Category: English

After three years of grinding through a grueling corporate contract in London, I finally touched down on home soil. I didn’t even go to a hotel; I went straight to the broker’s office to pick up the deed to my life’s biggest achievement. It was a river-view condo in a premier Chicago high-rise, a six-million-dollar shell I’d bought in cash before leaving. It was supposed to be my sanctuary, the place where I finally anchored my life. But when I stood before the door of Unit 2801, my thumbprint wouldn’t unlock the biometrics. I tried again, my heart beginning a slow, heavy thud against my ribs. The door was suddenly flung open from the inside. A burly man with a bare, sweaty chest and a face like a slab of raw meat stood in the foyer. “Who the hell are you? You trying to pick my lock? One more move and I’m calling the cops!” I froze. I looked past him, seeing polished marble floors where there should have been raw concrete. I stepped back, double-checking the brass numbers on the door. 2801. This was my home. Before I could get a word out, the elevator doors hissed open. A group of security guards led by a man in a sharp, cheap suit—the property manager—marched toward us. The burly man waved them over. “Phil! This guy’s trying to break into my place. Get him the hell out of here before I lose my temper!” Phil, the manager, gave me a cold, practiced sneer. “Mr. Miller? We got a report of a prowler. You need to leave the premises immediately, or we’ll be forced to use physical restraint.” Phil? Owner? The realization hit me like a physical blow. They were in on it together. I looked at their smug, condescending faces, and a hysterical laugh bubbled up in my throat. I reached into my messenger bag, pulled out the crisp, scarlet-bound property deed, and whipped it directly at Phil’s face. “Open your damn eyes and read the name on that title! This is my unit. He’s trespassing in my home, and you’re telling me to leave?” 1 The deed hit Phil Higgins squarely in the mouth with a sharp thwack before fluttering to the floor. Phil didn’t even bother to pick it up. Instead, he planted his polished loafer right on the cover and ground it into the carpet. He folded his arms, a mocking glint in his eyes. “Listen, buddy. You can buy a fake deed for fifty bucks at any print shop in the city. Who do you think you’re scaring?” I stared at his shoe, my blood turning to ice. “You’re saying my title is a forgery?” The man in the doorway—Brad, apparently—leaned against the frame and lit a cigarette, blowing a cloud of acrid smoke into my face. “Kid, I’ve lived here for eight months. I put eight hundred grand into the custom build-out alone. You’re the owner? Then what am I? The Easter Bunny?” I pointed a trembling finger past him at the designer furniture. “I bought a shell! A raw unit! I never signed a lease, and I never sold. If this is your place, show me your closing papers!” Brad smirked and looked at Phil. “Phil, why are we talking to this psycho? Kick him out. I’m trying to take a nap.” Phil nodded with a sickeningly sweet smile, then turned back to me, his expression dropping into a mask of iron. He barked an order, and the four guards closed in, their batons tapping rhythmically against their palms. “Mr. Miller, this is a high-security building,” Phil said, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper. “If you continue to harass our premium residents, don’t be surprised if you end up in a holding cell—or the hospital.” My chest felt tight, the air in the hallway suddenly insufficient. I pulled out my phone. “Fine. You don’t recognize the deed? We’ll see what the Chicago PD has to say about it.” Phil didn’t blink. He just let out a dry, rattling snort. “Go ahead. Call them. But the police care about facts, and the fact is, Mr. Brooks here has a legally binding long-term lease.” A lease? My heart hammered as I dialed 911. While I waited for the officers to arrive, Brad stood there watching me like I was a street performer. He even went back inside and returned with a bowl of expensive cherries, spitting the pits onto the hallway carpet while he grinned. Ten minutes later, two officers stepped off the elevator. I lunged toward them, holding out my ID. “Officers, thank God. This is my unit. I’ve been out of the country for three years, and I’ve come back to find these people have illegally occupied my property. The management is protecting them!” The older officer took my ID and the deed I’d managed to snatch back from under Phil’s shoe. He gave it a cursory look, then turned to Brad. “Sir, I’m going to need to see your residency papers.” Brad wiped his hands on his shorts and pulled a document from the foyer table. “Here you go, Officer. It’s a twenty-year lease. Paid the whole thing upfront.” “That’s a lie!” I shouted. “I haven’t been in the States in three years! I never signed anything!” The officer frowned as he scanned the pages. “The lessor listed here… is Phil Higgins? On behalf of the building association?” Phil stepped forward, the picture of professional concern. “Officer, it’s quite simple. Mr. Miller went MIA three years ago. The unit was a shell—a fire hazard and a blight on the floor’s value. He left a verbal authorization with our front desk before he vanished. We couldn’t reach him, so we exercised the association’s right to manage abandoned property to recover unpaid HOAs. We leased it to Mr. Brooks to keep the unit maintained.” I was shaking so hard I could barely speak. “Verbal authorization? I never spoke to anyone! Show me the power of attorney! Show me the signed consent!” 2 Phil’s eyes shifted, but his voice remained steady. “Like I said, it was a verbal agreement. You were in a rush to get to the airport. We were doing you a favor, kid. We’ve been collecting rent for you. You should be thanking us for not letting your investment rot.” The officer sighed and handed the papers back. “Look, Mr. Miller, since there’s a signed lease and the occupant has paid, this isn’t a criminal matter. It’s a civil dispute. You’re going to have to take this to housing court.” I felt the world tilting. “This is fraud! They broke into my home and forged a lease! This is a home invasion!” The officer looked at me with a shred of pity. “Whether the lease is valid is for a judge to decide. We can’t legally evict a sitting tenant without a court order. And since he’s the current resident, you can’t force your way in. If you try, you’re the one breaking the law.” Phil shot me a triumphant look. “You hear that? You want to talk about the law? Maybe you should have stayed in school a little longer.” Brad took it further. He spat a cherry pit right onto my shoe. “See you in court, pal. Just a heads up—the backlog is about two years right now. In the meantime, I’ll be enjoying your river view. What are you gonna do about it?” The officers gave me a few words of advice about finding a hotel and a good lawyer before they headed back to the elevator. The hallway felt cold. It was just me, the guards, and Brad’s ugly grin. Phil stepped into my personal space and poked a finger into my chest. “Listen to me, you little shit. Don’t think a piece of paper makes you a big shot. In this building, I’m the law. Get lost before I make sure you leave in an ambulance.” Brad slammed the door shut, his voice muffled but loud. “Phil, get the trash out of here! He’s stinking up the hallway!” The guards grabbed me by the arms. They didn’t escort me; they dragged me. I was hauled through the lobby I had dreamed of walking through as a victor and thrown onto the curb of Wacker Drive. My suitcase followed, hitting the concrete with a crack that sounded like a bone breaking. Passersby stared, their eyes filled with the casual judgment reserved for the unhinged. I pushed myself up, brushing the grit from my palms. I looked up at the glittering glass tower, at the twenty-eighth floor where my life was being held hostage. Phil Higgins was a pro. He’d used my three-year absence to build a fortress of lies, likely pocketing every cent of that “rent” himself. The anger that rose in me wasn’t hot; it was cold. It was a freezing, sharpening blade. They wanted a fight? I would give them a war. 3 The next morning, I didn’t go to the courthouse. I went back to the building. I couldn’t get past the lobby, so I waited by the mouth of the parking garage. Around 9:00 AM, Brad’s kitted-out G-Wagon roared up the ramp. In the passenger seat sat a woman caked in makeup, checking her reflection in the visor mirror. My breath hitched when I saw what was draped over her shoulders. It was a vintage silk Hermès scarf, a rare pattern of gold lilies. It was my mother’s. One of the few things I had left of her. Before I left for London, I’d vacuum-sealed it and hidden it in a recessed safe in the master bedroom’s walk-in closet. They hadn’t just moved in; they’d pillaged my soul. Reason vanished. I threw myself in front of the car, arms wide. SCREECH— Brad slammed on the brakes, his head snapping forward. He leaned out the window, screaming, “You suicidal freak! You trying to catch an insurance payout?” I ran to the passenger door, pounding on the glass. “Give it back! That scarf—take it off! That’s mine!” The window rolled down an inch, the woman looking at me with pure disgust. “Are you high? My husband bought this for me at an estate sale. Get away from the car, you creep!” Brad jumped out, swinging a baseball bat he kept tucked by the seat. “Lawson, I didn’t break your jaw yesterday because I was feeling nice. You want to push your luck?” “That was my mother’s!” I roared. “You broke into my safe! That’s grand larceny!” The woman rolled her eyes, fingering the silk. “Please. It’s a dusty old rag. I only wore it because it’s breezy out. If it belonged to your dead mom, then it’s probably cursed anyway.” Then, she did something that stopped my heart. She pulled the scarf from her neck, used it to loudly blow her nose, and then balled it up and threw it in my face. “There! Take your dead mom’s trash. Go bury it with her!” Something inside me snapped. The world went red. I clutched the soiled silk, my eyes burning. I lunged for the car door. “I’ll kill you!” Brad stepped in, the bat connecting with my shoulder. Pain exploded down my arm, sending me to my knees, but I didn’t let go of the door handle. “Help! He’s attacking us! He’s trying to kidnap me!” the woman shrieked, holding her phone up to record. It was rush hour. A crowd gathered instantly. And, like clockwork, Phil Higgins appeared with his security detail. “Look at this!” Phil shouted to the crowd, his voice booming with feigned righteousness. “This is the same stalker from yesterday! First he claims he owns the building, now he’s assaulting a pregnant woman! Someone call the cops!” The murmurs from the crowd turned toxic. “He looks so normal, but he’s a total predator.” “Attacking a woman for her clothes? Disgusting.” Brad took the opportunity to kick me in the ribs, sending me sprawling. “You all saw it! He’s some loser who failed overseas and came back to shake us down! My wife is pregnant, for God’s sake!” The woman immediately clutched her stomach, whimpering. “Oh god… the baby… I think he hit me…” Phil stood over me, looking like a guardian of the peace. “Apprehend him! Hold him for the police! We can’t have this kind of animal roaming our neighborhood.” The guards piled on, grinding my face into the rough asphalt. I looked up through the forest of legs and saw Brad leaning down, a smirk playing on his lips. Phil leaned in closer, his voice a low hiss meant only for me. “You think you can play with the big boys, Mark? You’re a bug. I was just gonna take the apartment, but now? I’m gonna make sure you never work in this city again.” I spat blood onto his shoe. “You’re going to regret this, Phil.” Phil laughed and stood up. “Take him away!” I spent the next twenty-four hours in a precinct cell. This time, the charges were menacing and attempted robbery. Even though I explained the scarf, even though my shoulder was purple from the bat, Brad had a “witness” (Phil) and a medical report for his wife’s “stress-induced abdominal pain.” Worst of all, the video went viral. The clip was edited perfectly: it showed me looking like a feral beast clawing at a terrified woman’s car, followed by a “heroic” husband defending his pregnant wife. By the time I was released for lack of evidence, my phone was a graveyard of notifications. Phil hadn’t been idle. He’d leaked my name to the tabloids. Failed Expat Returns to Terrorize Residents. The Condo Squatter Who Attacked a Pregnant Mother. I walked down the street, and I could swear everyone was looking at me. When I got back to my hotel, the receptionist’s eyes were cold. She informed me that my reservation had been “canceled due to a system error” and that I needed to vacate immediately. I stood on a street corner, my cracked suitcase at my feet, the city I loved feeling like a foreign, hostile planet. Was I supposed to just take this? Was I supposed to let them win? 4 I found a 24-hour workspace and started digging. I knew I couldn’t beat them with “the truth” because they had already bought the truth. I couldn’t beat them with the law because the law was slow, and they were fast. I needed to make them bleed. I spent a small fortune on a high-end private investigator—a guy who specialized in corporate dirt. Three days later, my inbox dinged. Brad Miller wasn’t just a tenant. He was Phil Higgins’ brother-in-law. The “twenty-year lease” was a sham, a way to wash the unit’s title. Phil had been doing this for years—finding units owned by overseas investors or elderly residents with no heirs and “managing” them into his own pocket. I had the cards now, but I didn’t play them. If I leaked this now, it would just look like a desperate man’s revenge. I needed a moment where they felt so safe they’d reveal their own throat. I bought a micro-camera, pinned it to my lapel, and walked back into the property management office. I made sure I looked broken. I wore the same wrinkled shirt from two days ago. I kept my head down, my shoulders slumped. Phil was in his office, sipping an espresso. When he saw me, he looked like he’d just found a winning lottery ticket in the trash. “Well, if it isn’t the internet’s favorite villain. Come to beg for mercy?” I kept my voice raspy, defeated. “Phil… I give up. I just want my life back. Or… some kind of settlement. Anything.” Phil’s eyes lit up. He set the cup down. “Now you’re talking. If you’d been this smart from the jump, we could have avoided all that unpleasantness.” He walked around his desk and put a heavy, mock-sympathetic hand on my bruised shoulder. “Look, Brad isn’t moving. He’s settled. He’s spent a lot of money on that place. But, I can make this go away for you.” “How?” I whispered. Phil held up five fingers. “I’m not a monster. The unit’s value has shot up, and the renovations are top-tier. You pay Brad five hundred thousand for the ‘improvements,’ and you pay me… let’s say two hundred thousand for the ‘consulting’ to fix your reputation. We cancel the lease, and you get your keys back.” I looked up, eyes wide. “You stole my condo, and you want me to pay you seven hundred thousand dollars to get it back?” Phil’s face darkened. “You want to play hardball? Go ahead. Sue us. See you in 2026. In the meantime, I’ll keep posting videos of you. I’ll make sure your name is synonymous with ‘predator.’ You won’t even be able to get a job at McDonald’s.” I clenched my fists. “This is extortion.” “Extortion?” Phil laughed, a wet, guttural sound. “In this building, I’m the one who decides what things are called. That lease? I typed it up an hour before the cops arrived. I can make a new one that says you owe us a million. What are you gonna do?” Got you. My heart sang, but my face stayed mask-like. “Phil, don’t do this. Don’t push me.” “I’ll push you as far as I want,” Phil snapped, slapping the desk. “Security! Get this loser out of here! And this time, throw him into the river for all I care!” The guards burst in. In the scuffle, they ripped the backpack from my shoulders. “Ooh, what do we have here? More ‘heirlooms’?” Phil grabbed the bag and dumped its contents onto the floor. A few shirts fell out, followed by a polished mahogany box. My heart stopped. It was my father’s watch. A 1965 Patek Philippe. It was the only thing I had left of him. I’d been too afraid to leave it in the hotel. I lunged for it. “Don’t touch that! That’s my father’s!” “Another dead person’s junk?” Phil sneered. “Your family really needs to learn to move on.” He walked over to the window. We were on the second floor, overlooking a decorative rock garden and a concrete fountain. With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed the box out the window. I heard the crack of the wood hitting the stones below. I felt the sound in my teeth. Phil dusted off his hands. “Consider it a cleansing. You’re welcome.” I stopped struggling. I stood perfectly still, staring at Phil Higgins. The heat in my body vanished. I felt an eerie, crystalline calm. I didn’t want to hit him. I didn’t want to scream. I wanted to erase him. Phil seemed unnerved by my silence, but he quickly recovered his swagger. He walked up and patted my cheek with the back of his hand. “Get out of my building, Mark. If I see your face inside these gates again, you’re leaving in a body bag.” The guards threw me out onto the asphalt. My knees scraped open, blood staining my jeans. My clothes were scattered in the wind. I didn’t pick up the shirts. I stood up slowly, my eyes locked on the second-floor window where Phil was lighting a cigar, laughing. I wiped the blood from my lip, pulled my phone from my pocket, and stopped the recording. Then, I dialed a number I’d known since college. “Hey, Dan,” I said, my voice as flat as a frozen lake. “I need you to draft some papers. I’m starting a project at the condo.” “A project?” my lawyer asked. “You’re finally renovating?” “No,” I said, picking up my deed and blowing the dust off the cover. “I’m demolishing.” If they wouldn’t let me live in my home, then no one would.

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To scrape together the down payment for the house I thought Brooks and I would share, I became a postpartum doula. I spent my days in the shadows of the wealthy, massaging the aches out of new mothers who lived in houses I could only dream of. My last appointment today was in the gated hills of the North Side, where the mansions overlooked the city like silent, stone deities. The woman who opened the door was draped in a silk slip dress that cost more than my monthly rent. “Make sure you work out the tension in my hips,” she said, stretching out on the oversized bed. She lowered her voice, a playful, sharp glint in her eyes. “My man is coming home tonight to collect his dues, if you know what I mean.” She let out a soft, throaty laugh. “Actually, he’s not exactly my husband. He’s my benefactor. Since I gave him a son, he handed me the keys to this villa.” I forced a professional smile, my hands slick with lavender oil. “He sounds very devoted to you.” She smirked, leaning her cheek against the silk pillowcase. “Oh, he’s obsessed. He hasn’t touched that drab woman he lives with in six months. He says she spends all day doing what you do—helping other women with their ‘maternal leaks.’ Apparently, he can’t stand the smell of milk and baby powder on her. It makes him sick.” I froze. My fingers went numb against her skin. For the past six months, every time I tried to initiate anything, Brooks would pull away. He’d say he was too tired, that the long hours of “driving for Uber” were draining the life out of him. She paused, twisting her head to look at me. “Hey, I’m not talking about you, obviously. You’re just the help.” I swallowed hard, forcing my heart to stay in my chest. It’s a coincidence, I told myself. It has to be. She turned her attention back to her phone, scrolling mindlessly. “He’s still lying to his girlfriend, telling her he’s out delivering food just to find an excuse to come here. He’s coming over again tonight. My back is going to be ruined.” The words had barely left her mouth when my phone buzzed in my pocket. “Summer, babe, the delivery bonuses are doubled tonight because of the snow. I won’t be home. Get some sleep, don’t wait up for me.” … 1 I felt the blood drain from my extremities, inch by agonizing inch. A high-pitched ringing started in my ears, drowning out the ambient hum of the villa’s climate control. It couldn’t be him. Not my Brooks. Not the man who used to bike thirty minutes across the city just to bring me those warm apple fritters from the bakery I loved. Not the man who braved the biting wind and sleet to earn enough for our “future.” We had been together for seven years. Seven years of building a life out of scraps and promises. I kept my head down, my hands moving rhythmically, but my palms were sweating, slicking the oil until I could barely grip her skin. It’s just a coincidence, I chanted internally. There are thousands of delivery drivers in this city. It isn’t him. Callie—that was the name on the intake form—didn’t notice my internal collapse. She was too enamored with her own reflection. “His devotion is honestly unparalleled,” she continued. “Last month, I mentioned I wanted to go skiing. He rented out an entire private slope just for the two of us. And for our anniversary? He set off a firework display over the harbor that had the whole city stopped in their tracks.” I felt a sudden, sharp burst of relief. A knot in my chest loosened. I remembered those fireworks. I had seen them through the smeared window of a city bus while I was heading to a night shift. I watched the gold and violet blooms against the black sky, listening to the other passengers speculate about which billionaire was trying to win back a bored socialite. Brooks couldn’t even afford a bouquet of roses without saving for a week. Sometimes, after a long shift, he’d just bring me a single coffee, tucked inside his jacket to keep it warm. He’d arrive with his ears glowing beet-red from the cold, smelling of the winter air. I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. How could I doubt him? His love was quiet, humble, and real. My suspicion felt like a betrayal. “You’re very lucky,” I managed to say, my voice steady. Callie hummed in agreement, purring as I worked a knot out of her shoulder. “He’s completely hooked. The idiot even told me he ‘lost’ his ID so he could wait and get the new one issued on my birthday. That way, the date on the back of his license will always be my birthday. Romantic, right?” My heart didn’t just drop; it shattered. My fingertips went cold. Brooks had told me yesterday that he’d lost his wallet. He said we had to cancel our anniversary trip to the mountains because he couldn’t check into the hotel without his ID. He told me he’d go to the DMV tomorrow to get it sorted, and then he’d make it up to me. I heard my voice, sounding like it belonged to a ghost. “When is your birthday?” She answered without looking up. “Tomorrow. Why?” My hand slipped, and the glass bottle of essential oil shattered against the marble floor. Callie bolted upright, glaring at me. “Watch it! What is wrong with you?” “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, dropping to my knees to pick up the shards. “My hands… they just got slippery. I’ll clean it up.” She huffed, settling back down but keeping her eyes on her phone. “Whatever. He’s such a mess, honestly. He says he’s bored to death of his girlfriend, but he still insists on marrying her.” I felt the sting of a glass splinter in my thumb, but I didn’t pull away. I stared at the oil spreading across the floor. “Why?” Callie shrugged, twirling a lock of her hair. “Who knows? He says something about ‘responsibility.’ Whatever that means. It doesn’t matter to me. My son and I are taken care of, and this life is a hell of a lot better than my days as a low-rent cam girl.” The air in the room turned acidic. Responsibility. That’s all I was to him. A debt to be paid, a ghost to be fed. When the session was over, Callie wrapped herself in a plush robe. “Not bad. I’ll book you again.” I forced a polite nod, packed my kit, and fled. The snow was still falling outside, heavy and silent. I rubbed my aching wrists as I walked toward the bus stop, the cold air biting at my lungs. By the time I reached our cramped apartment, it was nearly midnight. The smell of damp drywall and old cooking oil hit me the moment I opened the door. From the unit next door, the muffled sounds of a couple arguing drifted through the thin walls. I needed to hear his voice. I needed him to lie to me one more time. The phone rang three times before he picked up. “Summer? Is everything okay?” In the background, I heard a low, throaty growl—the sound of a high-performance engine idling. It wasn’t the rattle of his beat-up moped. I gripped the phone tighter. “Where are you?” “Out on a delivery, babe,” Brooks said, his voice smooth and warm. “The tips are crazy tonight. Why? You sound tired.” I watched the snow pile up on the windowsill of our tiny kitchen. “Can you stay with me tomorrow? Just for the day?” 2 There was a pause on the other end, a silence that felt like a canyon between us. “I can’t, Summer. I have to get that ID replaced, remember? If I don’t do it tomorrow, the weekend rush will be a nightmare.” “Can’t it wait until the day after? Tomorrow is our seventh anniversary, Brooks. Even if we don’t go away, can’t we just… have dinner? Together?” “We’ll see…” I heard the chime of a GPS in his background. “If I finish early at the DMV, I’ll come straight home. Look, I have to go. This order is about to be late, and I need every cent I can get if I’m going to buy that house for you. I’m working for us, Summer. By next spring, we’ll have the down payment.” He hung up. The screen faded to black. Outside, the broken streetlamp flickered, casting a sickly yellow light over the frozen street. Brooks and I met ten years ago. Back then, I was Summer Winthrop, the daughter of the Winthrop Group’s CEO. I was a girl who didn’t know the price of a gallon of milk. I met him during a charity trip my father took me on. We were in a rural town, looking at a school project. I stepped into a drafty wooden shack and saw him. He was wearing tattered clothes, his face smudged with soot from a wood stove, but his eyes… they were like a clear night sky. I begged my father to sponsor his education. We went to high school together, then college. He was brilliant and worked twice as hard as anyone else. When I was scared of the thunder, he’d stay on the phone with me until dawn. He’d save his meager work-study money just to buy me a single champagne rose. He used to hold my face in his hands and tell me I was his “springtime.” He promised he would build a world worthy of me. Then the floor fell out from under us. My senior year, my father’s company collapsed. Overnight, we went from the social register to the obituary section. My parents… they couldn’t handle the shame. They drove off a mountain road. I knelt at their funeral until my legs gave out. Brooks was the one who caught me. He was there every day, pulling me out of the wreckage. I believed that a love that survived that kind of fire was eternal. When Brooks said he wanted to start his own firm, I gave him the last of my parents’ savings. I gave him every contact, every lead, every ounce of the Winthrop name I had left. Six months later, he came home with bloodshot eyes and told me the business had failed. I held him. I told him it didn’t matter. We would start over. Since then, he’d worked himself to the bone—or so I thought. Construction sites by day, deliveries by night. I thought I was the luckiest woman alive to have a man who would sacrifice everything for me. My eyes grew heavy, but just as sleep began to pull at me, a cold sweat broke across my skin. I sat up, my heart hammering. The bed beside me was still empty. I grabbed my phone and began scrolling mindlessly through social media, a nervous tic I couldn’t shake. Suddenly, a “Live” notification from a local account popped up in my feed. I glanced at it, and my thumb froze. 3 The screen flickered to life, and my breath hitched. The handle was CallieV_XOXO. It was her. The woman from the villa. She was lounging against her headboard, her silk robe slipping dangerously low. You could see the faint, dark marks on her neck—fresh, unmistakable. Comments flooded the sidebar. “Why aren’t you dancing lately, Queen?” Callie smirked at the camera. “I don’t need to dance anymore. I’ve got a permanent sponsor. I’m just here to chat tonight.” She tilted her head toward the bathroom door in the background. It was frosted glass, but through the steam, I could see the silhouette of a tall man. Callie lowered her voice, a predatory grin on her lips. “He’s in the shower. We just went through a whole box of protection… he’s exhausted me.” The comments went wild with envy. Someone asked, “Aren’t you cold dressed like that in the winter?” She laughed, a sharp, mocking sound. “Cold? Please. The heated floors in this place are on twenty-four-seven. I’m practically sweating in this silk.” She paused, as if remembering a funny joke. “His girlfriend, though? She’s probably shivering in some tenement because she’s too cheap to turn the heat on.” I pulled my thin duvet tighter around my shoulders, a tremor passing through me. The electric bill in this apartment was so high we only turned the heat on when it dropped below freezing. Another comment flashed: “He has a girlfriend? So you’re the side piece?” Callie waved a manicured hand dismissively. “Please. She’s a ghost. A ‘responsibility.’ In this day and age, the one who isn’t loved is the real intruder.” Suddenly, the bathroom door opened. A man stepped out, his back to the camera. Callie fumbled with the phone, turning it face down, and the screen went black. But in that split second, I saw him. I gripped the edges of my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. My body began to shake, a violent, rhythmic tremor I couldn’t stop. I knew that silhouette. I knew the curve of those shoulders, the way he tilted his head. I had prepared myself for the possibility, but seeing it was a physical blow to the gut. The screen was dark, but the audio was still rolling. “Who are you talking to?” His voice was deep, slightly rasped from the steam. “Just my fans, babe,” Callie purred. “What were you telling them?” “Just how much you’ve been bullying me tonight…” Then came the sound of fabric rustling. The wet, rhythmic sound of kissing. The low moans. I sat in the dark, tears streaming silently down my face. The camera turned back on minutes later. Callie’s face was flushed, her lips swollen. I couldn’t watch anymore. A wave of nausea hit me, and I scrambled to the bathroom, retching into the toilet. Nothing came up but bile. My throat burned. I looked at myself in the cracked mirror. My face was haggard, the exhaustion of the last few years etched into the fine lines around my eyes. This relationship was like the walls of this apartment—rotting from the inside out while I tried to slap a fresh coat of paint over the mold. I thought we were building something. I thought we were “the one.” I picked up my phone with numb fingers and booked a one-way ticket to San Francisco. 4 I don’t know how long I cried. Eventually, I must have collapsed on the sofa. When I woke up, there was a blanket draped over me. I felt arms lifting me up. “Why are you sleeping out here, Summer?” Brooks’s voice was a whisper of concern. “You’ll catch a cold.” I forced my eyes open. His face was so familiar—the same gentle eyes, the same focused gaze that used to make me feel like the only girl in the world. He laid me on the bed and pulled a white paper bag from his pocket. “The bakery was still open when I finished my deliveries. I got your favorites. Warm apple fritters.” As he handed them to me, I didn’t smell sugar or cinnamon. I smelled her. That expensive, cloying perfume from the villa. I felt the nausea return. I couldn’t speak. Brooks frowned, brushing a stray hair from my forehead. “What’s wrong, babe? Your eyes are so swollen. Have you been crying?” I opened my mouth, my voice sounding like gravel. “Brooks… this life is so hard on you. I worry about you so much. What if I started doing deliveries with you? We could spend the time together.” He stiffened. The smile on his face faltered for a fraction of a second before smoothing back into a mask. “Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t dream of letting you suffer like that.” “I don’t mind the hardship.” “But I do.” He kissed the top of my head. “Eat your fritters before they get cold. I have to head to the DMV to get that ID.” He turned toward the door. “Brooks,” I called out, the word catching in my throat. “It’s our seventh anniversary. Please. Just today. Stay.” He stood with his back to me. Outside, the snow had stopped, leaving the world gray and muffled. “Okay,” he said lightly. “I’ll try to finish up early. I’ll take you to that steakhouse you love tonight. I’ll meet you there at seven.” The steakhouse overlooked the river. The water was black as ink, reflecting the city lights. I sat at a window table, watching the waiter refill my water for the third time. “Ma’am, would you like to order an appetizer?” “Just a few more minutes,” I said calmly. By nine o’clock, the restaurant was emptying. The pianist was packing away his sheet music. Brooks hadn’t arrived. No call. No text. I opened the app again. Callie had posted a new story ten minutes ago. It was a photo of two champagne flutes against the backdrop of the city skyline. “Who cares about an anniversary? It’s my birthday that matters.” The last spark of hope in my chest went out. I stood up and walked out into the night. Small, sharp flakes of snow began to fall again. I walked along the riverfront, the cold biting through my coat. I remembered a night seven years ago. We were running through the snow, laughing like children. Brooks was chasing me with an umbrella, trying to keep me dry. I had turned around and crashed into him. We stood so close our noses touched, and his face turned bright red. If we walk in the snow together, we’ll grow old together, I had whispered. The snow was still falling, but the boy from that memory was dead. I went back to the apartment, packed a single suitcase with my clothes, and left. I didn’t take anything he had bought me. In the Uber to the airport, I refreshed Callie’s page one last time. A new photo had been posted three minutes ago. It was a close-up of a man’s face against a pillow. It was Brooks. The caption read: “The best birthday ever.” My phone finally buzzed. A text from Brooks. “I’m so sorry, Summer. A huge delivery order came in and I couldn’t pass up the bonus. Can I make it up to you tomorrow?” I stared at the words. Then I looked at the photo of the mouth I had kissed a thousand times, curled into a sated smile. I wiped the heat from my eyes, sent a single reply, and turned off the phone. The plane pierced through the clouds, into the endless blue of the stratosphere. I looked down at the city one last time until it was just a smudge of light, a memory of a life I no longer owned. Goodbye, Brooks. May you get exactly what you deserve.

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From the moment my daughter learned to speak, she treated me like a romantic rival. Every time my husband and I tried to be intimate, she would burst into the room, physically wedging herself between us. “You’re such a slut, Mom! Stop trying to seduce my daddy!” Once, at dinner, my husband reached over to put a piece of steak on my plate. My daughter screamed, ran to the balcony, and climbed onto the railing of our sixteenth-floor apartment. “Unless Daddy stays away from Mom, I’m jumping right now!” Even when I sat at my vanity to put on makeup, her voice would drip with venomous mockery: “You’re just an old woman. No matter how much paint you put on that face, you’ll never be as pretty as me.” Later, when my husband cheated, I was terrified she would be mistreated by a stepmother. I fought tooth and nail for her custody, burning through my savings and my sanity. In response, my daughter looked at me with a face twisted by hysteria and threw a bottle of industrial-grade sulfuric acid at me. “You’ll never separate me from Daddy! Daddy belongs to me and me alone!” Maybe the universe took pity on the sheer agony of my death, because it gave me a second chance. I woke up back at the beginning. This time, I didn’t hesitate. I gave up custody. “From now on, I want to be as far away from that girl as possible.” … My husband, David, looked at me in genuine shock. “Naomi? Where is this coming from? You were ready to burn the world down to take her with you. Why the sudden change of heart?” Before I could answer, our ten-year-old daughter, Sophie, stormed into the living room. She didn’t just walk; she attacked, kicking and scratching at my legs. “I’m not going with you anyway!” she shrieked. “We’re both women, Mom. I know exactly what you’re doing. You’re just jealous because Daddy loves me more!” She threw herself into David’s arms, clinging to his neck and throwing me a triumphant, nasty look. “Nobody can split us up. I’m going to be Daddy’s little girl forever.” Even though Sophie had treated me like an enemy since she was a toddler, she was still my own flesh and blood. In my first life, when I found out David was planning to remarry immediately, I fought him for months. I gave up half my assets just to secure her custody, thinking I was saving her. But then I remembered the sensation of my skin melting—the white-hot, bubbling scream of my own nerves being eaten away by acid. I picked up the divorce papers and signed my name with a steady hand. “I’m respecting my daughter’s wishes. She stays with you.” Sophie froze, her eyes widening in momentary confusion. I moved to finalize the documents, but she lunged forward, snatching the papers off the coffee table. “You’re a discarded wife! How dare you try to take Daddy’s money? Have you no shame?” she barked. “Daddy, you said you’d buy me all those designer dresses! Don’t give this old woman a cent.” She hugged David’s leg, her voice turning into a sugary, manipulative coo, telling him that a “failure of a woman” like me didn’t deserve a settlement. She had no idea about David’s affair, nor did she care that I was legally entitled to a seven-figure payout. David didn’t correct her. Instead, he leaned into the “noble father” persona he loved so much. “I’m just too kind-hearted, Sophie. I can’t bring myself to be too cruel to your mother, even if she doesn’t deserve it.” He stroked her hair. “I know you’re worried about how hard I work for our money. You really are my little angel.” Watching them perform this twisted duet, I felt a cold laugh bubbling in my chest. David was the true architect of this monster. He never corrected her behavior; he fed her delusions with endless indulgence until her mind became a warped, competitive maze. David eventually managed to coax Sophie out of the room. The moment she was gone, he leaned in and whispered, “Naomi, don’t mention the remarriage to Sophie yet. I’m worried she’s too fragile to handle it right now. When the timing is right, I’ll introduce her to her new mom.” Sophie, blissfully unaware, was currently in the hallway celebrating her “victory.” She had pulled our wedding photo off the wall and was jumping on my face in the picture, her heels puncturing the glass. “Yes! I finally won! The rival is gone!” Watching her, I felt a profound sense of detachment. It wasn’t just heartbreak anymore; it was pity. I wondered if she’d still be smiling when she realized she was about to face a brand-new “rival”—one who didn’t share my maternal instinct. Sophie caught me looking. She laughed, a shrill, mocking sound. “Are you jealous, Naomi? From today on, Daddy is all mine!” I didn’t say a word. I walked into the bedroom and began packing. Since I had opted for a cash settlement instead of the house, and because David was terrified I’d change my mind during the mandatory thirty-day “cooling-off” period required by our state’s laws, we had an agreement. I would stay in the guest room for the month while I finalized my new apartment. When Sophie saw me moving my things into the small room instead of leaving the house entirely, she flipped. “Why aren’t you taking your suitcases out? Are you trying to stay here and rot?” she screamed. “You shameless bitch! I knew you wouldn’t give up that easily!” She began grabbing my clothes and throwing them into the kitchen trash can. Then she ran to David, sobbing. “Daddy, why is she still here? I hate her! Make her leave!” David tried to explain the legal cooling-off period, but she wouldn’t hear it. “I came out of her stomach, Daddy. I know her better than anyone,” Sophie hissed. “She’s trying to stay here to seduce you. She’s playing hard to get so you’ll take her back. She doesn’t want the divorce; she’s just tricking you!” Even with the papers signed, her hostility had only intensified. The “quiet moment” I needed to process my grief was shattered by her screeching. I had reached my limit. I stepped forward and slapped her—hard. “Shut up,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to call me Mom anymore. And you sure as hell don’t get to talk to me like that. We are almost strangers, Sophie. Don’t expect me to tolerate your bullshit for one second longer.” In my previous life, I had worshipped her. Even when she was at her worst, I couldn’t bring myself to be firm. Sophie had never seen this version of me. She went pale, then burst into a theatrical wail, burying her face in David’s chest. “See, Daddy? The mask finally slipped! This is how she treats me when you’re not looking! She’s always been jealous of us. She abuses me because she can’t stand how much you love me!” This wasn’t new. Since she was four, she had been a master of the “smear campaign,” weaving elaborate lies to turn David against me. In her narrative, I was a violent, unstable shrew. And David always believed her. “She’s just a child, Naomi. Why would she lie about something like that?” Back then, I couldn’t believe my own daughter was “competing” with me for her father’s heart. By the time I accepted the truth, it was too late. Looking at her now, I just smirked. “You’re ten years old, Sophie, and you’re already a better actress than anyone in Hollywood. Save your breath. Fighting me is a waste of time. You should worry about your dad’s—” Before I could finish, David grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the hallway. “Naomi! What are you doing? I told you to keep the remarriage a secret! If you drop that on her now, she’ll have a nervous breakdown.” Watching him pretend to be the “concerned father” made me want to retch. “You didn’t care about her breakdown when you were screwing that girl in our bed, David. You don’t care about Sophie; you just care about your image. But whatever. I’m done being the villain in your little soap opera.” Sophie would find out the truth eventually. I decided I’d have a front-row seat for the fallout. I underestimated Sophie’s dedication. To ensure there was no chance of a reconciliation, she spent the next few days going door-to-door in our gated community. “My mom was having an affair,” she told the neighbors, her eyes brimming with fake tears. “My dad is divorcing her, but she refuses to leave. She’s obsessed with him. Please, can you help us get her out?” By the weekend, the neighbors were whispering as I walked to my car. “I never would have guessed,” I heard Mrs. Higgins say from across the street. “She looked so respectable, but she was out there sleeping around. Even her own daughter can’t stand to look at her.” In their eyes, I was the ultimate failure. A cheating wife, a hated mother—a woman whose life had collapsed under the weight of her own sins. David, worried I might snap and blow his cover, finally tried to play peacemaker. “It’s just a misunderstanding, everyone. Don’t listen to a child’s rambling. We’re handling our private business.” Sophie was livid. “Daddy! Why are you defending her? I’m doing this for you!” She turned to me, her face contorting. Since I told her she didn’t get to call me “Mom,” she started using my first name like a slur. “Listen up, Naomi. This divorce is happening. I’m going to make sure you never have the chance to crawl back!” David, finally pushed by the social embarrassment, snapped at her. “Enough! This is adult business. Go to your room and stay there!” Sophie’s eyes filled with real tears this time. But she didn’t blame David for yelling. She pivoted her rage right back to me. “It’s all your fault! If I didn’t have such a pathetic mother, Daddy would never be this stressed! You’re trying to come between us, but it won’t work!” I just shook my head. “David, this is the monster you raised. When your little mistress moves in, I hope you’re ready for the life you’ve built.” I didn’t give David a chance to respond. I pulled out my phone and sent a blast message to the neighborhood Facebook group. I laid it all out: the affair, the proof, the reason for the divorce. I told them that anyone spreading Sophie’s lies would be hearing from my lawyer for defamation. David panicked, trying to grab my phone to delete the post, but I was already out the door. “Naomi, wait! You can’t leave! If you disappear, how do I know you’ll show up to sign the final papers in three weeks?” I shook him off with a look of pure disgust. “Trust me, David. Nobody wants that piece of paper more than I do.” I checked into a hotel. Within an hour, a text from Sophie popped up: Don’t even think about sneaking back to seduce him. I’m watching you. She followed it with a video. She had gathered every photo of me in the house—my graduation pictures, my portraits—and was burning them in a metal trash can, cheering as my face turned to ash. I didn’t reply. I just blocked her number. In my last life, I spent months agonizing over the divorce, trying to “win” a child who hated me. This time, I felt light. I spent the next three weeks at a luxury spa, hit the gym, and hosted a “Freedom Party” for my closest friends. By the time the cooling-off period ended and we met at the lawyer’s office, I looked radiant. Sophie glared at me, scanning my face. “You really went all out to try and win him back, didn’t you? Botox? New hair? Give it up, Naomi. He’s never coming back. From now on, I’m the only girl in his life.” She clung to David’s arm like a trophy wife. I didn’t say a word. I picked up my copy of the divorce decree, kissed the seal, and walked out. I bought a new condo across town and started my life. But a week after moving in, there was a pounding on my door at 2:00 AM. It was the police. “Ms. Jackson? We found your daughter wandering the streets. Why is she out alone at this hour?” Before I could process the question, Sophie pushed past the officer and stormed into my living room, her eyes darting around wildly. “Is he here? Is Daddy here? He didn’t come home tonight, so you must have hidden him!” She started ripping open my closet doors, tossing my newly organized clothes onto the floor. A familiar, hot rage flared in my chest. I grabbed her by her ponytail and shoved her toward the police officer. “Nobody wants your father, Sophie. He isn’t here. Get out of my house!” Sophie flinched, then immediately squeezed out a sob. “Officer, look! See? This is how she always treats me…” The cop frowned at me. “Ma’am, she’s your daughter. There’s no need for that.” I forced myself to breathe. “Officer, I am divorced. Her father has sole custody. She didn’t ‘get lost’—she’s here to harass me. Call her father. I’ll give you his number.” Sophie didn’t believe me. “Who else would he be with? You’re the only one who would keep him out all night!” I almost told her the truth—that David was likely in a hotel bed with his “new mom”—but I knew she wouldn’t believe it. She’d just find a way to blame me. I gave the police David’s address and told them to take her home. The next day, an officer called to follow up. He told me Sophie claimed she couldn’t reach her dad and was scared to be alone. She said she only came to me because she was “lonely,” but I had blocked her. The cop, clearly moved by her “sad little girl” act, lectured me. “She just misses her mother. There’s no grudge that should come between a parent and a child. You need to do better.” I stayed silent. There was no point in explaining the Electra complex or the psychological warfare to a stranger. Instead, I sent David a one-sentence email: Bring your new wife home already. I’m done being the scapegoat. Peace lasted for three days. Then, Sophie’s school counselor called. “Sophie is locked in the bathroom. she won’t come out unless you’re the one to pick her up. Naomi, regardless of the custody agreement, you have a moral responsibility here. This child is traumatized by the divorce. You can’t just abandon her.” The counselor hinted that if I didn’t show up, they might involve social services or “community advocates” (meaning: local gossip blogs). I went. I had to protect my professional reputation. To my surprise, Sophie was perfectly sweet at the school. She hugged me, calling me “Mommy” in front of the counselor, playing the part of the grieving child to perfection. I played along, my skin crawling, and drove her back to David’s house. I dropped her bag in the foyer and turned to leave. Sophie’s face dropped. The “sweet child” mask dissolved, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated malice.

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What is it really like to date a domineering billionaire? — r/relationships My boyfriend is old money, a third-generation heir to an empire. For the three years we’ve been together, I’ve been holding my breath, walking on eggshells. Today, in front of a crowd of people, he suddenly dropped to one knee and proposed. I was so terrified, I turned and ran. Because the truth is, I never loved him. Every single day I spent with him, I was forced. 1 Three years ago, I bombed my SATs. In a moment of sheer, desperate panic, I auditioned for a brutal, televised pop-star boot camp run by a major record label. Before I could even make my official debut, I caught the eye of the network’s biggest backer. His fixer—a man in a sharp suit with dead eyes—pulled me aside. He told me his boss wanted to “date” me. I was completely out of my depth. Trembling, I went to my manager that night, begging for a way out. My manager just sighed. She told me Cole Kensington had bottomless wealth and a ruthless reputation. He went through women like cheap champagne; the longest anyone had ever lasted was three months. If I said no, I’d be blacklisted. I’d be hit with a breach-of-contract lawsuit that would drown my family in debt. My parents, my older brother—they could lose their jobs, their homes. We’d be run out of Los Angeles. Paralyzed by fear, I agreed to be his girlfriend. Just grit your teeth for three months, I told myself. It’ll be over before you know it. But three years passed. Cole not only didn’t dump me, he apparently decided he wanted me for the rest of his life. I fled the proposal site and didn’t stop running until I reached Mia’s apartment in Silver Lake. Over the past three years, Mia had quit the music management hustle to become a full-time novelist. She blinked in shock when she opened her door and saw me gasping for air in her hallway. “Wait, wasn’t Cole supposed to propose to you today?” “I said no.” My face crumpled as the reality of what I had just done hit me. The potential fallout from rejecting Cole Kensington made my stomach turn to ice. “Damn. You’ve got guts.” Mia gave me a solemn thumbs-up. She pulled me inside. My body had barely hit the cushions of her thrifted sofa when a sharp, authoritative knock echoed on the door. Mia peeked through the peephole. “It’s him,” she whispered, her eyes wide. I lay flat on the sofa, playing dead. My phone began to vibrate violently against the coffee table. It buzzed and buzzed until the sheer anxiety broke me. I slowly swiped to answer. “Come out,” a voice like liquid nitrogen commanded through the speaker. “No.” I tried to inject some spine into my voice, desperately wanting to prove I had boundaries. “Come out. Don’t make me ask a third time.” The quiet, lethal edge in his tone made my heart hammer against my ribs. Mia looked at me with deep pity. “Maybe you should just go out there and talk to him. Clear the air.” I glared at her. If I had the courage to clear the air with him, I wouldn’t have been trapped in this gilded cage for three years. “Hiding won’t fix it,” Mia coaxed gently. Seeing the conflict on her face, I reluctantly dragged myself off the sofa and walked to the door. In the dimly lit hallway, Cole stood radiating pure, unadulterated fury. Before I could even open my mouth, his hand shot out, wrapping securely around my wrist. He practically dragged me into the elevator. The ride down was suffocatingly silent. His jaw was locked tight. All the brave, articulate speeches I had rehearsed in my head evaporated into thin air. Yes, I was terrified of him. I had dated him for three years, and I had been terrified of him for three years. He shoved me into the passenger seat of his Aston Martin, his face a mask of thunder, and drove like a demon straight back to our Bel Air estate. In the manicured gardens, the extravagant floral arches and thousands of imported balloons he had arranged for the proposal were still waiting, swaying gently in the California breeze. I couldn’t bring myself to look at them. I kept my head down, staring intensely at the toe of my sneakers. Suddenly, he grabbed my shoulders and backed me up against the cool stone wall of the entryway, trapping me with his arms on either side of my head. “You don’t want to marry me?” he demanded, his voice dropping an octave, his expression terrifyingly dark. “No.” I scraped together every ounce of courage I had and finally met his gaze. For three years, I had barely dared to look him in the eye. But I had already ruined the proposal. I had nothing left to lose. “If you won’t marry me, who do you want?” He grabbed my chin, forcing my face up. “Jace?” My stomach dropped again, and heat rushed to my cheeks. “N-no. That’s not it.” Whatever teenage crush I had on Jace had died the moment I signed my life over to become Cole’s girlfriend. He brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Then why?” “Because I don’t love you.” I took a shaky breath, finally saying the words I had kept locked in my chest for a thousand days. He froze. Then, a low, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “You didn’t like the grand gesture? Is that it?” I shook my head and bit my lip hard. “I don’t love you.” 2 Cole stared at me. His pitch-black eyes were unnervingly still. He was a breathtakingly handsome man. If you isolated his features, they were practically flawless. But put them all together, and there was an intensity to him that was fundamentally intimidating. When his face went completely blank like this, it could make a grown man tremble. Yet, under the crushing weight of his silent stare, a strange, reckless bravery bloomed inside me. I repeated it, practically signing my own death warrant. “I… I don’t love you.” “Are you kidding me?” Cole let out a stiff, unnatural scoff. “If you didn’t love me, how the hell did we date for three years?” “I was forced,” I said, my voice cracking, dropping so low I could barely hear myself. But Cole heard it. He looked at me with utter disbelief, his right hand slipping from my hair to mockingly trace my jawline. “If you didn’t want to, who could possibly force you?” “You did.” “When have I ever forced you?” Cole demanded, genuinely bewildered. “You had your fixer corner me! You threatened me into dating you!” I accused, tears burning the back of my eyes. The memories of three years ago flooded back—moving into this massive, empty mansion, lying awake every night in absolute terror, waiting for him to summon me. Knowing all that, how could I ever say yes to his proposal? I wasn’t a masochist. Why would I fall in love with an arrogant, controlling capitalist shark who didn’t even respect me as a human being? “That was me pursuing you! Do you not understand how that works?” Cole argued, his tone hardening with indignation. “No. I don’t.” Who pursues a girl by sending their corporate attack dog? I might have been young back then, but I wasn’t an idiot. His approach wasn’t romantic; it was a mafia-style ultimatum. Date me, or I’ll ruin your life and everyone you care about. Besides, I had been in love before. I knew what it looked like when someone actually cared about you. Whatever Cole felt for me in the beginning, it definitely wasn’t love. At best, I was a shiny new toy. And even now, as he moved heaven and earth to marry me, I didn’t believe he was actually in love with me. He just liked having me around. I was naive, obedient, and easy to control. I had just been playing dumb to survive. I wasn’t actually stupid. I saw right through his rich-boy entitlement. Seeing my absolute refusal to back down, Cole grew increasingly furious. But he clearly didn’t want to resort to the same ruthless tactics he used three years ago—it would shatter his pride. He took several deep, ragged breaths before speaking slowly. “What if… what if I said I love you?” “Huh?” I blinked in shock, genuinely confused. “Just because you love me, does that mean I’m legally obligated to love you back?” “…” Smash. Cole’s fist slammed into the stone wall, inches from my ear. I shrank back in horror, staring at the blood seeping from his bruised knuckles. “Should… should I call the doctor?” Cole just glared at me, his eyes dark and stormy, completely silent. I let out a shaky breath, dug my phone out of my bag, and called Dr. Bennett. Carter Bennett lived in the neighboring estate. He strolled over a few minutes later, medical bag in hand. The second he saw Cole’s bloody hand, he let out an exasperated groan, glaring at me. “Good lord, Harper. What did you do to him this time?” Carter had been there earlier today when I bolted from the proposal. Now that I was back, and Cole was bleeding, he naturally assumed I was the villain. I didn’t bother defending myself. I just looked at Cole, who was still staring holes into my skull. “Since the doctor is here, I’m going to leave.” “Get out,” Cole snarled. “Okay.” Granted a reprieve, I turned and sprinted for the gates. 3 Halfway down the driveway, I stopped and turned back. The massive front doors were still wide open. When Cole saw me walking back, the faintest ghost of a smirk touched his lips, though his voice remained icy. “What are you doing back here?” “I came to pack my things.” I pointed toward the grand staircase leading to the second floor. I had lived here for three years. Even though I always felt like a hostage rather than a girlfriend, I still had a ton of daily necessities upstairs. Replacing all my skincare, clothes, and tech on my non-existent budget would bankrupt me. Over the last three years, he had showered me with gifts—sports cars, deeds to mansions. Things that were practically impossible for me to liquidate without a team of lawyers. Classic toxic billionaire behavior. Cole’s face instantly turned to thunder. I pretended not to notice, keeping my spine straight as I marched upstairs and began violently shoving my clothes and bags into a suitcase. By the time I dragged my luggage back downstairs, Carter had finished wrapping Cole’s hand in pristine white bandages. Seeing me struggling with my massive suitcase, Carter offered a polite smile. “Need a ride? I can drop you off.” The estate was deep in the hills; getting an Uber up here was a nightmare. I nodded instantly. “Yes, please.” Cole’s expression darkened even further. He snatched his car keys off the glass coffee table, his voice dripping with venom. “She’s my woman. She doesn’t need you to drive her.” “I’m sorry, but we broke up,” I retorted, flatly rejecting him. I turned back to the doctor. “I’d really prefer if you drove me.” Carter cast a thoughtful, calculating look at Cole before taking the handle of my suitcase. “Let’s go.” “Thank you.” And just like that, Carter and I walked out the front door under the blistering heat of Cole’s death glare. I stood by the iron gates, waiting for Carter to pull his car around. Cole materialized behind me, his voice a low, mocking drawl. “Carter has a girlfriend, you know. And he doesn’t go for girls who are slow and naive.” “Okay.” I was too exhausted to argue. The thought that I would never have to wake up terrified of his gorgeous, brooding face again gave me the patience of a saint. I could take whatever insults he threw at me. “It’s not too late to take it back,” Cole said, his tone shifting, softening just a fraction. “I’ll transfer this house to your name. If you don’t want to get married yet, we won’t.” “Okay.” “A-list director Davis is casting a new movie. I already put a word in. I can get you the lead role. It’s the perfect way to officially launch your career.” “Okay.” “Do you have anything else to say to me besides okay?!” Cole finally snapped, his frustration boiling over. “Yes,” I said just as Carter’s SUV pulled up. I turned and gave Cole a little wave. “Goodbye.” I yanked the car door open and threw myself inside. “Harper!” Cole roared, his voice laced with absolute fury. My heart did a panicked little flutter. I patted Carter’s shoulder frantically. “Drive! Go, go, go!” Carter smoothly hit the gas, and the SUV sped down the winding canyon road. In the rearview mirror, Cole’s furious silhouette grew smaller and smaller, until he finally vanished completely. I slumped back against the leather seat, letting out a massive, trembling breath. 4 I asked Carter to drop me off at Mia’s apartment building. He parked, pulled my suitcase from the trunk, and handed it to me. I thanked him politely and turned to leave. “Harper, wait,” he called out suddenly. “Are you and Cole blowing up over Blair?” “Who?” Blair? Who the hell is Blair? I blinked at him, genuinely lost. Carter looked stunned. He stared at me like I had two heads. “You seriously don’t know who Blair Harrington is?” “Is she famous?” I asked. I mean, I had almost debuted as an idol. If she was a big deal in Hollywood, I would know her. Was she one of Cole’s exes? Some poor girl whose life he ruined before he got to me? Capitalist trash. I clenched my fists, mentally cursing Cole and his entire bloodline. “Never mind.” Seeing my blank expression, Carter clearly decided he wasn’t going to be the one to open that Pandora’s box. I didn’t care enough to press him. I could just Google her later. If she had stepped foot in the entertainment industry, the internet would know. “Bye, then,” I waved, turning to haul my luggage up the stairs. When Mia saw me standing in her doorway with a massive suitcase, her jaw practically hit the floor. “Babe… did you and the billionaire actually call it quits?” “Yep.” I wheeled my bag straight toward her tiny guest room. “I’m crashing here for a bit.” “Are you serious? You gave him three of the best years of your life and you didn’t even get a fat breakup settlement?” Mia shrieked, outraged on my behalf. I rolled my eyes. To be fair, Cole had given me plenty of things. But they were all utterly impractical. He had rented out fleets of hot air balloons just to write my name in the sky. He had bought out the entirety of Nobu so he could sing me “Happy Birthday” off-key. He bought me a customized Porsche, knowing damn well I didn’t have a driver’s license. He bought me three different estates—one in Malibu, one in Manhattan, one in Aspen. But trying to transfer the deeds into my name required exorbitant legal fees and property taxes. Because I was completely broke in actual liquid cash, I still hadn’t managed to finalize the paperwork. As for the diamonds and luxury watches, he said he was worried I’d lose them, so he kept them locked in his personal vault. I wore them once for a gala and never touched them again. There were plenty of rich playboys in LA. The fact that I had tolerated his specific brand of chaotic, smothering wealth for three whole years proved I deserved a Nobel Peace Prize. Thinking about it made me want to cry. I pulled up my banking app and shoved my phone in Mia’s face. “Look. I have $420 to my name.” Just as I finished throwing my pity party, a notification popped up. It was a Venmo transfer. From Cole. “Oh, damn! Look at that. $30,420,” Mia smirked, raising an eyebrow. With absolute, unwavering dignity, I hit the ‘Block’ button on his profile. “If he actually wanted to give me money, he would have wired it to my bank account! Venmo can be reversed!” “Iconic,” Mia muttered, thoroughly impressed. She turned to go fetch me some blankets. 5 That night, lying in the unfamiliar bed, I couldn’t sleep. Out of sheer boredom, I opened my bank app again. Balance: $420. See? The $30,000 transfer was pending. He was just testing me. Whatever. Billionaires are all sociopaths. Tossing and turning, I pulled up Google and typed in Blair Harrington. There were a lot of Blair Harringtons in the world. So I added Cole Kensington to the search bar. There wasn’t much concrete gossip, but buried in a three-year-old PR article was a grainy paparazzi shot taken at LAX. I would recognize that broad-shouldered silhouette anywhere. It was Cole. He was seeing someone off at the airport. A woman. The photo only caught the back of her head, so I couldn’t see her face. The image quality was garbage. Mia had mentioned once that before Cole met me, the tabloids tracked his dating life like a sport. He changed women like he changed designer watches. Maybe this Blair was just one of his many seasonal accessories? But wait… why did he stop changing “accessories” after he forced me to date him? Was I just the most low-maintenance option? Suddenly, a text popped up on my screen. “Unblock me.” It was an SMS from Cole. “We’re broken up.” I am a woman of principle. When a relationship ends, you cut the cord cleanly. Anything else is just stringing him along. “I’ll give you three minutes. If you don’t unblock me, I’m calling your parents,” Cole threatened. Seriously? Calling my parents to tattle? He was a grown man nearing thirty, acting like a toddler. “I’ll tell my parents myself that we broke up.” Last Christmas, he had shamelessly forced his way into my family’s holiday dinner. By the end of the night, my parents were basically ready to walk me down the aisle. My older brother, Connor, trailed after him like a lost puppy, calling him “brother-in-law.” It made me want to scream. “Then please make sure you tell them clearly: you are the one who dumped me.” A second later, another text came through: “By the way, I also have the video of you publicly humiliating me by running away from my proposal. I’ll make sure to send that to them too.” He is so vile! How does a titan of industry even come up with such petty, underhanded blackmail? “Don’t cross the line!” I typed furiously. “Unblock me on everything.” I wanted to reach through the screen and strangle him. The standard emojis on my phone simply weren’t enough to convey my sheer, blinding rage. I opened my messaging app, went into the settings, and yanked him out of the blocked contacts list. After spamming him with twenty different animated stickers of a cartoon cat violently beating up a dog, my anger finally subsided a fraction. Once I calmed down, a cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck. He was not a man you wanted to cross. What if he lost his temper, sent his security detail to drag me back to Bel Air, and locked me in the mansion like some twisted dark romance novel? I was scared, yes. But I couldn’t afford to be weak. If I caved now, I’d be under his thumb for the rest of my life, just like the last three years. I’d never be free. I tossed the phone onto the mattress and walked out to the bathroom, trying to look perfectly unbothered. When I came out, I bumped into Mia. “Your phone is going off,” she said, pointing at my door. “It’s just spam callers,” I lied smoothly. Mia’s mouth twitched. “The spam caller is aggressively trying to FaceTime you.” “They’re very dedicated to their craft,” I muttered, my face burning as I scurried back into the bedroom. Mia mercifully didn’t follow me. I looked at my screen and nearly had a heart attack. Cole had tried to FaceTime me five times. Terrified that ignoring him would push him to do something psychotic, I quickly sent him a sticker of a sleepy bear saying “Goodnight.” I waited for ten minutes. He didn’t reply. Sighing, I switched my phone to silent. Going from a custom California King mattress to a lumpy futon in a walk-up apartment was an adjustment. I didn’t sleep well that night. 6 The moment I woke up, I checked my phone. The chat with Cole was dead silent. I brushed it off. After washing my face, I walked down the street to grab breakfast. Mia was a night owl. She wrote until dawn, her sleep schedule a complete disaster. When I got back with coffee and bagels, I banged on her door. She emerged looking like a zombie, dark circles under her eyes. I physically turned her toward the bathroom. “Brush your teeth. Food’s ready.” “Ugh. Fine.” A few minutes later, she sat at the tiny kitchen table. I eagerly pushed a bagel and a latte toward her. She took a bite, narrowing her eyes at me. “You’re being weirdly domestic. It’s creeping me out.” “So… do you need an assistant? A housekeeper?” I smiled sheepishly. Since she saw right through me, there was no point in beating around the bush. “Do I look like I have the disposable income for a maid?” Mia scoffed. “Didn’t you tell me writing novels pays way better than managing pop stars?” Back when she quit the agency, she had confidently told me that once she sold her movie rights, she’d cast me as her lead actress. “It does,” Mia said, defensive. “As a junior manager, I made $3,000 a month. As an indie author, I make $3,100 a month. Mathematically, it is better.” I stared at her in silence. She focused on peeling her hard-boiled egg. “If you’re serious about cutting ties with Kensington, you need to get a real job.” “I only have a high school diploma. Who’s gonna hire me?” I slumped in my chair. I never should have dropped out to join that stupid idol boot camp. I should have listened to my mom and gone to a local college. If I had, Cole never would have noticed me. I wouldn’t have spent three years trapped in a fake relationship, failing to launch my career, ending up a 22-year-old with absolutely nothing to show for it. “You can wash dishes at a diner. Collect recycling. Ring up groceries. Plenty of options!” “…Seriously?” I was almost a celebrity once. After failing to debut, is this really all I was qualified for? I have some pride! Besides, what if I was washing dishes and Cole walked into the restaurant with his new model girlfriend? What if I was collecting cans on the side of the road and his imported Italian leather shoes stepped on my hand? What if I was working the register at a bodega and Cole’s new girlfriend came in to buy condoms, and I had to hand her the exact change? The more I visualized it, the more horrifying the prospect of a normal job became. I took a vicious bite of my bagel. “Hey, what if you teach me how to write romance novels?” Mia rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “If I had the skill to teach someone else how to write a bestseller, I wouldn’t be churning out ten thousand words a day just to make rent.” “Come on, it can’t be that hard,” I argued, snatching the peeled egg right out of her hand. “The only reason your books aren’t blowing up is because you have zero romantic experience. I have the perfect material. My ex is a literal billionaire. I can write what I know.” Mia froze, staring at me in disbelief. “You’re counting your three years hostage situation with Cole Kensington as romantic experience?” “Why wouldn’t I? He’s a real-life domineering CEO. That’s way better than whatever you’re making up in your head.” “And what exactly is your plot? Are you gonna write about how he spoiled you rotten for three years, only for you to kick him to the curb when he proposed? Or are you gonna write 300 pages about two people sleeping in the same bed in total agonizing silence?” “Why are you making me sound like the villain?” I protested. “Aren’t you?” Mia stood up, stealing the other half of my bagel, and walked away. Am I? Am I the villain? 7 After cleaning up the kitchen, I retreated to the guest room, opened my laptop, and prepared to become a literary genius. My mind was completely blank. Honestly, there wasn’t much to write about my day-to-day life with Cole. And the parts I could write about couldn’t be published without violating several community guidelines. I’d probably get banned from whatever platform I posted it on. Was working a cash register really my ultimate destiny? I had just pulled up Indeed.com when my phone rang. It was my brother, Connor. “Harper, it’s a disaster. Get home right now.” “What happened?” I asked, my pulse spiking. After Cole’s threat last night, I was terrified this was a trap. What if he called a family meeting to put me on trial? I wouldn’t be able to talk my way out of it. “It’s Mom. I can’t explain over the phone. Just get here!” Connor hung up in a panic. Hearing it was about my mom, I completely forgot about my job hunt. I grabbed my purse and ran out the door. When I arrived at my parents’ suburban house, the whole family was sitting grimly in the living room. Cole wasn’t there. I let out a massive sigh of relief. “Where’s Mom?” I asked Connor, scanning the room. Connor looked at me, hesitating. “You better ask Dad.” “Dad, what’s wrong with Mom?” Did she have some terminal illness? That’s how it always happens in soap operas. That’s what Mia writes in her books. “Your mother… she got scammed!” my dad groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Scammed out of what?” “She’s in her fifties, Harper. What else do people steal from women her age? Her money,” Connor muttered dryly. “How much?” Connor held up two fingers. “Two grand?” Connor shook his head. “Twenty grand?” He nodded gravely. “$30,000.” Holy shit. Is it too late for me to unblock Cole and accept that Venmo transfer? 8 After getting the full story (a classic wire-fraud investment scam), I carried a bowl of chicken noodle soup into my parents’ bedroom to comfort her. “Mom, it’s just money. We can earn it back. Don’t starve yourself over it.” Dad said she hadn’t eaten since she realized the money was gone last night. She was huddled under the duvet, refusing to acknowledge me. I set the bowl on the nightstand and gently tugged the blanket down. She glared at me, her face stained with tears. I sighed. “It’s thirty grand. I’ll make it back for you.” “That was your wedding fund,” she choked out, her voice breaking. I froze. She wiped her face, sniffing. “Cole comes from such a powerful family. I know he doesn’t care that we aren’t rich, but I didn’t want his family to look down on you. I was just trying to grow your nest egg so you’d have some standing…” “Mom, stop. I’m twenty-two. I’m not getting married anytime soon,” I said quickly, trying to shut down this terrifying line of thought. “Besides, I can save up my own money. You and Dad need to keep your savings for retirement.” “You? Save up thirty grand?” My mom suddenly found her energy, pivoting instantly to roasting me. “You barely finished high school. How are you gonna make that kind of money?” “So what if I just have a high school diploma?” I argued defensively. “If Cole hadn’t interfered, I might be a massive pop star right now.” “The fact that Cole even wants you is a miracle I thank God for every day. A pop star? Keep dreaming,” she sniped, hitting right where it hurt. Seeing that she had enough breath in her lungs to insult me, I shoved the bowl of soup into her hands. “Eat something before you keep yelling at me.” I gave her a pleading, exaggerated smile. She looked at me, sighed, and reached out to pinch my cheek, a watery smile breaking through her tears. “I suppose my daughter is prettier than most celebrities. Cole really did find a treasure.” “Exactly. Remember that next time you’re praising everyone else’s kids and treating me like chopped liver,” I muttered. I definitely couldn’t tell her about the breakup now. The double shock might actually put her in the hospital. “You’re the best, sweetie,” she smiled, finally picking up her spoon. When I walked back into the living room with the empty bowl, Connor gave me a thumbs-up. “The favorite child strikes again.” “Shut up,” I rolled my eyes. He was pushing thirty and still got jealous over this stuff. Having calmed my mom down, I sat with my dad to assess the financial damage. My parents were middle-class office workers. They had just helped Connor with a down payment on his condo two years ago, so saving that $30,000 couldn’t have been easy. I worried how this would affect their daily lives. If things were really dire, I’d have to swallow my pride and take Cole’s money. “Harper, don’t worry about the wedding fund,” my dad whispered, leaning in close and patting my hand. “I’ve been stashing away a secret emergency fund for years. When the time comes, I’ll make sure you have a beautiful wedding.” “How much?” I asked, genuinely curious. My dad held up two fingers. “Two grand?” He shook his head. “Twenty grand?” He shook his head again. My heart started racing. I swallowed hard. “Two hundred grand?” My dad smacked the back of my head. “Are you dreaming? Three hundred bucks!” “…” Goodbye, Dad. 9 After eating, my mom’s mood stabilized significantly. She came out to the living room and asked how things were going with Cole. Terrified of sending her over the edge, I vaguely brushed the question off. “Don’t tell Cole about the scam,” she whispered fiercely as I was leaving. “Don’t worry, I won’t.” It wasn’t exactly a proud family moment; there was no reason to broadcast it to an outsider. I shot a lethal glare at Connor, who was lingering behind her. “Keep your mouth shut, too.” Over the last year, Connor and Cole had gotten ridiculously close. Cole loved calling him “brother-in-law,” and Connor ate it up. Cole was a master at massaging egos, constantly inflating my brother’s self-esteem. “I know, I know,” Connor mumbled, looking away guiltily. “If you tell him, you’re dead to me,” I threatened. Connor practically jogged back to the couch. My mom tried to walk me down to the street, but I forced her to stay inside. It was getting chilly, and she was only wearing slippers. 10 The second I stepped out of the apartment building, I saw Cole’s sleek black car idling by the curb. I pretended not to see it and started walking fast. He honked the horn. I ignored him. The door swung open, and he stepped out, grabbing my arm. “Did you tell your parents the truth today?” “Let go of me,” I snapped, my face hardening. “Harper, do you have a heart?” Cole roared, his face twisting with genuine anger. “Our mom is completely devastated, and you’re just going to pile our breakup on top of that?!” Excuse me? When did she become our mom? “Connor told me she got scammed,” he admitted. I knew my idiot brother couldn’t keep his mouth shut. I was seething. “She’s my mom. Stop acting like you’re part of the family,” I snapped. I took a breath to steady myself. “Even if she got scammed, it’s none of your business.” “She lost your wedding fund! How is that not my business?” Cole’s voice boomed across the quiet suburban street. “When we get married, half of that money comes to my household!” “WE BROKE UP!” I screamed back at him. Are all billionaires this stingy? He’s seriously factoring my middle-class dowry into his net worth? No wonder his empire was expanding; the man was a shark down to his bones. Cole gripped my arm tighter, his voice suddenly dropping, softening into a coaxing murmur. “I already talked to the director. I got you a supporting role in the new film. Female lead #5.” “Didn’t you say I was going to be the main lead?” I didn’t actually want the part, but I was so angry I just wanted to fight him on everything. “The lead role has a kissing scene. I didn’t like it.” “Thanks, but I don’t need your favors!” I pushed him away, turning on my heel. “Then what do you want?!” Cole grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to face him. His dark eyes were swimming with frustration and panic. “Do you want to be an A-list star? Is that it?” I stared at him, utterly stunned. So that was what he thought this was about. He thought I was using the breakup as leverage to negotiate a better acting career. When he first forced me into the relationship, I had harbored tiny hopes of still debuting. I tried to bring it up gently a few times. He shut it down immediately. He told me the entertainment industry was a toxic wasteland, and with my “limited intellect,” I’d get eaten alive and sold to the highest bidder. He said he wanted to protect me. Keep me pure and safe, so I could live a carefree life. Then Mia quit the agency, leaving me without a manager, and my dreams of performing quietly died. Now, out of nowhere, he was offering me a supporting role. Wasn’t he worried the “toxic wasteland” would pollute me anymore? Men are such liars. “Cole.” For the very first time, I called him by his actual name instead of a detached ‘you’. “I broke up with you because I just don’t like you.” “…” Cole’s expression instantly darkened like a thundercloud. His voice dropped to a terrifyingly quiet register. “What exactly don’t you like?” “Am I too handsome?” I shook my head. “Do I have too much money?” I shook my head again. I wasn’t clinically insane; why would I hate money? “Am I not satisfying you in bed?” His face was pitch black now. My face turned completely red. “N-no. That’s not it.” In that department, he was actually incredibly intense. After the initial shock of the first few times, the last three years had been… perfectly fine. “Then what the hell don’t you like?!” he bellowed. “You… you don’t respect me.” I shrank back, intimidated. He was gorgeous, yes, but when he was

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It was my second day at the County Clerk’s office after transferring back to the city. I was still settling in, shadowing one of the senior clerks, Sarah, when a young woman walked up to the counter. She looked like she’d stepped off a runway—expensive silk blouse, designer bag, and an aura of effortless privilege. Sarah leaned in and whispered, “Here we go again. This is her ninety-ninth time requesting a certified copy of her marriage license. We keep her files on standby; it’s faster that way.” I blinked, stunned. “Ninety-ninth?” Sarah chuckled, pulling up a digital folder. “Yeah. Local girl, married a tech mogul old enough to be her father. They have these explosive fights, and her favorite move is to shred the marriage certificate. It’s their little toxic ritual.” She tapped her screen, looking a bit envious. “Only a man with that much money can afford to indulge that kind of bratty behavior. Word is her husband is the head of the Blackwood empire—Sebastian Blackwood himself.” A cold shiver raced down my spine. My brow furrowed instinctively. “The Blackwoods? They’re practically royalty in this city. You’d think someone in that position would value discretion. Are you sure she’s not faking it?” Sarah’s eyes went wide, and she practically lunged across the desk to cover my mouth. “Honey, hush! That is very much the real Sebastian Blackwood. You do not want to be on his bad side.” I froze. My hand trembled, and my phone slipped from my grasp, clattering onto the laminate desktop. The screen lit up. The lock screen was a candid photo of me, leaning my head against Sebastian’s shoulder, both of us laughing under a canopy of autumn leaves. The girl on the other side of the glass saw it. Her face transformed from bored annoyance to sharp, jagged rage. She reached through the transaction slot and snatched the phone before I could react. “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice rising to a screech. “Why do you have a picture with my husband?” … 1 I tried to speak, but my throat felt like it was filled with broken glass. My husband. The man in that photo was Sebastian. My husband of five years. The Blackwood family was a dynasty, a web of old money and corporate power that stretched across the country. We had kept our marriage a secret. Sebastian told me it was for my own protection—that the media would devour me, that his family’s enemies would use me as leverage. He wanted to keep our “little world” private. I believed him. I had believed him for five years. Standing there, watching this girl clutch my phone, I realized I wasn’t his “protected secret.” I was his ghost. “I’ve seen women like you,” the girl—Lexi, according to her file—spat, her face flushing a deep, ugly red. “Social climbers. Professional mistresses. You see a man with a billion dollars and you think you can just claw your way in? And you work here? For the government? I’m going to have your job for this. I’m filing a formal complaint!” Sarah stepped in, trying to play peacemaker. “Ms. Miller—excuse me, Mrs. Blackwood—please, stay calm. I’m sure there’s a rational explanation…” “Explanation? Look at the photo! They’re practically on top of each other!” I forced a breath into my lungs. I reached out and took my phone back from her hand. My voice was eerily steady, the kind of calm that only comes when you’ve completely dissociated from reality. “It’s a misunderstanding,” I said. “I used to work in the mayor’s office in the next county over. I interviewed Mr. Blackwood for a profile piece. We took a photo together after the session. That’s all.” Lexi narrowed her eyes, searching my face for a lie. “An interview?” “Yes. Professional courtesy.” She stared at me for a few more seconds, and then the tension in her shoulders began to leak away. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Oh… God, sorry. I’m just sensitive. My husband is… well, you’ve seen him. Every woman in this city wants a piece of him. I have to stay on high alert.” I forced a thin, professional smile. “I understand.” “Anyway, about the certificate…” “I’m looking at your digital file,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. “You’re missing the updated residency verification. I need to see a physical copy of your utility bill or your property deed.” Lexi groaned, checking her diamond-encrusted watch. “My place is only ten minutes away. I’ll just go grab it.” “I’ll go with you,” I said, standing up. Sarah looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “I’m about to go on my lunch break. I can verify it on-site and take a photo of the document for the file. It saves you a trip back here.” Lexi considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure. Whatever makes this faster. Let’s go.” I followed her out of the building. She led me to a pristine white Porsche, the interior a sickeningly sweet shade of blush pink. Twenty minutes later, the car pulled up to the gates of a familiar luxury condo complex. My heart didn’t just skip a beat; it stopped. I knew this building. I knew this unit. Two years ago, I had used my entire inheritance from my grandmother—money I’d saved since I was a teenager—to put down the deposit on this place. I knew the Blackwoods had estates and penthouses, but I wanted something that was ours. Something I had contributed to, so I could feel like his equal, not his charity case. Back then, Sebastian told me he was having some “liquidity issues” with the family trust. He asked me to keep the deed in my name but said we couldn’t live there yet because it would draw too much attention from the press. He suggested we rent it out. I agreed. I wanted to be a supportive wife. Every month, the “rent” hit my bank account like clockwork. I never checked on the place. I trusted him. I walked into the foyer, my feet feeling like lead. Hanging directly across from the front door was a massive, gold-framed portrait. It was a wedding photo. Sebastian was in a white tuxedo, looking more handsome than I’d ever seen him. Lexi was draped across him in a Vera Wang gown, smiling with the radiant heat of a woman who owned the world. “Make yourself at home,” Lexi said, tossing her keys onto the marble console table. I stepped into the living room. Every nerve in my body was screaming. In five years of marriage, Sebastian had never given me a wedding. No ceremony. No gown. The only photo we had was that blurry shot on my phone from a weekend trip to the mountains—a photo I’d had to beg him to take. But here, he was a different man. The portrait was huge—maybe six feet tall—dominating the room. “Your home is… beautiful,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. She laughed. “I think the photo is a bit much, honestly. A little tacky. But Sebastian insisted. He said he wanted everyone who stepped foot in this house to know exactly who I am. His wife.” “He… seems to adore you.” “He’s okay,” she said, though her eyes were sparkling with triumph. “Take a seat. I’ll go find that paperwork.” I sat on the sofa, staring up at that portrait. Sebastian was smiling with a tenderness I hadn’t seen in years. He didn’t hate being photographed. He just hated being photographed with me. 2 Lexi rummaged through a desk in the corner for a few minutes before coming back empty-handed. “That’s weird. I can’t find the folder. Hold on, I’ll call my husband.” She hit speakerphone before I could protest. “Hey, baby,” Sebastian’s voice filled the room. It was warm, indulgent—the voice he used to use with me when we first met. “Did you shred the paper again? You know, for a mother, you’ve still got the temper of a toddler.” Lexi pouted, even though he couldn’t see her. “Where did you put the deed and the residency papers? The girl from the Clerk’s office is here with me right now.” There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. “The Clerk’s office is at the house?” “Yeah, she’s being super helpful. Where are the papers?” “I have them with me. I was looking over the property taxes this morning. I’m actually out picking up the new house for you right now—I’ll bring them by in twenty minutes.” “Hurry up, okay? We’re waiting.” “I will. Did you get the formula for the baby yet?” “Yeah, yeah, that organic brand you insisted on.” “Good girl. See you soon.” The line went dead. Lexi beamed at me. “He’ll be here in a few. Oh! You have to see my son!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the back of the condo. “He’s six months old. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.” I followed her into the nursery, my mind a static-filled void. In the center of the room, a plump, healthy baby boy was sleeping in a high-end crib. Lexi leaned over the rail, her face softening with genuine motherly love. “Isn’t he perfect? Sebastian says he has my nose.” I stood by the crib, my blood turning to ice. They had a child. Sebastian and I had been married for five years. Six months ago, I was supposed to have a baby, too. I had been seven months pregnant when everything went wrong. There was a complication—an “emergency” procedure. I was told the baby didn’t make it. After that, Sebastian told me we should focus on my recovery. He said he couldn’t bear the thought of putting my body through that again. He said we didn’t need children to be happy. I thought he was protecting my heart. I didn’t realize he just didn’t want a child with me. “What’s his name?” I asked, my voice cracking. Lexi’s smile widened. “Callum. Sebastian picked it. He said it was a variation of his favorite flower—a Calla Lily.” A bomb went off in my brain. Calla. That was my name. When I was pregnant, we had spent hours dreaming of names. I had suggested Callum if it was a boy, a way to honor my name, Calla. Sebastian had held me and told me it was perfect. He said it would be a constant reminder of how much he loved me. “Does the name… mean something special?” I whispered. Lexi sighed, her expression flickering with a momentary shadow. “My husband’s ‘late wife’… her name was Calla. Apparently, she died in childbirth. The baby didn’t make it either. He said he wanted to name our son Callum to ‘honor the tragedy’ or something.” I stared at her, the bitterness in my mouth so strong I thought I might choke. Lexi’s voice dropped, sounding uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I tear up those marriage licenses because I’m insecure, honestly. He’s so hung up on the memory of this dead woman. I sometimes wonder if I’m just a replacement. He’s so romantic about her, and I’m just… here.” I looked at the sleeping baby. My stomach twisted into a knot. If my baby had lived, he would be exactly this age. “He told you she died in labor?” Lexi nodded. “Yeah. It nearly destroyed him. He said it took years to move on until he met me. I think it’s fate, really. He says I even look a little like her.” I looked at her face. We looked nothing alike. But if there was one thing we had in common, it was that we were both being played by a master. “Is he good to you?” I asked. Her eyes lit up again. “The best. He’s busy, obviously. But he promised me that in a few years, he’ll step back from the company and we’ll travel the world together.” I nodded slowly. He’d told me the same thing. Five years ago. 3 I stood in that nursery, the silence pressing against my eardrums until my head throbbed. “Where’s her memorial?” I asked, my voice flat. “If he loved his late wife so much, surely there’s a photo? A grave he visits?” Lexi pulled a face. “I asked about that. He said he doesn’t believe in shrines. He said once someone is gone, they live in your heart, not in a frame on a wall.” I looked down at my hands. My knuckles were white. In his heart. What a beautiful lie. But where did my seven-month-old son live? I unclenched my fists, my palms marred by the imprints of my nails. “I have one more question.” “Yeah?” “If your husband is as wealthy as everyone says… why are you living here? This is a nice building, but it’s a far cry from a Blackwood estate.” Lexi laughed. “This was my idea. Sebastian’s world is so… cold. So much marble and glass. I wanted a ‘normal’ life. I made him buy this place so we could feel like a real family.” She pointed to the DIY decorations on the walls. “He wasn’t used to it at first, but now he loves it. He says this is the only place that actually feels like home.” “He bought this for you?” “Mm-hm. A wedding gift.” She leaned in, whispering like we were best friends. “Honestly, it was my insurance policy. If he ever leaves me, I have this. He put it in writing—this place is mine forever.” The ice in my veins reached my heart. Two years ago, Sebastian had asked for the deed to this condo. He told me it was better for “tax purposes” to let his management company handle the rental. He said he wanted me to be an “independent woman” with my own rental income so I wouldn’t have to ask him for money. The “rent” I’d been receiving was just my own life being sold back to me in installments. “You’re very lucky,” I said. My voice was trembling so hard I wasn’t sure she could understand me. Lexi smiled and went back to cooing at the baby. I watched her profile. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-two. She knew nothing. But even if she did, would it matter? 4 The baby in the crib started to fuss. Lexi immediately scooped him up, rocking him gently against her chest. I stepped closer to get a better look. And then, the world stopped spinning. Behind the baby’s right ear, there was a tiny, distinct skin tag. A “preauricular tag,” the doctors call it. I gasped, my eyes wide with horror. Six months ago, during my last ultrasound at seven months, the tech had pointed out that exact same thing. It’s a harmless genetic quirk. The doctor had told me it was purely cosmetic and could be snipped off after birth. How could there be such a coincidence? “How old did you say he was?” I asked, my voice rising. “Six months. To the day.” Lexi frowned as the baby continued to cry. “He’s always been a bit fussy. The doctors said it’s because he was premature. His system is sensitive.” My hands began to shake uncontrollably. “Premature?” “Yeah. I was terrified of the pain of labor, so I told Sebastian I didn’t want to go through a traditional birth. He was so sweet about it. He arranged for a surrogate—well, a ‘carrier’—to handle the pregnancy for us.” Lexi sighed, adjusting the baby. “But the woman he hired was incompetent. She went into labor at seven months. The poor thing was in the NICU for eight weeks. We almost lost him.” “And the woman? The surrogate?” Lexi shrugged dismissively. “She took the money and disappeared. Sebastian said those types are dangerous. He made sure she was paid off and gone so she’d never come back for more.” I stared at the child in her arms, tears stinging my eyes. A terrifying, sickening realization took root in my soul. This wasn’t Lexi’s baby. This wasn’t a surrogate’s baby. This was my baby. The boy they told me had died on the table while I was under anesthesia. Sebastian, you monster. You deserve to rot in hell. I forced myself to stay upright. I forced my voice to stay calm. “Did you ever meet her? The surrogate?” Lexi shook her head. “No. Sebastian handled everything. He said it was better that way.” She noticed my expression and her brow furrowed. “Are you okay? You’re pale as a ghost.” “I’m fine,” I lied. “Just low blood sugar. I skipped lunch.” She looked at me suspiciously, about to say something else, when my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Sebastian. [Working late tonight, don’t wait up. Get some sleep, Calla. Love you.] I stared at the words. Just then, the front door opened. “That’s him!” Lexi cheered, holding the baby up. I heard the heavy thud of a designer briefcase hitting the floor and then that voice—the voice of the man I had loved for a third of my life. “Hey, beautiful. Did you miss me?” “We did! Also, the girl from the County Clerk is here to help with the papers!” Footsteps echoed down the hallway. I stood at the entrance of the nursery, watching as Sebastian Blackwood walked through the door. He was wearing a sharp charcoal suit, looking every bit the titan of industry. The moment his eyes met mine, the color drained from his face. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost—because he had. In that second, the sorrow and the shock evaporated, replaced by a cold, searing rage. I smiled at him. I took one slow step forward. “What’s the matter, Sebastian?” I asked, my voice like a razor. “You look surprised to see your ‘dead’ wife standing in your nursery.”

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I was born soft. Delicate, high-maintenance, and—aside from a face that could stop traffic—utterly useless. When the Great Freeze descended and the world turned into a geometric nightmare of ice and death, I didn’t wake up with any “Gifts.” No superpowers, no survival instincts. Nothing. Instead, I demanded that my boyfriend, Cade, use his fire-manipulation abilities to keep our reinforced bunker at a constant, balmy 78 degrees. Today, the thermometer flickered down a single degree. I was already drawing breath to snap at him, to complain about the chill, when the air in front of my eyes suddenly fractured. Glowing lines of text—a digital barrage—exploded across my vision: [Ugh, when is this brain-dead side character finally going to get written out? She’s literally draining the life out of the Protagonist.] [Can’t she see the color of his face? Is she actually blind? He’s dying for her.] [When does the Wood-Gifted heroine finally show up? Fire and Wood are the ultimate power couple—fuel for the flame, if you know what I mean. I’m so over this spoiled brat.] [Hurry up and get to the part where she gets kicked out of the bunker and freezes to death. I’ve got my popcorn ready.] I froze. My gaze shifted to Cade. He was slumped in the corner, his skin a sickly, bruised grey, still straining to radiate heat for a room that didn’t need it. My hand trembled as I reached out and tugged at his sleeve. … “Cade… babe. I’m not cold anymore. Keep your energy. Stop.” I was lying on the small cot in our secure storage unit, and for a second, I felt a genuine shiver. I glanced at the thermometer. 77 degrees. One degree lower than my “mandatory” 78. Usually, that tiny dip would have sent a spike of irritation through me. I would have thrown a fit. “Cade!” I called out. He was curled in a sleeping bag in the corner. He opened his eyes slowly, the movement heavy and pained. The single emergency light cast a dim, jaundiced glow over us, and in that light, he looked like a ghost. “Why is it only 77 in here?” I pointed at the gauge. “You promised. 78, every day. No exceptions.” He pushed himself up on his elbows, his movements sluggish, a sharp contrast to the effortless strength he used to have. He looked at me, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. “Well? Say something.” I kicked off the duvet and marched over to him, giving his shoulder a sharp shove. “It was 77.5 yesterday. Now it’s 77. Is it going to be 70 tomorrow? Are we just going to freeze?” The shove made him lurch to the side. He reached out, his hand instinctively trying to steady himself by grabbing my wrist. The moment his skin touched mine, I went cold for real. He was freezing. His fingertips were like ice. That shouldn’t have been possible. He was a Fire-Gifted. His body temperature had always been a furnace. Usually, when he held my hand, I’d complain that he was too hot and pull away, telling him he was suffocating me. Now, his fingers were colder than mine. “…Romy.” His voice was a jagged rasp, sounding like it was being dragged from miles away. “Just… give me a minute. Let me catch my breath.” “Catch your breath for what?” I asked instinctively. And then, the Feed exploded in front of me again. [Hahaha, here we go! The classic bitch-move. Watch her start her drama while he’s literally crashing.] [He looks like death warmed up and she’s worried about one degree. She’s literally a parasite.] [78 degrees, 78 degrees… if he keeps this up, he’s going to be sucked dry. He’s running on empty.] [Serena needs to get here ASAP. Fire and Wood belong together. She’ll actually help him grow instead of just consuming him.] [I can’t wait for her to be tossed into the snow. It’s going to be peak cinema.] [Agreed. +1] [Watching for the downfall. +1000] I stood rooted to the spot. The words continued to scroll, every punctuation mark sharp and mocking. What? I’m a “side character”? A villainous one? And I’m supposed to be kicked out to freeze to death? [Lol, did she see the Feed? Look at her face. She’s glitching.] [Doesn’t matter if she sees it. She’s slated for a permanent exit soon. She can’t change the script.] [Hang in there, Cade. The real heroine is coming for you.] [Serena is at the Eastside Warehouse. Two chapters max until she finds the bunker. Just hold on, King.] I scrambled backward, hitting the wall. The words followed me, hovering perfectly in my line of sight no matter where I turned. I swiped at the air, but my hand passed through nothing but cold oxygen. Cade, startled by my sudden movement, forced his head up to look at me. “What’s wrong?” His voice cut through the scrolling text for a split second. I looked down at him. Truly looked at him. The pallor of his skin, the blue tint to his lips, the sheer, bone-deep exhaustion etched into the lines around his eyes. It wasn’t just tiredness. It was the look of a man who had given everything away. The words from the Feed echoed in my skull: “If he keeps this up, he’s going to be sucked dry.” Sucked dry. I looked at the thermometer. 77 degrees. It had been a steady 78 since the day the sun went dark and the mercury plummeted. When the Freeze started, people began “Awakening.” I got nothing. But I didn’t care because I had Cade. He was my personal heater. He could generate warmth from his very cells. In the beginning, he told me, “Romy, I can probably keep us at 65. Just wear a sweater, okay?” And what did I say? “65? That’s basically the morgue. I want it at 78. You’re gifted, Cade. Just try harder. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for me?” He had looked at me for a long time that day, and then he simply said, “Okay.” Since then, this ten-by-ten storage unit had been a tropical oasis in the middle of a graveyard. I never asked if it hurt. I never asked how he did it. I just bitched whenever the temperature dipped. [Do you remember now, you spoiled brat? Do you remember how he spent the last ten days?] [He sleeps three hours a night. The rest of the time he’s a human battery. He’s redlined his Gift so many times he’s lost count.] [“One degree?” That one degree is costing him half his life force, you idiot.] [I’m crying. Run, Cade! Leave her to the frost!] [Where is Serena?! Ugh.] I tripped over the edge of the cot and collapsed onto the mattress. Cade tried to stand up, using the wall for support, but his knees buckled. He swayed, his body a fragile reed in a storm. My instinct was to reach out, but I stopped halfway. If the Feed was right, I was a girl destined to destroy herself through sheer selfishness. I would keep pushing and pushing until Cade hit his breaking point, and then this “Serena” would show up, and I’d be cast out into the negative-fifty-degree wasteland to die. [Ooooh, look at her. Is she having a mid-life crisis at twenty-two?] [Go on, do something bitchy. Give us the finale we’re waiting for.] [She looks like she’s seen a ghost. Hilarious.] [His face is getting even paler. I can’t watch this. It hurts.] I looked at Cade. He was shivering. Not a big, dramatic shudder, but a fine, microscopic vibration. He was a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap. I saw beads of sweat on his forehead. Sweat. In a room that was barely 77 degrees while the world outside was fifty below. He was burning himself up from the inside out. My mind went strangely blank. The Feed was still scrolling, but the words lost their bite. All I could see was Cade. I saw the way his jaw was clenched, trying to keep himself upright for me. He didn’t have to be this way. If I wasn’t such a parasite, he could have saved his energy. He could have survived this comfortably. I wasn’t stupid. Even if the Feed was a hallucination, Cade’s condition was undeniable. Why hadn’t I seen it for the last ten days? Because 78 degrees was comfortable. Because I was used to him saying “yes.” Because I thought he was invincible. “Romy,” he whispered, his voice so thin it was barely there. “Don’t be scared. I’ll… I’ll get the temperature back up. Give me a second.” He raised his hand. A weak, flickering orange glow began to throb in his palm. I’d seen that light a thousand times. I’d complained it was too dim, or that it made the air too dry. I never realized that light was his life leaking out. I lunged forward and grabbed his hand. He flinched, the light dying instantly. “What are you doing? It’s okay, I’ve got it—” “I’m not cold,” I said. He froze, blinking at me. “I said I’m not cold.” I squeezed his hand. It was still icy, but I gripped it with everything I had. “This is enough. It’s warm enough. Stop. Don’t do it anymore.” He stared at me, his eyes wide and vacant, as if I were speaking a language he’d forgotten. [???????] [Did her brain short-circuit?] [Wait, this isn’t in the script. She’s supposed to throw a lamp at him or something.] [She said she’s not cold? Is she sick? How are we supposed to get to the ‘Freezing to Death’ scene if she stops being a bitch?] [Forget the brat—look at Cade! Look at his eyes. Oh my god, is he crying?] His eyes were indeed turning a bright, wounded red. The moisture gathered at the corners of his lids, and he tried to blink it away, but a single tear escaped. It tracked down his pale cheek and landed on the back of my hand. It was searing. He was a Fire-Gifted; even his grief was hot. “What did you say?” he asked. “I said,” I reached up to wipe the sweat and tears from his face, feeling the strange mixture of heat and chill on his skin, “that I’m fine. You’re done. You’re going to sit down, and you’re going to sleep. Right now.” “But you—” “78 degrees is over,” I snapped, cutting him off. “From now on, I don’t care if it’s forty degrees in here. You stay alive. That’s the only requirement.” His mouth hung open. He couldn’t find the words. The Feed went into a frenzy. [Holy shit. Holy shit.] [Did she just… evolve?] [What is happening? Is the author drunk? This isn’t how it goes!] [The original plot is ruined. If she’s nice, Serena has no reason to kick her out.] [Who cares about the plot?! Look at Cade! He looks so heartbroken and relieved at the same time. He’s so beautiful when he cries, I swear.] Cade looked like he was about to collapse. I didn’t have time for the Feed anymore. I dragged him toward the sleeping bag. His feet were heavy, stumbling with every step. I threw his arm over my shoulder, taking his weight. He was a head taller than me and built of lean muscle; the weight nearly crushed me, but I didn’t let go. I shoved him into the sleeping bag, zipped it up to his chin, and then grabbed every blanket, coat, and spare rug we had, piling them on top of him. He lay there, just a head sticking out of a mountain of fabric, his red-rimmed eyes tracking my every move. “What are you looking at? Sleep,” I growled. “Aren’t you cold?” he whispered. Only then did I realize I was standing there in thin silk pajamas, barefoot on the concrete floor. Was I cold? God, yes. I was freezing. My legs were shaking so hard I thought my teeth might rattle out of my head. But looking at his face, seeing the dampness of his feverish sweat, the cold didn’t seem like the most important thing anymore. “Nope. I’m toasted,” I lied. He watched me for a long moment, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Liar,” he said softly. He shifted over in the narrow sleeping bag, pulling the side open. “Get in,” he commanded. I hesitated. “Get. In.” [AHHHHHHHHHHH!] [The tension! I’m screaming!] [Wait, is the heroine getting ghosted before she even shows up?] [This is so much better than the original. Look at them!] [Romy, if you don’t get in that bag right now, I will find a way to reach through this screen and push you.] I got in. The sleeping bag was tiny. We were pressed together, chest to chest, hip to hip. His body was still radiating a strange, clammy chill, but his arms came around me, pulling me into the hollow of his chest. “I’m going to sleep for a bit,” he murmured into my hair. “When I wake up… I’ll make it warm again.” “No,” I muttered against his heart. “Just sleep.” He didn’t argue. After a long time, I heard the rhythm of his heart slow down, becoming steady and deep. The Feed slowed down too, the comments trickling by. [Okay, I’ll admit it. The brat has some moves.] [So what happens next? Where’s the drama?] [Whatever, I’m shipping it for now.] [But what about tomorrow? They’re almost out of food. Without the Wood-heroine, how do they survive?] [Romy better think of something. She woke up once; she better wake up again.] I stared at that last comment until my eyes burned. I didn’t know what I could do. I was just a girl who was good at being pretty and being a problem. But I wasn’t going to let Cade die. And I wasn’t going to die either. I woke up the next morning because the air felt like needles in my lungs. I reached out, but the other side of the sleeping bag was empty. The warmth was gone. I sat up, shivering violently. Cade was by the door, his back to me, his shoulders shaking. “Cade!” I scrambled out of the bag. The floor felt like stepping on dry ice. He turned around. His face was a mask of paper-white skin. His lips were cracked and bleeding. He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. “You’re awake?” “What the hell are you doing?” I grabbed his hands. Cold. Still so cold. “You were supposed to sleep! Cade, how long have you been up?” He didn’t answer. He just looked at his palms. “The temp dropped too low. I had to… I had to stoke the fire.” I looked down. A tiny, pathetic ember of light was flickering in his hand. It wasn’t a heater. It was a funeral pyre. He was using his own cells to keep the air from freezing. [Oh my god, Cade, do you want to die?!] [The brat changed, but he’s still stuck in his old patterns.] [It’s like a runner who can’t stop after a marathon. His body is conditioned to burn itself out for her.] [He’s going to crash. He’s going to crash so hard.] [Where is Serena?! She’s at the warehouse! She has the healing Gift!] I grabbed his wrists, forcing his hands down. “Stop it. Stop the fire.” “But Romy—” “I said stop!” The light went out. Cade swayed, and I caught him, realizing he was burning up—not with Gift-fire, but with a lethal fever. He was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering. “You’re sick,” I whispered. The irony was devastating. A Fire-Gifted dying of a fever in a frozen world. [It’s the backlash. His internal systems are failing.] [Without a Wood-user to balance his energy, he’s got three days. Max.] [Serena is a day’s walk away. He won’t make it.] I hauled him back into the blankets. He was delirious now, mumbling about the temperature, about how I’d be cold, about how he was sorry. “It’s okay,” I whispered, tucked the blankets around him. “It’s enough. I’m warm.” I sat there for a long time, watching him breathe. Then I stood up and walked to the door. It was a heavy steel door. I pressed my ear against it. Silence. The kind of silence that sounds like a scream. No birds, no wind, just the crushing weight of the ice. I looked back at Cade. He was a small, broken shape under the blankets. The Feed started scrolling again. [What is she doing?] [Is she going to leave him?] [She’s going to run away, isn’t she? To find Serena?] [She’ll never make it. It’s negative fifty out there. She’ll be a popsicle in ten minutes.] [Wait… she’s looking for something.] I was tearing through Cade’s backpack. I’d never touched his gear before; he’d always handled everything. As I emptied it, my heart broke. The bag was filled with my things. My favorite skincare, my silk pajamas, my spare sweaters, my heat packs. And his stuff? I found a single pack of compressed biscuits and two bottles of frozen water. That was it. He’d been living on crumbs for ten days while keeping me in luxury. [I’m crying. For real.] [He really does love her.] [Why did she have to be such a brat for so long?] I found a map at the bottom. Cade had circled a few spots in red. The nearest one was labeled “Supply Cache.” It was six miles away. Six miles. In a blizzard. On foot. [She’s going to do it. She’s actually going to go.] [She’s a normal human. She’ll die before she hits the first mile.] [Romy, don’t! Stay with him! If he wakes up and you’re gone, he’ll lose his mind.] I folded the map and shoved it into my pocket. I knelt by Cade one last time. His face was flushed with fever. His lips moved. “Romy…” he breathed. I froze. We’d been together two years. He usually called me “babe” or “princess” or “sweetheart.” But in his fever, he used my name. [Who is Romy?] [That’s the side-character’s name. Romy Vance.] [Oh, I forgot she even had a name. I just call her ‘The Bitch.’] [I think her name is Romy Jiang in the original? No, it’s localized now. Romy Vance.] I touched his cheek. He was scorching. “I’ll be back,” I whispered. “Stay here.” He couldn’t hear me. I put on every layer I owned. Three sweaters, two pairs of leggings under jeans, a heavy parka. I wrapped a scarf around my face until only my eyes were visible. When I cracked the door, the wind hit me like a physical blow. It was a wall of white. I looked back at Cade. One last look. Then I stepped out and shut the door tight. The world was a void. Snow came up to my thighs. Every step was a battle to pull my leg out of the drift. Ten yards in, I couldn’t breathe. The air was so cold it felt like swallowing glass. One hundred yards in, I wanted to turn back. [She’s actually doing it.] [This is suicide.] [The plot is officially off the rails. Romy was supposed to die in Chapter 5. We’re in Chapter 1.] [She’s turning blue. Her eyelashes are freezing.] I didn’t care. I just kept moving. Left foot. Pull. Right foot. Pull. Six miles. In the city, that’s a twenty-minute jog. Here, it was an eternity. I lost my sense of direction. I lost the feeling in my toes. I even lost the ability to feel the cold. There was just a dull, heavy numbness. Suddenly, a shadow appeared in the white. I stopped, squinting. A man. He was wearing a heavy military coat, his face obscured by a fur cap. He saw me and started walking over. “You’re out here alone?” he asked, his voice muffled. I nodded, unable to speak. “Heading to the cache?” I stared at him. “Don’t be jumpy,” he said with a rough laugh. “Me too. There’s a warehouse up ahead. Probably still got meds and food. We should go together. Safety in numbers, right?” [DON’T TRUST HIM.] [He’s a scavenger. These types are the worst.] [Romy, run! He’s looking at your gear.] [He’s going to rob her and leave her in a snowbank.] I looked at the man. I looked at the way his eyes darted to my backpack. “No thanks,” I croaked. I stepped around him. He shouted something, but I didn’t turn back. I just kept walking until he was swallowed by the white. I don’t know how long I walked. My vision started to tunnel. The edges of the world were turning black. I’m not going to make it, I thought. I’m going to die, and Cade is going to wake up alone. [She’s been walking for three hours.] [Three hours? That’s only two miles in this weather.] [She’s done. Look at her.] [Romy, don’t give up! Get up!] I tripped. I didn’t even feel myself fall; I just realized I was face-down in the snow. It felt surprisingly soft. Like a bed. I just need a minute, I told myself. Just a minute of sleep. And then, a hand grabbed my shoulder. I was hauled up out of the drift. I looked up, my eyes blurring, and saw a face. Cade’s face.

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It was International Women’s Day, a day supposedly meant for honoring the women who anchor our lives. Instead, I watched my husband hand a bouquet of fresh-cut peonies—the ones he’d promised were for our anniversary dinner—to the woman living in the apartment next door. His first love. “She’s been living alone for so many years, Diana,” Parker said, his voice smooth but hurried. “It’s Women’s Day. I just wanted to do something kind. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in five minutes and then we’re straight to the theater, okay?” He was wearing the deep navy silk robe I’d bought him for Christmas. It was cinched loosely, the collar hanging open to reveal far more skin than was appropriate for a neighborly visit. We had been married for five years. The last time I’d seen him look this frantic, this desperate, was three years ago when I’d come home early from a business trip. I’d walked into the living room to find him entangled with that same woman on our velvet sofa. The image of their pale, intertwined limbs had seared itself into my retinas. Back then, he had dropped to his knees, sobbing. He didn’t even bother to wipe the sweat from his face; he just grabbed a throw blanket to cover Lydia, his high school sweetheart. “Rose, please… she seduced me. I didn’t want this, I swear!” “Don’t leave me. Please, I’m begging you…” I stayed. I stayed for the sake of our families—our fathers had been business partners for decades, and our lives were woven together in a tapestry of social obligations. For a long time, he was a model husband. He was attentive, domestic, and eager to please me in every way possible. Until tonight. I looked at the restless hunger in his eyes and reached out to straighten the ribbon on the bouquet. “Go on then,” I said quietly. “Give them to her while they’re still fresh.” I knew, even as the words left my mouth, that after those flowers were delivered, there would be no “us” left to save. 1 Parker clearly hadn’t expected me to cave so easily. He froze for a second, then a look of pure, boyish relief broke across his face. He leaned in to pull me into a hug. “Thanks, babe! You’re the best, seriously. I’ll be back before you can even pick out a pair of shoes!” I tilted my head, letting his kiss land harmlessly on my cheek. But I couldn’t stop the last shred of wife-like instinct from speaking up. “Parker, it’s pouring out there. You’re going out in just your robe?” He hesitated, his gaze flickering toward the door. “Lydia keeps her place like a sauna. I’ll be fine. I’m literally going twenty feet. I’ll be right back.” “I mean it,” he added, almost as a challenge to himself. He didn’t look back at me. He slipped out the door and into the hallway. A few heartbeats later, I heard the heavy thud of the door next door closing. It felt like a physical blow to my chest. I walked over to the window. From this angle, I could see the glow of Lydia’s living room. She was standing there in a silk slip dress that left nothing to the imagination. As soon as Parker entered, she threw herself into his arms. Parker didn’t pull away. He didn’t even pretend to. He wrapped his arms around her, their heads leaning together in a dark, intimate whisper. Then, slowly, the curtains were drawn, cutting off the view and leaving me in the shadows of our own apartment. I looked at my phone. 8:00 PM. The gala we were supposed to attend was starting. I looked at the few stray flowers left on the table—the rejects he hadn’t put in her bouquet. A wave of nausea rolled through me. I picked up the half-empty bottle of expensive red wine I’d opened and dumped it, along with the wilting flowers, into the trash. This five-year marriage was exactly like those flowers: something that should never have been forced to live this long. I was the only one tending the soil, and I’d finally run out of water. Half an hour passed. Parker didn’t return. The TV was on in the background, some festive special blaring cheerful music that felt like a mockery of my stupidity. I sat on the sofa, watching my phone screen light up and dim, light up and dim. The family group chat was exploding. Cousins were posting photos from various parties and events. A message from my mother popped up, tagging me: “Diana, where’s Parker? Why haven’t you posted any photos of the two of you tonight?” “You guys better be out celebrating! Send me a picture of that dress you bought!” Reading her voice in my head made my throat tighten. My mother adored Parker. Three years ago, when I’d caught him, she was the one who held my hand and begged me to give him another chance. She reminded me of how much our families owed each other, how a scandal would break my father’s heart. I forced a smile I didn’t feel and took a photo of the discarded bouquet on the counter from an angle that looked intentional. I texted back: “He’s tied up with something right now, Mom. I’ll call you in a bit.” Just as I set the phone down, a notification red dot appeared on my Instagram feed. It was Lydia. It was a photo of the peonies in a crystal vase. In the blurred background, you could clearly see the distinctive navy silk of Parker’s robe. The caption read: Another year ends, and you’re still the only one by my side. Thank you for always being there. Parker had already “liked” it. I let out a short, dry laugh. I was done waiting. I stood up, walked into our bedroom, and pulled my suitcase from the top of the closet. I had bought this penthouse with my own money when we got married. Parker had lived here, rent-free, for years. I’d chosen this building specifically because there were only two units per floor, thinking it would give us privacy. Now, his designer suits took up three-quarters of the walk-in closet. As I started packing, I realized with a jolt how little of “me” was actually in this room. I couldn’t find a single thing in the apartment that he had bought for me out of genuine thought. Five years, and we were less than roommates. We were a business arrangement that had gone bankrupt. I shook my head, tucked my passport and some essentials into my bag, and moved to the study to gather my professional files. By the time I was finished, it was nearly midnight. I sat back on the sofa and waited until the clock struck twelve before calling him. It rang for a long time. When he finally picked up, the background was loud—music, laughter. Parker sounded breathless, his voice laced with an edge of annoyance. “Hey. Look, Diana, I’m on my way back. Lydia’s still showing me her new art pieces, okay?” Right as he finished the sentence, I heard a woman’s low, melodic giggle on the other end. A second later, Parker’s voice hitched, turning into a muffled groan. “Mmm… Diana… I gotta go…” The line went dead. 2 I walked out onto the balcony, watching the distant fireworks over the city skyline. I remembered five years ago—Parker in a white tuxedo, promising forever before a priest. But there are no gods in this city, and there was no loyalty in Parker. One look from Lydia, and I ceased to exist. When Lydia first moved into 4B, he’d acted outraged. He’d complained to me about how she was “stalking” him, how she wouldn’t let the past stay dead. Looking back, it was a masterful performance. He wasn’t annoyed; he was setting the stage. Thirty minutes later, the front door unlocked. Parker stumbled in, smelling of a perfume that wasn’t mine. He was carrying a floral umbrella. Lydia’s umbrella. He had that post-coital glow, a lazy, satisfied slump to his shoulders. “Babe, I am so sorry. Got caught up. Are we still good to go out?” He stepped toward me, trying to pull me into his arms. The scent of her—heavy, cloying vanilla—hit me like a physical wall. I stepped back, avoiding his touch. “Are the flowers pretty?” I asked. He blinked, a practiced, charming smile sliding onto his face. “They’re great. Lydia said you have impeccable taste.” I looked at him, and the very last spark of affection I held for him flickered out into ash. “She said that? By what right does she get to comment on my taste?” Parker realized his mistake, his tone shifting to that “calm down” voice men use when they want to make you sound crazy. “Hey, it was just a compliment. Don’t be petty, Diana. It’s a holiday.” As he spoke, he carelessly leaned Lydia’s umbrella against the coat rack, right next to my wool trench coat. It felt like a silent, mocking invasion. “Parker, do you remember the promise you made me three years ago?” His body stiffened. The smile became a brittle mask. “Of course I do. I said I was done with the past. And I am. Tonight was just… she was lonely, and I felt sorry for her…” “Sorry enough to go over there with your robe hanging open?” Parker turned deathly pale. He instinctively clutched the lapels of his robe shut. “Diana, let me explain—” “Don’t.” I pointed to the coffee table, where a manila envelope sat. “Sign the papers.” The color didn’t come back to his face. He looked at the divorce decree as if it were a coiled snake. “Diana, are you seriously doing this? Tonight? On a holiday?” “I told you, she’s alone. We’re neighbors, we went to school together. What’s the big deal about being a good person?” “It was a bouquet of flowers! You used to be bigger than this. You’re being so small-minded.” The more he spoke, the more “disappointed” he sounded, as if I were the one failing him. In the past, this was where I would have softened. I would have wondered if I was being too sensitive. Now, I just felt a deep, oily sense of disgust. “Parker,” I interrupted his performance. “The curtains weren’t closed all the way. And you aren’t a good enough actor to hide what you were doing on the phone.” His face went slack. The mask shattered, leaving only a panicked, pathetic man underneath. He pulled the robe tighter, trying to hide the marks I knew were on his skin. “You… you were spying on me?” The sheer audacity of the deflection made me laugh. I didn’t answer. I just turned and went into the bedroom to grab my suitcase. Parker chased after me, grabbing the handle of my bag. “I’m not letting you leave! I didn’t mean that, okay? I’m sorry. I was out of line.” “Look, nothing happened. We… we just got caught up in the moment, a kiss, that’s it! Nothing more!” “You know how it is. It’s the history. It’s hard to just turn it off. But you’re the one I love! We’ve been married for five years. Are you really going to throw away our home over a stupid mistake?” He sounded so sincere. Exactly like he had five years ago. I’d believed him then, thinking he was just confused. But a man who is “confused” for five years is just a man who is a liar. I shoved his hand off the suitcase, but before I could reach the door, my phone began to scream. It was my father. I answered, and my father’s voice came through the line, jagged and unrecognizable with panic. “Diana! Get to the hospital! Now! Your mother… it’s her heart. They’re taking her into surgery!” 3 The world tilted. My suitcase hit the floor with a heavy thud. “Dad? Dad, stay calm. I’m coming. I’m coming right now!” I grabbed my keys and bolted for the door. Parker was startled, too. He followed me toward the elevator. “I’m coming with you! You know how much she means to me!” I didn’t even look at him. When the elevator doors opened, I sprinted toward the parking garage. But when I got to my SUV and reached into my bag, my hand hit empty leather. My car keys were gone. Parker stood by the car door, his eyes darting everywhere but at my face. “Where are my keys, Parker?” I asked, my voice dangerously low. “I… I thought we weren’t going anywhere tonight. I lent them to Lydia’s parents. They needed to pick someone up from the airport and their car wouldn’t start…” He couldn’t even look at me. I didn’t have time for his lies. I shoved past him, running toward the street to hail a cab. But it was midnight on a holiday in a secluded, high-end residential district. The streets were empty. “Call an Uber! Now!” I screamed at him as I ran toward the gate. Parker pulled out his phone, his fingers fumbling with the screen. “I… my phone’s dead. It just shut off.” My heart plummeted. My mother had a serious heart condition. I knew why this was happening—my father had mentioned earlier that day that he was worried about how much time Parker was spending “next door.” My mother was a woman of immense pride and she loved me fiercely. The stress of the rumors must have finally broken her. I looked at my own phone. The rideshare app was spinning—no cars available for fifteen minutes. I couldn’t wait. I ran toward the security kiosk to ask for help. As I passed Lydia’s designated parking spot, I saw a brand-new Mercedes sitting there. “Parker, go to Lydia’s. Now. Tell her to drive me to the hospital!” It was the most humiliating thing I had ever had to say. But Parker grabbed my arm, pulling me back. “No! We can’t ask her!” “It’s a matter of life and death, Parker! Let go of me!” I tried to shake him off, but he gripped my wrist with a terrifying strength. “Diana, please! Just don’t go over there… she… she’s been drinking. She can’t drive!” I looked at the sheer, unadulterated guilt written on his face. “Are you afraid of what I’ll see? I don’t care!” “I don’t give a damn if you were screwing her five minutes ago! I need a car!” Parker seemed shocked by my outburst. He finally let go, looking defeated. He ran up to 4B and pounded on the door. The door opened. Lydia stood there in her slip dress, her hair damp, the air of the apartment smelling of sex and expensive gin. Parker started explaining, his voice shaking. Lydia leaned against the doorframe, a slow, cruel smirk spreading across her lips as she looked at me. “If you want a favor, Diana, ask for it yourself. Don’t use my Parker as a messenger.” My chest was heaving, but for the sake of my mother, I swallowed every ounce of my pride. “Lydia. Please. Let me borrow the car.” She didn’t move. She took a slow drag from a cigarette she’d just lit and exhaled the smoke directly into my face. I choked on the gray cloud, my eyes watering, but I didn’t move. She tapped the ash onto the hallway carpet and gestured toward the floor with her chin. “You want the car? Show me some respect. It’s a holiday. A little ‘thank you’ on your knees wouldn’t be out of place for a girl like you, would it?” My eyes burned. I turned to Parker. “Is this what you want?” Parker looked away, his voice a pathetic mumble. “Diana, just do it. Don’t be stubborn. Your mom is waiting.” “Lydia’s just upset because of how you’ve been acting tonight. She just wants an apology. Just… give her what she wants so we can go.” The coldness that settled in my bones was absolute. Lydia laughed, a bright, tinkling sound, and leaned her head on Parker’s shoulder. “See? Parker understands. If you won’t bow, then get lost. We have a long night ahead of us.” The seconds were ticking by. Every heartbeat was a second my mother might not have. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, there was nothing left but a dead, hollow silence. “Fine.” 4 I let my knees hit the hard wood of the hallway floor. Thud. The sound of my pride breaking was deafening in my own ears. Humiliation washed over me like freezing water. Satisfied, Lydia chirped a little laugh and tossed her car keys. They struck me in the face, the metal leaving a sharp sting on my cheek before clattering to the floor. As I reached for them, she playfully kicked them further down the hall. “Oops. My hand slipped. You’ll have to fetch them, sweetie.” Then, she wrapped her arms around Parker’s neck and planted a lingering, possessive kiss on his cheek. “Parker’s staying here. Good luck at the hospital.” She slammed the door. I didn’t waste a second. I grabbed the keys, ignored the sob trapped in my throat, and ran for the stairs. But when I got into the Mercedes and pressed the ignition, the dashboard glowed red. The tank was bone-dry. Empty. The car wouldn’t even make it out of the parking garage, let alone thirty miles to the city hospital. “You bitch!” I slammed my fist against the steering wheel, the sound of my own breakdown muffled by the luxury interior. She had planned this. Every second of it. I pulled out my phone to scream at Parker, but my finger slipped and opened my Instagram feed instead. Parker had just posted. It was a video of me. Me, on my knees in the hallway. Me, looking broken and pathetic. The caption: When the ‘Ice Queen’ finally learns her place. Some guys just have that touch. He’d filmed it. While I was debasing myself to save my mother’s life, he was thinking about how many likes he could get from his “bros.” I scrolled through the comments, my face burning as if I’d been slapped a thousand times. “Holy shit, Parker! You actually got her to bow? Absolute legend.” “I always knew Diana was a closet sub. Nice work, man.” “Lydia for the win! Taking back what’s hers.” My stomach turned. But I couldn’t afford revenge yet. Not yet. I wiped my eyes, gritted my teeth until I tasted blood, and forced myself to think. I opened the neighborhood’s private community group on Facebook. HELP. Emergency. Mother having a heart attack. Need a ride to Mercy General immediately. Will pay anything. Most of the residents were asleep or out, but a few seconds later, a reply popped up. “I’m in 12C. I’ve got a car in the driveway. Come up.” Fifteen minutes later, I burst through the hospital doors. The fluorescent lights were blinding, the hallway smelling of antiseptic and death. My father was sitting on a plastic chair, looking as though he had aged ten years in a single night. When he saw me, his eyes filled with tears. “Diana… you’re here… your mother…” Before he could finish, a doctor in blue scrubs emerged from the double doors. “Doctor? How is she? Can I see her?” The doctor took a long, heavy breath and slowly shook his head. “I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.”

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My husband has a deadly allergy to beef. In our five years of marriage, a single cut of steak hasn’t crossed the threshold of our home. That was the absolute truth—right up until the night of his company dinner. I had dropped by to bring him his forgotten briefcase, only to find he wasn’t at the corporate event. He had slipped away with his new, twenty-something assistant, Mia, to a high-end steakhouse a few blocks down. I didn’t make a scene right away. I simply walked into the dimly lit restaurant, pulled out a chair, and sat directly across from them at their intimate two-top. Harrison instinctively choked on a mouthful of his soup, his vocal cords tightening in panic. “Mia is… she’s new. She’s on a strict diet and couldn’t stomach the seafood catering at the event…” I didn’t say a word to him. Instead, I flagged down the waiter and ordered every single plate of Wagyu and prime rib the kitchen had left. “It’s perfectly fine,” I said, folding my hands on the pristine white tablecloth. “I’ll just sit here and watch you eat.” If he eats it all and dies, I’m a widow. If he doesn’t, we’re getting a divorce. Staring at the mountain of seared meat piling up on the table, Mia subtly tugged at Harrison’s sleeve, letting a single, perfectly timed tear roll down her cheek. “Harrison…” 1 Harrison let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Caroline, what are you doing? You’re being dramatic.” “She has dietary restrictions, Caroline. She can’t eat half the things at that venue, which is why I brought her here. How is she supposed to finish all this?” With a protective swoop of his wrist, he began transferring the expensive cuts of beef from her plate onto his own. Mia let out a delicate cough. Harrison immediately noticed a speck of black pepper on her plate, carefully scooping it away with his fork as if she were made of spun glass. Mia forced a small, placating smile, delicately wiping her cheek. “Mrs. Sterling, please don’t misunderstand. Harrison is just looking out for me because I’m a junior assistant.” She let out a soft breath. “I’ve heard you’re a full-time stay-at-home mother. You probably don’t realize how high-stress the corporate environment is right now, but I really hope you won’t take your frustrations out on him.” Her tongue dripped with honey and poison. It was a masterclass in passive aggression. I stood up, the legs of my chair scraping sharply against the hardwood floor. I didn’t bother lowering my voice. “If you had dietary restrictions, you could have eaten literally anything else in the city in broad daylight! Instead, you had to sneak off in the middle of a company dinner to have a private, candlelit steak dinner with a married man!” I took a step closer, my voice slicing through the hushed ambiance of the restaurant. “My husband has never complained about my choice to stay home and raise our child. Who do you think you are to lecture me on my own marriage?” The clinking of silverware stopped. Every eye in the dining room turned toward us. Mia’s face flushed a violent, blotchy red. Harrison stood up abruptly, a deep crease forming between his brows. “Caroline, enough. I brought her here. If you have a problem, take it up with me. There’s no need to publicly humiliate her.” “I will humiliate whoever I please,” I cut him off, the adrenaline making my hands shake. “There were fifty different things on that catering menu. If she couldn’t eat one thing, she could have eaten another. Why did Harrison have to personally escort her for a private meal? Is she the only employee with a restricted diet in your entire firm, or just the only one you want to play savior for?” The anger burning in my chest flared hotter, and I raised my voice so the back of the room could hear. “I gave you both too much grace, and you mistook it for a license to disrespect me.” I glared at Mia. “A piece of rotting meat will always attract flies. A man who can’t keep his pants zipped, and a woman who lacks the self-respect to walk away.” The murmurs in the restaurant grew louder. Harrison’s jaw clenched, his expression darkening into something ugly. “Caroline!” But he knew my temper. He knew the line he had crossed, and he didn’t dare push me further. Mia looked around frantically, seeking someone to rescue her. When Harrison remained frozen, she seemed to physically shatter. She stood up, swaying slightly on her heels. “Mrs. Sterling, you’ve completely twisted this. I’m so sorry. I’ll leave right now. Please, please don’t let my presence ruin your marriage.” She let her voice crack perfectly. “I’m used to being alone. I can handle being misunderstood.” With one final, lingering, tragic look at Harrison—who remained anchored to his seat—she turned and fled into the night, looking every bit the wounded gazelle. I slowly turned my gaze back to Harrison, taking in his clenched jaw and furrowed brow. I picked up a clean fork and pressed it firmly into his hand. “You’re not going to chase her? She’s crying.” When he didn’t move, I pushed the plate of steak closer to him. “Since you’re staying, eat. We paid a fortune for this.” He stared at the glistening cuts of beef, a storm brewing in his eyes. A second later, his features smoothed out, and he offered me a tight, helpless smile. “Caroline, honey, you know I’m deathly allergic to beef.” I nodded slowly, my eyes locked on his. I forced his fingers to close around the fork. “Oh, so you do remember that you’re allergic. Then eat it.” He stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. Then, he reached out and covered my hand with his. With the air of a martyr stepping up to the gallows, he brought a piece of steak to his mouth and began to chew, murmuring with a bitter edge, “Your jealousy is going to be the death of us.” I watched him, my voice dropping to a deadly, quiet register. 2 “Harrison, we didn’t build our life on some fragile, transactional foundation. We met in college. We were broke. We survived on nothing.” “You went from a kid with empty pockets to a CEO making a seven-figure salary, and every single step of the way, I was the one behind the scenes, drafting your business plans, mitigating your risks.” “When Sophie was born, I gave up a vice-president position at the bank to raise her. For five years, I have kept our lives running flawlessly so you could play the big boss without a single domestic worry.” The Wagyu on his plate was rapidly disappearing. His breathing was already growing shallow. I could see the angry red hives blooming along his jawline and neck. Without breaking eye contact, I calmly placed another piece of meat on his plate. “You walk into a clean house every night. A hot dinner is waiting. Your fruit is sliced, your clothes are pressed, and if you’re working at 2 AM, I am awake making you coffee.” “I am telling you this because I want you to remember exactly what you are risking. Do not throw this marriage away, Harrison. And do not destroy this family.” He was struggling to swallow now, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. His throat was swelling shut, and his words came out as a thick, slurred wheeze. “Whatever… my wife says,” he gasped out, his chest heaving. “Your word is… law…” He didn’t finish the sentence. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped forward, collapsing onto the table in a dead faint. I calmly pulled my phone from my purse and dialed 911. It took a frantic night in the ER and a heavy dose of epinephrine, but by morning, he was stabilized. His mother, Diane, stormed into the hospital room like a hurricane, immediately zeroing in on me. “Caroline! What is wrong with you? How are you taking care of my son? You know he can’t eat beef! Are you trying to kill him?!” Before I could even open my mouth, Harrison weakly lifted a hand from the hospital bed. “Mom, stop. It’s not Caroline’s fault. I ate something I shouldn’t have while I was out.” After Diane finally left, huffing her disapproval, I sat in the sterile quiet of the room, a knot of complicated emotions tight in my chest. If I pushed the steak incident aside, the truth was that Harrison had always been a good man. Or so I thought. In our first year of marriage, I was diagnosed with severe fertility issues. The doctors told us the chances of conceiving were microscopic. Diane had dragged Harrison out into the hospital corridor, begging him to divorce me so he could find a “proper” woman to give him an heir. Harrison had exploded. “Caroline is my wife. She will be my only wife. If you force me to divorce her, I will never marry again. I will die alone!” It was because of that fierce, unwavering defense that Diane had backed off. Even after our daughter, Sophie, was born via a miraculous IVF round, and I couldn’t conceive again, Diane never dared to mention the word ‘divorce’ in his presence. When he was discharged, Harrison spent every waking moment at home. Desperate to make amends, he booked a lavish two-week European vacation for me and Sophie, insisting we needed a girls’ trip. I saw his efforts. I saw the guilt in his eyes, and I decided, quietly, to offer him an olive branch. So, on the day of Diane’s birthday, I surprised him. I cut our trip short and brought Sophie home early to celebrate as a family. Instead, I walked into a nightmare. The house was a disaster zone. Shattered plates littered the kitchen floor. Soup and sauce were splattered across the expensive living room rug. And walking out of our master bedroom, hand-in-hand, were Harrison and Mia. She was wearing my silk blouse. “Take it off.” My vision swam with red. I stormed into the hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs. As I got closer, the air vanished from my lungs. Resting against her collarbone, perfectly framed by the V-neck of myshirt, was the vintage emerald pendant. The Harrison family heirloom. When Sophie was born, some of the extended family had jokingly asked when Diane was going to pass the heirloom down to me. Diane had deflected, muttering something about waiting until I gave her a grandson. And now, it was resting on the neck of his twenty-four-year-old assistant. Seeing me standing there, Diane was the first to react, instantly going on the defensive in front of the gathered relatives. “Caroline, this is my son’s house! We have guests over for a birthday dinner, and while you and your daughter were off gallivanting around Europe spending his money, Mia was kind enough to come help me cook! What gives you the right to scream at her?” “Mom, drop it!” Harrison snapped, shooting his mother a dark look. When he turned to me, his voice immediately softened into a frantic, placating tone. “Honey, why are you home so early? I thought your flight wasn’t until next Tuesday.” I didn’t look at him. My eyes were locked onto Mia. She instinctively reached up, her fingers grazing the emerald pendant. “To thank Harrison for all his mentorship, I wanted to help out with his mother’s birthday,” she said, offering a demure, embarrassed little smile. “But I’m so clumsy, I accidentally knocked over a tray of food. Harrison let me use your room to change into something clean. You don’t mind, do you?” 3 Harrison smoothly took my suitcase from my grip, hoisting Sophie into his arms to diffuse the tension. He leaned into Mia’s narrative effortlessly. “Mia is a bit of a klutz. She tries to help but ends up making a mess. You should have seen how upset she was; she wouldn’t stop crying. I had to sit with her in the bedroom for twenty minutes just to calm her down. It was actually kind of cute.” “Harrison…” Mia blushed, looking down at her shoes. The sickening sweetness of her voice made bile rise in my throat. I reached out, hooking my index finger under the gold chain of the heirloom necklace, and yanked her forward. My voice was ice. “I will say this exactly one more time. Take. My. Shirt. Off.” “And then you’re going to tell me exactly what right you have to wear my family’s heirloom necklace, and why my husband is spending twenty minutes in a bedroom comforting you.” The relatives in the room fell dead silent. Their gazes shifted to Mia, suddenly laced with suspicion and judgment. Mia panicked, physically shrinking back and trying to hide behind Harrison’s broad shoulders. “I… I didn’t ask for it. Your mother gave it to me…” I shot a glacial glare at Diane before turning my fury back to Mia. “And you just took it? Are your hands that greedy? Is your dignity that cheap?” “Stop your fake crying! You have the audacity to crash a family dinner you weren’t invited to, wear another woman’s clothes, and you expect us to feel sorry for you?” “Keep the shirt. Consider it a donation. I don’t wear trash once it’s been in the gutter.” Mia looked as though I had struck her. Her hands shook violently as she fumbled with the clasp of the necklace, trying to take it off. Harrison caught her wrist, stopping her. His face hardened. “That is enough, Caroline. Do you have to be this venomous?” He pulled Mia slightly behind him. “The company’s cash flow took a massive hit this quarter. Mia was the one who managed to secure a bridge loan that saved us. She is a vital asset to the firm right now. My mother was grateful and wanted to give her a gift. Why are you being so territorial over a piece of jewelry? I’ll buy you a better one tomorrow.” A chill washed over me. In the past, Harrison had never finalized a major business decision without consulting me. He knew my background in finance was the bedrock of his success. I vetted every contract. But ever since the incident at the steakhouse a month ago, he had stopped bringing his work home. He had shut me out. And now, he was letting a junior assistant handle corporate cash flow? Was he insane? He was going to run the company into the ground. Diane immediately jumped on the opportunity to fan the flames. “Caroline, that emerald belongs to my family. I will give it to whoever I damn well please, and you have no say in the matter.” “You are nothing but a pretty vase sitting on a shelf, spending my son’s money! If you’re so capable, go get a job. What good is your Ivy League degree when you’re just a parasite living off my boy?” A few of the relatives exchanged uncomfortable, stifled smiles. Even in Harrison’s eyes, I caught a fleeting, sickening glimmer of contempt. Sensing the shift in power, Mia smoothly let her hand drop from the necklace. She left it around her neck, shooting me a tiny, triumphant smirk from behind Harrison’s shoulder. I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. Without warning, I lunged forward, grabbed the necklace, and ripped it off her neck. The gold chain snapped with a sharp crack. I threw it hard onto the coffee table right in front of Diane. The air in the room instantly turned suffocating. “Diane, if it’s a family heirloom, then I suggest you lock it in a safe,” I said, my voice lethal and steady. “Because as long as my name is on the marriage certificate, you do not give family assets to his mistresses.” “And as for me being a parasite? I wouldn’t push me if I were you. I don’t think you or your son want to see what happens in a divorce court when I legally dismantle half of everything he’s built.” “You!” Diane’s face turned a mottled, furious purple. The broken chain had left a thin red welt across Mia’s neck. She looked up at Harrison, her eyes wide and pleading. Harrison was completely caught off guard by my physical reaction. He stepped back, genuinely rattled. “Caroline, what has gotten into you? It’s just a necklace. Why are you making things so ugly?” “Sophie is right here! Are you trying to traumatize your own daughter?” The sheer hypocrisy of it made me want to scream. I pointed a trembling finger directly at Mia. “You remember that your daughter is in the room now?! What about when you brought this woman into our home?” “When you took her into our bedroom, when you were soothing her while she wore my clothes—did it cross your mind then that you were a father and a husband?” “I haven’t even signed the divorce papers yet, and she’s already auditioning for the role of stepmother!” Mia’s face drained of color. She burst into violent sobs, shoved past the relatives, and bolted out the front door. “Mia!” Harrison yelled, taking two frantic steps after her before stopping. I scooped Sophie out of his arms, holding her tightly against my chest. My voice dropped to a terrifying calm. 4 “Harrison. Your daughter is watching. Are you really going to burn this family to the ground for her?” He froze mid-step. A shadow of profound misery and indecision crossed his face. The birthday dinner ended in ruins. By the time I had gotten Sophie bathed and tucked into bed, Harrison had silently cleaned the disaster in the living room. He was sitting alone on the sofa in the dark, the glowing cherry of a cigarette trembling between his fingers. On the coffee table, his phone vibrated endlessly. I walked out, glancing down at the caller ID. “Your little assistant is desperate. Aren’t you going to pick up?” He aggressively pressed the power button, shutting the phone off. Thinking of Sophie sleeping in the next room, I reached over and plucked the cigarette from his fingers, stubbing it out in an ashtray. I took a slow breath, forcing my heart rate down. I decided to give him one last chance. One final test to see if we could be salvaged. “I’ve asked you a hundred times not to smoke in the house because of Sophie’s asthma. Consider this your final warning,” I said quietly. “While I was in Europe, I ran into an old classmate. Her uncle is the CEO of that logistics conglomerate you’ve been trying to partner with for two years. I arranged an introduction. I’m bringing him to your office tomorrow morning.” “He flies out at noon, so you have exactly thirty minutes to make your pitch.” Harrison’s head snapped up, the resentment draining from his face, replaced by a flash of desperate hope. “I’ll be ready.” That night, we slept in the same bed, miles apart. The next morning, I dropped Sophie off with Diane, praying she could manage to babysit for two hours without an incident. I met the VIP client at the lobby of Harrison’s corporate building. We headed straight for the executive elevator. Halfway across the lobby, Mia stepped directly into our path, holding a clipboard like a shield. “Excuse me. Do you have an appointment?” I took a deep, steadying breath. “No. But if you tell Harrison that I have the client he’s been waiting for, he will—” She cut me off with a painfully fake, customer-service smile. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Sterling. I know you’re used to just staying at home, so you probably aren’t familiar with corporate protocols. The CEO is in a high-level meeting. Without an appointment, you’ll need to wait in the reception area.” She gestured to a cheap leather sofa near the doors. “Would you prefer water or coffee? Or maybe I can have an intern fetch you both.” She didn’t even acknowledge the wealthy, powerful man standing next to me. She turned sharply on her heel and strutted toward the breakroom, casually grabbing a handful of gourmet mixed nuts on her way out. The receptionist looked absolutely mortified. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Sterling. Mia was officially promoted to Executive Assistant to the CEO this morning. We’ve been instructed to run all floor traffic through her.” My blood boiled. I pulled out my phone to call Harrison. It went straight to voicemail. Mia had confiscated his phone for the “meeting.” Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. By the time Harrison finally got the message and came sprinting out of the conference room, the client was already checking his watch, his face hardened into stone. “Mr. Sterling,” the client said, his voice dripping with icy condescension. “Your Executive Assistant certainly runs a tight ship.” “If my niece weren’t such good friends with your wife, I wouldn’t have given a boutique firm like yours a second glance. After this display of absolute incompetence, I see no reason to pursue a partnership.” Without waiting for a reply, the client turned and walked out the glass doors. Harrison looked like he was going to be sick. He turned on the receptionist, demanding to know what happened. When he realized Mia had intentionally stonewalled us to assert dominance, his face contorted in rage. I stood there, arms crossed, watching the fallout. “Well? She just cost you the biggest contract of your career out of petty spite. Are you going to fire her, or are you waiting for Christmas to give her a bonus?” Mia began to hyperventilate. The tears flowed instantly, huge, wet drops spilling over her eyelashes. “Harrison, I didn’t know! I swear I didn’t know who he was!” “Your mother showed up with Sophie, and I was so busy trying to host them that I wasn’t paying attention to the lobby!” Harrison paced like a caged animal. Losing that contract was a devastating financial blow. But when Mia reached out, letting her tears fall onto his wrist, he froze. His anger faltered. “Caroline… people make mistakes. She’s young…” My heart turned to absolute ice. But my brain was already catching on something else. Diane brought Sophie here? She was supposed to be at the park. Before I could demand answers, a blood-curdling scream echoed from the adjacent VIP lounge. It was Diane. I sprinted toward the door, throwing it open. Sophie was collapsed on the Persian rug. Her face was swollen beyond recognition, covered in terrifying red welts. Her airway was closing. She was convulsing, fighting for breath. Scattered on the rug next to her small hand was a half-eaten bag of artisanal beef jerky. I let out a sound I didn’t know a human throat could make. I snatched Sophie off the ground, my terror instantly mutating into violent, blinding rage. I grabbed the bag of jerky and whipped it backhanded directly into Mia’s face. The sharp plastic cut her cheek. “My daughter is deathly allergic to beef protein! Everyone in this building knows that! Why did you give her this?!” “If my little girl dies, I swear to God I will bury you!” I didn’t wait for an answer. I ran, holding my dying child, screaming for someone to call an ambulance. The next twelve hours were hell. Three separate critical condition notices. 5 By the early hours of the morning, they moved Sophie into the ICU. She still wasn’t out of the woods. I sat in the hallway, completely hollowed out. Harrison paced outside the glass window, his face pale and drawn. Mia was sitting beside him on a hospital bench. She was crying louder than I was, clutching at his sleeve. “Harrison, it was an accident. I didn’t know.” “Your mother brought her into the office today specifically to introduce me to Sophie as her new godmother! I just wanted to give her a special treat. I had no idea her allergy was that severe…” Something inside me finally snapped. I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. I calmly pulled out my phone and dialed 911. Mia saw the screen and panicked, her whole body trembling. She lurched forward to stop me. As she moved, the collar of her sweater dipped, and the emerald pendant slipped out, gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light of the hospital. I stared at it. I looked up at Diane, who was huddled in the corner. Before the call could connect, Harrison violently slapped the phone out of my hand. It shattered against the tile floor. “Caroline, what is wrong with you?! Why are you escalating this to the police?!” His voice was ragged, desperate to control a situation slipping entirely out of his grasp. “Mia brings immense value to my company! You sit at home all day living a life of luxury, and all you do is throw jealous tantrums and ruin my life! You are suffocating me! Is this how you want to live?!” Diane, emboldened by her son’s outburst, chimed in from the corner. “What are you staring at?! Mia is practically my granddaughter’s godmother now. It is perfectly appropriate for me to give her a family heirloom!” “It’s not like you’re paying the medical bills, so what are you screaming about? You better watch your attitude, or my son is going to divorce you!” I looked at the three of them. The father of my child, his mother, and his mistress. The last remaining tether tying me to this family quietly dissolved. “Okay,” I said, my voice dead and flat. “Let’s get a divorce.” I was a magna cum laude graduate with a degree in finance. I had built his entire portfolio. I didn’t give up my career because I was weak; I gave it up because I thought this family was worth the sacrifice. But more importantly, the financial lifelines of Harrison’s entire company were built on my personal connections. Harrison’s face turned stormy, his pride wounded by my instant agreement. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Fine. You want to throw tantrums? We’ll divorce. You walk away with nothing. No alimony. I won’t pay a dime for child support, and I’m cutting off the medical insurance!” “You’ve crossed a line today, Caroline. Don’t think you can just apologize tomorrow and come back to me.” He truly believed I was a helpless housewife who had lost her fangs. He thought without him, I would starve in the streets. He had his lawyer draft an emergency separation agreement, brought it to the hospital, tossed it onto my lap, and walked out without looking back. Diane looked absolutely thrilled. She patted Mia’s arm affectionately as they walked down the hall. “Oh, Mia, dear. Since you’re going to be Sophie’s godmother, just call me Mom. ‘Mrs. Sterling’ is so formal.” “Harrison says you have a brilliant mind for business. You’ll make a wonderful corporate wife. And maybe, God willing, you’ll finally give me a grandson.” They left. My daughter was fighting for her life in a glass box, and they simply left. As the elevator doors closed behind them, I calmly picked up a pen and signed the papers. I already knew about the “cash flow” solution Mia had so brilliantly devised. She had convinced Harrison to put up the company’s primary manufacturing plant as collateral for a high-interest bridge loan to pay off their existing bank debt, under the assumption the bank would immediately issue a larger credit line. But they forgot one vital detail. Before I was a stay-at-home mother, I was the Vice President of Commercial Lending at that exact bank. I picked up my shattered phone, the screen barely functioning, and dialed my old college roommate. “Rachel,” I said, my voice steady. “Congratulations on making Regional Director. I need a massive favor…”

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I was born with a storm in my blood. In my world, if you clip my wings, I’ll burn your whole forest down. That’s just the math of it. But growing up, my parents and my brother treated me like a piece of fragile porcelain. They smothered me with so much love and indulgence that my temper never had a chance to breathe. I was a weapon with no war to fight. Until I turned eighteen and enrolled at Beaumont Academy—a playground for the elite, the entitled, and the downright sociopathic. The school’s “Golden Girl,” a girl named Lexi Montgomery, made a sport out of destroying reputations. Her favorite move was photoshopping the scholarship girls into compromising, naked positions to ensure her own “purity” shone even brighter. I didn’t waste time with a dialogue. I smashed her iPhone into the marble floor, ripped the designer silk off her back, and let the entire student body see exactly what she was made of. Naturally, her pet thug and the school’s star quarterback, Brantley Pierce, didn’t take it well. He and his goons cornered me in the girl’s locker room, water buckets in hand. He grabbed me by the hair, forcing my head back, demanding I beg Lexi for forgiveness. I didn’t beg. I kicked him squarely in the groin with enough force to make his ancestors feel it. While he was doubled over, I dragged him into the stalls and shoved a filth-caked mop—the kind that had seen years of locker room grime—directly into his mouth. He passed out from the shock and the stench. I filmed the whole thing and posted it to the school’s private server. I thought that would be the end of it. I didn’t expect the Guidance Counselor to be even stupider than the students. Mrs. Gable was firmly in the pockets of the wealthy parents. She looked at me like I was a stain on her carpet, claiming I was the aggressor. Her “punishment”? A five-hundred-page handwritten apology and an order to kneel on the gravel of the track field while reciting it over a megaphone. “You want me to grovel?” I asked, my voice dangerously low. I didn’t wait for her answer. I grabbed her by the hair and slammed her forehead against the mahogany desk. Again. And again. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” I hissed. “Do you honestly think your little titles mean a damn thing to me?” … 1 “You’re psychotic! You laid hands on a faculty member! I’ll have you expelled before the sun sets!” Mrs. Gable was screaming, clutching her bleeding forehead. “You told me to grovel and apologize, didn’t you?” I wiped a stray drop of blood off my knuckle. “You just didn’t specify whose head should be hitting the floor.” I tossed her aside like a piece of yesterday’s trash. Looking at her pale, trembling face, a cold laugh bubbled up in my chest. These people spent their lives crushing the weak, but the second someone handed them their own medicine, they crumbled. Brantley, recovered and fuming, suddenly grabbed a heavy crystal vase from the desk and hurled it at my head. I ducked, but a shard grazed my temple. A flicker of sick satisfaction danced in his eyes when he saw the red streak on my skin. “Listen to me, Kit. This is Beaumont,” Brantley spat, stepping into my space. “Scholarship rats like you are here for one reason: to be our footstools. How dare you push back?” He lunged, throwing a heavy punch into my stomach. I took the hit, the air leaving my lungs for a split second. “Your parents probably sold their souls just to get you in here,” he sneered, leaning down to my ear. “If you want to stay, you’re going to bring them here. They can kneel on the gravel with you.” I didn’t let him finish. I caught his wrist, twisted it until the bone groaned, and stomped my boot onto his foot with a sickening crunch. He let out a strangled wheeze. Apologize? To them? They didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as my parents. If Brantley Pierce knew even a fraction of who my father was, he’d be hyperventilating. I was about to give them a reality check when Lexi Montgomery let out a sharp, mocking laugh. She picked up my student file from the floor, flipping through it with manicured nails and a look of pure disdain. “Parents’ background: Classified?” Lexi looked me up and down. “Please. That’s just code for ‘white trash.’ Your dad’s probably a low-level tweaker and your mom’s a back-alley pro. That explains why you have no manners. You don’t understand how the world works, Kit.” She stepped closer, her eyes glittering with malice. “Do you have any idea who our families are? Brantley’s father and mine are two of the three primary trustees of this entire institution. You didn’t just break a rule. You hit a brick wall.” A brick wall? To me, they weren’t even toothpicks. The “scholarship student” label was just a cloak my parents had draped over me. My family didn’t just have money; we owned the school. We were the majority shareholders. My parents had opened the doors to underprivileged students as a way to give back, but lately, rumors had reached us—rumors of scholarship kids disappearing, of “suicides” that didn’t make sense. My parents sent me here to burn out the rot. And Lexi had made it easy for me by posting those fake nudes of me on the first day, calling me the school’s “communal toy.” “I really wonder if you guys use your brains for anything other than hairspray storage,” I said, tilting my head. Lexi’s face contorted. She whipped out her phone and started sobbing into the receiver. “Dad! There’s a girl—a scholarship student—she’s attacking us! You need to find out who her parents are. Right now. I want them ruined. I want them at the bottom of the Atlantic!” She hung up, looking at me like she’d already won. I just smirked. “Your dad? He isn’t fit to shine my father’s shoes.” “You little bitch!” she screamed. Brantley tried to swing at me again. I parried, sent him back to the floor, and planted my heel firmly on his chest. My stomach still throbbed from his punch, and my patience was gone. “Still hungry, Brantley? Or should I go back to the stalls and get you a second helping of that mop?” Lexi started laughing, a high-pitched, hysterical sound. “You’re dead, Kit! You’re so dead! My father is sending his security team. And Brantley’s dad won’t let this go. You’ve destroyed your life.” I shrugged, the corner of my mouth twitching upward. “Good. Bring them all. I’d love to see them all grovel at once.” 2 Lexi helped Brantley up, her hands shaking with rage. “You think you’re tough because you can fight? You bullied us. You bullied Mrs. Gable! Her husband is the reigning champion of our family’s underground fight club. When they’re done beating your parents into the dirt, we’ll see if you still have that smart mouth.” “I’m the bully?” I asked. The audacity was almost impressive. There were three girls in the infirmary right now who Lexi had pushed down a flight of stairs last month. They still hadn’t woken up. “Yes! You’re a monster! I can only imagine the kind of filth that raised you.” My parents sent me here precisely because they knew I didn’t have a “forgive and forget” bone in my body. I was their retribution. I remembered when I was ten. An uncle had tried to embezzle from my father and suggested I be sent away to “boarding school” so he could replace me with his own daughter. I ended that dream by kicking a heavy door into his face, nearly blinding him. When I was twelve, a kidnapper grabbed me from a park. I didn’t cry; I bit his ear off and waited for the police to find him. My parents were often away on business, and my older brother, Sebastian, was too gentle for our world. He was the kind of person who apologized to the chair if he bumped into it. Our head butler once tried to steal my mother’s jewelry, thinking I was too young to notice. I taught myself basic coding in three days, drained his offshore accounts, and leaked his extracurricular affairs to the entire domestic service industry. He’s currently sorting recycling for a living. In my family, I wasn’t “bad.” I was “equipped.” “This is about the family legacy, Kit,” my father had told me before I left. “Find out who is hurting those kids. And once you find the rot… do whatever you have to do. I’ll handle the cleanup.” I didn’t even have to look for the rot. It had found me on day one. Mrs. Gable had tried to “mentor” me during my first week, implying that if I wanted to keep my scholarship, I’d have to be “accommodating” to the wealthy donors’ sons. She was a glorified madam. I was about to tell them that my family was the Valentine dynasty—the oldest money in the city—and that Lexi’s mother used to be my mother’s personal shopper, when the door burst open. Lexi’s face lit up, then fell. It wasn’t a hit squad. It was just the school’s medical team. “Miss Montgomery, we’re here to tend to Mrs. Gable and Mr. Pierce,” the lead medic said. “Your father and Mr. Pierce are in an emergency board meeting with the Chairman. They can’t come down yet.” Lexi’s eyes snapped back to me, the fire returning. “The Chairman is the most powerful man in this state. He doesn’t tolerate trash like you. When my dad tells him what you’ve done, your whole family is finished.” 3 “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I said, turning to leave. Brantley blocked the door again, a cocky smirk plastered on his bruised face. “Scared? Running away?” “I’m bored, Brantley. There’s a difference.” “Tell you what,” he said, leaning in. “There’s one way you can save your family. Join the Hunt tonight. If you play, we might forget all about this.” Lexi sneered. “The Hunt is a privilege for scholarship rats. Don’t be ungrateful.” The “Hunt” was a twisted Beaumont tradition. Scholarship students were “mice,” hiding across the dark campus while the “cats”—the rich kids—hunted them down. If you were caught, you were at their mercy. If you survived the night, you supposedly got a cash prize. My roommate, Chloe, had told me about it. She’d spent her last Hunt locked in a cold basement. “What if the mouse decides to hunt the cats?” I asked. Before he could react, I grabbed his hand and twisted it at an angle that shouldn’t exist. He screamed as I walked past him toward the dorms. When I arrived at my room, I found Chloe sobbing in the hallway. I pushed the door open. Our beds had been smashed to kindling. Every piece of clothing we owned had been tossed into the dumpster outside. And the closet… they’d filled it with live rats. My phone buzzed. A message in the school group chat from Mrs. Gable. “Room 604 failed inspection. Deplorable conditions. Room lead Kit Valentine and her roommates are stripped of all credits and assigned to janitorial duty for the entire campus. Effective immediately.” Chloe was hyperventilating. “The scholarship… my mom is sick, Kit. I needed that money for her treatment. If I lose my credits, I’m out.” My other roommates were pale, but they didn’t blame me. “It’s okay, Kit. We know you were standing up for us. We’ll do the cleaning. You’re hurt, stay here.” Rage, hot and oily, bubbled up in my chest. My father’s scholarship fund was meant to be a lifeline, not a leash. I pulled up the group chat and sent a message to everyone. “Janitorial duty? Go to hell. Is fifty thousand enough to cover your stress? Because I’m bored of the drama.” I started hitting ‘Send’ on wire transfers. Every scholarship student in the school suddenly received fifty thousand dollars in their accounts. Before I could finish the list, I was kicked from the chat. A second later, I was added to a private group with Lexi, Brantley, and Mrs. Gable. “Where did you get that money? Did you steal a student’s credit card?” Mrs. Gable typed. I screenshot the transaction record, highlighting my name as the account holder. The amount I’d just dropped was more than Brantley’s monthly allowance. They went silent for three beats before Lexi typed: “I knew it. You’re a high-end escort. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure your parents know exactly how you’re earning your keep.” Three minutes later, Lexi posted a photo. It was a picture of me and my brother, Sebastian. We were laughing at a gala, his arm around my shoulder. “Looks like she’s the ‘special guest’ of the Valentine heir. I wonder if Sebastian Valentine knows his little plaything is a violent bully? I bet he’d cut her off in a heartbeat.” I stared at the screen. How did they get a photo of me and Sebastian? Before I could process it, a text came from an unknown number. “Your friend Chloe is having a bit of a problem at the old gym. Better hurry.” 4 By the time I reached the gym, it was a nightmare. Two thugs were holding Chloe down while Lexi and Brantley stood over her, phones out, the flashes strobing like a sick club. Mrs. Gable was there too, along with the school Principal, who was nodding as Gable pointed at Chloe. “This is the girl, sir. Bringing outsiders onto campus for ‘services.’ Absolutely disgusting behavior.” Chloe was shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. I realized then—she couldn’t speak. Her mouth was moving, but no sound came out. “She spends sixteen hours a day in the library,” I said, my voice echoing in the rafters. “She doesn’t even leave campus to get coffee. How is her ‘private life’ a mess?” The lead thug pointed at me. “You’re the one who called us, babe! You told us when you transferred that once you got into the Academy, you’d find us some fresh meat. Chloe was just the first one you offered.” “Check the security tapes,” I said, stepping toward the Principal. The Head of Security stepped forward, smirking. “Cameras are down for maintenance. Such a shame.” Brantley walked over and tapped my cheek, leaning in close. “You see now? Money is cute, Kit. But power? Power is the only currency that matters. Sebastian Valentine might be a big deal, but he’s one of us. He’s not going to ruin his reputation for a girl he’s bored with. Give up.” I smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “Give up?” I walked over to Chloe, gently took the glasses off her face, and popped out the tiny pinhole camera I’d installed in the frame that morning. I synced it to my phone and projected the feed directly onto the school’s giant billboard in the courtyard. The video was clear: The thugs dragging Chloe out while she was cleaning. Mrs. Gable handing them a bottle of “vocal suppressant.” And Lexi, leaning into the frame, saying: “Blame your roommate, Chloe. She’s the one who made us do this.” Brantley’s face went gray. I patted his cheek, mimicking his gesture. “The problem with being arrogant, Brantley, is that you forget to check if the mouse is wearing a wire.” The video was scrubbed from the server within minutes, but I didn’t care. I knew that taking down Brantley and Lexi wasn’t enough. I needed to take down their fathers. I needed to cauterize the wound. So, I played along. For the next week, I didn’t retaliate. I watched. I waited. Every year, Beaumont hosted a Masquerade Ball. For the first time, all scholarship students were “invited” and provided with gowns. I checked the fabric. Water-soluble. One spill, one “accident” with the sprinklers, and every scholarship girl would be standing naked in front of the elite. I made a few phone calls. The night before the ball, the scholarship group chat was in a panic. All their provided gowns had been “vandalized” or shredded. Lexi and her crew were feigning outrage. “You clearly didn’t take care of them!” They rushed an order for a new set of gowns, paying double for overnight delivery. I made sure my contact was the one who fulfilled that order. The night of the ball arrived. The scholarship students were ushered in first. Above them, the sprinkler system was primed. Cameras were hidden in every corner. When Lexi and Brantley walked in, arm in arm, they stopped dead. Every scholarship girl was wearing a stunning, high-quality gown that was perfectly intact. I stood at the center of the room, holding a tray of champagne. “Care for a drink?” I asked. On my signal, the girls didn’t wait. They threw their drinks—not at the scholarship students, but at Lexi and Brantley. Their designer clothes—the ones I’d swapped into their dressing rooms—melted like wet sugar. Lexi screamed, trying to cover herself with her hands as the fabric dissolved into nothing. The photos were everywhere before they could even reach the exit. They snapped. The next day, Mrs. Gable screamed at me to get out of her classroom. Lexi and a group of her “followers” tried to corner me in the cafeteria, promising to “make me bleed.” Brantley went even further—he started sniffing around my brother, Sebastian, trying to convince him to “drop the charity case” before she ruined his name. Next week was the Annual Honors Gala. All the trustees would be there. “I talked to Sebastian,” Brantley hissed at me in the hall. “He barely remembered who you were. Just a girl he met at a party. Let’s see what the Chairman thinks when he finds out you’ve been using the Valentine name to bully his students.” I just watched him, like a scientist watching a bug in a jar. The Gala was a sea of tuxedos and floor-length silk. Brantley’s father, Arthur Pierce, and Lexi’s father, Marcus Montgomery, were there, looking smug. Beside them stood a man who looked like a retired linebacker—Mrs. Gable’s husband, the “fighter.” He caught my eye and made a throat-slitting gesture. Marcus Montgomery laughed loudly, making sure I heard him. “My sweet Lexi, tonight the Chairman and his son arrive. Finally, the trash will be swept out of this school for good.” Arthur Pierce nodded. “The scholarship program was a mistake. If the Chairman hears there’s a ‘Demon’ among the mice, he’ll pull the funding for good.” The scholarship students stood in the back, their eyes filled with dread. Then, the doors swung open. A phalanx of security guards cleared a path. A man in a bespoke suit walked in, the very air in the room shifting toward him. Lexi’s eyes gleamed. “You’re dead, Kit.” But the light in her eyes died an instant later. Because instead of shrinking away, I walked straight up to the man and looped my arm through his.

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I used to hide my relationships from my parents. Now, I hide them from my wife. The day my soft-spoken, younger girlfriend changed her profile picture to a spiteful image of a demon just to get a rise out of me, I was sitting in the passenger seat of my wife’s car. I didn’t dare show a single spark of emotion. I didn’t even dare to breathe too loudly, let alone cry. My wife, Morgan, glanced at my bloodshot eyes and assumed I was upset because she’d spent another night at her latest boy-toy’s penthouse. She tossed a check for two million dollars onto my lap, her voice cool and clinical. “You know how I feel about the people I see on the side. They’re just… distractions. Novelties. You’re different. You’re the master of the Montgomery estate. You’re the one who shares my name.” I just nodded, feigning a calm I didn’t feel. Later that night, I followed her to the exclusive lounge she frequented. I stood outside the heavy mahogany doors, paralyzed, as I heard her best friend’s mocking laughter. “Morgan, honestly, how many is this now? Aren’t you worried you’ll finally push your husband too far? What if he actually runs off with some little girl?” I could almost see Morgan swirling the ice in her scotch, her smile indifferent. “Miles loves the lifestyle. As long as the ‘compensation’ is adequate, he’d never dream of giving up the Montgomery title.” The room erupted in laughter. I pushed the door open, the sound dying in their throats as I walked in. Morgan didn’t miss a beat; she reached out to pull me into her lap, her touch possessive. “What, two million wasn’t enough? You had to hunt me down for more? Careful, Miles. Playing hard to get only works if you know when to stop.” I pulled away from her hand, my skin crawling. I reached into my coat and handed her the folder. “The girl I’m seeing is making things difficult. Sign the papers. I need to give her an answer.” … The silence in the VIP lounge was deafening. The smirk slowly slid off Morgan’s face. she leaned back into the velvet sofa, her eyes narrowing into icy slits. “Miles, I’ve let you play your little games. I haven’t said a word about your flings. But this? This is a bit much, don’t you think?” she sighed, looking at her friends for validation. “What’s the matter? Did some nightclub waitress get greedy? You need me to up your allowance?” A chorus of snickers broke out. Their eyes roamed over me like I was a piece of property under inspection. They all knew how “wild” I’d been acting for the last six months. In a desperate attempt to retaliate against Morgan’s blatant infidelity, I’d become a fixture at the city’s most expensive clubs, burning through cash, always seen with a different woman on my arm. Morgan never stopped me. She saw it as a tantrum—a pathetic plea for her attention. I didn’t flinch. I pushed the divorce papers closer to her on the marble table. “I’m serious, Morgan. Sign them.” Just then, a head popped up from behind Morgan’s shoulder. It was a boy with messy, bleached-blonde hair, a lollipop tucked into the corner of his mouth. “So this is the husband?” he asked, his voice dripping with faux-innocence. “He looks so… refined. Why the temper, big guy?” He leaned into Morgan, draped over her like a boneless cat. “Morgie, I told you. You can’t spoil men like this. Look at him—you give him an inch, and he thinks he can threaten you with a divorce whenever he wants a new watch.” His name was Parker. He was Morgan’s latest obsession. He wasn’t the slick, predatory type I expected; he was just a bratty kid who knew exactly how to play her. And Morgan ate it up. “Hear that?” Morgan said, her voice dropping an octave. “Even Parker can see you’re being ridiculous. Tell me—how much is it going to take to make this go away?” Parker laughed, took the lollipop out of his mouth, and shoved it directly into Morgan’s. “Here, Morgie. Have some sugar. Cool that temper.” Morgan frowned, but she didn’t spit it out. She sucked on the candy, looking at me with a sickening, half-smile. “Miles, take your pathetic little papers and get out. I’ll pretend this never happened. Don’t make me say it twice.” The sight of them together made my stomach turn. “If you won’t sign, I’ll take it to court. I’ll make it as messy as you want.” I turned to leave. Behind me, the sound of a crystal glass shattering against the floor echoed through the room. “Miles! If you walk out that door, there’s no coming back. Think very carefully.” I didn’t even pause. My hand was on the brass handle when I heard Parker’s exaggerated gasp. “Oh, Morgie, don’t be mad! He’s just so… stiff. Not like me. I just want to make you happy. If I were you, I’d stop the wire transfers. Cut off his cards for a few months. Let’s see how ‘serious’ he is when he can’t pay for his dry cleaning.” Morgan’s cold laugh followed me out. “You’re right, Parker. Some people really do need a lesson in humility.” I hadn’t been out of the club for five minutes when my phone began to vibrate incessantly. Notification after notification popped up: Card Frozen. Account Suspended. Strangely, I felt a wave of peace wash over me. Suddenly, a familiar red Ferrari roared to a halt beside me. The window slid down, and Parker let out a sharp whistle, jerking his chin toward the curb. “Hey, Hubby. No car? Need a lift? Too bad this is a two-seater. You could probably squeeze into the trunk, though.” He cackled, and Morgan leaned over from the driver’s seat, her eyes cold. “Miles, it’s not too late to apologize. Tell everyone you’re sorry for ruining the night, and I’ll take you home.” I tightened my trench coat against the evening chill. “No thanks. I’d rather walk than get into something that feels this dirty.” Parker pouted, slapping the steering wheel. “Morgie, did you hear that? I was being nice, and he called me dirty! My feelings are hurt. Does your husband think he’s better than me just because we’re friends?” Morgan reached over and ruffled Parker’s hair. “Miles, I’ve been incredibly restrained since your last outburst. I kept Parker around because he’s fun, he’s uncomplicated. He’s like a little brother. We haven’t even slept together.” “Uncomplicated.” “Like a brother.” The lies were so practiced they almost sounded like the truth. When I first found out she was cheating, I lost my mind. I screamed, I broke things, I even forced her to terminate a pregnancy when I found out the child wasn’t mine. She hadn’t fought me then. She let me rage, let me hit her, and promised she’d never sleep with another man. Then I caught her in the office with her secretary. That was the day I went cold. That was the day I started my six-month spiral into the nightlife. She thought I was imitating her—trying to win her back by making her jealous. She was so, so wrong. Seeing my silence, Morgan turned to the two bodyguards who had followed us out. “Since my husband thinks we’re so ‘dirty,’ he can walk home. Make sure no one gives him a ride.” With a deafening roar of the engine, the Ferrari tore away. The guards stepped up behind me, blocking the view of the curious onlookers. I had no choice. I took off my designer loafers and began to walk. It took me three hours to reach the house. By the time I walked through the front gates, my feet were covered in blisters that had already burst, stinging with every step. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon when I pushed open the front door. Parker was lounging in the living room, wearing my silk bathrobe, his head resting in Morgan’s lap. “Look who’s back! Nice cardio, Hubby. You training for a marathon?” Morgan looked at my feet, stained with blood and grime. She froze for a split second, a flicker of something—guilt? annoyance?—crossing her face. “Do you understand now? There’s a bowl of oatmeal on the table. Parker made it for you. Eat it, and we’ll forget all this.” I looked toward the kitchen. The bowl was sitting there, but it was filled with cigarette ash, dregs of old wine, and a half-eaten lollipop floating in the center. I ignored them and headed for the stairs. “I told you to eat it!” Morgan’s voice turned lethal. Parker hopped off the sofa, barefoot. “Hey, I worked hard on that! I don’t usually go into the kitchen, you know. It’s the thought that counts.” He came toward me, grinning, shoving the bowl toward my face. The sour, rancid smell hit me instantly. I jerked my head away. Parker’s hand “slipped.” The cold, gritty mess splashed all over my chest and neck. “Oops! I’m such a klutz. My hands must be shaky from… taking care of Morgie all night. She just wouldn’t let me go. Morgie, tell him it’s your fault! Come blow on my poor hands!” Morgan marched over, but she didn’t help me. She shoved me out of the way. I was already unsteady on my feet; I slammed hard against the entryway cabinet. She didn’t even look at me. She actually took Parker’s hands and began to blow on them gently. “Miles, he tried to do something nice for you. If you’re going to act like a corpse, do it somewhere else. Apologize. Now.” I looked her dead in the eye. “I’ll apologize. As soon as you sign the papers.” Morgan snapped. “Miles! Are you seriously going to keep this up? Who do you think you are? You were a nobody from a trailer park when I found you. Without the Montgomery name, you are nothing!” Parker hid behind her, making a face at me, his lips silently mocking: Loser. I laughed. I pulled off my ruined coat and tossed it into the trash. “If you hate looking at me so much, sign the papers. You think I enjoy looking at you two?” The slap came so fast I didn’t see it. My vision blurred; half my face went numb instantly. Morgan pulled back, breathing hard. She reached into her bag, pulled out the signed document, and threw it at my face. “Fine. You want out? You’re out. I’m done with your moods.” Parker cheered, jumping up and down. “Yes! Go Morgie! That’s how a real woman handles business!” I clutched the papers, the sting on my cheek feeling like a badge of honor. It was worth the slap. I turned around and walked out the door, my bloody feet leaving tracks on the white marble. I had no money, no ID, nothing but my phone. I stared at the screen. Should I call her? If I did, she’d lose control. She’d burn Morgan’s world to the ground. Before I could decide, my phone rang. It was Parker. “Hey, Hubby,” he whispered, his voice dripping with malice. “Morgie was so mad after you left. She just had your favorite cat—what was his name? Marshmallow?—thrown into the alligator pond out back. Oh man, it was so graphic. I’m literally crying right now.” My heart stopped. My hand shook so hard I nearly dropped the phone. “What did you say?” Marshmallow. He was a Ragdoll cat, the last thing my father gave me before he died. He told me that looking at that cat was like looking at him. For seven years, Marshmallow had been my only real companion in that cold house. He wasn’t a pet; he was family. Parker’s heartless laughter echoed through the line, and in the background, I heard a faint, agonizing cry. Then, Morgan’s voice came on. Cold. Detached. “Miles, the cat is just the beginning. Tomorrow is Parker’s birthday gala. if you don’t crawl back here and beg for forgiveness, the next thing going into the pond is your grandfather. I hear the nursing home has very lax security.” “Morgan! You signed the papers! It’s over! Why won’t you let me go?” She hung up. I ran to the nursing home as fast as I could, but his room was a wreck. The monitors were overturned, the IV lines ripped out. There was blood on the floor. The nurse was trembling. “Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Montgomery’s people came. They said they were transferring him. they had legal authorization signed by her… we couldn’t stop them.” The world spun. He was my only living relative. He was my life. By the time I got back to the villa, the air was filled with music and laughter. A crowd of wealthy socialites was gathered around the back patio, cheering. When I walked in, Parker clapped his hands. “See, Morgie? I told you it would work. He’s back to say he’s sorry.” I saw my grandfather. He was tied to his wheelchair, pushed right to the very edge of the stone embankment over the alligator pond. I was shaking violently. “Morgan, stop this. What do you want? Do whatever you want to me, just let him go!” Morgan looked up, sipping her champagne. “I didn’t like your attitude last night, Miles. You want to save him? Fine. Get down on your knees. Crawl from the door to my feet and beg for forgiveness in front of everyone.” The crowd started chanting. “Do it, Miles! Did you really think you could leave Morgan for some girl?” “He’s probably got some disease from the streets anyway. Why do you want him back, Morgan? Parker’s right here!” Morgan walked over and hooked her arm through mine. “Men have their little tantrums. Miles, just apologize, and we’ll go get the marriage reinstated tomorrow morning. But if you want to be difficult…” A bodyguard at the pond gave the wheelchair a sharp nudge. It rolled forward, the front wheels dangling over the dark, murky water. “No!” I shrieked. My legs gave out, and I hit the stone floor. Morgan smiled, satisfied. “That’s a good boy. Everyone’s watching, Miles. I have a reputation to uphold. You’ve had me wrapped around your finger for too long.” She leaned in, her voice a cruel whisper. “If you really hate Parker that much, once you apologize, I’ll let you scar his face yourself. How does that sound?” She stepped on my back, her heel digging into my spine, forcing my head down toward the floor. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to kill them all. But the wheelchair wobbled. My rage turned into cold, hollow despair. “Fine. I’ll beg. I’m sorry.” The crowd cheered, phones coming out to record the humiliation. “Boss move, Morgan! That’s how you break a man!” Just as I was about to touch my forehead to the ground, a thunderous crash echoed through the estate. The front gates had been rammed open. A voice, low and sharp as a razor, cut through the noise. “You Montgomery trash really have some nerve.” “Touching my man?”

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