The Q1 sales blitz deadline was hitting me like a speeding train: fifty car loans closed by New Year’s Eve, or I was out of a job. It was December 30th, and even pushing myself to the absolute breaking point, I was still ten contracts short. That’s when the news alert popped up on my phone. WESTON GROUP’S HOLIDAY BONUS: ONE HUNDRED HIGH-PERFORMING EMPLOYEES RECEIVE A NEW CAR! In a final, humiliating act of desperation, I dialed my father’s number. We hadn’t spoken in five years. “I saw the news about the Weston Group cars,” I managed, my voice thin and tight. “Could they process the financing through me? I… I just need this last push to hit my numbers for the month.” The silence on the line stretched out, five years thick. Finally, that familiar, clipped sigh. “Fine, Anna.” But before I could even breathe out, my twin sister’s voice, sharp and icy, cut through the receiver. “Don’t you dare, Dad! She walked out on this family! She said she wouldn’t rely on us!” The line went dead. The silence that followed was suffocating, the vast, echoing sound of a door slamming shut. A nurse walked into my small hospital room, dropping the final, urgent statement for my chemotherapy payment onto the table. “Look, beds are a premium,” she said, her voice completely devoid of sympathy. “If you can’t cover the balance, you need to be discharged. You’re not the only one fighting cancer, and others are waiting.” … 1. The diagnosis had devoured every cent of my savings. I was fighting cancer and my career at the same time. Now, the money was gone, the sickness wasn’t, and my job was about to vanish. I maxed out the last dollar on my credit card to settle the bill, signed the discharge papers, and stepped back out onto the street. The cold was a physical shock. Shivering, I didn’t know where to go. All I could do was replay the pathetic highlight reel of my useless life. My father, Conrad Weston, subscribed to a brutal form of meritocracy. From the moment my sister and I were born, we were competitors. Victoria opened her eyes first. She got the formula; I was relegated to rice cereal. She crawled at six months, and Dad hired ten rotating specialists for her. I was left in a nursery, fed on a strict schedule, but mostly alone. When we started school, she had the best tutors and scored one hundred percent on every test. If I brought home a ninety-nine, I missed dinner. “You want it, you earn it,” he would drone, his expression cold. “If you fail, it’s not the system; it’s you. You slacked off. Remember this, Anna: The strong take all. It’s the only law that matters, in this house and in the world.” At six years old, I etched his words into my heart. I cannot slack off. I must earn that missing point. I must earn my parents’ love. I pulled all-nighters, threw myself at my schoolwork, and finally, for an entire semester, I matched Victoria: A perfect one hundred on everything. But it wasn’t enough. She not only aced her exams, but she also clinched the National Junior Track Title for the state. That winter break, Mom and Dad took her on a lavish European tour, leaving me alone to house-sit. I survived on cold water and day-old bread, convinced it was the penance I deserved for not trying hard enough. I set a goal. Ten years. I would get into a better college than she did. Just once, I would win a reward from them. I became a machine. A straight-A, sleepless automaton. Then, on the day the acceptance letters came out, I collapsed. I slept through the day in a feverish haze. When I woke up that evening, the house was silent. Empty. The sickness gave me a strange clarity. I found our applications and slowly, tremulously, typed the access codes into the computer. My hand was shaking so badly I almost missed the key. I opened my eyes. I had scored one point higher. I had won. I knelt there, sobbing uncontrollably. Ten years of grinding effort, finally justified. I had to tell them. I ran out the front door, shouting. The neighbor’s nanny was locking up. She stared at me, confused. “You didn’t go? Your parents are hosting Victoria’s acceptance party at the Peninsula Ballroom. Everyone in the district is there.” By the time I reached the ballroom, Victoria was basking in the spotlight, a gilded princess in a designer dress. “Thank you all for coming to celebrate my success,” she purred into the mic. “And thank you, Mom and Dad, for throwing this wonderful party.” Her celebration? I won. It was my moment. 2. I burst through the crowd, crying, and screamed at my father. “You lied to me! You said the strong take all! Why is she here when I beat her?!” Conrad looked at me with profound disappointment, sighing heavily. Victoria lowered her champagne glass, a look of utter contempt on her perfect face. “I had my Stanford acceptance months ago, Anna,” she said dismissively. “The finals were just busy work. Did you really think you could win against me? And honestly, is this place for people like you? So gauche.” The thing I had sacrificed ten years of my life for, she treated as a trivial annoyance. My world didn’t just collapse; it vaporized. My mother, Bethany, came over, trying to physically pull me away. But I was stubborn. I had dreamed of a moment like this my entire life. I wanted to stay. Then I saw the massive tiered cake. Driven by a raw, hungry impulse I didn’t recognize, I rushed the table, grabbed a fistful of frosting and cake, and shoved it into my mouth. I was crying and choking at the same time. The onlookers stared, utterly horrified, as if watching a wild animal. Conrad strode over and slapped me across the face. The shock cleared my tears instantly. “Crying is useless! If you’re incompetent, you go back and work harder!” he hissed. “Don’t put on a pathetic show for pity. Do you think this madness will make us coddle you?” That was the spark. Victoria’s face was pure, unadulterated venom. She swept the remaining cake to the floor. “I have tolerated you for too long, Anna. What is your purpose?” she shrieked. “You consume resources and produce nothing but mediocrity. This is not a sustainable model. A dog has loyalty, a business asset has value—what is yourcontribution? Honestly, we’d all be happier if you weren’t even here.” Her words pressed me into the polished floor, suffocating me. I shrieked back, tears streaming. “I may be useless, but I’m still your daughter!” The noise died. The silence returned, crushing. In the dead stillness, my father spoke the four words that ended my life with them. “A worthless waste.” The words detonated in my skull. I was numb. “I tried! I worked so hard! How am I worthless?! If I had your tutors, Victoria’s resources, I could have been better!” Victoria charged forward and shoved me. I fell backward onto the cake-smeared floor. “I earned my resources! You don’t deserve anything I have!” Conrad watched with cold eyes. Mom was consoling Victoria. No one looked at my pathetic form on the floor. I scrambled up, wiping the sticky frosting from my skirt, utterly humiliated. “Fine! I don’t belong here!” I screamed, running for the exit. “I will never bother you again! I will never ask you for anything, ever!” … 3. The icy wind of that long-ago night now seemed to be blowing straight through me again. I will never ask you for anything, ever. What a pathetic, empty promise. Now, I was sick, dying, unable to afford treatment, and I had broken that vow in a desperate plea for ten lousy car loans. But reality offered no space for sentiment. A notification popped up from my bank supervisor. TO ALL: The Year-End Push is not a goal—it is the floor! Everyone must carry their weight. No retreat! We’ll see who’s standing and who’s kneeling in the next ten hours! A fitting epitaph. Worthless or not, I wanted to live. I hadn’t actually lived yet. In a last-ditch effort, I called my Uncle Franklin—Dad’s older brother, a reliable, quiet presence. “Ten cars?” Uncle Frank said, his voice surprisingly warm. “No problem, Anna. The kids need their holiday cars anyway. I’ll even set one aside for you. It’s been too many years since you’ve come home for the holidays.” My nose stung. I choked back a sob. “Thank you, Uncle Frank. But I don’t need the car.” I didn’t even have a moment to dry my tears before a new number flashed on my screen. It was Victoria. My elite sister. “Anna, don’t cheat. If you have such dignity, then use it,” she sneered. “Uncle Frank is Dad’s brother. You’re a low-level loan officer. How could you possibly have accessed him? You’re a worthless waste; you can’t even keep your word.” She paused, a triumphant inhale. “Luckily, he called Dad, and I answered. I assured him you’re doing just fine and need no charity. He agreed not to use you for his volume. Did you really think money grows on trees just because you’re used to being a liability?” The phone clicked off. The last pinprick of light had been extinguished. I wandered the streets of Chicago. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, the city was bright with lights, tinsel, and forced good cheer. Everyone looked happy, unburdened. Why couldn’t I be one of them? I grabbed a startled man walking by. “Are you looking to buy a new car? Car loan?” He yanked his arm away, staring at me like a madwoman. “Get lost, psycho!” Eventually, I found myself outside the wrought-iron gates of the Weston estate. Should I beg? Should I swallow my pride, apologize, and promise to work harder if they just paid for my treatment? I typed the old security code into the keypad. Nothing. They had changed it. Screw them. I used the last reserves of my strength to hoist myself over the tall brick wall. Let them all suffer. Inside, the courtyard was a riot of cheerful red and green lights and scarlet ribbons. So festive. I remembered every Christmas Eve, locked in that small nursery, reflecting on all the ways I had failed to be better than Victoria. I had never once had Christmas dinner with them. Before I died, I was going to have a proper meal. 4. I crept to the kitchen. It was stocked like a five-star pantry. I ripped open a container of high-end strawberries and stuffed them in my mouth, then cherries, then plums. Then I spotted it: a massive platter of Conrad’s famous Holiday Roulade, which he only made for special occasions. The highest accolade in the Weston house. I had never once tasted it. I gorged myself until I was sick and gagging. I ate every single bite. Then, I crept to the window of the living room. Inside, it was a perfectly framed picture of a happy family—a holiday commercial. I picked up a heavy paving stone, ready to hurl it through the glass and give them a surprise. Then I heard Mom’s voice. “Do you think Anna might be in some kind of trouble?” My father looked older, his face slightly softer in the holiday light. “If you’re worried about her, Bethany, just call her yourself.” A tiny, flickering candle of hope flared inside me. I waited for my own phone to ring, imagining what she might say. But Victoria instantly clamped her hand over Mom’s arm. “Trouble? No. She’s just looking for a shortcut. A handout. If you help her now, it’s completely unfair to me.” Mom immediately dropped her hand, and Dad wrapped her in a hug. “Alright, alright, I won’t call her,” he soothed. Conrad sighed, completely dismissive. “If she were in real trouble, she’d be here. But she’s weak; she’s always been too weak. I spoiled her a little when she was younger because she was frail, and that’s how she became so incompetent. She’s probably just drifting, chasing shortcuts and avoiding work. If she ever comes back, I’ll have to properly educate her.” Listening to them, a profound, soul-deep weariness settled over me. The paving stone felt impossibly heavy. I tried to lift it, but my arms wouldn’t obey. The window glass reflected my own face—gaunt, pale, and completely defeated. I was too tired to fight. I was the scrap, the off-cut. I didn’t want to struggle anymore. Bye-bye, world. I dropped the stone and curled up in the corner of the wall to wait for death. A scrawny stray cat, meowing piteously, wandered toward me. I gathered it into my arms, hugging it close for warmth. It immediately went quiet. Dad hated these “filthy animals.” At least now, my dying wouldn’t interrupt their perfect family evening. See? I was useful for something after all. My body, already a ragged piece of cloth from the cancer and chemo, was quickly failing under the bitter cold. Death came faster than I expected. Slipping out of my ruined shell, I felt light. Free. I floated, holding the little cat, and drifted into the house. Dad was already talking about next year’s business plan: strive, strive, strive. Dead is good. I never have to strive again. I spent the night floating over the guest bed, resting. It was truly comfortable. Just before dawn, I heard the maid’s shriek. “There’s someone sitting by the wall! She’s frozen! I think… I think it’s the second Miss!” All three of them rushed into the courtyard, stopping a few feet away from my body. The night’s drizzle and the sudden drop in temperature had left a delicate layer of frost on my hair. Conrad frowned. “Help her inside.” 5. Victoria immediately stopped the maid. “It’s a pathetic stunt, Dad! She’s not a child! If she was cold, she’d walk in!” Victoria spat, her voice ringing with certainty. “She’s waiting for your pity so she can ask for the car loans again. She’s all about manipulation and shortcuts.” Mom looked at my body, a flicker of worry in her eyes. “Victoria, it’s freezing out here.” Victoria stamped her foot and pulled her arm from Mom’s grasp. “Are you serious? You think the Chicago weather will actually kill her? Look! She’s fine! She even has the audacity to play with a filthy cat!” Conrad finally noticed the stray cat clutched to my chest and grimaced in disgust. They turned to walk back inside. Then the kitchen staff ran over, holding the phone I had dropped last night. “The holiday food is ruined! Someone got into the kitchen and made a huge mess!” Conrad grabbed the phone, his face contorted in rage. “Worthless waste, even now!” Mom chimed in, “We never starved her! Why does she act like a ghoul? And what’s on her mouth? Is that strawberry jam?” That was the blood I threw up before I died, Mom. They all stared at my face, a slow, dawning realization spreading through them. Suddenly, my phone buzzed violently. It was my supervisor’s voice, booming through the speaker. “Anna Weston! Did you not see the team message?! Six a.m. sharp for the Year-End Sales Report! Where are you?! You’ve been bottom of the ladder for a year, and now you’re late?!” The accusation broke my father. He let out a yell and threw the phone with all his might. It struck my head and clattered into my lap. “I am ruined because of you! You have humiliated me for the last time!” The phone vibrated endlessly. Conrad pointed at the maid. “Get that disgusting animal out of her hands! Get the phone! They’re both filthy!” The maid, terrified of the cat, gingerly poked it with a long broom handle. Her face instantly went pale. “It’s… hard. It’s a dead cat.” A sudden, murderous rage consumed my father. He rushed forward and violently kicked my body. “I said, stop playing with dead things!” My frozen body, rigid as a column of ice, toppled over with a sickening thud.

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Caspian faked amnesia just to break up with me. “Who are you?” he asked. I paused for a breath, then smiled. “I’m your brother’s fiancée.” Caspian froze. Later that night, Pierce, his older brother—the one who had been urging us to split—sent me a frantic series of texts: [YOU EVIL BITCH! When did you and I get together?] [Caspian is standing outside my apartment with a goddamn machete!] 1 When I arrived at the hospital, Caspian “Cas” Miller was lying in bed, a perfectly respectable, if slightly dramatic, gauze bandage wrapped around his head. He looked up at me with a confused, lost expression and asked: “Who are you?” I let the question hang for a moment, then laughed softly. I reached up and subtly pulled the collar of my silk blouse lower, exposing a faint, reddish mark on my neck. “I’m your brother’s fiancée.” The door was closed. Pierce, Cas’s elder brother, was standing just outside, waiting for me to deliver the final, clean breakup speech. I’d been with Pierce when the news of Cas’s minor car accident and subsequent hospitalization came in. Pierce had leaned back in his leather chair, a cynical smile playing on his lips, and flashed a certified check for five million dollars at me. “Sasha,” he’d said, his voice smooth and cold. “The future with Caspian is unpredictable. Yours, however, can clear a path to the top right now.” Cas and I had been together for two years, and in all that time, he’d been stubbornly silent about the Miller family’s staggering wealth. It wasn’t until I picked up a shift at a high-end resort that I ran into him. He was out with friends, checking out of a presidential suite that cost more than my annual rent. I stood silently at the reception desk, watching him. I wasn’t bitter. I wasn’t even tired. Cas looked up, and we locked eyes. He flushed bright red, mortified. “I… I didn’t tell you before because I was afraid you’d feel too much pressure being with me.” I stared at him, pointing a disbelieving finger at myself. Me? Did I look like someone with that much pride? Kid, if you’d mentioned the generational wealth sooner, you wouldn’t have had to chase me for over a year. Our relationship had been a private affair. But after that run-in with his friends, the news inevitably reached the ears of the Miller patriarch—his older brother, Pierce Miller. I met Pierce shortly after. The brothers shared seven-tenths of a face, but Pierce’s expression, when he looked down at me, carried a stifling, heavy aura that made me instinctively tremble. Pierce wanted me to break up with Cas. The previous night, he’d sent me a recording. In the video, he and Cas sat across from each other. Next to the visibly raw and youthful Cas, Pierce looked impossibly polished and mature. Pierce’s voice, slow and deliberate, sounded like a hammer tapping on a delicate glass heart. “You met Sasha in college, right? You chased her for ages. She was always volatile, a real piece of work. But the moment she found out who you were, she suddenly became sweetness and light.” His implication was crystal clear: I was a gold-digger, a phony, someone who groveled for cash. “She’s not like that!” Cas shot back immediately. His voice was unsteady, lacking any conviction. He was only desperate to defend me, but his words were hollow; he didn’t even believe them himself. Compared to an old fox like Pierce, Cas was a lightweight. Pierce simply smiled, seeing his trap set. “Is that so? Then let’s run a small test. You fake a car accident, pretend you have amnesia. You treat her like a stranger, cold and indifferent. Then we’ll see what her true reaction is.” The video ended there. This scene in the hospital confirmed everything. Cas had chosen to play along. 2 The expression on Cas’s face cycled through disbelief, horror, and confusion, like a computer trying to process an overload error. “Want an apple? Your fiancée will peel one for you.” Five million dollars was certainly tempting. But being used as a pawn in their sibling drama? That was a bridge too far. Hearing the word “fiancée” drove Cas’s face green with rage. He opened his mouth, ready to demand answers, but stopped himself at the last second. He still had to maintain the amnesia act. Breaking character now would be shooting himself in the foot. He tried to look composed, yet his eyes betrayed him, welling up with tears. His voice was thick with suppressed emotion. “My… my brother is single, I think.” I waved a dismissive hand. “You’ve lost your memory, sweetheart. It’s normal not to recall your brother’s relationship status.” Cas pressed his fingers hard against his temples, anxiously saying, “I think I’m starting to remember something.” I pulled his official, printed medical chart from the bedside table and forced him to look at the paperwork. “The doctor said there’s no risk of memory recovery, Cas. Just focus on healing.” Cas gripped the paper, the veins on the back of his hand bulging. I placed the perfectly peeled apple on his tray. As I prepared to leave, I ruffled his hair affectionately. “If a memory can be forgotten, it probably wasn’t all that important to begin with. Time to move on.” “I’m going out now—with your brother. We have dinner reservations. No, wait, scratch that. We’re going to a romantic, intimate restaurant. You rest up. We’ll drop by when we’re done.” I gave him a cheerful wave and walked out. The moment the door clicked shut, the hospital room erupted in a sound like a boiling kettle coming to a tragic shriek. Pierce, standing outside, was oblivious to the conversation. He turned to me, his eyes softening slightly, a look of quiet satisfaction for my perceived compliance. On the way to the hospital, Pierce had been relentless in guiding me. “The fact that Caspian agreed to this charade proves he already doesn’t trust you. A crack in a relationship doesn’t mend; it only widens. Trying to win him back is pointless.” “Better to take the five million now and disappear gracefully than to have a messy, hysterical breakup later.” Pierce always knew exactly where to twist the knife. I handed him my debit card. “I don’t want to mess with a physical check. Have your people wire the money to this card.” Pierce nodded, handing the check and my card to his assistant to process. By the time I stepped out of the room, the assistant was done. A deposit alert had popped up on my phone a few minutes prior. As Pierce handed my card back to me, he was completely unaware of the furious face pressed against the small glass panel on the door behind him. Cas, staring through the glass, fixed his gaze on the card in Pierce’s hand. From his angle, he couldn’t see the design. Given my earlier words, he immediately assumed it was a hotel room key card. Cas’s face was dark, his forehead throbbing with visible veins. I took the card from Pierce, allowing my fingers to linger seductively over his hand. “Thank you,” I purred. I slipped the card into my bag and turned to leave. Pierce looked down at the spot where I had touched him, his fingers unconsciously flexing once. The moment I rounded the corner, Cas exploded out of the room. The supposedly gravely injured man attacked Pierce like a rabid dog, tackling him and beating him on the floor. “Pierce Miller, you sick bastard! You stole my fiancée!” Pierce: “Wait, what?” 3 The hospital corridor descended into chaos. Pierce was knocked out cold with a single, furious punch. Cas sat nearby, sobbing uncontrollably. I watched the dramatic scene unfold from a sheltered alcove for a long time before reluctantly walking away. I spent the rest of the day on a five-million-dollar shopping spree, returning home only after dark. As I stepped out of the elevator, I saw Pierce standing at my door like a vengeful ghost. He was covered in bruises and resentment. Gone was the cool, self-possessed corporate shark. “Sasha Holloway! You need to go back and explain things to Cas right now!” I opened the door to my apartment and innocently asked, “Explain what?” Pierce’s brows furrowed. His expression was pure disgust. “You know damn well! Stop playing dumb with me! Caspian thinks I stole you! He thinks I made him fake amnesia so you could ditch him and walk into my life! He’s armed and blocking my driveway like a maniac!” I hummed a tune and ignored his tirade. I dumped my afternoon purchases onto the bed, covering the duvet with piles of expensive, barely-there clothes. I held up a sheer, white lace negligee against myself for inspection. “Would this look good on me?” I asked Pierce. His face turned an even deeper shade of green. He turned away, refusing to look at me, his teeth practically grinding. “Only a blind idiot like Caspian would find you attractive. I’d rather be celibate for the rest of my life than be with a toxic, malicious woman like you.” The moment the words left his mouth, a knock sounded at the door. “Sasha, are you home?” It was Cas. Pierce’s composure shattered. He stared at the door, panicked, and made to rush toward me. “Don’t open it!” he hissed. Cas already thought we were having an affair. If he found Pierce in my apartment late at night, especially after all the hospital drama, no explanation would save him. I rolled my eyes. “He called out my name, which means he knows I’m in here. If I don’t open the door, it’ll look even worse.” I grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the bedroom closet. “Why don’t you hide in here for a while?” Pierce looked utterly defeated. But after a moment of desperate thought, he realized he had no choice. He took a deep, resigning breath and reluctantly squeezed himself into the walk-in closet. I turned and opened the door for Cas. Cas, tall and large, stood slumped outside. His head was down, and the corners of his eyes were still slightly red. I reached out and lightly stroked his cheek. “What’s this? Were you crying?” The tears Cas had been fighting finally broke through. Hot, wet tears soaked into my hand. His sense of injury and injustice was like a floodgate opening. He was the one who agreed to fake the amnesia. He was the one who pretended not to know me this morning. Now, no matter how much injustice he felt, he had to swallow it. “My brother… he won’t let me back in the house. He kicked me out. I have nowhere to go.” Pierce, crammed in the closet after being hunted all afternoon, likely had a stroke. Cas grabbed my hand and buried his face in my palm, rubbing against me like a lost puppy. “Fiancée, can you let me crash here for the night? The sofa is fine. I promise I won’t be any trouble.” I nodded sympathetically. “Of course, sweetheart.” Pierce: “?!” Cas stepped inside, swapping his shoes, and immediately his eyes fell on the array of expensive, revealing lingerie scattered on the bed. His expression twisted into something momentarily feral. I followed his gaze, then offered a shy, suggestive smile. “Your brother bought them. Said he wanted to ‘celebrate’ tonight…” I stopped my sentence abruptly, as if realizing I’d said too much. I lowered my voice to a suggestive whisper. “Your brother is always buying these useless, racy things. He never listens.” Inside the closet, Pierce was silently staring at the ceiling, likely attempting to hang himself with a coat hanger. I quickly scooped up the pile of clothes, opened the closet door, and tossed them inside. The sheer white negligee landed squarely on Pierce’s face. Pierce was already mentally dead the moment I opened the door. He pressed his palms together, a picture of helpless, silent begging. Cas stood right by the closet door, separated from Pierce by a thin sheet of wood, and spoke to me. “Will my brother be coming back tonight?” I shook my head. “I have no idea. Why don’t you call him and ask?” Pierce’s eyes widened in terror. Cas took out his phone and dialed Pierce’s number. The next second, Pierce’s ringtone—a custom, jarring corporate chime—blared inside the closet. Cas’s eyes narrowed dangerously, fixed on the wardrobe. “Fiancée, I think my brother’s phone is ringing.”

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I was born with congenital insensitivity to pain—no pain receptors. My sister, Sally, was a butterfly baby. Her skin was paper-thin, prone to tearing with the slightest bump. To protect her, my older brother, Link, used me to set the rules. Every. Single. Time. I tried to fight it, of course. But Link would always wear me down with the same pleading, world-weary tone. “Maya, Sally is adopted. We can’t just outright punish her, even for the sake of appearances.” He would sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Besides, she has EB. She’s fragile, nothing like you! You can’t feel it anyway. Just treat it like a bad scene in a movie. It’ll be over before you know it.” When Sally ran off in a crowded mall, Link broke my leg in front of her. When Sally played with an X-Acto knife, Link cut off five of my fingers, then had a surgeon reattach them one by one. Later, Sally started dating a boy named Jax, a rebellious type, and ran away from home with him. When Link dragged her back, he carved gashes into my body and threw me into the private marine enclosure he had built for his sharks. Three gray shapes circled me. I begged Link for help, but he was only focused on lecturing Sally. “You do the crime, you do the time,” he said, his voice flat. “Run away again, and I’ll throw her in again.” Sally’s legs gave out from under her. She collapsed to her knees, bruising the delicate skin. Link instantly scooped her up, his face etched with agonizing concern. He turned to leave, holding her tight. I cried out, pleading with him to pull me out first, but he never looked back. He forgot. Insensitivity to pain isn’t the same as immortality. You can still bleed out. … “Link, please! Save me!” Blood, thick and hot, poured continuously from the wound on my shoulder. The metallic, pungent smell of it excited the three sharks, making them circle faster. I thrashed against the water, terrified, trying to swim toward the steel ladder bolted to the side. I gripped a rung, but Link’s knife—he always carried a heavy utility knife—flashed again, severing my grip with a cut across my knuckles. I forced myself not to let go, clenching my fist around the smooth metal. But the intensifying scent of my blood sent one of the sharks into a frenzy. It snapped its jaws onto my calf and pulled, dragging me back into the churning water. “Maya!” Sally’s scream was raw, shredded. She instinctively reached a hand out toward me, desperate to pull me back. Link caught her waist, pulling her back. “Don’t move. You can’t swim.” “Link.” Sally dropped to the wet concrete, ignoring the scrapes blooming on her knees. “I’m sorry, I was wrong. I won’t ever run away again. Please, let Maya out.” She was sobbing hysterically, her forehead striking the floor with sickening, repetitive thuds. “Sally, stop it! Are you insane?” Link yanked her up. “You know your condition! You can’t knock your head like that, you’ll injure yourself.” He scanned her body frantically, and sure enough, found a small, dark bruise forming just above her knee. His eyes immediately reddened with sharp, overwhelming panic. He lifted her fully into his arms. “If you don’t behave, I’ll let out Big White, too.” Big White was his most aggressive shark, the one he’d personally purchased from a research facility when it was scheduled for euthanasia after a human incident. Sally went instantly silent, shivering in his arms. Link seemed satisfied with her reaction. He walked toward the exit, his strides long and purposeful. “Link, help me. Please. I can’t hold on.” As he neared the door, I spent my last bit of strength on one final, desperate cry. He paused. A fleeting shadow of genuine tension crossed his face. But as he looked down, his eyes caught the tiny, fingernail-sized cut on Sally’s forehead. His focus snapped. He turned his head slightly, speaking back to me without meeting my eyes. “Every time I punish you, you intentionally give up right before the end. Can you, for once, act like the older sister you’re supposed to be? Set an example. You don’t want her ending up with a body full of scars, do you?” Then he was gone. He never looked back. My heart sank with his retreating footsteps. A realization clawed its way into my mind. Link doesn’t want me anymore. No. It couldn’t be true. Link told me it was always an act. Just a show. He would come back for me. He had to. All I had to do was be a little more pathetic. Sally had to be a little more scared. Then he’d be pleased. Then he’d look at me. I shouted for help a few more times, and then my body was violently wrenched backward. I looked down. One of the sharks had torn my entire left forearm from my body. Blood flushed the water, turning the enclosure into a dizzying swirl of scarlet. The horrifying sight shocked my heart into near-failure. Survival instinct screamed at me. I had to get out. I swam desperately toward the ladder. By some miracle, I actually made it past the three sharks and caught the handle. I scrambled onto the concrete, delirious with relief. I took two stumbling steps before a shark launched itself clean out of the water behind me. It clamped down on my other calf and, with a violent tug, dragged me back into the dark depths. I fought and struggled, but I was no match for its power. Salty water flooded my nasal cavity, then my throat, slowly filling my lungs. My breathing faltered. My strength evaporated. The edges of my vision faded to black. When I next woke up, I realized I could breathe underwater. I was about to wonder if I had suddenly developed some kind of superpower when I noticed the ragged remnants of my own body nearby. The three sharks were feasting on me like a gourmet meal. First, the gnawing on the arms, then the belly tearing open, and finally, one swallowed my head whole. It was then I understood. I was dead. I watched the sharks feed for a while, found it boring, and went home. Link’s personal physician, Dr. Miles Corbin, had already finished checking Sally. He told Link her knee scrapes were minor, but she still needed to be careful. Link’s visibly tight chest finally loosened. I floated in front of him and tried to say his name. He didn’t respond. He turned to look at Sally, who was sitting silently on the sofa. I remembered then. The living can’t see the dead. Sally was no longer crying, but her eyes were glazed and empty. Dr. Corbin was a long-time acquaintance of Link’s. He had heard about the nature of the punishment as soon as he arrived. He sighed, shaking his head. “Wasn’t that a bit extreme, Link?” Link scoffed. “She won’t listen otherwise. Running off with that punk, Jax? You know how dangerous the world is for her, Miles.” “But throwing Maya in the tank? What if the sharks had lost control and actually hurt her?” “You don’t have to worry about her,” Link said dismissively. “You forget, those three are usually docile. They never attack people. Plus, I had a guard watching the monitors. If there was any real danger, he was supposed to pull her out immediately.” I froze. Did your security guard really watch the monitors, Link? Why didn’t anyone come when I was being eaten? Link’s only real hobby was his sharks. He’d built the enclosure—larger than some public aquariums—just for them. They had dedicated keepers, a professional animal doctor for checkups, and their feeder fish were flown in from overseas. Because they were raised in captivity, the three sharks were usually placid and had never shown aggression toward people. Link had assured me of this before the “punishment.” But he forgot one crucial detail. The day Sally ran away, Link started planning this punishment. He had specifically instructed the keepers not to feed the sharks for an entire week, all to ensure they looked aggressive for the show. But animals are just animals. Starved for that long, they no longer cared if the food they were given was human or otherwise. Dr. Corbin frowned. “Even so, she’s a young woman, and she was bleeding heavily. You know how blood affects sharks. What if one of them took a bite?” “They wouldn’t take a fatal bite,” Link snapped, growing impatient. “You’re forgetting Maya has insensitivity to pain. She wouldn’t feel it, even if they tore her leg off. All that screaming? It was just part of the act.” Dr. Corbin was silent, his expression a mix of concern and pity. He finally sighed and told Link he shouldn’t be so cruel; after all, I was his own sister. Link lowered his head, considering. “You’re right. I’m going to—” Before he could finish, Sally stood up, seemingly recovered. “I’m going to bring my sister back,” she announced. Link’s face darkened. “Stay put!” Sally flinched. “Why?” “You were gone for seven days,” Link stated. “The punishment must last seven hours. That’s the rule.” He was lying. There was no such family rule. He only said it because he saw that Sally was no longer sufficiently scared, so he had to increase the severity of the lesson. All he wanted was to terrify her into realizing the gravity of her mistake. Link was eight years older than me. In my mind, he was both father and mother. When I was eight, our parents died in a car accident. Our relatives, eager to snatch the estate, used various means to drive Link and me out of the house. The same day we were abandoned, we found Sally, also abandoned. To provide for us, sixteen-year-old Link dropped out of school. He fought in underground boxing matches, delivered takeout, and hauled concrete. Because all his time was spent earning money, Sally and I were left to care for each other. But Sally’s Epidermolysis Bullosa was extremely rare. The slightest touch would break her skin. Broken skin meant a trip to the hospital, and hospital visits cost money. Link was constantly stressed. He ran out of patience and repeatedly warned Sally not to be reckless. Warnings worked once or twice, but eventually, she stopped listening. One day, Link yelled at Sally, and she ignored him. I laughed beside him, and he hit me instead. Sally was terrified that time. She cried hysterically and apologized. From that day on, Link learned the method of “killing the chicken to scare the monkey.” I was the chicken. Sally was the monkey. At first, Link would apologize after hitting me. He’d tenderly apply antiseptic, hold me, and cry. “Maya, money is so hard to earn. I just don’t have enough to keep taking Sally to the hospital,” he’d plead. “If you take the beating, she’ll behave. Just bear with it, alright? I’ll try not to hit you so hard next time.” Knowing the impossible burden he carried, I lied. I told him I had congenital insensitivity to pain. That no matter what he did, I wouldn’t feel a thing. I only did it to ease his guilt. But later, even my lie stopped scaring Sally for long. Even when Link knocked me unconscious, she only stayed terrified for a short while. So, he escalated. Sally ran off? Break my leg. She played with a sharp object? Cut off my fingers. In his mind, I couldn’t feel it. All he had to do was get the bones or fingers reattached. Until today, when I was eaten alive. He wanted Sally to watch with her own eyes. He wanted her to be so afraid that she would never hurt herself again. I knew that in the beginning, Link’s cruelty was motivated by fear of financial ruin. But later, even when he had money, he had invested so much more time and emotional energy into Sally than me. He had developed a deep, complicated attachment. Perhaps he never even noticed. In his heart, Sally had become more important than me. Sally kept looking at her watch. The moment Link’s arbitrary seven hours were up, she pulled him toward the marine enclosure. “Link, it’s seven hours. You have to let Maya out now.” He allowed himself to be dragged along, feigning annoyance. “What’s the rush? Your sister isn’t going anywhere.” But when the enclosure door opened and the heavy, metallic smell of blood spilled out, Link and Sally both froze at the sight of the tank. After a long pause, Sally’s voice trembled. “Link, where’s Maya? Why is she gone?” She scurried around the edge of the pool, desperately searching for any sign of me. Link, however, recovered quickly. He walked onto the platform, scanned the ground, and called Sally’s name. “Sally, come here.” She rushed to his side. “Look.” Link pointed to two bloody footprints on the platform. “See? These must be Maya’s. She got out and left already.” “Really?” Sally watched the footprints, still shaking. “Then where is she now?” Link hesitated. “She must have gone to the hospital. She always handles her own injuries.” It was true. Unlike Sally, because I claimed not to feel pain, I always quietly limped or stumbled to the ER alone, no matter how severe the injury. Sally pleaded with Link to take her to the hospital to find me. “Please, Link. If I don’t see Maya tonight, I won’t be able to sleep.” Link, softened by her tears, glanced back at the water, a flicker of genuine worry in his eyes. “Fine.” He patted her head affectionately and pulled out his phone to call the kitchen. “We’re going to the hospital to see Maya! Even though she got lazy and gave up on the punishment early again, she must be hungry after running off like that. Let’s go check on her.” I floated above them, numb. I don’t think I can feel hunger anymore, Link. But before they could leave, the housekeeper rushed in. “Sir, there’s a young man with blonde hair at the gate. He insists on seeing Miss Sally.” Link’s face went immediately dark. He strode toward the door, and I followed, curious. Standing at the gate was Jax, the rebellious ex-boyfriend who had helped Sally run away. The moment he saw Link, he started yelling. “Give Sally back! You can’t keep her locked up!” Link’s eyes narrowed. “How did you find this place?” “This address isn’t hard to get,” Jax retorted, holding his chin up. “You sick bastard. Why are you trying to break us up? Sally and I are in love.” Link slowly turned his head to Sally, who was standing behind him. His voice was frighteningly calm. “Sally, are you two ‘in love’?” Anyone who knew Link understood: the calmer his voice, the more terrifying his rage. Sally immediately backed down, shaking her head frantically. “No, no, we’re not.” Then she shouted at Jax. “Jax, just go! I don’t want to be with you anymore.” Jax’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No! Sally, is he making you say that? Come with me…” His hand hadn’t even touched Sally before Link seized his arm and brutally snapped it. Link kicked Jax away like garbage, then addressed the guards. “Get him off the property.” Jax was dragged away, screaming in pain. Sally was shaking violently. She followed Link back to the living room, still fixated on me. “Link, I swear I won’t see him again. Let’s go find Maya.” “Don’t you dare bring her up.” Link’s face was a mask of disgust. “I was just feeling guilty and was going to bring her dinner, and she immediately gave this psycho our address! No wonder she got out so fast. She probably planned it the moment I threw her in.” “It’s shameful. When will she finally grow up and stop using these childish tricks to compete for attention?” Sally’s face went white. “No, that’s not it. I…” She wanted to admit she was the one who told Jax, but she swallowed the words. She knew admitting it or not, the person Link punished would always be me. Jax’s appearance rekindled Link’s fury. But since I wasn’t there, he wouldn’t lash out at Sally. Instead, he ordered his people to go to every hospital in the city to find and bring me back. He sent Sally to her room and headed to his private gym to hit the punching bag and vent his physical energy. Halfway through his workout, the housekeeper came back. Link looked up. “Did you find Maya?” The housekeeper reported that there was still no word on me. She had come to tell Link that the keepers said the sharks seemed sick. The three of them were lethargic and weren’t eating. Link adored his sharks. Hearing this, he rushed to the enclosure and immediately called the animal doctors to come check them out. Sally, who couldn’t sleep, heard the commotion and followed. Half an hour later, the three sharks were tranquilized and immobile. Several animal doctors, equipped with portable sonar probes, climbed into the water. When they scanned the first shark’s abdomen, every one of them gasped in horror. They scrambled back onto the platform and ran toward Link, stumbling and panicked. “M-Mr. Sterling…” they stammered, out of breath. “What did you feed them? One of the sharks has—” “—a human head inside!”

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“Now you’re scared?” The campus jock had me pinned against the wall, his body close, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against my ear. “You were so eager to flirt. Didn’t you think about the consequences?” “I wasn’t flirting.” I denied it, straining to breathe, my heart hammering a chaotic rhythm. “No?” He clearly didn’t believe me. “We’re adults, Calla. You own your actions.” Oh god, what was I supposed to do? 1 “Strike three, Calla Jansen. How many times is this now?” He grabbed me by the collar of my jersey, lifting me like a kitten, choking the life out of my impending freedom. The exit gate was just a single, agonizing step away, but I couldn’t reach it. I flailed, desperately trying to twist out of his iron grip. I was going crazy. Why did Lachlan Shaw always manage to catch me every single time I tried to sneak off campus? It baffled me. I couldn’t figure out the surveillance setup, but if I didn’t get out soon, the boredom of this intense pre-season soccer camp would actually kill me. Why were we locked down for a whole month just for training? It was archaic. “Lachlan…” I turned my most pathetic gaze on the man behind me, clasping my hands together in a plea. “Just this once? I swear, it’s the last time!” Lachlan wasn’t buying it. He let out a dry, dismissive scoff. “Calla, that’s what you said last time.” “I mean it! If there’s a next time, you can call me Shirley.” I thumped my chest dramatically, raising a hand in a solemn oath, trying to look trustworthy. The corner of his mouth curved up, crinkling the skin at the edge of his eyes. His face—already unfairly handsome—looked even more devastating with the hint of a smile. But right now, it just terrified me. I swallowed hard. Lachlan bent closer, and I instinctively leaned back. “That’s a weak promise, Calla,” he murmured. “Why would I ever call you Shirley?” I paused. He had a point. My pathetic little promise had no teeth. Just as I was scrambling for a better guarantee, Lachlan cut me off, his resolve clear. “Rules are rules. Once the camp is over, you can spend a whole day off campus. I won’t stop you.” I refused to accept defeat and tried one last, dying gasp of a negotiation. But before I could get a word out, he shut me down with another threat. “Maybe the drills aren’t intense enough. You still have the energy to try and run away.” “If they’re too easy, I can always double the running for your entire squad tomorrow.” Seriously? The man was completely unreasonable. I immediately snapped my head up. I was not going to be the reason my teammates had to do suicide sprints. I bowed a full ninety degrees. “Coach! I was wrong! I’m heading back to the dorm now. See you around!” With that, I bolted, terrified that even a moment longer in his presence would lead to consequences for my friends. This pre-season camp was mandatory, a brutal month of daily drills and lectures. The main rule was no unauthorized leave. Lachlan, a graduate student and former star player, was the assistant coach assigned to my team. Which is why the entire campus seemed to be under his personal jurisdiction. But I strongly suspected Lachlan was deliberately targeting me. Every time I tried to slip away, he’d materialize like an angry spirit, a personalized surveillance system attached to my back. What made it worse? He even policed my love life. A cute guy from the track team asked for my Instagram handle the other day. I instantly lit up. Handsome strangers are a rarity around here. I was about to open my profile for him when Lachlan appeared out of nowhere and yanked me away. When I demanded to know what he was doing, he actually said, “Time for training. Get back to the field.” I checked my watch, furious. We still had an hour before the next session! What were we supposed to be doing so early? Sunbathing? I glared at him, then whipped my head around to find the track guy, but he was gone. “Lachlan Shaw! You owe me a dating prospect!” I yelled, stomping my foot. I didn’t even care that he was my coach; I used his full name. He just smiled. “Fine.” The next morning, I found a hideous, obviously fake bouquet of plastic roses taped to my dorm door. I was so angry I tossed them directly into the nearest trash can. Lachlan, your love life is a pathetic imitation of the real thing! May all your future relationships be as fake as these roses! 2 I had no idea what I had done to incur his constant antagonism. I spent my evenings soul-searching, but aside from my desire to escape the suffocating camp—which was a perfectly rational desire—I couldn’t identify any other transgression. I simply did not understand. In a fit of pique, I spent a week reworking the toxic male antagonist in my current novel, giving him Lachlan’s exact name and an equally infuriating personality. I had been struggling to name the character, but now the inspiration flowed freely. Even my readers seemed to pick up on the vitriol. A comment on the latest chapter read: “Something’s up with this ‘Lachlan Shaw.’ Did the author hate this guy in real life? Usually your villains are complex, both pitiful and awful, but this one is just pure awful.” My readers understood me completely. I didn’t reply, but my best friend, Tess Sullivan, commented on my behalf: “Haters to lovers, anyone?” I tried to stop her, but it was too late. Disaster. My readers instantly started shipping us. Every day, the comments were flooded with: “How’s the real-life Lachlan doing?” Wait! What about my status? Where did my authority go? I was even more determined to despise him. I rested my chin on my palm, gazing out the window of the off-campus coffee shop (a rare, illegal indulgence), nursing my iced latte. I sighed a long, dramatic sigh. Only two more weeks left of camp. Under Lachlan’s watchful eye, I didn’t dare slack off; in fact, I had to work even harder than everyone else. To mess up would be both humiliating and painful. When you’re dependent on a tyrant, you have to walk on eggshells. Tess took a long sip of her bubble tea, seeing my distress. She laughed. “What? Still thinking about Lachlan?” I gave a short, noncommittal sound. “I knew it.” Tess’s eyes crinkled with smug success. “Lachlan is hot. Of course you’re hung up on him.” “No!” I finally protested, gently pinching her arm, my cheeks feeling warm. “I’m just annoyed that training isn’t over yet. I want to escape his grasp.” “Are you sure you don’t feel anything?” Tess leaned closer, pressing me. “He’s the campus heartthrob. Soccer captain. The girls who like him could circle the entire field.” “Look.” Tess pointed to the campus field a short distance away. The air was filled with cheers and shouts. “Most of those girls are here for Lachlan.” I barely heard Tess. A different thought was forming in my mind: If I couldn’t escape his grasp, maybe I could disarm him. How could I make him go easy on me? What if… I made Lachlan like me? The idea settled into my mind. It was brilliant. This was a much better solution. I had never failed to get a guy’s attention. A tiny challenge like Lachlan Shaw couldn’t possibly be my match. I’d make him regret ever messing with a girl like me. No sooner had the thought solidified than I sprang to my feet. Tess was startled. “What is it?” “Back to the dorm to put on some makeup and a killer outfit,” I announced, finishing the last of my latte and tossing the cup. “I’m going to pursue Lachlan Shaw.” Tess was stunned. She hurried to catch up. “You figured that out fast!” I looked toward the field where Lachlan was running a drill, and a new wave of determination solidified. I nodded. 3 I swapped my camp uniform for a slinky sundress, applied a subtle layer of makeup, and headed to the campus market for a bottle of water and a fresh towel. I found an empty seat in the stadium stands. When I saw Lachlan take a break, I immediately called his cell phone. The moment he picked up, I launched into my plan. “Coach!” I chirped, making my voice extra sweet. “Could you do me a favor?” “I made a bet with some classmates yesterday. The deal was: if I gave you water and a towel and you accepted it, they owe me fifty bucks. If you refuse, I owe them. Please help me out!” I watched as Lachlan smiled, looking down at his phone. “What’s in it for me?” “Hmm…” I pretended to think deeply. “How about we use that fifty dollars to grab dinner? I heard that new Korean BBQ place downtown is amazing. Want to try it?” He was silent for a moment, taking a slow drink from his own water bottle. Then, slowly, he replied, “Okay.” “Awesome, Coach. See you after the next half.” I hung up, smiling triumphantly. Of course, there was no bet. It was a complete lie. I waited until practice was over and was gathering my things to go down and deliver the goods when I looked up and saw Lachlan was already sitting beside me. His face was suddenly inches from mine. I was caught completely off guard, staring right into his eyes. The faint, salty smell of sweat mixed with his cologne—the scent of pure male adrenaline—hit me, making my heart flutter inexplicably faster. I shivered, completely startled. He moved silently. Like a predator. He extended his hand, beckoning for the water in my grasp. I tried to act nonchalant, handing him the bottle. I could feel dozens of eyes on us now, along with the rising tide of whispering. I felt certain they were talking about me. I hadn’t planned for my grand gesture to be quite this public! “I said I was going to bring it down to you, so why did you come all the way up here?” I whispered through gritted teeth, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty. “It’s more efficient,” Lachlan said, taking the towel to wipe his neck. “It saves me the trouble of having to reject other people. Saves my breath.” It might save him trouble, but I was probably going to be the hot topic on the campus message board for the next three days. No, wait, I was probably already being dissected by every girl with a smartphone. I hated him. I was even more convinced he did this on purpose. No! I couldn’t back down now! “Lost in thought?” Lachlan waved his hand in front of my face. I snapped out of my stupor and looked at him blankly. Lachlan’s lips quirked. “You’re totally zoning out. I said I’m free tonight. Just let me change first.” I nodded dumbly. Before he left, he added, “And don’t sit out in the sun. Your face is already bright red.” Once he was gone, I frantically touched my cheeks. They were burning. I took out my compact mirror and saw that the heat was rising through my foundation. No, no, this wasn’t right. It had to be the sun. We settled into a booth at the Korean BBQ. We hadn’t been there long when a whole team of guys rolled in. That would have been fine, except they immediately started yelling “Ma’am!” and “Future Mrs. Shaw!” Me: ??? Don’t call me that! We hadn’t even had a first date! But I couldn’t deny, I kind of liked the sound of it. I played the role of the shy, flustered girlfriend, a lamb ready for slaughter, but they only lingered for a moment before Lachlan shooed them away. I ate my food, my mind racing, trying to figure out what my next move should be to truly reel this man in. I still hadn’t figured out a surefire plan by the time we finished dinner. Just then, I overheard someone talking about the Campus Fall Fest. This gave me an idea. To keep him around longer, I suggested we check out the festival. The closer we got to the quad, the denser the crowd became. I seized my chance, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward. “We have to hurry! We need to get a good spot!” As I spoke, I lightly dragged my index finger across his palm. I ran a few steps, then glanced back. I realized the hand I was holding belonged to Lachlan, and I instantly let go, feigning embarrassment. “Oh, sorry! I was so excited, I just instinctively grabbed your hand like I would my girlfriend’s.” It was a total performance. The light was dim; I couldn’t make out his expression. But I wasn’t worried. Men, after all, simply needed to be slowly tempted and they’d be yours. We arrived at the stadium quad. It was packed and noisy, but a gentle melody was floating over the crowd. We found a spot near the stage. Just as one song ended, someone yelled Lachlan’s name. We both turned. It was the guy who had just performed. “Didn’t you say you were busy tonight?” the singer asked. Then he noticed me standing next to Lachlan. He paused, then gave an exaggerated wink, thumping Lachlan’s chest. “Betrayal, Shaw! You’re breaking the bro code.” “Well, since you’re here, play a song before you leave.” Lachlan couldn’t refuse. He went up on stage and performed. He chose a mellow acoustic song—something like The Atlas Ghosts’ track, “Momentum.” He played the guitar, the stage lights bathing him in a soft, ethereal glow, making him so radiant I couldn’t tear my eyes away. “I thought I’d be drifting,” he sang. “Leaving all my looking back to the sunrise.” “…” That was a song I’d recently shared on my social media. I stared at him, and he met my gaze. His eyes were filled with a tenderness that made my heart pound wildly. I couldn’t help but wonder: Was this the same Lachlan Shaw who put us through hell during drills this morning? He felt like a completely different person. The event was winding down, and it was getting late. I told him I needed to head back. Lachlan nodded and walked me to my dorm building. Before leaving, I clasped my hands behind my back, tilted my head, and offered a sweet, innocent smile. “Coach, you were amazing tonight.” Then I took a step closer to him, looking up into his dark eyes, my smile genuine this time. My voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, meant only for him. “And you also looked… kind of hot.” Oh, I was good. 4 The next morning at practice, I felt a new surge of confidence. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but he seemed a little kinder to me today. He smiled more frequently, too. Still, the revolution wasn’t over. I had to keep working. I learned that apart from the weekend pickup games, Lachlan spent most of his free afternoons in the library. So, clutching a few textbooks, I followed him. After checking two floors, I finally found him tucked away in a quiet corner on the third floor. I placed my books next to his stack and took out a pen. He looked up, gave me a small, acknowledging nod, and went back to his work. I sat down, twirling my pen, pretending to study. The truth was, my mind was elsewhere, and I hadn’t absorbed a single word. My pen slipped and clattered to the floor, landing exactly between our seats. I froze. A brilliant plan immediately formed in my mind. This is perfect. I waited for him to retrieve it. Sure enough, a second later, Lachlan bent down to pick it up. I bent down at the exact same moment, and our hands brushed against the pen simultaneously. The backs of our hands were touching. Our heads were close. I looked at him, and the world seemed to go silent. I was riding a wave of smug satisfaction. How could you not be into me, Lachlan? I’m gorgeous and smart. Just fall for it already. Fall for it, fall for it, fall for it. To my confusion, he instantly released the pen and stood up, leaving me to grab it myself. I was baffled. Why did Lachlan bail on the trope? This was not how it was supposed to play out. “Calla Jansen, come with me.” Lachlan’s voice was suddenly devoid of any of the warmth from the night before. He stood up and walked away. A strange feeling of dread washed over me, but I meekly followed. I frantically tried to figure out if I had accidentally made him angry. He didn’t seem like the type to get petty over a clumsy attempt at flirting, though. Before I knew it, he had led me to a deserted corner of the stacks. He abruptly slammed his hand down on the table right next to my waist, trapping me between the surface and his body. He leaned in close, staring down at me. Crap. I looked into his eyes and instantly realized I had walked right into a trap. I was too scared to move, swallowing hard. “C-Coach Shaw.” “Scared now?” Lachlan smiled, a slow, mesmerizing grin that made me hold my breath. His voice was a low, husky rumble. “When you were doing your little dance just now, didn’t you think about what would happen next?” I was caught. “I… I wasn’t doing anything.” “Oh? You think I didn’t recognize your game?” he challenged, raising a brow. As he moved closer, the heat of his breath washed over my face. I instinctively leaned back to keep a sliver of distance, and the intensity of the moment made my heart race wildly. My body was trembling, which was odd. I was a veteran of the dating scene, yet here, facing Lachlan, I completely lost my composure. “Calla, we’re both adults here,” he stated, his voice firm. “You’re going to take responsibility for what you started.” The moment the words left his mouth, a hand cupped the back of my head. The next second, his mouth was on mine, a kiss that was both passionate and deep. My eyes widened. I couldn’t react. This pace was insane. It was too fast. “I—” I pulled back an inch, trying to say something, anything, but before I could utter a word, he sealed my mouth again. He claimed my lips, his hand sliding down to the nape of my neck, deftly pulling out the hair elastic. He wrapped the strap around my waist, pulling me tight against him, as if he meant to melt me into his body. I suddenly recalled the thought from my novel: The highest-level predator often disguises himself as the prey. I had walked right into the ambush.

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On my thirtieth birthday, I received a ghost from my past. It was a package, wrapped in cheap, crinkly brown paper. Inside sat a vintage handheld GameBoy—the exact model I had spent my entire childhood praying for. Becca, my senior colleague, leaned over my cubicle and let out a soft whistle. “Thirty years old and someone’s sending you vintage toys?” she teased, her eyes twinkling. “That’s either the mark of someone who knows your soul… or someone who really, really hates you.” I forced a smile, my fingers tracing the cold plastic buttons. “You’ve got a sharp intuition, Becca. You hit the nail on the head.” The person who sent this was the person I had been closest to in this world. And, without a doubt, the person who had carved the deepest scars into my heart. But it had been years. Hate, love—they were just different sides of the same exhausting coin. At this point, I didn’t want either. 1. Underneath the console was a handwritten letter. It was thousands of words long, a sprawling manifesto of supposed “sincerity” and “regret.” I didn’t bother reading past the first paragraph. I tossed the letter and the GameBoy straight into the trash can. Becca gasped, reaching out as if to catch them. “Sadie! If you don’t want it, let me have it. My son is obsessed with these ‘relics.’ This thing is probably worth fifty bucks on eBay. I’ll pay you for it!” “Fifty bucks?” I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Is that all it’s worth?” I waved her off, telling her to just take it. She felt guilty, though, and insisted on taking me out to lunch to make up for it. At the restaurant, I spent five minutes meticulously picking every piece of zucchini out of my pasta. It was a reflex, a twitch I couldn’t unlearn. I caught Becca watching me, her expression a mix of pity and confusion. “You probably think I’m ridiculous,” I said, my voice dropping. “A grown woman acting like a picky toddler. Dressing in these bright, ‘young’ colors, trying so hard to look like a girl who hasn’t been broken yet.” Becca shook her head vigorously, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “Don’t you dare go there. Life is too short to eat things you hate or wear things that make you feel invisible. I tell my son all the time: we aren’t rich, but we aren’t so poor that we have to deprive ourselves of the small joys. You live once. You should be comfortable in your own skin.” Such a simple concept. And yet, it had taken me thirty years to even hear the words. I thought about that GameBoy, a toy that had never truly belonged to me. A sad, helpless smile pulled at my lips. “Becca, have you ever heard the saying? We spend our entire adult lives haunted by the things we were denied as children.” My list of denials was long. My obsessions ran deep. Becca opened her mouth to ask more, but she froze. I followed her gaze. Standing just outside the glass doors of the restaurant was my mother, June. She was clutching a thermal lunch bag, her eyes—dull and sunken—lit up the moment she saw me. Within seconds, they were brimming with practiced tears. “Sadie… oh, thank God. I finally found you.” She rushed inside, ignoring the stares of the other diners. “You’ve been gone for so long. Do you have any idea how worried your father and I have been? We’re a family, Sadie. We’ve missed you so much.” A small crowd began to gather, drawn by the drama. June saw them and leaned into the performance, dabbing at her eyes with a tattered tissue. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she sobbed softly. “Parents don’t hold grudges. It’s your birthday, honey. I made your favorite. I brought it all this way. Please, eat it while it’s hot.” She unzipped the bag and pulled out a container. Inside was a gray, congealed mess of zucchini and eggplant. No seasoning, no sauce, just a watery, slimy mush that looked like something a body had rejected. I stared at it. My vision blurred with a sudden, violent heat. I tried to swallow the bile rising in my throat, but I couldn’t. I stood up and swiped the container off the table. It hit the floor with a wet thud, the gray slime splattering across the tiles. “June, you know damn well,” I hissed, my voice shaking with decades of repressed rage. “I hate zucchini and eggplant more than anything in this world. Almost as much as I hate that GameBoy!” The restaurant went silent. June’s bottom lip trembled. She looked around at the onlookers, then slowly lowered her head, looking small and defeated. “It’s my fault,” she whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I forgot. You’re a ‘city girl’ now. My cooking isn’t good enough for you anymore. But it’s not dirty… I’ll eat it. I won’t let it go to waste…” She actually knelt down. She began to scoop the mush off the floor with her bare fingers, moving it toward her mouth. “Sadie, that’s enough!” a colleague from a nearby table shouted, stepping forward to pull June up. “How can you treat your own mother like this? She traveled all this way just to bring you lunch, and you act like a spoiled brat?” “She’s a monster,” another whispered. “To treat an old woman that way… no wonder people say she’s cold.” The judgment hit me like a physical weight. June’s sobbing intensified. She started apologizing for “failing as a mother,” telling the strangers how I had always been “difficult,” a “liar,” and nothing like my “sweet, successful brother.” My eyes stung, but I refused to let the tears fall. I reached into my bag and pulled out the legal document—the formal estrangement papers I’d had drawn up years ago. I slammed them onto the table in front of her. “You were the one who told me we were done, June! You signed these! Why are you here now, putting on this sick show? Do you want me to tell them? Do you want me to tell everyone exactly what you did?” 2. June’s mouth twitched. She let out a ragged breath. “What is there to tell, Sadie? The same old story? That we ‘favored’ your brother?” She turned to the crowd, her voice gaining strength. “We worked ourselves to the bone to put her through school, and she spent her time skipping class and getting into fights. She barely scraped through a community college. We didn’t even blame her! But then, she got herself pregnant at eighteen, brought shame on this family that we had to carry for years. Meanwhile, her brother… he’s a saint. He’s the one who told me to come. He’s the one who worried about his big sister being all alone.” She collapsed into a chair, looking like she was about to faint. Becca tugged at my sleeve, her voice a panicked whisper. “Sadie, just apologize. You’re up for a promotion. Don’t let her ruin this. You’ve worked too hard to let your reputation go up in flames over a bowl of vegetables.” I looked at June. I realized then that her timing wasn’t accidental. She hadn’t come for my birthday. She had come for my jugular. Was this “gift” supposed to be a peace offering, or was it a slow-acting poison meant to hollow me out? I had spent fifteen years being quiet. Fifteen years swallowing the “gray mush” of my life. Not today. I looked at the woman who shared my blood, my voice turning ice-cold. “Let’s talk about being ‘poor,’ June. That was your favorite word, wasn’t it? ‘We’re too poor, Sadie.’” Since I could remember, that word was a cage. June told me I was born sickly, that my medical bills had drained their savings. To “save money,” I was fed the cheapest scraps—discount zucchini that was practically rotting, bitter eggplant from a neglected garden patch. Boiled together until it was inedible. But Tyler? Tyler had steak. Tyler had roast beef. I remember the smell of it, how my stomach would cramp with hunger. Once, I reached for a piece of his food. June slammed a hot frying pan down onto my hand. I lifted my hand, showing the faint, jagged scar on my palm to the room. “You still want to tell them you weren’t ‘favoring’ him?” June shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Sadie, that’s not how it was! You were allergic to protein! I was trying to save you! I was terrified you’d go into shock. I bought you the best ointments afterward…” “The ‘ointment’ was toothpaste mixed with lard, June. It gave me an infection that turned into a fever so high I hallucinated for three days. You told me the hospital was too expensive and gave me a bag of frozen peas for my head. I missed my final exams because I fainted during the gym test. That’s why I didn’t get into a top-tier university. And then you used those grades as ‘proof’ that I was lazy and stupid.” June shifted in her seat, her expression flickering between embarrassment and defiance. “That was an accident. And I tried to make it up to you, didn’t I?” “Oh, you made it up to me alright,” I said, my laugh sounding like glass breaking. “With another bowl of zucchini.” 3. After I failed to get into the state university, I begged them to let me retake my senior year. I knew I could do it if I was healthy. But the answer was always the same: No money. “Sadie, it’s not that we don’t want to,” June would say, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “We’re still paying off your childhood medical debts. Just go to the vocational school. It’s the same thing. I’ll make you a huge feast for your birthday to celebrate.” I was naive enough to believe her. I told myself I’d work twice as hard, make them proud. On my birthday, I put on the only nice thing I owned—a hand-me-down dress from a cousin that was three years too small. June did make a feast. There was steak, lobster, a three-tier cake. She’d invited every relative we had. She said it was a “once-in-a-lifetime” day. But when I walked into the dining room, the banner on the wall didn’t have my name. CONGRATULATIONS TYLER ON GETTING INTO THE ACADEMY! The lobster, the steak, the cake—it was all for him. His “big day.” I was a ghost at my own party. June had pulled me into the kitchen, away from the guests. She pulled a small bowl out of the microwave. “You’re still recovering, honey. Rich food is bad for your digestion. I made you a special batch of zucchini and eggplant. I even put a little bacon grease in it for flavor. It’s all yours.” I watched through the kitchen door as my father sat in the living room, bragging to my aunt. “Twenty thousand,” my father said, patting Tyler on the back. “That’s what the tuition and the ‘donation’ cost to get him into that school. Worth every penny. A boy like Tyler is going to lead this family. He’s the legacy.” “Twenty thousand?” my aunt gasped. “That’s a down payment on a house!” “Tyler’s a star,” my father replied, his voice thick with pride. “Not like Sadie. That girl isn’t cut out for books. Once she’s eighteen, we’ll get her a job at the plant so she can start saving for Tyler’s wedding fund.” Tyler sat there, stuffing his face with cake, looking at me with a smirk that said he knew exactly what was happening. He was the prince; I was the cattle. I looked at June now, standing in the middle of the restaurant. “Twenty thousand dollars. You told me we were starving, but you had twenty thousand for Tyler’s ‘donation.’ And you wouldn’t give me two thousand for a tutor.” My teacher had come to the house back then, begging them to let me continue. They lied to her face, saying they were broke. When she suggested a student loan, June screamed at her, saying it would “ruin the family’s reputation” to have a debt-ridden daughter. The people in the restaurant were starting to look away now, their faces softening into something like shame. June, sensing the shift, tried one last desperate move. “I didn’t want you going away because I was afraid you’d get into trouble! I heard the rumors, Sadie! You were hanging around those boys, staying out late. I was trying to protect you!” I let out a harsh, jagged laugh. “The ‘boys’ you’re talking about were the only reason I didn’t starve. They were the ones who shared their sandwiches with me because they saw me fainting in class! If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have made it to eighteen!”

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The night before our wedding, my fiancée—a rising star Colonel in the Army—was in bed with my sister’s boyfriend. She was more than just a girlfriend; she was the woman my sister had treated like a soul-sister, the woman my parents had already welcomed into the family as a daughter. The shock of that betrayal was a jagged blade. It sent my sister, Natalie, spiraling. She crashed her car that same night and never woke up. My parents aged a decade in a single evening. I was hollowed out by grief, a ghost haunting my own life, looking for any way to join her. For months, our house was filled with nothing but the sound of muffled, broken sobbing behind closed doors. Eventually, my father made the call. We moved. We left the city, the memories, and the wreckage behind. Slowly, we stepped out from the shadow of that tragedy. I eventually found peace with Tessa, a woman whose love was a quiet harbor, and we had a beautiful daughter. Five years had passed. I honestly thought I’d never have to hear the name Maria Vincent again. Until my birthday. I walked into my office to find a box of maple-glazed pecans—the ones I used to crave—sitting on my desk. Taped to the lid was a note in a handwriting I recognized with a violent jolt of my heart: “Greg, it’s been a long time.” … My knuckles were bone-white as I gripped the box. Across the room, my senior advisor, Sarah, must have sensed the shift in the air. She hesitated before speaking. “Is it her?” I didn’t answer. I just kept my head down, focusing on the training schedules on my desk, though the words were blurring into meaningless ink. Sarah sighed. “I heard she put in for a transfer from the West Coast command. She’s back, Greg. Are you really going to keep doing this?” “Doing what?” I asked, my voice flat. “Avoiding the inevitable. You’re going to be colleagues again. And she was once your sister’s best—” “Sarah.” I cut her off, my pen digging so hard into the paper it tore. “In my sister’s life, there was no such person.” Sarah looked at me, her expression pitying. “Greg, it’s been five years. Do you still hate her that much?” “Yes.” The word was sharp, cold, and final. Sarah winced, shook her head, and quietly stepped out of the office. On my way out for the day, I ran into the Base Commander. She had been the instructor for both Natalie and Maria back at the Academy. After a brief briefing on the day’s exercises, her tone shifted, becoming uncharacteristically soft. “The orders came through today. Maria is officially back with the Eastern Command.” “Understood, Ma’am,” I said. The Commander stood silent for a few seconds. “Your sister was a soldier with a massive heart, Greg. If she were here, she wouldn’t want this bitterness to consume you.” Consumer me? Is that what people think? That the victim has to be the one to offer grace just to prove they have a ‘big heart’? I don’t understand why everyone is whispering for me to let it go. Does time somehow scrub away the blood? I’m the one standing on the moral high ground, yet I’m the one being held hostage by terms like “the bigger picture” and “comradery.” Comrade. Leader. Friend. Why is everyone speaking for her? I don’t want to understand her side, and I refuse to try. The early winter wind bit at my face as I walked to the parking lot. By the time I reached my driveway, I had carefully smoothed my expression into a mask of normalcy. Inside, my parents and Tessa were in the kitchen making dinner. My three-year-old, Zoe, was sitting on a stool, her small hands covered in flour, poking holes in a lump of dough. “Daddy!” Zoe dropped her dough and lunged for me. I scooped her up, kissing her dusty cheek. She held up her mangled creation with pride. “I made a biscuit for Auntie Nat!” My throat tightened, a sudden, familiar ache. “Good job, sweetie. It looks delicious.” When dinner was served, I filled a small plate and set it at the empty seat at the table. A neatly folded, older-style service uniform sat on the chair—it hadn’t been moved in five years. We kept it there like she was just away on a long deployment, a mission she’d be back from any minute. Zoe tugged at my sleeve. “Daddy, why does Auntie Nat only stay in the picture frame?” “Why doesn’t she come down to eat?” “When is she gonna play with me?” I looked at the photo on the wall. Natalie was frozen at twenty-four, her bars gleaming on her shoulders, her smile bright enough to break your heart. The room went silent. My parents’ hands faltered for a second before they went back to their plates. Tessa reached out under the table and squeezed my hand. I stroked Zoe’s hair, looking into her clear, innocent eyes. I couldn’t find the words. If Natalie were here, she’d be the perfect daughter, the best sister, the most amazing aunt. But there are no ifs in the cemetery. For five years, I thought I’d buried those memories along with the woman who caused them. I was wrong. It only took one box of pecans for the wound to rip wide open. The next morning, the moment I stepped into the training center, I ran straight into her. Five years hadn’t dimmed Maria. If anything, her edges were sharper. The softness of our youth was gone, replaced by a cold, striking beauty and the unmistakable, suffocating aura of a Special Ops veteran. A group of soldiers passed us, saluting me. I was so paralyzed I forgot to return the gesture. My eyes were locked on her face, and it felt like a giant hand was crushing my lungs. A dark, intrusive thought flickered in my mind: If only it had been her in that grave five years ago. If only Natalie were the one standing here today. “How have you been, Greg?” Maria spoke first. Her voice was steady, devoid of the emotion I was currently drowning in. I turned to walk away, but she grabbed my wrist. Her grip was iron. She was frowning, a hint of suppressed desperation in her eyes. “Greg, stop. I know I messed up back then, but I’m not some monster. I haven’t forgotten what your family did for me. I’ve carried that debt every single day. Can we just… let the past stay in the past?” I spun around, staring into her eyes. The hatred in me exploded, hot and stinging behind my eyelids. “You think it’s that simple? You think you just get to decide when it’s over?” Her frown deepened. “Greg, I know you’re angry. But it’s been five years—” “Time doesn’t change the facts, Maria!” She was silent for a moment. “What happened between me and Brooks… I’m sorry. To you, and to Natalie.” She looked at me with an agonizing sincerity. “The only reason I transferred back was to apologize to your faces.” That was the fuse. Five years of repressed rage caught fire. I wrenched my hand away with enough force to make her stumble. “Don’t you dare say her name!” My voice was a ragged whisper, and finally, the tears spilled over. I didn’t wait for a response. I turned and bolted. I had just made it into my office when the door slammed open. It was Riley, a close friend who’d just returned from a rotation at the border. She had been in Natalie’s unit back in the day. She grabbed my arm, seeing my red eyes. “I heard she was back. I finished my debrief early and hauled ass over here.” She searched my face. “You saw her?” I nodded. Riley started rolling up her sleeves, her eyes flashing. “That bitch really has the nerve. I’m going to go out there and break her arm. Right now.” I pulled her back, shaking my head. Riley stopped, looking at my pale face, her own eyes welling up. “Greg, if it wasn’t for your parents and Natalie, she wouldn’t have even finished the Academy. They paid for her mother’s funeral. They treated her like blood.” “And she turned around and climbed into bed with Natalie’s fiancé.” “People like that… they should be court-martialed for treason against the heart.” The pain in my chest was a dull, rhythmic throb. Riley was right. Maria Vincent deserved a reckoning that life hadn’t given her yet. Back then, Maria was Natalie’s best friend. They were inseparable. Maria came from nothing—her father died in the line of duty, and her mother was chronically ill. When her mom passed during our sophomore year, Maria didn’t even have the money for a casket. Natalie went to our parents, begging for help. My parents, being the people they are, didn’t just pay for the funeral. They became her safety net. Later, Maria worked herself to the bone to pay them back every cent, with interest. She even spent two years tutoring me in military theory to show her gratitude. We thought we had gained a family member. We thought we were looking at a woman of honor. We never imagined she would be the one to push our family into the abyss. And then there was Brooks. The man who was supposed to be my brother-in-law, the man who became the wedge between Maria and me. He was in the military band—charming, soft-spoken, exactly the kind of guy my parents loved. Back then, Maria and I were already engaged. The invitations were printed. But at every party, every dinner, I started noticing the way Brooks looked at Maria. It wasn’t right. It was a look of hungry, desperate longing. He never looked at Natalie like that. I tried to mention it to Maria a few times. She’d just laugh and ruffle my hair. “What are you imagining, Greg?” “He’s your future brother-in-law. There’s a code, remember? I’m not that kind of person.” She’d tease me, saying if Natalie knew I was being so paranoid, she’d think Maria was a bad influence. She was so convincing that I buried my instinct. But soon, they stopped hiding it well. The flirting became constant, even in front of me. Once, Brooks handed Maria his half-finished water bottle, and she drank from it without a second thought. My heart sank into my stomach. Maria and I had a blowout fight about it. “Are you really doing this? To Natalie? To me?” She stayed silent for a long time before looking up, promising me she’d keep her distance from him. For a while, she did. But the air between us turned cold. The intimacy didn’t just fade; it vanished. Three days before the wedding, I went to our new apartment to set up some decorations. I punched in the code and opened the door. The blood in my veins turned to ice. The bedroom door was wide open. On the custom red silk sheets—a gift for our wedding night—two figures were tangled together. Uniforms were scattered like debris across the floor. The box of decorations slipped from my hands, hitting the floor with a deafening metallic crash. Maria bolted upright, her face draining of all color when she saw me at the door. “Get out!” she barked, her voice a low, defensive snarl. I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. I turned and ran, stumbling down the stairs into the hallway. My phone buzzed. A text from Brooks: “Sorry, little brother. Some things just can’t be held onto.” I collapsed in the stairwell, sobbing until I couldn’t breathe. How could they? To me? To Natalie? Natalie. She had to know. I reached for my phone with trembling hands, but before I could dial, a call came in. Natalie had been in a horrific accident. The world went black. Natalie was in the ICU in a coma for seven days. The military surgeon stood beside me, his voice a low rumble of clinical grief. “Her brain activity suggests she might be conscious, Greg. But the trauma is too severe; her body simply can’t respond.” He adjusted his glasses. “Talk to her. If she has the will to live, there’s a chance she might come back.” I nodded, my throat too tight for words. “What caused the crash?” “Preliminary report says excessive speed. She lost control on a sharp curve.” Speed. Natalie was the most cautious driver I knew. Unless something had shattered her focus. Three days later, the police returned her phone. It was cracked but functional. I held it for a long time before typing in the code. It was Brooks’s birthday. There was one unread notification on her messaging app. It was from Brooks, sent the very hour I had caught them. I played the voice memo. The sound of his disgusting moans and Maria’s heavy breathing filled the quiet hospital room. I barely made it to the trash can before I was retching. Tears mixed with stomach acid as I collapsed onto the sterile tile floor. The smell of bleach was suddenly overwhelming, stinging my nose and searing my brain. So that was it. She had heard that recording. She had heard them, lost her mind, and sped home to find the truth. They killed her. I wiped my face, deleted the recording, and cleared the trash folder. I kept the secret. I didn’t tell my parents; they were already broken enough. I spent every day by her bed, talking to her. I told her stories from our childhood, gossip from the base, anything to keep the air filled with sound. But I never mentioned Maria or Brooks. A week in, her finger twitched. Before I could even call for a nurse, Brooks appeared. Through the ICU glass, I saw him standing over her bed, leaning down and whispering something. When he saw me, he had the audacity to smile. “Hey, Greg. I was just catching Natalie up. Telling her how much we’re looking forward to your wedding with Maria.” “She needs to hurry up and get better so we can all celebrate together.” The provocation was so blatant, so cruel, that I saw red. I hadn’t made a scene yet, but that didn’t mean I’d forgotten what he’d done. I didn’t even realize I was moving until I had him by the collar. I slammed him against the wall and buried my knee in his stomach. Brooks gasped, sliding down the wall. “Greg, have you lost your mind!” Maria screamed, charging into the room. I tried to speak, but the words were caught in a knot of rage. Suddenly, Brooks let out a pathetic moan. “Maria… my stomach… it hurts…” Maria glared at me with pure venom. She knelt down, her voice dripping with a tenderness she’d never shown me. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re okay. We’re going to get a doctor.” I watched them disappear around the corner, their footsteps echoing away. I stood there, alone. Brooks was fine, of course. The doctor said he was just “shaken up.” I was at my breaking point. But for the sake of my parents, I swallowed the glass and kept moving. That afternoon, after sending my exhausted parents home to rest, I walked back toward the ICU. I stopped dead at the glass. They were in there. Brooks and Maria, locked in a deep, passionate kiss. Right at the foot of my sister’s bed. I was paralyzed. Then I heard Brooks’s muffled voice. “When Natalie wakes up, I’m sure she’ll want us to be happy.” Maria held him tighter. “As soon as she’s stable, we’ll tell her the truth.” The words had barely left her mouth when the monitor let out a long, piercing shriek. Natalie’s fingers curled violently. The rhythmic mountain range of her EKG flattened into a single, terrifying horizon. “Doctor! Code Blue!” I screamed, lunging for the door. The hallway erupted. Doctors and nurses swarmed the room like white-winged birds. Everything was a blur of crashing equipment and tangled wires. The sound of the defibrillator echoed. “Clear! Two hundred joules!” “Again! Three hundred!” I charged into the room, shoving Maria and Brooks aside with a primal roar. “Get out! Get the hell out of here!” Maria’s face was ghostly. She tried to say something, but the sheer madness in my eyes drove her back. She grabbed Brooks and retreated. The door slammed shut. I collapsed in the corner, the tears finally coming—silent and devastating. The alarm kept ringing, a hammer hitting the final nail into my heart. “Nat, please,” I whispered. “Please don’t go. Don’t leave me here with them.” I got on my knees and begged whatever god was listening. But no one was listening. I watched as the woman who had spent her whole life protecting me was wheeled into the morgue. An hour later, all that was left of her was a handful of ash. … I couldn’t stay here. Being in the same command as Maria was an impossible weight. I decided to put in for leave to go home. As I waited for the elevator, the doors slid open. Maria was there. She didn’t just walk out; she practically lunged at me, her hands gripping my shoulders. Her voice was trembling, her eyes bloodshot. “Greg… why is everyone saying… why are they saying your sister is dead?”

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I’m a corporate drone. Specifically, I’m a woman living a double life. By day, I’m the high-flying marketing strategist expanding my company’s empire. By night, I’m the on-call, “professional partner” for my boss. Before you get the wrong idea—no, this isn’t some tawdry, “morally bankrupt” scandal. It all started because I made the mistake of looking at him just a second too long in a crowded room. 01 It started on a Tuesday. I was leaning over Maya’s desk in HR, trying to read the tea leaves of the current economy. I was convinced the axe was about to fall. Maya’s jaw dropped. “How would you even know that? I haven’t heard a whisper.” “Haven’t you noticed Nate Blackwell stalking the floor lately?” I whispered, nodding toward the glass offices. “Not really.” “He’s walked past this cluster of cubicles three times today. He’s trying to look casual, but he’s scouting. He’s observing.” Maya shook her head, unimpressed. “I still don’t get it. Why are you so obsessed with the CEO’s walking patterns?” “Because, Maya, we’re in the department that spends money without bringing in immediate revenue. When the market turns, we’re the first ones on the chopping block.” I was laying it on thick, and Maya clutched her coffee mug like a life preserver. “He’s checking our ‘work state,’” I continued, my voice dropping an octave. “He’s deciding which unlucky soul to sacrifice first.” Just as I was hitting my stride, I looked up—and locked eyes with Nate Blackwell’s 24-karat hawk eyes. My internal sirens screamed. To make matters worse, my computer screen was currently displaying a TikTok livestream of a chaotic cooking show. I dived back into my chair, burying my face in a spreadsheet. The moment I was sure he’d passed, I sent a string of sobbing emojis to Maya. Me: It’s over. He saw me watching a guy make a grilled cheese instead of working. Maya: Riley, your job is marketing. Watching trends IS the job. Why are you spiraling? But I remained restless. Nate was the kind of boss who lived for “maximum efficiency.” Despite the grueling hours and his icy demeanor, the benefits were incredible. And let’s be real: I’m pushing thirty. In this market, an unmarried, childless woman of “a certain age” is treated like a ticking time bomb by recruiters. The sword of Damocles was hanging over my head. I could see my future: middle-aged unemployment, followed by a lonely retirement eating canned soup. No. I had to pivot. I needed to make myself indispensable. I needed to become his right hand. So, I started staying late. Every single night. The plan was simple: I wouldn’t leave until he did. I wanted to burn the image of my hardworking silhouette into his brain. Unfortunately, the universe has a twisted sense of humor. I wanted to be his “right hand,” not have his hands all over me. It was 10:00 PM. The cavernous office was a graveyard of empty desks and humming monitors. It had become a game of chicken between me and Nate—who would break first? My stamina failed. My eyes felt like they were filled with sand. Just as I shut down my laptop, Nate appeared. He stepped out of his office, bathed in the soft glow of the recessed lighting. He scanned the room and found me—the sole survivor. “Riley, how long have you been with the firm? Are you happy here?” “Three years,” I squeaked. “And I’m more than happy. I’m dedicated. I’d basically die for this company.” God, Riley. Dial it back, I thought. Is this an exit interview? Am I being fired right now? “Good,” he said, leaning against a pillar. “How would you feel about some… extra income?” My heart plummeted. Extra income? Was that code for a severance package? I couldn’t even speak. I just shook my head violently like a broken bobblehead. He arched an eyebrow, looking at me like I was insane. “You don’t want more money?” I immediately switched to a frantic, “woodpecker” style of nodding. “Good. I have a mission for you.” I held my breath. Was it a high-stakes project? A hostile takeover? “There’s an investor gala this Saturday. I need you to attend with me. You’ll play the role of my wife. We need this round of funding, and the lead investor is… traditional.” The request hit me like a Category 5 hurricane. When the wind stopped howling, my brain was nothing but mush. Now it was my turn to look at him like he was insane. Wasn’t he married? Wasn’t his wife living abroad for some high-profile art thing? Why did he need a fake one? What if we got caught? 02 “Don’t ask questions you don’t need the answers to,” Nate said, his voice dropping to that smooth, dangerous frequency. “If we pull this off, you get a promotion, a raise, and your choice: a hundred-thousand-dollar bonus, or more equity.” He looked like the god of deals emerging from the shadows. Do you want the gold axe, the silver axe, or the iron axe? My years of cynical conditioning kicked in. In those fables, the people who pick the gold always end up dead. “I’ll take the equity,” I blurted out. By the time I got home, I realized I’d picked the “iron axe.” In a startup, equity is just a very expensive pile of scrap paper unless the company actually succeeds. If my acting was terrible and the funding fell through, the company would go bust, and my equity would be worth less than my morning coffee. The next morning, Nate handed me a “Dossier.” It was three pages, double-sided, size 10 font. It was everything I needed to know about “us.” He expected me to memorize it in forty-eight hours. He promised “random pop quizzes.” During lunch, he summoned me to his office. I hadn’t felt this kind of academic pressure since the SATs. Standing before his mahogany desk, I stumbled through the details of our “fake” first date. He sighed, the sound sharp and cold. “Your memory is… disappointing. How did we even hire you?” I bristled. “Sir, I’m an efficient marketer, not a Shakespearean actress. If I’m so terrible, why me? Look at the floor out there—there are dozens of women who’d kill for this.” Nate cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. “First, you’re the only one near thirty. Second, you spend every waking hour here. I figured you didn’t have a boyfriend or a life to get in the way.” The truth stung. “Ouch. Point taken.” I stomped out of his office and headed straight for the breakroom to vent. Maya was there, and she snatched the paper from my hand before I could hide it. “What’s this? Height, weight, favorite color… Riley, is this a Tinder profile?” I lunged for it, shoving it into my bag. “It’s… nothing!” Maya narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t letting it go. “Fine,” I lied. “My mom sent me a dossier on a guy she wants to set me up with. She wants me to ‘study’ before the date.” Maya’s expression shifted to pity. “Oh, honey. That’s tragic. What’s he like?” “Him?” I scoffed. “He’s arrogant, ruthlessly pragmatic, and has the personality of a localized thunderstorm. Honestly, the only things he has going for him are his height, his legs, and that stupidly handsome face…” Maya’s eyes went wide. She started making frantic gestures with her eyebrows. I turned around. Nate was standing three feet behind me, holding an empty espresso cup. My mind went blank. How long had he been there? Had he heard the part about his legs? In a moment of pure, unadulterated panic, I blurted out, “Afternoon, Mr. Blackwell! Personally getting your own water? So down-to-earth!” Nate’s face was a mask of suppressed fury. “Riley. If this project fails, you can pack your desk.” “Understood! Have a great day!” I chirped, sounding like a demented cheerleader. He definitely heard the part about the thunderstorm. 03 Once he disappeared, I let out a jagged breath. “What is his problem? Is he on a permanent power trip?” Maya looked like she was about to have a heart attack. She pushed me toward the door. “Riley, you have a death wish. You gossip about his personal life, you interrupt his coffee break, and you basically insulted him to his face. You’ve broken every rule of corporate survival in under five minutes.” “Details,” I muttered. But the bravado was fake. Saturday was looming, and it was a life-or-death situation for my career. When Saturday finally arrived, I followed Nate’s instructions to the letter. I was polished, poised, and draped in a dress that cost more than my first car. The target was Madeline Montgomery—a powerhouse investor who valued “family stability” above all else. Apparently, Nate and his real wife had quietly signed divorce papers months ago, but he couldn’t let that leak before the funding closed. Hence: me. “Riley, you’re shaking,” Nate said. His voice was soft, but it still carried that edge. “I’m fine. I’m not shaking.” Inside, I was a wreck. One wrong word and the whole house of cards would collapse. “If you aren’t shaking, then stop gripping my arm like a tourniquet. You’re cutting off my circulation.” He gently pried my fingers loose as we approached the entrance. “Mrs. Montgomery is at ten o’clock. Switch it on.” “Right. Mr. Black—I mean, Nate? Babe? Honey?” We hadn’t rehearsed the nicknames. That was a tactical error. As Madeline Montgomery glided toward us, I felt a surge of adrenaline. “Hey, Hubby,” I said, my voice dripping with forced sweetness. Nate flinched almost imperceptibly. Fortunately, Madeline was charmed. “Nate, I had no idea you and your wife were so… affectionate.” “She’s a handful,” Nate said, sliding into his CEO persona. They started talking shop. He pivoted from ESG initiatives to sustainable business models, then to the domestic childcare market. He was lecturing her. He was being “The Smartest Man in the Room,” and I could see Madeline’s eyes starting to glaze over. He’s losing her, I thought. He’s mansplaining to a billionaire. I couldn’t help it. I cut him off. “What Nate is trying to say,” I said, stepping forward with a warm smile, “is that modern women aren’t looking for just a product. They’re looking for time. Our goal is to liberate mothers from the soul-crushing logistics of childcare so they can actually enjoy their children. Don’t you agree, Madeline?” Madeline’s face lit up. “Exactly! You hit the nail on the head.” Women get women. It’s that simple. I spent the next twenty minutes talking to her about the nuances of the modern middle-class experience. It was literally my job. It was easy. As we were leaving, Madeline gripped my hand. “Riley, this was delightful. We must do this again.” “It would be my pleasure!” “Nate, do you still collect vintage Bordeaux?” she asked. “He loves it,” I jumped in before he could speak. “We have a cellar full of it at the house.” “How wonderful. Perhaps I could come by sometime this week to see the collection?” “Of course! You’re welcome anytime!” The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to die. I had been so deep in the “wife” character that I’d invited a billionaire to a house I didn’t live in to see a wine collection I didn’t own. 04 The car ride back was silent and suffocating. Nate looked like he was vibrating with rage. I’d basically kicked the door down and set the house on fire. “Do you ever think before you speak?” he snapped. His words were like needles. “Look, I know my ‘brain-to-mouth’ filter is a little porous, but don’t blame this on me! This was your crazy idea! If you hadn’t been boring her to tears with market stats, I wouldn’t have had to intervene.” “Riley, it is after hours. You are currently my wife… my fake wife. Not my employee. Stop talking to me like I’m a subordinate.” “I don’t know how to talk to you in any capacity where you aren’t a jerk!” I muttered, my voice getting smaller. “Next time,” he said, his voice cold as liquid nitrogen, “keep your mouth shut.” “There won’t be a next time. I quit this side gig. Find someone else.” “If you can’t do the job, then just leave—” “Fine!” I slammed my foot on the brake as we hit a red light. Nate was in the middle of taking a sip of water, and the sudden jolt sent the liquid flying. He ended up coughing and gasping, drenched. Corporate Survival Rule: Never make the boss choke while he’s drinking. I’d checked another box on the disaster list. The next day, I went to my usual volunteer spot at the Golden Oaks Senior Center. Being around the elderly was the only thing that kept me sane. They didn’t care about KPIs or funding rounds. “Riley, dear, you look like you’re chewing on glass,” the director, Martha, said as she handed me some fruit. “What’s wrong?” Before I could answer, a nurse ran up. “Martha, Mrs. Gable in the VIP wing is having an episode. she doesn’t recognize her grandson. She’s getting agitated.” “I’ve got it,” I said, standing up. I was good at this. In the VIP suite, a woman was shrinking into her armchair, looking terrified of the tall man standing over her. I rushed in. “Rose, honey, it’s okay. It’s just your grandson…” I looked up. My tongue tied itself into a knot. “Mr… Mr. Blackwell?” I felt like the world’s biggest idiot. “You’re Rose’s grandson?” Nate looked helpless. He was a titan of industry, but here, in the face of his grandmother’s dementia, he was just a confused boy. “It’s not the right pastry,” Rose was crying. “This isn’t from the bakery on 4th Street. You’re an impostor! You aren’t my Nate!” I took the box of pastries from his trembling hands. I did a quick “magic trick” behind my back, switching a cookie from one hand to the other. “Rose, look. I found the real ones. I had them in my bag the whole time. Taste this.” She took a bite. The familiar sugar seemed to anchor her. Her eyes cleared, and a smile broke across her face. “Oh, yes. This is it.” I pointed to Nate. “And see? There’s your Nate.” Rose grabbed his hand, tears welling in her eyes. “Nate! You finally came to see me.” It was a beautiful, heart-wrenching moment. Then, Rose looked at me and beamed. “And I know you, too. You’re Nate’s wife!” I just stood there with a frozen, awkward smile. Great. Even the universe was in on the lie.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391279”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The third anniversary of the day my wife died saving my life was supposed to be a day of quiet mourning. Instead, I found myself standing at the entrance of a private banquet hall, watching her cradle a newborn—a child she shared with the man she’d told me was “just like a brother.” The room was packed with people. My heart hammered against my ribs as I recognized the faces: the very same friends and family who had sat in the front row of her funeral, eyes red and swollen, clutching my hands in sympathy. Now, they formed a human shield around Madeline, trying to block my path. “Nate, please, just stay calm!” Silas, my oldest friend, hissed, his hands trembling as he grabbed my shoulders. “Madeline didn’t have a choice back then. It’s complicated!” Ryan, the “brother,” dropped to his knees in front of me, his eyes brimming with tears. “Nate, please. The baby is innocent. She’s already here, and she needs her mother. Don’t destroy this family. I’m begging you.” I didn’t look at him. I didn’t even hear him. My entire world had narrowed down to a single point: Madeline. She flinched, shifting the baby to her other hip, her gaze darting to the floor. She couldn’t even look me in the eye. “Congratulations,” I said. My voice was eerily steady, devoid of the roar I felt inside. “Don’t let me stop the party.” To everyone’s shock, I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw a chair. I simply turned and walked out into the cool autumn air. But halfway across the parking lot, I pulled out my phone and dialed the Provost Marshal’s Office at the nearby base. “I’d like to report a case of desertion, fraud, and the illegal collection of military death benefits,” I said, my voice cracking only slightly. “The subject is Captain Madeline Vincent—who is currently very much alive.” 1. The air in the bistro was thick with the smell of expensive wine and celebration. My hand froze on the door handle as I stared at the head table. Madeline was leaning down, cooing at the infant in her arms, a soft, radiant smile playing on her lips. Ryan sat beside her, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. These were our people. Our inner circle. Three years ago, at Madeline’s memorial service, these same people had draped their arms over my shoulders, telling me I had to find a way to keep living. Now, they were toasted her “miraculous” return and the birth of her daughter. Someone finally spotted me. A glass shattered. “Nate?” The room went tomb-silent. Madeline’s head snapped up. The smile froze on her face, turning into a mask of pure terror. Her thumb began to rub the edge of her cuff—a nervous tic she’d developed back at West Point. I’d seen her do it a thousand times when she was under pressure. Ryan’s face went ghostly white. He gripped her arm as if he could pull her out of reality. Silas was the first to jump up, physically stepping between Madeline and me. “Nate, what are you doing here?” “I was just coming in for a quiet dinner,” I said. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. I’d spent the afternoon at the hardware store I managed, finishing the quarterly audit. The owner had offered to buy me a drink. I’d just happened to wander into this nightmare. Another friend, Mark, stood up, wringing his hands. “Nate, listen. Madeline… back then, she…” “She was forced? Is that the script?” I looked at the familiar faces around the room. Every single one of them looked away. Ryan handed the baby to a woman nearby and walked toward me. “Nate, I’m so sorry.” He clutched his chest, his breath hitching. Three years ago, he’d supposedly been injured trying to “search” for Madeline after the accident—a fall that had supposedly scarred his lungs. “Please, just let us have this. I love her. I’ve always loved her.” I expected to shatter. I expected to swing a fist or howl in agony. But all I felt was a cold, hollow silence. I almost wanted to laugh. For three years, I’d been trapped in a recurring nightmare of rushing water. The whole town called me the man who killed Madeline. It had been a week of record-breaking rain. The river had breached the levee. Madeline’s unit was deployed for emergency flood relief, and I’d been volunteering with the logistics team, delivering sandbags. I’d slipped. A rogue wave had pulled me toward the main current. Madeline had lunged for me, shoving me back toward the bank, only to be swept into the churning brown abyss herself. They searched for two weeks. They only found her torn uniform snagged on a downed cedar tree. At the service, her mother had screamed at me, calling me a curse, a black hole that swallowed everything good. My own parents had looked at their shoes, whispering that maybe I should move away for a while so I didn’t embarrass the family further. I accepted it. I believed I deserved the shame. On the seventh night after she “died,” I’d swallowed a handful of sleeping pills. A neighbor found me in time. In the ER, as they pumped my stomach, I heard the nurses whispering about the “coward” who let a hero like Captain Vincent die for him. No one knew the only reason I was at that dangerous section of the levee was because Ryan had called me, sobbing, saying Madeline was pinned under a fallen oak and the water was rising. I’d run there blindly. The levee gave way. Madeline “sacrificed” herself to save me. I walked over to an empty table and set my glass down. The clink of crystal against wood sounded like a gunshot. “Does the baby have a name?” Ryan blinked, confused. “Her… her name is Pax.” Pax. My fingernails dug into my palms. It was the name we’d chosen. If we ever had a kid, boy or girl, we’d name them Pax. Latin for peace. Because Madeline’s life in the military was so chaotic, she wanted her home to be the opposite. Madeline finally spoke. Her voice was thin, brittle. “Nate, it’s not what you think. The situation was complicated. There were… people watching me. I had to disappear.” “Madeline!” Ryan interrupted, his voice sharp with warning. He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “She had to do it for national security, Nate. It was a classified situation. These last three years haven’t been easy for her either.” “Not easy?” I looked at her, my eyes like chips of ice. “How hard was it, Madeline? Was it hard watching the town label me a murderer? Was it hard knowing my parents were too ashamed to claim me? Was it hard watching me try to kill myself while you were playing house?” The room stayed silent. Not a single “friend” spoke up. “Nate, be reasonable,” Silas whispered. “It’s a Christening party. Think of the child.” “I am being reasonable.” I picked up my glass and raised it in a mock toast. “To Pax. May she grow up to be more honest than her parents.” I downed the whiskey. It burned all the way down, forcing tears to my eyes. “That’s enough!” Madeline stood up so fast her chair screeched against the floor. She marched toward me, her brow furrowed in that familiar look of frustrated authority. “Nate, if you have a problem, take it out on me, but don’t do this here. Three years later and you still don’t know how to handle yourself in public!” She reached out to grab my arm. I flinched back. “I told you. I’m just here for dinner. I walked into the wrong room.” She didn’t believe me. Her hand stayed extended, demanding. “Don’t act like a martyr. I’m sorry for what happened to you, okay? I’ll give you a ride home after the party is over.” Ryan called her name from the table, his voice trembling. Madeline glanced back, her expression softening into a look of pure devotion before turning back to me with a sneer. The absurdity of it finally hit me. “No thanks. You have a husband and a child now. It wouldn’t be appropriate.” I didn’t wait for her to respond. I turned and walked out. Behind me, the murmurs of “poor Madeline” and the sound of Ryan’s forced sobbing began to fade. A thousand days of bone-deep guilt and agonizing longing. All of it, rendered worthless by the truth. I stood on the sidewalk, the cool breeze hitting my face. Across the street, the neon sign of a 24-hour convenience store flickered. I walked to the payphone outside. I dialed the number. My voice was terrifyingly calm. “Hello. I’d like to report a fraud. Captain Madeline Vincent, formerly of the 10th Mountain Division. She’s been collecting a pension and honors under false pretenses while violating the terms of her marriage and the UCMJ…” 2. I hadn’t gone two blocks before a hand clamped onto my wrist. “Nate! Stop!” Madeline was breathless, her grip so tight I could feel her nails digging into the bone. I yanked my arm back, but she held on. The touch that used to be my sanctuary now felt like a hot iron. “Let go of me.” Seeing my coldness, her expression shifted. She started babbling, desperate to contain the damage. “Nate, don’t be like this! It’s not what it looks like. I can explain everything…” She thought this was just a jealous outburst. She thought she could soothe me into silence. “Explain how you faked your death? How you were pregnant with Ryan’s kid while I was mourning you? Or how you let the world treat me like a monster for three years?” I started to laugh, but the laughter turned into tears. Three years of bottled-up agony finally broke. “Madeline, what makes you think I care about your excuses?” She swallowed hard, her voice dropping to a gentle, manipulative whisper. She reached for me again, and I recoiled. “Nate, I know I hurt you. But I had no choice. The current pulled me downriver. Ryan’s parents found me. I was badly injured, I couldn’t contact anyone. And Ryan… he took care of me while I was hiding, while I was recovering. When I woke up, I found out he’d nearly died trying to find me. He sacrificed his health for me. I couldn’t just leave him.” Nate. That nickname. It used to make my heart skip. She wasn’t always this cold-blooded. The Madeline I married had been the soul of integrity. She’d been the one who protected me. Back when she was first commissioned, a junior officer had tried to hit on her. One night during a storm, he’d offered her a ride in his truck. She’d called a taxi for him instead and rode her bike through the pouring rain to meet me, arriving soaked to the bone just to prove she was mine. The next day, she’d made it clear to the entire base that she was taken. She took a hit on her performance review because that officer had connections, but she just smiled at me and said, “I won’t have you feeling insecure. A little drama is worth your peace of mind.” She never let anyone get close. Except Ryan. He was the boy next door from her childhood. She always said she had to look after him. Our dates were constantly interrupted by his “emergencies.” On my thirty-first birthday, she’d booked a table at the best steakhouse in the city. We hadn’t even ordered appetizers when the waiter told her she had a call. It was Ryan. He was at her apartment, claiming he was having a panic attack. She’d looked at me with those puppy-dog eyes, apologized, and left. When I complained, she’d just rub my hair and say, “Why are you jealous of him? He’s like a brother. He’s all alone out here. Just be the bigger person, Nate. Once we’re married, it’ll be fine.” To prove it, she’d saved up for six months to buy me a vintage watch, proposing to me on one knee. “Nate, will you marry me? You’re the only one for me. Forever.” I believed her. I swallowed every bit of resentment. Then Ryan started wearing the clothes she bought for me. He’d leave notes in her car: Thanks for the talk, Sis. When I tried to set boundaries with him, Madeline blew up at me. “He’s family! Don’t be so disgusting!” She’d slammed the door, leaving behind a box of pastries Ryan had sent. The card read: Thanks for everything, big sister. Looking back, every “panic attack” and “emergency” had been a meticulously placed trap. I shook my head, clearing the memories. I looked at the stranger standing in front of me, and the pain in my chest was a dull, throbbing ache. Madeline saw my dazed expression and thought she’d won. She moved to put an arm around my shoulder. “Nate, let’s go somewhere private and talk this out.” I snapped back to reality and shoved her away. I stumbled back, my heart racing. She reached out to steady me, her strength surprising me as she pulled me toward her. “Madeline? What the hell is going on?” 3. Ryan’s voice was thin and raspy, but it cut through the air like a blade. I tore myself out of Madeline’s grasp, stepping back, my face twisted in disgust. Madeline panicked, spinning around to face the bistro door. Ryan was standing there, clutching the baby. He was deathly pale, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and—if I looked closely—a flicker of calculating triumph. His father was right behind him, his face dark with fury. “Dad, Ryan, why are you out here?” Madeline rushed forward to help Ryan, but he pulled away. The older man stepped forward, pointing a finger at us. “Madeline! You’re out here huddled with him? After everything Ryan has done for you?” Ryan’s mother chimed in, her eyes venomous as she glared at me. “Nathaniel, right? You cried like a baby when she ‘died,’ and now that you see she’s alive, you’re trying to steal her back? Have you no shame?” “Mom, don’t talk to Nate like that…” Ryan sniffled, tears streaming down his face as he looked down at the baby. “Madeline, do you still love him? Are you regretting us? Do you want to go back to him?” He started to sob, his shoulders shaking. The baby, startled, began to wail, making him look even more pathetic. Madeline’s face went white. She scrambled to comfort him. “Of course not! Ryan, honey, I didn’t mean anything by it! You’re my husband. Pax is my daughter. I would never leave you.” The words were like a rusted needle driven into my heart. How familiar. It was the exact same tone, the exact same promise she’d made to me. My mind drifted back to when I first met Ryan. I’d just started a job at the local manufacturing plant, and Ryan was an apprentice who was always being picked on by the older guys. I helped him out. We became friends. He told me about his “big sister” Madeline, the decorated Army Captain. Later, he introduced us, grinning. “This is Madeline. She’s the real deal. If you ever need anything, she’s got you.” Then he’d whispered to me, “Don’t get any ideas, though. She’s mine.” I’d thought it was a joke. Now I realized it was a marker. A territorial claim. But Madeline was the one who pursued me. She brought me breakfast every morning. She waited for me after my shifts. If I worked late, she sat in her car in the parking lot until I came out. When I hesitated, she told me, “Ryan is just a brother to me. I look after him. But you’re the one I saw and just knew.You’re different.” I believed her. I said yes. I remembered the dinner we had when we told Ryan we were dating. He’d been silent the whole night. At the end, he’d hugged me and cried. “Nate, you have to make her happy. If you don’t, I’ll never forgive myself.” I thought it was a blessing. Now I knew it was the start of the endgame. He’d been waiting. Waiting for the chance to kick me out of the frame. I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. No more tears. Just absolute, terrifying clarity. Madeline looked at me, her eyes flitting between guilt and annoyance. Ryan looked up, his gaze wary. “What’s so funny?” Ryan’s father barked. I looked at the whole wretched family. Then I looked Madeline in the eye. “I’m laughing at what a fool I was. Three years of grief, and it was all a punchline.” “Madeline, back then you said Ryan was a brother and I was the love of your life. Now you say Ryan is your husband and you’ll never leave him. Which lie is the one you actually believe?” Madeline opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Ryan grabbed her arm, looking at me with feigned pity. “Nate, let the past stay in the past. We’re happy now. Please, just stop harassing us.” “Harassing you?” I raised an eyebrow. “I never had any intention of staying. From the moment you held this party in secret, from the moment Madeline faked her death to steal honors from the military, there was nothing left between us but a debt.” I paused, looking at them with total indifference. “Don’t worry. I don’t want your wife, Ryan. I don’t want to break up your ‘home.’ A woman like Madeline? I wouldn’t take her back if she were the last person on earth. You two deserve each other.” “I hope you stay together forever,” I said. “Because nobody else should have to deal with either of you.” 4. My “blessing” hit Madeline like a physical blow. Her face went from pale to a mottled, angry red. She let go of Ryan and stormed back toward me, her voice trembling with humiliated rage. “Nate, do you really have to be this cruel?” “Cruel?” I tilted my head. “Compared to what you did? My words are nothing.” Ryan scrambled after her, eyes brimming again. “Nate, please. Madeline hasn’t had it easy. She told me she wanted to make it up to you. We’ll give you money—whatever you want—just please, stop this.” “Make it up to me?” Madeline caught onto Ryan’s suggestion, her tone shifting to something patronizing, almost charitable. “Yes. I’ll compensate you. I had my reasons for what I did, but I recognize that you were hurt. What do you want? A promotion at work? Money? If it’s within my power, it’s yours.” That was the final straw. The three years of suppressed fire inside me finally roared to life. I looked at her familiar face—the face I’d kissed every morning, the face I’d wept over in my dreams—and I felt a wave of pure nausea. I laughed again. “Madeline, what do you take me for? You think a check is going to erase the fact that you’re a fraud? That you stole a hero’s reputation while I was being treated like a pariah?” “What else do you want then?” Madeline snapped, her patience evaporating. Her brow knitted into a familiar scowl. “It’s over, Nate! I can’t just abandon Ryan and Pax! I’m offering you a way out so we can all move on. Don’t be greedy!” Ryan’s father stepped in, his voice a low, threatening rumble. “Nathaniel, she’s being more than generous. Take the deal and walk away. If you make a scene, it won’t end well for you. A grown man clinging to the past like this… it’s pathetic. It’ll ruin your reputation.” “My reputation?” I looked at him, my gaze freezing him in place. “Where were you three years ago when the whole town was calling me a curse? When I was the man who ‘killed’ his wife? You didn’t care about my reputation then.” Silas and a few others from the party had filtered out onto the sidewalk, forming a semi-circle around us. They started chiming in, a chorus of “Nate, calm down,” and “Don’t ruin everyone’s lives over a mistake.” I looked at them and finally understood. After Madeline “returned,” she must have gone to them. She probably gave them some bullshit story about a “classified mission” and “national security” to buy their silence. These people—people I’d called friends—had either been bought or fooled. They were accomplices. The familiar voices of “reason” sounded like a cult chant, overlapping with the ghosts of the mourners at her funeral. It made me want to retch. Madeline took a deep breath, trying to regain her commander’s poise. “Nate, I’m asking you. Please. Making a mess won’t help anyone. Let’s talk tomorrow. I know I owe you. I’ll give you whatever you want, okay?” She had no idea that I’d already made the call. She was still living in a fantasy where she could use soft words and a bribe to keep her perfect little life intact. I didn’t bother correcting her. I just leaned against the brick wall of the bistro and watched her performance. Ryan, sensing I wasn’t budging, turned up the volume on his theatrics. “Nate, think of my son! Madeline made a mistake, but she’s a good mother. Don’t take her away from us!” The baby in his arms began to scream louder, her face turning purple. I felt nothing. The child was innocent, yes. But that innocence wasn’t a currency she could use to pay for her mother’s crimes. Madeline pulled Ryan into a protective embrace, then looked at me with cold finality. “Nate, enough. I don’t want to get ugly. Either take the money, or we go our separate ways and you stay out of my life.” She reached into her designer clutch, pulled out a thick envelope of cash, and held it out. “This is a start. Take it. If you need more, call me.” I looked at the envelope. It was the most insulting thing I’d ever seen. I reached out and flicked it out of her hand. The bills scattered across the pavement, fluttering like dead leaves in the wind. Madeline’s face darkened. She was about to scream at me when two dark SUVs pulled sharply to the curb. Four men in crisp military uniforms and two others in suits stepped out. They moved with a terrifying, synchronized purpose. The lead officer, a Colonel with eyes like flint, locked onto Madeline. “Captain Madeline Vincent?” he asked, his voice cutting through the night. Madeline froze. “Yes? Who… what is this?” The Colonel didn’t hesitate. “I am with the Criminal Investigation Command. You are being detained for questioning regarding charges of desertion, fraud, and the unlawful acquisition of military benefits. You will come with us immediately.”

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I announced my pregnancy over Christmas Eve dinner, my voice thick with a joy I thought we all shared. My mother didn’t offer a toast. Instead, she set her wine glass down with a clinical click and looked at my husband. “Nathan, I should find you a young, healthy live-in nanny,” she said, her voice eerily calm. Nathan nearly choked on his brisket. I felt the color drain from my face. “Riley’s always been a bit lazy,” she continued, picking at her salad. “Now that she’s pregnant, she’ll be even more useless around the house. A young girl could handle the chores—and, you know, take care of your other needs. It’s only natural. Why should you have to suffer just because Riley’s all cooped up and bloated?” “Mom!” I slammed my fork onto the table, the silver clattering against the china. “What the hell kind of joke is that?” She looked at me, her eyes narrowing into cold, dark slits. “I’m not joking. What man stays faithful during a pregnancy? Your father was out running around the second I started showing with you. All men cheat, Riley. What makes you think yours is some kind of saint?” A wave of hot, silent fury crested in my chest. Just because her husband was a coward didn’t mean mine had to be. … Nathan looked like he wanted to crawl under the floorboards. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and reached across the table, lacing his fingers tightly through mine. “Lydia, please don’t test me,” he said, his voice trembling but firm. “I love Riley. I would never dream of doing anything to hurt her.” My mother’s smile didn’t just fade; it curdled. I saw the flash of pure, unadulterated envy in the depths of her eyes. “My poor, naive son-in-law,” she sighed, sounding almost pitying. “Riley’s already betrayed you. Why should you stay loyal to her?” I stared at her, my mouth falling open. “Mom, what are you talking about? I’ve never—” She reached into her vintage leather handbag with the practiced grace of a magician and pulled out a yellowed, crinkled piece of notebook paper. She slid it across the tablecloth toward Nathan, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “This is the love letter Riley wrote to a boy in high school. I intercepted it. I made a hundred copies and plastered them all over the school hallways myself.” She looked at Nathan with a sick kind of triumph. “She was eighteen, throwing herself at boys. I would never have done something so shameless. It proves that mentally, Riley was never ‘pure’ for you. She was used goods long before you met her.” She let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “I was a virgin on my wedding day and I still got treated like dirt. A girl like her? You shouldn’t be putting her on a pedestal. You should be looking for someone better.” I gripped the edge of the table so hard my fingernails bit into the wood. The room seemed to shrink, the air turning heavy and stale. I don’t have it, so why should you? That had been the mantra of my childhood. “I didn’t have a bra at your age, why should you? Just wrap a cloth around it,” she’d say. Or, “I never had fancy pads; I used rags. Figure it out yourself.” I grew up without new clothes, without basic hygiene products, without dignity. When I was eighteen, a boy in my chemistry class noticed I was struggling. He had seen the bloodstain on my skirt one afternoon and, red-faced and stuttering, had shoved a bag of tampons and pads into my locker the next day. He told me if I ever needed anything, to just ask. I was so moved I wrote him a thank-you note. A simple, heartfelt letter of gratitude. My mother found it and twisted it into a confession of lust. She told me I was a whore, that he only bought me those things because I’d slept with him. She dragged me to a clinic for a physical exam. When the doctor confirmed my hymen was intact, she didn’t look relieved. She looked devastated. But she recovered quickly. “Physically a virgin? Maybe,” she had spat. “But you’re a slut in your heart. You’re worthless, Riley. You were born for a man like your father—a piece of trash.” She had edited my thank-you note, adding graphic, desperate sentences, and then she’d destroyed my reputation at school. The boy never spoke to me again. My teachers looked at me with disgust. I was an outcast until the day I left that town for college. I worked hard. I built a career. I made more money than she ever dreamed of. She eventually apologized, claiming she was just “protecting my future” from teenage distractions. I thought she had changed. I thought she finally loved me. Nathan finished reading the “letter” and looked at my mother like she was a dangerous lunatic. “Lydia, I don’t care if this is real or if it happened twenty years ago,” he said, pushing the paper away. “I don’t live in the past. I live for our future. Riley makes me happy, and I am never going to betray her.” He squeezed my hand. The ice in my veins began to thaw under the warmth of his grip. My mother’s face twisted. Nathan’s loyalty was an insult to her. She couldn’t break him, so she turned her sights back on me. “How far along are you, Riley?” she asked, her voice dangerously sweet. “Nearly four months,” I replied, my guard up. She let out a long, satisfied breath. “Four months… hmmm. You’ll be getting the marks soon.” She leaned in, her eyes bright with a terrifying excitement. “The stretch marks. God, they’re coming for you, Riley. My stomach was ruined because of you. Deep, purple gashes that never went away. Your father couldn’t even look at me. He called me ‘mutilated.’ Just wait until you’re covered in them. Nathan won’t be so sweet then.” A cold shiver raced down my spine. This wasn’t a mother talking to a daughter. This was an enemy savoring a victory. Why did she want me to be ugly? Why was she praying for my husband to stray? She wouldn’t stop. She was animated now, her hands fluttering as she spoke. “The marks are just the beginning. Your hair will fall out in clumps. Your skin will blotch. You’ll leak when you sneeze, you’ll be loose, you’ll be repulsive. He won’t want to touch you. He’ll find someone who hasn’t been ‘ruined.’” Even Nathan, the most patient man I knew, snapped. “Lydia, stop. That’s enough.” “It won’t be like that,” Nathan continued, his voice hard. “I’ve already booked Riley into a luxury postnatal retreat for after the birth. We have a top-tier doula and specialists to help her recover. She’s going to be fine. And even if her body changes, I’ll only love her more for the sacrifice she made. I would never leave her.” My mother froze. Her eyes went blank, as if she were processing a language she didn’t understand. I expected her to scream. I expected her to wail about how she never got a postnatal retreat, so why should I? But she didn’t. She just sat there, robotically spooning potatoes onto Nathan’s plate, whispering, “Eat, you need to eat.” In her eyes, I saw envy, yes—but beneath it was a hollow, echoing void of pain. My heart throbbed with a misplaced pity. She had raised me alone. She was broken, and I told myself that her cruelty was just a symptom of her suffering. I decided to endure it. For the sake of “family.” A few weeks later, Nathan and I went to the postnatal center to finalize our paperwork. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Vance,” the receptionist said, looking confused. “But your mother called yesterday. She canceled the luxury suite and requested a full refund.” My heart plummeted. I drove straight to her house. When I walked in, I was blinded by the flash of a heavy gold cuff on her wrist. She didn’t even try to hide it. “I gave you my wedding jewelry because you complained you never had anything nice,” I said, my voice shaking as I grabbed her arm. “I would have bought you this, Mom. Why did you cancel my retreat? Why did you steal that money?” At the mention of the retreat, her eyes turned a feral, bloodshot red. She ripped her arm away and slapped me across the face so hard my ears rang. “How dare you!” she shrieked. “I never had a day of rest after I popped you out! I was back on my feet in forty-eight hours, bleeding and hurting! Why do you get to be pampered? Why are you better than me?” I touched my stinging cheek, staring at her. Because I didn’t have it, you can’t have it. As I stood there, stunned, she suddenly lunged at me. She grabbed the hem of my maternity shirt and yanked it up. “Five months,” she hissed, her eyes scanning my midsection with a desperate, hungry light. “You must have them by now. Show me! Show me how disgusting you look!” When she saw my stomach—smooth, pale, and unblemished—her face crumpled. She rubbed her eyes, leaning in close, refusing to believe it. My skin was clear. She began to cry, but they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of rage. She hiked up her own shirt, pointing at the faded, silvery lines etched into her skin. “I turned into a monster for you! Your father left because of this! I have them—why don’t you have them?” She let out a guttural scream. Despite the horror, I felt a pang of sorrow for her. Her life had been nothing but bitterness and lack. I reached out, my arms trembling, wanting to hold her, to finally bridge the chasm between us. “Mom, everyone’s body is different,” I whispered. “I’ll pay for laser treatments for you, okay? We can fix it—” She opened her arms. For a split second, I thought she was going to embrace me. Instead, she buried her jagged, unkempt fingernails into the skin of my belly and raked them downward. She clawed at me with a sickening ferocity. “Liar! You’re spending money on creams and treatments behind my back! You’re trying to stay pretty to spite me!” I screamed, the pain so sharp I nearly blacked out. “I’m your mother! If I have them, you have them too!” I looked down through blurred eyes. Deep, bloody furrows ran across my stomach, mimicking the very scars she hated. She hadn’t stopped; she was digging in deeper, trying to ensure the marks would be permanent. “Nathan! Help me!” I shrieked. Nathan burst through the door. I saw his face go pale with horror before the world tilted and went black. I woke up in the hospital. Nathan was holding my hand, his eyes red from crying. “She’s insane, Riley. I’m looking into specialized facilities. We’re done with her. We have to be.” I nodded, too weak to argue. When we finally returned home, we found her sitting in our living room. I’d forgotten she had a spare key. She looked at my hospital gown and rolled her eyes. “I gave birth in a shack,” she scoffed. “You lose a little blood and you run to the ER? You’re so dramatic, Riley. Nathan, you shouldn’t indulge her. It’s a waste of money.” My heart, already shattered, felt like it was being ground into dust. The doorbell rang. My mother perked up and hurried to the door, returning with a young woman in tow. The girl was pretty, in a sharp, hungry sort of way, wearing a short, ruffled “maid” costume and sheer black stockings. Nathan and I exchanged a bewildered look. “Nathan,” my mother said, presenting the girl like a prize. “This is Jade. I’ve hired her as your ‘helper.’ She’s young, she’s hard-working… isn’t she much better to look at than a bloated housewife?” Jade looked down, biting her lip with a rehearsed shyness. My mother was doing it again. Because her husband cheated, mine had to, too. Nathan didn’t even hesitate. “Get out,” he said, his voice vibrating with rage. “You look ridiculous, and you’re clearly not here to clean. Lydia, take your ‘friend’ and leave our house before I call the police.” My mother gripped the doorframe. “Jade is very talented,” she said with a wicked glint in her eye. “Just give her one day. A trial run. You can’t judge a girl by her clothes. She needs the work, Nathan. If she doesn’t find a job, her family will sell her off to some old man in the countryside. Have some heart!” Jade looked up with watery eyes. “Please, Mr. Vance. Just one chance.” My head was pounding. I just wanted them gone. “Fine,” I muttered. “One day. If they aren’t gone by tomorrow morning, Nathan, call the cops.” My mother and Jade shared a look. It was a look of pure, predatory triumph. The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed. I called Nathan’s name, but the house was silent. I walked down the hall to the guest room. The door was ajar. I pushed it open and the world stopped spinning. Nathan and Jade were lying in the bed, completely naked, their skin flushed, the sheets tangled around them in a way that left nothing to the imagination. The pain that ripped through me was physical. I let out a jagged cry and swept a glass vase off the nightstand. It shattered against the floor. My mother walked in, leaning against the doorframe. She looked at me with the most radiant smile I had ever seen on her face. “Your father did it. Why shouldn’t your husband?” she purred. “I married a loser, why should you get a man like Nathan? Jade is young and beautiful. They’re a much better match.” She grabbed my arm, her grip like iron. “Come on, don’t make a scene. Let the lovebirds be. We’re going to the clinic to get rid of that baby, and then I’ll introduce you to someone who actually suits you. Stan from across the street is looking for a wife.” Stan. A forty-year-old alcoholic who lived in his mother’s basement and had a history of domestic calls. This wasn’t just jealousy. This was hatred. Then I saw the empty bottle of heavy-duty sedatives and an industrial-strength aphrodisiac on the dresser. My stomach turned. I wrenched my arm away from her, severing the last thread of “family” I had left. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “I’d like to report a poisoning and a sexual assault. The address is…”

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The boy I’d loved for a lifetime was throwing himself into the Atlantic, and the entire neighborhood was screaming for someone to save him. The salt air was thick with panic, but I didn’t move. Instead, I grabbed my brother, Griffith, by the collar and shoved him back inside. I slammed the heavy oak door shut and slid the iron bolt home with a resounding clack. Griffith lunged for the door, his face a mask of frantic desperation. I didn’t give him the chance. I took the heavy brass key, shoved it into my mouth, and swallowed. It scraped against my throat, a cold, metallic weight sliding down into my gut. “Nora!” Griffith screamed my name, his eyes bloodshot as he watched me through the small glass pane in the door. He threw his shoulder against the wood, the impact rattling the entire frame. “Spit it out! Nora, goddammit, spit it out!” I leaned against the wall, my body racked by a violent, reflexive cough. Tears pricked my eyes—not from grief, but from the physical toll of what I’d just done. I looked at him through the blurred glass, my expression dead and cold. “Griffith,” I said, my voice raspy but steady. “If you try to find a way out of this house today, I’m going out that window. And I won’t be looking for a way to swim.” The look in my eyes stopped him cold. He knew me. He knew I meant it. 1 I stood by the window, my hand resting on the sill, watching the chaos outside. I wasn’t joking. Not about this. Not after living through what I’d already lived through. By the next morning, the news that I had “stood by and watched a boy drown” had spread through our small coastal town like a wildfire. In a town where everyone knew everyone’s business, I had become the local pariah overnight. “Did you hear? The Rivers girl… she’s got a heart like a stone.” “I know! She watched Bennett jump and locked her own brother inside so he couldn’t help. Can you imagine?” “It’s jealousy, plain and simple. Just because Bennett’s been seeing that Miller girl, Melanie. A girl’s spite can be a poisonous thing.” The whispers followed me everywhere, thick enough to drown in. In my previous life, I spent forty years being praised for my “devotion” to Bennett. Forty years of nursing a man who never loved me, all because I felt I owed it to the world. In this life, I simply wanted to keep my brother alive, and for that, I was a “vixen.” It was almost funny. Around noon, Bennett’s parents showed up at our door. His mother, Martha, didn’t even wait to be invited in. She marched into our living room, her finger pointed inches from my nose. “Nora Rivers! You black-hearted girl! What did my Bennett ever do to you? You grew up together! How could you be so cruel?” She had a voice that carried, and within minutes, the porch was crowded with nosy neighbors looking for a show. My brother, Griffith, turned pale, stepping in front of me to shield me from her wrath. “Martha, watch your tone! My sister had a medical emergency yesterday—she was seizing! I couldn’t leave her side!” “A seizure? Pull the other one!” Martha barked, hands on her hips. “She’s got a sickness in her soul, is what she has! She couldn’t stand to see Bennett happy with someone else!” My parents, hardworking people who had never had a cross word with a neighbor in thirty years, stood there with their faces flushed deep red, unable to find the words to defend me. I gently pushed Griffith aside and met Martha’s fire-filled eyes with a chilling calm. “Mrs. Sandra,” I said. The room went silent. My voice was flat, devoid of the frantic energy everyone expected. But the coldness in my gaze made Martha take an involuntary step back. “You should be thanking me today.” Martha blinked, stunned. “Thanking you? I should thank you for the fact that my son is lying in a hospital bed in a coma?” “Yes.” I nodded, my eyes scanning the crowd at the door. “Because if I hadn’t ‘gotten sick’ exactly when I did, and if I hadn’t kept my brother here, there would likely be two bodies in the morgue today instead of one boy in a hospital bed.” A heavy silence fell over the room. People looked at each other, confused. I took a step forward, my voice low but carrying to every ear in the house. “Bennett didn’t go to the cliffs alone, did he?” I let the question hang. “I could have sworn I saw Melanie Miller running toward the water, too. Crying her eyes out.” The crowd erupted. In this town, in this era, reputation was everything. A young man and a girl running to the cliffs together, followed by a suicide attempt? That was a scandal that could fuel a hundred rumors. Melanie’s parents, standing at the edge of the porch, went ghost-white. Martha choked on her next insult. She wanted to argue, but facts were facts. People had seen Bennett and Melanie arguing by the water’s edge. I didn’t look at her again. I turned to my parents, my face softening into a look of feigned exhaustion. I leaned into Griffith’s arm, letting out a small, hollow cough. “Dad, Mom… my head hurts.” Then, in a whisper that sounded broken and terrified, I added: “I just… I didn’t want my brother to die for someone else’s secret affair.” 2 A single sentence turned the tide. In an instant, I wasn’t the “jealous girl” who let a boy drown. I was the “protective sister” who sacrificed her own reputation to keep her brother out of a messy, dangerous drama. The judgmental glares shifted. Now they were directed at Martha and the Millers. “So that’s what it was…” “My goodness, young people these days. No sense of shame.” “Exactly. If he wants to go play Romeo and Juliet on the rocks, why should a good boy like Griffith have to pay the price?” Martha’s face went from red to a sickly purple. She opened her mouth to scream at me, but I’d already backed her into a corner. If she kept pushing, she’d only confirm that her son was a fool who’d tried to die over a girl. She eventually grabbed her husband’s arm and scurried out, the crowd parting for them like a tide of judgment. The house finally went quiet. Griffith looked at me, his eyes filled with a mix of worry and a confusion I’d never seen before. He opened his mouth to ask a question, then thought better of it. I didn’t explain. The truth was too brutal for him to handle yet. I just leaned my head against his shoulder. “I’m tired, Griffith.” He sighed and guided me to my room, tucking the quilt around me. “Sleep, Nora. Don’t worry about anything. I’m here.” I closed my eyes, feeling the dull, lingering ache in my stomach from the key. It was nothing. Not compared to the forty years of slow-motion agony I’d endured in my last life. Bennett. Melanie. This was just the prologue. Everything you took from me—everything you took from my brother—I’m taking back. With interest. Bennett woke up two days later. He’d been pulled out by Old Man Miller, the fisherman, but his lungs were infected from the seawater. He was weak, tethered to an oxygen tank. Griffith couldn’t stay away. He dragged me along to the hospital. “Nora, look, we’ve lived next door to them forever. We were kids together. Now that he’s awake, it’s the right thing to do.” That was Griffith. Always too kind. Always too good. In my previous life, his kindness was what killed him. “Fine. Let’s go.” I agreed without hesitation. I wanted to go. I wanted to hand-deliver my first “gift.” I wanted to see the look on the face of the man who ruined my life when he realized I wasn’t the girl he remembered. The hospital room was crowded. His parents were there, along with a few neighbors. And sitting right by his bed was his “muse”—Melanie Miller. She was wearing a simple cotton dress, her eyes red-rimmed, tenderly spooning water into Bennett’s mouth. She looked every bit the grieving fiancee. 3 When we walked in, Melanie jumped like a startled rabbit. “Nora… Griffith,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She looked at me with a flicker of resentment and a strange kind of triumph. Bennett saw me, too. His face was already pale, but the moment he saw me, the blood drained from it entirely. His eyes were a storm of guilt, curiosity, and the raw panic of a man whose secret had been exposed. Griffith didn’t notice the tension. He set a basket of fruit on the nightstand. “Bennett, man, glad to see you’re back with us. Don’t do something that stupid ever again.” Bennett forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. But his eyes remained fixed on me, unable to look away, as if I were a ghost. I ignored him. I ignored Melanie. I walked to the window and yanked the heavy curtains open, letting the harsh afternoon sun flood the room. “It’s too stuffy in here. Patients need air to heal.” I turned around, walking slowly toward his bed until I was standing right over him. I smiled—a gentle, harmless smile. “You’re lucky to be alive, Bennett.” I leaned in closer. “But next time you feel like ending it all, try to pick a spot where there aren’t any witnesses. Poor Old Man Miller spent half a day in that cold water saving you. His arthritis is so bad now he can’t even get out of bed. His medical bills are going to be a lot more expensive than your stay here.” My voice wasn’t loud, but every word hit him like a hammer. I’d stripped away the romantic veneer of his “tragedy” and exposed it for what it was: a selfish act of vanity that hurt innocent people. “Cough… cough!” Bennett’s face went beet-red, and he began to cough violently, his thin frame shaking. Melanie turned on me, her eyes flaring with anger. “Nora! How can you be so heartless? He’s suffering!” “Is he?” I didn’t look at her. I kept my eyes on Bennett. I leaned down, whispering so only the three of us could hear. “By the way, while you were out, the nurse said you kept mumbling something. You kept saying, ‘Melanie, don’t leave me.’” I paused, watching his pupils dilate with terror. I let my lips curl into a cold smile. “That’s funny. Because forty years from now, when you’re taking your last breath by my bed, those are the exact same words you’ll say.” Boom. The words hit him like a thunderclap. Bennett’s eyes went wide—impossibly wide—filled with a primal, soul-deep horror. His hands gripped the bedsheets so hard his knuckles turned white. He started to tremble, looking at me as if I were a monster from the depths of the sea. He… he was back, too. He had returned with his memories, just like I had. The realization made my heart race with a dark, intoxicating mix of adrenaline and hatred. Good. Wonderful. If I were the only one who remembered, this revenge would be far too lonely. Now, you’ve brought your filthy secrets back with you. And I’m going to make sure you stay awake for every second of it. I’m going to make you watch as I dismantle every single thing you think you own. 4 I savored his look of absolute dread for a long moment before straightening up and smoothing my hair. I turned back to my brother, who was looking on with a confused frown. “Let’s go, Griffith.” “I think Bennett’s got plenty of company. We wouldn’t want to crowd him.” I put a sharp emphasis on “company,” glancing at Melanie, who was blushing a deep, guilty crimson. “Let’s leave the happy couple to their private talk.” I took Griffith’s hand and walked out without a backward glance. Behind us, I could hear Bennett’s ragged, panicked breathing and the sound of Melanie’s stifled sobs. Outside, the summer sun felt warm and clean on my skin. I took a deep breath. The weight that had been sitting on my chest for forty years finally began to lift. Bennett, from the moment you chose to drag my brother into your suicide pact, you sealed your fate. In the last life, I protected you for forty years. In this one, I’m going to walk you straight into hell. Bennett was smarter than I remembered. Or perhaps he was just better at survival. Once he realized I was playing the same game of time-traveling shadows, he spent exactly one night formulating a plan. The next day, despite his fever and his rattling lungs, he checked himself out of the hospital. Within hours, his parents were at our door again, but their arms weren’t empty this time. They were loaded with expensive gift baskets and fine wine. They weren’t there to accuse. They were there to propose. Martha’s face had undergone a miraculous transformation. The bitterness was gone, replaced by a fawning, oily smile as she took my mother’s hands. “Oh, Mary! Our Bennett has been talking nonstop about Nora! He says we all owe her so much! If she hadn’t stopped Griffith from jumping in, and if Griffith had been hurt… Bennett says he could never have lived with the guilt!” She was rewriting history in real-time, turning my “refusal to help” into a “noble sacrifice for the family.” “So, the Mr. and I got to talking. Bennett feels the same way. We think it’s time to stop dancing around it. Let’s set a date for the wedding! Let’s fulfill the wish our families have had for years. Let Bennett spend the rest of his life making it up to Nora!” My parents were simple, honest people. They were completely blindsided by this “happy news.” They’d always liked Bennett—he was the “golden boy” of the neighborhood, after all. Seeing the Sandras humble themselves and ask for my hand was, in their eyes, the ultimate honor. My mother’s face lit up. She was already nodding. “Well, if the children are willing…” Griffith was pacing in the corner, his brow furrowed. He’d seen the tension between Bennett and Melanie, but he was a man of few words, and he didn’t know how to challenge the parents without sounding like a jerk. I watched the scene with cold, detached amusement. Nice move, Bennett. He knew my parents were traditional. He knew they valued reputation above all else. He figured if we were engaged, I’d be bound to him. To protect my own future, I’d have to help him bury the scandal with Melanie. He even assumed he’d “sacrifice” Melanie for a while just to tie me down. He’d done it before. In my previous life, after Griffith died, the Sandras made the same offer. They said Bennett would “take care of me” in Griffith’s place. My parents, drowning in grief, agreed instantly. And just like that, my life was locked in a cage labeled “gratitude.” But there was one thing Bennett didn’t account for. Nora Rivers was no longer a naive girl who could be bullied by “duty.” I was a wraith who had crawled back from the grave. I looked at Bennett. He was standing behind his parents, pale and swaying, but his eyes were sharp. He was sending me a silent message: We’re even now, Nora. You smeared my name, so I’m taking your freedom. We’ll be ‘happily’ married, just like last time. He was so arrogant. So sure of himself. I smiled. Just as everyone expected me to nod shyly, I stood up. I walked over to the coffee table and reached under a stack of old magazines. I pulled out an envelope. It was slightly damp, the ink a little blurred at the edges. “What’s that, honey?” my mom asked. I held the envelope up to the light, my smile widening. Bennett’s face went from pale to a ghostly, translucent white.

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