Category: English

At the family banquet, my wife Catherine insisted on giving her first love Fred’s child a home. She even publicly announced that Fred’s child was her child. Even the photos on the big screen had been replaced with pictures of Fred’s child. But my child was gone, and no matter how frantically I searched the entire hall, I couldn’t find my child. I could only rush onto the stage and demand to know why our child had become someone else’s child. But with red-rimmed eyes, Catherine begged me: “Albert, Fred’s child is my child too.” “I want to be this child’s mother. You should be able to understand how I feel, right?” “Don’t worry, I’ll always love our child the most.” “Our child is being taken good care of by Fred. Nothing will happen to them.” Hearing her careless tone, I was finally able to find our child in the storage room, panic-stricken. Looking at Catherine on stage, I thought she seemed to have forgotten one thing. That the only reason I could still stay by her side was because of this child. Since she no longer loved our child, I should leave her world too.

Under the stunned looks of the other relatives, I walked out of the storage room holding my child. “Catherine, what’s going on? Why did Albert bring out another child?” “Yeah, I remember you only had one child. Where did the child in his arms come from?” The relatives who had come to the banquet were looking back and forth between me and Catherine. Catherine held the child in her arms, and after freezing for a second, she hurriedly found an excuse and explained: “That’s a child we adopted. The kid has a sad background, and having two kids will make the house livelier.” Hearing Catherine’s explanation from the stage, I felt my whole body freeze. For the sake of her first love, Fred, she could actually call someone else’s child her own. And she could even describe our child as an adopted child. The child in my arms also seemed uncomfortable in this noisy scene and kept crying. I hurriedly patted the child, only then remembering that the child hadn’t eaten for six hours. Just then, Catherine also came down affectionately holding Fred’s child. Catherine smiled at me: “Albert, thanks for not making trouble this time.” “Look how cute Fred’s child is. We’re all family now, so say hi to Fred’s child.” I held the child in my arms and forced down the anger in my chest before speaking: “Catherine, do you know Angel hasn’t eaten for six hours?” To prepare for today’s banquet, Catherine and I had started getting ready three months ago. I had thought today’s banquet would be the happiest time for our family of three. But the banquet we had carefully prepared together had turned into something for Fred’s child. And now, for Fred’s child, not only had she put the child in a pitch-black storage room, she had also gone this long without feeding them. Catherine looked at Angel crying in my arms, and her face went pale. Panic flashed in her eyes. At that moment, Fred arrived just in time and naturally wrapped his arms around Catherine. “Catherine, thank you for being willing to be my child’s mom. I don’t even know how I’m supposed to repay you.” It was as if they were the real family. My eyes stung, and my gaze turned even colder. “Fred, take the child for a moment.” But Fred looked at me and put on a hurt expression. “Albert, even if you don’t want Catherine to be my child’s mother, you can’t deliberately pinch Angel until she cries!” As he spoke, Fred’s eyes even turned slightly red. “And I even made formula for Angel myself. Albert, you can’t just make false accusations like that!” Catherine, who had been anxious a moment ago, suddenly froze too. Holding Fred’s child, she frowned at me. “Come on, Albert. Isn’t this kind of cheap trick childish?” “Besides, Fred has taken such good care of Angel. How could he not feed her?” “Angel only started crying after she got to you!” But I had clearly seen from Angel’s trembling body that she was crying because she was hungry, and her stomach was completely empty. She didn’t even look at Angel once and just believed what Fred said. I took a deep breath, forced down the anger in my chest, and said through gritted teeth: “Catherine, do you know where I found Angel?” “It was in a storage room, an empty, pitch-black storage room!” Catherine froze slightly, but when she glanced at Fred beside her, she immediately frowned and asked: “How could a child be in a storage room? The child was clearly being taken care of by Fred the whole time.” “Enough, Albert. If you keep acting, you’re going too far!” I laughed in anger. “Acting? Catherine, would I joke about my own daughter?” Fred continued to hold Catherine affectionately right in front of me, looking wounded. “Albert, don’t be mad. Angel isn’t even hurt, is she?” “Besides, look, you’ve scared our child to tears.” Catherine noticed that Fred’s child in her arms was crying too, and she quickly started soothing them softly. “Don’t cry… don’t cry. Are you hungry? Mommy will feed you right away.” Watching how much attention Catherine gave Fred’s child in her arms, disappointment filled my eyes. Had she still not realized it? She had never cared about me or Angel at all. Catherine had always liked Fred and favored him in everything. Three years ago, Fred announced his relationship overseas. Catherine chased after him and got into an accident on the road, leaving her unable to walk. I stayed by her side day and night, encouraging her and helping her with rehab until she finally recovered, and she married me. A year ago, we had our daughter, Angel. Just when I thought our family of three would live happily ever after, Fred came to this city with his newborn child. For the past year, Catherine had barely come home at all and had just kept going back and forth to Fred’s house. Up until now, she cared more about Fred’s child than Angel. Looking at the scene before me, I knew it was time to leave. There was no need for me to keep staying by her side. Seeing that I stayed silent, Catherine sighed: “Albert, I don’t have time to take care of Angel right now.” “You take Angel home first and wait for me to come back. Don’t make trouble here, okay?” I just looked at Catherine coldly. Right now, everything she said was about Fred. There was already no place left for me and Angel in her heart. Then I wouldn’t keep holding on anymore. I said in a voice cold as ice: “Catherine, Angel and I will never give you any more trouble. Let’s get divorced!”

Hearing this, Catherine’s heart suddenly jolted. “Albert, what nonsense are you talking about?” “We just had Angel. Why are you talking about divorce?” “I get it. Are you still mad at me?” “It’s just adopting a child. Why have you suddenly become so petty?” I only felt confused by Catherine’s questions. She loved Fred and his child so much. As long as she agreed to the divorce, wouldn’t she be able to be with Fred officially? And become Fred’s child’s mother? Wouldn’t that be great? I didn’t want to keep dealing with this anymore. I could feel Angel trembling slightly in my arms from hunger. Fred pulled Catherine aside and whispered in her ear: “Catherine, divorce is complicated. You already have a child now. How could you possibly get divorced that easily?” “And how could Albert really divorce you?” “He loves you so much. Even when you and I were together for so long, he never even lost his temper with me.” Hearing this, Catherine immediately agreed. All these years, no matter what she did, I had always been able to tolerate everything about her perfectly. This time, it had to just be me throwing a little fit, and wasn’t it just adding another child to the family? What was the big deal? So she nodded. “Fred, you’re right. Divorce is so troublesome. We’d need a lawyer to divide the property, and then there’d be custody of the child.” “And with how much Albert loves me, how could he possibly divorce me?” As she spoke, she looked at me with disappointment. “Albert, because I didn’t want Fred’s child to become my child, you’re actually trying to threaten me with divorce!” “I’m telling you, it’s impossible. I have to raise Fred’s child!” Hearing that everything Catherine said was about Fred and his child, the last bit of hope in my heart shattered completely. The Catherine I had once loved was now thinking only about Fred and his child. I bent down and kissed Angel. “Angel, from now on, it’ll just be the two of us. We won’t need her anymore, okay?” Catherine’s face darkened, and she quickly reached out to me. “Albert, what are you talking about? I’m Angel’s mother!” I slapped away Catherine’s hand, picked up Angel with a cold face, hailed a taxi, and hurried home. Seeing me leave, Catherine instinctively tried to chase after me. But Fred grabbed her, and after looking down at the child in her arms still crying, she didn’t come after me.

After I got home, I quickly mixed a bottle of formula, shook it to cool it down, and carefully fed it to Angel. I also took that time to print out the divorce papers. While Angel was sucking down the milk, the photographer sent me a string of videos. “Here are the banquet photos we took for you. See if they’re to your liking?” When I opened the videos, I saw Catherine and Fred, taking turns holding the child in their arms, looking unbelievably sweet. Maybe the photographers had subconsciously mistaken Fred for me. Just then, I suddenly noticed that after Angel took a few big gulps of milk, she started vomiting, and her face turned even paler. This was clearly a symptom of lactose intolerance. A chill made me shiver. I quickly checked the formula. Angel was lactose intolerant, and all the formula at home was non-lactose formula, but the one I had just made had no problem at all. So why had Angel suddenly become like this? Looking at how miserable Angel was, I didn’t dare waste a second and immediately called emergency services. After calling for an ambulance, I hurriedly called Catherine too, since she was Angel’s mother. “Catherine, where are you? Come back now! Angel is in trouble, she—” Before I could finish, Catherine on the other end impatiently cut me off: “Are you done yet? Fred’s child accidentally caught a chill, and we’re at the hospital!” “Even now you’re trying to fight for attention? Are you really this petty as a grown man?” Before I could say anything, Fred’s gentle voice came through from the other end. “Catherine, was that Albert calling?” “If Albert really doesn’t like my child, then it’s fine if I stay with the child alone.” Hearing that, Catherine kept scolding me: “You know Fred’s child is the one who needs care right now, and you still want me to leave them and come back alone!” “Do you know how dangerous it is for a one-year-old to catch a cold?” Watching Angel, who was already in pain and clutching herself, I hurriedly said: “No, Angel is lactose intolerant. She’s already vomiting and having diarrhea. Come back right away!” But Fred on the other end put on a hurt tone again. “Albert, if you want Catherine to come back, just say so. There’s no need to beat around the bush.” Catherine was even angrier now. She couldn’t help but snap: “Enough with you. You’re enjoying this act now, huh?” “One minute you say Angel’s in trouble, and the next you say she’s vomiting and having diarrhea. Nothing that comes out of your mouth is true.” “I still have to take care of Fred’s child. I don’t have time to keep arguing with you.” “Be smart and stop calling me to bother me.” After saying that, Catherine hung up directly. Listening to the ruthless hang-up and looking at Angel suffering in my arms, it felt like my heart had been pierced by thousands of blades. Yes, Catherine only cared about Fred and his child now. What did Angel and I even count for? What was I still hoping for? Hoping she would abandon Fred’s child and rush back because of Angel? The ambulance arrived very quickly. I hurried with Angel to the hospital. Only one-year-old Angel was sent into the ER, while I was dragged outside and harshly scolded by a doctor: “What kind of father are you? If there hadn’t happened to be a specialist here, your daughter might have died!” “She’s been lactose intolerant for six or seven hours already. Why did you only bring her in now? Were you trying to kill your daughter on purpose?” After hearing the doctor’s scolding, I sat dazed in the hospital hallway. What do you mean she’d been lactose intolerant for six or seven hours? Angel had only been vomiting for a little while. Just as I was thinking, a familiar voice suddenly came from beside me: “Huh? Albert, why are you at the children’s hospital too?”

I looked up and saw Fred and the other two. Catherine was arm in arm with Fred in an unusually intimate way, while Fred’s child was smiling as they touched Catherine’s face. They said it was a cold, but in reality it was just a little chill. There was barely any problem at all. When she saw me looking over, Catherine quickly let go of Fred’s arm. That caused a flash of gloom to pass through Fred’s eyes. “Albert, what are you doing at the hospital? Where’s Angel?” I held back my anger and said coldly: “Why am I here? Because Angel was sent into the ER!” Catherine’s face instantly went pale, and her whole body was trembling. She asked anxiously: “What happened? Why was Angel sent to the ER? Wasn’t she fine before?” My gaze turned sharply toward Fred, who was standing off to the side. Just now, I had been thinking about what the doctor said. Why did they say Angel had already been lactose intolerant for six or seven hours? But now I seemed to understand. Six hours ago, Angel was taken away by Fred! Then everything lined up! Fred also flashed with panic. He forced out a smile and said: “Catherine, look, Angel is only one year old. Even if she’s lactose intolerant, how much time has even passed?” “How could she possibly have been sent to the ER? At most, she just needs some medicine.” “Albert, if you’re going to make up a lie, at least make it sound more believable.” Hearing Fred’s words, Catherine, who had been anxious a moment ago, suddenly relaxed. When she looked at me again, her face was full of disappointment. “Albert, I don’t know how you’ve become like this.” “To make up this kind of lie just to scare me? Do you hate Fred’s child that much? Do you disrespect my wishes that much?” As she spoke, she looked around and, not seeing Angel anywhere, anger rose in her voice. “Where’s Angel? Because you were throwing a tantrum with me, did you leave Angel alone at home?” “Don’t you know she’s only one year old?” Fred took Catherine’s hand and spoke softly: “Catherine, calm down. The doctor said our child caught a chill. We should hurry back. Let’s not stay in a crowded place like this.” Catherine looked at me with anger all over her face. “Get back home right now. If anything happens to Angel while she’s alone at home, we might as well not stay together anymore.” As she spoke, Fred tried to pull Catherine away from there. But how could I let Fred get away that easily? I grabbed his wrist. “You’re not allowed to leave. I think you’re deliberately trying to harm Angel!” Seeing this, Catherine shouted: “Albert, what the hell is wrong with you now? Threatening me with Angel won’t work, so now you’re just laying hands on people?” “I’m warning you, let go of Fred right now!” Seeing that I still wouldn’t let go, she slapped me across the face. “Do you have to make me divorce you before you’re satisfied?” The slap was hard. Blood even seeped out of the corner of my mouth. But I just licked the blood off my lip and used my other hand to call the police. Seeing the blood at the corner of my mouth, Catherine panicked a little too and hurriedly explained: “I didn’t mean to hit that hard! And this is your fault too. Who told you to treat Fred like that?” “Besides, Fred has been so good to Angel. How could he possibly harm her?” “Stop framing Fred here!” I laughed in anger, my eyes growing even colder as I looked at Catherine. “Framing him? Then tell me why Angel was left alone in a pitch-black storage room.” “Tell me, was that Fred’s doing?” “Now Angel has been sent to the ER. Do you know what the doctor said?” “He said Angel had already been lactose intolerant for six or seven hours, and it only got this serious because it was left untreated until now.” “Six or seven hours ago was when you handed Angel over to Fred, and you still say I’m framing him?” Hearing me say that, Catherine froze for a second, then got even angrier. “Stop talking nonsense here! I know Fred better than you do!” “Albert, I never expected you to be this shameless. Just to frame Fred, you actually cursed our daughter!” “Angel is your biological child!” My anger only grew stronger, and I said in a voice cold as ice: “So you do know Angel is our biological daughter?” “Then where were you when Angel got sick this whole past year? Where were you when she wanted her mother?” As I said that, I got even angrier: “Now Angel has lactose intolerance. This is life-threatening.” “I called you, and you were still comforting some other kid? Telling me not to bother you!” “Someone like you still deserves to be Angel’s mother?” Catherine was stung hard by my words, and she snapped back furiously: “Are you ever going to stop? I’m Angel’s real mother. Wouldn’t I know how healthy she is?” “Albert, you really disgust me. Just so I’d leave Fred’s child and come home, you made up such a disgusting lie.” “If you keep making a scene like this, then there’s no point in us staying together. Let’s divorce!” With rage all over my face, I slammed the divorce agreement I had already prepared right onto Catherine’s face. “Catherine, you don’t need to say it. I already prepared it!” “Don’t you want to raise Fred’s child?” “Then go ahead and become his child’s mother for real. From now on, Angel and I will have nothing to do with you ever again!” Catherine’s face instantly went pale, but then she shouted at me with a red face: “Albert, you really think you’ve achieved something, don’t you? Just because of this one little thing, you really want to divorce me?” “Fine, then let’s divorce. Anyone who backs out is a bastard!” My gaze grew even colder as I shouted with all the anger in my chest: “Catherine, say that again?” “You call this a little thing? Because of Fred, Angel is already almost dead!” Catherine was so angry her hair almost stood on end. She shouted even louder: “Albert, enough! How long are you going to keep acting?” A nurse on duty shouted at us because of all the noise: “Quiet! You’re the father. Don’t you know you’re supposed to stay quiet while someone is being treated?” Catherine suddenly felt a wave of unease. She hurriedly asked: “Nurse, whose child is in the ER?”

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1 My twin brother and I shared a bedroom for as long as I could remember. My mother used to promise us that as soon as things got better, we’d each get our own space. I held onto that promise for six years. When I was twelve, we finally cleared out the dusty storage den at the end of the hall to turn it into a second bedroom. My mother stood in the doorway and didn’t even look at me when she said, “Nate, you’re the older twin. Let Lucas pick first.” Lucas chose the room with the south-facing window and the extra closet space. I didn’t mind. Even the small, cramped den was a sanctuary because it was mine. I moved in, plastered the walls with indie film posters, and felt a sense of peace that lasted less than a month. Then my mother told me that Lucas needed to start practicing the piano seriously. The den had better acoustics and was further from the neighbors. She told me to move back into the shared room. “Just until he finishes this semester of lessons,” she said. I moved. I waited three years. By freshman year of high school, the piano lessons had stopped. I thought I could go back. But my mother said Lucas needed a quiet, independent space to study for his honors track entrance exams. “Just sleep on the pull-out sofa in the living room for now,” she said. “You can have the room back after the exams.” The exams ended. I started packing my things, but Lucas decided he wanted the den to be a “gaming lounge.” My mother looked at me, her expression flat. “Nate, aren’t you starting your college applications soon? Once you get in, you’ll be living in a dorm anyway. Why go through the hassle of moving twice?” In the dead of winter during my senior year, I sat on that pull-out sofa, wrapped in three blankets, memorizing biology terms. Lucas complained that the light from the lamp was bleeding under his door and distracting him while he scrolled through his phone. My mother walked over. She didn’t tell Lucas to close his door or turn off his phone. She turned off the living room light. “Go study in the bathroom, Nate. Use the vanity light. Your brother has a big game tomorrow; he needs to sleep early.” At 2:00 AM, I sat on the lid of the toilet, finishing my last practice SAT by the glow of my phone flashlight. The day the scores were released, my mother was busy picking out new blackout curtains for Lucas’s gaming room. I sat in that same bathroom and filled out eight college applications. Every single one of them was for a school in Seattle. Nearly three thousand miles away. When we were little, my mother told us that children were like kites and home was the string. But no one ever told me that my string had never been tied to anything at all. … At 2:00 AM, lying on the fold-out cot, I scrolled past my mother’s Instagram post. She had posted a nine-photo carousel of Lucas. A montage of his three years in high school, ending with a photo taken yesterday afternoon of him standing in front of the school gates, flashing a peace sign. The caption read: “Results come out tomorrow. No matter what happens, Mama loves you forever, my baby boy, Lucas.” My father liked it instantly. At 2:03 AM, he was still awake just to give that post a heart. The scores wouldn’t be live until 8:00 AM. I was waiting for results, too. I was sleeping ten feet away from her. But in that post, there was no mention of my name, no photo of my face—not even a single word to acknowledge I existed. At 8:00 AM sharp, the portal opened. Lucas let out a shout from his room, followed by the sound of muffled sobbing. My mother rushed in, my father right behind her. I stood in the living room and heard my mother’s voice, thick with comfort. “It’s okay, honey. A 980 is still a score. We’ll find a school that takes you. Mama will figure it out.” My father’s voice was low and steady. “Don’t cry, son. Dad will look into some options.” I walked to the door of his room. “Mom, I got a 1580.” My mother was facing away from me, her hand stroking Lucas’s back. She didn’t turn around. “That’s good.” My father glanced over his shoulder. “Nice,” he said, then turned back to pat Lucas on the shoulder. I stood there, three feet away. It felt like I was screaming through an inch of soundproof glass. That week, the kitchen table was buried under college brochures. My mother, father, and Lucas sat on one side like a united front. My mother used a highlighter to mark schools; my father searched for 3D dorm tours on his laptop. Lucas sat in the middle, mindlessly eating chips, occasionally muttering, “That campus looks depressing.” I sat on the opposite side of the table. I opened the application portal on my phone, alone, scrolling through the codes for the universities in Washington state. I finished. I submitted. Not once did either of them walk around the table to look at my screen. My father eventually looked up. “What about Nate? Did you finish yours?” My mother didn’t even lift her head from the brochure. “He has those scores; why would we need to worry about him? Lucas is the one who needs us. He can’t handle this stuff on his own.” My father nodded. “True. Nate’s always been the easy one.” I was sitting right in front of you. But you couldn’t see me. In August, the acceptance letters arrived. Lucas’s letter was a family event. My mother took photos for Facebook; my father posed with Lucas holding the envelope. The comments were flooded with relatives offering congratulations. Mine sat on the shoe rack in the entryway for three days. I finally opened it myself after work. Lucas walked past, glanced at the logo, said “Oh,” and kept walking in his flip-flops. He came and went. My entire future wasn’t worth a five-second pause. That night, my mother made a massive dinner to celebrate Lucas’s admission to a local state college. Honey-glazed ribs, roasted salmon—everything Lucas loved. “A toast to Lucas!” my mother beamed. “Anything else you want, baby? I’ll make it.” No one mentioned my 1580. No one mentioned the prestigious university three thousand miles away that had offered me a spot. I sat at the table, finished my meal, cleared the plates, washed the pans, and wiped the counters. From start to finish, not one person asked me a single question about my college. Late that night, sitting on the pull-out sofa, I filled out my freshman orientation forms. When I reached the “Emergency Contact” section, the cursor hovered over my mother’s phone number for three seconds. I hit backspace. I deleted it. I replaced it with the office number of the Dean of Students. Under the “Tuition Payment” section, I checked the box: Self-Funded/Independent. Just before I locked my phone, an email notification popped up. It was from the Admissions Office at my new school: “Dear Nathan, we’ve reviewed your final transcripts and they are exceptional. We strongly recommend you apply for the Presidential Excellence Scholarship. The materials are attached. We look forward to seeing you in Seattle.” 1:00 AM. Three thousand miles away, someone saw me. 2 Two weeks before move-in day, my mother took Lucas to the mall. My father drove. I didn’t go. No one asked me to. When they returned, shopping bags were piled from the entryway to the living room. New suitcases—hard-shell, matte black, with silent spinners. New Egyptian cotton sheets, new Nikes, new jackets. My father even hauled a high-end ergonomic gaming chair into the house, saying Lucas needed it for his dorm. And then there was the laptop. A top-of-the-line MacBook, nearly three thousand dollars. Then, my mother went to the hallway closet and dragged out an old, beat-up suitcase. It was a dusty navy blue, with a scuffed corner and a right wheel that rattled when it moved. She pushed it toward me. “You can use this, Nate. It’s still got plenty of life in it.” She was standing right in front of me. She knew I was leaving, too. She knew I needed gear. She gave me a hand-me-down. The next day, the luggage was lined up by the door. On the left: Lucas’s two pristine suitcases and a mountain of bags with designer logos. On the right: My cracked, rattling blue suitcase with a broken wheel. “The wheel is stuck,” I said. My mother was busy putting on her shoes. “As long as it holds your clothes, it’s fine.” My father was on his phone. He didn’t say a word. They heard my need, and they chose to ignore it. I had bought my own laptop with the money I made working double shifts at a Starbucks over the summer. Thirteen dollars an hour plus tips, for two solid months. I’d bought a refurbished ThinkPad for eight hundred dollars. When it arrived, I unboxed it in the living room. My mother walked past and stopped for two seconds. The expression on her face was one of pure relief. “See, Nate? This is why I don’t worry about you. You can handle anything on your own. Lucas isn’t like that. He’d be lost without me.” She saw me. She saw that I had carried the entire burden of my own life. And her reaction was to feel relieved that she didn’t have to help. It wasn’t just neglect. It was a verdict. A mother standing in front of her child, telling him that because he was strong, he didn’t deserve her care. That afternoon, Lucas came out of his room and tossed a black T-shirt at me. “Hey, Nate. This makes me look fat. You take it.” Then he turned to the mirror, pulling a deep blue windbreaker out of a bag. “Mom, isn’t this blue killer on me?” Deep blue. My favorite color since middle school. He wore my favorite color as if it belonged to him by right, then threw his scraps at me and called it a gift. That night, I walked past my parents’ bedroom on the way to the bathroom. The door was ajar. “We don’t need to worry about Nate,” I heard my mother say. “He’s always been able to take care of himself.” “True,” my father replied. Just like that, they reached a consensus: I wasn’t worth the effort. It hurt more than if they had been screaming at me. A fight would have meant they cared enough to have an opinion. This calm agreement proved that, in their hearts, I simply wasn’t a factor. I went back to the pull-out sofa and checked my phone. My work-study application had been approved: Library Assistant, $18 an hour. The Dean had emailed back: “Scholarship materials received. Everything looks perfect. We’ll see you soon.” Someone thought I was worth the effort. They just didn’t live in this house. 3 Lucas told me the news while I was folding my blankets. “Hey, Nate. Mom said she’s putting both our names on the cake this year.” He leaned against the doorframe, his tone casual, as if he were mentioning the weather. My hand hesitated. I didn’t look back. “Really?” “Yeah. I told her we’re eighteen now, a real milestone. Twins should share the cake. She said okay.” I couldn’t sleep that night. Not because I was excited, but because I was wondering: would my name be on the left side or the right side? For the first time in eighteen years, I actually looked forward to my birthday. But when the cake was placed on the table the next evening, I saw it. White frosting, blue cursive letters. “Happy 18th, Lucas!” Four words. Not a fifth. I stared at the cake for a long time. Lucas was already taking photos for his story. My mother was slicing fruit. My father was scrolling through his newsfeed. “Mom,” I said. “There’s a name missing.” My mother didn’t even look up. “Writing one name represents both of you; why do you have to be so difficult about everything?” My father flipped his phone over, screen-down on the coffee table. He didn’t say a word. Lucas glanced at me. I couldn’t read his expression—it was a mix of awkwardness and a silent plea for me to not ruin the mood. He stayed quiet. After the cake, my mother pulled a small box out of her purse. A black velvet box. “Lucas, come here.” Lucas leaned in. My mother opened the box to reveal a watch. A TAG Heuer. Black face, stainless steel—bold and expensive. She fastened it onto his wrist herself. My father beamed. “You’re a man now, son. You need a piece that reflects that.” Then my mother turned to me. She pulled a plain white envelope from her pocket. “For you, Nate. Buy yourself something you want.” I took it. I counted it later. Two hundred dollars. When it was time to blow out the candles, the family huddled around the table. My mother held up her phone to record. My father stood to Lucas’s left, my mother to his right. I stood behind my mother. At the very edge of the frame. I knew I probably wouldn’t even be in the video. “Make a wish! Make a wish!” my mother cheered. Lucas closed his eyes and folded his hands. I closed my eyes, too. I wished for a bed that I didn’t have to fold up every morning. I opened my eyes. No one asked me what I wished for. I thought about it later. A boy celebrating his eighteenth birthday in his own home, wishing for a normal bed. What does that say about his life? It says that this place was never actually his home. Around 9:00 PM, I was lying on the cot, scrolling through my phone. A notification popped up in the family group chat. My mother had posted nine photos. The cake. The candles. A close-up of Lucas’s watch. Lucas posing. Lucas cutting the cake. And finally, the “family” photo. I was in it. On the far edge, only half of my body visible. The caption: “My Lucas is eighteen! My little man is all grown up.” I scrolled through the comments. Aunt Sarah: Happy birthday, Lucas! So handsome! Cousin Mike: 18! Look at that watch! Happy birthday, man. Grandma: @Lucas Happy birthday, my sweet boy! I scrolled through every single one. Twenty-three messages. Every one of them tagged Lucas. Every one of them mentioned only his name. Not one person said, “Isn’t it Nate’s birthday, too?” Not one. I was in the group. My name was in the member list. They all knew we were twins. But not a single soul remembered. I cleared the chat. I opened my mother’s “Shared Family Album” on my phone. I had never counted before. That night, I did. Lucas’s photos: 387. Mine: 40. And twenty of those were group shots with Lucas. In eighteen years, I had exactly twenty individual photos taken of me. I exited the album. I opened my calendar and went to September 1st. Move-in day. I marked the day in bright red. In the notes, I wrote three words: “Never coming back.” Then I opened my notes app. I found the page titled “College Budget.” It listed how much I’d need to ask my parents for each month for food and books. I selected all. I hit delete. From this moment on, I had no financial ties to this house. I put my phone down. The cot creaked under my weight. I stared at the ceiling. For my eighteenth birthday, I received two hundred dollars and a final, iron-clad decision. 4 Four days before I was supposed to leave. My mother’s phone was charging on the kitchen counter. The screen lit up with a text from Lucas. I didn’t mean to see it, but the words were right there. “Once Nate leaves and that pull-out sofa is gone, the living room is finally going to look clean again lol.” My mother’s reply followed instantly: “I know. It should have been gone a long time ago.” Finally clean. Should have been gone a long time ago. They weren’t sad to see me go. They were excited to clear out the clutter I represented. I scrolled up a bit. A Venmo transfer: $5,000. “Let me know if you need more, baby.” Above that: “It’s getting chilly; buy a better jacket.” “Don’t eat junk; treat yourself to a nice dinner.” Then I looked at the most recent texts between me and my mother. “Bring your own pillows or buy them there.” Period. No question mark. “We’re out of milk; pick some up on your way back.” “Make sure you fold that bed up today; we have guests coming over.” I wasn’t just an extra child. I was an eyesore. At dinner, I finally spoke. “Mom, you sent Lucas five thousand dollars for his first month. Where is mine?” The sound of silverware on plates stopped. My mother didn’t even look guilty. “Lucas doesn’t know how to manage money; I need to make sure he’s set up. You’re different, Nate. You’ve always been able to handle your own finances.” I held it in for three seconds, then I couldn’t. “You guys can’t wait for me to leave, can you? So the living room can finally be ‘clean’ again?” My mother slammed her fork onto the table. “Nathan! Were you snooping through my phone?” “The screen lit up on its own.” “What does a child who is ‘easy to manage’ even need from their mother anymore? You’ve made it clear you can do everything yourself. Am I supposed to apologize for having one less thing to worry about?” I looked at my father. He set down his water glass. He finally spoke, his voice full of that weary, “logical” tone that always made me feel small. “Nate, your mother is right. Lucas needs the extra support. You’re the older brother; stop being so resentful of the fact that your brother struggles more than you.” Even my father. The last door had been slammed shut. There was no one left in this house who was on my side. I clenched my fists under the table and said nothing. The night before I left, I finished washing the dinner dishes. “Mom, can you drive me to the airport tomorrow?” “We’re driving Lucas to his campus tomorrow morning. We’re doing a whole family lunch at his dining hall.” My father didn’t even look up from his tablet. No one asked which airport. No one asked what time my flight was. They didn’t just refuse to drive me; they didn’t even care where I was going. 4:00 AM. I folded the sofa bed for the last time. The living room looked spacious. They were right. On the fridge, there was an old drawing Lucas had made in kindergarten. A family of three holding hands. Three people. There had never been a fourth. I put my key on the entryway table. I closed the front door behind me. It made a soft, final click. The streetlights were dim. The late August air was crisp. The broken wheel on my old suitcase rattled against the pavement—clack, clack, clack—breaking the silence of the neighborhood. At the end of the driveway, I turned back one last time. The house was dark. Not a single light was on for me. At 10:00 AM, my mother woke up. The living room was empty. The sofa was folded. A key sat on the table. She called my phone; it went to voicemail. She texted; no reply. My father eventually found the copy of my acceptance letter in the junk drawer to check the address. Seattle. Three thousand miles. A six-hour flight. Three days later, my mother’s phone rang. It was a 206 area code—Seattle. “Hello, is this the parent of Nathan Miller? This is Dean Harrison from the University’s Academic Affairs office.” “I have a few things to confirm. First, Nathan filed his financial aid paperwork as ‘Independent/No fixed source of family support.’ Second, his emergency contact is listed as our office landline, not a family member.” There was no sound on the other end of the line. “I also wanted to call with some good news. Nathan has been awarded the Presidential Excellence Scholarship, which covers his full tuition and housing for all four years. We usually like to share this news with the parents, but since he didn’t provide a contact…” The Dean paused. “Are you… aware of any of this?” On the other end of the phone, for a long, agonizing minute, there was only silence.

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A week before the wedding, I was tortured by thugs for a day and a night on my way to pick up my engagement ring. When they found me, my face was unrecognizable, and I was covered in blood from below. My dad and my brother Harry canceled a trillion-dollar merger deal and flew back home overnight just to stay by my side. In the middle of the night, I heard Harry quietly ask Dad: “Even if it was to help Aurora marry Marcus, it still wasn’t necessary to have someone hurt Charlotte this badly.” “She’s a girl, after all. Her face and her virtue are ruined. How is she supposed to live after this?” A flash of pain crossed Dad’s face, but he still said firmly, “Aurora has never asked me for anything. The only thing she has ever liked is Marcus.” “With Charlotte here, how could the Sterling family ever accept Aurora as an illegitimate daughter?” “As for Charlotte, I’ll fulfill her mother’s last wish.” “Making her the heir to the company is also a way to make sure she has food and shelter for the rest of her life.” Only then did I realize that all of this was their way of forcing me to give up my place for Aurora. The so-called family bond was nothing but an illusion. If that’s how it was, then fine. I’ll let you have your way.

I heard them talking outside the door, and my whole body felt like it had been thrown into an ice cave. Harry seemed a little reluctant, then said, “But Charlotte will be devastated if she finds out.” Dad frowned, still just as firm. “Aurora is your sister too. Back when your mother was still alive, I didn’t bring her home.” “Letting her live outside all these years under the label of an illegitimate daughter has already been unfair to her.” “Aurora is well-behaved and sensible. For more than ten years, she never asked for anything.” “She just wants to chase love a little. Can’t we even satisfy that tiny wish of hers?” A conflicted look flashed across Harry’s face, but he still asked in frustration, “But the Sterling family has financial ties to us after all. If we suddenly switch people and send Aurora to marry into that family, will they really agree?” Dad thought for a moment. “The Sterling family will see the news report tomorrow…” Harry seemed to think of something and hurriedly pulled out his phone. “I’ll contact the media. No matter how much it costs, we have to bury this news.” “We absolutely can’t let a single word leak about what happened to Charlotte.” Dad reached out to stop him. “No, not only do we not need to stop it, we need to report it big-time. The more people know, the better!” “If we marry Aurora into that family, the Sterling family and us already have a marriage agreement in place. They’ll only think we’re stepping in to save the situation.” “That way, they’ll treat Aurora even better, and they won’t take their anger out on her because of this either.” After a pause, Harry actually nodded too. “Dad, you’re right. Aurora isn’t like Charlotte. She was born with nothing.” “As long as she marries into the Sterling family and lives a good life, we can finally relax.” “Charlotte’s personality is spoiled. She could use a little hardship and tempering anyway.” Dad answered a call. The pain on his face vanished without a trace, replaced by joy, and he promised the person on the other end of the line, “Aurora, don’t worry. Tomorrow, Dad guarantees you’ll marry Marcus.” “Just get everything ready and be the happiest bride ever!” Aurora said something I couldn’t hear, and the father and son both laughed very happily. I closed my eyes in despair. Dad was willing to have someone hurt me just to plan so thoroughly for Aurora. The brother I thought doted on me, the father I thought loved me, turned out to be willing to trample my dignity and reputation just to pave the way for Aurora. I lost all strength and collapsed to the floor. Dad and Harry heard the noise and hurried over. Dad held me in his arms and gently touched my forehead with loving care. “Charlotte, you’re hurt this badly. Instead of lying down properly, you walked out barefoot. Are you trying to break my heart?” Harry even pushed a wheelchair over for me and used a towel to wipe my feet. As if I were still his beloved daughter, his only biological sister. Dad’s eyes were bloodshot from staying up all night worrying about my condition, yet he still sat by my bedside and watched me fall asleep. “Once you wake up, everything will be fine. Charlotte, it’s over. I’ll always be by your side.” They seemed to really love me. I turned away and cried until there were no tears left. When the doctor came in, he said, “Your daughter’s facial injuries are quite serious. If she doesn’t have surgery soon, she may be left with permanent scars.” Harry said anxiously, “How can that be? Charlotte cares about her looks the most. If she gets even a pimple, she’ll complain for half a day.” Dad just waved a hand and told the doctor to leave first. He thought I was asleep, and without any hesitation, he said softly, “Charlotte is beautiful. She’s been the center of attention at school since she was little. With her around, everyone will never notice Aurora.” “Charlotte’s face is ruined, so Aurora won’t have to envy Charlotte anymore.” I bit down hard, refusing to let myself make a sound. That made me think of when Mom had just died. I was only six then, crying all day long until my eyes swelled up like walnuts. Dad held me and said heartbrokenly, “As long as I’m alive, I’ll be good to Charlotte for the rest of my life.” Harry also said he only had one sister, and that was me. They forgot their promises so fast. After a sleepless night, the doctor examined my body and it was too horrible to look at. My whole body was covered in bruises, and my face was wrapped in thick bandages. He couldn’t help muttering, “They say Chris and Harry love Charlotte like their lives depend on it. So why are they still going shopping with Aurora first thing in the morning after she was hurt like this?”

My nose stung as I blinked, and tears soaked into my wounds, making my face burn with pain. My phone wasn’t on the table, but Dad’s computer was left there. I tremblingly opened the news, and when I saw the headline, my mind went blank. News of what had happened to me was all over the place. Even though I was already prepared, my heart still felt like it was being cut by a knife. A message popped up on the computer: “Mr. Chris, are you sure you want to transfer all the real estate and shares under your name to Miss Aurora?” Dad replied, “These are all gifts for Aurora.” “She’s not like Charlotte. Charlotte was born with everything. I’m giving her everything Charlotte has!” Harry even gave Aurora several luxury cars and the estate under his name. They always said they had shortchanged Aurora. But when I opened Aurora’s Ins, everything I had, she had an identical copy of. Even the things I didn’t have, she had too. Her birthday was only one day apart from mine, and every year Dad and Harry gave me expensive gifts, claiming they were on business trips overseas. It turned out they were staying by Aurora’s side and celebrating her birthday with her, never missing it once. She posted photos of herself with Dad and Harry, captioned “A happy family.” She posted a picture of a flower field and said Dad and Harry had planted it for her themselves. So the happiness I thought I had was just an illusion. I laughed coldly. Then I picked up the phone and called my grandmother Melanie, who was overseas. Not long after I hung up, I heard laughter at the door. Aurora walked in, followed by Dad and Harry. When they saw me, they put away their smiles and replaced them with looks of concern. “Charlotte, you’re awake? Do you feel uncomfortable anywhere?” But Aurora’s smile was still blinding. “Charlotte, Dad told me what happened to you. Don’t be too upset.” She casually comforted me for a few words, then pulled several dresses out of her bag and changed into them. She said sweetly, “This morning I dragged Dad and Harry to pick out dresses with me.” “Harry said this red one looks good, and Dad insisted white suits me better.” “Charlotte, you have good taste. Help me pick one!” She tugged at the hem of her dress and spun around innocently, yet she looked proud and smug no matter how you looked at her. I let out a cold laugh and said, “Don’t call me. I’m not acknowledging the daughter of a homewrecker as my sister.” Aurora’s little face went pale, and her eyes instantly turned red. “I… I just wasn’t sure what style Marcus likes. I thought you’d know better, so I asked you.” “I know I’m just an illegitimate daughter, and me marrying Marcus was already an accident.” “If you’re unhappy, then I’ll leave!” She ran out crying, but Dad and Harry both rushed to stand up for her. “Aurora was just too happy and wanted someone to share it with. Charlotte, don’t go too far!” Dad even snapped at me, “Charlotte, I really have spoiled you. You don’t have the slightest bit of manners!” “She found out about your accident and didn’t sleep all night because she was so worried. And you? You actually said that to her!” “Apologize to Aurora right now and say you didn’t mean it!” Dad and Harry chased after her, and even though I already knew their choice, I still felt a little sad. When I woke up the next day. Harry took the bowl from the nurse thoughtfully, spooned the soup, blew it cool, and handed it to me to drink. It was as if the person who had blamed me for Aurora yesterday wasn’t him. “Charlotte, about yesterday, I already apologized to Aurora for you. She won’t blame you.” Dad took a call and brought me back home. “For your wounds, Dad found top doctors in the country to treat you.” They busied themselves with arranging my discharge, not caring that I was weak and could only move around with a wheelchair. I got into the car, only to realize this wasn’t the way home at all.

The car gradually headed toward a club. Only then did Dad say, “Aurora was thoughtful and was worried you’d be in a bad mood, so she specially threw you a welcome-back party after your discharge.” “She invited a lot of your friends and the Sterling family, planning to give you a surprise.” I struggled endlessly. The moment I heard that, I knew Aurora had bad intentions. But Harry pressed down on my arm and said in a tone that left no room for argument, “Aurora kindly threw this party for you. If you don’t show up, wouldn’t you be wasting her good intentions?” “Besides, with your condition, going out and joining some activities is just a way to relax!” I resigned myself and let them take me to the banquet. They said it was a welcome party for me, but Aurora was wearing a white dress with layers of tulle and exquisite makeup on her face. My face was disfigured, and the ugly knife wound looked like a centipede, making her look even more like a princess. Aurora said something I didn’t hear, and somehow got Marcus’s mother, Caroline, laughing until the wrinkles on her face smoothed out. But the moment she saw me, her expression fell. “Why bring this unlucky jinx here?” “With something like this happening, if she really married into our family, wouldn’t we be laughed to death?” As she spoke, she held Aurora’s hand and looked more satisfied the more she looked. “Aurora is so sensible and well-behaved, unlike some people who still have the nerve to show up after something like this.” “Make sure you don’t bring any bad luck with you.” The Harry and Dad who always said they loved and cherished me stood there only focusing on being affectionate with Aurora, not saying a single word for me. Harry said quietly, “Caroline has a blunt personality. Don’t think too much about it.” The other guests at the party pointed at me even more. “That’s her, Marcus’s original fiancée. She was supposed to be the Christopher family’s only daughter, but she’s not even as good as an illegitimate daughter!” “So she’s the Christopher family’s daughter? I think she’s just a ruined woman. Did you see the news?” “After something like this, she still has the nerve to come out? She should just go die!” I held back the sourness in my eyes. Then I looked toward Aurora’s side, where she was embracing and kissing my original fiancé, Marcus, all lovey-dovey. Harry and Dad were also extremely satisfied. Aurora may have been an illegitimate daughter, but she got everything. Looking at my ruined body, the difference between her and me was like heaven and earth. Was this what you wanted to see? I said I wasn’t feeling well and wanted to go rest. Aurora walked over gracefully and said hypocritically, “It was all my oversight, Charlotte.” “Your body hasn’t recovered yet. You must be tired, right? I’ll take you to rest.” She pushed my wheelchair and took me into a room. But behind me, her smile changed from the one she had just had, and was replaced by a venomous look. “How does it feel? Being hated by everyone?” “Did you think you were still the Christopher family’s only daughter who once shone brightest in the whole city?” “You’re nothing now but a worn-out woman everyone despises!” “Marcus and I are deeply in love, and Caroline likes me more too.” I glared at her fiercely. “So what? That’s still better than being an illegitimate daughter who can’t even be seen in public!” She froze for a moment, then smiled smugly and said, “You didn’t know, did you?” “Dad is going to announce my identity in a couple of days so I can marry Marcus, and he’ll let me inherit his and Harry’s assets in a legitimate way.” “As long as Dad and Harry acknowledge me, do you think the outside world will keep talking about me being an illegitimate daughter?” Her smile was wild and unrestrained. I couldn’t believe it. Before Mom died, Dad promised her that he would never marry another woman in this lifetime and would only ever have one daughter. But now, he was going to legitimize Aurora, this illegitimate daughter. How was that fair to my mother? How was that fair to me? Aurora leaned close to my ear and said, “Charlotte, I’ve got another surprise for you too!” A man walked in holding a glass of water. The second I saw him, my pupils widened, my whole body trembled, and my chest felt sealed shut so I couldn’t breathe.

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1 Sienna had been back in New York for less than twenty-four hours, and she was already drowning her sorrows in expensive bourbon over her “one that got away.” “Three years, Jo,” she slurred, her voice thick with a calculated kind of misery. “Three years and I still can’t scrub him out of my system.” She swirled the amber liquid in her glass, her eyes glistening. “But he’s getting married next week. Tell me—should I go get him? Should I just take him back?” The question was directed at me, but her gaze didn’t stay on my face. It drifted, heavy and lingering, to the man sitting right beside me. Ethan didn’t say a word. He just kept rotating his glass on the marble tabletop, his expression a mask of cool indifference. But beneath the table, I saw his hand. He was gripping his knee so hard his knuckles were white, the tendons in his forearm taut like a bowstring. I opened my mouth to offer the comfort I had practiced for years, but then, the world glitched. Transparent lines of text began to drift across my vision, flickering like digital ghosts. [Look at this idiot. Still trying to comfort her. Doesn’t she see her boyfriend is looking at the lead girl like he wants to devour her?] [Ethan only stayed with Jo for three years to bide his time. Now that the ‘Real Deal’ is back, who wants a placeholder?] [One last drink, then the First Love takes her throne. Time for the Tool Girl to exit stage left.] I froze. My heart stuttered against my ribs. I looked at Sienna. She was waiting for my answer, her eyes wide and expectant, performing the role of the tragic heroine perfectly. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just felt a strange, cold clarity wash over me. I smiled. “You don’t have to fight for him, Sienna,” I said. The words hung in the air, sharp and unexpected. Both of them snapped their heads toward me. A flicker of annoyance crossed Sienna’s face before she could hide it. “Joanna, what is that supposed to mean? We’ve been best friends since college. Don’t you want me to be happy?” When I didn’t answer immediately, she turned away from me. Using the alcohol as a shield for her boldness, she reached out and grabbed Ethan’s silk tie, yanking him forward. The space between them vanished. They were inches apart, breathing the same air. “She won’t say it, so you tell me,” Sienna whispered, her voice a low, dangerous purr. “Should I take him back, Ethan? Tell me.” She lingered on his name, making it sound like a secret they shared. The text on my vision began to scroll frantically. [Kiss her! They’ve wasted so many years. Do it!] [God, the chemistry is insane. This is true love.] [Why is the side-character still in the room? Doesn’t she realize Ethan only dated her to keep tabs on Sienna’s life through her Instagram?] I watched Ethan’s throat move as he swallowed. He was vibrating with a restrained intensity I had never seen before. I remembered all the times we’d been apart over the last three years—how my phone would notify me that he’d visited my social media profile dozens of times a day. I used to think he was just obsessed with me, that he couldn’t stand being away from me. Now I realized he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at the background of my photos, the stories where Sienna appeared, the updates I posted about her life in London. He wasn’t my stalker. He was hers. Sienna tightened her grip on his tie, pulling him closer until their lips were almost touching. Finally, Ethan pulled back, his hands trembling as he pushed her away. “You’ve had too much to drink,” he muttered, though his voice lacked any real conviction. Sienna wouldn’t let it go. “I’m not drunk! Why is everyone else allowed to be happy? Why does he get a wedding while I’m left with nothing? I just want what belongs to me. Is that a crime?” She looked at us both, demanding an answer. “I need to know. Right now.” Ethan’s jaw was set tight. He stayed silent. I knew Ethan had a past he couldn’t let go of. I knew there was a woman he had once been willing to destroy his life for—the woman who drove him to admit he was the illegitimate son of the Blackwell empire just to gain the status she demanded. But he had never told me her name. He had never told me she was my best friend. I looked at my glass, then downed the rest of the bourbon in one go. The burn felt good. It felt honest. “Like I said, Sienna,” I repeated, my voice steady. “You don’t need to fight. She’s going to give him back to you.” Ethan stiffened, looking at me with a bewildered frown. But his instincts were already betrayed; even as he looked at me, he was reaching out to steady Sienna as she stumbled. Sienna wiped a stray tear from her eye, a triumphant light dancing in her gaze. She threw her arms around me. “Are you serious? No take-backs, Jo. Promise?” I nodded slowly. Before I could say the words I promise, Ethan cut in. He stood up, wrapping his charcoal blazer around Sienna’s shoulders, shielding her as if she were something fragile and precious. “She’s drunk and doesn’t know what she’s saying, Joanna. Stop humoring her.” He avoided my eyes. “We’re done here. I have to head back to the office anyway. I’ll drop her off on the way.” He tucked Sienna into the passenger seat of his car with a tenderness he usually reserved for our anniversaries. Then he turned back to me, standing under the dim streetlights of the Meatpacking District. “Don’t overthink this,” he said. “I’m only helping her because she’s your friend.” He stood there, likely waiting for me to cause a scene, to get jealous, to demand he stay. But I just looked at him and realized he didn’t even know where Sienna lived. I had never told him her new address. And yet, he knew it was “on the way.” The lie was so hollow it echoed. I smiled, and for the first time in years, it felt effortless. “It’s okay, Ethan. You’re free to do whatever you want.” At 2:00 AM, I finally caught a cab back to our Upper East Side apartment. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Sienna. Jo, thank you for tonight. For the encouragement. We’re going to try again. He told me he never forgot me—he was just hurt that I left when he had nothing. Now that he’s built his kingdom, the misunderstanding is over. We’re home. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the taxi window and typed back a single word: Congratulations. Whatever happened between them was no longer my burden to carry. When I got home, the penthouse felt cavernous and cold. I curled up on the sofa and began scrolling through my old posts. I had a secondary account dedicated to “Bestie Adventures.” It was a digital diary of my life with Sienna. Before she left for London, she had cried in my arms. “He’s beautiful, Jo, but he’s a nobody. He literally knelt in the dirt and begged me to stay this morning. I know he loves me, but love doesn’t pay for a life in Mayfair.” She hadn’t known then that the “nobody” was about to inherit one of the largest private equity firms in the country. During her years away, we FaceTimed constantly. I shared everything with her, and I posted it all. That was how Ethan found me. Every post featuring Sienna had a “like” from him. Every video where her voice could be heard in the background was a video he watched on repeat. I had thought he fell for me during those two months of online flirting before we met in person. I thought we were a modern romance. The reality was, I was just a high-definition window into the life of the woman he actually wanted. My phone chimed again. A text from Ethan. I won’t be home tonight. Don’t wait up. It was the first time in three years he hadn’t come home. The Glitch flickered in the corner of the room: [The King and Queen are finally reunited.] [Is the side-character going to cry? Is she going to call him and beg?] [Don’t ruin the mood, honey. They’re busy making up for lost time.] I ignored the text, tossed my phone onto the rug, and fell into a dreamless sleep. I was woken the next morning by Sienna’s voice over the phone. She sounded radiant. “Hey, babe! Dinner tonight? Our treat. We want to celebrate your upcoming wedding properly. Please say you’ll come!” I hesitated for two seconds, then agreed. I wanted to see the end of the play. They were already at the restaurant when I arrived—a dimly lit, Michelin-starred place in Midtown. Sienna was leaning her head naturally on Ethan’s shoulder, a picture of domestic bliss. “If Joanna finds out about us, she’ll be devastated,” I heard her whisper as I approached. Ethan tilted his head, his expression obscured. “Stop. She can’t know. Not yet.” His voice was firm—the same voice he used when he knelt on the beach in the Hamptons six months ago and slid a four-carat diamond onto my finger. “Don’t ever take it off,” he had whispered. “You’re mine for life.” Six months later, the “life” he promised was a theatrical prop. I took a deep breath, smoothed my skirt, and walked to the table. Sienna sat up straight immediately. “Oh, Jo! I was just feeling a little lightheaded—low blood sugar. I borrowed your fiancé’s shoulder for a second. You don’t mind, right?” She nudged Ethan. “Go sit by Joanna, honey.” Before he could move, I pulled out the chair opposite them. “No need. I need the extra chair for my bag.” Sienna shrugged and raised her mocktail. “To Jo. To the wedding of the year.” She finished her drink, then looked at me with faux-hesitation. “Actually, Jo… I have a huge favor to ask. My mom is obsessed with me getting married now that I’m back. She’s trying to set me up on these blind dates with boring hedge-fund guys. I told her I already have a boyfriend.” She glanced at Ethan. “But I don’t know anyone here anymore. I was wondering… could Ethan play the part? Just for one weekend to get my mom off my back? He already said he’s okay with it if you are.” The Glitch screamed across the table: [Poor Sienna, she has to lie just to spend time with her man.] [Watch the villainess say no. She’s so predictable.] I chewed a piece of chilled shrimp, ignoring Ethan’s dark, unreadable stare. “Sure,” I said. “Just make sure the performance is convincing.” Sienna’s face lit up. “I knew you were the best! Don’t worry, I’ll keep a close eye on him for you.” The rest of the dinner was a silent war. Ethan was brooding, his face like a thundercloud. I didn’t understand why he was angry—wasn’t he getting exactly what he wanted? When the check came, the server handed Ethan a small gift bag. “Sir, we’re having a promotion for couples. Leave a review and take a gift. Your wife will love it.” He looked at Sienna. She looked at the bag. “Oh, I want the silk scarf!” Ethan scanned the QR code and handed the gift to her without a word of correction. No one told the server she wasn’t his wife. No one pointed at me. Back at the apartment, Ethan slammed the door and pinned me against the hallway wall. His energy was aggressive, almost predatory. “Since when did my wife become so generous?” he hissed. “You’re just giving me away now?” I pushed him back, hard. “You agreed to it first. Don’t play the martyr with me.” He stood in the foyer, silenced. After a moment, he let out a sharp, cynical laugh. “I told her I’d go only if you said yes. I thought you’d fight for me, Joanna. I thought you’d say no.” He stepped closer, trying to soften his gaze. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll play the boyfriend for a few days, but we’re the ones getting married. I have the rest of our lives to make you care again.” I listened to his practiced lines and felt nothing. He was a good actor; he’d had three years of rehearsal. I reached into my pocket, pulled off the engagement ring, and set it on the hallway table. “Whether you want to go or not is on your conscience, Ethan. Don’t pin your choices on me.” I looked at the diamond. “This belongs to you.” Ethan’s face went white. “What is this? Joanna, she’s your best friend. Stop being dramatic.” Before he could continue, his phone rang. It was the custom ringtone he had for Sienna. My phone had the same one. He looked at the screen, then back at me, his resolve shifting. “Jo, I have to go. Something came up. And… Sienna’s parents live a few hours away. I might be gone until the day before the wedding. But I’ll be back in time for the rehearsal, I promise.” I nodded. “Go.” The Glitch mocked me: [She’s still dreaming about the wedding. Poor girl.] [Wait until the ceremony. Sienna is going to object in front of everyone. It’s going to be iconic.] [Why is she just standing there? Run, girl, run!] A second later, my phone rang. Sienna. “Jo… you know, don’t you? You know Ethan and I were together before.” Her voice was trembling, staged with tears. “I shouldn’t have asked to borrow him. But I can’t help it. I never stopped loving him, and he still feels it too. Being with someone who doesn’t love you… it’s a slow death, Jo. Can’t you just let us be happy?” I waited for the silence to stretch. “Okay,” I said quietly. “I’ll let you go.” Sienna gasped. “You… you mean it?” “I mean it.” But we weren’t friends anymore. And I wasn’t his anymore. I spent the next forty-eight hours purging my life. Every couple’s pajama set, every “His & Hers” mug, every framed photo of us laughing at fundraisers—it all went into heavy-duty trash bags. I left the jewelry he bought me in neat rows on the vanity. When I was done, everything I owned fit into two suitcases. While I packed, Sienna kept the “Three-Way Group Chat” updated. Photos of the train tickets, photos of them at her parents’ country house, a selfie of Ethan smiling—actually smiling—next to her father. Her Instagram caption read: “Bringing the boyfriend home. Mom and Dad approved. My heart is full.” I liked the photo. Ethan immediately texted me: “Jo, the photo was Sienna’s idea. Her parents insisted. I couldn’t say no without looking like a jerk. I’m bringing you back some of that local honey you like, okay?” “Whatever,” I replied, and turned off my phone. They returned to the city at midnight, the day before the wedding. Ethan came into the bedroom and tried to pull me into his arms. He smelled like the outdoors and Sienna’s perfume. “God, Joanna, your friend is high-maintenance. I am never doing that again.” He kissed my forehead. “I missed you so much. I had to see you, even if the tradition says we shouldn’t meet the night before.” I stepped out of his reach. He just laughed, thinking I was still pouting. “Are you still mad about the fake boyfriend thing? She’s actually being really helpful, Jo. She wrote a speech for the ceremony—it’s beautiful. I’m going to memorize it tonight.” The Glitch appeared over his shoulder: [He’s so sweet, trying to calm the victim before the slaughter.] [Tomorrow is going to be a bloodbath. I have my popcorn ready.] [The bride is going to be so humiliated.] “Then I wish you both a very happy wedding day,” I whispered. He didn’t hear the “both.” He just smiled. “What was that?” His phone rang. Sienna. Again. “Ethan! I’m at the bar we went to the first night… I think I’ve had too much. I can’t get a cab. Please…” Ethan straightened up, his eyes full of instant panic. “Stay put, Sienna. I’m coming.” He turned to me, his face full of “guilt.” “Jo, she’s in trouble. I’ll just drop her home and then go straight to the hotel for the groomsmen’s breakfast. I’ll see you at the altar.” He kissed me quickly and vanished. You won’t see me anywhere, I thought. I left the ring on the table. He was so blinded by his “rescue mission” that he didn’t even notice the apartment was half-empty. He didn’t notice the bare walls. He didn’t notice I wasn’t wearing my engagement ring. The wedding day arrived. The Pierre Hotel was decked out in thousands of white peonies. Every power player in Manhattan was there. That morning, Ethan sent one last text: “Joanna, I’m finally making you a Blackwell.” The ceremony began. Ethan stood at the altar in a custom tuxedo, his eyes fixed on the heavy oak doors at the back of the ballroom. He looked nervous, his eyes darting around. He felt something was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. The doors swung open. The guests held their breath. A woman in a three-meter silk tulle veil, dripping in diamonds—a dress Ethan had personally commissioned—began the long walk down the aisle. The spotlight hit her face as she reached the altar. Ethan’s heart stopped. “What the hell are you doing?”

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In order to scrape together the sky-high medical bills for my mother, who had leukemia, and also to train the healthiest possible bone marrow so I could donate it to her. I went to the construction site without hesitation. I ate the hardest bread, lived in a prefab shack that leaked from every side, and sent every last cent of my blood-and-sweat money to her. For three years, I finally saved up that “life-saving money,” and I also built myself a solid body. I thought the hard days were finally over, so I rushed home full of excitement, only to hear my stepfather’s voice outside the door. “The money’s been tricked out of her, and her body’s been trained up too. Why aren’t you hurrying up and getting her tested?” My mom sneered. “What’s the rush? I haven’t used up my poor, sick person act yet!” “If we don’t squeeze every last bit of value out of her, how else is she supposed to willingly become Thompson’s free bone marrow bank?” At that, Thompson on the side let out a scream. “Mom! I don’t care! If you don’t let Alice donate bone marrow to me, I’m telling her we have several villas and that you’re not even sick!” The cold wind outside cut like a knife, and when I looked down at my own hands, covered in thick calluses and scars, all the blood in my body seemed to freeze. The next second, I dialed the number I had kept hidden for more than ten years. “This time, I’m willing to come home.”

The voice on the other end was careful, and a smile was impossible to hide. “Good! Good! My Alice!” I hung up and shoved my phone back into my pocket, while laughter was still going on inside. “Mom, how much money did that idiot send this time?” “Three hundred thousand. With everything from before, it’s almost enough for Thompson to study abroad for a while.” “Mom really knows how to handle things. She’s got Alice that fool wrapped around her finger.” With a blank face, I pushed open the half-closed door. The three people in the room—my mom, Bella; my stepfather, Harris; and my younger half-brother, Thompson—froze with their smiles still on their faces. My mom was the first to react. She immediately clutched her chest and started coughing hard, her face going pale as death, looking like she could keel over any second. “Alice, you’re back… cough cough… why didn’t you say something first? Look at you, you’ve gotten so thin from working at the construction site.” She was so good at acting. For three years, she had tricked me into giving her everything with that same act. Harris hurried to back her up too. “Yeah, Alice, sit down. Your mom’s been talking about you this whole time.” Only Thompson, the precious son they spoiled rotten, didn’t bother hiding his disgust. He pinched his nose and exaggeratedly took two steps back. “You reek of sweat. Disgusting! Alice, can’t you wash up before coming in?” I ignored him and went straight to my mom. “Did you get the money?” My mom froze for a moment, then quickly put on a weak but relieved smile. “We got it, Alice. You’ve really suffered. My illness is all depending on you.” “Now that the money’s enough, let’s go to the hospital tomorrow for the bone marrow match.” A flash of panic crossed my mom’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by greed. She grabbed my hand. Her hands were well cared for, soft and smooth, completely different from mine. “Alice, the doctor said… said the surgery fee went up again. We’re still short a little bit…” “And the matching isn’t urgent. Your health matters most.” “You need to recover more, build yourself up nice and strong. That way the bone marrow quality will be best.” I looked at her and suddenly smiled. “Really? I thought you were all in a hurry.” “After all, if we don’t get the bone marrow swapped soon, Thompson won’t be able to hide it much longer.”

The color drained from my mom’s face in an instant, and this time it wasn’t fake. She violently shook off my hand, as if she had touched something filthy. “You… what nonsense are you talking about!” Harris panicked too, pointing at me as he shouted sharply, “Alice! How can you talk to your mom like that! She’s seriously ill, and you’re saying things like this to upset her. Do you even have a conscience!” I couldn’t be bothered to waste words on them, so I turned and walked toward the storage room at the end of the hallway. That was my room. There was no window inside, only a hard bed and a few pieces of my ragged clothing. Right next door was Thompson’s room. It was the biggest room in the house, and the closet was stuffed full of all kinds of designer brands. Even the old clothes he didn’t want were cleaner than what I was wearing. That was the difference between Thompson and the “bone marrow bank.” I took out the biggest woven sack I had and threw all my things into it. Harris blocked the doorway, his face dark. “Alice, what do you mean by this? Your mom is still sick, and you want to leave?” When I ignored him, Harris started trying to appeal to my feelings. “Alice, we know you’ve had it hard, but we didn’t have any choice either.” “You can’t bear to see Thompson get hurt, can you? Your mom did all this for the family, so…” I cut him off. “She did it for the family, so she can treat me like trash she can throw away whenever she wants?” “For the family, she could lie to me for three years, use me as a free bone marrow bank and an ATM?” Harris’s face went white, then red, and he couldn’t say a word. In the living room, my mom began screaming and crying like a madwoman. “Alice! Why is my life so bitter! Why did I give birth to you!” “Your poor dad didn’t want you after the divorce, and I was the one who raised you!” “Now that I’m sick and need you to save my life, you want to abandon me. Your conscience has been eaten by a dog!” If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I almost would have believed her again. Because of her so-called “raising me,” I had hated my biological father for more than ten years and was willing to be invisible in this family. But her “raising me” was nothing more than making me sleep in a storage room, eat leftovers, and endure my stepfather’s cold stares.

I slung the woven sack over my shoulder, pushed Harris out of the way, and went straight outside. He tried to stop me, but the strength I had built up from years of working at the construction site was nothing to laugh at. When my mom saw that, she stopped crying too. Without looking back, I left that house. Now I had to go to the hospital. Over the past three years, every physical exam report I had ever gotten had been taken away by them under the excuse that it was “easier for the doctor to keep track of things.” I needed to make sure they hadn’t tampered with my body without me knowing. Just as I reached the hospital entrance, I saw Thompson. He was dressed head to toe in designer clothes, with the latest limited-edition sneakers on his feet, chatting and laughing with a few friends. When he saw me, the smile on his face immediately turned to disgust. “Well, well, if it isn’t my brick-carrying construction worker sister, Alice?” His friends burst out laughing. “Thompson, this is the idiot sister you were talking about? She worked herself into looking like a beggar just to get your mom treated.” “That’s so touching, too bad she’s just a sucker.” Thompson looked smug and walked up to me, fanning the gray, dusty fabric of my clothes with his hand. “Hey, you’d better go back obediently, or else you’re going to regret it.” I sneered, “I’m waiting. Let’s see what you can do.” Thompson was furious and grabbed my arm. “Alice, don’t push your luck! I’m telling you, you’re just a dog our family raised. I tell you what to do, and you do it!” Just then, my mom and Harris also came running over. Seeing us struggling, my mom immediately rushed up and, without even thinking, slapped me across the face. With a crisp, loud smack. “You ungrateful brat! How dare you lay a hand on Thompson!” She pointed at my nose and started shouting outside the hospital. “Everybody come look! This unfilial daughter has a mother with leukemia and doesn’t care at all, and now she’s even trying to hit her little brother!” “I worked so hard to raise her, and this is how she repays me! I might as well die!” While crying and screaming, she even started to lunge toward a pillar nearby.

The crowd around us immediately gathered in, pointing fingers at me. “How can she be like that? Look how pitiful her mom is.” “She looks pretty strong, so why is her heart so cruel?” “Today’s young people really have no conscience.” I covered my burning cheek and stared coldly at this ugly family of three in front of me. The cursing from around us rose and fell in waves, and I couldn’t go head-on against them. I grabbed my mom’s arm. “Don’t smash into anything. I’m out of money.” I pulled an empty card out of my woven sack. “There’s still three hundred thousand in this card.” “This is the last ‘life-saving money’ I prepared for you.” “I asked around. There’s a coworker at the construction site whose wife also has leukemia. He said the bone marrow transplant and follow-up treatment cost at least one million.” “I don’t have that much, so I really can’t do anything.” I spoke sincerely, with just the right amount of guilt and helplessness in my eyes. My mom immediately stopped throwing a fit and instead grabbed my hand. “Alice, I know you’ve done your best. I don’t blame you.” She wiped the corner of her eye, where there weren’t any tears at all, and her voice turned incredibly gentle. “If the money isn’t enough, we’ll think of something else. You’re my only hope.” “As long as you listen obediently and give me your bone marrow, I’ll be saved.” Harris also chimed in beside her. “Yeah, Alice, we’ll figure out the money. You just need to take care of your body first. The match is what matters most.” I nodded, pretending I had been persuaded. “Okay, then let’s go get the old physical exam reports first and let the doctor take another look. I want to see whether my condition is actually suitable for donation.” What I said made perfect sense, and they didn’t doubt me. When I finally got that thick stack of physical exam reports, my heart settled. Every single report showed that all my numbers were shockingly good. Healthy, strong, the perfect bone marrow donor. They really went to a lot of trouble for this. To get to this day, they must have spent a huge amount of effort!

“Alice, since the reports are fine, let’s go do the match right now!” My mom urged me impatiently, afraid I might change my mind. I held the stack of reports and shook my head. “Mom, not yet.” “What do you mean, not yet?” My mom’s face instantly fell. I put on a troubled expression. “I… I know a boss. He said if I can have dinner with him, he might be willing to lend me seven hundred thousand.” As soon as I said that, my mom and Harris both stared. Seven hundred thousand! For them, that was not a small amount. My mom immediately grabbed my hand and asked urgently, “Really? Which boss? Can we trust him?” Harris also looked tense. “Alice, you can’t joke about this. Don’t get tricked by someone.” He sounded righteous, like he was truly worried about me. I sneered inwardly, but on my face I wore the innocent look of someone inexperienced in the world. “I don’t know if he’s reliable either, but this is the only way I have.” “He said he’d treat me to dinner at SKY tonight, and then he’d give me the money.” SKY was the most exclusive private club in the city, with per-person spending so high it was outrageous. When my mom heard the name, the doubt on her face instantly turned into complete belief. Anyone who could treat people there had to be somebody important. “Good! Alice, you have to go!” She rubbed her hands excitedly. “This is my life on the line! You have to seize this chance!” “But… how can you go dressed like this?” She looked me over with disgust. “You need to change into something decent. You can’t leave a bad impression on the boss.” Without giving me a chance to refuse, she dragged me to the mall. For once, she bought me a white dress, and she even bought me a pair of high heels. In the mirror, after the grime on my face was washed away and I put on clean clothes, I actually looked a little delicate. It was just that my feet, used to sneakers, really weren’t used to the confinement of high heels. My mom looked at me in the mirror and nodded with satisfaction. “Now you look presentable.” She instructed me, “Alice, be clever tonight. You have to get that money.” “For me, even if you suffer a little, you need to endure it, understand?” I nodded, pretending I was a obedient puppet. At night, I arrived at the entrance of SKY at the agreed time. I knew that right now, my mom and the others were hiding somewhere nearby, waiting for me to bring back that seven hundred thousand.

The club was glittering and luxurious, and even the doormen at the entrance wore crisp uniforms. I stood at the door in my ill-fitting high heels and had no intention of going in. My mom and Harris were already anxious like ants on a hot pan. Just then, a black Rolls-Royce slowly pulled up at the entrance. The door opened, and a middle-aged man in a tailored suit got out. He walked straight toward me. My mom and Harris, hiding in the shadows, nearly had their eyes pop out. “Miss, I’m Mr. Stewart’s driver. He asked me to come get you first. He’s gone to prepare a gift for you and will be here soon.” I nodded. “No rush. I’ll wait for him here.” Seeing that we still weren’t going in, my mom couldn’t hold back anymore and rushed out from the corner. “What are you acting so high and mighty for! The boss is already here, so hurry up and go serve him!” As she spoke, she pushed me forward hard, her face stacked with a flattering smile as she turned to the driver. “Boss, please don’t mind her! This girl has never seen the world. I’ll teach her a lesson for you!” My stepfather also rushed over in a flurry, rubbing his hands together, his face full of panic. “Yeah, Alice, hurry up and greet the boss! Don’t offend a VIP!” The driver was confused by the whole scene and looked at them with open disgust. “Who are you people? Move aside!” My mom froze for a second and only thought the driver was putting on airs. The smile on her face got even wider. “Boss, you’re really funny! I’m her biological mother, so she has to listen to me!” My mom gave me wild looks, trying to signal me, but I didn’t budge. She lost her patience and raised her hand to slap me hard across the face. My cheek instantly swelled up. “I raised you for nothing! I asked you to have dinner with the boss, and you’re already giving me attitude? What good are you!” The next second, she turned to the driver again, and her face changed from vicious to sycophantic in an instant. “Boss, don’t take it personally!” “I’m her mother, so give the seventy thousand straight to me! What does a little girl like her know anyway!” “As long as the money’s in place, let alone having dinner with you, she can even sleep with you!” The driver’s face instantly turned ashen, and he was about to explode. A furious voice came from behind him. “What do you think you’re doing to my daughter?”

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1 Mr. Henderson, the superintendent of my building—a man who usually only knocks to complain about a leaking pipe—was pounding on my door. Beside him stood a man in a charcoal suit so sharp it looked like it could cut glass, accompanied by a younger woman holding a leather-bound legal pad. They told me my Great-Aunt Evelyn had passed away in Dubai. A sudden cardiac event. She had lived a life of quiet, massive accumulation, leaving behind no husband and no children. According to them, I was the last living blood relative. The sole heir to an estate valued at approximately five billion dollars. I thought it was a sophisticated phishing scam. I thought they had watched too many movies. I hung up on their initial calls three times, and when they showed up in person, I threatened to call the police from behind the safety of my deadbolt. That was until the regional president of Chase Bank personally arrived at my Northside walk-up. The day we finally went to the probate attorney’s office to formalize the paperwork, the atmosphere was sterile and heavy with the scent of expensive cologne and old paper. The clerk behind the counter kept refreshing her screen, her brow furrowed, a strange, unreadable expression flitting across her face. “Ms. Brooks…” she said, her voice trailing off as she squinted at the monitor. “Our system is showing your current status as ‘Single.’” I blinked, confused. “I’m sorry? There must be a mistake. I’m married. My husband is Ethan Brooks.” “According to the Cook County digital records,” she continued, her voice clinical, “a Judgment for Dissolution of Marriage was entered and finalized sixty days ago. It was an uncontested filing, signed by both parties.” I froze. The air in the room suddenly felt thin, as if the oxygen had been sucked out of the vents. I had never stepped foot in a courthouse. I had never seen a petition for divorce. He had done it. He had found someone to impersonate me, walked into a government building, and forged my life away behind my back. I stood there at the marble counter, the silence of the office ringing in my ears for exactly three seconds. Then, a laugh bubbled up in my throat. It wasn’t a happy sound; it was sharp, jagged, and bordering on the hysterical. The clerk recoiled, looking at me as if I’d finally snapped under the pressure. I leaned in, my palms flat on the cold counter, my eyes bright with a terrifying clarity. “Just to be absolutely clear,” I whispered, my voice trembling not with sadness, but with a strange, dark mirth. “Does this five billion count as a marital asset? Does he have a claim to it?” The attorney, Marcus Reed, stepped forward, his expression professional. “No. Since the inheritance was legally triggered while you were in a divorced state, it is considered non-marital, separate property.” “So he doesn’t get a cent?” I asked. “Not a penny.” 2 My name is Natalie Brooks. I’m thirty-two years old, working as a mid-level account manager at a boutique ad agency. “Mid-level” is a polite corporate euphemism for making sixty-five thousand a year—a salary that, in a city like Chicago, barely allows you to afford a life, let alone a future. My apartment was a sixth-floor walk-up in a neighborhood where the primary sounds were the screeching of the L-train and the 2 AM brawls from the dive bar downstairs. The elevator had been “under repair” since the Obama administration, and the smell of stale grease from the taco stand below was permanently baked into my curtains. My husband—no, my ex-husband—was Ethan. We were college sweethearts. We got married two years after graduation, back when our shared bank account had a balance of four hundred dollars and we lived on dreams and cheap Thai takeout. Back then, he used to hold me and say that money didn’t matter as long as we had each other. But as the years passed, he started to care. He started to care very much. The frequency of our arguments shifted from once a month to three times a week. The script was always the same: Why aren’t you more ambitious? Why hasn’t your agency promoted you? Mark’s wife just cleared seven figures, and we’re still stuck in this dump. I was exhausted by it. But I grew up believing that marriage was a marathon, not a sprint. You put your head down, you endure the friction, and you wait for the quiet moments to return. Until today. When the knock came, I was sitting on my thrift-store sofa, steam from a bowl of instant ramen fogging up my glasses. I opened the door to the trio. Mr. Henderson looked awkward in his stained work blues, shuffling his feet. Beside him, the man in the charcoal suit handed me a heavy, cream-colored business card. Marcus Reed. Senior Partner, Reed & Associates. “Natalie Brooks?” “Yes.” “May we come in? It’s regarding the estate of your late aunt, Evelyn Brooks.” My brain searched through dusty folders of family history. Evelyn? My grandmother had mentioned a sister who had moved to the Middle East in the eighties, a woman who had broken ties with the family to work for a massive trade conglomerate. She was a ghost in our family tree. “What happened to her?” I asked. Reed’s face was a mask of professional empathy. “Evelyn passed away three months ago in Dubai. She never married and had no children. After a three-month global search and a forensic genealogical audit, the courts have confirmed you as her sole legal heir.” I gripped the doorframe. “How much are we talking about?” Reed opened his briefcase, clicking the silver latches. He pulled out a leather-bound folder and laid out a series of documents. “The current audited valuation of the liquid and non-liquid assets, once converted, is approximately five billion dollars.” A single noodle slid off my fork and splashed back into the broth, speckling the back of my hand with salty grease. I didn’t even flinch. “Excuse me? Did you say billion?” “Five billion, Ms. Brooks.” I stared at him for ten seconds, the world around me beginning to blur. Then, without a word, I shut the door. “Natalie! Natalie, what are you doing? These are lawyers!” Mr. Henderson’s voice muffled through the wood. I leaned against the door, my heart hammering like a trapped bird. I pulled out my phone, my fingers slick with sweat, and googled “Reed & Associates.” They were the real deal—a top-tier probate firm. I found Marcus Reed’s photo on their website; it was the exact man standing in my hallway. Then I searched “Evelyn Brooks Dubai.” An obituary from a Dubai business journal appeared. The Silent Titan of Trade, it called her. My hands began to shake uncontrollably. I opened the door again. “Come in,” I managed to say. “Sorry. The place… it’s not really fit for guests.” Reed sat on my wobbling folding chair as if it were a throne, spreading out wills, death certificates, and asset lists. Properties in Dubai, London, Singapore, and a penthouse in Manhattan. Controlling interests in three logistics firms. Cash and brokerage accounts totaling $1.2 billion in liquid funds alone. “We need you to come to the County Clerk’s office tomorrow to verify your identity and marital status,” Reed said. He paused, his eyes scanning the cramped apartment. “If you are currently married, the laws in several jurisdictions where these assets are held might allow your spouse to claim a distributive share. It’s a complicated legal gray area.” I nodded slowly. “I’m married. But—” I stopped. A memory flickered in my mind. Last month, when I went to pay the ComEd bill online, the account name had changed. It used to say Ethan & Natalie Brooks. It had changed to just Natalie Brooks. I had assumed it was a system glitch. Now, I realized it was a breadcrumb. “Mr. Reed,” I said, my voice low and steady. “How do I prove my marital status?” “A certified status search from the Clerk’s office will suffice.” 3 The next morning, I took a half-day from the agency and went to the Daley Center. The clerk behind the glass scanned my ID, looked at her screen, then looked back at me with an expression that was halfway between pity and confusion. “Ms. Brooks? You’re here for a status certificate?” “Yes.” “Ma’am, you’re currently listed as divorced. The decree was finalized two months and three days ago.” I felt the floor beneath my feet turn into water. “That’s impossible. I live with my husband. We had dinner together last night.” “It’s right here in the system. Mutual consent. Uncontested. Signed and sealed.” She turned the monitor toward me. There it was. A digital scan of the filing. My name was scribbled at the bottom. To a stranger, it looked like my signature. To me, it was a clumsy imitation—the ‘N’ was too sharp, the ‘e’ lacked its usual loop. My jaw tightened until my teeth ached. “I want to see the security footage from the day this was filed.” “Ma’am, that’s not standard procedure. You’d need a court order—” “Get it,” I said. It wasn’t my voice. It was a colder, harder version of me. “I want to see who walked into this office and claimed to be me.” The supervisor, a weary-looking woman who had clearly seen every kind of domestic tragedy, eventually took me into a cramped back office. She pulled up the archives from sixty-three days ago. On the grainy, high-angle footage, I saw Ethan. He was wearing his favorite blue blazer. Sitting next to him was a woman in a wide-brimmed hat, a surgical mask, and my favorite grey trench coat. She was my height. My build. But it wasn’t me. That day, I had been in back-to-back meetings until 9 PM. My digital key-card logs at the agency could prove it. Ethan had hired an actress. He had staged a quiet, surgical removal of me from his legal life. I sat in the plastic chair, motionless, watching the woman on the screen nod and sign the papers that ended my marriage. “Do you want to file a police report, honey?” the supervisor asked gently. “This is identity theft. It’s a felony.” “No,” I said, standing up. “But the divorce… it’s fraudulent. You can vacate the judgment. You can fight this and bring him to court.” “Don’t vacate it,” I interrupted. I looked at her, my eyes cold and dry. “Just give me the certified decree. I want the one with the official seal.” She looked at me like I was insane. She expected a woman whose husband had betrayed her to be in pieces. She expected me to scream for justice. She didn’t know that my inheritance had only been confirmed twenty-four hours ago. Five billion dollars. If we were still married, he would have been entitled to half of it under Illinois law. Two and a half billion dollars for the man who thought I was “dead weight.” He had gone to incredible lengths to sneak out of our life. He had cheated, lied, and forged documents just so he wouldn’t have to share his future with me. He had just saved me two and a half billion dollars. I walked out of the courthouse and onto the windy street. The March air was biting, but I felt a strange, internal heat. I stood on the sidewalk and laughed until my lungs burned. 4 Inside the quiet, wood-paneled office of the probate firm, Marcus Reed looked over the certified divorce decree I had just handed him. “Ms. Brooks, the court has confirmed the timeline. At the time of your aunt’s passing and the subsequent trigger of the inheritance, you were legally single. This entire estate is your separate, non-marital property.” “Good,” I said. My hand was perfectly steady as I picked up the pen. “I should inform you,” Reed said, “the initial liquid transfer will clear within the week. We’re looking at approximately one hundred and fifty million dollars for the first tranche.” One hundred and fifty million. Just the beginning. A drop in the bucket of the five billion that was coming. I nodded as if he were telling me the time. Inside, my mind was a firework display, but I kept my face a mask of indifference. As I stood to leave, Reed cleared his throat. “Ms. Brooks, given the scale of these assets, your life is about to change. Shall I arrange for a security detail? Or perhaps a private wealth management team to handle your daily expenses?” “Not yet,” I said, smoothing my skirt. “I have some personal errands to run first.” I stood on the curb of LaSalle Street, watching the Chicago traffic flow by. Why had he done it? The Natalie of three months ago would have been devastated. She would have called him screaming, demanding an explanation for the betrayal. The new Natalie was simply curious. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through our texts. The most recent one was from four days ago. Ethan: “Working late again. Some crisis with the regional accounts. I’ll probably just crash on the sofa at the office. Love you.” Me: “Okay. See you when I see you.” We were two ghosts inhabiting the same apartment, eating dinner in a silence that was so thick it was suffocating. I opened Instagram and checked his “Close Friends” story—a feature he clearly thought I was too “uncool” to check. There was a photo from a high-end French bistro in the West Loop. Two glasses of vintage Bordeaux. Across from him, a woman’s hand was visible resting on the white linen. She was wearing a Patek Philippe—a watch that cost more than our combined annual salaries. Her nails were a perfect, expensive shade of nude. No wedding ring. I zoomed in on the hand. It was elegant, well-cared for. Not the hand of a woman who scrubbed her own floors. I tucked my phone away. There was no rush. I wanted to see the look on his face when he realized exactly what he had traded away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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