Category: English

1 At 3:06 AM, my husband Connor Hayes called me. I had just answered when his voice pressed heavily through the receiver. “Grace, go downstairs and move the car.” I sat up, pulling the blanket around me. The line was dead quiet. Quiet like a sealed room. I didn’t say a word. He urged again, “Hurry up, the car is blocking the fire lane. The keys are on the entryway console.” I stared at the caller ID. Connor Hayes. My husband. It was definitely his voice. But in our three years of marriage, he rarely called me by my first name with such coldness. I felt a chill of suspicion. Was he drunk? “Where are you?” I asked. There was a two-second pause. “The office. Move the car first, don’t ask so many questions.” He hung up. I looked at the time. 3:08 AM. My palms were sweating, but in the next second, I dialed 911. The dispatcher’s voice was clear: “911, what is your emergency?” I swallowed hard. “I need to report a crime.” “My husband, Connor Hayes, might have murdered someone.” “The body might be hidden in the underground garage of The Pinnacle Luxury Apartments, in his black Range Rover, license plate A9Z-77.” The dispatcher clearly paused. “Ma’am, can you be more specific? Where is your husband now? Who is the victim?” I dug my nails into my palms. The pain kept me lucid. “I don’t know who the victim is.” “But he just called me at 3:00 AM, telling me to go down and move the car.” “I suspect there’s something inside it.” “Please send officers immediately.” The dispatcher didn’t waste time with pointless questions. “Please keep your phone on, stay in a safe location, and do not approach the vehicle.” I said okay. After hanging up, I stood by the entryway. The car keys were right there on the console table. Black leather strap, silver logo. I reached out to touch them, then immediately pulled my hand back. Don’t touch. The thought exploded in my brain. I threw on a coat, grabbed my phone, and deadbolted the front door. Five minutes later, the building’s HOA group chat blew up. [Why are there cop cars in the P2 garage?] [Did something happen to someone?] [Mrs. Hayes, is your husband’s car blocking the fire lane?] I didn’t reply. I stood by the elevator, listening to it tick its way up to my floor. Ding. The doors opened. Two uniformed officers and a man in a black leather jacket stepped out. The man had a sharp gaze. He asked immediately, “Grace Harper?” I nodded. “I’m Detective Marcus Quinn, Major Crimes Unit. You’re the one who called in the tip about your husband murdering someone and hiding the body?” “Yes.” Detective Quinn looked at me. “Lead the way.” We took the elevator down to P2. Connor’s car was parked in the furthest corner of Section A. The black exterior was polished to a shine. Standing by the hood was the property manager, his face as pale as a ghost. “Officers, we just checked the security footage. Mr. Hayes parked here at 11:00 PM and no one has touched it since.” Detective Quinn signaled the crime scene tech to pop the lock. I stood ten feet away. The moment the trunk popped open, my heart clenched. It was completely empty. There was only a folding umbrella, a car emergency kit, and Connor’s usual cashmere blanket. No blood. No body. Nothing suspicious whatsoever. The property manager breathed a huge sigh of relief and immediately looked at me. He looked at me like I was insane. Detective Quinn didn’t jump to conclusions. He had them open the doors, check the back seats, the crevices, the floor mats, and the spare tire well. Everything was clean. Unbelievably clean. A young officer frowned. “Detective, it smells like bleach in here.” The property manager immediately chimed in, “Mr. Hayes is a neat freak. The car gets fully detailed twice a week.” I wanted to laugh. Connor a neat freak? He’d come home, toss his jacket on the sofa, and kick his socks under the bed. I’d nagged him for three years and he never changed. Detailed twice a week? Bullshit. I was about to speak when a shrill woman’s voice echoed from the elevators. “Grace Harper!” My mother-in-law, Helen Hayes, stormed over in her sleepwear, followed by Connor’s younger brother, Blake Hayes, and Connor’s secretary, Morgan Davis. When Helen saw the cops, her face contorted. “What kind of crazy pill did you take in the middle of the night?” “Connor is a good, hardworking man, and you call the cops on him calling him a murderer?!” Blake caught her arm, his eyes dark and cold. “Grace, my brother puts up with a lot from you, but you can’t drag his name through the mud like this.” Morgan, wrapped in a white cardigan, had red-rimmed eyes. “Grace, I know Mr. Hayes has been busy lately and neglecting you.” “But dragging this to the police… it’s going to ruin him.” I looked at the three of them. What a perfect little reunion. Three in the morning. I had just hung up, the cops had just arrived, yet the mother-in-law, the brother-in-law, and the female secretary were all here without missing a beat. The string of tension in my chest pulled tighter. Detective Quinn asked, “Where is Connor Hayes?” Helen immediately answered, “He’s at the office, in a meeting.” Blake chimed in, “Yeah, Frostline Logistics has a rush order tonight. My brother is swamped.” Detective Quinn locked eyes with him. “If he’s at the office, why did he call his wife to come down and move his car?” Blake choked on his words. Morgan rushed to say, “Maybe the property manager was rushing him, and he couldn’t get away.” I laughed. “Mr. Manager, did you rush him?” The property manager broke out in a sweat. “No! I was asleep. I only got the call from security when the cruisers showed up.” The air instantly froze. Helen glared at him fiercely. “What does a building manager know? What if other residents complained?” Quinn ignored her and pulled out his phone. “Call Connor Hayes.” Blake dialed the number on the spot. It rang twice and connected. Connor’s face appeared on the screen. He was sitting in his office. White button-down, black tie, his expression cool and detached. “Mom, what’s going on?” Helen burst into tears. “Connor! Grace called the cops saying you killed someone! Hurry up and explain it to them!” The Connor on the video frowned at the camera. “Grace, what are you doing this time?” The blood drained all the way to my feet. The face. The voice. It was all exactly right. But I felt sick to my stomach. 2 Detective Quinn took the phone. “Connor Hayes?” The man in the video nodded. “Yes.” “Where are you right now?” “Frostline Logistics headquarters.” “Did you just call Grace Harper and tell her to move your car?” “Yes.” He answered too fast. Too fast, like he was reciting a script. Quinn pressed, “Your car is parked in the P2 level of your apartment building, you’re at headquarters, how did you know your car was in the way?” The Connor on screen paused for a fraction of a second. “Property management called me.” Quinn turned to look at the manager. The manager waved his hands frantically. “I didn’t call! I swear I didn’t!” Helen panicked. “Officer, don’t let Grace twist this! Married couples fight all the time, what household doesn’t have drama? She just wants to humiliate Connor!” Morgan looked at me with teary eyes. “Grace, Mr. Hayes is under a lot of pressure right now.” “If you really care about him, please stop pushing him to the edge.” I took a step forward, staring at the man on the screen. “Connor.” He looked at me. His eyes were incredibly blank. I said, “Take your phone to the window.” He frowned. “Grace, what more do you want?” “Take it to the window.” My voice was very soft. “Let me see the sky outside the office.” The video feed went dead quiet. Two seconds. Three seconds. The image suddenly froze. Immediately after, the call disconnected. Blake cursed out loud, “Are you seriously trying to make a conspiracy out of bad reception? Grace, if you’re sick in the head, go to a hospital!” Quinn looked up. “Say one more word, I dare you.” Blake shut his mouth. I looked at the black screen, my heart sinking deeper into the abyss. Frostline Logistics headquarters was on the fifteenth floor, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows and flawless cell reception. Every time Connor video-called me from the office, the connection was so clear I could see the bubbles popping in his coffee. The background in that video just now was too steady. As steady as a printed backdrop taped to the wall behind him. Detective Quinn ordered the techs to keep processing the car. K-9 units arrived. They sniffed every inch of the trunk, the back seats, and the garage drainage grates. Nothing. The techs sprayed Luminol. The lights were cut. The underground garage plunged into darkness. I held my breath. No blue glow. No blood traces. Absolutely nothing. Helen sneered. “See that?” “Officer, can you arrest her now?” “Framing her own husband for murder at 3 AM. I’m terrified to even have a woman like this in our family.” Morgan whispered, “Mrs. Hayes, maybe Grace just loves Mr. Hayes too much.” That sentence was dirtier than a rusty knife. I looked up at her. “Morgan Davis, is your relationship with my husband so close that you accompany my mother-in-law to a parking garage at 3 AM?” Her face paled. “Grace, you’re misunderstanding. I’m Mr. Hayes’s secretary. If something happens to the company, of course I have to be here.” “The company?” I caught her slip-up. “My 911 call was about The Pinnacle Apartments. Who told you something happened to the company?” Morgan’s lips trembled. Blake immediately stepped in front of her. “You’re going to bite her head off over a slip of the tongue? Your mouth is pure poison.” I didn’t bother acknowledging him. I looked at Detective Quinn. “If he’s not in the garage, we go to Frostline Logistics.” Quinn didn’t agree immediately. “Reason?” I said, “First, the background in Connor’s video was fake.” “Second, he mentioned the manager rushing him, which was a lie.” “Third, right before the video cut out, there was an alarm—three short beeps, one long beep.” Quinn’s eyes shifted. “What alarm?” I turned to look at Blake. His jaw was clenched tight. I enunciated every word clearly. “The temperature control alarm for Warehouse 7 at Frostline Logistics.” Helen screamed on the spot, “You’re lying!” Blake panicked. “Warehouse 7 is undergoing maintenance right now! A couple of beeps don’t mean anything!” “I said three short, one long.” I stared him down. “A maintenance alarm is one continuous drone. You only get three short and one long when the internal temperature drops abnormally.” “Blake, you haven’t even memorized the safety protocols of your brother’s company, and you dare lie for him?” The veins on Blake’s neck twitched. Morgan gripped the hem of her cardigan. Quinn took it all in. He turned and gave the order. “Units, roll out to Frostline Logistics HQ.” Helen lunged forward to block him. “You can’t go! Do you have a warrant?! That place is full of client inventory. If you force the doors and ruin the temperature, who’s going to pay the damages?!” I raised a hand and pointed at myself. “I will.” Helen froze. I pulled up the corporate registry and authorization documents on my phone. “I own thirty-five percent of Frostline Logistics.” “Connor granted me the highest level of emergency executive authority years ago.” “Detective, whatever damages we incur opening those doors tonight, I’ll sign for it.” The way Helen looked at me suddenly changed. It was full of hate. Full of panic. And a deep, hidden, venomous resentment. My heart felt like lead. Connor. Where are you? 3 When the police cruisers pulled up to Frostline Logistics, the guard booth was still lit. Stan, the night guard, turned ghostly pale when he saw us. “Mrs. Harper? This late…” I cut to the chase. “Is Connor inside?” Stan’s eyes darted around. “I… I think he’s in his office.” Quinn asked, “You think?” Stan stammered, “I didn’t go up to check.” I walked over to the security terminal and pulled up the backend logs. Connor’s keycard logged into HQ at 9:48 PM. There was no exit record. Blake’s keycard logged in at 10:03 PM. Morgan’s keycard logged in at 10:26 PM. Helen didn’t have a keycard. But the outer gate logs showed her car pulling into the complex at 1:47 AM. I handed the logs to Quinn. “They were all here.” Blake’s face turned grim. “Is it a crime for me to work late? Morgan is his secretary, and my mom was worried about Connor, so she came to bring him soup.” I looked at Helen. “Where’s the soup?” She choked. “I threw it away after he finished it.” I let out a cold laugh. “Connor has a bad stomach. He never drinks heavy broth at night. For his own mother, your memory is terrible.” Helen’s eyes instantly welled up. “You’ve hated me for a long time, haven’t you?” “Ever since Connor married you, he never comes home.” “When Blake was sick and needed to borrow money, you guys made every excuse not to help.” “Grace, you carry the Hayes name, but your heart is made of stone!” The moment she started crying, the night shift workers poked their heads out to look. Morgan took the opportunity to shed tears. “Grace, Mr. Hayes already agreed to sit down and talk about the divorce.” “He wanted to give you the house and a cash settlement.” “Why do you have to drag things out this far?” I turned to look at her. “Divorce?” Morgan bit her lip. “Mr. Hayes is soft-hearted. He didn’t want to humiliate you in public.” Blake immediately pulled out a document folder. “This is the draft of the divorce agreement. Grace, just take the money and walk away. It’s better for everyone.” He slapped the document down in front of me. I skimmed it. Asset division. I take $500,000. Forfeit my 35% stake in Frostline. Waive all rights to marital assets. The signature date was left blank. I picked up the agreement and slowly tore it in half. “Blake, do you know which stroke your brother is most afraid of messing up when he signs his name?” He blanked for a second. I slammed the shredded paper against his chest. “Before you forge his signature, you should know that the last stroke of his name always flicks upwards.” “The signature on this agreement is as flat as a dead man’s EKG.” Quinn immediately confiscated the shredded paper. “Bag it for evidence.” The tears on Morgan’s face froze. I kept going. “And you.” “You said Connor was discussing divorce with me.” “Last month, he listed me as the second-in-command proxy for Frostline Logistics.” “Two days ago, he had our lawyers draft an ironclad post-nuptial asset confirmation.” “Before you try to play the tragic mistress, at least check the corporate filings.” Morgan’s lips turned white. “Mr. Hayes and I are strictly professional!” “Professional enough to escort his mother and brother to intercept the cops at 3 AM?” I said coldly, “Morgan, don’t treat me like an idiot.” Quinn had already sent a tech to pull the interior surveillance footage. Soon, the tech came out, frowning. “Detective, the exterior cameras for Warehouse 7 are offline from 10:30 PM to 2:40 AM.” “Reason?” “The system logs show a scheduled maintenance.” I looked at Blake. “You just said Warehouse 7 was undergoing maintenance.” Quinn took the handoff. “Who authorized it?” The tech checked the backend. “Authorized by Morgan Davis.” Morgan’s head snapped up. “I was just following Mr. Hayes’s orders!” “Where’s the proof?” She looked at Blake in sheer panic. Blake looked awful. “My brother gave a verbal order.” Quinn scoffed. “Verbal again.” He waved his hand. “Move to Warehouse 7.” Warehouse 7 was in the rear building of the HQ lot. The whole way there, Helen kept cursing me. “A curse on our family!” “Connor’s had nothing but bad luck since he married you!” “Are you not going to be satisfied until you’ve destroyed this family?” I didn’t look back. There was only one voice in my head. Connor, hold on. If they trapped you, I’ll smash the doors down. If you’re hurt, I’ll put every last one of them behind bars. If you’re… I cut off the thought. I couldn’t go there. When we reached the doors of Warehouse 7, the alarm strobe was dead. Three brand-new padlocks hung on the outer latch. White fog seeped through the door seam. Stan whispered, “Warehouse 7 isn’t usually padlocked.” Quinn heard him. Blake immediately yelled at him, “Shut up! You’re a security guard, what do you know?!” Stan shrank back in fear. I walked up to the door. The three locks were shiny, with remnants of price tag adhesive still stuck to them. I reached out and touched the edge of the door. It was wet. And it carried the faint scent of bleach. I looked up at Detective Quinn. “Open it.” Blake rushed forward. “Grace! There’s millions of dollars of imported medical supplies in there! If the temperature shifts, are you going to pay for it with your life?!” I stared him down. “I’ll pay for it with my life.” “Step aside.” 4 Quinn didn’t hesitate anymore. “Cut the locks.” An officer brought up a pair of bolt cutters. Snap. The first lock fell. Helen rushed up crying, but a female officer held her back. “You can’t do this to our family!” “Connor is going to hate you for this when he gets back!” When I heard the words “gets back,” my throat felt like it was lined with needles. I truly wanted Connor to come back. Even if he came back and called me crazy. Even if he blamed me for ruining the company. As long as he was standing in front of me. Anything would be fine. The second lock hit the ground. The third lock snapped. The heavy insulated door was slowly pulled open. A blast of freezing air rolled out. The shelves inside Warehouse 7 were perfectly organized. On the surface, it was just rows of white cold-storage pallets. Morgan instantly let out a breath of relief. Wiping away fake tears, she said, “Grace, look, there’s nothing in here.” “Are you done throwing this tantrum?” I didn’t move. My eyes were fixed on the very last row of pallets. They were stacked way too tight. Frostline had strict protocols: cargo must be kept twelve inches from the walls for air circulation. Connor wrote that rule himself. He used to say, Inventory can spoil, but people can’t get lazy. But that last row of boxes was pushed flush against the back wall. I pointed at it. “Move those.” Blake’s face dropped. “How long are you going to keep doing this?!” Quinn gave him a look. “Do what she says.” A forklift driver was called in. His hands were shaking so badly he nearly crashed into the rack on the first try. I said, “I’ll guide you.” One pallet. Two pallets. Three pallets. Behind the rack, a section of gray waterproof tarp was exposed. Underneath the tarp was a long, bulging silhouette. Warehouse 7 fell dead silent. The blood drained from Morgan’s face completely. Helen suddenly threw herself toward the doors, screaming, “Don’t touch that! It’s client inventory!” Quinn pushed her back. “Pull the tarp.” An officer snapped on latex gloves and lifted the canvas. A heavy, black body bag was revealed. The zipper was frosted shut. Dark red, frozen runoff had seeped into the floor underneath it. My ears started ringing. Blake turned to run. I was faster than the cops. I sprinted over and kicked him hard in the back of the knees. He crashed to the ground with a thud, his nose smashing into the concrete, drawing blood. “Grace, you crazy bitch, you hit me!” I bent down, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and shoved his face toward the black bag. “Why are you running?” “Didn’t you just say it was client inventory?” “Open your eyes and look at what kind of inventory you hid in here!” Blake thrashed like a dying fish. Quinn barked, “Restrain him!” Two officers rushed up and pinned him down. Helen collapsed onto the floor, mumbling over and over, “It’s over… it’s all over…” Morgan was shaking so hard she couldn’t stand, but she was still trying to act. “I didn’t know… I swear I didn’t know there was something back here…” I walked up to her. She instinctively backed away. I raised my hand and slapped her across the face. Smack! The sound echoed sharp and clear through the freezing warehouse. Morgan clutched her cheek, tears spilling instantly. “You hit me?” I stared at her, my voice trembling but my words absolute. “You just asked me if I was done throwing a tantrum.” “Now it’s my turn to ask you.” “Stepping on a dead man’s body to get a promotion… was it worth it?” Quinn’s voice boomed. “Blake Hayes, Morgan Davis, Helen Hayes. Cuff them all!” The metallic clack of handcuffs rang out. I pointed at the black body bag in the depths of the freezer, looking at their pale faces. “Whoever wants to call me crazy again can get on their knees in front of that bag and say it.”

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Three years into our marriage, I ruined one hand for him, and Grandma sold off her jewelry for him. But in the end, for the sister of his so-called lifesaver, he gave my marital home to her for free, and for her sake, he drained Grandma’s blood right after she came out of the ICU. I finally saw him for what he was. I dissolved the marriage unilaterally and bought a one-way ticket to London. But after the divorce, he went insane trying to win me back… Sophie Reed POV In the third year of our marriage, I went to the bank to close our joint safe-deposit box. The teller looked at the holder names in the system and smiled politely. “Mrs. Foster, closing a joint safe-deposit box requires your husband Brandon Foster’s co-signature.” Calmly, I took back my ID. “No need. I’m not Mrs. Foster. My name is Sophie Reed, and I’m single now.” Just an hour ago, I had watched Brandon Foster sign an equity transfer agreement with my own eyes, transferring 10% of Foster Tech’s original sweat equity shares to Nina Young for free. Nina Young was the younger sister of his late best friend, Shawn. Seven years ago, Brandon Foster had nothing. It was my Grandma who sold her jewelry to help him buy his first piece of hardware equipment. Five years ago, when he was short on the down payment for a precision machine tool, I hid it from him and risked my life street racing through a stormy night to raise 200,000 RMB, breaking my left wrist and leaving it with permanent hidden damage. Three years ago, when Brandon Foster’s company was on the verge of bankruptcy, it was me again who risked my life driving at high speed in an overseas evacuation zone to save Old Mr. Zahn, securing hundreds of millions in investment from Zahn Group for him. But for the past five years, as long as Nina Young crooked a finger, Brandon Foster could abandon me when I was sick, cancel every date, and even transfer my marital home to her outright, all because of one sentence: “Shawn saved my life with his. I have to take care of Nina for the rest of her life.” I tolerated it for five years. Until today, when I saw that equity transfer agreement, and finally, completely gave up. I pushed open the bank doors and walked straight into the drizzle outside. But before I could reach the curb, my phone began to vibrate wildly, along with an alert from the bank system warning of an abnormal change in our joint assets. Two minutes later, a black Maybach screeched to a stop in front of me, cutting me off. The car door was shoved open roughly. Brandon Foster stepped out, carrying a chill all over him, strode toward me, and grabbed my arm. His grip was so hard it nearly crushed my bones. “Sophie Reed, are you done making a scene?!” Brandon Foster’s brows were locked tight, his eyes full of irritation and panic. “You haven’t come home for a week. You won’t answer my calls. Now you’re even running to the bank to clear out our joint assets! Do you know the security alert went straight to my phone? What the hell are you trying to do?” I lowered my eyes and looked at the hand he was gripping. It was my left hand, and numbness spread from my fingertips through the cracks between my bones. “Let go of my hand.” My tone stayed flat, unshaken. Nothing got under Brandon’s skin like my blank, unperturbed stare. It made him feel a terror he couldn’t control. He took a deep breath and used his usual tone to cover his guilt. “I know you’re angry about me buying Nina a car, but Nina is Shawn’s only sister. Shawn died saving me back then! So what if I protect her a little more? Do you really have to blow it this far out of proportion and use our seven years together as leverage?” Before he could finish speaking, the phone in his arms rang sharply. Nina Young’s name flashed across the screen. Brandon Foster answered, and Nina Young’s soft, tearful voice immediately came through. “Brandon… my car broke down on Ring Road. The people behind me keep honking at me. I’m so scared, and my stomach is starting to hurt again…” At the words stomach hurt, Brandon Foster’s expression changed instantly. He didn’t even bother questioning me anymore and spoke urgently into the phone. “Nina, don’t be scared. Lock the doors and stay in the car. I’m coming to pick you up right now!” After hanging up, Brandon Foster shoved me aside and hurried back toward the car, his tone an unquestionable order. “Sophie Reed, stop messing around. Nina is timid, and her stomach illness is acting up again. I have to go. Whatever it is, we’ll talk when I get back!” The Maybach sped away, its exhaust dispersing into the rainy mist and splashing dirty muddy water across the ground. I stood in the cold rain and slowly exhaled. I took out my phone and dialed that special encrypted number. “Ms. Reed, hello.” On the other end was the person in charge of the Foreign Ministry’s Special-Region Consular Protection Emergency Defensive Driving Unit, his voice precise and formal. “Regarding the special driving assignment application for high-risk regions that you submitted, we have passed the preliminary review. Since the area is on the brink of war and the risk level is extremely high, are you sure you want to accept the deployment?” I looked toward the corner where the Maybach had disappeared. There was not the slightest fluctuation in my voice. “I’m sure.” “All right. Given the danger of your mission, the protection driving unit has the right to provide you with family separation privilege, including enforcing a unilateral divorce for you in the backend through the national security channel. Do you need to activate this privilege?” “Yes.” I stroked the scar on my left wrist. “Within half a month before departure, help me get divorced.” “Understood. The unilateral compulsory divorce procedure has been initiated and will take effect in half a month.” After hanging up, I put my phone back into my bag and walked calmly into the curtain of rain.

Sophie Reed POV Three days later, Brandon Foster’s assistant forcibly dragged me to Foster Tech’s new product launch. “Sophie Reed, today’s launch determines whether the company can secure follow-up investment from Zahn Group. Miles Zahn is sitting in the audience today.” In the backstage corridor, Brandon Foster adjusted his suit while pressing down on my shoulders, half coaxing and half forcing me. “Sit obediently in the audience and let the media capture footage of us looking like a harmonious couple. I can’t have any negative news about relationship problems, understand?” I stood quietly in the shadows, not even bothering to nod as a pretense. But when the staff led me into the venue, I realized there was no seat for me in the most central VIP seats in the front row. In the seat representing the company family representative sat Nina Young, perfectly composed. She wore a white haute couture gown and was speaking softly and gently with the investors below the stage. As for me, the staff led me all the way to the very corner, behind the media section. “Hey, why are you sitting here?” A female employee who didn’t know who I was came over and tapped the table in front of me, her attitude arrogant. “These rows are reserved for partner media. Don’t get in the way here. If you damage the equipment behind you, can you afford to pay for it?” I looked up at her without explaining, then stood coldly and stepped back into the dim exit corridor behind me. The launch began soon after, with thunderous applause. When it came time for the ribbon-cutting ceremony, Nina Young walked gracefully onto the stage under everyone’s gaze and stood beside Brandon Foster as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The two of them held the golden scissors together, and the flashbulbs flickered like daylight. Below the stage, a familiar business partner teased suggestively, “Mr. Foster, Ms. Young’s white dress… Anyone who didn’t know better would think today wasn’t just a product launch, but your wedding ceremony too.” A burst of knowing laughter erupted through the venue. Brandon Foster’s body stiffened onstage. His gaze swept over the front row in near panic, trying to find me. But the front row was empty. I wasn’t there at all. Facing Miles Zahn, the investor below the stage, Brandon Foster gritted his teeth. In the end, he did not open his mouth to clarify. He merely curved his lips as if accepting it, revealing an ambiguous smile, allowing Nina Young to quietly lean a little closer to his side. Standing in the shadowy corridor, I calmly watched the whole scene unfold. The last flicker of feeling inside me died away for good. I lowered my head, unlocked my phone, and logged into the airline’s internal ticketing system. Because the driving unit had already submitted the compulsory divorce application for me, my household registration status had been changed in the backend to single, pending deregistration. Without hesitating for even a second, I directly clicked to confirm a one-way flight to London half a month later. At the same time the ticket confirmation chime sounded, the launch was announced over. I turned and was about to leave, but at the corner of the corridor, Brandon Foster rushed over and blocked my path. Brandon Foster’s tie was crooked, and his eyes were filled with panic and the irritability of being interrupted. He stared hard at the phone in my hand, whose screen had not yet gone dark, and interrogated me. “Who were you texting just now? Was it those thugs who drive street races? How many times have I told you that you’re not allowed to contact those people anymore?” His expression was agitated, and he reached out to snatch my phone. I calmly and unhurriedly put my phone back into my pocket, then lifted my eyes to look at him. “It has nothing to do with you.” I brushed his hand away and passed him coldly, walking toward the exit. Brandon Foster froze where he stood, an icy sense of losing control curling through his chest.

Sophie Reed POV When I left the hotel, the rain outside grew heavier again. I hailed a taxi by the roadside. I did not return to the luxury apartment Brandon Foster had bought. Instead, I went straight back to the old shop on Old Street. This was where they had started their business. Five years ago, Brandon Foster had still been a poor boy guarding this little general store, and I had been the only helper here. But now, all that remained were old parts covered in dust and one dim hanging lamp. I sat beneath the lamp, unbuttoned my cuff, and laid a warm towel over my left wrist, massaging it again and again. Just now in the corridor, Brandon Foster’s rough pulling had made the old injury begin to ache faintly again. The old shop was so quiet it was a little frightening. I looked at the empty measuring cup for medicine sitting on the corner of the table, and my eyes warmed. After Grandma developed moderate Alzheimer’s disease, she often failed to recognize people. Last month, she had just undergone major heart surgery. Now she could only stay in a nursing home on the outskirts of the city. Back then, when Brandon Foster didn’t have the money to buy his first piece of equipment, Grandma had hidden it from me, sold her jewelry, and pressed the money into Brandon Foster’s hands. At that time, Brandon Foster held the old woman’s hand, his eyes red, calling her Grandma over and over, swearing that once he had money in the future, he would treat her like his own grandmother and take care of her. But ever since Brandon Foster made his fortune, the number of times he went to the nursing home could be counted on one hand. And the Grandma in his mouth gradually became the polite, distant “Mrs. Reed.” Before the towel on my wrist could cool, the half-closed wooden door was pushed open. Brandon Foster walked in. The air of the nouveau riche around him looked painfully out of place here. “Sophie Reed, why did you leave me alone in the corridor without even saying a word?” Brandon Foster sat down on the wooden chair beside him, his tone carrying a trace of impatience he was forcing down. I turned slightly without speaking, only laying the warm towel over my wrist again. Brandon Foster tugged at the corner of his mouth, softening his tone a little. “Once Zahn Group’s investment comes through, I’ll buy you a big flat in River Bay. From now on, you won’t have to suffer in this dark, damp place anymore.” My expression remained flat, my voice cool and mild. “Are you done?” “You’re always like this. You can’t even say one nice thing.” Brandon Foster sighed, his tone tinged with helplessness. “Tomorrow I’ll have the construction crew come over and tear down this old shop. Nina’s new car is always getting scratched in the public parking spaces. She complained to me a few times, so I’m planning to rebuild this place into a private garage for her. It’s sitting empty anyway.” Tear down the old shop. Tear down the place where they had started from nothing, all to build Nina Young a private garage. I did not argue with him. I stood up, walked to the old writing desk, pulled open the bottom drawer, and took out the property ownership certificate inside. I walked back and threw the certificate in front of Brandon Foster. “Here.” I looked at that property ownership certificate. “You can call someone to tear it down tomorrow.” Brandon Foster stared fixedly at the property deed, a flash of pathetic panic crossing his eyes. The instant I handed over the ownership so cleanly, he suddenly felt that something was slipping completely out of his control. To hide that inexplicable panic, Brandon Foster’s tone sank. “Sophie Reed, everything I do is for our future, but you insist on throwing a tantrum with me over this old shop. Without me, how are you supposed to survive on your own?” Building a private garage for another woman was for our future? Even that excuse was so absurd I found it laughable. I said nothing, not even half a sentence to defend myself. I no longer cared how he judged me. Suddenly, the phone in Brandon Foster’s arms rang sharply. Nina Young’s name flashed across the screen. He answered, and Nina Young’s hysterical sobbing voice instantly filled the silent shop. “Brandon… my car was maliciously smashed and scratched up at the intersection near the old shop. The windows are shattered too. I’m so scared. Hurry over…” Brandon Foster’s expression changed. He whipped his gaze toward me, his eyes sharp. He snatched the property ownership certificate off the table, stood up, and left one irritated sentence behind. “I’m going out for a bit. Whatever it is, we’ll talk later.” The door slammed heavily shut. I withdrew my gaze. Outside, the sound of the rain grew louder and louder, beating against the worn window lattice. Twenty minutes later, the tightly shut wooden door was kicked open violently from the outside with an ear-piercing crash. Brandon Foster rushed in, wrapped in damp, cold rain. Water was still dripping from his suit. His eyes were bloodshot as he stared at me, his voice trembling hard. “Sophie Reed, when did you become so despicable?!”

Sophie Reed POV “Nina Young’s car hood was completely scratched up. The surveillance footage caught Grandma Reed at the scene!” Brandon Foster roared, grabbed my collar, and shoved my whole body hard into the shelf beside us. “It’s bad enough that you’re targeting Nina. Now you’re even using an old woman who just had heart surgery? You actually incited her to run out in the pouring rain and smash a car for you?!” My back crashed against the metal rack with an ear-splitting metallic shriek. My mind went blank in an instant. Grandma’s illness had flared up… Wearing her hospital gown, she had walked all the way from the nursing home in the outskirts back to the old shop in the heavy rain. The instant I was shoved, I instinctively used my left hand to brace myself. A crisp crack came from my wrist joint, and a wave of searing, dislocated pain crashed over my whole frame Cold sweat broke out all at once. My face turned deathly pale, and my fingertips trembled violently, but I did not make a sound. Brandon Foster glanced at my slightly shaking wrist, his brows tightening, but his tone was still perfectly self-righteous. “Stop pretending in front of me. I’m sick of your little martyr act. For what happened today, you must give Nina and me an explanation!” I pressed down hard on my trembling wrist, the pain so intense even my breathing shook. It was at that very second that the phone in my palm vibrated sharply. It was an urgent text from a caregiver at the nursing home: [Ms. Reed! This is bad! A group of people just forcibly took Grandma Reed from her ward. They said the old lady is suspected of deliberately damaging someone else’s property and that they’re taking her away for confrontation!] I didn’t even have time to rub my throbbing wrist. I shoved Brandon Foster away and rushed out of the shop. Outside, rain poured down in sheets. When I arrived at the private car wash Nina Young had mentioned, I could hear the sound of a high-pressure water gun from far away, along with Nina Young’s delicate laughter. “Spray more cold water on her. Wake the old lady up a little. She scratched someone else’s car and can’t even say sorry. How disgraceful at her age.” Inside the empty, damp car wash, Grandma was wearing a thin hospital gown, pinned tightly to a cold metal chair by two bodyguards. The high-pressure cold water gun was aimed straight at the old woman, the icy water blasting against her pale, withered face. The old woman’s entire body shook violently. She could barely breathe, her lips had turned purple, and all she could make were faint moans. “Stop!” I rushed over like I had lost my mind. But before I could get close, an arm appeared out of nowhere and blocked me hard. Brandon Foster stood firmly in front of Nina Young, his face tense as he said to me helplessly, “Calm down. Nina was just too anxious. Mrs. Reed really was at the scene. It’s perfectly reasonable for Nina to want an explanation. Once this is cleared up, I’ll naturally send the old lady back.” Rain hit my face. I had no time to wipe it away. My gaze went straight past Brandon Foster and landed on the old woman shrinking back on the metal chair behind him. “Mrs. Reed?” My voice was so hoarse I could barely speak. I looked at Brandon Foster, my eyes full of grief. “Brandon Foster, back when you didn’t have the money to buy your first machine tool and cried in her arms, what did you call her? Do you still remember? And now you call her Mrs. Reed?” Brandon Foster’s expression froze, and a deep flash of shame crossed his eyes. Nina hid behind Brandon, shoulders trembling, her eyes red as she cried pitifully. “Brandon… I wasn’t trying to hurt the old lady. She was the one who scratched my car with her cane first… I just wanted to ask her what was going on.” Under everyone’s stunned gazes, I walked forward calmly, snatched the water gun from the bodyguard’s hands, and hurled it hard onto the ground. I held Grandma, who was nearly unconscious, tightly in my arms. The old woman’s body was as cold as a block of ice. I wrapped her in my coat, carried her on my back, and step by step, walked out into the pouring rain. In the late-night storm, not a single taxi passed by. The old woman’s body temperature was draining away rapidly in my arms. The dislocated bones in my left wrist ground violently against each other, the pain so sharp that every step felt like I was treading on blades. I had no idea how many times I fell. My knees were scraped bloody, but I still clung desperately to the unconscious old woman in my arms. When I finally stumbled through the doors of the public hospital emergency department, my whole body crashed heavily to its knees on the cold marble floor. With my uninjured right hand, I clutched a nurse’s coat and begged, “Doctor, please save my grandma… Please…” The stark fluorescent hospital lights blurred everything in front of my eyes while my left wrist hung limply against the floor, a horrific dark bruise was spreading all up my wrist.

The hospital room was deathly quiet. Drained of all strength, I leaned against the glass window outside the ICU, staring without blinking at the old woman whose body was covered in tubes and monitors. The doctor had told me privately just now that when the old lady had been brought in, her body temperature was dangerously low. A severe lung infection and excessive shock had triggered acute heart failure. Even though she was now in the ICU receiving conservative treatment, her life could be in danger at any moment. My swollen, trembling right hand rested lightly over my left wrist, which was completely dislocated and deformed. A sharp, piercing pain pulsed there in waves. But it was as if I couldn’t feel pain at all. “Sophie Reed, are you done making a scene? I had to ask the nursing home before I found out you were here.” At the end of the hallway, Brandon came striding over with a fruit basket and premium ginseng in hand. “Nina was just too anxious. She’s young and doesn’t know better. I’ve already scolded her. I’ve had my secretary cover the old lady’s hospital bills and follow-up recovery expenses this time. This ends here. Stop clinging to it and come home with me.” I didn’t even turn my head. I stared blankly at Grandma behind the glass, my voice as faint as a thread. “Okay.” I couldn’t even be bothered to explain another word. Because I knew that the unilateral divorce procedure the Foreign Ministry’s protection driving unit was handling for me would take full effect in ten days. All I wanted now was to wait until Grandma’s vital signs stabilized, then take her to London immediately and leave this filthy city forever. Brandon assumed I was the same as always, that as long as he gave me an out, I would obediently lower my head. He smiled in relief and reached out to touch my hair. “That’s more like it. Once I’m done with this busy stretch, we’ll bring Grandma home together.” I tilted my head slightly and avoided his hand. Then I closed my eyes and stopped looking at him. Brandon seemed a little embarrassed. After giving a few instructions, he turned and left. But I had underestimated how vicious those two could be. They had no bottom line. They could even trample every drop of blood and bone from others for their own sake. Two afternoons later, I hurried back to the ward with a newly issued lab report in hand. But the entrance to the ICU was already in chaos. Several doctors and bodyguards were forcefully pushing Grandma’s hospital bed toward the elevator. My heart tightened. I rushed over like a madwoman and blocked the bed. “What are you doing?! My grandma can’t be moved. She has severe heart failure!” The nurse’s eyes darted away. She was so anxious that her eyes had gone red. “Ms. Reed, I’m sorry… Mr. Foster gave strict orders. We have to take the old lady to the top floor. Ms. Young had an accident during an ocean party. She lost a lot of blood, and the blood bank was critically short of Rh-negative blood. In the entire hospital, only the old lady is a match…” It felt as if a thunderbolt had struck me in broad daylight. “She just came back from being rescued in the ICU! Drawing her blood is the same as killing her!” I used my body to block the bed with everything I had, my hoarse voice warping out of shape. Just then, Brandon’s hurried footsteps came from the elevator. He walked over with a dark expression and yanked me aside. “Sophie Reed, stop making trouble!” Brandon’s voice was full of irritation and urgency. “Shawn only had one sister. I can’t just watch her die! They’re only taking a little blood from the old lady. Nothing will happen. I asked the doctors. As long as they control the amount, it won’t be fatal. If there are any consequences, I’ll take responsibility!” “You’ll take responsibility? What are you going to use to take responsibility?!” I gripped his sleeve tightly, my eyes bloodshot. “Brandon Foster, touch your own conscience! How did my grandma treat you back then?!” “Sophie, now isn’t the time for this!” Brandon’s face darkened completely. He didn’t even bother to give me another explanation. He waved directly at the bodyguards and doctors behind him, his tone cold and resolute. “Take the old lady upstairs. Transfer all the doctors from the cardiology department and the emergency department to the top floor. Fully cooperate with Nina Young’s surgery!” “Brandon Foster—!!” My scream echoed through the hallway, but my swollen, deformed left hand had no strength at all. I could only watch helplessly as Grandma’s hospital bed was pushed into the elevator. And Brandon didn’t even look back once. He disappeared to the top floor with everyone else. The vast intensive care area instantly fell into dead silence. All the doctors and nurses on duty had been forcibly transferred away by Brandon. An hour later, the cardiac monitor in the ICU suddenly let out a sharp, single tone. Beep— That piercing sound was like a razor-sharp knife, instantly slicing the world inside my chest to pieces. Like a madwoman, I shoved open the doors of the ICU. There were no doctors on duty. No nurses to resuscitate her. In the empty sterile ward, only the cold machine rang out in a monotonous, ear-splitting cry. I staggered to the bedside. My knees gave way, and I crashed heavily to the floor. “Grandma…” Trembling, I reached out with my right hand and grabbed the shriveled hand resting on the bedsheet. That warm hand that had once held mine as I grew up was now rapidly losing its warmth, turning cold and stiff. The back of the old woman’s right hand was covered in massive purplish bruises left behind by a rough, excessive blood draw. At the needle mark, there was even a dark red strand of blood that had already clotted before anyone had the chance to wipe it away. “Grandma… Open your eyes and look at Sophie. We’re going to London. We won’t stay here anymore…” Without warning, tears surged out, huge drops smashing onto the old woman’s lifeless face. I pressed my face against Grandma’s cold forehead, desperately trying to warm her with my own body heat. But all I touched was a deathly chill, like stagnant water. The grief was so extreme it jammed in my throat, turning into hopeless sobs. In this world, the only family member who had loved me with all her heart died in a room without a doctor. And the person who had drained her blood was the lover I had spent seven years of my youth lifting up with my own hands. Just then, in that almost suffocating stillness, the phone in my soaked pocket suddenly lit up. Numbly, I slid open the lock screen. On the screen was a photo Brandon had sent. Brandon was sitting beside the bed in a luxurious ward on the top floor, holding Nina’s hand with the utmost tenderness. Beneath the photo was a message from Brandon: Sophie, Nina is out of danger. I already had the caregiver send the best supplements over to the old lady. Once this busy period is over, we’ll bring Grandma back to the new house together. I stared at that line of text. Tears mixed with blood slid from the corners of my eyes and fell onto the white bedsheet. “Ha… haha…” A very soft, very broken laugh slipped from my throat. Brandon Foster, the blood debt between us is settled.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “444682”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

1 Growing up, my two closest friends gave me endless nicknames. Idiot. Space cadet. Socially inept loser. They swore it was affection, the teasing reserved for those closest to you. During a crucial quarterly presentation, Justin called me an “idiot” in front of my coworkers. The office erupted in laughter while the marketing director frowned. My face burned crimson as I stumbled through the rest of the slides. Afterward, Taylor patted my shoulder. “He didn’t mean it, Lucas. Admit it, you are a little slow.” At a company retreat, Justin mimicked my nervous stutter to entertain the crowd. Taylor laughed the loudest, then saved the video of his impression so Justin could post it later. Last week, I closed a million-dollar deal solo. At the client dinner, Justin raised his glass. “Our resident loser actually closed a deal?” The client’s smile faltered. The next day, they pulled me aside to reconsider the partnership. In my car, Taylor tapped the window and handed me a tissue. “Stop crying. Just make sure he doesn’t drink before clients next time.” Eight years—from high school—I had wanted us to walk this path together. I wiped my eyes, submitted my resignation, and tossed the tissue into her lap. Rolling up the window, I started the engine. Congratulations, “resident loser.” You’ve finally learned how to walk away alone. “Who approved your resignation?” Taylor’s voice came through the receiver, calm and measured, as if she were simply asking what I wanted for lunch. I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear, continuing to pack my clothes into a battered suitcase. “HR did. It went through the standard channel.” “I told you not to make any rash decisions,” she said. After a brief pause, her tone softened slightly. “I can talk to the client for you. I still have a few connections with Mr. Harrison.” I zipped up the suitcase and looked at the one-way ticket lying on the desk. London. Single fare. “Don’t bother, Taylor.” “What are you playing at this time?” Her voice flared with a sudden edge of impatience. “You’ve known Justin long enough to know he talks before he thinks. Is it really worth all this drama?” Was it worth it? A million-dollar deal. Three months of endless follow-ups. Forty-seven emails. Eleven draft proposals. And she was asking if it was worth the drama. “I’m not playing games,” I said, sliding the ticket into the side pocket of my backpack. “I just need a change of scenery.” “A change of scenery? Lucas, you barely squeaked by your basic language exams. Where on earth are you going to go?” I didn’t answer. She let out a heavy sigh, that familiar, patronizing sigh she always reserved for my shortcomings. “Fine. Take a couple of days to cool off. Justin and I will take you out for dinner this weekend so we can talk things through.” “I won’t be around this weekend.” The line went dead silent for a few seconds. “What do you mean?” “My flight is the day after tomorrow.” This time, the silence stretched even longer. I could hear her rustling through her purse on the other end, probably looking for a pack of cigarettes. “Where?” “London. A friend’s firm has an opening. I’m going to give it a shot.” “You…” She sounded choked up, caught completely off guard. “Are you serious?” I caught my reflection in the vanity mirror. My eyes were still slightly puffy, my lips dry and chapped, my overall appearance dull and exhausted. “Entirely serious.” “Lucas,” she said, using my full name for once, her voice dropping into a low, intense register. “Are you just doing this to spite me?” A bitter laugh almost escaped my throat. For eight years, she had always viewed my decisions as nothing more than childish emotional tantrums. “It’s not about spite.” “Then explain it to me. Why are you suddenly packing up and leaving?” Why? Because you and Justin turned my life into a running joke, and you didn’t even realize you were tearing me apart. Because every single step I took to better myself was instantly belittled by his careless words, while you stood by his side, telling me “he didn’t mean any harm.” Because I am finally, utterly exhausted. But I didn’t say any of that. “I just want to see the world.” “By yourself? Lucas, you barely know how to navigate the city on your own.” “I have to go,” I cut her off. “I still have packing to do.” “Lucas…” I pressed the red button, ending the call. The moment my screen went dark, a text from Justin popped up. “Hey man, I heard you quit? What kind of joke is this lol. What are you even gonna do without Taylor and me? Stop throwing a fit. Let’s hang out this weekend, my treat to make it up to you, cool?” I stared at his words, “What are you even gonna do without Taylor and me?”, for a long time. I didn’t reply. I tossed my phone onto the bed and dragged my suitcase into the living room. Then, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Justin standing on the welcome mat. He was wearing an expensive cream-colored knit sweater, his hair perfectly styled, holding a bag of gourmet fruit. “You’re actually packing?” He craned his neck to peer into my apartment, his eyes widening in exaggerated shock. “My god, Lucas. You’re really leaving?” I stepped aside to let him in. He set the fruit down on the coffee table, turned to face me, and to my surprise, his eyes wellled with tears. “Is this because of what happened at the dinner? I told you, I had one too many drinks. You wouldn’t really leave over that, would you…” His voice trailed off into a whisper. He looked down, his fingers anxiously plucking at the hem of his sweater. “What am I supposed to do if you leave?” That was Justin. He always knew exactly when to look fragile. He always knew how to make everyone else believe that I was the bully, that I was the one hurting him. “It has nothing to do with you,” I said. “I wanted this.” He looked up at me, his eyes wet and pleading. “Really? You’re not mad at me?” “No.” “Then… can you stay?” He reached out and grabbed my hand, his manicured nails digging lightly into my skin. “Or at least wait until Taylor gets back? She can help you find another—” “Justin,” I said, pulling my hand away. “My flight leaves at six in the morning, the day after tomorrow.” He froze. A flicker of something dark and cold passed through his beautiful eyes. It was gone so quickly I almost missed it. Then he smiled, reaching up to gently brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead. “Then I’m definitely driving you to the airport.” “No need.” “I have to,” he insisted, looking straight into my eyes. “You’re my best friend.” My best friend. When he said those words, I remembered him calling me a loser in front of the client. I remembered the video of him mocking my stutter, shared and liked hundreds of times. I remembered the sound of Taylor’s laughter echoing in that retreat hall. My best friend. “Whatever,” I muttered. He gave my shoulder a playful punch. “Don’t go forgetting about me over there, okay?” I remained silent. As he pulled away, my phone buzzed on the counter. It was a text from Taylor. “I don’t approve.” Four words. No punctuation. I stared at the screen for two seconds, then locked the phone. 2 After Justin left, I resumed packing. In the deepest corner of my desk drawer, I unearthed a small, rusted tin box. Inside lay the accumulated debris of the last eight years. A birthday card Taylor had given me in sophomore year of high school, reading: Happy Birthday, Lucas. I hope you find your courage. A braided red string bracelet Justin had made, claiming it was our “brotherhood band” and that we’d wear it forever. And photos. Dozens of pictures of the three of us. I was always standing on the absolute edge of the frame, smiling the hardest. I tucked the tin box onto the highest shelf of my closet, right where it was hardest to reach. I didn’t take it with me, but I didn’t throw it away either. At eleven that night, Taylor called again. I ignored it. She sent six texts. I didn’t open them. The seventh was a voice note. My finger accidentally brushed against it, and her voice echoed in the quiet room. “Lucas, you’ve declined my calls six times now. Are you trying to pick a fight with me? If you have something to say, say it. Stop giving me the silent treatment.” The silent treatment. I let out a soft, humorless laugh. Me quietly packing my life away was called “the silent treatment.” But her and Justin publicly humiliating me for eight years? What was that called? A warm, nurturing friendship? I turned off my phone and slept peacefully for the first time in years. The next day was my last in the city. I went to the office to finalize my exit paperwork. My desk had already been cleared. A small post-it note from the guy at the neighboring cubicle was stuck to the bare monitor. Good luck, Lucas. Don’t look back, and I mean that in the best way possible. I peeled the note off, tucked it into my pocket, and headed to HR to sign the final papers. When I stepped out of the elevator, I ran right into Taylor. She stood in the lobby, her expression a complex knot of emotions. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “I came to pick you up.” “I don’t need a ride.” She stepped into my path, staring down at me. “Lucas, can you talk to me like a normal person for once?” “I am talking to you normally.” Her brow furrowed, and she reached out to pat my shoulder, just as she had done a thousand times over the years. I took a step back. Her hand froze in mid-air. “You really are furious,” she said, letting her arm drop. “I already told you, I’ll talk to Mr. Harrison—” “The deal is dead, Taylor,” I interrupted. “Is that really worth quitting your job over?” “Yes.” She took a deep breath, her tone shifting into something softer, gentler. “Lucas…” “Don’t call me that.” She choked on her words. In eight years, I had never cut her off like that. She had grown accustomed to my mild temper, my absolute submissiveness. She was used to me nodding along to whatever she said. “Fine,” she yielded slightly. “Lucas, let’s find a place to sit down and talk.” “There’s nothing to discuss.” “Your flight is tomorrow. You’re going to London entirely on your own. Who do you even know there? You don’t even know how to navigate the city—” “I’ll figure it out.” She wore that look again. The look of an adult observing an unruly, stubborn child who was throwing a tantrum and needed supervision. “Justin has been crying all day,” she said suddenly. “He thinks he’s the reason you’re leaving.” I paused for a second. “Good. He should be.” Taylor’s face darkened. “What is that supposed to mean? You won’t even accept his apology now?” I looked at her. She was always defending Justin. When the deal fell through, it was my fault for not limiting his drinking. When he mocked my stutter, it was because I was too thin-skinned. When I quit, I was blowing things out of proportion. And now that he was crying, her immediate reaction was to come and smooth things over for him. “Taylor,” I corrected myself, keeping my voice steady. “Have you ever asked yourself one question?” “What?” “If Justin had been the one humiliated in front of the client that night, would you have told me to ‘just make sure he doesn’t drink so much’?” She froze. Her mouth parted slightly, but no words came out. I walked past her, pushing open the heavy glass doors of the lobby. The bright afternoon sun stung my eyes. Behind me, I heard her quicken her steps. “Lucas, what time is your flight tomorrow? I’ll drive you.” “No need.” “I’m driving you,” she repeated, a stubborn, unyielding authority creeping into her voice. I didn’t turn around. “Save the ride for Justin.” When I stepped onto the street, I exhaled a long, deep breath. For the first time in eight years, the walk back home felt incredibly short. So short that I wondered why it had taken me so long to take it. Back at the apartment, a bouquet of flowers sat on the coffee table. Sunflowers. My favorite. The card was written in Justin’s distinct, loopy handwriting: Lucas, I’m coming to see you off tomorrow. No excuses. Promise me we’ll be best friends forever. I picked up the bouquet and threw it straight into the trash can. 3 It took three alarms at four in the morning for me to drag myself out of bed. After washing up, I dragged my heavy suitcase out into the dimly lit hallway. When the elevator doors slid open, Justin was already standing inside. He was wearing a casual hoodie, his hair slightly messy, dark circles prominent under his eyes. “You scared me. I thought you were going to sneak down the stairs to avoid us.” He offered a sleepy grin and reached out to take the handle of my suitcase. “Come on. Taylor is waiting downstairs in the car.” I looked at him coldly. “I told you both not to come.” “Oh, stop being like that,” he said, tugging my arm to pull me along. “Who knows when you’ll be back? Let us say goodbye.” Downstairs, Taylor’s car was idling under the streetlamp, the exhaust pluming in the cold morning air. She got out to help lift the suitcase into the trunk, her movements efficient and silent. The drive to the airport was painfully quiet. Justin sat in the passenger seat, while I took the back. Ten minutes into the drive, he suddenly spun around to look at me. “Lucas, make sure you eat properly over there. Your stomach has always been sensitive.” “Yeah.” “And don’t push yourself too hard. You get anxious so easily, and too much stress is going to ruin your sleep.” “I know.” “FaceTime me whenever you miss me. What’s the time difference again… eight hours? When you’re waking up, I’ll just be getting off work—” “Justin,” Taylor interrupted, her eyes on the road. “Let him have some quiet.” Justin stuck his tongue out playfully and turned back around. In the rearview mirror, Taylor’s eyes flicked to mine for a brief second. I looked away, staring out at the blurred streetlights flashing past the window. When we arrived at the terminal, Taylor pushed the luggage cart while Justin slung his arm familiarly over my shoulder. We walked through the airport just like we always did, the three of us side-by-side. Only this time, they had positioned me in the middle instead of the edge. Because this was the final act. At the check-in counter, I finalized my boarding pass. Justin pulled me into a tight, crushing hug. “You jerk,” he mumbled, burying his face into my shoulder, his voice thick with emotion. “Who’s going to let me mess around when you’re gone?” I patted his back twice. “You have Taylor.” He let go, wiping his eyes, and glanced at Taylor as if giving her a cue. Taylor stood a few paces back, clutching something in her hand. She walked over and handed me a brown paper bag. “Some snacks for the flight, and…” She hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Text me when you land.” I took the bag and gave a brief nod. Then, I turned toward the security gate. “Lucas.” She called out behind me. I stopped, but I didn’t turn around. “If you can’t make it work over there, you can always come back.” There was a sliver of uncertainty in her voice, a tiny fracture in her composure. But only a sliver. Because deep down, she was still entirely convinced I would return. She believed I couldn’t survive without them. She had believed that for eight years. I didn’t say a word. I pulled my carry-on forward and walked into the security line. While waiting in the queue, I looked back one last time. In the distance, Justin was talking animatedly to Taylor, gesturing wildly with his hands, looking bright and cheerful. Taylor was looking down at her phone, typing away. They didn’t look particularly heartbroken. They looked the way people do when they send someone off to run a quick errand, expecting them back shortly. I turned my back on them. Gate B12. I found my seat on the plane, buckled in, and opened the paper bag Taylor had given me. Inside was a sandwich, a bottle of water, a pack of mints. And at the absolute bottom lay a post-it note. Written in Justin’s handwriting: Hey space cadet, the real world is terrifying. You won’t last a month before you start missing us. Taylor and I will be waiting at the arrivals gate when you fly home! I stared at the word “space cadet” for a long time. As the plane began to taxi down the runway, I tore the note in half, stuffed it into the seatback air-sickness bag, and closed my eyes. Twelve hours later, my boots touched down at Heathrow. I turned on my phone. Thirty-seven notifications flooded the screen, mostly meme spam and frantic voice notes from Justin. Taylor had sent only one text: Let me know when you arrive. I typed back two words: I’m here. Then, I cleared the chat. My friend, Nate, was waiting at the arrivals gate, holding up a cardboard sign with a terribly drawn stick figure of me. “Welcome to your new life, Lucas.” I dragged my suitcase toward him. The London wind was damp and biting, but as I drew it deep into my lungs, it felt entirely fresh. No one here was going to call me an idiot. 4 During my first week in London, the jet lag refused to let go. Waking up at three in the morning with no hope of falling back asleep, I sat on the bay window of my rented flat, watching the amber glow of the streetlamps below. My phone screen lit up. Justin had updated his social media feed with a nine-photo gallery. Every single picture was of him and Taylor. At a diner, at the theater, walking through a shopping mall. The caption read: Life is so boring without Lucas around. Had to drag this beauty out to keep me company. You owe me for this one, Taylor! In the comments, our old coworkers were already teasing them: “Are you two finally going public?” “The childhood friends-to-lovers arc is finally happening!” “Did Lucas leave just to clear the path for you guys? lol.” Taylor had replied to one comment: Don’t talk nonsense. Justin had replied to the same comment with a blushing emoji. I stared at the screen, my mind blank. It wasn’t jealousy. It was a cold, quiet realization that my worst fears had been confirmed. My departure hadn’t left a void in their lives. It had completed it. Without the clumsy third wheel dragging them down, they could finally slide together naturally. Nate walked in, holding two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. “What are you staring at in the middle of the night?” He glanced at my screen. “Is that your buddy and your childhood girl?” “Yeah.” Nate shoved a mug into my hands. “Put the phone down, man. Your first day of work is tomorrow.” I took a sip of the rich chocolate, the heat burning the tip of my tongue. I set both Justin and Taylor’s profiles to “Mute.” My first day at the new firm was a blur of unfamiliarity. The entirely English-speaking environment, the foreign faces, the brisk pace of the projects, it was overwhelming. During the morning briefing, I struggled to keep up, my fingers aching from taking frantic notes. But nobody called me a space cadet. Nobody mocked my nervous stutter. Nobody looked at me when I completed a task and said, “Wow, look who actually did something useful.” At lunch, a senior analyst complimented a specific data structure I had built into a proposal. It was a completely standard, professional compliment. But I had to look down to hide the sudden sting in my eyes. I worked until nine that night. On my commute home, a message from Taylor popped up. “It’s been a week. How is London? Are you adjusting to the work?” I replied: “It’s fine.” She immediately wrote back: “Justin said you muted his posts. He’s really hurt by that.” I didn’t reply. She sent another: “Lucas, what are you still angry about? He knows he made a mistake.” It was always the same script. Justin was sad, so I was expected to soften. Justin felt bad, so I was expected to forgive. But the million-dollar deal I had lost, the shred of professional dignity I had fought for, the eight years of being their punching bag? None of that mattered. Because I was just Lucas. Easygoing, slow-tempered, harmless Lucas. Lucas never stayed mad. I closed the app, pulled up my project briefs, and spent the train ride preparing for the next day’s meetings. By the second, third, and fourth week, the rhythm of London began to feel natural. My work became smoother. My turnaround time on deliverables cut down by half. Nate commented that I was smiling more. Taylor’s texts, meanwhile, began to shift. They went from weekly check-ins to twice-daily pings, and eventually to a constant stream of messages morning, noon, and night. They started as casual questions but grew increasingly invasive. “Who did you have lunch with today?” “Is that coworker of yours male or female?” “Why aren’t you answering my messages on weekends?” I kept my replies brief, or simply ignored them. In my fifth week, at four in the morning, her contact photo flashed on my screen. A FaceTime call.

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1 Graduation trip to the island. My childhood friend, Brody, and my girlfriend, Gwen, took the speedboat first, leaving me behind. They left a post-it note stuck to the cabin door: “Go three hundred yards right of the pier, catch the 2:00 PM ferry. You got this!” But three hundred yards to the right of the pier was nothing but jagged, wave-beaten cliffs. Not a single boat in sight. I called them. Brody was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “Left! Go left! It was just a little test, man. You seriously can’t navigate to save your life.” In the background, Gwen’s voice came through, soft and sweet. “Stop teasing him, Brody. He’s going to panic. We’ll buy him a snow cone when he gets here.” The two o’clock ferry had already sailed. The next one wasn’t until four-thirty. I sat alone on a wooden piling at the dock. The Atlantic wind was howling, biting cold, but it couldn’t blow away the bitter memories drifting back to me. Back in middle school, we went to a concert. They vanished into thin air at an intersection, claiming they wanted to “build my confidence” in taking the city bus alone. I boarded the wrong line twice and ended up at a police station, where an officer had to drive me home. In high school, during our summer camping trip, they left me alone on a hiking trail in the mountains to “teach me how to read cardinal directions.” I wandered around the dense woods until pitch black, only to be rescued by a forest ranger. In college, during a road trip to a neighboring state, I went to use the restroom, and they simply drove off without me. That time, they said it was a test to see if I could read a paper road map. I had to spend half my monthly budget on two long-distance cabs just to get back to campus. Every single time they abandoned me, they claimed it was for my own good. At four-twenty, a white speck appeared on the horizon. The ferry was coming. But I didn’t board. Instead, I walked into the travel agency across from the harbor. “One ticket for the next flight back to Riverton, please.” I might not know the way to find them, but I knew exactly how to go home. “Oliver, where on earth are you?” Gwen’s call came through just as I stepped out of the airport arrivals terminal. The wheels of my suitcase rolled over the asphalt with a dull, rhythmic rumble. “The dock master said the four-thirty ferry docked ages ago. We’ve been waiting here for thirty minutes.” Her voice was still so gentle. There wasn’t a hint of guilt for leaving me alone at a deserted coastal harbor. “Did you get lost again and take the wrong boat?” I stopped walking. Looking at the endless stream of cabs outside the terminal, a bitter laugh escaped my throat. “I didn’t take the ferry.” Silence fell over the line for a second. Then Brody’s loud, mocking laughter erupted in the background. “I told you, Gwen! I bet he couldn’t even find the harbor. He’s probably crying in some alley right now.” “We should have taped that note directly to his forehead instead of the door.” Gwen chided him softly. “Brody, stop.” But her tone held a lingering, indulgent smile. “Oliver, where are you now? Don’t wander off. Send me your location, and I’ll come pick you up.” She spoke with her usual commanding authority wrapped in sweet tolerance. As if the person who had been stranded by their prank was just throwing a childish tantrum. “No need,” I said, opening the door of a yellow cab that had just pulled up. “I went home.” Gwen didn’t seem to process it. “Home? Which home? The cabin or…” “Back to our apartment. In Riverton.” My voice was flat. I gave the driver my address and shut the door. The noise on the other end of the line died instantly. Brody’s laughter cut off. Gwen’s voice dropped, thick with exasperated annoyance. “Oliver, can you stop being so dramatic?” “Brody was just joking around. He wanted you to practice using your GPS.” “Do you have any idea how much effort he put into this? He even bought your favorite mango shaved ice to welcome you, and now it’s completely melted.” “You ran all the way back to Riverton without saying a word. Did you even think about how we would feel?” I watched the streetlights flash past the window. Think about how they felt? Who had ever thought about how I felt? During our freshman year of college, we went to a neighboring city for a convention. On our way back, a heavy rainstorm hit. Brody insisted there was a famous wishing well nearby and dragged Gwen along. They walked incredibly fast, weaving through the crowded streets. Because of my terrible sense of direction, I looked down at my phone for just a second, and they were gone. I stood in the pouring rain for two hours. I couldn’t tell north from south, and my phone got waterlogged and died. Finally, a kind security guard let me use his landline, and I managed to call Gwen. By the time she found me under her umbrella, I was shivering violently from head to toe. Brody stood beside her under the dry canopy, grinning without a care in the world. “Oliver, how can you be so clueless? It’s literally a straight walk down this street.” Tears streaming down my face, I asked them why they didn’t wait for me. Gwen sighed, wrapping her coat around my shoulders. “Oliver, you can’t keep depending on me for everything.” “Brody is right. A burnt child dreads the fire. Next time, you’ll pay more attention to the signs.” Back then, I genuinely believed she was doing it out of love, wanting me to become independent. So I swallowed the bitter pill, along with the high fever that kept me in bed for a week. But now I finally understood. If someone truly loves you, how could they bear to watch you freeze in a downpour just to “teach you a lesson”? “Are you going to say something, or are you just playing mute?” Brody’s voice cut in, sharp with irritation. “It was a harmless joke. You seriously flew all the way home over that? If you can’t handle a little fun, don’t hang out with us.” Gwen took the phone back. “Oliver, I know your feelings are hurt.” “But you’re twenty-five now. You can’t keep acting like a toddler who gets lost on a straight path to a dock.” “You acted too impulsively this time. I’ll give you two days to cool off.” “Once you’ve calmed down, buy a ticket and fly back here. We’ll pretend none of this happened.” She effortlessly pinned the entire blame on me, playing the perfect, long-suffering woman tolerating her childish boyfriend. I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes. “Whatever you say.” I hung up, then slid my phone into airplane mode. Finally, the car fell into a quiet hush. The driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Trouble with the girlfriend, buddy?” I shook my head. “No. Just finally figured out my destination.” The cab pulled up in front of my building. I dragged my suitcase up the stairs. The electronic lock beeped, and the door swung open. The living room was exactly as we had left it before the trip. Gwen’s half-read paperback lay discarded on the couch. On the coffee table sat a half-empty cup of boba Brody had left behind when he came over to mooch a meal two days ago. They were always together, invading every corner of my life under a hundred different pretexts. And I was always the outsider, left behind, mocked, and “trained.” I walked out onto the balcony, staring into the dark night. The wind was chilly against my face, but my mind had never been clearer. Leaving the lights off, I sat in the darkness for a long time. Eventually, I toggled airplane mode off. A dozen unread messages popped up immediately, all from Gwen. The first was an accusation, asking if I knew how expensive last-minute plane tickets were. The second was a warning, telling me to stop trying to get her attention this way. The last one, sent half an hour ago, read: “Brody and I are going out for seafood. If you’re hungry, order some takeout. Don’t expect me to come home and coddle you.” I stared at the text and didn’t reply. Instead, I opened my contacts. My finger hovered over the screen before dialing a number. “Hi, is this the moving company? Do you have availability tomorrow morning?” “He’s probably just trying to bait us into chasing him. Ignore him.” The next morning, I was woken up by a barrage of social media notifications. Brody had posted a photo dump on Instagram. The first slide was a selfie of him and Gwen on the beach. Gwen was wearing an oversized white linen shirt, looking up at him with a helpless, fond smile. Brody was flashing a peace sign, grinning widely under the sun. The caption read: “Vacation is so much sweeter without a fragile crybaby dragging us down.” Mutual friends had flooded the comment section with likes. Someone asked if Oliver hadn’t gone. Brody replied: “Our little prince threw a massive fit and flew straight back to his hometown. No one could stop him.” Gwen had liked the comment. That was their dynamic. No matter what happened, I was always the one in the wrong. The party pooper, the sensitive one, the ungrateful child. I calmly swiped past the post, leaving no like, no comment. Setting my phone aside, I dragged three large moving boxes out of the storage closet and began packing. Gwen and I had been together for five years, living together for three. This apartment was cluttered with the debris of our shared life. I opened the closet. Half of it held my clothes, the other half hers. I took my shirts out one by one, folded them neatly, and stacked them into a box. From the dark corner of a shelf, a small black box tumbled out. I paused, picking it up to open it. Inside was a uniquely designed compass necklace. Gwen had given it to me for my birthday during our sophomore year of college. I remembered how she had tenderly clipped it around my neck, her voice as soft as water. “Oliver, whenever I’m not by your side, this will show you the way.” “You’ll never be lost again.” I had been deeply touched back then, believing this was what real love looked like. Until one autumn, we went hiking. Brody had stared at my necklace, his eyes gleaming, demanding to borrow it. Before I could even protest, he reached out, unclasped it, and slung it around his own neck. We hiked for hours that day. On our way down, Brody suddenly slapped his forehead, claiming he must have dropped the necklace at the rest stop near the summit. I was on the verge of tears, desperate to hike back up and look for it. But Gwen grabbed my arm, stopping me. She said it was getting dark, that the trails were dangerous. It was just a cheap trinket, she argued; she would buy me another one. Seeing my frantic distress, her brow furrowed with annoyance. “Oliver, don’t be so petty. Brody didn’t do it on purpose.” Later, she did buy another one. Only, she bought it for Brody. She claimed Brody felt incredibly guilty for losing mine, so she bought an identical one to make him feel better. As for me? She said, “You already had one anyway. Buying another would just be a waste of money.” I looked at the rusted compass in my hand, the needle frozen and useless. A self-deprecating smile touched my lips. I tossed it straight into the trash can. Some paths couldn’t be navigated with a broken compass. I went back to packing. On the coffee table sat a thick binder of travel itineraries. I had stayed up for three nights straight planning this island trip. Where the best local diners were, which beaches had the most breathtaking sunsets, I had highlighted everything. Gwen had barely glanced at it when I showed her. She scoffed, saying there was no point in planning so much when they could just follow Brody’s lead. She laughed at my poor sense of direction, mocking how I could get lost even with a map in hand. And Brody had giggled right along with her. I had felt a dull ache in my chest then, but I had quietly packed the binder anyway. Now, it was completely useless. I tore the pages to shreds, throwing them into a trash bag along with the herbal tea I had bought to suit her taste and the lavender candles she loved. My phone buzzed again. A text from Gwen: “Did you eat yet?” “I just found this amazing seafood spot. Wish you were here.” “Alright, stop acting out. Send me your location, and I’ll book you a flight back this afternoon.” Every line oozed her condescending charity. She was absolutely certain I was just throwing a tantrum, certain that I couldn’t survive without her. She thought that if she threw me a bone, I would wag my tail and crawl back. I left her on read and taped up the boxes. The movers arrived shortly after. The driver wiped his brow, gesturing to the bulky furniture left in the living room. “What about the big stuff, kid?” “Leave it,” I said, brushing the dust off my hands. “I don’t want any of it.” Anything that belonged to our shared past could rot here. The movers nodded and began hauling the boxes downstairs. I stood in the center of the echoing apartment. Gwen had signed the lease, but I paid half the rent. The photo wall was still there, a collage of our years together. I walked over and ripped the photos down, one by one, until nothing remained but a scarred, bare wall. My phone lit up. A FaceTime call from Gwen. I hesitated for a beat before swiping to answer. “Oliver, how long are you going to keep up this act?” “If you’re done crying, book your ticket and get over here. Brody is starting to feel bad.” On the screen, Gwen was lounging under a beach umbrella. The ocean breeze ruffled her hair, looking effortless and beautiful. Brody was splashing around in the surf just a few yards behind her. Seeing me pick up, Gwen’s tense expression relaxed slightly, though her tone remained patronizing. “I checked the flights. There’s a direct one at three. I sent you the money on Venmo. Go buy the ticket.” She tilted the camera to show a fresh coconut drink on the table. “Brody ordered this for you. He said he wants to make it up to you when you get here.” “See? We’re both giving you a way out. Stop being so stubborn.” I stared at her face on the screen. She looked like a total stranger. This was the woman I had loved for five years. For her, I had spent hours trying to overcome my terrible sense of direction, forcing myself to study complicated navigation apps. For her, I had endured Brody’s endless, snide remarks because she insisted he was like a brother to her. For her, I had dragged my boundaries lower and lower. And she had taken every single concession as her birthright. “Gwen,” I said softly. My voice echoed slightly in the empty room. “I’m not coming.” Gwen’s face hardened instantly. “How much longer are you going to keep this up? It’s been three days. Even tantrums have an expiration date.” “Have I spoiled you so much that you think you can manipulate me like this?” She let out a cold laugh. “Oliver, look at yourself. You can’t even navigate out of an airport without us.” “Are you waiting for me to get down on my knees and beg in front of everyone before you’re satisfied?” I looked at her, the last trace of warmth dying in my chest. “No.” I flipped the camera, aiming it at the taped boxes and the black trash bags littering the bare floor. “I’m moving out.” The screen went completely still.

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1 I managed to buy a severely wounded merman at a bargain price. The seller warned me that he was incredibly stubborn: he refused to sing, and he wouldn’t shed a single tear. Yet, as I looked at the merman currently humming a soft tune and crying at the slightest provocation, I couldn’t help but wonder if they had sent me the wrong creature. Later on, he kept plucking his own scales and presenting them to me, looking incredibly anxious, as if he couldn’t stand being near me. Once his wounds healed, I drove him to the shore and released him into the wild. But the merman burst into tears: Giving you my scales was a courtship ritual! Courtship! For heaven’s sake, you didn’t release me, you abandoned me! … He was a terribly battered creature. The shipping crate was far too small for his frame. He was curled up in a pitiful ball, his hands bound tightly behind his back with heavy leather straps. A cheap plastic muzzle was fastened over his face, and a bright yellow tag was punched through his webbed ear, stamped with his serial number: 531. His silver tail, which must have been magnificent once, had lost all its luster, the scales dull and chipped. After confirming the delivery, I signed the electronic receipt. From this day forward, he was mine. As I reached out to lift him from the crate, his eyes snapped open, and a low, warning growl rumbled from his chest. Those ice-blue eyes were filled with absolute defiance and sharp hostility. I froze for a moment, my mind drifting. The color of his eyes was identical to the merman I had met once when I was a child. That was why, when my best friend Serena sent me the discount link, I had purchased him without a second thought. I quickly cleaned his shallow cuts, and the moment I unbuckled his restraints, he scrambled out of my hands and dove straight into the indoor pool. I had already prepared the water, adjusting the salt levels to match the ocean. I pulled a fresh slab of salmon from the refrigerator, walked over to the edge of the pool, and said simply, “Eat.” He swam closer, slowly rising from the water, and reached his hand out toward me. If I had known anything about marine biology, I would have recognized that this was a classic predatory stance. Unfortunately, I only realized this when a sharp, stinging pain sliced across my forearm. My silver beaded bracelet snapped under the pressure, the beads scattering into the water. Luckily, my reflexes were quick enough that I managed to pull back, escaping with only a shallow scratch. A tiny bead of crimson welled up on my skin, dripping into the pool and blooming like a red flower in the water. The merman’s nostrils flared. He stared at the dissolving blood, completely still. Looking at his stunned expression, I wondered if he hadn’t meant to hurt me. Perhaps human skin was simply too fragile compared to what he was used to. I let out a soft sigh, went to patch up my arm, and decided it was finally time to read the digital manual the seller had emailed me. Mermen and humans do not share a language; communication requires extreme patience. Mermen can survive on land, but they require regular skin hydration and must supplement their diet with extra freshwater. This species is naturally hostile. The success of domestication varies wildly by individual. For the owner’s safety, we highly recommend keeping them in a glass enclosure during the initial stages. Direct physical contact is not advised. Some mermen possess the ability to shift their tails into human legs. The shop is not responsible if your merman escapes using this method. Should you choose to view your merman as a romantic partner, there is no reproductive isolation between our species. Please note: a merman’s physical strength and endurance far exceed those of an average human. And that was it? Frustrated, I opened the chat window to contact customer support, sending over my order number. The representative replied almost instantly. Hello, dear customer! As stated on the product page, this particular specimen is a clearance item. He refuses to sing, refuses to communicate, and refuses to produce pearls. He has a highly antisocial personality. We only recommend him as a budget-friendly companion for the bedroom. We do not accept returns or refunds if your complaint is about his lack of singing or pearl production. I typed back: I was scratched by the merman. Do I need to worry about contracting Vibrio vulnificus? The representative replied: Don’t worry, dear! All our specimens undergo thorough medical sterilization before shipping. I thought about it, then added: I tried feeding him raw salmon, but he won’t touch it. Does he have a specific diet? Support: Theoretically, they can eat anything humans eat. He might just be stressed by the new environment, or perhaps he doesn’t like it raw. Try cooking it! Cooking it? Do wild mermen carry stoves around in the ocean? Though skeptical, I asked: How well-done should it be? After a short pause, the representative replied: Tiny thinks medium-rare should do the trick! I stared at the screen. Who is Tiny? Is she a marine expert? The screen flashed: Oh, dear, Tiny is just me! (sending love) Unable to find any gourmet recipes for marine life on the internet, I simply seared the salmon in a pan until it was slightly pink in the middle. Walking back to the pool, I used a pair of chopsticks to pick up a piece, chewing it slowly in front of him. “It’s safe to eat,” I said. He floated up to the edge, the water pooling around his collarbones. He kept his head lowered, water dripping from his thick eyelashes, as his hands slowly broke the surface. Only then did I see what he was holding: the broken beads of my silver bracelet. He had recovered every single one of them from the bottom of the pool. He gently deposited the silver beads into my open palm, offering me a sweet, timid smile. He looked like an entirely different creature from the wild beast of earlier. I stared at him, thinking that Tiny was actually right: he really did prefer his salmon seared. “Thank you,” I said, offering a soft smile. He gave his silver tail a happy swish, looking quite pleased with himself. After putting the beads aside, I picked up the chopsticks again and held a piece of salmon in front of him. He looked at me, making no move to take it with his hands. Instead, he tilted his head up and parted his lips, waiting for me to feed him. I leaned closer, placing the fish in his mouth. The next second, his eyes went wide. He scrambled backward through the water, his eyes turning red instantly. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, his throat moving as if he wanted to spit it out but was too afraid to do so. Tears welled up in his eyes, finally spilling over his cheeks. A shower of round, perfect pearls clattered into the water. I blinked. The relationship between land and sea had suddenly become incredibly tense. “What’s wrong?” I grabbed his chin, gently forcing him to look at me. “Open your mouth.” He looked at me pitifully, slowly parting his lips and sticking out the pink tip of his tongue. A merman’s mouth was structured slightly differently from a human’s, possessing a strange, exotic beauty. The tip of his tongue was slightly red. He had burned himself. I stared at him. The seller had claimed he never cried, but he seemed incredibly delicate to me. Perhaps the sensation of heat was entirely foreign to him, which was why he had reacted so dramatically. I waited for the rest of the salmon to cool completely before feeding him again. This time, he seemed to enjoy it. Once he finished, my gaze fell on the yellow tag in his ear. I had fully intended to release him back into the wild once his wounds healed, so there was no real need to give him a proper name. Still, I hated referring to him as a number. “Caspian,” I said, looking into his eyes. “From now on, your name is Caspian.” He tilted his head, likely not understanding the words, but he swam closer to the edge, resting his chin on the tiled deck and looking up at me. “Caspian?” So he could speak. I remembered the manual mentioning that mermen needed freshwater intake. I brought over a glass of water, but he turned his head away in disgust, refusing to drink. I had to message support again. Tiny explained that in the wild, mermen obtained their freshwater from the bodies of live prey. If the fish wasn’t completely fresh, they would suffer from mild dehydration. Because they only associated water with salt water, they would never willingly drink fresh water from a cup. Realizing the issue, I went to the freezer and scooped a cup of ice. I poured the ice cubes into my palm, holding them out to him. Caspian swam closer, his hands rising from the water. But instead of taking the ice, he gently wrapped his cold fingers around my wrist. Holding me in place, he leaned down, carefully picking up an ice cube with his lips. His soft lips brushed against my palm, sending a slight tickle up my arm. Crunch, crunch. The sound of him crushing the ice between his sharp teeth was incredibly crisp and clear. He seemed to love it, the cold temperature bringing him instant comfort. A single ice cube remained in my palm, slowly melting from my body heat. The cold water began to trickle down the lines of my hand. Seeing this, as if loath to let any of it go to waste, Caspian leaned down again. He extended his tongue, licking the water clean from my palm. Then, following the trail of moisture, his lips pressed a soft, cold kiss against my forearm. Because of the ice, his mouth and tongue were freezing against my warm skin. My fingers twitched. Finally, he took the last piece of ice, his eyes narrowing in pure bliss. I handed him the rest of the cup, and he finished every single cube. “Do you like it, Caspian?” I asked. He tilted his head, processing the question for a long time. Suddenly, a look of realization washed over his face, and he flipped backward, diving deep into the pool. When he emerged, he held a handful of shimmering pearls, dropping them one by one into the empty cup. “Like?” He pointed to the glittering pearls, then to his own bright, ice-blue eyes, looking at me with intense anticipation. “Like?” His silver tail swished gently beneath the water. I gently shook the cup, the pearls clinking against the glass. Did he think “like” referred to things that were bright, beautiful, and cold, like the ice, the pearls, and his own eyes? It seemed he hadn’t quite grasped the human definition of the word. Seeing the hope in his eyes, I slowly shook my head. “No, that’s not what it means.” Caspian’s face fell, and his silver tail drooped listlessly beneath the surface. Over the next few days, I began teaching him simple vocabulary. “Vi, vi, an,” Caspian practiced, pronouncing each syllable of my name with careful precision. I smiled, nodding. “Yes. I am Vivian. And you are Caspian. Cas, pi, an.” He didn’t repeat his own name. Instead, he murmured mine again. “Vi, vi, an.” A happy ripple went through his tail, and he swished it back and forth. “Vivian. Vivian.” I let out a soft sigh. His communication skills were currently below those of an average sheepdog. Since Caspian could move around on land, and he constantly tried to climb into my bed, I ended up ordering a specialized hydrogel mattress for him. The surface was cool, soft, and slick to the touch. When you pressed your hand into it, it would leave a deep impression before slowly bouncing back. I called Caspian over, lying down on the gel mattress to show him how to use it. “This is your bed.” I stood up, gesturing for him to try. He reached out a finger, touching the cool surface. The moment his finger sank into the gel, his eyes lit up. He dragged his entire body onto the mattress, burying his face in the cool material, his tail shivering with pure delight. Then, he looked up at me, shifting his tail to make a small, circular space on the mattress. He patted the empty space with his tail, urging me to join him. “No, thank you,” I declined. “I have my own bed.” The hydrogel mattress was far too soft for a human; it offered zero lumbar support, making me feel like I was sinking into a swamp. I went to my own bed, assuming I would finally get a peaceful night’s sleep. But when the lights went out, I felt a shadow looming over me. I opened my eyes to see Caspian standing by my bedside, looking down at me like a giant, obedient puppy. I tried to reason with him. “You have your own bed now. Go sleep over there.” He tilted his head, pretending not to understand a word, his silver tail swishing silently in the dark. He seemed to believe that every flat surface in the house belonged to him. Sighing, I pulled back the covers. “Fine. Get in.” Without a second’s hesitation, he slithered onto the mattress, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist. He rested his chin on the crown of my head, his long tail curling around my legs to lock me in place. He let out a deep, satisfied sigh. Did he truly not understand me? Or did he simply choose to understand only the things he wanted to hear? Still, his scales were smooth and cool against my skin, acting like a perfect, natural cooling pad. I let him stay. I don’t know how many hours passed before I was jolted awake by a sudden, intense heat. I opened my eyes to find that the cool, soothing merman had turned into a literal furnace. His cheeks were flushed red, his mouth slightly parted, his lips a dark, swollen crimson. Sensing that I was awake, he pressed his hot body even closer, his tail wrapping tightly around my thighs. “Let go, Caspian. You’re boiling,” I said, shoving at his chest without a shred of gratitude for his earlier service. He refused to budge. He cupped my face with his burning hands, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my cheek. Then, he took my hand and pressed it flat against his chest. Beneath the hot skin, his heart was hammering at a frantic, terrifying pace. He looked down at me with watery, pathetic eyes, looking as if he were about to burst into tears at any second. “Vivian…” His voice was thick and raspy. Finally, a lightbulb went off in my head. I wrapped one arm around his waist and the other under his tail, lifting him off the bed. Caspian looked momentarily stunned by the princess-carry. But he quickly accepted his new position, resting his heavy head against my collarbone and nuzzling his face into my neck. I carried him over to the indoor pool. And threw him straight in. The manual had clearly stated that mermen could survive on land, but they required regular hydration. His high body temperature and raspy voice were obvious signs of severe dehydration. In the water, Caspian stared up at me with utter betrayal in his eyes. Seeing that I remained unmoved, he began to swim in frantic circles, churning the water into a froth. See? He was clearly dehydrated. The moment he hit the water, he was so happy he was doing laps. Eventually, Caspian retreated to the furthest corner of the pool, turning his back to me as he silently began to weep pearls. I nodded in satisfaction. Ah, tears of joy. The next morning, before I was fully awake, I felt a cool hand gently playing with my fingers. Opening my eyes, I looked down toward the floor. Caspian was lying on the hardwood floor beside my bed. He was holding my hand up, twisting my fingers between his own. The floor around him was covered in a thick layer of shimmering pearls, and he was glaring up at me with a look of pure resentment. I had no idea how long he had been lying there. I sat up on the edge of the bed, feeling a headache coming on. While the pearls were incredibly valuable, there was currently no safe place to put my feet. I could already see the slipping hazard. I used my foot to clear a small patch of floor. “Clean these up, Caspian. Every single one.” His expression became even more miserable. By the time I finished my morning routine and prepared to leave for work, he was still on his hands and knees, picking them up one by one. I ended up working much later than expected. When I finally unlocked the front door, the apartment was completely dark. As I flipped the light switch, I froze. Every single container, bowl, glass, and vase in the house had been filled to the brim with shimmering, high-quality pearls. I stared at the sparkling piles. What had he done? Had he secretly sold my house while I was gone? I finally found him on his hydrogel bed. He had dragged my heavy duvet down from the bedroom, wrapping himself in it like a cocoon, leaving only the very tip of his silver tail exposed. Scattered around him were several sweaters and shirts I wore regularly. I stared at the mess. I actually needed to wear those clothes, and he was using them to build a nest. Beside the bed, a glass cup piled high with pearls began to slide. A single pearl rolled off the top, clattering onto the floor.

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1 The night the earth shook, the master beam snapped with a sound like a gunshot, pinning me beneath the bed frame. I lay in the dark, suffocating under the weight of plaster and splintered wood, with only my right hand free to claw at the air. When my father rushed into the ruins, I screamed for him to save me. But he scooped up my little brother first, then spun back around to search the crumbling closet for the boy’s stuffed bear. I told him my leg was crushed, that the blood wouldn’t stop flowing. He only yelled back at me through the dust: “Can’t you just wait until I get Toby somewhere safe?” By the time the rescue crew dug their way to me, my chest had stopped moving. Three days later, he stood before the television cameras, holding my brother tight. He told the reporter, “In the face of tragedy, my only thought was to protect my children.” It was only after the cameras stopped rolling that he finally looked around and asked, “Where’s my oldest? Tessa should have made it out on her own, right?” The volunteer stood in silence for a long time before placing my student ID in his hand. It was only in that quiet, devastating moment that the truth finally settled in my chest. The children he wanted so badly to protect had never included me. … “Mr. Robert, this belongs to your daughter.” The volunteer slid the card into a clear plastic bag and held it out. My father had just stepped out of the media tent. A temporary press pass was still clipped to his dusty jacket, and Toby was cradled in his left arm. Toby held the freshly cleaned teddy bear tight against his chest, whining into our father’s shoulder about being hungry. Robert’s hand hovered in the air, hesitant. A second later, he looked down to rummage through his duffel bag. “Don’t cry, buddy. Daddy’s looking for some crackers.” The volunteer’s hand remained raised, waiting. Inside the plastic sleeve, my ID was smudged with gray ash. In the photo, my hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, and I was smiling so hard my eyes crinkled. Robert pulled out a crushed pack of pastries, tearing it open and handing it to Toby. Toby took a bite, then stuffed the wrapper back into Robert’s pocket. “Barnaby wants some too.” Robert whispered softly, his voice full of patience. “The bear isn’t hungry, sport. Daddy will give him a nice bath later.” The volunteer spoke up, her voice cracking slightly. “Mr. Robert, the search and rescue team found your daughter’s backpack under the debris of the townhouse.” Robert’s head snapped up. His face went entirely pale. “That’s impossible,” he said, his words coming out in a defensive rush. “She’s always been fast. She ran track at school. She probably ran straight to one of the emergency shelters with her classmates.” The rescue captain stood nearby, his hard hat caked in gray soot. “We mapped the layout, sir. It was the small bedroom right next to the master suite.” Robert cut him off immediately. “You have the wrong room.” “My daughter is seventeen. She isn’t a toddler.” “When the shaking started, she would have known how to hide, how to run, how to call for help.” I floated just above the fractured concrete slabs, watching them speak. The sleeve of my school jacket was still snagged on a rusted piece of rebar, fluttering gently in the cold wind. That same hand had reached out toward the doorframe, my fingernails scraping against the floorboards until they bled, leaving dark, desperate streaks on the wood. Right beside those marks, a pair of brand-new wool socks lay buried under the dust, the price tag still attached. The tag bore a date: my father’s birthday. A few journalists who hadn’t left yet noticed the tension and began hoisting their cameras again. “Mr. Robert, is your oldest daughter still unaccounted for?” Robert pulled Toby closer, taking a step back into the shadow of the tent. “Please, don’t run any stories yet,” he muttered, his voice dry and raspy. “She’s probably just terrified and hiding somewhere. If she sees her name on a casualty list, she’ll panic.” The volunteer’s brow furrowed. “Sir, the personal effects have already been verified by our team.” Robert’s voice suddenly turned sharp, echoing across the plaza. “I said, don’t run the story!” Toby flinched at the shout, bursting into loud, frightened tears. “Daddy, Barnaby is dirty!” Robert instantly dropped his head, pouring bottled water onto a napkin and gently wiping the stuffed bear’s ears. He moved with such careful, delicate precision. As if the toy could actually feel pain. The volunteer swallowed her frustration. “Mr. Robert, we need you to come to the temporary morgue to identify the body.” Robert kept his eyes on the toy. “As soon as I get Toby settled in a shelter.” I floated right beside him, looking down at the bear. The night of the earthquake, he had gone back into the collapsing house a third time just to find that toy. When his boots clattered past my bedroom door, I had screamed his name until my vocal cords ruptured. But he never stopped. When Gran arrived at the edge of the ruins, her cane was gone, and she was missing a shoe. She grabbed the nearest volunteer, her voice trembling as she gasped out my name. The moment the volunteer opened her mouth, Gran’s knees buckled. She dragged herself over to my father, grabbing his sleeve with a desperate, shaking hand. “Where is my Tess?” Robert tried to shield Toby from her grasp. “Mom, please, calm down.” Gran’s hands shook so violently she could barely hold on. “Why didn’t you bring her out with you?” Robert looked away, his expression twisting into irritation. “It was complete chaos in there.” “I had to grab the baby first. She’s practically an adult, she should have known how to get out.” Gran stared at him in disbelief for two agonizing seconds, then brought her palm down hard against his arm. “She is your daughter, you idiot! It doesn’t matter how old she is!” Robert stumbled back half a step, his pride wounded in front of the onlookers. “Stop making a scene here!” “I only have two hands! How many people do you think I could carry at once?” “Is it a crime that I got my baby boy out first?” Gran’s eyes filled with tears of pure rage. “Saving your son wasn’t the mistake.” “Your mistake was going back inside for a stupid stuffed animal while you left your daughter to die without even looking at her!” The surrounding crowd fell into a suffocating silence. Toby started whimpering again, and Robert immediately patted his back. “Don’t listen to Gran, buddy.” “Daddy’s here. You’re safe.” A rescue worker approached, carrying my dusty backpack. The zipper had been sheared off, and my textbooks were spilling out of the tear. A small envelope slipped out, landing in a puddle of muddy water. Written on the front in neat, careful handwriting was: Happy Birthday, Dad. Robert bent down to pick it up. But Gran beat him to it, snatching the card and clutching it tightly against her chest. “Don’t you touch it.” Robert froze. Gran glared at him, her voice dripping with ice. “You don’t deserve it.” 2 The lights at the emergency shelter stayed on all night. Robert carefully laid out a soft fleece blanket for Toby, placing the stuffed bear right next to his pillow. Toby complained that the floor was too hard, kicking the blanket away in a tantrum. Without hesitation, Robert took off his heavy winter coat and tucked it under his son’s head for extra padding. Over the crackling PA system, a volunteer began reading the names of the confirmed deceased. When the voice reached our neighborhood, Robert reached out and turned the dial, muting the audio. Gran sat in the far corner of the gym, cradling my muddy backpack, using her sleeve to wipe away the dirt over and over again. But the mud was baked into the fabric, and soon her sleeve was soaked with dirty water, yet she kept rubbing. When my homeroom teacher, Ms. Adler, arrived, her hair was a tangled mess and she was clutching a stack of student records. The moment she saw the backpack in Gran’s lap, her eyes welled with tears. “Just yesterday, she asked me what color socks men usually prefer,” Ms. Adler whispered. Gran held the bag tighter. “What did she say?” Ms. Adler knelt down beside her. “She said her dad’s birthday was coming up, and she wanted to buy him a pair of nice, warm socks.” “She was worried black would be too boring, but she thought gray would get dirty too quickly.” Robert’s hands paused for a moment. Then, his lips curled into a strained, dismissive chuckle. “She always loved playing those little mind games.” “She’s probably just hiding out somewhere, waiting for me to get frantic.” Ms. Adler looked up at him, her expression hardening. “Mr. Robert, Tess was never that kind of child.” Robert’s face went cold. “How long have you even known her?” “I’m her father. You think you know her better than I do?” I floated near the edge of the blanket, watching Toby push the stuffed bear into Robert’s face. “Daddy, Barnaby is scared.” Robert’s face softened instantly into a warm smile. “Daddy’s here, sport. There’s nothing to be scared of.” Before I died, I had screamed for him dozens of times. But his footsteps had only hurried past me. Not once had he paused for my voice. A volunteer from the rescue team arrived to inform the families that they could go to the temporary morgue to identify their loved ones. Gran gripped her cane, trying to stand. But Robert stayed seated, holding Toby. “Toby won’t let me go.” “I’ll have to come by later.” Gran turned slowly, staring at him. “Your flesh-and-blood daughter is lying on a cold table, and you say ‘later’?” Robert’s brow furrowed. “Toby just survived a collapse. He can’t handle any more trauma right now.” Gran was so angry she couldn’t even form words. Ms. Adler gently supported her elbow. “I’ll go with you, ma’am.” Robert let out a soft breath of relief. “Thank you, Ms. Adler. I appreciate it.” Gran spun around, her eyes blazing. “Robert! Do you honestly think because someone else is willing to do the hard work, you get to stop being a father?” Robert’s expression soured. “Mom, do you have to poison every single word?” “You think I’m not hurting?” Gran let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Hurting? If you were actually hurting, you would have looked for my girl!” Robert didn’t answer, turning back to his son. I followed Gran and Ms. Adler to the temporary morgue. Rows of white sheets lined the cold gymnasium floor. When Gran reached the third row, her knees finally gave out. Ms. Adler caught her just in time. A worker slowly pulled back the sheet, revealing just a corner of my face. Gran dropped to her knees, her breath catching so hard she couldn’t even sob. Ms. Adler covered her mouth, her eyes locking onto the faded red thread tied around my wrist. “It’s her.” Gran had given me that red string two years ago for protection. Robert had called it cheap and embarrassing, telling me to take it off before I made a fool of myself. But I had never taken it off. Gran took my hand in hers. It was entirely cold. She pressed her cheek against my icy fingers, her voice a broken whisper. “My sweet girl. Gran is here.” She pulled out her phone and dialed Robert’s number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. “Mom, what is it?” Gran could barely draw enough air into her lungs to speak. “Come and see your daughter. One last time.” Through the receiver, I could hear the loud, cheerful sounds of a cartoon playing in the background. “Mom, stop trying to scare me.” “I really can’t leave Toby right now. He’ll get upset.” Gran’s voice shook. “You still don’t believe me?” Robert lowered his voice, sounding exasperated. “Mom, you’re getting older, and you’re letting these rescue workers get into your head.” “Once I get Toby to sleep, I’ll come down and sort this out.” Gran screamed, her voice cracking under the strain. “She is lying right in front of my eyes!” The line went dead silent for a brief second. Then Toby’s voice drifted through the speaker. “Daddy, I want my juice box.” Robert answered immediately, “I have to go.” The call clicked off. Gran held my hand, her body shaking as she wept in silence. “My sweet child. I wish you hadn’t been so good, so quiet.” “The quiet ones always suffer the most…” Ms. Adler turned away, her shoulders shaking. I stood beside them, reaching out to wipe the tears from Gran’s wrinkled cheeks. But my fingers passed right through her. 3 The next morning, Robert took Toby to the distribution center to claim their emergency supplies. The relief workers were checking names against a master database. When the worker reached my name, Robert’s head snapped up. “Tessa Robert?” Robert stepped forward. “I’m her father.” The worker flipped through the pages. “The death has been confirmed. We have paperwork here for funeral assistance and state aid.” Robert took the pen, but his hand froze before he could write. “Mark her as missing for now.” The worker looked up, surprised. “The family has already identified the body, sir.” Robert pushed the clipboard back across the desk. “There’s been a mistake.” “She’s only seventeen. She can’t be gone.” The worker stared at him in silence for a few seconds. “Mr. Robert, please cooperate with the process.” Toby saw another little boy holding a plastic toy car and began tugging on Robert’s sleeve. “Daddy, I want one too.” Robert turned away from the desk instantly. “Alright, buddy. Let’s go get in line for one.” The worker called out after him. “Mr. Robert, we need your signature on the death certificate.” Robert tossed the clipboard under a stack of supply boxes. “Give me a minute.” He spent ten minutes waiting in line just to get a cheap plastic car for Toby. Toby ripped the packaging open immediately, dragging the toy through the dirt. The clipboard with my death certificate lay crumpled under the weight of the heavy cardboard boxes. Gran arrived at the center, her cane clicking sharply against the gravel. She held a duplicate copy of the certificate. “Sign it.” Robert stepped in front of Toby, shielding him. “Don’t do this in front of the boy.” Gran slapped the paper against his chest. “How long are you going to keep pretending?” Robert’s temper flared. “I am not pretending!” Gran screamed. “Your daughter is dead! Do you hear me? She is gone!” Robert roared back. “I know!” “But the child who is still alive has to come first!” The busy plaza fell dead silent. Toby stopped playing with his car, looking up at his father with wide, confused eyes. The anger drained from Gran’s face, leaving it hollow. “She’s dead, so she doesn’t matter anymore?” Robert’s mouth opened, but no words came out. “That’s not what I meant.” Gran forced the paper into his hands. “That is exactly what you meant.” I watched as the cardboard box slipped from the table. Toby’s freshly washed teddy bear tumbled into the dirt. My death certificate slipped from Robert’s grip, landing in a muddy puddle. A heavy boot stepped right on top of it. Ms. Adler knelt down to retrieve it, her fingers instantly caked in dark mud. She smoothed out the wet paper, her voice trembling. “The school wants to set up a small fund in her name, and we’d like to hold a memorial service.” Robert’s first instinct wasn’t to ask about the details. He asked, “Is the memorial absolutely necessary?” Ms. Adler froze. Robert looked down at Toby. “Toby’s still having night terrors. A service like that… it’s going to mess with his head.” Gran raised her hand to strike him again. But this time, Robert blocked her arm. “Mom, enough.” “I’m exhausted.” Gran stared at him, her eyes burning. “Exhausted?” “What do you have to be exhausted about? Your daughter is dead!” Robert’s face flushed red. “I told you, it was chaos in there!” Ms. Adler gently took the damp paper from Gran. “I’ll handle the arrangements at the school, ma’am.” Gran tucked the certificate into her coat pocket. “If he won’t go, I will.” “If he won’t claim her, I will.” She stumbled as she turned to leave, and Ms. Adler quickly caught her. Robert stood there in the dust, lifting Toby into his arms. Toby whispered, “Daddy, is sissy dead?” Robert stiffened. “Don’t listen to them, buddy.” Toby persisted. “Then where did she go?” Robert shoved the plastic toy car into Toby’s hands. “Just play with your car.” I stood behind my father, a cold, bitter laugh bubbling up in my chest. My entire life, I had been brushed aside with that exact same phrase. “Just play with your things.” When I had a fever, he told me to stop being dramatic. When I won an academic award, he told me not to show off. When my leg was pinned under a heavy beam, he told me to stop rushing him. And now that I was dead, he told my brother to ignore the truth. 4 The temporary memorial was set up in a corner of the school gymnasium. The white drapes fluttered in the drafty room. Gran had placed my school ID on the table, alongside my backpack and the birthday card. My classmates lined up to lay white flowers on the table, some of them crying so hard they had to be supported by friends. Ms. Adler placed my nameplate at the front of the altar. It read: Tessa Robert, Class of 2026. I floated near the altar, watching the package containing the new wool socks rest beside my backpack. Finally, Robert arrived. He stood near the double doors, holding Toby. Toby was still clutching that stuffed bear. Robert didn’t even step inside before calling out to Ms. Adler. “Can we wrap this up quickly?” “Toby is really uncomfortable in places like this.” Ms. Adler’s hands trembled as she laid down a flower. “Mr. Robert, this is Tessa’s memorial.” Robert frowned. “I know that.” “But I’m here, aren’t I? What more do you want from me?” Gran stood up from her chair by the altar. “Pay your respects.” Robert didn’t move. Ms. Adler offered him a white chrysanthemum. He didn’t take it. “Tess was always the sensible one.” “She would understand why I had to protect her little brother first.” A quiet sob broke out among my classmates. A boy from my class couldn’t hold back anymore, stepping forward. “She spent weeks saving up to buy you a birthday gift!” Robert turned a cold gaze toward him. “What do you kids know about real life?” “When disaster strikes, if I don’t protect the youngest, what kind of father would I be?” Gran stepped closer to him. “Bow.” Robert’s face darkened. “I am her father.” “You expect me to bow and beg my own child for forgiveness?” The gymnasium fell into an oppressive silence. Ms. Adler gently set the chrysanthemum on the altar. “No one is asking you to beg, Mr. Robert.” “We just want to give her a dignified send-off.” Robert let out a harsh laugh. “Dignified?” “Parading her death like this… that’s what’s truly undignified.” Gran pointed a trembling finger at him. “Shut your mouth.” Toby suddenly broke away, running toward the altar. He snatched the birthday card, folding it quickly into a paper airplane. “Watch it fly!” I lunged forward to stop him, but my hands swept through empty air. The thick cardstock was creased and ruined. Gran rushed to grab it. “Toby, put that down!” Frightened by her sharp tone, Toby burst into tears. Robert lunged forward, shoving Gran away with a heavy shoulder. “It’s just a piece of paper! Why are you screaming at a child?” Gran lost her balance, crashing against the side of the altar. My backpack fell to the floor. The package of brand-new socks slid out, rolling across the floorboards. The price tag, with his birthday written on it, lay exposed under the lights. Robert bent down and picked up the socks. He stared at them. Everyone in the room held their breath, waiting for him to say something. Instead, he muttered, “She always did things like this… just to make me feel guilty.” Ms. Adler gasped. “Mr. Robert!” Gran clutched the edge of the table, her body shaking with rage. “She loved you enough to think of your birthday even when she was dying.” Robert squeezed the socks in his fist, his expression twisting into frustration. “If she loved me so much, why couldn’t she be more understanding?” “The house was collapsing, the baby was screaming, and I was alone!” “She was seventeen! Why couldn’t she just hold on a little longer on her own?” As those words left his mouth, several of my classmates broke down. A girl cried out through her tears. “Her leg was crushed under a beam! How was she supposed to hold on?!” Robert glared at her. “Were you there?” “Who are you to say I didn’t try to save her?” Gran lunged forward to retrieve the birthday card, but Toby scrambled behind Robert, thrusting the crumpled paper into his pocket. Robert raised his hand, intending to tear the card to pieces. “Stop using these things to guilt me.” Just then, the heavy double doors of the gym were pushed open. The rescue captain walked in, carrying a dusty bodycam device in his hand. “Mr. Robert.” “We recovered the audio log from your daughter’s final fifteen minutes.” Robert’s hand froze. The weeping in the gymnasium died down instantly. Toby clutched his bear, hiding behind Robert’s leg. Robert stared at the device, his throat dry. “What is that supposed to mean?” The captain pressed play.

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1 Each winter after my amputation, I could not bear the cold. Stewart would pause his empire to take me to a private island. On nights when phantom pain left me shaking, he knelt by the bed for hours, kissing the scar on my stump until I calmed. Our circle called him devoted, a saint for staying with a broken woman. I believed losing my leg had at least bound me to love. Three years ago, his childhood friend cut my rope on an Alpine peak. Stewart wept all night, then destroyed her family by morning. After that, no one in New York dared cross me. On our fifth island winter, a storm woke me to an empty bed. On crutches, I reached a half-open door down the hall. Windy was there, the woman who should have been begging on the streets. Stewart held her close, voice thick with care. Do not cry, baby. It is only thunder. She pouted, hitting his chest. You spend every day with that pathetic cripple. I am sick of hiding. He kissed her tears away. Sweetheart, just a little longer. I will stay with you tonight. Windy leaned back into his chest, her fingers playing with the buttons of his silk pajama shirt, her voice dripping with disgust. “You actually kiss that hideous stump every night? Doesn’t it make you want to throw up?” The tropical storm lashed against the French windows, a relentless, deafening roar that drowned out my ragged breathing. I should have turned and walked away, but my remaining foot felt nailed to the floorboards. Stewart let out a soft chuckle. “Gemma is like a piece of shattered porcelain right now. If I don’t handle her with kid gloves, how is she supposed to stay quietly in her wheelchair?” Windy rolled her eyes. “But how much longer do we have to play this game?” “The foundation for disabled youth goes public next month. As our primary brand ambassador, she has to stay on her pedestal until the IPO is secured.” “But you give her those heavy sedatives every single day. What if they end up killing her?” Stewart’s voice remained flat, completely devoid of emotion. “The doctor said the dosage is safe. It just keeps her quiet and compliant.” I bit down on the back of my hand, sinking my teeth deep into my flesh until the metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth. He had told me they were vitamins. Two white pills every morning to boost my immune system. He had been so incredibly gentle, cupping my cheek with his warm palm, whispering like he was coaxing a child. “Be good, Gemma. Take these, and the pain will go away.” Three years ago, when I first woke up from the amputation surgery and saw the empty space where my right leg used to be, I had lost my mind. I screamed, thrashing and smashing everything within arm’s reach. When Stewart rushed into the hospital room, I was raising a heavy metal lamp, ready to hurl it. Without a second thought, he dropped to his knees right onto the shattered glass covering the floor. Shards sliced deep into his skin, staining his trousers crimson, but he didn’t even flinch. He just wrapped his arms around me, holding me in a death grip. He kissed my forehead over and over, his voice raw. “Gemma, I will be your right leg from now on. I swear I will never let anyone hurt you again.” I had wept until my body went limp, believing that no matter how dark my life got, this man would always be my shield. What a joke. A wave of intense nausea hit me, rising hot in my throat. I slowly released my hand, staring at the deep, purple crescent of teeth marks bruised into my skin. Inside the room, Windy was still whining. “Stay with me tonight. She took her pills, she won’t wake up anyway.” Stewart didn’t answer, but the rustle of clothes and Windy’s soft, pleased giggles spoke louder than words. Thunder shook the corridor. Using every ounce of strength I had, I stabilized my crutches, dragged my remaining leg, and retreated silently into the dark bedroom. I spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled, agonizing sounds from the next room until dawn broke. By morning, the rain still hadn’t let up. The door creaked open, and Stewart walked in carrying a glass of warm water, his eyes reflecting the same gentle warmth he had shown me for years. “Awake already, Gemma?” He sat on the edge of the mattress, helping me sit up and placing a plush pillow behind my back. Then, he shook two white tablets from a bottle into his palm and held them to my lips. “The storm must have triggered your joint pain last night. Take your vitamins.” I stared at the pills, motionless. Stewart’s brow furrowed with concern. “Come on, sweetheart. The doctor got these specifically to help you feel better.” I didn’t argue. I opened my mouth, let the dry tablets rest under my tongue, and took a small sip of water. “Good girl.” He smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear before turning around to draw the heavy curtains. The moment his back was turned, I spit the dissolving pills into my palm, curling my fingers into a tight fist. But as the curtains parted, Stewart seemed to sense something. “Gemma, you’re awfully quiet today.” He spun back around, his sharp gaze locking onto my face. Before I could react, he stepped forward, grabbing my chin with a firm grip and forcing my head up. “Did you actually swallow them?” His eyes searched my mouth. “Open up. Let me see.” My heart missed a beat. I obediently parted my lips, showing him an empty tongue. Stewart stared for a long, tense moment before the suspicion in his eyes slowly melted away. He released my chin, his thumb lightly tracing my cheekbone. “Get some rest. I’ll bring your breakfast up.” The door clicked shut. I opened my sweaty palm, staring at the semi-dissolved sedatives. Unclasping the silver locket around my neck, I slipped the wet chalky remains inside and snapped it shut. When the rain finally cleared, the island was bathed in brilliant sunshine. Stewart decided it was a perfect day for a walk, pushing my wheelchair down to the private beach. The ocean breeze swept over my face, but looking out at the endless waves, my heart felt like a graveyard. “You must be thirsty. I’ll grab you some fresh juice from the pavilion.” Stewart parked my wheelchair under the shade of a large umbrella and walked toward the resort bar. A few minutes later, a server in a resort uniform approached, placing a tall glass on the small table beside me. “Your juice, Miss.” The voice made my entire body lock up. I looked up to find Windy looking down at me, her lips curved into a smug, mocking sneer. A distance away, Stewart turned and saw us. His expression darkened instantly. He marched over, stepping directly between us, his voice a low, furious hiss. “What are you doing out here?” “What is she doing here, Stewart?” I asked, keeping my voice dead and cold. Windy’s reaction was instantaneous. Her eyes welled with tears, and she dropped to her knees. “Please, Gemma, I beg you, just let me live!” She wept so pitifully that several nearby hotel guests began to whisper and point. “Three years ago, you ruined my family because of a misunderstanding! I’ve been hiding on this island, washing dishes just to survive. I know I made mistakes, but why won’t you let me have a fresh start?” Every word was designed to paint me as a bitter, vengeful heiress who was abusing her power to keep a poor girl down. My body began to shake, a violent, involuntary reaction to the trauma of seeing her. Stewart noticed. He dropped to one knee, placing his hand over my trembling knee with the perfect amount of pressure, just as he had done a thousand times before. “Gemma,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Deep breaths. Focus on me. You’re safe.” I couldn’t speak. I just stared at Windy. My mind flashed back to that freezing day on the mountain. The howling wind, my fingers turning blue as I clung desperately to the icy ledge, suspended over a deadly abyss. Windy had stood above me, looking down with a vicious, mocking grin. Then, she had raised her heavy boot and stomped hard on my frozen fingers. “Go to hell, Gemma.” For five years, that face had haunted my nightmares, waking me up drenched in cold sweat. And every time, Stewart would pull me into his chest, kissing my hair, whispering, “It’s over, darling. She paid for what she did.” But the truth was, the “price” she paid was being kept safe right under his nose. In a sudden burst of rage, I shoved Stewart away, forced myself up onto my left leg, and threw my weight forward. My hand cut through the air, landing a resounding slap across Windy’s face. The force spun her head to the side, and a thin trickle of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth. She stared at me, wide-eyed with shock. The beach fell dead silent. The warmth in Stewart’s eyes vanished completely, replaced by a cold, sharp irritation. He grabbed my arm, forcing me back into the wheelchair, his brow furrowing deeply. “Have you lost your mind?” I looked up at him. “I’ve lost my mind?” Stewart exhaled a long, heavy sigh, his face filled with profound disappointment. “She has already suffered. She lost everything, Gemma.” “Look at you now. You’ve become bitter, vindictive, and cruel.” “Don’t let your obsession with revenge turn you into an ugly monster.” I stared at his righteous, hypocritical face. Three years ago, he swore he would make her pay with her life. Today, he called me a monster. I didn’t argue. I simply brushed his hand off my arm and turned the wheels of my chair, pushing myself back toward the villa. Behind me, Windy’s whiny voice drifted over the sand. “Stewart, it hurts so bad…” “Shh, it’s okay,” Stewart’s voice was infinitely tender. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” I didn’t look back. I only felt that even under the blazing sun, the world had never felt colder. By nightfall, a category-four hurricane made landfall. The wind shrieked, throwing sheets of rain against the reinforced glass, cutting off all power and communication to the island. At two in the morning, I tumbled out of bed. Without the sedatives, the brutal combination of withdrawal and phantom limb pain hit me all at once. My stump was spasming violently, and sweat soaked through my nightgown. I desperately needed water, but my body refused to cooperate. My hand trembled as I reached for the glass pitcher on the nightstand, sending it crashing to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. As I fell, the jagged glass sliced deep into my palms, and blood pooled onto the floor. Just then, the door swung open. Stewart and Windy stood in the doorway, wearing matching silk pajamas. In the flashes of lightning, they looked like a perfect, mocking portrait. Seeing the blood and glass, Windy’s eyes lit up with malicious glee, and she rushed forward. “Oh my gosh, Gemma! Are you okay? Let me help you!” She knelt beside me, her voice dripping with fake concern. Stewart turned back to the hallway to grab the first-aid kit. The second his back was turned, Windy’s worried expression shattered. She reached out, her fingers wrapping around the sensitive skin of my stump, her manicured nails digging mercilessly into my flesh. “You were so brave this afternoon on the beach, wasn’t you?” “Look at you now, crawling on the floor like a pathetic, filthy dog.” In a blind panic of pain and adrenaline, I swung my arm, shoving her away with all my might. “Ah!” Windy let out a theatrical shriek, throwing herself backward directly onto the pile of shattered glass. The sharp shards sliced into her forearms, and blood seeped through her skin. Clutching her arm, she looked toward the door, tears streaming down her face. “Stewart, it hurts…” Stewart rushed back into the room, holding the first-aid kit. Without casting a single glance in my direction, he scooped Windy up in his arms, his face pale with worry as he inspected her cuts. Once he saw they were merely superficial, he slowly turned his gaze to me. “I let it slide this afternoon because I thought you were just emotional,” he said, his voice trembling with a quiet, lethal rage. “But she was just trying to help you, and you did this. Gemma, how long are you going to keep acting like a rabid animal?” Windy clung to his chest, trembling. “Stewart, I’m scared… she’s going to hurt me again…” Stewart’s gaze drifted down to my right leg. He gently set Windy aside and walked over, stopping right in front of me. “Since you can’t seem to control yourself, you need to learn how to sit still.” With a blank, robotic expression, his hands reached down to the quick-release buckle of my prosthetic leg. My eyes went wide, and I clawed at his hands. “Stewart! No! Don’t you dare! Leave it alone!” Click. With cold precision, he unlatched the prosthetic and pulled it away. He was stripping away my last shred of dignity, ripping it from my body like a trophy. I bit my lip so hard it bled, my voice a raspy whisper. “When the storm passes, I’m going back to New York.” Stewart let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Gemma, your trust funds and foundation accounts were frozen yesterday. Do you honestly think anyone in your family is coming to save you?” “You can’t even walk out of this room. Just be a good girl and stay put.” He wrapped his arm around Windy and walked out, locking the heavy mahogany door from the outside. I collapsed onto the bloody, glass-strewn floor. I sat there in the dark for a long time, and then, a low chuckle escaped my lips. The chuckle turned into a laugh, until tears streamed down my face. My parents had no other children. When I was ten, I had begged them for an older brother because I was lonely. To make me happy, they had adopted twelve-year-old Stewart from an orphanage. He became the golden heir of the family, my rock, my protector. Then my parents died in a car crash, and shortly after, I lost my leg. One by one, Stewart had forced my uncles and senior executives out of the family firm, seizing total control. He had explained, “Gemma, they’re greedy vultures. I’m just protecting your legacy.” How incredibly naive I had been. I had been blind to the monstrous ambition hidden beneath his gentle smile. My family was gone. But so what? I was still alive. And as long as I was breathing, that was enough. The next morning, the hurricane began to weaken. Stewart had to leave early to deal with a corporate PR emergency at the resort’s business center. The bedroom door clicked open, and Windy walked in. She sauntered over to the nightstand, raising her foot to kick my untouched glass of water to the floor. It spilled everywhere. “Thirsty? Why don’t you lick it off the floor?” she sneered, looking down at me. I didn’t answer. I just stared at her, my eyes flat and emotionless. Windy stepped closer, let out a dry laugh. “Do you seriously think you’re still the high-and-mighty princess of the family?” “Gemma, tell me… do you really believe I was the one who ruined your leg?” My gaze sharpened. Seeing my reaction, her grin widened. “I was hanging off that cliff by a thread myself. How on earth would I have had the strength to kick you off?” She leaned down, her breath hot against my ear. “It was Stewart. He paid one of the guides to slice your backup safety rope before we even started the climb.” My pupils dilated. “You really are a pathetic fool.” Windy laughed, savoring my silent horror. “Your parents’ fatal crash, your useless stump… it was all orchestrated by the ‘brother’ you loved so much. You brought this on your family.” “You’re lying,” I choked out, my voice raw. No matter how much Stewart might have hated me, my parents had raised him as their own. They had showered him with love. How could anyone be that cold-blooded? “If you’re trying to turn me against him, you need a better lie,” I sneered. “Believe what you want.” Windy stood up, humming a tune as she turned to leave. She was so blinded by her own triumph that she didn’t notice the spare phone slipping out of her pocket and landing softly on the thick rug, right beneath the edge of my blanket. Late that night, the rain started pouring again. When Stewart opened the door, I was already back in bed, eyes closed, pretending to be in a drug-induced slumber while trying to stop my body from shivering. He walked over and tucked the blanket around my shoulders. Moments later, he stepped out onto the balcony, leaving the sliding door slightly ajar. Through the howling wind and rain, I heard him speaking to his assistant on the phone. “I don’t care how much that bastard in Australia is asking for! Pay him whatever it takes to keep his mouth shut!” Stewart’s voice had lost all its warmth. It was razor-sharp and cold. The assistant must have said something on the other end. Stewart let out a vicious laugh. “The man is a greedy pig.” “Remind him that he was the one who physically cut Gemma’s rope on that mountain. I only provided the funds; his hands did the deed.” “If this goes south, I have a dozen ways to clear my name. He doesn’t. Tell him to choose his next words very carefully.” The call ended. Only the sound of the wind remained. In the dark room, I pressed my hand against my mouth, tears flowing silently down my face. It was true. The man who had held me and cried, the man who swore to be my right leg, was the very monster who had pushed me into the abyss. My entire life had been a carefully constructed lie, and I had played the fool perfectly. But as the grief washed over me, a strange, cold clarity settled in my mind. Taking advantage of the rumbling thunder, I pulled out the spare phone Windy had dropped. With trembling fingers, I dialed a number I knew by heart. The call connected instantly, and a man’s anxious voice came through the speaker. “Gemma? Thank God! The island’s been dark for two days. Are you safe? Did Stewart…” “Tristan,” I interrupted, my voice flat and steady. “Find the lead guide from our Alps expedition three years ago.” “I need the forensic analysis of that cut rope.”

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1 Five years into my life in London, my fiancé changed his profile picture. It was a shot of a family of three. Anyone looking at it would think they were the picture of domestic bliss. Before I could even call to interrogate him, his message popped up. “My wife gets jealous easily. Deleted you.” I swallowed down the bile rising in my throat and typed back. “Who the hell is this? And since when did my boyfriend add you?” My fiancé sent back a string of question marks. Then came a barrage of identical texts. “Who the hell are you? Amy is my girlfriend!” At that exact moment, the financial news channel on my TV was broadcasting a segment about the new head of the Manhattan based Lancaster empire. Victor Lancaster. A reckless idea sparked in my mind. I typed out that unfamiliar name and hit send. Sometime later, at a high society gala in Manhattan. My former fiancé was screaming like a madman, demanding to know what gave the man sitting at the head table the right to steal his woman. “Girlfriend?” The man raised a dark brow, his gaze shifting to me standing right in the center of the spectacle. Just as my heart leaped into my throat, his lips curved into a faint, predatory smile. “Come on then. Why don’t you tell everyone exactly what is going on, Miss Sinclair?” It was snowing heavily in London. The usually bustling streets were practically deserted. A fire crackled in the hearth as I stood by the window wrapped in a thick cashmere shawl. My eyes were still swollen from crying. Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper who had looked after me my whole life, stood nearby with a face full of worry. She gently suggested that if I was still feeling down, she could accompany me for a walk. I shook my head, forcing a weak smile. I told her I was fine and that she should go get some rest. She knew my stubborn personality better than anyone, so she didn’t push it. Half an hour later, a private investigator back in the States sent me a fifty page dossier. It turned out that by my second year abroad, Tristan Kensington was already sleeping with the maid’s daughter, Daisy. The only reason he hadn’t gone public with her was that he couldn’t bear to let go of the Kensington family’s staggering wealth. Tristan was the illegitimate son of the Kensington dynasty, only brought back into the fold when he turned eighteen. He was incompetent. To ensure the family empire didn’t crumble under his lack of skill, Old Man Kensington offered up a massive dowry, practically begging my family to agree to a marriage alliance. At the time, my family’s corporate funding had hit a brick wall. My parents were pulling their hair out, begging for investors all over the city. I couldn’t stand seeing them suffer, so I agreed to the arrangement. The first time I met Tristan was at a high-end French restaurant. He brought me a bouquet of fresh roses and sat across from me, looking genuinely nervous. When the waiter brought out the steak, he naturally took my plate and cut the meat into perfect bite-sized pieces for me. He drove me home afterward, and we talked the entire way. I had grown up navigating the toxic vanity of high society and had seen every type of fake person imaginable. But Tristan felt different. He was tall, handsome, and impeccably polite. Even though he had clearly suffered through a rough life before being claimed by his rich father, his eyes still held a bright, genuine light. We started seeing each other regularly. Every time we met, he had some small, thoughtful surprise waiting for me. I fell for him. I couldn’t stop myself. When he finally confessed his feelings, I said yes. Every single day of our relationship felt like a dream. I had a terrible temper and was prone to throwing fits. Aside from my parents, he was the only person in the world who tolerated my tantrums unconditionally. Six months into our relationship, we got engaged. Right around then, my family’s business took another devastating hit. Left with no other options, my parents shifted their entire focus overseas to London, desperately trying to find a lifeline for the company. As their only daughter and the future heir to the Sinclair Group, I didn’t hesitate. I booked a flight to join them, refusing to stay behind in New York living off my trust fund while they fought in the trenches. It poured rain the day I left. Tristan came to the airport to see me off. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked completely heartbroken, promising he would wait for me forever and begging me not to forget him. During my time in London, I texted him every single day to share the little details of my life. At first, his replies were instant. Gradually, I found myself waiting two or three days, sometimes even a full week, just to get a single message back. Love doesn’t just fade out of nowhere. There is always a trail of breadcrumbs. Now that Old Man Kensington had passed away, Tristan didn’t have to pretend anymore. He didn’t have to answer to anyone. No wonder he couldn’t wait to change the matching profile pictures we had used for years the second his grandfather was buried. My parents flew back to New York a week ahead of me to attend the funeral. I stayed behind in London to wrap up the final business negotiations. After years of relentless grinding, the Sinclair Group had successfully clawed its way back from the brink of death. Business was booming, and we were preparing to move our global headquarters back to Manhattan very soon. I instructed my assistant to pack my schedule to the brim. Aside from eating and sleeping, I worked until my eyes bled. If I kept moving, I wouldn’t have time to spiral. I knew perfectly well that crying over a man, especially a cheating bastard, was the stupidest thing a woman could do. But humans are emotional creatures, and sometimes logic just takes a backseat. I allowed myself to have bad judgment. I allowed myself to make mistakes. I allowed myself to grieve a failed relationship. But I absolutely refused to let it destroy me. I had half a month left before my flight home. During that time, Tristan bombarded my phone every single day. His texts were unhinged. He accused me of betraying him and swore he was going to hunt down and slaughter my so-called “wild man.” It was hilariously ironic. His kid with Daisy was practically old enough to run around the house, yet he had the absolute audacity to demand I stay pure and loyal to him. I didn’t reply to a single text. The day of my flight back to New York finally arrived. Mrs. Hughes made me a steaming bowl of shrimp wonton soup first thing in the morning. Watching me finish every last drop, the deep frown she had worn for days finally dissolved into a warm smile. With a full stomach, a long-lost sense of genuine joy washed over me. I was finally saying goodbye to London and going back to the city where I grew up. But I never expected that my welcoming committee would include Tristan. My parents were stuck in terrible traffic on the way to JFK Airport. As I walked out of the arrivals gate, the first person I saw was my ex-fiancé. And he wasn’t alone. Daisy and the kid were right there with him. Tristan marched toward me, radiating pure fury. He grabbed my wrist in a vice grip, his teeth practically grinding together. He demanded to know where the bastard was and why he didn’t fly back with me. Terrified he was actually going to hurt me, Mrs. Hughes completely lost it. She started kicking and hitting him with her purse, not caring who he was. Tristan winced in pain, his brows knitting together, but he absolutely refused to let me go. “Are you deaf, Amy? Answer the damn question!” I just gave him a dead, silent smirk. I wasn’t going to give him a single word. My silence only made him more psychotic. His grip tightened painfully around my bones. He glared at me like he wanted to rip my throat out. He called me a shameless tramp, accusing me of going abroad just to sleep around behind his back. He screamed that I owed him an explanation. I had seen shameless people before, but this was a whole new level of garbage. He was the one playing house with another woman, yet here he was, trying to nail me to a cross and play the victim. My parents had warned me back then. They said Tristan lacked proper education and had spent his youth running with street trash. They told me that even if he acted like a polished gentleman, I shouldn’t trust him completely. I thought he was the exception. The truth was, he was just a phenomenal actor. In the middle of that suffocating standoff, Daisy walked over holding the little boy’s hand. She spoke in a sickeningly soft, fragile voice. She told me that even though she and Tristan were married and had a child, his heart had always belonged to me. She scolded me, saying what I did was unfair to him and that as a woman, I needed to have some self-respect. She looked like a stiff breeze could knock her over. She kept her volume low, acting as if she was terrified of me. To me, she sounded like a yapping stray dog. I didn’t even waste a second glance on her. I looked at him coldly, asking if he really wanted an explanation. Tristan puffed up his chest confidently. “Damn right I do! We haven’t officially broken off the engagement. Legally, you are still my fiancée. You parading around with some random guy is a direct slap to my face.” Talk about the audacity of men. My patience completely evaporated. I raised my free hand and slapped him across the face with everything I had. I hit him so hard my own palm went numb, the stinging shock traveling all the way up my arm. A bright red handprint blossomed instantly across Tristan’s cheek, swelling up within seconds. He clearly never expected me to get physical. He dropped my wrist, clutching his face in absolute shock. He stammered, asking if I really just hit him. I stared blankly at the man shrieking like a maniac in the middle of the terminal. I told him he deserved a lot worse. I admitted I was an idiot five years ago for buying his lies, but I made it crystal clear that as of today, we were completely done. A flash of genuine panic crossed Tristan’s eyes, but he quickly forced himself to calm down. “Amy, don’t say things you don’t mean out of anger.” He spun a pathetic web of excuses. He claimed he didn’t love Daisy. He said four years ago, someone slipped a drug into his drink, and Daisy sacrificed her own virtue to save his life. When she ended up pregnant, he had no choice but to take responsibility. As for the profile picture and the text messages? He swore it was just a punishment for losing a bet during a poker game. He told me to go ask his frat buddies if I didn’t believe him. He admitted he married Daisy, but swore it was only to protect Noah. He didn’t want the boy growing up being called a fatherless bastard, especially since he knew exactly how much that hurt from his own childhood. I couldn’t care less if a single word vomiting out of his mouth was true. It didn’t matter. Betrayal is betrayal. I wasn’t interested in his tragic backstory or his pathetic justifications. I looked at him with absolute ice in my veins. I asked him what exactly he expected. Did he seriously think I was going to pretend nothing happened and jump right back into his arms? Tristan’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. He immediately tried to grab my hands again. He praised me for always being so understanding, promising that he just couldn’t give me the official title right now. He swore that once Noah was a little older, he would divorce Daisy. His greedy calculations were practically smeared across his forehead. Right on cue, Daisy chimed in. She played the tragic martyr, saying she knew her place and would never cling to Tristan. She even offered to let me legally adopt Noah if I wanted. It sounded incredibly generous, but it was nothing but a calculated trap. My parents only had me. I was already holding a high-level executive position in our empire. If that kid became my legal son, he wouldn’t just skip the social ladder entirely. He would be handed the keys to the kingdom. I wasn’t falling for her manipulative guilt trips. But Tristan ate it right up. He held Daisy’s hand, looking at her like she was a wounded angel. He called her the most understanding woman he had ever met and promised Noah would always know her as his real mother. My stomach violently turned. The sheer disgust finally overwhelmed me, and I turned to the side and threw up. Mrs. Hughes went into a frenzy, rubbing my back and frantically searching for a bottle of water. Tristan, on the other hand, went completely dark. His face twisted into an ugly scowl as he harshly demanded to know if I was pregnant with the other man’s bastard. He reached out to grab me again. Just in the nick of time, my parents finally arrived. The second Tristan saw my father, his aggressive bravado vanished into thin air. He immediately put on a sickeningly polite smile, greeting them and acting like a devoted son-in-law. My parents didn’t give him the time of day. They treated him like toxic waste. Tristan stood there awkwardly, too terrified to even breathe loudly. The speed at which he changed his tune was giving me whiplash. If I didn’t already know that his current real estate project was tanking and heavily relied on Sinclair Group’s core tech to survive, I might have actually believed he respected my parents. My parents carefully helped me into the backseat of the Maybach. As the car pulled away, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Tristan had instinctively taken a few steps to chase after the car. Then, the quiet little boy started wailing. Tristan’s attention snapped right back to him. For some unknown reason, Daisy started sobbing too. Tristan was stuck on the sidewalk, frantically trying to comfort the crying kid and the weeping woman. Tsk. Look how busy he is. Inside the car, my mother couldn’t stop cursing his name. She called him absolute scum, regretting that she and my father ever agreed to the engagement. My father sat tall, his aura terrifyingly cold. He swore that since Tristan dared to humiliate his daughter, he was going to make the boy wish he was never born. I squeezed their hands, comforting them. I told them we dodged a massive bullet and cutting our losses now was a blessing. Once we got to our penthouse in Manhattan, I crashed into bed and slept for a full twenty-four hours. When I finally woke up, I could hear faint voices drifting from the living room. It was my parents talking to our family doctor. I rubbed my throbbing temples, sitting up slowly. It took me a minute to process their conversation. The doctor told them I was suffering from severe exhaustion and needed strict bed rest. My parents were anxiously asking him for a list of precautions. After a while, the living room fell silent. My bedroom door clicked open, and my mother walked in. Seeing me awake, she immediately plastered on a bright smile. She asked what I was craving for dinner, offering tomato beef stew or a nourishing pork rib soup. I didn’t have an ounce of appetite, but I couldn’t bear to make them worry. I thought about it and asked for the beef stew with a side of stir-fried greens. My mother gently stroked my hair. She casually mentioned that a Mr. Lancaster was hosting a massive gala at the Century Grand Hotel tonight, and our family had received a VIP invitation. She told me that since she and my father were preparing to step back from the spotlight, I needed to start showing my face at these elite gatherings. I nodded and agreed to go. My brain was still foggy from the long sleep. I completely forgot to ask who this mysterious “Mr. Lancaster” actually was. My mother smiled in relief, whispering that her little girl was finally growing up. The gala was set for eight o’clock. I had plenty of time. Time to eat, time to pick out an appropriately lavish gift for the host, and time to get my hair and makeup done perfectly. By seven, I was sitting in the back of the Maybach wearing a stunning, fiery red evening gown. Before leaving the house, I had stood in front of the full-length mirror for a very long time. I was twenty-eight. Young, beautiful, vibrant, and proud. This was the absolute prime of my life. In a daze, a memory surfaced. Ever since I started dating Tristan, I rarely wore bright colors. He didn’t like it when I looked too flashy or commanding. He preferred women who looked soft, subdued, and easily controlled. The car sped through the dazzling city lights. For the first time in a long time, my heart felt completely at peace. I arrived at the ballroom twenty minutes early. Several socialites and business tycoons who recognized me came over with champagne flutes to welcome me back to the city. I navigated the small talk flawlessly. The event officially kicked off, but I still hadn’t caught a glimpse of the elusive host. I did, however, run into three incredibly unwelcome guests. Tristan, Daisy, and that hostile little kid. Tristan ditched Daisy and the boy, storming over to me with a face like thunder. He sneered, saying he was surprised I had the nerve to show my face in public. Absolutely delusional. He was the one who should be hiding in a sewer. When I completely ignored him, Tristan started losing his temper. He raised his voice, mocking me, saying he couldn’t wait to see if my wild man had the guts to show up. He was raving like a lunatic. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning struck my sleep-deprived brain. It finally clicked. The host’s last name was Lancaster. My mother had respectfully called him “Mr. Lancaster.” There was only one man in the entire city of New York who commanded that level of absolute reverence from my mother. A cold sweat broke out on my palms. Just as I was turning to find a quiet exit, the massive double doors of the grand ballroom swung open. The man leading the entourage was incredibly tall. His features were striking and flawless, his aura radiating a terrifying, aristocratic chill. He owned the room just by stepping into it. It was too late to run. I tried to shrink into the shadows, backing into the most inconspicuous corner I could find. But in the very next second, Tristan, being the absolute idiot he was, charged straight at the billionaire. He pointed a finger, screaming like a madman. “Victor Lancaster, I don’t care how much money or power you have! Today I am exposing you for the scum you are! Everyone, look at this despicable bastard! He stole my girlfriend!” Instantly, every single pair of eyes in the ballroom snapped directly to me. And here I thought these billionaires didn’t care about tabloid gossip. Apparently, everyone in the room knew exactly who I used to be engaged to. Victor didn’t even blink. He completely ignored Tristan, walking past him to take his seat at the center table. “Girlfriend?” He raised a dark brow. His voice was like ice, reminding me of a biting winter storm. It was heavily commanding. Lethal. I ducked my head in absolute panic, wishing the marble floor would open up and swallow me whole. I had heard the rumors about this man. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. A monster in a bespoke suit. The seconds dragged on like hours. My heart was practically beating out of my chest. The silence in the room was suffocating. I slowly peeked up, only to lock eyes with a pair of abyss-like, pitch-black irises. The man’s lips curved into a faint, dark smile. “Come on then. Why don’t you tell everyone exactly what is going on, Miss Sinclair?”

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1 My mother came to Chicago for heart surgery, but my husband, Danny, flat out refused to be her attending surgeon. “I am up for Chief of Surgery this year. What if someone reports me for favoring my own family?” He was the top cardiothoracic surgeon in the hospital, a recognized genius with a scalpel. Yet as his wife, I had to beg him on my knees to save my own mother. My heart ached as I supported my parents’ weight. I glared at him. “You cannot even help us get a hospital room?” He frowned. “Your parents are from a ranch in Montana. They could be carrying livestock bacteria. I cannot risk the safety of my other patients.” My dad awkwardly hid the hand stitched shearling coat he had spent months making for Danny behind his back. His face flushed with deep embarrassment. My eyes turned red with fury. Just as I opened my mouth to yell at him, Danny’s phone rang. His tone instantly melted into something incredibly soft. “Carol, do not panic. I already got Eleanor a private room. I will handle her surgery personally in three days.” Eleanor was the mother of his childhood sweetheart, Carol. My dad let out a heavy sigh. “Sadie, maybe your mom and I should just head back. Taking medication at home is fine too.” I watched Danny hurriedly walk away to find Carol and her mother. My mind was made up. “We are doing the surgery. And I am getting a divorce.” I found them near the VIP ward. Danny was gently supporting Eleanor’s arm. His voice held a tenderness I had never received. “Take it slow, Eleanor. The bed is all ready for you.” Tears pooled in Carol’s eyes. “Danny, I am so sorry for the trouble. Thank God we have you.” Danny reached out and softly patted her hair. “Do not be silly. Your problems are my problems.” “I will do the valve replacement myself to keep the risks absolutely minimal.” Eleanor patted his hand. “You are so busy, yet you still take care of me.” Danny quickly shook his head. “Please do not say that. If Carol had not moved to Europe back then, I would be your son in law right now. I still keep the sweater you knitted for me.” I watched them laughing and talking like a real family. My fingernails dug so hard into my palms that the skin broke, but I did not feel a thing. My dad wiped the corners of his eyes. “Sadie, this is our fault. We should never have come. These big city hospitals have strict rules. It is perfectly normal for people to look down on us.” My mom nodded in agreement. “Your dad is right. I will just skip the surgery. My chest pain is nothing new anyway. I can tough it out for a few more years.” “Please do not fight with your husband over my stupid illness.” I grabbed her calloused hand, my voice choking up. “Mom, this has nothing to do with you.” “It is just that in his eyes, I am not worth the effort.” I had been married and living in Chicago for six years. My parents never once asked to visit. I knew they missed me enough to lose sleep, but they were simply too scared to impose. During our second year of marriage, my mom carried a heavy cooler of fresh lamb and sat on a freezing Greyhound bus for thirty hours just to see me. She arrived in the middle of the night and sat outside our apartment door until dawn, too terrified to knock and wake us up. When Danny finally saw her, his brow furrowed in deep annoyance. “Why didn’t she call ahead? This is just creating chaos.” He complained the lamb smelled too gamey. He turned right around and threw it into the apartment dumpster. Last year, my dad mailed us a box of his homemade smoked cheese. Danny opened the package, looked disgusted, and tossed it aside. “Is this even sanitary? I am not getting food poisoning from this.” He then took the beef jerky my mom made from scratch and fed it to Carol’s dog. I never told my parents any of this. I could not bear to let them know their pure love was being trampled on. I used to scream and cry about it. Every time, Danny would apologize and tell me not to be so overly sensitive. But the next time, he would do the exact same thing. I endured it for six years. I got so used to swallowing the pain that I convinced myself this was just how he was. But seeing him shower Carol’s family with endless devotion while treating my parents like toxic waste was a massive wake up call. I suddenly realized my entire six year marriage was a pathetic joke. Danny walked Carol and Eleanor toward their VIP room. As they passed us, my dad forced a polite, eager smile. “Danny…” Danny stopped in his tracks. He corrected my dad with ice in his voice. “Call me Dr. Danny.” It was as if my dad was not his father in law, but just some ignorant stranger breaking hospital protocol. The smile froze on my dad’s face. “Dr. Danny, I just wanted to ask about Sadie’s mom…” Danny kept a blank, strictly professional face. “Wait for your turn to be notified. And stop wandering the halls.” He turned around and continued escorting Eleanor. Carol shot me a filthy look. “What is that smell in the hallway? It smells like a barn.” Before I could even curse her out, my mom panicked and took two steps back, terrified that she actually smelled bad. I wrapped my arm around her shaking shoulders. She was still trying to defend him. “Doctors have lots of rules. Your dad and I just lack manners.” The tears finally broke free and spilled down my cheeks. I was done trying to warm up a heart made of ice. I pulled out my phone and called my best friend Brooke. She mentioned before that her uncle was a director at this hospital. When she heard what happened, her voice shook with sheer rage. “Is your husband completely out of his mind? His own mother in law needs heart surgery, and he gives a VIP room to some other woman’s mother?” “Sadie, stay right there. I am on my way.” Ten minutes later, Brooke marched down the corridor in her heels. A middle aged man in glasses followed right behind her. “Uncle Warren, my best friend’s mom needs cardiac surgery. Can you please check if there is a bed available?” Dr. Warren flipped through his clipboard and nodded. “A double room just opened up in the East Wing. I will schedule the surgery myself. There is a top specialist from Boston doing a visiting residency here this week.” Before I could even say thank you, my dad’s eyes welled up with tears. He wiped his rough hands on his jeans repeatedly before daring to shake the doctor’s hand. “Thank you, doctor. Thank you so much.” Brooke saw his nervous posture and spoke with absolute sweetness. “Do not thank us, sir. Sadie’s parents are my parents.” “Some people are just blind and heartless. It has nothing to do with you two.” She raised her voice slightly so it echoed down the hall. “Unlike a certain doctor who wears a white coat but acts like a total scumbag.” With the room sorted, Brooke had to rush back to her office. I told my parents to rest in the new room while I went down to the cafeteria to buy them food. When I came back with the takeout containers, I froze. My dad was crouching in the hallway, scrambling to pick up scattered belongings. My mom stood against the wall, her shoulders hunched in deep shame, her eyes completely red. A snooty woman standing in the doorway was loudly complaining. “They should not let hicks from the ranch stay in this wing. Who knows if they have parasites.” My dad nodded profusely while grabbing his things. “I am so sorry. We are packing up right now.” He looked up at me and forced a painful smile. “It is fine, sweetie. We were bothering the other patients.” My mom turned her face away and quickly wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Danny was standing right there, arms crossed, watching them with cold indifference. He did not say a single word to defend them. My blood turned to ice. It felt like a giant hand was crushing my heart. Just as I charged forward, Carol covered her nose and spoke in a shrill voice. “There are all sorts of tick borne diseases out in the country. Who knows what kind of bacteria they brought in.” “Dr. Danny did not even dare give them a room. If they infect a patient, who is going to take the blame?” My lips trembled with absolute fury. “Carol, shut your damn mouth!” She widened her eyes in fake innocence. “Sadie, I am just reminding everyone to be careful about infections.” “Dressed like that, it is no wonder people misunderstand. You are really embarrassing Danny.” I saw red. I raised my hand and shoved her hard. Carol stumbled backward and hit her shoulder against the wall. “I give you a friendly warning, and you get violent?” Danny immediately reached out and steadied Carol. He glared at me, his voice sharp and commanding. “Sadie, are you done throwing this tantrum?” “Your parents should have some self awareness! Stop causing trouble for everyone else!” My dad hunched over and gently pulled my arm. “Sadie, let it go. It is my fault.” My mom swallowed her sobs and whispered, “Let’s just leave. We are making people hate us.” I looked at Danny’s self righteous, arrogant face and let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Danny, I want a divorce.” His face darkened. “Sadie, stop acting crazy. You assault someone and then threaten me with divorce?” When I did not answer, he looked away, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “If this is just about getting a room…” He pulled out his phone and made a quick call. “Add an extra bed in the six person ward on the third floor.” He hung up and looked at me like he was doing a charity case. “You have your bed. Figure out the surgery yourselves, and stop calling me biased.” Carol smiled triumphantly. “Danny has gone above and beyond. Just because you are married does not mean you can leech off him for everything.” I held my mom’s freezing hand and spoke with dead calm. “Do not worry about us, Dr. Danny. We already hired a real specialist. Go back and serve your precious Eleanor.” The surgery was a complete success. My mom recovered incredibly well. The six person ward was way too noisy, so I signed the early discharge papers and brought my parents back to my apartment. I cleaned out the guest room and went to the grocery store to buy ingredients for a rich chicken stew. My mom laid in bed, watching me run around the apartment. “Sadie, do not exhaust yourself.” My dad squatted on the balcony, soaking up the afternoon light. “The sun in Chicago just does not feel as warm as the sun back home.” That quiet, peaceful atmosphere shattered the second Danny walked through the door. He came in from work and immediately stared at the faded canvas sack my dad left by the wall. “Are you turning my apartment into a clinic? I just bought a brand new mattress for that guest room. If your mom’s incision leaks onto it, how is anyone supposed to sleep there?” I heard rustling coming from the guest room. My parents were frantically packing their things. A year ago, I would have cried and screamed at him for saying something so cruel. But now, I felt absolutely nothing. When a heart turns completely cold, there is no energy left to argue. “I paid half the down payment on this place. If you do not like looking at them, you can pack your bags and leave.” Danny stared at me in total shock. He never expected me to talk back like that. He threw his briefcase onto the sofa and stormed into his study without another word. The next evening, I came home from work to find Carol sitting on my living room sofa, flipping through channels with the remote. Eleanor was drinking the chicken stew I had spent hours making for my mother. “Oh, you are home? Danny was worried about us, so he told us to stay here for a few days so he can monitor my recovery.” Carol arrogantly barked an order at my dad. “Hey, your bag is in the way. It is filthy and smells bad.” My dad quickly scrambled to his feet, grabbed the canvas sack, and hauled it into the bedroom. Danny frowned at the scene but kept his mouth shut. I tolerated those two women for three torturous days. On the fourth night, Carol suddenly started sobbing, her eyes turning red. “The jade bracelet my dad left me before he died is missing! I left it right on the coffee table. Where did it go?” Eleanor rubbed her daughter’s back to comfort her, but her glaring eyes locked onto my parents like daggers. Danny stayed quiet for a long moment. He rubbed his temples and looked straight at my dad. “If you saw it, just hand it over. Carol will not press charges.” My dad froze in absolute shock. “We did not see anything.” Carol cried harder, looking like a fragile victim. “We are the only ones here! You cannot possibly think my own mother stole it.” My mom’s hands shook violently as she opened the canvas sack. She started pulling everything out, item by item. Washed clothes. Prescription bottles. Things piled up on the floor until the bag was completely empty. “We might not be as rich as city folks, but we do not steal,” my mom said, her voice breaking. Danny let out a heavy sigh. “Carol, didn’t you want that new diamond bracelet from Tiffany’s? I will take you to buy it tomorrow.” “Sadie’s parents just do not know any better. Do not hold it against them.” He still believed they were thieves. He genuinely thought he was being generous by letting it go. My dad kept his head down. He had no idea what to do with his hands. This old rancher, who had lived on the plains his whole life, a man who never shed a tear even when he was thrown from a wild horse, now had red, watery eyes. I picked up my phone and booked a suite at the best hotel down the street. “Mom. Dad. Pack everything.” “We are not staying here anymore. This place is disgusting.” Ever since I married Danny, he constantly complained about how hard he worked to provide for us. I felt bad for him. Even though I made a great salary as a television host, I never spent money recklessly. But all the money I saved was being blown on Carol. Since he wanted to play it like this, there was no reason to save his face anymore. Carol glared at me, humiliated and angry. “What exactly do you mean by that, Sadie?” “Your parents are petty thieves! The only reason I am not calling the cops is out of respect for Danny!” I completely ignored her pathetic lies and looked dead into Danny’s eyes. “My parents are honest, decent people. You are not worthy of making them prove their innocence.” Danny’s face went rigid. A flash of panic hit him as he stepped toward me. “Sadie, where are you going this late at night?” “Stop acting out. Just come back inside.” Right at that moment, Carol’s anxious voice rang out. “Danny, my mom’s chest hurts! Please come check on her!” Danny stopped dead in his tracks. He turned his head to look at Eleanor on the couch. The door slammed shut behind me, completely severing his hesitant gaze. Once I got my parents settled into the hotel, I called my lawyer. “Mr. Davis, please draft a divorce agreement for me.” For the next few days, Danny did not call me once. Carol, on the other hand, posted on social media three times a day, making sure to tag me in the most obnoxious way possible. There was a picture of Danny carrying shopping bags for them at the mall, with Eleanor trying on gold rings and smiling from ear to ear. There was a photo of him wearing an apron in the kitchen. The caption read: Someone said my mom needs iron after surgery, so he cooked personally. And then there was a picture of two hands intertwined on a walking path. The wedding band on Danny’s finger had been replaced with a matching couple’s ring he bought with Carol. I set my phone face down. My stomach churned with violent nausea. He always claimed he only saw Carol as a little sister. I was pretty sure they were much more than that. Six years of marriage. Did he ever actually love me? My chest hurt so badly I could barely breathe. All the memories I had intentionally buried came rushing back to the surface. The time I ran a fever of a hundred and four degrees. I called him for help, but he was at Carol’s apartment fixing her plumbing. He told me to just take an Advil. I took an Uber to the emergency room by myself. Danny never sent a single text to ask if I was alive. He treated my parents like poor beggars looking for a handout, unworthy of stepping foot in his home. But he treated Eleanor like a queen, giving her his absolute best. The phone screen went dark. I stared at my own pale reflection in the glass and suddenly realized how pointless this all was. Loving the wrong person was fine, as long as you walked away in time. I let out a long breath, turned to my parents, and gave them a real smile. “I already submitted my transfer request to the network. They approved it. I am taking the anchor job back home in Montana.” “I am flying back with you tomorrow. I will take care of you for the rest of my life.” I took the finalized divorce agreement from the lawyer and went back to the apartment to pack my final things. The second I pushed the door open, the sound of loud laughter and clinking glasses filled my ears. The dining table was covered in expensive catering and a massive, custom tiered birthday cake. Eleanor sat at the head of the table, cutting the first slice. Danny was leaning down to pour wine into Carol’s glass. When she turned her head, her nose brushed playfully against his jaw. They shared a deeply intimate smile. Their mutual friends were sitting around the table, laughing and teasing them. “Danny used to play house when we were kids. He always said he was going to be Carol’s prince charming.” “When Carol decided to stay in Europe, Danny was so heartbroken he just settled and married whoever was available.” So that was the truth. I was just a placeholder he used out of spite. Eleanor smiled warmly. “Danny, Carol, you two really need to cherish each other from now on.” They looked like a perfect, happy family. I was just the intruder crashing the party. Danny finally noticed me standing there. He awkwardly dropped his hand from Carol’s shoulder. “Why are you back?” I forced out a freezing smile and slapped the divorce papers onto the table. “Sign it.” Carol looked at me with pure disgust. She leaned in close to my ear and whispered viciously. “Two shameless old beggars raised a little bitch. Who are you putting on this dramatic show for?” “If you really wanted to divorce him, you would have done it already. Do not try to scare us with some stupid piece of paper.” Hearing her insult my parents was the last straw. I grabbed a full glass of red wine from the table and splashed it directly into her face. Danny’s face twisted in absolute rage. He raised his hand and slapped me across the cheek. “Sadie, what the hell is wrong with you!” “Today is Eleanor’s birthday banquet. If you want to act like a lunatic, get the hell out!” My cheek burned, instantly swelling and going numb. A metallic taste flooded my mouth. Hurried footsteps echoed from the entryway. My parents rushed in, completely out of breath from rushing over. My dad saw the red handprint on my face instantly. His eyes went furious as he stepped firmly in front of me. “Danny, how could you hit her?” A guest standing nearby asked out of curiosity, “Danny, who are these two?” Before I could even speak, Danny answered in a dead, monotone voice. “Just some former hired help.” My fingertips went ice cold. “Danny, what kind of hired help spends three months hand stitching a winter coat just for you? What kind of hired help takes a thirty hour bus ride in the freezing cold just to see you, and is too terrified to even knock on your door?” The living room fell completely silent. You could hear a pin drop. My dad pulled weakly on my sleeve. “Sadie, stop. We are just an embarrassment.” I patted his hand to comfort him, my eyes locked onto Danny like a predator. “For six years, you took my endless patience as your given right. You took my parents’ pure love and stomped it into the dirt.” “Danny, you absolutely disgust me.” The guests exchanged wildly uncomfortable looks. Someone muttered, “Did he say hired help? Because they sound exactly like his in laws.” “Now that you mention it… Danny never did have a wedding…” Carol’s eyes immediately turned red. She delicately wiped her wine stained face, pretending to cry. “Sadie, why do you have to humiliate everyone like this?” Eleanor clutched her chest, faking a sudden weakness. “Stop fighting. It is our fault. Carol and I will leave right now.” Danny barked at me in furious defense. “Your parents have no manners, and you decide to act just as classless?” “If you have something to say, say it in private! Why make a joke out of us in front of everyone!” He opened his mouth to keep yelling, but I raised my hand and threw the thick stack of divorce papers directly into his face. The pages scattered everywhere, raining down onto the floor. I looked at his stunned, open mouth and spoke every word with lethal precision. “Danny, we are getting a divorce!”

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1 On the day of our senior yearbook photos, the photographer told the couples in our class to stand closer together. But Gemma pressed her hand against my shoulder, pushing me toward the very edge of the lineup so that Asher could take my place next to her. “Asher and I are the top graduates in science and humanities,” she said, her voice smooth and practical. “It looks better for the school if we stand together.” It was far from the first time she had pushed me aside. Whenever I brought my AP Calculus practice sheets to her, she would glance at my mistakes and sigh, telling me my foundation was too weak and that I was wasting her time. Yet, when Asher struggled with his math assignments, she would stay up until two in the morning, meticulously breaking down every single formula into its simplest steps for him. I once asked her to study with me at the library, but she frowned, claiming my presence was too distracting. Yet, when Asher’s class rank slipped by a single spot, she skipped an entire afternoon of classes just to walk along the harbor with him to ease his mind. The photographer smiled, teasing them from behind the lens. “Are you two a couple? You look perfect together, and your grades certainly match.” Gemma looked at Asher, her smile warm and filled with a quiet pride. “We have always been the perfect team.” Asher lowered his head, his cheeks flushing pink as the rest of our classmates began to cheer and hoot. I stood at the absolute edge of the crowd, my fingers tightening around the glossy photo reservation ticket I had kept in my pocket. I had spent the previous evening picking out my outfit and styling my hair, foolishly hoping to get a picture of just the two of us. The space next to her had never actually belonged to me. And now, I didn’t want it anymore. I stared down at the crumpled ticket in my palm, suddenly finding the whole situation ridiculous. I walked over to the nearest trash can and tossed it inside. A few minutes later, I walked into the guidance counselor’s office. The counselor handed me my final transcript, offering a supportive pat on the back. “You did well, Amber. Go home and start finalizing your college applications.” He paused, looking at me thoughtfully. “I heard you plan on following Gemma to Boston? Boston’s cutoffs are incredibly high, and honestly, your scores won’t get you into a top-tier program there. As your counselor, I advise you to prioritize your own future.” I thanked him, clutching the transcript tightly. As I stepped out of the office, I ran right into Gemma and Asher. They both froze when they saw me, but Asher quickly recovered, jogging up to me with a bright, friendly smile. “There you are, Amber!” He held out a cup. “We went to get some drinks, and Gemma made sure we got one for you too.” I looked down at the cups. They were holding matching iced matcha lattes with “couples combo” stickers plastered on the sides. The drink he was handing me was a bright yellow mango smoothie. I have a severe mango allergy, and Gemma knew that. I forced a faint smile, took the smoothie from his hand, and walked over to drop it into the recycling bin next to the lockers. Asher’s smile faltered, his eyes welling with tears as he looked helplessly at Gemma. Gemma’s brow furrowed instantly, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Amber, what is your problem now?” She sounded exhausted, her patience entirely spent. “Just because I asked you to step aside for Asher earlier? That was my decision, so why are you taking your anger out on him?” “I already explained it to you! We are the top students in our respective tracks, and standing together is good publicity for the school. Besides, didn’t I promise I would take a private photo with you afterward?” I stared at her, suddenly lacking the energy to argue. She had promised. But after the group photo ended, she never looked for me. On our classmates’ social media feeds, she had already posted a dozen private photos with Asher. She had spent the last hour laughing with him, holding him close, and buying drinks, entirely forgetting my existence. Everything had shifted the moment Asher transferred to our school. As the top humanities student, his name was constantly paired with hers, the top science student. I had strained myself to the limit just to keep up with them, often struggling to understand the academic jokes they tossed back and forth. Gemma used to be patient with my academic struggles. But as she spent more time with Asher, her attitude toward me turned into nothing but irritation. Seeing my silence, Gemma let out a sharp sigh, her patience gone. “Fine, we will take the photo now. Are you happy?” Without waiting for my reply, she snatched my phone from my hand and tossed it to Asher. Asher caught it, looking slightly uncomfortable. Gemma stood beside me, but she kept a distinct distance between our shoulders. Before I could even adjust my posture, she grabbed the phone back from Asher and shoved it into my palm. “There, no more tantrums.” “Now wait here while I help Asher gather his final transcripts. We will go home together after.” She turned, grabbing Asher’s sleeve as they walked into the office. I stood in the empty hallway, unlocking my screen to look at the photo. The camera had shaken, capturing only a blurry shot of the gray linoleum floor and the hem of her jacket as she walked away from me. I stared at it for a long time, then let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. I deleted the photo, blocked Gemma’s number, and walked out of the school gates. I was done waiting for her. That evening, a few close friends dragged me out to a local diner for a farewell dinner. Halfway through our meal, the guy sitting next to me nearly choked on his soda. “No way, did Asher just make it official?” He flipped his phone onto the table. It was a social media post from Asher showing two movie tickets with a simple caption: Official. In the corner of the photo, a girl’s wrist was visible, wearing a braided red thread bracelet. My chest tightened, a dull ache spreading through my throat. I had begged Gemma to wear a matching couples bracelet months ago, but she had dismissed the idea, calling it childish. Yet, she had started wearing it recently. I had secretly allowed myself to feel happy, thinking she had simply changed her mind for me. How pathetic. My friends began to gossip, trying to identify the girl. “Who is she? Is she from our school?” “He’s always with Gemma. I thought those two were already dating.” I kept my voice flat. “It is Gemma.” They looked up, startled by my tone, and the table went quiet. “Amber, your eyes are incredibly red. Are you okay?” I lowered my head, picking at the fries on my plate. “The hot sauce is just really spicy.” Before anyone could reply, the diner door swung open. Gemma and Asher walked in together. She was carrying his backpack over her shoulder, holding his jacket in her hand. When they sat down at a nearby table, one of our classmates called out, “Gemma, we knew there was something going on between you two!” Gemma noticed me and paused, but she quickly regained her composure, walking over to our table as if nothing was wrong. “What a coincidence,” she said smoothly. “Mind if we join?” She was so utterly casual about it, making my silent agony feel like nothing more than a pathetic overreaction. “Are you two actually dating?” someone asked. Gemma glanced at Asher’s post, letting out a soft laugh. “That? He was talking about the movie release being official. You guys didn’t actually believe that, did you?” Asher lowered his gaze, blushing, but offering no correction. The table resumed its noisy chatter, but my focus was fixed on the glossy lip gloss on Gemma’s lips. It was a shade she only wore when she wanted to look her best. Gemma slid into the booth next to me, her hand reaching under the table to squeeze my fingers, just like she used to do. I pulled my hand away. Her hand froze in the empty space, her expression hardening. She stood up and moved to the other side of the booth, sitting right next to Asher. Their shoulders brushed, and Asher’s face turned bright red. For the rest of the night, the conversation revolved around the two of them, their future college plans, and how their children would probably inherit genius-level IQs. I sat there like an uninvited guest. I wanted to leave, but Gemma was sitting on the outside of the booth, blocking my exit. I could only stare at my plate, my stomach twisting in pain. When Asher reached for an ice-cold soda, Gemma quickly snatched it away. “Your stomach is sensitive, you shouldn’t drink cold things.” The table erupted into more teasing. Gemma finally looked at me, as if suddenly remembering I was there. “Your face is flushed, Amber. Was the food too spicy?” She slid the cold soda toward me. “Here, have some.” I had struggled with chronic stomach issues since childhood, and cold drinks always triggered a painful spasm. Gemma used to protect me from them. But she had forgotten. I didn’t reach for the can. Gemma’s forehead creased with irritation. “Amber, how long are you going to keep acting like this?” I swallowed the lump in my throat, grabbing my backpack as I slid out of the booth. “I don’t feel well. I am going home.” Asher’s expression turned anxious, his voice dropping to a fragile whisper. “Did I say something to upset you, Amber? I am sorry.” Gemma slammed the soda can onto the table, her voice cold. “Ignore him, Asher. He is just being dramatic over nothing.” The table went dead silent, everyone watching the three of us in awkward confusion. I covered my eyes as tears finally spilled over my fingers. Turning my back on them, I ran out of the diner. I cried the entire walk home, my throat raw. When I walked through the front door, my father looked up from the television. “Did you and Gemma have another fight? She messaged me saying you blocked her.” I remained silent, my heart aching. “She just wanted to remind me to make sure you fill out your college applications,” my father continued, sighing. “She wants you to choose a school close to hers in Boston. Gemma is a good girl, Amber. It is a shame you two never worked out. You are average, and she is brilliant, so I suppose it makes sense she doesn’t see you that way.” I didn’t argue. “We don’t know much about these prestigious universities,” he added. “You should ask Gemma for advice. I saw her helping Asher with his applications the other day, she was incredibly thorough. They spent days working on it, even staying up late together.” My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag. “Gemma even told him she would help him get into the best program at MIT, making sure not a single test score went to waste.” I stood in the hallway, feeling a cold weight settle in my chest. Gemma and I had promised to go to the same city. But when I had asked her to look over my choices, she had barely looked up from her phone. “I don’t know much about those middle-tier state schools, Amber. Just pick whatever is close to Boston. The major doesn’t really matter for someone with your grades anyway.” I had defended her back then, telling myself that as an elite student destined for MIT, she simply didn’t understand the complex admissions process for regular universities. I couldn’t deceive myself anymore. “Your guidance counselor called me too,” my father said. “He thinks Boston is too risky for you. What do you think?” “I am not going to Boston,” I said, forcing a smile. “I want to go to the university in Denver. My scores are high enough to get me into their honors program.” I walked into my room and shut the door, sinking to the floor as the tears finally came. The distance between our hometown and Boston was substantial, but Denver was in the opposite direction. It was far enough that I would never have to chase after her shadow again. When my acceptance letter finally arrived, my father’s hands were shaking as he held the envelope. “Amber, you actually got into Denver.” He reached for his phone to call our relatives, but I gently pressed his hand down. “Let us wait until after I leave for campus.” I spent the rest of the summer indoors. My father knew I was hurting, but he didn’t know how to comfort me, so he kept urging me to go outside and get some fresh air. I didn’t expect to run into Gemma and Asher at the airport terminal. They were dressed in matching cream-colored jackets, looking every bit like a couple. Gemma’s eyes brightened when she saw me, but her expression quickly turned frosty. “Still throwing a tantrum? Are you still ignoring my texts?” “Is this why you followed us here?” I stared at her, suddenly remembering the couples vacation package she had booked before our exams. She had promised we would go together once high school was over. The departure date was today. Asher bit his lip, taking a step back with a polite, fragile smile. “If Amber is going, I should probably stay behind.” Gemma grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Don’t be ridiculous, Asher. You spent weeks planning for this trip. You are going.” I felt a bitter laugh bubble up in my throat. She cared so much about the effort Asher had put in, completely forgetting that the entire itinerary had been researched and written by me during those sleepless post-exam nights. “Don’t worry,” I said quietly. “I am not going.” Asher waited until Gemma went to print the tickets before leaning closer to me, his voice dripping with condescension. “You should know by now, Amber, some gaps can’t be bridged by hard work. Gemma needs someone who can stand beside her, not someone dragging her down. I asked her to be my girlfriend the night of graduation. Want to guess what her answer was?” I looked at him, my heart entirely numb. “If you want her, she is yours.” Asher’s smile faltered, his expression turning ugly at my indifference. Gemma returned, handing me a single ticket. “There was only a standing ticket left for the train connection. Asher has a bad back, so you will have to stand.” She checked her watch, pulling Asher toward the security gate. “We need to go. We will meet you at the resort!” Asher shot me a triumphant look as they walked away. I looked down at the ticket in my hand. Gemma hadn’t even noticed that the ticket she had printed was for a train departing three months from now. I crumpled the ticket, tossed it into the trash, and boarded my flight to Denver. A few weeks later, I returned home to gather the rest of my belongings before moving into my dorm. As I walked up to my building, Gemma blocked my path. Her face was pale with anger as she grabbed my wrist. “Where is Asher’s acceptance letter?” I winced at her grip. “What are you talking about?” “Stop lying, Amber!” she yelled. “His official letter from Harvard was delivered to my address by mistake, and the courier said someone from this building signed for it. You have been home all week! Who else could it be? If you are angry with me, take it out on me! Why do you have to ruin Asher’s future?” I stared at her, completely stunned. Asher stepped out from behind her, his eyes red and tearful. “If you are upset about how close Gemma and I are, I can apologize, Amber. I promise I won’t speak to her again. But please, give me my letter back. I worked so hard for that spot!” “I didn’t take your letter!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “I just got back from my trip today!” Gemma ignored my words, her eyes falling on the thick cardboard envelope I was holding. She lunged forward, snatching it from my hands. “Give that back, Gemma!” I cried, trying to reach for it. She held it high above her head, looking at my desperate face with utter coldness. “I am going to count to three.” “Give us Asher’s letter, or I will rip your precious Denver letter to pieces.” “I don’t have it!” I screamed, tears of frustration streaming down my face. “I just picked this up from the mailroom! You can check the cameras!” “One.” “Gemma, please…” “Two.” She didn’t hesitate. With a sharp rip, she tore my Denver acceptance letter right down the middle, scattering the pieces at my feet. I stared at the white fragments on the pavement, unable to make a sound. Before Gemma could speak, her family’s housekeeper came running down the driveway, holding a pristine white envelope. “Gemma! I found the letter! It was mixed in with the old newspapers on the kitchen counter. I forgot to mention it earlier!” Asher’s fake sobbing stopped instantly. Gemma froze, slowly turning her head to look at me, her lips trembling as she tried to find the words. I didn’t give her the chance. I knelt down, gathered the torn pieces of my letter, and walked inside, slamming the heavy front door behind me. The next morning, I found a first-class flight ticket to Boston slid under my door, accompanied by a small note: Let’s go together. I threw both into the trash, packed my bags, and left for Denver two days early. Two days later, Gemma and Asher knocked on my father’s door. She was holding a large suitcase, her voice carrying a rare, hopeful lightness. “Mr. Arthur, I am here to pick up Amber so we can head to Boston together.”

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