On college move-in day, my mom was busy, so my dad showed up to help me wipe down my dorm cabinets while holding my baby brother. Among my new roommates was Harper, a girl I had gone to high school with. She stared at my baby brother for a long time before she suddenly smirked. “Chloe, is that your son?” My dad froze, then honestly explained: “No, this is Chloe’s biological brother. We had him late.” Harper let out a loud, mocking laugh, intentionally raising her voice. “Mr. Sterling, it’s one thing to lie to the new girls, but it’s pretty pathetic to try and lie to me.” “She took a massive leave of absence during our senior year. When she came back, she was super secretive about everything.” “This baby is definitely hers.” In my previous life, on this exact same day, I had desperately tried to explain. I told them that my mother had a high-risk geriatric pregnancy, her health had deteriorated, and I had taken time off to care for her. No one believed me. Harper secretly recorded a video of us and dropped it into the freshman class GroupMe, claiming I was “a teen mom whose parents were covering up the scandal.” The rumor spread through the entire college like wildfire. I was ostracized, bullied, and eventually fell into such a deep depression that I jumped off the roof of a campus building. But this time, I had already texted my mom—a woman currently at the farmer’s market aggressively haggling with a butcher. If I couldn’t out-talk Harper, then my fiercely sharp-tongued mother certainly would. 1 Harper’s lips curled up, acting like she had finally caught me red-handed. She tossed her backpack onto her bed and deliberately pushed the dorm room door wide open. The freshmen and parents bustling down the hallway were quickly drawn to her loud voice, peeking into our room. “Did I say something wrong?” All the color drained from my dad’s face. “Young lady, you can’t just make up lies like that.” “He really is my son. He’s Chloe’s biological brother.” Harper covered her mouth, faking a polite giggle. “Mr. Sterling, don’t be so nervous! I didn’t say it was 100% true.” “I just think it’s a huge coincidence.” She turned to the other two roommates. “You guys probably don’t know this, but Chloe and I went to the same high school.” “She was always an only child. I never once heard she had a brother.” “But during the second semester of our senior year, she suddenly took a huge leave of absence, claiming she had a ‘family emergency.’” “And now, on the first day of college, her dad shows up holding a baby that’s just a few months old. Doesn’t that seem a little suspicious?” “Besides, her parents are pretty old. Isn’t her mom past menopause?” The two new roommates exchanged glances. One of them, Mia, asked hesitantly: “You said she took time off senior year? For how long?” Harper immediately jumped in: “A long time. Definitely more than a few days.” “When she came back, she completely isolated herself. Whenever anyone asked what happened with her family, she just said it was ‘inconvenient’ to talk about.” My dad gripped my baby brother tighter, his brow furrowing. “Young lady, you can’t say things like that.” “Chloe was at home taking care of her mother.” Harper let out a sharp scoff. “Of course that’s what you’re going to say, Mr. Sterling.” “You’re hardly going to admit she went home to give birth, are you?” The dorm room fell dead silent. Someone out in the hallway gasped audibly. This was exactly how it played out in my past life. The more my dad tried to frantically explain, the more guilty they thought he looked. The sharp, piercing phrase “give birth” startled my baby brother. He flinched, and a second later, he burst into wailing tears. I reached out and took him from my dad’s arms, gently patting his back. My brother sobbed, hiccuping as he buried his little face into my shoulder. Seeing this, Harper grew even bolder. “Look at that. Look how natural she is at holding a baby.” “That doesn’t look like a sister holding a brother at all.” “It looks exactly like a…” She didn’t finish the sentence, but the atmosphere in the room had completely shifted. Mia frowned. “If it really is her biological brother, it is kind of weird that her high school classmates didn’t know.” The other roommate, Zoey, muttered quietly: “I mean, some parents do cover up stuff like this for their kids.” “Especially right before starting college. It’s not a good look.” My dad waved his hands frantically. “No, it’s not like that at all!” “Her mother was older when she got pregnant. We were worried it would distract Chloe from her SATs, so we didn’t tell everyone.” “After her mom gave birth, she had health complications. Chloe just took a few days off to help out.” “We have no reason to lie about something like this.” Harper sneered. “I went to school with her for three years. Her family suddenly has a new baby, and I wouldn’t hear a single rumor about it?” She looked at me, her tone dripping with mockery. “Come on, Chloe. Explain it to us.” “Your parents are pretty old. Why suddenly try for a second kid?” “Were they just desperate for a boy? And when they couldn’t have one, they made you have one instead?” My dad rushed to defend us: “That’s not true!” “Leo was an unexpected surprise! We love Chloe very much!” Harper rolled her eyes. “Mr. Sterling, don’t try to sugarcoat it.” “A lot of parents are like that. They say they love their daughters, but deep down, they’re desperate for a son to carry on the family name.” “Otherwise, why would you pull her out of school during the most critical time of her senior year?” “For all we know, you guys couldn’t conceive, so you made Chloe do it for you.” My dad was so choked up he couldn’t speak. During that time, my mom had suffered massive hemorrhaging during delivery. She almost didn’t make it off the operating table. My grandmother was too old to help, and my grandparents on my dad’s side had failing health. My dad was running back and forth between the ICU and caring for a newborn. He lost so much weight he looked like a skeleton. I voluntarily took a leave of absence to help my family. They never forced me. But explaining this to Harper was useless. She didn’t want answers. She wanted me humiliated. I looked down at my phone. The voice memo recording app was glowing red. I looked up at her. “Keep going.” Harper froze. “What, trying to play it cool?” “You guys, pull out your phones and record this. Let everyone else on campus know to stay away from her.” Zoey pulled out her phone and started recording. I stared dead into her camera lens, my voice turning to ice. “Do not film the baby.” Zoey’s hand stiffened, but she quickly muttered: “If you have nothing to hide, what’s the big deal if I film it?” Harper immediately backed her up: “Exactly! If you’re innocent, what are you afraid of?” “It’s not like we’re filming something illegal.” I smiled. “Do you know what a violation of privacy laws is?” Harper’s face darkened. “Chloe, stop trying to change the subject.” “I’m just doing everyone a favor by exposing you early.” “Nobody wants to share a dorm with a pathological liar.” She purposely raised her voice: “And nobody wants to sleep in a bunk bed with someone who secretly had a baby.” “Who knows who else she’s sleeping with? What if she brings some disgusting STD into the dorm and infects all of us?” 2 That comment was even more vicious than the last. The crowd gathering at our door grew thicker. I heard people whispering: “Is it true?” “Freshmen are wild this year.” “A high school classmate is the one spilling the tea, it can’t be completely made up.” Seeing the crowd building up, Harper thrived on the attention. She pulled a photo up on her phone. It was our high school graduation photo. In the picture, I was standing on the far edge, looking incredibly frail and pale. She shoved the screen toward the onlookers. “Look at this.” “This is what she looked like when she came back from her ‘leave of absence.’” “She lost a ton of weight and looked completely exhausted.” “If she was just taking time off to ‘take care of a sick family member,’ would she look like this?” I almost laughed out of sheer anger. “I was spending all day catching up on AP classes, and spending all night doing practice exams. I was sleeping four hours a night.” “Is it really that weird that I lost weight?” Harper rolled her eyes. “Who knows? Maybe your postpartum recovery was just really rough.” Someone in the crowd couldn’t hold back a snicker. My dad’s eyes instantly turned red. “How can a young girl like you say such degrading things about someone?!” Harper immediately took a step back, putting on an act of being terrified. “Mr. Sterling, please don’t yell at me.” “I’m just pointing out the facts, and your whole family is getting so aggressive.” “Doesn’t that just prove there’s a problem?” Mia whispered cautiously: “Maybe… maybe you could just show us some proof?” “Like a birth certificate, or family records?” Harper instantly cut in: “Even if she shows it, it might not be real.” “If this was a planned cover-up, they definitely forged all the paperwork in advance.” “You said you were taking care of your mom during senior year? Where’s the proof of that?” “Whatever. You’re obviously guilty, so you won’t dare let us check anyway.” I stared at her. “What exactly do you want to check?” She thought I was intimidated, and her tone grew even more aggressive. “I want to check if you’ve ever given birth.” “I want to check what your actual relationship to this baby is.” “I want to check if your parents are covering up your lies.” I didn’t say a word. I just picked up my phone and checked my messages. I put the phone back down and looked at Harper. “Keep going.” My unnatural calmness seemed to provoke Harper, making her face flush with frustration. “Fine.” “Since you’re begging for it, I’ll lay it all out.” She turned to the crowd of onlookers, raising her voice. “Chloe didn’t take a leave of absence to take care of her mom.” “She was a pregnant teen who went into hiding to have a baby.” “To make sure she could still go to a good college, her parents claimed the baby as their own.” “And now she has the audacity to bring it to campus.” “If someone like her lives in our dorm, who knows if she’ll sneak the baby in here later?” “We came here to go to college, not to run a daycare for her bastard kid.” Zoey immediately chimed in: “Yeah! This dorm isn’t a nursery.” Although Mia didn’t say anything, the way she looked at me had already shifted to obvious repulsion. Out in the hallway, someone held up their phone. “I’m recording this. Just in case it’s actually true.” I held my brother tightly and shot an icy glare at the person filming. “Filming a minor without parental consent is illegal.” The person muttered defensively: “Stop acting like you’re some legal expert.” Harper laughed out loud. “Of course she knows the law.” “Before she did something this scandalous, she definitely researched exactly how to cover her tracks.” My dad couldn’t take it anymore. “Enough!” His voice wasn’t loud, but it trembled with emotion. “Our family has done absolutely nothing wrong. You have no right to bully us like this.” Harper’s eyes instantly filled with tears on command. “Mr. Sterling, why are you screaming at me?” “I’m a girl too. I’m just trying to protect myself.” “If she really did nothing wrong, she could just explain it clearly, couldn’t she?” “Why is your whole family so defensive?” In a fraction of a second, she had flipped the script from malicious rumor-monger to terrified victim. In my past life, everyone was manipulated by her exact same act. She said she was just scared. She said she was just trying to protect herself. And in the end, I became the “aggressive psycho who refused to explain herself and attacked her classmates.” I looked at her, my voice very soft. “Harper. You loved doing this in high school, too.” Her expression stiffened. I continued: “You rip apart other people’s privacy for everyone to see, and then claim you’re just ‘concerned.’” “You dump toxic waste on people’s heads, and then claim you were just ‘asking a question.’” “You are a master at wrapping your pure malice in the disguise of justice.” Harper gritted her teeth. “Stop trying to gaslight me.” “Which one of my points wasn’t based on logical deduction?” “You took a massive leave of absence senior year. Fact.” “The baby is a few months old. Fact.” “You never mentioned having a brother in high school. Fact.” “Your parents are desperately insisting it’s their baby now. Fact.” “With all these facts lined up, what’s wrong with me having a little suspicion?” I nodded. “Alright.” “I want you to repeat everything you just said.” “And you’d better not change your story later.” 3 Harper really didn’t change her story. She even connected her phone to the communal TV screen in our dorm lounge area. Because it was move-in day, every floor had a shared screen that the RA used to display dorm rules. She somehow got the pairing code and cast my high school graduation photo, along with several candid shots of me before and after my leave of absence, directly onto the massive screen. Mia gasped: “How do you have so many photos of her?” Harper brushed it off casually. “We were high school classmates. I just had them saved.” But I knew she didn’t “just have them saved.” In my past life, I only found out much later that she had started secretly taking candid photos of me during our junior year. She was waiting for the perfect opportunity to destroy me. A photo popped up on the screen. I was standing outside the high school nurse’s office, holding a sick leave slip. Harper pointed at the photo. “Look at this. Her physical condition was already super suspicious back then.” Next photo. My dad standing at the school gates, holding a manila envelope. “Her dad was constantly running to the school handling paperwork during that time.” “What kind of paperwork requires a parent to come in that often?” Another photo. I was sitting in the very back row of the classroom, my head down, my desk buried in practice exams. “After she came back, she became completely mute.” “If that isn’t a guilty conscience, what is?” I watched her performance with cold, dead eyes. “Harper. You stalked and photographed me for three years?” She immediately frowned. “What do you mean stalked? Don’t make it sound so creepy.” “Classmates take pictures of each other all the time. What’s the big deal?” “If you didn’t do anything wrong, why are you so afraid of people keeping photos of you?” Zoey nodded in agreement. “Yeah, everyone takes pictures of everything nowadays.” I looked at her. “Then how about you project your entire camera roll onto the TV for everyone to enjoy?” Zoey instantly shut her mouth. Harper’s face looked a bit ugly. But she quickly steered the conversation back. “Chloe, stop trying to deflect the issue.” “Right now, we are talking about this baby.” She stared at my brother. “Do you dare admit that he isn’t just a ‘normal brother’?” I gently patted my brother’s back. “Of course he isn’t a normal brother.” Harper’s eyes lit up triumphantly. I continued: “He is the child my mother risked her life to give birth to.” “He is the child my father raised by waking up five times a night to mix formula.” “He is the child I taught how to wave over FaceTime every single day after school during my senior year.” “He is not a prop for you to use to spread disgusting rumors.” Harper’s expression froze. But she quickly sneered. “You have a great way with words.” “But who can actually prove it?” I looked at her. “What kind of proof do you want?” “Birth certificate? Family records? Hospital discharge papers? A written statement from my high school homeroom teacher?” “I can provide all of it.” Harper immediately put on a ‘called it’ expression. “Did everyone hear that?” “She has it all prepared.” “What normal person brings a full dossier of legal documents on their first day of college?” “Unless she already knew someone was going to ask.” I gave a short laugh. “Two minutes ago, you demanded proof.” “Now that I say I have proof, you accuse me of being ‘prepared’?” Harper’s voice turned cold. “I’m just reminding everyone not to be fooled by a pile of forged papers.” She spoke as if she was getting more and more confident. “It is so easy to fake things nowadays.” “Documents can be forged. Text messages can be faked. You can even bribe a doctor for hospital records.” “Chloe, your parents are working overtime to cover for you. Who knows how far they went?” My dad exploded in anger. “You have crossed the line!” Harper’s tears arrived perfectly on cue. “Mr. Sterling, I know you love your daughter.” “But you can’t just treat everyone else like idiots just because you feel sorry for her.” “We’re freshmen here, we have a right to know the truth.” “Nobody wants to live with someone whose private life is a total disaster, and whose entire family lies to cover it up.” Private life is a total disaster. The moment those words were spoken, the hallway completely erupted. “Wow, that’s a massive accusation.” “But her classmate seems so sure. There must be some truth to it.” “Her family says it’s her brother, but they really can’t prove it.” “Her dad looks super panicked, too.” My dad was panicked because he wasn’t good at arguing. Because his daughter was being viciously slandered. Because his infant son was being surrounded and filmed by a mob of strangers. But in the eyes of these people, an honest man’s distress was interpreted as guilt. Harper raised her phone and snapped another picture of the baby in my dad’s arms. My eyes turned to ice. “Delete that.” She looked at me provocatively. “I’m not deleting it.” “Unless you admit he’s your son.” Before I could even speak, a chilling, sarcastic woman’s voice echoed from the end of the hallway. “Admit my ass.” The entire hallway suddenly went dead silent. My mom, holding a plastic bag of groceries, walked over in her sensible flats. She placed the bag on the table near the door and slowly, methodically rolled up her sleeves. She took one look at my dad’s red eyes, and then at my sobbing baby brother. Finally, her gaze locked onto Harper’s face. “So, it’s you.” “You think because you can flap your lips a few times, you’re hot shit? Think you have the right to assign a new mother to someone else’s kid?”

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Chapter 1 When severe turbulence slammed my abdomen against the armrest, causing heavy bleeding, I turned to my husband for help. But Arthur, who wasn’t wearing his hearing aids, violently shoved me away and scrambled frantically toward the row behind us—to my best friend, Chloe. I watched, helpless, as he pulled Chloe into his arms. I listened as he and my brother, Liam, continuously comforted her. It wasn’t until the plane leveled out that the passenger next to me, recovering from the scare, joked with Arthur. “When I saw you arguing with the lady next to you earlier and you took off your hearing aids, I thought you actually couldn’t hear.” My brother, Liam, looked apologetic. “Sorry you had to see that. It wasn’t an argument. It was just my sister talking a mile a minute.” “She loves to chatter non-stop at her husband. It’s annoying, so he just pretends he’s deaf.” Chloe pressed an index finger to her lips, whispering. “Shh. It’s our little secret. Don’t let Nora hear. We’ll tell her when she finally learns to be quiet.” Arthur just chuckled softly, staying silent. Blood continued to run down my thigh. My face was deathly pale, and the only thing left on my lips was a self-deprecating smile. I used to be a quiet person. I only became a chatterbox because the doctors told me that constant talking would help stimulate my husband’s hearing recovery. In the end, that became the exact reason they all kept me in the dark. Since they wanted to keep secrets from me, there was no reason for me to stay in this silent world anymore. …… “There’s… there’s a pregnant woman here! She’s hemorrhaging! Is there a doctor on board?!” It wasn’t until the flight attendants were doing their post-turbulence checks that they realized I had almost passed out. Arthur rushed to my side, desperately shouting my name. The flight attendant asked, “Are you her husband? I saw you sitting next to her earlier.” Arthur opened his mouth, but then his hand flew to his empty ear. Looking utterly lost and with red eyes, he shook his head. “What are you saying?” Chloe and my brother hurried over, exchanging a quick glance before covering for him. “Sorry, he’s deaf. He can’t hear.” The flight attendant sighed, pulling Arthur aside to make room for the doctor, and handed him a slip of paper. Don’t worry, we’re landing soon. There’s a doctor here. Your wife will be fine. Arthur cooperatively forced a relieved smile. The residual sweat from his palm still burned my skin. It made me wonder, almost absurdly, if him flying past me to save Chloe and leaving me behind had just been a hallucination. In the hospital, I was woken up by a noisy conversation. It was Chloe, complaining about her boss giving her a hard time at work. Then she angrily criticized a new movie that was apparently terrible. These were the exact mundane little things I used to talk to Arthur about. But he didn’t take off his hearing aids. He just stared intently at Chloe, catching every shift in her mood and earnestly agreeing with her. My brother, Liam, stood off to the side, watching them affectionately and occasionally chiming in. Their laughter felt like the sharpest knife, carving into my numb heart. I couldn’t even remember the last time Arthur and I had a conversation that joyful. It wasn’t until a nurse sharply reprimanded them, “No loud talking in the wards! Keep it down!” that Chloe finally shut her mouth, playfully sticking her tongue out. I timed it perfectly and opened my eyes. Chloe looked thrilled and tightly grabbed my hand. “Nora, you’re finally awake! You scared me to death.” “Seriously, you knew you were pregnant! Why didn’t you say anything when you started bleeding?! Even if Arthur couldn’t hear, you could have grabbed him! You almost lost the baby!” I shifted my gaze to Arthur. He looked guilty and turned his head away. My brother quickly stepped in to smooth things over. “Alright, this is partly your fault too, Nora. Why did you have to talk non-stop from the second we got on the plane? Who can handle sitting next to a nagging mother hen?” “Arthur got annoyed and took out his hearing aids. Look at you now—you ruined everyone’s good mood.” My fingers curled violently into my palms. When we were on the plane, my screams were loud enough to make the other passengers turn and stare. Yet the three people closest to me in the world were lying straight to my face. They knew perfectly well that I only became a chatterbox because the doctors said Arthur needed constant auditory stimulation. The dull ache in my abdomen was a fraction of the agony in my heart. “Okay. It’s my fault. Nora… don’t worry, I won’t take out my hearing aids anymore.” Arthur finally broke his silence. But moments later, he muttered under his breath, “But you really don’t need to talk to me that much every single day. It’s really… overwhelming.” I closed my eyes. My mind was flooded with memories—of the countless train tickets I bought traveling across the country for three years to find treatments for him. Of the stacks of notebooks in his study, filled with precautions and care instructions for the deaf, stacked higher than a person. A single tear slid down my cheek. I remembered when Arthur’s business rivals wanted to crush him. They hired someone to kidnap me. When they tried to assault me, Arthur broke into the warehouse alone to save me. The kidnappers had rigged explosives. When the blast went off, he used his hands to shield my ears. But he lost his own hearing. In the dead of night, he used to hold me tight, confessing his deepest fears. “Nora, are you going to leave me?” I used my train tickets and my notebooks as proof, telling him over and over again that I never would. When people mocked him for being deaf, I—a woman who had never raised her voice in her life—got into a physical altercation and ended up in a police station for him. But now I realized my profound devotion had just made me a clown. “Okay,” I croaked out, my voice raw. It was time for this circus to end. Chapter 2 Just as he promised, after I was discharged, Arthur listened intently to every word I said. It almost gave me the illusion that the rift between us had never existed. When I was feeling better, Arthur insisted we make up for the trip we had missed. “Let’s go to a club! I researched it before we came—Miami’s nightlife is legendary.” The doctors had explicitly warned that Arthur’s auditory nerves were still incredibly fragile. The deafening bass of a nightclub could cause permanent damage. “He can’t go to a club…” But my words were drowned out by the three of them excitedly debating which club to hit first. My mouth twitched, and I didn’t want to go. But I couldn’t stop worrying, so instinctively, I followed them. The ear-splitting noise hit me in violent waves. Even with perfect hearing and cotton stuffed in my ears, I could barely stand it. After losing his hearing, Arthur’s temper had grown erratic. Sometimes, if I spoke a little too loudly or talked a bit too much, he would scowl. “I’m wearing my hearing aids! I can hear you! You don’t have to yell. Are you disgusted by me?” “Don’t forget why I went deaf in the first place!” Eventually, whenever I did something he didn’t like, he would rip out his hearing aids, toss them aside, and give me the silent treatment. I had thought about giving up. But then I’d remember how he fought his own family to be with me. How we lived in a cramped basement eating instant ramen. How he worked himself into the hospital to build his startup. Countless times, I cried and begged him to go back to his wealthy family and break up with me. He would place my hand over his heart. “Believe in me, Nora. I’ll make it on my own. If I go back, I’ll have money, but this—” he tapped his chest “—will be empty.” So I swallowed every grievance. Sitting in the VIP booth, I scrolled aimlessly through my phone, letting the bitterness soak into my bones. Suddenly, I stumbled across Chloe’s old, neglected alternate Twitter account. My heart leapt into my throat, and driven by a morbid impulse, I clicked on it. With every post I scrolled past, my heart sank deeper into an abyss. It turned out that while he found my talking “annoying,” Arthur would spend all night chatting with Chloe, listening to her talk until dawn. His ears couldn’t handle loud noises, yet because Chloe loved to sing, Arthur was a VIP at the loudest karaoke bars in the city. Chloe had jokingly asked him why he was willing to listen to her, but not me. Arthur had stayed silent for a long time before answering. “Every time I look at Nora, I remember what she went through… and knowing I let myself get permanently damaged for her, it’s just too much to handle…” A grotesque, ugly smile slowly spread across my face. I never doubted his sincerity back then. But sincerity is fragile. Unable to sit there a second longer, I stood up to leave, but Chloe yelled over the music. “Nora! Don’t just stand there, come dance!” When I didn’t turn around, she jumped out of the crowd and grabbed my arm. The moment she touched me, an overwhelming wave of nausea hit me. I violently shoved her hand away. “Arthur! Help me!” Arthur looked panicked and shoved me hard, sending me crashing to the floor. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my abdomen. But Arthur acted like he didn’t even notice. With lightning speed, he caught Chloe as she stumbled. He kept whispering to her, soothing her. He asked her three times if she was okay. Only after he got a reassuring answer did he finally spare a furious glare for me. “Nora, what the hell is wrong with you?!” My brother pointed a finger in my face, screaming over the music. “Nora! Isn’t Chloe supposed to be your best friend?! We brought you on this trip to help you relax, and you just shoved her?! What is wrong with you?!” I looked at the two men united against me. Ignoring the agonizing pain in my stomach, I suddenly started laughing. I pointed to my ear. “Arthur, you can drop the act. You can hear perfectly fine, can’t you?” Chapter 3 All the color drained from Arthur’s face. The truth was, his hearing aids had fallen out the moment we walked into the club. He instinctively looked at Liam. Arthur opened his mouth, unsure of what excuse to make, when the crowd around us started screaming. “Blood! Call an ambulance!” I saw Arthur let out a microscopic sigh of relief. I knew he was grateful he had dodged the bullet of explaining himself. In the ambulance, three years of repressed anger kept me conscious. I gripped his sleeve in a death grip, demanding an answer. “Why did you lie to me?! When did you get your hearing back?! Is making a fool out of me fun?!” But no matter how hard I pressed, Arthur just clamped his mouth shut, suppressing his impatience, and forced out a few words. “I don’t have my hearing aids in. I can’t hear you. Just wait.” I wanted to keep interrogating him, but the excruciating cramps in my abdomen finally became too much, and I passed out from the pain. When I woke up, Arthur was looking at me with pure joy. He handed me a cup of water. This time, there was no Chloe and no Liam causing a racket. I turned my head away. In the silence, he sighed. “Your brother told me what you asked in the club. I really couldn’t hear.” “It’s just that when Chloe tripped toward us, it caused a commotion. I’m not blind, I saw her falling, so naturally, I ran over.” Even now, he was still lying. The last remaining shred of warmth I had for him completely evaporated. “Arthur, we’re getting a divorce…” A harsh ringtone interrupted me. Arthur shot up from his chair. It was my brother. “Arthur, get to Chloe’s room right now. She’s crying and asking for you.” Arthur grabbed his jacket and bolted out the door, not even bothering to give me a fake excuse. I watched his retreating back, pulled out my phone, and calmly called my lawyer. “Draft a divorce agreement for me.” But my peace didn’t last long. The hospital door was violently shoved open. An enraged Arthur stormed in. “Nora! So you pushed her in the club, and now you have to go online and spread vicious rumors about me and Chloe?!” I was completely lost. Until my brother threw a phone right into my face. Only then did I realize that someone had recorded the incident at the club and posted it online. Chloe had become public enemy number one. “She purposely grabbed a pregnant woman and then threw herself into the husband’s arms? What kind of trash is that?” “Wait, I know that guy! He was on my flight! He faked being deaf!” My brother slammed Arthur’s medical records down in front of me. “What do you mean ‘faked’? You share a bed with him! You took him to all those specialists, you don’t know what his actual condition is?!” I stared at my brother, my head throbbing like it was going to split open. I truly couldn’t fathom why my own brother would team up with two outsiders to gaslight me. We had lost our parents when we were kids. We only had each other. He was brilliant at school, so I dropped out early to work and pay for his education all the way through his Ph.D. When he graduated, he had lifted me into the air with joy. “Being your brother is the luckiest thing that ever happened to me!” When he noticed I was naturally quiet, he encouraged me to talk more. He said I should be more like Chloe, that being outgoing was how you survived in the real world. But when I actually became talkative for Arthur’s sake… he hated it. And now, he was defending Chloe online by throwing mud at me. “My brother-in-law’s hearing is genuinely damaged. My sister just has a terrible temper and loves airing dirty laundry online. Even I, her own brother, can’t stand her.” Chloe trailed behind the two men, cautiously playing the peacemaker. “Okay, stop it, you guys. Nora is pregnant, it’s normal for her hormones to make her a bit moody…” It sounded like she was defending me. But every word was gasoline on the fire. I locked eyes with Chloe. She couldn’t suppress the victorious smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth. In that moment, I knew. The girl I had rescued from an abusive, arranged-marriage situation deep in the mountains—the girl who knelt before me sobbing, swearing she would work like a dog to repay my kindness—was completely, irreparably dead. Sure enough, Arthur’s face darkened. “You are going to hold a press conference with me. I will publicly explain my hearing condition. And you will clarify that there is absolutely nothing going on between me and Chloe.” A bone-chilling cold spread through my veins. For Chloe’s sake, he was willing to publicly brand himself as deaf to the entire world. “Did they say anything that wasn’t true?” “And what if I refuse?” Arthur froze. He looked away, his tone laced with a forced reluctance. “Don’t push me, Nora. We both have pasts we aren’t proud of, don’t we?” Chapter 4 I stumbled backward in sheer disbelief. The Arthur from the past used to pull me out of the bathtub when I was scrubbing my skin raw. He would kiss my reddened skin, repeating it over and over. “You aren’t dirty. I love you.” But now… That trauma had become a weapon for him to control me. In the suffocating silence, my tightly clenched fists finally relaxed. My voice was raw as I choked out one word. “Fine.” After the press conference, public opinion on Chloe instantly reversed. Furthermore, the details of my past—the near-assault—were conveniently “leaked” to the press. I became a national laughingstock. “So she’s damaged goods. No wonder she guards her husband from her best friend like a psycho. I feel so bad for the CEO, he literally went deaf saving her, and she still treats him like a suspect.” “Even if he WAS faking being deaf, I’d get it. Having a tainted, damaged woman nagging you 24/7? Anyone would get sick of it!” Arthur put on a big show of trying to suppress the rumors. But I was already completely numb. I barely spoke anymore. I just quietly waited for my lawyer to finish the divorce papers. Until our wedding anniversary. He intentionally called me early in the day. “Honey, wait for me at home tonight. I have a huge surprise for you.” Perfect. It was time to put my cards on the table anyway. I waited for Arthur at home. But midnight came and went, and there was no sign of him. Instead, I heard rustling noises coming from outside the front door. My heart pounded in my chest, and I quickly locked myself in the master bedroom. A few minutes later, the front door was forced open. Heavy footsteps stopped right outside the bedroom. The doorknob rattled violently. “I scoped this place out. The husband isn’t home. The woman has been here all night. She’s definitely hiding in there!” “I saw her. She’s gorgeous! We hit the jackpot tonight, boys!” I frantically dialed Arthur’s number, but he didn’t pick up. A long time passed before he finally texted me. “Honey, I left my hearing aids at the office. I’m on my way back now. If you need something, just text me.” I texted him, begging for help. But the typing bubble just kept bouncing. Finally, a single message came through. “Did you forget why I went deaf three years ago? Stop trying to test me with these sick jokes.” Test. Joke. Every word was a sledgehammer to my chest, suffocating me. But the sheer instinct to survive overrode my despair. I called my brother. He answered with a scoff. “What, upgrading your act? You used to just be a nagging housewife, now you’re a drama queen making up home invasions? Do you have any idea that your constant talking just reminds him of the trauma from three years ago?” “Even I’m getting targeted because of you. Sometimes I really wish you weren’t my sister…” He hung up before he even finished his sentence. My blood ran freezing cold. Before I could even react, the bedroom door was kicked off its hinges. Three men charged into the room with vile, sickening grins. My phone was slapped out of my hand. I fought with everything I had, but it was useless. I was forced to watch as my clothes were ripped apart. The agonizing tearing below my waist radiated into my abdomen, making me feel like my entire body was being ripped in two. My phone, lying on the floor, had somehow been accidentally bumped into refreshing Chloe’s alternate Twitter account. She had just posted an update. “We couldn’t hide it anymore. Today is his third wedding anniversary with her. He planned to tell her the truth.” “My brother and I have no secrets left. Tonight, I’m going to make a new secret with him.” The photo attached was the view from a hotel room’s floor-to-ceiling window. I closed my eyes. Total, absolute despair swallowed me whole. It wasn’t until the wail of police sirens pierced the long, dark night that it finally stopped. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Vance. We couldn’t save the baby.” I went numb. It felt like all the oxygen had been vacuumed from the room, but I didn’t even have the strength left to cry. Three hospitalizations. That resilient little baby couldn’t hold on anymore, and it was gone. I didn’t say a single word. I just boarded a flight leaving the city. … In the dead of night, for some inexplicable reason, Arthur felt a sudden, suffocating wave of panic. He sped down the highway, racing toward home. Suddenly, the local radio station broadcast an emergency news bulletin. “A violent home invasion and sexual assault has just occurred in the luxury community of Beverly Crest.” In a fraction of a second, Arthur slammed on the brakes, his face turning ghostly white.

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Chapter 1 My best friend Chloe was a terrible driver and constantly scraped her car, so she bought the parking space right between mine and my fiancé’s. They both got off work earlier than I did, so every time I came home, Chloe’s car would be parked crookedly, spilling over the line into my spot. Because of this, I was forced to park in an uncovered overflow lot a mile away. I would then have to walk all the way back. Chloe often felt bad about it and would frequently come over to our place to cook for me as an apology. That was, until the day the city issued a severe flash flood warning. Once again, I couldn’t pull into my spot. I had no choice but to trudge a mile back home through the torrential, pouring rain. When I finally got inside, I saw my fiancé, Ethan, and Chloe discussing what to have for dinner. They noticed me standing there, looking like a drowned rat. Chloe stuck her tongue out playfully and said sheepishly, “I’m so sorry, Mia. I was just so scared of scratching Ethan’s car. I’ll make sure to park better next time.” Ethan immediately grabbed a dry towel for me. “Just park a little closer to my side next time, Chloe. If you scratch it, you scratch it. Let’s not make things difficult for Mia.” Every single time, before I could even say a word, they were already apologizing and admitting fault. Suddenly, I just felt incredibly exhausted by it all. I gave a noncommittal hum and walked into the bathroom. Peeling off my soaking, sticky clothes, I sank into the bathtub. During the half hour I soaked, I could hear their laughter and chatter from the living room. The hot water felt amazing, and the tub was the perfect size for just one person. In that moment, everything clicked. A parking space I couldn’t squeeze into. I wasn’t going to squeeze anymore. A relationship with no room left for me. I was walking away from that, too. … When I stepped out of the bathroom, my phone screen was lit up. The property manager had just texted me: “Ms. Vance, your parking space is in a prime location. Are you absolutely sure you want to sell it?” I stared at that line of text for a few seconds before typing back one word. “Yes.” He replied almost instantly: “Great. I’ve had people asking about it for a while. If the price is right, we can sign the paperwork tomorrow.” Looking at the message, I suddenly let out a long exhale. The frustration that had been building up inside me for a year finally found its release. This past year, I had swallowed so much resentment over that parking space. Chloe always claimed she was a bad driver, always terrified of scratching Ethan’s car, so her tires repeatedly crossed the line into my spot. When I got home from working late, the only thing waiting for me in the garage was a gap too narrow to squeeze into. I would call her, and she wouldn’t answer. Eventually, Ethan would pick up. His voice would be hushed, like he was afraid of waking someone up: “Just park outside for now. She didn’t do it on purpose. I’ll remind her next time.” I remembered those exact words to this day. After that, every time she took my spot, he had a perfectly packaged excuse ready for her. She didn’t do it on purpose. She already apologized. She gets nervous, she’s scared to park. The whole world was terrified of Chloe feeling bad. I was the only one who wasn’t allowed to be upset. I dried my hair and walked out. A dinner of four dishes and a soup was already set on the table, and they were already eating. Chloe was sitting next to Ethan, looking down as she picked the bones out of her fish. Ethan casually placed a piece of ribs on her plate and slid a napkin over to her hand. The movements were so fluid, as if he had done it a thousand times. Chloe saw me first. She looked up and smiled: “Mia, you’re done washing up! I was worried the food would get cold.” Ethan looked up too: “Come eat.” I stood exactly where I was. The cold air from the AC hit the wet hair at the nape of my neck, making me shiver. I only said one sentence: “I’m cold.” Chloe had the remote in her hand; she had just lowered the temperature. She glanced at Ethan first before turning to explain to me: “I’m sorry, I just finished cooking and I was a little hot.” Before she even finished her sentence, her eyes welled up with tears: “Are you still mad at me? I really didn’t park crookedly on purpose.” Ethan frowned: “Mia, she’s been working all day, and she still went out of her way to cook for us. Can you not give her an attitude the second you walk out?” I looked at him, my voice completely flat: “I only said I was cold.” He froze for a second, but then put some food on my plate, talking to me like he was coaxing an unreasonable child: “Just eat first. Don’t overthink things.” I sat down and picked up my fork. The shrimp was my favorite garlic butter recipe, but swallowing it felt like swallowing glass. This was supposed to be my home, but they were talking about people and politics at their company that I knew nothing about. When they laughed, their banter was completely seamless. I occasionally looked up, feeling entirely like a third wheel who had crashed their dinner date. Chloe was a master at knowing exactly where the boundaries were, and how to push them. She kept a pair of her slippers by the front door, claiming it was just “convenient.” Her face wash sat on the bathroom counter—just a “habit.” There was always her favorite brand of yogurt in the fridge. Ethan said he just picked it up “since he was already at the store.” In this house, she acted more like the woman of the house than I did. Chapter 2 My phone buzzed again. The property manager asked: “Ms. Vance, there’s an interested buyer who wants to meet and sign the contract tomorrow around noon. Does that work for you?” I replied: “That works.” Chloe was still smiling at me: “Mia, next time you’re going to be late, let me know in advance so I can save some food for you.” I looked up at her: “You don’t need to do that anymore.” Her smile froze. I pushed my bowl away: “I’m full.” Ethan’s tone dropped: “What is your problem now?” I didn’t explain. I used to always worry that I wasn’t communicating clearly enough. Later I realized, it wasn’t that he didn’t understand. It was just that he didn’t care. Before I closed my bedroom door, I heard Chloe ask softly: “Ethan, did I make her mad again?” Ethan murmured back, comforting her: “Just ignore her. She’s been under a lot of stress at work lately.” I stood leaning against the door for a long time. The light in the living room was warm, and their laughter felt so close. But in that moment, I understood for the very first time. There had been no place for me in this house for a long time. Early the next morning, our three-person group chat pinged. Chloe sent a string of messages: “Mia, do you hate me?” “Are you really mad at me over the parking spot?” Followed by several crying emojis. Ethan replied to her almost immediately: “Don’t overthink it, she’s just been busy with work.” “The parking thing was an accident anyway, stop stressing yourself out over nothing.” Sitting on the subway, looking at those messages, I suddenly found the whole situation hilarious. It was my parking spot. I was the one who had to park blocks away and walk home every day. I was the one squeezed out of my own space. Yet, somehow, word by word, they painted me as the petty, irritable one. I didn’t reply. At noon, I took my lunch break to go to the leasing office and sign the contract. The manager still tried to persuade me: “This really is a prime spot. Are you absolutely sure you want to let it go?” I picked up the pen without hesitation: “I’m sure.” The moment the ink hit the paper, my chest actually felt lighter. I was done standing in a dark parking garage, waiting for someone to grant me a scrap of consideration. After work, I drove into my building’s underground garage. From a distance, I could see that white car. The front bumper was over the line, the back end angled sharply. It was parked with the exact same unapologetic arrogance. I sat in the driver’s seat and watched it for a few seconds, suddenly letting out a laugh. So, whether I sold that spot or not, it made absolutely no difference to her. She was always going to park like that. I parked in a visitor spot and went upstairs. Before I even put my key in the lock, the sound of laughter drifted through the door. Chloe sounded ecstatic: “Thank god you reacted so fast, otherwise if she really sold it to someone else, where would I park?” Ethan was laughing too: “Didn’t I tell you? Just buy it first, worry about the rest later.” My hand froze on the key. So the buyer the property manager mentioned… was Ethan. The apartment fell quiet for a second. Chloe asked in a small voice: “If Mia finds out, will she be mad?” Ethan sounded utterly unbothered: “She’s just throwing a little fit. Give it a couple of days, coax her a little, and she’ll be fine.” “What if she still won’t let me park there?” “The spot is in my name now. It’s not her call to make.” In that moment, I lost even the strength to turn the key. When I signed those papers yesterday, I thought I was finally extracting myself from this mess. Turns out, the second I sold my spot, he bought it right back, just so he could keep giving it to her. Chapter 3 I pushed the door open, walked straight into the bedroom, and dragged my suitcase out. Ethan followed me in, his face darkening: “Mia, what kind of stunt are you pulling now?” I started throwing my clothes into the suitcase one by one: “I’m moving out.” “Over a parking space?!” I didn’t stop packing. He slammed his hand down on the suitcase, his voice rising with anger: “Before you sold that spot, why didn’t you discuss it with me?” I looked up at him: “It was my parking space. Why would I need to discuss it with you?” He choked on his words, his face growing even uglier: “We’re getting married in two weeks, and you’re insisting on drawing lines like this?” I stared right at him: “Did you buy that spot?” “Yeah, I bought it. So what?” He answered without hesitation, “You were selling it anyway, I wasn’t going to let some stranger buy it. It’s hard for Chloe to park, leaving it between us is the most convenient option for her.” I asked softly: “Convenient for who?” He finally lost his patience: “Stop acting crazy. It’s just a parking space. I’ll just buy you another one, alright?” It’s just a parking space. He made it sound like I was being incredibly petty. I zipped up the suitcase and looked at him with a cold smile: “Ethan, forget the wedding. I don’t want to marry you anymore.” The moment the words left my mouth, Ethan’s face completely fell. “The wedding is in two weeks, and you’re dropping this now?” In the living room, Chloe walked up to the bedroom door, her eyes already red: “Mia, please don’t do this. This is all my fault.” I turned to her: “Yes, it is your fault. Do you even know what you did wrong?” The color drained from her face. Ethan blocked the doorway, his tone turning icy: “If you walk out that door tonight, we are absolutely done. There’s no coming back from this.” I ignored him and looked down at my phone. Sitting in my inbox was an email from the International Division: “Confirmation of Overseas Assignment. Please reply by the end of the week to accept the offer.” I had been staring at this email for three days. I had been hesitating, but now, there was no need. Right in front of them, I opened the email and typed two words. “I accept.” The moment the email sent, my mom called. “Mia, have you lost your mind?! You’re blowing everything up over a parking space?! The wedding is almost here, what are our friends and family going to think?!” Immediately after, my dad took the phone: “Mia, stop this nonsense. You’re about to be a married woman, you can’t be this selfish.” They didn’t even ask me why I was leaving before deciding I was the one in the wrong. I couldn’t embarrass the families. I hung up the phone without a word. A little while later, the doorbell rang. Chloe stood outside, holding an insulated delivery bag: “Mia, I made you some soup.” I didn’t let her in: “Just say what you came to say.” She kept her head down, tears falling on cue: “Why do you have to break up? If it’s about the parking space, I promise I’ll never park there again, okay? If you want that spot, I’ll give it back to you.” I almost laughed out loud: “Give it back? It was mine to begin with.” She choked for a second, then forced a smile: “We’ve been friends for so long, there’s no need to destroy everything over something this small.” “Then why did you have Ethan buy it?” She cried even harder: “I didn’t tell him to buy it! He did it because he felt bad for me. You’ve known since day one that I’m a terrible driver. You always used to be so understanding.” I nodded: “Right. So I should be understanding about you stealing my fiancé too?” She went silent. I enunciated every single word: “All these years, you constantly taking my parking spot… was it really because you’re a bad driver, or were you trying to send a message?” Her innocent facade finally cracked: “Do you really have to be this vicious?” I stared at her: “Are my words vicious, or are your actions?” She wiped her tears, deciding to drop the act completely: “I never tried to steal anything from you. Ethan and I work at the same company, we just naturally head in the same direction.” I lost whatever patience I had left and gave a mocking smile. “Right, you’re always the innocent one. Whether you were just ‘heading in the same direction’ or doing it on purpose, you know the truth.” She had nothing left to say. Before leaving, she set the insulated bag on the ground, stared at me, and said: “Mia, you’re going to regret this.” Before I shut the door, I gave her one last reply: “I do regret it. I regret not seeing you both for what you are sooner.” The next day at the office, people were gossiping in the breakroom about an upcoming partnership meeting. “I heard we’re going over to Sterling Corp today.” “Last time I was in their parking garage, I saw Manager Cross’s car parked right next to a female coworker’s.” “The Chloe girl, right? They’re always grabbing coffee together here too. Wait, isn’t Ethan engaged to Mia?” Several pairs of eyes immediately darted toward me. I didn’t explain a single thing. Right then, my boss walked out of his office and called me out: “Mia, head over to Sterling Corp this afternoon and finalize the specs for the new project.” I said okay. In that moment, I suddenly felt incredibly pathetic. Even random bystanders saw the problem before I did. I was the only idiot who had been completely blind to it. Chapter 4 At 3:00 PM, I carried my files over to Sterling Corp. I had just finished signing in at the front desk when laughter drifted over from the breakroom area. I looked up and saw Ethan and Chloe walking out, shoulder to shoulder. They were each holding a coffee. Someone nearby teased: “Manager Cross, buying coffee for Chloe again?” Chloe laughed naturally: “He insisted! I couldn’t stop him.” Ethan didn’t deny it. He looked up, saw me, and the smile instantly froze on his face. I took my visitor badge and walked right past them without a word. The meeting lasted an hour. I remained perfectly calm the entire time. Ethan looked up at me several times, but I never met his eyes. When the meeting ended, I shut my laptop and left, my expression entirely blank. As I walked out of the conference room, Ethan chased after me and cornered me in the elevator. “What was that attitude today?” “Just doing my job.” “You saw Chloe and me earlier. Why didn’t you say anything?” I turned to look at him: “If I asked, would you have told the truth?” He was stumped. When we got out of the elevator, he was still following me, lowering his voice: “The wedding is in exactly two weeks. Throwing a fit now isn’t going to do anyone any good.” I saw the flash of anger in his eyes and said flatly: “The only thing you care about is whether or not this wedding makes you look bad, isn’t it?” He was silent for a few seconds before finally taking a step back: “I admit, Chloe and I have been close lately. But we are just coworkers. She’s a bit clingy, and I couldn’t exactly make things awkward for her.” My heart couldn’t even manage to ache anymore. I just suddenly saw everything with crystal clarity. “It breaks your heart to make her feel awkward, but what about me?” “I couldn’t even park in my own spot in the garage, and you told me not to make things difficult for her. I felt like a stranger in my own home, and you told me I was overthinking things. I sold my own property just to get some peace, and you turned around, bought it, and gave it right back to her. Ethan, don’t you realize how unbelievably hypocritical you are?” His jaw tightened. It took him a long time to say: “I’ll be more careful with my boundaries from now on. Let me drive you home tonight, we need to really talk.” I declined and turned to walk away. “Save it. We have nothing left to talk about.” After that, he started bombing my phone with texts. “Did you eat yet?” “Let’s go look at wedding dresses this week.” “The wedding planner is pushing for the final itinerary, are you free tonight?” I muted his notifications. Fourteen days until the wedding. Exactly fourteen days until I was supposed to report for my overseas assignment. I flipped my desk calendar to that date, my chest feeling tight. That was supposed to be the most highly anticipated day of my entire life. Now, it was just the countdown to my departure. Over the next few days, I tied up every single loose end. I had a courier retrieve my passport and personal documents from his place. In the three-person group chat, Ethan was still pretending everything was normal: “Mia’s been really busy lately. Should Chloe go check out the final wedding dress options for her?” Chloe replied instantly: “Sure! I have great taste, I promise she’ll love it.” I stared at the screen, and suddenly decided not to leave the group chat. I wanted to see exactly how far they were willing to go in managing my life for me. The night before I left, Ethan sent me a massive block of text. [I’ll be downstairs to pick you up at 7 AM tomorrow.] [Leave everything else to me.] [As long as you stop being so difficult, we can have a good life together.] I didn’t reply to a single message. The morning of the wedding, he arrived downstairs in his tuxedo, while I was already sitting in a cab headed to the airport. My phone was vibrating non-stop. I didn’t answer a single call. Later, my real estate agent told me he had sprinted upstairs, pounded on my door for ages, and eventually kicked it, only to be dragged away by security. Inside the apartment, there was only an empty desk, and a piece of paper I had left for him. There was only one sentence written on it: “Ethan, we are completely over.” Not long after, he sent one final text: “Mia, if you don’t show up today, I’ll have Chloe take your place.” Looking at those words, I suddenly felt absolutely nothing. My parents were calling me back to back. My mom left a voicemail saying all the relatives had arrived. I ignored them. Ethan was frantically texting me, asking if I had lost my mind. I switched my phone to silent and looked up at the departure gate. The PA system announced final boarding. I powered off my phone, dropped it into my bag, and blocked every single one of them in my mind. Without a single backward glance, I walked onto the plane.

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The day of the car crash, my wife, Chloe, reacted on pure instinct. The first person she pulled from the wreckage was my brother, Ethan, who only had a few scrapes. I was left pinned in the crushed backseat, trapped until the rescue team finally arrived and cut me out of a pool of my own blood. The doctors said the trauma was severe. I would likely never be able to have children. Worse, my brain suffered massive damage. My cognitive functions regressed to that of a three-year-old. When I woke up, I didn’t recognize my wife, nor did I recognize the brother she had shielded in her arms. Everyone called it a tragic accident. Chloe sat by my hospital bed every single day. She applied my medication, spoon-fed me my meals, and patiently taught me how to recognize people again. When she held me and cried, she always promised she would never, ever leave me. Clutching a stuffed bear, I would ask her in a small voice, “Are you my mommy?” Her eyes would turn red as she answered, “I’m your wife.” But every time Ethan called, she would step out into the hallway. It wasn’t until I accidentally saw a text she sent him that I understood. [As long as he never gets his memory back, we can be together forever.] Later, Chloe had a baby. Ethan asked her, “Can we just go to the beach to watch the sunrise, just the three of us?” Chloe glanced at me—I was sitting on the floor, playing with blocks—and agreed. She told me: “If you’re hungry, open the fridge. If you’re thirsty, drink water.” Then, they shut the front door, leaving me completely alone in the house. She didn’t know that it would be the very last time she ever saw me. … My brother Ethan stood by the front door, holding his one-year-old son, softly urging her: “Chloe, the Uber is almost here.” “Coming.” Chloe turned to look at me. I was sitting on the rug, tightly gripping a yellow building block, trying my hardest to balance it on top of my castle. She walked over and crouched in front of me. “Oliver, if you get hungry, open the fridge. If you’re thirsty, drink water. The food is all inside, okay?” I nodded. “Hungry, open fridge. Thirsty, drink water.” “Good boy.” She reached out and patted my head. “We’ll be back soon, and we’ll bring Oliver his favorite strawberry shortcake.” As she walked out the door, Chloe casually flipped the master breaker switch by the entryway. Click. The living room lights died. The TV screen went black. Not long after, I called Chloe. I whispered into the phone: “Chloe, the lights won’t turn on.” I could hear Ethan approaching the phone, the baby in his arms, his tone dismissive: “He’s starting again.” I looked up. “It’s true.” The baby in Ethan’s arms started to fuss and cry. “How much longer are you going to humor him? He pulls this stunt every single time just to keep you around.” I stared at the block in my hand. “I didn’t… I…” “Oliver.” Chloe’s voice dropped, growing stern. “We are just going away for a few days. Don’t throw a tantrum.” “How long is a few days?” “We’ll be back soon.” “Are you coming back today?” Ethan didn’t say anything else, but I heard a faint scoff over the line. Chloe didn’t answer. I asked again: “What about tomorrow?” She let out a heavy sigh. “Can you please stop asking that?” I heard a car honk in the background on her end. Chloe read off the four-digit passcode to the smart lock to Ethan, then spoke to me, her tone much harsher than before: “If you keep acting like this, I really am going to consider separating from you.” The block slipped from my fingers and fell into my lap. “If we separate… does that mean you won’t come home anymore?” Ethan leaned closer to the phone. “Chloe, just ignore him. He’s just scared you won’t give him attention.” Chloe cleared her throat. Her voice was laced with exhaustion and impatience. “Oliver, behave.” She added one last command: “Do not open the door yourself. It’s not safe outside.” I nodded. “I’ll wait for you at home.” “Mhm.” I lowered the phone. The house fell completely silent. I sat on the rug, staring at the front door. A long time passed. I picked up the phone and dialed Chloe’s number again. She answered quickly. “What is it now?” “Chloe, the house doesn’t have any electricity. I’m scared.” “I know, you’re going to tell me the lights are broken again.” “The lights aren’t broken. The fridge is still glowing, but everywhere else is dark.” The line paused. Ethan’s voice drifted through: “Chloe, he just wants you to come back.” “Oliver.” Chloe’s voice was now thick with annoyance. “I just walked out the door, and you’ve already called me twice. Can you stop being so clingy?” “I’m really not.” “If you call me again over nonsense like this, I’m sending you back to the assisted living facility.” I looked at the black TV screen, trying desperately to explain: “I don’t want to go there. I just want to turn the lights on.” “Then leave them off.” “Chloe…” “I said, stop throwing a tantrum.” The call disconnected. I held the phone, sitting in the dark. After a while, I whispered to myself: “Oliver won’t throw a tantrum.” The sun outside the window was incredibly bright. But inside, the only light came from the faint glow seeping through the crack in the refrigerator doors. Chapter 2 At noon, my stomach grumbled loudly, over and over. I opened the fridge. Inside were Tupperware containers, milk, fruit, and the little cupcakes Chloe had bought beforehand. I took out a container and, doing exactly what Chloe had taught me, placed it inside the microwave. I pressed the red button. No sound. I pressed it a few more times. Still no reaction. I called Chloe. “Chloe, the red button is broken.” “What button?” “The button to make the food hot.” Ethan’s voice echoed in the background: “He’s making up excuses again.” Chloe sighed. “You don’t need to heat it up. Just eat it.” “But the food is cold.” “You can eat it cold.” “I want to eat it hot.” “Oliver, you are not a child anymore.” I looked down at my hands. I knew I wasn’t a child. Chloe always told me I needed to learn to be a good boy. I opened the container and scooped a spoonful into my mouth. There was no steam. The rice was hard and stiff. I took two bites. Suddenly, a kite drifted past the window. It was bright red, trailing a long tail. It flew right past the glass, looking like a beautiful bird. I instantly dropped my spoon and pressed my face against the windowpane. The kite flew higher and higher. I followed it, running from the kitchen to the living room. But I forgot that the refrigerator doors were still open. A sliver of white light spilled across the kitchen floor. I stood by the window watching for a long time. The wind carried the kite away until it disappeared behind the neighboring apartment building. By the time I turned back around, I had completely forgotten what I was doing. That afternoon, the refrigerator made several deep, shuddering noises. I thought it was just doing its job, so I ignored it. That evening, I took out a carton of milk. The carton felt bloated and swollen in my hands. I poked the straw in and took a huge gulp. A violently sour taste flooded my mouth. I scrunched up my face and spat the milk into the trash can. “It went bad.” I dialed Chloe’s number. This time, it rang for a very long time before she answered. “Oliver, what is it this time?” “The milk went bad.” “How could it go bad?” “The box puffed up, and it tastes sour.” Ethan let out a laugh in the background. “We’ve only been gone half a day, and he’s already making up stories.” “I’m not making it up.” “Chloe, don’t go back. He knows you have a soft spot, he’s just creating drama on purpose.” I pressed the phone tight against my ear. “I don’t want to create drama.” Chloe’s voice dropped to an angry whisper. “Oliver, can you please show some maturity?” “Ethan finally managed to get the baby out of the house for a vacation, and you insist on calling and ruining it?” “My tummy is hungry.” “There’s food in the fridge.” “The food is cold.” “Then eat it cold!” “Chloe, I’m scared.” The line went quiet for a few seconds. I thought she was going to coax me, like she used to. But she only said: “If you’re scared, go to sleep.” “When are you coming back?” “In a few days.” “When is that?” “I’ll tell you when we head back.” “Can I come find you?” Her tone instantly hardened into a threat. “No.” I shrank back, terrified by her voice. “Why?” “If you dare run out of that house by yourself, I will never, ever come back for you.” Ethan added from the background: “Chloe, stop wasting time on him. The baby needs to sleep.” “Do you hear me? Do not call me again.” The call disconnected again. I sat on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest. In the kitchen, the refrigerator doors were still open. The white light illuminated the half-eaten container of food. I remembered Chloe saying, the food is all inside. So I crawled over and gave the fridge door a push. The doors didn’t seal shut. But I thought they did. That night, I had a dream. I dreamed Chloe came home. She was holding a massive kite in her hands. Ethan was standing next to her, holding the baby. Chloe looked at me and said: “Oliver, look, the kite is flying so high.” I reached out to grab it. But the kite flew further and further away. I couldn’t catch it. Chapter 3 The next morning, I woke up because my stomach hurt. It was drizzling outside the window. There were no lights on in the house, and my phone was at 30% battery. I crawled into the kitchen and opened the fridge. All the food inside smelled rotten. The milk carton was bloated even larger, and a layer of fuzzy white mold was growing on the fruit. Holding my nose, I pulled the doors wide open. A wave of putrid stench hit my face. I dry-heaved and collapsed onto the floor. I didn’t know what to eat. There were no crackers in the pantry, no bread on the dining table. I found a packet of sugar, ripped it open, and poured it into my mouth. The sugar melted quickly, but my stomach was still agonizingly empty. I called Chloe. “Chloe, the food went bad.” I could hear the sound of the ocean wind through the speaker. And the sound of a baby laughing. Chloe answered quickly. “Oliver, why are you calling so early?” “I can’t eat the food.” “Did you grab the wrong container?” “No. The food smells like garbage.” “Hasn’t the fridge been working fine?” “The fridge isn’t cold anymore.” Chloe was silent for a moment. “Are you trying to get me to come back again?” “I’m not. My tummy is hungry.” Ethan took the phone. “Oliver, you are really crossing a line.” I was stunned. “How am I crossing a line?” “Our family of three finally goes on a trip, and you call from morning till night. Do you get some sick pleasure out of forcing Chloe to come running back to you?” “You aren’t a family of three.” As soon as the words left my mouth, even I froze. The other end of the line went completely silent. Ethan’s breathing grew heavy and sharp. Chloe called my name: “Oliver.” I gripped the phone tightly. For the very first time, I didn’t immediately apologize. “I am your husband. You told me I am your husband.” Ethan said quietly: “But you can’t even take care of yourself right now.” “I can take care of myself.” “Then why don’t you even know how to heat up your own food?” I opened my mouth. But no words came out. Chloe interrupted: “Ethan, please, just stop.” Then, she spoke to me: “Go find something you can eat. Stop obsessing over calling me.” “There’s nothing in the house.” “Then drink water.” “There’s no water either.” “How can there be no water?” “The faucet won’t give me water.” There was a soft rustle on the other end. Chloe’s voice sounded strained. “Go to the water dispenser. Just turn the knob, the water will come out.” “There isn’t any.” “Try turning it again.” I crawled over, twisted the knob, and held my hand under the spout. “No water.” Ethan said: “Did he turn it on and then immediately turn the valve off?” “I didn’t turn anything off.” “Chloe, are you listening to this? Every time, he claims he has nothing. He’s just trying to manipulate you into coming back.” Chloe’s voice went dead cold. “Oliver, stop this right now.” “If you keep acting like this, I am truly going to leave you.” My fingers went limp, almost dropping the phone. “You’re going to leave me?” “I just want you to learn how to be independent.” “Do you not want me anymore?” “I didn’t say that.” Ethan whispered in the background: “Don’t give in. He knows exactly how to use that line to guilt-trip you.” Chloe was silent for a long time. “Oliver, stop calling.” “But I’m hungry.” “Wait until we get back.” “When?” “In a couple of days.” “Can I open the door and ask someone for help?” “No.” “It’s dangerous outside.” “Then what am I supposed to do?” She didn’t answer. The call disconnected again.

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Coming back from a week-long business trip, I found the condo I had saved up for five years to buy reduced to an empty shell. All the furniture and decorations were completely gone. I opened Instagram, only to see my best friend had posted a nine-photo carousel of the Maldives. The caption read: [Enjoying life. Escaping from a control freak friend.] My boyfriend posted the exact same photos, also tagged in the Maldives. His caption: [How long does it take to find your soulmate? I just wish I had met you sooner.] Sitting in my empty house, I called the building manager. He told me that a week ago, on the very night I left, a professional moving company showed up with two box trucks and hauled everything away. When the concierge asked about it, my best friend and my boyfriend claimed they were going on a trip, were short on cash, and needed to sell a few things. My house. My furniture. My best friend of twenty years, and my boyfriend of ten years. They took advantage of my absence to sell absolutely everything I owned. Guess what I’m going to do about it? Chapter 1 My boyfriend, Carter, and I had been together for ten years. My best friend, Mia, and I had known each other since elementary school—a full twenty years. I used to think that even if these two people stopped loving me one day, they would at least never hurt me. Turns out, I was incredibly naive. Right now, I stood in the entryway. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. Instead, I leaned my suitcase against the wall, pulled out my phone, and hit record. The entryway console table: empty. The living room: empty. The dining room: empty. In the master bedroom, the only thing left was a faint scuff mark on the wall where the headboard used to rest. The custom sofa I spent three months picking out? Gone. The dining table? Gone. The floor lamps? Gone. The paintings on the walls? Only the hooks remained. Even the silver decorative pieces on the windowsill had been taken, bases and all. I walked into my walk-in closet. The cabinet doors were wide open. Every drawer had been ransacked. The heavy safe tucked in the very back was still there. I punched in my passcode. Error. I tried again. Error. Staring at the flashing red light, I suddenly remembered Mia coming over to try on dresses three months ago. She had leaned against the safe, giggling. “Serena, don’t tell me your passcode is still your birthday? That’s way too easy to guess.” I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Looking back, that wasn’t just a casual question. I used my physical backup key to open the safe. The velvet jewelry boxes were still there. But half of them were empty. Mia used to borrow my jewelry all the time. She’d say, “I just need it for one night to look the part, please?” I always let her. Because I thought you didn’t need to guard against your best friend. I crouched in front of the safe and took a clear photo of every single empty box. After that, I took screenshots of their Instagram posts. In Mia’s island vacation photos, she was wearing my diamond necklace. Carter had his arm around her, wearing my luxury watch on his wrist. He used to complain that the watch was too delicate, not masculine enough for him. Turns out, it wasn’t that the watch didn’t suit him. It just didn’t suit him to wear it in front of me. I called the building manager and turned on my call recorder. “My apartment has been completely emptied.” The manager froze for a few seconds. “Ms. Vance, didn’t you give Mr. Hayes and Ms. Brooks permission to move your things?” “When did I ever agree to that?” The building manager’s voice instantly filled with panic. “Last Tuesday night, they brought in two moving trucks. They said you were gutting the place for a remodel and selling off the old furniture. Mr. Hayes had a key, and Ms. Brooks knew the digital door code, so we assumed…” I cut him off. “Do you still have the security footage?” “Yes.” “And the vehicle registration logs for the movers?” “Yes, those too.” “Save all of it. I’m coming down right now.” Chapter 2 Before I hung up, I opened the GPS tracking app for my car. My Porsche wasn’t in the parking garage either. The tracker showed it parked at a luxury used car dealership on the west side of the city. When the dealership owner answered my call, his tone was overly polite, dripping with a salesman’s enthusiasm. “Ms. Vance, right? Someone’s very interested in your Porsche. We almost finalized the paperwork today. The offer is actually $2,000 higher than expected.” I stood in the center of my echoing living room, staring at the dusty footprints the movers left behind. “Who authorized you to sell it?” The owner sounded confused. “Mr. Hayes did. He said he’s your fiancé and that he’s the one who usually drives it. He had all the proper authorization paperwork; we verified it.” A minute later, he texted me photos of the documents. The vehicle registration. The spare key handover receipt. And a signed Power of Attorney. I swiped through them one by one, my finger stopping on the final image. At the bottom of the Power of Attorney was my signature. Serena Vance. It was a very good forgery. It even captured the slight leftward slant I naturally wrote with. But the final stroke of my signature never pressed downward. I had been writing it for over twenty years; the tail always flicked lightly upward. That wasn’t my handwriting. I stared at the photos for a long time, and a strange sense of calm washed over me. My house was emptied, my jewelry was sold, and my car was put on consignment. This had far exceeded the scope of a petty lovers’ quarrel. This was a premeditated, blatant plundering of my life, built entirely on my trust. They intended to strip me down to nothing. By the time I took the elevator down, the building manager was waiting in the security room, sweating profusely. On the monitors, Carter was wearing a black jacket I bought for him, standing in my living room and directing the movers to lift my sofa. Mia was wearing designer sunglasses, leaning against the entryway console sipping a coffee, looking as relaxed as if she owned the place. A mover asked, “Do we take this painting too?” Carter didn’t even turn his head. “Take it.” Mia let out a disdainful laugh. “That thing doesn’t look like it’s worth much, does it? It’s just a bunch of dull gray.” Carter replied, “Even if it’s cheap, it’ll sell for something. Don’t waste it.” Hearing that, my fingers paused on the desk. I bought that painting right after graduating from college. It wasn’t by a world-famous master, but it still cost me six figures. I hung it in my study and never mentioned the price to anyone. They had no idea. They only knew I didn’t like to show off, which made them think I was an easy mark. The building manager wiped his forehead, his voice trembling. “Ms. Vance, the building management definitely bears some responsibility here. We should have verified with you before letting them through…” “It’s too early to talk about responsibility,” I interrupted. “Copy the security footage, the vehicle logs, the visitor logs, and the electronic door access timestamps onto two separate flash drives for me.” “Right away, right away.” Once I had the data, I sat in my rental car and dialed 911, clearly stating that individuals had forged my signature to liquidate my assets. Then I contacted my lawyer, sending over a detailed list of the evidence I’d gathered. Only after all that was done did I finally text Carter. “You’re selling my car?” Five minutes later, he sent a voice memo. In the background, I could hear crashing waves and a woman’s laughter. “Serena, could you not be such a buzzkill? I just needed some cash flow for a bit. It’s not like I wasn’t going to pay you back. Do you really have to act like this?” I typed back: “And the furniture? The jewelry?” This time, it was Mia who replied from his phone. She sent a pitiful, pouting emoji, her tone sickeningly sweet. “Serena, don’t be so mean! Didn’t you always say I could wear whatever I liked of yours? I’m just borrowing them for a bit.” “Borrowing them to sell to a pawn shop?” She didn’t reply. Two minutes later, Carter sent another text, dripping with impatience. “We’ve been together for ten years, and you’re going to throw a tantrum over some material possessions?” I looked at the screen and let out a short laugh. Ten years. What a convenient excuse. As if committing theft magically transforms into “cash flow,” and betrayal becomes a “trivial matter,” just as long as you’ve known the person long enough. I was about to lock my phone when the car dealership owner called again. His voice was much lower this time, carrying a hesitant, cautious tone. “Ms. Vance, I just want to give you a heads up… The documents Mr. Hayes provided didn’t just have your signature.” My stomach dropped. “They also had your fingerprint stamp.” Chapter 3 Carter and Mia flew back on the third day. The moment they landed, they didn’t go to their own places—they came straight to mine. They didn’t know I had already changed the locks. Carter jiggled his old key in the lock a few times, but the door wouldn’t budge. He started banging on the door. “Serena, open up.” Mia stood behind him, her voice trembling. “Serena, can we please just talk? Don’t blow this out of proportion.” I opened the door, but left the heavy security chain engaged. Seeing me standing there, Carter’s face immediately darkened. “What is this? Are you treating us like thieves?” I stared at him. “Who else would I be treating like a thief?” Mia’s eyes welled up with red. “Serena, I know you’re mad. But you weren’t even using that stuff, and we just desperately needed the money.” “Desperately needed money, so you stole mine?” Carter frowned impatiently. “I am your boyfriend. I’ve used every single piece of furniture in this house. I’ve been driving that car for years. Can’t I claim half of it is mine?” “Is your name on the title?” “Stop being so cold and calculating.” He took a step forward, trying to push the door open. The metal chain strained and rattled. I raised my phone, pointing the camera right at his face. “Touch that door again, and I’m calling the cops to report a home invasion.” Carter’s hand froze. Mia started crying harder. “How did you turn into someone like this? Didn’t you use to care about me more than anyone?” I looked at her. “So caring about you means letting you take my diamond necklace to the Maldives for a photoshoot?” She instinctively touched her neck. The necklace was gone. Carter stepped in front of her to shield her. “You lent it to her. What’s the big deal if she wears it?” “Wore it all the way to a luxury consignment shop?” Carter’s eyes shifted nervously. Mia immediately shrieked, “Serena, stop making up vicious lies!” I didn’t say a word. Carter sneered. “You just can’t handle the fact that I fell in love with Mia. The stuff is just an excuse. If you want revenge, come at me. Don’t bully her.” Mia kept her head down, whispering, “I always said she was a massive control freak. I knew she’d snap eventually.” Hearing that, the last trace of warmth in my heart evaporated completely. This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. They had anticipated exactly how I would react and planned their narrative in advance. Carter pulled out his phone. “I already talked to our mutual friends. Serena, if you have any dignity left, stop causing a scene. Everyone knows how possessive you are. You’re just refusing to let me go because we broke up.” Mia also opened Instagram on her phone. She had just posted a new status. [Twenty years of friendship, completely destroyed over a few pieces of jewelry. Being suffocated by the person closest to you makes you realize that escaping was the only right choice.] Comments were already rolling in. “Sending hugs.” “Stay away from toxic control freaks.” “Some people have money but zero class.” I finished reading it and looked up at her. “Are you sure you want to leave that post up?” Mia bit her lip. “I’m just protecting myself.” Carter glared at me. “Call off the cops, and we drop this right now. Otherwise, nobody walks away from this looking good.” Just as I was about to close the door, my phone buzzed. In our mutual friends’ group chat, someone had forwarded a screenshot. It was a message from Carter: [Serena’s mental health has always been unstable. She explicitly told us to get rid of the stuff in her house, and now she’s changing her mind and acting crazy.] Chapter 4 Half an hour later, the group chat exploded. Some people tried to play peacemaker. “Serena, I get that going through a breakup hurts, but isn’t calling the cops a bit too far?” Someone else chimed in: “Carter’s been with you for a decade. There’s no way he’d actually steal from you.” People were even direct-messaging me: “Mia has been crying nonstop. She said you always used your money to make her feel inferior.” I didn’t reply to a single one. Carter and Mia were still blocking my doorway. They figured that with enough people on their side, making enough noise, I would eventually cave. Carter slid a printed piece of paper through the crack in the door. “Sign it.” I looked down. It was a “Settlement Agreement.” It explicitly stated that I admitted to voluntarily handing over my furniture, jewelry, and vehicle to Carter and Mia, and that the police report was simply a “misunderstanding” caused by an “emotional breakdown.” Emotional breakdown. Misunderstanding. They had literally scripted my surrender. I picked up the paper and, right in front of their eyes, tore it down the middle. Carter’s face contorted. “Serena, don’t be a stubborn bitch.” “I left you the condo, you should be grateful. Just sign it so we can go our separate ways peacefully.” Mia suddenly burst into loud, theatrical sobs. “Serena, what exactly do you want?! You already have the house and the car! We just wanted a taste of the good life for once. Why do you have to destroy me?!” I pulled the door shut, slid the security chain off, and yanked the door wide open. Carter, thinking I had backed down, immediately stepped forward to enter. I stepped aside. Coming out of the elevator were two uniformed police officers and the building manager. Carter’s foot froze in mid-air. I held up my phone. “Officers, these two just tried to force me to sign a settlement agreement and attempted to unlawfully enter my home.” Mia’s face turned ghostly white. Carter instantly flipped his expression into a charming, apologetic smile. “It’s just a misunderstanding, officers. We were just trying to talk things out. She’s my girlfriend. We’ve been together for ten years.” The officer shot him a deadpan look. “Being together for ten years doesn’t give you the right to illegally dispose of someone else’s property.” Carter tried to argue. But Mia suddenly pointed a shaking finger at me. “She’s lying! She did it voluntarily! She promised to give me a lot of those things! She’s just doing this to get revenge because Carter fell in love with me!” I looked at her. “Which items did I ‘give’ you?” “The necklace, the ring, and the earrings.” “Do you have proof?” She choked. Carter scoffed. “Serena, drop the act. How much could your cheap used furniture and a few trinkets possibly be worth? You’re just inflating the prices to get back at us. Who’s going to believe you?” The police escorted all of us to the precinct to take statements. At the station, Carter kept aggressively repeating the phrase “shared couple’s property.” Mia cried endlessly, repeating that I had “lent her a lot of things over the years.” They played off each other flawlessly. It was like they had rehearsed this exact scenario a hundred times. Until the investigating officer looked at me. “Ms. Vance, do you happen to have the purchase receipts, appraisal certificates, or proof of valuation for these items?” The corner of Carter’s mouth twitched upward into a smirk. Mia visibly exhaled in relief. They were absolutely certain I couldn’t produce them. Because I was the kind of person who never flaunted receipts or certificates to my friends. I opened my secure iCloud drive on my phone. “Yes, I do.”

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On my twenty-fifth birthday, my phone rang three times with frantic, frantic warnings. First came my boyfriend Wesley, his voice breathless and ragged: “Kira, listen to me—it’s Wesley from five years in the future. You have to get to the jeweler on Fifth Street right now. In thirty minutes, there’s going to be a robbery. I’m going to get stabbed trying to protect the engagement ring I bought for you!” Then came my mother: “Kira, baby, it’s Mom from three years ahead. Rush over to the intersection by the plaza. In ten minutes, a truck runs a red light. My leg is going to be crushed trying to shield your birthday present!” Finally, my older brother Drew, always the picture of calm, sounded entirely unhinged: “Kira, it’s Drew from two years from now. The restaurant kitchen catches fire in eight minutes. I’m going to be severely burned across my face trying to grab that takeout order you love so much!” Three desperate voices, all pleading with me to race across the city to save them. What none of them knew was that I was standing ten feet away, holding a homemade birthday cake in the darkened hallway outside our living room, waiting to surprise them. Through the narrow slit of the cracked door, I could see them clearly. Wesley had his arm draped casually around Daisy, our adopted younger sister. He was smiling, that tender, crinkling warmth around his eyes that used to belong solely to me. Sitting across from them on the sofa were my mother and Drew. They were placing bets on who I would run to first. “My money’s on Wesley,” Daisy purred, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I mean, Kira is completely obsessed with him. She’d jump into oncoming traffic before she let anything happen to him.” Wesley chuckled, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the back of Daisy’s knuckles. “It doesn’t matter who she runs to first. As long as it keeps her running around for an hour or two, we can finally celebrate your birthday in peace.” Tears blurred my vision, hot and stinging against my cheeks. The thorn that had been buried deep inside my chest for years—festering, aching, tearing at my insides—finally had to be ripped out. … The moment I pushed the door open, the entire room froze. The tiny candles on the cake flickered in the draft and went out, leaving thin ribbons of gray smoke trailing into the air. “Kira?” Wesley was the first to scramble to his feet. He closed the distance between us in two strides, wrapping his arms around me in an embrace that had once felt like home. His warmth was familiar, but the faint, sweet trace of Daisy’s vanilla-and-jasmine perfume clinging to his lapel felt like a splinter of ice driving straight into my heart. “How long have you been standing there?” he asked gently. “Since you started betting on my panic,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “Since you decided to play a game to see who could distract me best so you wouldn’t have to deal with me on my own birthday.” Wesley’s grip on my waist tightened involuntarily, then slowly slackened. “Kira, come on. You two share the exact same birthday. We’ve always celebrated together.” He gave me a placating smile. “This year is her milestone twenty-fifth. It’s special for her. We just wanted to give her a little head start before the main party.” I tilted my chin, staring directly into his eyes. There was no guilt. No embarrassment. Not even a flicker of shame. He seemed to have completely erased last year from his memory. Last year had been my milestone, too. But back then, one by one, they had canceled on me—work emergencies, last-minute errands, promising they would “make it up to me later.” I had sat alone in my small studio apartment, blowing out a single candle on a grocery-store cupcake, wishing with everything I had that next year my family would actually want to be with me. My throat felt parched, constricting painfully around words that refused to form. “Kira, I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault!” Daisy stepped forward, her hands clasped over her chest, eyes instantly welling with glossy, picture-perfect tears. “I begged them to let me have a little moment first. They only did it because I was being selfish. Please don’t be mad at them.” She looked so fragile, so contrite. But when our eyes met over Wesley’s shoulder, I caught the sharp, fleeting gleam of triumph in her gaze. My mother, of course, didn’t see it. She stood up instantly, stepping between us to pull Daisy into an overprotective embrace, letting out a heavy, disappointed sigh aimed squarely at me. “Kira, honestly,” Mom said, her tone dripping with exhaustion. “You’ve always been the capable one. You excel at everything you touch. You have your whole brilliant life ahead of you. Why do you always have to fight Daisy for every little crumb of attention?” Drew pinched the bridge of his nose, his brow furrowed in irritation. “It’s not like we weren’t going to celebrate with you later! If you want your damn gift that badly, just take it.” He reached down, picked up a battered black shopping bag from the floor, and tossed it carelessly at my feet. The contents spilled across the hardwood: thick GRE prep books, vocabulary flashcards, and a receipt for a weekend seminar. Each item felt like a slap. It had been this way for as long as I could remember. For Daisy’s birthdays, there were designer dresses, delicate gold necklaces, and spontaneous weekend getaways. For mine, there were practice exams, tutoring subscriptions, and heavy reference volumes. They called it investing in my future. But none of them had ever bothered to ask if I even wanted it. Seeing me stand motionless, Drew’s impatience flared. “I bought the exact study guides you needed. What more do you want to throw a tantrum about?” I pressed my lips together, my eyes burning. Before I could speak, Daisy picked up a tied scroll from the coffee table and walked toward me. In her hurry, she clipped her knee against the sharp edge of the dining table. The reaction was instantaneous. Wesley dropped his hands from me and caught Daisy before she could stumble, his arms wrapping around her waist. Drew lunged forward, throwing his palm over the wooden corner to cushion her. Mom gasped, rushing over with fluttering hands, asking a dozen frantic questions about whether she was hurt. I stood there, watching their coordinated terror. The words of protest I had prepared withered on my tongue. “I’m fine, really,” Daisy breathed, smiling through her tears as she handed the scroll to me. “Look, Kira. Wesley spent weeks handwriting this ten-thousand-word letter for you. It’s the entire story of how you two met and fell in love.” She unfurled the parchment. Lines of neat, precise handwriting filled the page. At the very bottom, etched in elegant German script, were several additional lines. “Kira, that’s my special note to you at the end,” Wesley murmured softly, looking at me with practiced romance. “Don’t worry about trying to read it now—I’ll translate it for you when we get home.” My blood ran cold. My fingernails dug into the meat of my palms until they nearly broke the skin. He had forgotten that years ago, he was the one who first taught me how to write my own name in German. And he had no idea that the surprise I had planned for “him” today was my acceptance letter to a joint graduate program in Munich—I had spent the last eight months secretly mastering the language so we could build a life abroad together. I could read every single word at the bottom of the parchment. “May the universe give me the courage to spend the rest of my days by Daisy’s side, the only girl who holds my soul.” I clenched the paper so tightly that the edges tore, the sharp parchment cutting into my skin. The sting didn’t come close to touching the numbness spreading through my chest. “Well, you’ve got your grand gesture,” Drew announced, stepping over to the counter. He took the cake I had spent hours baking, set it on the table, and shoved two mismatched candles into the frosting. “You ruined Daisy’s moment when you walked in, so she gets to make her wish properly now.” Daisy stood before the cake like a pampered princess. Under the adoring gaze of my entire family, she blew out the candles twice, laughing. “My wish,” she announced, clasping her hands together, “is that Kira and Wesley stay deeply in love forever.” Then she tapped her temple in mock horror. “Oh no! I said it out loud. Now it won’t come true!” Her theatrical pout drew fond chuckles from Mom and Drew. Wesley smiled warmly at her, then reached out to take my hand, squeezing my fingers with practiced ease. “Don’t worry about superstitions. What Kira and I have can survive anything.” Once, I would have believed him. I would have staked my life on it. I had forgotten that people don’t change overnight—they just stop hiding who they really are. “Daisy is right,” I said quietly, pulling my hand out of Wesley’s grip with deliberate force. “Wishes spoken aloud never come true.” I looked Wesley dead in the eyes. “We’re done, Wesley. I’m breaking up with you.” Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked straight toward the front door. “Kira!” Wesley caught up to me in the entryway, grabbing my forearm tightly. “If you’re pissed, scream at me when we get home! Why do you have to cause a scene and say crazy shit like this in front of everyone?” I looked at his face and felt entirely drained. “Let go of me.” I wrenched my arm from his grasp and stepped out. As the heavy oak door swung shut behind me, my mother’s voice carried through the wood, sharp with exasperation: “Let her go, Wesley! Just because she gets straight A’s, she thinks she can look down on the rest of us. She doesn’t have an ounce of Daisy’s sweet nature!” My fingers clamped around the brass handrail in the hallway, my knuckles turning stark white. When I finally climbed into the back of a yellow cab, the blast of warm air from the vents did little to thaw the deep freeze settling in my bones. I pulled out my phone, unlocked the screen, and opened an email that had been sitting in my drafts for three weeks. It was an invitation from a renowned research lab in London offering me a fully funded PhD fellowship. To avoid leaving Wesley and my family, I had declined their inquiries three times. Looking back, throwing away my own future for people who viewed me as an inconvenience was the purest form of stupidity. I hit “Send”. When I arrived back at the apartment Wesley and I shared, I wiped away the dried salt on my cheeks and began packing. As I moved through the hallway, my eyes landed on the padlocked storage closet near the back. Wesley had kept it locked for over two years, brushing off my questions whenever I asked for the key. Since I was leaving, I wanted no more unanswered questions. I fetched a heavy wrench from the toolbox under the sink and smashed it against the brass padlock. Once. Twice. On the third strike, the latch sheared off. The door swung open. Inside, pinned neatly across corkboards and arranged on shelves, were dozens of framed photographs. Mom, Drew, Wesley, and Daisy. Trips to Aspen, summers in Maine, holidays in the Hamptons. Trips they told me they couldn’t afford to take me on because I needed to “focus on my studies.” My trembling hands reached for a small glass box on the center shelf. Inside was a video cassette labeled “Ireland, May 14th”. I stumbled back into the living room, hands shaking so violently it took me three tries to slot the tape into the vintage player Wesley kept connected to the TV. The screen flickered to life. Under an impossibly blue sky on the Cliffs of Moher, Wesley stood in a sharp tuxedo, holding Daisy’s hands. She was wearing an ivory lace gown. Mom and Drew stood beside them, wiping away tears of joy as an officiant spoke. “We promise to choose each other, today and for all the days of our lives…” The sound of the front door clicking open shattered the silence. “Kira? I ran by that bakery you like and got—” Wesley’s voice cut off abruptly as he stepped into the living room. His eyes locked onto the glowing television screen, then down at the photographs strewn across the floor. I turned my head toward him, my chest heaving as I struggled to pull air into my lungs. “Kira, please, let me explain,” he stammered, dropping his keys and falling to his knees in front of me. “It was just a dare. We made a drunken bet during the trip, and Daisy wanted to know what a destination wedding felt like… None of it is legally binding. It wasn’t real.” Even now, standing amidst the wreckage of our life, he was still lying. A hollow, broken laugh escaped my throat. I picked up the wedding photograph from the floor and tore it into shreds right in front of his face, letting the glossy scraps rain over his head. Wesley didn’t move to stop me. But the tight pulse thrumming in his jaw betrayed his growing irritation. “If tearing things makes you feel better, do whatever you want,” he said, rising and lifting me off the floor with firm, unyielding hands, carrying me toward the bed. He walked over to the suitcase I had half-packed and began putting my clothes back into the closet. “Just get some sleep. I’ll stay right here beside you. I’m not going anywhere.” It took less than forty minutes for him to break that promise. Drew called him in a panic: Daisy had run out into the night, claiming she was going to buy me an expensive birthday gift to beg for my forgiveness, and hadn’t come back. Wesley went pale. Before rushing out the door, he leaned over and pressed a hurried kiss to my forehead. “Get some rest, baby. I’ll be back in an hour.” He forgot that ever since college, my severe insomnia required total stillness to manage. To keep me off heavy medication, he used to sit beside me for hours, reading aloud until my breathing evened out. Now, he was gone, chasing Daisy through the dark. My phone began chiming relentlessly on the nightstand. A voice note from Daisy dropped into the family group chat, her voice choked with theatrical sobs: “If Kira won’t forgive me and take Wesley back, I’m never coming home! It’s better if I just disappear!” Immediately, three direct messages lit up my screen. From Mom: “Kira, you always wanted me to sew that custom silk dress for you. If you get Daisy to come home safely, I’ll make it for you this week.” From Drew: “Kira, you said you wanted me to spend a day with you at the theme park. Bring Daisy back, and I’ll take you this weekend.” From Wesley: “Kira, let’s go down to City Hall tomorrow morning. We’ll get the marriage license. Just help me find her.” Everything I had spent years begging for—their time, their affection, their commitment—was suddenly tossed at my feet like spare change, conditional on rescuing the girl who had taken it all from me. I stared at the glowing screen and felt an overwhelming wave of revulsion. With numb, shaking fingers, I opened the nightstand drawer, unscrewed the cap of my prescription sleep aid, and shook out a handful of pills, swallowing them dry. The drowsiness didn’t come. Instead, a violent, bone-deep shudder racked my body. My chest tightened into a vice, my heart hammering erratically against my ribs like a trapped bird. I fumbled for my phone and typed three agonizing words into the group chat: “Help… please help me…” Five excruciating minutes passed before a reply came through. Drew: “Kira, Daisy is wandering the streets in the cold and you’re still playing pathetic games for attention?” Mom: “I didn’t raise you to be this heartless, Kira. The priority right now is finding your sister!” Then a private text from Wesley: “Hang on, Kira. I think I know which park Daisy went to.” My grip went slack. The phone tumbled from my fingers onto the rug. A hollow void opened inside my chest, cold and cavernous. Barefoot, clinging to the remnants of my fading consciousness, I dragged myself out the front door, desperate to reach the street and flag down help. But as the cool night air hit my skin on the sidewalk, the world tilted sideways, and the darkness swallowed me whole. When I opened my eyes, the sterile hum of fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptic greeted me. Wesley was sitting in a chair by my bedside. Across the room, in the opposite bed, Daisy was propped up against plush pillows. Mom was sitting beside her, carefully feeding her peeled slices of apple. Drew was hovering near the nurse who was adjusting Daisy’s IV drip, his eyes rimmed with red as he asked softly if the needle hurt. Wesley’s gaze was fixed entirely on Daisy. “If you’re so worried about her,” I rasped, my throat raw, “why are you sitting next to me?” Wesley flinched, turning his head back toward me with a strained, awkward smile. “You’re my girlfriend, Kira. Of course you come first. Go back to sleep for a bit. I’ll run down to the cafeteria and get you something warm to eat.” He returned twenty minutes later carrying two insulated containers. He helped me sit up, blowing gently on a spoonful of clear chicken broth before holding it to my lips. Before I could swallow, the floor nurse walked in with a clipboard, glancing at the containers. “Your family certainly loves your sister over there—I’ve never seen someone pack a thermos with nothing but carved chicken breast and leave the patient over here with just the boiling water.” I looked down into the cup. It was literally cloudy water with a film of oil on top. Not a single shred of meat. I stared at Wesley’s flushed, guilty face. “The doctor… the doctor said liquid diets are easier on the stomach after an overdose,” he muttered, looking away. “Okay,” I whispered. I didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. “Kira, Daisy is safe now,” Wesley said, reaching out to clasp my cold hand. “I keep my promises. Let’s get married.” Before I could pull away, he hurried on: “The Ireland thing with Daisy was just a joke. It didn’t mean anything.” “It doesn’t matter whether it was real or fake,” I said, pulling my fingers free. “I’m not marrying you, Wesley. I’m leaving.” Wesley stared at me, then let out an uneasy laugh, lightly tapping my forehead. “If you keep joking like that, I’m actually going to get mad. Mom and I already booked the venue for the day after tomorrow.” My words, like my presence, meant nothing to them. Two days later, barely discharged and still unsteady on my feet, they dragged me to a bridal boutique. Daisy was the one trying on the imported gowns. Daisy was the one picking the floral arrangements and the centerpieces. The only role left for me was my name on the registry and standing on the chalk marks for the venue rehearsal. “Look how thoughtful Daisy is, taking all the wedding stress off your shoulders,” Mom said, pinching my arm firmly to keep me upright. “Kira, you should be thanking your sister.” “It’s fine, Mom,” Daisy beamed, adjusting a veil over her cascading curls. “As long as Kira and Wesley are happy, that’s all that matters to me.” I looked at Mom’s proud, doting expression, feeling nothing at all. In my pocket, my phone buzzed. A confirmation email from the airline: my flight to London was scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. “What are you standing around daydreaming for? Get out there and do the walkthrough!” Drew snapped, grabbing my elbow and steering me onto the aisle runner. Every time I reached the altar during the rehearsal, Daisy would find an excuse to dash across the stage, interrupting the cue. We ran the processional twenty-four times until the venue staff finally announced they were closing for the night. When Wesley and I returned to the apartment, my suitcase was sitting by the door. “Why are you packing again?” he asked, freezing in the doorway. “Just gathering some things I’ll need for tomorrow,” I replied evenly. He let out a long breath of relief and wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Tomorrow, Kira. Tomorrow you’re finally mine.” I didn’t answer. While he was in the shower, I took an antibacterial wipe and scrubbed every inch of skin he had touched. I didn’t sleep a wink. The next morning, I arrived at the boutique hotel with Wesley. Outside the bridal suite, I heard Mom and Drew’s voices drifting through the cracked door: “The wedding coordinator said sharing the bridal luck only works if the ritual is done right before the ceremony!” Mom was saying. “Kira has always had everything handed to her—she’s naturally lucky. Passing a little bit of that fortune to Daisy won’t hurt her in the slightest.” I stood in the hall, finally understanding. Yesterday’s endless rehearsals, the bizarre rituals—it had all been orchestrated for Daisy. My chest didn’t ache anymore. The wound had gone completely numb. I took a breath and turned to leave, but collided with Daisy coming around the corner. The white box in her hands crashed to the carpet, the lid popping off to reveal shredded ribbons of white satin and torn lace. “Kira! Oh God, I’m so clumsy, I dropped your gown!” she wailed, collapsing to her knees. I looked down at the fabric. The cuts along the bodice were clean, sharp lines made with tailoring shears. Hearing the commotion, Mom, Drew, and Wesley rushed out. All they saw were Daisy’s tears. “It doesn’t matter,” Drew said dismissively, glancing at the ruined gown. “Honestly, I had a bad dream last night that a white dress would bring bad luck to our family anyway.” Mom nodded eagerly. “A traditional lace gown would curse our finances, too!” I looked at them with a dry, humorless smile. “So what am I supposed to wear?” Mom and Drew exchanged a look. Drew reached into a garment bag and pulled out a heavy, dark gray burial shroud—the kind sold at funeral supply shops for open-casket viewings—and threw it at my chest. Wesley wrapped an arm around my shoulder, his voice soothing yet grotesque: “It’s just an outfit, Kira. As long as we’re standing at the altar together, the clothes don’t matter.” “Right,” I said. I picked up the shroud, walked into the dressing room, and closed the door. The moment their footsteps faded down the hall, I picked up my travel bag, slipped out the service exit, and hailed a cab to JFK. As the plane began taxiing toward the runway, my phone lit up with a barrage of frantic notifications. Wesley: “Kira, the guests are seated! Where are you?!” Drew: “What the hell is with the giant black coffin in the middle of the ballroom? Did you order this?!” Mom: “Kira, stop this childish nonsense right now! You’ve made Daisy cry!” Without typing a single word, I selected their contacts, hit “Block”, and deleted them. As the jet engines roared and the plane lifted into the gray sky, I looked down at the shrinking city below. I was finally free.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “565738”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Today marked the rollout of the city’s new integrated civic-banking system, allowing couples to register their legal marriage and establish joint marital asset portfolios in a single appointment at designated flagship branches. My boyfriend, Jared, and I had secured the very first slot in the metropolitan district. Yet, the moment we stepped onto the marble threshold of the bank, his phone buzzed. He answered it, his expression instantly tightening into one of high-stakes urgency, claiming an unexpected emergency required him to catch a flight out of state immediately. “Sweetheart, go inside and set up the linked marital account first. Deposit the funds,” he said, pressing a cashier’s check for fifty thousand dollars into my hand—his contribution toward our marital savings. “As soon as I get back from this trip, we’ll pick an auspicious date and make the certificate official together.” Looking at the check, I felt a quiet wave of reassurance. He was always busy, always climbing, but this gesture seemed like genuine devotion. I took out my own cashier’s check—a personal nest egg of two hundred thousand dollars I had saved over years of grueling corporate work—and walked up to the private wealth counter. I slid both checks across the polished counter, asking the teller to open our joint marital estate account. The teller typed Jared’s social security number into the terminal. Slowly, the lines of her forehead deepened. “Ma’am,” she said, looking up with a strange hesitation, “I’m sorry, but the system won’t permit you to link accounts with this gentleman.” I blinked. “Why? Is it because we haven’t signed the physical marriage registry yet?” The teller quietly rotated the monitor toward me, her eyes clouded with an unbearable mix of caution and pity. “No, ma’am. Because according to the city’s interconnected registry system…” She pointed a manicured finger at the screen. “This gentleman has been legally married for three years. And his wife is not you.” … “What’s her name?” The teller paused, checking the file. “Lacey Dawson.” My breath hitched in my throat. Lacey Dawson. My closest friend for fifteen years. The woman who, barely forty minutes ago, had texted our group chat: “Good luck today, babe! Do you think they give out commemorative gold coins for the first couple in the pilot program? Take pictures if they do!” “Ma’am?” the teller asked softly. “Would you like me to call the branch manager?” “No,” I heard myself say. My voice sounded hollow, like it was traveling through water. “That won’t be necessary.” “Do you still wish to proceed with the joint portfolio?” “No. Please wire this fifty thousand back to the originating account.” The teller glanced at the transaction history and cleared her throat. “Just to confirm, the remitter of these funds is Lacey Dawson, not Jared.” My gaze drifted down to the sleek platinum card Jared had handed me before rushing off. “Are you sure you want to return it to the source?” she asked. “Yes. Absolutely.” “And your two hundred thousand?” “Deposit it into my private checking account. Under my name only.” Once the receipt was in my hand, I dialed Jared’s number. He answered on the third ring, his tone smooth and affectionate as ever. “All taken care of, sweetheart?” “Not yet,” I said evenly. “The teller says they need you here in person to verify your identity.” “Didn’t I send you a scan of my passport and state ID?” “They won’t accept digital copies. You have to be physically present.” A soft, exasperated chuckle came through the receiver. “Bureaucracy gets worse every year. Listen, Eliza, just put the money in for now. I’ll sign the paperwork the second I’m back in town.” “Have you landed yet?” “Just drove off the interstate. Heading straight to the client’s estate.” Just then, a sharp, familiar yip pierced the background audio. A high-pitched Pomeranian bark. Lacey had a cream-colored Pomeranian named Mochi. “What was that?” I asked. “The client’s dog,” he answered instantly. “What’s the client’s name again, Jared?” There was a half-second beat of silence before he let out a patronizing sigh. “Since when did you start checking up on my accounts?” “Just curious.” “Be a good girl, Eliza. Let me handle this meeting. I’ll pick up that tiramisu from the West End bakery tonight as an apology for having to run off.” The call clicked dead. I opened my social media feed and pulled up Lacey’s profile. Ten minutes ago, she had posted a photo of Mochi lounging atop a cardboard moving box. “Moving is exhausting,” the caption read. “Thank God for free manual labor.” In the lower right corner of the frame was a man’s forearm, sleeve rolled up, revealing the black mechanical chronograph I had bought Jared for his birthday last autumn. I hailed a cab straight to Lacey’s new apartment complex in the upscale district. When I arrived, Jared was hauling a heavy crate of imported produce through the lobby doors, the back of his crisp cotton shirt darkened with sweat. Lacey trailed casually behind him, swinging a single brass key ring on her index finger. “Careful with that one,” she teased lightly. “It has those organic supplements I bought for my grandmother.” “I know, I know. Stay inside where the AC is running,” he grumbled, though his tone was brimming with indulgence. “It’s ninety degrees out here.” “I told you the movers would be fine.” “And let them drop your expensive imported skincare? You’d cry for a week.” Lacey laughed, reaching up with a tissue to dab the sweat from his forehead. Jared naturally leaned down, bowing his head so she wouldn’t have to stretch. I stood across the street, shielded by the awning of a dry cleaner, watching the seamless domestic choreography between them. I didn’t storm over. Instead, I pulled out my phone and sent him a text. “A pipe burst under the water heater. The hallway is completely flooded. Can you come home?” His reply popped up almost immediately. “In the middle of contract negotiations. Can’t step away.” A second later, he called me. “Shut off the main valve,” he instructed, his voice clipped. “Do you know where it is?” “No.” “The building maintenance number is pinned inside the entryway cabinet. Call them. Have them send a technician.” “I’m here alone, Jared. The water is rising. I’m scared.” He softened his tone, adopting that practiced, soothing cadence he always used to quiet my anxieties. “Eliza, don’t be dramatic. This client represents millions in quarterly revenue. If I close this deal, you won’t have to work so hard after we’re married.” “When are you coming home?” “Tomorrow morning at the latest. I’ll book you a room at the boutique hotel downtown. Go check in, alright?” Less than five minutes after he hung up, Lacey posted a fresh update. “Craving that wood-fired rotisserie from the Southside. Someone just volunteered to go stand in line for me.” When I reached the rotisserie joint across town, Jared was fifth in line. He looked up, spotting me on the sidewalk, and stepped out of the queue, walking toward me with a flicker of annoyance tucked beneath his smile. “Eliza? What are you doing here?” “Maintenance told me it would take three hours to clear the line,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “I was hungry.” My gaze dropped to the laminated numbered ticket clutched in his fingers. “I thought you were out of state.” “The client changed the venue at the last minute. Turned out to be right around the corner.” “And the roast chicken? Is that part of the corporate acquisition?” “His wife loves this place,” Jared said smoothly, without missing a single beat. He reached out, straightening the collar of my trench coat against the evening breeze, his thumb brushing over my cold skin. “Your hands are freezing.” “Jared,” I asked quietly, “is there anything you aren’t telling me?” His fingertips stalled against the back of my hand. “What do you mean?” “Today was supposed to be our wedding day.” “I know. And I’m sorry.” He leaned down, pressing a warm kiss against my temple. “Once this deal is signed, I’ll take a full week off. We’ll do the registry, a private dinner, professional photos, and that Broadway tour you’ve been dying to see. We won’t skip a single thing.” Inside the shop, the counter clerk shouted his number. Jared retrieved the grease-stained brown paper bag, careful not to let me touch it. “The client is waiting at his suite. Head to the hotel, Eliza. I’ll call you as soon as I’m free.” An hour later, Lacey uploaded a photograph of a candlelit dinner table. Right in the center sat the carved rotisserie chicken. I tapped the screen and left a ‘like’ on the post. One minute later, the photo vanished into thin air. I stared at the empty grid for a long time, then walked through the cold neon streets for hours before finally going home. … The next afternoon was my mother’s sixty-fifth birthday. I bought an artisanal bakery cake and arrived at her house early. When she opened the front door, her smile hitched, unnatural and tight. “Eliza? You’re here so early?” Inside the dining room, a chair scraped against the hardwood. Jared walked out of the kitchen carrying a platter of steamed sea bass, a striped apron tied neatly around his waist. Lacey followed close behind, carrying matching porcelain place settings. My mother’s expression froze completely. “Jared just got here too… he wanted to surprise you.” I looked at Jared’s domestic attire. “Client meeting wrapped up early?” He stepped toward me, effortlessly taking my shoulder bag and setting it on the bench. “Closed ahead of schedule. It’s your mother’s birthday, Eliza—I wasn’t going to miss it for the world.” “You didn’t text me.” He squeezed my shoulder gently. “I wanted to take care of everything on your behalf. Give you a real surprise.” Lacey set down a pair of guest slippers at my feet, her voice light and innocent. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Eliza. Jared stopped by my place to pick up the antique tea set I bought for your mom, so we just drove over together.” I slipped off my heels. “I didn’t say a word, Lacey.” Throughout dinner, my mother piled food onto Lacey’s plate. “Eat more, dear. You look so frail lately. Moving into a new place entirely on your own must have taken everything out of you.” “Auntie, stop spoiling me,” Lacey giggled, casting a coy glance across the table. “Eliza is going to get jealous.” Only then did my mother remember to spoon a piece of the tender fish belly into my bowl. Before I could touch it, Jared reached over and swapped my bowl for his, picking out the tiny pin bones with practiced precision before offering me a piece from the dorsal loin. “Eliza doesn’t like the belly meat. Too rich for her.” I watched them, laying my silver fork down against the linen napkin. “I went to the bank yesterday,” I said. Jared’s hand paused midway through the air. “I know. Didn’t I tell you to just deposit the cash? I’ll go with you tomorrow to finalize the paperwork.” “The teller said we couldn’t open a joint marital account.” My mother chimed in immediately. “Then try a different branch! The system just launched; glitches are completely normal. Don’t ruin the dinner over a banking error.” “The system stated Jared is already legally married.” The room plunged into absolute silence. Lacey looked down, her spoon endlessly turning over the grains of rice in her porcelain bowl. Jared carefully placed the boneless fish onto my plate. “A database sync delay. Or a duplicate name in the municipal records. Don’t invent monsters in your head, Eliza.” “His legal wife’s name is Lacey Dawson.” My mother’s hand jerked, knocking over a dish of dark dipping vinegar. The liquid pooled across the embroidered tablecloth. Jared calmly pulled a linen napkin from his lap and began sopping up the spill. “Careful, Mom. Don’t cut yourself on the ceramic.” I looked at all three of them. “Is there something none of you are telling me?” My mother shot me a furious glare. “Eliza, how dare you! Lacey has loved you like a sister for fifteen years. She doesn’t even have a steady partner—how could she be married? You’re being paranoid!” I turned to Jared. “I’m not asking her. I’m asking you. Are you two married?” Lacey’s eyes welled with instantaneous, glistening tears. “Eliza… if my friendship with Jared makes you this insecure, I won’t come around anymore. I swear, I only ever saw him as an older brother.” “I’m not asking about your friendship,” I said, my voice dangerously level. “I’m asking about a certified legal record filed with the state.” Jared lowered his voice, adopting the gentle, patient tone of an adult dealing with an unreasonable toddler. “It’s your mother’s birthday. Whatever grievances you have, we discuss at home. Don’t make a scene in front of family.” He reached out, closing his fingers over mine, pressing the fork back into my hand. “Eat first. After dinner, I’ll take you to the county records office myself to clear it up.” I stood up and walked to the powder room to wash my hands. Through the louvered door, the frantic, hushed whispers from the dining room bled into the hallway. When I pushed the door open, all three of them fell dead silent, snapping their heads toward me in unison. “Jared,” I said, looking him in the eye. “I’m asking you for the very last time. What are you hiding from me?” He walked over and placed both hands firmly on my shoulders. “Take a breath.” “If you tell me the truth right now, I will listen to your explanation.” “There is nothing to explain. It’s not what you think.” “And the legal marriage certificate?” “A clerical error during the municipal integration. I’ll handle it.” His palms were warm against my skin, his eyes carrying that steady, unshakeable confidence that had anchored me for the past seven years. “Eliza, the woman I love is you. The woman I intend to spend my life with is you. Don’t let a typographical glitch in a government server undo seven years of trust.” I searched his face for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “Alright.” Jared let out a long, audible exhale. “There’s my sensible girl.” My mother brought out the birthday cake and sliced the very first piece, handing it straight to Lacey. On top of that slice was the decorative chocolate birthday medallion—the piece that, since I was seven years old, had always been placed on my plate. This time, not a single person looked my way. I didn’t say another word for the rest of the evening. My mother thought I was sulking. Jared thought I was jealous. Lacey thought I was backing down. … In the weeks that followed, Jared became the consummate partner. He kissed my forehead before leaving for the office every morning. He brought home warm chamomile tea and artisan pastries every night. He began asking detailed questions about my corporate accounts, claiming he wanted to understand my daily routine so we could build a shared life. On a Tuesday afternoon, my division vice president walked into my corner office, laying a gold-embossed corporate memo on my desk. I looked down. It was the roster for the European Leadership Fellowship in Frankfurt. My name was at the very top. “The executive board approved it,” my boss said, smiling. “Six months in Germany, all expenses covered, complete executive immersion. When you return, the Senior Director chair is yours.” Clutching the letter, I dialed Jared. “Are you free tonight? Let’s have dinner.” “Of course,” he said warmly. “Still holding a grudge over the bank registry?” “No. I have wonderful news.” “Then I’ll book that rooftop terrace you love. I have a surprise for you, too.” At seven sharp, Jared arrived at the restaurant, immaculately dressed. He placed a velvet jeweler’s box on the table. Inside was a pair of south sea pearl earrings I had admired in a boutique window months ago but couldn’t justify buying. “Do you like them?” “They’re too expensive, Jared.” “You’re about to be my wife,” he said, reaching across to clasp them onto my ears. “You don’t need to count pennies anymore.” He stepped back, admiring his work. “They suit you perfectly.” Before the appetizers arrived, his phone buzzed on the linen. He glanced at the preview, and his brow furrowed. “I need to take this outside.” “Can’t you take it here?” “It’s Lacey. Something happened.” Ten minutes later, he returned, throwing his wool coat over his arm. “Her driving instructor yelled at her during a parallel parking lesson. She had a severe panic attack and locked herself inside the vehicle.” “She’s a thirty-year-old woman, Jared. People get yelled at. It’s not a medical emergency.” “She has an anxiety disorder, Eliza. You know this.” “Tonight is important to me,” I said, reaching out to grasp his sleeve—something I had never done before. “Please. Stay.” Jared looked down at my hand, a flicker of irritation passing behind his eyes. “Give me an hour. I’ll get her home, make sure she takes her medication, and come straight back to celebrate.” “You don’t even know what we’re celebrating.” “We’ll celebrate when I get back.” He walked out. By eleven o’clock, the waitstaff began clearing the untouched silverware from the opposite side of the table. Jared never returned. My phone rang. It was my vice president. “Eliza, the fellowship roster was just modified at the executive level.” My fingers tightened around the stem of my wine glass. “Why?” “Lacey Dawson submitted a late supplemental petition, backed by an executive endorsement from the head of the cross-border fintech initiative.” “And who is that initiative’s director?” A brief, uncomfortable silence stretched over the line. “Jared Mitchell.” I stared at the velvet jewelry box sitting open on the white cloth. “My assessment score was twenty-seven points higher than hers.” “I know,” my boss sighed. “Her dossier claimed she authored the architecture for the municipal banking-integration pilot, complete with project sign-off sheets.” “That was my project. I built that framework from scratch.” “Your name isn’t on the archived filing, Eliza.” I opened my corporate cloud drive. Six months ago, Jared had asked me for the raw data and system schematics of that exact project. He had claimed he wanted to understand my work so we’d have more in common after the wedding. Ten minutes later, a text popped up from Jared. “Lacey is stable, but I’m staying on her couch tonight so she doesn’t do anything reckless.” I took a photo of the fellowship notification letter and texted it to him. “This was the good news I wanted to share.” A voice memo came through immediately. “Eliza, I was actually going to bring this up tonight,” Jared’s voice was gentle, reasonable, sickeningly paternal. “Lacey’s career has been stalled for years. She needs this credential to establish herself. You’re brilliant—you can easily secure the fellowship next term. Besides, once we’re married, one of us needs to anchor the home. Didn’t you always say you wanted to cook family breakfasts and walk our future kids to school?” Words I had spoken at twenty-three, when I was young, foolish, and hopelessly in love with the domestic fantasy he sold me. I unclasped the pearl earrings and dropped them into the velvet box. “Understood,” I texted back. “Let’s set the wedding date.” Jared called within seconds. His voice practically vibrated with triumphant relief. He told me I was the most understanding woman in the world. He told me he would handle the vendors, the catering, the venue—that I only needed to show up as his radiant bride. As he rattled on about floral arrangements and ballrooms, I quietly interrupted him. “Let me handle the venue.” “Whatever you want, sweetheart. You have complete control.” For the next two weeks, Jared played the doting groom, accompanying me to dress fittings, cake tastings, and stationery printers. One week before the ceremony, Lacey asked to meet for coffee, offering to help review the reception seating chart and photo boards. When we sat down at the café, her first words were dripping with smug condescension: “Eliza, don’t be nervous. Everything is going to be perfect.” I said nothing. She smiled, tapping her phone screen. “Let’s use this shot for the grand entrance board. You and Jared look so natural.” She turned the phone toward me. It was a photo taken two years ago. Originally, it had been a picture of all three of us. She had cropped herself out, leaving only the edge of her silk sleeve resting near his lapel. Jared glanced at it. “If Eliza likes it, it’s fine.” “I think the sentiment is beautiful,” Lacey said with a sly smile. I looked directly into her eyes. “You were standing right there with us. Of course the sentiment is beautiful.” Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “Are you still hung up on that? On how close Jared and I are?” Jared wrapped an arm around my waist from behind. “She’s over it, Lacey. Eliza agreed to have you as her maid of honor. That proves we’ve moved past it.” “Yes,” I murmured, leaning back into his embrace. “Everything is in the past.” I slid the final guest list across the marble table. “Take a look, Lacey. See if there’s anyone we forgot.” She reviewed the list, casually adding three names. All three were college friends who had attended her and Jared’s secret courthouse wedding three years ago. … On the morning of the wedding, my mother called, her voice shrill with panic. “Where are you? The bridal limousines are waiting outside your building! Why aren’t you at the grand ballroom getting your makeup done?” “I’m on my way,” I said calmly. “Jared can’t reach you! He’s beside himself—he hasn’t even eaten breakfast! Stop acting like a spoiled child and answer his calls!” “Tell him to eat something,” I replied, watching the digital departure boards flicker above my head. “It’s hard to host a wedding on an empty stomach.” “What kind of attitude is that? Today is the biggest day of your life! Don’t humiliate his family!” “Lacey is already at the hotel managing the coordinators,” she snapped. “Why is the maid of honor working harder than the bride?” The high-speed rail boarding announcement echoed across the terminal. “Mom,” I said softly. “I’ll let you and the guests enjoy the show.” I hung up, powered off the phone, and pulled my rolling luggage toward the gate. … At precisely twelve noon, Jared stood on the raised dais of the five-star ballroom, dialing my number for the seventeenth time. Lacey, dressed in a pale champagne maid-of-honor gown, leaned into his shoulder, her voice hushed and tight with dread. “Jared… do you think she knows?” Jared took a deep, steadying breath, adjusting his silk bowtie. “No. Eliza is pragmatic. She cares too much about propriety. Even if she suspected something, she’d never cause a scene in front of our entire professional network.” He raised the gold-plated microphone, signaling the master of ceremonies to start the procession without the bride. Just then, his phone buzzed in his palm. A single message from me: “Look at the main screen.” Jared snapped his head around. At that exact second, the thirty-foot LED display behind the altar blazed to life. When the high-resolution projection of the first image materialized across the screen, the custom gold microphone slipped from Jared’s paralyzed fingers. It hit the stage floor with a deafening, bone-rattling boom.

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My sister linked her arms through mine and my boyfriend’s, practically dragging us toward the theme park entrance with high-pitched excitement. On the roller coaster, as the car crested the highest drop, the two of them screamed, clinging tightly to each other, hands tangled, bodies pressed together in an instinctive huddle. Left standing at the exit once again, holding their bags, I suddenly realized I didn’t want to be their designated cameraman anymore. They came jogging down the exit ramp, breathless and giggling. “See, June?” Sabrina said, giving Mike’s side a playful pinch. “Told you it takes me to build some courage into your man.” She patted his waist, then turned her eyes on me. “Where’s the video, June?” I forced a faint smile. “I forgot to hit record.” Mike’s expression instantly soured, his tone dipping into that familiar sharpness. “Unbelievable, June. It’s bad enough you’re too scared to ride, but you can’t even handle a simple camera?” Sabrina immediately stepped between us, playing the savior. “Hey, don’t snap at my little sister. Your punishment is buying us cotton candy—mango for me, strawberry for June.” When Mike jogged back with the spun sugar, Sabrina grinned, leaned in close, and took a bite right out of each cone. It took her several seconds to remember me. She lightly swatted his chest. “How are you even June’s boyfriend? You’re hopeless—June is allergic to mango.” “It’s fine, Sabrina,” I said quietly, taking a small step back. “You can have both.” This time, I truly, genuinely didn’t care. … 1 Whenever the three of us went out, I was always the odd one out. Back home, nothing changed. Whatever Sabrina asked for, Mike delivered without hesitation. A little while later, Sabrina rested her hand casually on Mike’s shoulder. “June, it’s getting late. Why don’t we let Mike crash here tonight? I’ll walk him down to the convenience store to grab some travel toiletries and clean boxers. Don’t worry, I’ll keep him in line.” Mike looked down at her with gentle, adoring eyes and nodded. “Yes, your majesty.” Standing there, I felt like a ghost haunting someone else’s living room. Sabrina had no sense of personal boundaries, and Mike had long since normalized it. When I moved to grab my shoes, Sabrina stopped me, offering her signature sweet smile. “Stay here, June. I’m just testing him for you. It’s for your own good.” “For your own good.” For five years, that phrase had been an invisible leash around my neck. Whenever there was friction, Mike never failed to remind me of my shortcomings while placing Sabrina on a pedestal. It all traced back to our high school finals, when I had suddenly fallen ill with a high fever. Sabrina had supposedly missed her critical scholarship exam because she went out in the rain to get my prescription. Ever since, Mike had weaponized that day against me with endless, passive-aggressive jabs: “If it weren’t for you, your sister wouldn’t have lost her shot at an elite college.” Later that evening, I walked out of my room to get a glass of water, only to find the bathroom door wide open. Sabrina, dressed in a low-cut satin camisole, was leaning over Mike, half her body draped across his chest. Mike was shirtless, a towel slung low around his waist, his torso bare. The room was heavy with steam and flirtatious laughter. “Mike, hold still!” “Sabrina, hurry up… that tickles.” Noticing me frozen in the hallway, Sabrina poked her head out with an easy laugh. “June, don’t get the wrong idea! I’m just helping your boyfriend shave.” Mike’s eyes never left her face. “Who knew there was actually something you weren’t good at, Sabrina?” Sabrina punched his chest with a soft fist. “Shut up, Mike! How dare you criticize me?” She turned toward me, whining playfully. “June, look at him! Come put your boyfriend in his place.” I looked at them, completely detached, and said in a level voice, “Keep it down. Some of us are trying to sleep.” I walked back into my bedroom and shut the door, cutting off the noise. It was only last weekend that I accidentally learned the truth about that exam years ago. Sabrina had plenty of time to take the test that day. She had simply panicked, terrified of falling short of our parents’ impossibly high expectations, and used buying my medicine as an excuse to skip it—letting me carry the blame for the ruined future she never wanted. Because of that lie, my parents had resented me for five whole years, and I had swallowed every bit of guilt in silence. Mike had weaponized it just as ruthlessly, using my supposed debt to force my compliance every single time. In that quiet bedroom, the last shred of my affection died. A family like this, a relationship like this—I didn’t want any of it anymore. I pulled open my laptop with a bitter smile and submitted my résumé to a company based across the country. From now on, I would never stand in their way again. 2 The next morning, the kitchen counter was covered with Sabrina’s favorite pastries. They were sitting close, feeding each other bites and laughing. The second Mike noticed me walking in, his face hardened. “Throwing tantrums in the middle of the night, and now waking up late? There’s none left for you.” Sabrina tapped him with her fork. “Mike, stop being mean to my sister.” She glanced at me. “June, I saved you a custard bun.” I looked down at the paper bag. There was only one left, and a bite had already been taken out of it. It had always been like this. The three of us grew up together, and I was always relegated to the scraps. When Mike threw a massive party for Sabrina’s birthday, he casually dismissed mine by saying, “You ate cake at your sister’s party, so consider yours celebrated.” For five years, burdened by guilt, my parents had never celebrated a single birthday of mine. And now, even the barest hint of affection I had hoped to find in my boyfriend was completely gone. Just as the ache threatened to bubble over, my phone buzzed with an incoming email. It was an interview invitation from a national firm headquartered in another state, offering a preliminary screening at their local branch today. I stared at the screen, deliberately ignoring them. “I have errands to run. I’m heading out.” Mike slammed his fork onto the table. “Don’t eat then. Sabrina, let me pour you some more coffee.” Sabrina opened her mouth to say something, but Mike leaned in, monopolizing her attention. I didn’t look back. I slipped into my shoes and closed the door firmly behind me. The interview went better than I could have hoped. The hiring manager told me they would have an official decision within three days. It was the first piece of good news I had received in five years. The moment I stepped out of the glass office building, my phone vibrated. Mike’s name flashed across the screen. When I answered, his signature demanding tone came through the receiver. “June, where the hell did you storm off to this morning?” “Listen, your writing is decent. Write up a polished résumé for your sister. She doesn’t want people saying she got hired through connections, so this needs to look impeccable.” I let out a slow, steady breath. “Where is she applying?” Mike sounded completely matter-of-fact. “My firm. There’s an opening I think she’d be perfect for. Oh, and I had some flowers delivered to your apartment. Make sure to pick them up.” Another shallow attempt to buy my compliance. When it came to Sabrina, he had no qualms about nepotism. But when I had asked about an internship a few months ago, he had shut me down without hesitation: “June, I just took over this branch. You’re my girlfriend—it wouldn’t look professional.” His rigid professionalism was reserved solely for me. Just like my parents, his devotion belonged entirely to Sabrina. When I didn’t immediately reply, his patience frayed. “June, give me an answer. I need that résumé done today. She’s your sister. You ruined her future—this is the least you owe her.” I closed my eyes for a brief second, feeling the last thread snap. “Mike, let’s break up. I’m not writing that résumé.” The line exploded into furious disbelief. “You’re breaking up with me? June, if your sister hadn’t practically begged me to give you a chance back in college, do you think I would have ever looked your way? I only dated you out of respect for Sabrina, and you have the nerve to be ungrateful—” I ended the call before he could finish. For the first time, he had said the quiet part out loud. Dating me was merely a favor to my sister, an act of charity. His heart had never once leaned toward me. This twisted charade—if he wasn’t tired of performing it, I was certainly tired of watching. From now on, they were welcome to each other. When I returned to the apartment, Sabrina was already waiting in the living room, looking concerned. She must have heard about the call. She reached out and took my hand. “June, I just chewed Mike out for you. He bought you those flowers. Just let it go, okay?” I looked down at the bouquet of white lilies resting on the counter. I had always hated lilies; my favorites were sunflowers. My own boyfriend of years didn’t even know what flowers I liked. I looked away. “They suit you better, Sabrina. You keep them.” 3 Back in my room, I began quietly packing my bags, waiting for the final word. The next morning, the confirmation arrived: I had been hired, with instructions to report to the corporate headquarters out of state immediately. I was in the middle of booking my flight when Sabrina dragged a scowling Mike into my room without knocking. “June, make up already,” Sabrina pleaded softly. “Guess what? I officially got the job at Mike’s company! He’s throwing a welcome mixer for me tomorrow night. You have to come.” Mike crossed his arms, chin lifted in arrogance. “Why are you inviting her, Sabrina? She’s narrow-minded and accomplishes nothing.” Sabrina nudged his arm with her elbow. “Mike, be nice.” Watching them play their practiced good-cop-bad-cop routine, I felt nothing. It would be my last time seeing either of them anyway. And if I refused, Sabrina would only spend the rest of the day badgering me. “Fine. I’ll go,” I said calmly. “Congratulations on the job, Sabrina.” That night, I double-checked my itinerary. The mixer was in the morning; my flight was in the late afternoon. The timing was perfect. The next morning, Mike arrived in a tailored suit, projecting the image of a polished young executive. Sabrina wore an elegant designer cocktail dress he had bought for her, her makeup flawless. The moment he saw her, Mike’s eyes lit up. “Sabrina, you look stunning in that dress.” Then his gaze drifted toward me, his lips tightening with visible distaste. “June, what are you wearing? Are you trying to embarrass me?” I looked down at my simple, neutral outfit and bare face, then gently pushed Sabrina forward. “I always dress like this. Sabrina’s pretty enough to cover for both of us.” Sabrina beamed under the compliment, batting her eyelashes at him. “Come on, Mike, let’s not waste time. Let’s go.” When we reached his car, I slipped naturally into the back seat without a word. We arrived at the banquet hall shortly after. A cluster of employees was waiting near the entrance, their eyes immediately landing on Mike and Sabrina, who walked in arm-in-arm. “Mr. Donovan, is this your girlfriend? She’s gorgeous!” “Right? You two look like a match made in heaven.” “Welcome, Mr. Donovan and Miss Lawson!” Basking in the compliments and envious gazes, Mike smiled with smug satisfaction, never once attempting to correct them. And I, the inconvenient shadow trailing behind, was once again rendered invisible. Perhaps the applause grew too loud, because Sabrina suddenly dipped her head in mock embarrassment, murmuring, “Oh, you’ve got it wrong… June is Mike’s girlfriend. June, come up here!” Suddenly put on the spot, I waved a dismissive hand. “No, Sabrina. This party is for you. You’re the star of the show.” For once, Mike looked at me with a shred of approval. “At least you know your place.” A few nearby staff members caught the exchange, glancing between vibrant Sabrina and plain-looking me with confused expressions. “Wait, I’m confused. Why did the boss bring two women? Are they sisters? Which one is actually his girlfriend?” Just then, Mike’s executive assistant, Lisa, stepped forward, whispering knowingly to the group. “Miss Sabrina, obviously. Whenever I go into his office, he’s on video calls with her, smiling like an idiot. The love is practically dripping from the screen.” “Besides, have you ever seen the boss throw a welcome party this extravagant for any other new hire?” “Oh, and for the mystery gift raffle later, Mr. Donovan personally had me mark the box with the grand prize so it goes straight to Miss Sabrina. Just pretend you don’t know, and don’t touch the marked box.” The female staff members let out soft gasps of envy. “Don’t worry, Lisa, our lips are sealed.” I stood a few paces away, listening to every word, my heart as still as stagnant water. 4 Throughout the event, Mike personally escorted Sabrina around the room, introducing her to senior colleagues and executives. Whenever someone raised a glass to toast her, Mike immediately stepped in to drink on her behalf. His fiercely protective posture drew admiring murmurs from the crowd. Watching him, my mind involuntarily drifted back to our college graduation party, where both Sabrina and I had had a bit too much to drink. Halfway through the night, Mike had rushed into the venue, bypassing me entirely to support Sabrina. “Sabrina, why did you drink so much? Do you want to worry me to death?” Our classmates had looked at each other in awkward silence: “Wait, isn’t Mike supposed to be June’s boyfriend?” I had been left behind, dizzy and nauseous, while Mike gently ushered Sabrina out into his car. Lost in the memory, I didn’t notice a middle-aged manager, clearly intoxicated, stumbling toward me until his hand reached out toward my waist. Instinct took over. I picked up a glass of ice water from the cocktail table and threw it straight into his face. The man, drenched and furious, raised his hand to strike me. “You little bitch! How dare you? I’ll have you fired by Monday!” I dodged backward, my heel catching on the leg of a chair, and fell hard against the floor, pain shooting through my ankle. The commotion drew everyone’s attention. Mike rushed over, his face dark with fury. But instead of asking if I was hurt, his anger was directed entirely at me. “June, what the hell are you doing? Do you have to ruin your sister’s welcome party too?” “Get up right now and apologize to Manager Carlson.” At that moment, the last lingering warmth in my chest froze over. To protect his own fragile pride and reputation, he wouldn’t even extend the barest decency of asking what happened. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” I said, voice trembling with cold rage. “He tried to grope me. He’s the one who owes me an apology.” Carlson put his hands on his hips, slurring indignantly. “Bullshit! Look at you—why would I touch someone like you? Mr. Donovan, this girl is trying to frame me!” Mike’s expression turned icy. “June. Apologize. Don’t make me repeat myself.” I pushed through the sharp pain in my leg and struggled to my feet. “Never.” Mike’s eyes narrowed, truly furious. “Security. Hold her down until she gives Mr. Carlson a proper apology.” Two burly security guards in black suits stepped forward. It seemed they were determined to strip away every last ounce of my dignity before I left. Just as the guards reached me, Sabrina came hurrying over, looking bewildered and distressed. “What’s happening?” She turned to me, grabbing my wrists with an exasperated frown. “June, please, for my sake, just stop causing trouble on my first day.” “Causing trouble.” The words cut like glass. I ripped my hands away from her grip. “So even you think I’m making this up?” Sabrina let out a dramatic gasp, stumbling backward, right into Mike’s waiting arms. He caught her securely, glaring at me with venomous eyes. “June! You dare put your hands on your sister?” Sabrina buried her face in his chest, her voice choked with tears. “June, I know you’re upset that Mike hired me and not you… but back then, I gave up my scholarship exam to take care of you. I threw away my future for you. Can’t you just let this go for once?” The room instantly shifted, whispers of disgust rippling through the crowd. “So she’s that ungrateful sister… Her sister gave up an Ivy League shot for her, and this is how she repays her?” “If I had an older sister like that, I’d worship the ground she walked on.” “She’s just jealous. Bitter because she can’t stand seeing her sister succeed.” “She needs to apologize! Make her apologize!” The chants grew louder, self-righteous and toxic. Standing there alone, surrounded by their hostile glares, I looked at the crowd, then at Mike and Sabrina wrapped around each other, and a cold, sharp laugh escaped my lips. “Fine. I have nothing left to say.” I looked Sabrina dead in the eye. “From this day on, Sabrina, we are done. I don’t owe you a single thing.”

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I was born with an aggressive lack of social inhibition. Because I had never met a stranger in my life, my psychiatrist mother took one look at my five-year-old self and realized I was a natural weapon. By the time I was ten, she was regularly dragging me into her inpatient psychiatric facility to serve as a designated companion for catatonic and treatment-resistant depressive patients. Over the past twenty years, I have personally cornered, chatted up, and line-danced with at least eight hundred people who claimed they were too fragile for this world. Which is to say: when it comes to the performative theatrics of weaponized emotional instability, I know the playbook backward, forward, and in my sleep. Two months into my strategic society marriage to Damon, he brought home Brielle—his fragile, supposedly severely depressed ex-girlfriend, the undisputed tragic muse of his past. He stood in our grand marble foyer, his expression carved from pure ice, and leveled a finger at my face. “Brielle cannot handle stress, Sloane. Drop your crude, brassy attitude. If anything happens to her, I will dismantle your family piece by piece.” That very night, Brielle positioned herself on our second-floor balcony in a sheer silk slip, sobbing into the chilly night air. “Sloane,” she wailed, leaning precariously over the railing, “just looking at you triggers my deepest darkness. I can’t control myself. Can’t you just move out?” Damon was practically on his knees on the flagstones below, white as a sheet, pleading with the heavens and begging her to step down. Me? My eyes lit up. My chaotic, battle-tested instincts surged to life. Without a second thought, I yanked open the front doors, grabbed an industrial-grade megaphone from the coat closet, and let loose a blast from an emergency air horn. “Attention, neighbors!” my voice echoed across the manicured lawns of our gated community. “My husband’s ex is threatening a swan dive off the terrace!” I keyed the siren sound effect on the megaphone. “Let’s give her some encouragement, folks! Say it with me: “Brielle, take flight, own your plight!” I pointed the speaker directly up at her. “Would you like me to queue up Celine Dion on the Bluetooth for ambiance, sweetie?” Brielle looked down, horrified, as headlights flickered in driveways and half a dozen retired hedge-fund managers stepped onto their porches in bathrobes. Her knees buckled in pure humiliation. She slipped on the wet terrace step, tumbled sideways, and landed headfirst into the large recycling bin next to the patio door. … Brielle dragged herself out of the recycling bin with a bruised banana peel stuck to her blow-dried hair, reeking of sour seltzer and compost. Damon didn’t care about the grime. He lunged forward, gathering her into his arms as if she were a wounded dove, and glared at me with pure venom. “Are you insane? She’s clinically depressed! Why the hell are you terrorizing her with a megaphone?” I hoisted the megaphone onto my shoulder like a boombox. “A proper performance requires stage setting, darling. It’s embarrassing to jump without an audience.” Brielle buried her face in Damon’s designer lapel, shuddering with practiced fragility. “Damon… she hates me. She can’t stand me being near you.” With trembling fingers, she fished a blunt piece of decorative glass out of her pocket and pressed it against her wrist. “If I’m such a burden to her, I’ll just end it right now!” Damon turned ghostly pale and reached out to wrestle it from her grip. I stepped in, shoved his shoulder aside, and wedged myself between them. “Move, Damon. You’re blocking her big scene.” I tapped the flat of my fingernail against her radial vein. “That edge is dull, Brielle. You have to push harder. Go ahead, slice deep. I’ve got iodine in the bathroom—the visual contrast will be stunning. Once you’ve bled enough for a good photo, I’ll bandage you up.” Brielle froze, the glass hovering uselessly against her unblemished skin. She forgot to keep crying. Damon’s jaw twitched violently. “You vicious sociopath! You’re coaching her to kill herself!” I ignored him, pulled out my phone, flipped the front-facing camera on, and raised my voice. “Hey, live viewers! We’re live from the villa with a high-stakes dramatic exit! Send your digital gifts now!” I shoved the lens right into Brielle’s tear-stained face. “Come on, give us a smile. Five thousand people are waiting for the drop.” Brielle stared at the blinking red recording light. With a sharp gasp, she dropped the glass and burrowed frantically into Damon’s chest. “Damon, make her stop! She’s a lunatic!” Damon smacked the phone out of my hand. It clattered against the hardwood, the screen shattering into a web of cracks. “Enough! Get out of this house! It’s either you or her!” I glanced down at the ruined screen, then pulled out a dining chair and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. “Did you take a blow to the head?” I asked pleasantly. “The deed to this estate is in my name, paid in full before the wedding. If anyone is leaving, it’s the two of you.” His jaw worked, the muscle ticking. “Fine! You think I care about your damn house? Brielle, we’re leaving.” He reached down to pull her up, but Brielle’s fingers clamped onto the velvet upholstery of the sofa like iron talons. Leave? Leave a ten-million-dollar modern mansion to go back to a studio apartment? Not on her life. “Damon, my head…” she whispered, rolling her eyes back and going completely limp on the cushions. “I feel so dizzy… I can’t breathe…” Damon scrambled for his phone to dial 911. I pulled out my backup phone from my blazer. “Hey, Mom. Pull up a case file on factitious disorders, will you? I need to review the latest treatments for chronic malingering.” Damon whipped his head around. “Who are you calling?” I switched the call to his parents’ landline and hit speakerphone. “Your mother and father. I thought they’d appreciate the midnight cabaret.” A bead of cold sweat broke on Damon’s forehead. His family had despised Brielle from day one; if they found out he had dragged her back into our home, they would skin him alive. “Don’t you dare!” he hissed. The crisp, formidable voice of his mother came through the speaker. “Hello? Sloane? What’s happening?” Brielle instantly stopped rolling her eyes and stared at the phone in sheer terror. I cleared my throat. “Good evening, Eleanor. Damon brought Brielle back here. She’s claiming her depression flared up and is currently giving us a private performance on the sofa with a piece of broken glass. Would you like me to send a car so you can watch the second act with some popcorn?” Three seconds of dead, arctic silence followed. Then Eleanor’s voice erupted through the speaker with enough force to rattle the chandelier. “Damon Hastings! Get your pathetic self over to the family estate this instant!” I waved cheerfully at Damon’s bloodless face. “Safe travels, boys and girls.” Brielle lay on the sofa, trembling with suppressed rage. I strolled over and looked down at her. “Faking a crisis is exhausting work, isn’t it? Next time, pick a sharper piece of glass. It saves everyone time.” I clapped my hands and headed into the kitchen. After a long evening of managing amateurs, I needed comfort food. I threw together a bowl of spicy garlic ramen with two soft-boiled eggs. When I carried the steaming bowl back out, Damon was practically dragging a dead-weight Brielle toward the front foyer. “Leaving already?” I slurped a noodle. “Sure you don’t want a snack for the road?” Damon threw me a look of unadulterated hatred. “Don’t get cocky. One of these days, you’ll be on your knees begging for my forgiveness.” “Sure, sure. Put it on my calendar. Just hurry up, my patience is thin.” The heavy oak door slammed shut with a satisfying thud. I settled comfortably into the deep cushions, slurping my soup in glorious, uninterrupted peace. The next morning, the front door was nearly beaten off its hinges. I opened it to find Damon’s parents standing on the porch, their expressions dark as thunderclouds. Behind them stood Brielle, dressed in an angelic white linen frock with red-rimmed eyes, huddled closely against Damon’s protective arm. I leaned against the doorframe and smothered a yawn. “Good morning, Eleanor. Richard. If you haven’t had breakfast, the espresso machine is on the counter.” Eleanor brushed past me, her designer heels clicking sharply against the tile. “How can you sleep at a time like this? Look at what you’ve done to Brielle!” I glanced at Brielle. White dress. Pale makeup. And around her left wrist was a layer of sterile gauze so thick it looked like an orthopedic cast. Last night, the glass hadn’t even scratched the surface of her skin, yet today she looked like a walking casualty from a battlefield. I opened my palms. “What exactly did I do to her?” Brielle’s tears spilled over right on cue. “Mrs. Hastings, please don’t be angry with Sloane. It’s my fault… I just can’t control my episodes.” She pressed a hand to her sternum and swayed dramatically backward. Damon caught her instantly. “You see this, Mom?” he snarled. “Brielle almost lost her life last night, and instead of helping, Sloane humiliated her and tried to broadcast it online!” Richard brought his palm down hard on the marble island. “Disgraceful! We did not welcome you into this family to watch you behave like an unhinged brute!” I dragged out a stool and sat down. “Let’s hold off on the righteous indignation for a second. If she’s suffering from severe, intractable depression, where’s the clinical evaluation?” Brielle’s eyes flickered. “The… the records are with my private specialist.” “How convenient,” I said. I reached into my tote bag, pulled out a crisp sheet of paper, and slid it across the island. “Because I had my contact at the Metropolitan Psychiatric Institute pull your public intake history this morning.” Brielle’s face drained of color. I read directly from the page: “Brielle Evans. Chief complaint: mild situational restlessness and occasional insomnia following a social dispute. Diagnostic assessment: Mild generalized anxiety.” I flicked the paper with a manicured finger. “Mild situational anxiety. And somehow, overnight, it magically evolved into a catastrophic psychiatric emergency requiring her to hijack my home?” Damon blinked, momentarily derailed. “Brielle?” Brielle clutched Damon’s sleeve with white knuckles. “No, Damon, that was months ago! It’s gotten worse recently, so much worse!” “Well, lucky for you, my mother runs the Department of Behavioral Health,” I said, tapping my phone. “I can have two board-certified evaluators here within twenty minutes to conduct an emergency involuntary assessment. How does that sound?” “No!” Brielle stumbled backward. “I don’t need doctors! Damon, my head is spinning…” Her eyelids fluttered, and her knees gave out in another graceful, slow-motion descent. Damon scooped her up before she hit the floor and roared at me, “Are you satisfied now? You pushed her into a syncopal episode!” “If she’s faking a blackout, a hard pinch to the philtrum usually brings them right back,” I said, stepping forward. “My grip strength is exceptional.” Brielle’s eyelids twitched violently. Damon slapped my hand away. “Don’t you touch her! If anything happens to her, I swear I’ll ruin you!” With that, he hoisted her in his arms and bolted out the front door toward his car. The foyer was left in strained silence. Eleanor and Richard stood frozen, their expressions pinched. I looked at them calmly. “You see? Her psychological stamina is remarkably fragile for someone who loves drama so much.” Eleanor glared at me, her voice trembling with cold fury. “Don’t you think you’ve won, Sloane. Damon is cutting off your authorized corporate cards today. Let’s see how bold you are when your funding dries up.” She grabbed her husband’s arm and stormed out, slamming the door behind them. I listened to the echo of the heavy latch and let out a dry laugh. Cut off my cards? Damon’s tech startup was currently surviving on the fifty-million-dollar liquidity injection from my family’s trust fund, and he thought he was going to discipline me with an Amex limit? After washing up, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from my mother. “I ran the background,” my mom said without preamble. “Aside from her falsified intake records, there’s something else.” I patted my face dry with a towel. “What do we have?” “Our little tragic heroine has a side piece. A twenty-two-year-old fitness instructor she’s been stashing in a downtown condo while Damon pays the rent.” I raised an eyebrow in the mirror. Well, well. Damon was wearing a custom-fitted cuckold crown and didn’t even know it. I changed into a tailored track set and walked down to the community park, where the neighborhood morning walking club was doing their low-impact aerobics by the fountain. As I joined the back of the group to stretch, my peripheral vision caught a figure lurking behind the stone planters. It was Damon’s personal assistant, holding up an iPhone and trying desperately to film me looking unhinged. I circled around the hedge, walked up behind him, and snatched the phone from his hands. “What are we capturing today?” Before he could react, I wrapped an arm tightly around his neck in a friendly headlock, switched the phone to selfie mode, and dragged him directly into the center of the aerobics circle. “Smile for the boss!” “Click.” The assistant’s face turned gray. He broke free from my grip, scrambled over the flowerbed, and sprinted for his sedan like he was being hunted by a bear. I stood by the fountain, admiring the crisp, unflattering snapshot on my screen. By mid-afternoon, Damon called. His voice was raw with hostility. “Get down to St. Jude’s VIP suite right now. Brielle is on a hunger strike because of you. She refuses to take a single bite until you apologize in person.” I was relaxing on the lounger with a collagen face mask, and I nearly choked on my tea. “A hunger strike? That’s fantastic. It’ll do wonders for her jawline—she was starting to look a little puffy around the chin anyway.” The sound of shattering ceramic echoed through the line. “Shut your mouth! You have thirty minutes! If you aren’t here, I’ll have my security team bring you in!” I peeled off the mask. “Deal. But visiting a patient alone is so impersonal. I’ll bring some mutual friends.” I hung up, opened my mother’s outpatient community group chat on my phone, and dropped a voice memo: “Attention, alumni. We have a field trip. St. Jude’s VIP Suite 402. A fellow soul claims she’s suffering from severe, untreatable depression and needs some peer support. Bring your therapy tools. Let’s go show some love.” The chat instantly exploded. “‘On my way! I’m bringing my Tibetan singing bowl!’” “‘I’ll bring the portable gospel boombox!’” “‘I have my ten-year collection of empty prescription bottles. I’ll go share some hard-earned coping mechanisms!’” Thirty minutes later, I led my eccentric strike team through the quiet corridors of the private healthcare wing. I pushed open the door to Suite 402. Brielle was leaning back against a sea of silk pillows, looking delicately exhausted. Damon was seated by the bedside, holding a bowl of warm organic broth, coaxing her like an anxious parent. “Please, Brielle. Just one spoonful. You haven’t eaten all day.” Brielle turned her face away, letting a single tear track down her cheek. “If Sloane won’t forgive me for existing, I’d rather just waste away.” I walked in and clapped twice. “Cheer up, sister! Not only did I come, but I also brought an entire support system of like-minded souls.” With a wave of my hand, half a dozen seasoned veterans from my mother’s clinic filed into the room, packing the private suite wall-to-wall. An older gentleman with a long silver beard stepped up to the edge of the bed, struck a brass singing bowl with a wooden mallet—”GONG”—and closed his eyes. “Breathe through the void, child. Depression is merely the spirit resisting universal alignment.” A woman in a vibrant floral caftan fired up an ancient boombox, blasting a high-volume Gregorian chant that rattled the IV stand. “Listen to the frequency, darling! Ten hours of this a day will cleanse any lingering psychic parasites!” A wiry young man with a shaved head leaned over Brielle’s bed and whispered conspiratorially, “You want tips on how to actually look sick? I’ve got recipes for fake bile that’ll fool any attending physician.” Brielle’s eyes went wide. She clamped her hands over her ears and shrieked, “Who are these people? Damon, get them out! Get them out of here!” Damon was frozen in sheer disbelief. He jumped up, waving his arms. “What is wrong with you? What is this circus?” I caught his arm in an iron grip. “Why are you upset? These are all distinguished alumni from my mother’s therapeutic retreats. They heard Brielle was struggling with severe depression, so they volunteered their afternoon to share their survival strategies.” The veins on Damon’s neck bulged. “You’re mocking her! You’re intentionally triggering her!” “Triggering her? Look at the enthusiasm in this room.” The singing bowl went “GONG” again, louder this time. The woman turned the chant volume to maximum. The wiry young man casually rolled up his sleeves, displaying a series of faded burn marks. “Look, sister. These are from my nihilist phase in Berlin. Very grounding. Want to try sensory shock therapy? It really cuts through the numbness.” “Aaaaaah!” Brielle kicked off the duvet, vaulted out of the hospital bed, and sprinted through the doorway in her bare feet faster than a varsity track star. “Crazy! You’re all completely crazy!” There wasn’t a trace of lethargy or malnutrition in that sprint. Damon stood there for half a second before tearing after her. The room settled into a peaceful quiet. The wiry young man looked around, disappointed. “She’s gone already? I didn’t even get to show her my breathwork routine.” I pulled out my phone and dropped a generous stack of digital gift cards into the group chat. “Thank you, everyone. Dinner is on me tonight.” After seeing off the support squad, I took my time walking down the hallway. As I rounded the corner near the stairwell, a furious figure lunged at me. Damon grabbed my lapels, slamming me back against the corridor wall with enough force to knock the breath from an ordinary person. “Do you won’t stop until you drive her to suicide?!” The amusement drained from my face. I reached up, seized his wrists with both hands, and wrenched them outward with precise, mechanical leverage. Damon gasped as his joints buckled. Before he could recover his balance, I pivoted on my heel, caught him by the shoulder, and executed a textbook judo shoulder throw. “THUD.” His back met the linoleum floor with a hollow, sickening crunch. He curled into a tight ball, clutching his ribs, gasping for air like a landed fish. I dusted off my blazer and looked down at him from under half-lidded eyes. “Let’s get one thing crystal clear, Damon. I entered this marriage as an equal partner and an investor, not your punching bag. The next time you put your hands on me, I won’t just bruise your ribs—I’ll snap your collarbone.” The corridor fell dead silent. Two passing nurses froze in their tracks, covering their mouths in shock. A few yards away, Brielle huddled behind a water cooler, trembling so hard her teeth were chattering, terrified to breathe. I didn’t give them a second glance. I adjusted my cuffs, turned around, and walked toward the elevator. That evening, as I was reviewing market analyses in my home study, my father called. “Sloane, how are the preparations for tomorrow’s investor showcase?” “Everything is locked in, Dad. The new software architecture will blow them away.” He sighed softly over the line. “The Hastings family has been making erratic moves in the secondary market lately. Watch your flanks.” “I always do.” I ended the call and looked out through the floor-to-ceiling glass at the dark skyline of the city. The next morning, the grand ballroom of the downtown convention center was packed. This product launch was my flagship initiative since taking over the family’s venture arm, and the media riser was bristling with telephoto lenses and broadcast cameras. The presentation went flawlessly. Just as the floor opened for the Q&A session, the heavy double doors at the back of the hall were shoved open with dramatic force. Damon walked in, supporting a visibly trembling Brielle. She was wrapped in an oversized trench coat, her face chalk-white, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. The moment she entered, every camera in the room swung away from the stage and locked onto them. Damon kept one arm wrapped around her waist, marched straight down the center aisle, pointed an accusatory finger at my face, and projected his voice across the room: “Members of the press! Today, I am going to expose the monstrous reality behind this corporate facade!” “This woman used her family’s wealth to force an engagement, tear Brielle and me apart, and systematically abuse her behind closed doors until her severe clinical depression relapsed!” A collective gasp rippled through the room. Camera flashes erupted in an blinding storm. Amidst the chaos, Brielle suddenly broke free from Damon’s grip and scrambled onto the two-meter-high glass exhibition platform beside the main stage. She stood on the narrow edge, swaying precariously, and let out a piercing scream: “Stop asking questions!” “She stole my fiancé! She destroyed my entire life! What reason do I have left to live?” “I’ll end it right here, right now, so the whole world can see what kind of monster you truly are!” The room went cold. Reporters shouted for building security, someone yelled to call the police, and dozens of lenses pointed back at me, heavy with silent condemnation. Damon stared at me from the foot of the stage, unable to hide the gleam of triumph in his eyes. “Now,” he demanded through clenched teeth, “get down on your knees and apologize to Brielle! Otherwise, your reputation in this city is finished by tomorrow morning!” He thought he had me cornered. A suicide at a multi-million-dollar corporate launch would destroy any executive’s career. The entire hall held its breath, waiting for my collapse. I looked at Brielle teetering on the edge of the platform, looked at her theatrical tears, and then, completely unable to help myself, I burst out laughing. I picked up the wireless microphone from the podium and walked slowly to the edge of the stage, looking up at her. Damon’s brow furrowed. Brielle hesitated, her dramatic sob caught in her throat. I lifted the mic to my lips. “Jump.” The single word echoed through the surround sound system. “Go on. Jump. Because if you don’t jump today, Brielle, I’m going to be profoundly disappointed in your commitment to the craft.” The room fell into stunned, horrified silence. Damon turned crimson, pointing at me in rage. “Are you out of your mind? You’re literally pushing her to die!” I didn’t spare him a glance. I simply snapped my fingers toward the technical booth. “Switch the main display.” The massive, high-definition LED backdrop flickered. The corporate promotional reel vanished, replaced instantly by an array of high-resolution, full-screen documents and photographs. I clicked the remote, sending a sharp red laser dot directly onto the center of the display. “Allow me to introduce our guest of honor,” my voice carried smoothly over the speakers. “Miss Brielle Evans is indeed an acquaintance of my family’s clinical network. However, her condition is not depression. It’s Factitious Disorder—or, in layman’s terms, pathological attention-seeking.” I clicked to the first slide. “Here is the wire transfer receipt showing she paid fifty thousand dollars to an online reputation-smearing agency to target my personal social channels. Quite an investment for someone on the brink of despair.” I clicked to the second slide. “Here are the encrypted chat logs between Miss Evans and an unlicensed clinic, negotiating the price for a falsified psychiatric evaluation.” Murmurs of shock rippled through the press corps. I didn’t stop. I clicked to the final slide. It was a crystal-clear, high-resolution photograph taken in the VIP lounge of an exclusive downtown nightclub. Brielle was draped over a handsome young man in a leather jacket, locked in an aggressive, passionate kiss. The digital timestamp in the upper corner was illuminated in crisp white numbers: “Yesterday, 11:42 PM.” I clicked off the laser pointer and smiled pleasantly up at the girl on the platform. “Making out in a nightclub booth until midnight, and suddenly suicidal by noon the next day.” I tilted my head. “Tell me, Brielle—does your clinical depression come with an on-off switch, or do you just schedule your breakdowns around happy hour?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “565735”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Ten minutes before the ceremony, I was turned into a cat. Panic seized my chest as I lunged toward my fiancé, Fred—a man who had spent years boasting he could read any feline’s mood—and cried out in desperate, ragged yowls. He only looked down at me with mild, distracted irritation. Before I could leap again, a security guard caught me with the heavy toe of his dress shoe, kicking me hard across the polished marble floor. Pain flared through my ribs. Whimpering, I dragged my bruised body toward the bridal suite, desperate to find my mother. She hailed from a long, secretive lineage steeped in esoteric folk traditions and binding hexes. But when I slipped through the cracked door, she wasn’t looking for me. She was standing before Kelly—my former best friend, whom my parents had adopted as their own—her expression heavy with tender guilt. “I asked the family elders to weave the binding myself,” my mother said softly, smoothing Kelly’s hair. “We aren’t blind, Kelly. Fred’s heart was always leaning toward you anyway.” My father stood by the window, his voice chillingly detached. “Elise has a soft spine. Once the hex wears off and she turns back, she won’t make a scene. She never does.” My brother, Simon, stepped forward, holding up the bespoke bridal gown that had taken six months to hand-stitch for me. “Put it on, Kelly. Hurry. We can’t miss the vows.” The air left my lungs in a cold, suffocating rush. Ever since Kelly entered our home as a foster daughter, the ground beneath my feet had steadily eroded. When she set her sights on my bedroom, Fred packed up my belongings without a second thought. When Simon, a celebrated haute couture designer, created one-of-a-kind dresses, he poured every drop of inspiration into Kelly, never once asking if I wanted one. And now, my own mother had cursed me into an animal just to hand my wedding over to her. Hot, silent tears soaked into the fur beneath my eyes, scalding the tender skin beneath. Yet beneath the heartbreak, a sharp ember of clarity ignited. I had always lacked a sense of security. I had always prepared a contingency plan. … Kelly drew her hand back from the silk gown as if burned. She took a theatrical step backward, shaking her head. “No, I can’t do this,” she stammered, eyes wide and glistening. “Mom, please, lift the hex. I won’t take her place. I can’t steal her life.” Mother’s eyes softened with fierce protectiveness. She reached into her purse, pulled out an antique emerald bracelet—an heirloom passed down through our matriarchal line for five generations—and clasped it around Kelly’s wrist. My pupils shrank. The family treasure. I had begged my mother to include it in my dowry for years, only to be met with deafening silence. Now, she gave it freely to a girl who had walked into our lives only two years ago. “Your mother was like a sister to me, and I owe her a debt I can never repay,” Mother whispered. “Consider this me fulfilling her wish to see you married well. You owe Elise nothing.” Kelly hesitated just long enough to appear virtuous before taking the gown into her arms. “Only to save the family from scandal,” she murmured, lowering her gaze. “The moment she shifts back, I’ll return everything to her.” Her words were humble, but her spine straightened, brimming with smug satisfaction. They had forgotten who I was. When people push me into a corner, I don’t beg—I strike. Every hair along my spine stood on end. I darted from the shadows, leaped into the dressing stall, and unsheathed my claws, slashing straight across Kelly’s exposed arm and the delicate lace of the gown. Silk tore with a sharp rasp. Thin beads of crimson bloomed along her skin. “Ah! Catch it! Get that beast!” Kelly shrieked. Mother rushed in, shouting in fury. I scrambled across the vanity, sending crystal perfume bottles shattering against the tile, before Simon’s heavy hand clamped onto the scruff of my neck, hoisting me into the air. “Even as a stray, you can’t behave,” Simon drawled, his tone cold and mocking. “Fred paid me ten grand this morning just to make sure you stayed out of sight. Don’t make me earn it the hard way.” A shiver went straight to my core. Fred and I had been together for five years. We had promised each other forever before we even finished college. He used to swear I was his singular priority. But the moment Kelly arrived, my life became an endless exercise in compromise. If she wanted my bedroom, Fred moved my boxes into the drafty guest room. On road trips, I was the one relegated to the cramped middle seat so Kelly could look out the window. And now, I wasn’t even allowed to choose the man I married. Simon tossed me into a dark basement storage closet and locked the heavy deadbolt. I looked up at the wall clock. Eight minutes until the processional. Swallowing the bitter bile rising in my throat, I squeezed through the cracked, unlatched transom window near the ceiling and slipped onto the fire escape. Two catering staff members were smoking in the alleyway, their hushed voices drifting upward. “Mrs. Carver is ruthless… putting a soul-binding hex on her own flesh and blood.” “If the ritual goes sideways, the poor girl could stay mindless for the rest of her life.” My paws trembled on the iron grate. Ever since I was a child, Mother had used me as a vessel to test her ancestral bindings. Whenever I cried and pleaded for her to stop, she only hushed me with sweet, empty promises. No one had ever told me the bindings carried permanent risks. Still, I didn’t panic. I knew the timeline. The hex was temporary, and my body would reclaim itself soon enough. I slipped soundlessly back into the venue’s backstage corridor. Fred was standing in front of Kelly, frowning at the torn embroidery on her sleeve. Without missing a beat, he snapped his fingers and had an assistant bring out an identical backup designer gown. Kelly gasped in delight. “Fred! You truly think of everything. You’re the best husband in the world.” Fred smiled, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “I originally had this tailored for you to wear as a maid of honor, but Elise threw a fit and refused to allow it.” A phantom slap stung across my cheek. When he had asked me to let Kelly wear a custom couture gown at our wedding, I had felt the ice settle into my bones. It was the first time I had ever screamed at him. Now, the private styling team he had hired for me was gathered around Kelly, fussing over her veil and makeup. Fred had told me he hired the city’s top stylists so I wouldn’t have to wake up early on our big day. It had all been for her. Kelly admired her reflection, a soft blush rising on her cheeks. Mother stared at her, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You look… so much like your mother on her wedding day.” “Mom,” Kelly said softly, “if she’s watching, she must be so happy to see you sending me down the aisle.” Fred wrapped an arm around Kelly’s waist, speaking with solemn conviction: “I’ll take care of her, Mrs. Carver. As for Elise… with those burn scars on her arms, she was never really suited to be the face of the family anyway.” I shrank back beneath a rolling rack of suits, my breath catching in my throat. Years ago, when a fire broke out at the Carver estate, I had wrapped myself in a soaked wool blanket and dragged a suffocating, unconscious Fred out of the flames. The falling rafters had left thick, jagged scars across my forearms. When he woke up in the hospital, he had kissed my bandages and sworn he would spend his life making it up to me. Now, those very scars were the excuse he used to discard me. The wedding planner rushed over, hastily running through the timeline. Kelly listened, looking slightly overwhelmed. Fred waved a dismissive hand. “If she needs more time, push the ceremony back. Tell the kitchen to hold the first course. This is a once-in-a-lifetime day for Kelly; I won’t have her feeling rushed.” A heavy weight crushed my chest. During our wedding planning, when Fred had just taken over his family’s firm, he had brushed off every concern I raised about the schedule. “It’s just one day, Elise. We can’t make everything perfect.” For Kelly, perfection was the baseline. The ceremony was delayed by thirty minutes. Fred personally brought over a cup of iced specialty matcha, unwrapping the straw and handing it to her. “I had this delivered from that boutique downtown. Try it.” Kelly took a sip and pouted playfully. “You forgot again. I hate boba pearls.” Fred chuckled, pinching her cheek affectionately. “Old habits die hard.” A familiar, bitter knot tightened in my stomach. Fred used to know all my quirks. When I couldn’t find a tea blend I liked, he bought an entire distribution line to craft one for me. When I mentioned wanting to see the northern lights, he booked red-eye flights within the hour. All of that devotion had simply been redirected. “Oh my god!” Kelly’s sudden shriek pierced the quiet hallway. “My dress!” A passing banquet server had stumbled, spilling the entire cup of iced tea down the front of her skirt. Brown and green liquid pooled into the satin. The server bowed repeatedly in frantic apology, but as she stepped back, her eyes caught mine in the shadows, giving a barely perceptible nod. A cold, silent satisfaction settled inside me. Simon strolled into the room, entirely unbothered. “Relax. Fred isn’t the only one who came prepared.” He clapped his hands, and two assistants wheeled in an ornate garment rack draped in velvet. My tail drooped. My heart went completely numb. Simon was one of the fashion world’s most coveted young designers. In a high-profile interview last year, he had declared he would only ever design two wedding dresses in his life: one for his wife, and one for his sister. For six months, I had brought him sketches, staying up until my fingers were blistered, begging for his input, only for him to tear every concept apart with harsh critiques. He hadn’t been designing for his sister. He had been designing for Kelly. Kelly clapped her hands, beaming. “Simon, you’re an angel! I didn’t even dare to ask.” Simon patted her head with fond indulgence. “Silly girl. You’re my sister. Of course I took care of it.” The wedding planner checked his watch, sweating profusely. “Mr. Carver, we have twenty-five minutes before the auspicious window closes. We have to move.” Kelly linked her arm through Fred’s. “Don’t worry, everything is under control.” In the confusion, my cousin Lily slipped into the hallway. Spotting me huddled beneath the rack, she scooped me into her arms and hurried into an empty green room. The sting of antiseptic on my scratched paws made me let out a low whine. “Hold on, Elise,” Lily whispered, quickly bandaging my paws. “Good thing you had this backup plan with the staff. You have about twenty minutes before the binding breaks.” I let out a soft purr of gratitude. Lily scowled, glancing at the security monitors on the wall. “It’s sickening. They even swapped out the welcome portraits in the foyer like you never existed.” I looked up at the screen displaying the grand ballroom. It was the penthouse hall I had dreamed of booking for over a year. But the moment we set our date, the venue management had told me the room was indefinitely reserved for private renovations. Now I knew: Kelly had mentioned once that she loved the crystal chandeliers in that specific room. Fifteen minutes before the ceremony, my father walked into the bridal suite and handed Kelly an unlimited black card. Ten minutes before, Fred knelt and kissed the back of her hand with reverent devotion. “Thank you for saying yes, my love.” Five minutes before, Mother held Kelly’s hands, unwilling to let go, while Simon snapped endless photos on his vintage Leica. Nobody mentioned my name. The heavy mahogany doors swung open. Kelly stepped into the golden spotlight, holding her train high, gliding toward the altar like an ethereal vision. The whispers from the pews drifted through the monitors. “Goodness, she’s breathtaking.” “So much more radiant than the previous one. Fred finally came to his senses.” “A shame about the eldest daughter, though. Tragic accident, so young… but life goes on, I suppose.” My fur bristled violently. I had wondered how they intended to explain the sudden switch of brides to two hundred high-society guests. They hadn’t explained it. They had simply declared me dead. I curled my paws over my eyes, feeling the damp heat beneath my fur. Through the live camera feed pinned to Kelly’s lapel, I saw Fred standing at the altar. His eyes were red-rimmed, tears spilling down his cheeks. In the ten years I had known him, I had never seen him cry. Not once. Now, he wept openly for another woman. The ballroom was draped in unimaginable opulence. The cascading crystal installations above were private auction pieces Fred had acquired months ago. The vintage floral urns came straight from Father’s private vault. The hand-woven aisle runner was something Mother had spent weeks overseeing in person. Every luxury I was told was “too excessive” or “logistically impossible” had been lavishly laid out for Kelly. When the officiant began the vows, Kelly answered without hesitation: “I do.” Fred paused for a fleeting second, his gaze distant, before finding his focus. “I do.” Applause thundered through the hall. My heart gave one last, dull ache before settling into a flat, icy stillness. I slipped out of Lily’s arms and padded quietly toward the service entrance behind the stage. The final segment of our family’s traditional ceremony involved presenting a ceremonial vintage wine—an heirloom vintage sealed at birth—to the groom’s family. A month ago, I had accidentally knocked over an aged bottle in the cellar. Mother had slapped my face, claiming it was the only birth-vintage bottle in existence, a sacred relic. Father had locked me in the ancestral hall and struck my back with a discipline cane until my skin split. When I had screamed through my tears that I didn’t care about the stupid wine, Simon had cut me off, sneering, “You think that bottle was meant for—” He hadn’t finished his sentence then. But now, the answer walked out on stage. Two staff members carried two pristine, wax-sealed vintage decanters toward the altar. Simon was standing near the stage curtains, chatting casually with a groomsman. “I thought your family’s birth-vintage was destroyed?” the friend asked. Simon chuckled dismissively. “The one Elise broke was her own. We laid down half a cellar for Kelly years ago. Fred told us to keep quiet about it so Elise wouldn’t throw a tantrum and smash those too.” The phantom burn of the cane across my back flared with white-hot clarity. My paws buckled. A wave of feverish heat swept through my veins. Lily darted over, catching me just as the air around me began to shimmer. “Elise! The shift is breaking!” When I opened my eyes, I was looking at my own hands. Ignoring the blinding dizziness, I slipped into the AV control booth, plugged my thumb drive into the main console, and overrode the slideshow queue. The ceremony proceeded seamlessly. No one realized the stray cat had vanished. Down on the floor, Fred and Kelly were making the rounds, clinking champagne flutes with the guests. Fred held Kelly’s hand tightly, downing glass after glass of bourbon on her behalf. A relative laughed. “Fred is quite the protective husband! Kelly, you’re a lucky girl.” Fred brushed Kelly’s hair behind her ear, his voice dripping with tenderness. “Her constitution is fragile. I’ll carry the drinks for her.” Simon, already half-drunk, smirked. “Funny. Elise used to drink you under the table to protect your ulcers, and you never gave her this kind of credit. You used to say, ‘What kind of bride refuses a toast?’” Fred shrugged, indifferent. “That was different. Elise has a high tolerance.” A hollow laugh caught in my throat. When Fred’s stomach was ruined during his early corporate struggles, I was the one who drank glass after glass of hard liquor with investors, vomiting blood in the restroom just to secure his contracts. To him, my sacrifice was just “a high tolerance.” Simon grabbed a microphone, calling for a round of Truth or Dare to liven up the room. The crowd cheered along. After a few rounds, Simon pointed the mic at Fred. “Be honest. What did you really think of Elise all those years?” The room fell quiet. Fred glanced at Kelly, his voice flat and cutting. “She was obsessive. Too rigid, too calculating.” Mother chimed in from the head table. “Kelly is pure-hearted. Treat her well, Fred.” Fred offered a mock salute. “Consider it done, Mom.” Simon turned to Kelly. “Your turn, little sister. What’s one secret you’ve been keeping from Fred?” Kelly touched her flat stomach, her face blooming with shy, calculated modesty. After a long pause, she whispered into the mic: “I’m… I’m pregnant.” My parents gasped in sheer joy. Fred froze for two seconds before pulling her into a fierce, breathless embrace, his eyes blazing with a wild, triumphant joy I had never seen. “I’m going to be a father!” As he bent down to kiss her lips, the heavy double doors of the ballroom slammed open. I stepped across the threshold. The ambient chatter died instantly. A suffocating silence dropped over the room. Gasps rippled through the pews like wildfire. “Isn’t that the Carver heiress? I thought they said she passed away?” “She was supposed to have died in an accident… why is she standing right there?” At the head table, the color drained from my parents’ faces. Kelly pulled away from Fred, gathering her skirts, and immediately dropped to her knees before me. Her tears fell right on cue. “Elise… this wedding was always meant to be yours,” she sobbed, trembling. “If you’re angry, I’ll step down right now. I won’t take anything from you.” She played the victim so flawlessly, painting me as the cruel, vindictive monster storming in to break up true love. I looked down at her with dead eyes, then swept my gaze across the frozen faces of my family. “If you all wanted so badly to give her my life,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence, “then let’s settle the bill.” Mother rushed forward, grabbing my wrist and hissing under her breath, “I’ll transfer you ten million. Don’t cause a scene here. Leave. Now.” I shook off her grip with effortless disdain. “Ten million? Fine. Consider that my severance fee. From this day on, I have no ties to the Carver family.” Fred stormed down the dais, grabbing my arm, his eyes dark with frustration. “Have you lost your mind? Today is Kelly’s day! If you can’t offer a blessing, the least you could do is show some basic decency!” He lowered his voice, offering a sigh of patronizing pity. “You heard her. Kelly is carrying my child. There’s no future for us, Elise. Stop humiliating yourself.” I looked at his arrogant, self-righteous face, the corners of my mouth curling into a razor-sharp smile. “A blessing? Oh, Fred. I brought the ultimate gift.” I lifted the small black remote in my hand and clicked the button. The massive LED wall behind the altar flickered to life. When the footage appeared in crystal-clear 4K resolution, Fred froze, the blood entirely draining from his skin. “No… that’s impossible!”

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