Category: English

  • Reborn as the Alpha King’s Queen, Goodbye Ex

    I loved Alpha James for ten years. But at his twenty-eighth birthday gala, I watched him announce that he had found his Fated Mate, Sophia. He mocked my devotion. Me, his adopted sister. Sophia staged a fall down the stairs. In retaliation, James whipped me with a silver-laced whip and locked my heavily wounded body in the basement. He looked at me with pure disgust. “You are so malicious. Who could ever love someone like you?” In the end, I died a miserable death in that cold, dark basement. Reborn into a new life, I stood before my mother and said with absolute resolve, “I will marry the Alpha King.” Alpha King Alexander Blackwood, the madman rumored to have killed his three previous fiancées. Emily Carter POV At the twenty-eighth birthday gala of Alpha James of the Moonhowl Pack, he gave me a massive “surprise.” In front of all the guests, he led Sophia Langley onto the stage and took the microphone. “To mark this special day, I have an announcement. I have found my Fated Mate. She is Sophia of the Ironclaw Pack. Furthermore, starting tomorrow, Sophia will take full control of the Moonhowl Pack’s core project, the development of the Silver-Purge Salve.” Instantly, the entire banquet hall fell dead silent. Every single gaze stabbed into me like a knife. Emily Carter. My parents were brave werewolf warriors who died protecting the Elder Alpha and Elder Luna. After their sacrifice, the Elder Alpha adopted me. I became James’s sister in name. I was ten that year. Since then, everyone in the pack knew that James had a loyal shadow. Eventually, I fell in love with James. Because I had never awakened my own wolf, I threw myself into studying herbal medicine to prove I was worthy of him. The “Silver-Purge Salve” project was my life’s work. I had spent three long years, pulled countless all-nighters, and poured my blood, sweat, and tears into inventing it for the Moonhowl Pack. Now, with one casual sentence, he handed my hard-won creation to his Fated Mate on a silver platter. Everyone held their breath. They were waiting for me to lose my mind. They expected me to charge the stage like a madwoman, rip Sophia’s hair out, and make a complete fool of myself. After all, everyone knew how crazily I loved James. Since I declared my love for him at twelve, I had spent ten years keeping every other woman away from him. Any woman who tried to crawl into his bed was ruthlessly thrown out. But this time, I didn’t react. I simply put down my wine glass, took a pre-prepared file and a velvet gift box from my bag, and walked up to the stage in my high heels. I pushed the documents and the box toward them. “Congratulations. Happy birthday. This file contains all the core data and formulas for the Silver-Purge Salve project, Luna Sophia.” The velvet box popped open, revealing a priceless vintage Patek Philippe watch. I had saved up for five years to buy it at an auction. The moment I said “Luna Sophia,” James’s hand froze mid-air. He lifted his gaze, his dark, piercing eyes locking onto me, trying to drill a hole through my face. After analyzing me for half a minute, his brows furrowed, and he let out a cold sneer. “Emily, what kind of game are you playing now?” His tone was dripping with mockery and suspicion. I stared at the face I had adored for a decade. He had sharp, defined brows and eyes like stars. His jawline was cold and chiseled. I used to love this face so much that I would have gladly died for him. But now, my heart was a pool of dead water. “I’m not playing games.” I lowered my eyes. “I genuinely wish you both the best. Since you’ve found your Fated Mate, I’ll pack my things and move out of the Packhouse tomorrow. I’ll make room for you guys.” James’s eyebrows knitted together tightly. He stared at me, trying to detect even a shred of pretense on my face. There was nothing. An inexplicable wave of irritation washed over him. Just as he was about to speak, Sophia gently tugged at his sleeve. “James, is Emily mad at me? If she doesn’t want me to have it, I can just reject the project.” Her voice was soft, fragile, and utterly pathetic. James immediately grabbed her hand and glared at me coldly. “She’s the one who wants to get lost. Nobody is stopping her. Emily, remember what you just said. Get the hell out tomorrow. And don’t come back without my permission!” “Fine.” Without hesitation, I turned, walked off the stage, and left the hall. Nobody knew that I had already died once. In my past life, at this very birthday gala, I had lost my mind. I screamed, threw a tantrum, and slapped Sophia in front of everyone. To punish me and please her, James locked me in the basement for an entire month. Later, relying on his mother’s affection for me, I nagged, begged, and even drugged James to get into his bed, forcing him to marry me. But a forced marriage was nothing but hell. After the wedding, he treated me like an enemy. He humiliated and crushed me at every turn. He even brought Sophia into our bedroom to make love right in front of me, watching cold-heartedly as I cried in agony. Eventually, Sophia had me secretly murdered. After my death, my soul met Selene. The Moon Goddess of werewolf faith. She told me that I wasn’t wolf-less. I was the chosen one, the destined Luna Queen. But my Fated Mate was poisoned. His agony was transmitted to me, keeping my wolf in a constant state of near-death weakness. Having a second chance at life, I finally understood. Unrequited love is just a curse. My obsession had destroyed the Moonhowl Pack and myself. But my destiny lay elsewhere. In my past life, because the Alpha King had never found his Luna Queen, the wolves of the kingdom were filled with anxiety and aggression. Even though the Alpha King used his immense power to suppress the chaos, he couldn’t stop the wars instigated by ambitious rebels. Of course, another reason was that the Alpha King was poisoned. He was forced to miss almost every major pack celebration, which kept him from noticing the dark undercurrents rising among the packs. But this time, things would be different. I would stop it all from happening. Returning to the Packhouse, I walked straight to my adoptive mother’s room. Seeing her face so alive and healthy, tears spilled from my eyes. She rushed forward and hugged me tight. “Emily, what’s wrong? Did James bully you again? I heard about him giving your patent to Sophia. I’ll go rip him a new one tomorrow!” I shook my head, staring deeply into her eyes. “Mom, I heard the Council is demanding you send a bride to the Alpha King for an alliance.” I lifted my chin, my gaze absolute. “I want to marry Alpha King Alexander Blackwood.”

    Emily Carter POV “You want to marry Alpha King Alexander Blackwood?” My mother’s face went pale with horror. She gripped my shoulders, her voice shaking violently. “Emily, have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea what kind of man he is? Ever since that battle years ago, he goes completely feral every single night. The Council is desperate to find a compatible mate to suppress the poison in his blood. But the previous three fiancées sent by other packs, they all vanished into thin air the moment they entered his castle. If you go there, will you even survive?” I didn’t try to pull away. I just squeezed her hands back. My voice was soft but steady. “Rumors aren’t always true. Besides, in everyone else’s eyes, aren’t I just a crazy woman who would do anything to steal her brother? A madman and a madwoman. We’re a perfect match.” “But…” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’ve always loved you like my own daughter. How can I push you into a burning hell?” “You know the state of the Moonhowl Pack better than I do, Mom. James has been embezzling a massive chunk of pack funds just to buy Sophia luxury items. Didn’t the Council say that if we send a bride, the Alpha King will provide a massive financial bailout for our pack?” I calmly laid out the facts, watching her face crumble as I pushed harder. “And once I’m married, James can finally be with Sophia without constantly worrying about me. The Moonhowl Pack is saved, and James gets his freedom. Everyone wins.” My mother stared at me for a long, painful moment before burying her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. “My sweet girl… I am so sorry…” I gently patted her back, feeling nothing but a profound sense of relief. “Please keep this a secret from James for now. I don’t want him thinking I’m doing this to guilt-trip him. In two weeks, I will leave directly with the Alpha King’s men.” Two weeks. What a coincidence. That was the exact day James planned to formally propose to Sophia. In my last life, I ruined his proposal. In this life, I would use my marriage to buy him the future he wanted. After comforting my mother, I went back to my room. The moment I pushed the door open, the room suffocated me with reminders of James. The walls were plastered with candid photos I had taken of him. The closet was stuffed with clothes he had casually bought for me. Even the lighter sitting on my desk was a cheap thing he had tossed aside, which I had cherished like a sacred relic. Looking at these things I once valued more than my life, I felt a wave of nausea. I grabbed several large black trash bags and began to purge. Photos? Ripped to shreds. Clothes? Cut into rags. Gifts? Smashed to pieces. Bit by bit, I swept ten years of pathetic, unrequited delusion into the trash. It took me three grueling hours. I was dripping with sweat, and my fingers were bleeding from sharp plastic edges, but looking at the empty room, my chest felt lighter than ever. I took a shower and had just lain down to sleep when my bedroom door was violently kicked open. A loud crash echoed through the room. I bolted upright, startled. James stood at the doorway, radiating pure fury. He was gripping a tablet in his hand, his eyes dark enough to kill. He marched over to my bed and slammed the tablet hard against my chest. “Emily Carter, look at you! You pretend to be all sweet and compliant on the outside, voluntarily handing over your research, while stabbing us in the back with this disgusting stunt!” I gasped from the impact, wincing as I picked up the tablet. On the screen was the top trending topic on the pack’s internal forum. “Sophia Langley of the Ironclaw Pack, Bully and Abuser Exposed.” “Sophia Langley’s Criminal Past!” “Sophia the Homewrecker!” The leak was highly detailed, complete with photos and documents. It listed Sophia’s punishment records for bullying pack members back in the Ironclaw Pack, and even featured intimate photos of her with several different male wolves. To an ordinary werewolf, these actions might not seem like a death sentence. But Sophia was about to become the Luna of the Moonhowl Pack. A Luna was expected to possess impeccable morals and a nurturing grace to balance the rough, hot-tempered Alphas. She was the anchor of the pack’s stability. Unsurprisingly, the comment section was flooded with members questioning her fitness to lead. I glanced at it briefly before tossing the tablet back onto the bed. “I didn’t do this.” “If it wasn’t you, then who?!” James suddenly lunged, wrapping his hand tightly around my throat. He pinned me against the headboard, the veins on his hand bulging. “Who else but a psycho like you would keep digging up dirt on Sophia? Do you honestly think that ruining her reputation will make me accept you? In your dreams!” My breath was cut off, but I didn’t claw at his hand. I just stared back at him coldly. “James Whitfield, calm down! I said, it wasn’t me.” “You dare lie to me!” He gritted his teeth, his grip tightening. “For years, you’ve been hostile to every single woman who got close to me. Private threats, public defamation. You did it all! Emily, you are so disgusting and wicked!” Just then, hurried footsteps echoed outside. Sophia rushed into the room, tears streaming down her face, and threw her arms around James’s arm. “James, stop! Please! Emily didn’t mean to… she just cares about you too much. It doesn’t matter if my reputation is ruined, as long as you two don’t fight because of me…” She gasped for air, looking as if she might faint. James immediately let go of me, pulling her protectively into his chest. When he looked back at me, his eyes were cold as ice. “Emily Carter, make a public statement right now. Admit that you fabricated all of this, and apologize to Sophia publicly!”

    Emily Carter POV “Why should I?” I clutched my bruised neck, coughing hoarsely as I looked up to meet James’s gaze. “I will never apologize for something I didn’t do.” James’s face darkened instantly. He let go of Sophia and took a menacing step toward me, his voice dangerously low. “Emily, have I been too soft on you? Sophia is my Fated Mate and the future Luna. If this scandal isn’t cleared up, the pack will reject her! If you don’t issue a statement, she’s ruined!” “If she’s ruined, how is that my problem?” I let out a cold laugh. “She knows exactly what kind of trash she did in her past. James Whitfield, you’re protecting her so blindly. Aren’t you afraid you’re holding a piece of garbage?” Slap. A violent slap struck my face. My head snapped to the side, my ears ringing as the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. The room fell into a suffocating silence. Sophia gasped, covering her mouth in mock horror. “James, why did you hit her…” James’s hand hung in the air, trembling slightly. He hadn’t expected to hit me that hard. A flash of regret crossed his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by cold indifference. “That’s the price for your filthy mouth.” He said coldly. “Emily, I’ll give you one last chance. Are you going to clear her name or not?” I slowly turned my head back, wiped the blood from my lip with my thumb, and laughed. I laughed so hard tears almost came out. This was the man I had loved for ten years. For a woman filled with lies, he played judge and jury without knowing the truth, and even raised his hand against me. “Alpha James, didn’t you say I did this because I love you?” Barefoot, I stepped off the bed and walked over to the corner, kicking open the massive black trash bags. Shredded clothes, torn photographs, and smashed gifts spilled across the floor. James’s pupils contracted instantly. He stared at a torn photo on the ground. It was a picture from his eighteenth birthday, a photo I had practically begged and annoyed him to take with me. He had hated it, but I had framed it and kept it by my bedside like a treasure. Now, his face in the photo was cut to pieces. “Do you see this?” I pointed at the mess on the ground. “I don’t love you anymore. Your things disgust me. So believe me, I don’t have the time or energy to waste on your little precious princess.” James’s face drained of color. “You…” He opened his mouth, but his throat was too tight to produce words. Seeing this, a flash of jealousy and malice shot through Sophia’s eyes. She quickly grabbed James’s sleeve, whispering gently, “James, since Emily said it wasn’t her, let’s just leave it. We’ll find another way. Don’t force her.” James took a deep breath and gave me one last frigid look. “It better not be you. Otherwise, I will make you pay.” With that, he pulled Sophia and walked out. I stared at their retreating figures and muttered, “Get lost.” James paused for a fraction of a second, his back stiffening, but he didn’t turn around. He stormed off. I collapsed onto the floor amidst the wreckage and closed my eyes. It was over. Truly over. The next morning, I carried my suitcase downstairs, ready to leave the Packhouse. I wanted to find a quiet place to stay before the Alpha King’s men arrived, away from their drama. As I reached the living room, James and Sophia were heading out to manage the public relations crisis. Seeing my suitcase, James frowned. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Back to my parents’ old house,” I said flatly. “Didn’t you tell me to get the hell out yesterday?” James choked on his words, his expression souring. Before he could speak, the front doors were violently thrown open. A disheveled woman with bloodshot eyes burst in, clutching a gleaming silver dagger. She lunged at Sophia like a maniac. “Sophia Langley! You bitch! You framed me for seducing the Alpha and got me kicked out of my pack! My mother died protecting me from rogues because of you! Today, I’m taking your life!” It happened too fast. Nobody had time to react. The dagger sliced through the air, heading straight for Sophia’s chest.

    Emily Carter POV “Sophia!” James reacted with lightning speed. He wrapped his arm around Sophia’s waist, pulling her into his chest and spinning away from the lethal blade. But he forgot that I was standing right behind him. Not only did his spin expose me directly to the danger, but he also shoved me hard. The force sent me crashing right into the path of the frantic woman’s dagger. The sound of metal tearing through flesh echoed sharply in the quiet living room. An agonizing pain erupted just below my left shoulder blade. The cold silver blade sank deep into my back, and hot blood immediately spurted out. The burning sensation of silver began to eat away at my wound. I let out a strangled groan, my knees buckling as I collapsed onto the floor. “Emily!” My mother screamed, rushing down the stairs. I clutched my wound, but blood kept oozing through my fingers. My vision began to blur, but before darkness claimed me, I saw James’s face clearly. He was holding a trembling Sophia, staring at me lying in a pool of blood. His eyes were wide with shock and a fleeting moment of pure panic. His lips moved, seemingly calling my name. But I couldn’t hear him anymore. When I woke up, I was in the Packhouse clinic. The sharp smell of antiseptic made me wince. The moment I opened my eyes, I saw my mother sitting by the bed, her eyes swollen. “Emily, you’re finally awake! You scared me to death…” She squeezed my hand, tears spilling over again. I forced a weak smile. “Mom, I’m fine.” “Fine?! The blade was an inch away from your heart! And it was silver!” My mother snapped, turning her head to glare at James, who was standing by the window. “James Whitfield, are you blind?! It’s one thing to protect that trash, but why did you throw Emily in front of the knife? She is your sister!” James stood in the shadows, his face incredibly dark. He stared at me, his jaw clenched tightly, his voice hoarse. “It wasn’t intentional. It was an emergency, and I didn’t see her behind me.” “Didn’t see her? You’re an Alpha, and you can’t even protect your own family?” My mother was shaking with rage. “Let me tell you, Emily is about to…” “Mom!” I used every ounce of my remaining strength to cut her off. My mother froze, seeing the pleading look in my eyes, and reluctantly swallowed the rest of her words. James’s sharp instincts picked up on the tension. His brow furrowed. “She’s about to what?” “Nothing,” I said coldly, looking straight at him. “My mother means I’m leaving the Packhouse soon anyway, so I won’t be an eyesore. My wound is fine, so please don’t trouble yourself, Alpha James.” James’s face hardened instantly. He walked to the bedside, looking down at me with his usual arrogant contempt. “Emily, you don’t need to play the victim in front of me. Don’t think that taking a knife for Sophia will make me soft on you. This trick is pathetic.” I stared at him, feeling absolutely nothing. “James, do you have a persecution complex?” I said quietly. “I took this hit to pay you back for the ten years you acted as my brother. From now on, we are even. The door is right there. Get out. I need to rest.” He glared at me, trying to find a crack in my armor, but ultimately just sneered. “Good. Keep it that way.” He turned and stormed out of the clinic. I spent a week under the healer’s care. The moment my wound closed up, I demanded to be discharged. The day the Alpha King’s escort was coming was drawing near, and I didn’t want any complications. On the day of my release, it wasn’t my mother who came to pick me up, but James’s Beta, David Mercer. The car didn’t head back to the Packhouse. Instead, it pulled up outside an exclusive private VIP lounge. “Miss Emily, Alpha James is waiting for you inside,” David said respectfully. I frowned but got out of the car. When I pushed the VIP room door open, the dim lights revealed a room filled with the heavy scent of alcohol and smoke. James sat in the center, with Sophia clinging weakly to his chest. Opposite them sat a bulky, greasy-looking man with a disgusting leer on his face. It was Marcus Reed, a notorious scumbag in the city. He was a lone wolf who ran underground businesses, interested in nothing but money and women. The moment I entered, Marcus’s eyes lit up, his gaze roaming shamelessly over my body. “Ah, so this is Emily? A real beauty.” My stomach churned. I looked coldly at James. “What is the meaning of this?” James flicked his cigarette ash, his tone incredibly casual. “Because of the forum scandal, some Council members are trying to impeach Sophia. She needs a win to prove herself. Mr. Reed here is willing to sign a major contract with us. Didn’t you say you don’t owe me anything anymore? Have a few drinks with Mr. Reed tonight, help Sophia secure this contract, and then your debt to the Moonhowl Pack will be fully paid.” I stared at him in utter disbelief. To pave the way for Sophia, to squeeze every last drop of value out of me, he was willing to throw me to a notorious predator? “James, you make me sick.” I turned to leave. “Stop right there!” James’s voice was like ice. “Emily, if you dare walk out that door today, I will freeze all your accounts and kick you out of the Moonhowl Pack. You are an orphan. Without us, you are nothing but a stray dog.”

    Emily Carter POV My feet froze in place. It wasn’t because I was afraid of being kicked out of the Moonhowl Pack. It was because if I had a total fallout with James right now, the alliance with the Alpha King might fall through. I had to endure this for just two more weeks. Taking a deep breath, I turned around and sat down at the very edge of the sofa. Seeing my submission, a cold smirk of triumph flashed in James’s eyes. “Mr. Reed, I leave Emily in your hands. Enjoy your chat.” James stood up, wrapping his arm around Sophia’s waist as they walked out. At the door, Sophia looked back at me, her lips curling into a wicked, triumphant grin. The heavy door shut, blocking out all outside noise. Marcus immediately slid closer, his suffocating mix of cheap cologne and alcohol making me gag. “Emily, don’t be so cold. Alpha James practically gave you to me. Stick with me, and I promise you a good life.” He poured a glass of wine and held it in front of my face. “Come on, have a drink. Let’s get friendly.” I pushed his hand away coldly. “I don’t drink. Mr. Reed, just because James is crazy doesn’t mean you have to be.” Marcus’s face darkened, but then he let out a filthy chuckle. “I like feisty girls. Today, you’re drinking this wine whether you want to or not!” He suddenly lunged, grabbing my jaw with brute force and forcing the wine down my throat. I fought back wildly, spilling most of it over my clothes, but a small gulp still went down. Marcus let go, grinning wickedly. “There we go. There’s a little ‘extra ingredient’ in that glass. You’ll find out how good I am in a minute.” My heart sank. The drug hit me incredibly fast. Within minutes, my body started burning up, my limbs felt like lead, and my vision blurred. Grinning like a maniac, Marcus began to unbuckle his belt, lunging at me. “Get off me!” I bit down hard on my tongue, the sharp pain bringing a brief moment of clarity. As Marcus came at me, I grabbed a heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table and slammed it into his temple with all my remaining strength. “Ah!” Marcus screamed, clutching his bleeding head as he collapsed onto the couch. I seized the opportunity to stumble out of the room, running for my life. The drug was getting stronger. My steps were uneven, and I almost fell several times. The wound on my left shoulder tore open from the frantic movement, blood soaking through my bandage, but I couldn’t care less about the pain. I didn’t even know how I managed to escape the venue, hail a cab, and make it back to the Packhouse. But when I pushed the front doors open, what welcomed me wasn’t my mother’s concern, but an interrogation. The living room was brightly lit. James sat in the middle of the sofa, his face livid. Sophia stood beside him, looking smug. And Marcus Reed’s parents were pointing at me, screaming at the top of their lungs. “Alpha James, we came to negotiate a partnership out of respect for you! And this little bitch dared to assault my son! You must give us justice today, or we will take this to the Council and put her on trial!” I collapsed onto the floor, panting heavily, my body burning like fire. “He drugged me.” I rasped. “Drugged?!” Marcus’s mother shrieked. “My son can have any woman he wants! Why would he drug you? It’s obvious you tried to seduce him, and when it failed, you violently attacked him!” Sophia chimed in at the perfect moment. “Exactly, Emily. Mr. Reed is so wealthy, why would he do such a thing? You must have lost your temper again. Just apologize to them.” I lifted my head, staring directly at James. “James, do you believe me?” James looked at me, a complex flash of emotion crossing his eyes. But in the end, his voice was cold and detached. “Emily, you’ve disappointed me. I gave you a chance to serve the Moonhowl Pack, and you repaid us by almost turning the Reed family into our enemies.” He stood up, looking down at me as if I were a piece of irredeemable garbage. “Since you refuse to behave, don’t blame me for being ruthless. I will have to punish you according to pack law!” Pack law. The punishment of the Moonhowl Pack was a whip lined with silver thorns. I stared at him in utter horror, my heart completely dying in that very second. “James, I still have a fresh stab wound…” my voice was hoarse. “You brought that on yourself!” James snapped coldly. “Kneel!” Two werewolf warriors stepped forward, forcing me down onto my knees. James took the silver-thorned whip. Without a single trace of hesitation, he brought it down hard across my back. Flesh tore. I bit my lip so hard it bled, refusing to let out a single scream. With every strike, a spray of blood flew, accompanied by the agonizing burn of silver. By the tenth strike, my back was a bloody mess. Combined with the reopened stab wound on my shoulder, blood completely stained the carpet. I lay on the floor like a dying dog, finding it painful even to breathe. “Throw her in the basement,” James tossed the bloody whip aside, his voice devoid of any warmth. “No food or water without my permission. Let her reflect on what she did!” The heavy basement door slammed shut. Complete darkness swallowed me. Curled up in the cold, damp corner, feeling my life slowly slipping away, my soul felt a strange sense of liberation. James Whitfield, in this life, I have finally paid you back, with interest. There were only three days left until the Alpha King’s arrival.

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  • He Said His Ex’s Name at Our Proposal

    My boyfriend, Austin Miller, always called me by his ex-girlfriend’s name. On my birthday, when he handed me a gift, the words slipped out of his mouth: “Summer, this is your favorite shade of lipstick.” When he accompanied me to the hospital for an IV drip, he asked: “Summer, does it hurt?” Even on Valentine’s Day, as he held me by the waist in the dark, he whispered: “Summer, just relax.” Every single time, I corrected him with rising anger: “My name is Sera, Austin. Not Summer.” Over time, Austin began to pause for a solid two seconds before calling my name. Eventually, he would manage to get it right: “Sera.” I thought he had finally trained himself to forget her. Until Summer Reed, his ex, joined our company. And just like that, he started slipping up again. Even when he went down on one knee, holding a ring in front of me, he blurted out: “Summer, will you marry me!” But this time, I didn’t get angry. I didn’t correct him. I stopped forcing him to get my name right altogether.

    When Austin realized what he had said, his face went completely blank. He scrambled to his feet, trying to reach out to me, but he still hesitated for two seconds before speaking. “Sera, I…” An overwhelming wave of irony washed over me. Even in a moment like this, he still had to calculate before addressing me. I knew exactly what he was going to say. It was just a habit. He was too nervous. After three years together, I was sick to death of his excuses. I took a step back, dodging his hand. “Save it.” “We’re done, Austin. Let’s break up.” “No…” Austin tried to grab my arm. But the commotion had already drawn our coworkers over. This was our annual company retreat, and seeing a proposal, everyone instantly lost their minds. “Oh my god! Austin is actually proposing at the retreat!” “Summer! I had no idea you and Austin were together! Why didn’t you tell us?” I turned around and saw Summer standing not far behind me. My figure had been completely hidden by the trees along the pathway. From a distance, it really did look like Austin was kneeling right in front of her. Summer was covering her mouth, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and pure joy. Our coworkers swarmed her, cheering and pushing her toward Austin. Someone pushing past aggressively shoved me aside. “Hey, they’re proposing here! Why are you standing in the middle like a total third wheel?” I stumbled. My long dress was stepped on, and my styled hair got caught on someone’s jacket zipper, ripping painfully. I was shoved and squeezed out of the crowd, looking utterly pathetic. By the time I managed to look up, the two of them were surrounded by a thick circle of cheering people. Summer, wearing a white lace dress, stood in the center like a glowing bride waiting for her happily ever after. And I, like everyone else, was just a random spectator watching their beautiful moment. Through the gaps in the crowd, my eyes met Austin’s. His expression was incredibly complicated. I saw his lips part, as if he wanted to shout an explanation. But looking at Summer, who was crying tears of joy, he swallowed his words. He forced a smile and slid the ring—the ring meant for me—onto her ring finger. I let out a bitter laugh. I didn’t make a scene. I didn’t demand answers. I just turned around silently, walking away from the celebration that was supposed to be mine. The sky grew dark, and the wind blowing off the river was freezing.

    I walked across the bridge alone. My mind kept flashing back to how excited I had been when I accidentally saw Austin’s proposal plans. I had booked the makeup artist a month in advance. I ordered the perfect dress online. I spent eight hours at the salon getting my hair done. Last night, I was so nervous I couldn’t even sleep. I had hugged my blanket, trying to picture Austin’s face when he proposed. He was always so calm and collected. Would he stutter? Would his ears turn bright red? No matter what, I had planned to grab the ring, throw myself into his arms, and scream: “Yes! A million times yes!” If the sunset over the river was just right, the light would coat us in gold, just like in those cheesy romance movies. Maybe a passerby would take a picture of us. I wanted to use it as the cover of our wedding album, placing it in the most visible spot of our future home. Thinking about it back then, I had actually laughed out loud with sweet anticipation. The harsh honk of a car horn snapped me back to reality. Now, with ruined hair and dusty footprints covering my dress, I was walking alone in the dark. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Austin. [Sera, I’m so sorry.] I stopped walking. [But let’s just go with it for now. Summer already accepted in front of everyone. Don’t make it humiliating for her.] [I’ll explain to everyone later that it was just a dare.] I stared at those lines for a long time. But I wasn’t surprised. The second Austin said the wrong name, I knew exactly how he would handle it. It was just like Valentine’s Day, when the massive bouquet of red roses he ordered was accidentally delivered to Summer’s desk. When I wanted to go claim it, he had gently held my hand down. “I’m sorry, Sera. I put the wrong recipient name by accident.” “Just let Summer keep them. Taking them back in front of the whole office would make her look bad.” Another notification popped up in the company retreat group chat. [Austin is buying drinks for the engagement party! Everyone meet at the hotel’s second-floor restaurant now!] This wasn’t a spontaneous decision. It was part of his original proposal plan. Since he had proposed to the wrong person, he decided to just let Summer have everything else too. That was always Austin’s logic. Someone posted a photo of the dinner table. It was the hotel’s highest-tier menu, and the main course was King Crab. I am severely allergic to seafood. Austin could never remember that. But it happened to be Summer’s absolute favorite. Maybe this was the universe guiding him back to where he belonged. I closed the app and opened Uber. Whatever the case, I was officially bowing out. I unlocked the door to our apartment. The first thing I saw was our couple’s portrait sitting on the entryway cabinet. My footsteps faltered. Austin hated taking pictures. I had to beg him for months to get that photo. I remembered the day we moved in. I ran around the apartment holding the frame, trying to find the perfect spot. Austin had watched me, shaking his head. “It’s just a photo, Sera. What does it matter where it goes?” I had turned around and looked at him seriously. “It matters! I want everyone who walks through that door to see how happy we are the very second they enter!” I chose the spot right by the door. The hallway light would hit it perfectly the moment the door opened. It was my only comfort after working late-night overtime in this crowded city, trying to build a life with him. But was I really happy? I picked up the frame, running my fingers over the glass. Even in our couple’s photo, Austin looked stiff and emotionless.

    Suddenly, the dozens of photos my coworkers had spammed in the group chat rushed into my mind. In every single one of them, Austin was holding Summer, smiling with a warmth I hadn’t seen in years. Maybe I was the only one who ever felt happy in this relationship. I placed the photo face down on the cabinet and started packing my bags. My clothes, my shoes… When I got to my jewelry, my hands paused. The necklace hanging in the center of the rack was the birthday gift Austin gave me last year. I cleared out all the gifts we had exchanged over the years. Since we were breaking up, there was no point in keeping any of it. For the first and second year, our gifts were mutual and thoughtful. But for the third year, there was nothing from Austin. Not for our anniversary, and not for Valentine’s Day. Because he had “accidentally” addressed them to Summer. I sent Austin a text. [I threw away the things you gave me. The things you bought for me are in the bedroom closet.] [Do whatever you want with them.] By the time I finished packing, he still hadn’t replied. I opened Snapchat. The party had just ended, and everyone was raving about how fun it was. Summer had posted a story. [You said she was just a compromise, a responsibility you couldn’t shake. It’s okay. I will wait for you forever…] No views, no replies yet. She had customized her settings so only I could see it. I tapped the heart icon, closed my phone, and rolled my suitcase toward the door. What they did next was none of my business. But the moment I opened the door, I ran straight into a panting Austin. Seeing me, he let out a sigh of relief. But in the next second, his brows furrowed, his voice filled with annoyance. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back? I was looking all over for you.” I didn’t answer. I just found it hilarious. Looking all over for me? More like he had finished his fancy dinner, accompanied Summer through the entire celebration, and only came looking for me when he finally had some free time. Austin pushed past me into the apartment. Under the bright hallway light, he finally noticed my suitcase. His face fell. “Where do you think you’re going this late?” I looked at him, completely expressionless. “I’m moving out. I’ll come back for the rest of my stuff later.” Hearing this, Austin didn’t beg me to stay. Instead, a familiar look of impatience washed over his face. It was the exact same look he gave me whenever I got upset over him calling me Summer, back when he would half-heartedly promise he didn’t love his ex anymore. He took a deep breath, trying to play the patient partner, and pulled the ring box from his pocket. “Fine. I swear I only love you, okay?” “Today was genuinely an accident. And I only took the team to dinner because the deposit was non-refundable. I didn’t want to waste the money.” He brushed it off as if he had just grabbed a casual burger with coworkers. “I explained everything to Summer, too. Look, I even got the ring back.” “Let’s just drop it.” Austin grabbed my hand, trying to force the ring onto my ring finger. But it was incredibly loose. The moment I let my hand drop, the ring slid right off my finger and clinked onto the floor, rolling to Austin’s feet. The air went dead silent. Looking at Austin’s stunned face, I let out a mocking laugh. “Another accident? Did you get the wrong size when you ordered it too?” When that ring was on Summer’s finger, it had fit flawlessly. Like it was custom-made for her. For once, Austin looked guilty. He picked up the ring, coughing to hide his embarrassment. “It was an oversight. I’ll get it resized tomorrow.” “Don’t bother,” I cut him off coldly.

    “When I said we’re breaking up, I meant it. We’re done, Austin.” Austin froze. Slowly, he put the ring back in its box. As he snapped the lid shut, the guilt on his face evaporated, replaced by his usual cold, indifferent mask. “Sera, I said I’d get it fixed.” He looked at me like I was a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Every time something minor happens, you threaten to break up and run away. It’s getting really exhausting.” My breathing hitched. Suddenly, I remembered the night of our project launch party. I had won the grand prize in the company raffle: a fully sponsored, week-long paid vacation. I had been ecstatic. I hadn’t taken a day off in three months, and I hadn’t seen my parents in two years. But after I booked my flight and my parents took time off work to wait for my arrival, HR called me. They told me my prize had already been claimed. “Austin came by and redeemed it. He said he had your permission to transfer the vacation voucher to your department’s new intern, Summer Reed.” When I confronted him with tear-filled eyes, Austin didn’t even look up from his laptop. “Oh, that. I must have written down the wrong name by mistake.” “Then go get it back!” I had screamed, grabbing his phone out of his hand. But the screen was open to Summer’s Instagram post. [A fully paid vacation to a music festival! Best boss ever! Thank you, A~] It was a slap to the face. My hands shook as I held the screen up to him. “An accident? You call this an accident?” Austin didn’t apologize. Instead, he blamed me with chilling coldness. “The mistake was already made. I just maximized the utility.” “Giving incentives to subordinates builds my authority as a leader.” “Sera, you’ve been at this company long enough. Can you please start looking at the bigger picture?” I was driven mad by his hypocritical corporate speak. That was the first time I ever threatened to break up with him. Even when he called me Summer a thousand times, I had never thought about leaving. I stayed in a hotel for three days, but I didn’t receive a single text of apology. Eventually, I realized Austin only treated me this way because he knew how much I loved him. He knew I would always forgive him. He knew I had abandoned a stable job in my hometown and moved thousands of miles to this city just because he said he hated long-distance relationships. The day I crawled back home, he had a smirk of victory on his face. Taking my suitcase, he had said casually: “Don’t do that again. Be mature.” The Austin standing in front of me now looked exactly like he did that day. But this time, I wasn’t going to crawl back. I repeated myself, clearer and firmer than ever. “I am serious, Austin. We are over.” He slammed the door on his way out, leaving only a cold parting shot: “You are completely unstable right now. Get some professional help and calm down!” I didn’t care where he went. Summer’s Instagram story popped up immediately. [I always knew I was your first choice.] In the photo, the proposal ring was back on her finger, fitting perfectly. I liked the post. I took one last look at the apartment I had lovingly decorated piece by piece, and quietly shut the door behind me. The next morning at work, the two of them walked in together. The office erupted in congratulations. I ignored the noise, keeping my head down to work on my transition files. Since joining this company, I had closed deals worth over a hundred million dollars. Next week, I was scheduled to be promoted to Sales Director, which meant I would lead my own department and would no longer have to work under Austin. Carrying my files, I stood up and ran right into Austin.

    His mouth opened, as if he wanted to say something. I walked right past him without a word. I walked straight to HR. “Jerry, here is my promotion paperwork. Let me know if anything is missing.” Jerry, the HR rep, flipped through my file with a confused expression. “But your department’s promotion slot has already been submitted.” “What?” I froze. “Austin submitted it yesterday. He said Summer Reed was the main contributor to the high-value project, so he requested the promotion slot go to her. She’s being fast-tracked to Team Lead.” Team Lead was my current position. Austin was literally stealing my hard work and success to pave a path for his ex-girlfriend. My phone buzzed. [Summer helped cover up the proposal mix-up yesterday. Clarifying it publicly would destroy her reputation.] [Think of this promotion as compensation for her. Your promotion can wait until next quarter.] I stared at the screen, a blinding rage erupting in my chest. I was furious at Austin’s utter shamelessness. But I was even more furious at myself for loving him so blindly in the past, allowing him to treat my career like his personal playground. But this time, I wasn’t going to take it lying down. Without a second thought, I filed a formal complaint disputing Summer’s promotion. Since I had proof that I was the sole creator and executor of the project, HR verified and rejected her promotion in less than half a day. During that time, Austin sent me dozens of angry messages. I ignored every single one of them. When the notification popped up on my computer screen confirming my own promotion was approved, I finally let out a long breath. My phone lit up with a final text from Austin: [Are you happy now that you’ve thrown your little fit? Make sure you come home early tonight. Don’t make things uglier than they already are.] Even now, Austin thought I was just acting out of jealousy. With a few taps, I blocked his number and sent him straight to my blacklist. Then, I went back to my temporary hotel room. The next morning. After the sales department’s morning meeting, I was asked to stay behind to discuss my transition to Sales Director. But the moment I stepped out of the conference room, the atmosphere in the office had completely changed. When people saw me, they looked at me like I was a piece of trash, quickly lowering their heads and whispering as they hurried past. Snatches of their conversation drifted over. “So she’s the homewrecker?” “She seemed so professional. I had no idea she was that kind of person…” A terrible feeling crept into my chest. I hurried back to my desk and opened WhatsApp. The company group chat had been completely spammed by Summer. [A certain Team Lead, Sera Vance, has repeatedly harassed and tried to seduce my fiancé. When she failed, she maliciously sabotaged my promotion out of spite. How can the company allow someone so toxic to work here!] The comments underneath were brutal. “No wonder she didn’t show up to the engagement dinner. She was jealous!” Summer had uploaded dozens of cropped screenshots of my chat history with Austin. She had deleted all of Austin’s replies, making it look like I was unilaterally begging and harassing him. To avoid office gossip, Austin and I had never made our relationship public. But since everyone had just eaten his free engagement dinner, it was obvious whose side they were going to take. The rumors had been brewing for an hour, with thousands of messages flying back and forth. Yet, Austin, the co-star of this drama, had said absolutely nothing to defend me. In fact, those screenshots were taken from his perspective. My stomach turned. I started typing rapidly, trying to draft a clarification. Suddenly, a loud commotion erupted at the entrance of the office. Summer pushed past the coworkers trying to stop her and marched straight to my desk. Before I could even react, a sharp slap landed squarely on my cheek. “You cheap homewrecker! Seducing my fiancé and you still have the nerve to show up to work!”

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  • From Cast Aside to Luna of the Blackwood Pack

    My best friend, Lila, threw the bridal bouquet right into my arms. All the werewolves turned their eyes to my boyfriend, Caleb, the Alpha of the Grayfang Pack. “Caleb! Go for it! Marry her!” “Eight years, Alpha! What are you waiting for?” The crowd pushed Caleb toward me. He was wearing a silver-gray groomsman suit, looking as handsome as the man I’d loved for eight years. My heart raced as I gripped the ribbon of the bouquet. But he just smiled, reached out, and pulled the bouquet from my hands. Then he turned and handed it to Serena, an Omega standing nearby. The little Omega blushed, her ears flushing pink. “Thank you, Alpha Caleb,” she whispered. “She caught it first. We shouldn’t steal from a young girl,” he said, rubbing my hair with his usual tenderness. “Next time, I’ll take you to the Silvermoon Forest and pick you a whole basket of fresh white roses. They’re much prettier than this.” I looked at the joy and shyness in Serena’s eyes and sneered inwardly. Caleb didn’t know there would be no next time. My wedding was in exactly seven days. 0

    Lila’s face fell instantly, her wolf ears twitching in anger. I grabbed her hand before she could slap him. She turned to me, her eyes redder than mine, her voice shaking with rage. “That bitch did it on purpose! I told all the bridesmaids that the bouquet was meant for you…” “Lila,” I interrupted gently, squeezing her wrist. “The wedding isn’t over yet. Don’t ruin the mood.” The crowd’s attention had already shifted from Caleb and me. Following the bouquet, everyone was staring at Serena’s delicate face. She held the flowers, looking up timidly, stealing a quick glance at Caleb before lowering her head. Caleb had already retreated to the edge of the crowd, as if the public humiliation he had just dealt me was nothing but a trivial matter. The priest, Elder Marcus of the Silvermoon Pack, was experienced. With a few witty blessings, he got the crowd cheering again. Lila gave a bitter glare, took her groom Ethan’s arm, and finished the ceremony. During the reception, I sat at the head table, enduring sympathetic and curious stares from all directions. Caleb was at another table, laughing and drinking with his Grayfang Pack brothers. Serena sat right next to him, her shoulder practically glued to his arm. That was way too close for a secretary. She wasn’t even supposed to be a bridesmaid. Caleb had claimed they needed an extra bridesmaid at the last minute and put her in. He often took her to pack events, saying she was a capable Omega who helped with pack business. He even brought her to Lila’s wedding. When Lila and her groom came to our table to greet us, she hugged me tightly and whispered in my ear, “That Omega has been throwing herself at Caleb for six months. I had her investigated—she plays dirty. Caleb is…” “Lila,” I patted her back, my fingers brushing the pearls on her wedding dress. “You’re the most beautiful bride today. Don’t let bad vibes ruin it.” She snorted but dropped it. When the party ended and guests started to leave, Caleb walked over. “Ready to go?” He naturally took my purse, his other hand reaching to drape over my shoulder in a comforting gesture. I slipped away slightly, avoiding his touch. “You’ve been drinking. I called a pack driver.” He didn’t mind and nodded. “Fair enough.” The car drove into the night. My face was blurred in the window—makeup flawless, but unable to hide the deep exhaustion in my eyes. “Serena reached for the bouquet first tonight. She’s a young Omega, and it’s her first time at a major pack wedding. It’s normal she wanted some good luck,” he said casually. “I was just returning it to the rightful person. Don’t take it to heart.” I didn’t reply, just watched the forest road lamps flash by. After a moment, he looked up from his phone. “Are you mad?” He leaned closer, his fingers running through my hair, gently rubbing the back of my neck like soothing a grumpy pup. “Didn’t we agree? Once we secure the northern mining territory, we’ll have our wedding. I’ll invite the entire pack to witness it, okay?” A wave of bitterness washed over me. It was always like this. Using a gentle tone to make a vague promise of “next time.” And then expecting me to just let it go. “Caleb,” I said, looking at his reflection in the window. “Yeah?” “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” 0

    “Lila and I made a vow when we were kids,” I said seriously. “Whoever gets married first, the other must get married within seven days.” “We promised to wear the bridesmaid dresses we made for each other and be the first to witness each other’s happiness.” The car fell silent. His hand on my neck stopped. “A childhood joke, and you took it seriously?” He laughed, his hand moving again in a dismissive rub. “Getting pack territory approvals and Elder Council clearance isn’t that simple. It takes six months to a year of prep.” “We’ll plan it properly. I promise you the perfect wedding. What’s the rush?” He didn’t explain why he refused to publicly promise to marry me. He just skipped straight to “planning the perfect wedding.” I remembered a month ago when Lila excitedly dragged me to her workshop to try on the bridesmaid dress she made. When I put it on, Lila’s eyes lit up, but then she got emotional. “Lyra, you look stunning in this. I made this just for you. When you get married, I’ll design an even better wedding gown!” Caleb was there too. He had been looking down, replying to Snapchat messages from Serena. Hearing Lila, he looked up, smiled, and said, “It looks nice.” Then his eyes went right back to his screen, his fingers typing rapidly. At that moment, besides feeling happy for my best friend, I felt a deep chill for my own eight-year, fruitless relationship. The car pulled up to our villa in Grayfang Pack territory. Caleb unbuckled his seatbelt. Thinking our little chat had cleared the air, he leaned in for a possessive kiss. I placed my hand against his shoulder, stopping him. The Alpha’s aura stiffened for a second. “I’m tired, Caleb.” He stared at me, silent for a few seconds. Finally, he patted my shoulder, his tone carrying his usual condescending patience. “Being a bridesmaid is exhausting. Get some rest.” “Serena said she couldn’t call an Uber back to her pack. It’s not safe for an Omega. I’m going back to give her a ride.” “Okay,” I said flatly, not even looking at him. He didn’t leave immediately. He seemed to be waiting for me to say “drive safe” or complain about him going out so late. But I just pushed the door open and got out. The engine sound faded into the distance. Locking the door, I collapsed onto the couch. It took me a long time before I dragged myself to the bedroom. Passing the nursery, I paused. We had planned this room when we bought the house four years ago. It was supposed to be for our future pups, but now it was filled with junk. I walked in and pulled a dusty box out from the crib. Inside were his handwritten love letters, pack festival tickets, polaroids from our hunting trips in the snowy woods… At the very bottom was a photo from our college pack mixer. He was carrying me on his back under a cherry blossom tree, my arms wrapped around his neck. On the back, he had written: I, Caleb, will carry you on my back for the rest of our lives. I promise. The dim light of the hallway hit those words like a silent slap in the face. Downstairs, I heard a car pull into the garage. A moment later, the door opened softly. Caleb stood at the doorway, smelling strongly of Serena’s sweet perfume. “Not asleep yet?” I didn’t turn around, still kneeling by the crib. “No.” “Why did you dig all this out?” he asked casually. “Feeling nostalgic?” I didn’t answer. I just asked quietly, “Did you drop her off safely?” He paused, then explained, “Yeah. She lives near the pack border, Ubers don’t really go out there.” “Oh.” I lowered my head, carefully packing the photos away. “It’s late. Let’s go to bed,” he said, reaching out to pull me up. I didn’t take his hand. Instead, I pushed myself up, my legs numb and wobbly. “Caleb.” “Yeah?” He stopped. “Let’s break up.” 0

    He froze for two seconds, then chuckled. He loosened his tie, his tone carrying a hint of irritation. “Still thinking about that bouquet? Don’t be petty.” It was that same condescending tone he used when I was “throwing a tantrum.” “Fine, I’ll order you a bigger bouquet tomorrow, okay? Go wash up. I have an important pack meeting tomorrow morning.” He turned toward the bathroom. “Within a week,” I said to his back, my voice quiet but crystal clear. “I am getting married.” His hand froze on the bathroom doorknob. A few seconds later, he turned around. His mask of casual patience was gone. “Lyra, stop playing games.” He rubbed his temples, his Alpha pressure slipping out slightly. “Marriage is a big deal. You don’t just do it out of spite.” “October 28th,” I added. “The venue is booked. The dress is ready.” He let out a cold laugh. “Did Lila get in your head again today? Just because she rushed into a marriage doesn’t mean the whole world should be reckless.” “Lyra, wake up. Don’t let her influence you. We’ve been together for so many years…” “Caleb,” I interrupted, looking him dead in the eye, my gaze completely calm. “The invitations are being printed tomorrow.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Lyra, do you think this is going to work? It just makes you look childish and unreasonable!” “My career is peaking right now. Securing the mining territory will elevate the Grayfang Pack. Marriage right now would only distract me and ruin my plans.” “Are you really that desperate to get married?” His words were heavy, designed to suffocate. In the past, this tone would have made me panic, make me apologize and back down. But now, there was only peace. His attention was indeed expensive. He had to give it to the mining project, and to his sweet Omega secretary. Late-night texts, birthday surprises, and weekend spa trips under the guise of “business trips”… What was left for me, his girlfriend, was practically nothing. I met his gaze and nodded. “Yes. My friends are all married. I want a husband too.” With that, I walked into the bedroom. On the nightstand lay a bridal magazine from six months ago. The cover read: The Perfect 3-Month Wedding Prep Guide. I had bought it excitedly back then, but after he said “no rush,” I never opened it again. In the dark, I stared at the ceiling. My phone buzzed. It was Lila on Snapchat: Ugh, can’t sleep. I’m so mad thinking about that Omega. What is wrong with Caleb? We agreed our weddings would be a week apart, remember? Who knew your man would be such a blockhead. The bouquet was literally in your hands and he still didn’t get the hint! You’ve been together eight years, not eight months! Whatever. This is the one time I’ll let you break our promise. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I typed: When have I ever broken a promise to you? 0

    Caleb moved out to his office penthouse. Probably because my sudden wedding plans suffocated him, and he wanted some peace. Good. It gave us both space. I quietly handled everything. I listed our villa on the pack real estate market. The afternoon I handed the keys to the agent, I was packing up some leftover belongings. I found a folder for the mining project tucked inside an old magazine. It was the one Caleb had been working on. After a moment’s hesitation, I decided to drop it off at his penthouse. When I got there, the door was shut, but I could hear laughter inside. He wasn’t alone. I raised my hand to knock. Then, a familiar, sweet voice echoed from inside, sounding helpless. “Alpha Caleb, it’s all my fault. It was my first time catching a bouquet, I didn’t know.” “Now the pack forums are going crazy. A bunch of pack members asked me if we were… you know.” “You have to clarify it in the group chat, or I’ll be too embarrassed to show my face.” My hand froze in midair. Before Caleb could speak, one of his pack brothers laughed teasingly. “Come on, Serena. Do you really want Caleb to clarify, or are you just trying to get him to say something else?” A wave of suggestive laughter followed. Serena whined “Oh, stop it,” but there was no real anger in her voice. “Alright, stop teasing her,” Caleb’s voice sounded warm and gentle. “Don’t worry about it. People will forget in a few days.” People will forget in a few days… Those words triggered a memory. Years ago, I went to his office to help out. He forgot himself and casually put his arm around my shoulder. An Elder walked in and saw us. That afternoon, Caleb made a very dry clarification in the pack group chat, telling everyone not to misunderstand and to focus on work. Back then, I understood. To avoid gossip, I stopped going to his office. But now, my fingers trembled. He didn’t hate office romance. He just hated it when I was the one seen with him. Because I was just an ordinary werewolf with no background, of no help to his career. Another friend asked, “But seriously, Caleb, what’s going on with Lyra? I got her wedding invitation this morning. That came out of nowhere!” A brief silence followed. Caleb let out a cold, humorless chuckle. “Let her play her game.” “I usually indulge her on little things. But this time, she needs to learn that throwing tantrums won’t get her what she wants.” “Whoa,” someone joked. “So the groom is planning to stand her up?” Caleb didn’t deny it. Then, another friend spoke up hesitantly. “Caleb, is this really smart? You and Lyra have been together forever. We’ve been waiting for this wedding…” He paused, then joked half-seriously, “Unless… you actually have other plans? Like… our Serena here?” Serena let out a soft, giggling laugh. “Don’t tease me like that. Alpha Caleb… knows what he’s doing.”

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  • My Wife’s Deadly Allergy Was Only For Me

    “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The chants at the party echoed through the crowded bar, loud and relentless. I stood at the edge of the crowd, quietly watching my wife of three years, Kylie. She giggled, took a mouthful of whiskey, and leaned in close to her male friend, Robertson. Moving her lips to his, she slowly poured the alcohol directly into his mouth. Once the drink was transferred, Robertson wrapped his arm around her waist. He gave her cheek a playful, teasing pinch. “Aren’t you afraid of being allergic to my spit?” Kylie patted his hand away, her eyes crinkling into beautiful crescents as she spoke in a sweet, whiny tone. “Why would I be? I’d never be allergic to yours.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and pulled him into a deep, ten-second French kiss. My mind went completely blank. In that instant, my mind flashed back to our wedding three years ago. I had merely brushed my lips against hers at the altar, and she had immediately gone into anaphylactic shock. She was rushed straight to the ICU. The doctors told me she had a severe saliva allergy. Even the slightest contact with someone else’s spit could be fatal. Since then, during every single intimate moment, she forced me to wear a sealed silicone mask. She wouldn’t even let my lips touch a millimeter of her skin. Because of her “condition,” rumors spread like wildfire in our social circles that I had chronic bad breath or some kind of contagious stomach bacteria. They said I was the one who forced Kylie to live like a nun. To protect her self-esteem, I silently took the blame. I endured the whispers and mocking glances for three whole years. But right now, looking at her smudged lipstick, I finally got it. She wasn’t allergic to saliva. She was only allergic to me.

    If I hadn’t happened to walk into that exact bar tonight, I would have never known. I would have never seen Kylie—who told me she was working late at the office—holding alcohol in her mouth and feeding it to Robertson without a single shred of hesitation. After she finished feeding him the whiskey, the crowd around them went wild. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” And Kylie actually did it. Egged on by the crowd, she pressed her lips against his. She closed her eyes, tilting her head to change angles several times. She even leaned in deeper, completely lost in the moment. I stood there, frozen. At our wedding, when our guests chanted for us to kiss, she had flatly refused, using her deadly saliva allergy as the perfect excuse. I clenched my fists and started walking toward them. But after only a few steps, I lost my footing and crashed straight into the bar counter. Glasses shattered, sending a loud clatter through the room. Instantly, every eye in the bar turned to me. The kissing couple stopped. Robertson, looking like a smug winner, raised an eyebrow. He walked over and stretched out a hand, pretending to help me up. “Well, if it isn’t Howard? What’s wrong, buddy? Can’t even walk straight?” I slapped his hand away. “Get out of my face!” Robertson shrugged, putting on a perfectly innocent act. “Hey, don’t be mad. We were just playing a game. You know Kylie and I have been like this since we were kids…” I swung my fist at his face. But before my punch could land, Kylie threw herself in front of Robertson, completely ignoring how humiliating this was for me. “This is a private party with all our friends. Have you thrown enough of a tantrum? Get the hell home right now!” I let out a cold, humorless laugh. I walked straight past them, took a seat right in the middle of her friend group, and sat down. “A gathering of friends? As your husband, don’t I deserve a seat at the table?” A heavy silence fell over the group. The two people sitting closest to me instinctively slid their chairs a few inches away. “You have chronic bad breath and H. pylori bacteria, and yet you still have the nerve to crash our game? Aren’t you afraid of infecting all of us?” The guy sitting next to Robertson spoke up, his voice dripping with righteous indignation. The others exchanged awkward glances. I looked at Kylie. She was sitting right next to Robertson, smiling and nodding along with the insult. Because Kylie had refused to let me touch her all these years, the rumors about my “disgusting bacteria” and “terrible breath” had run rampant. To save her face, I had never once defended myself. And now, a secret so private was being thrown in my face as a joke by her friends to mock me. And she just sat there, refusing to say a single word in my defense. I pulled out my phone, opened my medical app, and flashed my latest digital health report. “Take a good look. I don’t have any bacteria, and my breath is perfectly fine. So, I’m joining the next round.” Kylie stood up, trying to snatch my phone. “Stop it, Howard! Why are you being so childish?” “Oh? And what about your saliva allergy, Kylie? Seems like you can kiss whenever you want now!” Dozens of curious, gossiping eyes instantly locked onto us. Kylie’s ears turned bright red. She grabbed my arm, trying to force me to shut up. I shook her hand off. This time, she didn’t try to stop me from joining the game. I grabbed the dice cup and shook it violently. When I lifted it, I revealed the highest possible roll. Everyone stared in utter shock. Including Kylie. She rarely brought me to her social gatherings. She had no idea how good I actually was at these bar games. “I win,” I said coldly. Robertson, who had been looking smug next to Kylie just a second ago, was now frozen like a statue. “Robertson, since you love mouth-to-mouth so much, why don’t you give Hillary a kiss?” The rule of the game was simple: the winner could choose anyone at the table for a Dare. Robertson couldn’t back out, but his face turned incredibly sour. Kylie had told me before that Hillary had been chasing Robertson for years. This dare should have been a favor to her. But Kylie immediately spoke up to defend him. “Babe, come on. Robertson is shy. Let’s just skip this round, okay?” I felt my chest tighten, my voice turning incredibly cold. “You play, you pay. Why is it okay for Robertson to kiss my wife, but he can’t kiss anyone else?” Robertson clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms. “It’s just a game, Howard. Don’t make things difficult for Robertson,” Kylie pleaded, throwing me under the bus just to protect his feelings. My stomach started to churn with a sickening pain, but I refused to lose my ground. “He’s the one with bad luck. Why is that my fault?” Unable to take it anymore, Robertson stood up and stormed out of the bar in a rage. Kylie stood up immediately. She threw a freezing glare at me. “Are you happy now?” With that, she ran out after him. The party fell apart because of me. Strangely, I didn’t feel like a winner at all. I only felt a deep, crushing exhaustion. I slowly stood up, the pain in my stomach growing sharper by the second. By the time I stumbled into the restroom, I was vomiting nothing but burning, sour bile.

    I don’t even remember how I got to the hospital. When I finally opened my eyes, a doctor was already standing over my bed, his voice urgent. “Mr. Vance, you have severe gastrointestinal bleeding. It’s an emergency. We need your family to sign the consent forms for surgery immediately!” I didn’t want to call Kylie. “Doctor… can’t I just sign it myself?” The doctor shook his head. “You are in critical condition. You cannot make these medical decisions alone.” I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth and dialed Kylie’s number. The first few times, the call went through but was left unanswered. After that, her phone was turned off completely. “What’s taking so long? Where is your family?” the nurse urged. I silently dialed her number over and over again. The irony was unbearable. While Kylie was ignoring my life-or-death calls, she had just posted an update on Instagram. The caption read: “Best friends for life! ” The picture showed the back of her and Robertson, clinking glasses at a cozy lounge. I slowly lowered my phone and closed my eyes. A few minutes later, Robertson sent me a Snapchat video. In the video, on the bed I swept and made every single day, messy clothes were scattered all over the floor. Kylie and Robertson were snuggled up together under the same blanket. To top it off, Robertson sent a text: “Hey Howard, is there something urgent? Kylie is exhausted. She’s already asleep.” I stared at the ceiling for a long time. “We can’t wait any longer. The bleeding is getting worse. Where is your wife?” the nurse pressed anxiously. I shook my head. “No one is coming. My wife… she can’t make it.” Hearing this, the nurse’s annoyed expression instantly softened into shock and deep pity. In the end, I signed the consent form myself and was wheeled into the operating room alone. I had no idea how long the surgery took. But the moment I regained consciousness, my phone was buzzing non-stop. I checked. It was Kylie. Instead of calling her back, I blocked her number on every single app. During my five days in the hospital, my bedside remained completely empty. The nurse, unable to watch me suffer alone, helped me hire a private caregiver. While tending to me, the caregiver gently asked, “Where is your family, dear?” I stared blankly out the window. “They’re not here. It’s a long flight, and they’re getting old. I didn’t want to worry them.” The caregiver patted my hand gently, saying nothing. Suddenly, I missed home. My fingers hovered over my phone, and I accidentally dialed my father’s number. The moment I realized what I had done, I hung up in a panic. He was probably buried in work, trying to rebuild his business. I couldn’t let him see me in this pathetic state. A moment later, my father called back. I swallowed my tears and let the phone ring until it went silent. The day I was discharged, I rushed straight back to our apartment to pack my bags and leave. But to my surprise, I ran into Robertson.

    When I opened the door, Robertson was sitting comfortably in my favorite spot on the couch, eating popcorn and spilling it all over the floor. He wasn’t even surprised to see me. He casually gestured for me to sit down, as if he were the master of this house. I kicked his shoes out of the doorway and walked straight past him into the bedroom. But he followed me in. “Haven’t seen Kylie in a few days. Are you throwin’ a tantrum?” Treating him like air, I opened the closet. That was when I realized how little of my stuff was actually left in this house. “Don’t worry, Kylie is doing great at my place. Honestly, she doesn’t really want to come back here anyway.” I still ignored him, silently packing my suitcase. Seeing my silence, he lost his cool. He stepped right in front of me, blocking my path. “Kylie loves me, Howard. Just face it and get out.” I honestly couldn’t comprehend this man. One minute he was claiming they were “just friends,” and the next he was demanding I step aside. I stopped packing and looked him dead in the eye. “Are you done?” He blinked, taken aback. “If you’re done, get out. I need to pack.” Robertson’s face twisted in anger, his voice turning sharp and nasty. “Damn, Howard. You really are a pathetic coward, aren’t you? Your wife is sleeping with another man, and all you can do is pack your bags?” BANG! I slammed my fist against the closet door right next to his head. The heavy wood let out a deafening boom. Robertson gasped, stumbling back two steps in terror. “You’re right. I can’t take it anymore,” I said, my face completely expressionless. “But even if I leave, it doesn’t mean a piece of trash like you gets to act tough in front of me.” Right then, I heard the sound of keys jingling at the front door. Kylie walked in. The second she saw a pale Robertson standing by the bedroom door, she didn’t even ask what happened. She immediately started lecturing me. “What is wrong with you, Howard? You block my number, you don’t come home for days…” “Robertson was worried about you! He’s been waiting here for days just to make sure you’re okay, and you decide to bully him the second you get back?” “I’m bullying him?” I laughed, completely exhausted. I didn’t even want to explain. “Fine. Since you love him so much, go live with him!” At that moment, Robertson started playing the victim again. “Kylie, maybe I shouldn’t be here. I’m just making Howard uncomfortable. He hates me anyway. I’ll just leave…” “Look at you, Howard. We’ve been friends for so many years, and you’re still acting so childish,” Kylie said, grabbing Robertson’s hand before turning to glare at me. “I’ve told you a thousand times, Robertson and I are just best friends. If we wanted to be together, we would have done it long before you came along!” She always used that line. But whenever Robertson snapped his fingers, she would drop everything and run to him. On our engagement day, Robertson had just returned to the country. One phone call from him, and Kylie abandoned our families at the restaurant to pick him up from the airport. On our wedding day, Robertson couldn’t stand seeing us get married, so he threw a tantrum and went missing. Kylie literally paused the ceremony, demanding everyone search the venue just to find him. And now, it was the exact same thing.

    “Kylie, since you think I’m not as important as him, let’s get a divorce.” “What did you say?” Her voice was filled with disbelief, laced with a mocking laugh. “Sign the papers. Let’s divorce. Since you feel so free with Robertson, you can finally be with him legally.” I pulled out the divorce papers I had drafted while lying in the hospital bed. “Howard, stop playing games. Robertson could never replace you!” Seeing that I wasn’t backing down, she let out a cold sneer. “Do you really think you can just divorce me, Howard? Have you forgotten what your father told you?” She actually had the nerve to bring up my father! Five years ago, if my father’s company hadn’t been targeted by a massive corporate rival, Kylie would have never received his $5 million seed funding. Without that money, Kylie’s startup would have crashed and burned. She would never have achieved the success she has today. Back then, with her status, she would have never been able to marry into my family. My father had made Kylie promise to take me away from our hometown to protect me, telling me not to come back unless the storm cleared. So for five years, no matter how hard things got, I never went back. I stayed quietly by Kylie’s side, playing the role of a perfect, obedient husband. She knew exactly why I was staying, and she used it to walk all over me. Seeing that I didn’t respond, Kylie smirked, feeling victorious. “Besides, even if you don’t care about yourself, think about your dad. He’s getting old. Can his heart take the stress of you running back like a failure?” With a slow, deliberate movement, she tore my divorce papers into shreds. “So, forget about a divorce. Just be a good husband and keep quiet, okay?” “Sure,” I said quietly, looking past her at Robertson. Robertson’s face was incredibly sour. He had realized that Kylie was refusing to divorce me, which meant he was still just the sidepiece. He immediately threw another silent tantrum, and Kylie quickly left my side to comfort him. I silently swept up the torn pieces of paper and threw them into the trash. I knew Kylie too well. She would never willingly sign those papers. So, I stopped arguing with her. She thought I had finally submitted to her will, and she lowered her guard. A few days later, while she was away on a business trip, I held my phone for a long time before finally dialing my father’s number. “Dad… I want to come home.” In that single moment, all the pain and exhaustion I had bottled up for years finally overflowed. I didn’t tell him what happened. He was silent for a few seconds, then said softly, “I’ll have a car waiting for you at the airport.” I took one last look at the city I had lived in for five years, and walked through the boarding gate.

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  • Unlocking His Secret: I Saw His True Love

    I have a secret: whenever my skin touches someone else’s, I can see the person they love the most. Three years ago, Anderson proposed to me to secure his family inheritance. The moment he slid the diamond ring onto my finger, I saw myself in his heart, wearing a wedding dress. I thought it was a mutual redemption. Until three years later, at a charity gala, we stood with our fingers intertwined under the spotlights. But this time, I didn’t see myself. I saw a young girl in a faded white dress. In a cramped apartment, Anderson had her pinned against the wall, kissing her desperately while her eyes welled with tears. It turns out love doesn’t just fade. It transfers. When he left me dying on a cold operating table for that girl, I let him go completely. Later, that arrogant man knelt in the pouring rain, begging me to touch him just one more time. But I only found him disgusting. The annual high-society charity gala in New York was blindingly bright with camera flashes. As the wife of Anderson Sinclair, the head of the Sinclair Group, I held his arm. We walked the red carpet, bathed in the adoration of the city’s media. “Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, could you step closer and hold hands, please?” a reporter we knew called out with a smile. Anderson turned his head. A perfect, gentle warmth flickered in his deep, icy eyes. He reached out and wrapped his long, elegant fingers tightly around my palm. The moment our skin met, my heart skipped a beat. I have a secret that no one knows. Whenever I touch someone’s skin, I can see the person they love deepest in their heart. Three years ago, in this man’s palm, I saw myself. That was what gave me the courage to entrust my life to him. Full of anticipation, I closed my eyes, letting the sensation from my fingertips transmit his inner world into my brain. But in the next second, my blood turned to ice. The image in my mind wasn’t me in a haute couture gown. It was a young girl with a ponytail, wearing a faded white dress. In a cramped, dimly lit apartment, Anderson was pinning her against a peeling wall, kissing her with wild, greedy desperation. Her eyes were red. She responded clumsily, her hands gripping his expensive, custom-made shirt. That was a side of him I had never seen—a raw, possessive, uncontrollable passion. Buzz— The phone inside Anderson’s suit jacket suddenly vibrated. He let go of my hand almost instinctively. The warmth left my palm, and the cold draft rushed between my fingers. He pulled out his phone. As the screen lit up, I caught a glimpse of a text message before he could hide it on Snapchat. “Mr. Sinclair, it’s pouring rain. The dorm gates are locked. I’m alone on the street, and I’m so scared…” Sender: Vivian. Anderson stared at the screen. A rare, uncontrollable flash of panic and heartache crossed his face, a face that usually never showed emotion. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning to me. His voice was low but filled with undeniable urgency. “There’s an emergency with our European branch. The board directors are waiting for my decision. I have to leave right now.” He didn’t wait for my reply, nor did he even drape his coat over my shoulders. He turned and strode down the red carpet. The camera flashes went wild, freezing me there, completely alone in front of the massive backdrop. I watched his retreating back and forced a smile that felt more painful than crying. Three years of devotion. It turns out the deepest love in someone’s heart really can transfer to someone else.

    I handled the media alone and returned to our sprawling, ten-thousand-square-foot estate. Empty. Dead silent. This was the home I had built with all my heart for three years. Right now, it felt like a giant freezer. At 3:00 AM, the beep of the smart lock echoed at the entrance. Anderson was back. He took off his damp black trench coat, handed it to the butler who hurried over, and stepped inside with his usual elegant composure. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” He walked into the living room. Seeing me sitting on the sofa, his brow furrowed slightly, his tone carrying a touch of gentle scolding. “Did you sort out the emergency in Europe?” I raised my head, looking at him quietly. “Yeah. It was a bit tricky, but it’s taken care of.” He walked over to me, leaning down out of habit to kiss my forehead. But as he drew closer, a completely unfamiliar scent invaded my nose. It wasn’t the cedarwood cologne I had personally blended for him. It was a cheap, sickeningly sweet peach perfume. The scent of a young college girl in her early twenties. I abruptly turned my head away, avoiding his lips. Anderson froze mid-air. A flash of annoyance crossed his eyes, but he quickly masked it. “What’s wrong? Still mad that I left early?” He straightened up and looked down at me, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Elise, you’ve always been sensible. You know that in my position, there are things I can’t avoid.” Sensible. For three years, to be worthy of him, I had hidden all my sharp edges. I learned to be the perfect high-society wife. I thought it was mutual devotion. He just took it for granted. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.” I stood up, not giving him another glance, and walked straight upstairs. After washing up and lying in bed, my phone screen suddenly lit up. As if possessed, I opened Anderson’s Instagram. A new post stabbed my eyes. There was no photo, just a short sentence: “Even if it pours, I will hold the umbrella for you.” The posting time was exactly thirty minutes after he had abandoned me on the red carpet. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. The man who had once sworn before a priest to protect me through sickness and disaster was now holding his umbrella over someone else.

    The next morning, Anderson left for the office early. In his study, I found a bidding proposal for the Southside project that he had “forgotten” the night before. It was a major project he had been preparing for six months. He needed it for a 10:00 AM meeting today. I changed into a well-tailored suit, took the document, and drove to his private penthouse. That was where he had proposed to me. He had said it was a secret base just for the two of us. Now, I wanted to see what was hidden in our “secret base.” The elevator went straight to the penthouse. I stood in front of the smart lock and entered my birthday. “Access denied,” the mechanical female voice chimed coldly. I paused, then entered the time the girl had sent the text last night: 0927. Click. The door unlocked. Immediately, I was hit by the sweet, sickening peach perfume from last night. By the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room lay a pair of white canvas shoes. And on the girl’s feet were the custom Italian leather slippers I had commissioned an old craftsman to make—slippers that were supposed to belong only to me. The girl walked out of the kitchen holding a warm glass of milk. She wore an oversized white button-down shirt. The hem barely covered her thighs, and the collar was loose, revealing her pale, slender neck. The shirt belonged to Anderson. When she saw me, she gasped, almost spilling the milk. “Mrs… Mrs. Sinclair?” She recognized me. But there was no panic of a mistress caught in the act. Instead, she had a timid, innocent look, like a startled fawn. “Why are you here?” she asked nervously, pulling down the oversized hem to cover herself. I looked at her pure, clean face. It was exactly the same face I had seen in Anderson’s heart last night. Vivian. “I came to deliver a document to Anderson.” I tossed the bidding proposal onto the console table, my voice completely flat. “Anderson is… he’s in the shower,” Vivian whispered, biting her lower lip. “The storm was too bad last night, and the dorms were locked. He was worried about me, so he let me crash here for the night.” She said it so naturally, so intimately. “Mrs. Sinclair, please don’t misunderstand. Nothing happened. Anderson just felt bad for me trying to make it alone in New York…” The more she explained, the guiltier it felt. Just then, the bathroom door opened. Anderson walked out, drying his dripping hair with a towel. He only had a towel wrapped around his waist, exposing his toned upper body. Seeing me standing in the entryway, he froze, his pupils contracting instantly. “Elise? What are you doing here?” He strode over. His very first instinct was to step in front of Vivian, shielding her entirely behind his back. He was protecting her. Protecting his sweetheart from me.

    Watching his defensive stance, the last shred of my hope shattered into dust. “You left your bidding document in the study. I was in the area, so I brought it over.” I looked him dead in the eye, catching every micro-expression on his face. Anderson’s tense jawline relaxed slightly. He let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Thanks. You could have just sent a driver.” He turned to look at Vivian behind him, his tone instantly returning to his usual arrogant composure. “This is Vivian. She’s a college student our company sponsors.” “She ran into some trouble last night, so I lent a hand. She’s young. Don’t scare her.” Lent a hand. By giving her your private apartment, your personal shirt, and kissing her with a passion that looked like he wanted to merge their souls? “Is that so?” I curled my lips into a faint, mocking smile. “Mr. Sinclair is certainly hands-on with his charity work.” Anderson’s face darkened. “Elise, cut the sarcasm.” “I’ll wait in the car.” I didn’t spare the happy couple another look. I turned and walked out. Fifteen minutes later, Anderson got into the passenger seat. He had changed into a brand-new custom suit. The faint scent of body wash had completely washed away any trace of the other woman. The silence in the car was deafening. “Elise, are you angry?” He reached to loosen his tie, his voice carrying a trace of exhausted indulgence. “Vivian is just an innocent kid who hasn’t seen the world. I treat her like a sister.” “As Mrs. Sinclair, you don’t need to get jealous over a poor student.” He always knew how to use the most dignified words to cover up his dirtiest betrayals. My hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. “Anderson.” I suddenly turned, reaching out to grab his wrist tightly. Skin contact. This time, I saw it clearer than ever. In my mind, Vivian stood on her tiptoes, gently pressing her lips against Anderson’s. And Anderson, eyes closed, actually let a tear slip down his cheek. In his heart, he was screaming wildly, “I can’t live without you.” I pulled my hand back as if shocked by electricity. A wave of nausea surged in my stomach. “You don’t view her as a sister at all.” I looked at the red light ahead, my voice so calm it terrified me. “You love her.” Anderson snapped his head toward me, his eyes sharp as daggers. “Elise, what nonsense are you talking about? Have you been too idle lately? Now you’re getting paranoid?” “Let’s get a divorce,” I said casually. The air in the car instantly froze. Screeech! Anderson lunged over and slammed his foot onto the brake. The tires shrieked against the asphalt, stopping the car in the middle of the road, nearly causing a pileup. “Are you crazy?!” His eyes were bloodshot as he glared at me. “Just because I took in a sponsored student, you want a divorce?” “Elise, don’t use divorce to threaten me. It’s not funny at all!” “I’m not joking.” I looked at his twisted, angry face. “It’s been three years, Anderson. You might not be tired of acting, but I’m tired of watching.” “I’ll have my lawyer send the paperwork to your office tomorrow.” The light turned green. I started the car again, shutting him out of my world completely.

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  • Dead Husbands Do Not Deal Cards

    Since my second chance at life, I ignored every single one of Michelle’s calls. The texts she sent, I deleted the second they hit my screen. Instead, I spent my nights drowned in the neon haze of local dive bars, flanked by cheap booze and a rotating crowd of young, wide-eyed girls who hung on my every word. It was on my eighth night of binging, as I stumbled up the driveway of our estate, barely holding myself upright, that I found Michelle blocking the front door. Her shadow stretched long and menacing under the porch light. “The girl who bought you drinks tonight,” Michelle said, her voice like grinding stones. “Where did she touch you?” I let out a wet, drunken giggle, my vision swimming. “My hands, Michelle. Obviously. The dice shaker doesn’t rattle itself.” A sudden storm flared in her dark eyes. Without looking back, she barked an order to the shadows behind her: “Find her. Take her hands off.” I let out a dry whistle and brushed past her into the house. “Do whatever the hell you want.” In my past life, we had been married for eight years. They used to call me the Sovereign Sharp. I was the one who won the Obsidian Syndicate its crown jewel—the grandest underground casino on the East Coast. I was the one who bled with her, running from the law until we finally carved out an empire and sat together on a throne of dirt and gold. But once the throne was secure, she grew bored of the blood. She became obsessed with a new card-shuffler at the VIP tables. His name was Milo. He had been bought out of a human trafficking ring like a piece of livestock—fragile, easily bruised, and clean as a blank sheet of paper. Michelle tucked him away in the private salons, personally teaching him how to handle the deck, how to read the chips. I ignored the rumors until the day I logged into the syndicate’s internal database and saw my own file. My marital status had been updated to Divorced. When I confronted her, she didn’t even look up from her paperwork. “Milo has no one,” she had said, her tone dripping with casual indifference. “Giving him a legal title keeps the sharks from tearing him apart. Everyone in our circle already knows you’re my husband, Adam. Why are you making a scene over a piece of paper?” Driven mad by the humiliation, I stormed into the VIP lounge and slapped Milo across the face in front of her entire crew. That same night, my younger sister, Lucy—who had spent years pulling shifts in Michelle’s roughest smuggling docks—was dragged into the warehouse. They broke both of her legs right in front of me and threw her into the muddy back alley like trash. “This is your lesson, Adam,” Michelle had whispered into my ear as I screamed. “Keep your hands off Milo.” I knelt in the dirt, begging her to stop, but she walked away. I watched the color drain from Lucy’s face until she took her last, shuddering breath in my arms. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day I discovered the altered database. This time, there were no tears. No screaming matches. I quietly pawned every piece of jewelry I had hidden away, booked two international flights, and began planning. I was going to take Lucy and run as far away from Michelle’s gilded cage as humanly possible. … 1 The moment I confirmed the database status at the courthouse, the reality of my rebirth settled over me like ice. “Mr. Corin,” the clerk had said, peering over her glasses. “According to our system, your divorce was finalized on the fourteenth.” The fourteenth. My birthday. I remembered that day from my previous life. I had rented out the highest revolving restaurant in the city, ordered a custom fireworks display, and sat alone in a tailored suit from sunset until dawn. She never showed. It turned out she was busy signing her name to a document that systematically erased my existence. Stepping out of the memory, I walked back toward the Obsidian Casino. A sleek black Maybach was idling near the entrance. In my past life, I would have rushed toward it, demanding answers. But back then, Michelle was so terrified of Milo seeing me that she had kicked me hard into the ribs before the boy could even step out of the passenger seat, leaving me gasping in the dirt. This time, I slipped silently behind the shadow of a massive concrete pillar. The driver’s side door opened, and Michelle stepped out. She walked around to the passenger side and opened the door herself, her movements gentler than I had ever seen them. A boy in a soft blue button-down stepped out, looking small and terrified against the backdrop of the flashing neon lights. Milo. Michelle slipped her tailored blazer over his thin shoulders and wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him toward the heavy glass doors. “Michelle…” Milo hesitated, his voice trembling. “I have nothing left but you. I can’t afford to lose this bet.” Michelle pulled him tight against her chest, her voice carrying a tenderness she had never granted me. “What is there to fear? You’re the master of this house now. No one else has the right to stand where you stand. If you grow tired of the noise, I’ll buy you a stretch of coast and build you a resort to play in.” The same guards who used to bow to me and call me boss now lined the hallway, bending low for the boy. “Good evening, sir,” their voices echoed, loud and sycophantic. They ushered the frightened lamb into the gilded slaughterhouse. I waited until the doors hissed shut before I let myself stumble out of the shadows. I wiped a single stray tear from my cheek. Any lingering warmth I had held for her died the moment she gave away my home. I hailed a cab and rode to the private clinic where Lucy was recovering. Fortunately, in this timeline, her current assignment had only left her with minor scrapes. She would be fit to travel soon. I wouldn’t let her die a second time. Using an encrypted browser, I paid a premium for two black-market tickets to a non-extradition country, scheduled for three days later. Going through official customs would have triggered Michelle’s tripwires instantly. I then called my only trusted contact in the city, handing him a stack of cash to arrange Lucy’s quiet discharge the following night. With the pieces on the board set, I felt a rare moment of peace. I took a cab back, asking the driver to drop me off several blocks away from the estate—a habit born from years of dodging Michelle’s rivals. But the moment I stepped onto the dark curb, a heavy hand clamped over my mouth from behind, dragging me into the darkness. I thrashed against the grip, breaking free for a fraction of a second, but before I could run, a jagged piece of metal sliced deep into my lower back. The pain exploded, hot and blinding, as blood began to soak through my shirt. It was one of Michelle’s rivals. She had taken so much territory over the years that the list of people wanting her dead—or wanting to hurt the people close to her—stretched down to the harbor. I reached for the tactical knife in my coat, but my arms were pinned back with a sickening crack. My phone was ripped from my pocket and smashed boot-heel deep into the asphalt. “Shut up and move,” a voice hissed near my ear, dragging me toward a rusted cargo van parked at the curb. Just as my vision began to tunnel, the headlights of a familiar black Maybach swept around the corner. Michelle’s car. With a final, desperate surge of adrenaline, I screamed her name, thrashing against the hands holding me down. The Maybach slowed. The brakes squealed slightly. She saw me. I knew she did. But a second later, the engine roared, and the car accelerated, speeding past the mouth of the alley without stopping. Through the tinted glass, I caught a glimpse of Michelle pulling Milo’s head down to her chest, shielding his eyes from the window. She didn’t want him to look at the ugly scene outside. To her, it wasn’t her bleeding husband being dragged into a van; it was just a dirty street brawl, unworthy of her darling’s pure eyes. The fight drained out of my limbs. The cold rushed in, and the darkness took me. I woke up in a sterile room, the smell of antiseptic burning my throat. The door was cracked open, and low voices drifted in from the hallway. “The laceration is deep, boss. If he finds out about the kid…” It was Dr. Lawson, Michelle’s personal physician. “Keep your mouth shut,” Michelle snapped, her voice cold. “Your job is to patch him up, not ask questions. Adam has been in this game for a decade. He knows how the world works. He’s survived worse.” She paused, her tone dropping an octave. “Milo isn’t like him. Milo is fragile. He wouldn’t survive Adam’s claws. If Adam starts making trouble when he wakes up, bring his sister to the estate. She’s the only leverage he cares about. He’ll fall in line.” I clutched the sheets, my teeth digging into my lower lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I remembered the night we took over the city’s largest dock. She had held my hands and whispered, “Adam, from this day on, no one in this city will ever touch a hair on your head.” The same promise, the same protective instinct. She had just swapped the target. Now, the man who had built her empire was the monster she had to protect her lamb from. I closed my eyes as the door clicked open, pretending to stir just as she approached the bed. “You’re awake,” she said, tossing a folder onto my lap. “We found the guys. Some low-level crew from the docks trying to settle an old score. Sign these settlement papers, and they’ll hand over the lease to the East End docks.” The East End. A quiet, coastal strip. No casinos, no smuggling, no blood. I remembered her promise to Milo: “I’ll buy you a stretch of coast and build you a resort.” My blood, my broken bones, were just currency to buy her new toy a playground. “Michelle,” I croaked, my throat dry. “When did you negotiate this deal?” Was it before or after she watched me get dragged into that alley? Or had she planned to use my body as a bargaining chip all along? Her brow furrowed, irritation flickering across her face. I pulled my lips into a thin, humorless smile and looked away. The answer didn’t matter anymore. For the next two days, perhaps out of some lingering sense of guilt, she stayed by my bedside, working on her laptop. But her phone was never more than an inch from her hand. Every time she ate, she would snap a photo of her plate and send it, a soft, rare smile touching her lips as she waited for a reply. I watched her profile against the window, thinking back to eight years ago. We hadn’t met in a casino. It was a wet, narrow alley behind a dive bar. She had been caught cheating at a high-stakes table, and half a dozen men with knives had her cornered. I had just won a small fortune myself, and for some stupid reason, I stepped in and pulled her out, bringing her back to my cramped apartment. Later, when my father was hunted down by cartels over his debts, they came for me next. They had a dirty needle hovering over my jugular when Michelle stormed the basement with a shotgun and dragged me out. She gave me a home. I gave her my hands, becoming the silent shadow behind her rise. I helped her swallow every rival, drain every vault. I knew my hands were dirty. The grease of the tables and the blood of her enemies had settled deep into my skin. But even if the whole world thought I was filthy, she was the one person who never had the right to say it. After my discharge, Michelle disappeared, citing “business at the docks.” With only twenty-four hours left before my flight, I used her absence to slip back to the casino’s penthouse office. I needed my passport and the emergency funds hidden in the safe behind the mahogany desk. But as I stepped out of the private elevator into the lobby, my knees buckled, the lingering weakness from my stab wound catching up to me. I braced for the hard marble floor, but a pair of soft hands caught my shoulders, steadying me. “Are you okay?” a gentle voice asked, laced with genuine concern. I looked up into Milo’s wide, clear eyes. He was wearing the casino’s dealer uniform, but he looked entirely out of place, like a child dressed in his father’s clothes. He didn’t recognize me; he likely assumed I was just another gambler who had lost his shirt at the baccarat tables. “I’m fine. Thank you,” I said, trying to pull away. He didn’t let go. Instead, he gently guided me toward the employee lounge. “You look incredibly pale. Let’s get you some water.” For some reason, I didn’t fight him. He poured me a warm cup of water and set a small pack of dried mangoes and a wrapped pastry on the table in front of me. “Eat something,” he said softly. “Losing money hurts, but you should go home. Your family must be worried about you.” When I didn’t answer, he reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a few crumpled twenty-dollar bills, and pressed them into my palm. “It’s not much, but it’ll get you a cab… I wish I could do more, but I don’t have access to the main accounts.” My throat tightened. I wanted to tell him to run. I wanted to tell him that the woman he thought was his savior was a viper, that her love was a slow-acting poison wrapped in silk. But the words stayed trapped behind my teeth. If I told him who I was, he would confront Michelle. The fragile peace would shatter, and I would be dragged back into the blast radius. I couldn’t risk Lucy’s life. I took the bills, whispered a quiet thank you, and slipped out the back exit into the humid afternoon air. But before I could even reach the street, a cold piece of iron pressed hard against my temple. A gun barrel. I tried to turn, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Milo’s body hit the concrete floor of the corridor behind me. Before I could draw my pocket blade, a heavy pistol-whipping caught me behind the ear, and the world went dark. When I woke up, the smell of damp rot and gasoline filled my nose. Milo and I were bound to two rusty support pillars in an abandoned shipyard warehouse. Milo was sobbing softly beside me. “Who are you? What do you want from us?” A man with a jagged scar running from his ear to his chin stepped into the light, backhanding the boy across the face. “Shut up! You can thank your pretty boss, Michelle,” the scar-faced man spat. “She took our West End routes. Cut off our supply lines.” So it was the West End crew. The territory Michelle had just seized using my blood as collateral. They didn’t recognize me—I had always operated in the shadows—but Milo’s face had been plastered all over her social circles recently. He was the perfect target. I worked my fingers behind my back, using the micro-blade concealed beneath my thumbnail to slowly saw through the hemp rope. A trick from my early days. The scar-faced man turned to me, sneering. “As for you, bad luck, pal. Wrong place, wrong time. Give me a number. Five million, or you don’t leave this room.” Milo looked at me through his tears. “I’m so sorry… this is my fault. But don’t worry, Michelle is coming. She’s powerful. She’ll save us.” I didn’t waste my breath. I just kept sawing at the fibers. The leader’s phone rang, but whoever was on the other end apparently didn’t pick up. He cursed, kicking a rusted oil drum across the floor. “Damn bitch isn’t answering! Looks like we need to send her a souvenir to wake her up.” He drew a long, serrated hunting knife, his eyes crawling over Milo’s trembling frame. “I heard you’re her favorite. Let’s see how much she likes you without your fingers.” Milo shrieked, his face turning gray. “No! Please! Don’t!” The men chuckled, stepping closer. In that split second, my ropes frayed and parted. I lunged forward like a coiled spring, driving my elbow hard into the leader’s throat. With my other hand, I snatched his knife, sliced Milo’s binds in one clean motion, and pushed the boy behind me. “Kill him!” the leader choked out, clutching his throat. Five men closed in, heavy iron pipes in hand. I knew how to fight, but my body was still weak from the stab wound, and the odds were entirely against me. A pipe caught me across the collarbone, sending me to my knees. I didn’t let them reach Milo. I kept my body positioned over him, absorbing the heavy blows as they rained down on my back and shoulders. Losing patience, the scar-faced leader pulled his pistol, aiming it straight at my chest. “Die, you bastard.” Before his finger could squeeze the trigger— The heavy steel doors of the warehouse blew inward with a deafening crash. Michelle’s enforcers flooded the room, gunfire erupting instantly. She came through the smoke like a wolf, ignoring the bullets, and threw her arms around Milo, pulling him to his feet. “Milo, baby, I’m here. You’re safe.” Milo let out a weak sob and went limp in her arms, fainting from sheer terror. Michelle carried him gently to her car, laying him across the backseat like a piece of priceless porcelain. Then, she turned and walked back toward me. “Adam,” she said, her voice dripping with ice. “What the hell were you doing here?” I leaned against the rusted pillar, coughing up dark blood, and met her clinical gaze with a cold laugh. “Are you accusing me?” Before the words could fully leave my mouth, her hand cracked across my face. The force of the blow sent me sprawling into the dirt, my vision blurring as blood pooled in my mouth. “I knew it,” she whispered, her eyes dark with disgust. “You set this up. You wanted to get rid of him. You wanted him dead.” I spat the blood onto her boots. “I didn’t do shit.” She dragged one of the groaning, wounded thugs by his collar, pressing her gun to his forehead. “Tell me. Who paid you to take the boy?” The thug looked at me, terror shining in his eyes, and seized the only lie that might save his life. “Him! It was him! He gave us the tip… said to teach the kid a lesson…” My blood ran cold. Michelle didn’t hesitate. She pulled the trigger, dropping the man’s limp body back into the dirt. She stepped over the corpse, her heavy heel coming down on my right hand—my throwing hand, my shuffling hand. The bones popped under her weight, a white-hot agony screaming up my arm. “This hand…” she murmured, her voice almost sad. “It used to be so useful. Why did you have to use it to hurt the person I love?” She pulled a long, gleaming combat knife from her belt. “I told you, Adam. Never touch what’s mine.” The blade came down. The world stopped. The steel tore through my palm, pinning my hand flush against the concrete floor. I screamed—a raw, animal sound that tore my throat raw. Through the red haze of pain, I stared up at her face, looking for any shred of the woman who had once saved me. There was nothing. “Michelle!” I choked out, my body shaking with dry heaves. “I should have left you in that alley eight years ago! I should have let them butcher you!” She didn’t answer. She simply turned her back on my screams, walking toward her car without a single backward glance. When the sound of her engine faded, I reached into my inner pocket with my left hand, pulled out the micro-tracker Lucy’s contact had given me, and pressed the button. Ten minutes later, my contact was kneeling beside me, his eyes wide with horror as he pulled the knife from the floor. My right hand was a ruined, bloody mess. “Sir…” he whispered, his hands shaking. “Burn it,” I gasped, the cold finally taking the edge off the pain. “Burn the warehouse. Let her think I died here.” “From this day on, there is no Sovereign Sharp. Adam Corin is dead.”

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  • I Brewed His Lover Into Wine

    On my birthday, my husband gifted me a pristine, snow-white snake. I immediately took it to an apothecary in Chinatown and had it drowned in a jar of high-proof medicinal liquor. Because this time, I woke up with my memory intact. I was reborn. In my past life, I pampered this snake like royalty. She ate the finest delicacies and slept in a custom, heated jade terrarium that cost me a small fortune. Yet, out of everyone, she only ever chose to bite me. At first, it was just a nightly habit. She would wind around my wrist, drawing a few drops of blood. But eventually, she began slithering under my duvet, sinking her fangs into my throat, draining me day by day until my face was a ghostly, hollow white. I begged my husband to get rid of her, but he only sneered and called me petty. “Bibi is my anniversary gift to you,” Denis said. “Can’t you even tolerate a harmless little snake?” Our daughter, Ruby, would stand in front of the terrarium, crying and shielding it. “Mommy is mean! Bibi is way sweeter than you!” On our wedding anniversary, I was finally drained of my life force, dying a quiet, agonizing death on the bathroom floor. After I died, my soul lingered. I watched as the white snake slithered off my cold corpse, her scales splitting apart to reveal a delicate, fragile woman who threw herself into my husband’s arms. With tear-brimming eyes, Denis kissed her. “Bianca, my love. I’m so sorry you had to pretend to be a snake for all these months. Now that you’ve drained her essence, you’re finally human again.” And Ruby clung to her, joyfully calling her “Mommy.” That was when the truth finally shattered my heart. That white snake wasn’t a pet. She was Bianca—Denis’s tragic first love, the one that got away. And I was nothing but a biological blood bag they kept alive just long enough to feed her. 1 On the morning of my birthday, Denis presented me with a pristine, snow-white snake. His voice was laced with that familiar, honeyed warmth. “Linda, I searched everywhere for this rare spirit snake. They only appear once in a lifetime. She’s incredibly intuitive—keeping her close will soothe your nerves, preserve your youth, and protect our home. Do you love her?” Our seven-year-old daughter, Ruby, was already pressed against the glass, her eyes sparkling. “Mommy, I already named her! I’m calling her Bibi. Isn’t it pretty?” I looked down. Inside the custom terrarium, the small white snake was curled into a perfect spiral. Her scales were a blinding, porcelain white, but her beady eyes gleamed with a chilling, intelligent blackness. “Touch her, Mommy! She’s so good.” I forced a polite smile and reached my hand in. In a flash, the snake lunged, sinking her fangs deep into my fingertip. A bright bead of blood welled up instantly. Ruby let out a sharp gasp, but her panic wasn’t for me. She threw her arms around the glass tank, scowling up at me. “Mommy, stop moving! You scared Bibi!” Denis rushed over, grabbing my wrist. His eyes darted first to the snake, inspecting her for any harm, before casting a brief, dismissive glance at my bleeding finger. He let out a visible sigh of relief. “It’s nothing. A snake’s way of bonding. The fact that Bibi bit you means she’s drawn to you. She likes you.” I stared at him. She likes me? In my past life, he said the exact same thing. And like a fool, I had believed him. I was terrified of reptiles. But back then, desperately wanting to be a good wife and to keep my daughter happy, I swallowed my revulsion and poured my heart into caring for her. I fed her the most expensive organic delicacies. She slept in a heated, custom-cut jade terrarium that had cost me a six-figure sum at an auction. I even used warm silk cloths to gently polish every single one of her pristine scales. Yet, she chose only to bite me. At first, it was just a subtle pressure around my wrist in the dead of night, followed by a sharp prick as she took a few drops of my blood. I foolishly thought she was just hungry. Then, she began slipping beneath the covers, sinking her teeth into the hollow of my throat. Eventually, she stayed coiled around me all night. Her cold, heavy body would constrict around my waist, her fangs buried deep in my flesh, slowly draining my life force until I was perpetually dizzy and pale. I begged Denis to rehome her. But his face would harden into a mask of disgust. “Linda, Bibi is my anniversary present to you. Can’t you tolerate a single pet without making a dramatic scene?” Ruby would throw herself in front of the tank, sobbing. “Mommy is mean! Bibi is way better than you!” The torment left me with chronic insomnia and severe vertigo; I could barely walk down the hallway without leaning against the wall for support. The doctors couldn’t find a medical cause. Denis used that to gaslight me, claiming I was paranoid and fabricating an illness for attention. Until our anniversary. I had stayed home, wanting to surprise him with a quiet dinner. But by the time he walked through the door, I was already collapsed on the cold bathroom tile, my body freezing, my neck covered in a constellation of tiny, neat puncture wounds. My spirit hovered over the room, unable to leave. I watched the little white snake slowly slither off my lifeless chest. Her pristine skin began to split and peel away. Following a flash of ethereal light, a woman in a delicate white dress materialized and threw herself into Denis’s waiting arms. Denis kissed her passionately, tears streaming down his face. “Bianca, my darling. I’m so sorry I made you play the snake for all these months. Now that she’s drained dry, your soul is finally anchored. You’re human again.” Even Ruby rushed forward, hugging her waist. “Mommy Bianca! You’re finally back!” That was the exact moment I realized the grotesque truth. The “spirit snake” was actually the vessel housing Bianca, the dead woman Denis had mourned for a decade. And I, his devoted wife, was nothing more than a biological incubator—a walking blood bag raised to nourish her transition back to life. But I have been given a second chance. And this time, I will not let them step over my corpse to build their twisted family portrait. I watched Denis act the part of a caring husband, dabbing a cotton swab over my finger. In her green jade terrarium, the white snake swayed slightly, her pink tongue flicking. The smug, human triumph in her beady eyes was barely concealed. I pulled my hand back and slowly wiped away the remaining blood. “Since she’s so prone to biting, we should get rid of her.” The living room fell into a dead silence. Denis froze. Ruby immediately threw herself over the glass tank, her voice rising to a frantic shriek. “No! You can’t!” Denis swallowed hard, masking his sudden panic with a rehearsed, gentle tone. “Linda, sweetheart, she’s just stressed from the move. Give her a few days to adjust. Besides, Ruby and I spent weeks looking for her. You wouldn’t want to break our daughter’s heart, would you?” I looked down at them. My husband. My daughter. Both of them were hyperventilating over a reptile. It was almost comical. It was as if I weren’t threatening to rehome a pet, but rather banishing their true wife and mother. After a long moment, I let out a soft laugh. “You’re right. Since it’s a gift from the two of you, I’ll make sure to take very, very good care of her.” Both Denis and Ruby exhaled, their faces relaxing into matching smiles. Only the white snake in the terrarium raised her head slowly, her tongue darting out in a lazy flick. It felt like a silent taunt: Smart move. I stared back at her, my smile deepening. Bianca. Let’s see who survives the game this time. Denis insisted on carrying the heavy jade terrarium into our master bedroom himself. I leaned against the doorframe, watching him set it up on the nightstand. “Does she really have to sleep in our room?” Denis’s hands faltered for a fraction of a second. “Bibi is sensitive to drafts. The climate control in here is the most stable.” Ruby wrapped her small arms around my leg, tugging at my jeans. “Mommy, Bibi is so shy and scared. Please don’t banish her to the hallway, please?” Shy? She certainly wasn’t shy when she was sinking her fangs into my jugular in my past life. I walked over to the nightstand, bending down to look inside. The white snake lay coiled, still as a strip of white silk. But as soon as my face drew near, her jaw unhinged, and she lunged at the glass. I didn’t flinch. Instead, I slid the screen lid back, reached in, and clamped two fingers precisely around her neck, pinning her down right at the sweet spot of her spine. The snake went completely rigid. Then, her tail thrashed wildly, whipping against the jade walls with loud, hollow thuds. Ruby burst into tears, horrified. “Mommy! Stop! You’re hurting her!” Denis’s face drained of color. He lunged forward, shoving me aside. “Linda! What the hell are you doing?” I released my grip. The white snake instantly retreated to the absolute corner of the tank, her thin body trembling. Denis bent over the glass, his voice dropping to a soothing, tender whisper that made my stomach turn. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Shh… I’m here. I’ll protect you.” A wave of nausea hit me. In all our years of marriage, he had never once spoken to me with that level of tenderness. When I was pregnant and burning with a 104-degree fever, he had told me to stop being dramatic. When I collapsed from severe anemia, he blamed my poor constitution. Yet now, because a snake had been pinched, he looked as though his own heart had been ripped out. I blinked at him, softening my expression into one of innocent confusion. “But didn’t you say she was highly intuitive? I was just trying to bond with her.” Denis’s jaw tightened, his throat bobbing as he swallowed his rage. Ruby glared at me with pure hostility. “Mommy, you’re not allowed to bully her ever again!” I knelt down, level with the little girl I had spent thirty-six hours in hard labor to bring into this world. “Ruby, she bit Mommy.” Ruby hesitated for a split second, then lifted her chin defiantly. “Then you must have done something bad. Bibi never bites me, and she never bites Daddy.” The exact same words from my past life. And yet, hearing them again, my chest still felt a cold, hollow ache. In my first life, I died wondering why the child I carried for nine months loved a reptile more than her own mother. It wasn’t until I was a ghost that I heard her voice the truth. It was so painfully simple, it was laughable: I didn’t let her eat candy because of her cavities. But Denis had promised her that “Auntie Bianca” would buy her an entire room filled with sweets. And just like that, my daughter became an accomplice to my murder. She hadn’t even cried when she saw my cold body. She had simply kicked my leg twice to see if I was really gone. The phantom pain of those kicks hardened my gaze. The fake smile slipped from my face. Sensing the sudden shift in the room, Denis quickly pulled Ruby behind his back. “She’s just a child, Linda. Don’t take it personally.” I didn’t say a word. I turned on my heel and walked into the walk-in closet. Closing the door behind me, I reached into the deepest corner of the top shelf and pulled out a small black velvet pouch. It was the first thing I had secured after waking up in this timeline—a trip to the secluded Taoist temple upstate. I pulled a small porcelain vial from the pouch. Through the closet door, Denis’s low, conspiratorial murmur drifted in from the bedroom. “Just hang on a little longer, Bianca… wait until she’s asleep…” A faint, dry hiss answered him from the terrarium. It sounded terrifyingly like a woman’s soft chuckle. That night, Denis was uncharacteristically attentive. He insisted I rest early so my bitten finger could heal, offering to handle Ruby’s bedtime routine himself. I watched him place the jade terrarium right beside my side of the bed, my heart turning to ice. In my past life, this was always his routine. Every time the snake bit me, he would become the perfect, doting husband—pouring me warm water, wrapping me in the blankets, kissing my forehead. I used to think it was remorse. Now, I knew it was just the gentle handling of livestock before slaughter. I turned off the bedside lamp, closed my eyes, and forced my breathing into the slow, heavy rhythm of deep sleep. It didn’t take long. A soft, dry scraping sound echoed in the dark. The heavy lid of the jade terrarium was being nudged open from within. A cold, slender weight slithered onto the wood of the nightstand, then transferred noiselessly onto the mattress. A sudden patch of icy skin touched my bare wrist. The snake began to coil. She was highly practiced at this; first looping around my forearm, then positioning herself right over my radial artery. She unhinged her jaw, aiming her thin fangs at the delicate skin. Just like she had done night after night in my previous life. My blood was her spiritual nourishment. Every drop she took bound her soul more tightly to the physical realm. The day my body finally gave out was the day she would fully manifest in the flesh. I opened my eyes. The sharp tip of her fang had just grazed my skin. In one swift movement, my hand whipped out from under the pillow, holding a heavy red cord soaked in cinnabar. I looped it around her neck and yanked it tight. The snake froze instantly, paralyzed by the spiritual property of the cinnabar. Her body began to thrash violently against the sheets, but the knot only tightened. Her jaw stretched wide in a silent scream, but what came out was not a reptilian hiss. It was a faint, muffled sob of a woman. The bedroom door flew open. Denis barged in, barefoot and frantic. Seeing the white snake thrashing in the red cord, his eyes went wild. “Linda! Are you out of your mind? Let her go!” Ruby trailed in right behind him, crying hysterically. “Mommy is mean! Why are you always hurting Bibi!” I sat up, lifting my arm so the moonlight caught the thin, bleeding scratch on my wrist. “She slithered into my bed. She was trying to bite me.” Denis faltered, but his face quickly hardened again. “She’s a pet, Linda. She was probably just hungry. She’s tiny—how much damage could she possibly do?” I let out a cold laugh. “So because she’s hungry, I’m supposed to let her feed on my blood?” Denis looked away, unable to meet my eyes. But Ruby screamed, her small fists clenched. “It’s just a little bit of blood! You won’t die! Bibi is sick—she needs Mommy’s blood!” The words hung in the air. The room went dead silent. Denis’s face drained of color, and he slapped his hand over Ruby’s mouth, but the damage was already done. I slowly turned my gaze to my daughter. “Who told you that?” Ruby’s eyes darted around in panic, and she buried her face in her father’s chest. “She’s just talking nonsense,” Denis stammered, his voice tight. “She… she watches too many fantasy cartoons.” I looked at the two of them, feeling a bizarre urge to laugh. To think that in my past life, I had wept bitter tears over their emotional neglect. Taking advantage of my silence, Denis lunged to grab the snake. I jerked the cinnabar cord. The snake’s spine arched in agony. Denis froze mid-air, terror written all over his face. “Linda, please. Let Bibi go. I swear, I won’t let her near your bed again. Just put her down.” I stared at his pale, sweating face. When I died in our previous life, he hadn’t looked even a fraction as terrified as he did right now. I opened my hand. The snake slipped from the cord, falling into his arms like a limp piece of white rope. Denis cradled her close, his hands trembling with genuine terror. Ruby pressed close to his side, gently blowing on the snake’s scales to soothe her. I calmly got out of bed and walked into the master bathroom. I turned on the faucet, letting the cool water wash the blood off my wrist. In the mirror, my reflection was pale, but my eyes had never been clearer. Through the cracked door, Denis’s hushed whisper floated in. “Don’t worry, my love. Tomorrow night, I’ll slip a sedative into her dinner.” “Once she’s out cold, you can feed as much as you need.” I turned off the tap. The rush of water ceased. Tomorrow night? He had no idea that Bianca wouldn’t survive to see tomorrow night. The next morning, Denis handed me a warm mug of milk with an unusually sweet smile. Across the kitchen, Ruby was cradling the jade terrarium, gently stroking the glass. “Bibi, I’ll come play with you the second I get home from school. Wait for me, okay?” I took small, slow sips of the milk, keeping my expression perfectly neutral. In my past life, this was the exact day Denis began spiking my food and drinks with liquid Ambien. My sleeping hours stretched longer and longer. The snake stopped restricting herself to my wrists. Every time I struggled awake from those drug-induced slumbers, I would find fresh, burning punctures on my neck, my collarbones, and over my heart. And when Denis saw my skin turning translucent, he would only smile warmly and say, “Linda, sweetie, you look tired. Are you sure you’re getting enough sleep?” While Ruby watched from the corner, giggling into her tiny hands. This time, I looked up from my mug and smiled. “You two should head out. Don’t worry about Bibi, I’ll take care of her today.” Denis’s smile widened with relief. But Ruby remained suspicious. She marched over, clutching the terrarium tightly. “You promise you won’t bully her, Mommy? You have to feed her the imported organic blend later, and make sure to refresh her warm water every hour.” I leaned down, looking into her dark eyes. “And what else?” Ruby thought about it seriously for a moment. “If she wants to bite you, you can’t run away. Daddy said Bibi biting you is how she cures her illness.” Denis’s face instantly darkened. He cleared his throat sharply, and Ruby bit her lip, shutting up. I just smiled, smoothing a stray hair behind her ear. “Alright. Mommy will keep that in mind.” Before they left, Denis reached in to stroke the white snake affectionately. Standing beside him, I mirrored his movement and reached out my own hand. The white snake lunged immediately, sinking her teeth deep into my wrist. Ruby shoved me away instantly. “Mommy is so stupid! Bibi doesn’t want you touching her!” She reached her own tiny hand in and stroked the white scales with an air of smug triumph. The snake remained perfectly still, preening under her touch. I lowered my eyes to hide the curl of my lips. A few minutes later, the front door clicked shut. Denis and Ruby were gone. The sprawling, empty suburban house grew quiet, leaving only me and the white snake. Inside the jade terrarium, the snake slowly raised her head. But as she went to flick her tongue, her entire body suddenly began to shudder. She had no idea that on the very first day of my rebirth, I had poured a generous amount of the spirit-severing oil into every bottle of body wash and hand soap Denis and Ruby used. Every single touch from my husband and daughter was a slow, agonizing drop of poison, dragging Bianca closer to her permanent grave. Realizing something was wrong, the snake slammed violently against the mesh lid, knocking it open as she lunged at me. But I was ready. The cinnabar cord whipped through the air, binding her tightly at her vital spot. She thrashed frantically, her tail sweeping across the coffee table, sending glass coasters crashing to the hardwood floor. Shards rained down. I didn’t even blink. “I wonder,” I whispered, tightening the knot. “What kind of faces will they make when they come home and find your cold, dead body?” The snake froze. She understood. For the first time, a very human terror flashed in those tiny, black bead eyes. I lifted her up by the cord and walked out of the house. I drove down to the old Chinatown district, stopping at the very end of a narrow, historic alley where an ancient, traditional apothecary sat nestled between the brick buildings. It was run by Mr. Matt, a man famous for crafting potent, high-grade medicinal liquors. Mr. Matt took one look at the thrashing white snake in my hand, nodded silently, and swept aside the heavy bamboo curtain leading to the back room. The air there was thick and suffocating with the scent of dried roots, bitter herbs, and strong grain alcohol. Rows of dark ceramic jars lined the wooden shelves. The white snake went wild, writhing desperately in my grip. Her jaw unhinged, and from the depths of her throat, a choked, raspy woman’s voice clawed its way out: “Help… me…” Mr. Matt’s hand paused on a jar. He shot me a sharp, questioning look. I offered him a calm, polite smile. “She’s a rare specimen. Highly spiritual. The tincture she makes will be incredibly potent.” Mr. Matt studied the snake for a moment, then reached up to the highest shelf and pulled down a heavy, black clay urn. “This contains the strongest grain spirit in my shop,” he said, his voice flat and ancient. “If you throw an ordinary snake in, she’ll drown within minutes. No art in that. But a creature with spiritual energy? That’s different.” “The moment she goes into the clay, the alcohol will seep through the micro-spaces between her scales. It will soak into her bones, inch by inch. Her flesh won’t rot immediately, and her breath won’t cut off right away.” “She will remain fully awake. She’ll feel her life essence being slowly extracted by the herbs, her soul dragged down into the liquid. She will want to die, but won’t be able to. She will want to flee, but there will be nowhere to go.” The white snake understood every word. She began slamming her body frantically against the rim of the clay jar, her spine twisting into grotesque angles. I opened my mouth to reply, but my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Denis. When I answered, his voice was tight, vibrating with a suppressed panic. “Linda? Why isn’t Bibi in her tank?”

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  • He Dies When I Fall Asleep

    I was born without the ability to sleep. For nineteen years, my brain has not shut down for a single second. My neural pathways simply do not possess a sleep mode. When I was sixteen, the Lockwell family took me out of the state foster care system and moved me into a fully sealed, high-security medical wing on the penthouse floor of the Lockwell Medical Center. They did it because Adrian Lockwell’s brainstem had been crushed in a devastating car accident. The cutting-edge neural AI keeping his consciousness tethered to reality required a constant, uninterrupted human brainwave to act as its real-time anchor. If I woke, he lived. If I slept, he died. A year ago, a nurse accidentally mixed a trace amount of a sedative into my daily nutrient IV. My consciousness drifted for exactly three seconds. Seven floors down, in the middle of a board meeting, Adrian collapsed. His heart rate flatlined instantly. By the next morning, the nurse’s license was permanently revoked, and the pharmaceutical supplier was blacklisted from the industry. After that, the air composition in my room was monitored second by second. Even hand creams containing lavender oil were added to the strict contraband list. Everything changed when Adrian flew to the Middle East for a summit, leaving his fiancée, Virginia Carl, in charge of the facility under a temporary power of attorney. She scoffed as she flipped through my monthly eight-figure medical invoices. “Is this what the Lockwells are paying for?” she sneered, looking at me. “A useless, staring burden?” She dismissed the night nursing staff, ripped out the neural transmission cables, and dragged me out of my temperature-controlled pod. Then, she pried my jaw open and forced a whole blister pack of sleeping pills down my throat. “You don’t need sleep, right? Let’s put that to the test.” I collapsed to my knees, clawing at my throat, but at least three of the pills had already dissolved in my stomach. For the first time in nineteen years, my eyelids grew incredibly heavy. The neural anchor system flashed a violent, crimson warning on the monitors. Virginia reached over and casually flipped the master switch to off. She had no idea. Seven time zones away, Adrian’s consciousness was fading into the dark right along with mine. 1 “Miss Carl!” Simon Marvin, the lead engineer on duty, burst into the room. He stared at the disconnected cables on the floor, then at me kneeling on the ground. The color drained from his face instantly. “Who authorized you to unplug those cables?” Virginia’s expression darkened. “Do you know who you’re talking to?” Simon ignored her, dropping to his knees beside me and reaching for the transmission line. “Julie, don’t close your eyes! Do you hear me? Look at me, keep them open!” I tried. I desperately tried to focus on his face, but my eyelids felt as heavy as lead. Virginia stepped forward, her designer heel pinning the cable to the floor. “Did I say you could plug her back in?” Simon snapped his head up. “Miss Carl, stop playing games! That isn’t a standard monitoring line. That is Mr. Lockwell’s neural anchor channel.” “If Julie slips into a deep sleep, Mr. Lockwell’s neural AI will completely lose its connection.” “If it goes on too long, his consciousness will drift away entirely. He will be gone.” Virginia looked entirely indifferent, her expression dripping with disbelief. “So?” She bent down, picked up the cable, and wound it lazily around her finger. “The great Adrian Lockwell’s life depends on whether this girl keeps her eyes open? Please.” Simon grit his teeth. “Yes. It does.” The cold amusement on Virginia’s face sharpened into something ugly. “Then the Lockwells really are keeping a goddess up here, aren’t they?” She turned her gaze back to me. “Julie, tell me, how did you pull this off? A nameless orphan from a state home, living in the most exclusive penthouse wing, using their most expensive equipment, with an entire neuro-engineering team catering to your every whim.” “And now, Adrian’s life belongs to you too?” I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell her the truth, but my throat was thick with the bitter, chalky taste of the pills and a metallic tang of blood. The sedatives were taking hold. My brainwaves were plummeting. I could feel it because the physical implant embedded behind my left ear was beginning to burn. It was a direct connection between my mind and Adrian’s. Right now, seven time zones away in a Riyadh conference hall, Adrian had to be feeling the exact same fire. Simon’s eyes were bloodshot with panic. “Miss Carl, you can check the security logs, or you can wait until Old Mr. Lockwell gets back. But right now, we have to reconnect this line. Every minute we delay puts Mr. Lockwell in mortal danger.” For a fraction of a second, Virginia’s composure wavered. But then, her phone rang. The screen illuminated with an encrypted call. The caller ID read: Riyadh Medical Escort Team Simon looked at the screen like a drowning man catching sight of a life raft. “Answer it! Answer it now! It has to be Adrian’s team!” Virginia stared at the flashing screen for two seconds. Then, right in front of us, she swiped to decline the call. Simon froze. I felt the last of my hope wither. Virginia turned the phone face-down on the table. “Adrian gave me temporary management of this facility before he left because he trusted me. While he is away, what I say goes.” She looked at the security guards standing by the doorway. “Please escort Mr. Marvin out.” Simon’s voice cracked with rage. “Virginia Carl, you are going to regret this!” Virginia let out a soft, mocking laugh. “The only thing I regret is not finding out sooner that the Lockwell family was hiding a piece of property like this.” Property. She spoke about me as if I were a piece of hardware. The guards stepped forward, dragging Simon toward the exit. He struggled so violently that the veins in his neck bulged. “Julie! Don’t sleep!” “Do you hear me? Fight it! Mr. Lockwell has always protected you!” The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off his voice. The silence of the room settled around us, leaving only Virginia, me, and the dirty, discarded cable on the floor. I summoned the absolute last of my physical strength and began to crawl forward. Just as my fingertips brushed the metal connector, Virginia stepped down hard on my hand. I felt the delicate bones in my fingers click under the pressure. A sharp gasp of pain escaped my lips. “Still acting?” She crouched down, tapping my cheek with a manicured finger. “I thought you were born without the ability to sleep.” “So prove it to me.” I stared up at her, my vision blurring into a haze of shapes and shadows. “Ad… Adrian…” Virginia’s eyes flashed with venom. “You think you have the right to speak his name?” She grabbed my hair, pulling my face upward to force me to look at her. “Listen to me, Julie. Adrian Lockwell is my fiancé. You are nothing but a human machine paid for by his family.” “And machines need to remember their place.” I wanted to speak. I wanted to defend myself, but a sudden, deafening screech of static erupted inside my head. It wasn’t an alarm in the room. It was Adrian’s neural AI, transmitting through our failing interface, echoing in the quietest chambers of my mind. It was faint, breaking apart. [Julie…] [Don’t… sleep…] Tears spilled over my eyelashes. Adrian was still awake. He was still fighting to find me. With the absolute last ounce of my strength, I reached out and clutched the hem of Virginia’s sleeve. “Plug it… back in…” “Please…” Virginia sneered, wrenching her arm away from my grasp. “You’re begging me?” She stood up, looking down at me with utter contempt. “Then stay on your knees.” “Once I’m satisfied, maybe I’ll consider letting you continue this little charade.” My body gave out completely. My forehead hit the cold floor. My consciousness felt as though it were being dragged down into a deep, fathomless body of water. For nineteen years, I had never known what sleep felt like. I had always assumed it was a gentle thing. But this wasn’t gentle. It felt like death, slowly extinguishing the light. In my final second of awareness, I heard the room’s backup system automatically rebooting. A stark red light flooded the ceiling. [Anchor brainwave dropped below safety threshold.] [Target consciousness drift: 37%…] [Target consciousness drift: 61%…] [Target consciousness drift: 89%…] Virginia’s brow finally furrowed. “What is that noise?” No one answered her. Seven time zones away, at the Riyadh summit. Adrian Lockwell sat in his wheelchair, speaking through his neural AI to close a major acquisition with a foreign conglomerate. One second, he was calmly turning the final page of the contract. The next, his pupils dilated and lost focus. The mechanical exoskeleton supporting his frame lost its feed, collapsing under him as he crashed to the floor. The room erupted into chaos. His private medical team rushed forward, their faces turning pale as they looked at the portable monitors. Adrian’s heart was still beating, but the golden wave representing his consciousness was flattening into a straight line. The lead doctor, hands trembling, dialed Virginia’s number. The first call was declined. The second went straight to voicemail. The third time, the phone was turned off. Back in the penthouse suite of the medical center, Virginia looked at the flashing red alerts, her patience entirely gone. “Turn off these ridiculous alarms,” she ordered. She turned on her heel and walked toward the door. “First thing tomorrow morning, I want a full audit of Julie’s medical expenses over the last three years.” “The Lockwells are not a charity.” “And we certainly aren’t going to keep spending millions on a liar who pretends to die the moment she closes her eyes.” She did not know. The moment the heavy door clicked shut behind her, the very last trace of Adrian’s consciousness went dark. 2 I didn’t fully fall asleep. Rather, because my brain had never learned how to sleep, the heavy dose of sedatives could only trap me in a horrific, twilight state of near-death. I couldn’t hear distinct sounds. I only heard the fragmented, synthetic voice of the machine. [Anchor brainwaves continuing to deteriorate.] [Target consciousness reconnection: Failed.] [Please restore primary anchor channel immediately.] I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids felt like they were made of stone. The bitter taste of the pills lingered in my throat, and dry heaves racked my stomach in painful spasms. I had no concept of how much time had passed. Suddenly, someone slapped my cheek hard. “Julie.” “Wake up.” “Stop playing dead.” Virginia’s voice drifted in from a great distance, completely devoid of warmth. I forced my eyes open. The overhead lights were blindingly bright, sending a sharp pain through my temples. Virginia stood over the bed, flanked by two guards and a young resident doctor she had pulled from the lower floors. The doctor looked at my vitals, his expression deeply concerned. “Miss Carl, her pupillary response is incredibly weak, and her blood pressure is dropping fast. We need to pump her stomach immediately.” Virginia frowned. “I called you up here to prove she is faking, not to listen to your exaggerations.” “But she has clearly ingested an overdose of heavy sedatives,” the doctor protested. “An overdose?” Virginia laughed coldly. “I thought she was born unable to sleep. If she can’t sleep, how can a few sleeping pills be considered an overdose?” The doctor went quiet, unsure of how to argue. I parted my dry lips, my voice barely a whisper. “The… cable…” Virginia looked down at me. “Still thinking about that wire?” I used every bit of energy I had left to glance toward the corner of the room. The neural transmission cable was still lying there on the floor. If they just plugged it back in. If they just reconnected it. Maybe Adrian still had a chance. I tried to push myself up on my elbows, but my limbs felt like water. The moment I moved, a white-hot, tearing pain flared at the base of my neck where the interface was implanted. “Don’t move!” The doctor instinctively stepped forward to hold me steady. “Her neural interface is overheating. If we don’t stabilize her, she will suffer permanent, irreversible brain damage.” “Irreversible?” Virginia looked almost amused. She walked closer to the bed, leaning in to look at me. “Julie, haven’t you been using this little plug behind your ear to drain the Lockwell family fortune for years?” “Let’s see if you can keep up the act without it.” My breath caught in my throat. “No… please…” From outside the heavy suite doors, a sudden, violent banging echoed through the room. “Miss Carl! Open the door!” It was Simon. His voice sounded hoarse, raw with panic. “We’ve lost all contact with Mr. Lockwell! The Riyadh medical team has sent twelve consecutive red-level emergency alerts!” “We need to reconnect Julie right now!” Virginia’s face went cold. She turned to the guards. “Why is he still on the penthouse floor?” “Mr. Marvin’s security clearance is too high,” the guard murmured. “The lower floor security gates couldn’t stop him.” Virginia let out a cold laugh. “Then terminate his access.” She picked up the temporary administrative terminal from the table and pressed the authorization key. The pounding outside stopped instantly. A heavy silence fell, followed by Simon’s voice, which had gone completely hollow. “Virginia Carl… did you just lock out the neuro-engineering team?” “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Virginia walked over to the door, speaking through the security intercom. “It means that from this moment on, the penthouse wing is no longer a playground where you run up invoices in Adrian’s name.” “Miss Carl!” Simon screamed. “You are going to kill him!” “Enough!” Virginia’s voice cracked like a whip. “You all keep screaming about how he’s going to die, how she can’t sleep. But Adrian Lockwell is my fiancé!” “If his life were actually in danger, why has he never told me about her?” There was a long, terrible silence on the other side of the door. Then, Simon spoke, his voice trembling. “Because Mr. Lockwell didn’t want you to know about Julie’s existence.” Virginia’s face went entirely white. She gripped the terminal, her knuckles turning translucent. “What did you say?” Simon had clearly decided he had nothing left to lose. “Adrian signed a top-level non-disclosure agreement. Only seven people in the world know Julie’s actual purpose. You are not on that list.” “Miss Carl, whether you want to accept it or not—in Adrian’s life-support network, Julie is far more important than you will ever be.” The words were a direct hit to the center of Virginia’s pride. The thin veneer of elegance she always wore began to crack, piece by piece. “More important than me?” She slowly turned around to look at me lying on the bed. In that moment, a cold dread settled deep in my stomach. She hadn’t been reasoned with. She had been pushed over the edge. She walked over to my bedside, her eyes entirely devoid of warmth. “Julie.” “Did you hear that?” “They think you are more important than me.” I tried to shake my head, but my muscles refused to cooperate. Virginia reached down, her fingers digging violently into my jawline. “You? A nameless orphan nobody wanted? On what grounds?” She forced my head back, making me look directly into her eyes. “Because of this pretty face?” “Or because of the machine parts they shoved inside your head?” My eyes widened in terror. Virginia saw my reaction, and a slow, cruel smile spread across her face. “So there really is something in there.” The doctor’s face drained of color. “Miss Carl, we cannot touch the neural interface. Especially not now while she is sedated. Any forced manipulation could cause massive neurological trauma.” “An examination?” Virginia released her grip on my face, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm whisper. “No.” “I am calling an internal hearing.” “Tomorrow morning at nine, I want every senior executive and board member of the Lockwell Medical Center in the main conference hall.” “I want everyone to see exactly what kind of monster this family has been keeping in the attic.” The doctor took a step forward. “But she needs medical intervention right now!” Virginia cast a chilling look at him. “Is she dead?” The doctor stopped. “No, but—” “Then she can wait until tomorrow.” With that, she turned and walked out. As the heavy doors locked shut, my world drifted back into the cold dark. But this time, deep in the silence, I heard a faint, distant whisper. It sounded as if someone were calling my name from across an ocean. [Julie.] [Hold on.] A single tear slid down my cheek. Adrian. You are still there. So I cannot sleep. 3 The next morning at nine, I was wheeled into the seventh-floor executive conference room. I wasn’t allowed to sit up. Instead, I was strapped down to a mobile examination bed, completely restrained. The room was filled with people. The medical administration, the financial directors, the legal counsels, and several senior board members of the Lockwell Corporation I had never seen before. The way they looked at me was a mixture of clinical curiosity, disgust, and mild fear. Virginia stood at the head of the long mahogany table, a massive projection of my medical billing history illuminated behind her. The numbers were staggering. The maintenance of the temperature-controlled pod. The specialized replacement parts for the neural interface. The operations cost of the real-time synchronization servers. The twenty-four-hour nursing rotation. The constant filtration and monitoring of the air quality. Each line item cost more than an average family would see in a lifetime. Virginia tapped the screen with a red laser pointer. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is what Julie has cost the Lockwell family over the last three years.” “An average of eight figures every single month.” “And the invaluable service she provides in return? Laying in a penthouse pod, staring at the wall with her eyes open.” A quiet murmur rippled through the boardroom. “How is it even possible for a human to never sleep?” “I always thought the penthouse project was incredibly suspicious.” “With Adrian incapacitated, those expenses were never properly audited.” “Could this be a massive embezzlement scheme?” Listening to their whispers, my chest tightened. They didn’t know the truth. And none of them had the clearance to access it. Virginia had calculated this perfectly. She was going to use their ignorance to destroy me. One of the senior board members cleared his throat. “Miss Carl, while Adrian did grant you temporary power of attorney, the penthouse wing has always been under the personal oversight of Old Mr. Lockwell. Is a public hearing like this entirely appropriate?” Virginia smiled warmly. “It is precisely because Mr. Lockwell is getting older that he is more vulnerable to being deceived.” “As Adrian’s fiancée, it is my duty to protect this family from predators.” She turned her gaze directly onto me. “Julie, I will give you one chance.” “Admit to everyone in this room that you and the neuro-engineering team fabricated your condition, falsified the brainwave data, and systematically drained the Lockwell family’s resources.” My throat was so dry it felt like paper. “I didn’t…” My voice was too quiet, swallowed up by the low chatter of the room. Virginia walked over and tossed a thick document onto my chest. “Sign it.” I looked down at the cover page. Confession of Medical Fraud and Misappropriation. Everything had already been laid out for me. Falsification of rare medical records. Conspiracy with the engineering staff to embezzle medical funds. Using a fabricated neurological condition to occupy Lockwell properties. Consent to the immediate removal of all neural implants and cooperation with the subsequent criminal investigation. My fingers trembled against the straps. “You can’t take it out…” Virginia leaned over the bed. “And why is that?” I used every ounce of breath I had left. “He will die.” A heavy silence fell over the room. Then, someone near the back let out a sharp chuckle. “She actually believes she controls the president’s life.” “This isn’t just fraud anymore. It’s severe delusion.” Virginia smiled, pleased with the reaction. This was exactly what she wanted. By pushing me to state the truth, she made me sound completely insane. Suddenly, the double doors of the conference room were shoved open. Simon was struggling against two security guards at the threshold, holding a portable neural diagnostics terminal. Sweat was pouring down his face. “Virginia, let me in!” “Adrian’s consciousness cloud fractured three times last night!” “The main servers can’t locate his signal! The Riyadh team has initiated maximum-level resuscitation protocols!” The room erupted into quiet panic. Virginia’s face went cold. “Who let him up here?” Simon stared at her with raw fury. “I am going to say this one last time: Julie is not a fraud.” “She is the sole anchor keeping Adrian’s neural AI online.” “When you drugged her last night, you essentially signed his death warrant.” The word murder seemed to echo in the high ceilings. Virginia merely smiled. “Mr. Marvin, do you understand the gravity of what you are claiming?” “I do,” Simon said, his voice shaking. “And I am prepared to take full legal responsibility for every single word.” Virginia nodded slowly. “Excellent.” She turned to the corporate legal counsel. “Take that down. Simon Marvin, an employee of the neuro-engineering division, is attempting to cover up a massive medical fraud by using threats against Adrian’s life.” Simon’s face went pale. “You are completely out of your mind!” Virginia ignored him. She walked back to the center of the room, her eyes sweeping over the board members. “Since there is so much debate, we will proceed with the most direct verification method.” My heart hammered against my ribs. Virginia spoke clearly. “Julie has a neural implant at the base of her neck.” “Mr. Marvin claims that chip is Adrian’s lifeline.” “Personally, I find it hard to believe that a tiny piece of metal in an orphan’s head dictates the survival of the Lockwell empire.” She looked at the medical team standing near the door. “Prepare to extract the implant.” The room went dead silent. The resident doctor she had brought up looked terrified. “Miss Carl, this violates every medical protocol. She was heavily sedated last night, and her neural activity is highly erratic. Any invasive procedure right now could be fatal.” Virginia looked at him coldly. “Are you a licensed physician, or are you her accomplice?” The doctor looked down, unable to answer. Virginia raised her administrative terminal. “I hold the temporary executive power of attorney. Anyone who refuses to carry out my orders will be terminated immediately.” A cold sweat broke out across my skin. I wasn’t afraid of the pain. I was terrified because I knew that if that chip was forcibly removed, Adrian might never find his way back. I began to thrash against the leather straps, tears streaming down my face. “Don’t… please…” Virginia walked up to the side of my bed, looking down at me with a soft, venomous smile. “Now you’re begging?” Her finger brushed against the cool sterile patch on the back of my neck. Her voice was barely a whisper. “I thought you couldn’t sleep, Julie.” “Once we take this out, I’m going to let you sleep for a very long time.”

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  • I Can See His Heart List

    In the fifth year of my marriage to Darnell, I suddenly began to see the leaderboards inside everyone’s minds. In my mother’s heart, I was number one. In my best friend’s, I was number two, second only to her newborn daughter. Even the barista at the coffee shop down the street ranked me at number six. Naturally, I looked at Darnell’s list with nothing but anticipation. Number one: his mother. Number two: Hannah. Me. I was right there at number two. I couldn’t stop smiling all day. Until my eyes drifted down to number six: Gina. A name I had never heard in my life. I told myself it didn’t matter. I was number two. She was just a distant sixth. But over the next few days, her name began to climb. Inch by inch. Up until she was almost neck-and-neck with me. That night, Darnell came home and wrapped his arms around me from behind, just like he always did. “I missed you,” he whispered. I looked up at the leaderboard hovering silently above his head. Gina—now sitting at number three—was still rising. “Darnell.” “Who is Gina?” The arms around my waist stiffened. Just for a fraction of a second. … 1 It was so brief. So fleeting that I almost convinced myself I’d imagined it. Darnell quickly looked down at me, his face a mask of effortless calm. “She’s a new designer on the team,” he said, smoothing my hair with a familiar, easy touch. “We’re co-managing a new account, so I’ve been showing her the ropes.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Why? You’re not actually jealous of a colleague, are you?” I looked up at him. Above his head, Gina’s name sat solidly at number three, completely untroubled. If she were really just a coworker, a sudden question from his wife should have caused at least a tiny tremor in his mental ranking. A flicker of anxiety, a shift. But there was nothing. It was perfectly still. “Oh,” I murmured, lowering my head to take a sip of water. I held the rim of the glass against my lips for a long, silent moment. The next morning, Darnell left the house twenty minutes earlier than usual. He said the morning rush hour had been brutal lately. On the dining table, he had left the usual breakfast—warm milk, a perfectly fried egg, and toast with the crusts neatly trimmed off. He had done this every single day of our five-year marriage. I stood by the door, waving goodbye and telling him to drive safely. But the moment his taillights vanished around the corner, a strange, hollow impulse made me open the location-sharing app on my phone. His car wasn’t heading toward his office. Instead, it stopped in a residential neighborhood I didn’t recognize, idling there for about fifteen minutes before starting up again. I stared at the tiny blue dot on the map, my chest tightening. The third day, it was the same time, the exact same detour. By the fourth day, I no longer stood by the window to wave him goodbye. I just watched him leave, then watched the dot on my screen pause in that unfamiliar neighborhood. Every morning after he stepped out the door, Gina’s name crept a little closer to mine. Not by leaps and bounds. Just an agonizing millimeter at a time. It was enough to keep me on edge all day. It happened at night, too. Twice, he claimed he had to work late, but his location showed him parked at a condo complex miles away from his office. I stared at the address on my screen until my eyes burned. Later that week, I sat at the dining table, watching him brew pour-over coffee in the kitchen. A sweet, floral aroma of lavender drifted through the air, settling into every corner of our apartment. It was a scent that didn’t belong to me. It didn’t belong to us. Darnell walked over, setting the mug down beside my hand. There was a faint, almost imperceptible tension in his eyes. “Try it.” I took a sip. It was sweet, smooth, with a delicate hint of lavender and steamed milk. It was a far cry from the black Americanos we both always drank. I looked up. “Since when do you like lavender lattes?” He froze for a fraction of a beat before offering a quick smile. “Just wanted to try something new.” That tiny, hesitant beat pierced my heart like a needle. That night, while he was in the shower, he left his phone on the sofa with his notes app still open. I didn’t want to pry, but my eyes caught the screen. Lavender syrup to milk ratio: 3 to 7. She likes it a bit sweeter. She. Not a name. Just a carefully placed pronoun. My finger hovered over the screen, paralyzed. The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom. I set the phone back down exactly as it was, pretending I had seen nothing. Later, we curled up on the couch to watch a movie. My head rested on his shoulder. On the screen, the characters were laughing, but I couldn’t process a single line of dialogue. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and a soft, barely visible smile played on his lips as he typed a quick reply. The entire exchange took less than five seconds. But in those five seconds, Gina’s name leaped forward on his leaderboard, pressing directly against my second-place spot. Resting against his chest, I felt his heart skip a beat. Not because of me. When he put his phone away, he instinctively tightened his arm around me, pulling me closer. It felt like an act of compensation. Or perhaps, an attempt to suppress his own guilt. I couldn’t sleep that night. A sliver of streetlamp light filtered through the curtains, illuminating his profile. He slept peacefully, his features relaxed, a soft trace of a smile lingering on his lips. I used to love watching him sleep. But that night, my gaze drifted upward. The leaderboard hung silently in the darkness above him. Number one: his mother. Number two: Hannah. Number two: Gina. Tied. I stared at those two names sitting side-by-side. It felt like a physical blow to my chest. Five years of marriage, balanced on the exact same scale as a woman he had probably known for only a few months. Gently, I pried his arm off my waist, turned my back to him, and faced the wall. I kept my eyes wide open until the room filled with morning light. The next day, while sorting the laundry, I found a crumpled receipt in his coat pocket. The name of the coffee shop was unfamiliar. The time stamp read 7:48 AM. Exactly during those twenty minutes he had started leaving early. I slowly smoothed out the paper. Two lavender honey lattes. Darnell and I only drank black coffee. He hadn’t been practicing a new recipe at home out of curiosity. He had been trying to perfect another woman’s favorite drink. Sunlight streamed over the laundry basket, but as I held that thin slip of paper, my fingers went completely numb. Eventually, I folded the receipt back up and slipped it back into his pocket. Then, I sat on the balcony, pulling my knees to my chest, staring into nothing for hours. The leaderboard didn’t lie. The receipt didn’t lie. The only liar in this house was him. Later, I looked up the coffee shop online. Following the location tags, it didn’t take long to find Gina’s Instagram profile. Her feed was filled with film photography. Pictures of stray cats, clear skies, riverfront nightscapes, and artisanal coffee. Everything looked serene, clean—like a blank sheet of paper. I scrolled down, post by post, until I reached a photo of a waterfront skyline. My thumb froze. I knew that riverbank all too well. During our college years in Boston, Darnell and I had walked along that exact stretch of the Charles River countless times. The green iron railings, the vintage streetlamps, the distant silhouette of the bridge—I could recognize them with my eyes closed. The caption was simple: “Someone took me to see the most beautiful view of the city tonight.” My breathing hitched. That was my place. Our place. But he had taken someone else, retracing the steps we had carved together. I kept scrolling. Another photo showed her study desk, and in the corner lay a fountain pen. Black body, silver clip. It was the Montblanc I had gifted Darnell years ago. When he got accepted into his graduate program, I had spent months scraping together enough money to buy it for him. I remembered how he had held my wrist, kissing it gently, and whispered, “Every time I use this, I’ll be thinking of you.” Months ago, he told me he must have misplaced it at the office. I had spent an entire weekend tearing the apartment apart trying to find it for him. It wasn’t lost. He had given it away. I touched my wrist, feeling a sudden chill seep deep into my skin. In another post, Gina had shared a screenshot of a French indie documentary—the exact same one Darnell had suddenly started streaming in the evenings. I had asked him to watch movies with me so many times over the years. He always complained they were boring, a waste of time, that he’d rather sleep. I had spent five years trying to share things with him, and I hadn’t managed to change a single one of his habits. Gina had been in his life for three months, and he had already remade his tastes and hobbies to match hers. I slowly looked up, my eyes drifting to our bedroom closet. Recently, he had bought several new shirts—sharper cuts, brighter colors, nothing like his usual muted grays. I remembered dragging him to a department store once, picking out a beautiful tailored coat for him. He had shrugged it off, saying, “I’m a guy, who cares about that stuff?” I had bought us couple’s gym memberships; he never went once. I had bought him hand creams for his dry skin; he left them unopened, complaining they felt greasy. Yet lately, he had started working out. He was wearing cologne. He was taking care of his hands, keeping them clean and moisturized. Five years of marriage couldn’t make him change. But the moment Gina arrived, he eagerly remade himself from the ground up. He wasn’t incapable of effort. He was just unwilling to put in that effort for me. That afternoon, I pulled out our wedding video. On the screen, a younger Darnell stood under the soft venue lights in a classic black tux, holding my hands. His eyes were incredibly red, brimming with tears. He had looked straight at me and said, “In my heart, you will always be number one. If that ever changes, it’ll only be because I’m no longer breathing.” I had sobbed uncontrollably. He wiped my tears away as our guests erupted into applause. I closed the video and laid my laptop face down on the table. When I closed my eyes and pictured the leaderboard, Gina’s name was now pressed tightly against mine. Darnell came home very late that night. There was a faint, pale red mark on the side of his neck. Before I could even ask, he offered a quick, casual explanation: “The collar on that new shirt is incredibly stiff. Kept chafing all day.” With that, he walked straight into the bathroom, washing away whatever scent he carried. He changed into his pajamas, slid into bed, and wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Tired today, sweetie?” He kissed the sensitive spot behind my ear. His breath was warm, his touch practiced and familiar. It felt exactly like every other night of the last five years. But once his breathing slowed and he fell asleep, I looked above his head. Number two: Gina. Number three: Hannah. I had finally been dethroned. On the very night he held me, called me his wife, and kissed me. I stared into the dark. No tears fell. There was only a cold, hollow numbness spreading from the back of my eyes, slowly freezing my entire body. The next morning, I opened Gina’s Instagram again and looked at that riverfront photo. The longer I stared at the streetlamps and railings, the more familiar they felt. Then it clicked. Just around the bend of that riverbank sat the little Italian bistro we used to frequent during our college days. It wasn’t just the pen. It wasn’t just the flavor of coffee. Even the paths we had walked a thousand times, he had retraced with someone else. I stared at the photo for a long time. There was no anger left, no burning resentment. Only a quiet, resolute thought: I have to see it for myself. I needed to see how much of his sincerity remained when he recycled our sacred memories to woo another woman. Over the weekend, I suggested going back to that Italian bistro near campus. “It’s been so long since we went to Bella’s,” I said. “I’m craving their pasta.” Darnell agreed instantly. The owner, an older Italian man named Mario, recognized us immediately. “Look who finally decided to come back!” he cheered. Darnell laughed, pulling out my chair with practiced grace. He ordered all my favorites: the truffle gnocchi, the roasted garlic bread, and chicken piccata. He even remembered to tell the kitchen to leave out the rosemary, knowing I disliked the strong herb. He chatted with Mario about our college days, recalling how I always insisted on sitting by the window, and how I’d nervously drink three cups of chamomile tea before my midterms. He sounded so natural, as if nothing had changed between us. But my eyes were fixed on the leaderboard above his head. Gina sat firmly at number two, completely unmoved. I forced myself to laugh, to jump in with nostalgic details, trying desperately to piece our past back together. But throughout the entire dinner, I couldn’t claw my way back up by even a single inch. Halfway through the meal, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. “Just a quick work call,” he said, stepping outside. Through the glass door, I watched him stand under the awning, one hand tucked casually into his pocket, his shoulders relaxed. At some point in the conversation, he looked down and smiled. I knew that smile. It was unguarded, soft, the kind of smile he only reserved for someone he held incredibly close. I looked down at the food on our table. It was everything I loved. But the steam was fading, the dishes growing cold. While he stood just outside the glass, his heart had wandered miles away. On the leaderboard, Gina’s name was slowly drifting closer to the number one spot. When he returned, he immediately sensed the shift in my mood. His compensation mechanism kicked in instantly. He piled food onto my plate, offering soft apologies, blaming a demanding client. Then, looking at me as if searching for reassurance, he added, “By the way, for our anniversary next month, I took three days off. I’m taking you to Maui, just like you’ve always wanted.” The moment he said it, I instinctively looked up at the leaderboard. My name actually budged, floating up a fraction of an inch. Just a tiny, pitiful fraction. And suddenly, it became painfully clear. His kindness wasn’t a sign of returning love. It was guilt. A three-day trip to buy back his peace of mind. A beautiful, expensive receipt to clear the ledger of his betrayal. I offered a faint smile. “That sounds lovely.” My own voice sounded hollow, like a stranger’s. As we left the bistro, we passed a young couple on the sidewalk. The boy was holding the girl’s hand, his laughter bright and clear. Hovering over his head was a single, pristine name at number one: the girl walking beside him. No one else was on his list. Outside our apartment complex, an elderly couple was slowly crossing the street. The husband held his wife’s elbow, guiding her step by step. Above his head, her name sat at number one, a placement that had clearly remained unchanged for decades. I stopped walking, a sudden ache blooming in my chest. So that’s what it looks like to be someone’s absolute first choice. I turned to look at Darnell. He was looking down at his phone, typing away. Number one: his mother. Number two: Gina. Number three: Hannah. I had never actually been his first choice. Back at the apartment, he retreated into his study, claiming he had paperwork to wrap up. I sat alone in the living room without turning on the lights. In the quiet dark, the weight of reality finally settled over me. I wasn’t going to wait around anymore. I refused to watch myself slide further and further down a ranking system in my own marriage. I pulled out my phone, scrolled through a few corporate event photos Gina had posted, and figured out where she spent her lunch breaks. It was that boutique coffee shop. The next afternoon, I arrived early at the coffee shop. I ordered a black coffee and took a table in the far corner, waiting. Just past noon, Gina walked in. Short hair, a simple white blouse, minimal makeup. She sat down quietly and ordered a lavender honey latte. She looked ordinary, almost plain. But my eyes immediately locked onto the leaderboard hovering above her head. Number one: Darnell. My husband was the most important person in her world. And she was rapidly becoming the most important person in his. Their lists locked together perfectly, forming a closed, exclusive loop. And I was left standing completely on the outside. Gina opened her laptop, beginning to review some design drafts. I stood up to use the restroom. As I walked past her table, my eyes caught her phone lying face down. Tucked inside her clear phone case was a polaroid. Two silhouettes, standing side-by-side along the Charles River. The railing, the streetlamp—it was the view I knew by heart. And on her wrist, a delicate silver chain. I recognized the brand instantly. It was the same jewelry boutique where Darnell bought my gifts every Christmas. I walked into the restroom, leaned over the sink, and turned on the tap. I splashed cold water onto my face, watching it drip from my chin. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. When I came out, I picked up my coffee, walked over to her table, and slid into the empty seat opposite her. “Hi. I notice you come here quite often.” Gina blinked in surprise, but quickly offered a polite, gentle smile. “Oh, yes. I’m a bit obsessed with their lavender lattes.” I looked down at the milky, lavender-scented drink in front of her, feeling a dull ache in my chest. We exchanged a few pleasantries—chatting about the autumn weather, local bakeries, and the stray cats around the neighborhood. Her voice was soft, deliberate, completely lacking any malice or pretense. The kinder and sweeter she seemed, the tighter my throat became. “Are you here alone today?” I asked, keeping my voice light. Gina looked down, a soft blush warming her cheeks. “No, actually. My boyfriend has a lunch meeting, but he’s stopping by to pick me up soon.” Boyfriend. The word echoed in my mind, freezing me in place. She didn’t know. She had absolutely no idea. In her world, Darnell was a single, loving boyfriend. Not someone else’s husband of five years. Not a man with a home, a mortgage, and a wife waiting for him. In the narrative he had spun for her, my entire existence had been thoroughly erased. I wasn’t even a footnote. Gina’s phone buzzed on the table. She picked it up, her voice softening with affection. “Hey. Yeah, I’m at our usual spot. You’re close? Perfect. See you in a minute.” She hung up and gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. He’s here. He’s really the sweet type, always insists on grabbing me a coffee.” Before I could find my voice, the bell above the door chimed. Darnell walked in. He was holding a paper carrier with two lavender lattes. His eyes scanned the room, automatically finding Gina, a relaxed, boyish smile already forming on his lips. Then, his gaze shifted a fraction of an inch. When he saw me sitting across from her, he froze. The smile vanished, the color draining from his face in a terrifying wave. His fingers went limp. The paper carrier slipped from his grasp, crashing to the tiled floor. The lids popped off, and warm purple-tinted liquid splattered across the tiles. The sweet, heavy scent of lavender instantly filled the air. The entire café fell dead silent. Gina looked back and forth between us, entirely lost. Darnell stood near the door, looking as though he had been turned to stone. I slowly pushed my chair back, stood up, and walked toward him. The spilled coffee pooled around his leather shoes, spreading like the ruins of a dream I was finally waking up from. I stopped a foot away from him, looking up at his head one last time. Number one: Gina. Number two: his mother. Number three: Hannah. I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Darnell,” I said, my voice remarkably steady. “Do you have any idea where I rank in your heart right now?”

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  • Mom Please Don’t Have Me

    On the afternoon of my college move-in day, my phone buzzed with a FaceTime call from my mother. Only, it wasn’t the mother I knew. It was her—eighteen years in the past. She was gently caressing her slightly rounded stomach, her eyes bright and filled with a luminous, teary hope. “Sweetheart,” she whispered, looking at the screen as if she could see right through time. “Your father took me to the clinic today. The doctor says everything looks perfect. Soon, the three of us will finally be together.” She looked at me, her eyes tracing my face with longing. “Tell me, sweetheart. In the future, do you follow in my footsteps and dance? Or did you inherit your father’s business mind?” A bitter, dry laugh caught in my throat. I slowly tilted the camera downward. The canary-yellow delivery vest felt stiff and smelled faintly of stale fries and cold grease. My name tag hung crookedly over my chest, a cheap piece of plastic declaring my state-assigned role. DoorDash Runner #9: Isabel. When I tilted the camera back up, meeting her bewildered, frozen gaze, my voice was as flat and cold as a stagnant pond. “I’m sorry, Mom. You didn’t guess right on either.” “I was just kicked out of the house. Ruby tore up my college acceptance letter.” “And eighteen years from now, you’re still lying in a hospital bed, waiting for me to scrape together enough cash to cover your medical bills.” My throat tightened, a sob threatening to break through. “Mom,” I choked out, “if you can hear me… please. Abort this pregnancy. Divorce him. Leave, and never look back.” 1 My mother forced a fragile, trembling smile. “Izzy, what kind of joke is that?” she chuckled softly, though her hand shook. “Your father and I are engaged. Why on earth would he marry Ruby?” She raised her hand, showing off the massive, glittering diamond ring on her finger. “Look. This is the family heirloom. He placed it on my finger himself.” “He told me that the day you are born, he’s going to give me the grand wedding of my dreams.” I had seen that ring. Countless times. Every time my mother’s depressive episodes took hold, she would clutch that ring, white-knuckled, until the storm in her mind passed. But the tragedy was that this ring—the one she cherished like her very soul—would eventually be ripped from her hand and slipped onto Ruby’s finger. And the marriage certificate she spent eighteen years begging for? It was signed the very day after I was born. While my mother was recovering in her hospital bed, my father and Ruby made a detour to City Hall on their way to visit her. They got married. When my mother found out and screamed herself hoarse, demanding to know why, his response was a dismissive, casual shrug. “Ruby is the adopted daughter,” he’d said. “Without this marriage, high society will always look down on her. To the world, you’re still my real partner, and our child is still the heir to the family fortune. It’s just a piece of paper, Margot. Why make such a fuss?” I didn’t argue with her. Instead, I flipped the camera, carrying a pastry box up the steps of the old family estate. I knocked on the heavy oak door. “Delivery for unit 4B. Delivery under the name Charles.” Through my earbuds, my mother let out a small, startled gasp, her voice laced with sudden joy. “That’s my mother’s old house! The estate she left me as a dowry! Charles promised me he’d take care of it… I can’t believe it’s still standing, looking exactly the same eighteen years later!” The door clicked open, and her joyful words died in her throat. My father stood there. For a fraction of a second, surprise flickered in his eyes. “Izzy? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at your dorm registration?” A soft, petulant voice drifted from behind him. Ruby appeared, her lower lip trembling with practiced vulnerability. “Charles, don’t blame her. It’s my fault. This morning, Izzy called me a homewrecker and knocked over the cake you bought me. I only scolded her a little, but she got so angry she ran away to do… whatever this is.” A shadow of disgust crossed my father’s face. He didn’t even bother to ask for my side of the story. “Well, maybe some hard labor will cure her of that attitude,” he muttered coldly. “She’s starting to sound just like her hysterical mother. Bring the cake in and put it on the table.” I kept my head down and followed them inside. On the screen, the camera captured the room. The exquisite, hand-carved marble desk—the one my grandmother had passed down to my mother—had been painted a gaudy pink and converted into a plush bed for Ruby’s toy poodle. In my ear, my mother’s voice trembled with a ragged, weeping breath. “How… how could he? Charles promised me he would honor my mother’s memory… How could he let her treat my inheritance like garbage?” But I felt nothing. I was entirely numb. On their first wedding anniversary, during one of my mother’s severe depressive episodes, she had pushed Ruby in a fit of panic. Ruby fell, suffered a miscarriage, and was told she could never have children again. From that day on, my mother was labeled a criminal. And on every subsequent anniversary, Charles would bring Ruby to this very house, using the desk my grandmother loved to indulge their desires, leaving their marks all over it. Afterward, he would force my mother to kneel, weeping, and scrub the wood clean. He systematically broke her, piece by piece, forcing her to watch exactly how much he adored another woman. I placed the cake box down and spoke in a flat, customer-service drone. “Please remember to leave a five-star review on the app. Have a good day.” As I turned to leave, the ragged sobbing in my ear grew louder, shaking the tiny speaker. “Why would Charles do this? He loved me. When we were younger and those thugs cornered me, he took a knife for me. He nearly lost a kidney protecting me!” “Izzy, please tell me this is a joke. It’s a prank, right? It has to be!” I let out a hollow, bitter smile. So that was where his scar came from. He had saved her. No wonder that very scar later became his deepest source of resentment. My throat felt dry, choked with unshed tears. I didn’t know what to say. Footsteps echoed behind me. My father caught up to me in the hallway, pulling a thin stack of bills from his leather wallet. He thrust them toward me, his expression dark. “That’s enough of this little drama. If you need pocket money, just ask. Don’t play the martyr like your mother. It’s pathetic.” I reached out and took only the smallest bill—a ten-dollar bill—and offered him a polite, hollow nod. “Thank you for the tip. I’ll take the trash out on my way. Enjoy your evening.” His jaw clenched, irritation flaring in his eyes. “Did she teach you that passive-aggressive tone, too? Eighteen years, and her tricks are still as cheap as ever.” “I’m warning you one last time. As long as you don’t touch Ruby, I don’t care what you do. But if you dare hurt her again, I won’t hesitate to ruin you.” With that parting threat, he slammed the door. On my phone screen, my mother’s eyes were wide, red-rimmed with utter disbelief. “How… how did he become this monster?” “But if it’s true… if things really get this bad… why didn’t I take you and leave?” “I’m a principal ballerina! I have my own career, my own money! Why would I stay and endure this torture?” My silence slowly drained the last embers of hope from her face. The terrible truth began to dawn on her. “So… eighteen years from now… I don’t dance anymore, do I?” Before I could answer, my phone vibrated, interrupting our call with an incoming line. It was the hospital nurse, her voice clipped and impatient. “Isabel? Your mother’s medical bill is still short three hundred dollars. Today is the absolute deadline. How much longer before you get here?” My voice was barely a whisper. “I have the money. I’m on my way.” Hanging up, I looked back at the video call, staring deep into the eyes of the young mother on the screen. “Come,” I said softly. “Let me show you who you are in eighteen years.” I walked down the sterile hospital corridor and stopped outside room 302. I angled my phone camera through the small glass pane of the door. The woman inside sat in a wheelchair. She was so emaciated her hospital gown practically swallowed her. Her face was hollow, devoid of life. When the draft from the AC blew, the right pant leg of her pajamas fluttered, completely empty. In my ear, my mother’s voice was a terrified shiver. “Izzy… is that… me? Her right leg…” “It’s gone,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Charles had someone break it.” My mother gasped, a sound of pure agony. “He knew… he knew dancing was my entire life. Why would he do that? What happened?” I smiled, the taste of salt on my lips. “Because Ruby claimed you put sewing needles in her ballet slippers. Charles didn’t even bother to check. He just took a lead pipe to your knee.” Silence stretched across the eighteen-year gap. It was absurd. On a single, unverified accusation, he had shattered her legs, and along with them, her dream of ever standing on a stage again. I pushed the heavy door open and entered the room. The moment the woman in the wheelchair saw me, her eyes clouded with sudden, manic rage. She grabbed a ceramic vase from the bedside table and hurled it at my head. I ducked, but the vase shattered against the doorframe, a stray shard slicing a clean line across my cheek. My mother—the eighteen-years-older version—began to scream at me, her voice cracked and hysterical. “Charles! You bastard! Aren’t you supposed to be in bed with that whore? Why are you here to mock me? Get out! Get out!” I calmly wiped the bead of blood from my cheek, speaking softly to the terrified young woman still on my phone screen. “I look too much like him. Whenever she has an episode, she mistakes me for my father.” “Now do you see? It’s not that you didn’t want to take me and leave. It’s that you were too sick. You couldn’t.” On the screen, my young mother bit her lip until it bled. “When… when did it start? The sickness?” I thought back. “The night you found out you were pregnant with me. You came home to surprise him and caught them together. The shock triggered your first psychotic break.” “After that, whenever Charles wanted to spend the night with Ruby without being disturbed, he’d have you committed to the psychiatric ward for a few days.” Looking at her devastated face, I asked gently, “Do you want to talk to her?” She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “No. There’s no point.” “Is there really nothing we can do? Are we completely helpless?” In the heavy, suffocating silence of the hospital room, I whispered the only truth left to us. “For us, yes. It’s too late. But for you… you still have a choice. Abort the baby. Pack your bags. Leave tonight, and never let him find you.” “Break it off cleanly, and never look back.” She fell silent. Suddenly, through the speaker, I heard a man’s voice calling out from eighteen years ago—my father’s voice, warm and full of false tenderness. “Margot? Who are you talking to? You’ve been on the phone forever.” The line went dead. I tucked my phone away and firmly but gently forced the woman in the wheelchair to take her medication. As the sedatives took hold, the manic red left her eyes. She looked at my bleeding cheek, her face crumpling with guilt. “Izzy… I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you again?” I shook my head. “It’s okay, Mom.” She reached into her thin hospital gown, pulling out a faded cloth pouch and stuffing it into my hands with desperate urgency. “This is all the money I’ve managed to hide over the years. Take it. Go to college. Don’t worry about me anymore!” Then, her eyes fell on my bright yellow delivery vest, and she froze. “Izzy… why are you wearing that? Weren’t you supposed to register at the dorms today?” My heart ached, but I forced a reassuring smile and lied. “My classes don’t start for another two weeks, Mom. I’m just doing some food delivery to earn extra pocket money.” I pushed the pouch back into her hands. “I have money. And you’re my mother. Even if I leave, I’m taking you with me.” Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re such a good girl, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I ruined your life.” “If there is a next life, promise me you’ll be born to a better mother. Don’t choose someone like me.” I frowned, cutting her off gently. “Mom, stop talking like that. I’m going to the cafeteria to get us some dinner. Stay here and be good, okay?” She nodded, looking small in her bed. But as I walked back down the hall with a tray of food, I ran straight into Ruby. She was resting her hand on her flat stomach, a smug, venomous smile on her lips. “Izzy. I have wonderful news. You’re going to have a little brother.” “Charles hasn’t stopped trying for eighteen years, and all those fertility treatments finally paid off.” I stared at her coldly. “Congratulations. Now get out of my way, I need to feed my mother.” Ruby covered her mouth, letting out a soft, mocking laugh. “Oh, I don’t think you need to worry about that anymore.” My chest tightened. She let out a cruel, airy giggle. “Your mother is in the ICU right now. I don’t think she has much of an appetite.” The plastic tray slipped from my hands, shattering on the tile floor. I bolted toward the emergency wing. Just as I arrived, the double doors swung open, and the doctor stepped out, removing his surgical mask. He offered me a grim, apologetic bow. “Isabel… I’m so sorry. The blunt force trauma to her skull was too severe. We did everything we could.” My world shattered into a thousand silent pieces. In a blind, suffocating rage, I lunged forward, grabbing Ruby by her collar and screaming, “What did you do to her?!” She didn’t even flinch. She just smiled, her voice dripping with artificial innocence. “I only told her the truth, Izzy. I told her that I tore up your college acceptance letter and took all your money. I told her you had to drop out of school to pay her bills. She got so hysterical she threw herself headfirst against the concrete wall.” My fingers trembled, every fiber of my being wanting to strangle the life out of her. “Isabel! Stop it right now!” A heavy hand ripped me away. My father stood there, shielding Ruby, his eyes blazing with fury. “Is is how Margot raised you? To assault your elders? To have absolutely no respect?” “If I had known you’d turn out like this, I would have never let her give birth to you.” His words were a jagged blade, twisting into the last remaining pieces of my heart. This face—the face my mother had loved more than her own life—was utterly monstrous. I let out a wet, hollow laugh, tears burning my eyes. “Dad… she killed her…” “Oh, Charles, my stomach… it hurts so much. I think I’m losing the baby!” Ruby gasped, collapsing into his arms. Panic seized my father. He scooped her up in his arms, running down the hall without looking back, leaving me alone with my mother’s ghost. A nurse stepped up beside me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Isabel… right before your mother lost consciousness, she asked me to give you a message.” “She said she didn’t want to be a burden to you anymore. She hid a life insurance policy in the second drawer of her bedside table. She wants you to take the payout and go to college.” I wheeled my mother’s sheet-covered body toward the morgue, sobbing uncontrollably. Suddenly, my phone rang. On the screen, the eighteen-year-old version of my mother was pale, her face stripped of all color, but her jaw was set with fierce determination. “Izzy, you were right. Charles told me he had to work late tonight.” “I was planning to surprise him with some homemade soup. That must have been how I caught them in your timeline.” “I threw the soup out. I’m at the airport. My flight to Austin, Texas leaves in thirty minutes.” I wiped my tears, a broken, hysterical laugh escaping my throat. “That’s wonderful, Mom! You’re free! You’re finally free!” But as she looked at me, she noticed the white sheet draped over the gurney behind me. Her eyes widened in horror. “Izzy… what is that?” I told her the truth. I told her everything. Her voice shook with a terrible, violent grief. “Sweetheart, don’t worry. I swear to you, I will never let that happen again.” Suddenly, the gurney was blocked. A sharp, stinging slap cracked across my face, sending me stumbling. I looked up to see my father, his face contorted in absolute rage. “Isabel, did your mother tell you to poison the cake? Is that why Ruby is having an allergic reaction?” “Ruby is hemorrhaging. Call your mother right now. We need her for a blood transfusion.” I cupped my burning cheek, staring at him. With all the strength I had left, I pushed the gurney directly into his chest. “Here,” I whispered, my voice dripping with venom. “Here she is. Take her.” My father’s scowl deepened, his teeth grinding together. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Your mother was just spotted out with another man, and now you’re playing dead?” He pulled out his phone, shoving a social media post in my face. On the screen, a photo from today showed my mother smiling radiantly, snuggled into the arms of a handsome man. The caption read: Snuck out of the psych ward. Finally realized what real happiness feels like. In my earbud, my mother’s voice was sharp with panic. “My body is right there! How could I post that? That’s Ruby’s doing. She must have used AI to fake that photo!” “Izzy, pull back the sheet! Show him! Show him my body!” I let out a tired, cynical laugh. It was always the same tricks. Ruby had used them for eighteen years. Whenever my mother went to therapy, Ruby rumored she was sleeping with her therapist. When my mother got into a car accident, Ruby claimed she was too busy staring at a handsome pedestrian to watch the road. And Charles believed every single lie. He was the one who personally signed the papers to put her on the electroshock table. “You like men so much? Let’s see if a few hundred volts can cure your cravings,” he had sneered. My mother had screamed all night. And I had sat outside the steel door, listening to every single volt tear through her brain. My chest burned with the memory of that agonizing pain. Charles stood before me, laughing coldly. “What’s the matter? Forgot to coordinate your stories? Or did Margot forget to give you your script?” In my ear, my young mother was crying out. “Izzy, pull the sheet down! No matter how much he hates me, he won’t be able to deny the truth when he sees me!” She was still so young. She still held onto a shred of naive hope that there was a shred of humanity left in him. I sighed and pulled the white sheet down. Charles froze. Every muscle in his body turned to stone. “Margot?” His hand trembled, his fingers reaching out to touch her cold, grey cheek. Suddenly, a hand yanked at his sleeve. Ruby was sitting in a wheelchair, pushed by a nurse. Her face was pale, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Charles… the nurse told me a few days ago that Margot ordered a hyper-realistic silicone doll of her own corpse. I didn’t believe it, but she actually did it… just to get out of saving me.” “Even if she hates me, she didn’t have to curse herself like this…” “Charles, let her go. My baby and I don’t need her blood. I’d rather buy a coffin and bury us both.” Ruby sobbed, trying to turn the wheelchair away, but Charles grabbed her. His eyes turned incredibly cold as he looked back at me. “I didn’t think your mother could stoop this low. If she won’t give her blood, then you will.” “She claims to love you so much. Let’s see how long she can hide while her daughter bleeds for us.” He grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the clinic room. In my ear, my young mother’s screams were deafening. “No! Charles, don’t touch my daughter! Let her go!” But he didn’t hear her. He pinned me to the chair, and the cold needle slid into my vein. He took my blood and rushed back to Ruby. I collapsed onto the cold, tiled floor, draining of strength. In my ear, my mother was weeping, her heart breaking over the static of eighteen years. A generic airport announcement crackled in the background of her call. “Final boarding call for Flight 442 to Austin. All remaining passengers please proceed to gate 12 immediately.” As my vision began to fade into black, a small, genuine smile touched my lips. “Congratulations, Mom,” I whispered. “You’re finally free.”

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