Category: English

The world ended, but the nightmare came with a twist: I could hear the thoughts of the undead. “Yo, back off! Nobody touches her. She’s the one our boy is obsessed with.” “For real. Remember when we were human? Grayson was the one who kept us safe. He’s got that lightning ability now.” “Listen up, guys. This is our Girl. We’re going to protect her, get her back to the Captain, and let him take over.” Then, a chorus of gravelly, psychic voices chimed in: “Are you high, Jax? No sane person sees a pack of ghouls and thinks, ‘Yeah, I’ll follow them.’ She’s gonna run the second she sees us.” I rolled my window down just a fraction of an inch, my voice trembling. “I—I’ll do it.” 1 I’ve officially lost my mind. When the sky fell and the world went to hell, I didn’t get super-strength or the ability to fly. I got the “privilege” of hearing the internal monologues of the things trying to eat me. I’d been holed up in my cramped studio apartment for thirty days. The silence was deafening, and my pantry was a graveyard of empty granola bar wrappers. Starvation eventually overrode my survival instinct. I crawled into my beat-up little hatchback, desperate for a grocery run, only to be swarmed by a mob of the undead within three blocks. I thought it was over. I watched them climb onto my hood, their gray, decaying palms slamming against the windshield. I was curled in the driver’s seat, shaking so hard my teeth rattled, when the voices started bleeding into my skull. “Wait, wait! Stop hitting the glass! Look at her… doesn’t she look exactly like that girl Grayson Pierce used to keep a photo of?” “Grayson? You mean Captain Pierce? The guy with the lightning hands? Man, he saved all our asses before we turned. You guys didn’t forget that, did you?” “Nobody forgot. He practically ran the city’s defense. And everyone knew the only thing he cared about was finding his ‘Holy Grail’—this girl.” “Talk about a lucky break. We’ve been looking for her for weeks. Brothers, we’re taking the Boss’s Girl home.” I thought I was hallucinating from the sheer terror. I was being hunted by a pack of zombies, and I was dreaming they were my secret service? But then, more voices joined the fray. “Jax, you’re delusional. Look at her face—she’s paler than we are. She’s terrified.” “And even if we want to protect her, our bodies are literally hardwired to bite. How are we supposed to escort her without, you know, devouring her?” “Stop hitting the window! If you break it and someone bites Grayson’s girl, we’re all dead. Again.” “I’m sorry! My hand isn’t listening to my brain! It just wants to smash… I want to bite that neck so bad…” “Bad hand! If you can’t control it, I’ll bite it off for you!” Right before my eyes, three zombies lunged at another one, tearing his arms clean off with a sickening crunch. I nearly fainted. “Oh, great. Now we’ve really scared her. Should we just leave?” “If we leave, she’s literal finger food for the first mindless roamer she passes. We have to stay.” “Stay and do what? Give her a heart attack? We’re monsters, man. No one trusts a monster.” “Think! How do we get her to follow us to the Captain?” “Jax, give it up. Who in their right mind follows a zombie?” The group—about a dozen of them, still wearing tattered, blood-stained high school letterman jackets—started to shuffle away. I didn’t think. I just acted. I slammed my hand onto the horn. The sound echoed through the desolate street. They all froze, turning their rotting heads back toward me. I cracked the window a tiny bit more. “I’ll do it,” I shouted, my heart thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird. “Can you… can you take me to Grayson?” 2 The world went silent. Outside that sliver of a window, the group of letterman-jacket-wearing corpses stopped dead. A dozen heads snapped back toward me simultaneously. Their clouded, milky eyes bored into mine. It was the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen. My foot hovered over the gas pedal, screaming at me to floor it and get as far away as possible. But I forced myself to hold their gaze. This was it. Life or death. I was betting everything on the chance of having a zombie security detail. After a heartbeat of dead air, the mental chatter exploded: “Holy crap! Did she just… did she hear us?” I nodded vigorously, my hair matted with sweat. “Yes. I can hear you.” “Thank the gods! Brothers, get back here! We can actually talk to her!” “I haven’t talked to a living person in weeks. I’m gonna cry. I mean, I can’t actually cry, but I’m feeling it. A month ago, I was the Prom King!” “Girls used to flirt with me. Now they just scream. I can’t even look at myself in the rearview mirror.” “Don’t look at me either. Seriously, don’t describe what I look like. I don’t want to know.” “She’s Grayson’s ‘One,’ alright. Only his girl would have a crazy ability like this. It makes total sense.” “Wait, she’s turning green. I think we’re grossing her out. Everyone, pipe down! Give her some space. Keep it together.” The one called Jax—the leader—was in rough shape. Half the skin on his left cheek was gone, exposing a jagged white jawbone. But his movements were strangely human. He waved his one remaining good arm with a frantic energy. He tried to stretch his torn lips into a friendly smile, but it only made him look more like a sleep-demon. “Jax, stop smiling. It’s horrific.” “You’re gonna make her pass out.” Jax twitched, standing a few feet back, looking genuinely distressed. “Sorry, Boss’s Girl. I’m trying my best. Is it really that bad?” It was a nightmare, but I forced a rigid smile back. “I can handle it.” “Oh my god, she smiled back.” “That’s the first time a human has smiled at me since the world ended.” “Her smile is so pure… I suddenly don’t feel like ripping her head off quite as much.” Jax’s voice cut through the sentimentality: “Focus! Everyone stay back. Remember, we’re still zombies. We can snap at any second. Keep your distance!” The dozen zombies shuffled back instantly, forming a perimeter about fifteen feet away. Jax turned back to the car. “Boss’s Girl, drive slow and follow us. Before the change, Grayson holed up in his estate on the hill. High walls, electrified fences, plenty of food. He should still be there. Just whatever you do… do not get out of the car.” “Okay,” I whispered. Jax barked a mental order: “Listen up! If anyone gets within ten feet of that car, I’ll personally tear your skull open. Got it?” “Got it, Jax.” “For the Captain. Let’s move.” They began to move in a clumsy, coordinated dance, fighting their predatory instincts and keeping each other in check. They formed a loose escort around my little car, clearing the path ahead. I started the engine and put it in gear, moving at a crawl. Tears blurred my vision as I watched the back of those tattered jackets. They were the world’s most dangerous predators, yet here they were—grotesque, decaying, and fiercely loyal—paving a way through hell for me. It was absurd. It was terrifying. And it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. As we drove, I listened to their chatter, realizing with a jolt that the “Captain” they were talking about—Grayson Pierce—wasn’t just some local hero. He was my brother’s oldest rival. Since when was I Grayson Pierce’s “Holy Grail”? 3 Jax filled me in as we navigated the wreckage of the suburbs. “Your brother is with the Captain now. When the virus hit, Grayson went straight to your place to find you, but you were gone. He only found your brother, Brooks.” I responded in my head, realizing I didn’t need to speak out loud anymore. “The day the news broke about the outbreak in the city, my best friend was away for an exam. She asked me to go to her place to feed her cat. By the time I got there, the elevators were full of… them. I got trapped in her apartment and just stayed hidden.” Jax’s mental voice spiked in excitement. “Wait! Boss’s Girl, you can talk back to us without rolling the window down?” I realized it too. I had just thought the words, and they’d heard me. It was like I’d been added to a telepathic group chat of the damned. I concentrated, focusing my mind: “Can you all hear me now?” A chorus of voices flooded my brain: “Loud and clear!” “This is awesome! Wireless communication. This makes the apocalypse way easier.” “Can you hear me, Boss’s Girl? I’m Tyler.” “I’m Big Mike.” “I’m Sarah.” Names and voices swirled in my head. I felt a surge of warmth. “I hear you all. My name is Riley. You can just call me Riley.” Jax cut in: “Nope. You’re the Boss’s Girl. That’s the rule.” “Yeah,” Tyler added. “We’re on a mission to help the Captain win his girl back.” “Grayson is a beast now,” Big Mike chimed in. “Tall, brooding, and he can literally jump-start a car with his bare hands. The whole city’s power grid is fried, but he keeps an electric stove running at the house. His instant ramen game is legendary.” My stomach let out a pathetic growl. “Don’t talk about food. I’m starving.” Jax asked, “Why did you leave the apartment if you were safe?” I rubbed my empty belly. “Hunger. My friend was a bit of a prepper—lots of ramen and dried snacks—but the power went out weeks ago. I’ve been eating dry noodles for a month. I ran out yesterday. It was leave or die.” The zombies let out a collective, psychic moan. “Don’t talk about ramen. Now I want ramen.” “If I could just have one bowl of spicy beef noodles…” I interrupted their daydreaming. “How is my brother? Is Brooks okay?” “Brooks?” Jax chuckled. “He’s fine. Better than fine. He’s a ‘Hydromancer’ now. He can pull water out of thin air. He and Grayson are a total power couple—not like that, you know—but as a team. They’re unstoppable.” The others jumped in: “Exactly. In a world with no power and no water, you’ve got one guy who makes the water and another who boils it. They’re the kings of the apocalypse. You’re never going to go hungry again.” “Imagine it… hot pot. Sliced beef, mushrooms, spicy broth…” I groaned. “Stop! Please. If I don’t die of a zombie bite, I’m going to die of longing for a hot meal.” The thought of my brother—the perpetual slacker—and his high school nemesis, Grayson, working together to cook noodles with their superpowers was a vivid, hilarious image. For the first time in weeks, I felt a spark of real hope. 4 In the “group chat,” I asked Jax nervously, “How much further?” “Almost there. Take a right at the next intersection. Grayson’s place is in that gated community up the hill. It’s a fortress. High walls, electrified wire… wait…” His mental voice trailed off, thick with hesitation. I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles white. “What is it?” The chatter among the group turned grim. “Something’s wrong.” “It’s too quiet.” “I smell blood. A lot of it. And… others. Many others.” Jax’s voice was sharp with warning: “Stay sharp, Boss’s Girl. Stay close to us.” The dozen protectors tightened their circle around my car, their movements losing their clumsy edge and becoming predatory once more. As I turned the corner into the wooded drive leading to the estate, the scene was devastating. The manicured lawns were torn up, and several luxury SUVs were flipped over, their windows shattered and frames stained with dark, dried blood. And then, I saw them. Zombies. Dozens of them, shambling aimlessly near the gates. I slammed on the brakes, my heart freezing in my chest. Clearly, a massive battle had just taken place here. Jax spoke up: “Stay in the car, Riley. Don’t move. Brothers, guard the car. I’m going in to see if the Captain is still alive.” I reached for my wrist and pulled off a jade bracelet. I cracked the window just enough to slide it out. “Wait! Take this. It’s a token. My brother gave it to me for my birthday. He’ll recognize it.” Jax reached out with a trembling, gray hand. “Put it on my wrist, Boss’s Girl. You smell… too good. Please, hurry. I don’t know how much longer I can keep my mouth shut.” I snapped the bracelet onto his wrist and rolled the window up in a heartbeat. Jax looked at the jade. “Wait a minute. I know this bracelet. I was with Grayson when he bought this at the mall. It cost him a fortune. He spent hours picking the perfect one.” I blinked, stunned. “What? Brooks gave it to me. He said it was from him.” Jax’s mental voice grew heated. “That little thief. Brooks totally stole the credit.” Thinking of my brother—always the charming rogue, always bickering with Grayson—it made perfect sense. I felt a weird mix of annoyance and a flutter of something else in my chest. Jax shook his head. “I’m going. Stay safe. Pray the Captain is still in there.” I sat in the car, clutching my friend’s cat—who had been hiding under the seat—and waited. Minutes felt like hours. Finally, Jax’s voice flickered back into my mind. “Wait! Don’t shock me! Look at my wrist! Just look at the bracelet! Grayson, I found her! Can you hear me, you idiot?” My heart leaped into my throat. Jax had found him, but Grayson couldn’t hear the thoughts. He just saw a zombie charging at him. Jax was in trouble. 5 “Hold it! Stop!” Inside the villa, Grayson Pierce grabbed Brooks’s arm, forcing the electrified baton down. Brooks, his eyes wide with adrenaline, struggled against him. “What are you doing? That’s Jax—or what’s left of him! Don’t be a martyr, Gray. He’s gone. He’s just a hungry corpse now.” Grayson’s bloodshot eyes were fixed on the zombie’s wrist. “Look at the bracelet, Brooks. Isn’t that the one you ‘bought’ for Riley?” Brooks froze, his face going pale. “That’s hers. Oh god… what did that monster do to my sister? I’ll kill him!” Grayson shoved Brooks back against the wall. “Think for a second! He’s not attacking. He’s pointing at the bracelet. He’s trying to tell us something.” “You’re dreaming,” Brooks hissed. “They’re mindless. He probably killed her and took it as a trophy.” Grayson grabbed Brooks by the collar, his voice a low growl. “Look at him! Has he tried to bite you? He’s fighting it. He’s still in there, Brooks. I know it.” Grayson turned to the zombie that used to be his best friend. His heart was breaking. Twenty-four hours ago, they had been brothers-in-arms. Now, they were hunter and prey. He stepped forward, wary. “Jax? If you can hear me… what are you trying to say?” Jax looked like he was about to burst into tears. “Finally! Yes! Follow me, man! Just follow me! Your Holy Grail is right outside!”

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My boyfriend has been acting incredibly strange lately. It isn’t just that he’s been remarkably… attentive in the bedroom every night. It’s the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not watching—a gaze full of a dark, brooding resentment, as if he’s mourning me while I’m still standing right there. I was beginning to think he was having some sort of mid-life crisis at thirty, until I heard the Voice. I was lounging on the sofa, half-dreading the next page of my script, when a mechanical, digitized voice cut through the silence of the room. It was talking to him. [Host, the female lead’s “First Great Love”—the one who got away—is returning tomorrow. This isn’t a drill. History is about to repeat itself.] [This is a “Second Chance Romance” story. You? You’re just the placeholder. The cannon fodder. The guy who keeps the seat warm until the hero comes home.] [I know it hurts, but you have to accept reality. You aren’t the man she loves. You’re just the man she’s with.] [Walk away now. If you leave today, you can at least keep your dignity.] I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs. I looked around the penthouse, but Roman was in the kitchen. Then, his voice drifted through the doorway—low, cold, and dripping with a quiet, terrifying malice. “So what?” he whispered, his voice like a blade dragged over ice. “I don’t care if the glass is shattered. I don’t care about their ‘history.’ If she’s going to be whole again, I’m the only one who gets to glue the pieces back together.” 1 The sound of his voice—and that other voice—was so sudden I jumped, the heavy script slipping from my hands and smacking me right in the face. I scrambled into a sitting position, eyes darting around. The room was empty. Just me and the mid-afternoon sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows. But the conversation hadn’t stopped. [How do you not get it? She doesn’t love you, Roman!]The Voice sounded frustrated now, like a glitchy Siri with an attitude.[She only agreed to the engagement because of the family merger. It was a business deal for her.] Roman’s response was a bored, indifferent hum. “Mhm. Tell me something I don’t know.” The System: […] [Sebastian is coming back specifically to win her back. You’re the obstacle in a best-seller, Roman. Give it up while you’re ahead.] [Lest you forget, they only broke up because of you in the first place! If she ever finds out what you did, do you really think she’ll stay? The ‘Main Character Energy’ is with him. You can’t fight the narrative.] There was a long, suffocating silence. Then, Roman’s voice came back, freezing the air in my lungs. “Then let’s see the narrative try to stop me.” … From the fragments of that bizarre exchange, a localized reality began to settle in my mind. I was living in a trope. My life was a “Second Chance” novel. I was the Leading Lady, destined to reunite with my tragic ex. And my current fiancé, Roman Blackwood? He was just the guy in the way. The temporary fix. I wanted to hear more, to understand how I was hearing a ‘System’ inside Roman’s head, but the bathroom door swung open. I turned and collided with Roman’s sharp, piercing gaze. Steam still clung to his skin, making his features look even more severe, more angular. His silk robe was tied loosely, droplets of water tracing the hard lines of his chest and disappearing into the shadows of his abdomen. We had been together—intimately—many times since the engagement. But every time he looked at me like this, my face still burned. I quickly looked away, my pulse tripping. And then, that electronic buzz returned. [See? Total lack of interest. She won’t even look at you.] The temperature in the room plummeted. I could feel Roman’s eyes on the back of my head, a gaze so intense it felt like it could pierce skin. [Our heroine is a one-man woman, Roman. You could stand in front of her completely naked and she’d still be thinking about the guy who left.] I: … Excuse me? I wasn’t being a saint; I’d looked, I’d touched, and I’d definitely enjoyed it. [I don’t know where you get the audacity. Once Sebastian shows up, you’re getting the pink slip. Just watch.] I felt like I was sitting on a bed of nails. The script in my lap felt like a hot coal. I couldn’t stand the tension, so I forced myself to turn back and look at him. I searched my brain for something—anything—to say. “Um… do you want me to dry your hair?” Before Roman could even open his mouth, the System shrieked in my ear. [Are you kidding me?! Is this how you treat her? Like she’s your maid?] [Where is your sense of service? Being near her is a privilege, you arrogant prick!] [When Sebastian was around, she never had to lift a finger. He used to peel her shrimp for her, for god’s sake!] [Just step down, Roman. Make way for the real couple.] I was genuinely floored. I’d known Roman for years, and he was usually the one doing the chewing out. I’d never heard anyone—or any thing—speak to him with such utter contempt. Roman’s expression didn’t flicker. His lips didn’t move. But his internal retort echoed in my skull with its usual mocking bite: “She hates shrimp. Your ‘hero’ didn’t even know that.” The System paused, then sputtered: [Impossible! She always looked happy when he did it!] “Idiot.” I wasn’t sure who he was calling an idiot—the System or the ex. While I was lost in a daze, Roman had walked over to me. He took the hairdryer from my hand and said in a clipped, neutral tone: “I have some files to go over. Go to sleep first.” He turned toward the study. The System started up again, relentless. [Look at you. You know she likes the ‘Golden Boy’ type—warm, sunny, gentle. And here you are, acting like a human ice cube.] [No wonder you’ve been pining for eight years and haven’t made a dent. You’re a fraud. I despise you!] Eight years? 2 Finding out my life was a plot point in a commercial novel was surreal enough. Finding out that Roman Blackwood had been secretly in love with me for eight years? That was bordering on the impossible. I’m two years older than Roman. If the System was right, he’d been pining for me since he was eighteen. But we barely had a history before the merger. We’d seen each other at galas, traded maybe ten sentences in a decade. Even when our families brought up the alliance, I wasn’t the first choice. The offer was originally for my younger sister, Beatrice. She was his age, the “perfect” socialite, the polished heir. But Beatrice had thrown a fit, refusing to be “sold off,” and so the burden fell to me—the quiet daughter who lived in scripts and film sets. I had always assumed I was the consolation prize. The runner-up. When Roman suggested we skip the wedding for a while and just stay engaged to “get to know each other,” I didn’t object. For eighteen months, we’d gone through the motions of a modern power couple. Our bodies were intimately acquainted, but our hearts remained at a polite, lukewarm distance. Roman was cold. He didn’t laugh. He barely talked. And his temper? It was legendary. Shortly after the engagement, my father sent me to his office to deliver some papers. I’d stopped outside his door, paralyzed by the sound of him obliterating his senior staff. “Is this a report or a ransom note? The only thing correct in this entire pile is the page numbers.” “Does your job description involve anything other than keeping your chair warm?” “I don’t pay you this much to see how smooth you can keep your cerebral cortex.” The employees had filed out looking like they’d been through a war zone. It terrified me. From that day on, I made sure never to poke the bear. I stayed out of his way, handled my own problems, and tried to be the “low-maintenance” fiancée. It had worked. He’d never yelled at me. But he certainly didn’t seem like a man in love. Maybe the System was glitching. Or maybe I was just hallucinating from the stress of my upcoming shoot. Yes, I told myself, pulling the duvet over my head. A good night’s sleep and the voices will disappear. 3 I was wrong. The next morning, I was jolted awake by a digitized snark-fest. [You’ve been staring at her for thirty minutes. Are you trying to be late for work?] Roman’s voice was lazy, heavy with morning grit. “I’m the boss.” The System went silent for a beat. [God, I hate the 1%. I really do.] [So what if you’re the boss? She still doesn’t love you. Hehehe…] This time, it was Roman who fell silent. “If you can’t say something useful, go bark at a wall.” The System: […] [So mean. No wonder she’s indifferent.] I used every ounce of my acting training to pretend I was still asleep. It was the performance of my life. By the time I finally “woke up,” Roman had already made breakfast. Exactly one portion. He sat there, eating a few bites, then habitually pushed the rest toward me. [Aha! I knew it! You only make one portion so you can have the ‘honor’ of eating her leftovers!] [You’re a sick, twisted second-lead, aren’t you? This is your kink!] Roman bit into his toast. “If you’re that bored, go lick a frozen pole.” The System: […] I choked on my water, coughing violently. Roman was up in a second, his hand firm but surprisingly gentle as he patted my back. “Slow down,” he said, his voice as calm as a deep lake. “No one’s taking it from you.” My face flushed a deep crimson. At the start of our engagement, he did make two portions. But as an actress, I was constantly on a strict diet for roles, and I could never finish. Eventually, he started making one “mega-plate”—nutrient-dense, beautifully plated. I’d eat what I needed, and he’d finish the rest so nothing went to waste. I’d always thought it was just practical. Now, thanks to the System, it felt… intimate. Charged. After breakfast, my assistant, Jade, arrived to take me to the studio. I had a cover shoot for a major fashion magazine—a long-scheduled event. I certainly didn’t expect to run into my ex, Sebastian Hart. He wasn’t the broke, struggling musician I’d dated years ago. He was a global icon now. He was wearing a vintage leather jacket, his dark hair swept back, his eyes sharper, harder than I remembered. For a second, I didn’t recognize the man who had once written songs for me in a cramped studio apartment. Then he spoke, and the years melted away. “Nora. It’s been a long time.” Remembering what the System said about “Second Chance Romances,” I felt a spike of anxiety. I nodded with cold professionalism. “Sebastian. Good to see you.” His smile faltered. His eyes darkened with a familiar, wounded look. I had no intention of catching up, so I tried to walk past him. But he wasn’t having it. He caught my wrist, his grip firm. “Nora, please. Don’t talk to me like I’m a stranger.” I frowned, trying to pull away. “Let go, Sebastian.” He was stubborn. He always had been. “We need to talk. Five minutes.” “There’s nothing to say. Let go.” [Oh my god! Touching already? The plot is moving so fast!]The Voice was practically squealing.[That’s my hero! So much more chemistry than the Ice King!] I stiffened. A second later, a voice like a sub-zero wind echoed down the hallway. “She told you to let go. Are you deaf, or just stupid?” 4 Roman was standing at the end of the corridor in a charcoal suit, looking like he’d stepped out of a nightmare. While Sebastian was distracted, I yanked my arm free and practically ran to Roman’s side. Only when I reached him did I realize his gaze was fixed entirely on Sebastian. Their eyes met, and the air between them practically hummed with lethal intent. The System was vibrating with excitement. [YES! The ‘Aggressive Competition’ trope! Fight for her! Tear each other apart! I live for this!] [The hero has arrived! Time for the redemption arc!] [Wait… look at her wrist. It’s red. Sebastian, you brute, you’re losing points for being too rough!] Roman looked down, his eyes landing on my wrist where Sebastian had gripped me. He reached out, his thumb grazing the reddened skin with a touch so light it was almost a ghost. When he looked back at Sebastian, his voice was terrifyingly calm. “Mr. Hart. I realize you’ve been out of the country, but let me refresh you on the local customs.” “In this city, grabbing my fiancée like that is considered harassment. With the right lawyer, it’s a quick way to spend five to ten days in a cell.” He hit the word fiancée with the weight of a sledgehammer. Sebastian’s face paled for a fraction of a second, but he recovered with a smug, easy grin. He stepped closer, acting as if they were just chatting over drinks. “Congratulations are in order then, Mr. Blackwood.” “But an engagement is just a promise, isn’t it? It’s not a contract.” “And even contracts can be voided. People change their minds every day. Don’t you think?” The air turned to lead. I stared at Sebastian, shocked by his blatant audacity. The System was pouring gas on the fire. [The reunion! From this moment on, the countdown to the ‘Broken Mirror Reunited’ begins!] [True love never truly dies. Even if they strayed, they’re destined to find their way back.] [You can use a ring to tie her down, Roman, but you can’t make her love you.] [Look at Sebastian declaring war for love! So dreamy!] Roman’s face was turning a shade of pale that usually preceded someone getting fired—or worse. I stepped in before he could do something we’d both regret. “My fiancé and I are very happy, Sebastian. You don’t need to concern yourself with my life.” I grabbed Roman’s hand and pulled him toward the exit. We got to the car in silence. Roman gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “What are you doing here?” I asked softly. He stared straight ahead. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d check in.” The System chimed in gloomily: [‘In the neighborhood’ my ass. You heard they were meeting and you cancelled three board meetings to fly down here in a panic.] [You’re such a fraud, Roman. An insecure, villainous fraud.] [Look at you. Your heart is probably in eighty-eight pieces right now. Sucks to be the second lead, doesn’t it?] I swallowed hard and tried to explain. “I didn’t know he was going to be at the shoot. There’s nothing between us, Roman.” Roman turned his head. His expression had returned to its usual, unreadable mask of stone. “I know.” “He’s the past. The past doesn’t matter.” 5 After a short break, I was scheduled for a cameo in a new indie film. It was supposed to be a low-key ten-day shoot. The night before I was set to start, I got word that one of the leads had been dropped due to a scandal. His replacement? Sebastian Hart. Given his current superstar status, a role this small was beneath him. The only reason he’d take it was to be near me. I really didn’t understand the “System’s” obsession with us getting back together. Based on what I knew about myself, I wasn’t the type to look back. If a mirror breaks, you don’t try to glue it back together and risk cutting your hands; you buy a new one. I hesitated, wondering if I should tell Roman. He noticed my hesitation immediately. He set down his tablet and looked at me. “Something on your mind?” I told him about the casting change. He looked at me for a long beat. “And?” I blinked. “Does it… bother you?” Roman was quiet for a moment. “A little.” “But I’m not going to sabotage your career because of a man. I’m not going to ask you to quit just to make myself feel secure.” His eyes were incredibly sincere. It reminded me of a time early in our engagement. I was filming in a remote mountain range when a flash flood hit. The signals were down, the roads were washed out. I still don’t know how he did it, but Roman found me. I remember the sound of the helicopters cutting through the storm. Roman had stepped out into the biting wind, his dark coat whipping around him. He looked like a solid, immovable mountain in the middle of the chaos. That image had stayed with me for a long time. He had always respected my work. Even when my own father tried to force me to “retire” and become a full-time socialite after the engagement, Roman had been the one to shut him down. He was the one who adjusted his schedule to visit me on set, even if it meant working through the night on his private jet. My heart swelled with a sudden, sharp heat. I was about to say something—maybe something brave—when the System piped up. [Exactly! Love should be loud! Tell her how you feel, you idiot!] [Wait… hang on. You’re the villain. Why am I starting to root for you? No, focus! Team Sebastian!] Roman: “…” I bit my lip to keep from laughing and hurried out of the room. 6 On set, I was a ghost. I spent every second glued to Jade, terrified Sebastian would corner me again. But it didn’t happen. We were both busy, our schedules barely overlapping. Instead, Roman’s “casual” visits became strangely frequent. Five times in one week. Every time, his excuse was the same: “I had a meeting nearby.” The System was a relentless fact-checker. [Nearby? You went from New York to LA via a ‘stopover’ in Seattle? That’s some creative geography, Roman.] [Just admit you want to be her backpack. You’re obsessed. It’s pathetic.] Roman: … The last time he came, however, he actually was on his way to Australia and had a layover in the city. He’d brought me some of my favorite takeout. I was stuck in a scene and couldn’t get back to the hotel. I was planning to call him during the break, but Jade sent me a video first. It was filmed from a hidden angle in the hotel lobby. Roman and Sebastian were standing face-to-face. Roman was in his usual armor—a bespoke suit, back straight as a spear. Sebastian was still in his costume—a period piece—looking every bit the dashing hero. Sebastian spoke first. “You’re here a lot, Roman. What are you so afraid of?” Roman smiled—a thin, dangerous thing. “They say you only need to guard against thieves, not gentlemen. What does that tell you?” Sebastian didn’t flinch. He’d clearly grown a thicker skin during his years abroad. “I’ve heard you’re good with words, Roman. I’m not here to play games.” He took a step forward, closing the gap. “Years ago, one word from you ruined three years of my life. I was nobody then. I had to take it.” “But I’m standing here now to tell you: it’s a fair fight now. And I’m going to win.” The lobby lights were warm, but the atmosphere in the video was freezing. Roman, holding a thermal bag of food, didn’t even blink. “A ‘fair fight’ with a ghost? You’re a memory, Sebastian. Nothing more.” Sebastian’s eyes flashed. “A memory? If she’s really over me, why was she so desperate to push me away the other day? You know the truth, Roman. She never loved you. She loved the version of herself she was with me.” Roman didn’t move. But I could see his knuckles whitening around the handle of the bag. When he spoke, his voice was as steady as a heartbeat. “So what?” “She is my fiancée now.” “I am the first person she sees when she wakes up, and the last person she sees before she sleeps.” “She eats the food I cook. She wears the rings I buy. She lives in the life we built.” “And you? You’re just a guy she used to know.” Sebastian’s mask slipped. The smugness vanished, replaced by a raw, suppressed rage. “If you were that confident, you wouldn’t be hovering over her like a vulture,” Sebastian hissed. “You just caught her at a weak moment. I beat you once, and I’ll beat you again.” Roman actually laughed. It was a soft, pitying sound. “I don’t view her as a prize to be won, Sebastian. She isn’t a trophy. She isn’t a ‘win.’” With that, he walked right past a stunned Sebastian and out of the frame. The video ended. My phone was vibrating with a million exclamation points from Jade. JADE: IS THIS REAL LIFE? THE TENSION! THE DRAMA! JADE: Roman is a KING. That ‘So what?’ gave me chills! I’m officially a stan. JADE: But wait—what did Sebastian mean about Roman ruining his life for three years? What happened?

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The first time Gwen Sinclair cheated, she dragged her lover into the foyer of our penthouse, her eyes rimmed with a manic sort of red. “Do what you want with him,” she’d challenged, her voice trembling not with guilt, but with a terrifying kind of adrenaline. Because I loved her with a desperation that bordered on the pathetic, I chose to believe it was a momentary lapse in judgment. I forgave the unforgivable. The second time, I took matters into my own hands. I bought the man off, sent him to a different continent, and made it clear that if he ever touched American soil again, he’d find out exactly how much power the Wilder name carried. Then came the night of our engagement gala. Gwen didn’t come to me with an apology this time. She came with a blade. She pinned me against the mahogany desk in my study, her hand tightening around my throat, the cold tip of a stiletto knife pressing into the soft skin of my lower abdomen. “Where is Samuel?” she hissed, her breath smelling of expensive scotch and ruin. “He’s the father of my child, Bennett. Didn’t you know?” The room felt like it was tilting on its axis. “It was my fault,” she continued, her voice breaking. “I couldn’t control my feelings. If you want to be a monster, be one to me. Samuel is innocent. He doesn’t deserve your vendettas. Please… I’m begging you. Just let the baby be born safely, and I promise, I’ll never see him again.” She leaned in closer, her eyes searching mine for a mercy I no longer possessed. “You lost the ability to have children after the accident, didn’t you? Let’s just keep this one. We can raise him together. He’ll only ever know you as his father. That’s my vow to you.” The knife punctured my skin. A sharp, stinging heat blossomed across my stomach, followed by the wet warmth of blood soaking into my silk shirt. I looked at her—really looked at her—and smiled. Then, I told her exactly where Samuel Moore was hiding. … The heavy thud of the front door echoing through the house signaled her departure. I fumbled for my phone with shaking fingers, dialing a number I’d kept in my contacts like a glass-break emergency kit. “You were right,” I whispered into the receiver, my voice thin. “Can you still get me out?” On the other end, a woman cursed under her breath. Her tone was a mix of exasperation and pity. “You’re telling me this now? Bennett, I’m already at the gate for my flight to London. How am I supposed to help you from across the Atlantic?” “Harper, please.” “Bennett Wilder,” she sighed, her voice softening. “You’re the smartest man I know in a boardroom, but you’re a goddamn idiot when it comes to that woman. Did you trade all your common sense for a pretty face?” I pressed a hand against the wound on my belly, the pain a dull, rhythmic throb. “I’m sorry. I owe you. A thirty percent stake in the next development project—is that enough to make it worth your while?” There was a sharp intake of breath. Harper Ross was a shark, and I’d just dropped blood in the water. “Send me the time and the location,” she said, her professional veneer snapping back into place. “I’ll be there. And next time you want to screw over your life, make sure I’m the one you call first. I’m expensive, but I’m loyal.” I forwarded the entire wedding plan to Harper. She replied with a simple OK emoji. The house we’d built together, the one intended to be our marital home, was a wreck. Gwen had torn it apart in her rage, a perfect mirror of the state of my soul. I cleaned the wound as best I could, bandaged it with trembling hands, and stumbled out into the night. I had just checked into a discreet boutique hotel when Gwen’s name flashed on my screen. The roar of jet engines in the background was unmistakable, but it couldn’t drown out the sharp, defensive edge in her voice. “Ben? I’m on a private flight out of the country. I can’t be there tonight. Just… get some rest. I’m sorry about earlier. I was emotional. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She paused, perhaps waiting for me to comfort her. “Is it bad? Should I send a doctor over to the villa?” “Don’t bother,” I said, my voice cold and flat. Gwen’s tone instantly hardened. “Bennett, don’t do this. What happened with Samuel was an accident. I was—someone drugged my drink, and I thought he was you. It’s done now. I have to find him. You expect me to let the father of my child rot in some foreign gutter?” She scoffed. “You forgave me once before. Why are you making a scene now? Our wedding is in a week. Just take tonight to calm down.” I stared at my chat history with Harper, a grim sense of finality settling over me. “Don’t worry about the week,” I said. “There isn’t going to be a wedding.” “Gwen,” I added, “I told you once. I don’t do compromises on loyalty. Not anymore.” I was about to hang up when she exploded. “Not getting married? Are you joking? The gala is over, the papers are signed, the entire East Coast knows the Sinclair and Wilder families are merging! You’re going to threaten the merger over this?” “Bennett, we grew up together. You know who I am. I wouldn’t have betrayed you if I hadn’t been set up!” “They say three’s a crowd, but I’ve only made two mistakes. Once the baby is born, I swear Samuel will never cross your path again. Isn’t that enough?” A single tear escaped, hot and bitter, tracking down my cheek. I let out a jagged laugh. “So that’s the plan? I spend every day looking at a child that isn’t mine, a living, breathing reminder of every time you chose him over me? I can’t do it, Gwen. I’m sorry.” “Fine!” she screamed. “Remember you said that! Don’t you dare regret it when I’m gone! Look at any woman in my position—every CEO has a side piece. I gave you Samuel to deal with as you saw fit. I’ve been more than fair. If you can handle it, show up at the altar. If not, then get out. Do whatever the hell you want.” The line went dead. I looked at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window. I looked broken, pale, and entirely too young for the weight I was carrying. She had forgotten. She’d forgotten the car crash three years ago. She’d forgotten that the only reason I had a permanent scar on my abdomen—and the reason I could never give her a child—was because I had thrown my body over hers when the truck hit us. Suite 1214. This room used to be our sanctuary. She said it was where our best memories lived. Valentine’s Day, birthdays, anniversaries—we’d claimed this space as our own. But now, I was the only one left who remembered the ghosts. When my parents called, I knew she had already leaked the news of the “breakup” to them. “Bennett, honey, what is happening? Gwen says you’re calling off the wedding?” my mother asked, her voice hovering between panic and confusion. “This isn’t a game, son,” my father added. “You can’t just walk away from a merger of this scale.” I buried myself under the heavy duvet, my voice thick with unshed tears. “She’s pregnant. It’s not mine.” There was a heavy silence. Then, my father’s voice came back, lower this time. “Every woman makes mistakes, Ben. Just have her take care of it and—” “I’m not calling off the wedding,” I interrupted. “I’m just changing the bride. You remember Harper Ross.” My father’s advice died in his throat. My mother gasped so loud it echoed through the line. “Harper? Bennett, you two are rivals! She’s been trying to sink your firm since prep school. Have you forgotten the time she nearly got you expelled?” I smiled, though it felt more like a baring of teeth. “Exactly. That’s why I’m marrying her. I want to spend the rest of my life making her miserable. Or maybe she’ll do the same to me. Either way, it’ll be honest.” I didn’t sleep. The wound in my gut throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a constant, nagging reminder of Gwen’s “love.” At dawn, I called a broker to list the villa. I didn’t want the equity. I just wanted it gone. When I went back to pack my things, I saw Gwen’s private jet idling on the lawn. Inside the house, the walls told a story I hadn’t been invited to read. The photos I had carefully framed of us were gone. In their place were snapshots of her and Samuel. The glaciers in Iceland. The Eiffel Tower. The ruins of Notre Dame. Every place we had ever visited, she had taken him there to rewrite our history. She used to tell me she hated photos. She’d say that as a woman in power, she couldn’t afford to have her image used against her by competitors or the press. No matter how much I begged for a single portrait of us together, she refused. But for Samuel, she was an open book. I found them standing by the photo wall. Gwen was glowing, her hand resting on her barely-there bump. She looked younger, softer. “Samuel, when the baby is born, we’ll take him to all these places, okay?” she whispered. “He’s going to love it. Look, he just kicked! Can you feel it?” The sound of the door closing drew their attention. Samuel didn’t act like a tough guy. He immediately dropped to his knees, crawling toward me and grabbing the hem of my coat. “Bennett, please. It’s my fault. I broke my promise. I shouldn’t have come back, but I love her so much… I swear, once the baby is here, I’ll disappear. I won’t get in your way…” Before I could speak, Gwen let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Don’t apologize to him, Samuel. You were drugged, too. If anyone owes an apology, it’s me for putting you in this position.” She turned her gaze on me, her eyes like chips of flint. “Bennett, I found out who was behind the drugging. That company will be bankrupt within the month. Samuel is a victim here. You can’t blame him for a mistake he was forced into. I’m willing to overlook your behavior last night. Just apologize to him, and we can put this behind us.” I looked at her, and for the first time in twenty years, I felt absolutely nothing. No anger. No longing. Just a profound sense of absurdity. “I should apologize? Gwen, have you finally lost your mind?” Suddenly, Samuel’s grip on my waist tightened, his fingers digging directly into my bandaged wound. I let out a sharp, choked gasp, cold sweat breaking out across my forehead. The pain was blinding. I shoved him away instinctively. I didn’t use much force, but he tumbled backward, hitting the glass cabinet with a theatrical crash. “What are you doing?!” Gwen lunged at me, shoving me with all her strength. My head slammed into the sharp edge of the doorframe. The world went white. I felt the warm trickle of blood running down my temple. “I think you’re the one who’s lost it!” Gwen screamed, her voice distorted by rage. “He was humbling himself before you, I gave you an explanation, and you still act like a savage?” “Apologize. Now. Or you’ll see exactly what I’m capable of.” I gritted my teeth, swallowing the iron taste of blood and the crushing weight of betrayal. “Never.” “You want me to apologize to your plaything? In your dreams, Gwen.” “You ungrateful bastard!” Gwen’s face was contorted. she helped Samuel into the master bedroom, her touch infinitely tender. When she came back out, she didn’t come alone. She summoned the household staff. “Where are the security ties?” she demanded. “Mr. Wilder is having a breakdown. Let him sit out in the garden and clear his head.” “No one lets him up until I say so.” My eyes went wide. “Gwen, you’re insane! He’s a nobody, and you’re doing this to me? In the house I bought?” “The house you bought,” she whispered, leaning into my space, “but I’m the one who owns the air inside it.” She didn’t look back as the guards dragged me toward the terrace. My boots dragged on the hardwood, leaving a smear of blood from my head wound. As the heavy glass doors locked behind me, a crack of thunder split the sky. Within seconds, the clouds opened up, a torrential New England downpour drenching me to the bone. I slumped against the stone balustrade. The wounds on my head and stomach began to burn, then throb, then go numb. My consciousness began to fray at the edges. I looked at the guard standing under the eaves, his expression one of bored amusement. “Please…” I rasped, my voice barely audible over the rain. “Tell Gwen… I need a doctor. Please.” The guard gave me a mocking smirk. “Save it, kid. I’ve seen enough of your type’s drama. Ms. Sinclair just called her private physician for Mr. Moore. She’s a little busy right now.” I looked up at the second-floor balcony. Two silhouettes moved behind the sheer curtains. Then, the world went dark. Through the haze of my fever, I heard shouting. “Shit, he’s out! There’s blood everywhere!” Footsteps approached. An umbrella was held over me, blocking the relentless needles of rain. Gwen’s voice was like ice water. “Are you done playing the martyr?” “Anyone would think you were the one being mistreated here, Bennett. You need to learn some humility. This is for your own good.” The footsteps retreated. I heard her and Samuel talking near the door. “Gwen,” Samuel’s voice was a soft, manipulative purr. “He doesn’t look like he’s faking. Is this too much? He’s your fiancé. If his family finds out…” Gwen’s voice was firm. “I’ve spent years building this empire. I don’t answer to the Wilders anymore. He started this. You’re going to be here for the next eight months; I won’t have him bullying you. His ego needs to be broken.” I could almost see the smirk on Samuel’s face. “I heard these high-society marriages are just business. Is that how it is with you and Bennett?” The rain continued to lash against my face, cold and unforgiving. For a moment, I thought my heart had simply stopped. “To wear the crown, one must bear the weight,” Gwen said, her voice devoid of emotion. “Being a Sinclair means marriage is a strategic alliance I can’t escape. Since I have no choice, I accepted it. Bennett is handsome, he’s predictable, and compared to the other arrogant heirs out there, he was the best option.” Tears mingled with the rainwater, sliding into the dirt. Gwen’s voice changed then—it became warm, filled with a genuine affection I hadn’t heard in years.

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The Caldwell family was haunted by a legacy of early graves. Every man in their bloodline carried a genetic ticking clock—none had ever made it past thirty. My family’s lineage was the only antidote, a tradition of spiritual and physical tethering that kept the darkness at bay through marriage. But on the day of our wedding, Bennett Caldwell didn’t say “I do.” Instead, he reached into his tuxedo jacket, pulled out our marriage contract, and tore it to shreds in front of the entire congregation. He did it for her—his college sweetheart, the “one who got away” who had suddenly come back into his life. His mother rushed forward, her face pale with terror, trying to stop him. Bennett ignored her. He looked at me with eyes full of a localized, burning hatred. “Morgan, you’re nothing but a parasitic fraud,” he spat, his voice echoing through the cathedral. “My family has been bled dry by yours for nearly a century. You’ve tricked us with ghost stories and superstition to fund your lifestyle. Well, the free ride ends today.” Brooke, the woman standing at his side, leaned into him. She wore a smug, dismissive smile as she looked at me. “What are you still standing there for? Get out.” She adjusted her glasses, the light catching her “Dr. Brooke Stevens” name tag from the hospital. “I have a PhD in medicine, Bennett. Trust me, with real science on your side, you won’t just live past thirty—you’ll live to a hundred. You don’t need a witch.” I thought about Bennett’s pulse this morning. It had been a thready, fading vibration, barely a whisper against my fingertips. A cold, hard knot formed in my chest. Fine, I thought. His thirtieth birthday is in three days. We’ll see who’s right very soon. 1 I turned to leave, but Bennett’s mother, Mrs. Caldwell, grabbed my hand, her fingers trembling. “Morgan, please! Don’t go!” She spun toward her son, her voice cracking. “Bennett, apologize to her right now. Stop this madness!” Bennett didn’t move. He kept his hand firmly locked with Brooke’s. “You know exactly why we have this arrangement,” Mrs. Caldwell hissed, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “Thirty years ago, your uncle tried to break the cycle. He was crushed by a semi-truck on the morning of his thirtieth birthday. And your cousin? He laughed at the ‘curse’ just like you are now. He dropped dead of a massive hemorrhage the second he blew out his candles. You have three days left, Bennett! You are flirting with death!” “Enough, Mom!” Bennett roared. “Uncle Mark was an accident. My cousin had an undiagnosed heart condition. It has nothing to do with some backwoods ritual marriage!” He pointed a finger at me, laughing mockingly. “This ‘curse’ is a scam designed specifically to milk the Caldwell estate. I look at her and I feel sick. If you force me to marry this con artist, I won’t wait for my birthday. I’ll end it right now.” In a flash of dramatic instability, Bennett pulled a pocketknife from his vest and pressed the blade against his own throat. Brooke let out a sharp gasp and dropped to her knees before Mrs. Caldwell, sobbing. “Please, just trust the science for once! I’ve had Bennett on a state-of-the-art biometric monitor for weeks. His vitals are perfect! Let us prove it to you. I spent years in med school specifically so I could protect him from this nonsense. Give him a chance to be free!” “Mom, if you don’t back down…” Bennett pressed harder. A thin line of crimson bloomed on his neck, staining the white silk tie I had picked out for him myself. “I agree! Stop!” Mrs. Caldwell screamed. She lunged forward, wrestling the knife away from him, then turned to me with eyes full of agonizing guilt. “Morgan… I’m so sorry…” “It’s okay,” I said, cutting her off. I forced a small, sharp smile. “I truly hope Brooke can break the ‘curse.’ It would be nice for the women in my family to finally be free of yours.” I turned and walked out. Behind me, Bennett’s voice followed, thick with disgust. “Good riddance, you gold-digging bitch! Don’t let the door hit you!” I ran until I hit the humid air of the parking lot. The second the heavy doors closed, I doubled over. Cough. A mouthful of thick, black blood splattered onto the pavement. I should have stayed at the sanctuary for a few more years of training. But three years ago, when Bennett first took my hand and told me he loved me, I believed him. I was young, and his devotion felt like a sun I wanted to bask in. Even then, I could feel the weakness in his marrow through his pulse. Because I loved him, I had knelt before my mentor for seven days and seven nights, begging for permission to leave the mountain early to save him. For three years, I had sustained his life by siphoning his darkness into my own body, enduring the sensation of my internal organs being slowly ground to dust every single night. I thought it was a sacrifice for the man I’d spend my life with. I didn’t realize that his “love” was just a game—a cheap thrill to see if he could bed the “mystic girl” before he threw her away. I wiped the blood from my chin and ignored the stabbing pain in my chest. I just wanted to go home and sleep. But when I reached my apartment, the world shifted under my feet. The hallway was covered in red spray paint: SCAMMER. WITCH. SLUT. My front door was hanging off its hinges. Smoke billowed out. My sanctuary, the place I had carefully curated for three years, was being consumed by a roaring fire. 2 Inside that apartment were the journals and talismans I had spent years writing, using my own blood to anchor the protection spells that kept Bennett alive. I lost my mind. I sprinted toward the flames, desperate to save the only things that proved my sacrifice. But I only made it one step inside before a tongue of fire licked across my arm. The skin hissed and peeled away, exposing raw, weeping flesh. The salt from my tears hit the burn, and I screamed. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?” I spun around. Bennett was standing at the end of the hall, Brooke tucked under his arm. He was looking at my charred, bloody arm with a smirk. “Oh, I thought you were some kind of immortal goddess. Do you actually feel pain like the rest of us?” “Bennett, why?” I gasped, clutching my arm. “Everything in there… if those are gone, you don’t have a chance!” “Enough!” Bennett stepped forward and grabbed my throat, slamming me against the soot-covered wall. “Stop talking about your voodoo bullshit! It’s pathetic! I’m not just burning your toys, Morgan. I’m going to make sure the whole world knows what a fraud you are.” Before I could breathe, a swarm of reporters and paparazzi flooded into the narrow hallway. Cameras flashed, blinding me. “Ms. Thorne, how much money did you embezzle from the Caldwells over the last three years?” “Is it true you used ‘curses’ to blackmail a dying man into an engagement?” “You’re a criminal! You should be in jail!” A woman in the crowd reached out and grabbed my burned arm, twisting the raw flesh. I collapsed to the floor, my vision blurring into white-hot agony. Kicks landed on my ribs, my stomach, my back. Bennett just watched, laughing as he led Brooke away. By that evening, I was the top trending topic on social media. [Caldwell Heir’s Ex-Fiancée Exposed as Occult Con Artist! Hundreds of thousands of dollars stolen through ‘superstition’!] [Science Wins: Dr. Brooke Stevens Breaks Century-Long ‘Family Curse’!] I stumbled through the streets in my charred, ruined wedding dress. I tried to go to a department store to buy something—anything—to cover myself, but my card was declined. The automated voice on the phone was cold. “Ms. Thorne, your accounts have been frozen pending a fraud investigation. Please contact your branch…” I reached into my pocket and found a few crumpled twenties. I tried to check into a cheap motel, but the woman behind the desk recognized me from the news and spat on my shoes. “We don’t rent to lying hags. Get out!” I hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours. My burns were beginning to fester. I felt the fever rising in my blood, a heavy, throbbing heat. I collapsed in an alleyway next to a dumpster, unable to take another step. Passersby who recognized me didn’t offer help. They threw trash. They poured old coffee on my wounds. I missed the mountains. I missed Arthur, my mentor. But I couldn’t leave yet. Tomorrow was Bennett’s birthday. When he had his hand on my throat, I had felt it. His pulse wasn’t just weak anymore. It was chaotic. Shattered. I needed to see the end. I dragged myself up, using the brick wall for support. I took one step, then another, before the world turned black and I pitched forward into the darkness. I woke up to the smell of dried sage and bitter herbs. I forced my eyes open, my body screaming in protest. Arthur was sitting beside me, his weathered hands carefully applying a poultice to my infected arm. “Arthur… I have to stay…” I wheezed. He looked at me with a heart-wrenching pity. “I know, child. You need to see the clock strike midnight.” He didn’t get to finish. The door to his small apothecary was kicked open with a violent crash. A dozen heavy-set men stormed in. They pinned me to the chair. The leader pulled a hunting knife from his belt and, without a word of warning, drove it straight into Arthur’s chest. 3 I let out a guttural scream and tried to lung toward him, but a hand clamped onto my hair and yanked me back. Bennett walked through the door, looking down at me with pure venom. “I wondered where you were hiding,” he said, stepping over Arthur’s slumped body. “So, this is the master puppeteer? The one who taught you how to bleed my family dry?” Bennett ground his heel into the wound in Arthur’s chest. Arthur gasped, blood bubbling at his lips. “Stop it! Let him go!” I sobbed, clawing at the floor. “He saved your life! You wouldn’t even be breathing right now if it weren’t for him!” Bennett leaned down, a cruel, twisted smile on his face. “Tell you what. I’ll give the old man a chance.” He pulled out his phone and shoved it in my face. “Record a video. Admit you’re a fraud. Tell the world you made up the curse to steal my money. Do it, and I’ll call an ambulance.” “Morgan, don’t…” Arthur shook his head, his eyes clouded with pain. Bennett didn’t hesitate. He pulled the knife out of Arthur’s chest and jammed it into the side of his neck, near the artery. A spray of hot, metallic blood hit my face. “Okay! Okay, I’ll do it! Just stop!” Bennett got his video. He was satisfied. Finally, he allowed his men to haul Arthur toward the hospital. When we arrived at the ER, a nurse rushed out, shoving a stack of paperwork into my hands. “He’s in critical condition! We need a deposit for the surgery immediately!” I froze. “My cards… they’re frozen. Please, he’s dying.” “Move it, honey! If we don’t get him into the OR now, he’s gone!” the nurse barked. I turned to Bennett. He was standing by the entrance, Brooke’s arm draped over his shoulder. “Bennett, please. You have the money. Pay the deposit. I did what you asked.” He laughed, a hollow, mocking sound. “Oh, you want a favor? You’ve been robbing my family for a hundred years, Morgan. A video doesn’t settle that debt. Get on your knees. Apologize to me and my ancestors.” I looked at Arthur, who was turning a terrifying shade of gray on the gurney. I didn’t care about my pride anymore. I dropped to the linoleum floor. “I’m sorry. I lied to you. Please, save him.” Brooke stepped forward, her voice sweet and poisonous. “An apology isn’t enough, sweetie. You need to beg. Properly. Give us a hundred kowtows. Let’s see that ‘spiritual’ devotion.” “You heard her,” Bennett said. “One hundred. Or he bleeds out right here.” I slammed my forehead against the hard floor. One. Two. The skin on my forehead broke. Blood ran into my eyes, blurring my vision. I lost sensation in my limbs. I just kept hitting the floor until I reached a hundred. I looked up, my head spinning. “There. Now pay. Please.” “Sure,” Bennett said with a shrug. “Let me just run home and grab my checkbook. I’ll be back.” He turned to leave. I lunged forward, grabbing his ankle. “You’re doing this on purpose! Bennett, he’s dying now!” “Careful, Morgan. That’s not a very grateful tone. Do you want the money or not?” I let go, my strength failing. “Please… just hurry.” Bennett returned an hour later. He tossed a receipt onto my lap. I scrambled to give it to the nurse, but she just looked at me with a heavy, tired sigh. “It’s too late. He’s gone. He went cold ten minutes ago.” The world stopped. I turned to Bennett, my vision tunneling into a red haze. I screamed, throwing a desperate, weak punch at his face. “You murderer! You did it on purpose! I’ll kill you!” Bennett caught my wrist effortlessly. His eyes were cold. “Kill me? You should worry about yourself. Now that you’ve confessed to being a fraud on video, let’s talk about restitution.” He threw a thick stack of invoices at my feet. “My family has supported yours for a century. Since you admitted it was all a scam, you owe us every cent back. With interest.” He waved his phone. “If you don’t pay, this video goes to the police. And I won’t just stop with you. I’ll go after your entire ‘clan.’ Every single one of them.” I gritted my teeth, my voice a jagged whisper. “I’ll pay. Just wait until after your birthday tomorrow. I’ll give you everything you’re owed.”

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Twenty years after my husband, Chris, supposedly had a vasectomy to support our child-free lifestyle, I found myself staring at a positive pregnancy test. I thought it was a miracle—a late-blooming gift from the universe. But then I found the truth. Chris didn’t just have a secret; he had an entire second life. He had a family on the other side of town, and a son with leukemia who desperately needed a bone marrow match. My “miracle” pregnancy wasn’t a gift to me; it was a biological harvest Chris had planned to save his other woman’s child. The shock sent me into a physical collapse. When I woke up in the hospital, my world felt like it had been razed to the ground. “I’m terminating it,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash. “I want this out of me. Now.” Chris didn’t yell. He didn’t even look me in the eye. He simply had the nurses restrain me to the bed “for my own safety.” Then came the vultures. My mother-in-law and the doctor stood over me, their voices a synchronized drone of manipulation. “It’s a life, Evelyn! Think of the karma,” his mother pleaded, her eyes cold despite the tears she forced. “Chris’s son is your son, too! This baby is already here; how can you be so heartless? If you hadn’t been so stubborn about your ‘career’ and your ‘independence’ all these years, none of this would have happened. Chris was backed into a corner…” I stopped fighting the restraints. I looked at Chris, whose eyes were red-rimmed. I thought it was guilt. I was wrong. “Go have another child with her then,” I said, my voice dead. “I’ll pay for it. Whatever the treatment costs, I’ll sign the check. Just let me go.” A flicker of disappointment, then something sharper—pity—crossed his face. “I tried,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “Jade… she’s had several miscarriages trying to give me a son. She can’t carry anymore. Her body is spent.” He leaned in closer, his shadow swallowing me. “The doctors say a half-sibling has a twenty-five percent chance of a perfect match. Evelyn, please. If you save my son, I’ll give you anything. Anything you want.” I turned my face toward the sterile white wall. The chill in my bones felt permanent. “I want a divorce. I’m leaving this hospital in a week, and I expect you to meet me at the lawyer’s office.” … My mother-in-law’s blood pressure must have hit the ceiling. she lunged forward as if to strike me, but Chris caught her arm. His brow furrowed, his jaw setting into that stubborn line I used to mistake for strength. “No,” he said firmly. “I won’t divorce you. Don’t even dream of it.” I let out a jagged laugh. We had been married for two decades; he knew that look on my face. He knew I was done. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed, his tone softening into that patronizing “reasonable man” voice he used in boardrooms. “Evie, we’ve spent half our lives together. Imagine the scandal. Do you really want to be the woman who blows up her life at forty-five?” “I know you feel slighted,” he continued. “But Jade… she’s not like you. She didn’t grow up with a silver spoon. She didn’t have your education or your family’s connections. She’s just a girl who gave me a son. It wasn’t easy for her. If you need someone to blame, blame me. But the boy is innocent. Don’t you see how cruel you’re being by holding this over me?” Cruel. The word felt like a slap. I touched my stomach, my mind drifting back twenty years. Back then, Chris was the one talking about the unfairness of fate. He was the brilliant, broke scholarship student my father had sponsored. I remember the day he lost a major contract—he had been standing in the pouring rain, begging for a chance to pitch. I was the one who held the umbrella over him and brought him home. A fallen genius. A man of integrity. Unyielding will. To the heiress of the Montgomery estate, he was a romantic tragedy I was desperate to rewrite. Naturally, he became the Montgomery son-in-law. His life became a series of wins. Back then, I never wanted to be child-free. I was obsessed with him; I wanted a little piece of us to carry on. When I first got pregnant, Chris cried with joy. “But Chris,” I had told him, “my parents want the first child to carry the Montgomery name. After that, we can have as many as you want. What do you think?” A shadow had passed over his face, so brief I thought I imagined it. “Evie, are you sure you’re ready to be a mother?” he had asked, his voice dripping with faux-concern. “I just… I don’t want to see you suffer. It would break my heart.” I was so moved. I told him I wasn’t afraid. But the pregnancy was a nightmare. I couldn’t keep anything down. Two weeks later, I was doubled over in pain. Chris went frantic, rushing me to the ER, but we lost the baby anyway. He stayed by my side all night. The next morning, he was sobbing, hitting his own forehead. “It’s my fault. I put you through this. No more, Evie. Let’s just be us. We’ll be ‘DINKs.’ I can’t lose you.” I insisted I was willing to try again, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He said I had already given him enough, that I was his whole world. To prove his devotion, he told me he went to the clinic for a vasectomy that same week. For twenty years, he was the model husband, always “careful,” always protecting my health. Even his parents seemed to accept it, never pressuring me for an heir. They even bought us a Border Collie, Lucky, telling us to treat him like our son. I was so naive. I thought he had fought his traditional parents for me. Hearing his mother’s vitriol now, I finally understood. He didn’t want no children; he just didn’t want my children. Being the “sponsored” son-in-law was the thorn in his side. Letting a child carry my family name was the ultimate emasculation to him. He had orchestrated everything. I was the engine that drove his career, the bank that funded his lifestyle. And Jade? She was the quiet harbor where he could be the “provider,” the man whose name would be passed down. Now that my parents were dead and I had no family left to protect me, he was ready to use me one last time. He wanted me to endure a high-risk pregnancy just to provide spare parts for his “real” legacy. The humilation burned like acid. “The boy is innocent?” I spat. “To save your secret son, you’re willing to risk my life and the life of this baby. Tell me, Chris—who’s the cruel one here?” Chris flinched. “It’s not like that. I’ll hire the best doctors in the country. You always wanted a child, didn’t you? Why can’t you look at the bright side? You’ll both be fine, and then we can all be a family.” I looked at him, truly seeing the stranger he had become. “A family? You mean a harem? You expect me to live in some twisted sister-wife arrangement?” Chris walked toward the door, his voice heavy with a self-righteous burden. “Jade has never wanted to take anything from you. I still love you, Evelyn. You will always be my wife. But you need to be the bigger person here. This baby stays.” He left the room, posting two private security guards at my door. They weren’t there to protect me; they were there to ensure I didn’t find a way to a clinic. I didn’t waste another second. I picked up the phone and dialed my lawyer. “Lee, if he refuses to sign, what are my options?” He gave me a direct answer. There was a way out, but I had to wait a week for the paperwork to be ironed out. The next day, Chris didn’t show up. Lee, who has a reach as long as his career, sent me photos. Chris was with Jade. He must have told her the news. In the video clip, Jade was weeping with joy, throwing her arms around Chris in a crowded cafe. I shut the screen, unable to watch. I tried to distract myself with social media, but then I saw my mother-in-law’s profile. The “sweet, traditional” woman had undergone a personality transplant. She had posted a flood of videos featuring a young boy—her “beloved grandson.” I realized then that every holiday Chris was “working late,” he was actually with them. Her latest post was a video of her crying to the camera, calling me the “most wicked daughter-in-law in history.” She had even photoshopped my face onto a funeral portrait. She told her followers that I was an ungrateful woman who was refusing to save her dying grandson out of spite. The comments were a bloodbath. Strangers were calling for my head, calling me a monster, a “barren ice queen.” Thinking of my late parents—who had loved Chris like a son—my rage boiled over. I commented directly: “He isn’t my son. Why is his life my responsibility?” She replied instantly: “How heartless! Is this what a mother says?” My DMs exploded. I threw the phone across the room, shaking. But she wasn’t done. She sent me a voice note, her voice a shrill hiss: “You’re evil! I said nothing but the truth! A husband is your king, and his child is yours! It’s your duty to save him! If you hadn’t nagged Chris into that surgery, he wouldn’t have had to go elsewhere for a family! This is your fault! My poor grandson is suffering because of your ego!” I couldn’t listen anymore. The pregnancy hormones made it impossible to stop the tears. The whole world was telling me I was a criminal for not wanting to be a human incubator for a mistress’s child. A bowl of chicken soup appeared in my field of vision. Chris was back, looking disheveled. He reached out to wipe a tear from my cheek. “You’re still the same,” he murmured. “Always crying when you’re pregnant.” The memory hit me like a physical blow. Twenty years ago, when I was throwing up everything, he had learned to make this exact soup. I had forced myself to eat it, touched by his devotion. I remembered the night before my miscarriage. He had looked at me with such hesitation. I had asked him what was wrong, and he had just pulled me into his arms and sobbed, “I’m so sorry I’m making you suffer. We don’t need a baby. Just you and me.” I thought he was a fool who loved me too much. But I was the fool. His “devotion” was guilt. He hadn’t been worried about my health; he had been struggling with the fact that he was actively sabotaging our child because of a bruised ego over a surname. I looked at the man I had loved for two decades and realized I had never known him at all. “Chris,” I whispered, “why didn’t you just talk to me? My parents just wanted the first one to have our name. We could have had three more. I gave you everything—my life, my money, my family’s legacy. And you couldn’t even give me the truth?” I slapped the bowl of soup out of his hand. It shattered against the floor. “I’m going to make you lose everything, Chris. Just wait a week.” His face darkened. “What the hell is wrong with you?” A slender woman rushed into the room, frantically trying to clean up the mess. “Chris, don’t be angry. It’s my fault. The soup probably didn’t smell right to Evelyn.” I froze. It wasn’t Chris coming to see me. It was the two of them, putting on a show of “kindness.” Jade was beautiful in a fragile, wilted sort of way. Looking at her, I felt ancient. My youth had been spent building an empire Chris now sat upon. I didn’t have that “damsel in distress” look. Chris didn’t even look at me. He was too busy checking Jade’s hands for burns. When she winced, he looked like someone had stabbed him. “I’m fine, Chris,” she whispered, her eyes darting toward me. “Evelyn’s health is what matters.” She gestured toward the door. A small, pale boy with a shaved head walked in. “Noah, come here. Say hello to Mrs. Bennett.” The boy looked sullen. Jade led him to my bedside and, before I could react, she took his small, cold hand and pressed it against my stomach. “Noah, feel that? There’s a little brother in there. He’s going to save you. Just a few more months, and the pain will go away.” Her words were like poisoned needles. Even if I kept this baby, you can’t take bone marrow from a newborn. She was talking about an experimental cord blood procedure—or worse. She was looking at my child as a medical resource. I looked at Chris. He was smiling at them, a look of pure paternal pride on his face. He didn’t see anything wrong with what she said. “Chris… are you planning an eye for an eye?” I asked. “What if the match fails? What if I refuse to go through with it?” Chris’s expression turned to stone. “There is no ‘if.’ This is happening.” “I have a heart condition, Chris! A high-risk pregnancy at my age could kill me! And I will never let my child be a sacrifice for anyone!” “This child,” I pointed at the boy, “is not my problem. His illness is the result of your lies!” “Shut up!” Chris roared, slamming a glass against the nightstand. His eyes were wild. He immediately turned back to Jade, pulling her and the boy into a protective embrace. Jade sobbed into his shoulder, covering the boy’s ears. “Chris, it’s my fault,” she wailed. “I’m useless. I couldn’t give you a healthy son. Evelyn has every right to hate me, but Noah is just a child! If I could take his place, I would… I just wanted her to have some nutrients. I see now… you were just trying to spare my feelings because she said no. It’s okay, Chris. This is just our fate…” The “soft” attack worked instantly. Chris looked more panicked than I’d ever seen him. “Jade, listen to me. I won’t let anything happen to Noah. I promise. I love you both. We’re going to Europe after this, remember? I have the money, I have the power. Not even God is taking my son from me!” He had forgotten one thing. The money and the power? They were mine. “Let’s stop the theater, Chris,” I said, my voice cold as a grave. “Sign the papers and let’s end this.” Chris ignored me. He moved Jade and Noah into a VIP suite down the hall and came back to my room. “Don’t ever speak like that in front of Jade again,” he warned. “She blames herself enough. And for the last time, I am not divorcing you. Everyone knows I am where I am because of your father. I’m grateful for that. But look at any man in my position—we all have someone on the side. I’m telling you, you will always be my wife. Isn’t that enough?” “A seat at the table you stole from me?” I mocked. The boy I loved was gone. In his place was a narcissist who thought he was doing me a favor by letting me keep my title. From the moment my parents died, he had dropped the mask. He had cried louder than me at the funeral, posing for the cameras. A month later, he had maneuvered through my father’s old connections and diluted my shares in the company before I could even process my grief. He told me it was to “protect me from the stress.” The next day, I stood by the window, clutching the divorce papers Lee had smuggled in. I was rehearsing my final words. A tug on my sleeve broke my concentration. It was Noah. “Ma’am? Dad took Mom out for a walk. He said you were supposed to stay with me while I did my treatment.” I looked out the window. Chris was leading Jade toward the garden. The boy looked so small, so fragile. I felt a flicker of pity. Back in the ward, Noah whimpered in pain, begging for some candy from the gift shop downstairs. My heart softened. I told him I’d be right back. But when I returned five minutes later, the bathroom door was open. Noah was standing under a freezing cold shower, fully clothed, sobbing into a video call with Jade. “Mom, I’m so cold! Mrs. Bennett told me the cold water would make me stronger, but it hurts!” I dropped the candy. I rushed in to wrap him in a towel, but it was too late. Within minutes, Chris and Jade burst in. Noah threw himself into Jade’s arms, shivering. “Mom, I was brave! Mrs. Bennett gave me candy for doing it!” He looked at me with those wide, innocent-looking eyes. “Dad, don’t be mad at her. I’m a big boy.” Jade dropped to her knees, sobbing and banging her head on the floor. “Evelyn, I’m sorry! Hit me instead! The boy is innocent! If you don’t want to save him, fine, but please don’t hurt him! He has no immune system; the cold will kill him!” I reached out to pull her up, but Chris lunged forward. He shoved me back so hard I hit the wall, and then he backhanded me across the face. The world went silent. My ears rang. “I told you it was my fault!” Chris screamed. “Why would you take it out on a child? You want to end my bloodline that badly?” I held my burning cheek, my stomach tightening in a cramp. “He did it himself. I didn’t touch him!” “I don’t want to hear your lies! Apologize to Jade and Noah. Now!” He gathered his “real” family. There was no room for me in that circle. I started to laugh. It was a jagged, hysterical sound. I pulled out a document—the one Chris had left for me to sign regarding the bone marrow compatibility tests. I flipped to the last page. “Fine. You want the tests done the second this baby is viable? I agree. Sign it.” Chris, blinded by rage and disgust, didn’t even look at the header. He scribbled his name and threw the pen at me. “You should have done this from the start! If anything happens to Noah, I’m done with you!” I walked out of the room, clutching the paper. It wasn’t a medical consent form. Lee had swapped it. It was a binding, no-contest divorce settlement and a full transfer of the remaining Montgomery assets Chris had tried to hide. “Chris,” I said, stopping at the door. “Do you remember how I haven’t touched cold water since the miscarriage?” He didn’t look up. He didn’t follow me. I left a copy of the actual divorce papers on my hospital bed and went straight to the airport. As the plane took off, my phone lit up with dozens of missed calls. A flight attendant kindly helped me answer one. Chris’s voice came through, sounding like a terrified child. “Evie? Evie, I’m sorry. Where are you…”

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When the man who was supposed to be the “protagonist” of her life finally appeared, Madeline and I already had a child. I couldn’t fight the script. Once, she had been willing to burn her entire world down—breaking off a high-society engagement—just to be with me. But then the shift happened. Suddenly, she looked at me with a soul-deep loathing, as if my very existence was a stain on her life. Eventually, I just broke. I let go of the love that had become a noose, walked away from the wreckage, and even left our daughter behind. Until a Tuesday evening, six years later. A small, solemn girl knocked on my door. She stood there with her face set in a mimicry of adult stoicism and said: “My mom doesn’t want me anymore. Can I stay with you?” 1 I froze, the words dying in my throat. Sophie pouted, her brow furrowing with impatient displeasure. She tilted her beautiful little face up and spoke with the precision of someone reciting a textbook. “My teacher said that parents have a legal and moral obligation to provide for their children…” I opened the door the rest of the way, cutting off her prepared speech. Stepping aside, I said quietly, “Come in.” The amber glow of the hallway lamp caught the slight widening of her eyes. They shimmered with an emotion I couldn’t name. She lifted her chin, let out a tiny, haughty “Hmph,” and marched inside. As I closed the door, I watched her. She was trying to look casual, but her eyes were darting everywhere, taking in my modest apartment. When she caught me watching, she gripped the straps of her backpack until her knuckles turned white. “My name is Sophie,” she said. It sounded like an introduction, but it felt like a reminder. A reminder that she was the daughter I had shared with Madeline. I knew. I had known the second I saw her. She was a carbon copy of the woman who had shattered my heart. Sophie seemed disappointed by my lack of a grand reaction. She looked away, her little shoulders tensing. I took her small backpack, set it on the bench in the entryway, and led her to the sink. “Let’s eat first,” I said. She gave a quiet “Okay.” By the time I brought the food out, she had already scrambled onto a chair. I asked her why she had suddenly decided to find me. Sophie poked at a piece of broccoli in her bowl, her head bowed. Her hair was dark and thick, just like her mother’s. Her voice came out muffled. “We had a fight. She started breaking things and told me to get out. She said she never wanted me to come back.” A childhood tantrum, then. A runaway. Madeline would probably be here to collect her within the hour. It made sense. Six years ago, the prestigious Jackson family—her family—had fought me tooth and nail for custody. They wouldn’t just throw her away now. My fork paused halfway to my mouth. I didn’t know what I was feeling. I hadn’t expected a guest, so dinner was just simple stir-fry and soup. Sophie, it turned out, was a surgical eater. She spent ten minutes picking out every trace of onion and carrot until there was nothing left on her plate but white rice. She stared at the mangled vegetables with a look of profound betrayal, stole a glance at me, and then guiltily swallowed a mouthful of rice. She had arrived with a shield of arrogance and pride, but seeing her struggle with a piece of broccoli made me realize she had likely been raised in a world where every whim was met. She hadn’t been mistreated. I felt a small, bitter relief. After finishing the dishes, I sat down to wait for the car Madeline would inevitably send. I waited until nine-thirty. A six-year-old’s internal clock is relentless. She pulled a pair of pajamas out of her bag, looked around the one-bedroom apartment, and pressed her lips together. “There’s only one bed,” she noted. “Am I supposed to squeeze in with you?” I looked at the clock. For some reason, the black SUVs hadn’t arrived. “Yeah,” I sighed. “You’re with me tonight.” I expected a meltdown. This cramped apartment was a far cry from the sprawling estate she was used to. But Sophie just bit her lip, her eyes flickering. She washed her face, grunted as she struggled into her pajamas, and climbed onto the bed herself. She had complained about the vegetables, too, but she’d eaten them in the end. Now, she burrowed into the duvet until she was a small mound of fabric. She produced a book of fairy tales from somewhere, peeked out from the covers, and whispered, “Aren’t you going to read to me?” She actually looked… happy. 2 After Sophie fell asleep, I pulled up a contact in my phone I hadn’t touched in years. I stared at Madeline’s name for a long time. I didn’t call. We had been apart for six years. In the beginning, we thought we could outrun destiny. My family had gone bankrupt overnight; hers had immediately moved to marry her off to a man named Victor. She had fought them. She had broken her engagement to Victor for me. I thought we were going to be the exception. I thought the bankruptcy would pass, that we would be okay. We got married in secret. We were happy, for a while. Then, on the eve of Sophie’s birth, everything changed. Madeline was rushed to a different hospital by her family. When she woke up, the woman I loved was gone. In her place was a stranger—cold, indifferent, and eventually, cruel. I didn’t understand how someone could change so fundamentally between sunsets. The way she looked at me went from adoration to a visceral disgust. Victor came to see me once. He was the one who told me the “truth” of our world. He spoke about “narrative corrections” and “protagonists.” He told me that because the intended “Male Lead”—him—had arrived late, the world had to fix the mistake. The price of that fix was the reversal of the heroine’s feelings. The more she had loved me, the more she was now forced to hate me. Victor looked at me with a sickening kind of pity. Before he left, he asked, “Have you thought about what will happen to your child in a world that doesn’t want you?” I went numb. I didn’t know who to hate. Madeline? She didn’t even seem to own her own mind anymore. Fate? Hate is useless against a force you can’t touch. Around that time, my parents were in a catastrophic car accident. They were left in comas, likely brain-dead. I was spiraling, Victor’s words echoing in my head like a death knell. The world felt like a sick joke I was tired of playing. One afternoon, I opened a high window in the hospital and looked down. Behind me, the baby in the crib started to wail. A dark, intrusive thought took hold: If I leave, what happens to her? Will the world allow her to exist? Will Victor hurt her? Or will she be like me—discarded by Madeline, left to wither away in silence until she dies just to satisfy the plot? I started shaking. I walked back to the crib, my hands trembling as I reached for her small neck. I wanted to take her with me. I wanted to save her from the life ahead. But then, she stopped crying. She stared at me with those big, watery eyes, looking at me as if I were her entire universe. The door burst open. Nurses and bodyguards swarmed in, shoving me away. I looked at my hands, horrified by what Victor’s poisonous whispers had almost driven me to do. The news reached the Jackson family immediately. The patriarch demanded a meeting. They wanted the child. I gave them everything. I signed the papers. I let go of the woman who hated me, and I gave up the daughter I was too broken to protect. I took two million dollars—just enough to cover my parents’ medical bills for the rest of their lives—and I disappeared. Madeline never showed up to the mediation. She couldn’t even bear to look at me. So, I accepted my role. I stayed in the shadows. I let her go, and I let myself go. I was pulled back to the present by a soft weight pressing into my side. Sophie had rolled over in her sleep, tucking herself into my chest. She was snoring softly, her tiny hand clutching my shirt as if she were afraid I’d vanish if she let go. I looked at her innocent face and let out a long, jagged breath. If she knew her father had almost ended her life the day she was born, would she still be here? She’d be running for the hills. 3 Morning came, and Madeline was still a no-show. I couldn’t figure out the angle. They had fought so hard for her, and now she was just… here. I woke Sophie up, got her dressed, and hailed a cab to take her to school. Her preschool was an hour away in the city, a place for the children of the elite. Before getting out of the car, she made me promise ten times that I’d be there to pick her up. She was clingy, rambling about nothing, until she saw a specific car parked near the school gates. Her eyes lit up. she dragged me out of the cab, but as we got closer to the gates, she slowed down. She purposefully marched over to a chubby little boy who had just stepped out of a luxury SUV. She held my hand tightly, swinging our joined arms so he couldn’t miss it. “Daddy,” she said, her voice loud enough for the entire sidewalk to hear. “You’ll be here to pick me up later, right?” It was the first time she had called me “Daddy.” Even when she’d shown up at my door, she hadn’t used the word. The little boy stared at me, skeptical. “If you have a dad, why hasn’t he ever brought you to school before?” Sophie lifted her chin, her expression one of pure disdain. “My dad is an executive. He’s incredibly busy, but he took special time off today just for me.” She put a heavy emphasis on “special.” She paraded me to the entrance like I was a trophy. Before she went inside, her bravado flickered. She leaned in and whispered, “You… you are coming, right?” When I didn’t answer immediately, she glared at me, her voice trembling. “You promised in the car! Adults aren’t allowed to lie!” I knelt down, adjusted her crooked collar, and ruffled her hair. It was soft, just like I remembered. “I’ll be here. I promise.” A smile tugged at her lips before she forced her face back into a mask of regal indifference. “Fine. I’ll be waiting.” I watched her until she disappeared inside. Then, I found her teacher. I wanted to know how she was doing. The teacher hesitated, then sighed. “Look, I know the Jackson family is powerful, and maybe it’s not my place… but Sophie’s father? Even if you’re busy, you can’t just ignore her.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “Nobody has ever come to a parent-teacher conference. Not once since she enrolled. The other kids have started saying she doesn’t have a father. It’s affecting her, Mr. Sterling.” My heart sank. Not even an assistant? Madeline couldn’t even be bothered to send a proxy? I felt a surge of regret. Maybe I shouldn’t have signed those papers. But back then, I was a bankrupt ghost with two dying parents. How could I have raised a child? I pulled out my phone and dialed Madeline’s number. I needed to talk to her. If she didn’t want Sophie, I would take her. I wasn’t rich, but I could give her a life. As the phone started ringing, a ringtone sounded right behind me. I turned around. Madeline was stepping out of a sleek black sedan. Six years had passed. She looked different, yet exactly the same. She was looking down at her buzzing phone, then she looked up and met my eyes. “You’ve been hiding from me for a long time,” she said. “Don’t you think it’s time we talked?” Unlike my haggard, worn-down self, Madeline was the picture of composed power. She looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine. I’d heard rumors—that she’d taken over the entire Jackson empire, that her brand was a global powerhouse, that she lived a quiet, solitary life. Seeing her felt like a physical blow. The memories I had tried to starve out came rushing back, filling my chest with a dull, aching heat. I thought I was over her. I wasn’t. This was the girl who used to make me rings out of twisted grass. This was the girl who pushed my bullies into the pool. How did we end up as strangers in a parking lot? She hadn’t changed. She just didn’t care about me anymore. “Long time no see, Madeline.” 4 We went to a quiet coffee shop nearby. Neither of us spoke until the lattes arrived. I didn’t want to play games. “Do you still want the child?” I asked bluntly. I had rehearsed this confrontation in my head a thousand times over the years. I was finally numb enough to sound indifferent. Madeline looked at me, her gaze unreadable. “Of course I do.” I looked out the window at the street signs. “Then make sure you pick her up. If you’re too busy for the conferences, let me know. I won’t get in the way of you and—” I couldn’t say Victor’s name. The sting was still too sharp. “—your life.” I stood up to leave. As I passed her, she spoke. “Is that all you want to talk to me about? Sophie?” I paused. “What else is there? We settled everything six years ago. You moved on, I took the money. What’s left?” Madeline let out a slow breath, her dark eyes locked on mine. “Fine. Then I don’t want her anymore.” The casualness of it floored me. “What are you talking about?” She gestured for me to sit back down. “Exactly what I said. You want her? Fine. She’s yours. But for the sake of her mental health, I will be coming to your place every Friday night to spend the weekend with her. I’ll leave Monday mornings for the office.” It was absurd. It was irrational. “Madeline, we’re divorced.” She let out a dry, sharp laugh. “Are we? I never signed the papers.” I felt the blood drain from my face. Six years ago, her grandfather had handed me the papers. I assumed she was too disgusted to see me, so I signed them and left. She was saying she never finished the process. But why wait six years to find me? I wasn’t deluded enough to think she still loved me. Maybe the papers got lost. Maybe she needed a formal settlement for tax reasons. “Fine,” I said. “We’ll sign new ones.” “No,” she said. “Madeline, let’s just finish this. It’s better for everyone.” “It’s not.” “What is it? Money? Stocks? You can keep it all. I want nothing.” “No.” Three ‘no’s. It made me angry, but it also felt hauntingly familiar. This was the Madeline I knew as a teenager. I remembered her eighteenth birthday. A rival of mine had been mocking me, humiliating me in front of the elite crowd. Madeline had walked up and shoved him into the pool without a word. It was a scandal. The elders were furious. Madeline refused to apologize. Her grandfather had her locked in a study for three days as punishment. I had sat outside that locked door. “I’m sorry,” I whispered through the wood. There was a silence, then the sound of her shifting, sitting on the other side of the door. “Go away,” she’d mumbled. “You should have just let him talk,” I said. “It didn’t matter.” “No.” “Don’t be guilty,” she’d added, tapping on the door. “I did it because I wanted to. It has nothing to do with you. Don’t you dare feel guilty.” Coming back to the present, I felt like I was hearing those words again. Madeline smiled, the light from the window catching the faint dust motes in the air. “Miles,” she said, using my name for the first time. “We are never going to be ‘even.’”

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For as long as I could remember, the four heirs of New York’s most prominent dynasties had treated me as their most fiercely guarded possession. But the night a fresh-faced, lively girl stepped into the ballroom, the air in my world fractured. Suddenly, glowing lines of text began scrolling across my field of vision like a neon ticker tape: [The darling female lead and the male leads have finally met! Throwing confetti!] [They can’t help but be drawn to her. They’re finally learning what true love is. Watch them distance themselves from the side-character!] [The jealous best friend is going to hurt our precious girl, and the boys are going to destroy her family for it!] At first, I scoffed at the bizarre, floating hallucinations. That was until they all skipped my birthday gala, abandoning me just to take that girl to see the fireworks. Only then did it hit me: the boys who had clung to my side since childhood were truly gone. Fine. It was about time I found a real boyfriend anyway. 1 The ballroom was suffocatingly opulent, the air thick with the scent of expensive orchids and old money. Tristan Vanderbilt pressed his hand over my eyes, his chest warm against my back, deliberately blocking my view of the older, sophisticated Harrington heir across the room. I sighed, prying his heavy fingers away, only to have a small mother-of-pearl spoon pressed to my lips. Beluga caviar. Kieran Astor held the spoon, his dark eyes shimmering with pure, puppy-dog expectation. “Good?” It was rich, melting instantly on my tongue. I nodded. “Have another bite, Caro.” He tipped another spoonful toward me. Before I could swallow, Nathaniel Montgomery had already produced a pristine, monogrammed linen handkerchief, leaning in to dab at the corner of my mouth. I took the handkerchief from his elegant fingers, offering a faint, tolerant smile as I wiped my own mouth. “Dance with me next, Caro,” Kieran whined, tugging at the silk of my gown like a neglected child. “For God’s sake, Kieran, crying gets you nowhere. You’re suffocating her.” Tristan slapped Kieran’s hand away with a scowl, pulling me closer by the waist, staring down at me with those intense, hungry eyes. “Enough, both of you. You’re wrinkling her dress.” Harrison Dupont—the steady, authoritative anchor of our chaotic quintet—stepped in. He crouched smoothly, his broad shoulders shifting under his tailored tuxedo as he adjusted the hem of my gown. Beside him, Nathaniel gently tucked a stray wisp of hair behind my ear, restoring my composure to picture-perfect elegance. The rest of the elite guests in the room barely batted an eye. The sight of these four untouchable scions revolving around me like planets around a sun was an old, tired Manhattan legend. Then, she walked in. There were dozens of stunning women at this gala, draped in couture and diamonds. She was in a simple evening gown, looking around with wide, curious eyes. She shouldn’t have commanded the room. But as her gaze swept toward our corner, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew heavy. Slowly, as if pulled by an invisible, gravitational force, the four men beside me turned their heads. They froze. It was as if time had stopped, their eyes locked onto her, entirely unblinking. That was when the glowing text began scrolling frantically before my eyes: [Ahhhh! The female lead and the male leads have met! Love! Heart emojis!] [The boys are totally captivated! Is this the magic of love at first sight?] [The childhood friend must be so dumbfounded! From now on, they belong to the female lead. No one’s going to revolve around her anymore!] [When the wicked friend gets jealous and tries to hurt our baby, she’s finished! The boys will make her die a miserable death, haha!] I didn’t need a dictionary to know the “wicked friend” was me. I didn’t care about the psychotic floating words, but the physical reaction of the men beside me made my stomach drop. A cold, sharp hollow opened in my chest. The girl stared right back at them. She didn’t look intimidated. She didn’t look at me and shrink back in self-doubt or envy, the way other girls usually did when they saw the fortress these men built around me. Instead, she offered them a bright, unabashed smile. A silent, magnetic greeting. Beside me, the men shifted their weight. One by one, they stepped away from me, moving toward her. They didn’t even glance back. This had never happened. Never. They were ignoring me. They were walking toward someone else. Was this the “magic of love at first sight” the text had screamed about? I was witnessing it firsthand. 2 The heirs of New York’s four ruling families possessed notoriously short tempers with everyone—except me, Caroline Sinclair. A single furrow of their brows was usually enough to send people scrambling away in terror. Now, they stood in a semi-circle around this strange girl, laughing. Conversing. She smiled like a blooming flower; their eyes burned with an intense, heated focus. Murmurs rippled through the ballroom. People were staring, their eyes darting between the picturesque group and where I stood, suddenly, glaringly alone. The girl began walking toward me. The four men flanked her like devoted bodyguards. She extended a hand, her posture dripping with a casual, terrifying confidence. “Hi. I’m Maddie. Maddie Foster.” I met her grip. “Caroline Sinclair.” “I saw them standing with you earlier,” she said, her smile utterly flawless. “I didn’t want you to feel left out because of me, so I thought I’d come say hi.” I gave a polite, measured smile. “I’m perfectly fine.” “Maddie, you still haven’t picked which one of us gets to drive you home tonight,” Tristan murmured, the corner of his mouth curving in a way that used to be reserved only for me. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat while you decide. You can’t starve.” Kieran gently guided her by the elbow toward the sprawling buffet. Harrison and Nathaniel followed without a moment’s hesitation. A tidal wave of unfamiliar sensations washed over me—humiliation, confusion, and a bizarre, quiet grief. Whispers drifted from the champagne tables: “My God, did the Sinclair girl just get benched?” “The tectonic plates are shifting. Who is that girl?” The neon text danced in my vision: [Ugh, our girl’s charm is unmatched! She just stood there and completely defeated the side-character!] [This is the kind of pampered, center-of-attention trope I love! No angst for the female lead! The boys just spoil her!] [Exactly! Spoil the lead, torture the side-chick! Sweet and satisfying!] Meeting the barrage of sympathetic and calculating stares from the crowd, I calmly took a sip of my champagne. [Look at her acting so calm, she must be dying of rage inside! Haha!] [Oh, don’t worry, there’s plenty of days like this ahead. Once she overestimates herself and tries to fight for the men, they’ll ruin her family and she’ll finally learn her place!] …Did I really look like the kind of person who would resort to something so pathetic? Across the room, they seemed to have reached a verdict. Under the collective, breathless gaze of Manhattan’s elite, the four of them escorted Maddie Foster out of the ballroom. I went home alone. Late that night, the buzzer to my penthouse rang. I checked the monitor and unlocked the elevator. Tristan, who owned the penthouse across the street, stepped in. He held out a bundle of silk. “You left your wrap in my car. Brought it over.” “Thank you.” I took it from his hands. It was a wrap he had playfully hidden from me days ago, demanding I stay longer if I wanted it back. Now, he was voluntarily returning it. “What happened to your arm?” he asked suddenly. I glanced down at the small bandage near my elbow. “I must have scraped it on something.” He gave a curt nod. “Be careful then. I’m taking off.” He turned and walked back to the elevator. Just like that. In the past, a paper cut would have drained the color from his face. He would have dragged me to the sink, sterilized it himself, and fretted over it for an hour. Now, he couldn’t care less. A bitter, dry laugh escaped my lips as the doors slid shut. I suppose I really needed to get used to this new reality. [Haha, the boys are drawing boundaries!] [The side-chick doesn’t even know how panicked they were earlier when our girl almost tripped!] 3 Half a month bled by. I didn’t see a single one of them. The socialites in my circle were all too eager to feed me the gossip, and the floating ticker tape filled in the agonizing details. Where they took Maddie. How fiercely they competed for her attention. Exactly how they used to be with me. Maddie stubbed her toe, and they practically called in a medevac. They guarded her like she was the rarest diamond on earth. The rumor mill was brutal: The four princes of New York have discarded the Sinclair heiress for a middle-class Cinderella. Treasured. Worshipped. Caroline Sinclair was officially yesterday’s news. Amidst the noise, I buried myself in my work at my father’s firm. Before, they were a constant, disruptive presence. If I worked an hour of overtime, one of them would march into the boardroom and drag me out. If I had a dinner with a male client, they would lurk at the bar, claiming they were “making sure no one took advantage.” Now, the silence in my office was profound. I could finally just work. We eventually crossed paths at a high-profile charity auction at Sotheby’s. They sat in the front row, Maddie nestled like a queen among them. I sat several rows back with my friend, Harper. Lot after lot went to the front row. They bought Maddie millions in vintage jewels, drawing breathless sighs of envy from the women in the room. When a stunning pair of antique emerald drop earrings appeared on the screen, I raised my paddle. “Oh, those are beautiful. I love them,” Maddie said, her voice carrying just enough to be heard. Instantly, four paddles shot up from her row. I raised my paddle three more times. Finally, Harrison Dupont threw out a number so astronomically high it effectively silenced the room. A blank check. Auction over. Harper shot me a look of deep, painful pity. The text hovered, glowing mockingly: [Hahaha, who can compete with the male leads’ bank accounts? They’re going to give our girl the moon and the stars!] [Think about how good they used to treat the side-character. Now she’s nothing. Once you meet the one, your past means nothing!] [This is the pure, romantic satisfaction I crave!] During the intermission, the champagne flowed. Harper clicked her tongue. “I still can’t believe the four of them are doing this to you. How did it happen so fast?” I just shook my head, offering a small smile, and took a sip of my drink. “Miss Sinclair.” Maddie’s voice was sickeningly sweet. She approached our table, beaming. “I saw you bidding on those earrings. Since the boys have already bought me so much tonight, why don’t I just gift them to you? I’d hate for you to feel sad because of how well they treat me.” She held out the velvet box, her smile masking a sharp, arrogant provocation. [Our girl is so kind. Truly a pure, angelic soul!] Harper bristled. “If they bought them for you, keep them. It’s not like Caroline can’t afford her own jewelry.” I placed a restraining hand on Harper’s arm, turning back to Maddie. “No thank you. Keep them, Miss Foster.” “Oh my, your friend is so angry. Is she upset because Harrison and the others are treating me so well? Is she fighting your battles?” Maddie pouted, ignoring the dark look on Harper’s face. “Well, now I feel terrible. You must take these as an apology.” She thrust the box closer, practically shoving it into my chest. Frowning, I raised my hand to gently push the box away. “Ah!” Without my applying any pressure at all, Maddie threw her body backward, stumbling as if violently shoved. Tristan and the others, who had been watching like hawks, surged forward in a panic. Tristan caught her before she hit the carpet. “Are you okay?” Nathaniel, usually so composed, asked, his voice threaded with raw anxiety. All four of them hovered over her, their faces etched with absolute devotion and fear. Harper let out a breath of disbelief. She couldn’t fathom that these men—our men—were obsessing over someone else to this degree. Maddie leaned into Tristan’s chest, looking frail and flushed. “I’m okay. Thank God you caught me, Tris.” Then, she looked up at me, her eyes brimming with calculated tears. “Miss Sinclair, I know you’re upset that they favor me now, but you didn’t have to push me in front of everyone just to embarrass me!” The surrounding crowd turned toward us, eyes hungry for drama. The Sinclair-Vanderbilt-Astor-Montgomery-Dupont fallout was the only thing anyone cared about. “What the hell are you talking about?” Harper snapped. [Wait? Did the side-character actually push her? I didn’t see her move!] [You just weren’t paying attention! If our girl says she pushed her, she pushed her!] [This girl is so vicious! But whatever, with the boys here, she can’t hurt our baby. She’s just going to embarrass herself!] [Keep acting up, you wicked witch. They’re going to exile you to the middle of nowhere!] 4 I glanced at the floating text, took a slow, grounding breath, and let my voice drop to a freezing calm. “Aren’t you being a little ridiculous, Miss Foster? I barely moved my arm. Did I push you over with my mind?” Maddie stiffened, then her eyes narrowed in a fleeting, contemptuous sneer, confident she held all the cards. Kieran stepped up, his face flushed with anger. “Caro, Maddie was standing right in front of you and suddenly fell backward. If you didn’t push her, who did?” “We know this transition is hard for you, Caro,” he continued, his tone patronizing. “But we just find Maddie incredibly charming. She hasn’t done anything wrong. You can’t just attack her because you’re jealous.” Harper looked at Kieran like he had grown a second head. Maddie hid a triumphant smirk behind her hand. “He’s right, Caroline. That was uncalled for,” Tristan added, his voice low and cold. My expression turned to stone. I looked at the four of them, letting my gaze linger before settling on Kieran. “So you’re deciding, without question, that I pushed her?” Kieran scoffed. “Isn’t it obvious? Look, just apologize to Maddie, Caro. I’m sure she won’t hold it against you.” Maddie gave a theatrical sigh. “I suppose since Miss Sinclair is feeling so insecure lately, if she apologizes, I’ll be the bigger person and forgive her.” [Jealousy is so ugly. Look at the male leads defending their wife! So satisfying!] [Our girl is so generous!] “You people are out of your goddamn minds—” Harper started, but a single, glacial look from Harrison Dupont silenced her. No one crossed these men. And right now, all that immense, terrifying power was positioned behind Maddie Foster. Harper looked at me, her eyes wide with real fear. The whispers grew louder. Everyone was watching the mighty Caroline Sinclair be reduced to dirt beneath their shoes. “Just apologize, Caroline,” Harrison said softly, the disappointment in his voice heavy. Kieran smiled, a cruel, boyish twist of his lips. “You used to teach us to take responsibility for our actions, Caro. We get it. We’re great catches. You can’t bear to let us go, so you take it out on Maddie. But she belongs to us now, and we’re not going to let you bully her—” Smack. The sound of my hand striking Kieran’s cheek echoed like a gunshot through the silent room.

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For three years with Bennett, I was the legendary “Saint of Manhattan”—the most chillingly perfect girlfriend his social circle had ever seen. I never tracked his location. I never blinked when he flirted with other women. No matter how late he stayed out or how many suggestive photos ended up on his Instagram, I never started a fight. Bennett wore my compliance like a trophy. He loved to brag to his friends about how much I worshipped him, how he’d finally found a woman who “knew her place.” That was until he accidentally found the old cloud account I shared with my first love. In those old videos, I was anything but stable. I was petty, prone to jealousy, and temperamental. I was a lightning storm of emotions. In one video, my first love laughed helplessly as he pulled me into a hug. “Why is your fuse so short, Jo?” he teased. I looked into the camera, chin tilted defiantly. “I only get angry because I love you. If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t give a damn what you did.” I saw Bennett’s face as he watched it. He went completely still. 1 When I walked into the dimly lit lounge, Bennett had a girl in a silk slip dress perched on his lap. Her thin, pale arms were draped around his neck, and her lips—glossed to a high, sticky shine—were inches from his. The married men in the booth were already standing up, offering sheepish smiles to Bennett. “Sorry, B. My wife’s been blowing up my phone for twenty minutes. If I’m not home by midnight, I’m sleeping on the sofa.” Bennett didn’t even look up. He let the girl pluck the cigarette from his mouth and take a drag herself. He let out a sharp, mocking huff. “You guys are pathetic. Letting a woman keep you on a leash.” The single guys in the group cheered. “That’s our Bennett. Doesn’t matter if he rolls in at 4:00 AM, Jo never says a word. Come on, man, give us the secret. How did you train her?” The girl on his lap giggled, pressing her chest against his blazer. “Seriously, Bennett. You’re doing this right in front of me—aren’t you afraid your girlfriend will walk in and lose it?” Bennett smirked, a flicker of performative arrogance crossing his handsome face. “She’s obsessed with me. She does whatever I say. In three years, we haven’t had a single argument. She doesn’t have it in her to be angry.” “Incredible,” someone muttered with genuine envy. “The guy spends three years playing the field and she stays silent. That’s a real man’s life right there—” The man’s voice died in his throat. He had spotted me standing by the velvet curtain, expressionless. Bennett turned. There wasn’t a trace of guilt on his face. He simply nudged the girl off his lap and beckoned me over with a flick of his wrist. “What are you doing here?” I paused for a second, then walked over. My voice was level, polite. “I’m out with some friends.” The girl he’d pushed aside looked annoyed. She sized me up, her eyes lingering on my modest coat before offering a tight, forced smile. “Hi, Jo.” Up close, I recognized her. She was the new intern at Bennett’s firm—Crystal. She’d graduated from a mid-tier state school; Bennett had personally insisted on hiring her after seeing her headshot in the HR pile. I didn’t realize he’d moved this fast. I ignored her. Bennett had clearly been drinking. His dark eyes were hooded and hazy, looking unfairly beautiful under the amber lights. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him. “You should’ve told me you were coming out. Give me a kiss.” He leaned in toward my mouth. I instinctively tilted my head away. I didn’t know if he’d just tasted Crystal’s lip gloss, and the thought made my skin crawl. Bennett’s expression shifted instantly. The smug smile evaporated. Even though he was sitting and I was standing, the way he looked at me felt like he was peering down from a great height. “Joanna. What the hell was that?” I looked away and said softly, “You’ve had too much to drink.” “You’re disgusted by me?” He sensed the eyes of his friends on him. He felt his ego bruising. Suddenly, he reached out, grabbed Crystal by the waist, and pulled her back onto his lap. He cupped the back of her head firmly. Crystal’s eyes lit up. She surrendered to the kiss immediately. They shared a long, wet, performative kiss right in front of me. When Crystal finally pulled away, breathless, a thin silver thread of saliva connected their lips. She looked at me, her mouth curling into a triumphant smirk. Bennett watched me, his eyes a challenge. The table went silent. Every man there knew that no woman should be able to stomach this. They were all waiting for the explosion, for the drink to be thrown, for the screaming to start. I just met Bennett’s gaze and said calmly, “You’re drunk. I’m going home.” As I turned to leave, I heard one of his friends whisper in awe. “Damn. Her ’emotional stability’ is terrifying. She didn’t even flinch.” “Bennett’s got her under a spell,” another laughed. “She’s probably terrified he’ll dump her if she makes a scene.”

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To pull the campus golden boy off his pedestal, I created three separate burner accounts to date him online. My plan was simple: make him fall head over heels, then shatter his heart into a million pieces. Account No. 1 was the “Sweetheart” — high-pitched, needy, and constantly whining about her “tummy rumbling” until he’d Venmo me for UberEats. Account No. 2 was the “Pro-Gamer” — a cold-blooded assassin in League of Legends who carried his sorry ass through matches while teasing him for being a “cute little noob.” Account No. 3 was the “Sugar Mommy” — an older, wealthy woman who threw money at him just to coax out spicy voice notes and shirtless gym selfies. And then, one night, the floor fell out from under me. To prove to a room full of people that he actually had a girlfriend, the “golden boy” put his phone on speaker and dialed. A second later, my pocket erupted. “Honey-bunny is calling! Honey-bunny is calling!” The ringtone blared, relentless and shrill. The entire room went deathly silent. I stood there, frozen: Well, shit. I played myself. 1 The referee’s whistle cut through the air, signaling the end of the game. Our varsity team had sunk a buzzer-beater three-pointer in the final second. As the crowd erupted in a deafening roar, I was still sitting in the bleachers, staring into space. “Wren, aren’t you going to go give Bradley his water? Move it!” My best friend, Piper, nudged me with a wicked grin. “That last shot was Nate Miller’s. God, he’s hot, right? I saw you staring. Admit it—is he hotter than your ‘God of Basketball’ Bradley or what?” “Not even close,” I shot back instinctively, grabbing the chilled bottle of Fiji water and heading down the stairs. Today was a scrimmage against a rival college. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, and I’d only shown up to support Bradley. But for some reason, Nate Miller—the department’s resident heartthrob—had signed up for this game too. The second the girls in our year heard Nate was playing, they organized a cheering squad like it was the NBA Finals. From the moment he stepped onto the court, the screaming hadn’t stopped. It was terrifying, honestly. I sighed, feeling a pang of pity for my “God.” In every academic competition in our department, Bradley always seemed to fall just a hair behind Nate, forever relegated to second place. Now, Nate wouldn’t even let him have the spotlight in a measly scrimmage. Does the guy have a Main Character syndrome or something? Down on the court, Nate was already swamped by a mob of girls begging for selfies. Bradley stood in the corner, laughing and chatting with his teammates, looking heartbreakingly sidelined. Piper was still buzzing in my ear. “I seriously don’t get why you have such a massive chip on your shoulder when it comes to Nate. And this ‘Evil Catfishing Scheme’ of yours? It’s unhinged, Wren.” I clamped my hand over her mouth. If Nate Miller ever found out I was running three different personas just to mess with him, I’d be the lead story on the campus news by morning. Bradley spotted me and looked surprised. “Wren! You actually came to watch?” I gave him my best shy smile. “I came specifically to see you play, Bradley.” He chuckled, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice. “I didn’t think anyone was watching me today.” Poor guy. Nate had sucked the confidence right out of him. I looked at Bradley with soft eyes, completely oblivious to the world, and held out the water. “Bradley, I got this for—” Before I could finish, a pale, long-fingered hand reached out and snatched the bottle right out of my grasp. Me: “?” 2 The crisp, sharp scent of peppermint swirled around me. Nate Miller stepped directly between Bradley and me. He had one hand buried in his gym shorts pocket while he tossed the water bottle up and down with the other. He leaned in, his eyes curving into a brilliant, predatory smile. “Wow, Wren. How’d you know I was dying for a drink? You’re a lifesaver.” I stared at him, flat-eyed. If you’re thirsty, go to a vending machine, you prick. The damp strands of hair on Nate’s forehead were soaked with sweat. Almost as if he knew exactly what he was doing, he brushed them back, revealing the sharp, perfect lines of his brow and eyes. The fangirls nearby let out a collective, strangled gasp. Even I had to admit, the man was offensively attractive. But where the hell did he even come from? I was fuming. That water was for my guy. Nate turned to Bradley, his tone light but edged. “You don’t mind if I take this, do you, Brad? You’re not that stingy, right?” Bradley blinked, then shook his head. “No, it’s fine.” Nate grinned, looking like he hadn’t tasted water in a century. He twisted the cap and chugged half the bottle in one go, his Adam’s apple bobbing rhythmically. I heard the girls whispering behind us. “Who is she? She’s so lucky Nate’s drinking her water! I’m literally dying.” “I think she’s a junior in his department. They say he’s got a soft spot for her.” I watched Nate finish the water with a completely blank expression. When he looked down at me with those “soulful” eyes, I simply held out my phone, screen glowing with my Venmo QR code. “Nate, I’m sorry, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m actually selling these. That’ll be four dollars.” Nate: “?” The Crowd: “…” The air went dead. I watched as the color rushed to Nate’s face, turning him a magnificent shade of crimson. He stared at me like I’d just grown a second head. What? You’ve never seen a girl run a business? Pay up. 3 To celebrate the win, the student union threw a small victory dinner at a local bistro. I was invited along with the rest of the support staff. When it was time to sit, I saw Bradley take a seat by the window. The chair across from him was empty. Jackpot. I kept my face neutral, moving with practiced ease to pull out the chair. “Bradley, what a coincidence! Looks like we’re table buddies.” Bradley smiled back, looking genuinely pleased. Suddenly, Nate, who was standing a few feet away, stopped mid-motion. He looked troubled, his brow furrowing as he scanned the room. The student union president asked, “Nate? Something wrong? Take a seat, man.” Nate bit his lip, looking embarrassed. “I… I have this weird thing. I can only eat if I’m sitting by a window. It’s a claustrophobia thing. If I’m not by the glass, I lose my appetite.” I stopped unwrapping my silverware. You lying sack of garbage. I’d seen him eat in the middle of a crowded, windowless cafeteria back in high school a thousand times. The president immediately turned to Bradley. “Brad, would you mind swapping with Nate? Just for the night?” No! Bradley, stay strong! I sat there, looking at Bradley with pleading eyes. But of course, being the “nice guy” he was, Bradley stood up and swapped places without a second thought. Nate slid into the chair directly across from me. He met my gaze and smiled like a harmless, fluffy golden retriever. “Wren, what a coincidence,” he purred, echoing my exact words back to me. “Looks like we’re table buddies.” The smirk he gave me made the hair on my arms stand up. 4 I was now eighty percent certain he was doing this on purpose. But I had no proof. I stabbed a piece of steak and chewed it with unnecessary violence. Just you wait, Nate. You have no idea what’s coming for you. Around us, the conversation was loud and cheerful. Nate, however, ignored the crowd, resting his chin on his hand as he watched me eat. His gaze was so intense it made my skin prickle. It was the kind of look that made you want to scream at someone to stop. But in real life, I was a chronic introvert with a touch of social anxiety. All I could do was bury my face deeper into my plate. Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me. Suddenly, Nate leaned in. “You know, Wren, you’re actually really cute when you eat.” “Pffft—” I choked, spraying a bit of rice across the table. My face felt like it was on fire. I glared at him, mortified. Nate didn’t even flinch. He just kept smiling that innocent, devastating smile. Ugh, such a player! I had three different personas currently blowing up his phone with “I miss you” texts, and here he was, flirting with the real me in broad daylight. Scum. Absolute scum. I pretended the steak was Nate’s heart and sliced into it again. 5 I had known Nate Miller was a two-faced playboy long before college. We went to the same high school. Back then, I was obsessed with this one specific Otome game. I was head over heels for a 2D character, calling him “husband” every five minutes. Piper used to say that if anyone ever talked trash about my 2D man, I’d haunt them like a Victorian ghost for the rest of their lives. Then, one day, I saw a video Nate posted on Instagram. He was already the school’s resident heartthrob. In the video, under moody purple lighting, he showed off his sharp profile, radiating a sort of “brooding loner” energy. But then he turned his screen to reveal… a photo of my 2D husband. The caption read: “On a snowy winter night, I wish I could be the one standing by your side, just like him.” The comment section was a disaster zone of thirsty girls. “OMG! My two favorite husbands in one frame!” “Nate, I’ll be your winter girl!” I felt my blood pressure skyrocket. I scrolled through Nate’s other posts. Nearly every single one featured a tag or a reference to my game. He even posted clips of himself playing it. To me, no matter how attractive a 3D guy is, “cosplaying” or trying to skin-walk a 2D character is a capital offense. That night, Piper witnessed the true terrifying power of a woman scorned. She watched me scroll through Nate’s feed, cursing him with every insult I could conjure. From that day on, Nate Miller was on my permanent blacklist. Then we got to college, and I met Bradley. I quickly realized that Nate was still overshadowing everyone—including Bradley. Even the girl Bradley had a crush on had once confessed to Nate, only to be rejected. That was the breaking point. To expose Nate’s true, manipulative nature, I launched the “Evil Catfishing Plan.” I would make him fall in love, drain his bank account (ironically, of course), and then dump him so hard he’d never look at a 2D character again. 6 Piper was scrolling through her phone next to me when she let out a quiet “Oh, wow.” She turned her screen to show me a post on the campus forum. Someone had snapped a photo of Nate taking the water bottle from me today. In the shot, my back was a blurry mess of pixels, but Nate looked like he’d been professionally airbrushed, drinking the water with cinematic grace. Me: “…” The injustice was staggering. I looked at Nate, who was currently charming the table, and a wicked idea took root. I ducked my head and switched my phone to the “Sweetheart” account. My thumbs flew across the keyboard. Bunny: [Sent a photo of the forum post] Bunny: Nate! Bunny is going to cry! Who is this girl at the game? People are saying you drank her water! Hmph!! Nate’s phone buzzed on the table. He glanced down, and I watched his expression from across the table. He froze for a second, but then a slow, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He typed back immediately. Nate: Bunny, baby, it was just water. She’s just a girl in my department. Nothing more. Bunny: Liar! Bunny doesn’t believe you. You’re surrounded by pretty girls every day. You’ve probably already replaced me, you big meanie! Typing that out took every ounce of my self-control not to burst out laughing. Nate looked genuinely distressed. Nate: How can I prove my heart only belongs to you? Just then, the student union president noticed Nate’s distraction. He stood up with a glass. “Nate! You were the MVP today. We couldn’t have won without you. Let’s have a toast!” Nate set his phone down and stood up with a glass of orange juice. “It was a team effort,” he said, sounding modest and perfectly composed. “I just helped get us over the finish line.” Piper sighed beside me. “God, he’s so well-spoken. It’s hard not to like him…” “Wait, are you even listening?” I was staring at my phone, imagining the look on Nate’s face when he read my next demand. Piper nudged my shoulder. “Wren, do you realize how creepy you look right now?” “What?” “You look like a thirsty fanfic writer who just saw their ‘ship’ go canon. It’s a bit much.” “…” Hehe. I can’t help it. Nate sat back down and checked his phone. His face went pale. Bunny: If you mean it, send me a voice note right now. Tell me you love your wittle Bunny-wunny the most in the whole wide world. Nate: Baby, I’m out at dinner with a bunch of people. Bunny: I don’t care! I want it now! Or we’re through! I was shaking with suppressed laughter. Nate suddenly bolted upright, nearly knocking his chair over. The whole table went quiet, staring at him. “Something wrong?” someone asked. Nate’s face was as red as a lobster. He stammered, “I… I have to go to the bathroom. Keep eating.” He practically fled the room. I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned away, burying my face in my hands as my entire body shook with silent, hysterical laughter. 7 Nate was gone for a long time. The table continued to chatter, while I sat in the corner, refreshing my screen. Given Nate’s flair for the dramatic, he was probably in a stall right now trying to find the perfect “seductive” tone of voice. Bunny: Nate? Why aren’t you responding? Bunny is getting really mad now! You want to break up, don’t you? A second later, a 23-second voice note appeared. My heart actually skipped a beat. Twenty-three seconds? What did he say? I moved away from the group, pressed the phone to my ear, and turned the volume down to the lowest setting. His voice was low, melodic, and held a trace of genuine embarrassment: “I love Bunny the most… Bunny is my sweetest little baby girl. I’m sorry for making you wait, princess. Don’t be mad, okay? Daddy’s coming home soon…” He had lowered his register until it was a husky, intimate murmur. It sounded like a lover whispering in the dark. My brain actually short-circuited for a moment. Even though I hated him, I had to admit—the man was a professional. When he “dated” my alt accounts, he was never stingy with his affection. Being pampered by him—even if it was all a lie—made me feel a strange, momentary dizziness. I slammed the “stop” button on the audio. Nate returned to his seat at the same time. My phone buzzed again. Nate: Did you hear it? Do you believe me now? Bunny: Teehee. You’re the best. I typed it out with cold, clinical precision. Hahaha. You don’t have a sincere bone in your body, Nate Miller. 8 Back at the dorm, I applied a face mask and pulled out my other two phones. Nate had been busy. Nate: Rogue, baby. I missed you tonight. Nate: Madeline, I’m thinking about you. What a dog. If there were an Olympic event for time management, this guy would take the gold every year. I decided to reply as Account No. 2, “Rogue,” the gamer girl. Rogue: Get online, kid. There’s a guild war. I’m carrying you. Nate replied instantly. Nate: Rogue! Where have you been? I checked the server, you weren’t even logged in. Are you ignoring me? Ah, the classic “guilt trip” play. Too bad “Rogue” was a stone-cold ice queen. Rogue: Don’t get clingy, little man. We’re here to play. If you’re going to whine, I’ll find another support to carry. Nate sent back a crying cat emoji. Nate: T^T No, don’t leave. I’ll play. But I’m still trash, so don’t let them bully me. Protect me, okay? It was honestly fascinating. He was a total chameleon. With “Bunny,” he was the doting older boyfriend. With “Rogue,” he was the submissive, clingy “soft boy.” And when I switched to “Madeline,” the rich older woman… he became the charming, flirtatious young puppy. He really put in the work. I logged into the game. My character was a fierce warrior in green robes, wielding a massive broadsword. Standing next to me was Nate’s character… a walking disco ball. He had spent a fortune on the gaudiest, most expensive gear. He wore a glowing crown, a shimmering cape, and rings that pulsed with golden light. He was a mobile loot drop. Nate was famous on the server for being the “No. 1 Pay-to-Win Noob.” A rival guild member typed in the world chat: “Is that the server’s richest loser again? Bringing out the shiny toys for us to break?” Nate’s character leaned against mine. Nate: Baby, they’re being mean to me! Honestly, the rival guy has a point, I thought, laughing as I swung my massive sword. The guild war erupted into a chaos of light and steel. 9 Nate’s voice kept crackling through my headset. “Rogue! My health bar is halfway gone! It hurts!” “God, you look so hot when you swing that sword. My heart is actually pounding.” I glanced at the screen where I had just used Nate’s character as a human shield to block a fireball. I smirked. Your heart is pounding? Let’s turn up the heat. I kept playing with one hand and used the other to switch to Account No. 3. Madeline: Sorry, sweetie. I had a long day at the office. What are you up to? The voice chat went dead for a second. Then, a message popped up. Nate: Just got out of the shower, Madeline. Liar. Madeline: Oh? Show me those abs. I’m exhausted and could use a little eye candy to wake me up. At the same time, I spoke into the headset as “Rogue.” “What’s wrong? Why are you quiet all of a sudden?” Nate didn’t answer in the game. Instead, my “Madeline” phone buzzed with a photo. It was Nate, leaning against a bathroom mirror, a towel slung low on his hips. His hair was damp, water droplets still clinging to his chest and tracing the lines of his V-cut. Jesus, have some decency. I cursed under my breath, feeling a flush creep up my neck. I typed back: Madeline: You really are my favorite little man. I think I need to hear your voice. I’m calling you now. Madeline: [Sent a screenshot of a “busy” signal] Madeline: Wait, why is your line busy, Nate? Who are you talking to? Nate: I’m… uh, I’m on a work call, Madeline! Meanwhile, in the headset, Nate’s voice finally returned. “Sorry, Rogue! I’m back.” I looked at the “Death” screen for Nate’s character. “You weren’t paying attention,” I said coldly. “You died so fast it was pathetic. I’m done for the night.” Nate panicked. “I didn’t mean it! I’m just… a little slow sometimes. Don’t be mad!” I ignored him on the headset and kept blowing up his “Madeline” phone. Madeline: I want to hear your voice right now, or I’m going to be very upset. Are you going to be a good boy for me? Nate: Okay… anything for you. Then, over the headset, I heard Nate say in a fake-sweet voice: “Rogue, honey, I have to take this. I’ll be back in a bit to make it up to you.” Rogue: “Who is it?” Nate: “It’s… my aunt. Family emergency.” “…” Unbelievable. I didn’t realize I’d been added to the family tree. I gritted my teeth. Just wait, Nate Miller. There’s going to be a day when you’re on your knees begging for my mercy.

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My mother always said her best friend was the most graceful, most principled woman in the world. But there she was. The woman I’d called “Auntie” my whole life, the woman who supposedly knew everything about boundaries, was currently curled into my husband’s chest. Her hand was wandering, tracing the line of his jaw with a sickening familiarity. The moment I ripped the mask off her face, the air in the hotel room turned to lead. The slap I’d rehearsed in my head, the screaming match I’d prepared for—it all died in my throat. My brain felt like it was short-circuiting, a dull numbness spreading from my skull to my fingertips. “You’re family,” I whispered, my voice trembling so hard it barely sounded like mine. “How could you do something so… so subhuman?” She didn’t flinch. Instead, she let out a soft, melodic laugh. With a straight face and a voice full of unearned authority, she told me she was simply “testing” my husband for me. I looked at the two of them—this scene so absurd it bordered on the surreal—and I started to laugh. A jagged, hysterical sound. Fine. If one of you has no shame and the other is looking for a thrill, I’ll give you exactly what you deserve. 1 The hotel hallway was bathed in a dim, amber glow that felt like sticky syrup, coating the two of them in a sickly light. My stomach did a slow, violent roll. Nausea surged in the back of my throat. I thought I would scream. I thought I’d turn into a madwoman, clawing at their lying faces. But I didn’t. My body reacted faster than my mind. A bone-chilling cold raced up my spine, settling at the base of my brain. The rage didn’t vanish; it was just compressed, shoved deep into my chest where it simmered without an exit. I forced myself to breathe. I dug my nails into the soft meat of my palms until the sharp sting brought a flicker of clarity. I pulled out my phone. As the screen lit up, I saw Bradley’s face. My husband. He looked like a dog that had just been caught eating off the table—panicked, pathetic, desperate to hide the evidence of his sin. He lunged toward me. “Summer, wait! Let me explain. It’s not what it looks like!” His voice was thin, reeking of his usual cowardice. “Don’t move,” Victoria said, stopping him in his tracks. Victoria. My mother’s best friend of thirty years. The woman who had watched me grow up. She didn’t even fully untangle herself from Bradley’s arms. She just hooded her eyes, looking at me with a strange mix of excitement and provocation. She was wearing that perfume my mother always praised—something “soft and elegant.” Now, mixed with the stale, recycled air of a cheap hotel room, it made me want to gag. I hit the record button. The small red dot on the screen blinked like a cold, unblinking eye, witnessing everything. “Testing my husband?” I repeated her words. My voice was so flat it sounded like I was reading lines for a play I wasn’t even in. Victoria smiled. It was a light, feathery thing, but it cut like a razor. “Yes, Summer.” She finally stood up straight, smoothing out her dress with practiced elegance. “Men these days… they can’t be trusted. I was worried you were being played, so I decided to see what he was made of.” She took a step toward me, her tone shifting into that of a concerned elder. “And look. He failed instantly. A man like this? He’s not worth your time.” Bradley’s face went from pale to a bruised purple. He opened his mouth to protest, but one sharp look from Victoria silenced him. He looked like a marionette, his strings held by a woman twenty years his senior. Suddenly, it hit me. This wasn’t just an affair. This was a joke. A cruel, meticulously planned joke at my expense. I pointed the camera directly at Victoria’s perfectly maintained face. “So, how long has this ‘test’ been going on?” “Bradley was the one who came to me,” Victoria said, her voice dripping with faux-sympathy. “He said your marriage was suffocating. That he couldn’t breathe. He said living with you was like living with a piece of wood—boring, lifeless. He needed someone who understood him. Someone who could bring back the spark.” She sighed. “Summer, don’t be mad at me. I did this because I care about you. I wanted you to see his true colors before it was too late.” Bradley was sweating now, stammering over his words. “No! That’s not—she seduced me! Summer, you have to believe me!” His defense only served to complete her narrative. A perfect, closed loop of betrayal. I watched them through the screen—one smug, one frantic. Whatever was left of the thing I called “love” was ground into the carpet. I could almost hear the physical snap of my heart breaking. “Test passed,” I said. I stopped the recording and tucked the phone away, forcing a twisted smile. “You two deserve each other.” I looked at them—the executioner and the man-child—standing in the shadows of the hallway. They looked ridiculous. I saw the confusion in their eyes, maybe even a flicker of fear, as I turned my back on them. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t waste another word. My heels clicked softly against the plush hotel carpet. I walked away as quietly as I had arrived. One step. Two steps. Three. The moment I pushed through the revolving doors and hit the street, the icy night air slammed into me. My knees buckled. I collapsed onto the sidewalk, my body shaking with a violence I couldn’t control. The tears finally came—a flash flood that blurred the world into a smear of neon lights. So this was what it felt like to be hollowed out. 2 I don’t remember the Uber ride. I don’t remember walking up the steps to my mother’s house. My hands shook so badly I couldn’t get the key into the lock. Before I could try a third time, the door clicked open. My mother, Evelyn, stood there in her silk robe, her face etched with worry. “Summer? What are you doing here at this hour? You look like a ghost.” The moment I saw her, the wire I’d been walking on all night snapped. I fell into her arms, sobbing like a lost child. She was the only person left who felt like home. Evelyn gasped, patting my back rhythmically. “What happened? Did you and Bradley have a fight? Honey, it can’t be that bad.” I couldn’t catch my breath. The words came out in jagged, broken shards. “Mom… Bradley… he’s with Victoria. At a hotel.” The hand on my back stopped moving. Evelyn gripped my shoulders and pulled me back, her expression hardening into something I didn’t recognize. “Summer, think about what you’re saying. What do you mean, Bradley and Victoria?” I looked at her, desperate for her to hold me again, to tell me she’d handle it. I told her everything. Every sordid detail of what I saw in that hallway. Evelyn’s brow furrowed. But her first reaction wasn’t anger at them. It wasn’t comfort for me. It was a sharp, cold interrogation. “Are you sure? Maybe you saw it wrong. Maybe it was a misunderstanding.” Those words hurt worse than the hotel air. “A misunderstanding? Mom, I saw them with my own eyes. I was there.” I fumbled for my phone, my hands still trembling. “I recorded it. Look!” Evelyn flinched as if the phone were a hot coal. She turned her head away, covering her eyes. “I won’t look at that!” her voice rose, sharp and scolding. “Summer! How could you even think such things about Victoria?” “She’s been my best friend for thirty years! I know her better than I know myself. She treats you like her own daughter! She would never do something so disgusting.” I stood there, arm extended, phone in hand. My own mother was looking at me with a mixture of disbelief and disgust—not for the cheaters, but for me. She started listing Victoria’s virtues like a litany. “She stayed up all night with you when you were sick as a baby. She gave you the biggest check at your wedding. She’s the one who introduced you to Bradley! Why would she destroy your marriage?” “You’re just confused. You must have seen someone else.” I felt the blood in my veins turn to slush. Thirty years of being her daughter didn’t stand a chance against thirty years of “sisterhood.” My pain was just “immaturity” to her. My trauma was a “slander” against her friend. She didn’t even look at me again. She picked up her own phone and dialed Victoria’s number. The second the call connected, Evelyn’s voice softened into a coo of concern. “Victoria? Oh, did I wake you? I’m so sorry, but Summer just got here and she’s saying the most awful things…” I watched my mother’s face shift from confusion to a slow, nodding realization, and finally, to a burning anger directed at me. She hung up and looked at me like I was a stranger who had just insulted her honor. “I’ve heard enough,” she snapped. “Victoria told me everything. She was at that hotel for a business meeting with a client. She happened to see Bradley there—he was drunk, Summer. She was just helping him to his room because she’s a decent person. And you? You burst in and started screaming at her. She’s been crying on the phone, she’s so hurt!” Evelyn pointed a finger at my face, her voice shaking with indignation. “Summer, you are going to call her right now and apologize.” Apologize? To the woman who had just dismantled my life? To the woman who was currently gaslighting my mother? A sense of profound absurdity washed over me. I looked at this woman—my mother—who was so blinded by a toxic friendship that she was willing to sacrifice her own child. I realized then that you can’t wake someone who is pretending to be asleep. We screamed at each other. I used words I’d never used with her, and she looked at me with a coldness that froze my heart solid. “I am so disappointed in you,” she said. It was the last thing she told me before I walked out. I grabbed my bag and ran into the night. I didn’t cry this time. I was numb. True loneliness isn’t being alone. It’s realizing that the person you trusted most as your backup just stabbed you in the back. 3 I went back to the place we called “home.” The moment I opened the door, the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap whiskey hit me. Bradley was curled on the sofa like a wounded animal, surrounded by empty bottles. He scrambled to his feet when he heard the door, his bloodshot eyes wide with terror. He tripped over his own feet and fell to his knees in front of me. “Summer, I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!” He grabbed my legs, sobbing like a child. “It was a mistake! I was stupid! I’m not a man, I’m a piece of trash!” He started slapping himself—hard. The sound of skin hitting skin echoed in the silent living room. I looked down at him. This was the man I’d shared a bed with for three years. His performance was top-tier; his face was already starting to swell. But I felt nothing. No pity, no anger. Just a vast, empty wasteland where my feelings used to be. “It was Victoria! She seduced me!” he cried when he saw I wasn’t reacting. “She told me you were too controlling, that you didn’t know how to take care of a man. She said she’d take care of me like… like a mother. I was just confused, Summer! I love you, only you!” He was weeping, painting himself as the victim of a predatory older woman. It was a pathetic, desperate attempt to shift the blame. I watched him like I was watching a bad movie. This man would never take responsibility. He would only kneel and bleed until he got what he wanted. In the past, I would have softened. I would have helped him up. Not today. He made a show of taking out his phone and deleting Victoria’s contact info, blocking her on everything. “See? I’m done with her! Just give me one more chance. Please.” He looked up at me, his face red and puffy, begging for the familiar comfort of my forgiveness. I knew he wasn’t sorry. He was just scared. Scared I’d post the video and ruin his reputation. Scared he’d lose his comfortable life. I looked at him, and a plan began to take shape. A cold, surgical plan. I let my expression soften, just a fraction. I pulled my leg away from his grasp and spoke in a raspy whisper. “I need time to think.” Bradley’s eyes lit up. He saw a crack in the door. He thought this was just like all our other fights—that if he groveled low enough, I’d eventually cave. “Yes, of course. Take all the time you need,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “But… don’t leave, okay? I’ll stay right here. I won’t leave your side.” I shook my head. “I’m staying at my mom’s for a while. I’ll contact you when I’ve cleared my head.” The light in his eyes dimmed, but he didn’t dare argue. “Okay. Whatever you need.” He thought “clearing my head” meant finding a way to forgive him. He had no idea that I was actually figuring out how to make him and Victoria pay for every single thing they’d taken from me. I started packing a bag. While he went to the kitchen to get me a glass of water, I grabbed his phone from the coffee table. No passcode. The irony was almost funny. I moved fast. I opened his messages, his bank apps, his call logs. I used a simple recovery tool I’d learned about for work to pull up the “deleted” chats. The filth I found was staggering. Explicit photos, high-frequency bank transfers, hotel bookings… every message was a fresh knife in my heart. I didn’t flinch. I backed everything up and sent it to a burner email address. When I was done, I zipped my suitcase and headed for the door. Bradley caught up to me, holding a glass of lukewarm water. “Summer, drink some water before you go.” He looked so small, so eager to please. I didn’t take the glass. I just looked at him and said, “Don’t follow me.” I shut the door on his desperate face. Outside, I took a long, deep breath. It tasted like copper. Summer, the girl who loved Bradley, died tonight. The woman who walked away is someone else entirely.

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