a mask of pathetic humility. “Carol, how could a small fry like me ever compare to a man as distinguished as Mr. Thorne?” “No matter how hard I work, I’ll always be at the bottom, while Mr. Thorne was born in Rome.” “I’m not worthy of that watch. Let’s just go.”

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When I took my fiancé, Marcin, to pick out our marital home, we ran into the most two-faced real estate agent I’d ever met. First, she fawned over him, gushing about how young and successful he must be to drive a Rolls-Royce. Then, she implied I was a fraud, a wannabe socialite with a knockoff handbag who could sweet-talk her way into a free house. When she found out we were buying a home together, she announced to the entire showroom, loud enough for everyone to hear, “You know, I thought that sugar daddy who bought you two condos last time was perfectly nice.” Then she added, with a sickeningly sweet smile, “Oh, but I seem to recall you have more than one, Miss Sterling. Do they all know about each other?” I just laughed. My “sugar daddies” are just my godfathers, and my socialite status is very, very real. The real twist? My fiancé is just a scholarship kid my family sponsored. … After Marcin finally met my grandfather, our engagement was officially set. We left dinner in the Rolls-Royce my grandpa had gifted us, heading to a new luxury development nearby to choose our first home together. As soon as we arrived, I slipped off to the restroom. In my haste, I bumped into a sales agent coming out. “Watch where you’re going!” she snapped. I glanced at her name tag: Brooke, Senior Sales Executive. She saw me looking and scoffed, her voice a low, mocking whisper. “Some people carry one fake bag and think they’re real society.” She looked me up and down. “Not spending a dime, just here for photo ops and to use the restroom. Pathetic.” I took a deep breath, about to retort, but she just shoved past me and strutted away. When I came out, however, the arrogant Brooke was gone. In her place was a fawning, flirtatious woman practically draped over Marcin, her body language a masterclass in feigned delicacy. She was giving him the grand tour, pressing her chest against his arm at every opportunity. I took one look at Marcin and understood. My grandfather had just returned from abroad, and this was Marcin’s first time meeting him. He had dressed to impress: a bespoke suit, a luxury watch. For someone like Brooke, sizing up a customer’s wallet was second nature. In a neighborhood where a single commission could set her up for years, it was all part of the game. The moment Marcin saw me, he instinctively recoiled from Brooke, putting a respectable distance between them. “Scarlett, there you are,” he said, his voice warm and welcoming. Brooke turned, and her smile faltered. “Oh, Miss… Sterling. I didn’t realize you were with Mr. Hayes.” She quickly pasted on an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry. I saw your handbag and thought it was a replica. I just assumed you were here to use the facilities.” Her voice dripped with false sincerity. “We get a lot of wannabes with knockoffs trying to get pictures for their social media. I hope you’re not offended.” A replica? Marcin had given me this bag. And whether I was a “wannabe” or not, he knew the truth better than anyone. Marcin, looking mortified, quickly changed the subject. “Scarlett, I like this location. It’s close to your family’s estate. Should we take a look?” Still fuming from our earlier encounter, I had no desire to deal with Brooke. I walked past her to Marcin’s side. “I’ve heard enough sales pitches. Let’s just see the model unit.” Marcin wrapped an arm around my shoulder, playfully tapping my nose. “Alright, you’re the boss.” While we waited for the elevator, Brooke’s shimmering, eyeshadow-laden eyes were glued to Marcin. “Mr. Hayes, you’re so accomplished for your age! You must be the CEO of a major company.” Marcin offered a polite, noncommittal smile. “Not exactly a CEO.” Taking his smile as an invitation, Brooke simpered, “You’re too modest, Mr. Hayes. Anyone who can afford a Rolls-Royce at your age must be exceptional.” The elevator doors opened. Brooke shot me a disdainful glance, then subtly tugged her collar down, revealing a generous amount of cleavage. She squeezed between us, pressing herself against Marcin as she followed him in. As she pushed past, her stiletto heel ground into the top of my foot. The pain was sharp and sudden. “What the hell are you doing?” I cried out. Brooke turned, her face a mask of innocence. “Miss Sterling, I’m so sorry! I was just trying to press the button for you.” Her voice trembled. “Please don’t report me. I’m just a sales agent. I’m not like you—you can just bat your eyelashes and get a house. You can yell at me all you want later…” Seeing the red mark on my foot, Marcin knelt down, his expression full of concern. He gently rubbed the spot. “Scarlett, it’s okay. She didn’t mean it.” He looked up at me. “I’ll carry you later.” My chest tightened with anger, but I reminded myself we were here to buy our home. I forced myself to calm down. My grandfather had finally approved of our marriage; I was supposed to be happy. I gave a stiff nod and let it go. But as soon as we entered the model unit, my foot throbbed. I needed to sit down. As I moved toward the sofa, Brooke blocked my path. “Miss Sterling! One moment!” She hurried into the bedroom and returned with several towels, which she carefully spread across the sofa. “This is luxury furniture, Miss Sterling. We have to be careful, don’t we?” She added, with a saccharine smile, “Don’t misunderstand. I do this for all my clients. It’s policy.” She paused, her tone shifting. “Though, usually, ladies from wealthy families are more… considerate. I guess your etiquette lessons didn’t quite stick.” That was it. I shot to my feet. “What is that supposed to mean?” Marcin glanced over, frowning. Brooke’s face instantly changed. She beamed at me. “Miss Sterling! You misunderstood! I’m just so envious that you found such a wonderful fiancé! It’s not easy to marry into a family like this. I’m truly jealous.” Marcin came over and knelt by my feet, patting my hand. “After this, I’ll take you for ice cream, okay?” he murmured. “Don’t be angry. You’re not as pretty when you’re angry.” Brooke, clutching her towels, looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Miss Sterling, did I say something wrong? If I did, I sincerely apologize… I really didn’t mean to…” I looked at Marcin, biting my lip to keep from screaming. It was just one sales agent. “Forget it,” I muttered. Marcin gave me a fond nod and helped me up to continue the tour. The penthouse was a duplex, nearly 5,000 square feet of opulent design. Even the tableware displayed on the dining table was a designer set worth thousands. I was admiring the details when Brooke bumped into me from behind, sending me stumbling into the table. With a loud crash, the glass plates and goblets shattered on the floor. A shard sliced my leg. I spun around, ready to unleash my fury, but Brooke was already crying. “Miss Sterling… why were you so careless… I…” Marcin rushed over at the sound. I pointed at Brooke. “You pushed me,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. Brooke looked up at Marcin, her eyes brimming with tears. “Mr. Hayes, I swear I didn’t… I can’t even afford to replace one of those plates. Why would I dare push her?” I pointed to the security camera on the ceiling and grabbed her wrist. “You think you can just deny it? Let’s go. Let’s watch the footage.” Brooke shook her head frantically, trying to pull away. “Ow… Miss Sterling, you’re hurting me… Maybe you were standing behind me, and I didn’t see you. You shouldn’t have been standing there!” She bent down to pick up the broken glass, tears streaming down her face. Her ridiculously short skirt made her look both seductive and pathetic. I kicked at the shards in frustration. “What kind of people do they hire here?” Seeing my genuine anger, Marcin wrapped his arms around me. “Scarlett, it’s okay. I believe you.” He held me tight. “It’s just some broken glass. We can afford it. Besides,” he added, changing the subject, “I’ve looked around, and I really like this duplex. It’s perfect for our first home.” At the words “first home,” Brooke, still on the floor, flinched. Her eyes were red, her voice choked with emotion. “But, Miss Sterling… I thought… that sugar daddy who bought you two other condos seemed to treat you so well…” She sniffled. “Oh, dear. I remember now. Miss Sterling, you have more than one, don’t you? Do they know about each other?” The way she said “sugar daddy” was loaded with insinuation. Marcin and I both stared at her. She feigned a sudden realization that she’d misspoken. “Miss Sterling… I didn’t mean… I just remembered that I’ve seen you here before…” Marcin turned to me, completely bewildered. “Scarlett, what ‘sugar daddy’?” Before I could answer, Brooke jumped in. “Mr. Hayes, don’t misunderstand…” She hesitated, for dramatic effect. “Last month, I saw Miss Sterling here with an older man. I’m pretty sure I heard her call him ‘daddy’… And then I overheard her on the phone, calling someone else ‘daddy’ too…” She gave me a nervous little smile. “But, I could have misheard.” I drew out a long, slow “Mmm-hmm,” a smirk playing on my lips. “You didn’t mishear. I did buy two units in this building. Is there a problem?” I paused. “And as for the ‘daddy’ you mentioned…” It took Marcin a few moments to process. When he did, he rounded on Brooke. “How dare you spread such rumors? Scarlett would never be that kind of person.” Brooke shook her head vigorously. “But we have security cameras and facial recognition all over the building, Mr. Hayes. You can check the footage if you don’t believe me…” I was done with her. I grabbed my bag and started for the door. “The agent who helped me last time was named Claire. She was far more professional. I’ll ask for her.” At the threat of losing the commission, Brooke panicked. “Miss Sterling! No! I was wrong!” Marcin hurried after me. “Scarlett, I believe you. We’ll get a different agent.” Back in the main sales gallery, a woman rushed towards me. “Miss Sterling! I didn’t expect to see you again so soon!” Marcin looked from Claire to me. I met his gaze. “Marcin, it’s true. I bought two condos here a while ago.” My father had made his fortune in real estate. Even though he lived abroad now, he loved to buy property everywhere. Marcin knew this. He didn’t question it, just patted my shoulder reassuringly. “I never doubted you. But this time, we’re buying our home.” Claire beamed. “Oh, you’re buying a home with your fiancé! Congratulations, Miss Sterling!” Just then, Brooke ran up, pushing Claire aside. “Claire, you know the rules about client poaching!” she shrieked. “I was helping Mr. Hayes first! You can’t steal my client!” Her outburst drew a crowd. The sales manager hurried over. Claire looked baffled. “Mr. Hayes and Miss Sterling are buying a home together. Naturally, both their names will be on the deed. But Miss Sterling is my client. It’s been less than 45 days since her last purchase. According to the rules, she’s still my client!” The manager quickly grasped the situation. “That’s correct. By the rules, this commission belongs to Claire.” Brooke glared at me. “Then why didn’t you say so earlier, Miss Sterling?!” I put on my most innocent expression. “First, if you recognized me, how could you not know? Second, you were the one clinging to my fiancé from the moment he walked in. We never asked for you. Third, I’m the customer. How am I supposed to know your internal rules?” Brooke’s face went pale. She grabbed Marcin’s arm, pleading. “Mr. Hayes, it’s my fault I offended Miss Sterling. But… maybe you could just put the house in your name? I mean… you’re not married yet…” I scoffed. My parents were paying the down payment. As if Marcin would dare agree to that. He took a deep breath and shook her off. “Whatever my fiancée wants.”

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1 I was at a Christie’s auction with a friend when I saw him: Harrison Blackwood. My husband. The golden boy of New York’s elite, the man who supposedly adored me, bidding an obscene amount of money on a diamond necklace I’d been coveting for ages. The next day, that very necklace was sparkling around the neck of his impossibly pretty new intern. I didn’t cry. I didn’t throw a fit. I simply called a contact at Cartier and commissioned two hundred identical pieces, sending them directly to the freshman dorms at Columbia University. If he was going to be so generous, I’d help him seal the deal. Make him a campus legend. Then I had my lawyer draft our divorce papers and had them couriered to his office. That was the day every single girl in Columbia’s North Tower received a gift from the wife of the Apex Innovations CEO. Every girl, that is, except for Lila Jones. … The party was in full swing when Harrison made his entrance with Lila on his arm. The young, beautiful girl clung to him, her smile a dazzling, triumphant thing. The circle of people around me instantly dissolved, their faces a mixture of pity and awkwardness. I honestly hadn’t thought he’d have the nerve to parade her around in public. Our marriage was a union of dynasties, the Blackwoods and the Sinclairs, two of the most powerful families in the city. I thought, at the very least, he owed me a sliver of respect. I was wrong. “What’s with all the long faces?” I said, my voice gliding through the sudden silence as I moved to his side. “Don’t tell me you’re all captivated by Harrison’s new executive assistant.” I offered the excuse on a silver platter. The tension broke as people nodded, a wave of relieved understanding passing through the crowd. Harrison, acting as if nothing was amiss, stepped toward me. “Maddie,” he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble. Lila, not missing a beat, chirped, “It’s so nice to see you again, Madeline.” I fought the urge to gag and offered them both a serene smile. We’re all adults here. In this world, you learn to wear a mask, or you drown. You smile when you’re seething. You feign affection for those you despise. And you certainly don’t cause a scene with a man like Harrison Blackwood. It benefits no one. But when my eyes landed on the necklace—the one from the auction—a chilling cold seeped into my bones, extinguishing the last flicker of hope. Just ten minutes earlier, I’d watched from across the room as Harrison gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind Lila’s ear, his fingers lingering before he adjusted the strap of her dress that had slipped from her shoulder. Yesterday, when I saw him leaving the auction house, my heart had fluttered with a sweet, foolish anticipation. I was so sure it was for me. I spent the morning at the salon, getting the perfect hairstyle to complement it, and had my makeup artist craft a look of understated elegance. But the hours ticked by, and no little blue box appeared. I finally caved and called him, trying to sound casual as I fished for a hint about a gift. His answer was a simple “no.” But I heard her in the background. A saccharine, girlish voice. “Mr. Blackwood, do you think your wife will be upset?” “No,” he’d replied, his voice smooth as silk. “Maddie’s always been graceful and understanding. She won’t mind.” In that moment, the final illusion shattered. My grace, my understanding—he saw them as a permission slip. Harrison Blackwood, I realized, was far from the man I thought he was. But he was right about one thing. I was graceful. And I refused to lower myself by fighting with some cloying, manipulative girl. Lila shadowed him, her smile aimed at me, but her eyes blazed with a pride and defiance she could barely contain. A college kid, so transparent in her foolishness. She actually thought she meant something to him. I let a cold smile touch my lips. “That’s a lovely necklace,” I said slowly, my gaze fixed on her throat. “Was it a gift?” Lila wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what I was asking. 2 A college intern on a stipend couldn’t afford a piece like that. Her eyes widened in feigned surprise before she darted a panicked, doe-eyed glance at Harrison. As expected, he stepped in to defend her. “Maddie, don’t misunderstand. Lila had a rough week at the office, some of the senior staff were giving her a hard time. As her boss, I just bought her a little something to cheer her up. That’s all it is.” I raised my champagne flute to him in a silent toast of “understanding,” then turned away and made a quick call to my assistant. A few moments later, Harrison’s phone buzzed, and he stepped aside to take the call. It was perfect timing. An acquaintance, one of the society wives with a tongue for gossip, drifted over. “Madeline, darling,” she began, her eyes flicking to Lila, “who is that… new friend of Harrison’s?” The question was dripping with insinuation. The whole room had seen how he hovered over the girl, a knight in a bespoke suit. I decided to forgo the pretense. “Oh, her?” I said, my voice clear and carrying. “Just the latest intern with a pipe dream of sleeping her way to the top, I suppose. The other woman, you could say.” The color drained from Lila’s face, leaving her looking pale and stricken. Her pretty eyes welled up with tears, a portrait of wounded innocence. A perfect little victim. No wonder Harrison was so taken with her. The society wife, not expecting such brutal honesty, mumbled an excuse and beat a hasty retreat. I crossed my arms, a smirk playing on my lips as I studied Lila. “Miss Jones, isn’t it? At your age, you really should be focusing on building a real career, not clinging to fantasies. It’s a long, lonely fall when men like him get bored. You risk losing a lot more than just your dignity.” She knew I was dressing her down in public. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. I laughed internally. They were so used to my composed, elegant facade that they’d mistaken me for a wilting flower, easily trampled. “Madeline, I…” “Don’t,” I cut her off with a raised hand. “My mother only had one child, so I have no sister. And this isn’t the Victorian era. The term ‘mistress’ isn’t exactly a title to aspire to.” The tears finally spilled, tracing clean paths down her cheeks. Just as I was about to twist the knife a little deeper, Harrison returned, his face a thundercloud. He stopped directly in front of me. “The necklaces. You ordered them?” My assistant was fast. I didn’t deny it. “I did.” “Why would you do that? You don’t even wear that style.” I leaned back against a marble column, my smile mocking him. “To help you out, of course. College is tough. Those poor girls are probably all stressed out from their internships. I thought I’d do you a favor and buy them all a little something to lift their spirits.” For the first time all night, a crack appeared in Harrison’s iron-clad composure. It was gone in an instant, but I saw it. He was a master of hiding his true feelings. He slid an arm around my waist, his touch a possessive brand, and pulled me close. He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “It’s just a necklace, Maddie,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl. “If you wanted one, I would have bought you a dozen. It’s not worth getting worked up over and frightening the new girl. I’d hate to see you upset.” It was the same deep, husky tone he used in the dark of our bedroom, his warm breath on my skin. But this wasn’t seduction. This was damage control. This was him trying to shield Lila from the consequences. I played along, my hand tracing a slow path up his back, pulling him even closer. I matched his hushed tone. “You know exactly what she’s trying to do, Harrison, and so do I. This was never about the necklace. I don’t care what you do on your own time, but don’t you dare forget that I am Mrs. Blackwood. If this becomes a public spectacle, it will burn us both.” My voice dropped to a whisper, sharp and venomous. “This is the first and last time.” From a distance, we must have looked like a couple sharing an intimate secret. The crowd around us, misreading the situation entirely, let out a few good-natured whoops and catcalls. I felt his body go rigid beneath my hand. With a final, patronizing pat on his back, I smiled, stepped away, and plucked a fresh glass of champagne from a passing tray. 3 The gala wound down, the glittering guests melting away into the New York night. I thought I had made myself perfectly clear. I thought the disgust in my eyes was unmistakable. Apparently, I had vastly underestimated the thickness of some people’s skin. Because when we went to leave, Lila tried to get into our car. “Lila’s dorm is a long way from here,” Harrison said, his tone clipped. “She’ll have a hard time getting a cab this late. It’s on the way, we’ll just give her a lift.” A blatant lie. I called him on it without hesitation. “She lives in a dorm at Columbia, we’re going to our penthouse on the Upper East Side. Since when is Morningside Heights ‘on the way’?” Harrison’s brow furrowed. Lila looked at me, her eyes shimmering with fresh tears, as if I were the villain in this twisted little drama. Seeing I wouldn’t budge, Harrison switched tactics, playing the emotion card. “Maddie, you’ve always been so reasonable…” “And what if I don’t want to be?” I snapped, cutting him off. Lila, her lower lip trembling, stepped towards me. “Madeline, I shouldn’t have accepted the necklace. I’m sorry, what happened tonight was my fault. But I really can’t get a ride…” She held out a beautifully wrapped perfume box. A gift from him, no doubt. “I’ll trade you. It’s my favorite perfume.” I wrinkled my nose in disdain. “What scent is that? It smells of cloying desperation.” The repeated humiliations finally broke through her act. A furious blush crept up her neck, and she stood there, clutching the box, tears held captive in her eyes. Harrison, who had been playing the part of the patient gentleman all night, finally lost his composure. “Madeline,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “that’s enough.” I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “Is it? Is this ‘enough’?” “Harrison, don’t forget whose party this was,” I continued, my voice turning to ice. “My father pulled the strings that made your little deal happen tonight. Without him, you’d be walking away with nothing.” Without waiting for his response, I pushed past the tearful Lila and slid into the back of the town car. He was a businessman, first and foremost. He knew how to weigh his options. He knew exactly what my words implied. He might be the golden boy, but I was a Sinclair. I was born with a silver spoon, yes, but it was sharpened to a knife’s edge. In our world, sentiment rarely outweighed profit. A moment later, he got in the car beside me. The drive was suffocatingly silent. I wouldn’t stoop to fighting over a man with a college girl, but my position in this city mattered. The headline “Harrison Blackwood Abandons Wife on Park Avenue for Intern” wasn’t one I was willing to tolerate. My fury, which had been simmering, began to boil when I noticed the front passenger seat. It had been adjusted. Moved forward, reclined slightly. I knew in an instant who had been sitting there. And then I saw it. Stuck to the dashboard, a small, pink sticky note with childish handwriting: “Angel’s Seat.” A white-hot rage surged through me. I wanted to kick him out of the moving car, then go back and slap that angelic look right off Lila’s face. Just as I was about to erupt, his phone rang. The sound of Lila’s pathetic sobbing filled the silent car. “Harrison… sob… I can’t get a cab… and I think someone is following me… I’m so scared, can you please… can you please come back for me?” Without a single moment of hesitation, Harrison slammed on the brakes, screeching the car to a halt at the side of the road. “Okay, don’t panic,” he said into the phone, his voice all reassuring calm. “Stay right where you are. Don’t move. I’m coming to get you.” My hand, which had been reaching to adjust my own seat, froze mid-air. I turned to him, my expression one of pure disbelief. Harrison’s face was a mask of grim concern. “Maddie, you take the car home. Lila could be in real danger. I have to go back.” I laughed. It was a raw, incredulous sound. “This is Midtown Manhattan, Harrison. We’re surrounded by thousands of people. There are three police precincts between here and Columbia. What ‘danger’ could she possibly be in?” My voice dripped with scorn. “What are you, her father? If she’s in danger, she should call 911, not you!” 4 He was speechless, cornered by my logic. He closed his eyes for a long moment, took a deep, shuddering breath, then opened them again. “Maddie, she’s just a girl. Can’t you have a little empathy?” He looked at me, a note of pleading in his voice. “Is this really all because of a necklace? Are you going to hold this against me forever?” “Are you blind, Harrison?” I shot back, my voice rising. “Can’t you see she’s provoking me? And you’re going to leave me, your wife, stranded on the side of the road for her?” The look in his eyes shifted, cycling rapidly from anger to coldness, and finally, settling on a profound disappointment. “Madeline,” he said, his voice flat. “When did you become so unreasonable? So… hysterical? This isn’t the woman I married.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I was being unreasonable? “Let me get this straight, Harrison. This is the first time you have ever raised your voice to me. And it’s for another woman.” He turned his head abruptly, staring out the window, a clear signal that the conversation was over. “Did you forget our agreement?” I pressed on, my voice low and dangerous. “The one we made before we signed the marriage certificate? Mutual respect. No affairs. No scandals. It wasn’t just for us; it was for the Sinclair and Blackwood empires. Are you really willing to burn all of that down for her?” The only sound in the car was his heavy, strained breathing. I knew he was wavering. In this round of our silent, ugly war, I had won. For now. That night, Harrison and I slept in separate rooms. His excuse was that I was being “too aggressive,” that he felt “suffocated” and needed space. He said we both needed to calm down. Fine. It gave me the space I needed to think. To re-evaluate our entire relationship. Lying in the king-sized bed alone, the day’s events played on a loop in my mind. The first time Harrison had ever publicly humiliated me for another woman. The Blackwoods and the Sinclairs had been allies for generations, but Harrison and I had barely known each other growing up. I’d heard stories, of course, whispers of the eldest Blackwood son—a brilliant, ruthless playboy coasting on his family name. But at our engagement party three years ago, I had been undeniably drawn to him. Beneath the handsome, confident exterior was a surprisingly sharp wit and an effortless charm. When our parents proposed the merger—our marriage—I agreed. With our backgrounds, our education, our shared ambition, we admired each other. The engagement was swift. I never considered love or affection; I was raised in a world of assets and liabilities, and the first lesson I ever learned was how to weigh them. Our marriage was the ultimate strategic alliance, merging our family companies and catapulting our careers into the stratosphere. I had always believed that for Harrison and me, we were simply the best possible choice for one another—a perfectly balanced equation. But somewhere along the way, I think he started to fall in love with me. The untouchable prince of New York’s elite would hold me in the dead of night, burying his face in my shoulder and murmuring nonsense like a little boy. On frigid winter nights, he’d tuck my icy feet into the warmth of his robe. When I had cramps, he’d bring me a hot water bottle and a cup of tea. He’d tilt the umbrella entirely over my head in the rain, not caring that his own shoulder was getting soaked. Not long ago, he’d whispered to me, “Maddie, you will always be my first choice.” But then Lila appeared, and everything changed. After years of navigating the cutthroat world of high society and corporate warfare, for the first time in my life, I felt a bone-deep exhaustion. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Harrison. “Goodnight, Maddie.” It was followed by a cute animated sticker of a cat patting another cat’s head. 5 That was Harrison. Ever the master of appearances. Even in the midst of a cold war, he would perform the necessary rituals, go through the motions. The wine from dinner had left me with a dull headache. I went to the kitchen to make myself a glass of warm milk and saw it. My favorite ceramic mug had a hairline crack running down its side. I called the housekeeper. “Who used this mug?” I asked, my voice tight. She looked terrified. “No one, Mrs. Blackwood, I swear. You told us never to touch it, that you would wash it yourself. We never do.” She was right. I had given that order. The mug was a birthday gift from last year. Harrison had commissioned it from a famed German ceramicist I admired, taking a detour on a business trip just to pick it up. I treasured it. And now it was flawed. “Should I… should I see if it can be repaired?” the housekeeper asked timidly. “No,” I said, my voice flat. “It’s precisely because it was so precious that even the smallest crack is irreparable.” A few minutes later, my head of security sent a video file to my phone. The footage was from the kitchen security camera, timestamped yesterday afternoon. It showed Lila picking up my mug. She looked around, a malicious little smirk on her face, and then deliberately let it slip from her grasp, dropping it into the hard, stainless-steel sink. He had actually brought her into our home. The necklace had angered me, a beautiful thing wasted on someone so cheap. It was a matter of aesthetics. But this? Sneaking into my home, my sanctuary, and intentionally destroying something I cherished? This was a declaration of war. This was a direct, personal violation. A wave of pure, unadulterated fury washed over me, burning away every last scrap of restraint. With a sweep of my arm, I sent the beautiful, flawed mug crashing to the floor, where it shattered into a hundred pieces. And in that moment, so did my marriage.

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We were a family of villains, the kind that exists only to do evil, racking up a body count to make the heroes shine all the brighter. In the end, our pre-written fate was to be left for dead on the streets, objects of public scorn. My father was the corrupt Lord Treasurer, having siphoned off half the kingdom’s treasury. The King had been eyeing his head for a long time. My mother, a ruthless woman from a lesser noble house, had clawed her way into her marriage over a few dead bodies. My brother, the High General, was the capital’s most infamous rake, a bloodthirsty tyrant who held the city’s garrison in his iron fist. And then there was me. Freshly reincarnated into this world, a useless girl with no skills to speak of, except for the voice screaming inside my head: [Dad! Mom! Damian! If we don’t get our act together, the heroes are going to crush us! I’m doomed!] 1 The moment I arrived in this world, I knew. I had been reborn into a family of archetypal villains, the dark mirror to the story’s heroic protagonist. The first twenty years of my life were a whirlwind of silk and gold; the next twenty were slated to end in a variety of uniquely gruesome ways for each of us. I had just come of age when the royal decree arrived: a dual marriage proposal. My father, Lord Valerius, was a man of immense power, his hands on the economic pulse of the entire kingdom. The other bride-to-be was Lady Trista, daughter of the Lord Justiciar. A respectable family, they called them—a kinder way of saying they were broke. Though Trista’s station was modest, she was hailed as the most brilliant literary mind in the capital city of Aethelgard. Her reputation far outshone mine, which is how we both ended up in this mess. The King, in a show of feigned respect for my father, offered me the first choice: the Crown Prince or the Lord Marshal. My father leaned close, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Choose whoever you like, my darling girl.” But I fell silent, my mind racing. [The Prince and the Lord Marshal are both obsessed with Trista. If I marry the Prince, he’ll despise me but fear my father. Publicly, he’ll be courteous. Privately, in the palace, I’ll be treated worse than a servant. He’ll take Trista as his favored mistress anyway, and when the time is right, he’ll probably have me disposed of—walled up in some forgotten tower to make way for his true love.] [If I choose the Lord Marshal, I’ll be a lonely wife in a cold castle. He’ll immediately request a post on the furthest border of the kingdom. A few years later, he’ll return with a woman who looks suspiciously like Trista and demand I raise her son as my own. And all the while, he’ll be acting as Trista’s devoted, lovesick puppy, lavishing her with gifts bought with my family’s money.] [Either choice is a death sentence. I’m utterly screwed.] My eyes widened and I shot my father a desperate look, trying to signal my panic. “Father… Dad…” A tremor ran through him, his eyes instantly bloodshot. He straightened up, his voice strained but firm. “Your Majesty, forgive my impertinence, but my daughter is… unruly. This union is simply not possible.” The King’s pleasant facade cracked. “The Crown Prince and the Lord Marshal are the finest young men in this kingdom,” he said, his tone turning to ice. “If neither is good enough for your daughter, Lord Valerius, who exactly did you have in mind for her?” Panic made my father reckless. “My daughter is… slow. I had already arranged a betrothal for her, you see.” A cold, humorless laugh escaped the King’s lips. “Don’t play games with me. You were given a choice and you refused it. Very well. I shall choose for you. She will marry my son, the Crown Prince. She will be his Princess.” Defeated, my father could only prostrate himself in thanks before being dismissed. When it was Trista’s turn, she and the Prince exchanged secretive, longing glances. She, too, chose the Prince, though she would only be his official mistress, a Lady of the Court. Her father, the Lord Justiciar, was ecstatic. “A blessing from the heavens! My daughter must serve the Prince well in his household.” Only the Lord Marshal, Gideon, cast one last, mournful look at Trista before striding away, his shoulders slumped in defeat. 2 The news that I, Cassia Valerius, and Lady Trista were to be married to the Prince on the same day spread through Aethelgard like wildfire, fanning the flames of gossip. Not that any of the noble ladies ever wanted to associate with me; they all flocked around Trista like moths to a flame. She had the reputation, the grace. She could recite some mournful poem and earn a roomful of applause. As for me? My parents always said, “Why bother with lutes and watercolors? Those are skills for entertainers. Our daughter has no need for them.” So, just like my brother, I was branded one of the capital’s “gilded fools.” On the way home, the whispers were impossible to ignore. “Look, there’s Cassia Valerius, dripping with gold again. Does she intend to wear the entire treasury on her person? So vulgar.” “What does she know of elegance? She’s just a spoiled brat with a rich father. Look at her, trailing a half-dozen servants. You’d think she was a queen.” “Even the Queen isn’t that ostentatious. A shame, really. With that character, she might become a princess, but she’ll never be a queen.” “The Prince prefers women of substance. He would never fall for an empty-headed doll like her.” Every time I stepped outside, it was the same story. I knew my reputation was in the gutter, but I refused to be shamed for my fashion. And what of their beloved Trista? The woman was about to marry the Crown Prince and she still wandered around in a plain white linen dress and a simple silver pin. It was pathetic, yet the capital’s elite praised it as the height of sophisticated minimalism. Leaving the palace, I had muttered loud enough for her to hear, “Dressed in white like that. Is she attending a wedding or a funeral?” Her retort, delivered in that sickeningly sweet tone of hers, came swiftly. “I love this white gown as I love a pure soul. It is a constant reminder to remain true to oneself, untainted by the gaudy trends of the world.” This was going to be unbearable. The thought of sharing a roof with that master of passive-aggression made me lose my appetite. 3 That night, my parents and my brother, Damian, were all too worried to eat as well. Damian, ever the cavalier, slammed a fist on the table. “Seriously, Dad? You couldn’t just say she was already spoken for? Do you have any idea the filth they’re spewing about her out there?” Mother’s face was a mask of frustration. “If it were anyone else, we could just have them… disappear.” Before her marriage, she was infamous for eliminating several rivals within her own family to secure her position. Talk of murder never fazed her. Damian nodded eagerly. “A knife in the dark solves a lot of problems. Better dead than miserable under the Prince’s roof. I’m with Mom on this one.” He turned to me, his eyes filled with a rare spark of pity. “Poor Cassia. So young, and already being set up as the unloved wife.” He’d picked up that particular turn of phrase from me. He was using it perfectly now. My father looked like he was about to explode. “Have you both lost your minds?” he roared. “We’re talking about the Crown Prince and the Lord Marshal! Who, exactly, do you plan on assassinating? And he’d better not treat her like that. He wouldn’t dare!” Tears welled in my eyes. I couldn’t say it out loud, so I screamed it in my head. [Of course he’d dare! I’m not just the unloved wife, I’m the villainess! The evil counterpoint to his perfect Trista. I’m her stepping stone, the ultimate sacrificial pawn! No matter what I do, I’m destined to die!]. The mood at the table grew even heavier. I stared at the feast of roasted meats and exotic fruits before me, and for the first time in my life, it all tasted like ash. Damian slammed the dining room doors shut, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Then let’s do it. Let’s start a rebellion. Father becomes King. Then let’s see who dares to bully Cassia.” My parents said nothing. Only I, the one who knew the script, sighed internally. [The wedding has to happen. Refusing is treason. The King is already looking for an excuse to destroy our family. This is just the beginning. Once I’m married, they’ll send Damian to the frontier, where he’ll be betrayed and take a dagger in the back. With me trapped and my brother dead, our family will be defenseless, lambs to the slaughter. We’re all going to die!]. My brother’s breath hitched. My mother’s eyes grew as cold and sharp as daggers. My father seemed to reach a decision, snapping a pair of ivory chopsticks in his hand. “Rebellion it is!” he declared, his voice a low growl. “Anyone who dares to harm my Cassia will not live to see another dawn.” We spent the rest of the night plotting. The plan was simple: I would marry into the Prince’s household and act as their eyes and ears on the inside. We would strike before they even knew what was happening. We would embrace our roles. Understand the villain. Become the villain. Surpass the villain. We would solve this problem the way villains do. “Cassia,” my father said, his eyes burning with intensity. “Once you are in that palace, do not play the part of the meek, forgiving wife. Be as wicked as you can be. We don’t have much time, so make every moment count.” “That’s right,” Damian chimed in. “If he gives you any trouble, just hit him. You might not be a warrior, but surely you can handle that pampered Prince, can’t you?” A room full of master villains, all looking at me as if I were a fragile little flower. A fire lit within me. “I’ll try,” I said, a grin spreading across my face. “I think I can manage.” Honestly, being a villain might be bad for one’s public image, but damn, it felt good. 4 On the day of the wedding, two grand carriages proceeded to the Prince’s residence. My dowry was an extravagant procession of one hundred and twenty-eight chests, overflowing with silks, jewels, and gold. My mother fussed at the sidelines, trying to cram even more into them. “Oh, the Prince’s palace is a den of vipers. My sweet girl has never known such hardship.” By contrast, Trista’s dowry was pitiful. A few pieces of jewelry, barely enough to fill thirty-two small chests. As our carriages rolled through the city, merchants and commoners alike chattered. “Now that’s a dowry fit for a princess. She must be impossibly rich.” “Compared to that, the other one’s dowry is just embarrassing. So shabby.” … We were helped from our carriages at the same time. Through the delicate silk of my fan, I saw Trista’s face twist with envy. Her expression softened only when we entered the palace and the Crown Prince, Alaric, immediately took her hand. “Don’t worry,” he murmured to her, loud enough for me to hear. “Now that you’re here, I won’t let anyone make you suffer.” They looked like a pair of blissful newlyweds. I was just the third wheel, an awkward, overdressed obstacle. Still, during the ceremony, protocol dictated that I take precedence. The Prince had to show me respect, at least in public. In private, of course, it was another story. That night, Prince Alaric didn’t even bother stopping by my chambers. He walked straight to the west wing, to the rooms prepared for his beloved Trista. My personal matron, Lyra, was wringing her hands. “Your Highness, this is an outrage! A breach of all decorum! If the Prince doesn’t spend his wedding night with you, what will the servants think tomorrow? That woman in the west wing will be walking all over you!” Matron Lyra had always been blunt and fiery back at our estate, which was precisely why Mother had sent her with me. She was here to make sure I wasn’t bullied. “She’s not some common wench I can drag out by the hair, Matron. Am I supposed to go catch them in the act? You worry too much, that’s why you’re getting wrinkles. Let’s all get some rest. We have a big day tomorrow. The Crown Prince spurning his bride on their wedding night? We have to make sure the entire city hears about it.” I pulled off my heavy veil and wiped away my makeup. Even from my chambers in the east wing, I could hear the celebrations in the west wing. The Prince had even set off fireworks for Trista. He had finally married the woman of his dreams. I was just the collateral damage in their great love story. The sky outside was lit up, and servants scurried back and forth to the west wing with pitchers of hot water. One didn’t need much imagination to guess what was happening. Meanwhile, I stretched out on the massive, empty bed and drifted off to sleep. What was the point of confronting him tonight? The Prince’s palace was crawling with his spies. Making a scene would just be another mark against the “evil villainess,” making him feel even more protective of the “wronged” Trista. It would gain me nothing but his anger. Since he wouldn’t give me face, I had no intention of giving him any either. This scandal needed to be public. The next morning, before the sun was up, I had my maids dress me and apply makeup that made my eyes look red-rimmed and swollen from a night of weeping. “Let’s go, let’s go,” I chirped. “Time to go tattle.” As the city awoke, I went straight to the Royal Palace. 5 I knelt outside the King’s audience hall, begging for an audience. At this point in the story, the King was still wary of my family’s power. Before I even saw him, I started to weep—a gut-wrenching, soul-shattering cry that echoed through the marble halls. I had also ordered my entire dowry to be brought with me, a glittering caravan of treasure that paraded through the city for all the nobles and commoners to see. It was a display of wealth that would make even the King jealous. When he heard I had arrived with my dowry in tow, he received me at once, not even waiting to properly arrange his robes. The moment he asked what was wrong, I looked up at him, the picture of misery. “I would rather give this entire dowry away to the poor of this city than suffer such humiliation in the Prince’s household.” Between my ragged sobs, I painted a picture of utter despair. The King’s head began to throb. “Summon the Prince at once!” he boomed. “To have the Princess come to me alone on her first day as a wife… This is disgraceful!” When Prince Alaric arrived, there were fresh red marks on his pale neck—a little trophy from Trista, no doubt meant to provoke me. In his haste, he hadn’t bothered to cover them. The King saw them and his face turned purple with rage. “You are the Crown Prince! Look at the state of you! You humiliate your wife on your very first day? What do you think the court will say? What will the people say?” The King laid into him, and Alaric could only stammer, “It’s not… I didn’t…” But I just kept crying. No matter what the King said, I cried, letting my sobs fill every pause. Finally, when I had exhausted myself, the King’s tirade ceased. “Princess,” he said, his voice softer. “Take your dowry and go home. Be a good wife to the Prince. You cannot speak of giving it all away. What would people think?” He eyed the chests of gold. “Besides… such wealth is better used to enrich the Prince’s own household.” He punished the Prince and shot a warning glance at Trista, who had followed him in, reminding her to remember her place. The matter was temporarily settled, and my dowry was ceremoniously escorted back to the Prince’s residence. The moment we were out of the King’s sight, Alaric violently ripped his hand from mine, his earlier meekness vanishing. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Cassia,” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “You did this deliberately to make Trista miserable. You embarrassed me in front of my father. Do you think that will make your life any easier?” He ranted for another minute before taking Trista’s hand and storming off, leaving me standing alone in the palace courtyard. My eyes were still red. Well, a villain’s got to do what a villain’s got to do, right? If I just swallowed every insult and never caused any trouble, what kind of villain would I be? Of all the things the Prince had threatened me with, one phrase stuck in my mind: embarrassed me. As I left, the King was heading to his morning council. I saw the kingdom’s nobles milling about, my father among them. I couldn’t shout, but I focused all my energy on a single, silent scream in my mind. [Father! The Prince wants a scandal! Give him one!] I hoped my father, having already received a report from the servant I’d sent last night, would be on the same wavelength. By midday, it was the talk of the town. First, it was that the Prince hadn’t even visited his new bride’s chambers. Then, the story evolved: on his wedding night, the Prince had been cavorting not just with his new mistress, but with a whole host of courtesans, nearly sleeping through his morning summons to the King. The Prince was publicly humiliated, and Trista’s reputation took a hit right along with his.

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Cole’s one true love and I were trapped in a burning building. He chose to save me—his pregnant wife—first. But by the time he went back for her, Lila was gone, consumed by the flames. And so, he blamed me. He said my weakness delayed the rescue. He wouldn’t even let our daughter call him “Dad.” Six years later, when time travel was invented, he ignored the pleas of his family and prepared to go back. “Zoe,” he’d said, his voice cold as ice, “if you hadn’t used the baby to threaten me, I never would have saved you first.” Even our daughter had turned against me. “If you hadn’t killed Aunt Lila, Dad wouldn’t hate me!” So, facing their accusations and my own broken heart, I made a choice. I would follow him back. This time, I would save myself. And I would owe Cole Sterling nothing. 1 The dizzying sensation from the time machine faded, immediately replaced by a wave of heat so intense it felt like it could melt steel. I blinked my eyes open and saw him standing before me: Cole Sterling, his jaw clenched tight. He glanced at me, just for a second, before turning without hesitation and running toward Lila, who had crumpled to the floor nearby. Flames licked at my clothes, threatening to swallow me whole. I scrambled, desperate to escape. I was just about to break free, to taste the clean air, when Cole rushed past me, carrying Lila in his arms. In her panic, she thrashed, her hand flying out and shoving me backward, back into the inferno. I hit the ground hard. A heavy cabinet, weakened by the fire, toppled over, crushing my body beneath it. A searing pain exploded through me. Gritting my teeth against the agony and the blistering heat, I managed to shove the cabinet off and crawl, inch by painful inch, out of the fire. When I finally reached the safety of the open air, I collapsed, coughing violently. Cole, who had long since escaped with Lila, walked over and looked down at me, his eyes devoid of warmth. “So, Zoe, you could have gotten out on your own?” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “You waited in there just to force my hand, to make sure I wouldn’t have time to save Lila.” The chill in his eyes was colder than any winter wind, extinguishing the fire’s oppressive heat. He didn’t know yet. He didn’t know I had come back, too. “You’re already planning how you’ll twist this to Mom and Dad, aren’t you?” he sneered. “Say whatever you want. But if you drag Lila into this, don’t expect me to honor our marriage vows.” Hearing that, I instinctively placed a hand over my stomach. My voice was calm when I spoke. “Cole, let’s get a divorce.” His expression froze. He stared at me for a long moment before his face hardened with impatience. “I’m in no mood for your games.” “I’m not playing. I’m serious. I want a divorce.” In the last lifetime, Cole Sterling had two great regrets: not saving Lila from the fire first, and listening to his parents and marrying me. I had no intention of reliving that miserable life. This time, I would help him erase both regrets. His eyes narrowed, his tone becoming even more frigid. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. You’re just using this ‘divorce’ to blow up the fact that I saved Lila, to make my parents hate her even more.” He sighed, a mask of weary tolerance sliding into place. “Marriage isn’t a game, Zoe. Stop being so childish. Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital to get checked out.” He reached a hand down to help me up, a clear warning in his eyes that told me to drop the act. A sharp, cramping pain shot through my lower abdomen. I started to lift my arm, but Lila was faster. She grabbed Cole’s hand first. “Cole,” she whimpered, clutching a small carrier. “Peanut… I think he inhaled too much smoke. He doesn’t look good. Can you please take me to the pet hospital?” Tears streamed down her face. Cole didn’t hesitate. “Of course.” Only after he agreed did he seem to remember me. Lila followed his gaze, her expression turning pleading. “Zoe, you don’t seem badly hurt… could you just wait here for a little bit? Peanut means the world to me.” Peanut was the parrot Cole had given her years ago. “I’ll call an ambulance for you,” Cole said to me. “I’ll come to the hospital to be with you after I get Peanut sorted out.” I met his gaze and nodded faintly. “Okay. Go ahead.” A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but seeing Lila’s frantic state, he didn’t press. He just scooped her up and drove away. After they were gone, I forced myself to lift the hem of my oversized coat. My dress beneath was soaked in a horrifying, bright red stain. When the ambulance finally arrived and I was rushed into the operating room, the doctor’s face was grim. “Ms. Sullivan,” he said after the examination, his voice gentle but firm. “You were brought in too late. I’m so sorry, but we couldn’t save your baby.” 2 Last time, because Cole had saved me first, the baby had been fine. But after our daughter was born, he was a father in name only. He paid the bills, but offered nothing else. I remember our daughter once asking me, tears in her eyes, why all the other kids got presents from their dads, while hers had never bought her a single toy. I never understood his coldness, not until the day I overheard him talking to her. “Don’t call me ‘Dad’,” he’d said softly. “I won’t acknowledge you as my daughter. I’ll compensate you in other ways.” He saw the confused tears welling in her eyes and carefully pulled out a single, iridescent feather he’d treasured for years. “The day you were born,” he whispered, more to himself than to her, “everyone was so busy rushing your mother to the hospital that no one noticed Peanut was gone. Lila must have hated me… I not only failed to save her, I couldn’t even protect her parrot.” His voice broke. “If I had another chance, I would protect them both. Even if it meant losing my own child.” The memory brought a familiar heat to my eyes. From the moment I came back, I knew I couldn’t keep this child. I accepted the doctor’s news with a strange sense of peace. My friend had just dropped off the divorce papers when Cole walked into the hospital room. He was carrying a bag of toys. “I saw these on the way here and thought they were cute,” he said, a rare, lighthearted smile touching the corners of his eyes. “A little gift for the baby.” He started arranging them on the table next to me. “Did you find Peanut?” I asked. His movements paused. Then he nodded. “We found him. So, I hope you won’t tell my parents what happened today. I don’t want them to misunderstand Lila. If you can help me keep this quiet, I’ll agree to anything you want.” Ah. So that was it. The toys, the smile—it was all for Lila. My eyes drifted to the toys on the table. On the tag of a small plastic ladder, I saw the words: “For Parrots.” My heart felt like it had been plugged with concrete. Even these little tokens meant to appease me were just afterthoughts, purchased while he was out shopping for Lila’s pet. “Anything?” I asked, forcing the tears back, forcing a light, playful tone into my voice. He nodded. I took out the divorce agreement I’d prepared, covering the text so only the signature line was visible. “Then sign this promise for me.” He frowned in confusion. “What kind of promise?” “A promise that you’ll never change your heart, of course.” I used to do childish things like this all the time, so he didn’t seem to suspect anything. He simply took the pen and signed his name. Once the signed paper was safely in my bag, a wave of relief washed over me. In the last life, Cole Sterling was my savior. This time, I would be his freedom. We’d known each other since we were kids. My family wasn’t poor, but after my parents divorced and I was sent to live with my remarried father, I became the unwanted baggage in a new family. When our class ordered uniforms, I was the only one wearing a cheap knockoff my stepmother had bought. As the other kids laughed, Cole had deliberately ripped his own uniform, stood by my side, and salvaged my shattered dignity. “Is buying a knockoff by accident that funny?” he’d challenged them. “Not everyone cares about this stuff. Our clothes are the same.” Later, when my stepmother got pregnant, my father decided to get rid of me for good. He locked me in the house when a fire accidentally broke out. As I was on the verge of death, it was Cole who charged into the flames, risking his own life to pull me out. After my father was jailed and my stepmother disappeared with the money, it was Cole who paid for my education, saving me from dropping out. 3 He had appeared at my lowest moments, again and again, a constant rescuer. I had mistaken his compassion for something more, something special, meant only for me. It was time to wake up. “Mom and Dad want us to come over for dinner tonight,” Cole said. “If you’re feeling okay, we can head over now.” We had just arrived at his parents’ house when his phone rang. It was Lila. “Lila was terrified by what happened today,” he explained after hanging up. “She’s afraid to cook, so I’m going to go make something for her.” After I finished eating with Cole’s parents and was getting ready to leave, his mother’s face suddenly darkened as she stared at her phone. “Cole went to see Lila again!” she exclaimed. Seeing my lack of surprise, she shoved the phone in my face. “Zoe, didn’t you say Cole had a work emergency? You knew he was going to see her, didn’t you? You know that woman is… ugh! What kind of spell is he under?” Lila had posted a photo to her Instagram story: a shot of Cole, looking focused and handsome as he cooked dinner for her. “That Lila,” Mrs. Sterling fumed, “she’s already married, but she has no shame, constantly clinging to Cole. And he’s so naive, he’s never suspected a thing.” That’s right. The reason Cole’s parents were so vehemently against his relationship with Lila was because she was already married. She’d hidden it well, and they had only found out by chance. Her marriage was unhappy, so they were afraid to tell Cole, fearing he would impulsively confront Lila’s husband and cause a scene. I had learned this from them, and it was the main reason I’d never considered divorcing Cole. I thought I was protecting him. I never imagined that ‘protection’ would earn me eight years of his hatred. This time, I wouldn’t get involved. His relationship with Lila was his own choice to make. “Zoe, I’m so sorry you have to go through this,” Mrs. Sterling sighed. “I really thought that after you two got married, he’d let go of Lila. After all, he used to be so… so good to you…” I smiled gently at her. “Cole only ever helped me out of pity, out of the kindness of his heart. I was the one who misunderstood. If forcing us together only brings us pain, it’s better to end it now.” “End it?” Mr. and Mrs. Sterling looked at me, stunned. “Cole and I have already signed the divorce agreement. I’ll be leaving in a few days. I hope you can keep this from him for now. I don’t want him to make another choice he’ll regret for the rest of his life because of this.” Thinking of the cold, indifferent look he’d given me in the time machine, my heart ached. After more than a decade together, that was the first time he had ever looked like a complete stranger. After explaining everything to his parents, I went home alone. I was just drifting off to sleep when my bedroom door was kicked open with a loud bang. I jolted awake, met by a pair of eyes blazing with fury. “Zoe Sullivan! You promised you wouldn’t go crying to my parents! Are you not happy until you’ve completely destroyed Lila?”

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I was trampled by a spooked horse, my body left broken on the cobblestones. The two men who had sworn to protect me with their lives didn’t even turn their heads. One was busy solving riddles at a festival stall, all to win the lotus-blossom lantern that Princess Seraphina admired. The other was waiting in line for two hours to buy her favorite rosewater tarts. A stranger helped me to the healer’s ward. It was a miracle I survived. Three days later, Seraphina came to my chambers, swinging the lantern triumphantly. “Aveline, darling,” she cooed, “I told them you’d like this lantern too, but they insisted on giving it to me. Do you want it now?” I looked at her, my gaze as cold as ash. “No.” And the two of them? I was done with them, too. For more than a decade, they had been my shadows, my sworn protectors, my closest friends. Drake and Brishen. They promised their lives for my safety. And I, like a fool, had believed them. I thought I couldn’t live without them. But that was before Princess Seraphina arrived. That was before I realized how tragically wrong I had been. Limping, I returned to my father’s estate and finally relented to my mother’s incessant pressure. “I will do it,” I told her. “I will marry the Crown Prince.” 1 My mother’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelieving joy. “Aveline? You truly mean it?” “Oh, my dear girl! I’ve been telling you for years, you are the perfect choice for Crown Princess! When Prince Alistair ascends the throne, you will be the Queen, a mother to the entire kingdom.” Her voice was a flurry of excitement. “Why have you been wasting your time with those two? One is a Duke’s son, the other a General’s heir, but how can they possibly compare to the Crown Prince?” “Now that you’ve agreed, I’ll start arranging your dowry at once! You will have the most magnificent wedding this city has ever seen!” Just as I nodded, two figures appeared in the doorway. Drake and Brishen exchanged a look, a shared, arrogant smirk playing on their lips. “Aveline,” Brishen drawled, “who did you just say was getting married?” I had no intention of lying. My face was a placid mask. “I am.” “Ha! Lady Aveline has always been such a good, quiet girl. Since when did you learn to tell such fanciful tales?” Brishen let out a short, mocking laugh. Drake, ever the more serious of the two, still didn’t believe me. “There’s no point in lying, Aveline. Is this because we’ve been distant lately? Are you jealous of Seraphina? Is this your little ploy to get our attention?” I remained silent, my only wish for them to leave. But then, they produced a lantern from behind their backs. “Surprise!” “We know we lost track of you at the festival, that you snuck back home on your own, but we still brought you a lantern!” Brishen said with a grin, tossing a battered, sad-looking thing at me. I recognized it instantly. It wasn’t a gift they had chosen for me. It was the one Seraphina had paraded around with three days ago, the one she’d grown tired of and discarded. How thoughtful of them to pick up her trash for me. I didn’t reach for it. My voice was ice. “I’m not feeling well. Please, leave.” Drake and Brishen glanced at each other, but made no move to go. Instead, Brishen stepped forward and gave my shoulder a hard, playful shove. “Ah!” The blow landed directly on my barely-healed injury. A sharp cry of pain escaped my lips. Brishen looked at me, bewildered. “What are you playing at? Acting like you’re seriously hurt? It’s not a good look, Aveline.” He scoffed. “If Seraphina were here, even if she were truly wounded, she wouldn’t make such a fuss. The difference between you two is like night and day.” Drake nodded in agreement. “He’s right. Seraphina would never be so petty.” A cold, bitter laugh welled up inside me. They truly thought this was about jealousy. They thought I couldn’t stand Seraphina. They had no idea I had already given up on them entirely. “Then go find your precious Seraphina,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “She was a princess of the old court, raised in a palace. Naturally, she’s far superior to a provincial girl like me.” With that, I gestured for my lady’s maid to help me, and I turned my back on them. I could feel their bewildered eyes on my limping form. “When did Aveline become like this?” Brishen’s voice followed me, laced with disdain. “So small-minded, and such a flair for the dramatic. She should join a traveling theater troupe!” Drake sighed in disappointment. “If she doesn’t want our company, then it’s her loss. This hibiscus cake was a gift from the Prince’s own kitchens. Let’s take it to Seraphina instead.” 2 Three days later, it was my birthday. Unlike previous years, my mother personally oversaw the preparations, inviting the wives and daughters of the kingdom’s most powerful noble families. I glanced at the guest list and felt it was far too grand. “Mother, perhaps something simpler would be better?” She waved away my concern. “Nonsense, Aveline. You are the daughter of the Lord Chancellor. For years, you’ve let those two boys throw you paltry celebrations. They were hardly fit for our station! Now that you are to be the Crown Princess, your birthday must be celebrated with the dignity it deserves.” With that, she bustled off to continue her arrangements. I stood by the window, lost in thought. As fate would have it, Seraphina and I shared a birthday. Before she came into our lives, Drake and Brishen’s world revolved around me. They would scour the entire capital, spending fortunes just to find a gift they knew I would love. They fretted over every detail of my birthday, terrified of disappointing me, ready to pluck the stars from the sky if I asked. But everything changed last year, when Princess Seraphina, of the deposed royal line, was granted a pardon. For her service in exposing traitors to the new crown, she was given a title and an estate. It was I who had taken pity on her lonely state, introducing her to my two dearest friends, asking them to look after her. I never imagined her ambition ran so deep, that she would methodically, piece by piece, steal my place in their lives. Especially when they learned her birthday was the same as mine. From then on, all their efforts were bent on pleasing her. Last year, they gave her a pair of priceless jade bracelets. I received nothing. So this year, I expected nothing. The next morning, my lady’s maid, Elara, ran to me, her eyes red from crying. “My lady, I went to invite Lord Drake and Lord Brishen, just as I do every year. They both refused to come! They said they were going to Princess Seraphina’s estate!” Her voice trembled with indignation. “All these years, they only ever came to your celebration! How could they? Men’s hearts are so fickle.” I listened quietly, my own heart a placid lake. “Don’t speak of this again,” I said softly. I dressed and joined my mother in the grand hall to receive our guests. They were all powerful figures, and upon learning I was to be the Crown Princess, they fawned over me with compliments and gifts. Of course, there were whispers. “Didn’t she used to be inseparable from the heirs of House Thorne and House Valerius?” “Everyone assumed she would marry one of them. Who would have thought she’d land the Crown Prince!” “Hmph. A woman of such loose morals, and the Prince still wants her?” “She spent years cavorting with two other men. Who knows if she’s even… untouched?” “Hush, lower your voice!” Elara, bristling with anger, made to confront them, but I placed a gentle hand on her arm. “It’s not worth our breath.” It was only then that I realized how skewed the world’s perception of me had become. After the last guest had departed, I was about to retire when I heard a noise from my private courtyard. The main gates were closed. Someone had climbed the wall. My hand flew to the dagger hidden in my sleeve, thinking it was a thief. But the figures standing before me were Drake and Brishen. And behind them, a smiling Seraphina. “Aveline! We’ve been waiting for you for ages!” Seraphina chirped. “We waited for your guests to leave so we could celebrate with you properly!” “Look! The boys made me this birthday cake, but it’s far too big for me to eat alone, so I brought it to share!” From beneath her cloak, Seraphina produced half of a leftover cake, marred with bite marks and the imprint of teeth. 3 I stared at her, saying nothing. Beside me, Elara was seething. “My lady would never eat someone’s leftovers! This is an insult!” Seraphina’s face instantly hardened. Her eyes flashed as she raised a hand and slapped Elara across the cheek. “I am speaking to your mistress! How dare a servant interrupt?!” Seeing Elara struck, a roar filled my ears. My own hand shot out, striking Seraphina with twice the force. “My lady’s maid,” I hissed, “is not for others to discipline.” I pulled Elara behind me, my heart aching at the red mark blooming on her face. My anger surged. The last time we met, I had made it clear that it was the end, that we should not see each other again. But they thought I was throwing a childish tantrum. They didn’t believe me. And now they show up at my door, insulting me with a half-eaten cake and striking my maid? This, I could not endure. Drake and Brishen were instantly enraged. “Aveline! How could you strike her?” “Seraphina is delicate! A blow like that could seriously injure her!” They fussed over her, cooing and soothing. Seraphina, clutching her cheek, began to sob prettily. “Brishen, Drake, my darlings,” she whimpered. “I told you Aveline would be too proud for my little cake. See? Now she’s truly angry.” “It’s all my fault. Perhaps I should go to the West End now, wait in line, and buy her a new one!” She said the words, but made no move to leave. Drake frowned. “Don’t be silly. It’s too late. A lady like you shouldn’t be out buying cakes at this hour.” Brishen readily agreed. “A half-cake is still a cake! Aveline, can you stop being so spoiled for once? Seraphina’s heart was in the right place, bringing us here. Don’t ruin the evening for everyone!” I couldn’t help but laugh, a cold, sharp sound. As if I had begged them to come. “I will say this one last time. I am to be married soon. I ask the three of you to conduct yourselves with some dignity. The gate is that way.” I took Elara’s arm, intending to take her back inside to tend to her face. But they were shameless. Even after all I’d said, they refused to leave. Drake’s voice followed me, thick with disappointment. “Aveline, when did you become so small-minded? So we missed the festival with you a few days ago. We already explained. That day, Seraphina was overcome with memories of her past, of the fallen kingdom. We were busy comforting her. We didn’t notice you’d gone.” “You were never this petty before. Are you really going to hold a grudge this long? To use lies about getting married just to push us away?” Brishen, however, was undeterred. He grabbed Seraphina’s hand and made to push past me into my private chambers. “It’s fine. Aveline will be angry for a few days, and then she’ll get over it. She’s never been able to live without us. What’s there to be afraid of?” Seraphina tossed the half-eaten cake at my feet and, with a triumphant little smirk, swept into my room. But she wasn’t watching where she was going. She had only taken a few steps when her foot caught on a dark wooden chest. “Ah! Help me!” Brishen and Drake’s faces paled. “Seraphina!” They rushed to her side, helping her up with worried expressions. Seraphina had only bumped her arm on the floor, leaving a small red mark. But to see it, you’d think she’d broken a bone. The two of them looked at me, their faces cold with accusation. “Aveline, what is wrong with you?” “Did you leave this chest here on purpose? Did you want Seraphina to fall?” “I get it now. You’ve always been jealous that she’s prettier than you. You wanted her to fall and ruin her face, didn’t you? That would make you happy!” The accusations rained down on me, so absurd they were almost laughable. I had been trying to get them to leave from the very beginning. They were the ones who had forced their way in, and now they were blaming me. Seraphina, ever the master of false sincerity, chimed in. “Oh, don’t blame Aveline! It was my own clumsiness. Aveline, darling, it was all my fault, please don’t be upset.” “We only came to celebrate your birthday. Even though we’ve seen everything there is to see here, we’re such good friends, we had to at least stop by!” Her tone was a sickening mix of condescension and pride, as if I should be grateful for their charity. I was about to deliver a scathing reply when Seraphina’s eyes lit up, her gaze falling on the various chests and boxes piled in my room. “Aveline, what is all this? Why are you hoarding so many treasures? Didn’t you tell us you had no money?” The small chest she had tripped over was one of many that hadn’t yet been put away. Inside it, and in the others, were gifts from the Crown Prince, Alistair. His betrothal gifts. There were so many that the treasury storerooms were full, and the overflow had to be kept in my chambers. I had planned to have them sorted after my birthday. I never imagined these three would invite themselves in. Seraphina began to rummage through them with unabashed curiosity. “Don’t touch those,” I said, my voice sharp. She ignored me, even beckoning her two companions to join her. Brishen opened one at random. It was filled with priceless jewels. His jaw dropped. “Aveline, you told us you were poor! How could you hide all this from us? That’s not what friends do!” Drake, too, was mesmerized by the glittering gems. “Aveline, the other day Seraphina admired that one simple hairpin of yours, and you refused to give it to her. And all this time you were hiding this.” Seraphina’s eyes were wide with greed. She clutched a whole chest of jewelry to her chest. “Aveline, I love these so much! Can you give them to me?” Seeing my silence, Brishen frowned and came to persuade me. “Aveline, Seraphina has always looked up to you like an older sister. Don’t be a stranger. What’s one chest of jewels? You have so many.” He turned to Drake. “Isn’t that right?” Drake nodded. “If you refuse to give them to Seraphina today, it only proves that you are petty and jealous, and unworthy of your station.” Seraphina put on her sweet, innocent act again. “Oh, don’t be so harsh! Aveline is so good to me, I’m sure she’ll give them to me. Right, Aveline?” I laughed. “Let’s see if you have the nerve to take them.” These were personally selected by the Crown Prince for his future bride. Every piece bore the royal sigil. Even if I dared to give them away, did Seraphina have the courage to wear them in public? Seraphina smiled smugly. “Then I thank you in advance, Aveline! Brishen, Drake, my dears, you’ll help me carry this chest out later, won’t you?” Before she finished, her gaze shifted again, landing on the magnificent scarlet gown hanging on a screen. “Heavens, what a beautiful dress! Isn’t this the legendary Sunbird Gown? The one the finest royal seamstress of the old kingdom spent two years embroidering with threads of pure gold?” “This gown alone is worth a king’s ransom! After the old kingdom fell, it was thought to be lost forever.” “Aveline, how did it end up here?” I was exhausted, weary down to my bones. I wanted this to be over. I told them the truth. “It was a gift from the Crown Prince.” But none of them believed me. “Aveline is just the Chancellor’s daughter. How could she obtain such a priceless gown? It’s probably a replica.” “Today is her birthday. Some wealthy noble must have given it to her as a gift. Seraphina, if you like it, just have Aveline give it to you as well.” The sheer audacity of it all. Seeing the way they coddled her, a wave of disgust washed over me. Seraphina stroked the fabric with a look of pure longing. “Aveline, we’re sisters, what’s mine is yours. This gown is too beautiful. Just let me try it on?” “No.” My refusal was cold and absolute. But Drake and Brishen grabbed my arms, dragging me away from the screen. “Why are you being so selfish? Seraphina just wants to try it on. She won’t damage it!” Brishen produced a flask of wine from somewhere. “It’s your birthday, after all,” he said, moving toward me. “And you can’t have a birthday without a drink!” “This is a wine that Seraphina brewed herself. A rare treat! Come on, have a taste!” I struggled against them. “The royal physician said I cannot drink any alcohol!” When I fell from the horse, I had injured not just my shoulder, but a bone in my leg. With the wedding approaching, the physician had given me a powerful medicine to speed my recovery. He had specifically warned me not to touch a single drop of wine. But my words were met with scorn. “Who are you trying to fool, Aveline? You used to be able to drink us all under the table. What’s a single flask of wine to you?” “If you don’t drink today, you’re disrespecting Seraphina, and you’re disrespecting us!” They exchanged a look. One forced my jaw open while the other poured the wine down my throat. The strong, cloying taste of it made me choke, tears streaming from my eyes. They just laughed. “See? You can handle it just fine.” I tried desperately to spit the wine out, but an unnatural heat was already spreading through my body. Something was terribly wrong. I clutched at my throat, stumbling toward the door. “Help me…” “Honestly, Aveline’s acting is getting better and better. It’s just a flask of wine, is it really necessary to put on such a show…” Brishen and Drake watched me go, their voices dripping with amusement. My whole body began to tremble. Their voices faded. The world spun, and then everything went black. As I collapsed, their expressions finally changed. “Aveline!”

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December 23rd. The day my girlfriend, Chloe, and I were supposed to get our marriage license. I waited at City Hall until the clerks started packing up for the holiday, but she never showed. Just as I was about to call, a message from her lit up my phone. “Hey honey, something came up. Can we do this another day?” Something came up? My eyes fell to the post she’d just made on her private social media account. “A lifetime with you, Mr. Cole.” The picture was a sweet, close-up shot of Chloe and her high school sweetheart, holding a freshly issued marriage certificate. My world turned to ash. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I threw the ring in the trash, canceled the wedding venue, and went home to pack, methodically erasing every trace of myself from the apartment we shared. Later, she called, sobbing and indignant. “You promised you’d love me no matter what I did! Why are you breaking your promise?” “Leaving without a word like this… does it mean you don’t love me anymore?” The day I left for good, she chased my car down the street, a frantic bride in a white wedding dress, crying and begging me to marry her. 1 The main hall of City Hall was a sea of festive red decorations. Couples were everywhere, clutching their new marriage certificates, hugging, kissing, and snapping photos to announce their new status to the world. I was lost in a daze, staring at the pictures on my phone, when my own documents—my ID and a photo of Chloe and me—slipped from my numb fingers and scattered on the floor. I bent to pick them up, but another hand got there first. A flicker of hope sparked in my chest. I looked up. It was a stranger, his own new bride smiling at his side. He handed me my things with a friendly grin. “Hey man, you here to tie the knot, too?” I nodded, a bitter laugh catching in my throat. Chloe was off living her happily ever after with Cole. Why would she be here with me? The man glanced around. “So… where’s your fiancée? It’s a zoo in here today. You don’t want to lose her. She might get mad and call the whole thing off.” He and his wife exchanged a look, their happiness a tangible thing. A pang of nostalgia hit me, sharp and painful. Chloe and I used to be just like that. At sixteen, Chloe’s skin was so pale it was almost translucent in the sun. When she looked at me, her eyes were filled with stars, and her voice was like a melody. “Lucas,” she’d said, “when I grow up, can I be your wife?” It felt like yesterday. But the image on my phone—the two of them, so blissfully happy—dragged me back to the brutal present. I shoved my phone into my pocket, forcing a grim smile. “Her? Oh, she’s getting married to someone else.” Without waiting to see the shock on his face, I turned and walked away, terrified I was about to fall apart. I collapsed into the driver’s seat of my car. The ceiling was a collage of photos of Chloe and me, and memories washed over me like a tidal wave. A month ago, at my birthday party, Chloe had appeared in a flowing white wedding dress, a bouquet in her hands, walking towards me through a crowd of our childhood friends. “Mr. Hayes,” she’d said, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m twenty-seven now. Will you… will you finally marry me?” My eyes burned. I took the flowers from her, dropped to one knee, and pulled out the ring I’d been carrying for years. As I slid it onto her finger, my own voice shook. “Miss Collins… I… I will.” The joy of that moment, the culmination of eleven years of love, had been so overwhelming I couldn’t sleep that night. I remembered every anniversary, every birthday, planning for days in advance just to see her happy. I picked her up from work every single day, and we’d go to the supermarket together, choosing groceries, planning our meals. Her colleagues were green with envy. “Wow, Chloe, your boyfriend is perfect!” “You must have saved the galaxy in a past life to find a guy that thoughtful.” Whenever she heard that, she’d blush, and the look she gave me was pure, syrupy sweetness. “Mr. Hayes,” she’d whispered that night, her lips brushing against mine amidst the cheers of our friends, “here’s to the rest of our lives.” I thought our eleven-year marathon had finally reached its perfect finish line. I never imagined it would all turn to smoke. A profound sadness bloomed in my chest. I had to see her. This had to be some kind of mistake. A lifetime of shared memories couldn’t possibly lose to some ghost from a decade ago. I pulled up to our apartment and saw the door was ajar. Through the crack, I could see Chloe talking to her best friend, Zoe. “Zoe,” she said, her voice a strange mix of tears and triumph, “I did it. I married Cole.” A hammer blow slammed into my chest, stealing my breath. On the drive over, I’d clung to the fantasy that this was all some elaborate, cruel prank. But it was real. I was the one fooling myself. Inside, Zoe’s voice was sharp with disbelief. “Chloe, are you insane? Why in God’s name would you marry Cole?” Chloe’s reply was choked with sobs, yet strangely defiant. “He’s back, Zoe. He has terminal cancer. He only has three months to live. We were in love, back in high school. If my parents hadn’t interfered, I would have been with him all along. Lucas would have never even been in the picture.” “I lost him once. I can’t lose him again!” “So, yes, I am perfectly calm. I’m going to have a wedding with him. I’m going to be his wife. Because… I love him!” It felt like a thousand needles were being driven into my skin. The pain was so intense, so all-encompassing, that my whole body started to shake. Twenty-seven years of friendship. Eleven years of love. All of it erased by a fleeting, teenage crush. “Chloe!” Zoe’s voice was a raw, furious roar. “Even if you wanted to give him some peace, you could have done it secretly! Why did you have to broadcast it to the entire world?” “Don’t you see what a horrible person you’re being?” I thought, maybe, Chloe would finally see the enormity of her mistake. That she would break down, consumed by guilt. But what she said next ripped my heart to shreds. “Do it secretly? Are you kidding me? That would be an insult to the pure, true love Cole and I share! Our love transcends time and space! The whole world should be moved to tears by our story. What have I done that’s so wrong?” My fist clenched. I slammed it into the concrete wall beside me. Your love is pure and true. Your grand, tragic romance. Then what were our eleven years? What the hell was I? Zoe stamped her foot in frustration. “You love Cole?! What about Lucas? He’s the one who’s been with you your entire life! You’ve been together for eleven years!” “How could you do this to him?” I slowly raised my head, feeling as if I could see Chloe right through the door. Her voice was full of arrogant certainty. “How is this hurting him? I’m only marrying Cole. It’s not like I’m going to sleep with him or have his children. My body, my heart… they’ll always be Lucas’s. I’m not cheating.” “Besides, Lucas swore he’d never marry anyone but me. A man can’t go back on his word, can he?” “So, even though I married Cole, I know he’ll still marry me. If he doesn’t, then he was lying when he said he loved me.” 2 I don’t know how I managed to leave that place. I pulled the car over to the side of the road, leaned back in the driver’s seat, and lit a cigarette. The sharp, minty scent of the capsule I’d crushed filled the small space. I closed my eyes and laughed, a bitter, broken sound. I don’t even like smoking. But the acrid smoke stung my eyes, giving me an excuse for the tears that streamed down my face. Chloe’s words echoed in my head. “I lost him once. I can’t lose him again!” “I’m going to be his wife. I love him!” Chloe and I were born in the same hospital, just hours apart. We were the definition of childhood sweethearts. Our fathers co-founded what is now the country’s largest electronics corporation. She was the one person I had always, unabashedly, adored. If the story had ended there, it would have been a perfect happy ending. But then, in high school, Cole appeared. He was a transfer student with bleached-blond hair and a swaggering, devil-may-care attitude. To Chloe, who had always been a rule-follower, he was an irresistible anomaly. He was the first boy to ever make her blush when he told her he liked her. Her grades plummeted. Just as she was about to fall completely under his spell, her father found out. He gave Cole’s family a substantial sum of money to send him abroad, and just like that, my story with Chloe was back on track. But who could have guessed that a ghost from a decade ago could reappear and shatter our eleven-year love story so completely? Three months ago, during a meteor shower, I had shouted at the heavens, “I, Lucas Hayes, will never marry anyone but Chloe Collins!” And she had shouted back, “I, Chloe Collins, will never marry anyone but Lucas Hayes!” That night, we made promises under a blanket of stars, pledging our lives to each other. I never thought the person I loved most in the world would be the one to drive a knife into my heart. Over and over again, like a slow, deliberate execution. I was down to my last cigarette. I got out of the car to walk to a convenience store just as a light rain began to fall. The street was full of couples in matching red outfits, holding hands and laughing as they ran for cover. They were soaked, but they were happy. I didn’t run. I had no home to run to anymore. My phone rang. Chloe. I rejected the call without a second thought. She called again. I rejected it again. Finally, I just turned the phone off. I didn’t know how to face her. Should I yell? Accuse her? The weight of twenty-seven years of memories paralyzed me. After what felt like an eternity, a soft voice broke through my stupor. “It’s raining so hard. You should find some shelter. You’ll catch a cold.” I flinched. The rain wasn’t hitting me anymore. I slowly looked up. Chloe was standing beside me, holding an umbrella over my head. I instinctively took a step back. I would rather feel the icy sting of the autumn rain than accept the warmth of her pity. She followed me, keeping the umbrella over me. Her eyes were red, full of a painful tenderness. She gently took the cigarette from my fingers and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “You should smoke less. It’s bad for you.” “What’s it to you? Who are you to me?” I moved away again. I took out another cigarette, but she snatched it away before I could light it. “Do you want me to die of a broken heart?” she whispered, taking off her own jacket and draping it over my shoulders. Our eyes met, and for a dizzying moment, I was lost. How I wished none of this had ever happened. “Have you eaten?” I shook my head, numb, still clinging to the ghost of her tenderness. Back at the apartment, she immediately ladled a bowl of hot soup and handed it to me. “Here, drink this. Warm yourself up before you get sick.” I didn’t take it. I just stared at the girl I had cherished my entire life, the girl I had devoted my past to. A storm of emotions churned inside me, and I could barely control it. After a long moment, I managed to steady my voice, my heart a frozen lake. “Chloe, let’s break up.” Her hand jerked. Hot soup splashed onto her skin. Before, I would have rushed to get a napkin, to soothe the burn. This time, I just sat there, motionless. Finally, her lips began to tremble. Her voice was a choked, tearful whisper. “Lucas, are you still mad about me and Cole getting the license today?” “Please don’t be mad, okay? He only has three months left. After three months, as long as we still love each other…” “Don’t say another word!” I wrenched my hand away, my face a cold mask. “Miss Collins, you are now legally married to another man. You are his wife. So please,” I said, my voice dripping with ice, “have some self-respect.” 3 “…Lucas.” A complex emotion flickered in Chloe’s eyes, and she swallowed whatever she was about to say. Her eyes grew redder, and fat tears began to roll down her cheeks like pearls. My entire life, I had done everything in my power to make her happy, to never let her shed a single tear. I believed that to love someone was to strive for their happiness, no matter the personal sacrifice. But now, I watched her cry without a flicker of emotion, my heart turned to stone. “Miss Collins, if you didn’t hear me clearly, I can repeat myself. We are over.” I turned and went to my room to pack my clothes. Chloe snatched the clothes from my hands and threw her arms around me, holding on so tightly it felt like she was trying to merge our bodies into one. Her voice was a hoarse, panicked whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Lucas, I’m so sorry.” I was so tired of hearing ‘sorry.’ I just wanted to be done right by. “Lucas, I’m begging you, please don’t leave me. You know I love you. I love you so, so much.” “Didn’t you promise my grandmother on her deathbed that you would take care of me for the rest of your life, that you would never leave me?” “Just wait for me for three months. After three months, I’ll be yours again, okay?” She looked up at me, her eyes shimmering with tears, the picture of pitiable beauty. Without hesitation, I pried her hands off me. As her eyes widened in panic, I slowly shook my head. “Chloe, you say you love me, but you married Cole. So why should I wait for you?” “Is it because you’re so sure that I love you that you feel you can do whatever you want?” She froze, then shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “No, it’s not like that…” Just then, her phone rang. She saw Cole’s name on the screen and quickly wiped her tears, forcing a smile. “Hey, sweetie. What’s wrong? You don’t like the suit for the groom?” “Don’t worry, I’ll be right there to help you pick one out. For the wedding tomorrow, you’re going to be the most handsome groom in the world.” “I love you, Cole!” She hung up. She looked at me again, her eyes pleading. “Lucas, you used to always go along with whatever I wanted.” “Why have you become so fragile? You can’t handle even a little bit of hardship?” “Besides, even though I’m marrying him, I will never sleep with him. I’ll keep myself pure for you. After he’s gone, I’ll spend the next few decades with you, have your children. Isn’t that enough?” “Lucas, I love him, but I love you, too! Please don’t make this so hard for me, okay?” It was so absurd I almost laughed. She claimed it was hard, but she had made her choice without a moment’s hesitation, and now she was trying to justify it. I wanted a love that was exclusive. Even an emotional affair was a betrayal. It was just as dirty. “You have to come to the wedding tomorrow!” she said. “I want you to see me at my most beautiful.” “Our wedding can be just like this, okay?” Without waiting for my answer, she rushed out the door to find Cole. The moment the door closed, I took the photo of us from my wallet, flicked open a lighter, and held the flame to the corner. Eleven years of love, as fragile as this photograph. It went up in flames in an instant. I let go, watching our youth turn to ash, and let her fly free. Sitting on the floor, I lit another cigarette and looked at the anonymous text that had just come through on my phone. “Don’t forget to come to my wedding with Chloe, Lucas. Even though I’m dying, I still won.” It had to be Cole. The old me would have flown into a rage. Now, I just stared at the screen, my face blank, and typed a single word in reply. “Okay.”

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Flames devoured our old family home. My sister, Marie, was trapped inside, severely burned. For some reason, there was an ambulance shortage. Taxis couldn’t get past the roadblocks into the neighborhood. I couldn’t drive. In a blind panic, I called my wife for help. She hung up on me, again and again. Finally, she just turned her phone off. I was left screaming, grabbing at neighbors, begging anyone for a ride. A kind soul finally drove us to the hospital, but it was too late. Marie had missed the golden hour for treatment. She died on a gurney in the emergency room. I was on my knees outside the morgue, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe, when the news report flashed across the hospital’s hallway monitor. “Kathy Delaney, CEO of the Delaney Conglomerate, spares no expense for love. After her childhood sweetheart, Adrian, suffers a minor cut, Ms. Delaney diverts every available ambulance in the city to his aid.” I stared at the screen, my tears turning to ice. In that moment, I made my decision. I was leaving the woman who had killed my sister.

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Julian Shaw paid over ten thousand dollars a gram for rare coffee beans, just so he could personally make me a pour-over every morning. He once told a global news outlet, “My wife is grumpy when she wakes up. Only the aroma of fresh coffee and my kisses can coax her out of bed.” The entire world thought he was madly in love with me. But as I watched that interview, my eyes fixed on the small bouquet of daisies tucked into his suit pocket, I sent him a text. [Let’s get a divorce.] … The news that Julian Shaw, CEO of the Shaw Corporation, had purchased a lot of world-renowned Panamanian coffee beans at a record-breaking price was headline news. Our names shot to the top of every social media trend. [My husband can’t even be bothered to get me a glass of water when I have cramps, and Julian Shaw is making his wife coffee by hand every morning. The jealousy is real.] [When are Julian and Lucy having kids? I need to know so I can plan my reincarnation accordingly.] [What did Lucy Hayes do to deserve a life this good?!] Julian had never been shy about his grand, public displays of affection. For a time, I was genuinely moved by his passionate declarations. But I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. He called me the second he got my text. “Honey, don’t be like this,” his voice was a low, urgent murmur. “You can be angry, you can yell at me, hit me, anything. But you can’t say the ‘D’ word. It would kill me.” “Julian, I’m serious.” “Tell me what you’re mad about. I’ll fix it,” he said, his tone gentle, patient, as if he had all the time in the world for my whims. “I don’t like daisies.” A few seconds of silence on his end. “That’s it?” “Yes. That’s it.” It took him a moment to remember why I hated them. “I’m so sorry, baby. It was an oversight. I didn’t notice when Hannah put the arrangement together. Please don’t be angry. When I get home tonight, you can have me any way you want as compensation.” When had “Ms. Vance, my assistant” become just “Hannah”? I doubt even he noticed the shift. Years ago, a single daisy had sprouted in our garden. Julian had hired a team to dig up the entire lawn, terrified a single seed might have been missed. They scorched the earth for a week before replanting it with roses. How could a man so meticulous, so attuned to my every aversion, “overlook” a bouquet of daisies pinned to his chest? The garden outside my window looked lifeless in the winter chill, a perfect mirror of my marriage, slowly dying. A few moments later, my phone rang again. It was Hannah Vance. “Mrs. Shaw, I am so, so sorry. It was my mistake, and I’m terribly sorry for upsetting you. Please don’t be angry with Mr. Shaw. I’ll be much more careful next time.” Her voice was soft and fragile, as if a strong breeze could blow her away. I knew Julian was right there beside her. “Next time?” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “What other disasters are you planning to orchestrate?” “Okay, Lucy, that’s enough,” Julian’s voice cut in, firm but gentle. He couldn’t bear to see her upset for even a second. “The poor girl has apologized. Be a little more gracious.” A soft sob came through the phone. “It’s okay,” Hannah wept. “I’m fine. She can yell at me all she wants, as long as she’s not angry with you, Julian.” “Shh, don’t cry. It’s nothing, it’s a small thing,” Julian soothed, his voice a tender caress. But to me, it was like the screech of nails on a chalkboard, carving a raw, bleeding wound across my heart. “Just leave me alone,” I snapped, tossing the phone aside. I couldn’t listen to another second of it. Ding. Two messages arrived simultaneously. One was from Julian. [You’ve yelled, you’ve let off some steam. Feeling better now? My darling wife’s temper is getting bigger and bigger. You’re making my life so hard. 😉 ] I let out a bitter laugh. So, raising my voice to the woman he was comforting now counted as “yelling.” The other was from Hannah. [Oops, I forgot. Your mother jumped to her death into a field of daisies, didn’t she? Was it a beautiful field? As beautiful as this?] Attached was a photo. A vast, endless field of daisies stretching to the horizon. The world spun. I reached for a chair to steady myself but missed, collapsing to the floor. My forehead hit the sharp edge of the seat. My mother had jumped right in front of me. My father’s endless affairs had worn her down, day by day, until she was nothing but a ghost. Her final act was the only thing that made him stop. “Love makes you weak, it makes you pathetic,” she’d told me. “Don’t become me.” Her last words still echoed in my mind during my darkest nights. Julian and I were high school classmates. Girls flocked to him, but he only had eyes for me. I rejected him ten times, but he never gave up. He seemed to thrive on the challenge. Later, my father’s company was on the brink of collapse. He wanted me to marry into the Jiang family to secure a financial rescue. Julian had confronted me then, his eyes red and raw. “Why? Why is some stranger you’ve never met acceptable, but I’m not?” The next day, he went to my father with an investment agreement. “Lucy is a free woman,” he’d said. “You can’t force her to marry anyone.” His left cheek was swollen that day. I knew his own father must have beaten him for that deal. I brought him an ice pack and asked if he wanted to marry me. He stared at me for a long moment, and then he started to cry. After we were married, he truly did put me on a pedestal. He remembered all my favorite things, my pet peeves, and showered me with extravagant surprises on every occasion. When I had nightmares, he would hold me tight, stroking my back until I fell back asleep. For a while, I thought my mother was wrong. Love didn’t make you weak; it could make a withered rose bloom again. Until a few months ago, when he hired Hannah Vance as his assistant, against my explicit wishes. That’s when I understood. Julian was no different from my father. He never understood why I had such animosity towards a fresh-faced college graduate. But I knew the moment I saw her photo that he would hire her. Because she looked exactly like me in high school. The me that Julian could never have. After sending the photo, Hannah posted on her social media. [I’m such an idiot. I messed up big time. Boss just canceled my year-end bonus. I just want to go hide and cry.] Julian commented instantly. [Mistakes happen. I’m giving you the afternoon off. Go have a good cry.] I couldn’t tell if he was trying to protect me or flaunting their relationship in my face. After lunch, I drove out to our hot springs villa in the suburbs. It was a wedding gift from the Han family. We’d moved out because the commute was inconvenient, but a lot of our important documents were still stored there. As I approached the door, I heard the sound of splashing water. There was a small hot spring pool in the courtyard, but we hadn’t been here all year. There shouldn’t have been anyone in it. “Feeling better? Still want to cry?” Julian’s voice, so painfully familiar, drifted through the wall. A chill ran down my spine. He’d brought her here. To our wedding home. “You have to make it up to me for my bonus!” Hannah’s voice was no longer soft and fragile. It was playful, coquettish. “You were naughty. You have to be punished so you learn your lesson. I told you not to bring this up in front of Lucy. That’s my one rule.” “Then send a company-wide email about it! I feel so wronged.” “I know you do. Did you like that apartment we looked at? You should move in. It’ll be more convenient for you to get to work.” “Is that all I get? A new apartment?” “What do you want, then?” Hannah’s voice dropped to a breathy whisper. I couldn’t make out the words. I only heard the sound of water, splashing violently from the pool. “Hmph. Let’s see if I can make you cry out for real,” Julian’s voice was a low, husky growl, every syllable crystal clear. I knew Hannah was confident in their relationship to have sent me that photo. But hearing it, experiencing it firsthand… the pain was overwhelming. I pressed a hand to my mouth to keep from being sick, my body trembling as I dragged myself back to the car. My mother was right. Love made you weak. But I would not become her. I took several deep breaths and called Julian. “Hey, baby. What’s up?” His voice was slightly breathless. “Where are you?” “In a meeting with a client.” “I can’t find one of the old contracts. I was thinking it might be at the villa…” I said, testing him. “No way. All the important stuff was moved to the house. I’m sure of it. Just look again.” “Really? I still think I should go check.” “Don’t go—” His voice shot up an octave. “I mean, it’s not safe for you to drive all that way alone. I’ll go with you this weekend, okay?” “Never mind. It’s not urgent. You’re busy,” I said, my voice flat, and hung up. A new message from Hannah popped up instantly. [So you check up on him too? Here, let me give you a full report.] Attached was a photo. A box of condoms on a nightstand, with only a few remaining. Bile rose in my throat. The man who had sworn to cherish me for a lifetime was utterly filthy. I didn’t go home. I drove to an event production company. They were handling the Shaw Corporation’s 20th-anniversary gala next month. To liven things up, Julian was scheduled to perform a magic trick—an underwater escape act—with one of their professional performers. “Can I be the one in the tank?” I asked the manager. “I want to surprise my husband.” “Mrs. Shaw, without proper training, it’s very risky,” the manager said, hesitant to agree, fearing an accident. “Thirty thousand dollars,” I said. “For my training. I’ll come every day.” “Well, in that case… You and Mr. Shaw are a true power couple. So romantic.” “Please keep this a secret,” I said, forcing a smile. If he loved playing the doting husband so much, then I would be the one to rip up the script. I would disappear from the world, right before his very eyes. Julian came home late that night. I was still reviewing the materials from the production company. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I got held up at the client’s. I’m so late.” He noticed the bruise on my forehead. “What happened to your head? Are you hurt?” He leaned in to inspect the wound. As he did, I saw a faint red mark, a hickey, just visible above the collar of his shirt. I snapped my laptop shut and pushed him away. “Still mad?” He produced a square jewelry box and opened it. Inside lay a magnificent emerald necklace, easily worth over half a million dollars. “Honey, I’ve had my eye on this for a while. It matches your aura perfectly. Do you like it?” I laughed, a bitter, self-deprecating sound. I never thought I’d be in this position. He buys his mistress an apartment and then immediately buys me a necklace to “compensate.” How ridiculous. As if he could balance the scales between his wife and his lover. “I don’t like it,” I said, pushing the box away. “Can’t you just be agreeable for once? You’re harder to please than any of my clients,” he snapped, his patience finally wearing thin. He slammed the bathroom door shut. He didn’t understand. I used to be easy to please because I never intended to argue with him. Now, I was difficult because I had no intention of ever forgiving him. In the weeks leading up to the gala, I was busier than ever. I saw less and less of Julian. But someone else was keeping me updated on his schedule. [He introduced me to his friends today. We all went out for drinks. They’re fun. Why do you think they don’t like you?] [Have you ever done it in a car on a mountain top? He’s insatiable.] [Guess where I am? Your old high school athletic field. My legs are jelly.] [This is so boring. You never reply. Are you just going to let me walk all over you? How does it feel to be abandoned? Feel like dying yet?] I ignored her. Julian’s taste in women was truly appalling. I dialed a recent number in my call history. “How is he?” I asked in a low voice. “Is the old man still alive? Did he agree to sign?” “Mr. Hayes has agreed to transfer all his company shares to you,” the voice on the other end replied. I hung up, a sliver of satisfaction finally cutting through the gloom. I pulled open a drawer and scanned its contents—contracts, deeds, plane tickets—my eyes finally landing on a set of divorce papers.

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