Category: English

When the photo of my boyfriend and my best friend wrapped in each other’s arms hit the campus forum, everyone else seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. “They’re just so gorgeous together. Honestly, it was only a matter of time.” “I never understood why a guy like Jude, who’s basically campus royalty, was with someone as average as Megan in the first place.” Even my own roommate, Bella, whispered it to someone else when she thought I was out of earshot: “I mean, you have to admit, they really do look perfect together…” Whenever I brought up the gossip, Jude would just run his fingers through my hair, offering that effortless, boyish smile of his. “She tripped, Megan. I caught her before she hit the pavement. Some idiot with a camera made a big deal out of nothing. You’re not actually jealous, are you? You know you’re the only one for me.” And it was true that in public, Jude never hid me. He would introduce me to his colleagues and friends with complete ease: “This is Megan. My girlfriend. We’re getting married right after graduation.” But then came the senior gala. A waiter stumbled, sending a tray of scalding soup flying, and Jude didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, throwing his arm around Valerie’s waist to pull her out of harm’s way. The hot liquid splashed over his hand, but his eyes never left hers. I stood a few feet away, watching the tears spill over my lashes, my chest tight. “Who are you?” I wanted to scream, the words choking me. “What did you do with my Jude? Give him back.” 1 The senior gala was a blur of deafening music and clinking glasses, but in my head, the world had gone dead silent. I couldn’t hear a thing over the rushing sound of my own pulse. My eyes were locked on Jude’s right hand. It was already turning a raw, angry red from the scalding soup, but it was still resting on Valerie’s waist. He froze, realizing what he was doing, and quickly pulled his hand back, stepping toward me. “Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He wiped the tears from my cheeks, his touch as gentle and reassuring as it had been for the last ten years. “Are you stressed about graduation? You’ve been overthinking everything lately, Megan. I told you, I have everything handled. You just need to focus on being happy.” But I couldn’t stop staring at his hand. I tried to speak, but the words felt like dry ash in my throat. A few feet away, Valerie watched us, a faint, unreadable smile playing on her lips before she held up her phone. “Jude, the team group chat just pinged. We need to jump on a quick online meeting.” Jude frowned. He grabbed a glass of warm water, plated two slices of the chocolate fudge cake I loved, and gently guided me into a chair by my shoulders. Finally, he pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. “It’ll only take a few minutes. Wait for me here. You can see me right from this spot.” “Be good. Don’t overthink.” Having arranged my world so neatly, he turned and walked off with Valerie to a table two rows over. Beside me, Bella sighed dreamily. “God, Megan, you are so lucky. Where does one even find a guy like Jude? Ten years, and he still treats you like you’re his whole world.” I looked past her to the two figures sitting side by side, their silhouettes perfectly aligned under the dim venue lights. My smile felt incredibly heavy. On the drive home, Valerie sat in the back, keeping a polite, respectful distance. The car hummed in the quiet night until she suddenly spoke up. “By the way, Megan, one of my mentors is hiring a digital illustrator for his indie game studio. I can put in a good word for you if you’re interested.” Before I could even process the offer, Jude’s brows furrowed as he looked in the rearview mirror. “She’s doing fine as she is. Besides, I’ll be making enough to support us both.” Valerie’s smile stiffened. She leaned back, her voice tinged with mock defensiveness. “Right. Forget I said anything.” The silence in the car grew thick and awkward. I looked at the two of them—each staring stubbornly ahead—and felt my chest tighten. Half an hour later, Jude pulled up to her apartment building. Valerie grabbed her designer bag, gave me a polite goodbye, and closed the passenger door with a sharp, heavy thud. Jude scoffed, shifting the car back into drive. “The attitude on her. We have to work together starting next week, and honestly, she’s already exhausting.” He reached over, taking my hand in his. “Forget about her, baby. I didn’t even get to eat at that meeting, I’m starving. Let’s go home. I want some of that late-night pasta you make.” I looked down at our joined hands, quietly pulling away to stare out the window. His phone kept buzzing with work notifications as we drove through the neon-lit streets, but my mind was miles away. Jude had graduated at the top of his finance class, landing a coveted analyst role at a top-tier investment firm in New York. He was brilliant, ambitious, and destined for success. Everyone praised him, usually followed by a quiet, pitying note about his rather ordinary girlfriend. Back in freshman year, when he and Valerie first went viral on the university forum for their matching looks and sharp wits, I had asked him, terrified, if he would be happier with someone who could run at his pace. He had laughed, tapping my forehead. “What does it matter how successful she is? To me, she’s just a stranger. You’re my home, Megan.” But now, as he unlocked the car door, the question that had been clawing at my throat finally slipped out. “Jude.” “How did you know exactly where her apartment was?” 2 The cold war that followed was unlike anything we’d ever had. It started that night under the streetlamp, with Jude pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Megan, I’ve been in meetings all night. I am exhausted. Do we really have to do this right now? Over nothing?” When I didn’t answer, a bitter laugh escaped him. “How many times do I have to say it? If there was anything between Valerie and me, we would’ve dated years ago.” He wasn’t entirely wrong. For four years, they were the golden couple of the finance department. Yet, Jude had always made it clear to everyone: “I have a girlfriend. She’s an artist. Her name is Megan.” I still remembered the first time I met his college friends. Waiting outside their private booth at the bar, I heard their loud voices drifting through the door. “If Jude turned down Valerie, his girlfriend must be an absolute goddess.” I didn’t miss the subtle flicker of disappointment in their eyes when I finally walked in. It was a silent, collective “Oh. Her?” Even my own friends would whisper, “A guy like Jude doesn’t stay single long once college ends, Megan. Hold onto him while he’s still yours.” It felt like our entire relationship was a ticking clock everyone else was waiting to run out. Now, looking at the untouched bowl of pasta that had gone cold on the kitchen counter, I buried my face in my hands, hot tears slipping through my fingers. The sudden shrill of my phone made me jump. I wiped my face quickly, only to hear Valerie’s exasperated voice on the other end. “Megan, please come pick up your boyfriend. We had a team dinner, I went to the restroom for five minutes, and everyone else bolted. Now I’m stuck here with a completely wasted Jude.” I ordered an Uber and rushed to the restaurant. While I was on my way, Valerie’s complaints kept lighting up my screen. When Valerie and Jude first became the talk of Columbia’s campus, she had actually been the one to approach me. “You’re Megan, right?” she’d said with a bright, easy smile. “Jude and I are just group project partners, I promise. Don’t believe the gossip. Honestly, I find you much more interesting, little artist.” For four years, she was one of my few close friends. She watched anime with me, came to my art exhibitions, and was always the first to comment on my posts: “You are literally a genius!” I once asked her what kind of guy she liked while Jude was busy scolding me for eating ice cream in the winter, snatching the cone from my hand. Valerie had rolled her eyes. “Definitely not someone like him. Too bossy, acts like a dad. Besides, I like being number one. I can’t stand guys who try to outshine me.” But when I arrived at the restaurant, the reality was different. His colleagues were hovering by the table, looking incredibly awkward. “We, uh, we thought you two had a thing going on,” one of them mumbled to Valerie, rubbing the back of his neck. “We were just trying to set you up…” Jude’s face was flushed red. He shifted in his seat, almost slipping off the chair, but Valerie caught him just in time. He sank into her embrace, murmuring something incoherent as his face brushed against her collarbone. The tension in the room was suffocating. Valerie quickly pulled back as if burned, her face turning crimson when she spotted me. “Megan. You’re here.” The colleagues looked like they wanted the floor to swallow them whole. I could hear their hushed whispers as I stepped forward. “So he actually has a girlfriend…” “She’s kind of plain, isn’t she? Must be a high school sweetheart thing.” I took Jude’s heavy arm from Valerie, offering her a tight, polite smile. “Thanks for calling me.” Back at the apartment, I managed to get him onto the sofa. The living room was pitch black. As I turned to fetch a wet towel to wipe his face, his hand suddenly shot out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. “Don’t fight with me anymore, please,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep. “It hurts.” A lump formed in my throat, threatening to break me. I tried to pull away, but my foot caught on the edge of the rug. I stumbled, landing right on his lap. And that was when I heard his quiet, slurred whisper against my neck. “I told you Apex’s financial statements were flagged… why do you always have to fight me on this?” “Valerie.” In the dark, my blood ran cold. 3 Once Jude officially started at the firm, his life belonged to Wall Street. An invisible wall grew between us, block by brick. He left before sunrise and returned long after midnight. Our conversations dwindled to nothing. Even on the rare occasions he was home, his laptop was a constant barrier, his fingers flying across the keyboard while I sat at the other end of the couch, drawing random, jagged lines across my screen—ugly scars on otherwise beautiful faces. The only updates I got about his life came from Valerie. “He got praised by the Managing Director again,” her texts would read, mixed with her usual complaints about work. “But honestly, the guy is a machine. He skips lunch completely. His stomach is going to be ruined at this rate.” I stared at my phone, typing back slowly: “He’s been coming home really late.” The status bubble showed “Valerie is typing…” for a long time before she replied: “I guess that’s just the analyst life. We don’t have family money or connections, Megan. We have to work twice as hard to build a life here.” I let out a bitter, silent laugh. “We.” They had started at the firm together, spending twelve hours a day in the same bullpen. When had they become “we,” while I became a stranger? I learned to eat dinner alone. I went to the grocery store alone. I bought a single ticket to the movie I’d been dying to see, sitting in the dark theater by myself. I stopped waiting up on the couch, leaving the hallway light off. Ten years ago, a devastating earthquake in our hometown had left me an orphan. Jude had pulled me from the rubble, refusing to let go of my hand, promising to be my family. Ten years later, I was finally learning how to survive on my own again. The day to visit our parents’ graves was set for Saturday. I was packing my bag when Jude walked out of the bedroom, his phone pressed to his ear. He froze when he saw the suitcase. “Megan? Where are you going?” I stared at him. “I’m going back home. To visit our parents. Did you forget?” His face went blank, then he struck his forehead in frustration. “Dammit, Megan, I’m so sorry. The team has an urgent due diligence review. The client only gave us a twenty-four-hour window. I can’t leave.” He stepped forward, putting his hand on my suitcase to stop me. “Just this once, okay? They’ll understand. Wait for me, and as soon as this deal closes, we’ll start looking at apartments to buy.” Before I could speak, a car horn honked from the street below. Jude gave me a quick, distracted hug, grabbed his coat, and rushed out the door. I walked to the window. Downstairs, he jogged over to Valerie’s sedan. She handed him a travel mug of coffee through the open window, saying something that made her playfully swat at his shoulder. Jude laughed—a genuine, lighthearted laugh I hadn’t seen on his face in months—and slid into the passenger seat. I watched the car merge into the New York traffic until it disappeared. Then I grabbed my suitcase, locked the door, and took the bus back to our small hometown in upstate New York. The cemetery sat on a quiet hill, the headstones of Jude’s parents right next to mine. They were weathered, worn down by a decade of harsh winters. Ten years since the day our lives changed forever. We had been neighbors, childhood sweethearts. When the earth shook, our parents used their last breaths to shield us under the collapsed beams. In an instant, Jude and I became the only family each other had left. Before the SATs, I used to stay up until three in the morning, crying over practice exams. Jude would hold my hands, his voice steady. “If you don’t get into Columbia with me, Megan, I’ll take a gap year and apply again. We go together. No matter what.” He ended up turning down higher-ranked Ivy League offers just so we could stay in the same city. People called him foolish, but he told them, “You don’t understand what Megan means to me. She is my life.” On that quiet hill, with only the wind rustling the branches of the old oak tree, I closed my eyes. I could still see seventeen-year-old Jude, his face covered in dust and dried blood, desperately clawing at the concrete until his fingernails tore, screaming my name. I could see him at eighteen, kissing me under the old oak tree, promising we’d make it out. I could see him at twenty-one, placing his first internship paycheck into my palm, promising to buy us a home. Jude was woven into the very fabric of who I was. How could I just let him go? I knelt down, wiping the dust from the gravestones, and forced a soft smile. “Mom, Dad… please watch over us.” Then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. The message on the screen made my smile freeze. 4 Jude’s text was simple. He wanted me to deliver a folder of tax documents to an address in the city. Valerie’s apartment. My fingers trembled as I typed out four words: “I’m not doing that.” Within seconds, my phone rang. Jude’s voice was sharp with frustration. “Megan, please. Can you grow up for once? This project is make-or-break for my career. I don’t have time to play games with you right now.” I looked at the cold stone faces of my parents, and a quiet, hollow laugh slipped past my lips. “Jude, I’m at the cemetery. In front of our parents.” The line went dead silent. “I guess that explains why you didn’t ask where I was last night,” I whispered. “Because you weren’t home either.” “Megan…” His voice suddenly sounded very small, very panicked. “I…” “Where were you last night, Jude? Were you at her place?” I hung up and boarded the bus back to the city. Through the window, the trees and hills rolled backward, slipping away just like the last ten years of my life. Jude was waiting at the Port Authority bus terminal, looking pale. He silently took my suitcase, his jaw tight as he opened the passenger door of his car. He let out a long, ragged sigh. “Don’t be mad at me, Megan. I’m so incredibly tired.” I stared at the dark purple bruises under his eyes, but before I could say a word, he kept going. “Do you think I want to spend eighteen hours a day at the office? Do you think I enjoy missing dinners with you? I don’t have a choice. This is how the city works. We don’t have trust funds or safety nets. If I don’t kill myself working, we will never own a home. We will never survive here.” I looked down at my hands. “But Jude, I never asked to conquer New York.” I thought of the warm, loving gaze of my parents on that hill. I reached out, gently touching his wrist. “We could go back home. You wouldn’t have to carry all this…” He flinched, pulling his arm away. His eyes grew cold. “I didn’t spend my entire youth studying just to go back to some dying town and live a mediocre life.” He looked at me, his disappointment cutting deeper than any insult. “Megan, after ten years, you still don’t understand me. Honestly, Valerie understands my ambition better than you do.” I tucked my hands into my sleeves, squeezing my fingers until they hurt. “Okay,” I whispered, forcing a smile. “Then go build the life you want.” After that day, Jude stopped trying to play the part of the attentive boyfriend. He and Valerie were inseparable, working late nights, traveling for client meetings, navigating the high-stakes world of finance side by side. Everyone at the firm spoke of them as a unit. Eventually, even their biggest clients assumed they were engaged, asking when the wedding was. This time, Jude didn’t bother to correct them. My chat history with Valerie had stopped a month ago, right after she texted me to ask what kind of coffee bean roast Jude preferred. “Sometimes I watch him present in front of the board, and I’m just in awe of how brilliant he is,” she had written. They were like two travelers who had finally found the right road after wandering in the dark. And I was just a small, forgotten detour they had passed miles ago. By late June, the project was finally over. Jude slumped onto our couch, loosening his tie, and reached over to ruffle my hair. “The bonus cleared. Go buy that new Wacom tablet you wanted.” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. He didn’t even realize that I had bought myself a new tablet three months ago. His phone buzzed, and his face lit up instantly. “It’s Valerie’s birthday. She’s inviting the whole team out to The Sapphire Lounge this weekend.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Great. I’ll pick out a gift for her. Tell her happy birthday for me.” Jude fell asleep on the couch minutes later. I looked out the window at the pale moon, then opened my phone to see Valerie’s latest Instagram post. It was a photo from their closing dinner. She and Jude were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, their smiles matching, looking like the perfect power couple. Three days later, Jude texted me the location of the bar, saying he was heading there straight from the office. I looked at my packed suitcase sitting by the door, taking one last look at the apartment we had shared. It was a beautiful place, but it was never going to be our home. I pulled my coat tight, picked up my bag, and walked out without looking back. Ten years of chasing someone else’s dream was enough. It was time to find my own light.

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One week before our engagement, I turned down a three-year art residency in Charleston. The reason was simple: Simon asked me to stay. He wanted me by his side. That same afternoon, he synced his phone’s Notes app with mine, claiming it would make managing our schedules easier. That night, I scrolled to the very bottom of his shared to-do list and found a draft hidden under a two-word header: Cutting Losses. 1. Within ninety days, gradually phase out one-on-one contact with Daphne. Give Carlin back her peace of mind. 2. Within six months, leverage my network to secure Daphne new gallery representation, ensuring her smooth exit. 3. If Carlin finds out, use the upcoming engagement as leverage to quiet her doubts. And the final line: “Carlin won’t leave. She’s always been the mature one. It’s the thing I respect most about her, and the thing I feel most guilty for.” I stared at that screen until the white light burned my retinas. He wrote about “guilt” and “respect.” But he mapped them out like quarterly projections, calculated and cold, instead of speaking them to me. Three days later, on my way to the venue, a delivery truck T-boned my sedan. When I woke up, the sterile scent of bleach filled my nose. Simon was there, looking like he hadn’t slept or showered in days. He leaned over the bed, his voice a gravelly whisper. “Carlin? Baby, do you know who I am?” I blinked slowly, my hand sliding out from his dry, desperate grip. “I’m sorry. Who are you?” He was the one who taught me that strong girls don’t show their bruises. If he wanted to cut his losses, I figured I might as well help him by forgetting he ever existed. … The steady, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room. Simon froze by the bed, his hand hovering in mid-air. His throat bobbed, his fingers trembling as he tried to touch my cheek. “Carlin, please. Don’t do this to me. It’s Simon.” If it weren’t for that note, this would have been the most beautiful, tragic display of devotion. But I knew the math. So I just stared at him, my expression blank. The heavy door swung open. Daphne rushed in, clutching a stainless-steel soup container. “Simon! Is Carlin awake yet?” She tripped over her own feet, tumbling toward the bed. Simon spun around instinctively, catching her by the waist with practiced ease. “What are you doing running like that? Be careful,” he murmured, his hands lingering on her hips. Daphne leaned into his chest, looking up at him. “I’m sorry, Simon. I was just so terrified for Carlin.” I leaned back against my pillows and watched the show. He used to hold me like that. But once I became “independent,” he stopped worrying. Simon let go of her, clearing his throat. “Carlin, this is Daphne. She just wanted to see how you were doing.” I looked from her to him. “Is this your girlfriend? You two look so sweet together.” Simon’s face went pale. “Stop it, Carlin! You’re my fiancée.” He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a brass key, holding it out to me. It was the gift he’d given me last month. The initials CL were engraved on the fob. “Look at this. It’s the key to your dream studio. The one you’ve been talking about.” I stared at the brass. Three days ago, I’d found the lease agreement for that very studio in his synced notes. The landlord was Daphne’s creative agency; the tenant was Simon. The rent came out of his personal account, but the property was legally registered under her name. This key, with my initials on it, was just a cheap tax on his conscience. I pulled the thin hospital blanket tighter around my shoulders. “I don’t recognize it. Take it away.” Simon’s hand died in the air. Daphne covered her mouth, her eyes wide. “Simon, do you think the swelling in her brain is pressing on a nerve? The doctor said this kind of memory loss can be permanent.” “Shut up,” Simon snapped, his voice sharp. “She’ll remember.” He took a deep breath, shoving the key back into his pocket. “Go home, Daphne. We don’t need you here.” Daphne bit her lower lip, setting the container on the bedside table. “I’ll leave the soup. I’ll bring some more tomorrow, okay?” Simon gave a curt nod. That single, soft sound made my chest feel hollower than any shout ever could. Once the door clicked shut, Simon sat back down, tucking the corners of my blanket in. “It’s okay, Carlin. Even if you’ve forgotten everything, we can start over.” He had that same earnest look in his eyes that he had when we first met. But his written words echoed in my head: Carlin won’t crack. His version of starting over was a calculated ninety-day detox from Daphne while using our wedding to keep me in line. I turned my back to him, sliding my hand under my pillow to find my burner phone. Three days ago, I had ignored the email from the Charleston Museum of Art. Now, I opened my messages and texted the director. Hi Gregory, is the three-year curator residency still available? The reply came almost urgently. Carlin! Yes, we kept the slot open for you. How soon can you get to Charleston? I typed back: Next week. I deleted the thread, locked the screen, and listened to the heavy, exhausted breathing of the man sleeping in the chair behind me. He had stayed awake for four days. He looked miserable. I remembered him looking just like this years ago, sitting on the concrete steps of my art school, waiting for my class to end. Back then, he wasn’t a CEO. He was just a broke kid who had failed his first two startups. I had sketched him in charcoal. He told me he’d frame it and hang it in his first real office. He did. Years later, he took it down and replaced it with a canvas of sunflowers painted by Daphne. It fits the company’s new aesthetic better, he had explained. I had smiled and said, Of course. He thought that if he just sat by my bed long enough, I’d go back to being the girl who always smiled and said of course. On the fifth day, Simon took me home. He spent the entire drive pointing out landmarks. “Look at this street, Carlin. This is where we had our first real date. You wore that blue dress. You looked beautiful.” I watched the city blur past the window. I remembered every detail better than he did. The smart lock beeped as we entered the loft. Simon took off his shoes and turned to me. “This is our place, Carlin. We’ve lived here for three years. Does any of it look familiar?” I stepped into the living room and froze. In front of my favorite floor-to-ceiling window sat a brand-new easel. On it was a half-finished oil painting of sunflowers, surrounded by tubes of acrylic paint I knew didn’t belong to me. Simon followed my gaze. Panic flashed across his face, and he rushed over to drag the easel into the dark corner of the room. “Carlin, don’t worry about this. Daphne is setting up for a gallery opening, and her studio’s light is terrible during the remodel. I just told her she could use the light here for a couple of days.” He stood in front of the easel, trying to shield it with his body. But he couldn’t block out the pair of pink slippers resting on the hardwood floor—slippers a size smaller than mine. “Does this Daphne person live here?” I asked, staring at the pink plush. “No, absolutely not. Just this once.” Before the lie could settle, the guest bedroom door clicked open. Daphne stepped out, rubbing her eyes, wearing an oversized white button-down. It was Simon’s shirt. She flinched when she saw us. “Simon? Carlin? You’re back so early.” Simon’s face turned dark. “Why are you sleeping here?” Daphne pulled a brass key from her pocket—the one with CL engraved on it. “Simon, yesterday when you gave me the keys to the studio, you said the paint fumes were too toxic for me to sleep there. You gave me the security code and told me to stay here.” She squeezed the key tight. CL. Carlin Lockhart. He had given her my name. Simon looked at me, desperate. “Carlin, it’s not what you think. I was just worried about her inhaling the fumes.” I took a step back. “It’s fine. I don’t remember anyway.” I pointed to the key. “Is that hers? It has letters on it.” Simon snatched the key from Daphne’s hand. “It’s trash,” he hissed. Then he turned to me, his voice softening. “Carlin, that studio was too small for you anyway. I found a beautiful three-story townhouse in the historic district. We can put it in your name tomorrow, okay?” He never understood. I didn’t want a bigger space. I wanted the key with my name to belong only to me. “I’m tired,” I said, turning toward the master bedroom. “I need to lie down.” As the door closed, I heard Simon’s muffled roar from the kitchen. “Daphne, pack your things and get the hell out of my house!” “Simon, please… I’m just so scared of being alone.” I leaned against the door and closed my eyes. She was scared. Three years ago, I was scared too. Simon was working eighty-hour weeks to secure his first round of venture capital, and I was painting in our cramped apartment until my fingers shook from exhaustion. He told me I was the strongest, most independent woman he’d ever met. So, I learned to stop being afraid. Daphne only had to say the word, and he folded. I opened my laptop, downloaded the contract from the Charleston Museum, and signed my name at the bottom. The start date was set for the morning after our scheduled engagement party. I dragged my suitcase from under the bed. Let him spend his ninety days cutting his losses. My exit would only take three. Three days before the party, Simon seemed lighter. He smiled over breakfast, trying to flip a sunny-side-up egg. The yolk broke. “It’s okay,” I said softly. “It still tastes good.” His hand froze on the spatula. “Carlin… you used to say that. You’re starting to remember, aren’t you?” I shook my head. “No. I just think you look handsome when you cook.” A faint blush crept up his neck. If it weren’t for the note, I would have spent the rest of my life with him. At the bridal boutique, the consultant brought out the custom gown. The skirt was embedded with three thousand hand-stitched crystals. Simon had spent three days in Paris designing it with the atelier. “Did you choose this for me?” I asked, touching the tulle. Simon knelt in front of my chair, looking up at me. “Yes. The designer said this silhouette was made for you.” I smiled, a quiet, private smile. “Then I’ll try it on.” Before I could stand, the dressing room curtain parted. Daphne stepped out wearing a pale pink bridesmaid dress, twirling her skirt. “Simon, does this look right on me?” Simon frowned. “What are you doing here?” “Your mother called me,” Daphne said smoothly. “She was worried Carlin’s memory would make things stressful, so she asked me to help consult.” She walked over to my gown, her eyes shining. “Oh my god. This is breathtaking.” She turned her gaze to Simon. “Simon, I’ve never worn a real wedding dress. Can I just try it on? Just for a second?” “No,” Simon said quickly. “That’s Carlin’s.” Daphne’s face fell, tears immediately welling in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I know I don’t deserve something like this. I just… I’ll probably never get married anyway. I just wanted to feel what it felt like. Just once.” Simon didn’t say anything, his jaw tight. He shifted his weight, his fingers twitching against his jeans. A long, suffocating silence filled the room. Then he looked at me. “Carlin… do you mind?” He was putting the choice on me. That way, he didn’t have to play the villain. It was exhausting. “Let her,” I said. “I don’t remember it anyway. A dress is just a dress.” Simon let out a breath he’d been holding. Daphne didn’t wait. She practically sprinted to the back with the consultant. When she emerged, Simon went completely still. It fit her perfectly. She was smaller than me, but the corset laced up tight. Simon stared for a few seconds before forcing his eyes away. But those seconds were plenty. I walked over to the front desk. “Please cancel the order.” Simon grabbed my wrist. “Carlin, what are you doing? I designed this for you!” I pulled my hand back. “If she loves it, she should have it. I don’t care.” Simon snapped. He turned on Daphne, his voice booming through the quiet boutique. “Take it off! Right now!” Daphne flinched, stepping backward in a panic. Her heel caught the delicate tulle of the train. A sharp, tearing sound echoed in the room. The hem was ruined. She collapsed to her knees, sobbing. “I’m sorry, Simon! It was an accident!” Simon stared at the ripped fabric, rubbing his temples. “It’s fine, Carlin. I’ll call Paris. We’ll get another one.” He tossed the brass key onto the glass table. “The studio is ready. Take the key. Let’s not ruin the day over this.” I pulled out my phone and dialed my lawyer. “Mr. Burke? It’s Carlin. I need you to draft a formal surrender of the ten percent equity Simon transferred to me three years ago. Yes, do it today.” Simon stared at me, dumbfounded. “Carlin, are you out of your mind? That’s our future!” “I’m sorry, sir,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “I don’t know you, and I don’t keep things that don’t belong to me.” The morning of the day before the party, Simon held me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Carlin, you whispered my name last night. You told me not to leave. You’re coming back to me, aren’t you?” I felt a tightening in my chest. I had dreamt of the early days, when he promised to buy me the biggest studio in the city with his first investment check. “I don’t remember,” I lied, stepping out of his embrace. “It was probably just a dream.” “It’s okay,” he whispered, his eyes full of hope. “I can wait.” He drove me to the clinic for my follow-up MRI. We sat on the hard plastic chairs in the hallway. Simon’s palms were sweating as he rubbed my knuckles. “The doctor said once the swelling goes down, it’ll all come back.” I looked at the sterile beige wall. “Simon.” He stiffened. “What did you say?” “Did I say something?” “You called me Simon. You used my name!” “Simon…” I murmured, tilting my head. “It sounds familiar. Have I heard it before?” He pulled me into a fierce, suffocating hug. “You’re remembering! Carlin, you’re coming back!” His heart was pounding against my ribs. I closed my eyes, letting myself feel it. This is the last time, I told myself. Then, his phone buzzed. Once, twice, three times. He ignored it. On the fourth ring, he answered. Daphne’s hysterical voice spilled through the speaker. “Simon… I can’t do this anymore. The internet is calling me a homewrecker. They’ve ruined my career… I’m standing on the Cooper River Bridge, Simon. I’ll see you in the next life.” Simon stood up so fast his chair scraped against the linoleum. “Daphne! Don’t do anything stupid! Stay right there, I’m coming!” He hung up and looked at me, his eyes wild with panic. “Carlin, she’s going to jump. I have to go.” He reached for my face, but I flinched away. His hand hovered, trembling. “Just do your scan. Be a good girl and wait for me. I swear I’ll be back in two hours.” He sprinted toward the elevators. A minute ago, his heart was racing because of me. Now, with a single phone call, I was a footnote. It was almost funny. I walked into the MRI room. Half an hour later, the radiologist handed me the file. “Your brain is perfectly healthy, Ms. Lockhart. No swelling, no trauma. You’re completely fine.” I thanked him, took a cab back to the loft, and printed the shared Notes log from my laptop. I laid the sheets on the coffee table. On top of them, I placed the brass key and the signed equity surrender. I took a final look around the living room. The throw blanket from last night, the half-empty coffee mug, the sticky note on the fridge in his handwriting: Carlin, milk is on the second shelf. Don’t forget. I peeled the note off and stuck it next to the printed plans. I grabbed my suitcase, changed into a pair of comfortable flats, and turned toward the door. The lock clicked. Simon walked in, dripping wet, carrying a shivering, semi-conscious Daphne in his arms. He froze when he saw my suitcase. Then his eyes traveled to the coffee table. He laid Daphne on the couch and rushed over, grabbing my wrist. “Carlin, what is this? Where are you going?” I looked down at his fingers. One by one, I pried them off my wrist. “Simon,” I said, my voice entirely clear, entirely cold. He shook, his eyes widening. “You… you remember?”

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It was our graduation trip—a two-week escape to Iceland to chase the Northern Lights. But when Sophie’s scarf slipped and whipped away into the freezing wind, the fragile warmth of our trip shattered. My boyfriend, Thomas, immediately unknotted his own heavy wool scarf and wrapped it snugly around her neck. He turned to me, his voice sharp against the howling wind. “Lauren, go grab that for Sophie. You know it’s her favorite.” I ran into the gale, my boots sinking into the deep snow as I chased a streak of white cashmere. By the time I finally caught it and turned back, the green ribbons of the aurora had faded into the dark. They were no longer standing where I left them. A text lit up my screen: “You were taking too long. Sophie was freezing, so I took her back to the hotel.” In a foreign country, in the pitch black, I stood at that icy intersection for six hours. I waved down over twenty cars before a kind local finally agreed to give me a ride. By the time I unlocked the hotel room door, it was past midnight. My limbs were entirely numb, stiff as wood. Inside the heated suite, they were tangled up under the duvet, heads pressed close, scrolling through the photos they’d taken that day. They were laughing, talking about aperture and lighting—a language, a world, I had never been allowed to enter. Thomas looked up, his brow furrowing slightly when he saw me. “What took you so long? I left some warm water on the counter. Go warm up.” I touched the mug. The water inside was stone-cold. A bone-deep, quiet exhaustion washed over me. That was it. I pulled up my airline app, booked the earliest flight back to New York, and cancelled all our upcoming hotel reservations. Some auroras are simply not meant to be chased. … I quietly set down the cold mug and hung the wet scarf on the coat rack near the door. Sophie wriggled out of the heavy blankets and rushed over, grabbing my hands. “Oh my god, Lauren, you’re like ice!” She rubbed my palms between hers, trying to friction some life back into them, before casting a mock-reproachful look at Thomas. “Thomas, I told you we should have waited a bit longer, but you were in such a rush.” Thomas threw his hands up in a playful surrender. “Okay, okay, princess. My bad.” He gently guided her back toward the bed, tucking the duvet tightly around her shoulders. “Your health is fragile and you hate the cold. Why are you trying to warm her up?” Then, he tossed a dry towel at me. “If you’re cold, go take a hot shower. Don’t make Sophie baby you.” The towel hit my face. My frozen arms didn’t even have the reflexes to catch it. I pulled it down slowly, feeling the rough cotton against my numb skin, and walked into the bathroom without a word. As the steaming water hit my shoulders, my body slowly began to thaw, bringing with it a dull, throbbing ache in my lower abdomen. Thomas and I had grown up together. We were neighborhood sweethearts, our lives intertwined since we were toddlers. Sophie was my college roommate. I was the one who introduced them. But they both shared a passion for photography, and soon, they became inseparable. Two naturally quiet people suddenly had a universe of things to discuss when they were together. I had tried, awkwardly and earnestly, to join their conversations. But my naive questions only ever earned me a shared, knowing smile between them. “How do you not know how exposure works?” they’d say softly. When I stepped out of the bathroom, the room was dark. They had already fallen asleep. I crawled to my side of the bed and lay down. Almost instantly, Thomas’s large, warm hand slid over, settling firmly against my lower stomach. “Your period started today, didn’t it? Let me warm you up.” My first instinct was to pull away, but I froze. I greedily drank in the heat radiating from his palm. We had known each other for fifteen years. For as long as I could remember, I had been running after him. He was the golden boy of our block, the natural leader, and I was just his loyal shadow. Five years ago, I gathered the courage to confess my feelings, and to my shock, he said yes. No one thought we’d last, but he had kept me in his heart. He always remembered my cycle. He kept a spare sweater in his backpack because he knew I got cold easily. But ever since Sophie entered our lives, that spare sweater never seemed to find its way to my shoulders anymore. The tears I had held back all night finally slipped silently into my pillow. Sensing my slight movement, Thomas rolled over and pulled me into his chest. “What’s wrong? Are you jealous?” “Sophie has a weak constitution. I’m only looking out for her because you asked me to. I didn’t want you worrying.” “Go to sleep. Sophie gets up early. We don’t want to keep her waiting if we overslept.” My throat felt as if it were stuffed with wet cotton. I managed a thick, barely audible, “Okay.” Soon, his breathing evened out into a deep sleep. I stared into the dark. Perhaps Thomas had entirely forgotten his promise from four years ago—that he would propose to me under the Northern Lights. The lights had come, but the person sharing them with him was no longer me. The next morning, Sophie burst into our room, glowing with excitement. “Let’s go to that michelin-starred spot downtown! I got incredibly lucky and snagged a last-minute cancellation!” Thomas smiled warmly. “Sounds great.” I kept my head down. We had explicitly planned to visit the Golden Circle today. I had already booked and paid for the tour. Yet, everything had to bend to Sophie’s whims. No one asked for my opinion. I packed my things and followed them out. When the taxi arrived, Thomas opened the front door and gently nudged me toward it. “Lauren, you’re not feeling well. You should sit in the front.” He and Sophie climbed into the back. Throughout the entire ride, they chatted endlessly about lighting angles, shutter speeds, and camera bodies. I couldn’t wedge a single word into their dialogue. The driver was a fellow American expat. He glanced at me, then eyed the backseat through the rearview mirror. “On vacation?” he murmured. “Must be lonely, riding shotgun with a couple.” I forced a small smile. “Yeah. It really is.” Their laughter from the backseat completely drowned out our quiet exchange. When we arrived, I pulled my heavy winter coat tight and stepped out. Thomas got out first, immediately pulling a knit scarf from his bag to wrap around Sophie’s neck. He cast a brief, passing glance at me. “Let’s go inside.” At the table, Sophie sat next to me, while Thomas sat directly across from her. Thomas picked up the menu and ordered fluently in English, commanding the waiter with ease. Sophie wrinkled her nose playfully. “Did you order my favorites?” Thomas reached across the table and pinched her nose. “I ordered exclusively what you like. Just wait and see.” When the food arrived, my heart sank. It was almost entirely seafood. I pressed a hand against my aching stomach and settled for chewing on the complimentary bread basket. I have a severe shellfish allergy; the only one who loved seafood was Sophie. Old Thomas would never have allowed a single shrimp on our table. But now, the table was piled high with oysters and lobster, and there wasn’t a single dish I could touch. Thomas peeled a tiger prawn with practiced ease, placing the delicate meat onto Sophie’s plate. Sophie glanced at me, nudging Thomas. “Thomas, peel some for Lauren, too.” Thomas didn’t even look up. “She can’t eat them.” So he did remember. I stared at him blankly. Suddenly, he picked up a roasted fingerling potato from a side dish and dropped it onto my plate. Looking at the steaming potato, a wave of bitterness rushed to my throat. But in the next second, his tone was entirely flat. “Sophie doesn’t like potatoes anyway. You eat it.” My fork froze in mid-air. I stared at the warm potato, completely losing whatever appetite I had left. As Sophie finished her meal, Thomas reached into his backpack and pulled out a thermos. He poured a steaming cup and handed it to her. “Drink some ginger tea to settle your stomach after all that cold seafood.” Then he added, “Lauren doesn’t need any. She didn’t eat much anyway.” By the afternoon, the cold and exhaustion caught up to me. I felt a fever burning under my skin. Thomas was the first to notice. He touched my forehead, then pulled out a thermometer to check. “103.6? Lauren, you really know how to ruin a schedule.” He let out a heavy, irritated sigh. Sophie stepped into the room, her eyes wide with worry. “We should cancel today’s excursion. Lauren is burning up. It’s too dangerous to leave her alone in the hotel.” Thomas hesitated. I forced a weak smile. “Don’t worry about me. You guys go.” “Are you sure? But your fever…” Sophie handed me a glass of water and two ibuprofen. “Here, take these first.” I swallowed the pills. Watching me take the medicine, Thomas glanced at his phone. “The guide is already waiting downstairs. It’s too late to cancel anyway.” “Lauren, I’m leaving the medicine on the nightstand. Remember to take it. We’ll be back soon.” They left. Under the weight of the fever reducers, I drifted off. When I opened my eyes, the room was pitch black. They weren’t back. I called the front desk and ordered a bowl of chicken noodle soup. While waiting, I opened Instagram. Two photos on my feed pierced through me like shards of glass. Thomas and Sophie had posted photos taken at the exact same spot, posing in the exact same way. My fingers trembled. I clicked on Thomas’s profile. “Off we go! I have to take better shots than Soph!” “Chasing the aurora with the luckiest girl, Soph.” “The Reynisfjara Black Sand Beach is so lonely, but thank god Soph is here.” Soph… A nickname I had never even heard him use. Underneath his post, a mutual college friend had commented: “Hey man, where’s Lauren? Why isn’t she in the photos?” Thomas’s reply was short and dismissive: “She’s just unlucky. Got a fever, so she’s stuck at the hotel.” When the soup arrived, I set my phone face down. I stirred the hot broth, watching the steam rise. During our senior year of high school, I had caught a terrible flu. Thomas had been absolutely frantic. He had made chicken noodle soup from scratch, blowing on each spoonful before feeding me. He stayed by my side for two days, eventually carrying me on his back to the clinic, demanding the doctor admit me. I had laughed through my tears. “Thomas, I’m fine. Really.” And he had muttered against my shoulder, “But my heart hurts seeing you like this.” I swallowed the lukewarm soup, forcing some strength back into my body. By the time they returned, it was late. “Lauren, look at this! Thomas made my face look so huge in this photo!” Sophie ran over, thrusting her screen in front of my face. It was a selfie of them. Sophie stood in the foreground, and Thomas held the phone high, framing them both perfectly. My chest ached. Back in our school days, before selfie sticks were common, Thomas always took photos of us like this. We had an entire gallery wall in our apartment filled with photos in that exact pose. I couldn’t control the tremor in my voice as I slipped out of bed. “I’m still feeling a bit off. I’m going to lie back down.” The suite went quiet. A moment later, Thomas walked into my room. He reached down to touch my forehead. “The fever’s down.” I turned my head slightly, dodging his touch. His hand hung in the empty air for a second before he pulled it back, his expression hardening. “Lauren, even if you’re sick, you don’t have to be this dramatic.” I looked up at him. “I’m dramatic?” “Sophie knew you couldn’t go out, so she wanted to share her photos with you to make you feel included. Who are you throwing a tantrum at?” “You were the one who insisted on coming to Iceland. We came with you. And now you’re acting like this. Lauren, can you grow up for once?” I stared at him, utterly hollow. “That’s enough.” Sophie had slipped into the room unnoticed. She tugged gently at Thomas’s sleeve. “Thomas, don’t. It’s my fault…” “Don’t defend her,” Thomas snapped, his face dark. “She didn’t dress properly and got herself sick. Did anyone blame her for that? Just because she’s miserable doesn’t mean the world has to stop and cater to her.” Thomas grabbed Sophie’s wrist. “Let’s go. Let her cool off on her own.” Sophie threw me a worried glance before Thomas pulled her out. The door slammed shut behind them. I closed my eyes, exhaustion seeping into my bones. Old Thomas would never have left me alone to “cool off.” He used to say that silence was the quiet poison of any relationship. But this time, I had no desire to reach out first. His first instinct was no longer to protect me. Later, Sophie quietly pushed the door open and stepped in. “Lauren? Are you feeling any better?” I nodded silently. She took my hand, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “Why don’t you just apologize to Thomas? As your friend, it really breaks my heart to see you two tearing each other apart like this.” “Why should I?” I whispered, looking at her. She had been my best friend first. But slowly, imperceptibly, she had shifted to his side, always standing there to lecture me on how to be better. “Lauren, you’re just too stubborn. Men need to be handled with a gentle touch. Why ruin things over some silly pride?” I didn’t understand. Thomas was the one who had hurled baseless accusations at me, yet in her eyes, I was simply being prideful. “Sophie, I don’t think I did anything wrong.” Sophie fell silent. After a long moment, she let out a soft sigh and shook her head. “If you’re going to be this way, Lauren, there’s nothing more I can say.” The room fell quiet once more. I pulled out my phone, booked the earliest flight back, and began packing my bags. I looked at the very bottom of my suitcase, where a small velvet ring box lay tucked away. I had bought it before we left. With a bitter smile, I closed the suitcase and left the box exactly where it was. When I dragged my suitcase out of the hotel, they were nowhere to be found. Sophie’s favorite scarf was left behind, hanging limply on the coat rack by the door. I guess that scarf wasn’t actually that important after all. On my way to the airport, a text from Sophie popped up: “Lauren, I’m taking Thomas out to clear his head. Get some rest.” I ignored it and opened my chat with Thomas. “Thomas, do you even remember why we came to Iceland?” His reply came almost instantly: “Don’t start overthinking again. I’m taking Sophie to Diamond Beach to take some photos.” I knew him too well. Whenever he didn’t want to deal with something, he dismissed it as me “overthinking.” I sent one final message: “Let’s break up.” During the sixteen-hour flight back to New York, I did nothing. I simply stared out the window into the blank expanse of clouds. All my memories with Thomas came rushing back, crashing over me like waves. When the plane finally touched down, I hesitated before turning off airplane mode. No missed calls. No unread messages. My chat with Thomas was entirely blank. He hadn’t even replied to my breakup text. But my Instagram feed was updating. The latest photo was a shot of Thomas, dressed in a sharp suit, down on one knee, holding a ring up to Sophie—who was wearing a flowing white wedding gown. During my sixteen hours of silent agony, he hadn’t thought of me once. He was busy playing groom for Sophie’s mock wedding shoot. My tears fell onto the glass screen, blurring the image. I tapped the little heart icon and liked the photo. A second later, my phone buzzed. A message from Thomas. “Don’t get the wrong idea. It’s rare for us to be in Iceland, and Sophie just wanted to shoot some commemorative photos.” I wiped my face and typed out a brief reply. “We are broken up. I won’t get the wrong idea.” Then, I blocked both of them. I opened my email, declined the job offer from the prestigious firm in New York City, and texted my mother. “Mom, I’m not staying in New York. I’m coming home.”

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My father was dying, and his last wish was to see Amelia and me married. I begged her for weeks to move up the wedding date, and she finally agreed. But when he passed, taking his final, lingering regrets with him, she was nowhere to be found at the courthouse. Instead, my best friend Jude posted a series of photos of her having dinner with his family on social media. “Wedding prep in full swing. Mom and Dad absolutely adore their future daughter-in-law.” Looking at the intimacy in those photos, my chest tightened. I couldn’t stop myself from calling her, my voice shaking with a mix of grief and betrayal. Amelia dismissed my call with effortless ease. “Jude’s parents are getting older, Christian. They just want to see him settled down. I’m only helping him play a part to put them at ease. Why do you have to make such a big deal out of everything?” When I stayed silent, her voice sharpened, heavy with irritation. “I honestly can’t stand this stubborn attitude of yours. If you keep acting like this, we’re done.” That was the 101st time she had threatened to break up with me because of Jude. This time, I didn’t beg her to stay. And this time, she was the one who would regret it. … By the time I finished making the arrangements for my father’s funeral, night had fallen. Amelia hadn’t tried to call or text me once. Jude, however, had been relentlessly spamming our group chat with a barrage of photos. They were choosing diamond rings. Trying on wedding dresses. Jude kept tagging me: “Hey Christian, look at this suit. Does it match the shoes Amelia just bought me?” “Ugh, Amelia bought another mountain of supplements for my parents. They haven’t even finished the last batch she sent. There’s barely any room left in the house—can you help me convince her to stop?” In our six years together, Amelia had never bought me a single gift. She had never once visited my parents of her own accord. Every time I brought it up, her excuse was always the same: she was too busy, too overwhelmed with work. Yet in the photos Jude posted, Amelia—the woman who claimed she didn’t know how to boil an egg—was hovering in the kitchen, carefully chopping vegetables and pouring tea for Jude’s parents. The ease in her movements made it painfully clear that this wasn’t her first time playing housewife in their home. I scrolled up. In that three-person group chat, my presence was a ghost. They discussed their wedding, mapped out their future. My occasional messages hung there, isolated and unanswered, pushed up and out of sight by their domestic chatter. I didn’t want to be the third wheel in my own life anymore. With a few taps on my screen, I left the group chat. Then, I blocked both of their numbers. A few hours later, a call came through from Amelia on an unknown number. Her voice was cold, distant, and dripping with annoyance. “Christian, what kind of tantrum is this? You do this every single time. Aren’t you tired of it? I already explained it to you—Jude’s family was pressuring him, and I was just doing him a favor. Can you stop being so unreasonable?” I lost my voice for a moment. Unreasonable. Looking back, the only one who had ever been unreasonable in this relationship was Amelia. She threatened to break up if I couldn’t secure her a limited-edition designer handbag. She threatened to break up if my wire transfers fell short of five figures. And if Jude was having a bad day, she somehow twisted it to blame me, capping it off with yet another breakup threat. She knew how deeply I loved her. She knew I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. So, whenever things got difficult, she would casually throw out that icy ultimatum: “If you can’t handle it, let’s break up.” For six years, I had bowed my head. I had compromised a hundred times. This was the hundred and first. And this time, I refused to bend. I took a deep, shuddering breath. “My father is dead, Amelia. We don’t have to keep pretending for the sake of his health anymore.” A heavy silence fell over the line. When she spoke again, her tone had softened, laced with sudden panic. “I… I didn’t know. Christian, wait for me. I’m coming over to be with you right now.” More than an hour passed. Amelia never showed up. Instead, a sudden, violent downpour swept over the city. I was running through the storm, trying to find shelter near my father’s old place, when my foot slipped on the muddy slope of the hill. I tumbled downward, my head colliding violently with a jagged rock. The world went black. When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed with thick gauze wrapped tightly around my head. The room was empty. The nurse told me I had severe exhaustion and a mild concussion, requiring a couple of days of observation. For two days, Amelia never appeared. All I had to keep me company were Jude’s constant social media updates. “Worst luck ever. Caught a terrible cold right before the big day, but thank god I have my fiancée here to nurse me back to health.” “Craving those late-night loaded sliders from that diner upstate, and Amelia drove all night through the rain to get them for me. Someone who truly loves you will always meet your needs, no questions asked.” Not long ago, Amelia and I had fought because she wanted a limited-edition art toy. I had stood in line under the scorching sun for over three hours to get it for her. The heat was relentless, and I ended up passing out on the sidewalk from heatstroke. When I called her to come pick me up, she answered with nothing but sheer impatience. “Christian, can you stop being so dramatic? I’m not like other women—I have a career to build. My time is extremely valuable, and I can’t afford to waste it on your attention-seeking stunts.” When she said those words, she seemed to have forgotten that the very career she was so proud of was built on the back of my own sacrifices—sacrifices I made out of love, stepping aside so she could shine. Yet now, she could cast her precious career aside without a second thought, spending days cooking and cleaning for Jude. A dull, hollow ache settled in my chest. I didn’t even know how to label the emotion anymore. Jude had been my best friend. When I first introduced them, Amelia acted as though she despised him. She would complain to me constantly about how dense and irritating he was, leaving me caught in the middle, trying to smooth things over. But gradually, imperceptibly, Jude’s name began to slip into her conversations more and more. And the words she directed at me grew fewer and fewer, until we were nothing but strangers sharing a roof. I didn’t want to drown in this crowded relationship anymore. I drafted a message to Amelia and officially called it off. Her reply came almost instantly this time. “Stop playing games, Christian. I’m incredibly busy right now and can’t get away. Meet me at the airport tomorrow. I’ll fly back with you, and we can talk about this face-to-face.” I didn’t wait at the airport like a loyal dog this time. I booked my own ticket and boarded the plane. During the flight, I drifted into a long, feverish dream. I dreamed of the early days, when Amelia and I were consumed by each other, long before Jude ever cast a shadow over us. When she wanted to start her own business, I emptied my savings to fund her. When she needed a solid foundation, I resigned from my own position to manage her life. When my family looked down on her modest background, I fought them tooth and nail to defend her. Back then, we were the couple everyone envied. The shift—the slow, rot-like decay—began on the day of the car accident. I forced myself awake, unable to bear the weight of those memories. When the plane landed, Amelia was not there. I took a cab home alone. It wasn’t until the late hours of the third night that she finally showed up at the house. “I told you to wait for me so we could come back together. Why did you break your promise?” Jerking awake from a shallow sleep, my head throbbed. “So you expected me to sit at the airport for three days and three nights?” Amelia pressed her lips together. “Whatever. I don’t have the energy to argue with you. Get up and make me a grilled cheese sandwich.” I didn’t answer. I simply pulled the duvet over my shoulders and turned my back to her. She let out an annoyed huff and tossed her suitcase onto the floor. “I swear, marrying a man like you is the worst curse of my life.” With that, she slammed the door and left. I didn’t set an alarm, sleeping in until the sun was high. In the past, I would have been up by six, ironing her clothes and preparing a gourmet breakfast. But it was never enough. She would always complain that my ironing wasn’t as crisp as Jude’s, or that my home-cooked meals were either too bland or too oily. A meal I spent hours preparing could never compete with a bowl of instant ramen made by Jude. If my efforts were nothing but a chore to her, I saw no reason to keep playing the servant. But today, Amelia had actually made breakfast herself. She was quietly eating a bowl of oatmeal, keeping her eyes cast down. “I’m sorry about your dad, Christian. I really am. But you don’t need to pick a fight with me on a day like today.” “What day?” I asked, genuinely lost. She pulled a beautifully wrapped gift box from behind her. “Christian, you’re truly disappointing. How could you forget our sixth anniversary—” She stopped mid-sentence, her gaze freezing on my forehead. “What happened to your head?” “While you were playing nurse to Jude, I finished burying my father, slipped down a muddy hill, hit a rock, and got drenched in a rainstorm,” I said, shrugging indifferently. “It’s fine. His cold was obviously much more critical.” Amelia stared at me, her dark eyes swirling with an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. After a long pause, she murmured, “Just eat. I made the New England clam chowder you like. Once you’re done, open your gift.” “No thanks,” I said quietly. “Today is July twentieth. Our anniversary was June twentieth. It passed a month ago. And more importantly, I’m allergic to shellfish.” Late gifts are worthless. And late love is even cheaper. Jude was the one who loved New England clam chowder. Jude was the one who loved receiving gifts. All I had ever wanted from Amelia was her presence. Amelia fell silent for a moment. “Work has been overwhelming lately. Don’t overthink things. Jude’s parents are getting older, and his family doesn’t have the kind of financial safety net yours does. His parents are in poor health and constantly worry about his future. I only stepped in to help so you wouldn’t feel pressured to support him…” Whenever Jude was the topic, Amelia’s words flowed effortlessly. I didn’t have the energy to tear down her excuses. I certainly didn’t want to ask what had happened during the two weeks she spent living under Jude’s roof. “Believe whatever makes you feel better,” I muttered. My indifference struck a nerve. She slammed her chopsticks onto the table. “Christian, can you stop being so incredibly childish? You’re a grown man living comfortably off my hard work. What more do you want? Look at yourself lately—you don’t even compare to Jude. Can you really blame me for not wanting to come home to this?” The version of me she despised was a direct result of the injuries I sustained trying to save her years ago. I didn’t argue. I stood up and began packing my bags. Amelia continued her lecture, shadowing my movements. “I’m talking to you! What are you doing? All you do lately is scroll mindlessly through stupid videos. Why can’t you focus on doing something productive with your life? Look at Jude. His family had nothing, but he’s hardworking and ambitious. He’s ten times the man you are!” Everything she and Jude currently owned—the business, the lifestyle, the status—was built entirely on my capital and my industry connections. And now, she was throwing my lack of utility in my face. Humans really are insatiably greedy. “I have to go,” I said. “Christian, I’m not finished talking to you!” Amelia reached out to grab my arm, but I flinched away, physically repulsed by her touch. In six years, she had never truly listened to a word I said. Any attempt at a real conversation ended in her threatening to leave, throwing a tantrum, and making a scene. I had run out of patience to soothe her ego. As I turned toward the door, Amelia suddenly shrieked, “Stop right there!” She was holding my father’s last keepsake high in the air—a delicate jade Buddha pendant. “If you take one more step, I’ll smash this to pieces!” “Amelia, that was my dad’s!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “He literally got that to protect our home!” When my father was terribly sick, his greatest worry was the future Amelia and I would share. He had forced his failing body to drive hundreds of miles to a sacred temple, kneeling for hours to pray for this jade pendant to guard our peace. At the time, Amelia had wept with gratitude, kneeling by his bedside and swearing she would cherish me forever. Now, she was using his final blessing as a weapon to hold me hostage. Shaking with pure rage, I lunged forward to snatch it back. But Amelia flinched and hurled the jade pendant directly at me. The heavy base struck me squarely on my already injured forehead. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears as the jade shattered into a thousand glittering shards on the hardwood floor. Amelia gasped, visibly shaken by the sight of the blood trickling down my face. She reached out, her hands trembling. “Christian, oh my god, I’m so sorry. I just wanted to scare you. I didn’t mean to actually hit you.” Shards of jade bit deep into the palm of my hand as I leaned against the floor. The physical pain was nothing compared to the sickening wave of guilt and grief that washed over me. I pushed her hands away, my voice dropping to a harsh, icy whisper. “Get out.” In six years, I had never spoken to her with such raw venom. She froze, the flicker of remorse vanishing from her face, replaced by indignant pride. “You’re actually screaming at me? Fine. I’m leaving. Let’s see how long it takes before you come crawling back, begging for my forgiveness.” She grabbed her purse and slammed the door behind her. Over the years, she had staged countless exits over the smallest perceived slights—a meal that wasn’t perfect, a gift that wasn’t expensive enough. If I didn’t immediately bend the knee and beg, she would punish me with weeks of freezing silent treatment. But this time, I wasn’t going to call. Our cold war dragged on. Because our lives and assets were deeply intertwined with the company, I reached out to a lawyer to begin sorting through the wreckage. Amid the paperwork, a text from Amelia flashed on my screen: “Urgent. Come to the office.” After a moment’s hesitation, I decided to go. The relationship was dead, but I wasn’t about to let the company I sweated blood to build crumble under her mismanagement. The moment I stepped into the lobby, I heard stifled laughter. The young receptionists were giggling into a speakerphone, chatting with Jude. “You were totally right, Jude. All you have to do is send a text from Amelia’s phone, and he comes running like a loyal little lapdog.” A moment later, the elevator doors slid open, and Jude stepped out, looking incredibly smug. “Hey, Christian. Looking for Amelia? She’s swamped right now. She doesn’t have time for outsiders.” He put a cruel, lingering emphasis on the word “outsiders”. Over the past few weeks, the two of them had practically announced their upcoming nuptials to the world, branding themselves as the ultimate power couple. Meanwhile, I—the silent benefactor who financed their entire existence—was reduced to an unwanted ghost. I let out a dry laugh and pointed directly at the receptionists. “You three. Pack your things and get out of my building.” This company was built entirely on my initial investment. Even if I had stepped away from daily operations, I wasn’t going to let low-level employees mock me in my own lobby. Jude’s face darkened instantly. “Christian, who do you think you are, throwing your weight around? You’re a relic. A nobody. Amelia and I run this place now.” Before I could dial her number, Amelia marched out of the back offices. “What is going on out here?” I assumed she would be mortified by the scene. In the past, whenever I visited her at work, she would treat me like an embarrassment, snapping at me to leave. But this time, her expression held a strange, triumphant satisfaction. Jude immediately put on his victim act. “Amelia, I don’t know what’s wrong with Christian. He just burst in here, started yelling, accused us of sleeping together, and threatened to fire everyone.” Amelia’s eyes narrowed as she glared at me. “Christian, is there no end to your drama? I can tolerate you being dull, and I can tolerate you being useless, but this pathetic, paranoid jealousy of yours makes me sick.” She let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “I honestly regret every single day I’ve spent with you.” The receptionists hid their smirks behind their hands, and Jude stood beside her like a victorious king. But to my own surprise, I felt absolutely nothing. The pain had gone numb. Or perhaps, deep down, I had always known she would say this. In the past, Amelia had frequently taken Jude to high-profile business dinners while keeping me hidden away. When major clients questioned the propriety of her assistant acting like her spouse, she would defend herself with vicious casualness: “You have no idea how high-maintenance Christian is. He has zero talent but a massive ego. He can’t even play the supportive partner right. Jude is polished, handsome, and actually presentable. Christian can stay home and work on his fitness—maybe if he becomes presentable again, I’ll let him out of the house.” She had no idea that those major clients only agreed to meet with her because of my family’s reputation and my personal backing. My devotion had been rewritten in her mind as the weakness of a coddled kept man. Fine. If that was how she saw me, I would take back every single resource, every single dollar, and see how long her “polish” lasted without my money. Sensing my silence as defeat, Amelia pressed harder, deploying her favorite weapon. “Silent now? Guilty conscience? No wonder we couldn’t keep Joy. A man like you isn’t fit to be a husband, let alone a father. If I could go back, I would have chosen Jude from the very start.” The mention of our lost baby felt like a physical blow to my chest. Every single time we argued, Amelia would aim directly for my deepest, bleeding wound. She loved to push me to my absolute limit in public, waiting for me to snap so she could look at the onlookers with a pitying sigh, as if to say, “See what I have to deal with?” But this time, the storm inside me vanished, replaced by an eerie, absolute stillness. “Then let’s stop forcing it,” I said, my voice steady as I handed her a document. “Here are the divestment papers. We’re done.” As I handed her the folder, I reached out and calmly plucked a long, synthetic-looking bronze-brown hair from the lapel of her blazer. Amelia’s eyes flickered with a sudden, sharp panic. She opened her mouth to explain, glancing nervously at Jude before trying to regain her cold composure. “Christian, stop seeing ghosts everywhere. You know damn well you can’t survive without me.” I kept my eyes locked on hers. “Is that so? Amelia, have you truly forgotten how you got everything you own today?” “Christian!” she hissed, her voice cracking with desperation. I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth and stepped closer. “Do you really want to push me, Amelia? Do you want me to stand right here, in front of your employees, and tell everyone what really happened the day we lost our daughter?”

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Four years of working at the same Boston firm with my best friend and my girlfriend. Everyone at the office called us the “Three Musketeers,” but there was always a cruel, unspoken edge to the joke. It was less of a tight-knit trio and more of a crowd—and I was always the one standing on the outside looking in. During an after-work happy hour, some of the junior associates got loud and insisted we play a round of Never Have I Ever. Chase was the first to speak, leaning back in his chair with a smug, easy grin. “I’ve never not been Camille’s go-to partner on our biggest cases.” I smiled, keeping my voice steady as I took a sip of my beer. “I’m the boyfriend she actually shares an apartment with.” Chase didn’t even blink. “She drives me to and from the office every single day.” The smile on my face froze. I slowly folded down my first finger. For four years, Camille had told me our schedules didn’t align. She’d look at me with soft pity and tell me to take the T, leaving me to squeeze onto the packed morning subway trains while she drove. Ignoring my pale face, Chase pushed further. “She spends eight hours a day talking strategy with me.” “She pulls all-nighters with me in the office at least three times a week.” “The red silk lingerie she’s wearing under her suit today was a gift from me.” The room erupted into roaring laughter. But as the echoes of their amusement died down, a heavy, suffocating silence took over. By then, I only had one finger left upright. Chase leaned in close, a sharp, knowing smile on his lips. “On Thanksgiving, she blew off your parents’ dinner to have Thanksgiving with mine.” My breath caught in my throat. My chest went entirely numb. I slowly turned my head to look at Camille. She sat there, nursing her drink, entirely unbothered. No wonder she hadn’t answered my calls. No wonder she’d shut off her phone for twenty-four hours—an absolute sin in our line of work. She hadn’t been in an emergency. She had been playing the doting partner to Chase’s parents. My last finger folded down. My hand formed a tight, hollow fist. Without saying a word, I stood up, walked past Camille, and left. … Two hours. I walked the cold, damp streets of Boston for two hours, and my phone didn’t buzz once. No texts. No missed calls. It was as if my absence made no difference at all. After downing an iced Americano in three bitter gulps, I returned to the office to pack up some things. Katie, one of the paralegals, nudged my arm in the hallway, offering a tight, sympathetic look. “Back so soon? Where are the other two?” Everyone at Vanguard Law knew Camille and Chase were the golden duo. They had been the stars of Harvard Law, a perfectly matched set of ambition and brilliant legal minds. To the rest of the office, they were the real couple; I was just the background noise. I couldn’t count how many times people had looked at me with pity. Even when we took a rare day off, colleagues would corner me. “Jesse, don’t you think three’s a crowd? When are you going to bow out?” Back then, I’d just smile like an idiot and say, “We’re going to the movies today. There are plenty of seats. No one’s crowding anyone.” But the moment we stepped into the theater, Chase had muttered something about wanting to go shopping instead. Without a second thought, Camille threw our three tickets straight into the trash can. I can still feel the physical sting of the paper tickets scraping against the back of my hand as she tossed them away. When we bumped into our colleagues at the mall, Chase insisted everyone go out for drinks. Camille didn’t hesitate. She immediately booked a luxury private lounge nearby. Three months of grueling overtime, all for a single day off together, gone in an instant. And through it all, not a single person asked me what I wanted. Before every date, I would practically beg her. Please, let’s just stick to the plan. Let’s not spend dinner talking about your cases. Camille would ruffle my hair, and Chase would playfully stick his tongue out. “Aye, aye, captain!” they’d say. But it always ended the same way. Chase wanted ramen, Chase wanted boba, Chase wanted to try an escape room. The itineraries I spent hours planning, the reservations I made weeks in advance—all of it ended up in the garbage. “I’m so sorry, Jesse,” Chase would say with a sigh. “This new acquisition is killing me. The pressure is insane…” And Camille would immediately take the bait, asking for details. They’d dive into their legal jargon, bouncing ideas off each other, speaking a language I couldn’t understand. I sat there, unable to utter a word, counting the clouds outside the window or watching the condensation drip down my glass. Then I’d sit in the backseat while Camille drove him home. When we finally got back to our apartment and I tried to talk to her, she’d rub her temples and sigh, “Jesse, I’m exhausted. Let’s talk later, okay?” The words would die in my throat, choking me. We had been together for eight years. My parents had been begging to meet her. But she was always “too busy.” To make it easy for her, my parents had booked flights with two layovers just to fly into Boston. She had requested the day off. She chose the restaurant. But when the day arrived, she went completely off the grid. No calls, no texts. The next morning, she casually told me she had been in a minor fender bender and was too shaken up to reply. But now I knew the truth. There was no accident. There was no panic. She was just at a cozy dinner with Chase’s family. My chest throbbed with a dull, heavy ache. I looked at Katie and managed a tight, fragile smile. “You guys were right. Three is a crowd. I’m done being the third wheel.” I had always been the dead weight in Camille’s life. Back in college, when I struggled with my classes, she was the one who tutored me. Back then, she would laugh softly and say, “Jesse is a little slow, but that’s why he has me to look after him.” She didn’t use to look at me with disgust and say, “You’re a grown man, Jesse. Can you stop throwing tantrums and vanishing? It’s pathetic.” She walked past me toward her office, the glass door swinging shut behind her. Chase stood nearby, a smug, self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t take it personally,” he said, patting my shoulder with mock sympathy. “She’s got a lot of cases on her plate right now. The stress is just getting to her.” I gently pulled my shoulder away. My voice was barely a whisper. “She’s right. I’m fine now.” That afternoon, I handed in my resignation. The HR director slid his glasses down his nose, looking at me in shock. “Jesse, are you sure about this? You worked yourself to the bone to get a foot in the door here with your background. You’re just going to throw that away?” I offered a dry, hollow laugh. Getting into this firm had been the biggest fluke of my life. I wasn’t a lawyer. I was just a legal assistant who struggled to keep up with the terminology and the fast-paced environment. I had only stayed because of Camille. But I was tired. Some things just couldn’t be forced, whether it was a career or a relationship. “I just finally opened my eyes,” I told him. He sighed and patted my shoulder. “Sometimes letting go is the smartest thing you can do.” I went back to my desk to wrap up my remaining files before my final two weeks. Chase strolled over, holding a thick blue folder. He wore a look of exaggerated concern. “Jesse, I know you’re going through a rough patch, but you messed up this filing again…” Again? I stood up, snatching the folder from his hands. I flipped through the pages and shook my head. “You’re mistaken. I didn’t draft this.” Chase’s eyes immediately welled with tears. He lowered his voice, sounding wounded. “Are you mad at me, Jesse? Look, if I did something to upset you, I’m sorry. But this is a law firm. Lives are on the line. You can’t just be careless because of a personal grudge.” Before I could even open my mouth, Camille’s cold voice cut through the air. “Jesse, apologize.” I looked up, staring into her eyes. “Camille… you didn’t even look at the file.” “I don’t need to,” she said flatly, her voice cutting like glass. “With your track record, of course it’s your mistake.” She made her judgment without even glancing at the document. She didn’t know what the issue was, nor did she care. She just instinctively sided with Chase. I looked at her, then at Chase standing close beside her. The last thread holding my dignity together snapped. Whispers and chuckles rippled through the bullpen. “Honestly, I sometimes forget which one is actually her boyfriend,” someone whispered. “Tell me about it. They’ve always been like this.” Camille glared at the gossiping coworkers. Then she reached out and laced her fingers through mine, her tone softening slightly. “Just apologize, Jesse. Don’t make a scene and embarrass Chase. I’ll make your favorite dinner tonight, okay?” I stared down at our joined hands. Her palm was warm, a warmth that used to be my safe haven. We had held hands like this a thousand times. She had once stood up to professors for me, fought for my grade makeups, and asked me to be her boyfriend while I carried her on my back under the autumn leaves. Now, she was using that same touch to force me to take the blame for something I hadn’t done, just to save Chase’s face. For the first time in eight years, I pulled my hand away. I looked at Chase, bowed his head slightly, and said, “I’m sorry.” “Jesse, you don’t have to do that…” Chase murmured, looking guilty. If he actually cared, he wouldn’t have waited until now to play the bigger man. “Stop babying him, Chase,” Camille snapped. “He needs to learn to take responsibility.” They started bickering back and forth, their voices washing over me. I stood there between them like a ghost. An outsider. The bitter coffee I’d chugged earlier began to churn in my stomach, sending sharp, agonizing cramps through my abdomen. I started to tremble, breaking into a cold sweat, but neither of them noticed how pale I had gone. “See, Camille? I told you. One word from you and Jesse folds every time,” Chase chuckled as they walked away. “You owe me dinner tonight…” Their laughter faded down the corridor, leaving a gaping, bleeding hole in my chest. I was practically doubled over in physical pain, and the two people I loved most in the world had used my humiliation as a wager. Gripping the edge of my desk until my knuckles turned white, I forced the words out through a tight throat. “Camille. We’re done.” But the only response was the heavy slam of the glass door. I sat in our dark apartment until midnight. She never came home. Instead, my phone lit up with messages from colleagues. Jesse, did you know Camille and Chase checked into a hotel room together last night? Are you seriously okay with this? Honestly, they look so much better together. Just save yourself the heartbreak and let her go. I stared at the glowing screen. My mind went completely blank, then shattered into a million sharp pieces. No wonder she hadn’t picked up my calls last night. She was busy. Tears blurred my vision, turning the text messages into a smear of light. I took a ragged breath, rubbed my eyes, and opened Instagram. Chase had just posted a story. It was a picture of two white hotel bathrobes discarded on the floor, overlapping in a tangled heap. He hadn’t added a caption. He didn’t need to. I stared at the photo until my legs gave out. Yes, Chase was brilliant, charming, and sharp. I was none of those things. I was ordinary. But when I saved him from a gang of street thugs back in college, I never imagined he would end up in my girlfriend’s bed. Back then, Chase was fragile, terrified, and so broke he could barely afford his textbooks. I had working-class parents and worked double shifts at a diner all summer just to give him my savings so he wouldn’t drop out. I remembered how he had cried, clutching my jacket, sobbing that no one had ever cared about him before. I had patted his back like a fool. Don’t worry, man. I’ve got your back from now on. I kept my word. When I landed my internship, I made sure he got one too. When Camille and I went out, I always invited him along. When we relocated to Boston, I practically begged Camille to use her influence to get Chase a position at Vanguard. An older attorney at the firm had once warned me over drinks. “Jesse, keeping a third wheel around that close for too long always backfires.” I had laughed it off. “Not them. They’re my family.” But as they climbed the ranks, their stars rising in tandem, I was slowly demoted to the shadow following behind them. I slid down against the wall of the kitchen, staring at the dark floor, unable to pull myself up. The sun was rising when Camille finally unlocked the front door. She gave me a brief, distracted wave before heading straight into the master bedroom to shower and change. Ten minutes later, she emerged, looking every bit the polished, high-powered defense attorney. I forced my stiff legs to stand and blocked her path. “We need to talk.” “Make it quick, Jesse. I have three minutes,” she said, her eyes glued to her phone as her thumbs flew across the screen. A small, soft smile played on her lips. I looked down and saw the text she was sending: Heading out now, Chase. I’ll be downstairs in ten. A hot, suffocating anger flared in my chest, burning my throat until I could barely breathe. “Jesse! I’m going to be late,” she snapped, checking her designer watch with a flash of irritation. She was perfectly willing to spend an hour fighting traffic to drive across town to pick Chase up every morning, but for me, she could only spare a measly three minutes. I couldn’t even remember the last time she had driven me to work, despite us going to the exact same building. It was always, Chase and I need to review a brief on the way. Just take the subway, Jesse. I had been pathetic. I had gone from hurt to confused, and eventually to numb acceptance. But I was done playing the martyr. Taking a deep, stabilizing breath, I looked her in the eye. “Let’s break up, Camille.” Her fingers froze over the keyboard. She slowly raised her head. “What did you say?” “I want to break up.” “Why? Give me one logical reason, Jesse.” She grabbed my wrist, her grip tightening until her manicured nails dug into my skin. I didn’t flinch. I just looked at her hand on my wrist. “You shared a room with him last night. Breaking up just saves you the trouble of hiding it.” A flicker of realization crossed her face, quickly replaced by a sharp flare of defensive anger. “Jesse! Chase is your best friend. How can you be so disgusting? How can you think of us like that?” Disgusting. We had been together for eight years. I had packed up my entire life to follow her to this city, leaving my family behind, and this was what my devotion bought me. “We had a massive breakthrough on the Meridian case,” she said, shoving her phone into her purse. “We had a few drinks to celebrate and got too tired to drive, so we got a room with two double beds. Believe what you want, but nothing happened.” She brushed past me, grabbing her keys and slipping into her heels. At the door, she paused. She turned back, her expression softening into something resembling pity. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Calm down and think about it today.” I didn’t get to think about it for long. Ten minutes after she left, my phone rang. It was HR, demanding I come into the office immediately. The moment I walked through the doors of Vanguard Law, Katie pulled me into a quiet corner, her face completely pale. “Jesse, everything is blowing up. Someone leaked the trade secrets for the Meridian Group acquisition. It’s our biggest account. The managing partners are livid—they’re threatening lawsuits.” I thanked her and walked straight to the HR director’s office. He looked up, his face lined with pity. “Jesse, the executive board has reason to believe you were the one who leaked the files. You, Camille, and Chase were the only ones with access to the server that day.” It felt like a physical blow to the chest. “I didn’t do it. You can check the security cameras. I was just setting up the room and handing out hard copies. I sat at the far end of the table. I didn’t even understand half of what they were discussing. How could I leak it? Besides, I already handed in my resignation. Why would I ruin my life on the way out?” The director sighed. “Jesse, I want to believe you, but we received a formal whistle-blower report with evidence.” “From who?” I demanded, my hands shaking as I stood up. The director looked down at his desk. “Your friend. Chase.” My hands clenched into fists so tight my nails cut into my palms. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. “But I didn’t do it,” I choked out. “Camille was there the whole time. She can vouch for me. She knows my access logs…” Before I could finish, the director shook his head gently. “Jesse… the second signature on the report belongs to Camille. Your girlfriend.” The world fell silent. I couldn’t hear the rest of what he was saying. The words looped in my mind like a broken record: Camille signed it. Camille signed it. I stumbled back to my desk. The whispers from the bullpen felt like physical blows. “I always thought he was a bit slow, but I didn’t think he was a thief.” “He probably knew he’d never make partner, so he sold the client out for a quick payday.” I didn’t say a word to any of them. I walked straight to Camille’s office and pushed the door open. She was sitting at her mahogany desk, silhouetted against the bright window, her face cast in shadow. Before I could speak, her familiar, polished voice drifted across the room. “Jesse, just sign the severance agreement and take the fall for now. I’ll explain everything later.” I walked toward her, forcing myself not to let the tears fall. “You signed it. You actually signed it. Why, Camille? You know I didn’t touch those files.” Camille stood up, walking around her desk to grab my arm. Her eyes softened with a flicker of guilt, but her words were cold steel. “I know you didn’t do it, Jesse. But if you don’t take the blame, Chase’s career is over.” The sheer absurdity of it hit me like a physical shock. I stared at her, completely paralyzed. “You’re just an assistant, Jesse,” she pleaded, her grip on my arm tightening. “You can transition to a different field, or we can find you something else. But Chase… Chase has worked so hard. If his reputation is ruined over a compliance leak, he’ll be disbarred. His life will be over.” My vision blurred as hot tears finally spilled over. She kept talking, but her face was just a smear of flesh and shadow. “Jesse, you have me to support you,” she whispered, reaching up to wipe a tear from my cheek. “But Chase has nothing. You’re his best friend. You’d do this for him, wouldn’t you?” Her hands were warm against my face, but I felt frozen to the bone. I looked deep into her eyes, seeing my own broken reflection. “And what if I say no?” Camille’s eyes welled with tears, and she shook her head. “It’s too late, Jesse. Chase already fabricated the server log video. The partners have already seen it.” The guillotine fell. She knew. She had known the evidence was forged, and she had chosen to let them destroy me anyway. I closed my eyes and nodded slowly. Suddenly, the door burst open, and Chase threw his arms around me, sobbing. “Jesse, I’m so sorry! I didn’t have a choice… please forgive me…” I pushed him away with every ounce of strength I had left. I looked at Chase, then turned my gaze to Camille. “Get away from me. Both of you make me sick.” I walked out of the office and straight back to the apartment. Within two hours, a moving truck was parked outside our building. Every book, every piece of clothing, every trace of my existence in Chestnut Hill was packed away.

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My boyfriend Hudson’s childhood friend is a social media influencer who specializes in “prank” videos. The first time, she deliberately flashed her bikini photos to him while I was sitting right there, secretly recording his reaction. The second time, she let her towel slip in front of the camera during a FaceTime call to see how he’d react. The third time, under the watchful eyes of everyone at a party, she suddenly grabbed him and kissed him on the mouth, laughing it off with a breezy explanation: “Don’t be mad, Miranda! It’s just a ‘Kiss Your Best Friend’ challenge for my channel!” This time, it was at our proposal party. She grabbed the microphone, her eyes rimmed with red. “Hudson, I’m pregnant.” The entire room fell into a dead silence. Hudson froze. Then, she burst into a loud, mocking laugh. “Gotcha! Just kidding!” But right at that moment, a row of glowing, translucent text floated across my field of vision, like a live chat stream: [Girl, wake up! This time it’s actually real!] [The night you two had that massive fight because of the kiss and went cold turkey? He got wasted and slept with her!] I stared blankly at Hudson, who was quietly letting out a sigh of relief. A cold smile touched my lips. “I’m pregnant too,” I said softly. “And it’s not yours.” … 01. The face of Manhattan’s golden boy instantly turned a dangerous shade of ash. “Miranda, say that again. I dare you.” He grabbed my wrist, a dark, raging storm brewing in his eyes. I looked at him, completely calm. “Just kidding.” But Hudson’s anger only flared hotter. He gripped my shoulders hard, his voice echoing through the silent room. “Miranda, you think a pregnancy is something to joke about? Are you messing with me?!” I glanced over at Lexi. Then I looked back into Hudson’s cold, menacing gaze, a faint smirk playing on my lips. “Why? Lexi can joke about it, but I can’t? How many times has she made a fool out of you? Why aren’t you angry at her?” My nails bit into my palms. I forced down the crushing ache in my chest. Hudson stiffened. The aggressive fire in his eyes died out instantly. The guests shifted uncomfortably, barely daring to breathe. I took a deep breath, pushed him away, and turned to leave. Behind me, Lexi’s loud, scoffing voice carried across the room. “Oh, so this tantrum is directed at me? Is she crazy? I was just trying to add some flavor to their proposal party. Was that really necessary?” She raised her voice, making sure every word reached my ears. I wasn’t about to pretend to be deaf. I snatched a bottle of champagne from a passing tray and smashed it violently at Lexi’s feet. She shrieked, jumping back. “Miranda, you’re insane!” I gave her a polite, empty smile. “I was just trying to make the party more exciting. Was that really necessary?” Infuriated, Lexi grabbed a heavy wine bottle from the table and lunged to throw it at me. As I braced to dodge, Hudson suddenly threw himself in front of me, locking me in a tight embrace. The heavy glass bottle struck the back of his head with a sickening thud. Shattered glass rained down, and blood immediately began to pour down his neck. “Hudson! Oh my God, call 911!” The crowd erupted into chaos, rushing toward him. And I, standing in the middle of the madness, calmly dialed the police. At the precinct, Lexi refused to back down, loudly claiming I had started the fight. But the security footage was clear: I had targeted the floor; she had aimed directly at a human head. Lexi shook with rage. “Miranda! Are you really not going to let this go until I’m locked in a cell?” “Shouldn’t you be held accountable for what you do?” I asked quietly. Just then, Hudson walked in. He should have been in the ER. “Officer, I’m the victim here,” Hudson said, his voice flat. “I want to drop the charges. We’re settling this privately. She doesn’t need to be detained.” Lexi’s eyes welled with tears, and she threw herself into his arms, sobbing dramatically. Hudson’s body went rigid as he looked at me, his lips parting as if to explain. I simply smiled, picked up my purse, and walked out into the cool night air. The autumn breeze cleared some of the fog in my head. Hudson caught up with me quickly. “Miranda, wait! Just hear me out!” He grabbed my arm, his tone laced with a familiar, impatient frustration. “It was just a stupid spat. Did you really have to take it this far?” The floating text flickered across my eyes again. [Just got back from reading the future chapters—the countdown starts now.] [She’s going to apply for that three-year medical aid program in Southeast Asia, but she’ll let him torture her emotionally for another two weeks before actually breaking up!] A bitter laugh escaped my throat. Why wait for a countdown? “Hudson, let’s break up.” The arrogant, untouchable smirk on his face completely froze. He narrowed his eyes. “Break up? Are you kidding me?” 02. We didn’t see each other again until a week later. Hudson blocked my car in the hospital parking garage. His imposing frame hovered over me, his voice raw and laced with irritation as he cornered me against the driver’s side door. “Miranda! What the hell are you still mad about?” I had been with Hudson for three years. In the beginning, I knew exactly what this was: a rich heir’s passing amusement, a game he wanted to play. If he hadn’t crashed his motorcycle and ended up in my clinic that day, our worlds would never have crossed. He was relentless in his pursuit, and I didn’t have the energy to fight him off. I figured I would just wait until he got bored and let the relationship die a natural death. But when did I start falling? When did I become foolish enough to think we actually had a future? I blinked back the sting of tears and took a deep breath. “The night Lexi said she was pregnant… was she really just joking?” Hudson let out a harsh, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Are you serious? You’ve been freezing me out for a week because of that?” “Miranda, I’ve told you a thousand times! We grew up together. She’s like a sister to me. Honestly, I don’t even see her as a woman!” The comments flashed rapidly in front of me. [Liar! That time she sent him the bikini pic, he stared at it and saved it to his private folder!] [And she cornered him in the restroom at that club to get him alone. He smirked and asked her when she got so bold, and she literally teased him, asking if he wanted to find out!] [When she dropped her towel on camera, he cornered her in a bathroom later and told her to stop playing those games. His face was pure jealousy, not brotherly concern.] My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. I looked up at him, meeting his patronizing stare with a cold, mocking look of my own. “Then tell me. The night we had that fight—the night I walked out—where did you go after you got drunk?” The usually unbothered, wealthy heir suddenly looked cornered. He ran a hand through his messy hair, taking a sharp breath before speaking. “Fine. I admit I went to Lexi’s place that night.” “But I already explained this to you! Making those stupid videos is her job. She does it for views, she didn’t mean anything by it! But you had to make a scene, slamming the door and walking out in front of all my friends. Do you have any idea how that made me look?” “I was angry, and I went over there to spite you. But nothing happened between us!” His dark eyes searched mine, filled with an anxious sincerity I had never seen in him before. “Babe, I swear to God, I would never cheat on you.” [Well, he’s technically not lying. In his mind, he just got blackout drunk and passed out at her place.] [She lied and told him nothing happened, and he actually believed her. He has no idea she’s actually pregnant with his kid!] I looked into his eyes. “Why did you drop the charges against her?” He looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. “She’s my friend, Miranda. Was I supposed to let her go to jail?” “If she had hit me with that bottle instead of you, would you still have dropped the charges?” Hudson fell silent for a moment. Then he muttered, “No. If she hurt you, I’d make her pay.” I laughed. Perhaps my laughter was too sharp, because his brows furrowed, and he leaned in to kiss me—a hard, punishing kiss. “Fine, I didn’t handle the boundaries well. I admit that. But don’t you dare think about breaking up.” I closed my eyes, too exhausted to fight him. “Let’s make a bet.” “If you can prove what you just said—that you’d make her pay if she hurt me—I’ll take back the breakup.” 03. Lexi’s account uploaded a new video. “Title: Announcing I’m Pregnant at my Best Friend’s Proposal Party to See the Bride’s Reaction!” A few normal viewers commented: “This isn’t funny. It’s incredibly disrespectful.” Her army of fans immediately swarmed the comments, hounding the users until they deleted their posts. I shut off my phone, getting ready to leave after my shift. The comments floated up again. [Miranda, run! Someone is waiting to jump you.] [Lexi made a fake account and told her fan club that you beat her up and put her in the hospital.] [Her rabid fans hired some local thugs. They’re waiting in the hospital garage right now!] An alarm blared in my head. Instead of taking the elevator, I crept down the fire stairs. Sure enough, there were three shady-looking men loitering near my car. I snapped a quick photo of them and dialed Lexi directly. She seemed surprised to hear from me, but her tone quickly turned smug. “Hudson and I are at a friend’s estate for a pool party. You want an invite?” When I arrived, they were in the middle of a loud, drunken game of Truth or Dare. The crowd was chanting for Hudson and Lexi to share a one-minute kiss. Seeing me walk in, Lexi smirked and wrapped her arms around Hudson’s neck, leaning in. Hudson immediately pushed her off, looking at me with a mix of panic and eager submission. “Babe, what are you doing here?” He stepped forward to wrap his arms around me, but I stepped right past him and slapped the photo onto the table in front of Lexi. “Your doing?” Lexi glanced at it. A flash of guilt crossed her face, but she quickly masked it with a cold scoff. “Are you out of your mind? What is this trash?” I stared her down. “Lexi, I thought you crossing boundaries and throwing yourself at someone else’s boyfriend under the guise of ‘pranks’ was the lowest you could go.” “I didn’t realize you literally had no bottom line.” “Let me make this clear: I am not a pushover. If you try to use these disgusting, cowardly tactics to hurt me again, I will ruin you.” The entire room went dead silent. To Hudson’s friends, I had always been the quiet, rational doctor who never lost her temper. When Lexi kissed Hudson in public before, I had simply grabbed my bag and left without a word. They never expected me to humiliate Lexi so fiercely in front of everyone. The atmosphere turned incredibly tense. Hudson tried to soften his voice, reaching out to soothe me. “Babe, there has to be a mistake here…” I let out a bitter laugh, holding up my phone. “A mistake? Did I hire these thugs myself?” “She incited her fans to attack me. If I hadn’t noticed them in time and slipped away, what do you think would have happened to me tonight?” My voice shook with raw anger. Hudson sighed, pulling me toward him. “Miranda, calm down. You weren’t actually hurt. And a photo doesn’t prove anything. For all we know, someone is trying to set her up…” The last thread of my patience snapped. I shoved him away with all my strength, screaming, “Do you remember promising me that if she ever hurt me, you’d make her pay?!” “So what, I have to be kidnapped, beaten, or assaulted before you’ll believe me?!” “Hudson! I don’t care if you believe me or not! You can let her trample all over our three years together, you can let her run wild in our lives, and you can believe her lies blindly!” “But you do not have the right to stop me from protecting myself!” I was shaking violently, completely pushed to the brink. Hudson had never seen me like this. Lexi bit her lip, looking at Hudson with a face full of tragic victimhood. “Hudson, we’ve known each other for twenty years. Are you really going to let your ex-girlfriend stand here and humiliate me like this?” She suddenly grabbed a wine bottle, smashed it on the table, and held a jagged edge to her wrist. Hudson panicked. He shoved me aside, rushing to wrestle the broken glass from her hand. “Are you insane?!” She collapsed into his arms, sobbing hysterically. “Let me go! You’re a jerk, Hudson! I hate you!” I watched the spectacle. With a cold, mocking laugh, I turned to walk away. Terrified, Hudson broke away from her and lunged to grab my wrist. “Miranda, wait!” “Get lost!” I swung around and slapped him hard across the face. “Don’t you ever come near me again.” As I slammed the door behind me, I heard Hudson’s furious roar from inside the house. “Miranda, if I ever chase after you again, I’m a goddamn dog!” 04. Our ugly breakup became the talk of our social circles. A few days later, my hospital colleagues invited me out for a karaoke night to cheer me up. As I walked past a VIP lounge down the hall, I heard my name. “Who does Miranda think she is, slapping Hudson like that?” “Hudson’s a billionaire heir. He was just playing around with some middle-class doctor, and she actually thought she was special.” “Well, she got nothing out of it. Not a single cent of a parting gift.” I ignored them and walked into the restroom. But as soon as I turned on the faucet, the lights suddenly went out. Everything went black. When I regained consciousness, I was lying on the couch in the very lounge I had just passed. My body was completely heavy, and I couldn’t even summon the strength to make a sound. The men standing over me were Hudson’s friends. One of them leaned over, studying my face, a sleazy grin spreading across his lips. “Are we sure about what Lexi said? This doctor is hot as hell, but if Hudson actually cares, he’ll destroy us.” Another guy snorted. “Lexi said she’s just trash Hudson threw away. Don’t believe me? Watch.” He pulled out his phone, dialed Hudson’s number, and put it on speaker. Hudson’s impatient voice came through the line. “What?” The background on his end was loud, filled with music and laughter. He was at a club. “Hey, man, we’re over at the Blue Night Lounge tonight. Guess who we ran into?” “Your ex, Miranda!” There was a pause on the other end. Then, Hudson’s cold, detached voice responded. “So? What’s that got to do with me?” The guys exchanged thrilled glances. “Well, she insisted on coming into our room to have a few drinks with us. We couldn’t even stop her.” “Just wanted to check in with you first. We wouldn’t dare touch your ex without your green light.” I fought with everything I had to scream, but my lips were entirely numb. My throat felt closed shut; not a single gasp of air could escape. Then, Hudson’s sneering, indifferent voice echoed through the speaker. “Do whatever you want. What she does is none of my business.” “I’ve already moved on.” The line went dead. The guy holding the phone smirked. “See? Hudson’s got a new girl. She’s nothing to him now.” He grabbed my hair, forcing my head back onto the leather cushions. A cold shiver ran down my spine, and hot tears spilled over my temples. One of the other guys hesitated. “Hey, maybe we shouldn’t actually do anything. We all know Hudson’s temper. He almost proposed to her. Let’s not cross the line.” In the end, they didn’t touch me sexually. Instead, they brutally tore open my shirt, exposing my shoulders. One of them slapped my face hard to force me to look at the lens, while the other snapped photos and videos. I heard the shutter clicks. I heard the blood rushing in my ears, a roaring, desperate sound of pure helplessness and fury. They dumped me out of a car onto the empty street in the dead of night. It was past 3:00 AM. My coworkers probably assumed I had left early because I wasn’t feeling well. My phone was full of missed calls. I sat on the cold curb. Suddenly, brilliant fireworks erupted in the night sky over the city harbor. In the midst of the glittering light, I buried my face in my hands and sobbed uncontrollably. Glowing text began to drift across my vision again. [That absolute trash of a male lead is literally putting on a massive firework display for Lexi right now to announce they’re together. I’m sick to my stomach!] [Lexi is already planning her next ‘prank’ video. She’s going to use a fake number to pretend to be Hudson, begging Miranda to get back together, just to publicly humiliate her when she agrees.] [If Miranda actually takes him back after this, she deserves what she gets.] I stared blankly at the comments floating in the dark. The fog in my mind cleared, replaced by a cold, sharp resolve. You love pranks, Lexi? Fine. Let’s play.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “538965”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The moment I realized Adam didn’t love me anymore—or at least, not the way he used to—I started picking fights. I became difficult, needy, constantly testing the boundaries of his patience. I looked for reasons to spark an argument, desperate for some kind of friction, some proof that he still cared enough to push back. But we’d barely trade two sentences before he’d shut down, treating me like white noise. Staring at his cool, indifferent profile, I would slam the door and storm out into the cold. I never went far. I’d tell myself: “If he comes after me in the next ten seconds, I’ll forgive him.” Ten seconds would stretch into ten minutes. “If he comes looking for me now, I’ll go home with him.” I ended up freezing on a New York sidewalk for four hours. No open door. No text. No missed call. Eventually, I walked back on my own. The apartment was loud, bursting with life. Adam had thrown an impromptu get-together for his friends. A gorgeous woman leaned against him on the sofa, laughing as she held a glass of wine to his lips. The confrontation I’d prepared on my walk back dissolved, popping like the silent, fragile bubbles in a glass of champagne. He looked up, saw my wind-bitten, flushed face, and offered a careless shrug. “Done throwing your tantrum?” I swallowed the lump in my throat and answered softly, “Yeah. I’m done.” … There was a palpable exhaustion in Adam’s eyes. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the smoke curling between us. “Then stop picking fights over every little thing.” We had argued four times in the span of three days. “I waited in line for thirty minutes after work to get you that cake, and you complained it was the wrong flavor. You refused to eat it and made a scene.” “Last night, I missed your call because I was at a business dinner. You locked the bedroom door and wouldn’t let me in.” “This morning, I asked what you wanted for lunch, and you stayed silent. The moment the food arrived, you threw a fit and said you weren’t hungry.” “And now, because I invited some friends over, you lose your temper and threaten to walk out.” He reached out, his warm hand pressing against my freezing cheek. “Amelia, if you’re not tired of this, I am.” “If you’re going to storm out next time, at least remember to bring a coat.” “When you’re done cooling off and realize you have nowhere else to go, you know where the door is. Just let yourself in.” If this had been a few hours ago, I would have cried. I would have screamed, fighting tooth and nail against his version of the truth. But now, I just pressed a hand to my aching chest and forced a smile. “Okay.” From the living room, one of his friends watched me walk away and nudged him. “Aren’t you going to go after her? You used to drop to your knees if she so much as frowned.” Adam glanced casually at his watch. “Back then, chasing her meant playing the puppy dog. It took days of begging just to get her to smile.” “Now? I leave her alone, let her think it through, and she’s back in four hours.” He let out a low, easy laugh. “Looking back, I wasted a lot of energy. Honestly, I regret it.” “Regret.” The word echoed in my mind. During those four hours in the biting cold, I had counted so many ten-second intervals. I kept worrying he was looking for me and we’d somehow missed each other, so I paced the block. I held my phone high above my head, desperately searching for a signal, ignoring the strange looks from passersby. A little boy playing nearby looked up at me, curious. “Is the signal bad, or is my phone broken?” I muttered to myself. “Why isn’t anything coming through?” The boy bounced on his heels, eager to help. “Let me see!” I handed him the screen, which was open to my chat with Adam. “Whoa, lady, you sent this guy a ton of messages.” “He barely wrote back. Are you waiting for him?” He tapped the screen with the solemn gravity of an expert. “Your phone isn’t broken, lady.” “Nobody’s texting you.” “You’re kind of silly.” Just then, the screen lit up. My heart leaped, and I snatched it back. It was a push notification from an app. The phone was fine. Adam just hadn’t reached out. Our chat history ended the night before. Every message I’d sent had gone unanswered. I went from asking what time he’d be home, to wondering if he’d even seen my texts, to a hollow, aching sadness. “Are you that busy? Just text me when you’re done, okay?” And finally, after three of my calls were forwarded straight to voicemail, I had descended into a frantic panic. “You’re seeing these. Why aren’t you replying?” “Did I say something wrong? Why are you ignoring me?” But my unraveling—my tears, my desperation—had met a wall of absolute silence. Just like today. While I was shivering on a street corner waiting for him, he had already filled the house with people to keep him company. My presence, my absence, my voice—none of it made a dent in Adam’s world anymore. The speech he’d made, listing all my faults, had been recorded by someone in the room and uploaded online. The caption read: “How do high-maintenance girls like this get such amazing boyfriends? Why can’t I find a guy like him?” By the time I saw it, the internet had already unleashed a tidal wave of vitriol. “If I worked a ten-hour day only to come home to a princess like that, I’d kick her to the curb.” “Bro, take my advice. If she plays these games, dump her. A guy with your looks and money can do way better. She’ll come crawling back.” “He spoiled her too much. If you ignore them, they fall right back in line. That’s how I handle my girl.” “Where does she get off? Let’s go humble this spoiled brat in the comments.” Even Adam’s friends joined the fray, commenting that my real-life behavior was actually worse than what was shown in the video. The harassment intensified. The clip spread like wildfire, eventually reaching my coworkers and even trickling down to my family. It turned out the video had been posted by Victoria—the girl who had been feeding Adam wine. When I confronted him, Adam was scrolling through the comments, utterly unbothered. “I talked to Victoria. She said she was just mad on my behalf. She wanted some outside perspective, she didn’t think it would go viral.” “The guys were just sticking up for me, too.” “I’ll tell her to take it down. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.” “I mean, the video isn’t wrong about what happened. You got a few mean comments online, but it didn’t actually affect your real life. Just let it go.” Before the video was even taken down, a notification popped up on my feed. “Adam liked this video.” Seeing me stare at his screen, he quickly unliked it, his expression casual. “Slip of the thumb.” I didn’t say whether I believed him, but his brow furrowed in immediate annoyance. “Are you going to start another fight?” “I’m exhausted, Amelia. I don’t have the energy for this.” “Just go cool down. You tend to figure things out faster when you’re left alone.” I did figure things out. I stripped away every habit Adam found “difficult.” I stopped asking if he loved me. I stopped getting upset over his late nights. I stopped checking in on him. Adam called it “finally growing up.” Since I no longer watched his every move, he started coming home later and later. One night, Victoria brought him home. She fluttered around our living room, pouring him water, gently massaging his temples to ease his hangover. Then, as if suddenly remembering my presence, she offered a sweet, apologetic smile. “Oh, I should go. I’m sure Amelia wants to take care of you, Adam.” She said the words, but she didn’t move an inch. Adam reached out and caught her hand. “Victoria. My head hurts.” She looked torn, glancing between us. “Adam doesn’t want me to leave.” I leaned against the doorframe, watching them like a spectator at a mediocre play. “Then stay.” The jacket Adam had tossed onto the sofa still carried the heavy trail of Victoria’s perfume. It took me back to the night our fights first started. Same jacket. Same scent. I had sat on the sofa waiting for him until three in the morning. “You were MIA all day because you were with Victoria?” “Yeah,” he’d said carelessly, loosening his tie as he headed for the bathroom. “She just got back to the city. A bunch of us got together to welcome her.” He didn’t look at me. I had followed him, feeling like I was standing on the edge of a cliff. “Adam, did you forget what you promised me? You said you wouldn’t see her.” He shot me a look of deep, barely concealed irritation. “Are we really doing this again? How long ago did she confess to me? It’s ancient history.” “Can you stop being so incredibly insecure?” “Do me a favor and focus on something productive.” He brushed my hand off the bathroom door and closed it in my face. Shutting me out. Dividing our lives into two separate worlds. I wasn’t blind to the changes. He’d park the car in the garage and sit in it for an hour before coming upstairs. We couldn’t exchange three sentences before he’d sigh, tell me he was tired, and turn his back to me. I used to wonder if he was going through something difficult at work. But eventually, I realized he was just bored of me. Bored, impatient, and completely checked out. I had panicked. The more terrified I became of losing him, the more sensitive I grew. The tighter I tried to hold on, the faster he slipped away. After that night he came home smelling like her, our home became a battlefield of constant arguments. But Adam only grew colder. He started putting on his headphones the moment I opened my mouth, or he’d simply walk out of the room. Once, I chased him down and ripped the headphones off his ears, tears streaming down my face. “Adam, do you think I want to fight with you?” “I don’t feel a single shred of affection from you anymore! I just want an explanation. I want you to hold me, to reassure me. Is that really so hard?” I had pleaded, shedding my dignity. “What happened to us? Did I do something wrong? Can we please just talk?” Adam didn’t say a word. He snatched his headphones back, put them over his ears, and said: “Do whatever you want.” The sound of Victoria’s soft laughter from the guest room snapped me back to the present. I forced myself to look away. I stopped myself from reaching out to him. I ate alone. I slept alone. I lived alone. I was slowly adapting to the silence, but I never expected my grandmother to intervene. Apparently, she had tried to get in touch with Adam several times, but he had ignored her calls. When I arrived at his office building, my grandmother was in the lobby, apologizing to Adam on my behalf. She looked so small, offering quiet pleas while Adam sat there, accepting her humility as if it were his birthright. “If only Amelia were as reasonable as you, Nana,” he said smoothly. There was no chair for my grandmother. She stood before him, looking anxious and ashamed. “Adam, I saw that video online and wanted to talk to you,” she said gently. “But I couldn’t reach you, so I came here today. I’ll say my piece and go. I don’t want to be a bother.” “I’m so sorry. Amelia was wrong, and I want to apologize for her.” “Please, don’t hold a grudge against my girl.” One of Adam’s friends laughed from the sofa. “With all due respect, ma’am, a simple apology doesn’t just erase the headache she’s caused him.” A hot spike of anger flared behind my eyes. I rushed into the room, grabbing my grandmother’s arm to lead her away. “Sweetheart,” she whispered, patting my hand. “We have to talk things out nicely.” My throat felt like it was coated in sand. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “The cake you waited thirty minutes for?” I spat, staring directly at Adam. “You sat in the car while your assistant bought it. It was mango flavor. I am highly allergic to mango. How was I supposed to eat it?” “And you say I locked you out? What about the hours I spent texting you while you ignored me? You had time to hit ‘decline’ on my calls, but you couldn’t spare a second to tell me when you’d be home.” “You claim I never told you what I wanted for lunch. I booked a reservation a day in advance and sent you the details. You agreed to it, and then you forgot. The food you ordered had ingredients I can’t eat.” “And your friends? The ‘friend’ you brought over is the girl who confessed to you. The girl I caught kissing you, whom you promised never to see again.” “Adam, I’m done trying to sort through this mess. It’s pointless.” “But how dare you stand here and let my grandmother apologize to you? How dare you humiliate her?” My voice cracked on the final shout. Adam sat up a little straighter, his posture stiffening. Before he could answer, the door swung open and Victoria walked in. She swept past me without a glance, heading straight for Adam. “Adam, I loved that restaurant you took me to tonight. Let’s go there again tomorrow!” So, the man we couldn’t reach had been spending his evening with her. I felt nothing—just a dull, numb acceptance. But my grandmother’s breathing grew shallow as she put the pieces together. “So you’re the one sneaking around, and you’re the other woman trying to ruin a relationship. Yet you turn around and paint my granddaughter as the villain.” Her hands shook with rage. “Where is your decency? Were you raised with any morals at all?” Victoria’s face twisted in an instant. “What did you just call me, you crazy old woman?” She shoved my grandmother. On the hard marble floor, the sound of her fall was sickeningly loud. Victoria gasped, stepping back toward Adam. She grabbed his arm, her voice instantly dropping into a trembling whine. “Adam, I didn’t mean to. She fell on her own.” The world faded into static. I couldn’t hear their voices anymore. All I could hear was my grandmother groaning in pain on the floor. I fell to my knees beside her, terrified to touch her, my hands shaking so violently I dropped my phone three times trying to dial 911. The paramedics arrived quickly. But as they tried to wheel the stretcher out, Victoria blocked the doorway, clinging to Adam’s arm. “Adam, they insulted me first. Are you just going to let them leave like this?” She whispered fiercely, “Everyone is watching. My friends are here. Am I just supposed to take this humiliation?” “She’s your girlfriend. You have to make this right.” Adam remained silent for a long moment, then looked down at me. “Amelia, apologize to Victoria.” “Apologize, and you can go.” I looked up at him, my temples throbbing, my teeth clenched so hard they ached. “Get the hell out of my way,” I rasped. “Let the paramedics through.” Victoria stepped forward. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” Adam pulled her behind him. His lips curved into a cold, humorless smile. “Amelia, I thought you’d finally grown up.” “Since a simple apology is too much for you, how about a formal bow?” He sat back down, crossing his legs, his eyes icy. “I have all night. We can stay here as long as it takes.” He glanced toward the stretcher. “But I don’t know if your grandmother has that kind of time.” For a second, my mind went entirely blank. All those fights, all those tears—I had only wanted to know if he still cared. And now, the truth I had been too terrified to admit stared me in the face. He didn’t love me. It was over. I wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it. My grandmother was pale with pain, her eyes squeezed shut. I stood up from the floor, wiping the tears from my face. And then, I bent my spine. Victoria scoffed. “That’s barely an effort.” I lowered myself further, bowing deeply to both of them. “I’m sorry.” A single tear fell, splashing onto the polished floor. With it, the final remnants of the love we had built since high school shattered into dust. Fortunately, my grandmother was strong for her age. It was only a hairline fracture. She squeezed my hand from her hospital bed. “I’m so sorry, Amelia. I only made things worse for you.” “I saw you in that video… you looked like you were about to cry. It broke my heart.” “I knew how much you loved him. I just wanted things to be okay between you two.” I buried my face in her palm, my tears soaking her skin. Adam and I “had” been happy once. I remembered high school, when he would take a detour across the entire city just to walk me home after evening study sessions. I remembered our trip abroad when we got pickpocketed. With only fifty dollars left to our name, Adam went hungry, insisting I use the money to get a warm meal. I remembered the night we graduated college, when he slipped a ring onto my finger and promised I could be as difficult as I wanted for the rest of my life, because he would always be there to hold me. Adam used to hate the smell of smoke. He never touched a cigarette around me. Once, after our worst fight, I had gone on a business trip to another city. He drove through the night to find me, pulling me into his arms and whispering that no matter where I went, he would always chase after me. He had loved me then. Truly. My grandmother stroked my hair. “Let’s go home, sweetheart. Just you and me. Okay?” I stopped crying and nodded quickly. “Yes. Let’s go home.” Adam showed up at the hospital later, but it wasn’t to check on my grandmother. The tables had turned. Someone had filmed the incident in the lobby and posted it online. The public hadn’t forgotten about the “dramatic girlfriend” from the previous viral video. Seeing the sudden plot twist, the internet turned its wrath on Adam and Victoria. Adam looked exhausted, his expression tight. “I already had the video taken down.” “Victoria posted a statement explaining we’re just friends.” “But people are still harassing her in the comments and DMing her horrible things.” “I need you to post a clarification. Just say your grandmother tripped and fell on her own, and that Victoria had nothing to do with it.” “And clarify that you know Victoria and I are just friends. There’s nothing going on.” “After all, your grandmother was the one who insulted her first.” Right then, his phone rang. It was Victoria. Her voice, thick with tears, came through the speaker. “Adam, did she agree to post it yet?” “People are being so mean to me. I’m so scared. Can you please come back and stay with me?” Adam looked up at me. “You hear her?” “Victoria is in a really bad place right now. Let’s keep our issues between us and leave innocent people out of it.” I let out a soft, mocking laugh. “I thought you said getting dragged online was no big deal? It’s just some strangers on the internet, right?” Adam raised a hand, cutting me off. “Don’t start with the dramatic act again. You walked away fine, didn’t you?” “Amelia, don’t be suffocating. We have real problems to deal with, and you’re still obsessing over your petty jealousy.” Disgusted, he reached out to grab my phone to write it himself. I stepped back, keeping the screen out of his reach. “No need. I’ll post it.” Adam froze, slowly dropping his hand. His phone kept buzzing in his palm—Victoria was losing her patience. In his contact list, my name had been moved to the bottom, marked with a mute icon. Since I had agreed to his demands, he didn’t care to linger. After he left, I helped my grandmother discharge from the hospital. On our way home, the taxi drove past the apartment Adam and I used to share. The familiar building flashed by, quickly swallowed by the city skyline. I unlocked my phone, drafted the post, and hit upload. Within ten minutes, my phone began to vibrate violently. Texts flooded in from friends, acquaintances, and people I hadn’t spoken to in years. And then came Adam. The man who hadn’t initiated a conversation with me in weeks sent a barrage of texts. The final notification was a voice note, his tone dripping with barely controlled fury: “Amelia, what the hell did you just post?” “What is your problem?”

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My best friend, Cheryl, was the absolute queen of the “BOGO” deal. She was the kind of person who lived to manipulate algorithms for a discount. She’d bundle online orders to hit the free-shipping threshold, split Uber rides down to the exact cent, and drag me out to dinner every single day just to exploit a “buy-one-get-one-half-off” coupon. My boyfriend, Douglas, used to complain about it constantly. “Can’t you get her to give us some space? You’re with her so much that I barely get to see you anymore.” I’d always smile and try to soothe him. “She just grew up having to pinch pennies. Don’t let it get to you.” Until Valentine’s Day. Douglas and I were at a romantic dinner when Cheryl texted, saying the restaurant had a “parties of three get a free dessert platter” promo. She practically begged to join. When I looked up from my menu, I froze. They were wearing matching leather couple’s bracelets. It was the exact set I had fawned over last week while shopping with Douglas. He’d scoffed at them, called them tacky, and refused to buy them. Noticing where my eyes had landed, Douglas offered a perfectly casual, rehearsed explanation. “Oh, Cheryl said they were buy-one-get-one-free. I just helped her make up the difference.” Cheryl slid her arm through his, entirely at ease. “Thanks, Doug. Saved me another twenty bucks.” He looked down at her and smiled, dropping a piece of steak onto her plate. I calmly pushed the complimentary dessert platter toward them. “Enjoy,” I said softly. “I’m going to go powder my nose.” At the front desk, I smiled at the cashier and handed her my card. “Table eight. The couple over there will be paying for themselves. Charge them full price, please. No discounts.” If you both love bundling so much, you can be bundled together forever. … 1 “Isabel, did you really have to pull a stunt like this on Valentine’s Day?” The moment I stepped out of the restaurant and into the crisp February air, Douglas’s call came through. He sounded livid. In the background, I could hear Cheryl’s soft, theatrical whimpering. I stood on the sidewalk, watching happy couples walk by under the city lights, my voice entirely flat. “What stunt?” “What stunt?” Douglas’s voice spiked. “You have the nerve to ask me that? What did you say to the hostess? ‘The couple will be paying for themselves’? Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?” “Cheryl was just trying to keep things lively. She was trying to save us a buck, and you humiliate her in front of the entire waitstaff?” I raised my hand and hailed a passing cab, pulling open the door. “If it was all about saving money, what does it matter who paid?” I replied, stepping in. “She said the dessert was on her anyway. Consider the dinner your treat to each other.” The line went dead quiet for two seconds. Douglas exhaled sharply, pivoting to that condescending, coaxing tone he always used when he wanted me to back down. “Izzy, you used to be so generous. You aren’t like this.” “Cheryl just went through a brutal breakup. She’s alone on Valentine’s Day. She just wanted to be around some love, to catch some of our good energy.” “And besides, the bracelets—that was a complete misunderstanding.” So he was finally addressing it. I leaned my head against the cold glass of the cab window, watching the streetlights blur into long yellow streaks. “A misunderstanding?” “Yeah. Last week, when we were looking at them, I honestly thought they looked cheap. They weren’t right for you. But today, Cheryl mentioned she was buying one and the second was free, so I figured I’d help her out. It was a practical choice.” He explained it with such absolute, righteous certainty, as if my discomfort were a hysterical overreaction. “Izzy, you know how hard I’m working to climb the ladder at the firm. I’m stressed out of my mind trying to save up for a down payment on a house for us. She was trying to help us save money, and instead of being grateful, you humiliate her. Where is the supportive, understanding girl I fell in love with? Since when did you become so materialistic and petty?” I looked down at my bare wrist. Last week, standing in front of that display case, I had lovingly held the bracelet against his wrist, imagining us wearing them. He had pushed my hand away, scowling, saying wearing something that childish would make him look like a joke in front of his clients. And now, that “childish joke” was sitting snugly on his wrist, matching Cheryl’s. “Right. I’m the petty one.” I had no energy left to argue. I hung up. My screen buzzed almost immediately with a text from him. “I’m going to drop Cheryl off first. I ordered an Uber for you, so we’re even. Let’s just put this behind us.” “I’ll bring home those spicy tuna rolls you love on my way back. Be good. Stop throwing tantrums.” I stared at the glowing words, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I didn’t reply. It was his classic playbook: inflict a wound, then throw a cheap bandage over it. No matter how deeply he hurt me, a mild peace offering was supposed to buy my immediate forgiveness. When I got back to the apartment we shared, it was pitch black. I left the main lights off, allowing only the dim yellow glow of the entryway nightlight to guide me. I walked over to the coffee table, intending to pack away the marketing pitch I’d been drafting the night before. But as I opened the drawer, a thick white envelope caught my eye. It was unsealed. The corner of a blue ticket stub peeked out. I pulled it out. Two VIP, side-by-side tickets to the Celtics game in Boston this upcoming weekend. And printed clearly in the billing details were two names: “Douglas Fitch, Cheryl Dennis.” 2 I stared at those tickets. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, I slipped them back into the envelope and placed them exactly where I had found them. I didn’t tear them up. I didn’t take a picture to use as ammunition for a screaming match. I just closed the drawer. My palms felt numb, and somewhere deep inside me, a door swung shut, locking out the cold. Cheryl and I had been friends for seven years. Right after college, her family had gone through a massive financial crisis. She could barely afford groceries. My heart bled for her. I took her into my tiny apartment, paid for her food, and covered her rent. Later, when she finally got a job, she developed this pathological obsession with splitting costs and hunting down discounts. I had always categorized it as a trauma response—a deep-seated lack of security. So I accommodated her. Even when Douglas and I went on dates, and she’d ask to tag along to “make up the numbers” for a group discount, I’d agree just to spare her feelings. Every time Douglas complained and told me to keep my distance from her, I was the one defending her. I told him she was just set in her ways, that he shouldn’t judge her. It turns out, giving people an inch only invites them to take a mile. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. It was Harvey, my business partner. “Isabel, you need to get to the studio right now! The pipe on the second floor burst, and the water is pouring straight down into the server room!” Harvey’s voice was laced with pure panic. “The main servers are completely waterlogged. If we don’t save the data tonight, the gallery exhibition project we’re delivering next week is completely dead!” I bolted upright, nearly dropping my glass. “I’m on my way. Shut off the main power first!” I grabbed my car keys and sprinted out the door. As I navigated the wet night streets, I called Douglas. He was the one who had helped set up our local servers; he was a systems architect. In an emergency like this, he was the only one who knew how to rescue the data without corrupting it. The phone rang for a long time before he finally picked up. “Izzy, didn’t I tell you I’d be home a bit late? I already picked up the sushi.” He sounded relaxed. In the background, I could hear the faint murmur of a television show. “Doug, a pipe burst at the studio. The server room is flooding.” I gripped the steering wheel, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Can you get over there right now? We need to migrate the local databases immediately. Harvey doesn’t know how.” There was a brief pause on the other end. Then, Cheryl’s sweet, high-pitched voice drifted through the receiver. “Doug, the toilet is still leaking. Can you tighten that screw for me again?” My foot froze over the gas pedal. “Izzy, look, the toilet in Cheryl’s rental is totally busted, and her landlord isn’t responding. She’s just a single girl, and her bathroom is flooded. She can’t handle it.” Douglas lowered his voice, speaking into the receiver. “If your studio is flooding, call the building manager. I’m not a plumber.” “But the servers—the database—” “Don’t you have a cloud backup?” he interrupted, his tone sharp and irritated. “You always blow these minor things out of proportion. Cheryl’s place is literally underwater. She doesn’t even have a dry spot to step on.” “I’ll head over as soon as I’m done here. Just handle what you can.” With that, he hung up. I listened to the dial tone, utterly numb. My studio, my livelihood, was on the verge of ruin. And in his eyes, it didn’t even rank higher than a leaking toilet at Cheryl’s place. When I arrived at the studio, the water on the first floor was already ankle-deep. Harvey was drenched in sweat, desperately pushing a broom to sweep the water out the door. Without a word, I rolled up my jeans, waded into the freezing water, and began lifting heavy equipment. It took us three agonizing hours, and a small fortune to hire an emergency restoration crew, to minimize the damage. By 2:00 AM, I was sitting on the damp, muddy concrete floor, shivering, completely soaked. My phone lit up. It was a notification. Cheryl had updated her Instagram story. In the photo, Douglas was wearing his old, faded loungewear t-shirt, crouching on the bathroom floor to fix a pipe. The angle captured his focused profile perfectly. Her caption read: “The ultimate Valentine’s Day savior. Even when life is a messy flood, there’s always someone who shows up to make you feel safe.” The location tag was her apartment building. I locked my phone and stared at the water-stained blueprints pinned to the wall. Douglas had drawn those himself last year. He had promised me that once we saved enough money, we’d buy this studio space and convert it into our dream home. I pulled out my phone and dialed our landlord. “Hi, Mrs. Adler. Sorry to call so late.” “Our lease is up this weekend. We won’t be renewing.” 3 The next morning, when I walked back into our apartment, Douglas was asleep on the sofa. On the coffee table sat a bag of sushi. The receipt taped to the box proudly displayed a BOGO discount. Hearing the door, he rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Where were you last night? I brought the sushi back and you were gone.” He frowned, his voice laced with accusation. “The studio flooded. I told you on the phone,” I said, setting my keys on the counter. I didn’t look at him. Douglas blinked, as if only now remembering the call. “Did you get it fixed? I was exhausted after helping Cheryl last night, so I just crashed on the couch. I didn’t check my phone.” He stood up and walked toward me, reaching out to wrap his arms around my waist. I stepped aside, slipping past him. His arms remained suspended in mid-air, and his face instantly darkened. “Isabel, that’s enough. I apologized for Valentine’s Day, and I brought you the food.” “What else do you want from me? Am I supposed to grovel forever?” Looking at his self-righteous expression, I felt a profound sense of exhaustion. I didn’t even want to fight. “It’s fine. I’m not mad. I’m going to take a shower. I have a client meeting later.” I walked into the bathroom and turned the lock. As the hot water poured over me, I closed my eyes, but all I could see was the image of him crouching on Cheryl’s floor, fixing her toilet. That afternoon, I went back to the studio to organize the salvaged files. Harvey approached me, his expression troubled. “Isabel… did you lease out the exhibition space on the East Side to someone else?” I stopped what I was doing and looked at him, confused. “No. That’s the venue we secured for next month’s gallery. I already paid the non-refundable deposit.” Harvey sighed and handed me his phone. “Then you should take a look at this.” On the screen was Cheryl’s public social media profile. In a video, she was standing in the middle of our rented gallery space, directing a group of workers who were setting up tables. A banner hanging behind them read: “Cheryl’s Curated Thrift & Vintage Flea Market.” The caption read: “So incredibly grateful to a certain someone for making this happen. Zero venue fees! The ultimate thrift queen’s dream come true.” My ears started to ring. I had spent two weeks pleading with the venue owners, pulling every favor I had, just to lock down that space. I grabbed my keys and drove straight to the East Side gallery. When I pushed open the heavy double doors, Douglas was standing on a stepladder, helping Cheryl string up fairy lights. Cheryl was holding the ladder, laughing up at him. When they saw me walk in, both of their smiles instantly evaporated. “Isabel? What are you doing here?” Douglas climbed down, looking slightly flustered. I walked past them, pointing at the cluttered racks of secondhand clothes scattered across the polished concrete. “Who gave you permission to use my venue?” Cheryl shrank behind Douglas, her voice dropping to a meek whisper. “Isabel, please don’t be mad. Doug said you guys aren’t using this place until next month anyway. It was just sitting empty.” “I just wanted to host a little weekend market to make some extra pocket money.” Douglas stepped in front of her, his brow furrowed in irritation. “Isabel, the venue was going to waste. Cheryl is tight on cash right now. What’s the harm in letting her use it for a couple of days?” “A couple of days?” I let out a dry, cold laugh. “This is a professional exhibition space. You’re dragging dusty, used junk over specialized flooring. Who’s going to pay if the finishes get ruined?” “I’ll pay for it!” Douglas raised his voice, clearly losing patience. “Why have you become so incredibly cold? So business-minded? Where is your decency?” Looking at his familiar face, I realized he felt like a complete stranger. “Fine. Pay me.” I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app. “The security deposit was five thousand dollars. Since you’re being so generous, transfer it to my account right now.” Douglas’s face faltered. He avoided my gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… I don’t have the funds in my checking account right now,” he mumbled, lowering his voice. “I used it to help Cheryl buy inventory.” 4 The air in the gallery grew thick and suffocating. I stared at Douglas, watching the quick flash of embarrassment turn into defensive anger on his face. “You used the limit on my authorized user card?” Douglas frowned, immediately defensive. “What do you mean, “your” card? I’m the one who pays the monthly bill on that account.” “Cheryl needed short-term capital for her inventory. The interest rates on personal loans are predatory. I just gave her a temporary bridge loan. She’ll pay you back as soon as the flea market wraps up.” He stepped forward, trying to grab my hand. “We’re all friends here. We help each other out. Don’t be so petty.” I pulled my hand back, turning my gaze to Cheryl, who was cowering behind him. She kept her head low, looking like the victim of a terrible injustice. “Cheryl, you wanted inventory, so you used my venue, spent my money, and put my boyfriend to work.” I stared at her. “That is an incredibly efficient way to run a business.” Cheryl’s eyes welled with tears on cue. “Isabel… I didn’t know! I don’t have that kind of money. The clothes haven’t even sold yet. Doug told me he was lending me “his” money. He never said it was yours…” Douglas panicked. “Isabel, do you really have to make a scene out of this? The market starts this weekend, and you’ll get every cent back! You have a successful business; do you really care about a measly five grand?” I didn’t bother arguing. I unlocked my phone and dialed my bank’s customer service number. “Hi, I need to report my card ending in 4589 as stolen. I have unauthorized charges.” Once I hung up, I walked out and drove straight back to the apartment. For the next two days, Douglas didn’t come home. He sent me a few texts, claiming the market was chaotic and he needed to stay on-site to help manage the vendors. I didn’t reply. I simply went online and booked a moving company. On Sunday morning, just as I taped up the last cardboard box, my phone buzzed with an Instagram notification from Cheryl. It was a photo of her and Douglas sitting in first-class seats on a train, holding VIP tickets to the Celtics game in Boston. Her caption read: “The market was a massive success! Huge thank you to my favorite person for bundling this weekend getaway together to see my favorite team play.” In the corner of the photo, Douglas’s wrist was clearly visible. He was still wearing the matching bracelet. I scrolled past the post with complete detachment. I opened my contacts, selected both of their names, and blocked them. The movers arrived shortly after. “All of this goes, ma’am?” the driver asked, gesturing to the stack of boxes in the living room. “Yes. Everything.” I took one last look around the apartment where I had lived for three years. The framed prints we had picked out together still hung on the walls. The mint plant he had potted sat on the balcony. But I left nothing behind. I cleared it all out—including the space he had once occupied in my heart. Two days later, Douglas walked out of the elevator, carrying a bag of pastries from my favorite bakery, humming a light tune. He pressed his thumb against the biometric lock, but the keypad flashed red, beeped, and denied him entry. Confused, he pulled out his key and tried the deadbolt, only to find the key wouldn’t even slide into the slot. As he reached for his phone to call me, the building’s security guard came down the hall on his rounds. The guard stopped, looking surprised to see him. “Oh, Mr. Fitch. That unit was vacated. The tenant moved out all her things. What are you doing here?”

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I had a poor appetite and left half my bowl of rice. My dad, Arthur, gently patted my head with concern. “Why are you eating so little, sweetie? You’re getting so thin.” My mom, Clara, chimed in from the side, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “She’s growing up. She’s starting to care about her looks. Unlike me. After I had her, I gained so much weight and never lost it.” Arthur didn’t notice the coldness in her eyes. Without even looking up, he agreed, “True, you are a bit on the heavier side now. It’s not healthy. You should go on a diet.” Right after Arthur left the house, Clara marched into my room, holding the hot rice cooker pot. She grabbed the back of my neck and slammed my face straight into the scalding hot rice. “Eat! I said eat! Eat until you throw up!” “Always playing the fake little angel in front of him! Let’s see you play dead now!” The boiling hot rice pressed hard against my cheek. Every single grain felt like a branding iron. “M-Mom… it burns…” I struggled wildly, my hands clawing at the air, but her grip on my neck was like steel. “Burns? Good! It should burn!” Clara’s voice hissed in my ear, filled with a twisted, manic excitement. “Don’t you love playing the victim in front of him? I’ll give you something to actually cry about!” Only when the residual heat of the rice finally faded did she roughly let go of me. I collapsed onto the floor, clutching half of my face. The pain was so intense that I couldn’t even scream. I could only make muffled, whimpering sounds like a wounded animal. In the mirror, the left side of my face was blistered and bright red. A few squashed grains of rice still stuck to my skin. I looked pathetic and ridiculous. Clara looked down at me, a twisted sense of satisfaction spreading across her face. “Clean yourself up.” She pulled out a few wet wipes and threw them at my face. “When your father gets back, tell him you were clumsy. Tell him you slipped while carrying hot soup and fell face-first. Got it?” With tears in my eyes, I nodded desperately. I didn’t dare to say no. A few days later, Arthur returned. When he saw the lingering scars on my face, his expression changed instantly. He rushed over to me. “Lily! What happened to your face?” I lowered my head, not daring to look him in the eye. I repeated the lie Clara had forced me to memorize: “…I was clumsy. I slipped.” Clara chimed in right on cue, her voice sounding full of “concern” and mild annoyance. “She’s sixteen, yet she’s still so clumsy.” “Fortunately, the soup wasn’t boiling hot. Otherwise, half her face would have been ruined.” Arthur gently cupped my face, blowing softly on my cheek. “You silly girl. Be careful next time.” His hands were warm and dry. He smelled of tobacco and aftershave. Instinctively, I wanted to lean into his warmth. But behind him, Clara’s gaze felt like poisoned needles stabbing into my back. I quickly took a step back, escaping Arthur’s touch. “Dad, I’m fine. I’m going to my room to do homework.” I fled to my room, shut the door, and slid down against it. The tears fell silently. I wanted so badly to tell Arthur the truth. But I didn’t dare. Arthur loved me, but he loved Clara too. Clara always told me that the only reason Arthur cared about me was because I was her daughter. I believed her. Besides, Arthur was always so busy. Most of the time, we didn’t even see each other once a week. I was nothing but a doll in Clara’s hands, to be played with or broken at her whim. From that day on, I stopped responding to Arthur’s kindness. Because I knew that every ounce of love he showed me would only make Clara burn with jealousy. And later, she would take out all her bottled-up rage on me in the most brutal ways.

From that day on, I deliberately avoided Arthur. On the rare occasions he came home, I locked myself in my room. When he called me for dinner, I always said I wasn’t hungry. When he wanted to talk about school, I answered with one-word grunts. Arthur thought I was just going through a rebellious teenage phase. He only sighed with helplessness. Clara, however, seemed very pleased with my “good behavior.” For a while, the tension in the house eased up. Until Arthur came back from another business trip. He brought back a beautiful white dress for me. “Our Lily will look like an absolute angel in this,” Arthur said, holding the dress against me with a proud, beaming smile. Looking at the dress, I didn’t feel joy. I felt a cold, paralyzing terror. Sure enough, Clara’s face darkened instantly. She forced a stiff smile. “Why buy her a white dress? It gets dirty so easily. Besides, her skin isn’t as fair as mine. It’ll just make her look washed out.” Arthur, completely oblivious to her jealousy, said cheerfully, “No way! Lily has your complexion. She’s fair and beautiful. I remember you used to love white dresses when you were young. Back then…” “Enough!” Clara snapped, her voice sharp and screeching. “That was a long time ago! Why bring it up!” Arthur froze, startled by her sudden outburst. Trying to clear the awkwardness, he chuckled, “Alright, alright, I won’t. Lily, go try it on.” Holding the dress, it felt like a hot coal burning my hands. I wanted to refuse. I wanted to tell Arthur I hated white dresses. But looking at his expectant, loving eyes, the words clogged in my throat. “Go on, Lily. Go try it on. Your dad spent a long time picking this out for you.” “Yeah, your dad bought this specifically for you. He didn’t even get me anything. Go put it on. Show your dad…” Clara smiled sweetly, but her eyes were cold as daggers. I had no choice. I walked into my room with a heavy heart. I put on the dress and lingered inside for as long as I could before stepping out. The moment Arthur saw me, his eyes lit up. “Beautiful! So beautiful! I knew it, my daughter is the prettiest girl in the world!” He pulled out his phone, snapping photos of me non-stop. Clara stood right behind him. She didn’t say a word, just stared at me with murderous eyes. In that moment, I didn’t feel like a girl in a pretty new dress. I felt like a prisoner standing on the scaffold, waiting for the blade to fall. That night, Arthur went to bed early, exhausted from his trip. Just as I finished my shower, my bedroom door creaked open. Clara walked in. In her hand, she held a pair of sharp kitchen scissors. “Put the dress on,” she commanded. “Mom, it’s so late…” “I said, put it on!” With trembling hands, I pulled the white dress back over my body. Clara looked at me with satisfaction, then raised the scissors. “Snip—” A long lock of my dark hair fell onto the pristine white fabric. She grabbed my hair, cutting it chunk by chunk. In the mirror, my long, beautiful hair was hacked into an ugly, uneven mess. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I forced myself not to let them fall. “Fair skin? Like me?” Clara mocked, whispering harshly in my ear as she cut. “What makes you think you can ever compare to me?” “You are nothing but a tool I birthed to keep him tied to me. To secure my place!” “And now you want to wear white dresses like me? You don’t deserve it!” She threw the scissors aside, grabbed my head by the hair, and slammed it hard against the mirror. “Crash!” The mirror shattered. Through the web of cracks, I saw my own broken, tear-stained face.

Arthur was still incredibly busy. He left early the next morning. By the time he returned a few weeks later, the bruise on my forehead had faded. My hacked hair had grown out slightly, looking like an edgy pixie cut. Arthur was surprised at first, but then he smiled. “Our Lily looks great with short hair too! I know what this is—it’s called a cool, modern look, right?” I hesitated, wanting to say something, but the moment I caught Clara’s warning glare from the kitchen, I kept my mouth shut. Soon, it was my sixteenth birthday. Arthur said he had missed too many of my birthdays because of work, and he promised to make it up to me this year. He started planning two weeks in advance. He ordered a cake from the best bakery in town and took a whole day off just to spend it with me. On the morning of my birthday, he woke me up early, excitedly holding out a small velvet box. “Happy birthday, Lily! My baby girl is another year older.” I opened the box. Inside was a delicate silver locket. Arthur smiled and clicked it open. Inside was a photo of him from his younger days—handsome, tall, and smiling. “When I’m not around, this locket will protect you for me.” A warmth bloomed in my chest, and my eyes grew hot. But when I looked up and saw Clara standing in the doorway, the blood in my veins turned to ice. She was standing there in her messy loungewear, hair uncombed, face pale. She stared at the locket in my hand with a look of pure, consuming madness. Arthur followed my gaze and smiled at her. “Clara, look at this. Doesn’t it look beautiful on Lily?” Clara didn’t say a word. Slowly, very slowly, she pulled her lips back into a smile that looked more like a corpse’s grimace. Cold sweat broke out across my body. I instinctively reached up to take the necklace off. But Arthur stopped my hand. “Keep it on. It’s your birthday present from me.” That day, Clara was unusually quiet. She even cooked a big dinner filled with my favorite foods. She kept putting food on my plate, smiling warmly the entire time. But underneath that calm surface, I could feel a volcano ready to erupt. Sure enough, by evening, Arthur’s phone rang. It was an emergency at work. He had to fly out immediately. “Lily, I’m so sorry. I can’t stay to blow out the candles with you,” he said guiltily, stroking my hair. “When I get back, I promise I’ll bring you an even bigger present to make it up to you, okay?” I grabbed the edge of his coat, shaking my head desperately, my eyes begging him. “Don’t go, Dad. Please don’t leave me alone with her.” But he didn’t understand. He just thought I was being affectionate. He smiled and comforted me, “Silly girl, I’ll be back before you know it.” The front door clicked shut. His footsteps faded down the hallway. The apartment fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Clara slowly stood up. Her slippers dragged against the hardwood floor. Step by step, she walked toward me. I froze, too terrified to look back. “Did you have a nice birthday?” her voice whispered from behind me. A shiver ran up my spine. She walked around to face me, then knelt down so we were eye-to-eye. She reached out, her fingers gently tracing the silver locket around my neck. Her touch was incredibly soft, as if she were handling a priceless treasure. “It’s so beautiful,” she whispered. “So much more beautiful than the one he gave me the year we got married.” Suddenly, her fingernails dug viciously into my skin. “You cheap little slut… are you trying to steal my husband from me now?”

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My bestie secretly whispered a jaw-dropping secret to me: her husband had two cocks. As an oncologist, I immediately warned her that it was likely a tumor. If it wasn’t surgically removed, it could turn into terminal cancer. Chloe scoffed at my advice. “A tumor? Please, you’re just jealous because you haven’t seen it.” “Whatever. You’re single and lonely, Avery. What would you know about a real man?” But I kept nagging her out of love, and she finally agreed to take him to the hospital. The ultrasound confirmed it. It was indeed a malignant tumor. Who would have thought that after Garrett had the tumor removed, his sexual performance completely tanked? Chloe brainwashed her husband, telling him that I was the one who ruined their marital bliss. “She knew you had a double package, Garrett! She was so jealous of me that she did this on purpose!” “Now you’re useless in bed, and it’s all her fault! A wicked bitch like her deserves to die!” The next thing I knew, Garrett pushed me off the hospital’s rooftop garden. I plummeted to my death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the exact day Chloe came to me with her little secret. This time, I was going to mind my own business.

“Avery, come closer. Let me tell you something crazy. My husband is… gifted. He literally has two cocks! I am the luckiest girl alive!” When I finally processed what my bestie, Chloe, was saying, my pupils dilated in sheer horror. My back went stiff, cold sweat broke out across my neck, and my hands clenched into tight fists. Seeing my reaction, Chloe swatted my arm playfully, a smug, blushing grin plastered on her face. “Look at you, completely speechless! Shocked, right? I was stunned too when I first found out.” “I’m only telling you because you’re my bestie. Keep it on the down-low, okay?” Only this time, I noticed what I had missed in my past life—underneath her fake modesty, Chloe’s eyes were filled with bragging rights and deep satisfaction. My entire body was tense, my fists still clenched, and my breathing grew shallow. It wasn’t because of her wild confession. It was because of the mind-blowing realization that I had been reborn. I was back to the day before all the tragedies started. In my past life, when she asked me out saying she had good news, I actually thought she was pregnant. I had even prepared a baby shower gift, only for her to brag about her husband’s double anatomy. She had leaned in, vividly describing their bedroom activities in graphic detail. But as a doctor, red flags instantly went up in my head. Every organ in the human body has a specific function. It is biologically impossible to suddenly grow a duplicate organ out of nowhere. Besides, Garrett wasn’t born with it. If it suddenly appeared, something was seriously wrong. Since we grew up together and I genuinely cared for her, I gave her my professional opinion. I suggested she take Garrett to a urologist immediately. If it was a tumor, early removal could save his life and prevent cancer. Instead of thanking me, Chloe’s face turned incredibly sour. She made up a dozen excuses, insisting it was a genetic blessing. After that day, she slowly began to distance herself from me. I thought she was just being forgetful, so after my hospital shifts, I kept messaging her on Snapchat, desperately trying to persuade her. I even researched medical journals and sent her case studies of similar tumors. Eventually, she agreed to the checkup. The diagnosis was exactly what I feared: a tumor. Because I was an oncologist, she cried and said she only trusted me, begging me to be the lead surgeon. I felt so bad for her that I cleared my busy schedule, postponed other surgeries, and personally operated on her husband. But once Garrett recovered, his bedroom performance withered. Chloe lost her mind. She accused me of being jealous of her happiness and intentionally ruining her husband’s manhood. She dragged Garrett to the hospital, screaming and staging protests to demand millions in malpractice compensation. And once they got their way, she lured me out under the pretense of a chat, only for Garrett to push me off the balcony when my guard was down. This time, I was done playing savior. Seeing that I hadn’t responded for a long time, Chloe nudged me again. “Avery? Are you even listening to me?” “I wonder if it’s a genetic thing in his family. To just grow another one at this age…” “Actually, Garrett has a younger brother, Gavin. If Gavin turns out to be just as gifted, want me to set you up? We are best friends, after all.” Ah, yes. “Best friends.” I sneered inwardly but kept a polite, slightly embarrassed smile on my face. “No, thanks. I’m not really into that. You know I’m happily single.” “Plus, my residency training is kicking into high gear, and I have to write a major research paper. I barely have time to sleep.” Chloe sighed, looking disappointed. “What a waste. But as a doctor, have you ever seen anything like this before?” “Like, could Garrett be sick or something? Think about it, how can a guy just grow a second one…” So, she actually knew something was wrong. She was just testing me. I quickly waved my hand. “I really wouldn’t know. I’m in oncology, Chloe, not urology. I don’t deal with genetic anomalies or male reproductive issues.” Chloe stared at me thoughtfully. “I see…” “Well, if you don’t know, forget it. It’s probably nothing anyway.” Seeing that our food was gone, and remembering the chilling look of satisfaction on her face when I died in my past life, I couldn’t stand being near her for another second. I made up an excuse about a hospital emergency and hurried out of the restaurant. 2 Chloe and I had been friends since childhood. At least in my head, we were the kind of besties who shared everything. Her family was lower-middle class, and her parents openly favored her deadbeat younger brother. Growing up in that toxic environment made Chloe insecure, sensitive, and timid. Because of her personality, she was a loner at school and became an easy target for bullies. I was different. I was an only child from a wealthy, loving family. Naturally, I was outgoing and confident. When I saw her being bullied, I stepped in to protect her. I helped her with her studies, shared my clothes, and introduced her to my circle of friends. Gradually, she blossomed. She became cheerful, lost her shyness, and made new friends. As we grew older, she constantly told me I was her favorite person and her life mentor. She said her biggest dream in life was to become a girl just like me. That was why I never suspected she could ever harbor such hatred towards me. But after experiencing death, I finally started questioning our entire friendship. Did Chloe ever actually feel grateful to me? Over the next few days, Chloe tried to invite me out several times. But I rejected her with every excuse in the book. To make my excuses look real, I didn’t take a single day off. I practically lived at the hospital. The exhausting shifts actually comforted me. They reminded me that I was alive. However, despite my best efforts to ghost her, Chloe’s mess still found its way to me. One evening, I logged into my professional Instagram account and saw a new comment on my latest post. A brand-new account with a burner username from my local area had commented: “Dr. Avery, is it possible for a man to have two cocks? Or could it be a tumor?” I stared at the comment for a long time, my fingers hovering over the screen. As an oncologist, I often received medical questions from random netizens on Instagram. Usually, I would reply to them. But this time, I froze. The username was completely anonymous, and the profile was blank. It was obvious. Someone had made a burner account specifically to bait me. I suddenly remembered that this had happened in my past life too. Back then, I hadn’t thought about reminding Chloe again. But after seeing this comment, I immediately connected the dots. I replied to the user with my medical opinion and then reached out to Chloe. I explained the risks and begged her to take Garrett to the hospital. Looking back, how many people in this city could possibly have such a rare medical condition? I had been so naive in my past life, thinking it was just another random patient. Now I realized the person behind that burner account was either Chloe or Garrett himself. Instead of replying, I posted a quick update: Taking a social media break for an upcoming training seminar. Logging off! Then, I logged out of the app. I told myself I wouldn’t touch my socials for the next few weeks. I managed to avoid her online, but I couldn’t avoid her at work. Chloe showed up at my hospital. The moment I stepped out of the operating room, she rushed toward me, intercepting me in the hallway. “Avery! Thank God I found you.” “I’ve been calling you non-stop, but your phone is dead. I really need your medical advice.” My surgical assistant saw how pale and exhausted I was and immediately stepped in. “Dr. Avery just finished a grueling twelve-hour surgery after back-to-back prep meetings. She hasn’t slept in over twenty hours. Perhaps you could schedule an appointment or come back tomorrow?” Her words finally got through to Chloe. She glared at me, clearly annoyed, and sighed. “Fine.” 3 Running away wasn’t going to solve the problem forever. The fact that she had cornered me at my workplace meant I needed to take the offensive. The biggest question was: if Chloe already suspected Garrett had a tumor, why hadn’t she taken him to a clinic yet? In my past life, they went to the hospital, which ultimately led to my death. In this life, I stepped back, yet she was still chasing me down. Unless… She didn’t just want Garrett gone; she wanted to drag me into it too. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. Why would she hate me that much? Chloe had dropped out of college early and married Garrett, a blue-collar worker who worshipped the ground she walked on. Garrett was what older folks called a “good, honest man”—he didn’t drink, didn’t gamble, and didn’t cheat. But he was also broke. Shortly after they married, Chloe got pregnant and became a stay-at-home mom. With Garrett’s sole, meager income, their lives were financially tight. Every time we met, she would complain about her boring, broke life. She complained that Garrett couldn’t make real money, that they were living paycheck to paycheck, and she even talked about divorcing him. But lately, she had stopped complaining. She seemed to be in a fantastic mood. A few days ago, I even noticed she was wearing a brand-new solid gold necklace. When I asked, she claimed Garrett had made some extra cash and bought it for her. I was highly suspicious. Having known Garrett for years, I knew he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body, let alone the cash for luxury jewelry. Was Chloe seeing someone else? Now that the seed of doubt was planted, I decided to investigate. During my days off, I started keeping tabs on Chloe’s daily routine. She was a housewife, and her son was already in elementary school. Her husband worked long hours, which left her with plenty of free time during the day. It didn’t take long for me to catch her. One morning, after dropping her son off at school, she didn’t head to the grocery store or go home to clean. Instead, she walked into a quiet alley, applied a bold red lipstick, and waited on a street corner. Ten minutes later, a sleek black sedan pulled up. Her face lit up with a brilliant smile, and she slid into the passenger seat. I quickly followed them in a rental car. I tracked them all the way to a cheap motel on the outskirts of the city. I watched them get out of the car, hand-in-hand, and walk inside. I snapped several clear photos of them together before parking nearby to wait. About two hours later, they walked out. Chloe’s hair was slightly messy, and she looked thoroughly satisfied. They even shared a passionate kiss inside the car before he drove her back. I saved all the photos in a secure cloud folder. They were my insurance policy. But that wasn’t all. Over the next month, I dug up another terrifying piece of information. Chloe had secretly taken out a massive accidental death insurance policy on Garrett. When I found out, my mind immediately raced to those horrific “spouse-killing-for-insurance” true crime stories. She was clearly planning something sinister. To keep myself safe, I quietly terminated my apartment lease and moved to a secure condo with strict gated access, cutting off any chance of her cornering me at home. While Chloe stopped reaching out, two weeks later, Garrett messaged me on Snapchat. “Dr. Avery, are you free? There’s something I want to ask you, but I’m not sure if it’s appropriate.” I didn’t reply immediately. I let the message sit for three days before typing a cold response. Garrett, you are Chloe’s husband. If you think it’s inappropriate, then it’s best not to ask. Setting boundaries with a bestie’s husband was the smartest thing to do. Fortunately, my coldness worked, and he didn’t text back. But almost immediately after I sent that message, Chloe called me. Realizing I had just been active online, I had no choice but to pick up. “Hey, Chloe. What’s up?” Chloe’s voice sounded panicked. “Avery! Remember what I told you about Garrett’s… you know, his extra part? He says it’s starting to hurt really badly. I’m scared something is wrong.” 4 My heart sank. She was trying to bait me into giving medical advice again. As a doctor, I gave advice to hundreds of patients, and they were always grateful. Even if they didn’t like the diagnosis, they never blamed me personally. But Chloe wasn’t a normal patient. She was a ticking time bomb. I had to be incredibly careful with my words. “I really can’t say, Chloe. Like I told you, I’m not a urologist, so I don’t know much about that area.” “Maybe you guys are just… keeping too busy at night?” I joked lightly, trying to keep the mood casual. “You should talk to Garrett and see what he wants to do.” Right then, a nurse knocked on my office door. I quickly called out to her and turned back to the phone. “Chloe, I have to go. An emergency patient just came in, and we need to prep for surgery. I’ll call you back later.” Without waiting for her reply, I hung up. After a grueling six-hour surgery, I was completely drained. I went back to my office to change, only to find Chloe and Garrett standing right outside my door. The young nurse looked terrified. “Dr. Avery, I tried to stop them, but they just pushed past me…” I waved my hand. “It’s fine. Go get some rest.” I knew that even if the nurse stopped them today, Chloe would just find another way to corner me tomorrow. Once the nurse left, Chloe plopped down on my office sofa. “Avery, what am I supposed to do?” She burst into tears, covering her face. Garrett stood beside her, his face dark and silent, looking incredibly stressed. I stood there, watching her cry without offering any comfort. Seeing that her tears weren’t getting a reaction out of me, Chloe stopped acting and grabbed an envelope from Garrett’s hand, tossing the scan results onto my desk. “Avery, I know you’re the best doctor in this hospital. After Garrett’s pain got unbearable, we went to get him checked. Look at this.” She tapped her finger on the diagnosis line, her voice cracking with fake sorrow. “The doctor said it’s a tumor. It’s not a second cock, and he needs surgery immediately.” “But I looked it up online! People say it could be chimerism. You know what that is, right? It’s when one twin absorbs the other in the womb. That means it could still be a second part! But the doctor insisted…” “Avery, I only trust you. You’re the top oncologist here. Your face is literally on the hospital’s wall of fame! Since we’re best friends, you have to perform the surgery.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “463149”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster