Category: English

I helped my wife, Rachel, start a tech company. I even served as the chief R&D engineer, pouring my heart and soul into the code. At the launch event, Rachel was just about to credit me for the groundbreaking new software. But suddenly, a little boy rushed onto the stage. The boy cried and looked up at her. “Mommy! You said Daddy was the one who did all the work! Why are you giving the credit to this uncle?” Rachel, who had always claimed she hated kids and would never have them, did something that shocked me. She picked up the boy with practiced ease and gently cooed in his ear. “I was just joking earlier, sweetie. Of course, this company belongs to the three of us!” Then, Rachel turned her cold gaze toward me. “Frank, you might have developed the project, but without Mikel’s help, you wouldn’t have pulled it off anyway!” I almost laughed out loud. Mikel’s “help”? Did sleeping on the couch and playing video games in the lab all day count as help? Without a second thought, I ripped off my Chief Engineer badge, threw it straight into the trash can, and smiled. “Since Mikel is so outstanding, why don’t you two just get married today? It’s a double celebration!” I didn’t tell them that there was still one fatal bug in the program that I hadn’t fixed yet. Without me, this company would crash. Hard.

“Oh, look at Mr. Monroe. Usually so arrogant, locking himself in his office all day. Turns out he was just riding on someone else’s coattails!” “I knew it! ‘Chief Engineer’? What a joke. He’s nothing without Mikel!” “Stealing credit and hitting on the boss. He’s truly shameless.” “She already has a family, and he still clings to her every day. How disgusting.” Listening to the whispers of my employees, my clenched fists slowly relaxed. Maybe I was just too angry to care anymore. My heart suddenly went cold and numb, like still water. Mikel put on a show, waving his hands in mock humility. “Oh, come on, guys. I only helped with the core algorithm. Most of the credit still goes to Frank.” It sounded like he was praising me. But in reality, he was telling everyone that he was the mastermind behind the core tech, and I was just a useless figurehead. “Frank, don’t be so petty,” Rachel said, frowning. Her eyes were filled with protectiveness for Mikel as she looked down at me. She gently stroked the boy’s hair. I couldn’t believe my eyes. This was the same Rachel who used to detest children. Now, she was acting like the most loving mother in the world. “Mikel, don’t say that,” Rachel said softly, her voice filled with pride. “Others might not know, but I do. I know how much sweat you put into this project. You deserve all the glory.” She gave Mikel a flirtatious look. If slacking off in the office counted as “sweat,” then yes, he worked incredibly hard. Looking at Mikel in his tailored suit, I laughed. The guy didn’t even graduate from high school. He started out as a street thug, learned a tiny bit of basic coding, and now he was standing here basking in the applause of the tech elite. To get this company off the ground, I had pulled all-nighters for a week straight until I collapsed and ended up in the ICU. And now, this useless slacker who had been at the company for less than six months was calling me petty. It was hilarious. What did my years of silent support and sacrifices even mean to her? My legal wife was standing on a stage, holding another man’s kid, playing happy family. I guess the internet was right. Years of devotion can’t compare to a single look from a first love. I swept my cold gaze across the room, finally letting it rest on Rachel and Mikel. My eyes were filled with pure contempt. To put it bluntly, I built this company from scratch. I provided the funding. I wrote the code. Without me, this place would have gone bankrupt years ago. Those long nights of coding were brutal. But I kept pushing because I thought I was building a future for Rachel and me. But now? They looked like a happy family, and I looked like an intruder in my own life. Suddenly, a familiar, annoying voice cut through the crowd. “Oh, look. Isn’t that Frank? What are you still standing here for?” I looked up. Rachel’s best friend, Lillian, was walking over, swaying her hips. She was dripping in designer logos and heavy makeup, her eyes filled with mock pity. “Lillian? You made it!” Rachel smiled in surprise. Lillian linked her arm through Rachel’s and shot me a nasty look. “Of course! I wouldn’t miss your big day for the world.” “Such a successful launch! You’re finally on top.” Then, she turned her eyes to Mikel, practically beaming. “Mikel, you are amazing! I always knew you had it in you. Handling the core R&D of such a massive project… Rachel is so lucky to have you.” Mikel fake-smiled. “You flatter me, Lillian. It was a team effort.” Lillian waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t be so modest. Everyone knows you did the heavy lifting. Unlike some people who sit in their offices doing God-knows-what, yet have the nerve to steal credit.” My face went pale with anger. “Lillian, watch your mouth. Do you think I don’t know what you’re trying to do? Who do you think funded this company all these years?”

Lillian let out a sharp laugh. “Funded? Please. All I saw was you walking around like you owned the place. What did you actually contribute?” “If Rachel hadn’t been nice enough to give you the title of Chief Engineer, you’d be nothing!” “Exactly, Frank. Just let it go,” Rachel chimed in, her eyes full of disgust. “You haven’t achieved anything real in all these years. If it weren’t for me, would you even have the chance to work on a project of this scale?” “Do you have any idea how much Mikel has sacrificed for me and this company?” I looked at Lillian, then at Rachel. The disappointment was crushing. “I treated you like a friend, Lillian. And this is how you stab me in the back?” “Stab you in the back?” Lillian scoffed. “Mikel is the sole heir to the Miller Group! That’s a multi-billion-dollar tech empire. He’s too polite to call you out on your lies, but you’re really pushing it now.” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I gave them one last, cold look. Then, I turned around and walked out of the venue. As I passed the trash can near the exit, I tossed my ID badge inside without looking back. I went straight to my office. This place used to be my battlefield for love. Now, it was just a graveyard of cold memories. I quickly packed my personal things. Then, I sat in front of my computer. There was indeed a fatal bug in the program. It was a major flaw. But because of the tight deadline, I had planned to fix it after the launch event, since the software wouldn’t be deployed for another week. I laughed at myself. Now? Not my problem anymore. All this time, I had hidden my true identity because I didn’t want Rachel to feel pressured. I didn’t want her to think I was only with her because of my family’s wealth. I was the real heir to the Miller Group. The empire was founded by my mother, Victoria Miller. I took my father’s last name, Monroe, to keep a low profile. I wanted to make it in the tech world on my own merit. I never expected a con man like Mikel to steal my identity and my work. I began wiping my personal data from the company database. Looking at the files and reports I had spent years writing, my heart ached. I had carried Rachel on my back, lifting her company up, hoping to turn it into a second Miller Group. I wanted to prove to my family that I could do it. And now… I shook my head, telling myself to stop looking back. I sat at my desk under the dim light. The divorce papers in front of me felt like a sick joke. I signed them and left them on the desk. As expected, Rachel signed them the very next morning. She signed so fast, it was as if she was terrified I would change my mind. Right after signing, she and Mikel started showing off their “love” right in front of me. Mikel wrapped his arm around her waist, and she leaned into his chest like a delicate doll, looking at me with triumph and scorn. I didn’t waste another second. I grabbed my suitcase and left. I didn’t even have a friend in this city to say goodbye to. After graduating from Switzerland, I had met Rachel. Back then, she was tough, ambitious, and driven. For her, I had fought with my family and moved to California, dedicating my life to her dream. As my flight took off from California, my mind was incredibly peaceful. With my mother’s backing, I quickly took my rightful place at the Miller Group, taking charge of our most critical projects. A few weeks later, the Miller Group hosted a major tech summit. It was meant to attract large investments and officially introduce me as the new head of the division. The venue was stunning. Crystal chandeliers cast brilliant light over the polished marble floors. The massive conference tables were beautifully arranged with nameplates, high-tech displays, and champagne. I didn’t expect to run into Rachel so soon. She and Mikel were actually there, representing their company. Seeing me, Mikel let out a mocking sneer. “Well, well, look who’s here. Isn’t this Frank, the loser who got kicked out of the company? How did a nobody like you sneak into a place like this?”

Our old company had some reputation in the valley. So, quite a few people knew about the drama between Rachel and me. However, none of them knew my connection to the Miller Group. As people started staring and whispering, a familiar, sharp voice echoed from behind us. “You two should watch your mouths. With Frank’s talent, he can succeed anywhere. Unlike some people who only know how to talk a big game.” Sienna walked up, wearing a stunning pink evening gown. She had a delicate, doll-like face, but her eyes were sharp as needles. Mikel smirked, deliberately raising his voice so the whole room could hear. “Oh? What’s the matter, Frank? Since you got fired, have you resorted to being a sugar baby just to get into these events?” Rachel sneered along. “Exactly. I thought you had some pride left, Frank. Turns out you’re just selling your body now that you don’t have me.” Sienna’s face darkened. “I don’t think a failing company like yours has any right to question Frank’s abilities!” Mikel snorted. “Abilities? If he’s so capable, why did we kick him out?” Sienna let out a cold laugh, looking at Mikel with absolute disgust. “Do you really think you’re a genius?” “From what I know, you’re just a pathetic thief who stole someone else’s code.” The crowd broke into hushed whispers. They all knew about the breakthrough software Rachel’s company had just launched, but they had only heard her side of the story. Rachel’s face flushed red. “Don’t talk nonsense! Mikel did everything for the company!” Sienna smirked. “Did everything? A guy who can’t even write a basic loop?” I didn’t know how Sienna found out about that. Sienna was the daughter of my father’s close friend, the head of the Sterling Group. She was my date for the evening. I gently patted Sienna’s shoulder to calm her down, pulling her slightly behind me. Seeing me protect Sienna, a flash of jealousy crossed Rachel’s eyes. She bit her lip and hissed, “Frank, you’re just a kept man living off a rich girl. Don’t get too arrogant. Let’s see how long she keeps you around before she gets bored.” Mikel laughed loudly beside her, his laughter echoing offensively. Just then, a staff member ran into the hall, looking pale and panicked. He whispered something into Rachel and Mikel’s ears. In an instant, the color drained from their faces. Their smug smiles vanished, replaced by sheer terror. “What did you say?!” Mikel raised his voice in shock. “How could there be such a massive system crash?!” Rachel trembled, her voice cracking. “What’s going on? Didn’t we run all the tests?!” Their loud panic drew the attention of the entire room. I smiled to myself. The unfixed bug had finally exploded. Within minutes, murmurs rippled through the crowd. “Hey, did you hear? Rachel’s company launched a software with a massive bug. It just crashed their biggest client’s database. They’re facing a multi-million-dollar lawsuit.” “Whoa, really? That company is done for.” “I knew that tech was too good to be true. Turns out it was just a broken piece of junk.” The gossip spread like wildfire. Rachel and Mikel looked like they were about to throw up. Rachel gritted her teeth, glaring at me with pure rage. “Frank! You did this, didn’t you?! You left that bug on purpose!” I smiled coldly. “Rachel, don’t be ridiculous.” “Didn’t Mikel design the core technology? What does a bug have to do with me?” Rachel grabbed Mikel’s arm, panicking. “Mikel, what do we do? We can’t afford that kind of payout!” “Aren’t you the heir to the Miller Group? Call your family! Get them to use their resources to fix this!” Mikel’s eyes darted around frantically, sweat pouring down his forehead. “Rachel… it’s… it’s not that simple. I can’t just make decisions for the Miller Group by myself.” Suddenly, the room went completely silent. The summit was starting. My mother, Victoria Miller, the founder of the Miller Group, walked onto the stage wearing an elegant designer dress. She looked around the room, her eyes softening as they landed on me. She smiled into the microphone. “Today, I want to introduce someone who is vital to the future of the Miller Group. My son, Frank Monroe.”

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1 I’ve always had a weakness for anything soft. Cats, dogs, rabbits—if it had fur and a heartbeat, I was a goner. So, when I “checked out” of my previous life only to wake up in the world of a trashy paranormal romance novel, I should have been terrified. I was the villainous stepmother to a future shifter-hybrid antagonist. According to the tropes, I was destined for a gruesome end at the hands of the very child I was currently supposed to be tormenting. Felix was only four years old. In every other “transmigration” story I’d read, there was a System. A floating screen or a disembodied voice barking orders to change the plot or face “heart-failure penalties.” I was bracing myself for a fight for my life. Then, I saw them. Just above the back of the velvet sofa, a pair of furry, triangular ears twitched. They were sandy-colored with distinct, dark tufts at the tips—lynx ears. My heart did a somersault. Fluff. Ears. Real ones. I thought maybe a kitten was hiding in the living room. My internal “crazy cat lady” instincts red-lined. I crept over and reached down, but instead of a stray cat, I pulled out a snarling, pint-sized boy. He kicked his legs, his face a mask of tiny, desperate fury. “Let me go, you wicked woman! I’m not scared of you, even if Dad isn’t home!” I blinked, momentarily stunned by his vocabulary. “Wicked woman?” “You’re a mean, low-down… scoundrel!” He hissed, baring tiny teeth. “The word is villain, honey,” I corrected him, but my hand was already moving of its own accord. I couldn’t help it. I reached out and gently stroked the base of one ear. They were so soft, like premium cashmere. They even had those “smart hairs” on the tips—the characteristic lynx tufts. The boy—the future “villain” Felix—froze. He clapped his hands over his ears and stumbled back, looking at me as if I’d just grown a second head. He was so incredibly cute I wanted to scream. I was about to negotiate for another five seconds of petting when the System finally chimed in. It confirmed his identity: Felix Rivers, the future destroyer of the shifter world. Okay, System, I thought, what’s the catch? What’s my mission to stay alive? Do I have to save the world? Follow the script? I didn’t want to hurt him. I just wanted to brush him. [There is no mission,] the System replied. Its voice wasn’t robotic; it sounded almost… nostalgic. [Your situation is unique. The one who sent you here… they only want you to live a long, happy, and joyful life.] It told me I didn’t have to carry the weight of changing anyone’s destiny. I didn’t have to be the villain. I could just be Sophie. “Who sent me?” I asked. The System went quiet, refusing to say another word. 2 In this world, “Hybrids” and “Pure-bloods” lived in a state of fractured peace—a coexistence defined by invisible borders and centuries of prejudice. Until they reached maturity, Hybrids couldn’t fully retract their animal traits. It was a biological mark of “otherness” that Pure-bloods used to justify their disdain. The “old Sophie” had been a poster child for that bigotry. She had agreed to a contract marriage with Gideon Rivers for the status and the offshore accounts, promising to play the role of the dutiful stepmother. But behind the closed doors of this sprawling villa, she had treated Gideon’s son, Felix, like a stray animal. She didn’t just neglect him; she made it her mission to remind him that he was sub-human. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, bruised shadows across the kitchen floor, I watched Felix. He was a small, lonely figure, rubbing his belly as it gave a quiet, hollow growl. He didn’t go to the pantry for cookies or fruits. Instead, he crept toward a lower cabinet, pulled out a bag of premium cat kibble, and poured it into a ceramic bowl on the tile floor. My heart didn’t just sink; it felt like it had been lanced. When I didn’t immediately scream or kick the bowl away, Felix grew emboldened. He poured half a carton of milk over the dry pellets, crouched down on all fours, and began to eat with a desperate, quiet intensity. I walked over and opened the massive sub-zero refrigerator, staring at the rows of organic beef, fresh salmon, and artisanal cheeses. My jaw tightened until it ached. “Is this really what you’re eating, Felix?” I asked, my voice low and strained. He froze, a pellet of kibble still in his hand. He looked up at me, his amber eyes shimmering with unshed tears, but his expression was hard, far too old for a four-year-old. “Wasn’t it you who said I was just a beast?” he snapped, his voice trembling with a defiant edge. “You said I don’t deserve ‘people food.’ Am I not even allowed to have the pet food now? Are you going to take this away too?” I stared at his ears. They were folded back, pinned flat against his messy curls—the universal sign of a cat that was cornered and terrified. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I said softly, the words feeling inadequate against the weight of his trauma. “I was trying to say… I can cook something better. Something real. Do you want to wait and eat with me?” Felix didn’t answer. He just hugged his ceramic bowl tighter and looked away. He used to have a Hybrid nanny—a kind, protective woman who saw him as a child rather than a creature. But the old Sophie had fired her in a fit of pique after the woman tried to stop her from locking Felix in the basement. Now, the rest of the domestic staff followed a policy of “look the other way.” To them, Felix Rivers was a ghost in his own home. 3 I ignored his suspicious silence and got to work. I needed to lure him out with something impossible to resist. I seared strips of prime beef in a cast-iron pan, the butter foaming and browning, the scent of garlic and rosemary blooming in the air. I let the fragrance drift toward his corner like a siren song. Felix stayed tucked away, lapping at his milk in small, cautious sips, watching me with the wary eyes of a hunted thing. I could practically hear his internal monologue: Don’t fall for it. It’s a scoundrel trap. I knew why he was scared. A memory surfaced in my mind—a cold, sharp fragment of Sophie’s past. She had once pretended to be kind, calling him over to the stove with a smile, only to “accidentally” tip a pot of scalding broth over his small hands. She had stood there and watched, fascinated, as he screamed in pain. God, I was a monster, I thought, my grip tightening on the spatula. “Dinner is served,” I called out, setting two plates on the heavy oak table. Felix hesitated for a long time. Finally, he shook his head, his voice a tiny whisper. “I’m full.” He turned to run, his short tail tucked between his legs. I looked at the cat food bowl—he’d barely touched the milk. I walked over, scooped him up—he was so light, his ribs far too prominent—and sat him firmly in one of the high-backed chairs. I didn’t try to “parent” him; I just used my experience with uncooperative fur-babies. I sat down and started eating my own steak, making sure he could see me enjoying every succulent bite. I didn’t push him. I didn’t even look at him. Felix swallowed hard. His nose twitched. After a few minutes of agonizing silence, he reached out a trembling hand and took a piece of the beef. The moment the tender, seasoned meat touched his tongue, his pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black. His ears did a little frantic, joyous “happy-twitch” at the tips. He was so precious I felt a lump in my throat. This was what I had always wanted—a little life to protect, a creature to cherish. I watched him with a wide, doting grin that I couldn’t suppress. But the look must have triggered a new fear. Felix suddenly turned ash-pale. He scrambled off the chair, his small feet thudding on the floor, and ran into the hallway bathroom. I heard him retching over the toilet, the sound of his distress echoing against the marble. I ran after him, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Felix? What happened? Was it too salty? Are you allergic to beef? Talk to me, honey.” He looked up at me, his face slick with sweat and tears, his expression a mix of confusion and pure dread. “You’re… you’re really going to take me to a hospital?” “Of course I am. If you’re sick, that’s where we go.” “But…” He swallowed a sob, his small hands trembling as they gripped the porcelain. “You gave me the good food. I thought… I thought you did it to poison me. I thought this was how you were going to finally kill me.” I went numb. The air in the bathroom felt thick and stifling. Poisoned. He thought a home-cooked meal was a death sentence. I spent the next ten minutes explaining that he had watched me cook the entire meal and that I had eaten the exact same thing. I told him that if I wanted to poison him, I wouldn’t waste a good steak on it. Eventually, the logic—or perhaps the exhaustion—settled in. His short lynx tail began to sway behind him in an apologetic, rhythmic arc. “If you’re really sorry,” I said, a playful idea striking me to break the tension, “you have to give me a sincere apology. No half-measures.” Before I could ask for a pet of his ears, Felix looked at me with an adorable, bewildered expression and slowly raised his arm. I didn’t know what he was doing, so I just went with my gut and gave him a crisp high-five. He looked at his palm, then at me, his little mouth hanging open in a silent “O” of shock. He looked so incredibly “derpy” I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. 4 When bedtime rolled around, I decided it was time for a change of scenery. “Take your blanket and bring it to my room, Felix.” He looked down at his feet, his voice small. “Is this the apology? You want me to serve you in your room?” I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. In my previous life, I had always slept in a pile of warm, breathing bodies—dogs, cats, the occasional foster rabbit. Waking up in this massive, silent villa was making my skin crawl. I needed him to help me acclimate. “The bed is huge, Felix. You won’t even know I’m there.” He didn’t argue. He went to his own room and returned a few minutes later dragging a blanket that made my blood boil. It was thin, damp, and smelled of mildew—a raggedy thing that looked like it had been pulled from a dumpster. He started to curl up on the hard rug by my door, tucking his nose into the cold fabric. A fire ignited in my chest—a white-hot rage on behalf of this child. I marched over, scooped Felix up with one arm, and grabbed that moldy rag with the other. I walked to the balcony and hurled the blanket down the stairs into the foyer. “Don’t!” he cried, looking devastated. “Don’t throw away my nest! That’s my only nest!” “That wasn’t a nest, Felix. That was a health hazard,” I snapped, my voice gentler as I looked at him. “People sleep in beds. Real beds. Now, where is your actual bedroom?” I found his room, but the door was locked from the outside. I had to hunt through a kitchen drawer for ten minutes before I found the key. When I finally pushed the door open, the scent of stagnant air hit me. The floor was covered in a thick layer of dust. It wasn’t a bedroom; it was a storage closet for a child they wanted to forget. My heart broke all over again. I carried him back to my master suite. “I’m sorry, Felix. I didn’t realize the staff had… I didn’t realize. If you really don’t want to sleep in here, the guest suite is clean, but I’d like the company.” Felix bit his lip, staring at the plush, high-thread-count sheets on my bed. “Are you laughing at me?” “Why would I be laughing?” “Because I called it a ‘nest.’ The Pure-bloods… they say we’re just animals pretending to be people. They say if we use the wrong words, it proves we don’t belong.” I knelt down so I was eye-level with him, my hands resting gently on his shoulders. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Felix. Language is about being understood, not about perfection. You’re a child. Calling a bed a ‘nest’ isn’t a mistake—it’s actually the most adorable thing I’ve heard all day.” He huffed, a tiny puff of air that ruffled his curls, but he didn’t pull away. He kept sneaking glances at me, his pupils fluctuating. He looked so much like a kitten caught in a shaft of sunlight—defensive but curious. I couldn’t help it. I reached out, pulled him into my arms, and rubbed my cheek against his soft, round face. Then, I kissed him right on the forehead. Felix froze. He struggled out of my arms, his face turning a brilliant, burning crimson. He clapped a hand over his forehead and stared at me in horror. “Are you… are you trying to bite my head off?” he gasped. “That was way too soft. You’re doing it wrong! If you want to kill me, just do it!” I laughed, a genuine, bubbling sound. “That wasn’t a bite, you little weirdo. That was a kiss. It’s what humans do to show someone they like them.” Felix’s big amber eyes went wide. His mouth opened and closed, his ears twitching as if trying to process this new information. He tried to stay tough, tried to look indignant, but he couldn’t stop the tiny, shy smile that finally, beautifully, tilted the corners of his mouth. 5 The next morning, I learned a very painful lesson: being a mother—even a reformed, “wicked” one—is an endurance sport. I dragged myself out of bed at the ungodly hour of six in the morning to get Felix ready for preschool. I was a manga artist in my past life; my natural habitat was the 2 AM silence, not the 6 AM sunlight. By the time I dropped him off at the gates of his elite, “Integrated” academy, I felt like a zombie in silk pajamas. The moment I got back to the villa, I made a call. I needed reinforcements. I tracked down the number for Mrs. Gable, the Hybrid nanny the old Sophie had fired. She was a middle-aged lynx shifter, known for her iron patience and deep love for her own kind. The silence on the other end of the line was deafening when I introduced myself. “Mrs. Rivers,” she said, her voice like cold flint. “I believe I made myself clear. I don’t care how much you offer. I cannot—and will not—be an accomplice to the way you treat that boy. I am a Hybrid myself. I won’t watch you break a child’s spirit for sport.” I rubbed my eyes, leaning against the marble kitchen island. “I get it, Mrs. Gable. My credit is zero. But I’ve changed. I’m not that person anymore. I just want him to be okay.” “People don’t change that fast, Mrs. Rivers. Good day.” I stared at the phone. My reputation was a burned-out husk. I tried looking up other agencies, but the “Rivers” name was apparently a red flag in the Hybrid community. I sat on the sofa and sighed. Why is this world so complicated? I asked the System. They’re literally fluffy and adorable. Why is there so much hate? [Adult Hybrids usually suppress their traits to survive in professional society,] the System explained. [By the time they reach adulthood, they look indistinguishable from Pure-bloods, except for their eye color. They are faster, stronger, and often smarter. That biological advantage creates deep-seated fear. Fear creates prejudice. And not every Hybrid is a “fluffy” lynx or a house cat, Sophie. Some are apex predators. In the corporate world, the ‘beast’ isn’t a metaphor—it’s a threat.] I understood then. When the “cute” factor is stripped away and replaced by a struggle for social resources, the minority becomes the monster. 6 The dinner incident had cracked the ice, but Felix was still a fortress. He ate with me, and he sat near me, but he wouldn’t let me near his ears. He walked with a stiff, careful gait, always keeping a piece of furniture between us. But sometimes, when I made a dish he particularly liked, I’d see his little bob-tail give a single, involuntary twitch under his chair. That night, the sky over the coast turned a bruised, angry purple. A massive thunderstorm rolled in, the kind that shook the foundations of the villa and made the floorboards groan. In my old life, storms were “cuddle sessions.” I’d spend hours on the floor with my dogs and cats, telling them the sky wasn’t falling. Waking up in the empty, king-sized bed felt wrong. I grabbed a robe and walked to Felix’s room. The door wasn’t locked—I had made sure of that. Inside, I saw a tiny, shaking ball under the plush duvet. Felix was curled into a tight knot, his hands clamped over his lynx ears. “Are you scared, honey?” I whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. He didn’t answer. He tried to pull his hands away to look brave, but then a crack of thunder exploded right over the roof. He let out a tiny, high-pitched whimper and dove headfirst into my lap. I pulled him close, rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles. To distract him, I started telling a story. “You know, you have four ears,” I murmured. “Why do you only cover the top ones? What about the ones on the sides? Do you have to choose which ones to save?” Felix froze in my lap, his amber eyes looking up at me, wide and confused. “How about this?” I suggested. “I’ll cover the lynx ears, and you cover your human ones. We’ll be a team.” “I’m not a cat!” he squeaked, though he didn’t pull away. “Mmhmm. You just want me to touch the fluffy bits.” “Fine,” he muttered, his tail flicking against my thigh. “If you tell me a story… a long one… I’ll let you touch them. Maybe the tail, too.” I smiled and started weaving a nonsensical tale about a Bear King who loved honey and a Prince of the Bees who guarded the hive. “And eighteen years later…” I said, pausing for effect. Felix was hooked, his ears leaning forward. “What happened eighteen years later?” “Well… by then, the Prince of Bees had been dead for seventeen years and nine months. Worker bees only live about six weeks, Felix. It’s simple biology.” Felix stared at me, his little face a picture of sheer indignation. “…” He turned around, huffing. “That’s a terrible story.” “But are you still scared?” He grumbled but turned back into my arms. I started humming a low tune, my hand rhythmic on his back. It was a perfect, quiet moment—until Felix opened one eye, looking at me with a heartbreakingly hopeful expression. “Can you… can you stop hitting me now? I’m really tired and I want to sleep.” I froze. The “rhythmic patting” I was doing to soothe him—the universal way mothers put babies to sleep—was something he had interpreted as the prelude to a beating. My heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. 7 By the weekend, the fridge was a wasteland. I decided to take Felix to the high-end grocer in town to restock. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll lose you again?” I asked as we got into the SUV. The old Sophie had “accidentally” left him at parks and malls at least three times, hoping he’d wander off into the hands of a predator or the foster system. But Felix was a survivor; he always found his way back, covered in grime and shaking with cold. He looked at me, then reached out and grabbed my pinky finger with his small hand. “No. You won’t. You’re different now.” The supermarket was a sea of people. I tried to put him in the cart, but he puffed out his chest. “Carts are for babies. I’m a big boy. I can walk.” “Okay, big boy. Just don’t let go of my hand.” He nodded solemnly. But the second I leaned down to compare the prices on two different brands of ribeye, the warmth of his hand vanished. “Felix? Felix!” I abandoned the cart and sprinted through the aisles. I had the store manager put out an emergency page. Ten minutes passed. Nothing. I was about to call the police, my mind spiraling into dark places, when the System chimed in. [Check the back exit. He’s behind the large decorative planters near the parking lot.] I walked out there, my heart hammering against my ribs. I saw a tiny tuft of grey-spotted fur sticking out from behind a stone flowerpot. My “villainous” instincts took over. I pretended I hadn’t seen him. I walked past the planter, sighing loudly. “Oh, no. I’ve lost Felix. The police are going to think I did it on purpose. They’ll lock me in a cage, make me sleep on a damp floor, and eat soggy pet food. I’ll never get to make those steak tips again. I feel so bad… I didn’t even get to buy him that double-scoop chocolate ice cream I promised. If he came back right now, I wouldn’t even be mad. I’d just buy the ice cream.” The tuft of fur twitched. “I’m going to close my eyes and count to ten,” I continued. “If he isn’t back by then, the cops will take me away forever. One… two…” I reached nine. The kid was stubborn. Suddenly, an ambulance siren wailed on the nearby street. Felix must have thought it was the police coming for me. He burst out from behind the pot, tears streaming down his face. “Don’t take her! Don’t take her! I’m here! I wasn’t lost!” On the drive home, the atmosphere was heavy. “Why did you do it, Felix?” He looked out the window, his voice a tiny thread. “I saw an old lady who lost her service dog… I wanted to help her. But then… I wanted to see if you’d actually look for me. And then I thought… if I just disappeared, maybe you’d be happy. You wouldn’t have to deal with a ‘beast’ anymore.” “Felix, listen to me,” I said, pulling the car over. “Until the police come and drag me away, this is your home. You should never, ever sacrifice yourself just to ‘make things easier’ for someone else. That’s not noble—it’s just sad.” He looked at me, blinking. Then, he did something he had never done before. He shifted. With a soft poof, the four-year-old boy was gone. In his place sat a small, lanky lynx kitten with massive, oversized paws and ridiculous ear tufts. He looked like a ball of lint with eyes. “You can shift into a kitten?!” I gasped, my “fluff-addict” brain short-circuiting. I couldn’t help it. I pounced. I spent the next half-hour in the backseat of the SUV, kneading his paws and rubbing his belly while he made little high-pitched squeaks of protest. “Do you know you were wrong?” I asked, burying my face in his soft fur. “I know… I know!” he chirped in his kitten voice. I combed his fur with my fingers, my heart finally feeling full. “Good. Now let’s go get that ice cream.” 8 Monday morning. After a grueling weekend of “mom-bootcamp” and training a new, slightly less terrified nanny, I finally looked forward to some peace. Or so I thought. I was mid-dream, imagining a world where I lived in a giant castle made of kittens, when my phone screamed on the nightstand. It was the principal of Felix’s “Integrated Academy.” Apparently, Felix had committed an “unforgivable transgression.” When I arrived at the school, the atmosphere was thick with a toxic mix of pity and accusation. Felix was standing in the middle of the play yard, his small face a mask of cold, eerie numbness. He was staring at the body of a small, vibrantly feathered bird. It was a classroom pet, an exotic finch they kept in an outdoor aviary. The teacher, a woman whose smile reminded me of a paper cut, was comforting a sobbing Pure-blood boy nearby. “He did it, Mrs. Rivers,” she said, her voice dripping with a fake, mournful sympathy. “Only Felix and young Leo were near the cage. Leo saw him reach in. He tried to stop him, but… well, you know how it is with his kind. The predatory drive. It’s a biological imperative they just can’t fight.” I walked over to Felix and knelt down, ignoring the dirt on my designer slacks. I touched his cheek; it was ice-cold. “Felix, talk to me. What happened?” He didn’t look at me. His voice was a flat, hollow thread. “I have done something wrong. But I did not kill the bird.” The teacher let out a sharp, impatient huff. “He just admitted he did something wrong! Mrs. Rivers, please. We have to be realistic. This is a school for civilized children. If your son can’t control the ‘beast’ within, perhaps he belongs in a… specialized facility. He’s been cruel and stubborn since he arrived.” I felt a surge of white-hot fury. I knew about the “beast nature” argument. It was the same lie people used in my old life to justify why certain animals were “unadoptable.” “Do you have cameras in the yard?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “They’re… undergoing maintenance,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “But the eyewitness testimony is clear. Leo is a good, Pure-blood boy. He has no reason to lie.” I looked at the building bordering the playground—a high-security bank. “Perfect,” I muttered. I stood up and pulled out my phone, dialing 911. “If I’m wrong,” I told the teacher, who was now turning a frantic shade of beige, “Felix and I will apologize, pay for the bird, and leave. But if I’m right, no one is going to frame my son for a crime he didn’t commit just because his ears are pointed.”

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The notice that my daughter was being expelled from school was placed in my hands, and the reason—[cheating with a smartwatch]—was glaringly harsh. I stormed into the school to argue my case, only to be publicly humiliated by the homeroom teacher and the principal: “Children from single-parent families lack discipline. It’s only natural for them to have bad character!” “The evidence is conclusive. If you keep making a scene, watch out—you might even lose that easy little job of yours!” I looked at the red marks on my daughter’s wrist from being shoved during the argument, and at those hollow eyes full of despair. Then I picked up the phone and dialed the number that had been buried away for six years. “Daniel Shaw,” my voice was ice-cold, “our daughter is being bullied.” “I only have one question. What do you gain by forcing a child who loves studying to death and destroying your own bloodline for the world you’re trying to protect?” The line went dead silent, and then a voice sounded from the other end, as if it had come straight from the depths of hell: “Send me the address. I’m on my way.” 1 The smell of old paper and ink in the records room was the quiet comfort I had known best for the past six years. I was thirty-three this year, an ordinary librarian at the city library. Life was tight, but I thought it was enough to protect the peace between me and my daughter, Stella. Until that dark afternoon, when a sharp ringtone tore through the fake calm. The call was from Stella’s homeroom teacher, Ms. Turner, and her tone was cold and mechanical. “Parent of Stella Carter, please come to the school immediately. We need to speak to you in person about Stella Carter’s serious violation of school rules.” “School rules?” My heart sank hard. “Stella, she—” “Come here first.” The call was hung up, leaving only the buzzing of the dial tone. By the time I rode my old bicycle to Marlowe High School, the sky had already started to drift with fine rain. The grand gates of that prestigious school blurred before my eyes. When I pushed open the teachers’ office door, Stella was standing alone in the corner, her face deathly pale, her body trembling slightly. The moment she saw me, her eyes turned red, but she bit her lip so hard she refused to cry. Behind the desk, Ms. Turner pushed up her gold-rimmed glasses, her gaze sharp and cold behind the lenses. Next to her sat Principal Harris, smiling in a way that revealed nothing. “Mrs. Carter, you’re here.” Ms. Turner spoke first and pushed a sheet of paper toward me. “This is the school’s decision. Take a look.” Black words on white paper. The most eye-catching part was the bold title. [Disciplinary Decision Regarding Stella Carter’s Academic Misconduct] The contents were even more heartless. During a critical recent exam, Stella Carter used a smartwatch to cheat. The offense was serious and had a bad influence. After discussion by the school board, it has been decided that she will be disqualified from the city-level outstanding student selection and expelled from school, with the matter to be reported to all schools in the city. My vision went black, and I nearly lost my footing. “Cheating? Impossible! Stella would never do that! She has always earned her grades through her own hard work!” “The evidence is conclusive.” Ms. Turner sneered and pulled a transparent evidence bag out of the drawer. Inside was an ordinary smartwatch. “On the day of the exam, the cameras showed her looking down at her watch multiple times. The tech department also recovered the watch’s receiving records, and there was answer information transmitted from outside. Stella herself also admitted that the watch was hers.” “I admit the watch is mine!” Stella finally couldn’t hold back and shouted through tears, “But I never used it to cheat! I wasn’t even wearing it that day! I put it in the deepest part of my backpack! Someone framed me!” “Framed?” Principal Harris spoke slowly, his voice oily with condescension. “Mrs. Carter, we understand how you feel. But the school handles problems based on evidence. Right now, all the evidence points to Stella Carter. And, from what we know, children from single-parent families may indeed… lack enough attention and guidance in some areas. It’s understandable to make a mistake for a moment. But rules are rules.” He stressed the words “single-parent family,” like a poisonous thorn, stabbing straight into my deepest pain. 2 “What do you mean by that?” My blood rushed to my head. “Just because she comes from a single-parent family, does that mean she deserves to be framed? What kind of child Stella is, don’t you know? How many times has she brought honor to the school? And now you’re going to ruin her future just because of one camera and a record that can be faked?” Ms. Turner slapped the desk and stood up. “Mrs. Carter! Watch your tone! This is a place for reason, not a place for you to throw a fit! Your daughter has a problem, and instead of reflecting on your own parenting, you’re questioning the school’s fairness? Like mother, like daughter.” Her words were like icy spikes dipped in poison, stabbing through the reason I was trying to hold onto. I looked at Stella. Her small body trembled violently with anger and humiliation. Tears slid down silently, and the despair in her eyes broke my heart. “Stella, let’s go.” I took my daughter’s cold hand and didn’t look again at those two hypocritical faces. I knew we would get no justice here. When we walked out of the office, the students and teachers we passed in the hallway all gave us strange looks, and the murmuring was like the buzz of flies. Even Stella’s old classmates kept their distance from her. When we got home, the small apartment that had once been full of books and warmth now felt suffocating. Stella locked herself in her room, and the muffled sound of her crying cut at my heart like a dull knife. I sat in the living room, looking at the rain growing heavier outside the window, feeling cold all over. I remembered six years ago, when I had fled from another place full of power and coldness with Stella, who had only just learned to walk. I thought that if I hid in the ordinary noise of the city, I could buy peace. I had given up my once-brilliant academic talent and willingly become a simple librarian, only asking that my daughter could grow up safe and happy. But why was the world even taking away that little humble wish? “Mom…” I didn’t know when Stella had come out. Her face was still streaked with tears, and she threw herself into my arms, her voice hoarse. “Why are they doing this? Ryan Brooks’s grades aren’t even as good as mine. Is it just because his dad donated money to the school? Mom, I didn’t cheat… I really didn’t…” I held her tightly, my heart twisting like a knife. “I know, and I believe you, Stella. Don’t be afraid. Mom will get justice for you no matter what.” At that moment, a heart that had been silent for many years seemed to slowly wake up inside me. I couldn’t fall. My daughter was watching me. 3 Over the next few days, I started fighting back. I went to government offices, and after hearing my account, the reception staff told me blankly to go home and wait for notice. Then nothing happened. I tried contacting the media, but the calls either didn’t go through or I was politely told that they needed to verify things, and then there was nothing after that. Marlowe High School’s announcement saying the evidence was conclusive had already been released, and rumors spread at shocking speed. The neighbors looked at us with disdain and avoidance. Even at the library where I worked, there were whispers starting up. The director politely reminded me to be mindful of the impact and suggested I take temporary leave. Stella was getting worse and worse. She didn’t dare go out and stayed curled up in her room all day, her eyes empty. That girl who had once been bright-eyed and hungry for knowledge was gone. What made me feel most hopeless was that I realized I was facing a net with no holes. Principal Harris, Ms. Turner, and the Brooks family behind the scenes had woven a huge web of connections, easily defusing every appeal I made. That day, I gathered my courage again and went to the city education bureau, hoping to see someone higher up. Outside an office, I unexpectedly ran into Ms. Turner and Ryan Brooks’s father. The well-known local businessman, Mr. Brooks. They were laughing and talking as they came out with someone who looked like a leader. Ms. Turner spotted me and curled her lips into an undisguised sneer. Mr. Brooks swept a contemptuous glance over my cheap clothes, as if I were just an annoying bug. The official frowned and said to the staff beside him, “Why are all kinds of people allowed in here? Pay attention to the optics.” At that moment, all my courage and persistence collapsed. I wasn’t chasing the truth. I was throwing an egg at a rock. An overwhelming sense of powerlessness washed over me like a tide. I stood alone in front of the cold municipal building and watched them drive away. For the first time, I understood what despair really was. When I got home, Stella was curled up in the corner of the sofa and asked me softly, “Mom, is it because of me that you got dragged into this too? Maybe… maybe we should just forget it. I don’t want to go to school anymore…” “No!” I almost shouted it, but tears surged out of me uncontrollably. I held her. “Stella, we can’t let this go! If we do, your whole life will be ruined! Even if I have to give up my life, I’ll clear your name!” But how could I fight? My strength, in front of them, was as small as a speck of dust. Just when I was about to be swallowed by despair, one afternoon while cleaning out old things, I accidentally found a long-forgotten iron box. Inside were several medals I had once won in math and physics competitions at home and abroad, now dulled with age. Under the medals was a photo. 4 In the photo, a young me stood shoulder to shoulder with a young man in a white shirt, his eyes bright and sharp, on a university campus, both of us smiling with carefree brilliance. That was Daniel Shaw. Stella’s father. Six years ago, he vanished from our world as if he had evaporated, leaving behind only a vague, almost cruel breakup letter. Carrying a child, I endured immense pain and the gossip and pointing fingers around me before giving birth to Stella. I went from hating him to slowly trying to forget him, pouring all my love into my daughter. I had never thought about finding him. The name, and the world it might represent, was the past I had deliberately avoided. But right then, looking at the face in the photo, the face that had once been full of ideals and passion, and looking at my haggard daughter in my arms, who had been unjustly accused, a crazy and humble thought began to grow in my heart. Could he maybe still be willing to help us, even a little? Even if it was only because Stella was his blood? The thought made me feel ashamed, as if I had betrayed the persistence of the past six years. But I had no way back. I rummaged through everything until I finally found a number that had almost been forgotten, a private number he had once said, “No matter when you call this number, you’ll be able to find me.” With trembling fingers, I pressed the dial button. Hearing the ringing through the receiver, my heart pounded as if it might burst out of my chest. The phone rang for a long time. Just when I thought no one would answer and was about to hang up, someone finally picked up. “Hello?” It was a steady male voice, carrying a trace of barely noticeable caution. Not him. My heart sank. Of course. Six years had passed. The number might have changed hands long ago. “Sorry, wrong number.” My voice was hoarse as I prepared to hang up. “Wait!” The other person’s voice suddenly became urgent, even carrying a hint of unbelievable shock. “This number… may I ask, are you Mrs. Vivian Carter?” I froze. How did he know my name? “I am Vivian Carter. Who are you?” “Thank God! You finally called this number!” The other person sounded excited and relieved. “Mrs. Carter, please wait! Don’t hang up! I’ll transfer you to Mr. Shaw right away! He’s been waiting for your call!” Mr. Shaw? Waiting for my call? Before I could react, I heard hurried footsteps and suppressed conversation on the other end. Then, a voice that I would remember to my grave, a voice I had not even dared to recall carefully in my dreams, came through with a tremor of disbelief and buried urgency, crossing six years of time and crashing hard into my ears: “Vivian? Is that you? Vivian!” It was Daniel Shaw. He was really still using this number. And he called me “Vivian,” the nickname only the closest people would use. The immense grievance and all the hardship I had borne alone for the past six years broke through in an instant. I covered my mouth so I wouldn’t cry out, but tears still poured down. “Daniel…” I forced out a few words with all my strength, my voice broken beyond repair. “Our daughter… Stella… she’s being bullied…”

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1 The day my mother died, I was in Frankfurt closing a merger. When my plane touched the tarmac at JFK, my phone exploded with ninety-plus unread notifications. I swiped to the top of the stack. The first was from my wife, Sienna. Something happened to your mom. You need to come home. The second: It was a car accident. The third: She’s gone, Grant. She didn’t make it. I stood in the international arrivals terminal, a ghost among the sea of travelers. The world turned into a blurred, high-speed time-lapse, but I was frozen. I called her back. It rang until it hit voicemail. I tried again. Nothing. On the third attempt, she finally picked up. Her voice was hushed, airy, like a feather drifting through a vacuum. “Are you back yet?” she asked. “What happened?” My voice sounded steadier than I felt. It was the voice I used for hostile takeovers. “Last night… she went out to get groceries. A car hit her right outside the gates of her community.” She paused, and I heard her take a shaky breath. “They rushed her to the ICU, but there was too much internal damage.” My fingers tightened around the titanium casing of my phone. “Who did it?” Silence. It stretched for several agonizing seconds. “A… drunk driver,” she finally said. “Where is he?” “In custody. At the precinct.” “The name, Sienna. Give me a name.” Another hesitation. This one felt different. It wasn’t the silence of grief; it was the silence of calculation. It set off an alarm in my gut that I’d learned to trust over twelve years in private equity. “Sienna. I asked for a name.” “Jasper Brooks,” she whispered. She said it so softly I almost missed it, as if saying it quietly enough could make the reality disappear. But I heard it. Jasper Brooks. Sienna’s “best friend” from college. The guy she’d introduced to me years ago as the brother she never had. The one she told me not to worry about. I had believed her. “Jasper Brooks,” I repeated. The name tasted like ash. “He… he’d been drinking, Grant. He didn’t mean for this to happen. It was a mistake.” “You’ve seen him already?” “I… I went down to the station to give a statement.” I looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the terminal. The tarmac was shimmering under a white-hot New York sun. “Where are you now?” “The office.” “Stay there.” I hung up before she could utter another syllable of defense for the man who had just crushed my mother’s life. During the ten-hour flight from Frankfurt, I hadn’t closed my eyes once. My mind was a projector on a loop, playing the FaceTime call I’d had with my mother just last week. She was wearing the red cardigan I’d bought her for her sixty-fifth birthday, smiling at the camera. “When are you coming home, honey?” she’d asked. “Next month, Ma.” “I’ll make your favorite pot roast. I found a new butcher near the Heights—the brisket is incredible.” “I’m holding you to that.” She told me she went there every morning because the walk was good for her heart. Right outside the gates. On that specific crosswalk. In the path of the car Jasper Brooks was driving. I reached the city at 4:00 AM. I didn’t go to our penthouse in Tribeca. I went straight to the headquarters of the Evergreen Group. The lights in the executive suite were on. Sienna was sitting on the velvet sofa, dressed in a sharp black power suit, her eyes rimmed with red. She stood up when I walked in. “Grant. You’re here.” I walked past her without a word. I went to my desk, flipped open my laptop, and logged into the firm’s internal management system. Sienna Miller: CEO of Evergreen Group. Grant Miller: Chairman. This was my father’s legacy. We had built it together for over a decade. I owned sixty-eight percent of the stock; she owned fifteen. The rest belonged to the legacy board members. I pulled up the legal department’s filing history for the last forty-eight hours. My eyes locked on a digital document. Affidavit of Non-Prosecution and Leniency. The Petitioner: Sienna Miller. The Beneficiary: Jasper Brooks. The content stated that as the victim’s daughter-in-law, acting on behalf of her husband, Grant Miller, she granted full forgiveness to the suspect, Jasper Brooks. She requested the District Attorney pursue the minimum possible charges, citing “extraordinary mitigating circumstances.” It was stamped with the Evergreen corporate seal. It bore Sienna’s elegant, cursive signature. I looked up from the screen. “You signed this?” She interlaced her fingers, her knuckles turning white. “Yes.” “Who gave you the authority to sign for me?” “You were over the Atlantic. I couldn’t reach you, and the lawyers said the window for a pre-arraignment filing was closing.” “So you decided to forgive him for me?” “Grant, Jasper is—” “I asked if you decided to forgive the man who killed my mother on my behalf.” She didn’t try to pivot again. She just nodded. I closed the laptop with a definitive click. “Give me one reason why.” “It wasn’t intentional.” “Drunk driving is the definition of intentional negligence, Sienna.” “He had a few drinks, yes, but—” “But what?” “But he’s devastated. He’s a wreck.” I stared at her, seeing her clearly for perhaps the first time in years. “Have you visited him?” She flinched. “I… yes.” “When?” “The day before yesterday.” “While my mother was lying in a morgue waiting for me to identify her?” Her face went bone-white. “I went there to handle the paperwork. To keep it out of the press.” “To handle the Leniency Agreement.” “The clock was ticking.” “You were in such a hurry to save him,” I said. My voice was quiet, stripped of all emotion. It was far more terrifying than a shout. She stepped back. “Grant, you need to be rational. Calm down.” “I am perfectly rational.” I stood up and walked to the window. The glass reflected my face—a mask of cold stone. “Sienna, you know what my mother meant to me.” “I know.” “No. You don’t.” I turned around. “My father died when I was seven. She worked three jobs to keep us in that tiny apartment in Queens. She sold her engagement ring to pay for my first semester at Columbia. When I started Evergreen, she took out a second mortgage on her house to give me the seed money. Everything I am, I owe to her.” “I know all of that—” “Then you wouldn’t have signed that paper.” Her eyes filled with tears, but they didn’t fall. “I just thought… she’s already gone. Pursuing a vendetta won’t—” “Won’t what? Bring her back?” I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “So you decided to grant him a pass.” “Jasper isn’t a bad person.” “He killed my mother.” “It was an accident.” “An accident is a tire blowout. A drunk driver hitting a pedestrian is a choice.” She went silent. And in that silence, I saw it. It wasn’t guilt in her eyes. It was protection. She was shielding him. She was making excuses for the man who had destroyed my world. “What is he to you?” I asked. Her gaze flickered. “A friend.” “What kind of friend?” “A lifelong one. You know this.” “To what extent, Sienna?” She took a sharp breath. “What are you implying?” “It’s a simple question. How far does your ‘friendship’ go?” Her lips thinned into a hard line. She looked like a witness being grilled on the stand. “We have never crossed a line.” “Then why were you the first person he called? Why was your first instinct to save him?” She had no answer. Outside, the sky was beginning to bleed into a pale, sickly grey. “Where is he?” I asked. “The Westchester County Jail.” I made a note of it. I didn’t say another word to her. As I walked out of the office, she called my name. I didn’t look back. I drove ninety minutes north to the facility. I didn’t pull any strings; I followed the standard procedure for a visitor’s permit. I waited an hour in a sterile, fluorescent-lit room. The door opened, and Jasper Brooks walked in wearing a yellow jumpsuit. His hair was greasy, and he looked tired, but when he saw me, he didn’t look broken. He looked… expectant. He sat down across from me behind the plexiglass. “Grant,” he said, his voice low. There was a glimmer of something in his eyes—not remorse, but a tactical wariness. “Sienna was here,” I said. “Yeah. She came to see me.” “She signed a leniency form on my behalf.” He looked down at his hands, silent. “How much did you have that night?” “Two beers.” “What was your BAC?” “They… they said the test was inconclusive.” “Why were you driving through that specific neighborhood?” “I live near there.” “So you knew it was a residential zone. You knew there were seniors living there.” He looked up. His eyes turned hard. Defensive. “Grant, I told the police. It was an accident. The sun was in my eyes.” “Accidents don’t require forged leniency agreements,” I said. His expression froze. “Sienna did that on her own—” “She did it because she believed your lie about it being an accident.” I stood up. “But I’m going to find out if it was. And if I find out it wasn’t… God help you both.” His face drained of color. “What are you talking about?” I turned my back on him and walked out. Back in my car, I dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. It was picked up on the second ring. “Grant? I heard about your mother. I’m so sorry.” “Linus, I need a favor.” Linus had been with Evergreen for twelve years. He’d gone from Head of Legal to Chief Risk Officer. Before that, he’d done forensic accounting for the FBI. He was a man who knew how to find things that people wanted to keep buried. “Anything,” Linus said. “I need everything on Jasper Brooks.” “Define ‘everything’.” “Bank records. Travel logs. Communications. I want to know where he breathes and who he talks to. And I want to know his connection to my wife.” Linus was silent for a beat. “Give me three days.” “You have two.” “Understood.” I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes. My mother’s face appeared again. Standing at the departures gate at JFK the last time I left for Europe. Waving. “Hurry back!” “I will, Ma.” “And don’t work too hard!” “I won’t.” She had stayed there until my car was out of sight. That was the last time I saw her alive. I opened my eyes. They were dry. I hadn’t cried yet. It wasn’t because I didn’t feel the pain; it was because the pain had crystallized into something else. Something cold. Something sharp. In the afternoon, I went to the funeral home. She was lying in a mahogany casket, her face pale and still. There was a slight indentation on her temple from the impact. The mortician told me she’d lost her pulse before she even hit the ER. They’d tried to resuscitate her for forty minutes. I stood by her side for a long time. I reached out and took her hand. It was ice. “Ma,” I whispered. “I’m home.” The silence of the room was heavy. I squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry,” I said. “Everyone who played a part in this is going to pay. Every single one of them.” My voice echoed in the hollow room and faded. On the drive back to the city, Sienna called me. I ignored it. She followed up with a string of texts. Are you really investigating him? Grant, you’re just making this more complicated. She’s gone. Being vindictive won’t change that. I pulled over to the side of the road. I looked at the screen and typed a single sentence. What are you afraid I’ll find? The bubbles appeared, then vanished. Then appeared again. I have nothing to hide, she replied. I smiled, shifted the car into drive, and merged back into traffic. I was looking forward to seeing if she could still say that when the truth was laid bare. Two days later, Linus’s report arrived. An encrypted file. I sat in my dark office and opened it. The first page was basic bio. Jasper Brooks, 32. No steady employment. Self-described “Private Investor.” One LLC under his name with a $50,000 capitalization. A shell. The second page was his bank statements. In the last year, he’d had massive inflows of cash. One transfer caught my eye. It happened three months ago. Sender: Evergreen Group Accounts Payable. Amount: $2.3 million. Memo: “Consulting Services.” Recipient: Jasper Brooks, Personal Account. I stared at the numbers. Then I scrolled down. The third page was a transcript of his iMessages. Linus’s tech team was thorough. They’d recovered everything. The conversation was with a contact saved as “S.” I miss you. Can we meet today? Grant is in London. Come over tonight. My mom needs cash. Can you approve a draw? Run it through the firm. Make sure he doesn’t see. He has no idea. Once we handle his mother’s matter, we can leave. The last message was sent the day before my mother died. Everything is ready. Action tomorrow. I don’t know how long I sat there staring at the screen. Maybe five minutes. Maybe an hour. My fingers remained motionless on the keys. I felt like a man who had been submerged in icy water for so long that he’d forgotten what warmth felt like. I called Linus back into my office. “I need his GPS logs from the night of the accident.” “I have them. Sending now.” An hour later, the map appeared. That night, Jasper Brooks’s car had been parked three blocks from my mother’s community for four hours. Four hours. From 7:00 PM to 11:00 PM. My mother always took her walk at 9:30 PM. The traffic cam footage from the gates showed her stepping onto the crosswalk. A black sedan, which had been idling at the corner, suddenly accelerated. There was no screech of brakes. No attempt to swerve. He hit her, backed up, and drove away. He didn’t turn himself in until the next morning. I closed the video. The office was dim. Linus stood by the door, silent. “Get me the dashcam footage from his car,” I said. “The police have it.” “Get it anyway.” “Grant, if we go down this road…” “Do I have a choice, Linus?” He stayed silent for a moment, then nodded and left. That night, Sienna came home. We lived in a sprawling penthouse in Tribeca. Minimalist, cold, exactly her style. I was sitting on the sofa in the dark. She walked in, flipped on the foyer light, and jumped when she saw me. “Jesus, Grant. Why are you sitting in the dark?” “Saving electricity.” She dropped her Birkin on the console, kicked off her Louboutins, and walked over. “You’re still angry.” I looked at her. “I can explain the leniency form, Grant.” “Don’t bother.” “Jasper—” “Did you tell him to turn himself in?” She paused. “…He went on his own.” “When?” “The next morning.” “Why not right away?” “He was scared.” “Of what?” “Of the police not understanding.” I stared into her eyes. “So the two of you coordinated your stories before he went in.” Her composure flickered. “What stories?” “The DUI story.” “He was drinking—” “How much?” She couldn’t give me a number. I gave it to her. “His BAC was 0.062. Under the legal limit of 0.08. Technically a ‘wet reckless’ or a DUI, but not a felony-grade intoxication. His reflexes were fine.” “You… you checked that?” “0.062 for an adult male is about two beers. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew he was driving. And he knew who was in that crosswalk.” Sienna’s face began to lose its color. “Grant, what are you saying?” “What do you think I’m saying?” I stood up and walked toward her. “You’re shaking, Sienna.” She swallowed hard. “Because you’re scaring me.” “I’m not scaring you. I’m just showing you the mirror.” I turned and walked into my study, opening the laptop. I pulled up the recovered texts. “Come here.” She hesitated, then walked over. When she saw the words on the screen, her face went from pale to ghostly in a matter of seconds.

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At graduation, Liam and I broke up. His eyes were full of hatred as he said he would definitely find a girl a hundred times better than me. Eight years later, because of my husband’s project, our old classmates gathered again. But Liam came with his girlfriend and handed out wedding invitations to us. Our classmates all looked at me with sympathy, because back then, he and I had loved each other like our lives depended on it. When the wedding invitation reached me, Liam gave me a half-smile. “I heard that all these years, you were so afraid of thinking about me that you didn’t even dare contact our old classmates.” “But now I’ve found the girl who belongs to me, so you should forget me.” Just as I was about to speak, a little boy suddenly ran in from outside the door and threw himself at me. He shouted, “Mommy.” 1 “Mommy!” The entire private room went silent in an instant. Dozens of pairs of eyes turned toward me all at once. I looked at the little boy throwing himself at me, with his round face and big eyes, and he was completely unfamiliar. This was not my child. I was just about to speak when the door to the private room was suddenly shoved open. A young woman rushed in, her face full of apology. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! Leo, I told you not to run around!” She scooped up the child and kept bowing to everyone. “I’m sorry for interrupting you.” The woman hurried away with the child in her arms, and everyone let out a breath of relief. “I knew it, how could Lena already have a kid?” It was Zoe, who had sat behind me back then, and she had always loved gossiping. “If she got married, how could none of us old classmates know?” Someone immediately chimed in, “Exactly, Liam isn’t even married yet, so how could she get married first?” As soon as those words came out, everyone’s eyes swept back and forth between Liam and me again. Liam and I dated for four years in college. During those four years, he skipped required courses from the entire department for me and played guitar under my dorm building while singing off-key love songs. I waited for him for three hours in heavy snow just to give him a scarf I had knitted by hand. We squeezed into the cheapest rental near campus, shared a six-dollar bowl of beef noodles, and still thought it was the best food in the world. But on the eve of graduation, I broke up with him. I remembered his bloodshot eyes as he gripped my wrist tightly and asked, “Why?” I could not give him a reason. In the end, he flung me away, and the love in his eyes was swallowed by hatred. “Lena, in this lifetime, I will definitely find a girl a hundred times better than you and make you regret it.” Now, he had done it. He brought his fiancée and handed me that gold-embossed wedding invitation in front of all our old classmates. How was that a wedding invitation? It was clearly a slap to my face. Before I came, my roommate quietly told me that Liam had specifically asked in the group chat, “Is Lena coming?” All his setup was prepared for me. In the silence, Willa, who was beside Liam, suddenly stood up. She held a glass of wine and smiled warmly and gracefully, but there was a faint hint of provocation in her eyes as she looked straight at me. “What happened in the past is all in the past.” “I’m very grateful that someone took care of Liam for me during those years.” She said the words “for me”very lightly, but they stabbed like needles. She paused, looked around the room, and finally turned her gaze back to Liam’s affectionate face, her voice firm. “But from now on, the person who can stay by Liam’s side can only be me, Willa.” “Well said!” Someone started it first. Thunderous applause instantly rang through the private room, and someone even whistled. “Liam is so lucky!” “Willa said it perfectly!” Liam took the chance to pull Willa into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head with a doting expression. He raised his glass toward everyone, smiling with total satisfaction. “Thank you, everyone.” I picked up the coffee cup in front of me and calmly took a sip. This situation had nothing to do with me. The scalding coffee slid down my throat. I lowered my eyes and pretended to study the delicate pattern on the rim of the cup. But from the corner of my eye, Liam’s gaze kept drifting, intentionally or not, past the fiancée in his arms and landing on me. 2 Liam’s gaze was like a net, and there was hatred in that look. There was also love that had burned itself to ashes. And there was a trace of confusion that even he himself had never noticed. He did not understand eight years ago, and now, he understood even less. My thoughts were instantly pulled back to that muggy summer night. In the study room of the university library, I was clutching an acceptance letter from an Ivy League school. It was the dream I had earned by staying up countless nights and giving up all entertainment. “Lena, what are you looking at so seriously?” Liam’s voice came from behind me. He pressed a bottle of ice-cold Coke against my face, and I snapped back to myself with a jolt. “You scared me.” “What are you thinking about, future big designer?”he asked with a smile as he sat down beside me, his eyes bright as if they were filled with stars. He had never doubted my talent, and he believed even more firmly than I did that I could stand on the world stage. “When we graduate, I’ll open a tiny architecture studio.” “You’ll be my chief designer.” “We’ll rent a small apartment downtown, and it doesn’t have to be big, just big enough for your drawing board and my models.” “Then we’ll get a cat, a fat one, like a little pig.” He rambled on about our future, and every word crashed into my heart and into the acceptance letter in my hand. Silently, I folded that piece of paper and tucked it into the deepest part of my book. It was like burying a grand dream. I turned to meet his gaze and said with a smile, “Okay.” “It’s a deal.” But in the end, I still broke that promise. “Lena?” Zoe’s voice dragged me out of my memories. “Liam is asking you a question, where are you working now?” Her tone was barbed, and everyone’s eyes focused on me once again. Some wanted to watch the show, some were waiting for me to embarrass myself, and some were gloating. Liam let go of Willa, held his wineglass, and strolled over to me. He looked down at me from above. “What, you can’t say it?” He let out a soft laugh, with seven parts mockery and three parts satisfaction. “Then again, the top student in our department back then had such high standards, so how could an ordinary job be good enough for you?” “Maybe you married some incredible man and got hidden away at home.” With every word he said, the laughter around us grew louder. Willa leaned against him and added another cut at the perfect moment, her voice soft and innocent. “Liam, don’t talk about Lena like that. Maybe she’s just low-key.” I raised my eyes and calmly looked at the familiar yet unfamiliar face in front of me. Eight years was enough to grind a sunny young man into a man covered in thorns. I picked up my coffee cup and lifted it toward him with composed movements. “Sorry to disappoint you.” “I’m just making a living at a small company.” My calmness seemed to make him even angrier. “A small company?” He sounded as if he had heard the biggest joke in the world, and his pitch rose. “Lena, that wasn’t what you said back then.” He took a step forward and pressed closer to me. “Didn’t you say I couldn’t give you the life you wanted?” “What, eight years have passed, and now you’re willing to ‘make a living’ at a small company?” 3 The life I wanted. Ha. I sneered inwardly. Liam, do you really know what I wanted? The air in the private room seemed to freeze. “Why aren’t you talking?” Liam moved closer, and the smell of alcohol mixed with an unfamiliar cologne made me frown. “Did I hit the truth and leave you speechless?” The satisfaction in his eyes almost overflowed. “Or are you really married, and that hidden husband of yours is just an Uber driver, so you’re too ashamed to say it?” Suppressed snickers came from around us. Willa leaned in Liam’s arms and gently tried to persuade him. “Liam, don’t be like this, we’re all old classmates.” As she spoke, she picked up a glass of red wine. “Lena, let me toast you, and let the past stay in the past.” She walked toward me, then suddenly twisted her ankle. “Ah—” A cry of alarm rang out. A full glass of red wine splashed perfectly across my moon-white dress. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Lena!” Willa apologized in panic, but a smug smile was hidden in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to.” Liam pulled her back into his arms without even looking at me. “You’re still so clumsy, like a kid.” There was not a trace of blame in his tone, only indulgence. He looked at me with icy eyes. “It’s just a dress, Lena, you wouldn’t be that petty, would you?” I said nothing. I only looked at him quietly. I looked at the man I had once loved for four full years. So time really could change a person. It could make him completely unrecognizable. I smiled. It was a very soft sound. But Liam’s face instantly darkened. “What are you laughing at?” I raised my eyes, swept my gaze over him, and landed on Willa, whose face had gone pale in his arms. “I’m laughing at you.” “Liam.” I slowly picked up the wet wipe on the table and gently wiped the hem of my dress with elegant movements. “You’re right, it’s just a dress.” Willa clearly let out a breath of relief. The corner of Liam’s mouth also curled back into a mocking smile, as if victory was already his. But then I changed the subject. “It’s just a little troublesome.” “It was a wedding anniversary gift from my husband, and now that it’s dirty, it’ll be hard to explain to him.” In an instant, the entire private room became so quiet you could hear a pin drop. All the color drained from Liam’s face, and he stared at me as if he could not believe his own ears. “You’re… really married?” I raised my eyes, met his trembling pupils, and curved my lips into a perfect but cold smile. “What else? Did you think every woman in the world should wait for you, Mr. Harper?” His breath caught, and a storm I could not understand surged in his eyes. Willa clenched her fists and spoke softly, unwilling to give up. “Lena, stop joking, what does your husband do? And why didn’t you invite any classmates when you got married?” That question was very skillful. It sounded casual, but it also hinted that my marriage was something shameful. I turned my head to look at her, my gaze falling on the sparkling diamond ring on her hand. “This dress really isn’t that expensive.” I lowered my head, my tone casual. “It’s only about…” I paused, met everyone’s curious gaze, curled my lips, and said a few words. “Ten times the price of the diamond ring on your hand.” The entire room was shocked. Willa’s face turned blue, then white, then red. Liam’s fists clenched at his sides with cracking sounds, and he took a step forward, his eyes bloodshot. “Lena! Who is your husband?!” 4 When I heard his question, I met his bloodshot eyes and smiled. “My husband…” I deliberately dragged out the ending. “He’s a very petty man.” “He’s also possessive.” “He doesn’t like it when the things he gives me are dirtied by other people.” Willa’s face was as pale as paper. But Liam was like a lit stick of dynamite. “You’re lying!” He growled, his voice full of uncontrollable rage and… a hint of panic even he himself had not noticed. “Lena, you’ll say anything just to piss me off!” “You were like this eight years ago, and you’re still like this now!” Willa tugged at his sleeve, looking as if she was about to cry. “Liam, don’t be like this… Lena didn’t mean it, let’s go…” She acted pitiful and also noticed that something about Liam’s attitude was slightly wrong. I looked at her coldly. “Shut up.” Willa’s crying stopped abruptly, and she looked at me in disbelief. My gaze returned to Liam. “Liam, you’re still the same as you were eight years ago.” “Childish, impulsive, and always thinking the whole world should revolve around you.” “Who do you think you are?” My voice was not loud, but every word cut straight to the heart. “You—” He suddenly stepped forward and grabbed my wrist. “Say that again!” A sharp pain shot through my wrist. Just like eight years ago, he had also grabbed me like this and asked me why. I looked at him, and the last trace of warmth in my eyes faded away. “Let go.” “Who is that man?! What does he have that’s better than me?!” His eyes were bloodshot. The classmates around us were silent with fear, and no one dared to step forward and say a word. I frowned from the pain, but I did not struggle. I only looked at him coldly. “He is better than you in every way.” That sentence completely shattered the last of his reason. He gripped me even harder, almost crushing my bones. “Lena!” Just then, the door to the private room was pushed open from the outside. Everyone’s eyes were drawn to the man at the door. The light outlined the man’s deep, cold features. It was a face so handsome it almost felt aggressive. He did not look at anyone. He only walked straight toward me. “Lena.” It was Julian Sterling, my husband. Liam seemed frozen in place as he stared stiffly at the man who had suddenly appeared, forgetting how to react. Julian’s gaze slowly moved downward. It landed on the wrist Liam had gripped red. His eyes turned cold in an instant. “Who gave you permission to touch my wife?”

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1 My fiancée, Sienna Hartley, didn’t just buy a merman. She bought a twelve-million-dollar investment. To house this “specimen,” she had a custom-built, climate-controlled saltwater pool installed in the basement of our beachside villa, and she personally curated a menu of the highest-grade sashimi-quality seafood, flown in daily. The problem was, this piece of exotic wildlife actually started believing he was the man of the house. While Sienna was away on a three-day corporate retreat in Aspen, he cornered me. He was lounging at the edge of the pool, his tail shimmering like a dying rainbow under the LED lights. “Let’s be real, Ethan,” he sneered, his voice a strange, melodic rasp. “Every night, she comes down here. She brushes my scales, inch by inch, with those soft hands of hers. She uses a special wash that smells like jasmine and ocean salt.” He looked at me with a pity so thick it was nauseating. “The way she looks at me… it’s pure, raw possession. I’ve already made up my mind. When she gets back, I’m going to take a specialized serum to shed this tail. I’ll endure the pain to become human. For her.” I stared at him for a long beat, then slowly reached for the waterproof tablet he’d been using. I didn’t say a word as I uninstalled the trashy, over-the-top soap opera app he’d been binge-watching. “You’ve been watching too many ‘Forbidden Alpha’ shorts, pal,” I said, my voice flat. “Sienna wouldn’t spend twelve million dollars to date a fish. She’s a venture capitalist, not a romantic lead. My advice? Enjoy the free buffet while you still have a tail. Stop trying to win her heart, or you’re going to regret the day you ever saw a hook.” He took my genuine warning as the desperate gasps of a jealous man. He was hell-bent on becoming the king of this castle. What he didn’t know was that Sienna sent me updates every single hour. Husband, her latest text read, I used that professional-grade deodorizing wash on him again. He’s starting to smell less like a pier and more like expensive silk. When I harvest those scales for your custom wedding suit, you’re going to look breathtaking. No one in Manhattan will have anything like it. A follow-up message popped up: He’s still a bit lean, though. I told the caretaker to double the tuna. We need to fatten him up. Once his vitals peak, that internal pearl should be large enough to finally cure your chronic migraines for good. My poor babe shouldn’t have to suffer anymore. I honestly didn’t think a fish could be a “pick-me,” but here we were. Eventually, I reached my limit and showed the screen to the “Sea Prince.” “Wake up, Beau,” I said. “Her only interest in you is your skin and your internal organs.” He didn’t believe me. He hissed, a sharp, aquatic sound, and swiped my phone with a speed that caught me off guard, hurling it into the deep end of the pool. He flicked his iridescent tail, shimmering with an arrogance that only the truly beautiful and truly dim-witted possess. “I know what you’re doing,” he spat, his eyes wide and wild. “You’re terrified I’m replacing you. You’re using pathetic lies to drive us apart. But I am the rose she chose to cultivate. I am the one she whispers to at night. Unless she says it herself, I won’t believe a single word out of your mouth.” I didn’t feel like arguing with a creature that lived in a tank. I grabbed my tablet and initiated a FaceTime call with Sienna. When she picked up, she was in the middle of a gala, a glass of champagne in her hand. I didn’t bother with a “hello.” I pointed the camera directly at the pool. “Tell this fish exactly why you bought him. Right now. He’s having some identity issues.” On the screen, Sienna brightened up, waving a manicured hand. “Oh, hey! Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Because Beau is so much more handsome than the other specimens on the market. Look at those colors!” She blew a kiss toward the water, her eyes crinkling in that way that usually meant she was closing a deal. “Be a good boy, Beau. Eat those extra octopuses I ordered. You need to be big and strong to look your best.” I stared at the screen, a fresh headache blooming behind my eyes. She’d been gaslighting this creature for months with this romantic script. Even a golden retriever would have caught feelings after a performance like that. “Sienna, for God’s sake,” I snapped. “You’re playing with his head. He thinks he’s your boyfriend.” Sienna pouted at the camera, looking incredibly innocent. “Ethan, honey, I’m the victim here! The breeder’s manual specifically said that if they get depressed, their scales lose their luster and fall off. If I told him I was planning to skin him and harvest his heart-pearl to fix your head, he’d probably die of a heart attack on the spot. That’s twelve million down the drain. Do you know how hard it is to find a merman this size?” In the background, Beau was already calling the caretaker over, demanding fifty more octopuses. He wanted to film a “good boy eating” video to send back to his “Lady.” I looked back at the screen. “Sienna, your twelve-million-dollar investment just polished off thirty pounds of bluefin tuna thirty minutes ago. At this rate, he won’t die of a broken heart; he’ll explode from overeating.” Before I could finish my sentence, the tablet’s battery died. The screen went black, leaving me in the dim blue light of the basement. I rubbed my temples, feeling the familiar throb of pain. Fine. Let him believe whatever he wants for the next few days. He’s a fish. Why was I even competing with him? But I underestimated how far a desperate merman would go. In the middle of the night, I was woken by a strange, wet dragging sound. Beau had actually dragged the caretaker into the pool and held him under until the terrified man agreed to overnight a black-market “Transformation Serum.” When I walked into the basement the next morning, the pool water was a murky, dark crimson. A thick layer of grey, shredded scales floated on the surface like dead leaves. Beau was crawling out of the pool, gasping for air. His lower half was gone—the magnificent, shimmering tail had been replaced by two pale, long, human legs. He looked like a ghost, shivering and wincing with every agonizing movement. Each step seemed to be a fresh torture. But when he saw the shock on my face, a triumphant, jagged smirk touched his bloodless lips. He ignored the pain, his voice raspy as he threw down the gauntlet. “I didn’t have legs before,” he wheezed, clutching a silk robe from the lounge chair. “It made it difficult for Sienna to… be close to me. When she sees me like this, she’s going to be thrilled. If you have any dignity left, Ethan Miller, leave before she has to kick you out herself.” He purposefully shoved past me, stumbling like a newborn fawn. He imitated human mannerisms, grabbed a silk robe, and stumbled up the stairs to Sienna’s bedroom. He collapsed onto her bed, eye-ing the door with the pathetic devotion of a loyal dog waiting for its master. The caretaker stood there, soaked to the bone and shaking. “Mr. Miller, I’m so sorry. That serum… it’s high-risk stuff. It has a horrific side effect. If he doesn’t get back into the water within seven days, his internal pressure will build until he… well, he’ll burst. His organs can’t handle the atmospheric shift for long.” I looked at the grey, lifeless scales floating in the pool and went silent. Sienna was a lot of things, but above all, she was a control freak. She hated when things didn’t go according to plan. She had spent months meticulously cleaning those scales, preparing for that custom wedding suit. It was supposed to be our “exclusive legacy.” And now, the raw materials looked like something scraped off a discount fish market floor after a long day. I pulled out my phone and texted Sienna: For dinner tonight, do you prefer your fish grilled or steamed? She replied instantly: I like it braised in red wine, babe. Why? Everything okay at home? I sent back a grimacing emoji. Nothing. Just wait until you get home and see for yourself… By the time I got back from the city after finalizing our wedding venue, the caretaker had spent the entire day trying to talk sense into the merman. But Beau wouldn’t budge. He was determined to be the master of the house. To prove his point, he’d gone around the villa and smashed every single one of our engagement photos. The frames Sienna had spent hours picking out, the specific angles she obsessed over—all of it was in shards on the floor. When he saw me enter, he pointed a shaking, pale finger at my face. “You’re just trying to trick me back into that tank! You’re terrified she’s going to fall hopelessly in love with the man I’ve become, aren’t you?” I sighed, feeling more pity than anger now. I reached out and patted his damp, messy hair. “Listen to me, Calamari. Go back to the water. If Sienna sees what you did to those photos, she’s not going to be ‘thrilled.’ She’s going to be terrifying.” I wasn’t lying to him. My plan had been to convince her to release him back into the ocean once the “harvest” was over—give him a chance at a normal life. But he was making it impossible. Between the wedding stress and his constant tantrums, I was running out of patience. The caretaker was practically vibrating with anxiety. “Please! I’m just an employee! You cost twelve million dollars! Your scales are ruined—how am I supposed to explain this to her? Get in the water! If you do it now, they might still grow back. After tonight, it’s permanent!” Beau shoved him away, his eyes manic. He refused to move from Sienna’s bed. I looked at the caretaker. “Fine. We tried the nice way. Use the gear.” The caretaker, who had been pleading like a saint seconds ago, reached into his pocket, pulled out a high-voltage taser, and dropped the merman with a clinical efficiency. When Beau woke up, the pool had been converted into a reinforced glass containment unit. He was underwater, staring at me through the glass, pounding on it with his fists. “The caretaker said the water is the only thing that will keep you alive,” I said, my voice muffled by the glass. “And for the record, I don’t want your scales or your pearl anymore. Once you’re healed, I’m sending you back to the Atlantic. I’m done.” The idea of being “discarded” back to the ocean made him even more hysterical. He pounded the glass until his knuckles bled, the red wisps of blood curling in the water. “Sienna brought me here! You have no right to kick me out!” The caretaker paced nearby, frantic. “Just take the win, kid! Most creatures caught by collectors never see the ocean again. Mr. Miller is giving you a life!” But Beau was lost in his own soap-opera narrative. He started sobbing, bubbles rising from his mouth, as he talked about how much Sienna loved him. “She gave me a name! She called me Beau!” I almost laughed at the name again. Ever since Sienna dubbed him “Beau,” his eyes had turned more and more soulful. But I knew my fiancée. She hadn’t been calling him “Beau” (B-E-A-U). She’d been calling him “Bow” (B-O-W)—as in “Bonito,” the fish she liked to use for her miso broth. I didn’t have the heart to crush his romantic spirit entirely, so I stayed silent on that. But I couldn’t let him keep believing the rest. “Beau, listen. She wasn’t telling you bedtime stories to comfort you. We had a bet. She bet me that merman tears turn into pearls. She wasn’t trying to soothe you; she was trying to make you cry so she could collect the profit.” Beau froze. Then, he shook his head violently in the water. “Liar! You’re just jealous because she spent more time with me. She came to see me every night to drink wine. She only did that because being with you is so suffocating that she needed an escape!” I frowned and turned to the caretaker. “Wine? Can fish even process alcohol?” The caretaker looked pained. He leaned in and whispered, “That was Ms. Hartley’s ‘pre-seasoning’ technique. It wasn’t wine. It was… cooking sherry and a ginger-garlic marinade. She said it helps ‘neutralize the fishy odor’ from the inside out so the scales would be easier to process.” I stared at him. I actually felt a moment of genuine shock. “Jesus. Is Sienna a human being or a sociopath?” Beau heard us. The realization—or perhaps the insult to his ‘Lady’—was too much. He slammed his head against the reinforced glass and knocked himself unconscious. His last words, muffled by the water, were: “Don’t talk about her like that… she loves me…” At 3:00 AM, I got up to look for my painkillers. My head felt like it was in a vice. I found the caretaker still by the tank, looking somber. He knew that for all Sienna’s talk of “investment,” the main reason she bought this creature was to cure me. He looked at the bottle in my hand and hesitated. “Mr. Miller… should I just harvest the pearl now? To help with your head? He’s already unconscious.” I swallowed the dry pills and shook my head. “No. It’s too cruel. Besides, I told him I’d send him back. I’m keeping my word.” The truth was, I didn’t want to deal with the screaming. If he woke up while we were performing surgery, he’d howl loud enough to wake the neighbors. This whole thing was already messy enough. But then I realized how quiet the room was. I looked at the tank. It was empty. “Where is he?” The caretaker’s eyes shifted. He pointed toward a dark, shadowed corner of the room. “Mr. Miller, I didn’t mean to disobey you. But his skin started cracking. The glass made it worse. I had to pull him out to apply a medical-grade antiseptic, or he wouldn’t have made it to morning. Forget the pearl—he wouldn’t even have been a whole fish by sunrise.” I sighed with relief. “It’s fine. Just keep him stable.” The caretaker had twenty years of experience with exotic marine life, but this merman was clearly the “Titanic” of his career. As long as the thing was breathing, I didn’t care. I didn’t want to leave the man alone with the mess, so I stayed to help. I never imagined I’d spend my night sitting on a cold floor, helping a professional rub iodine on a half-man, half-fish. By the tenth bottle of iodine, I was ready to quit. This was all Sienna’s fault. Her and her “projects.” I grabbed my phone to call her and tell her to get her ass home and dump this fish properly, or the wedding was off. But her phone was off. As I was about to leave a blistering voicemail, the caretaker’s face went pale. “Mr. Miller… something is… very wrong.” I groaned. “Please tell me he’s not dead. I can’t deal with a twelve-million-dollar corpse.” The caretaker pressed his ear to the merman’s distended stomach. He listened for a long time, his expression shifting from confusion to absolute horror. “Based on my experience… he’s extremely… full. And… Mr. Miller, I think he’s been like this since the day Ms. Hartley brought him home.” I froze. A terrible, logic-defying thought entered my mind. Mermen are biologically unique… but surely… Sienna and a fish? No. Impossible. But Beau chose that exact moment to wake up. He heard the caretaker’s words and let out a piercing, joyous shriek. “Are you saying… I’m finally carrying Sienna’s child?” He lunged for the phone on the table with a clumsy, staggering gait. “Give me the phone! I have to tell her the news! We’re going to be a family!” I broke into a cold sweat and pinned his hands down. “Beau, stay calm. Sienna isn’t that kind of person. Whatever is in your stomach… it’s probably not hers. Did you have a… ‘friend’ back in the reef?” I tried to sound mature, but I was panicking. Beau shoved me off with a look of pure triumph. “Oh, so now you believe she loves me? Now that we have the fruit of our passion? If you have a shred of self-respect, you’ll pack your bags and get out of our house.” I pulled my hand back, feeling sick. “Beau… brother… I’m not trying to be mean. But… how exactly did you two… ‘do it’?” The room went silent. You could hear my heart thudding. Beau’s face turned bright red. He looked away, dodging the question. “That’s none of your business! It was private!” Since I couldn’t get a straight answer, I turned to the caretaker. “Should we… call a vet? Or a doctor? I don’t even know who handles merman maternity.” The word ‘vet’ triggered an immediate reaction. “No! I won’t let you neuter me or my baby!” He lunged, bit my arm hard enough to draw blood, and shoved me into the empty pool. The caretaker jumped in to pull me out, but in the water, even a leggy merman has the advantage. He used some decorative kelp to tie us up like Christmas hams and dragged us into the storage closet. Before slamming the door, he leaned against the frame and sneered. “I know you won’t give up on her easily. So, you can stay in there until she gets home. I want you to watch the look on her face when she realizes she’s going to be a mother.” I tried to scream at him to get back in the water—that his life depended on it—but no sound came out. My throat felt paralyzed. The caretaker struggled beside me. “The bite,” he wheezed. “Merman venom. It paralyzes the vocal cords for at least two weeks. We’re going to be mutes.” We sat in that dark closet, exhausted and tied in kelp. Just as I was about to give up hope, I heard the front door chime. Then, Sienna’s high-pitched, playful voice echoed through the hall. “Hubby! I’m home early! How’s my little fatty doing? Are his scales ready for harvest?” Beau, of course, was the first to meet her. Through the crack in the closet door, I saw him trying to sashay toward her on his new legs. To him, he probably looked like a supermodel. To anyone else, he looked like a shivering, iodine-stained wreck in a bathrobe. Sienna froze. The silence stretched for five long seconds before she finally spoke. “Wait… where are your scales? Where the hell is my twelve-million-dollar fish?!”

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The day before the college fall formal, a new announcement was posted in the Discord channel for Sigma Alpha, the fraternity where my online boyfriend Tyler belonged. [For tonight’s freshman dare challenge, whoever draws the King of Spades must bring Tyler’s 300-pound online girlfriend to the formal tomorrow night!] Right after that, Tyler posted a photo of me from last Christmas into the channel. In the photo, I was wearing an absurdly oversized reindeer sweater, my chin fat piled up in folds, looking so huge I seemed like a moving mountain. The guys in the channel instantly exploded. “Bro, are you serious? Whoever takes her to the dance is definitely going to die of embarrassment.” “Tyler, you actually brought her to Harbor City? Wouldn’t a girl that size need two plane seats?” Tyler sent a laughing emoji. “Relax, I already told her this was a romantic in-person meetup!” “I’ll bet five hundred bucks that no matter who picks her up tomorrow night, she’ll break down crying because she can’t fit into a formal dress.” Julian, known as the fraternity’s “ice-cold chairman,” never said a word. But Luke, the guy who loved stirring up trouble the most, kept tagging my lurking alt account like crazy: “Ms. Chloe, you have to come tomorrow night. Don’t bail at the last minute.” I looked at the insults scrolling across the screen and clenched my fingers. For this cross-state meetup, I had spent a full year dropping from nearly 300 pounds to 130. I looked at the clearly defined lines of my abs in the mirror, and at the tight, sultry red designer gown hanging in the fitting room. Quietly, I placed a thousand-dollar bet in the pool that I would show up on time.

The amount in the channel’s betting pool jumped instantly. A thousand bucks stood out sharply among all the ten- and twenty-dollar pocket change bets. The chat box, which had been flooding nonstop, froze for a few seconds. Soon, someone sent a string of question marks. “What’s going on? Who is this lurker? They dropped a thousand dollars right away?” “That ID looks unfamiliar. Where did this rich guy come from?” “Could it be Chloe herself? Tyler, you didn’t kick her out, did you?” I put down my coffee cup and tapped on the screen. “I’m Chloe.” “Winner takes all. See you tomorrow night.” The moment the message was sent, my phone started vibrating wildly. Tyler flooded my DMs. “Are you crazy?” “Where did you get a thousand dollars? Didn’t you say all your part-time money was going toward tuition?” “The guys were just joking. What are you doing jumping in and making a scene?” I looked at the accusations he sent, my gaze landing on the red dress in the mirror. The old me was insecure and didn’t like talking to people in real life. So I chose an online relationship and met Tyler. Over the past year of that online relationship, I had helped him revise fourteen economics term papers. When he got drunk at a party in the middle of the night, I stayed on FaceTime with him until dawn across the time zones. He complained that all the girls around him were too shallow, and only I understood his soul. Looking back, he was just unwilling to lose a free high-end academic ghostwriter and a twenty-four-hour online therapist. I didn’t reply to him. Luke, the one who loved stirring trouble the most, sent three whistle emojis in a row. “Nice. A 300-pound dose of courage is heavyweight, all right.” “Since Chloe dares to come, then tomorrow night’s King of Spades punishment has to be played all the way through.” “Tyler, now it’s our turn to draw cards.” A link to a virtual card-drawing mini game popped up in the channel. Tyler was obviously panicking. He directly tagged me in the channel. “Chloe, be good and cancel the bet. Tomorrow night’s formal is black-tie. You don’t have the right clothes, and coming will only embarrass you.” It sounded like concern, but really he was just afraid of losing face. I was about to type when a new message popped up in the channel. “Can you all not be so mean?” It was Serena, the business school’s recognized head cheerleader. “Even though Chloe’s body type is a little unusual, flying over here from so far away isn’t easy. Tyler, how can you use your girlfriend as a bet?” “Chloe, if you don’t have a formal dress, I can lend you one. But my size is XS, so you might need to check a plus-size women’s store to see if they have any one-size-fits-all capes.” The group instantly burst into laughter. “Serena really is kind. A cape is perfect, just cover her up and problem solved!” “Unreal. Let’s just change tomorrow night’s formal theme to a Halloween pre-show. I’m scared I’ll laugh out loud.” I looked at the insults scrolling across the screen and felt my heart turn colder. Over the past year, in order to stand beside Tyler with my head held high, I had sweated it out in the gym every single day. When stomach pain hit from extreme dieting, I still had to grit my teeth and help him with data analysis in front of my computer while my body cramped up. All because I thought he was the first person who loved only my soul. I left the group and threw my phone onto the sofa. Then I turned and walked to the full-length mirror, pulling up the invisible zipper at the back of the red dress.

At seven o’clock that night, the outside of the Claude Hotel in Harbor City was brightly lit. I stepped through the revolving doors in ten-inch stilettos. The fitted red dress wrapped around my curves, and the slit in the skirt showed off my long legs as I walked. A lot of eyes in the lobby turned toward me. I walked straight to the elevator. My phone kept vibrating inside my clutch. I took it out and glanced at it. The Discord channel had already switched to live-stream mode. Luke held up his phone at the entrance to the ballroom, a smile on his lips. “Guys, it’s seven fifteen. Chloe, the 300-pound girl, still hasn’t shown up.” “Tyler, your thousand bucks is basically guaranteed.” The camera shifted and landed on Tyler, who was dressed in a custom tuxedo. He was holding champagne, and Serena, in a white sequined fishtail gown, stood beside him. Serena was clinging to his arm affectionately. “Tyler, you’re such a jerk. Chloe must be hiding in some motel somewhere, too scared to come out.” Tyler took a sip of wine, a smug smile hanging at the corner of his mouth. “I already tried my best to talk her out of it. She insisted on placing the bet herself. If she can’t even handle this much pressure, how is she supposed to survive in Harbor City?” Laughter broke out behind them in agreement. Just then, the elevator doors opened. I put away my phone and stepped out. At the end of the hallway was the sign-in desk for the ballroom. Several fraternity freshmen were checking names against the list. I walked over and gave my name. “Chloe.” The freshman in charge of registration was a chubby guy wearing glasses. When he heard my name, he jerked his head up. His gaze swept over my face and the red dress several times, and the pen in his hand dropped straight onto the table. “You… are Chloe?” He stammered so badly he could barely get the words out. “Is there a registration record?” My tone was calm. “Yes, there is, but…” He swallowed hard. “Tonight your escort is Chairman Julian. You’ll need to wait for him to bring you in.” Julian. The ice-cold chairman who had never spoken in the channel flashed through my mind. So the King of Spades in last night’s draw was him in the end. “Where is he?” “On the terrace.” The freshman pointed to a glass door on the side of the hallway. I turned around, pushed open the glass door, and walked outside. The terrace had no main lights on, only wall lamps casting a faint glow. A man in a black bespoke suit stood with his back to me at the railing. The night wind blew past, bringing a cool cedar scent. Hearing the sound of high heels, he turned around, revealing a refined face. His features were deep and sharp, and his brows and eyes carried a coldness that kept people at a distance. His gaze landed on me, without any cheap appraisal, only curiosity. “Wrong place?” His voice was low. “No.” I walked toward him and met his gaze. “I’m Chloe. I heard you drew the King of Spades.”

A faint shift crossed Julian’s face. He looked at me, and a hint of thought flashed through his dark gray eyes. “Tyler’s online girlfriend?” “Ex-girlfriend.” I corrected him. Last night I had sent Tyler a breakup message, but he hadn’t replied. Coming here today was just me putting a close to my first love. He narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze dropping from my face and pausing at the faint muscle lines visible in the slit of the red dress. There was nothing frivolous in it. He was only confirming some fact. “How long did it take you?” “One year and two months.” He nodded. “Good stamina.” “You saw the betting pool in the channel.” I looked him in the eye. “I need to get in. If you think taking me inside would hurt your image, I can go in by myself.” “Since I drew the punishment, I don’t have a habit of running from it.” Julian straightened up, buttoned his jacket, and held out his right arm to me. “Let’s go.” I placed my hand in the crook of his arm. The muscle under the fabric was solid and powerful. We walked side by side toward the ballroom doors. Behind the heavy double doors, the noise was so loud it felt like it could blow the roof off. Luke’s voice could be heard clearly even through the door. “Five minutes left. If Chloe still doesn’t show, the betting pool gets settled right now!” “Tyler, you really cleaned up on this one. Not only did you dump a huge headache, you also picked up a free thousand bucks.” The waiter at the door saw Julian and immediately bowed respectfully before opening the door. The light from the crystal chandelier poured out instantly. The noisy ballroom fell silent for a second the moment the door opened. Everyone instinctively looked toward the entrance. Julian was at the center of Harbor City’s social circle, so every move he made was already under a spotlight. But at this moment, once those gazes landed on me in his arm, they all froze. I clearly saw that several guys not far away, each holding a glass of wine, had their mouths hanging open wide enough to fit a pool ball. Luke’s phone was still held up in livestream mode, the camera pointed straight at us. “Julian’s here…” Someone muttered under their breath. “Who’s that beauty beside him? Is she some other rich family’s daughter?” “That red dress looks like a Milan runway couture piece this year. Damn, you’d need an insane figure to pull that off.” I lifted my chin slightly and held onto Julian’s arm, walking down the steps one by one. Wherever I passed, people automatically made way. I walked straight toward the center of the hall. Tyler was standing with his back to me, whispering and flirting with Serena. When he heard the strange silence around him, he turned around. The instant our eyes met, a clear flash of shock appeared in Tyler’s eyes. He even let go of Serena’s hand and subconsciously adjusted his bow tie. He didn’t recognize me. Not only did he not recognize me, he lifted his chin slightly and came over on his own. He ignored Julian beside me and stared straight at my face. “Lovely lady.” Tyler put on his signature deep, loving smile. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at a Harbor City formal before. May I have the honor of buying you a drink?”

As soon as Tyler finished speaking, envious looks shot over from all around. Serena stood not far away, her face slightly green, but she still kept up her polished socialite image and didn’t lose her temper. Julian turned his head and glanced at me. He didn’t speak, and he didn’t withdraw his arm. He just stood quietly on the side. “Buy me a drink?” I let out a light laugh. That laugh made Tyler think he had succeeded. He stepped closer, his tone even more presumptuous. “Of course. A dazzling girl like you shouldn’t be ignored. Julian’s always so boring anyway. He doesn’t know how to take care of a lady.” I took a glass of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray. Tyler immediately raised his own glass, ready to clink with me. Just as the two glasses were about to hit, I turned my wrist. The rim tilted. The crimson wine poured down the collar of his custom tuxedo. The white shirt was instantly stained red, and wine dripped down his chin. A wave of gasps erupted in the ballroom. Serena screamed and rushed over, frantically digging tissues out of her bag. “Are you crazy!” She shouted at me. “Do you know how expensive his suit is?” Tyler wiped his face in a flustered mess, and the loving mask on his face finally shattered completely. “Who the hell are you?” He glared at me through gritted teeth. I set the empty glass back on the tray. “What, you don’t recognize me after I changed clothes?” I looked him in the eye and said each word clearly. “Didn’t you bet five hundred bucks that I couldn’t fit into a formal dress?” The whole ballroom went dead silent. Luke’s phone fell straight onto the carpet. Exclamations of shock broke out in the crowd. The anger on Tyler’s face froze instantly, his pupils contracting hard as he stared at me. “You…” His lips trembled, unable to form a complete sound. “Let me reintroduce myself.” “I’m Chloe. One hundred thirty pounds.” I pulled a thousand-dollar check out of my clutch and tucked it between two fingers, and slipped it neatly into the pocket of his still-dripping suit. “You lost.” “Take the extra thousand and get your eyes checked.” The moment I turned, I caught his wrist with my other hand and yanked him so hard that he staggered forward a step. Then I lowered my voice to something only the two of us could hear. “And don’t think I don’t know that the core data in that A+ final paper of yours was all run by me overnight. If I send the draft to your professor, guess what happens?” Tyler’s face went instantly pale, and his grip loosened. Just then, Julian’s voice came from behind me in a flat tone. “Tyler, since the game is over, you should fulfill the bet.” Tyler jerked his head up. “What bet?” Julian stepped forward, blocking Tyler’s hand when he tried to grab me. He looked down at Tyler from above, his tone without the slightest fluctuation. “The betting pool rule tonight was set by you. The loser has to crawl around the dance floor three times in front of everyone.” Julian’s dark gray eyes were cold as ice. “Now, you can start crawling.”

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The man who funded my education for years went bankrupt and lost his sight. I found him, brought him home, and took care of him. He stared blankly with unseeing eyes, his voice fragile and thick with unshed tears. “Don’t be so good to me, Harper. I’m thirty. I’m a ruined man. I don’t deserve you.” I leaned over to gently wipe the dampness from his cheek. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw his adopted son leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, watching him with a frigid glare. “He’s right. You are thirty,” the boy said softly. He shifted his gaze to me, a smirk playing on his lips—a smile wrapped in barbed wire, radiating a storm. “And me?” he said. “I’m only eighteen.” 1 It was my third year in the corporate world when the news broke: Arthur Harrison had lost everything. His massive gamble on a tech merger had failed spectacularly. He was wiped out. His rivals hadn’t hesitated to kick him while he was down, and amidst the chaos, a car accident had taken his sight. “Arthur Harrison just didn’t have the teeth for it. A businessman with a heart that soft was never going to last,” my coworkers gossiped over their cubicle walls. “God, he used to be Chicago’s most eligible bachelor. Now look at him. He’s worse off than a beggar on the street.” “Harper? Are you okay? You look awful,” one of the women finally noticed me. I stared at them for a second, my mind entirely blank, before I grabbed my purse. “Sarah, I have a family emergency. I need to take the afternoon off.” If you had told me three years ago that my reunion with Arthur Harrison would happen in a greasy, linoleum-floored diner near Chicago Med, I would have thought you were insane. Three years ago, he was a wildly successful young entrepreneur. He had been the keynote speaker at my college graduation. He had stood at the podium—radiant, effortless, and devastatingly handsome. The campus anonymous boards had talked about him for weeks. Now, his eyes were dull and unfocused. His long fingers groped blindly across the sticky Formica table. I saw a smear of ketchup near his sleeve and quickly caught his hand. With my other hand, I took a wet wipe and scrubbed the table clean. “Stop fussing and just spit it out!” a brash, impatient voice snapped. I turned my head. Sitting across from Arthur was a college kid radiating pure, unadulterated hostility. He had a shaved head, a slit in his left eyebrow, and a silver stud in his ear. He knocked his knuckles hard against the table, barking like a cornered stray. “I’m warning you, the money is gone. You could shake him upside down and you wouldn’t find a dime, so drop the Good Samaritan act.” “I apologize. My son’s temper gets the better of him. He didn’t mean to offend you,” Arthur said softly. “Why are you being polite to her? Anyone looking for you right now is a debt collector.” “Jaxon, that’s enough.” They started arguing. Arthur kept his voice low, trying to de-escalate, but Jaxon was relentless. He was stubborn and vicious, throwing words like punches until Arthur’s pale cheeks flushed with humiliation. I stared at the rigid, defensive line of Arthur’s back for three full seconds before I realized I was still holding his hand. I looked down. There was a tiny, distinct mole resting right on the webbing between his thumb and index finger. Only when Arthur’s flush deepened and those cloudy, unseeing eyes turned vaguely in my direction did I finally let go. “Mr. Harrison, you misunderstand. I’m not here for money. My name is Harper. Harper Hayes. I’m one of the students you sponsored.” Arthur blinked slowly, his brow furrowing as he searched his memory. I figured he had forgotten. He had dropped out of an Ivy League school to build a startup that changed the industry, and in his quest to change the world, he had funded the education of hundreds, if not thousands, of underprivileged kids. But then, Arthur smiled. It was the same smile from three years ago, when he had his bodyguard hand me a bouquet of flowers at graduation, waving goodbye to me through the tinted glass of his town car. “I remember you,” he said softly. “All the other kids called me Arthur in their letters. You always called me Mr. Harrison.” He remembered. I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to suppress the sudden, violent hammering of my heart. “Mr. Harrison,” I said, my voice remarkably steady. “If you don’t mind, you can stay at my place for now.” Jaxon crossed his arms. “He can’t pay rent.” “He doesn’t need to.” Jaxon scowled. “He needs money for medical bills.” “I’ll pay them.” Jaxon narrowed his eyes, assessing me. “You’ve got a good job, you’re pretty. Why the hell are you anchoring yourself to dead weight?” Arthur turned his blind gaze toward me, silent, lost, and deeply worried. I tapped the table, a flicker of genuine anger sparking in my chest at the term “dead weight.” When I spoke, my tone had turned to ice. I looked right at Jaxon. “Seven years ago, I had nothing. If Mr. Harrison hadn’t paid for my schooling, I would have been trapped in a dead-end factory town for the rest of my life, popping out kids.” I sat up straight and looked back at Arthur. “I will remember that grace until the day I die. I am here to pay my debt. He is not dead weight, and I refuse to let him sink into the mud. I will hold him up. I will carry him.” 2 It took some convincing, but Arthur eventually moved into my apartment. He was hesitant, but he had no other options. The banks had seized everything. He was penniless, homeless, and responsible for Jaxon—the orphaned son of his late older brother. Jaxon had just started his freshman year of college. As far as I was concerned, he was a walking lawsuit waiting to happen. But he was Arthur’s kid, which meant I had to tolerate him. Blindness made every little thing a monumental task for Arthur. I held onto his sleeve, gently guiding him through every room, letting him touch the edges of the furniture, the doorways, the counters. He smiled, apologizing for the trouble, assuring me he had memorized the layout. But that very first night, he mistook the living room for his bedroom. I was lying on the couch in the dark, scrolling through my phone, when I noticed him stop dead in his tracks by the wall. I paused, curious. When he didn’t call out, I realized he had no idea I was there. I smiled to myself and opened my mouth to let him know. But before I could speak, Arthur—staring blindly at the drywall—began to unbutton his dress shirt. Inch by inch, his chest was exposed in the moonlight. He slipped the shirt off, draping it over his forearm. He pressed his right hand against the wall for balance, and then— He reached for the buckle of his belt. 3 I lay paralyzed on the couch, instantly regretting not speaking up two seconds earlier. Arthur’s skin was pale, his muscles lean and tightly coiled. Bathed in the silver light spilling through the window, he looked like a statue carved from moonstone. Left in nothing but a pair of dark grey boxer briefs, he trailed his hand along the wall, trying to navigate toward the bed. Except he was in the wrong room. After a few steps, his hand hit the flat screen of the TV. A flash of sheer panic crossed his face. Arthur was a dignified man. I doubt he had ever in his life stripped down in a woman’s living room uninvited. His hands began to shake wildly as he felt his way along the wall. It took him an agonizingly long time to finally find the door to the guest bedroom. He practically fled into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. On the couch, the breath I had been holding in my lungs finally escaped in a violent, trembling exhale. He had a mole on his left shoulder blade, right near the curve of his collarbone. It looked like a dark, tiny fish swimming in a pale pond. Beauty is marked by its flaws. For some reason, that phrase echoed in my head. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I lay there until the early hours of the morning, waiting until I was absolutely certain Arthur was asleep before I silently crept off the couch and slipped into my own bedroom. 4 The first time I saw Arthur Harrison was at my high school. It was a decaying, underfunded public school in a dying Rust Belt town. Arthur was twenty-three at the time. His startup had just secured its first major round of funding, and the world was his oyster. He was brimming with energy, desperate to use his newfound wealth to do some good. I stood at the very back of the auditorium, craning my neck through the sea of heads to catch a glimpse of his striking, expressive face. He was so young—he looked more like a student than I did, with my heavy, dead-eyed exhaustion. I knew the principal thought this “rich kid” was an easy mark. He had padded the scholarship list with the kids of local politicians and school board members. I, who was actually on the verge of dropping out to work shifts at the local diner, had been pushed to the very bottom of the list. Small towns are like that. Corrupt in the pettiest of ways. I stood in line without a shred of hope, zoning out, trying to calculate how many shifts I’d need to afford rent once I quit school. The line moved fast. Suddenly, I was standing right in front of him. He looked at me, glanced down at my calloused hands and the frayed, muddy hems of my jeans, and knelt down slightly to meet my eyes. “I’m moving your name to the top of the list,” he said softly. “Focus on your grades. You won’t have to worry about college tuition, I promise.” “Mr. Harrison, you can’t—” the principal panicked. The top of the list meant a full-ride sponsorship. Arthur smiled and politely shut him down. He looked gentle, but his tone was absolute steel. Watching his profile, I suddenly felt like a weed that had sprouted in a manicured garden. A hot flush of shame crawled up my neck. I hid my hands behind my back, terrified he would look too closely at the scars on my knuckles or the cheap fabric of my clothes. He was out of my league in every conceivable way. Over the years, I watched him from afar in crowded rooms. He was a good man, fiercely dedicated to his foundation. Because our county was so poor, he came back every semester to check on the kids. We spoke privately a few times, but it was always strictly about my academics. He was warm, but it was the same blanket warmth he gave everyone else. From high school through college, I wrote him letters. Once a month, like clockwork. I was terrified that if I wrote too often, I’d annoy him, but if I wrote too little, he’d forget I existed. In one of his early replies, he jokingly asked why I was so formal. Why “Mr. Harrison”? The other kids called him Arthur. The bolder ones even called him Artie. I never dared tell him the truth. I wanted to be special. Even if that “specialness” was entirely in my own head. Like a stray dog guarding a bone, I quietly idolized him. He was my personal saint. Back then, I didn’t fully understand what my obsession was, or why I was so fiercely opposed to treating him like a peer. But lying in bed now, I finally understood. 5 I had just experienced my first wet dream. It wasn’t about the Hollywood actor my friends obsessed over, or the perfectly nice accountant my coworker had tried to set me up with. It was about Arthur. In the dream, his shirt was unbuttoned. He was lying back against my pillows, a faint, devastating flush on his cheeks. A slow smile spread across his lips as he asked me what I wanted to call him now. And dream-me was terrifyingly bold. I straddled him, burying my face in his neck, and murmured, “Mine.” Then I bit down softly on the little mole on his hand. I kissed my way up his forearm, and finally, I sucked on the dark mark near his collarbone until the pale skin around it bloomed into a violent red bruise. Arthur let out a low groan. “Harper,” he whispered, his voice dark and heavy. “Let me.” He turned his head, gripping my wrists, pressing his lips to my pulse point. He looked up at me through his lashes—feral, seductive, entirely in control. “I’m older than you,” he murmured. “I know more than you. I should be the one teaching you.” I woke up gasping for air. From the kitchen, I heard the loud hum of the exhaust fan. I scrambled out of bed, threw on some clothes, and practically ran into the kitchen. Standing by the stove was Jaxon. He was flipping an egg in a skillet with one hand and holding a cigarette in the other. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of low-slung jeans. My pink checkered apron was tied around his waist, the thin straps stretching tightly across his muscular back. He heard me, turned around, and glared through the smoke. “Look what time it is. You finally awake?” I offered an awkward smile and reached for the skillet handle. Jaxon yanked it away, our forearms brushing. “Sit down, it’s almost done,” he snapped. “And go wake him up. He’s got this weird complex about being a burden. He’ll starve in there before he asks you for food.” I hurried over and knocked on the guest room door. “Come in.” I pushed the door open. Arthur was already awake, sitting perfectly straight at the desk. His hands were gently tracing the contours of a small clay sculpture. My heart dropped into my stomach. How the hell had I forgotten to hide that? It was a bust I had made during a weekend pottery class. Somehow, subconsciously, the face I had sculpted looked exactly like him. He’s blind, I reminded myself frantically. He can’t tell what it is. Arthur tilted his head up. In the morning light, the grey film over his eyes was highly visible. He smiled at the empty space in front of him. “Thank you for taking me in, Harper. Did you make this? I can’t quite feel what it’s supposed to be, but I imagine it’s beautiful.” “I made it, yeah.” His thumb gently brushed against the cheek of the clay face, right over a fingerprint I had accidentally left behind. I cleared my throat loudly, snatched the sculpture from his hands, and shoved it into a drawer. “It’s just a tree,” I lied smoothly. “It’s really poorly done. Don’t worry about it.” “A tree…?” Arthur murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. The way he smiled sent a sudden, electric jolt straight to my core, bringing the wet dream rushing back in vivid detail. My face burned. I hated myself in that moment. I felt entirely devoid of morals. This was Arthur Harrison. A fundamentally good man who had hit rock bottom. When he got back on his feet, he belonged with a refined, elegant woman from his own world. And here I was, a nobody whose life he had saved, harboring dirty, filthy thoughts about him while he was vulnerable. I was disgusting. I cursed myself a thousand times over, forcing the twisted, heavy desire out of my mind. But a dark, pessimistic voice in the back of my head whispered: How long is your willpower really going to last? Arthur turned his face toward the window, his expression serene. He didn’t know I had taken a silent step closer. I was so close I could see the fine, golden hairs on his jawline. “Is the sun out?” he asked softly. “I think… I think I can see a little bit of light.” “It is. It’s a beautiful day.” I stood there, just watching him. The sun warmed the earth, but Arthur had warmed my life. Standing in this tiny room, it felt as if my own personal saint had fallen right into my hands. 6 Breakfast was a struggle for him. His chopsticks kept missing his plate, clicking against the table. Without thinking, I picked up a piece of egg and guided it to his mouth. Arthur’s face flushed a deep red. He chewed, looking profoundly uncomfortable. Jaxon hadn’t touched his food. He sat across from us, arms crossed, watching the exchange with cold, hard eyes. He hadn’t said a word. “Jaxon, aren’t you going to eat?” I asked, baffled by the sudden mood swing. He had been fine in the kitchen. “I ate before my run. Not all of us sleep till noon,” he said, his voice flat and hard. “Jaxon! She works full time. There’s nothing wrong with sleeping in on a Saturday,” Arthur scolded, frowning. Jaxon stared at him deadpan, his jaw ticking as if he were grinding his teeth. Then, completely deliberately, Jaxon stretched his long legs out under the small table, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, you’re right! Good thing it’s Saturday. I’m staying here all day.” As he stretched, his foot bumped mine, forcing my knee directly into the side of Arthur’s thigh. I jerked back like I had been burned. Arthur didn’t seem to notice the contact. He just frowned in Jaxon’s direction. “Jaxon, behave.” “It’s fine,” I said quickly. “He’s family. I know he’s worried about leaving you here alone with me.” Arthur didn’t say anything else. But later, when Jaxon went to the bathroom for a smoke break, Arthur reached out, his fingers finding my sleeve. He leaned in close. Because of his blindness, his spatial awareness was shot. If I hadn’t leaned back, his chest would have pressed directly against mine. Arthur tilted his head slightly, his sightless eyes searching, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Why do you call him Jaxon?” “What?” “You’ve only ever called me Mr. Harrison.” “I—” My brain short-circuited. He was so close I could smell him. Clean soap, cedar, and the faint, warm scent of his skin. “Harper…” “I just—” Whatever shred of sanity I had left was rapidly evaporating. He looked so innocent. He clearly had no idea how intimate this was. No wonder. He couldn’t see the frantic, desperate pounding of my pulse at my throat. A ruined, beautiful man. Like a fragile glass chalice placed right at the edge of a table. If I just leaned in a fraction of an inch, I could kiss him. Would he even know it was my lips, or would he think my hand had brushed against him? I could lie to him. Clatter! I sprang out of my chair so fast it tipped over backwards. Arthur flinched violently. I grabbed his arms to keep him from falling, my teeth clamped shut to keep my emotions from spilling out. “I call you Mr. Harrison because you’re my benefactor.” “Can’t a benefactor be a friend?” “A benefactor is a benefactor.” The bathroom door clicked open. Jaxon stepped out, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He had the eyes of a feral wolf, and they locked directly onto me. I looked away, my face burning, praying he hadn’t seen exactly what I had been thinking. Jaxon just let out a low, mocking scoff. 7 After Arthur went to bed, Jaxon knocked on my bedroom door and let himself in. He dropped into my desk chair, sprawling his legs out, the silver stud in his ear catching the light. He tapped his knuckles on the desk like a detective at an interrogation. “Alright, out with it. What do you actually want?” “What?” “Are you after his equity? Corporate secrets? His contact list?” I laughed out loud. “I’m a middle manager at a logistics company. I have zero interest in tech equity or his billionaire contacts. Why would you even think that?” Jaxon’s face flushed. He was only eighteen, and his forced, hardened-man persona instantly cracked. He ran a hand over his buzzed head, frustrated. “Then you have to want something! Don’t tell me you… you want…” I looked at him, amused. He stammered, unable to finish his sentence, his face turning the color of a tomato. I sighed. “Do you read comics? I have the vintage Calvin and Hobbes box set in the living room if you’re bored.” Jaxon looked like he wanted to spontaneously combust. “Who the hell reads Calvin and Hobbes! Stop trying to change the subject!” Because he was Arthur’s kid, every time I looked at him, I saw traces of Arthur. It softened my edges. I looked at him gently. “Okay, take your time. What do you think I want?” He forced the words out like he was choking on them. “…Sex.” I blinked in surprise. Jaxon glared at me, defensive and utterly humiliated. When he saw that I looked genuinely shocked—and not a bit guilty—he realized he had severely misread the situation. Too proud to admit defeat, he raised his voice. “Fine! I get it! But you can’t blame me for thinking it! I’m good-looking, I’m built, girls literally line up outside the library to talk to me. I thought you were just using him to get to me!” His voice dropped to an embarrassed mumble. “He’s sponsored so many kids, and you’re the only idiot who actually showed up to wade into this mess. I thought you had an ulterior motive… I didn’t know you were just genuinely stupid.” He scratched his jaw, his bicep flexing. “I, uh… I misjudged you. My bad.” He stood up quickly. “Anyway. I’m gonna go do push-ups in the living room. See ya.” I shook my head, laughing softly. Half a second later, Jaxon ducked back into the room, grabbed the Calvin and Hobbes books off the shelf, and sprinted away. Who’s the stupid one here? 8 After Jaxon went back to his dorm, it was just Arthur and me. Over the next few days, I put tactile stickers on the microwave buttons and his meal prep containers. I added foam corner guards to all the furniture, and I bought him a folding cane so he could navigate the apartment safely. Most things were manageable. But there was one major hurdle: showering. I was terrified to leave him alone in the wet, slippery bathroom. But I also couldn’t just pull up a chair and sit outside the shower curtain like a creep. Arthur gave me a brave, strained smile. “It’s fine, Harper. I can manage.” The sheer vulnerability in his voice completely destroyed my hesitation. Fine. I’ll stand guard. I couldn’t risk him breaking a hip. I took his hand, guiding his fingers over the shampoo, the body wash, and the temperature dials, explaining everything until he had it memorized. Only then did I pull the curtain shut. The water turned on, and my mind instantly went into overdrive. Every single one of my senses was hyper-fixated on the silhouette behind the thin, frosted plastic curtain. I clenched my fists, staring aggressively at my own knees, trying to focus on literally anything else. “Harper.” Maybe it was the acoustics of the bathroom, but the way he dragged out my name sounded thick, low, and incredibly intimate. Intimate? I was losing my mind. I glared at my hands, wishing I could physically reach into my brain and scrub it with bleach. “Harper?” “Yeah?” I croaked, turning around. The curtain was pulled back an inch. A wet, muscular arm and a sliver of a sharp V-line were exposed. He held out his open palm, looking confused. “I’m sorry, my memory is failing me. Did I just pump the body wash or the shampoo?” “Body wash,” I said, my voice sounding incredibly tight. A deeply paranoid thought flickered through my brain: Is he… is he flirting with me? “Oh,” he smiled softly, looking down. “Losing my sight has made me so clumsy. So stupid.” The guilt hit me like a freight train. I was a monster for sexualizing this man’s tragedy. “You’re not stupid,” I whispered. To me, bankrupt or blind, he would always be the brilliant, kind man who changed the world. Even if he only changed my little corner of it. He wasn’t clumsy. He was surviving. The water shut off. “I’m done. But… I think I forgot to bring my clean clothes in.” “It’s okay. I have them.” I grabbed the neat stack of clothes from his bed and handed them around the curtain. “What’s this?” “Your t-shirt. The tag is in the back.” “And this?” “…” I coughed into my fist. “Your… boxers.” Arthur smiled warmly. “Thank you.” Once he was dressed, he pulled the curtain back. I took his arm to guide him out, but I noticed he was walking stiffly. “Are you okay?” Arthur’s ears turned crimson. He stayed silent for a long time before he finally muttered, “Harper, the underwear you bought me… I think it’s a size too small.” 9 I broke into a coughing fit. I felt a bizarre, overwhelming wave of guilt, like I was actively bullying a saint. Days passed. I went to work; Arthur stayed home. Things were peaceful. Except a few times, when I got off work early, I would hear a voice through his closed bedroom door. He seemed to be on phone calls—conference calls, maybe. The voice sounded like his, but completely devoid of the soft, broken vulnerability he showed me. This voice was ice-cold, commanding, and arrogant. Like a king executing his enemies. It sounded so different I convinced myself he must be listening to an audiobook. Because I was rushing home every day, my coworkers finally caught on. “Harper, do you have a boyfriend?” one of them asked, smirking. I shook my head frantically. She clapped her hands. “Oh, thank God. I thought I missed my window. That guy from accounting I set you up with? He really liked you. He wants to take you to dinner.” “How about tonight? No time like the present! He’s a great guy, tall, good benefits…” I vaguely remembered the guy. He was quiet, polite, and completely inoffensive. My coworker was so pushy I couldn’t find a polite way to say no, so I caved. Before I left the office, I called Arthur. I told him I had to work late and that I had ordered delivery for him. Arthur didn’t complain. He just told me to be careful and take an Uber home if it got too late. I wanted to explain that I wasn’t working, but I stopped myself. It was none of his business. He was just being polite. If I over-explained my whereabouts, he’d think I was full of myself. Dinner dragged on. By eight o’clock, my coworker, who had tagged along as a wingwoman, dragged us to a movie. When I finally got into an Uber to head home, I checked my phone. It was past 11 PM. I had five missed calls. All from Arthur. He had called exactly once every hour. Controlled, but borderline obsessive. He had left one text: Harper, where are you? I’m worried. When I unlocked the front door, I froze. Arthur was sitting on the hardwood floor in the dark. He was soaking wet. He was staring blankly ahead, the faint streetlights casting harsh shadows over his sharp cheekbones, making him look devastatingly frail and abandoned. I dropped my bag and rushed over, grabbing a towel from the bathroom to dry him off. “What happened to you?” “I slipped in the bathroom,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “My knee gave out. I couldn’t get up. I’m sorry, Harper. I’m such a burden to you.” “Where does it hurt?” I panicked, touching his leg. His knee was deeply bruised. The guilt was suffocating. I should never have silenced my phone for a stupid movie. I knew I had a blind man at home relying on me. How could I have been so selfish? I looked down at his damp hair. “I’m so sorry. I got held up.” Arthur shook his head slightly. “Where were you?” “…I met up with some friends.” Arthur’s eyelashes fluttered. “It sounds like you had a wonderful time. That’s good. I truly hate the idea that my broken body is ruining your normal life.” “You’re not broken! And you’re not ruining anything!” Arthur offered a pale, tragic smile. “Aren’t I? When you didn’t come home, I thought… I thought you had finally gotten sick of dealing with me.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I was just… so lonely. I can’t see anything, the apartment was so quiet, and I panicked. That’s why I called you so many times. I’m sorry. I have no right to demand your time when you’ve already been so generous to me.” I stared at him in the dark. I took a deep breath, making a decision. “Stay here. I’ll go get you some dry clothes.” When I walked into his bedroom, I pulled out my phone and sent a polite rejection text to the guy from accounting. I told him I had personal commitments and no time to date. He took it gracefully, and we deleted each other’s numbers. I looked at the screen, a bitter smile crossing my face. I had to admit the truth to myself: Arthur Harrison was a lethal weapon, and I was completely defenseless against him. One slight frown, one tremble in his voice, and my vaunted self-control shattered into a million pieces. 10 Back in the bedroom. Arthur struggled to stand, leaning heavily on me before collapsing onto the edge of his bed. “I’m embarrassing myself,” he muttered. He fumbled weakly with his soaked shirt. “It’s fine. I can dress myself.” I couldn’t stand watching him struggle. “Let me help.” Before he could object, I added quickly, “Don’t worry, Mr. Harrison. I’ll blindfold myself. I won’t look.” “…Okay.” I grabbed a sheer silk scarf from my dresser and tied it over my eyes. It wasn’t until I had it knotted that I realized the fabric was too thin—I could still see the blurry outline of his body perfectly. But it was too late to change it now without making a scene. I gently took his hand and brought it up to my face, letting him feel the knot at the back of my head. “See? I’m completely blindfolded. You’re safe.” His pants were soaked through and heavy. With Arthur sitting on the edge of the bed, I had to step into his space, practically wrapping my arms around his waist to shimmy the wet denim down his hips. To get them past his calves, I had to kneel on the floor. Because my vision was obscured by the scarf, I was entirely focused on the stubborn denim. I didn’t realize how close I was. My face was inches from his lap; my warm breath was hitting his bare skin. As I pulled the jeans down, Arthur’s voice drifted down from above me. “Harper, you really can’t see anything right now?” “Nothing,” I lied. He let out a soft laugh. “It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it? I’ve dragged you into the dark with me.” I opened my mouth to laugh, but the sound died in my throat. Through the sheer veil of the scarf, I saw his dark grey boxer briefs. And the very prominent, very distinct shape pressing against the fabric. Arthur’s voice didn’t waver. He sounded casual, relaxed, perfectly normal. “It’s the weekend tomorrow. That little menace Jaxon is going to come barging in here. I wonder if he actually misses me, or if he’s just skipping track practice.” “Yeah,” I squeaked out automatically, my brain entirely offline. I blinked hard behind the silk. I wasn’t hallucinating. The shape was definitively growing. Suddenly, my fingers, which were resting near his waistband, felt like they were on fire. The skin-on-skin contact felt electric and terrifyingly intimate. I bit my lip, slowly pulling the denim the rest of the way down. My mind was screaming in panic. Do I act natural? Do I stop? If I stop, he’ll know I can see! Maybe it’s just biology, I rationalized wildly. Maybe it’s involuntary! Maybe he doesn’t even realize it’s happening! He was such a gentleman. He had almost starved to death rather than wake me up. If he knew I was kneeling directly in front of his raging erection, he’d probably throw himself out the window out of pure shame! My heart hammered against my ribs as I finally got the jeans past his knees. Suddenly, a large hand clamped down over mine, stopping me. “I can do the rest. Thank you.” I nearly collapsed with relief. I handed him the dry sweatpants and stepped back. As he pulled them up, he paused, clearing his throat lightly. “You haven’t taken the blindfold off yet.” He sounded almost bashful. “Why don’t you leave it on for a bit? We can just talk for a while. Two blind people sitting in the dark.” I sat down heavily in the desk chair, my face burning like a furnace. “Okay.” For a long time, neither of us said a word. Two people, in the dark, harboring terrifying secrets. It wasn’t until the swelling in his sweatpants finally, agonizingly subsided that Arthur lifted his head and, with that same perfect smile, asked me what I wanted to do for breakfast. Adults truly are spectacular liars.

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1 The day Graham Shaw touched down at JFK after a decade in London, I handed my wife the divorce papers. Elena Hastings didn’t scream. She didn’t even flinch. She simply set down her tea—a delicate bone china cup filled with an Earl Grey that smelled like bergamot and indifference—and looked at me with those cool, slate-gray eyes that I had spent ten years trying to decipher. “I haven’t been unfaithful, Elias,” she said. Her tone was flat, a professional monotone she usually reserved for dismissing a junior architect’s poorly drafted floor plan. She sat there, draped in a cream-colored cashmere sweater that probably cost more than my first car, looking every bit the heiress to the Hastings architectural legacy. I managed a thin, exhausted smile. “I know.” I slid the leather-bound folder across the Carrara marble kitchen island. The sound of the paper whispering against the stone felt like a serrated blade in the heavy silence of our Upper East Side apartment. “I’m just done, Elena,” I said, meeting her gaze. “My heart… it’s a hollowed-out building. There’s no structural integrity left. We’ve been living in a ruin for years, and I’m tired of trying to patch the cracks.” “Let’s end this. Let’s get a divorce.” The moment the word divorce hit the air, the vintage fountain pen in Elena’s hand slipped. It clattered onto her vellum sketches, a heavy blot of midnight-blue ink blossoming across her latest design like a bruise on white skin. I recognized that pen. It was a limited-edition piece Graham had sent her from a boutique in Mayfair during his third year at the Architectural Association. The silver cap was engraved with her name in a script that looked suspiciously like a caress. Graham Shaw. The name had been a fishbone caught in my throat for ten years. He was the golden boy of her Ivy League days, the light source in every one of her sketches, the phantom third party at every dinner we’d ever shared. And me? I was Elias Miller—the negative space, the filler material used to patch the holes Graham left behind when he chose London over her. He was back now. The architectural world was already vibrating; the “prodigy” who’d swept the RIBA Gold Medal was returning to New York to launch his own firm. My wife hadn’t been the same since the second his plane touched the tarmac three days ago. In seventy-two hours, she’d missed nine of my calls but managed thirty-plus encrypted messages to him. She’d drive forty minutes into the industrial heart of Brooklyn just because he mentioned “missing the grit of the old shipyards,” taking photos of the sunset on the piers to send to him. She spent all night in our kitchen preparing a multi-course gourmet spread to drop off at his hotel because he “craved something home-cooked after years of British food.” She hadn’t left a single bite for me. Standing in the kitchen doorway that night, watching her back—so vivid, so full of a frantic energy she never afforded me—I felt like a stranger in my own house. I was the ghost haunting my own marriage. “Just because Graham is back?” Elena finally spoke, her knuckles white as she retrieved the pen. “Elias, aren’t you being a bit… dramatic?” I didn’t answer immediately. I just watched the ink soak into her sketches. “Dramatic? Elena, I’ve been a spectator in my own life for a decade. I’m just tired of the view.” I pushed the papers closer. The terms were spelled out in black and white, drafted by the best lawyers my money could buy. She got the beach house in the Hamptons. She got the Tesla. She got the primary checking account. I just wanted my name back. I wasn’t a failure. Miller & Associates wasn’t a global titan like Hastings & Co., but we cleared eight figures a year in boutique commercial contracts. My friends used to call me the luckiest man in Manhattan for landing Elena Hastings. The Hastings were architectural royalty—old money, effortless grace, “quiet luxury” personified. “You hit the jackpot, Eli,” they’d say over cigars. I’d just nod and sip my scotch. They didn’t realize the jackpot was paid out in ice. In ten years, her most frequent responses to me were “Sure,” “Fine,” or “Understood.” We were like two strangers who had signed a long-term co-living agreement. I used to think she was just “built cold”—some people are just wired for detachment, I told myself. Until Graham returned. Then I saw the glow. I saw that she wasn’t incapable of affection; she was just keeping all her heat in a trust fund, waiting for the original owner to claim the interest. Elena didn’t look at the settlement. She stared at me, searching for a trace of a joke, a sign of a bluff. “Ten years,” she whispered, her voice finally trembling. “You’re throwing away a decade over a misunderstanding?” “A misunderstanding?” I let out a dry, jagged laugh. I walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the city skyline I’d spent my life trying to conquer. “Elena, do you remember our third anniversary?” She hesitated. “Of course. We went to that French bistro in the Village.” “No. We were supposed to go to Per Se. I waited four hours at that table, Elena. Four hours. You finally showed up and told me Graham had broken up with his partner in London and you’d been on the phone with him all night to keep him from ‘doing something stupid.’ You said, ‘He’s a friend in pain, Elias. It’s the decent thing to do.’ And I, being the fool who loved you, believed you.” Her face began to drain of color. “Our fifth anniversary, I booked that overwater villa in the Maldives. You told me you didn’t want to travel, that staying home was ‘more intimate.’ I found out later Graham was in town for a visa renewal that week. You needed to be available for coffee, for walks, for whatever he needed. I was the husband on standby.” “Your phone passcode is his birthday. The watercolor in your study? The one you won’t let me move? It’s signed by him. Every password, every favorite playlist, the way you suddenly started liking your afternoon tea served exactly the way they do it at the Savoy—it all points to him. You aren’t married to me, Elena. You’re married to the memory of him. I’m just the guy who pays the property taxes.” Every sentence I spoke was a brick being removed from the foundation of our life. By the time I finished, she looked translucent, like she might shatter if the wind changed. “Those were just… coincidences,” she stammered, her voice thin. “Coincidences don’t skip my mother’s 60th birthday gala to pick someone up at the airport, Elena. Coincidences don’t involve a hidden folder on your cloud filled with every photo he’s posted on Instagram since 2014. You have a museum of him in your pocket.” The kitchen was so quiet I could hear the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. It sounded like a countdown. “Elias…” she finally said. “Nothing happened between us. Physically. Not once. I have been a faithful wife.” “I know,” I nodded, and the bitterness in my throat was like ash. “You’re far too disciplined for a messy physical affair. You’re a master of the emotional betrayal—the kind where you keep your body in my bed but your soul in his inbox. You think that makes you innocent? It makes it worse. I’d almost prefer a one-night stand. At least that’s honest. This? This is a slow-motion execution.” She swayed slightly, her hand bracing against the marble island. “Is that really what you think of me?” “I don’t ‘think’ it, Elena. I’ve lived it. Have you ever once wondered why I stopped eating seafood? I’ve been allergic for three years, and you still put shrimp in the risotto last month because ‘Graham always loved the way the kitchen smelled when it was cooking.’ I spent a week in the hospital for my gallbladder surgery last year; you visited three times, and twice you were in the hallway texting him about his new studio space. I watched you through the glass, Elena. You were smiling at your phone while I was hooked up to a morphine drip.” I grabbed my coat from the back of the chair. “Read the papers. Have your lawyer call mine. I’ve already moved my essentials into the corporate loft.” As I walked out the door, I heard the sound of something shattering—a porcelain cup, probably. I didn’t look back. Outside, the October rain was brisk and cold. It felt like a baptism. The next day, Elena didn’t call. I wasn’t surprised. The corporate loft was sterile, smelling of industrial cleaner and silence. It took exactly one suitcase to pack my life. Ten years of marriage, and my personal belongings were as thin as a ghost. “Mr. Miller? I thought you were taking the week off for the anniversary,” my assistant, Sarah, said in shock as I walked into the office at 7:30 AM. “Change of plans, Sarah. Let’s get to work. I want the briefings for the North Shore project on my desk in ten minutes.” “Right. Well… about that,” she said, her voice dropping an octave. “The North Shore Riverfront project just moved to the RFP stage. The city just released the shortlist. St. John Collective made the cut. Graham Shaw is their lead.” I took the briefing from her hand. Graham Shaw. The name was a recurring fever. The “prodigy,” the darling of the London scene, the man the city council was already grooming for the win. My firm was respectable, but we were the underdogs here. To the world, I was the guy who married into the Hastings family—a talented enough designer who rode the coattails of old money. No one knew that I was the one who pulled the eighty-hour weeks while Elena brooded over her “artistic visions” and Graham sent her poetry from overseas. At 10:00 AM, my phone buzzed. Not Elena. Her mother, Margaret Hastings. “Elias, what on earth is this nonsense? Elena tells me you’ve lost your mind and moved out.” “Margaret,” I sighed, rubbing my temples. “It’s called a divorce.” “Don’t be flippant with me. Do you have any idea what this looks like? You were a boy from a state school with a mid-tier firm, Elias. Marrying a Hastings was the making of you. We gave you our name, our connections, our daughter. You should be grateful for the life we provided.” I moved the phone away from my ear. The same script for ten years. The lucky interloper. The charity case. “The house and the money stay with Elena, Margaret. I’m not taking a dime of your ‘legacy.’ I’m building my own. I’m hanging up now.” It was the first time I’d ever hung up on her. It felt better than a shot of top-shelf bourbon. By 2 PM, my lawyer, Frank, called. “Elias, she’s refusing to sign. She’s hired Silas Wright. They’re contesting the pre-nup, claiming your firm’s growth was ‘marital property’ built on the Hastings’ social connections. They’re coming for fifteen percent of Miller & Associates.” I spun my pen in a tight circle. Silas Wright—the shark of the Upper East Side. “My firm was built on sweat and caffeine, Frank. Not cocktail parties. Tell them I’ll see them in the deposition room.” “Understood. But Eli… they’re also asking for the Greenwich house and a five-million-dollar cash ‘rebalancing.’ You sure you want to fight this?” “I’m not being generous, Frank. I’m buying my freedom. If she wants the Greenwich house and the cash, give it to her. But she doesn’t get a single share of my firm. Not one.” I turned back to my computer. The North Shore Riverfront project. It was the largest urban renewal project in the city’s history. Twelve miles of shoreline. Eight billion dollars in total investment. Six firms were shortlisted. Graham’s St. John Collective. And my firm, Miller & Associates. I didn’t want this project to spite Graham. I wanted it because I had been walking that twelve-mile stretch for five years. Every weekend, every midnight when Elena was busy on the phone with London, I was there. I knew every rusted bolt on those piers. I knew where the salt had eaten through the wood. It was my obsession, the only thing that felt real when my marriage felt like a stage play. At 9 PM, I left the office to grab a sandwich. In the parking lot, I saw a familiar white Porsche Taycan. Elena was leaning against the door, her trench coat cinched tight, her hair windswept and uncharacteristically messy. “You aren’t answering my calls,” she said. “Talk to Frank. That’s what he’s for.” “I want to talk to you, Elias. Not a man in a three-piece suit.” “There’s nothing left to say, Elena.” I walked toward my SUV. “Elias!” she called out, her voice cracking. “Are you really going to throw away a decade over a misunderstanding?” I stopped. I turned back to see her standing under the amber hum of the streetlamp. She looked small, almost fragile, but all I could see was the decade of coldness she’d wrapped me in. “A decade of what, Elena? Being your second choice? I’m tired of being the man who pays the bills while you dream of someone else’s hands. I’m not a misunderstanding. I’m a casualty of your indecision.” She didn’t move. I got in the car and drove. In the rearview mirror, she was still standing there, a lonely figure in the dark. A year ago, that sight would have broken me. Now? I just felt the cold air from the vents.

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To spend a romantic birthday with her high school sweetheart, my wife put sleeping pills into our sick, crying daughter’s baby bottle. The baby fell into a deep sleep, allowing them to enjoy a romantic, uninterrupted night. When I got home, I found our daughter wouldn’t wake up. By the time I rushed her to the hospital, it was too late. I called my wife, but she only snapped impatiently over the phone: “Are you seriously trying to ruin things just because I’m celebrating Julian’s birthday? I’ll come home when it’s over.” Then, she hung up and turned off her phone. She had no idea that her romantic date night had just cost our daughter her life. I walked through the door at seven in the morning. Only our nanny, Mrs. Gable, was in the living room. When she saw me, a worried look crossed her face. “Mr. Sterling, Lily slept through the whole night without waking up or crying for her bottle. I tried to wake her up just now, but she wouldn’t budge. I was just about to call you.” I rushed into my daughter’s nursery. Lily lay there, looking like a little sleeping angel. “Lily? Lily, baby.” I called her name, but there was no response. I pinched her tiny hand. Still nothing. Cold dread washed over me. I looked up and asked, “Where is Chloe?” Mrs. Gable replied, “Mrs. Sterling called me last night and told me to watch Lily. She was already gone by the time I arrived, and she hasn’t been back all night. Lily was already asleep when I got here.” I called Chloe. She picked up, her voice thick with sleep. “What is it? Why are you calling so early? I told you, it’s Julian’s birthday. I stayed over at my friend’s house last night.” I didn’t care where she was. I just wanted answers. “Was Lily feeling sick yesterday? Did you give her any medicine? She’s been asleep all night and won’t wake up. She’s completely unresponsive.” Chloe paused for a second before raising her voice defensively. “She’s just tired and sleeping in. What is there to worry about?” “Lily is only eight months old!” I yelled. “It’s impossible for her to be this deep asleep!” Chloe groaned in irritation. “She was crying and screaming last night for no reason. She wouldn’t stop! So I put a little sleeping pill in her formula.” My brain went entirely numb. A loud ringing filled my ears. “Chloe Vance! Your daughter is only eight months old! Are you out of your mind? Do you want to kill her? How much did you give her?!” She hesitated, her voice suddenly trembling slightly. “Not… not that much. Just one pill. I take them all the time and I’m fine. What could a tiny dose do? Ethan, stop making a scene out of nothing.” With that, she hung up. I turned to the nanny, my voice shaking. “Hold Lily. We’re going to the ER. Now!” At the hospital, the doctor’s face turned pale the moment I explained the situation. Lily was rushed straight into the trauma bay. A nurse stood outside, looking at me with pure disgust. “How could you give sleeping pills to an infant? Are you people even human? How could you be such terrible parents?” I clenched my teeth, tears burning my eyes. “Please, nurse, save my daughter. I don’t care about the cost. I’ll pay anything. Just save her.” “If you cared so much, you should have been more careful before this happened,” she snapped. A few minutes later, a nurse ran out. “How many sleeping pills did she ingest? We need the exact dosage. It’s critical for her resuscitation.” “Her mother said… she said just one,” I stammered. The red light over the operating room stayed on. No other doctors came out. I don’t know how much time passed before a doctor finally walked out. His face was grim. “The dosage she took was far more than just one pill. And she was brought in way too late. We did everything we could, but she didn’t make it. I’m so sorry for your loss.” My mind went blank. My entire body froze. I could barely force the words out of my throat. “No… that’s impossible. How could my daughter be dead? She’s only eight months old.” When they wheeled Lily out, I threw myself over her small body, touching her cold cheek. “Lily, wake up. Look at Daddy. Please, Lily…” My tears fell hot and fast onto her quiet face. Her eyes were closed, looking exactly as if she were taking a normal nap. I looked up at the doctor, begging. “Look at her, she’s just sleeping. How can she be dead? Doctor, please, look again. Check her again!” Mrs. Gable stood beside me, sobbing into her hands. “It’s all my fault. If only I had realized something was wrong in the middle of the night…” “Lily was so sweet, always smiling… she was such a beautiful baby.” With trembling hands, I dialed Chloe’s number. It rang and rang. On the ninth attempt, she finally answered, her voice dripping with annoyance. “Are you seriously trying to ruin things just because I’m celebrating Julian’s birthday? I’ll come home when it’s over!” In the background, I heard Julian’s smooth, relaxed voice. “Babe, come eat breakfast.” Chloe hung up on me before I could say a single word. When I tried calling back, her phone was turned off. She said she was staying at a girlfriend’s house, but she was with Julian. It was all so clear now. I closed my eyes. Chloe, in your eyes, the happiness of this family doesn’t even compare to a single birthday date with Julian.

I gently lifted Lily into my arms. This was my daughter, and this was the last bit of warmth I could ever give her. I held her tight against my chest and kissed her forehead. “Baby, don’t be scared. Daddy will come see you every day. Just wait for me, okay? Daddy will come keep you company soon. Sleep tight, my sweet girl.” My tears flowed uncontrollably, but I couldn’t even make a sound. I felt as if my heart had been ripped out of my chest, thrown into the dirt, and trampled on. I was broken beyond repair. I handled Lily’s funeral arrangements completely alone, eventually bringing back a small urn. By the time I returned home, I didn’t care if Chloe was back or when she would ever return. I walked into Lily’s nursery. Her mobile was still hanging over her crib, and her playmat and toys were scattered across the floor, as if waiting for her to come back and play. I curled up on the rug next to her crib, clutching the little stuffed bunny she slept with every night. Holding it tightly, I cried myself to sleep in the dark, imagining my baby was still in my arms. I was barely asleep when I heard the front door open. A man and a woman were talking. The woman was my wife, Chloe, and the man—I didn’t even have to guess—was Julian. “Ugh, Ethan isn’t even home yet,” Chloe grumbled, her voice filled with annoyance and contempt. “The house is pitch black. Just because I went out to celebrate your birthday for a few days, he’s probably going to give me the silent treatment again.” “He’s always like this. Whenever you’re involved, Ethan gets so paranoid and insecure. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking when I married such a petty, narrow-minded man.” Julian comforted her smoothly. “Don’t be mad, babe. Maybe he just loves you too much. Or maybe we should stop seeing each other so often. You know I hate seeing you suffer because of me.” “Don’t worry about him,” Chloe dismissed him. “He’s just dramatic.” “We’ve been away traveling for a few days,” Julian asked softly. “Is Lily going to be okay?” Chloe brushed it off. “What could possibly happen to her? If anything was wrong, Ethan would have called to start a fight days ago. See? Not a single call or text from him these past few days.” I clenched my fists, suppressing the raging fire inside me. Of course I didn’t call or text you. You blocked my number on everything. “You must be exhausted after our trip,” Julian said tenderly. “Get some rest. I’ll head out now.” But Chloe stopped him. “Julian, stay. It’s late, and Ethan isn’t even here anyway. He probably took Lily to his parents’ house. You know his parents have always hated me. I can’t be bothered to call and ask them to bring her back.” Julian sighed. “Chloe, have you really been unhappy and miserable these past few years? It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t left back then, Ethan would have never had the chance to marry you. That is the biggest regret of my life.” “Chloe, if you’re truly unhappy, will you give me a chance? A chance to make you happy. Can we start over?” I quietly cracked the door open. Through the gap, I saw Chloe throw herself into Julian’s arms, her eyes red as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Julian, you know you’re the only man I’ve ever loved. Yes, I want to be with you.” “If Ethan hadn’t forced me to marry him in exchange for saving Vance Enterprises, I would have never married him! You have no idea how sick to my stomach I feel every time I have to lie next to him, Julian.” “I have never loved him. I even gave him a daughter—I’ve paid him back everything I owed. Now, I just want to be with you.” A bitter ache pierced my chest. What did our years of marriage mean to her? Just a debt to be paid? She claimed she had only ever loved Julian. In her eyes, I was just a villain who had taken advantage of her family’s misfortune. But she never stopped to think: without me, how could she still be living this lavish lifestyle? How could she still be the high-society heiress of the Vance family? Without my money, she would have been ruined long ago. I met Chloe at a charity gala. At the time, Vance Enterprises was facing a massive financial crisis. If they didn’t get an immediate cash injection, they were going to go bankrupt. Her family had brought her to the gala specifically to auction her off to some wealthy businessman in exchange for a marriage alliance to save their company. Everyone knew what was happening. The way the wealthy men looked at her was disgusting—like she was a piece of meat on display. Chloe was being mocked and humiliated by a group of wealthy heiresses. She looked like she was about to burst into tears, but she didn’t dare leave. I couldn’t stand seeing her suffer, so I stepped in and defended her. That was how we met.

I admit, it was love at first sight for me. She knew it, and she knew exactly what I could offer. Under my pursuit, she quickly agreed to marry me—on the condition that I bail out Vance Enterprises. I knew she had a first love who had gone abroad, but I truly believed that if I treated her with absolute devotion, our years of marriage and our beautiful daughter would make her love me back. It turned out to be nothing but a foolish, one-sided delusion. To her, I was an eyesore she couldn’t stand to look at, and Lily was just an unwanted burden. Looking at the two of them locking lips in my living room, I threw the door open with a loud SLAM, startling them apart. Julian’s face turned pale when he saw me standing there, my expression dark as storm clouds. Chloe immediately stepped in front of Julian, shielding him. “Ethan, if you have a problem, take it out on me! This has nothing to do with Julian!” She raised her chin defiantly. “You know I’ve never loved you. I only married you because my parents and you forced me into it! Now that Julian is back, I realize I still love him. I refuse to spend the rest of my life in misery.” “Don’t think your money gives you the right to control me. I’m not afraid of you anymore.” “Let’s get a divorce. You can keep our daughter—I don’t want her. We’ll split the assets fifty-five. You shouldn’t have a problem with that, right?” I took a step forward, my eyes bloodshot. With a swift movement, I slapped her hard across the face. SLAP! The force knocked her onto the couch. Julian rushed forward, grabbing my collar. “How dare you hit Chloe! I’ll kill you!” The thought that my daughter died because of him made my blood boil. Hatred consumed me. I threw a brutal punch straight into his face, over and over again, completely losing control. Chloe panicked and threw herself onto me to pull me back. “Ethan, are you insane?! I’m calling the police!” I shoved her away. Staring down at Julian, who was bleeding on the floor, I turned my murderous gaze to Chloe. “Chloe, you want a divorce? Fine. If you want me to sign, bring our daughter to me. Hand Lily over, and I will sign.” Hand her over? A sharp pain pierced my heart. Let’s see how you’re going to hand our daughter back to me. Chloe looked thrilled. “Really? You better keep your word!” I nodded slowly. “I always keep my word. Go ask her if she’s willing to go with you.” Chloe scoffed. “You’re the one who raised her. She always smiles whenever she sees you. Of course she’ll be willing. If she smiles, it means yes.” If only she could smile… If Lily could still smile at me, I would gladly give up everything I own. She walked into Lily’s nursery. A moment later, she called out in confusion. “Where is Lily? Did you leave her at your parents’ house again? I told you, stop leaving her there. We need to raise our child ourselves.” I let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Raise her ourselves? You? Since when do you care about raising her? Other than shopping, high tea, spa days, and spending my money, when have you ever spent a single second with her?” “When Lily was born, you said you didn’t want your body ruined, so you refused to breastfeed her for even a single day. She had to drink formula, and her immune system was always weak.” “You said you didn’t know how to take care of a baby, so I hired a professional nanny.” “You said her crying kept you awake at night, so Lily slept with me every single night.” “As a mother, what did you actually do? You drugged her with sleeping pills just so you could go screw around with your lover? You murdered her!” Chloe jumped up defensively. “What lover?! Julian and I are completely innocent!” “Innocent?” I sneered. “Affair during our marriage is innocent? Making out with another man in our home while your husband is away is innocent?!” Julian struggled to stand up, wiping blood from his mouth. “It’s just a sleeping pill. She’ll just sleep it off and wake up fine. Why do you have to be so dramatic and blow this out of proportion?” My eyes flared with rage. “What the hell did you just say? Sleep it off?!” Chloe crossed her arms. “What do you want from me? What’s done is done. Why are you acting like a psycho?” My anger reached its boiling point. “What do I want? Chloe, why don’t you take a good look at what you’ve actually done?!” I grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the dining table. She screamed, struggling against my grip. “What are you doing?! Let go of me!” But in the next second, her scream died in her throat as her eyes landed on Lily’s framed portrait and the small urn resting on the table.

Chloe’s hand trembled violently as she pointed at the urn and the photo. “What… what is that?” “Ethan, you’ve completely lost your mind! Just to win an argument with me, you’re cursing our daughter to death?!” I snatched the death certificate from under the urn and slammed it onto her face. “Open your eyes and read every single word on this paper! Read what it is!” With shaking hands, Chloe unfolded the paper. There, in cold black and white, was Lily’s name and her time of death. The color drained from her face. She stumbled backward, dropping the paper to the floor. “No… this is a lie. How could Lily be dead? How did she die? Ethan, how did the nanny watch her?!” I grabbed her by her chin, dragging her forcefully in front of Lily’s portrait. “You drugged your daughter with sleeping pills just to go on a date, leaving her completely alone in the house, and now you’re blaming the nanny?! Chloe, you are Lily’s mother! Is everyone else completely worthless to you compared to Julian?!” “You are so cold-blooded that you drugged your own flesh and blood. The doctor said the dosage was far more than just one pill. Tell me! How many did you give her?! Speak!” Tears streamed down her face as panic finally took over. “I don’t know… Julian was the one who poured it…” Julian stood frozen in place, whispering in shock. “I only put in two pills… but you told me to put in more so she would fall asleep faster…” Chloe began to shake violently. She grabbed my hand, sobbing. “Ethan, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to. Lily wouldn’t stop crying… she just kept crying…” I wanted nothing more than to choke the life out of her. “She was just a baby! You’re her mother! Just to go fool around, you actually did this? Are you insane?! Give me back my daughter!” My grip tightened around her neck. As her face turned purple, a sudden wave of clarity washed over me. I couldn’t let her off this easily. Death was too quick an escape. I had so much more planned for her. I threw her to the ground. “Chloe, we are getting a divorce. Now, take your lover and get the hell out of my house. If you stay one more second, I swear to God I will kill you both.” Chloe wrapped her arms around my leg, sobbing hysterically. “Ethan, no! I didn’t mean what I said about the divorce! I love Lily, I swear!” I kicked her away. “Get out, Chloe. Don’t let me ever see your face again. When I loved you, you could get away with anything. But now that I don’t, you are nothing but a corpse to me.” “But dying is too easy. Don’t think you’re getting off scot-free. Everyone has to pay for their sins, and you are no exception.” Chloe packed her bags and left with Julian that very night. The next morning, my lawyer contacted Chloe with the divorce papers. She called me immediately, screaming into the phone. “Why do I have to walk away with absolutely nothing?!” I replied nonchalantly, “We signed a prenuptial agreement. Did you really think you could touch the Sterling family assets? Aren’t you afraid of choking on them? The money I poured into the Vance family during our marriage—I’m already being incredibly generous by not clawing it all back. And you still want a fifty-fifty split? Chloe, I knew you were heartless, but I didn’t know you were this greedy.” “I married you!” Chloe demanded. “Half of your money belongs to me! Why shouldn’t I get it? Besides, I gave birth to your daughter…” She stopped abruptly, realizing her mistake, and slammed the phone down. Our daughter, Lily. I had been trying to suppress the agonizing pain in my chest, but hearing her mention Lily made my heart bleed all over again. I dialed my assistant’s number. “Call a meeting with the heads of all departments. Right now.” Did the newly resurrected Vance Enterprises give Chloe the confidence to act this way? Fine. Let’s watch them go bankrupt again.

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