Category: English

It took seven years for the intruder to leave my body. When I finally opened my eyes, I expected the world to click back into place, like a bone being set. Instead, I was met with the cold, mocking sneer of Steven Ward. “Faking amnesia now, Madeline? What kind of pathetic game are we playing today?” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I stared at him for a heartbeat before the adrenaline surged, and I lunged. I tackled him, my fingers clawing at his throat as a raw, jagged scream tore from my lungs. “Where is Nelson?! Where is Nathaniel?! How am I married to you?!” Seven years ago, I was carrying Nelson’s child. We were weeks away from our wedding. We had a life. We had a soul. How was I standing in this nightmare? 1 The moment I screamed Nelson’s name, Steven froze. His expression shifted from irritation to a jagged, cruel irony. “Madeline, finally. You’ve stopped pretending.” He wrenched my hands from his neck, his voice dripping with vitriol. “All that talk about how much you love me, and you’re still pining for another man? You really are a piece of work, aren’t you?” He spoke with the righteous fury of a man wronged. And why wouldn’t he? For seven years, the entity occupying my skin had acted like a woman possessed, doing the most degrading, shameless things to win his heart. The worst incident—the one that still made my skin crawl even as a memory trapped in a black box—was the “gift.” To “surprise” Steven, the intruder had dressed in nothing but a few scraps of lace and silk, literally wrapping herself in a giant red ribbon inside his villa. She had waited, trembling with excitement, for him to come home. When the door opened, she popped out of the darkness. “Surprise!” She wasn’t met with a romantic embrace. She was met by Steven and a dozen of his high-level business associates. “Who is this?” one of them had sneered, eyes raking over her exposed skin. “She’s certainly… eager.” “I heard she just had a kid,” another whispered, not even trying to hide the disgust. “Didn’t even finish her recovery before she started throwing herself at the CEO again. Shameless.” The intruder’s face had gone ghostly pale. She had begged Steven to come home alone. She stood there, half-naked and humiliated, her eyes brimming with tears. “Why?” she whispered. Steven had looked at her like she was a stain on the rug. “I warned you to stop the theatrics, Madeline. This time, I’m done with you.” And I, the real Madeline, had to watch it all. I was the “Untouchable Ghost” in this twisted story—the girl Steven had obsessed over since high school. And he was the man who had turned that obsession into a cage. 2 In the narrative of Steven’s life, he was the tragic hero—the boy from the wrong side of the tracks, bullied and broken. I had been his only light. I remember finding him behind the gym, his face bruised, his uniform torn. I hadn’t felt pity, just a simple, human need to help. I reached out a hand. “Are you okay?” He looked up, and the setting sun caught my hair. From that moment on, he harbored a dark, suffocating crush on me for over a decade. He was too insecure to speak, too shadowed to step into my world. He watched me fall in love with someone else. He watched me hold Nelson’s hand. Years later, we crossed paths in the corporate world. “Steven? Is that really you?” I had asked, genuinely happy to see an old classmate doing well. He had trembled, his nails digging into his palms as he forced a calm, “Yeah.” He devoured my smile with his eyes. Then, I handed him a thick, cream-colored envelope and a small box of artisanal chocolates. “What a coincidence. I’m getting married soon. Since we’re old friends, you have to come to the wedding. I remember you used to like sweets.” I hadn’t noticed his face turn the color of ash. I didn’t know he actually hated sugar. But because I gave it to him, he kept every piece of candy like a holy relic. He never expected the “sweetness” I offered would be the news of my marriage to another man. It took him an eternity to choke out a single word: “Fine.” That night, the rising star of the business world went home to his penthouse, ate every single chocolate until he felt sick, and then tried to drown himself in his marble bathtub. His suicide note was a single, haunting line: Madeline, if there is a next life, I hope I never meet you. The readers of his “story” went wild. “He’s so tragic! She doesn’t deserve him!” “He was just shy! He protected her from the shadows for years!” “The author is a sadist. Why give him a woman who just moves on and marries someone else?” Because of that fan outrage, the “Transmigration Bureau” intervened. The intruder was sent to “save” the brooding, suicidal hero. And the sacrificial lamb they chose to host her was me. 3 Salvation? Heroes? The logic was absolute garbage. After I was forcibly shoved out of my own consciousness, my soul was locked in a dark void. I spent months screaming until my throat was raw, but the intruder just brushed me off. “I don’t get you,” she would say, her voice echoing in my head. “Steven loves you so much. Why are you making such a fuss? If you hadn’t been so ‘unfaithful’—if you hadn’t run off to marry some other guy before Steven could learn how to love—I wouldn’t have to be here cleaning up your mess.” She looked down on me. She thought I was the villain for having a life that didn’t revolve around a man I barely knew. Eventually, I started to wonder if I really was a monster. But I couldn’t wrap my head around it. In my memory, Steven Ward was just a quiet kid I’d helped once. My only connection to him was that one afternoon while I was waiting for my fiancé to pick me up. 4 I begged the intruder. I pleaded with her to give me my body back. “I’m pregnant!” I screamed into the void. “I’m supposed to put on my wedding dress tomorrow!” She didn’t listen. The day before the “takeover,” Nelson and I were decorating our first home. He was like a big kid, spinning me around the living room. “Maddy, you’re finally going to be my wife.” I laughed and called him a dork. “Who else would I marry? I’m not going anywhere.” The next day, the intruder put on the Vera Wang gown Nelson and I had picked out together. And in front of all our friends and family, she ran. She made it look like a grand romantic gesture—the “bride for love” sprinting toward Steven’s villa. She broke into his house and pulled a half-dead Steven out of his bathtub. She held him, dripping wet and shivering, and whispered, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to save you.” How touching. If only it wasn’t my life she was burning to the ground. And if only Steven hadn’t been “reborn” with his own set of dark memories. 5 It was a complication no one expected. Steven, saved from the brink, wasn’t grateful. He was suspicious. He looked at the intruder with cold, cynical eyes. “Giving me hope just to crush me again? Is that the game, Madeline? You drive me to the edge and then pull me back just to watch me crawl?” He remembered the “first life.” He thought he saw through my “manipulative” nature. “If you don’t love me, why save me? Why wait until I’m obsessed to give me the killing blow?” He sneered at the wedding dress she was wearing. “What is this? Another performance?” He swore he’d never be fooled again. But the readers loved it: “Finally! The ‘chase me’ arc! He’s just acting tough because he’s hurt. He’s secretly thrilled she chose him over the other guy!” Even the intruder believed it. She was convinced that Steven was just “traumatized” by the real me. She told herself that if she just poured enough “unconditional love” into him, he’d break. But what about me? What about Nelson? 6 For her “mission,” she stole my life. She abandoned my unborn child. She decimated my wedding. Every time Nelson tried to find her, to talk to her, she met him with cruelty. “Stop it! I never loved you! It’s always been Steven!” My Nelson. My beautiful, steady Nelson. He couldn’t understand how the woman he grew up with changed overnight. He just knew that his Madeline had disappeared. When she started talking about “terminating the mistake” in her womb, he nearly lost it. He held her—held me—and begged. “Maddy, stop. You’re sick. You’re just confused. It’s me. It’s Nelson.” We grew up together. He had held my hand when we were toddlers and told everyone we’d get married someday. And he made it happen. Our families were old friends. As the only daughter of the Thorne family, I was sheltered, but Nelson was my shield. Whenever I was upset, I went to him. I’d grab his sleeve and cry until my nose was red. “Nelson, someone was mean to me.” He was my superhero. He made the world safe. I’d wrap my arms around his neck and promise him, “I’m going to be your bride when I grow up.” It was a fairy tale. Right up until the day the monster took my skin. 7 Nelson was hollowed out by her cruelty, but he wouldn’t let go. One night, after the intruder threatened to jump off a balcony if he didn’t sign the annulment papers, he sat in his study and smoked until dawn. As the sun broke, he finally gave in. His voice was a ghost of itself. “I’ll sign. But the baby… you will carry the baby to term. Safely.” The intruder rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I’m not raising it. Don’t think you can use a kid to tie me down.” Nelson looked at her—really looked at her. For a split second, I felt like he saw me, the real me, screaming behind my own eyes. “I’ll raise him,” he whispered. 8 The day she left the hospital after giving birth, she met Nelson one last time. She took the locket he’d given me when we were sixteen—a piece of jewelry I’d worn every day of my life—and she cut the chain with a pair of scissors. She dropped it in the dirt and ground it under her heel. “I’m not ‘confused’ anymore, Nelson. Stop following me. This junk is trash. It makes me sick to look at it.” She didn’t just break his heart; she pulverized it. She cut ties with my parents to marry Steven. She spent years being his “doormat” to earn “favor points.” She danced for him, cooked for him, and eventually livestreamed a public proposal to him. Even when Steven was cold, even when he said, “I won’t fall for it twice, Madeline. You’re just a liar,” she persisted. Until the scandal broke. Steven’s status as an illegitimate heir was leaked. At a high-society gala, his half-brother’s wife threw a plate of leftovers over his head to humiliate him. The intruder stepped in. She took the hit. She stood there, covered in filth, and reached out her hand to him. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you.” The lights of the ballroom hit her face. It was the exact echo of that afternoon behind the gym. Steven finally broke. He stopped pulling away and gripped her hand like a drowning man. After that, the world knew her as Steven Ward’s “devoted puppy.” “I heard she had a fiancé and a kid. Left them both the second Mr. Ward looked at her.” “Ugh, poor guy. Imagine being the kid she didn’t want. I hope he realizes she’s a snake and kicks her to the curb.” But they didn’t get their wish. She was good at what she did. She forced her way into his dark world like a stubborn sun. When his business took a hit, she went on a livestream, knelt on one knee with a diamond ring, and asked him to marry her. “I was so terrible to you,” Steven had said, his voice thick. “Don’t you hate me?” She kissed his forehead. “You’re just stubborn. I’m never letting go.” The video went viral. And that same night, the news of Nathaniel Thorne’s near-fatal car accident didn’t even make the front page. I hated her. I hated her with a soul-deep fire. Why me? Why was my life the fuel for this “redemption”? Why did my kindness to a stranger result in the destruction of everything I loved? Finally, in the seventh year of her occupation, my hatred became a physical force. I clawed my way through the darkness and shoved her out. 9 When she realized she was losing control, she panicked. “Are you kidding me?! I worked so hard to get this man for you! Don’t be an ungrateful brat! I hate original leads like you—always ruining the mission!” “You have everything now! You’re Mrs. Ward! Look at how he loves you!” She tried to threaten me, but the connection was snapping. “I’ll come back! Don’t you dare ruin this!” In her twisted logic, I was “winning.” I had the billionaire’s love. What more could I want? I didn’t want this “setup.” In my life, the only man who mattered was the one I chose. To hell with the plot. To hell with destiny. The second I regained control, Steven leaned in to kiss me. I didn’t hesitate. I wound up and delivered a slap so hard my palm stung. “Who the hell do you think you are? Don’t you touch me.” He froze, five red finger marks blooming on his cheek. He stared at me, then let out a sharp, cold laugh. “Amnesia? Again? What is it this time, Madeline? A new role-play?” I looked at him—really looked at him—and then I lunged. I grabbed his collar, my voice a jagged shriek. “Where is Nelson?! Where is he?! How could I ever be married to a man like you?!” Seven years ago, I was Nelson’s. We were a family. And I was going to get that life back, or I was going to burn this whole house down with both of us inside. 10 The air in the room turned brittle. Steven’s face darkened, his eyes turning to chips of ice. “Nelson. Always Nathaniel. I knew you were still obsessed with him.” I glared at him with pure, unadulterated loathing. “He’s my husband! Who else would I be obsessed with? What is this place? I want to go home!” In two sentences, I had incinerated seven years of “favor points.” Steven’s jaw tightened. “Husband? Ha. Is this because I stayed late with Amber last night? Are we playing the ‘jealous wife’ card now?” He stepped into my space, his presence suffocating. “Look at me, Madeline. Look at this ring. I am your husband. Get it through your head.” 11 He looked exhausted, tugging at his tie with irritation. “I told you, Amber is just my assistant. How many times do I have to explain? She’s a twenty-two-year-old intern. Why are you acting like a child?” “And I’m warning you,” he added, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl, “don’t use Thorne to provoke me again.” Amber. His new “personal secretary.” The woman the intruder had been obsessed with “defeating” to prove her devotion. No wonder Steven thought I was just throwing a tantrum. The intruder would have collapsed, sobbing, begging for forgiveness, making excuses. But I wasn’t her. I reached for the heavy crystal ashtray on the nightstand and hurled it at his head. There was a sickening thud. Blood began to trickle down Steven’s forehead. I stood there, my eyes burning. “Get. Out.” 12 The noise was enough to bring people running. The door burst open, followed by a theatrical gasp. “Steven!” It was Amber. She rushed over, her eyes wide with manufactured horror, dabbing at his forehead with a silk scarf. When she looked at me, a flash of triumph crossed her face before she masked it with “concern.” “Madeline, how could you? Just because I made a mistake on the schedule and he was home late? You’re being violent!” She played the part perfectly—the innocent girl just trying to do her job. “Mr. Ward and I are strictly professional. You can hate me, but don’t doubt his feelings for you.” At the mention of “feelings,” Steven’s expression shifted from shock to a cold, hollow cynicism. “Feelings? If she cared about me, she wouldn’t even have the energy to fake this.” In the past, he’d say something like that and the intruder would cling to him, swearing her eternal love. She’d deleted every contact in her phone just to prove he was her “everything.” I grabbed a heavy bronze statuette from the vanity. “At least you’re not completely blind!” I snarled. The statuette whistled through the air. This time, the scream was higher. Amber had stepped in the way to “protect” him and took the hit to her shoulder. “Amber!” Steven shouted. She slumped against him, sobbing. “I’m okay, Steven. It’s my fault. Please, don’t be mad at her.” She leaned into his chest. “I… I feel dizzy.” Steven had reached his limit. He scooped Amber up into his arms, heading for the door. He stopped and looked back at me, his eyes full of pure rage. “You’ve lost your mind. If you don’t apologize to Amber by tonight, don’t expect me to step foot in this house again.” He slammed the door. He was sure this “threat” would break me. It always did. He didn’t see me bolt for the bathroom. I fell to my knees in front of the toilet and retched until I thought my lungs would come out. I have to thank my body for that. For seven years, the intruder had tried to get physically intimate with Steven. But every time he touched her, every time she even thought about it, this body would recoil. It was a biological rejection so deep no “soul” could override it. 13 When I was done vomiting, I slumped against the cold tile, feeling like a bruised peach. My fingers brushed against my phone. I picked it up, my thumb trembling over the screen. Who could I call? My parents? They’d disowned me years ago. They’d think I was lying or high. Nelson? It had been seven years. Why would he ever believe me? With shaking hands, I typed in the number I had memorized a lifetime ago. My finger hovered over the ‘Call’ button. Buzz. An unknown number flashed on the screen, cutting off my dialer. I answered it on instinct. “Hello?” my voice was like sandpaper. A young woman’s voice came through. “Hello, is this Mrs. Ward? Your son got into a fight at the preschool. We’ve been trying to reach his father, but his line is busy. Could you come down and handle this?” My son. My son. I had nearly died giving birth to him, and I hadn’t seen his face once. “Is he hurt? Is it bad? I’m coming! I’m on my way!” I was babbling, ignoring the confusion in the teacher’s voice. “He’s not hurt, ma’am… it’s just… your son was the one who did the hitting.” 14 I drove like a woman possessed, blowing through every red light. When I burst into the school office, my eyes scanned the room like a hawk. I saw the teacher and then… two little boys in the corner. One was wearing designer clothes, his chin up, looking arrogant. The other was wearing a plain, slightly dusty outfit, his face marked with red scratches. My heart broke just looking at him. The boy in the designer clothes saw me and made a face at the other kid. “You’re dead! My mom’s here to wreck you!” He ran toward me, arms open. I walked right past him. I dropped to my knees in front of the boy with the scratches and pulled him into my arms. “Let me see. Where does it hurt? Don’t be scared, baby. Mommy’s here. No one’s going to hurt you anymore.” The relief was so immense I thought I’d drown in it. But as the words left my mouth, the room went silent. The boy in my arms stiffened. The boy in the designer clothes looked stunned. The teacher cleared her throat awkwardly. “Mrs. Ward… that’s Toby Thorne. Your son, Parker, is over there. Are you… feeling okay?” I didn’t care. I traced the little boy’s face with my fingers. He was a mirror image of me, but those eyes—those were Nelson’s eyes. Parker, the designer-clad boy, screamed in frustration and tried to shove me. “Madeline! Let him go! If you touch him, I’m telling my uncle!” That’s right. Parker wasn’t Steven’s. He was the secret love child of Steven’s older brother. Steven had taken him in to curry favor with the family, and the intruder—desperate to play “happy family”—had claimed him as their own. She’d raised him as her “son” while my actual child was treated like a stranger. When Parker shoved me, Toby—the boy who hadn’t fought back until then—suddenly lunged like a little lion. He was fast and fierce. The office descended into chaos. Parker was wailing, and I pulled Toby back. He looked at me, his eyes red and defiant. “Go ahead and yell at me,” Toby whispered. “I know you told me never to hit him. But my dad said a man has to protect his mom. I won’t let him push you.” For seven years, the intruder had pampered Parker and forbidden Toby from calling her “Mom.” To the world, Parker was the beloved prince. Toby was the “unwanted” child from a broken engagement. “I heard his mom is just some gold-digger who left him,” people would say. And if Parker ever hit Toby, the intruder would defend him blindly. “Parker is younger! You have to let him win!” or “If you touch my son, I’ll make you regret it!” Toby had learned that his own mother would always choose someone else. He was waiting for the scolding. Instead, I took his small, shaking hands in mine. “Did you hurt your hand? Next time, use something to protect your knuckles, okay? We don’t want you breaking a bone.” Toby’s eyes went wide. I brushed his hair back. “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.” Toby’s lip wobbled. But he remembered what his dad said—men don’t cry. 15 I felt a surge of maternal fury that made my blood boil. I turned to Parker, who was still faking a sob. “Listen to me, you little brat. I am not your mother. Your mother is the mistress your father keeps in the city. If you’re upset, go cry to him. Stay away from my son.” The room was dead silent. I didn’t give them time to breathe. “And we’re not done here. You’re going to apologize to my son. And your ‘uncle’ is going to pay every cent of the medical bills and the emotional distress you’ve caused.” I tore the “perfect family” mask off right there in front of the windows where other parents were eavesdropping. “Oh my god,” a whisper came from the hall. “Parker isn’t even hers?” “And she’s been treating the Thorne kid like garbage? How cruel.” Parker’s face went white. He wasn’t used to this. “You’re lying! I’m telling Uncle Steven! He’ll kill you!” The intruder would have been terrified. But I wasn’t her. I was Madeline Thorne. And I was done being a host for someone else’s mission. 16 “Mrs. Ward… I mean, Ms. Thorne… surely there’s a misunderstanding?” The teacher tried to play peacemaker. “Parker is usually so well-behaved. Toby was the one who lashed out today. Maybe we can just call it even?” That was the old routine. The school helped the intruder keep the peace. Toby looked at me, a sad, knowing smile on his face. He wiped his eyes and looked down. “It’s okay, Mommy… I mean, Madeline. You don’t have to help me. I’m used to it. I tripped. It wasn’t Parker.” He paused. “I won’t tell my dad.” My heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. My son. The boy I’d almost died for. I’d missed seven years of his life because of that intruder, and he was already so broken he was trying to protect me from the fallout of his own bullying. The fire in my head exploded. I pointed a finger at the teacher. “Call it even? How dare you.” “My son’s face is scratched to hell, and you want to call it even? Because the ‘Ward’ name scares you?” I pulled Toby closer, tears finally breaking through. “This is my son. He is my flesh and blood!” Click. The office door opened softly. I looked up through a blur of tears and saw Nathaniel standing in the doorway. He looked like he’d been standing there for a long time. Seven years. His eyes were red. My heart stopped.

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The night of the charity gala, I dropped half a million dollars just to see Maddy smile. I didn’t know that while I was signing the paperwork, her “star intern” was busy rerouting the delivery to his own apartment. Thirty million dollars’ worth of custom-designed jewelry—pieces I had spent years saving for—ended up in the hands of a kid who hadn’t been with the company for more than three months. When I confronted him in the office, Tyler didn’t argue. He didn’t make excuses. He simply dropped to his knees right there in the middle of the open-plan floor, tears streaming down his face. “Nate, please,” he sobbed, his voice carrying across the silent cubicles. “I was desperate. My family… we’re losing everything. Without this, they’ll be on the streets by the end of the month!” Maddy stepped out of her glass-walled office, her heels clicking sharply against the polished concrete. She didn’t look at the intern with suspicion. She looked at me with pure, unadulterated disgust. “Honestly, Nate? It’s just money,” she snapped, stepping over to Tyler and resting a protective hand on his shoulder. “You were going to give those pieces to me anyway. If I want to give them to him to save his family, what’s it to you? Where is your heart?” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a cold, razor-sharp whisper. “I’m telling you now: kneel down and apologize to him. Beg for his forgiveness for being so cruel. If you don’t, consider our wedding off. I won’t marry a man who values diamonds over human lives.” I looked at the woman I had spent three years worshipping, and for the first time, the fog lifted. The disappointment wasn’t a sharp pain; it was a cold, heavy stone settling in my gut. “Fine,” I thought, my gaze drifting to the intern’s smug, hidden smirk. “Let’s see how much ‘heart’ you have when I take back everything that actually belongs to me.” 1 The office was a vacuum of judgment. People were whispering behind their hands, their eyes darting between me and the scene on the floor. I could feel the ridicule. I was the “rich CEO” picking on the “poor, noble intern.” A couple of Maddy’s loyalists—people I had hired and promoted—started chiming in from the sidelines. “Maddy’s right. Tyler’s going through hell. You’ve got millions, Nate. Helping him out wouldn’t even dent your bank account.” Maddy caught their supportive glances and offered a small, saintly smile. She looked at me not as her fiancé of three years, but as a villain she was forced to endure. “See, Nate? Everyone else gets it. Everyone can see how much Tyler is suffering, yet you’re standing there acting like a victim because of some jewelry.” She crossed her arms, her chin tilted up in that defiant way I used to find charming. “Besides, we built this company together. That money is as much mine as it is yours. Consider the jewelry my gift to him.” I didn’t beg. I didn’t yell. I just stood there, watching her. This wasn’t an isolated incident. Ever since Tyler Beck started at Sinclair Media, Maddy had been under some kind of spell. She was obsessed with his “potential,” his “tragic backstory,” his “raw talent.” She was so busy playing the role of his savior that she had forgotten who was actually standing by her side. On the floor, Tyler’s lips twitched. The fear was gone. He knew he had won. He always won. Maddy had never chosen me over him—not once—since the day they met. “Mr. Cross,” Tyler whimpered, though his eyes were dry now. “I know I messed up. Please… just forgive me. I won’t get up until you do.” He shifted his weight slightly, bracing himself to stand the moment Maddy gave the word. This was the routine. He’d play the martyr, Maddy would demand I fix it, and I’d end up apologizing for his mistakes. But the script was changing today. “Then stay there,” I said, my voice flat. “Stay on your knees for all I care. But if you think an apology is coming, you’re more delusional than she is.” I turned on my heel and walked out, ignoring the gasp that rippled through the room and Maddy’s shriek of my name. I took the elevator down to the garage and sat in the back of my car. I didn’t tell the driver to go anywhere. I just stared at my phone. The auction house had sent me the high-res photos of the items: a vintage pear-cut sapphire ring and a matching necklace. Maddy and I had a deal years ago. She told me that when I could finally afford those two specific pieces, she’d know I was serious about our future. Back then, I was a scrappy founder with more debt than assets. I had tracked those pieces through three different private collections, waiting for the day I could finally bring them home. Today was supposed to be the day. The company had gone public, our Series C was closed, and I finally had the liquid capital. I had set everything up at our house—the flowers, the vintage champagne, the life we had promised each other. Everything was ready. Everything except the ring. When I called the courier and realized they had delivered it to a walk-up in Queens—Tyler’s address—because Maddy had “authorized a change of destination,” I felt the world tilt. I stared at the sapphire in the photo. It was beautiful. Cold. Just like the woman I thought I loved. I sat there until the sun dipped below the city skyline, then finally told the driver to take me home. The moment I stepped through the front door, the scent of garlic and rosemary hit me. My heart gave a pathetic little flutter. Was she here? Was she cooking? Was this her way of saying she’d realized how insane she was being? I pushed open the kitchen door. Maddy was there, wearing her favorite silk apron. But Tyler was behind her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder as they watched something simmering on the stove. Tyler heard me first. He turned, and there wasn’t a hint of embarrassment on his face. He looked at me with the cheerful, welcoming expression of a host greeting a guest. “Nate! You’re back. Come in, come in! Dinner’s almost ready.” He sounded like he owned the place. Like he was the man of the house and I was just a stray that had wandered in. Maddy glanced over her shoulder. The moment her eyes met mine, the warmth she’d been sharing with Tyler vanished, replaced by a wall of ice. I looked at them together. They looked like a couple. I looked like the intruder. I didn’t take the slippers Tyler tried to hand me. I didn’t step further into the room. I just looked at Maddy and spoke the words that had been rotting in my throat all afternoon. “Maddy, we’re done. Get your things. Get out.” 2 “What did you just say?” Maddy finally let go of the wooden spoon and walked toward me. She stabbed a finger toward my face, her voice rising in disbelief. “Nate Cross, you better take that back right now. Are you seriously doing this?” I looked her dead in the eye, enunciating every syllable. “I am saying it one more time. We. Are. Over. Get out of my house.” Maddy’s pupils dilated. Her mouth fell open. Her fists clenched so hard her knuckles turned white. “You have got to be kidding me! You’re throwing away three years over a misunderstanding?” Tyler stepped forward then, looking like a kicked puppy. “Maddy, please… it’s my fault. I’ve ruined everything for you. I’m so sorry.” He turned to me, his voice trembling. “Nate, I’ll give the jewelry back. I’ll figure out my family’s debt somehow. If we starve, we starve. It’s better than breaking you guys up.” He actually squeezed out a tear. Maddy crumbled instantly, pulling him into a protective embrace. “Stop it, Tyler. You’re not doing anything. You’re keeping those pieces.” She whipped her head back to me, her eyes burning with pure venom. “Nate, I am so sick of your ego! Tyler has already forgiven you for the way you treated him today, and this is how you act? Do you have even an ounce of compassion in your soul?” He forgave me? I let out a short, hysterical laugh. He stole thirty million dollars of my property, and I was the one who needed his forgiveness. “He stole from me, Maddy. He—” The slap caught me across the cheek, the crack echoing in the hallway. It was hard enough to make my ears ring. She looked at me with such loathing it felt physical. “You’re a pathetic, heartless bastard,” she hissed. “You don’t deserve to be my husband.” Before I could even react, she grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut in my face. In my own home. I stood in the hallway of the building, my cheek stinging. If I hadn’t stepped back, the door would have broken my nose. I knew she was standing on the other side, waiting. Waiting for me to knock. Waiting for me to apologize and beg for her to open it. That was our pattern. No matter who was at fault, I was always the one on my knees. I had chased her for three years before she said yes. I had spent every waking hour trying to be the man she wanted—giving her the world, buying her the best clothes, funding her dreams, sacrificing my own peace to keep her happy. I thought it was love. She treated it like a cage. She saw my devotion as a “shackle” on her freedom. “Fine,” I whispered to the closed door. “If my love is a cage, consider yourself paroled.” I turned and walked away. Behind me, I heard the lock click. The door cracked open. She was giving me my “chance” to crawl back. Usually, I would have turned around with a gift and a thousand apologies, desperate for her mercy. This time, I didn’t even look back. I kept walking until I hit the street. 3 I checked into a hotel suite and spent the night with my lawyer on the phone. I wasn’t just breaking up; I was scorched-earthing. The jewelry, the house, the company shares—everything was in my name. I wanted every cent back. By the time the sun came up, my team was already gathering evidence. I finally lay down to close my eyes when my phone buzzed with a “Special Interest” notification. It was an Instagram post from Maddy. A photo of her hand, the sapphire ring catching the morning light on her finger. The caption read: “A man who truly loves you will always find a way to say he’s sorry.” I stared at the screen and felt a cold, dry laugh bubble up. I took a screenshot, sent it to my lawyer, and then I blocked her. On everything. I used to be that man. I used to be the one who apologized for her mistakes. And what did it get me? Humiliation. Betrayal. A slap in the face while another man lived in my house. She didn’t want my love. She wanted a tool to satisfy her ego. She wanted to see how much she could make me bleed before I broke. Well, I was broken. And there was nothing left for her to take. The next morning, my phone rang from an unknown number. I answered. It was Maddy, her voice shrill and demanding. “Nate! Where are the keys to the lake house? And the code for your grandmother’s place? I need to get some things.” My grandmother’s place. The words snapped me wide awake. That house was a small, vine-covered cottage in the hills where I grew up. My parents were always working, always traveling, so my grandmother raised me. She was the only person who ever loved me without a price tag. Since she passed, I had kept that house exactly as it was. I went there every weekend to dust, to sit in her old chair, to breathe in the scent of cedar and old books. It was my sanctuary. My parents weren’t even allowed to touch the furniture. “What do you want at the cottage, Maddy? That’s my family’s property. You have no business there.” Maddy let out a cold, mocking laugh. “I remember your grandmother said she wanted me to have that jade bracelet of hers. The ‘heirloom.’ You were always too stingy to give it to me. Now, I’m going to take what’s mine.” I had taken Maddy there once. My grandmother, in her failing health, had gripped Maddy’s hand and said, “Nate is a difficult boy sometimes, dear. Be patient with him. I have a bracelet for you… a family piece. I’ve tucked it away somewhere safe. When I find it, I’ll have Nate give it to you.” That bracelet was my grandmother’s most prized possession. She died the very next day while she was looking for it, her heart giving out in the attic. I never looked for the bracelet. It felt too painful, too much like a piece of her ghost. At the time, Maddy told me to keep it as a memory. She said she didn’t need it. On the other end of the line, I heard a loud crack—the sound of wood splintering. Then, Tyler’s voice filtered through. “Got it, Maddy. The door’s open.” “See?” Maddy said, her voice dripping with triumph. “You said it was an heirloom. It’s worth a fortune. I’m just taking what’s owed to me for three years of my life.” The sound of that forced entry—the violation of the only holy place left in my life—sent a surge of white-hot rage through my veins. “Maddy,” I growled, “if you step foot in that house, I will destroy you.” 4 I drove like a madman toward the hills, red lights and speed limits becoming suggestions. I didn’t care about the car. I didn’t care about anything but getting there. I was too late. The gate to the cottage had been rammed open. The front door—the heavy oak door my grandfather had carved—was hanging off its hinges. The yard, which I had kept meticulously manicured, was strewn with trash. But that was nothing compared to the inside. I heard their voices before I saw them. “Oh, Maddy, look at this. It’s gorgeous. It looks like it was made for you.” “Told you. The old lady was holding out on me. Look at the color on this jade!” I burst through the door and stopped dead. My heart shattered. The house was a wreck. The bookshelves had been overturned, the hand-painted vases smashed against the hearth. Even the small porcelain figures my grandmother had collected were ground into the floorboards. I picked up a shard of a blue-and-white ginger jar, my hands shaking so hard I nearly cut myself. They had even gone through my childhood toy chest. My old wooden planes were snapped in half. My teddy bear had been ripped open, its stuffing scattered like snow across the rug. The air in the room felt heavy with the scent of destruction. “Maddy!” I roared. They both jumped, turning to face me. Tyler reacted instantly. Before I could reach Maddy, he lunged, tackling me to the floor. He was younger and fueled by a panicked adrenaline. He pinned me down, his hands slamming into my throat. I felt the air vanish. My vision began to swim as the blood rushed to my head. Maddy stood over us, her hands on her hips, a cold, leisurely smile on her face. “How does it feel, Nate?” she asked, leaning down. “Since you wouldn’t apologize to Tyler, I guess you need a different kind of lesson.” I clawed at Tyler’s wrists, gasping for breath, my eyes bulging as I stared at Maddy’s hand. She was holding the jade bracelet. “Put it… down,” I wheezed. “Grandmother’s… bracelet…” Maddy toyed with it, swinging it back and forth just inches from my face. “You want this? Tell you what. Apologize. To both of us. Tell Tyler you’re a piece of trash. Maybe then I’ll leave it on the table.” I reached out, my fingers trembling, trying to grasp the silk-smooth stone. Every time I got close, she jerked it away, laughing at my desperation. Then, her expression shifted. The playfulness died, replaced by something dark and sharp. She held the bracelet high, dangling it over the stone hearth. “No,” I choked out. “Please. No.” She let go. The crack of the jade hitting the stone was the loudest sound I’d ever heard. It shattered into a dozen jagged pieces. I felt something inside me snap along with it. “Why?” I screamed, the sound muffled by Tyler’s grip. “Why would you do that? It was all I had left of her!” Maddy laughed, a high, jagged sound. “Because you used your money to humiliate me for years, Nate. You thought you could buy me. Now you know what it feels like to lose something you can’t replace.” Humiliation? I had given her my soul. I had built a pedestal for her and she called it a cage. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, blurring the sight of the broken jade. I felt the life slipping out of me, the pressure on my windpipe becoming absolute. Tyler’s face was twisted in a mask of murderous intent. Then, a shout from the doorway. “Police! Get your hands off him! Now!” The weight lifted. I rolled onto my side, gasping, air burning my lungs like fire. The officers swarmed Tyler, slamming him against the wall. I looked up at the officers, a grim, jagged smile spreading across my face. “Officers,” I rasped, “I want to report an attempted murder. And a home invasion.” I watched Maddy’s face go pale as the handcuffs clicked. “And just so we’re clear,” I added, looking her straight in the eye, “I am not interested in a settlement.”

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It started with a lucky streak on the S&P 500. When my coworkers found out I’d made a decent profit, the requests started pouring in. Specifically from Brad. “Come on, Natalie, we’re a team here. A rising tide lifts all boats, right? I’ll just Venmo you the cash, you put it into whatever you’re buying. We’ve worked together for two years—I trust you more than I trust a broker.” “I’m a big boy,” he’d added, flashing that easy, mid-western grin. “If the market dips, I won’t blame you. I know the risks.” “When we strike it rich, steak dinners are on me.” I tried to decline. I told him the market was volatile, that I wasn’t a professional. But Brad was relentless, and eventually, I caved. It was the biggest mistake of my life. Three years later, Brad cornered me in the breakroom. His mother was in the hospital, he said. He needed money—fifty thousand dollars, cash, right now. “Keep the extra dividends,” he said, his voice trembling with a performative desperation. “Consider it a management fee. Just get me the fifty grand. My mom needs this surgery, Natalie. It’s a matter of life and death.” I stared at him, genuinely bewildered. “Brad, what are you talking about? You withdrew everything months ago. There’s nothing left to give you.” Brad’s face darkened instantly. The friendly “office dad” persona vanished, replaced by something cold and predatory. “I’ve been sending you nearly my entire paycheck for three years. Even with a few losses, there’s no way it’s less than fifty grand. Don’t play games with me. That’s my money sitting in your account. Give it back. Now.” I stood my ground. I told him the truth: he had already transferred the funds out. Then the nightmare began. Brad’s wife showed up at my front door, screaming. They dragged my name through the mud on social media, inciting a digital lynch mob. But when I finally pulled the itemized bank statements, the regret hit them like a freight train. … “Just give me the money! Do you even have a soul? My mother is lying in a hospital bed waiting for her surgery!” Brad’s eyes were a toxic mix of rage and calculated sorrow. He was performing for the room, and the room was rapt. The office was so quiet you could hear the hum of the HVAC system. Everyone was pretending to stare at their monitors, but their shoulders were leaned in, soaking up every drop of the drama. “I trusted you,” Brad continued, his voice rising. “Just tell me the truth. How much did you lose? Look, I’ll make it easy—I won’t even make you cover the losses. Just give me whatever is left. My mom is waiting.” I sat at my desk, staring at my dual monitors, trying to focus on the quarterly report I hadn’t finished. I didn’t have the energy for this. “Brad, the money is gone because you took it. There’s exactly eighty-four dollars left in that sub-account. I’ll Zelle it to you right now if it’ll make you go away.” I pulled up the banking app on my phone and shoved it toward him. Brad looked like he was about to explode. He grabbed my upper arm, his grip tight enough to bruise. “I sent you two thousand dollars a month for three years. That’s seventy-two thousand in principal alone. You’re supposed to be some kind of genius—that should have doubled. And you’re telling me there’s eighty-four dollars? Do I look like an idiot to you?” Kim, a girl from accounting who usually didn’t say two words to me, suddenly piped up. “We all saw Brad sending you those transfers, Natalie. If you’re saying he took it back, where’s the proof?” That was the signal. The dam broke, and the rest of the office started chiming in. “Honestly, Natalie, have some decency. This is a woman’s life.” “I can’t believe her. I saw her ordering DoorDash every single day, getting those expensive lattes. Now we know whose money she was spending.” “I always thought she was a bit too ‘designer’ for an entry-level salary. Guess we know why now.” “Brad’s a good guy. There’s no way he’s lying about this.” A few of the older guys started crowding my cubicle, their shadows looming over me. I’m twenty-four. These people have been in the industry longer than I’ve been alive, and they were circling me like sharks. I bit my lip, fighting back the hot sting of tears. I refused to let them see me cry. “I never wanted to manage his money. He begged me. You want proof? I’ll show you the withdrawal history.” I started scrolling through the app. As I did, I caught a flicker of something in Brad’s eyes. Not anger. Panic. Kim stepped closer, peering over my shoulder. “You’re showing us ‘transfers out.’ That doesn’t prove they went to Brad. You could have sent that to a secret offshore account for all we know.” “Exactly,” Brad sneered, his confidence returning. He looked me up and down with pure disgust. “Look at you. Fresh out of college, living in a luxury condo, wearing labels I can’t even pronounce. You’ve been living high on the hog on my dime while my wife and I split ten-dollar burritos for dinner.” His gaze felt like slime on my skin. When I first started here, Brad was my mentor. He was the one who showed me where the good coffee was, who warned me about the CEO’s temper, who told me “us girls have it tough in this industry.” I thought he was a friend. I’d warned him about the risks of the market, and he’d laughed, telling me he understood that “fortune favors the bold.” I thought he was withdrawing the money because he wanted to put it into a 401k or something more stable. I never imagined he was setting a trap. The shouting grew louder until the floor manager, Mr. Henderson, finally emerged from his glass office. “Alright, that’s enough. Natalie, why don’t you take a few days of paid leave? Let things cool down here. We can’t have this kind of disruption in the workplace.” It wasn’t a request. It was an eviction. As I packed my bag, I saw the smug, predatory glint in Brad’s eyes. This wasn’t over. The next afternoon, the pounding on my door started. It was so violent I thought the frame might crack. My neighbors were already peeking out into the hallway. “Open up! Open the damn door, you thief! You’re living large on my husband’s blood and sweat while my mother-in-law dies! Open up!” I’d had enough. I ripped the door open. “I told Brad already—he took the money! There is no money! Do you people not speak English?” Sheila, Brad’s wife, was standing there, hands on her hips, face flushed a deep, ugly purple. She was ready for a brawl, but my sudden outburst caught her off guard. Only for a second, though. “You live in a place like this?” she hissed, pushing past me into the foyer. She looked around at my minimalist decor and the floor-to-ceiling windows. “There’s no way a girl your age bought this. This is Brad’s money. This is our life savings.” “My parents bought this condo for me as a graduation gift,” I snapped. “It has nothing to do with you.” Sheila scoffed, her lip curling. “Please. No parents spend that kind of money on a daughter. You’re a liar and a thief. You’re so vain you’d let an old woman die just so you can have a nice view.” The neighbors were gathered in the hall now, whispering. “I always wondered about her,” Mrs. Higgins from 4B muttered. “Always carrying those fancy shopping bags. I guess it’s easy to spend money when it isn’t yours.” “She lent me five hundred dollars last month when my car broke down,” another neighbor whispered. “I thought she was being a Good Samaritan. Now I feel sick knowing that money was stolen from a sick grandmother.” Their judgment fueled Sheila’s fire. She shoved me aside and stormed deeper into my home. “This is all ours!” she screamed. She ran into my walk-in closet and started grabbing my handbags, looping them over her arms. “I’m taking some interest on that debt.” She started grabbing jewelry off my vanity, stuffing it into the bags. The neighbors, emboldened by her frenzy, began to filter in like scavengers. I was pushed to the floor in the chaos. I watched, paralyzed, as Sheila took a key from my counter and keyed the leather of my sofa. She grabbed a bottle of red wine from the rack and poured it over my white rug. “This is private property! I’m calling the police!” I screamed. “Go ahead!” Sheila yelled, looking like a bloated, manic giant with five purses draped over her. “Tell them you bought all this with stolen money. Let’s see who they handcuff first.” She spat on the floor near my head as she walked out, followed by the neighbors who were clutching whatever small items they’d managed to snatch. “That’ll teach you,” Sheila shouted over her shoulder. “You better have the rest of that cash ready soon, or we’re coming back for the furniture.” I sat in the middle of my ruined living room, shaking. The betrayal of the neighbors hurt almost as much as Brad’s. I’d been nothing but kind to them. I’d helped Mrs. Higgins with her groceries; I’d lent money without asking for interest. And they turned on me the second a louder voice told them I was a villain. I forced myself to stand up. I took my phone and recorded the damage. Then, I went to the hidden security camera I’d installed near the bookshelf and pulled the microSD card. I wasn’t going to just cry. I was going to burn them down. I drove back to the office, my heart hammering against my ribs. I needed to confront Brad in front of everyone. “Oh look, the thief returns,” Brad called out as I walked through the glass doors. “Come to return the loot?” I ignored him and walked straight to his desk, shoving my phone in his face. “Did you send your wife to my house to rob me, Brad? Because that’s a felony.” Brad played it cool, leaning back in his chair. “My wife? She’s just distraught. She’s worried about her mother-in-law. If you’d just give us our money back, she wouldn’t have to be so ‘dramatic.’” The peanut gallery joined in. “Natalie, seriously? You’re going to harass him while his mom is in surgery? His wife probably just said a few mean words. Get over yourself.” I didn’t argue. I just opened my laptop. “You want the truth? Here it is. I’m pulling up the blockchain and the bank ledger right now. Every transfer out of that account went to—” “Move! Out of the way!” Kim came sprinting out of the breakroom, a stack of files in her arms. She “tripped” right into me, her shoulder slamming into my hand. My phone flew out of my grip, sailed over the railing of the mezzanine, and shattered on the marble floor of the lobby three stories below. Kim gave me a tiny, triumphant smirk. “Oops. My bad. I guess your ‘evidence’ just hit the floor. Or maybe you just dropped it because you were lying?” Rage, cold and sharp, washed over me. “You think that was my only copy? I have the cloud, Kim. I have the desktop.” I turned to my workstation, but Brad grabbed my wrist. “Enough with the theater, Natalie. Just give me the money. Stop making this harder than it has to be.” “I don’t have your money because you spent it!” I yelled. Before he could respond, his phone rang. He looked at the screen—it was the hospital. He grabbed my arm and started dragging me toward the elevator. “You’re coming with me. You’re going to see exactly what you’re doing to my family.” The hospital was crowded. Brad dragged me into the waiting room, his voice suddenly booming, attracting every eye in the lobby. “I’m begging you!” he wailed, dropping to his knees in front of me. “Keep the interest! Keep the profit! Just give me the principal so I can pay for her heart surgery! I’ll even call it a loan! Just don’t let my mother die!” He looked like a broken man. A few people in the waiting room started filming with their phones. A local news crew, likely there for a different story, saw the commotion and swung their cameras toward us. “Don’t do this,” I whispered, stepping back. “You know exactly where that money went. I have the records at home.” Suddenly, Sheila appeared, still wearing one of my designer bags. “You little bitch! You’re still lying? Look at my mother-in-law!” They had me surrounded. The cameras were inches from my face. I felt like I was suffocating. I fought my way through the crowd and ran for the exit. By the time I got home, I was trending. A local “human interest” reporter had posted the video with the caption: Local Professional Refuses to Return Life-Savings to Dying Grandmother. My social media accounts were a war zone. “How do you sleep at night, Natalie?” “I live two miles from her. Anyone want her address for a little ‘visit’?” “She went to a top-tier university. Guess they don’t teach ethics there.” “Look at her parents. They look like stuck-up academics. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” They found photos of my parents. They found my graduation photos. They were tearing my entire life apart based on a thirty-second clip of a man crying. My phone buzzed. It was my mother. Her voice was shaking. “Natalie? Honey, what’s happening? Some young people just stopped us in the park and started screaming at your father. He’s having trouble breathing.” The air left my lungs. “Mom, stay inside. Go back to the hotel. Don’t talk to anyone. I’m handling it.” I hung up, my hands trembling with a fury so intense it felt like ice. They could attack me. They could steal my bags. But they touched my parents. I called Brad. “Decided to be a human being and pay up?” he answered, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “I’m going to say this one last time. You took that money. You know it, and I know it.” “Listen, Natalie,” Brad said, his tone shifting to something almost conversational. “I know you won the lottery. I heard you on the phone. Just give me three hundred thousand of that five hundred thousand, and I’ll make this all go away. I’ll tell the internet it was a big misunderstanding.”

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Before they passed, my parents left me a legacy I never asked for: a merman. In this coastal town, they are bred like thoroughbreds—expensive, beautiful, and meant for one thing: the continuation of the line. But nature had been unkind to me. I was born with a withered right leg, a shriveled limb that forced me into a permanent, uneven hitch. And my merman, Caspian, loathed me for it. “A freak like you should just crawl away and die,” he’d snarl, his voice a haunting melody laced with poison. “You aren’t fit to touch my scales, let alone carry a brood.” After he smashed the last of my mother’s porcelain vases in another fit of rage, I fled. I limped out into the rain, my heart a ragged thing, and found myself wandering into the Abyssal Aquarium on the edge of the docks. In the dim, blue light of the back gallery, a stunning silver-white tail breached the surface of a massive tank. It didn’t splash; it glided, coiling around my waist with a firm, cool pressure that felt like a caress rather than a restraint. The merman’s eyes were the color of the deep Atlantic—pure, piercing blue. He tilted his head, guiding my gaze to a weathered wooden sign hanging by the glass: [DEFECTIVE STOCK. TRADE-INS WELCOME.] His eyes shimmered with what looked like unshed tears as he exhaled a string of iridescent bubbles. “Mistress…” he whispered, the sound vibrating in my very bones. “Take me home.” It was time. Time to trade in the old, bitter ghost in my house for something new. But when I finally told Caspian to move out, he didn’t flee to the ocean. He blocked the door with his powerful tail, his eyes bloodshot and frantic. “You’re throwing me away?” he choked out, his voice cracking. “For that… that piece of trash?” 1 I woke up before the sun hit the bay today, hitching my way down to the docks. My hip ached with every step, but I pushed through it. I found a trawler that had just hauled in a deep-sea catch and bought a heavy leather pouch filled with fresh, Grade-A pearls. The merchant counted my silver coins, his grin widening with every clink. “Living the high life with that merman of yours, huh, Jo?” he chuckled. “Treating him like a king. I bet he keeps you real comfortable at night.” My face went ghost-white. I didn’t wait for my change; I just turned and limped away as fast as my cane would allow. Behind me, the predictable whispers started, sharp as sea glass. “She’s delusional. A cripple trying to keep a Thoroughbred? That merman hates the ground she limps on. Word is he tries to bolt every time she turns her back.” I wiped the sweat from my forehead, trying to outrun the voices. By the time I reached the house, Caspian was already awake. He was in one of his moods. I heard the crash of glass before I even opened the door. The moment he saw me, his tail lashed the floor, propelling him toward me with terrifying speed. The sharp tip of his fin flicked across my cheek, leaving a stinging, hot trail of red. He didn’t even look at the wound. He snatched the leather pouch from my hand, rummaging through it with a sneer. “You’re late, little gimp. Please tell me you didn’t buy more bottom-shelf refuse.” He popped a large, lustrous pearl into his mouth, crunching it with disdain. “Tastes like silt. Mr. Blackwood’s merman gets the pearls imported from the South Pacific. Why am I stuck with a bargain-bin owner?” I covered my stinging cheek, my voice barely a whisper. “I was there when the boat docked, Caspian. I got the best they had. Mr. Blackwood’s staff hadn’t even arrived yet.” He let out a sharp, cold huff and turned his back on me, his tail splashing water across my skirts. I sank to the floor, my good knee hitting the wood with a thud, and began to pick up the shards of the life he was systematically destroying. When I went into his room to change the water in his tank, I found something tucked behind the artificial kelp. A few of my missing gold sovereigns. And a damp map of North Point. There was a circle drawn around Mr. Blackwood’s estate. I didn’t need Caspian to tell me. I knew. He wanted a man like Blackwood—towering, athletic, wealthy beyond measure. Not a lonely, limping landlady with nothing but a crumbling seaside house and a heart that was too easy to bruise. I dried the map, folded it neatly, and left it on the stand by the tank. Later that evening, as I was balancing the ledgers, a harsh scraping sound broke the silence. Before I could stand, Caspian burst into the study, his eyes glowing a manic violet-red. “Did you touch my tank? You took my coins and my map!” He lunged, his fingers—webbed and clawed—pinning my wrists to the desk. “Listen to me, you pathetic gimp. If you think stealing my things will make me roll over and breed with you, you’re wrong. You’re a broken thing. You don’t deserve to be a mother.” His words were a serrated blade, twisting in my chest. I clenched my fists, fighting the sob that threatened to break me. “I was changing the water,” I said, my voice trembling but flat. “I put them on the stand so the map wouldn’t rot.” Caspian’s fire died instantly. The room fell into a suffocating silence, so quiet I could hear my tears hitting the hardwood. A flash of something—regret? Confusion?—crossed his handsome face. He reached out, his hand hovering near my shoulder. I didn’t wait. I wrenched myself away and stumbled out the door. 2 Bayberry Cove isn’t large, and on a night like this, there was nowhere to hide. I walked with my head down, wiping my eyes, my breath hitching in the salty air. Before I realized it, I had walked into the Abyssal Aquarium. Usually, I came here to buy specialty brine shrimp or treats for Caspian, trying to buy his affection. Tonight, I just wanted to disappear into the blue. Suddenly, a massive silver-white tail breached the surface of a nearby tank, sending a spray of cool water over my face. I flinched, remembering the sting of Caspian’s fin earlier that morning. I braced myself for an attack. But the tail didn’t strike. It waved gently in the air, shedding water, before slowly, tentatively, curling around my waist like a silk ribbon. I looked up. A merman with hair like spun moonlight and eyes of deep sapphire was floating there, watching me through the glass. When he spoke, his voice was a low, resonant thrum that seemed to vibrate in my chest. “I’m sorry. Did I startle you?” As he spoke, a stream of tiny, shimmering bubbles floated toward the surface. He looked genuinely embarrassed, reaching out with a delicate, webbed finger to pop one. Against my will, I laughed. He smiled then—a real, gentle smile—and gestured toward the base of the tank. There was a small, brass plaque there: [ABYSSAL DEFECT. TRADE-INS WELCOME.] I froze. A “defect”? I looked at him closely. His skin was the pale ivory of the deep ocean, his features more refined than any merman I’d ever seen. But then I saw it. His dorsal fins weren’t smooth and rounded like Caspian’s pampered, bred-for-show fins. They were jagged, tipped with sharp, defensive spines. His tail, though magnificent, was scarred, with missing scales that broke the silver pattern. He was imperfect. Just like me. Seeing me stare, he tightened his tail around me slightly—not to hurt, but to hold. His blue eyes locked onto mine with a desperate intensity. “Mistress…” he whispered. “Please. Take me home.” He called me Mistress. A title Caspian had never uttered without a sneer. He gave me the dignity I had forgotten I possessed. I looked at his pure blue eyes, then back at the “Trade-In” sign. A sudden, wild thought took root in my mind. If Caspian hated me so much, why was I fighting to keep him? Maybe setting him free—and bringing this silver ghost home—was the only way we both could breathe. 3 I didn’t say yes immediately. I left the aquarium in a daze, but my step was lighter than it had been in years. His name was Soren. And I wanted him. When I got home, I didn’t go to Caspian’s room to apologize as I usually did. Instead, I went straight to my office and pulled out my savings. If I was going to bring Soren home, I wanted him to have the best. I emptied my ceramic jar and noticed more coins were missing. I sighed. Caspian was likely siphoning off my savings for his escape. Fine, I thought. Consider it a severance package for a year of misery. I began making a list: Industrial-grade tank, high-flow filtration, premium sea minerals. Suddenly, the air in the room turned cold. Through the crack in the door, a pair of violet-pink eyes watched me. I used to fear that look—the cold, unadulterated loathing. Tonight, I ignored it. I didn’t invite him in. After five minutes, Caspian’s patience snapped. He shoved the door open, his voice sharp with irritation. “Hey. I’m hungry.” I didn’t look up from my list. “I bought pearls this morning. They’re in the kitchen.” Caspian’s tail lashed the floor. This was his version of an olive branch—actually speaking to me—and he was offended I wasn’t groveling. Suddenly, his nostrils flared. He glided toward me, leaning in close, sniffing the air around my neck. His pupils constricted into slits. “Why do you smell like a High-Abyssal? You went to see another male?” Before I could answer, he laughed, a cruel, dismissive sound. “Wait, what am I saying? You’re a crippled low-life. What kind of high-tier male would even look at you?” He snatched the list from my hand. “Large-scale glass tank… advanced aeration system…” His eyes lit up for a second. The violet softened into a shimmer of excitement. He quickly masked it with a sneer. “Hmph. I knew you couldn’t stay mad. You’re trying to buy my forgiveness with fancy upgrades, aren’t you?” He shook his head, looking smug. “I saw you crying when you left. I thought you finally got the hint, but here you are, still desperate to keep me.” I opened my mouth to correct him, but he didn’t give me the chance. He held out his hand. “Since you’re feeling generous, give me two more sovereigns.” I didn’t argue. I simply handed them over. Caspian looked at me suspiciously. “You aren’t going to ask what they’re for?” To find Mr. Blackwood, I thought. Usually, I’d ask and start a fight that ended in me feeling like a monster. Tonight, I just wanted him gone. I stayed silent. Eventually, Caspian scoffed, turned, and slammed the door. 4 Seeing Soren again made my heart do a nervous little dance. I arrived at the aquarium carrying a bag of large, lustrous black pearls, my pace almost brisk despite my limp. Soren was resting when I arrived, his body floating gracefully in the massive tank. He was breathtaking. His silver tail looked like it had been dipped in diamond dust; even in the dim light, it shimmered with an iridescent glow. His torso was lean and powerful, with defined muscles that spoke of a life in the wild, not a breeding tank. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. His pupils dilated, and his tail churned the water as he surged toward the glass. “Joanna! Get back!” A foul, fishy stench hit me. From a neighboring open tank, a massive manta ray—eyes a sickly red—leapt into the air. It was huge, twice my size, and it was coming straight for me with its mouth agape. I couldn’t move. I raised my arms to shield my head, bracing for the impact. But the pain never came. I heard a heavy thud as something slammed into the concrete floor. The manta ray let out a pained shriek, flopping helplessly. Soren was out of the tank, standing—no, balancing—on the coil of his massive tail. He stood over six and a half feet tall, his expression icy and lethal. I trembled. I had never seen a merman look so… predatory. Soren reached out a hand, his voice softening instantly. “Joanna. Come here.” I went to him. He wrapped his tail around me, pulling me into the cool dampness of his chest, and leaned his forehead against mine. “Are you hurt?” The way he clung to me, as if he was the one who needed protection, made my heart hammer. “I’m okay,” I breathed. I looked at the ray on the floor. “What happened to it?” “We are the ‘defects,’” Soren said, his voice bitter. “The staff doesn’t feed us properly. It was starving. It didn’t mean to hurt you; it just saw prey.” My heart broke for them. I immediately opened the bag of black pearls and offered them to the ray. The creature hesitated, glancing at Soren with palpable fear. “You can eat,” Soren commanded. The ray devoured the pearls. Once finished, it nudged Soren’s tail, looking ashamed. Soren sighed, reaching out to pull a jagged harpoon tip from the ray’s side. Then, using his tail like a powerful spring, he hoisted the massive creature back into its tank. The sheer strength of it stunned me. “How… how are you that strong?” Mermen were supposed to be pets. Caspian’s strength was all for show; he just broke dishes. But Soren… he was a warrior. Soren looked down, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “In the deep trenches, you fight or you die. I spent a long time fighting.” I reached out and touched his hair, a silent gesture of understanding. Soren pointed to the few remaining pearls on the floor. “Were those for me?” I nodded. But Soren shook his head, looking away. “You should take them back. Don’t bring them again.” “Why? Do you not like them?” “No,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “They’re too expensive. You have another merman at home. He’s… he’s the ‘perfect’ one. He should have the best. I can survive on scraps. Seaweed, salt water… I don’t need much.” A wave of fierce protectiveness crashed over me. Soren didn’t ask for pearls. He didn’t ask for gold. He just wanted to be seen. I made my choice. I reached down, took his scarred tail in my hands, and pressed a lingering kiss to the silver scales. Soren shuddered, his entire body turning a faint shade of pink. He pulled his tail back, cradling it like a treasure. “Three days,” I promised him. “I’m coming back to take you home. And there won’t be anyone else there. Just us. Okay?” 5 I walked through my front door and dumped the leftover black pearls in the entryway. Caspian appeared like a gust of wind, grabbing a handful and chewing them. “These smell weird. Like another male. Did you buy these off some street urchin? You’re so easy to scam, it’s pathetic.” “Eat them or don’t,” I said, my voice cold. “I don’t care.” He froze, the pearl halfway to his mouth. I didn’t wait for a reaction; I just went to my room to bathe. When I climbed into bed later that night, I found Caspian already there. He was soaking wet, ruining my fresh linens without a second thought. I frowned. He didn’t notice. “Human beds are actually pretty soft,” he mused. Mermen were bred for breeding. That was the law. A year ago, I had bought an oversized bed, hoping he’d join me. He had chosen to sleep in his cramped tank rather than touch me. Now, for some reason, he was here. He reached out a webbed hand. “You smell good tonight. What did you put on?” I pulled the covers up to my chin. “Your room is down the hall, Caspian. Get out.” His hand stopped in mid-air. He looked at me, genuinely stunned. “What? You mean you don’t want to…?” I turned my back on him. “Fine!” he barked, his pride wounded. “You can beg on your knees tomorrow, and I still won’t come back to this bed!” He slid out of the room, crashing into a side table on his way. Finally, silence. I pulled out my phone and found Mr. Blackwood’s number. It was time to clear the space for my merman. 6 The sun was bright—a perfect day for a new beginning. The aquarium staff was scheduled to deliver Soren this afternoon, but first, I had to finalize the deal with Mr. Blackwood. Ten gold sovereigns. That was the price we’d agreed on. It was exactly the amount Caspian had stolen from me over the last few months. We were sitting in the parlor, the paperwork laid out between us. Caspian emerged from his room, rubbing his eyes and looking annoyed. “I told you, I don’t want people in the house this early! I hate the smell of—” He stopped dead when he saw Blackwood. His eyes lit up, his tail shimmering as he glided over. “Mr. Blackwood. Good morning.” Blackwood looked Caspian up and down, a predatory glint in his eye. “He’s a fine specimen, Joanna. Truly top-tier.” Caspian looked confused. I took a slow, deliberate sip of my tea. Seeing that I was ignoring him, Caspian leaned into Blackwood’s space, flirting shamelessly. Blackwood smiled, standing up. “The ten sovereigns are paid. Give me the contract, and I’ll take him now.” I stood up to get the papers. Panic finally hit Caspian’s face. “What is he talking about? Are you… are you selling me?” “Yes,” I said, my voice steady. “You want a man like him, and I want a merman who doesn’t hate me. We haven’t bred, so the contract is still transferable. He’ll take care of you.” I expected him to be thrilled. I expected him to pack his bags and bolt. Instead, he grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. “No. I won’t go! I don’t give you permission!” 7 The delivery truck from the aquarium pulled up just as Caspian was losing his mind. He was frantic, his tail sweeping everything off my coffee table. A shard of porcelain sliced through my leggings, drawing blood. I had never seen him so unhinged. “You can’t do this! My parents gave me to you!” he screamed, his violet eyes brimming with tears. The doorbell rang. “Caspian, stop,” I snapped. “You don’t like me. This is better for everyone.” “How do you know what I like? You don’t know anything!” Blackwood reached out to grab his arm, but Caspian’s tail lashed out, nearly breaking the man’s ribs. He lunged toward me, his tail raised to strike in a blind panic. An Abyssal’s tail can hit with the force of a ton. I braced for the impact, closing my eyes. Suddenly, the front door burst open. A silver blur moved faster than I could follow. Soren was there, throwing himself between us. He took the full force of Caspian’s blow. I watched as Soren’s recently healed scales shattered. Blood began to seep into the carpet. “Enough!” I roared. I shoved the contract into Blackwood’s hands. “He’s yours. Take him. Now.” Caspian stared at Soren, then at me, his nose wrinkling. “That smell… it was you. All those days, Joanna was seeing you?” He turned on Soren, baring his teeth. “Don’t you know she belongs to me? You lured her away, didn’t you, you gutter-fish?” Blackwood’s security team stepped in, throwing a heavy capture net over Caspian. They dragged him toward the door. Caspian gripped the doorframe, his eyes fixed on mine, red and pleading. “Joanna! Are you really tossing me away for this freak?” I didn’t answer. I was already kneeling by Soren, looking at his bleeding tail. Caspian’s voice faded as they hauled him into the truck. “You’ll regret this! I never needed you anyway!” I didn’t care. I just needed my silver merman to be okay.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “409906”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I had spent ten years of my life quietly in love with the boy next door. The night the Sinclair family went bankrupt, Chloe Sinclair spent twenty-four hours on her knees outside the Miller estate, begging for mercy. I was terrified that Mike would let his heart soften for her lies, so I made up an excuse. I told him it was my birthday and begged him to take me to the pier. I led him away to the bright lights and the loud music of the carnival, anywhere far from her. The next morning, the headlines broke. Chloe Sinclair had been driven to the edge by her creditors; she’d jumped from the roof of a high-rise. Mike didn’t say a single word. He was a ghost, a hollow shell of a man as he handled her funeral arrangements in absolute silence. Then, with that same haunting silence, he agreed to marry me. On our wedding day, the chapel was swallowed by an inferno. Everything we were supposed to be turned to ash in that sea of fire. He saved me—he dragged my body through the smoke, risking his life to pull me out—but he didn’t survive the heat. With his final ounce of strength, he reached out and shredded our wedding portrait, his fingers clawing at the canvas until his nails bled. “Meeting you,” he wheezed, his eyes burning with a hatred I had never seen, “is the only thing I regret about this life.” It was in that moment, as the life left his eyes, that I finally understood. He didn’t just resent me. He hated me. After he was gone, I became the pariah. I was the “black widow,” the woman who had brought nothing but bad luck to the Millers. At his funeral, his relatives didn’t hold back; they kicked and screamed at me while I sat in the dirt. Even his parents, who had always treated me like their own daughter, looked at me with nothing but icy indifference. “If it weren’t for you, Mike would still be alive,” his mother whispered, her voice like a knife. “Your existence was never anything but a burden to him.” I wandered the streets like a soul without a body until a truck sent me over the side of a bridge. I died the moment I hit the water. But then, I opened my eyes. I was back. One week before the wedding. This time, I’m letting go. 1 Inside the high-end bridal boutique, Mike Miller sat on the velvet sofa in his tuxedo. There wasn’t a flicker of groom-to-be excitement in his eyes—only a cold, simmering resentment. “Are you satisfied now, Grace?” he asked, his voice dripping with venom. “I never realized that when my parents took you in out of pity, you were actually plotting to force your way into my bed. You think a ceremony is going to make me love you? You’re dreaming.” I looked down at my phone. The date was exactly one week before the wedding. The Sinclairs hadn’t officially filed for bankruptcy yet. Chloe was still alive, still haven’t reached the point of no return. There was still time to fix everything. A wave of phantom pain from my past life washed over me, but I pushed the bitterness down. I looked at him and forced a small, tired smile. “I know,” I said softly. “I know your heart belongs to someone else.” I took a breath. “This time, I’m letting you go.” He blinked, a flash of genuine surprise crossing his face before he let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Letting me go? What is that supposed to mean? The invitations are out, the venue is booked. You think saying that now changes anything?” He stood up, towering over me. “I used to think of you as my sister. I looked out for you. I even let you into the inner workings of the company. But you? You’re a two-faced snake, Grace. It makes me sick.” He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me. “If you hadn’t poisoned my parents’ minds against Chloe, they wouldn’t have such a prejudice against her. You got exactly what you wanted. Don’t start acting like a martyr now.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He stormed out of the boutique and stood on the sidewalk, lighting one cigarette after another. I looked at my reflection in the three-way mirror. The white lace felt like a shroud. I called the attendant over and gave her a new set of measurements—Chloe’s measurements. Then, I called the wedding planner and told them to change the bride’s name on everything to Chloe Sinclair. My phone wallpaper was still a photo of us from ten years ago. Back then, my parents had just died in a tragic accident, and my world had ended. Mike was the one who pulled me out of the wreckage. Our parents had been lifelong friends, and it was Mike who begged his parents to adopt me so I wouldn’t be lost to the foster system. He protected me from every bully at school. He kept me tucked under his wing, day and night. When classmates teased that I was his “little shadow,” he’d just offer a soft, indulgent smile. When a group of older boys tried to corner me once, Mike didn’t hesitate. He fought them until his knuckles were raw and his face was smeared with blood. I stood there, sobbing in terror. He took my hand, pulled me close, and covered my ears. “It’s okay, Gracie. Big brother is going to protect you forever.” He had kept that promise for a long time. Once I joined the company, I was his only “plus-one” at every gala, every event. Everyone whispered that the cold, arrogant Mike Miller only had a soft spot for his little sister. The rumors grew so loud that I started to believe them myself. When his parents found the journals where I’d poured out my teenage pining, they started pushing us together. But that fire in the chapel… that fire taught me the truth. I was never his heart. I was just a weight around his neck. I changed back into my street clothes and walked out of the shop, keeping my face carefully blank. The dress was handled. Now, I just needed the rings. “Mike,” I said, catching him as he blew out a cloud of smoke. “I want to pick out the rings. Come with me.” He knew Chloe’s taste better than anyone. He was busy staring at his phone, a faint, rare smile touching his lips as he typed a message. When he looked up at me, his gaze turned back to ice. “The dress wasn’t enough? You need the rings today, too? My god, Grace, you’re desperate to lock this down, aren’t you?” He checked his watch. “I don’t have time. Chloe’s family is having a crisis. I need to go to her.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and reached out to open his car door for him. “Go. Go to her. I’ll tell your parents there was an emergency at the office. I’ll cover for you.” Mike paused, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What’s wrong with you today? Usually, if I even mention Chloe, you turn into a brat. I guess now that the wedding is a week away, you finally feel like she’s not a threat anymore?” I didn’t answer. I just gave him a sad, tight smile. He didn’t wait for a response; he peeled away from the curb without looking back. 2 I walked through the biting wind for hours before I finally headed home. When I walked through the front door, his parents saw the look on my face and immediately knew something was wrong. “Oh, Gracie, honey, don’t look like that,” his mother said, rushing over to pull me into a hug. “Mike is just being difficult. He’ll settle down once you’re married.” “Look,” his father added, trying to cheer me up. “He says he doesn’t care, but he sent over these ring designs this afternoon. Pick whichever one you want. Don’t worry about the price—it’s on us. We’re going to make sure our Grace has the grandest wedding New York has ever seen.” They thought he was just being stubborn. They thought his heart would eventually follow his duty. But I knew better. Mike was only doing this to maintain the family’s image. If the fire hadn’t happened, we would have lived a life of polite, chilling distance. Everything would have been perfect on paper, and completely dead inside. I looked at the designs and pointed to the most extravagant, ornate diamond in the collection. It was exactly Chloe’s style. When word got back to Mike about the choice, my phone immediately buzzed with a call. “So the act is over?” he snapped as soon as I picked up. “You picked the most expensive one, of course. Let me make one thing clear, Grace: after the wedding, you can spend all the Miller money you want, but stay the hell out of my personal life.” I tilted my head back, staring at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling. “Okay. I promise.” The line went dead. A few minutes later, the family chauffeur sent Mike’s father a GPS notification for the Maybach. His father’s face turned a deep, angry red. “That boy… is he at the Sinclair house again?” He slammed his fist on the table. “Don’t you worry, Grace. We’re going to handle this. I’ll break his damn legs if he doesn’t start treating you with respect!” But before Mike even made it home, the corporate lawyers sent a frantic alert. Mike had breached ten major contracts and diverted company funds to bail out the Sinclair family’s failing business. It was a blatant display of favoritism. His father was livid, shattering a teacup against the floor. His mother looked devastated, but she still tried to hold it together for my sake. I looked at these two people who had loved me like a daughter. They had done everything to give me the life I thought I wanted. But love isn’t a choice you can force someone to make. It isn’t a habit you can grow. I knelt at his mother’s feet, leaning my head against her knee like I used to when I was a little girl. “Mom… I don’t want to get married anymore.” She froze. “What are you saying, sweetheart?” “You’ve both been so good to me. You gave me a home when I had nothing. But I can’t do this. I know he loves Chloe. If we get married, it will be a cage for both of us. I’ve already applied for a graduate program abroad. This time, I need to make my own path.” Tears welled in her eyes as she pulled me into a tight embrace. “Is this because of what he said today? Honey, weddings are stressful. He’s just confused by that girl. He’ll wake up. If he didn’t care about you, he wouldn’t have knelt before us all those years ago, begging us to take you in.” His father sighed heavily. “She’s right, Grace. The Sinclair business is built on sand—it’s going to collapse anyway. Mike just can’t see it yet. You’ve never been away from us. How can we let you go halfway across the world?” They thought I was just hurting. They thought they could fix it by taking my side. In my last life, I believed them. And in the end, I lost everything—including my relationship with them. I stood up and led them both into Mike’s bedroom. I pointed to a dusty pile of boxes tucked away in the far corner of his walk-in closet. “Those are every gift I’ve given him over the last ten years,” I said quietly. “He never even opened half of them. But look at his nightstand.” There sat a cheap, tacky little glass figurine Chloe had bought him at a flea market years ago. He kept it right where he could see it every morning. “I’m not a child anymore,” I told them. “I know the difference between obligation and love. Thank you for everything, truly. I will always be grateful. but I won’t let my gratitude turn into his misery. He wants her. I’m letting him have her.” 3 His mother was sobbing now, shaking her head. His father tried to argue, but I cut him off. “If we go through with this, Mike will be miserable for the rest of his life. We have one chance to fix this before it’s too late. I don’t want to be the reason he hates his own life.” I gripped their hands. “Please. Let me just be his sister. That’s a bond that can actually last.” Seeing my resolve, they finally stopped fighting me. His mother pressed a black credit card into my hand, whispering through her tears for me to take care of myself. “Don’t tell him yet,” I pleaded. “Let’s give him a ‘surprise’ on the wedding day.” I went back to my room and tucked the card away. I spent the evening packing up every memento, every photo, and every gift Mike had ever given me. I hauled the boxes down to the backyard, intent on burning them and leaving no traces behind. As the first flame licked at the corner of an old polaroid, a pair of designer heels appeared in my peripheral vision. Chloe Sinclair kicked the box over, the glass of a framed photo shattering against the patio. Before I could even react, she snatched up a jagged shard of glass and dragged it across her own wrist. As she screamed, Mike came charging out of the house. He didn’t even look at the fire. He swung his hand and caught me across the face with a stinging slap. “What the hell is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?” “Mike, I—” “Chloe came here to talk business, and you pull this? You psychotic freak!” I stood there, my cheek burning, stunned into silence. Chloe slumped into his arms, weeping pathetically. “I’m so sorry, Mike… I just wanted to come by and wish you both a happy marriage… I didn’t think Grace would snap like this…” She looked up at him with watery eyes. “I know she hates me. I should just go. I don’t want to be the reason you fight.” Mike’s face was a mask of cold fury. “Is this how it’s going to be? Now that the wedding is close, you don’t have to pretend to be the sweet little sister anymore? Poisoning my parents wasn’t enough, so now you’re physically attacking her? I’ve known you for ten years, Grace, and I never knew you were capable of being this disgusting.” He shook her slightly. “Tell me the truth. Did you have something to do with the Sinclair bankruptcy?” I stared at him, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. “Her family’s mess has nothing to do with me. I told you I’d let you go. I meant it.” Mike glanced down at the scattered photos in the dirt—photos of us smiling, younger and happier. His expression hardened. “Burning these? What is this, another one of your pathetic games? Playing hard to get? You think this is going to make me love you? It just makes me want to vomit.” He grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. “You’re coming to the hospital. If anything happens to her, I swear to God, I’m done with you.” He didn’t give me a choice. He threw Chloe into the back seat and dragged me into the front. He drove like a maniac to the ER, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. In my last life, Chloe died because of her creditors. In this life, because of Mike’s help, she had survived—but she had found a new way to hurt me. I watched him pace the hallway, frantic with worry, and I felt the final strings of my heart simply snap. Once the doctors announced she was out of danger and moved her to a private room, Mike finally exhaled. He looked at me, his eyes devoid of any warmth. “Since this was your fault, you’re staying here to watch her tonight. I have things to handle at the office. Don’t leave.” He left without looking back. I stayed. I sat in the chair by the window and watched the sunrise. I didn’t sleep. The next morning, Mike returned with a thermos of homemade porridge. He glanced at the dark circles under my eyes, and for a split second, I saw a flicker of something that looked like guilt. “Did you sleep?” “No.” “Thanks,” he muttered, looking away. “For staying.” I let out a soft laugh and stood up, moving out of his way so he could sit by her bed. It was the first time in a long time I’d heard him say ‘thank you.’ It was far too little, and far too late. He seemed unsettled by my reaction. “Look, once Chloe is discharged, I’ll take you to the bridal shop again. We can pick a different dress. The one you chose before was… plain. And about yesterday… I was stressed. I shouldn’t have snapped. But this thing between us has nothing to do with Chloe. Don’t take your anger out on her.” I looked down at the floor, thinking about the one-way ticket to London I’d booked for the morning of the wedding. 4 I looked up and gave him a bright, empty smile. “There’s no need. I’m just happy to be marrying you. The dress doesn’t matter.” “Mike,” I added, “I hope you get everything you want.” He started to say something, but Chloe stirred on the bed, let out a soft moan of pain, and he was immediately gone, leaning over her, blowing on a spoonful of porridge to cool it down for her. While he was preoccupied, I slipped out of the room and went to finalize my visa paperwork. Later that afternoon, Mike sent me a text. He had actually invited me to a movie premiere. You’ve been wanting to see this one forever. I’ll pick you up at seven. It was a romance—a story about childhood sweethearts. I had mentioned it to him a dozen times over the last year, trying to hint at my feelings. Back then, he had just rolled his eyes and told me it sounded boring. I knew what this was. This was his apology. But the apology was for a girl who didn’t exist anymore. I typed back a quick reply: Don’t worry about it. You don’t owe me anything. He saved me, he gave me a home. I was paying him back by taking care of his true love. But Mike was stubborn; he insisted we go. I went to the theater. I sat in the lobby for forty-five minutes. He never showed up. Instead, my phone pinged with a local social news alert. CEO of Miller Corp hosts ‘Hospital Banquet’ for mystery woman. Chloe had wanted a candlelight dinner, so Mike had ordered a five-star hotel to cater a full meal in her hospital suite. In the photos, the candlelight flickered across his face, showing a tenderness and warmth I had never been the recipient of. I watched the movie alone. When I got home, there was a text from him. Sorry, something came up at the office. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. The dress was delivered to the house, make sure it fits. The dress was already altered for Chloe. There was no reason for me to put it on. I ignored the ache in my chest and started packing my final suitcase. I texted him back: It’s fine. I heard it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding anyway. I’m going to stay at a hotel for the next few days to get ready. He didn’t reply. But two minutes later, my phone rang. It was the hospital. Mike had been in a car accident on his way back from the hospital. There was a shortage in the blood bank, and he was heading into emergency surgery. I didn’t call his parents. I grabbed my coat and caught a cab to the hospital. As the needle slid into my vein, the world seemed to blur. I saw eighteen-year-old Mike again. I saw him in that alleyway, surrounded by those boys, his face covered in blood, yet he was still using his jacket to shield my eyes. “Wait for me, Gracie. Big brother’s got you.” He had protected me for ten years. This was the last time I’d protect him. When the surgery was over, I sat by his bed until he opened his eyes. He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Thank you.” “Grace,” he croaked, his voice weak. “As long as you leave Chloe alone… I’ll keep you safe. Like I always have.” So, he still remembered those promises. I looked at his pale, exhausted face and smiled the same way I did when I was a girl. “Okay. Thank you, Mike.” His injuries weren’t life-threatening. The wedding would go on as scheduled. I felt a wave of relief. I hired a professional nurse to stay with him, went home to grab my bags, and checked into a hotel near the airport. Over the next few days, his parents sent me a flurry of messages. Mike was sending over jewelry sets, honeymoon itineraries to the places I’d always dreamed of visiting. He’d remembered everything. They were terrified I wouldn’t show up, begging me to change my mind about leaving. Then I saw Chloe’s latest Instagram post. A photo of her hand intertwined with his in the hospital bed. On her finger, the ornate diamond ring I had picked out. I smiled and turned off my phone. On the morning of the wedding, as I was heading to the airport, one final message came through from Mike. Are you ready? I’m on my way to get you. I didn’t answer. I deleted his contact and blocked his number. In the bridal suite of the church, Mike stared at his phone, a cold knot of dread forming in his stomach. He turned to his parents. “Is Grace still in hair and makeup? She’s been looking forward to this for years—why is she being so slow?” Before they could speak, his assistant burst into the room, his face white as a sheet. “Sir… it’s Grace. She booked a flight out of the country this morning. That plane… it just went down.”

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Six years. That was how long Virginia and I had been together before we finally found ourselves standing in line at City Hall, waiting to pull a marriage license. We’d spent the entire morning shuffling forward in the echoing marble corridor. Finally, it was our turn. That’s when Tyler showed up. He was the college kid Virginia had been mentoring through a foster-youth outreach program. “Virginia,” he said, breathless, appearing out of nowhere. “I’m so sorry you had to wait all morning. Let’s go in.” I stood there. Paralyzed. I watched him slide his arm casually around her waist, my brain short-circuiting. Virginia turned to me, her expression painfully earnest. “Carter, Tyler grew up in the foster system. He’s never had a real family. I made a promise to him a long time ago that I’d give him a home. I’m just putting his name on a license so he feels legally tethered to someone. It’s only for four years. Once he graduates, we’ll annul it, and then I’ll marry you. We’ll have the rest of our lives.” She reached out, touching my arm. “This is just me keeping a promise. You know you’re the only one I actually love.” I didn’t say a word. I just stood in the suffocating quiet of the courthouse hallway, watching the woman I loved walk through the heavy oak doors, pressed intimately against another man. Then, I pulled out my phone and dialed Brooke. Brooke had spent the last four years quietly carrying a torch for me. “I’m standing outside City Hall,” I said into the receiver. “I’m suddenly in need of a bride. Are you interested?” … “Stop joking around,” Brooke’s voice crackled through the line, thick with exhaustion. “It’s the middle of the night in London. I just finished up at the firm and I’m about to pass out.” “I’m sorry for waking you,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “But I’m not joking.” Silence stretched across the Atlantic. Then, a sharp, breathless intake of air. “Oh my god. I’ve been waiting for this. Don’t move. Wait for me!” Before I could say another word, the line went dead. “Who were you on the phone with?” Virginia’s voice broke through my daze. She was walking out of the clerk’s office, Tyler clinging to her arm. Her brow was furrowed in that familiar, irritated way. My eyes dropped to the manila folder in her hand. A marriage certificate. Such a simple piece of paper. Six years of devotion, of saving, of planning, and I couldn’t get it. But Tyler? Tyler got it handed to him over a twisted savior complex and a casual promise. God, the irony made my chest ache. “I asked you a question, Carter,” Virginia snapped, her frown deepening. “Just a friend,” I replied, the words tasting like ash. Virginia exhaled, her posture softening a fraction. “Look, I know you’re mad. But I gave Tyler my word. I couldn’t just go back on it.” I gave a slow, hollow nod. “I understand.” But understanding didn’t mean accepting. It certainly didn’t mean I was going to swallow this humiliation. She would rather marry Tyler out of pity than marry me out of love. Six years of my life, my sacrifices, reduced to absolute zero. Honestly? I would have preferred she just looked me in the eye and told me she was in love with him. That would have hurt less than this—being sidelined for a “promise.” It made me feel like an absolute fool. Pathetic. Disposable. Brooke used to warn me. She used to look at the way Virginia treated me and tell me the love was one-sided. I never believed her. I even blew up at her for it once. Turns out, she was right all along. Six years of building a life together, and I had been building it alone. Virginia reached out, trying to grab my hand. “Since you understand, let’s all go home together.” Us? I yanked my hand away as if she’d burned me. “You’re mistaken. That’s my home. Not yours.” Her face hardened instantly. “Carter, stop throwing a tantrum.” A tantrum? A bitter, jagged laugh ripped its way out of my throat. I had worked eighty-hour weeks for years. I had eaten cheap takeout and skipped vacations just to afford the down payment on our dream house. And now it belonged to someone else? What was I supposed to be, the smiling patron of their bizarre little arrangement? “Virginia, please don’t be mad at him,” Tyler chimed in, his voice dripping with practiced innocence. He turned to me. “Carter, man, you’re taking this the wrong way. I don’t want to steal your house. I just wanted to feel the warmth of a real family through Virginia. I’m not trying to get between you two.” My gaze snapped to him, cold and sharp. “If you wanted the warmth of a family, why didn’t you just find an older woman with a fetish to adopt you? Oh wait, I get it. Nobody wants a grown man as a charity son.” Tyler’s face drained of color, his jaw tightening. “Enough!” Virginia shouted, stepping between us. “Carter, if you keep acting like this—so toxic, so passive-aggressive—I’m just going to resent you.” Tyler immediately pivoted back into his victim routine. He looked at me with wide, wounded eyes. “Carter, you really have me all wrong.” Then he ducked his head, turning to Virginia like a kicked puppy. “Virginia, please don’t blame Carter. This is all my fault. I never should have opened up to you about feeling alone in the world. Put the blame on me.” God, I wanted to throw up. It was sickening. A grown man weaponizing his trauma to play the helpless martyr. And Virginia ate it up. She reached up, cupping his cheek, her voice dropping to a tender whisper. “It’s not your fault. You have nothing to apologize for.” Then, she whipped around to face me, her eyes like ice. “I never realized how narrow-minded you were. Apologize to Tyler right now, or there’s really no point in us ever getting married.” I pointed a finger at the folder in her hand. “You’re already married to him, Virginia. We can’t get married anyway. Bigamy is illegal.” She blinked, clearly caught off guard by the finality in my voice. Tyler stepped up, frowning in faux-concern. “Carter, you shouldn’t say things like that. Some words, once spoken, can’t be taken back.” “It’s not out of anger,” I said, the eerie calm settling over my bones again. “Since you two are legally bound, I sincerely wish you a lifetime of happiness.” That pushed Virginia over the edge. “You’re crossing a line, Carter!” Am I? Compared to what you just did to me? I kept the thought to myself. “Virginia, he’s just hot-headed right now,” Tyler murmured, gently tugging at her arm. “Let’s give him some space. We can talk when he’s rational.” I watched him lead her away down the steps of City Hall. My mind drifted back. Six years ago. The university’s freshman talent showcase. Virginia had been wearing a shimmering silver dress, standing under a single spotlight, singing a soulful rendition of “Landslide.” She had carved a space in my heart right then and there. I chased her after that. Four years of college, two years in the real world. She became the center of my gravity. I hollowed myself out just to make room for her. If she was happy, I was happy. If she cried, I was the shoulder she leaned on. Deep love is just steady companionship. I used to believe that. I believed if I just loved her enough, completely and unconditionally, she would eventually anchor herself to me. For six years, I never let her see me crack. The stress at work, the financial anxiety—I swallowed it all. I only ever gave her the best version of myself, because I thought that was what a man was supposed to do for the woman he loved. When she said she wanted a house before we got married, I didn’t complain. I worked until my eyes blurred, saving every dime, just to hand her the keys. When she said she wanted to sponsor a struggling kid aging out of the foster system, I emptied my savings account without a second thought. Whatever she wanted, I made it happen. Because I handled everything, because I made her life entirely frictionless, she had the freedom to pour all her attention into Tyler. They went on weekend trips. They joked, they wrestled, they shared inside jokes. Every time I felt a prick of unease and tried to bring it up, she would roll her eyes. “He looks at me like an older sister, Carter. Why do you have to make everything so dirty? Stop being so insecure.” Right. I was insecure. He looked at her like a sister, yet she was willing to legally bind herself to him over a “promise.” And me? What the hell was I to her? I wiped my face, pulling out my phone as it buzzed. Brooke: [I’m boarding the plane now. I will absolutely make it before the clerk’s office closes today.] I texted back: [You don’t have to rush. We have all the time in the world.] Brooke: [No way. What if midnight hits and you change your mind?] A faint, genuine smile touched my lips. I wouldn’t change my mind. Today had stripped the blinders off. I finally saw Virginia for who she was. I saw my own foolishness. And I saw reality. When someone doesn’t love you, the math is incredibly simple. I looked down at the tailored suit I was wearing. I had bought it specifically for this day, to marry Virginia. Now, it felt like a costume. I needed to change. It was time to bury the last six years. And Brooke deserved better than a groom wearing a suit meant for another woman. When I unlocked the front door of my house, I found Tyler sprawled out on my living room sofa, wearing my sweatpants. From down the hall, the shower was running. “Oh, hey Carter,” Tyler said, flashing a relaxed, arrogant smile. “You’re back.” I stared right through him, walking silently past the living room toward the primary bedroom. His voice trailed after me, dripping with smugness. “Virginia has an incredible body, man. I’m actually jealous of you.” I stopped dead in my tracks. I turned my head, my face an absolute mask of stone. “No need to be jealous. She’s your wife now.” He had thought that would trigger a reaction. He miscalculated. I pushed open the bedroom door. The bed was completely disheveled, the sheets tangled, damp spots staining the mattress. My stomach rolled. I inhaled sharply, marched over, and stripped the sheets in one violent motion, throwing them onto the hardwood floor. Then I opened the closet to find a different suit. “What the hell is your problem, Carter?” Virginia was standing in the doorway, wrapped in one of my towels, glaring at me. I didn’t look up from the hangers. “I don’t keep dirty things.” Her face flushed with fury. “Excuse me? Are you calling me dirty?” Tyler came jogging down the hall, grabbing her arm. “Virginia, please don’t fight. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have laid down on the bed because I was tired. I’ll go wash the sheets right now.” He picked up the bundled linens, acting like he was heading to the laundry room. Virginia yanked him back, shooting me a look of pure disgust. “Are you done with this tantrum yet?” she demanded. “I know you’re upset. I’ve been patient with you all day. But my patience has limits. Apologize to Tyler right now, and I am willing to pretend none of this happened.” I finally turned around, looking her dead in the eyes. “Unfortunately, Virginia, you might be able to pretend this didn’t happen, but I can’t.” “You—!” She pointed a trembling finger at me. “Can’t you just be the bigger person for once? I gave Tyler a sense of belonging! He’s an orphan, Carter. It’s a tiny wish, and you can’t even find an ounce of empathy in your cold heart?” Unbelievable. What did his childhood trauma have to do with me? I wasn’t his father. “If you want to give him a sense of belonging,” I said evenly, “then take him and move out. You two living under your own roof will feel much more like a family anyway.” “You’re kicking me out?” she gasped, genuinely shocked. “I’m not kicking you out,” I corrected. “I’m giving the newlyweds some privacy. Besides, it’s pretty inappropriate for a married couple to live in another man’s house. I expect you both to be gone by the time I get back. If you aren’t, I will call the police and have you removed for trespassing.” Without another glance at either of them, I grabbed my garment bag and walked out. At 5:00 PM, I stood on the steps of City Hall. “Husband! I’m here!” Brooke practically tackled me, her arms wrapping tight around my neck. I blinked, still adjusting. “Husband?” “Well, yeah. We’re about to sign the papers, aren’t we? That makes you my husband,” she said smoothly. Then, her eyes searched mine, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through her confidence. “You didn’t change your mind, did you?” I let out a soft laugh, the tension leaving my shoulders. “Of course not.” We walked through the heavy double doors and signed the paperwork. It was fast. It was painless. “I have to catch a red-eye back to London tonight,” Brooke said as we stepped back out into the late afternoon sun. “I have to finalize the merger for my firm. But once the ink is dry on those contracts, I’m coming home. For good.” I smiled and nodded. Brooke had to rush to the airport, leaving the two copies of the marriage certificate with me. I sat in my car, placed the documents on the dashboard, snapped a photo, and posted it to Instagram. [Officially locked in. Couldn’t be happier.] Less than a minute later, my phone vibrated in my hand. Virginia’s name flashed on the screen. I answered, and she instantly screamed into my ear. “Carter! Who the hell did you just marry?! Who is it? How could you betray me like this?!”

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The man my wife was sponsoring—a scholarship student with a gym-sculpted physique and an air of unearned confidence—showed up at my front door with a request for a divorce. “Mr. Matthew, I’m the only one who can give Madeline what she actually needs,” Dante said, his voice smooth and devoid of shame. “Please, just let her go.” My hands shook as I flipped through the photos he shoved at me. They were graphic, taken in the backseat of a car and on the rumpled sheets of a high-end hotel. The contrast of their bodies, locked in a feverish, desperate tangle, told a story of a passion I hadn’t seen from her in years. Dante stepped past the threshold, his eyes sweeping over the candlelit table I had spent all afternoon preparing for our anniversary. He looked at the vintage wine and the silk runner with a smirk. “I’m grateful for the tuition money you two provided,” he said, sounding like he was reciting a script. “But true love shouldn’t be a casualty of financial debt. I hope you won’t use ‘gratitude’ to kidnap the connection Madeline and I share.” He checked his watch, a designer piece that I had likely paid for. “Oh, and today marks our four-hundredth day together. She booked a suite at the Pierre to celebrate. Don’t bother waiting up.” With a final, arrogant nod, Dante turned and walked away. My phone chimed almost instantly. It was a text, followed by a call. When I answered, Madeline’s voice was like a shard of ice. 1 “Lucas, a major client just flew in. I’m going to be tied up at the office all night. Don’t wait for me—get some sleep.” She hung up before I could utter a single word. I sat down at the table, my movements mechanical. I uncorked the wine and began to drink, one glass after another, staring at the cake. Happy 10th Anniversary, the gold lettering mocked me. I took a bite, the sweetness cloying and thick, mixing with the salt of the tears that finally began to track down my face. So, this was what ten years of marriage tasted like. Bitter and hollow. I looked down at the paper Dante had left behind. A lab report. Madeline was two weeks pregnant. I instinctively reached down, my fingers grazing the jagged, uneven scar across my lower abdomen. That area was a wasteland now—barren, scarred, and incapable of ever producing life. By the time Madeline returned the next morning, I was a wreck, slumped against the side of the sofa, my eyes bloodshot and glazed from the wine. She looked down at me with a flicker of guilt, reaching out to help me up. As she leaned in, a scent hit me—a metallic, musky smell that made my stomach lurch. I couldn’t stop myself. I heaved, vomiting right onto her expensive silk blouse. Madeline didn’t even flinch at the mess. She stayed focused on me, patting my back and bringing a warm towel to wipe my face, her touch as gentle as it had been a decade ago. Back then, when the Mercer Group was on the brink of bankruptcy, I had defied my father and used my entire inheritance to bail her out, essentially buying my way into her family as a “trophy husband” to save her legacy. On our wedding night, I had been so overwhelmed and drunk that I’d vomited on her then, too. She had wiped my face just like this, whispering that she would spend the rest of her life proving I hadn’t made a mistake in choosing her. With a trembling hand, I pulled the lab report from my pocket and shoved it toward her. “Madeline… tell me this is a joke. Tell me Dante is lying.” She went still. Her brow furrowed, and a heavy silence filled the room. Finally, she spoke, the words coming out strained. “Lucas, I’m sorry. I told him not to tell you. I didn’t want you to be hurt.” “Hurt?” I choked out. “I won’t let him see you again,” she promised, her voice gaining strength. “I’ll make sure he stays out of our private life.” I looked up at her, searching for the woman I loved. “Then get an abortion. And send him back to the States immediately. Please.” Madeline’s body stiffened. The warmth left her eyes, replaced by a cold, calculating light. “Lucas, I can’t do that.” She let go of my arms and stood up, looking down at me from a distance. “The Mercer Group is a billion-dollar empire. It needs an heir. Your health… you know the situation. You can’t give me that.” “And whose fault is my health?” I whispered. “You said you were happy with just me! You said we didn’t need kids!” Years ago, during the chaos of the bankruptcy, a group of disgruntled contractors had trapped Madeline in a warehouse. I had gone in at night to get her out. In the scuffle, a man had lunged at her with a knife. I stepped in front of her. The blade tore through my abdomen, shredding my pancreas and ending any chance of me ever fathering a child. That day, Madeline had knelt by my hospital bed, sobbing, swearing that she would love me forever, that we were enough for each other. I had even crawled to my father’s feet, begging for the funds to save her company, resulting in a rift that hadn’t healed for years. My father had refused to even attend the wedding. Madeline saw the devastation on my face and knelt back down, pulling me into a tight embrace. “Lucas, I’m sorry, but this was a necessity. We’ve been together twenty years. We grew up together. I know how much you’ve done for me. Please, just try to understand.” She stroked my hair. “I don’t love Dante. It’s just… a functional requirement. A biological legacy. You are the only person I will ever truly love.” I stared at her, horrified. When had she become this monstrous? Since when did love get partitioned into “emotional” and “biological”? If that was the case, what made us any different from animals? 2 I pushed her away, the air in the room feeling too thin to breathe. “Madeline, do you even hear yourself? Doesn’t this feel… disgusting to you?” Her expression hardened. “Lucas, I’ve always admired your grace. I thought you’d be the one person who understood the bigger picture. This is about the future of the company. Why are you being so petty?” “Petty?” “With a child, we’ll have someone to take care of us when we’re old,” she continued, her tone maddeningly reasonable. “The boy will be raised as yours. He’ll respect you as his father. Why can’t you look past your ego and see the long-term benefit?” I started to laugh, a jagged, hysterical sound. “Oh, so I should thank you? Thank you for getting me a ‘son’? Should I send Dante a thank-you note for the hard work he put into sleeping with my wife?” Madeline went silent, her gaze dark and unreadable. After a long moment, I forced the words out through a raw throat. “What if I refuse? Will you choose me? Will you terminate the pregnancy for me?” “Lucas… I know this is a lot to process. It’s okay. I’ll give you time to think it over.” She stood up and smoothed her skirt. “Dante needs an internship anyway. I’m taking him to New York for a few weeks to scout the new market and let him visit his family.” Without another word, she walked into the bedroom and shut the door. When I woke up the next morning, the sun was blinding. The bedroom door was wide open. Madeline was gone. I checked my phone. Dante had posted a photo on his Instagram stories. Taking the new bride to meet the parents. It was a picture of two hands clasored together on a first-class flight. He deleted it ten minutes later, but the damage was done. I went to the bathroom, washed the grime of the previous night off my face, and drove to the office. The staff looked at me with a mixture of pity and surprise. Mrs. Gable, the office manager who had been there since the beginning, caught my hand. “Lucas, it’s about time you showed up. Things are… different around here lately.” I was about to ask what she meant when I saw the executive suite. It had been renovated. Previously, Madeline and I had separate offices with a private lounge between them. Now, a third room had been built, adjoined directly to hers. “What’s this?” I asked, gesturing to the new door. Mrs. Gable looked away, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Lucas, I don’t know how to say this… but you can’t just let her run everything because of your health. You need to be here more.” A cold dread pooled in my stomach. “Mrs. Gable, get someone to open this door.” She hesitated. “Mr. Matthew… Madeline gave strict orders. No one enters that room. Just… let it go for today. Come back tomorrow.” I didn’t listen. I grabbed a heavy mahogany chair from the waiting area. Before anyone could stop me, I swung it with every ounce of rage I had left. My arms went numb with the impact, but I didn’t stop until the lock splintered and the door flew open. I froze on the threshold. It wasn’t an office. It was a bedroom. An ivory silk bed, a red-wood screen, a vanity—everything. And on the nightstand was a framed photo of Madeline and Dante. They were glowing. Dante was leaning over her, his arms wrapped around her waist, and Madeline was looking back at him with a laugh so genuine I hadn’t seen it in a decade. There was another photo of them in a hot tub, wearing almost nothing. Dante was holding her high against his chest, their faces pressed together. They looked… happy. They looked like a couple in the honeymoon phase of a grand romance. She had moved him in. Right under my nose. In the very building my inheritance had saved. I fumbled for my phone, my hands shaking so hard I nearly dropped it. I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to ask her how she could do this. I called her ten times. Straight to voicemail. Then, a notification popped up. A trending topic on a local entertainment site: Spotted in Paris: International Romance. The photo showed a tall, athletic man and a petite woman locked in a passionate kiss under the Eiffel Tower. The caption praised their “cross-cultural, race-transcending love.” Madeline had even given a quote for the piece: “True love knows no borders or race. It is a matter of the soul.” Dante was pictured with his arm around her, looking at the camera like he’d won the lottery. 3 Seeing them like that—so public, so unashamed—something inside me snapped. I picked up the chair again. I smashed the vanity. I ripped the silk sheets. I shattered every frame, every vase, every lie she had built in that room. I destroyed it until my lungs burned and my arms were too heavy to lift. Then, I collapsed into the wreckage and sobbed. Mrs. Gable eventually cleared out the curious employees and drove me home. I don’t know how long I stayed in bed. Time became a blur of fever and darkness. My throat felt like it had been scraped by a razor, and my chest burned. I didn’t move. I thought that if I just stayed still enough, maybe I would simply stop existing. Madeline didn’t come home quietly. She returned like a hurricane, with Dante trailing behind her, looking indignant. She kicked the bedroom door open and yanked the curtains back, the light stinging my eyes. “Lucas Matthew! I had no idea you were capable of such primitive violence. You went to the office and destroyed Dante’s personal space? You broke a jade heirloom his mother gave him! Do you have any idea what the staff is saying about us now?” She was shaking with fury. “You’re thirty-five years old. Can’t you show some maturity? Some dignity?” “Dante is ten years younger than you,” she shouted. “He’s been nothing but respectful and patient, and you pull this?” I turned my head slowly, trying to process her words, but my brain was a fog. Seeing my silence, she grabbed my arm and tried to haul me out of bed. “Get up. Now. You’ whispered going to the office to apologize to him in front of everyone.” As she gripped me, her expression shifted. She frowned. “Why are you so hot? Do you have a fever?” She touched my forehead, her anger faltering for a split second. “My god, Lucas, you’re burning up. We need to go to the hospital.” She tried to hook her arms under mine to lift me. “Madeline,” Dante’s voice cut through the room. “He’s faking. He knows he messed up and he’s trying to get out of the consequences. It’s a manipulation tactic.” He stepped closer, his face a mask of hurt. “If you keep coddling him, I can’t stay. I won’t be the ‘charity case’ who gets bullied. I’ll just go back to the States. I don’t want people thinking we’re just… disposable.” He turned and ran out of the room, covering his face. Madeline immediately dropped me back onto the bed. “Dante! Wait!” She chased after him. I heard them in the hallway, their voices rising and falling. “Madeline, I’m poor, and I’m grateful for the scholarship,” Dante cried out. “But my love for you isn’t about money. I won’t have my heart treated as a second-class emotion just because you feel guilty about him.” Madeline was pleading with him, her voice low and desperate. Fifteen minutes later, they walked back into the room together. Madeline was holding his hand. “Lucas, Dante says he’s willing to forgive you. But he needs a formal apology and a promise that you won’t lash out at him again.” She propped me up. Dante stood before me, his eyes gleaming with a malicious, triumphant smirk. The “hurt” was gone; it was pure provocation. I couldn’t take it. With the last of my strength, I lunged forward and slapped him across the face. “Get out of my house, you parasite.” 4 I regretted the day I ever met him. Five years ago, on our anniversary trip to New Orleans. He had been standing on a street corner in the sweltering heat, trying to sell handmade trinkets to tourists. People were ignoring him, some even cursing at him. But he kept smiling, his face slick with sweat, his eyes wide and desperate. When he approached us, I saw how thin he was. He told us he was trying to save for college. I felt a pang of sympathy—maybe it was my own inability to have a child that made me want to help a young man with a dream. I gave him five hundred dollars and took a wooden carving. I forgot about it by dinner. The next day, he found our hotel. He had walked miles to bring us a basket of local food as a thank you. I saw his shoes were falling apart, so I gave him my own sneakers. He nearly knelt to kiss my feet. Madeline had laughed then. “Since we have a connection, why don’t you come to our country? We’ll sponsor your degree.” It was that simple. For a few thousand dollars in “relocation fees” paid to his family, we brought him back. But in just a few years, the “grateful student” had been transformed by Madeline’s indulgence. He was pampered, arrogant, and obsessed with “equality” only when it served his bank account. Dante feigned a fall, stumbling back and hitting the floor with a loud thud. He clutched his wrist, his face contorting in pain. “Madeline! My hand… I think it’s broken!” Madeline gasped and rushed to him, cradling him in her arms. “Dante! Are you okay?” She turned to me, her eyes flashing with a coldness I had never seen before. She stood up and slapped me—hard. “Dante was right. I’ve let you become a spoiled, entitled brat. You have no respect for me or the people I care about.” She pulled out her phone and dialed 911. “I’d like to report an assault,” she said, her voice steady. “And a break-in at a commercial office. Destroyed property and physical battery. Yes, I’m at my residence.” The police arrived shortly after. They looked at me—a pale, shivering man on a bed—and then at Madeline, the powerful CEO of the Mercer Group. “Mrs. Mercer, are you sure you want to press charges against your husband?” the officer asked, clearly uncomfortable. Madeline looked at me with zero emotion. “The law is the law. Private matters don’t excuse criminal behavior. Take him in.” As the officers helped me up, Madeline didn’t even look at me. The ambulance arrived for Dante, and she climbed in with him, holding his hand and whispering comfort as they sped away. The cruiser door slammed shut. I sat in the back, the cold vinyl against my skin, and finally, the fog cleared. I was done. I took out my phone with a trembling hand and made one call. “Dad? It’s me. I… I made a mistake. I want to come home. Can you pick me up from the police station?”

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My brother-in-arms borrowed fifteen thousand dollars from me and vanished for a decade. I’d long since let it go, burying the betrayal deep in my chest. I told myself I’d just fed the money to a stray dog. Today, I walked into the bank to close the account I’d used for that wire transfer, wanting to permanently turn the page on that chapter of my life. The teller finished typing, but instead of handing me my receipt, she looked up, her brow furrowed. “Sir, the memo line on this account’s final transfer… are you sure you don’t want to read it?” I froze. A wire transfer from ten years ago—how could there be a memo? 01 “All set, sir. The account is officially closed.” The young woman behind the bulletproof glass slid a snipped debit card across the counter. I gave a curt nod, picking up the ruined plastic, fully intending to drop it into the lobby trash can on my way out. Ten years of a knot sitting heavy in my gut. Today, I was finally cutting it loose. My name is Carter Brooks. I’m thirty-five, and I run a mid-sized private security firm in the city. A decade ago, the best friend I ever had in the Army Rangers, Daniel Vance—wait, let’s go with Daniel Foster—borrowed fifteen grand from me. It was every dime I had to my name back then. He told me it was an absolute emergency. I didn’t ask a single question; I just wired the funds. And then, he evaporated. Calls went straight to voicemail. Texts were left on read, then eventually stopped delivering. Even in our tight-knit circles of veterans, it was like Daniel had been wiped from the earth. My initial panic warped into worry, then mutated into a slow-burning, toxic rage. And finally, into total, suffocating disappointment. Fifteen thousand dollars. That was the exact price of the brotherhood we’d forged in blood and sand. It was the price of my capacity to ever trust the word “brother” again. “Sir?” The teller’s voice snapped me out of the past. I frowned, the impatience bubbling just beneath the surface. “Is there a problem?” She pointed a manicured finger at her monitor, looking hesitant. “It’s just… this last transfer. The fifteen thousand. There’s a memo attached to the electronic receipt.” I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “A memo? It was a counter wire from ten years ago. You’re mistaken.” I remembered that day with photographic clarity. I stood in this exact lobby. I never filled out a memo line. The girl shrank back slightly at my tone, but held her ground. “It’s right here in the system mainframe, sir. Printed on the legacy receipt. Do you… really not want to see it? It might be important.” Important? Could it bring back my life savings? Could it erase ten years of feeling like an absolute fool? My chest tight with an old, familiar aggravation, I just wanted to get out of the sterile air of the bank. I wanted to scrub the name Daniel Foster from my hard drive for good. “No need. It doesn’t matter anymore.” I turned on my heel. “It’s four words,” she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “‘Save my daughter. —Daniel.’” My boots anchored to the linoleum. The blood in my veins stopped dead. I whipped around, staring at her through the glass. “What did you just say?” My voice was so hoarse I barely recognized it. Startled by my intensity, she quickly spun her monitor around so I could see it. There it was. Standard Arial font, glowing coldly in the digital receipt box. Memo: Save my daughter. —Daniel. My brain short-circuited. How was that possible? Daniel’s daughter, Mia. Ten years ago, she was a tiny, vibrant thing with pigtails who used to chase my own son around the backyard, covered in mud and laughing. She was a perfectly healthy kid. Why would he use “save my daughter” as a reason? And why sign it? I was the one making the transfer. Was he leaving a breadcrumb for me to find? A sudden, suffocating wave of dread wrapped its fingers around my throat. Over the last ten years, I’d spun a hundred theories about why he took the money and ran. Did he gamble it away? Did a business venture go under? Did he get mixed up with the wrong crowd? Not once—not once—did I consider that there was a truth hidden beneath the surface, a truth I was entirely blind to. “Print it out. Please. Hurry.” I stepped up to the glass, my hands visibly shaking. The teller hurriedly hit print. I snatched the warm paper from the tray. Those four words were like a branding iron pressed directly into my retinas. The dam of resentment I had meticulously built over ten years suddenly cracked, giving way to a pressure I couldn’t ignore. I pushed through the bank’s glass doors. The midday sun stung my eyes. Leaning heavy against the door of my truck, I fished my phone out of my pocket. Operating purely on muscle memory, my trembling thumb dialed the number I had sworn to God I would never dial again. “We’re sorry, the number you have reached has been disconnected…” The automated female voice looped in my ear, cold and detached. In the past, that voice only fueled my cynical rage. Today, it sent a spike of absolute, primal terror straight into my heart. Ten years. I had hated him for a decade. What if… what if I was wrong? The thought sprouted, then rapidly metastasized like poison ivy over my rationality. No. I had to find him. I had to rip the truth out of him myself. The bitterness of the debt was gone, replaced instantly by a mystery so vast it made my head spin. This wasn’t about the fifteen grand anymore. This was for my own sanity. This was for the ghost of the brotherhood I had despised for a decade. I was going to find the truth. 02 I started the engine and drove aimlessly, letting the rhythmic hum of the tires ground me. My mind was a Rolodex spinning out of control. When Daniel got out of the service, he moved back to his hometown—a rusted-out, working-class borough in Pennsylvania, about three hundred miles away. His disappearance coincided exactly with that move. Pulling over into a diner parking lot, I put the truck in park and started scrolling through my contacts. I hit the dial button for an old Ranger buddy who was still active duty. “Hey, Smitty. It’s Carter.” “Carter Brooks? Holy hell, man. Long time no hear. What’s going on?” “Need some intel on a ghost. Daniel Foster. You got any current coordinates for him?” The line went quiet for a beat. “Danny? Man, don’t even get me started. Guy punched his ticket home and just… dropped off the grid. Couple years back we tried putting together a reunion, nobody could track him. Rumor mill said he struck it rich and cut ties with us grunts. Others said he hit rock bottom and was too proud to show his face. Who knows?” My gut plummeted. “You remember the town?” “Let me think… somewhere up near Pine Ridge, PA. Don’t know the exact neighborhood. Been ten years, man. He’s probably long gone.” I hung up, but I wasn’t stopping. I dialed four more guys from our old platoon. The answers were an echo chamber of Smitty’s. AWOL. Complete radio silence. My last shot was our old Platoon Sergeant, retired now and spending his days restoring classic cars in Ohio. When I brought up Daniel, the old man sighed heavily. “Carter, you and Danny were thicker than thieves. If you can’t find him, what makes you think the rest of us can?” “Sarge, it’s life or death. I need anything you’ve got. Any scrap of a lead,” I pleaded, my voice tight. He paused, the sound of a wrench clanking in the background. “Wait. His wife. Diane. I think I’ve still got an old cell number for her in my files. Don’t know if it’s active.” My heart gave a violent kick. I scribbled the number down on a napkin. But I didn’t call. Instinct—the kind beaten into you in the military—told me that a direct approach would only spook the target. Using the name of the town and some contacts in private security, I ran a deep background check. It took twenty minutes to pull Daniel’s last registered address from a decade ago. Pine Ridge, PA. Redwood Apartments. Building 3, Unit 401. Without a second thought, I threw the truck into drive and merged onto the interstate. Three hours later, I was standing in the parking lot of Redwood Apartments. It was a decaying, brutalist relic. Peeling paint, blown-out hallway lights, and the heavy scent of stale smoke and damp rot lingering in the air. My stomach was a knot of conflicting emotions as I climbed the concrete stairs to the fourth floor. I had played this reunion out in my head a thousand times. Sometimes it was on a busy street—I’d grab him by the collar, slam him against a wall, and demand to know why. Sometimes it was in a dive bar, him drunk and crying, begging for my forgiveness. I never pictured this. Showing up to a rundown housing project like a repo man. I stood in front of 401. The dark brown paint on the door was chipping away, revealing cheap particle board underneath. I raised my knuckles, hesitated, lowered them, and finally knocked. Thump. Thump. Thump. I heard the dragging shuffle of footsteps. The door creaked open, just a few inches. The security chain was engaged. A middle-aged woman peered through the gap. Her eyes were hard, suspicious, and immediately defensive. “Yeah? Who are you?” Her face morphed and clicked into the memory I had of Diane, but weathered by time and etched with deep, bitter lines. “Hi, I’m Carter Brooks. Served with Daniel. I need to see him.” The second the name “Carter” left my mouth, Diane’s entire demeanor shifted. The baseline suspicion instantly ignited into unfiltered, venomous hostility. “Don’t know you! Danny doesn’t know you!” She tried to slam the door. I shoved the toe of my boot into the gap. The decade of resentment, mixed with the adrenaline of the last four hours, made it impossible for me to stay polite. “Ten years ago, I gave your husband fifteen thousand dollars. Don’t stand there and tell me you don’t remember.” Her reaction was explosive. A hundred times more volatile than I expected. Like a cat backed into a corner, she shrieked. “What fifteen thousand?! You’re out of your mind! We never took a dime from you! You’re one of those scammers, aren’t you? Get the hell away from my door before I call the cops!” Her voice was shrill, echoing down the hall. A neighbor poked their head out of a door down the corridor. Fighting to keep my temper in check, I pulled the folded bank receipt from my jacket pocket. “I’m not making this up. Here’s the wire transfer record. It has his memo on it!” I held it up, pointing to the words: Save my daughter. —Daniel. Diane’s eyes darted to the paper. All the color drained from her face—just for a fraction of a second. But I saw it. She recovered instantly, doubling down on her frantic denial. “Fake! You faked that! I don’t know anything about a memo! You’re completely psychotic!” “I want to see Daniel! Let him tell me to my face!” I pushed my weight against the door, trying to see past her. The apartment behind her was dark, the curtains drawn tight. She blocked the gap with her body, feral and desperate. “He’s sick! He’s been sick for years! He doesn’t see anybody! He can’t handle people like you stressing him out!” “You leave right now or I’m dialing 911! I’ll tell them you’re trespassing and trying to extort me!” SLAM. She threw her entire weight against the door, engaging the deadbolt. My nose was inches from the wood. Through the thin door, I could hear her pacing and muttering. “Freaks… ten years later and they’re still coming around like vultures…” I stood in the dim hallway, the blood roaring in my ears. Her reaction was entirely wrong. If this was just a case of someone dodging an old debt, she would have been evasive, guilty, or dismissive. This wasn’t that. This was terror. This was a frantic, desperate attempt to keep a lid on a pressure cooker. She said Daniel was sick. Sick for ten years? Too sick to make a single phone call? Too sick to see a guy who took a bullet for him? And the flash of sheer panic in her eyes when she read that memo… that wasn’t acting. Something was deeply, profoundly wrong here. I didn’t leave the complex. I walked downstairs, got back into my truck, and backed it into a spot directly across from building 3, giving me a clear view of unit 401’s windows. I killed the engine. Reaching into the center console, I grabbed my pack of cigarettes. I lit one, the ember glowing orange in the cab. Through the haze of smoke, I locked my eyes on those heavily draped windows. I was going to figure out exactly what kind of hell was hiding behind that cheap wooden door. Ten years of anger had pivoted on a dime. All my hatred, all my disgust, was now squarely aimed at the woman named Diane. 03 I sat in the truck for the entire afternoon. Chain-smoking. The window cracked an inch, the ashtray filling up fast. I played Diane’s facial expressions on a loop in my head. Every twitch, every dilated pupil. She was lying. And it was a massive, structural lie. One she’d been carrying for a decade. What the hell happened to Daniel? And what did Save my daughter actually mean? The mystery was a tangled mass of barbed wire in my brain, pulling tighter the more I tried to unravel it. The sun dipped below the tree line, painting the rust-belt sky in bruised shades of purple and gray. Streetlights flickered on, casting sickly yellow pools across the cracked asphalt. My stomach was hollow, growling in protest, but I didn’t move an inch. The stubbornness drilled into me by the military kept me glued to the leather seat. I wasn’t leaving until I knew. Just as my patience was beginning to fray, the heavy metal door to Building 3 groaned open. A young woman stepped out. She was carrying a black trash bag, walking slowly toward the dumpsters at the edge of the lot. As she stepped under a streetlight, my breath caught. Mia. Daniel’s daughter. Ten years had transformed her from the little tomboy who used to follow me around into a quiet, striking young woman. She was wearing blue scrubs—maybe a nursing student—and carried a weight in her shoulders that made her look far older than her early twenties. As she tossed the bag into the dumpster, her eyes darted nervously toward the shadows where my black truck was parked. She was fidgeting. Restless. My pulse spiked. Did she recognize me? Or did she know I was coming? Instead of walking back to the building, she altered her path, drifting slowly along the curb, inching closer to my side of the lot. My heart hammered against my ribs. She moved cautiously, her hands buried in her scrub pockets, scanning the parking lot like she expected an ambush. Just as she passed the passenger side of my truck, she suddenly crouched down, pretending to tie her shoe. In one lightning-fast, practiced motion, she slipped a tiny, tightly folded square of paper through the one-inch crack in my window. Before I could even lean over, she was up and sprinting back to the building, disappearing through the heavy doors like a frightened deer. The whole exchange took less than five seconds. It took me another three to process what just happened. My fingers trembling, I reached over and plucked the paper from the weather-stripping. I flicked on the overhead cab light and unfolded it. The handwriting was neat, but the pen strokes were jagged with anxiety. Carter. Please don’t leave. My mom is watching from the window. Alley behind the dumpsters. 10:00 PM. Please. I need help. That small square of paper was a lightning bolt, instantly incinerating the fog in my brain. Daniel was in trouble. Diane was the warden. And his daughter, Mia, was risking everything to send up a flare. The decade of bitterness and perceived betrayal evaporated, instantly replaced by a crushing, absolute sense of duty. I wasn’t a debt collector anymore. I was on a rescue mission. I was here to save my brother.

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In my last life, my best friend—the sole heiress to a billionaire’s empire—stole my husband. They mocked me, degraded me, and eventually, they pushed me down a flight of stairs, leaving me to bleed out on the cold marble floor. Given a second chance, I set my sights on a different prize: her wealthy, silver-fox of a father. He had no biological heirs, only his adopted daughter. She thought her father’s empire made her invincible, giving her the right to play God with my life. But she didn’t know about my family’s secret. I possessed a rare, genetic predisposition for extreme fertility. Soon enough, I’d be slipping into his bed, carrying his quadruplets. In this life, I’m going to make you drop to your knees and call me “Mother.” …… 1 I feigned a hazy disorientation, stumbling my way toward the master suite on the second floor of the mansion. Richard Kerwin stood there in a plush robe, silver-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. When he saw me burst in, surprise flashed across his face, quickly followed by a cold, guarded mask. I played the part of the innocent, drunken guest perfectly, bumping into his solid chest and letting out a soft, incoherent murmur. At this point in my timeline, my body hadn’t yet been ravaged by the grueling rounds of IVF hormone injections. I was still in my prime—radiant, vibrant, and undeniably alluring. Silky strands of my hair brushed against his fingers. A delicate, intoxicating perfume drifted into the air between us, sinking right into his veins. The man’s eyes darkened instantly. Every single detail of this moment—the precise length of my slip dress, the plunge of the neckline, the slit at my thigh, even the breathy cadence of my voice—had been meticulously calculated. Because I knew that if I missed this window, I might never get close to him again. I watched his Adam’s apple bob. The icy restraint in his gaze was rapidly melting, replaced by a raw, primal heat. Suddenly, his arms came around me, pulling me flush against him. I could feel the searing heat radiating from his skin and the frantic, heavy thud of his heartbeat. He leaned down, his voice a low, gravelly whisper against my ear. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing right now?” In that split second, the sheer weight of his hunger washed over me. I smiled inwardly. Checkmate. The next morning, a piercing shriek shattered the silence. “Helen! What the hell are you doing?! That is my father!” Bernice stood paralyzed in the doorway. Behind her, a small crowd of guests from her birthday party the night before lingered in the hall, their faces a canvas of shock and morbid curiosity. I blinked up at her with wide, innocent eyes, pulling the duvet tightly up to my collarbone, deliberately cutting off whatever explanation Richard was about to offer. “I… I was just so drunk last night,” I stammered, my voice trembling perfectly. “We just laid here and talked under the covers. Nothing happened, I swear.” I knew how the game was played. A ruthless, highly respected titan of Wall Street was never going to let himself become the punchline of a society scandal. Especially not with half of New York’s elite standing in his hallway. Bernice’s face morphed from sheer shock to a violent, trembling rage. She ground her teeth, her eyes practically vibrating with hatred. “Do you… do you think I’m a fucking idiot?” She lunged forward, hands raised to strike me. “Enough!” Richard’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. Bernice froze. “Did you not hear what she just said?” Richard demanded, his tone brokering no argument. “It was a misunderstanding. An accident.” Bernice stared at him, utterly betrayed, her mouth opening and closing as she desperately searched for a rebuttal. I leaned forward, closing the distance between us until my lips were inches from her ear. “You’d better play along with my story,” I whispered, so low only she could hear. “Because if your dad decides he actually does have a taste for me… you’re going to have to start calling me Mom.” Her pupils dilated in pure horror. A flicker of profound hesitation crossed her face. Finally, she shot me a look of pure, venomous hatred, then whipped around to face her guests, forcing a sickeningly sweet, plastic smile onto her face. “Everyone, please, let’s not jump to conclusions. They… they really just stayed up talking.” The guests exchanged awkward, knowing glances, muttering polite excuses as they quickly dispersed down the hall. Before Bernice walked away, she turned and glared at me one last time. It was the exact same look she had given me in my past life, right before she shoved me to my death. I was born in an isolated, forgotten valley deep in the mountains—a place locals whispered about in folklore. The women from my hometown were famously beautiful, but more importantly, we were known for a fierce, generational vitality. We were built to bear children, effortlessly and abundantly. Because of that trait, I was nearly trafficked three times as a toddler, eventually ending up in the foster care system, which is where I first met Bernice. 2 Back in the foster home, while the other kids were sickly and hollow-cheeked, I was thriving—radiant and healthy. The system wasn’t some magical sanctuary. It was a brutal competition for survival, and amid all that ugliness, Bernice was the only one who looked out for me. There were always families who wanted to adopt me, but somehow, at the very last second, the paperwork would always fall through. Not long after, Bernice hit the jackpot. She was taken in by Richard Kerwin, the legendary corporate shark. I had been genuinely happy for her. I truly believed she was my sister, the most important person in my life. I believed it so deeply that in my previous life, when Bernice stood in my living room, caressing her swelling belly and telling me she was carrying my husband’s baby, my brain simply couldn’t process it. They stood there together, laughing at me. They called me a barren, useless husk. And when I finally snapped, threatening to take my husband for every penny he had in the divorce, they dragged me to the staircase. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back before the blood, before the betrayal. Realizing that the two people you trusted most in the world were the architects of your destruction… it’s a suffocating, paralyzing kind of agony. An agony so deep that in my last life, I died before I could even scream the truth at them: The problem wasn’t me! The one who was medically sterile was my husband! My bloodline practically guaranteed fertility. I had spent years burying the truth, silently taking the blame and enduring endless pity just to protect his fragile male ego. Well, no more. Bernice thought she could play with human lives just because she had a billionaire daddy backing her up. She loved my useless, sterile husband so much? Fine. She could keep the trash. I, on the other hand, thought her father was quite the catch. Wealthy, devastatingly handsome, and completely alone, save for one adopted daughter. Let’s see how much he remembers you, Bernice, once I give him a biological child of his own blood. In this life, you will drop to your knees and call me Mother. By the time Richard and I were dressed and making our way downstairs, Bernice was already sitting stiffly on the living room sofa, radiating fury. “Dad… Helen… Now that the guests are gone, do you two have absolutely no sense of shame?” Shame? Hilarious. I doubt the word crossed her mind when she was climbing into my husband’s bed in our past life. Swallowing the urge to laugh in her face, I buried my face in my hands and let out a soft, pathetic sob. “I don’t even know what happened,” I cried, my voice thick with tears. “I just drank that one cocktail you handed me last night, Bernice, and then everything went blurry…” Bernice’s righteous anger immediately dissolved into panic. “What?! Are you trying to say I drugged you?!” I looked up at her, my eyes swimming with wounded vulnerability. “No, of course not! You’re my best friend, I would never suspect you. But… those people you hang out with… they don’t seem like good people. What if one of them slipped something into my glass behind your back?” Bernice was turning purple. The elite circles of New York had always quietly shunned her for being an adopted outsider. Getting those socialites to attend her birthday had been a monumental task. “You bitch,” she hissed. “If you want to sleep with my dad, just say it! Stop making up lies!” “That’s enough,” Richard interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. He looked at Bernice. “She was clearly not in her right mind last night.” He rubbed his temples. “I thought I raised you better than this. I know what kind of person you are, but I also know I’ve spoiled you rotten. You’ve been running around with a degenerate crowd. Your black card is cut off. You’re grounded. You will stay in this house and think about your actions.” “Dad—!” “My decision is final.” Bernice let out a scream of frustration and stormed out of the room. The heavy oak doors clicked shut, leaving just Richard and me in the cavernous, quiet room. I took a shaky breath, speaking before he could. “Richard… Mr. Kerwin. Last night was a mistake. I only came here to celebrate Bernice’s birthday. I never imagined things would spiral out of control like this.” I let a small, choked gasp escape my lips. “But I need you to forget this ever happened.” The request caught him completely off guard. He was a billionaire; he was no stranger to women trying to manipulate their way into his bed. But he remembered last night. He remembered that I really was delirious, that I had even tried to push him away a few times. And then he remembered that his own daughter’s party guests were likely the cause of it. A rare flicker of guilt crossed his sharp features. His jaw tightened. “Whatever compensation you want,” he said quietly. “Name it. It’s yours.” I shook my head, offering him a sad, fragile smile. “You’re a victim in this too.” I paused, looking down at my hands. “The truth is… I’m a married woman. But I don’t think I can live with this guilt. I’ve betrayed my husband, and I need to ask him for a divorce.” I looked back up, letting a single tear slip down my cheek. “But we built our company together. If he finds out why I’m leaving him, he’ll destroy everything I’ve worked for. My life’s work will be gone.” Richard stared at me, his expression softening into something entirely new. He reached out, his large, warm hand tentatively resting on my shoulder. “I understand,” he said softly. “Don’t worry about the company. What belongs to you will stay yours.” I widened my eyes, looking up at him with pure, unadulterated admiration. “Thank you, Richard. You really are a good man.” I could see the gears turning in his head. To him, I was entirely different from the predatory socialites he was used to. He was the one who had taken advantage of me in my compromised state, yet here I was, thanking him. He walked me to the front doors and instructed his private driver to take me home. As I stepped out into the crisp morning air, I paused, pretending to remember something. I turned back, ‘accidentally’ bumping softly against his chest, just as I had the night before. Instinctively, his arm came around my waist to steady me. I stepped back quickly, putting a polite distance between us, and carefully handed him my business card. 3 “Mr. Kerwin,” I said, my voice steady now. “I hope we can start over and reintroduce ourselves properly. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other in the boardroom.” As the town car pulled away from the estate, I could feel the weight of his lingering stare on the back of my neck. I didn’t look back. Since Richard had promised to ensure my divorce went smoothly, I didn’t have to waste a single ounce of energy worrying about asset division. I made one phone call and had a team of movers pack up every single thing I owned from the townhouse. I also left a very clear warning for my husband—no, my ex-husband. I told him I already had an ironclad file of evidence proving his affair with Bernice, and if he ever showed his face near me again, I’d ruin him. In my past life, I had convinced myself that his infidelity was my fault—a byproduct of my supposed inability to give him a child after years of marriage. But when I woke up in this timeline and hired an investigator, the truth made me sick to my stomach. He and Bernice had been sleeping together since the very beginning. They had played me for a fool for years. You both wanted to play dirty? Fine. Welcome to the mud. Sitting in the quiet of my new apartment, I rested a hand over my flat stomach. I could already feel it. One shot was all it took. A new life was already taking root inside me, waiting for the perfect moment to bloom. For the next month, despite having my card, Richard didn’t reach out. I wasn’t worried. With Bernice hovering around, she was doing everything in her power to keep her father away from me. But I was supremely confident that Richard couldn’t just erase me from his mind. The memory of that night was hammered into his brain like a silver nail, impossible to ignore. Meanwhile, I threw myself into my work. I was the CEO of my firm, and by pure, beautiful coincidence, our upcoming project involved a direct partnership with Kerwin Enterprises. Up until now, all our correspondence had been digital. By the time the in-person summit rolled around, my baby would be exactly six weeks along. I ruthlessly polished the project proposals, settling for nothing less than absolute perfection. Leaning back in my ergonomic office chair, I let out a long exhale, quietly thanking the universe for the timing of this rebirth. I was at the absolute peak of my life—young, sharp, and radiant. I hadn’t been bullied into quitting my career to focus on IVF. I hadn’t spent my days acting as a live-in maid for my horrid mother-in-law. I wasn’t bloated, exhausted, and practically gray from the stress of it all. The day of the negotiation, I walked into the Kerwin boardroom wearing a tailored, powder-blue power suit, a thick stack of flawless dossiers in my arms. Richard was seated at the head of the long glass table. His eyes were sharp and unyielding, but the second he saw me, a micro-expression of shock cracked his facade. I treated him like a complete stranger. I offered a polite, professional smile as I slid the documents across the table toward him. As he reached for the file, his fingertips brushed against mine. I felt the sudden, electric jolt of his body heat, and my heart gave a calculated little flutter. Our eyes locked, and the air in the boardroom suddenly felt incredibly thick. I led the presentation. Derek, my ex-husband, was technically still a partner on paper, but he sat beside me looking like a deer in headlights, muttering useless filler words while I dominated the room. It only served to make my brilliance shine brighter. I yielded no ground during the negotiations. After an hour of intense, exhilarating back-and-forth, we reached a highly lucrative agreement. The room erupted into polite applause and cheerful corporate pleasantries. As I was packing up my briefcase, preparing to escort them out, Bernice suddenly appeared from the hallway. She grabbed my arm, dragging me into a quiet alcove, her eyes blazing. “Don’t think I didn’t see you making eyes at my dad in there,” she hissed. “Are you still delusional enough to think you’re going to be my stepmother?” I smoothed down the lapel of my jacket, my expression perfectly serene. “Whatever do you mean? I was just doing my job. Honestly, instead of obsessing over my love life, you should worry about your own. I’ve already divorced Derek… so why hasn’t he put a ring on your finger yet?” Her face drained of color. She stammered, “How… how did you know? I mean—what kind of crazy nonsense are you talking about?” “You were right about one thing, though,” I said, letting a slow, venomous smile spread across my face. “I really, really want to hear you call me Mom.” I paused, leaning in close. “I’m pregnant,” I mouthed the next words so only she could read my lips: With your dad’s baby. Bernice’s face contorted in sheer, unadulterated madness. She lost her mind. Screaming a string of obscenities, she lunged at me, her manicured hands clawing wildly. I let her push me. I hit the hardwood floor hard, a sharp jolt of pain radiating up my spine. The hallway descended into chaos. Executives shouted. Richard pushed through the crowd, his face pale with panic, and violently yanked Bernice off of me. “What the hell is going on here?!” Richard roared. I looked up at him, letting the tears spill over my lashes in a torrential flood. “I don’t know!” I sobbed, clutching my stomach. “I thought Bernice just wanted to catch up, and then she just attacked me!” Bernice pointed a shaking finger at me, hyperventilating. “She’s lying! My dad would never—he only wants me! He’s not having any more kids! Tell them you’re lying about being pregnant!” Before she could finish the sentence, Richard’s hand connected with Bernice’s cheek. The sharp crack of the slap echoed through the dead-silent hallway. Bernice stumbled back, holding her face in disbelief. “You… you hit me? For her?” Richard’s jaw was clenched so tight I thought it might shatter. “Enough! Not another word. The truth is, Helen and I… we’ve been seeing each other since her divorce.” Suddenly, one of my assistants gasped, pointing at the floor. “Oh my god, she’s bleeding!” I looked down. A small pool of crimson was seeping into the fabric of my skirt.

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The day I found out my husband was cheating on me, I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I picked up my phone and called my sister-in-law, who was currently living five thousand miles away in Moscow. A week later, on a pristine, sun-drenched Tuesday afternoon, my sister-in-law and I were strolling through a high-end designer boutique when we spotted my husband. He was buying a ridiculous leather handbag for the woman draped over his arm—the ghost of his past, the golden girl he never quite got over. I let my eyes well up with perfect, cinematic tears. I opened my mouth to speak, but my sister-in-law didn’t wait. With a flick of her wrist, she and the two hulking bodyguards flanking her descended upon them like a force of nature. Ten minutes later, my husband had four fractured ribs, two dislocated shoulders, and a face so swollen he looked like a bruised plum. His golden girl was lying on the marble floor, a warm puddle of urine soaking into her designer skirt, weakly sobbing for someone to call the police. I bit the inside of my cheek until it bled to keep from laughing. What the rest of the Harrington family didn’t know—what they had never bothered to notice—was that since we were little girls, my sister-in-law had been fiercely, unapologetically in love with me. 1 I was lounging on a chaise on the terrace, letting the late-morning sun warm my skin, when my assistant, Carter, crouched down beside me. “Boss. Mr. Harrington has been busy,” he said, his voice a low, professional murmur as he handed me his iPad. I opened my eyes, squinting against the glare, and looked at the screen. The paparazzi—or whoever Carter had hired—knew how to frame a shot. Every image dripped with undeniable, suffocating intimacy. There they were, embracing at the JFK arrivals terminal. There they were in a dimly lit booth at Le Bernardin, him reaching across the white tablecloth to gently wipe the corner of her mouth. There they were, slipping through the wrought-iron gates of a secluded Hamptons estate. I zoomed in on the woman’s face. Bella Crawford. Peter’s ultimate “what if.” She was back. No wonder Peter hadn’t slept at home in a month. I tossed the iPad back onto the cushion just as my phone began to buzz. Peter’s name flashed across the screen. Right on cue. “Diana,” his voice crackled through the speaker, clipped and impatient. “Go out to the family compound in Connecticut by yourself today. Things blew up at the firm. I’m tied up.” I frowned, keeping my voice perfectly even. “Peter, we agreed. We do the monthly family dinner together.” A heavy sigh echoed through the receiver. “What does it matter if you go alone? You just sit there and make polite conversation with my parents. You can handle it. I have a crisis here. I’m hanging up.” The line went dead. It was mid-afternoon by the time my driver pulled up to the sprawling, ivy-covered Harrington estate. “Margaret,” I said, keeping my voice respectfully neutral as I walked into the grand living room. My mother-in-law was lounging on a velvet sofa. The moment she turned her head and saw I was alone, her eyes hardened. Without a word of warning, she snatched the heavy, beaded throw pillow next to her and hurled it at my face. I flinched, but not fast enough. The sharp metal detailing of a decorative zipper caught the edge of my forehead. A thin, hot line of blood immediately began to trickle down my pale skin. Neither Margaret nor my father-in-law, who was sitting in the armchair opposite her, even blinked. In fact, Margaret let out a short, derisive scoff. “Peter isn’t with you?” she sneered. “I suppose you’ll just have to stop using my son as your personal meat shield.” I kept my head bowed. I let a single drop of blood fall, sinking into the priceless Persian rug beneath my feet. Richard Harrington peered over his reading glasses, his eyes flicking from the Wall Street Journal to my bleeding face. He looked mildly annoyed, as if I had tracked mud into the house. He gestured vaguely to a maid to fetch the first-aid kit. While the maid dabbed at my forehead with trembling hands, Margaret’s voice echoed through the cavernous room, sharp as broken glass. “I don’t know why the Kensingtons bothered raising such a useless daughter. You can’t keep your husband’s attention, you can’t manage to get pregnant, and you drain my son’s bank accounts. You provide absolutely nothing to this family. Nothing.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “And your pathetic father. Always trying to ride Harrington Holdings’ coattails. Have you seen the cut he took on the waterfront development? Cheap materials, shoddy workmanship. If his incompetence damages the Harrington name, I’ll sue him into the ground myself.” I sat there, the picture of docile submission. The maid wiping my forehead shot me a look of profound, silent pity. “Enough, Margaret. What’s the point of barking at her? She’s not exactly playing in our league,” Richard interrupted, his voice laced with absolute boredom. “The girls are coming over for bridge in an hour. You’ll stay in the corner and serve the drinks,” Margaret ordered, dismissing me with a wave of her manicured hand. For the next four hours, the sunroom was suffocating. The air was thick with the smell of expensive gin, heavy perfume, and Virginia Slims. Four society matriarchs in immaculate Chanel, blowing smoke like industrial chimneys. It made me want to vomit. “Oh, dear. I think I just ashed on my shoe,” Mrs. Davenport, the mother of a tech billionaire, purred, looking pointedly at Margaret. “Don’t worry about it, darling,” Margaret smiled sweetly, before her gaze snapped to me. “Diana. Get down there and clean Mrs. Davenport’s shoe.” She commanded me with the exact same tone she used for her purebred Dobermans. I didn’t argue. I walked over, knelt on the hardwood floor, and took a cloth to the cherry-red patent leather stilettos. You’re pushing seventy, I thought distantly, and you’re wearing fire-engine red pumps. I glanced down at my own sensible black flats. Mrs. Davenport looked down at me from her perch, practically vibrating with the thrill of dominance. Every few seconds, she’d subtly shift her foot, letting the sharp toe of her stiletto kick against the fabric of my skirt. “You really do have the best daughter-in-law, Margaret,” Mrs. Davenport cooed. “So obedient. Not like my Chloe. That girl is spoiled rotten. Doesn’t listen to a word I say.” Margaret let out a bell-like laugh. “Oh, please. You can’t compare them. Chloe is a Harvard law graduate. Ours? Ours is completely useless.” I was still kneeling beside the table when Margaret casually reached for her silver insulated teapot. With a flick of her wrist, she tipped it. Boiling water cascaded directly onto the back of my hand. I gasped, shooting up from the floor, shaking my hand frantically. The skin was instantly an angry, blistering crimson. The pain was blinding, a sharp, searing heat that radiated up to my elbow. “Oh! My goodness. Clumsy me,” Margaret said. Her voice was flat. There wasn’t a drop of remorse in her eyes; they were dancing with cruel amusement. “You’d better go run that under the tap.” I rushed to the kitchen, shoving my hand under the freezing water, biting my lip so hard I tasted copper, just to keep the scream trapped in my throat. By the time I left the estate that evening, I felt hollowed out. I had played the servant all day. I hadn’t been offered a single bite of food. When Carter saw me walking down the driveway, my hand wrapped in a makeshift gauze bandage, he practically ripped the car door open, his jaw clenched tight as he helped me into the back seat. “Boss,” Carter said, his eyes dark in the rearview mirror. “How much longer are we playing this game?” I leaned my head against the cool leather of the headrest. A slow, terrifying smile curved across my lips. “Not long,” I whispered. “I just need to make sure I have every single piece on the board exactly where I want it.” 2 Peter wasn’t answering his phone, so the next morning, I went straight to the Harrington Holdings headquarters. When the elevator doors opened to the executive penthouse, I wasn’t expecting a party. But there they were. Peter’s inner circle. The boys’ club. Spencer and Nate. These were the men I had spent my college years with. We had crammed for finals together, drank cheap beer on fire escapes together. I had given them my genuine, unfiltered loyalty. I was just about to push the glass door open, a soft smile forming on my face, when a woman’s voice drifted through the gap. “You guys, stop it. Peter, tell them to stop teasing me.” It was Bella. Then came Spencer’s voice, booming and jovial. “Come on, future Mrs. Harrington! Don’t be shy. The whole city knows Peter’s basically built a shrine to you.” Bella was sitting on the edge of Peter’s mahogany desk, swinging her legs, the absolute center of gravity in the room. She ducked her head, offering a practiced, blushing smile. Peter reached out and affectionately tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Nate chuckled, leaning back in his leather chair. “You’ve been back in the States for a month, Bella. I don’t think Peter’s even seen his own house since you landed.” Bella covered her mouth, giggling. “I haven’t kidnapped him! He’s the one who refuses to leave my apartment. And please, you guys have to stop calling me that. I don’t have the luxury of being his wife.” She let her gaze drop to the floor, the picture of tragic longing. Spencer immediately jumped in to soothe her. “Don’t sell yourself short, Bells. If you hadn’t moved to Paris, there is zero chance that ice-queen Diana would be sitting in the Harrington wife slot right now.” I stood frozen in the hallway. My perfectly manicured nails dug into the leather of my handbag until my fingers ached. There was a hollow, echoing pain in the center of my chest. Three years ago, Spencer’s startup had been on the verge of total bankruptcy. He came begging Peter for a five-million-dollar bridge loan. Peter had laughed in his face, telling me in private that Spencer’s company was garbage and wasn’t worth his spare change. He was going to let him drown. It was me. I was the one who begged Peter to remember their years of brotherhood. I was the one who personally signed a guarantee, promising Peter that if Spencer defaulted, I would liquidate my own private trust to cover the loss. My kindness. My loyalty. It was all just a punchline to them now. And Nate. Nate, whose father had abandoned him and his mother for a younger woman and a secret second family. Nate’s mother had broken her back working double shifts to give him a life, eventually building a multimillion-dollar bakery franchise from scratch. Nate always spoke of his mother with a fierce, protective pride. He openly despised his father for his infidelity. Yet here they were. Both of them. Forming a protective shield around their buddy’s affair. Bowing at the altar of the other woman. I didn’t understand how men could be so exceptionally hollow. How they could experience the fallout of betrayal, yet so easily inflict it on someone else. Through the crack in the door, Bella’s eyes suddenly met mine. The brief flash of shock in her gaze was immediately swallowed by a sickeningly sweet, triumphant smirk. The sheer audacity of it made the air leave my lungs. I wanted to run. Bella turned back to Peter, casually wrapping her arms around his neck. “Peter, I’m craving Italian. Let’s go to that place in SoHo. My treat.” Spencer and Nate immediately cheered, agreeing that whatever “the golden girl” wanted, she got. Once upon a time, they had called me by my first name. They used to swear they didn’t hang out with me just because I was dating Peter. They said we were a family. I believed them. God, I was naive. It takes the absolute worst moments of your life to strip the mask off the people around you. They were all exactly the same. They were all trash. 3 I turned on my heel and left. By the time I reached the lobby, I was on the phone with my private wealth manager, initiating the quietest, deadliest divorce prep New York had ever seen. Carter had also emailed me the Q3 projections for my shadow portfolio. Looking at the staggering numbers, a genuine, terrifying smile broke across my face. That was exactly how Peter found me when he finally walked through the front door of our townhouse that evening—staring at my phone and smiling. He dropped his briefcase, walked over, and draped himself over the back of the sofa, pressing a kiss to my hair. “Hey, beautiful. What’s got you so happy?” The moment I had heard his key in the lock, I had swiped away from my financial spreadsheets and opened a gossip blog. My face was a mask of utter serenity. “Just reading some ridiculous celebrity drama.” He leaned in, trying to catch my lips for a kiss. I turned my head just enough so his mouth grazed my cheek. I gave him a gentle but firm push backward. His face instantly clouded over. “You reek of garlic and cigar smoke,” I said, keeping my tone light. “Did you go out for Italian?” Peter stiffened. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes before he smoothed it over. “Uh… yeah. Grabbed dinner with Spencer and the guys. I’m gonna go take a shower.” I watched him walk up the stairs, my eyes cold. By the time he got out of the shower, I had already turned my back to his side of the bed and feigned a deep, heavy sleep. The next morning, Peter was putting on an absolute clinic in husbandly devotion. He was sitting at the breakfast island, pushing a mug of perfectly frothed matcha and a warm croissant toward me. “You aren’t rushing to the office today?” I asked, taking a sip. “I’m too busy? Never too busy for my wife,” he grinned smoothly. “So, how was it? Did my mother give you a hard time at the estate the other day?” I set the mug down and looked at him, letting a small, humorless laugh escape. “What do you think?” Peter saw the smile and assumed the coast was clear. “Come on, Diana. You know how she is. It’s just family dynamics—” I reached across the marble counter and yanked back the silk cuff of my blouse. The burn took up the entire back of my hand. The skin was an angry, mottled purple. A massive blister had popped in the night, leaving the dead skin wrinkled and peeling over raw, weeping tissue. It looked like something out of a horror movie. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I whispered. “Your mother poured boiling water on me.” Peter’s eyes bulged. He stared at the mangled flesh of my pale hand, the color draining from his face. His eyes immediately went red. He reached out, his hands hovering over mine, terrified to touch it. He fell to his knees beside my barstool, wrapping his arms around my waist, burying his face in my stomach. “God, Diana. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry she put you through that.” Put me through that. I stared down at the top of his perfectly styled hair. Not I’m going to kill her. Not I’m going to burn that house down. Just a passive acknowledgment of my suffering. My utter lack of reaction seemed to unnerve him. He pulled back, looking up at me, his guilt rapidly souring into defensive anger. “Well, what do you want me to do, Diana?!” he snapped, his voice rising. “You want me to drive over there and beat up an old woman? She’s my mother! What am I supposed to do? Why can’t you just learn to stroke her ego a little bit? Play the game!” I looked at him. The disappointment was a physical weight in my chest. There was a time, years ago, when this man actually gave a damn about me. When we were engaged, Margaret had made a snide comment about my weight. Peter had flipped a dining table. He refused to speak to his mother for six months, and the freeze-out only ended because his father begged him to come to a board meeting. After that, whenever Peter was in the room, Margaret treated me like glass. But it had been too long. Peter stopped caring, stopped showing up, and Margaret, like a rabid dog returning to its vomit, reverted to her true nature. Crushing my dignity was her favorite parlor game. The Harringtons were rotten all the way down to the studs. Peter played the doting husband for exactly three days before he vanished again. He didn’t come home for the rest of the week. I didn’t care. It gave me the silence I needed. My empire was on the precipice of something massive. Everything rode on the next few weeks. Bella was a D-list influencer before she moved away. Now that she was back, Peter was funneling Harrington Holdings’ marketing budget into reviving her career. I was scrolling through my phone while drinking coffee when an algorithm pushed one of her posts onto my feed. I clicked it. The blood in my veins turned to ice. The caption read: “Thank you to my angel for the necklace. I’ve loved this piece for years, and after so much time, it finally found its way to where it belongs.” Attached was a photo of her delicate collarbone. Resting against her skin was a massive, pear-cut blue diamond, surrounded by a halo of flawless white diamonds. It was the Tear of Artemis. The necklace my grandmother had secured around my neck on her deathbed. A ringing sound started in my ears. So that was why Peter had played house for three days. He wasn’t guilty about my burned hand. He was waiting for me to leave the house so he could crack the safe in my dressing room, steal my grandmother’s legacy, and strap it around his mistress’s neck. My hands were shaking so violently I dropped the phone twice before I managed to dial his number. He answered on the second ring. He sounded completely unfazed, as if he’d been waiting for the call. “Diana. I know why you’re calling. Listen, let’s just say I bought it from you. I’ll wire five million into your personal account today. Is that enough?” “Peter,” I breathed, my voice vibrating with a rage so profound it scared me. “Are you out of your absolute mind? You broke into my safe. You stole from me. I am giving you until midnight tonight to bring that necklace back to this house, or I will ruin you.” “Jesus, Diana, calm down. It’s just a piece of jewelry. Haven’t I bought you enough diamonds over the years? I’m not stealing it, I’m compensating you for it. The wire transfer is already pending.” I cut him off. “Men who play God eventually have to face the devil, Peter. I hope you’re ready for the fallout.” I hung up. I immediately dialed Carter. “Accelerate the timeline,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I want the IPO launched within seven days.” There was a brief pause on the line. Then, Carter’s voice, hard and absolute. “Consider it done.” I hung up. I stood in the middle of my silent, immaculate kitchen, trembling with adrenaline. Then, I pulled up my contacts and dialed a number with a +7 country code. Moscow. “Sabrina,” I whispered when the line connected. “I need you.” 4 When I met Sabrina at JFK, I barely recognized her. She was a vision in a sharply tailored, blood-red leather trench coat. She had grown at least two inches taller than me, her hair chopped into a sleek, ruthless bob that framed a face carved out of marble. People in the arrivals terminal were literally stopping to stare at her. If it weren’t for the ten towering, heavily armed Russian private security contractors forming a wedge around her, a dozen men would have tried to hit on her. I ran to her, tears spilling hot and fast down my cheeks. She caught me, wrapping me in a crushing, desperate hug. “Diana. I missed you so much,” she breathed into my hair. “Sabrina…” I sobbed, the sound tearing out of my chest. “Hey, hey. Look at me.” Sabrina pulled back, taking my face in her black-leather-gloved hands, her thumbs gently swiping away my tears. “You’re a titan, Diana. You run an empire from the shadows. Why are you crying? Did my brother do this?” I looked up, stunned. She knew. She knew about my company. Not even my own father knew about my business. It was an entity I had built from the ground up using my grandmother’s inheritance while I was supposedly “just studying” abroad in London for ten years. It had grown into an apex predator in the venture capital world. Sabrina pulled me back against her chest, her hand stroking the back of my head. It was the safest I had felt in years. The cavalry wasn’t just coming. The cavalry was here. I moved Sabrina into one of my private penthouses in Tribeca. I refused to go back to the townhouse I shared with Peter. The next afternoon, Carter sent me a ping with a location. I grabbed Sabrina, telling her I wanted to take her shopping. She just smiled softly, saying she didn’t need anything, but let me drag her out the door. We were strolling arm-in-arm through the most exclusive luxury department store on Fifth Avenue, a discreet phalanx of Russian muscle trailing thirty feet behind us. Sabrina stepped away to use the restroom. I was idly browsing a rack of silk blouses when a voice sliced through the quiet ambiance like a rusted knife. “Oh my god! Peter, look, it’s Diana!” I turned slowly. Bella was clinging to Peter’s bicep like a barnacle. Peter looked momentarily panicked, shifting his weight uneasily, before attempting a mask of authority. “Diana? What are you doing here?” I stared at him deadpan. “I’m in a Bergdorf’s. What do you think I’m doing? Ordering a pizza?” Bella stepped forward, her voice dripping with sickly-sweet concern. “Diana, I heard you and Peter had a fight. Was it over this?” She reached up, her manicured fingers brushing against her collarbone. Resting there, mocking me, was the Tear of Artemis. Something inside me snapped. The world went terrifyingly quiet. I didn’t think. I lunged. I grabbed the heavy platinum chain and ripped it downward with all my body weight. The clasp snapped. Bella let out a blood-curdling shriek. “Ah! Are you crazy?! It cut me!” I gripped the cold diamonds in my fist, a massive wave of relief crashing over me. Carter was right. He had profiled her perfectly. The woman was too vain, too desperate to prove she had won; she would never take it off. She’d wear it in public like a trophy. Peter practically tackled Bella to check on her. A thin, angry red welt was rising on the back of her neck. He spun around, his face contorted with rage. “Diana, how dare you put your hands on her! I told you I bought that from you! I’m wiring you five million dollars! If you want more money, name your price, but you do not assault her like a feral animal! Apologize to Bella right now!” “Assault?” I stepped right into his space, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “You broke into my home and stole from me. You’re nothing but a common thief in a Tom Ford suit.” I looked him dead in the eye. “I’m filing for divorce, Peter.” Peter froze. Next to him, a flash of pure, euphoric victory sparked in Bella’s eyes. But she was a professional victim. She immediately grabbed Peter’s arm, her voice trembling. “Diana, please, you can’t do that! Peter loves you! If this is a misunderstanding, I’ll explain everything. Please don’t throw your marriage away because of me!” I let out a sharp, barking laugh. “Are you seriously that delusional, Bella? You’re older than I am, stop playing the naive little girl. My mother died a long time ago, she never gave me a sister. I’m divorcing Peter because he repulses me. It has absolutely nothing to do with you. You are nothing.” Peter’s face flushed a deep, ugly crimson. As I turned to walk away, he lunged, grabbing my arm and slamming my back against a mirrored pillar. His hand clamped around my jaw, his fingers digging brutally into the soft skin beneath my chin. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” he spat, his breath hot against my face. “You don’t get to file for divorce. Your family begged for this union! The Kensingtons survive off the scraps from my table! I call the shots, Diana. You have no power here.” I thrashed against him, tears of pain pricking my eyes as his grip bruised my jawline. Bella stood three feet away, watching with a small, satisfied smirk. I was just starting to wonder what was taking Sabrina so long. I didn’t even see the blur. I just felt the sudden rush of displaced air. Before I could blink, Peter was violently ripped away from me. He didn’t just fall—he went airborne, crashing backward into a glass display case with a deafening shatter.

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