Category: English

During my first year of long-distance with Ethan, I found a selfie of my best friend, Chloe, on her phone. She was standing on his balcony. I lost my mind right then and there. With teary eyes, she squatted in front of me and said, “I was just helping you drop off his winter clothes. The lighting was great, so I took a quick snap. You can go through my phone if you don’t believe me.” That single sentence made me soft-hearted for three years. For three years, she helped me pick up his Amazon packages, brought him slow-cooked beef stew, and even sent holiday gifts to his parents on my behalf. Everyone told me, “Clara, you must have saved a kingdom in your past life to have a best friend like Chloe.” Until this Thanksgiving, when I finally got some PTO and flew over to surprise him. At the entrance of the apartment building, I ran into Ethan’s neighbor, Mrs. Gable. She was carrying a pumpkin pie and looked me up and down. “Oh, sweetheart, you must be Chloe’s friend, right? She went out to the farmer’s market. She’ll be back in a bit.” I froze. “How do you know she went grocery shopping?” Mrs. Gable smiled warmly and said: “She goes every single morning! It’s been three years. Everyone in this building knows her. We all thought she was Ethan’s wife.” I stood at the building entrance, clutching my suitcase. My feet felt glued to the ground. Three years. She wasn’t helping me look after him. She was living my life.

“Sweetheart, do you want to go upstairs and wait? Chloe will be back soon.” Mrs. Gable kept chatting behind me. I gripped the handle of my suitcase. “No, thank you, Mrs. Gable. I think I got the wrong building.” “The wrong building?” Mrs. Gable leaned over to look at the door number. “No, this is Unit Four. Ethan lives right here…” “I’m not looking for this complex.” I forced a smile, turned around, and dragged my suitcase toward the main gate. My phone buzzed. A Snapchat message from Chloe: “Happy Thanksgiving! Did you get your PTO? If not, I can bring Ethan some pumpkin pie~” Followed by a smiley face. I stared at that smiley face for ten solid seconds. She had used this emoji for three years. I used to think it was sweet and caring—a warm gesture bridging the 800 miles between us. Now, every curve of that smile felt like a slap in the face. I didn’t reply. I opened my chat with Ethan. My last message, “Just landed, giving you a surprise!” was sitting at the very top. Read. No reply. Maybe he was in a meeting. Or maybe he was eating the breakfast she made. I long-pressed the message and hit “Delete.” The system notification popped up and disappeared. Three seconds. It took only three seconds to erase a surprise I had planned for forty-seven days. I hailed an Uber at the gate. “Where to, miss?” “Is there a hotel nearby? Somewhere cheap.” “Take a left at the next intersection. You don’t live here?” “No.” The front desk clerk asked how many nights I’d be staying. I said I didn’t know. She glanced at me and handed over a key card. Sixth floor. The moment I pushed the door open, I gasped—the window faced Ethan’s building directly. I could clearly see his window on the fourth floor. There was a pot of ivy sitting on the sill. I had mailed that ivy to him two years ago. Ethan said on FaceTime that he couldn’t keep it alive, so I told Chloe to look after it. She said no problem. The ivy was living a much better life than my relationship. My phone rang again. Chloe. “?? Clara, why aren’t you replying?” I typed two words: “Busy working.” “Busy with what? Oh, by the way, Ethan said he’s working until eight tonight, so don’t wait up for his FaceTime. I made cinnamon rolls, and I’m going to drop them off for him as a late-night snack.” *Help you.* She always said she was “helping me.” Helping me pick up packages, helping me bring him stew, helping me bake cinnamon rolls, helping me care for the ivy, helping me spend Thanksgiving with him. It was as if all I had to do was say “thank you” from 800 miles away to fulfill my duties as a girlfriend. “Clara?” “Yeah, thank you.” The moment I sent those three words, my fingers recoiled as if they had touched hot iron. Three years. How many times had I said thank you? Every time I said it, she got another chair, another pair of slippers in that home. And every time I said it, I took a step back from my own life. My phone buzzed a third time. Ethan. “Just finished a meeting. What are you doing?” followed by his usual cat-stretching sticker. Looking at that cat, I remembered that Chloe’s canvas tote bag had the exact same cat printed on it. I had given it to her for her birthday last year. Mrs. Gable said she carried it to the farmer’s market every morning. The birthday gift I gave my best friend had become her grocery bag for acting as the lady of the house at my boyfriend’s place. “Clara?” Ethan sent another message. I turned off the screen. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to reply; I just didn’t know who I was anymore. His girlfriend? His neighbors didn’t even know me. The entire building thought another woman was his wife. So who was I? Outside, fireworks were going off. It was Thanksgiving—someone else’s Thanksgiving. Chloe sent a photo. Cinnamon rolls on a white ceramic plate, with the familiar dining table in the background. “All baked! Waiting for Ethan to come back and eat~ Don’t worry.” *Don’t worry.* I stared at the dining table in the photo. At the corner of the table, there was an open book. I couldn’t read the title, but that spot—it was the spot to Ethan’s right, where I used to see him eat during our FaceTimes. That spot was now occupied by someone else’s book. “Okay,” I replied with a single word, then flipped my phone face down. Outside, the fireworks exploded and faded, casting flickering lights across the hotel ceiling. Just like my trust over the past three years—brilliant while it lasted, but leaving nothing but ash when it fell.

“Hi, what time is checkout?” “Twelve noon. If you want to stay longer, it’s another night’s charge.” “I’ll extend it.” The clerk looked up at me but didn’t ask questions. I went back to my room, sat on the edge of the bed, and scrolled through my phone. Not for new messages, but for old records. Chloe and I had over two thousand pages of chat history from the last three years. I started scrolling from the very beginning. Three years ago, that winter, she went to Ethan’s place for the first time. The text went like this: Chloe: “Clothes delivered! Ethan was wearing slippers when he opened the door, so messy haha.” Me: “Thanks Chloe, you’re the best.” Chloe: “No problem, was on my way. His apartment is so warm, I sat for a bit, had a glass of water, and then left.” *Sat for a bit.* It all started with that “sat for a bit.” Scrolling down further. Chloe: “Picked up a package for you today. Ethan wasn’t home, so I left it by his door.” Chloe: “His mom sent some organic eggs. Do you want me to keep some for you?” Chloe: “I washed your coat for you and hung it on the balcony.” Chloe: “Ethan’s water heater broke. I called maintenance for him.” Chloe: “He’s been working late. I made beef stew and brought it over. Don’t worry.” Every single message had an implicit subject. *I am here.* Was she helping me take care of my home? No. She was using my name to move into that home, step by step. I clicked on the photo that had caused our fight three years ago—Chloe’s selfie on Ethan’s balcony. At the time, I confronted her. She squatted in front of me with red eyes, saying she just took it because the light was good, telling me to check her phone. Her phone was indeed clean. No flirting, no shady texts. I had let out a sigh of relief. But now, as I zoomed in on the photo, I noticed something I had missed three years ago. On the balcony floor, there were two pairs of slippers. One pair was gray, men’s. The other was a floral print, women’s. It wasn’t mine. I had never bought floral slippers. My slippers were sent over that spring—solid blue-gray ones, still recorded in my Amazon purchase history. Whose floral slippers were those? The answer arrived before the question did. Her phone had been *too* clean. Back then, when I checked her phone, there wasn’t a single trace of flirting. I thought that was proof of her innocence. But who completely wipes out their chat history with their best friend’s boyfriend? Normal people don’t. Unless every single message is something that cannot be seen. The lack of evidence was the biggest evidence of all. I put down my phone, went to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on my face. The icy water cleared my head. The look on her face three years ago—misty-eyed, aggrieved, innocent. My heart had softened. “That single sentence made me soft-hearted for three years.” I spoke to the mirror, my voice sounding incredibly raspy. Then I added: “I brought this on myself.” I only allowed myself to say it once. I wiped my face, sat back on the bed, and opened another app. DoorDash. I checked Ethan’s account—he had given me his password years ago. Year one: five to six orders a week. Year two: two to three orders. Year three: almost zero. A single man living alone in a long-distance relationship going from eating takeout every day to almost never ordering food. It wasn’t because he learned how to cook. It was because someone was cooking for him every single day. I pulled out my notebook and wrote a line on the last page: *Tomorrow morning, 6:30 AM, Farmer’s Market.* Mrs. Gable said she went every morning. I had to see it with my own eyes. Not to get angry, but to completely kill off the last bit of weakness in my heart. My phone lit up. Ethan sent a voice note. I tapped it. “Clara, why are you so quiet today? Happy Thanksgiving. I miss you.” *I miss you.* His tone was exactly the same as three years ago. Flat, casual, like a phrase he said out of habit. It wasn’t longing. It was routine. “Yeah, Happy Thanksgiving,” I typed and sent. Then I set my alarm for six in the morning.

“The usual, sweetie. A block of fresh artisan cheese.” The vendor smiled, wrapped it up, and handed it over. “Hey Chloe, what’s your man having tonight? Beef stew or chicken noodle soup?” The question came from the vegetable vendor next door. Chloe was holding the canvas bag with the cat print. She wore a cozy, bohemian linen dress with her hair loosely tied back. She smiled and said, “Let’s go with beef stew. He’s been working late, needs some extra energy.” “Alright, I’ll pick out some good potatoes and carrots for you. Ethan is a lucky guy, having someone cook for him every day.” “Oh, stop it,” Chloe laughed, waving her hand. *Your man.* Those two words felt like a needle driving into my skull. I stood twenty yards away behind a fruit stand, my hat pulled down to my eyebrows and a mask covering half my face. I had left the hotel at 6:30 AM. Shortly after seven, she appeared at the entrance of the market. She walked with a light, familiar step, greeting the coffee vendor and joking with the egg seller. Every vendor knew her. She wasn’t a casual shopper; she was a familiar face who showed up every day. She walked past the cheese stand, the vegetable stand, the butcher shop, and finally stopped at the spice stall. “Do you have that organic rosemary? The one I bought last time?” “Yes, indeed. Half a pound again?” “Yeah, he only likes this brand for his stew.” *He.* No last name, no first name. Just one pronoun was enough. Only people who lived together spoke with such casual shorthand. I squeezed an apple from the stand, my nails nearly cutting into the skin. Chloe walked back with a heavy bag of groceries. When she passed by me, she was less than three feet away. I smelled her laundry detergent. It was the lavender scent I had mailed to Ethan. I always used that brand, loved the smell, and sent him several bottles. She carried that scent on her. It wasn’t a passing whiff. She was wearing clothes washed in his machine, sleeping on sheets washed in that detergent, and after a night, the scent had seeped into her hair and collar. The detergent I bought for Ethan was washing her clothes. She walked right past me. She didn’t recognize me. After a few steps, she pulled out her phone, smiled at the screen, and typed. My phone buzzed almost instantly. A Snapchat from Chloe: “Good morning, Clara! The weather is beautiful today. Make sure you eat a good breakfast!” I looked at her retreating back, then at the message on my screen. She had just bought groceries for my boyfriend, walked past me, and turned around to send me a “Good morning.” “Hey, miss, do you want that apple?” the vendor asked. I looked down at the bruised apple in my hand. “No, thank you.” I put the apple down and walked out of the market. The morning sun filtered through the stalls, hitting my face. It was warm, but my spine was freezing. On the way back to the hotel, I passed the side gate of the apartment complex. A little boy on a tricycle almost bumped into me. His mom ran out yelling, “Slow down, buddy!” A normal, bustling, lively routine. But in this neighborhood’s routine, I didn’t even qualify as a passerby. As I stepped into the hotel elevator, my phone buzzed again. A message from Ethan: “Sorry I couldn’t FaceTime last night. Worked way too late. Are you free this afternoon?” *Worked way too late.* Which home did you go back to? Who was waiting for you? I replied: “We’ll see.” The elevator doors closed. Sixth floor, long hallway, card key tap. Standing by the window, I saw Chloe walking into the apartment gate with her groceries. The doorman nodded to her. They knew her. Everyone knew her. The doorman knew her, the vendors knew her, the neighbors knew her, the whole building knew her. The only person they didn’t know was me—the one who actually belonged there. I pulled the curtains shut. “No, thank you.” I repeated the words to myself. They felt like an answer to much more than just the fruit vendor.

“Clara, have you been feeling down lately?” Chloe sent a voice note in the afternoon. I didn’t play it. I just looked at the progress bar: fifty-nine seconds. Just one second shy of a full minute. What was packed into those fifty-nine seconds? Care? Testing the waters? I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to know. I sent a text back: “No, just busy with work.” “That’s good~ Oh, by the way, has your PTO been approved yet? If you can’t make it, I can help you…” “I’m not coming.” I cut her off. “Oh? I thought you wanted to see Ethan?” “Plans changed.” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. “Alright then… don’t overwork yourself. Let me know if you need anything.” *Let me know if you need anything.* Suddenly, a memory flashed in my mind. Last autumn, I had finally saved up enough days off and excitedly told Chloe I was flying over to see Ethan. The very next day, she sent me a link: “Oh my god! Cheap flights to Miami! Only $150 round trip! Let’s do a girls’ trip!” I hesitated. She said, “You can see Ethan anytime, but a beach vacation won’t wait. This price is crazy.” I changed my plans. Last winter, I almost got time off again. I mentioned it to her, and she said, “Don’t buy the ticket yet. I think Ethan has a business trip. Let me check his schedule for you.” After checking, she told me Ethan was going to be out of town for those two weeks. So I didn’t go. Now that I thought about it, I had never once confirmed with Ethan himself whether that business trip actually existed. Every time I tried to get close, she would find a reason to stop me. Cheap tickets, schedule conflicts, urgent projects—every excuse was perfectly reasonable, impeccably considerate. She wasn’t helping me make better plans. She was blocking my path. I pulled out my notebook and added two lines to the list of evidence: *6. The Miami plane ticket last year—stopped my first visit.* *7. The winter ‘business trip’—stopped my second visit.* Then, at the very bottom, I wrote: *Should I go upstairs?* I stared at it for three seconds, then crossed it out. And wrote a new line: *Why should I go upstairs?* What would going upstairs change? To walk in and see him and her sitting in the living room, one peeling apples and the other watching TV? To see two pairs of slippers in the shoe rack, one gray and one floral? To see her grocery list stuck to the fridge? And then what? Cry, scream, listen to him say “it’s not what you think,” and watch her squat down with teary eyes saying “let me explain”? We had already played out that script three years ago. Same script, same lines, same ending—my heart would soften, and she would stay. I closed the notebook. 3:30 PM. The hotel curtains weren’t fully closed, letting a strip of light fall onto the carpet. I looked out the window. Two people walked out of the apartment building entrance. Ethan was in front, carrying two bags of trash. Chloe was behind him, looking down at her phone. There was about half a step’s distance between them. Not too close, not too far. They didn’t look like lovers, but they didn’t look like friends either. They looked like a married couple. The kind of domestic, routine synchronization that comes from muscle memory after the honeymoon phase is long gone. Ethan walked to the dumpster, bent down to drop the bags, and Chloe naturally stood a couple of steps away, waiting. When he turned back, he said something, and she smiled and nodded. No holding hands. No hugs. No physical intimacy whatsoever. Yet this unspoken understanding felt more real than any kiss. You can fake a kiss. You can’t fake a routine. I pulled out my phone and took a photo. Not to show anyone as evidence, but to look at whenever my heart started to soften in the future. Three years ago, she cured my suspicion with her teary eyes. I needed to keep a dose of medicine for myself to prevent a relapse. After taking the photo, I let my hand drop to my side. The two of them walked slowly toward the gate, looking like they were just taking a stroll. Ethan walked on the side closer to the street. That habit used to belong to me. During our first year together, he always walked like that, saying the guy should walk on the outside. Now, someone else stood in that spot. My phone buzzed. A Snapchat from Ethan. “I’m free now. Want to FaceTime?” I looked down at the message, then up at the window—he had pulled out his phone. He was likely typing it right then. Chloe was standing right next to him. He was standing beside her, asking me, “Want to FaceTime?” Like an employee clocking in at the office, opening his work software to handle remote business because it was that time of day. I was that remote business. Their figures grew smaller and smaller as they turned into the side gate. I stared at the closed iron gate and whispered, “No FaceTime.” I pulled out my notebook, flipped to the page that read “Why should I go upstairs?” and added one last line at the bottom: *I’m not going upstairs. No phone calls. No confrontations.* *Not because I’m not angry.* *But because if I go up there, she still wins.* I closed the notebook and started packing my suitcase. My phone lit up. I glanced at it. Chloe’s Instagram story. A photo of the autumn moon with the caption: “A beautiful night for a warm, cozy reunion.” Location: Ethan’s apartment complex. The first comment below was from my mom: “Happy Thanksgiving, Chloe! Thanks for taking care of Ethan for Clara.” Chloe replied: “Of course, Sarah! Clara is my best friend, after all.” I closed Instagram. My best friend. “My best friend lived my life for three years.”

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My husband told me his company was sending him on a three-month business trip to another state. He kissed me goodbye and told me to rest at home and take care of the baby. But last week, I stumbled upon a trending TikTok video from a pregnant creator: “My husband accompanied me to every single prenatal visit. Even the nurses praised him as a model dad-to-be.” “It’s so sad that some women can’t even hold onto their husbands’ hearts when they’re pregnant.” “Look at our baby’s ultrasound! He looks just like his daddy!” The video ended with a photo taken in a hospital hallway. A man was holding her by the shoulder. On his chest was a company badge—identical to my husband’s. Alarm bells went off in my head. Carrying my seven-month pregnant belly, I booked a flight and flew directly to the city where he was supposed to be working. But as soon as I arrived outside his hotel, I saw him getting out of a taxi. I was surprised. Didn’t he say he had meetings all day? I supported my lower back with my hand, preparing to walk over and say hello. Suddenly, another heavily pregnant woman climbed out of the backseat. “Ethan, slow down. Wait for me.” “Didn’t you say no one we know would be here today?” I froze. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I rubbed them to make sure. Just then, my phone dinged. That TikTok account had just uploaded a new post: “Oh no, the first wife just chased us down with her pregnant belly.” 0

“Your husband said your pregnancy was unstable. He was sure you wouldn’t risk taking a flight.” The woman tilted her head, looking at me. She got out of the cab, one hand protecting her belly, the other holding a bag of fresh cherries. Ethan immediately stepped between us, shielding her. “Chloe, listen to me.” I ignored him. “What is your name?” I asked her. The woman shifted the cherries to her other hand and smiled. “Hope. But I guess you already knew that from my posts. Hasn’t Ethan mentioned me to you?” Ethan whipped his head around and glared at her. “Hope! Shut up!” “Why should I?” she snapped. “She was going to find out sooner or later. How long were you planning to hide this? Until I gave birth?” Ethan gasped. He turned back to me, panicking. “Chloe, she’s just an employee from a partner company. We’ve just had a lot of contact during this business trip.” “An employee who calls you ‘husband’?” I interrupted. Beside him, Hope was looking down at her phone, her thumb sliding rapidly across the screen. Two seconds later, my phone dinged. Her account had updated again. It was a candid photo. The angle was from where she was standing. In the frame, Ethan stood in front of me, covered in sweat, his mouth half-open. The caption read: “It’s so funny watching my husband get caught red-handed.” She was live-posting this. She was turning my shock and humiliation into gossip for her thirty thousand followers. “Are you posting this online?” I asked. “Yeah. It’s my pregnancy diary account,” Hope said openly, showing me her screen. The username was *Hope_mommytobe*. “I have thirty thousand followers now. Everyone loves my daily pregnancy updates. The post where Ethan took me to my ultrasound did the best. Over a thousand comments.” The sweat on Ethan’s forehead was dripping like he was in a sauna. “Hope, stop talking nonsense! You’re going to ruin me!” “What did I say that was nonsense?” Hope raised her voice. “Last month, during my 20-week anatomy scan, the technician said it was a boy, and you literally cried tears of joy. Did I make that up too?” He cried. This man, who had only accompanied me to one prenatal visit in seven months—and was thirty minutes late for that one—had cried tears of joy for another woman. I looked down at my own belly. “Ethan.” He flinched when I called him by his first name. “Is this the business trip you talked about? You came here to be her labor support?” He swallowed hard. “The work is real. The project is indeed here.” “Then what about her? What is she to you?” “Chloe, it’s more complicated than you think.” Hope observed me. She took a step closer. “Mrs. Sterling, you’re heavily pregnant too. It must be exhausting to stand out here.” She pulled a key card out of her pocket. “Why don’t we go upstairs and talk? Since you’re already here. The room is big enough. Ethan booked an executive suite.” Ethan reached out to grab the key card, but he missed. She stepped back and slipped it back into her pocket. Then, she leaned in close to my ear. “Ethan doesn’t have the guts to tell you the truth. But don’t worry. I do.” 0

“Ethan, you told me the company booked you a standard room.” I stood in the middle of the executive suite, slowly looking around. Two sets of clothes were hanging on the balcony to dry. A stack of pregnancy magazines sat on the coffee table, their pages dog-eared. On the bathroom sink, two toothbrushes—one blue, one pink—sat in the same cup. Ethan stood by the door, not daring to come in. Hope, on the other hand, made herself right at home. She changed into comfy slippers and walked straight to the fridge. She pulled out a bottle of Greek yogurt. “Make yourself at home, sweetie. The sofa is a bit firm, you should use a pillow.” “How long have you been living here?” I asked. “A little over two months. Ethan came a week early to set everything up.” “Set what up?” She pointed her yogurt bottle at the nightstand. A silver photo frame held a black-and-white ultrasound photo. Below it, a line of text was written in marker: *Baby Cooper, 20 weeks. All healthy. Daddy loves you.* It was Ethan’s handwriting. I had never seen anything like this in our own home. My own prenatal reports were saved in my phone, and he had never even bothered to look at them. “Chloe?” When I snapped back to reality, a notebook had been placed in my hand. I opened the cover. Again, it was Ethan’s handwriting. *Our Journey: Hope and Cooper’s Growth Diary.* The first page was a hand-drawn timeline. *Week 16: Felt the first kick today. Hope said it felt like a little fish kissing her belly.* *Week 18: Accompanied Hope to her anatomy scan. Everything is perfect. Treated my wife to a nice dinner to celebrate.* *Week 20: Took maternity photos. I almost cried when Hope put on the red dress.* He called her “my wife.” Every page was written in excruciating detail. It contained more words than he had spoken to me over the phone during his entire trip. During my seven months of pregnancy, his updates from this city had always been just one word: “Fine.” Ethan shuffled a few steps into the room. “Chloe, that notebook… Hope made me write it.” “If she asked you to jump off a bridge, would you do that too?” I closed the notebook with a snap. Hope finished her yogurt and wiped her mouth with a tissue. “Sweetie, don’t make it hard on him. A man caught in the middle has it the worst.” “I only care about myself and my baby,” Hope continued. “Ethan promised he would be there for the delivery. He can’t back out of that.” “He seems to have promised you a lot,” I said coldly. “Not that much.” She counted on her fingers. “Every prenatal visit. The luxury postpartum retreat is booked. He’s paying for all the baby clothes and gear. Oh, and this.” She picked up her phone and showed me her Amazon purchase history. A high-end stroller. A car seat. A newborn set. A postpartum recovery package. Transaction after transaction. It added up to over five thousand dollars. The cardholder’s name was Ethan. All purchased within the last two months. Last month, Ethan told me his quarterly bonus was delayed. He asked me to cover my own medical bills first. I believed him. I even transferred fifteen hundred dollars to his account, telling him to buy himself some decent winter clothes. That money was probably sitting right there in her Amazon cart. Hope was observant. Seeing the change in my expression, she smirked and tapped her phone. Three seconds later, my phone vibrated. Her account updated. No photo this time, just text: “The first wife saw the baby diary my husband wrote for me. She couldn’t say a single word.” Ethan rushed over to grab the notebook. “Chloe, it’s not convenient to talk here. Let’s go home.” Suddenly, his phone rang. Hope glanced at the screen and smiled. “Answer it, Ethan. It’s your mom. She was upset when you missed her call yesterday. She wants to talk about baby names today.” 0

“Ethan, did Hope do her three-hour glucose test today? How were the results?” When my mother-in-law Eleanor’s voice came through the speaker, I felt like I was in a nightmare. It wasn’t Ethan who answered. Hope had grabbed his phone and turned on the speakerphone. “Eleanor, it’s me. Ethan is busy right now. The test is done, and everything is perfectly normal. Don’t worry.” The tone on the other end of the line was incredibly warm. “That’s wonderful, dear. I mailed the organic prenatal supplements you wanted. They should arrive the day after tomorrow. Don’t hesitate to ask if you need more.” “Thank you, Eleanor.” Ethan’s face turned green. He kept gesturing wildly for Hope to hang up, but she ignored him. “Eleanor, there’s something else. Ethan’s… other one is here today.” Silence fell over the line. Then, Eleanor let out a cold “Oh.” “Is Ethan there? Put him on.” Ethan snatched the phone, turned off the speaker, and walked to the corner. But the suite wasn’t that big. I could hear every word. “Mom, don’t panic.” “Did you listen to a word I said? Didn’t you say she wouldn’t come?” “It was an accident.” “Handle it quickly. Hope is far along now. She can’t take any stress, remember that!” “Mom, Chloe is pregnant too.” “We still don’t even know if hers is a boy or a girl. Hope is confirmed to have a boy. The Sterling family hasn’t had a male heir in three generations, Ethan. You need to know who is more important.” *Who is more important.* His legal wife, seven months pregnant, had traveled halfway across the country, only to be dismissed as a “variable” that needed to be “handled.” Ethan hung up and turned around. “Chloe, my mom…” “How long has your mother known her?” I asked. Ethan opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Hope answered for him. “Two months. Ethan introduced us over FaceTime. Eleanor said I have a sweet personality. She even sent me a thousand-dollar welcome gift.” She paused, then added, “A thousand dollars.” When Ethan and I got married, Eleanor’s gift to me was a cheap set of dinnerware. She had even complained that our small backyard wedding was a waste of money. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Ethan went to open it. A middle-aged woman in her late forties walked in, a designer purse draped over her arm. She scanned the room, her eyes locking onto me. “Are you the wife?” Hope ran over and hugged her arm. “Mom, what are you doing here? I didn’t call you.” “You posted that she was here! How could I not come? What if she gets violent and hurts you or the baby?” Brenda glared at me. “Listen, young lady,” Brenda said, stepping forward. “My daughter is carrying Ethan’s baby. Ethan’s mother has accepted it, and Ethan has accepted it. Making a scene won’t benefit anyone.” Before I could speak, she pulled a red folder from her bag and shoved it into my hands. “See for yourself.” I opened it. It was a pre-registration form for a birth certificate from the local hospital. Under *Father*: Ethan Sterling, with his social security number. Under *Mother*: Hope (Naomi). “Ethan filed this himself last month. My daughter didn’t force him,” Brenda said triumphantly. I remembered. Last month, Ethan told me his company was doing a team-building retreat. I was at the clinic doing my own glucose test that day, and he had texted me: *You’re doing great, babe.* It turned out his “retreat” was a trip to sign a birth certificate pre-registration for another woman’s child. Brenda patted my hand condescendingly. “If you’re smart, we can sit down and negotiate. If you want to make trouble, let me tell you, my family isn’t one to be messed with.” 0

“Ethan, how much is left of our $40,000 joint savings?” He didn’t answer. I opened my banking app right in front of everyone. The loading circle spun for three agonizing seconds. When the page finally loaded, I stared at the balance. $32.17. Forty thousand dollars in savings, and only thirty-two dollars remained. I pulled up the transaction history. It was filled with transfers from the past three months. Postpartum retreat deposit: $5,000. Baby gear: $3,800. And a massive transfer of $15,000 with the memo: *Rent.* “Fifteen thousand dollars for rent? Did you rent a penthouse?” Ethan finally broke. He sat on the floor, holding his head in his hands. “Hope liked a luxury apartment. She wanted a one-year lease. She said we couldn’t stay in a hotel after the baby was born. The baby needs a proper home.” “So you spent the thirty thousand dollars my parents got from refinancing their workshop? The money they gave us for a house down payment?” “Chloe, I will pay it back.” “With what?” My voice wasn’t loud. But the room fell dead silent. Brenda was the first to recover. She snorted. “That’s between you two. It has nothing to do with my daughter. Ethan is spending his own money to support his own child. That’s only natural.” “Out of that forty thousand, thirty thousand belongs to my parents!” “So what? Once money enters a joint account, it’s marital property. Don’t you know the law?” I didn’t reply. Hope unlocked her phone and showed me a gallery of photos. It was a beautifully decorated nursery. “Ethan painted it himself. He spent three days picking the perfect warm yellow, saying our baby’s room needs to feel like sunshine.” She swiped to the next photo. A close-up of a handmade crib mobile with a tiny felt elephant. “He sewed this elephant himself. He pricked his fingers so many times.” I stood up. My legs felt weak, and I had to lean on the edge of the coffee table for support. “I’m going to the hospital.” Ethan looked up sharply. “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?” “None of your business.” “Chloe—” “I said, stay away from me!” I grabbed my bag and walked out. Downstairs, I called an Uber and put in the address of the nearest women’s hospital. I went straight to the ER. When the nurse asked for my symptoms, I told her I was experiencing frequent contractions. I was seven months pregnant and needed a fetal monitor. The nurse handed me a form to fill out. Name. Age. Weeks of pregnancy. Emergency contact. Out of sheer habit, I wrote down Ethan’s name and number. The nurse took the form to enter it into the system. As she typed, her brow furrowed. “Mrs. Sterling? Ethan Sterling’s wife?” “Yes.” She typed a few more times, then looked at me with a very strange expression. “But… we already have an active file for a Mrs. Sterling under Ethan Sterling. She registered last week. She’s six months pregnant.” She turned the monitor slightly toward me. At the top of the digital file was a photo. It was Hope’s face. Next to her name, it read: *Emergency Contact / Spouse: Ethan Sterling.* Every prenatal visit on the record had his signature, from the initial registration to the most recent appointment. The nurse looked back and forth between my face and the screen. She had probably seen enough drama in the ER to guess what was happening. She asked gently, “So… who are you to him?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “464049”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

After waking up from the car crash, Julian, my boyfriend of seven years, had amnesia. He remembered everyone. Except me. Right in front of my face, he held Scarlett, the newly hired intern, tightly in his arms. His eyes were filled with hostility: “I don’t know you. Please don’t scare Scarlett.” My friends kept telling me to let it go, saying he was just sick. I thought so too. Until that day, I came home early. Through the cracked door of our apartment, I heard him comforting Scarlett: “Don’t worry. The doctor said selective amnesia is almost impossible to disprove.” “As long as I don’t ‘recover’ my memory, my mother can’t force me to marry Chloe. We can finally be together out in the open.” Standing outside the door, listening to them plan their future, I didn’t even have the energy to push the door open. I didn’t call him out on his pathetic acting. Instead, I quietly called my lawyer. I wanted to cash out and transfer every single share of his startups that was registered under my name. Since he chose to forget me, I would help him make it permanent. Along with the entire net worth he was so proud of.

“Chloe… what are you doing here?” The moment the door opened from the inside, Julian’s relaxed expression instantly switched to a cold, distant mask. He was getting really good at this. His brows furrowed slightly, a hint of confusion in his eyes. He took half a step back, instinctively shielding Scarlett behind him. A textbook amnesia reaction. It was so perfect I almost wanted to applaud. “My name is Chloe,” I said, my voice as flat as if I were introducing myself to a stranger. “Your girlfriend. For seven years.” “I’m sorry, but I really… don’t remember you.” His gaze drifted over my shoulder, his voice dropping into a perfectly rehearsed tone of apology. “Scarlett, don’t be scared.” Scarlett peeked out from behind his back, her fingers gently tugging at his shirt. “Julian, she won’t do anything to me, right?” Her voice was dripping with sweet innocence, but her eyes were crystal clear, without a single trace of actual fear. At this moment, I finally understood what great chemistry looked like. One actor, one enabler. If I didn’t know the truth, I probably would have believed I was some psycho stalker harassing a poor trauma patient. “I just came back to grab some things,” I said, walking past him without a hint of emotion. “I’ll leave as soon as I’m done.” Julian’s hand suddenly gripped the doorframe. “Is this… my apartment?” He looked around the place in confusion, pretending he was seeing the luxury condo we had shared for the past two years for the very first time. I didn’t reply and walked straight to the home office. Scarlett followed closely behind Julian, her voice soft and timid. “Julian, maybe I should leave first. I don’t want to cause any trouble between you two…” “Stay.” His voice was firm and protective. He wrapped an arm around Scarlett’s shoulder and glared at me. “Please leave as soon as you get your stuff. Scarlett gets anxious easily.” I pulled open the desk drawer and gathered the documents I needed. The deed to this condo and the equity papers for his three startups all had one name written clearly under the owner’s section—Chloe. Back when he started the companies, he registered everything under my name to avoid previous tax liabilities and to show his “absolute devotion.” He thought it was a grand gesture of trust. Now, it just looked like a shortcut to his own ruin. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from Liam, my attorney. [Chloe, the 38% stake you hold in Aura Tech is currently valued at around $6.7 million. Do you want me to initiate the transfer protocol tomorrow?] I flipped my phone face down on the desk, not replying immediately. The office door pushed open. Scarlett stood there, holding a glass of water. “Chloe,” she tilted her head, a curious, mocking smile playing on her lips. “Were you and Julian really together for seven years?” “Yes.” “But Julian said he feels absolutely nothing when he looks at you.” She placed the glass on the desk, her manicured finger tracing the rim. “He said if he really loved you once, it would be impossible to forget everything. Don’t you think?” “So, he figures your past relationship… probably wasn’t that deep anyway.” Every word was wrapped in cotton, but they were meant to draw blood. I closed my folder and looked up at her. “His exact words?” Scarlett didn’t say yes or no. She just smiled. “Chloe, if he never remembers you, will you finally let him go?” “Yes.” I answered so fast that Scarlett’s smile froze for a second. She had probably prepared a whole speech to guilt-trip me, but she didn’t expect me to be this easy. “Oh… that’s good then.” She backed up to the door, her voice returning to that soft, whiny pitch. “Julian will be so relieved.” I grabbed my folder and walked out of the office. Julian was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone. Seeing me walk out, he tilted his chin up. “Done?” “Done.” “In the future… please don’t come back if you can avoid it,” he said with polite, distant hostility. “I don’t want Scarlett to feel uncomfortable.” I bent down at the foyer to put on my shoes. “Julian.” “Yeah?” “All those startup investments under your name—they are legally mine. You do know that, right?” His body stiffened for a fraction of a second. His pupils dilated slightly. But he quickly recovered, putting back on his confused amnesia face. “What investments? I don’t really remember…” “It’s fine.” I opened the door and walked out. The hallway lights flickered on one by one as I walked toward the elevator. I pulled out my phone and replied to Liam. [Tomorrow is too slow. Start tonight.] Three seconds later, he replied. [Chloe, $6.7 million is a massive amount of equity. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to think it over?] I stood in front of the mirrored elevator doors, looking at my reflection. My eyes weren’t red, and my hands weren’t shaking. I looked completely fine. [I’ve been thinking about it for seven years, Liam. That’s long enough.]

“Chloe, does Julian really not remember anything?” Helen’s voice came through the line, heavy with anxiety. Helen was Julian’s mother, and she had been the one pushing hardest for us to get married. “The doctor said it’s selective amnesia. It might take some time,” I repeated the script. Every word felt like ash in my mouth. “Then you need to spend more time with him, honey. Seven years of love doesn’t just vanish…” Helen sighed. “His father is already contacting the best neurologists in New York. Don’t worry.” “Thank you, Helen.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her son’s brain was perfectly fine. It was so fine that he could play the sick patient to his family, play the passionate lover to Scarlett, and play a cold stranger to me. After hanging up, Liam sent over the first batch of documents. The 38% stake in Aura Tech had already been routed through a private offshore holding company. The transaction was expected to clear within three days. Three days. The fortune Julian had spent three years building would evaporate in three days. The next morning, Paige invited me out for coffee. She was my college roommate and the only one who knew the whole truth. “You’re telling me he’s faking it?” Paige stopped her coffee cup halfway to her mouth, staring at me in disbelief. “I heard him with my own eyes. He was teaching Scarlett how to play along.” “Shut up!” Paige slammed her cup down, cursing under her breath. “I knew that guy was trash! Seven years, Chloe. You gave him the best years of your life, and he threw it away for an intern.” “Which is why I’m taking my payment back.” Paige must have read something in my eyes. “What are you planning to do?” “Every single one of his investments is under my name—Aura Tech, Apex Data, Nova Media. Combined, they are worth at least ten million dollars.” Paige gasped. “Are you crazy? What if he finds out?” “So what if he does? The assets are legally mine. Selling my own property isn’t a crime.” I stirred my coffee without drinking it. “Besides, he has amnesia, remember? He doesn’t even know who I am. How could he remember his investments?” Paige stared at me for a few seconds, then a slow grin spread across her face. “Chloe, you are ruthless. I love it.” “I learned from the best.” Just then, the coffee shop door chimed. Julian walked in, holding hands with Scarlett. Scarlett was wearing a floral sundress, leaning against his shoulder as if she wanted the whole world to know she was the chosen one. Paige’s face instantly darkened. Julian noticed me too. He paused for a second, then naturally guided Scarlett toward a table in the far corner to avoid us. But Scarlett had other plans. She let go of Julian’s hand and walked straight to our table. She leaned in, her voice just loud enough for the neighboring tables to hear. “Chloe, I forgot to tell you yesterday—Julian asked me to move in with him.” “He said the apartment is too big and lonely for just one person.” Paige clenched her fists. I gently placed my hand over hers to calm her down. “Sure, go ahead,” I took a slow sip of my coffee. “The AC filter needs changing, by the way, and the kitchen sink clogs every three days. It’s perfect timing for you to take over.” Scarlett’s smirk faltered. She didn’t expect me to be so calm. No tears, no screaming, no confrontation. “Are you… not even mad?” “Why would I be? He has brain damage and needs a nurse. Since you’re volunteering for free labor, I should be thanking you.” A flash of anger crossed Scarlett’s eyes. She didn’t want my composure; she wanted my breakdown. Only if I lost my mind could she play the victim card and show everyone how “understanding” she was. “Scarlett, let’s go.” Julian called out from the corner, his voice laced with impatience. Scarlett gave me a tight, fake smile and turned away. Paige finally let go of her fists, her nails leaving deep crescents in her palms. “Chloe, let me go over there and slap her.” “Don’t waste your energy.” I unlocked my phone. Liam had just sent a new message. [Chloe, we have a slight problem with Apex Data. Julian’s partner, Gavin, noticed the pending equity transfer notice. He has already called Julian three times.] Gavin. Julian’s childhood friend and the co-founder of Apex Data. He was ten times smarter than Julian. If he smelled a rat, my entire plan would go up in flames. “Paige, I need a favor.” “Name it.” “Is Gavin still trying to secure that clean energy project? Help me set up a meeting between him and the reps at Vanguard Group. Tomorrow. Any excuse will do.” Paige looked at me, her eyes gleaming. “A distraction?” “Gavin cares about the equity transfer because he’s worried about the company’s future. Let’s give him something much bigger to worry about.” I grabbed my bag and stood up. Paige called out behind me. “Chloe, what happens after you take everything? What’s the end game?” “I’m going to strip away everything he prides himself on, piece by piece.”

“Chloe, did you touch my files?” Julian’s voice over the phone was sharp and demanding. He didn’t even bother with a greeting. I could feel his anxiety radiating through the speaker. “What files?” “The equity agreements in my office drawer. A few of them are missing.” He was trying to sound casual, but the interrogation tone was glaring. I propped the phone between my shoulder and ear while flipping through the final clearance documents Liam had just emailed me. Aura Tech’s 38% was officially sold. The funds were locked in my account. “I thought you had amnesia, Julian. How did you know those files were in your office drawer?” The line went dead silent for three seconds. “…Scarlett found them while she was helping me clean up.” A quick cover-up. His voice immediately shifted back to that confused, distant tone. “Even though I don’t remember what they are, they seem important. Right?” “Very important. Which is why I kept them safe for you.” “You—” “Don’t worry, I won’t lose them. After all, you’re the one with memory loss, not me.” The sarcasm was heavy. Before he could snap, I heard Scarlett whispering something in the background, and Julian abruptly hung up. Liam’s end went smoother than expected. Gavin was completely consumed by the Vanguard Group proposal. He spent two straight days in meetings, leaving him no time to dig into the Apex Data share transfer. But trouble came from another direction. At 3:00 PM, my HR director called me. “Chloe, can you step into the conference room?” When I pushed the door open, both the department VP and the company’s legal counsel were sitting there. On the table lay a formal complaint. Complainant: Scarlett. Charge: Workplace Harassment and Stalking. “Chloe, Scarlett is a new intern at our firm. She claims you have repeatedly threatened her in the office and have been stalking her commute.” The VP adjusted his glasses. “Given your personal history with her partner, the company believes it’s best if you cooperate with an internal investigation.” I looked at the complaint. It had three screenshots of text messages attached. They were completely photoshopped. Scarlett had taken what I said at the coffee shop, cropped it, and combined it with fake Snapchat messages to create a narrative of me threatening her life. “These screenshots are fake.” “We will investigate that. But until we reach a conclusion, we suggest you take a temporary suspension with pay,” the VP said, his tone polite but firm. “This is for your own good, and for Scarlett’s safety.” For Scarlett’s safety. She moved into my apartment, took my boyfriend, wore the floral dress I bought, and now she was kicking me out of the company. The company—Nova Media—where I legally owned 35% of the shares. I didn’t make a scene. “Fine. I will cooperate.” As I walked out of the conference room, Scarlett happened to walk by, holding a Starbucks cup. The moment she saw me, she gasped dramatically, taking a step back and almost spilling her drink. “Chloe, please… you’re not going to threaten me again, are you?” Her voice was just loud enough to carry down the hall. Several colleagues stopped and stared. Their eyes were filled with pity, curiosity, and judgment—and none of it was directed at Scarlett. “Scarlett,” I stopped and looked at her. “Do you know who the largest individual shareholder of Nova Media is?” She blinked, playing innocent. “It’s Julian, right? He told me he owns this place.” “Wrong.” I walked up to her, close enough to smell the perfume she was wearing—the exact bottle I had left in my bathroom. “It’s me.” Scarlett’s smug grin faltered, turning into a look of sheer panic. I didn’t give her time to process. I turned around and walked out. Paige’s call came in as I reached the lobby. “Chloe, we have a problem. Julian just posted a public statement on his Instagram. He claims a ‘stalker ex’ is harassing his new girlfriend and warning local businesses not to associate with you.” “How long has it been up?” “Thirty minutes. It already has over a hundred comments. Everyone in our social circle has seen it.” The elevator dinged. Two of my coworkers were inside, but they shut their mouths the second they saw me. I stepped in and pressed the lobby button. “Paige, can we transfer my 35% stake in Nova Media today?” “Today?! That’s his flagship company… Are you sure?” The doors closed, and the mirrored walls reflected my face. Maybe it was the harsh fluorescent lighting, but my eyes looked slightly watery. “He already told the world I’m not his girlfriend. So why should I keep protecting his assets?”

“Chloe, please, just take your mom’s call.” When Paige handed me the phone, her face looked worse than mine. I looked at the screen. It wasn’t my mom. It was Helen. I hesitated for a second, then answered. “Chloe, sweetie… is Julian really doing this?” Helen’s voice sounded incredibly tired, older than I had ever heard her. “I just saw his Instagram post. I was furious! Please don’t listen to him. You are his girlfriend, and nothing changes that—” “Helen,” I interrupted her gently. “Scarlett has already moved into our apartment.” There was a long silence on the other end. “What?” “He said I’m not his girlfriend, and he’s right. I’m not anymore.” “Chloe, listen to me, I will talk to him—” “I have to go, Helen.” I hung up. It wasn’t that I didn’t respect Helen. It was just that I knew exactly how this would play out. If Helen confronted him, Julian would just put on a more dramatic show of his “brain injury,” and Scarlett would cry about how she was “just taking care of him.” In the end, I would still be the villain trying to tear them apart. Liam came over that afternoon with a stack of papers for me to sign. It was the equity transfer agreement for Nova Media. The buyer was Summit Capital. “Chloe, with Aura Tech and Nova Media combined, we’ve liquidated about $7 million of Julian’s portfolio.” Liam closed his folder and looked at me. “Only Apex Data is left. That’s the big one—worth about $4 million. But…” “But what?” “Apex Data has a strict board-approval clause for major equity transfers. Gavin is on the board. He will never let this slip through.” Gavin was the hurdle. And now that his meetings with Vanguard Group were wrapping up, he would definitely notice the anomaly soon. “Is there any way around it?” “Yes, but it takes time. Or… we need Julian’s personal signature authorizing an express transfer.” Getting a guy who was faking amnesia to sign over his own fortune. “I’ll handle it.” I took the files back to the guest room Paige had set up for me. After a shower, I unlocked my phone to find a barrage of messages from our mutual friends. [Chloe, Julian says you won’t stop calling him. Is that true? Scarlett seems like a sweet girl, don’t do this to her.] [Hey Chloe, I saw Scarlett crying in the office today. Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit too far?] [Chloe, get a grip. You’re just pushing him further away.] I read them all, didn’t reply, and deleted every single one. At 2:00 AM, my phone rang from an unknown number. I was going to ignore it, but the caller dialed four times in a row. “Hello?” “Chloe, it’s Scarlett.” Her voice was incredibly clear in the quiet of the night, filled with smug satisfaction. “Calling me this late? What do you want?” “I just thought you should know something.” Scarlett paused, letting the silence hang. “I’m pregnant.” “It’s Julian’s.” My fingers tightened around the phone. The hallway was pitch black, and the only sound was my own breathing. “He said once the baby is born, he’ll cut all ties with you legally,” Scarlett whispered. “So, Chloe, stop wasting your time.” “All your little legal stunts? Julian is going to find out sooner or later.” That last sentence made my heart skip a beat. Stunts? Did she know something, or was she just bluffing? “Scarlett,” I gripped my phone, my voice incredibly steady. “Congratulations.” “What?” “Congratulations on getting pregnant by a man who has to fake brain damage just to get out of a relationship.” I hung up, my eyes burning. Paige opened her bedroom door, probably woken up by the noise. “Who was that?” “Scarlett. She says she’s pregnant.” Paige froze, then sat down next to me on the bed. “Is she serious?” “I don’t know. But real or fake, my time is running out.” My phone buzzed again. It was a text from Liam. [Chloe, Gavin is back in the Apex Data office. He just scheduled a meeting with Julian for tomorrow afternoon. He said it’s urgent.] Paige leaned over to look at the screen, her face turning pale. “If they meet, your plan…” “Which is why before tomorrow morning, I need Julian to open that door for me himself.” “How?” I closed my eyes. “Simple. I’ll make him think that signing those papers is the only way to protect Scarlett.”

“Julian, Chloe is here. She says she needs you to sign something urgently.” Scarlett’s voice echoed from inside the apartment, sweet but laced with hidden venom. When Julian opened the door, he was wearing lounge pants, his hair still damp from the shower. His brow was furrowed, already wearing his trademark “Who are you?” expression. I didn’t give him a chance to act. “Helen sent me,” I said, thrusting the papers into his hands. “There’s an issue with your Apex Data brokerage account. Aura Tech’s recent buyout triggered a system audit, and they need the primary shareholder’s signature to verify the accounts.” I pointed directly to the signature line at the bottom. “If you don’t sign, your personal accounts will be frozen by tomorrow morning. None of your cards will work.” I had to make him believe he was signing to protect his funds, not giving them away. Julian took the document and scanned it. He read quickly, but Liam had drafted the paperwork brilliantly. The transfer clause was buried deep in Exhibit C, surrounded by dense, exhausting legal jargon. No normal person would read it word-for-word, especially not a guy trying to pretend he had a traumatic brain injury. “I don’t really understand this,” Julian muttered, staying in character. “Can you explain it?” “It’s just a standard verification form. Your mother is frantic. She said if you don’t sign it now, she’s driving over here tonight.” Mentioning Helen was the ultimate trigger. Julian’s face changed. Scarlett was currently living in the apartment. If Helen showed up with security, things would get very ugly. He hesitated for less than ten seconds. Scarlett poked her head out from behind him. “Julian, just sign it. We don’t want your mom making a scene tonight.” How helpful of her. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper was incredibly quiet, but to me, it sounded like a heavy chain snapping. “Done. Now leave,” Julian handed the papers back and began to shut the door. “Julian.” “What?” “Thank you.” I slipped the documents into my bag, walked straight into the elevator, and dialed Liam’s number. “I got the signature.” “On it, Chloe. I’m filing the transfer immediately. The $4 million from Apex Data will clear within forty-eight hours.” “Which means… including the previous sales, the entire $11 million fortune Julian registered under your name will be completely transferred out in two days.” Eleven million dollars. He had put that money under my name because he thought I would always be there. Or rather, he believed I would never have the guts to touch it. “Liam, once the transfer is complete, I need a physical statement.” “What kind of statement?” “A complete ledger of all transactions, bank transfers, and dates. Print three copies. One for me, one for your records, and mail the last one directly to Julian’s office front desk.” Those forty-eight hours passed agonizingly slowly. On the first day, Julian posted a photo on Instagram. It was Scarlett curled up on his couch watching a movie, captioned: *Peaceful nights with my favorite person.* The comments were flooded with heart emojis. No one tagged me. On the second afternoon, my phone rang. It was Gavin. “Chloe, what the hell is going on? Why is 35% of Apex Data’s equity being transferred to an offshore account?” His voice was freezing, completely stripped of his usual friendly tone. “Julian signed the authorization,” I replied calmly. “He signed it?! The guy has amnesia! Did he even know what he was signing?” “He read the document, asked me to clarify, and signed it of his own free will. The signature is notarized.” Gavin fell into a long, heavy silence. “Chloe, do you have any idea what you’ve done? Pulling that much capital out is going to trigger a margin call. Apex’s cash flow is going to crash.” “Then Julian will have to handle it. After all, he’s the one who signed the papers.” I hung up. My hands were shaking slightly. But I didn’t care. At 9:17 PM, Liam sent the final confirmation email. [All assets cleared. Total liquidated amount: $11,362,000. Funds have been successfully moved into your private trust. Julian now has zero equity in any of the three startups.] I stared at the number on the screen for a long time. Then, I copied the FedEx tracking number and texted it to Paige. [Tomorrow, a very special package will arrive at Julian’s office.] Paige replied instantly. [What’s inside?] [The most expensive breakup letter of his life.]

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I can’t remember exactly which day Julian started sleeping with his back turned to me. When we were dating, he always had to face me. He would wrap his arms tightly around my waist. Even when I complained about the heat and pushed him away, he would petulantly pull my pillow closer, whispering that it was the only way he felt safe. But in the seventh year of our marriage, our single duvet split into two. Two days ago, under the pretext that my snoring was keeping him awake, he suggested we sleep in separate rooms. I didn’t believe him. I quietly downloaded a sleep tracker app. The next morning, I played back the recording. For eight solid hours, the bedroom was so quiet you could barely hear a breath. There was no snoring. There were only the sounds of him tossing and turning eleven times, and seventeen heavy, stifled sighs in the darkness. I counted them, one by one, until a sudden chill washed over me. If someone still has even a shred of affection left for the person beside them, they don’t sigh seventeen times in a single night. I didn’t confront him. Until tonight, when I woke up with a start. He was still facing away from me, the faint glow of his phone screen reflecting off the wall. At that moment, I realized with a dull ache that I didn’t even care enough to wonder what he was looking at, or who he was texting. I calmly turned over, giving him my back as well. Then, in the silence of the night, I opened my Notes app and typed the only thing on my to-do list for tomorrow: *Contact lawyer. Draft divorce papers.* As it turned out, a marriage doesn’t need a spectacular affair to die. A single sigh in the dark is more than enough.

“You were grinding your teeth again last night. It kept me awake all night.” Julian stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the collar of his navy-blue French cuff shirt. He shot me a cold look through the glass. I sat on the edge of the bed, my phone screen still open to the sleep tracker app. The screen had already gone black. “I barely moved last night,” I said quietly, keeping my voice low. “Barely moved? Then why didn’t I get a single wink of sleep?” He spun around, his brows furrowing with irritation. He strode over to the nightstand, picked up his Patek Philippe watch, and strapped it onto his wrist. “Audrey, can you please stop walking around with that miserable face all the time?” “I’m just saying, I didn’t move.” I looked up at him. “Whatever. I don’t have the energy to argue with you.” He waved his hand dismissively, as if I were some hysterical child. “I’ve already had the maid clean out the study. Starting tonight, I’m sleeping there.” There it was. He had finally said what he’d been planning all along. I watched him finish fastening his watch strap, his movements smooth and decisive. “Okay,” I replied. Just one word. Julian froze. He clearly hadn’t expected me to agree so easily. Based on his past experience, I should have had tears in my eyes, demanding answers, or desperately promising that I’d do better. But the flash of surprise in his eyes was quickly replaced by contempt. “I’m glad you’re finally being reasonable. We both need some personal space.” He walked to the door, his hand resting on the brass handle. He paused. “By the way, Chloe is coming over tonight to pick up some tax documents. Cook something nice.” Chloe. At the mention of her name, my fingers tightened around my phone. She was the new Chief Financial Officer at Julian’s company—young, beautiful, and an Ivy League grad. Most importantly, she possessed the one thing Julian was currently obsessed with: an effortless, laid-back vibe. “Got it,” I said, standing up and heading toward the walk-in closet. Julian didn’t leave immediately. He stared at my back, trying to find a crack in my calm facade. “Chloe has a sensitive stomach, so nothing too spicy. She likes fresh seafood.” He sounded like a perfect host, meticulously detailing his guest’s preferences. “We haven’t bought seafood in months,” I said, without turning around. “Then go buy some! Audrey, you sit at home all day doing nothing. Can’t you handle a simple dinner without me holding your hand?” His voice rose, dripping with condescension. I turned around to look at the man I had loved for seven years. His suit was perfectly tailored, his hair immaculately styled. Every inch of him exuded the arrogance of a successful man. “I’ll buy it,” I said, my tone remaining entirely flat. Julian looked like he had punched a wall of cotton. His face soured. “Just make sure you don’t wear that sour face in front of Chloe. She’s a sweet girl. She doesn’t understand the petty passive-aggressive drama of stay-at-home wives.” With that, he slammed the door and left. With a loud bang, the massive villa plunged back into dead silence. I walked to the window and watched his black Maybach pull out of the driveway. The sun was bright, making my eyes sting. I turned and walked into the study he had just prepared for himself. The room smelled faintly of cedarwood cologne. It was Julian’s signature scent, but today, it made me feel slightly nauseous. A few files were scattered across the desk. I walked over, intending to tidy them up. Tucked beneath a stack of financial reports was a small pink sticky note. Written in neat, looping cursive, complete with a playful smiley face: *Julian, listening to you sigh on FaceTime last night broke my heart. See you tonight. — Chloe xx* I stared at the note, the seventeen heavy sighs from the recording echoing in my mind once more. So, he wasn’t sighing because of insomnia. He was sighing for another woman’s sympathy. I didn’t tear the note. I placed it back exactly where I found it, right under the reports. Then, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I had saved long ago. “Mr. Sterling, it’s Audrey. Yes, you can start drafting the divorce agreement.” “As fast as possible.” Hanging up, I took a deep breath and quietly closed the study door behind me.

At 5:00 PM, the doorbell rang right on cue. Untying my apron, I wiped my wet hands and went to open the door. Julian and Chloe were standing on the porch. Chloe wore a cream silk blouse paired with beige wide-leg trousers. She looked both professional and incredibly soft. “Audrey, I hope we aren’t interrupting! Julian kept boasting that your steamed sea bass is legendary, and I’ve been craving it for ages.” She beamed at me, holding out a beautifully wrapped luxury wellness basket. “Come on in,” I said, stepping aside to let them pass. Julian naturally took the basket from her hand and set it on the entryway console. “I told you not to bring anything. She doesn’t really care about this kind of stuff anyway,” Julian said, a subtle trace of tenderness in his voice. “Oh, stop! It’s my first time visiting your home. It’s only polite,” Chloe said, sliding into the guest slippers I had prepared, stepping gracefully into the living room. I watched them interact with such comfortable familiarity. It felt like I was the intruder in my own home. Dinner was elaborate. As I brought the final bowl of soup to the table, Julian had already pulled out a chair for Chloe. “Try this. It’s Audrey’s specialty.” Julian used the serving fork to place a delicate piece of fish onto Chloe’s plate. Chloe took a bite, her eyes lighting up instantly. “Oh my gosh, this is amazing! Audrey, you’re such an incredible cook. No wonder Julian rushes home every day after work.” Julian let out a soft chuckle, swirling his red wine. “Well, it’s basically her only hobby. When you spend all day in the kitchen, you eventually lose touch with how the real world works.” His tone was three parts joking, seven parts condescending. My fingers tightened around my fork until my knuckles turned white. “You’re right. The world changes fast,” I said, looking up to meet Julian’s eyes. “So fast that some people completely forget the promises they once made.” Julian’s face stiffened. Sensing the sudden tension, Chloe quickly chimed in to smooth things over. “Audrey, please don’t misunderstand. Julian actually worries about you a lot. Last night when we were on FaceTime going over the ledgers, he couldn’t stop sighing.” She paused intentionally, watching my reaction. “He said he feels like you’ve been so quiet lately, and he’s worried you’re getting depressed. He even asked me to come over more often to keep you company.” Her tone was incredibly sincere, as if she truly cared about my well-being. I set my fork down and dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “FaceTime ledger reviews?” I looked at her, a faint smile playing on my lips. “Yes. There was an accounting discrepancy we couldn’t resolve, so Julian stayed on the call with me until 2:00 AM,” Chloe said, blinking innocently. 2:00 AM. According to my app, that was exactly when Julian had tossed three times and sighed five times. “I see,” I nodded, not pushing any further. Julian visibly relaxed. He probably thought I had swallowed their pathetic excuse hook, line, and sinker. “Anyway, let’s not talk about work. Let’s eat,” he said, tapping the table to change the subject. But Chloe wasn’t done. “Audrey, I actually really envy you. You don’t have to stress about paying bills. You just get to keep this beautiful house clean.” She looked around the high-ceilinged dining room, a flash of jealousy crossing her eyes. “Unlike me. I have to deal with those corporate wolves at the office every single day. Julian has to protect me so much, he’s probably annoyed half the board.” Her words were wrapped in envy, but they were a clear declaration of war. She was telling me that she and Julian were partners fighting side-by-side in the real world, while I was just a useless ornament. “If it’s that hard, why don’t you resign?” I asked calmly. Chloe froze. Julian slammed his fork onto the table. “Audrey, what the hell is wrong with you? Chloe is the backbone of our financial department. Do you even know what a key asset is?” “I just know that we shouldn’t discuss business at the dinner table.” I met his angry gaze without flinching. “Why have you become so bitter and toxic?!” Julian pointed a finger at me, disgust written all over his face. Chloe quickly grabbed his arm, tears instantly welling in her eyes. “Julian, please don’t get mad. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have brought up work. Audrey probably just didn’t want me here.” The more fragile and accommodating she acted, the more Julian’s heart ached for her. “She just hates seeing anyone else happy! Ignore her.” Julian squeezed Chloe’s hand tightly, comforting her. Looking at their intertwined hands, a wave of intense disgust hit me. “I’m full. Enjoy your dinner.” I stood up and walked upstairs without looking back. “Audrey! Get back here!” Julian roared behind me. I ignored him, walked into my bedroom, and locked the door. Outside, I could hear Julian’s muffled curses and Chloe’s soft, soothing voice whispering to him. I leaned against the door and closed my eyes. I had been through this routine of being isolated and blamed too many times. But this time, I wouldn’t cry a single tear.

The next morning, Julian got up unusually early. When I walked downstairs, he was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone with a dark expression. Seeing me enter, he threw his phone onto the coffee table with a loud thud. “Give me the keys to the Porsche.” he demanded. The red Porsche Panamera was a gift he gave me for my thirtieth birthday. Although I rarely drove it over the past few years, it sat in the garage, fully registered under my name. “Why do you need my keys?” I walked to the kitchen island and poured myself a glass of warm water. “Chloe’s car is in the shop. She has to meet a major client today on behalf of the firm. She can’t just take an Uber—it looks bad for the company.” Julian spoke with absolute entitlement, as if he were asking for something trivial. I held my glass and looked at him. “The company has plenty of fleet vehicles. Why does she have to drive my car?” “Those corporate SUVs are too rigid. Chloe is young; your red Panamera is perfect for her.” He urged impatiently, “Hurry up, she’s waiting for me downstairs.” So, Chloe was already here. She hadn’t even bothered to step inside, confident that Julian could easily fetch the keys for her. I set my glass down and shook my head. “No.” Julian stared at me, dumbfounded, as if he hadn’t heard me correctly. “What did you say?” “I said, no,” I repeated, looking him dead in the eye. Julian’s face turned bright red with rage. “Audrey, are you out of your mind? It’s just a car! It’s literally collecting dust in the garage. What’s the big deal if Chloe borrows it for a day?” “It’s my car. I get to decide who drives it,” I replied coolly. “Your car? Every single thing on your body was bought with my money!” He stood up abruptly, pointing a finger at my face. “You eat my food, live under my roof, and spend my cash. And now you won’t even let me borrow a car? When did you become so incredibly selfish?!” Every word he spat was like a dull knife, carving away at my chest. Seven years. He seemed to have completely forgotten that during the early days of his startup, when the company was on the brink of bankruptcy, it was my parents’ life insurance payout that kept his head above water. He also forgot that the Porsche was bought with the investment returns I had made back then. In his eyes, I had long since devolved into a parasite entirely dependent on him. “Julian, do you really think that if you yell loud enough, I’ll just obey you?” I looked at him coldly. My gaze made him flinch slightly, dampening his arrogance, but he remained stubborn. “I don’t have time for this. Where are the keys? I’ll get them myself.” He started rummaging through the living room drawers. “The keys are in my purse. Touch it, and see what happens.” I stood still, my voice quiet but dangerous. Julian stopped. He turned and glared at me. “Audrey, you just love making everyone miserable, don’t you? Chloe is waiting outside. How am I supposed to explain this to her?!” “That’s your problem, not mine.” He snapped. He lunged toward the entryway, grabbed my designer handbag hanging from the coat rack, violently ripped the zipper open, and dumped the contents all over the floor. Lipstick, compact powder, tissues, and the Porsche key fob clattered across the hardwood floor. He bent down, snatched the keys, and looked up at me like a victorious conqueror. “I’m taking them. What are you going to do about it?” Looking at my personal belongings scattered across the floor, a profound sense of sadness washed over me. “Julian, you’re going to regret this,” I said softly. He let out a harsh sneer. “Regret? The only thing I regret in this life is marrying a bitter, ungrateful woman like you!” With that, he walked out the door, key fob in hand. I stood in the messy hallway for a long time, frozen. Only when my legs began to go numb did I slowly crouch down to pick up my things, one by one. As I reached for my compact powder, my fingers brushed against a neatly folded business card. It was Mr. Sterling’s card. I squeezed it tightly in my hand, the sharp corners biting into my palm. I didn’t cry. I just stood up, went upstairs to change into a clean, sharp outfit, and hailed a cab to the Medical Center downtown.

The Medical Center, Neurology Department. The corridor smelled strongly of antiseptic, and cold white fluorescent lights beat down on the pale walls. I sat on a plastic bench, clutching a brown paper folder. People passed by—anxious family members, suffering patients. But I felt entirely isolated from the world. “Audrey Vance, Room 3.” The nurse’s voice broke the silence. I stood up, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open. Dr. Evans adjusted his glasses, looking at the brain MRI scans on his screen with a heavy frown. “Mrs. Vance, your follow-up results are in.” His voice was solemn. I sat in the chair across from him, placing my hands on my knees, my nails digging into my palms. “Has it gotten worse?” I heard my own voice tremble. Dr. Evans sighed, handing me a printed diagnostic report. “The hippocampal atrophy is significantly more pronounced than last month. The progression of your early-onset Alzheimer’s is moving much faster than we anticipated.” Early-onset Alzheimer’s. Six months ago, this diagnosis had struck my life like a bolt of lightning. In the beginning, I just kept forgetting where I put my keys, or I’d walk into the kitchen and forget what I wanted to grab. Julian began complaining constantly about how “sluggish,” “dull,” and “stupid” I was becoming. I thought I was just tired. It wasn’t until I got completely lost driving through a familiar intersection that I realized the severity of the situation. “Dr. Evans, how much time do I have left?” I stared at the dense medical jargon on the report, my eyes stinging. “It’s hard to say. Everyone progresses at a different rate. But have you been under a lot of stress lately? Severe emotional distress accelerates neural cell death.” Stress? I let out a bitter laugh. Julian’s daily emotional abuse and Chloe’s constant intrusion—did that count as stress? “I highly recommend having a family member come in. We need to establish a long-term care plan. Given your current state, you shouldn’t be living alone anymore,” Dr. Evans said gently. “I don’t have any family,” I interrupted flatly. Dr. Evans paused, a flash of deep sympathy crossing his eyes. “Mrs. Vance, in the later stages of this disease, patients lose all cognitive functions. They don’t even know who they are. You need to make arrangements early.” “I know,” I said, folding the diagnostic report neatly and putting it into my bag. “Thank you, Dr. Evans. I’ll make sure to take my meds.” I walked out of the clinic, my steps feeling hollow. As I reached the elevator, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Chloe. *Audrey, Julian insisted on taking me out for a test drive. Your car drives like a dream! Thanks for the keys! (playful emoji)* Attached was a photo. In the photo, Chloe sat in the driver’s seat of my Porsche, one hand casually resting on the steering wheel. In the passenger seat, Julian was leaning over, tenderly buckling her seatbelt. Their faces were inches apart, and Julian’s face wore a warm, brilliant smile I hadn’t seen in years. I stared at the image. My chest felt so tight I could barely draw breath. A sudden, violent wave of dizziness hit me. My vision went black, and I slumped against the cold corridor wall. “Ma’am, are you okay?” a passing nurse asked, catching my arm. “I’m fine… thank you,” I gasped, forcing myself to stand upright. I looked at the agonizing photo on my screen, then touched the terminal diagnosis in my purse. *Julian, did you really think I was just throwing a tantrum?* *Did you think you could ruthlessly trample on my dignity and take everything from me without consequences?* I originally wanted to leave you with some dignity before I forgot you entirely. But now, I’ve changed my mind. Leaning against the wall, my fingers flew across the screen as I fired off a message to Mr. Sterling: *Mr. Sterling, besides the divorce papers, I need you to audit all of Julian’s companies. Track his shareholding structures and his financial transactions over the last six months. I want him to leave with absolutely nothing.* After hitting send, I powered down my phone. The game had just begun.

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Halfway through our wedding rehearsal, Ethan sent me a text on Snapchat. “I can’t make it. Chloe’s lightbulb broke. She’s terrified of the dark and she’s crying alone.” I gritted my teeth and typed back: “You’re skipping the rehearsal? What about the actual wedding tomorrow?” It was loud on his end, sounding like a busy shopping mall. “We’ll see. Chloe hasn’t been doing well lately. Just bear with it, okay?” “I mean, you’ve always been able to handle things on your own anyway, right?” He hung up right after. I wiped my tears and dialed another number. “Cole.” “Does your proposal from years ago still count?” The man’s voice was deep and low. “Send me your location.” 0 “The groom isn’t coming. Are we still running this?” The coordinator put the microphone on the table, looking at me with pity. I clutched my phone. The location had been sent three minutes ago. Marked as read. The florist couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed the lighting technician and headed backstage. “Let’s take a break. Wait for the bride’s call.” The bride. I was the only one standing on the red carpet. The cold air from the vents chilled me to the bone. My phone lit up. Chloe’s Snapchat profile picture was a pink bunny. Her display name was “Ethan’s Chloe.” “Sweetie~ Ethan said you can handle it all by yourself. You’re so amazing! Unlike me, I’d literally cry if I had to spend my birthday alone 🥺” I stared at that emoji for five seconds. Then I shut off the screen. Out of the corner of my eye, the florist was untying the ribbon on the bouquet, whispering to someone next to her, “Is the groom coming or not?” “Shh—don’t ask.” Every word stabbed right into my ears. Twenty-seven minutes later, the heavy doors of the ballroom were pushed open. It wasn’t Ethan. Cole was wearing a black hoodie, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He held a motorcycle helmet in his right hand. His heavy boots made a deep, solid sound on the marble floor. He swept his eyes over the room, paused for two seconds on the empty space at the end of the red carpet, and then looked at me. “Where do I stand?” The coordinator was the first to react. “This is…” “He’s standing in,” my voice was steadier than anyone who had just been stood up had any right to be. “The groom has an emergency.” Cole didn’t wait for directions. He walked up and stood next to me. He was a whole size broader than Ethan, standing beneath the floral arch like an immovable oak. The music started again. I gripped the bouquet and took a step forward. The moment I stepped in front of him, he tilted his head down. “Have you been crying?” His voice was so low that the coordinator standing three feet away couldn’t hear a thing. “No.” “The tip of your nose is red.” I turned my face away, refusing to let him look. We went through the motions for forty minutes. He didn’t ask a single question. When the coordinator told him to hand over the flowers, he did. When told to turn, he turned. During the ring exchange, he stretched out his hand. His palm was rough, with an old scar running across his knuckle. A young stagehand girl peeking from backstage whispered to her coworker, “Damn, this stand-in is holding down the fort so well…” After the rehearsal, as I was signing the final paperwork, Ethan’s voice message came through right on cue. Fifty-four seconds. “Rehearsal done? You’ve had a hard day, babe. Chloe just blew out her candles. She’s feeling much better. I even made a wish for you—” In the background, Chloe’s voice sounded soft and clingy. “Ethan, don’t move! I want to take a picture of you cutting the cake.” The message ended. My pen stopped on the paper, dragging out a long, messy line on the signature page. I didn’t notice Cole walking up to me. He didn’t look down at my tear-stained face. He just pulled a tissue from the box on the table and set it by my right hand. He didn’t force it on me. He just left it there. It was like he knew that if he handed it to me directly, my walls would completely crumble. Walking out of the venue, I stopped on the steps. He mounted his black motorcycle and buckled his helmet. “I’ll give you a ride.” “I drove here.” He didn’t leave, and he didn’t rush me. The night wind blew for a long time, turning colder by the minute. I looked at him. “Cole, what you said back then… does it still count?” He took off his helmet and looked straight into my eyes. “Ava, when have I ever gone back on my word?” 0

“Ava, Chloe was in a really bad place last night. I’m taking her to see her therapist today. Can you handle the wedding details for now?” At eight in the morning, Ethan’s call came in as on-time as an alarm clock. I leaned against the headboard, my voice still raspy from sleep. “Do you have to accompany her every single time she’s in a bad mood?” “How can you say that? You know her condition. If I don’t look after her and something happens, who’s going to take responsibility?” “Ethan, the final walkthrough is the day after tomorrow.” Silence on the other end for two seconds. “But you’re there, aren’t you? You know this stuff better than me. Even the wedding planner said you’re a natural at this.” He added, “Be good. I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.” I hung up and stared at the ceiling. When I opened Instagram, Chloe’s new post was right at the top. It was a close-up of a hand. A ring sat on her ring finger under soft lighting. The caption read: “Matching with someone special. What a beautiful coincidence~” In the bottom left of the photo, a sliver of a man’s sleeve was visible. I recognized that blue-gray shirt. I bought it with Ethan last month. Someone commented: *Matching what?* Chloe replied with a smiley face: *It’s a secret~* I threw my phone face down on the comforter. At eleven, my college roommate Maya texted me. “Ava, did you see Chloe’s post? Isn’t that ring the exact same style as yours?” I didn’t reply. The second text popped up immediately. “I shouldn’t meddle, but… the day you had your surgery, I saw Ethan at the women’s hospital. Didn’t he tell you he was out of town on a business trip? I saw him walk out of the clinic with a girl. It was Chloe.” Third text. “Ava, it’s been three years. How many things has he kept from you? The day your dad passed away, where was he really? Do you actually believe he was stuck in traffic?” I knew where he was. Ethan’s name wasn’t on the guest book at the funeral home. He showed up four hours late, claiming there was a massive traffic jam. Later, I checked his Uber history from that day. His destination wasn’t the funeral home. It was Chloe’s apartment. He told me Chloe was terrified of thunder. It had rained all day, and she was shivering alone at home. I didn’t pick a fight back then. My mom had fainted twice from crying, and I had no energy left to argue. As I pulled these memories up one by one, my hands went cold. I opened our shared UberEats account—we had linked them to get family discounts. There was a new address in the delivery list. Chloe’s apartment, Apartment 302. There were thirty-seven orders over the past month, all delivered to that address. Ribeye steak, cheesy garlic shrimp, mango pomelo sago. Whenever he ordered food with me, he only ever said, “Whatever, you decide.” On the twenty-third order, the note read: *Mild and less oil, please. Chloe has a sensitive stomach.* I scrolled to the bottom, closed the app, and stared at the framed photo of Ethan and me on the desk. In the photo, his arm was around my shoulder, smiling brightly. When I called him back, his background was noisy. Another mall. “Ethan, is the ring you bought Chloe the same as mine?” He paused. “Who told you that? It was just a simple birthday gift. You’re overthinking.” “And the delivery records? How do you explain those?” The line went quiet for a few seconds, and then his voice turned impatient. “Ava, do you just have too much free time lately? If you put half this energy into planning our wedding, we’d be done by now.” My hand holding the phone began to tremble. He finished with one last sentence. “Stop throwing tantrums. I have to go. Chloe is waiting for me.” 0

“Miss Ava, a lady claiming to be a friend of Mr. Ethan is here to help with the venue setup.” The wedding planner stood at the door, looking uneasy. I was bending over to check the centerpieces, but I stood up straight at her words. Chloe was standing at the entrance of the ballroom, wearing a white silk dress, her hair cascading over her shoulders, holding a bouquet of baby’s breath. When she saw me, her eyes curved into crescents. “Ava, babe!” Her voice was sweet enough to draw the attention of everyone in the hall. “Ethan said you were working hard setting up the venue by yourself today, so he asked me to come help out~” I stared at her white dress. The designer hesitated. “And this is… the groom’s…” Chloe took over smoothly, her smile radiant. “I’m Ethan’s… best friend. We’ve known each other for years.” She emphasized “best friend” very softly, her eyes drifting toward me as if testing my reaction. She walked around the room, running her fingers over every decoration. When she reached the guest book table, she flipped through a sample. “Ava, everything you picked is so pretty. But this color scheme… I remember Ethan saying he doesn’t really like pink. He prefers blue.” The staff members all turned their eyes to me. “I chose the wedding colors.” Chloe gasped, covering her mouth as if she’d made a terrible mistake. “I’m so sorry, Ava. I shouldn’t have spoken.” She stepped back, perfectly positioning herself under the softest lighting. The white dress made her look fragile and pure. I walked to a quiet corner and called Ethan. “Why did you send Chloe to the venue?” “She wanted to see it, and I couldn’t stop her. She rarely goes out, so since she was in high spirits, I figured you could just show her around like a little sister.” “Ethan, she wore a white dress to my wedding venue.” “What’s wrong with a white dress? You’re being way too sensitive.” Before I could reply, Chloe’s voice came from right behind me. “Ava, you’re so generous. If it were me… I don’t think I could handle it.” I turned around. She was standing three steps away, pointing her phone at us as if taking pictures of the setup. She spoke loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. The call was still active. Ethan’s voice came through the speaker: “Ava? Hello? Are you still there?” Chloe tilted her head, dropping her voice so only I could hear. “Ava, do you know why your Alexa at home answers to my name?” I froze. “Because I go there at least three times a week. Ethan set up a special reminder for my medication. In the voice memo, he calls me ‘babe’.” She winked at me. “But your reminder… I think he labeled it ‘Miss Ava’?” The phone stayed frozen against my ear. Ethan was still calling my name on the other end. Chloe turned around and posted the photos she had just taken to Instagram. The caption was: “Visiting the wedding venue with my sweet friend~ Smells like happiness.” The location tag showed the hotel’s name. I hung up the phone. In the distance, she waved at me, her smile dripping with sweetness. “Ava—can I be your maid of honor? Ethan promised me I could~” 0

“Ava, I want to talk about the wedding.” For once, Ethan was the one initiating the call. “Speak.” “Chloe has been in a really bad state lately. She had another episode yesterday. I was thinking… can we postpone the wedding for two months? Once she’s stable, we can—” “Postpone it for two months?” “Let me finish. It’s not like we’re fully prepared anyway. Didn’t you say yesterday there was an issue with the color scheme? This gives us time to fix it. We want it to be perfect, right?” I leaned against the doorframe, letting his words sink in. “Ethan, the venue deposit is non-refundable.” “I’ll handle the money—” “I’m not talking about the money.” He fell silent for a moment, his tone taking on a patronizing edge. “Ava, I know you feel wronged. But you know Chloe’s situation. I’m her only friend. I can’t just leave her to die, can I?” *Leave her to die.* That was how he described the consequences of not being by her side. “The day your dad passed away, I didn’t make it in time because of Chloe too, didn’t I? You understood back then, didn’t you?” I set my glass down. “Ethan, I didn’t ‘understand’ back then. I was too busy holding up my collapsing mother to fight with you.” Silence stretched over the line. “Look, next week I’ll get Chloe sorted out. I’ll hire a full-time therapist for her—” “Next week? The final walkthrough is the day after tomorrow.” “Can’t you just go by yourself? You’ve always been better at this than me.” There it was again. *You’re better at this. You can handle it alone. You’re so independent.* Three years of this. After hanging up, I sat on the sofa, staring into space for ten minutes. Then, I opened Snapchat and scrolled through our college group chat. Over three hundred people, usually dead silent. Last year, someone had asked Ethan when he was getting married. He had replied: “Not decided yet.” Chloe had replied with a voice note. I tapped it. “Haha, Ethan hasn’t told you guys yet? He said he wants to make sure my stuff is sorted out before he thinks about his own~ No rush~” She announced it with the cozy familiarity of a housewife. Nobody replied to her. But nobody corrected her either. Including Ethan. I kept scrolling through Chloe’s Instagram, going all the way down. Three months ago—”Ethan took me to pick out a birthday gift. He has the best taste.” The photo was a jewelry box. Five months ago—”Someone fixed my bedroom light. So blessed.” Location: Ethan’s apartment. Which was also my apartment. Eight months ago—”Holidays are only meaningful when spent with the most important person.” The photo showed two cups of coffee and two desserts. The date was my birthday. That day, Ethan had told me he was stuck at a corporate retreat and couldn’t make it back. I put my phone down. I slid the ring off my left ring finger and placed it on the glass coffee table. The metallic clink against the glass was light and sharp. I dialed Cole’s number. It rang once before he picked up. “Cole.” “Talk to me.” I stared at the ring on the table, the light reflecting off its polished band. “Help me put together a wedding.” I paused. “You’re the groom.” The other end went dead quiet for two seconds. TThen, a very low, soft chuckle vibrated through the speaker—subtle, restrained, like someone who had waited a lifetime finally hearing the words he wanted. “What’s the date?”

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Liam’s teenage heroism was all about being the good guy. Back then, I was abused by my father, assaulted by a relative, and diagnosed with severe depression. I tried to end my life several times. Each time, Liam was the one who saved me and found me a safe place to stay. He took away my box cutters, threw out my bottles of sleeping pills, and refused to leave me alone for too long. “I’ll always be by your side,” he had told me. “From now on, let the tears fall, while you keep moving up.” When we grew up, we got together. But he remained just as much of a Good Samaritan. When his female secretary faced workplace bullying, he was the first to stand up and fight for her. When she was harassed and became too terrified to walk home in the dark, he personally drove her to and from work every day. When her apartment was broken into and she was too traumatized to sleep alone, he stayed at her place all night, sleeping on her couch to keep her company. Gradually, He stopped caring about whether there were sharp objects around me, or whether I spent my nights crying. He stopped caring if my violent father was tracking me down with a knife, demanding money. Instead, he threw a single sentence in my face. “Can’t you just be grateful for once? Chloe’s life is way worse than yours. I have to take care of her first.” But pain isn’t a competition. It shouldn’t be compared. I wasn’t ungrateful. I just wanted a heart that chose me first. That was all. Since he couldn’t give me that, it was time for me to pack up and chase what I actually deserved.

When Liam got ready to spend another night at Chloe’s place, I couldn’t take it anymore. I rushed forward, spreading my arms to block the front door. “Liam.” I looked up at him, my voice trembling. “Are you her boyfriend, or mine?” The eyes that used to look at me with nothing but warmth were now filled with cold detachment. “Elena, I’m just trying to be a white knight for someone who’s hurting. Can’t you be a little more open-minded?” I froze, listening to him continue. “A man is always a boy at heart. I’m just living out my childhood dream of being a hero. You should be supporting me.” “Elena, don’t be so selfish. I can’t be your personal savior forever.” Right. His savior complex was distributed equally to anyone in the world who needed help. Back in high school, Whenever someone was bullied, he was always the first to jump in. If someone couldn’t afford lunch, he would share his allowance with them. Even when my father beat me black and blue and left me shivering in the alley, Liam was the one who found me and gently wiped away my blood. I couldn’t go back to that abusive household. So, he took me in. We relied on each other. We healed each other. But when the rumors of my assault spread at school, people started victim-blaming me, calling me damaged goods. It was Liam who held me and whispered, “Elena, they are the ones who are wrong, not you. To me, you are an angel.” But the very thing that made me love him was now tearing me apart. I had fallen for him because he was a hero. And now, I was losing my mind because he wanted to play hero for someone else. Pulling myself back to reality, I grabbed his sleeve tightly, begging him. “Liam, please don’t go…” I stared into his eyes, desperately searching for a single shred of warmth or pity. There was nothing. He gently but firmly pried my hand off his sleeve. His words were brutally cold. “I have to. Chloe is sick. If I don’t go look after her, something terrible might happen.” Tears instantly blurred my vision. I choked out, “But I’m sick too.” “Liam, my father said he’s coming for me. I’m terrified…” Liam let out an annoyed sigh. “I told you, the security in this building is top-notch. He can’t get in.” Realizing he sounded too harsh, He softened his tone, patting my shoulder gently. “Elena, stop wrapping your whole identity around being a victim.” “Chloe took some psychology classes. She told me that the more I coddle you, the more you’ll think you’re broken. It’s time you learned to handle your own emotions.”

My heart went completely numb. I didn’t have the strength to block him anymore. Slowly, my arms fell to my sides. A smile finally broke across his face. He nodded in approval. “That’s my girl. That’s the supportive girlfriend I know.” “I’ll bring you some pastries when I get back tomorrow morning.” With that, He left without a second thought. The door clicked shut. Leaving me in the suffocating, pitch-black silence of the apartment. I felt like I was back in that dark, cold alley years ago. All the traumatic memories rushed back like a tidal wave. Anxiety crawled through my veins. Right then, There was a sudden, violent pounding on the door. Thud! Thud! Thud! I crept up and looked through the peephole. I was met with the menacing, drunken glare of a man. “Open the damn door, you little brat! Your father already sold you to me to pay off his debts! You’re going to be mine sooner or later!” “Just you wait!” The terror of past abuse suffocated me. My body went cold, and my hand instinctively flew to my phone to call Liam. But his words echoed in my head, over and over. “You need to learn to be independent. You can’t rely on me for everything.” Slowly, I lowered my phone. I bit my lip so hard it bled, refusing to make a single sound. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. As the morning light crept through the blinds, I dragged my exhausted body into the living room, trying to pour a glass of water to soothe the tightening in my chest. But the moment I looked up, I froze. There was a strange woman sitting on my couch. She wore a cute white skirt and had a bright, radiant smile. She stood up and greeted me warmly. “Hi, I’m Chloe Miller, Liam’s secretary.” So this was the Chloe he was always talking about. The one who constantly needed his protection. Before I could even process this, Liam walked out of our master bedroom, speaking in a casual, matter-of-fact tone. “Chloe is going to live with us from now on. It’s closer to the office, so her commute will be easier.” Years ago, He had brought a battered, broken version of me to this exact apartment for the exact same reason. Back then, this place was my only sanctuary. We lived together, fell into a routine, and eventually fell in love. But now, he was bringing another woman into our home using the same excuse. How was I supposed to feel okay with this? Seeing my eyes well up with tears, Liam quickly brought a pastry to my mouth, trying to feed me. “Don’t be silly, are you seriously jealous of my employee?” “Trust me, you’re the only one I love.” He raised three fingers, swearing to God. But his vow felt so cheap, so utterly meaningless. “Elena, I heard you struggle with depression,” Chloe said, putting on a show of deep concern. “But don’t worry, I studied psychology. Liam and I will help you heal.” Her eyes, however, were dripping with pure provocation. After she moved in, Everything changed. The cabinet that used to be mine, Was now stuffed with her dresses and skincare products. My antidepressants were pushed into a dusty corner, barely having any space left. To “cure” me, The two of them put all the knives back in the kitchen drawers right in front of me. They even unlocked all the safety latches on the balcony windows. “Chloe said that locking you away only makes you feel more insane.” “Elena, start living like a normal person. You can do this.” Nighttime was even worse. In the past, even a soft sigh from me would wake Liam up to comfort me. Now, when I woke up screaming from nightmares, covered in cold sweat, He didn’t even flinch. He wouldn’t even look at me. “Chloe said you need to face your fears. Running away won’t solve anything.” But after a month of this “treatment,” My condition only got worse.

Chloe stood by my hospital bed, biting her lip as she apologized. “I’m so sorry, Elena. I didn’t mean to make your condition worse. But I promise, I will cure you.” I let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Cure me? Where is your medical license, Chloe?” She stiffened, clearly not expecting me to be so blunt. Immediately, she put on a perfect display of hurt and vulnerability. “Elena, if you hate me that much, I’ll just leave.” Liam instinctively stepped in front of Chloe, shielding her from my gaze. That protective gesture stabbed me right in the chest. “Elena, Chloe is only trying to help you. Why do you have to be so toxic?” “Why are you always so ungrateful?” He got more and more worked up. Until finally, he said the words that completely shattered my heart. “No wonder nobody likes you. No wonder your mother chose death just to get away from you!” My mother’s departure wasn’t a sudden rainstorm. It was a lifelong dampness in my soul. When my father beat me, my mother took the knife for me. Before she took her last breath, she told me, “Living is too painful. This time, I’m leaving, even if it means dying.” I had shown my deepest, bleeding scar to Liam. And now, he was using it to tear me apart in front of another woman. I thought I would cry, but when I touched my chest, it felt completely empty. Just cold, hollow air. I guess when your heart gets cold enough, it stops feeling the pain. “Liam, you’re right. So, why don’t you leave me too?” I forced a broken smile, Desperate to sever ties with him once and for all. A flash of panic crossed Liam’s face. “Elena, I didn’t mean it like that.” He tried to explain, but Chloe stopped him. “Liam, she’s too unstable right now. She won’t listen to anything you say. Let’s give her some space to calm down.” Liam hesitated, then nodded. He tucked my blanket in and walked out with Chloe. Once he walked out that door, He didn’t come back. It wasn’t until the next morning that they returned to handle my discharge papers. Looking at my pale face, Chloe smiled playfully, like she was holding a secret. “Elena, guess what Liam and I did for you yesterday.” My face remained blank. “I don’t care, and I don’t want to know.” Her smile faltered for a second, But she quickly recovered, pulling a giant plush bear from her bag. Her face was smug. “Look at this! Isn’t it cute? I know it’s your favorite.” “There was a couples’ challenge at the mall yesterday. We had to kiss for a whole hour to win this for you! Our lips were practically bleeding, but we did it!” “See? Liam and I really care about you.” In all the years I had been with Liam, We had never done anything that intimate. He had always told me, “The highest form of love is respect. I’m afraid to touch you too much because I don’t want to lose control and hurt you…” Yet, He could passionately kiss another woman for an hour just for some game. A wave of intense nausea hit my stomach. I grabbed the plush bear and threw it straight into the trash can, then gave Liam a cold stare. “I have a boundary when it comes to hygiene. I don’t want secondhand garbage.” Liam’s face flushed red with anger. “Elena! Are you cured now? Since when did you learn to be so malicious?” “Chloe and I did this just to make you happy! Why do you have to be so petty about how we got the bear?” I smiled bitterly. “But I’m not happy at all.” “Liam, let’s break up. I’m going back to pack my things.” Before Liam could even react, I had already hopped into a cab and driven away.

Returning to the apartment, I was overwhelmed with emotion. This place used to be my safe haven. But now, the storm inside was too violent, and there was no room left for me. Just as I finished packing my bags, Liam and Chloe rushed through the door. Liam cornered me against the wall, his eyes bloodshot as he begged me not to leave. “Elena, we love each other so much. Why are you doing this over a silly argument?” “If you don’t want me protecting other people, I won’t. I’ll be your hero, and yours alone.” “It’s too late tonight. Tomorrow, I promise, I’ll make Chloe move out. Okay?” Right. We used to love each other so much. A love where we would have given our lives for one another… Memories of his grand gestures flashed through my mind. Once, when I said I wanted pastries from Paris, he hired a private charter jet to fly them in overnight. On my birthday, He rented out an entire amusement park just to put on a private firework show for me. And when my father attacked me, he threw himself in front of the blade, getting stabbed twice just to get me to the hospital safely… But no matter how beautiful the past was, when it’s time to let go, you have to let go. If you keep trying to fish for a fallen sword in a flowing river, you only torture yourself. But Liam was stubborn. To calm him down, I decided to play along and agreed to stay. I would leave secretly in the morning. “Okay, I’ll give you one last chance.” Liam let out a sigh of relief, wrapping his arms around me tightly. “Get some sleep. I promise you won’t see a third person in this house tomorrow.” That night, My insomnia returned. In the dead of night, I suddenly felt a chill on my back. I opened my eyes, and my heart stopped. Standing by the window was the man I feared most in this world. My father. He had climbed up the balcony and broken into my room. He crept toward me, his eyes filled with greed. “Found you at last, you useless brat!” “Give me the money right now, or I’m selling you to that old man down the street.” The paralyzing fear of my childhood threatened to choke me. But this time, I refused to be his victim. I clenched my fists. I lunged forward and bit his wrist as hard as I could. My teeth sank deep into his flesh, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. He screamed in agony and shoved me away violently. I crashed heavily onto the floor. My arm swept across the bedside table, knocking over the burning scented candle. The flame caught the sheer curtains instantly. Within seconds, the fire climbed up the fabric, roaring into a blaze. Panicked, my father didn’t care about the money anymore. He scrambled back out the window to save his own skin. By the time the smoke seeped through the door into the hallway, Liam and Chloe finally realized something was wrong. Chloe was choked by the smoke and fainted, collapsing right into Liam’s arms. Liam looked at me, trapped in the middle of the raging fire, a look of sheer conflict on his face. “Elena, this is between you and your father! I can’t let Chloe get hurt!” “I have to get her to safety first. I’ll come back for you!” “You know fire safety! Try to get out on your own, I’ll be right back!” The thick, hot smoke stung my eyes, but I just laughed softly. Since nobody cared if I lived or died, I would save myself. Maybe Liam was right. I couldn’t wait for someone else to carry an umbrella for me. I had to walk through the rain myself. In that moment, I realized that the heart that chose me first had been beating inside my own chest all along. I stopped looking toward Liam. Instead, I turned toward the open balcony. Below the balcony was a rushing river. My only chance at survival. I wiped the tears from my face, and without a single shred of hesitation, I jumped straight into the dark water.

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My boyfriend, Liam, and I both worked downtown, but he was dead-set on buying a house in the Northside suburbs. We had been fighting about it for over six months. He accused me of being selfish, saying I only cared about my daily commute and didn’t understand “long-term property value.” That was until Valentine’s Day. Liam suddenly called me, his voice ecstatic, telling me he had finally found the perfect apartment right downtown. I was thrilled. Without a second thought, I agreed to meet him after work to sign the papers. But instead of a warm welcome, I ended up standing on a freezing street corner in the pouring rain for an hour. Finally, my phone buzzed with a location pin. “The rain’s too crazy. Chloe and I are waiting for you at the new place.” The roads were slick, and my heart was racing. I slipped and fell three times on the wet pavement. By the time I dragged myself to the apartment, I looked like a drowned rat. He and my best friend, Chloe, had already signed the papers. They were sitting on the couch, excitedly discussing the future. “This place is so close to my new office,” Chloe giggled. “I should rent a place nearby so I can come over for dinner every single day.” “Why rent?” Liam smiled warmly at her. “I already picked out a room just for you.” They went on and on, debating everything from the style of the sectional couch to the color of the curtains. That was the moment I realized Liam’s definition of “property value” was entirely based on where Chloe wanted to live. As for my feelings? I was just an afterthought. If that was the case, it was time for me to walk away.

A few feet away, Liam and Chloe were completely absorbed in choosing the accent wall color for the master bedroom. Not once did either of them look up to ask for my opinion. I stood there in silence for a moment, gripped my bag, and quietly walked out. As the elevator doors were about to close, an older woman squeezed in. Seeing me shivering and soaked to the bone, she kindly handed me a pack of tissues. “Here, dry yourself off dear, or you’ll catch a cold. It’s a storm out there. It’s not safe to walk alone. Can you call your family to pick you up?” I lowered my eyes, taking the tissues. “Thank you. But they’re busy.” Busy making decisions for my life. Sympathy flickered in her eyes, but she was polite enough not to pry further. When I stepped out of the lobby, the downpour had gotten worse. I was on my ninth consecutive Uber cancellation when Liam’s car finally pulled up in front of me. The passenger window rolled down halfway, and Chloe waved at me with a bright smile. “Adeline, get in! Liam said you were too stubborn and would rather freeze on the curb for half an hour than call us. I didn’t believe him, but wow, you really are silly. Why didn’t you just call?” Liam had watched me struggle in the storm just to make Chloe laugh. In the past, I would have thrown a massive fit, screaming at him. But this time, I just silently opened the back door and climbed in. Liam blinked in surprise, looking at me through the rearview mirror. A smug, teasing smile crept onto his face. “Well, look at that. I guess a little rain actually teaches you a lesson. You’ve gotten much sweeter.” The car rolled forward a few yards and stopped again in front of a coffee shop. Five minutes later, Liam returned with a steaming hot chocolate, handing it directly to Chloe. “Your stomach’s been sensitive lately. Drink this first.” Then, he tossed a stale, wrapped croissant into my lap. “This has been sitting in the glove box for a while. Eat it before it goes bad.” As he spoke, his eyes swept over the wet patch I was leaving on his leather seats. “Adeline, can you grow up a little? I didn’t pick you up for one afternoon, and you throw a tantrum, get soaked, and play missing in action? Is it fun making Chloe and me worry about you?” So, he hadn’t missed how miserable I looked. He just thought I was being dramatic. I gripped the cold croissant, a lump rising in my throat. I wanted to scream at him. But a sudden gust of wind from the half-open window hit me, and I sneezed violently. Chloe lightly punched Liam’s shoulder. “Stop being so mean! Turn up the heat. If Adeline gets sick, I’m going to kick your butt.” Liam casually reached over and felt Chloe’s forehead. “You’re already sweating. Don’t worry about her. There’s a blanket in the back. She can use that if she’s cold.” Three years ago, I quit my job and moved to this city with Liam. He hated seeing me squeeze into the crowded subways every day, so he worked endless overtime to save up enough money to buy this car. The day he drove it off the lot, he swore he’d be my personal chauffeur for the rest of my life. For a while, he kept that promise. But then, Chloe’s mother passed away, and she had a mental breakdown. Thinking a change of scenery would help her heal, I encouraged her to move here. I helped her find an apartment, introduced her to job leads, and even asked Liam to help her prep for interviews and look over her client proposals. Inevitably, they became close. But I never expected that their closeness would push me from the passenger seat straight into the back. Even the AC temperature in the car was lowered from 77 to 70 degrees just because she casually mentioned she was “warm.” When I protested back then, Liam had snapped at me. “Chloe gets motion sickness; she needs to sit in the front. Besides, if you’re cold, put on a jacket. If she’s hot, she can’t peel her skin off. Stop picking fights over nothing.” I took a deep breath, pulled up my banking app, and hit send. I transferred the $30,000 renovation fund my dad had wired me earlier that morning right back into his account.

“Adeline, what do you want to eat? A new Mexican place just opened around the corner. I heard their spicy chicken wraps are amazing! Too bad you can’t handle spicy food, otherwise I’d totally drag you there.” As Chloe spoke, she took a sip of her soda and naturally offered the straw to Liam. Liam was a total germaphobe. When we ate together, he insisted on using separate serving forks. Yet now, he took a sip from her straw without a second thought. “If you want to go, we’re going. Don’t bother asking her. She’s way too picky and cheap anyway.” I squeezed my phone tightly, refusing to take the bait. All those times I pinched pennies just so we could save up for our future home had turned into me being “picky and cheap” in his eyes. When we arrived at the restaurant, there was a long line wrapping around the block. Liam naturally pushed me to the back of the queue. “Wait here and hold our spot. Chloe and I are going to check out the shops next door.” For the first time in my life, I didn’t argue. As I stood in line under the cold drizzle, I opened Amazon and emptied my shopping cart, deleting every single rug, lamp, and curtain I had saved for our new home. For years, Liam and I had shared a single Prime account. Since we were ending things, it was time to untangle our lives. And that was when I noticed something I had missed before. Over the past year, Liam had used my account to buy hundreds of items for Chloe. Everything from designer tumblers to a smart TV and a mini-fridge. The money I had painstakingly saved by skipping lunches had been spent entirely on Chloe. Suddenly, someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around, and Liam immediately popped a chocolate into my mouth. The rich, familiar sweetness melted on my tongue. My mind flashed back to five years ago, when he had traveled eighteen hours on a cheap bus just to hand-deliver this exact brand of chocolate to me for Valentine’s Day. Seeing me stare at him blankly, Liam smiled, pulling me into a tight embrace. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Adeline.” I instinctively looked past his shoulder and caught Chloe’s eyes. For a split second, the sheer, poisonous envy in her gaze was impossible to hide. Just then, the hostess called our name. I pushed Liam away with all the strength I had. “Let’s just eat.” Once seated, Liam glanced at the menu and quickly ordered without consulting me. “We’ll get the signature beef tacos, the spicy chicken wraps, and a side of habanero salsa. Chloe, anything else you want?” Chloe smiled demurely. “You already ordered all my favorites.” Then, as if suddenly remembering I existed, she looked at me with mock concern. “Oh, Adeline doesn’t eat spicy food. Maybe we should swap the spicy chicken wrap for a mild beef and cheese burrito?” Liam hesitated for a second before waving his hand. “No need. We’ll just get her a mango juice to cool her mouth down. If it’s too spicy, she can just scrape the salsa off.” I didn’t say a word. I just poured myself a glass of water. When the food arrived, Liam carefully picked out the onions, which Chloe hated, from his taco and placed the perfect piece on her plate. “Here you go.” I looked away and took a bite of the wrap. The burning spice hit my throat, and tears instantly sprang to my eyes. Liam hurriedly pushed a glass of mango juice toward me. “Drink this.” I didn’t touch it. I poured another glass of water and choked it down instead. He frowned, muttering under his breath, “What are you throwing a tantrum for now?” before turning back to feed Chloe. But I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. He had simply forgotten, once again, that I am severely allergic to mangoes. After dinner, Liam was supposed to drive Chloe home. But she pointed at a neon-lit bar across the street, her eyes sparkling. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Going home now is so boring. Let’s grab a drink and experience the nightlife!” My throat was itching, and my skin was starting to burn from the cross-contamination of the food. I shook my head. “You guys go. I’m really tired and feel sick…” Before I could finish, Liam cut me off coldly. “We’re already here, Adeline. Don’t be a party pooper.” I suddenly realized that ever since Chloe moved here, “don’t be a party pooper” had become Liam’s favorite phrase. And to keep the peace, I had compromised countless times. But tonight, I was done. “Have fun. I’ll just call a cab.” Liam snatched my phone right out of my hand and shoved it into his pocket. “Stop making a scene!” With that, he grabbed Chloe’s hand and pulled her into the crowded, pulsing bar. The moment we sat down at a booth, Chloe dragged Liam straight to the dance floor. I sat in the dark corner, the pounding bass making my head throb. I got up, wanting to find a quiet restroom to splash cold water on my face. But after only two steps, a heavy, sweaty hand clamped onto my wrist. “Hey beautiful, let’s get a drink,” a drunk guy slurred, pulling me toward him. Panic flared. I instinctively yelled over the music. “Liam!” The music was deafening, but I saw Liam turn around. He heard me. But just as he started to take a step toward me, Chloe bumped into a group of guys nearby, spilling her drink. Liam hesitated for a fraction of a second, then turned his back on me to rush to Chloe’s side. Seeing that no one was coming to help me, the drunk guy grew bolder, dragging me toward his booth. His grip was like iron. Summoning every ounce of strength, I shoved him away and screamed for Liam again. “Liam! Help me!” But he was too busy shielding Chloe, completely ignoring me. As the drunk guy lunged at me again, I swung my arm and slapped him hard across the face. The man stumbled, clutching his cheek. His eyes turned bloodshot with rage. He raised a massive fist and punch me squarely in the face, knocking me to the ground. “You crazy bitch!” I crashed into a table. Glass bottles and cups shattered, raining down on me. Shards sliced deep into my skin. Screams and shouts erupted all around me. As my vision began to fade into darkness, I saw Liam finally sprint over, tackling the drunk guy to the floor. He turned around, his face pale with horror, reaching out to scoop me into his arms. My body flinched away from his touch instinctively. Then, everything went black.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying in a hospital bed. A dull, throbbing pain radiated from every inch of my body. I looked down to see my arms wrapped in white bandages. Seeing me stir, Liam quickly handed me a cup of warm honey water. “Drink this, it’ll help with the headache. Oh, by the way, your dad called. He wanted to know why you returned the $30,000 renovation wire.” I took a slow sip of the water and said flatly, “We don’t need it anymore. So I sent it back.” Liam froze, then gave a dry, annoyed laugh. “Are you seriously still mad? Chloe accidentally stepped on someone’s foot last night and the guys were hounding her. That’s why I couldn’t get to you right away.” “But don’t worry, I beat the crap out of that guy for you. He won’t be getting out of bed for at least three days.” He said it so righteously, as if his belated revenge made up for everything. As if I was the unreasonable one for holding a grudge. I dug my nails into my palms. “If a person is already dead, does crying at their funeral make any difference?” Liam’s face darkened. “What do you want me to do, Adeline? It was an emergency. I had to choose…” Chloe chose that moment to walk into the room, her eyes brimming with tears and guilt. “Liam, don’t fight with Adeline. Last night was all my fault. If we hadn’t gone to the bar…” Liam reached out, gently smoothing her hair. “How is this your fault? Honestly, it’s her own problem. There were hundreds of people in that bar last night. Why did that creep target her and not anyone else?” I stared at him, my eyes burning with disbelief. Chloe pulled on Liam’s sleeve, whimpering. Liam sighed, his tone softening slightly. “Fine, I’m sorry. Okay? Chloe and I have a meeting with the interior designers today. I already messaged your boss on WhatsApp to request a sick day for you. Get dressed.” I bolted upright, my voice shaking. “Liam, my project launches today.” I had told him repeatedly over the phone yesterday that these two days were critical for my career. I had begged him not to schedule anything. He had promised he wouldn’t. And then he threw my career in the trash. Liam blinked, then waved his hand dismissively. “Your company has plenty of people. They don’t need you for one day. And honestly, if it’s that stressful, just quit. I can support you.” With one casual sentence, he dismissed years of my hard work. My fingers trembled violently. I closed my eyes and said the words clearly. “We’re breaking up, Liam. You can decorate that apartment however the hell you want.” The room went dead silent. Chloe quickly chimed in, her voice trembling. “Adeline, please don’t be mad. I’ll call the designers right now and reschedule.” Liam’s brows furrowed. He clearly thought I was using a breakup as an empty threat to manipulate him. The tiny shred of guilt in his eyes vanished, replaced by pure annoyance. “If you don’t want to go, fine. Chloe, let’s go.” The moment the door slammed shut, my phone rang. It was my dad. “Sweetie, don’t skimp on the house renovation. I just wired the $30,000 directly to Liam’s account. I know it’s hard for you kids to buy a place nowadays. Your mom and I want to help as much as we can.” My heart stopped. “Dad, you wired the money directly to Liam?” When he confirmed it, I bit down on my knuckles to keep from sobbing. It took everything in me to keep my voice steady. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll… I’ll come visit you and Mom in a couple of days once things settle down.” I hung up, desperate to call Liam and demand the money back. But before I could, my work phone rang. My team lead said there was a catastrophic bug in our launch code. If we didn’t patch it immediately, not only would I lose my job, but I’d also be held legally and financially liable for the damages. Swallowing my panic, I rushed out of the hospital and ran back to the office. For the next forty-eight hours, Liam didn’t call or text me once. On the other hand, Chloe kept spamming our Snapchat group chat with blueprints, fabric samples, and furniture options, constantly tagging me. Miserable and exhausted, I muted the notifications. Forty-eight hours later, the launch was a success. The crisis was averted. But the moment the system went live, I walked into my manager Alisa’s office and handed in my resignation. Alisa looked at me with deep regret, but she didn’t try to stop me. She knew what I had been going through. The second I stepped out of the office building, I dialed Liam’s number. It went straight to voicemail. I opened Instagram. Chloe had posted a picture thirty minutes ago. She was holding a signed document with a red ink thumbprint on it, flashing a huge peace sign. The caption read: “Officially moving into my forever home with Liam!” It was a co-habitation agreement, giving her permanent rights to the apartment. I let out a cold, bitter laugh. I tapped the heart button and left a comment: “Congratulations. The house is all yours. Now tell Liam to return my dad’s $30,000.”

Ten minutes later, Chloe’s contact card flashed on my phone. I picked up, but a strange male voice spoke on the other end. He told me Chloe had been in a horrific car accident. She was in the ER, and I needed to get there immediately. My blood ran cold. No matter how furious I was, Chloe had been my best friend for years. She had no other family left. If something happened to her… Horrible scenarios raced through my mind. I sprinted through the hospital corridors, frantically searching the ER, but there was no sign of her. The sheer exhaustion and panic of the last few days finally broke me. I collapsed onto the floor of the hallway, sobbing hysterically. Suddenly, two shadows fell over me, blocking the harsh fluorescent light. A playful voice giggled. “Adeline! Surprise!” I slowly lifted my tear-stained face. Chloe was standing there, locking arms with Liam, beaming from ear to ear. Both of them were clean, pristine, and completely uninjured. Seeing my bewildered stare, she laughed. “You were ignoring Liam and me, so I had to play a little trick to get you out here. I didn’t realize you loved me this much! Oh my gosh, I have to post this on Insta.” She whipped out her phone, shoving the camera right in my face. Her expression was innocent, but the malicious triumph in her eyes was unmistakable. She did this on purpose. She lied to me, paraded her emotional affair in front of me, and actively tried to push me over the edge. And my boyfriend of five years stood just two feet away. He didn’t stop her. He didn’t even reach down to help me up. He just said half-heartedly, “Okay, Chloe, one picture is enough. Adeline’s shy.” Something in my brain snapped. I lunged forward, snatched the phone out of her hand, and slammed it onto the tile floor with all my might. “Get the hell away from me!” I screamed. Chloe let out a dramatic gasp, stumbling backward and falling gracefully onto the floor. Liam’s face transformed into a mask of rage. He shoved me aside violently, rushing to scoop Chloe into his arms. “Adeline! Are you out of your mind?” “Chloe was just trying to bring us back together, and you smash her phone?” His shove was so powerful that I flew backward, my back crashing hard against the concrete wall. My arm scraped against a sharp metal bracket on the wall, and hot, crimson blood began to drip down my sleeve. Liam’s hand twitched when he saw the blood, but he forced himself to look away, hardening his heart. “You love telling people to get lost? Fine. Pack your shit and get out of my apartment today.” I stared at him, my voice dead and cold. “Fine. Give me back the $30,000 my dad wired you, and I’ll burn every memory of you.” Liam choked on his words, momentarily stunned. But Chloe quickly pulled out the co-habitation agreement from her bag and tore it to pieces, sobbing. “I don’t need this anymore! I’ll leave right now.” Panicking, Liam turned to me and snapped, “Adeline! She’s your best friend! How can you be so incredibly greedy? You want the money? Fine, I’ll transfer it to you later. Now pack your things and get the hell out!” With that, he chased after Chloe. I wiped the tears from my face, got into a cab, and went back to the apartment we shared. Just as I finished packing my bags and opened the front door, I ran directly into Chloe. In the collision, a document fell out of her hand. Catching the smug smirk on her face, my stomach dropped. I bent down and grabbed the paper before she could. It was a purchase agreement for a condo. The buyer was Chloe. The down payment paid: $30,000. My hands shook, but my voice remained steady as I looked at Liam, who had just walked in behind her. “Liam. Do you have time to pay me back now?” Liam rubbed the back of his neck, trying to avoid my eyes. “You wouldn’t let Chloe live with us, and she needed a place of her own. This condo was having a massive flash sale. It would’ve been stupid to miss it, so I lent her the $30,000. We can just save up more money later and renovate both places together.” I looked at him, my heart turning to ice. “So, without my consent, you took the money my father earned with his sweat and tears, and used it to buy her a condo?” Liam mumbled, “We’re all friends, Adeline. I was just trying to help.” My heart was entirely dead. I pulled my suitcase behind me and walked past him into the elevator. Liam stood there, his fists clenching and unclenching, but he didn’t take a single step to follow me. The moment I walked out of the building, I drove straight to the police precinct. “I’d like to report a grand larceny and financial fraud.”

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My mom took me for a mental health evaluation. While filling out the form, I checked the box next to “Frequently feel sad.” She immediately snatched the pen and crossed it out. “How could you possibly be sad? Who in this house has ever mistreated you?” I checked “Social anxiety.” She frowned again. “You were so bubbly when you were a kid. Stop filling this out with nonsense.” I didn’t argue. Since she said I wasn’t sad, I changed the answer to “Never.” Since she said I slept perfectly, I erased “Frequent insomnia.” By the time the form was finished, almost every single answer had been rewritten to match her expectations. My mom picked it up, scanned it twice, and nodded with satisfaction. “Now, that’s more like it. You can’t just write whatever you want. What if the results are wrong? It would make a perfectly healthy person look sick.” In the end, the report showed everything was completely normal. My mom finally let out a sigh of relief. On the ride home, I kept rubbing the scar hidden beneath my sleeve. My heart was pounding loudly, but the world in front of my eyes was fading away. Eventually, there was only blankness, silence, and deathly stillness.

“I told you there was nothing wrong with you. I know you better than any doctor ever could. This trip was a complete waste of time.” In the car on the way back, my mom, Amber, took a photo of the clean bill of health and sent it directly to our family group chat on Snapchat. She specifically drew a red circle around the words: Results: Normal. “Took her for a checkup today. Absolutely nothing is wrong. She’s just scaring herself.” The moment the message was sent, my relatives started popping up one after another. My Aunt Mary texted: “I knew it couldn’t be depression. Your family provides her with such a great life. What does she even have to be depressed about?” My Uncle John added: “Kids these days just spend too much time on TikTok. They learn a few fancy terms and think it applies to them.” My dad, David, finally replied. “Good to know she’s fine. Stop causing drama now. Your mom works so hard to take care of you.” My mom put her phone down, looking thoroughly satisfied. “See? Everyone says you’re fine. You threw a little tantrum, and I had to wake up early just to drag you here.” “Depression? Please. If people didn’t know better, they’d think I was abusing you.” I stared at the screen and nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.” My mom blinked, probably not expecting me to admit it so quickly. I lowered my head. I could only remember every single time I had reached out to her for help. She always broke down before I did. “I don’t even dare to say I’m depressed, and my life is way harder than yours! To take care of you, I wake up at dawn, cook you organic meals, and spend every waking hour worrying. I poured my soul into raising you, and somehow I’m the one in the wrong?” Even this hospital visit was just the result of her crying all night in frustration. “Fine! We’ll go to the hospital! I want to see exactly how much I’ve ‘ruined’ you!” This time, I didn’t dare to talk back. From that day on, I became perfectly normal. I didn’t need my mom to wake me up anymore. I got out of bed at exactly 6:30 AM. Whatever breakfast she made, I ate every single bite. Even when my stomach churned with nausea, I forced the last mouthful down. Before school, she searched my backpack and my phone. I just stood by and waited. I stopped asking her why she was going through my things. When she deleted the raw, messy thoughts from the notes app on my phone, I didn’t stop her. “This stuff is just whiny and dramatic,” she said, handing the phone back to me. “Write about happy things from now on.” During class, I no longer slumped over my desk. When Ms. Jenkins called on me, I stood up and answered clearly. My desk mate asked if I was feeling better lately. I smiled, mimicking my mom’s tone. “I was always fine. I was just overthinking things a while ago.” When I got home from school, I voluntarily helped my mom prep vegetables, vacuum the carpets, and fold the laundry. When she called Aunt Mary, her voice was light and airy. “That checkup was actually worth it. She’s finally snapped out of it.” “Before, she carried this miserable face around every day, like the whole family owed her something. Now that she knows she’s not sick, she actually has some energy.” Aunt Mary laughed on the other end of the line. “I told you so. Kids don’t have real problems.” My mom looked back at me. I was kneeling on the floor, scrubbing a tiny smudge near her feet. She said happily, “She just needed to realize that running away doesn’t solve anything.” I kept my head down and kept scrubbing. The stain had been gone for a long time. But I kept scrubbing the exact same spot, over and over again. At 10:00 PM, my mom pushed open my bedroom door. I was already tucked under the covers. My school uniform was folded neatly, and my homework for tomorrow was sitting right on top of my backpack. She finally smiled. “See? Isn’t it so much better to be normal?” “When I lectured you before, it was only because I didn’t want you going down the wrong path. When you grow up, you’ll realize I did it all for your own good.” I looked at her. “Thank you, Mom.” She turned off the light for me. Outside my room, she sent a voice note to my dad. “Don’t worry, she’s completely fine now. She’s being so obedient, and she doesn’t say those scary things anymore.” My dad asked, “Then why keep the evaluation report?” “Of course we have to keep it. Just in case she tries to pull another stunt in the future.” Her footsteps faded down the hallway. I kept my eyes open, staring toward the desk. The copy of the evaluation report was pressed flat under my desk lamp. Score: Normal. No depressive tendencies. Recommended: Maintain healthy family communication. I stared at it for a very long time. Then, I pulled out a brand-new journal. On the first page, I wrote: Today, I woke up on time. I finished my breakfast. I didn’t zone out during class. I helped Mom with the chores after school. I am doing great.

On the seventh day of writing in my journal, I threw up during my midterm exam. The moment the test papers were handed out, the sounds in the classroom suddenly felt miles away. The proctor’s footsteps, the rustling of paper, the morning announcements outside the window. It all blurred into one messy hum. All I could hear was my own heartbeat, hammering harder and faster against my ribs until it physically hurt. Ms. Jenkins helped me out into the hallway and called my mom. Thirty minutes later, my mom rushed into the school. Ms. Jenkins said, “She looks really pale. Maybe she should go home for the day.” “No need.” My mom pulled the folded evaluation report out of her purse. She had been carrying it everywhere lately; the edges were already frayed and creased. “We just got her checked out a few days ago. The results were perfect. She throws up right when the midterms start? What a coincidence.” A few students who had come out to the hallway to get water stopped to look. They glanced at the report, then at me. Ms. Jenkins lowered her voice. “It could just be academic stress.” My mom’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “Stress? She’s the only one with stress? I sacrificed my entire life to care for her, and the moment she claimed she had a mental illness, I dragged her to get tested immediately!” “The results are right here. Black and white. She is NOT sick! And now she’s putting on another show. What more does she want from me?” I stood frozen. My classmates’ stares felt like needles pricking my skin. I remembered the last time. It was also during an exam. I felt so suffocated that I ran out of the testing room. The first thing she did when she arrived was slap me across the face in front of everyone. “Everyone else is perfectly fine! Why do you always have to be the difficult one?” When I said I felt sick, she called it a cry for attention. When I said my heart was beating too fast, she said I was just trying to escape the test. So this time, she turned to me and demanded. “Can you take the test or not?” I nodded. “Yes.” My mom finally let out a sigh of relief. “See? She said it herself. She can do it.” I was sent back into the classroom. As I walked past the back row, someone whispered. “Wait, didn’t she say she had depression?” Another kid smirked. “Depression? Please. Her mom literally brought a medical report. She’s just faking it.” They giggled behind their hands. I sat back in my seat and picked up my pen. The words on the test paper swirled together. I had to copy them down letter by letter. But I still couldn’t hold on. That afternoon, Ms. Jenkins called me into her office. My mom was already sitting there. My exam was laid out on the desk, more than half of it left completely blank. My mom didn’t look at me. She grabbed Ms. Jenkins’ hand, her tears falling fast. “Ms. Jenkins, you have no idea how hard this is for me.” “She said she had issues, and I immediately booked the best doctor. Now that the results are out, she’s still doing this.” “I honestly don’t know what else to do to make her happy.” The other teachers in the office turned to look at us. Someone handed my mom a tissue. Ms. Jenkins sighed. “You really do have it rough.” She turned her gaze to me. “Your mom cares about you so much, Maya. You need to grow up and be more understanding.” I nodded. “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s my fault.” When we got home, my mom took a photo of the unfinished exam and posted it into the Snapchat family group chat. “Threw up during midterms today and left the paper blank. The moment an exam starts, she starts throwing tantrums again.” Aunt Mary quickly replied. “She’s just making excuses. You need to be stricter with her.” Uncle John wrote. “Zero resilience. Amber has always been so strong and independent. How did she raise such a weakling?” My dad sent the final text. “She’s clearly letting her mind wander because she has too much privacy. From now on, don’t let her lock her door. Stop letting her spend time alone.” That night, my dad walked into my bedroom carrying a toolbox. One by one, the screws fell to the carpet. I stood by the bed, watching my door being lifted off its hinges. My mom stood outside the doorway, her arms crossed. “You only get these dark thoughts because you isolate yourself too much.” “The last time you threw a fit and demanded a door, we let it slide. But now that you’re doing this again, we won’t tolerate it anymore.” I was trembling, my fingers tightly gripping the empty door frame. It felt like the very last line of defense in my mind was being violently ripped away. I wanted to beg her. But my mind was immediately flooded with the hurtful things she would say, and how she would cry about how everything was “for my own good.” Thinking of that, my voice died in my throat. From that day on, I could never close my door again. When I changed my clothes, I had to huddle deep under my blankets. When I couldn’t sleep at night, I didn’t even dare to toss and turn. My mom would walk past my doorway every few minutes, checking to see if I was secretly crying. At 3:00 AM that night, she stood at my doorway for the fourth time. I heard her whisper to my dad. “Look how quiet she is now.” “We should have done this a long time ago. We spoiled her too much before.”

Three days after the door was taken away, the school held a Parent-Teacher Conference. My mom arrived thirty minutes early. When Ms. Jenkins brought up student mental health, my mom immediately raised her hand. “Ms. Jenkins, I actually wanted to speak on this.” She pulled the report out of her bag. “My daughter claimed she was depressed a while ago. I paid for a full medical checkup, and she is completely fine.” The classroom was packed with parents. My mom’s voice grew more passionate as she spoke. “The internet is always teaching kids to label themselves. Bad grades mean anxiety, not wanting to go to school means depression, and if a parent says a word, it’s called ‘toxic parenting.’” “If we don’t put our feet down, these kids are going to be ruined.” Several parents nodded in agreement. Someone asked, “How is your daughter doing now?” My mom smiled, looking back at me as I stood at the rear of the classroom. “She’s completely cured. Come on, tell them yourself.” Every head in the room turned to look at me. I walked up to the podium. My mom shoved the report into my hands. “Go on, speak.” The paper crinkled under my tight grip. I forced a bright smile onto my face. “I was just overthinking things before. I caused a lot of trouble for my mom and Ms. Jenkins. But I’ve cleared my head now, and I won’t make a scene ever again.” The room erupted into applause. One parent praised my mom. “You raised her well. You really can’t coddle them.” My mom’s eyes crinkled with pride. “It’s all for her own good.” The next day, when I walked into the classroom, a few boys in the back row mocked me in high-pitched voices. “I’m fine, I was just overthinking things.” Someone had written “RESULTS: NORMAL” on the whiteboard. Next to it, they drew a crying face with the words: I have depression, poor little me. The whole class laughed. In the afternoon, Coach Anderson made us run the 800-meter. During the second lap, my heart rate went haywire again. My chest felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton; every breath I took burned like fire. Behind me, someone yelled. “Oh look, she’s having another ‘attack’!” Another kid laughed. “Shut up, she has a medical report. She’s perfectly normal!” I didn’t stop. The moment I crossed the finish line, I collapsed onto the track. My knees scraped against the gravel, and blood started dripping down my shins. Coach Anderson told me to go sit on the sidelines and rest. As I sat by the edge of the field, my racing heart suddenly began to slow down. I actually thought I was finally getting better. When I got home, my mom saw the gashes on my knees. “What happened?” “I fell while running.” “Coach Anderson called and said you almost fainted.” “I didn’t faint.” “Were you letting your mind wander again?” “No.” I looked at her. “I just skipped breakfast.” My mom’s expression softened. “Exactly.” “If your body feels bad, fix your physical health. Stop blaming everything on your psychology.” She went to the kitchen and scooped a massive bowl of homemade lasagna for me. “Eat all of it. I don’t want your teachers thinking I starve you at home.” I forced it down, forkful by forkful. By the time I reached the end, my stomach was violently spasming. That night, I threw up all over my bed. I didn’t dare make a sound. My room had no door; my mom could walk by at any second. I rolled up the soiled duvet cover, shoved it deep under my desk, and threw my school uniform over it to hide it. In the living room, my mom was on FaceTime with Aunt Mary. She was laughing happily. “That kid was just being dramatic. I saw right through her.” “One checkup and taking her door off was all it took. Look how obedient she is now.” “If your kids ever start acting depressed, just send them to me.” She paused, her voice dripping with pride. “I’m basically a professional counselor for dramatic teenagers now.” I covered my mouth, swallowing down the bitter acid that kept rising in my throat.

The next day, my mom set up her phone on a tripod in the living room. She set up two chairs and made me sit right next to her. “Smile. Don’t look so miserable.” I forced the corners of my mouth upward. “Like this?” “More natural.” She hit record and flashed a practiced, glowing smile at the camera. “Lately, so many parents have been asking me what to do when their kids constantly claim they have depression.” “Honestly, there aren’t that many sick kids. They just spend too much time on their phones, think too much, and lack discipline.” She held up the evaluation report to the lens. “My daughter went through a phase too. But we took her to the doctor, got her tested, and absolutely nothing was wrong.” She turned the camera toward me. Under the table, she nudged my leg with her foot. “Tell everyone yourself. Are you all better now?” I stared at my pale, hollow reflection in the camera lens. “Yes. I’m all better.” “Why did you think you were sick before?” “I was just being dramatic.” “Did I ever abuse you?” “No.” “So when I discipline you, is it for your own good?” I nodded. “Yes.” My mom turned off the recording and replayed it a few times. “You did great this time.” She posted the video to the school PTA Snapchat group with the caption. “You can’t coddle kids. The more you indulge them, the worse they get.” Within thirty minutes, the comments were flooded with praise. Some called her a parenting genius. Some asked her for advice on how to make their own teenagers listen. Someone even forwarded the video to our high school’s student group chat. That afternoon, Ms. Jenkins called my mom. “The video is spreading. Some of the students in class are gossiping about it.” My mom chuckled. “Let them talk. It’s a good lesson for those kids to stop faking illnesses for attention.” After hanging up, she showed the screen to me. In the video, the girl was smiling brightly. One comment read. “This girl looks so normal. How could anyone think she was sick?” Another said. “She just needed some tough love. Look how quickly she was cured!” My mom slid the phone in front of me. “See? Everyone can tell you’re perfectly fine.” I nodded and let out a soft laugh. For dinner, she made my favorite lasagna again. “We’re celebrating today. Eat up.” She kept piling food onto my plate. I swallowed every single bite. My mom took out her phone and snapped a photo of me eating. “Look at you, eating and drinking just fine. And you dared to say you were depressed.” “I’m posting this to show everyone how great you’re doing.” I flashed a quick smile for the camera. By the second plate, my stomach was burning. I forced it down anyway. My mom was still scrolling through the new comments under her video. “Someone suggested I should start a parenting podcast.” “To teach other parents how to handle these overly sensitive kids.” My dad smiled too. “You really did cure her.” Late that night, my stomach couldn’t hold it anymore. I knelt over the toilet, clutching my mouth, not daring to let a single sob slip out. Blood began to drip from my wrists, falling into the vomit before I could flush it away. My nails had clawed through my old scars, ripping the half-healed flesh wide open. Crimson and white swirled together in the bowl. In the living room, the audio from my mom’s TikTok video was still looping. Through the open doorway, I could hear my own calm voice playing over and over. “I’m all better.” My mom wasn’t wrong. I woke up on time today. I ate two plates of food. I smiled at everyone. I didn’t cry. I didn’t complain. My heart rate slowly began to drop. Thump. Thump. The pauses in between grew longer and longer. I pressed my palm against my chest and waited quietly. This time, my heart didn’t scream for help. When dawn was breaking, my mom noticed the bathroom light was still on. She pushed the door open. Seeing me slumped on the floor, she froze for a second, and then she screamed. My dad rushed in, frantically dialing 911. My mom collapsed onto her knees in the blood and vomit, screaming my name over and over. But her voice sounded so incredibly far away. I couldn’t make out the words at all.

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At the dinner table, my wife’s college junior threw an estimated cost sheet for a pregnancy right in front of my face. He announced that my wife was going to be his surrogate, and that I was expected to split the $30,000 bill for the medical fees and postpartum care. I stared at my wife in utter shock. I waited for her to tell me it was a sick joke. Instead, she slid her hand into his, looked me in the eye, and said, “I promised Julian I’d carry his baby. As my husband, it is your responsibility to split the cost. Don’t try to dodge your duties.” At that exact moment, it finally clicked. Our nine years of marriage was nothing but a pathetic joke. Some people simply belonged in the trash. The moment our families sat down at the restaurant, my wife’s junior, Julian, threw a printed sheet of paper directly at my face. He stood up, looking down at me with a smug, triumphant grin, like a rooster that had just won a fight. “Olivia has agreed to be my surrogate. The total cost from her pregnancy to postpartum care comes to thirty thousand dollars. Let’s split it down the middle.” Silence fell over the dining table. My parents, who had just been happily raising their glasses to toast my in-laws, froze instantly. I stared at my wife, Olivia, in disbelief. I prayed she would tell me this was some twisted prank. We were married. We had been together for nine years, living happily as DINKs. And now, she was going to carry another man’s child? And I was the last to know? I couldn’t believe this was real. But right in front of me, my wife was locking fingers with another man. Her eyes, when they met mine, were cold and completely detached. “Ethan, I’m getting pregnant. As my husband, you are obligated to share the expenses. Stop trying to run away from your responsibilities.” Emboldened by Olivia’s support, Julian gave me a mocking glare. Then, right in front of my face, he leaned in and kissed the corner of her lips. After that, he pulled out a printed contract. “Since Olivia is carrying my child, I have three ground rules.” “First, from this moment on, you will cater to Olivia’s every need during the pregnancy until she successfully gives birth.” “Second, after she gives birth, she will stay at my place on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays to bond with the baby. She will only come home on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. You are not allowed to get jealous.” “Third, my child will be Olivia’s sole heir and inherit all her assets. To protect the child’s inheritance rights, you must go to the clinic and get a vasectomy.” Listening to his ridiculous demands, my parents finally snapped out of their shock. My mother’s face turned incredibly pale, and she couldn’t hold back anymore. “What kind of madness is this?!” She turned to my in-laws, Mr. and Mrs. Vance. “Are you two just going to sit there and let this happen?” Julian sneered, “They’ve already approved of this.” My in-laws had taken Julian in as an adopted son years ago. Hearing his words, the two of them smiled and nodded. “Yes, we’ve known about this for a while.” My mother-in-law, Mrs. Vance, even turned to persuade me. “Ethan, you know Julian’s late father was Olivia’s mentor. His dying wish was for Julian to carry on the family line. Olivia is just helping him fulfill his father’s last wish.” “You’re an educated man. Surely you understand what it means to repay a life-changing debt?” I let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Repaying a debt? Is that what you call this disgusting, trashy affair?” Olivia’s face immediately darkened. “Ethan! This is a notification, not a negotiation!” “Julian is going to be the father of my child. If you speak to him like that again, don’t blame me for getting ugly!” I stared at her, completely appalled. “Olivia, say that again!” She rolled her eyes at me, her face filled with sheer annoyance. “Ethan, I am trying to do a good deed. Can you stop being so incredibly petty and dramatic?” “Besides, Julian is highly educated and brilliant. His genes deserve to be passed down.” “Good genes?” I laughed out loud. “By good genes, do you mean his natural talent for being a homewrecker?” Julian’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. Olivia slammed her hands on the table, standing up to shield Julian behind her. “Julian comes from a family of academics! What does a small-town nobody like you know about pedigree?” “Besides, you refused to have kids with me. Why shouldn’t I have them with someone else?” Her words pierced straight through my heart, and I smiled bitterly. Before we got married, she was the one who insisted on being a DINK. She was the one who swore she would never give birth. To support her, I agreed and even defended our choice. Over our nine years of marriage, my parents had dropped subtle hints about wanting grandchildren. I took all the heat from them just to shield her from the pressure. And now, she was using that exact choice as a weapon to attack me? At this moment, I finally saw the truth. My nine-year marriage was a joke. Since she wanted to ruin it, I was happy to tear it all down.

I stood up abruptly, kicking the heavy wooden table over with all my strength. Plates shattered, and greasy, colorful soup splashed all over Julian and Olivia. Julian screamed in panic. Olivia’s face turned green with rage. Before she could scream at me, I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face. Then, I looked at Julian. “I’m done with this trash.” “If you want her so badly, you can have her!” “Olivia, we are divorcing!” I articulated every single word, turned around, and walked out. My parents, their faces dark with fury, stood up and followed right behind me. We left behind a chaotic mess and the humiliated Vance family. Olivia was shaking with rage, screaming at my retreating back. “Ethan! How dare you bring up divorce? Do you think I’m afraid of you?!” “Fine! We’ll divorce! Trust me, I will live a much better life without you!” I didn’t look back. I led my parents out of that restaurant as fast as possible. I wouldn’t spend another second in that toxic environment. After dropping my parents off at their house, I drove back to the suburban home Olivia and I shared to pack my things. But the moment I arrived at the front door, I froze. All my clothes, books, and personal belongings had been tossed out onto the lawn like piles of garbage. Even the digital lock on the door had been changed. I called Olivia. No answer. So I initiated a FaceTime call. It connected. But the face on the screen belonged to Julian. He was wearing my favorite silk robe, lounging on my marriage bed. His collar was draped open, deliberately showing off fresh, red hickeys on his chest. Seeing me, he raised an eyebrow, his eyes dripping with smug provocation. “Olivia and I are busy trying to make a baby. Why are you calling so late?” Before I could speak, he waved his hand. The diamond ring on his finger caught the light, and my pupils dilated. It was my wedding ring. The one I had personally designed and crafted for Olivia—a one-of-a-kind piece. Just a few days ago, Olivia had lied to me, saying she was taking it to the jeweler for a professional cleaning. I never imagined she would give it to Julian. Even the decorative picture frames on the nightstand had been replaced with intimate photos of them. Some showed them kissing, others hugging. Noticing my stare, Julian grinned widely. “Oh, sorry about this, Ethan. Olivia said this house belongs to me now. She said all the old trash needs to be thrown out, so I tossed your things into the yard.” I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. I took a deep breath. “Where is Olivia?” He blinked innocently. “Olivia? She’s in the shower.” He sighed dramatically. “You have no idea how clingy she is. She insisted on going for a second round. That’s why… I’m waiting for her.” A wave of intense nausea hit my stomach. “Oh, by the way, Olivia said since you were the one who demanded a divorce, you should grab your trash and beat it.” “After all, she was the one who bought this house.” Before I could reply, Olivia stepped out of the bathroom, coming into the frame. She was wearing a semi-sheer negligee, her neck covered in red marks. Her eyes were hazy and wet. The moment she stepped out, she snuggled directly into Julian’s arms. Julian said mockingly, “Olivia, look, Ethan is watching us.” Only then did she notice the screen. Her expression instantly hardened into a mask of pure annoyance. “Since you want a divorce, what are you doing calling in the middle of the night? This place has absolutely nothing to do with you anymore!” The fury in my chest erupted completely. “Olivia, have you lost your mind? I paid for eighty percent of this house! The startup capital for your company came from me selling two of my tech patents! Your very first client was handed to you through my personal network! Just because people call you ‘CEO Vance’ now, you think you’re a god? What right do you have to kick me out?” Olivia had been put on a pedestal for too long. No one had dared to strip away her fake mask in years. Having her secrets exposed made her face twist in rage. “Ethan, don’t flatter yourself! Everything I have today, I built with my own hands! It has nothing to do with you! If it weren’t for marrying me, a small-town boy like you would still be rotting in the dirt! For nine years, you and your family have been leeching off my success. Who do you think you are to bark at me?” My heart ached with a sharp, dull pain. Looking at her distorted, angry face, the last shred of my affection died. “Olivia, every single cent my family and I spent in the last nine years was earned by my own sweat! Without me, do you honestly think an empty shell of a woman like you could have ever reached this position?” She gnashed her teeth. “I graduated from an elite university! How dare you call me an empty shell? Do you really think the company can’t function without you? Ethan, you are nothing!” “You want to make a scene? Fine! I’ll give you what you want! Tomorrow morning, we sign the divorce papers, and you are officially fired from the company! I’m going to show you that my business runs perfectly fine without you!” “Olivia, since you want to play dirty, don’t blame me for showing no mercy.” “Get ready to watch your precious company burn.” I sneered, preparing to end the call. Olivia bounced on the bed in rage, screaming like a banshee just before the line went dead. “Ethan! Do you think you can survive in this city without me and the company?! I’ve already blacklisted you with every major firm in this region! You won’t find a single job! I will make sure you starve on the streets!” I hung up, turned around, and walked away without looking back. I had to leave. If I stayed there a second longer, I would have broken down the door and dragged those two parasites to hell with me.

The next morning, I drafted the divorce agreement and went straight to the company headquarters to find Olivia. But the moment I reached the lobby, two security guards blocked my path. I frowned. “I’m the Executive Vice President of this company…” The guard mocked, cutting me off, “What Vice President? An official notice was sent out this morning. You’ve been terminated!” “Furthermore, CEO Vance personally ordered that Ethan and dogs are not allowed inside.” I clenched my fists, a burning sensation of anger rising in my chest. Just then, Julian and Olivia walked out of the elevator together. Julian spoke in a high-pitched, sarcastic tone. “Oh, look who it is. Former VP Ethan. Why are you standing outside?” Before I could answer, he gasped, feigning shock, “Oh, I forgot! You’ve been fired by Olivia. You’re literally nobody now.” The security guards laughed along servilely. Olivia stood beside him, her lips curled in a disdainful smirk. I took a deep, heavy breath, ignored Julian entirely, and locked my eyes on her. “I’m here to finalize the divorce.” A glint of greed flashed in Julian’s eyes. Olivia sneered and slid a document out of her designer bag, handing it to me. “I’ve already had my lawyers draft the paperwork. Sign it.” I took it, and my brow furrowed as I skimmed the terms. “You expect me to leave with absolutely nothing?” According to the agreement, Olivia wasn’t leaving me a single dime. How did she have the audacity? Olivia sneered, “What else did you expect?” Julian crossed his arms. “Isn’t that obvious? This is Vance Group. Everything you used, wore, and drove belonged to Olivia’s wealth. What right do you have to take her money?” “Honestly, if you want to keep whatever dignity you have left, just sign it.” Seeing me hesitate, Olivia mocked, “I knew you couldn’t bear to let go of this luxurious lifestyle. Why act so tough last night? Ethan, if you apologize right now, agree to split my pregnancy costs, and schedule your vasectomy, I might consider letting you keep your job. Otherwise…” “No need. I’ll sign.” I cut her off sharply. I pulled out my pen and rapidly signed my name on the dotted line. Olivia’s expression hardened, clearly not expecting me to be so decisive. “Ethan, you actually…” “Olivia!” Before she could finish her sentence, Julian grabbed her hand. “Everything he has on him was paid for by you. Look at that custom-tailored suit he’s wearing, and that sports car he drove here. They cost a fortune! Those are your assets. You can’t let him leave with them!” I snapped my gaze to her. Olivia was taken aback for a second, but then a look of cruel satisfaction washed over her face. “Julian is right. The car and your clothes were bought with my money. Since you’re leaving with nothing, you don’t get to take them.” “However, if you get down on your knees, beg Julian and me for forgiveness, and sign the commitment letter Julian drafted, I’ll give you one last chance.” “Otherwise, don’t blame me for leaving you out on the street in your underwear.” My heart grew completely cold. “Fine.” I let out a harsh laugh. Ignoring the mocking whispers and stares of the employees gathering in the lobby, I took off my designer blazer, unbuttoned my shirt, stepped out of my trousers, and kicked off my leather shoes. I threw my car keys directly at Olivia’s face. “Are you satisfied now? I bought the underwear and the undershirt myself. I don’t need to strip those off for you, do I?” The keys struck Olivia’s face, leaving a red mark before clattering to the floor. She froze, completely stunned. I didn’t give her another glance. With a straight back and head held high, I walked out of the building in my plain undershirt and boxers, completely ignoring the whispering crowd. Behind me, Olivia was shaking with sheer embarrassment and rage. “Ethan! You want to play this game with me?! Fine! You’ll regret this!” For nine long years, I was always the one to cave in. I was the one who coddled her. She couldn’t understand why, this time, I refused to bow my head. I ignored her completely, hailed a taxi under the shocked stares of onlookers, and left. Since she wanted to play dirty, I was going to ruin her. Using the last of my cash, I took the cab to my parents’ house. My parents and my sister, Chloe, who had married a few years ago, were all gathered in the living room. The atmosphere was incredibly tense. Seeing me walk in wearing nothing but my underwear, my mother’s eyes instantly turned red. “Ethan… what happened? Did Olivia do this to you?” My father immediately grabbed me and pushed me toward the guest room. “Go, put on some dry clothes before you catch a cold.” Before I could say anything, Chloe let out an annoyed, loud sigh. “Ethan, seriously? Why did you have to pick a fight with Olivia? Are you not satisfied until you drag this entire family into the mud with you?” “Chloe! Shut your mouth!” my mother warned her sharply. But Chloe only grew more agitated, jumping up from the sofa. “Am I wrong? Why are you protecting him? If it weren’t for his stupid ego, would our lives be falling apart right now?” My mother’s face paled as she tried to stop her. I realized something was terribly wrong. “What happened? Tell me.”

“Nothing… nothing happened…” My mother forced a weak smile and tried to push me into the bedroom. My father was also trying to hold Chloe back. But Chloe broke free, crying out, “Dad, Mom, how long are you going to keep this from him?” “Both of you were fired from the university today! I was let go from my marketing firm this morning, and my daughter, Lily, was expelled from her private daycare! Ethan caused all of this! Why does he get to be shielded from the truth?” I froze. “What?” Chloe’s eyes were bloodshot, her shoulders shaking violently as she wept. Despite my parents’ protests, the ugly truth came out. My parents weren’t the uneducated country folk Olivia claimed they were. They were respected professors who had worked hard to secure their positions at a prestigious local university. But this morning, both of them were abruptly dismissed from their tenure under the guise of “restructuring.” Chloe was fired without cause. Even my little niece, Lily, was kicked out of her daycare. The director had called Chloe, cryptically warning her that they had offended someone with immense corporate power in the city. In this region, the only person who hated me enough and possessed that level of corporate influence was Olivia. “Ethan, please, I beg you, stop fighting her!” Chloe sobbed, her voice breaking. “Just go back to Olivia, apologize, and agree to whatever she wants!” Clearly, she had heard about the surrogacy from my parents. My father couldn’t take it anymore. “Chloe! If you say another word, you are no longer a part of this family!” “Your brother is the victim here! How can you stand there and kick him while he’s down?” Chloe was on the verge of a breakdown. “What am I supposed to do?! I worked so hard for that promotion! Lily finally got into the best daycare! Now everything is gone! I have a mortgage, a car payment, and Lily’s future to think about…” My throat felt incredibly tight, like I was suffocating. Taking a deep breath, I pulled out my phone and called my old business contacts, hoping to find a way out. I couldn’t let my family suffer for my divorce. But every single person who picked up my call sounded terrified, as if I were a plague. “Ethan, I’m sorry. Olivia made it very clear. Anyone who helps you is an enemy of the Vance Group. We can’t risk our business.” An contact at the university also whispered, “Ethan, someone filed an anonymous complaint accusing your parents of academic misconduct and ethical violations. The board had no choice.” I finally understood. Olivia was trying to strangle me and my family financially, leaving us with absolutely no air to breathe. She was utterly ruthless. Before I could process the anger, my phone rang. It was Olivia. The moment I answered, her mocking laughter echoed through the speaker. “How does it feel to taste the consequences of crossing me?” “Do you finally see how insignificant you are, Ethan? Without me, you are absolutely nothing!” “But without you, I am still the powerful CEO of Vance Group! Oh, and in case you didn’t know, we just secured a twenty-million-dollar government tech contract!” I knew exactly which contract she was talking about. It was a project I had spent six months pitching, working myself to the bone and drinking myself to a bleeding ulcer to secure. The signing was supposed to happen this week. My hard work had been handed over to her on a silver platter. And she was using it to rub salt in my wounds. I hung up the phone without a word. In the living room, Chloe’s quiet whimpering grew more painful to hear. I knew I had to act. “Don’t worry,” I said calmly. “By tomorrow, I will resolve everything.” I went to the bedroom, put on a simple t-shirt and jeans, and walked out of the house. My steps were steady, and my posture was straight. I had to let them know that the sky wasn’t falling. While waiting for an Uber on the sidewalk, I dialed a number. “Audrey, let’s meet. I’m ready to sell you those tech patents.” Olivia thought leaving me with no assets would ruin me. But she forgot one crucial thing: the core patents for the green energy project her company was developing were registered under my personal name, not the company’s. Since I was no longer a part of Vance Group, I could sell those patents to whomever I pleased. Since she wanted to push me into a corner, I was going to tear her empire down. Olivia, Julian—it was time to pay the price.

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I was scrolling through a local online forum tonight when a post caught my eye. [Giving away my girlfriend of seven years. Free. Slightly used.] [5’5″, 103 lbs, D-cup. Total pushover, obeys your every command.] [DM me for her Snapchat.] The comment section was already a thousand layers deep. — “Bro, at least post a picture.” — “They all look the same when the lights are off anyway. As long as she has a hot body, I’m down. OP, check your DMs!” — “If she’s that good, why aren’t you keeping her?” The original poster replied: — “Too clingy. Annoying.” My brow furrowed tighter and tighter as I read on. Just as I was about to close the app, a notification popped up on my phone. A stranger was adding me on Snapchat. The request message read: *Hey, you’ve just been traded to me.* Almost instantly, my mind went blank. It was Julian. He had put me up on the internet, giving me away like a piece of used furniture. How ridiculous. Just a second ago, I was actually feeling sorry for the poster’s girlfriend, thinking about how heartbroken she would be. Now, with an eerie wave of calmness, I clicked into Julian’s profile. In March, his account posted its very first entry: [Nobody in this world understands me.] In April, he lamented: [My art is trash, just like my life. There is no hope left.] In May, I stared at a photo of a girl’s back, my heart sinking. [She finally appeared.] [Daisy understands me, and she understands my art.] [We are soulmates. Twin flames.] [We are two halves of the same soul, meeting far too late.] [The white daisies are in full bloom.] It wasn’t until June that he finally mentioned me. [Accidentally saw a split end in C’s hair today. Disgusting. It felt like a smudge on a clean canvas, a misplaced brush, a torn piece of sketch paper.] “C”—the first letter of my name, Chloe. [Basic. Vulgarian.] By July, they seemed to be deeply in love. [I wish I had met you first.] [I’ve painted you, my beautiful Daisy.] I felt like a pathetic clown scrolling through their love story. And then came August. [Giving away my girlfriend of seven years. Free. Slightly used.] *Click.* The bedroom door pushed open. Julian walked in and pulled his favorite white suit out of the closet. I had ironed it right after coming home from my exhausting corporate job. There wasn’t a single wrinkle on it. His eyes narrowed slightly in satisfaction. Before leaving, he said coldly, “Go to sleep. Don’t wait up for me.” He didn’t even look at me. He hadn’t touched me in two months. The last time we tried to be intimate, he suddenly stopped and pulled away, his face pale with disgust. At the time, I had asked him gently, “Are you feeling sick again?” He had barely nodded, keeping his eyes away from me. Now I knew. He had seen that split end in my hair. It was 11:30 PM, and he was putting on a formal suit to go out. I lay in bed, reading those thirteen posts over and over again. At 1:00 AM, I got out of bed and forcefully broke open the door to his art studio. We shared a 1,200-square-foot apartment. I had given him 600 square feet of it to use as his studio. Yet, I didn’t even have the key to enter it. I flipped on the harsh overhead light. The room was immaculate, dust-free. His paintings were neatly arranged. My eyes swept over them, finally landing on the only framed piece in the corner. Julian had used an expensive, custom wooden frame to show how much he treasured it. The girl in the painting was ethereal, lively, and incredibly beautiful. How long does it take to paint an oil portrait so detailed you can see the pores on her skin? I didn’t know. But the portrait he had painted of me years ago was a rushed, messy sketch that took him barely two hours. Yet back then, I was so thrilled. I had danced around that silly sketch for days, completely ignoring the cold, mocking look in his eyes. And that sketch, which I had cherished like a priceless treasure, wasn’t even worth a fraction of the painting in front of me. I closed my eyes in pain. I still remembered the first time I met Julian. It was on the rooftop of a sixteen-story building. I had screamed at him, begging him not to jump. I coaxed and lied until I finally dragged him down. When I finally caught my breath, my legs were shaking so hard I couldn’t stand. He had just stared at me, silent. He was so fragile back then. I naively thought I could save him. And just like that, I wasted ten years of my life. He wanted to be a pure artist. He painted one piece a month, but nobody ever bought them. So, I secretly bought every single one of them under an anonymous account for $1,000 each. I worked overtime, drank with clients until my stomach bled, and got hospitalized. Yet, on the day I was discharged, I still didn’t forget to buy him a bouquet of fresh roses. He never thanked me. He only posted online: [Basic.] Turns out, he preferred daisies. His beautiful Daisy. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. I laughed at my own stupidity. I couldn’t even see his blatant disgust. I laughed at my naivety. I was thirty years old, and I had absolutely nothing to show for it. Ten years of my youth were summarized by him as “a total pushover.” My phone dinged. Julian: *Accept the Snapchat request when you wake up.* Ten minutes later, another text came through: *He’s the new boyfriend I found for you.*

My grip tightened around my phone. I snapped a photo of Daisy’s portrait and sent it to him. [Is this Daisy?] The usually indifferent Julian panicked instantly. Julian: *How did you get into my studio?!* Julian: *Chloe, do not touch my painting!* He rushed back home. His pristine white suit was slightly disheveled. The moment he saw the painting was untouched, he let out a massive sigh of relief. Then, his face darkened. “What the hell is wrong with you? Sneaking into my studio in the middle of the night. Are you insane?” My voice was ice cold. “You think I’m insane for entering a room in my own apartment?” “Were you sane when you listed your girlfriend online like a piece of trash?” “Were you sane when you let a random creep add your girlfriend on Snapchat?” A flash of surprise crossed his eyes. But he quickly recovered his cold demeanor. “Don’t worry. I filtered them.” “The guy who added you is the best among them. He’s 32, 5’10”, in good shape, with a stable job. He’s perfect for marriage.” “After all, we’ve been together for seven years. I still put some effort into choosing him for you.” It was a scorching August night, but a wave of absolute coldness washed over me. Ten years of knowing him. Seven years of loving him. The man standing in front of me was a block of ice that could never be melted. I took a deep breath. Suddenly, everything felt incredibly pointless. “Let’s break up. And who I marry is none of your business.” This moment came much more peacefully than I had ever imagined. I used to think that a breakup after seven years would be a screaming match, a heartbreaking tragedy. He looked slightly stunned. “Chloe, are you serious?” “Yes.” His brow furrowed, and he said softly, “Okay… thank you.” I nodded. “Pack your bags and move out tomorrow.” My eyes swept over his expensive art supplies. “Take what you need. Whatever is left over, I’m throwing it into the dumpster downstairs.” We were speaking so calmly, as if discussing what to have for breakfast tomorrow. He froze for a moment. I rubbed my temples, turned around, and walked toward the door. Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist. “Are you mad at me?” His eyebrows knit together. It was a look of slight panic. In the past, I would have reached out to smooth his brow and whisper sweet words to comfort him. But now, I just felt exhausted. “To be honest, Julian, posting something like that is incredibly disrespectful.” “If you wanted to end things, you could have just told me directly. You didn’t need to play mind games, you didn’t need to give me the silent treatment, and you definitely didn’t need to humiliate me like that. I wouldn’t have begged you to stay.” “Let’s just leave it at that. I have work tomorrow. If you’re packing tonight, keep it down.” He let go of my wrist, his face twisting into a sneer. “You’re still so materialistic. All you care about is your job and money.” “Daisy is different. She loves art, just like me.” I let out a bitter laugh. “It’s 3:00 AM, Julian. Do whatever you want, you ‘pure, noble artist’.” Whether he wanted to stay and say goodbye to his precious studio, or run straight to his soulmate—I didn’t care anymore. He seemed stung by my words. He nodded rapidly. “Fine. Fine.” As I reached the door, he called out again. “Chloe!” I wanted to ignore him, but he yelled, “Why did you ruin my painting?!” I turned around. He was pointing at the wooden frame. There was a tiny, barely visible smudge on the corner of the frame. You would have to stand inches away to even notice it. But he, just like when he discovered the split end in my hair, found it absolutely intolerable. His face was twisted with rage. “You’re jealous of Daisy! So you decided to ruin the painting I worked on for an entire month?!” “No matter how elegant you pretend to be, you can’t hide how trashy and basic your soul is!” His words were like sharp knives, aiming to peel my skin off. He called me dirty because I was a victim of an assault when I was eighteen. He called me materialistic because I drank myself to the hospital at thirty just to secure a client contract. Finally, he spat out, “You disgust me.” Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. My fingers began to tremble. I walked back over and lightly ran my finger over the smudge on the frame. He demanded angrily, “What else do you want to do?” My lips curled into a cold smile. I reached for a cup of black acrylic paint sitting on the desk and splashed it directly onto the canvas. Daisy’s pure, delicate smile vanished instantly. The entire painting became a muddy, chaotic mess. Julian froze, staring in absolute disbelief. Looking at the man whose eyes were now burning with fury, I said word by word, “Get the hell out of my apartment. Now.” “Fine! Don’t you dare regret this!” “Don’t come crying and begging me to come back!” He slammed the door behind him. The deafening bang made my heart shudder slightly. I didn’t care about the mess on the floor. I dragged my exhausted body back to my bedroom. But the moment I closed my eyes, that forum post flashed in my mind again. Someone in the comments had asked: *What do you mean by “slightly used”?* Julian had replied: *She’s not clean.* Those four words, which I had tried so hard to scroll past and ignore, were now screaming in my head. Julian thought I was dirty. I had always known that. After our very first intimate night years ago, he had locked himself in the bathroom and thrown up all night. I had curled up in bed, pretending to be fast asleep. Maybe he had started hating our relationship back then. Or maybe even earlier. My chest ached with a dull, throbbing pain. I swallowed a sleeping pill, praying for a dreamless sleep.

A new intern named Daisy joined our company. She spent her first morning handing out snacks and recommending trendy movies. Within a few hours, she was everyone’s favorite. My coworker whispered in my ear, “Ah, to be young. She’s so cute and bubbly.” I said nothing, pulling my gaze back to my laptop to prepare for the dinner meeting tonight. I never expected my manager to assign the new intern to shadow me. Before we left, Daisy asked me to wait. A few minutes later, she walked out wearing a tight, white sundress. “I am so sorry, Chloe! I accidentally spilled coffee on my shirt, but thankfully I had this dress in my bag.” She stuck her tongue out, giving me an innocent smile. At the dinner table, she kept pouring drinks for the client, praising him for being so young and successful. She knew absolutely nothing about our project, and she didn’t mention it once. The client, who was an old friend of mine, shot me a puzzled look. I kept my head down, quietly eating. Actually, it was fine. Having someone else drink all the alcohol for me at these networking events wasn’t a bad thing. But I wondered… would Julian consider his precious Daisy “materialistic” for doing this? She drank way too much. By the time we were waiting for an Uber outside the restaurant, she was swaying, leaning her entire weight on me. “Chloe, don’t worry. My boyfriend is coming to pick me up.” “He’s a genius painter. He can sell a single painting for a thousand dollars!” “He sells… like, ten paintings a month. I won’t even have to work soon.” She counted on her fingers, giggling foolishly. Then, she leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Actually, he had a girlfriend of seven years. Well, ex-girlfriend now.” “I heard she was a total pushover. So I suggested he list her online as ‘used’ for fun. Hilarious, right?” “The post went viral. I’ll Snapchat you the link later.” Seeing my lack of expression, her lips curved into a sly grin. “Chloe, I know it’s you.” “You had a pretty long night, didn’t you? Look at those dark circles.” “Once a woman hits thirty, she ages so fast…” She kept leaning closer. Annoyed, I took a step back. Without my support, the drunk Daisy lost her balance and tumbled onto the concrete sidewalk. “Daisy!” A voice gasped. It was Julian. He was wearing his signature white suit as he rushed over to help her up. When he looked up at me, his eyes were filled with pure rage. “Ruining my painting wasn’t enough? Now you’re physically attacking her?” “Chloe, I never realized you could be this pathetic and malicious.” I didn’t hesitate. I nodded. “Yes. Seeing the two of you makes me want to throw up. Get out of my sight, or I will make your lives miserable every single day.” “You paint a few pictures and actually think you’re some legendary artist? Talking about soulmates and twin flames… you’re just a cheating scumbag and a home-wrecking bitch!” His face froze. “What did you say?!” I laughed. “I’m not repeating myself. Figure it out.” He wanted to argue, but Daisy tugged at his sleeve. Her eyes were red, and she looked incredibly pitiful. “Julian, my head hurts. I drank too much tonight.” “This is my first time drinking. But what choice do I have? I’m just an intern… and I had to deal with your ex-girlfriend.” Julian gently kissed her forehead, his face turning incredibly dark when he looked back at me. “Chloe, apologize to Daisy.” I felt like I was listening to the funniest joke in the world. I turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist with a force that felt like he was trying to shatter my bones. The pain made me gasp. He repeated, “Apologize to Daisy!” I remained silent, biting my lip until it bled. My face turned pale, and my body began to shake from the pain. Even if he broke my wrist, I would never apologize. I had done nothing wrong. Julian frowned, a flicker of hesitation crossing his eyes. Daisy noticed it. The anger on her face vanished in an instant, replaced by tears. She sobbed, “The painting is gone, and I drank all that alcohol for you. Chloe, what else do you want?” Tears streamed down her cheeks. She took a deep breath, as if making a grand sacrifice. “Just slap me!” “If it makes you feel better, and if you promise to treat me normally at work, I will gladly take a slap from you!” A surge of hot anger rushed to my head. I raised my other hand, but Julian caught it instantly. “Daisy, you’re not the one who deserves to be slapped,” Julian’s voice was cold as ice. “She is.” Both of my hands were pinned down. I watched as Daisy’s lips curved into a triumphant smirk. She raised her hand. *Slap!* A stinging pain radiated from my cheek straight to my heart. In that fraction of a second, countless memories flashed through my mind. For the first time in ten years, I asked myself: *Why did I save Julian on that rooftop?* Why did I allow myself to end up like this? I suddenly laughed, my voice hoarse. “I regret it so much.” A flicker of pity passed through his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by cold indifference. “It’s too late for regrets. When you ruined my painting and targeted Daisy, you should have known there would be consequences.” I shook my head. “No.” “I don’t regret ruining your painting.” “I regret saving your life.” His pupils contracted sharply. His heart seemed to drop into an abyss. He forced a stiff smile. “Well, you already did.” He let go of my wrists and stood there, waiting. He probably expected me to scream, throw a tantrum, or try to hit them back. But I did none of those things. I didn’t even look at him. I turned and walked away, my back straight and resolute. A black Porsche Cayenne pulled up beside me. A handsome man stepped out and opened the passenger door for me. I got in. And I never looked back.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “464038”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster