Category: English

Cassidy and I had been “just friends” for twenty-six years. There was always a line, of course, but she was the kind of girl who never quite learned how to be alone—a spoiled princess who needed someone to tuck her in, figuratively and literally. Every time she started dating someone new, I did the only thing I could to keep my sanity: I cut ties. I disappeared until the honeymoon phase crashed and burned. Then came my twenty-seventh birthday. Maybe the pressure from her parents had finally reached a breaking point, but Cassidy showed up at my front door at dawn, looking breathless and beautiful in that effortless way that always wrecked me. “Mitch,” she said, her voice small. “Maybe we should just… settle for each other.” The sarcasm was already on the tip of my tongue, ready to bite. But she cut me off. “I’m serious.” It was the first time she had ever truly crossed the line. She reached out, her hand hovering between us, an invitation I’d been secretly dying for since we were teenagers. I looked at her, the silence stretching for heartbeats as I weighed the risk. “Cassidy,” I said, my voice low. “If we do this—if we become a ‘we’—there’s no going back. If we break up, I’m not going to be your best friend anymore. I’m gone for good.” She gave me that mischievous, dimpled smile. “We’re never going to break up. I couldn’t bear to lose you.” So, I took her hand. That “settling” lasted for three years. Or so I thought. We were at our engagement party, a lavish affair at a private estate in the Hamptons. I was looking for Cassidy when I heard voices drifting from the balcony. She was hidden away with her best friend, Barbara, sharing a quiet moment away from the champagne-sipping crowd. “Cassidy,” Barbara whispered, her tone hushed but urgent. “You were so scared your dad was going to cut off Parker’s funding that you begged Mitch to step in as a shield. But looking at him today… he looks like he actually believes this is real.” A pause. Then Barbara’s voice again, sharper: “Wait. You did tell him this was a performance, right?” 1. The mist from the ocean air seemed to blur the edges of the balcony, but Cassidy’s voice was crystal clear—cold and terrifyingly calm. “Things were moving too fast that day. I forgot.” I froze at the corner of the stone pillar. In my hand, I held a glass of water and the sinus medication I’d grabbed for her because she’d complained of a headache earlier. Barbara let out a sharp, jagged breath. “You bitch,” she hissed, though there was a note of dark admiration in it. She leaned closer. “So what’s the deal now? Are you actually marrying him, or is this all a long con?” “I saw Parker’s Instagram story yesterday,” Barbara continued. “You were at his place at midnight the night before your own engagement party, wearing nothing but a silk robe and making him late-night snacks.” Cassidy let out a light, airy laugh. “Parker is my boyfriend. Obviously.” “As for Mitch? He’s the ‘fiancé.’ Honestly, what’s the difference? Real marriage, fake marriage… it’s all just paperwork and optics. I’ve known for years that he’s hopelessly in love with me. Giving him a ‘perfect’ marriage and a title in my family’s world isn’t exactly a bad deal for him.” The glass in my hand felt scorching hot. I looked down, my vision tunneling. The white pill had begun to dissolve in the sweat of my palm, leaving a chalky, bitter smear. But the real burn was on my face—the humiliation of having my deepest, most private secret stripped bare and treated like a cheap bargaining chip. “You have no idea how easy he is to read,” Cassidy continued, her voice dripping with casual cruelty. “I’ve been in the game way too long. No one holds their ‘business partner’s’ hand with a racing pulse and eyes they’re too afraid to lock with mine unless they’re obsessed.” “He plays it so cool, acting like he doesn’t care, but he’s so incredibly patient. He indulges every whim I have.” She coughed twice, a small, delicate sound. “Two days before the party, I lied and told him I had an emergency business trip. He didn’t even blink. He just helped me pack my bags.” “Last night, Parker and I got a little… wild by the window. When I finally got home at 3 AM, my head was splitting and my old meds were expired. Mitch got out of bed, threw on a coat over his pajamas, and drove to a 24-hour pharmacy. He made me tea and tucked me in before he even thought about sleeping. He probably checked my forehead for a fever every thirty minutes after that.” She laughed again, a sound that made my stomach turn. “He doesn’t even realize how pathetic he is for me.” Barbara made a sound of pure disbelief. “Cass, the guy has worshipped the ground you walk on for decades. Are you telling me you don’t feel anything? Not even a spark?” I stood there in the shadows, feeling like the punchline of a joke I wasn’t in on. My eyes burned, but I couldn’t move. I had to hear her answer. Cassidy didn’t hesitate. Her tone was mocking. “Don’t ask stupid questions. Of course not.” “Mitch and I have known each other since we were in diapers. If something was going to happen, it would have happened twenty years ago. I like my men like Parker—wild, young, and a little bit dangerous. Mitch is a ‘cool guy,’ sure, but he’s stiff. He’s predictable. He’s the opposite of my type.” “Love is a lightning strike,” she added, her voice full of a sickening self-assurance. “I don’t believe in ‘growing’ to love someone. Even in thirty more years, the spark won’t be there.” She took a deep breath. “But Mitch is my ‘forever’ person. He’s family. Even if I don’t love him, I’ll take care of him. I want him and I want Parker. And I’m going to have both.” A sharp, stabbing pain flared in my chest, followed by a hollow, hysterical urge to laugh. What did she think I was? An object? A piece of furniture she could rearrange whenever she felt like it? How low must she think of me, to believe that marrying me was an act of charity? On the balcony, Barbara sighed and patted Cassidy’s shoulder. “Come on, the party’s starting. Tonight, Parker is supposed to be pretending to be my ‘cousin,’ right?” I turned and walked away before they could see me. I ducked into a downstairs bathroom and leaned over the sink, dry-heaving. The years of devotion felt like a stagnant swamp suddenly flooding my lungs, suffocating and foul. My phone buzzed in my pocket. The group chat was exploding. [Engagement party of the century! Where are the stars of the show?] [Barbara: Coming down now! Bringing my cousin with me tonight.] [Where’s Mitch? He’s gone radio silent.] I found an empty guest room, locked the door, and splashed cold water on my face. I straightened my tie and checked my reflection. Every time Cassidy had a boyfriend, I walked away. I wanted to see this “Parker.” I wanted to see what kind of man was worth this level of deception. As for Cassidy and me? She probably thought my warning three years ago—that if we broke up, I was gone—was a romantic flourish. A joke. But she was wrong. I don’t lack for friends. And I was done being the patron saint of a woman who looked at my heart and saw a safety net. 2. “Babe, what took you so long?” The moment I sat down at our VIP table, Cassidy was there, her voice dripping with honey. She leaned into me, her head resting on my shoulder, looking for all the world like a woman in love. “I haven’t taken my meds yet,” she pouted, blinking up at me. “My cough is getting worse.” She looked nothing like the cold-blooded strategist I’d heard on the balcony ten minutes ago. The friends at the table started hooting and cheering. “Get a room! We don’t need all this PDA!” “These two are nauseating,” Dex, one of our oldest friends, joked. “If they weren’t so perfect for each other, I’d have kicked them out of the group years ago. This is what ‘happily ever after’ looks like, guys. Childhood sweethearts, meant to be. Cassidy finally settled down for our boy Mitch. It almost makes me believe in love.” The sticky residue of the dissolved pill was still on my palm. I suppressed a wave of nausea and forced a thin, practiced smile. I leaned forward, reaching for a glass of sparkling wine, pointedly shifting my body so she had to sit up. “Where’s Barbara?” I asked. Cassidy froze for a split second, surprised by the subtle rejection, before recovering. “She went to grab her brother—I mean, cousin. Oh, there they are.” Barbara walked in, followed by a lean, pale boy in a crisp white shirt. They sat down across from us. “Barbara, you lucky girl,” someone teased. “Since when is your family this good-looking? You’ve gotta introduce him to the single ladies here.” Barbara looked uncomfortable, stealing a quick, nervous glance at Cassidy. “This is Parker. He’s… he’s a bit shy. Don’t overwhelm him.” In the middle of the raucous laughter, I looked at Parker. His eyes were wide, watery, and fixed entirely on Cassidy. Cassidy, who had been trying to drape herself over me just moments ago, quietly pulled back, creating a sliver of space between us on the sofa. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed in my temples. No matter how much I tried to numb myself, the sight of it—the raw, bleeding reality of her betrayal—ignited a cocktail of grief and fury in my gut. Parker didn’t know how to hide it. Or maybe, because he was the one she actually loved, he felt he had the right to be arrogant. His gaze lingered on Cassidy with a proprietary intensity. Dex noticed my expression. He didn’t know the truth, but he knew me. He turned to Parker with a sharp grin. “Hey, kid. Careful where you look. That one’s taken. They’re getting married.” Parker’s face turned bright red. He looked down, his voice trembling slightly. “Sorry. I… I have a girlfriend.” Cassidy’s face remained composed, but her voice had a sharp, defensive edge when she spoke. “Dex, just because you’re a player doesn’t mean every guy is looking for trouble.” Dex, never one to back down, bristled. I placed a hand on his arm, silencing him. I looked directly at Cassidy and smiled. “You’re acting like you’re some saint, Cass. Dex has never cheated on anyone in his life. Can you say the same?” The table went silent. Cassidy stared at me, her eyes darting as she tried to gauge if I knew something. She forced a laugh. “Of course I can, babe. Why are you being so moody?” She picked up a shot of tequila and slammed it back. “My bad. I shouldn’t have snapped at Dex. Let’s just move on.” Through the chatter, I saw Parker looking at Cassidy with eyes full of pained devotion. As if I were the villain in their tragic romance. As if I were the one standing in the way of true love. “Alright, let’s play a game!” Barbara shouted, trying to break the tension. “Photo Roulette. Pick a date, everyone pulls up their camera roll.” “I’ll pick,” she said, her fingers flying over her phone. “May 17th, last year!” Everyone grabbed their phones. The rule was simple: whatever you were doing that day, you had to share it on the big screen in the suite. The bottle spun and landed on me first. My phone mirrored to the screen. Waves. A private beach. A candlelit dinner for two. And a screenshot of a delivery confirmation from a pharmacy. “Oh man, I remember that! That was Cassidy’s birthday trip to the Cape!” Dex laughed, nudging me. “I asked you back then if twenty-eight years of waiting made the ‘festivities’ more explosive.” I gave Dex a tight smile. Looking at those “beautiful” memories now felt like swallowing broken glass. “Wait,” someone said, pointing at the screen. “You guys ordered delivery at 2 AM? What was it? Late-night snacks or… protection?” The table erupted in laughter. Cassidy, usually the life of the party, didn’t join in. She was staring at Parker, whose face had gone ghostly pale. “No,” Cassidy said quickly. “Just some cold medicine. Don’t be gross.” A surge of pure, unadulterated malice rose in my chest. “You know exactly what I bought that night, Cassidy,” I said, my voice smooth and terrifyingly gentle. I was tearing open my own wounds just to watch them bleed. “You were all over me. I couldn’t figure out why you were so frantic, so… desperate.” I leaned in, my voice carrying across the silent room. “You acted like you’d never been in a bed with a man before. Your technique was so clumsy. Was it because the guys you actually ‘liked’ never let you get that close?” Amidst the shocked gasps and awkward chuckles of our friends, I watched Parker bow his head, wiping a stray tear from his eye. I saw the flash of fury in Cassidy’s eyes, masked by a strained, suffocating silence. I was smiling, but my heart was breaking. “Next!” Barbara shouted, her voice shaking. She spun the bottle again. It landed on Parker. He gave a fragile, broken little smile. “My photos aren’t very interesting.” Dex narrowed his eyes, looking between me, Cassidy, and the kid. “Hey, kid. If you can’t play the game, don’t sit at the table.” Cassidy opened her mouth to defend him, but I beat her to it. I grabbed her hand, pulling her close, leaning in until our lips were inches apart. From the outside, it looked like a passionate whisper. “Babe, I’m starving. Go order some sliders for the table?” Cassidy hesitated, her eyes flickering to Parker, then back to me. She stood up and walked over to the server with the iPad. “I can play,” Parker snapped. I knew he’d seen us. I could hear the grit in his voice. He looked at me with a sudden, reckless hatred. His phone synced to the screen. The first image was a screenshot of a text thread. A friend started reading it out loud: “Did you sleep with him? You promised me this was just a merger. You promised you wouldn’t touch him!” The reply: “But I was thinking of you the whole time, Parker.” 3. “Mitch, do you want fries with that?” The voice of a friend asking about the food order overlapped perfectly with the last name in the text on the screen. The room went deathly quiet. I finished the order and handed the iPad back to the server. I tucked my trembling hands under the table and smiled. “How coincidentally,” I said. “But from the tone of those texts, it sounds like Mr. Parker here is a home-wrecker.” “Mitch!” Cassidy barked. She caught my calm, empty eyes and forced a hideous smile. “Mitch, honey, don’t be so hard on the kid.” Before I could respond, Parker’s voice rose, cracking with emotion. “I’m not a home-wrecker!” He glared at Cassidy, his face full of stubborn defiance. “She and I were each other’s firsts. First kiss, first everything. Her family is just too controlling. They wouldn’t let us be together. That’s the only reason we were ever apart!” “She told me her ‘fiancé’ was just a business arrangement. She said he was obsessed with her and her parents forced the match.” The boy was unraveling now, swiping through his photos like a man with nothing left to lose. “The day before May 17th? We spent her entire birthday together. Her flight was at 11 PM, but she stayed with me until 9. She almost missed her plane.” “She bought me flowers. We had cake. We spent hours in bed together.” “And look at this. This was my birthday gift. I mentioned I liked it once, and she bought it for me immediately.” It was a photograph of a massive, brilliant sapphire ring. “She told me I’m the only man she’ll ever buy a ring for.” I went numb. I remembered that auction. I had wanted that exact ring, but a mystery bidder had blown the price out of the water. Cassidy had squeezed my hand that night, telling me she’d find me something even better. We were engaged. I looked down at my bare fingers. Cassidy had never bought me a ring. Parker swiped back to the 17th. I saw the timestamps. While she was sitting next to me on that private beach, she was texting him from dawn until dusk. Every sunset I showed her, she sent a photo to him. Every piece of jewelry I bought her on that trip, she logged in her notes to tell him “the package was in the mail.” Then, a photo of a cake. In the background, in the shadows, I saw the edge of my own shirt and the line of my jaw. I saw myself, eyes closed, hands clasped in prayer, wishing that the woman I loved would stay with me forever. And there, on the screen, was the text she sent him while I was making that wish: “This cake is amazing. I’ll buy you one just like it when I get home.” 4. It was sickening. I felt Dex’s leg tense next to mine. The second he saw that photo, he reached for a heavy glass bottle. “Mitch… that’s… that’s you in the background!” “Relax, Dex,” I whispered. I gave him a small smile, even though I could see the tears of rage in his eyes. He muttered a string of curses under his breath. The atmosphere in the suite was suffocating. “Are you finished, Parker?” I asked calmly. I reached out and spun the bottle again. “My turn to pick a date. Let’s go with… April 2nd, 2025.” “Want to play, Cassidy?” For the first time tonight, Cassidy lost her cool. She grabbed my shoulder. “Mitch, I have a headache. I just remembered I took some meds earlier, I shouldn’t be drinking. Let’s go to the hospital. Now.” I peeled her hand off my shoulder, one finger at a time. “No.” I opened my phone and synced it. The screen filled with the sterile white walls of a hospital room. Photos of post-operative care instructions. Medical notes. A screenshot of a text I’d sent my mother: [The doctor says I might never be able to run again.] [Mom, they still haven’t found the driver who hit us.] [Let’s push back the wedding paperwork for now.] April 2nd, 2025. Five days after the accident. We were on our way to the courthouse to sign the marriage license. A man had lunged in front of the car. There was plenty of distance; a simple brake would have worked. Cassidy was a trained driver; she’d done amateur racing. But she had panicked. Or so she said. She’d jerked the wheel so hard the passenger side—my side—smashed into the guardrail. I was in the ICU for three days. When I woke up, they told me I’d come within inches of losing my leg. I remember Cassidy kneeling by my bed, sobbing, looking like she’d lost ten pounds in a week. She told me she was so sorry, that she’d spend the rest of her life making it up to me. “Stop it, Mitch,” Cassidy whispered, her face ashen. “I’m not feeling well. Please, let’s just go.” Parker reached for his phone, trying to hide it, but Dex was faster. He snatched it and swiped to the same date. A photo of Parker in his underwear, taking a mirror selfie. And then, a video. The camera was shaky, pointing at a messy floor. Through the heavy, frantic breathing of the recording, I heard Parker’s voice: “I thought you hated me. I thought you never wanted to see me again. Why are you here?” The sound of a woman pulling him into a hard, desperate kiss. “Shut up,” Cassidy’s voice hissed, breathless and raw. “Parker, he was in a car crash. We don’t even know if he’s going to wake up.” “And if he does?” Parker sounded small, hurt. “If you want to ‘make it up to him,’ then stay away from me.” I heard Cassidy sigh on the recording. “I love you too much to lose you. He’ll never know.” … I watched the end of the farce. I finished my wine, set the glass down, and felt the weight of thirty years finally slide off my back. “Cassidy,” I said. “We’re done.”

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At the gala celebrating my reunion with my biological parents, Bennett’s star student got “lost” again. He was ready to walk out on both our families before the first course was even served. I didn’t want to break my parents’ hearts on the night they finally went public with the daughter they’d spent a decade searching for, so I swallowed my pride and pleaded with him. “My parents have been waiting years for this moment, Bennett. If you leave now, what are they supposed to think?” Instead of staying, Bennett looked at me with a condescending pity that made my skin crawl. “Callie is alone in this city, June. She has no one. I’m her mentor—that’s a sacred bond. I can’t just abandon her when she’s panicking.” He adjusted his cuffs, his voice dropping to that smooth, professorial tone he used to win over lecture halls. “You grew up an orphan too. You of all people should empathize with her instead of being so petty.” A knot formed in my throat, the resentment I’d been stifling for months finally boiling over. “Are you really worried about a ‘student,’ Bennett? Or is it because that student is her?” He shot me a look so cold it felt like a physical slap. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the exit. I slammed my hand against the table, the silver rattling. “Bennett! If you walk out that door, we are done!” He froze. When he looked back at me over his shoulder, his eyes were like chips of ice. “You have a family now, June. But Callie only has me. Stay here and enjoy your parents.” He vanished into the night. Ten minutes later, Callie Brooks posted a new photo to her Instagram. [Doesn’t matter if you’re lost, as long as you’re with the person willing to find the romance in the sunset with you!] In the photo—taken by a passerby—the two of them were silhouetted against the orange sky, their hands joined to form a giant heart. The happiness radiating from the screen was a knife to my gut. … 1 The whispers of the guests felt like needles pricking my skin. My father’s face went from hurt to a terrifying, stony rage. He slammed his wine glass onto the tablecloth, the crystal shattering. “Enough! I spent ten years scouring the country for my little girl, only for her to be treated like an afterthought?” Bennett’s parents turned pale. They scrambled forward, their voices trembling as they tried to play peacemaker. “Charles, please, it’s all a misunderstanding! Bennett is just… he’s dedicated. He’s a professor; he feels a deep responsibility for his students. He’s just being a good man.” My mother’s face remained frozen. She took my hand in hers, her grip firm and protective, as she stared them down. “A good man? I don’t think so. That ‘student’ is a grown woman, isn’t she? If he has so little respect for his wife’s dignity that he’d run to another woman on a night like this, then we have nothing more to discuss.” A wave of warmth flooded my chest. For years, I had navigated the world alone, fighting for every scrap of affection. Now, someone was finally standing in the gap for me. I squeezed my mother’s hand, blinking back tears, and turned to the room with a voice like steel. “Mom, Dad… let’s continue the party. We have a lot to celebrate.” I paused, looking directly at Bennett’s parents. “And one more thing. I’m filing for divorce.” The room went deathly silent. Bennett’s parents looked like they’d been struck by lightning. The guests began to murmur, their eyes darting between my parents’ wealth and my sudden, cold resolve. I ignored them. My mind drifted back to our fifth anniversary, just a month ago. Bennett had invited all his colleagues and friends to witness our “perfect” life. But the moment the appetizers were served, his phone rang. He looked at me with that practiced expression of regret. “Honey, a few of my students got into some trouble at a bonfire. I have to go deal with the campus police. I’m so sorry.” I had urged him to go, thinking it was an emergency. I spent the rest of the night playing the perfect hostess, laughing off the pitying looks from his friends. The next day, I went to the campus infirmary with gift baskets for the “troubled students.” Instead of a group of kids, I found Bennett in a private room, his eyes dark with exhaustion, tenderly tucking a blanket around Callie Brooks. When I confronted him, he didn’t even flinch. “Callie went for a hike and got turned around,” he’d said. “You know she has no one else in this city, June.” The memory made my blood run cold. The rest of the gala was a blur of apologies from Bennett’s family. By the time I got back to our apartment, the adrenaline had faded, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. My phone buzzed. A text from Bennett. [Callie sprained her ankle. She’s terrified of hospitals, so I’m staying the night to watch over her. I’ll be back in the morning.] I stared at the text, then opened Instagram. Like clockwork, Callie had posted again. [A lonely night, but at least I have you.] The photo showed Bennett’s sharp profile, his head resting dangerously close to her lap as he sat by her bed. I knew she’d taken it while he was distracted, but the fact that he allowed her this level of intimacy—this constant, blurred line—was the real betrayal. My heart felt like it was being carved out by a dull blade. I had known Bennett and Callie for years. I couldn’t understand how it had come to this. I was the one who had encouraged him to mentor her. I was the one who had suggested we help fund her studies when she told us she was an orphan from a broken-down town in the Ozarks. And Bennett? He was the man who had once stayed by my side through a grueling health scare, promising he’d never let me be alone again. How did we get here? I picked up my phone and messaged my parents. [Dad, Mom… tell the University of Chicago I accept the visiting professorship. I’ve made up my mind. I’m moving back to the city to be with you.] 2 I finished packing my essentials just as the sun began to peek through the blinds. The front door opened. Bennett walked in, bringing with him the faint, cloying scent of Callie’s perfume. He climbed into bed, the mattress dipping as he tried to pull me toward him. “Still mad, babe? I know I sounded harsh yesterday. But we’ve watched Callie grow up. You know her background; you know how hard it is for her to trust people.” I kept my back to him, as rigid as a statue. He sighed, resting a warm palm on my hip. “Look, once things settle down at the department, I’ll take you to a nice dinner with your parents to apologize, okay?” “I understand,” I said, my voice flat. He paused, sounding relieved. “I knew you’d see reason. You’ve always been the bigger person, June. I bought you that necklace you wanted—it’s on the counter. I’m going to go jump in the shower.” After the bathroom door clicked shut, I went to the kitchen. The jewelry box was sitting there. I opened it to find a modest gold pendant. The receipt was tucked underneath: $450. My stomach turned. I grabbed Bennett’s phone from the counter—I still knew his passcode. I navigated to his banking app and looked at his “recently deleted” transactions. There they were. Series of transfers to Callie Brooks. $5,000. $8,000. $5,000. It all made sense now. I had been sending Callie a $500 monthly “stipend” out of my own pocket to help her with groceries. Meanwhile, she was sporting Chanel bags and Hermès scarves on her “student” budget. While I was taking the subway to save money for our future, she was driving a brand-new Lexus. Bennett was subsidizing her entire life while I balanced our household ledgers down to the cent. The pain was a physical weight in my chest. When Bennett came out of the shower, he leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Goodnight, beautiful,” he whispered. “Or good morning, I guess.” “Goodnight,” I replied, already counting down the hours until I could leave. The next morning, I went to the Dean’s office and handed in my resignation. Then, I headed to the year-end Academic Excellence Awards. I planned to accept my research grant and leave quietly, but as I finished my speech, Callie Brooks practically stormed the stage. She snatched the microphone from the stand, her ponytail swinging defiantly. “I have to respectfully disagree with Dr. Whittaker’s findings!” she announced to the crowded auditorium. “My own recent research shows that her theory is based on outdated data. It’s a shortcut, frankly. It’s not rigorous.” I didn’t look at her. I looked at Bennett, who was sitting in the front row, legs crossed, watching her with a look of immense pride. Callie rambled on, throwing out complex-sounding jargon that meant nothing. She finished with a triumphant smirk. “In fact, these new conclusions were reached through private lab sessions with Dr. Mitch. Isn’t that right, Bennett?” Bennett nodded, giving her a look that a father might give a precocious child. The room erupted into whispers. The predatory nature of the academic world took over instantly. “Wow, Callie’s got guts. Challenging a titan like Whittaker to her face?” “I don’t know, June’s been winning awards for years. Maybe she’s been coasting.” “Bennett is so objective. He won’t even take his wife’s side if the science isn’t there. That’s integrity.” I felt my nails digging into my palms. “And what exactly are you proposing, Callie?” Bennett stood up. As the most senior faculty member in the room, his word was law. “The methodology Callie is describing is indeed groundbreaking,” he said smoothly. “Given the overlap, I think it’s only fair that the grant for this project be transferred to her name.” The betrayal was total. It wasn’t just my marriage; he was trying to strip away my career. I felt a cold laugh bubble up in my throat. I grabbed the microphone back. “Dr. Mitch, I’m afraid I have to disagree with your… assessment.” Both their faces shifted. I didn’t give them a chance to speak. I tore Callie’s “logic” apart piece by piece, citing the very data she claimed was missing. I exposed the flaws in her “groundbreaking” theory with the surgical precision of someone who had spent twenty years in the field. By the time I was done, the room was silent. Callie was beet-red, her eyes welling with tears of humiliation. She turned and ran out of the hall. Bennett’s face darkened. He shot me a look of pure vitriol before rushing after her. The room broke into thunderous applause, but I didn’t feel like a winner. The trophy in my hand felt like a lead weight. After the ceremony, Bennett cornered me in a secluded hallway. His eyes were bloodshot. “June, what the hell was that?” he hissed. “You already have everything. You have the reputation, the tenure, the parents. Why couldn’t you just let her have this one win?” “Because it wasn’t hers to take, Bennett,” I said, my voice remarkably calm. “She’s your student, not mine. And for the record? I’m cutting off her stipend. Effective immediately.” Bennett’s frustration boiled over. “If you’re still punishing her because you’re jealous of my time, that’s one thing. But don’t sabotage her future just because you’re having a tantrum about your parents’ party!” I didn’t have the energy to argue. He didn’t even realize that every sentence he spoke began and ended with Callie. I turned to walk away, but a blood-curdling scream echoed through the quad. “Help! Someone help me!” 3 We ran toward the sound. Near the parking lot, Callie was being dragged toward a rusted-out van by three burly men in flannel shirts. One had a fist in her hair; another was pinning her arms. Bennett didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward. “Hey! Let her go!” The men looked up, their faces weathered and mean. “Back off, pal. This is family business. Callie owes the family back home in the holler. She’s supposed to be married to my brother, and we’re taking her back to finish the job.” Callie was hysterical. “Bennett, help me! I don’t want to go back there! I want to stay with you!” Looking at her, I saw the girl she used to be—the one who begged me for a chance to escape her past. I’ve taken self-defense and kickboxing for years; I was ready to step in. But then Bennett spoke, and the world stopped turning. “Let her go!” he shouted, his voice cracking. He closed his eyes for a split second, then pointed directly at me. “You’ve got the wrong girl! That’s Callie Brooks. The woman you’re holding is my wife!” The air left my lungs. My heart hammered against my ribs in a frantic, sickening rhythm. I couldn’t believe the words had actually left his mouth. The three men didn’t wait to check IDs. They shoved Callie aside and lunged for me. I wasn’t fast enough. A hand clamped over my mouth, and another yanked my hair so hard I felt my scalp tear. The pain was blinding. Before I could land a solid blow, they threw me into the back of the van. The doors slammed shut. Inside the dark space, it was a blur of violence. I fought like a cornered animal, using every ounce of my training, but three-on-one in a confined space were impossible odds. Ten minutes later, the back doors were kicked open. I crawled out, my arm dangling at a wrong angle, my face a mask of blood and bruises, my clothes torn. Inside the van, the three men were groaning on the floor, nursing broken noses and cracked ribs. I had held my own, but I was shattered. Bennett was a few yards away, kneeling on the grass, whispering sweet nothings to a sobbing Callie. When he saw me emerge, he stood up. He didn’t rush to me. He didn’t ask if I was okay. He spoke in a commanding, clipped tone. “June, stay here and look after Callie. I’m going to find the campus security.” He looked at my injuries like they were an inconvenience—an eyesore he didn’t want to deal with. I let out a ragged, wet laugh. My eyes locked onto Callie. The “damsel” act vanished for a second. She looked at me with a chillingly blank expression. “Did you see that, June?” she whispered so only I could hear. “He chose me. Even when it meant throwing you to the wolves. He’ll always choose me.” She wiped a fake tear away. “I’m not a girl who gets lost, June. Bennett is smart, but he sees what he wants to see. And he wants to see a girl who needs him.” I stared at her, my vision blurring. “Callie… I gave you everything. I treated you like a sister.” She scoffed. “And you have everything. Money, power, a family that actually wants you. You don’t know what it’s like to have to fight for survival. Bennett is my survival. And he’s mine. In this life and the next.” I shook my head. I wasn’t angry anymore; I was just profoundly disappointed. She had the brains to make it on her own, but she’d chosen to be a parasite. Suddenly, Callie’s face crumpled. She dropped to her knees and started slapping herself across the face, over and over. “I’m sorry! Dr. Whittaker, please! I’ll do better! Don’t hurt me!” “June!” Bennett roared, charging toward us. He shoved me aside. Because of my shoulder and my shredded leggings, I lost my balance and fell into a bed of rosebushes. The thorns tore into my skin, but I didn’t make a sound. “Are you bullying her again?” Bennett yelled, his face twisted with rage. I didn’t answer. I forced myself up, ignoring the stabs of pain, and began to walk toward the gates. Near the exit, a group of my graduate students and colleagues ran toward me, their faces full of horror. “Dr. Whittaker! My god, what happened?” “June, we heard you’re leaving for Chicago—please tell us it isn’t true!” I didn’t want them to see me like this. I mumbled a lie about a car accident and kept moving. But Bennett wasn’t done. He caught up to me, grabbing my bruised wrist. “June, Chicago? You’re actually leaving? Why didn’t you tell me?” I winced as his grip tightened on my injury. A white-hot fury sparked in my chest. “It’s none of your business.” “The hell it isn’t! I’m your husband! Chicago is cutthroat, June. You won’t survive there without my support.” I laughed—a sharp, jagged sound. I swung my good arm and slapped him across the face with every bit of strength I had left. “After you literally handed me over to kidnappers to save your mistress? You don’t get to talk about support. You’re lucky I don’t kill you right here.” I walked away. Behind me, Bennett shouted, his voice desperate. “You’re just throwing a tantrum! You want me to beg for your forgiveness? Fine, I’m apologizing! Is that what you want?” I didn’t look back. I didn’t need his apologies. I needed a bridge, and I was going to burn it with him on it. 4 On the Uber ride home, my phone blew up with texts from Bennett. [June, come back. Stop being dramatic.] [I’m sorry about Callie’s family. It was a split-second decision. I knew you could handle yourself.] [June, answer me! Don’t do this!] I blocked him. When I got to the apartment, my mother was already there. She had a suitcase open on the bed. Her face, usually so composed, was soft with concern. “June, honey… let’s go home.” I finally broke. I collapsed into her arms, sobbing for the girl I used to be—the orphan who thought she’d finally found safety in a man who turned out to be a coward. As we were walking out the door with my bags, Bennett and Callie pulled up in his car. “June, wait!” Callie cried, rushing toward us. “Please don’t go! It’s all my fault… I’ll go back to the Ozarks. I won’t bother you anymore. Just don’t let Dr. Mitch lose his wife because of me.” Bennett hurried to her side, looking at me with a scowl. “Callie, stop. I’m not letting you go back to that hellhole.” My mother stepped in front of Bennett. Before he could react, she delivered a stinging slap to his face. “You coward!” she hissed. “You knew what kind of place she came from, and you tried to send my daughter there instead? Her life is worth more than yours will ever be.” Bennett rubbed his jaw. “June knows how to fight. Callie doesn’t. It was a logical choice.” My mother’s face went pale with fury. She turned and slapped Callie, too. “And my daughter earned those skills through years of struggle! You don’t get to profit off her strength.” As Callie wailed and Bennett tried to shield her, we moved toward the black Rolls Royce waiting at the curb. But then, a roar of an engine cut through the air. A van screeched to a halt behind us. My mother shrieked as she was shoved aside. I was pushed to the pavement, my knees scraping against the gravel. When I looked up, my heart stopped. It was the men from the campus. And they brought friends. One of them swung a heavy wooden club. My mother, trying to protect me, took the blow. She slumped to the ground, blood blooming from her head. “MOM!” The world went red. I scrambled toward her, my hands shaking as I tried to stem the flow of blood. The lead man sneered. “Thought you could hide, Callie? You knocked out my brothers, but we got reinforcements now. You’re coming home to the village.” I looked at Bennett. He was standing by his car, frozen. “I’m not Callie!” I screamed, my voice raw with hatred. “She is! The woman behind you!” The men looked toward Callie. Bennett stepped forward, but when he saw the sheer number of armed men, he faltered. “Let them go,” Bennett stammered. “Sure. Just tell us which one is the real Callie Brooks, or we take ’em both.” I looked at Bennett, my eyes burning. “Bennett, tell them the truth. Give them what they want.” Callie stepped out from behind him, looking like a martyr. “It’s okay, Bennett. Let me go. I’d rather die than see you two unhappy.” Bennett’s eyes went wide. The manipulation worked perfectly. He looked at me, then at Callie, and his face hardened. He pointed at me—at my bleeding, broken mother and me. “She’s Callie. Take her.” The next few seconds were a nightmare. Rough, greasy hands grabbed my hair. My blouse was torn as they dragged me away. My mother was screaming, clutching my ankles, until they kicked her aside. I saw Bennett cover Callie’s eyes, holding her close, protecting her from the “tragedy” he had just authored. As they threw me and my unconscious mother into the back of the van, I managed to reach into my pocket for the burner phone my father had given me. I sent a GPS pin. “Dad,” I whispered into the receiver, my voice a jagged edge of ice. “Send the medevac. Send the security teams. And bring Bennett Mitch and Callie Brooks to me. I want to watch them burn.”

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It was April Fool’s Day when my boyfriend’s female best friend shoved a piece of paper into my hands, daring me to read it aloud for the livestream. In my past life, to keep the peace, I swallowed my pride and read the vicious words: I, Harriet, will lose my hair, my skin will rot, and I will become a monster. My little sister will be dragged into an alley and violated. My parents’ bistro will serve poisoned food, killing a customer and ruining our family. That very night, every single one of Bernice’s sick, twisted curses came true. My sister was assaulted in a dark alley. She jumped off her high school roof. My parents’ viral farm-to-table bistro was shut down after a man died from eating their food. They were thrown in prison. My face broke out in weeping, rotting sores, making me the target of relentless internet bullying. Meanwhile, Bernice won a ten-million-dollar lottery. She took over my influencer account with its millions of followers. She married my boyfriend. I swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills, choking on a grief too heavy for one lifetime. Then I opened my eyes. The blinding ring light. The camera. The exact same April Fool’s Day. Bernice was staring at me, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered across her face. “Harriet! Come on, don’t be a buzzkill. Are you brave enough to play the prank stream or not?” I let out a low, breathy laugh. “Oh, I’ll play. I’m just worried you don’t have the stomach for it.” … 1 “Here! Read this!” Bernice’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as she thrust the folded slip of paper toward me. I didn’t take it. I just sat back, letting the silence stretch, smiling right back at her. “If it’s a game, it’s no fun if I’m the only one playing,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Let me write a slip for you, too. We’ll read them to each other. You know, for the engagement metrics.” Bernice blinked, her hand faltering. She let out a dry, nervous laugh. “Oh, let’s just stick to you. Today is about pranking you, I’m just the host…” I mirrored her usual passive-aggressive, baby-voice cadence. “Bernice, don’t tell me you’re scared? Our fearless internet bad-girl, suddenly backing down?” A few of Corey’s frat brothers were lounging on the sofa behind us. One of them snorted, tossing a beer cap onto the table. “Damn, Harriet, chill out. Bernice’s practically one of the guys. There’s nothing she won’t do for a laugh.” My boyfriend, Corey, flushed a deep crimson. He kicked his friend’s shin under the table, hissing, “Watch your mouth on the livestream, man.” Yet, his body language told a different story. He shifted entirely, angling his broad shoulders to physically shield Bernice from me. “Just play the game, Harriet. What are you so afraid of?” he coaxed, though his eyes were hard. Then he glanced back at Bernice, his voice softening. “Don’t worry, B. I’ve got your back.” With Corey defending her, Bernice’s spine stiffened. She puffed out her chest, suddenly emboldened. “Who’s scared? You first, Harriet. Read it!” In those few minutes of tension, the viewer count on my livestream had skyrocketed to two hundred thousand. The chat was a blur of rapid-fire text, demanding action. I looked down, slowly unfolding the paper in my hands. The blood roared in my ears. Black spots danced at the edge of my vision. It was the exact same wording. When I didn’t speak, Bernice sneered. “Read it, Harriet. What, did you freeze? If you can’t take a joke, you have to get on your knees and call me ‘Mommy’ on camera.” The peanut gallery on the sofa erupted into hoots and applause. “Read it! Read it!” “Call her Mommy!” Corey nudged my arm, irritated. “Harriet, stop stalling. Just read the damn thing. You’re ruining the vibe.” The chat was a relentless wave of peer pressure: [Is the host a sore loser?] [If u can’t play, log off.] [Just read it omg so annoying.] I curled my hands into fists under the table, my manicured nails biting half-moons into my palms. I forced the blinding, suffocating hatred down into my chest, locking it away. I held the paper up to the camera and read it. Word by agonizing word. “I, Harriet, will lose my hair, my skin will rot, and I will become a monster. My little sister will be dragged into an alley and violated. My parents’ bistro will serve poisoned food, killing a customer and ruining our family.” The living room went dead silent for two agonizing seconds. Then, one of the guys slow-clapped. “Holy shit. That is brutal! Bernice, your brain is a dark place. Top-tier content right there.” Corey laughed. He actually laughed. He reached over and playfully snapped the bra strap visible beneath Bernice’s oversized flannel. “You’re toxic as hell for that one,” he joked. Bernice covered her mouth, giggling uncontrollably. “Wow, Harriet, I can’t believe you actually read it! Aren’t you worried putting that out into the universe will make it come true?” Anyone else would have flipped the table. I kept my breathing steady. I grabbed a sticky note, grabbed a Sharpie, and scrawled a single sentence. I slid it across the glass coffee table, stopping right in front of Bernice. “My turn is over. Yours now. Read it.” The smug smile slid right off Bernice’s face. She tucked her hands into her sleeves, refusing to touch the bright yellow square. Her eyes darted around the room, and suddenly, she swayed in her chair. “Ugh. God. I’m so dizzy. My blood sugar is crashing again.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Let’s just wrap the stream here. We’ll do part two another day.” Her visceral panic confirmed everything. In my past life, I had agonized over how a few mean words on a piece of paper could destroy my entire world. Later, I realized Bernice was obsessed with dark web occultism and twisted manifestation rituals. She believed that by making me speak the curses aloud, she was legally transferring my good karma to herself and cementing my doom. She reached for the mouse to end the broadcast. I clamped my hand over her wrist. “You’re the one who begged to play,” I said, my voice carrying cleanly over the microphone. “And now your blood sugar is low? Two hundred thousand people are watching.” I leaned in, amplifying my voice for maximum humiliation. “You’ve been trying to build your own channel for months. If you back out of a dare on a live feed, how are you ever going to make it in this industry? Nobody likes a flake.” 2 Bernice whipped her head around, glaring at me with pure, unadulterated venom. I had hit her deepest insecurity. I had the effortless aesthetic, the wealthy background, the million followers who loved my lifestyle vlogs. Bernice spent her days photobombing my posts, desperate for a crumb of clout, barely scraping together a fraction of my audience. Now, I was calling her out in front of half a million eyeballs. She was practically vibrating with rage. One of the frat boys jumped to her defense. “Harriet, you’re being a bitch. She said she feels sick. Why are you forcing it? It’s just a game, drop it.” Another chimed in, eager to earn points with Corey. “Seriously. Zero empathy. No wonder Corey says you’re exhausting to date.” Bolstered by her audience, Bernice let her legs give out. She collapsed neatly against Corey’s chest, letting out a frail sigh. “Corey, my head is spinning. I can’t breathe. Can you help me up?” Corey immediately wrapped a protective arm around her waist. He turned his head, his face a thundercloud of resentment, and barked at me. “So you have some internet followers, who cares? Stop acting like you’re better than everyone!” He stood up, hoisting Bernice with him. “I’m taking Bernice home. Sit here and think about how you’re acting.” He began half-carrying her toward the door. I stood up, taking one massive stride to block the entryway. I held the yellow sticky note right at Bernice’s eye level. My voice was ice. “It’s one sentence. Read it, and you can walk out that door.” I paused, letting my eyes bore into hers. “Otherwise, I have every reason to believe you’re using this ‘prank’ as a cover to actually wish death upon my family.” Everyone in the room stared at me like I belonged in a psych ward. The loudest of Corey’s friends pointed a finger in my face. “Are you psychotic? There’s a limit to being a jealous girlfriend! Cursing your family? What is this, a CW teen drama?” I stood in the doorway, an immovable object. Seeing I wasn’t going to budge, the guys started groaning. “Bernice, just read the damn thing so we can leave. Placate the crazy lady.” I had backed her into a corner. If she didn’t read it, she proved she was terrified of the words. She shot me a look of pure hatred, snatched the sticky note, and scanned it. The color drained from her face, leaving her a sickly, ashen gray. Her hand trembled violently, though she tried to mask it with an exaggerated scoff. “Jesus, Harriet, your handwriting is atrocious. I’m too dizzy to even focus on this. I’m not reading it.” She moved to crumple it up. I grabbed my phone from the tripod and shoved the camera lens inches from her face. “Can’t read it? Want me to have two hundred thousand people decipher it for you? Bernice, if you don’t read this right now, the second anything happens to my family, the police will be knocking on your door. And my entire comment section will be the witnesses.” The live chat was moving so fast it was a blur, thousands of voices calling her out for being fake, dramatic, and suspicious. Bernice ground her teeth. Her jaw locked. She took a shallow, shaky breath, and read the words with the enthusiasm of someone walking to the gallows. “Whatever misfortune befalls Harriet’s family, it will rebound onto me, ten times worse.” The room erupted. Corey’s friends exploded, yelling over each other. “Harriet, you are a toxic, vindictive bitch!” “Wishing karma on her? That is so dark. What the fuck is wrong with you?” A sharp, humorless laugh tore its way out of my throat. “Five minutes ago, she wished rape and death on my family, and you all sat there clapping like seals!” I swept my gaze over the room of hypocrites, letting it land squarely on Corey. “But when I simply hand the exact same energy back to her, suddenly I’m the dark, vindictive one?” I clicked my tongue. “The double standards in this room are suffocating.” Corey’s face went dark. He stepped forward and shoved me hard in the chest. “Enough, Harriet! I never realized how utterly ugly you are on the inside.” My back slammed against the entryway console table. Pain shot up my spine. I touched the wood to steady myself, a cold smile pulling at my lips. “You just realized? Perfect.” I stared him dead in the eye. Every ounce of love I had ever held for this man had evaporated in my previous life. “We’re done. We’re breaking up.” 3 The air was sucked out of the room. No one expected me—the girl who had compromised and accommodated Corey for two years—to end it over what they considered a minor spat. Bernice’s head snapped up. A flash of wild, uncontainable triumph sparked in her eyes, though she quickly arranged her face into a mask of distress. “Oh my god, stop! This is my fault. You guys are talking about getting engaged. Don’t break up over me!” I rolled my eyes. “Save the acting, Bernice. Your lips are about to tear from smiling so hard.” “Harriet! Watch your tone! What did Bernice ever do to you?” Corey reached out to grab my arm. I slapped his hand away with a resounding smack. I walked out and slammed the door behind me. I practically sprinted through the parking garage. I threw myself into the driver’s seat of my SUV, my heart hammering against my ribs. There was no room for heartbreak. I needed to move. My mind kept replaying Bernice’s terrified expression when she read the rebound clause. The dread in her eyes wasn’t an act. That meant that in this lifetime, if the tragedy struck, the catastrophic blowback would hit her. I let out a long, shaky exhale. But I wasn’t leaving my family’s survival up to mystical karma. I fumbled for my phone and dialed my younger sister, Sophie. She was a sophomore at a prestigious boarding school on the edge of the city. It rang forever. Finally, a hushed voice answered. “Harriet? I’m in study hall.” The moment I heard her voice, the dam broke. Hot tears pricked my eyes. I gripped the steering wheel, forcing the tremor out of my voice. “Soph. Listen to me very carefully. No matter what happens today, you are not to step foot off campus. Do you understand me? You don’t leave the gates.” She was startled by my intensity. “Why? It’s the weekend. I don’t have afternoon classes.” “Don’t ask questions!” I snapped, harsher than I meant to. “I don’t have time to explain, but I would never hurt you. Stay on campus. Do not go anywhere!” Sophie was a good kid. Sensing the sheer panic radiating through the phone, she promised me, swearing she wouldn’t leave her dorm. Half the weight lifted from my chest. I threw the car into drive and hit the gas. Fifteen minutes of aggressive city driving later, I pulled up to my parents’ trendy downtown bistro. It was the peak of the lunch rush. There was a line out the door. I stormed past the hostess stand, grabbed the microphone from the manager, and hit the PA system. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am so sorry! We have an emergency situation. We are closing immediately. Please evacuate the dining room.” The customers stared at me, forks suspended in mid-air. Then, the uproar began. “Are you kidding me? We waited an hour for a table!” “What kind of management is this?” My parents rushed out of the kitchen, their faces pale with shock. They grabbed my arms. “Harriet, have you lost your mind? It’s the lunch rush! Do you know how much money we’re losing?” my dad hissed. Looking at my parents—vibrant, healthy, alive—the back of my throat burned. The image of them in orange jumpsuits, hollowed out and weeping behind reinforced glass, crashed over me. My knees gave out. I dropped to the floor right there in the entryway. “Mom. Dad. I’m not crazy. I’m begging you. Close the doors right now.” Terrified, they dropped to their knees beside me, trying to pull me up. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Talk to us.” I pulled them close, dropping my voice to an urgent whisper. “Dad, I got a tip. The health department is doing unannounced sting operations today. They’re looking for any excuse to shut places down, arresting owners on the spot for code violations…” In the restaurant industry, the FDA and local health boards are the ultimate boogeymen. My dad’s face tightened. I gripped his wrists. “Close the restaurant. We need to scrub this place top to bottom. But more importantly—the walk-in freezer. Every single piece of inventory in the back alley needs to go into the dumpster. Do not save a single ounce.” Our sourcing was impeccable. We had never had a health violation. But in my past life, someone had eaten something toxic and died. I wasn’t taking a single gamble. My parents exchanged a long, stressed look. It was thousands of dollars in premium ingredients. But seeing me pale, shaking, and on the verge of a breakdown, they caved. “Okay. Okay, Harriet. We’ll lock up.” For the next two hours, I was a woman possessed. I stood by the loading dock, personally overseeing the kitchen staff as they hurled every side of beef, every crate of organic produce, every tub of prep into the industrial trash compactor. When the metal jaws crushed the last of it, the stone sitting on my chest finally dissolved. My mom untied her apron, wiping sweat from her brow. She gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Take a breath, honey. Par for the course when you own a business.” She pulled her phone from her pocket, her tired face breaking into a radiant smile. “You know, your sister is really growing up. Mother’s Day was weeks ago, but she insisted on getting me a late present.” I froze. I stretched my neck to look at the screen. It was a photo of Sophie. She was holding a little pink bakery box, standing at the entrance of a dark, graffiti-lined alley. Smiling. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I grabbed my mom’s forearm, my fingers digging into her skin. My voice cracked. “When did she post this?!” My mom jumped, startled by my aggression. “Just… just now. Maybe ten minutes ago?” The world tilted on its axis. My body was seized by violent, uncontrollable tremors. This was the alley. The exact alley where, in my past life, a group of men had cornered her. I snatched the phone from my mom’s hand, my fingers shaking so badly I dropped it twice. Suddenly, my own phone began to ring. It was Sophie’s dorm mother. I hit speakerphone, my breath caught in my throat. “Harriet? It’s Sophie. You need to get to the school. Right now.” 4 I blew through every red light. Before the tires even stopped screeching against the asphalt of the school parking lot, I kicked the door open and bolted. My parents were right behind me, sprinting toward the main academic building. There was a crowd of students and faculty gathered on the lawn, pointing up in horror. On the rooftop, Sophie was standing on the ledge. She looked like a ghost—swaying in the wind, entirely hollowed out. I threw open the fire doors, taking the stairs three at a time until I burst onto the roof. “Soph! I’m here! Step down, baby, please!” Hearing my voice, Sophie turned her head in agonizing slow motion. When I saw her face, my heart physically stopped. One side of her cheek was swollen and purple. Her lip was split. Dark, violent bruises bloomed across her collarbones where her uniform shirt was torn open. She looked at me, and a devastating, guttural sob tore from her throat. “I’m sorry… Harriet, I’m so sorry. I should have listened to you. I shouldn’t have left.” She was clutching the crushed pink bakery box to her chest, shivering violently despite the afternoon sun. “I just… I just wanted to get Mom her favorite strawberry cake.” Her voice broke. “The alley was so dark… They put a hand over my mouth. I couldn’t scream…” Behind me, my mother let out an inhuman wail. Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed onto the concrete, unconscious. My dad dropped to his knees, his face buried in his hands, screaming until his vocal cords shredded. “My baby! Daddy’s begging you, step away from the edge!” I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I took one agonizingly slow step forward. “Soph, look at me. This is not your fault. Come to me. Let me take you home.” My voice was fierce, vibrating with a desperate promise. “I swear to God, I will hunt them down. I will ruin them.” Sophie flinched, taking a half-step backward. Her heel hovered over nothing but empty air. “Don’t come closer!” she shrieked, shaking her head frantically. The light had completely died in her eyes. It was just a vast, empty wasteland. “I’m dirty now, Harriet… I can’t live like this.” She set the crushed pink box gently on the ledge. She looked down at our unconscious mother. “Happy Mother’s Day,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and leaned back. “NO!” I lunged across the concrete, my fingers grazing the edge of her pleated skirt before she slipped through my grasp. A sickening, heavy thud echoed from the courtyard below. Then, the deafening screams of the crowd. In that moment, the entire world went completely, terrifyingly silent. I knelt on the edge of the roof, staring down at the pavement, the tears falling silently onto my hands. I had done everything right. I had warned her. I had rushed against the clock. Why? Why did the tragedy still happen? The ambulance came. My parents were sedated and taken to the hospital. My phone was vibrating relentlessly in my jacket pocket. Numbly, I pulled it out and opened my messages. In our mutual friend group chat, Corey had just dropped a news link. Headline: Tragic Accident: Local Prep School Student Falls from Roof After Assault. His text below it was dripping with malicious glee. See? Harriet’s sister actually died. I told you Bernice had a gift for manifestation. She was just trying to warn Harriet on the livestream. But Harriet had to be a psycho about it. Karma’s a bitch. A chorus of sycophants immediately chimed in. Bernice’s literally a prophet. Hey B, manifest some lottery numbers for me! Then, Bernice tagged me. So, Harriet. Don’t you think you owe me a thank you? My thumb trembled as I held down the audio record button. I let out a feral, jagged scream into the mic. “Go to hell! You vultures are feeding on my sister’s corpse. I swear to god, I will make you pay!” I deleted the chat and threw the phone back in my pocket. I wandered aimlessly through the school courtyard. As I walked, students backing away from me, gasping, covering their mouths in horror. A cold realization washed over me. I reached into my bag and pulled out my compact mirror. I stopped dead in my tracks. Vast chunks of my hair had fallen out at the roots. My cheeks were covered in weeping, blistered red lesions, spreading like wildfire across my skin. A deep, bone-chilling dread crawled up my spine. Every single thing on Bernice’s list had come true. But why? I refused to accept that magic had killed my sister. In a daze of grief and rage, I pulled up the archive of the April Fool’s livestream. I watched it frame by frame. I stared at the screen, my eyes burning, scanning every pixel. Then, I hit pause. Right before the game started, Bernice had handed me an open bottle of water. I had taken a long drink before reading the note. My pupils dilated. The truth hit me like a freight train.

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Maxwell Prescott’s memory resets every ninety days. Every three months, he returns to the day he hated me most. Like clockwork, he’d break my spirit—and sometimes my bones—to avenge his ward’s honor. Then, after a hundred nights of penance, he would propose to me under a canopy of fireflies, only for the cycle to restart the next morning. I lived through the loop, over and over, waiting for the day his memory would finally hold. I believed my love was a tether that would eventually pull him back to reality. Until I heard him through the cracked door of a private lounge at the club. “Max, how long are you going to keep this up?” It was one of his inner circle laughing. “The ‘memory reset’ thing? Only a delusional girl like Daisy would buy it. Every time, she’s on her knees begging us to help her ‘remind’ you of your love, desperate to marry you.” “Three days until the next ‘reset,’ right? Which round is this?” “The ninth,” Maxwell’s voice replied. It was deep, cool, and devastatingly clear. “Daisy’s pathetic little catering mistake poisoned Maisie and ruined her debutante ball. This is just the interest on the debt she owes.” I heard the soft rustle of fabric—him ruffling Maisie’s hair. “Nobody messes with my girl,” he added, his voice dropping into a register of tenderness he had never once used with me without the shroud of ‘amnesia.’ The betrayal was a physical blade between my ribs. My “devotion” was nothing more than the punchline to a cruel, year-long prank. I wiped my face, the salt of my tears stinging my chapped skin, and summoned the Interface in my mind. Negotiations are over, I told the cold, mechanical voice. In three days, when the mission fails, wipe every trace of Maxwell Prescott from my mind. … [Host, are you certain?] Before I could answer, the voices in the lounge drifted out again. “I heard if Daisy’s hand gets broken one more time, she’ll never be able to hold a paintbrush again.” The speaker sounded hesitant. “Max, isn’t the punishment… enough?” The clink of a wine glass stopped. I pictured Maxwell’s lips thinning into that hard, aristocratic line. Maisie lowered her head, her fingers tracing the custom diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist. “Uncle Max, I love this birthday gift. The debutante ball was just a formality… it doesn’t matter that it was ruined.” Her voice was soft, performatively sweet. Every word was designed to sound like a grace note while hitting like a hammer. Maxwell’s temper flared instantly. I heard the thud of a boot hitting a chair. “Since when do you tell me how to handle my business?” He took Maisie’s hand in his, treating her like a piece of priceless Ming porcelain. “Even if Daisy loses her hand, it wouldn’t compensate for what you lost. A street-food cook thinking she can be a fine artist? It’s pathetic. She’s a moth reaching for a star she doesn’t deserve.” A sharp, mocking huff escaped his nose. It felt like a thousand needles piercing my heart. I remembered when I lost that scholarship competition. I wanted to give up on my dreams, but he was the one who held me. He told me I was a “Sunflower”—that no matter how dark it got, I had to keep my head up and face the light. But the light was a lie. In his eyes, I wasn’t a sunflower. I was a nuisance. Laughter erupted in the room. “She’s got some talent, though,” someone joked. “If Max hadn’t called the judges beforehand, she actually would’ve taken first place.” The world went silent. My fingers began to shake uncontrollably. I had poured my soul into that competition. It was my one ticket out of poverty, my one chance to stand beside him as an equal. And he had crushed it with a single phone call. Are the dreams of the poor really that cheap? Just something for the elite to stomp on for sport? I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood. [Host, I ask again: do you wish to proceed with the memory wipe?] the Interface chimed. [You previously traded ten years of your lifespan to extend this mission. Are you truly giving up?] A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat. A month ago, I was terrified of losing him. I had begged the System for more time, desperate to save the man I thought was trapped in a cycle of trauma. What a joke. I closed my eyes, letting the hot tears spill over. I’m sure. Delete it all. Right then, my phone buzzed violently in my pocket. “Daisy, it’s your mom. There’s been an accident!” Kidney failure. The words on the medical report blurred. I looked at my mother, pale and fragile on the hospital bed. I had been so obsessed with “saving” Maxwell that I hadn’t noticed the shadow of death creeping over her face. Guilt crashed over me like a tidal wave. At the billing counter, my vision was swollen and red. I looked at the balance in my bank account—a number I could count on one hand. The nurse sighed, her gaze flickering with pity and impatience. “Ms. Mona, we need the deposit now.” “Can I just…” I started, my voice cracking. Then, the elevator dinned. Maxwell appeared, walking with that effortless, powerful stride. He was slightly out of breath. “Daisy, I heard about your mother…” Seeing my ruined face, he pulled my cold body into his chest. “It’s okay. I’m here.” The warmth. The scent of expensive cologne and cedarwood. He always did this. He always appeared at my lowest moments—car accidents, legal scares, every crisis. It was as if he had a sixth sense for my pain. I grew up without a father. I was starved for a protector. That was why, even after he broke my hand the first time, I forgave him. Because he knelt and apologized with such “sincerity.” Because he stayed by my side for weeks, enduring my anger without a word. I fell for a man twelve years my senior because his “warmth” was like top-shelf whiskey. One sip, and I was too drunk to find the exit. “Uncle Max!” Maisie’s voice cut through the air. Maxwell pushed me away instantly. The sudden coldness snapped me back to reality. I felt like a fool. I was still craving the comfort of a man who was actively destroying me. Maisie glanced at my phone screen, seeing the pathetic balance. She gasped, loud enough for the waiting room to turn their heads. “Daisy, is that all you have left? Doesn’t Uncle Max give you enough of an allowance?” The whispers started. To the strangers in the lobby, I was just a cheap mistress being scolded by the “real” family. Maxwell frowned, but he didn’t correct her. Instead, he leaned in and whispered, “Maisie didn’t mean it that way. I’ll talk to her at home. She’s sensitive, I can’t embarrass her in public.” So, for her pride, I had to wear the scarlet letter. Of course. How could a “sinner” like me compare to his precious ward? I looked at him, my eyes dead. “Give me five hundred thousand dollars.” Maxwell froze. I had never asked him for a dime in three years. But if I was going to be labeled a mistress, I might as well get the market rate. My mother needed that surgery. His expression darkened. “What did you say?” “The bags, the jewelry you bought to ‘apologize’ over the months… I never kept them. They’re worth more than half a million. Give me the cash.” Maxwell’s jaw tightened. “That’s different.” It was. Gifts to a pet are an act of mercy. A pet demanding payment is an act of rebellion. Maisie patted his arm, and he settled instantly, like a lion being tamed by a child. She smiled at me—a smile dripping with pure, unadulterated contempt. “Daisy, Uncle Max didn’t bring his cards in a hurry. I have five thousand in cash here. Take it for now.” She pulled a stack of bills from her designer bag and reached for my hand. But as she pressed the money into my palm, her sharp, manicured nails dug deep into my skin, drawing blood. I flinched, shoving her hand away. Maisie let out a theatrical shriek and collapsed onto the floor. The cash scattered like autumn leaves. “Daisy!” she sobbed, looking up with big, watery eyes. “Why did you push me? I just wanted to help. I didn’t mean to insult you!” Maxwell’s gaze turned to ice. “Is this how you ask for help, Daisy?” “She stabbed me—” I started, but he cut me off with a raised hand. “I know what you’re going to say. ‘She tripped herself.’ Spare me.” I closed my mouth. I was done explaining. I was done believing he’d ever choose the truth over her. I knelt on the dirty hospital floor, numbly picking up the bills one by one. This was my mother’s life. Suddenly, a heavy boot stepped on my hand, crushing it into the tile. Maxwell looked down at me from his height. “Apologize to Maisie.” The rubber sole of his shoe ground into my knuckles, crushing the last of my dignity. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Say it like you mean it.” I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. I let my knees hit the floor with a heavy thud. “I am sorry.” I looked up at him, my face a mask of indifference. “Are we done?” His chest heaved. He sighed, a sound of weary disappointment, and knelt to help me pick up the rest of the money. “I know you’re stressed about your mother, but that’s no excuse to take it out on Maisie. Don’t let it happen again.” “It won’t,” I said softly. Because there wouldn’t be a next time. Maxwell used some of the cash to pay the immediate hospital fees and shoved the rest into my hand. “Take me to see her.” My mother hated Maxwell. Even with his billions, she saw him for what he was—a broken, dangerous man. She never gave him a kind word. But today, she was different. She held his hand and talked for a long time. I knew why. She was trying to entrust me to him. She was afraid that after she was gone, I’d be alone in this world. A suffocating bitterness rose in my throat. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the man she was pleading with was the wolf at our door. I didn’t break character. I needed his money for the treatment, and I needed his connections to find a donor. That night, he found a match. A kidney was being flown in. If it arrived by tomorrow, my mother would live. The next day, I waited. From dawn until dusk, I sat by her bed. But Maxwell never showed. The orange glow of the sunset hit my sleeping mother, making her look like a ghost already fading away. With trembling hands, I dialed his number for the hundredth time. Finally, someone picked up. It wasn’t Maxwell; it was his friend. “Oh, Daisy? Yeah, Max is busy. Maisie had a sudden migraine, and she was crying for him. He’s at the villa taking care of her.” He was with Maisie. And he had the transport documents for the kidney. I flew to his villa like a madwoman. I didn’t even look at the two of them on the bed—intertwined, mid-kiss. I grabbed the medical cooler tossed in the corner and bolted for the door. I had thirty minutes. If I could get to the hospital in thirty minutes, the organ would still be viable. But as I hailed a cab, Maxwell’s security team swarmed me. They dragged me back to the rooftop of the villa. Maisie was standing on the ledge, weeping beautifully. Maxwell, his face dark with rage, grabbed me by the collar and shoved me toward her. “Because you burst in like that, Maisie is traumatized! She thinks you’ve misunderstood everything, and now she’s suicidal!” he roared. “Tell her! Tell her you didn’t see anything!” I let out a jagged, hysterical laugh. “Misunderstood? Misunderstood that you’re two deviants masquerading as ‘family’ while you’re sleeping together?” Slap. The force of his hand sent my head spinning. “Shut your mouth!” Maxwell hissed, his voice shaking with fury. “If Maisie doesn’t step down from that ledge, you can forget about that kidney. And you can forget about any surgeon in this city touching your mother.” I stared at him, seeing the absolute coldness in his eyes. He meant it. He would let my mother die to soothe Maisie’s ego. My mother was waiting for me. “I didn’t see anything!” I screamed at the girl on the ledge. “You’re innocent! You’re a perfect, loving family! Just get down!” Maisie’s eyes glinted with triumph. She took her sweet time, lingering for several more minutes before finally stepping down. I sprinted back to the hospital, heart hammering against my ribs. But when I arrived, the surgeon looked at me with a heavy shake of his head. “It’s too late. The tissue is degraded. We missed the window by ten minutes.” I collapsed, the screams tearing out of my throat until I had no breath left. Later that night, a courier delivered a familiar, exquisite gift box. Then, Maxwell called. “Maisie is my best friend’s daughter. I couldn’t just let her jump, Daisy. We’ll find another donor…” I said nothing. He sighed, changing the subject. “You got the dress, right? Wear it tomorrow night. Meet me at our usual spot. I have something important to say.” I remembered then. Tomorrow was his ninth “proposal.” He still wanted to play the game. But Maxwell, I’m done playing. The next night, I didn’t go. The couture gown went into the trash. As I was signing the discharge papers to take my mother home for hospice, Maxwell’s friend appeared and forced me into a car. “Max has been waiting for hours! What’s wrong with you? This might be the time his memory actually stays—don’t throw it away now!” The field was filled with fireflies. I had seen this eight times before, and every time, I had cried with joy. I used to think I was his ultimate choice. Now I knew I was just his favorite victim. The lights weren’t magical anymore. They were blinding. I watched Maxwell, in the same suit, reciting the same vows. When he held out the diamond ring, I reached out and slapped it into the dirt. Maxwell froze. “Daisy? What… don’t you want to marry me?” “Maxwell,” I said, my voice like dry ice. “Stop acting—” Suddenly, his friend ran up, staring at his phone. He whispered something to Maxwell, and they both glanced at me. Maxwell tried to shove him away. “Not now! Can’t you see I’m busy? Get out!” A serpent of dread coiled in my gut. I snatched the phone from the friend’s hand. My heart stopped. It was a live stream. My mother was standing on the hospital rooftop. I ran. I flagged a taxi, my hands shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone. I spammed the chat in the live stream. Mom, please get down. I’m coming! The streamer, a young kid looking for clout, saw my comments and laughed into the camera. “Oh, you’re the daughter? Your mom is jumping because of you! She found out her daughter is a high-end hooker for some billionaire. She’s too ashamed to live!” The blood in my veins turned to slush. Then, my mother’s voice came through the speaker. She was talking to a nurse. “My Daisy… she’s a good girl. She shouldn’t have to sell her soul to pay for my life. Tell her… tell her she’s free now.” I gripped the phone, a scream of pure agony trapped in my chest. I reached the hospital just in time to hear the crowd below shouting. “Just jump already! Having a daughter like that is a failure anyway!” Then… Thud. A sickening, heavy sound. My mother bloomed like a red flower on the pavement right before my eyes. “No!” I threw myself onto her broken body, cradling her. My tears mixed with the blood on her face. I looked at the crowd, my mouth open, but no sound came out. Please. Help her. Somebody help her. [Host, the mission window has closed. You have failed.] [Beginning the wipe of all memories related to Maxwell Prescott…] … Maxwell intended to follow Daisy to the hospital, but Maisie called. Another headache. He hesitated, then turned the car around. He stayed with her through the night, eventually falling into a deep sleep by her bedside. When he woke up at noon, his group chat was blowing up. “Max, are you starting the ‘Reset’ act today? Round nine?” Maxwell stared at the screen for a long time. Beside him, Maisie stirred. He typed one word: Yeah. After showering, he sent his usual instructions to his security team: Go find Daisy. Break her hand. But an uneasy feeling was gnawing at him. Two hours later, the lead guard called back. “Sir… Ms. Mona is gone.”

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It took me ten years to claw my way out of the subterranean black site where they’d been running their augment experiments. Ten years to finally break free. Only to find that while I was buried in the dark, the world above had ended. The outbreak had swallowed everything. And my best friend—the only anchor I had left in my fractured mind—was currently being backed into a corner by her husband’s survival crew, ordered to surrender her meager rations. “Everyone else chipped in, Rachel. Why are you being so selfish? You’re really hoarding a couple of candy bars?” Rachel’s voice was small, defensive. “I wanted to save them for Tommy.” A teenage girl standing nearby let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Oh, come on. Every time you want a sugar fix, you use the kid as an excuse. It’s pathetic.” Under the judgmental glare of the entire scavenging party, I unslung the heavy canvas backpack from my shoulder and hurled it. It caught the sneering teenager squarely in the back of the head. “Is that enough?” My voice came out flat, stripped of whatever inflection normal humans used. “Say one more word to her, and I’ll kill every single one of you.” 1 I hadn’t zipped the bag all the way. Dozens of foil-wrapped chocolate bars spilled out, scattering across the cracked asphalt like glittering debris. “What the hell?! Who do you think you’re talking to?” The teenage girl spun around, her voice shrill with shock and rage. Nobody answered her. Every pair of eyes in the vicinity was glued to the dirt. The collective sound of dry swallows echoed in the dead air. “Chocolate… that’s a whole fucking bag of chocolate…” “I’m sweeping it with my kinetics. It’s real. It’s not a mirage.” They surged forward. A desperate, scrambling frenzy broke out as hands clawed at the dirt. Nobody cared about the teenager’s bruised ego. She bit her lip, grabbing the arm of the tall, broad-shouldered man beside her, shaking it. “David, look at them!” The man furrowed his brow, his voice dropping into a low, authoritative rumble. “Stand down. Don’t touch it.” He looked over the group. “All scavenged supplies go to Kelsey’s tether. She inventories and rations. Did you all suddenly forget how this crew operates?” The scrambling stopped. The survivors froze, hands hovering over the candy. The girl, Kelsey, giggled. She strutted forward, confiscating the chocolate from their unresisting hands. A faint, pale blue light pulsed against her palms. A spatial tether. A pocket dimension. Through the entire chaotic display, Rachel—her face ashen, stripped of all color—hadn’t even glanced at the food. She was just staring at me. Her voice trembled, thick with a disbelief that seemed to crack her chest wide open. “Margo? Is that you? You’re alive?” 2 She slammed into me. I stood there, slightly paralyzed by the sudden impact. My arms felt heavy, but some deeply buried, vestigial instinct forced my hand up to awkwardly pat her back. “Is that… my name? Margo?” “You don’t remember?” She pulled back, her hands frantically roaming over my shoulders, my arms, checking for broken bones, crying and laughing all at once. “The director at the group home said you got adopted. I begged him to tell me by who, but he wouldn’t say a word. I spent years looking for you, Mags. I searched everywhere…” I let her rapid-fire words wash over me in absolute silence. Of course she couldn’t find me. For a decade, I had been locked inside a classified, subterranean labyrinth, subjected to extreme human-limit augmentation trials. I couldn’t even count how many times they had cracked open my skull, how many microchips were threaded into my cerebral cortex, how many synthetic serums had burned through my veins. My memories and emotions were a blurred, static-filled wasteland. I didn’t even remember my own name. I only had one fragile, lingering fragmented image from the “Before.” I had a friend. Her name was Rachel. And she… loved me. 3 “Who are you? And where the hell did you get high-tier rations?” Rachel was still running her hands over me, checking my pulse, my temperature. The tall man—David—stepped forward. His eyes were cold, sweeping over me with practiced, paranoid scrutiny. I accessed my limited social-response protocols. “I passed through the city. Picked it up on the way.” David’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You just picked it up? Do you have any idea what’s out there right now—” Before he could finish the sentence, Rachel stepped between us. She spread her arms, shielding me with her own body. “David, this is her. This is my best friend. The one I told you about. The most important person in the world to me.” She turned back to me, her eyes wet. “Mags, this is David. We got married five years ago.” She looked back at him, her voice desperate but firm. “She’s coming with us.” David didn’t say a word. Behind him, Kelsey, the spatial-tether girl, stepped up, crossing her arms. “Look, Rachel, no offense, but we’re an elite runner crew. We’re already dragging you around, and you’re a Baseline. No augments, no nothing. You’re dead weight.” “If we drag your stray friend along too, we might as well just give up on reaching the Portland Safe Zone.” Rachel’s face hardened. Her voice dropped an octave. “Kelsey, if you’re not taking her, then empty your pockets. Give her back her food.” “Excuse me?!” Kelsey’s face flushed an ugly, mottled red. She immediately turned to David, her tone shifting into a whining drawl. “David, are you hearing her? Why is she taking a stranger’s side over her own crew?” “Enough. Both of you.” David delivered the final verdict. “She surrendered a massive haul to the communal pool. That buys her our protection. Rachel, your friend walks with us. That’s the end of it. I don’t want to hear another word.” Rachel’s eyes curved into a brilliant, relieved smile. Beside her, Kelsey’s face went stone-cold. She shot me a venomous glare, rolling her eyes. I let my kinetic senses bleed out, sweeping over Kelsey’s body. Her internal energy signature was pathetic. Less than three cubic meters of spatial capacity. The most rudimentary, entry-level tether I had ever seen. I could snap her neck with a single thought. But I looked down at Rachel, who was still holding onto my sleeve like I might vanish. …I’d let her live. For now. 4 We walked for two days before making camp in a gutted suburban town. Just like when we were kids, Rachel couldn’t stand the silence. As we walked, she filled in the ten-year gap. After my “adoption,” she got into college, started dating David her sophomore year, and married him right after graduation. Two months ago, the contagion hit globally. David woke up with a rare Ferrokinesis augment—he could manipulate metal to tear through the infected. Kelsey, I learned, was David’s stepsister. No blood relation. “They’re incredibly close. Honestly, sometimes I was jealous of how much they had each other’s backs. Especially after you left. I was always just… alone.” Rachel let out a soft, tired sigh. “I have a son, Mags. Tommy. He just turned four. The day the outbreak hit, he was at a summer camp down in San Diego. I begged David to go get him, but it was pure chaos. He couldn’t find him. We finally got a radio signal from the camp counselors later—they evacuated early and flew the kids up to the Portland Safe Zone.” “That’s why we’re heading there. It’s a massive military quarantine zone. Once we get inside, you can meet him.” Rachel rested her chin in her hands, looking at me with that same warm, bright expression from our childhood. “He knows all about you, you know. I always told him his mom had the bravest, best friend in the world named Margo. I told him how much you loved paper cranes when we were in the foster home. He folded hundreds of them. He said he’s saving them to give to Auntie Margo.” I stared at her smile. Deep inside my skull, behind the titanium plating and the synthetic neural webbing, something shifted. Like a glacier that had been frozen in darkness for a decade, just barely beginning to weep water at its edges. “Okay.” I opened my palm. Sitting in the center were three untouched chocolate bars. Rachel’s eyes went wide. I tried to mimic her smile. “For Tommy.” 5 That night, we camped in the rusted shell of an old auto factory. Rachel sneaked over to me, clutching two stale dinner rolls against her chest. “Here. You need to eat.” After countless surgical modifications, my biological shell barely required caloric intake to function. But looking at the fierce, protective gleam in her eyes, I took the bread. Rachel bumped her shoulder against mine, taking a bite of her own roll. “Where were you, Mags? These last ten years… where did you go? How did you suddenly find me?” I sat in silence, staring at the slightly warm, squishy bread in my hands. The sterile, blinding white of the underground lab flashed behind my eyes. The hum of surgical machinery. The endless parade of white coats blurring past the reinforced glass. “Inject Subject 09 with the latest serum compound!” “Increase the neural-chip current!” “Code Red! She’s breaching! Subject 09 is breaching!” The deafening roar of shattering glass. My kinetic output had been so massive it atomized the containment tank. When the red haze of my rage finally cleared, the sector was dead quiet. The pristine white floors were painted crimson, littered with severed limbs and broken bodies. I had grabbed a discarded lab coat, stepping barefoot over the corpses, staring blankly at the metal blast doors. “Rachel… I need to find Rachel…” … “I was in a… specialized facility. I wasn’t allowed to contact the outside world.” It was the most sanitized version of the truth I could offer. “When I finally got out, I just wanted to see you. So I tracked you down.” “Oh, Mags.” Rachel threw her arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder. “I knew it. I knew you still loved me. David kept saying you probably got adopted by some rich family and forgot all about the trashy group home kids. But I never believed him. I told him he just didn’t understand us.” She was right. Who could possibly understand? For ten years, not even the world’s most brilliant neuroscientists understood. The sheer volume of neuro-stimulants they pumped into my spine should have killed a human being purely from the pain. But I survived hundreds of injections. Out of the one hundred children brought to that black site, I was the only one left breathing. Through the one-way glass, I used to hear them whisper: “Subject 09 is a gift from God.” There was no God down there. There was only a faded memory of a little girl holding my hand, saying: “Mags, we’re gonna be best friends until we’re a hundred years old.” I had to live to be a hundred. I couldn’t break my promise. 6 Sometime after midnight, Rachel fell asleep, her head resting heavy on my shoulder. I carefully shifted my weight, easing her into a more comfortable position against a duffel bag, and stood up. Across the dark factory floor, David was awake. His eyes were locked on me, heavy with suspicion. He started walking toward me. In the palm of his hand, I could sense the sharp, deadly hum of kinetic energy molding a spike of solid iron. A second later, a shrieking siren shattered the dead silence of the night. “INCOMING! WE GOT A HORDE!” The rusted iron doors of the factory, barricaded by two abandoned sedans, groaned and gave way. A tidal wave of infected bodies poured through the breach, rotting limbs scrambling over one another. The crew snapped awake, instantly deploying their augments. There were six “gifted” in the crew, but aside from David’s mid-tier ferrokinesis, the rest were pathetic, entry-level parlor tricks. Within minutes, their stamina gauges hit zero. The defensive line collapsed. Three infected broke through, their jaws snapping wildly as they lunged toward where Rachel and Kelsey were huddled. “DAVID!!” “David, help!” Over the chaotic screaming, David didn’t even hesitate. The iron spike in his hand flew across the room, impaling the zombie leaping at Kelsey, pinning it to the concrete. Only then did his head snap toward Rachel, realizing he had left his wife exposed. He turned just in time to see it. Squelch. The heavy steel rebar in my hands pierced flawlessly through the eye sockets of both infected attacking Rachel. I pulled it back in a smooth, sickening arc, and they dropped like heavy sacks of meat. Rachel was gripping the hem of my jacket, her face ghostly white. “Mags, are you hurt? Did they scratch you?!” “I’m fine.” I reached up, wiping a smear of black blood from my cheek with my thumb, my eyes scanning the perimeter. More thermal signatures were swarming the breach. “Get in the vehicles. I’ll hold the rear.” David gritted his teeth, his voice straining. “Move out! Get the engines running, now!” 7 For hours the next day, Rachel didn’t say a word. We had managed to outrun the horde at dawn, barricading ourselves inside an abandoned suburban house to catch our breath. Rachel sat on the floor, obsessively picking at the fraying thread on her sleeve. I reached out, gently covering her trembling hands with mine. I looked her dead in the eye. “I will protect you.” She looked up at me. The image from the factory was burned into both our retinas. In the split second where both his wife and his stepsister were about to be ripped apart, David had made his choice. “All our food and meds are in Kelsey’s tether. Tactically, she’s the VIP. I know that. I understand the logic, I do. But…” Rachel choked back a sob, tears finally spilling over. “Does that make me a horrible, selfish person, Mags?” I shook my head. “You’re the best person I know.” And she was. To me, Rachel was the only good thing left in the world. My biological parents dumped me at the steps of the group home when I was four because I didn’t speak. The state doctors stamped “Severe Autism” on my file. In the system, I was easy prey. The older kids used me as a punching bag. Until Rachel, three years older and half their size, charged at them with a literal cinderblock, chasing them across the yard. “Don’t you touch her! You leave her alone!” When I was nine, the home’s director called me into his office late at night. He said a special doctor was there to give me a checkup. I went. There were two strange men in the room. They told me to take off my dress. The director stood in the corner, laughing softly. “She doesn’t talk. It’s perfectly safe.” That was the exact moment the heavy oak door to the office was kicked off its hinges. Rachel came screaming into the room, wielding a rusted iron spade from the gardening shed, swinging it like a battleaxe at the director and the two men. “Get away from her! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you!” Over their screams, the spade connected, splitting open scalps. The fallout was massive. The cops came. The director and the men were taken away in handcuffs. That night, shivering in the dark, Rachel held my hand, her fingers constantly smoothing down my messy hair. She whispered, “Don’t be scared, Mags. If the bad things come back… you just scream my name.” … Sitting in the dusty living room of the safe house, I clumsily tried to mimic her cadence from all those years ago. “Don’t be scared, Rachel. If the bad things come… you just call my name.” She stared at me, stunned. Her lower lip began to tremble violently. “Mags…” Before she could say another word, the light from the hallway was blocked out. I looked up. David, flanked by the rest of the crew, had us boxed into the corner. Rachel immediately stood up, stepping in front of me. “What is this?” Kelsey stepped out from behind her brother. “Rachel, I get that you want to blindly trust your childhood bestie, but are you really that dense? Have you not noticed anything wrong with this picture?” Rachel frowned, her muscles tensing. “What the hell are you talking about?” Kelsey gave David a loaded look. David remained silent, but his hand flexed. A vicious, serrated blade of solid iron materialized in his grip. Beside him, a wiry man with a rat-like face spoke up. “Think about it, Rachel. The world’s gone to shit. Finding a rusted can of beans is a miracle. And your ‘friend’ here wanders out of the wasteland, untouched, carrying a twenty-pound bag of pristine chocolate? Surviving solo for two months in the red zones? Claiming she’s just a normal Baseline girl? It’s bullshit.” Rachel gripped my hand tighter. “Make your point.” David took a slow step forward, his voice a low, dangerous gravel. “Rachel, I know what she means to you. But we can’t afford blind spots. We’ve been moving for a month. Sticking to the backroads. We barely saw a single roamer.” “Yesterday, she joins us. And twelve hours later, a massive horde magically zeroes in on our exact location.” “The military broadcasts have been warning us. The virus is mutating. There are Variants out there that look perfectly human. Alphas. Things that can mind-control the swarms.” He raised the iron blade, pointing the jagged tip directly at the space between my eyes. “I think your friend is an Alpha.”

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On my wedding day, the company was hit with a massive tax evasion scandal. To save our future—to save him—I stepped forward. I confessed to crimes I didn’t commit and took the fall for Bennett Sterling. I went to prison so he could stay free. Ten years later, I walked out of those gates a free woman, only to find that Bennett had built a life without me. He had a home, a wife, and a brood of children. When I confronted him, trembling with a decade’s worth of suppressed rage, asking him how he could betray me so completely, he didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed. “I needed an heir,” he said, as if he were discussing a business merger. “I needed to carry on the family name.” The world blurred. My eyes burned with hot, stinging tears as the shouting match began. But I wasn’t just fighting him; I was fighting a wall of indifference. My in-laws tried to “soothe” me with poison. “Even if Bennett had children with someone else, you’re still the mistress of the Sterling estate. Just be graceful about it. A comfortable life is better than pride, isn’t it?” Even my own parents, the people who were supposed to be my sanctuary, turned their backs. “Nora, Bennett took care of us while you were behind bars. The Sterling line is old and prestigious; he couldn’t just let the bloodline end while waiting for you.” “Besides,” my mother added, her voice dropping to a cold, clinical whisper, “you’re a felon now. You have a record. You should be grateful Bennett isn’t divorcing you outright.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood, biting my lip to keep from sobbing. “And how exactly do you see this working, Bennett? What is our ‘relationship’ supposed to be?” Bennett took a slow, nonchalant sip of his tea. “As long as you stay in your lane and don’t cause a scene, I won’t divorce you. But the Sterling empire? That goes to Hunter and his five siblings. They’ll take care of you when you’re old. Consider them your own.” The last flicker of hope in my chest died then. A single tear escaped, tracing a cold path down my cheek. I was done. “I don’t need them,” I said, my voice finally finding a terrifying, quiet clarity. “Bennett, I want a divorce.” I turned on my heel and left. The first call I made was to the woman I’d met in the yard—the woman who ran the cell block and, as it turned out, half the city’s underground. … 1 “Divorce?! Absolutely not!” My father was the one who erupted first. Before I could react, his hand lashed out, catching me across the face. The sting was sharp, but the shock was deeper. “How did I raise such a petty, selfish brat?” “Bennett is a man of status,” he sneered. “In another era, he’d have a dozen wives and no one would blink. He’s offering to keep you, despite your shame, and you’re throwing a tantrum over a few kids?” My brother, Tyler, jumped up from the sofa, his face flushed with greed. “Nora, what the hell is wrong with you? My house, my car, the down payment for my wedding—it all came from Bennett. So what if there are kids? It’s not a big deal!” “If it bothers you so much, just have one of your own with him. It’s not like he can’t afford another mouth to feed.” Blood is thicker than water, they say. But in the face of a direct deposit, my family was more than happy to let mine spill. Bennett, who hadn’t looked me in the eye since I’d been processed out, finally looked up. A flicker of something—maybe panic, maybe just annoyance—crossed his face. “Nora, don’t be dramatic. You’re my wife. That hasn’t changed.” A chill settled into my bones. I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Do you even remember what you said to me? Right before I walked into that courtroom to lie for you?” Bennett froze. He looked at me for a long beat, his expression shifting from confusion to a defensive, ugly scowl. “Are you really going to hold that over me now?” he snapped. “I spent ten years taking care of your family, playing the dutiful son-in-law. I don’t expect a ‘thank you,’ but my parents are getting old. They wanted grandkids. I wanted to give them that. So… Hunter and the others happened. Can’t you show a little compassion? A little understanding?” He spoke of his “sacrifices” as if he were the one who had spent a decade staring at a grey concrete ceiling. He listed my faults as if I were the one who had broken a vow. I tilted my head back, forcing the tears back into their ducts. I grew up in a house where I was always second-best to my brother. Bennett had been my escape. He’d pursued me with a frantic, desperate passion, telling me I was the only thing that mattered. I’d fallen for it. I’d walked away from a high-paying career to build his dream from the dirt up. He told me he hated the “fake” corporate world, so I became the face of the company. I did the dirty work, the late-night networking, the high-stakes negotiations. I drank until my stomach bled to land contracts. I miscarried twice because I couldn’t afford to stop moving. Three years of blood and sweat, and the company finally hit the big leagues. We got married. And then, on the day we were supposed to start our lives, the IRS came knocking. His parents had knelt at my feet. “Nora, Bennett can’t go to prison. He’s the only son. A felony would destroy the family legacy. You helped build the company—just say the decisions were yours. You’re a woman; people will be more lenient. We won’t judge you. Just save him. Please.” Bennett had grabbed my hands, his eyes wet with tears as he shouted at his parents. “Don’t pressure her! She’s my everything! I’ll respect whatever she chooses!” Then he looked at me, his voice a broken whisper. “Honey, if you do this for me, I swear on my life, I will never betray you. If I ever break this vow, may I lose everything I hold dear.” I believed the performance. I took the fall. For ten years, the thought of our “happily ever after” was the only thing that kept me from breaking. And now, the promise was just a ghost, and bringing it up was treated like a crime. I had walked through fire for love, only to realize I was the only one burning. “Pay them off,” I said, my voice cold. “Get them out of our lives, or I’m filing for divorce.” The room went dead silent. My in-laws’ faces twisted with sudden, sharp malice. “Absolutely not!” my mother-in-law shrieked. “We finally have our grandsons! Why should a barren woman like you get to kick them out?” I kept my eyes on Bennett. This was ten years of obsession speaking. I wanted to give him one last chance to be the man he promised he was—and give myself one last reason to stay. He looked miserable, his brow furrowed in a tight knot of frustration. “Nora, does it have to be like this? On the day we’re finally back together, you’re really going to tear this marriage apart with your own hands?” 2 When I didn’t flinch, his tone shifted to something patronizing. “You just got out. You’re overwhelmed. You aren’t thinking straight.” “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that nonsense. I’ll give you time to adjust, but Nora, my patience isn’t infinite.” A laugh bubbled up in my throat, sharp and hysterical. He was the one who cheated. He was the one asking me to pay for his sins. And yet, he was the one “granting” me a chance? I didn’t bother arguing. I turned and walked out the door. If this wasn’t a home anymore, I wasn’t going to haunt it like a ghost. As I reached the curb, a black Rolls-Royce pulled up. The window rolled down to reveal Roxy. We’d met in the yard; she was a powerhouse who’d ended up inside after “protecting her interests” a little too aggressively. She’d been released the day before me. “Hey, girl! I went to the gate to pick you up, but you’d already vanished!” Roxy hopped out, her eyes scanning my face and seeing the wreckage underneath. “I figured you’d be here at the Sterling place. Listen, I did some digging. That husband of yours? He’s not the pining widower you thought he was. While you were doing time, he was busy playing house with some gold-digger. Six kids, Nora. They’ve been busier than a farm in spring.” Roxy, who had been stabbed in the back by her own ex-husband, was vibrating with indignant fury. She pulled a thick manila folder from the backseat. “This prick? If we were back in the day, he’d be at the bottom of a lake.” I took the file. My heart hammered against my ribs. Inside were records of Bennett accompanying a woman named Melanie to prenatal checkups. Six kids in ten years. The oldest was eleven. I did the math, and the world tilted. He’d been with her before we even got married. There were insurance policies worth millions for each of them. Seven villas. Transfer records that could fund a small country. And at the back, a photo of a wedding—Bennett and Melanie, looking radiant. A family of eight, with my parents and his parents in the background, all of them smiling. I had traded my freedom for a lie. I had carried his shame so they could play house. I closed the folder. The fire in my heart went out, replaced by a cold, hard stone. “Roxy,” I said, my voice steady. “Help me get my case reopened. I’m going to clear my name.” “And after that… I’m coming with you. Let’s see what we can build in the private sector.” Roxy was a shark who’d been trying to recruit me since my third year inside. She grinned, a predatory, beautiful thing. “About damn time. Men—especially the trashy ones—are just overhead we don’t need.” The day of my brother’s wedding arrived. To no one’s surprise, Melanie and her six children were the guests of honor. She was wearing a sleek, crimson designer gown that hugged a figure that showed no signs of six pregnancies. The kids were dressed in miniature tuxedos and matching silk dresses. The boys were clones of Bennett; the girls had Melanie’s sharp, hungry eyes. Bennett was in a deep navy suit that perfectly complemented Melanie’s dress. I felt a bitter pang of irony. Bennett used to tell me he hated matching outfits—said they were tacky. It turns out he just didn’t want to match with me. My in-laws were hovering over the children, doting and frantic. They were sweating through their clothes, chasing toddlers, but they looked happier than I’d ever seen them. Melanie handed my brother an envelope. “A little something for the honeymoon. A hundred thousand to get you started.” My mother’s eyes practically turned into dollar signs as she snatched it. “So generous! It’s no wonder the Sterlings are so blessed with children!” She threw a sideways glance at me. “Unlike some people. Family, my foot. A ‘felon’s discount’ gift of eight hundred bucks? Talk about a cheapskate.” Tyler took my red envelope, pulled out the cash, and dropped the paper on the floor, grinding it into the carpet with his heel. “Pocket change. Who does she think she’s impressing?” I watched them, a profound sense of nausea rising. That money was all I had. I’d earned it cents at a time, working the laundry and the kitchen in prison, saving every scrap for years. I had less than a hundred dollars left to my name. I said nothing. The oldest boy, Hunter, walked up to me. He stared at me for a long minute before letting out a sharp, practiced sneer. “Are you the woman from jail?” “You’re ugly. And you’re trying to steal my daddy. You have no shame.” He turned to the other kids, waving them over. “Look, guys! It’s the bad lady who makes everyone say we’re ‘illegitimate’!” Melanie rushed over, putting a hand over Hunter’s mouth with a dramatic sigh. “Hunter! That’s enough! Tell the lady you’re sorry.” She scolded him, but her eyes were dancing with triumph. It was a performance designed to trigger my in-laws’ protective instincts—and it worked. They immediately began coddling the boy and glaring at me. Bennett heard the commotion and walked over. He ruffled Hunter’s hair, his face softening with a fatherly concern I’d never seen. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s Daddy’s fault for letting people whisper.” Then he looked at me, his voice firm. “But from now on, legally, Nora will be your mother. No one will ever call you that word again.” 3 The next oldest boy, Parker, burst into tears. My mother-in-law immediately scooped him up. “What’s wrong, my angel? What’s hurting you?” Parker pointed a trembling finger at me, his face red and blotchy. “My teacher said people in jail are bad! I don’t want a bad lady to be my mommy! I want my real mommy!” That set off a chain reaction. Within seconds, the room was filled with the wails of six children. It was a symphony of chaos. “Don’t cry, sweetheart! The bad lady isn’t going to be your mommy, Grandpa and Grandma promise!” Hunter, the eldest, shot me a look of pure, calculated malice before squeezing out a few crocodile tears. “Grandma, you can’t promise that. I heard people say Mom can’t be the real Mrs. Sterling because Daddy won’t let her.” My in-laws spun around to face Bennett. “Bennett! Say something! If my grandson cries himself hoarse, I’ll never forgive you!” Bennett looked at me, then at the crying children. He looked caught, performative, and finally, resolute. “Stop crying,” he said, his voice carrying over the din. “I’ll give you the result you want. A man doesn’t cry; he takes care of his family. You have to be a role model for your siblings.” The crying stopped instantly. Melanie’s eyes welled up with “emotional” tears. “Bennett… do you mean it? Is this real?” Bennett remained silent, but he wouldn’t look at me. Suddenly, Parker—who was barely nine but easily weighed a solid 150 pounds—charged at me. “Get away from my daddy! Die, you bad lady! Die!” He was a heavy kid, and he was coming at me like a freight train. Instinct took over. I stepped to the side. He overbalanced, missing me entirely, and slammed face-first into the wainscoting of the wall. His nose erupted in blood, and a second later, a scream ripped through the room that sounded like a siren. “My baby!” Melanie shrieked, rushing to him. Then she turned on me, her face a mask of fury. “Ms. Shen, I know it’s been hard for you, watching me take your place all these years. If you have a problem, take it out on me! Parker is a child! How could you be so cruel?” I was speechless at the sheer audacity. Before I could get a word out—CRACK. Bennett’s hand moved faster than I could see. My head snapped to the side, the world spinning as the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. “I thought you just needed time to adjust,” Bennett hissed, his eyes cold and murderous. “But you’re actually laying hands on a child?” He had hit me with everything he had. My cheek felt like it was on fire. “I told you,” he snarled, “these children are the future of the Sterling name. They are the masters of this house. And you? You’re a leech. You’re a convicted felon whose parents live off my charity. Who the hell do you think you are?” Three-year-old Mia toddled over, hugging Bennett’s leg. “Don’t be sad, Daddy. I’ll help you hit the bad lady.” She balled up her tiny fist and shook it at me. Bennett picked her up, kissing her cheek. “My little angel. A princess shouldn’t have to do dirty work like that.” He gestured for Melanie to take the kids, and the eight of them began to walk toward the exit. My in-laws followed like obedient dogs, pausing only to spit toward me. “Pathetic, ungrateful bitch!” Once they were gone, my parents’ faces turned black with rage. “You ruined the wedding!” my father yelled. “You should have stayed in that cell for the rest of your life!” Tyler was even worse. The “humiliation” of his ruined day had pushed him over the edge. He rolled up his sleeves and lunged at me, his fists raining down on my head and shoulders. “You bitch! Why won’t you just die?” He grabbed me by the hair and began dragging me toward the door. The strength difference was too much; the more I fought, the more he tore at me. Bennett and the others stopped to watch. The kids clapped their hands, cheering. “Look, Daddy! The bad lady is losing!” “Uncle Tyler is a superhero!” My in-laws nodded approvingly. “See, babies? That’s what happens to bad people.” My head was ringing. My body was a map of blooming bruises. Everyone was watching the show, and Bennett’s cold, detached gaze was the sharpest blade of all. As Tyler raised his hand for another blow, I curled into a ball, closing my eyes and waiting for the end. Hate, hot and thick as tar, began to flood my heart. And then, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom swung open. A familiar, raspy voice boomed through the hall. “Who the hell gave you permission to touch her?”

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It was New Year’s Eve, and my little sister was begging me to play hide-and-seek. The second I covered my eyes and started counting to thirty, that eraser in my brain started moving again. It’s a strange, smooth sensation—the feeling of a chalkboard being wiped clean while the chalk is still writing. I stood there for a few seconds, staring into the blackness of my palms. Then, I simply turned around, walked back into the house, and started watching the New Year’s countdown on TV. An hour later, my mother was kneeling in front of me, her hands gripping my shoulders. “Elena, where’s your sister?” Sister? I blinked, the flickering light of the television reflecting in my eyes. “I don’t have a sister.” The look on my mother’s face shifted instantly. It wasn’t just worry; it was a flash of pure, unadulterated horror. Nobody stayed for the New Year’s dinner. They abandoned the roast and the wine, charging out into the driving blizzard. But no matter how loud they screamed her name, Sophie didn’t appear. My mother’s hand flew up, catching me across the face with a sickening crack. Her eyes were rimmed with a violent red. “Did I not tell you to watch her? Did I not tell you to stay by her side every single second?” “Where is she, Elena? Which way did she go? Answer me!” She shoved me, and I tumbled backward, sinking into the freezing slush outside the porch. “Why couldn’t it have been you?” she wailed, her voice breaking over the wind. “Why couldn’t the idiot be the one who got lost? You don’t remember anything anyway!” “You forgot your sister today. What’s next? Me? Your father? Are we just going to disappear from your head too?” She lunged at me again, but my father caught her, pulling her back. They were both sobbing now, their grief a physical weight in the air. I felt a hollow ache in my chest. She was right. Why couldn’t it have been me? 1 My father held my mother’s wrist tight, stopping her hand just inches from my cheek. “Enough!” his voice was a jagged rasp. “She’s sick, Diane. You know she’s sick.” “Because she’s sick is exactly why I told her not to leave the house!” My mother wrenched her hand free, though she didn’t come near me again. She just stood there, staring at me with those bloodshot eyes. “She’s only four… it’s freezing out there. Where could she go?” Four? I tried to speak, but no sound came out. Was the sister four years old? My mind was a blank slate. Beyond the muffled sounds of the TV and the swirling white flakes falling from the sky, there was nothing. No memories of a little girl, no echoes of laughter. The neighbors started arriving, drawn by the commotion. “Check the nearby houses,” someone shouted. “A kid can’t get far in this. Maybe she’s at a friend’s?” My father pulled my mother up from the snow. “What are we doing sitting here? Move! We have to find her! Talking to Elena is a waste of time—she doesn’t understand!” My mother’s eyes cleared for a second, sharpened by a desperate mission. “Right. I have to find my Sunny…” She didn’t look at me again. She grabbed a heavy-duty flashlight and vanished into the white veil of the storm. I stood there alone, the crowd’s shouts fading as they called out for “Sunny.” “Sunny… isn’t that my name?” A fragment of a memory flickered—I was three years old, and my parents were calling me Sunny. “Elena! What are you doing just standing there? Get moving and help find your sister!” Elena. When did my name change again? I couldn’t wrap my head around it, so I stopped trying. As I stood up, a cry erupted from the distance. “Found her! She’s here!” Everyone rushed toward the old oak tree at the edge of the property. There was a shallow depression there, a hollow in the earth now partially filled with snow. Sophie was inside it. Her face was a terrifying shade of blue-purple, her golden hair matted with icicles. My mother let out a harrowing scream and threw herself into the pit. “Sunny… my baby!” As if sensing the heat, Sophie’s eyes fluttered open. But she didn’t look at our mother. She looked straight at me. “Laney… why didn’t you come find me?” She began to cry, a weak, thin sound. “You promised you’d count to thirty and find me. I hid so well. I was waiting for you…” My mother’s head snapped toward me. She placed Sophie down gently and walked toward me with a terrifying, slow gait. Slap. The blow landed this time. My left ear rang instantly, a high-pitched whine that drowned out the wind. “Are you happy now?” My mother’s voice trembled with a lethal rage. “Are you satisfied seeing her nearly freeze to death?” “How did I give birth to a monster like you?” “This disease… this goddamn disease! You forget your sister, you forget us—I bet you’re just waiting for the day you can forget yourself!” The tears finally spilled over her cheeks. “Or maybe… maybe you’re faking it? Maybe you did this on purpose? Pretending to forget just so she’d die out here alone in the cold?” “That’s enough.” My father finally spoke, but he didn’t look at me. He was busy wrapping Sophie in his coat. “Get her inside. Get her warm. The paramedics are on their way.” No one said a word in my defense. I didn’t know how to argue anyway. It was my fault. My mother gave me one last look of pure loathing. “You stay out here. Stay right here and feel exactly how cold and scared your sister was.” They turned their backs on me. The neighbors, sensing the family’s private collapse, whispered among themselves and retreated to their own warm homes. 2 The snow began to fall harder, heavy and silent. I slowly crouched down, mimicking Sophie’s posture, and curled myself into that same shallow pit. The biting cold soaked through my clothes instantly. So, this is what it felt like. I was a horrible person. How could I have forgotten something so important? But I was just sick. The doctors called it a rare form of early-onset progressive memory impairment. They said my hippocampus was being eaten away, bit by bit. New memories couldn’t take root, and the old ones were being erased. My mom called it the “Eraser.” I didn’t know why there was an eraser in my head. I only knew that things I remembered in the morning became blurry by noon. My mom said I was an idiot. Maybe she was right. The sky grew darker. In the distance, the lights of the town twinkled one by one, and I heard the faint pop of early fireworks. I should go home. I tried to move my stiff legs. As I stood up, that familiar, dizzying sensation washed over me again. I blinked, looking around. The trees were white. The road was white. I turned in a circle. What… what was I supposed to be doing? Home. Right. Go home. But where was home? My heart started thumping against my ribs. I pressed my hand to my chest, gasping for air. Think. Today is New Year’s Eve. Sophie wanted to play hide-and-seek. Mom hit me… And then what? I couldn’t remember. It’s okay. I’ll just wait. They’ll realize I haven’t come back. They’ll come looking for me. Just like they looked for Sophie. I hugged my knees in the pit, counting the distant firecrackers. One, two… by the time I got to seventeen, I forgot what came before. I waited until the midnight bells chimed. Fireworks exploded in the sky, lighting up the world in bursts of neon green and crimson. It was beautiful. Once, my dad used to set off fireworks for me. He’d tell me to make a wish. What did I wish for? I forgot that, too. I curled up tighter. Strangely, the cold began to fade. I started feeling hot—unbearably hot. I pulled off my heavy coat. Then I pulled off my sweater. But the heat was still there, pulsing under my skin. By the time I was down to my thin thermal undershirt, I felt light. Weightless. Like I was floating. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, I was back in the house. The TV was still on. My mom was on the sofa, cradling Sophie, feeding her ginger tea with a small spoon. “Drink up, Sunny. Just a little more. It’ll get the chill out of your bones.” Sophie’s cheeks were rosy again. She was wrapped in a thick wool blanket, her eyes peeking out. “Where’s Laney?” Sophie asked suddenly. My mother’s hand stiffened. “Don’t talk about her.” “But she’s not back yet…” “She deserves it! She needs to know what it feels like to freeze. She’s nearly an adult, and she can’t even look after a child.” I wanted to walk over and say I was sorry, but as I moved, I drifted right through the coffee table. I froze. “Elena isn’t back,” my father said, standing by the window, staring into the white abyss. “The storm is getting worse.” “Oh, now you’re worried?” My mother didn’t even look up. “What if something had really happened to Sunny tonight? What then?” My father was silent. “She did it on purpose,” my mother hissed. “She’s jealous of her sister, so she fakes the memory loss. That disease… who knows if it’s even real? Even the specialist said he’d never seen a case progress like this.” “The doctor said it was organic brain damage, Diane,” my father whispered. “Organic brain damage that only makes her forget her sister but lets her remember to watch TV?” Her voice rose to a shriek. “She hates that we had another child! She hates that we gave Sunny the love she thinks she’s entitled to!” Sophie whimpered, shrinking into her mother’s arms. Diane immediately softened her tone, patting the girl’s back. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy isn’t mad at you. My sweet, sweet Sunny…” My father stood there for a long time before finally turning away from the window. “When she gets back, I need to have a talk with her.” “Talk about what? How she almost killed her sister?” My mother let out a cold laugh. “If you ask me, we should just put her in a facility. She doesn’t remember anything anyway. What difference does it make where she lives?” My father didn’t answer. I stood beside them, opening my mouth. “I…” No sound. I reached out to touch my mother’s shoulder, but my hand passed straight through her body like smoke through a screen. I realized then. I was dead. Maybe it was for the best. At least now, I wouldn’t have to worry about forgetting anymore. 3 My father sat up all night, but I never walked through the door. When my mother came out of the bedroom the next morning, her face was gaunt. “Is that brat still not back?” My father sat at the kitchen table, an ashtray full of cigarette butts in front of him. “I went to the neighbors this morning. No one’s seen her.” “She’s probably hiding in some corner, trying to make us feel guilty.” My mother slammed a pile of dirty laundry onto the floor. “That’s her favorite trick. Screw up, then play dumb and act like a victim so we’ll go easy on her.” “Well, not this time. Not after what she did to Sunny. When she shows her face, I’m going to make sure she never forgets this lesson.” Sophie was sitting on a small stool, playing with blocks. She looked up. “Mommy, don’t hit Laney.” “Sweetie,” my mother said, her voice instantly turning to honey. “Laney was very bad. She almost let you freeze. When people do bad things, they have to be punished. Do you understand?” Sophie nodded vaguely and went back to her blocks. My father sighed, crushing out his cigarette. “This town isn’t that big. Where could she go? She probably spent the night at a friend’s because she felt slighted.” Before he could finish, a neighbor’s voice boomed from the yard. “Hey, Rob! Time to head to the Old Oak for the New Year’s bonfire!” My father stood up. “Everyone in town will be there for the ceremony. If she shows up there, God help her.” My mother untied her apron. Her eyes fell on a tattered rag doll sitting on the sofa—my doll. She had given it to me years ago. A few days ago, Sophie had ripped its arm off, and the stuffing was leaking out. Mom had promised to fix it. Suddenly, my mother stepped forward and grabbed the doll. Rrrrrip. The fragile fabric gave way completely. Stuffing exploded from the wound, scattering across the rug. I flinched, trying to stop her, but I was just a shadow in the room. I watched as she tossed the ruined pieces into the trash. “She’s too old for this crap anyway! Spending all day acting like a child, caring more about a doll than her own sister!” One of the doll’s button eyes popped off, rolling across the floor until it stopped at Sophie’s feet. Sophie picked it up and squeezed it in her tiny palm. “Let’s go,” my father said. “She’s probably at the tree already, watching the crowd.” “Good. I’m not letting her off easy this time. She loves to forget? I’ll give her a memory she’ll never lose.” They locked the door and led Sophie toward the edge of the woods. “Elena’s still not back?” a neighbor asked as they joined the group. “She’s spoiled rotten!” my mother replied instantly. “I scolded her yesterday, and she ran off to sulk. Seventeen years old and not a lick of sense.” “You have no idea… that ‘illness’ of hers… who knows? She remembers what she wants and forgets the rest. Last time I disciplined her, she turned around a minute later and asked what was for dinner with a smile on her face. Can you believe that?” “Well, the girl is sick, Diane. Maybe have some patience…” “Patience?” My mother’s voice went sharp. “If I give her any more patience, she’ll burn the house down! This time, she learns.” I followed them silently, tears I couldn’t feel prickling at my non-existent eyes. So that was what she really thought of me. A crowd had gathered under the Old Oak. Ribbons were tied to the branches, fluttering in the morning light. A table of offerings had been set up, and the scent of pine and woodsmoke filled the air. My mother’s eyes scanned the faces, her expression growing darker with every passing second. “She’s not here.” “Maybe she’s hiding,” my father muttered. “We’ll search house to house after the ceremony. She can’t have vanished into thin air.” I looked at them. Mom, Dad… I’m right here. I’m in the pit behind the tree. 4 The ceremony began. The town elder said a few words of blessing, and people stepped forward to light candles. My mother bowed her head, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. When the town prepared to light the traditional New Year’s firecrackers in the clearing, my mother suddenly shouted, “Wait!” Everyone turned to her. “My daughter isn’t here yet,” she said, her voice sounding thin. “The whole family needs to be here for the blessing.” I squinted. Maybe she did still care, just a little. “She’s probably watching from the bushes,” someone said. “Let’s light it. We can’t miss the auspicious hour.” “But—” “Mommy.” Sophie tugged on her mother’s coat, pointing her small hand toward the shallow pit partially hidden by the snow. “Was Laney… was she there yesterday?” My mother followed her finger. There was something at the bottom of the pit. My father saw it too. He frowned and walked over, brushing away a layer of fresh powder. It was my sweater and my coat. They were frozen solid, stiff as boards. My father’s hand stopped mid-air. My mother walked up behind him. She stared at the pile of clothes for a long time, then looked around at the vast, empty white field. Sophie squeezed the button eye in her hand and whispered, “If Laney took off her clothes… isn’t she cold?” My father picked up the sweater. He didn’t move. “What is this girl playing at? Leaving her clothes here like some kind of dramatic stunt?” My mother snatched the sweater from him and shook it. Ice crystals fell like salt. “She thinks if she leaves these here, we’ll get scared? We’ll come crawling to find her? Dream on! If she freezes, it’s her own fault! She’s so incredibly selfish!” My father’s face went pale. “Did she… did she stay out here all night?” My mother’s hands faltered, but then she threw the sweater back into the snow with more force. “A stunt! It’s a total stunt! She wants us to worry. She wants us to regret yelling at her. I bet she’s sitting in someone’s warm kitchen right now, laughing at us!” Sophie let go of her mother’s hand and ran to the edge of the pit. She started digging with her small hands, just like Dad had. Suddenly, she pulled something small out of the snow. It was my hair tie. Sophie held the hair tie and the button eye together in her tiny, freezing hand. She looked up at her parents. “These are Laney’s.” My mother grabbed the hair tie, her knuckles turning white. The neighbors sensed the shift in the air and began to gather around. “She left her clothes and disappeared? She didn’t come home last night?” “In this weather? With only an undershirt on? Where could she go? Unless…” “Don’t you dare say it!” my mother snapped. “She’s fine! She’s doing this on purpose!” But I saw it. Her hand was shaking. My father didn’t say anything. He began to circle the tree, searching. The neighbors joined in, their festive mood evaporated. Sophie, still held in her mother’s grip, looked up and asked quietly, “Is Laney hiding? Like I was yesterday? Is she in the pit?” My mother froze. She looked down into the hollow. “Elena… stop scaring me. If I find out you’re lying, I swear I’ll kill you!” Even as she said the words, she let go of Sophie and knelt by the pit. She began to claw at the snow. “If you’re playing a joke on us, I’m done! I’ll forget you entirely! I’ll—” Her words cut off as a flash of pink thermal fabric appeared. And then… she saw my face.

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Brianna Harrington, my obscenely wealthy roommate and the undisputed queen bee of our campus, loved nothing more than tormenting her boyfriend, Rae. To the rest of the world, Rae Caldwell was just a penniless, crippled charity case. And once again, Brianna had ordered me to tip his wheelchair over and kick him into the freezing, bone-chilling waters of the campus lake. But as I raised my hands to do it, a stream of glowing, translucent text suddenly scrolled across my field of vision, hovering in the winter air like a glitch in reality. [The spoiled heiress FMC and the secretly-a-billionaire-heir MMC… this is my favorite toxic trope!] [The worse our female lead treats him now, the harder the spicy groveling scenes will be later. It’s just a shame about that pretty little extra. Doesn’t she know the MMC is going to take out all his repressed rage on her? She’s going to die a gruesome death.] [Hey, it’s her own fault for being greedy and doing the villain’s dirty work for cash. She deserves what’s coming to her.] [This is the turning point! He almost drowns here, finally gives up his ‘poor and crippled’ act—which was just a test to see if the FMC would love him at his worst—and reclaims his empire to force her into a dark romance.] My hands froze mid-air. The icy wind bit at my cheeks. I looked at the dark, churning water, then at Rae’s rigid, shivering form. I didn’t want to be the disposable extra. I wanted to be the main character. Without a second thought, I threw myself into the freezing lake, hauled Rae’s thrashing body to the surface, and dragged him all the way back to my dirt-cheap basement apartment. 1 Rae was unconscious for a long time. When he finally opened his eyes, I was boiling tap water in a battered, salvaged pot to dissolve a cheap fever reducer. A cockroach scuttled across the concrete floor near his foot. The leg that was supposedly paralyzed gave an involuntary twitch. He nearly performed a medical miracle and jumped right out of the bed. I pretended I didn’t see a thing. I brought the mug of dissolved medicine to his lips, my expression a mask of nervous guilt. “Your fever is really high. Please, drink this.” Rae’s face was flushed an unnatural, feverish red, but it didn’t stop him from swatting the mug away. It shattered against the wall. He opened his cracked lips to snarl something, but I beat him to the punch. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry I pushed you into the lake.” My eyes were bloodshot, but I forced a fragile, trembling smile. “I know a simple apology doesn’t make up for what I did. But please… just let me take care of you until this fever breaks. Let me try to make amends.” My hands were shaking violently. Rae’s dark, calculating eyes swept over the damp, dimly lit basement, finally settling on my flushed cheeks. “You’re burning up too,” he noted, his voice a hoarse rasp. I widened my eyes in feigned surprise, then shook my head. “That was the last fever pill I had. You need it more.” “Drop the act.” Rae let out a cold, breathless scoff. “Every time you help Brianna humiliate me, she pays you. You’ve racked up quite a bit of cash by now. Don’t tell me you can’t afford a bottle of Tylenol.” My spine stiffened. Of course he knew. He was the sole heir to the Caldwell empire, the most ruthless family in the corporate world. Tracking the few hundred bucks Brianna threw at me was child’s play for him. Looking at the sneer forming in his eyes, I remembered the floating text. After this incident, Rae was supposed to shed his disguise and ascend his throne. Once he was back in his penthouse, a girl like me would never get within a mile of him. This was my one and only window. I lowered my head, staring at my frayed sneakers. “That money… it has to go somewhere more important.” Rae rolled his eyes, his patience exhausted. He braced his arms against the mattress, preparing to stand up and walk right out the door. But a second later, his arms gave out. He collapsed back onto the cheap sheets, half-conscious. He blinked, fighting to stay awake, but his body refused to obey. I watched him slip under, giving a satisfied little nod. Then, I pulled an empty syringe from my pocket, snapped the needle, and tossed it into the trash. He was right. Brianna’s money did have more important uses. Like buying a heavy-duty muscle relaxant on the black market. As I struggled to carry Rae’s dead weight on my back, hauling him out of the basement and toward the nearest hospital, I made sure to cry hysterically, begging him to stay with me. The glowing text above my head was having a meltdown. [Is this extra insane?! She pushed him in and then pulled him out, and now she’s made him completely miss his family’s extraction team! He can’t get his identity back right now! How is he supposed to do the dark romance trope with our FMC?] [She’s literally broke. What’s the point of dragging him to a hospital? She’s going to accidentally kill him!] I didn’t have money, true. But I had blood. I dropped to my knees in the ER lobby, Rae’s scorching body sliding off my back. I grabbed the triage doctor’s coat, rolling up my sleeve to reveal a map of faded puncture marks. “I’m due to donate! Take my blood!” I sobbed, my voice cracking. “Do whatever you have to do, just please save him. I can’t lose him. I can’t.” The doctor looked utterly conflicted. “June, you’re already severely malnourished. You donate plasma every month just to keep your mother’s life support running. You finally paid this month’s installment early, you don’t need to do this… why do this for a stranger?” “It’s what I owe him,” I cut him off, my voice dropping to a desperate whisper. The doctor sighed a heavy, defeated sigh and called for the nurses. I endured the dizzying, nauseating pull of the blood leaving my veins. Afterward, weak and shivering, I sat by Rae’s hospital bed. I held his face in my hands, my thumbs brushing his jawline. “You have to get better, Rae,” I whispered into the quiet room. “As long as you wake up, I don’t care if they drain me dry.” Eventually, the sheer exhaustion and blood loss pulled me under. I collapsed with my head resting on the edge of his mattress. When I woke up, the room was pitch black, save for the glow of the streetlights outside. I blinked sluggishly, realizing someone had draped a heavy jacket over my shoulders. Rae was sitting up, leaning against the pillows, scrolling through his phone. He lowered the device, his gaze pinning me to the spot—dark, unreadable, and heavy. Instinctively, I reached out to press the back of my hand against his forehead. His skin was cool. The fever had broken. I let out a massive breath of relief. “Are you hungry? I’ll go find the cafeteria,” I said, scrambling to stand. A wave of vertigo hit me hard. I stumbled. A strong, calloused hand clamped around my wrist, steadying me. He didn’t let go. “You almost drowned me, and then you almost killed yourself to save me.” His voice was low, vibrating with suspicion. “What exactly is your endgame here, June?” 2 I cast my eyes downward, searching for the right words, but a knock at the door interrupted me. “June?” The doctor stood in the doorway, his expression soft. “Your mother just woke up. She’s asking for you.” The breath caught in my throat. I tore my hand from Rae’s grip and bolted out the door. When I reached her ward, my heart shattered all over again. My mother lay there, her body reduced to little more than a skeleton beneath the hospital blankets. Her sunken eyes darted around the room in a blind panic until they found me. My vision blurred. I dropped to my knees beside her bed, taking her frail, paper-thin hand and pressing it to my cheek. “Mom. I’m here. I’m right here,” I coaxed, my voice trembling. “Are you in pain? Tell me what hurts. I’ll fix it. I promise I’ll fix it.” Her dry, cracked lips parted. It took her several agonizing seconds to push the words past her vocal cords. “June… let me… go.” Her voice was a ghostly rasp. “No more… treatments.” “Mom, don’t—” “Go back to school,” she wheezed, a single tear slipping down her hollow cheek. “Just… live your life, baby.” It felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to my ribs. The tears I’d been fighting spilled over, hot and fast. I wiped them away violently. I couldn’t let her see me break. “Mom, I have a plan,” I lied, my voice painfully bright. “You’re all I have left in this world. You have to stay alive so I have a reason to stay alive.” “June… you’re so young. The bills… how are you supposed to…” I gently dabbed the moisture from the corners of her eyes and gave her a watery smile. “Don’t worry about the money. I found a way. You always said I was a terrible liar, right? So you know I’m telling the truth.” I stayed with her, murmuring sweet, empty promises until the exhaustion pulled her back into unconsciousness. I stared at the deep creases between her brows for a long, quiet moment. Finally, gripping the bedrail, I forced my stiff legs to stand. When I stepped out into the quiet corridor, Rae was waiting. He was sitting in his wheelchair, shrouded in the dim hallway light. I had no idea how long he had been sitting there. I rushed over, instantly grabbing his hands. They were freezing. I stripped the scarf from my neck and wrapped it tightly around him, crouching down so we were eye-level. “Why are you out here? The draft is freezing. What if your fever comes back?” I fussed, brushing a stray piece of lint from his shoulder. “I’m so sorry I made you wait. I’ll go get food right now.” “The money Brianna gave you,” Rae said suddenly, his eyes locking onto mine like heat-seeking missiles. “You used every cent of it for her hospital bills?” My eyelashes fluttered. I wrung my hands together, suddenly hyper-aware of how pathetic I looked. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have helped Brianna hurt you just for a paycheck. But I was backed into a corner. I couldn’t just stand by and watch my mom die.” “Then why did you spend what little you had left to save me?” Rae reached out, his long fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him. His brows were pulled tight. He was a man who understood spreadsheets, leverage, and power dynamics. He couldn’t compute this. Tears welled in my eyes, unbidden this time. “I… I used to have an older brother.” The fingers holding my chin flinched. I pretended not to notice. “He wanted to pay for my college tuition. He wanted to pay for Mom’s meds. So he took a sketchy job down by the docks in the middle of a storm. He drowned in the river.” The tears spilled over, splashing silently onto the back of Rae’s hand. I stared up at him, my heart laid entirely bare. “In every nightmare I have, I see his eyes when they pulled him out of the water. They were wide open. He died terrified. And when they pried his hands open, he was clutching a cheap little hair clip he bought for me.” My breath hitched. “So, Rae… I couldn’t let you drown. I couldn’t let you die because of me. My nightmares can’t take another pair of dead eyes.” I leaned forward, resting my wet cheek fully into the palm of his hand. I looked up at him with total surrender. “I regret everything I did to you. Please, Rae. Give me a chance to make it right. I’ll do anything. I swear.” He didn’t speak. The hallway was dead silent, save for the distant beep of heart monitors. Slowly, his thumb moved, tracing the curve of my cheekbone, wiping away a tear. It was a silent concession. I stood up, gripping the handles of his chair, and wheeled him back to his room. [The sky is falling! The MMC just texted his family’s extraction team to stand down! If he doesn’t go back to the Caldwell estate, when am I going to get my spicy dark romance plot?!] [What is this extra playing at? Is she trying to seduce him to climb the social ladder? What a slut.] [Hey, back off. The extra doesn’t even know he’s secretly a billionaire. From her POV, this is just two broken kids finding solace in each other. Honestly, the mom dying, the brother drowning… it’s tragic. I’m kind of rooting for her.] [I only read for the official canon couple! I’m reporting this to the system admins. We need a plot correction.] The glowing text was fighting with itself, scrolling furiously. I ignored the vitriol, focusing entirely on that last comment. Plot correction. That made my stomach twist, but I shoved the fear down. Back in the room, I carefully fed Rae a bowl of warm oatmeal. Once he was finished, I brought in a basin of warm soapy water. “I know you got a change of clothes, but you fell into a dirty lake. You must feel gross. Let me give you a sponge bath.” Rae arched a dark eyebrow. “You’re volunteering to bathe me?” “Don’t worry,” I said smoothly. “I have to bathe my mom all the time. I know your legs don’t work, but I can handle the heavy lifting.” With pure, clinical determination, I began stripping off his shirt and sweatpants. That’s when my clinical detachment evaporated. Rae was built like a Greek god. Every inch of his torso was sculpted, tight, and perfect. My face caught fire. I let out an awkward cough, wrung out the sponge, and began wiping him down. I kept my eyes focused on the washcloth, completely professional, until I brushed past his waistline and noticed a very sudden, very obvious physical reaction. I froze, my eyes darting up to his face. “Um… does this part… work?” Rae, who had been aggressively staring at his phone to feign indifference, had a vein popping in his forehead. In one fluid motion, he grabbed my shoulder, pulled me forward, and pinned me flush against his bare chest. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Why don’t you try it and find out?” he murmured, his voice a dark, lethal purr. “Didn’t you just say you’d do anything to make it up to me?” “I…” “So? Is this included?” A shiver violently ripped down my spine. My whole body burned. I looked into his deep, predatory eyes, bit my lip, and leaned in, pressing my mouth to his. The rest of the night was a blur of chaotic, breathless heat. Rae loved weaponizing his “paralyzed” legs, demanding I straddle him, letting him dictate the rhythm with his hands on my hips. We stayed in that hospital for five days. Rae ran me ragged. During the day, he acted like a spoiled prince—making me massage his calves, feed him sliced apples, and fetch him coffee. At night, he was insatiable. I also discovered his surprisingly boyish side; after getting a blood draw, he sulked until I hugged him and gave him a dozen kisses to “make it better.” By the end of the week, his guard was completely obliterated. He followed me around the room with his eyes, calling me “June-bug,” a far cry from the brooding, toxic billionaire the floating text obsessed over. When he was finally cleared, I signed his discharge papers and wheeled him back to the edge of campus. I crouched down in front of him, pulling his jacket tighter. “If you feel dizzy at all, call me. I’ll come get you. I bought ribs for dinner. You just recovered, so make sure you come back to the apartment to eat, okay?” He caught the slight waver in my voice. His eyes narrowed. “What about you? You don’t have classes today?” I looked away, staring at the pavement. “Yeah. No classes.” Before I could say another word, a sharp, manicured voice sliced through the air. “June Evans! You actually have the nerve to show your face here? Did you forget you’re not a student at this university anymore?” Brianna strutted over, her designer bag swinging on her arm, looking at us like we were gum on her shoe. “God, the stench of poverty is making me nauseous. You two losers really are made for each other. Rae, the only trash willing to take you is June. If you ever thought you had a shot with me, you were dreaming.” Rae’s eyes went dead. For the first time, he didn’t play the submissive victim for Brianna. He ignored her completely, his gaze fixed on me. “Don’t lie to me, June. Why were you expelled?” I kept my head down, swallowing the lump in my throat. Brianna laughed, a cruel, ringing sound. “I told her what would happen if she disobeyed me. She decided to play the hero and pull you out of the lake, making me look like an idiot. So, I made a few calls. The Dean expelled her this morning.” Rae’s hands gripped the armrests of his chair, his knuckles turning stark white. I quickly reached out, covering his hands with mine. “It’s fine, really! Now I have more time to pick up extra shifts. I can pay for Mom’s meds, and I can help cover your tuition.” [I’M BACK FROM CUSTOMER SERVICE! Who cares if the extra slept with him? The canon couple MUST be together! Plot correction incoming!] 3 The words caught in my throat as I read the glowing text. A sudden, suffocating wave of dread crashed over me. I gripped Rae’s hands tighter. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a fleet of matte-black SUVs pull up to the curb. A dozen men in immaculate tailored suits stepped out, moving in perfect unison toward Rae. The lead bodyguard bowed deeply. “Young Master Caldwell. The Patriarch requests that you end your… vacation. It is time to come home.” “Rae…?” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper. I stared at him. The vulnerable, needy boy from the hospital was gone. In his place sat a man with an aura so chilling, so inherently arrogant, he felt like a stranger. Rae let out an annoyed click of his tongue. Without a word of explanation, he casually stood up from the wheelchair he’d been confined to for months. He smoothed the front of his jacket and walked toward the waiting cars. The wind carried his indifferent voice back to me. “The old man has perfect timing. I was just starting to have fun with my new toy.” The car doors slammed shut. The SUVs peeled away, leaving me standing alone on the sidewalk, frozen in shock, next to an equally horrified Brianna. “He’s not a cripple?!” Brianna shrieked, her eyes bulging. “Why did they call him Young Master? What the hell is going on?!” I didn’t answer her. I couldn’t. I was too busy staring at the floating text, which was currently throwing a massive celebration. [Yesss! He’s going back to inherit the Caldwell Empire!] [The first thing Rae is going to do is announce his arranged marriage to Brianna! Then our arrogant little FMC is going to fall from grace, and the beautiful, twisted dark romance can finally begin!] [Can the extra just go die now? Stop ruining the aesthetic of the plot!] My heart pounded against my ribs. I shoved my hands into my coat pockets and my fingers brushed against cold metal. It was a simple, unadorned silver ring. Rae had worn it on his pinky every single day. He must have slipped it into my pocket when he hugged me goodbye. The panic in my chest evaporated, replaced by a fierce, grounding calm. I shook off Brianna, who was clawing at my sleeve demanding answers. “I have no idea,” I said coldly, and walked away. Once I was out of sight, I pulled the ring out with trembling fingers. A smile ghosted across my lips. I had bet my life, and I had won. Over the next few days, Rae’s devastatingly handsome face was plastered on every billboard and financial news channel in the city. “Power transfer complete at Caldwell Group. Rae Caldwell becomes the youngest CEO in the dynasty’s history.” [Wait… that silver ring is his late mother’s heirloom. He’s only supposed to give it to his future wife! Why does the extra have it?!] Seeing that comment was the final validation I needed. I practically flew to the hospital, crying and laughing as I sat by my mother’s sleeping form. “Mom, I did it. We’re going to be okay. I can save you.” I sat in the quiet room, waiting for the fruits of my desperate gamble to arrive. But when the hospital door burst open at midnight, it wasn’t Rae. It was Brianna, her face twisted into an ugly mask of pure rage. She snapped her fingers, and two massive bodyguards lunged into the room. Before I could scream, they pinned me to the floor. A sharp crack rang out—Brianna had slapped me so hard the room spun, a high-pitched ringing echoing in my ears. Brianna rubbed her stinging palm, looking down at me like I was a cockroach. “Did you know who he was the whole time?” she hissed. “Did you plan this? Seducing him to steal him from me?” I spat out a mouthful of blood, my eyes watering from the pain. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just wanted to help him.” “Bullshit!” Brianna screamed. She crouched down, grabbing a fistful of my hair. “He gave you his mother’s ring!” My breath hitched. “You thought you could outsmart me? Make a fool out of me?” Brianna’s eyes gleamed with a manic, unhinged light. “Those glowing words… they told me everything. Why couldn’t you just accept your place as the pathetic extra? The only person worthy of standing next to Rae Caldwell is me. I am the Female Lead.” My blood ran cold. She could see the text too. “The words told me the plot has been corrected,” Brianna sneered, her breath hot against my face. “Don’t bother waiting for Rae. He isn’t coming.” She pulled a thick, embossed document from her designer bag and threw it in my face. It was a drafted marriage alliance between the Caldwells and the Harringtons. Their names were printed side-by-side, a perfect corporate fairytale. My pupils dilated. The text… the system… it had actually manipulated reality. “Now,” Brianna drawled, standing back up. “Are you going to hand over that ring, or are my guys going to unplug your mother’s ventilator? Your choice.” One of the bodyguards clamped his massive hand over my mother’s life support machine. “NO!” I shrieked, trashing against the men holding me down. “Don’t touch her!” Hot tears streamed down my face. I broke. “Take it. Just take it! Please, don’t hurt her.” With shaking hands, I pulled the silver ring—still warm from my body heat—out of my pocket and placed it in Brianna’s outstretched, perfectly manicured palm. I felt like I was suffocating. Brianna inspected the ring, a cruel smirk spreading across her face. Then, she pulled out her phone and hit record. “You got your filthy hands all over my property,” she said coldly. “I think I’m owed some compensation.” She looked at her bodyguards. “Have fun. Just don’t kill her.” The men grinned, a sickening, predatory look in their eyes. I screamed, thrashing wildly. I managed to grab a fruit knife from a nearby tray and slashed blindly, but one of the men casually twisted my wrist, disarming me, and tossed the knife into the trash. He ripped the sleeve off my shirt, his heavy weight crushing my chest, pinning me down. “Just lie still, sweetheart. You might actually enjoy it,” he grunted. [This is exactly what the extra deserves. Anyone who stands in the way of the Main Characters should be ground into dust.] I stared at the ceiling, silent tears tracking into my hair. The absolute despair of knowing that I had fought a literal universe, only to lose. Just as the man’s hands moved to tear my jeans, the heavy hospital door was kicked off its hinges. “Who the fuck is touching my wife?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “414021”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When my best friend broke his leg and moved into our guest room, a fresh bouquet of flowers began appearing on our front porch every single afternoon. Chad would lean heavily on his crutches, a smirk playing on his lips as he nudged my shoulder. “Ten years of marriage and you guys are still this obsessed with each other. I’m jealous, man.” I forced a smile, but my stomach tightened. I knew the truth. In a decade of marriage, my wife had never bought me a single flower. She wasn’t the romantic type, she always said. Pragmatic to a fault. Until the afternoon she finally returned from a two-week business trip in Chicago. She’d called me from the Uber, her voice light and breathless, saying she brought back presents. I thought, foolishly, that maybe something had finally clicked. That maybe she missed me. I practically sprinted home from the grocery store, my heart hammering a hopeful rhythm against my ribs. I unlocked the front door just in time to see her handing an enormous, sprawling arrangement of hydrangeas and a pair of limited-edition Jordans to Chad. “You got all the other deliveries, right?” Lena asked, her voice softer, sweeter than I’d heard it in years. “Since today is a holiday, I made sure to pick out something massive. Happy holidays, Chad. Here’s to a speedy recovery.” I stood frozen in the entryway, the heavy plastic grocery bags biting into my palms. I watched the two of them—the way she hovered close to him, the way he beamed down at her. Looking at them, you would think they were the married couple, and I was just the hired help returning from the market. The butler. The caretaker. 1 Sensing my presence, Lena turned. The warmth in her eyes instantly dialed down to a tepid baseline, but she picked up a cardboard box from the console table and walked over to me. “I got you something, too.” I put the groceries down and opened the box. It was a high-end Vitamix blender. “You mentioned the old blender was dying,” she said, already turning back toward the living room. “I figured you could use a new one to make Chad those protein smoothies he likes for his recovery.” Our blender had died a month ago. I had reminded her to order a new one at least four times, but it always slipped her mind. Now that Chad was living under our roof, it was suddenly a priority. I didn’t say a word. I took the box into the kitchen, unpacked the groceries, and stood at the stove, mechanically stirring a pot of chicken and wild rice soup. I don’t know how long I stood there, lost in the gray fog of my own thoughts, but the acrid smell of burning rice eventually snapped me back. My hand jerked. The wooden spoon slipped. I swatted at the heavy cast-iron pot, knocking it completely off the burner. It hit the tile floor with a deafening crash, splattering boiling liquid everywhere. “What happened?!” Lena rushed into the kitchen, freezing when she saw the mess. She looked at the ruined dinner, then at me, her brow furrowing in irritation. “You’re a grown man, Mark. Why are you so clumsy? Clean this up and start another batch quickly. Chad needs to eat.” She didn’t see my foot. She didn’t see the angry, blistering red patch of skin where the boiling soup had soaked through my sock. She was only worried about whether Chad’s feeding schedule would be delayed. Without a word, I turned on my heel, walked into our bedroom, and crawled into bed, pulling the heavy duvet over my head like a shroud. A few minutes later, the door swung open. “What are you doing?” Lena’s voice was sharp. “The kitchen is still a disaster, and dinner isn’t made.” I slowly pulled the duvet down. “Do I owe you something, Lena? Do I owe either of you?” She crossed her arms. “What are you talking about? Why are you acting crazy out of nowhere?” I threw the covers off, my burnt foot throbbing in time with my pulse, and walked right past her, out the front door, and into the biting evening air. I walked to the pharmacy three blocks away, bought a tube of burn ointment, and sat on a cold, damp park bench to apply it. I sat there for hours, watching the traffic lights change from green to yellow to red. My phone remained silent. Not a single text. Not a missed call. The silence was a weapon, designed to make me feel like I was the one being unreasonable. And God help me, I almost believed it. I would have believed it, if it weren’t for a revelation I’d stumbled upon three days ago. By pure accident, I discovered that my wife’s college sweetheart—her great, tragic first love, the one who got away—was Chad. My best friend. When the truth hit me, the few mutual friends who knew had cornered me, begging me to let it go. It’s ancient history, Mark, they said. It happened way before you two even met. Even my father, Arthur, had tried to talk me off the ledge. “They’ve been over for a decade, son. Lena has been a good mother. She hasn’t crossed any lines since you’ve been married. You have Noah to think about. You have to look forward, not backward.” I had listened to them. I had swallowed the bile in my throat and chosen not to confront her. But I never imagined she would bring a broken, vulnerable Chad into our home. I never imagined she would dote on him like a queen tending to a wounded knight, while treating me like the hired help. The neighborhood grew quiet as the streetlights hummed and flickered out one by one. I finally stood up and began the long walk home. Part of me wanted to keep walking. To disappear into the night and never come back. But I couldn’t. I had our eight-year-old son, Noah, to think about. His dinner hadn’t been made. His homework hadn’t been checked. His bath hadn’t been drawn. If I didn’t go back, none of it would happen. When I pushed the front door open, the sound of laughter spilled from the living room. Lena had ordered artisanal pizza. She, Chad, and Noah were sitting around the coffee table, a comedy playing on the iPad propped up in front of them. They were eating, laughing, leaning into each other. A perfect, happy little family. None of them greeted me. No one asked where I had been, or if I had eaten. Lena merely glanced up, fixing me with a look of cool condescension. Her eyes said it all: Throw your little tantrum. You always come crawling back anyway. 2 My heart turned to absolute ice in my chest. Before turning the doorknob, some pathetic, lingering part of me had still held onto a sliver of hope. But looking at her now, all that remained was a vast, hollow disappointment. If my patience and compromise were rewarded only with deceit and eye rolls, then why the hell was I still breaking my own back? That night, I dragged a blanket into Noah’s room and slept on the floor. Through the thin walls, I could hear Lena’s phone chiming. She was messaging the neighborhood Facebook group, desperate for a recommendation for a late-night cleaning service. Over a spilled pot of soup. She would rather pay a stranger a premium than lift a mop herself. Around 2:00 AM, the door to Noah’s room creaked open. Lena stepped in, her shadow falling over me. She nudged my shoulder with her toe. “Chad is ready for bed,” she whispered. “Go help him shower.” I picked up my phone. The harsh glare of the screen illuminated the time. Chad was a night owl, and apparently, that meant I was expected to be on-call until the early hours of the morning just to scrub his back? The man had a broken femur. His hands worked perfectly fine. “Get out,” I said, my voice dangerously low. I pulled the blanket over my head, shutting out the world. She stood there for a long, heavy moment, let out a dramatic sigh, and walked out. The next morning, I woke up before the sun and began packing a duffel bag. Noah rubbed his sleepy eyes from the bed. “Daddy, where are you going?” I sat on the edge of his mattress and smoothed his messy hair. “Grandpa isn’t feeling well. I need to go stay with him for a few days to help him out. You need to be a good boy for Mom while I’m gone, okay?” Lena, hearing my voice, appeared in the doorway, her brow pulled into a tight knot. “You can’t leave,” she demanded. “If you leave, who is going to take care of Chad? Who is going to take care of Noah?” I looked up at her, my expression dead flat. “Are your arms broken?” Her eyes widened in indignation. “Excuse me? Mark, let’s get one thing straight. Chad is your best friend, not mine.” “Then tell him to leave.” I stood up, zipping the duffel bag with a sharp, aggressive sound. “I’ll go tell him right now.” “No!” Lena lunged forward, grabbing my forearm. Her grip was desperate. “He’s been your closest friend for years. How could you just kick him out when he’s hurt?” I let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Is he really just my friend, Lena? Because from where I’m standing, you seem a hell of a lot more worried about him than I am.” She flinched. Her eyes darted away, unable to meet my gaze. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve always treated your friends like they were my own.” “Then you shouldn’t have any problem taking care of him.” I pulled my arm out of her grasp, picked up my bag, and walked out of the house without looking back. My dad, Arthur, had been diagnosed with an inguinal hernia the week before. He had undergone surgery yesterday. Lena had known about this for weeks, but she hadn’t bothered to make a single phone call to check on him. I stayed with my dad at his apartment for seven days. When he was finally cleared to move around a bit more, I planned to just stay there and keep nursing him back to health. But then Noah’s second-grade teacher called me. She said Noah had been falling asleep in class. He hadn’t turned in a single homework assignment all week. His grades, usually stellar, were plummeting. “I asked him what was going on,” his teacher said gently, “and he told me his mom said homework was optional. That he could just play video games if he didn’t feel like doing it.” A high-pitched ringing started in my ears. The blood rushed straight to my head. “Mr. Davis, there’s something else,” she hesitated. “Noah’s hygiene… hasn’t been great this week. His hair is matted. He hasn’t brushed his teeth, and he’s been wearing the same stained shirt for three days. The other kids are starting to avoid him. They say he smells.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting the sting of tears, and apologized profusely. I told her there was a family emergency, that things had fallen through the cracks, and that I would never let it happen again. When I hung up, a suffocating realization settled over me. We had made this child together, but I was the only one tethered to him. I was the only one who actually did the work of parenting. I packed my dad’s things and brought him home with me. The moment we walked through the door, Lena grabbed my sleeve and dragged me into our bedroom, her face pale with fury. “Are you out of your mind, Mark? Chad needs peace and quiet to heal. Why would you bring your father here?” “He just had surgery. He needs someone to look after him.” “Hire a home health aide!” “He has a son. Why would he need to hire a stranger?” I shot back, stepping into her space. “Why don’t you hire an aide for Chad?” Lena crossed her arms defensively. “Chad is a victim of a terrible accident. He has no family in this city. How could you be so heartless as to abandon him to some random nurse?” A victim? A thirty-eight-year-old victim? The absolute absurdity of her logic made my stomach churn. I felt physically sick. “Let me remind you of something, Lena,” I said, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “When we bought this house, my father paid for half the down payment.” It had been his life savings. Every penny he had, he gave to us to build our life. Since the day we married, he had treated Lena like his own flesh and blood. And now, when he just needed a quiet bed to recover in for a few days, she was treating him like an infestation. Lena dropped her gaze, her mouth pressing into a thin, hard line. She didn’t say another word. I gave her one last look of utter disgust, turned, and walked back out to the hallway. As I approached the guest room where I’d settled my dad, I heard Chad’s voice drifting through the cracked door. “Look, Arthur, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m just gonna be honest with you. No young couple actually wants to live with an old person.” 3 “I know, I know. You’re absolutely right,” my dad’s voice trembled with a quiet, heartbreaking resignation. “I didn’t want to intrude. Mark practically dragged me here.” “Well, no offense, but you should have put your foot down,” Chad replied, his tone dripping with arrogant authority. “Now they’re fighting because of you. This house was perfectly peaceful until you showed up and ruined the vibe.” I pushed the door open to see my dad struggling to stand up, his face etched with deep shame. “It’s my fault,” Dad murmured. “I’m just a burden to these kids. I’ll pack my things right now.” “Nobody is leaving,” I said, stepping fully into the room. “The man of this house isn’t dead yet.” Chad jumped, fumbling awkwardly for his crutches, his face draining of color. My dad reached out, gripping my wrist with a weak, trembling hand. “Mark, please, just let me go back to my apartment. I’ll figure out how to take care of myself, I promise. It’s okay.” I glared at Chad, my eyes burning holes through him. “Who stays and who leaves isn’t up to a houseguest who’s overstayed his welcome.” Chad’s jaw tightened. “I was just trying to look out for your marriage, man. I’m your best friend. Nobody wants to see you and Lena happy more than I do.” “If you’re really my best friend, then remember your place. Stop crossing boundaries.” I gently pushed my dad back down onto the mattress. “You stay right here, Dad. This is your house, too. As long as I’m breathing, nobody is going to disrespect you under my roof.” Chad’s face hardened. He let out a bitter little scoff. “No good deed goes unpunished, I guess.” Lena didn’t come out of our bedroom for the rest of the day. But as evening approached, she suddenly left the house, returning an hour later laden with bags of fresh groceries. She rarely cooked—that was my domain—but today, she moved around the kitchen with a frantic, theatrical energy. The exhaust fan roared for over an hour. Eventually, the rich, savory smell of roasted meat and garlic filled the house. She brought four elaborate dishes and a pot of soup to the dining table. Against my better judgment, my chest softened just a fraction. Maybe she wasn’t entirely cold. Maybe she realized she had crossed a line and this was her olive branch. Lena arranged the silverware, not bothering to look up. “Chad! Noah! Dinner is ready!” I froze. My eyes locked onto the table. She had only set three plates. A few feet away, my dad had just shuffled out of his room. He stopped dead in his tracks in the hallway, looking at the table, unsure if he was allowed to take another step. He didn’t say a word. He just clutched his stomach, hunched over his surgical wounds, and slowly, painfully, turned around and limped back into his bedroom. It felt like someone had driven a spike through my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I was an idiot. How could I have been so naive? A person’s fundamental nature doesn’t change just because you want it to. I walked over to the table, picked up a bowl, and began aggressively piling it high with food. Lena shot me a venomous glare. I ignored her entirely. Once the bowl was overflowing, I grabbed a second bowl, filled it with hot soup, and carried both to my dad’s room. He refused to eat. He just sat on the edge of the bed, repeating over and over that he needed to leave. “You and Lena are already having issues. I can’t throw gasoline on the fire,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. He grabbed my hand. “Please, Mark, listen to me. Chad is your friend. He’s already here. Don’t cause a scene and try to kick him out. He’ll heal, and he’ll leave. For the sake of your family, for Noah’s sake, just swallow your pride and endure it for a little while.” For the sake of Noah. For the sake of the family. Why was I always the only one required to suffer for the sake of the family? Did I create this child by myself? What had my endless stream of compromises ever actually bought me? “Dad,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “If you leave tonight, I will never have an ounce of dignity in this house again.” If he walked out that door, it would only prove to Lena that she could treat me and the people I loved like garbage, and I would always fold. “But…” Dad sighed, a heavy, rattling sound, his face deeply lined with worry. I looked down at my hands, my knuckles white, my mind a violent storm of grief and rage. The next morning at 7:00 AM, I got out of bed, splashed cold water on my face, and walked out to make breakfast. When I reached the kitchen, I stopped dead. My dad had already cooked a full breakfast. Not only that, but he had vacuumed the living room. The wet clothes I had left in the washing machine last night were neatly folded and draped over the drying rack. His incisions hadn’t healed. He couldn’t even stand up straight. I couldn’t let myself imagine the sheer, agonizing physical pain he must have been in while pushing a vacuum cleaner around. The bedroom door clicked open, and Lena walked out. Instantly, my dad plastered on a wide, eager smile. “Good morning, Lena! Breakfast is ready. I made all your favorites!” 4 Lena’s face remained a mask of stone. She didn’t so much as glance in his direction. She walked straight to the entryway, grabbed her trench coat, and walked out. SLAM. The front door shook in its frame. Something inside me snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore. I lunged toward the door, ready to chase her down into the driveway and scream until my lungs gave out, but my dad grabbed the back of my shirt, pulling me back with surprising strength. “Mark, stop. Just listen to me!” he begged, forcing me to sit down on the sofa. “Lena isn’t a bad person,” he reasoned, his voice trembling. “She’s just a little stubborn. It doesn’t bother me, honestly! I don’t mind.” I dropped my head into my hands, rubbing my temples as a profound, exhausting sorrow washed over me. Noah padded out of his bedroom, rubbing his eyes. “Daddy? Are you sick?” I reached out and pulled him into my arms, holding him tight. “Noah… if Mommy and Daddy get a divorce, who do you want to live with?” “Good lord, Mark, you can’t say things like that to a child!” my dad gasped, terrified. He immediately ushered Noah back toward his bedroom. “Grandpa’s sorry, buddy. Your dad is just making a silly joke. Nobody is getting a divorce!” Dad came back and sat beside me, spending the entire morning trying to talk me off the ledge. He pleaded with me to erase the word ‘divorce’ from my vocabulary. “Your mother passed away so young,” he said softly. “You grew up without a complete family. Do you really want to put Noah through that? And think about it practically—you don’t have a job right now. If you leave her, how are you going to fight for custody? How will you feed him?” I kept my head bowed, staring at the floorboards, completely mute. Years ago, when Lena’s career started taking off, I had impulsively quit my job to be a stay-at-home dad and support her. It was, without a doubt, the single greatest mistake of my life. My dad quietly stood up and began packing his bags. “If my being here breaks up your marriage, I’ll never forgive myself,” he whispered. “Just let me go, Mark. I can’t sleep in this house anyway.” The acid in my throat burned. I couldn’t force him to stay. It was selfish of me to use him as a pawn in my cold war with Lena when being here was clearly causing him emotional and physical agony. “Okay, Dad,” I said, my voice hollow. “I’m coming with you.” No matter what, I was going to take care of him until he was fully healed. We had just zipped up the last suitcase when the door swung open and Chad hobbled into the room on his crutches. “Hey Arthur, I’m missing a watch. Do you mind if I look around in here for it?” My jaw locked. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “It doesn’t mean anything,” Chad said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “It’s just a really important piece to me, and I want to find it.” I stood up, blocking his path. “Your watch isn’t in here. Go look somewhere else.” “I’ve looked literally everywhere else,” Chad insisted. “This is the only room left.” He planted himself in the doorway, refusing to budge. He looked perfectly willing to stand there all day until he got his way. My dad pulled me back by the sleeve, shooting me a pleading look. “Chad, I promise you I haven’t seen any watch, but if it gives you peace of mind to look around, go right ahead.” It was classic Arthur. Terrified of conflict. Always willing to lie down and let people walk all over him just to keep the peace. Chad nodded briskly, hobbled straight over to the bed, and reached down to unzip my dad’s suitcase. “What the fuck are you doing?” I shoved past my dad and grabbed Chad’s wrist. “You have zero proof. What gives you the right to search his personal belongings?” Chad scowled, trying to yank his arm away. “I didn’t say you stole it! Why are you acting so defensive?” “Am I being defensive, or are you being an entitled prick?” I shoved my shoulder into his chest, using my free hand to zip the suitcase shut. But Chad refused to pull his hand out of the bag. “What is your problem, Mark?!” he yelled in my face. “I told you, that watch means everything to me!” “That doesn’t give you the right to do whatever you want!” We were practically chest to chest, grappling awkwardly over the luggage, neither of us willing to yield an inch. “Boys, please, stop!” My dad rushed forward, trying to wedge himself between us. “Let’s just talk about this! Don’t ruin your friendship over this!” In the chaotic push and pull, Chad’s crutch caught on the leg of a chair behind him. He lost his balance, his arms flailing, and he went down hard on the hardwood floor with a heavy thud. “What the hell is going on in here?!” Lena’s voice cracked like a whip from the doorway. Chad seized the moment. He sat on the floor, clutching his broken leg, his face contorted in a mask of pale agony. “I just came in to look for my missing watch, and they…” He let out a pathetic groan. “Lena, that watch was the gift you gave me. The one from when we first got together!” I froze. The room went dead silent. The missing watch. The deeply meaningful piece of jewelry. It was a romantic keepsake from his first love. From her. Before my brain could even process the humiliation, Lena stormed into the room. She bypassed Chad entirely, lunged at the open suitcase, grabbed a fistful of my clothes, and hurled them directly at my face. “You are a disgusting, petty little man, Mark! I am so sick of you!” Her face was twisted into an ugly, unrecognizable mask of pure hatred. She grabbed another shirt, then a pair of jeans, throwing them at me as hard as she could. Ten years. A decade of marriage, and this was the first time she had ever laid her hands on me in anger. And she was doing it for Chad. I stood perfectly still, my jaw clamped so tight I thought my teeth might shatter. When she ran out of clothes to throw, she shot me a look of absolute revulsion and knelt on the floor to cradle Chad’s head. I tilted my head back, squeezing my eyes shut. I took one long, shuddering breath, pulling the cold air deep into my lungs. When I opened my eyes, the rage was gone. All that was left was a terrifying, crystalline clarity. “Lena,” I said, my voice dead and quiet. “I want a divorce.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “414022”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was the only nepotism hire in my mother’s department, but I wasn’t there to be pampered. I was the target she used to sharpen her reputation. To prove to the firm that she was beyond reproach, she turned me into a martyr for her ambition. When others left at five, I stayed until midnight. When the team had weekends off, I pulled all-nighters. When I told her my chest felt like it was being crushed by a vice, she tore me down in front of the entire open-plan office. “If you want to be lazy, just say it, Cassie! Don’t use your health as a shield. You’re an embarrassment to my name!” On the morning of my thirty-second birthday, after seven straight days of graveyard shifts, my heart simply stopped. I collapsed at my desk, my face hitting the keyboard. When the paramedics wheeled me out, she didn’t even look up from her monitor. She thought I was staging a scene for sympathy. She even posted in the department’s Slack channel: “Stop the theatrics. Get back here and finish the migration. These four projects go live tonight, no exceptions.” Eight hours after the coroner officially declared me dead, Katherine—my mother, the Senior VP—was still trying to avoid any appearance of favoritism. She added me to a new project group and sent three rapid-fire voice notes: “How long are you going to milk this? If you’re not actually in a casket, get your ass back to work! Don’t make us a laughingstock in front of the partners!” But Mom, I can’t come back. 1 I’m hovering in the stale air of the office, watching her. No—at the office, I’m not allowed to call her Mom. I have to call her Ms. Bishop. “Ms. Bishop, about Cassie…” Becca, the intern, starts typing in the group chat, but she’s cut off before she can finish. An image notification pings on everyone’s phone. It’s a disciplinary notice. My name is right there at the top: Cassandra Bishop. Violation: Unexcused absence. Penalty: Forfeiture of monthly bonus and performance pay. Formal reprimand issued. “Let this be a lesson,” Katherine’s voice rings out through a new voice note. “In my department, nobody gets special treatment. I don’t care who you are. Disappearing to avoid a deadline is a breach of discipline I will not tolerate. This entitlement ends now.” A waterfall of “Understood, Ms. Bishop” responses floods the screen. Watching that notice, I almost want to laugh. Mom, I’m dead. How are you going to garnish the wages of a ghost? I drift over to my cubicle. It’s a graveyard of my last week alive—empty espresso cans, crumpled sugar-free Red Bull tins, and stacks of data sheets. “Maintenance, clear this trash out,” Katherine says, stepping out of her glass-walled office. She points a manicured finger at my desk. “It looks like a pigsty. It’s ruining the aesthetic of the floor. Throw it all away.” The cleaning lady hesitates, clutching her heavy-duty trash bag. “Ms. Bishop, these are Cassie’s personal things. Maybe we should box them up for her…” “Throw. It. Away!” Katherine snaps. “If she wants to walk out on this team, she can find her desk in the dumpster. Deactivate her keycard and lock her out of every server. I need her to realize the world doesn’t stop turning just because she has a tantrum.” The woman doesn’t argue again. She begins sweeping my life into a black plastic bag. My lumbar pillow—a birthday gift I bought for myself last year. My bottles of aspirin and the heart medication I was never supposed to skip. And then, there’s the photo in the corner. The only photo of the two of us. Clink. The frame hits the bottom of the bag, and the sound of shattering glass echoes through the quiet office. I reach out instinctively, trying to catch it, but my fingers pass through the plastic, through the air, through nothing. Is this what being dead is? The ultimate powerlessness? Katherine stands there, arms crossed, watching them erase me. She pulls out her phone, snaps a photo of the empty desk, and posts it to her LinkedIn. The caption reads: “Leadership requires hard choices. Even family must be held to the highest standard. To succeed in this industry, you have to kill the ‘delicate’ instinct. My conscience is clear.” In less than a minute, the likes and sycophantic comments start rolling in. “A true leader!” “Total boss move, Katherine. Cassie needed this wake-up call.” I float behind her, reading the screen. My heart doesn’t hurt anymore. I suppose that’s the one perk of it not beating. You got what you wanted, Mom. You proved you’re untouchable. You finally won. 2 8:00 PM. The project went live exactly on schedule, just hours after my body was moved to the morgue. The data was clean, the servers were humming—the result of my seven days of sleeplessness. Zero bugs. To celebrate, Katherine took the entire senior team to an upscale steakhouse downtown. The private room is glowing with warm light, the smell of expensive Cabernet and aged ribeye filling the air. “A toast to Katherine!” Robert, the assistant manager, raises his glass. “The launch was flawless. Your direction in the final stretch was masterclass.” Katherine, looking sharp in her charcoal blazer, her cheeks slightly flushed from the wine, smiles and waves him off. “It was a team effort. Mostly.” She takes a sip. “Unlike some people who flake when the pressure gets real. I had to monitor the final nodes myself.” The table erupts in polite, knowing chuckles. “Cassie’s always been a bit… coddled,” Robert adds, eager to please. “She seemed reliable, but I guess she just lacks that grit. You’re doing her a favor by being tough, Katherine. She’ll thank you one day.” “If she has the brains to understand it,” Katherine says, setting her glass down with a sharp thud. “Young people today… they have no stamina. Physical or mental. When I was pregnant with her, I was on job sites in the middle of July. I didn’t take a single day off. She catches a cold and thinks the world owes her a sabbatical.” I’m perched on the chandelier, looking down at her. Mom, you were tough. I know. But you forgot that I inherited your stubbornness. If I hadn’t been fading into a blur of gray pain, do you really think I would have let myself fall before the finish line? Suddenly, her phone vibrates in her Chanel bag. She pulls it out, glancing at the screen. It’s a local landline. Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe she just wants to show off how “on call” she is, but she hits speaker and drops the phone on the white tablecloth. “Katherine Bishop,” she says regally. “Hello, is this the next of kin for Cassandra Bishop? This is the administrator at the County Morgue…” Katherine freezes for a split second, then lets out a harsh, mocking laugh. “The morgue? Really? Is that the best you can do? Scammers are getting creative these days, using death threats to get a call back.” The voice on the other end hesitates. “Ma’am, I’m serious. The deceased was brought in this afternoon at—” “Enough!” Katherine barks. “My daughter is hiding at home pretending to be sick. If she thinks she can use a prank call to make me back down, tell her it’s not working. In fact, tell her she’s fired.” She hangs up and immediately blocks the number. “Disgusting,” she says, draining her glass in one go. “The girl is becoming unhinged. Hiring someone to play a coroner just to scare me? It’s pathetic.” “Unbelievable,” a colleague chimes in. “That’s a new low. Don’t let it ruin the night, Katherine. You’ve earned this.” The room settles back into its rhythm of clinking silverware and laughter. They talk about bonuses and Q4 projections while eating lobster tail and drinking fifty-dollar pours of bourbon. And my body is lying in a steel drawer, waiting for a mother who isn’t coming. As the dinner ends, Katherine looks at the leftover risotto on her plate. On her way out, she spots a stray dog near the valet stand. She tips the container of expensive food into the dirt for the dog. “Go on,” she says, patting the dog’s head with a rare, soft smile. “At least a dog knows how to show a little gratitude. Sometimes, children aren’t worth the investment.” 3 When Katherine opens the front door, the house is a tomb. Pitch black. Usually, no matter how late she stayed out, I’d leave a lamp on. I’d have a pot of tea or some ginger soup waiting to help her settle. But tonight, there is only the hum of the refrigerator. The silence grates on her nerves. She tosses her bag onto the leather sofa and shouts into the darkness. “Cassie! Where the hell are you? You see me walk in and you can’t even get me a glass of water?” Only the ticking of the grandfather clock answers her. “Fine. You want to play the silent treatment? Let’s play.” She storms down the hallway to my room and kicks the door open. “Stop acting like a martyr! Get up!” The room is empty. The bed is made with military precision—the way I left it a week ago before the crunch started. The desk, however, is a mess of protein bar wrappers and empty Keurig pods. Katherine scoffs. “A pigsty. Absolutely disgusting. No wonder you’re still single.” She starts swiping the clutter off the desk in a fit of pique, but her hand stops. Tucked between a stack of invoices is a small, elegantly wrapped box with a sticky note on top. Mom, Happy Birthday. I bought this with the bonus from my first solo project. It’s that silk scarf you’ve been eyeing. Don’t work too hard. Take care of yourself. Today was my birthday. It was also the day I died. I knew she wouldn’t remember the date—she only remembered it as “Launch Day.” I had planned to bring the gift home, cook her dinner, and tell her… I was quitting. Katherine picks up the box and tears the paper. A beautiful, peony-patterned silk scarf slides out. For a second, her expression falters. But then the fire returns. “You have money for this trash, but you can’t put your head down and work?” She throws the scarf onto the floor and grinds her heel into the silk. “You think a gift buys my forgiveness for walking out? Dream on, Cassie. I’m not that easy.” She pulls out her phone, takes a photo of the soiled scarf on the floor, and sends it to my WhatsApp. Then, she records a long, biting voice note. “I don’t want your fake sentiment. If you aren’t in that office at 8:00 AM sharp tomorrow, don’t bother coming back ever. You’re done.” Still fuming, she starts rifling through my drawers. “I know you’re hiding somewhere. Where are the keys to the lake house?” She pulls out a crumpled piece of paper buried at the bottom. It’s a medical report from six months ago. She skims it, her eyes landing on the summary. Severe arrhythmia. Myocardial ischemia. Immediate hospitalization recommended. Avoid high-stress environments and physical exhaustion. I remember showing her that report. I wanted to take a week off for follow-up tests. She was on a conference call at the time and barely glanced at it. “Doctors just say that stuff to bill the insurance,” she’d said then. “You’re thirty. You don’t have a heart condition; you have a laziness condition. If that proposal isn’t done by morning, you’re sleeping at the office.” Katherine looks at the report now and let’s out a cold snort. “Still using this fake note?” She tears the paper in half, crumbles it into a ball, and chucks it at the bin. “Six months and you’re still clinging to the same excuse. Get a new script, Cassie.” She sits on the edge of my bed, breathing hard, her chest heaving with indignation. Suddenly, a muffled buzzing comes from her bag. She frowns, reaches in, and pulls out my iPad. The admin had found it at my desk and tucked it into Katherine’s bag before she left. The screen is glowing with a recurring alarm: 11:55 PM — Heat up milk for Mom. Katherine’s finger trembles slightly as she looks at the notification. She swipes to unlock it. There’s no passcode. The code has always been her birthday. The screen opens to a draft message in our chat. 4 The draft is only one line. No excuses. No pleading. No anger. It just says: Mom, it really, really hurts. Can I just sleep for a little while this time? Just a little while… The words pierce her, but she shoves the feeling down. “Hurts too much to work, but not too much to text?” She stares at the screen, her eyes rimmed with red, her teeth clenched. “Even your messages are designed to make me feel guilty. You’re pathetic, Cassie.” She tosses the iPad onto the bed and walks out, slamming the door. “Fine. Stay gone. Die for all I care. At least I’d finally have some peace.” She shuts her own door. I float by the bedside, watching the screen of the iPad slowly dim and go black. You win, Mom. I’m finally sleeping. And this time, I won’t wake up to your shouting. The next morning, the sun is barely up when Katherine’s phone explodes. As a VP, she’s used to being reachable 24/7, but this isn’t a client. It’s the Head of HR. “Katherine… check the company-wide Slack. Now.” The man’s voice is shaking. “Something has happened. Something terrible.” Katherine rubs her temples, clicking into the app. The “General” channel, which has five hundred employees, is moving so fast the messages are a blur. At the top of the feed is a leaked image. It’s a morgue intake form. Name: Cassandra Bishop. Age: 32. Time of Intake: Yesterday, 4:30 PM. Cause of Death: Sudden Cardiac Arrest. The silence in the chat is deafening, followed by a volcanic eruption of messages. “Oh my god, she was actually…” “Katherine was screaming at her in the chat while she was in a body bag.” “This is horrific. She worked herself to death.” Katherine stares at the image for five full minutes. Her hand begins to shake—not with grief, but with a blind, incandescent rage. “Good… very clever, Cassie.” She draws a jagged breath, a cold smirk touching her lips. “Special effects? Makeup? You’re really going this far to humiliate me?” She can’t believe it. Or rather, her ego won’t let her. If this is real, she’s a monster. Therefore, it cannot be real. She records a voice note for the entire five hundred-person group. “Everyone stop! This is a hoax. This is a malicious prank by Cassandra to avoid her responsibilities and sabotage this firm. I am going to the morgue right now to expose this lie!” She doesn’t even wash her face. She grabs her keys and bolts. On the way, she calls the HR manager. “Meet me there. Bring the termination papers. I’m firing that girl to her face!” Her car screams down the highway. I sit in the passenger seat, watching her white-knuckled grip on the wheel. Mom, slow down. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right there waiting for you. The lobby of the funeral home is hushed, the air smelling of lilies and floor wax. Katherine’s heels clack aggressively against the marble. She storms up to the desk and slams her ID down. “Bring Cassandra Bishop out here!” she demands. “Stop the play-acting! I know this is a setup. Tell her to get out here right now!” The young woman behind the desk looks up, startled, then her expression shifts to one of profound pity and horror. “Ma’am, please keep your voice down. Ms. Bishop was brought in yesterday. We’ve been trying to reach you…” “The body?” Katherine sneers. “Sure. Let’s see it. I want to see exactly how much she spent on a prosthetic corpse.” The HR manager arrives, looking like he wants to melt into the floor. Even he is starting to doubt Katherine’s “prank” theory. The attendant sighs, realizes there’s no arguing with a woman in this state, and leads them back. The hallway is long and frigid. Katherine walks fast, her chin high, a mocking smile plastered on her face. “Keep it up, Cassie. I’m almost impressed. Let’s see the grand finale…” “We’re here.” The attendant stops at a heavy stainless steel door. He hits a switch. The cold hits like a physical wall. Rows of steel drawers line the room. He checks a tag and pulls a handle. Rumble. The drawer slides out. A draped white sheet covers a human form. It is perfectly still. No rise and fall of a chest. Katherine’s lip twitches, but she holds the mask. She steps forward, her finger hovering inches from the sheet before she stops. Her eyes lock onto a hand peeking out from under the fabric. The hand is blue-grey, bloodless. On the wrist is a cheap, red woven string bracelet. It was a freebie from a mall kiosk years ago. Katherine had tossed it at me during a shopping trip because she didn’t want it. She’d said, “Here, take this junk. Maybe it’ll keep you from being so clumsy.” I’d worn it for three years. Katherine’s pupils contract. “Get… get up.” Her voice is a thin, rattling thread. Her body begins to vibrate. “Stop it, Cassie. I’m not mad anymore. Just get up.” Silence, save for the hum of the refrigeration units. “I told you to get up!” She grabs the corner of the sheet and rips it back.

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