Category: English

Returning home tonight, I realized the peephole on my front door was gone. In its place was a hollow, empty socket. My heart plummeted. Because tucked inside that very peephole, I had hidden half of a severed finger. 1 I cast a casual glance down the empty hallway, keeping my movements deliberate and calm. I pulled out my phone and tapped open the security app. The feed showed that exactly three minutes ago, a masked, shadowy figure had bypassed my lock. His technique was old-school. First, he twisted the peephole casing loose from the outside. Then, he slid a long, bent wire through the vacant hole. Navigating by touch, he hooked the interior doorknob, gave it a sharp tug, and the latch clicked open. As for the severed finger I had wedged inside the mechanism, the wire had punched it straight into the apartment. The intruder had slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. He took two steps before stumbling, his boot catching on something small and soft on the hardwood floor. He knelt, picked it up, and stared at the half-finger in his palm. The feed showed him freezing, entirely paralyzed. Realizing he had stumbled into a predator’s den, the intruder panicked, turning back toward the door to make a run for it. But that was the exact moment I arrived. Right now, only a thin sheet of wood separated us. 2 “Why aren’t we going in, babe?” Grace asked softly beside me. “Just looking for my keys in my bag,” I replied smoothly. Grace had no idea the peephole was missing. She couldn’t see it. She was blind. I kept quiet about it because the last thing I wanted was to worry her. While I pretended to fumble with my keys, I kept my eyes glued to the phone screen. The intruder was in a frenzy, scrambling into the kitchen and squeezing himself into the narrow cabinet beneath the stove. I unlocked the door, guided Grace inside, and locked it behind us, making sure to turn the deadbolt twice. After helping her to the sofa, she mentioned she was thirsty. I offered to get her a glass of water and walked into the kitchen. My eyes immediately darted to the cabinet beneath the counter. The door was slightly ajar. A cold smile touched my mind. This made things much easier. Without making a sound, I closed the kitchen window, shut the door to the hallway, and cut the electricity to the kitchen. Then, I quietly turned the valve on the gas stove. It was a risky move, but it was the quietest way to put a rat to sleep. 3 I stepped back into the living room, sealing the kitchen door behind me. I handed Grace her glass of warm water, then immediately slid open the balcony window to let the fresh air circulate. Outside, a gentle drizzle had started to fall, carrying the crisp, earthy scent of rain on damp ground. “Is it raining?” Grace’s voice drifted over, vibrating with a childlike excitement. “I want to listen to it.” By the time I turned around, she was already navigating her way toward the balcony, her hands lightly sweeping the air. I stepped up and gently caught her arm. At the open window, she reached out, letting her bare forearm catch the cool, falling mist. The icy drops beaded on her skin. She curled her fingers, a soft, ethereal smile warming her face. “It feels so soft,” she whispered. “Yeah, but let’s get you sat down before you catch a cold,” I said, pulling her back gently. A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, but she complied, settling onto the wooden chair on the balcony. I draped a plush blanket over her shoulders, tucking the edges around her neck. My hand drifted into my pocket, tapping the phone screen. The intruder hadn’t moved. Thirty minutes had passed since I opened the gas valve. 4 Judging by the time, the air in the kitchen should be toxic enough. I spoke softly to Grace. “Stay here. I’m going to wash some fruit for you. I bought some sweet apples today.” Suddenly, her cool hand slipped around my forearm, holding me back. “No rush. Just sit with me for a bit. Listen to the rain. Doesn’t it sound just like the old days?” I glanced toward the kitchen door, then sat down beside her. She rested her head on my shoulder, falling silent. Occasionally, her fingers flicked against her lap, tapping out a slow rhythm to the falling rain. I looked down at her. Her unseeing eyes seemed to hold a soft, liquid light, gentler than the rain outside. Another half hour slipped away as the drizzle tapered off. She finally sat up, her fingers grazing my knee. “Go get that apple now. Be careful, though. Don’t cut your finger like last time.” I patted her shoulder, stood up, and picked up the paring knife from the dining table. Taking a deep breath, I slipped into the kitchen. I shut off the gas valve and threw the window wide open. After waiting two minutes for the fumes to clear, I yanked open the cabinet door. The intruder was curled into a tight ball, his head slumped lifelessly against his knees. He was deeply unconscious, the bent lockpicking wire still clutched in his limp hand. The severed finger lay on the wooden floor right beside him. To be absolutely sure, I wrapped the wire tightly around his neck and pulled. Three minutes later, his chest stopped moving entirely. Time to clean up. I washed my hands thoroughly at the sink, grabbed an apple from the basket, peeled it, and brought the clean slices to Grace. “I have to head out for a bit to handle a work emergency,” I told her. “Go to bed when you’re tired. Don’t wait up for me.” She nodded, her voice tender. “Okay. Drive safe, and come back quickly.” I went back to the kitchen, stuffed the limp body into a large duffel bag, and secured the lock. I put the peephole back on the front door, slipping the severed finger back into its secret chamber. After helping Grace with her nightly routine and making sure she was tucked in and asleep, I quietly wheeled my heavy cargo out the door. 5 As an emergency utility technician, middle-of-the-night calls were standard for me. Grace was used to it, so she never questioned my odd hours. Closing the apartment door, I dragged the heavy suitcase toward the stairwell. I always took the stairs. No cameras, no digital footprint, just concrete and shadow. I made my way down to the sub-basement, dodging the sparse security cameras until I reached a dusty utility corridor. Nestled in a dark corner was a sewer maintenance hatch. For me, it was the perfect grave. I pried the heavy iron cover open and pushed the body in. I poured in the concentrated sulfuric acid I had prepared beforehand. When the chemical fizzing subsided, I hauled my empty suitcase back up. It was nearly eleven o’clock when I finally unlocked my front door. 6 The moment I stepped inside, I froze. Grace was standing near the bathroom, her posture unusually rigid. “Why are you still up?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle. “I just got back.” At the sound of my voice, her tense shoulders dropped slightly. “I was asleep, but I woke up to a dripping sound from the bathroom. I wanted to see what it was.” “A dripping sound?” My chest tightened. I followed her gaze into the bathroom. Dark red droplets were seeping through the seams of the ceiling panels, landing on the white tile with a rhythmic splash. It looked exactly like blood. I immediately led Grace back to the living room and sat her on the sofa. “The pipes upstairs must be backed up. I’ll head up and check on things.” “It’s so late. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” “It’s fine. I know the guy upstairs. I’ll be right back.” I slipped out, taking the stairs to the apartment directly above ours. The hallway was empty. I quickly unscrewed the peephole on the door, slid a bent wire through, and pulled the handle from the inside. The door clicked open. A suffocating smell of copper and rot hit me instantly. I closed the door and went straight to the bathroom. The floor was flooded with dark, stagnant water. The drain was completely clogged. Without hesitation, I plunged my hand down into the pipe. After feeling around the tight curve, I hauled out a thick, tangled mass of hair. The water immediately began to drain with a loud gurgle. But as I looked at what I was holding, my heart stopped. Tangled in the wet hair was a small, razor-sharp pocketknife and a delicate silver bracelet. The knife’s blade had punctured the PVC pipe, causing the leak. The knife and the bracelet looked terribly familiar. 7 When I returned to our floor thirty minutes later, I unlocked the door to find Grace standing near the entrance, gripping the frame. She took two steps back at the sound of the door opening. “It’s me. I’m back,” I said. She let out a soft breath. “What was going on upstairs?” “Just a clogged drain. I took care of it.” “So fast?” “Well, that’s my job, remember?” I shut the door, stepping inside to take her hand. It was ice-cold. I squeezed her fingers and diverted her attention. “The pipe has a small crack, though. I’ll need to replace the elbow joint tomorrow to stop the dripping entirely.” She nodded. Then, her fingers twitched in mine. “By the way, did you see anyone in the hallway when you came down?” My muscles tensed, but my voice remained perfectly level. “No. Why do you ask?” “Someone knocked on the door while you were gone. At first, I thought you forgot your keys.” “Did you open it?” “No, of course not. The knock was off-beat. I knew right away it wasn’t you.” “Probably just a neighbor at the wrong door.” My eyes swept over the entryway. Resting against the wall just inside the threshold was a fresh corpse. I had brought him in when I opened the door. When I came down from the upstairs apartment, I had spotted a man pressed against our door, looking through the empty peephole. I didn’t make a sound. I crept up behind him, neutralized him, and slipped him inside. To keep Grace from panicking, I kept my voice light and steady while quietly dragging the heavy body into the shadows of the closet. I still had work to do tonight. 8 I guided her to the bed and tucked the blanket around her. “You should get some sleep. I have to go out again.” Her fingers lightly traced the edge of the blanket. “Going out again? Is it really that busy tonight?” “Yeah, probably because of the rain. Pipes are bursting all over town.” I kept my voice casual, turning off the main light and leaving only the dim bedside lamp. “Alright. Be careful. Come back soon.” Her voice softened in the dim room. I waited until her breathing became slow and rhythmic before slipping back to the entryway. The heavy body of the dead intruder was waiting for me. I forced him into a large suitcase. This guy was much broader than the last one, and the zipper snagged halfway. I had to press down hard on his shoulder before the mechanism finally clicked shut. As I locked the door behind me, I took a quick glance through the peephole. The severed finger was back in place, sitting like a quiet, hidden nail. The motion-activated lights in the stairwell flickered weakly. My suitcase rattled against the concrete steps as I hauled it down. At the fourth floor, I stopped. I spun around, looking up into the darkness. The stairwell was deathly silent. But a primal instinct told me that somewhere in the shadow of the landing above, a figure was pressed flat against the wall, quietly tracking my descent. 9 I didn’t call out. Instead, a silent smile crept onto my face as I kept walking. The weight of the suitcase made my wrists ache, each step feeling like a silent tug-of-war with the shadow behind me. Down in the sub-basement, I opened the sewer hatch. The pungent stench of dissolving flesh rose to meet me. I glanced back toward the exit, keeping my movements deliberate. I tipped the heavy bag into the dark void and poured the acid. The dark liquid hissed and bubbled as it dissolved the skin and bone. I watched the thick white steam rise until the sound faded completely, then slid the heavy cover back into place. Heading back up, I intentionally slowed my pace, pausing on each landing. Sure enough, by the time I reached the sixth floor, I heard the faint, hurried rustle of bare feet rushing up the stairs ahead of me. The stalker was trying desperately to get back before I did. I hid in the shadow of the sixth-floor landing and watched as a slender silhouette darted past the stairwell window. The hem of a white nightgown fluttered in the dark, disappearing up toward the eighth floor. When I reached our door, I didn’t open it immediately. I pressed my ear to the wood, listening to the ticking of the living room clock. Only then did I slide my key into the lock, turning it as silently as possible. The apartment was dark except for a sliver of light coming from the bedroom. I crept to the door and peered through the crack. Grace was curled under the covers, her back to me, her long dark hair spread across the pillow. She looked deeply asleep. But I knew better. Her skin would still be cool from the concrete stairs. The person who had followed me into the dark was her.

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I lied about my age and ended up in an online relationship with a gorgeous guy six years older than me. I never expected him to be such a walking contradiction. In public, he was cold and aloof, but online, he was completely shameless, whispering the dirtiest things. In his most intense moments, he even told me he wanted to be my puppy, completely at my mercy. Eventually, his clinginess got to be too much for me. The day I broke things off, I blocked him on every single platform. Months later, I was crashing at my best friend’s place when I ran into her older brother. Looking at his detached, utterly cynical face, a strange sense of familiarity hit me. As I stared, my best friend’s voice snapped me out of my daze. “Don’t bother drooling over him. My brother hates girls who throw themselves at him.” “Ever since some girl dumped him online, he’s been in a permanent foul mood. He’d probably kick a puppy if it walked past him.” I froze, a sudden chill running down my spine. I couldn’t help but test the waters. “So… your brother’s name wouldn’t happen to be Atlas, would it?” 1 “Shut up! How on earth did you know that?” My best friend, Cici, gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she stared at me in absolute shock. If I had held onto a tiny shred of hope before asking, it was officially dead now. Not only had my anonymous online ex turned out to be my best friend’s brother, but we had crossed paths again six months after a brutal breakup. The odds of this happening had to be lower than winning the lottery. Before I could panic, Cici waved her hand dismissively, already rationalizing it. “Actually, never mind. We basically share a brain. I must have mentioned his name to you at some point.” As she kept ramming on, I stood frozen, my mind racing. The realization that I was currently sharing a roof with Atlas made my heart hammer against my ribs. I couldn’t help but recall our encounter an hour ago. When Cici first brought me to her house, Atlas had just descended the stairs. He was wearing a silk robe, the faint outline of veins tracing up his neck. There was an effortless, aristocratic elegance to him, mixed with a sleepy, dangerous kind of sex appeal. I had stared at him, feeling an inexplicable pull of familiarity. But when Atlas looked at me, he merely offered a cold, polite nod. His dark, aloof eyes swept over me without a single flicker of emotion, treating me as nothing more than his little sister’s random college friend. I never could have connected this incredibly proper, high-society man with the wild, shameless guy I dated online. Online Atlas was a menace. He talked dirty without a shred of hesitation, calling me his baby and his girl every five minutes, his possessiveness practically dripping through the screen. Back then, I was young and completely naive about relationships. He used to fluster me so badly that I’d have to get out of bed in the middle of the night just to splash cold water on my face. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice casual. “So, has your brother dated many people before?” Cici let out a soft laugh. “Just one, and it was entirely online. Honestly, I think he fell hard. He was head over heels for her, but the girl dumped him out of nowhere. Cut him off completely.” She sighed, shaking her head. “His temper has been absolutely miserable for the last six months.” She patted my shoulder reassuringly. “If he acts like a jerk while you’re staying here, don’t take it personally. He hates everyone equally these days.” 2 The next morning, Cici’s mother called us down for breakfast. Atlas was already sitting across from me at the dining table. He moved with an effortless, aristocratic grace, using his fork and knife with slow, deliberate precision. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t stop my eyes from drifting toward him. Almost instantly, as if sensing my gaze, Atlas looked up. Our eyes locked, and he arched an eyebrow in mild amusement. My heart did a violent flip. Even after I hurriedly looked down, I could still feel his dark eyes burning into me, refusing to let me go. “Daisy, sweetheart, try the French toast. It’s my specialty,” Cici’s mother, Mrs. Sheng, said warmly, bringing me back to reality. I had always been good at pleasing adults. With a few sweet compliments, I had Mrs. Sheng beaming and laughing in no time. “Just make yourself at home these next few days. Don’t be shy about anything,” she insisted. “Thank you, Mrs. Sheng,” I smiled. I comforted myself with the thought that even if we were staying under the same roof, there was no way Atlas could connect me to his online ex. My anxiety was probably unnecessary. I just needed to act natural. Gradually, the conversation shifted toward Atlas. From what Mrs. Sheng was saying, she had recently set him up with a girl from another prominent family. But Atlas’s responses remained entirely cold and detached. “Mom, I told you I’m not interested,” he said, his voice smooth but firm. “I’ve only met her twice. I barely even remember what she looks like. What do you expect me to say?” Mrs. Sheng rolled her eyes, putting her fork down with a heavy sigh. “You reject every single girl I introduce to you. I don’t know when that stubborn head of yours is going to wake up. You’re in your mid-twenties, you don’t date, and honestly, sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with you.” Cici let out a sudden snort next to me, her shoulders shaking as she tried to suppress her laughter. “Mom, I can guarantee there is absolutely nothing wrong with his preferences,” Cici chimed in, raising three fingers in a mock solemn vow. “He’s just had a rocky road in love. The girl he’s waiting for is just a bit of a flighty wild card, that’s all.” Mrs. Sheng shot her a warning glare. I, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to bury my face in my plate. I kept completely silent, praying they wouldn’t drag me into it. But of course, fate had other plans. “Daisy.” Atlas’s cool, deep voice sliced through the chatter. I jumped, nearly dropping my fork. It was just a simple pronunciation of my name, but the vibration of his voice sent an involuntary shiver straight down my spine. Before I could process why I was reacting this way, his dark eyes fixed on me, filled with an unreadable, probing intensity. “Why do you look so guilty?” he asked softly. “Did you do something you shouldn’t have?” My brain stalled. My cheeks went pale, and I had absolutely no idea how to respond. Fortunately, Mrs. Sheng stepped in to rescue me. “Don’t be rude, Atlas. Daisy is our guest. Don’t intimidate her.” Cici laughed, completely oblivious to the tension. “Wow, look at that. I only mentioned Daisy’s name once, and you already remembered it.” Amidst the teasing, I kept my head down, missing the way Atlas’s eyes narrowed slightly as he watched me. 3 Cici ended up catching a mild fever after breakfast, so she took some medicine and went upstairs to sleep. I spent the morning doing some practice exams. When I went downstairs to grab a glass of water, I saw Mrs. Sheng putting on her coat, preparing to head out. Out of politeness, I asked where she was going. “It’s that boy of mine,” Mrs. Sheng said, offering a helpless smile. “Atlas left for the office in such a hurry that he forgot his quarterly reports. I need to drop them off at his office. I don’t know what’s gotten into him today. He’s usually never this careless.” My hands moved faster than my brain. Almost instinctively, I grabbed her arm before she could open the door. “Why don’t I go instead, Mrs. Sheng? You should stay and rest.” “Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that,” she replied, startled. I smiled and shook my head. “It’s really no trouble. Honestly, I’m just looking for an excuse to get some fresh air.” If I had one strong suit, it was knowing how to be a helpful guest. Since my family lived in a different city, Mrs. Sheng had been incredibly generous in letting me stay here. I felt guilty just lounging around without contributing. Unable to argue with my persistence, Mrs. Sheng eventually yielded and sent the office address to my phone. Settling into the back of a cab, I couldn’t resist searching Atlas’s name online. The public profile of him was remarkably consistent: ruthless in business, decisive, and entirely unyielding. It was almost impossible to associate a man like that with online dating. When we first met, I was a senior in high school, dealing with my parents’ sudden divorce. Life was overwhelming, and I turned to online gaming to escape the stress. That was where I met him. I figured an online relationship was harmless. It gave me a quick dose of dopamine to keep me going. But for safety, I lied about my age, claiming I had just graduated from college, and I never used my real name. Unlike most online couples, I never sent photos. Whenever he tried to video call, I declined. The only thing I agreed to was a strict thirty-minute voice call every night. Despite my rigid rules, Atlas spoiled me completely. He constantly tried to send me money and shared every detail of his day, no matter how trivial. Whenever I saw the absurdly large transfers he tried to send, I immediately returned them. I was only looking for emotional support. Since I knew we had no future, I wasn’t about to take his money. But over time, Atlas became incredibly attached. One day, he suddenly demanded we meet in person. At that point, my final exams were only two weeks away. Meeting up was out of the question. After thinking it over for a long night, I sent him a cold message: There’s no point in us meeting. I’m getting bored of this. Let’s end it. Right after hitting send, I blocked and deleted him everywhere, leaving absolutely no trace. I had assumed that after so much time, a man of his stature would have forgotten about a brief digital fling. But from the way Cici talked, it seemed he still carried the scar. 4 This was my first time visiting Atlas’s workplace. As the receptionist guided me toward the private elevator to the top floor, she casually mentioned that he owned the entire building. No wonder he used to throw money around so easily back then. The wealth gap between us was staggering. Ding. The elevator doors slid open, and my eyes locked with Atlas’s. Standing against the bright floor-to-ceiling windows, his sharp features looked exceptionally striking. The sheer authority he exuded caught my breath. He seemed to have just wrapped up a meeting. A group of senior executives, all much older than him, followed behind him, yet none of them could match his presence. He was a natural-born leader. The hallway fell quiet. A few executives glanced between us, their eyes filled with quiet curiosity. “Mr. Sheng, who is this?” one of them asked, his tone laced with subtle intrigue. Atlas’s dark eyes rested on me for a fraction of a second. Then, without a word, he stepped forward, subtly shielding me from their prying gazes. “A friend,” he answered smoothly. I blinked, slightly startled. Why friend? Why not his sister’s classmate? “Mr. Sheng, this lady brought the documents you left behind,” the receptionist explained. Atlas gave a brief nod. “Understood. Take her to my office first.” He pressed the elevator button, clearly still occupied with work. I bit my lip, thinking quickly. I decided to hand the folder straight to the receptionist. “Since the documents are delivered, I’ll head out. Don’t let me disrupt your work.” But as I turned to leave, a firm grip caught my wrist. Atlas held my arm, his voice dropping to a low, quiet register. “Did I say you could leave?” My steps halted. Because of the proximity, the scent of him washed over me, a clean, crisp fragrance of pine and cold winter air. I couldn’t move. The place where his fingers brushed against my skin felt warm and tingling, sending a strange shiver through me. He let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh. “Go wait in my office. I need to talk to you.” 5 I had no idea what Atlas wanted to discuss. As far as he was concerned, our only connection was his sister. His unusual behavior was starting to make me incredibly nervous. By the time his assistant came in to refresh my coffee for the third time, my anxiety had peaked. Just then, the heavy double doors pushed open. Atlas walked in, the coldness in his eyes softening slightly the moment he saw me sitting on the sofa. He walked straight toward me. “Mr. Sheng,” I said, standing up quickly, feeling incredibly out of place. For some reason, a shadow passed over his dark eyes, though it vanished just as quickly. “Sit,” he said softly. “You don’t work for me. You don’t need to call me that.” His office was massive, but being alone with him made the space feel incredibly small. I cleared my throat, testing the waters. “So… is there something you needed me for?” “Do you have your phone on you?” he asked, ignoring my question with an air of quiet authority. I blinked, nodding slowly. “Let’s exchange contact details. I’ll venmo you for your travel expenses.” My jaw nearly dropped. Was a powerful CEO really handling a simple cab fare reimbursement personally? “No, really, that’s not necessary,” I said, shaking my head. “It was just a quick ride. Besides, I’m staying at your place rent-free anyway.” “Those are two different things,” Atlas countered, his gaze fixed on me. He tapped his fingers slowly against his desk. “I don’t like owing people favors.” I opened my mouth to decline again, but a sudden thought made me freeze. Why was he being so incredibly persistent? Could he actually suspect something? As his sister’s college friend, there was absolutely no logical reason for him to demand my contact details. The only explanation was that he had a suspicion. I forced myself to stay calm. There’s no way, I told myself. I left zero clues. How could he possibly suspect me? As I opened my messaging app to display my QR code, I noticed his fingers tremble slightly. It was as if he were holding his breath, desperately hoping for something. But the moment he scanned it, his expression froze. He stared at his screen for what felt like an eternity, even going so far as to scroll through my public posts. Eventually, the tension drained out of his shoulders, and he let out a slow, deflated breath. I quietly exhaled. The only reason I had agreed to let him scan my code so easily was because I had completely abandoned my old social media account after graduation. My current profile looked entirely different from my old one. There was nothing here that could link me to his ex. Still, seeing that his profile picture was still the matching couple’s icon we had chosen together, a dull ache bloomed in my chest. We had been apart for six months, and he hadn’t even bothered to change it. The silence in the office grew heavy and suffocating. Atlas looked up at me, his voice raw. “Is there really nothing you want to tell me?” “No,” I replied, forcing a polite, empty smile as I stood up. “It’s getting late. I should probably get going.” If I stayed any longer, I was going to crack. “Wait,” his voice called out from behind me, sending a sudden shiver down my spine. He rubbed his temples, looking exhausted. “I’ll have my driver take you back.” 6 The amount Atlas sent me for “cab fare” was enough to cover my transportation for an entire month. I ended up keeping it, realizing that arguing over it would only make things awkward, and a sum like that was pocket change to him anyway. Still, every interaction with him left me incredibly wound up. When I had walked out of his office, the eyes of the entire top floor had been glued to me. I had even overheard a few staff members whispering, speculating about my relationship with their notorious boss. That gossip was a cold splash of reality. He was Atlas Sheng. He was used to being respected, pursued, and admired. A man like him would never tolerate being lied to and played. Since I couldn’t handle the consequences of being exposed, my only option was to keep the secret buried forever. By the time I pulled myself out of my thoughts, the car had already entered the private residential estate. For the next two days, Atlas didn’t return home. Mrs. Sheng mentioned he owned several apartments closer to downtown and rarely stayed at the main estate during the busy season. Not having to face him was a massive relief. With Cici fully recovered from her fever, she was practically climbing the walls with cabin fever. “Daisy, it’s Brody’s birthday today,” she said, leaning against my desk. “A bunch of our old high school friends are getting together tonight. Want to come with?” Brody was a mutual friend of ours from high school who ended up going to the same university as us. We ran in the same social circles. Thinking a night out would help clear my head, I agreed. The sun was just beginning to set when we left the estate. We met up with the group outside a restaurant in a trendy downtown plaza. Brody and the others were already waiting by the entrance, laughing and talking. When Brody spotted me, his eyes visibly brightened. “Daisy! I told you guys you didn’t have to bring gifts.” I smiled, handing him a neatly wrapped box. “Not a chance. You got me such an expensive gift for my birthday. If I didn’t return the gesture, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.” I had picked out a classic watch for him. Brody took it, a brief, slightly disappointed expression crossing his face before he quickly masked it. “You really never let me do anything nice for you, do you? Always keeping score.” I offered a polite smile, pretending not to understand the underlying meaning in his words. Suddenly, Cici draped an arm over my shoulder, looking between Brody and me with a mischievous grin. “So, Brody, whose gift do you like more? Mine or Daisy’s?” The group burst into quiet, teasing laughter. Brody’s ears flushed deep crimson, and he kept stealing glances at me. Before he could find his voice, Cici gave a knowing nod. “Right, right, I get it. Our Daisy always knows exactly what you like.” I nudged Cici in the ribs with my elbow, dragging her toward the entrance while keeping my voice down. “You know I don’t feel that way about Brody. Stop teasing like that. What if he takes it seriously?” Seeing how flustered I was, Cici giggled. “Honestly, Brody is cute, and he’s totally devoted to you. Why don’t I like him?” Her question caught me off guard. For a split second, Atlas’s cold, handsome face flashed in my mind, causing me to shake my head violently. “Feelings aren’t a math equation,” I muttered. “If the spark isn’t there, you can’t force it.” Seeing how resistant I was, Cici squeezed my arm. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop playing matchmaker. I promise.”

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1 While packing up our new house, an old tablet of mine suddenly lit up, displaying a local trending video from three years in the future. The headline was impossibly eye-catching: Devoted Billionaire Buys Entire Island to Bring a Smile to His Beloved Wife. I laughed and passed the tablet to Nathan. “Mr. Bennett, you’re going to be trending in three years? Surely this beloved wife is me?” Nathan walked over, pressing a tender kiss against my forehead. “Who else could it be? You stayed by my side when we had absolutely nothing. I would give my life just to hold you in the palm of my hand.” Lost in a haze of happiness, I looked down and tapped the video. A reporter was asking with sheer envy: “Mrs. Bennett, we heard your husband personally committed his ex-wife to a psychiatric hospital just to appease you?” The woman on screen blinked, her eyes pooling with delicate tears. “Yes. Nathan said that was what she owed me.” The smile on my face instantly froze. The woman addressed as Mrs. Bennett was Sherry. She was my former best friend, the one whom I had once sold my own belongings and taken on crippling debt to save when she was in her darkest hour. And yet, barely an hour later, Nathan would stand in this very room, screaming at me, calling me cold-blooded and selfish, and smashing every single one of our wedding photos, all because of Sherry. Outside the door, Sherry’s muffled, calculated sobs drifted in. “Nathan, it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t come back, you two wouldn’t be fighting. Maybe I should just leave. I don’t want to lose her as a friend.” Then came Nathan’s gentle, comforting murmur. “It’s fine. I broke the photos, not you. Don’t be afraid, I’ll talk to her.” The door pushed open. He looked at the glowing tablet in my hands, showing not a single trace of guilt for his recent outburst. He opened his arms, expecting me to step into them. “Still angry? I lost my temper earlier, but you said some incredibly harsh things. Sherry is your best friend, and she’s already crying from guilt. Was it really necessary to humiliate her in front of the house staff?” My body felt like ice. I stiffened, deliberately stepping back from his reach. In that moment, the ruthless, cold billionaire from the future video and the gentle, brow-furrowed husband standing before me merged perfectly. I stared at him, my fingertips trembling slightly. “Nathan, let me ask you a question.” “What is it?” “If I went crazy one day, would you send me away? To an asylum?” Nathan’s brow furrowed deeper, his tone sharpening with reprimand. “What are you throwing a fit about now? We can retake the photos tomorrow. Sherry has nowhere else to go, she is already miserable enough. You used to sacrifice your own comfort to help her, so why is it that now, as Mrs. Bennett, you’ve become so cold and selfish? Can you really not tolerate your own friend?” My breath caught in my throat. There was no hysterical screaming, no shattered glass, just a heavy, suffocating silence. So, in my husband’s eyes, my past sacrifices to save my friend were simply expected of me, while defending the boundaries of my marriage now made me cold and selfish. The future was already unfolding, piece by piece. The next morning, Sherry didn’t leave. She walked into the living room holding a glass of warm milk, her eyes red as she reached for my hand. “We’re best friends, Evelyn. You used to care about me more than anyone. Please don’t let my presence ruin your marriage, okay?” I coldly pulled my hand back, ignoring her completely. By afternoon, as I approached the study with a glass of water, I heard rustling from inside. Pushing the door open, I found Sherry standing by my desk, holding my external hard drive. “What are you doing?” I demanded. “I only wanted to help tidy up. I remembered how you used to love the coffee I brewed when you were writing your drafts.” Before she finished, her hand suddenly trembled. The drive slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor, and the mug of coffee tipped over, completely drowning the device. My chest tightened, a sharp pain piercing my heart. “Don’t touch that!” I rushed forward, pushing her aside to salvage the drive from the puddle of liquid. Sherry tumbled against the bookshelf, clutching her ankle as tears streamed down her face. “I’m so sorry, I only wanted to make things right. After all our years of friendship, won’t you even give me a chance to explain?” Heavy, rushed footsteps echoed down the hallway. Nathan burst into the room. He didn’t look at me once. He went straight to Sherry, gently lifting her from the floor. When he finally turned to me, his eyes were heavy with disappointment. My voice shook uncontrollably. “Nathan, when she had nothing, I borrowed from everyone I knew to pull her out of the dirt! Is this how she repays me? She destroyed my drive! It has ten years of our lives on it!” Nathan stepped in front of Sherry, shielding her. “Just because you helped her back then doesn’t mean you get to treat her like a criminal now! She was only trying to help you organize.” With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the drive directly into the trash can. “Nathan!” I gasped, standing up. “It’s just some old photos and outdated files,” he said, his voice entirely dismissive. “If it’s ruined, it’s ruined. I’ll make time to take new photos with you tomorrow. The doctor said Sherry has severe depressive tendencies and can’t handle any stress. Stop using a piece of useless junk to torment her just because she owes you a favor from years ago, will you?” I stood frozen in place. I remembered a night years ago, when a blizzard shut down the city and our basement apartment felt like an icebox. My hands were swollen with painful chilblains, but I kept typing away on my keyboard to finish my manuscript. He had come home from handing out flyers, immediately tucking my freezing hands against his chest to warm them, kissing my reddened fingertips. “From now on, every word you write and every photo we take will be saved on this drive. This is our most precious treasure, and nobody can ever take it from us.” “Okay,” I heard my own voice reply, dry and hollow. Nathan blinked, surprised by how easily I surrendered. He let out a sigh of relief, his voice softening into that patronizing warmth. “I’m glad you’re being reasonable. Sherry scares easily, so keep your history in mind and try to be more accommodating.” I didn’t look at him, nor did I look at Sherry. I turned around and walked out of the study, one quiet step at a time. I didn’t make another scene about the drive. I locked myself in my room. Thinking I had finally learned to behave, Nathan knocked gently on the door. “Sleep early, and don’t overthink things. I’m going to check on Sherry’s ankle.” The footsteps faded, followed by the muffled sound of my husband comforting another woman. Leaning against the door, I listened to the soft, gentle murmurs from the guest room. I knew my marriage had just entered the countdown to that viral video. The next afternoon. To completely shatter my resistance, Sherry was willing to risk her own life. I had just filled a cup of hot water and reached the top of the stairs when I saw Sherry standing near the edge, a few steps down. She glanced at me, and in the next second, she threw herself backward without hesitation. Nathan came charging up from downstairs. Sherry lay at the landing below, her leg visibly fractured, clutching her shin as cold sweat beaded on her forehead. She gripped Nathan’s sleeve, sobbing hysterically. “Nathan, don’t blame Evelyn… I just lost my footing. She was only angry with me, please don’t be mad at her.” Nathan cradled her tightly, snapping his head up to glare at me with pure fury. I pulled out my phone, loaded the high-definition hallway security feed, and tossed it right in front of him. The screen showed the truth with absolute clarity. I was standing yards away from her, not even close enough to brush her clothes. “Look closely,” I said, my voice dead of any emotion. “She threw herself down.” I thought the footage would wake him up, that it would force him to see Sherry’s true colors. But as Nathan watched the screen, his tense shoulders didn’t relax. He handed Sherry over to the family doctor who had just arrived, then stood up and walked over to me. He reached out, gripping my fingers tightly. “I know you didn’t push her,” his voice trembled slightly. “I always believe you.” But then, he spoke the most cruel words imaginable. “But Sherry’s mental state is on the verge of a total collapse. She has severe paranoia. I’m begging you… just apologize to her. Admit you pushed her, alright? Just do it to soothe a sick patient, to give her some security.” I froze, doubting my own ears. “What did you say?” I stared at him in disbelief. “She framed me, and you want me to confess to her crime?” “It’s just to soothe a patient!” Nathan’s eyes turned red, his voice thick with frustration and helplessness. “You’re healthy, Evelyn. You’re strong. You can handle a little unfairness! But if Sherry is pushed any further, she might actually die!” He squeezed my hands tighter. “Can you really not show a little compassion to save a life?” The hallway fell into a deathly silence, echoed only by his self-righteous demands. The deepest despair isn’t when a person doesn’t believe you; it is when he knows the absolute truth, knows you are innocent, and still demands your sacrifice. I looked at the man who claimed to love me. Slowly, deliberately, I pulled my hands from his grip. “Nathan,” I said, looking at his empty hands. “If this is to soothe her, then who is going to soothe me?” He froze, his mouth opening slightly, but no words came out. I didn’t wait for an answer. I already knew his choice. From that day on, I completely cut off all communication with everyone in the house. Having refused to apologize, I simply chose to ignore their existence. I stopped speaking entirely, spending days and nights sitting on my bedroom balcony, staring out into the void. No crying, no arguing. Outside my door, the sound of wheelchair wheels rolling by became a frequent occurrence. Sherry would purposely park herself right outside my room, raising her voice just enough for me to hear as she whimpered to Nathan. “Nathan, does she still hate me? She hasn’t left her room or spoken a word in a week. Yesterday I peeked through the gap in the door, and she was just staring at me with those cold, hollow eyes… I’m so scared.” Nathan’s voice was low, heavy with exhaustion. “Don’t be afraid. She’s just being stubborn, throwing a tantrum.” “But… I read a medical article the other day. People who resort to extreme silent treatment like this often have severe underlying psychological issues. I don’t care about my own comfort, but I’m worried she might hurt herself one day. Or what if she snaps and hurts you?” Inside the room, listening to her pretend to care for my well-being, I couldn’t even muster the energy to smile. I had believed Nathan possessed basic judgment. I believed he would at least respect our ten years together and not be blinded by such clumsy manipulation. Until three days later, in the afternoon. The bedroom door was quietly pushed open. Nathan walked in, followed by a man and a woman in plain clothes. The way they looked at me was not how one looks at a human being. I sat on my balcony chair, watching them coldly. “Get out.” Nathan didn’t get angry. He walked over, gently cupping my cheek. “Sweetheart,” his eyes filled with a terrifyingly deep affection, “you’ve been so suppressed lately. You don’t even seem like yourself anymore.” He pointed to the two strangers behind him. “This is a top-tier psychological care team I personally reached out to. I’ve arranged a room for you at a highly private, luxury sanitarium in the suburbs. The environment is beautiful and quiet, and no one will disturb you. Go stay there for a while, work with the doctors, and heal your paranoia and resentment, okay?” Hearing those words, the trending video from three years in the future began to play on a loop in my mind. I had assumed that scene would only occur after we had completely torn each other apart. I never expected the gears of fate to grind together so soon. I stared at the deeply affectionate man in front of me, my entire body trembling. “You think I’m crazy? You want to lock me up in an asylum?” Nathan’s brow knit together. He grabbed my shaking hands, squeezing them tight, his voice a mixture of gentleness and irritation. “How could you call it locking you up? Why do you always assume the worst of me? I’m doing this for your own good! Look at yourself right now, you look like a ghost! You can’t even communicate normally! Staying here will only torture both you and Sherry, destroying whatever love we have left. Go there to get some peace, be a good girl, and listen to the doctors. Once you’re better and your emotions are stable, I’ll bring you straight back home so we can start over.” He spoke with such absolute conviction, such flawless self-righteousness. The male doctor stepped forward, handing over a thick folder. “Mr. Bennett, since the patient is showing clear signs of resistance and persecutory delusions, we recommend immediate isolation. As her immediate family member, please sign this consent form for involuntary psychological intervention. Our team will handle the transport and closed treatment from here.” “Don’t worry, it’s just a routine procedure. The staff inside will take good care of you,” Nathan murmured, reaching for the pen the doctor offered. “Nathan,” I called his name one last time. His hand paused, and he looked up at me. “If you sign that paper,” I said, looking directly into his eyes without a single tear, “whatever was left between us dies forever.” Nathan’s pupils shrank. His fingers gripped the pen so hard they turned white. But a moment later, he let out a long, heavy sigh. “Look at you, still making these extreme threats. The doctor is right; you can’t control your emotions at all right now, always trying to manipulate me with these dramatic words.” Without another second of hesitation, he leaned down and wrote his name on the consent form. I watched the signature dry, seeing the immediate relief wash over his face. And then, I laughed. It started as a soft curve of my lips, but soon, I threw my head back and let out a full, ringing laugh. The sound seemed to unnerve Nathan, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes. “What are you laughing at?” He frowned, reaching out to hold me. “Nothing,” I said, quietly pulling my hands away, my gaze perfectly still. Seeing this, the two doctors stepped forward to take custody of me. “Mrs. Bennett, please cooperate with us.” “Don’t touch me,” I warned, throwing them a cold glare before turning back to Nathan. “Fine. I’ll go.” Nathan blinked, clearly caught off guard by my sudden compliance. Joy immediately flooded his features, erasing his anxiety. “You finally understand! Good, that’s wonderful! As long as you go get treated, I’ll give you anything you want!” “I want a chestnut tart from the bakery on West End,” I said. “You have to go buy it yourself, don’t send your assistant. When you bring it back, I’ll leave with them quietly.” Nathan breathed a massive sigh of relief. He wrapped his arms around me, kissing my forehead eagerly. “Of course! I’ll go get it right now. Wait for me here, don’t go anywhere!” He stood up, turning to the doctors with a strict warning. “You two wait downstairs. I’ll drive her over myself once I return.” With that, he grabbed his keys and rushed out the door. As the front door clicked shut, the house fell into an absolute, beautiful silence. I didn’t look out the window, nor did I check to see if Sherry was watching. I walked over to the vanity, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out the divorce papers I had printed long ago. I slowly slid the wedding ring off my finger and placed it right in the center of the documents. Having finished, I calmly walked downstairs, bypassed Sherry who was watching television in the living room without a single pause, and stepped out of the villa that had nearly become my tomb. By evening, Nathan returned, excitedly pushing open the front door with a pastry box in his hand. “Sweetheart, I got the tart! It’s still warm, come try some…” The house was eerily quiet, save for the low drone of the television from the living room. “Evelyn?” Nathan called out, pushing open the bedroom door with a smile, only to be met by a cold, empty room. His gaze swept across the space, eventually settling on the vanity. In the next second, the smile on his face froze, and his pupils contracted with sudden terror.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “497721”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My online boyfriend got the wrong girl. He handed the bouquet of bluebells meant for me straight to my college roommate. The rumor mill was working overtime. Everyone on campus was whispering about how the hottest guy in the pre-med program was chasing the beautiful star of the dance department. But nobody knew the truth. Bluebell was my screen name. And Noah was the online boyfriend I had never actually met in person. Just that night, we were on a voice call. His deep, raspy groans came through my headphones as he complained about feeling sick. My face burned hot, and I softly told him to drink some water. He let out a low, teasing laugh. “Babe, you already accepted my flowers. Why are you acting so shy now?” That was when it hit me. I hadn’t told him yet that he gave them to the wrong person. Before I could even get the words out, a video call request popped up on my screen. In my panic, my thumb slipped. I accepted it. A pair of gorgeous, slightly red rimmed eyes appeared on the screen. The moment he got a clear look at my face, he froze. A flash of utter confusion crossed his features. Then, the call dropped. A few seconds later, a text lit up my screen. [I’m so sorry. I got the wrong person.] 01 I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I typed back. [It’s totally fine. We never knew what the other person looked like anyway.] [Fiona is my roommate. It makes sense that you got the wrong dorm info.] He didn’t reply. Leaving me alone with my heart hammering painfully against my ribs. Noah and I had been dating online for exactly a year. I scrolled up through our chat history. It stopped at yesterday. Noah: [Tomorrow is our one year anniversary. I’ve got a little surprise for you.] Bluebell: [Oh wow, what is it?] Noah: [Don’t worry about it.] Noah: [Just wait.] I never expected him to send me flowers. I definitely never expected him to mistake Fiona for me. And I certainly never expected him to suddenly FaceTime me. Staring at the call log that lasted barely three seconds, I groaned and pulled at my hair. I had just gotten out of the shower. My hair was a frizzy bird’s nest, and I was wearing a massively oversized, faded cartoon t-shirt. Did I give him a terrible first impression? Thinking back to those stunning eyes on the screen, I bit my lip. Even his eyes were breathtaking. My phone vibrated with a rapid succession of texts. Noah: [No.] Noah: [I really did get the wrong person.] Noah: [Her name is Fiona, isn’t it?] Noah: [I saw a picture of her a while ago.] Noah: [I asked around for her number, but somehow I was given yours instead.] Noah: [I thought you were her this whole time.] My racing heart just stopped. The messages came through so fast. My eyes read the words before my brain could even process the gravity of them. I sat there in pure shock for a solid ten minutes. Only then did the heavy, suffocating truth sink in. Noah did get the wrong person. But he didn’t mistake Fiona for me. He mistook me for her. From the very beginning, the moment he sent that first friend request, he thought he was talking to the gorgeous Fiona. In a total daze, I scrolled all the way back to the very start of our chat. Noah: [Sent you a request like three times. Finally.] Noah: [Hey, I’m Noah. Pre-med student from the campus next door.] He really had added me multiple times. I was just a freshman back then, fresh out of a dead end town. The first time I saw his request, I thought it was a scam and ignored it. Second time, ignored. Third time, ignored. Until he added a note. [We go to the same school.] That was when I finally accepted. When I found out he actually went to the neighboring university, I asked him what he wanted. He replied: [I saw the photos from the freshman outdoor retreat. You looked amazing dancing around the campfire.] During that retreat, I had been randomly picked to do a talent showcase. I danced. After that, he started texting me all the time. He was effortlessly funny and never made things awkward. I was introverted, terrible at keeping conversations alive, and constantly killed the mood. I thought he would get annoyed and ghost me. Instead, he sent a cute meme of a cat squishing its cheeks. Noah: [So this is just how you are, huh?] Noah: [It’s cute.] It turned out, the entire foundation of us was built on a mistake. The dorm door clicked open. Fiona walked in clutching a beautiful bouquet of bluebells, flanked by our other two roommates. Jenna looked at her with pure envy. “I heard Noah is drop dead gorgeous. You must have gotten a good look at him when he gave you the flowers. Spill it, how hot is he?” Fiona tossed the flowers onto her desk. She grabbed a makeup wipe and shrugged. “You know those guys you only ever see on Instagram or in movies?” “He’s hotter than them.” Jenna let out a high pitched squeal. “Oh my god!” “Fiona, come on, why did he give you flowers? Did he ask you out? Tell me he asked you to be his girlfriend!” Fiona clicked her tongue. “You guys are so nosy.” “Drop it, he didn’t say anything. I was just walking through the campus gates, he shoved the flowers into my arms, and walked away.” Becca clapped her hands together. “Wow, he was probably just too nervous to talk to you.” Laying in my bed, listening to them giggle and gossip. A dense, bitter ache spread through my chest. Even the back of my throat burned. My phone buzzed again. Noah: [I’m really sorry for bothering you all this time.] Noah: [Since she’s your roommate, do you have her number or her socials?] Noah: [Could you send them to me?] 02 I wanted to say no. I wanted to ask him what the hell we were supposed to be then. Did we break up, or are we just pretending the last year never happened? My fingers trembled as I typed out sentence after sentence. And then, letter by letter, I deleted them all. Tears finally spilled hot down my cheeks as I typed a single word. [Okay.] I copied Fiona’s contact card and sent it to him. Logically, I should have asked Fiona for permission first. But it felt like my throat was packed with cotton. I was in too much pain to utter a single syllable. I put my phone on silent, tossed it aside, and buried myself completely under my blankets. Fiona walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later, looking at her screen. “Wait, someone just added me.” Jenna rushed over. “The username is Noah.” “Holy crap, it has to be him!” Fiona looked genuinely confused. “How did he even get my number?” Becca laughed. “Is it really that hard to believe? He probably asked everyone on campus for it.” “Accept it! I bet you anything he’s going to ask you out right now!” Fiona playfully shoved them. “Back off, creeps! Give me some space.” Through the slight gap in my bed curtains, I watched her. She stood there, holding her phone with both hands. The tips of her ears were flushed pink. She was wearing a silk slip dress that perfectly hugged every curve of her body. This was the kind of girl Noah was supposed to fall for. I pictured how I must have looked on that video call just an hour ago. An absolute disaster. Even if Noah hadn’t gotten the wrong girl, there was no way he would ever like someone as plain and messy as me. When I woke up the next morning, I was sick. My head was pounding with a heavy, thick fog. When I tried to sit up, my limbs felt like lead. The dorm was already empty. I wasn’t surprised. I had never really fit in with their little trio. When I was in the room, I might as well have been a piece of furniture. Nobody ever thought to check on me. So naturally, nobody noticed that the girl who usually woke up at the crack of dawn was still in bed past noon. I forced myself up and dragged my body toward the campus clinic. Halfway down the stairs, my legs simply gave out. I tumbled down the concrete steps. The students at the bottom screamed. When it rains, it pours. Not only did I have a raging fever, but I also managed to fracture my leg. Our campus clinic wasn’t equipped for X-rays, so the dean called the neighboring medical university. They hauled me over to their advanced clinic on a stretcher. It was humiliating. I was burning up and half conscious, yet my main concern was still dying of embarrassment. Eventually, the darkness pulled me under. Right before I completely passed out, I could have sworn those eyes from the video screen materialized right in front of me. When I woke up, my throat was completely parched. “Water…” My voice sounded like dry gravel. As soon as I spoke, I clamped my mouth shut. “Haha.” A low, vibrating laugh filled the room. A terrifyingly familiar sound. A sound so familiar it almost triggered a panic attack. I whipped my head to the side and saw a guy sitting right next to my hospital bed. The moment our eyes met, I knew exactly who he was. Noah held a cup of water with a straw, leaning in close. He smirked. “You usually sound so soft and sweet on the phone. Get a little fever and suddenly you sound like a dying duck.” I froze. My brain completely short-circuited. He raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Not thirsty? Or do you need me to physically feed it to you?” I snatched the cup from him. I drained it in seconds. Lowering my head, I mumbled, “Thanks.” A heavy, warm hand gently patted the top of my head. He took the empty cup from my grip. Seeing me staring blankly at the fresh cast on my leg, he sighed. “Are you an idiot? You had a massive fever and you still tried to walk? What do you think cell phones are for?” “Now look at you. Broken leg.” “You’re a dance major. Do you not realize how important your legs are?” His tone was laced with irritation and worry. It was the exact same tone he used to use when I got too busy in the studio and forgot to eat dinner. A pathetic spark of hope flickered in my chest. Was he… still caring about me? I wondered if this was the right moment to ask him where we stood. Just as I gathered every ounce of courage I had, his phone pinged. With one hand, he adjusted the flow of my IV drip, and with the other, he pulled out his phone. It was a voice memo. Fiona’s voice filled the quiet room. “I don’t just hand out dates, you know. If you want me to be your girlfriend, you’re going to have to ask me in person.” “Hiding behind a screen isn’t going to cut it.” 03 “Heh. She’s got an attitude.” A smile played on his lips. He looked up, and his eyes met mine. We both froze. We looked away at the exact same time. The silence that followed was suffocating. Under the blankets, my fingernails were digging so hard into my palms they were practically drawing blood. Noah broke the silence first. “Riley.” He never used to call me by my real name. That single word clarified exactly where we stood. He cleared his throat. “I’m really sorry about the mix up. I know it caused you a lot of trouble.” “It was a terrible mistake, and I hope you aren’t holding it against me.” “Let’s just look at it as making a good friend to talk to.” “Yeah?” A mistake. Terrible. A friend. An entire year of late night talks, inside jokes, and falling in love, summed up in three pathetic words. I kept my eyes glued to the blanket. I nodded once. I didn’t look at him. I didn’t speak. He stood up. “Your IV is done. I’ll drive you back.” I wanted to tell him no. But I looked down at the heavy plaster on my leg. I pictured myself trying to hop back across campus alone. I caved. Noah was strong. He scooped me up effortlessly and carried me to his car. Pressed against his chest, my hands hovered awkwardly. I didn’t know where to hold on, so I ended up tightly gripping the fabric of my own faded shirt. He smelled incredible. It was that crisp citrus scent I had once told him was my absolute favorite. My stupid, traitorous heart hammered against his chest. His voice rumbled right next to my ear. The voice that used to live exclusively in my headphones was right here in the physical world. The only difference was the tone. In my headphones, he was sweet, needy, and deeply affectionate. Now, he was just rattling off medical instructions on how to keep the cast dry. I barely absorbed a word he said. My mind was a complete wreck. He carried me all the way to my dorm room door. He didn’t step inside. But he didn’t leave either. Leaning against the doorframe, I quietly said, “Thank you for the ride.” He pulled out his phone to check the time. “No problem. It was on the way.” My heart sank straight to the bottom of the ocean. I realized he was waiting for Fiona. And I had been foolish enough to think he went out of his way just to make sure I got home safe. I turned around and limped into the room. It took everything in me to climb up into my bed. My hand slipped, and my knuckles slammed hard against the bed frame. The sharp sting brought fresh tears to my eyes. Right then, Fiona’s surprised voice echoed from the hallway. “Noah! What are you doing here?” “Waiting for you.” Noah’s voice was warm, dripping with that familiar smile. “Be my girlfriend? I’ll wait for you every day.” Pure instinct made me slap both hands over my ears. But I still heard her answer. “I’d love that, boyfriend.” The hot pre-med student officially bagged the beautiful dancer. The news blew up across every campus group chat. I took a week off to recover in my dorm. Even though I didn’t step outside, I couldn’t escape the endless updates about Fiona and Noah. Someone posted a picture of Fiona practicing in the studio, with Noah leaning casually against the doorframe, watching her with a soft smile. Another showed Noah dominating a soccer game, while Fiona sat in the bleachers holding his water bottle. There were candids of them holding hands, strolling side by side under the campus oak trees. … These were all the things Noah had promised me. He had told me that as soon as we met in person, the first thing he wanted was to watch me dance. He wanted me to cheer for him at his games. He wanted to hold my hand and walk around campus. I was the one he dated for a year. But she was the one living out our promises. And I was the one left completely broken. I stared at his contact, still pinned to the very top of my messages. The icon that used to pop up with a good morning text every single day. I pressed down on it, hovering over the delete button. I thought about the thousands of messages we shared over the last year. I couldn’t do it. I just unpinned him. Once he was unpinned, his name sank further and further down my inbox. It was only then I realized that the guy who used to tell me goodnight every single evening hadn’t sent me a single word in almost a week. When it was time to get my cast off, I saw Noah at the clinic again. His buddy was giving him a hard time. “Whoa, the guy who’s been MIA for a week playing boyfriend actually showed up to the clinic?” “Did you really come all the way down here just to take a cast off a freshman?” I was sitting in the examination room, separated from them by a thin curtain. I heard Noah’s voice. “Do me a favor. When she gets here, tell her she needs to keep it on for a couple more days.” His friend sounded confused. “Why? You’re the one who put the cast on her, and you literally said she was cleared to take it off today.” “Just drop it,” Noah said flatly. “Make up some excuse. Tell her the bone isn’t fully set yet. Make her wait two days.” “The intercollegiate dance competition is the day after tomorrow, and Fiona is competing.” 04 I wanted to rip the curtain open. But I didn’t have the guts. I listened to his friend refuse. “Hell no, I’m not doing that. You tell her yourself, she’s right in…” “Fine, I’ll tell her.” Noah cut him off and walked right out of the clinic. The curtain slid back. The med student looked at me, his face turning an awful shade of red. Choking back the lump in my throat, I asked quietly, “If you take the cast off today, and I practice for the next two days… will I permanently damage my leg?” He rubbed the back of his neck and pulled up my chart. “Your fracture was just a hairline. Honestly, you’re fine to move on it.” My phone vibrated. Noah, who hadn’t spoken to me in a week, sent two texts back to back. [Hey, I took another look at your X-rays. I highly recommend leaving the cast on for a few more days.] [It’ll ensure everything heals perfectly without complications.] I stared at the screen for a long, long time. Then I pressed his name, and hit ‘Delete Chat’. “Please take the cast off. I’d really appreciate it,” I told the med student. Once I was freed from the plaster, Professor Carter texted me, asking if my leg was okay and if I was still doing the showcase. I typed back. [I’m stepping out, Professor. Please withdraw my name.] When it came to contemporary lyrical dance, I was leagues ahead of Fiona. She had never once beaten my scores. Noah lied straight to my face just to clear the path for her. If he wanted Fiona to take first place that badly, I’d give it to him. I guess I could consider it payment for all the nights he stayed up comforting me over the past year. While Fiona was busy going on dates and rehearsing for her guaranteed win, I was busy expediting my visa. A week ago, before the whole wrong-girl disaster happened, I was nominated for a highly exclusive exchange program in London. At the time, my head was in the clouds. I was dreaming of finally meeting Noah, going on cute campus dates, and living out a romance. I had fully planned on rejecting the offer. Thankfully, Professor Carter had refused to accept my ‘no’ and told me to sleep on it. Three days ago, I officially submitted my acceptance. In one week, I’d be leaving the country for two years. The night of the dance competition, Fiona stole the show. She took home the grand prize. We had a celebratory dinner with the department that night. She walked into the restaurant absolutely glowing, hand-in-hand with Noah. “Just making it official for everyone,” she beamed. “This is my boyfriend, Noah. He wanted to take me out to celebrate. Hope you guys don’t mind him crashing!” The table erupted into cheers and catcalls. I sat quietly in the corner, focused entirely on cracking open a crab leg. Just as I was about to take a bite. Fiona suddenly called my name out in front of everyone. “Hey Riley, haven’t you been dating your online boyfriend for a year now?” “Didn’t you say you guys were finally going to meet up for your anniversary?” “How did that go?” I froze completely. Everyone at the table turned to look at me. “Wait, seriously? People still do the whole online dating thing?” “No way. Riley is so quiet, she’s the last person I’d expect to have a secret internet boyfriend.” Fiona laughed casually. “Oh, it’s true. I didn’t know either at first, but every single night she’d get back to the dorm, put her headphones on, and talk to him until she fell asleep.” “A few months ago, he even ordered a massive snow crab boil to be delivered to our room. She didn’t even know how to use the shell crackers. I had to teach her.” The looks being thrown my way suddenly shifted. Judgment dripped from their eyes. “What kind of internet boyfriend buys expensive seafood? Probably some creepy sugar daddy. Those guys love preying on naive college girls online.” “I mean, Riley grew up in the middle of nowhere, right? Girls from those depressed towns are super easy to manipulate. Flash a little cash and they’ll call you daddy. Hell, they probably did meet up.” “Yeah, if he’s spending that kind of money, she’s definitely already put out.” An indescribable knot exploded in my chest. Anger, humiliation, and a suffocating wave of injustice. When I didn’t say anything, the girl next to me shoved my shoulder. “Come on, Riley, cat got your tongue?” “Is your internet guy some middle-aged creep or a fat basement dweller?” “He’s spent a lot on you, hasn’t he? You guys already slept together?” “Who knew the innocent little wallflower was such a slut behind closed doors.” SMASH. A heavy glass bottle shattered violently against the floor. A strong hand clamped down tight on my wrist. I looked up into Noah’s freezing, furious eyes. “Shut your mouths!”

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It was the second week of the silent treatment with my guardian, Alistair, when he announced his engagement to the press. He was so afraid I’d cause a scene that he had ten burly security guards watching my every move. But for once, I was the picture of calm. No tears, no tantrums. Just quiet compliance. After the press conference wrapped up, his call came through. “Have all the sharp objects been put away?” Alistair’s voice was tense on the other end. “Did she make a fuss? Keep a close eye on her. I’ll be home tonight.” The butler, Peterson, shot a nervous glance at me before replying, “Sir, Miss Song is fine. She’s been very quiet.” “She said… she said…” Alistair’s voice was low. “She said what?” “She said that you look much older on television, and that you two really don’t suit each other. She said she finally understands your good intentions and has decided to be your dutiful, obedient niece from now on…” The line went dead. 1 Before Peterson even finished speaking, my phone lit up on the table. Seeing the caller ID, and the color draining from Peterson’s face, I couldn’t help but break into a grin. “It’s just my sister. Don’t worry, I’m not calling in reinforcements.” Peterson let out a long, shaky breath. My smile widened. I pointed to my bedroom, signaling I was going to take the call in private. The bodyguards looked to Peterson, and when he nodded, they parted like the Red Sea to let me pass. I slipped inside and locked the door. My sister’s voice came through, cold and sharp. “Cassie. Have you made up your mind? When are you coming to Port Calloway?” I cupped my hand over the phone, whispering, “Tomorrow night.” Seraphina scoffed. “You sure? If you flake on me again, I’m flying to New York to drag you there myself.” “I’m sure!” I promised, my voice filled with conviction. Sera was silent for a moment. Just as I thought she was about to hang up, her voice drifted through the line, softer now. “…You’ve finally given up on him?” “Don’t come back just to throw another fit about going back to that guardian of yours.” I winced. “Don’t worry, Sera. I’m over him. Completely.” The silence on the other end was thick with disbelief. I thumped my chest for emphasis. “Dead and buried!” I’d chased him for eight years and confessed my love more times than I could count, only to watch him announce his wedding on TV. Eight years of pining was a testament to my persistence. But forcing my way into someone else’s relationship? That crossed a line. That was just asking for public humiliation. It wasn’t worth it. This hopeless crush? I was done. 2 When I came out of my room, Peterson followed me like a shadow, clearly terrified I was about to have another meltdown like I did a few years ago. Back then, Alistair had gotten so fed up with my constant advances that he’d avoided me for three solid months. He hadn’t even come home. I’d tried everything—crying, screaming, threatening to run away—but nothing worked. Then, I overheard two of the maids talking. “Why is Miss Song still fighting with Mr. Croft?” one asked. “Well, I heard he’s been getting cozy with that actress lately. He’s probably giving Miss Song the cold shoulder on purpose,” the other replied. I emerged from the corner where I’d been hiding. They froze, their eyes wide with fear. I was holding a half-peeled apple, the paring knife still in my hand. “What actress?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. If the maids were scared, Peterson was about to have a heart attack. His one job was to keep me safe, and here I was, armed and emotional. The thing is, it was a complete accident. The knife was already in my hand. When no one answered me, my anger boiled over. “Which actress? Tell me!” Peterson’s voice was trembling. “Miss Cassie, my dear, please give me the knife. Don’t hurt yourself.” His words only made it worse. My hand shook, and the blade slipped, slicing a thin red line across my arm before I dropped it, the tip landing squarely on my big toe. It was a bloody, dramatic mess. I heard later that Alistair rushed home like a man possessed that night. He saw the bandages on my arm and foot and flew into a rage, firing every maid who had been gossiping on the spot. If Peterson hadn’t been with the family for over a decade, he would have been gone too. I threw myself into his arms, sobbing pathetically. “Alistair! You broke your promise! You said you wouldn’t date anyone until I turned twenty-three!” My tears and snot soaked the front of his expensive shirt. “How could you do this? What would my parents say if they could see you now? How could you betray my undying love for you…” “It’s not real.” My sobs hitched. His thumb, warm and gentle, wiped the tears from my cheek. His expression was even softer than his touch. “You silly girl,” he murmured. “I would never play games with my heart. Don’t listen to a word of that nonsense.” … A soft, tinkling sound pulled me from my memories. A breeze had drifted through the open window, stirring the set of wind chimes hanging there. Peterson’s gaze followed mine. He sighed. “Miss Cassie, do you remember? Mr. Croft made those for you by hand for your thirteenth birthday.” Of course, I remembered. Peterson had been a front-row spectator to every single one of my embarrassing attempts to win Alistair’s heart over the past eight years. He’d seen it all. I smiled and patted his arm. “I know he’s been good to me. Don’t worry, Peterson. I’m not going to do anything stupid anymore.” Because this time, Alistair had broken his promise for real. Tomorrow was my twenty-third birthday. And he chose the day before to announce his wedding. I had to hand it to him. Well played. 3 When Alistair pushed open the door, he stopped dead, a vein throbbing in his temple. The scene before him was chaotic. Peterson and I had divided the ten bodyguards into two teams. He had five, and I had five. And we were in the middle of a loud, rowdy drinking game. “Three of a kind!” I yelled. “Royal flush!” Peterson countered. “Full house!” I slammed my hand on the table. “Two pa—” I cut him off with a triumphant laugh and a wave of my hand. “Drink!” Peterson’s face fell. He reluctantly picked up his glass, but before it reached his lips, his body jerked. The drink sloshed to the floor, and he dropped to the ground as if he’d been shot. The rowdy cheers from the bodyguards died instantly. My smile froze on my face. Oh, crap. I thought Alistair said he was coming home tonight. It was only five in the afternoon! Why was he home so early? My mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse. I was so wound up I still had one foot propped on a stool, and Peterson was now cowering at my feet. He risked a peek up, saw the frantic, guilty expression on my face, and let out a choked snort of laughter. A second later, his amusement vanished, his eyes widening in terror. “Sir! Don’t blame Miss Cassie! It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have let her drink!” Peterson scrambled over and clung to Alistair’s left leg like his life depended on it. Meanwhile, Alistair’s right hand had already snagged the back of my collar, hoisting me up like a stray kitten. Tears welled in my eyes. I kicked my legs uselessly. “Alistair! Are you crazy? So what if I had a drink? I’m heartbroken! Devastated! I’m drowning my sorrows! Is that a crime? Is there no justice in this world?” I felt Alistair’s hand tremble. He only held me for a second before setting me gently back on the floor. His voice was dangerously calm. “Turn around and look at me.” I hunched my shoulders, trying to make myself smaller. Then I turned, plastering a bright, cheerful smile on my face. “Oh, you’re talking to me again? Is the silent treatment over?” He smiled back, a warm, pleasant expression that didn’t reach his icy eyes. “Heartbroken?” he repeated, ignoring my question. “Devastated? I must be blind, because I’m not seeing any of that.” Alistair looked down at me, his gaze intense. The room was so quiet that his dark eyes seemed even more bottomless, more dangerous. A knot of complicated feelings twisted in my gut. But I refused to be humiliated any longer. I took a deep breath, about to say something, when his phone rang. And just like that, the words that had been swirling in my mind, the questions I was finally ready to ask, were swallowed whole. What do you really feel for me? Can you just be straight with me for once? Please, stop making me guess. You push me away with your words, but your actions make it seem like you love me. Do you have any idea how confusing that is? The unspoken words lodged in my throat, and my eyes began to burn with unshed tears. Alistair didn’t notice. He stared at the caller ID, his brow furrowing. It took him a few rings to finally answer. I glanced at the screen. The name read: Isabelle Laurent. His fiancée. A woman’s voice, elegant and warm, came through the phone. “Alistair, darling? Have you picked up Cassie yet? The reception is about to start. You two should hurry.” Alistair murmured a few brief replies and hung up. He looked at me again, his frown deepening. “Are you…” he began, his tone questioning. I forced a grin, cutting him off before he could finish. “I’ll go.” He was clearly taken aback. His dark eyes were as turbulent as a stormy sea. But suddenly, I was just… tired. So tired of trying to decipher his thoughts. “Are you sure you want to? If you don’t, I can come home early tonight…” “I’m sure!” I interrupted him again, pointing upstairs. “I’m going to go change into that dress you had made for me! I’ve been waiting for a chance to wear it. Give me five minutes!” “That dress wasn’t for you to wear tonight…” Alistair started, but I was already gone. I couldn’t stand it. I ran up the stairs, my heart pounding. I was so pathetic. If I stayed in that room with him for another minute, I knew I would break down and cry. Get a grip, Cassie, I told myself, clenching my fists. Just one more day. You’re going back to Port Calloway tomorrow. Hold back these stupid tears.

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I was buried under a mountain of paperwork, completely empty-handed, when I posted a quick message in our team’s Slack channel. I asked if anyone could grab me lunch on their way back, offering to buy them a boba tea in return. The new intern, Tessa, saw the message and volunteered to help. But when she handed me the takeout box, she kept her eyes glued to her freshly done acrylic nails, picking at them idly. “So, I was scrolling through TikTok earlier,” she said, her tone casually drifting. “Starbucks just came out with this new fruit Frappuccino.” “It’s only eight dollars, but I haven’t tried it yet.” My finger hovered over the boba app. My entire lunch, including delivery, hadn’t even run me five dollars. Yet, seeing the eager look on her face, I decided not to make a fuss. I quietly opened the Starbucks app and ordered the drink for her. Tessa beamed instantly, promising she’d always be down to help out in the future. The next morning, I had barely walked through the door and hadn’t even clocked in yet when Tessa marched over and plopped a plastic takeout container right onto my desk. “Morning, June! I grabbed you lunch again today,” she announced. “It’s a chicken teriyaki bowl from the diner downstairs. Only four dollars. And for the delivery fee, same as yesterday, please. I want a Rose Latte from Starbucks.” “Venti, iced, blonde espresso, light ice, no foam. It’s only nine dollars. Thanks!” 1 I blinked, staring down at my phone. It was barely nine in the morning. We didn’t even take lunch until noon. Why was she handing me a hot lunch three hours early? Seeing me silent and staring at my screen, Tessa tapped the plastic lid of the bowl, prompting me. “Did you get all that? Venti Rose Latte. And don’t be cheap like yesterday, ordering a Grande. I barely got a taste of it.” She actually rolled her eyes. A dry laugh escaped my throat. “I didn’t ask you to get me lunch today,” I said. Tessa stiffened, her face instantly flushing red. “Excuse me? Are you seriously power-tripping on an intern right now?” “I already bought the food, and now you’re telling me you don’t want it? Do you have any idea how early I had to drag myself out of bed just to get this for you?” “I don’t care. You have to buy me my coffee. I earned it!” She practically stomped her foot, her voice rising so loud it began drawing looks from across the floor. Before long, a few colleagues wandered over. “What’s going on over here?” “Why the drama so early?” “June, is everything okay?” Valerie, a senior designer who had been with the company as long as I had, looked at me with confusion. Before I could open my mouth, Tessa’s eyes welled with tears. “Valerie, you have to help me,” she sobbed, turning to the crowd. “June asked me to get her lunch, so I did. Now she’s refusing to pay me back!” She sniffled loudly, batting her perfectly curled lashes. To me, it was a blatant performance, but to everyone else, she looked utterly helpless. The office began to whisper. I looked around at the faces of my coworkers. There was no real malice in their eyes, but the underlying assumption was clear: the veteran employee was picking on the defenseless newcomer. Valerie reached over to hand Tessa a tissue. “Hey, don’t cry. June isn’t that kind of person. There has to be a misunderstanding here.” “Look, I’ll just Venmo you the money myself. Let’s not make a scene. It’s going to look terrible if the supervisors see this.” As Valerie pulled out her phone, I quickly caught her wrist. “Don’t worry about it, Valerie,” I muttered, gritting my teeth. “I’ll pay her.” If I let Valerie cover it, the narrative that I was bullying the intern would be set in stone. Trying to clear my name after that would be impossible. I unlocked my phone. A victorious smirk flashed across Tessa’s face before she quickly masked it. “It’s thirteen dollars total. Make sure you get the amount right.” My thumb froze over the screen. The teriyaki bowl was four dollars, and her latte was nine. The coffee cost more than double the food she brought me. But I couldn’t say a word. Not with her tears still fresh. I processed the transfer. My chest felt tight, a heavy knot of frustration burning in my throat. The second the notification popped up on her phone, Tessa’s tears vanished. She offered Valerie a sweet thank-you and skipped back to her desk. Valerie patted my shoulder in silent sympathy before the crowd dispersed. The office returned to its usual hum. I set my bag down and sank into my chair. The cheap plastic container Tessa had brought was sitting right on top of my keyboard, and orange grease was already dripping down the side, seeping into the keys. I stared at the thirteen-dollar lunch for a long, quiet moment. Then, I picked it up, threw it straight into the trash, and booted up my computer. I had barely opened Google Docs when Tessa’s profile picture started flashing on my Slack. “Hey June! :)” She sent an emoji of a dancing cat. “Just so we’re clear, that thirteen dollars was for my trouble this morning. Don’t forget my Venti latte this afternoon!” 2 I stared at the message, completely baffled. I typed back: “Excuse me? On what grounds?” “I already paid you.” Tessa replied almost instantly: “That doesn’t count.” “It’s just a coffee. You’ve been here for years, are you really going to pinch pennies over this?” “Don’t think I don’t know about that three-thousand-dollar bonus you got from the last project. Every other team lead takes their team out when they get a bonus. You’re the only one hoarding it.” “To make up for it, you’re not just buying me coffee this afternoon. You’re buying one for all the interns on our team.” “Otherwise, I’ll post about what happened this morning in the main company Slack channel and let everyone judge you.” “It’s not like you’re the one who decides if we get hired full-time anyway.” Her smug threat glared back at me from the screen. I took a slow breath and did the math. There were five interns in our group. Tessa was the most recent hire, and her evaluation was scheduled for next week, along with the others. Buying five premium Starbucks drinks would run me about forty-five dollars. That was practically my budget for a whole day, or the cost of several days’ worth of cancer medication for my mother. The project Tessa mentioned was one I had managed entirely by myself last year. We finished it in mid-January, but due to administrative delays, the bonus didn’t pay out until this month. It had absolutely nothing to do with the interns. The company had awarded me a three-thousand-dollar bonus. The moment the money hit my account, I used it to pay off my mother’s hospital bills. Then, I tagged everyone in our team group chat: [Hey everyone, I have some urgent family matters to take care of this month, but I promise I’ll treat everyone to a nice dinner as soon as next month’s paycheck comes in.] Tessa had been in that chat. She had replied with a heart emoji and even sent me a private message asking if I needed any help. She wrote, “We’re a team, June. Don’t carry it all on your shoulders.” At the time, I genuinely thought I had hit the jackpot with an incredibly sweet, supportive intern. I never expected her to completely turn on me just ten days later. When I didn’t reply right away, another message popped up. “June? Hello?” “Don’t play dead.” “I can see you’re active on Slack.” I took a deep breath and typed out a brief reply. “Got it.” You want Starbucks, Tessa? Fine. I’ll buy it. But once you drink that coffee, you’re going to have to deal with the consequences. I opened the food delivery app and placed an order for five drinks. My hand didn’t shake when I hit pay. Forty-five dollars was a steep price for a lesson, but it was worth it. It would show me exactly where these interns stood, and whether they were worth mentoring any longer. At one in the afternoon, the delivery arrived. I carried the drink tray over to the cluster of desks where the interns worked. I pulled out a Matcha Frappuccino first. “Becca, I know you love matcha. This one’s for you.” Becca looked up, pushing her glasses up her nose with a warm smile. “Oh, thank you so much, June!” Tessa immediately frowned, pouting. “Actually, Becca, you have it backward. I’m the one who convinced June to buy these. You should really be thanking me.” “Right, June?” Becca offered a tense, awkward smile and quickly looked back down at her monitor. I reached for the next cup and handed it to Owen. “Owen, a flat white for you.” Owen took it with both hands. “Thanks, June.” Tessa made a loud clicking sound with her tongue. Owen’s hands froze on the cup. He quickly cleared his throat and added, “And thanks, Tessa.” Only then did Tessa look satisfied, lifting her chin high. “That’s more like it.” As I handed out the rest of the drinks to the other interns, Tessa trailed right behind me, loudly narrating her “heroic” feat of forcing me to buy everyone coffee. I didn’t say a single word of defense, acting as if she were nothing but background noise. Soon, four of the cups were gone. Only the Venti Rose Latte remained in the bag. Staring hungrily at the oversized cup, Tessa eagerly reached her hand out toward me. “You don’t need to hand this one to me, June. Just let me grab it.” As she reached, I took a step back. And right in front of her face, I pulled the straw out of its wrapper, punctured the lid, and took a slow, deliberate sip. I looked at her with genuine confusion. “I’m sorry. When did I ever say this one was for you?” 3 The smile on Tessa’s face instantly froze. Before she could even begin to unleash her fury, Valerie called out from across the room, waving a hand. “June! The boss wants to see you in his office.” I set the coffee down, completely ignoring the venomous glare Tessa was shooting at me, and walked into the manager’s office. Our boss, Thomas, was on a call and gestured for me to take a seat while he wrapped up. I pulled out my phone, intending to reply to a client’s message. Instead, Becca’s profile icon was flashing on my screen. She had sent three screenshots of an private group chat along with a screen-recorded audio clip. Below them, she wrote: “June, is there some kind of misunderstanding between you and Tessa?” I tapped open the screenshots. Tessa had been venting in an exclusive intern group chat. She claimed she had gone out of her way to be helpful by grabbing me lunch, only for me to refuse to even buy her a simple cup of coffee. She painted me as a toxic veteran abusing my authority, power-tripping over the new hires, and using a Starbucks order to humiliate her. To make it look convincing, she had attached two screenshots of her payment history. One was from yesterday for a four-dollar lunch. The other was from this morning for a four-dollar teriyaki bowl. She had also recorded a voice note from the restroom, her voice trembling with theatrical sobs: “I know we’re just interns and we’re supposed to listen to the team lead, but are we not even human to her?” “Why does she get to push us around like this?” “She’s exploiting me today, but tomorrow it’ll be one of you. None of us are safe from her!” She sounded utterly heartbroken, masterfully spinning a narrative of toxic workplace bullying. In the screenshots, Becca had tried to defend me: “I don’t think June is that kind of person…” “That’s just because she plays nice!” Tessa fired back. “If she’s so great, why didn’t she buy us dinner after getting that huge bonus? I asked around. The manager of Team Three took his entire team out for a premium seafood buffet last week.” After that, the chat had gone completely dead. Becca sent another text directly to me: “June, do you want to explain things to the group?” I didn’t reply. She followed up with: “To be honest, it’s not really about the free food. It’s just that every other team lead does it…” “Tessa kind of has a point.” A point? A cold, bitter smile crept onto my face. My chest felt hollow. I had mentored five interns in total. Owen was the first to arrive back in March. Mid-way through, he had to take a two-month leave of absence to prepare for his graduation thesis defense. HR had approached me then, stating that internship slots were highly competitive and there was a massive waitlist of eager candidates. They advised me to let him go. It was me who argued that the job market was brutal for new grads. I was the one who treated the HR manager to lunch and begged them to keep Owen on. That was the only reason he still had a job here. Then there was Becca. She had come in with zero experience. In the beginning, she struggled constantly to keep pace, frequently staying in the office until eleven or twelve at night. A few times, the pressure got so bad she ended up crying quietly at her desk while working late. When I noticed, I immediately reorganized her workload. I took her under my wing, teaching her the ropes step-by-step. For the past two weeks, she hadn’t had to work a single hour of overtime. Aside from not buying them dinner with my own personal bonus, I had gone above and beyond for these interns. And yet, for the sake of a free meal, they were already taking Tessa’s side. I looked down at my phone, ready to type a reply, when Becca sent one final screenshot. One of the other interns had voiced a concern in their group chat: “Look, whatever the case, June is still our team lead. Tessa, if you piss her off this badly, what if she blocks your full-time offer?” The others seemed to snap back to reality, chiming in: “Yeah, we still need to pass our evaluations.” “Tessa, stop stirring the pot. Jobs are so hard to find right now. If this ruins our chances, are you going to take responsibility?” “It took me forever to land this position.” “My parents had to pull so many strings for me to get this gig.” Tessa replied with a smug, dismissive emoji. “What is there to be scared of? I already asked HR. The final hire-on power belongs to Thomas, the big boss. The team leads don’t have a say.” “June is just a glorified shift supervisor. If she wasn’t assigned to train us, nobody would even look her way.” “Honestly, the more I think about it, the angrier I get.” “I’m going to make a scene out of this. I’ll make sure everyone in the company knows how she treated me. Why should I take this lying down?” “When the time comes, just make sure you all back me up.” The screenshots ended there. Becca sent one last text: “June, I know it’s tough on you too. But everyone is really worked up because of what Tessa said.” “Maybe you should just swallow your pride and apologize to her? It’s not like a meal costs that much anyway.” “If this turns into a massive HR issue, it won’t look good on your record either.” I stared at those words, feeling a cold weight sink to the pit of my stomach. Just as I was about to type back, Thomas hung up his call. He turned to me, resting his hands on his desk. “June, the company is restructuring next month. Your team is going to become an independent department.” “I want you to start thinking about the intern evaluations.” “You decide who we keep and who we let go. I won’t interfere.” 4 For a second or two, I just sat there, completely frozen. Then, a smile broke across my face. It wasn’t a polite, professional smile. It was the sudden, sweet release of a suffocating weight that had been pressing down on my chest all day. Thomas saw my expression and let out a soft chuckle. “Don’t feel too pressured, June.” “I’ve watched how hard you work to train these new hires. I know how much effort you put in.” “With this restructure, your team is going to be independent. That means we need people with the right attitude.” His tone grew serious. “If someone’s skills are lacking, we can train them.” “But if their character is rotten, there’s nothing we can do to save them.” I nodded slowly. “And the criteria for the evaluations?” Thomas slid a folder across the desk toward me. “You set them.” “Performance, teamwork, accountability, and integrity.” “You make the final call on who stays. Even if you decide to let every single one of them go, I trust your judgment.” I looked down at the folder, pressing my fingers against the crisp paper. Becca’s screenshots were still sitting open on my phone screen in my lap. Tessa thought I was just a nobody. She thought I had zero power over her career. She thought no one cared. She was about to find out how wrong she was. Kindness does not mean being toothless. I closed the folder with a firm snap. “Understood. Thank you, Thomas.” The moment I stepped out of Thomas’s office, I noticed how unnaturally quiet the floor had become. It was eerie. I looked up and saw a crowd gathered around the breakroom. Tessa was standing right in the center, her eyes red and puffy, clutching a crumpled tissue. Her shoulders trembled with soft, dramatic sobs. “I wasn’t trying to take advantage of anyone,” she sniffled, wiping her nose. “I just… I just feel so humiliated.” “She bought coffee for literally every single person on the team except for me. How is that not targeted?” She paused to dab at her eyes. “And this morning was the same thing.” “I went out of my way to be nice and grab her lunch, but when she transferred the money, she looked so disgusted. I know she got that huge bonus, and maybe she just thinks interns aren’t worth the price of a coffee.” “If I knew she was going to use her position to bully me like this, I would’ve just kept my mouth shut and taken the loss.” She played the victim flawlessly, making me out to be some miserable tyrant power-tripping over a helpless kid. Valerie frowned, still looking skeptical. “Tessa, are you absolutely sure June did this on purpose?” Tessa nodded vigorously, more tears spilling over. “Valerie, why would I make this up?” She turned her tearful gaze to the other interns standing nearby. “Tell them. Isn’t that exactly what happened?” The interns shifted uncomfortably, exchanging tense glances. Owen’s lips parted, but he quickly looked down, failing to find his voice. Another intern stared at the floor. Becca hesitated for a long second, then murmured in a tiny voice, “This afternoon… she did buy drinks for everyone except Tessa.” The moment those words left her mouth, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The looks my coworkers threw in my direction grew cold and disapproving. “June usually isn’t like this.” “Maybe she’s dealing with too much stress at home lately and just snapped?” “Still, taking it out on an intern is completely out of line.” “The poor girl just started. That’s incredibly harsh.” Hearing the whispers of support, Tessa’s crying grew even louder. She looked up and caught me watching. For a split second, a flash of pure triumph gleamed in her eyes. Her look said it all: See? I can make everyone turn on you in a heartbeat. I stood my ground, making no move to defend myself. Sometimes, simply shouting the truth doesn’t work. You have to let the lie balloon to its absolute limit before popping it with a single, sharp needle. I walked over, wrapping my knuckles against a nearby desk to get their attention. “Since everyone is gathered here, this is perfect.” The crowd turned to look at me. Tessa sniffled loudly, quickly speaking over me. “June, I know you don’t like me. But did you really have to humiliate me like this? I’m just an intern.” I stared at her, my expression blank. “Are you finished?” She choked on her words, momentarily stunned. I lifted the folder in my hand, my voice remarkably calm. “Thomas just finished giving me my briefing.” “I will be personally conducting the evaluations for all the interns’ full-time offers.”

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1 At our college reunion, Johnny got drunk during Truth or Dare. Laughing carelessly, he announced he had never loved me, only Ava. He raised his glass, eyes bright. “She’s finally divorced. This time, I’m not letting her go.” The room fell silent. Next round, he drew a dare: confess to the one he loved. Without hesitation, he called Ava, voice softening into a murmur I hadn’t heard in years. “Ava, I miss you. Can we start over?” I lowered my head, chest tight. Awkward laughter rippled around the table. Sarah squeezed my shoulder. “Johnny is wasted. Don’t take it personally. Marrying you was his jackpot. Cut him some slack.” Megan nodded. “Every guy has a first love. Turn a blind eye, honey. Don’t ruin the party.” I sat frozen, nails digging into my palms. In three years of marriage, this happened whenever he drank. I always covered for him, the dutiful wife. But tonight, my fingers clutched a positive pregnancy test in my coat pocket. My eyes burned, sorrow suffocating me. Quietly, I stood, walked out, and booked an abortion. A love that would never be mine was one I no longer wanted. … When I got home, I went straight to the study and opened my laptop. A pending notification popped up on the screen: my doctoral acceptance letter from the University of Zurich. I clicked Accept without hesitation. Then, I began to pack. At the very bottom of my dresser drawer, my hand brushed against a thick stack of medical files and ovulation tracking charts. For three long years, I had subjected my body to bitter herbal teas, hormone pills, and countless painful fertility injections just to conceive. But Johnny had only ever looked at me with cold disdain. “Is your only goal in life to pop out a kid, Evelyn?” he would sneer. “It’s pathetic, honestly.” He despised the faint, clinical smell of medicine that clung to me. He despised how the hormone treatments made me bloated, exhausted, and plain. Sitting on the cold hardwood floor with those medical sheets scattered around me, a sudden wave of self-pity turned into absolute clarity. The next morning, I stood outside the operating room. The sterile, metallic clinking of instruments drifted through the door, chilling me to the bone. As the anesthesia began to drip into my veins, a single tear slipped down my temple. I’m sorry, little one, I whispered in my heart. I couldn’t give you a real home. When the procedure was over, I stepped out of the clinic. The early autumn breeze bit harshly at my pale face. My phone was vibrating frantically in my bag, displaying Johnny’s name along with a dozen missed calls. I finally picked up. His voice was sharp with irritation, commanding me as he always did. “Evelyn, where the hell are you? My stomach is killing me. Come home and make me some soup, and bring the medicine bottle on the coffee table over to my office.” At that moment, three years of memories crashed over me like a broken dam. I remembered playing the perfect housewife, ironing his shirts, cooking his favorite meals, and keeping the porch light on until the early hours of the morning, no matter how late he stayed out. And in return, I only got his condescension. “Can’t you do something useful with your life? All you’re good for is playing maid.” “Look at Ava. She came from nothing but built a stunning career. Then look at you, hovering over a stove all day. It’s suffocating.” In the past, I would have apologized, swallowed my pride, and rushed to his side just to keep the peace. But now, the heavy weight that had pressed on my chest for years suddenly vanished. I leaned against the cold brick wall of the hospital and spoke quietly. “I’m not coming, Johnny.” A stunned silence hung on the line for a couple of seconds before his voice returned, dripping with mockery. “What did you just say?” I cut him off, a self-deprecating smile touching my lips. “Exactly what you’ve wanted. Let’s get a divorce.” Johnny sounded almost relieved, his tone suddenly light. “You’re finally being reasonable?” Afraid I might back out, he quickly added, “Where are you? I’ll come pick you up right now so we can sign the papers.” My chest throbbed with a sharp, physical ache that made it hard to breathe. “I’m at Mercy General,” I replied flatly. The moment I hung up, the tears finally spilled over. The bitter wind whipped against my face as I wrapped my thin coat tighter around myself, leaning against the hospital’s exterior wall. A dull, throbbing pain flared in my lower abdomen, making my legs tremble. I waited for two agonizing hours. Finally, a familiar car pulled up, and the window rolled down, letting out a blast of warm air along with lighthearted laughter. For a second, my vision blurred. Sitting in the passenger seat was Ava. Her long, soft curls fell perfectly over her shoulders, her makeup flawless as she smiled warmly at Johnny. Next to her, Johnny wore a charcoal gray cashmere sweater that perfectly matched her off-white knit top. It was a carefully coordinated couple’s look. My heart contracted. I remembered buying a beautiful red coat once and excitedly asking him how I looked. He had barely glanced up, muttering that it looked cheap and tacky. Another time, I had hung one of his shirts next to my dress on the drying rack. He had ripped it down in a fury, yelling, “Evelyn, stop invading my space. People need boundaries. Keep your things away from mine.” It turned out he didn’t hate matching outfits or shared spaces. He just hated them with me. The car door opened, and the lingering smile on Johnny’s face instantly vanished the moment he looked at me. He frowned, his eyes cooling. “Get in.” During the drive, Johnny was unrecognizable. The man who usually treated me with cold, clipped commands was suddenly babbling like a nervous teenager, trying desperately to keep a conversation going. “Ava, do you remember when I was chasing you in college and tripped over those bleachers? You laughed so hard you cried.” He turned to look at her, his expression softening with a tenderness I had never once received in our three years of marriage. Ava giggled, covering her mouth. “Of course I do. You were so clumsy back then.” “Yeah, well, I’ve never been able to think straight around you.” Instead of being annoyed, Johnny smiled, clearly pleased. He even stared at her during red lights, a look of pure devotion on his face. I huddled in the backseat, my body trembling from the residual pain of the surgery. Looking out at the blurry neon lights rushing past, my mind drifted. I used to believe that if I was just patient enough, loving enough, I would eventually earn that kind of warmth. I had learned to cook his favorite dishes, memorized every detail of his routine, and kept silent through the worst of my fertility treatments so I wouldn’t burden him. But now, I finally understood. Some things couldn’t be earned. Just as the moon could never become the sun, I could never become the woman he loved. The car pulled up to the local administrative office. “We’re here,” Johnny said. Once the divorce papers were signed, Ava suddenly spoke up, her voice sweet and hopeful. “Johnny, now that you two are officially done, can we get our license today too?” A sudden spark of joy flared in Johnny’s eyes, and my chest tightened. But then, he slowly shook his head. I froze, a tiny, foolish spark of hope igniting in my chest. He smiled gently at Ava. “No, we can’t.” The smile wiped clean off Ava’s face, replaced by a flash of disbelief. Johnny looked at Ava with burning intensity, his voice thick with emotion. “Ava, how could we do something so rushed? Marrying you will be the absolute highlight of my life. I want to give you the most breathtaking wedding imaginable.” He began to describe his vision in Avaid detail, from a sunset proposal by the ocean to a reception hall overflowing with white roses. He spoke of hiring the best vendors, designing a custom gown, and even shared a list of names he had already picked out for their future children. “I want everyone to know that you are my wife,” he said excitedly, gesturing with his hands. “We’ll go to Iceland to see the northern lights, spend our honeymoon in Paris, I want to give you the world.” I stood in the biting wind, listening quietly. The very dreams I had secretly cherished for years were now spilling from my ex-husband’s lips, meant for another woman. The irony was suffocating. I thought back to our own marriage three years ago. There was no proposal, no sparkling ring, not even a simple ceremony. His family had been pressuring him to settle down, and one night, after drinking heavily, he had dragged me to the courthouse. When we got home with our marriage certificate, I had excitedly bought balloons and decorations to make the apartment feel special. He had pushed me aside with a cold sneer. “Grow up, Evelyn. It’s annoying.” Later, when my parents drove in from out of town to celebrate with us, he had kept a frosty expression the entire evening. He hadn’t spoken a single word at the dinner table and had slammed his study door shut the moment the meal ended, leaving me to make polite excuses to my heartbroken parents. I had spent years convincing myself that he was just emotionally reserved, that he simply didn’t understand romance. But watching him paint this beautiful, meticulously planned future for Ava, the truth finally sank in. He wasn’t incapable of love; he just didn’t love me. Because he didn’t love me, every hope I had was a burden. Every sacrifice I made was an annoyance. His cold detachment was simply because he refused to waste a single drop of energy on me. Ava laughed, a high, musical sound that felt like salt rubbed into an open wound. “Oh, stop it, you’re making me blush,” she teased, though her eyes gleamed with smug satisfaction. She glanced over at me, her brow furrowing slightly. Johnny followed her gaze and immediately spoke up. “Don’t pay attention to her, Ava.” “Everything in my past was just settling. What I give you will be brand new, the absolute best.” “I will never make the woman I love settle for secondhand hand-offs,” he said, turning his gaze to me, speaking slowly and deliberately. “And I certainly won’t let you repeat the mistakes of my past. She and I were over a long time ago.” The cruel implication of being secondhand pierced my heart like a needle. I trembled, barely able to keep my balance. Eager to sever all ties, Johnny began dividing our assets right in front of Ava. “The townhouse was bought before our marriage, so that stays with me. Don’t bother asking for the car either; it’s practically a junker anyway, and I’ll get Ava a new one,” he said dismissively. “I’ll leave you twenty percent of our savings. That should be enough to keep you afloat. After all, you’ve spent plenty of my money over the last few years.” Each word fell like a hammer blow. Hearing his cold, calculated division of our lives, my face drained of color. Ava smiled, wrapping her arm triumphantly around his. I took a deep breath, swallowing the bitter taste in my throat, and turned to leave. A sudden silence fell between us. Johnny pursed his lips, a fleeting shadow of guilt crossing his eyes. His gaze dropped to my hand tightly clutching my stomach. “Wait, why were you at the hospital anyway? Feeling sick again?” “My mom’s leftover prescription is in the glove compartment. Go grab it yourself if you need it.” I kept my eyes on the ground and said nothing. My silence seemed to irritate him. His face darkened, and anger crept into his voice. “You’re always doing this, Evelyn. The moment things don’t go your way, you put on this pathetic, tragic act. Can you do anything besides play the victim? It’s exhausting.” He grew more worked up, as if he had finally found an outlet for his frustration. “I despise women like you, clingy, spineless, with no ambition of your own. You don’t even know how to stand up for yourself.” “I admire women like Ava, who have a voice and make things happen. Look at you. You disgust me.” Disgust. The word stung like a poisoned barb. A sharp spasm of pain in my abdomen forced me to double over. Seeing me flinch, Johnny seemed to grow restless, perhaps worried I might actually collapse. He knit his brows, his tone softening a fraction. “Fine. Despite how you’re acting, I’m not completely unreasonable. I’ll let you have half of the savings.” It was the first time he had ever compromised. But to me, it was just a sick, pathetic joke. Before I could even respond, Ava’s face soured. She let out a sharp sigh, pinching Johnny’s arm with a pout. “Johnny, you promised everything in our future would be fresh and new. Are you really struggling to let go of this secondhand past? Why are you giving her half?” Johnny’s body stiffened. He averted his eyes from me and said coldly, “You’re right. Half is too much. Thirty percent, Evelyn. Take it or leave it.” I let out a hollow laugh. As I signed my name on the final line, a searing, tearing pain ripped through my lower abdomen. My vision went black, and I collapsed onto the cold pavement. “Evelyn!” Johnny’s eyes widened. He took an instinctive half-step toward me, reaching out. But right then, Ava shivered, her voice trembling. “Johnny, I’m freezing.” His hand froze mid-air. Without another glance in my direction, he pulled off his warm wool coat, draped it gently over Ava’s shoulders, and ushered her into the warm passenger seat. The engine roared to life, and the car sped away, leaving me behind. The freezing wind swept down my collar. I looked down at my worn, faded down jacket, and then thought of the thick, luxurious coat Johnny had just given Ava. I was the one who had just come out of surgery, yet he was entirely blind to my pain. Despite the physical ache radiating through my body, the fog in my mind finally cleared. I slowly forced myself up, clutching the divorce decree tightly in my hand. The next afternoon, the front door was violently thrown open. Johnny burst into the apartment, drenched in sweat. His hair was a wild mess, and his eyes, usually so calm and cold, were bloodshot and frantic. “We’re going to the hospital,” he rasped, grabbing my wrist with a grip so tight it bruised. I tried to pull away. “What are you doing? Let go of me!” “Ava had an accident!” he yelled, his voice cracking with panic. “She was in a car crash. She’s bleeding out and needs an emergency transfusion. Her blood type is extremely rare, and the hospital’s blood bank is completely out of stock. You’re the only one who can match her!” My heart stopped. My body began to tremble violently. “I can’t…” I whispered, my voice shaking. “I’m begging you, Evelyn!” To my absolute shock, Johnny dropped to his knees, his hands gripping my shoulders as he pleaded desperately. “Please, just save her. If you do this, I’ll make up for everything. I’ll give you whatever you want, money, assets, anything!” “I said no,” I said, turning my face away as a familiar ache bloomed in my chest. “You’re refusing?” Johnny’s expression instantly turned cold, any trace of his desperate pleading vanishing. “Evelyn, it’s just a little blood. Ava is terrified of pain, and she’s running out of time. I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars for a single pint, okay?” “I said no!” I screamed, using every ounce of my remaining strength to push him away. But he didn’t listen. He dragged me out of the apartment and into his car. No matter how much I thrashed and cried, he kept a hand clamped tightly over my mouth, his eyes dark with determination. “Just cooperate! Once this is over, we’re even!” At the hospital, he forced me down into the donor chair. As the thick needle pierced my vein, a cold shudder ran through my entire body. The nurse took one look at my ghostly face and turned to Johnny, concerned. “Sir, she looks extremely weak. I don’t think it’s safe to draw blood from her right now…” “She’s perfectly fine,” Johnny snapped, his gaze menacing. “She always exaggerates when she’s sick. Just do it. Save Ava first.” As the blood slowly drained into the bags, my vision began to blur, and a deep, penetrating cold settled into my bones. “We need more. She’s still unstable. Keep drawing,” Johnny insisted, staring at the monitor, completely ignoring my graying complexion. By the time the third bag was filled, my world went entirely black. In the fading twilight of my consciousness, I heard Johnny’s voice, thick with relief. “Ava is going to make it. Evelyn, you actually did something useful for once.” He rushed out of the room. Behind him, the nurse’s panicked voice echoed down the hall. “Her heart rate is dropping! We need a crash cart, fast!”

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1 I was working my usual delivery route when I stumbled upon a young couple having a massive argument in the middle of the street. The girl slammed a bag of expensive cherries onto the asphalt, her finger practically boring a hole into the young man’s nose as she screamed about how useless he was. Right then, a cascade of glowing text started scrolling across my vision like live chat comments on a streaming video. Oh, my poor baby girl! Please don’t be mad at him just because he couldn’t buy you that designer handbag. He’s been hauling bricks at a construction site all day! Just wait until he gets his memories back and returns to his billionaire family! This is the classic bratty-heroine trope. She throws tantrums, and he just spoils her rotten. He only endures her because she saved his life. He’s just dirt-poor right now. Don’t worry, this cheap rental-apartment phase will pass soon. I quietly picked up the cherries that were still intact, brushed them off, and slipped them into a plastic bag. Then, I walked over and handed them to the young man—the billionaire heir in disguise. If he was the kind of male lead who paid back his debts of gratitude with interest, then I definitely needed to get in on this action. Young master, your loyal servant has arrived! 2 Xavier had just been scolded to within an inch of his life by Sasha. He stood there with his head bowed, a dark, gloomy shadow hanging over his eyes, when he suddenly registered my presence. I handed him the bag of salvaged cherries. “Take them,” I said. “Cherries are expensive. Even if she doesn’t want them, you should eat some yourself.” Xavier stared at me for a second before offering a low, raspy, “Thank you.” Sasha, standing off to the side, immediately bristled. “I threw those away! Why are you picking them up? I told you, I don’t want cherries! I want a designer bag!” “You promised me, Xavier! Where is my bag?” Even face-to-face with such unreasonable behavior, Xavier did not lose his temper. He kept his head down, his voice quiet as he tried to explain. “I was supposed to get a bonus, but I missed a few shifts last week. I will save up and buy it for you soon, I promise.” Sasha snatched the bag of cherries from his hands, raising her arm to fling them away again. “Are you blaming me for you missing work? You always have an excuse!” I stepped in, raising my hands to catch the bag before she could throw it. “Actually, I’ve never tasted cherries before. If you two are just going to throw them away, could I have them?” Sasha tossed the bag to me with a haughty sniff. “Whatever. I was going to throw them in the trash anyway. Eat them if you want.” She turned on her heel, preparing to head back to their building. “It’s too hot out here. I’m going back to the AC.” “If you don’t get me that bag by the end of the week, I’m never speaking to you again!” 3 With Sasha’s dramatic exit, Xavier and I were left standing on the sidewalk, staring at each other. Xavier motioned toward the bag in my hands. “Go ahead and take them.” I noticed he was standing around, waiting for his afternoon shift at the nearby construction site to start. The scorching midday sun had already left him looking pale and exhausted. I walked over to a nearby public faucet, thoroughly washed the cherries, and walked back to him. “I can’t just eat your expensive fruit for free,” I said, offering the bag. “Let’s share.” “It’s a waste to let them sit. Besides, you haven’t had lunch yet, have you?” It was the peak of the afternoon heat, the only break the construction workers got all day. Instead of eating, Xavier had spent his entire break buying cherries and arguing with Sasha. “We are both working-class people,” I urged him. “If you don’t eat, you’ll pass out on the job, and then you’ll lose a whole day’s wages.” My practical reasoning finally got through to him. He reached into the bag and began eating the cherries with me. While we ate, my eyes caught his work schedule sticking out of his pocket. I was genuinely shocked by his grueling hours. “You must make a decent amount with all these shifts, right?” Xavier looked slightly embarrassed. “My expenses are high.” “I want to save up for a house and a car. I guess I’m just not working hard enough.” Once the cherries were gone, he wiped his hands and headed back to the construction site. I watched his retreating figure, deeply amused. Not working hard enough? You are a billionaire heir, young master. You have probably never worked this hard in your entire life. But don’t worry. Your loyal future assistant is on her way. 4 After finishing my evening delivery shifts, I set out to find Xavier to build up some goodwill. Thanks to the scrolling comments in my vision, I could easily pinpoint his exact location. The text was constantly debating and analyzing his life, sometimes scrolling so fast it made my eyes hurt. It was late at night, and I had already finished my workday. I saw Xavier preparing to head back into the construction site. “You’re working the night shift too?” I asked, genuinely shocked. Since the cherry incident, we had established a casual, friendly report. “They pay a little extra to have someone watch the site at night,” Xavier explained. “I can organize the bricks while I’m here. I need to make whatever I can.” I let out a soft sigh. This kind of off-the-books night watch was technically a labor violation, but the site manager and Xavier had a silent agreement. “You should stop hauling bricks at night,” I told him gently. “The pay might be decent, but it’s incredibly dangerous to work in the dark when you’re already exhausted.” “I know a recycling scrap yard nearby that is looking for a night watchman. The pay is definitely better than what you’re making here.” I had been eyeing that job myself for a long time. But it was a strict overnight shift, which did not fit my delivery schedule. Xavier, who was already working illegal night shifts, was the perfect candidate. Xavier hesitated. “I don’t have an ID.” I blinked. In this day and age, how could someone be a legal ghost? Immediately, a flurry of comments scrolled across my eyes. Oh, the heroine lied to him! She told him he has a criminal record so he’d be too terrified to go to the police station for a new ID. In reality, his wealthy family isn’t stupid. The moment he registers for a new ID, they’ll track him down instantly. There’s no way they’d let him haul bricks in the dirt. The heroine hasn’t fully secured his heart yet, so she’s terrified of him returning to his family. His amnesia was literally caused by her! She’s pushing him away while keeping him close. This toxic dynamic is so good. So that was the truth. To keep their little romance going, these people really went to extreme lengths. They practically treated their lovers like hostages. “Do you want to get one?” I asked cautiously. “The local precinct is just down the road.” Seeing the sudden flicker of hesitation and fear in Xavier’s eyes, I realized he did not trust me enough yet. I decided not to push. “Well, the manager at the scrap yard is a close friend of mine. He won’t require an ID. I can introduce you.” If the heroine could manipulate him to build affection, so could I. Once he returned to his family, he would surely remember the person who had thrown him a lifeline when he was at his absolute lowest. 5 I successfully got Xavier hired at the scrap yard. He looked slightly embarrassed as he thanked me. “I’m really sorry for putting you to so much trouble.” I waved it off. “Don’t worry about it. You shared those expensive cherries with me, and I’d never had them before.” Xavier murmured, “I hadn’t had them before either.” I fell silent for a moment. He had amnesia, so he genuinely believed he was poor. But I was actually living in poverty. The night was long and quiet. The scrap yard only required attention when clients arrived with deliveries, so Xavier spent most of his time sitting in the small office. He actually initiated a conversation with me. “Have you always made a living as a delivery driver?” I nodded. “I had no choice. I graduated right into a terrible job market, and my family is drowned in debt. I had to do whatever paid immediately.” Xavier said softly, “I don’t remember my past, but I have a feeling my family was deeply in debt too.” If only you knew you were a billionaire heir. Yet, here he was, guarding a heap of scrap metal in a dusty yard after a full day of manual labor. If he didn’t have the broad shoulders, narrow waist, and perfect physical build of a romance novel protagonist, he probably would have collapsed from sheer exhaustion by now. This was undoubtedly the darkest period of his life. But I did not pity him. I was in a pretty miserable state myself. I was only acting as a good Samaritan because I had a clear goal in mind. I reached into the office locker and handed him a clean, folded shirt. “Your shirt has a massive tear in the back. You should change.” Xavier took the shirt, thanking me profusely. I truly could not comprehend the mindset of a man who refused to buy himself a cheap new shirt but was willing to kill himself working night shifts to buy a designer handbag for his girlfriend. Perhaps that was the mysterious power of love. As a broke, practical person, it was entirely beyond my understanding. “I’ll bring you some breakfast in the morning,” I told him. “If anything comes up, just call my number.” “The job is simple. A lot of people bring in scrap metal overnight, so you just need to log their names, the weight of the scrap, and the payout amount.” Xavier nodded seriously, noting down every instruction. “Thank you, Valerie.” Suddenly, the comments in my vision started scrolling frantically. Who is this girl? Is she a romantic rival? No, she’s not even in the original novel! The heroine was supposed to apologize to him at the construction site tonight, but this random girl took him to a scrap yard! The plot is completely derailed! Ugh, I don’t want to see another woman near the male lead. Xavier is gone for the entire night. The heroine is going to throw a massive fit tomorrow! I love seeing powerful men submit to their lovers! How dare this minor NPC interfere with our leads’ relationship? I rolled my eyes mentally. Interfere? I was just trying to survive. I just wanted Xavier to remember my kindness. Once he returned to his penthouse, all I needed was a tiny crumb of his wealth to escape my own financial ruin. 6 Xavier had barely finished his first overnight shift when Sasha tracked him down. My uncle, who managed the scrap yard, called me in a panic, his voice dripping with frustration. “Valerie, where did you find this guy? He hasn’t even finished a single shift, and his family is already here causing a massive scene!” When I rushed over to the scrap yard, Sasha was in the middle of a screaming tantrum. “Are you trying to abandon me? Why didn’t you come home last night?” “Didn’t we agree that you have to be with me every single night?” Xavier had left her a detailed note along with a hot meal before his shift, but Sasha was completely inconsolable. She had finally brought herself to go to the construction site to apologize, only to find him gone. Xavier tried to calm her down. “This is a new job I found. It pays much better than the night watch at the construction site.” Sasha refused to listen. She covered her ears, screaming that she wanted both her designer bag and him at home immediately, behaving as if she wanted to split Xavier into two people. Xavier remained incredibly patient, offering endless explanations without a single hint of anger. Living in that cramped apartment together had clearly fostered a deep, intense affection between them. But I was not there to watch a romantic drama. I had a job to protect. “Miss, this is a place of business,” I said, stepping between them. “Please leave the premises.” Sasha glared at me, her eyes narrowing. “You again! Do you think Xavier is handsome? What is your actual angle here?” I shrugged. “The rules are simple. If you keep disrupting our work, we will have to let him go.” “Why don’t you try asking around this neighborhood? See if any other business is willing to hire a guy with no ID. If he gets caught working illegally elsewhere, he might end up in a holding cell.” Sasha’s expression instantly faltered, a flash of genuine panic crossing her face. Xavier added, “The job is great, Sasha. I can buy you that bag much sooner this way.” Sasha bit her lip, looking uneasy. “Fine, whatever. You can work here.” She pointed a finger at me, her voice sharp. “But I’m warning you, don’t you dare try to steal my boyfriend!” 7 I looked at myself, then back at Sasha. “Are you really that insecure?” I asked, amused. Sasha was undeniably beautiful. Even in a simple pair of denim jeans, she looked like a delicate princess who had accidentally wandered into the real world. But comparing herself to me was completely pointless. Once Xavier recovered his memories and returned to his family, she would have to face a swarm of incredibly wealthy, highly educated heiresses competing for his attention. Sasha sniffed, letting out a dramatic yawn. “I’m exhausted. I’m going back to sleep. If I don’t get enough sleep, my skin is going to ruin.” “And since you weren’t home last night, nobody was there to boil hot water for me. How was I supposed to take a shower? I am so sick of that cheap apartment.” Xavier immediately began apologizing again, a look of profound exhaustion and embarrassment crossing his handsome face. “I’m sorry. Can you try to shower a bit earlier next time? I promise I’ll have the water ready for you before I leave for my shift.” The comments in my vision flared up again. She is so bratty! I love this dynamic! The heroine is so delicate. Since she saved his life and is his only anchor in the world, she has every right to be arrogant. Honestly, the moment he goes to work, we lose all the cute, domestic moments. But it’s still satisfying to see him act like her devoted servant even when he’s exhausted, spending all his money on her. Even though Sasha’s demands were utterly ridiculous, Xavier continued to coax her gently. As long as Sasha kept Xavier hidden away in that tiny apartment, his grueling, miserable routine would continue indefinitely. I felt a sudden wave of disgust at the entire situation. The young man had a life of luxury waiting for him, yet he was being forced to endure manual labor and emotional abuse just to satisfy her selfish desire to keep him to herself. All for the sake of some romantic fantasy, a brilliant young man was being dragged into the dirt. I, too, was being dragged down by my father’s debts, working myself to the bone without a single second of relief. I turned to Sasha, but my words were directed entirely at Xavier. “I saw a flyer on the bulletin board down the street. The Kingsley family is offering a massive reward for their missing son. The sketch on the poster looks exactly like you, Xavier. Do you think it’s possible you’re him?” Sasha’s face instantly went paper-white. Her voice trembled with panic. “What… what are you talking about?” She grabbed Xavier’s hand, dragging him toward the exit. “We are leaving. We’re not working here anymore!” “Let’s go home!”

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After being demoted to guarding the company’s warehouse gates for three years, my manager suddenly decided he wanted to reinstate me. When he marched down to find me with a horde of executives in tow, I was right in the middle of a mobile game with my two work buddies. My manager immediately lost his temper, barking at me: “You used to be a decent team lead, and now you’re rolling in the mud with these lowlifes? Get your ass back to your desk. There’s a major contract that needs your signature!” Zack, the supervisor who had stolen my position, looked at my dusty, worn-out clothes and sneered: “It’s your lucky day, Finn. The company books have a tiny hundred-million-dollar leak. If you just sign this confession and admit you took the money, the company promises to take care of you for life.” VP Richard, wearing his usual greasy, friendly mask, chimed in: “What’s the point of wasting your life with these two losers? Take the fall for this, and the moment you get out, I’ll hand you a promotion on a silver platter.” My fingers never stopped tapping the screen, but I was practically shaking with suppressed laughter. Losers? Trash? If only they knew who my two seemingly ordinary gaming buddies actually were. One was Nate, the Chairman’s actual grandson, who was just here to experience how the other half lived. The other was Wilson, our supreme Group President, who had gone undercover to inspect the grassroots level, a man who detested even a single grain of corruption. 1 I had just landed a triple kill when the heavy metal door of the warehouse was kicked open with a deafening bang. Seven or eight people filed into the room. The three men leading the pack stood front and center, flanked by several other managers. They had brought quite an entourage. “Finn, get your ass back to the main office and sign these papers,” Manager Logan said, looking down his nose at me. I didn’t even look up from my screen: “Get ready for the team fight,” I muttered into my headset. Logan’s face flushed with anger at being ignored. He snatched the phone right out of my hands and slammed it onto the metal workbench with a loud crash. Instantly, every worker in the warehouse stopped what they were doing, their eyes turning toward us with a mix of shock and amusement. “Don’t push your luck, Finn!” Logan snarled. “The company is doing you a massive favor by letting you back into your old position. Who do you think you are?” “I kicked you from a director’s office down to this godforsaken hole with a single word, and I can send you packing to starve on the streets just as easily!” VP Richard stood with his arms crossed, his face twisted in contempt: “The kid has zero ambition. We offer him a golden ladder and he doesn’t even have the sense to climb it. Instead, he wastes his time playing video games with a couple of useless drifters.” “We really misjudged you. We thought sending you to the warehouse floor would build your character and teach you some humility. Instead, you’ve turned into an absolute loser.” I finally looked up, my eyes cold: “Weren’t you the one who banished me here, Richard? Three years ago, I was on the fast track to a promotion. You wanted to put one of your own guys in my chair, so you made up a pathetic excuse and threw me to the gates of this warehouse.” Three years ago, I was the Senior Project Director, managing a team of over fifty people and handling multi-million dollar contracts. Overnight, I was treated like garbage and dumped here to guard the Westside Warehouse gates. After throwing me out like trash, they thought a snapped order would bring me crawling back? Logan’s eyes glinted with calculation. He assumed I had no choice. He thought a forgotten gatekeeper would jump at any bone tossed his way. It was a neat little plan. They had a hundred-million-dollar hole in the company books and desperately needed a scapegoat. And I, Finn, the former director who once held the keys, was the perfect candidate. I had the clearance, the access, and the supposed motive. All it would cost was a few years in a cell in exchange for a vague promise of a comfortable retirement fund and a phantom promotion. To them, this crooked deal was a generous act of charity. I stood up slowly, took one last drag from my cigarette, and blew a thick cloud of smoke directly into Logan’s face. He coughed and sputtered, his eyes wide with rage, but Zack, the newly minted supervisor, quickly held him back: “Finn, don’t be stupid,” Zack said, a greasy smile plastered across his face. “We’re trying to help you get your old life back. The new project is huge, and we need an experienced manager. You’re the best fit.” “Besides, we used to be brothers. I’d never set you up.” I let out a dry laugh: “Brothers? I practically raised you in this industry, Zack. I gave you half my clients and taught you everything I knew. And you repaid me by going behind my back, stealing my accounts, and framing me for taking kickbacks. You don’t get to call me your brother.” Zack had started as my intern. I had poured everything into mentoring him, only for him to stab me in the back the moment he got a taste of greed. Exposed, Zack’s face twisted in embarrassment. He sneered, looking down at my dusty, faded blue-collar uniform: “What are you acting so high and mighty for? You think we can’t handle a pathetic gatekeeper? We tried to play nice, but if you want to make this difficult, we have other ways.” He flicked his wrist, and two burly security guards stepped forward, towering over me: “If you won’t sign willingly, we’ll drag you to the office and press your thumb onto the ink ourselves!” Beside me, Nate and Wilson, my two gaming buddies, set their phones down. They stood up, frowning: “What do you think you’re doing? You want to get physical?” 2 Logan’s expression curdled at the interruption: “What do you two warehouse rats know about anything?” he sneered, waving them off like pesky flies. “Get lost. This is a management matter.” “So working in the warehouse means we aren’t part of the company?” Wilson asked, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. He spoke with his usual slow, measured cadence. He was never one to raise his voice; when you occupy the top rung of the ladder, you rarely have to raise your voice to get things done. “There’s a chain of command, and using your corporate authority to threaten and harass an employee is a blatant violation of labor laws.” “Labor laws?” Zack burst out laughing. “Can you illiterate garbage even read the employee handbook? What do you know about the law?” He pointed a thumb at VP Richard: “Do you have any idea who Richard’s backing is? Even the Chairman has to treat him with respect. Labor laws? We could tear this entire warehouse down, and the Chairman wouldn’t dare say a word to us!” “Keep running your mouths, and I’ll fire both of you on the spot!” “The Chairman?” Nate shrugged, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “That’s funny. I’ve never heard him mention your names before.” Richard blinked, then erupted into a roaring laugh: “What kind of delusional garbage are you spitting? You know the Chairman?” “You look like a beggar who can’t even get past the lobby doors. Keep dreaming, kid.” Wilson’s gaze turned frosty: “Richard, the Chairman might not know you, but I certainly do. A year ago, you were caught skimming from the employee bonus pool. I thought you had learned your lesson, but it seems you’ve only grown more reckless.” “Did you honestly think you could pull off a stunt like this without anyone noticing?” Richard’s face went from pale to a dark, furious red. Wilson had hit a nerve. They had marched in here assuming the warehouse was filled with uneducated, compliant laborers who would be too intimidated by corporate suits to ask questions. They never expected to run into two workers who knew exactly what they were talking about. Exposed in front of his subordinates, VP Richard exploded: “What the hell did you just say?” Seeing his boss lose his temper, Manager Logan lunged forward, grabbing Wilson by the collar and yanking him out of his chair: “Where did you get these pathetic rumors, you piece of trash? Our VP is a man of absolute integrity! Keep running your mouth, and I’ll personally shut it for you!” He shoved Wilson hard. Wilson stumbled back, crashing into a heavy metal shelf. His glasses flew off his face, shattering on the concrete. “Wilson!” I yelled, rushing forward to help him up. “What is wrong with you? Why are you hands-on?” Wilson was a man of quiet refinement. He had a small army of assistants to handle any unpleasantness in his daily life; he had never dealt with such raw, brutish violence before. “I’m the one you want!” I yelled, shielding them. “Leave them out of this!” Nate pulled out his phone, his face pale with anger: “You guys are dead.” Zack was fast. He snatched the phone right out of Nate’s hand, holding it triumphantly above his head: “Who are you going to call, huh? The police? Go ahead and try. My guys will have you broken in half before they even dispatch a car!” Logan waved his hand dismissively: “Enough talk. Why are we wasting our breath on these minimum-wage losers? You step on them, and they still think your shoes smell nice.” The managers burst into cruel laughter, looking down at us like we were bugs. Even the other warehouse workers began whispering among themselves, pointing fingers: “Management is here, just do what they say. Why make trouble when you’re just trying to earn a paycheck?” “Isn’t it just a few years in prison? If they offered me that kind of money to take the fall, I’d jump at it. Why act so proud?” Even the warehouse supervisor pointed at Wilson, Nate, and me, shouting: “You three ungrateful idiots! How dare you disobey direct orders from the corporate office? I’ll fire all of you by the end of the shift!” Logan nodded with satisfaction, then turned back to me: “Finn, I’ll ask you one last time. Are you signing the papers?” “If you say no, you’re fired right now!” 3 Logan smirked. He had watched me sweat and bleed for that director position three years ago. He knew I had a mortgage to pay and a family to support in the city. He knew that if I got fired at my age, finding another decent job would be nearly impossible. My family would starve. The onlookers chuckled when they heard the threat of termination: “Serves him right! Getting fired over a stupid cake and some pride. Good luck finding another job in this economy.” “Just apologize, sign the damn papers, and keep your job.” Everyone expected me to break. They thought I loved this job too much to lose it. Instead, I shrugged, completely unfazed: “Go ahead and fire me. It’s not like there’s any lower room for demotion anyway.” The entire room went dead silent. Nobody expected me to throw away my livelihood so easily. Zack stepped forward, his eyes narrowing: “Think carefully, Finn. Once you’re out of this company, you’re blacklisted. You’ll never recover.” “You’ve spent too much time rolling in the mud with these losers. You don’t even know what’s good for you anymore.” I laughed: “Do whatever you want. Fire me. You guys have never cared about rules anyway. What can a simple gatekeeper do to stop you?” I sounded defeated, but the truth was, during my three years in this warehouse, I had been quietly keeping records of all the suppliers and the paper trails of Richard’s fraudulent procurement network. Seeing my stubbornness, VP Richard stepped forward, patting Logan on the shoulder. He turned to me with a greasy, paternal smile: “Finn, let’s be reasonable. The company has been very generous to you. For three years, we’ve paid your salary and kept your benefits active. Any other place would have thrown you out onto the street long ago.” “We’re offering you a lifeline out of old friendship. You sign for the hundred million, and you’ll do a few easy years. When you get out, the associate director’s chair is yours, and the company will take care of you for the rest of your life.” “You’re a gatekeeper, Finn. What other future do you have?” He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper: “You need to understand something. I can make you or break you with a single phone call. Cooperate, and everyone wins. Refuse… and I’ll make sure no company in this state ever hires you again.” I looked him dead in the eye and smiled: “Richard, there’s always a bigger fish in the sea. Did you really think your crimes would stay buried forever?” Richard’s smile vanished. He nodded to the two burly guards to grab me. But Nate stepped directly in front of me, his chest puffed out: “If you lay one hand on him, I’m telling my grandfather everything!” “Your grandfather?” Zack mocked, bursting into another fit of laughter. “Who the hell is your grandfather? A construction worker or a street sweeper?” Nate ignored him, locking his eyes on VP Richard: “His corporate authority is nothing compared to my grandfather’s. You look down on us for earning minimum wage, but my grandfather makes more in an hour than you’ll see in a lifetime.” The warehouse fell quiet for a fraction of a second before exploding into hysterical laughter: “He makes more in an hour than we see in a lifetime?” Zack laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes. “Who is your grandfather, Bill Gates? Or maybe you’re talking about Monopoly money?” Logan clutched his stomach: “This kid has lost his mind from working too many shifts. He’s hallucinating.” They couldn’t fathom a warehouse worker having any real power. “Enough games,” VP Richard snapped, his patience entirely depleted: “Unless you can miraculously summon the Group President himself to this filthy floor, you are signing those papers today!” 4 I glanced at Wilson, who was staring at VP Richard with a dark, terrifying expression. It was a look I recognized. Last week, when the supervisor was tricked into signing a fraudulent supplier agreement, Wilson had taken one look at it, and the supplier had come crawling back the next morning, begging to tear up the contract. Wilson was a man who detested corruption, and he certainly wasn’t going to let these thugs walk all over us. He spoke, his tone completely flat: “A hundred-million-dollar deficit. And you are certain you want Finn to take the blame for it?” Richard scowled, barely deigning to look at Wilson: “Who asked you, old man? You want to pack your bags too?” Wilson pulled a spare pair of glasses from his breast pocket, slipped them on, and stared at Logan and his cronies: “You said only the President could resolve this. Well, I am here. How do you want to handle it?” He pulled out his phone and pressed speed dial. His voice wasn’t loud, but in the quiet warehouse, every word carried like thunder: “This is Wilson Pendelton. Send the internal affairs and audit division to the Westside Warehouse immediately. We have a massive embezzlement case to secure.” Wilson hung up. VP Richard’s face drained of color, his lips trembling slightly: “Wilson Pendelton? The… Group President? What are you doing here?” Zack and Logan stared in disbelief: “The President? Working in a dusty warehouse? That’s impossible. There must be a mistake.” Zack leaned in close to Richard, whispering urgently: “Richard, have you ever actually seen the President in person? He’s bluffing. The corporate office never said anything about Wilson inspecting the warehouse floor.” “Besides, the news yesterday said the Chairman and the President flew to Europe for a merger. There’s no way he’s here.” “Don’t let him get in your head!” Hearing this, Richard’s panic turned back into red-hot fury. His greasy sneer returned: “The Group President on a warehouse floor? You really think I’m that stupid? Everyone knows Wilson Pendelton is in Europe!” “How dare you pretend to be the President to scare me! You warehouse trash really are something else. I’m going to make sure you never walk again!” “Get them! Grab all three of them and beat some sense into them!” The burly guards closed in on Wilson. Seeing that his actual title meant nothing to these thugs, Wilson’s face went completely dark: “How dare you touch the President of this company!” One of the guards laughed, spitting on the floor: “The President? If you’re the President, I’m his father!” They grabbed Nate too. He struggled against their grip, shouting: “I am the Chairman’s grandson! If you touch me, my grandfather will destroy you!” The managers ignored his threats, laughing in his face: “Go ahead and cry to your granddaddy, kid!” The other workers watched, whispering coldly: “What a joke. Trying to pass themselves off as corporate royalty. Look at them now.” “Now you’re getting beaten up because you wouldn’t just keep your head down.” A guard grabbed Wilson by the throat, pinning him against a shelf. Two other men pinned my arms behind my back, holding me fast, while another guard kicked Nate hard in the back of the knee, forcing him to his knees on the concrete: “I’m going to break you pieces of trash!” Suddenly, a roaring, authoritative voice echoed from the warehouse entrance: “Who dares to touch my grandson?!”

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1 The first time I asked for a divorce, Buzz looked at me with those calm, reasonable eyes and said, “At least wait until our son finishes middle school.” I nodded, swallowing my grievances. The second time I brought it up, Buzz used the same gentle, unyielding tone. “At least wait until he graduates from high school.” Again, I nodded, letting another chunk of my life slip away. Now, our son had finally finished his college entrance exams. When I brought up the divorce for the third time, Buzz still refused to sign the papers. Suddenly, everyone in our social circle felt entitled to offer their opinion. “You’ve spent half your life together. Why are you suddenly making such a fuss about a divorce now?” “Exactly. Buzz is a successful businessman, and he still looks incredibly handsome in his late forties. Frankly, Vivian, you’re the one winning here.” Even my own son, Anson, came to lecture me. “Mom, I know Aunt Annette has always been a thorn in your side. But it’s been so many years, and everyone is getting older. Why can’t you just let it go?” But a thorn buried deep in the flesh does not simply disappear. It festers. It throbs with a quiet, agonizing pain with every single breath. Buzz could not pull that thorn out of my heart. So, I had no choice but to cut Buzz out of my life entirely. 2 Despite the overwhelming disapproval from everyone around me, my decision was final. Anson stood in front of the bedroom door, blocking my exit, his voice dripping with childish defiance. “Mom, if you actually go through with this divorce, I swear I won’t go to college.” I continued folding my blouses, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. “Anson, you are an adult now. You have to take full responsibility for your own choices. If you decide to throw away the last twelve years of your hard work, that is on you.” My blunt response caught him off guard. Flustered and speechless, he whipped out his phone to call his father for backup. “Dad! You need to get home right now! Mom is packing her bags!” I did not care what Buzz said on the other end. I only knew he hung up in a hurry, leaving Anson to throw a tantrum in our room. “Mom, please don’t leave. Please?” It was the same routine he had performed so many times before. In the past, my heart would have melted. Seeing the child I had carried for nine months cry was always my weakness. It was the anchor that had dragged me down, keeping me trapped in this suffocating house for years. But today, looking at his pleading, tear-streaked face, I felt absolutely nothing. I quietly continued packing my clothes, my jewelry, and my legal documents, placing them piece by piece into my suitcase. Suddenly, a large, firm hand clamped down on the rim of the suitcase, halting my movements. Thinking it was Anson trying to aggravate me again, I prepared to tell him to back off. But when I looked up, I met Buzz’s face. He was still as elegant and refined as ever. Time had been exceptionally kind to him; his face had barely changed from the day he had sweet-talked me into marrying him. Yet, his usually unshakeable composure was showing cracks. “Honey, please stop making a scene.” I stood up straight, meeting his gaze. “I am not making a scene.” I truly, deeply, could not live with him for another second. But to Buzz, this was just another minor domestic dispute that could be resolved with a bit of coaxing. He took a tentative step forward. “Are you still upset about Anson’s name?” Upset? I had been plagued by that name for almost two decades. Anson. Anson, which sounded so painfully close to Annette. Buzz had used the birth of our only child to permanently memorialize the woman who held his heart, his true “white moonlight.” How could I not be upset? 3 My introduction to Buzz had been arranged by a mutual friend, Penny. At the time, Penny had practically sworn on her life. “Vivian, trust me on this. He is the definition of a high-quality bachelor.” She had not lied to me. The young Buzz was incredibly handsome, wealthy, and charming. During our first meeting, he had swept me off my feet, and everything had progressed naturally from dating to a beautiful wedding, followed shortly by the birth of our son, Anson. In those early years, I had genuinely believed that God had blessed me with a perfect life. Until Anson’s first birthday party. That afternoon, many of Buzz’s childhood friends had gathered at our house. They were almost entirely men, and when men gather, the alcohol flows freely. And when they drink too much, secrets become impossible to keep. Buzz’s oldest friend, Greg, was the first to lose his filter. Slurring his words and hiccuping, he leaned over the table. “Hey, Buzz… did you name your kid Anson because you still can’t get over Annette?” It was the first time I had ever heard that name. Before Greg could elaborate, another friend scrambled to cover his mouth, trying to laugh it off. “What are you babbling about, Greg? Buzz obviously chose the name because it sounds noble and classic! It means ‘son of the divine’!” “Exactly! It’s a beautiful, literary name. Don’t listen to this drunk idiot.” But Buzz, who had just downed a glass of whiskey, sat beside me with a glazed, wistful look on his face. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice thick with a quiet melancholy. “I really can’t forget her.” The friends panicked, trying to shut him up, but Greg broke free from their grip, laughing mockingly. “Of course he can’t! Buzz spent twenty years telling everyone he was going to marry Annette, since he was eight years old. Then she goes and marries some starving artist. Who could possibly get over that?” The revelation hit me like a physical blow. It was a past Buzz had completely hidden from me. Before I could demand an explanation, Greg passed out face-first onto the dining table. Buzz let out a loud, drunken laugh. “Greg, you lightweight! You promised you’d help me win her back…” The rest of Buzz’s sentence was muffled as three of his friends practically tackled him to keep him quiet. The dining room descended into a chaotic scramble of excuses. “Vivian, don’t mind them. They’re just talking complete nonsense because of the alcohol. Buzz isn’t like that at all.” “Yeah, Vivian, that’s all ancient history. You’re the one who is his wife now.” It was a chaotic mess. That night, Buzz slept like a baby, his secret laid bare by his friends without a hint of remorse on his part. But I stayed awake. Under the cold moonlight, I stared at our infant son, then at Buzz’s sleeping face, until the sun began to rise. The next morning, Buzz woke up, clearly annoyed by his drunken display from the night before. He offered a brief, dismissive explanation. “Annette and I are in the past.” I was twenty-seven when I met the twenty-eight-year-old Buzz. I was not naive enough to expect him to have a completely blank romantic history. But I could not accept my son being named as a monument to his ex-lover. Yet, Buzz flatly refused to change the name. When I kept pushing the issue, his frustration boiled over. “It’s just a name, Vivian. Why do you have to be so incredibly petty?” But was it really just a name? The tension between us escalated. I took our son and went to the government registry to legally change his name myself, only to find out that Buzz had already blocked any unilateral changes. When I threatened a divorce, Buzz had looked at me and said, “Our son is too young. At least wait until he finishes middle school.” When I refused to back down, his tone had turned cold and threatening. “Vivian, you might not care about this marriage, but do you still care about your family’s business partnership with the Sinclair Group?” My parents’ livelihood depended on that partnership. Buzz’s grip on me was ironclad, ruthless, and terrifyingly effective. Over the years, I had tried to cope. I had even foolishly hoped that perhaps somewhere deep down, Buzz had grown to love me. But eventually, I realized I was nothing more than a clown in his grand romantic tragedy. From marrying me to having a child, to refusing to let me go, Buzz’s entire life was an elaborate performance designed to comfort Annette. He wanted to show her: Look, even without you, I am living a perfect, successful life. So, Annette, you go ahead and chase your happiness. You don’t have to worry about me. 4 Buzz yanked my suitcase behind him, his tone softening into a gentle, pleading murmur. “If it really bothers you that much, we can go and legally change Anson’s name tomorrow.” For nearly twenty years, I had begged for this. Now that he was finally offering it, I realized I did not want it anymore. Buzz watched me, his expression almost submissive. “What would you like to rename him?” Before I could answer that his offer was decades too late, Anson interrupted, his voice dripping with annoyance. “I’m not changing my name! My name is Anson, and I love it! Mom, why are you always so obsessed with Aunt Annette? Is it really that big of a deal?” A spark of anger flared in my chest. “It is not a small thing!” Anson raised his voice, shouting over me. “It is! You’re just incredibly jealous of Aunt Annette! That’s why you threw away all her old photos and gifts from our house, and now you want to ruin my name too!” Slap. Buzz’s hand struck Anson’s cheek with a sharp crack. “How dare you speak to your mother like that? Get out of here!” Anson clutched his reddening cheek in utter disbelief. “I only said what you always think! Mom is just a bitter, stubborn woman, and someone needed to tell her the truth!” Before he could finish his sentence, my hand flew across his other cheek, striking him just as hard. Anson stumbled backward, tears welling in his eyes. He glared at both of us before bolting toward the front door. “I’m going to Aunt Annette’s house, and I’m never coming back!” The bedroom finally fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Buzz rubbed his temples, trying to smooth things over. “He is just an immature kid, Vivian. Don’t take his words to heart. And please, let’s not talk about divorce anymore. Annette and I have been completely over for years.” “But Anson is eighteen,” I said, a bitter laugh escaping my throat. “Why do you think he is so incredibly attached to his ‘Aunt Annette’?” “Is it because you spent years singing her praises to him? Or is it because you constantly snuck him over to her house behind my back?” “Or was it both?” Buzz thought he had hidden his tracks perfectly. But every single time the two of them returned from their “father-son outings,” they would reek of a heavy citrus cologne, a pathetic attempt to mask the distinct lavender scent that Annette always wore. It had been going on for years. 5 There was a time when the sheer exhaustion of fighting had worn away my sharp edges. I had accepted my fate, resigning myself to a lifetime of quiet misery just to give my son a stable home. After Anson finished middle school, neither Buzz nor I had brought up the divorce again, maintaining a fragile, silent truce. When Anson entered high school, his grades began to slip. Buzz suggested sending him to a private physics tutor, and Anson had agreed, attending the sessions with an unusual amount of enthusiasm. I had assumed he simply had a charismatic teacher. Until three months later. Buzz was tied up with an important client, so I offered to drive Anson to his session. The moment I suggested it, Anson’s behavior turned incredibly bizarre. First, he claimed to have a sudden, agonizing stomach ache. Then, he complained of a migraine. He did everything in his power to avoid getting into my car. My suspicions were aroused. The following week, when Buzz drove him to his tutoring session, I quietly followed them in my own car. Their vehicle eventually pulled up in front of a gorgeous villa surrounded by blooming fields of lavender. Anson jumped out of the passenger seat, running toward the front door with a bright, genuine smile. “Aunt Annette! We’re here!” Aunt Annette. The name felt like a physical blow to my chest. A beautiful, elegant woman walked out of the villa, her face lighting up as she greeted him. Anson grinned, practically bouncing on his heels. “Aunt Annette, I want to eat your special short ribs today, and your roasted beef…” “I’ve already prepared everything,” she replied, her voice soft and maternal. Buzz stepped out of the car, carrying a brand-new Hermès shopping bag, which he handed to her with a familiar warmth. “Annette, you really shouldn’t spoil him so much…” The scene was picture-perfect, a warm, loving family reunion. And to me, it was the ultimate, cold-blooded betrayal. I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. I did not want to storm into her house and act like a hysterical, screaming wife demanding answers. I refused to give them the satisfaction of looking down on me. I quietly turned my car around and drove back to our empty house. I sat in the dark, watching the streetlights flicker through the window, hiding my humiliation in the shadows. It was late in the evening when Buzz and Anson finally returned. They walked through the door, practically radiating a thick, suffocating scent of lavender. I sent Anson up to his room, leaving me alone with Buzz. I tossed the photos I had taken onto the coffee table. “I thought he was going to a tutoring center. Since when does his physics tutor live in a private villa?” Buzz turned on the lights. When he saw the photos, the color drained from his face, and he looked momentarily panicked. “Annette was always excellent at physics,” he stammered. “I just thought she could help Anson with his grades.” His excuse was laughably pathetic. “I checked her records, Buzz,” I said, my voice cracking with years of unshed tears. “Annette was an art major. How on earth is she qualified to tutor our son in physics?” That night, our house erupted into the worst screaming match of our marriage, ending with my second demand for a divorce. But once again, Buzz found my weakness. “Anson is at a critical juncture in his life with his upcoming college entrance exams. Let’s at least wait until he graduates, Vivian. For his sake.” He knew exactly which strings to pull to keep me in line. I lost all my strength, and I agreed to wait one last time. But even after that confrontation, they continued to sneak over to Annette’s villa. They simply became more careful, drenching themselves in that strong citrus cologne before coming home to cover up the lavender scent. Over time, my heart simply went numb. I lost my weakness. I spent the remaining years counting down the days until Anson’s high school graduation. I was finally ready to leave Buzz and this toxic house behind. 6 Faced with my cold, unwavering stare, Buzz found himself completely out of excuses. But even if he had a thousand more lies, he could not stop me from leaving. I yanked my suitcase back from his grip, my voice deadly quiet. “Buzz, three strikes and you’re out. You need to let me go.” Buzz’s face darkened, but he realized he had no leverage left. The business partnerships between our families had been systematically phased out ever since I took over my family’s company. Any minor losses from a split would not affect us in the slightest. As for Anson, he was an adult now. He could no longer be used as a hostage to keep me trapped. Buzz opened and closed his mouth, desperately searching for something to say. Finally, he resorted to playing the emotional card. “Vivian, please. I know I’ve made mistakes. I know I used to love Annette, and I know I’ve hurt you deeply. But we’ve built a life together over the last twenty years. I’ve grown to care for you, and I swear, I have never physically cheated on you since the day we married.” It was almost comical. Did he truly believe that emotional infidelity was not a betrayal? He had treated me as a convenient shield to hide his failed romance, and he had named the child I carried for nine months to honor his first love. And he dared to claim he had never wronged me? Any lingering affection I had for him had died years ago, buried under a mountain of lies. “We are getting a divorce,” I said, my tone flat. “From now on, you can call me Vivian, or you can call me your soon-to-be ex-wife.” My absolute certainty seemed to terrify him. “Please don’t do this. We can talk about this.” “There is nothing left to talk about! I have spent two decades tolerating you and this hollow marriage. Let me go, Buzz. The divorce papers are on the kitchen island. I will see you at the courthouse at nine tomorrow morning.” Buzz tried to grab my arm, but I brushed past him, pushing him out of my way as I walked out of the bedroom. My shove was hard enough to send him stumbling back a few steps before he regained his footing. As I walked down the grand staircase, the sharp click of my high heels echoed off the marble walls of the empty villa. Just as my hand touched the front doorknob, Buzz’s voice drifted down from the landing, sounding hollow and broken. “Are you really throwing me away?” I did not turn around. “Yes.” I pulled the door open, but his voice stopped me one last time. “Vivian… my chest hurts.” My fingers tightened around the metal handle, a faint tremor running through my hand. After so many years of resentment and cold silence, I had almost forgotten that there was a time when Buzz and I had been genuinely happy. When we first met, Buzz had pursued me with an intense, romantic fervor. He made sure every anniversary was special, and his proposal had been nothing short of spectacular. He had lied to me, saying we were attending a friend’s engagement party. In the middle of the crowded ballroom, he had suddenly gasped, clutching his chest and falling to one knee. “Vivian… my chest hurts.” He had played the part so realistically that I had panicked, throwing aside my purse and rushing to his side, terrified that something was terribly wrong with him. But then, he had pulled a diamond ring from his pocket, looking up at me with eyes full of a warmth that seemed entirely genuine. “Vivian, will you do me the honor of marrying me?” His words tonight were an exact echo of that memory. For a long time, I had been deeply moved by that proposal. I had believed I was stepping into a lifetime of happiness. But through the years, I had come to realize that his elaborate grand gestures were never truly about me. They were designed to reassure Annette, to show her that he was moving on so she could pursue her own life without guilt. Even his refusal to sign the divorce papers now was likely motivated by vanity, a desire to maintain his perfect public image, or perhaps a fear of what Annette would think if she found out his perfect family had crumbled. It was never about loving me. “Nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” I said coldly, stepping out into the night and slamming the heavy oak door behind me. I walked forward, eager to step into my new life.

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