Category: English

When it was time to head back to college, my stepmother shoved a cheap, off-brand carton of milk into my suitcase. “Take this. Drink it at school.” It was a leftover holiday gift from someone else that had been sitting untouched for months. My dad leaned against the doorframe. “I’m not giving you any money this semester. Didn’t you make $2,000 working your winter break job? $500 a month for living expenses—that’ll cover you for four months perfectly.” “You’re an adult now. It’s time you learned to be independent.” My hand, in the middle of packing my suitcase, froze in mid-air. Nearby, my younger sister, staring at her phone, suddenly screamed in excitement. “Yes! I got the concert tickets!” “Dad, hurry up and book my flights! And I want to stay in a five-star hotel!” My dad wrapped an arm around her, immediately agreeing to everything. My stepmother glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, the large hoop earrings she wore glinting in the light. The three of them huddled together, laughing as they booked flights and hotel rooms. I’ve watched this warm, picture-perfect family scene for ten years, and it still makes it hard to breathe. Suddenly, a notification popped up on my phone. [Chase Bank: Dear Ms. Harper Davis, your Certificate of Deposit ending in 1234 has matured. Principal balance: $800,000. To renew, please reply 1.] 1 A Certificate of Deposit? I silently counted the long string of zeros on the screen. Eight hundred thousand dollars. Assuming it was a scam text, I didn’t reply. “Dad, I was planning to use the $2,000 I earned from my winter job to get this mole removed.” My dad, Richard, glanced at the pea-sized dark mole near the corner of my mouth. “You go off to college and suddenly you’re full of wild ideas! Wasting money on useless vanity!” “You’re just like your dead mother—born with bad luck!” My stepmother, Brenda, wearing a thick layer of foundation, batted her heavy fake eyelashes. “Oh, Harper, sweetie. Wait until you graduate college, and I’ll personally take you to get it removed.” Before, they used to say: Wait until you finish middle school. Wait until you finish high school. Wait until you get into college. Now, the mole is getting bigger, and they’ve pushed it to: Wait until you graduate college. Actually, before winter break started, I went to a clinic to ask about the price. It only cost $2,000. For my entire winter break, I didn’t take a single day off. I worked from open to close at a fast-food chicken joint. Looking at my sister, Mia, happily humming a tune nearby, a knot of suffocating anger swelled in my chest. “Dad, you didn’t even blink before buying her a $2,000 VIP concert ticket, but you won’t even give me $500 for a month’s living expenses.” “I’m your biological daughter too!” My dad’s face turned beet red with rage. “You think you can lecture your own father in this house?!” “Fine! Since your mother has been dead for ten years anyway, I’ll tell you the truth today!” “Mia is my biological daughter with Brenda!” Brenda turned her face away, refusing to look at me. My mom died ten years ago. I am 18 this year; Mia is 14. My dad started messing around with Brenda when I was four. Back then, my mom wasn’t sick yet. She was a top-tier CPA at a corporate firm, and she was always incredibly busy. During those years, she would often spend entire days locked in her office. I remember she always had a look of deep, irremovable sorrow on her face. But the moment she saw me, she would automatically erase that sorrow, smile, and pull me into her arms. When I was seven, my mom collapsed. She spent a year lying in a hospital bed. Right before she passed, my dad held her hand. “Evelyn, do you have any savings left under your name? You’re leaving, but we still have to survive.” My mom was so emaciated her cheeks were hollowed out, her face completely devoid of color. She motioned for my dad to lean in closer, and then she spat right in his face. For all these years, my dad has held a deep, bitter grudge against my mom because of that. With a look of pure disgust, I pulled that cheap carton of milk out of my suitcase. Brenda turned her head back, looking visibly displeased. My dad slammed his hand down on mine. “Brenda was nice enough to pack that for you! How dare you be so ungrateful!” “She specifically told the rest of us not to drink it so she could save it just for you!” I struggled, but he clamped his hand down hard on my forearm. An intense, searing pain shot up my arm, making my scalp tingle. When frying chicken at work, hot oil frequently splashed onto my arms. My forearms were constantly covered in small burn blisters. Tears welled up in my eyes from the pain. “Did she save it just for me, or did she give it to me because literally nobody else wanted to drink it?” “If it’s such a ‘good thing,’ you should keep it here for Mia to drink!” Smack. My dad slapped me hard across the face. This wasn’t the first time I had been hit. I wiped away my tears and looked at my dad’s flushed, angry face. He is 45 years old this year. For all these years, I had clung to a desperate hope—the hope that my dad would eventually treat me a little better. After all, I am his biological child. I am his only flesh-and-blood daughter from his first marriage. I waited for ten years, and he hasn’t changed one bit. It turns out, I wasn’t his only biological daughter. No wonder. I kept my head down and continued packing my suitcase. The new semester was about to start, and I would finally be able to leave this house. But thinking about the pea-sized mole on my face, a wave of bitter sadness washed over me. I didn’t want to deal with people’s weird stares anymore. If only I had a sum of money right now. 2 I zipped up my suitcase and went into my room. Closing the door, the very first thing I did was turn on the light. My room doesn’t have any windows. If the light is off, it’s pitch black. There are five bedrooms in this house. My dad and Brenda share the master suite. Right next to the master suite is Mia’s bedroom. Of the other three rooms: one is my dad’s private lounge, one is Brenda’s walk-in closet, and one is a dedicated room just for Mia’s K-pop merchandise and posters. I live in the storage closet under the stairs. I’m not even worthy of the smallest, north-facing bedroom. Brenda pushed the door open a crack. “Harper, I washed some grapes for you. Have some.” The grapes on the stem were shriveled and dry. Earlier, I had seen Mia pop one into her mouth, frown, and immediately spit it out. “Ew, so sour! That’s disgusting!” The food she likes is never shared with me. The food she throws away is always boxed up with a smile by Brenda and handed to me. The second month after my mom died, my dad moved Brenda into the house. He told me to call her “Mom.” I couldn’t force the word out of my mouth. Brenda set the grapes down, pulled two crisp $100 bills from her pocket, and handed them to me. “Harper, things are a little tight right now, but take this $200 for now. Use it at school.” She had just gotten a new set of acrylic nails. They were blindingly red. I stared at her coldly. “Stop with the fake hypocritical act.” My dad snatched the money right out of her hand. “You spoil her too much! That’s why she acts like such an entitled brat!” “From today on, she isn’t getting a single cent out of this house! Let’s see if she still dares to talk back to us!” My dad threw the bunch of grapes onto the floor and stomped on them. “Don’t give her anything to eat!” “Let her starve for a day and think about what she’s done. Let her realize who the actual masters of this house are!” In high school, my monthly living allowance was $300. When I got to college, it went up to $500. During the first month of my freshman year, I spent $120 of that $500 on the cheapest, unreserved train ticket available. I had $380 left for the month. For the last week of that month, I survived by eating plain bread and pickles every single day. When I asked my dad for the next month’s allowance, he screamed at me over the phone. “Asking for money again?! It’s barely been a few weeks! Were you born just to drain me dry?!” “It’s hard enough for me to make a living, and you’re just sitting at school living it up on my dime!” “If you keep wasting money, drop out and go find a job at a factory!” Half a month later, I finally received the $500 he transferred me. I pulled a photo of my mom from under my pillow. As I stared at it, my vision blurred with tears. If only my mom were still here. Everything would be okay. The smell of dinner wafted in from under the door. I heard Mia’s excited voice. “Wow, Mom! You made so much good food!” Nobody called me to eat. I was dizzy with hunger. Because I never had money, I was used to being half-starved. Now, whenever I get hungry, my stomach physically aches. Mia spoke between bites. “Mom, your ribs are my absolute favorite! You’re the best, Mom!” Brenda’s voice was full of laughter. “Eat as much as you want, sweetie.” I crouched on the floor, trying to curl myself into the tightest ball possible to lessen the stomach cramps. My phone rang. It was Chase Bank. “Hello, am I speaking with Ms. Harper Davis? The $800,000 Certificate of Deposit you opened with us ten years ago has matured. Would you like to renew it?” “You must have the wrong person. I’ve never opened a CD. Ten years ago, I was only eight.” The voice on the other end continued. “Ten years ago, Ms. Evelyn Davis deposited a principal amount of $800,000 into an account under your name.” “May I ask, what is your relationship with Evelyn Davis?” Evelyn Davis. My mom. I gripped my mom’s photo tightly, lowering my voice. “Can the money be withdrawn right now?” 3 I tucked my mom’s photo into my jacket pocket, grabbed my ID, and walked out the door. Brenda watched me, nudging my dad. “Why are you arguing with the kid? Her biological mother passed away early; it’s normal for her to have a bit of a temper.” “Harper, come eat. The food is getting cold.” I looked at the meager leftovers on the table and shot her a look of pure contempt. “What exactly are you expecting me to eat?” My dad, having eaten his fill, was currently fiddling with his expensive tea set. “There’s still food left. You should be grateful you have anything to eat at all. Don’t be ungrateful.” “Oh, and when you’re done, wash the dishes and wipe the table clean.” I turned around and walked toward the front door. Behind me, my dad’s roaring voice echoed. “You ungrateful brat! Are you trying to climb over my head now?!” “If you think you’re so tough, then once you walk out that door, don’t ever come back!” Followed by Brenda’s slow, measured voice. “Where is she going at this hour?” “Maybe you should go check on her. Kids these days are sensitive. What if she runs away?” “Good riddance if she doesn’t come back! She’s 18 now anyway. I have zero legal obligation to keep supporting her!” I walked faster, their voices fading into the distance. I arrived at the local Chase Bank branch. The bank teller who assisted me was incredibly polite. She informed me that I had a principal balance of $800,000, and the accumulated interest over ten years was approximately $128,000. Right now, the account ending in 1234 held a grand total of $928,000. I stood there, completely stunned. The teller handed me a sealed package. “Ms. Evelyn Davis left this in a safety deposit box ten years ago. She instructed us to give it to you when you came in.” My hands were shaking. Inside was a letter, a key, and a property deed. I unfolded the yellowed piece of paper: To my precious 18-year-old Harper, How are you doing right now? I am so sorry, Mommy couldn’t be there to watch you grow up. Before Mommy leaves, you are the only thing I can’t bear to let go of. The money in this account and this apartment are Mommy’s coming-of-age gifts to you. If you are doing well right now, that’s wonderful. This gift is just the icing on the cake. If you are facing hardships right now, don’t be afraid. You still have Mommy. Mommy will always protect you from behind the scenes. You probably know about your dad’s affairs by now, so I won’t mention it. I will love you forever. Mommy. 2016. I read those few short lines over and over again. Without me realizing it, the paper was soaked with tears. My mom had known about my dad and Brenda the entire time. Ten years later, I finally understood the irremovable sorrow that had always lingered on her face. I finally understood why my mom refused to tell my dad how much savings she had before she died. I finally understood why she spat in his face. Now, it all made sense. My mom left everything to me. Ten years ago, she had prepared all of this for me. I tucked the letter into my jacket pocket, keeping it safe right next to her photo. I looked at the $928,000 balance on the account statement. Suddenly, I thought of how my dad had cursed and complained for all these years. After my mom died, he tore the house apart searching for money. But he found absolutely nothing. He took all his hatred for my mom and took it out on me. He even suspected my mom had an affair and gave the money to another man. He slandered her name for ten years. But he was the one who destroyed our family. The scabbed-over burn blisters on my arm itched a little. I scratched them gently. And then, I clenched my fists tight. This money was left to me by my mom. Nobody else was going to touch a single cent of it. 4 It was getting dark. I didn’t go back to my dad’s house. I typed the address from the property deed into my phone and caught a bus. When I inserted the key into the lock, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and turned it. The moment the door opened, a smart-home system triggered my mom’s pre-recorded voice. “Welcome home, my precious Harper.” Hearing her voice again after ten years, an overwhelming wave of grief and longing crashed over me. Crying, I walked through the rooms of my new home. Two bedrooms, one living room. The windows were massive, letting in so much natural light that you wouldn’t even need to turn on the lights during the day. I stayed there for two days. For those two days, my dad didn’t call me a single time. But I saw his posts on Facebook. “Taking my precious daughter to see her idol!” The three of them had concert stickers on their faces, beaming with excitement. When I left, I hadn’t taken my keys, but nobody even noticed or cared. Brenda posted a new update on her Instagram. “My ears are ringing from the concert! Finally getting some much-needed rest.” The attached video showed a sweeping view of a luxury hotel family suite. Mia’s TikTok was also updated. “I finally saw him live! Best night ever!” “Thanks for the support, Dad! Love you!” I clicked onto Mia’s profile and scrolled down. January 12th. “New phone! Thanks, Dad!” The photo showed the newest iPhone Pro Max. The screen on the budget Android phone I had used for four years was shattered. Fixing it would cost $30. When I asked my dad for the money, he told me he already gave me my living allowance and to figure it out myself. December 15th. “It’s getting freezing outside! Dad bought me a new winter coat!” I searched the brand online. It was a $600 designer puffer jacket. I was wearing a $20 clearance coat. Because I was always cold, my hands were covered in chilblains that still hadn’t fully healed. January 1st. “Dad sent me a massive New Year’s cash drop! Happy New Year!” November 3rd. “Got so many gifts today! Happy Birthday to me!” I haven’t celebrated my birthday since I was eight. Nobody cared enough to remember. October 1st. “Fall Break! Dad took the whole family out for a trip! So crowded but so fun!” During that break, I didn’t go home because I couldn’t afford the bus ticket. I stayed in my empty dorm room, eating plain bread and pickles for the entire holiday. … There were plenty of comments under her posts. “So jealous! I wish I had a great dad like that!” I locked my phone screen. I stared at the ceiling of my new apartment for a long time, then threw on my jacket and headed back to my dad’s house. When I reached the front door, I ran right into the three of them returning from their trip. My dad immediately started mocking me. “I thought you were so tough? Why did you come crawling back?” Brenda maintained her hypocritical, fake-concerned act. “Harper, where did you go? I was worried sick these past two days.” I ignored them and walked straight into my “room.” As always, I immediately turned on the light. I started packing up the rest of my belongings. I was planning to take everything that belonged to me and leave for good. I grabbed a duffel bag for my clothes. But I quickly realized that aside from a few worn-out shirts and pants, there was nothing else to pack. A ratty stuffed animal I had held onto since I was six, some ID documents, and a few textbooks. That was it. Those were the only traces of my existence in this house. I pulled my suitcase behind me, keeping my head down as I walked toward the door. I didn’t want to look at any of them, and I didn’t want to look at this house ever again. Brenda watched me. “Harper, your semester doesn’t start for another two days. Why are you leaving today?” I looked up at her. “Aren’t you exhausted from pretending all the time?” “Whenever I’m home, you act like my very existence annoys you. Now that I’m leaving, aren’t you thrilled?” I saw the flash of genuine disgust in Brenda’s eyes, but she quickly covered it up with an awkward, nervous laugh. Before my dad could raise his hand to slap me, I pulled my suitcase out and slammed the door shut behind me. I hadn’t taken two steps down the hall when I heard my dad shouting from behind the door. “Wait! Did your mother leave you $800,000?!”

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1 On the day I was set to give birth, terrified of the pain, my husband, Mark, and I had fully agreed I would get an epidural. To ensure everything went smoothly, I had paid out of pocket for an upgraded, private maternity suite and several pre-paid, elective medical options not fully covered by our insurance. I didn’t expect that the moment I was three centimeters dilated and agony was setting in, my mother-in-law, Sharon, would practically block the delivery room door, physically stopping the nurse from bringing in the anesthesiologist. She marched over to my bedside and slapped a car title transfer document onto my over-bed table. “Sign over the title of your Porsche to your brother-in-law right now for his wedding! Otherwise, forget about the epidural!” The labor nurse stood nearby, tapping her foot in frustration and checking her watch. “Ma’am, we need to get the doctor in here now.” But Sharon had dug her heels in. Until I signed that paper, no medication was getting through that door. Worried about triggering an emergency with the baby due to the intense stress and pain, I had no choice but to grab the pen and scrawl my signature. I thought that was the end of it and I could finally focus on delivering my child. But then, the fetal monitor began to beep sharply. The baby’s heart rate was plummeting. As the OB-GYN rushed in holding a consent form for an emergency C-section, needing an immediate signature to save two lives, Sharon spoke up again. “If you want a family member to sign that consent, you need to add my son’s name to the deed of your downtown penthouse.” Pale from the blinding pain, I looked at Mark, desperately begging him for help. “Mark, the baby is losing oxygen! Are you really extorting a house from me right now?” Mark looked incredibly conflicted, shifting his weight from foot to foot while holding my hand. “Honey, you have to understand, Mom is just trying to look out for our family’s future.” “Just nod your head, please! Otherwise, Mom swears she won’t let me sign these life-saving papers!” … Mark was actually crying harder than I was, as if he were the victim being coerced. “That penthouse is my separate premarital property!” I tried to yank my hand away from his, but I didn’t have an ounce of strength left. Beside me, the fetal heart monitor’s alarm became a piercing, continuous scream. “Her water is completely meconium-stained! The baby is severely oxygen-deprived!” The lead surgeon, sweat beading on his forehead under his cap, practically slammed the surgical consent form against Mark’s chest. “Any more delay and this will be a stillbirth! Sign it now!” Mark acted like a spineless coward, burying his hands deep in his pockets and letting the paper slide right off his chest and onto the floor. He turned to look at Sharon, pleading with her, “Mom, shouldn’t we save them first?” “Save them, my ass! If that house deed doesn’t have your name on it today, no one is cutting her open!” Sharon shoved Mark aside, acting like a brick wall blocking the surgeon. She pulled out a self-inking notary stamp and an “Amendment to Real Estate Deed” document, shoving it directly into my face. “Rylee, just press your thumb right here. The downtown place gets Mark’s name on it, and I will instantly tell my son to sign the surgery consent!” “This is extortion! I’m calling the police!” the labor nurse yelled, her whole body shaking with rage as she reached for her phone. “Go ahead and call them!” Sharon snapped, swinging her hand and aggressively slapping the nurse’s wrist. “Furthermore, this is a family matter! When the cops show up, they have no right to stop a mother from educating her daughter-in-law!” The pain was causing stars to explode in my vision. Tears mixed with cold sweat poured down my face in huge drops. “Mark, this is our baby! The one we fought through five rounds of IVF to get!” “How can you let our child suffer like this?” For this baby, I had endured over three hundred days of daily hormone injections, leaving my stomach a mass of black-and-blue bruising. During egg retrieval, I had screamed in agony. Mark had knelt by my bedside then, slapping his own face, swearing on his life he would spend forever cherishing the baby and me. Five years of supposedly unbreakable love—was it really worth less than a piece of real estate to him? “Honey, I’m hurting more than you are right now!” Mark sobbed, dropping to his knees by the bed. “But it wasn’t easy for Mom to raise me all on her own. She just wants some security for us.” “Just add the name, and I’ll sign immediately! I swear to God, even with my name on the deed, it’s still your house. I will never take a dime of equity from you!” Even as he was speaking these supposedly profound words of love, he was physically forcing open my clenched fist. “Honey, just swallow your pride for once. The nurses are already making fun of us. Nothing is more important than our family being okay and together!” Listening to this incredibly spineless speech, my heart went completely cold. “Fetal heart rate is down to sixty! Prep for internal resuscitation!” the OB-GYN roared at the team. “My baby…” I closed my eyes in despair, my mental defenses completely collapsing. For this piece of my own flesh and blood that I had suffered so much for, I couldn’t gamble. I couldn’t afford to lose. “I’ll sign…” The words had barely left my mouth when Sharon grabbed my thumb, practically grinding it into the stamp ink, and jammed it down hard onto the deed amendment document, leaving a clear, dark fingerprint. “See? If you’d just been this sensible from the start, we wouldn’t have this problem!” Sharon tucked the document away with a look of immense satisfaction. Mark instantly stopped crying, scrambled up from the floor, grabbed a pen, and scrawled his signature on the surgical consent form. “Doctor, quick! Save my wife and child! Use the best medicine!” Mark yelled. Several nurses worked together to lift me onto a gurney, pushing me at a dead run down the hallway. Just as the gurney was about to burst through the doors of the operating room, a sharp voice rang out. “Wait! Stop! She can’t go in!” The head surgical nurse came sprinting from the opposite end of the hallway like a track star, slamming her hand down on the gurney to halt it. “What is going on? We are out of time!” the lead surgeon bellowed. “The surgery is canceled!” The head nurse held up a printout of the billing statement, yelling, “The two hundred thousand dollar pre-payment in the patient’s hospital account… a family member just applied for a full refund and took the cash!” 2 “What refund?” the lead surgeon demanded, his voice dangerously low. I followed the head nurse’s pointing finger. Not far away, at the hospital’s billing and discharge window, Sharon was busy stuffing stacks of hundred-dollar bills into a black plastic trash bag. Mark stood right beside her, hunched over, holding the bag open for her. “Mark!” I used every last ounce of strength I had to scream his name. Below the belt, another wave of agonizing, tearing pain ripped through me. Hearing my voice, Mark flinched, and the plastic bag almost slipped from his grasp. Sharon snatched the bag away, hugging it tightly to her chest, and turned around to roll her eyes at the doctor. “What are you screaming for? Charging two hundred thousand to deliver a baby, this hospital is practically committing highway robbery!” The doctor was shaking with rage, pointing his finger at her and yelling, “That was the pre-paid emergency fund for dynamic complications, major hemorrhaging, and life-saving intervention!” “Without money, the blood bank won’t release units for transfusion! If the patient gets on the operating table and can’t come off, who’s going to take responsibility?” “I had three kids, all natural, total cost was like fifty bucks back in the day!” Sharon retorted, sticking her finger aggressively toward the doctor’s nose. “I asked around! A standard delivery is a few grand, max! You people are just trying to scam us!” I could feel warm liquid continuously gushing from me, and the bedsheets beneath me were already soaked red in a massive bloom. That two hundred thousand was my own money that I had pre-paid into the hospital account to save my own life, specifically for a catastrophic moment like today! “Mark…” I grit my teeth, shaking violently. “Give the money back.” Mark walked over with an expression of complete helplessness. “Honey, Mom says we need this money for an urgent emergency.” “Your brother-in-law is getting married, and the bride’s family suddenly demanded an extra two hundred thousand for the dowry, or she’s getting an abortion and calling off the wedding. Mom was completely frantic, that’s why she had to borrow your pre-payment fund for just a moment.” “Don’t worry, as soon as he’s married, I’ll sell my soul to pay you back.” I was so angry I actually started laughing—laughing until tears streamed down my face. Taking my life-saving money to pay for my brother-in-law’s wedding dowry? “That is my life!” I struggled, trying to grab his collar, but I didn’t have the strength to even raise my hand. “Without money, she cannot enter the operating room! Family needs to go pay now!” The head surgical nurse blocked the operating room door, holding firm on hospital protocol. Mark turned to beg Sharon, his voice pathetic beyond belief: “Mom, can we maybe just pay fifty thousand of it? Rylee is bleeding a lot, it looks pretty scary.” Sharon squeezed the plastic bag tighter against her chest and plopped down onto an open chair in the waiting hallway. “No money! Not a single dime!” “Her parents have money. A little bleeding isn’t going to kill her!” The medical staff in the vicinity were completely stunned. “You are recklessly endangering a human life! I’m calling the police right now!” The head nurse pulled out her cell phone to dial 911. “Go ahead and call them!” Sharon dropped to the floor and began slapping the linoleum with her hands, throwing a full-blown toddler tantrum. “Help! The doctors are conspiring with patients’ families to steal money! There’s no justice in the world!” Mark looked at me, his face a mask of total helplessness. “Honey, look at Mom. She’s completely lost it. Just look at this two hundred thousand as helping your brother-in-law out, okay?” “We’re all family trying to live a good life, what’s a little money between us?” Beside me, a nurse screamed, “Fetal heart rate is still dropping! Patient is in active hemorrhage!” I looked at the man standing over me and found him completely unrecognizable. For this baby that I had fought through five rounds of IVF to get, I couldn’t waste another second. Trembling, I fumbled under my pillow for my phone. “I’ll pay…” “I will use my own trust fund money to pay the advance!” Hearing this, Sharon, who had been throwing a fit on the floor, suddenly scrambled to her feet. “You little bitch, you finally admitted it!” 她 rushed over and aggressively grabbed my wrist. “Mark works day and night to earn money, and you have the nerve to hoard a secret stash behind our backs!” I screamed in pain. “Let go! That is my inheritance from my parents!” “Bullshit! You married into the Vance family, your money is Vance money!” Sharon ignored me completely, desperately trying to pry my fingers open. “Mark, quick! Come help! Get the phone! This bitch definitely has way more than a few hundred grand hidden away!” Mark stood there. He didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he just rubbed his hands together, looking at me with an expression of utter betrayal. “Honey, since you had money all along, why didn’t you just take it out earlier to help my brother?” “Why do you have to draw such a hard line between ‘yours’ and ‘ours’ within the same family?” 3 Sharon snatched my phone from my hand and violently slapped my face. “What’s the passcode! Tell me!” A searing, burning pain exploded across my cheek, and my vision began to go black in patches. “That is my life-saving money… in your dreams!” “Won’t talk, huh?” Sharon grabbed a handful of my hair, violently slamming my head against the cold metal railing of the gurney. “I’ll teach you to be stubborn! You don’t pay today, you can just lie here and die!” “Stop it! Security! Get security down here now!” The head nurse and several other nurses desperately rushed forward, trying to pull her off me. Sharon fought like a rabid dog, biting and scratching, single-handedly forcing several nurses back. “Mark!” I screamed in pure despair. Mark finally moved. He stepped quickly over to the gurney and aggressively pulled the thrashing Sharon back. “Mom, stop beating her! Rylee is still pregnant with a Vance child!” I gasped for air weakly, thinking that he finally had a sliver of conscience. But in the next second, Mark grabbed my right thumb and violently pressed it against the phone’s screen to use Touch ID. “Mark… what are you doing!” I tried desperately to shrink away, but I couldn’t break free from his grip. “Honey, I’m sorry.” Mark’s eyes were red, and tears began to plop, plop down onto my face. “Mom is stubborn. We just have to go along with her this one time. As soon as you pay the money and the baby is born, I promise I will sell my soul to make it up to you!” There was a soft beep. The fingerprint ID worked. Mark expertly opened my mobile banking app and tapped on the account balance screen. Both of them leaned over the screen, and instantly, they let out a sharp, synchronised gasp. “Units, tens, hundreds, thousands, ten thousands, hundred thousands, millions…” Sharon’s voice was trembling violently. “Three million dollars! You little bitch, you actually had three million hidden behind my son’s back!” Mark’s eyes went wide, and his tone actually carried a hint of self-pity and accusation. “Honey, your family gave you that much inheritance? You were hiding it so deep from me…” “Give me back my phone…” I was continuously gushing blood from below, and my consciousness was beginning to fade; only a sliver of primal instinct was keeping me holding on. “Give it back? You crossed into our Vance household; this is now marital assets!” Sharon immediately clicked on the transfer funds screen. “Enter the passcode! Transfer all three million to my son’s account right now!” The lead surgeon, sweat beading on his forehead, was pushing the gurney, ready to burst through the operating room doors. “Patient is going into hypovolemic shock! Are you paying the surgical fee or not!” Sharon whirled around, spreading her arms wide, using her heavy-set body to completely block the operating room entrance. “No, we aren’t paying! And she’s not going in!” “If this three million isn’t transferred to my son today, no one is doing any surgery!” The head nurse was shaking with rage. “Are you insane? That is a human life! This is literal murder!” “Bullshit!” Sharon spat on the linoleum. “She has three million and refused to help my youngest son in his emergency. She doesn’t care about family, so why should I care if she lives or dies!” “Mark, hold her face! Use Face ID for the transfer!” Mark looked at me, covered in blood, and then looked at the numbers on the phone screen. He swallowed hard, bringing the phone up to my face. “Honey, just blink your eyes for me.” “The second the transfer is confirmed, I will personally carry you into the operating room. The doctor said if we wait any longer, the baby’s brain will be irreversibly damaged from oxygen deprivation.” “Didn’t you love this IVF baby more than anything? Trading three million for our child’s life is a good deal.” Listening to this casually evil speech, my heart completely died. Five years of marriage, the love I thought we had—it was all nothing but a joke. “In your dreams…” I clamped my eyes shut as tight as I could, violently biting down on the tip of my tongue, using the blinding pain to force myself to stay conscious. “You bitch! Daring to close your eyes?” Sharon rushed over, using both hands to violently pry my eyelids open. “Mark, quick! Scan! Scan!” I desperately rolled my eyes, fighting against the phone screen’s facial scan. The pain in my lower abdomen hit me like a tidal wave. I finally couldn’t hold on any longer, and my vision was plunged into complete darkness. “Patient has lost consciousness! Fetal heart rate is almost gone!” a nurse screamed in despair. In this moment of absolute, life-or-death crisis… The elevator doors at the end of the hallway opened with a soft ding. A furious roar exploded down the hallway like a thunderclap. “Let’s see who dares to touch my daughter!” 4 “Rylee!” When my mom saw the horrific sight of me covered in blood and unconscious on the gurney, her vision blurred, and she almost collapsed. My dad rushed forward like an enraged lion. “What did you animals do to my daughter!” He swung his foot, violently kicking Mark square in the stomach. “Murder! The rich are getting away with murder!” Sharon saw this, but instead of being scared, she plopped down right at the operating room entrance, throwing a full-blown tantrum again. “If you beat my son to death, your daughter can forget about ever getting on that operating table today!” My dad ignored her completely, turning to roar at the doctor: “I am her biological father! I will sign! However much money you need, I will pay! Save my daughter!” The doctor, looking utterly panicked, shook his head frantically, tightly gripping that crumpled surgical consent form. “We can’t! The patient already signed earlier, and this agreement is a co-signature form with her husband holding joint liability.” “Hospital policy dictates that when the husband is present, his signature is required to override the previous consent and proceed with surgery!” “And the patient is actively hemorrhaging. The emergency pre-payment was refunded, and the blood bank won’t release units without funds!” My dad whipped his head around, staring with murderous intent at Mark, who was cowering in the corner. “Sign! Get the money paid!” Mark clutched his stomach, scrambled up from the floor, and immediately hid behind Sharon. Sharon’s eyes darted around, and she stood up, brushing the dust off her clothes. “My, my, you have quite a temper.” She pulled another document from her pocket and slapped it against my dad’s chest. “Want my son to sign? Want the money to save your daughter?” “Fine! Transfer thirty percent of the shares in your company over to my son’s name immediately!” “Otherwise, you can just stand here and watch your daughter and that little bastard die together!” “In your dreams!” My mom pointed a shaking finger at Sharon, screaming, “That is the business we’ve worked our whole lives for. Why the hell would we give it to you parasites!” “Don’t give it, then. We can just wait.” Sharon gave a cold laugh, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, looking entirely untroubled. “I’m not the one bleeding.” Mark peeked out from behind her, looking pathetic and aggrieved. “Dad, Mom, Rylee’s life is hanging by a thread. If I had these shares, I would have the financial security to take care of them both for the rest of my life.” “Just look at this as helping me out for the sake of the baby Rylee is carrying.” Hearing this unbelievably shameless speech, my dad was shaking with rage, pointing at Mark, unable to form a word for a long minute. A nurse screamed, tears running down her face. “Family needs to decide now! Patient’s blood pressure is down to fifty! If we don’t transfuse now, she really won’t make it!” My mom looked at my deathly pale face, and her mental defenses completely collapsed. “Honey, give it… give it to them! Rylee’s life is what matters most!” My dad had been a proud man his whole life, decisive in the business world, but now his eyes were red, and his hands were shaking violently. He looked at me covered in blood, his knees began to bend, and he was actually about to kneel down to this spineless coward, Mark! “Mark, I am begging you…” “Dad! Do not kneel!” I don’t know where I found the strength, but I suddenly opened my eyes and ripped out a raw, agonizing scream. My dad froze. Mark and Sharon were also startled by my sudden burst of rage. I grit my teeth, fighting against the blinding pain in my lower abdomen that felt like I was being torn apart. I slowly pushed myself up. I looked at my parents’ white hair, at the way they were humiliating themselves for my sake, and the pain in my heart far eclipsed the physical agony. Five years of compromising, five rounds of IVF torture—what it bought me was their escalated extortion and the humiliation of my parents. Enough! This bottomless, parasitic leeching ends today! I violently ripped off the fetal heart monitor leads attached to my belly! “Rylee, what are you doing!” Mark yelled, turning pale with terror. “I’m not giving birth.” I stared dead at Mark, pronouncing every word. “I do not want this baby anymore.”

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The company’s annual spring retreat was supposed to be a team-building exercise. After a democratic vote—which I suspect was rigged by the HR department’s obsession with “mindfulness”—we ended up at St. Jude’s Mission, a sprawling, historic estate famous for its ancient chapel and a massive, decommissioned bronze bell. But ten minutes into the tour, my husband and his personal assistant were nowhere to be found. I scanned the courtyard, my heart doing that slow, nauseating crawl it always did when Preston went missing. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. Our company’s “Culture Trip” livestream was blowing up. I looked down, and a series of chat bubbles scrolled across the screen like a digital Greek chorus: [God, the female lead is so bold. Suggesting they hide under the Old Jubilee Bell for a quickie? No wonder he’s obsessed with her!] [Under the bell? That’s terrifying. If someone actually rang it, they’d be deafened in seconds.] I froze. The air in the courtyard turned brittle. My husband, Preston, and his “indispensable” assistant, Celine, hadn’t just wandered off to look at the architecture. They were right there, ten feet away from me, hidden in the hollow, dark womb of that rusted bronze monster. I felt a sudden wave of vertigo. I reached out, steadying myself against the cold, pitted surface of the bell. It vibrated ever so slightly under my palm. The livestream chat went nuclear: [OMG, she’s touching the bell! The tension! I can’t breathe!] “Nina? Are you okay?” Kaylee, the front desk girl, walked up to me with a saccharine smile. “We’re all heading into the chapel to light some candles for ‘corporate prosperity.’ Do you want to join us?” I pulled my hand back, feeling the ghost of the vibration in my marrow. I looked at Kaylee. She was the one who had accidentally-on-purpose showed me a “leaked” photo of Preston at a jewelry store two months ago. She was playing both sides, acting as the confidante for the affair while pretending to be my loyal employee. I smiled at her. It was the sharpest thing I’d ever done. “No candles for me, Kaylee,” I said, my voice steady. “Actually, go find the groundskeeper. Or the Father. Whoever is in charge of the ceremonial tolls.” “The tolls?” Kaylee blinked, her smile faltering. “I want to make a legacy donation,” I continued, projecting my voice so the nearby staff could hear. “A hundred and eight tolls of the Jubilee Bell to ‘cleanse the company’s spirit.’ If they do it, I’ll personally fund the entire restoration of the Mission’s sanctuary.” Kaylee froze. The livestream comments stopped scrolling for a beat of pure, digital shock. One hundred and eight tolls. In the old traditions, that was a cleansing. In reality, for those trapped inside? It was a death sentence. … I didn’t look away from Kaylee’s pale face. Was she really that surprised? I wasn’t just going to pay for the tolls; I was going to invite every passerby to take a turn at the rope. I wanted the whole world to participate in the “cleansing.” It was the only way to do justice to the two people currently tangled together in the dark beneath us. Kaylee had once sent “accidental” thirst traps to Preston’s work phone. I’d caught her, of course. She’d sobbed in my office, telling me about her sick mother and her younger siblings who depended on her paycheck. I’d been soft. I’d let her stay. I hadn’t realized she’d immediately pivoted to becoming Celine’s little spy. Now, she was trying to lure me into the chapel so her “real” boss and my husband could crawl out from under that bell and fix their clothes. “Did you hear me?” I asked, my voice dropping an octave. “Go get the bell ringer. Why are you still standing there?” “Nina… it’s a decommissioned bell,” Kaylee stammered. “It’s… it’s not meant to be rung like that. It’s bad luck. It’s superstition!” I laughed, a dry, hollow sound. “Wasn’t this retreat your idea, Kaylee? ‘Connecting with our roots’? You didn’t seem to care about superstition when you were booking the bus.” An elderly woman, a local parishioner leaning on a heavy oak cane, shuffled toward us. “Who says it’s superstition?” the woman barked. Her voice was surprisingly resonant. “A bell is a sacred vessel. It clears the air of filth and wakes the soul. It’s a blessing, child. I’ve lived by the sound of this bell since I was a girl. Even if it’s old, its voice is still holy.” She raised her heavy cane and struck the side of the bell. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. The sound was massive. It wasn’t just a noise; it was a physical weight that rolled over us, making the very ground shudder. The livestream exploded: [HOLY SHIT! She actually did it!] [It’s over. They’re cooked. Kaylee, you fake bitch, do something! Save them!] [Wait… did the male lead just go limp??] I turned to the gathering crowd of employees. I patted the bronze side of the bell like it was a prized stallion. “Anyone can ring it today,” I announced. “One thousand dollars per toll. Cash, Venmo, Zelle—on the spot.” The crowd erupted. Greed is a much more powerful motivator than ‘corporate mindfulness.’ Kaylee rushed forward, her arms outspread as if she could shield the entire circumference of the bell. “No! Stop! This is a historical artifact! If you crack it, you’ll be sued for millions!” I looked at her, my eyes cold. “I’m paying for the restoration of the whole Mission, Kaylee. I think I can afford a cracked bell.” “Besides,” a junior analyst shouted, pushing past her, “The boss’s wife said it’s okay! Move it, Kaylee! That’s a mortgage payment for one swing!” The resentment toward Kaylee—the teacher’s pet, the office snitch—poured out like a broken dam. They shoved her aside. She stood there, face flushed, looking at the vibrating bronze with a look of pure, unadulterated terror. “Ring it!” I commanded. “Every one of you. I’ve set aside ten million dollars for ‘performance bonuses’ today. Let’s see how much of it you can take.” Kaylee’s jaw dropped. She looked at her colleagues jostling for the rope, then back at the bell. “Wait! Stop!” she screamed. “Nina, that money belongs to the estate! It’s marital property! You can’t just give it away without Preston’s consent! He’ll fire everyone! He’ll sue you!” The crowd hesitated. The mention of Preston—the man who held their health insurance in his hands—acted like a bucket of ice water. The chat feed mirrored their fear: [The ‘best friend’ is smart! That’s a legal checkmate!] [But a thousand bucks a swing… God, the temptation.] [The villainess is so cruel. She’s literally using money to vibrate them to death.] I didn’t argue. I simply turned toward the group of tourists who were watching the drama from the edge of the courtyard. “A thousand dollars a toll,” I shouted to the strangers. “Scan the code, get the money instantly. Who wants to go first?” The silence lasted three seconds. “Is this for real?” a burly man in a flannel shirt asked, stepping forward. I held up my phone, my banking app open. “Try me.” “Hell,” the man said, grinning. “I don’t work for your husband. I like money.” He grabbed a heavy ornamental stone from the garden bed, stepped up, and slammed it against the bronze with every bit of his strength. BOOM—! The sound was deafening. My vision blurred for a split second from the sheer pressure of the sound wave. I didn’t flinch. I scanned his phone. Ding. The sound of a successful transfer echoed in the sudden silence. “She’s legit! A grand! Right there!” the man roared. The floodgates opened. It was a riot of ‘blessings.’ Tourists and the bolder employees dived for the bell. They used stones, they used their fists, they kicked it. The sound became a chaotic, rhythmic assault. Clang. Boom. Thud. Clang. I stood there, a statue of calm in the middle of a sonic storm, scanning codes and hitting ‘Send.’ The livestream was a blur of fire emojis and “RIP” messages. [She’s a psycho! He’s going to divorce her for every penny!] [Look! In the video—is Preston covering Celine’s ears? He really does love her! This is so tragic!] [Wait, is the bell moving? Are they trying to push it up? The sound must be hell in there.] I raised my phone again, smiling at the crowd. “Everyone, get your phones out,” I said. “Max volume. Pull up ‘The Great Litany of Deliverance’ on Spotify. The heavy choral version.” “The loudest phone gets a ten-thousand-dollar bonus,” I added. For a moment, there was a vacuum of sound. Then— SCREECH— The wailing, low-frequency chant began to pour from fifty different speakers at once. The courtyard transformed into a wall of noise—monastic chanting layered over the relentless, bone-shaking battering of the bell. I signaled the burly man from before. “One more favor,” I yelled over the din. “Go to the rectory. Find the Head Priest. Tell him I need the ceremonial strikers. The heavy wooden beams.” I scanned his phone for another two thousand. “Run.” He didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted toward the back of the Mission like a sprinter. Kaylee was paralyzed. A few minutes later, the man returned, dragging a bewildered, elderly priest in heavy robes. Behind them, two younger groundskeepers carried the ceremonial ram—a massive, iron-shod wooden beam used for holiday celebrations. The priest looked at the chaos—the chanting phones, the people throwing rocks at the bell—with utter confusion. I stepped forward and bowed slightly. “Father, I apologize for the disturbance. I wish to perform the full hundred-and-eight-toll cleansing. For my family’s sins.” I pointed to the bell. “I have the donation ready. Upon completion, I will sign the endowment for the new sanctuary.” “Bless you, my child,” the priest said, his eyes widening at the mention of the endowment. He turned to his assistants. “Get the striker into position. Call the others. If this woman wants to cleanse her house, we shall give her the voice of God.” The striker. The heavy, swinging ram that required four men to operate. That wouldn’t just make noise. That would create a resonant frequency capable of liquefying internal organs if you were close enough. It would turn that bell into a pressurized chamber of agony. I looked at the bell. It was shaking now, visibly vibrating against the stone plinth. Enjoy the baptism, you two. The chat went into a frenzy: [The ram?! That thing is the size of a redwood trunk!] [They’re going to be turned into jelly. This is literal physical exorcism.] [The villainess is too much! Where is the hero to save them?!] Kaylee lunged forward again, grabbing the priest’s sleeve. “Father! You can’t! The noise… it’s disturbing the peace! It’s a public nuisance! God wouldn’t want this!” Before I could speak, the burly man roared, “Shut up! It sounds like heaven to me!” “Yeah! Let her pray!” another tourist yelled. The priest gently uncoupled Kaylee’s hand. “Child, the voice of the bell is never a nuisance. It is a reminder of our mortality. If this woman wishes to hear it, who are we to deny the call to repentance?” Kaylee’s face turned a sickly shade of grey. I stepped closer to her. “You’ve tried everything, haven’t you, Kaylee?” “Superstition. Legal threats. Public nuisance. You’re really working hard for a ‘friend’ who isn’t even here.” I leaned in, whispering so only she could hear. “You’re fired, Kaylee. Pack your things. If I see you on company property after today, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. Get out of my sight.” Kaylee collapsed onto the cobblestones, weeping. [Kaylee is finished. The villainess just wiped her out.] [Look at the base of the bell! Is that… is that blood? Oh my god, are they dying?!] [They’re the leads! They can’t die! They’re going to come out and make her pay!] Would they? I watched the monks take their positions. I felt no pity. Only a cold, crystalline sense of justice. When I first met Preston, he was a middle-manager with a silver tongue and a bankrupt bank account. My father had seen “potential” in him. My father had given him the connections, the seed money, the house we lived in. I had spent a decade building his image, smoothing over his mistakes, and playing the perfect corporate wife. And Kaylee? I’d fed her. I’d given her my old designer bags and paid for her mother’s dental work. This was their “thank you.” THOOM—!!! The first strike of the ram hit. The sound didn’t just vibrate; it tore through the air. Suddenly, a screeching voice cut through the reverberation from the courtyard entrance. “NINA! YOU INSANE BITCH! STOP THIS AT ONCE!” The crowd parted. A woman in a garish, leopard-print wrap dress, dripping in tacky gold jewelry, stormed toward us. Her hair was a bleached-blonde nest, and her face was contorted in a permanent sneer of “New Money” arrogance. Preston’s mother. My mother-in-law. Mrs. Beaumont had arrived. “How dare you throw away my son’s money on this… this clanging garbage! Ten million dollars?! Have you lost your mind?!” “I told him! I told him to dump you years ago! You’re a curse on this family! You spend like a drunken sailor and you don’t even have the decency to give me a grandson!” I stood my ground, watching her scream. She was the woman who had lived off my father’s “gifts” for ten years while calling my family “boring” behind our backs. I saw Kaylee look up, a spark of hope in her eyes. She’d called the cavalry. I walked over to Mrs. Beaumont and took her arm, my voice dripping with fake concern. “Mother, please. You’ve misunderstood.” “This isn’t Preston’s money. This is my inheritance. The trust my father left me that I’ve never touched.” “Your inheritance?” Her greed immediately fought with her rage. “Well… that’s still Beaumont money now! You’re married! What’s yours is his!” “Of course, Mother. You’re absolutely right.” I lowered my voice, acting fragile. “That’s why I’m doing this. The Father told me this bell has ancient power. A hundred and eight tolls to clear the family’s ‘karmic debt.’ I’m doing this for Preston. To ensure his next deal goes through. To ensure your health and longevity.” Mrs. Beaumont paused, her eyes darting to the priest. “Longevity?” “A hundred and eight tolls,” I whispered. “It’s a blessing that lasts a lifetime.” She puffed out her chest, adjusting her gold bracelets. “Well. Why didn’t you say so? If it’s for my son’s success…” She turned to the monks. “What are you waiting for?! Ring the damn thing! Harder!”

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Ever since the Kensingtons’ biological daughter returned to the estate, she made it her mission to orchestrate my downfall. First, it was the jewelry her parents bought her—mysteriously lost, then miraculously discovered in my bedroom. Then, it was the severe allergic reaction to the luxury skincare I had given her. She would stand there, her face inflamed, whispering that she had no intention of stealing my boyfriends, begging me to stop trying to ruin her face. And finally, it culminated in this: she deliberately sliced her own arm with a letter opener, sank to her knees, pale and trembling, and accused me of trying to kill her. She demanded that our parents make a choice. Only one daughter could stay. I was exhausted by the relentless, chaotic noise of it all. If my adoptive parents were too paralyzed by optics to handle this toxic girl, then fine. I would simply get new parents. After all, the mayor of my biological family’s hometown had already promised that the second I came home, they would commission a bronze plaque in the town square just for me. 1 “Mom, Dad, why are you always taking her side? I’m your actual flesh and blood!” Mia clutched the bleeding cut on her forearm, her face a mask of absolute tragedy. The accusation in her eyes was heavy, suffocating. Richard and Caroline Kensington stared at the blood seeping through Mia’s fingers. Deep creases formed between my adoptive parents’ brows, but their lips remained pressed in a tight, helpless line. I was the one who finally broke the silence. I calmly bent down, picked up the silver letter opener from the Persian rug, and held it out to her. Mia instantly scrambled backward, her eyes widening in manufactured terror. “Blair, what are you doing?! Are you trying to stab me again? Do you think just because Mom and Dad favor you, you can get away with murder?” I looked at her the way one might look at a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe. “Obviously,” I said, a slow, provocative smile spreading across my face. “If they didn’t favor the daughter they actually raised, why would they favor a latecomer like you?” The hatred in Mia’s eyes darkened, turning venomous. I just smiled. Go ahead and hate me, I thought. There was a distinct, sharp pleasure in watching her seethe—despising me, yet entirely powerless to defeat me. Mia had hated me from the moment she discovered she was the true Kensington heiress. She had taken a Greyhound bus straight to our gated driveway in Connecticut, demanded a DNA test, and shattered the reality I had known for eighteen years. It happened on the exact same day I had brought home the first-place trophy for the National Math Olympiad. Richard and Caroline had initially dismissed her as a con artist. It took police intervention for them to finally agree to the test. The results confirmed it. She was the real Kensington. I, of course, was the imposter. But they didn’t send me away. The investigation revealed it was a hospital clerical error—a exhausted nurse, two swapped bassinets in the dead of night. No malice, no kidnapping. I was innocent. More importantly, I was exceptional. I was the masterpiece Richard and Caroline had meticulously curated for eighteen years. I was their pride, their flawless investment. They were entirely unwilling to give me up. Especially not when I had just secured an early-admission full ride to MIT. If they sent me packing, my future glory would no longer belong to the Kensington name. From that moment on, Mia’s hatred for me solidified into an obsession. My parents, to their credit, were drowning in guilt. They felt they had failed Mia, horrified that they hadn’t even possessed the parental instinct to recognize their own child. In the beginning, they desperately tried to overcompensate. Their logic was simple: if a girl with absolutely no Kensington blood could be molded into a genius under their roof, then their actualbiological daughter would surely be extraordinary. But the longer they lived with Mia, the more they had to swallow a bitter pill. Mia possessed a certain cunning, a street-level manipulative streak, but absolutely no vision. Even her attempts to frame me were painfully amateurish. High society was already whispering about the return of the lost Kensington heiress. Expectations were sky-high. My parents were living in a constant state of low-grade panic, practically hiding Mia from the country club circuit. It was like holding a worthless, plunging stock while everyone around you congratulated you on a windfall; they couldn’t explain the truth without dying of embarrassment. So, they begged me to keep the peace. To tolerate her. To ensure no humiliating scandals leaked out of the estate. But my patience had officially expired. 2 Mia’s first attempt to frame me involved a custom gold Cartier Love bracelet. Caroline had taken her shopping and bought it as a welcome gift. Mia treated it like the Holy Grail. She had clearly never owned anything of real value before. Consequently, she made a point of casually dragging her wrist across my line of sight at every conceivable opportunity. She had noticed I rarely wore jewelry around the house, and in her mind, that equated to my parents neglecting me. When I completely ignored her glittering wrist, my message was clear: I don’t care about your jewelry, get out of my space. But Mia misread the room. She thought I was masking my crushing jealousy. She had no idea that I had an entire velvet-lined vault of similar pieces—birthday and Christmas gifts accumulated over eighteen years from my parents and grandparents. So, when she rushed down the mahogany staircase the next morning, sobbing that her bracelet had vanished, Richard and Caroline froze. “Mom, Dad,” Mia wept, her eyes shimmering with perfectly timed tears. “That bracelet was the first real gift you ever gave me. I—I can’t bear that it’s gone. Could you please help me find it?” My parents exchanged a grim look. I simply leaned against the marble kitchen island, crossing my arms, ready for the show. After they had torn through Mia’s bedroom and found nothing, she quietly suggested they search Marta’s quarters. Marta, our housekeeper, was visibly stunned. “Mr. and Mrs. Kensington,” she stammered, her hands trembling against her apron. “I have worked in this house for fifteen years. I practically raised Blair. I would never steal from this family!” Besides the sheer insult of the accusation, Marta wore a thick, solid gold bangle of her own on her wrist. My parents paid her an exorbitant salary, and her family had just sold a massive plot of real estate in Queens. She didn’t need to steal Mia’s trinket. I stepped up, my voice cutting through the tension like glass. “Mia, Marta wouldn’t touch your bracelet. You were practically shoving it in my face all day yesterday. I highly suggest you trace your own steps before you start accusing the people who keep this house running.” Mia’s lower lip quivered. “Blair, why are you so defensive? Is it because Mom and Dad bought me gold and didn’t buy you anything? I just want my bracelet back. It doesn’t mean they love me more than you. You really don’t need to be so insecure.” I stared at her. Insecure? Where on earth was she getting this script? Marta, refusing to let me take the heat, swallowed her pride. Though her face was tight with humiliation, she agreed to let Mia search her room. I rested a hand on Marta’s shoulder, my voice softening. “Don’t let it get to you, Marta. When summer break hits, I’m taking you on a vacation to Europe. Just you and me.” Marta let out a breathless, appreciative laugh. “Thank you, sweetheart.” Mia’s jaw clenched. She had likely never heard of an employer taking a housekeeper on a luxury vacation. But in our world, loyalty was rewarded. Predictably, Mia found nothing in Marta’s quarters. But she accomplished one thing: Marta would never look at her with an ounce of warmth again. “Did you find what you were looking for, miss?” Marta asked, her voice entirely devoid of emotion. Mia rubbed her red eyes. “I guess it isn’t in here…” “Apologize to Marta,” Richard ordered, his voice echoing like a whip crack down the hallway. Mia bit her lip, looking at my father as if he had just slapped her. Marta, despising Mia but refusing to let my father lose face, started to wave it off. Before she could, I spoke up. “Marta, on behalf of my little sister, I apologize. When we go abroad, you can pick out whatever you want. My treat.” Marta smiled warmly. “You’re too good to me, Blair.” Mia looked like she was choking on ash. Her entire goal had been to assert dominance, to remind Marta who the realblood of the house was. But Marta gave me everything she possessed, and gave Mia nothing. In Mia’s mind, because she was the biological daughter, the staff should instinctively bow to her. She just couldn’t comprehend why the world wasn’t rearranging itself to fit her narrative. “Blair, why do you constantly undermine me?” Mia asked later, catching me in the hall. “I just wanted to check her room. You didn’t need to buy her affection just to humiliate me. I know Marta favors you, and she hates me. But like I said, I’m just here to join the family. I never wanted to steal Mom and Dad’s love from you. Why don’t you just give the bracelet back?” I blinked. Oh. So that was the endgame. Smear the housekeeper, and when that failed, pivot the accusation to me. I almost admired the sheer audacity of it. I couldn’t wait to see how she planned to pull this off. 3 Marta had been present for Mia’s accusation. She immediately turned to my parents, appalled. “Mr. Kensington, Mrs. Kensington, I swear to you, I treat both girls exactly the same! The only difference in this house is that Mrs. Kensington designed a highly specific, nutrient-dense meal plan for Blair to support her late-night studying. Those supplements aren’t suited for Mia’s dietary needs, so I cook for them separately. That is all!” Caroline closed her eyes, rubbing her temples. “Marta is right. That was my doing. Marta treats you both fairly. Mia, please stop this nonsense. I’ll have a nutritionist draft a new menu for you tomorrow.” I raised an eyebrow. Given Mia’s absolute reliance on processed junk food and heavy meats, a Kensington-approved organic nutritional plan was going to be her own personal hell. A tear slipped down Mia’s cheek, splashing onto the floor. “Mom, I know you don’t believe me. Marta wouldn’t know any better, maybe she just doesn’t know Blair’s true character. Blair, I know you stared at my bracelet all day. It means the world to me. Please, just give it back.” I let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “It might mean the world to you, but it’s utterly useless to me. What would I even do with it?” My private academy strictly prohibited flashy jewelry. All my pieces were locked in the velvet display cases in my walk-in. Mia’s crying escalated into a theatrical, breathless sob. Out of everything she had brought into this house, her weeping was what I despised most. She cried as if the universe owed her a cosmic debt. “Blair, please! Just let me look in your room. Mom, Dad, I’m begging you. That bracelet is everything to me.” But this time, Richard didn’t indulge her. “It is a piece of metal, Mia,” he snapped, his voice hard. “Your mother will take you to Fifth Avenue tomorrow and buy you two more. The Kensingtons do not tear each other apart over pocket change.” But Mia was relentless. “Dad, to you it’s just money. To me, it’s a symbol of your love! I can’t just replace it. And I don’t want to waste your money when I haven’t earned it. Please, let me check. If it’s not in Blair’s room, I will get on my knees and apologize, and I’ll never bring it up again.” Richard’s frown deepened. He had raised me. He knew the architecture of my character. Furthermore, he deeply despised people who fixated on trivial amounts of money. To him, Mia’s hyper-fixation on a single bracelet was aggressively lower-class. I stood off to the side, enjoying the theater. I wanted to see how far she would push it. She turned her tear-streaked face to me. “Blair, I know Mom and Dad adore you. You shouldn’t disappoint them like this. Or… are you refusing to let me search because the bracelet is already in there?” I almost laughed out loud. “What are you afraid of, Blair? Why won’t you let me look? Are you guilty?” Mia pushed, stepping closer. I let a lazy smile touch my lips. I was one hundred percent certain she had already planted the bracelet in my room. “Fine,” I said smoothly. “Mom, Dad, since she’s so desperate to see my room, let her.” I pushed open my bedroom door and gestured inside, playing the gracious host. My parents looked sick with stress, but Mia was entirely oblivious. She had been dying to get inside my bedroom since she arrived. The moment she had moved in, she had demanded the primary suite, but my parents had firmly placed her in a guest wing. She stepped inside, her eyes darting over the silk drapes and original artwork. Then, she spotted the discreet paneled door leading to my walk-in closet. She pushed it open, and I watched the color drain completely from her face. The closet was practically a boutique. Rows of current-season designer garments, handbags that cost more than a luxury car, and an illuminated glass display island in the center. Every single item in that room could have bought her precious bracelet ten times over. And as for the bracelet itself? She stared through the glass case and saw an identical Cartier Love bracelet resting on a velvet pillow. Except, she knew the one she had planted was hidden somewhere else entirely.

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The condo my uncle bought for me sixteen years ago is now worth $1.2 million. When he called out of the blue saying he desperately needed $450,000 to keep his head above water, my heart sank. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to help—it was the sheer scale of the number. It was a life-altering amount of money. I was still processing the shock when my husband, Scott, cut in. He didn’t even wait for me to move the phone away from my ear. “Your uncle gave you that place as a gift, right? He didn’t say anything about wanting a return on investment back then?” I nodded dumbly, my hand trembling against the receiver. Scott let out a sharp, cold laugh. “Then what right does he have to come begging now? He gave it to you. Period. Now that the market’s peaked and the property is worth a fortune, he wants to crawl back and leach off your equity? He’s dreaming.” I froze. My entire body went rigid. On the other end of the line, the silence was absolute. My uncle had heard everything. That silence traveled through the airwaves like a localized frost, settling deep in my bones. It felt like a serrated blade pressing against my eardrum. Every second that passed felt like a slow burn, a suffocating heat I couldn’t escape. I could almost see him—my kind, unassuming Uncle Pete—his face turning ashen, his pride crumbling into dust in some cramped kitchen miles away. “Uncle Pete…” I started, my voice thick. … My throat felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton. Each word was a struggle. Click. The line went dead. It wasn’t a violent hang-up, the kind fueled by rage. It was the sound of a man whose spirit had simply snapped, his fingers sliding off the phone in total exhaustion. I stayed there for a moment, my hand still suspended in mid-air, staring at the screen as it faded to black. The recessed lighting in our living room was designer-perfect, bright and warm, yet I had never felt colder. Scott, the man I’d shared a bed with for five years, was lounging on the West Elm sectional opposite me. There wasn’t a flicker of guilt on his face. Instead, he looked smug, almost triumphant. “See? He hung up the second I called him on it. Guilty conscience,” Scott said. He picked up a Honeycrisp apple from the marble coffee table and took a loud, wet bite. The crunch echoed through the room like a gunshot. “I’m doing this for your own good, Nora,” he continued, pointing the half-eaten apple at me. “You’re too soft. You let people pull at your heartstrings. These kinds of relatives—the ones who stayed in the sticks—they see you doing well, see the property values in the city, and they decide it’s harvest season. Today he wants half a million. Tomorrow it’ll be more. It’s a sinkhole, and I’m not letting us fall into it.” Every word he spoke felt like a precision strike, a poisoned needle aimed at the softest parts of my soul. I looked at him—at the sharp jawline and the confident eyes I used to find so handsome, so reliable—and felt like I was looking at a stranger. Or worse, a monster I’d invited into my house. “Scott, that is my uncle,” I said, my voice vibrating with a fury I didn’t know I possessed. “When my parents died, every other relative treated me like a biohazard. Pete was the one who liquidated everything he had to buy me this condo. He gave me a roof over my head when the world was trying to swallow me whole. You can’t put a price tag on that kind of debt.” Scott scoffed, tossing the apple core into the trash with a careless flick of his wrist. “Debt? You can’t eat ‘debt,’ Nora. Wake up. We live in the real world, not some sentimental Hallmark movie. What did he pay for this place back then? A couple hundred grand? Now it’s $1.2 million! He’s trying to turn a twenty-year-old ‘favor’ into a massive cash exit at our expense.” I saw the greed dancing in his eyes. The way he said the number—1.2 million—it sounded hungry. “Our expense?” I caught the word, a chill crawling up my spine. “Scott, this condo is a pre-marital asset. It’s mine.” His expression darkened instantly. The smugness vanished, replaced by a cold, predatory hardness. “What is that supposed to mean, Nora? We’re married. What’s yours is ours. I’ve busted my ass for this family for five years. Don’t tell me that doesn’t count for anything.” He started his usual litany of “contributions.” The long hours at the firm, the holidays spent with my family, the way he’d been a “rock.” He painted himself as a martyr of domesticity. It was a joke. A sick, twisted joke. We’d been married for five years, and I covered seventy percent of our expenses because my salary doubled his. His money was always “for his future business ventures” or “networking.” Meanwhile, I paid the property taxes, the HOA fees, and the grocery bills. And now, he was already spending the equity in my home. “Once we flip this place, we can move out to the suburbs. A real house. A yard. Maybe a pool,” he said, his voice returning to that breezy, delusional tone. “And I want to help my brother get his feet under him—he needs a down payment for a place in the city. The rest we can tuck away for the kids’ college funds. It’s a perfect plan.” He laid it out so logically, as if my uncle’s life-or-death crisis was nothing more than a convenient catalyst for his own lifestyle upgrade. The man I had loved for five years was gone. In his place sat a man for whom love, loyalty, and blood were all just variables in a spreadsheet. I didn’t want to argue anymore. You can’t reason with someone who views people as ATMs. I turned and walked into the bedroom, slamming the door. I needed to drown out the sound of his voice. I reached into the back of my nightstand and pulled out an old, battered photo album. The silk cover was frayed, the corners yellowed with age. On the very first page was a photo of me at sixteen. I was a ghost of a girl back then, rail-thin and hollow-eyed from the grief of losing my parents. In the photo, Uncle Pete has his arm around my shoulders. His hands were rough, calloused from years of manual labor, but his grip was steady. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were fixed on me with a fierce, protective love. The background was this very condo—back when the neighborhood was still gritty and the paint was fresh. I remember him pointing at the skyline and saying, “Nora, don’t be scared. This is your fortress. No one can ever take this from you.” A tear hit the plastic sleeve of the album, blurring his face. The bedroom door burst open. Scott walked in, smelling of bourbon and resentment. “I’m warning you, Nora. Do not call that man back,” he snapped. His face was flushed, his eyes narrowed. “And don’t you dare mention money. Not a cent. If I find out you’re funneling cash to him behind my back, we’re done. I mean it.” I looked at him, my vision clearing through the tears. “By what authority, Scott?” My coldness rattled him. He stepped closer, towering over me. “By the authority of being your husband! Everything you have, you have because of the life we built. You were a lonely orphan when I found you. If I hadn’t stepped up, God knows where you’d be drifting right now. Don’t act like you’re some self-made mogul. You’re part of the Miller family now, and I won’t let some deadbeat relative from your past bleed us dry!” It was like a physical blow. A slap across the face couldn’t have stung more. To him, I was still that “lonely orphan.” My only value was the rising market price of the walls around us. I started to laugh. It was a sharp, jagged sound that didn’t feel like it belonged to me. It was the sound of a woman watching her life crumble and realizing she didn’t mind the rubble. That night, sleep was impossible. I stared at the ceiling until the first grey light of dawn filtered through the blinds. I had made my choice. I was going to help my uncle. Even if it meant burning my world to the ground. The next morning, the doorbell rang with a frantic, aggressive rhythm. I checked the Ring camera. It was my mother-in-law, Peggy. The reinforcements had arrived. I opened the door, and Peggy practically shoved past me. “Oh, my poor boy! Scott, honey, you look terrible.” She grabbed Scott’s face, fretting over him as if he’d survived a war instead of a tantrum. Scott slumped into a chair, playing the role of the exhausted, wronged husband perfectly. Peggy turned her gaze on me. Her eyes were like two cold pebbles. “Nora, I heard the news. Your uncle is trying to shake you down for money?” “He’s in trouble, Peggy,” I said, my voice flat. “How much?” “Almost half a million.” Peggy gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “Half a million? Is he insane? He’s trying to bankrupt this family! He’s trying to rob my son!” “He’s my uncle,” I reminded her. “And it’s a loan. He’s in a corner.” Peggy sat on the edge of the sofa, her face twisting into a mask of faux-concern. “Nora, honey, you have to be smart. When people like that ask for money, it’s a black hole. You’ll never see it again. You’re a Miller now. You have to think about your family. Your husband. This condo… it might be in your name, but it’s a Miller asset now. It’s my son’s security.” The sheer audacity of her logic made my head spin. “Peggy,” I said, a smile twitching on my lips. “At what point did my house become Scott’s security?” She saw the opening and took it. Her tone shifted from “concerned mother” to “shrewd negotiator.” “Well, if you really want to protect the family—and prove you’re not just going to throw your life away on a whim—maybe it’s time to put Scott’s name on the deed. Make it official. A joint asset. That way, if your uncle comes calling again, you can just tell him it’s out of your hands. Legal protection, Nora. It’s for the best.” Finally. The mask was off. This was the real reason she was here. “No,” I said. One word. Absolute. Peggy’s face turned the color of a bruised plum. “You… you ungrateful girl! We took you in! We made you one of us!” Scott stood up then, stepping into my space again. “Nora, what are you doing? We’re a team. Why are you acting like we’re enemies? Are you already planning your exit? Is that why you’re guarding the deed like a hawk?” He was gaslighting me, painting me as the selfish one while he reached for my wallet. “A team?” I whispered, my voice trembling with rage. “My uncle is drowning, and you’re standing on his head to keep your own shoes dry. You don’t know the first thing about being a team.” Peggy jumped up, pointing a finger at my face. “Who cares about your uncle’s son? Why should my son suffer because your side of the family can’t manage their lives? We aren’t paying for their mistakes!” The words hit me like a lightning strike. I looked at them—this mother and son, so certain of their own righteousness, so devoid of basic human empathy. For the first time in five years, the word divorce didn’t feel like a tragedy. It felt like a rescue. This wasn’t my home. They weren’t my family. They were parasites waiting for the host to weaken. “Get out,” I said. They both froze. “What?” Scott asked, his eyes wide. “I said, get out of my house. Both of you.” Peggy lunged toward me, her face contorted. “You little bitch! You can’t talk to me like—” I stepped aside, catching her momentum and shoving her toward the door. I had spent years being the “quiet, grateful orphan.” That girl was dead. Scott tried to intervene, his voice rising in a mix of command and desperation. “Nora, you’ve lost your mind! You’re going to throw away your marriage for a ghost?” I didn’t answer. I just pushed. I pushed until they were both in the hallway, and then I slammed the heavy oak door. I turned the deadbolt. Click. The silence that followed was beautiful. I leaned my forehead against the cool wood of the door and let my body slide to the floor. My heart was hammering against my ribs, but my mind was clearer than it had been in years. This house was my fortress. And the siege was over. I sat there until my legs went numb. Once I stopped shaking, I did the only thing that mattered: I called my uncle back. It rang for a long time before my aunt answered. Her voice was raw from crying. “Nora?” “It’s me. Is Pete there?” A moment later, his gravelly voice came through. “Nora… honey. I’m so sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have called. I didn’t mean to cause a fight between you and Scott.” He was still protecting me. My heart broke all over again. “Uncle Pete, stop. Don’t apologize. Tell me what happened. Really.” He finally broke. My cousin, Toby, had been diagnosed with aggressive leukemia. He needed a bone marrow transplant, and even with insurance, the out-of-network costs, the travel, and the specialized post-op care were astronomical. $450,000 was the price of his life. “He’s only twenty-five, Nora,” Pete choked out. “The doctors say if we can get the funds, the success rate is high. But we don’t have it. We just don’t have it.” “You do now,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I’m going to get you the money. I promise. Just give me a few days.” After I hung up, I logged into our joint savings account to see what I could liquidate immediately. I stared at the screen. My stomach dropped. $4,217. We should have had nearly $200,000 in that account. My bonuses alone over the last three years had been six figures. I called Scott immediately. “Where is the money, Scott?” I didn’t say hello. I didn’t yell. “What are you talking about?” He sounded annoyed, but there was a tremor of guilt in his voice. “The joint account. It’s empty. Where is it?” “I… I had to help my brother with his business loan. And my parents’ roof needed replacing. We talked about this, Nora. We’re a family. It’s all one pot.” “We never talked about $190,000, Scott.” He hung up on me. The betrayal was complete. He had been draining me for years to subsidize his own family while sneering at mine. I didn’t cry this time. I opened my laptop and started searching for real estate agents. This condo—my history, my sanctuary—was going to save Toby. I think my parents would have wanted it that way. But Scott wasn’t going to make it easy. He moved back in that evening, acting as though nothing had happened, but he wasn’t alone. Peggy was with him. They became my jailers. If I went to the bathroom, Peggy stood in the hall. If I made tea, Scott was at my elbow. They took my passport. They took the physical deed from my desk. They took my car keys. “You aren’t selling this place, Nora,” Scott said, locking the documents in his personal safe. “You’re staying right here until you come to your senses.” I didn’t fight them. I didn’t scream. I just watched them. They thought they had won. They thought that without the physical papers, I was trapped. What they didn’t know was that I’d already filed for a replacement ID weeks ago after “losing” my wallet. It was tucked inside the lining of my gym bag. They didn’t know that I had digital copies of every property document stored in an encrypted cloud drive they couldn’t access. While Scott was at work and Peggy was napping, I met with an agent named Brenda. She was a shark in a Chanel suit, and she smelled blood. “Honey,” Brenda said after I told her everything. “I’ve seen it all. The missing deed is a hurdle, but with your ID and the original purchase contract—which I can pull from the county records—we can move. We’ll do an off-market pocket listing. Cash buyers only. We can close in ten days.” I signed the digital listing agreement in the back of Brenda’s Lexus while Peggy was upstairs watching The Price is Right. The counter-attack had begun.

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On the night of my birthday, my husband—who worked as a contractor for a highly classified defense intelligence agency—sent me a Zelle transfer for $5,000. [Baby, an emergency came up at the agency. I’m stuck working late. I am so sorry I can’t be there to celebrate with you.] The notification glowed on my screen. And in that exact moment, I was standing in the shadowed alcove of my own corporate building’s lobby, watching him walk through the revolving glass doors. His arm was wrapped tightly around his adopted sister. “This is the last time I’m giving in to you,” I heard him murmur, his voice echoing faintly against the marble walls. “Next year, no matter what, I’m spending her birthday with her.” Madison, his adopted sister, leaned into his side with a breathy, saccharine laugh, holding up a sleek, silver box of ultra-thin condoms. “Our very first time was in your company’s executive boardroom,” she whispered, tracing his jawline. “It’s only poetic that our last time happens in the exact same place.” My fingers tightened around my paper coffee cup until the cardboard buckled. The iced latte inside suddenly felt like battery acid in my veins. Pulling out my phone, I drafted an emergency email to my executive team, excluding only Madison, who officially worked in our marketing department. [Urgent: The client has moved up the contract signing. All department heads, meet in the main executive boardroom in twenty minutes.] If they wanted a thrill, I thought, my heart beating a slow, hollow rhythm against my ribs. If they wanted a show. I was about to give them a finale they would never, ever forget. … [Hey, Dave? Can you remotely access the dome camera in the main executive boardroom from the backend?] [Yes, exactly. I want to make sure we capture this historic signing on tape. Great, just route the live feed to my phone, please.] Hanging up, I opened the security application on my phone, my fingers trembling so badly I almost dropped the device. The live feed buffered, then snapped into crisp, high-definition color. The exact spot where Harry and Madison were currently writhing against each other was dead center of the massive mahogany conference table. Right beneath the unblinking eye of the camera. “Harry,” Madison purred, her voice tinny but clear through the audio feed. “What do you think Caroline would do if she knew… that every single year, the birthday lingerie you buy her is something I’ve already broken in for you?” She arched her back, and the camera caught the unmistakable scalloped edges of a black La Perla set. “Do you think she’d thank me for test-driving it?” Recognizing the delicate lace—the exact brand and style Harry gifted me every single birthday—a scalding heat flooded my eyes. My stomach pitched violently, the world tilting on its axis as bile rose hot and sharp in the back of my throat. I had to brace my hand against the cold plaster wall just to stay upright. We had been married for six years. And for six years, on every single birthday, he had found an excuse to be absent. I had always given him the benefit of the doubt. His work in defense intelligence was strictly confidential; he couldn’t control his hours. Or so I thought. I couldn’t have imagined, even in my darkest nightmares, that every time I sat alone in our dimly lit dining room, blowing out my candles and wishing for a long, happy life with my husband… he was locked inside my company’s boardroom with his adopted sister, desecrating every vow we had ever made. A frigid draft swept through the corridor, making me shiver uncontrollably. “Ms. Brooks?” I jumped, turning to see my executive assistant standing a few feet away, accompanied by a small camera crew. “The PR team and the corporate videographer are here,” she said, oblivious to the earthquake happening inside my chest. “With this live stream, our shareholders and the public will see us finalize the strategic partnership with Carmichael Industries in real time. It’s going to be a massive PR win for our stock.” I forced the corners of my mouth up into a smile, taking the bottle of water she offered to wash the bitter taste from my mouth. “Keep the camera discrete for now,” I instructed, my voice eerily calm. “We go live in fifteen seconds. And no matter what happens in that room, the stream does not cut. Understood?” With the stage set, I led my team toward the private executive elevators to wait for our VIPs: Harry’s father, Arthur Cole (a major shareholder); my own father, Richard Brooks; and our billionaire client, Victor Carmichael. When the elevator doors chimed and slid open, I plastered on my best professional warmth. “Dad, Victor. Right this way.” But as we stepped off the elevator and approached the boardroom wing, the pristine hallway told a different story. A pale blue women’s blazer lay crumpled on the carpet. Without missing a beat, I bent down, picking it up and draping it over my arm. A few steps later, two five-inch Louboutin stilettos lay violently discarded near the wall. And hanging off the heavy brass handle of the boardroom door? A single, sheer black stocking. As I feigned shock, clumsily trying to gather the trail of discarded clothes, the three older men stopped dead in their tracks. They looked at the messy bundle in my arms, then at me—dressed impeccably in my tailored trousers and silk blouse. Victor Carmichael cleared his throat, an uncomfortable, amused smile playing on his lips. “Well. Making your employees work on a Friday night is a bit draconian, Caroline. I hope us old men aren’t interrupting some young executives blowing off steam?” By now, the rest of my staff had arrived via the main elevators, congregating behind us in the corridor. I forced a tight, embarrassed laugh, shaking my head. I pressed my hand flat against the heavy double doors of the boardroom and pushed with all my might. “Let’s see what kind of scandal we’re walking into, shall we?” But before the door could swing fully open, someone shoved it back from the inside. Harry slipped through the narrow gap, his tie entirely gone, his dress shirt misbuttoned and untucked. His face, flushed a deep, feverish red, drained of all color the second he saw the crowd. “Dad? M-Mr. Brooks?” he stammered, his eyes darting wildly. “Isn’t it… isn’t today Friday? What are you all doing here?” Then, his gaze dropped to the shredded black stocking in my hand. He looked past me, realizing there were nearly fifty employees standing in the hallway, phones buzzing, whispers erupting. In a display of sheer, unadulterated audacity, Harry stepped forward and pulled me into a tight embrace, his hands gripping my waist like a vice. “Caroline, honey,” he said, his voice dripping with forced affection. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a meeting?” He ducked his head, pressing his mouth so close to my ear I could smell the sweat and sex on his skin. “Everyone is looking,” he hissed, his tone desperate. “Play along. It’s not what you think. I will explain everything later.” Feeling the frantic thud of his heart against my chest, a wave of profound physical revulsion washed over me. I shoved hard against his chest, breaking the embrace. “I apologize, gentlemen. How unprofessional of us,” I said loudly, projecting my voice. “Dad, Arthur, why don’t you take Victor to the VIP lounge for a few minutes? I’ll have maintenance clear the room, and we will begin the signing in five minutes.” Harry let out a breath he’d been holding, his shoulders dropping in relief. But the relief made him cocky. Instantly, his tone shifted from pleading to patronizing. “Caroline, what has gotten into you?” he scolded, playing the role of the rational husband. “You can’t make Victor wait. Doesn’t this floor have that smaller conference room down the hall? Let’s just use that one for tonight.” He shot a panicked, meaningful look at his father. Arthur Cole, a man who had built his fortune on reading between the lines and burying bodies, caught the look immediately. “Yes, exactly,” Arthur chimed in smoothly, stepping forward. “Harry is right. The small room will do just fine.” He practically bowed as he reached out to shake Victor’s hand. “My apologies, Victor. You know how disorganized the younger generation can be. Let’s head this way.” He was trying to herd everyone away. He wanted to clear the hallway so Madison—who was undoubtedly still trapped inside the main boardroom, naked and terrified—could make her escape. Not a chance in hell. “Arthur,” I said, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. “I can forgive Harry for not knowing the layout of our office, considering he doesn’t work here. But surely you know better.” I gestured to the sea of employees behind me. “The small boardroom holds twenty people. There are over fifty department heads and staff members here. Are we supposed to have them stand in the hallway during a multi-million-dollar merger?” I turned to Harry, a sweet, poisoned smile on my face. “Honestly, Harry. I work a late shift, change into something comfortable, and ask you to put my clothes away when you drop by to visit… and you just leave them scattered in the hall? You’re giving everyone the wrong idea.” I linked my arm through Victor Carmichael’s. “Victor, let’s head inside. I promised my team triple overtime for this sudden Friday night pivot. If I delay them any longer, I’m going to have a mutiny on my hands.” As the crowd surged forward toward the main doors, Harry threw his body in front of the handle, his eyes wild with terror. “Caroline, please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Just listen to me. Use the other room. Please.” My father, Richard, wasn’t an idiot. Watching my sudden, icy demeanor and Harry’s manic desperation, the pieces clicked together in his mind. His face darkened into a thundercloud. “Arthur,” my father barked, looking at Harry’s dad. “What the hell is going on in that room that your boy is so terrified of us seeing?” Without waiting for an answer, my father grabbed Harry by the shoulder, shoved him aside, and threw open the boardroom doors. He marched inside, the lights automatically flickering on. “All this sneaking around,” my father boomed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the boy had a woman hidden in—” His voice died in his throat. Right in the center of the polished mahogany table lay a crumpled bra and a torn pair of lace panties. My father didn’t hesitate. He spun around, grabbed Harry by the lapels, and drove his fist straight into Harry’s jaw. The crack echoed through the room as Harry hit the floor. “You son of a bitch!” my dad roared, kicking Harry hard in the ribs. “You actually dared to cheat on my daughter? Who is it? Who’s the whore you’ve got in here?” My dad pointed a shaking finger at the pile of clothes I had collected. “I knew the second the elevator doors opened. That blazer, those heels—Caroline wouldn’t be caught dead in that trashy garbage!” He reached for his jacket buttons, ready to drop down and beat Harry into a pulp, but Arthur grabbed him, pulling him back. “Richard, wait! Don’t do this here!” Arthur pleaded. Harry scrambled backward, blood dripping from his lip. He grabbed the underwear off the table and blindly reached under a nearby chair, pulling out a pink Victoria’s Secret shopping bag. “Dad! Mr. Brooks, you’ve got it all wrong!” Harry cried, his voice shrill. “It’s a gift! I bought it for Caroline for her birthday! It just… it fell out of the bag, and I hadn’t picked it up yet!” He looked up at me, his eyes begging me to throw him a lifeline. “Tell them, Caroline. Tell them! Haven’t I bought you a set just like this every year for the past six years?” The sheer, breathtaking cowardice of the man I married made my skin crawl. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. I calmly walked over, took the crumpled lace from his shaking hands, and dropped it into the nearest trash can, along with the heels and the blazer. “Dad, stop. He’s telling the truth,” I lied smoothly. I instructed the bewildered staff to take their seats. As they filed in, I let my eyes sweep the massive room. I was hunting. Madison had to be completely naked right now. The room was sleek, modern, minimal. The only place big enough to hide a human body was under the massive oak table. But when Harry had dropped to the floor to grab the bag, I had already checked the sightlines beneath the chairs. Nothing. There was only one other place. In the far corner of the room sat our industrial-grade architectural plotter and printer—a machine the size of a small car, with a massive hollow storage chassis at the bottom meant for spare toner and oversized paper rolls. To test my theory, I casually walked toward the corner, pretending to examine the thermostat on the wall near the printer. Instantly, a cold sweat broke out on Harry’s forehead. He lunged out of his chair, grabbing my elbow with a bruising grip. “Caroline,” he said rapidly, his eyes dilated. “Did you get the Venmo I sent you? The five thousand dollars?” “What money?” I asked, playing dumb and reaching for my phone. He snatched my hand away. “Never mind. Just… look at it later. Let’s get through this meeting, and then I’m taking you out. You wanted to go to that rooftop restaurant to see the fireworks, right? We’ll go tonight. Just the two of us.” I forced a smile, looking deeply into his panicked eyes. “Okay.” I was certain now. Madison was curled up inside the belly of that printer. I turned back to the table and signaled for my assistant to pause. “Victor, I am so sorry,” I announced loudly. “There is a glaring typo on page four of the financial disclosures. It’s an unacceptable oversight by my team, and it will be dealt with.” I looked at my assistant. “I need ten minutes. Have someone print a fresh, corrected copy of the contract right now. Use the machine in the corner.” “No!” The shout came from both Harry and his father simultaneously. No? I thought, a cold, dead calm settling over my heart. I don’t think you get a say in this anymore. I knew Arthur. I knew he had recognized Madison’s blazer in the hallway. I knew he had put the pieces together. The only reason he was playing along, pretending this was just a misunderstanding, was because he assumed I would protect the family’s reputation. He assumed I was a good, compliant wife who would rather swallow glass than cause a public scandal. What neither of them understood was that beneath my polished exterior, I was uncompromising. If you crossed my bottom line, I would burn the earth to ash to make you pay. I shot a subtle, loaded look at my father. He read my face instantly. “Victor, don’t worry,” my dad stepped in, his voice booming with authority. “We will have the corrected documents in your hands in less than ten minutes.” Arthur stepped forward, his face pale and sweating. “Is that the only printer in the building?” he snapped at my assistant. “Go use the one in marketing! You’re going to disturb Victor with that loud machine in here.” Arthur frantically poured a glass of water, offering it to Victor with a shaky hand. “Kids these days, Victor. No sense of decorum. Forgive them.” My assistant froze, looking at me for direction. My father leaned back in his leather chair, crossing his arms. He looked at Arthur with a predatory smirk. “Arthur, why are you sweating? It’s just a printer.” I tilted my head, adopting a look of innocent confusion. “Honestly, Harry, you and your dad are acting so bizarrely tonight. Is there something you’re hiding from me?” I crossed my arms, subtly angling my body so the videographer’s camera had a clear, unobstructed shot of the machine. “Are you really hiding a woman in here, like my dad said?” I teased, walking in a slow circle around the room. “But where would she be? The room is practically empty.” I stopped directly in front of the massive printer, staring at the ventilation grates on the lower housing. “It’s not like she could fit inside the paper tray, right?” Arthur’s face turned a sickly shade of gray. Harry held his hands up, his voice cracking with hysteria. “I swear to God, Caroline, I haven’t betrayed you! You’re taking this joke too far! Victor is our most important client, you’re being incredibly disrespectful!” He was still trying to gaslight me. He was still banking on my obedience. If Arthur and Harry were so determined to bury their heads in the sand, I was going to force their hand. Madison had two choices. One: She could push the hatch open, crawl out completely naked in front of fifty people and a live-streaming camera, and admit to the world that she had been sleeping with her adoptive brother. Two: She could stay inside the machine. And when the massive industrial gears and rollers fired up, she could see how much pressure human bone could take. I stared into Arthur’s eyes, entirely deadpan. “Three minutes have passed,” I said coldly. “Victor has a nine o’clock flight back to New York.”

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Since Cole Miller and Serena Vale became the nation’s favorite on-screen couple, I—Cole’s legal wife—have become a magnet for “accidents.” The first time, funeral wreaths were piled high against our front door, and the “Welcome” mat was soaked in what smelled like rot. The second time, I was cornered outside my office and doused in a bucket of thick, metallic-smelling animal blood. The third time, a car “lost control” on the sidewalk, sending me flying. I spent three months shattered in a hospital bed. Every time I cried to him, Cole’s response was a cool, detached shrug. “They’re just fans, Nicole. They get a little overzealous. Maybe if you stayed home like I told you, this wouldn’t happen.” Then came the tenth time. A “mysterious” fire broke out in our house while I was sleeping. I woke up to a wall of flames and ended up in the ICU for seven days, clinging to life with burns covering my body. The day I was discharged, Cole didn’t offer a hand to help me into the car. He offered a pen. He slid a divorce settlement across the seat. “Serena and I have a few more months of promotion. We need to get married to keep the momentum of the show alive. We’ll divorce now, and once the ‘showmance’ peak passes, we’ll quietly remarry.” He looked at me with those eyes the world fell in love with—eyes that used to belong to me. “It’s just PR, Nicole. You know that.” This time, I didn’t scream. I didn’t beg. I simply took the pen and signed my name. 1 “Nicole, honey, you can’t do this. You can’t leave Cole!” My mother-in-law, Margaret, rushed to the hospital the moment she heard. She grabbed my hands, her face a mask of genuine distress. “You two have been through everything together. You built this life from nothing.” “I know you’re hurting because of the rumors about him and Serena. I’ll call him right now. I’ll make him apologize!” Maybe Cole thought the same thing. He thought our history—the years of struggling in cramped Studio City apartments, sharing cheap ramen—was an unbreakable chain. He thought I’d never actually walk away. But I just shook my head, a tired, hollow smile touching my lips. I pulled out my phone and played a video. The room was dimly lit, but the figures were unmistakable. Cole and Serena, their bodies tangled, breathless and desperate. “Cole… I wish we could stay in the script forever,” Serena moaned. “I never want to leave this.” Cole kissed her, his voice a low, gravelly rasp I hadn’t heard in years. “If only I’d met you sooner. If only things were different.” I placed the phone on the bed and pushed the signed papers toward Margaret. My voice was a whisper. “His heart found a new home a long time ago. It’s time I let mine do the same.” The day I left the hospital was the day of Cole and Serena’s “Century Wedding.” The internet was a sea of blue hearts and celebratory hashtags. Every digital billboard in the city seemed to be looping the footage of their grand, romantic ceremony. The sun caught the massive sapphire on Serena’s finger, the glare so sharp it made my eyes ache. When we started, we were just two nobodies working as extras on the backlots of Burbank. We shared a dream, and that dream was the glue that held us together. When we got our marriage license, we didn’t have money for a ceremony, let alone a ring. We eventually scrounged enough to buy a thin silver band. It was a little too small, a little too plain. But back then, he’d gripped my hand and promised, “One day, Nicole, I’m going to give you the biggest diamond in the world. I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret choosing me.” Now, he was fulfilling that promise to a different woman. The first time the tabloids caught them, I cried. He held me, smelling of guilt and expensive cologne, promising it was just “method acting” and that he’d set boundaries. The second time they were caught sharing an “intimate dinner,” he snapped at me. He told me they were “workshopping the script” and called me paranoid for “making something out of nothing.” The third time… I was alone in a cold clinic recovering from an ectopic pregnancy surgery when a video was DM’d to me. It showed them entering a hotel suite at 2:00 AM. When I confronted him, Cole didn’t even blink. “We were running lines, Nicole! Jesus, stop being so small-minded. I’m a public figure now. If you can’t handle the heat of this life, maybe you shouldn’t have married an actor.” When the show wrapped, a photo of them kissing on set—tearful and passionate—blew up globally. The comments were a unanimous chorus of adoration. [Look at them. That’s not acting. That’s true love. My ship has finally sailed!] [Cole Miller is the only man I’d forgive for cheating. He and Serena are soulmates!] [Can Cole’s wife just get out of the way already? How can some plain, retired extra even stand next to an Emmy winner?] That was the day the stalking intensified. The day the threats became physical. And every time I begged Cole for help, he just looked at me with cold, bored eyes. “My fans are rational people, Nicole. They wouldn’t do that. Maybe you should look at your own life and see who you’ve pissed off.” Then came the fire. When I woke up from the smoke inhalation and the burns, he was standing there with the divorce papers. “Serena and I need the buzz. It’s just a role.” “Be a good girl. Give me a month. Once the PR cycle ends, we’ll remarry.” I realized then that our marriage hadn’t just hit a wall. It had burned to ash in that house. 2 The day after I was discharged, my phone buzzed. It was Cole. “Nicole, did you forget to tell my mother that this is temporary? She’s making things impossible for Serena!” His voice was sharp, entitled. “You need to go over there right now and fix this, or don’t even think about us remarrying.” In the past, no matter who was at fault, I was always the one to bow my head first. But now, hearing the arrogance in his voice, I just said calmly, “Fine. Then let’s not remarry.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. Then he let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Don’t play hard to get, Nicole. It doesn’t suit you. We both know you’ll be crawling back to me in a week.” I remembered a time when the rumors were everywhere. We had planned a quiet dinner for my birthday, but Serena called. She had a “panic attack,” she said. Cole left before the appetizers arrived. That was our biggest fight. I screamed that I wanted a divorce. Cole’s eyes turned to ice. “Don’t you dare threaten me, Nicole. You’ll regret it.” He didn’t come home for three months. He blocked me everywhere. Desperate, I went to his hotel to find him, but he looked me in the eye and told the security guards he didn’t know who I was. I was arrested for stalking. I spent seven days in a holding cell—cold, hungry, and terrified—until Cole finally showed up to bail me out. He looked down at me, looking like a mess, and whispered, “Let that be a lesson, Nicole. Watch your mouth.” That was the day my heart shattered for the first time. After that, I stopped fighting about Serena. I became the perfect, quiet wife. I stayed in my lane. But in the end, I still lost everything. It was a family dinner at the estate. Margaret had called, begging me to come over for a “final” family meal. I couldn’t say no to her; she was the only person in that family who had ever been kind to me. But the moment I walked in, I saw Cole sitting at the table, meticulously peeling shrimp for Serena. I froze. Cole used to hate “messy” food. He hated the effort. But here he was, breaking his own rules for her. When he saw me, his forehead creased in irritation. “We’re divorced, Nicole. What are you doing here? If the paparazzi see you, it’ll ruin Serena’s image!” “I invited her,” Margaret said firmly, gesturing for me to sit beside her. Her expression was pained. Serena suddenly spoke up, her voice dripping with mock-sweetness. “Nicole, I heard you used to be an actress too. Is it true you quit because of that… incident with the director? The ‘casting couch’ thing?” The room went deathly silent. My body went rigid. That was my first real gig. A director had spiked my drink at a wrap party. I’d managed to text Cole my location before I blacked out. He’d found me in time, but the trauma had been paralyzing. Cole had taken two months off to stay with me, telling me I should just stay home where it was safe. That was why I quit. Serena tilted her head, her eyes gleaming. “I mean, some girls try to sleep their way to the top and then cry ‘assault’ when the deal falls through. I always wondered… you were already half-undressed when Cole found you, weren’t you? Who knows what really happened?” 3 Cole slammed his glass onto the table. The glass shattered, shards flying across the tablecloth. One sliced into my finger, but I didn’t feel it. I was too busy watching Cole’s face, which had turned a sickly shade of gray. A month after that trauma, I’d discovered I was pregnant. Cole had said he believed me back then, but I’d find him on the balcony at 3:00 AM, smoking in silence, looking at me with suspicion. We fought constantly. I lost the baby shortly after. After the miscarriage, the distance between us became a canyon. Cole’s voice cut through the air, cold and sharp. “Nicole. I’m asking you one more time. That night… were you actually raped?” The question was a knife, twisting in an old wound. “You never believed me, did you, Cole?” He stared at me, his jaw tight. “I just want the truth. I need to know the truth before I can commit to remarrying you.” I started to laugh—a soft, broken sound. “I’m not remarrying you, Cole. Ever.” “If you believe her so much, then stay with her. You deserve each other.” Cole sneered, his voice dropping to a cruel, tender tone. “Stop the theatrics. You have no career, no income. I’m the only thing keeping you from the gutter. You don’t have the guts to leave me.” Finally, the ugly truth was out. “Enough!” Margaret shouted, slamming her hand on the table. She reached over to comfort me, but as she took a bite of her salad, her face suddenly flushed a deep, terrifying red. She began to cough violently, gasping for air. “Mom!” Cole rushed to her side. He looked at the plate, then turned on me with a primal fury. “You knew she was deathly allergic to celery! She’s forgetful lately, but you—you did this on purpose!” “I didn’t—” He didn’t let me finish. He shoved me, hard. I tumbled backward, my hand landing on the jagged edge of the broken glass. Blood bloomed across my palm instantly. Cole paused for a fraction of a second, but then he looked away, his face hardening. He scooped Margaret up. “Serena, let’s get her to the hospital. Now!” I followed them, desperate to know she was okay. At the hospital, Margaret was stabilized. Through the thin walls of the observation room, I heard Serena sobbing. “It’s all my fault, Cole… I didn’t know about the celery.” “It’s fine, baby,” Cole’s voice was hauntingly gentle. “We’ll just tell everyone Nicole did it. Mom loves her; she won’t press charges. It’ll be okay.” I stood in the hallway, the blood from my hand dripping onto the white linoleum. I was his shield. His scapegoat. His trash. Over the next few weeks, I couldn’t escape them. They were on every talk show, every “Day in the Life” segment. They visited orphanages together, looking like the perfect young family. Late one night, Serena posted a photo from a hotel room. It was a shot of Cole sleeping, his arm draped over her. Both of them were covered in “love bites.” She deleted it within seconds, but the internet caught it. The fans went wild, asking when the “real” wedding was happening. I just smiled. The pain was finally being replaced by a strange, hollow peace. On the final day of his “month,” Cole called. His voice sounded wrecked. “Meet me at the courthouse. I’m divorcing Serena today, and we’re going to get our license again.” “Nicole, isn’t this what you wanted?” I hung up. I didn’t go. An hour later, my front door was nearly kicked off its hinges. Cole was there, his eyes bloodshot, his grip bruising as he grabbed my arm. “I told you I was coming back! And you… to get back at Serena, you hired people to hurt her? How could you be so vile?” “If anything happens to her, I will destroy you!” 4 I stared at him, genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?” He dragged me to the hospital. Serena was there, huddled in a corner of a private suite, shaking uncontrollably. Cole’s eyes filled with tears. He threw me aside and ran to her, pulling her into his arms. “It’s okay, Serena. I’ve already dealt with them. No one will ever touch you again.” When Serena saw me, she let out a blood-curdling shriek. She scrambled out of bed and knelt at my feet, sobbing. “Nicole, please… please don’t let those men come back. I’ll quit. I’ll leave the industry. I’ll never see Cole again, just please…” Her neck and arms were covered in dark bruises. Her face was swollen. I looked at her, my heart hammering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Slap! The force of Cole’s hand sent me spinning to the floor. My ears rang. Cole loomed over me, his face twisted in a mask of pure hatred. “Because it happened to you, you wanted it to happen to her? You’re sick, Nicole! I can’t believe I ever felt sorry for you!” “I should have never saved you that night at the hotel.” That sentence… it was the one that finally killed the last part of me that loved him. “I didn’t do this…” I whispered. He didn’t hear me. Or he didn’t care. He signaled to his security team. They hauled me into a car and drove me to the very hotel where everything had ended for me years ago. He threw me into the exact same room. “Since you love this place so much, since you love playing the victim, why don’t you stay here and reminisce?” The furniture was the same. The smell was the same. My body began to shake with a violent, primal terror. I grabbed his sleeve, my voice breaking. “I won’t remarry you. I’ll sign anything. Just please, take me away from here.” Cole leaned in, his voice a cold, terrifying whisper. “You want to know why you really lost that baby, Nicole?” “Serena told me that if I couldn’t look at you without wondering whose kid it was, I shouldn’t have it. So I slipped something into your water. I ended it myself.” The world tilted. The air left my lungs. I screamed—a raw, guttural sound of agony. “That was your child, Cole! You murdered your own child!” Because of that “miscarriage” and my previous surgery, the doctors had told me I could never conceive again. He hadn’t just killed a baby; he had killed my entire future. Suddenly, a guard burst in. “Mr. Miller! Miss Vale is hysterical—she just tried to jump from the second-floor balcony!” Cole’s face went pale. He turned and ran without a second glance. At the door, he paused. “Rot in here, Nicole. See how it feels.” The door slammed shut. I heard the lock click. I pounded on the wood until my knuckles bled. Then, I felt a presence behind me. A pair of large, heavy hands grabbed my waist. I was thrown onto the bed. I looked up and the scream died in my throat. It was him. The director from all those years ago. He grinned, showing yellowed teeth. “You ruined my career, you little bitch. You made me a pariah.” “Let’s see who saves you this time.” I lunged for the door, but he caught my hair, dragging me back. I screamed for help, but the walls were soundproofed. He pinned my wrists with his boots, the pain searing. He began tearing at my clothes. As he moved closer, his hand clamped over my mouth and nose. I couldn’t breathe. The world began to go black. Just as my consciousness started to slip, I heard a thundering crash. The door flew off its hinges. After he settled Serena down, a strange, gnawing anxiety began to eat at Cole. He remembered the look in my eyes when he left. He told himself he was just teaching me a lesson, but something felt wrong. He drove back to the hotel. He expected to find me crying. Instead, he found a nightmare that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

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On the morning of the state finals—the exams that would determine our college admissions and our futures—my brother handed me a bottle of milk. I took it, my chest tightening with a rare, sweet rush of gratitude, until a glowing string of text suddenly began scrolling across my vision, like a phantom live-chat projected directly into my mind. [Don’t drink it, babygirl! If she drinks that, the charity case gets x-ray vision to copy her answers!] [And she’ll slowly lose her mind. In seven days, her brain will turn to mush and her body will shut down.] My hand trembled. The bottle suddenly felt heavy, slick with condensation. Right beside us, my childhood best friend smiled softly and held out a braided luck-charm bracelet. The glowing text flared violently in my field of vision again: [The childhood bestie is trash too! If she wears that, the charity case gets an automatic twenty-point bump over her.] [The charity case will breeze into an Ivy League, while our girl gets locked in a psych ward with no memory, abused until she dies!] I blinked, the neon letters burning behind my eyelids. I looked up. Both of them were staring at me. It wasn’t the look of a loving older brother, nor the tender gaze of the boy I had secretly loved since we were ten. It was the calculated, breathless stare of hunters watching their prey step into a snare. … I didn’t say a word. I just took the milk and the bracelet, turned on my heel, and walked straight over to Raquel, the reigning queen of the school’s mean girls, who currently sat dead last in our class rankings. Fine, I thought, the ice spreading through my veins. If this is the game we are playing, then it’s my own fault if I don’t play it to the bitter end. “What are you standing around for? Drink the milk and review your flashcards. Every second counts.” Tristan had followed me. He twisted the cap off the bottle and shoved it toward me. The look in his eyes wasn’t protective; it was suffocatingly annoyed. For years, I had excused Tristan’s sharp edges, convincing myself that beneath his biting words was a fiercely loyal older brother who just didn’t know how to show he cared. Only now, staring at the poison in his hand, did I realize the truth. Every bottle of milk he had ever given me before an exam was a trap, meticulously laid for the sake of the girl he had placed on an untouchable pedestal. “I don’t have an appetite,” I said, my voice shockingly level. “Keep it for yourself. I’m going inside.” I turned away, but a hand violently seized a fistful of my hair from behind. My knees buckled, and I hit the pavement hard. “You dare talk back to me? Have you lost your damn mind?” Tristan roared, his face twisting into something ugly. “Don’t think I’m going to coddle you just because it’s finals week! Who the hell do you think you are?” “Throwing a tantrum and giving me attitude? I’ll teach you a lesson right here in front of everyone!” Heated whispers broke out around us as parents and test-takers turned to watch. Tristan, emboldened by the audience, snatched my backpack, raising it as if to smash it across my face. A hand caught his arm. It was Miles, rushing over, playing the peacemaker. “Tristan, man, come on! It’s exam day. If you scare Blair half to death, how is she going to test?” Miles knelt beside me, his face a perfect mask of concern. He gently brushed the dirt from my cheek, his touch as soft and familiar as it had always been. “Don’t take it to heart, Blair. He’s just stressed. He wants you to have enough energy for the exam,” Miles murmured. “Look, I went out of my way to get this luck bracelet blessed just for you. Put it on. I promise it’ll bring you the highest score.” He reached for my wrist to tie it on, but I snatched it from his fingers, burying it in my palm. These two men. One was my adopted brother, the person I had viewed as my closest family. The other was the boy who owned my heart. They had used my family’s American Express Black Cards to parade around the city’s elite circles as untouchable trust-fund gods. Yet, they had both fallen obsessively in love with the impoverished scholarship student I had personally sponsored, to the point where they were willing to join hands to destroy me. “Thank you both for your beautiful wishes. I will absolutely do my best.” I stared dead into their eyes, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “And when these exams are over, I promise I will repay you both. Thoroughly.” Tristan glared at me, his jaw tight, looking as though my very existence was an endurance test for him. Miles’s eyes glinted with the dark, hidden thrill of a successful setup. Feeling a scorching gaze from the periphery, I quickened my pace and passed through the school gates. Sure enough, I hadn’t made it far down the walkway before heavy footsteps rushed up behind me. A hand spun me around, and a stinging slap cracked across my cheek. “Didn’t I warn you to stay the hell away from Miles? Why are you always throwing yourself at him? Are you that desperate?” Raquel. The school’s ultimate bully. Just like always, she resorted to physical violence and sheer humiliation the second she felt threatened. I looked at her face, contorted with jealousy, and calmly extended the milk and the bracelet. “Don’t be mad,” I said, my voice dripping with earnest submission. “Look, everything Miles gives me, I save for you. I listened to what you told me.” I widened my eyes, playing the pathetic victim to perfection. “I promise, I’ll help you get him. Once finals are over, I’ll set up a date for you guys.” The hostility on Raquel’s face faltered, smoothing into a cruel, satisfied smirk. She snatched the items from my hands. “At least you know your place. Remember, a boring little nerd like you doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as him. Stay out of his sight.” She shoved her shoulder hard into mine as she walked past. My cheek burned with a fiery ache. If being a minor was the umbrella that protected monsters like her from the consequences of their actions… then I would gladly use their own dark, twisted methods to carve out my revenge. … When the morning Literature and Composition exam ended, the hallways were choked with exhausted students. “Oh my god, what do we do? That essay prompt was insane. The reading comprehension made no sense,” someone whined. “I know, right? The multiple choice felt like every single answer was correct. I’m dreading Math this afternoon.” Amidst the chorus of despair, a soft, musical laugh rose from the center of the crowd. “It wasn’t that bad, guys,” the girl said, her voice a soothing balm of false modesty. “I thought it was actually pretty straightforward.” I looked up and met her eyes. Harper had been the school’s most famous charity case until I stepped in. Meeting me had completely altered the trajectory of her life. My gaze dropped to the Cartier Love bracelet gleaming on her wrist. It was the birthday present I had received last month, worth over twenty thousand dollars. It had mysteriously vanished from my vanity a few weeks ago. Sensing my stare, Harper smoothly slipped her hand back into the cuff of her sweater. “Harper is practically a genius,” a girl next to her sighed enviously. “Of course a test like that was easy for you.” I almost laughed out loud. Straightforward? Was it straightforward because Raquel had spent the entire exam tossing her an eraser with the multiple-choice answers written on it? Perhaps stung by the quiet disdain in my eyes, Harper’s fingers curled into fists. She stared me down, raising her voice so it echoed down the hall. “I’m securing the Valedictorian spot this year. I’m going to make everyone who ever looked down on me open their eyes and realize they have to kneel just to look at me!” After the morning session, I stopped by a local boutique and bought a cheap braided bracelet that perfectly mirrored the one Miles had given me. To save time, I ducked into a cramped, greasy diner across the street from campus. I was eating a cheap bowl of soup, my eyes glued to a calculus prep book, when a shadow fell over my table. “Wow, Blair. You really are just trash. It’s the biggest week of our lives and you’re eating at a dump like this.” I looked up. Harper and her entourage were standing over me. The girl who had spoken was sneering, her eyes raking over the peeling linoleum and sticky tables. “The bacteria in here is probably enough to kill a person. Then again, if you die, your family would probably be thrilled to sue this place for a payout.” Because my family had once dealt with a horrific extortion attempt after an uncle flaunted his wealth, I had been strictly forbidden from showing off our money. Aside from Harper, everyone at school genuinely believed I was poor. At this age, where vanity and cruelty were worn like badges of honor, they spoke to me with zero restraint. I let out a low, cold laugh and looked directly at the ringleader. “Harper. How do you feel about what your friend just said?” Her eyes darted away for a fraction of a second before a sickeningly sweet smile stretched across her face. “We’re all classmates, Blair. Don’t be so sensitive.” She patted the table. “Anyway, keep studying. Look over your mistakes. We’re going to head next door for lunch.” Next door was a Michelin-starred bistro where lunch ran about five hundred dollars a head. Harper really had no shame. I didn’t have the energy to argue with ghosts. I put my head back down, maximizing every second to review my formulas. When the afternoon Math exam finished, the hallways erupted into the exact wailing I expected. One boy literally punched a locker, his knuckles turning red. “What the actual hell! Did the state board write that test just to drive us to suicide?!” Harper was once again flanked by a crying, panicked crowd, all lamenting their mental breakdowns during the multiple-choice section. “Oh, guys, it’s okay. It’s just math,” Harper said, the triumphant gleam in her eyes impossible to hide. “Tell you what. I’ll treat you all to an amazing dinner tonight. To make up for the trauma.” “Harper, you’re the best! Ugh, hopefully a good meal will help me bounce back tomorrow!” “You are so generous! Honestly, if I couldn’t do it, I’m sure my competitors couldn’t either!” As Harper led her entourage down the hall like a conquering queen, I hung back. I watched Raquel step out of the girls’ restroom. She was coughing around a vape pen, awkwardly adjusting the braided bracelet on her wrist. Her eyes were glazed with a bizarre, feverish joy. I almost had to hand it to Raquel. Even when she had no idea what she was doing, she had managed to fill out her entire scantron, giving Harper the illusion of a perfect cheat sheet. Someone walking by asked, “Hey Raquel, you filled out every bubble today. Think you pulled off a miracle?” Raquel didn’t even look up, her speech slightly slurred. “Whatever. I just bubbled random crap. Realized at the end I messed up the numbering on the free response anyway. Let’s see how much partial credit they give me.” Standing in the shadows, I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. That night, the classroom was mostly empty. I finally had a moment of quiet to study. I was just finishing my review of my mistake log, preparing to tackle a few high-level practice problems, when the doors banged open and the crowd surged back in. “Harper is so rich! She ordered literally every signature dish on the menu. I am so stuffed!” “I never thought I’d get to eat a three-hundred-dollar slice of cake. I’m going to brag about this forever!” They knew Harper hated me. Seeing me sitting quietly, studying, was an invitation. One of them stormed over and snatched the prep book right out from under my pen. “Look at Blair, working so hard. Too bad no matter how much you kill yourself studying, our Harper will always score higher than you.” “Harper is a natural genius. Not like this dumb pig who just memorizes textbooks. Harper could sleep through the year and still get into Harvard.” They started tossing my prep book back and forth like a football. One of them deliberately dropped it and stepped on it, leaving a dirty footprint across the cover. “Harper. Call off your dogs.” I set my pen down on the desk with a sharp clack. My voice dropped an octave, cutting through the noise. “If you keep this up, I’m going home right now. I won’t show up for the exams tomorrow, and none of you will have anyone left to push around.” The room erupted into laughter. They slammed their hands on the desks. “Then don’t show up! Who cares?” “Please, drop out! One less person means my class rank goes up. Go home, loser!” But Harper’s smile vanished. Her face went rigid. If I didn’t test, who was she going to copy from? She immediately stepped forward, her voice sharp. “Enough! Stop messing around. It’s a good thing Blair works so hard. You have to let the students who don’t have natural talent try their best.” She glared at her followers. “I’m actually getting mad. Whoever bothers Blair while she’s studying is uninvited from the post-exam victory party.” It worked like magic. Someone even wiped the footprint off my book and slammed it back onto my desk with an eye roll. Harper then pulled out a brand-new, expensive set of final mock exams. She slid them onto my desk, an unspoken command. I smiled coldly, accepting the gift. Thanks to her warning, the rest of exam week went perfectly smoothly. No one dared to breathe in my direction. When the final bell rang on the last day, I capped my pen. A tidal wave of cheers and screams erupted from the halls, shaking the very walls of the school. The sky outside was burning with a brilliant, fiery sunset. The school gates were mobbed with local news reporters and parents clutching massive bouquets. I walked out slowly. Through the crowd, I spotted Tristan. He was handing a massive arrangement of imported roses to Harper. “Congratulations on surviving, Harper,” he said, his voice carrying. “Hidden in the flowers is that necklace from the auction you loved. I had it flown in from overseas just for you.” He smiled, a perfect picture of devotion. “I hope this is the start of an incredible summer.” Gasps rippled through the crowd. Phones were whipped out to record the fairy-tale moment. Even the local reporters swarmed in, cameras flashing. Through the sea of people, both of them made eye contact with me. They didn’t flinch. They didn’t try to hide. Of course they didn’t. As far as they were concerned, my usefulness had been entirely drained. All they had to do now was wait seven days for my brain to rot and my body to die. I turned away, only to catch sight of Miles standing near the edge of the crowd. He looked sullen, a dark cloud hanging over him. He was like a completely different person. He looked right through me, pretending I didn’t exist. “Move. You’re in my way,” he snarled, shoving past me to push his way toward Harper’s side. Standing there beneath the heavy shade of the oak trees, I felt like the entire world had abandoned me. And yet, I felt like I held the entire world in the palm of my hand. Even if I was entirely isolated, as long as my mind belonged to me, I could walk through fire alone and feel like an army. Before, I had been too focused on my future to deal with them. But now? Now it was my turn to systematically dismantle them. The moment I got in the car, I made the calls. I canceled their supplementary Black Cards. I called the estate manager and had the security codes to the mansion changed, revoking all guest access. “From today on, Tristan is no longer my brother. He is an adopted ward who has continuously crossed the line, and his time under our roof is over,” I ordered coldly over the phone. “Seize every asset currently in his name. Freeze his accounts. If anyone on staff so much as opens a door for him, they’re fired.” That evening, I ate a quiet meal prepared by our private French chef. I drew a bath with rose petals, soaking until the tension melted from my muscles, and then sank into my sprawling bed. When I finally checked my phone, my feed was choked with Harper’s posts. A drone light show. A private yacht party. Photos of absurdly expensive, rare gifts casually tossed on velvet cushions. Her caption read: [Graduation & Adulthood gifts. A magical night.] It really was quite the production. The class group chat was losing its collective mind: [Omg Harper, you kept saying you weren’t a billionaire heiress! This is literally out of a movie.] [I told you guys Harper was different. She’s old money, she just stays humble.] [So jealous. Beautiful, a genius, AND loaded. Did God even give you a flaw?] [Please don’t forget us little people, Harper! Let me work for you someday!] And of course, they couldn’t praise her without dragging me down. [Where is Blair? Didn’t she always hate Harper for taking first place? Why so quiet now?] [Lmao, she probably bombed the exams and is too ashamed to show her face. People who just grind textbooks can never beat real talent.] [That broke loser is probably scrubbing dishes at some diner right now to pay for community college tuition.] I scrolled past the malice without a flicker of emotion. My attention was solely focused on a text message I had received half an hour ago from the manager of the Four Seasons. [Miss Prescott, the young master arrived with a young lady and requested the Presidential Suite along with our highest-tier service package. However, his cards are declining. He asked us to put it on your tab. Do you authorize this?] I almost threw up. You want to sleep with her, and you want me to pay for the room? The sheer audacity. I held down the microphone button and replied. “What young master? There is only one heir to the Prescott family, and that is me. If this stranger wants to play pretend billionaire but doesn’t have the cash, tell him to take out a payday loan.”

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Seven years of marriage, and my husband finally agreed to spend the holidays with my parents. But for the seventh year in a row, the car pulled up in front of his ex-girlfriend’s apartment complex. “I took a wrong turn,” Miles said, his eyes never leaving his phone. “Since we’re already here, we might as well grab lunch with them.” Bridget’s mother was already at the door, beaming. She reached out and grasped Miles’s wrist with practiced familiarity. “My favorite son-in-law! You’re finally here.” When she saw our son, her smile widened. “Max, honey, did you miss your Grandma?” Max chirped a greeting and ran into her arms. I was left standing in the foyer, still clutching the gift baskets I’d bought for my own mother. This was the seventh time he had “accidentally” taken a wrong turn. Looking at the three of them, a cold realization washed over me. Maybe it was time I took a different road, too. … “Oh, Diana. You’re here as well?” Mrs. Gable’s eyes flickered with a hint of annoyance before she masked it with a polite, hollow smile. “You’re getting older, dear. Why are you still following your brother around every year?” I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms. It was a sick joke, really. I had been married to Miles for seven years, and every holiday season, he brought me here. He told everyone I was his sister. In front of Bridget’s mother, I was the tag-along sibling. Even my own son, Max, was coached to call me “Aunt Diana” whenever we were in this house. “Ma, don’t worry about her,” Miles said with a light chuckle, walking inside like he owned the place. “Where’s Bridget?” Right on cue, Bridget stepped out of the bedroom. She glided over and naturally looped her arm through Miles’s. “Hey, baby.” Max saw her and immediately lunged, hugging her knees. “Mommy! I missed you!” Miles looked down at them, a smile tugging at his lips. His eyes held a warmth, a gentle tenderness, that I had never once seen directed at me. My chest tightened, the air leaving my lungs as if someone were squeezing the life out of me. As Mrs. Gable headed into the kitchen, I caught Miles’s sleeve and lowered my voice. “You said… you said we were going to my parents’ place this year.” He didn’t even look at me. “I’m just used to the drive. It was a mistake.” Max, playing with blocks on the rug, piped up in his sweet, high-pitched voice. “Mommy is here. I like it here. I don’t want to go to your house.” I froze. The words were soft, innocent, but they twisted in my gut like a serrated blade. Bridget leaned in, her face a mask of performative guilt. “Diana, I’m so sorry. Don’t listen to him, he’s just a kid.” She sighed, her eyes welling with tears. “I feel terrible… if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have to deal with all this.” Miles’s face hardened instantly. He pulled her against his shoulder. “How is any of this your fault?” He gently wiped a stray tear from her cheek before turning to me, his brow furrowed in a scowl. “Diana, don’t start drama. Not today.” I looked away, my gaze landing on a framed photo on the side table. It was the three of them—Miles, Bridget, and Max—grinning at a park. Miles and I didn’t have a single photo together. He always said he hated being in pictures. The truth was, he just hated being in them with me. I had loved Miles for fifteen years. When he and Bridget broke up years ago over a misunderstanding, he married me in a fit of spite and familial pressure. I was ecstatic, foolishly thinking I could win him over. But on our wedding night, he had looked at me with chilling indifference and said, “I don’t love you. I never will.” I didn’t believe him. I stayed. I tried. The day Max was born, Miles stood by the hospital bed for two minutes. “Good job,” he’d said. It was the kindest thing he’d ever told me. I thought it was a start. I thought we were finally becoming a family. Then Bridget came back. She had thrown herself into his arms, sobbing about her mother’s terminal illness—a diagnosis that seemed to conveniently linger for years without change. “Miles, please,” she’d begged. “My mom’s last wish is to see us together. Can you just… play along for her sake?” He had agreed without a second thought. And for years, he used the “wrong turn” excuse to trap me in this charade. The sounds of laughter and the sizzle of garlic drifted from the kitchen. Miles and Bridget were helping Mrs. Gable, and Max was perched on a stool, giggling as Mrs. Gable snuck him a piece of bacon. They looked like a perfect family. And I was the ghost haunting the hallway. The weight in my chest became unbearable. When Miles came out to grab some silverware, I blocked his path. “I’m leaving.” He stopped, his eyebrows twitching upward. “Lunch isn’t even ready. Where are you going?” “I can’t stay here, Miles.” “Don’t be ridiculous. If you leave now, it’ll look like Mrs. Gable was a bad hostess. Just sit down.” He tried to brush past me. I grabbed his arm. “I mean it. I’m going home.” He looked down at my hand on his sleeve, his expression darkening. “What is wrong with you lately? You’ve been doing this for years. Stop being so sensitive. We’ll leave after we eat.” I didn’t let go. “I want to leave now.” The air between us turned icy. Miles let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Fine. Go. See how far you get.” I was stunned that he actually gave in, but I didn’t wait for him to change his mind. I turned and walked out the door. The winter air hit me like a physical blow, but I welcomed it. I pulled out my phone and opened a rideshare app. The screen spun for a second before a notification popped up: [Transaction Declined: Insufficient Funds] My blood ran cold. I turned around. Miles was standing on the porch, leaning against the railing, watching me with a calm, predatory stillness. He had done it on purpose. He let me walk out because he knew I had nowhere to go. He had frozen my cards. “Done throwing your tantrum?” he asked, his voice flat. “Get back inside. Food’s getting cold.” I felt a wave of humiliation so intense I thought I might be sick. “Daddy!” Max ran out the door, followed by Bridget. He looked at me with a scowl. “Grandma says come eat!” Bridget hovered behind them, her eyes darting between Miles and me. “Is everything okay? Diana, did I do something to upset you? I’m so, so sorry… please don’t be mad…” Seeing Bridget’s “distress,” Max stepped in front of her, glaring at me. “You’re a mean lady! Stop being mean to my Mommy!” I felt my heart shatter into a million jagged pieces. This was the child I had carried for nine months. Miles hadn’t wanted a baby. He only gave in because his parents were relentless. I had spent my pregnancy in and out of the ER with severe morning sickness, often lying on a hospital cot at 3:00 AM completely alone. Miles never showed up. I didn’t mind then. I thought the baby would be my anchor. I quit my job to be a stay-at-home mom, giving up my financial independence to raise him. And now, my son looked at me like I was a villain. “Let’s go. Inside. Now,” Miles commanded. “No,” I said, my voice trembling but firm. “I’m going home, Miles.” The silence that followed was heavy. Miles stared at me for a long time, his gaze turning into something sharp and cruel. “Fine. Walk, then.” He turned, taking Bridget’s hand and leading Max back into the warm house. The door clicked shut, but I could still hear Bridget’s voice through the wood. “Miles, is she going to be okay out there?” “She’s fine. She just needs to cool her head.” “Yeah, Mommy, don’t worry about that mean lady!” The first snowflake drifted down, landing on my hand. My house was thirty miles away. He was telling me to walk thirty miles in a blizzard. I looked down, my vision blurring. A hot tear traced a searing line down my frozen cheek. My phone buzzed. It was my mother. “Diana? Honey, where are you? We’ve been waiting.” I bit my lip, trying to swallow the sob rising in my throat. “I’m sorry, Mom. Miles… he took a wrong turn. We’re not going to make it today.” There was a long silence on the other end. Then, a forced, cheerful sigh. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. We’ll see you after the holidays. Just… take care of yourself, okay? Don’t let yourself get pushed around.” I hung up, unable to speak. I crumpled onto the snowy curb, shivering. This neighborhood was in the far suburbs. On the day after Christmas, everything was closed. The streets were deserted. There was nowhere to hide from the cold. I don’t know how much time passed before a pair of boots appeared in my peripheral vision. Miles sighed and scooped me up into his arms. His touch was unexpectedly gentle. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?” he muttered. “You’re freezing.” I didn’t answer. I just let the tears fall silently as he carried me to the car and cranked the heat. As the warmth rushed over me, my frozen fingers began to throb with pain. He glanced at me. “Max wants to spend the night with Bridget. I’ll pick him up tomorrow. He doesn’t like being around you when you’re like this, Diana. You really should reflect on why your own son prefers someone else.” I let out a hollow laugh. The reason was simple: I was the one who made him do his homework and eat his vegetables. Bridget was the one who gave him candy and told him stories about how “Aunt Diana” was a bitter woman. I had nothing to reflect on. Miles’s tone softened. “I only come here because Bridget’s mom is sick. It doesn’t mean anything else. Don’t be mad, okay?” He reached into his pocket and tossed a small velvet box into my lap. “I bought you that necklace you liked. Consider it an apology. Now stop the act.” I opened the box. Inside was a diamond pendant I’d seen in a magazine once. A limited-edition piece. I stared at his profile. He couldn’t remember our anniversary, but he remembered a random page I’d flipped past. He didn’t love me, but he knew exactly how to keep me on the hook. “Better?” He reached over and ruffled my hair. “You’re so easy to please.” I opened my mouth to speak, but his phone rang. He answered it immediately. Bridget’s frantic sobbing filled the car. “Miles… I tripped on the stairs… my ankle, it hurts so bad… can you come back? Please?” Miles’s face transformed. Without a word of explanation to me, he slammed the car into reverse and sped back to the apartment. “Stay here,” he said as he jumped out. “She’s fragile. She needs me.” I watched through the window as he ran to the door and gathered Bridget into his arms. She buried her face in his chest. Max stood beside them, patting Bridget’s arm, mimicking his father’s protective stance. I couldn’t hear them, but I didn’t need to. They were a unit. A family. And I was an intruder. My fingers hovered over the phone screen. I opened a draft and typed seven words: Have the divorce papers ready by Monday. Miles didn’t get home until after midnight. I was waiting in the living room, ready to end it, but the door opened and Bridget walked in, leaning on his arm, with Max trailing behind. “Her ankle is bad,” Miles said defensively. “She’s staying here for a few days so I can look after her.” Max cheered. “Mommy! Can you stay forever?” He looked at me with a sneer. “I don’t like her! I want you to be my real mommy!” Miles chuckled softly. Then, noticing my expression, he frowned. “It’s just for a few days. Don’t be petty. Besides, I pay the mortgage. I decide who stays here.” I felt a strange, numbing calm settle over me. The pain had reached a peak and simply snapped. “Fine,” I said. “She can stay.” “What?” Miles blinked, surprised by my lack of resistance. “I said fine. In fact, why don’t the three of you take the master bedroom? I’ll move into the guest room.” Miles’s face went pale. “What the hell are you talking about?” Bridget started to cry again, her voice trembling. “Diana… please don’t be like that… if I’m not welcome, I’ll go… I’ll just crawl back to my place…” Max hugged her waist, screaming at me. “Mommy stays here! You mean lady! You’re just mean!” I stood up and grabbed a blanket from the closet. “I’m serious. Stay as long as you want. Like you said, Miles—it’s your house.” I walked into the guest room and locked the door, muffling the sound of Max’s cheers and Bridget’s faux-protests. A few minutes later, Miles knocked. “Diana? Open up. What’s wrong with you?” I opened the door and smiled at him. It was the most honest smile I’d given him in years. “Nothing is wrong. I’m great.” “You’re obviously pissed. Bridget is just a guest. Don’t make this weird.” I nodded. “I’m not making it weird. I truly don’t care.” He searched my face, his eyes narrowing. After a moment, he sighed. “Look, I know you’re still upset about the holiday thing. How about this: I’ll take you to your parents’ tomorrow. Just the two of us. Okay?” I stared at him. For seven years, my mother had called him every holiday, and for seven years, he was “too busy.” Now, he was offering it like a scrap of meat to a dog. “No thanks,” I said. “Stay here with Bridget.” He looked frustrated. “I said I’d go. I’m trying here, Diana.” “I have a gift for you tomorrow instead,” I said softly. “A gift? For what?” “You’ll see. I think you’re really going to like it.” He looked relieved. He stepped forward and tried to pull me into a hug. “There she is. Stop being a brat. Go to sleep, and we’ll talk in the morning.” I didn’t hug him back. The next morning, I woke up to an empty house. A text from Miles was waiting on my phone: [Bridget’s ankle was acting up, took her to the clinic. Wait for me, I’ll be back in an hour and then we can go to your mom’s. Stay put.] I didn’t reply. I had spent fifteen years waiting for him. I was done. I packed my suitcase, walked into the kitchen, and placed the envelope on the marble island. The “gift” he had wanted for years: his freedom. I took one last look at the house that never felt like a home, and I walked out. I was leaving the man I’d loved for half my life, and I was never coming back.

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My husband gave me two snakes as pets. The eerie part? Whenever they realize I’m watching, they start mating—ferociously, shamelessly. It’s enough to make me turn away in a flush of heat. Then, out of nowhere, the Feed flickers into my vision like a digital hallucination. [Wow, the female lead is a genius. Getting the System to turn them into snakes so they can flaunt their “love” right under the wife’s nose? Iconic.] [LOL, they’re going at it like it’s a honeymoon, and the poor side-character wife is just standing there playing house. She has no idea he’s going to use that snake tail to strangle her tonight.] [Once she’s out of the picture, he inherits her millions and marries the “real” lead. A classic move.] A chill raced down my spine. I didn’t hesitate. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number of a local game processor—a man known for his lack of mercy toward reptiles. “Hey, Silas? I’ve got two fat ones for you. I hear the meat is great for a winter stew.” 1 I was jolted awake by a wet, rhythmic slithering sound—the sound of scales grinding against scales. I opened my eyes to find two six-foot, iridescent “spicy noodles” dangling from my crystal chandelier. They were entwined in a tight, DNA-like spiral, their heads swaying with a sickening sort of ecstasy, tongues flicking against one another. Their eyes looked… drunken. Almost human. Almost as if they were smiling. A few drops of murky, white fluid dripped from their tails, landing right on the silk of my nightgown. Again. This was the eighteenth time they’d pulled this stunt in my bedroom. I sat up, frustrated, and called my husband. No answer. I left a voice memo, my voice tight with irritation. “Mark, where did you even find these things? They’re shameless. They’re doing it in my room every single day.” “Seriously, I don’t think they’re even snakes. They don’t act like them. They don’t even care about the cold.” Suddenly, the air in front of me distorted. Neon text bled into my retinas. [Hahaha… Congrats, you guessed it! They aren’t snakes, honey. That’s your husband and your best friend. Surprise!] [They’re hitting the high notes while you’re playing pet-owner. They aren’t your pets—they’re your executioners!] [My girl Bridget is a mastermind. Before she cut ties with the System, she used her last points to get two transformation pills. Pure brilliance!] [They’re literally doing it on the wife’s clothes for the thrill of it, then making her “clean” them afterward. It’s so twisted, I love it!] [Bridget is already pregnant. It’s time to get rid of the wife. Can’t have a baby bump showing in the wedding dress, right?] [Don’t worry, the kill happens tonight. Mark strangles her, shifts back to human form, inherits the estate, and takes Bridget home. Happily ever after!] The words left me paralyzed with a bone-deep cold. I looked up at the female snake. She was staring at me with a look of triumphant malice, and for a split second, I saw the shadow of Bridget—my “soul sister,” my bridesmaid—in those slit pupils. According to the Feed, Bridget was the “Protagonist” of this world. She was supposed to be building some grand empire with a supernatural System, but she’d decided she wanted Mark instead. She wanted my life. The System had abandoned her, but not before giving her the means to replace me. The ice in my veins turned to fire. I swear I could hear Bridget’s voice whispering in my mind: “Look at her, Mark. Look at how stupid she is, just watching us. It’s so hot.” Then, the male snake’s tail tightened around her, and I heard Mark’s low, familiar rumble: “Let her watch. That’s the point. I’m going to fill you with so many legacies while she watches her world burn.” I bit my lip until it bled, using the pain to anchor myself. I picked up the phone again. “Silas? You said these two were big enough for a feast? They’re yours. Come get them.” 2 Silas was silent for a long beat. Everyone in our gated community knew we were rivals. I was the “animal lover” who rescued strays; he was the man who ate anything that crawled, often tormenting the creature before he butchered it. When Mark first brought the snakes home, Silas had smelled them from across the street. He’d offered me two thousand bucks on the spot. I’d told him to go to hell. “Cassidy?” Silas finally rasped. “What kind of game are you playing? Is this a trap?” “You want them or not? If you don’t show up in ten minutes, I’m calling the guy in the next county over.” “Wait, wait! Don’t you dare give those beauties to anyone else. I’m coming. Keep them locked up. I’m on my way!” The moment I hung up, the snakes tumbled from the chandelier. They began to slither across the bed in a frantic, panicked mess. Bridget’s shrill voice echoed in the room: “Is she crazy? Why is she selling us?!” Mark’s voice was more hesitant, analytical: “Relax. We know how much she loves animals. She’s spent two months nursing us like babies. That doesn’t just change.” “Then what is she doing?!” “It’s a play. She hates Silas. She’s probably setting him up. She’s told me a dozen times she wanted to take that man down.” “Right. She told me the same thing.” Bridget seemed to exhale. Her tail brushed against him again. They started up again, right in front of me. The female snake arched her neck like a concubine seeking favor in an old period drama. “Baby, the antidote from the System arrives today. We need to hurry up and finish her off before we shift back, right?” Mark’s yellow eyes drifted toward me. His black tongue flicked out, tasting the air near my face. He didn’t speak. Bridget hissed at him. “Why aren’t you saying anything? Are you getting soft? You still love her, don’t you? I knew it! You’re just using me!” The female snake slithered over to my dresser, her coils wrapping around a silver-framed document. She looked back at Mark, her eyes welling with a strange, reptilian moisture. “You kept your ‘anniversary’ souvenir. You can’t bring yourself to kill her!” Before she could finish, Mark’s tail whipped out like a thunderbolt, shattering the glass. The shards pierced the paper. It felt like they were piercing my heart, too. Everyone knew the story. Mark was the high school dropout who cleaned up his act to impress me. He studied until his eyes bled just to get into the same university. We’d kept our acceptance letters framed together for years—a symbol of his “devotion.” Now, his tail slammed into my letter with a pure, unadulterated venom. His voice was a ghostly growl: “She’s terrified of water. I’m going to coil around her throat with this body she loves so much, and I’m going to hold her under until the light leaves her eyes.” I stood there, stunned by the sheer depth of his cold-bloodedness. I had been nothing but a savior to him. When his business failed, I bankrolled his lifestyle. When he was depressed, I gave him space and luxury. I had treated him better than I treated myself. Why did he hate me so much? I looked at the Feed. [I knew he hated her! The more she helped him, the more he loathed her. No ‘Alpha’ male can handle his wife being the breadwinner and the brains.] [That acceptance letter? It’s a reminder that she’s better than him. Every cent of her money he spends feels like a slap to his ego. Love died a long time ago; only resentment remains.] [Hahaha, she deserves it. What’s the point of having money if you don’t know how to act like a submissive wife? Bridget is smarter—she knows how to stroke a man’s ego to get what she wants.] I let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh. My kindness was his cage. My generosity was his insult. I walked straight toward the snakes. They thought I was going to stroke them, to apologize. They were motionless as I grabbed them and shoved them into a heavy burlap sack. But as I went to pull the drawstring, Mark’s head shot out. He moved with lightning speed, coiling his cold, muscular body around my neck. 3 The icy pressure tightened around my throat. His head rose, his eyes fixed on mine, his tongue lashing against the tip of my nose. His tail tightened around my wrist like a handcuff. I was ready to fight, ready for everything to end right here. But then, his eyes shifted. “Mark, what are you waiting for? Do it!” Bridget screamed from inside the bag. Mark didn’t tighten his grip. Instead, he slid his coils down to my abdomen, hovering there as if protecting a kill. “She’s pregnant.” The words hit me like a physical blow. I looked down at my flat stomach. Impossible. Mark had been “traveling” for months. We hadn’t been together in ages. Bridget hissed, her voice dripping with fury. “I knew it! She’s been playing the loyal wife while sleeping around with some loser!” “The child is mine.” Shock after shock. My mind raced back to a dream I’d had two months ago. A dream of a massive serpent coiling around me in the dark, the weight of it crushing the breath from my lungs. I’d woken up drenched in sweat. It wasn’t a dream. It was him. “Oh, I see.” Bridget’s voice turned small, wounded. “If she’s carrying your baby, I’ll just go. I know you won’t hurt your own blood. I’ll leave you three to your happy family. Everything we had was just a dream.” Mark immediately hooked his tail around the bag to comfort her. “Don’t do that. When did I say I’d choose her? I only want children from you. Her baby? It’s just an ant I haven’t stepped on yet.” He looked back at me, his eyes dead. “We’ll send them both to the afterlife together. They can keep each other company on the long walk down.” I clenched my fists. At that moment, the doorbell rang. Silas’s rough voice boomed through the door: “Cassidy! Open up! I’m here for my meat!” 4 The two snakes froze. With a coordinated movement, they slithered out of the bag and back up to the high rafters of the living room, coiling out of reach. I opened the door and let Silas in. “They’re inside,” I said, my voice hollow. “Catch them yourself. Do whatever you want with them. I don’t want to know.” I turned and walked toward the kitchen, closing the door behind me. The Feed went into a frenzy. [Wait, is she really leaving? Is she actually selling the protagonists? No way.] [Mark and Bridget are panicking. They were going to kill her the second Silas left, but if she leaves the room, they can’t get to her!] [Oh no! Silas has a machete!] [Wait! The antidote just arrived! Bridget, quick—eat it!] [If they turn human now, Silas can’t touch them!] [Eat it! There are only two pills. If you miss this window, you stay snakes forever!] Antidote? My nerves caught fire. If they shifted back now, I was a dead woman. I spun around and threw the door open.

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