Category: English

The final wish of a world-renowned young pianist was for me—a man he hadn’t seen in ten years—to be the one to care for him during his final days. In the luxury hospice suite, he showed me photos of him and his wife traveling the world. Greece, the Maldives, the Swiss Alps. He looked radiant; I looked like a man who had spent a decade working double shifts. “Seriously, man, I don’t even know how to thank you. You’re a saint,” he said, his voice thinned by the cancer. He leaned back into the pillows, a smirk playing on his pale lips. “Especially considering you’re the ex-boyfriend. If you hadn’t failed Tori’s little ‘poverty test’ back in the day, I never would’ve ended up with her, would I?” He looked up at me suddenly, his eyes sharp with a dying man’s cruelty. “Tell me… once I’m gone, do you think she’ll follow me? Do you think she’d end it all just to stay with me?” He was waiting for me to break. He wanted to see a flicker of longing or resentment for Victoria Harrington. He wanted to see that she still had power over me. I disappointed him. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice as professional and sterile as the room. “As a member of the medical staff, it’s not my place to comment on a patient’s family.” Right then, the door clicked open. Victoria stood there. The bouquet in her hand hit the floor, petals scattering across the polished hardwood. She stared at me, her breath hitching in a way that felt almost practiced. … I stared at the flowers on the floor. Juliet Roses. I knew them from the trade magazines—a single bouquet of these could go for thousands at auction. In Nate’s room, there were hundreds of them, their heavy, sweet scent filling the air like a gilded cage. Victoria recovered quickly. The shock vanished, replaced by the cool, effortless mask of a woman who owned everything she looked at. She walked past me without a word, the rhythm of her designer heels clicking against the floor like a metronome. “I told you I’d hire a private nursing firm, Nate,” she said, her voice softening as she reached him. “Why did you go behind my back and hire… this?” “I didn’t want a stranger,” Nate replied, leaning into her touch as she smoothed his hair. “Besides, Sam’s the best. Isn’t that right, Sam?” Victoria didn’t look at me. She kept her eyes on her husband. “Does the Harrington heiress have room in her head for anything other than me?” Nate teased, his voice bubbling with a sickly sweet affection. “You remember Sam Miller, don’t you? You two were the ‘it’ couple back in college. Everyone was jealous.” Victoria’s gaze remained downward, her expression unreadable. “Was he? I don’t really remember. I was young and impulsive back then. I didn’t know the difference between a cheap imitation and the real thing.” The insults were contradictory—one moment I was a forgotten ghost, the next I was a “cheap imitation”—but Nate loved it. A genuine smile broke across his gaunt face. “Don’t be too hard on him, Tor. I know Sam. He’s just… realistic,” Nate said, pretending to defend me. “Not everyone has the stomach for a real test. Sam grew up fast. He saw the world for what it was earlier than we did. He just made the choice that made the most sense at the time.” He broke into a fit of coughing. Victoria was over him in an instant, her hands—manicured in a perfect nude polish—rubbing his back with practiced grace. When Nate finally caught his breath, she stood up and looked at me. Her eyes were cold. “Why are you still standing there?” she snapped. “Has the hospital lowered its standards so much that nurses don’t even react when a patient is in distress?” That familiar sense of being looked down upon, of being a servant in her presence, washed over me. But I had seen too much death and too much reality in the last ten years to be rattled by a billionaire’s tantrum. I bowed my head slightly, the picture of professional humility. “My apologies, Mrs. Sullivan. It won’t happen again. If Mr. Sullivan has any other needs, please let me know. I’m here to improve his comfort in any way I can.” Victoria’s face went blank for a second. Her brow furrowed—I could tell she was angry that she couldn’t get a rise out of me. But she didn’t say anything more. Nate reached out and took her hand, his eyes clinging to her. “See? I told you. Sam’s changed. He’s not the stubborn kid who wouldn’t admit he was wrong anymore.” He looked at me. “Remember after the breakup, Sam? You were so bitter. You stole that watch Victoria gave me. You were caught red-handed and still denied it. You almost tried to swing at me.” He chuckled, a wet, rattling sound. “Now look at him. He knows how to play the game. Most people see a face like that and can’t stay mad for long.” Victoria’s voice was like ice. “There’s no need to talk to him, Nate. You treated him like a brother back then, but people like him don’t know the meaning of the word.” They went on like that, weaving a version of the past where I was the villain and Nate was the long-suffering friend. I stayed silent. The watch. Victoria had given Nate a limited-edition Patek Philippe, and when it went missing, every finger pointed at me. I was the “gold-digging” ex-boyfriend, and Nate was the victim of a brother’s betrayal. I had spent three days and nights checking security feeds and retracing my steps, but the cameras were “broken,” and I had no alibi. Eventually, the watch was found in a hidden lining of Nate’s own backpack. Nate had just smiled that day, neither confirming nor denying anything. “Oh, it wasn’t lost after all,” he had said. “This bag was a gift from you, Sam, wasn’t it? Tori told me it was a knock-off and I shouldn’t take it on trips. I guess only you knew that pocket was there. Reasonable assumption, right? Don’t be so sensitive, man. Grow a thicker skin.” Nate finally grew tired and dismissed us. I walked out into the hallway with Victoria. She looked like she wanted to say something, her eyes dark and searching, but I kept my gaze fixed forward and walked straight into the staff lounge. The other nurses immediately swarmed me. “Is he as handsome in person as he is on TV? Is he a total diva?” I hung up my coat and took a sip of lukewarm water. “He’s a patient,” I said simply. They didn’t care. They were already back to whispering about the “Harrington-Sullivan” fairy tale. “I saw his wife today,” one girl sighed. “She’s even more beautiful than her photos in Forbes. Total boss energy. They say when she proposed, she just gave him a bouquet and a watch. Now that he’s sick, she’s moved half the world’s roses into his room. That room alone is worth more than I’ll make in a lifetime.” “It’s like a movie,” another added. “The scholarship kid meets the heiress, she lifts him up to stardom, and just as they hit the peak… this happens. It’s heartbreaking.” The voices dropped an octave. “I heard that before Nate, she was with another poor student. High school sweethearts. Then the Harringtons faked a bankruptcy to test him. The second he heard she was broke, he dumped her.” “Thank God for the test,” someone chimed in. “A guy like that would have drained her dry. He wouldn’t have treated her like Nate does.” “I don’t know,” a younger nurse murmured. “Isn’t a test like that kind of… disrespectful? Even if he passed, wouldn’t you always resent being played like that?” They turned to me, asking for my opinion. I listened to the half-truths and the polished lies. They were right about one thing: Victoria and I broke up because of that “test.” It happened overnight. One day Victoria was the girl who owned the world; the next, she was crying in my arms, telling me her father’s empire had collapsed and they were being evicted. I was young, naive, and so deeply in love that I didn’t think to check the news. I just worked. At the time, Nate and I were obsessed with mountain climbing. We were the “dirtbag” kids of the university, working three jobs each just to save up for gear to go to the Alps. When Victoria “lost everything,” I took it upon myself to carry her. I spent my meager savings on her, handled her “spoiled” outbursts with patience, and split my tiny grocery budget with her. Nate had been furious. He felt I was neglecting our “dream.” “You’re spoiling her, Sam,” he’d tell me. “We’re never going to get to Europe if you keep throwing your money at her.” Victoria would kiss my tired eyes, her own eyes brimming with tears. “Sam, I’m so sorry. I promise, things will get better.” So I worked harder. I broke my 24-hour days into fragments of labor and study. It was the hardest time of my life, but I never complained. Then came the night she picked me up from my shift at the warehouse. We ran into her “old friends”—the ones she said had abandoned her. I stepped in front of her, thinking they were there to taunt her. Instead, I heard them laughing. One girl looked at me with a mix of pity and amusement. “Wow, this one lasted a long time, Tori. I don’t know how you can stand eating at these greasy spoons every night. It’s dedicated, I’ll give you that.” She turned to Victoria. “The test is over, honey. You won. Now please, tell us you’re buying the first round of drinks tonight. I’m exhausted from playing ‘bankrupt’ for you.” The truth was laid bare in the middle of a sidewalk. I looked at Victoria, waiting for her to tell them they were lying. She didn’t. She just stood there, silent. “With someone like you,” she finally said, her voice devoid of the warmth I had cherished, “I had to be careful.” Someone like me. What was I? A gold-digger? A charity case? It had never occurred to me that people with money could be so bored, so fundamentally broken, that they would treat a human heart like a lab rat. I didn’t speak to her after that night. I didn’t even officially break up with her at first—I was too paralyzed. She had been my sun, my moon, the reason I breathed. I wanted to wake up and find out it was a nightmare. Nate was there for me. He brought me a punching bag to vent my frustration. He seemed disgusted by what she’d done. “My brother gave her everything, and she played him like a toy? Who does she think she is?” Nate had been so vitriolic that I had to hold him back from confronting her. I was so buried in my own grief that I didn’t notice the way Victoria started looking at Nate. Or the way Nate started looking back. Eventually, I told her it was over. I couldn’t look at her without seeing the “test.” Victoria stood on the quad, her designer dress fluttering in the wind, looking at me with pure derision. “So the rumors were true. You’re just like they said. You can play the hero when there’s a reward, but you can’t handle the reality of being with someone who doesn’t have a safety net.” I remembered that look for years. Because I didn’t realize until much later that the “they” she was referring to… included Nate. Three months after we broke up, Victoria proposed to Nate in front of everyone. The room was filled with Juliet Roses. It was the classic romance novel trope: the heiress and the scholarship student. When we were together, I rarely accepted gifts from her. Before the “bankruptcy,” I didn’t want her to think I was there for the money. After, I thought she couldn’t afford them. For every anniversary, I gave her a bouquet of daisies I’d picked from the roadside. She said she loved them. I couldn’t understand how she and Nate ended up together. Nate was unremarkable back then. He was average, stressed, and gray from the weight of poverty. He only became “vibrant” when he was defending me against Victoria. It turned out that his “defense” of me was their secret language. Every time they argued about me, they were actually bonding over me. I pulled away from Nate, but he kept trying to bridge the gap. He’d invite me to basketball or to work shifts, saying he didn’t want a girl to come between us. I avoided him until one winter evening when he cornered me. He was holding the bouquet of Juliet Roses Victoria had given him. “Tori says these are worth a fortune,” he said. “I know you’re struggling with rent. Take them. Sell them.” “I don’t want them,” I said, turning to leave. “Take them!” he snapped, shoving them into my chest. “I know it hurts that we’re together, but you can’t control feelings, Sam. You were with her; you know how it is. It’s just a bunch of flowers. Don’t be so proud. She gives me so many, I have plenty to spare…” Something in his tone snapped. I swiped the flowers away, and they hit the slushy pavement, their scent—sweet and arrogant—wafting up at me. Just like her. “You want me to understand your ‘true love’? Fine. I’ve been trying to stay away. I didn’t want to hurt either of you because you were the most important people in my life. Why do you keep pushing?” I looked at him. “Nate, this isn’t how friends act.” He leaned back, crossing his arms, a slow, ugly smirk spreading across his face. “Who said we were friends?”

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I died in the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallway of the very hospital my wife built, shortly after being forced to undergo a “procedure” for the sake of the man she truly loved. Before I took my last breath, my six-year-old son, Toby, begged her three times. The first time, Toby reached out and caught her hand. His voice was trembling, telling her that I was coughing up blood. Madeline just sneered, her eyes cold as flint. “You’re getting better at this,” she said, looking down at our son as if he were a stranger’s dog. “Teaching a child to lie for you? That’s a new low, Ben.” With a flick of her wrist, she signaled her security detail to haul the boy out of the private wing. The second time, Toby grabbed the hem of her designer coat. He was hysterical, crying that I was drifting in and out of consciousness, mumbling nonsense from the pain. Madeline didn’t even look back. She just checked her watch, her brow furrowed in minor irritation. “It was a standard procedure. The doctors said he’d be fine. Stop being so dramatic.” Once again, the guards stepped in, dragging Toby away while his sneakers skidded across the polished marble floor. The third time, Toby didn’t stand. He collapsed on the floor, burying his face in the fabric of her trousers, his small body racking with sobs as he told her I wouldn’t wake up. That was when Madeline finally snapped. She didn’t kneel to comfort him. Instead, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, her face contorted with rage, and shoved him toward the exit. “I told you, Ben isn’t going to die! If you come back here one more time and disturb Sebastian’s rest, I will have both of you thrown out of this hospital and onto the street. Do you understand me?” Desperate to save me, Toby did the only thing a six-year-old could think of. He went to the nursing station and took off the heavy silver locket he’d worn since the day he was born—the one my mother had given him for protection. “Please, ma’am,” he whispered to the nurse, holding out his only treasure. “I don’t need to be lucky anymore. I just need my daddy to stay alive.” The nurse, moved by the sight of the bruised, tear-streaked boy, took the locket and agreed to move me to the last available recovery room. But Sebastian—Madeline’s “great lost love,” the man who had occupied her heart long before I ever stepped into the frame—had other plans. He sat in his wheelchair, clutching his designer French bulldog, and blocked the doorway. “I’m so sorry, little guy,” Sebastian said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “But your mommy was worried I’d get lonely without my dog. This room is reserved for Princess.” 1 To make room for Sebastian’s dog, my gurney was pushed out into the drafty, crowded service corridor. As the heavy mahogany door clicked shut, Toby stood there, his hands empty, his locket gone. His knuckles were bruised and purple from pounding on the doors. He didn’t stop. He hit the wood again and again, his voice small and cracking. “Sir? Please. Please give the room back to my daddy.” “Sir, it’s Toby! Please open the door!” His high-pitched voice echoed through the hallway, but it couldn’t pierce the thick insulation of the VIP suite where Sebastian was busy cooing at his pet. The louder Toby cried, the louder Sebastian turned up the television, laughing as he played with the dog. “Good girl, Princess. Don’t listen to the noise outside. It’s just trash.” Toby’s voice began to fail him, turning into a raspy, jagged whisper. This was the boy who used to cry and run for a hug if he so much as scraped a knee. Now, he just used the hem of his dirty t-shirt to wipe the blood from his split knuckles. His eyes were red-rimmed and full of a hollow, haunting hatred. “You’re a monster!” he croaked at the closed door. “I bought that room. I gave them my locket! You can’t give it to a dog!” “You monster!” But his voice was too thin now. It was a ghost of a sound, fragile and breaking. I lay on that thin hospital mattress in the hallway, watching him. Tears mixed with the copper tang of blood in my throat. I’m so sorry, Toby. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m so, so sorry. 2 The door never opened. Toby eventually slumped back to my side, his eyes swollen nearly shut. “Daddy, I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against the cold metal rail of the bed. “I’m useless. I let the bad man take the room.” “I’m sorry, Daddy.” I could feel the heat leaving my body. I knew the end was seconds away, not minutes. But I couldn’t let Toby see me go like this. I couldn’t let his last memory be the light fading from my eyes in a hallway. Summoning the very last of my strength, I forced a weak, trembling smile. “Toby… hey, buddy. Daddy’s a little cold. Could you… go find me a blanket? Just a warm one?” Toby froze for a second, then wiped his face frantically, hope flaring in his eyes. “Yes! Okay! I’ll get one. I’ll get the warmest one they have.” “Daddy, you have to stay awake until I get back! Promise me! Stay right here!” I watched his small silhouette sprint down the long, white corridor. As he turned the corner, I let my eyes drift shut. Toby, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can wait. When I opened my eyes again, the pain was gone. The heavy, suffocating weight in my chest had vanished. I was standing in the hallway, but my body—the pale, broken shell of it—remained on the gurney. I was a ghost, tethered to the only person I had left in this world. I followed Toby. He was smart; he knew the gift shop was too far, so he scanned the open doors of the regular wards. He spotted a room where the door was ajar and ducked inside. Inside, a young man sat up in bed. His wife was tucked beside him, meticulously smoothing a thick, navy-blue fleece blanket over his legs, ensuring every corner was perfect. Their son, a boy about Toby’s age, sat on the edge of the bed holding a warm cup of cocoa. For a moment, Toby just stared. His eyes filled with a sudden, sharp longing. But he shook it off. He had a mission. The young couple looked up, startled by the disheveled, bruised child in the doorway. The woman stood up, her face softening with concern as she brushed the dust off Toby’s shoulder. “Sweetie? Are you okay? Where are your parents?” Toby’s hands were shaking as he gripped his shirt. He swallowed hard. “Ma’am, my daddy is sick. He’s so cold. Could I borrow a blanket? I… I don’t have my locket anymore, but I’ll do anything. Please help him.” The woman didn’t hesitate. She grabbed a brand-new, wrapped blanket from the bedside cabinet and pressed it into Toby’s arms. “Take it, honey. I hope your father feels better soon.” Maybe it was the sudden kindness after a night of cruelty, but Toby lost his words. He just clutched the plastic-wrapped blanket to his chest and bowed his head, over and over. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” The woman waved him off gently. “Don’t thank us. We didn’t buy it.” “The hospital’s founder, Mrs. Madeline Santiago—she ordered them for everyone. She’s celebrating her husband’s successful surgery today. Every family got one as a gift.” “Look, there’s even a card with a photo of her and her husband on the front. If you want to thank someone, wish them a long and happy life together.” Toby froze. His eyes dropped to the small card tucked into the plastic. There was Madeline, glowing and beautiful, leaning her head on Sebastian’s shoulder. They looked like the perfect American power couple. Then he remembered her hand around his throat, throwing him out into the hall. He remembered her laughing as she walked away from his dying father. The tears started again, silent and hot. “I’ll… I’ll be sure to thank Mrs. Santiago,” he whispered. My spirit felt a phantom ache in my chest, sharper than any surgical knife. I remembered when Madeline used to love us. I remembered how she stayed up for three nights straight when Toby was born, obsessing over the perfect name. How she once bought out an entire FAO Schwarz display because Toby smiled at a train set. How she used to read him fairy tales while I fell asleep against her shoulder. All of that died the day Sebastian came back into the country. He used his “weak heart” as a leash. He staged fainting spells, played the victim, and slowly poisoned her against us. He even tricked Toby into putting a jar of caterpillars in his bed, then faked a panic-induced cardiac event just as Madeline walked in. From that day on, we weren’t her family. We were the obstacles to her “true” happiness. Back in the room, the woman asked gently, “Where is your mom, Toby? Why isn’t she with you?” Toby looked down at the photo of Madeline and Sebastian. A single tear fell onto the plastic. “My mommy,” he said, his voice almost inaudible. “She’s dead.” 3 Toby ran back toward the main elevators, clutching the blanket like it was a holy relic. But as he reached the lobby, he ran straight into Sebastian. Sebastian wasn’t in his wheelchair anymore. He was standing, holding his dog, looking perfectly healthy. When he saw Toby, his face twisted into a mask of pure loathing. “Get out of my way, you little brat.” He looked down at his pristine cashmere sweater. “Do you have any idea what this costs? If you get your filth on me, I’ll sell you to pay for the dry cleaning.” “Just like your father. Pathetic. A bottom-feeding loser.” Before Toby could even react, Sebastian pulled back his foot and kicked him—hard—right in the stomach. Toby crumpled. The blanket slid across the floor. Gasping for air, he tried to crawl toward it, but Sebastian’s expensive leather loafer came down on his hand. He ground his heel into Toby’s small fingers. “Listen to me, you little sh*t,” Sebastian hissed, leaning down, his eyes gleaming with malice. “If you ever try to pull that ‘sad orphan’ act in front of Madeline again, I will make sure you and your loser dad are dumped in a ditch. Do you hear me?” He looked like he wanted Toby to simply cease to exist. I screamed. I lunged at him, trying to wrap my spectral fingers around his throat, trying to shove him off my son. Leave him alone! Take it out on me! Don’t you touch him! I roared until my throat felt like it was tearing, but Sebastian heard nothing. He just watched with sadistic pleasure as Toby’s face turned red from the pain. Toby’s arm began to spasm, but he didn’t cry out. He looked up, his eyes bloodshot and fierce, staring directly into Sebastian’s soul. “My daddy isn’t a loser. He’s the best man in the world.” “You’re the monster. Don’t you dare talk about my daddy.” Then, Toby leaned forward and bit Sebastian’s ankle as hard as he could. Sebastian let out a yelp of pure fury. He lost his grip on the dog and delivered a brutal, heavy kick to Toby’s ribs. “You little bastard!” I screamed again, throwing myself over Toby’s body to shield him. But the kick passed right through me. Toby was thrown back against the marble wall with a sickening thud. He spat out a mouthful of dark blood. Even then, he didn’t wail. He just reached out, his hand shaking, searching the floor. “The… the blanket…” he wheezed. “Dad needs… the blanket…” Sebastian wasn’t finished. He stepped toward the boy and raised his hand to strike him again. “Sebastian?” Madeline’s voice cut through the lobby like a blade. Everyone froze. Toby’s eyes flickered with a desperate, dying hope. “Mommy…” he whimpered through a split lip. Madeline started to move toward him, but Sebastian was faster. He intercepted her, his face instantly transforming into a mask of fragile distress. He leaned into her, hiding Toby’s broken form with his body. “Madeline! Oh, thank God you’re here.” He guided her into an embrace, subtly signaling the guards to move in front of Toby. Madeline frowned, sensing something was wrong. “Sebastian, was that Toby on the floor? Did you hit him?” Sebastian’s eyes welled with tears instantly. “Madeline, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to tell you. While you were upstairs, Toby… I don’t know who’s been talking to him, but he came into my room and said such horrible things about us. I tried to calm him down, but then he just… he lunged at me.” He clutched his chest, breathing shallowly. “You know what the surgeon said about my recovery… my heart…” Madeline’s face hardened. The concern for her son vanished, replaced by a cold, protective rage for the man in her arms. “Ben is a worse father than I thought. He’s poisoning that child’s mind.” “You’re fragile right now, Sebastian. If his antics cause you a relapse, I will never forgive them. Either of them.” I stood inches from her face, screaming the truth. He’s lying! Madeline, look at your son! He’s bleeding! Sebastian is a sociopath! From behind the guards, Toby managed one more broken plea. “Mommy…” A guard’s hand immediately clamped over his mouth. Madeline paused. She looked toward the guards. “Did he just call for me?” Sebastian’s expression darkened for a split second before he pulled away, looking “bravely” wounded. “Go to him, then. I’ll be fine. I’ll just go back to my room and try to forget that his father almost killed me by proxy today… I forgive him, Madeline. He’s just a child.” That did it. The mention of the “heart attack” Sebastian had faked weeks ago cemented her resolve. Madeline let out a sharp, disgusted breath. She turned her back on Toby and began to walk away. “If Ben won’t discipline him, then you do it, Sebastian. He needs to learn. Spare the rod, spoil the child… if he isn’t taught a lesson now, he’ll grow up to be just as pathetic as his father.” “I’ll wait for you upstairs.” As she disappeared into the elevator, Toby’s struggles became frantic. Sebastian turned back to him. The “frail” act was gone. He delivered three sharp, stinging slaps to Toby’s face. Toby’s cheeks swelled, his lip splitting further, blood dripping onto the floor. But the boy wouldn’t let go of that blanket. Sebastian leaned down, his long nails digging into the skin near Toby’s eye, drawing a thin line of red. “You’re just like your father,” he whispered. “Garbage.” I tried to strangle him. I tried to set the building on fire with my mind. Nothing worked. I was forced to watch, a ghost of a man, as my son was systematically broken. I fell to my knees, begging the empty air, begging Sebastian, begging God. He’s just a baby. Please. Stop. The abuse only stopped when Sebastian’s dog began to bark, startled by the violence. “Oh, did we scare you, Princess?” Sebastian cooed, smoothing the dog’s fur. He seemed bored now. He stepped back and signaled the guards to drop the boy. Then, he placed the heavy heel of his shoe directly onto Toby’s bruised cheek, pressing him into the cold tile. “Look at that,” Sebastian mocked. “Even your mother doesn’t want you.” “Pathetic.” 4 The elevator doors slid shut. Toby was left in a heap on the cold porcelain floor. I knelt beside him, trying—uselessly—to gather him into my arms. I tried to lift him, to warm him, but I was nothing but a shadow. The hospital doors were locked. No one dared to help Madeline Santiago’s son without her permission. The blood on Toby’s lip began to dry. He tried to open his eyes, but the swelling was too much. He just curled into a ball around the blanket, the plastic crinkling softly in the silence. The silver locket was gone, leaving only a faint red mark on his neck where it had once rested—a reminder that he had once been a precious, protected child. I don’t know how long I knelt there crying. My heart felt like it had been turned to ash. Then, the clicking of high heels returned. Madeline was back. She stood in the center of the lobby, looking down at Toby’s unmoving form with a look of profound boredom. “Done playing the martyr?” she asked, her voice echoing. “Is this what Ben taught you? How to fake an injury for sympathy?” “You really think if you lie there long enough, I’ll feel bad? You’re dreaming.” Every word was a needle in my soul. I wanted to scream: Are you even human? How can you look at your own flesh and blood and see a conspiracy? He’s a good boy! He’s the best boy! My tears fell onto Toby’s face. For a moment, his eyelashes fluttered. Madeline grew slightly uneasy at his lack of response. She took a step closer. “Toby? Stop it. Get up.” “I’m not falling for it. I see through you.” Her voice wavered, getting faster, more urgent. But as she got within a few feet, Toby’s hand twitched. She stopped. The flash of concern on her face was instantly replaced by a fresh wave of anger. She took out her phone, snapped a few photos of his battered back, and sent them to my number. Ben, you’re really going for it, aren’t you? Using our son as a pawn? Fine. If you want him to play dead, let’s see who breaks first. She turned on her heel and walked away. When the lobby was silent again, Toby finally opened his eyes. He coughed, a wet, hacking sound that brought up more blood. He saw the red stains on the plastic bag of the blanket and panicked, trying to wipe them off with his sleeve. He struggled to his feet, swaying, and began the long, agonizing trek back to the service corridor. He found my gurney. He touched my hand, and his face went pale when he felt the ice in my skin. With the last of his strength, he tore open the plastic, shook out the navy-blue blanket, and draped it carefully over my body. “It’s okay, Daddy,” he whispered, his voice disappearing. “You have the blanket now. You won’t be cold anymore.” Then, he collapsed on top of me and went still. The next morning, an intern’s scream shattered the hospital’s silence. “Code Blue! Someone get over here! We have a DOA in the hallway!” Madeline pushed through the gathering crowd, her face a mask of annoyance. “What is this circus? If you wake Sebastian, I’ll have your licenses—” She stopped. She saw the man on the gurney. She saw the small, broken boy draped over him like a discarded doll. And for the first time, the ice in her heart began to crack.

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It was my daughter’s fifth birthday, and after months of begging, my workaholic wife finally agreed to take our very first family portrait. I was ecstatic. I woke up at dawn, my heart racing with a kind of nervous energy I hadn’t felt in years. I had pulled every string I possessed to book a session at The Silver Frame, the most exclusive photography boutique in the city—the kind of place where the waiting list usually stretched into the next year. But as the appointment hour ticked closer, the world went quiet. My wife and daughter simply vanished. I sat in that plush, velvet-lined studio until the “Closed” sign flipped on the door. Finally, a text lit up my screen. It was from Mallory. [Forgot to tell you—the company organized a year-end retreat. I decided to take Sophie along for the trip. We’re already on our way.] A second later, a voice note from Sophie arrived. Her high-pitched, sweet voice echoed in the empty studio: [Daddy, the trip is so much fun! We’ll take the picture when we get back, okay? Bye!] I didn’t get angry. Not yet. I just stared at the phone and typed back a single word: Okay. Then, I turned my attention to a different chat. I pulled up the contact for the Chairman of Mallory’s company—a man who also happened to be one of my oldest friends. [Funny,] I messaged him. [I didn’t realize the firm was hosting a retreat today. As the majority shareholder, you’d think I would’ve received the memo.] … My phone rang almost instantly. When I picked up, Luke’s voice was thick with confusion. “What retreat? Nate, are you dreaming? It’s the end of the quarter. We’re all buried in spreadsheets and coffee. I haven’t seen sunlight in three days, let alone a beach. Everyone is in the office except for your wife—she took personal leave starting today.” I gripped the phone, my knuckles turning a ghostly white. “I see.” “Wait, Nate. What’s going on? You sound… off.” I bit my lip, catching my reflection in the studio’s vanity mirror. I was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit, my hair styled to perfection, looking every bit the successful man—yet I looked like a complete and utter fool. Standing there alone, I was a punchline to a joke I hadn’t realized I was in. “Come pick me up,” I said, giving him the address. “Five minutes. Stay put.” I sat back down at the vanity. The staff was beginning to pack away the lighting rigs and umbrellas. I could feel their eyes on me. Earlier, they had looked at me with envy—the man who had paid triple the standard rate to buy out the entire studio for the afternoon. Now, that envy had curdled into pity. I heard the whispers behind the heavy curtains: “Stood up,” “Poor guy,” “All that money and he can’t even get his wife to show up.” The studio manager walked over, clutching a heavy, leather-bound portfolio. “Sir, please don’t be too discouraged. I’m sure your wife had an emergency,” she said, her voice dripping with that professional kindness that feels like sandpaper on a wound. “Since we couldn’t shoot today, why don’t you look through our sample gallery? You can pick a style for next time.” I had no interest in looking, but out of some ingrained sense of politeness, I flipped open the first page. And the world stopped spinning. There, on the very first page—the “Gold Standard” family portrait used to market the studio—was a massive, high-definition photograph. The background was a warm, sun-drenched library. A woman in a silk cream dress was smiling with a radiant, soft warmth I hadn’t seen in years. Beside her, a man in a perfectly tailored navy suit looked at her with adoration. Between them sat a little girl in a tulle tutu, her eyes crinkling into crescent moons as she clutched a bouquet of daisies. That was my five-year-old daughter, Sophie. That was the woman I shared a bed with, Mallory. But the man… the man wasn’t me. The manager, seeing me freeze, assumed I was impressed. She leaned in, her tone brimming with pride. “Exquisite, isn’t it? This is our ‘Model Family.’ They’ve been loyal clients of ours since the little girl was just a month old. They come in every single year to document her growth.” She continued, oblivious to the fact that she was dismantling my life word by word. “The mother is a high-level executive, very successful. And the father—oh, he’s just a dream. He’s famous in the studio for how much he dotes on them. And the little girl? She’s a natural. She loves the camera. She’s always so happy to be here.” “In fact,” the manager added, “they’re celebrating her birthday today at the Grand Regency Hotel. Our lead photographer was actually hired to cover the party.” Each word was a jagged blade, flaying me alive. Years ago, I had stepped away from the spotlight to let Mallory chase her dreams of being a power player. I had secretly used my influence to get her into Luke’s firm. I had funneled anonymous investments into her projects, ensuring her “stellar performance” made her the youngest Managing Director in the company’s history. I wanted her to have the world. And then, there was Sophie. Every time I tried to take a photo of her at home, she would scowl. She would hide behind Mallory or slap the camera away, screaming, “Go away, Daddy! I hate pictures!” Mallory would always shield her, throwing me a look of cold disdain. “Just leave her alone, Nate. Don’t force her. Besides, your photography skills are mediocre at best.” Looking at the photo of my daughter beaming at the camera, my blood turned to ice. She didn’t hate pictures. She just hated taking them with me. I shifted my gaze to the man in the photo. He looked familiar—vaguely, like a ghost from a past life. Then it clicked. Dominic Vance. (Wait, Vance is a forbidden name. Let’s call him Dominic Thorne. No, Thorne is forbidden too. Let’s go with Dominic Black.) Dominic Black. He was the “charity case” I had personally sponsored through four years of university. I had seen a hardworking kid from the streets and paid his entire tuition. When he couldn’t find a job after graduation, I had made a few calls and landed him a prestigious role at a government-affiliated firm. I had funded his education. I had built his career. And apparently, I had provided him with a family. The manager was still talking. “Sir? If you like this style, we can book you for—” The roar of a high-end sports car outside cut her off. A moment later, the door swung open. “Nate!” Luke burst in, looking around the empty studio. “Damn, look at you. You look like you’re heading to the Oscars. Where are Mallory and Sophie? Are we done already?” I snapped the portfolio shut. The shame was a physical weight in my chest. “Nate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I looked at him and forced a smile that felt like breaking glass. “Take me to the Grand Regency. I hear my daughter is having a birthday party.” Luke didn’t ask questions. He saw my face and drove like a man possessed. The Grand Regency wasn’t just the most expensive hotel in the city; it was one of the crown jewels in Luke’s family portfolio. We stood before the grand ballroom. A massive welcome banner stood at the entrance. It featured the same family portrait I’d seen in the studio. Mallory leaning into Dominic’s chest, Sophie perched on Dominic’s shoulders. The gold lettering read: [Happy 6th Birthday to our darling Sophie] Sixth birthday? I went numb. Sophie was five. She had to be. Luke’s face went purple with rage. He was the owner of this building. He reached for his phone to call security, but I put a hand on his arm, stopping him. I pushed open the double doors. The roar of the party died instantly. A hundred pairs of eyes turned toward the entrance. Most of the people there were Mallory’s employees. I didn’t show my face at her office often, but I’d dropped off lunch for her a few times. They recognized me. “Wait, isn’t that Manager Cross’s stay-at-home husband?” someone snickered. The whispers began, a rising tide of mockery. “What a buzzkill. Why is he here on such a big day?” “I heard he’s basically a maid. Cleans, cooks, lives off her paycheck. Total embarrassment of a man.” “Look at that suit. He probably put it on her credit card.” Mallory was standing in the center of the room, her hand on a long silver knife, poised to cut a towering cake. Dominic’s hand was resting firmly over hers. They looked like the picture of domestic bliss. Seeing me, Mallory didn’t look guilty. She looked annoyed. “Nate? What are you doing here? I told you to stay home. Don’t come here and make a scene!” She didn’t even bother coming down from the stage. She just barked at me from her pedestal. I walked toward the stage, one heavy step at a time. “Make a scene?” I pointed at the banner, at the giant number six. My voice was a jagged rasp. “Mallory. Is Sophie five, or is she six?” Mallory’s eyes flickered for a fraction of a second before hardening. “What does it matter? Five, six, she’s a child.” Dominic stepped forward then, wearing a smug, practiced grin. He looked every bit the successful executive I had helped him become. He raised his champagne flute toward me—a gesture that was meant to look polite but felt like a slap. “Look, Nate, since you’re here, grab a plate and find a corner. Mallory and I wanted to give Sophie the best day possible, and the team is also celebrating my recent promotion. Don’t ruin the mood.” “Go away!” A small figure darted out and shoved me with all her might. It was my daughter. The girl I had stayed up with through every fever, the girl whose hand I had held as she learned to walk. She was wearing a dress that cost more than a mid-sized car, and she was glaring at me like I was a monster. “Don’t you dare bully Daddy Dominic! He said you’re just a useless loser! You’re just a burden to Mommy!” My heart didn’t just break; it disintegrated. “Sophie… I’m your father…” “No, you’re not!” She grabbed Dominic’s leg, tilting her chin up with a cruel pride. “Daddy Dominic is my real daddy. He makes lots of money and buys me whatever I want. He said I have his ‘elite blood,’ not the blood of a failure like you!” The room erupted in laughter. “Wow, talk about a reality check!” “Imagine raising another man’s kid for five years. This guy is the king of losers.” The very employees who used to call me “Sir” out of politeness were now vying to see who could insult me louder to please Mallory and Dominic. I realized then: six years ago, while I was paying for Dominic’s senior year of college, Mallory had “met” me. She had cried about a bad breakup and her need for a stable man. From day one, I had been nothing but a free meal ticket for her and Dominic’s child. “Mallory,” I said, breathing through the searing heat in my chest. “So, these five years… it was all a performance?” Luke couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved past me and pointed at the executives. “You blind idiots! Do you have any idea who I am? And the man you’re mocking—Nathaniel Cross—is the majority shareholder of—” “Security!” Mallory cut Luke off, her voice cold and sharp. “Get these two lunatics out of here. Especially that one next to Nate—he looks like a common street thug. Probably some low-life relative of yours, Nate?” Before the actual security could arrive, a few of the larger department managers, eager for a bonus, stepped forward, rolling up their sleeves. “Don’t you touch me!” Luke roared. He usually stayed at the corporate headquarters and rarely visited this subsidiary. Combined with his casual clothes today, these idiots actually didn’t recognize the Chairman of the board. “Is this guy for real?” a manager laughed, shoving Luke hard. “Do you know who Manager Cross is? She could crush you like an ant!” Dominic stood on the stage, holding Sophie in one arm and pulling Mallory close with the other. He watched the chaos with a smirk. “Listen up, everyone. Whoever gets this trash out of my sight so it doesn’t spoil the night for Mallory and me—I’ll personally see to it that your year-end bonus is doubled.” Money is a powerful motivator. The shoving turned into a frenzy. Someone kicked Luke in the back of the knee, and he buckled. I lunged to help him, but a heavy fist caught me in the kidney, sending black spots dancing across my vision. “Nate, did you really think you were someone?” I spat out a mouthful of blood and looked up at Mallory. “The fallout for infidelity and fraud… are you ready for it?” Mallory stepped off the stage and stood over me, her eyes full of pure, unadulterated disgust. “Since we’re being honest, I’ll let you in on a secret.” She reached into her clutch, pulled out a document, and threw it at my face. It was a marriage certificate. Mallory and Dominic. The date was a full year before she and I “married.” My pupils shrunk. “Don’t bother looking,” she sneered. “The certificate we signed? Fake. A prop. Dominic was just starting out back then, and we were broke. I needed a ‘nice guy’ to pay the bills and provide for us while he built his career. You were an orphan with no family to ask questions. You were easy to control.” “Fake,” I whispered. My internal organs felt like they were being shredded. Every night of the last five years, every sacrifice—it was all built on a void. “There’s no need for a divorce because there was never a marriage.” Dominic walked over and ground his heel into the back of my hand. “Thanks for the tuition, ‘Big Brother Nate.’ And thanks for raising my kid. But I’m a big man now. It’s time for the help to leave.” I tried to stand, but a boot to my chest sent me sprawling. Luke tried to shield me, but someone shattered a wine bottle over his head. Blood poured down his face. “You… you’re going to regret this…” Luke choked out. “Regret?” The manager who hit him spat on him. The crowd roared with laughter. “Hit them! Hit them until they can’t walk! Manager Cross will handle the fallout!” Luke and I were curled on the floor, a rain of blows falling on us. The smell of copper filled my nose. My vision was fading. Mallory just watched, then reached over to cover Sophie’s eyes. “Don’t look, sweetie. It’s just trash being cleared out.” Just as a manager lifted a heavy wooden chair to bring it down on my head— BOOM. The ballroom doors were slammed open so hard they hit the marble walls like cannon fire. A squad of elite security detail swarmed the room. Behind them, a middle-aged man in a sharp suit and gold-rimmed glasses ran in, looking frantic. He was the Executive Assistant to the Chairman. When he saw Luke lying in a pool of blood, he turned gray. “Chairman?!” Then he saw me. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “Mr. Cross…”

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The deal I’d spent six months nursing was finally ready for ink. Then my wife—the CEO of the company—had HR cancel my flight and booked me a twenty-hour ticket on a cross-country Greyhound bus instead. When I confronted her, she didn’t even look up from her laptop. She just accused me of being “fiscally irresponsible.” “The flight exceeded the standard reimbursement cap for senior staff,” Brooke said, her voice like dry ice. “I know you’re my husband, Nate, but I can’t go breaking company policy for you. It sets a bad precedent for the rest of the team.” She finally looked at me then, her eyes full of a cold, shimmering disdain. “A bus isn’t going to kill you. Stop being so fragile. You’re a grown man.” I didn’t have time to argue. I spent twenty-four hours cramped in a seat that smelled like stale coffee and diesel, my joints screaming, only to arrive at the client’s office and be told the contract had already been signed. I pulled out my phone. Tyler, the new intern, had just posted an update on LinkedIn. The photo showed two first-class boarding passes and a blurred-out copy of the contract I had built from the ground up. His caption: “Mission accomplished. So grateful to my incredible CEO for trusting me with the heavy lifting. #GrowthMindset #Blessed” — It was early summer. The sun was draping itself lazily over the city, but I couldn’t feel the warmth. My blood felt like it had turned to slush in my veins. The truth was out. “Company policy”? Give me a break. Brooke hadn’t changed my travel plans to save money. She’d done it to bury me in a bus for twenty-four hours so Tyler would have a head start. She’d handed him my victory on a silver platter. The project I’d sweated over, the late nights, the missed dinners—she’d wiped it all away with a single keystroke, turning my hard work into his fast-track to a promotion. She was obsessed with him. He was a few years younger, a “protegé” from her alma mater, and her favoritism was becoming a sickness. But why the bus? If she wanted him to sign it, she could have just told me to stay home. Why make me suffer through the ride? “That was my suggestion, actually,” Tyler said. I was back at the office, and he was leaning against my desk, a jagged, ugly smirk on his face. “I told Brooke that even though you almost fumbled the deal at the goal line, you’d worked hard. I told her you needed a little ‘slow travel’ to clear your head. Consider it a company-funded retreat, Nate. You should really work harder to repay Brooke’s kindness.” I wanted to put my fist through his teeth. I really did. But the whole office was watching, and I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of a meltdown. Tyler only acted this way because Brooke allowed it. She didn’t just open the door for him; she laid out the red carpet. I took a sharp breath, turned on my heel, and walked into Brooke’s office. “Tyler, babe, do you have more of those funny—” She stopped. The moment she realized it was me and not her golden boy, her voice dropped an octave into a snarl. “You don’t know how to knock anymore? Get out and try again.” Tyler never knocked. I’d seen him barge in a dozen times, and she always met him with a smile. I felt a bitter laugh bubble up in my chest. For the first time in seven years of marriage, I didn’t play along. I didn’t go back out. I stayed right where I was and made the first non-work request I’d made in years. “I’m taking my vacation days. Starting tomorrow.” A designer pen flew across the room, grazing my earlobe before thudding into the carpet behind me. My skin stung, a sharp, hot heat. Brooke slammed her hands on the desk, standing up. “Do you have any idea how busy we are? You’re my husband. Instead of stepping up to help me, you’re trying to bail? You want a vacation?” She scoffed, her lip curling. “Tyler was right. I’ve spoiled you these last few years. You’ve gotten soft.” “Spoiled me?” I repeated, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Is that what you call giving my project to an intern?” Her face flickered—just for a second—before hardening back into a mask of corporate logic. “I did that for your own good. You’ve been exhausted. I didn’t think you could handle the execution phase of a contract this size. Tyler needs the experience, and you need the rest. It was a win-win. Don’t let your petty jealousy get in the way of what’s best for this company.” If she really believed that, she wouldn’t have had to lie about the bus. She tapped her manicured nails on the desk. “You’re not the lead anymore, but I still expect you to put in the hours. Tyler is green. He has the instinct, but he lacks the technical depth. You need to mentor him through the transition.” She wanted me to bleed so he could drink. I watched her face. When she mentioned Tyler’s name, there was a softness in her eyes, a spark of genuine light that I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. My wife had found someone else to love. Or at least, someone else to admire. I looked down at the floor, hiding the hollow ache in my chest. “I haven’t taken a day off since we launched this startup. Between my accrued PTO and my seniority, I have four weeks coming to me. I’ll submit the request through the portal this afternoon. I’m gone tomorrow.” Brooke narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll tell HR to reject it.” I threw her own words back at her. “It’s company policy, Brooke. You can’t go breaking the rules.” We were months away from an IPO. For the last year, I’d been the first one in and the last one out, working until the stars were the only things left in the sky. Walking out of the building at 5:30 PM felt illegal. I stood on the sidewalk, the sun still high, and realized I had no idea what to do with myself. My phone buzzed. Two notifications hit the screen back-to-back. Company-wide: “Team dinner tonight at Delmonico’s to celebrate the new contract. All hands on deck!” Personal: “Nate, honey, the blackberries are heavy on the bushes back home. I’m going to pick some this weekend and mail a jar of jam to you and Brooke.” The first was from Brooke. The second was from my mother. Two images flashed in my mind: Brooke looking at Tyler with that doting, prideful gaze, and my mother, standing in a sun-drenched garden in Virginia, thinking of a son who barely called anymore. Spousal love can evaporate. It can shift, sour, and vanish. But a parent’s love? Even when you’re distant, even when you’re a ghost, it stays. I realized with a jolt of guilt that as Brooke’s ambition had grown, our visits home had dwindled to nothing. Maybe a frantic forty-eight hours at Christmas. Lately, I’d been going alone. Whenever I’d asked Brooke to come, she’d just sigh in exasperation. “You go. I have a company to run. Do you really think I have time to sit on a porch and talk about the weather?” Even when I was there, she’d call me every hour, demanding I come back to work. But it wasn’t always like that. In the early days, when we were working out of a garage, she was the one who insisted we visit my parents. She said it kept us grounded. I guess she didn’t need grounding anymore. She wanted to fly, and she wanted Tyler to be her co-pilot. I hadn’t planned on actually leaving town, but the impulse hit me like a physical wave. I needed to go home. I packed a bag, bought a train ticket—a real one this time, in a sleeper car—and headed south. By the next morning, I was breathing in the humid, sweet air of the Blue Ridge foothills. As I stepped off the platform, a voice cut through the morning quiet, sharp and dripping with sarcasm. “Well, look at that. Nate Miller, returning to the scene of the crime. Alone, as usual.” I didn’t have to turn around. Cassidy. My childhood best friend, the girl next door who’d grown up to be a shark of a corporate lawyer with a tongue like a straight razor. I managed a weak smile and tossed my bag into her trunk. “Nice to see you too, Cass. I heard your last date ended in a restraining order.” She rolled her eyes, pulling out of the station. “Hardly. Men just don’t like dating lawyers. They’re terrified that if we break up, I’ll take the dog, the house, and his dignity in under thirty minutes.” I leaned back against the headrest. “I thought you did M&A, not family law.” She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, hitting the gas a little harder than necessary. “I don’t. But for you, Nate? I’d make an exception. I’d take her for everything she’s worth.” I stayed silent. She glanced at me, her expression softening. “Wait. You’re quiet. Usually, you defend her. Is it… is it actually happening?” The truth is a blade. “Just drive, Cass. I’m not in the mood for an autopsy of my marriage.” “Right. Got it.” She went quiet, but the air in the car felt heavy, vibrating with all the questions she wasn’t asking. Before we got to my parents’ place, she asked, “Are we telling them?” I sighed. “Not yet. Let’s just let them have a nice weekend.” Three years of dating, seven years of marriage. Unless I caught Brooke in a room with a smoking gun, I wasn’t ready to pull the trigger on a divorce. Not yet. But parents have a sixth sense. They want you home, but they can tell when you’re staying because you have nowhere else to be. By the fifth day, my mom was practically pushing me out the door. “It’s a beautiful morning, Nate. Go for a walk. Go see the world. You’re moping around this kitchen like a lost puppy.” I stepped out onto the porch just as Cassidy was heading to work. I felt like a teenager caught playing hooky. “Rough morning?” she teased, leaning against her car. “Look, I have to visit a few clients today. If you’re bored, you can play chauffeur. It beats sitting here and letting your mom interrogate you.” I didn’t have anything better to do. I hopped in. We spent the whole day on the road. By the time we pulled back into her apartment complex that evening, my ankles were sore. I watched her hop out of the car, looking perfectly poised despite being in three-inch heels all day. “How do you do that?” I asked, gesturing to her feet. “I’m exhausted just watching you.” “Practice,” she said, but as she stepped onto the curb, her ankle gave way. I moved instinctively, catching her by the waist before she hit the pavement. “See?” I muttered, steadying her. “Tough talk and sharp heels. This is why you’re single.” “What the hell is this?” I froze. Brooke was standing ten feet away, her face a mask of cold, vibrating fury. She marched toward us, her designer handbag looking like it was about to become a weapon. “I actually believed you came home to see your parents. I thought, Maybe he just needs a break. But you’re out here reliving your high school glory days. How could you do this to me, Nate?” I frowned, letting go of Cassidy. “It’s not what it looks like, Brooke. What are you even doing here?” “I see you two wrapped around each other, and you ask me what it looks like?” Tyler stepped out from behind a parked SUV, trailing Brooke like a loyal golden retriever. He looked at us with a slow, knowing smile. “I mean, she did just get out of the passenger seat,” Tyler noted, his voice dripping with faux-concern. “And she looks a little… disheveled. I guess we know why Nate’s been so tired lately.” Then, he did a little mock-shudder, hiding behind Brooke’s shoulder. “Oh, man. Nate, did I say that out loud? I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. I’m just guessing here!” If his eyes weren’t gleaming with pure malice, I might have believed he was just an idiot. Cassidy had found her footing by then. She smoothed her skirt, her lawyer persona clicking into place like a loaded gun. “Under state law, defamation can lead to a very messy, very expensive civil suit,” she said, her voice cool and rhythmic. “If you want to keep talking, kid, I’d suggest you bring a checkbook.” She glanced at Brooke. “And as for you, Brooke—I’d keep your ’employee’ on a shorter leash. Or is he a ‘business expense’ now? Honestly, since you’re paying for him with marital assets, I should probably thank you for the entertainment.” Brooke went scarlet. “Don’t you dare. Tyler is a dedicated employee who was worried about me. He came along to make sure I was okay.” Cassidy just let out a short, bark-like laugh. She didn’t need to say another word. Brooke turned her fire back on me. “The office is drowning, Nate. I’ve had enough of this tantrum. Get in the car. We’re going back. Now.” “No,” I said quietly. “I’m on vacation.” Brooke’s jaw set. “The games are over. I’m here, I’m giving you a chance to save face. Don’t push me.” Tyler chimed in again. “Nate, look, Brooke just likes having me around because I’m a fast learner. If my being on the team makes you this upset, I’ll apologize. I just want Brooke to be happy. If you come back, I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.” “Whatever it takes?” I repeated. I looked at Tyler, then at my wife. “Fine. Fire him. If Tyler resigns and leaves the firm, I’ll come back tonight.” Tyler’s face crumpled. He looked like I’d just kicked a puppy. He turned to Brooke, his eyes glistening. “I… if that’s what it takes for you to have your husband back, Brooke… I’ll write my resignation tonight.”

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My mother was dying. I begged my fiancé to advance our wedding settlement so I could afford her surgery. He didn’t even look back. Instead, he went straight to Gemma’s engagement party. In my darkest hour, my childhood best friend, Xavier, knelt in the sterile hospital hallway and proposed. He handed me a check for a million dollars—no strings attached, just the price of a life. I said yes without a second thought. I rushed to get the paperwork signed for my mother’s operation. But in the end, she never made it off the table. I was paralyzed by grief. Xavier stepped in, handling the funeral and the aftermath with a tenderness that convinced me I’d found my savior. We married shortly after, just as planned. Five years later, I accidentally overheard him talking to a doctor behind a heavy mahogany door. “Xavier, you kept the truth from Nora. You used her mother’s organs to save Gemma’s mother. Did you ever stop to think what happens if she finds out? You’re willing to ruin your life for Gemma?” “If I’m ruined, I’m ruined,” Xavier’s voice was cold, resolute. “I’d do anything for her. It was one life for another. I’ve spent the last five years paying Nora back with this marriage. That should be enough.” The tears hit the floor before I could catch my breath. I finally understood. My marriage—the house, the “love,” the security—was nothing but a curated lie. A penance. His heart had only ever belonged to Gemma. Fine. If he wants to be with her so badly, I’ll get out of the way. 1 The library door was a thin barrier between my life and the abyss. Inside, Xavier’s voice was thick with a regret that wasn’t for me. “Since she didn’t choose me, the only thing I could do was make sure she didn’t lose her mother. I wanted Gemma to be happy, even if it wasn’t with me. As for Nora… I’ve given her five years of my life. I’ve compensated her. It’s enough.” I heard Tyler, his oldest friend, let out a sharp, jagged breath. “Compensation? Xavier, that was a human life. If anyone finds out you forged those transplant consents, you’re spending the rest of your life in a cell. Is she really worth it? A woman who doesn’t even love you?” “My heart says she is,” Xavier replied, the sound of a lighter flicking open punctuating his words. “I’d do anything to see her smile. I didn’t care if it was Nora’s mother or my own heart—I wouldn’t have blinked.” “Don’t mention this again,” Xavier continued, his voice muffled by a cloud of smoke. “It’s in the past. She’s living her perfect life now, and that’s what matters.” “And Nora? She actually loves you, Xavier. If she ever finds out you’re the reason her mother is dead, you two—” Silence stretched like a wire about to snap. Then, Xavier gave a dry, self-deprecating laugh. “Then I’ll owe her my life, too. The money I’ve made these years… it’s enough to keep her comfortable forever.” “Man… I don’t get you. Nora is a good woman, and you’re obsessed with a phantom. Whatever. Do what you want.” Footsteps approached the door. I scrambled back, retreating into the shadows of the hallway and slipping into our bedroom. I was holding a cup of tea. It splashed onto my hand, scalding and hot, but I felt a bone-deep chill that no heat could touch. My mother didn’t die because the surgery failed. She died because she was a harvest. A sacrifice at the altar of his devotion to Gemma. Five years ago, when Harrison broke our engagement and left me as a public laughingstock, I thought Xavier’s proposal was my redemption. I thought he was pulling me out of the fire. I didn’t realize he was the one who had lit the match. All these years, I’d been parading my “happy marriage” like a trophy, oblivious to the fact that I was just a guilt-offering. The front door clicked. Tyler was gone. A moment later, Xavier stumbled into the bedroom. He smelled of expensive bourbon and tobacco. He reached out, cupping my face with hands that felt like ice, and kissed my forehead. His eyes were soft, filled with a mimicry of devotion. “Why are you standing by the door, Nora?” “Nothing,” I whispered, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. “I just spilled some tea. I was about to clean it up.” “Let the maid do it,” he murmured, pulling me closer. “You’re delicate. You need to rest. It breaks my heart when you’re tired.” He leaned in, kissing my lips with that same gentle, protective rhythm he’d used for half a decade. 2 I felt nothing. The warmth was gone. The man holding me wasn’t my husband; he was a stranger who had hollowed out my life to build a shrine for someone else. I closed my eyes, letting a single tear slip. He thought it was affection. I helped him into bed and tucked him in. The alcohol took hold quickly, and soon his breathing leveled out into a deep sleep. I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up his phone. I only had to guess the passcode once. I tried Gemma’s birthday. The screen glowed to life instantly. I started scrolling through his files. Contract after contract. Every single one was a partnership with Harrison Cole’s firm—Harrison, the man Gemma had chosen over him. I wasn’t a corporate expert, but even I could see the patterns. Xavier was bleeding his own company dry, handing over lucrative projects and taking massive hits just to ensure Gemma’s husband stayed successful. Just to ensure Gemma stayed rich. The brand ambassadors he hired? Gemma’s favorite actors. The project locations? Places Gemma had mentioned in passing on social media. Even the final payment amounts on the invoices were codes: her birthday, her wedding anniversary, the day they first met. My hands shook as I opened his private photo vault. A thousand photos. All of them were of Gemma. There she was at a gala. There she was laughing at a cafe. There she was celebrating a success with Harrison. In every photo, Harrison had been meticulously cropped out, leaving only Gemma. A digital obsession spanning five years. I checked the records from the major auction houses. Millions of dollars in jewelry, all shipped anonymously to Gemma’s address, disguised as “corporate gifts from a silent partner.” The “White Moonlight” trope wasn’t just a story. It was my husband’s religion. I looked at the necklace on my own nightstand. It was a “gift” he’d given me last month. I realized now it was a promotional freebie from the same auction house where he’d bought Gemma a five-carat diamond. I laughed, a quiet, broken sound. I didn’t need to see any more. I picked up my laptop and booked a one-way ticket out of the country for three days from now. I began the process of deactivating my accounts and filing for a name change. Three days to erase five years. It was more than enough. I didn’t sleep. When the sun rose, I went to the bathroom to wash my face. My phone buzzed on the counter. Xavier’s voice came from the doorway, curious and groggy. “Nora? What’s this notification about an identity deactivation?” I snatched the phone away, my face a mask of calm. “Nothing. My ID is expiring. I’m just making an appointment at the DMV to get it renewed.” “Don’t you have a meeting today?” I added, turning the faucet on. “You should get going.” He didn’t suspect a thing. He just wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, nuzzling into my neck. “Thank you, honey. I’m the luckiest man in the world to have a wife as graceful as you.” I smiled at his reflection in the mirror. I said nothing. “As a reward, I’m going to bring you home something special today, okay?” “Okay. I’ll be waiting.” As soon as Xavier left, his assistant arrived with a gourmet breakfast from my favorite bistro. For five years, he had ordered this for me every single morning. I used to think it was love. Now I realized it was just a routine to keep me occupied, a way to keep the “compensation” flowing so he could focus on Gemma. If he truly loved me, wouldn’t he have learned to cook at least one thing I liked in five years? I dumped the expensive pastries into the trash and walked out the door. This five-year masquerade was over. I filled out my paperwork at the government office and then headed straight to a lawyer. The divorce papers were standard—I wanted nothing. No alimony, no assets, no house. I just wanted my name back. I took the envelope to Xavier’s office. As I walked through the lobby, I heard the whispers of the staff. “Is that Mrs. Knight? She’s so elegant. No wonder the boss keeps her hidden away like a treasure.” “Definitely her. That necklace she’s wearing? I personally delivered the paperwork for it a week ago. Five hundred thousand dollars! I’d have to work three lifetimes to afford that. She’s so lucky.” 3 “I heard they’re childhood sweethearts,” another girl sighed. “She was his first love. He’s a billionaire and he’s only ever had eyes for one woman. It’s like a movie.” I reached the executive floor. I stood outside the heavy double doors of his office, but I didn’t knock. A familiar voice was already inside. “Is Harrison treating you well?” Xavier asked. His voice was strained, a low, vibrating chord of suppressed longing. “Yes, he’s great,” Gemma replied. I could hear the smirk in her voice. “He just bought me an island for our anniversary. He’s like a child, really, always trying to outdo himself…” Xavier’s voice dropped even lower. “That’s good. As long as you’re happy… that’s all I need to know.” “You’re too much, Xavier. Why did you send such an expensive gift again? If Nora finds out, she’ll be upset.” Gemma had always been like this. Taking everything and then using it as a weapon to mock me. Five years ago, when Harrison broke our engagement, she was the one who came to the hospital. She stood by my mother’s bed and told her the news, knowing my mother’s heart couldn’t take the shock. That was what sent her into the final, fatal surgery. Xavier and Harrison had both taken her side then, telling me I was being “dramatic” and “immature” for yelling at her. That day, I lost my mother and my fiancé. Xavier became my only tether to the world. And now, I realized he was the one who had cut the rope. A secretary rushed toward the door with a stack of papers, swinging it open before I could move. Xavier looked up, his eyes widening in a flash of panic. “Nora? What are you doing here? Don’t get the wrong idea—Gemma is just here for a meeting. She’s the lead on the Cole project…” “Nora, it’s been a while,” Gemma said, standing up. She was draped in the latest couture, making me feel like a ghost in my own life. I forced a smile. I pushed down the scream rising in my throat. “It’s fine. I was just in the neighborhood shopping and thought I’d drop by. Since you’re busy, I’ll go.” Xavier chased me into the hallway, explaining himself for ten minutes. Watching him scramble was almost funny. He had intentionally sabotaged his own company’s profits just to secure this contract with the Coles, just to have an excuse to see her. And now he was performing for me? “Don’t worry,” I said, cutting him off. “I’m not going to be ‘immature.’ Do your work. I’ll be at home.” He visibly relaxed. He had the secretary escort me to the elevator. As the doors closed, I saw the employees looking at me with thinly veiled pity and mockery. They knew. Everyone probably knew. I went home and started packing. Five years of gifts, jewelry, and clothes went into a large trunk. I dragged it down to the driveway and lit a match. As the flames began to lick at the silk and velvet, a car pulled up. Gemma stepped out. She kicked the trunk over, sparks flying onto her expensive shoes. She didn’t care. She was smiling. “Nora, after all these years, you’re still so pathetic.” “You couldn’t protect your mother back then, and you can’t protect your marriage now. You’re a joke.” My blood turned to fire. “You knew?” I whispered. “You knew what he did to my mother?” She laughed. I didn’t think; I just acted. I swung my hand and slapped her across the face. It wasn’t even that hard, but she stumbled back, falling toward the burning trunk. 4 I froze. Before I could even reach out to grab her, a shadow blurred past me. Xavier shoved me aside. I hit the pavement hard, the skin on my palms tearing. He gathered Gemma into his arms like she was made of glass. He looked at me, and for the first time in five years, the mask of the doting husband was gone. His eyes were full of pure, unadulterated rage. “Nora! What is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?” “Gemma just came here to talk to you, to try and clear up the misunderstandings from the past! How could you lay a hand on her?” He looked like he wanted to kill me. There wasn’t a shred of love left in his gaze. I let out a cold, jagged laugh. “She brought up my mother, Xavier.” “The ‘misunderstandings’ from the past? Don’t you think I deserve an explanation for those?” His brow furrowed. A flicker of guilt—or perhaps just fear of being caught—crossed his face. “What explanation? Your mother was sick and the surgery failed. You know that. Whatever happened back then is no excuse for being a violent psychopath.” “Nora, apologize to her. Now.” Before I could speak, Gemma leaned into his chest, her voice a fragile whisper. “Don’t… don’t be hard on her, Xavier. It’s my fault. We hurt her when Harrison left her. Just let this be my penance…” “Since she hates me so much, maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore. I don’t want to be the reason your marriage falls apart.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood. I watched them walk away, watched him carry her to his car. I knew then. It was over. I stood up and restarted the fire. I watched five years of “love” turn to ash. An hour later, Xavier sent a text. Gemma is the lead on the Cole project, Nora. Hurting her is bad for the company. I only made you apologize to keep the peace for the cameras. Don’t overthink it. I’ll come home tonight and make it up to you, okay? I have that gift I promised. Don’t be mad. He wasn’t performing for Gemma. He was still trying to manage me, to keep his “compensation” project under control. I sat in the dark living room with the divorce papers until midnight. He never showed up. Instead, a tabloid headline popped up on my phone: Billionaire Xavier Knight Rushes Local Socialite to ER After Domestic Dispute. Gemma had a tiny scratch on her arm, but Xavier had called in every specialist in the city. He’d donated a million dollars to the hospital wing on the spot just to ensure she got the best suite. In the photos, he was holding her. His eyes held a tenderness I had never, ever seen directed at me. The hospital was lit up like a fortress that night, all for a woman’s bruised ego. At dawn, I called him. He didn’t answer at first. I could hear him in the background, barking orders at his secretary. “Sir, are you sure about the contract revision? We’re going to lose over a hundred million on this deal!” “Just do it,” Xavier snapped. “It’s the compensation I promised her. And draft another document—I want to transfer half of my personal shares in the holding company to Gemma.” The secretary left, and Xavier finally realized the line was open. “Nora? Sorry, I’ve been swamped. I’m coming home soon. Did you need something?” I looked down at the burns on my hands. “Nothing. Keep working. I won’t bother you.” “Good girl. Wait for me at home. I’m on my way.” I didn’t wait. I signed the divorce papers and left them on the kitchen island. I took my suitcase and walked out of the house. I made one final stop: the hospital where my mother died. I requested a copy of the organ donation consent forms from five years ago. There it was. My signature at the bottom. Except I had never signed it. Xavier had forged my handwriting perfectly. 5 I made a copy of the forged agreement and mailed it to Xavier’s office. By the time it arrived, I’d be in the air. Twenty-four hours passed. I didn’t go back. Neither did he. Just as I was about to board my flight, a flurry of messages arrived. Nora, I sent my assistant with your gift. Why aren’t you answering the door? Are you still throwing a tantrum? Stop playing games. Behave. I’m coming home now. He was still lying. Thirty minutes earlier, a lifestyle blogger had posted a “secret” livestream of him and Gemma shopping. He was currently picking out a gala dress for her to wear to the upcoming shareholders’ meeting. I didn’t reply. I received a text confirming my identity deactivation was complete. I deleted his contact info, blocked his number, and stepped onto the plane. Back in the states, on the livestream, the secretary suddenly burst into the boutique. He was pale, clutching an envelope. “Sir! Something’s wrong! Mrs. Knight found out about the surgery from five years ago! I can’t reach her!”

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I was halfway out the door of the spa when the owner’s voice cut through the tranquil lo-fi beats of the lobby. “Excuse me, ma’am? I think you’ve forgotten something.” I turned, blinking in confusion. “I paid at the desk. Tip included.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes—a practiced, feline stretch of the lips. “It’s about the refreshments. Our fruit platters and premium hydration are reserved strictly for members. Since you indulged, we’ll need to get you set up with a membership today.” I kept my voice level. “I didn’t touch the fruit. I was thirsty, so I took a glass of water from the carafe on the table.” Her smile sharpened. “That water is part of our Diamond VIP service.” She looked me up and down, her gaze lingering on my leggings and oversized hoodie—my post-facial uniform. “Look, let’s not make a scene. You don’t look like you’re swimming in cash, so I’ll start you on our entry-level tier. It’s only a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars for the year.” I stared at her, genuinely stunned. “And if I refuse to pay a hundred grand for a glass of tap water?” The mask dropped instantly. She rolled her eyes and shrieked loud enough to startle the koi in the lobby pond. “Everyone, look! We’ve got a jumper! Someone trying to scam high-end services for free!” I didn’t argue. I didn’t scream back. I simply pulled out my phone and speed-dialed my executive assistant. “Cancel the employee wellness initiative,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “Yes, all ten thousand corporate spa vouchers. Effective immediately.” … 1 The lobby went dead silent. Then, the whispers started. Employees and wealthy patrons drifted over, drawn to the scent of a conflict. “She looks decent enough. Why is she stiffing them?” one woman whispered, adjusting her Chanel bag. “If you’re broke, don’t come to a luxury establishment,” another sneered. “Know your place. Honestly, the nerve of people these days.” I felt the heat crawl up my neck. The owner, Tiffany, crossed her arms, a triumphant glint in her eyes. “I’ll give you a chance to save face,” she said loudly. “Sign the membership agreement, and we’ll forget this ever happened.” She was acting as if she were doing me a favor after I’d supposedly robbed her blind. I took a breath, grounding myself. “I paid for my facial the second I walked out of the treatment room. You are holding me here because I took a sip of water. There are no signs, no price tags, and no warnings in that lounge. Charging a hundred thousand dollars for a sip of water is not a business model—it’s a shakedown.” The crowd wavered. Tiffany didn’t blink. “This is an elite club. We serve limited-edition, mountain-sourced artisanal water to our members. It’s imported, carbon-neutral, and rare. We don’t just hand it out to any walk-in off the street.” “Is that true?” a woman at the register asked, her interest piqued. “If I join, I get that water every time?” Tiffany tilted her chin up. “Absolutely. Only the best for our inner circle.” The woman practically threw her Amex at the clerk. Tiffany sighed dramatically, looking at me with pity. “See? Some clients value the experience. Others just look for excuses to be cheap. They want the luxury lifestyle without the luxury price tag.” The disdain in the room was palpable. A few people looked at me with genuine disgust. One older woman tried to be “kind.” “Honey, she probably didn’t know. Tiffany, be the bigger person. Maybe she’ll come back when she can actually afford it.” This spa was three blocks from my corporate headquarters. I’d been here at least fifty times. I’d spent well over six figures here over the years. Until today, I’d actually liked the place. But the person standing in front of me wasn’t the manager I usually dealt with. This was a new owner, someone who clearly didn’t recognize the hand that fed her. “Fine,” I said, wanting to end the nightmare. “How much for the glass? I’ll pay for the water.” I pulled out my phone to Venmo the business. “Is a hundred bucks enough for your ‘artisanal’ hydration?” Tiffany let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “A hundred bucks? What is this, a lemonade stand? That water is a hundred dollars an ounce. That glass holds ten ounces. Plus the service fee? You owe us a thousand dollars, or you sign the membership.” The onlookers gasped. “A thousand-dollar glass of water? I need to try that,” someone joked. “Look at her face,” Tiffany mocked, leaning into my personal space. “What’s the matter? Can’t scrape together a grand? Maybe you should have stuck to the water fountain at the park.” I stepped back, repulsed by the smell of her heavy perfume. “It was filtered tap water in a generic glass, Tiffany. You claim it’s a ‘limited edition’ import? Prove it. Show me the bottle.” “Prove it? Who do you think you are? You think a place like this keeps trash lying around for ‘low-lifes’ like you to inspect? This isn’t a recycling center.” The lobby erupted in laughter. My face went cold. In all my years running a multi-billion dollar firm, no one had ever dared to speak to me like this. I had a board meeting in an hour. I just wanted to leave. I reached for my wallet to throw ten Benjamins at her just to shut her up, when a cry came from the front desk. “Oh my god! Someone took a bite out of a Ruby Roman grape on the VIP platter!” 2 “You little thief!” Tiffany’s voice rose an octave. Her crimson stiletto nails pointed directly at my face. “I knew it! First the water, now the fruit. You’re a regular shoplifter, aren’t you?” She turned to the girl at the desk. “Call the police. Now.” The receptionist hovered her hand over the phone, her eyes darting between me and her boss. I realized then that this wasn’t an accident. This was a setup. “I knew she looked like a scammer,” someone muttered. “It’s always the ones trying to act ‘casual’ who are the most entitled.” “Just sign the membership,” Tiffany hissed under her breath so only I could hear. “Or I’ll make sure your face is all over the local news by tonight. ‘Local Professional Caught Stealing Grapes.’ Think about your reputation.” I swiped her hand away from my face. “Show me the security footage.” “Who the hell do you think you are to demand my footage?” Tiffany sneered. “I know your type. You spend all your ‘sugar daddy’ money on fake bags and then pinch pennies on the tips. Pay for the water, pay for the fruit, and get the hell out.” She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. The sting of it snapped something inside me. I didn’t think; I just reacted. I yanked my arm back and delivered a sharp, stinging slap across her face. The room went silent. Tiffany froze, clutching her cheek. I didn’t wait for her to recover. I stormed toward the front desk. The receptionist tried to block the screen, but I shoved her aside and grabbed the mouse. I saw the client database open. I found my name: Gwen Montgomery: Low-value. Pretends to be rich. Mark up all products by 50%. The blood rushed to my head. My ears were ringing. I’d always been private about my life. When they’d asked what I did for a living, I’d just said I “worked in an office nearby.” Because I occasionally wore Lululemon instead of Dior, they’d labeled me a “poser.” I scrolled down the list, reading the notes aloud for the whole lobby to hear: “Mrs. Gable: Idiotic and wealthy. Only recommend the ‘Platinum’ tier regardless of skin type.” “Sarah Jenkins: Desperate, low funds. Target her after the 15th of the month when her paycheck hits. Tell her the products are French imports.” “Ms. Lawson: High-maintenance. Dilute her serums with saline. Give her free samples to keep her quiet.” One by one, the women in the lobby began to pale. “Is this how you treat your ‘esteemed’ guests?” I demanded. Mrs. Gable, who had just handed over her Amex, snatched her card back from the counter. “Cancel it. I want a refund. Now!” Tiffany, her face mottled red and white, scrambled to the desk. “Mrs. Gable! Please, that’s just a misunderstanding! This… this disgruntled employee must have hacked the system! I’ll fire her immediately!” She pointed at the cowering receptionist. “You! Pack your things! You’re done!” Then she turned back to me, her eyes burning with pure hatred. “Security! Get this woman out of my sight!” Two massive guards moved in, grabbing me by the shoulders. I struggled, reaching for my phone. “Don’t you touch me! I’m calling—” “Calling who? The cops?” Tiffany snatched the phone out of my hand. With a cruel smirk, she dropped it into the koi pond. “Consider that payment for the fruit. Those grapes are imported from Japan, honey. They cost more than that cracked iPhone of yours.” I was hauled out of the building and literally thrown onto the sidewalk. My palms scraped against the concrete. My head spun. Tiffany stood in the doorway, looming over me. “Go ahead, call the police,” she spat. “My husband is one of the biggest developers in the city. He owns half the council. You’re nobody. Just another bitter mistress trying to play dress-up.” The heavy glass door slammed shut. From inside, I could hear her theatrical voice: “So sorry for the disruption, ladies! Let’s get you all a round of mimosas—on the house! Eighteen percent off all services today!” Then, her voice dropped, but I could still hear her through the glass. “That bitch really thought she was something. Acting like a hundred grand would kill her. We’ve got a fifteen-million-dollar corporate contract about to sign; I don’t have time for peasants like her.” I sat on the curb, nursing my scraped hand. I had a meeting to get to. I would swallow this rage for now. But that fifteen-million-dollar contract? She could kiss that goodbye. … That evening, I dragged myself home, exhausted and aching. My husband, Derek, popped his head out of the kitchen. “You’re back! I made that butternut squash soup you like. Drink it while it’s hot.” I slumped onto the sofa and checked my tablet. I opened Instagram, and there it was. Tiffany had posted four times in the last hour. [Broke-ass ‘influencers’ need to stay home. Can’t afford a membership but can afford to steal the VIP fruit! Pathetic.] [Note to the mistresses out there: Fake bags don’t make you a lady. Get a job.] [Caught a thief today. She threw a tantrum when we called her out. Pure comedy.] She’d posted a photo of me being hauled out by security. It was a high-resolution shot of me facedown on the sidewalk, my face clearly visible. The comments were a bloodbath. I slammed the tablet onto the cushion. Derek walked over with a bowl of soup, a sympathetic smile on his face. “What’s wrong, babe? Who climbed up your back today?” I told him everything—the water, the grapes, the database, being thrown out. I was shaking with fury. “She violated my privacy, she assaulted me, and she’s slandering me online! I’m suing her into the ground.” Derek frowned, stirring the soup. “I don’t know, Gwen. Maybe you’re overreacting. I mean, you did drink the water, right? Technically, she’s not lying.” I froze. I looked up at him, my eyes narrowing. “You’re taking her side?” 3 “I’m just being objective,” he said, his gaze flickering away to the TV. “Besides, what’s a hundred grand to us? It’s pocket change. You could have just paid it and avoided the drama. People are just trying to run a business, Gwen. It’s tough out there.” His words felt like a bucket of ice water over my head. For the two years we’d been married, Derek had been the perfect husband. He cooked, he cleaned, he insisted on doing everything himself because he “didn’t want strangers in our home.” Seeing my expression, he quickly sat beside me. “Look, you’re just stressed. Let me run you a foot bath, okay? Just let it go.” “No thanks,” I said, my voice flat. “Actually, why don’t you sleep in the guest room tonight?” His face stiffened, but he quickly masked it with his usual “supportive” smile. “Alright, Princess. I’ll let you have your space. I’m right next door if you need anything.” I sat in the dark for a long time. A detail suddenly clicked into place. That spa had opened last year. Derek was the one who suggested it. He’d told me it was right near my office, a perfect place for me to unwind. He was the one who pushed for the corporate wellness vouchers, saying it would be a “great perk” for the staff. I’d trusted him. I’d authorized the pilot program without a second thought. The seeds of doubt started to sprout. I picked up my backup phone and called my secretary. “Cancel the spa vouchers. Now. And I want a full audit of every vendor Derek has recommended to the firm in the last eighteen months.” The next morning, the storm broke. Tiffany showed up at my corporate headquarters, screaming at the top of her lungs in the lobby. “You can’t just cancel a contract! Do you have any idea how much that deal is worth? Fifteen million! Who is in charge here? I want to see the CEO!” Her voice echoed through the open-plan glass offices. Employees were peeking over their monitors. My operations manager, Mark, stood his ground. “The order came directly from the Board Chair.” “I don’t care about some ‘Board Chair’! My contact is Derek! He’s the one who set this up!” Tiffany was disheveled, her expensive highlights frizzy with rage. Mark sighed. “Ma’am, the Chair has the final say. Even Derek has to follow her directives. Please leave.” Tiffany slammed her fist onto the marble reception desk. “Call him! He won’t turn me away!” The receptionist, a fresh college grad, looked like she was about to cry. “I hired extra staff for this! I bought new equipment! I spent a fortune on overhead because of this deal!” Tiffany screamed. “You can’t just back out! It’s breach of contract!” Several employees were filming now. Mark almost laughed. “There is no signed contract, Miss. It was a proposal. We’re well within our rights to decline.” “Liar! I’ll sue! I’ll go to the Better Business Bureau! I’ll go to the press!” Tiffany was so enraged she actually flipped a display table in the lobby. I decided it was time. I walked out from the executive elevator bay, still in my morning running gear—leggings and a hoodie. Tiffany saw me and froze. Then, a slow, mocking grin spread across her face. “Oh, look who it is. The shoplifter. What, do you work as a janitor here?” A collective gasp went up from the office. My staff knew exactly who I was. I ignored her and took a sip of my coffee. “Mark, you called for the executive team?” “Yes, ma’am. This woman is demanding to see Derek.” “Call him down,” I said, standing in the shadows of the hallway so I wasn’t fully visible from the center of the lobby. “Derek’s coming!” someone whispered. Tiffany stood taller, adjusting her blazer like a queen awaiting her consort. Derek stepped off the elevator, looking sharp in the suit I’d bought him for his birthday. “What is going on here?” He looked at the mess in the lobby, then at Tiffany. He blinked, his face going momentarily pale. “Derek!” Tiffany’s voice turned into a melodic pout. She ran over and grabbed his arm, leaning into him. “Your people are being horrible! They’re trying to cancel my contract! They’re being so mean to me!” She pressed herself against him, her red-nailed hand tracing circles on his chest. “You’re the one in charge of the partnership, right? Tell them they’re wrong.” I watched them from the shadows, my heart turning into a block of lead. Derek coughed, looking around nervously. He knew this was my building. “Tiffany… look, I’ll talk to the Chair. There must be a misunderstanding.” Tiffany pointed a finger at Mark. “He tried to have me kicked out! Me! Your partner!” Then she pointed toward the shadow where I stood. “And he let that little cleaning lady over there insult me!” Derek finally looked toward the corner. Because of the lighting, he couldn’t see my face clearly yet. Maybe it was Tiffany’s tears, or maybe he thought he had more power than he actually did, but he suddenly barked at the room: “Who authorized the cancellation of this partnership?” Mark started to speak, but Derek waved him off. “I’ve been too soft on you people. I’m an executive here. I say the deal is back on! We’re moving forward with Tiffany’s spa!” He pulled Tiffany closer, his hand sliding down to rest on her waist. The silence in the office was deafening. Every single employee was looking at him like he was a dead man walking. “Derek, honey,” Tiffany purred, casting a triumphant look in my direction. “That janitor woman over there? She was glaring at me. She’s creepy.” “Fired,” Derek snapped, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Pack your bags and get out. We don’t need that kind of energy in a professional environment.” I finally stepped out into the light, my coffee cup still in hand. “Fired? Really, Derek? That’s a bold move.”

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The countdown to the concert was at exactly sixty minutes, and the internet was hyper-fixated on a single headline—the kind that moves markets and breaks hearts: [EXCLUSIVE: Pop Sensation Valerie Cross Set to Propose to Manager Dominic Hart Tonight—A Decade of Romance Culminates in the Public Proposal of the Century!] This proposal wasn’t just a personal milestone; it was the crown jewel of our firm’s PR strategy for the fiscal year. It was supposed to be the finish line of my ten-year marathon with Valerie. But instead of prepping for my cue, I was standing in the shadows of the backstage service stairwell. There, I watched Valerie—radiant in a custom-designed Vera Wang bridal gown—locked in a desperate, hungry embrace with the boy she’d spent the last year keeping in the shadows. “Dominic, let me explain…” “Explain?” I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Explain why you’re back here cheating on me an hour before we’re scheduled to broadcast our engagement to millions of people?” I looked at her, the woman I’d built from nothing. “The cameras are live. Tens of thousands of fans are in their seats. Every major outlet in the country is waiting for you to make us official.” I slammed the velvet ring box onto the metal railing between us. “After the final encore tonight, you have two choices. You walk out there and propose to me as planned, or you watch your entire career go up in flames before the house lights even come up.” Her jaw tightened, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her bouquet. Finally, she snatched the box, her voice a low, venomous hiss. “Fine.” The moment arrived. The spotlights converged on me in the VIP section, blinding and white. Valerie stood center stage, draped in silk and lace, and slowly pulled the ring from the box. The stadium fell into a deafening silence. But instead of looking at me, she turned. Her gaze swept past me, landing on a pale, trembling man sitting three rows back—Lucien Pierce, the “soulmate” from her past she’d never quite let go of. “Dominic,” she said into the microphone, her voice echoing through the rafters. “Thank you for lifting me up to the stars. But tonight… tonight I need to follow my heart back to the moon.” The crowd erupted in a confused, violent roar. I sat there, the ultimate prop in her televised betrayal. As she stepped off the stage and walked toward him, I didn’t feel anger. I felt the cold, quiet snap of something vital inside me finally dying. … “Dominic,” my assistant, Parker, whispered, his voice thick with exhaustion as he handed me the tablet. “You… you should probably see this.” The screen was a digital carnage of headlines. Tonight was supposed to be the ultimate ROI—a fusion of business and brand. I had invested over a hundred million dollars, coordinated with dozens of global luxury brands, and leveraged every connection I had. The moment Valerie Cross proposed to her long-time architect and partner, our joint market value would have been astronomical. The trap was set. The world was watching. But now, the image of Valerie and Lucien Pierce kissing on the arena floor was being zoomed in on and analyzed by every tabloid on the planet. The caption read: [Pop Royalty Defies Corporate Control for True Love]. Meanwhile, the footage of me—the stunned, jilted manager walking out into the night—had already been turned into a thousand mocking memes. Our company’s stock had vaporized thirty million dollars in value before the West Coast even woke up. I scrolled through it all, page after page, my face a mask of calm. Finally, I hit Valerie’s latest personal statement, posted just minutes ago. In it, she thanked her fans for their “courageous support.” She thanked the universe for “the truth.” And then, she redefined me and the company as a “painful chapter of professional obligation” that she was finally closing. She claimed she would “pay any price for freedom.” Freedom. I looked at that word and felt a sudden, sharp bark of laughter escape my throat. “Tell PR not to respond. No statements, no denials,” I said, leaning back. “And tell the legal team to prepare the heavy artillery. I want the most aggressive breach-of-contract clauses triggered by sunrise.” Parker blinked, stunned. “Dominic, shouldn’t we try to get ahead of the narrative? The public sentiment is… it’s ugly. They’re painting you as the villain.” “Clarify?” I stood up and walked to the window, pointing at Valerie’s glowing, tearful face on a billboard across the street. “You don’t clarify things with a liar, Parker. You audit them.” I rubbed my temples and sank into the leather sofa. The last five years blurred past my eyes like a film reel. I remembered her five years ago—clutching a battered acoustic guitar, singing folk songs in a dive bar in the East Village to a crowd of three people. I was the only one who heard the potential in her voice. I was the one who signed her, built a boutique agency around her, and bet everything I owned on her. Back then, we had nothing. To save on overhead, we slept on thin mattresses on the floor of a twelve-hundred-square-foot office, eating cold takeout and talking about a future that felt a million miles away. She used to say, “Dominic, when I make it, the first thing I’m going to do is marry you.” I’d just laugh and say, “When you make it, the first thing you’re going to do is pay back the company’s startup loan.” She’d call me a corporate shark, but her eyes would be full of a soft, desperate longing. To get her a ten-minute opening slot at Coachella that first year, I drank myself into a stomach ulcer at a donor gala, ending up in the ER at 3:00 AM. When she arrived at the hospital, her eyes were red from crying. She held my hand and whispered, “Dominic, I’m never going to let anyone hurt you like this again.” I believed her. I thought we were a single entity—us against the world. I poured my life’s blood into her. I taught her how to hold a camera’s gaze, how to manipulate a room of journalists, how to craft the “approachable but untouchable” persona that her fans worshipped. She was a fast learner. She was perfect. As she rose, we moved into the glass-and-steel penthouse offices Midtown. The boutique agency became a conglomerate. But the foundation of us was shifting under the weight of the gold records. She started complaining about my “need for control.” She claimed my tour schedules were too tight, that I was stifling her “creative soul.” She began to crave something she called “purity.” That’s when Lucien Pierce appeared—a former classmate from her conservatory days. He became the face of that “purity.” I tried to talk to her about it once, a month before the concert. “Valerie, we’re partners—in business and in life. I need to know if there’s anything threatening the foundation of this company,” I had said, my tone professional but my heart hammering. She sat across from me, scrolling through her phone, her voice airy and dismissive. “You’re overthinking it. Lucien is just a friend. Someone who actually understands music, not just metrics.” “I’m the one responsible for your music,” I reminded her. She snapped her head up, her eyes flashing with a resentment I hadn’t seen before. “That’s different! That’s commercial! It’s a product, Dominic! That’s all you see! You don’t see me!” “With Lucien, I feel like a human being, not just a commodity in your portfolio.” That was the first time I realized she wasn’t the girl from the East Village anymore. She was a product I had perfected—and now, the product wanted to fire its creator. I chose to stay quiet then. I told myself it was just the pressure of the tour. I thought that once the ring was on her finger and the world saw us as a power couple, the “purity” of Lucien Pierce would fade into the background. I was wrong. I had treated her like a controlled variable in an equation, forgetting that the most volatile element in any business is human betrayal. The office door swung open without a knock. Valerie walked in, dressed in all black, oversized sunglasses hiding her eyes. Lucien followed a half-step behind her, looking like a lost puppy in a designer coat. “Sir,” Parker said, standing up quickly to block them. “Out,” I said, my voice as flat as a dead heart. Parker gave me a worried look but retreated, closing the heavy oak door behind him. “Why are you here?” I asked. Valerie pulled off her glasses. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her face was eerily calm. “I’m here to discuss the exit,” she said, dropping a thick envelope on my desk. She sat on the sofa across from me and pulled Lucien down next to her. “I want an amicable split. For the sake of the company, and for you. Let’s just end this cleanly.” “An amicable split?” I repeated the words like they were a foreign language. “Valerie, you orchestrated a public execution of my reputation and my company’s stock last night. You call that ‘clean’?” “You didn’t just ruin a proposal. You torched a hundred-million-dollar rollout. You were the lead asset of this firm’s Q4 projections, and you know that better than anyone.” She let out a sharp, mocking scoff, leaning back with an air of unearned defiance. “Business, business, business. That’s all that goes on in that head of yours. I’m done! I am not your ATM!” Lucien tried to find his voice. “Mr. Hart, don’t blame Valerie… it’s my fault. We’re in love, truly—” “Shut up,” I snapped, my eyes cutting to him like a blade. “The adults are talking.” Lucien went pale and subsided. Valerie exploded. She stood up, leaning over my desk, her face inches from mine. “Dominic, enough! You’ve always acted like you’re so much better than everyone! Who do you think you are? My savior?” “Every day with you felt like I was suffocating in a vacuum. You sold your apartment, you drank yourself into a hospital—you didn’t do that for me! You did it for your ambition! For your investment! I was just your most successful trade!” She hit every nerve, her words dripping with a cruelty she’d been saving up for years. “So, the five years we spent together… that was just an investment? Sleeping on the floor, eating ramen—that was a trade? Staying up all night in that ER waiting room—was that just me protecting my margins?” I looked up at her, waiting for a flicker of the woman I knew. She faltered for a second, her eyes darting away. Then she hardened. “Consider it… paid in full,” she said. A slow, ugly smirk spread across her face. “Oh, and there’s something else you should know.” She reached out and draped an arm over Lucien’s shoulder, her hand sliding down to rest tenderly against her flat stomach. “I’m pregnant. I have to do what’s right for him. For our family.” Pregnant. The last thread of logic, the last piece of me that wanted to be reasonable, snapped. It turned out I hadn’t just been building a career; I had been financing the nursery for another man’s child. That afternoon, I sat in my darkened office, watching the live stream on the wall. Valerie’s press conference started right on time. She looked thinner, her makeup designed to make her look fragile, exhausted, and “authentic.” Her eyes were expertly rimmed with red. Lucien sat beside her, his head down, playing the role of the sensitive, innocent artist. “First, I want to apologize to everyone who has supported me,” Valerie began, her voice cracking into a perfectly rehearsed rasp. She spoke about her “pure love for music,” about how she had been “swallowed by the corporate machine,” and about her “suffering in silence.” She described Lucien’s arrival as a “light in a dark, cold world.” She didn’t mention a single thing I had done for her. I was simply “the former management,” “the corporate cage,” “the architect of her misery.” I was the fiancé she was fleeing, not the man who had saved her career. “I admit, Mr. Hart is a brilliant businessman. He brought me to where I am today, and for that, I am grateful,” she said, before the knife came out. “But he controlled my work, my friends, even my thoughts. Every word I spoke, every dress I wore—it was all his design. I was just his creation. A puppet without a soul.” Lucien wiped a tear away and choked out into the mic, “It’s not Dominic’s fault… I shouldn’t have come back… Valerie, I’m so sorry…” The flashes from the cameras were a blizzard of white. The journalists were feral. The live chat on the stream was a bloodbath. [She’s been through so much! We won’t let him hurt you anymore!] [Heartbreaking. Imagine living under that kind of pressure.] [Dominic Hart is a monster. Cancel him. Burn the agency down.] [Support her independence! Real music is back!] Finally, Valerie announced she was forming her own independent label and severing all ties with my firm. “I’m going to do music my way now. It will be hard, but I have Lucien. And I have our baby.” “That’s enough for me.” The press conference ended, and the internet exploded. I was officially the most hated man in America. The office phones were ringing off the hook. Several of my junior artists were already having their lawyers send over “inquiries” about their contracts, terrified of being associated with a “predatory mogul.” When the walls start to crumble, everyone looks for the exit. I looked at her beautiful, lying face on the screen. The pain was gone now. In its place was a cold, crystalline hatred. I wiped a single stray tear from my cheek and buzzed Parker. “Get the legal team. Every core partner. My office in five minutes.” Parker looked at me, his eyes full of pity. “Dominic…” I gave him a smile that didn’t reach my eyes—a sharp, lethal grin. “Tell them to bring the ‘Black Box’ files. I don’t want a defense.” “I want her destroyed.”

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My fiancé, Marcus Grayson, died trying to save me. After his death, his parents knelt before me, begging me—someone blessed with exceptional fertility—to bear a child for the notorious mafia boss Xavier Cross to settle their debts. Overwhelmed with guilt, I tearfully agreed. Everyone assumed that becoming the gang leader’s woman would bring me endless luxury and privilege. But these past three years, I’ve been nothing more than his breeding tool, subjected to endless humiliation. Three months into my pregnancy, Marcus came to visit me. As I gazed at that face I’d longed for day and night, I felt like I’d fallen into an icy abyss. I never imagined the man I’d loved for years had been deceiving me for three whole years. With trembling hands, I scheduled an abortion and sent Xavier a delayed message. “The child we worked so hard to conceive has been killed by Marcus.” Now I’d just sit back and watch them tear each other apart. During the three years Marcus faked his death, I lived every day consumed by heartache and guilt. I was even willing to stay by Xavier’s side, never fighting back no matter how he beat or cursed me, just hoping to get pregnant soon and clear the debt. “Wendy, my son and I have wronged you so deeply. If Marcus hadn’t died so young, we would never have let you suffer like this…” Every time my depression flared up and I wanted to end it all, my father-in-law would blame himself. Seeing his graying hair and his anguished expression, I could only endure. Only in the dead of night, alone with Marcus’s photo, could I pour out my grief and longing. Who could have imagined that this very man had sent me to Xavier just so he could run away with another woman? My phone suddenly rang. I frantically pressed the power button to turn it off. But Marcus’s voice continued. “Dad, Vivian rejected an arranged marriage for my sake. I have to make her happy.” “Besides, Wendy’s pregnant with Xavier’s child now. She already has a good life. Even if she knew I was alive, she’d only be able to wish us well. Now is the perfect time to plan the wedding.” My chest felt like it had been filled with concrete. I couldn’t breathe, and everything went dark. I stumbled back to the living room. Before I could even sit down, a slap struck my face. “How dare you hang up on me? Were you sneaking around with some guy just now!” Xavier’s eyes were bloodshot as his hands clamped around my throat. Stomach acid surged up, and I vomited all over him. Xavier froze for a moment. When he came to his senses, he yanked off his belt and began beating me viciously. “You disgusting bitch! I’ll beat you to death!” I curled into a ball, letting my tears fall silently. Marcus, is this the happy life you promised me? Glass suddenly shattered. Marcus jumped through the window. “What gives you the right to hit Wendy!” Before Xavier could explode in rage, my father-in-law rushed over and held the pregnancy test result up to his face. “Mr. Cross, please calm down. She’s carrying your child now.” When he turned to look at me, a flash of impatience crossed his face. “Wendy, why can’t you behave now that you’re pregnant? What if something happens to the baby? How would you face Marcus?” Marcus frowned and pulled me behind him, using his body to shield me from my father-in-law’s accusing gaze. Xavier stared at the pregnancy test with wild joy, examining it over and over, completely ignoring me. “So the useless woman finally did something right. My money wasn’t wasted! But you’d better know your place. Don’t think being pregnant makes you special.” My father-in-law’s eyes lit up as he leaned close to Marcus’s ear and whispered. “Judging by that lunatic’s reaction, we’ll definitely get the final payment in the next few days! Once the money comes through, we’ll hold your wedding with Vivian right away!” I clenched my fists hard against my abdomen, my heart aching so badly I could barely breathe. Since I owe him nothing, then this ends here. Xavier didn’t leave until he’d laughed maniacally for what felt like forever. Only then did Marcus breathe a sigh of relief. He turned to help me sit down, then quickly brought me a glass of milk. “Wendy, you need to learn to protect yourself. Even for the baby’s sake, you can’t let that maniac abuse you like this.” “If Marcus knew about this, how heartbroken would he be?” He knelt on one knee, holding my ice-cold hands, his eyes full of concern that seemed completely genuine. His gentleness made me feel disoriented again, as if everything had returned to three years ago. A bitter, self-mocking smile tugged at my lips. I asked him softly. “Marcus, would you really be heartbroken?”

Marcus froze for a moment, then affectionately ruffled my hair. “Wendy, you’re Xavier’s woman now. Don’t bring up the past anymore. If Xavier found out…” I closed my eyes, unwilling to see his false concern any longer. “I want to rest. Please leave.” Seeing that I didn’t press further, he secretly breathed a sigh of relief. “I heard you have a prenatal checkup tomorrow? Let me take you.” I laughed softly and tilted my head back, refusing to let my tears fall. I’d only agreed to this pregnancy out of guilt. Now that I knew it was all a lie, what reason was there to keep going to checkups? “We’ll see tomorrow.” After he left, I furiously wiped away my tears. Ten years ago, we had a brief encounter. He protected me throughout my senior year of high school. He still has a scar on his ribs from when he fought off street thugs for me. At the freshman welcome party, he stood on the stage and confessed his love for me through a passionate guitar solo. Once our jobs stabilized, he proposed to me without hesitation. “Wendy, give me two years. I’ll make you the happiest bride.” I was completely intoxicated by the vision of our future together. I even told him my secret—that I had exceptional fertility—right before our wedding. Who knew it would become the beginning of this nightmare? My father-in-law walked in from outside, contentedly playing with his bank card. When he saw me, his eyes shifted, and he sat down beside me with a smile. “Wendy, Marcus came all this way to see you. Now that he’s getting married, it wouldn’t be right if you didn’t send some money as a gift, would it? We’re all family, so you don’t need to give much—thirty thousand should do.” I just wanted to escape as quickly as possible, so I went along with what he said. “Fine. I’ll definitely attend the wedding. I’ll prepare a big gift.” My father-in-law’s face creased with his smile. I stood up and went straight to my room. He had no idea that day would never come. The next day, I wanted to return to the place Marcus and I used to live together to retrieve my belongings. The moment I pushed open the door, the blood in my veins began to freeze. Torn clothes were scattered across the floor. The trash can was filled with used condoms. My eyes instinctively scanned the room. The guitar he’d used to confess his love to me was now covered in childish stickers. Three words were crudely carved into the body: “Vivian Fletcher.” A faint burning smell drifted from the balcony. I walked closer and looked down. Only scattered ashes remained, with a few fragments of paper showing the words “Love Wendy Forever.” The last thread in my mind finally snapped. These were the love letters Marcus had written to me. They’d been my spiritual anchor, read countless times over these three years. A scream suddenly came from outside the door. “Who are you? How dare you break into my house?” I turned around to find a girl in a tank top and short skirt standing in my line of sight. Before I could speak, she began crying and shouting loudly. “Marcus, where are you? Someone broke into my room!” Marcus ran over and embraced her, his voice carrying a tenderness I’d never heard before. “Vivian, don’t cry. I’m here!” His sharp gaze stabbed toward me, but softened when it touched me. “Why is it you? Vivian’s been sick. Don’t upset her like this—her body can’t take it.” “Wait, I should be questioning you. Why are you crying like that?” I stood there in a daze, wiping my face only to realize tears were already streaming down my cheeks. “My letters were all burned. Even this room has been defiled!” Marcus frowned impatiently, his expression darkening. “Is that all? You’re dredging up ancient history? Wendy Turner, I’d advise you not to make a scene with me.” I glanced at Vivian making faces at me, unable to say another word. Forget it. It was all fake anyway. What’s there to miss? I turned and left the estate, heading to the hospital for the procedure.

I walked alone for a long time through the drizzling rain. At some point, a trail of blood began streaking across the wet ground behind me. The cramping in my lower abdomen grew more and more obvious. My whole body felt increasingly heavy. Marcus’s villa was in a remote location. There was no way to catch a cab nearby. In my daze, the screech of brakes pierced the air. Muddy water from the roadside splashed all over me. A Cayenne stopped not far away. The window rolled down, revealing Marcus’s panicked voice. “Wendy, what are you doing?” I turned to look at him and called out for help. “Help… help me…” After I spoke, everything went black and I collapsed toward the ground, struggling to breathe. Marcus’s face went deathly pale with alarm. He pushed the car door open, about to come help me. Vivian’s sweet voice complained from inside. “Wendy, even if you’re mad at me, you can’t take it out on your baby. If something happens to your child, that maniac Xavier will never let the Grayson family off.” Marcus’s movement to exit the car stopped. When he looked at me again, only disgust remained in his eyes. “Wendy, I never realized you were such an actress. What’s that on the ground? Ketchup, right? You almost fooled me!” With that, he slammed the door shut forcefully. I weakly shook my head desperately, using every ounce of strength to try to explain. But in the end, I didn’t even have the energy to speak. Vivian laughed mockingly. “Wendy, you don’t actually think you look like some fragile beauty right now, do you? You just look dirty and pathetic, like an idiot.” “Marcus, I’d advise you to control her better, so she doesn’t keep acting stupid. If she really does something extreme someday, it’ll be too late…” I couldn’t hear the rest. A ringing filled my ears. I couldn’t hold on any longer and collapsed completely. Marcus observed me with furrowed brows, a hint of internal struggle occasionally flashing in his eyes, but ultimately replaced by coldness. “Stop pretending even now!” Blood flowed more and more freely, gradually staining the ground beneath me into a red puddle. I kept praying in my heart, hoping he would change his mind and take me to the hospital. But all I got in return was choking exhaust fumes. “Vivian’s in a hurry to get to her concert, so I’ll let you off today!” “Since you love acting so much, go ahead and put on a show for yourself!” The Cayenne’s departing taillights became the last image I saw before losing consciousness. The pungent smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils as I frowned and slowly opened my eyes. My hand instinctively moved to my lower abdomen. The cramping pain had completely disappeared. “You’re still young. You can have children again in the future.” The doctor shook her head sympathetically. “Thank goodness a kind person got you to the hospital in time. A few minutes later, and not even a miracle could have saved you.” I weakly thanked her. Even though I’d already decided to terminate this pregnancy, my heart still ached uncontrollably. “Baby, I’m sorry. But I absolutely cannot let that maniac Xavier be your father. You’ll understand Mommy, won’t you?” The moment I closed my eyes, tears seemed to break free from all restraint, pouring out recklessly. My phone suddenly rang. Seeing “Marcus” displayed on the screen, I didn’t hesitate to hang up. Now that the deception was exposed, I would settle accounts with him one by one.

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Married for eight years, everyone praised me as the luckiest woman in New York high society. My husband was notoriously devoted, showering me with jewelry, buying yachts, and renting out entire private islands just to celebrate my birthday. I, too, tirelessly played the role of the gentle, compliant, and frugal Mrs. Sterling. Even the media dubbed us a rare example of true love emerging from a business marriage. That is, until the day our daughter was born. His little kept woman intentionally had a C-section early to deliver his son, publicly provoking me, the legitimate wife. Naive as I was, I thought he would consider the Sterling family’s reputation and send the mother and son abroad. I never expected that he would swap my daughter for that illegitimate son. He even handed me a custody agreement, righteously forcing me to sign it. “I owe her. I have to repay her.” “Our daughter will recognize you as her godmother. When she’s older, I’ll send her to Switzerland for school. Don’t worry, she will be a little princess that everyone envies.” “And you will always be my wife.” I nodded and smiled as I took the pen to sign. He let out a long sigh of relief, thinking I had finally accepted my fate. Little did he know, today was the exact day I had been waiting for. Chapter 1 I handed the signed custody agreement back to Arthur Sterling. He glanced over it and nodded in satisfaction. “Get some good rest.” As he reached the door, he looked back once more. “By the way, the boy’s name is Leo. The girl… is Chloe.” The door clicked shut. The hospital room fell quiet again. I stared at the baby boy in the bassinet, studying him. He was awake, looking right back at me with his big eyes. That little face definitely resembled Arthur, especially the eyes and the bridge of the nose. A wave of nausea surged up my throat, and I covered my mouth, dry heaving. My nanny, Maria, pushed the door open and walked in. When she saw the baby boy in the bassinet, she jumped in shock. “Mrs. Sterling! Didn’t you have a baby girl? Why…” I offered a self-deprecating smile. “This is Maya Harper’s child.” Hearing this, Maria was furious. “Mrs. Sterling! How… how can this be allowed?! Who does that woman think she is? An illegitimate child is now the heir to the Sterling family?” “You went through ten months of pregnancy and a grueling labor to deliver your daughter, and she’s just going to be given to some D-list Instagram model to raise?” “This… this is just too much bullying! How could you… how could you agree to this?” Her hands were shaking with anger, her words filled with indignation on my behalf. I looked out the window at the dreary, gray sky, smiling bitterly and shaking my head. “Does it really matter… whether I agree or not?” Maria sighed. “But you are Mrs. Sterling! Is there no law and order anymore?” Law and order? In Arthur Sterling’s world, he is the law and order. I closed my eyes, that familiar feeling of powerlessness creeping back up. It didn’t matter. My wishes had never mattered. After all, from the very beginning, the person Arthur loved wasn’t me. During his years abroad, he had a constant string of women, but Maya Harper was the one who stuck around the longest. She was beautiful, had a killer body, and knew exactly how to play coy, completely bewitching Arthur. But for a top-tier old-money family like the Sterlings, there was no way they’d let a model who made a living flashing skin marry into the family. Old Mr. Sterling, without a second word, ordered him back to the States to meet me. As soon as the news of our arranged marriage leaked, Maya started throwing massive tantrums. To appease her, Arthur funneled all the best entertainment resources from the Sterling Group directly to her. He single-handedly elevated a kept woman who couldn’t see the light of day into a massively popular, A-list star. He gave her whatever she wanted, acting as if he’d rip his own heart out to compensate her. And now, he was even giving my child to her. Thinking of this, I pulled out my phone and sent a text to an old friend: [The fish took the bait.] Chapter 2 In the blink of an eye, little Leo turned one month old. The one-month celebration was held at the Sterling family estate. Inside and out, the five-story mansion was adorned with peonies flown in directly from Holland. The champagne tower was stacked even higher than the one at our wedding. Wearing an elegant evening gown, I greeted guests in the ballroom. Arthur held his son, a triumphant, beaming smile on his face. The wife of the Vanguard Group’s chairman approached me, raising her glass with a smile. “Mrs. Sterling, you look radiant. You’ve recovered so quickly.” I smiled and thanked her, catching a commotion at the entrance out of the corner of my eye. Maya Harper had arrived. She was wearing a custom Valentino gown with a plunging neckline that went almost down to her navel, looking incredibly sexy. The entire room fell silent for a second, all eyes zeroing in on her chest. A massive pink diamond necklace sparkled brilliantly under the crystal chandeliers. That necklace was the grand finale piece at Sotheby’s auction last month, selling for twenty million dollars. The media had reported that Arthur bought it as a “push present” for his wife. Yet now, it was glaringly hanging around Maya Harper’s neck. When Arthur saw her, his eyes lit up. He handed the baby to a nanny and walked toward Maya. Maya habitually looped her arm through his, pressing herself tightly against him. Camera flashes erupted like fireworks. The reporters, like sharks smelling blood in the water, swarmed them. “Ms. Harper, what is your relationship with Mr. Sterling?” “Did Mr. Sterling gift you this necklace?” Maya smiled for the cameras. As she raised her hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a hickey on the back of her neck was exposed, glaringly obvious against her pale skin. She tilted her head to look at Arthur, saying shyly, “Mr. Sterling, why don’t you answer?” Arthur wrapped an arm around her shoulder and spoke to the cameras. “Maya is the star artist of the Sterling Group’s entertainment division. Please don’t write any baseless rumors! The company’s legal department will pursue any false reporting to the fullest extent.” The reporters exchanged skeptical glances, their faces screaming disbelief. But intimidated by the power of the Sterling family, they didn’t dare press further and resentfully dispersed. Several society wives gathered around to comfort me. “Stella, don’t take it to heart. You know how men are…” “Exactly. Let him play around; at the end of the day, he still has to come home to you.” I smiled and nodded. It wasn’t until I raised my champagne glass to my lips that I realized my hand was shaking violently. A little champagne spilled onto my hand. It was freezing cold. Maya walked over, her arm still linked with Arthur’s. She stood in front of me, looking me up and down. “Stella, you look absolutely beautiful today.” I offered a faint smile. “Thank you. You look quite stunning yourself, Ms. Harper.” She stepped closer and whispered, “Don’t worry, Arthur told me. You will always be his wife. No one can replace you.” As she spoke, she purposefully touched the necklace around her neck. I pointed to the necklace. “Worthy of an eight-figure pink diamond. Very flashy.” “Right?” she let out a light laugh. “Arthur said it suits me perfectly. Unlike you—it would just look old and dated on you.” Arthur frowned slightly. “Maya.” “Just joking,” Maya tugged at his arm playfully. “Stella won’t mind, right?” I nodded. “I don’t mind.” That night, Twitter blew up. #MayaHarperHickey# #NewYorkSocietyPrincessOvershadowed# #ArthurSterlingMayaHarperIntimate# My name was sandwiched in between, utterly ridiculous. Chapter 3 Arthur didn’t come home until late into the night. He paused when he saw me. “You’re still awake?” I smiled. “Waiting for you.” He walked over to the bed and said softly, “Next month, I want to take Maya and Leo to Switzerland for a vacation.” I put my phone down and replied nonchalantly, “Sure, have a great time. Take lots of pictures.” “You… you’ve changed,” he said, looking at me, hesitating. I looked up at him. “Have I?” He stared into my eyes, speaking earnestly. “You didn’t use to be like this. Back then, there was light in your eyes. Now… it’s like you don’t care about anything anymore.” I scoffed inwardly. Of course I changed. From the day Arthur swapped my daughter at the hospital, that Stella Hayes died. The person living now is nothing but a walking corpse wearing a mask of docile obedience. But I just smiled. “People change. You’ve changed too, haven’t you?” Arthur let out a heavy sigh. He stood up, walked to the door, then turned back. “If you want to go, you can come with us.” I shook my head. “No thanks. I have things to handle at the company.” After Arthur left, I immediately shed that mask of docility. While he was off having a blast in Switzerland, I turned around and enrolled in the top Executive MBA program in the city. The coursework was brutal, but I relished every second of it. Maya, however, hadn’t forgotten about me. Every few days, she’d send me photos of them looking intimate, occasionally accompanied by a few boastful remarks. I patiently replied to every single one, even complimenting her photography skills. My calmness seemed to confuse her. She probably found it boring, so she eventually stopped sending them. When Arthur returned to the States, he clearly noticed the change in me. He likely assumed my “understanding” behavior was a compromise born of total despair, and miraculously, he actually tried to make amends. A Birkin bag one day, a Michelin-starred dinner reservation the next. Even his tone became ingratiating. One time, he got drunk and held my hand, saying, “Stella, can we go back to how things used to be?” I pulled my hand away and smiled. “How did things use to be? I’ve forgotten.” The light in his eyes instantly died. No matter what he said or did now, it couldn’t stir even a ripple in my heart. I was just waiting for the right moment to take back everything that belonged to me. Chapter 4 For Chloe’s fourth birthday, Arthur made an exception and allowed her to celebrate at our house. I got up early to bake a cake for her. I had just finished whipping the frosting when Maria frantically knocked on the kitchen door. “Mrs. Sterling, Chloe is here!” I didn’t even bother wiping my hands as I hurried out. As soon as I reached the living room, I heard the disjointed notes of a piano. In the distance, I saw my daughter, wearing a beautiful princess dress, sitting on the piano bench playing. Maya leaned over and asked her, “Does Chloe like playing the piano?” Chloe nodded enthusiastically, answering in her sweet, toddler voice, “I love it!” “Then we’ll play it all the time from now on, okay?” Maya smiled and stroked her hair. Chloe was even more thrilled, shouting, “Okay!” She was so excited that she accidentally knocked over the amethyst vase sitting next to the piano. The vase crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces. Everyone froze. Maya’s face changed instantly. She grabbed Chloe’s arm, yanked her off the bench, and raised her hand, delivering a hard slap. SMACK! A crisp, loud sound. Chloe’s head snapped to the side from the force, a red handprint rapidly blooming on her cheek. She stood stunned for two seconds before bursting into loud wails. That crying sounded like a sharp blade, stabbing into my heart over and over again. I charged forward. Maya was still yelling, “You little brat! Do you know how much that vase costs?! Mr. Sterling had that custom-made just for me!” She raised her hand to strike again. I grabbed the cake knife from the dining table. Before her hand could fall, I seized her wrist and twisted it viciously. Maya screamed and stumbled backward, and I pinned her against the piano. The piano let out a chaotic jumble of discordant notes. I pressed the knife against her throat and demanded fiercely, “Do you want to die?” The living room erupted into chaos. Little Leo started crying in terror, and the nanny rushed to pick him up. Maya struggled frantically trying to escape. I grabbed a handful of her hair, yanked her back, and delivered several vicious slaps across her face! SMACK! SMACK! The sharp sounds were piercingly loud in the chaotic living room. She screamed and tried to protect her face. I backhanded her hard across the mouth, and blood immediately seeped from her lip. “You dare hit me! Arthur! Arthur, save me!” she screamed hysterically. I raised my hand, fully intending to keep teaching this reckless idiot a lesson. “Stella Hayes, stop!” Arthur stood in the doorway, glaring at me coldly. Maya screamed for help. “Arthur, save me! She’s trying to kill me!” I pressed down hard on Maya, looking at Arthur, and roared, “If Maya Harper ever shows her face in our house again, I will kill her!” “What did you say?” Arthur frowned. I scoffed coldly. “I don’t repeat myself!” Arthur was stunned. He had probably never seen me like this—eyes bloodshot, veins bulging on my hands, acting like a mother wolf protecting her cub. Chloe ran over and hugged my leg. “Godmother…” Maya used the distraction to struggle. I applied pressure with my hand, and she instantly stopped moving. “Arthur!” she cried out. “Are you just going to watch her bully me?” Arthur remained silent for a long time. So long that Maya’s crying began to trail off. Finally, he spoke. “Take her back.” The bodyguards standing nearby were also stunned. “Are you deaf?!” Arthur’s voice rose. Two bodyguards immediately stepped forward, and only then did I release my grip. They hauled Maya up. She glared at Arthur in disbelief. “Arthur? You’re treating me like this?” Arthur looked away. “Just go home for now.” “Arthur Sterling! You—” She was dragged out, her curses fading into the distance. That night, for the first time ever, Arthur didn’t go to comfort Maya. He leaned against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. I lay on the other side of the bed, my back turned to him. In the darkness, he suddenly spoke up. “You were too impulsive today.” I didn’t say anything. “However…” he paused. “Maya was definitely out of line, but I believe she didn’t mean to do it.” I sneered. “She hit my daughter, so of course it doesn’t hurt you.” He sighed. “Don’t say that. Chloe is my daughter too, how could I not feel bad for her?” I let out a cold laugh, choosing not to expose his lie, and just said, “Go to sleep.” He shifted closer, wrapping his arms tightly around me from behind. It was an intimate posture, just like a real married couple. But all I felt was disgust. Chapter 5 On the first day of spring, Arthur surprisingly had some free time and suggested taking the kids to the country club. The men headed out to the golf course, while the wives sat in the lounge area, sipping tea and chatting. Chloe sat next to me, drinking orange juice. “Chloe, is your godfather good at golf?” Mrs. Bennett asked curiously. Chloe set her cup down and said earnestly, “My godfather doesn’t know how to play golf, but my daddy does.” “Really?” “Really.” Chloe nodded. “My daddy said he hit a hole-in-one when he was 18, and he gave that little white golf ball to my mommy.” The room fell completely silent. The wives exchanged knowing glances. Arthur never played golf. He considered the sport a waste of time. His expertise lay in the stock market; he knew absolutely nothing about what happened on a golf course. But his biggest rival, Julian… excuse me, Harrison Thorne, was an expert. Harrison had grown up in Hong Kong, where golf was practically mandatory. Fifteen years ago, at a charity golf tournament. Arthur, trying to save face, forced himself onto the course and ended up making a complete fool of himself. But Harrison, with a casual swing, sent the little white ball flying in a perfect arc, landing squarely in the hole. The crowd erupted in cheers. Harrison took off his white glove and, in front of everyone, handed the golf ball, signed with his name, to me, sitting right next to Arthur. Arthur’s face was so dark he looked ready to commit murder. Later, I hid that little white golf ball in the jewelry cabinet in my walk-in closet. My thoughts snapped back to the present. As I turned to pour Chloe some more juice, I caught a glimpse of Arthur standing in the doorway out of the corner of my eye. He had heard every single word. Chapter 6 That night, Arthur went straight to his study as soon as we got home. By 10 PM, he still hadn’t come back to the bedroom. I went downstairs to get some water and saw the light in the study was still on. I pushed the door open. Arthur was sitting at his computer, the country club’s membership list displayed on the screen. “Still awake?” I asked. He looked up at me, his voice low. “What did Chloe mean by what she said today?” I held my water glass, feigning confusion. “What did she say?” Arthur stood up and walked over to me. “She said her daddy hit a hole-in-one and gave the golf ball to her mommy.” “When have I ever hit a hole-in-one? When have I ever given you a golf ball?” I pretended to think for a moment. “She probably saw it in some cartoon. Kids can’t tell the difference between reality and TV.” “Is that so?” Arthur sneered. “Stella, are you sure?” “What else could it be?” I shot back. “Do you really think I have a lover who plays golf and hits holes-in-one?” Even I was surprised by how sharp my words sounded. It was very unlike my usual self. Arthur was taken aback too. He stared at me, stared for a long time, and finally waved his hand. “Forget it. Go to sleep.” Although I obediently went to bed, he didn’t sleep. Over the next few days, he launched a frantic investigation. He questioned the club manager, checked my credit card statements, and interrogated anyone who interacted with me regularly. Just as Arthur was about to dig deeper, Maya threw a massive fit. She marched right into the Sterling Group headquarters, dragging Leo behind her, and caused a huge scene at the front desk. I happened to be waiting for the elevator and heard the chaos outside. “I want to see Arthur Sterling! Now! Immediately!” “Ms. Harper, Mr. Sterling is in a meeting…” “I don’t care about his meeting! Tell him to come out here!” I walked over and saw Maya, her hair a mess, her eyes swollen like walnuts. Little Leo was hiding behind a chair, crying in fear. Employees formed a circle around them, no one daring to step forward. When Maya saw me, she got even more riled up. “Stella Hayes! Arthur doesn’t love you at all! He should have divorced you and married me ages ago!” Before I could even respond, Arthur yelled sternly, “Maya, what the hell are you doing?!” “I’m making a scene?!” Maya shrieked. “Arthur Sterling, you said you’d marry me as soon as I gave you a son! Look how big Leo is now! How much longer do I have to wait?!” Dead silence. Utter, dead silence. The employees lowered their heads, pretending they hadn’t heard a thing. Arthur grabbed Maya’s arm and dragged her toward the elevator. “We’ll talk upstairs!” “No! We are settling this right here, right now!” Maya struggled. “If you don’t get a divorce, I’m going to leak everything—” “Shut up!” Arthur cut her off fiercely, shoving her into the elevator. The spectacle was over, but the news spread like wildfire. Arthur was completely overwhelmed. Maya was throwing tantrums every day, and the media, catching wind of the drama, started digging up the luxury mansions and sports cars she had received over the years. Arthur was busy trying to pacify her and suppress the news, temporarily putting his investigation into Harrison Thorne on hold. I took advantage of this window to set my next steps in motion. When we got married, Arthur gave me 5% of the Sterling Group’s shares, and transferred a bit more to me over the years. Combined with the shares my family originally held, I now controlled 20%. I had already prepared the transfer agreements for these shares. That night, Arthur came home later than usual. As soon as he entered the bedroom, he threw a stack of photos onto the floor in front of me. I stepped closer to look, my breath catching in my throat. The photos were all of me and Harrison Thorne. I offered a faint smile. “Just catching up over dinner with an old friend. Was it really worth hiring someone to stalk me?” Arthur picked up a photo of Harrison and me hugging and sneered. “Is this how ‘old friends’ act? Stella, do you take me for an idiot?” I ignored him and turned to go take a shower. He grabbed my arm and roared, “Answer my question!” “What exactly is your relationship with Harrison Thorne?”

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The moment the meeting ended, I knew this thirty-million-dollar deal was in the bag. I had just closed my laptop when my supervisor, Miranda Hayes, walked over with her arms crossed. She looked me up and down, her tone dripping with mockery. “Nice choice of dress. But I think educated women like us shouldn’t submit to beauty standards.” I froze for a moment, then explained, “We were hosting an important client. Dressing appropriately is basic respect, isn’t it? Besides, the proposal itself is what really matters.” She immediately raised her voice so the entire department could hear: “Respect? The client’s a man, and you’re the only woman in the room wearing a dress. Isn’t your intention obvious? Stop catering to men! Wake up!” One of the male colleagues tried to smooth things over. “Miranda, that’s too much. She really did well in the presentation today…” She immediately cut him off. “Of course you men would defend her! She’s a classic case of being disciplined without even realizing it, thinking she’s so professional and dedicated!” “If we professional women want respect, we need to break free from this mindset first.” “Next time, I suggest you come bare-faced and let your ability speak for itself. Don’t embarrass the rest of us women.” ……

When you’re utterly speechless, you really can’t help but laugh out loud. I had simply put on light makeup and worn an appropriate dress, yet somehow I was being labeled with all these accusations. “Miranda, you should really spend less time scrolling through social media. Just because someone feeds you content doesn’t mean you should swallow it whole. Do you even actually know what the term ‘disciplined thinking’ means?” “Your binary, single-track mindset is what really needs some training.” Her face instantly turned red. She’d probably never been talked back to by a subordinate in public before. “Jane! How dare you speak to me like that?!” She slammed the table, her finger almost poking my nose. “I’m your superior! Do you have any sense of propriety?!” I didn’t back down an inch, throwing her own words right back at her. “Propriety? Weren’t you just saying we should let our abilities do the talking? I just closed a deal. Let me see your abilities?” She was just a parachute manager with no real competence. She flew into a rage and swung her hand toward my face. I didn’t react in time. My cheek stung with burning pain. After hitting me, she seemed to regain her confidence, breathing heavily as she shouted. “Let me tell you something, Jane! I know you’re capable! But everyone knows how you got those abilities!” “Right now, in this company, I am your superior! You need to learn respect! Don’t think that just because you can seduce men with that face and land some small projects, you can throw your weight around here!” As soon as she finished speaking, several colleagues who had always been jealous of my better performance immediately crowded around, chiming in one after another. “Capable? Who knows what kind of capability? Shady tactics will never be respectable.” “Dressing like that—who are you trying to impress? Miranda is trying to save you. Don’t be ungrateful.” “Exactly. We honest people earn our living with real skills, not by flirting. Why don’t you thank Miranda?” I covered my face, fury burning in my chest, about to lash back regardless of consequences. The director grabbed my arm. “Alright, alright, Jane, say no more! You worked hard today. Come on, I’ll treat you to dinner to help you cool off!” He half-dragged me toward the cafeteria, lowering his voice. “Why are you going head-to-head with her? She’s Mr. Hayes’s only daughter! We’re just employees—we can’t afford to offend her!” Mr. Hayes’s daughter? How come I didn’t know my dad had given me such a sister?

But before I could say anything, the director had already pulled me to the employee cafeteria. He kept rambling on about how I should just endure it for the sake of peace, while I mindlessly pushed the food around on my tray. Just then, my phone buzzed. Messages in the company group chat were flooding the screen. I opened the chat. The top few messages were photos and videos posted by Miranda! She had actually gone to my desk while I was away. In the photos were all my personal belongings: A pair of stockings I’d just taken off to bring home and wash, high heels I kept at the office for emergencies, and my commonly used lipstick and perfume. Then came a voice message from her, sickeningly affected, played on speaker. “Everyone take a look! Our company must eliminate this kind of unhealthy atmosphere! We’re banning behavior that sells one’s body and appearance to please men! Things like lipstick, perfume, stockings… none of these should appear in the company anymore!” “Today, I’ve confiscated some dirty items from a certain colleague. Following the principle of not being wasteful, I’m holding a little auction here!” “Let’s see if anyone’s interested in our project goddess’s personal items! Highest bidder wins!” My stomach churned. I felt so sick I almost threw up the food I’d just eaten. And there were actually sleazy men in the group responding, with bids popping up one after another. I cursed under my breath, unable to take it anymore, and rushed back to the office. When I reached my desk, the scene before me made my blood pressure spike even higher. Miranda hadn’t just gone through my storage locker—she was now going through my personal laptop. “What are you doing?!” I rushed over and slammed the laptop screen shut. “This is my personal computer! It has my private information!” Miranda jumped at my action, then raised her chin, looking self-righteous. “What am I doing? Inspecting, of course! You use a computer at the company, so I need to check whether you’ve stolen company secrets or made deals with that project manager using company interests. After all, someone like you… who knows what you’re capable of?” I was shaking with anger, my fingers gripping the edge of the laptop tightly. I was about to argue when a male colleague wearing black-framed glasses shamelessly approached. “Miranda, I’m here to pick up the stockings I bid on.” Miranda nodded knowingly, pulled out my stockings, and handed them to him. “You look honest, but I didn’t expect you’d be into this. Take them. Just transfer me the money.” “Miranda Hayes! What gives you the right to auction off my things! I’m not selling!” “What gives me the right? Because these items that cater to men cannot appear in the company! I’m purifying the workplace environment!” I was completely enraged and fired back. “Necessary attire is professional etiquette! Just because I dress appropriately and look presentable, that means I’m pandering to men? By your logic, when I wear a skirt, should I also wear bright red long underwear underneath to be considered proper?!” My voice wasn’t quiet, drawing whispers from colleagues who had been watching the show. Some couldn’t help but chuckle softly, clearly finding Miranda’s behavior too absurd. Her face immediately flushed with embarrassment, her eyes growing more vicious. “Jane! Are you crazy? Believe it or not, I’ll make sure you can’t survive in this company!” I didn’t want to waste another word on her. “Move. I need to get to work.” I said coldly, reaching to close my laptop.

But she pressed down hard on the computer, her fingers rapidly scrolling through my SnapChat conversation interface. “Work? Your work is having in-depth exchanges with CEOs from various companies on SnapChat, right?” Her voice was shrill, deliberately making sure everyone could hear. “Come on, let me read a few lines for everyone to learn from!” She cleared her throat, imitating an affected tone. “‘Mr. Hayes, thank you so much for today. I’d love to treat you to dinner sometime!’ Look, a blatant invitation! Jane, don’t you know this Mr. Hayes is a married man? His wife is famously fierce, and you still dare to throw yourself at him? You’ve got some nerve!” I was almost amused by her stupidity. “It’s just normal business courtesy. What else should I say?” “Courtesy? Then look at this one!” She clicked open another chat window with the contact name “Old Hayes.” The conversation inside was indeed more casual, with me complaining about work being tiring and the other person reminding me to eat on time, the tone intimate. “Oh my! You’re even closer with this Old Hayes! Acting all sweet! Calling him ‘Daddy’? How disgusting! What kind of fetish is this? Some rich old man must be keeping you! No wonder you get project after project. I bet your sugar daddy is this guy, right?” Looking at her face twisted with jealousy, my inner mockery deepened. Idiot, she can’t even recognize my dad’s SnapChat, yet she dares to call herself Mr. Hayes’s daughter? When I graduated, I made a bet with my old man that without using any of his connections, I’d join the company and close deals worth a hundred million dollars on my own merit, and then I could take over as general manager. But I never expected that right before the finish line, I’d be humiliated like this by this clown who claims to be the chairman’s daughter. Fine, if you want to put on a show this badly, I’ll play along to the end. Let’s see how much longer you can enjoy yourself. Seeing that she had no intention of backing off and was instead escalating her invasion of my privacy, I completely lost patience. I suddenly turned around, rushed directly into her office, grabbed her laptop, and returned. “What are you doing! Put down my computer!” she shouted in panic. I ignored her, my fingers randomly sliding across the touchpad. Actually, I’d long heard rumors about Miranda’s office affairs. But everyone, out of deference to her position as supervisor, never mentioned it to her face. I clicked open a hidden file. The next second, embarrassingly explicit moans and gasps streamed from the computer speakers. “Is that voice Miranda’s?” “Playing it pretty wild, huh? Even filming yourself in the office as a keepsake?” The surrounding colleagues instantly erupted in whispers. Her face turned pale. She rushed over and snatched the computer, slamming it shut, shaking all over as she pointed at me. “Jane! Stop framing me! I’m completely innocent! You must have just snuck in and copied that filth onto my computer!” “The woman in that video is probably you! For projects, what wouldn’t you do?” But everyone still looked at her with suspicion. She immediately stood up and loudly announced her identity. “I didn’t want to say this, but I’m the chairman’s daughter! I came in undercover to help my father clean up the company culture! Employees like Jane who got ahead through improper means and maliciously slander others are exactly who we’re targeting for removal!” She looked around, her eyes carrying naked threats. “Anyone standing here watching and laughing at me today better think carefully about whether you want to have good days in this company in the future!”

This tactic of making an example worked immediately. Colleagues who had just been mocking the supervisor instantly changed their expressions. Several female colleagues who had always been jealous of me were the first to jump out. “How vicious! Your own hands aren’t clean, yet you want to drag the supervisor down with you!” “Exactly! Always making jokes about women’s reputations—her heart is truly wicked!” “An educated woman? I think she hates women! She wishes all women would rely on men like she does! She’s the typical man-pleaser who hates women!” I couldn’t be bothered with those buzzing behind me. I picked up my personal computer and contract and left to sign that thirty-million-dollar deal. The process was exceptionally smooth. The client representative even reassured me. “Miss Jane, although we’ve heard some rumors, we absolutely recognize your professional ability and project proposal. Looking forward to our cooperation.” On the way back to the company, I called my dad. “Dad, mission accomplished. The cumulative amount exceeded a hundred million long ago. You should honor your agreement and prepare for the handover, right?” His gratified laughter came through the phone. “Haha! As expected of my daughter! Dad keeps his word!” I paused, then asked out of the blue. “Dad, you’ve never betrayed Mom, have you?” My dad’s voice immediately rose eight octaves, full of survival instinct. “How could that be possible! Heaven and earth as my witness, I’ve only loved your mother my whole life! Sweetheart, who’s been feeding you nonsense?” “Never mind.” I hung up the phone, a cold smile forming at the corner of my mouth. As soon as I returned to my workstation, I heard Miranda being surrounded by a group of people. “At the company restructuring meeting in a few days, I’ll probably be taking the general manager position.” She pretended to be modest as she brushed her hair. “I remember everyone who’s been good to me. You’ll all benefit in the future.” Immediately, a chorus of flattery rose around her. “Miranda is amazing! This is real advancement based on ability, not relying on men!” “Exactly! So much better than certain people who use underhanded methods!” “From now on, we’re following Miranda!” She glanced at me smugly, provocatively. “What’s wrong, Jane? Jealous? Someone like you who relies on men could never reach such a high position.” I ignored her, focusing on preparing my performance report. Jump all you want. The higher you jump, the harder you’ll fall. Over the next few days, my colleagues found all kinds of ways to sabotage me. My cup tasted like dish rags, dead cockroaches appeared on my seat from time to time, printed documents disappeared… I didn’t bother with it, just took my laptop and moved to the coffee shop downstairs. Soon, the day of the election arrived. I deliberately wore a sharply tailored, high-quality professional dress, with exquisite makeup and a commanding presence. As soon as I walked through the company entrance, Miranda stopped me. She looked me up and down, jealousy flashing in her eyes, then put on a stern face. “Jane! How many times have I told you! Don’t come to the company all dressed up like this! Who are you trying to seduce?” I looked at her, noting that she had also obviously dressed up carefully, and retorted. “Miranda, aren’t you also dressed quite formally today?” She immediately raised her chin, looking superior. “Me? I’m completely bare-faced! Not like certain people who can only rely on makeup to cover up their ugliness and gild their faces!” I smiled, and without another word, pulled out a small bottle of makeup remover from my bag and splashed it directly at her face! Miranda screamed. The liquid ran down her cheeks. Her carefully drawn eyeliner and mascara instantly smudged, her face turning patches of purple and red, like an overturned palette, utterly disheveled. “If you’re bare-faced, then what’s this stuff on your face?” “Jane! I’ll kill you!” She was shaking with rage, lunging at me with claws out, trying to slap me. The director nearby quickly held her back. “Miranda! Calm down! The meeting’s about to start! Quick, go to the restroom and clean up!” Miranda was dragged away, her resentful eyes almost boring through me. I straightened my collar and walked toward the top-floor conference room. Just as I reached the entrance, the receptionist stopped me, her face wearing a formulaic fake smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Jane. Today’s senior management restructuring meeting is invitation-only by name. Your name isn’t on the list, so you cannot enter.” Miranda and a few of her followers had also cleaned up and rushed over. Seeing the situation, they immediately mocked. “Oh my, you actually dared to come?” “Shameless, aren’t you? This is a place you can enter?” I looked at them and smiled. “How about making another call to confirm with higher-ups?” The female receptionist’s face showed impatience, clearly thinking I was being unreasonable. She reluctantly picked up the internal phone and walked aside to inquire in a low voice. A few seconds later, her expression changed dramatically. She ran back, bowed respectfully to me, her voice trembling. “Miss Jane, please come in! Your seat is at the head table. Please take your seat!”

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