Category: English

On our wedding anniversary, my husband gave my first-class seat to another woman. Ethan Ward was obsessive about time. He had a rule: if any argument lasted more than ten minutes, he would walk away. Not a second longer. But that day, my morning sickness was so bad that I arrived at the gate three minutes late. When I looked up, Ethan had already told the crew to close the cabin door. In first class, Lily Scott was sitting in my seat. This was the fourth time. Whenever I was a step behind, he gave my seat to Lily. The first time, I was held up two extra minutes at security. He took Lily to the Maldives. The second time, my prenatal appointment ran over. Five minutes late. He checked Lily into the spa hotel I had booked. The third time, I was so nauseous my legs gave out. Ninety seconds late coming downstairs. His car pulled away from me with Lily inside. He said: “You’re always late. I can’t leave a seat empty and waste it.” I stood outside the gate, and a tearing pain ripped through my abdomen. My hands shook as I dialed Ethan. Busy signal. Again. Still busy. The third time, the call finally went through. His voice was calm. “Lily’s a little airsick. I can’t step away. Call 911 yourself.” I looked down at the pool of red by my feet and slowly set the phone on the ground. I thought the pain would bring me to my knees, but when your heart truly dies, your body doesn’t collapse. Ethan, since your schedule never has a single minute to wait for me— This time, I’ll be the one who leaves you behind. By the time the ambulance arrived, I could barely form words. The paramedics cut open my blood-soaked pant leg and lifted me onto a stretcher. A nurse gripped my wrist. “How many weeks along? Where’s your family?” “Eleven weeks.” I gasped for air. “My family is on a plane.” “Can we reach the baby’s father?” I closed my eyes. “Don’t bother. He can’t step away.” My phone rang once more. Ethan’s name on the screen. I stared for two seconds, then answered. “Claire, did you call an ambulance?” In the background, Lily’s soft voice floated through. “Ethan, is something wrong with Claire? Should we turn around? I can handle it.” Ethan said flatly: “She’s an expert at making small things into big drama. Just lie down.” Then he asked me: “If the airport medical office can handle it, why did you need to call an ambulance? The plane has already taken off. We’re not turning back for you.” Another wave of cramping seized my abdomen. I bit my lip, waited for the pain to pass, then said: “The doctor says there’s a risk of miscarriage.” Two seconds of silence on the other end. Then he said: “Are you using the baby to guilt-trip me again?” “Claire, you’re the one who was late. If I rearranged everything for you every single time, everyone would think schedules don’t matter.” If this were before, I would have explained. I wasn’t late on purpose. I was in so much pain I couldn’t stand. But now, watching the nurse swap out blood-soaked gauze over and over, I suddenly had no strength left to speak. Lily’s voice came through again. “Ethan, don’t be upset. Pregnant women are emotional. She probably just wants you to comfort her.” Ethan’s voice turned even colder. “I don’t have time for your jealousy. If you’re admitted, keep the receipts. I’ll reimburse you when I’m back. Stop calling. Lily isn’t feeling well and needs rest.” The line went dead. I glanced at the time. Exactly ten minutes. The nurse looked at me, words caught on her tongue. I pressed the phone face-down into my palm. “Could you put it on silent for me?” By the time the examination was over, it was dark outside. The doctor placed the report in front of me. “Threatened miscarriage. You must stay on bed rest. No exertion, no stress.” I asked: “Can the baby be saved?” “There’s still a heartbeat for now, but no one can guarantee anything. You should have family with you tonight.” I shook my head. The doctor frowned. “You can’t be alone. If there’s heavy bleeding, press the call button immediately.” The door opened then. Ethan’s assistant walked in carrying a suitcase. He pulled out a cashmere shawl. “Mr. Ward asked me to bring this over. Ms. Scott left it at the airport. Mr. Ward is worried she’ll be cold on her return flight. He’d like you to wash it and drop it at the dry cleaner’s.” The doctor’s face darkened. “She nearly miscarried, and you people are asking her to deal with this?” The assistant looked embarrassed. “Mr. Ward said his wife usually handles these things. And it needs to be delivered by nine tomorrow morning. Ms. Scott needs it for her return trip.” The assistant’s phone rang. Ethan’s voice came through on speaker. “Did you deliver it?” “Yes. But the doctor says she can’t get out of bed.” His voice shifted toward me. “Claire, stop dragging your feet. Lily’s things can’t be delayed.” I handed the shawl back. “Take it. I have no obligation to look after her belongings.” Ethan’s tone was indifferent. “What’s the fuss now? It’s just a shawl.” I rested my hand on my still-aching belly, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’re right. So it won’t matter if it gets lost.” The assistant was about to take the shawl back when a booklet slid from the suitcase. A prenatal record. The name on the cover: Lily Scott. At the bottom, printed clearly— Eight weeks pregnant.

“Lily is pregnant?” I opened the prenatal booklet. Inside was an ultrasound image. The assistant’s face changed. He lunged to grab it. “Ma’am, this is Ms. Scott’s private information.” I looked at him. “Why is her private information in my husband’s suitcase?” “Mr. Ward only accompanied her to an appointment.” The call was still connected. Ethan said coldly: “Lily hasn’t been feeling well lately. I took her to get checked. She’s not married and doesn’t want anyone to know. Keep it to yourself.” I looked at the date on the ultrasound. That day was also the day of my first prenatal appointment. Ethan had promised to go with me. But at the hospital entrance, he suddenly said Lily’s car had broken down and told me to go in alone. I waited in line for four hours by myself. When I came out with my results, his phone was already off. So in that same hospital, he had been with another woman for her appointment the entire time. I asked: “Whose baby is it?” “That’s none of your business.” “You’re my husband.” Ethan’s patience ran out. “Which is exactly why I’m telling you to drop it.” “Claire, you already have a child on the way. There’s no need to be so hostile toward someone who has no one else.” I simply repeated: “Whose baby is it?” Lily sounded like she had just been woken, her voice faint. “Claire, please don’t misunderstand. There’s nothing between Ethan and me. I just didn’t want my family to know, so he’s keeping it quiet for me.” I asked: “Then where’s the father?” She went silent for a moment, then began to cry softly. Ethan immediately lowered his voice to soothe her. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.” When he came back on the line, his tone held nothing but irritation. “Are you done interrogating her? She just found out she’s pregnant. She can’t handle the stress.” I looked at the diagnosis sheet by my bed. We were both carrying children, but the way he treated us couldn’t have been more different. Lily furrowed her brow, and he worried about her stress. I lay in a hospital bed bleeding, and all he remembered was to have me wash her shawl. “Ethan, I can’t handle stress either.” “You’re fine, aren’t you?” After those words left his mouth, both ends of the line went quiet. I didn’t argue. This was the first time I hung up on him. Ethan came back the next afternoon. He didn’t come to the hospital first. He took Lily home to rest. At seven in the evening, he finally pushed open the door, carrying a container of takeout congee. “Lily said your appetite’s been bad. She told me to bring this for you.” I glanced at the packaging. Seafood congee. Lily’s favorite. I’m allergic to shrimp. I was his wife. Yet I was never the one he cherished. “Just leave it,” I said, too tired for anything else. He sat on the edge of the bed, studying my face. “What did the doctor say?” “Bed rest to keep the pregnancy.” “There’s a Ward family dinner tomorrow night. We were going to announce your pregnancy. Since you can’t make it, I’ll have Lily attend in your place.” I stared at him. “She’s going to play Mrs. Ward for me?” Ethan tucked the blanket around me, his tone unusually gentle. “She’s just sitting in your seat. Focus on getting better. Don’t get hung up on the small things.” A beat later, he pulled an authorization form from his briefcase. “Sign this. Tomorrow night they’re also unveiling Cloud Cabin. Since you can’t be there, we’ll put Lily’s name as lead designer for now. We’ll change it back after the presentation.” I gripped those pages. Cloud Cabin was my mother’s manuscript. It was the project I had poured two years of my life into completing. “Why can’t you just announce my name?” “If you’re absent from the launch, it shakes investor confidence. Lily presents well, and she can be there on time. She’s more suitable than you.” “It’s my design.” “I know.” He pressed a pen into my hand. “It’s just borrowing her name. Don’t be immature about this.” I pulled my hand away. “I won’t sign.” Ethan’s expression went cold. “Claire, the company isn’t here to indulge your moods. You already disrupted the flight by being late. Lily is willing to clean up your mess, and you’re still making a scene?” He smoothed the authorization form flat again. “Sign it by nine. My assistant will come pick it up.” “And if I don’t?” “All of Cloud Cabin’s development data is at Ward Group. Whether you sign or not, I have the authority to decide who presents it.” He knew exactly how much I had given to this project. My fists clenched, and I finally said the words. “Let’s get divorced.” Ethan looked at me, a hint of derision in his eyes. “Claire, even jealousy has a limit. Don’t push this past the point of no return.” His tone was so certain. Just like every argument before—he was certain I could never leave him. But this time, I was truly done. Too exhausted to even fight him on it.

The door had barely opened when a nurse walked in with lab results. “Are you Claire Ward’s family? Her levels have dropped again. She needs twenty-four-hour monitoring.” Ethan glanced at his watch. “I promised Lily dinner at eight. I can’t be late.” I looked at him and asked one last time: “So she’s more important than me?” “It’s not what you think.” Ethan’s voice went cold. “Lily is punctual. She’s composed. She knows what matters. If her father hadn’t died saving my life, she wouldn’t be alone in this world. When are you going to grow up and be more like her?” With that, he stepped around the nurse and strode out. I had heard this speech many times. Lily’s father had been the Ward family’s pilot. Ten years ago, a mechanical failure mid-flight. He sustained fatal injuries protecting Ethan. From then on, Ethan treated caring for Lily as a debt he owed. She wanted the passenger seat—he made me get out. She wanted a plane ticket—he left me at the airport. She wanted my place—and he called it compensation. Half an hour later, I was transferred from a private room to a six-bed ward. The Ward Group project launch was playing live on the television. Lily stood in front of my cabin design model, wearing my gown. The host smiled and asked: “Ms. Scott, I hear this is a gift you’re preparing for your unborn child?” Lily touched her belly, her smile shy. “You could say that. Ethan helped me revise it many times. He said our baby deserves the safest sky.” Someone in the audience whistled. Someone asked if wedding bells were coming. Ethan didn’t correct them. He simply adjusted the microphone for Lily and said calmly: “Her standing here today is already the best answer.” Applause erupted. Everyone in my ward turned to stare at me. “Isn’t that your husband?” “The one next to him looks more like his wife—she’s even pregnant.” I tried to turn off the television, but my hand was shaking too badly to find the right button. The woman in the next bed switched it off for me and said quietly: “Don’t watch.” A message from Ethan appeared on my phone. “Launch went well. If you’d cooperated, it wouldn’t have gotten this ugly.” Below it was an electronic authorization form. In the signature field, my name was already there. I called him. “Who signed for me? You forged my signature.” His voice was perfectly even. “Schedules can’t stop because of you. Lily only signed on your behalf. Once you’ve calmed down, I’ll have legal handle the paperwork.” My abdomen clenched tight. “Stop the launch. Issue a public correction.” “Do you have any idea how much it would cost Ward Group to stop now?” “That’s my mother’s manuscript.” “Which is exactly why I made it worth more.” He paused, softening his tone. “Stop making a fuss. I’ll come stay with you tonight. Tell my assistant what you want to eat.” A bitter ache filled my chest. He always did this. Thought a scrap of tenderness could erase all the damage. Suddenly, Lily’s gasp came through the phone. “Ethan, I think I felt the baby move!” Ethan’s voice went tense immediately. “You’re only eight weeks. The baby can’t move yet. Are you uncomfortable? I’m taking you to the hospital.” He forgot to even hang up. I listened to his hurried footsteps receding, then set the phone back on the nightstand. A nurse rushed in. “Claire Ward, your contractions are worsening. We need to notify your family member to sign consent forms immediately.” On the other end, a car door slammed shut. Ethan murmured something reassuring to Lily. Then he ended the call. I stared at the darkened screen, my voice perfectly calm. “Let’s change the procedure. Terminate the pregnancy.”

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My mother, General Victoria Sinclair, is the most prestigious female general. She despises injustice above all else. That is why she has always treated Sienna better than me. Whether it is a diamond necklace or the latest couture gown—everything goes to Sienna. I get one sentence: “She has grace. She deserves nice things. You are coarse. You would only embarrass yourself.” Until tonight. The Caldwell family proposed that Adrian Caldwell and I become engaged. Adrian is the sole heir to the most powerful political dynasty on the Eastern Seaboard. I am my mother’s only biological daughter. Everyone in that ballroom expected her to accept. Instead, she humiliated me in front of three hundred guests. “Absolutely not. Mia is jealous, ill-mannered, and entirely without talent. She is not worthy of Adrian Caldwell.” I fled to the lounge to hide, only to hear my mother say to her adjutant outside the door: “So Mia has feelings for Adrian. If she marries into the Caldwell family, everyone will say I showed favoritism toward my biological daughter. What happens to Sienna then?” “I am protecting Mia from a marriage that does not suit her—and I am protecting Sienna. That is the most just outcome.” My mother has protected her country. Protected her soldiers. Protected countless strangers. She is a hero to everyone. But she has never been mine. So be it. I will leave with the person who actually chooses me. And our relationship as mother and daughter—that ends tonight. Forever. …… When I returned to the ballroom, Margaret Caldwell had not yet given her final answer. My mother continued, “Mia is too competitive. Too petty. She would only bring shame to Adrian’s name.” ” Victoria. Enough.” The interruption came from Helena Blackwood. The Blackwood family is one of the most influential houses in Washington’s military and political circles. “Mia is nothing like you are describing. You know perfectly well that she—” “Helena.” My mother cut her off. “She is my daughter. I know exactly who she is.” She drew Sienna to her side, her eyes brimming with a tenderness I had never seen before. “My niece Sienna is well-mannered and composed. She knows to put family before herself. She and Adrian are a wonderful match.” “I have already instructed my attorneys to prepare the papers to adopt Sienna. In every way that matters, she will be my daughter.” “She is far better suited than Mia.” Her voice was not loud, but it was enough to tear away the last shred of dignity I had left. My head snapped up and I stared at her back. She was not humiliating me to protect me. She was doing it to make room for Sienna. She wanted Sienna to become her daughter—to stand in my place, take my resources, my engagement, everything that should have been mine. And me, her biological daughter? I would get nothing but the reputation she had just destroyed, turned into a laughingstock in every drawing room from Georgetown to McLean. The murmuring around the room swelled. “So the rumors are true. General Sinclair favors her niece.” “If her own mother speaks of her that way, how terrible must the girl be?” Margaret Caldwell frowned. She was silent for a long moment. Then she nodded. ” Given that General Sinclair intends to take Sienna in as her own, she may also be considered a daughter of the Hart family. The Caldwell family will consider her engagement to Adrian.” Sienna pressed down the triumph flickering in her eyes. She lowered her head demurely. “Thank you for this opportunity, Mrs. Caldwell.” “As for Mia—” Margaret’s gaze shifted to me. “Nathan has been working closely with Adrian. He is also unattached. If Mia marries Nathan, the Hart-Caldwell alliance remains intact.” Every eye in the room turned toward me, full of pity and barely concealed amusement. Nathan Caldwell. Everyone knew exactly who he was. Adrian’s cousin. A name synonymous with late-night club scandals, women, car accidents, and a trail of messes the Caldwell PR machine had buried under mountains of settlement money. Sienna got the heir to a political dynasty. Because of my mother’s public evisceration of my character, I was being offered the man who had nothing left but the Caldwell surname. Helena Blackwood stood up abruptly. “Margaret. Who Mia marries should be her own decision.” I rose to my feet. I looked directly at Margaret Caldwell and said, “Thank you for your consideration, Mrs. Caldwell, but I will not marry Nathan Caldwell.”

Back at the Hart estate that night, my mother summoned me to her study. She poured a glass of water and slid it across the desk toward me—a rare gesture that almost passed for maternal. “At least you showed enough judgment in the end to know what not to take from Sienna.” I heard my own voice shake. “You told everyone in that room that I am unstable, troublesome, unworthy of standing beside Adrian Caldwell. By tomorrow morning, all of Washington will know that my own mother thinks I am worthless. ” “Mom—you destroyed me. Did you ever stop to think about what happens to me after this?” Her patience was utterly spent. She looked at me coldly. “Sienna has no mother, no one to rely on. You have the Hart name, you have parents, you have a starting point most people can only dream of. Why must you be so selfish as to fight her for this?” I stared at her, speechless. I live in the rooms Sienna rejected. I use the furniture she no longer wanted. I wear the clothes she dismissed as ugly. What exactly do I have? When I was ten, I heard my mother tell the housekeeper: “Sienna’s got no mother. Take good care of her. Mia can do without.” So, to spare Sienna’s feelings, every birthday gift my father sent home from overseas was handed straight to Sienna. Anything Sienna liked was off-limits to me. On Sienna’s eighteenth birthday, my mother dropped an urgent assignment and rushed back to throw her a grand party. When I turned eighteen, I waited from sunrise until midnight. She never came. She just sent an email: “I’ve got a lot on my plate. Don’t make this hard for me.” That night, I sat alone in the dining room and cried through the night. My mother’s heart held her country, her soldiers, and Sienna—there was no place left for me. My mother sighed. “The Caldwell situation is settled. You turned down Nathan yourself. Stop pining for Adrian.” From inside her blazer, she produced a folded document and slid it across the desk. “I have already selected a match for you. A junior military liaison. Solid, unambitious, no political entanglements. A quiet, stable life. Most people would consider themselves fortunate.” I looked at the paper. Sienna was marrying into the kind of family that gets its own spread in Vanity Fair. And I was being told by my mother that Owen Pierce—a junior liaison no one outside the Pentagon circle had ever heard of—was the best I could hope for. “No. I’m not marrying him.” I threw the paper back across the desk. “Father is still overseas. You can’t force this through without him.” Her hand cracked across my face. I stumbled into the bookshelf, cheek blazing. “We’ll see about that.” Her voice was flat. “The engagement announcement will go out before Jonathan gets back. By the time he lands, it’ll be too late to undo.” Tears spilled from my eyes, and I ran back to my room. Tessa saw my face, her voice breaking as she pressed an ice pack to my swollen cheek. “She hit you? You’re her own daughter. How does she do this to you?” She holding an envelope. “Helena Blackwood’s driver dropped this off.” I tore it open. A ruby brooch slid into my palm—antique, oval-cut, the deep red stone set in platinum with tiny diamonds around the edge. Tucked behind it: a short note in handwriting. “Wait for me. —D” I closed my fingers around the brooch. The following week, every room in the estate overflowed with flowers and engagement preparations for Sienna. Tessa stood at my window, face blotchy with fury. “She emptied the family safe.” Tessa’s voice shook. “Your great-grandmother’s jewelry. The fur coats. The vintage watches. Three cases of it dragged into Sienna’s room. It should all be yours.” Once, that would have destroyed me. Now I barely felt it. The housekeeper appeared at the door. “Miss Hart, the General would like you downstairs.” The moment I stepped through the door, a teacup shattered against the wall inches from my head. My mother roared at me in fury: “Apologize to Sienna. Now!”

I didn’t move. “Apologize for what? I haven’t done anything.” She pointed. Sienna’s engagement gown lay on the floor, ivory silk soaked in black ink. The beadwork was destroyed beyond repair. “You destroyed Sienna’s engagement gown, and you won’t even admit it.” A bitter sound escaped me. “What proof do you have that I did this?” She gestured toward the girl cowering near the floor—Chloe, one of the maids assigned to Sienna. “She saw you. Last night. Near Sienna’s room.” I turned to Chloe. “What time?” “Around nine-thirty, miss.” “Where?” “By the east corridor. Near the garden door.” “What was I wearing?” Chloe swallowed. “A lavender sweater…” Tessa stepped forward, her voice shaking with rage. “The east corridor has no lights after nine. You couldn’t tell lavender from black at that distance. You’re lying.” Chloe crumpled, sobbing. “Forgive me, General! It was me. I spilled the ink. I was terrified, so I—” Sienna shot up and slapped Chloe across the face. “You brainless fool, how dare you frame Mia?” She turned to me and lowered her head. “Mia, I’m so sorry. I should have kept her in line.” My mother waved a hand. “It was a misunderstanding. Sienna apologized. We’re done here.” “No.” I frowned. “I never did what she accused me of, yet she wanted me punished. If she walks away without consequences, what’s to stop anyone else from doing the same?” My mother’s face froze, and it hit me—she knew. She knew Chloe was lying, and she was going to bury it to protect Sienna. She looked at me, her eyes filled with reproach. “No real harm was done. You’ve been cleared. Stop blowing this out of proportion.” I looked at her without flinching. “If I were the one who broke it, would you still call it a small thing?” She frowned at me, as if looking at a disobedient child. “Chloe is dismissed. Effective immediately. Legal will handle the non-disclosure and she’ll be blacklisted from the industry.” “Are you satisfied now?” Chloe sobbed as security escorted her out. Sienna stood frozen, chewing her lip. Then my mother spoke again. “The gown is destroyed, and there’s no time to have another made. Your grandmother’s vintage Valentino—give it to Sienna.” The air left my lungs. That gown was the last thing my grandmother ever gave me. “No.” My voice broke. “Chloe made the mistake. Chloe works for Sienna. Why am I the one paying for it?” “Sienna is marrying Adrian Caldwell. The press will be at the engagement events. She needs to look impeccable.” My mother’s voice was utterly matter-of-fact. “You’re marrying Owen Pierce. He can only afford a simple, modest wedding. What do you need a couture gown for?” “I don’t know what your father was thinking, leaving something this fine to you instead of Sienna.” Something inside me snapped. I cried out at her: “He gave it to me because he knows who his daughter is. You never did. Sometimes I wish you weren’t my mother! At least then I wouldn’t have to be hurt like this!” Her face went white. The coldness that followed was worse than the slap. “Enough. Perhaps I should teach you how to be a daughter. Especially my daughter.” Tessa threw herself forward. “General, please. Miss Mia gets sick every winter. She’s frail. She can’t take—” “Frail?” My mother’s voice climbed with incredulous fury. “She’s grown up in one of the wealthiest households in this country. Top private doctors. A personal nutritionist. Organic everything delivered weekly. What possible frailty?” A bitter sound escaped me. The private doctors all went to Sienna. The nutritionist was hired specifically for her. Every tutor brought into this house taught Sienna alone—I wasn’t even allowed to sit in on the lessons. What had I ever actually been given? My laughter pushed my mother past the edge. She had me taken to the punishment room, forced down onto my knees in the middle of the floor, and then she produced a leather whip. The way the military disciplined soldiers who stepped out of line—that was how she disciplined me. The whip cut through the air and came down hard across my back. The pain drove straight through me. She didn’t stop. One lash after another. My mouth filled with blood; I had long since bitten through my lip. The skin on my back split open. Blood ran down my sides. My shirt was soaked through, and the pain slowly went numb—as if it wasn’t landing on me at all, but on someone else entirely. By the time my vision went completely black, I dimly heard her say: “Mia, this time I hope you finally recognize what you’ve done wrong.” I closed my eyes. But Mom—my greatest mistake was ever wanting your love. After tonight, I owe you nothing. And I don’t love you anymore.

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After I slapped my Mafia husband’s mistress, he locked my entire family in an asylum. I never dared to fight him again after that. When Bianca had cramps, I made her tea. When Bianca went into labor, I stayed up all night at her bedside. I waited until her baby was a month old before I dared to ask him, quietly, to let my family go. Dante just smirked. “Ellie. You want to know how I really met Bianca?” “Your loving father and your loving brother put her in my bed themselves.” “She’s your half-sister, Ellie.” He watched the color drain from my face. Then he slid his phone across the table. “Your father and your brother were never in that asylum. They’ve been with Bianca. All three years.” On the screen, my father and my brother were huddled around Bianca and the baby, smiling. Smiling in a way I’d never seen. Not once. Not for me. My eyes burn. Something rips open in my chest. Dante kept going, like he was doing me a favor. “You’ve been a good girl these three years, Ellie. Keep it up. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.” “Though…” His smile turned strange. “Even if I offered, you wouldn’t take a thing. Would you?” I wiped my face. Lifted my chin. Smiled. “Fine, Dante. Then give me a hundred million dollars.” I don’t want any of them anymore. Not the husband. Not the father. Not the brother. — Dante froze. Just for a second. “Say that again.” I looked him dead in the eye. “You said you’d make it up to me. So pay me. A hundred million. Not a dollar less.” His eyes went cold. Then he let out a dry laugh and turned to the phone on the table. “Bianca. Looks like neither of us called it right.” The screen had switched to a video call. I didn’t even see when. Bianca was smiling. Watching me. Enjoying every second. “Ellie, sweetie. We had a bet. What you’d ask for once you found out.” “I said you’d refuse the money and trash Dante’s office. He bet you’d use it to trap him. No divorce. Ever.” “Dad thought you’d make Dante throw me out. Leo thought you’d hurt yourself again to guilt him into staying.” She turned the camera. My father was holding Bianca’s baby, glowing. The second he saw me, every trace of that smile died. “Elena. I can’t believe you. Asking Dante for money?” “Did this family ever let you go hungry? Ever? What are you now — some cheap gold-digger? No better than the whores on the street.” My brother stroked Bianca’s hair. Soft. Fond. Then he turned to the camera, and his face went blank. “Elena. I know you’re upset.” “If you need money, come to me. But you don’t ask Dante. Not for this.” “Bianca and Dante love each other. They don’t owe you anything.” “Is that so?” I cut him off. My eyes were burning. “He stole my husband. You stole my father. You stole my brother. You stole my whole life.” “You played me for three years. Turned me into her personal maid.” “And you’re telling me nobody owes me a damn thing?” Leo frowned. “Elena. Watch your mouth.” “We weren’t trying to hurt you. You’ve always been stubborn. If we’d told you the truth, you never would’ve accepted Bianca.” “She’s been struggling since the baby came. Postpartum. The bet was just a joke to cheer her up. Don’t take it personally.” I pulled the corner of my mouth up. “Fine. Then pay me.” “Fifty million from Dad. Thirty from you. I’ll keep playing house. Keep babysitting Bianca. Deal?” Leo went white with rage. “Elena. How long are you going to keep this up?” “It’s spare change,” I said, cold. “Don’t tell me the Moretti empire can’t cover a favor for the Rossis.” “Enough.” “You want money? Fine.” Dante shot me a look and pulled a document from the drawer. “Bianca gave me a son. No child of mine is going to be a bastard. Sign the papers. The hundred million hits your account tonight.” I looked at those thin pages. I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed the pen and signed.

Something shifted in Dante’s face. “You really care about money that much? You were never like this…” I swallowed the burn in my throat and forced out a careless smile. “If I don’t take the money, what else are you offering me?” He stared. Those dark eyes went bottomless. “Maybe you could beg me not to divorce you.” “Say the word, Ellie. I’ll rip this contract right now.” Beg him. I bit down on my lip until it bled. I remembered the months right after I first found out about him and Bianca. I begged him a hundred times. I slit my wrists once, just to make him come home. I bled all over the bathroom floor. And all he said was: “Don’t do that again. Bianca faints at the sight of blood.” “And then what?” I looked at him. Calm. Bitter. “Then you tell me this was another bet. Another way to laugh at me.” I let out a broken little laugh. My throat burned. “Dante. Stop testing me.” “Haven’t you played with me enough?” Something cold slid down my cheek. Three years of tears. Finally spilling. Dante lifted his hand. Wiped my face. His eyes flickered — but not with guilt. With irritation. Like a wife crying was one more thing he had to manage. He sighed. “Bianca gave me a son. She’s young. A little spoiled. You’re the older one. Cut her some slack.” “You’re still Mrs. Moretti. Marrying Bianca is just paperwork. Just to put my name on the birth certificate.” He paused. Softer. “You’ll still get the hundred million. Take it. Travel. Have fun. Once I clean things up here, we’ll get remarried.” “That works for you, right?” I lifted my face and smiled. Made a small sound of agreement. “Then book me a ticket to Switzerland. You promised me once. We were going to see Lake Como together.” He let out a breath he’d been holding. Pulled me in tight. “Okay.” “Go ahead. When this is done, I’ll meet you there.” “Wait for me, Ellie.” I rested my head against his shoulder. I didn’t say anything. Because I already knew. I wasn’t waiting. Once he was sure I’d caved, he spoke again. “Give me the keys to the house. You’ll need to move out for a while.” “Bianca’s moving in. You know she’s been fragile since the baby. Pack your things up clean. Don’t leave anything behind that upsets her.” “The place is getting old anyway. Don’t fight her over it.” He cleared his throat. Slid a new set of keys and a deed from the drawer. “I bought you a new place on the south side of the city. Move your stuff there.” I said nothing. But I remembered the day we bought that house. We designed every room together. Picked out the curtains, the artwork by the front door. We agreed on two nurseries — one pink, one blue. He called it our nest. He carved a plaque with his own hands and hung it on the front gate. Dante & Elle. Later, he spent his nights with Bianca in his office. And I lost our baby, alone, in that empty house. I smiled. I put the keys in his hand. “It’s fine.” “A new place is better.” From now on, everything I own is going to be new. Not just the house. — I left the Moretti tower and drove straight to the asylum. For three years, I’d pushed open that door a hundred times. Cried until I passed out over the “father” and “brother” who were just pretending to lie there catatonic in those beds. But nobody knew — in that place, I’d met someone else. I pushed open a different door. Sunlight poured through the window. A boy sat on the sill, staring at the sky. Sharp features. Cold, wild eyes. Blond streaks in his hair where the sun caught it. If any reporter had seen him, they’d have recognized him instantly. The youngest son of the Vane Syndicate — the family that ran shipping and arms across half the world. The kid the tabloids said had been locked away for a breakdown. I spoke softly. “I have the money now. I’m taking you home.” Dante has no idea. I’m not going to Switzerland. I’m going to Sicily.

When I got back to the house to pack, the maid gave me a strange look. Opened her mouth. Closed it. I frowned and walked into the living room. Then I saw why. My things were dumped across the floor like garbage. And Bianca was walking down the staircase in a white wedding gown. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. I couldn’t stop staring. She lifted the hem and gave me a sweet little smile. “Sis. Isn’t this the dress Dante designed for you? Back then?” “He said I could have it. Said you wouldn’t mind.” “He said you’re too out of shape now to fit into it. Said the dress got lucky, ending up with me.” She lifted the skirt and spun. “How does it look, sis? Do I wear it well?” The white silk shimmered under the chandelier. Bianca was glowing. Radiant. Cruel. Years ago, Dante stayed up three nights straight sketching that dress. The first time I put it on, he told me: “One of a kind, Ellie. For the only girl in the world.” His words. Still ringing. His heart. Long gone. Bianca didn’t get it. I was walking away from Dante himself. What did a dress mean now? I smiled. My fist slowly loosened. “Bianca. Nobody ever teach you? You want somebody’s stuff, you pay for it.” “That dress is worth thirty million. I want it wired to my account by tonight.” Her face snapped. “You bitch. You stole Dante from me. You stole my family for years. And now you want money?” She raised her hand and lunged. But the dress was too heavy. I stepped aside. Her own train tangled her legs. She hit the floor hard. My father and brother came flying down the stairs. “Bianca! What happened?” Leo whipped around. Furious. “Elena. Did you just put your hands on her?” I didn’t even get a word out. A palm cracked across my face. Half my face went numb, then burned. I stared at my father. I couldn’t believe it. His face was red. His voice was steel. “I know you’re angry. I know you never accepted Bianca. But she just had a baby. She’s still weak. And you *hit* her?” Bianca sniffled from the floor. “Dad, don’t be mad at her. It’s not her fault. She said the dress costs thirty million. Without the money, I don’t get to wear it. I don’t have that kind of cash. She didn’t mean to push me.” She lifted those big wet eyes. “It’s my fault, Dad. I don’t have the money. Dad, Leo — if we pay her, will she forgive me?” My father exploded. “Bianca, you’re too kind. Pay her? Not a chance. I should’ve known. She’s just like her mother. A greedy bitch. Always was.” Something inside me went cold. My hand went to my cheek. I couldn’t stop staring at him. Twenty years of playing the loving father. The mask was falling off, piece by piece. Leo caught his arm before he could swing again. “Dad. Stop.” For half a breath, I felt something stupid. Hope. Then he spoke. “Push her too hard, she’ll show up at Bianca’s wedding to cause a scene. She likes money? Give it to her. Throwing change to a beggar.” He pulled a black card out of his pocket and threw it at my feet. His voice was thick with disgust. “There’s over thirty million on that card. Enough?” “Take it and get out. Don’t show your face near Bianca again. Don’t ruin our lives.” I looked down at the black card. His personal card. The one I used to bring him coffee with. The last thread inside me — the one still tied to them — finally snapped. I bent down. Picked up the card. Smiled like it meant nothing. I looked at the mess of my belongings on the floor. I didn’t want any of it. “Since you’re paying so generously, Leo — deal. All this is yours.” I looked him dead in the eye. “You’ve got a new daughter and a new sister now. This old one won’t be in your way anymore.” “After today, I don’t know any of you.” I dug my passport out of the pile and turned to leave. “Wait —”

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The giant projector screen blares my falsified medical lab results dead-center during my wedding reception, and the entire ballroom erupts in screaming chaos before I can even process what’s happening. Ezra Carter hurls my engagement ring hard at my chest. It bounces off my white lace wedding gown and clatters across the marble floor. “You’re a used trash girl who aborted a kid years ago, and you thought you’d lock down a Carter marriage?” He snarls loud enough for every guest to hear. “Your Hale family’s corporate merger funding deal is dead. You all watch your company tank tomorrow.” My birth parents’ faces bleach pure white. Chloe Hale, their beloved adopted daughter, steps forward with glistening fake tears streaking her cheeks. “Sage, how could you lie to Mom, Dad, and Ezra?” Her voice cracks, perfectly staged pity dripping off every syllable. “You ran wild alone for years after Mom and Dad found you again—how could you drag the whole Hale name down with your reckless choices?” “I didn’t do any of this. That lab report’s fabricated.” My voice stays flat, calm, no tremor. Ezra sneers right in my face. “A filthy girl like you doesn’t deserve a Carter last name. I call this engagement off for good. Either you get the hell out of this venue and let Chloe take your spot as my fiancée, or the Hale Group files Chapter 7 bankruptcy by sunrise. Choose.” Chloe latches onto Ezra’s suit sleeve, then twists back toward my parents with that mournful act cranked higher. “Mom, Dad, don’t let Sage ruin everything. I’ll marry Ezra instead of her. I’ll fix the funding deal, I’ll save our company—just send Sage somewhere to lay low until Ezra cools off.” Whispers roar through the crowd nonstop. I catch every cutting comment clear as day. “She only reunited with the Hales three years back, spent all her youth running loose—who knows what messes she got tangled in.” “The Hales tried to pawn a damaged girl off for corporate cash. Disgusting.” Ezra slams a fist on the head table. “Make your choice fast. I won’t wait all night.” Chloe’s eyes flash quiet victory beneath her teary mask as she begs my parents to cast me aside. Their gazes turn ice-cold when they land on me. “Sage, you’ve disappointed us beyond repair. The Hale household doesn’t claim you anymore.” I cling to one last shred of hope, glancing between them. “Just send me for a second independent lab test to prove this is fake—” “Quit embarrassing us further! Get out!” Dad shouts over the crowd noise. Three years ago, they tracked me down, pulled me away from the quiet life I built with Jesse, swore they’d make up for all the lost years and love me properly. But every single time Chloe set me up with lies, broke her own things and framed me, or staged falls to fake injury, they picked her side without a single question. This night’s no different. I yank the silk veil off my head and drop it at their feet. “Fine. From this second on, I cut all ties with the Hale family permanently.” Late autumn rain slams down out of nowhere, frigid wind biting through my thin wedding dress. I stand alone at a bus stop, clutching a crumpled photo of Jesse pressed tight to my chest. “Old man, you begged me to give this family a real shot after you passed. I tried. They don’t love me at all.” Jesse was a retired Marine combat vet who raised me for two decades, drilled hand-to-hand combat into my bones. I fought off street thugs, violent deadbeat contractors withholding pay, even worked high-risk private security bodyguard shifts to cover his cancer medical bills. For three years back with the Hales, I followed Jesse’s dying wish, toned down every sharp edge, acted docile and soft-mannered to fit their wealthy socialite mold. I never called Chloe out on any of her manipulative schemes, all to honor his last request. Now I’m outcast with nothing, no roof, no family, no safety net. “Guess I don’t have to fake being a tame debutante anymore, memorize useless fancy etiquette rules for rich snobs.” I fold Jesse’s photo back into my jacket pocket and glance up at a taped flyer plastered to the bus stop billboard. [URGENT Nanny / Step-Mother Wanted for 6-Year-Old Boy. Live-in, $50k Monthly Salary. Must handle extreme stress, unshakable mental fortitude. Warning: Minor physical injury possible on the job.] I rip the paper free, a sharp, amused smirk tugging my lips. “Perfect match. This job’s tailor-made for my skill set.”

I drive straight to the gated waterfront Rossi estate address printed on the flyer that same afternoon. A stoic head butler waits at the front marble doorway, scanning my wedding-stained dress with a skeptical frown. “You’re the applicant for the boy’s caretaker position?” I nod once, no extra pleasantries. “Step inside. Forewarning—Master Jude’s temperament is volatile. He has to take a genuine liking to you to stay employed.” He steps aside to let me cross the foyer. “Dozens of women have applied before you, none lasted more than three full days. Mr. Rossi’s orders: only staff who survive three days get a formal audience with him and a long-term employment contract.” Confidence settles steady in my bones. The hardships I endured growing up with Jesse, every brutal fight, every penny scraped together for medical bills, all beat dealing with a moody six-year-old boy by a mile. I round the grand staircase and spot him instantly. Jude’s dressed in a tiny tailored black three-piece suit, sharp delicate features, but a cold, lonely edge no kid his age should carry. “Hello, Miss. I brought you a gift.” He holds out a wrapped velvet box, wide innocent eyes masking whatever trick he’s cooked up. The butler staggers backward a full step, panic flooding his face. “Thank you so much, baby.” I take the box and flip the lid open without hesitation. A massive hairy tarantula leaps straight for my face the second the box opens. The butler yelps and collapses onto the marble floor, hands flying to cover his eyes. I pinch the tarantula gently between two fingers, turning it over to examine its abdomen with genuine curiosity. “Wow, great size on this girl. You’ve been feeding her really well. This gift’s my favorite welcome present ever—thank you, Jude.” Jude’s cocky smug expression crumples into pure shock. He blinks hard, voice tight with disbelief. “You’re not scared at all?” I grew up off-grid in a remote cabin with Jesse. Snakes, lizards, spiders, wild amphibians—none of them rattle me in the slightest. “This is your first gift to me, of course I love it. No way I’d be frightened.” I place the tarantula back inside its velvet box, then reach out to curl my hand around his tiny palm. “C’mon. We can grab a glass terrarium to house her together. I can walk you through her molting cycle—they’re super fragile during that phase, I’ll teach you all the care tricks.” His cheeks flush bright red, and he yanks his hand free instantly. “I don’t need help taking care of my pets!” He storms a few steps up the staircase, then twists back to glance over his shoulder at me. “The terrarium room’s on the second floor. Follow me if you want.” He leads me to a closed bedroom door, shoving it open to reveal walls lined floor-to-ceiling with sealed glass enclosures. Geckos, horned frogs, monitor lizards, every cold-blooded creature labeled with handwritten feeding schedules taped to each tank. “Your collection?” I ask quietly. He nods. “Butler helps with feeding sometimes. They never yell or lie to me. They keep me company all day.” A sharp twinge of sympathy twists my chest. I set the tarantula tank down on an empty shelf, then drop to my knees and wrap my arms lightly around his small frame. “Jude, my name’s Sage. Starting today, I’ll stay right here with you.” His whole body stiffens, then he wriggles free of my hug and bolts toward the door. “I don’t need anyone hanging around me! I’m a tough guy, I handle everything alone.” I stay kneeled on the carpet, watching the tips of his ears burn bright red, and smile softly. That night, a brutal thunderstorm rips through the neighborhood, lightning splitting the sky every few seconds. I get up to lock the floor-to-ceiling windows and hear glass shattering from Jude’s bedroom next door. I burst through his door without knocking. A broken desk lamp lies shattered on the rug, and Jude curls tight against the bed frame, clutching a throw pillow to his chest, skin pale as chalk from terror. When he sees me, he snatches a ceramic vase off his nightstand and hurls it straight at my head. “Get out of my room! Who said you could barge in?” This kid puts on such a tough front, but thunderstorms terrify him to his core. I catch the flying vase mid-air with one hand, then cross the room in two strides and slip under his duvet, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I’m terrified of thunderstorms too. Can I crash here with you just tonight? Please?”

Jude’s small frame goes rigid under the covers, but a faint flicker of quiet relief softens his sharp little glare. “Fine. Only tonight, since storms freak you out. Don’t get used to sharing my bed.” Classic stubborn little tsundere kid. “Thank you, Jude. The thunder’s making it impossible to sleep—can you read me a bedtime story to calm me down?” I grab a fairy tale hardcover off his nightstand and press it into his hands. He rolls his eyes dramatically. “You’re way too old for storybooks, that’s embarrassing.” Even so, he accepts the book, flips to the first page, and clears his throat to read aloud. Within ten minutes his voice grows softer and slower, the book slipping loose from his fingers as he drifts asleep mid-paragraph. I tuck the duvet snug around his shoulders and pull him close to my chest, letting both of us pass out through the rest of the storm. Early the next morning, the butler knocks the bedroom door open with a breakfast tray balanced in his hands. He freezes, tray nearly slipping from his grip, eyes blown wide. “Master Jude never lets any stranger cross his bedroom threshold, let alone sleep beside him—this is unheard of.” Jude blinks awake slowly, rubbing sleep crust out of his eyes, rushing to defend our shared bed. “She’s the one scared of thunder last night. I let her crash here, that’s all.” The butler stares at me like I’m some kind of miracle, rushing off to deliver a full report to Kai Rossi immediately. I stretch my arms out, reaching to help Jude pull on his tiny suit jacket. He twists away fast, cheeks flaming. “I dress myself! Don’t think this little stunt makes you special. All the other women who applied only care about my dad’s fortune anyway.” I hold back a quiet laugh. I absolutely took this job for the massive paycheck—nothing more, nothing less. We head down to the formal dining room for breakfast, and that’s when I lay eyes on the infamous Kai Rossi for the first time. Now I fully understand Jude’s comment about gold-digging applicants. Sharp sculpted jaw, icy dark eyes, tailored black designer suit, the cold, untouchable head of the entire East Coast Rossi crime syndicate with a legitimate multi-billion dollar finance empire front. Every single socialite in Manhattan would kill to lock him down. Kai sets his morning newspaper flat on the tabletop, those piercing dark eyes locking directly onto my face without breaking contact. “You’re the new caretaker. Name?” “Sage Voss.” His fingers pause mid-tug on his suit jacket’s button, leaning back slow against his leather dining chair. “Butler says Jude’s taken a strong liking to you. If my son accepts you fully, we sign a civil marriage license per the employment contract—your monthly salary doubles after that. One rule to drill into your head: look after Jude properly, and cut out any greedy ulterior motives targeting me.” “Understood, Mr. Rossi.” Jude marches out of the kitchen carrying a covered ceramic plate, sliding it onto the table directly in front of me with a deceptively sweet smile. “I made you breakfast all by myself. Hope you love it.” The butler’s eyes bug out, rapidly shooting panicked side glances in my direction. I lift the plate’s lid off. Two slices of sourdough sandwich bread sandwich a thick clump of dark green caterpillar paste, with a plump live caterpillar wriggling dead center on top. “Homemade protein sandwich. You aren’t gonna turn it down, right?” Jude challenges, eyes sharp with expectation. I pick up the whole sandwich and take a huge bite, chewing thoroughly before swallowing without a single flinch. “Tastes solid. Only complaint’s the caterpillar’s a little small. Back when I lived off-grid, I pan-fried way bigger caterpillars for dinner all the time.” Jude’s cocky scheming face drops completely, stunned silent. Off to my side, Kai’s mouth twitches upward in a faint, barely noticeable smile. “Looks like your little prank didn’t land this time.” He lifts his espresso mug, voice low and calm. Jude’s face burns scarlet, jumping down off his dining chair and sprinting out the back door in frustration. I grab his canvas backpack and chase after him. “Wait up—I’ll drive you to private school!” Kai’s gaze tracks my retreating figure across the lawn, his cold expression melting into tangled, aching longing. He murmurs quiet enough only he hears the words. “Sage… you really don’t remember a single thing about us.”

I walk two hundred yards from Jude’s private school gate when my cell rings, the school administrator’s harsh tone crackling through the speaker. “Are you Jude Rossi’s guardian? He assaulted another student. Come to the principal’s office immediately.” I hang up, a faint weight settling in my chest. I got into constant fights as a kid too, and every time Jesse got called in, he’d bow his head and beg forgiveness for my outbursts. This sharp little boy shares my hot temper. Worst case, I’ll write a settlement check—his dad owns half the city’s banks, cash’s never an issue. I step into the office and spot Jude standing stiff next to a chubby boy with only a tiny scrape across his cheekbone. I blink once, unimpressed. “That’s all the damage?” The principal glares hard at me, offended by my lack of panic. “Jude attacked this child and refuses to apologize. You need to discipline him severely.” I tilt my head, unyielding. “A tiny surface scrape from two kids roughhousing isn’t worth a formal parent conference. Boys fight all the time over trivial stuff.” Jude’s rigid shoulders relax, his wide eyes locked on me in pure shock. The chubby kid’s mother surges forward, finger jabbing straight at my face, voice shrill with rage. “What kind of woman raises such a violent, ill-mannered brat? No wonder he’s got no mother figure around to teach him respect!” Cold rage floods my veins. One sharp kick sends the plastic visitor chair beside me splintering into broken shards on the linoleum floor. “Do not speak about my kid like that. Jude never throws a punch unless someone crosses a line first. Now tell your son to explain exactly what happened.” Every person in the room freezes rigid. The little boy’s lip trembles, and he bursts into loud sobs. “He called Jude a motherless stray… everyone in class teases him about it.” I turn to the furious woman, tone flat and unforgiving. “You heard him. Your son threw the first insult. Jude only defended himself—you ought to thank him for not hurting your child worse.” She yanks her crying son forward, forcing a rushed apology. I glance down at Jude. “You still acted out of line. Say sorry for hitting him.” Jude blinks, confused. “Why? He insulted me first.” “He called you motherless, but you have me. Don’t waste your energy fighting over empty words.” Jude’s eyes glisten with emotion, his head drooping slightly. “I’m sorry I hit you.” The chubby boy grins, grabbing Jude’s wrist in awe. “Your mom knows how to fight! I wish my guardian was this cool.” Jude tugs my hand, and we walk out to the black town car waiting curbside. He mumbles quietly, cheeks flushed pink. “You’re nothing like the other women who applied.” My mood lifts instantly. “Does that mean you accept me as your stepmom now?” “All the others screamed at my reptiles, and they always assumed I was the troublemaker before asking questions. You protected me without hesitation. Thank you.” My heart softens completely. “Then call me mom, yeah?” His neck flushes bright red. He stares hard out the passenger window, silent for a long beat. I signal the driver to pull away, ready to drop the subject. “Mom.” The soft word floats off his lips, reflected clearly in the car’s tinted glass. I wrap my arms tight around him, warm joy bubbling up inside me. “Baby, you’re such a sweet kid.” Jude squirms against my hug, too embarrassed to reply.

I carry Jude into the villa entryway, and Kai nearly spills his black espresso all over his tailored suit. He composes himself fast, masking his shock behind a cold, neutral expression. “Jude clearly trusts you fully. Head to the city clerk’s office tomorrow morning to file our marriage papers per the contract.” “Understood, Mr. Rossi.” I lift Jude higher in my arms, pausing at the staircase landing to glance back over my shoulder. “Quick question—our monthly salary doubles once we’re legally married, right?” A faint, hidden smile tugs the corner of Kai’s mouth. “That’s the clause we agreed on.” Relief floods my chest. Ten grand each month is life-changing money. The next day, we exit the municipal clerk building holding a crisp official marriage certificate, and I can’t stop grinning. Kai sits beside me in the town car, his gaze drifting to my reflection in the car window, a quiet happy smile playing across his face that he thinks I won’t notice. Months slip by after we file the license, and I settle into a steady routine with Jude. He’s transformed entirely—once quiet, lonely, and bitter, now he laughs constantly and begs for my attention every single day. He refuses to sleep alone through thunderstorms anymore, demands bedtime stories every night, begs me to teach him hand-to-hand combat, and drags me to climb estate trees, splash each other in the garden fountain, and feed every lizard and tarantula in his collection together. The estate butler watches our chaotic daily antics with a weary fond grin. “Master Jude has never laughed half this much in all seven years of his life. You two match perfectly, like you were always meant to be together.” Kai also changes drastically. He used to leave the mansion before sunrise and return long after midnight, buried under syndicate and corporate work. Now he sits at every single family breakfast, lunch, and dinner without fail. On weekends, he drives us to high-end supermarkets, amusement parks, and aquariums, pushing back dozens of critical business meetings just to tag along. The butler pulled me aside one afternoon to whisper a secret. “Mr. Rossi canceled more board meetings these past few months than he skipped in the entire six years before Jude was born combined.” I brush the comment off casually. “He neglected his son for half a decade. He’s just making up for lost time.” A week later, I take Jude shopping in a luxury downtown mall—and run straight into Chloe and Ezra. Chloe’s stomach bulges with her pregnancy, and she smirks when she spots me, voice dripping with mocking disdain. “Sage? You left the Hale family just to become a live-in maid? How utterly humiliating for our family name.” Ezra wraps an arm around her waist, his eyes sliding judgmentally over Jude’s designer clothes. “Chloe’s due in two months, and she’ll need someone to handle newborn care full-time. Word on the street claims you can’t have children of your own. Instead of tending to a stranger’s boy, come work for us as a live-in maternity nurse—at least you’ll get to pretend you have a kid of your own.” Jude’s jaw tightens, ready to snap back, but I place a hand on his shoulder to hold him quiet. I level a sharp glare at the pair. “Your mouths reek so bad I’m shocked you didn’t brush your teeth before leaving the house. Have some decency for your unborn child and stop spewing garbage. I know you forged that fake medical report to ruin my wedding day, Chloe.” “You two schemed to destroy my life for wealth and status. Don’t act like you hold any moral high ground. Scum belongs with scum.” Ezra lifts his palm to strike me, but I twist his wrist hard with one sharp motion. A sick pop echoes through the mall corridor, and he screams in excruciating pain. “Sage! How dare you hurt Ezra!” Chloe shrieks. I wipe my palms clean of invisible dust, cold and unyielding. “If either of you harass me or my kid again, I’ll lay both of you flat. I held back all those years only out of respect for Jesse’s memory—no more mercy from now on.” I grab Jude’s hand and walk away, Ezra’s furious shouts echoing behind us. “I’ll track down every detail of your new job! I’ll make sure every high-society venue in Manhattan blacklists you for good!” That evening inside Kai’s private study, his lead assistant lays a full incident report across the mahogany desk. “Boss, Mrs. Voss-Rossi ran into Ezra Carter and Chloe Hale at the mall today. Ezra attempted to strike her; she dislocated his wrist. Before leaving, Ezra swore he’d ruin her reputation across the city.” Kai closes the file, his tone icy and lethal. “Let him dig all he wants. Send formal gala invitations for Jude’s seventh birthday charity ball to both the Hale and Carter families. I’ll publicly reveal Sage’s official identity as my wife in front of every elite socialite and mafia affiliate in New York that night.” “Every humiliation Sage endured at their hands these past three years— I’ll repay every last ounce of it.”

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This was the thirty-third time my fiancé Ethan had left me alone in the bridal shop because of his stepsister Jessica. Every single time we scheduled a wedding photo shoot, Ethan would find some excuse not to show up. I called to ask why. His tone was dismissive. “Jessica wanted to travel. I’m already in Miami with her. There’s really no way I can come back. We’ll deal with the wedding photos next month.” Jessica snatched the phone. “You’re calling to bother us over something this trivial? It’s not like this is the first time you’ve missed a shoot. You should be used to it by now.” This time, I didn’t take off the wedding dress and slink away. Instead, I smiled and dialed Ethan’s best friend. “Vincent, if you can get to the bridal shop in five minutes, I’ll marry you.” …… By the time the shoot was finished, it was already evening. I changed out of the gown and settled into the lounge area, leaving a quick five-star review for the shop on Instagram. The post had barely gone up when Ethan’s number flashed on my screen. But the voice on the other end was Jessica’s, dripping with affected sweetness: “Olivia, taking wedding photos all by yourself and posting about it? Doesn’t that feel lonely?” I leaned back against the sofa. “Not as lonely as you.” “My post went up less than ten seconds ago, and here you are calling. Watching my Instagram like a hawk, lurking on every single one of my accounts like a little mouse—who’s the lonely one here?” Jessica’s composure shattered. “I wasn’t stalking you! I just happened to see it!” I couldn’t be bothered to keep talking to her. I hung up. Shortly after, a string of texts from Ethan rolled in. 【Olivia, do you have any idea how hard Jessica is to calm down?】 【She called you because she cares about you. Why did you have to snap at her? When are you going to fix that temper of yours?】 I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened Instagram and made another post. The caption was simple: *My fiancé and I are having our wedding this weekend. All friends welcome.* The comments section exploded. 【Oh my God, Olivia, you and Ethan are finally getting married? Congratulations!】 【I thought you two broke up ages ago. You’re really doing it? I’ll be there this weekend for sure!】 【New York’s most beautiful bride is finally walking down the aisle. Ethan really waited for this day.】 I was about to reply when Ethan’s comment appeared right at the top. 【Olivia, have you lost your mind? I’m still in Miami with Jessica. There’s no way I can make it back to New York for a wedding this weekend. Can you stop making decisions on your own?】 【Delete this right now and tell everyone you made it up, before you embarrass yourself.】 I ignored Ethan’s orders. Because my wedding no longer required him as the groom.

What I hadn’t expected was that Ethan would buy a last-minute red-eye flight back. Jessica came with him. At two in the morning, Ethan threw open the front door, seething. Jessica’s eyes were swollen and red. The moment she saw me, she started in with her grievances. “Happy now, Olivia? Ethan and I finally get a chance to unwind, and you have to pull this fake wedding stunt and force us to fly back in the middle of the night.” “You completely ruined my Miami trip!” I glanced at Ethan, then at her. My voice was calm. “Nobody asked you to come back.” Ethan’s voice was sharp with anger. “Olivia, I came back to talk to you like a reasonable person. Delete that post. I’m not ready to marry you yet. Just wait a little longer.” My answer was simple. “No.” Ethan took a deep breath. “Olivia, how long are you going to keep this up?” “Everyone is watching. Do you realize you’re forcing me into this?” Jessica scoffed. “Ethan, she’s obviously doing this to pressure you into marrying her so she can keep you away from me.” Then she turned to me. “Ethan and I are just siblings. It’s not what you think. You’re the one with the dirty mind, seeing something wrong everywhere. Delete that post now.” I didn’t acknowledge her. I looked at Ethan and said the same two words: “Not deleting.” Ethan laughed bitterly. “Fine. Then I won’t show up to the wedding either. You’ll be standing there with no groom. The one who’ll look like a fool is you, not me.” I smiled. “Whether you show up or not doesn’t matter. You’ve been absent from my life for a long time already, haven’t you? You’ve poured all your time and energy into Jessica. And I, your fiancée, had to wait thirty-three times just to take wedding photos with you.” “Ethan, who exactly is your fiancée?” Ethan frowned, as if I were being completely unreasonable. “Olivia, do you really have to put it so harshly?” “Jessica isn’t an outsider.” “She’s my stepsister.” “She’s important to me. We’ve known each other for years. She depends on me, and I take care of her. What’s wrong with that?” I smiled. Over the past eight years, Jessica would call him in the middle of the night, saying she couldn’t sleep. Ethan would leave me without hesitation and drive over to keep her company. In the beginning, he’d still feel guilty. He’d hold me and say she just lacked a sense of security. But as time went on, they grew more and more brazen. Whenever Jessica needed anything, Ethan would cancel every plan he had with me to be with her. And if I so much as expressed displeasure, I became the unreasonable one—immature, graceless, not generous enough. I looked up at Ethan. “So in your eyes, she can take up your time whenever she wants, interrupt every date we have—” “And I, as your fiancée, don’t even have the right to mind. Is that it?” Ethan softened his tone. “Olivia, I know you want to marry me as soon as possible.” “But I really don’t like this side of you. You used to be so easygoing, so reasonable. Why do you have to push me like this now?” I looked down at Jessica’s arm hooked through his. Her body was practically pressed against him, and Ethan made no effort whatsoever to put distance between them. I couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh. “Ethan, you have absolutely no sense of boundaries.” “Is Jessica your stepsister or your lover?” Jessica’s tears appeared on cue. “Olivia, you’re insane! There is nothing between Ethan and me! Why do you keep making these disgusting assumptions about us!” Ethan wrapped his arm around Jessica’s shoulders and wiped her tears for her. “Olivia, apologize to Jessica. Right now.” I found it absurd. “Apologize for what?” Ethan erupted. “You made Jessica cry! Of course you need to apologize!” Just then, Vincent strolled in, fashionably late. Ethan did a double take. “What are you doing at my place in the middle of the night?” Vincent glanced at me. “I’m here to help Olivia move out.” Ethan blinked, then visibly relaxed. A smug, knowing expression spread across his face. “Thanks, Vincent, but it’s really not that serious. Olivia and I are just having a little couple’s spat.” His tone was dripping with self-satisfied understanding. “Actually, do me a favor and talk some sense into her.” “Tell her to grow up and stop doing things that only embarrass herself.” Then he looked down at Jessica in his arms, his voice going soft immediately. “I need to take Jessica to a hotel first.” “She took a red-eye to get back here. She’s exhausted.” Vincent lowered his head and smiled—a smile loaded with meaning. “Sure. Leave everything here to me.”

With Vincent’s help, I moved out that very night. When Ethan discovered I was gone, the messages started pouring in. 【I know you’re upset, but you really can’t pressure me like this. Marriage is a big deal. You just announce a wedding out of nowhere—I’m not mentally prepared for that.】 【Olivia, it’s not that I don’t want to marry you, but now really isn’t a good time. Jessica hasn’t been doing well lately and she needs me around. Can’t you just wait a little longer?】 【Olivia, I’m serious. I’m not ready for marriage at all. Pushing me like this is only going to make me resent you.】 And so it went, all the way until the day before the wedding. I didn’t reply to a single message. But that evening, Jessica sent me a video. I tapped it open. The screen first showed a lavish hotel suite. The lighting was dim. White sheets lay tangled across the bed. A champagne flute on the nightstand was still half full. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the midnight ocean of Miami stretched into darkness. The camera panned slowly. Ethan appeared in the frame. He sat on the sofa, shirt collar hanging open, hair falling across his forehead in disarray. Jessica was curled against his chest, wearing a thin-strapped slip dress, her body draped over him like silk. She looked drunk—but the eyes that met the camera were perfectly lucid. She reached up deliberately, hooked a finger around Ethan’s tie, and pulled him toward her, inch by inch. Ethan didn’t resist. His hand rested on her waist. Jessica tilted her face up and kissed him on the lips. The frame held for two seconds. Then she looked straight into the camera. The corner of her mouth curled into the smile of a victor. The video ended there. Her call came in right after. “Did you watch it? Ethan’s cheating on you. If even that isn’t enough to make you cancel the wedding, then you really are something else.” “If I were you, I’d be dead from rage by now. You’d fit right into the Victorian era—the kind of devoted wife who watches her husband hold another woman and keeps smiling through it all.” My voice didn’t waver. “Still better than being the mistress who never gets a ring.” Jessica hung up in a fury. On the day of the wedding, I was already in my gown. Guests filed in one after another, offering their congratulations. I smiled and thanked each of them. Ethan walked in wearing a tracksuit. When he saw me, a flash of genuine awe passed through his eyes. “I’ll give you this—you picked a beautiful dress on your own.” But within seconds, Jessica appeared at his side in a formal gown, hooking her arm through his. Her makeup was immaculate. She wore a pale pink dress. The guests exchanged bewildered glances. A few seconds later, murmurs rippled through the room. “Isn’t that the groom? Why isn’t he in a tux?” “Who’s that woman with him? Why is she on his arm?” “This is Olivia’s wedding, isn’t it? Why did Ethan bring another woman?” A fiancé in athletic wear with another woman on his arm, while the bride stood alone in her wedding dress on the opposite side of the room—no matter how you looked at it, something was off. Ethan ignored the questioning stares and launched into his stiff explanation. “Let me make one thing clear. There’s nothing going on between me and Jessica.” “That video you saw of us looking intimate—we staged the whole thing. We just wanted you to call off the wedding. Didn’t expect you’d actually go through with it.” Jessica nodded beside him, her voice saccharine-sweet—a completely different person from the venom of the night before. “That’s right, Olivia. The whole thing was my idea. I just wanted to test how much you really care about Ethan.” “The fact that you watched that video and those photos without even flinching—your devotion to Ethan is truly admirable.” I looked at the two of them and smiled faintly. “I don’t care what you do anymore.” Ethan sensed something was off. A flicker of panic crossed his face. “Jessica is my stepsister. Just like Vincent is my friend. They’re both important people in my life.” “You can’t marry me and then demand I ignore my stepsister’s feelings. I told you, Jessica hasn’t been well lately. I need to spend more time with her. Can’t we just postpone the wedding instead of canceling it?” “You know how much I value relationships.” “Family, friendship—they all matter to me.” “I can’t just abandon my stepsister because I’m getting married.” I looked at his open, guileless expression and couldn’t help but point something out. “Ethan.” “You keep saying family is important. Friends are important.” “But haven’t you noticed that your most important friend isn’t by your side today?” “Take a guess where he’s going to show up.”

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The day before Valentine’s, my boyfriend told me he had a three-day work trip to New Orleans. I offered to come along, but he said: “It’s a company project. Bringing you wouldn’t be appropriate.” The very next day, I saw Chloe—my best friend—post on Instagram: a nighttime shot of St. Louis Cathedral. The caption read: “NOLA is stunning. Thanks Ethan, for showing me these lights tonight.” I called him. He picked up right away. In the background, Chloe’s flirty voice chimed in, “Ethan, this skewer of shrimp is for you.” My voice went hoarse. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a work trip alone?” He answered lightly. “Oh, Chloe wanted to get out for a bit, so I brought her along. It’s on the way anyway.” “The company’s covering it. It’s just one extra hotel room.” After I hung up, Chloe posted another Story. She and Ethan at the French Market, each holding a Cajun shrimp skewer, both beaming. It wasn’t until the evening of the third day that I finally got a message from Ethan. “Nora, I’m coming back tomorrow. Want anything as a souvenir?” I stared at my screen. Chloe had just posted her eighth New Orleans location tag. The caption read: “Third trip with Ethan. Perfect.” I typed slowly: “No need. Just have fun.” He replied instantly: “You’re so understanding. I’ll take you next time.” I didn’t respond. Because I knew—there wouldn’t be a next time. … That night, when Ethan came home, he brought Chloe through the door with him. I was sitting on the couch, lights off, just sitting there. The door opened, and Chloe’s laughter poured in first. “Nora!” She had her arm hooked through Ethan’s, the other hand hauling two stuffed paper bags. “We brought back so much for you!” Ethan changed his shoes, glanced my way, tone casual: “Chloe’s place is out of the way. She’ll stay in the guest room tonight, just make do.” I looked at him. He’d already hung up his coat and was leaning down to take the paper bags from Chloe, setting them on the table. Chloe unpacked everything one by one—pralines, beignet mix, a bottle of Cajun spice, a limited-edition mini Tabasco. And a tote bag printed with the wrought-iron balconies of the French Quarter. “Come on, Nora, sit over here!” She patted the couch, and once I moved over, she launched into stories about NOLA. “Did you know, the moment they lit up Jackson Square at night, I just froze.” “Ethan was right there next to me. I told him I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my life!” “She stood there for a good twenty minutes. I couldn’t pull her away.” Ethan chimed in, a smile at the corner of his mouth. “And then Bourbon Street!” Chloe turned to him. “Ethan, how many oysters did you have that night?” “A dozen.” “Right! A whole dozen! I told him, you can really eat—” The two of them chatted and laughed. I couldn’t get a word in. Not that anyone cared whether I could. I suddenly remembered a week ago, when I’d leaned over the desk and shown Ethan my Valentine’s Day plans on my phone. I’d looked up a couple’s restaurant in advance. He’d pulled me close then, resting his chin on top of my head, and said: “Valentine’s is just us two. Nobody’s gonna get in the way.” Valentine’s was here now. So this was his idea of nobody getting in the way? “Nora?” Chloe called. She switched topics, now telling me about a vintage photo studio in the French Quarter, how Ethan had picked out a cream-colored Southern-belle gown for her, and how passersby had stopped to take pictures when she tried it on. “Ethan said I looked like I’d stepped out of an old movie. Isn’t he too sweet?” Ethan lowered his head and laughed, not denying it. I looked away and stared at the pile of stuff on the table. Their laughter filled the whole living room. I sat at the end of the couch like a decoration someone had put in the wrong place. Ethan must have noticed how quiet I’d gotten. He casually pulled a few items toward me and said: “These are for you. Picked them out just for you. Don’t overthink it, alright? I was just bringing her along for a change of scene. You get it, right?” I looked down at the items. A bottle of Tabasco, a bag of pecan candies, and a box of cookies with a crushed corner. Picked out just for me, he said. Get it. I rolled the phrase around silently, didn’t say it out loud. Then I got up and walked toward the bedroom. Neither of them noticed. They kept laughing in the living room. I closed the bedroom door behind me. The sounds outside didn’t disappear, just got a little quieter. Ethan’s backpack was slung over the back of a chair. I bumped it when I shut the door. The zipper hadn’t been closed properly. A lipstick rolled out and landed on the floor. I bent down to pick it up. Strawberry flavored. Not my shade. I peered inside the bag and saw a Polaroid. Bourbon Street. A whole neon-lit wall as the backdrop. Ethan on the right. Chloe leaning sideways against him. His hand on her shoulder. Both of them laughing. Underneath was a hotel receipt. Yeah. One room. I put everything back, closed the bag, and looked out the window. Out in the living room, Chloe was asking Ethan what building was printed on the tote bag. He was explaining, she was laughing. Their voices sounded close enough to be in the same room with me. I didn’t sleep that night. At three in the morning, I opened my phone and pulled up an email I’d left sitting for two months. It was from my advisor in Paris, inviting me to a three-year research program in France. The last time I’d opened it was one evening when Ethan was propped up in bed watching a show. I’d hesitated for a long time, snuck a glance at him, and finally closed it. Back then, I couldn’t bear to leave him. Now, I opened the reply box: “Professor Laurent, I’m confirming my acceptance of the research position. Please advise on the next steps.”

The next day, I was woken by noise from the kitchen. I opened the bedroom door and saw Chloe standing at the stove, wearing Ethan’s oversized gray loungewear, frying eggs. She pressed down on the yolk with the spatula, tilted her head, and asked Ethan: “You like them sunny-side up, right?” Ethan was leaning against the cabinet next to the stove, looking down at her: “Sunny-side up. Good memory.” “Of course.” Chloe shot him a coy look. “I remember everything about you.” I walked over and sat down at the table. It was already set. Ethan came over carrying two cups, set one in front of Chloe and pushed the other toward me. I glanced down. Iced Americano. No sugar, no milk. But I liked mine sweet. I didn’t drink black coffee. The one who drank unsweetened black coffee was Chloe. At the table, Chloe spoke up. “Nora, I just broke up with someone, and it’s too depressing to be home. Mind if I stay here a few more days?” “You guys have plenty of space. I’ll just tuck into a corner, I won’t be in the way.” Before I could open my mouth, Ethan answered: “Stay as long as you want. You and Nora are best friends. Better here than out at some hotel—I’d feel more at ease.” So Chloe moved in. That night, Ethan said he had a work dinner. He left with Chloe, the two of them laughing on their way downstairs. I stood on the balcony and watched them walk away. The last thing I saw was Ethan reaching up to smooth her wind-blown hair back into place. I turned my phone face-down on the balcony railing and closed my eyes for a moment. Around ten that night, the lock clicked. I was sitting on the couch. Chloe came in first, makeup still on, laughing as she stepped inside: “Nora, you’re still up?” The first thing I noticed was the necklace on her throat. Tiffany. Heart-shaped pendant. Rose gold chain. Catching my gaze, she smiled: “Ethan said this style suits me. You don’t mind, do you?” I didn’t say anything. Late that night, lying in bed, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I nudged Ethan beside me. He put his phone down. “What?” “That necklace,” I said. “It’s the Valentine’s Day limited edition, isn’t it?” He paused. “It’s just the regular one.” “I looked it up,” I said, looking at him. He was silent for a beat, then let out a sigh, set his glass on the nightstand, and gave me that all-too-familiar expression. Not guilt. Impatience. “Nora, just say what you want to say.” “Chloe is living in our home, wearing my clothes, using my things.” I laid it out one line at a time. “She’s rearranged our décor, she’s wearing the limited-edition necklace you gave her for Valentine’s. Do you think this is normal?” “She just went through a breakup.” He frowned. “And isn’t she your best friend? What’s wrong with me looking out for her a bit more?” “Looking out for her?” I repeated. “Is that what this is called? I’m your girlfriend!” “Can you not blow this out of proportion?” He waved his hand, like he was brushing off an annoyance. “Chloe is a friend. I’m just being a little more attentive to her, and you have to make that face. Do you have any idea how ugly you look right now?” “She’s the one who broke up. You’ve got nothing wrong with your life, what are you being so petty about?” Just then, the bedroom door opened. Chloe walked in, looked at the two of us, and pulled on a pained expression: “Is this because of me… Nora, I’ll go stay at a hotel. I don’t want you two to fight over—” “No need,” Ethan said, turning around, his tone instantly softening. “Don’t overthink it. Nora’s just a little tired, she’s always like this. Don’t take it to heart.” Chloe glanced at me. The glance lasted a second, but I saw it clearly. Not apology. Satisfaction. “You’re overreacting,” Ethan said finally. “You’re being so immature.” I didn’t say another word. I got up, went to the study, sat down at the desk, and read through the program materials from Paris again. Out in the living room, Chloe was comforting Ethan: “Nora’s probably just been under a lot of stress lately. Don’t take it to heart.” He said, “I know. Don’t feel bad.” I closed the calendar. Half a month left.

The next day, mutual friends invited us out to dinner. Knowing I wouldn’t see them for three years, I agreed. By the time I got there after work, almost everyone had arrived. I pushed the door of the private room open and immediately saw Ethan and Chloe sitting side by side. Chloe waved me over. I ignored her and grabbed a seat wherever. Before the food even came, Chloe started intercepting Ethan’s drinks. A guy across the table egged him on: “Ethan, come on, one drink.” She took the glass. “Ethan’s not drinking tonight. I’ll cover for him.” She tipped her head back, downed it, and flashed the guy a smile. Ethan leaned toward her and murmured something. She shook her head, then picked up her fork, cut a piece of salmon, trimmed off the edges, and placed it on his plate. Intercepting drinks. Sharing food. Whispering. Every glance was on him. Maya sat next to me, quietly poked my arm, and gestured toward them with her eyes. I said, “It’s fine. Just eat.” It was raining when the gathering ended. I hadn’t brought an umbrella. Before leaving, I mentioned it to Ethan. He was bent over his phone, hailing an Uber for Chloe. Didn’t even look up. “Mm, call one yourself. I’ll wait with Chloe—I wouldn’t feel right leaving her.” The rain wasn’t heavy, but the Uber’s location glitched twice, traffic was terrible, and by the time I got home I was soaked through. Ethan and Chloe still weren’t back. That night, I took my temperature: 102 degrees. I texted Ethan: “I have a fever. Can you grab me a box of Tylenol from the CVS downstairs on your way back?” Half an hour later, he replied: “Chlo’s not doing great emotionally tonight, I’m going to sit by the river with her for a bit. If you’re feeling really bad, just Uber yourself to urgent care. Don’t tough it out.” I stared at those lines for a long time. He was sitting by the Charles River with her, letting the wind blow through her hair. I put my phone down, grabbed my coat, went downstairs, called a car, and took myself to the nearest urgent care. While I was waiting for my number to be called, Chloe posted an Instagram Story. The photo was the Charles River at night, two trendy coffees perched on the railing, Ethan holding one. Only his profile was in the frame. Wind lifted his hair a little. Lights and water in the background. The caption read: “The night wind is so strong. Thanks for being with me.” I turned my phone face-down on my knee. Urgent care had the AC blasting. I wrapped my coat tight, listened to the nurse call numbers, my mind blank. Early the next morning, I opened my laptop. I’d downloaded the school’s academic leave application form two weeks ago and left it sitting in a folder untouched. I filled it out, attached a copy of Professor Laurent’s invitation letter, and sent it to the department. I’d only chosen this program to stay in Boston. Ethan was here. Every plan I had revolved around this one person. Now I was cutting my last reason loose. The department sent back a confirmation. I cc’d my advisor. Then I opened the email thread from Paris and looked over the flight information again. Two weeks. Then Paris. I saved a screenshot of the itinerary, shut the laptop, and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. In the living room, Chloe was on the couch scrolling Instagram. Ethan sat next to her. They were debating where to go for the weekend. I walked past them with my glass, went back into the study, and closed the door behind me. Soon enough, I wouldn’t have to see them anymore.

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On my wedding day, I walked my blind father down the aisle of the church, and the entire sanctuary suddenly erupted in laughter. Dad tightened his grip on my hand, nervous. “Claire… did Dad embarrass you?” I quickly lifted the lace veil from my face and turned toward the projection screen behind the altar. That was when I finally saw it. A single, bright red USDA pork inspection stamp had been slapped onto each of our faces. From the bridesmaids’ bench, my best friend Bianca Whitmore was doubled over laughing. “Oh my God, Claire, you two are adorable. You look like two little pigs that just rolled off the slaughterhouse conveyor belt.” My fiancé, Nolan Ashford, laughed and pulled a folded check from the inside pocket of his tux, handing it to her. “A bet’s a bet. You win. She really didn’t notice a thing all the way to the altar.” So it was another bet. Back in college, they’d bet on whether I’d actually eat the cereal they’d swapped out for dog kibble. On my birthday, they’d bet how long it would take me to open the gift box stuffed with Monopoly money. And this time. They’d made my blind father a chip in the game too. Nolan held out his hand, coaxing me like a child. “Sweetheart, everyone’s watching. Let’s just finish the ceremony.” I looked at him, then at Dad standing beside me, disoriented, still not understanding what had happened. This time, I wasn’t going to swallow it. … “Claire, why’d you stop? Are you mad?” When I didn’t answer, Bianca picked up two flutes of champagne and stepped down from the bridesmaids’ bench. She pressed one of them straight into my father’s hand. “Mr. Sutton, it was just a little joke to lighten the mood. You’re too much of a gentleman to take something like that to heart, right?” Dad couldn’t see the ridiculous red stamp on his own face. He accepted the flute awkwardly and tipped his head back, draining it in one go. “Of course not. It’s Claire’s wedding. As long as everyone’s having a good time…” He didn’t finish. His body suddenly folded forward, and he started dry-heaving violently. Bianca clapped her hands and laughed out loud. “Nolan honey, you lose again!” “I told you a blind man’s sense of smell isn’t that sharp.” “I literally squeezed half a tube of septic-tank slug juice into that glass, and Mr. Sutton chugged it!” Laughter and camera shutters exploded all around us. Nolan’s face did tighten. But not because my father had just been publicly humiliated. Because his wedding had gone off script. I watched Dad forcing himself to endure it, that meek little smile on his face. I couldn’t listen to another second of it. “Nolan Ashford, the wedding is off.” I steadied my father, who was swaying on his feet. “Dad, we’re leaving.” Nolan finally panicked. He rushed down from the altar and caught my wrist, lowering his voice. “Claire, Bianca takes jokes too far, I know. I’ll make her apologize to your father myself, later.” “Every guest in this church is staring at us. Don’t blow this up any bigger.” I shook his hand off and walked straight for the church doors without looking back. Bianca’s voice drifted after me, wounded in exactly the right pitch. “Claire Sutton, it was just a joke. Are you seriously doing this?” … Mass General. The emergency room. A nurse worked over our faces with alcohol wipes, one careful pass at a time. I could guess when it had happened. Before the ceremony, Bianca had insisted on doing our “touch-ups.” My face had foundation on it, and once it was wiped away, only a few faint pink marks remained. Dad’s face wouldn’t come clean, no matter what she tried. The skin had already scrubbed raw and red, and yet he was the one smiling at me, trying to comfort me. “It’s okay, Claire. Walking around with a mark on my face isn’t the end of the world.” “Dad just made trouble for you again. Because of me, you didn’t even get your wedding…” I lowered my head. My throat was too tight to say a word. How could I blame him. It was Nolan and Bianca who had always treated me like a chip at their table. Like the summer after graduation, when the three of us had planned to go skydiving together. They’d coaxed me into jumping first. Then they’d stayed in the cabin, filming me at my worst, betting on whether I’d cry from sheer humiliation the moment my feet hit the ground. But this time, they had no right to make my father a punchline in their game. I opened my phone. The college group chat was already blowing up. 【Bianca is a legend, I peed a little laughing, two little pigs 💀】 【Claire is being SO dramatic though?? She really called off her own wedding in front of everyone???】 【Guys don’t forget, Nolan only confessed to her back in the day because he bet Bianca he could pull the scholarship kid.】 【And she said yes on the spot and followed him around for five years like a puppy. I can’t 😭】 I stared at the messages scrolling past. So that was it. Even the first “I love you” of this entire relationship had just been a bet. It was over. 【Ding.】 A new email pushed through. Munich Ophthalmology Institute. Dad’s surgery had finally been scheduled. At last, I could take him and leave.

After I got Dad settled in his hospital room, Nolan finally messaged me. His tone had already slid back into its familiar gentleness. 【Claire, today was on us, I know. But you also overreacted, just a little.】 【I already booked our honeymoon flights. Aspen. I’m taking you to see the snow you’ve always wanted to see.】 I stared at the screen, and my mind ran back through every single time before this. Every time Bianca had used me as the punchline of a bet, Nolan had come around afterward to apologize. He said Bianca didn’t mean it. He said he’d never wanted to hurt me. He said I was too sensitive, too fragile. I had believed him for five years. I had swallowed it for five years. But I get cold easily. What I wanted was somewhere warm. I had told him. For our honeymoon, I wanted the Amalfi Coast. Aspen was where Bianca had been begging to go. Sure enough, the next message came right after. 【Bianca’s coming with us, more the merrier.】 I didn’t reply. I called an Uber back to the apartment. Before I left, all I wanted was Dad’s medical file and my own passport. The moment I pushed the door open, a burst of confetti exploded over my head. “Surprise! Claire, happy birthday!” The living room was packed with our college friends. Nolan and Bianca stood at the center, pushing a tiered cake between them. “Claire, the wedding was our fault.” Nolan’s voice was soft. “This cake is my way of making it up to you. Don’t be mad anymore, okay?” But today wasn’t my birthday. My birthday was this same date, next month. Five years together, and Nolan had gotten it wrong every single year. The crowd cheered, urging me to cut the cake. I wasn’t in the mood. I sidestepped everyone and headed for the bedroom to grab my things. Bianca cut in front of me first. She scooped a dollop of frosting off the cake with her finger and lifted it to my lips, smiling sweetly. “Come on, Claire, just a taste. I made this for you myself.” I didn’t have time to pull back. The frosting smeared hard across my mouth. An off, foul taste flooded my tongue, and my throat began to tighten almost instantly. I looked down, eyes wide. Deep inside the exposed layer of the cake, several dark red things were slowly writhing. Leeches. The one thing that could actually kill me. I’d been severely allergic to them since childhood. A single contact could send me into shock. Nolan knew. His brow finally furrowed. “Bianca, this stake might be a little far this time.” Bianca just pursed her lips, unbothered. “I don’t care. She ate it, didn’t she? That new Porsche of yours is mine.” Nolan could see I was already struggling to breathe, and he reached out to steady me. “Claire, let me get you to the ER.” But Bianca suddenly clamped down on my arm. “Claire, you barely got any of it. It can’t be that bad, can it…” “Are you still holding a grudge about the church?” Her nails dug into my skin. My breathing was getting worse. I ripped my arm out of her grip on instinct. Bianca stumbled back. The back of her hand caught the metal edge of the cake cart, opening a thin red scratch. “Bianca!” Nolan let go of me instantly and rushed over. The others swarmed in around her, panicked. Nobody noticed I could barely stand. I made it into the bedroom on unsteady legs and started stuffing what I needed into a bag, piece by piece. Voices drifted through the door. “Honestly, Nolan’s the one who’s actually into Bianca.” “Do you remember, years ago, Bianca dared him he wouldn’t hike the White Mountains ridge alone. He actually went, in the middle of a storm. Nearly died…” A bet. The White Mountains. My fingers snapped tight around Dad’s medical file. The date of injury written inside was five years ago, exactly, on the day Nolan had gone up alone. That day, he had been caught in a landslide. My father, a park ranger for White Mountain National Forest, had been the first to go in after him. Dad had pulled Nolan out of the rubble. And then a second wave of rocks had come down and struck him on the back of the head. Permanent damage to the optic nerve. He had never seen anything again. For five years, Nolan had told me it was an accident. But it turned out. The whole thing had started because of a throwaway dare between him and Bianca. Everything my father had lost, an entire world, had been the price of paying off their little wager. I picked up my bag with unsteady hands and stepped out of the bedroom. Nolan was bent over Bianca, murmuring to her. He heard me and turned, frowning. “Claire, it’s the middle of the night. Where do you think you’re going with a bag?” “We fly to Aspen for our honeymoon first thing in the morning. You really have to pick now to throw a fit?” I didn’t dignify it with an answer. I walked straight for the door. Behind me, Bianca’s voice carried that perfect note of triumph. “Nolan honey, I’ll bet you, she can’t keep this tantrum up for even a day.” “By tomorrow morning at the airport, she’ll be right behind us like a good girl.”

After I left, someone dropped a video from the party into the group chat. Bianca was clearly drunk in it, cheeks flushed pink. “Nolan Ashford, you’ve lost three rounds in a row now. You have to be my husband for a whole month!” Nolan gave a helpless laugh and nodded, agreeing. The rest of them started chanting. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The video cut off there. I spent the entire night being resuscitated in the ER. Morning. At my bedside, Dad was gripping my hand hard, his unseeing eyes rimmed red from staying up. “Claire, you scared Dad to death… The doctor said ten more minutes and you wouldn’t have made it.” I didn’t say a word about the truth of the night before. I only told him I’d eaten something bad and it triggered an allergic reaction. Nolan hadn’t called once the entire night. He’d sent two flat, hollow voice memos in the early hours of the morning. 【Claire, did you end up in the ER?】 【Don’t be mad anymore. I’ll come by first thing tomorrow to check on you and Dad.】 Dad heard the voice memo notifications and his face brightened at once. “Nolan’s coming to see you? Are you two making up?” “He’s a good boy. When I brought him down from that mountain, he got on his knees and swore to me he’d take care of you.” Yes. Nolan had made that promise, right in front of my father. That he would take care of me. But for five years, he had let Bianca use me as her toy at the gaming table over and over. Dad reached for his white cane and insisted on going downstairs to wait. Nothing I said would stop him. Two hours passed. I stood at the hospital-room window and looked down at Boston’s cold morning wind, and at Dad’s hunched figure, standing on his white cane, waiting. Nolan didn’t come. Bianca, however, had posted a new Instagram Story. In the photo, Nolan was sitting at her family’s dining table, sipping coffee with her parents, all of them laughing. The caption read. 【My dad said he missed Nolan. He dropped everything and came right over. 🥰】 Looking down at that hunched silhouette on the sidewalk, my nose stung. Nolan didn’t finally arrive until the afternoon. Bianca was trailing right behind him. “Mr. Sutton, Nolan brought me to come see you.” She smiled and pressed two ivory-colored official folders into Dad’s hands together. “This is our marriage certificate. Feel the cover.” Dad’s rough fingertips traced the embossed gold lettering, and his eyes filled instantly. “Good… good… Claire finally got to marry Nolan…” He couldn’t see. He thought it was my marriage certificate and Nolan’s. But I could see it perfectly clearly. Inside the folder were the names Nolan Ashford and Bianca Whitmore. Date of registration: this morning. Nolan caught the look on my face and grabbed my wrist, dragging me out into the hallway. “Claire, don’t spiral on me.” “I only went to City Hall with Bianca because I lost the bet. Her parents have been pushing her to get married, and I was just going along with it to make them happy.” “We’ll be divorced in a month. Then you and I can go get our own license, okay?” He treated marriage like a party game. And he treated me like a fool. I looked at him and, all of a sudden, I didn’t even have the energy to be angry anymore. “Nolan, we’re done.” He blinked, brows pulling together. “Claire Sutton, we already had the wedding. This is just paperwork.” “Can you please not blow every little thing up like this?” The door to the hospital room opened. Bianca leaned out, pouting. “Nolan honey, we still have to go pick up honeymoon stuff. The stores will close if we’re any later.” Nolan called back over his shoulder. Bianca smiled and looped her arm through his, and the two of them disappeared down the corridor. I walked back into the room, ready to make up some excuse. But I found tears streaming from Dad’s lightless eyes. “Claire, don’t hide it from Dad anymore… I heard everything.” “Leave him. We’re not putting up with this.” I fought down the burning in my throat and nodded, hard. That night, Nolan sent me a message. 【Nine a.m. flight tomorrow, headed for Aspen.】 【Come on your own. And stop with the theatrics.】 I didn’t reply. I opened the airline’s website and booked two one-way tickets overseas. Boston to Munich. Lufthansa Flight 423. Departure: eight a.m. the next morning.

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1 Ethan’s childhood friend, Serafina, has a favorite game she likes to play whenever she comes over for dinner. She calls it “Soul Interrogation.” Last week, right in front of me, she tucked her arm through Ethan’s and rested her head on his shoulder, claiming she wanted to test if she could make his heart race. Ethan didn’t pull away. He just shrugged at me with a lazy smile. “You know how she is, Summer. She’s been a brat since we were in diapers.” Serafina pressed her fingers against his wrist, counting his pulse. She looked up at me, grinning. “Sixty-eight. Totally normal. Guess he’s officially immune to my charms. You win, Summer.” Whenever I got angry, they reacted like they’d rehearsed it. Serafina would play the wounded puppy, and Ethan would sigh with that heavy, performative exhaustion. In the end, I was always the one cast as the “jealous, controlling wife” who couldn’t even handle her husband having a social life. For our fifth anniversary, I booked a private room at a high-end French bistro. I bought a silk dress I’d been eyeing for months. When I pushed open the door to the suite, Serafina was sitting in my seat. She was wearing a white lace gown that looked suspiciously like a wedding dress. The table was already set for two. She stood up, arms wide. “Surprise! I wanted to recreate your wedding day for you guys. Since I wasn’t in the bridal party back then, I figured I’d stand in for the rehearsal. You can be my maid of honor tonight, Summer!” Ethan stood by the window, watching her with a look of indulgent fondness. “Just go along with it, babe. She’s been planning this for a month.” I walked up to Serafina, took the crystal wine glass from her hand, and filled it to the brim with Cabernet. Then, I looked Ethan dead in the eye. “Since we’re being so ceremonial tonight, I should probably make a statement of my own.” I slid my diamond wedding band off my finger and balanced it on the rim of the glass. I pushed it across the table toward Serafina. “To you,” I said. “And to this man. He’s all yours. Enjoy the leftovers.” Serafina’s smile curdled. She instinctively looked at Ethan. Ethan, who had been leaning casually against the sideboard, straightened his spine. His brow furrowed. “Summer, do you really have to be a killjoy right now?” “A killjoy?” I gestured to the table. The roses, the vintage wine, the candlelight. And in the middle of it all, Serafina in a white gown sitting in the wife’s chair, while I—the actual wife—was told to stand aside and play the bridesmaid. “Sera just wanted to give you a surprise,” Ethan said, reaching for the ring with that familiar tone of patronizing patience. “You’ve been so stressed with work, you never have time for anniversaries. She did all the legwork for you, and your temper just gets more volatile by the day.” I pulled the glass away before he could touch it, letting the ring slip. It splashed into the red wine, sinking to the bottom. “I didn’t realize anniversaries were something you could outsource,” I said. Serafina’s eyes instantly welled up. She stood up, clutching the hem of her white dress. “Summer, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you’d be this sensitive about it.” Her voice broke, a perfect tremor. “I just saw how much pressure Ethan’s been under lately. I wanted to make him happy. If I’m not welcome, I’ll just go.” She turned to grab her clutch. As she swung around, her skirt caught the edge of the wine glass. Smash. The glass shattered. Red wine sprayed across the skirt of my new silk dress like a bloodstain. The ring rolled across the hardwood floor and disappeared under the sideboard. “Oh my god!” Serafina cried out, jumping back. Ethan was moving before I could even blink. He grabbed her by the arm, pulling her safely behind him. “Did you cut yourself? Are you okay?” He knelt down to check her ankles for glass shards. “I’m fine, but Summer’s dress… it’s ruined…” Only then did Ethan look at me. His eyes landed on the dark, wet stain spreading across my waist. He frowned. “It’s just a dress,” he said. He grabbed a handful of napkins from the table, but he didn’t give them to me. He handed them to Serafina. “Here, wipe the wine off your hands.” I looked down at the dress I had spent an hour choosing. For tonight, I had skipped the most important quarterly meeting at my firm. I’d spent three hours at the salon. “Ethan.” “Drop it, Summer,” he snapped, his patience finally snapping. “It’s one dress. I’ll have my assistant buy you ten more tomorrow. Sera didn’t do it on purpose.” I didn’t say another word. I simply leaned down, reached under the sideboard, and fished out the ring. It was sticky with wine. “I’m not making a scene,” I said quietly. I wiped the ring on a clean napkin and dropped it into my purse. “Enjoy your dinner. I won’t disturb you further.” The door to the private room was heavy. As I pushed it open, I heard Serafina’s soft whimpering behind me. “Ethan, does she really hate me? Maybe I should stop coming around.” “Don’t worry about her. She’s just been miserable at work and taking it out on everyone. Sit down. Let me see if you’re scratched.” His voice was tender. It was a tone I hadn’t heard directed at me in a very long time. It was raining outside—a cold, biting autumn rain. I stood under the awning of the restaurant, watching the taillights of the city blur into red streaks. The valet approached with an umbrella. “Need a cab, ma’am?” “No, thank you.” I pulled out my phone to call an Uber. A notification from Ethan popped up. “Take a cab and cool off. It’s pouring, and Sera’s in heels—she won’t be able to get a ride easily, so I’m dropping her home first. Go home, take a hot bath, and don’t start another fight about your stomach hurting later. I’m not in the mood for the drama.” I stared at the words until the screen went dark. Then, I deleted the conversation thread. I got home at ten. The penthouse was pitch black. I fumbled for the light switch. When the foyer illuminated, I froze. On the shoe rack where my everyday house slippers usually sat, there was a pair of bright pink, fluffy bunny slippers. Serafina had bought them on a whim last month and had them shipped directly to our house. I stripped off the ruined silk dress and walked into the walk-in closet. The moment I opened the door, a wave of cloying, floral perfume hit me. It was Serafina’s signature scent. She called it “The Heartbreaker.” Ethan knew I was severely allergic to heavy florals. I covered my nose, my throat already starting to itch. Half of my racks—the ones for my seasonal favorites—had been cleared out. In their place hung a dozen garish, colorful dresses. The tags were still on them. In the center of the island sat a large cardboard box. Ethan had brought it home last week; I’d assumed it was office files and left it alone. Now, it was open. It was stuffed with Serafina’s things. Anime figurines, limited edition vinyl, even a few of her silk camisoles. A pink Post-it note was stuck to the side in her loopy handwriting: “Ethan! My pipes burst and the contractor is a nightmare. Letting my treasures crash here for a bit! I’m sure Summer won’t mind sharing the space!” I looked at the note. My stomach did a slow, sickening flip. I didn’t touch a thing. I backed out and shut the closet door. I went to the kitchen, swallowed two antihistamines with a glass of lukewarm water, and sat in the dark. My phone buzzed. It was a notification from Instagram. Tyler, one of Ethan’s college buddies, had posted a story. “Some people just don’t know how good they have it. Summer’s got the patience of a saint lol.” The photo was of the bistro. Serafina was in her white gown, her eyes red and puffy, leaning back in the chair. Ethan was leaning over her, carefully cutting her steak into bite-sized pieces. In the candlelight, they looked like newlyweds. There was a comment from Serafina: “It’s all my fault. I tried too hard to be sweet and ruined Ethan’s anniversary. [Crying emoji]” Tyler replied: “Not your fault, Sera. She’s always been a cold fish. Nobody could live with that.” I watched the screen with a face as blank as stone. The ache in my stomach finally began to dull. I tapped the ‘heart’ icon on the post. Then, I laid the phone face down on the table. At midnight, I heard the electronic lock click. Ethan walked in, bringing the smell of rain and that floral perfume with him. He saw me on the sofa. “Still up?” He tossed his jacket over a chair. “Yeah.” “Is your stomach okay?” He went to the fridge for a San Pellegrino. “It’s fine.” “Good.” He sat down across from me. “Look, Sera felt guilty the whole drive home. She’s just a kid at heart. You’re older than her, Summer. You should be the bigger person and show some grace.” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “Why are her clothes in my closet, Ethan?” Ethan took a slow sip of his water. “Oh, that. Her place is a construction zone. She had nowhere to keep her things where they wouldn’t get ruined. Your closet is massive; half of it was just empty space anyway.” “Does she not have any other friends?” “Her friends live in tiny studios, Summer. They don’t have climate-controlled storage. What if her collectibles got damaged?” “So you gave her my space?” “Summer.” He set the bottle down with a heavy thud. “Are we really going to have a screaming match over a few hangers?” “I’m not screaming.” I stood up. “I’m just thinking… if she has so much stuff here already, maybe she should just move in.” Ethan’s face darkened. “Are you done being passive-aggressive?” I didn’t answer. I walked into the master bedroom and grabbed a spare duvet. “What are you doing?” he demanded, following me. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping. I don’t want to wake you up when I toss and turn.” I walked past him toward the guest room. “Fine,” he spat at my back. “Throw a tantrum. See how long it lasts. You’re only making yourself look pathetic.” I closed the guest room door softly. I didn’t lock it. I knew he wouldn’t try to open it anyway. 2 The next morning, I was jolted awake by a barrage of texts. Becca, my business partner, was blowing up my phone. “Summer, do you have your speech ready for the gallery opening?” “The press is confirmed for 10:00 AM sharp.” “Ethan is still coming for the ribbon cutting, right? Tell him if he flinches like last time, I’ll kill him.” I rubbed my temples, my head throbbing. Today was the opening of my first solo exhibition, Boundaries. I’d spent six months preparing for this. I scrolled back to my last chat with Ethan. Two days ago, he’d messaged: “Don’t worry, babe. It’s your big day. I’ll be there.” I washed my face and walked into the hallway. The master bedroom door was wide open; Ethan was already gone. On the kitchen island sat a half-empty cup of cold coffee and a crumpled note. “Took the blue silk tie. See you at the gallery at noon.” I balled up the note and threw it in the trash. At 9:30 AM, I arrived at the museum. Becca was in full “boss mode,” barking orders at the lighting technicians. “Where’s the husband?” she asked, handing me an iced Americano. “He said he’d be here by noon.” I took a sip. It was bitter, just the way I needed it. “Good. He better be.” Becca checked her watch. “Go touch up your makeup. The reporters are pulling up.” The opening was a success. The elite of the city’s art scene were there. Everyone was drawn to the centerpiece, a painting titled The Glass House. It depicted a glass structure half-submerged in a dark sea, filled with choking thorns. “Ms. Miller, what was the inspiration for this piece?” a reporter from The Times asked. “It’s a meditation on enmeshment,” I replied with a practiced smile. “When a sanctuary becomes a cage, how does one save oneself?” Noon came. The ribbon-cutting ceremony was about to begin. The front-row seat reserved for Ethan remained empty. Becca was pacing backstage. “I’ve called him twenty times. It goes straight to voicemail. What is he playing at?” I pulled out my phone and dialed his private line. Ring… ring… ring… Finally, he picked up. “Hey, Summer.” The background noise was chaotic. It sounded like a hospital. “Where are you?” I asked, staring at my reflection in the vanity mirror. “I’m so sorry, Summer. I can’t make it.” His voice was thick with genuine panic. “Where are you, Ethan?” “The ER.” He paused. “Sera was at the mall and someone shoved her. She tripped, and her ankle is a mess. It looks like a bad fracture.” My grip on the phone tightened. “Is it life-threatening?” “The doctor thinks she might need surgery. I’m waiting on the X-rays.” “So, you’re not coming.” It wasn’t a question. “Summer, you can handle the gallery. You have Becca. Sera’s here alone. She’s terrified of needles, you know that.” “She has a sprained ankle and needs a hand to hold. I have a career-defining opening and I don’t need my husband. Is that the logic?” “Why do you always make everything so black and white?” he snapped. “You can have another gallery show. She might lose mobility if this isn’t handled right.” In the background, I heard Serafina’s frail, shaky voice. “Ethan, is Summer mad? Please go to her. I’ll be fine. It doesn’t matter if I can’t walk, as long as she’s happy…” “Stop it, Sera,” Ethan whispered, muffling the phone. Then, back to me: “Look, I’ll Venmo you some money. Take your team out for a massive dinner tonight on me. I’ll make it up to you.” The line went dead. Becca walked over, reading the look on my face. “He’s a no-show?” “He’s a no-show.” I stood up and smoothed out my skirt. “Let’s go. We’ll cut the ribbon ourselves.” By 2:00 PM, the crowd had thinned. A man in a charcoal suit and gold-rimmed glasses stood in front of The Glass House. He’d been staring at it for twenty minutes. He turned to me. “Is this for sale?” This was Ethan’s favorite painting. He’d told me months ago that when the show was over, he wanted to hang it in the center of our living room. He called it my masterpiece. I looked at the man. “Yes.” “How much?” “Whatever the gallery’s top appraisal is. Just take it today. I don’t want it staying here a minute longer than necessary.” The man looked surprised, but he didn’t hesitate. He wrote a check that made Becca’s eyes pop. I watched as the movers carefully wrapped the painting and carried it out of the hall. The hollow space left on the wall felt like the most honest thing in the room. I got home at 8:00 PM. The lights were on. Ethan was on the sofa, a luxury gift box sitting on the coffee table. He looked up when I entered. “You’re back. How was the opening?” He stood up and approached me. “I’m really sorry about today. I felt terrible. To make it up to you, I got you this.” He handed me the box. It was wrapped in deep blue velvet. I didn’t take it. “Open it,” he urged. I flicked the latch. Inside was a bottle of perfume. It was a designer brand—the exact one Serafina wore. “The Heartbreaker.” The scent that gave me hives. The scent that made it hard for me to breathe. “Sera said this is the top-seller right now,” Ethan said with a proud smile. “I thought since you’re always stressed with your painting, a nice scent might help you relax.” I looked at the bottle. It was so absurd it was almost funny. “Ethan.” “Yeah?” “Do you actually not remember that I’m allergic to this?” The smile died on his face. He blinked, racking his brain. “Allergic? Since when?” “Since last Christmas,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Serafina sprayed it in our living room. I broke out in a rash and spent three days on a prednisone taper. I had to go to the urgent care.” He froze. It took several seconds for him to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… I must have forgotten. Things have been so crazy at the office. My head is spinning.” He took the bottle and tossed it into the trash can by the door. “My bad. I’ll get you something else tomorrow. Whatever brand you usually use.” “Don’t bother.” I set the empty velvet box on the table. “Give it to Serafina. I’m sure she’d love a backup bottle.” “Here we go again,” he groaned, his brief moment of guilt vanishing. “I apologized. What else do you want? It’s a bottle of perfume. Do you have to make it a federal case?” “Is it just the perfume, Ethan?” I looked at him. “Today was my show. My work. You left me standing there alone because Serafina tripped in a mall.” “It was an emergency!” he yelled. “She’s alone in this city. Who else is she supposed to call?” “What about me?” I stepped back, creating distance. “I’m your wife. Who am I supposed to call?” Ethan went silent. He gave me that look—the one that said I was being hysterical. “Summer, you’ve become so bitter. You weren’t like this before. You used to be understanding. You used to be supportive.” Understanding. Supportive. For five years, I had worn those words like a shroud. When he stayed out late for “client dinners,” I was understanding. When he spent his weekends playing video games with Serafina, I was supportive. “You’re right,” I said with a hollow laugh. “I was very ‘understanding.’ I think I’m done with that now.” I turned toward the guest room. “Wait,” he called out. “The movers went to the gallery to pick up The Glass House for the living room. They said you sold it.” “I did.” “That was supposed to be for our home!” his voice dropped an octave. “There’s no room for it,” I said, pointing toward the walk-in closet. “Serafina’s things are taking up all the space.” Before he could respond, I walked into the room and locked the door. 3 For the next three days, Ethan and I existed in a state of cold war. He left early and came home late; we barely occupied the same room. On the fourth afternoon, I got a call from Mrs. Gable, the neighbor back in my hometown in Vermont. “Summer, honey, you need to come home. That old house your grandmother left you… the roof gave way during the storm. It’s flooding inside. Everything’s getting soaked.” My grandmother had been gone for three years. That house was my only sanctuary, filled with her vintage tea sets and the old wooden trunks of letters I couldn’t bring myself to move. I booked the next flight out. Before boarding, I texted Ethan. “The house in Vermont is flooding. I’m going up to handle it. I’ll be back in two days.” The message sat on ‘Read’ for hours. It wasn’t until I landed and was in a rental car that he replied with a single word. “K.” Mrs. Gable met me at the door of the old Victorian. The air inside was thick with the smell of damp earth and mold. Rainwater was cascading down the wallpaper in the parlor. I didn’t care about the mud. I ran straight to the master bedroom upstairs. The wooden trunks were soft with rot. I tore them open, frantically searching. “Summer, what are you looking for?” Mrs. Gable asked, holding a flashlight for me. “My grandmother’s bracelet.” My hands moved through the freezing water. Nothing. The small velvet-lined box was gone. My grandmother had placed it in my hand on her deathbed. It was a vintage emerald piece, a family heirloom meant for my future daughter. I turned the trunk inside out. Nothing. “Summer, take a breath. Are you sure you didn’t move it?” I shook my head. No. I knew exactly where I’d left it: at the very bottom, wrapped in silk. Then, a memory flashed in my mind. Last Thanksgiving. Ethan had insisted on bringing Serafina to the house because she “had nowhere else to go for the holidays.” She’d said she wanted to explore the “quaint old house.” I’d been in the kitchen, and when I walked out, I saw her coming out of my grandmother’s room, tucking something into her bag. When I’d asked what she was doing, she’d giggled. “Just looking at the antiques! It’s so Grey Gardens in here!” My hands shook as I pulled out my phone. I went to Serafina’s Instagram. Her main profile was all “healed girl summer” aesthetic, but I knew she had a “finsta”—a private account for her real life. I found it. The top post was from three days ago. In the photo, her wrist was adorned with a vibrant emerald bracelet. It was unmistakable. There was a tiny, specific chip on the clasp—the one my grandmother told me happened during a gala in the 1950s. The caption: “A surprise from E. He said this green brings out my eyes. Obsessed. [Heart emoji]” I stared at the screen. My blood didn’t boil; it turned to ice. It was a cold, soul-deep clarity. I didn’t stay in Vermont. I paid a contractor to tarp the roof, and I took the red-eye back to the city. I walked into the penthouse at 11:00 PM. The lights were blazing. Ethan and Tyler were on the sofa playing Call of Duty. Serafina was curled up on the rug with a bag of chips, watching them. They all looked up at once. “Oh, Summer’s back,” Tyler said casually, his eyes returning to the TV. Ethan paused the game. “I thought you were staying for two days. Why are you back so early?” I was still in my mud-stained coat. My hair was a mess, my face pale. I looked like a ghost at their little party. I ignored Ethan and walked straight to Serafina. “Give me your arm,” I said. My voice was low, but it held a serrated edge. Serafina blinked, shrinking back. “Summer? What’s wrong?” “Give. Me. Your. Arm.” Ethan frowned and stood up, stepping between us. “Summer, what the hell is wrong with you? You walk in and immediately start bullying her?” I looked past Ethan, staring at Serafina’s wrist. It was bare. “Where is the bracelet?” I asked. Serafina’s face went white. She bit her lip, her eyes darting around. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I pulled up the screenshot on my phone and shoved it in her face. “What is this?” Serafina looked at the screen and choked back a sob. Ethan glanced at the photo. His expression shifted to something uncomfortable. “I… I told her she could have it,” Ethan muttered. I whipped my head around to look at him. “You told her she could have it?” “She had a gala for her firm last week and needed a statement piece,” Ethan said, avoiding my gaze. “I remembered that old piece in the Vermont house. You never wear it; it was just sitting in a box gathering dust. I thought it was a waste.” Gathering dust. “That was my grandmother’s heirloom,” I said, my voice trembling. “It wasn’t yours to give. You didn’t even ask.” “I was just borrowing it!” Serafina piped up from behind him, her voice trembling with manufactured innocence. “Summer, don’t be so mean. I was going to give it back.” “Then give it to me now,” I said, holding out my hand. Serafina took a huge step back. Tears began to stream down her face. “I… I can’t. I lost it.” The room went silent. Tyler dropped his controller. “You lost it?” I felt the world tilt. “At the gala… it was so crowded… the clasp must have broken. I didn’t notice until I got home.” She was sobbing now, clutching Ethan’s arm. “Ethan, I’m so sorry! I was so scared to tell you, I just… I threw the box away because I couldn’t look at it…” She threw the box away. She’d lost the last piece of my grandmother and treated it like trash. The familiar pain in my stomach returned, sharper than ever. I felt lightheaded, but I forced myself to stand tall. “Serafina.” I looked at her tear-streaked face. Without warning, I lunged forward and slapped her. The sound of the slap echoed through the open-plan living room. Serafina’s head snapped to the side. A red handprint bloomed on her pale cheek. She touched her face, eyes wide with shock, before erupting into a hysterical wail. “Summer!” Ethan roared. He shoved me back. Hard. I wasn’t prepared for it. I stumbled and hit the sharp corner of the marble coffee table. A jagged pain flared in my side. “Have you lost your mind?” Ethan stood over Serafina, shielding her. “I told you, I gave it to her! It was an accident! I’ll buy you a better one! How much was it? Fifty grand? A hundred? I’ll write a check and you can buy whatever the hell you want tomorrow!” “You’ll buy a better one?” I hauled myself up, clutching the table for support. I looked at the man I had loved for five years. “With what money, Ethan? With what memories?” “It was just a vintage bracelet!” he yelled, his eyes full of contempt. “Is it worth hitting her? She’s never had anyone raise a hand to her in her life, and you think you can just walk in here and assault her?” Tyler stood up, playing the mediator. “Summer, look, Sera screwed up, but hitting her is a bit much. Ethan said he’d pay for it. Let’s just calm down.” Calm down. I looked at the three of them. Serafina crying, Ethan raging, Tyler watching the drama. I realized then that I was a stranger in my own home. I didn’t say another word. I turned and walked into the guest room. I pulled my suitcase from the closet. I didn’t pack everything—just the essentials. My clothes, my portfolio, my private documents. In the living room, I could hear Ethan’s low, soothing voice. “It’s okay, Sera. Don’t cry. Let me get some ice for your face.” I zipped my bag. I opened my laptop and clicked ‘send’ on the draft I’d been working on with a lawyer for three days: a digital petition for divorce. Then, I logged into the state court portal and filed the initial suit. 4 Draft the complaint. Upload the evidence. Click submit. The whole process took less than ten minutes. The screen flashed: Your petition for dissolution of marriage has been submitted. Awaiting clerk review. I let out a breath I’d been holding for years. The weight on my chest didn’t vanish, but it shifted. It was manageable. When I stepped back into the living room, it was quiet. Tyler was gone. Serafina was gone. Ethan sat alone on the sofa, a glass of scotch in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The ashtray was already full. Hearing the wheels of my suitcase on the hardwood, he didn’t look up. “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was flat, bored. “It’s midnight. Are you really going to do the whole ‘running away’ routine?” “I’m not running,” I said, walking toward the front door. “I’m moving out.” Ethan stood up abruptly, blocking my path. “Summer, enough. I’m tired. I told you I’ll replace the bracelet. Do you really have to burn the house down because you’re upset?” “You can’t replace it,” I said, meeting his eyes. “It was from the only person who ever loved me without conditions. You wouldn’t understand that.” “I don’t love you?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve provided everything for you for five years. I work eighty hours a week so you can play artist. All you do is complain about Serafina. Do you have any idea how exhausting you are?” “You love me?” I didn’t even have the energy to laugh. “Ethan, look at yourself. You missed my opening for her. You didn’t even know I was allergic to her perfume. You let her colonize my closet. And you gave her my family’s heritage like it was a party favor.” “Summer!” he barked. “Sera is like a sister! Why are you so obsessed with her? Can you not be so incredibly small-minded?” “Fine,” I nodded. “If I’m small-minded, then you shouldn’t want to be married to me anyway.” I let go of the suitcase handle and pulled my house key from my ring. I set it on the marble console by the door. “What is this?” Ethan stared at the key. “Exactly what it looks like. Move.” He didn’t move. He stared at me with a mixture of fury and disbelief. But then, his phone rang. It was a specific ringtone. Serafina. Ethan looked at me, then at the phone. He answered it. “Hey, Sera… what? The pipes are leaking again? The landlord isn’t answering? Okay… okay, stay calm. I’m coming.” He hung up and grabbed his jacket. He looked at me, his expression softening just a fraction. “Summer, don’t do this. I have to go deal with this emergency. When I get back, we’ll talk. I’ll clear my schedule next weekend. We’ll go to the Hamptons. Just us. Okay?” The old Summer would have stayed for that promise. “Just us.” The carrot he always dangled. I just looked at him. “Go. She’s waiting.” Ethan took that as a win. He reached out to pat my hair, but I flinched away. He looked annoyed for a second, then shrugged. “Go to bed. We’ll fix this tomorrow.” He ran out the door. I waited thirty seconds, then grabbed my suitcase and walked out of the life I’d built with him. At 2:00 AM, I was sitting in a 24-hour diner, eating a cold sandwich. My stomach felt better. My head felt clear. I called a Realtor I’d worked with before. “Mark, it’s Summer Miller. I need a loft. Somewhere quiet, somewhere with good light. I need to move in tomorrow.” Three days later. Friday afternoon. Ethan’s firm. Ethan was in the middle of a quarterly board meeting. He was distracted. He’d gone home every night this week, and the apartment was a tomb. Summer wasn’t answering texts. Her phone went straight to voicemail. He figured she was staying with Becca, waiting for him to crawl back and apologize. “Mr. Miller, regarding the Q4 projections…” The door opened. The receptionist looked pale. “Mr. Miller… there are two people here from the court.” The room went silent. Ethan stood up. “The court? Is there a contract dispute?” He walked out into the lobby. Two process servers were waiting. “Are you Ethan Miller?” “I am.” The man handed him a thick envelope. “You’ve been served. Summer Miller has filed for a contested divorce. You have twenty days to respond.” Ethan stood frozen. He didn’t take the envelope. He just stared at the words Summons and Complaint for Dissolution of Marriage. “What did you just say?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “539828”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The first night I moved into The Summit Apartments, things got weird. When the property manager handed over the keys, he emphasized one thing. “You’re in 1204. It’s quiet, just the way you wanted. Just… make sure you don’t get the floor wrong.” I was too riding the high of finally finding an affordable place in the city to care about a weirdly specific warning. I barely nodded, my mind already on where to put my desk. It was 10:00 PM by the time I dragged my last suitcase toward the elevator. I pressed the button for 12. The elevator hummed to life, the red numbers on the display ticking upward in the silence of the lobby. Ding. The elevator leveled out at the 12th floor. I gripped the handle of my suitcase, waiting for the doors to slide back. A few seconds passed. Nothing happened. The brushed metal doors remained shut. I frowned and reached out to press the ‘Door Open’ button. The moment my fingertip brushed the plastic, the elevator bucked. A sickening sensation of weightlessness surged through my stomach. It was still going up. My scalp went numb. I stared at the display. The red ’12’ flickered once, twice, and then settled into a number that shouldn’t have existed. That was impossible. The Summit only had twelve floors. The doors groaned and slid open. Before me lay a corridor shrouded in a sickly, dim light. The layout was an exact mirror of the 12th floor, but the air was different—heavy, stagnant, smelling of wet rot and old mildew. There was no sound of life, no hum of air conditioning. Just a terrifying, hollow silence. I froze, my feet glued to the elevator floor. My eyes darted across the room numbers on the wall. 1301, 1302, 1303… My heart skipped a violent beat when I reached the end of the hall. There, sitting right in front of the door to 1304, was a blush-colored hardshell suitcase. It was my suitcase. The one the landlord had helped me carry into my bedroom on the 12th floor only three hours ago. Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through me. I hammered the ‘Close Door’ button. “Close! Come on, close!” The doors finally hissed shut, and the elevator plunged back down. I hit the button for the lobby and sprinted out the moment I reached the ground floor, nearly colliding with the night security guard on his rounds. “Floor 13,” I gasped, clutching his sleeve. “Does this building have a 13th floor? The elevator just took me there. It looks exactly like 12, but… it’s wrong.” The guard looked at me like I was having a psychotic break. He led me into the security office and pulled up the logs. On the monitor, the footage showed the elevator stopping at 12. It showed me—normal, calm—walking out with my suitcase. There was no 13th floor on the screen. There was no glitch. I stood there, trembling, trying to process the gap between what I’d seen and what the camera showed. Maybe it was the stress? I’d been pulling eighty-hour weeks, and the move had been grueling. Hallucinations from exhaustion weren’t unheard of. I had a housewarming dinner scheduled with my new coworkers at the bistro downstairs. I went to the restroom, splashed cold water on my face, and tried to convince myself I was just tired. The dinner was loud and cheerful. A few glasses of wine later, the warmth of the alcohol began to dissolve the edges of my fear. By midnight, when the party broke up, I felt almost silly for panicking. I walked back into the lobby, slightly buzzed, and pressed the button for 12. The elevator rose smoothly. But the moment it hit the 12th floor, that familiar, sickening lurch returned. I was instantly sober. I watched, paralyzed, as the red ’12’ flickered and died, replaced by a haunting ’13.’ The doors opened. The same pale corridor. The same stench of mold. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead buzzed with a rhythmic, electric hiss. I held my breath, my eyes crawling toward the door at the end. Next to my blush-colored suitcase, there was now a pair of shoes. My fluffy white indoor slides. The ones I had literally just stepped out of before heading down to dinner. I swallowed hard. This wasn’t a hallucination. In a daze of terror, I mashed the ‘Close Door’ button, but the elevator didn’t budge. It remained wide open, inviting the hallway in. Then, from behind the door of 1304, came a heavy, metallic creak. The door was opening. Thump. Thump. Thump. Something was walking toward me from the darkness of that room. 2 Close, damn it, close! Tears blurred my vision as I scrambled back into the corner of the elevator. As the footsteps grew closer, the lights in the hallway began to die, one by one, popping into darkness in a perfect line toward the elevator. Just as the last bulb flickered out, a gust of warm, humid air hit my face—like someone was standing right in front of me, exhaling a long, wet breath. The doors slammed shut. I found myself back in the lobby. My heart was thundering against my ribs so hard it hurt. I couldn’t go back up. I spent the rest of the night huddled on the lobby sofa, flinching at every shadow until the sun began to bleed through the glass doors. By morning, the building was bustling with residents heading to work. I felt a surge of desperate courage. I caught a woman who lived on my floor and begged her to go up with me. I was rambling, describing the 13th floor and the footsteps, my voice shaking. She pulled her coat tight and gave me a look of pure pity mixed with annoyance. “Are you on something? This building doesn’t have a 13th floor. There’s a roof garden above us, that’s it. Maybe see a doctor, honey.” She walked away, leaving me slumped against the wall. Was I losing my mind? Was this “brief psychotic disorder”? Just as the darkness started to pull at me again, a man in a suit rushed toward the elevator, looking like he’d forgotten his briefcase. He hit the button. “Wait!” I scrambled to follow him. “What floor?” He gave me a weird look. “Twelve. Why?” “Me too,” I said, trying to sound normal. I stepped into the elevator with him. If the 13th floor only appeared when I was alone, maybe a witness would change things. “The building only goes to twelve, right?” I asked, my eyes fixed on the display. He took a half-step away from me. “Yeah. Obviously.” I stopped talking. I watched the numbers. 10… 11… 12. Ding. The doors opened to a bright, clean hallway. My hallway. 1204 was right there, exactly where it should be. I practically ran to my door, thanked the man, and locked myself inside. The familiar scent of my vanilla air freshener filled my lungs, and for a moment, I could breathe. I couldn’t afford to move. This place took sixty percent of my savings just for the security deposit and the first month’s rent. It was five minutes from my new job. I had to make this work. “It’s stress,” I whispered to the empty room. “Just stress.” I cracked a soda, sat on the sofa, and tried to browse my phone. But the lack of sleep caught up to me. I drifted off into a heavy, dreamless stupor. In my sleep, I felt a tugging sensation. Like someone was pulling at my sleeve. I rolled over, and a wave of that sharp, mildewed stench hit me. I bolted upright. Total darkness. The city lights that usually spilled through my window were gone. I pulled out my phone and flicked on the flashlight. The beam cut through the dark, revealing thick clouds of dust dancing in the air. I’d mopped the floors yesterday. Why was everything covered in a layer of grey grime? I fumbled for the light switch. The bulb flickered, casting a weak, dying glow. The layout was wrong. The furniture was mine, but the walls… they were peeling. I ran to the window and threw back the curtains. There was no city view. No streetlights. Just a solid, windowless brick wall. My stomach did a slow, agonizing flip. I grabbed my phone and ran for the front door. I burst out into the hallway, and the sight that met me made my blood turn to ice. I was back on the 13th floor. Thump. Thump. The footsteps started again. I sprinted for the elevator, sobbing as I hammered the call button. The footsteps were heavy, echoing off the empty walls, getting faster. The elevator was taking forever. It was coming up from the lobby. The sound stopped right behind me. I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t. I just stood there, shaking, as the elevator doors finally began to slide open. 3 The moment the gap was wide enough, I threw myself inside. I turned around as the doors closed, expecting a monster, but the hallway was empty. There was nothing there. I hit the button for ‘1’ and didn’t stop running until I was out in the lobby, collapsing onto the floor in a fit of hysterical sobbing. The night guard ran over. “Miss? Do you need an ambulance?” I shook my head, gasping for air. No. I needed the police. I didn’t care if they thought I was crazy. I couldn’t do this alone. Ten minutes later, the blue and red lights of a patrol car flickered against the lobby windows. I ran to the officers before they could even get out of the car. “Slow down, ma’am,” the older officer said, handing me a bottle of water. “Start from the beginning.” I sat in the back of the cruiser and told them everything—the elevator, the 13th floor, the room that changed while I slept. The officers exchanged a look. “Look, it sounds like an elevator malfunction or maybe a prank,” the younger one said gently. “The wiring in these old buildings can get crossed. Let’s go up and take a look. We’ll be right there with you.” Having two armed, six-foot-tall men beside me was the only thing that kept me from passing out. We stepped into the elevator. We pressed 12. 10… 11… 12. Ding. The doors opened to my normal hallway. We went into my apartment. They checked under the bed, in the closets, even the balcony. Everything was perfect. My vanilla scent was still there. No brick walls. No dust. “You’re just exhausted, kid,” the older cop said, giving me a sympathetic smile. “Moving is one of the top five stressors in life. Get some sleep. Have a friend stay over.” They left, and the silence they left behind was deafening. I couldn’t be alone. I called my best friend, Jade. “Zoe, are you serious?” Jade laughed on the other end of the line. “A phantom 13th floor? You’ve been watching too many horror movies. If the place was haunted, how did the last tenant live there?” “Jade, I’m not making this up! It only happens when I’m alone. Please, just come over.” Jade heard the crack in my voice and softened. “Okay, okay. I’ll be there in an hour.” Jade’s impending arrival was my anchor. But I couldn’t just sit there. I remembered the landlord mentioned the previous tenant’s name was Sarah. I managed to find her number on an old piece of mail tucked into the back of a kitchen drawer. I dialed. On the fourth ring, a woman picked up. “Hello? Sarah? My name is Zoe. I’m the new tenant in 1204 at The Summit.” There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. Sarah’s voice came through, trembling and thin. “Did it take you to the 13th floor too?” 4 “Whenever I was alone in that elevator, it would take me to a place that shouldn’t exist,” Sarah whispered, her voice echoing the same terror I felt. “The air smelled like rot. My things—my shoes, my clothes—would just show up at the door of 1304. And my actual apartment… it was like it was being drained. Getting emptier and filthier every day.” I gripped the phone so hard my hand cramped. “What about the police? The landlord?” “They thought I was schizophrenic,” Sarah said with a bitter sob. “The security footage always showed me walking onto the 12th floor. I brought my boyfriend to stay with me, and for a week, it was fine. I thought I was cured. But then…” She choked back a cry. “The trick stopped working. One night, we were in the elevator together, and it happened. We both saw the 13th floor. We both heard the footsteps. My boyfriend was so terrified he refused to step foot in the building again. I lost my deposit, my rent, everything. I just ran.” “Sarah,” I whispered, “what’s in 1304? What’s the thing making the noise?” Sarah’s breath hitched. “My boyfriend… when we were running back to the elevator that last night, he looked back. He said there was a man. A tall man.” “And?” “He didn’t have a face, Zoe. No eyes, no nose, no mouth. Just smooth, pale skin stretched over a skull.” I hung up, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm. I was grateful I hadn’t looked back. Just then, the buzzer rang. It was Jade. She burst through the door and pulled me into a hug. “I’m not letting you go through this alone, Zoe. We’re getting your stuff and moving you out of here.” “But I can’t afford it, Jade. I’ll be broke.” “Better broke than dead or crazy,” she said firmly. Jade started helping me pack, but she wasn’t just tossing things in boxes. She was observant, her eyes scanning every inch of the apartment. “Zoe, have you tried recording it?” she asked suddenly. “I was too busy trying not to die!” “I have a theory,” Jade said, her voice dropping into that tone she used when she was solving a puzzle. “Stay here for a few days. I’ll stay with you. Let’s go to the 13th floor together tonight. I want to see this ‘No-Face’ for myself.” We waited until 2:00 AM. We walked to the elevator together. I felt the familiar weight of dread, but Jade’s hand on my arm was steady. Ding. The display hit 13. The doors opened. The rot, the flickering lights, the silence. And then, the heavy, metallic thud of a footstep. Thump. Thump. Thump. And this time, there was a new sound. The slow, rhythmic scraping of metal on concrete. A dark figure emerged from the shadows at the end of the hall. He was tall, dressed in tattered dark clothes, and Sarah’s boyfriend hadn’t lied. His face was a blank, featureless mask of skin. He was dragging a heavy iron chain. Jade let out a sharp, piercing scream and mashed the ‘Close’ button. We plunged back to the lobby. I thought Jade was going to collapse, but when I looked at her, she was grinning. A strange, sharp little smile. “Zoe,” she whispered, “look at the video I just took. Look very closely.” I frowned, staring at the screen. The shadow was terrifying, but as I watched the playback, Jade pointed to a single frame. “I know exactly what the problem is,” she said.

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1 Before I was summoned into the lion’s den—otherwise known as the new CEO’s office—I sent a quick text to the guy I’d been seeing online for the last three months. Sutton: Ash, pray for me. I’m heading into the Reaper’s office. If I don’t make it out, tell my cat I love her. I took a sharp breath, clutched my folder to my chest, and knocked. “Come in,” a voice called out. It was a clipped, cool baritone that sounded like it had been pulled straight from a deep-freeze. I pushed the door open. Ethan Blackwood was sitting behind a slab of polished mahogany, looking every bit the man who had earned his nickname. In the four weeks since he’d taken over, he’d sent three departments into mandatory overtime and reduced two senior managers to visible tremors. To the rest of the office, he was “The Reaper.” To me, he was the man who had rejected my marketing proposal four times in seven days. Every night, I’d go home to my apartment, pour a glass of wine, and vent to Ash. Ash: You’re the best at what you do, Sutton. He’s just blind. I’ll talk some sense into him for you (in spirit). Thinking of Ash’s digital warmth gave me the courage to stand my ground. Ethan didn’t even look up as he flipped to the final page of my latest draft. His brow furrowed, a sharp V appearing between his eyes. “Sutton, do you operate under the delusion that our clients have infinite budgets to waste on ‘vibes’?” I bit my lip, trying to keep my voice level. “Mr. Blackwood, I’ve run the cost-benefit analysis. The engagement metrics—” He slid the file back across the desk with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Numbers aren’t just decorations. Do it again. I want a viable version on my desk by three.” Just then, his phone chimed on the desk. He glanced down, and for a split second, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The icy mask didn’t just crack; it melted. A ghost of a smile touched his lips—a look so soft it felt like I was trespassing on something private. His fingers tapped out a quick response. A second later, the phone in my pocket buzzed against my thigh. My heart did a slow, agonizing roll in my chest. No way. I pulled my phone out with mechanical slowness. Ash had replied. Ash: Don’t be scared. Ash: Just pretend he’s a giant head of cabbage. A very expensive, very grumpy cabbage. Ash: If he’s mean to you, I’m putting him on my list. I stared at those three lines, my palms beginning to sweat. The silence in the office was deafening. “Sutton,” Ethan’s voice snapped me back to reality. I jumped. “Yes?” He was looking at my hand, his expression back to its usual state of glacial indifference. “Is there a reason your phone isn’t on silent during a briefing?” My throat felt like it was full of cotton. “Sorry. My mistake.” He closed his laptop. “Go. Fix the proposal. Three o’clock.” I grabbed the folder and practically floated out of the office. The moment the door clicked shut, I leaned against the hallway wall, trying to remember how to breathe. My phone buzzed again. Ash: You out yet? Did the bastard give you a hard time? I stared at the words “the bastard,” then thought of the way Ethan’s face had transformed when he looked at his screen. The world felt suddenly, violently absurd. The man I was falling for—the sweet, supportive guy who sent me “good morning” texts—was the same man who made my professional life a living hell. At lunch, I couldn’t even manage to swallow my soup. My best friend, Riley, tapped her spoon against my tray. “Earth to Sutton. What did the Reaper do now? Did he make you cry? Because I have a cousin who’s a lawyer, and we can definitely look into a hostile work environment suit.” I shook my head, then nodded, then stopped. “What is that supposed to mean?” Riley asked, frowning. “I think I’ve discovered something terrifying,” I whispered. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. Not yet. If I was wrong, I was crazy. If I was right… I was in a Greek tragedy. I needed proof. Before lunch ended, I messaged Ash. Sutton: Ash, let’s meet. Today. He replied almost instantly. Ash: Really? You’re not teasing me again, are you? I checked the time. Sutton: 3:00 PM. North End Books, the coffee nook on the third floor. The bookstore was across the city. On a Friday afternoon, it was at least a forty-minute drive through Seattle traffic. Ash was silent for ten seconds. Then: Ash: I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. My heart hammered against my ribs. At 1:40 PM, a notification popped up on the company Slack. Internal Admin: The 3:00 PM project review has been postponed. New time TBD. The office erupted into hushed gossip. “Ethan canceling a meeting?” Riley whispered, leaning over her cubicle. “Is the world ending? He hates last-minute changes.” I didn’t say a word. I just watched the executive suite. At 1:55 PM, the glass doors swung open. Ethan stepped out, his charcoal blazer over his arm, moving with a hurried grace I’d never seen before. His assistant trailed after him, frantic. “Sir, you have a 4:00 PM Zoom with the London office.” “Cancel it,” Ethan said without looking back. I stood by the breakroom door, watching the elevator doors seal him away. “Unbelievable,” Riley muttered. “The Reaper actually has somewhere to be.” “Emergency, probably,” I lied, my voice thin. At 2:20 PM, I sent the bait. Sutton: I’m so sorry. I can’t make it. He replied before I could even lock my screen. Ash: What happened? Is everything okay? I closed my eyes, leaning into the role. Sutton: The Reaper. He’s making me stay late to finish the proposal. He said it has to be done today or else. I’m stuck here. The silence from his end lasted longer this time. Then, a string of messages lit up my phone. Ash: Is he serious? Ash: What kind of sociopath does that on a Friday? Ash: Karma is going to find that man, Sutton. I promise you. I stared at the screen, my emotions a tangled mess of hysteria and heartbreak. The elevator pinged at 2:50 PM. Ethan was back. He looked darker than when he’d left. His tie was loosened, his hair slightly mussed as if he’d been running his hands through it, and he was gripping his car keys so hard his knuckles were white. The entire office went silent. As he walked past my desk, he paused. I kept my head down, typing gibberish into my spreadsheet. He lingered for two beats—I could feel the heat radiating off him—and then he went into his office. He didn’t slam the door, but the way it clicked shut felt like a muffled explosion. My phone vibrated. Ash: I’m back home. I’m so angry for you I can’t even sit still. Ash: Your boss isn’t a human being. He’s a machine designed to ruin joy. I looked at the screen, then at the frosted glass of his office door. Fine, I thought. Game on. The 3:00 PM meeting was rescheduled for 4:30 PM. Ethan sat at the head of the conference table, his face a mask of stone as I went through the deck. When I reached the third slide, he interrupted. “Why is this structure still the same? We discussed this.” I took a breath. “I felt the logic held up, Mr. Blackwood.” He looked up, his eyes piercing. “You ‘felt’?” The air in the room curdled. My manager looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. “I’ll make the adjustments,” I said, biting back the urge to scream. He flipped through the rest of the pages. “The budget needs a total rework. The branding is too loud. The core message is buried.” Every critique was a needle. In any other world, I would have been cursing him in my head. But today, I just watched his cold, handsome face and thought of his text: *Your boss isn’t a human being.* I felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in my throat. I couldn’t help it; a small smile quirked at the corner of my mouth. Ethan noticed. His brow darkened. “Is something about this budget funny to you, Sutton?” I looked down. “No, sir. Not at all.” “I want the revised direction on my desk before you leave tonight,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. After the meeting, I went back to my desk and sent Ash a message. Sutton: Ash, I just noticed something. My boss is wearing this charcoal suit today… he actually looks really good in it. The reply was instantaneous. Ash: Good? It’s a suit, Sutton. They all look the same. Ash: Don’t let a tailored jacket distract you from the fact that he’s a corporate vampire. I suppressed a grin. Sutton: I don’t know. He’s got great shoulders. And his eyes are actually pretty when he’s not trying to fire everyone. Ash went nuclear. Ash: Pretty? Sutton, wake up. Ash: A guy like that? He’s clearly miserable. He’s probably the kind of guy who’s terrible in a relationship. No empathy. Avoid him. I looked through the glass. Ethan was sitting at his desk, staring at his phone, his face looking like he was presiding over a funeral. I felt a strange, twisted sense of power. At 7:00 PM, I emailed him the revisions. Ten minutes later, he replied. Ethan Blackwood: Still issues. I’ll send you a marked-up version tomorrow morning. I sighed. At the same time, Ash messaged me. Ash: Still at work? Sutton: Yeah. The bastard is making me rewrite the whole thing. He was quiet for a long time. Ash: I’m sorry, Sutton. You deserve better. Get home safe. Text me when you’re through the door. That didn’t sound like Ash, the trash-talker. That sounded like Ethan. The next morning, the marked-up file was in my inbox. I opened it, ready to be annoyed, but as I scrolled, the annoyance died. He hadn’t just pointed out flaws. He’d left detailed notes. Why the costs needed to stay low, what the client was actually afraid of, how to lead with the narrative rather than the data. He’d even restructured two of the slides for me, and they were brilliant—far better than my original. I stared at the screen. Riley leaned over. “Is he tearing you a new one again?” “No,” I said softly. “He actually… he fixed it.” “He what? Is he sick?” I didn’t answer. At 10:00 AM, I took the final version into his office. Ethan was leaning back in his chair, a half-empty cup of cold coffee next to him. He looked like he hadn’t slept. There were faint shadows under his eyes, and his tie was looser than usual. I set the file down. “The final version, Mr. Blackwood.” He flipped through a few pages. He didn’t find a single mistake. I turned to leave, but he spoke. “Sutton.” I stopped. “Yes?” He toyed with the edge of the folder, appearing to choose his words carefully. “If a woman… if she keeps avoiding a first meeting, does that usually mean she’s losing interest?” My heart stopped. The office went silent. Who was he asking about? Me? Had I been made? Ethan looked at me when I didn’t answer. “Too personal of a question?” “No,” I said, my voice sounding far away. “Not necessarily. Maybe she’s just… nervous. Or maybe she’s afraid that the reality won’t live up to the fantasy.” Ethan looked down. “I see.” He looked like he wanted to ask more, but then the mask snapped back into place. “That’s all. Go.” From that day on, I became an observer of the dual life of Ethan Blackwood. By day, he was the Reaper. He’d catch a typo from across the room. He’d ask a junior analyst a question about a data set, and when they stammered, he’d say, “Are you here to contribute, or are you just taking up space?” The room would drop ten degrees. By night, he was Ash. Ash: Did you eat today, Sutton? Ash: Is your boss still being a prick? Ash: If it gets too much, just quit. I’ll help you find something else. Don’t let him break you. It was a total disconnect. Especially when he was systematically insulting himself. Ash: He sounds like a classic workaholic. Probably doesn’t have a girlfriend. If he did, she’d leave him in a week. I’d stare through the glass at Ethan—calm, controlled, solitary—and reply with a single word. Sutton: Yeah. But the more I knew, the more I was afraid to meet him. If he found out I was Sutton, the girl who called him a “dog-brained tyrant” in our chats, I was dead. Ash was getting restless, though. Ash: Sutton, when? Ash: I promise, no pressure. You can even stand fifty feet away and just look at me first if you want. I kept stalling. Sutton: Busy with the project. After the launch. He sent a sticker of a sad puppy. My heart melted. Then, a few days later, a woman showed up at the executive suite. “Ethan!” she chirped. I froze. Half the office looked up. She was young, beautiful, wearing a designer sundress, and carrying a boutique gift bag. Ethan stepped out of his office. He didn’t just smile; he looked genuinely happy to see her. “You didn’t have to come all the way down here,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “Mom insisted I bring you lunch,” she said, leaning in close. “And you know I can’t say no to her.” I sat at my desk, my chest tightening. Riley whispered, “Who’s that? The girlfriend?” I didn’t answer. I felt like I was choking. My phone buzzed. Ash: Did you get a lunch break, Sutton? I looked at the message, then at the girl laughing with Ethan at his door. I felt like the punchline of a very long, very cruel joke. I didn’t reply. Thirty minutes later: Ash: Hey? You okay? I stared at his avatar for a long moment. Then, with a shaking thumb, I hit Block. Silence. Finally. The afternoon meeting was a disaster, but not for the usual reasons. It was the final presentation for our biggest client. The room was packed. Ethan was at the head of the table. He was a professional, as always. But right before we started, I saw that girl again. She was coming out of his office, holding his blazer. She looked like she belonged there. Something in me just… snapped. Halfway through my presentation, Ethan opened his mouth. “Sutton, on this slide—” “You know what, Mr. Blackwood?” I cut him off, closing my laptop with a definitive thud. “If you’re unhappy with my work, just say it. You don’t have to undermine me in every single meeting. I clearly don’t meet your ‘exacting’ standards, so maybe I shouldn’t be on this project at all.” The silence was absolute. My manager turned ghost-white. Ethan looked stunned. “Sutton, I—” “I’m done,” I said. I grabbed my laptop and walked out. I went straight to my desk, my hands shaking. Ten minutes later, Riley came running over. “Sutton! What was that? Ethan wasn’t going to criticize you. He told the director this morning that your proposal was the gold standard. He was going to use you as the example for the whole firm!” I froze. The blood drained from my face. “What?” “He was going to give you a public commendation,” Riley whispered. “And now… oh god, Sutton, you really did it this time.” I sat in my chair, unable to speak. Before the day ended, I pulled up the HR portal and typed out my resignation. Personal reasons. Effective immediately. Ten minutes after I hit submit, HR called. “Sutton, are you sure about this? The CEO’s office already flagged it.” “I’m sure,” I said. “It’s already been processed,” she said, her voice sounding awkward. “Given the… incident in the meeting, they didn’t push back.” I hung up and started packing my things. The office was quiet. Riley walked me to the elevator, her eyes watery. “This is so stupid, Sutton.” “It’s fine,” I said, though it wasn’t. The elevator doors opened on the ground floor. I stepped out, clutching my box of belongings, only to walk straight into a wall of charcoal wool. Ethan was standing there, his face like a thundercloud. “Where do you think you’re going?” “I resigned, Mr. Blackwood.” “I didn’t accept it.” “HR said it went through.” “HR doesn’t have the final word on my lead strategists,” he snapped. He stepped into the elevator, forcing me back inside, and hit the ‘Close Door’ button. “Sutton, you can’t just walk out in the middle of a project. It’s unprofessional.” “You can sue me for breach of contract if you want,” I said, my voice trembling. He looked at me, his eyes searching mine. “I don’t want to sue you. I want to know why you’ve been acting like you hate me for forty-eight hours.” “Because you’re impossible!” I yelled. “And because I’m tired of the games!” Ethan’s brow furrowed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. My heart climbed into my throat. A second later, a ringtone echoed in the small space of the elevator. Not a text notification. A call. The caller ID on my phone, sitting right on top of my box, lit up. **ASH** The world stopped spinning. Ethan looked at my phone, then slowly, he looked at me. His jaw tightened. He didn’t say a word. He just hung up the phone.

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