My husband was “sick” again. He lay in bed, trembling under the duvet, claiming he was too terrified to even call in to work. He looked so fragile, so broken by the pressure of his “accounting job,” that I felt a pang of maternal protection. When I offered to call his supervisor for him, he gripped my wrist, his eyes wide with a desperate, almost feral plea. He begged me not to. He begged me to stay away from his office. I relented, stroking his hair until he seemed to drift off, but the guilt gnawed at me. We were drowning in debt. We were living in a studio where the wallpaper peeled like sunburnt skin because he had “lost everything” in a failed startup years ago. I couldn’t let him lose this job, too. So, I went. I took the bus to the address on his pay stub, rehearsing a speech about a sudden flu and a dedicated employee. But when I stepped into the lobby of the gleaming glass-and-steel skyscraper in the Financial District, the air felt different. Expensive. Cold. The receptionist looked at me as if I were a smudge on a Da Vinci. Her eyes swept over my faded Target cardigan and my scuffed heels—shoes I’d worn for five years because we “couldn’t afford” new ones. “I’m here to speak with Nate’s manager,” I said, my voice small. “Nate Miller. He’s an accountant here.” The woman’s brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “Are you joking? There is no ‘accountant’ here named Nate Miller.” “I… I have his pay stub,” I stammered, reaching into my purse. “Ma’am,” she interrupted, her voice dropping to a tone of pitying disbelief. “Nathaniel Miller is the Founder and CEO of this firm. And Mr. Miller arrives every morning with his wife. They just went up to the executive suite together.” My heart didn’t just break; it shattered, the shards slicing into my lungs. “His wife?” “Yes. And, forgive me, but you don’t look like her.” The elevator dings. The doors slid open. There he was. My husband, the man who had been “trembling in bed” an hour ago, was now draped in a bespoke charcoal suit that probably cost more than our annual rent. His arm was wrapped firmly around the waist of a woman who looked like she’d stepped off a Parisian runway. Madison. His “one that got away.” The girl he told me was a “painful memory” from his college days. 1. Our eyes met. His practiced, charismatic smile curdled on his face. I looked at him—this stranger in high-end wool—and a laugh bubbled up in my throat, hot and salty with tears. “That watch,” I whispered, pointing at the Patek Philippe on his wrist. “It’s worth my entire yearly salary. And yet, for seven years, you’ve played the part of the struggling clerk making fifty grand a year.” The lobby went silent. The security guards shifted uncomfortably. “You told me your startup went bust. I sold my parents’ house—the only thing they left me—to plug the holes in your ‘debt.’ I spent my days coding until my eyes bled and my nights working the graveyard shift at a 7-Eleven. I had a stomach ulcer from the stress and refused to go to the hospital because we ‘couldn’t afford’ the co-pay!” My voice rose to a shriek. “Tell me, Nate! Why? Why play this game with my life?” Nate stammered, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. Madison, however, didn’t miss a beat. She reached out and delicately gripped my wrist, her silk sleeve brushing my skin. “Caitlin, don’t blame him,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “When he married you, he made a vow to me. He told me that everything he had—his body, his wealth, his future—belonged to me. You were just the placeholder. Don’t go coveting things that were never yours.” Seven years. I thought we were a team, a fortress against the world. It turns out I was just a supporting actress in a script I hadn’t been allowed to read. But I was his legal wife. I was the one who signed the papers. “Shut up, Madison. This isn’t your conversation,” I snapped, my eyes burning as I turned back to Nate. “Nate, look at me. Is this true? All of it?” Nate sighed, a sound of profound annoyance, as if I were a bug he’d forgotten to squash. “Caitlin, listen to me. I was afraid that if you became a ‘society wife,’ you’d lose your drive. I didn’t want to hurt your pride. Besides, didn’t you say you’d always take care of me? You said you loved me for me, not my money.” “Don’t you dare gaslight me!” My voice trembled with fury. “Seven years! We’ve been married for seven years! You didn’t know who I was by then? If I lacked drive, would I have sold my childhood home to save you? Would I have worked twenty-hour days to keep us afloat?” I took a step back, my footing uneven. My heel was worn down to the plastic—I’d been meaning to get them repaired for months but kept putting it off to save the thirty dollars. My gaze drifted to Madison. She was wearing Valentino pumps. A Tiffany HardWear bracelet sparkled on her wrist. I remembered Nate joking once, “When I make it big, I’m going to buy you so much jewelry you’ll have to hire a guard just to walk to the mailbox.” He had made it big. He just gave the jewelry to someone else. “What about her?” I asked, the bitterness coating my tongue. Nate glanced at Madison. “Maddie and I… we’re just partners. She’s looking to invest in the firm.” Madison’s face fell. “Nate!” He squeezed her hand, a silent signal, then looked back at me. “She’s my ex, Caitlin. You knew that. I never lied about my past. We’re working together now. That’s all.” “Then what did she mean by what she just said?” I demanded. Nate gave Madison a cautious look, his tone turning dismissive. “Oh, you know Maddie. She loves to stir the pot. She was just joking—” “I wasn’t joking,” Madison interrupted. “Nate, didn’t you tell me that on your wedding night? While you were on FaceTime with me while Caitlin was asleep right next to—” “Madison!” Nate barked. She shrugged, falling silent, but the damage was done. The floor seemed to fall away beneath me. Nate wouldn’t look me in the eye. His guilt was finally being overtaken by impatience. “Don’t listen to her. It’s nothing. Just go home, Caitlin. I have a meeting with a client. I’ll come back tonight and explain everything.” I took a deep breath, the cold air of the lobby stinging my throat. “You don’t need to explain anything.” “Nate, I want a divorce.” “I am done with you. Eight million dollars.” I looked him in the eye. “Eight words. One million for every year you stole, plus one for the house you took from me. It’s a bargain to get me out of your life and marry your ‘partner,’ don’t you think?” “Caitlin, be reasonable. Let’s go home and talk.” I cut him off. “Home? You mean the apartment with the moldy ceiling and the seven-hundred-dollar rent?” I started to laugh, a jagged, broken sound. His face shifted. People were starting to stare; the morning rush of employees was filling the lobby. He grabbed my arm, trying to pull me toward the side exit. “Don’t make a scene here. It’s bad for business.” “Let go,” I hissed. He gripped tighter. “Is this what it’s about? Money? You think I’ve been holding out on you? You’ve lived off me for seven years, Caitlin. I’ve given you a roof and a bed. Isn’t that enough? You’re acting like a victim because you want a payday.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a cruel whisper. “I’ve slept with you for seven years for free. You should be grateful. And the more you act like a psycho in public, the less likely I am to give you a single cent.” I stared at him, paralyzed. I didn’t recognize this man. Or perhaps, I had never known him at all. Madison let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Come on, Nate. This is embarrassing. Didn’t you promise to buy me that new Birkin before our lunch meeting?” Nate didn’t even hesitate. “Of course. Anything you want. And we’ll stop by the dealership later—your lease is up, and you need something more impressive for the investors.” Madison threw me a triumphant look. “Hear that? Nate’s money is my money. You want eight million? You’re dreaming. But hey, you did a decent job taking care of him while I was gone. Tell you what—if you call me ‘Ma’am,’ I’ll talk Nate into buying you a new pair of shoes to replace those thrift-store tragedies you’re wearing.” That hurt more than a physical blow. I thought of the years I spent clipping coupons. The five-year-old winter coat I wore until the seams burst. The makeup I never bought. The nights at the convenience store being harassed by drunks while I worried about Nate’s “mental health.” The humiliation boiled over. As Madison leaned in, her face twisted in a smug sneer, I swung. I put every ounce of my seven years of resentment into a slap that echoed through the marble lobby. Madison staggered back, her hand flying to her cheek. Time stopped. Seconds later, she let out a piercing, hysterical shriek. “You bitch! You absolute loser! Nate! She hit me!” Nate reacted instantly. He stepped in front of Madison, cupping her face with a tenderness he hadn’t shown me in years. “Caitlin, have you lost your mind?” He raised his hand. I didn’t even have time to flinch before his palm connected with my face. The world blurred. My cheek burned with a white-hot sting. “Don’t you touch her!” I screamed through the pain. “I’ll do more than touch you!” Nate roared. “You think you’re special? You’re a low-level coder who can’t even get a promotion. If you were worth anything, would you still be working a register at midnight after seven years of marriage? You’re a failure, Caitlin. You’re stagnant. You’re a loser.” He leaned closer, his eyes cold and dark. “Do you know how embarrassing it is to tell people you’re my wife? I tell everyone you’re the maid. I’m ashamed of you.” I felt a warm trickle down my lip. Blood. The metallic taste filled my mouth. I thought of all the times my boss had piled extra work on me because he knew I was desperate for the money to pay Nate’s “debts.” I’d never told Nate because I didn’t want him to worry. And now, my sacrifices were the weapons he was using to disembowel me. I looked at them both, my voice raspy and cold. “Nate, from this moment on, we are through.” He blinked, momentarily stunned. “What?” “You think eight million is too much? Fine. We’ll let the lawyers decide. I want every penny you hid. I want half of this company—the company you built with my parents’ inheritance. I want half of the cars, the houses, and the bags you bought her. I’m going to take you for every cent you’re worth.” Madison looked up, her eyes narrowing. “In your dreams.” I didn’t answer. I turned and walked toward the glass doors. Every step sent a throb of pain through my face. Every step, I felt the blood cooling on my chin. But I kept my back straight. You can break a woman’s heart, but you can’t take her spine. By the time I left the lawyer’s office, the sun had long since set. I dragged myself back to the apartment we shared. When I opened the door, a large Rimowa suitcase sat open in the middle of the living room. Nate was tossing his silk shirts into it. Madison was curled up on our sagging sofa, scrolling through her phone. “You’re back?” Nate said, his tone as casual as if he were asking about the weather. “Good. I have something to tell you.” “Madison has a heart condition. That slap you gave her triggered an episode. The doctor says she needs constant supervision. I’ll be staying at her place for a while.” I walked over and picked up a box of Magnums from the corner of his suitcase. “Is this part of her ‘heart medication’?” He snatched them out of my hand, looking annoyed. “They got caught in my laundry. Don’t be hysterical. I know you’re upset about today, but Madison needs me right now. I’ll come back in a few days to explain things when you’ve calmed down.” Needs me. When he needed someone to sacrifice their future, I was there. Now that I needed him to be a human being, he was with her. “Fine,” I said. I walked into the bedroom. I opened the closet and started pulling out the rest of his things. When I got to the photos, I paused. A framed picture from our wedding day. I was radiant. He looked like he’d won the lottery. “Caitlin, what are you doing?” he asked, following me in. There was a flicker of genuine panic in his voice now. “You said you were leaving.” I didn’t look at him as I tossed the frame into the trash bag. “I said for a few days—” “No. You’re leaving for good. Take your things, take the woman who ‘needs’ you, and get out.” Nate lunged for the trash bag, retrieving the wedding photo and placing it carefully back on the dresser. “Stop acting out. I’ll be back as soon as she’s stable.” Madison appeared in the doorway. “Nate, I just sent you the pitch deck for my new venture. It’s a guaranteed win. Can you take a look?” Nate barely glanced at his phone before nodding. “Don’t worry about it, babe. I’ll have the CFO wire ten million to your account tomorrow.” Ten million. I thought of the 7-Eleven shifts. The thousands of lines of code I’d written for freelance pittance. I would have to work several lifetimes to see ten million dollars. Madison saw me looking at the phone. She smirked. “Jealous, Caitlin? You want to try your hand at business? Or are you just going to stare at my deck?” Nate scoffed. “Please. She doesn’t know a bull market from a flea market. If she tried to trade, she’d lose her shirt in ten minutes. She’s built to be an employee, nothing more.” I cut him off, my voice like ice. “Are you finished?” He blinked. “Then get out. Get out of my apartment.” “Caitlin, this is our—” “No. I pay the rent. I pay the utilities. I bought every piece of furniture in here while you were ‘bankrupt.’ You haven’t contributed a dime to this household in seven years. You’re a squatter. Leave. Now.” He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He knew I was right. For seven years, I had funneled every spare cent into his “debts” while he spent his millions on Madison. “Fine,” Nate said, his voice hardening. “I’m going. But don’t come crawling back when you realize how cold the world is without me.” “Go.” The door slammed shut. The silence that followed was deafening—the hum of the old fridge, the thump of my own heart. I sank to the floor and finally let the tears come. My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. It was a photo. Nate, fast asleep in a plush hotel bed, Madison’s head resting on his bare chest. The caption read: Thanks for letting him go. He’s finally where he belongs. I stared at the photo for a long time. Then, I typed back: You’re welcome. Thanks for taking out the trash. My private investigator had told me Nate was careful—never any physical proof of cheating. Well, now I had it. The next morning, I stood in the HR office of the tech firm where I worked. The paper in front of me was a joke. Embezzlement? $3.2 million? “This is absurd,” I said to the HR Director. “I’m a lead dev. I handle code, not wire transfers. I don’t even have the authorization for an amount that large.” The Director looked at me with a flicker of pity behind his glasses. “The company was acquired over the weekend, Caitlin. The new ownership flagged the discrepancy.” “Who bought us?” “A holding company. Owned by a Madison Vance.” I didn’t wait. I stormed upstairs to the executive suite. I shoved past the secretary and burst into the corner office. Madison was sitting behind the mahogany desk. Nate was standing by the window, looking over some files. “Ah, the star developer arrives,” Madison said, her smile razor-sharp. “Or should I say, the former star developer?” “Nate, this audit is a lie,” I said, forcing myself to stay calm. “Any purchase over ten thousand requires three levels of approval. I don’t have signing authority. The system logs will prove I never touched those accounts.” Nate finally looked at me. “The logs were hit by a ‘hacker’ last night, Caitlin. Most of the data was wiped. Strangely, the only records left are the ones tied to your credentials.” A cold realization washed over me. “I built the security architecture for this company. I wrote the firewall rules. You’re telling me someone bypassed my encryption just to frame me for a mid-level embezzlement?” Madison leaned back in the chair. “Internal jobs are always the easiest, aren’t they? A few modified log files, a few forged invoices… light work for a genius like you.” “You tampered with the database.” Madison stood up. “Talk is cheap. The evidence says you stole three million dollars. You’re looking at a massive civil suit and potentially prison time. Unless…” she leaned in, “you want to get on your knees and beg? Maybe I’ll tell Nate to go easy on the damages.” I felt like I was going to throw up. “Nate? You’re going along with this? You’ve lied to me for seven years, and now you’re trying to destroy my life? Why? Do you hate me that much?” His face went pale for a second. Madison lunged forward, grabbing my arm. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” “Get off me!” I shoved her back. “You want me to beg? You want me to crawl like a dog? In your dreams. I’m not paying a cent, and I’m not admitting to a crime I didn’t commit. Call the police. I’ll see you in court.” Nate’s lip trembled. He looked like he wanted to say something, but Madison was faster. “Nate, go grab a coffee. Let me handle this ‘negotiation.’” He hesitated, then turned and walked out, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him. The moment he was gone, Madison’s mask dropped. “Let’s be real, Caitlin. You’re just bitter because Nate chose me. You’re bitter because the divorce settlement won’t be as big as you hoped. You’re bitter because of that photo I sent.” I froze. “Oh, did that hit a nerve? It was a great night, by the way. Nate was… inspired. We went through three boxes of condoms.” The blood roared in my ears. “What do you want, Madison?” “I want you to admit you lost. Nate’s mine. His heart, his money, his future. This company is mine. You’re just trash that needs to be cleared out. Sign a waiver, walk away with nothing, and never file for divorce. Do that, and the ’embezzlement’ charges vanish.” “Three million dollars, Caitlin. Think about how many years of ‘graveyard shifts’ that would take to pay back.” Something snapped. The logic, the restraint, the years of playing the “good wife”—it all vanished. I lunged at her, pinning her against the desk, my hand raised to strike. The door flew open. Nate stood there, his face contorted with rage. Madison whimpered, touching a corner of her mouth where there wasn’t even any blood. “Nate! She’s attacking me again! I tried to be nice, and she just snapped!” “I didn’t—” “Enough!” Nate yelled. He spoke into his intercom. Two large security guards appeared instantly. They grabbed my arms, wrenching them behind my back. One of them kicked the back of my knees, forcing me to the floor. My face was pressed against the cold plush carpet. “Madison,” Nate said, his voice devoid of any humanity. “Whatever she did to you, give it back.” Madison walked over, her heels clicking like a countdown. She stopped right in front of my face. Then, she ground the stiletto of her Valentino pump into my cheek. “This is for the lobby,” she whispered. Then, she kicked me. Hard. My nose shattered. The warmth of the blood was the only thing I could feel. I didn’t even feel the pain—just a profound, hollow sense of irony. Seven years of devotion. This was the dividend. “You’re pathetic, Caitlin,” Nate said from somewhere above me. “I’m calling the police. Let’s see how tough you are behind bars.” His phone rang. He looked at the screen, his expression shifting from anger to confusion. He answered it. As he listened, his face went from pale to ghostly. He hung up and looked at me, his voice a ghost of itself. “You… you actually served me? The divorce papers… you filed them this morning?”

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It started after school, right when the late afternoon sun hits the lockers and turns the dust motes into gold. The new transfer student cornered Hallie, blocking her path to the tutoring center where we’d spent every Tuesday since seventh grade. He spun her a story that sounded like it was ripped from a bad sci-fi novel. He told her he was a “Player” in a high-stakes simulation, and she was his “Objective.” If he failed to capture her heart, he said, his existence would be wiped. Deleted. Hallie believed him. From that day on, Hallie—the girl who color-coded her notes and dreamed of Stanford—vanished. In her place was someone who orbited him like a moon caught in a decaying gravity well. SATs, Ivy League dreams, the pact we made in middle school—she threw it all into the bonfire of his vanity. She didn’t know he was lying. She didn’t know that dating her wasn’t about destiny or survival. It was just a bet between him and his lacrosse buddies. They were gambling on a simple question: Which was stronger? The allure of a bright future, or the charm of a bad boy? 1 The tips of Hallie’s ears were burning a bright, tell-tale crimson. Her gaze darted between me and Cole, nervous and electric. It was the exact same look she’d worn in my previous life. “Hallie, if you’re busy, I’m heading out,” I said, my voice flat. I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned my back on them and started walking toward the bus loop. As I passed the metal trash can near the gym doors, I reached into my pocket, wrapped my fingers around the voice recorder I’d been clutching for twenty minutes, and dropped it inside. Clunk. Senior year was expensive. Time was currency. And I wasn’t going to waste another cent of it on them. In my last life, I had been on the roof of the science building practicing for AP French when I overheard Cole and his entourage. “Bagging Hallie Miller? The resident genius?” one of them had laughed. “Good luck, man. That girl breathes textbooks.” “Forget it,” another said. “She’s gunning for Harvard. She won’t look at you.” Cole had laughed then—a low, arrogant sound. “Let’s make it interesting. If I get her to wreck her future for me, you guys cover the senior trip to Cabo.” That day, I had taken the recording straight to Hallie. I expected her to be grateful. I expected her to wake up. Instead, not only did she stay with him, but I became the target of Cole’s wrath. He cornered me in the locker room showers, dumping buckets of filthy mop water over my head while his friends held the door. His voice was low, venomous. “Watch your mouth, Archer. Or I’ll make sure you’re eating through a straw during finals.” He made good on his threat. I missed my exams. My GPA tanked. And Cole? True to his word, he dumped Hallie the day before graduation. He put on a tragic performance, telling her he couldn’t let his “mission” destroy her potential. He claimed his life wasn’t worth her future. Hallie came finding me with eyes rimmed red from crying. She cornered me in the alley behind my house, her grip on my wrist painful and frantic. “Archer, you are disgusting,” she hissed. “I told you to stay out of it. Why did you go to my parents? Why couldn’t you just leave us alone?” “Now Cole is breaking up with me. Are you happy now?” I had stood there, stunned. I hadn’t told her parents anything. Before I could explain, she shoved me. Hard. My head cracked against the concrete. The world went white, then warm as blood soaked my collar. I grabbed the hem of her jeans, begging her to call 911. She just looked down at me, her face twisted in revulsion, and kicked my hand away. “Stop acting, Archer,” she spat. “I wouldn’t forgive you even if you died.” 2 The bus hissed and pulled away from the curb. Through the grimy window, I watched them. Hallie and Cole were wrapped around each other, kissing like the world was ending. My memory stretched back, elastic and painful. “Archer, we’re going to rule the Ivies. Deal?” “Yale or Harvard?” “Wherever you go. Just don’t leave me behind.” “Better start studying then, dreamer.” The girl who said those words—passionate, sincere, brilliant—was a ghost now. The crush I’d nursed for years had died in my previous life, somewhere between her watching Cole torment me and her lying to our teachers to protect him. From that day forward, Hallie and I fell into a silent agreement of estrangement. Even though we sat three desks apart, we were oceans away. The bell rang, signaling the end of third period. A familiar, lazy voice drifted from the back door. “Hallie-girl.” It was Cole. The classroom erupted in whispers. He leaned against the doorframe, crooked a finger at her, and smirked. His eyes were half-lidded, cat-like. He was wearing the oversized varsity jacket that belonged to the school’s star quarterback, but Hallie was wearing his hoodie. It swallowed her frame, a branding iron made of cotton. She blushed, immediately gathering her books. My desk mate, a girl named Sarah, dropped her jaw. She poked my shoulder, pointing at their interlaced fingers. “Archer, what is happening? Aren’t you and Hallie, like… childhood sweethearts or something?” She kept her voice down, but in the quiet room, it carried. Hallie froze near the door. Cole’s eyes flicked to me. “Hallie and I are just neighbors,” I said, loud enough for the back row to hear. I shoved my calculus worksheet toward Sarah. “If you have time to gossip, you have time to check your work. You messed up the integration on question three.” Sarah blinked, confused by my coldness. She looked at my eyes—steady, indifferent—and laughed nervously. “Wrong? Really? Show me.” By the door, the tension left Hallie’s shoulders. She tugged Cole’s hand, and they disappeared around the corner. The class exploded into chatter. The collision of high-stress academics and high-octane hormones was always messy. The room filled with words like “romantic,” “soulmates,” and “jealousy.” Even Sarah couldn’t help but speculate on who made the first move. I smiled at my paper and said nothing. Only I knew the truth: Cole was playing a game he had already won. His ante was a few months of his senior year. Hallie’s ante was her entire life. Luckily, it was no longer my problem. 3 Hallie and I were what the old folks called “sandbox sweethearts.” Our parents were best friends. We shared playpens, then tricycles, then study guides. From kindergarten through junior year, we were a package deal. Even in Northwood High, where the tracking system split friends up based on GPA, we stayed together in the Honors track. We tutored each other. We spent weekends in the silent section of the public library. We played duet piano at the talent show. If she was Valedictorian, I was Salutatorian, or vice versa. I was competitive; she was a perfectionist. Even socially, we matched. She was the homecoming princess type; I was the captain of the debate team—not a jock, but respected. I used to thank the universe for Hallie. She was my pacemaker, the rabbit I chased around the track. But that Hallie vanished the day Cole transferred in. He arrived at the start of senior year. His placement test scores were mediocre, so he wasn’t in our AP classes, but his name filtered through the hallways like smoke. He was beautiful in a way that signaled danger. Old money, new car, bad attitude. The moment he arrived, the spotlight shifted. The love notes that used to find their way into my locker were suddenly being redirected to his. Back then, stupidly, I had asked Hallie: “Who’s better looking? Me or the new guy?” She hadn’t looked me in the eye. She just stared at her sneakers, cheeks pink. “You guys are… different.” In hindsight, she was already gone. Cole was different. He was aiming for art school, or maybe just coasting on a trust fund. Compared to the boys in oversized hoodies and glasses, he looked like a catalogue model. He was the forbidden fruit in a garden of overachievers. So when he smiled that crooked smile and blocked her path, and she actually stopped walking… he had already won the game. 4 Cole’s story was ridiculous. He claimed to be a “conquest player.” He said the universe gave him a mission right before school started: Conquer Hallie Miller. He had to reach 100% “affection rating” by graduation, or he’d be “erased.” Hallie swallowed it whole. It didn’t matter that Cole had dated half the cheer squad at his old school. She believed she was the anomaly, the savior. In my last life, I had run to her, breathless, playing that recording. I warned her: “If Cole asks you out, it’s a bet. It’s a game. Don’t say yes.” The result? She dove headfirst into the fire. When she first threatened to drop the National Chemistry Olympiad to hang out with him, I tried again. “A mission? A simulation? Hallie, listen to yourself. You’re smarter than this.” That was the turning point. I went from friend to obstacle. I missed the Olympiad myself because Cole locked me in a supply closet. When I found Hallie, bruised and desperate, she looked at me with cold, dead eyes. “I told you to mind your own business, Archer.” “If it weren’t for me asking Cole to go easy on you, you’d have lost a lot more than a chemistry test.” Her tolerance gave Cole permission to escalate. The bullying became a daily ritual. The final time, when he dumped trash over me in the bathroom, I went to the administration. They called our parents. I never mentioned Hallie. I just wanted it to stop. But Hallie? She went to the principal and my parents. She spun a narrative that I was the aggressor—that I was jealous of Cole stealing my thunder, that I was spreading rumors to smear him. She paraded a dozen of Cole’s friends as witnesses. Between the false testimonies and Cole’s father threatening to sue the school district, the principal caved. I was branded the jealous, vindictive liar. I was isolated. The bell for the next period rang, snapping me back to the present. This time, I didn’t text Hallie to remind her about the Chemistry Olympiad registration. My future was supposed to be bright. And this time, it would be. 5 I didn’t expect the collapse to happen so fast. Not only did Hallie skip the Chemistry Olympiad, but she also transferred out of the AP track. She bombed the placement exam on purpose, leaving half the answer sheet blank. I was in the faculty office asking Mr. Henderson about a recommendation letter when I heard him grilling her. “Hallie, think about this,” Henderson pleaded. “Kids kill themselves studying to get into these classes. You’re throwing away a golden ticket. Is it worth it?” Hallie pressed her lips into a thin line, silent. On Henderson’s desk sat a glass mason jar. It was filled with hundreds of tiny, hand-folded paper stars. “Teenage romance is… powerful,” Henderson sighed, rubbing his temples. “I can’t tell you who to date. But I can tell you this: some choices don’t have a ctrl-z button.” He looked pained. His hands shook slightly. He reminded me of the teachers in my last life who saw me bleeding but were too afraid of a lawsuit to help. “I won’t regret it,” Hallie said. Her eyes lit up with a terrifying, manic joy. She grabbed the jar of stars—her offering to Cole—and bolted from the room like she’d been given a pardon. Henderson sat there for a long time before picking up the phone to call her parents. Hallie was the school’s pride. “God’s Favorite,” we used to joke. If she wanted to learn piano, she was playing Mozart in six months. If she picked up a paintbrush, she won awards. Academics were breathing to her. I used to stay up until 3:00 AM just to keep pace with her natural brilliance. I used to tell her, “God didn’t just open a door for you; he tore down the whole wall.” She would knock on my head and say, “That means you just have to run faster, Archer.” Now, she was bricking up the wall herself, just to sit in the rubble with Cole. When I got back to class, her desk was empty. She was gone. According to Sarah, Hallie dropped the class because Cole was “insecure” about our history. He didn’t like the rumors that we were the school’s power couple. So, to prove her loyalty, she severed the academic tie. Irony is a cruel mistress, though: even with her self-sabotage, she didn’t test low enough to get into Cole’s remedial classes. But that didn’t stop the public display of affection. 6 Hallie’s parents flew back from Chicago in a panic. They had been working double shifts in another state to fund her college savings. They thought their daughter was on autopilot to the Ivy League. When they stood in the principal’s office, they looked like they’d been hit by a truck. The shock wasn’t just the grades. It was the truancy. Hallie and Cole had been skipping school for three days. They spent nights at internet cafes gaming; they hustled pool at dive bars; they used fake IDs to get into clubs, dancing until dawn in a haze of dry ice and cheap cologne. They were burning their futures to keep warm. It took three days for her parents to track her down. When Hallie walked into the office, she looked different. Her sleek, natural hair was permed into wild waves and dyed a shocking platinum blonde. She was holding Cole’s hand, her chin tilted up in defiance. “Mom, Dad. Why are you here?” she asked, her voice light, almost bubbly. “Perfect timing. I want you to meet my boyfriend, Cole.” Her dad turned purple. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Her mom, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, looked at Cole’s smug face and snapped. She stepped forward and swung. Slap. Hallie threw herself in front of Cole. The slap caught her square on the cheek. “Mom! Are you crazy?” Hallie shrieked, clutching her face. “I told you he’s my boyfriend! You can’t just hit people!” She was trembling with rage, defending the predator from the protector. Her mom burst into tears and ran out of the room. Her dad gave Hallie a look of pure devastation—a look that said I don’t know you anymore—and chased after his wife. Cole? He just took a calm step back. He didn’t even help her up. I arrived with my paperwork just in time to see Hallie scramble off the floor. She brushed the dust off her jeans and immediately curled into Cole’s side, uncaring of the audience. “It’s okay, Cole,” she whispered, stroking his chest. “My parents will come around. Don’t worry.” Cole turned his face toward me. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes dancing with mockery. It was the exact same look from the locker room in my past life. But this time, I didn’t feel fear. I just felt… bored. 7 I walked out of the office, but Hallie was waiting for me. She grabbed my sleeve and dragged me toward the stairwell leading to the roof. Up there, the wind was whipping around. Cole was leaning against the parapet, smoking a cigarette. “You called them,” Hallie said. Ice cold. “No,” I said. She didn’t believe me. I sighed, stepping back to put distance between us. “Hallie, the world doesn’t revolve around you. I was in the office for my own business. I don’t care about your little rebellion.” I looked past her, straight at Cole. “And you,” I said to the boy who had killed me in another life. “I don’t care about your game. I have zero interest in Hallie. She’s all yours.” Cole’s smirk deepened. He walked over and draped an arm around Hallie’s shoulders. “Easy, tiger. She’s your childhood friend. No need to be so cold.” He looked at Hallie. “Archer is pretty impressive. Gold medal in the Science Fair? Probably a lock for Stanford.” He paused, fake guilt washing over his face. “Babe, didn’t you miss the qualifiers because I had that stomach ache? If it weren’t for me, you’d be the one getting scouted.” He was testing her. Look, I cost you your future. Do you still love me? Hallie stiffened, but only for a second. Then she glared at me. “Archer, stop acting superior,” she snapped. “It’s just a gold medal. If I had competed, you wouldn’t have even placed.” “And listen to me: Stay out of my life. We are neighbors. That’s it. Don’t let me catch you snitching to my parents again.” “We…” I clenched my fists at my sides. The girl in front of me was a stranger wearing my best friend’s face. “There is no ‘we,’ Hallie,” I cut in. “I don’t know you. We’re neighbors. Got it?” 8 Cole was wrong about one thing. I hadn’t secured a spot at Stanford yet. The Gold Medal was good, but it wasn’t a guarantee for the National Team. And Hallie was wrong, too. Even if she had competed, she might not have won. The world is full of geniuses. In my last life, I was so busy trying to be her safety net that I never saw how big the ocean really was. I died a frog in a well. This time, I was climbing out. I left the roof as the bell rang. I ran back to class, leaving them behind. Through the window, I saw them running across the football field, hand in hand, bathed in the golden sunset. They looked picturesque. They looked like trash. Garbage belongs in the bin, but unfortunately, these two couldn’t be recycled together. Because it was all fake. Cole had actually approached me a week ago. I overheard him bragging to his friends in the locker room about the “conquest.” He knew I heard. That was why he bullied me in the first life—to silence the witness. This time, when he cornered me, I looked him in the eye and said: “I didn’t hear anything. And frankly, I don’t care. Do whatever you want, just don’t impact my GPA.” He had laughed, surprised. “Smart kid.” Of course I was smart. I was just saving my energy for the finale. I wanted to see the look on Hallie’s face the day before graduation.

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My birth broke my mother. It was a difficult labor, one that left her body scarred and her mind fractured by severe postpartum depression. From the time I was an infant, the slightest sound from me would send her into a frenzy. She would scream, her hands finding my throat, squeezing until my face turned purple. But then, the storm would pass. She would collapse in front of my crib, sobbing, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” My brother, Tyler, would look at my bruises with pity, but he’d always tell me the same thing: “Mom used to be gentle. Before you. Don’t blame her.” My father dealt with it by burying me in toys, guilt-wrapped gifts meant to buy my silence. “Be understanding, Harper,” he’d say, his eyes weary. “Just endure it a little longer. She’ll get better.” So, I learned to make myself small. I walked on eggshells. I didn’t dare to cry, and I certainly didn’t dare to laugh. I existed in the margins of their lives, waiting for Mom to be “cured.” But on my sixth birthday, I made a mistake. I stared at the cake, and for a split second, I swallowed hard, hungry for the sugar. Mom’s face twisted. Her eyes went red, filled with a terrifying, familiar hate. She swept the cake off the table with a violent crash. “You nearly killed me on the operating table!” she screamed, her voice shredding the celebratory mood. “How dare you want cake? Where do you get the nerve?” Tyler, who had been smiling just seconds before, turned on me. “Were you starving in a past life or something? Couldn’t you wait five minutes? Do you have to ruin everything by upsetting Mom?” Dad, exhausted from work and life, finally snapped. “We shouldn’t have had you,” he groaned, head in his hands. “The three of us… we were fine. We were happy.” They escorted Mom out of the room, cooing at her, protecting the victim. I stood there, looking at the ruin on the floor. Tears streamed down my face as I walked toward the balcony. …… I didn’t hesitate. I climbed over the railing, let go, and fell. There was a dull thud, and then, finally, relief. My spirit felt light. It drifted, untethered, floating back up to the thirty-second floor, back into the penthouse apartment. The living room was silent. Only the smashed cake on the floor remained, a mute witness to the chaos. I walked over to the mess of frosting and sponge. I couldn’t stop crying. In six years, this was the first time they had celebrated my birthday. Usually, because Mom hated me, nothing I did was right. If I cried, I was a burden. If I laughed, she would fly into a rage and beat me. In the beginning, Dad and Tyler tried to be the buffer. They would sneak me candy, buy me little trinkets. But whenever Mom found out, the hysteria that followed was so intense, so draining, that they stopped. Eventually, they just got tired. When Mom hit me, they learned to look away. They knew the drill: she needed to vent. Once she got it out of her system, she’d be calm again. So they just repeated the mantra to me, over and over: “Just bear it, Harper. Just a little longer. Mom will get better.” There were so many nights, half-asleep after a beating, tears crusting on my cheeks, where I would dream. I dreamed of someone gently applying cool ointment to my wounds. I dreamed that person was crying, too. In the dream, I would whimper, “Mom, please don’t hit me, I know I was wrong.” And the person would flee, sobbing. I looked down at the cake now. “I need to clean this up,” I mumbled to myself, the habit ingrained in my soul. “If Mom comes back and sees this mess, she’ll be angry again. She’s just getting better; I can’t trigger her…” I reached for the broom. My hand passed right through the handle. I tried again, clumsy and desperate, but I couldn’t grasp it. I lifted my sleeve to wipe my eyes. You’re useless, Harper, I thought. Even now, you can’t do one last thing for this family. Just as the sorrow threatened to swallow me whole, a force pulled me away. I blinked, and suddenly I was watching three familiar figures sitting in a high-end restaurant. Crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, food that looked like art—it was a scene I’d only ever seen on TV. Mom’s eyes were still red, her voice thick with resentment. “Giving birth to her ruined my body. I have chronic pain. I can’t work. Ten years of climbing the corporate ladder, all gone because of that pregnancy.” “It’s all her fault,” she spat. “She’s a leech. A curse. Why doesn’t she just die?” Dad patted her hand, soothing. “Okay, okay, honey. You’re right. We should have stopped with Tyler. It was a mistake.” Tyler hugged Mom from the side, his face full of sympathy. “If she wasn’t here, everything would be perfect. You wouldn’t have been in pain for all these years.” I stood beside their table, weeping. I didn’t know. I didn’t know my existence had destroyed Mom’s life so thoroughly. I didn’t know I caused them all so much pain. I shouldn’t have been born. I wanted to scream at them: “Mom, I’m sorry! I’m sorry I hurt you!” “Mom, I’ve paid for it with my life. I won’t make you angry ever again.” “Mom, if there is a next life, please, don’t be my mother.” On the drive home, they passed a bakery that was about to close. Mom hesitated for a second. Her voice was unnatural, strained. “I… I suddenly want something sweet. Let me buy a slice of cake.” Dad and Tyler exchanged a look. They both smiled, a look of relief washing over them. “It’s for Harper, isn’t it?” Tyler said confidently. “I knew it. You still love her, Mom.” For me? I stared at them, confused. A tiny, foolish spark of hope flickered in my chest, even though I knew it was too late. I followed them back home. The moment the door opened, Mom saw the mess on the floor—untouched, exactly as they left it. Her face fell. Dad frowned, shooting Tyler a look. Tyler immediately went for the broom, grumbling under his breath. “Harper is so clueless. We finally got Mom in a good mood, and she couldn’t even clean up the living room?” I waved my hands frantically, desperate to explain. “No, Tyler! I didn’t want to be lazy! I’m dead! I can’t hold the broom!” But my words dissolved into the air. Mom let out a cold laugh, raising her voice so it would carry to my bedroom. “Look at that laziness! I nearly died bringing you into this world, and now I can’t even say a few words to you without you throwing a tantrum?” Silence. Usually, before Mom’s expression could even shift, I would be out there, apologizing, working. I had never ignored a scolding before. Mom’s anger spiked. She slammed the new cake onto the table and marched toward my door. I watched her, nervous but expectant. Mom, open the door. Open it, and you’ll see that I’ve disappeared. You’ll see that I’ll never upset you again. But just as her hand touched the knob, Dad stopped her. For the first time in forever, he spoke up for me. “It’s her birthday, Diane. The kid is probably asleep. Let it go for tonight. Don’t lecture her.” Mom’s face twitched, but she dropped her hand. Later, after Mom fell asleep, Dad went to the balcony to smoke. Tyler followed him. “Dad, this is all Harper’s fault,” Tyler complained. “Because she’s always triggering Mom, I can never have friends over. I have to walk on eggshells just doing my homework. When does it end?” “I wish she would just disappear…” “Shut up!” Dad slapped the back of Tyler’s head before he could finish. “She is your sister! How can you curse her like that?” “But Dad, you’re exhausted too! I’ve seen you sitting in the car downstairs for an hour, smoking, because you don’t want to come up!” Tyler rubbed his head, defiant. Dad opened his mouth to argue, but then just sighed. “Harper… she doesn’t have it easy,” he murmured. “But… I am tired. God, I’m tired. If I could just have a few days of peace…” Looking at the deep lines on my father’s face, my heart felt like it was being pierced by needles. “Dad, look down! Just look down!” “If you just look over the railing, you’ll see! The problem is gone. The burden is gone. Harper is dead.” I screamed soundlessly. “Look! I’m dead! You’ll have peace now! You won’t be dragged down by me anymore!” But no one heard my desperate plea. The next morning. Everyone woke up, but the table was empty. No warm milk, no eggs. Tyler looked into the kitchen, confused. “Why didn’t Harper make breakfast?” To please Mom, I had taken over all the chores. Since I was tall enough to stand on a stool, I had been making breakfast for the whole family. Mom sneered, her face twisting into that familiar mask of disdain. “Great. I gave birth to a little princess. I say two words to her, and she goes on strike. Next thing you know, she’ll be burning the house down.” She stormed toward my room, shouting. “Harper! Get up! Are you going to school or not?” She reached for the door handle. My heart leaped into my throat. “Har—” The word died in her throat. Dad and Tyler saw the look on her face and rushed over. The room was empty. The bed was made, the duvet folded with military precision. “Did she… not come home last night?” Tyler asked, his voice wavering. “Nonsense!” Mom snapped instantly. “It was freezing last night. Where else would she go?” Dad was silent for a moment. “She’s probably sulking. Maybe she went to school early on her own. Isn’t today the parent-teacher conference? I’ll ask for time off and go check.” “I’ll go,” Mom said, turning to get dressed. “Your job is important. I’ll handle the conference.” “Can you… handle it?” Dad grabbed her arm, worried. We all knew that since the depression hit, Mom was terrified of crowds. Being alone in public made her feel like she was suffocating. I drifted over, trying to block her. I didn’t want her to suffer for me. “The doctor said I’m better. Don’t worry,” Mom muttered, wrapping a scarf around her neck aggressively. “Harper is getting more and more disobedient. When I find her, she’s going to get it.” Mom hurried out. As soon as she stepped out of the building, she saw a crowd gathered at the back of the complex. “I heard someone jumped. Blood everywhere.” “Just a kid. Shame. Died so young.” “Police said the body’s been there all night. Stiff as a board. Where the hell were the parents? Irresponsible.” Mom’s pace slowed. Panic flickered in her eyes. Suddenly, a small dog darted out, grabbing her pant leg and dragging her toward the crowd. I recognized him instantly. Buster. The stray dog I played with whenever Mom kicked me out of the house. I used to save half my breakfast for him. Mom, allergic to dog hair, kicked him away. Buster didn’t give up. He came back, whimpering, tugging her toward the police tape. He knew. He knew she was my mother, and he wanted her to see me. But Mom frowned, disgusted, and kicked him harder. I tried to hug the dog. Don’t hurt him. Buster howled, running back to my body, barking at anyone who tried to get too close. Mom backed away from the crowd, muttering to herself, a mantra of denial. “It can’t be Harper. That damn kid doesn’t have the guts to die.” I watched her stumble away. “Mom,” I whispered. “I’m not a coward. I was brave.” “Mom, just look back. Please. Crowds make you sick… you don’t have to force yourself to go to school…” I followed her all the way to the school. I felt a strange mix of anxiety and excitement. This was the first time Mom had ever come to my school. Dad was usually busy traveling. He’d come a few times, but mostly, I sat alone. I used to watch the other kids with their parents and feel so jealous my stomach hurt. Mom wandered the halls for a long time before she found my classroom. She looked around frantically but didn’t see me. When she saw the homeroom teacher, Mrs. Gable, walk in, she rushed up. “Mrs. Gable, where is my daughter? Where is Harper? I can’t find her.” Mrs. Gable looked at her with a strange expression. “You’re Harper’s mother? The class monitor said she wasn’t here during roll call. I was just about to call you.” “What is going on? We never see you at conferences, and now that the child is missing, you show up demanding answers?” Mom panicked. A nameless dread washed over her. The scene from the apartment complex—the police tape, the whispers about a jumper—flashed in her mind. She forced it down. “Nonsense! Mrs. Gable, are you covering for her? Is that little brat hiding? She has to be here! Tell her to come out! I’m going to teach her a lesson!” Mrs. Gable stared at the unhinged woman in front of her. Her face hardened. “Mrs. Ji, how do you not know where your own daughter is?” “I checked the security cameras. Harper never entered the building. That is why I was calling you.” Seeing the teacher’s serious face, Mom realized she wasn’t lying. The ground seemed to tilt beneath her. Her hands shook as she pulled out her phone. But before she could dial, Dad’s name flashed on the screen. She answered. On the other end, Dad’s voice was trembling, barely human. “The police just called me. Harper… she jumped.”

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For three years, I voluntarily erased my existence. I became a ghost before I was even dead. To pay for the experimental treatments that would wake my family from their comas, I accepted a contract that no sane person would sign. I spent a thousand days living in the subterranean mausoleum of a superstitious billionaire, keeping a silent vigil for his deceased son. I survived on a liquid “purification” diet that stripped the flesh from my bones and turned my blood into sludge. Finally, just before the holidays, the miracle happened. My parents woke up. Even my brother, Cole, whose mind had been shattered by the accident, regained his clarity. I thought the nightmare was over. I thought I was walking back into the light. Then, Cole sat me down on the edge of my hospital bed and shattered my reality. “Nora, you’ve done well these past three years. I think you’ve finally learned your lesson.” He smiled, a terrifyingly casual expression. “When we have Christmas dinner in a few days, I want you to sincerely apologize to Tessa. Do that, and we can be a family again.” The air left the room. My beloved family hadn’t been sick. There was no coma. No paralysis. No brain damage. They had staged the accident. They had played dead for three years simply because they felt I was too “arrogant” for beating their adopted daughter, Tessa, for Valedictorian. They wanted to “break my ego,” to teach me “humility.” They wanted to teach me a lesson about life. But they didn’t know the punchline: I was actually dying. Why couldn’t they have kept the lie going for just a few more days? … 1 The specialist pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, flipping through my chart with a furrowed brow. “This pathology is… bizarre,” he said, his voice dropping to a professional murmur. “It’s rapid, aggressive. It looks like accelerated decay. I’ve never seen a living body shut down like this.” He hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Miss Vane, have you considered signing a body donation directive? Given the rarity of your condition, research institutes would pay a premium. A significant premium.” At the time, my eyes had lit up. Even though Mom and Dad were “awake,” rehabilitation is expensive in New York. Cole had no income. They needed every cent. So, without a second thought, I signed my body away to science. But now? Now the ink on that form felt like a joke. Cole said it was all a lie. He said if I just apologized to Tessa—sweet, fragile Tessa—I could be his little sister again. My hands trembled as I shoved the donation paperwork deeper into my coat pocket. “Why…” My voice was a rasp, like sandpaper on stone. “Why tell me now?” Why not wait until I was in the ground? Why give me this cruel clarity right before the end? Cole rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortably like a boy caught stealing cookies, not a man who had destroyed his sister’s life. “Tessa said she didn’t like lying,” he muttered. “She said she couldn’t stand the guilt. She told us if I didn’t make you apologize, she wouldn’t come home for the holidays.” He chuckled, a soft, affectionate sound. “That’s Tessa for you. Always thinking of others. While you were… away, she showed us your photos every day. She was so worried.” Ah. I see. I let out a dry, rattling laugh. The irony was a physical weight in my chest. Seeing my expression crumble, Cole moved to comfort me, his hand hovering near my shoulder. “Nora, don’t cry. It’s not that big of a deal.” “Think about it. When you took that Valedictorian spot from Tessa, she didn’t say a word. She suffered in silence. If Mom hadn’t noticed her depression, we never would have realized how ruthless you’d become.” He was talking about three years ago. The graduation. I beat Tessa by a fraction of a GPA point. I became Valedictorian. The whole school cheered. Teachers told me my hard work had paid off. But at the dinner table, my family looked like they were attending a funeral. But I earned it! I spent nights fueled by cheap coffee and panic, studying until my eyes bled, all for the scholarship money. They saw me. They saw the light under my door at 3 AM. Why was I expected to hand it to Tessa on a silver platter? Cole shook his head, disappointment radiating off him. “Nora, why don’t you get it? You lack basic empathy.” “Tessa lost her parents. She’s an orphan we took in. She’s sensitive, fragile. And you? You flaunted that first-place trophy like a weapon.” “I don’t understand how my sister became so cold-blooded.” For a second, my mind drifted. I remembered why I fought so hard for that title. Mom and Dad had promised: If you get Valedictorian, we’ll take a trip. Just the four of us. A real family vacation. 2 Ever since Tessa moved into our brownstone, I became a ghost in my own life. She was quiet, so my parents bought her the world to solicit a smile. She came with worn-out clothes, so Cole raided my closet, giving my favorite dresses to her, telling me I should be “generous.” Even at the family portraits, Tessa stood in the center. I was pushed to the edge of the frame. I was a child too. Didn’t I deserve to be seen? Did Tessa’s “sensitivity” mean I had to set myself on fire to keep her warm? And for the last three years… God. I dropped out of Columbia. I worked three jobs until my body gave out. Then I found The Contract. The wealthy eccentric in the Hudson Valley. He wanted a “pure soul” to lie in the sensory deprivation crypt next to his dead son’s sarcophagus. To “guide the spirit.” The pay was astronomical. It covered the best private care facility for my “vegetative” parents. For three years, I didn’t eat a solid meal. I drank their proprietary “cleansing tonic”—a vile, chemical sludge. I meditated in freezing darkness. I became skeletal. People who saw me on my rare breaks crossed the street, thinking I was a walking corpse. I looked at Cole now. His skin was flushed with health. His eyes were bright. Did they ever wonder what I was doing for three years? Something inside me snapped. A cable holding up the bridge of my sanity just gave way. I grabbed the plastic pitcher from the bedside table and hurled it at the wall. “Get out! Get the hell out!” “Why?! Why did you do this to me?” “I bet Tessa is laughing her ass off right now, isn’t she?” At the mention of Tessa, Cole’s concern evaporated. His face hardened into a mask of ice. He grabbed my wrist. His grip was strong. Too strong. “Nora, calm down. You’re being hysterical.” “This has nothing to do with Tessa. This was a decision Mom, Dad, and I made together.” “If you want to blame someone, blame us. Don’t project your jealousy onto her.” He straightened his cashmere sweater, glancing around the sterile hospital room with disdain. “We’re hosting a gala dinner in a few days. New Year’s Eve. Come home then.” “Today is Tessa’s college graduation. I have to go. I won’t let your drama ruin her big day.” The door clicked shut. I collapsed into the mess of spilled water and plastic, forcing myself to relive the wreckage of my short life. Cole was twelve years older than me. He practically raised me while our parents built their empire. My first word wasn’t “Mama,” it was “Cole.” He used to call me “Bug.” He used to look at me like I hung the moon. When did my brother become her brother? Once Tessa arrived, it was like a switch flipped. He only had eyes for the “poor orphan girl.” A wave of nausea hit me. I bent over and retched, coughing up a thick, black fluid. I wiped my mouth and remembered the doctor’s warning. If you want to buy yourself a few more days, avoid stress. Any emotional shock could stop your heart instantly. I had planned to arrange my affairs. Spend one last Christmas with them. Die quietly in my sleep, knowing I had saved them. But it was a scam. My sacrifice was their punchline. I took a deep breath, the air rattling in my fluid-filled lungs. I called an Uber. Destination: Columbia University. My dream school. The place I gave up to save them. The campus was alive with blue gowns and mortarboards. I remembered my birthday wish from four years ago. “I’m going to get into Columbia. I’m going to make you proud.” Mom had kissed my forehead. Cole had smeared frosting on my nose. “You get into Columbia, Bug, and you’ll be the star of this family.” I looked up. There they were. Mom and Dad, looking elegant and healthy in designer suits, flanking Tessa like she was royalty. Cole was beaming. “Tessa! Happy Graduation!” 3 “Thank you, Auntie. Uncle.” The girl who used to look like a frightened mouse was now a swan. She wore a tailored white dress under her gown, her smile practicing a perfect modesty. “And Cole… thank you. For everything.” Mom paused, feigning shock. “Oh, honey, why are you still calling us Auntie and Uncle?” “What should you be calling us?” Tessa blushed, burying her face in Mom’s shoulder. A muffled, sweet voice emerged. “Mom.” “Oh!” Mom’s eyes crinkled with pure joy. I hadn’t seen that smile in years. Not directed at me. For three years, I thought she was in a coma, her face bandaged, hooked up to machines in a private wing I wasn’t allowed to enter “for sanitary reasons.” I hated myself every day. If I hadn’t been so competitive. If I had just let Tessa win. It turns out, the coma was just a performance. A piece of theater directed by my mother to “fix” my personality. I stood behind a pillar, feeling like a sewer rat watching a royal wedding. Two students walked past me, their whispers drifting in the cold air. “How the hell did Tessa Vane get the Valedictorian award? She barely showed up to class. She was partying in the Hamptons every weekend.” “Shh. Money talks. I heard the Vane family donated a whole new wing to the library to secure her spot.” “Gross. And she does that whole ‘I’m so humble’ act. I heard she told the Dean she ‘didn’t feel worthy’ while her dad wrote the check.” I laughed. It was a wet, broken sound. tears streamed down my face. I didn’t know how much a library wing cost. I only knew that one day of ICU care for my “sick” parents cost me three days in the coffin. In that mausoleum, the air was stale and cold. When the stone lid slid shut, the darkness was absolute. Outside the stone, the hired mourners chanted. Inside, I lay perfectly still, terrified that if I moved, I’d disrespect the spirits. I wasn’t scared for myself. I was scared for them. Just hold on, Nora. Just one more day. Dad needs the ventilator. The darkness ate away at my mind. The “tonic” ate away at my stomach. Even the billionaire’s staff told me to stop. “Miss Vane, this is… it’s too much. The boy is dead. You’re alive. Please, go home.” I knelt before them, begging. “Please. The doctors said my mom moved her finger today. I need the bonus. I need them to walk again.” I sold my life, hour by hour, for a lie. I wiped my face and blended into the crowd. I watched them. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run up to them and tear their happiness apart. Am I not your daughter? Is blood nothing to you? I steeled myself. I stepped into their path. I lifted my head, ready for the confrontation. But they walked right past me. They didn’t recognize me. I was so gaunt, so withered, that my own parents looked through me like I was a dirty window. Cole even extended a hand to guide Tessa away from me, as if I were a beggar who might infect her. “Watch out, Tess. Keep moving.” 4 It felt like a physical slap. I stood frozen. They didn’t know who I was. As they walked away, Tessa paused. She glanced back over her shoulder. Her eyes met mine. She smiled. A small, knowing curve of her lips. She didn’t say anything, but the message was loud and clear: I won. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Cole. “Nora, today is Tessa’s big day. I don’t want you showing up and causing a scene with your mood. Stay away. Understand?” “Be a good girl. Come home for New Year’s Eve.” New Year’s Eve? Would I even be breathing by then? I shook my head, wandering through the campus like a lost spirit. At least I got to see my dream school one last time. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was the billionaire’s estate manager. “Nora? Look, I know you’re… retired. But we have a crisis. The caterer for a big event tonight is short-staffed. VIP clients. Easy work, just passing trays. Triple pay.” “I sent you the address. 7 PM.” He hung up before I could say no. Since my body failed, they had pre-paid some of my medical bills out of pity. I didn’t want to owe them. He called it an “advance on wages.” I looked at the address. The world tilted. It was my old house. The Vane Estate. When the “accident” happened, money hemorrhaged. I sold everything I owned. I couldn’t afford the mortgage on the estate with them in the “hospital.” I put the house on the market. A buyer scooped it up immediately for a suspiciously low price because I was desperate for cash. That money paid for three months of fake ICU bills. I looked at the banner hanging over the front gates: CONGRATULATIONS TESSA. They hadn’t lost the house. They had bought it back—or never really sold it. They probably used a shell company to buy it from me for pennies, stripping me of my inheritance while I thanked them for it. I put on the black server’s uniform. It hung off my skeletal frame. The head of catering barked orders. “The daughter, Tessa, is the jewel of this family. Do not spill anything on her. Do not look at her wrong. Or you’ll never work in this town again.” I kept my head down. I just wanted to work off this debt and go find a hole to die in. But the universe wasn’t done with me. Twenty minutes into the party, Tessa found me. “Sister? What are you doing here?” She was wearing a crown. A literal diamond tiara. She looked like a princess from a fairy tale. “I only heard about the… financial trouble recently. Are you okay?” She covered her mouth, feigning shock. “I already scolded Cole. How could he let you work as a servant? It’s so embarrassing.” “He promised me he’d apologize to you. Did he say sorry yet?” Her smile was flawless, but her eyes were dead. Predatory. I didn’t look up. “Excuse me, Miss Vane. I have work to do.” I tried to step around her. She stepped into my path, caught her heel on her own dress, and threw herself to the floor with the grace of a trained dancer. “Nora! I didn’t mean to steal your family! Please don’t push me!” 5 Before I could even process the act, a hand struck my face. Hard. My father. “Nora Vane! How can you be so vicious? I thought you had learned your lesson!” The room spun. My stomach churned, acid and blood mixing. Mom rushed to help Tessa up, checking her for imaginary wounds. She looked at me with deep, sorrowful disappointment. “If you want to be angry, be angry at us. Why attack Tessa?” “It seems the punishment was too light.” Punishment? What crime had I committed that required a death sentence? “Just because I got first place?” I whispered, the words bubbling up with iron-tasting saliva. “That’s why you tortured me?” Dad sighed, adjusting his cufflinks. “So, you know everything.” “Good. It was getting exhausting keeping up the charade.” “Yes,” he nodded, looking at me like he was explaining gravity to a toddler. “You are supposed to be the heir to Vane Enterprises. We have three hundred employees. They don’t need a selfish, arrogant CEO.” “You beat Tessa. You gloated. If we didn’t stop you, what would you do next? Crush a competitor? Destroy a family for profit?” “This was character building, Nora. We wanted to teach you sacrifice.” Sacrifice. I didn’t steal that grade. I didn’t cheat. I studied while Tessa slept. Is effort a sin? Is excellence a crime? Before I could speak, Dad turned to Tessa, beaming. “Some people just can’t be fixed. But Tessa… Valedictorian of Columbia. Humble. Kind. I’m not a stubborn man.” He raised his voice, addressing the room. “Tonight, I am proud to announce that Tessa will be the future CEO of Vane Enterprises.” Mom and Cole clapped, their faces glowing with pride. “As for you,” Dad looked at me with disgust. “Tessa is kind enough to offer you a monthly allowance.” “Admit your mistake, apologize to your sister, and take the money.” A monthly allowance. I laughed inside. I was a dead woman walking. What use did I have for money? And Tessa… the snake in the tiara… she would never let me see a dime. I looked at them one last time. I swallowed the blood rising in my throat. “Since you love Tessa so much,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “You can just pretend your daughter Nora died three years ago.” I turned to leave. I couldn’t breathe the air in this house anymore. “Go!” Dad shouted. “If you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back for Christmas!” Cole’s eyes flickered with a sudden, confused panic. He took a step toward me. “Dad, that’s too far. She’s still family.” Even Mom looked uneasy. But before anyone could say another word, a scream ripped through the crowd near the entrance. “Oh my god! She’s coughing up blood! Someone call 911!”

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My wife, the woman who made me swear we’d never have children, asked the police to mediate a domestic dispute. I filed for divorce the moment I walked through the door. Five years. That’s how long I’d been deployed on a joint task force at the border, living in the dust and the heat. My first day back in Boston, badge freshly clipped to my belt as a detective, and I catch a dispatch call: a domestic disturbance in the Beacon Hill district. My partner, a jaded veteran named Miller, didn’t even look up from the wheel. “It’s the St. James residence. Margot St. James. Every month, like clockwork, she gets into a screaming match with her husband over the kid. But don’t worry, it’s just theater. By the time we leave, we’ll be watching them make out.” Miller chuckled, shaking his head. “Everyone in the precinct knows the drill. The Ice Queen of Boston is a paper tiger when it comes to her man. She folds every time. It’s pathetic, really.” 1. Margot? I assumed it was a coincidence. A common enough name in these circles. After all, I had been married to Margot for ten years. Our entire marriage was built on a foundation of ironclad agreements, the strongest being that we were “child-free by choice.” She refused to be a mother. But when we walked into the drawing room of that brownstone, the air left my lungs. There was my wife. She was perched on the lap of a stranger, her fingers tangled in his hair, whispering apologies against his lips between soft, lingering kisses. I stood there, frozen. The shock wasn’t just physical; it was a complete dismantling of my reality. This was the woman who walked through life with her chin high, the woman who never apologized to anyone, least of all me. And here she was, submissive and pleading. Then, I saw the movement in the periphery. A little boy, maybe four or five years old, ran past the sofa. He had her eyes. He had her chin. It wasn’t that she didn’t want children. She just didn’t want my children. Miller nudged me hard in the ribs, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Careful, rookie. Margot St. James basically funded the new precinct gym. If you want to survive in this town, you kiss the ring. Or in this case, just nod and smile.” … I couldn’t move. My blood felt like sludge in my veins, heavy and cold. So, this was the truth. My wife wasn’t just a successful CEO; she was the heiress to the St. James empire. And in the five years I was bleeding for my country, she had built a secret life. A backup life. Margot looked up. When her eyes locked onto mine, the flush of passion drained from her face instantly, leaving her pale as a ghost. The man on the sofa reached up, wiping a smudge of lipstick from her mouth with his thumb. He turned to me, his smile practiced and predatory. “Chief Russo mentioned we were getting some new blood. You must be Officer… Roman?” He stood up, smoothing his cashmere sweater, and pulled Margot possessively into his side. “Sorry for the drama. We’re passionate people. I’m Felix. This is my wife, Margot, and our son, Leo.” My wife, Margot. Our son, Leo. The words were like shrapnel. They embedded themselves in my chest, festering immediately. I looked at him. His tone was polite, the kind of polished etiquette money buys, but his eyes were screaming victory. He knew who I was. This wasn’t an introduction; it was a taunt. Seeing the three of them—a perfect, catalogue-ready family—tore me apart. In my mind, Margot was the fierce, independent partner who matched my soul. I loved her with a desperate, quiet intensity. I remembered the night her best friend nearly died in childbirth. Margot had shaken in my arms for hours, terrified. She developed a phobia so severe she couldn’t be near pregnant women. I wanted to protect her. I promised her a life of just us. I went to the clinic. I got the vasectomy. I took that burden so she would never have to be afraid. “Look at us, Roman,” she used to say, tracing my jawline in the dark. “We’re free. No chains. Just you and me against the world.” But the woman who preached freedom, who claimed to despise the “shackles of parenthood,” had used my deployment to play house with another man. No wonder she never visited. No wonder the letters stopped. It hit me then—my sudden, extended deployment order five years ago. It wasn’t bad luck. It was her influence. She needed me gone so she could carry Felix’s child without interference. I stood there, the betrayal making it hard to breathe. “Well?” Margot’s voice was sharp now, the softness gone. “Are you going to do your job, or just stare? Is this the level of professionalism the police force offers these days?” She didn’t acknowledge me. She didn’t acknowledge us. Miller hissed in my ear. “Say something, man. Don’t piss off the donor.” “Mr… Felix,” I managed to grind out. “I heard you’ve been married a decade, Officer,” Felix said, leaning back against the mantle. “I actually asked your Captain to send you specifically. I thought, who better to give us some advice on marital longevity?” It was a setup. A game. When I didn’t answer, he twisted the knife. “Although, I am curious. Ten years and no kids? Is it a plumbing issue?” He laughed, a low, cruel sound. “I could give you some pointers. Leo here? One try. That’s all it took.” “Felix, don’t be crude with the help,” Margot chided, though her cheeks flushed pink. His words were branding irons on my pride. I clenched my fists so hard my nails cut into my palms. Felix laughed again, adjusting the cuff of his shirt. “Just trying to help the guy out.” My eyes caught the glint of metal on his wrist. I froze. That wasn’t just a watch. It was a vintage Omega, scratched on the bezel. My father’s watch. The one I gave to Margot for safekeeping before I deployed, terrified I’d lose it in the field. She gave my dead father’s watch to her lover. Something inside me snapped. The leash of discipline I’d worn for five years broke. I lunged, grabbing his wrist. “Take it off! Give me the goddamn watch!” CRASH. Pain exploded in my forehead. Glass rained down on my shoulders. Margot stood over me, a heavy crystal ashtray in her hand, her chest heaving. “Are you insane?” she screamed. Blood trickled into my eye, hot and blinding, but it hurt less than the look on her face. Felix took the opportunity to kick me hard in the stomach. I stumbled, winded, and went down. He stepped on my hand—my shooting hand—and ground his heel into the knuckles. “My wife gave me this,” Felix sneered. “Finders keepers, trash.” Margot stood there, imperious and cold. “Apologize to my husband, or I swear to God…” I spat blood onto the expensive rug. “Or what, Margot? You’ll ship me off to the border for another five years?” Her eyes widened, a flicker of panic breaking her composure. “You’re a nobody,” Felix laughed, applying more pressure to my hand. “We could bury you, and no one would even ask where the dirt came from.” He snapped his fingers. Two private security guards materialized from the hallway, dragging me toward the door. I was thrown onto the sidewalk like a bag of garbage. Miller, terrified of the fallout, had already driven off. My phone buzzed. It was Captain Russo. “You offended Ms. St. James? Are you out of your mind? Don’t bother coming in tomorrow!” I hung up, my hand shaking with rage and adrenaline. If that was the game they were playing, I was done with the rules. 2 I sat on the curb, wiping the blood from my brow, when the front door opened again. Margot walked out. She didn’t look worried; she looked annoyed, like I was a stain on her driveway she needed to scrub out. “Roman, look. Not telling you was… an oversight,” she said, crossing her arms. “An oversight?” I laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. “I haven’t even had a chance to congratulate you, Mrs. St. James. Or is it Mrs. Felix now?” Her expression hardened. “Stop being dramatic. Your mother had a second family, didn’t she? Your dad sucked it up for your sake. Why can’t you have the same grace?” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a reasonable, almost business-like tone. “Felix and I… it was an accident. But his family needs an heir. I couldn’t deny him that. Leo can call you ‘Dad’ too, if you want. He’ll take care of us when we’re old.” “So, I’m supposed to just accept this? Share you?” “Stop acting like a jealous woman, Roman. It’s unbecoming.” My crushed fingers throbbed, but the pain in my chest was worse. I tasted copper in my mouth. She knew—she knew—that my father died of a heart attack the day he found out about my mom’s affair. She was using my deepest trauma as a bargaining chip. “You were gone for months at a time,” she continued, gaining momentum. “Always talking about training, missions. You came home smelling like sweat and gun oil. What woman wants that?” She paused, delivering the final blow with surgical precision. “I told you I wanted to be ‘child-free’ because the thought of you touching me made my skin crawl. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” The silence that followed was deafening. For ten years, I lived like a monk for her. I climbed the ranks for her. I pretended to be rich when we met because she said she liked ambitious men, then found out she was the rich one, and I stayed humble. “You were disgusted by me,” I whispered. “Margot, I worshipped the ground you walked on.” “Oh, grow up,” she snapped, checking her watch—a delicate Cartier, not the stolen Omega. “Apologize to Felix. Immediately. I can get your job back with one phone call. You want to be a Captain, right? I can make that happen. In my heart, you’re still my legal husband. Felix is just… necessary. He won’t threaten your status.” My status. She thought I wanted a promotion? I wanted to give her a good life. “No,” I said. She rolled her eyes and turned back to the house. “Fine. Sulk. Come back when you’re ready to be an adult.” I limped back to our old apartment—the one I paid for. The key didn’t work. I called a locksmith. When the door finally swung open, I wish it hadn’t. My sanctuary, the 900-square-foot apartment where we’d spent our first years, was unrecognizable. It was filled with histhings. I walked into the master bedroom. My side of the closet was empty. My clothes, my uniforms, my gear—gone. Replaced by rows of garish designer suits that reeked of Felix’s cologne. The doorbell rang. It was Margot’s personal assistant, a man named Lee. He looked at me with open disdain. “We got a call from building management about a break-in,” Lee sneered. “You’ve got some nerve, breaking into private property.” “Private property?” I laughed, feeling the edge of hysteria. “The deed has my name on it, Lee.” Lee pulled out his tablet and held it up. A digital copy of the deed. Owner: Felix Henderson. “Mr. Henderson owns this unit,” Lee said, looking down his nose at me. “You’re just a squatter. Get out before I call the cops. The real cops.” The grief finally hit me then, a tidal wave of black water. But I refused to cry. Not in front of them. “Tell her,” I said, my voice shaking with suppressed rage, “that I don’t want the apartment. I don’t want the money. I want a divorce.” 3 I didn’t sleep. I sat in a 24-hour diner, drafting the divorce agreement on a napkin before taking it to a lawyer at dawn. By noon, I had the papers. I handed them to Lee and walked away. But my feet betrayed me. I found myself walking back toward the St. James mansion. I needed… I don’t know what I needed. Closure? To see it one last time? I stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the second-floor window. Through the sheer curtains, I saw them. Margot and Felix. They weren’t fighting. They were entangled. I turned to leave, stomach churning, but Felix saw me. He locked eyes with me through the glass and deliberately pulled her closer, his movements aggressive, performative. Margot let out a sound that carried through the open window. I looked down. The boy, Leo, was standing at the gate, pointing a toy gun at me. “Go away, beggar!” the kid shouted. “My daddy said you’re a beggar!” The window slid open. Felix leaned out, shirtless, looking like a king addressing a peasant. “Back for more, Officer? Ready to apologize?” Margot appeared behind him, wrapping a silk robe around herself. “Roman? Jesus, look at you. You look like a homeless person. You’re scaring my son.” Scaring her son. I had scars on my face from windburn and shrapnel, earned keeping people like them safe. To her, I was just ugly. “Did you sign the papers?” I asked, my voice flat. “What papers?” Margot frowned. Leo started crying, loud and fake. Margot’s attention snapped to the boy. “We’ll talk later. Just go.” Felix smirked. Once Margot moved away to comfort the kid, he disappeared from the window. A minute later, the front door cracked open. Felix tossed a manila envelope onto the wet pavement. “She signed it ages ago,” he laughed. “Just needed a reason to give it to you. Good riddance.” I picked up the muddy envelope. I didn’t check it. I just wanted out. I called my old commanding officer, requested a transfer back to the unit, and headed straight for Logan Airport. I thought I was free. I was wrong. I was at the gate, ticket in hand, when a heavy purse slammed into the back of my head. “Roman! You sick bastard!” I spun around. Margot was there, eyes wild, chest heaving. “Where is he?” she screamed, clawing at my jacket. “Where is my son? What did you do with Leo?” “What are you talking about?” “Don’t play dumb! The kidnapping happened an hour after you left! The security feed shows a man who looks exactly like you taking him!” Two of her bodyguards grabbed my arms. “I didn’t touch your kid,” I said, struggling. Felix came running up, panting, and threw himself at my feet. “Roman, please! Take anything! Take the money, take the house! Just give me back my boy!” Margot pulled Felix up, glaring at me with pure hatred. “You’re a monster. I never thought you’d stoop this low.” She slapped me. Hard. “I am a soldier,” I roared, the anger finally breaking through. “I have never dishonored my uniform! I didn’t take your son. If someone who looks like me took him, ask your boyfriend why he owns a wig!” Margot didn’t listen. She nodded to the guards. “Bring him.” They dragged me to a waiting SUV. They took me to a warehouse near the docks—one of the St. James shipping properties. They didn’t call the police. They tied my hands to a ceiling beam. One of the guards stepped forward with a heavy rubber hose. “Tell us where the boy is,” Margot said, her voice trembling. The first strike hit my ribs like a sledgehammer. “I don’t know!” I gasped. They beat me for what felt like hours. Ribs cracked. Skin split. I hung there, a piece of meat, barely conscious. “Ninety-nine,” the guard counted, breathless. I couldn’t feel my legs anymore. Just as the darkness was about to swallow me completely, the warehouse doors exploded inward. “FBI! DOWN! GET ON THE GROUND!” Through the haze, I saw a familiar figure. Broad shoulders. Tactical gear. Gunner. My sniper. He saw me hanging there, dripping blood, and let out a roar that shook the walls. “Margot St. James!” Gunner screamed, leveling his rifle at her. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

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They say the night bus doesn’t just carry the living. I didn’t buy into that kind of urban legend. Not until I took the wheel for the graveyard shift. A few months ago, my life was totaled—literally. I survived a wreck that left my skull fractured and my memory full of holes. I knew who I was—Mason, born in the Rust Belt, blue-collar roots—but the accident itself was a blank tape. I just knew it was bad. After they cut me loose from the hospital, I was desperate for cash. That’s when I saw the flyer fluttering on a wet sidewalk: Transit Authority Driver Needed. Night Shift. Rural Route. High Pay. I used to drive rigs before the crash. Figuring it was fate, or maybe just dumb luck, I made the call. When I pulled up to the depot, my optimism died a quick death. The place was a concrete scar on the edge of town, half-swallowed by dead ivy and stained with years of water damage. A few buses were scattered around the lot like discarded toys, their doors rusting, their bodies dented. I couldn’t figure out how this fleet passed inspection. … The supervisor was a man named Hank. He looked like he was carved out of granite—forty-something, stiff, eyes that didn’t blink enough. After a test drive, he gave a curt nod. He pointed to the saddest vehicle in the lot, a beat-up 17-seater shuttle. “You start tonight. That’s your rig.” He laid out the route. 10:30 PM sharp. Depart from the Central Terminal, drive out to the turnaround at Blackwood Creek, rest for twenty minutes, drive back. “Five grand a month. Full benefits. Extra thousand for the night differential. You good with that?” Good? It was a lifeline. It was too good to be true. I walked into his office, ready to sign my life away. Hank stopped me, his hand heavy on my shoulder. “Mason, we run a tight ship. There are three rules. You break them, you’re out.” I nodded, desperate not to blow this. “Name them.” “First,” he said, deadpan. “You need to be unattached. Celibate. No women, no dating while you hold this contract. Purity of focus.” “I… I’m single. Haven’t been with anyone in a long time.” I was weirded out. I expected safety protocols, not a morality clause. “Good.” The tension in his forehead smoothed out. “Second: From the Terminal to Blackwood, there are five stops. You do not stop unless you are at a designated station. You hold at every station for exactly three minutes. Understood?” “What if a passenger is running late? Or needs extra time?” Hank shook his head. “Irrelevant. Stick to the protocol.” “Okay.” “Finally. Once the clock strikes midnight, you drive straight back. Doesn’t matter who flags you down. You do not stop.” He grabbed his coffee mug, signaling the end of the discussion. “Agree to these three, and the job is yours.” “Done.” I needed the money too badly to ask questions. I signed the paperwork, moved my stuff into the grim employee dorms that afternoon, and by 10:00 PM, I was heading to the bay. The bus was even worse than it looked in the daylight. The door hung loose on its hinges, and there was a jagged hole in the floorboard that whistled when the wind hit it. I checked my watch. Ignition. The outskirts of the city were brutal. No streetlights, just potholes and shadows. It took fifteen minutes to hit the first stop, a desolate patch of gravel called Willow Run. A guy with a briefcase became my first passenger. He was young, dressed like a junior associate at a law firm, but his face was slack, expressionless. He climbed on and walked straight to the back row without a word. No fare, no pass. “Hey, buddy,” I called out. “You gotta pay the fare.” He froze. He looked at me like I was speaking a dead language. After a long, awkward pause, he fished some loose change out of his pocket and handed it over. Something about him felt off. I kept glancing in the rearview mirror. He didn’t look at his phone. He didn’t close his eyes. He just pressed his forehead against the cold glass and stared into the blackness. Probably just burnout. We’re all hustling just to survive these days. The road was washboard-rough. It took half an hour to rattle our way to the second stop. Before the wheels even stopped rolling, the Suit stood up. As he passed the driver’s seat, he turned his head. “You should leave early. No one is getting on at this stop.” “Can’t do it. Policy says three minutes.” I answered automatically. By the time I turned to ask how he knew, he was gone. Swallowed by the night. “Fast walker,” I muttered. I waited. He was right. No one showed up at that stop, or the next three. It wasn’t surprising given the hour and the location, but it settled a heavy feeling in my gut. I finished the route, arriving back at the depot around 2:00 AM. The next morning, Hank cornered me while I was grabbing coffee. “First night go okay?” “Fine,” I said. “One weirdo in a suit. Tried to stiff me on the fare, but I made him pay.” “It doesn’t matter,” Hank said quickly. “We don’t rely on ticket sales for profit. Let him slide.” I swear I saw a tic in Hank’s jaw, a spasm of nerves, but he smoothed it over instantly. The second night, the Suit was there again. Same routine. Briefcase. Back row. Staring at nothing. This time, remembering Hank’s advice, I didn’t ask for money. At the second stop, he stood up. “Leave early. No one is coming.” At first, I thought he was messing with me. But a week went by, and he was my only passenger. Every night, same stop, same exit, same prediction. I joked about it to Hank. “Kid thinks he’s psychic. He’s never wrong.” Hank’s hand froze halfway to his mouth with a cigarette. “Don’t talk nonsense. It’s just coincidence.” Of course, the pattern broke the very next night. It was my eighth shift. I dropped the Suit off at stop number two. I tried to make small talk. “Let me guess, nobody’s coming tonight except you?” He offered a thin, cryptic smile. “Except for me? No one will ever get on your bus.” Then he vanished into the dark. I waited the mandatory three minutes. I was starting to feel foolish, wondering if this whole bus route was some tax write-off scheme designed just for that one guy. Then, a voice boomed from the darkness. “Hey! Open up!” I jumped. A bald, middle-aged man was pounding on the glass. I chuckled. So much for the psychic. The bald guy—let’s call him Tucker—seemed frantic. As soon as the doors hissed open, he scrambled inside. He scanned the back row where the Suit usually sat, his face draining of color. “Drive,” he wheezed. “Please, just drive.” But as soon as we pulled away, his panic evaporated. He sauntered up to the front, leaning on the safety rail. “First week, huh kid?” “Yeah,” I said, eyeing him. “How’d you know?” “I ride this route a lot.” Tucker grinned. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out. “Smoke?” “No thanks. And you can’t smoke in here.” “I don’t smoke usually,” he said, lighting up anyway. “Only when I’m on this bus.” I wanted to yell at him, but the bus was empty, and honestly, I was lonely. Tucker was chatty. He asked if the isolation got to me. I deflected, asking what he did for a living that kept him out so late. He didn’t answer. He just laughed, a dry, rattling sound. When we hit the third stop, Tucker flicked a loose cigarette onto my dashboard. “Take it. For the nerves. You’re gonna need it, seeing as no one else is gonna get on.” I took the cigarette, confused. Why is everyone repeating the same lines? I waited at the stop. Nothing. I shook my head, ready to pull out. Suddenly, a woman burst out of the shadows, running into the middle of the road. She was clutching a bundle in her arms. “Stop! Please!” I slammed on the brakes, the bus screeching to a halt inches from her hip. My heart hammered against my ribs. “Are you crazy? Running out like that with a kid?” She climbed on, breathless, apologizing over and over. “It’s fine,” I sighed. “Just be careful.” I looked at the bundle. It was a boy, maybe five or six, wrapped in layers of wool despite the mild weather. His face was visible—and it was wrong. Pale, with a bluish tint on his forehead. “Is he okay?” I asked. “He looks sick.” She didn’t answer, just hurried to the back. The boy lifted his head from her shoulder. His eyes were dark, like polished obsidian. He blinked at me. “Thank you, Mister.” He was smiling, but his skin looked like old bruises. “Listen to your mom,” I said, forcing a smile. “You’ll feel better soon.” “Okay,” the boy whispered. “But Mommy says I’m not gonna get better.” A chill went down my spine. Terminal? God, that was tragic. I drove them to the terminal at Blackwood. As she got off, the woman turned. She looked me dead in the eye and smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile; it was seductive, unsettlingly intimate. My ears burned. When I got back to the depot, Hank was waiting on the tarmac. He offered me a cigarette immediately. “How was the run?” “Fine.” I waved him off. “I’ve got one.” I picked up the cigarette Tucker had left on the dash. Hank’s eyes widened. He stared at the cigarette like it was a loaded gun. “Where did you get that?” “A passenger gave it to me…” I stopped. I looked at the thing in my hand. It was wrong. The filter was black with rot. The paper was stained brown, damp, and smelled like wet earth and decay. It smelled like a grave. I gagged and tossed it out the window. Hank looked pale. “Throw that away. Don’t take things from strangers.”

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For the first time in seven years, I returned to the Miller estate for Christmas Eve dinner. When I saw my foster sister, Sophie, our eyes met, and the air between us went cold—a heavy, suffocating silence that neither of us knew how to break. During the first course, my foster father, Henry, reached over and patted my shoulder. His hand felt heavy, like a ghost from a life I’d tried to bury. “Silas, having you move out back then… it was a desperate situation. I hope you don’t hold it against us.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He took a sip of his wine and added, “But your timing is perfect. Sophie is getting married next week.” I knew exactly what he was doing. He was marking his territory, reminding me of the boundaries I had supposedly crossed nearly a decade ago. I pressed my lips together, my thumb brushing against the cool metal on my left hand. I raised my glass toward Sophie. “Then let me be the first to say it. Congratulations, Sophie. I wish you a happy marriage.” Sophie didn’t drink. Her gaze was locked on the diamond band glinting on my ring finger. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. My foster mother, Diane, let out a sharp, surprised breath. “Silas? Where did that ring come from?” I looked around the table at the people who had raised me, then discarded me. A bitter, dry laugh escaped my throat. “I forgot to mention. I’ve been married for seven years.” 1 Henry’s brow furrowed into deep, judgmental lines. “Seven years? You were barely twenty. What kind of nonsense is this?” “We are your parents, Silas—even if not by blood,” Diane chimed in, her voice shrill with a hurt that felt performed. “A marriage isn’t a small thing. How could you not tell us?” Seven years ago, they hadn’t “asked” me to move out. They had cast me out into the cold because I was accused of having “vile intentions” toward their biological daughter. I was the stray dog they’d taken in, only to decide I had rabies the moment things got complicated. I didn’t tell them about my marriage because, for seven years, they hadn’t existed to me. But they had raised me for fifteen years before the fall, and some part of me—the part that still remembered the boy who just wanted to belong—couldn’t quite bring itself to hate them completely. I looked at Henry, my expression a mask of calm. “I’m telling you now. In fact, I asked my wife to join us tonight. I wanted her to meet the family.” Diane, sensing the tension reaching a breaking point, tried to smooth it over. “Well, it’s Christmas. The fact that Silas came home is enough. Where is she, then? Your wife?” I glanced at my watch. The Rolex was a gift from her. “She had a last-minute conference call. She’ll be here in about two hours.” Throughout the meal, I felt Sophie’s eyes on me. It was a weight I refused to acknowledge. Finally, unable to handle being ignored, she pushed her chair back. “Mom, Dad, the tailor finished the final adjustments on the gown. Bennett went to pick it up, but I should go meet him. It’s a lot to carry.” She paused, her fingers drumming on the mahogany table right in front of me. She looked down at me, her eyes a swirling storm of confusion and something that looked dangerously like resentment. “Silas, you haven’t met your future brother-in-law yet. Why don’t you come with me to pick him up?” I wanted to say no. The “no” was right there on the tip of my tongue. But I felt Henry and Diane watching me, their eyes narrow with suspicion, waiting to see if I’d fold, waiting to see if I still carried that old, pathetic torch for their daughter. I stood up. I had to prove to them—and maybe to myself—that the boy who loved Sophie Miller was dead. On the way to the garage, the winter air bit at my skin. Sophie broke the silence first. “How have you been, Silas? Really?” I didn’t look at her. I watched the snow falling into the driveway. “I’ve been fine.” She stumbled slightly, her pace faltering. She looked like she wanted to say a thousand things, but in the end, she just hurried to the car. She reached for the passenger door, swinging it open for me with a practiced, familiar grace. I walked right past her and climbed into the back seat. Sophie’s reflection in the rearview mirror showed a sharp frown. “Do you really have to be this cold?” I turned my head to the window, watching the skeletal trees of the estate blur past. “Your fiancé is waiting. Let’s not keep him.” She let out a long, frustrated sigh and put the car in gear. “His name is Bennett. You should try being polite.” I didn’t answer. We drove in a silence so thick it felt like physical pressure. When we pulled up to the luxury bridal boutique downtown, the door was opened almost immediately by a man in a tailored charcoal overcoat. He looked like he’d stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad—polished, wealthy, and perfectly coiffed. “Sophie, babe, I told you I’d handle the dress,” he said, sliding into the passenger seat. He immediately took off his cashmere scarf and wrapped it around Sophie’s neck. “It’s freezing. I can’t have my bride-to-be catching a cold.” Sophie’s expression softened instantly. “I just wanted to see you.” They shared a nauseatingly sweet moment before the man—Bennett—noticed me in the back. “Oh,” he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Bennett, this is Silas,” Sophie introduced us, her voice tight. “My brother.” “Silas, this is Bennett Crawford.” I gave a polite nod. “Nice to meet you, Bennett.” Bennett didn’t offer his hand. Instead, he leaned back, looking me up and down with a smirk that set my teeth on edge. “So, this is the legendary Silas? The foster brother who was… let’s say, fond of you, Sophie?” The air in the car turned arctic. “Wait, I didn’t mean—” I started, but Bennett cut me right off. “I’m just kidding, man. Relax,” he said, though his eyes were sharp and mocking. “Unless you still have those… uncleanthoughts about your sister?” I felt a flash of heat in my chest, but I suppressed it. I simply lifted my left hand, letting the light catch my wedding band. “You’ve got the wrong idea, Bennett. I’ve been married for a long time.” 2 The drive back felt like an eternity. I leaned my forehead against the cold glass of the window, my mind drifting back to a time before the silence. Twenty years ago, my parents had been killed in a mountain climbing accident while saving Henry Miller’s life. The Millers had taken me in out of a sense of profound, heavy debt. I remembered arriving at that massive, intimidating house as a child, screaming for my mother in the middle of the night. It was Sophie—two years older and infinitely braver—who had sat by my bed every night, whispering stories until the grief receded. I had loved her with the clumsy, overwhelming intensity of a boy who had nothing else to hold onto. During puberty, I mistook that desperate gratitude for romance. I wanted the whole world to know she was mine because she was the only thing that made me feel like I wasn’t an intruder in my own life. Sophie hadn’t pushed me away then. She’d just laugh, ruffling my hair. “Silas, you’re always stuck to me. How are you ever going to find a wife if you’re chasing your sister?” “I don’t want anyone else,” I’d tell her, with the terrifying sincerity of a fifteen-year-old. “I’m only ever marrying you.” She’d smile then, her eyes bright and soft. “It’s a deal, then.” Those whispered promises felt like a fever dream now. When we reached the house, I got out of the car without a word and headed inside. Diane met me in the foyer, her eyes searching my face for cracks. “Did you meet Bennett?” she whispered. I nodded. “He seems… successful. They’re a good match.” She seemed to deflate with relief. She reached out, touching my arm. “Silas, listen. Even if you aren’t ours by blood, we always wanted the best for you. Some things… some mistakes from the past…” I gently removed her hand from my sleeve. “Diane. Don’t. There’s no point in digging up the past tonight.” She let out a long breath, then pulled me toward the living room. “You’re right. Let’s focus on the present. We have something for you.” She opened a velvet box on the coffee table. Inside was a Patek Philippe—understated, elegant, and incredibly expensive. I didn’t refuse it. I knew Diane. In her world, guilt was managed through high-end retail. If this watch helped her sleep, I’d take it. Despite the seven years of exile, I knew she had cared for me in her own limited way. She took the watch out of the box, gesturing for me to hold out my arm so she could fit it. I pushed back my sleeve. But before the metal could touch my skin, Bennett’s voice sliced through the room. “Mom?” He was standing in the doorway, his face twisted in a scowl. “Sophie spent three months tracking down that specific vintage piece for me. You’re just going to give it to him?” He walked over, his eyes cold as he looked at me. “My fiancée bought that. I don’t think it belongs on a stranger’s wrist.” Diane froze, caught between her husband’s future son-in-law and the boy she’d raised. I didn’t make her choose. I took the watch, set it back in the velvet lining, and looked at Bennett with a thin smile. “If your fiancée bought it, I wouldn’t dream of taking it.” Bennett stepped closer, his voice dropping to a hiss. “Good. At least you have some self-awareness. A charity case who got kicked out of the house shouldn’t be wearing thirty-thousand-dollar watches anyway.” 3 The room went deathly quiet. It was the one thing no one was supposed to say out loud. The “incident” was the rot underneath the floorboards of the Miller family, and Bennett had just ripped up the wood. But to his disappointment, I didn’t flinch. Seven years is a long time to build up scar tissue. Seeing that I wasn’t riled, Bennett opened his mouth to dig deeper, but Henry cut him off with a sharp bark. “It’s Christmas Eve. We aren’t going to bicker over a watch.” With the patriarch’s word final, Bennett just glared at me and subsided. Henry looked around the room. “The sun is down. Everyone, let’s head to the chapel.” The Millers had a private chapel on the edge of the estate, a tradition they took very seriously. As I stood up to follow, Bennett spoke again, his tone dripping with fake concern. “Wait, Dad. Didn’t Silas say he was married?” He turned to me, a predatory glint in his eye. “Shouldn’t we wait for his wife? It seems a bit rude to start the family tradition without the new ‘family member,’ doesn’t it?” Henry paused, considering. “He’s right. Silas, the first year of marriage is significant. She should be here for the memorial service. How far away is she?” I checked my phone. No new messages. “She hasn’t updated me. We should go ahead. I don’t want to hold everyone up.” “Why the rush?” Bennett asked, tilting his head. “Are you worried she won’t show? Or are you worried she doesn’t actually exist?” “The weather is bad,” I said, my voice level. “Planes get delayed. I just don’t want to waste everyone’s time.” Bennett turned to Sophie. His voice was soft, but his eyes were fixed on me. “Babe, we don’t mind waiting for Silas’s wife, do we?” Sophie looked at me, her expression unreadable. “It’s her first time here. We should wait.” She paused, a flicker of something—sadness? Bitterness?—crossing her face. “Besides… I’d like to see the woman my brother chose.” The air grew heavy again. I started to protest, but Bennett talked over me. “Come on, Silas. You look nervous. Did you just make her up so you wouldn’t look pathetic coming back here alone?” I frowned. “Why would I do that?” Bennett laughed, a low, ugly sound. “Who knows? Maybe because you’re still obsessed with your sister? Maybe you thought a fake wife would make us forget that you tried to drug her and force yourself on her seven years ago?” He leaned in, making sure everyone heard the next part. “You got caught like a dog and thrown out. If I were you, I’d be desperate to lie, too.” 4 Looking at Bennett’s sneering face, the humiliation I’d buried seven years ago surged back up like bile. Seven years ago, at the end of my nineteenth birthday party, I had cornered Sophie in the rose garden. I was shaking, unable to look her in the eye. “Sophie, I know you think I’m just a kid,” I’d told her. “But I love you. Not like a brother. Let me take care of you. Please.” Sophie hadn’t said anything. Her face was flushed deep red—I thought it was from the wine, or from the heat of the moment. She’d looked at me for a long time before whispering, “Silas, is this a dream?” Before I could answer, she had kissed me. She tasted like heavy liquor and desperation. I was terrified and thrilled all at once, responding with the clumsiness of someone who had never been touched like that. Then, a hand had ripped us apart. A stinging pain exploded across my face as Henry’s palm connected with my cheek. I remember the ringing in my ears, the sight of Henry’s face purple with rage, and the words “predator” and “assault” being hurled at me like stones. The guests had gathered, whispering. To them, Sophie looked disheveled and dazed—the perfect image of a victim. Henry had dragged her away that night. Diane had checked me into a hotel, telling me never to come back to the house. The rumors spread like wildfire. Online, I was branded a monster who had tried to violate his own foster sister. The university expelled me. The internet vitriol was a suffocating blanket. I begged Sophie to tell them the truth—that she had kissed me—but she stayed silent. Finally, the Millers paid for a one-way ticket to Europe and told me to disappear. It was the price of their “mercy.” Now, looking at Bennett, I felt a strange wave of pity. He was marrying a woman who had let a boy’s life be destroyed rather than admit to a moment of drunken weakness. Bennett mistook my silence for admission. “Do you have any idea how much shame you brought this family? If I were you, I’d be too ashamed to breathe, let alone show my face here.” He stepped into my personal space. “Look at you. You’re a curse, Silas. I heard your parents died right after you were born. Maybe you were the one who killed them, too.” The world went white. Before I even realized I’d moved, my hand connected with Bennett’s jaw. The crack echoed in the foyer. Bennett stumbled back, a hand to his face, shock written in his eyes. The relatives immediately swarmed. “What’s happening?” “Silas, for God’s sake! You can’t just hit people!” Seeing the audience, Bennett immediately slumped, putting on the act of the wounded party. Sophie’s eyes, usually so bright, turned sharp and cold. “Silas! No matter what happened, Bennett is your future brother-in-law. How could you lay a hand on him?” I was done with the charade. I looked her dead in the eye. “Does being a ‘brother-in-law’ give him the right to insult my dead parents?” I took a step toward her. “And let’s be clear, Sophie. You aren’t my sister. To me, you’re just a stranger I used to know.” Sophie flinched. “If Bennett said something to upset you, I’m sorry. I apologize for him.” Her voice hardened. “But you used violence. You owe him an apology. Now.” I felt that old, familiar ache in my chest. If she had stood up for me seven years ago the way she was standing up for this man now, my life would be entirely different. “Never,” I said. Sophie’s face fell. “Silas, what happened to you? You’ve become so… bitter.” She grabbed my wrist, her grip tight. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you. Apologize to Bennett.” She was holding me so tightly that if I pulled away, I’d send her sprawling. I didn’t want to hurt her—it was a lingering instinct I hated. But then, a slender, pale hand reached from behind me and firmly gripped Sophie’s wrist, forcing her to let go. Then I heard the one voice that always made the world feel steady again. “I think your fiancé is the one who needs to apologize.”

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To spite me, my arch-nemesis signed me up for an elite, invitation-only matchmaking service. I was ready to dial his number and scream until my lungs gave out, but then, a flicker of translucent text drifted across my vision like a live stream comment: [The male lead’s move is genius. To avoid a forced marriage with the villainess, he’s throwing her at the feet of the tragic billionaire second lead.] [Too bad the villainess is such a brat. She’s going to insult him within five minutes and send him running. Eventually, this guy becomes the main girl’s personal ATM.] [Dominic is so devoted and rich, and he literally dies saving the heroine at the end. My heart still aches for him.] Wait. Dominic? Dominic Blackwood? The man they call the “Crown Prince of the East Coast”? I swallowed the curses hovering at the tip of my tongue and smoothed my voice into a honeyed purr. “Actually, I’m free tonight. You pick the place.” 01 The voice on the other end was cool, resonant, and carried a magnetic weight. “Perfect, Miss Miller. I’ll send the address shortly.” The line went dead. Before I could process the heartbeat-thumping reality of it, the comments began flooding my vision again. [Wait, wait, wait. This isn’t in the script. Why did the villainess agree? Isn’t she supposed to give him the ‘cold shoulder’ and act like she’s too good for a blind date?] [Oh god, what if she actually sticks to him? My pure-hearted warrior king is in danger!] [Relax, everyone. Aside from her face, Jade Miller is a literal void. She can’t compete with our sweet, angelic Daisy.] I quickly looked up the matchmaking service Dominic had mentioned. My jaw dropped. The membership fee started at a hundred thousand dollars. Hudson, that bastard. He really went all out just to get rid of me. It proved one thing, though: the bridge between Hudson and me wasn’t just burned; it was nuked. An alliance? A marriage? Not in this lifetime. For the date, I went through the full ritual—clarifying shampoo, a silk-press, and the kind of “no-makeup” makeup that actually takes two hours to perfect. Just as I was finishing, my mother called. “Jade, the holidays are coming up, and your father and I were thinking about your future—” “Mom, I have a boyfriend,” I interrupted, cutting the lecture off at the pass. “Since when? Who is he?” “Don’t worry about it. I’ll bring him home for New Year’s so you can inspect the goods.” I hung up, feeling a hollow pit form in my stomach. As the comments said, this was just a meeting. Whether I could actually land the world’s most coveted bachelor was a massive “if.” I looked at my reflection and sighed. “If I can’t seal the deal, I’m going to have to hire an actor to play my fiancé for the holidays.” The comments let out a collective sigh of relief: [Scared me for a second. Turns out she’s just trying to get her parents off her back.] [Dominic belongs to Daisy—and to us! He would never fall for a shallow trophy like her.] [Don’t worry, Dominic has impeccable taste. He’ll see right through her.] At 7:00 PM, I walked into a dimly lit, hushed lounge in Midtown. The moment I saw Dominic, two words echoed in my mind: Pure. Perfection. Broad shoulders, a tailored charcoal suit, and eyes so deep they felt like a confession. He looked better than any Forbes cover I’d ever seen. I sat down, took a breath, and looked him straight in the eye. “Let’s skip the small talk. Are we getting married or what?” 02 The comments exploded. [??? Is she insane?] [A proposal? On the first date? Is this some new kind of psychological warfare?] Dominic clearly hadn’t expected the directness. He froze for a fraction of a second, then a small, intrigued smile played at the corner of his mouth. “I haven’t even introduced myself yet.” I gave him my most sincere, wide-eyed look. “No need. I’m a big believer in vibes, and honestly? You have a very trustworthy face.” [Trustworthy face my ass! She’s just thirsty!] [I told you she’s a total visual chaser. One look at a hot guy and she loses her mind.] Dominic politely finished his introduction anyway, and I shared a few brief details about my life. To keep the momentum from dying, I suggested, “It’s a bit stuffy in here. Want to take a walk?” As long as I wasn’t awkward, the awkwardness belonged to the universe, not me. We needed more contact to build a spark. He didn’t refuse. We headed out to the riverfront path. The evening breeze was cool, carrying the scent of rain and salt. “A man with your credentials shouldn’t need a matchmaking service,” I said, glancing at him. “Didn’t your family set something up for you?” What I really wanted to ask was: Why are you here with someone like me? He watched the dark water of the Hudson River. “I believe in intuition. Marriage is for life. I want to find someone I actually like.” [Listen to that! That’s his romantic soul speaking! That’s why he falls for Daisy later at first sight!] As he spoke, a stray cat darted out from the shadows and rubbed against my heel. I reached into my bag and pulled out a small pouch of premium cat treats. “You carry those around?” Dominic asked, surprised. “Yeah. Tossing loose food on the ground is messy and attracts rats. These come with a little biodegradable tray—it’s cleaner.” I expertly opened the packet. His expression softened significantly. “You have cats?” “Four cats, one rescue dog. You should come over and meet them sometime. They’re better judges of character than I am.” [Calculated! So calculated! She’s building a ‘kind-hearted animal lover’ persona!] [But Dominic is a sucker for that! Dammit, look at the way he’s looking at her.] [Don’t panic! Daisy is about to make her entrance. Once they’re in the same room, the difference will be obvious!] The moment that comment scrolled past, a scream pierced the air: “Stop! Thief!” A girl in a white dress blurred past us. It was her. Daisy. Behind her, an elderly woman was stumbling, crying out in distress. Daisy was running, breathless and beautiful, but she was losing ground. This was it. The villainess’s cue to be a bystander—or a hero. The comments said I was just a pretty face, but they forgot I’d spent three years in competitive MMA and kickboxing. I shoved my designer clutch into Dominic’s arms and took off like a shot. Just as I was about to close the gap on the thief, the comments turned a frantic, bleeding red: [Is she an idiot? The thief has a knife!] 03 Almost simultaneously, I saw the thief’s hand dive into his jacket. My heart hammered against my ribs. My instinct yelled at me to pivot, but my momentum was too high. I couldn’t stop. Suddenly, a dark shadow lunged from the side. A heavy boot connected squarely with the thief’s chest. It was Dominic. The thief went flying with a choked cry, a switchblade clattering onto the pavement. Dominic was on him in a heartbeat, pinning the guy’s arms behind his back with practiced, military precision. Me? Because I’d tried to stop mid-sprint, I tripped over my own feet. There was a sickening crack, and a white-hot flare of agony shot through my knee. By then, Daisy had arrived. Her face was flushed, a few stray hairs clinging to her damp forehead. She looked like a tragic oil painting. She glanced at Dominic first, then finally noticed me crumpled on the ground. She reached out to help. “Oh my god, are you okay?” I hissed through my teeth. “I wanted to say ‘I’m fine,’ but my kneecap is currently filing a formal protest.” [LOL, why is the villainess actually kind of funny?] [Daisy is so gorgeous, though. Even her sweat looks like morning dew.] Daisy took the stolen bag back to the elderly woman, offering sweet, angelic comfort. It was so wholesome I almost wanted to applaud. Dominic watched Daisy’s retreating back for a second, then turned his full attention to me. “Did you call the police?” I nodded, gripping my leg. “On it.” The cops arrived quickly and hauled the thief away. The old woman was still sobbing, saying the bag held the money for her husband’s surgery. Daisy was hovering, her eyes brimming with tears. “Don’t worry, ma’am, we’ll find a way…” Dominic walked over and handed the woman a business card. “Go to this clinic. Tell them I sent you. I’ll cover the costs.” Classic. The second lead’s perfection was truly unparalleled. Watching him and Daisy standing there together, bathed in the streetlights, they looked like the cover of a romance novel. [This is the ‘official couple’ vibe!] [I’m Team Dominic! I officially approve of this match!] [What is the villainess still doing on the ground? Can’t she see the mood? Read the room!] I would have loved to read the room from a standing position, but my leg wasn’t taking orders. Dominic finished with the woman and knelt in front of me. “Can you walk?” “Probably not. I think I’ve officially retired from the track and field team.” [Such an actress. She ran like a beast a second ago, now she’s playing the damsel.] Without a word, Dominic scooped me up in a bridal carry. He didn’t just help me; he tucked me against his chest and carried me all the way to his car. At the hospital, the verdict was a hairline fracture. I stared at the X-ray, wanting to cry. I’d crippled myself for a blind date. Worse was the comment that scrolled by: [Villainess is literally made of glass. So fragile. Unlike our Daisy, who is healthy, vibrant, and full of life.] 04 Bad news travels fast, but in high society, it travels at the speed of light. By the next morning, Hudson had heard about my injury. He strutted into my apartment uninvited, carrying a cane encrusted with Swarovski crystals. “Nice work, Jade. It’s not even Christmas and you’ve already managed to turn yourself into a decorative ornament.” Hudson’s handsome face was twisted into a smirk that begged to be slapped. “I heard you were playing vigilante. Do you have a hero complex or is your skull just thicker than I thought?” I rolled my eyes. “Thanks to you, I’m still breathing. Now, don’t tell my mother.” “Why would I bother?” Hudson leaned against the wall, glancing around. “You live near the university district, right?” I eyed him suspiciously. “Why do you care? Don’t tell me you came here just to check on my health.” His eyes flickered, and his ears turned a faint shade of pink. “I was just passing by. Wanted to see if you’d finally kicked the bucket.” A lightbulb went off in my head. “You’re stalking Daisy, aren’t you?” Hudson jumped as if I’d zapped him with a cattle prod. “Shut up! I have things to do. Bye!” He practically sprinted out the door. The comments confirmed it instantly: [He’s blushing! He only moved to this neighborhood to be near Daisy!] [Classic. He uses the villainess as an excuse just to be in the same zip code as the heroine.] I stared at the closed door. Bastard. Five minutes later, the doorbell rang again. I assumed Hudson had forgotten his keys. I hopped to the door on one foot. “I swear to god, Hudson, if you—” It wasn’t Hudson. It was Dominic. He was standing there with two middle-aged women in nurse’s scrubs. The sight caught me so off-guard that I lost my balance. I started to tilt backward. Dominic moved like lightning, catching me around the waist. In the panic, my hands slammed against his chest to steady myself. Solid. Firm. Perfectly defined. So, the rumors about his gym routine were true. “I heard you were having trouble moving around,” he said, his voice a low rumble near my ear. “I brought some professional help to look after you.” He paused, looking down at me. “But… could you let go of my shirt?” My face burned, but instead of letting go, I tightened my grip, my fingers grazing the muscle beneath the fabric. If Daisy hadn’t snatched him up yet, I wasn’t going to play fair. I tilted my head back, meeting his gaze. “Dominic. About that marriage proposal. Have you made up your mind?” He looked down at me, a spark of something—amusement, perhaps—dancing in his eyes. “Yes.” I blinked. “Wait, what?” He gently took my hands from his chest and held them in his own. “I said yes. But before we get married, do you think you could stop feeling me up?” My brain went completely numb. What did he just say? He said yes? The comments went absolutely nuclear: [WHAT?! IS DOMINIC BLIND?!] [No! My pure warrior king has been captured by a succubus!] [The plot is breaking! THE PLOT IS BREAKING!] As the virtual screams echoed in my mind, I looked at this magnificent man and smiled like the villainess I was supposed to be. To hell with the script. This man was mine. 05 Dominic’s “yes” didn’t just silence the comments; it broke my brain. A few days later, I was tucked into a bed in a VIP wing of the hospital, leg in a cast, holding an apple Dominic had just meticulously peeled for me. The whole thing felt like a fever dream. “So… Mr. Blackwood,” I said, swallowing a piece of apple. “I might have been a little medicated when I asked that. I was kidding. You don’t have to take it seriously.” Dominic was sitting in the armchair by the bed, slowly wiping his hands with a wet nap. He stopped, lifting his eyes to mine. “Kidding?” He was smiling, but a chill ran down my spine. “Miss Miller, I’m a businessman.” He leaned forward, his presence suddenly heavy and suffocating in the best way possible. “In my world, once a deal is struck, there’s no backing out. You made an offer, I accepted. The contract is closed.” [The tension! Is he going dark?] [You’re in for it now, Jade. Dominic hates being played.] [Run! Oh wait, your leg is broken. You’re trapped!] Run? Where would I go? I forced a nervous laugh. “Don’t you think this is a bit fast? Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, date first? Get to know each other… intimately?” Dominic arched an eyebrow. “Intimately? I agree. We should.” My face went scarlet. Was he flirting or threatening me? “What I mean is,” Dominic said, seemingly enjoying my discomfort, “we need to get the paperwork done quickly to satisfy our families. As for getting to know each other, we’ll have a lifetime for that.” He reached into his leather briefcase and pulled out a thick folder. “This is the prenuptial agreement. Take a look.” I scanned the pages. Good god. The assets listed were staggering—real estate, stocks, trust funds. As long as I didn’t do something stupid to trigger a divorce, I’d be set for several lifetimes. [Is he under a spell? Is this real?] [Daisy is going to be devastated! This was all supposed to be hers!] [I don’t buy it. This has to be a trap. He’s going to ruin her.] Trap or not, you’d have to be an idiot to turn down this kind of security. I grabbed a pen and signed my name in bold, sweeping strokes. Dominic looked at the signature, a satisfied glint in his eyes. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. Blackwood.” 06 Because of my injury, our “cohabitation” began immediately. “For your recovery,” he claimed. In reality, Dominic was a genius. He had moved my cats and my dog into his sprawling penthouse before I even arrived, claiming he “didn’t want them to get depressed in an empty house.” I watched my high-maintenance Ragdoll cat, who usually treated everyone with utter disdain, purring and rubbing against Dominic’s legs. I felt a pang of betrayal. “Traitor,” I whispered. Dominic, reading a report on the sofa, looked up. “Did you say something?” “Just talking to the cat,” I muttered. Then, the doorbell rang. Dominic went to answer it. I craned my neck to see who it was. The door swung open to reveal Hudson, looking like he’d just sucked a lemon. “Dominic, I heard Jade was staying here…” Hudson stopped dead when he saw me. I was sitting in a wheelchair, wearing one of Dominic’s oversized white button-downs because my own clothes hadn’t been delivered yet. Hudson’s face turned a violent shade of green. “Jade! Have you no shame? Lounging around a man’s house dressed like that?” I rolled my eyes. “None of your business, Hudson. If you’re not here to drop off my mail, get lost. We’re busy.” [SHIPS ARE CLASHING!] [The male lead is jealous! He’s losing it!] [Fight! Fight! Fight!] Hudson lunged forward as if to grab my arm, but Dominic stepped into his path. Dominic was a good three inches taller, and his aura was sheer steel. He kept one hand in his pocket, his voice calm. “Hudson. Breaking and entering is a bit beneath you, isn’t it?” “Dominic, don’t let this woman fool you! She’s just a shallow social climber!” Hudson yelled. Dominic’s eyes went cold. He reached out, grabbed Hudson’s pointing finger, and twisted it just slightly. “Ow! Dammit!” “Watch your tone,” Dominic said, dropping his hand and reaching for a wet nap. “She is my fiancée. I don’t want to hear another disrespectful word about her.” “Fiancée?” Hudson’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Are you… are you serious?” I lifted my chin triumphantly. “Dead serious. Better start saving up for the wedding gift, Hudson. Don’t be cheap.” Hudson looked at me, then at Dominic, then stormed out, slamming the door so hard the glass rattled. [So satisfying! The male lead just got served!] [Dominic is such a protective king. I’m officially a fan!] [But what about Daisy? Isn’t he supposed to love her?] I was wondering the same thing. Speak of the devil… The moment Hudson left, Dominic’s phone rang. He looked at the screen, a small frown forming, and answered. Daisy’s voice, thick with tears, was perfectly audible in the quiet room: “Dominic… I’m at the hospital… that woman’s family is here causing a scene, and I’m so scared…”

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I walked into that VIP lounge ready to sell my soul for a wire transfer. But when the door swung open, it wasn’t a desperate investor waiting for me. It was my uncle. That night, he didn’t offer a handshake. He tossed a contract onto the marble table and forced me to read the clauses aloud, word by agonizing word. “Spread your legs, Kit,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous velvet. “Show your uncle exactly what it means to be ‘obedient.’” I buried my face into the leather cushions of the sofa, my lashes heavy with salt, forced to endure every whim of his touch. When I bit my lip to stifle a cry, he pressed his thumb deliberately into the fresh bruise on my hip. “Were you going to beg him for the money? Or are you begging me? Hmm?” 1 The air in the private suite was thick enough to choke on. Miller was on his knees, his forehead split open and oozing. Blood tracked down his greasy face, mixing with cold sweat before dripping onto the plush Persian rug. Five minutes ago, this man had been sliding his hand under the hem of my shirt, asking me exactly how much a disgraced Blackwell heir was worth. Now, he didn’t even dare to breathe in my direction. I slowly buttoned my shirt, my fingers trembling. I tried to hide it, but the man standing by the door was a thousand times more terrifying than Miller could ever be. Roman Blackwell hadn’t even brought a security detail—just his silent, stone-faced assistant. He was dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit, his tie knotted with lethal precision. His gold-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his straight nose, giving him the air of a refined academic. But I knew the wolf that lived under that skin. “Don’t stop on my account,” Roman said. He walked in, his handmade Italian oxfords silent on the carpet, yet every step felt like a heel pressed against my carotid artery. He pulled out a chair and sat, casually picking up the keycard Miller had tried to shove into my waistband moments before. “Why the sudden silence? I thought we were negotiating.” I didn’t spare Miller a second glance. I walked over to Roman and lowered my head. “Uncle Roman.” Roman let out a soft, sharp laugh. He twirled the keycard between his fingers, then suddenly flicked it. It struck Miller across the cheek with a sickening crack that echoed in the dead space of the room. “Kit,” Roman said, his eyes finally locking onto mine from behind those polished lenses. He ignored the trash on the floor. “Have you forgotten the family rules? Are you so desperate for cash that you’re selling yourself in backrooms?” I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. I was desperate. More than desperate. My grandfather—that old gargoyle—had blocked every exit. My company’s accounts were drained, a hollow shell. If I didn’t find the capital to fill the hole by next month, I’d be headed to a federal penitentiary for embezzlement. But I couldn’t tell Roman that. I just lowered my head further, playing the part of the stray dog that had been caught in the trash. “I messed up, Uncle.” Roman stood up. He was a head taller than me, and his shadow seemed to swallow me whole. He reached out, straightening my disheveled collar. His fingertips brushed against my throat, as cold as ice. “Mistakes require discipline.” He turned and walked out without a word about Miller. I knew Miller was finished. If Roman Blackwell showed up in person, it meant he owned the building, the street, and everyone on it. I followed him into the back of a black Maybach. The AC was humming, but my back was slick with sweat. The privacy partition slid up, sealing us in. Roman leaned back, eyes closed, his fingers tapping a rhythmic beat on his knee. The silence was worse than a lecture. I almost wished he’d just hit me and get it over with. “How much do you think you’re worth?” he asked, not opening his eyes. I blinked, caught off guard. “What was that bottom-feeder offering you? Five million? Ten?” Roman opened his eyes and looked at me, his gaze dripping with mockery. “You’d unbutton your shirt for ten million in a public lounge?” Shame burned up my spine like a fuse. I clenched my fists until my nails drew blood. It was fifteen million. That was the price of my life. But I didn’t have the courage to say it. “It wasn’t much,” I rasped. Roman scoffed. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed my tie, jerking me forward until our faces were inches apart. I could smell his expensive cologne—sandalwood and cold rain. “If you’re so intent on selling, sell to me.” His gaze drifted from my eyes to my lips, then down to the collarbone Miller had almost touched. “Blackwell money is still money. And while I don’t usually collect trash, I can offer a premium for family.” The car screeched to a halt in front of the Blackwell estate. Roman let go of my tie, brushing his palms together as if he’d touched something filthy. “Get out,” he commanded. “We’re going to finalize this merger tonight.” 2 The moment the library door locked behind us, I flinched. This room was my personal hell. Growing up, if I missed a mark or failed to meet the Patriarch’s impossible standards, this was where I was sent. But tonight, the executioner had changed. Roman sat behind the massive marble desk, holding a freshly printed document. It was a contract his assistant must have drafted on the ride over. A bill of sale. For me. “Read it.” Roman tossed the papers onto the rug. They landed at my knees. I knelt there, the hard patterns of the carpet digging into my skin. I didn’t dare move. I picked up the pages, my hands shaking so hard the paper rattled. The terms were a masterclass in humiliation. The Party of the First Part (Roman) has absolute authority over the Party of the Second Part (Kit). Kit must be available 24/7. Kit is prohibited from any private contact with third parties. All social media and communications must be transparent to Roman. Each violation: a one-million-dollar fine or equivalent physical penance. This wasn’t an investment. It was a leash. “Read it aloud.” Roman unbuckled his watch and set it on the desk with a heavy clink. Then came the metallic slide of a belt buckle being undone. I closed my eyes, my voice a broken whisper. “I, Kit Blackwell, voluntarily accept the support of Roman Blackwell, and during this period…” Snap! The leather belt cracked against my back. The pain was an explosion. I choked on a groan, collapsing forward, the papers scattering. “Too quiet. I can’t hear you.” Roman was standing over me now, the black leather belt dangling from his hand. He sounded as calm as if he were discussing quarterly earnings. “Start over.” I pushed myself up, returning to my knees, trembling as I gathered the sheets. “I… Kit Blackwell… voluntarily…” Snap! Another one. This time, it landed right on top of the first welt. Cold sweat soaked through my shirt. I’ve always had a low pain threshold—growing up in that orphanage before the Blackwells “found” me had made me pathologically sensitive to it. But the twisted part? Under the agony, there was a sickening sense of security. At least he was looking at me. At least I was here, and not thrown out into the cold. I was broken. I knew it. I could feel my body reacting to the sheer intensity of him. “You like being hurt?” Roman must have noticed the change in my breathing. He knelt, using the tip of the belt to tilt my chin up. “You were so bold in front of Miller. Why play the dead dog for me?” The disgust in his eyes stung more than the belt. I bit my bleeding lip. “I’m not…” “Not what?” Roman slapped the contract against my face. “Sign it, and the fifteen million hits your account tomorrow morning. Along with all those ‘misplaced’ funds you’ve been hiding. I’ll make the audit go away.” I looked up, startled. He knew? He knew the Patriarch had set me up for the embezzlement charge? Roman saw my expression and let out a cold laugh. “You think you’re smart enough to hide anything from me? The old man is only senile enough to think this would kill you. I know better.” He stood up, looking down at me like I was a bug under a microscope. “But this money isn’t a gift, Kit. From today on, your body is an asset of Roman Blackwell. If you damage it, you’re in breach. If you let anyone else touch it, I’ll take their hands.” I looked at the contract and reached for the pen. I knew this was slow-acting poison. But I didn’t have a choice. The moment I signed, I became the bird in Roman’s cage. And somehow, as the cage door slammed shut, I felt a wave of relief. Because the person holding the key was Roman. 3 The next morning, I was woken up by a notification on the family thread. The Patriarch was summoning me to the ancestral estate for dinner. Ostensibly, it was a family gathering. In reality, it was a forced introduction to Talia Sterling. The Sterlings and Blackwells had been at each other’s throats for years. The old man wanted to use a marriage to swallow their firm—or maybe he just wanted to squeeze one last bit of use out of me before I was discarded. I stared at the screen, my back still thrumming with the heat of last night’s wounds. Roman stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, droplets of water tracing the lines of his abs. He saw me staring at my phone and snatched it away. He glanced at the screen and smirked. “Looking forward to it?” I went rigid. The contract said no contact with others. “It’s a direct order from my grandfather. I don’t have the luxury of saying no.” Roman dropped the phone onto the bed and leaned over me, pinning me with his shadow. “Go if you must,” he whispered. “But if you agree to that engagement, I’ll break your legs before you can walk down the aisle.” 7:00 PM. The Blackwell Manor. The crystal chandeliers were blinding. The long dining table was filled with family members wearing masks of polite deceit. I sat across from Talia. Roman, being my “senior,” sat diagonally across from me. He was in a navy suit now, looking every bit the perfect gentleman as he charmed Talia’s father. Only I knew that under the table, his shoe was sliding up my pant leg. The hard leather of his custom oxford dragged against my calf, over my knee, and higher. I gripped my fork until my knuckles turned white, forcing a smile onto my face. “Are you feeling alright, Kit?” Talia was sharp. She noticed the sweat on my brow. “I’m fine,” I lied. “Just a bit warm.” “Kit has trouble sleeping in new beds,” Roman interjected, his voice lazy and smooth. “He was at my place last night. We stayed up quite late… working.” The table went silent for a heartbeat. Talia’s father looked stiff; the Patriarch’s face turned a shade of bruised purple. Everyone knew Roman was the “outsider” son, the one who didn’t get along with me. Nobody knew what “working” actually meant. Under the table, Roman’s foot became more daring, pressing into my inner thigh. Right where a small mole sat—a spot he’d spent hours mocking the night before. He was pushing me. He was forcing me to ruin this arrangement myself. If I didn’t reject the marriage, he was going to cause a scene that would destroy us both. But a spark of rebellion flickered in me. Why? Why did he get to own every breath I took? If I married Talia, could I use her family to escape him? Even if it was just trading one cage for another. I looked up at Talia and gave her the most convincing smile I could muster. “Talia, I think this union is an excellent idea. In fact, why wait? We should set a date for the engagement party.” The movement under the table stopped instantly. A gaze that could kill pierced through me. I didn’t look at Roman. “Uncle, you don’t need to worry about my personal life anymore,” I said, raising my wine glass toward him. Roman didn’t move. He stared at me for three long seconds, then he smiled. It was the kind of smile that made the hair on my neck stand up. “Is that so?” He swirled his red wine, his eyes glinting. “I wonder if the bride-to-be knows about that mole on your inner thigh? The one that makes you shake the moment it’s touched?” 4 Before the dinner was even over, Roman had dragged me into the second-floor powder room. The lock clicked—a sound like a death sentence. “You’re insane, Roman!” He slammed me against the marble vanity. The edge hit my lower back, making me gasp in pain. “I’m insane?” Roman pressed his body against mine, one hand crushing my throat, his grip nearly cutting off my air. “You’ve got some nerve, Kit. Agreeing to an engagement right in front of me? Did my words go in one ear and out the other?” The mirror reflected us. It was a violent, suffocating tableau. My face was flushed from the lack of oxygen, but I stared back at him with everything I had left. “I need… to get married,” I choked out. “I need a normal life. I won’t be your dog forever.” The rage in Roman’s eyes was nuclear. “A normal life?” He let go of my throat, but before I could breathe, he grabbed a handful of my hair and forced my head back. “You think you’ll find that here? With Talia Sterling?” He leaned in, his voice a lethal hiss. “You think the Sterlings are clean? Her father owes three hundred million in gambling debts. They aren’t looking for a son-in-law; they’re looking for a carcass to strip. Only I am willing to take you in.” I froze. The Sterlings were broke? The Patriarch hadn’t mentioned that. “Call it off,” Roman commanded. “No.” I gritted my teeth. Even if the Sterlings were a bonfire, I’d jump into it. Anything to get a mile away from Roman. “I’m doing this to find out what happened to my mother—” I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth. Roman paused. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing me. “Your mother? You’re still looking for the woman who dumped you at an orphanage gate?” That was the wound that never healed. “None of your business!” I yelled. “You’re right. It’s not.” Roman smiled coldly and began to unknot his silk tie. The sound of the fabric sliding was deafening in the small room. He grabbed my wrists, yanking them behind my back and binding them tight with the silk. “Since you don’t want to call off the engagement, don’t. I’ll just carry you out there right now and announce our arrangement myself. Let’s see how the Sterling girl feels about the Blackwell heir begging for mercy in his uncle’s arms.” He reached for the door handle. Terror flooded me. If he did that, I was destroyed. Not just my reputation, but any scrap of leverage I had left in this family. “Don’t!” I panicked, my body shrinking back. “I’ll do it! I’ll call it off!” You coward, I told myself. You pathetic coward. Roman stopped. He turned back to look at me, disheveled and broken. He patted my cheek, like one might comfort a frightened pet. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Just remember, Kit—you have nowhere to go but here.” That night, Roman didn’t take me to my room. He threw me into the basement of his private villa. It had been renovated recently. It wasn’t a dark storage room anymore; it was carpeted, filled with stuffed animals, and held a single bed. It looked like a cozy child’s room. But as I looked at the furniture, I began to shake. It was a perfect, one-to-one recreation of my room at the orphanage. Right down to the scratches on the baseboards. It was my nightmare. And it was the place where Roman and I had met for the very first time.

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Three years into our corporate merger of a marriage, my husband casually suggested we open it up. “Maya, don’t you ever wonder what it’s like with someone else?” I froze, then reached out to pinch his arm, thinking he was joking. “Are you losing it? Why would I want that? Is what we have not enough for you?” “I’m bored,” Sebastian cut me off. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. Two words. They hit me like a physical blow. The smile died on my face. “At the gala last month, someone slipped something into my drink. I ended up with a waitress,” Sebastian continued. He toyed with a strand of my hair, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his lips. “The transgression felt… good. It was a rush I haven’t felt in years. Honestly, you should try it.” The blood drained from my face. I felt faint, the room spinning as I stared at the stranger sitting in my husband’s skin. Sebastian looked at me—at my trembling hands and pale cheeks—but the warmth didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re moving to an open arrangement. You can find someone else, too.” He paused, then added with a cruel tilt of his head, “If you can’t find anyone on your own, I can always set you up with one of my associates.” Before I could find my voice to scream at him, he tossed a thick folder onto my lap. It was our prenuptial agreement. “Don’t forget your place, Maya. You sold yourself to me three years ago, remember?” He leaned in, his breath cold against my ear. “That price tag was high enough to buy your compliance for a lifetime. Act like it.” I clenched my fists until my nails drew blood from my palms. I wanted to scream that I wasn’t a commodity, but the cold weight of the contract in my lap silenced me. I had no leverage. I had nothing. Everything came to a head the day I was rushed to the clinic with a threatened miscarriage. I was standing at the pharmacy counter, clutching a prescription for the hormones meant to save the flickering life inside me, and I was exactly fourteen dollars short. Fourteen dollars. I called him, my voice shaking, pleading. His tone on the other end was pure vitriol. “Didn’t I pay your family’s debts in full before the wedding? What, are you addicted to being a parasite now? Stop calling me for pocket change.” He hung up. Later that night, I saw the headline on a blind-item gossip site. Sebastian Blackwood had just spent fourteen million dollars on a vintage Cartier necklace for his new flame—a “celebration of her innocence,” the caption hinted. The nurse at the counter cleared her throat, her eyes filled with a pity that hurt worse than the cramping in my womb. “Ma’am? Do you want the medication or not?” I looked at the price on the screen, then at my phone. I let out a jagged, hollow laugh and wiped a tear away with the back of my hand. “Forget the medicine,” I whispered, my heart finally breaking into pieces. “Can you… can you help me schedule the termination? I can’t keep it.” A two-million-dollar marriage. It was time to close the books. … The moment I stepped out of the procedure room, my phone buzzed. A bank notification. A deposit of exactly $14.00. There was a memo attached to the wire: [Buy your pills. Stop embarrassing the Blackwood name.] I stared at the screen, my mouth twisting into a grotesque smile. Fourteen dollars was enough to cover the copay for the medicine I no longer needed, but it wasn’t nearly enough to cover the cost of the abortion I’d just undergone to save myself from his legacy. I knew Sebastian wouldn’t give me another cent. He liked the power of withholding. Swallowing my remaining pride, I reached out to a group chat of people I used to call friends. I needed $317—the balance for the hospital fees. Added to the meager savings I’d hidden away and Sebastian’s insulting fourteen dollars, it would be just enough to settle the bill for the “standard” procedure. The replies came almost instantly. [Wow, the Great Maya Vaughn is begging for scraps? Did you blow through that two million already?] [Tsk tsk. If you hadn’t held Sebastian up for a ransom during the engagement, he might actually care that you’re broke. You reap what you sow, honey.] The mockery flooded my screen, wave after wave of digital venom. But it didn’t sting like it used to. I was numb. I was used to Sebastian treating our marriage like a hostile takeover. I was used to being the “bought” woman, the mercenary bride. I was used to the whispers behind my back at country clubs and charity galas. I was used to the suffocating shame of having a wallet full of maxed-out cards, forced to beg him for every loaf of bread, every bottle of shampoo. In the beginning, I thought I could work. I thought I could earn enough to pay him back the two million he’d “loaned” my father to stop the foreclosure. I wanted my soul back. But Sebastian had seen to it that every door was slammed in my face. “I bought your life, Maya. Your time, your body, your freedom—they all belong to the Blackwood estate now.” He used money as a leash, punishing me for the fact that our “love” had a price tag. He hated me because he believed I’d conned him for three years, only to reveal my “true colors” when my family went bankrupt. I had tried to explain. I had tried to tell him that I had been desperate, that my father was suicidal, that I would have done anything to save them. He never listened. “Save the sob story for someone who cares,” he’d say. “You asked for the money. You made the bed. Now lie in it.” My phone chimed again. Someone had sent me $371. The note read: [Consider this a tip for the entertainment. Watching you fall is worth every penny.] I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead and looked at the nurse. “The bill is settled. Please… just get me on the table. I want this over with.” I couldn’t afford the luxury of the “painless” sedation package. I had to lie there, fully conscious, on the frigid metal table. I felt every scrape of the instruments, every sharp, tearing sensation as the last tie between Sebastian and me was severed. The pain was a physical manifestation of my life—raw, invasive, and cold. As I gritted my teeth, a memory surfaced. Sebastian, years ago, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “When we’re married, we’ll have a house full of kids. I’ll spend my life making sure you and our babies are safe.” But when the test had come back positive two weeks ago, he’d looked at me with pure disgust. “So, what’s the rate this time? How much are you trying to squeeze out of me for a kid?” Nothing, Sebastian. I don’t want anything from you anymore. Not your money, not your name, and certainly not your mercy. When it was over, the silence of the room rushed back in. The nurse unstrapped my legs and helped me onto a recovery cot. I stared out the window at the Chicago skyline, the gray winter sky mirroring the void in my chest. Suddenly, a streak of light shot up from the lakefront. A firework. Then another. Soon, the entire sky was blooming in brilliant, expensive shades of gold and violet. The nurses huddled by the window, their voices hushed with awe. “Did you see? Mr. Blackwood is putting on a show for his new girl. Must be nice to be loved like that.” “Is he still married? I heard his wife is some social climber who lives in the penthouse like a glorified servant.” I closed my eyes and let the tears fall silently. I walked home. My body felt like it was made of lead, every step a jagged reminder of the surgery. An empty taxi pulled up beside me, the driver leaning out to ask if I needed a ride. I shook my head, not looking at him. “No, thank you.” I couldn’t afford the fare. It was a ten-mile trek back to the Gold Coast. Along the way, people were still buzzing about the fireworks. “It was like a dream,” a young woman told her friend. “If a man did that for me, I’d die happy.” Her friend laughed, glancing at me as I limped past, my face ghostly pale in the streetlights. “Yeah, but look at that woman. Some people have all the money in the world and still look like they’re walking to their own funeral.” I didn’t look back. I wanted to tell them that I’d had those fireworks once. I’d had a man who promised to protect me. On the night he proposed, he’d knelt in the snow, a diamond the size of a marble in his hand. “Maya, you’re the only real thing in my world. Let me take care of you forever.” The fireworks that night had been even bigger. But that was also the night my father had been standing on the edge of a bridge, and debt collectors were pounding on my mother’s door, threatening my seven-year-old sister. I had been backed into a corner. “Sebastian… please. I need two million dollars. My family…” I’ll never forget how the warmth died in his eyes. He didn’t even let me finish. He stood up, the romantic facade crumbling into a mask of pure, icy contempt. “They told me you were a gold digger. I didn’t want to believe them. You really played the long game, didn’t you, Maya? Waiting until the ring was out to show your hand.” He’d signaled the technicians to kill the lights. He’d pulled a checkbook from his tuxedo and scribbled the amount, tossing the paper at my feet. “Fine. You’re cheaper than I thought.” From that second on, the man I loved was dead. I was no longer a wife; I was a bad investment he was forced to manage. He made me a pariah in the city, the “Two-Million-Dollar Bride” everyone loved to hate. His housekeeper made six figures. I had to beg for three dollars to buy a coffee. I had endured it, hoping he’d eventually see the truth. Hoping his anger would burn out. Until the night he brought Hailey home. When I lost my mind and screamed at him, he just looked at me with bored indifference. He reminded me that he’d bought our marriage, and that if he wanted to bring a hundred women into our bed, it was his right. I had no words left. I reached the penthouse at 1:00 AM, shivering from the lake breeze. The heat was humming inside, the scent of expensive candles filling the foyer. I just wanted to crawl into the guest room and disappear. But a girlish laugh drifted from the living room. “Oh, Maya’s back! Did you get them? Did you get my macarons?” I stared at Hailey, draped over Sebastian on the Italian leather sofa. “What macarons?” “Don’t play dumb,” Sebastian snapped, his eyes raking over my disheveled appearance. “I texted you three hours ago. Hailey wanted Ladurée. I told you to pick them up on your way back.” “My phone died,” I said, my voice cracking. “And I don’t have money for French cookies, Sebastian.” “Still with the money?” Sebastian stood up, pulling a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and letting it flutter to the floor. “There. Is that enough? Go get them. Don’t come back until you do.” “It’s one in the morning,” I whispered. “Everything is closed.” “Then find a place that’s open. Or stay outside and think about how much that two million is really costing me.” He called for the security guard—a man who used to look at me with respect—and had me physically escorted out of my own home. “Don’t bother coming back without the macarons,” Sebastian’s voice echoed through the closing door. Then came Hailey’s giggle, and the sound of them moving toward the bedroom. I sat on the cold concrete steps of the building’s service entrance. The winter wind cut through my coat, chilling my blood. My heart, already fragile, finally went cold. Hours later, the heavy door groaned open. “Maya? What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to catch pneumonia?” Sebastian was standing there, looking agitated. “Is this some kind of guilt trip? You think if you sit out here in the cold, I’ll feel bad? It’s just a box of cookies, for Christ’s sake.” He reached down to grab my arm, but I was a dead weight. “Where is the medicine you asked for earlier?” he demanded, looking around as if the pills would be sitting on the sidewalk. “You scammed me for fourteen dollars? You’re that pathetic now?” Medicine? The baby was gone. The pills were irrelevant. Before I could speak, Sebastian signaled his driver. “Get her inside. If she dies on the doorstep, it’ll be a PR nightmare.” I felt myself being carried, but I was drifting. It felt like a dream. Sebastian didn’t care. He was just protecting his brand. When I woke up in the guest room, Sebastian was hovering over me, his face a mask of fury. “Finally awake? Nice performance. You really went all out for a box of macarons. Do you want the press to think I’m abusing my ‘poor’ wife so you can sue for more? Is that the play?” I tried to speak, but my throat was a desert. “Get the doctor in here!” Sebastian barked toward the door. “Just don’t let her die in this house.” A tear tracked through the dried salt on my cheek. “Sebastian,” I rasped. “Let’s get a divorce.” He laughed. A sharp, ugly sound. “Divorce? Sure. Give me back my two million dollars, and I’ll sign whatever you want.” He paused, a cruel realization dawning on his face. “Oh, wait. I see what this is. You’re pregnant, aren’t you? You think a ‘Blackwood Heir’ is your ticket to a bigger settlement? How much do you want this time? Five million? Ten?” The trauma of the last twenty-four hours finally broke the dam. “The baby is gone, Sebastian. There is no heir.” Before he could process my words, Hailey’s voice rang out from the hallway, followed by the sound of her retching. The house doctor, who had just arrived, rushed past the guest room toward Hailey. After a few minutes of hushed conversation, the doctor stepped back into the hallway, looking at Sebastian with a tentative smile. “Mr. Blackwood… it looks like congratulations are in order. Miss Hailey is pregnant.” The world didn’t just break then. It disintegrated. Hailey moved in permanently after the “good news.” At breakfast a week later, she mentioned a craving for organic bone broth from a specific butcher across town. Sebastian didn’t even look up from his tablet. “You heard her, Maya. Go get it.” I stared at my black coffee, ignoring him. He smirked. “Oh, I forgot. You need an incentive. Shall we say… fifty thousand for every errand you run for the mother of my child? Does that suit your mercenary heart?” “Deal,” I said, putting my cup down. Hailey pouted, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Sebastian, won’t Maya be upset that you’re paying her like… staff?” Sebastian let out a cold snort. “Trust me. As long as there’s a check at the end, she’d sell her own soul. She doesn’t have feelings, Hailey. Just an invoice.” He was right. I had a goal now. Two million dollars. I needed to buy my freedom. I became Hailey’s shadow. I fetched her water, I rubbed her feet, I endured her taunts—all for a price. Thirty thousand for a foot rub. Fifty thousand to clean up her morning sickness. Sometimes, Sebastian would make me sit in the corner of the room while they were intimate, just to humiliate me. Eighty thousand for that. The first time, I felt like I was going to vomit. By the third time, I was a statue. I would even hand him a fresh protection when they finished, my face a mask of absolute nothingness. Sebastian’s temper grew more volatile as I grew more silent. One night, he slapped a box of condoms out of my hand, his fingers bruising my jaw as he forced me to look at him. “What is wrong with you? Have you no shame? You’re disgusting, Maya!” I just stared into his eyes. “You’re at 1.6 million, Sebastian. Only four hundred thousand to go.” It was the first snow of the year. Hailey insisted on going to the Blackwood Peak observatory to see the snowfall. She said it was romantic, that if lovers watched the first snow together there, they’d never part. Sebastian, playing the doting father-to-be, agreed. At dinner that night, Hailey gasped, clutching her throat. “Oh no! My necklace! The one you bought me, Sebastian… I must have left it at the observatory!” She turned to me, a glint of pure malice in her eyes. “Maya, could you be a sweetheart and go get it? It’s so special to me.” Sebastian watched me, waiting for my reaction. Our new maid, a woman who hadn’t been bullied into silence yet, spoke up. “Mr. Blackwood, the mountain roads are icing over. It’s dangerous, and isn’t the mistress… recovering from a flu?” Sebastian ignored her. He looked at me, a challenge in his eyes. “Four hundred thousand dollars, Maya. One last trip, and you’re even. Do you want it or not?” “I’ll go,” I said. The mountain road was treacherous. The car could only get me to the base. “Hurry up, ma’am,” the driver said, looking nervous. “If Miss Hailey gets upset, Mr. Blackwood will take it out on my paycheck.” I nodded and began the trek up the hiking trail. The path was a sheet of black ice. Every step was a gamble. Two hours later, I reached the observation deck and found the necklace sitting prominently on a stone bench. The fourteen-million-dollar “innocence” prize. I shoved it into my pocket and turned to head back down. Then my foot slipped. I went over the edge of the embankment, tumbling down the ravine. Jagged branches tore at my skin; stones bruised my ribs. I managed to snag a dead tree trunk, dangling over a sheer drop. I screamed for help, but the wind swallowed my voice. I reached for my phone to call 911, but the battery was at 1%. A notification popped up—a bank transfer for $400,000. A text followed: [Found it? Then get your ass back here.] A single tear froze on my cheek. In the thirty seconds before the phone went black, I sent two photos to Sebastian. One was a screenshot of the bank account showing exactly $2,000,000. The other was the hospital bill for the abortion, dated the day of the fireworks. [We’re even, Sebastian. I don’t owe you anything anymore.] The phone died. I let go of the tree.

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