Category: English

1 I opened my eyes and found myself thrown back in time—exactly one year before Olivia’s affair. This time, she was ruthless. She cut all ties with Liam and fired him in front of me. She replaced all her male assistants with married women and refused to bring any male escorts to corporate events. Everyone in our circle marveled at how deeply Olivia loved me, saying her devotion was carved in her bones. And I believed it—until the night before our wedding, when I accidentally heard her thoughts: [In this life, he’ll be mine forever.] [I have to hide Liam perfectly. He can never find out.] Then my memory surged back. In my past life, I caught her cheating and left for good. To clear my head, I joined an Arctic tour, but we were hit by a blizzard. I was trapped in a glacier at thirty below. As my core dropped to lethal levels, Olivia found me—she’d trekked through the storm on foot. She stripped off all her thermal layers and wrapped them around me. “Don’t sleep, Arthur. I don’t need you to forgive me, I just need you to live. If there’s a next life, I swear I’ll never betray you.” When rescuers arrived, she was still clinging to me, her body frozen solid. They had to cut her hands with a scalpel to pry us apart. She died in the snow. I lived to eighty, suffocated by an insurmountable guilt. … Olivia was currently kneeling on the plush carpet, tying the laces of my Oxford shoes, gently rubbing my ankle. “You’re going to be standing all day tomorrow. If these pinch at all, we’ll switch them out right now.” Just as I thought I was hallucinating, her voice echoed in my head again. [Liam’s arches are so beautiful. I could hold his feet all day and never get bored. Not like Arthur’s flat feet. No curve at all. Touching them is a total turn-off.] My stomach violently heaved. The memories of catching them in the act hit me like a freight train. The dimly lit luxury hotel suite. The designer clothes scattered across the floor. Liam’s ankle gripped tightly in Olivia’s hand. Her turning her head to press a wet, lingering kiss against his skin. “Arthur?” Olivia’s fingers tightened slightly. “Why are your feet so cold?” I jerked my foot back instinctively. The heel of the leather shoe scraped against the carpet with a dull thud. “What’s wrong?” I forced myself to maintain a calm exterior. “Nothing. Just a chill.” Olivia took off her cashmere blazer and draped it over my shoulders. It smelled faintly of an icy, sharp cologne. A scent that definitely didn’t belong to her. “What do you honestly think of Liam?” I asked out of nowhere. Olivia’s hand, which had been smoothing my hair, froze. A look of undisguised disgust crossed her face. “He’s a useless pretty boy. He throws himself at me like he has no self-respect. Honestly, looking at him makes me sick.” She grabbed my hand, desperately trying to prove her loyalty. “Arthur, I already fired him. I have absolutely zero contact with him.” “Even if he stripped naked and stood right in front of me, I wouldn’t look twice!” It was true. In this life, whenever Liam tried to approach her, she would violently shove him away. She played the part of hating him even more than I did. At my birthday banquet, Liam had recklessly crashed the party. He knocked over a champagne tower, and the shattered glass sliced my calf. Olivia was absolutely furious. She grabbed an unopened bottle of red wine and poured it over his head. “Get the hell out! If I ever see your face again, I will make sure you never work in this city again!” After screaming at him, she ordered the security guards to clear the room. Then, her voice instantly softened as she turned to me. “I’ll go handle that lunatic. Don’t let him ruin your birthday.” A flicker of panic flashed through Olivia’s eyes. “Honey, why are you bringing him up out of nowhere?” [Did he notice something? I showered twice before coming over today. There shouldn’t be any scent left.] [I’m much smarter this time. I’ve hidden it perfectly. Just one more day. Once we’re married, he’s officially mine forever.] I looked down at her upturned face. In the freezing tundra of my past life, this exact face had turned a sickly purple, her eyelashes caked in frost. When she wrapped her final coat around my shoulders, she had been coughing up blood. I had spent an entire lifetime trying to figure out how to repay her for saving my life. But she just wanted to use this life to play me for a fool again. She wasn’t remorseful that she cheated. She was just remorseful she got caught. Thinking about the wedding, her eyebrows furrowed slightly. [Last time at Arthur’s birthday, I poured that wine on Liam, and he threw a massive tantrum.] [I had to spend the whole night comforting him. I had to lick the wine off his chest drop by drop before he would even let me touch him. He’s definitely going to throw another fit tomorrow because of the wedding. I need to figure out a way to make it up to him.] Her thoughts slithered into my brain like venomous snakes. On the night of my birthday, after she rushed off to “handle” him, she never came back. I sat alone in the VIP lounge, using tweezers to pull bloody shards of glass out of my leg from dusk until dawn. While I bled, she was buried in Liam’s chest. An icy chill shot straight from my feet to my heart. I looked at her flawless, innocent mask and asked quietly, “Does he disgust you because he acts like a psycho?” She nodded without a second of hesitation. “Of course. He’s nothing compared to you.” I slowly pulled my hand out of her grip. “Did you forget the most important detail?” “Liam killed your father.” The muscles in Olivia’s face violently twitched. The horrific memory from five years ago flooded the space between us like freezing water. Olivia’s father had suffered from severe asthma for years. One day, out of the goodness of his heart, he sponsored a struggling student—Liam. He even invited him into their home. But Liam, consumed by jealousy over the affection Mr. Sterling showed me, played a sick prank. He replaced the emergency asthma medication on the nightstand with white vitamin pills. Late that night, Mr. Sterling suffered a massive asthma attack. He collapsed in the hallway, clutching his throat in absolute agony. And Liam stood just a few feet away, holding up his phone, grinning as he recorded the whole thing. “Come on, Mr. Sterling. Stop faking. You were perfectly fine a minute ago.” Amidst agonizing, desperate gasps, Mr. Sterling slowly suffocated to death. By the time Olivia rushed to the hospital, all she found was a body covered by a white sheet, and a viral video of the “prank” Liam had posted online to show off. Olivia collapsed outside the morgue. Her eyes were blood red as she violently vomited blood. She had been raised entirely by her father. He was the only source of warmth in her cold, ruthlessly calculating family. She clung to me, wailing like a child whose soul had been ripped out. “Arthur, I don’t have a dad anymore. I only have you.” For three straight months, she locked herself in a pitch-black basement. She starved herself. She mutilated her own arms. I was the one who spoon-fed her cold oatmeal. I was the one who held her emaciated body, shielding her from the nightmares that made her want to end it all. I was the one who dragged her out of the abyss. “I haven’t forgotten.” Olivia gritted her teeth. Her eyes instantly turned red, her voice dripping with venom. “A vicious monster like him deserves to die ten thousand times over for what he did to my father.” “Honey, if it wasn’t for you, I would be dead. To me, Liam is lower than an animal.” Her eyes were filled with tears, the veins on the back of her hands bulging with rage. But her inner voice slammed into me like a sledgehammer, obliterating every sacrifice I had made during those three months. [It’s been so long. Liam was only eighteen back then. He just wanted to play a prank. He didn’t know it was life-saving medication!] [He feels so guilty he’s slit his wrists twice already. His arms are covered in scars. Why does Arthur have to be so malicious? Why can’t he let the dead rest?] [Liam is so gentle, he wouldn’t even step on an ant. He wakes up crying from nightmares every single night. It breaks my heart.] [The dead aren’t as important as the living. The past isn’t as important as the future.] My fingernails dug into my palms so hard they left bloody crescent moons in my skin. How incredibly pathetic. To my face, she played the role of the unforgiving, grieving daughter. Behind my back, she agonized over her father’s murderer’s scars. Those three months of hell I walked through with her were worth less than a few fake tears from a killer. Assuming I was trapped in the grief of her father’s death, she reached out to comfort me. I flinched and pulled away. I stared intently at her ring finger. My eyes burned so badly it felt like they were going to rupture. That was not our wedding ring. Our wedding rings were designed by her personally. Simple, elegant platinum bands with our initials engraved on the inside. She used to say that the purest love required the least decoration. But the ring currently sitting on her finger was heavily ornamented. And it was very clearly a men’s band. Following my gaze, Olivia looked down. Her hand violently jerked back. She curled it into a tight fist and shoved it into her pocket. “Arthur.” She took a deep breath. When she looked back at me, her eyes were filled with a perfectly crafted, gentle apology. “I was going to surprise you tomorrow at the ceremony. I didn’t expect you to catch it early.” She pulled her hand back out, opening her palm. “I noticed you looking at that magazine a lot lately, so I secretly commissioned a French jeweler to make this for you. I just went to pick it up. The clerk said the sizing might be a bit off, so I tried it on to check, and it actually got stuck.” She even let out a frustrated, self-deprecating laugh. “I was just so eager to see what it would look like on you.” What a flawless, impenetrable lie. A second later, her true thoughts drilled into my skull. [Damn it! How did I put Liam’s ring on?!] [I was rushing out of the hotel bed too fast and grabbed the wrong one. He cannot find out I had matching rings made for Liam.] Three hours ago, she called me. With a soft, stressed voice, she told me there was an emergency with an overseas acquisition, and she had to jump on an international video conference. She told me to go to the tailor and try on my tuxedo alone. Her “international video conference” took place in a hotel bed. She had prepared two sets of wedding vows. Two sets of rings. She used the same hands that dug my frozen corpse out of the snow to caress Liam’s skin. She used the same lips that promised to “never betray me in the next life” to kiss away Liam’s tears. My fingers began to uncontrollably tremble. “Really?” I heard my own voice. Flat. Devoid of any emotion. “Because it looks like the name engraved inside isn’t mine.” Olivia’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. The color drained from her face so fast she looked like a ghost. Her breathing completely stopped for a full second. She clamped her hand over the ring. “It’s the French word for ‘Eternity’. The font is tiny, you probably misread it. Once it’s on your finger tomorrow, you can look at it as closely as you want.” Her phone buzzed. She shot me a look, gesturing that it was work. She walked quickly to the floor-to-ceiling windows, deliberately lowering her voice. “Didn’t I tell you not to call me right now?” Whatever the person on the other end said made her face drop. She hung up and immediately headed for the door. [Liam is getting so incredibly clingy lately. I guess it makes sense. My morning sickness is getting worse. He knows I need the baby’s father around right now.] [He’s right. I should let the baby spend more time with its dad. This is our first child. I can’t let anything go wrong!] During my sophomore year of college, Olivia got cornered in an alley by a gang of thugs. One of them pulled a knife. I didn’t hesitate. I threw myself in front of her, taking the blade. Her hands were covered in my blood. The doctors told me the internal damage was permanent. I would never be able to have children. She slapped herself across the face, twice, as hard as she could. “Arthur, I’m so sorry. I ruined you.” “It doesn’t matter if we can’t have kids. We can adopt if you want. If not, it’ll just be the two of us forever.” And now, she was pregnant with her father’s killer’s baby. The lies pulverized the past into dust, leaving behind nothing but a barren wasteland. She marched toward the door. “Honey, there’s a massive crisis with the investment portfolio. The supply chain is frozen. I have to go to the office immediately.” The moment the door clicked shut, I called a friend in healthcare data and asked him to pull Olivia’s medical records. Half an hour later, an electronic chart was sent to my phone. Six weeks pregnant. Counting back, the conception date was exactly the night of my birthday. A crushing sense of absurdity swallowed me whole. I wanted to call my father and cancel the wedding. My thumb hovered over the dial button. It was impossible. The invitations had been sent. The luxury hotel was booked. No one would believe me. Olivia was a master manipulator. She hadn’t just fooled me; she had fooled everyone in my life. In this reality, everyone worshipped Olivia’s undying devotion. They would all look at me like I was an ungrateful, paranoid lunatic trying to ruin a perfect relationship. I wiped my eyes aggressively. A cold smile spread across my face. Fine. If they wanted a show, I would give them a masterpiece. I forwarded an electronic wedding invitation to Liam with a simple message attached. “Come watch your woman swear her life to me.” The day of the wedding arrived. I sat at the head table, watching my mother dab at the joyful tears in her eyes. She held my hand, patting it gently. “Arthur, I am so incredibly happy today.” “Olivia is a rare find. Such a devoted, loyal girl. Your father and I have zero worries handing you over to her.” Across the table, Olivia’s mother sat with perfect posture. Mrs. Sterling was a stern woman who rarely smiled. Her brow was perpetually furrowed, but today, she actually raised a glass of champagne. She was deeply traditional. After her husband died, she never remarried. She looked at me, her voice steady and commanding. “Olivia takes after me. When the women in our family choose a man, it is for life.” “If she ever does you wrong, I will personally break her legs.” Laughter echoed through the opulent ballroom. I looked across the room at Olivia, who was currently mingling with the guests. She was wearing a custom-tailored, breathtaking gown. A perfectly calculated, warm smile rested on her lips. If I didn’t know that the slight discoloration on her neck was a hickey buried under heavy concealer, I might have actually believed this was a normal wedding. Suddenly, the heavy mahogany doors of the ballroom were violently shoved open. Liam stood in the entryway. He was wearing an aggressively inappropriate, bright crimson suit. The collar was unbuttoned all the way down to his sternum. It was a blinding, vulgar red, like a fresh slab of raw meat. The entire ballroom fell dead silent. Hundreds of eyes darted between him and me. He walked straight toward Olivia and grabbed her by the sleeve. In that split second of contact, I clearly saw Liam slip a crumpled piece of paper directly into the cuff of Olivia’s gown. “Ms. Sterling. I just came to see how handsome Arthur looks today.” “I don’t mean any harm. I just wanted to witness the most important day of your life.” The smile instantly vanished from Olivia’s face. She yanked her arm back like she had been burned with acid, stumbling backward. “Get the hell out! Where is security?! How did this stray dog get in here?!” She turned to me, her eyes filled with desperate panic. “Arthur, please don’t misunderstand! I didn’t invite him! He’s just a stalker who showed up uninvited.” Mrs. Sterling’s face turned to stone. “Olivia, have security dispose of this trash immediately. Do not let him ruin Arthur’s day.” Two massive security guards rushed over, grabbed Liam by the arms, and forcefully dragged him out of the ballroom. “Honey, he touched this dress. I literally feel like throwing up.” Olivia’s eyes were brimming with apologies. “The ceremony starts in twenty minutes. I have a backup gown in the bridal suite upstairs. I’ll change and be right back down.” Right before the elevator doors closed, her thoughts reached me. [Liam looked so incredibly sexy today. There was definitely nothing under that suit jacket.] [The note said Suite 8012. He’s demanding a final breakup fuck right now of all times.] [I have to make it fast. Doing it while I’m wearing a wedding dress will drive him crazy.] Liam had planned this. He slipped in through the service elevator and was already waiting for her upstairs. It seemed my text had hit a nerve. The only way he could salvage his ego was by screwing her right above my head on my wedding day. Ten minutes later, I switched on the micro-camera hidden in my collar pin. I looked at my parents and the elders sitting at the head table. “Mom, Dad, Olivia prepared the traditional tea ceremony gifts for you. They’re up in the suite. Why don’t we all go up together to get them? It’ll be a nice moment.” Dozens of relatives and close family friends trailed behind me. Mrs. Sterling led the group, a look of profound satisfaction on her face. Walking down the plush hallway carpet, my leather shoes didn’t make a sound. The closer I got, the louder the woman’s panting echoed in my brain. My mother reached out and adjusted the lapel of my tuxedo. “Arthur, I am just so relieved you two are finally tying the knot.” “Remember two years ago when you had that awful fever? Olivia dragged a cot into your hospital room and didn’t sleep for two days. Even the nurses said they had never seen a woman so devoted.” [Stop being mad. I don’t have a choice. I have to play the part for Arthur. Come here. Lift your leg a little higher.] My aunt chimed in, a warm smile on her face. “Oh, absolutely. Everyone in the city knows Olivia is hopelessly in love with you.” “Remember that winter she drove across town just to get you those chestnut pastries? Her car broke down, and she walked three miles in a blizzard. Her ears were frostbitten, but she kept the pastries warm inside her coat the whole time.” [You really didn’t wear anything underneath. When you were standing in the lobby looking at me like that, it was driving me insane.] [If the old lady and Arthur weren’t standing right there, I would have thrown you on top of the champagne tower.] Mrs. Sterling’s voice was firm, carrying absolute certainty. “I raised Olivia to be rigid. She isn’t very romantic, but she takes after me. Once she claims her husband, no other man exists.” “Don’t let that lunatic Liam bother you.” “You saw how Olivia reacted. Just him touching her made her sick.” I listened to their heartfelt blessings while the sickening, wet sounds in my head grew louder. Closer. Closer. I stopped right in front of the bridal suite. The massive crowd of relatives stopped behind me. Everyone was smiling, waiting for the door to open. I grabbed the cold brass handle and pushed down with every ounce of strength I had. Click. The door unlatched.

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1 The icy rooftop wind faded as I fell. I woke to canyon sunlight, pine scent, and dry dirt—back on that spring break hike. A girl in our group gazed up a sheer cliff, playfully asking her boyfriend if he could free solo it. My boyfriend puffed out his chest, rolled up his sleeves, and began to climb. Halfway, his arms shook violently. Then came the sickening thud of a body hitting the ground. This time, I didn’t run to break his fall. I watched, cold eyed, from a distance. My phone buzzed—a medical clearance email, the last step for my dream fellowship. A wave of clarity hit: my life could have been different. In my past life, I’d lunged to catch him. His weight crushed my arms. Trapped in the wilderness, help arrived too late; both arms were amputated below the shoulders. Over twenty years of study, top scores—everything vanished in an afternoon. He cried for days, married me as soon as he could, and vowed to care for me forever. But a year later, he locked me out of our bedroom while he and that same “innocent” girl played strip poker inside. I remember banging my head on the door, begging until my throat bled, hearing their muffled laughter. She called me a disgusting, useless worm. Not this time. Whether he lived or died no longer concerned me. … There were ten people in our hiking group. Eight guys, two girls. The other girl was named Daisy. Right now, all eight guys were hovering around her like a swarm of bees circling a single pot of honey. Every word she said was met with roaring laughter. If she playfully stomped her foot, the guys would practically trip over themselves to agree with her. Connor was the closest to her, his face animated as he cracked a joke. Daisy giggled uncontrollably, her eyes wide as she pointed at the sheer cliff drop. “Oh my god, you’re so strong. Bet you couldn’t scale that wall, could you?” Connor didn’t say a single word. He just dropped his backpack and rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. Just like in my past life, I offered one final, obligatory warning. “That’s way too dangerous. Don’t do it.” Connor shot me a look over his shoulder. His eyebrows pulled together in deep annoyance. “Nobody thinks you’re mute just because you keep your mouth shut, Sienna.” The guys snickered. Daisy smiled the brightest out of everyone. Connor started his ascent. His steps looked steady at first, his form mimicking the indoor bouldering videos he watched online. The guys below started cheering and letting out loud, piercing whistles. Daisy turned her head to look at me. She flashed a sickeningly sweet smile, her eyes dripping with triumph. “Wow. Your boyfriend is incredible, Sienna!” I didn’t reply. My boyfriend was currently risking his life, scaling a vertical rock face without a harness or a crash pad, all because another woman stroked his ego. He looked like a desperate peacock trying to fan its feathers. The only thing he left me with was second-hand embarrassment. I lowered my head and unlocked my phone. I confirmed my medical exam for the fellowship. The background checks and physical requirements for this agency were notoriously strict. I couldn’t afford a single misstep. In my previous life, after the amputation, an official from the agency visited my hospital room. They looked at me with deep pity and formally notified me that my test scores were voided. I no longer met the physical requirements. My parents stood by my bed, biting their lips to keep from sobbing out loud. I had just stared at the ceiling. The space on either side of my torso felt horribly empty. My heart felt even emptier. “Watch out!” Someone’s panicked shout snapped me back to reality. A piece of shale crumbled under Connor’s grip. He was left dangling by one hand, his body violently swinging against the rock face before his other hand desperately scrambled to find a new hold. The crowd below immediately broke into applause and cheers. I glanced at the time on my phone. Ten twenty-three. One minute left. I took a silent step backward. Nobody noticed me. All eyes were glued to Connor, completely intoxicated by the adrenaline. I kept stepping back until I was on the very edge of the group. Looking up, I could see the sweat glistening on Connor’s forehead in the harsh sun. His face was beet red. The muscles in his arms were trembling so hard it was visible from the ground. A cold smirk crept onto my lips. Connor never worked out. He stayed up until three in the morning playing video games and survived on energy drinks. His only climbing experience came from an air-conditioned indoor gym. And yet, with that pathetic foundation, he dared to take on a wild cliff just to impress another girl. Every time he pushed his foot up, his entire body shuddered. And with every shudder, Daisy cupped her hands around her mouth and squealed, “You got this! Keep going!” Suddenly, Connor’s left foot slipped off a smooth patch of stone. His body jerked downward. He let out a strangled grunt. Both his hands clawed desperately at a narrow crevice. The sickening sound of his fingernails scraping against solid rock echoed clearly over the wind. Everyone gasped. The cheering died instantly. Then, Connor’s grip gave out. He plummeted. Like a heavy sack of wet cement dropped from a third-story balcony. Instinct kicked in, and the crowd scrambled backward to get out of the drop zone. The heavy, bone-crunching thud hit the dirt. The crowd exploded into terrifying screams. I looked down at my screen. The medical appointment was confirmed. Dark red blood began pooling out from beneath Connor’s body, soaking into the dry earth. Both of his legs were twisted into horrific, impossible angles. The fractured bone of his right calf had completely pierced the skin, jutting out into the open air, a stark, glaring white against the blood. The group was paralyzed with shock. One guy started dry heaving. Another dropped to a crouch, hands clutching his head. Someone pulled out a phone, their thumbs shaking so badly they couldn’t even dial 911. An older hiker from another group rushed over, dropping to his knees beside Connor and checking his breathing. “He has a pulse! Does anyone have a trauma kit?!” A guy in a heavy windbreaker whipped his head around, glaring at me. “Hey! You’re his girl, right? Get over here!” Daisy’s head snapped up. It was as if she had just found her golden ticket. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she pointed an accusing finger at me and shrieked. “Why didn’t you catch him?! You’re his girlfriend!” “How can you be so cold-blooded?! Do you only care about yourself?!” Every single pair of eyes locked onto me. The air in the canyon went dead silent for a fraction of a second. I looked at Daisy, tilting my head in genuine confusion. “How exactly was I supposed to catch a grown man falling from that height?” She choked on her words, her mouth hanging open. “You are the one who dared him to climb it.” I kept my voice measured, making sure every single syllable landed perfectly. “You are legally responsible for this.” All the color drained from Daisy’s face. She stumbled backward, her voice trembling violently. “I… I was just joking. He chose to climb it himself. It has nothing to do with me…” Someone finally got through to dispatch and yelled out, “Ambulance is on the way!” I didn’t say another word. I just stared down at Connor. He had passed out from the shock. Blood loss had turned his face a ghostly gray, and his chest was barely rising. I knew the ambulance wouldn’t be here soon. The mountain roads were treacherous. In my past life, I lay in the dirt for over an hour. I remembered the pain. Passing out from the agony, waking up to worse agony, over and over again. When I finally woke up for good, my arms were gone. My parents couldn’t look me in the eye. Connor choked on his tears, unable to form a coherent sentence. And Daisy had comforted me. “Sienna, I know you lost your arms, but you made the local news!” she had said. “Everyone is calling you an absolute hero. People online are even trying to set up a GoFundMe for you.” She had paused then, her voice dripping with calculated sweetness. “But someone as noble as you would never accept charity money, right?” On the day Connor and I got married at the courthouse, she was there too. Her eyes were wet with fake tears as she held my empty sleeve. “Sienna, Connor is such a good man. You have to cherish him.” I remember hearing the whispers from the other guests behind our backs. They called Connor a saint. They said I emotionally blackmailed him into the marriage. “Nobody forced her to catch him. From what I heard, it wasn’t even that high. If he fell, he’d just have a broken leg for a couple of months.” “Connor has the worst luck. Now he’s stuck with a cripple.” “Seriously. A burden he can never shake off.” But Connor had held me tight against his chest, swearing on his very soul. “If I ever do Sienna wrong in this lifetime, let me rot in hell.” In the second year of our marriage, Connor locked me out of the bedroom. He told me he and Daisy were going to play a drinking game that involved losing clothes. “She’s a little shy,” he had said through the wood. “It would be awkward if you were sitting right there.” I stood in the hallway, listening to the rustle of clothing hitting the floor. Then came the heavy breathing. Having no hands to turn the knob, I slammed my head against the door over and over again. My forehead was bruised black and blue. I couldn’t breathe through my own sobbing. I screamed his name. I reminded him of his oath. Connor just laughed. Daisy checked the hallway security camera from her phone and spoke in that same innocent, sickening tone. “Look at her wiggling around out there. She looks like a disgusting little worm without her arms.” Later, I felt the savage rooftop wind tearing at my cheeks. And now, my eyes were open to the bright May sun. I reached down and gripped my own forearms. They were warm. Intact. Flawless. A surge of electricity shot through my spine, making me shiver with pure relief. Exactly as it happened in my past life, the paramedics arrived an hour later. The surgery took eleven hours. When the lead surgeon finally walked out of the double doors, he didn’t even pull his mask down. His eyes scanned the waiting room. “Burst fracture of the spine. Severe spinal cord trauma. Both legs amputated above the knee.” Connor’s mother collapsed on the linoleum floor. When they finally revived her, she lunged at me, her nails digging into my wrists. Every word she spoke was ground out between her teeth. “The doctor said… if someone had just tried to break his fall, to absorb some of the impact… he wouldn’t have lost his legs.” She stared at me. She didn’t finish the sentence, but the naked, venomous hatred in her eyes said it all. She hated that I had gone on this trip with her son and walked away without a scratch while her boy was paralyzed for life. She hated that I didn’t sacrifice my own life to save him. I didn’t flinch. I just pointed a finger straight at Daisy. “Mrs. Davis. She is the one who dared Connor to climb.” Daisy’s entire body went rigid. “We were all there. We heard it clear as day. She said, ‘Oh my god, you’re so strong. Bet you couldn’t scale that wall, could you?’” I repeated her exact words, mimicking her tone perfectly. “And while he was climbing, she stood at the bottom clapping. Every time he moved, she cheered for him.” Daisy shook her head frantically, tears spilling down her cheeks. “No! I didn’t mean it like that, I swear…” Mrs. Davis didn’t hesitate. She threw herself forward and slapped Daisy across the face with a sickening crack. Before Daisy could even scream, a second slap landed. Mrs. Davis grabbed a fistful of Daisy’s hair and started swinging wildly. Daisy’s piercing shrieks echoed down the entire hospital corridor. All those guys who had treated Daisy like a goddess just a few hours ago now stood around with their heads down. Not a single one stepped in to help her. I had no interest in watching the rest of the show. I turned around and started walking toward the elevator. “Where do you think you’re going?!” Mrs. Davis screamed at my back. I turned slightly, offering a polite, practiced smile. “I have a very important medical exam in two days, Mrs. Davis. Staying up late is bad for my vitals.” Her face froze in absolute disbelief. On the Uber ride home, my phone vibrated constantly. It was the group chat Connor had forced me into with his extended family. “I have no idea what Sienna is thinking. Connor was falling right above her. She could have reached out. Instead, she just stood there and watched him hit the ground.” “Heartless bitch.” “As his girlfriend, she couldn’t even talk him out of it? Connor wants to climb a cliff and she just lets him? And now that he’s hurt, she’s the first one to bail.” Then came a massive paragraph from Connor’s grandfather, basically stating that no woman marrying into their family should behave with such profound selfishness. They must have forgotten I was still in the chat. I didn’t type a single word. I just hit ‘Leave Group’. When I got home, my parents didn’t bring up Connor at all. They just watched my face carefully, looking for signs of a breakdown. I quietly ate my dinner, took a hot shower, and was in bed by nine. Early to bed, early to rise. Perfect for blood pressure. On the morning of the physical, my parents woke up at dawn to drive me to the clinic. Bloodwork, vision, heart rate, physical mobility. Every single box was checked off with a perfect score. My parents knew it was technically inappropriate to celebrate right now, but they couldn’t hide their smiles in the car ride home. I smiled too. For a brief moment, we all forgot there was a man lying in pieces in an ICU bed. That was until we pulled up to our apartment building. A figure stepped out of the shadows near the entrance doors. It was Connor’s mother. Her eyes were swollen so badly they were basically slits. Her voice was completely blown out, reduced to a raspy hiss. “Connor woke up this morning. He knows his legs are gone.” She took a shaky breath. “He smashed the water pitcher on his nightstand. He threw his lamp at the wall. Three nurses couldn’t hold him down.” “He just kept screaming your name.” Mrs. Davis finally broke down, sobbing into her hands. “Do you have any idea what that looks like? A tall, strong, handsome man, beating his own head with his fists, screaming that he wants to die.” I looked at her calmly. I remembered lying in a hospital bed just like that in my past life. Mrs. Davis had walked into my room, looked at my bandaged stumps, and offered three words. “Just move on.” So now, I looked right back into her weeping eyes, channeling a tone of deep, regretful pity. “Just move on.” Her face crumpled into a mask of pure shock. “You’re not even going to see him? How can you be this cruel?!” She lunged forward, grabbing my wrist with fingers like iron claws. “Sienna, our family doesn’t blame you. Connor doesn’t blame you.” “But you can’t just abandon him. You two were together for three years. He’s the one trapped in a bed for the rest of his life, not you. Can’t you at least visit him?!” In my past life, after we got married, I couldn’t balance properly without my arms. I slipped in the living room and smashed my forehead against the edge of the glass coffee table. Blood poured down my face. Mrs. Davis had been standing right there. She didn’t offer a hand to help me up. She just sighed and said, “Why are you always so clumsy? Connor works hard all day, and now he has to come home and take care of you.” Later, when Connor started cheating on me, I had a mental breakdown. I cried hysterically and banged my head against the drywall. Mrs. Davis had stormed into the room, jabbing her index finger hard against my forehead, pushing me backward until I fell. “You eat our food, you live in our house, what right do you have to be acting crazy?” she had spat. I forcefully yanked my wrist out of her grip. “I’m extremely busy right now, Mrs. Davis.” She stared at me, dumbfounded. “The onboarding process for the Fellowship requires a lot of paperwork. I placed first in the state. Every department is fighting for my placement, and I really need the time to consider my options.” Her face turned from pale white to an ashen gray. I sidestepped her. My parents followed closely behind me, and we let the heavy glass lobby doors shut in her face. Late that night, my phone screen lit up with an unsaved number. I picked it up. To my surprise, it was Connor. His voice was thick with painkillers and despair. “You blocked my number?” “Yeah,” I admitted freely. “I blocked you the second you left me at the back of the trail to go play hero for Daisy.” Silence hung heavily on the line. After a long pause, he spoke again. “I heard you got first place for the Fellowship.” “I did.” “That’s great.” His tone was eerily flat. “You’re set for life now. You’re going to be successful. I guess you and a cripple like me live in two entirely different worlds now.” I didn’t take the bait. I waited in silence until the call disconnected. When I woke up the next morning, I had over a dozen missed calls. There was an urgent text from the Fellowship recruitment director. “Sienna, what is going on with the posts circulating online?” My stomach dropped. I opened Twitter. The hashtag #TopScholarAbandonsParalyzedBoyfriend was trending at number one. Daisy had posted a massive, emotional essay. “I’m sure you’ve all seen the news about the hiker who fell and lost his legs. Today, I want to tell you the real story behind that tragedy.” She wrote it like a Nicholas Sparks novel. She described a devoted man who was trying to pick a rare wildflower from a cliffside to give to his fiancé, only to slip and lose his ability to walk forever. She claimed the fiancé packed her bags and walked away without looking back, refusing to even visit him in the ICU. At the very end, she wrote: “The woman in this story just scored first place in the Federal Fellowship exams. Her future is incredibly bright. I guess they just don’t live in the same world anymore.” Below the text was a photo of Connor in his hospital bed. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollow, staring blankly at the ceiling. My personal information had been completely doxed. Emails were flooding the Fellowship recruitment office, demanding they rescind my offer immediately. I quickly texted the director back. “Let’s meet in person.” But the storm online was only accelerating. Daisy uploaded a follow-up video. It was Connor, propped up on his pillows. He looked even worse than the photo. His eyes were sunken, his lips cracked and bleeding. He stared into the lens and spoke with a shattered voice. “Please stop harassing her. We broke up peacefully. I don’t blame her. I just… I just want her to have a good life.” That night, someone leaked my home address. My dad’s phone got blown up with death threats. My mom went to the grocery store and got recognized. A woman spat on the ground right in front of her shoes and snarled, “Raising a daughter like that, you must be a piece of trash yourself.” Even my old high school teachers were getting harassed online. I kept my mouth shut. I acted like I didn’t see any of it. As the days dragged on and the viral heat started to die down, Daisy finally panicked. She couldn’t let it go. She posted a direct tweet, tagging my real name. “Sienna, you owe Connor an apology. You owe his family an explanation. You are responsible for the rest of his life.” I still didn’t reply. The next morning, the official Fellowship acceptance roster was published. Black text on a white background, pinned right at the top of the government website. My name was listed at the absolute top. Ten minutes later, the agency issued an official press release. “Regarding the recent allegations surrounding candidate Sienna…” Half an hour after that, Daisy’s entire social media presence was permanently banned.

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I stared at the two plane tickets on my phone screen, a cold dread prickling my scalp. It was a post from my ex boyfriend, who’d vanished years ago. When our college acceptances arrived, we learned we’d be a thousand miles apart. The distance felt unbridgeable. He asked to meet on the school rooftop one last time. His voice was eerily calm. “Have a good life. I don’t want to hold you back.” After that, he turned and left. I wanted to chase him, to scream and ask why we couldn’t face it together. But the words died in my throat. Heartbreak buckled my knees. I collapsed on the concrete, and he never looked back. I sent countless texts afterward. Every one went unanswered. His silence was more brutal than any explanation. Three years of love, erased by a single goodbye. I couldn’t accept it. I spent every day staring at my phone, praying for a reply. Now, seeing those two tickets on his feed, a sickening thought took root. My fingers shook violently as I dialed 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” “I need to report a murder,” I whispered, trembling. “The victim… is my ex boyfriend.” 01 “Okay, miss, please stay calm. Can you tell me exactly where this happened? And what is the victim’s name?” The dispatcher’s voice was steady and highly professional. My palms were sweating profusely. I couldn’t stop my voice from trembling. “His name is Noah. Noah Lawson. I… I don’t know where it happened. But the last time I saw him was three days ago.” The line went quiet for a brief second. Her tone shifted, becoming slightly more serious. “Why do you believe he has been murdered? Do you have any evidence?” I didn’t register the doubt in her voice. I was too frantic, my words stumbling over each other, a sob building in my throat. “I saw a post he just made online. I’ve called him a million times and he won’t pick up. Something terrible happened to him. That has to be why he broke up with me out of nowhere…” A moment later, I was transferred to an actual police officer. Her voice was much gentler. “It’s going to be okay, honey. Just take a deep breath. Give me your address. We’ll send officers over to take your statement, and we’ll reach out to Noah to perform a welfare check.” I hung up and slumped onto my living room sofa. My entire body felt like it was made of ice. My mind kept replaying that last moment on the rooftop. His eyes constantly darting away from mine. His unnaturally pale face. His rigid posture. At the time, I thought it was just the guilt of dumping me. But looking back, he looked like a man who was already trapped in a living nightmare. Less than twenty minutes later, a sharp knock echoed through my house. I opened the door to find two uniformed officers and a man in plainclothes. The detective in charge had sharp, piercing eyes and a grim expression. “I’m Detective Harrison. Are you Pamela?” I wiped my face and stepped aside to let them in, immediately shoving my phone into his hands. “Look at this. This is the photo of the plane tickets he posted yesterday. Noah hates flying. He gets violently airsick. This is completely wrong. And the day we broke up, he was acting so strange. None of this adds up.” Detective Harrison took the phone, squinting at the photo. He nodded to the uniformed officer to write down the flight details. He was just about to ask me another question when his own phone rang. “What? Are you absolutely certain?” Harrison ended the call. His brow furrowed deeply as he looked at me, his gaze entirely unreadable. “Pamela, do you know that filing a false police report and wasting emergency resources is a crime?” “Having a bad breakup doesn’t give you the right to…” I froze. Fresh tears spilled over my eyelashes. “A false report? What are you talking about?” “I swear to God, I am telling the truth! Something happened to him! You have to find out who did this!” Seeing me start to hyperventilate, Detective Harrison sighed, his tone hardening. “My colleagues just visited the Lawson residence. Noah’s parents confirmed that he is perfectly fine. He just packed a bag and left for a graduation road trip.” My stomach plummeted. I stared at him with wide, bloodshot eyes, grabbing his jacket sleeve. “That is just what his parents are telling you! You didn’t actually see him, did you? I’m telling you, this isn’t a normal disappearance!” Harrison pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy sigh. “His parents literally watched him get into a cab. He is fine. You are just obsessing over a breakup and letting your imagination run wild.” I shook my head frantically, backing away from his outstretched hand. “No. Absolutely not. I know him too well…” Before I could finish, someone started pounding violently on my front door. “Pamela! Open this damn door! It’s Martha!” The moment the door swung open, Noah’s mother lunged inside. Her hand whipped across the air, slapping me hard across the cheek. She was practically foaming at the mouth, her face flushed with pure rage. Noah’s father, Freddy, stood right behind her, his expression dark and thunderous. The uniformed officers quickly stepped in, physically dragging Martha away from me. But she kept glaring at me, spitting venom. I cradled my stinging cheek. Swallowing the humiliation, I looked right past her and focused on the detective. “He has been missing for days. How can you not see the red flags? This is a human life we are talking about. You have to investigate!” Hearing this, Martha actually let out a shrill, mocking laugh. “Oh, drop the act, you manipulative little brat! My son is alive and well. His phone is on. You are just bitter he dumped you, so you’re trying to turn our lives upside down!” “You thought because your parents have money, you could just buy my son’s affection. Now that he’s done with you, you’re literally wishing him dead. What kind of sick psychopath are you?” “You are obsessed! You need to be locked up in a psych ward!” She turned to the police, her voice suddenly dripping with fake innocence. “Officers, I swear on my life, my boy is totally fine. This little stalker is just trying to cause drama!” “You don’t believe me? I’ll prove it right now!” Rolling her eyes dramatically, she pulled out her phone and initiated a FaceTime call. A few rings later, Noah’s voice echoed through the speaker. “Mom? What’s going on? It’s late.” 02 The screen lit up. A deeply familiar face appeared on the display. Looking at that face, my brain completely short-circuited. I snatched the phone right out of Martha’s hands. I stared dead into the screen, my fingertips trembling uncontrollably. Martha exploded. She pointed a manicured finger at my face and shrieked. “That’s it! I am pressing charges! Get your parents on the phone right now!” On the screen, Noah’s face twisted into a harsh, impatient scowl. His voice was freezing cold. “So I don’t answer your texts, and you pull a stunt like this?” “I told you it’s over. We are done. Are you really going to be this pathetic?” “You’re not just harassing me. You’re terrorizing my parents. You dragged the cops into this. You are out of your mind!” “Have some damn self-respect. Leave me and my family alone!” I stared at his furious expression. The fog in my brain instantly vanished, replaced by a terrifying, razor-sharp clarity. The real Noah was gentle. He was soft-spoken. He would never, ever speak to me with such brutal venom. We had survived the hell of finals together. We had mapped out our entire college lives on sticky notes. He knew my favorite coffee orders by heart. He used to hold me for hours when I had anxiety attacks. He had never even raised his voice at me. Not once. A human being doesn’t fundamentally change their entire personality in three days. And there was something else. Freddy and Martha had never cared for Noah. They treated him like a burden. There was absolutely no way they would rush over here to defend his honor just because a classmate thought he was in danger. I snapped my head up. I glared directly at his parents, my voice turning into a lethal whisper. “You two are hiding something. Are you the killers? Or just the accomplices?” “That guy on the screen is not Noah! Why are you helping an imposter? Where is he?!” Detective Harrison’s face turned to stone. He signaled the officers. “Call Pamela’s parents. Have them come down here immediately.” He paused, giving me a stern, unforgiving look. “Your behavior is officially crossing the line into harassment. You cannot weaponize the police department just because you got dumped.” “Especially when the guy is sitting right there on video. This murder theory is completely fabricated.” I couldn’t hold back anymore. I screamed at the top of my lungs. “That is not him! Something happened to him! You are letting them get away with it!” Freddy and Martha exchanged a lightning-fast look. For a fraction of a second, I saw sheer, naked panic flash in their eyes. But they quickly covered it up with loud, obnoxious outrage. “You absolute lunatic! You belong in a straitjacket! How dare you accuse us of murder!” “We were trying to be nice because you’re just a kid. But this is too far. Wait until your parents get here. They’re going to pay for this!” Harrison watched the circus unfold, his jaw clenching in frustration. “Take her down to the precinct to cool off. We’ll wait for her parents there.” A female officer approached, gently trying to guide me toward the door. I fought back, digging my heels into the carpet, keeping my eyes locked on the Lawsons. “He is in danger! You cannot just walk away from this!” “Look at their faces! They are terrified! They know exactly where he is, and they might be the ones who hurt him!” “This is a potential homicide. You can’t just brush it under the rug. You need to search their house right now! You need to prove that he is actually safe!” “A video call proves nothing! Deepfakes exist! Actors exist! If you don’t search that house, I will never stop fighting this!” Detective Harrison went silent. He looked at my desperate, unwavering expression. Then he glanced at Freddy and Martha, noticing how unnaturally stiff they had become. Finally, he gave in. Freddy and Martha went pale. They immediately started to protest. But under Harrison’s sharp, authoritative gaze, they eventually had to grit their teeth and agree. Harrison grabbed his police radio, barking out orders. “Get a crime scene unit and a couple of detectives over to the Lawson residence. I want a full sweep. Do not miss a single detail.” I took a massive, shuddering breath, forcing myself to swallow the panic, and followed the police to Noah’s house. The short drive felt like an eternity. It felt like an invisible hand was crushing my lungs. Every second was pure agony. When we arrived, the house was already crawling with cops. They were checking every room, dusting surfaces, shining flashlights into closets. Noah’s bedroom was perfectly organized. It was almost too clean. There wasn’t a single thing out of place. Soon, the lead CSI approached Harrison. “Detective, the sweep is complete. No blood trace, no signs of a struggle, nothing suspicious whatsoever. The girl’s homicide theory is a bust.” Martha crossed her arms, sneering at me with absolute triumph. “See? What did I tell you? You are a delusional psycho! Do you believe us now?” “When your parents show up, I am going to have a long talk with them. I’m going to make sure they discipline you so you never pull a stunt like this again!” A loud ringing started in my ears. But my gut instinct hadn’t wavered for a single second. I turned to the detective, my voice cracking with desperation. “Detective Harrison, what if the crime scene isn’t here? What if it’s somewhere else? Please, you have to keep looking!” 03 Harrison let out an exhausted sigh. He shook his head and ordered an officer to escort me to the cruiser. My heart was hammering against my ribs. If no one believed me, whatever nightmare Noah was living through would be buried forever. When we pulled into the precinct, my parents were already rushing up the steps. My mother looked terrified. She ran over and pulled me into a tight embrace. “Pamela, baby, what happened to your face?” My father looked deadly serious. He stood by quietly as the officers explained the absolute mess of a situation. Freddy and Martha stood off to the side, looking incredibly smug, tossing in snide comments whenever they could. My father listened to the entire story. He went quiet for a moment, then looked directly at Harrison. “Detective, my daughter is a deeply rational and grounded young woman. She doesn’t invent drama. If she says this boy is acting out of character, it is not a delusion. I am asking you to look into this one more time.” Freddy and Martha froze. Their smugness evaporated, replaced by frantic anger. “Is this how you raise your kid?” Freddy yelled. “My son just wanted to take a vacation after finals, and we have to deal with your psychotic family?!” Even the other cops in the precinct were whispering, clearly assuming I was suffering from some kind of psychotic break. I was shivering violently. I pulled away from my mother’s chest and looked up at the officers, pleading. “Technology is terrifyingly advanced now. What if the guy on the screen is an AI deepfake?” “Can you please contact the local police wherever he claims to be? Ask them to pull the security footage. Ask them to verify it’s actually him in person.” Harrison rubbed his temples, looking like he was about to lose his mind. “Are you ever going to stop?” Martha shrieked, lunging forward. The officers quickly shoved her back, looking highly annoyed. My mother stepped in front of me like a shield, begging the police. “Pamela is our daughter. We know her better than anyone.” “She has known Noah for years. She wouldn’t fabricate a murder just because of a breakup. Please, just do this one check to put this to rest.” Under my parents’ relentless, polite pressure, Harrison finally relented. He agreed to contact the local precinct in the city Noah claimed to be visiting and have them verify his identity. Freddy and Martha looked incredibly pissed off. They fought it every step of the way, but eventually had to cooperate to ‘clear their son’s name.’ My heart was beating so fast it physically hurt. I kept my eyes glued to the police monitor. A few minutes later, the video feed connected again. Noah’s face popped up, crystal clear. His mannerisms, his expressions, they were completely flawless. On the screen, he let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “What the hell is your problem?” He aggressively yanked down the collar of his t-shirt, exposing the distinct tattoo on his collarbone. “You need to stop this obsessive stalking. Stop making up these insane conspiracy theories and torturing my parents.” The precinct erupted in murmurs. Countless eyes turned to me, heavy with judgment and pity. My mind was a swirling mess of static. I completely tuned out the whispers. “I don’t accept this! A tattoo and a pixelated video mean absolutely nothing!” “Until I see him in person, this is all just a beautifully orchestrated lie!” Martha’s face turned a violent shade of purple. She stepped forward, practically snarling. “I’ve tried to be patient because you’re young! Did you stop taking your medication or something?!” “If you don’t back off right now, we are filing a massive civil suit for defamation. We will ruin your life.” Harrison walked over, looking utterly drained. “Enough. We are taking your statement, and then this circus is over.” “You’re an adult now, Pamela. You know there are legal consequences for this, right?” Everyone in the room had decided the case was closed. They had fully categorized me as a delusional, hysterical ex-girlfriend. But the terrible feeling in my gut hadn’t faded. In fact, it was screaming louder than ever. I threw my head back and stared Harrison dead in the eye. My voice shook, but the words were made of steel. “Tattoos can be copied. Videos can be faked.” “I demand that the local police take his live fingerprints right now. Run them through the federal database and match them against his DMV records.” “If the fingerprints are a one-hundred-percent match, I will walk away.” 04 The temperature in the precinct seemed to drop below freezing. Harrison just wanted this nightmare to end. He wanted to shut me up permanently. So, he nodded. “Contact the local department. Have them fingerprint the subject on-site. Pull his state ID records and run a live digital comparison.” Harrison’s voice was flat and commanding. The inter-departmental request was processed instantly. Minutes later, the two sets of fingerprint data were uploaded to the precinct’s system. The matching algorithm began to run. Waiting for those results was pure psychological torture. I curled up on the hard plastic waiting room chair, my entire body ice cold. My fingernails dug so hard into my palms they almost drew blood. My parents stood right beside me, their faces lined with deep worry. On the video feed, the imposter and the Lawsons looked completely bored and indifferent. Everyone was just waiting for the final proof that I was insane. A sharp electronic chime echoed through the room. The system generated the final biometric report. A junior officer printed it out and handed it to Harrison. Harrison scanned the document. His expression grew incredibly dark. He walked over and shoved the paper directly into my face. “Read it, Pamela.” “A flawless match. The kid in the video is Noah Lawson.” I froze. The blood in my veins turned to slush. My trembling hand reached out to take the paper. The black-and-white text was agonizingly clear. A perfect biometric match. How was this possible? A fingerprint is entirely unique. How could it match? “Are you finally done playing games?” Harrison sounded completely exhausted. He waved a hand at a uniformed officer, preparing to book me for filing a false police report and wasting municipal resources. Freddy and Martha looked incredibly relieved. The smug, vicious mockery returned to their eyes. “We told you she was crazy. Now you can finally give it a rest. Once the cops are done with you, our lawyers are going to have a field day.” An officer grabbed my arm, pulling me up from the chair. My legs felt like lead. But the screaming in my gut refused to stop. No. Something was wrong. Every single detail of this felt completely unnatural. I violently yanked my arm out of the officer’s grip and yelled out. “Which finger did you scan?!” The entire precinct went dead silent. Harrison frowned, looking genuinely confused. “The system defaults to the right index finger. Why?” My heart felt like it was going to explode. I scrambled to pull my phone out of my pocket, opened the photo gallery, and shoved the screen an inch from Harrison’s nose. “Look at this!” My voice was raw and completely unhinged. Harrison casually glanced at the screen. A split second later, his entire body went rigid. He stared at the photo of the hand holding the plane tickets. A tidal wave of absolute horror washed over his eyes. The air in the room completely vaporized. The junior officer noticed his captain’s reaction and tried to ask what was wrong, but Harrison silenced him with a vicious hand gesture. He snapped his head up, his eyes locking onto Freddy and Martha, who were currently walking toward the exit. “Lock the doors! Nobody leaves this building!” Harrison roared the order. He grabbed his radio, his words firing off like bullets. “Contact the local department! Arrest the suspect in the video immediately!” “They are lying!”

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1 The female doctor looked at me with such gentle eyes. The moment I woke up, my heart started hammering uncontrollably in my chest. “You are so pretty. Could you be my mom?” I couldn’t help but ask her. It was only later that I learned the woman pacing outside the hospital room, secretly peeking through the glass and sighing heavily, was the woman who actually used to be my mother. She had found her biological daughter, and terrified that I would somehow get in the way of their perfect reunion, she paid someone to completely erase all my memories of her. “Taran, do not blame me for being cruel,” she must have whispered to herself at the time. “Sloane is so fragile. She cannot survive without me.” “But you are different. You are so bright and resilient. Even without a mother, you will be absolutely fine.” “So, I have to ask you to make this sacrifice. You just need to forget me completely.” She was right about one thing. I was a very bright, resilient girl. … The beautiful doctor blinked, clearly taken aback by my question. She offered a soft smile. “Sweetheart, you just got out of surgery.” “You need to rest. Do not overthink things right now.” She hurried out of the room, looking a little flustered, and practically ran straight into my former mother, who had been hiding in the hallway. “Mrs. Kensington, you are still here?” Caroline Kensington didn’t answer directly. She just smoothed a hand over her meticulously styled blowout. “How is Taran doing?” “The patient is physically stable. But aside from entirely forgetting you, she seems to have lost quite a few other memories as well. Do you want to go in and see her?” Beneath her long hair, the woman’s expression twisted into something complicated. “I think it is best if I do not. If I go in there and she sees my face, she might subconsciously latch onto me again.” “It would just be too messy.” The doctor let out a heavy sigh. “The human brain is an incredibly complex structure. We performed the displacement procedure on her hippocampus, which houses memory storage.” “But the surgery wasn’t flawless. Taran has forgotten a lot more than we anticipated. She doesn’t even remember where she lives.” “She is probably absolutely terrified right now. Are you sure you don’t want to check on her?” “How annoying.” Caroline frowned deeply. But then, as if justifying it to herself, her posture relaxed. “Fine. After all, I am the mother she loved the most.” “I will let her see me one last time. Consider it a reward for being such a good girl and going through with the surgery.” She walked into the hospital’s public restroom, pumped a handful of cheap hand soap, and smeared it directly into her expensive hair. Then, she put on a surgical mask and a pair of dark sunglasses before finally pushing open the door to my room. I stared at the bizarrely dressed woman walking toward me. I blinked, a strange sense of familiarity washing over me. “Hi, you look really familiar. Do we know each other?” Caroline instinctively touched her face, looking surprised. Only after verifying her mask and sunglasses were firmly in place did she let out a quiet breath of relief. She leaned down beside the hospital bed, gently patting my head. Her eyes crinkled in a warm smile. “Did you really forget me?” “I suppose it is for the best. If you recognized me, you would probably just start…” Looking closely at this woman with weird, sticky gel globbed in her hair, I honestly just felt a wave of disgust. “Excuse me, could you tell me who you are?” I hesitated for a second, then couldn’t stop myself from scooting away from her, pressing my back against the opposite rail of the bed. “And also, could you please back up a little? You look… kind of gross.” Even behind the dark lenses and the mask, I could visibly see her face freeze. It took her a long time to finally speak. “I am your aunt.” “You were in an accident a few days ago. You suffered a traumatic brain injury.” Oh. She was my family. A sudden wave of guilt hit me. She was nice enough to come visit me in the hospital, and I had just called her gross to her face. “I am so sorry. I can be a little too blunt sometimes.” I quickly tried to fix it. “You are not gross. You just look a little… sticky.” The moment the words left my mouth, I realized I had messed up again and immediately clamped my mouth shut. Caroline didn’t seem to care. She just sighed and said, “Since you are awake, you should go home to your own apartment.” She pulled a single brass key out of her designer bag and placed it in my palm. Then, she pulled out her phone and texted an address to mine. Just as I was about to nod and say okay, a girl who looked exactly my age stormed into the room. She looked absolutely furious. “Mom, what are you doing?” “Why are you letting her stay in the townhouse?!” Before I could process what was happening, the girl lunged at me, violently ripping the key out of my hand. Her sharp acrylic nails dug into my palm, slicing the skin open. It stung fiercely. I stared at Caroline in shock. “Auntie, what is she…” Caroline let out a long, heavy sigh. “Taran, do not take it personally.” “Your cousin Sloane was kidnapped when she was little. She suffered so much out there in the world, while you got to live in my house and soak up all the motherly love that rightfully belonged to her.” “You owe her for that.” “Tell you what. Apologize to her right now, and we can consider the matter settled.” But Sloane getting kidnapped had absolutely nothing to do with me. I physically couldn’t force an apology out of my mouth. This terrifyingly angry girl, Sloane, must be my aunt’s actual daughter. And I was just the outsider who lived in their house, relying on their charity. I couldn’t help but ask, “Auntie… where is my real mom?” For some reason, that single question seemed to trigger something dark in Sloane. Before my aunt could even open her mouth, Sloane shoved me hard against the mattress. “Taran Lund, you are nothing but a motherless piece of trash.” “What right do you have to even say the word ‘mom’?” I lost my balance and tumbled off the edge of the mattress, my back slamming hard against the metal frame of the bed. Pain shot up my spine. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the sudden, hollow ache in my chest. I stared blankly at the linoleum floor. “Oh… so my mom is already dead…” For some inexplicable reason, that made Sloane even angrier. She lunged at me, grabbing a fistful of my hair, and slapped me hard across the face. My cheek burned instantly. “Taran, you ungrateful bitch! How dare you talk about her like that?!” “I am talking about my own mother! What does that have to do with you?!” I completely snapped. I wasn’t going to take this kind of abuse from a stranger. I grabbed Sloane’s hair right back, and the two of us tumbled onto the floor, wrestling violently. I was physically stronger than her. Within seconds, I had her pinned to the ground and slapped her twice, hard, across the face. We were only pulled apart when the family’s private security guards rushed into the room. My aunt’s face was as cold as a glacier. “Taran Lund. The second you lose your memory, your true, violent nature comes out?” “Sloane was just trying to kindly remind you not to curse your own mother.” “And you throw a tantrum and attack her? How did I ever raise such a vicious, ungrateful animal?” I refused to back down. I glared straight into my aunt’s eyes. “Is it not true?!” “If my mom isn’t dead, then why would she abandon me at your house and let you and your daughter treat me like garbage?” “Tell me!” “Are you talking back to me?!” My aunt’s fury exploded. She ordered the guards to pin me to the floor. Then, she took a riding crop and brought it down hard, right across my back. She beat me until my skin tore and my shirt soaked through with blood. She only stopped when I finally blacked out from the pain. “Enough. I raised her for years. Beating her still breaks my heart.” When I finally woke up, it was two days later. My aunt was standing over me, rubbing a thick, medicated ointment onto the raw wounds on my back. She was still wearing the surgical mask and dark sunglasses, acting as if she were terrified I would actually see her face. When she noticed my eyes open, she let out a dramatic sigh. “Do not blame me for this. You made a mistake, and actions have consequences.” “Your cousin Sloane is still very upset. Since you are awake, get up and go upstairs to apologize to her.” My entire body throbbed in agony. I didn’t even have the energy to argue with her. I just turned my head away, refusing to look at her. Her voice dropped an octave, dripping with condescension. “You really are a spoiled brat. I gave you too much freedom in the past.” “When you do something wrong, you apologize. Were you born completely devoid of basic morals?” When I still refused to acknowledge her, she slammed the tube of ointment onto the nightstand. “Fine. If you want to play the martyr, you are not eating for three days.” “Let us see how long that precious pride of yours lasts when you are starving.” She stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. But my aunt didn’t actually make it three days. Seeing me dizzy and pale from starvation, she walked into my room on the second night holding a tray of food and a brand-new smartphone. She tossed the phone onto the bed. “Eat. Once you get some strength back, you are going to school tomorrow.” I felt completely lost. My mind was still an absolute void. The accident from a few days ago had practically wiped my brain clean. It wasn’t until I picked up the phone that instinct finally kicked in. I unlocked it and immediately scrolled through the contacts list. My gut told me that the contact named ‘Chloe’ was someone I was deeply connected to. Someone who could actually help me. I quickly typed out a message. “Hi. I have amnesia and can’t remember anything from my past.” “But looking at your name makes me feel safe. Do we know each other?” The reply came almost instantly. “Taran! You are finally online!” Before I could even type a response, a FaceTime call popped up on the screen. I hit accept, and the screen was instantly filled with a girl’s face. She looked like she was about to cry from sheer relief. “Taran! Oh my god, I am so glad you are okay!” The pure, unfiltered kindness radiating from this girl made my chest ache. I took a deep breath, trying to force my voice to stay steady. “Hi. My aunt told me I was in an accident a few days ago that caused me to lose my memory. Do you happen to know what actually happened?” “Your aunt?” “Are you talking about Caroline Kensington?” I nodded. The girl on the phone froze entirely. She stared at me for a long, heavy moment before speaking. “She isn’t your aunt, Taran. She is your mother…” It took her over half an hour to explain the entire, twisted nightmare to me. Years ago, while shopping in the city, Caroline lost her biological daughter. She was destroyed by the grief, spending her days staring at her daughter’s photos and crying until she made herself sick. Eventually, unable to bear the pain any longer, she went to a local orphanage and adopted me. She treated me like her own daughter, projecting all her desperate, shattered love onto me. And for years, I loved her back, fully believing she was my real mother. But everything came crashing down exactly one month ago. They found her real daughter, Sloane. From that day on, I became an absolute burden. The unwanted spare part in their perfect family. Terrified that I would cling to her and beg for the maternal love that now belonged strictly to Sloane, Caroline forced me to undergo a radical, experimental surgery and intensive hypnotherapy to completely eradicate every memory I had of her. I listened to the story, feeling nothing but a profound, suffocating sense of absurdity. No wonder she wore a mask and sunglasses every time she looked at me. She was terrified I would recognize her. But Caroline… the second I agreed to let them cut into my brain, my heart was already entirely dead to you. Why on earth would I ever cling to you? I had been unconscious for two days, and awake for two more. I hadn’t eaten a single thing in four days. I was starving. I looked down at the tray Caroline had brought me. It was a bowl of plain white rice, a few wilted vegetables, and a single, unappetizing slice of pure fat. I didn’t care. I picked up the bowl and started shoveling the rice into my mouth like an animal. I had barely swallowed two bites when the door to my room swung open. It was Sloane. She was holding a massive, expensive Alaskan king crab leg, elegantly peeling the meat off the shell. She watched me aggressively scarfing down the dry rice, a mocking sneer spreading across her face. “Look at you. Did you starve to death in a past life?” I ignored her completely. Suddenly, Sloane tossed the half-eaten crab leg directly onto the floor in front of my feet. “Go ahead. Pick it up and eat it. I wouldn’t want anyone saying I abuse you.” I finally looked up at her. “Are you psychotic?” She stared at me for exactly two seconds. Then, without any warning, she let out a piercing, hysterical scream. The sound instantly summoned Caroline. “What happened?!” She sprinted into the room and immediately pulled Sloane into her arms, checking her over frantically. Sloane blinked her massive eyes, and thick, dramatic tears instantly spilled down her cheeks. She looked like a terrified victim. “Mom… I was just worried Taran was still hungry, so I brought her some of my dinner to share.” “But then…” She choked back a sob, looking utterly traumatized. “Taran threw the crab leg on the floor… and then she tried to hit me!” “Taran Lund!” Caroline’s face went completely black with rage. “Sloane is kind enough to forgive you for attacking her yesterday, and she even brings you food, and you treat her like this?! How can you be this ungrateful?!” Here we go again. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. I didn’t even have the energy to defend myself. When I didn’t say a word, Caroline’s fury only grew. “Fine. Then you can forget about your allowance. You are getting nothing.” She wrapped a protective arm around Sloane and marched her out of the room. I didn’t care. This house had completely rejected me. I didn’t belong here anymore. And I had absolutely no business holding onto even a shred of hope for the woman who used to be my mother. My only real concern was that I had missed over a week of classes, and I was terrified of falling behind. So the next morning, the very first thing I did when I got to school was bury my face in my textbooks and study. It wasn’t until the lunch bell rang and I walked into the cafeteria that I realized I didn’t even have a student meal card. I checked my phone. My bank account balance was zero. My stomach was growling aggressively. Just as I was standing there, deeply embarrassed and trying to figure out what to do, a familiar voice called out to me. “Taran!” I turned around. It was Chloe. I gave her a small, tight nod. “I cannot believe Caroline is doing this to you! You loved her so much, even if…” “Even if you aren’t her biological daughter, you guys lived together for over ten years!” She was practically shaking with anger. “Taran, look at me.” “You are coming home with me tonight. You do not have to be her daughter anymore.” I hesitated, unsure if I was crossing a line. “Do not worry about it! My mom absolutely adores you. You probably don’t remember this, but my mom always used to say that if you were her daughter, she would be the happiest woman on earth.” When she saw I was still hesitating, Chloe grabbed my hand tightly. “I swear, I am not lying to you.” Looking into this girl’s fiercely genuine eyes, I finally nodded. When I went back to the Kensington estate that afternoon, I packed a single duffel bag with my clothes and walked straight toward the front door. Caroline, wearing her ridiculous surgical mask, was standing at the top of the grand staircase. “Where do you think you are going?” “Somewhere I am actually wanted.” “Tsk. Look at that temper. You are seriously pulling the ‘running away from home’ stunt?” Sloane, standing right beside her, let out a loud, mocking laugh. “You are an orphan, Taran. My mom is the only family you have in the entire world.” “If you leave her, where exactly are you going to go?” Caroline didn’t say a word, but the smug, self-assured look in her eyes proved she completely agreed with Sloane. Sloane wasn’t finished. “Besides, you used to be completely obsessed with my mom. You followed her around like a lost puppy.” “When you inevitably regret this in a few days, do not come crawling back here crying and begging her to let you back in.” She opened her mouth to spit out another insult, but my phone suddenly buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call. I hit accept. The screen lit up with the face of Chloe’s mother, Mrs. Evans. “Taran, sweetheart! Chloe told me you are coming to stay with us tonight! I have been waiting all afternoon! Are you on your way?”

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Fiona, a friend of my mother’s, had run out of options. Fleeing a marriage filled with infidelity and domestic abuse, she brought her daughter to our estate to seek refuge. My mother had originally planned a romantic candlelight dinner with my father. To keep Fiona company and offer her comfort, my mother canceled those plans. My father was furious. He gave my mother the silent treatment for weeks. Fiona, playing the part of the perfect, unobtrusive guest, volunteered to stay in the smallest guest room on the ground floor, the only one without an en-suite bathroom. Because of this, she always waited until the dead of night to shower. One night, she stepped out of the communal bathroom just as my father returned late from the office. She was completely naked. Letting out a startled gasp, she covered herself and sprinted back to her room. My father didn’t say a word. A few days later, he returned from a business trip. Along with a bottle of imported perfume for my mother, he casually handed Fiona a designer lipstick. My mother just smiled, remarking on how generous and open-minded my father had become. That fleeting happiness didn’t last. Three months later, on the exact date of my parents’ wedding anniversary, my mother suffered a massive psychological break. She ended her own life. 01 My mother, Eleanor, was never a picky woman, but if there was one thing she despised with every fiber of her being, it was fennel. My father, Charlie Valmont, loved my mother. For years, fennel was practically banned from the Valmont estate simply because the smell made her nauseous. Yet, a month before her death, my father suddenly developed a massive craving for roasted beef with fennel. Eager to please him, my mother ordered bags of the stuff on their anniversary. She was going to cook him a feast. Fiona stood in the kitchen, offering a sickly sweet smile as she praised my mother for finally catching on to what a man truly wanted. I was only seven at the time. My memories from back then are hazy in places, but I was always more observant than my mother. I vaguely remember one undeniable fact. Fiona’s favorite dish in the world was roasted beef with fennel. When I pointed this out to my mother, she just stroked my cheek with a gentle hand. She told me I was such a thoughtful little girl, Serena, and that she would make sure to leave a large portion just for Auntie Fiona. My mother was hopelessly oblivious. Since the day she married my father, she was kept like a prized canary in a gilded cage. She never lifted a finger, spending her days shopping, traveling, and floating through life. She never cared about my report cards. Whenever she picked me up from school, she would be dressed to the nines, only asking if I had fun that day. When I handed her a test with a perfect score, pouting because she didn’t seem to care, she would just pull me into a tight hug and promise to take me out for ice cream. Her hugs always smelled like expensive vanilla. They were warm. Safe. After she died, I would squeeze my eyes shut, desperately trying to recall the warmth of her embrace. But all I could smell was the lingering, pungent stench of fennel coming from the kitchen. 02 My father was a capable, high-powered CEO. To the outside world, he was utterly devoted to his wife. When my mother died, he played the part of the grieving widower perfectly. At the funeral, he wept until his knees gave out, leaning on a tombstone as the cold rain fell. But a CEO is always busy. Once the tears dried, he washed his face and adjusted his tie. He had a multimillion-dollar acquisition dinner to attend that evening. Back at the sprawling estate, our head housekeeper held me as I cried. Fiona was busy hugging her own daughter, weeping softly. When Fiona finished crying, she knelt in front of me. She looked me in the eye and promised that Auntie Fiona would love me just as much as my mother did. The housekeeper glared at her, shoving her away with a protective arm. When my father returned that night, Fiona looked up at him with tear-filled, pitiful eyes. My father let out a heavy sigh, lifting a hand to brush a stray tear from her cheek. She took a step back, her voice barely a whisper. She told him they couldn’t keep making mistakes. My father’s expression darkened. He suddenly pulled her into a fierce embrace, his voice thick with authority. He asked if the living were supposed to spend the rest of their lives suffocating in guilt, insisting that she needed to stop putting everyone else first. Fiona buried her face in his chest, sobbing quietly. My father reached into his coat and pulled out a velvet-lined jewelry box. He murmured sweet nothings, telling her he had flown halfway across the country just to get this custom necklace for her. He asked if it made her happy. Fiona’s tears vanished, replaced by a radiant smile. She leaned up and kissed my father squarely on the lips. 03 Four months after my mother’s death, Fiona officially moved into the master bedroom. Her stomach was already showing a slight bump. At their intimate, lavish wedding, her smile outshone the diamond on her finger. When reading his vows, my father actually teared up. I heard the guests whispering. They said Fiona wasn’t a brainless trophy wife like Eleanor. They called her Charlie’s right-hand woman. Everyone agreed she was a force to be reckoned with. And just like that, she entered the Valmont family, carrying the male heir my father always wanted. Her daughter’s last name was legally changed. Little Lily was now the eldest young lady of the Valmont household. Without making a sound, Fiona systematically erased every trace of my mother. The clothes, the photos, the vanilla scented candles. All gone. I was too young to grasp the twisted games of adults. I only knew my mother was gone, and my chest physically ached from missing her. One night, unable to sleep, I sat at the top of the grand staircase, rolling my collection of glass marbles back and forth. They slipped from my fingers, scattering across the carpeted hallway and cascading down the polished wooden steps. The next morning, Fiona woke up early for her usual pregnancy stroll. She didn’t look down. Her foot caught a marble. She let out a blood-curdling scream as she tumbled down the entire flight of stairs. Fiona lost the baby. The doctors said she would never be able to conceive again. My father found me in the hallway. His eyes were bloodshot. He backhanded me so hard I tasted copper, pointing a trembling finger at my face. He screamed at me to go to hell and apologize to my unborn brother. I was terrified. I broke down sobbing, choking on my tears as I told him I just missed my mommy, and that mommy used to play marbles with me. The mention of her name acted like ice water. My father froze. Tears spilled from his eyes as he turned away, slamming his fist into the expensive wallpaper over and over again. 04 My father decided to ship me off to a boarding school in Europe. My grandmother was furious. She demanded to know how he could exile his own flesh and blood across the ocean at such a young age. My father’s voice was like frost. He told her that my very presence in the house was a trigger for Fiona’s trauma. He assured her I would have a trust fund and nannies, and that he had done his duty as a father. Grandmother just sighed, defeated. Lily had been eavesdropping. She trotted over, wrapping her little arms around my father’s leg. With a sugary sweet voice, she told him not to cry. She promised that even though the baby brother was gone, he still had his Lily. My father’s eyes softened. He patted her head, praising her for being such a good girl. He told her to start calling him Dad. I was outside in the courtyard, blindly kicking a soccer ball against the brick wall. The boy from the neighboring estate, Tristan Sinclair, hopped the wrought-iron fence. He walked up to me and held out a sparkling set of hair clips. He noticed that I hadn’t changed my hair accessories in days. He remembered that when Auntie Eleanor was around, I had a different ribbon for every day of the week. I pushed his hand away. I told him I didn’t want them because I couldn’t pay him back. He told me he didn’t care about being paid back. I still refused. When he asked why, I bit my lip and looked at my shoes. I told him I was being sent away, and that I was never coming back. Tristan stared at the grass for a long time. Then, he looked me dead in the eye and swore he was coming with me. He was a boy of his word. I have no idea what kind of war he waged with his wealthy parents, but a month later, he was on the same flight to London. Before we left, Lily cornered him in the driveway. Playing the polite, concerned angel, she warned him not to go. She called me a psycho who murdered her baby brother, asking if Tristan wanted to be the bad guy too. Tristan literally spat at her feet. He told her that her mother moved in with a fat belly while my mom’s grave was still fresh, and that they were the real monsters. Lily’s face turned beetroot red. 05 Tristan and I grew up in London together. Middle school, high school, and eventually university. He never left my side. One lazy afternoon, while he was watching me sketch in my studio, his phone buzzed. He took the call out in the hall. When he came back, he wouldn’t meet my eyes. He mumbled some excuse about a buddy needing a massive favor and said he had to leave. I gave him a perfectly understanding smile and told him to go do what he had to do. Later that evening, Lily’s Instagram feed, which she had blocked me from seeing for years, suddenly became public. There was a fresh post. The caption read: Received a runner-up prize for my painting and cried all night. Dad canceled all his meetings and flew out with Mom just to cheer me up! I’m the luckiest girl in the world! Attached was a photo of Lily, Fiona, and my father. A picture-perfect family standing in front of Big Ben. Lily was sticking her tongue out playfully while my father looked at her with pure adoration. I picked up my phone and dialed his number. Keeping my tone light, I asked if he was in London. There was a dead silence on the line. Several agonizing seconds passed before he cleared his throat. He claimed he didn’t want to distract me from my art projects, so he kept it quiet. What a remarkably considerate father. The Michelin-star restaurant they were dining at was exactly two blocks away from my flat. He crossed an ocean but couldn’t cross two streets to see his own flesh and blood. 06 Tristan came back to my flat hours past midnight. He reeked of expensive scotch. He slumped into a chair, staring blankly at me as I cleaned my brushes. After an eternity, the silence broke. He told me he couldn’t stay by my side anymore. I just looked at him. He swallowed hard, confessing that he was flying back to the States with Lily. As if terrified I would scream or beg, he rushed through his speech. He apologized for breaking his promise to marry me, claiming that it would break Lily’s heart if we stayed together. The studio window had blown open at some point. The London night air seeped in. It was freezing. I walked over to latch the window. Tristan was still sitting there, waiting for the explosion. Instead, I gave him a soft smile. I simply said okay, and told him he should pack his things. He froze. He clearly hadn’t expected me to let him off the hook so easily. His brain short-circuited. He nervously asked if I was planning some kind of revenge. I shook my head, my smile never wavering. I thanked him for keeping me company all these years and wished him nothing but happiness. Tristan studied my face. Seeing no trace of malice, he finally nodded. A flicker of pity crossed his eyes as he grabbed his coat. He told me that if I ever ran into trouble, his door was always open. I said sure. And then he was gone. I quietly took the two VIP concert tickets for his favorite indie band, the ones I had waited in the rain to buy for his birthday, and tossed them in the trash. My heart rate remained perfectly steady. It was the exact same feeling I had the day I accidentally saw the secret folder on his phone, the one filled with candid photos of Lily sleeping. Like absolutely nothing had happened. 07 But things do happen. Memories don’t just vanish. I still remembered the image of Fiona slipping out of the bathroom, moonlight casting a translucent glow over her bare skin. I remembered my father staring at her, completely captivated. I remembered how he stood in the hallway for a long time before marching into my mother’s bedroom. My mother had groaned in her sleep, sleepily asking him why he was so riled up in the middle of the night. He hadn’t answered. The only sound that followed was the heavy, animalistic panting echoing through the walls. Why did I remember that night so vividly? Because earlier that day, Lily had thrown a tantrum over my favorite porcelain doll. My mother, being the peacemaker, bought her an identical one. But Lily didn’t want the new one. She wanted mine. That night, I woke up to find my doll missing. I padded down the hall to Lily’s room and saw my doll tucked under her arm. Her bedroom door was wide open. That was when Fiona stepped out of the bathroom, putting on her little show of panic before scurrying back. I was just a kid. My mother was too pure for her own good. Pure to the point of sheer stupidity. When I babbled the story to her the next morning, trying to explain what I saw, she just laughed and ruffled my hair. She said it was no big deal, and that she would just move Auntie Fiona to a room with a private bath. I stammered, insisting that Fiona hadn’t been wearing any clothes. My mother shrugged it off, assuming Fiona had just run out of body wash and didn’t bother grabbing a robe since it was late and the house was asleep. Before I could argue, my mother spun her laptop around, pointing at designer dresses. She asked which one I wanted her to order for me. She was always smiling. Her eyes would crinkle at the corners. The maids would slack off right in front of her, gossiping in the kitchen about how clueless the madam was. She had a low tolerance for pain. If she nicked her finger slicing an apple, she would make a huge fuss. The staff would roll their eyes and call her a spoiled princess. But on the day she died, those same maids cried genuine tears. She was so obsessed with looking pretty. If she had known how grotesque a body looks after death, it would have broken her heart. 08 Six months ago, Tristan took a solo trip back to the States. He attended a high-profile charity gala and ran into a very sophisticated, elegant Lily. She was no longer the annoying brat from our childhood. She had been molded by obscene wealth and unconditional love. She went to Ivy League schools, could hold her own in conversations about modern art or hedge funds, and oozed confidence. When she saw Tristan, she didn’t flinch. She simply held out a manicured hand with a dazzling smile, suggesting they reintroduce themselves. Tristan was mesmerized. During his time back home, they stayed up late talking about their dreams, their passions, their futures. Lily played the role of the ultimate empath. She told him that I was fragile, that I needed him more than she did. She urged him to fly back to London to take care of me. Tristan’s throat tightened. Under the pale moonlight, he looked into her perfectly crafted, tragically beautiful eyes. For a long time, he couldn’t speak. Eventually, he gave a slow nod. When my private investigator sent me the surveillance photos of them that night, I casually texted Tristan, asking where he was. He replied that he was just chilling at home. He lied without missing a beat. He was walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Lily under the blooming magnolias. They were soulmates crossing paths at the wrong time. Half an hour later, Lily would fall asleep against the passenger window of his sports car. And he would pull out his phone, open his camera app, and take the only portrait photo he had ever taken in his life. 09 I learned at a very young age that absolutely no one in this world is reliable. The mother who called me her everything abandoned me because she couldn’t handle her own demons. The father who used to carry me on his shoulders abandoned me for a shinier, more obedient daughter. Who was left to trust? Over the years, my father practically pretended I didn’t exist. But I was a smart girl. I played the part of the dutiful, invisible daughter. If he didn’t want to see me, I stayed out of sight. But staying out of sight still required funding. I wasn’t like my mother. I didn’t throw tantrums or cry when I was wronged. I was perfectly content with the scraps I was given. If my father couldn’t give me love, I made sure he gave me cash. The quieter and more compliant I became, the more his underlying guilt gnawed at him. By the time I graduated, my bank accounts were incredibly healthy. Shortly after Tristan moved back to the States, I booked a flight home too. I brought back carefully selected gifts. A limited-edition watch for my father, a seasonal Birkin for Fiona, and a silk Hermès scarf for Lily. And for my mother’s memorial altar in the living room, I laid down a fresh bundle of fennel. My father’s face drained of color when he saw the pungent greens. I ignored his shock, turning to him with a bright smile. I cheerfully mentioned that since mom was in heaven, her allergies were probably gone, and she should finally get to taste the dish he loved so much. At dinner that night, Lily walked in with her arm looped through Tristan’s. Tristan immediately shifted, putting himself slightly in front of her like a human shield. Lily looked at me with a perfectly calculated expression of guilt. She softly reminded me that since Tristan and I had broken up, he was free to date whoever he wanted. She asked if I was mad at her. I offered a polite nod and a warm smile. I told her of course not. To ensure they bought it, I let out a self-deprecating sigh, asking if they really thought I was that petty. A shadow passed over Lily’s eyes. Tristan looked visibly relieved, but heavily burdened with guilt. He told me he was glad I was being mature about it, adding that Lily was totally innocent in all this. I chuckled. I agreed with him, stating I never blamed her. Then, I turned to Tristan and told him I had a gift for him too. I pulled out a beautifully framed, sealed canvas and handed it to him. I told him it was the painting I promised him. Tristan’s breath hitched. I took half a step closer, lowering my voice so only he could hear. I whispered that he didn’t have to worry—I left it completely unsigned, just like he wanted. Tristan gripped the frame tightly. For some reason, he couldn’t look me in the eye. 10 After dinner, my father called me into his private study. He wanted a one-on-one. He paced the Persian rug, clearing his throat. He said that since I was back, he wanted to finalize his will. He admitted that the bulk of his shares in the Valmont Corporation rightfully belonged to me. I put on a mask of hesitation. I asked about Fiona and Lily, reminding him that Fiona had helped build the company and had been by his side for over a decade. My father frowned, waving his hand dismissively. He acknowledged Fiona’s hard work and promised they would have trust funds to keep them comfortable. But at the end of the day, he looked at me and said I was his actual blood. His eyes were filled with a sudden, overwhelming paternal warmth as he told me I was the only one he truly trusted. When I had walked into the study, I deliberately left the heavy oak door slightly ajar. Right on cue, there was the faintest clink of fine china rattling against a saucer out in the hallway. I ducked my head, hiding a smirk, and let out a reluctant sigh. I told him that if that was what he wanted, I would accept it. Men are incredibly pragmatic creatures. He could spoil Fiona and Lily rotten, showering them with diamonds and affection. But when it came to his empire, the core of his power, blood was the only currency that mattered. It was only in matters of inheritance that he suddenly remembered the daughter he had tossed aside. A gentle knock interrupted us. Fiona glided into the room, carrying a tray of chamomile tea. She looked my father dead in the eye and smiled. She announced she was pregnant. 11 My father bolted out of his leather chair. The sheer joy on his face was blinding. He rushed over, practically shoving me out of the way, and scooped Fiona into his arms. He spun her around. The aging billionaire suddenly looked like a teenager who had just won the lottery. He demanded to know why she kept such miraculous news a secret. Fiona swatted his chest playfully. She claimed the pregnancy was early and she wanted to surprise him. Then, she let her gaze drift toward me. My father caught the look. The joy in the room plummeted into an icy tension. Fiona quickly smoothed things over. She mentioned she was two months along, and with Serena back home, it was a double celebration. My father kissed her forehead, declaring that she and the baby were the only celebration that mattered. Fiona then brought up Lily. She casually mentioned that Lily had submitted a piece to a prestigious international art competition. If she won, she expected my father to give her a massive reward. My father pinched Fiona’s nose affectionately, teasing that Lily’s art was just a cute hobby and she was just playing around. Fiona pouted, demanding to know what he would give her if she actually won. My father pretended to think about it. Then, as if finally remembering I was still standing there, his tone went flat. He turned to me and ordered me to leave, saying he had private matters to discuss with his wife. As my hand touched the brass doorknob, he called out to me one last time. His voice was devoid of any of the warmth from five minutes ago. He told me to forget everything he had said about the will, blaming it on the scotch. 12 I have an internal ledger. I remember everything people say, carefully weighing the value of their words to see how I can use them. Six months ago, when Tristan was packing his bags to leave London, he stopped by the door and asked for a birthday present. He asked for one of my paintings. I had always been an introvert, bordering on socially dead. I practically lived in my studio, which used to drive Tristan crazy. He used to hate my art. He constantly complained that my canvases stole the attention that rightfully belonged to him. But on that specific day, he begged for a piece. He explicitly asked me not to sign it. He claimed he wanted to appreciate the raw art without a signature distracting from the composition. I had looked at him, flashing a bright, innocent smile, and agreed. Tristan had whipped his head away like he’d been slapped. His words carried heavy weight on my ledger. So, I kept them locked in my memory. I delivered exactly what I promised. My father’s words carried weight, too. I wouldn’t forget them. I always keep my promises to others. And I make damn sure they reap what they sow.

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The moment the conference room doors closed, I knew the thirty-million-dollar contract was in the bag. I had barely snapped my laptop shut when my department manager, Valerie, marched over. She crossed her arms, her eyes raking over me with a sneer dripping in condescension. “Nice battle armor,” she mocked. “But honestly, as highly educated women in the corporate world, we really shouldn’t be subjecting ourselves to the male gaze.” I paused, genuinely confused, and offered a polite explanation. “I was hosting VIP clients. Dressing professionally is just basic respect, isn’t it? Besides, it was the pitch itself that won them over.” She immediately raised her voice, making sure the entire floor could hear. “Respect? The clients were all men, and you are the only woman in the office wearing a fitted dress today. Do you really think your little motives aren’t obvious? Stop being such a pick-me and wake up!” A male colleague tried to diffuse the tension. “Come on, Valerie, that is a bit harsh. Her presentation was completely flawless today…” She cut him off with a sharp glare. “Of course you men are defending her! This is textbook internalized misogyny. She has been completely conditioned by the patriarchy, and yet she stands there thinking she is just being a dedicated professional!” “If we women want to be taken seriously in this industry, we have to shed this toxic mindset.” She turned her venom back to me. “I suggest you come in bare-faced next time and let your actual skills do the talking. Stop embarrassing the rest of us.” … 1 When you reach a certain level of sheer, unadulterated disbelief, you really cannot help but laugh out loud. I had put on a little light makeup and worn a perfectly tailored, modest pencil dress, and suddenly I was the poster child for setting women back a century. “Valerie, I think you need to spend a little less time scrolling through internet buzzwords,” I said, my voice cool and even. “You just regurgitate whatever you hear online without actually understanding what the words mean.” “With your binary, black-and-white way of thinking, you are the one who desperately needs some corporate retraining.” Her face instantly mottled into an ugly shade of plum. Clearly, she had never been talked back to by a subordinate in public before. “Audrey Sinclair! How dare you speak to me like that?!” She slammed her hand on the desk, her manicured finger pointing inches from my nose. “I am your superior! Have you completely forgotten your place?” I didn’t back down an inch. I threw her own logic right back in her face. “My place? Didn’t you just say we should let our skills do the talking? I just closed a thirty-million-dollar deal. Mind showing me what your skills have accomplished lately?” She was a nepotism hire dropped into the manager role out of nowhere. She had absolutely nothing to show for her time here. Furious and entirely out of arguments, she raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. The crack echoed through the silent office. My cheek instantly burned, the sting radiating down my jaw before I could even process what had happened. Having resorted to violence, she suddenly seemed to find her twisted sense of confidence again. She stood over me, panting heavily as she shrieked. “Let me tell you something, Audrey! I know you bring in numbers! But every single person in this office knows exactly how you get those numbers!” “While you are in this building, I am your boss! You will learn some respect! Do not think for a second that just because you use a pretty face to seduce men into signing a few contracts, you can parade around my department acting like you own the place!” The moment the words left her mouth, a few coworkers who were always deeply jealous of my commission checks swarmed in like vultures, eagerly backing her up. “Exactly. Who knows what kind of ‘skills’ she is using behind closed doors. Gutter tactics will never earn real respect.” “Who was she even dressing up for? Valerie was trying to do her a favor by calling her out, and she just threw it in her face.” “Right? The rest of us make a living on actual talent, not by throwing ourselves at clients. You should be thanking her, Audrey.” I pressed a hand to my burning cheek. A hot, suffocating rage clawed up my throat, and I was about to tear into all of them, consequences be damned. Suddenly, Director Collins grabbed my arm, his grip tight. “Alright, alright, that is enough. Audrey, just let it go for now. You worked hard today. Come on, let’s grab some lunch and cool off.” He practically dragged me toward the elevators, lowering his voice to a frantic whisper. “Why are you going head-to-head with her? She is Richard Harrington’s only daughter! We are just employees here, Audrey. We cannot afford to piss off the CEO’s kid!” Richard Harrington’s daughter? That was funny. When exactly did my father have another daughter without telling me? 2 Before I could voice my amusement, Director Collins had already dragged me into the employee cafeteria. He spent the next ten minutes nervously lecturing me about keeping my head down and surviving corporate politics, while I pushed my salad around my plate, entirely devoid of an appetite. Suddenly, my phone buzzed violently against the table. The company’s massive group chat was blowing up, notifications rolling in like a slot machine. I unlocked the screen. The most recent messages were photos and voice notes sent by Valerie. She had gone into my cubicle the second I left. The photos were entirely of my private belongings hidden in my desk drawers. A pair of spare pantyhose I had meant to take home to wash, a pair of emergency stilettos I kept under my desk, my favorite lipstick, and a bottle of expensive perfume. Right below the photos was a voice note. I pressed play, and Valerie’s sickly sweet, theatrical voice poured out of my speaker. “Attention everyone! From now on, our department is officially cracking down on toxic workplace culture! We will absolutely not tolerate anyone selling their bodies or playing into the male gaze! Things like lipstick, perfume, and sheer pantyhose are hereby banned from this office!” “Now, I just confiscated some filthy contraband from a certain coworker’s desk. In the spirit of recycling, I am hosting a little auction right here in the chat!” “Does anyone want to bid on our resident ‘Project Goddess’s’ personal items? Highest bidder takes all!” My stomach violently turned over. Pure disgust hit me so hard I thought I was going to throw up my lunch. To make it infinitely worse, a few of the creepier guys from the IT and sales departments were actually responding in the chat, dropping dollar amounts and bidding on my things. I cursed under my breath, shoved my chair back, and sprinted all the way back to the department floor. When I reached my desk, the scene waiting for me made my blood boil over. Valerie hadn’t just raided my drawers. She was currently sitting in my chair, swiping aggressively through my personal, password-protected laptop. “What the hell do you think you are doing?!” I lunged forward and slammed the laptop shut, nearly catching her fingers in the keyboard. “That is my personal computer! You have absolutely no right to touch it!” Valerie jumped, startled by my sudden appearance, but immediately recovered, tilting her chin up with sickening entitlement. “What am I doing? A routine inspection! You bring this device into my office, so I have every right to make sure you aren’t stealing company secrets. Or, you know, maybe you were trading insider info with that client earlier today? After all, with women like you… well, who knows what you are capable of?” I was trembling with rage. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the edge of my laptop, opening my mouth to rip her to shreds. Before I could speak, a guy from accounting with thick glasses and a sleazy smile sidled up to the desk. “Hey, Valerie, I just sent the Venmo. I am here for the pantyhose.” Valerie gave him a knowing smirk, pulled my sheer tights out of my drawer, and handed them right over to him. “You look like such a quiet guy, who knew you were into this kind of trash? Take them. Just make sure the payment clears.” “Valerie Harrington!” I screamed, my voice echoing through the open floor plan. “You have no right to sell my property! I am not selling anything!” “No right? I have every right! This pathetic, male-gaze garbage does not belong in my office! I am purifying our workplace environment!” The audacity was blinding. I fired back, making sure my voice carried. “Basic grooming and professional attire are standard corporate etiquette! Because I wear a fitted dress and want to look nice, suddenly I am catering to men? By your insane logic, should I be wearing thermal sweatpants under a skirt just to prove I am a decent woman?!” My voice was loud enough to draw a crowd. The coworkers who had been quietly watching the drama unfold started whispering among themselves. A few people couldn’t suppress a snicker, clearly realizing just how unhinged Valerie’s crusade was actually becoming. Her face burned under the shifting attention. Her eyes darkened with absolute malice. “Are you psychotic, Audrey?! Watch your mouth, or I promise I will make sure you never work in this industry again!” I was done entertaining her delusions. “Move. I have actual work to do.” I kept my face like stone, reaching out to pack away my laptop. 3 Instead of moving, she slammed her hands down hard on the lid of my laptop, stopping me from taking it. With her other hand, she quickly snatched my phone off the desk, using my face to unlock it before I could react, and pulled up my messages. “Work? You mean messaging various CEO’s and offering your ‘deep, personal’ services?” Her voice was shrill, projecting to the entire room. “Here, let me read a little excerpt so we can all learn from our top performer!” She cleared her throat, putting on a sickeningly breathy, mocking tone. “‘Mr. Sterling, thank you so much for everything today. I would love to treat you to dinner sometime soon!’ Wow, look at that! A blatant, shameless invitation! Tell me, Audrey, did you not know Mr. Sterling is a married man? His wife is notoriously vicious, and you are throwing yourself at him? You really have no shame, do you?” I was honestly amazed by her stupidity. “It is a standard business pleasantry after closing a deal. How else am I supposed to phrase it?” “Pleasantries? Then explain this!” She tapped on a different chat. The contact name was saved as Papa Sinclair. The messages in that thread were obviously casual. It was me complaining about how exhausting work was, and the other person gently reminding me to eat on time. It was deeply affectionate. “Oh, wow! Look how intimate you are with this ‘Papa Sinclair’ character! You are literally whining to him like a spoiled brat!” “Calling him Daddy? That is disgusting! Is this your twisted little kink? Which filthy rich old man is keeping you on his payroll, Audrey? No wonder you keep landing massive accounts. I bet your little sugar daddy is pulling all the strings behind the scenes!” I stared at her face, completely twisted with jealousy and spite, and the cold smirk on my lips only grew wider. What an absolute idiot. She couldn’t even recognize my father’s profile picture or the way he texted, yet she was parading around pretending to be his daughter? When I graduated college, my dad and I made a bet. I promised I would join the company undercover, without using his name, and secure one hundred million dollars in contracts purely on my own merit. If I did, I would immediately take over as the General Manager. I was literally one day away from crossing the finish line, only to be publicly degraded by this clown pretending to be the heiress to the empire. Alright, ‘sister’, I thought. If you want to play pretend, I will play along. Let’s see how much longer you can enjoy the spotlight. Seeing that she had absolutely no intention of getting out of my chair, and was instead scrolling deeper into my private messages looking for more ammunition, my patience snapped completely. I turned on my heel, marched straight into her private glass office, grabbed her unlocked MacBook from her desk, and walked right back out. “What are you doing?! Put my laptop down!” she shrieked, genuine panic lacing her voice. I ignored her completely, my fingers swiping rapidly across her trackpad. I had heard the nasty little rumors floating around the water cooler about Valerie’s late-night extracurricular activities in the office. Everyone knew, but because of her title, no one dared to say a word. I found a hidden folder on her desktop and double-clicked the video file inside. A second later, the unmistakable, explicit sounds of heavy panting and moaning blasted at maximum volume from her laptop speakers. “Holy shit… is that Valerie’s voice?” “Wow, she really gets wild… she filmed herself hooking up right here in the office?” The crowd of coworkers instantly erupted into chaos. Shocked gasps and loud whispers filled the room. All the blood drained from Valerie’s face. She lunged at me, practically tackling me to snatch the laptop away and slam it shut. She was shaking violently, pointing a trembling finger at my face. “Audrey Sinclair! Stop trying to frame me! I am completely innocent! You definitely snuck that filthy file onto my computer just now to ruin my reputation!” “For all we know, you are the star of that video! We all know there is nothing you won’t do to close a deal!” But the damage was done. The way the staff was looking at her now was dripping with suspicion and disgust. Realizing she was losing control, she straightened her spine and loudly played her ultimate trump card. “I didn’t want to have to reveal this to everyone, but I am the CEO’s daughter! I came into this company undercover specifically to clean up the toxic culture my father hates! Employees like Audrey, who sleep their way to the top and maliciously slander their superiors, are exactly the kind of trash I am here to take out!” She glared at the crowd, her threat crystal clear. “Anyone standing here laughing at me right now better think long and hard about whether they still want a paycheck from my father’s company tomorrow!” 4 Her little display of power worked instantly. The coworkers who had just been snickering at her suddenly went dead silent, their faces draining of color. A few of the women who had always hated my success were the first to jump back onto her sinking ship. “That is so vicious! Audrey is dirty herself, so she tries to drag our manager down with her!” “Exactly! Trying to ruin another woman’s reputation with a fake video is pure evil!” “And she calls herself a professional? She just hates women! She wants us all to be desperate for male validation like she is! She is the ultimate pick-me!” I didn’t even bother looking back at the flock of pathetic kiss-asses buzzing around her. I packed up my personal laptop, grabbed the printed contracts, and walked out the door to go finalize my thirty-million-dollar deal. The meeting went incredibly smooth. As we signed the final page, the client’s representative offered me a sympathetic smile. “Miss Sinclair, we have heard some of the nasty rumors floating around your office. But let me assure you, your expertise and the brilliant strategy you pitched speak entirely for themselves. It is a pleasure doing business with you.” On my drive back to the office, I pulled out my phone and called my dad. “Hey Dad. Mission accomplished. I officially crossed the hundred-million mark today. Time for you to keep your end of the bet and start the handover, right?” His booming, proud laugh echoed through the car speakers. “Hahaha! That’s my girl! A promise is a promise. I am getting the paperwork ready now!” I paused for a second, then casually threw a curveball. “Hey Dad… you never stepped out on Mom, did you?” My dad’s voice instantly shot up an octave, dripping with pure survival instinct. “What?! Absolutely not! I swear on my life, your mother is the only woman I have ever loved! Who the hell is filling your head with that garbage?” “Nothing, just checking.” I hung up the phone, a frigid smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. The second I stepped off the elevator and back onto my department floor, I could hear Valerie holding court, surrounded by her loyal subjects. “The executive board is holding a leadership transition meeting in a few days. I am pretty sure they are going to announce my promotion to General Manager,” she said, coyly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do not worry, I remember exactly who stood by me today. There will be plenty of perks for all of you once I am in charge.” The flattery rolled in like a tidal wave. “You are amazing, Valerie! This is what it looks like when a strong woman rises on her own merit, without needing a man!” “Exactly! So much better than certain people who have to use the casting couch to get ahead!” “We will follow you anywhere, Valerie!” She caught me walking past and shot me a triumphant, mocking glare. “What is wrong, Audrey? Jealous? Girls who rely on men will never, ever reach the top floor.” I ignored her completely, walking to my desk to focus on polishing my final executive report. Keep dancing, I thought. The higher you climb, the harder the concrete is going to feel when you hit it. Over the next few days, the office turned into a minefield of petty sabotage. My morning coffee suddenly tasted like dirty dishwater. Dead cockroaches mysteriously appeared on my keyboard. Important printed documents vanished into thin air. I didn’t waste energy fighting invisible ghosts. I simply packed my laptop and worked out of the coffee shop downstairs. Soon enough, the day of the executive board meeting arrived. I chose a razor-sharp, immaculate designer suit. My makeup was flawless, my heels clicked with authority, and I walked into the lobby radiating absolute control. I barely made it past the security gates before Valerie stepped into my path. She looked me up and down, a flash of pure envy in her eyes before she forced her face into a scowl. “Audrey! How many times do I have to tell you?! You are forbidden from dressing like a cheap escort in this building! Who exactly are you trying to seduce today?” I looked at her. She was wearing a highly extravagant, incredibly expensive dress that practically screamed for attention. I smiled coldly. “Manager Harrington, you seem pretty dressed up yourself today.” She lifted her chin, practically suffocating on her own superiority complex. “Me? I am entirely bare-faced! I am all natural. Unlike some people who have to spackle on chemicals to hide how ugly they are on the inside!” I laughed. Without a moment of hesitation, I unzipped my tote bag, pulled out a small travel bottle of micellar cleansing water, popped the cap, and splashed it directly into her face. Valerie let out a bloodcurdling shriek. The liquid cascaded down her cheeks, instantly melting her meticulous eyeliner and thick mascara into black rivers. Her heavy foundation washed away in patches, leaving her face a blotchy, disastrous mess resembling a ruined oil painting. “Bare-faced, huh? Then what exactly is melting off your chin right now?” “Audrey Sinclair! I am going to kill you!” she screamed, her body trembling with absolute fury as she lunged forward, claws out, aiming for my face. Director Collins materialized out of nowhere and grabbed her arms, pulling her back. “Valerie! Stop! The board meeting is starting in ten minutes! Go to the bathroom and fix your face, right now!” She let herself be dragged away, throwing a look of pure, homicidal hatred over her shoulder that could have burned a hole through my chest. I calmly adjusted my lapels and stepped into the private elevator, taking it to the top floor executive suites. As I approached the grand mahogany doors of the main boardroom, a receptionist stepped in front of me with a tight, practiced smile. “I apologize, Miss Sinclair. Today’s executive transition meeting is strictly by invitation only. Your name is not on the clearance list, so I cannot let you inside.” Valerie, having scrubbed the worst of the disaster off her face, arrived down the hall with her little entourage just in time to hear it. She immediately started gloating. “Well, well. Look who had the nerve to show up.” “You really don’t know when to quit, do you? Did you actually think they would let trash like you into the boardroom?” I looked at the receptionist, a calm, amused smile playing on my lips. “Why don’t you make a quick phone call upstairs and double-check that list?” The receptionist’s smile faltered into annoyance. She clearly thought I was just being difficult. With a dramatic sigh, she picked up the internal phone on her podium and murmured a question to the executive secretary inside. A few seconds later, the color completely drained from her face. She slammed the phone down, practically jogged out from behind the podium, and bowed to me at a perfect ninety-degree angle, her voice shaking violently. “Miss Sinclair! I am so sorry, please go right in! Your seat is at the absolute head of the table. Let me escort you!”

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1 Two hours ago, Josh was still wearing a frayed cotton t-shirt. He kissed my forehead, wearing a perfectly guilty look. “Babe, sorry—I have to work a shift at the site today, even on my birthday,” he whispered. “When I get paid, I’ll take you to a nice dinner,” he added with a tense smile. For his birthday, I’d spent six months of savings on the drone he’d always wanted. I took a bus to the suburbs to test it and film a birthday surprise. The drone rose, and the live feed showed a stunning multimillion-dollar mansion. Its backyard was set for a luxurious birthday party. A little boy ran and hugged a man tightly, shouting, “Daddy!” The man lifted the boy with adoration, kissing his cheek. Beside them, a woman in silk adjusted the man’s expensive tie. They shared a slow, intimate kiss. The perfect family looked like a movie scene. But miles away, sitting in the grass, I stared at the screen, feeling thrown into ice. Through the clear lens, the man’s profile was unmistakable. It was my husband, Josh. … I gripped the controller so hard my knuckles turned white. A massive, suffocating wave of absurdity crashed over me. My hands shook violently as I dialed Josh’s number. On the live feed, the man who had just been smiling like a loving father felt his pocket vibrate. His expression immediately shifted. He quickly walked behind a massive marble pillar on the patio, making absolutely sure the mother and son could not see him before pulling out his phone. “Hey baby, why are you calling me right now?” Through the speaker, he intentionally breathed heavily, making his voice sound exhausted and out of breath. I stared right at his relaxed, completely composed face on my screen. I bit down on my tongue so hard I tasted copper, forcing myself to stay calm. “Honey, it is your birthday today. Do you want me to bring you some food?” “No! Please don’t!” His tone grew urgent, dripping with fake, desperate apology. “The site manager is breathing down my neck. We are unloading cement right now. The dust is terrible, and I do not want you breathing it in. We will just have to skip my birthday this year. I am so sorry, babe.” On the screen, he was casually leaning against a cold marble pillar, lazily loosening the collar of his spotless, custom tailored suit. The second I hung up the phone, a heavy tear smashed onto my screen. Seven years of bleeding myself dry for this man had just morphed into a vicious slap across the face, shattering every single illusion I had ever built. I took a deep breath and pushed the joystick. The drone silently glided closer. I tapped the capture button, snapping crystal clear photos of the villa’s address plaque, the license plate of the Porsche parked in the driveway, and a front facing shot of the woman. After recalling the drone, I took another shaky breath and immediately sent the three photos to Riley, an old college friend who now worked in high-end real estate. I need you to look up the owner of this house and this car. It is an emergency. Less than five minutes later, Riley called me back. Her voice was thick with barely contained gossip. “Sienna, why are you digging into this? This is literally the most exclusive neighborhood in the city. Riverside Estates, Villa Eight. That is the marital home of Genevieve Kensington, the heiress to the Kensington Empire. The car is registered under her name too.” My hands and feet were freezing. My voice came out like cracked glass. “And her husband… what is his name?” “The heir to the Roth Group! Josh Roth!” Riley clicked her tongue through the speaker. “They had a massive corporate merger masquerading as a wedding five years ago. It was on the front page of every magazine. Hang on, I will send you a screenshot of the article right now.” My phone buzzed. A news clipping popped up on my screen. The bold headline read: Roth and Kensington Empires Unite. Josh Roth Spends Millions to Marry Genevieve Kensington. In the attached photo, the man wearing a bespoke tuxedo, smiling with aristocratic grace, was none other than the “broke” husband who ate cheap ramen with me in our tiny apartment every single night. I stared unblinkingly at the screen. The entire world started spinning. The heir to the Roth Group? Five years ago, he fell to his knees in front of me, covered in fake blood. He told me he made a catastrophic mistake at the construction site and destroyed a highly sensitive piece of equipment. He said if he did not pay them three hundred thousand dollars, he would rot in prison. To save him, I didn’t hesitate. I sold the only thing my dead parents left me, my childhood home, at a massive loss just to get him the cash. For the last seven years, he only gave me three hundred dollars a month for groceries. I was too terrified to even go to a doctor when I was sick. I worked three brutal jobs, burning my youth away to help him pay off a debt that never existed. He was never poor. He was a filthy rich heir playing a sick game. 2 I walked back into that claustrophobic, sunless, four hundred square foot apartment. I completely emptied the bottom drawer of my dresser to find our marriage certificate. I remembered the day we met seven years ago. He was just a “broke” college student working three jobs. But when I fell violently ill, he spent his last ten dollars to buy me fever medicine. I truly believed I had found the most genuine man on earth. I ate thousands of meals of plain pasta with him, believing I was supporting a struggling entrepreneur. I had no idea I was just a prop in his little game of house. I had cherished this little red booklet like a holy relic. I snapped a photo of the inside page and texted it to a friend who worked as a lawyer. Is this marriage license legally binding? The reply popped up in seconds. Your name is not in the system. This certificate is completely fake. It is the kind you buy off the street for twenty bucks. Those few words twisted in my chest like a rusted blade. Fake. I remembered the day we “signed” it. He was supposedly flat broke. He slipped the pull tab of an aluminum soda can onto my ring finger. With tears in his eyes, he swore to me. “Babe, I know you are suffering now. But one day, even if it kills me, I am going to make you the most envied Mrs. Roth in the entire world!” I was a sobbing mess back then. I thought that as long as we had love, this rotting apartment felt like a palace. For the last seven years, I worked three jobs a day for him. I ate boiled cabbage. I completely destroyed my physical health. From the very beginning, I was nothing but an illegal, non existent mistress. At eleven o’clock that night, the front door rattled. Josh walked in, wearing his dusty, cheap clothes. He even had realistic looking white drywall dust smeared on his pant legs. He was holding a tiny, five dollar grocery store cupcake. “Babe, I am home. The foreman absolutely refused to let me leave early. I am so sorry I put you through this life.” He walked toward me, his face painted with pure sorrow, opening his arms for a hug. Smelling the artificial dust he had deliberately rubbed on himself, I took a quiet half step back. I turned around, pulled the heavy box containing the DJI drone from the cabinet, and handed it to him. Josh froze. His eyes instantly welled up with tears. He grabbed my hands, his voice thick with emotion. “Babe, how much did this cost? We are still trying to save for a house down payment. You barely even eat meat to save pennies… Return it. I don’t deserve something this nice.” His acting was flawless. The guilt in his eyes was perfectly calibrated. But a split second later, without even opening the box to look at the drone, he casually tossed it onto the corner of our junk filled sofa. Of course he didn’t care. Why would a man who drove a Porsche to a luxury villa give a damn about a cheap, entry level toy? “I am going to take a shower. I am filthy.” He wiped a hand over his face and turned into our cramped bathroom. The shower water started running. My face was completely blank. I walked over to the table and picked up his backup phone, the one with the cracked screen. He guarded his passwords like his life depended on it, but I didn’t even try to unlock it. I woke the screen up and swiped right, pulling up the widget menu that didn’t require a passcode. The built-in health app displayed his step count for the day. 2105 steps. A manual laborer who spent the entire afternoon hauling cement only walked two thousand steps? I let out a cold laugh. My finger swiped further down, opening the smart travel widget cache. A navigation route that ended exactly two hours ago glared brightly on the screen. Destination: Riverside Estates, Villa Eight. From inside the bathroom, I could hear Josh happily humming a pop song over the running water. He was clearly in a fantastic mood. 3 The next morning, I put on a faded uniform and knocked on the grand front doors of Villa Eight in Riverside Estates, posing as a temp cleaner. The local domestic workers group chat had mentioned this house was desperately hiring extra hands for an upcoming fifth wedding anniversary party. With years of part time cleaning experience under my belt, I blended in perfectly. Genevieve had zero arrogance. When she saw me wiping down the jewelry cabinet in the master bedroom, she actually smiled and handed me a bottle of cold water. “Excuse me, could you please place that sapphire necklace back into the safe? I don’t want it gathering dust.” She looked at the blindingly bright necklace, her eyes softening with absolute adoration. “Three years ago, I had a massive hemorrhage after giving birth. My husband was terrified. He canceled a multi million dollar contract and stayed awake by my bed for half a month straight. He bought me this necklace as a blessing for my health.” Hearing the timeline of three years ago, the rag in my hand froze. My fingertips turned to ice. Three years ago, my appendix ruptured. I rolled around on the floor of our apartment, screaming in agony. Josh rushed me to the emergency room. He paid for the absolute cheapest bed available in the hallway. Right after, he answered his phone, sweating profusely. He held my hand, his eyes completely bloodshot. “Babe, the foreman says I have to lead the crew on this job, but he is offering double pay. I am going to grind for two weeks straight. When I get back, I will buy you all the meat you want to help you recover.” For those next two weeks, I dragged my unhealed, bleeding stitches out of bed to fetch my own hot water, crying from the sheer pain. But my heart ached entirely for him, thinking about him burning in the hot sun on a construction site. He was never hauling bricks. He was sitting in this perfectly air conditioned mansion, holding someone else’s hand, playing the deeply devoted husband. I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted hot blood, forcing a dry, hollow smile onto my face. “Your husband… is very generous to you.” Genevieve laughed softly, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Actually, he is incredibly frugal with himself. Aside from the fifteen thousand dollars he transfers to my account every month for household expenses, he refuses to even buy himself a nice watch. He always says having me is enough.” Fifteen thousand dollars a month. I stared blankly at that blinding sapphire necklace, feeling like a thousand arrows had just impaled my chest. On the first of every single month, Josh would transfer exactly three hundred dollars to my phone for living expenses. He would always say it with such deep affection. “Babe, I know it is hard, but please budget carefully. I am putting the rest of my wages into a locked savings account for our future house. Once we get through these tough years, we will never have to live in this dump again.” To make those three hundred dollars stretch, I ignored my illnesses. I never bought new clothes. I intentionally dug through the bruised, expired vegetables at the farmer’s market just to save cents. It was hilarious. The future I had sacrificed half my life to save for was nothing but the loose change he dropped while transferring thousands to this woman. After Genevieve walked downstairs to take a phone call, I swallowed the tears burning in my eyes and pushed open the door to the study. On the massive mahogany desk sat a professional portrait of their family of three. Josh was wearing a bespoke suit. His smile was refined and considerate. There was absolutely no trace of the pathetic, humble poor man he played in our apartment. And resting inside a half open drawer was a flash of bright crimson. My hands violently shook as I pulled the drawer open. Inside were two gold embossed marriage certificates. I flipped the cover open. The embossed steel seal was crystal clear. The red stamp from the civil affairs bureau was authentic. The names were written in black ink. Josh Roth and Genevieve Kensington. Date of registration: five years ago. So this is what a real marriage certificate looked like. I pulled out my phone and took high resolution photos of the family portrait and the real marriage license. When my phone screen went dark, the black glass reflected my own face. A body completely drained, withered, and yellowed by seven years of brutal poverty. I looked like a walking, talking joke. 4 Three days later, Josh’s fifth wedding anniversary party was held at a premier luxury estate on the outskirts of the city. At six in the morning, wearing his frayed t-shirt, he kissed my cheek. “Babe, I am heading to the site. Do not wait up for me for dinner tonight.” I looked at his disgusting, hypocritical face and smiled, handing him a bowl of cheap, plain noodles. “Okay. Be safe out there.” The second he walked out the door, I grabbed my coat and followed him. I watched with my own two eyes as he walked into the dark, second level basement of our apartment complex. He sneakily climbed into the backseat of a dust covered, beat up minivan. A few minutes later, the man who stepped out of that van had miraculously transformed. He was now President Roth, dressed in impeccable tailoring with perfectly styled hair. At eight o’clock that night, I stood at the entrance of the estate’s magnificent banquet hall. The room was filled with the scent of expensive perfume and the soft, elegant melody of live violins. Josh had changed into a custom Armani suit. Not a single hair was out of place. A fifty thousand dollar watch rested on his wrist. He was standing by a massive champagne tower, looking at Genevieve with profound, undeniable devotion. “These past five years, Genevieve has been the absolute light of my life. Without her, I would not be the man I am today.” He raised his crystal flute, delivering a flawless romantic confession. The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, showering the perfect billionaire couple with praise. I let out a cold laugh and walked straight into the room. I was wearing my cheap, mass produced windbreaker and faded jeans. The soles of my shoes were still stained with the muddy water from outside my apartment building. I wore zero makeup. In this room full of diamonds and silk, I looked like a feral animal crashing a royal ball. The loud, chaotic chatter of the hall instantly died. Every single pair of eyes locked onto me like I was a freak of nature. On the stage, Josh’s gaze swept over the crowd. The exact second he recognized my face, his perfect smile froze. All the blood drained from his cheeks. He instinctively took a massive step backward. His hand jerked so violently that champagne splashed all over his expensive lapel. “Where did this crazy woman come from!” Josh pointed a shaking finger at me, screaming into a nearby security radio with absolute panic. “Where is security! What am I paying you for! Drag this lunatic out of here!” Several men in sharp security uniforms immediately rushed toward me, reaching out to grab my arms. I didn’t try to run. Instead, I casually grabbed a heavy bottle of red wine from the nearest table and smashed it directly into the towering glass champagne pyramid. The deafening sound of shattering crystal echoed through the silent hall. Dark red wine bled into the pristine white carpet like fresh blood. The security guards were completely paralyzed by my sudden violence. They stopped in their tracks. The little three year old boy burst into terrified tears. He ran over and hugged Josh’s leg tightly, crying out for his daddy. Looking at that kid’s face, which shared a striking resemblance to Josh’s, I remembered the baby I had miscarried years ago from hauling heavy boxes at my second job. The hatred burning in my chest turned into an inferno. Genevieve furrowed her brows. She pushed past the frozen guards and walked right up to me. She was clearly unhappy, but her wealthy upbringing kept her tone relatively polite. “Miss, I believe you have the wrong venue. This is a private event.” “I am exactly where I need to be, Genevieve.” I looked right past her, locking my eyes entirely on the trembling man on the stage. I unzipped my cheap windbreaker, reached into my inner pocket, and pulled out a thick stack of photos along with that pathetic red booklet. I slammed them violently onto the nearest dining table. They were photos of us crammed into our four hundred square foot apartment, right next to the fake marriage certificate he had bought for me. “The man standing on that stage, the one who just swore he only loved you for his entire life, ate a bowl of plain boiled noodles I cooked for him just this morning!” My voice was shaking, but every word struck like a hammer. “I know he has a birthmark the size of a quarter on his lower left back! And this morning, I watched him crawl into a broken down minivan in my apartment’s basement, take off his dirty t-shirt, and change into the exact suit he is wearing right now!” The entire banquet hall was dead silent. You could clearly hear the sharp gasps of the wealthy guests. Genevieve whipped her head around, staring at Josh in absolute disbelief. Josh was shaking uncontrollably. Cold sweat rolled down his forehead, dripping onto the floor. His lips trembled, but he couldn’t force a single syllable out of his throat. Looking at him standing there like a pathetic, cornered rat, I felt an incredibly satisfying, yet deeply tragic rush of adrenaline. My eyes burned hot with tears. I took a massive step forward, staring right into his terrified eyes, and asked the question slowly, word by word. “Honey, you clearly married me seven years ago. So what exactly is this fifth anniversary you are celebrating today?!”

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1 Seven years with Alan ended when he said he had a low sex drive. Before each time we were intimate, I would brew him a special herbal tonic. He drank it without refusing and even saw specialists. Then one day, as I entered with the steaming mug, I heard him scoff, “Are you really that desperate for a man?” A woman’s laugh came from his phone. She said, “Alan does not have a low sex drive. He was with me all afternoon. He just pictures you from high school, stripped bare on that bathroom floor, and it kills his mood.” Alan chuckled and pulled me close, telling me not to listen. But on the FaceTime screen, I saw her face—the same girl who had humiliated me years ago. Blind with rage, I grabbed the scalding tonic and forced it down his throat. … Alan choked, his face turning an angry shade of crimson as he clutched his chest. He glared at me, his voice a furious roar. “Rowan, are you insane? I told you she was joking. Can you not understand English?” The ceramic mug shattered at my feet. Sharp fragments nicked my ankles, leaving trails of red. I forced the corners of my mouth up into a twisted smile. “I am joking too. Is it funny?” His expression faltered. From the phone on the bed, the woman’s giggles continued. “Relax, Rowan. I just want his body, not his heart.” “He literally did not want to pull out of me earlier. I was the one who had to convince him to go home to you. Besides, this kind of thing is only fun when both people want it. No one likes a desperate girl forcing herself on a guy. Did those girls in high school not teach you your place?” Memories I had spent years burying clawed their way back to the surface. I lunged at the bed like a madwoman and ended the call. Looking at the mess on the floor, Alan picked up his phone, his eyes freezing over. “Are you done throwing a tantrum?” “If I knew you were this unhinged, I never would have saved you back then. You deserved to be stripped.” The moment the words left his mouth, a flicker of regret crossed his eyes. Not regret for cheating on me. Regret for getting involved in my mess back in high school and letting me attach myself to him. Right before our final exams, because I had beaten Sloane for the valedictorian spot, her little group of mean girls cornered me in the locker room. They tore my clothes off and threatened to take photos. In my most desperate, humiliating moment, Alan appeared like a savior. He chased them off and promised he would never tell a soul. I could still vividly remember the shy flush on his cheeks as he kept his eyes squeezed shut and wrapped his varsity jacket tightly around my trembling shoulders. He was the one who pulled me out of the darkness back then. And now, because of Sloane, he was shoving me right back into the abyss. Tears blurred my vision. I wiped them away frantically, my eyes red and burning as I stared him down. “Do you even know who she is?” He frowned, reaching out to wipe a tear from my cheek. “I know.” “But Sloane told me she was just young and stupid back then. She knows she was wrong. She wanted to make it up to you, but she knew seeing her would only trigger you. So when she found out we were having bedroom issues, she decided to make it up to me instead.” A sickening look of reminiscence washed over his face. “She is a true trust-fund girl, Rowan. Her skin is so soft it bruises if you just grip it. Being with her… that is the first time I actually felt like a real man.” “Today in the parking garage, she was straddling me, begging me to tell her who made me feel better. Ro, do you honestly think there is a comparison?” His face was plastered with absolute infatuation for Sloane. He looked nothing like the boy who had once held me, his own eyes red with sympathetic tears, swearing he would protect me and make Sloane pay for what she did. I lost whatever control I had left. I grabbed his shirt collar, shaking him. “Alan, what gives you the right to forgive her for me? What gives you the right…” He swatted my hands away. My interrogation was clearly starting to annoy him. “Ro, it has been years. Do you really need to hold onto a grudge for this long?” “Besides, Sloane knows she messed up. If it is really that big of a deal, I will have her apologize to you in person.” One flimsy apology. That was his solution to erase years of my trauma. A wave of pure nausea hit me. I sprinted to the master bathroom and dry heaved over the sink. He followed me, standing behind me to gently rub my back. He actually looked a little concerned. “Are you okay?” I slapped his hand away, my eyes blazing with disgust. He simply gathered my hair, pulling it over my shoulder, and wrapped his arms around me from behind, whispering into my ear. “Ro, instead of wasting energy being mad, you should figure out how to please me. If you were not so boring in bed, I would not have had to fake an impotence issue just to go sleep with Sloane.” “But do not worry. Going to her place is just a hobby. You are still the one I love.” Then, with absolute audacity, he opened his phone and shoved a video right into my line of sight. It was a video of them in his car. Sloane was moving on top of him, her face flushed with pleasure, her messy hair making her look effortlessly seductive. “Watch her and take notes, Ro. Once you learn how to do that, I will cut her off.” A suffocating sense of absurdity crashed down on me. I shoved his phone away and splashed cold tap water directly into his face. He scowled, wiping the water from his eyes. “If you do not want to watch her, then go watch some porn.” “Sometimes, you cannot just blame a man for stepping out. You need to look in the mirror and figure out what you are doing wrong.” I looked down at the red burn marks on my ankle. My chest hurt so much I could barely pull air into my lungs. So all those nights I stayed up late, sick with anxiety over his condition, boiling herbs and researching doctors… he was out holding the girl who had destroyed my life. His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and immediately started throwing on his jacket. “Sloane got spooked by you screaming earlier. I am going to go check on her.” “Study those videos. I expect to see some results when I get back.” Watching him walk out the door, I walked over to the bed, pulled the positive pregnancy test out from under my pillow, and threw it straight into the trash can. Then I pulled up my messages and found a familiar contact. “You do not need to prepare the next batch of supplements.” Reading the doctor’s quick confirmation, I let out a long breath. Just as I was about to lock my screen, a friend request popped up. “It is Sloane. Alan said you tried to force more weird liquids down his throat. Do you want me to teach you how to actually take care of a man in bed?” I stared at her profile picture for a long time. It was a photo of a man’s large, veiny hand gripping a woman’s tiny waist. It was aggressively intimate. The small birthmark on the man’s thumb was identical to Alan’s. I hit decline and immediately blocked her. Moments later, Alan’s calls started rolling in, one after another. The second I answered, his angry accusations blasted through the speaker. “Sloane tried to add you. Why did you decline?” “She is being the bigger person and offering to help you, and you are throwing it in her face? Add her back and apologize.” Listening to him defend her without a second of hesitation left my hands shaking so badly I could not even form a word. Tears spilled over my lashes, hot and fast. Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of clothing shifting came through the receiver, followed by Alan’s low, heavy breathing. “Sloane, stop it, I am on the phone…” His breath hitched. “What are you afraid of? Since she does not want to add me, we might as well teach her a lesson right now.” The sound of his breathing grew heavier and rougher with every second. I slammed the end call button. The sounds of their intimacy looped endlessly in my brain like a nightmare. I curled into a tight ball under the covers, staring into the dark until the sun came up. Early the next morning, with swollen, red eyes, I drove to our new house—the one we were supposed to move into after the wedding—to check on the renovations. The door opened. Sloane was standing there. She was wearing a sheer silk slip. Her neck was painted with dark bruises and bite marks. She leaned against the doorframe, looking down at me with pure arrogance. “We got a little carried away last night. Oops, we accidentally got your wedding dress dirty.” “I heard it was the last thing your mom left you before she died? Whatever, it could not have been worth much anyway. I will just buy you a couture gown to replace it…” I did not hear the rest of her sentence. I shoved her hard out of the way and ran into the living room. There it was. The dress my mother had spent her final days designing for me, crumpled into a heap on the hardwood floor. The pristine white fabric was covered in undeniable, disgusting stains. The last string holding my sanity together snapped. I lunged at Sloane and wrapped my hands around her throat. “I am going to kill you.” “Alan… help me…” she gasped. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me back. Alan locked me against his chest, looking entirely exhausted by me. “Ro, if it is dirty, just throw it away. I said I will buy you a new one.” Sloane rubbed her throat, pouting as she pressed herself into his side. “I literally offered to buy her a custom designer dress, and she still attacked me. She is just psychotic.” Alan looked at the red marks on her neck, and his expression turned ice-cold. “Rowan, you crossed the line.” I dropped to the floor, pulling the ruined dress into my arms, tears pooling in my eyes. Two years ago, when my mother was losing her battle with illness, Alan was there every single day, running errands and taking care of her. When he found out her biggest regret was not living to see me get married, he spent weeks tracking down fabrics and sketches so she could personally design my dress from her hospital bed. I remembered seeing his bloodshot eyes back then. I was so touched, my heart ached for him. I begged him to go sleep. “Alan, you do not have to do all this. As long as I get to marry you, I do not care what the dress looks like.” He had laid his head in my lap, looking exhausted but smiling so brightly. “Ro, it breaks my heart that she will not be there to walk you down the aisle. You wearing this dress on our wedding day will be a way to honor both of our wishes.” But now, looking at the dress, his eyes held nothing but disgust. Meeting his cold stare, I hugged the fabric tighter to my chest. “I only want this one.” He scowled, pulling a thick stack of cash from his wallet and throwing it at me. “Then take it to a dry cleaner. I am paying for it.” Bills fluttered to the floor around me. It was laughable. Three years ago, when he poured his heart and soul into making this dress a reality for my dying mother, I never could have imagined it would end up as a literal rag for him and another woman to ruin. As I turned around with the dress in my arms, my phone calendar alarm went off. It was the reminder for Alan’s routine clinic visit. I was just about to tell him, but Sloane suddenly grabbed her stomach and whined. “Alan, my OB-GYN appointment is in twenty minutes. We need to go.” My feet glued themselves to the floor. As she walked past me, her eyes dropped to the glowing screen of my phone. Her smile was loaded with poison. “Rowan, do you know when my last ultrasound was?” My stomach plummeted. I already knew the answer. Sloane stroked her flat stomach, her smile widening. “Last Sunday. Three in the afternoon.” That was the day of our seventh anniversary. I had spent two hours doing my makeup, bought a new dress, booked a Michelin-star restaurant, and told him I wanted to go to his clinic appointment with him before our date. He had smiled, kissed my forehead, and told me to just wait for him at the restaurant. I thought he just felt emasculated and did not want me in the room with the doctor. I had happily agreed. Now I knew the truth. He was terrified I would find out Sloane was pregnant. Watching Alan wrap his arm around Sloane’s waist as they walked to his car, I unlocked my phone and deleted the calendar app entirely. By the time I got the dress back from the specialty cleaners, Alan walked through the door holding a garment bag. “Picked this out just for you. Do you like it?” When I did not even blink, he held the glamorous evening gown up against my body, his voice softening. “Ro, stop being stubborn. I have a surprise for you later.” He essentially dragged me to the rooftop garden of an upscale hotel. Sloane, dressed in a stunning white gown, walked out of a crowd of cheering people and looped her arm through Alan’s. Her eyes scanned the dress he had bought me, flashing with mockery. “Rowan, Alan told me I had to apologize to you before he would propose to me. Do you like the dress I picked out for you?” “I stripped your clothes off back then. Today, I am dressing you.” Her sharp giggles drilled into my ears. It felt like literal acid burning through whatever dignity I had left. I looked at Alan. He gave me a flat, emotionless look. Those eyes that used to look at me with so much love were now filled with a dark, silent warning. Trembling, I backed up until I hit a corner wall. “Damn, Alan, only you could pull this off. Bringing the main girlfriend to propose to the side piece? Are you not afraid they are going to kill each other?” one of his friends laughed. Alan took a sip of his whiskey, glancing in my direction. “Rowan has been with me for seven years. She does not care about a title. But Sloane comes from a strict, old-money family. Since she is pregnant, I have to give her people an answer.” “I know I am putting Ro in a tough spot right now. I will make it up to her later.” His voice was low. But not low enough. Everyone around them heard it and started jeering. “Man, you really have the school valedictorian wrapped around your finger. But making her watch you put a ring on someone else? With her pride, she might actually snap. Do not push your luck.” Alan swirled the amber liquid in his glass, smiling with absolute, unshakeable confidence. “You guys have no idea. I have a permanent get-out-of-jail-free card with her.” “If it was not for me, photos of her naked body would have been plastered all over the internet. She owes me her life.” A wave of knowing smirks rippled through the group. My deepest, most agonizing trauma had just become his favorite party trick to show off how loyal I was. My nails bit so hard into my palms they drew blood as I walked straight up to him. The whispering stopped immediately. “Alan, is this your grand surprise? Bringing me here so you and your friends can humiliate me?” He set his glass down. Ignoring the crowd of people watching us like a reality show, he grabbed my arm and pulled me aside. “Ro, this proposal is just a show for the Kensington family. I am not actually going to marry her.” “She wanted you to be the officiant for the proposal. She is carrying my kid, Ro. I have to give her this one win.” He shoved a folded piece of paper into my hand. It was a speech. Line after line of sickeningly sweet vows dedicated to Sloane. “Read over it. Do not ruin this for me.” I had pictured his proposal a thousand times over the last seven years. I never could have imagined a reality this vile. I ripped the speech into shreds and threw the confetti of paper directly at his chest. “Alan, go to hell.” His eyes went dark with fury. He grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. “Rowan, do you honestly have to make a scene and embarrass everyone right now?” “I told you she is pregnant. I have to do this for her.” Staring straight into his furious eyes, I slowly brought my free hand down to rest over my own stomach. “What if I told you… I am pregnant too?”

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My arranged marriage husband suddenly lost his memory. Every ounce of his past obsession and ruthless pursuit of me vanished from his mind. Now, he looks at me like I am a total stranger. Furious, I slapped divorce papers onto his desk. Then, I packed my bags and dragged my best friend on a singles cruise to let loose. But on the night of the party, a tall figure stepped out of the shadows, backing me into a corner. In a tone that left zero room for argument, he whispered. Isla, there is no divorce in this marriage. Only widowhood. 1 When I rushed into the hospital corridor, Victor’s assistant was already waiting by the door. I practically jumped out of the elevator, my voice laced with a frantic edge I didn’t even recognize. “How is he? Is it serious?” Simon offered a brief glance, his tone as steady and practiced as ever. “Please do not worry, Mrs. Sinclair. Mr. Sinclair is fine physically, but…” “But what?” “He forgot a few things.” Pushing open the heavy door, I saw Victor sitting up in the hospital bed. He turned his head at the sound of my entrance. A square of white gauze covered his temple, and a few shallow scrapes marred his sharp jawline. He lifted his heavy eyelids. His gaze washed over me, perfectly calm and terrifyingly cold. I froze in my tracks. Victor Sinclair had never looked at me like that. Whenever his eyes found mine, he looked like a starving wolf locking onto its prey, burning with an intense, suffocating possessiveness. This was the first time I had ever seen such absolute indifference in his expression. That was the exact moment I realized I was part of the “few things” he had forgotten. The neurologist explained that Victor’s amnesia was a result of the trauma to his head during the car crash. It was fragmented memory loss. It would not affect his daily routine or his ability to run his corporate empire. However, the recovery timeline was entirely unpredictable. It could take days, months, or years. He might never remember. And in a twist of cruel irony, every single memory of me had been completely wiped clean. When I stepped back into the private suite, Victor was alone, casually leaning against the pillows while flipping through a stack of legal documents. I took a hesitant step closer. “The doctor said they need to keep you for a few days of observation. If you need anything from home, I can bring it by.” Victor studied me in silence for a long moment before asking a question. “Are we happily married?” I looked down, pouring a glass of water from the pitcher. “It is terrible.” The room plunged into a deafening silence. “Why is it terrible?” His face remained expressionless, asking the question with the genuine curiosity of a man who truly did not know the answer. A sudden, inexplicable spike of irritation flared in my chest. I set the water glass down onto the bedside table with a sharp thud. “A forced match is never sweet.” Victor held my gaze, one dark eyebrow slowly arching upward. “How fortunate. I despise sweet things.” 2 I almost forgot. Delivering the most shameless remarks with an utterly straight face had always been Victor’s greatest talent. Back then, the Sinclair Enterprise’s sole condition for bailing out my family’s failing gallery was my hand in marriage. Even knowing I was deeply in love with my boyfriend, he refused to back down an inch. “Leave him. I am a much better fit for you.” Victor and I were virtually strangers. As the youngest heir and ruthless CEO of his family’s empire, he was notoriously unpredictable and fiercely guarded. I had only seen him once from a distance at a charity gala. We had never even shared a conversation. “With your wealth and status, you could have anyone you want. Why force a woman who does not love you?” He had leaned back in his leather chair, staring at me until a slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “That sounds like a personal problem, Miss Isla. Am I truly that impossible to love?” He played the perfect gentleman that day. When I rejected him, he did not lose his temper. He even put on a flawless mask of understanding, claiming he respected my choice. It wasn’t until our family’s debt spiraled out of control, and not a single bank in Boston dared to offer us a loan, that I understood the reality. Victor held the city in his palm. The moment he extended an olive branch to my family, he silently banned anyone else from stepping in. He made it look like I had a choice, but he systematically burned down every other bridge until his path was the only one left. I had no choice but to surrender. The day I broke up with my boyfriend, the rain was pouring in sheets. I sat in the passenger seat of Victor’s Maybach, sobbing until my chest ached. Victor lowered his dark eyes, patiently using his expensive silk handkerchief to wipe the muddy water off my bare calves. “There is actually another way you can be with him.” “After we get married, you can slip a slow acting poison into my morning coffee. Once I am dead, your lovely boyfriend can take my place.” His tone was thick with dark humor, but his eyes were completely serious. For a terrifying second, I couldn’t tell if he was joking. I just stared at him, paralyzed. Then, a low chuckle rumbled in his chest, genuine amusement dancing in his eyes. “You really want to kill me, don’t you?” “I suppose I would allow it.” I glared at him through my tears. “You are despicable.” The smile never left his face. He simply reached over, intertwining his long fingers with mine, completely ignoring my resistance. He looked incredibly satisfied. “You can think whatever you want about me. It does not matter.” “All that matters, Isla, is that you are going to be my wife.” Victor leaned back against the hospital pillows, that exact same half smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It was the exact same arrogant smirk from three years ago. I took a deep breath, swallowing down the curse words burning on my tongue. I could not yell at him. The man literally had brain damage. Grabbing my designer tote, I turned to leave, nearly colliding with Simon as he walked in. He held out a sleek, rectangular velvet box. “Mrs. Sinclair, Mr. Sinclair asked me to bring this for you.” Inside rested a vintage Italian sable watercolor brush. I had lingered on a picture of it in an art magazine for maybe two extra seconds last week. It was always like this. Whenever I showed the slightest flicker of interest in something, it miraculously appeared in my hands a few days later. I cast a sideways glance at the man in the bed. He was deeply engrossed in his paperwork, acting as if the entire exchange had nothing to do with him. That familiar, suffocating knot tightened in my throat again. I tossed the velvet box onto the edge of his mattress. “I do not accept gifts from strangers.” 3 The sky outside the studio window slowly bled into a bruised purple. I had been sitting at my easel all afternoon, ruining sketch after sketch. My mind was an absolute mess. Victor losing his memory should have felt like a massive victory. But instead, a heavy, suffocating weight pressed down on my chest. It wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t pity. It was a bizarre, irrational wave of anger. It felt like… I actually cared that he had forgotten me. When he asked about our marriage today, my answer wasn’t entirely a lie. In the beginning, it truly was terrible. For the first two months of our marriage, I refused to eat at the same table as him. I treated him like a ghost haunting my own house. Even when I caught a horrific fever in the middle of the night, and he scooped me out of bed to force medicine down my throat, I just slapped him across the face. He didn’t even flinch. He just took the hit, his expression completely blank, and muttered, “You have no strength left. Take the pills, then you can hit me again.” Victor seemed to possess an infinite threshold for my anger. And somewhere along the way, my bitter resentment slowly morphed into a quiet, reluctant reliance. When exactly did the shift happen? I couldn’t pinpoint the exact day. Maybe it was the night of that corporate gala, when he introduced me to his ruthless business partners as “Isla, the brilliant artist,” rather than “Mrs. Sinclair.” Maybe it was during the Autumn Art Expo, when a rival gallery intentionally moved my pieces to a dark, hidden corner. Victor canceled a multi million dollar board meeting just to show up and tear the organizers apart. Or maybe it was the time I went on a mountain retreat to paint and got caught in a massive mudslide. The roads collapsed, the bridges washed out, and he walked five miles through a torrential downpour just to find me. Three years. He moved into my life like water, silently seeping into every single crack and crevice. By the time I finally noticed, he was everywhere. But now, he had wiped the slate clean. We were right back at square one. I sat in the dark for a few more minutes before throwing my brushes into the sink and grabbing my coat. The crisp night air hit my face, carrying the sweet scent of blooming jasmine. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a familiar black luxury car idling near the curb. I froze. Simon quickly stepped out and opened the rear door for me. And there, sitting in the leather backseat instead of a hospital bed, was Victor. “What are you doing here?” The white gauze was still taped to his temple, though his color looked much better. “I was on my way.” I didn’t even have the energy to roll my eyes. “This road leads to a dead end. Where exactly were you heading?” Victor let out a low chuckle. “Who said it leads to nowhere? It led me straight to you, didn’t it?” I ignored his smooth talking and slid into the seat next to him. The amber glow of the streetlights flickered across the tinted windows, illuminating the sharp angles of his face in flashes. “What do you want for dinner?” I turned my head to stare out the window. “I am not hungry.” Victor gave a soft laugh. “Are you not hungry, or do you just not want to eat with me?” I couldn’t stop myself from shooting him a deadly glare. His eyes only crinkled with deeper amusement. “Well, that is a shame, because I really want to eat with you.” “You are just going to have to suffer through it.” Even with his memories completely wiped, his ability to get under my skin remained absolutely flawless. 4 The Maybach pulled up to an exclusive French bistro downtown. The hostess guided us to a private booth by the floor to ceiling windows. While we waited for our appetizers, we sat in total silence. The only sound was the soft, melancholic melody drifting from the grand piano in the center of the room. Victor studied my face for a long time before casually tilting his head. “Were our dinners always this quiet?” “I don’t remember.” “Have we eaten here before?” “I have no idea.” “Do we go out on dates often?” “I couldn’t tell you.” Victor let out a quiet sigh. “Correct me if I am wrong, but I believe I am the one with amnesia.” That single sentence acted like a match to gasoline. I fell silent for a heavy second before flipping my phone face down onto the marble table. “And? Do you want a medal for forgetting?” Victor clearly didn’t expect the raw hostility in my voice. His playful demeanor vanished, replaced by a serious intensity. “Isla, that is not what I meant.” “I don’t care what you meant.” “Victor, I am not obligated to tutor you on our past. If you want to remember, figure it out yourself. If you can’t, then just let it go.” The rest of the meal tasted like cardboard. I set down my silverware and pushed my chair back. “I am going to the restroom.” The restrooms were tucked away at the back of the restaurant, past a dimly lit corridor lined with towering monstera plants. I kept my head down as I washed my hands, the cold water splashing against my skin. I didn’t notice the quiet footsteps approaching until a tall figure stepped up beside me. He didn’t turn on the faucet. I instinctively glanced up, meeting a pair of eyes in the mirror that were both deeply familiar and completely foreign. He was dressed in a tailored, expensive suit, radiating a quiet, refined maturity. He looked absolutely nothing like the struggling, broke college student I used to know. “Isla?” The unexpected reunion clearly caught Oliver off guard. His voice wavered with a hint of disbelief. I hadn’t expected to run into him here either. After he left me three years ago, we cut all contact. I only heard through mutual friends that he had moved to Europe. “It has been a long time, Oliver.” “A very long time.” Oliver pressed his lips together. He looked like a man drowning in a thousand unspoken words. His gaze eventually drifted down, landing heavily on the diamond ring flashing on my left hand. He swallowed hard. “Have you… been doing well these past few years?” I offered a polite, distant smile and tossed my paper towel into the trash bin. “I have been great.” “That is good.” After those three words, the air between us completely died. I noticed a cigarette pinched between his fingers. He kept twirling it nervously, making no move to light it. “I should get back to my table.” Oliver blinked, snapping out of his daze, and nodded quickly. “Right. Take care.” When I returned to the booth, Victor was leaning back in his chair, slowly swirling the ice water in his crystal glass. Seeing me approach, he set the glass down, his dark eyes locking onto my face for a split second. He asked the question entirely too casually. “What took you so long?” “There was a line.” “Do you want to order dessert?” “No, I am full. Let’s go home.” He didn’t press the issue. He simply stood up, wrapped his warm hand around mine, and led me toward the exit. Deep in the shadows of the corridor we had just left, a solitary figure leaned against the textured wallpaper. A tiny spark flared in the dark as the cigarette finally ignited, the cherry glowing dull red through the leaves of the monstera plant. 5 The Boston Autumn Art Salon was the biggest event of the year, and I was honored to be featured among the invited artists. Usually, Victor would be hovering right over my shoulder at these events, but today, he was nowhere to be found. Halfway through the exhibition, the gallery curator approached me, whispering that a VIP collector was extremely interested in one of my pieces and requested a private chat. When I stepped into the viewing area, I immediately recognized the broad shoulders facing my canvas. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit, a Patek Philippe watch gleaming subtly on his wrist. He looked like the epitome of low key wealth. Hearing my footsteps, Oliver turned around, a soft, nostalgic smile playing on his lips. “We meet again.” We both turned our attention back to the canvas. It was an oil painting of an old, ivy covered gazebo on our college campus. I had painted it six months ago, right after being invited back to the university to give an alumni speech. Oliver’s eyes softened completely. “The rain was pouring so hard that day. I still remember your canvas shoes were completely soaked.” The memory hit me instantly. That gazebo was the exact spot where Oliver and I had first crossed paths. We had both sprinted under the wooden roof to escape a sudden thunderstorm. It was an impossibly cliché, ridiculously perfect coincidence. I stayed quiet for a long moment before offering a tight, polite smile. “That is all in the past now.” Oliver looked down at me, the corners of his mouth curving upward. “Is it in the past? Because I remember every single detail.” He knew exactly when to pull back. He dropped the heavy nostalgia and seamlessly transitioned into a professional discussion about purchasing the artwork. We had only exchanged a few sentences about pricing when a chilling voice drifted from behind us. “Isla.”

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1. I took the bullet for Richard when his pet project crashed and burned. In exchange, he promised me a year-end promotion and a hefty raise. Yet the moment the layoff rumors started circulating, I was the very first person called into his office. “Harper, corporate is restructuring. Your metrics are at the bottom of the barrel, so we have to let you go.” I stared at the termination agreement. The words “Stack Ranking Elimination” glared back at me. I did not argue with him. I simply packed my things in silence. And then I took a seat in the office directly across from his. The one with the frosted glass marked “Exclusive Corporate Auditor.” … “Harper, regarding the restructuring, you are the first on the list.” Richard’s voice was completely devoid of warmth. I sat across from him in the conference room. The air conditioning was cranked up so high the chill seeped right into my bones. He slid a manila folder across the mahogany table. It was a formal termination notice. The words “Performance-Based Termination” stung my eyes. “Richard, I recall the performance reviews for this month. I was nowhere near the bottom.” My voice was dead calm. Richard barely lifted his eyes from his phone. “The company looks at the big picture, Harper. It is not just about raw sales.” “Besides, you know exactly how much money your mistakes cost us on Project Apex.” I stared at him, my mind going completely blank for a fraction of a second. Project Apex was his brainchild. His flawed decision-making nearly cost the firm ten million dollars. It was me who stayed up for three consecutive nights with my team, rebuilding the entire data model from scratch to stop the bleeding. And it was him who stood in my office, looked me dead in the eye, and said those exact words. “Harper, just take the bullet for me on this one. I swear I will make you Vice Director by December.” Now, that very same project was the weapon he was using to execute my career. The HR Manager, Davis, cleared his throat from the corner of the room. “Harper, our hands are tied here. You have to understand the business side of things.” “Just sign the paperwork. We are offering a very standard severance package to make this easy.” I did not even glance at the contract. My gaze drifted right past Richard and landed on Sophie, the new intern standing by the filing cabinet. Sophie was looking down, pretending to sort papers, but a smug smirk was plastered across her glossy lips. She was wearing a brand-new designer dress. The exact same limited-edition dress Richard had bought during his business trip last week. Even the potted monstera plant I had nurtured on my desk for three years had already been relocated to her cubicle. Richard sighed, tapping his expensive watch in annoyance. “Do not waste our time, Harper. We have a long list of people to get through today.” “Your performance is dragging the whole department down. People have been complaining to me for weeks.” I took a deep breath and stood up. “Understood.” I left the pen on the table, turned around, and walked out. Back at my desk, the bullpen was dead silent. My colleagues kept their heads glued to their monitors, typing aggressively to avoid making eye contact with me. A thick, suffocating awkwardness hung in the air. I began dropping my life into a cardboard box. Piles of market research, client files, and the crystal trophy engraved with my name. Richard had handed me that trophy himself after I secured the massive Southside Development deal. At the celebration dinner, he had raised his glass and announced to the whole room. “Harper is the lucky charm of this division! She is my absolute right-hand woman!” Now, he was chopping off his right hand just to save his own skin. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a Slack message from Greg. “Harper, what the hell is going on? I just heard you got pulled into the firing squad?” “How can they PIP you? You were literally the top biller last quarter!” I typed back. “It is about Project Apex.” Greg instantly tried to call me. I hit decline. I was not in the mood to talk. A wall of furious text popped up on my screen a second later. “Are you kidding me! If it wasn’t for you, corporate would have fired his incompetent ass months ago!” “He forced that project through against everyone’s advice, and you cleaned up his mess!” “You cannot just let him get away with this, Harper! Go to corporate HR! File an appeal!” I kept my fingers steady as I replied. “Calm down, Greg.” “He did this because he thinks I have zero leverage.” “This termination notice was a theatrical performance.” The clack of high heels interrupted me. Sophie sauntered over, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Do you need some help with that, Harper?” She pointed a manicured finger at my master project binder. “Those files are highly confidential. Richard told me to take over your accounts, so you can just hand that over to me.” Her eyes sparkled with naked ambition and petty triumph. I looked at her the way one might look at a clown performing a cheap trick. I picked up the heavy binder and shoved it into her chest. “Good luck.” She hugged the binder like she had just won the lottery. “Thanks! I will definitely work super hard so I don’t disappoint Richard.” Richard stepped out of the glass conference room and clapped his hands loudly to get the floor’s attention. “Everyone, stop what you are doing for a second. I have an announcement.” “Effective immediately, Harper is leaving us due to personal reasons. Sophie will be taking over all her active accounts.” “Also, let us congratulate Sophie. She has officially passed her probation and is being promoted to Project Lead.” The title he had promised me was handed to a twenty-two-year-old intern who had been here for three months. You could hear a pin drop in the office. I picked up my cardboard box and walked toward the exit, feeling the weight of a dozen stares burning into my back. As I walked past Richard, he did not even bother to look in my direction. He was already leaning in, whispering softly to Sophie. “Where do you want to go for your celebration dinner tonight?” 2. I carried my box out the revolving glass doors. The glaring afternoon sun made my eyes water. Instead of going home, I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address to the corporate headquarters downtown. Greg called me again. This time, I answered. “Harper! Are you seriously just walking away? How can you swallow this?” His voice was shaking with pure outrage. “I am furious! Richard and that little intern are treating you like absolute dirt!” I leaned against the cool metal wall of the elevator, my initial shock having completely crystallized into cold clarity. “Greg, he fired me because I know too much. He wants me gone.” “If I throw a tantrum in the lobby, he will just have security drag me out.” “He planned this perfectly.” Greg was practically growling into the receiver. “So what? You made this company millions! Now he throws a bucket of dirty water on your head and kicks you to the curb?” I watched the digital floor numbers climbing higher and higher. “Of course I am not letting it go, Greg.” “Then what are you going to do? Tell me!” I hung up the phone. I opened the PDF of my termination notice that HR had just emailed me. I took a clean screenshot. Then, I logged into a hidden corporate email portal on my phone. An administrative account I had never used before. The recipient was Bennett, the Secretary of the Board of Directors. I attached the screenshot, along with a massive encrypted zip file containing every single piece of raw data from Project Apex. I also attached a crystal-clear audio recording of Richard begging me to be his fall guy in his office. In the body of the email, I typed a single, simple sentence. “My name is Harper. I am officially activating my Corporate Auditor protocol.” I hit send and powered off my phone. A year ago, Richard was managing a failing branch. They had bled money for three consecutive quarters. Headquarters had issued an ultimatum. One more quarter in the red, and the entire branch would be liquidated. I was the one who stepped up. I led a skeleton crew, worked through the holidays, and secured the Southside Development, landing the biggest contract in the branch’s history. I practically spoon-fed Richard. I taught him how to analyze the market data, how to forecast trends, and how to write the executive presentations he gave to the Board. Thanks to me, our branch became the crown jewel of the enterprise. His throne was finally secure. And suddenly, the architect who built his throne became a threat. I knew all his weak spots, so I had to be eliminated. My phone buzzed as I turned it back on. Greg was spamming me with screenshots. “Harper! Look at the company Slack! It is a warzone!” “Richard just posted a company-wide announcement saying you were fired for gross negligence. He is actively implying you were embezzling funds!” I did not even bother opening the app. I knew exactly what was happening. Sophie, lacking any actual brain cells, had probably whispered poison in his ear. She wanted to be the new right-hand woman, which meant she needed to bury the predecessor six feet under. They were a match made in heaven. Two absolute fools. Richard’s days of playing king were officially over. I walked into a pristine office on the top floor and slowly wiped a speck of dust off the mahogany desk. 3. At two o’clock the following afternoon, I returned to the branch office. This time, I wore the title of Corporate Auditor. I did not give anyone a heads-up. When I pushed through the double glass doors, the receptionist dropped her pen, her jaw practically hitting the desk. She stared at the unfamiliar solid gold corporate badge clipped to my lapel, entirely unsure if she was supposed to call security. I walked right past her without breaking stride. Richard was standing outside his office, looking incredibly smug as he explained something to Sophie. When he saw me, he froze. His smug smile warped into a deep, ugly scowl. “Harper? What the hell are you doing here? You don’t work here anymore.” He stepped forward to block my path, his tone dripping with the arrogant authority of a man protecting his territory. I kept my face completely blank and walked right past him. I could hear him barking orders behind my back. “Who let her in? Get security up here now! Throw her out!” “You got fired for being dead last in performance, and you still have the nerve to show your face?” The new hires who didn’t know me watched the scene unfold with wide, fearful eyes, clearly intimidated by Richard’s rage. I turned the corner and stopped in front of the door directly opposite his office. It was a room that had been locked for years. The frosted glass read “Exclusive Corporate Auditor.” I lifted my new gold badge and tapped it against the security scanner. A soft beep echoed through the dead silent office floor. The heavy magnetic lock clicked open. I pushed the door open, stepped inside, and closed it firmly behind me, making sure everyone got a good look. The entire bullpen plunged into absolute, suffocating silence. I could hear someone gasp in the cubicles. Richard’s aggressive shouting was instantly choked off, as if someone had wrapped a hand around his throat. I could only imagine the spectacular color of his face at that exact moment. My laptop chimed. Greg was messaging me on the encrypted internal server. “Holy shit! Harper! Are you a Corporate Auditor?” “I just saw you walk in! The entire floor is losing their minds!” Greg followed up seconds later. “I bet Richard’s little stunt yesterday triggered some alarms at HQ!” “He thought he was invincible once he kicked you out. He is so dead!” I allowed a small smirk to touch my lips. I booted up the desktop and logged directly into the enterprise’s highest-clearance administrative portal. Outside, the whispers were spreading like wildfire. Every single person in the building had witnessed me unlocking that door. Chaos was beginning to brew inside Richard’s office. Greg’s live updates kept rolling in. “Richard locked himself in his office. He has been on the phone for thirty minutes.” “He just bolted out of his room looking like a ghost. He was screaming at HR Davis, asking where your personnel file was.” “Davis is sweating bullets. He told Richard that corporate HQ confiscated your physical file yesterday afternoon.” Within thirty minutes, a parade of nervous department heads began scurrying in and out of Richard’s office. The panic was finally setting in. 4. Desperate for damage control, Richard made Sophie post an announcement in the main Slack channel. “Tagging everyone. Please focus on your deliverables and do not listen to office gossip.” “Just because certain individuals use shady tactics to sneak back into the building does not change the fact that they were fired for dead-last performance.” “Management will strictly penalize anyone caught disrupting the workplace environment.” He actually believed that if he lied aggressively enough, people would blindly accept it. Greg messaged me again. “Harper, this bastard is still doubling down!” “He is such a moron!” “He is definitely panicking now, though. I just caught him ordering Davis to permanently delete your PIP evaluation records from the server.” Richard was completely losing his grip on reality. He started making frantic, loud phone calls with his office door wide open. “Hello? Secretary Bennett? Yes, this is Richard. I just wanted to inquire about the new Corporate Auditor situation…” “What? You are in a meeting? No, wait, I just need a second to ask about Harper…” I couldn’t hear the response, but Richard’s voice instantly shrank to a pathetic squeak. “Yes, sir. Understood, sir. I apologize for interrupting.” He hung up the phone. His face had gone from pale to a sickly shade of gray. Finally, one of the newly promoted team leads couldn’t take the suspense anymore. He knocked tentatively on Richard’s door. “Richard, what exactly is Harper’s status here?” “The whole floor is freaking out. We need some clarity.” That question was the spark that lit the powder keg. Richard pretended he didn’t hear him. Instead, he frantically typed out a bonus announcement in the general chat. “Thanks to our heroic efforts on Project Apex, everyone involved is getting a double bonus this month!” The team lead standing in his doorway asked again. “Richard? Are you listening? Everyone is waiting for an explanation!” Richard’s pathetic attempt to play dumb finally pushed Greg over the edge. Greg couldn’t hold back anymore. He stood up in the middle of the bullpen and shouted at the top of his lungs. “Stop acting like an idiot, Richard! Harper is the Corporate Auditor sent by the Board to investigate you! What are you playing at?” Those words hit the office like a bomb. The floor erupted. “Wait, what? Corporate Auditor?” “No way! Didn’t he say she was fired for incompetence?” “Oh my god! That means everything Richard said yesterday was a complete lie!” A few of the veteran analysts I had personally mentored immediately caught on. “Exactly! I knew there was no way Harper was at the bottom of the metrics!” “Tagging Richard. Say something! You can’t just burn bridges and expect us to stay quiet!” “Keep your dirty bonus money! I don’t want a dime of it! Tagging Richard.” Dozens of eyes were currently drilling holes into Richard’s glass office. He was still trying to play dead. Greg let out a loud scoff. He pulled up the email screenshot I had sent to the Board Secretary and posted it anonymously into the massive company-wide channel. “Hard evidence! What is your excuse now, Richard?” With the undeniable proof glaring on their screens, the employees finally snapped. The notifications pinged relentlessly as a tidal wave of outrage forced Richard out of hiding.

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