Category: English

After three years of a completely loveless marriage of convenience. The day I finally handed him the divorce papers. He simply nodded and said, “Okay.” But right above his head, a glowing text box—like a Twitch chat—suddenly appeared: [You psychotic yandere. You already had the custom-sized chains and toys installed in the basement for her, why are you pretending to be a gentleman?!] [Oh, girl… the second you sign those papers, you’re going to wake up in a soundproof room negative-distance away from the guy you hate most.] [Yesss! The captivity arc is finally happening! This is gonna be so hot! His true demon form literally has barbed spikes! She did so much evil shit, she totally deserves to have her eyes roll into the back of her head…] [Ugh, if she had just given him an ounce of affection over the last three years, this crazy obsessive bastard would have happily been her loyal dog. Now his love has mutated into toxic hatred, and she’s screwed…] My hand holding the pen violently shook. I slowly looked up at the completely expressionless man sitting across from me: “Um… actually, let’s hold off on the divorce for a bit.” 01 “What?” Liam Sterling’s thin eyelids lifted slightly, his tone completely indifferent. His utter lack of emotion made me seriously doubt if I was hallucinating those floating chat comments. I took a deep breath, set down the pen I was using to sign the papers, and scrambled to find an excuse: “I suddenly don’t want to get divorced anymore. You know what they say, even one day as husband and wife creates a lifelong bond! We’ve been together for three years, we’re totally used to each other, and honestly… I think I’m a little dependent on you…” By the end of my sentence, his expression had shifted to pure confusion. My confidence evaporated, and my voice trailed off into a squeak. My marriage to Liam was a complete accident. Five years ago, ever since a broke, naive intern named Chloe showed up at our company, my perfectly smooth, privileged life spiraled into an absolute disaster. My childhood sweetheart, whom I had been promised to since birth, fell madly in love with her. He publicly broke off our engagement, humiliating me in front of our entire social circle. Even my parents—who had always spoiled me rotten—inexplicably took Chloe’s side. I was consumed by a blinding, psychotic jealousy. Desperate to prove I wasn’t just “unwanted garbage,” I threw a massive tantrum and impulsively married Liam Sterling. Liam was the ruthless, terrifying, and universally feared billionaire CEO of the city. He was also rumored to be a literal demon. For the three years of our marriage, I made it my personal mission to destroy Chloe’s life. But every single time, I failed miserably. Either Liam would intervene and stop me at the very last second. Or my plans would miraculously backfire and blow up in my own face. Recently, my plot to frame Chloe had been completely exposed. My reputation was in ashes, and almost all my friends had blocked my number. I knew Liam despised my toxic, malicious behavior, and that he secretly favored Chloe. I figured, before he could kick me to the curb like everyone else, I’d beat him to the punch. At least if I dumped him, I’d salvage a tiny shred of dignity. When I texted him asking for a divorce, I knew he was in the middle of a massive board meeting. But he called me back almost instantly. “Give me one reason.” His voice echoed through the phone. I gave a malicious, petty laugh: “Last time you didn’t close the bathroom door all the way, and I accidentally saw your tail. It looked slimy and absolutely disgusting.” So now… when I claimed I was “dependent” on him? Forget Liam, even I didn’t believe my own bullshit. “Are you absolutely certain you don’t want to divorce?” Not receiving the cold sneer I was expecting, his deep, magnetic voice pulled me back to reality. “I don’t want to divorce right now.” I watched Liam’s face intently. There wasn’t a single trace of joy in his expression. “Whatever you want.” After a few seconds of silence, he picked up the half-signed divorce papers from the desk… and fed them directly into the paper shredder. The glowing comments popped up again: [Wait, what is happening to the evil villainess? Did she suddenly grow a brain?] [Is Blair finally figuring it out? Is she trying to cling to the second male lead for survival? Too late for that, sweetie. His hatred for you has already festered into something terrifying.] [Who said it’s too late?! The timing is absolutely flawless! Did you guys not see the psychopathic, euphoric smirk on his face when he shredded those papers?! Also, the paper shredder is sending me. This man was absolutely terrified she was going to change her mind and sign them again.] [Keep going, villainess! Do not stop! Gas the pedal! The second male lead is an obsessive, yandere demon with zero morals, and you’re a toxic villainess. You two are a match made in hell! Seduce him, and then you can easily team up and destroy the female lead!] 02 I spent the entire afternoon processing my reality. I finally understood. I was living inside a fluffy, billionaire romance novel. Chloe was the sweet, innocent female lead. And I was the toxic, malicious villainess who was destined to be locked in a basement by the second male lead until I died. No wonder everyone who even got close to Chloe became instantly, inexplicably obsessed with her, as if the entire universe revolved around her. My brain was completely fried from the information overload. After showering that night, I picked up my phone to relax, only to find an apocalyptic tsunami of hate comments. Almost every single one of my social media accounts had been nuked by the internet. Everyone was screaming for justice for Chloe. My ex-fiancé, Noah, sent me a text: [Blair, don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re just using these disgusting tactics to force me to leave Chloe and get back together with you.] [Heh. You went through all this trouble just to see me, right? Fine. You win. Friday afternoon. Our usual spot.] I didn’t reply. I blocked his number and locked my phone. The comments in the air updated: [I’m not trying to defend her, but the villainess going crazy actually makes total sense. Imagine being a proud, pampered billionaire heiress, and literally overnight, your parents, your fiancé, and all your friends get brainwashed into ignoring you and obsessing over some random girl. I’d go psychotic too.] [She has the looks and the money! Why did she have to lose to a brain-dead female lead who probably doesn’t even know how to use Microsoft Word?! This novel has zero logic…] [If I were the author, I’d slap the delusional female lead, double-slap the arrogant male lead, and lock the villainess and the yandere second male lead in a room together. Make them have eight kids before they’re allowed to leave. Thoughts?] “…” Absolutely terrible thoughts. After calming down, I got ready for bed. I had just taken off my robe when… The bedroom door suddenly swung open. Liam’s gaze traveled slowly from the top of my head, stopping dead on a specific spot. I frantically grabbed my robe and threw it back on. “My apologies. The door wasn’t locked.” Liam’s eyes burned with a scorching intensity. His Adam’s apple bobbed heavily, and beneath his crisp dress shirt, patches of obsidian-black scales faintly materialized on his skin. When a demon is aroused… their true form involuntarily reveals itself… The words “Get out” were literally on the tip of my tongue. Then I saw the comments: [I can already predict the villainess is going to give him a disgusted, superior glare and tell him to get out. Such a gorgeous girl, so aggressively determined to get herself killed. This is exactly how the second male lead’s love was slowly ground into dust.] [Blair, baby, please be nice to your husband. If you slap him now, your lips are going to suffer the consequences in the basement later. Tearing the corners of your mouth is really gonna hurt.] Thanks to the helpful warning from the interdimensional peanut gallery, I swallowed my pride, did a violent 180, and offered Liam a faint, sweet smile: “It’s okay, Hub—” Liam, who had already taken a step back to leave the room, froze completely. His eyes darkened dangerously, waiting for me to finish the sentence. Hiss. I blame the chat for constantly spamming the word “Husband.” It totally influenced my brain… [I AM DYING OF ANXIETY! SAY IT! JUST SAY IT! If you call him ‘Husband,’ he will literally give you his life! The female lead means absolutely nothing compared to you!] [Can we please stop pretending the second male lead is just some pathetic simp? After three years of emotional abuse, he definitely hates the villainess way more than he loves her. Besides, have you all forgotten?! He’s the one who locked her in the basement until she died, specifically to protect the female lead!] The comments split into a violent, two-sided war. I raised an eyebrow. I really wanted to test the validity of these spoilers. Leaning into the tension of the moment, I purred: “Liam, do I have a good body?” “Average.” He lowered his eyes, his expression completely unreadable. [What a fake, arrogant prick. If you keep denying it, you’re never going to get a wife. No wonder she’s been married to you for three years and still preferred the male lead. You kind of deserve it, bro.] [Wait, am I hallucinating? Did the villainess actually not look disgusted by him today?! ARE MY TOXIC VILLAINS FINALLY GETTING THE ROMANCE THEY DESERVE???] Refusing to back down, I took a step forward, teasing him: “You didn’t even look. How do you know it’s average?” “I don’t need to look.” Liam’s voice was freezing cold, but his long fingers involuntarily curled into tight fists. His knuckles were turning a faint, flushed pink. He was literally gripping the seams of his pants so hard they looked ready to tear. I never noticed this before, but when this terrifying man gets flustered, it’s actually incredibly cute. I noticed his collar was slightly crooked. I reached out to adjust it for him. “Don’t touch me.” A low, icy warning rumbled from above my head. Very aggressive. I froze. I suddenly remembered the argument playing out in the chat. Right. For the past three years, I had never given Liam a single shred of affection. Meanwhile, Chloe acted like a warm little ray of sunshine, constantly encouraging him to step out of the shadows. It was only logical that Liam would despise me. I let out a self-deprecating laugh and pulled my hand back mid-air. “Make sure you close the door on your way out. I’m going to sleep.” He shut the door. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate step toward me. His breathing grew heavy and scorching hot. The rims of his eyes were a terrifying, bloodshot red from sheer restraint. I finally realized something was seriously wrong. “Liam… what’s wrong with you? Do you have a fever?” The chat: [More accurately, he’s in heat… Bro, you are way too down bad. The villainess literally just flirted with you out of boredom, and it felt so good it triggered your rut early.] [Rut?] I muttered to myself in shock. We had been married for three years. How did I absolutely never know he had a rutting season?! The chat: [The villainess is so dumb, she actually thought he was just naturally celibate and cold. Hello?! He’s a literal incubus! Plus, your body is a 10/10, and your face is canon-verified as the most beautiful in the novel. He just loved you too much to force you.] [Whenever his rut started in the past, he would steal a piece of your underwear and hide in another house so you wouldn’t see him in that state.] [The comment above just reminded me of those poor, innocent panties. They were definitely shredded to pieces by his ‘unique demon anatomy’…] I stared blankly at the scrolling text, feeling like my eyes needed to be pixelated. So the reason he told me not to touch him… was because he was in rut? Liam let out a strained, agonizing groan, burying his face into the crook of my neck, aggressively nuzzling my skin. His pale, aristocratic skin was flushed with a deep, feverish crimson, entirely consumed by lust. It completely shattered the cold, untouchable aura he usually projected. In the past, I had been so blindingly obsessed with destroying Chloe and trying to win back Noah, that I had never actually looked at Liam properly. I didn’t even realize… this man was breathtakingly, devastatingly gorgeous. His features were sharper and more perfect than any Hollywood A-lister. 03 “The drawer… in the study… there’s medicine and syringes. Go… get them…” Liam’s voice was broken and ragged. He was desperately, frantically trying to hide the dark, intricate demon tattoos and obsidian scales that were rapidly spreading across his skin. I watched him enduring the absolute limits of his self-control. He had bitten his own lip until it bled. His dress shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging to his skin, perfectly tracing the heart-stopping ridges of his abs… I suddenly changed my mind. I had slept in an empty bed for three years. Sure, my cravings weren’t as intense as a literal incubus. But I was still a normal, healthy human being. Even though the very first rule in our marriage contract—the one I personally drafted—was: No catching feelings. Strictly financial. Absolutely no taking advantage of each other. But whatever, I’m the morally bankrupt villainess! Since when do I care about keeping promises?! Having made my decision, I gently patted his cheek and whispered, “Liam. Try to be gentle, okay?” “Don’t touch me. I’m… dirty…” Liam trembled violently from my touch, still desperately clinging to the very last shred of his morality. “But I want you…” I let my robe fall to the floor. I used my thumb to wipe the blood off his lips, went up on my tiptoes, and kissed him. The chat: [HOLY SHIT! The villainess initiated?!] [THE CHEEK PAT! AHHHHHH! THAT WAS SO DOMINANT! I AM DECEASED! MA’AM, DO YOU NEED A DOG?!] [Love mixed with hatred is toxic garbage. But love born entirely out of pure, unadulterated hatred? THAT IS CINEMA!] [MY HEART IS POUNDING! MY HANDS ARE SHAKING! ARE MY TOXIC VILLAINS FINALLY DOING IT?!] The exact millisecond our lips touched, Liam instantly seized total control. His massive, burning-hot hand gripped the back of my head like a vice. The oxygen in my lungs was forcefully plundered. My legs instantly turned to jelly. Without me even noticing, a thick, powerful, obsidian “rope” wrapped securely around my waist. It was wrapped so incredibly tight that it actually hurt. I let out a muffled whimper against his mouth, trying to bat it away. “I’m sorry. Don’t… please don’t look…” Liam snapped out of his haze like he had been struck by lightning. His pupils contracted violently in sheer panic, desperately trying to hide the demonic tail that had slipped out due to his arousal. Before I could even process what was happening, the man panicked, scrambled backward, and sprinted out the bedroom door like his life depended on it. A few seconds later, I heard the frantic, chaotic sound of drawers being ripped open and slammed shut in the study next door. The sharp, bitter scent of clinical medication rapidly filled the air. I leaned heavily against the wardrobe, gasping for fresh air, reading the scrolling chat: [LIAM STERLING, YOU ABSOLUTE COWARD! GET YOUR ASS BACK IN THERE! I LITERALLY TOOK MY PANTS OFF FOR THIS, WHY ARE YOU RUNNING?!] [Enough! Am I the only one who actually feels horrible for him? He’s been bullied, alienated, and humiliated his entire life for being a demon. He was so happy when he finally married the love of his life, only for her to tell him his true form made her physically sick. Of course he’s traumatized and insecure!] [Blair, my precious queen. Why did you have to show disgust at his true form at that exact moment?! You literally broke his heart!] Wait, no! I swear I’m innocent! I literally just wanted him to loosen the grip a little bit… 04 The next morning, when I woke up, Liam was completely gone. I sat at the kitchen island eating a breakfast sandwich. I took a deep breath, counted to three, and turned on my phone. To my absolute shock, every single piece of internet hate targeting me seemed to have evaporated overnight. The media outlets that had been attacking me the hardest? Their accounts had been completely suspended. A friend in the media industry—one of the few I had left—sent me a photo of my parents walking into their corporate headquarters. The caption read: [Everything is handled!] A massive smile spread across my face. I knew my parents wouldn’t just abandon me. After all, every single massive PR disaster I caused in the past had ultimately been cleaned up by them. [LMAO, I can’t. Every single time the second male lead secretly cleans up the female lead’s messes, he just lets her cheap, fake parents take all the credit…] [Liam Sterling: The absolute pioneer of the ‘Cold-Faced Wife-Guy’ genre. If his wife is in a good mood, he happily serves his wife. If his wife treats him like garbage, he coldly serves his wife.] [It’s a shame the villainess is completely oblivious. Even though she somehow avoided the divorce flag last night, she’s definitely still destined for the non-consensual captivity arc.] I stared at the screen, absolutely horrified, my eyes darting between the chat and my phone. I zoomed in and scrutinized the photo of my parents for ten solid minutes. Holy shit… I can actually see the Photoshop artifacts… I frantically opened iMessage, scrolled to the absolute bottom of my contact list, and found Liam: [Are you free today? I really need to talk to you.] He replied instantly: [Wrong number.] “…” [No it’s not, Hubby~] This time, the reply took much longer: [I am deeply sorry for what happened last night. You shouldn’t have been forced to see those disgusting things. I am completely booked today. If you want to proceed with the divorce, please contact my legal team.] [No no no,] I frantically typed back. [Absolutely not a divorce.] Liam: [Okay. See you this afternoon.] The chat: [I am dying of laughter. Divorce? Too busy. No divorce? See you this afternoon.] [That was way too close! The villainess just narrowly dodged the dark-room captivity route again. It feels like she’s starting to realize something is wrong and is actively trying to save herself.] [Why do I feel like there’s a massive, terrible plot point coming up right about now? I can’t exactly remember what it was.] 05 That afternoon, I spent extra time getting ready and arrived at the coffee shop near Liam’s corporate headquarters thirty minutes early. I ordered a pastry and slowly, casually ate it. I heard the sound of someone pulling out the chair across from me. I beamed with a bright smile: “Hubby, you have to try this…” When I looked up, I realized the man sitting across from me was definitely not Liam. Noah stared at my stunning, strapless red dress and flawless makeup, letting out a dark chuckle: “Blair, do you really love me that much? You actually had the nerve to call me ‘Hubby’ out loud.” I had absolutely zero patience for his bullshit. I stood up and prepared to leave. He grabbed my wrist. “Let go of me. My actual husband is in the area.” “Stop pretending. If it weren’t to make me jealous, a proud, arrogant girl like you would never have married a freakish half-breed monster like Liam Sterling. Don’t think I don’t know the truth. For the past three years, you haven’t let him touch you once.” Noah’s gaze dropped to my bold, red lipstick. His eyes darkened, his tone turning sleazy: “If I give you one kiss, is that enough for you to stop torturing Chloe for a while?” Looking at the man in front of me, he felt completely, utterly alien. The cool, slightly rebellious boy-next-door from my childhood… when exactly did he turn into this disgusting creep? It seems that every single person who comes into contact with Chloe eventually mutates into someone I don’t recognize. Noah grabbed my chin, slowly leaning in: “Blair, you got all dressed up looking this gorgeous just to see me, didn’t you, hm?” As I struggled against his grip, I looked through the glass window of the cafe. Liam was standing right outside on the sidewalk, watching us. The chat: [Stop hoping for a miracle, villainess. Liam has been standing there since the exact second you called Noah ‘Hubby.’ Demons have incredibly enhanced hearing. He heard every single word.] [Oh my god! The love triangle! The drama! I am living for this!] [Incredible. Every single time I think Blair has finally secured her survival, she miraculously invents the 361st way to get herself killed.] Using every single ounce of strength in my body, I violently shoved Noah away and sprinted out of the coffee shop. A microsecond before Liam turned to leave, I grabbed his sleeve. His pupils were pitch black, an endless, terrifying abyss: “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” “No! I have absolutely no idea why Noah is here…” Halfway through my sentence, I suddenly remembered the text message Noah sent me right before I blocked him. Today was Friday afternoon. But I literally never agreed to meet him! I was trying so hard to avoid the male and female leads to save my own life. Is the power of the plot armor truly this terrifying and absolute?! 06 “He tried to force a kiss on me just now. I refused and shoved him away immediately.” Liam’s facial features were incredibly sharp and angular. When he wasn’t smiling, he looked as dangerous as a drawn sword. Combined with the fact that he was nearly six foot three, his sheer, intimidating aura was enough to make anyone’s scalp go numb. Normally, I was incredibly articulate, but right now I was stammering nervously: “I asked you to meet me this afternoon because I wanted to tell you that last night, I was 100% willing. That was my first kiss! I didn’t know how to breathe properly, and I was clawing at you because you were holding me way too tight and I couldn’t get any oxygen. I was not disgusted by you!” After pouring all of that out in one breath, I gathered my courage and looked directly into Liam’s eyes. The terrifying, pitch-black abyss in his pupils slowly receded back to a normal color. The chat: [YES! The direct approach! We are saved!] [Wait, is the villainess telling the truth, or is she just saying this to make the male lead jealous?] [Is the commenter above a comedian? Does that psychotic male lead even deserve her? The author thought they were writing a charming, irresistible playboy, but in reality, he’s just a greasy, creepy stalker. He’s a perfect match for that braindead, pick-me female lead. As long as the villainess isn’t legally blind, she’s obviously going to choose the second male lead (even if she was technically blind for the last three years).] “Blair.” Noah walked out of the coffee shop, staring at me and Liam standing shoulder-to-shoulder: “You’re in your twenties. Why are you still playing these childish, pathetic games? Did you really think this was going to make me jealous?” I slid my fingers down Liam’s sleeve and intertwined them perfectly with his, interlocking our hands: “Noah, I don’t love you anymore. I am married. I have a husband. Please never, ever harass me again.” “And what if I told you Chloe and I broke up, and I’m currently single?” Noah looked at me casually, acting like he held all the winning cards in the universe. I tried to take a step forward, but felt a strong resistance. I realized Liam was standing frozen in place. He was squeezing my hand so tightly his fingertips were trembling. He was deeply insecure. “I don’t give a shit if you two broke up,” I snapped, thoroughly annoyed. “Even if you were single, and even if you liked men, it has absolutely nothing to do with me. Get out of my way. Piss off.” When I was a teenager experiencing my first crush, I genuinely did have feelings for my childhood friend, Noah. But over the years, he repeatedly took Chloe’s side, constantly kicked me when I was down, and watched me suffer with cold indifference. Whatever tiny sliver of affection I had left for him had completely evaporated, leaving nothing but pure, unadulterated annoyance. Noah’s arrogant smile completely froze on his face. I checked my phone. I had dozens of missed calls. The reservation for the romantic, candlelit dinner I had booked was already thirty minutes late. It was probably completely ruined. “Liam. Let’s go home.” “Okay.” Liam’s limited-edition Rolls-Royce was parked directly across the street. From the moment I got into the passenger seat until we drove away, I didn’t look back at Noah once. The chat: [The villainess is so gorgeous and ruthless, I am obsessed. I officially believe she genuinely does not give a single shit about the male lead anymore.] [The male lead’s character design is so repulsive. He’s constantly breaking up and getting back together with the female lead, while simultaneously obsessing over the villainess’s flawless beauty and trying to grope her. Our Queen Blair’s princess temper isn’t going to tolerate his garbage.]

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My cousin Tyler loves gaming, but he’s terrible at it. Every time he plays, his teammates absolutely roast him. After seven straight days of intense voice-chat arguments, his skills hadn’t improved, but his vocal cords went on strike. I got nervous and accidentally called the guy “hubby” instead of “buddy.” The toxic gamer on the other end fell silent. Suddenly, his voice turned incredibly smooth and teasing: “There’s no romance in esports. Being trash at the game is the original sin. Don’t try this on me.” “Marriage requires careful consideration. I’m not that easy.” “But… seeing how insistent you are, I guess it’s not impossible…” “Wifey, do we have time to go house-hunting for our starter home this afternoon?” I was speechless and immediately quit the game. Shortly after, at my lab’s welcome dinner, everyone was gossiping about our aloof, genius senior PhD student buying a house for his future bride. 01 After another incredibly stupid play where Tyler fed the enemy team a free kill, his teammate turned his mic on: [Bro, do you work for DoorDash? Because you’re feeding them non-stop.] [Are you playing with your monitor turned off?] [I’ve seen smooth brains, but yours must be polished.] [Minecraft couldn’t dig up a blockhead as dense as you.] Tyler was furious. He used every ounce of strength his throat had left to let out a hoarse “Croak!” which caught my attention. I held back a laugh. “Do you need water?” Tyler shook his head and typed furiously on his phone: “Sis, this guy is flaming me. Trash-talk him for me.” I refused. “You know I’m an angry crier. I can’t argue with people.” Tyler started thrashing around, making weird noises. Sometimes it was a “Croak!”, sometimes a “Quack!”. The nurses peeked into his hospital room several times. Embarrassed, I pinched his mouth shut. Tyler held up his phone, blinking pitifully: “Sis, this is about my honor as a man. If you help me, I’ll give you my entire allowance for a month.” I capitalized on the moment and held up two fingers. Tyler nodded mournfully and typed through gritted teeth: “Fine. Two months.” I put on the headset. The toxic rager on the other end was still going off. A few seconds later, I realized I had overestimated my mental fortitude and underestimated his aggressiveness. Even though I knew he wasn’t yelling at me, I couldn’t control my physiological reaction. My nose started to sting. As expected, things went completely off the rails. I steeled myself and opened my mouth, intending to say “Listen here, buddy!” But my voice trembled, and I accidentally said “Listen here, hubby!” Because I was trying so hard to hold back tears, my tone sounded incredibly aggrieved, like a girlfriend whining for attention. The atmosphere, which had been hostile and explosive just a second ago, instantly turned weirdly intimate. Tyler, me, and the toxic rager all fell into a bizarre silence. After a long time, the guy finally turned his mic back on, his voice suddenly dripping with playful teasing: [Oh, it’s a girl.] [There’s no romance in esports. Being trash at the game is the original sin. Don’t try this on me.] [Marriage requires careful consideration. I’m not that easy.] I opened my mouth to explain, but he immediately added: [But… if you’re really going to be this insistent, I guess it’s not impossible…] [Honestly, the fact that you can tell your teammates from your enemies is already amazing. Even though you just stood there taking damage and missed all your ultimate moves, taking a step back, aren’t the people attacking you the ones really at fault here?] [I’m 23 this year. The perfect age to settle down.] [Wifey, do we have time to go house-hunting for our starter home this afternoon?] I was stun-locked for a solid thirty seconds by this rapid-fire monologue. I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely messing with me or just being extremely sarcastic. But either way, from the moment that slip of the tongue happened, I had already lost the high ground. Tyler and I exchanged a look, and I awkwardly quit the game. Looking at my shattered cousin, I carefully tried to smooth things over: “Um, hey, how about you just give me half a month’s allowance? I’d feel bad taking two months’ worth for that.” Tyler buried his face in his pillow and spitefully Venmo’d me fifty bucks. 02 Because I had more important things to do today, I didn’t dwell on the little gaming incident. After leaving Tyler’s hospital room, I hurried to catch an Uber to Harvard for my graduate program orientation. After getting accepted into the Master’s program, I had asked around about my specific lab. Our advising professor was extremely busy, so the person assigned to guide me was a PhD student known as the “Boy Genius,” Asher Davies. Rumor had it that at 23, he had already achieved things most people couldn’t reach by 53. I had looked up his profile, originally intending to worship the academic titan’s research papers, but I ended up staring at his ID photo the entire time. Unlike the stereotypical image of a plain, rigid engineering PhD student, Asher had a face that was almost dangerously attractive, with surprisingly thick hair. From certain angles, he looked like a young Timothée Chalamet… Motivated by the prospect of working with a gorgeous guy, my chronic laziness vanished, and I actually chose to check in early. The lab door was wide open. The second I stepped inside, I pinpointed Asher in the crowd. He looked to be over 6’1″, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His hair was dyed a smoky blue, matching the stud in his ear, which made his skin look even paler and cooler. He had deep-set eyes and a small mole on the bridge of his straight nose, adding an inexplicable touch of sex appeal to his aloof aura. Seeing him in person was ten times more impactful than the photo. Even though I had mentally prepared myself the whole ride there, my heart still raced, and I couldn’t look away. “I heard you like watching Bridgerton in the lab. Since you love drama so much, let’s call this paper the Duke of Disappointment.” A low, cold voice drifted clearly into my ears, instantly snapping me out of my trance. Oh no. The genius PhD senior was a beautiful, venomous-tongued tyrant! The senior girl who was being criticized scurried back to her desk, giving me a quick nod as she passed. I quickly waved back. Asher finally noticed me and lazily lifted his eyes. His tone was noticeably softer than a moment ago, but still cold and distant: “Hello, you’re Sophie, right? I’m Asher Davies. I wasn’t at your interview, but I reviewed your resume later. You ranked first in your undergrad class. Not bad.” I smiled politely. “Thank you, Senior…” “But your extracurricular research experience is severely lacking, and you have zero published papers. I’m very curious what you do in your free time.” My smile froze. I dropped my head and muttered, “I play video games, hang out at the mall…” I secretly rejoiced that Asher hadn’t been at my interview. Otherwise, I might not have even made it into the program. Asher gave me a brief tour of the lab, handed me some introductory reading materials, and went back to his desk. As I quietly unpacked my things at my new desk, I sneaked glances at him. Asher seemed to be waiting for a message. He checked his phone every five seconds. Was he waiting for his girlfriend to text him? Someone that handsome and brilliant definitely had a girlfriend. While I was wondering, Tyler sent me a bunch of screenshots. It was DMs from that teammate: [Wifey, why won’t you add me on Snapchat?] [I picked out three floor plans for the house. Take a look and see which one you like best.] [Wifey, why are you ignoring me? Do you not like the in-game skins I bought you, or are you just upset because we lost the last match?] [Get online. I wasn’t playing seriously last time, but I promise we’ll win this one. If anyone dares to trash-talk you, I’ll flame them to death.] Tyler complained: [Sis, I think this bro is actually serious.] [Getting called ‘Wifey’ by a dude non-stop is making me sick.] [I don’t even dare to log in anymore. You know what, Sis? I’m just going to block him.] Not long after Tyler sent those texts. Asher suddenly stood up from his desk. His eyes looked slightly red, and he hurried out the door. Did he just get into a fight with his girlfriend? I guessed silently. 03 A little while later, Tyler texted again: [This guy has too much money to burn. Does he think he’s in a romance novel? He actually put a server-wide bounty out looking for me.] [My crush saw the wanted poster and asked me if I bat for the other team.] [Sis, if this keeps up, my reputation is ruined. You started this romantic debt, you have to take responsibility.] I sighed: […How am I supposed to do that?] [Sis, let’s trade game accounts. You deal with this guy.] Looking at my stressed-out cousin. I felt bad and agreed to his proposal. I unblocked the guy, furiously typed out a massive paragraph of explanation, but before I could hit send… He excitedly messaged me: [Wifey! I knew you just accidentally hit the settings menu and misclicked the block button hidden in the corner! You definitely weren’t avoiding me on purpose like they said.] I muttered in my head: Actually, what they said was 100% accurate… [I just asked my mom. She said girls hate men who are all talk and no action.] [So I paid cash and bought the house outright. We live in the same city anyway, so you can come over anytime to see if you like it.] Reading that, I nearly choked on my water. I comforted myself, thinking he was definitely lying. Please. What 23-year-old could pay cash for a house? I’d be impressed if he could pay cash for a Starbucks coffee. But immediately after, he sent detailed interior photos and a street address. Downtown. Luxury penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows. It didn’t look photoshopped at all… My brain practically short-circuited as I stared blankly at the screen. He was still typing out long paragraphs about our future together. I suddenly remembered a news article Tyler had shown me. A couple met online and promised to get married. The guy spent all his money on his “girlfriend,” and when she backed out at the last minute, he jumped into a river. Thinking about that, a wave of unspeakable guilt washed over me. I’m so sorry, Toxic Bro. I really didn’t mean to. If I had known you were this pure-hearted and intense, I would have cleared up the misunderstanding the second I misspoke. But now he bought a house. He spent the money. Apologizing on my knees wouldn’t fix this. Terrified of triggering him, I deleted the massive explanation I had typed out and delicately replied: [Don’t you think we’re moving a bit too fast?] [You’re right, the courthouse is probably closed by now. Let’s meet in front of City Hall at 8 AM tomorrow. I’ll come pick you up.] Me: [No, no, no, what I mean is, can we go back to the very beginning and just start as normal online friends?] This time, his reply was slow. He was clearly going through a massive internal struggle: [Wifey, but… when you called me hubby earlier, that’s not what you said…] I frantically shut it down: [Maybe the slang is different where you’re from! Where I live, we don’t call normal online friends ‘hubby’.] I glanced at his username: [Ash]. A spark of inspiration hit me: [How about this? I’ll call you Ash, and you can call me Soph.] Soph was my family nickname. He struggled to reply: [Okay.] I was satisfied. Even though this guy was a bizarre romantic, at least he listened. Since I couldn’t reject him harshly, the only option was to slowly ice him out until he gave up on his own. It was a bit toxic of me, but at least it wouldn’t end in a tragedy. 04 Over the next month, Ash continued to message me non-stop every single day. He was desperate to learn more about me. This included, but was not limited to, asking for my real name, what school I went to, and my home address. I blocked all of it using my ultimate catchphrase: “We’re just online friends right now. You’re crossing a boundary,” delivered half-jokingly, half-seriously. Even through the screen, I could feel the suffocating frustration of a man who had a heart full of love and nowhere to put it. Especially when I subtly suggested he return the house or try paying attention to other girls around him. Under my relentless icing-out strategy, my interactions with Ash gradually dwindled to just gaming. I had no choice; he was just too good at the game. Plus, ever since our first misunderstanding, he seemed to realize I didn’t like a hostile environment. So he rarely used his mic to flame people anymore. A perfect gaming buddy like him was incredibly hard to find. Today was like any other day. While the lab was empty, I opened the game on my phone and waited for Ash to invite me. Suddenly, a deep, pleasant voice sounded right behind me: “Sophie.” Terrified, I immediately slammed my phone face down on the desk. I turned around—sure enough, it was Asher. I had no idea when he came in through the back door. Ever since I carefully pried it out of my senior lab mate, Chloe, that Asher had actually never been in a relationship before… I stayed up all night drafting a master plan to win him over. I was full of confidence that I would make him mine. But a month passed. Even the janitor who delivered our water jugs could tell I had a crush on Asher. Yet no matter how many pretty dresses I wore to catch his eye, or how many times I bought him breakfast and tried to impress him… Asher remained completely blind to it. I figured maybe geniuses were naturally attracted to intelligence. So, I decided to switch gears, work incredibly hard, and use my brilliant academic performance to catch his attention. I didn’t expect that less than a day into this new phase of the plan, I would die on the battlefield. “S-Senior,” I stammered guiltily, hiding my phone behind my back. Asher’s perfectly shaped eyebrows raised slightly. His voice was cool and a bit sharp: “Read the sign posted on the wall.” Maybe his tone was too fierce. My chronic angry-crying flared up again. My nose started to sting, and my voice trembled. Just like the day I accidentally said “hubby,” it sounded exactly like I was whining: “No… no food deliveries, and no gaming or anything unrelated to academics allowed in the lab.” “Soph…” Asher’s pupils contracted imperceptibly, and he muttered something almost too quietly to hear. I froze for a second, trying hard to control my emotions and returning to my normal tone: “Senior, what did you say? I didn’t catch that.” “Nothing,” Asher lowered his eyes slightly. “What game were you just playing?” Hehe. It seemed my reflexes were fast enough. Asher hadn’t actually seen my screen. Thinking about the massive server-wide gossip surrounding me and Ash, I purposely named a completely different, unrelated game. Asher gave a low hum of acknowledgment. A flash of disappointment seemed to pass through his eyes. “Write an apology essay. Give it to me later. Don’t let it happen again.” Taking advantage of the moment, I pulled out the simulation report I had poured my blood, sweat, and tears into recently, offering it to him like a treasure. His long, slender fingers flipped through the pages methodically, his knuckles tinted a faint pink. The breeze stirred the hair on his forehead, and the soft scratching sound of his pen circling things on the paper filled the air. It made my heart melt. Honestly, Asher just looked unapproachable on the outside. Deep down, he was probably very gentle. “I looked at the draft. The logic is a mess. Where’s the main text?” Okay, I take back what I just said. “Senior, that is the main text.” I stared blankly at his opening and closing pale pink lips, swallowing hard. “Sophie, am I good-looking?” “Ah.” My heart dropped. I suddenly felt the intense embarrassment of having my secret crush exposed. My cheeks burned, but I nodded honestly: “Yes… your lips look soft…” I just don’t know what it would feel like to kiss them… I didn’t dare say the second half out loud. Asher’s usually lazy, cold voice grew a bit stricter: “You have good talent. Spend your time reading more literature, and stop wasting your energy on things that are destined to have no result. Understand?” I assumed he was still talking about me sneaking around playing video games. With red eyes, I nodded, looking like an obedient child admitting a mistake. Seeing my pitiful expression, Asher didn’t press the issue. He pulled out his phone and hurriedly replied to a message. No matter what Asher did, he prioritized efficiency. He was a typical overachiever who equally looked down on anyone who was bad at what they did. I wondered who was honored enough to warrant this much patience from him. It made me a little jealous… After Asher walked away, I unlocked my phone. I had dozens of new DMs. [I’m so sorry, Soph. I got delayed by something. Don’t worry, I promise I’ll carry you today and we’ll destroy them.] Even though I had been icing him out for a month, Ash’s words still showed he wasn’t satisfied with just being friends. Dragging this out any longer was just wasting both of our time. Getting caught playing games today was probably a sign. I hardened my heart and replied: [I’m sorry. My real-life crush doesn’t like me playing games. I probably won’t be logging on anymore. Goodbye.] 05 Over the next few days, Asher’s mood visibly plummeted. He often just stared blankly at his phone. One day, I ran the wrong experimental data, completely wasting an entire afternoon. Chloe patted my shoulder. “An hour. Minimum.” “What?” Chloe sighed. “Last time I made the exact same mistake, Senior Asher yelled at me for half an hour. He’s in a terrible mood right now, so I’m guessing an hour, minimum.” Hearing that, I was terrified and trembling all afternoon. But Asher didn’t say a single word. He just silently adjusted the parameters back to normal for me. His usually arrogant, cool face looked utterly deflated. He had less energy than the white mice in the lab next door. This continued until Professor Miller returned from a business trip and treated the entire lab to dinner. While we waited for the food, everyone was chatting. Except Asher, who kept his head down staring at his phone, radiating a terrifyingly dark aura. Mason, who was sitting closest to him, teased: “Asher, bro, online dating is a scam to begin with. You should’ve been more careful. Otherwise, you end up like this—house is bought, but the bride ran away.” I sharply caught the keyword, my smile freezing on my face. “What bride?” Chloe had clearly told me that Asher’s focus was rock solid, he didn’t care about women, and had never dated anyone. I turned around. Chloe looked just as confused as I did. Mason observed Asher’s expression and sighed: “It’s nothing. Simply put, our boy Asher finally fell for someone, and before they even went on a single date, he got played by a toxic e-girl.” “Really? That’s way too far!” I felt a genuine surge of anger. How could someone as proud as Asher, someone who never bowed his head to anyone, get his feelings played with? If that girl didn’t know how to appreciate him, she should step aside and let me handle it. Mason was indignant. He nudged Asher: “See? Even the freshman can’t stand it. Asher, bro, loyalty is a good thing, but being this obsessed is just delusional.” The other seniors at the table who were enjoying the gossip all wore matching expressions of shock. They muttered among themselves: “That’s crazy. Usually, Asher is the one rejecting people. I can’t believe there’s a woman out there who rejected him.” “No way, Asher, really? If even you can’t find a wife these days, how are the rest of us background NPCs supposed to survive…” “Asher, with your face, your achievements, and your earning potential, you’re one in a million. That girl doesn’t know how lucky she is.” Asher frowned impatiently and shot Mason a death glare: “Don’t talk about her like that.” 06 Chloe’s eyes darted around, and she shot me a look: “Asher, you know what they say. The best way to get over a breakup is to start a new romance.” “Since online dating is a scam, why don’t you look at the single girls right in front of you?” Chloe’s gaze pretended to casually land on me: “Like Sophie! She’s pretty, she has a sweet voice, she’s ambitious and humble…” Chloe’s hand poked my ribs under the table. I was ticklish and accidentally snorted a laugh. To ease the awkwardness, I nervously tried to keep the conversation going: “Um, yeah, what she said. I’m pretty great.” Chloe gave me a look of pure exasperation: “…” The other seniors around the table covered their mouths and snickered. Seeing what was going on but not calling it out, they all started hyping me up: “Honestly, I’ve been wanting to say this. Senior Asher definitely plays favorites with Sophie. No matter what reading material it is, he goes through it first, highlights all the key points, and then gives it to her. We definitely didn’t get that treatment when we joined.” Asher’s eyes naturally curved upward, and the way the light caught his gaze made him look incredibly captivating. “You guys are smarter. I was worried she wouldn’t understand it.” “…” The smile that had just bloomed on my face vanished. Professor Miller joined in the fun: “You guys aren’t wrong. Asher, I’ve noticed you truly never speak harshly to Sophie. You aren’t even that gentle when you’re grading papers for my classes.” Everyone laughed together. I also let the corners of my mouth curl up, staring at Asher with bright, hopeful eyes, looking deeply affectionate and shy. Looking at it this way, I really was somewhat special in Asher’s heart, wasn’t I? His dark eyelashes fluttered slightly. The blue stud in his ear reflected the light, making his aristocratic vibe feel a bit unapproachable. “Sophie, what was your SAT Reading score?” I froze, not understanding why he was asking that. “780. Why, Senior?” Asher frowned slightly. “With a score like that, logically, you should be able to understand what I mean.” I blinked in confusion. Asher leaned back in his chair, casually scanned the crowd, and unlocked his phone. I was usually slow to catch on, but this time I was very sharp. I picked up my phone too. Sure enough, my pinned contact sent me a message: [Do I really have to spell it out so bluntly?] [I already have someone I like. I’m going to keep pursuing her, even if she rejects me.] [I will have a girlfriend, but it will never be you.] My mood plummeted from the clouds straight into the abyss. My eyes widened, but I didn’t dare look up and meet Asher’s gaze. So, when he told me not to waste energy on things destined to have no result… he meant this. Asher had rejected me a long time ago. And I was still charging forward like an idiot, thinking he was enjoying the flirtatious atmosphere just now. Not rejecting me publicly in front of everyone was the last shred of dignity Asher was leaving me. I fought back the sour feeling in my throat and forced a casual tone as I typed: [Senior, you misunderstood. I actually don’t like you like that.] Asher: [That’s for the best.] I silently picked up my drink and downed it in one gulp.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “443848”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Manhattan’s most elusive billionaire heir unexpectedly broke the internet by posting a suggestive thirst trap of his rock-hard abs on Instagram. The caption read: “Waiting for you in bed.” A rising Hollywood starlet immediately replied: “I’ll be home early tonight.” Overnight, the internet went into a shipping frenzy: “Oh my god, it’s so sweet. This is them going Instagram official!” But… if she is his official girlfriend, then who the hell am I? 01 I am the most notoriously hated, controversial actress in the entertainment industry. Lately, my luck had been absolute trash. Several high-profile projects I starred in had been permanently canceled because my co-stars got caught up in massive legal scandals. My reputation was in the gutter, and I had zero interest in acting. To keep me relevant, my manager used her connections to book me a spot on a live-streamed reality show. The primary guest star on the show, unfortunately, was the rising Hollywood starlet Serena Croft. She was the rumored new girlfriend of Christian Vance—the billionaire heir to the Vance corporate empire—and she also happened to be my absolute arch-nemesis. The second the cameras started rolling, the host, Brooke Harrison, asked us to introduce ourselves to the live audience. Serena smoothed her baby-blue designer sundress, pitching her voice to sound sweet and sugary. “Hi everyone! It’s your favorite girl, Serena, here!” Brooke gave a sly, knowing smirk to the camera. “And if the rumors are true, maybe very soon we’ll be calling you Mrs. Vance.” Amidst the forced cheers of the studio crew, Serena lowered her head, flashing a practiced, blushing smile. “Oh, it’s still way too early for that.” I couldn’t help but furrow my brow. But out of basic professional courtesy, I didn’t interrupt her little performance. The live chat on the screen was already losing its collective mind: [Oh my god! Serena is basically confirming her relationship with Christian! A psychic on TikTok literally just said she has the face of a billionaire’s wife. I can’t believe she’s actually going to become Manhattan’s ultimate trophy wife.] [Serena is so precious. No wonder the notoriously cold, untouchable billionaire heir finally fell for someone. Imagine their sex life… I’m blushing just thinking about it.] [Did you guys see the thirst trap Christian posted last night? Holy shit, his abs are literal steel. My face is burning. Serena is eating so good.] Then, someone noticed me sitting quietly in the corner of the frame. [Wait, look at Kendall’s face. Why is that toxic clout-chaser scowling? Is she seriously jealous that Serena bagged a billionaire? Gross.] [Our Serena is infinitely more popular, more successful, and more loved. Her boyfriend is a lieral crown prince, and Kendall’s career is literally tanking. She must be suffocating with jealousy right now. Heh.] Staring at the wave of hate comments, I blinked. I wasn’t jealous of Serena at all. I was just profoundly, utterly confused. Exactly three days ago, because that stubborn, straight-laced prick Christian Vance refused to try a new position in bed, we got into a massive screaming match and entered a brutal cold war. In a fit of rage, I blocked his number and every single one of his social media accounts. I never expected that the dominant, corporate tyrant, unable to reach me, would actually log onto his ancient, untouched Instagram account to post a public message. In the photo, the man had clearly just stepped out of the shower, lying flat on his back in bed. Crisp, glistening water droplets were perfectly traced across the razor-sharp ridges of his abs. His long, elegant fingers were tangled in the dark silk sheets. It was an unbridled, devastatingly seductive thirst trap. The caption read: “Waiting for you in bed.” It pushed the suggestive, intimate atmosphere to an absolute extreme. A few minutes later, Serena had intercepted the narrative, reposting his photo with a coy, blushing comment: “I’ll be home early tonight.” By midnight, the shipping hashtag for Serena and Christian had hijacked the number one trending spot nationwide. The narrative was concrete, full of fake authority. The top comment from a fan read: “They are lieral soulmates. This is them going Instagram official!” Staring at the screen, my head was full of question marks. If Serena is Christian’s official girlfriend, then who the hell am I? Did that man genuinely find a replacement after only three days of a cold war? Wow. Unbelievable. When he was with me, he acted so pristine and conservative, his heart hammering and his face flushing hot if I just tried to hold his hand in public. I spent an entire year painstakingly breaking down his walls and teaching him how to be a lover, only for him to parade his affection to my arch-nemesis on social media?! 02 After the introductory segment concluded, the host moved us along to the first icebreaker game. A cliché game of Truth or Dare. During the very first round, Serena lost. Brooke looked ecstatic, turning the camera toward her. “Well, Serena! Are you going to choose Truth or Dare?” Serena thought for a moment, smiling sweetly. “Truth.” Sensing a massive opportunity to farm drama, Brooke’s voice pitched up in excitement. “Oh! Any question at all?” Serena covered her face cutely, looking shy. “Just don’t make it too wild, please. He prefers to keep a very low profile.” The live chat went into another shipping frenzy: [HAHAHA, Christian is like: ‘Stop calling me he, just read out my social security number already.’] [Who knew that after going Instagram official, this couple would be so unbothered about hiding it? The sweetness is suffocating.] [Look at Kendall’s face. She looks green with envy. She’s been fighting Serena for roles and sponsorships for years, and now that Serena has an entire corporate empire backing her, Kendall looks completely paralyzed.] Are you kidding me? I was literally just adjusting my colored contacts. How the hell did that translate into me rolling my eyes in envy? After securing Serena’s permission, Brooke gave a fawning, gossipy grin. “Alright! Our question is: can you describe the exact moment you and Christian met?” Serena pressed her lips together, her eyes distant as she pretended to recall a beautiful memory. “Last winter, I was shooting a commercial as the brand ambassador for Vance Enterprises. After we wrapped, Christian personally bought me a hot cocoa, and we spent hours walking through the private corporate gardens together…” The more Serena spoke, the redder her cheeks became, until she shyly lowered her head. “Oh wow~ That is so romantic,” Brooke and the other guests gushed, acting completely captivated by the story. Sitting in the corner as a glorified background prop, I listened to her story, and something felt deeply, profoundly wrong. I set down my half-eaten orange and couldn’t help but interrupt: “Are you absolutely sure Christian Vance personally bought you that hot cocoa?” Serena froze for a fraction of a second. She quickly recovered her signature smile, though her voice sounded slightly victimized. “Yes, I am. Why? Are you implying I’m a liar, Kendall?” I offered a highly diplomatic warning: “I think you should try real hard to remember that day correctly…” Because I remembered that day perfectly. I remembered it because due to a certain shameful test of physical endurance in bed, Christian hadn’t even stepped foot inside his corporate office that day. He and I had been completely tangled up in my bedroom from the mattress to the floor-to-ceiling windows to the vanity for an entire afternoon. His bespoke designer leather belt had literally snapped when he went to put his clothes back on that night. The hot cocoa she was talking about was a generic winter perk provided by the HR department to every single employee on the corporate lot that day. Even the cleaning staff got a cup. And as for that romantic walk through the private gardens? It was literally hailing golf-ball-sized chunks of ice that day! Serena clearly didn’t expect anyone to call her out. Her sweet smile completely hardened on her face, and her voice carried a sharp, barely hidden hostility. “Kendall, you’re questioning my relationship so aggressively… do you know Christian well?” Given my career, the last thing I wanted was to expose my relationship with Christian Vance. Plus, we were still in a cold war, so I gave a vague, detached answer: “We’re alright.” We just had a negative-distance physical alignment four or five times a week. Serena put on a mask of pure innocence. “Oh, really? That’s nice. But… Kendall, it’s so weird. I’ve never heard Christian mention your name once…” The live chat exploded: [LMAOOOOO! The reality check hit her like a hurricane! I am dying laughing at Kendall’s desperate attempt to clout-chase. She actually had the audacity to question Serena’s relationship when she’s probably never even breathed the same air as Christian.] [Hold on, am I the only one who thinks Kendall’s guilty, shifty expression looks like she actually has a history with him? What if Serena is the one lying…?] [Commenter above, what kind of psychotic delusion are you living in? What history could a controversial, hated actress have with a billionaire heir? She’s been trying to steal Serena’s roles for years, and now she’s trying to steal her man. Her skin is thicker than a vault door.] 03 After the Truth or Dare game concluded, it was almost noon. The reality show had an ironclad tradition for its lunchtime segment. Every guest star had to pull out their phone, go into their contact list, and invite one friend to come to the studio set in person to draw a lottery card. The card would dictate whether the guest star got to eat a gourmet, Michelin-star feast for lunch, or a plate of toxic, inedible sludge. It was a highly calculated, transactional strategy designed by the producers. They only had to pay the appearance fees for two stars, but got to farm the viral engagement of four celebrities. The production assistant returned our phones, which had been confiscated at the start of filming. Brooke gave a mysterious, excited grin. “Today’s invitation segment is going to be a little different from our previous episodes. We are going to mirror your phone screens directly onto the massive studio monitors, and let the fans choose who you text!” Serena smoothly agreed, opening her messages app. Her phone screen instantly mirrored onto the giant monitors behind us. Her pinned conversation at the top of her contact list bore the name: “My Sweet Christian.” The concurrent viewership on the livestream instantly doubled. The chat was completely flooded with Christian Vance’s name, the metrics skyrocketing. Brooke looked ecstatic as she looked at Serena. “Wow! The fans and I are absolutely dying to see the future Mr. and Mrs. Vance reunite on screen!” Amidst the cheers of the crew, Serena slowly typed out a message in the chat box: “Christian, are you free to drop by the studio for lunch?” The live chat went wild: [Oooooh! See? Falling in love really turns even the coldest billionaires into soft little boys. Pinned contact and a cute nickname? I am choking on this romance. I can’t wait for them to stand in the same frame so Kendall can finally see reality.] [I heard the Vance family has extremely strict, old-money traditions. They’re incredibly private and forbid their heirs from ever participating in non-corporate entertainment media. Is Christian seriously going to break a generational rule just for Serena? Wow, this is a literal wattpad book.] Time ticked away, minute by minute, but the conversation with “My Sweet Christian” remained completely dead. No reply. Serena had no choice but to disconnect her screen mirroring. A few seconds later, her eyes suddenly widened in feigned, ecstatic surprise, and she spoke in a sweet, performative pout: “Christian just texted me privately! He said he was stuck in an emergency board meeting and his schedule is completely packed today, so he can’t make it out for lunch.” “But he said he’s going to buy me a few designer bags to make it up to me. Hmph, a few bags isn’t going to cut it. I’m going to demand he buy me a hundred. I’ll keep one, and distribute the rest to Brooke and my beautiful fans.” Hearing that Christian wasn’t coming, the fans in the chat were initially disappointed, but within seconds, they recovered and started shipping them again. [Wow, Christian spoils Serena so much. A hundred designer bags like it’s nothing? The absolute wealth is terrifying. I wish I could body-swap with Serena for just two days.] [We really have to thank Serena for giving us such incredible perks. I can’t even imagine how expensive a bag bought by a billionaire heir is going to be.] [Is this what it looks like to have an infinite bank account? No wonder Kendall looks like she’s dying of jealousy right now. She’s probably burning alive inside.] Brooke’s eyes were literally shining with greed, her voice dripping with sycophantic praise. “Oh my god, thank you so much, Serena! I guess I’m finally getting a taste of what it’s like to be a billionaire’s wife!” In the middle of the celebratory atmosphere, I lierally burst out laughing. Because Serena had disconnected her screen mirroring, the audience couldn’t see her actual text thread. But I knew with absolute certainty that it was mathematically impossible for Christian Vance to have sent that text message. Predictably, my laughter triggered another nuclear explosion in the live chat, with everyone accusing me of being a bitter hater who couldn’t stand seeing someone else win. Only a few rational viewers raised a suspicion: [Isn’t it a little too convenient? The exact second she disconnects her screen mirroring, Christian text her privately? Are we sure she didn’t just make that up?] But their comments were instantly obliterated by the aggressive mob of fans: [You must be Kendall’s burner account. Just like your idol, you’re like a rat hiding in a sewer, completely miserable because you can’t handle someone else’s happiness.] […] Hearing my laughter, Brooke finally directed her attention to me, her tone dismissive and dry. “Kendall, are you ready to mirror your screen?” I was about to nod when a sudden realization hit me. I instinctively tightened my grip on my phone. “Can you give me a second?” Brooke was visibly irritated, wanting to keep the momentum going. “Is Kendall feeling a little overwhelmed by the game? It’s fine, let me help you with that.” Without warning, Brooke reached over and forcefully snatched the phone out of my hands. Before I could lock it, my screen mirrored directly onto the massive studio monitors. The image that exploded onto the screen showed the sharp, dangerous silhouette of a man. His pale, perfect lips were pressed into a hard line. The man was kneeling flat on a polished hardwood floor, his face tilted up slightly. His tailored suit fabric stretched tightly over his powerful frame, and his corporate tie was being lazily, effortlessly wrapped around a woman’s hand, her fingers painted with dark crimson polish, pulling him forward. It was cold, dominant, and packed with an absolute, suffocating sexual tension. Even though the photo only captured the lower half of his face, a viewer in the chat recognized him instantly: [Wait… THAT’S CHRISTIAN VANCE! Why the hell is he kneeling like a submissive dog?!] [Holy shit, this photo isn’t available anywhere on the internet! Why does Kendall have this?! I am losing my mind, is there actually something going on between them…?] [Are you blind? This is an obvious deepfake photoshop. Kendall is a pathetic, obsessive stalker who edited her own hand into a fake picture. I can’t wait to watch the billionaire’s lawyers destroy her career for this.] [LMAO, the commenter above is right. Let’s make Kendall invite Christian right now! Serena is too sweet to defend herself, let’s let Christian Vance personally show up and nuke this clout-chaser’s existence into the ground.] The comments demanding “FORCE KENDALL TO INVITE CHRISTIAN VANCE” began aggressively spamming the screen. 04 Brooke and the other guests leaned back, looking like they were settling in to watch an execution. Only Serena proactively approached my chair. Having just failed to bring her own “boyfriend” to the set, she was desperate to use me to regain her dominance. “Kendall, the audience has already made their choice. Why haven’t you sent Christian a message yet?” A few seconds later, she put on a mask of pure, mock-sympathy, lowering her voice. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Kendall. You claimed earlier that you and Christian were ‘alright,’ so I assumed you actually had his number. I didn’t realize… you don’t even have his contact info…” The live chat poured out absolute, unbridled mockery: [HAHAHA, she talked a massive game, and now she can’t even back it up. If I were Kendall, I would pack my bags and run out the back door right now to save myself from the absolute embarrassment.] [Wait, am I the only one who thinks Serena is acting a bit toxic? She knows Christian is busy, yet she’s forcing Kendall to text him just to humiliate her.] [Toxic? Are you crazy? Serena is the legitimate girlfriend. Watching some cheap slut try to clout-chase using her man, she’s being incredibly polite by not screaming in her face.] Seeing my lack of movement, Brooke took up the mantle of justice for Serena. “Kendall, Serena is speaking to you. Out of basic human politeness, don’t you think you should reply?” I looked at Serena, my tone deadpan and flat. “With acting skills like that, you should really focus on booking a movie role instead of doing reality TV.” Brooke’s mouth popped open in fury, but Serena stopped her from screaming, looking like a fragile, weeping angel. “Kendall, I understand that you’re in a bad place with your career right now.” “How about this? I’ll give you Christian’s number myself. But whether he actually blocks you or ignores you, I can’t guarantee…” I casually cut her off. “No need. I already have his number. I just blocked him.” The live chat erupted with laughter: [Everyone else is dying to get a billionaire’s number, and she claims she blocked him? Who is she trying to fool?] [God, I despise people who flex things they don’t have. Especially when the lie is this transparent. Serena has offered her a way out multiple times, even offering to give her the number, and she acts like a smug, arrogant bitch.] [Filming a show with a toxic parasite like her must be exhausting for Serena.] Brooke wore a look of pure, euphoric malice. “Kendall, since you swear you have his number, send him the invitation right now.” The entire cast turned their heads, waiting to watch the train wreck. Under the collective gaze of the room, I slowly went into my block list, unblocked the contact labeled “My Little Puppy,” and typed out a single line: “I’m giving you exactly one chance. Get your ass over here and make me lunch.” He replied instantly. [BABY! You finally unblocked me!] [Let’s make lunch together! Can we try that new position you picked out last time? I swear I’ve been practicing it every single day in my head.] [Baby, please don’t ignore me. I promise I will never say no to any of your demands in bed ever again…] I used the absolute maximum speed of my fingers to disconnect the screen mirroring, but it was too late. The 18+ explicit text messages had already been hard-witnessed by the entire internet. A suffocating, dead silence paralyzed the entire studio for fifteen seconds. 05 Brooke stood frozen, her jaw practically on the floor. “Kendall… who exactly were you texting just now?” I was internally cursing that idiot for typing out our bedroom secrets on a public frequency, but I kept my face deadpan as I locked my phone. “Christian Vance.” “The billionaire heir Christian Vance?!” I gave a cold laugh. “Is there another Christian Vance?” I had been targeted, blackmailed, and deliberately defamed by Brooke and Serena the entire morning. They wanted to use me as a villainous prop to elevate Serena’s image and farm viral metrics for their show. Well, congratulations. The live chat flipped completely: [HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! The narrative just executed a nuclear inversion! Kendall lieral had the billionaire heir blocked! And he’s a submissive little puppy for her?! Is this real life?!] [LMAO, I am living for this. The host is an absolute corporate hack who always kisses up to rich guests and tramples on lower-tier actors. Kendall just completely destroyed her on live TV. Savage.] [I can’t breathe. I am lieral staring at the screen with my jaw open.] […] Brooke’s face went completely blank, her mind short-circuiting as she looked at Serena for help. Serena rushed over to my desk, her eyes rimmed with tears. “Kendall, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing. But faking a corporate billionaire’s identity online is a federal crime. You are actively destroying his corporate reputation. This is going too far.” She was desperately trying to convince herself it was a fake account or a hired model. Brooke quickly caught onto her lifeline. “Exactly! The profile picture on Kendall’s phone doesn’t even match Serena’s contact picture! You hired a fake model to pretend to be him, didn’t you?!” The live chat spam continued: [Wait, the commenter has a point. Billionaire romance leads don’t text like desperate, horny puppies. And ‘My Little Puppy’?! Does Kendall really have the balls to call Christian Vance a dog? No way.] [I bet she just hired a high-end male model from an agency to change his name on WhatsApp. Kendall’s reputation is trash anyway, she’s probably desperate enough to commit fraud for clout.] [I feel so bad for Serena. This crazy bitch is literally unhinged. I hope Christian’s legal team sues her into bankruptcy.] I looked at the host, my expression perfectly calm. “That’s his private account. Only his immediate family and I have access to it.” Before the host could reply, my phone started vibrating relentlessly. He was spamming me. [I’m so sorry, baby. I was busy reviewing that position this morning, so I didn’t see your text or the notifications. It’s my fault.] [I didn’t mean to expose our relationship to the media. I promised you I would never interfere with your career or forcefully claim a public title.] [But since I’m coming to the studio right now, you have to give me a title. Boyfriend? Husband? Or… your loyal dog is fine too.] I didn’t even bother trying to hide the screen anymore. Brooke turned to Serena, her voice trembling. “Serena… did Christian mention what time he was arriving?” Serena’s face was completely devoid of color. She stammered, her voice shaking violently. “Christian is extremely busy today… he’s in a board meeting… he’s not coming…” I locked my phone and announced flatly: “Christian Vance will be here at 12:30 PM.”

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When I raced to the Town Hall, a pine casket sat in the center of the square, stained with horrific, dark streaks of blood. The person inside had long since suffocated, their life snuffed out in the dark. The catalyst for all of this? A simple gesture of kindness. An old neighbor had brought my mother a small gift—a vintage locket—as a thank-you for years of friendship. But when my husband, Derek, found out, he exploded. He was convinced my mother was taking “bribes,” trying to use her connection to him to grease the wheels of his upcoming promotion. He was the Chief of Police, a man obsessed with his own shadow. His deputy, Jade—a woman who hung on his every word with a devotion that turned my stomach—was even more indignant. She claimed she would “teach my mother a lesson” on his behalf. She had gone further than anyone could have imagined. She had broken my mother’s limbs, tied a black blindfold over her eyes, and nailed her into that casket. She brought the box to the Town Hall for a public shaming, a spectacle of “justice.” Standing before the tragedy, Jade didn’t show a flicker of remorse. Instead, she smirked, her voice airy. “It’s a victory for integrity, don’t you think?” Derek arrived on the scene, his face a mask of cold indifference. Without a second thought, he ordered the casket to be hauled away to the river. “Your mother obviously died of shame,” he said, not even looking at the blood on the wood. “What does this have to do with Jade? Jade was being generous just by tolerating your mother’s disgraceful behavior. Most people would have had her locked up.” Then, he turned his fury on me. “You better apologize to Jade right now, Cassie. Do it, or don’t bother coming home. You’re one step away from losing your status as my wife.” I stepped forward, blocking the men who were about to haul the casket away. I reached down and pulled back the heavy black cloth covering the lid. And then, I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The sound bubbled up from my chest, sharp and hysterical. To this moment, Derek had no idea. The woman lying broken in that casket wasn’t my mother. It was his own. 1. “You’ve lost your mind,” Derek snapped, his eyes flashing with disgust. “Your mother is dead, and you’re standing there laughing? Apologize to Jade. Now.” He looked at me as if I were a stain on his polished boots. But why would I seek justice for the woman in that box? She wasn’t mine. I didn’t need to fight for someone who had spent years making my life a living hell. “I’m not apologizing,” I said, my voice steady. “Do whatever you want.” Jade shivered, shrinking into the crook of Derek’s arm. She let out a long, theatrical sigh. “Seeing all this blood… I’m going to have nightmares tonight. If I don’t get any sleep, I don’t know how I’ll manage the precinct tomorrow.” That was her specialty—flipping the narrative. She could turn a hangnail into a tragedy, and Derek would move mountains to soothe her. He turned his rage back on me. “Cassie, do you have a soul? Your mother took a bribe. Jade was trying to protect my reputation. The woman died because she couldn’t face her own guilt. As her daughter, the least you can do is say you’re sorry for the mess she made.” I remained unmoved. “I’ve done nothing wrong. And neither did my mother.” Derek’s face turned a dangerous shade of crimson. He turned to his deputies. “Fine. If she wants to be stubborn, let’s finish this. Fill the casket with water and seal it tight. You won’t get a chance to say goodbye, Cassie. Not ever.” I shrugged, indifferent. Jade walked over, her movements feline and triumphant. She reached out to take my hand, but I pulled away. “Cassie,” she whispered, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “I know you’re upset. I really didn’t mean for this to happen. It was just supposed to be a little… disciplinary lesson. You’re not going to hold this against us, are you? You’re not going to go to the commissioner and make a scene, right?” I looked her in the eye and felt a cold smirk touch my lips. “I won’t. I promise.” Ever since I married Derek, his mother, Beatrice, had treated me like a servant. She carried her status as the “Chief’s Mother” like a scepter. She’d make me drive two towns over just to get her specific brand of imported tea. She demanded four-course dinners every night, never the same thing twice. If I was even five minutes late coming home from the textile mill, she’d scream at me in front of the neighbors. “You think you’re special because you have a job? You’re a wife first! You’re out there flaunting yourself while your house is a mess?” Looking at the casket now, I realized that some monsters really do destroy each other. Derek remembered something then. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few crumpled grocery vouchers, tossing them at my feet. “Take these. Consider it hush money for your mother’s… departure. Her life wasn’t worth much anyway, so this is more than generous.” Five days’ worth of groceries for a human life. It was a bargain, considering the life inside wasn’t the one he thought it was. He looked down at me, waiting for me to bow, to scrape the papers off the pavement. Before I could even move, he started barking orders about how I should spend them. “Since your mother is gone, you don’t need to waste these on her. Go to the city tomorrow. Exchange them for cash if you have to, but I want you to bring back that expensive skin cream my mother likes. She’s been complaining about being out for two days. If you don’t take care of her, don’t expect to keep your place in this house.” The same old threat. I was tired of hearing it. I used to endure it because I loved him. I accepted his mother’s cruelty because I thought it was the price of being with him. But today, the veil had finally lifted. There was nothing left in his heart for me, and nothing left in mine for him. I felt an eerie sense of calm settle over me. “Fine,” I said, my voice quiet but clear. “Let’s get a divorce. File the papers tomorrow.” Derek froze. His eyes widened, his finger trembling as he pointed at me, unable to even form a coherent sentence. I didn’t wait for him to find his words. I turned and walked away. 2. I went back to my mother’s house, my heart hammering against my ribs until I saw her sitting on the porch, knitting a sweater. She was alive. The horror in the square hadn’t been a dream, but my mother was safe. I ran to her and threw my arms around her, my voice thick with unshed tears. “Mom, let’s go. Let’s go to San Francisco. I heard the coast is opening up, there are so many opportunities there.” My mother sensed the shift in me immediately. “You and Derek… I told you from the start he wasn’t the one, honey. If you need to clear your head, I’ll go with you.” “Good,” I whispered. “We leave in three days.” I spent the next day with her, soaking in her presence. When I finally returned to the house I shared with Derek, I found he had already set up a makeshift memorial in the hallway. My mother’s photo—a grainy, old portrait—was framed on a small table. He walked toward me, a smug smile on his face, as if he were expecting a gold star. “Look, honey. I set this up for you. If you miss her, you can come here and talk to her.” He gestured to the photo. “I had to pull a lot of strings to get this printed on short notice. I put a lot of effort into this for your mother. Pretty thoughtful, right?” I let out a dry laugh. He had a darkroom right at the precinct. This had taken him five minutes. He actually thought he could win me back with a piece of paper. I picked up the photo and tossed it into the trash can. “Are the divorce papers ready?” His brow furrowed, his expression souring. “You’re still on that? It was just a fight, Cassie. We’ve been married for ten years. You don’t just throw that away over a little disagreement.” I didn’t even bother to argue. Two years ago, when Jade complained that I made her head ache with my “negative energy,” he had threatened to divorce me three times in one week. In his world, the death of my mother was a “little disagreement,” but Jade’s mood swings were a national emergency. He tried to pull me into his arms, his voice softening into that manipulative purr he used when he wanted something. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’m going to throw a massive funeral for her. A real send-off. It’ll make up for everything, okay?” “I don’t want it,” I said flatly. He gripped my hands tighter. “After the funeral, I’ll take some leave. We’ll go on a trip. Just us. But… I need you to do something for me at the service. I need you to tell everyone that your mother died because she was overwhelmed with shame. Tell them it had nothing to do with Jade. The mayor heard some rumors, and it’s starting to look bad for her career.” There it was. The hook. All the sweet talk was just grease for the gears. “She killed someone, and you want me to clear her name?” I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Derek, I thought you were a man of the law.” His face darkened instantly. He let go of my hands. “She did it for me! If people thought your mother was taking bribes under my roof, I’d be finished! You’re going to help her, Cassie. Whether you like it or not.” I smiled thinly, a sudden idea taking root. “Fine. I’ll do it. But you have to grant me one request.” He lit up, the tension leaving his shoulders. He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “That’s my girl! I knew you’d come around. I’m the luckiest man alive.” I didn’t say a word. I didn’t tell him that my one request was the divorce. Before he left for the evening, he grabbed the antique pocket watch from the dresser—the one thing I truly cherished. “Jade’s been so jumpy since the incident,” he said carelessly. “She says the rhythmic ticking helps her sleep. You never wear this anyway, so I’m giving it to her.” That watch was the only thing he’d ever given me that meant something. We hadn’t had a real wedding; we’d just gone to the courthouse. Back then, he wasn’t a Chief. He was a struggling officer who had saved for months to buy me that three-hundred-dollar watch because I’d admired it in a shop window. I only wore it twice because I was so terrified of scratching it. He knew that. He knew I loved it because it represented who he used to be. Now, it didn’t matter. He could give her the watch. He could give her the whole world. I didn’t want any of it anymore. As he reached the door, he paused. “By the way, have you seen my mom? She hasn’t been around for two days. Tell her to call me when she gets back.” I felt a chill of dark satisfaction. “Oh, you’ll see her tomorrow, Derek. At the funeral. I promise.” 3. The funeral was a grand affair. Half the town showed up, along with everyone from the precinct. Derek wanted a spectacle to ensure Jade’s reputation remained untarnished. Jade was a mess of theatrical tears, huddled against Derek’s chest. “Do you think Cassie really hates me? Oh, Derek, you’ll protect me, won’t you? You won’t let her hurt me?” Derek stroked her hair, his eyes full of pity. “Don’t worry, Jade. She won’t touch you. We’re going to clear everything up today.” The woman who had literally nailed a person into a box was playing the victim. It was almost poetic in its absurdity. I stood before the casket and lit a stick of incense. Regardless of how Beatrice had treated me, she was dead now. This was my final act of politeness. Jade stepped forward then, suddenly pulling a stack of papers from her coat. She let out a heavy, fake sigh. “Cassie, I know we should let the dead rest,” she said, her voice loud enough for the crowd to hear. “But your mother’s actions are casting a shadow over this entire department. For the sake of the truth, we have to address this.” I took the papers from her. They were “records” of my mother’s supposed bribes—extravagant amounts of money she had allegedly taken from townspeople over the years. I threw the papers onto the grass. “This is a lie,” I said coldly. “The neighbor gave her a locket and a pie. You’ve written down five hundred dollars. None of this is real.” Jade recoiled as if I’d struck her, sobbing into Derek’s shoulder. He stepped forward, shielding her. “Don’t you dare act out here! Jade spent weeks investigating this! You think she just made it up? I know for a fact your mother used my name to scam people all over this county!” Jade looked up, her eyes swimming with crocodile tears. “Derek, maybe we shouldn’t… she’s dead, after all.” “If you’re going to bring it up, have the guts to stand by it,” I snapped at her. Derek’s rage boiled over. “I’m bringing it up because everyone needs to know! Your mother got what was coming to her! Jade was just doing her job, and I won’t have her blamed for a criminal’s heart attack!” The crowd began to murmur. “I did see Cassie’s mom buying expensive meat at the butcher’s every week,” one woman whispered. “And they got a new TV last month,” another added. “Where does a factory worker get that kind of money?” I balled my fists. “I bought those things! I saved my wages for two years to buy my mother that TV!” Jade gave me a pitying look. “Cassie, honey, we all know what you make at the mill. It’s okay to be ashamed, but don’t lie.” Derek sneered. “And what about those people who came to the precinct last month looking for me? I bet your mother took their money and promised them favors.” They had the crowd in the palm of their hands. Jade tilted her head, a predatory gleam in her eyes. “Since all that property was bought with ‘bribe money,’ it should be confiscated and given to the town charity. We should go to your house right now and take it back.” 4. Jade led the charge. They burst into my mother’s house like a swarm of locusts, smashing things as they went. She took a sledgehammer to the TV I had worked so hard for. “Everything bought with blood money has to go!” she chirped, looking over her shoulder at Derek for approval. Derek stood by the door, clapping his hands. “Exactly! This is how we purge corruption!” I stood in the corner, silent, a small smile playing on my lips. I had already called the state police from the town over. I wanted to see how they’d handle the finish line. Jade dug through a jewelry box and pulled out a gold bracelet. “And this? I suppose you bought this too, Cassie?” I lunged forward, feigning desperation. “Put that back! That’s an heirloom!” Derek grabbed my shoulder, pinning me back. “Heirloom? You never mentioned an heirloom. This is just more stolen goods!” Jade smirked, her fingers loosening. The bracelet hit the hardwood floor with a sharp crack. “Oops. My hand slipped. But it wasn’t yours anyway, was it? No harm done.” That bracelet had been in my family for three generations. My mother was supposed to give it to me on my wedding day, but she’d kept it, saying she wanted to make sure it was safe. She’d gone through three hospitalizations without selling it, just so she could pass it down to me. Tears of genuine fury pricked my eyes. Derek looked at me with total indifference. “I was going to let you keep your dignity if you just apologized,” he said. “But your mother’s crimes are too big. To save Jade’s career, I have to make this public. Your mother can carry the bad reputation to her grave. It’s better her than Jade.” “Enough!” I screamed. I glared at him, my voice trembling with rage. “Derek! My mother didn’t take any bribes. And the person in that casket isn’t my mother. It’s yours!” He started to laugh, ready to dismiss me as hysterical. But then, the front door swung open. My mother walked in, followed by two state troopers. Derek froze. He looked at my mother, then at the troopers, his face draining of color. As the officers headed toward the “memorial” in the town square, Derek broke into a run. He reached the casket and tore at the lid with his bare hands, ripping his fingernails on the wood. When the lid finally gave way, and he saw the broken, bloated body of his own mother, he let out a howl that sounded like a dying animal. The state troopers didn’t hesitate. They walked straight to Jade. “Jade, you’re under arrest for second-degree murder, evidence tampering, and destruction of property. You have the right to remain silent.”

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I gripped the printed flight confirmation in my hand until my knuckles turned a ghostly white. This was supposed to be a surprise for Jackson Burke’s twenty-fifth birthday—a cross-country flight from New York to San Francisco to finally close the gap of our long-distance relationship. I had spent months planning this, thousands of miles for a single moment of joy. Then, a notification from the “Inner Circle” group chat shattered everything. Jackson had posted a photo. It was a shot of a rumpled, messy king-sized bed, the sheets tangled in a way that left nothing to the imagination. His caption felt like a physical blow: “Long distance is a joke. Turns out the little intern at the office is way more ‘hands-on’ than a screen.” He had clearly forgotten I was still in that chat. The group exploded. His “bros” scrambled to do damage control, posting laughing emojis and telling him he was just “sampling the local flavor.” They told me not to take it personally—that Lexi, the “struggling” intern from the scholarship program, was just being sweet and attentive, and Jackson was a guy with needs who couldn’t help himself. Jackson didn’t delete the message. Instead, he tagged me directly. His tone was chillingly entitled: “Since you saw it, I’ll be straight with you. I had a few drinks last night, and I couldn’t resist her.” “Michelle, you’ve always been the sensible one. Don’t be a drama queen about this.” So, the reason he missed my birthday call? The reason he said he was pulled into an all-nighter at the lab to finish the “breakthrough” project? It was all a lie. He wasn’t in a lab. He was in a hotel room, exploring someone else. Lexi, the so-called “impoverished” intern, decided to chime in with her own brand of toxic sweetness: “I’m so sorry, Michelle. You have everything—the career, the money—but I only have Jackson. Please don’t hate me…” I stared at the screen, a jagged, cold laugh escaping my throat. Slowly, deliberately, I tore the flight confirmation into tiny, unrecognizable shreds. Jackson, if you love “charity cases” so much, then you can rot in the gutter with her. … “Michelle, since you’re reading the chat, I’m not going to waste time explaining.” The phone rang before I could even process the silence. Jackson didn’t even wait for me to say hello. “You need to apologize to Lexi right now so we can move past this.” “I need to apologize to her?” I squeezed the phone, my nails digging into my palm. “You went radio silent in the group chat, Michelle. Do you have any idea how that looks? It’s passive-aggressive,” Jackson snapped, his voice thick with self-righteousness. “Lexi was so intimidated by your silence that she cried all night! She thinks you’re going to use your influence to ruin her.” “Ruin her?” My laugh was brittle. “Jackson, you’re playing house with a girl using the money I sent you to cover your ‘living expenses’ while you built that project. And you’re telling me you’re the one being tortured?” “Don’t bring up the money again!” Jackson’s voice rose, a sure sign I’d hit a nerve. “What’s a few thousand dollars anyway? Once I land the core investment, I’ll be worth ten million. Lexi is the one pulling all-nighters running data for me. What do you do? You send ‘good luck’ texts from three thousand miles away. You’re useless to me here.” In the background, I heard a soft, performative sob. “Jackson, don’t be mean to Michelle,” Lexi’s voice drifted through the speaker, thin and fragile. “It’s my fault. I’m not high-class like her. I’ll just leave…” “Lexi, stay put!” Jackson muffled the receiver, but I could still hear him. “She doesn’t know the first thing about back-end architecture. Without you, this project would have folded months ago.” My blood ran cold. Back-end architecture? The “core project” he was so proud of? I had spent the last year pulling actual all-nighters, writing every single line of that proprietary code and sending it to him so he wouldn’t feel like a failure. “Jackson,” I said, my voice so calm it terrified me. “Are you sure you want to burn this bridge today?” “Burn it?” Jackson scoffed. “Don’t try to threaten me with a breakup. You either get in that chat and tell everyone you forgive her, or we’re done. Period.” “Understood.” I hung up and immediately left the group chat. The next morning, I didn’t cancel my flight. I boarded the plane to San Francisco. But I wasn’t going there to win him back. I was going to take back what belonged to me. Three hours later, I stood outside the door of the luxury apartment Jackson was “renting” near campus. I still had the code. When I pushed the door open, the scent of a floral perfume that wasn’t mine hit me like a physical wave. Everything had changed. Lexi’s cheap heels were tossed in the foyer. On the sofa sat a pile of designer hoodies I’d bought for Jackson; they had been shredded and used as cleaning rags. The bedroom door was ajar. Lexi was sitting at my vanity, slathering a thick layer of a bespoke, $800-an-ounce night cream—a set I hadn’t even opened—onto her face. Jackson was behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. “Jackson,” Lexi pouted into the mirror. “Michelle’s stuff feels so cheap. My skin is actually breaking out.” “She always was a bit of a penny-pincher,” Jackson murmured, kissing her neck. “Just wait until tomorrow. Once Astra Ventures signs that $10 million check, I’m taking you to Bergdorf’s. We’ll buy you the real stuff.” I leaned against the doorframe, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. “That’s a custom Biologique Recherche line, Lexi. It’s five thousand dollars a bottle. The reason it feels ‘off’ is because your skin isn’t used to anything that isn’t sold at a drugstore.” They both spun around. Jackson’s face went pale, then instantly morphed into a mask of fury as he stepped in front of Lexi. “Michelle? Are you stalking me now? Who gave you permission to be here!” “I pay the lease on this apartment, Jackson. I don’t need permission.” I looked at his protective stance and felt a wave of nausea. “You pay? Please.” Jackson let out a derisive snort. “The two thousand you send me barely covers the utilities in a place like this. Stop trying to play the big-shot benefactor. It’s pathetic.” He had no idea. I hadn’t rented this place; I’d bought it outright a year ago so he could live in comfort. The “two thousand dollars in rent” I asked for was a lie I told to protect his fragile ego. Lexi cowered behind him, her eyes red. “Michelle, please don’t be mad. I’ll wash it off. I’ve just never seen such pretty things before. I was curious… Please don’t stress Jackson out. He has the biggest meeting of his life tomorrow.” “Shut up,” I said coldly. “You’re a footnote, Lexi. Don’t speak to me.” I walked past them and grabbed the laptop sitting on the desk. It was my laptop—the one containing the original source code for the entire architecture. Jackson grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I felt my bones groan. “Are you crazy? That’s Lexi’s computer! She’s been working on that data for a month!” “Her computer?” I wrenched my arm back and pointed to the small, elegant engraving on the bottom of the chassis: M.S. “I had this custom-built last year. Those are my initials, Jackson. You’re not just a liar; you’re a thief.” Lexi burst into theatrical tears. “Jackson, I did that! I told you! I engraved ‘My Soul’ on it so I’d never forget how much you supported me! Why is she being so cruel?” Jackson’s eyes turned bloodshot with rage. He swung his hand, and the sound of the slap echoed through the room. Crack. My head snapped to the side. My ears rang, and I tasted the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. “Michelle, you are psychotic!” Jackson yelled, pointing a finger at me. “You can’t handle the fact that Lexi is actually talented. You’re so jealous that she helped me finish the code that you’re trying to steal it? You’re evil!” I held my burning cheek and looked at him. Really looked at him. “You hit me.” “And I’ll do it again if you don’t get out!” Jackson’s face was twisted with disgust. “Leave! Now! Before you ruin anything else!” I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I simply lifted the laptop and slammed it onto the hardwood floor with everything I had. The screen shattered. The chassis buckled. “No!” Jackson screamed, diving for the wreckage. “The source code! The meeting is tomorrow!” “Since it’s ‘hers,’ she can fix it,” I said, turning on my heel. Behind me, Lexi let out a strangled gasp. “Jackson… the motherboard is crushed! We don’t have a backup of the final build! What are we going to do?” “Michelle! You bitch! You’re not leaving!” Jackson lunged at me, grabbing the collar of my coat and slamming me against the wall. “Give me the cloud password. Now. Or I’m calling the police!” My back throbbed from the impact. I looked into the eyes of the man I had loved for two years—a man who was now a monster for the sake of a girl who had stolen my life. “Jackson, do you know why I kept the primary build on a local drive?” I whispered, my voice terrifyingly steady. “Because it was my heart. Go ahead. Call the cops. Tell them you’re trying to scam Astra Ventures out of ten million dollars using a program you didn’t write.” Jackson froze. A flicker of genuine panic crossed his eyes. Lexi ran over, clutching Jackson’s arm. “Michelle, how can you be so heartless? Jackson is right on the edge of success! If you withhold that password, you’re destroying his entire future! If you ever loved him, you’d sacrifice this for him!” “Love?” I looked at her with pure disdain. “You’re a thief, Lexi. You stole a boyfriend and a few lines of code. You don’t get to talk to me about sacrifice.” “I didn’t steal anything!” Lexi sobbed, burying her face in Jackson’s chest. “Jackson, I didn’t… we worked on that data together!” “Enough!” Jackson shoved me aside and pulled Lexi into his arms. When he looked at me again, his eyes were dead. “I see who you really are now, Michelle. We are done. Permanently.” “Good.” I straightened my coat. Just then, my phone began to vibrate violently in my pocket. It was my mother’s lead surgeon. “Ms. Griffith? Your mother’s condition has taken a sharp turn. We need to move her into the second stage of the targeted immunotherapy immediately. But we ran into an issue—the two hundred thousand dollars you deposited into the hospital escrow account was withdrawn this morning. We can’t proceed without the funds.” My heart stopped. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. I looked up at Jackson, my voice trembling. “You touched the money? My mother’s medical fund?” I had put that money into a joint account under his name months ago to keep his credit score up for the “business,” thinking he’d never touch what I told him was for my mother’s life-saving treatment. Jackson showed zero remorse. He actually laughed. “Medical fund? You mean the money you ‘saved’ by skimping on my allowance for the last two years? That was my money, Michelle. Lexi needed a dress for the Astra gala tomorrow. She couldn’t show up looking like a peasant. I wasn’t going to let her be embarrassed.” “Two hundred thousand dollars,” I whispered, my vision blurring with hot, angry tears. “You spent my mother’s life on a dress?” “Stop acting like a martyr,” Jackson snapped. “Your mother has been a vegetable for a year. Why waste good money on a lost cause?” Lexi reached up and nervously touched a diamond necklace glinting at her throat. “Michelle… the necklace was only sixty thousand… it wasn’t the whole two hundred… The rest went to my private coaching fees for the presentation. Jackson just wanted me to look the part.” I didn’t think. I lunged forward and delivered a stinging slap across Lexi’s face. She screamed, collapsing to the floor and clutching her cheek, gasping for air as if she were dying. “Lexi!” Jackson roared. He stepped forward and kicked me squarely in the stomach. The force of it sent me flying backward. I crashed into the pile of broken glass from the vanity Lexi had knocked over earlier. The shards sliced through my white cashmere sweater, and I felt the warm bloom of blood against my skin. “Don’t you touch her!” Jackson stood over me, his face a mask of pure malice. He brought his heavy boot down on my hand, grinding it into the floor. “Your mother can rot for all I care. But if you touch Lexi again, I will make sure you never walk again.” The pain was blinding. I felt my fingers pop, the agony radiating up my arm. I watched him. I watched him pick Lexi up with the tenderness of a saint, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. “Give me the password,” Jackson said, looking down at me as if I were a cockroach. “Consider that two hundred thousand the price for your life. Give it to me, or your mother gets kicked out of that clinic tonight.” He didn’t know that I was the primary donor for that clinic. I gritted my teeth, pulling myself up from the glass, inch by agonizing inch. I looked him in the eye. “The password is my birthday.” Jackson immediately pulled out his phone, his thumbs flying. Once he saw the “Access Granted” screen for the cloud drive, he let out a sigh of relief. The look of disgust returned to his face. “Get your trash and get out. Now.” I dragged myself toward the door, my hand dripping blood onto the pristine floor of the apartment I had bought for a ghost. The next evening. The Grand Ballroom of the Fairmont San Francisco. The room was a sea of black ties, silk gowns, and the heavy scent of old money. Jackson Burke was the man of the hour, glowing under the crystal chandeliers as he basked in the praise of the tech elite. Lexi was on his arm, draped in the sixty-thousand-dollar necklace, preening under the spotlight. “Mr. Burke, the rumors about this algorithm are incredible,” one of the venture capital titans said, raising a glass. “You’re too kind,” Jackson beamed, patting Lexi’s hand. “But I can’t take all the credit. My partner, Lexi Moore, is the true genius here. She’s the architect of the vision.” Lexi blushed, looking down with practiced modesty. “Jackson is being modest. He’s the one who guided me.” A ripple of polite applause went through the crowd. I stepped off the elevator and entered the room. I wasn’t wearing a gown. I was wearing a simple black suit, my hand wrapped in a thick, ugly bandage. “Well, look who it is,” Lexi said. She had spotted me and broken away from the crowd, intercepting me near the bar. “The bitter ex. Are you here to beg for a job?” I didn’t answer. I walked toward the wine service. Lexi’s face twisted with annoyance at being ignored. She took a step forward, grabbed a glass of red wine, and—with a theatrical gasp—poured it over her own head. “Ah!” She shrieked, falling to the floor in a heap of wet silk. “Michelle, please! I’m sorry! I’ll give him back, just don’t hurt me!” The music stopped. Every eye in the ballroom turned toward us. Jackson charged through the crowd like a bull. When he saw Lexi shaking on the floor, drenched in wine, and me standing there with a cold, blank expression, his rage boiled over. “Michelle!” He didn’t hesitate. He stepped up and swung. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t block. Crack. The blow was so hard it sent me to the floor. My bandaged hand hit the marble, and I felt the stitches tear. Blood began to seep through the white gauze instantly. The room went silent. I slowly sat up, wiping a smear of blood from my lip with my good hand. I looked at the faces around me—the judgment, the mockery. I looked at Jackson, standing tall in his stolen glory. I looked at Lexi, smirking from the safety of his arms. “The CEO of Astra Ventures will be here any minute,” Jackson hissed, leaning down so only I could hear. “We’re signing a ten-million-dollar deal. Tomorrow, I’m calling our legal team. I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life in a cell for harassment and extortion.” “Jackson,” I said, my voice carrying through the hushed hall. “You said you’d use Astra’s legal team against me?” “You’re damn right!” Just then, the massive gold-leaf doors of the ballroom were thrown open. A phalanx of security guards in black suits cleared a path. Victor Blackwell, the Executive Vice President of Astra Ventures—a man known as the “Executioner” in the business world—strode into the room. Jackson’s eyes lit up. He shoved Lexi aside and rushed forward, his face turning into a mask of pathetic sycophancy. “Mr. Blackwell! Sir! You’re here. Please, excuse the scene. Just a disgruntled former associate. I’ll have security clear her out so we can sign the documents—” Victor Blackwell didn’t even blink at Jackson. He walked right past the man, ignoring his outstretched hand. He stepped directly in front of me. Before the shocked eyes of every billionaire and socialite in San Francisco, the man who held the keys to the city’s kingdom—the man everyone in this room feared—bowed. A deep, ninety-degree bow. His voice was thick with genuine terror. “Miss Griffith.”

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The scent hit me first—that familiar, cloying perfume she always wore. It drifted into my senses without warning, a ghost of a memory I hadn’t summoned. Before I could even think, my hand moved. I slapped her. Hard. Mallory stumbled back, the force of the blow snapping her head to the side. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She just looked at me with that same maddening indifference she’d perfected over the years. “So,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “I guess you heard.” Just an hour ago, I had been at a boutique downtown, helping my best friend, Gavin, pick out an engagement ring. We were standing under the harsh glow of the chandeliers when he suddenly let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Your wife is quite the charmer, Tom,” he’d said, his voice dripping with something foul. I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He tilted his head, pulling his collar down to reveal a jagged, dark red mark on his neck. “She did this in the car last night. You should tell her to be a little more careful. She’s got a bit of a bite.” The world turned into static. My throat tightened until I could barely breathe. “Gavin, what are you saying? Have you lost your mind?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his jacket and tossed a piece of paper onto the velvet jewelry counter. It was a sonogram. “She loves you, sure,” Gavin whispered, leaning in so close I could smell his cologne—the same scent that was now clinging to Mallory. “But let’s face it, Tom. You’re broken. You can’t satisfy her. All those years of… whatever happened to you… they ruined you. I can give her what she actually needs. I can give her a child. That’s why she’s choosing me.” I’d stumbled back then, the jewelry store spinning around me like a carousel from hell. … My entire body was shaking, a coldness seeping into my bones that no heater could touch. Mallory watched me, her tongue poking the inside of her cheek where my ring had probably cut her. “You’ve been Gavin’s best friend for twenty years, Tom. How is it you never learned a thing about his temperament? He’s much gentler than you.” Her tone was exactly the same as it had been yesterday. Calm. Rational. It was the tone she used when discussing the grocery list or the weather. Every word was a scalpel, peeling back my skin. “Doesn’t this disgust you?” I choked out, my voice thin and brittle. She paused, then smiled. It wasn’t a cruel smile; it was worse. It was pitying. “You’re the one who’s inadequate, Tom. Every time we… finished… I felt empty. And let’s not forget your history. You were basically a plaything for that woman, weren’t you?” A wave of nausea hit me. The disgust in her eyes was unmistakable. “I could never let my child have a father with a history as filthy as yours,” she added. I froze. My ears were ringing so loudly I could barely hear my own heartbeat. I looked at her, searching for the woman who, only twenty-four hours ago, had curled into my chest and whispered that she loved me more than life itself. The woman who had promised that my past didn’t matter, that she would be my sanctuary. “Do you even hear yourself?” My voice broke, the back of my eyes burning with a stinging heat. She reached out, her fingers grazing my cheek with a phantom tenderness before she sighed. “I know. It’s not that I don’t love you, Tom. But I wanted to see what a ‘clean’ man felt like. And honestly? You’re the one who lied to me first. You never told me the full extent of your… damage.” She stepped over to Gavin, who had just walked through the door, and looped her arm through his. “Gavin is your brother in every way that counts,” she said. “He’s not trying to take your place. He even said the baby could call you ‘Dad’ eventually. You should be thanking him.” I watched their fingers intertwine—the gold band I’d bought her glinting in the light. My vision blurred. Yesterday, I’d found that sonogram in her purse. I’d been so ecstatic that I’d called for a celebratory dinner with Gavin. I wanted to share the greatest joy of my life with my best friend. But when they arrived, they ignored me. They spent the whole night bickering. Gavin complained that Mallory wasn’t “domestic” enough; Mallory snapped at him for being overbearing. I’d laughed it off, used to their “sibling-like” friction. I’d spent the whole night playing mediator, forgetting all about the pregnancy announcement I’d planned. And now, they stood together, telling me that the child I had been praying for—the one I thought was a miracle given my health issues—was a betrayal in physical form. I was gasping for air, my lungs refusing to expand. Mallory stepped forward, a look of faux-concern on her face. “Just don’t make a scene, and things can go back to how they were,” she said. “Last night, after Gavin and I had that ‘fight,’ I told you I had to go back to the office. I didn’t. I was in his car. I bought this red lace set… I wanted to see if he could do what you couldn’t. It turns out, he could.” The hole in my chest felt like it was being blasted by an arctic wind. My teeth were literally chattering. “He’s my best friend, Gavin! Why?” Gavin took a step toward me, clapping a hand on my shoulder with the same casualness he’d used a thousand times before. “Tom, man, because we’re brothers, I’m not a threat to you. This? This was just for the thrill. A little excitement for me and Val. In our hearts, you’re still the most important person.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood. The air was thick with the scent of their shared secret. Mallory leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Cheer up. You always wanted to know what kind of woman Gavin would finally marry, didn’t you? Well, you’re going to be the best man at our wedding.” The diamond on her finger caught the light, stabbing at my eyes. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I swung my hand again, catching her across the other cheek. “You’re both sick,” I spat. “You’re disgusting.” Before the words had even left my mouth, Gavin lunged. He shoved me hard, my back slamming into the edge of the marble table. Pain exploded through my spine. “We’re disgusting?” Gavin barked, his voice dropping an octave. “You’re the one who spent months in bed with my sister, Tom. You’re the one who crawled into her sheets like a dog. Don’t you dare talk to us about ‘dirty.’” Mallory looked down at me, her expression cold. “Get a grip on yourself, Tom.” Then, they walked out. They left me there, collapsing into the dark abyss of my own memory. Gavin and I had been inseparable since we were kids. When he was seventeen, his life fell apart. His father died, and his mother remarried a man with a teenage daughter named Lydia. Gavin used to cry to me, telling me how Lydia would hit him, how she bullied him in that house. I felt for him. I went over there constantly to stand up for him. On his eighteenth birthday, I’d saved up every cent I had to buy him the gaming console he’d wanted for years. I went to his house to surprise him. He gave me a glass of juice. When I woke up, the world was a blur of blood and searing, agonizing pain. I remember Gavin standing over me, shouting at Lydia, pretending to defend me while I lay there, broken. Fate wasn’t done with me. Lydia ended up pregnant. Her father—Gavin’s stepfather—burst into our house with a knife, demanding I “take responsibility” for his daughter. My parents, desperate to save my life, emptied their life savings to pay them off. We moved to another city, fleeing the shame and the trauma. But the pain never left. By the time I met Mallory, I was a shell of a person, drowning in depression and self-loathing. She was the light. She looked at me with those soft, brown eyes and leaned her head on my shoulder. “Why are you always so sad, Thomas?” I was terrified to let her in. But she stayed. She held my hand through the night terrors and whispered, “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. I’ll wait for you to get better.” On the day we got engaged, she promised she would spend her life healing me. And now… The pain was so intense I felt like my organs were shutting down. I thought I had started over. I thought I was safe. But the two people I loved most had just reached back into my past, ripped open the scars, and poured salt into the wounds. I cried until I couldn’t breathe. I cried until my eyes were swollen shut. When my phone finally buzzed, it was a text from Mallory. [Tom, go to the pharmacy and pick up some prenatal vitamins and some spotting medication. Things got a little too heated just now, and I’m worried about the baby.] Then a message from Gavin: a photo of him and Mallory, her head on his bare chest. I stared at the screen, my breath hitching. The phone rang, shattering the silence. Mallory’s voice came through, sounding satisfied and drowsy. “Tom? Did you see the message?” I forced the words out, my voice trembling with a murderous edge. “Mallory, how can you be this pathetic? Aren’t you afraid I’ll snap and kill you both?” There was a pause. Then, Gavin’s laugh echoed in the background. “Tom, buddy, you’re too weak. You’re a coward. You shake when someone raises their voice. You don’t have the stomach for murder. Well, except for that time you killed my sister’s ‘baby’ by leaving, right? But this kid? You love this kid too much to hurt it.” He told me to hurry up with the medicine and hung up. I started laughing. A jagged, broken sound. I was afraid of loud noises because of the way Lydia used to scream while she hurt me. It was a physical response to trauma, not a lack of courage. But I wasn’t afraid of dying anymore. And I was going to make sure they felt every ounce of the hell I was living in. I drove to Gavin’s place. I pushed the door open to find a trail of clothes leading to the living room. They were on the sofa, locked in a heated, desperate kiss. The wet, rhythmic sound of it turned my stomach. I gripped my phone, recording them as I walked closer. Gavin saw me. Instead of stopping, he pulled Mallory closer, a provocative smirk on his face. He wanted me to watch. “You know, Val,” Gavin whispered, his voice loud enough for the camera to catch, “when I found Tom in my bed with Lydia all those years ago, they were kissing just like this.” The lie—the absolute, monstrous lie—burned through the last of my sanity. He had set me up. He had handed me over to his sister, and now he was using that violation as a weapon. I held the phone steady, my voice cold and dead. “This is a live stream of my wife and my best friend. Please, don’t stop on my account. Give the audience a show.” Mallory froze, burying her face in Gavin’s chest. A moment later, she lunged out and slapped the phone from my hand. “Thomas! Have you lost your damn mind?” I didn’t move. My eyes were fixed on her wrist. On the pale skin, there was a new tattoo—a string of obscure, gothic letters. The room began to tilt. My vision tunneled until all I saw was that tattoo. It was identical to the one Lydia had. I remembered those letters. I remembered that wrist holding the rope around my neck. I remembered those sharp nails carving those same letters into my skin. “Mallory,” I whispered, my voice shaking violently. “What is that?” She glanced at her wrist, her voice turning soft again. “Gavin said you had a thing for women with tattoos on their wrists. I did it for you.” I looked up and caught Gavin’s eye. He was gloating. He’d done it on purpose. He’d marked her with the symbol of my rapist just to see if he could break me. The final string snapped. I grabbed the paring knife from the fruit bowl on the coffee table and pressed it against Gavin’s throat. My hand was shaking, tears streaming down my face. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted to remind me.” Gavin’s face paled for a split second, but then he tilted his chin up, daring me. “It’s just a tattoo, Tom. Get over it.” I broke. I pressed the blade harder. Blood began to bead on the steel. Gavin’s eyes widened. Then, a heavy blow struck me in the back. A hand slammed across my face, sending me reeling. “Thomas, stop it! You’re insane!” Mallory screamed. I rolled onto my back, laughing through the tears. “I’m insane? Do you even know why he made you get that tattoo, Mallory?” Before I could say another word, Mallory doubled over, clutching her stomach. “God… it hurts. Gavin, something’s wrong.” Blood began to bloom through her light-colored skirt. Gavin’s face transformed into a mask of pure terror. He didn’t care about my words anymore. He scooped Mallory up, his elbow slamming into my chest to shove me out of the way. Mallory leaned into him, her eyes fixed on me with a chilling hatred. “If anything happens to this baby, Tom, I will destroy you.” They ran out, leaving me hollowed out on the floor. I couldn’t even cry anymore. I wandered out of the house, the world turning grey and fuzzy. Everything went black. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. A nurse told me I was sick—that the stress had triggered a physical collapse and I needed surgery. She asked for my emergency contact. No one had answered. “I have no one,” I whispered, the pillow soaking up my tears. My parents were hundreds of miles away. In this city, I had only two people I called family. And they were busy with each other. Gavin sent me a photo. They were in another wing of the hospital, holding each other, smiling. I stared at it, letting the jealousy and the hate burn me alive. How could they be happy on the ruins of my life? I sent a photo of my medical chart to Mallory. She didn’t reply. It wasn’t until dusk that she finally walked into my room. She looked tired, her eyes dark. “How long have you been sick?” she asked. I smiled, a jagged, bitter thing. “I tried to tell you the day Gavin picked out the ring.” She didn’t say anything. she just twisted the ring on her finger. She stood there for a long time, her head bowed. Finally, she spoke, her voice cold as a winter morning. “You need to postpone the surgery.” “What?” “The baby is the priority right now. Gavin and I… we need support. Your condition isn’t life-threatening this second. You can wait a few weeks. Besides, we talked about it. The baby will still call you ‘Dad.’ Isn’t that enough?” My blood turned to ice. I looked at her, truly seeing her for the first time. She walked to the bed and squeezed my hand. “Isn’t this good, Tom? We both still love you.” I felt my stomach turn over. I shoved her away and vomited over the side of the bed. She narrowed her eyes, her voice hardening. “I’ve already told the doctors to switch you to conservative treatment. No surgery for now.” The door opened, and two orderlies walked in. They grabbed my arms. I was too weak to fight, but I found the strength to scream. “Mallory! I am asking you one last time—are you really going to sacrifice my life for that mistake?” She looked like she might hesitate for a second, but then her face set into stone. “Tom, stop being dramatic.” I started laughing—a wild, hysterical sound. I broke free from the orderlies’ grip with a sudden burst of adrenaline. Before anyone could stop me, I threw myself toward the open window. In that split second of weightlessness, I saw Mallory’s face. Pure, unadulterated horror. I smiled. I wanted her to see me break. I wanted her and Gavin to see my blood on the pavement and never have a night of sleep again. But it was only the third floor. I didn’t die. I just broke. My ribs shattered, puncturing my lungs. The pain was astronomical—a physical agony that matched the one in my soul. After I was stabilized, Mallory sat by my bed. “Was it worth it?” she asked, her voice dripping with irritation. “Jumping out a window to scare me? It’s pathetic, Thomas.” I let out a wet, wheezing laugh. “Scare you? Mallory, you’re a monster. You’d kill your husband for a child that was born out of a lie. You’re a beast.” The last of her patience vanished. “Maybe you’re the one who’s ‘filthy,’ Tom. No matter how much she forced you, you’re the one who had a physical reaction back then, aren’t you?” With those words, she erased everything. She blamed the victim. She justified the trauma. I was done. “I want a divorce. Go to Gavin. I’m done.” She froze, staring at me in silence for a long time. I didn’t look at her. I reached for my phone and called Gavin. He arrived minutes later. “Val, wait outside. I need to talk to him.” She left without a word. “Are you happy now?” I whispered. “You ruined me then. You ruined me now.” He smiled, but there were tears in his eyes. “I didn’t want to do it, Tom. But back then, the only way I could get Lydia to stop hitting me was to give her you. I had to survive.” I closed my eyes. My heart was a graveyard. “I’ve always felt like I owed you,” Gavin continued. “That’s why I won’t take Val away completely. We’ll just have our fun, and when I’m bored, I’ll give her back to you.” The hate I’d been suppressed for a decade finally erupted. I didn’t hesitate. I lunged from the bed, grabbing a scalpel the nurse had left on the tray. I drove it into Gavin’s abdomen. He screamed. Mallory burst in as he collapsed. The color drained from her face. She kicked me away and fell to her knees beside him. “Thomas! This is attempted murder! Are you insane?” I wiped the blood from my face. “He owed me that.” Mallory’s eyes were dark with rage as she called for the doctors. She looked at me, her voice trembling. “This isn’t over.” I tossed the signed divorce papers at her feet. “It is for me. We’re even.” She stared at the signature, her hands shaking. “Are you serious, Tom?” Gavin groaned in her arms. “It hurts… Val, am I going to die? I want to see the baby…” Her panic returned. “I’ll deal with you later,” she snapped at me, and they rushed him away. I laughed, a hollow, broken sound. There wouldn’t be a “later.” I wiped my eyes and dragged myself out of the hospital, heading for the airport. But as I reached the exit, I ran into someone. My body began to shake, and I nearly fell. … Gavin survived. But Mallory couldn’t stop thinking about those divorce papers. As she watched Gavin sleep, a gnawing unease took root in her chest. She hurried back to my room, but when she pushed the door open, the sight that met her eyes shattered her world.

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I let Virginia hold my hand up to the light, my expression perfectly entirely neutral. Instantly, the eyes of half a dozen college friends sitting around the café table zeroed in on us. She let out a soft, breathy laugh, tilting my hand so the overhead bulbs caught the metal. “This ring… what, maybe a couple hundred bucks? Tops?” The sudden chill of the band against my skin made me instinctively rub my thumb over the metal. “Does your guy just not know how to shop?” Virginia’s voice was laced with a thin, sugary venom. “The setting is so… basic. Come on, Nic, you deserve better than this.” I took my hand back, my voice completely steady. “I think it’s perfect.” Virginia blinked, visibly thrown. She hadn’t expected me to be so unbothered. 1. “Nic, don’t be mad.” Virginia leaned in, adopting that cloying, I’m-only-looking-out-for-you tone she’d perfected over the years. “I just don’t want you getting played. You’re too naive.” “I’m not mad.” Sitting next to me, Gemma watched the exchange, her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to intervene but didn’t know how. “Jon told me he picked it out himself.” I picked up my latte. “And I love it.” “Picked it out himself?” Virginia let out a sharp laugh. “When a guy says he ‘picked it out himself,’ it means he couldn’t be bothered to actually put in the effort. Let me tell you, when Bradley bought my ring, he dragged me to three different jewelers in Manhattan. Finally went with a custom cut. Fifteen grand.” She fluttered her left hand over the table. The diamond was huge, aggressive, and blinding. “Fifteen grand. And that was after his corporate discount.” Right on cue, one of the girls across the table chimed in. “Virginia, your ring is gorgeous, seriously.” “Obviously.” Virginia shot me a sidelong glance. “Look, Nic, I’m just being real with you. Your boyfriend runs some tiny startup, right? How much money could he possibly have? Don’t set your expectations too high.” I didn’t answer. Just then, the bell above the café door jingled, and a man in a sharply tailored suit walked in. “Bradley!” Virginia practically leaped out of her chair, looping her arm through his. “What are you doing here?” Bradley offered a polished smile. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d come pick you up.” His gaze swept over the table, lingering on my face for a fraction of a second. “And this is…?” “Nicole. My roommate from college,” Virginia supplied smoothly. “The one I was telling you about? She just got engaged. The ring is very… um, minimalist.” Bradley’s eyes dropped to the ring on my finger. There was a microscopic pause. A slight shift in his posture. “Congratulations, Nicole.” His tone was remarkably respectful—somehow even more polite than the way he spoke to Virginia. I gave him a brief nod. “Thank you.” Virginia entirely missed the nuance. “Bradley, look at it. It’s mall jewelry, right? A couple hundred at best. Doesn’t it just scream ‘lack of commitment’?” Bradley offered a tight, noncommittal smile. “Everyone has different tastes, Virginia.” “You’re always so diplomatic.” She swatted his arm playfully. “Whatever. I just think a man’s budget shows his devotion.” She turned back to me. “Don’t hate me for being blunt, Nic. We’ve been best friends for a decade. If I don’t tell you the hard truth, who will?” “Right.” I offered a faint smile and took a sip of my coffee. Under the table, Gemma gently nudged my foot with hers. As the group was splitting up outside, Virginia pulled me aside, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Nic, are you really sure about this? The guy is a small-time freelancer. What can he actually offer you?” “Offer me?” I looked her dead in the eye. “He gives me exactly what I want. I’m happy.” “You…” Virginia let out a heavy sigh, shaking her head. “You settle too easily. Whatever. It’s your life.” She hooked her arm through Bradley’s and walked away, the sharp click-clack of her stilettos echoing against the pavement. Gemma stood beside me, hesitating. “What is it?” I asked. “Nothing.” She shook her head. “It’s just… Virginia is being Virginia. Just don’t let her get in your head, okay?” I watched Virginia get into a sleek black car. I didn’t say a word. Ten years. We had known each other for exactly ten years, from freshman dorms to now. When I got back to our apartment that evening, Jon was in the kitchen. He had an apron tied around his waist, flipping something in a pan. When he heard my keys drop, he turned and gave me that slow, easy smile of his. “Hey. How was the reunion?” “It was alright.” I walked over and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my cheek against his back. He went still for a second, then reached back to gently pat my hands. “Everything okay?” “Yeah.” I breathed in the scent of garlic, olive oil, and the clean, cedar smell of him. “Just wanted to hold you.” He didn’t push for details. He just turned off the burner, turned around, and took my hands in his, his thumb tracing the thin metal of my ring. “Do you really like it?” “I do.” “Honestly?” His voice dropped an octave. “I know the setting isn’t exactly flashy, but…” “I love that you picked it.” I looked up at him, cutting him off. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” He went quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was fierce, almost a vow. “Nicole, I promise you. One day, I’m going to give you everything.” I just smiled. He didn’t know that, as far as I was concerned, I already had it. 2. The next morning, I was scrolling through Instagram when Virginia’s newest post popped up. It was a perfectly filtered selfie of her and Bradley. The caption read: Some people spend their whole lives settling for cheap knock-offs. Others find the real thing without even trying. So blessed. The comments were a flood of heart-eyes and fire emojis. Couple goals! Bradley spoils you! This is the kind of love I’m holding out for. I kept scrolling. Halfway down, I saw a comment from one of the girls who had been at the café: Didn’t your friend just get engaged? Let’s see the ring! Virginia had replied: Don’t even ask. Literal bargain bin. Her guy is basically a starving artist. The girl replied: Oof. Tragic. Virginia: Honestly, I’m embarrassed for her. But you can’t buy taste. I stared at the screen. My thumb hovered over the glass for five, maybe ten seconds. Then I closed the app and locked my phone. Jon came out of the bedroom, buttoning his cuffs. “Everything good?” “Yeah.” I forced a smile. “You’re wearing that one today?” He looked down at his charcoal dress shirt. “Why? Does it look bad?” “No. It looks great.” His clothes were always like this. Impeccably clean, perfectly fitted, but totally devoid of logos. If you didn’t know anything about textiles, they looked like basic department store finds. I remembered the first time Virginia had met him, years ago. She had pulled me into the bathroom and whispered, Nic, he dresses like a substitute teacher. Are you sure he’s not totally broke? I hadn’t defended him then. Five years. We had been together for five years, and Jon never flaunted a single thing. He was the quietest person I knew. When I asked about work, he’d just say he was “handling some investments” or “running a project.” I never pushed. I figured when he wanted to talk about it, he would. I wasn’t going to drag it out of him. That night, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Gemma. Nic, Virginia is going off in the group chat again. I opened the college chat. Sure enough, Virginia was holding court. Ladies, tell me I’m not crazy. If a man proposes with a ring that costs less than a month’s rent, doesn’t that just mean he doesn’t value you? I was sitting there watching her show it off, and I physically cringed. I’m telling you, her guy’s little ‘business’ is probably going to fold by Christmas. A few people sent awkward emojis. One girl wrote: Idk Virginia, maybe it’s the thought that counts? Virginia fired back immediately: The thought? Can you pay a mortgage with ‘thoughts’? A man’s worth is directly tied to what he’s willing to spend on you. Period. I watched the text bubbles pop up, one after another. Eventually, I just swiped out of the chat. I didn’t type a single word. Gemma texted me privately: Are you seriously not going to say anything? Doesn’t this make you furious? I thought about it. Why would I be? Let her exhaust herself. But she’s humiliating you… Let her. I tossed my phone onto the sofa just as Jon walked out of his home office. “What were you reading?” “Nothing.” He crossed the room and sat down next to me, his eyes studying my face. He had a terrifying ability to read the micro-shifts in my mood. “Who upset you?” “Nobody.” He didn’t interrogate me. He just reached out and took my left hand. “Nicole. No matter what anyone is saying out there, I am always in your corner.” A sudden, sharp warmth bloomed in my chest. “I know.” He looked down at my ring, his thumb slowly brushing against the small, brilliant stone. “I sourced this diamond myself,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. “It took me a long time.” “How long?” “Six months.” I blinked. Six months? “I wanted to find the exact right stone for you.” He looked up, his eyes locking onto mine with a startling intensity. “Not the biggest. Not the loudest. But the one that belonged on your hand.” Looking at him, my throat suddenly felt tight. My eyes stung. “You’re an idiot,” I whispered. “Yeah.” A soft smile touched the corners of his mouth. “But you’re worth it.” 3. That weekend, Gemma practically dragged me out for matcha lattes. We found a quiet corner in a minimalist café in Brooklyn. The second she sat down, she exhaled a heavy sigh. “Nic. Don’t shoot the messenger, okay?” “What now?” “It’s Virginia.” Gemma hesitated, twisting her straw. “She’s not just talking trash in the group chat. She’s taking it on tour.” I took a slow sip of my drink, letting the earthy warmth settle in my stomach. “She was telling the girls from the sorority that you’re getting scammed. That Jon is some deadbeat loser who’s using you, that you have terrible taste…” Gemma was getting flushed just repeating it. “Who does she think she is?” “She is who she’s always been.” “And you’re just… okay with this?” I offered a small, tired smile. “What does getting angry accomplish?” Gemma stopped, stunned. “Nic, you…” “It’s been ten years, Gem.” I looked down at the pale green liquid in my cup. “Since graduation, when has she ever been different?” Gemma fell silent. Because she knew exactly what I meant. The year we graduated, I landed a junior role at a major tech firm. Virginia’s reaction? You’re way too introverted for corporate. You’ll burn out in six months. Three years later, I was leading my department. A year ago, I bought my first apartment in Queens. Virginia came to the housewarming, looked around, and said, This neighborhood is dead. Terrible investment. Six months later, the city announced a new subway extension three blocks away. My property value shot up thirty percent. And last month, Jon proposed. And right on schedule, she told me the ring was cheap and my fiancé was a joke. Every single milestone of my life, she had to find a way to step on it. And every single time, I had chosen not to fight back. “Why don’t you ever defend yourself, Nic?” Gemma asked softly. “Defend myself to who?” I looked up at her. “Would she listen?” Gemma opened her mouth, then closed it. “Ten years,” I repeated, the weight of the decade suddenly feeling incredibly heavy. “I thought she was just… difficult. But a real friend doesn’t constantly try to make you feel small so they can feel big. A real friend doesn’t hate seeing you win.” “So what are you going to do?” “Nothing.” I picked up my cup again. “She can live her life, and I’ll live mine.” Gemma watched me for a long moment, biting her lip like she was debating whether to jump off a cliff. “Spit it out, Gem.” “It’s just…” She leaned in, lowering her voice. “I heard a rumor. That she’s not just talking behind your back.” “Meaning?” “She’s…” Gemma grimaced. “Look, it’s just a rumor. Just… keep your guard up, okay?” I didn’t press her. When we stepped out of the café, the afternoon sun was blindingly bright. I stood on the edge of the sidewalk, watching the swarm of New Yorkers rushing past, and felt an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. A ten-year friendship. I couldn’t believe how fragile it actually was. I used to justify it. I used to tell myself Virginia was just insecure, that she had a sharp tongue but a good heart. But looking back at the mosaic of our history… was she actually a good person? My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Jon. Done with coffee? I’m five minutes away. I typed back: Yeah. Exactly five minutes later, a sleek, unmarked black town car pulled up to the curb. Jon pushed the door open from the inside. He took one look at my face as I slid in. “You look drained.” “I’m fine.” He didn’t call my bluff. He just reached across the center console and threaded his fingers through mine. “What do you want for dinner?” “Whatever. I don’t care.” “Then I’m cooking.” I turned my head and looked at his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the quiet focus in his eyes. The exhaustion that had been sitting on my chest suddenly began to lift. Whatever was happening out there, in the noise of the world, I had this. I had him. 4. The real turning point came the following week. Virginia dropped a message in the group chat: Drinks this Friday! Private room at The Soho Club. Everyone has to come! I had planned on ignoring it, until my phone pinged with a direct message from her. Nic, you HAVE to come. I’ve got some high-tier guys coming. Need to introduce you. I stared at the screen, my brain glitching. High-tier guys? I was engaged. Why the hell was she trying to set me up? Gemma texted me a second later: Are you going to this thing? Are you? I replied. Virginia is demanding I come because there are ‘single guys.’ Gemma attached a confused emoji. But you literally have a ring on your finger. What is she playing at? I didn’t reply to Gemma. But on Friday night, I put on a dress and took a cab to Soho. The private room at the club was dimly lit and humming with aggressive networking energy. There were about eight people already there. The second I walked in, Virginia practically sprinted over. “Nic! You made it!” She latched onto my arm and physically dragged me across the room, planting me in front of a guy wearing a flashy Rolex and too much cologne. “Nic, meet Kyle. He’s in private equity, went to Wharton, owns three properties in the city.” She leaned in, not bothering to lower her voice enough. “Major upgrade from your little freelancer, right?” I stared at the guy in the suit. A cold, dead calm washed over me. “Nice to meet you, Nicole.” Kyle held out a hand, flashing a rehearsed, predatory smile. I didn’t take it. I just gave him a blank nod. “Hi.” Virginia pinched my arm. “Nic, don’t be a snob. Kyle is quite the catch.” “Virginia. I’m engaged.” “Engaged isn’t married.” Virginia waved her hand dismissively. “Besides, we both know your guy can’t provide for you. Why not just upgrade while you still have your youth?” I looked at her. All the years of making excuses for her just evaporated. I felt utterly, entirely done. “I’m not upgrading.” “God, why are you so stubborn—” The heavy oak door of the private room swung open. Bradley stepped inside. “Bradley!” Virginia instantly dropped my arm and glided over to him. “What are you doing here?” “Had a dinner meeting downstairs.” Bradley’s eyes scanned the room, stopping abruptly when they landed on me. “Nicole. You’re here?” “Yeah, I insisted she come.” Virginia looped her arms around Bradley’s neck. “Her fiancé is a dead end, so I’m doing her a favor. Showing her what else is out there.” I watched Bradley’s face. A distinct shadow of panic flickered across his eyes. His jaw tightened. “Virginia. She’s engaged.” “So? They haven’t signed papers.” Virginia rolled her eyes. “Besides, you’ve seen the guy. He’s nobody.” I stood there, watching the performance, the ice in my veins solidifying. So this was it. To her, my five-year relationship was nothing but a punchline. She hadn’t invited me here to catch up. She had invited me here to be the prop in her own ego trip. To publicly humiliate me and prove, once again, that she was better. “Virginia,” I said. My voice was low, cutting through the ambient noise of the room. “I’m leaving.” “What? No!” She lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. “I went through all this trouble to get you out here! Just stay for one drink.” “No.” I yanked my arm out of her grip, grabbed my clutch, and turned toward the door. “Nic, don’t be a bitch about this!” Virginia’s voice turned shrill behind me. “I’m literally trying to save your life!” I didn’t look back. Stepping out onto the cobblestone streets of Soho, the night air hit my face like a splash of ice water. I stopped at the corner, closed my eyes, and took a massive breath. Ten years. I finally saw her clearly. She was never my friend. I was just the designated loser in her personal reality show. The stepping stone she used to boost herself up. 5. When I unlocked the apartment door, Jon was still awake. He was sitting in the dark on the living room sofa, the blue light of his phone illuminating his face. When he heard the deadbolt click, he stood up instantly. “Hey.” “Hey.” I dropped my keys in the bowl, walked over, and collapsed onto the sofa next to him, burying my face in the crook of his neck. “What happened?” His arm came around my shoulders, his hand smoothing my hair. “You okay?” “Just exhausted.” “Tell me.” I stayed quiet for a minute, then let it out. “Virginia invited me out. It was a setup. She was trying to pawn me off on some finance bro.” I felt Jon’s muscles go rigid against me. “She told me…” I let out a dry, bitter laugh. “She told me you were a dead end. That I needed an upgrade.” Silence hung in the apartment. When Jon finally spoke, his voice was terrifyingly calm. Dangerously quiet. “What else did she say?” “Nothing.” I didn’t want him to carry my hurt. “I just walked out.” “Nicole.” He shifted, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes were dark, serious in a way I rarely saw. “I want you to stay far away from Virginia from now on.” I blinked, surprised. He never inserted himself into my friendships. He was usually the ultimate diplomat. “Why? Do you know something?” He didn’t answer the question directly. He just took my face in both his hands. “She is not a safe person for you. You deserve better.” I leaned my forehead against his chest, closing my eyes. I didn’t ask anything else. That night, I had a fractured, restless dream. I was back in my tiny freshman dorm room. Virginia was sitting cross-legged on my bed, laughing. Nic, we’re going to be best friends forever, right? I smiled and nodded. Of course. Then the room spun, the lights went harsh, and she was standing in a crowded room, pointing at me. She’s such a pathetic idiot. She’ll take whatever scraps I throw her. I woke up with a gasp. Pale gray morning light was bleeding through the blinds. Jon was beside me, breathing slow and steady in his sleep. I slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, a weird detail from the night before suddenly clicked into place. At the Soho club, the way Bradley had looked at me. It wasn’t the way you look at your fiancée’s random college roommate. It was a look of… suppressed panic. Of intense calculation. He knew something. I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs, and walked back out to the kitchen. My phone vibrated on the counter. A text from Gemma. Nic, I need to tell you something crazy. What? It’s Virginia… I think she tried to slide into Jon’s DMs.

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Three months ago, during a live-streamed reality show, my rival decided to set my career on fire. He leaked a photo of me—a candid, blurry shot of a kiss that I’d tried to bury in the deepest recesses of my mind. It instantly dragged me back to that first snowfall in Manhattan, the night Beatrice Lancaster told me she was getting married. I had been with her for seven years. I knew the rules of her world better than anyone. In the eyes of the elite, I was just a “pretty face,” a screen idol for the masses, a performer. I was never meant to step over the threshold of her family’s Upper East Side estate as anything more than a guest. The night we ended things, the atmosphere was hauntingly still. She told me she was leaving me the penthouse and the vintage Porsche. The career connections she’d promised would remain intact. Then she pushed a check across the marble counter. It was for thirty million, but there was an extra zero tacked onto the end—a parting gift for seven years of discretion. Then she asked me if there was anything else I wanted. I told her no. I took the money with the grace of a man who knew his place, and then I scrubbed myself from her life completely. Or so I thought. … “Damian Chester, that’s you in the photo, isn’t it?” The moment Tyler dropped the bombshell, the set went dead silent before the internet absolutely exploded. The live comments were a blurred frenzy on the monitor. [???] [Wait, did Tyler actually just do that? Did the Botox seep into his brain? You don’t ask that on a live feed!] [Our Tyler is just ‘authentic.’ He’s speaking truth to power.] [Am I the only one who wants to know who the woman is?] [Who else? It’s obviously his sugar mommy.] [Tyler is a dead man walking. Damian’s ‘sponsor’ is powerful enough to erase him from existence.] I sat there, staring at the screen, watching the vitriol pour in. The host was sweating through his suit, trying to play it off. “Tyler, you must be mistaken. It’s probably a still from a movie, right?” Tyler grinned, smelling blood. “No way. I had it authenticated. It’s real. Taken exactly three months ago.” He turned his gaze to me, eyes glinting with malice. “Am I right, Damian?” Three months ago. Exactly the night before Beatrice and I called it quits. Over the last seven years, we had an unspoken agreement: total secrecy. We were never seen together in public. We never touched where someone might see. But that night, perhaps knowing it was the end, she couldn’t help herself. She had pinned me against the wall of the darkened parking garage and kissed me with a desperation that tasted like grief. I hadn’t realized we were being watched. Across from me, Tyler waited for an answer. I didn’t give him one. With my current standing in the industry, I didn’t owe him the breath it took to lie. The host laughed nervously, forcing the conversation toward a different topic. The second the cameras cut, I was whisked away into my SUV. My manager, Marcus, shoved his phone into my face. The top three trending topics on Twitter were: #DamianChesterKiss #WhoIsDamianChesterSponsoring #TheLancasterHeiress Beatrice Lancaster was usually a ghost in the tabloids. She moved in circles too high for the paparazzi to reach. But when it came to my career, she had been loud. She wanted the world to know I had a shadow—a powerful, untouchable force at my back. She was my foundation. It started during my first year in the business. I was a nobody, and a well-connected nepo-baby actor had used a “fight scene” as an excuse to slap me eighteen times across the face. I was so naive back then; I thought I was just failing at the craft. I didn’t feel like a victim; I just thought I was a bad actor. Beatrice had been furious. She called me a fool while she iced my bruised jaw, her eyes burning with a protective fire. The next day, that actor was blacklisted. Permanently. “His family is powerful,” I had whispered to her. “Won’t you get in trouble?” She didn’t even look up from her tablet. “His family should be the ones worrying about offending me.” For seven years, she poured resources into me like water. I had Oscar winners as my supporting cast; I had first pick of every script from the top directors in Hollywood. When I walked the red carpet, industry titans stepped aside to let me through. “My darling deserves the spotlight,” she used to say. I worked hard. I didn’t want to waste her investment. I became a household name, an A-lister. But that meant my influence was now a double-edged sword. This “kiss” scandal wouldn’t just hurt me; it would hit Beatrice. It would hit her upcoming merger—her “royal” wedding. Sure enough, as soon as I reached my office, my phone buzzed. Her name flashed on the screen. I stared at the number I knew by heart. I didn’t pick up. Once it went to voicemail, I sent her three short texts: [I’ll handle this as quickly as possible.] [If it can’t be buried, I’ll announce my retirement.] [Don’t worry. I won’t be a burden to you.] It was March, but the snow was still falling over Manhattan. This kind of heavy, swirling white always made me think of the first time I met her. I was nineteen, a sophomore at NYU’s Tisch School. She was the billionaire investor even the dean bowed to. I had been selected to attend a high-stakes dinner—the prize was a supporting role in a major indie film. After a few rounds of expensive scotch, the masks slipped. The “gentlemen” at the table began pressured me into drinking heavy liquor until I was dizzy. Beatrice sat at the head of the table, her fingers idly tapping the rim of her crystal glass. “That’s enough,” she said, her voice cool and sharp. “Stop bullying the boy.” A single sentence, and the pressure vanished. No one dared to push further. I looked up, dazed, and our eyes met. In that room full of sycophants and forced laughter, we held a gaze for exactly one second. It was a small act of kindness, and I didn’t think much of it afterward. People like her didn’t inhabit the same universe as people like me. But after that night, she began appearing everywhere. Like a guardian angel. When a dean’s son tried to steal a role from me, she made sure it was returned with a phone call. On a night when the city was paralyzed by a blizzard and I couldn’t find a cab, she pulled up in her town car and drove me to my dorm herself. When my father needed a rare blood type for surgery, she—a woman whose time was worth thousands a minute—went to the hospital and sat in a chair to donate a pint herself. She was too good to me. So good that I was terrified. I was afraid I was just a whim, a temporary distraction for a woman who had everything. I was the one who finally broke the tension. “What do you want from me?” I had asked, my voice trembling as I ripped open my shirt buttons in her living room. I looked at her with cold, defensive eyes. “You want me in your bed? Fine. Let’s get it over with, and then we’re even.” She didn’t touch me. She stepped forward and buttoned my shirt back up, sighing softly. “Damian… what is it that you want?” My lashes fluttered. I forced myself to look into those deep, dark eyes and said, word for word: “I want the kind of love that can survive on nothing. Can you give me that?” Beatrice froze. Then, a ghost of a smile touched her lips. She kissed the tips of my fingers, her voice so tender it made my heart ache. “I can.” She didn’t lie. She gave me the love I asked for. But love isn’t a magic wand; it wasn’t strong enough to bridge the chasm between us. Class is a canyon you can’t jump over, no matter how high you climb. The day we broke up, New York saw its first snow of the season. The night before, we had been inseparable—from the living room to the shower to the study, clinging to each other as if we could fuse our souls. She had cooked dinner herself. When I finished eating, she said, “I’m getting married.” I froze for a few seconds. Then I laid down my fork and said, “Okay.” The silence stretched. The food grew cold on the table. Finally, she spoke. “The penthouse and the car are yours. The career support stays. I’ve added an extra zero to the severance check.” “Anything else you want?” I said, “No.” Beatrice nodded, turned, and walked out into the snowy night. Watching her back disappear, I felt a sudden, sharp pang of regret. After all those years, I realized I had never actually told her “I love you” out loud. The seven years had gone by so fast. We had walked through so many winters together that I’d fooled myself into thinking we’d grow old together. I thought there would always be another chance to say the truth. How pathetic. The snow fell harder, erasing her footprints. My vision blurred, and I felt a sudden cold dampness on my cheeks. I reached up to wipe it away. It was tears. Unsurprisingly, the internet turned on me. The news of the merger between the Lancaster Group and the Winthrop banking empire had just gone public. Suddenly, I wasn’t just a star with a secret—I was a “homewrecker.” “Damian, are you alright?” My team was in a tailspin trying to draft a PR statement when Tyler actually had the nerve to strut into my office. We were under the same management, and I had mentored him when he first started. It was a classic tale of the snake biting the hand that fed it. His confidence didn’t come from his mediocre acting; it came from the fact that he’d clawed his way into the inner circle of the Winthrop family’s younger daughter—Freddie Winthrop’s sister. I didn’t know if this stunt was his own idea or a hit ordered by the Winthrops. If it was Tyler, I had a chance. If it was the Winthrops… I was finished. They were the only family in the city with enough weight to rival the Lancasters. With a powerful family backing him, Tyler was insufferable. He leaned down, whispering in my ear, “Did you really think your little princess would protect you forever?” “So what if she adored you once?” “Freddie Winthrop is the man who belongs at her side. A man of her status. And you…” “You’re just the side piece. The ‘other man.’” That phrase made me lift my eyes to meet his. Tyler smirked. “Freddie asked me to give you a message. He’s a generous man—he can tolerate a secret ex. But you…” “Being this sloppy? Exposing her like this? He won’t stand for it.” “He suggests you retire. Now. While you still have your dignity.” “Do me a favor and give him a message back,” I said. I looked at my nails, not even giving him the courtesy of a full glance. “Tell him his taste in lapdogs is absolute trash.” Tyler’s face contorted with rage. “You’re dead, Damian! You’re getting blacklisted!” “I’ll be waiting.” I acted unbothered, but internally, I was bracing for the end. I’d been in this world for seven years. I knew that no matter how bright a star shines, to the true dynasties, we are just jesters. Expensive toys. Beatrice wouldn’t fight her fiancé for me. She loved me, yes. But for a woman like her, love was a small percentage of life. Compared to a billion-dollar merger, love was an easy sacrifice. So when my manager told me the next morning that every single negative headline had been wiped clean—replaced by a flood of scandals involving Tyler’s drug use and workplace harassment—I was stunned. That cold, surgical efficiency… that was Beatrice. Was this my “retirement” gift? I looked down at the pixelated photo of our kiss. It looked like a grainy scene from an old movie. The mess my entire team had stayed up all night to fix had been solved by her with a single phone call. Like it never even happened. The next day, I went to the set as usual. But the moment I stepped out of the car, a swarm of “fans” who were clearly paparazzi in disguise surged forward. Cameras and mics were shoved into my face, the questions sharp and poisonous. “Mr. Chester, what is your true relationship with Beatrice Lancaster?” “Tyler was ruined this morning—is the Lancaster heiress cleaning up your messes?” “She’s engaged to Freddie Winthrop. How do you feel about being called a ‘homewrecker’?” The sidewalk was blocked. The flashbulbs made my head throb. I kept my voice flat. “I have no obligation to discuss my private life.” “Is it because you don’t want to, or because you’re actually ‘servicing’ more than just Miss Lancaster?” A masked paparazzo sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “We’ve heard how that circle plays. Is it true you participate in ‘The Carousel’?” “You know, one guy, a dozen wealthy women—” My stomach lurched. A wave of nausea hit me so hard I actually gagged. The cameras went wild, zooming in to capture every detail of my distress. “Have you played that game, Damian? How much do you charge for a night like that?” “Which other high-profile women have paid for a turn—” “AH!” A sickening thud cut him off.

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My soul floated, light as a dandelion seed, looking down at the girl collapsed on the cold, linoleum floor. Mom, I’m sorry. I really wasn’t lying this time. I just couldn’t hold on anymore. Despite knowing I suffered from severe chronic anemia, my mother had insisted I participate in the university’s campus-wide blood drive. She didn’t want the “optics” of her own daughter sitting out while she, the Dean of Students, presided over the event. She called it “leading by example.” At the 100-milliliter mark, the world began to tilt. My vision went grainy, like an old television losing its signal. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trying to escape a cage. I reached out, my fingers trembling as I tried to steady the tube, trying to tell the nurse I needed to stop. But she just clamped her hand over my wrist, pinning me down. Stacy, the phlebotomist, shot me a look of pure, unadulterated annoyance. She looked at my ghost-white face and scoffed. “Only a hundred mils and you’re already trying to tap out? Everyone else is doing the full four hundred. Don’t be a drama queen.” She leaned in closer, her voice a sharp whisper. “This is a charity drive, honey. Trying to fake a faint to get out of it is just selfish. Honestly, people like you should be forced to give double just for the attitude.” My mother stood a few feet away, her arms crossed, her eyes like chips of flint. She didn’t offer a hand or a kind word. She just looked disappointed. “Zoey, is this how I raised you?” she asked, her voice echoing in the sterile room. “Everyone else is doing their part. You don’t get to be the exception just because you’re mine.” Then came the words that felt like a death sentence: “You stay in that chair until you hit four hundred, Zoey. Even if it kills you, you are finishing what you started.” I gasped for air, but my lungs felt like they were filled with cotton. When the third bag began to fill, the light finally went out. My body felt heavy, like lead, and I felt myself slip away as I hit the floor. 1 A suffocating darkness grabbed me, and then—nothing. My physical body slumped over the donation table, the sudden movement jerking the needle. Blood began to backflow into the tube, a dark, rhythmic pulse. Stacy shoved my shoulder, her patience clearly gone. She ripped the needle out with a sharp, careless tug. “I’m trying to work here! Can you stop moving for five seconds? Now I have to re-stick you.” When I didn’t answer, she let out a huff of disgust. She grabbed my arm and drove the needle back in, hard. “Oops. Missed the vein. You won’t mind, right?” She did it again. And again. She dug the needle in with a sickening deliberate-ness until my inner elbow was a mess of bruised, purple skin. But I couldn’t feel the sting anymore. “Fine, play the silent treatment,” Stacy muttered, swapping the bags without looking up. “Zero school spirit. Everyone else is doing their part, and you’re here acting like it’s a Greek tragedy. It’s just blood, Zoey. You’re so entitled.” She glanced toward my mother. “I don’t know how Dean Mercer ended up with such a spineless, selfish daughter.” The students in line behind me started to whisper. “I heard she’s actually sick, like, really anemic,” one girl murmured. “What if she’s actually hurt?” “Please,” another boy replied, rolling his eyes. “The nurse said she’s faking. And look at Dean Mercer. She’s totally calm. If something was actually wrong, her own mom wouldn’t just be standing there, right?” I hovered above them, desperate, looking at my mother. Her brow was furrowed, her lips thinned into a line of pure resentment. “Zoey! Get up this instant! You’re making a scene in front of the entire department!” I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Stacy paused, her hand resting on my limp arm. She looked up at my mother and sighed. “Dean, she’s really committed to this act. Should I even bother continuing? She only hit the hundred-mark. Everyone else did the full draw, but she’s just… being difficult.” Stacy leaned in as if sharing a secret. “Actually, she just threatened me. She told me that because she’s the Dean’s daughter, I should just credit her for a full bag and let her go, or she’d have me fired. Maybe we should just let her go before she causes more trouble.” I tried to scream, to tell the truth, but I had no voice. My mother’s face darkened. A flash of pure rage crossed her features. She walked over and kicked me—hard—right in the small of my back. Because my body was already a dead weight, the force sent me sliding off the chair and onto the floor. “You are a disgrace,” she hissed. “When did you become so manipulative? I honestly don’t know who you are anymore.” 2 I lay there, a discarded doll on the tiles. My mother was shaking, her heels clicking as she stepped closer and pressed the toe of her shoe down on my wrist. “Is this fun for you, Zoey? Making me look like a fool in front of my colleagues? Do you think being my daughter means you get to hold everyone hostage with your tantrums?” She leaned down, her voice a cold, jagged blade. “The biggest mistake I ever made was fighting so hard to bring you into this world.” A few students behind us gasped. Stacy covered her mouth, but her eyes were dancing with a cruel sort of glee. My heart—the ghost of it—ached. I remembered the stories. My mother had gone through three rounds of IVF to have me. I’d seen the faint, faded marks on her skin from the hundreds of injections. I knew she had bled for me, cried for me, suffered for me. And I remembered being a child. I was born premature, the anemia a lingering shadow from my first breath. My mother used to stay up all night when I was sick, her notebooks filled with meal plans and massage techniques to keep me healthy. She used to be my protector. But everything changed when she became Dean. On my first day of college, she sat me down for a “professional” talk. We have to maintain boundaries, she had said. No special treatment. No favoritism. To “maintain boundaries,” she gave my merit scholarship to the runner-up. “If you take it, people will say I rigged it for you,” she explained. “You have to understand, Zoey.” To “maintain boundaries,” she gave my spot in the prestigious state internship to a student from a “troubled background.” “I have eyes on me, Zoey. I have to be seen as fair.” I understood. I swallowed the unfairness every single time. I did it for her. But this time, to prove her “fairness,” she had forced me into this room. “Because you’re my daughter, you should be the first one in line. If you don’t do it, how can I ask anyone else?” And now, she was telling me she regretted my existence. I looked down at my body. My arms were a map of bruises and needle holes. I wasn’t faking. I was gone. Stacy grabbed my arm, pretending to pull me up, but her grip was loose and mocking. “Come on, Zoey. Just two hundred more mils and we’re done.” She “slipped.” She stumbled back, letting out a small shriek as she fell to the floor. The blood bag she was holding flew out of her hand, hitting the floor and bursting. Deep, crimson blood splattered everywhere. My body was jerked upward for a second before slamming back down into the puddle of my own blood. My white shirt soaked it up instantly. Stacy bit her lip, her eyes suddenly brimming with fake tears. “Zoey! Why would you do that? I was just trying to help you up, and you pushed me!” She looked at my mother, her voice trembling. “She just threw the blood. All that work… wasted. Dean Mercer, I’m so sorry. I know how much you care about this drive.” Stacy started to sob, the picture of a victimized worker. “I’m so jealous of her, you know? She has a mother like you, she gets to go to this great school, and I’m just a nurse working double shifts. And she treats me like garbage.” I stood there, invisible, watching the absurdity. A dead girl can’t push anyone, Stacy. But my mother believed her. She walked over and pulled Stacy into a hug, rubbing her back. “It’s okay. Don’t cry. I won’t let her bully you anymore.” I felt a coldness that had nothing to do with death. My mother looked at my body on the floor with utter loathing. “Since she’s so determined to ‘play dead’ to get out of this, I’m not lifting a finger to help her.” She looked at Stacy. “Take the blood she wasted out of her other arm. Draw it all. I want to see exactly how long she can keep up this little performance.” The students in line started chiming in. “She’s totally faking. I can’t believe Dean Mercer has to deal with this.” “So entitled. She thinks she’s royalty just because of her mom.” “She’s literally wasting everyone’s time. Just pull the blood and move on.” Then, the University President walked into the room, alerted by the commotion. He saw me on the floor, surrounded by red, and his face went pale. “Dean Mercer, what happened? Do we need an ambulance?” My mother turned, a weary, practiced sigh escaping her lips. “Mr. President, please excuse my daughter. She’s having a bit of a tantrum because she didn’t want to donate. The blood on the floor? She threw it to get back at me.” She looked back at me with a hard, unforgiving glare. “Don’t worry about her. The more attention we give her, the worse she gets. She needs to learn that she can’t always get her way.” 3 The President hesitated, looking at me with concern. “Dean, blood donation is voluntary. If she’s really this resistant, maybe we should just let it go.” He shook his head and walked away to attend to other donors. My mother’s anger only intensified. “Still not moving? Fine. You can stay right there on the floor while they finish.” She looked at Stacy. “Finish the draw while she’s down there. When you’re done, leave her. If she wants to lay in the dirt, let her. Don’t let her hold up the line.” Without another glance, my mother walked out of the room. Stacy grabbed a fresh needle. She didn’t look for a vein this time; she just jammed it in. She drew the full four hundred milliliters—and then some. When she was finished, she kicked my leg. “Okay, the show’s over. Your mom’s gone. You can stop acting now.” When I didn’t move, Stacy rolled her eyes. She looked at the guys waiting in line. “Hey, can a couple of you carry this ‘princess’ outside? She’s taking up space.” I watched from above as two boys hauled my limp body out like a bag of trash and dumped it on the sidewalk under the blistering afternoon sun. Two hours passed. The drive ended. A few students walked by, glancing at me. One girl paused, biting her lip. “Is she okay? She’s been out here in the sun for a long time. She looks… blue.” Stacy, who was packing up her gear, walked by and snorted. “Don’t bother. She’s just trying to get someone to pity her so they’ll go tell her mom. It’s a total scam. Trust me, I’ve seen girls like her a million times.” Another student joined in. “Yeah, she’s the Dean’s daughter. She’s just a brat. She’s probably waiting for a camera crew.” The girl who had been worried looked embarrassed and quickly walked away. Stacy smirked, feeling triumphant, and headed toward my mother’s office to finish the paperwork. “Dean Mercer, here are the final logs. Everything’s accounted for. If you could just sign off…” My mother glanced at the log. When she saw my name next to the “400ml” mark, her expression softened slightly. “Where is she? I told her she was supposed to stay and help you volunteer as part of her ‘community service’ for the attitude she gave me.” Stacy lowered her head, looking hesitant. “Well… I tried to get her up, but she said she wouldn’t move unless you personally came out and apologized to her. She’s still lying on the sidewalk.” My mother’s face turned a violent shade of red. “Dean, she’s been out there a while,” Stacy added, her voice sugary and manipulative. “Maybe you should just go give her a little hug? Just to get her to stop embarrassing the school?” My mother slammed her hand on the desk. “I have spent my life indulging her! No more. If she wants to be stubborn, she can stay on that pavement until she rots.” 4 The sun climbed higher. The campus emptied as students retreated to air-conditioned dorms. My body began to change. The heat was unforgiving. A few stray cats, drawn by the metallic scent of the blood on my clothes, began to circle. It was a special kind of hell, watching them. My spirit drifted back to my mother’s office. She and Stacy were laughing now. Stacy was flipping through the old notebook my mother used to keep—the one with the recipes for my anemia. “Wow, Dean Mercer, you really did all this for her?” Stacy asked, her voice dripping with fake admiration. “Every meal, every vitamin… you must have spent years on this.” I saw my mother’s eyes flicker. For a second, she looked at the yellowed pages with a flash of genuine memory. A shadow of the mother she used to be crossed her face. She sighed, reaching out to pat Stacy’s hair. “If only she were half as appreciative and sensible as you are, Stacy.” Just then, the President knocked and hurried in. “Dean, is your daughter still outside? It’s ninety-five degrees out there. If she has a health condition, heatstroke is a real risk.” My mother’s hand froze for a second before she waved it off. “She’s fine. She’s too vain to let herself get a tan, let alone heatstroke. She’s just waiting for me to break. My daughter is a master of the long game, Mr. President. When she gets bored, she’ll come crawling back.” The President sighed and left, looking unsettled. A few minutes later, there was another knock. My mother straightened her posture, a look of “I told you so” blooming on her face. She thought it was me. But it was a group of students. They were there to pick up their certificates for the Dean’s List and the state competition awards. My mother forced a smile and handed them out. “Congratulations. You all worked very hard.” The students looked at each other, then at her. “Actually, Dean… we wanted to say thank you. We know Zoey stepped down so we could have these spots. We heard she did it to help the ‘school’s image.’” The smile on my mother’s face died. I watched the realization hit her like a physical blow. She had told everyone I was “disqualified” or “lazy.” She hadn’t realized the students knew the truth—that she had forced me to give up my hard-earned honors to prove she wasn’t playing favorites. She looked like she’d swallowed glass. “She didn’t ‘step down.’ She was caught cheating on the preliminary exam. You earned these. She didn’t.” The students looked uncomfortable and hurried out of the office. My mother’s heart was racing now. She was humiliated. The door knocked again. Stacy smirked. “That’s definitely her this time, Dean. Ready to beg.” My mother cleared her throat, assuming her most authoritative tone. “Come in, Zoey! I hope you’ve enjoyed your little nap on the sidewalk.” She didn’t wait for the person to enter. “If you’re here to apologize, don’t bother unless you’re ready to publicly apologize to Nurse Stacy tomorrow morning. And I want a five-thousand-word essay on ‘Accountability’ posted on the student portal by midnight, or don’t bother coming home!” The knocking became frantic. My mother stormed over and ripped the door open. She froze. Two police officers stood there, their faces grim and heavy. “Are you the mother of Zoey Mercer?” My mother blinked, her annoyance still simmering. “Yes. What did she do now? Did someone report her for loitering on the sidewalk? I’ve already told her to get up.” The lead officer didn’t answer. He looked at her with a profound, terrifying pity. “Ma’am, I need you to brace yourself. Your daughter, Zoey, has passed away.”

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I was born with the kind of body that demands attention. Between the natural curves and my preference for tailored, form-fitting silhouettes, the internet had affectionately labeled me the “Ice Queen Mother.” Whenever I went out with my roommate, she’d joke that we looked like a stepmother taking her middle-schooler for a walk. Even the stray dogs on campus seemed to stop and stare a little too long. Before we ever met in person, the guy I was seeing online sent me a photo. My roommate, Gwen, recognized him instantly. She let out a piercing scream. “Shut up! Jenny, your mystery man is Hudson Christian? His dad is literally on the Board of Trustees. He’s the golden boy of the university. But there’s a catch—he’s got this ‘childhood friend,’ Daisy Vance, who’s obsessed with playing the eternal toddler.” Before I could even ask for details, Gwen had the student forums pulled up, giving me the full dossier on Daisy. “Look at this, Jenny. Daisy is a piece of work. She’s built her whole personality around being ‘tiny’ and ‘innocent.’ People call her the ‘Weaponized Toddler.’ If you two cross paths, it’s going to be a clash of the titans: the ultimate Femme Fatale versus the world’s oldest baby. I’d pay for a front-row seat to that.” I ran a hand through my long, dark waves, admiring my fresh manicure with a practiced indifference. “Let her play house,” I said, my voice smooth. “Tomorrow, when we meet, I’ll make sure she understands one thing: in the face of real femininity, ‘cute’ is just a consolation prize.” … To be honest, I have zero interest in “girl hate,” and I wasn’t exactly looking for love. But Hudson Christian was obscenely wealthy. We’d been “dating” online for a week without meeting, and he’d already “gifted” me ten thousand dollars—voluntarily. I was planning to go to Caltech for my PhD, and I was frantically saving for tuition. Hudson wasn’t just a boyfriend; he was a bridge to my future. The secret to maximizing your take in a relationship like this? Never be the one at fault. With a “baby-brained” childhood friend in the mix, walking away with a cool million seemed less like a dream and more like a business plan. We agreed to meet at 2:00 PM in the University Hall. I happened to have an award to pick up there anyway. A minor crisis in the lab held me up, and by the time I pushed through the heavy oak doors, I was twenty minutes late. I could hear voices drifting from the back of the hall. “Hudson, where is she? Maybe she’s too scared to show up.” The voice was high-pitched, syrupy, and cloyingly sweet. Every sentence ended with a little upward lilt, like a question from a toddler. That had to be Daisy. “Maybe she’s a three-hundred-pound catfish who’s just a pro at Photoshop,” another male voice chimed in, snickering. “Stop it,” Hudson’s voice was low, resonant, but carried a hint of hesitation. “I’ve heard her voice. She sounds… sophisticated.” Daisy let out a soft huff. “Voices can be faked, Hudson. There are so many girls online who use filters and voice changers. I’m just worried you’re being scammed. I just want to protect you.” “Exactly, man. You’ve got to be careful these days—” I chose that moment to push the door wide. Sunlight flooded in behind me, silhouetting my figure against the bright afternoon. I was wearing a charcoal-grey bandage dress that hit just above the knee, the neckline framing my collarbones perfectly. My hair fell in heavy waves over one shoulder, and my pearl earrings caught the light as I moved. The hall went silent. A guy who had been mid-sip of his water choked, coughing violently. I scanned the room, my gaze landing on Hudson in the back row. He was even better-looking than his photos—high brow bones, a sharp jawline, and an air of cool detachment. Right now, though, that detachment was gone. He was staring at me, his thumb frozen over his phone screen. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. I walked toward them, the rhythmic click of my heels echoing in the cavernous room. I took my time. “So sorry I’m late,” I said, stopping in front of Hudson and leaning in slightly. “Lab emergency.” He looked up at me, his voice a bit raspy. “You’re… Jenny?” “In the flesh.” I gave him a slow, knowing smile. “Why? Are you disappointed I’m not a three-hundred-pound catfish?” The tips of Hudson’s ears turned a vivid shade of red. A guy with glasses nearby theatrically clutched his chest. “Holy hell. Nice to meet you, Sister-in-law. I’m Mike. I wasn’t the one who said ‘catfish,’ it was this idiot—” He pointed shamelessly at the guy next to him, who looked like he wanted to vanish into the floorboards. I laughed, and the tension in the room broke. “Isn’t that dress a little… much for campus?” Daisy’s voice cut through the air, sharp and brittle. She was practically glued to Hudson’s side, clutching his sleeve like a security blanket. I took her in: pigtails, a Peter Pan collar, a pink bow, and a quilted purse. Wow. She really was leaning into the “Precious Moments” aesthetic. “Is it?” I sat down across from them, my movements deliberate and graceful. I looked her in the eye, my voice dripping with faux-kindness. “Sweetie, when you have a woman’s body, everything looks ‘much.’ But I actually love your look. It’s so… retro.” I paused, my eyes traveling from her pigtails down to her Mary Janes, then back up to her flat chest. “It’s a shame, really. Only a girl with a flat, childlike frame can pull off those doll dresses. On a woman like me, the buttons would probably become shrapnel.” Daisy’s face went from pale to beet-red in three seconds. “Who are you calling flat?!” she shrieked, her “baby” voice cracking into something much shriller. I widened my eyes, pulling a face more innocent than hers could ever be. “Oh, honey, I was just stating a fact. You aren’t upset, are you? I forgot how sensitive children can be.” “You—!” Daisy looked like she was about to have a full-blown tantrum. “Daisy,” Hudson interrupted, his brow furrowed. He gently pulled his sleeve out of her grip. “Sit down. Don’t make a scene.” Daisy looked at him in total betrayal, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “Hudson? You’re taking her side? She just insulted me!” “I didn’t insult you,” I said softly, my tone incredibly sincere. “I was calling you cute. Grown women envy that kind of youthfulness, Daisy. We can’t all be ‘babies’ forever.” Daisy’s lip trembled. She pointed a shaking finger at me. “So you have a chest! Big deal! Big boobs, no brains!” Before I could respond, the hall’s PA system crackled to life with a burst of static. Then, a booming male voice filled the room. “And now, please join me in welcoming our top honor recipient for the National Life Sciences Competition, Jenny Jiang, to the stage.” The room erupted in applause. Daisy’s words died in the air, making her look utterly ridiculous. She stood there with her mouth open, unable to find a comeback. Hudson’s gaze stayed on me, and this time, there was something more than just physical attraction in his eyes. There was genuine intrigue. I looked up at the stage and saw Richard Christian—Hudson’s father—holding a gold-embossed certificate and a medal. He was scanning the crowd. I stood up, smoothed my dress, and walked to the stage under the gaze of three hundred people. That night, Hudson wired twenty thousand dollars to my account as a “congratulatory gift.” Just as I was starting to think this would be easy, my advisor called. Her tone was grim. She told me to get to the department office immediately. There were five people waiting for me, all looking like they were at a funeral. The head of the ethics committee pushed a stack of papers toward me. “Jenny, we’ve received an anonymous tip accusing you of academic fraud. These are screenshots of your alleged chat logs.” I flipped through them. It was a fake account using my photo and name, chatting with someone labeled “Essay Ghostwriter.” The messages were blunt: payment details, prompts, deadlines. The tone was a decent imitation of mine. “This isn’t my account,” I said, sliding the papers back. “The whistleblower provided a photo of your student ID as proof of identity.” “My ID went missing last week.” The committee head adjusted his glasses. “We have to investigate. Until then, your fellowship and prize money are suspended.” I didn’t argue. The money wasn’t the point; a fraud charge would kill my chances at Caltech. I picked up the chat logs again and turned to the third page. “Professor, look at the timestamp on this message. 3:12 PM last Tuesday.” “And?” “At 3:10 PM, I was on stage in the University Hall receiving an award from Richard Christian. There were three hundred witnesses and a live stream. I wasn’t in the back of the room hiring a ghostwriter.” The professor’s expression shifted. I tapped the “Ghostwriter’s” profile picture in the screenshot. “And this account? They posted a selfie last night with a location tag at the South Dorms. If you look at the reflection in the mirror behind them, you can clearly see a girl with pigtails and a pink bow.” I turned my phone around to show them a photo of Daisy from the forum. “Should I call Daisy Vance in here to clarify, or should we just go straight to the Dean?” The office went silent. The professor took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Jenny, we will handle this with the utmost seriousness—” I stood up, my voice cold. “I expect a formal apology, and I’ll be pursuing a defamation claim.” The moment I stepped out of the office, a text from Hudson popped up. How much will it take for you to drop this? I looked up and saw Hudson leaning against the wall at the end of the corridor. He looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “Jenny, can we talk?” He sounded hesitant. “Look, our families have been close forever. Our fathers are business partners. Daisy… she’s been spoiled her whole life. She has a temper, but she isn’t a bad person. She’s just… immature. Could you just let this one go? For me?” He said it softly, his voice like a caress. I smiled. “Sure, Hudson. If it’s that important to you.” He visibly relaxed. Five minutes later, another hundred thousand dollars hit my account. I stared at the zeroes, and my anger evaporated instantly. Let it go? For a hundred grand, I’d let her set my car on fire. But Daisy wasn’t done. That afternoon, I returned to my dorm to find my desk stripped bare. My three thick research journals—the culmination of months of lab work—were gone. “Where are my notes?” I asked Gwen. Gwen looked sick as she pointed toward the trash chute at the end of the hall. I walked over. My journals had been ripped to shreds, soaked in leftover ramen soup and coffee grounds, with a muddy footprint stamped on the cover. “I tried to stop her,” Gwen whispered. “But Daisy said she was ‘helping you clean’ and thought it was just scrap paper. When I told her it wasn’t, she started crying, saying she was ‘just trying to be a good girl’ and ran off.” I stared at the trash for a long time. Those notes contained three months of raw experimental data. My mid-term defense was next week. Without that data, my thesis was dead. I took a photo and sent it to Hudson. No text, no accusations. Just the image. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. Bank Notification: +$20,000. Memo: Don’t be mad. Buy something nice. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then tucked my phone away and headed to the campus print shop. I pulled up my cloud drive and hit “Print” on a fresh set of data. Gwen stared at me, jaw dropped. “When did you scan those?” “The first day I started in the lab,” I said, watching the printer whir to life. “Anyone in research who doesn’t have a backup is asking for a disaster.” Gwen was silent for a moment. “Jenny… you’re so cold it’s almost scary.” I didn’t answer. Soon after, it was Daisy’s birthday. Hudson rented out the entire local theme park for her. The school forums were flooded with photos. “Golden Boy throws royal bash for his Princess.” “Hudson and Daisy: A Real-Life Fairy Tale.” Gwen looked at me with concern. “Jenny, he’s technically your boyfriend. Doesn’t this bother you?” I shrugged, sipping my tea. “It’s a business transaction, Gwen. You don’t catch feelings for your ATM.” Gwen nodded, then added, “You know, Hudson’s dad really likes you. You could actually marry into that family if you wanted to.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. Since I started seeing Hudson, Richard Christian had already “invited” me for a private chat. “The Christian family needs a daughter-in-law who prioritizes the home,” he’d told me. “This research, these competitions… they’re nice hobbies. But after graduation, you’ll be expected to settle down and focus on supporting Hudson. Can you do that?” Like hell I can. My life plan was mine to write. I went back to my laptop, refining my final paper. Daisy burst into my dorm at 10:00 PM that night. When she saw me sitting calmly at my desk, she faltered. “Don’t you check the forums, Jenny?” “I saw the photos,” I said, not looking up from my screen. “The pink balloons really brought out your complexion.” Her smirk vanished. “You aren’t even mad?” I turned around and smiled at her. “Why would I be? Hudson told me all about it. Family obligations, social appearances… I understand perfectly.” Daisy’s expression twisted. She stared at my laptop screen. “Your screen looks so dusty, Jenny. Let me help you.” She picked up a bottle of industrial-strength bleach from my cleaning supply caddy and unscrewed the cap. “I’m just being a good little helper!” She poured the entire bottle directly onto my keyboard. The liquid seeped into the keys, the screen flickered violently, sizzled, and then went black. Daisy tilted her head, blinking those big, “innocent” eyes. “Oops! Did I do a bad thing again? Oh well. Hudson always fixes things for me anyway.” She skipped out of the room, looking triumphant. Gwen came back with coffee, saw the wreckage, and nearly dropped her mug. She started reaching for her shoes to go find Daisy. I caught her arm. “Relax. I have a plan.” I took a deep breath, photographed the dead laptop, and sent it to Hudson. Caption: She was “helping” me clean again. The reply came faster this time. Bank Notification: +$30,000. Memo: Don’t fight with her. Buy a new one. And then, a different notification popped up. An email from Caltech. We are pleased to inform you… I stared at the words for three full minutes. Then I turned off my phone, leaned back in my chair, and let out a long, slow breath. Every moment of patience, every time I “let it go,” every bit of swallowed pride—it was all worth it. My offer was here. Screw this. I’m done playing nice. That night, I tallied the balance in my accounts. Then a thought struck me. If I broke up with Hudson now, could he try to claw the money back? In the eyes of the law, “gifts” and “loans” can get messy when a relationship ends. If he felt cheated, he could claim I scammed him under the guise of romance. I needed the breakup to be his fault, not mine. The next day, I texted him. Are you free tonight? I want to grab a drink. He replied instantly. Where? I picked a dimly lit lounge just off-campus. When I arrived, he was already there, sitting in a velvet booth with his sleeves rolled up, a glass of scotch in his hand. I sat closer to him than usual. “What’s up?” he asked, looking at me. “Nothing.” I took his glass and took a sip. The scotch was harsh, and I winced. He took the glass back and pushed a glass of orange juice toward me. “Drink that instead.” I rested my chin on my hand, watching him. The low light hit the planes of his face, making him look devastatingly handsome. His Adam’s apple moved as he took a drink. “Jenny.” “Hmm?” “Don’t go back to the dorms tonight, okay?” Before he could finish the thought, his phone buzzed. The name Daisy flashed on the screen. Hudson went to silence it, but I caught his wrist. I took the phone, swiped to answer, and held it to my ear. “Hudson? Why aren’t you back yet? I’m scared being all by myself—” Daisy’s sugary voice filled the air. I smiled into the receiver. “Hey, Daisy.” The line went dead silent. “You? Where’s Hudson? Put him on!” “He’s a little busy right now.” “Why?!” I glanced at Hudson. He was watching me, his eyes dark and unreadable. I spoke into the phone, my voice low and playful. “Because Hudson and I are about to do ‘grown-up’ things. And there isn’t really room for a baby.” I hung up and tossed the phone onto the table. Hudson was stunned for a second, then he let out a short laugh, his ears turning pink. “You’re doing that just to spite her.” “Maybe. She’s been getting on my nerves lately.” Hudson didn’t argue. He took another drink, a smirk tugging at his lips. My phone buzzed in my lap. A text from Gwen: Everything is set. She’s on her way.

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