On the day of my wedding to William Thompson, Silicon Valley’s golden boy, his college classmate Grace Young got into a car crash. He was about to throw down his wedding band and run out when I grabbed his hand, hard. I leaned in and whispered that if he walked out that door, my family would instantly pull our venture capital funding from his tech startup. If we finished the ceremony today, the funding would go through. If he dared to leave, I would have him kicked out of his CEO seat by tomorrow morning. With a face of pure ice, he forced himself to stand by my side and finish the ceremony. But right after, news came from the hospital—Grace hadn’t survived. William didn’t say a single word. Three months later, he took me to a private charity gala at a vineyard in Napa Valley. The moment I turned my back, he drugged my champagne and handed me over to his corrupt business partner, Mark Vance. Mark took compromising photos and videos of me and sent them straight to William. William just sat on the plush leather sofa in the VIP lounge, laughing. “She’s the one who forced me to marry her,” he sneered. “This is her karma.” “Call the press. Tell them she cheated on me, got blackmailed, and died in a tragic accident.” As my consciousness faded, the brutal truth finally hit me. William hated me. He blamed me for taking away his chance to save his precious Grace. When I opened my eyes again, William was holding the diamond wedding band, about to slide it onto my finger. I smiled. I turned my head, pulled out my phone, and called Arthur Blackwood. I asked him if he wanted to be my groom instead. …

“By the power vested in me, the groom may now kiss the bride…” The priest’s voice was still echoing in my ears, but William’s expression had turned incredibly strange. “Grace got into a car accident…” he muttered. He hadn’t even picked up the phone that was buzzing in his pocket yet. He just “knew” she was in trouble. Looking at the raw panic in his eyes, my heart felt like it had been plunged into freezing water. The memories of my past life rushed back like a tidal wave. The terrifying helplessness of being drugged. The rough, disgusting hands of Mark Vance tearing at my bridal gown. William’s face as he sat on the sofa, laughing and saying I “deserved it.” The humiliating video, and the bone-chilling wind as I fell from the vineyard balcony. William’s hands trembled as he finally answered the call. “Grace, hold on. I’m coming. I’ll be right there.” Hanging up, William shook off my hand—the hand that was supposed to receive the ring. “Ann, Grace is in trouble. I have to go to her right now. Be reasonable. This is a matter of life and death.” I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. Hard. The sharp smack echoed through the grand cathedral. The guests instantly fell dead silent. He cupped his cheek, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Ann, what the hell is wrong with you?” Seeing the disgust and self-righteousness in his eyes, I knew. He had regressed, too. Just like me. “You’re right,” I said, my voice dead calm. “I’m not going to make a scene.” I slowly took off my own engagement ring. In front of hundreds of high-society guests, I tossed it directly into the nearby champagne tower. The crystal glasses clinked and shattered. “The wedding is off. Get the hell out.” The crowd erupted into whispers. William stood frozen, then knitted his brows, looking at me like I was just throwing a childish tantrum. “Ann, don’t play games right now. Grace is waiting for me at the ER. I’ll explain everything when I get back.” He turned to leave. I stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “No need to explain. If you walk out, you walk out. But let’s make one thing clear to everyone here—you are walking out on me. I didn’t kick you out.” Without even looking back, he threw a loud statement to the crowd: “Ann wants to cancel the wedding. I respect her decision.” Then, he rushed out of the cathedral. His parents’ faces turned instantly green. They swarmed me, shouting accusations. “Ann! William left to save a life! How can you be so incredibly selfish?” “You’re throwing a fit like this before you’re even officially married? How are the two of you supposed to build a life together?” My parents instantly flared up, stepping forward to defend me. I held my dad’s arm and shook my head, signaling him to stop. William’s parents took my silence as submission. “Figure it out yourselves,” his father huffed, leading their guests toward the exit. The massive venue emptied out by half in minutes. The remaining guests were whispering and pointing at me. My dad was shaking with rage, wanting to chase them down for an explanation. I held him back, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a very long time. “Arthur,” I said when the line connected. “When you said you wanted to marry me last time… did you mean it?” “As long as I’m breathing, Ann. Always.” “I’m short of a groom at my wedding right now. How fast can you get here?” “Fifteen minutes.” I hung up, looking up at my shocked parents, and then down at the wedding ring resting at the bottom of a champagne glass.

While waiting, I whispered to my dad, telling him to immediately gather all the evidence of William embezzling company funds. “Once you have it, email it directly to the Board of Directors and the SEC,” I instructed. Since he wanted to save his darling Grace so badly, he could pay for it with his CEO title. Arthur arrived even faster than promised. He was wearing a bespoke black suit, with a light dusting of snow on his shoulders. The moment he stepped through the heavy oak doors, every eye in the room locked onto him. He walked straight to me and handed me a black velvet box with his long, elegant fingers. “I happen to carry a ring with me. The size should be perfect.” I took the box and opened it. The ring inside was exactly my style, and when I slid it on, it fit perfectly. “Are you sure about this, Arthur? If you marry me, you and William will be sworn enemies in the business world.” He took my hand without a second thought. His voice was deep, warm, and steady. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life.” The priest recovered quickly, clearing his throat and announcing that the ceremony would proceed. The remaining guests went from shocked murmurs to stunned silence, which quickly erupted into thunderous applause. As Arthur and I exchanged rings, he leaned down and pressed a gentle, feather-light kiss against my lips. “Ann, from this day on, I’ll protect you.” Feeling the warmth of his palm, the anxiety that had gripped my chest for two lifetimes finally dissolved. The moment the ceremony ended, my phone vibrated like crazy. It was a text from William on SnapChat. [Ann, I know you’re just doing this to get back at me. Hiring an actor to play your groom? Really?] [Apologize to me right now, and I might consider coming back to finish the wedding later tonight.] I figured his assistant, who had stayed behind, must have sent him photos of me and Arthur. I didn’t reply. I just locked my screen. A second later, my phone rang. It was him. His voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Ann, you really are desperate to get me back, aren’t you? Hiring some random guy to play a role? You think this is funny?” Before I could speak, Grace’s weak, trembling voice came through the receiver in the background. “William, don’t blame Ann. She probably just loves you too much. She acted on impulse…” “Oh, by the way, I just asked the nurse… she said the brake lines on my car looked really strange, like someone tampered with them…” William’s fury instantly boiled over the line. I could practically feel his rage through the screen. “Ann! Was it you? Are you so jealous of Grace that you tried to murder her?!” Hearing this utterly ridiculous accusation, I laughed out loud. “I don’t have the time or the interest to touch her cheap car, William. Believe what you want.” “Stop lying! Why would Grace accuse you if it wasn’t true?” He was completely deaf to reason. I didn’t want to waste my breath, so I hung up and blocked his number on everything. Right after I blocked him, a text from an unknown number popped up. [If you want my forgiveness, come to the hospital, get on your knees, and apologize to Grace. And you’re going to sign over your corneas to her. She might go blind.] [Do it, or I’m calling the police and throwing you in federal prison.] I stared at the text, then slid my phone over to Arthur. Arthur glanced at the screen, and his eyes instantly turned predatory and cold. “Do you want me to handle this?” I shook my head, raising my glass of champagne to clink against his. “No. I want to ruin him myself.”

That evening, Arthur drove me back to my estate. The moment we pulled into the driveway, we saw William blocking the gates. He still smelled of hospital disinfectant, and his eyes were bloodshot. Seeing me get out of Arthur’s SUV, he charged at me, reaching out to grab my arm. Arthur stepped in front of me like a wall, catching William’s wrist and twisting it slightly. William groaned in pain. “Ann! You’re actually serious about this guy?” He ripped his hand away from Arthur, glaring at me with disbelief. I leaned against the car door, looking at his indignant face. It was pathetic. “Of course I am. Did you honestly think my world revolved around you?” “And let me make this clear—whatever happened to Grace’s eyes has nothing to do with me. Stop pointing fingers.” William’s face turned purple. He pointed at me, shaking. “Who else could it be? Who else hates Grace? I’m telling you, Ann, you’re going to pay for her medical treatment, or I’ll destroy you!” He pulled out his phone, threatening to call the cops. “I have security footage of you near her car. If you don’t comply, I’m sending you to jail.” I didn’t feel like playing his games. I unlocked my phone and dialed 911 myself. “Yes, officer? I’d like to report a stalker trespassing on my private property and harassing me. Please send a patrol car.” William gasped, stunned by my move, then let out a cold laugh. “Good. Let the cops come. Let’s see who they arrest.” The police arrived within minutes. William rushed over to them immediately, shoving a flash drive into the deputy’s hand. “Officer, I want to report a felony. This woman cut the brakes on my friend’s car, causing an accident that might leave her blind. The evidence is right here.” The deputy took the flash drive and looked at me. I pulled out a tablet from my bag, showing the security logs of my company’s office from that day, along with signed affidavits from my executive team. “This is my alibi. I was in a board meeting all day. The video he has is a deepfake. I welcome a forensic audit.” The deputy carefully reviewed my documents, made a quick call to verify the security company’s logs, and turned to William with a stern look. “Mr. Thompson, this footage you provided has clear signs of digital manipulation. Filing a false police report is a serious crime.” William’s face drained of color. “That’s impossible! Her alibi must be forged!” “She wanted to kill Grace! She’s capable of anything!” I didn’t want to watch his manic episode anymore. I nodded politely to the officers. “Thank you, officers. I will be pressing charges for harassment and defamation.” Even after the police ordered him to leave the perimeter, William lingered near the edge of the street, staring at me with venomous eyes. “Ann, I know you remember,” he whispered, stepping closer. “I know you regressed too. I know I wronged you in the past life, but Grace is innocent.” “Give her the medical settlement. If you do, I’ll take the fall for the embezzlement charges. I won’t drag your father, David, into this. Deal?” Hearing him twist the truth so effortlessly, I laughed in his face. “I already sent the embezzlement files to the SEC, William. You should worry about your own skin.” William’s face went completely white. Before he could speak, his phone rang. He picked it up. Within seconds, his hands were shaking so hard he almost dropped the device.

William stood frozen like a statue. His assistant was screaming through the speaker, but William’s hands were trembling so violently he couldn’t even speak. “Impossible… I wiped all the digital footprints…” He looked up at me, his eyes filled with madness and pure, unadulterated hatred. “You! Ann, you set me up!” He lunged at me again. Arthur stepped in, delivering a brutal kick straight to William’s stomach. William stumbled back and fell hard onto the snow-covered driveway, looking utterly pathetic. “You embezzled the money yourself, William. Don’t blame me for your own greed,” I said, walking up to him and looking down at his miserable state. “When you threw me to your business partner in our past life, did you ever stop to think about this day?” William’s pupils dilated. The remaining color drained from his face. “You… you really did come back…” Suddenly, he started laughing. It was a manic, hysterical laugh that brought tears to his eyes. “Fine. Great. Just you wait, Ann. This isn’t over.” He scrambled to his feet and stumbled away into the dark, leaving his buzzing phone on the ground. I picked it up. The screen was lit up with a text from Grace on SnapChat. [William, the doctor said without a transplant, I’ll never see again. I’m so scared.] [Please don’t blame Ann. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have been in your life.] I stared at the screen, took a screenshot of the text, and tossed the phone into the trash can. Arthur walked over, draping his wool coat over my shoulders. “Are you cold? Let’s go inside.” I shook my head, pulling out my own phone to text my PR director. “Release the files on William’s embezzlement and his arrest warrant for filing a false police report. Make it trend.” Within ten minutes, the internet exploded. TechFounderEmbezzlement trends. WilliamThompsonHarassesEx trends. I scrolled through the comments on Ins, watching the internet turn on him, calling him the ultimate trash. I couldn’t help but smirk. The next morning, my dad called me, his voice tight with anxiety. “Ann, look at the stock market. William just hosted a live stream. He’s claiming I forced him to embezzle the funds, and he’s showing fake wire transfers to our family accounts!” My heart sank. I checked the market. Our family company’s stock was tanking, dropping fast. Another hashtag was trending: DavidMartinezEmbezzlement. Arthur frowned beside me, pulling out his phone to make some calls, but I stopped him. “Don’t worry. I was waiting for him to make this move.” I opened William’s live stream on YouTube. He was dressed in a sleek suit, looking perfectly remorseful, crying to the camera. “I was young and stupid. David Martinez coerced me into doing it. All the money went into their offshore accounts. I am willing to cooperate with the feds. I just want to do the right thing.” Grace was sitting next to him, her eyes bandaged, bowing slightly to the camera in a frail voice. “I know people might not believe us, but William is a good man. He was forced. Please don’t hate him.” Watching their little performance, I sneered and made a quick call to our legal contact at the SEC. After hanging up, I waved a flash drive in front of Arthur. “This contains the real paper trail of William and Grace moving the funds to their own accounts, along with audio recordings of them planning to drain my family’s company six months ago.” Arthur raised an eyebrow, a proud smile playing on his lips as he ruffled my hair. “You’re always three steps ahead, aren’t you?” I smiled back. But before I could speak, the front doorbell rang. I opened it to find two federal agents standing there, badges in hand. “Ann Martinez? We’re with the SEC. We have a warrant to bring you in for questioning regarding your father’s alleged financial fraud.”

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When I listed the riverfront condo—the one where I’d personally put down the three-hundred-thousand-dollar down payment—the realtor asked how I could bear to slash the price so drastically just to get rid of it. I pulled at the corner of my mouth. “Because of a cashmere throw.” The night before, I had worked past midnight. My stomach ulcer flared up, leaving me shivering on the living room floor in a cold sweat. All I wanted was to slide into the master bed and close my eyes. But Devon’s hand clamped down on the doorknob, blocking me. He frowned. “Don’t go in. Mallory loves those silk sheets and that cashmere throw. The last time you slept in there, you left a trace of your perfume, and she couldn’t sleep a wink all night.” He closed the door tightly, keeping the gap sealed, and spoke in a hushed, pleading tone. “Just hold out on the sofa tonight, Bella. Mallory just got discharged from the psychiatric ward. We need to be accommodating.” The protective way he stood guard over that door felt like a physical blow. Suddenly, the home I had spent six months building—running to hardware stores, supervising contractors, picking out every piece of trim—felt freezing cold. I didn’t argue. I didn’t demand answers like I usually did. I simply turned around and walked back to the stiff leather sofa. Devon watched me go, shaking his head with a sigh, assuming I was just being difficult. Then he retreated to his study. I stared at my phone screen, watching the confirmation for my mortgage redemption appointment pop up. I closed my eyes and let sleep take me. I was done trying to force my way into the fortress of becoming Mrs. Devon West. … I woke up with my stomach still twisting in knots. The living room lights were still on. On the coffee table sat a half-empty glass of cold water. Devon hadn’t even bothered to find my medication. I forced myself upright, my palms slick with cold sweat. A faint strip of light glowed beneath the master bedroom door, accompanied by the low hum of a white noise machine. It was the sound of falling rain—the only thing Mallory could sleep to. I leaned against the wall, walking toward it. Hanging from the brass doorknob was a wooden sign: “Sleeping. Do Not Disturb.” It was brand new. I had never seen it before. I reached for the handle. The lock was turned from the inside. “Bella, don’t mess with the door,” Devon’s voice called out from the study. I turned to look at him. He was in his pajamas, holding a mug of warm water. He didn’t offer it to me. Instead, he set it down on the small console table right outside the master bedroom. “Mallory needs warm water if she wakes up in the middle of the night,” he explained. “Where is my stomach medicine?” I asked, my voice flat. He paused. “I’ll pick some up for you tomorrow.” I walked over to the entryway and flipped open the first-aid kit. My prescription was three months expired. Meanwhile, Mallory’s sleep aids were meticulously sorted into daily pill organizers, each slot labeled with the date and exact dosage. Devon stepped over, pressing his hand down on the lid of the kit. “Don’t mess with her medicine.” I let go of the box. “When did she move her things in here?” “She just got discharged. The doctor said she needs a stable, familiar environment to recover.” “This is our house, Devon. Our wedding home.” His brow furrowed, a look of deep exhaustion crossing his face. “Do you have to be so petty? She’s only staying for a few nights.” I turned and walked toward the guest bedroom. When I pushed the door open, the room was piled high with wedding favors. Stacked against the far wall was Mallory’s easel, and her rolled-up yoga mat lay on the floor. I turned back to him. “Is the guest room a temporary stay, too?” Devon avoided my eyes. “Painting keeps her calm.” I pulled out my phone. A notification from a real estate app showed the current valuation of the condo. It was a painful drop from what I had paid, but I didn’t care. I opened my banking app, reviewing the outstanding mortgage balance, prepayment terms, and penalties. Devon stood beside me, exasperated. “What are you throwing a tantrum over now?” I didn’t look up. “Just running some numbers.” He sighed. “Bella, be mature. Mallory is sick. You’re healthy. Don’t fight her for the bed.” My thumb froze over the screen. “Fight her for the bed.” I had spent six months checking on contractors, selecting drywall, and testing mattresses at seven different stores before finding the perfect one. And now, he used the word “fight”. I opened the digital copy of our purchase contract. “Sole Title Holder: Bella Shaw.” “Mortgage Borrower: Bella Shaw.” My down payment records were saved in my cloud storage, alongside every renovation invoice. Devon caught a glimpse of the screen, and his expression shifted. “Why are you looking at those?” I locked my phone. “I can’t sleep.” “Well, keep it down. Don’t wake Mallory.” I looked at the master bedroom door. It had someone else’s sign on it. The bed held someone else’s blanket. The cabinets held someone else’s medicine. I opened my messages and texted Janice, our real estate agent. “Is there any way we can list this place immediately?” Janice replied almost instantly. “Are you sure? You’d be taking a massive hit.” I typed back: “I’m sure.” Inside the master bedroom, the rain machine cut off for a brief second. Devon immediately turned, rushing to knock softly on the door. “Mallory? Are you awake?” I set my phone face down on the coffee table. If the master bedroom didn’t belong to me, then there was no reason for the house to belong to us. The next morning, I opened the refrigerator. My coffee beans were gone. So was my Greek yogurt. In place of my hot sauces sat a neat row of low-sugar oat milk. A post-it note was stuck to the door in Devon’s neat handwriting: “Mallory: No caffeine, no cold drinks, no high sugar.” He walked out of the kitchen holding a bowl of plain oatmeal. “You should eat light today too. Mallory can’t stand the smell of anything heavy right now.” I looked at the bowl. Last night, when my stomach was tearing itself apart, he hadn’t asked if I needed a single bite of food. But he remembered exactly what smells would trigger Mallory. I grabbed my purse. “I’m not eating.” Devon’s face hardened. “Another attitude? You’re going to sour the whole morning over breakfast?” I slipped into my flats. “Keep it for her.” “Bella,” his voice dropped, warning me. “Don’t speak like that.” I walked into the closet to grab my coat. The main racks were now occupied by Mallory’s beige trench coats, silk pajamas, and knit shawls. My garment bag containing my wedding dress had been relegated to the corner of the balcony door, the bottom of the bag dusted with gray soot. I picked up the bag. Devon followed me in. “She gets anxious when her things are left out in the open. Don’t overthink this.” “So her anxiety matters, but mine doesn’t when my wedding dress is collecting dust by the balcony?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you really going to compare yourself to a clinical patient?” My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a notification from the West family group chat. Devon’s mother had sent a voice note. “Devon, how did Mallory sleep last night? Make sure Bella doesn’t go into the master bedroom and agitate her. A sick person can’t handle any stress.” Devon replied: “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve taken care of it.” His mother messaged back: “Bella is strong. A few days of compromise won’t hurt her. We’re all going to be family soon anyway.” No one asked how my stomach was. No one asked where I had slept. I took a screenshot of the conversation. Devon noticed, his expression instantly souring. “Why are you screenshotting that?” “For the memories.” He reached out to grab my phone. I took a step back, my eyes cold. “Don’t touch me.” His hand hung suspended in the air. “Bella, why are you being so sharp lately?” I zipped the garment bag shut. “Your family is much sharper. I’m just trying to keep up.” That afternoon, I took a half-day off work. I exported my down payment transfers. I exported every single mortgage payment. I saved the invoices for the custom cabinets, the designer lighting, and the landscaping. In the entire ledger, Devon had only contributed a few scattered transfers for minor monthly expenses. The only major purchases under his card were the television and the dining table. I sent the files to Sam, my closest friend who worked in corporate law. “Help me draft a pre-marital asset liquidation.” Sam replied within seconds. “You’re finally awake?” I wrote back: “No jokes. Just do the math.” Sam sent a quick reply. “The deed is in your name, and you have the paper trail. Do not play nice.” Devon came home around lunchtime. He handed me a glass of lukewarm water. “I was too impatient last night,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. This weekend, let’s go look at wedding bands.” I looked at the cup. The bottom of the glass still had a small thermal sticker Mallory used to measure her drinks. Forty-five degrees Celsius. I didn’t take it. His phone rang. A voice note from Mallory played automatically over his speaker. “Devon, the cashmere throw feels a little damp. I can’t close my eyes.” Devon instantly snatched his car keys off the counter. “I’ll take it to the dry cleaner. I’ll be back soon.” “What about the rings?” I asked. He paused at the door. “We can do that anytime. There’s no rush.” I looked down at my phone and clicked “Confirm” on my mortgage prepayment request. The screen blinked: “Request submitted.” He was busy protecting a blanket. I was busy dismantling a life. Devon had promised to accompany me to our wedding tasting. I had booked the reservation two weeks in advance, noting his parents’ dietary restrictions three separate times. But right before we were supposed to leave, his phone rang. Mallory was too terrified to go to her therapy session alone. Devon looked at me guiltily. “Go ahead without me. I’ll drop her off and meet you there as fast as I can.” I picked up my car keys. “Okay.” He let out a long breath of relief. “Thank you, Bella. I knew you’d understand.” I didn’t reply. When I arrived at the restaurant, the event coordinator handed me the seating chart for the reception. Right next to the head table, a new name had been added. “Mallory.” The notes beside her name were highly detailed: “Keep away from speakers. Avoid direct spotlights. Position near the exit/lounge area so Mr. West can easily assist her.” I held the pen, staring at the page. “Who requested this change?” The coordinator checked her tablet. “Mr. West called it in last night.” I set the pen down. “The head table is reserved for the bride, the groom, and their immediate families.” The coordinator offered an apologetic, awkward smile. “Mr. West mentioned the guest has special medical needs.” Half an hour later, Devon arrived. Mallory was trailing behind him, wrapped tightly in the cashmere throw, clutching a manila folder of medical records. “Bella,” Mallory whispered, her eyes downcast. “Should I not have come?” I looked at Devon. He immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her from my gaze. “I wanted her to get used to the venue ahead of time. We don’t want any unexpected episodes on the wedding day.” “It’s my wedding,” I said. “Who gave her permission to practice?” Mallory’s eyes welled with tears. Devon’s face darkened instantly. “Don’t raise your voice at her. She can’t handle stress right now.” I flipped open the menu. “Then she shouldn’t be here.” The tasting began. When the first course—a pan-seared sea bass—was served, Mallory covered her mouth with her napkin. “It smells too fishy.” Devon immediately signaled the server. “Please swap this dish out for something else.” When the soup arrived, she knit her brows. “The broth is too rich.” Devon turned to the coordinator. “Change this one too.” The coordinator looked at me for confirmation. I pushed the menu across the table. “Do whatever Mr. West wants.” The venue’s sound system began playing our selected ambient playlist. Mallory clutched the throw tighter to her chest, her breathing shallow. “This music… it’s making my chest feel so heavy.” Devon turned around. “Can we change the playlist to soft piano or white noise?” I stared at him. “Are our guests coming to a wedding, Devon, or a sleep clinic?” His voice fell into a harsh whisper. “Bella, the wedding is just a ceremony. Mallory’s health is real. She cannot be triggered.” “And what about me?” I asked. He hesitated, his voice softening slightly, though it offered no comfort. “You’ve always been the strong one, Bella.” The words hung in the air, cold and heavy. I closed my folder. Mallory spoke up, her voice trembling. “Maybe I should just leave. I don’t want to cause an argument between you two.” Devon immediately reached out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist to keep her in her seat. “No one is asking you to leave.” I stared at his hand on her skin. He realized what he was doing, flinching slightly as he let go. Mallory’s breathing became rapid and shallow. Devon stood up, supporting her by the shoulders. “I need to get her some air. Handle the deposit, and I’ll call you later.” The coordinator tentatively slid the invoice toward me. I didn’t reach for my pen. “We are putting the wedding date on hold indefinitely.” The coordinator gasped. “Ms. Shaw, you might lose the entire reservation deposit.” “Follow the terms of the contract.” As Devon helped Mallory into his passenger seat outside, my phone rang. It was Janice. “Bella, if you’re serious about selling that condo, I actually have a cash buyer who is ready to close quickly.” I watched Devon gently tuck the cashmere blanket around Mallory’s knees before shutting the car door. “I’m serious,” I said. Janice paused. “What about the price?” “Below market is fine. Just make it fast.” When I got back to the empty condo, I cancelled the catering, the florist, and sent a formal contract termination to the bridal boutique. Devon sent a text an hour later: “Mallory is resting now. Don’t overreact to what happened today.” I typed two words: “Too late.” He didn’t reply. I downloaded the standard residential purchase agreement template. A wedding could happen without me. And a house could certainly exist without him. At nine the next morning, I walked into the bank. The clerk noted the prepayment penalty fee on a slip of paper. “Ms. Shaw, this is a substantial fee. Are you sure you want to proceed with paying off the balance early?” I signed my name. “I’m sure.” She checked the documents. “Once the title is cleared, the property will be fully eligible for transfer.” I handed over my ID. “I understand.” When I stepped out of the lobby, Devon’s name flashed on my screen. “What do you want for dinner?” I replied: “Be home early. We need to talk about the house.” He wrote back: “Okay. I promise I’ll listen this time.” I slipped my phone into my coat pocket. By afternoon, Janice arrived with the buyers. Before they walked in, I had already gathered Mallory’s pillboxes, her diffuser, her slippers, and her sleep machine into clear storage bags, lining them up neatly by the front door. The buyer’s wife walked into the master bedroom, admiring the silk bedding. “These are gorgeous. Are they included?” “No,” I said. “The bedding goes with me.” The husband walked out to the balcony. “Why the sudden sale?” I handed him a copy of the cleared title deed. “I’m relocating out of state.” Janice pulled me to the side, whispering, “They’re going to try to negotiate because you’re moving so fast.” “If they can do a cash close, I’ll take the cut.” Janice looked at me, her eyes soft. “You’re really done, aren’t you?” “Entirely.” By twilight, Devon walked through the door. He stopped when he saw the cardboard boxes stacked in the hallway. “Are you organizing the wedding favors?” I placed the financial liquidation ledger on the coffee table. “Have a seat.” He looked at the document, his face losing color. “Bella, what is this?” “I slept on the couch last night, Devon. That was real. This is also real.” He sat down slowly. “Go ahead.” I flipped to the first page. “The down payment was three hundred thousand. I paid two hundred thousand; you paid one hundred thousand.” He nodded. “Yes. I don’t dispute that.” “The renovation costs were eighty thousand, paid entirely by me. The bulk of the mortgage payments, HOA fees, and interior design bills were also paid by me.” He rubbed his temples. “Is there really a point to doing this right now?” “Yes.” His phone began to vibrate. Mallory’s name lit up the screen. He pressed decline. It rang again immediately. On the third attempt, a voice note came through: “Devon, I’m alone in my room, and the windows feel like they’re falling down. I don’t want to live anymore.” Devon bolted upright, grabbing his keys. I stepped in front of the door, blocking him. “If you walk out that door tonight, we are finished.” He gripped the keys so hard his knuckles turned white. “She is sick, Bella! Don’t force me to be a heartless monster!” I looked him dead in the eye. “You were perfectly comfortable being a monster the night my stomach flared up.” He froze. Then, he pushed past me. The heavy front door slammed shut, and his hurried footsteps faded down the corridor. I sat down, opened my banking app, and initiated a wire transfer to his account. I calculated his exact share of the mortgage contribution, deducted his portion of the shared furniture depreciation, and hit send. In the memo line, I wrote: “Property and joint expenses cleared.” His phone call came thirty seconds later. I ignored it. I gathered the deed, the title release form, my ID, and the spare keys. At the title company’s office, the buyers were already waiting. Janice handed the paperwork to the closing officer. My phone vibrated continuously on the desk, Devon’s name flashing over and over. The officer verified my signature. “Property owner Bella Shaw, all documents are in order.” I placed the physical keys into the plastic tray. The officer looked up. “Ms. Shaw, do you confirm that you are selling this property of your own free will?” Behind me, the door to the office burst open. “Bella Shaw!” Devon’s voice cracked through the quiet room. “Don’t you dare sell this house!”

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On my wedding day, the bride didn’t show up. Instead, a gig courier in a high-vis jacket walked down the aisle. “Mr. Mitch, hello. I’m here on behalf of Rebecca. She hired me to stand in for her and complete the ceremony.” The crowded chapel went dead silent. I stood there, wearing the custom tuxedo Rebecca had personally picked out for me, my fingers slowly crushing the bridal bouquet in my hand until the stems snapped. Only last night, she had stayed up until dawn, meticulously choosing the tie that would suit me best. “Connor,” she had whispered, her arms wrapped around my neck. “No matter how long that aisle is tomorrow, I’ll be right beside you to walk it to the end.” Sitting in the front row, my grandmother, whose eyesight had been failing for years, heard the commotion. She smiled warmly and reached her trembling hand out toward the altar. “Rebecca? Come here, sweetheart. Let Grandma hold your hand. After today, you’re officially my granddaughter.” The courier took a half-step back, her face turning bright red under the gaze of a hundred guests. Then, she pulled a folded sheet of paper from her pocket. I stared at the printed lines, a sudden numbness creeping into my fingertips. Right then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Zach had posted an update on his private social media story—visible only to me. In the photo, Rebecca was wearing her custom-tailored wedding gown, smiling brightly as she wheeled a suitcase down a hallway ahead of him. His caption read: She said a wedding can always be rescheduled, but I only have today. From the front row, Gran’s quiet, fragile voice drifted up to me again. “Connor, why isn’t Rebecca coming over?” I tossed the mangled bouquet onto the altar. Without looking at the crowd, I handed the courier’s instruction sheet to the technician booth and had them project it onto the giant screens for every guest to see. “Gran,” I said, my voice echoing through the speakers. “She outsourced her own wedding. We don’t want a woman like that in our family.” … The text on the screens was magnified until every single word was agonizingly clear. Bride’s Entrance: Hired courier will walk the aisle in her stead. The Vows: Nod when prompted by the officiant; no verbal response required. Exchange of Rings: If the groom is emotionally stable, the courier may slip the ring onto his finger. If he is unstable, simply hand the ring box to the officiant. Note: Connor’s grandmother has severe vision impairment. If she mistakes the courier for the bride, there is no need to correct her. The color drained from the faces of the relatives in the front rows. Whispers broke out, turning into a low, angry hum. “Is this some kind of joke?” “Where the hell is the bride? She actually hired a delivery driver to stand in for her wedding?” “This is incredibly disrespectful to the Mitch family.” Rebecca’s mother, Mrs. Christian, was the first to snap out of the shock. Clutching her designer gown, she rushed up the steps of the altar. “Turn that off!” she hissed, glaring at the technician booth before turning her venom on me. “Connor, do you have to humiliate both of our families today?” I took a step back, keeping my distance. “Mrs. Christian, I didn’t humiliate anyone. Your daughter is the one who outsourced her wedding.” Her face flushed an ugly purple, and she lowered her voice to a threatening whisper. “Don’t forget who is sitting out there. Half of these guests are our business partners. Rebecca just had a temporary emergency. What do you gain by blowing this out of proportion?” I ignored her and looked at the terrified courier. “What else did Rebecca give you?” Fumbling with her pockets, the courier hastily produced a small black velvet box. Inside were two wedding bands. The groom’s ring was the one I had picked out myself, carrying it in my pocket for weeks. The courier’s voice shrank to a squeak. “Ms. Christian said… she said if you didn’t make a scene, I should just hand these to the priest. She told me I didn’t even have to touch your hand. I could just slide the box over.” Another wave of outrage rippled through the pews. Hearing this, Gran struggled to stand up. Because she rose too quickly, her balance gave way, and her fragile frame swayed. I rushed over and caught her before she could fall. “Connor,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Is she really not here?” My throat felt like it was coated in sand. “No, Gran. She sent a stranger to take her place.” Gran went quiet for a long, heavy moment. Today, she was wearing a vintage burgundy silk dress. It was the same dress she had worn to her own wedding decades ago. The waist was far too tight now, so she had stayed up until midnight, painstakingly altering the seams by hand under a dim lamp. Before we left for the chapel, she had been practicing her blessing in her room, whispering to herself. “Rebecca, my Connor has a stubborn streak, but he has a good heart. Please be patient with him.” Then she had looked up at me, asking softly, “Connor, do you think that sounds okay? I don’t want to embarrass you in front of her family.” I had held her hands and told her she was perfect. “That’s good,” she had smiled, her face wrinkling with warmth. “I wanted to wear something festive. I can’t let my boy down.” Now, Gran slowly reached up to her chest, unpinned her red rose corsage, and crushed it in her palm. Mrs. Christian was still trying to salvage the situation. She turned to the wedding planner. “What are you standing there for? Keep the music playing! The bride’s representative is here. We are continuing the ceremony!” She glared at me. “Connor, I’m giving you one last chance. When Rebecca gets back, you can throw whatever tantrum you want. But if you drag our family through the mud today, don’t expect her to ever walk down an aisle for you again.” I picked up the microphone from the altar. “To all our guests,” I said. “As you can see, the bride isn’t here today. She arranged for a courier to walk the aisle, nod to the vows, and exchange the rings. She even planned for all of us to lie to my grandmother.” I paused, looking out over the crowd. “The wedding is officially canceled. Every single registry gift and cash donation will be returned to you by the end of the day.” Mrs. Christian screamed, “Connor!” I didn’t give her another look. I plugged my phone into the AV system and projected Zach’s Instagram story onto the massive screens behind us. The white wedding car, the flowing lace of Rebecca’s gown, her radiant smile. And the caption: She said a wedding can always be rescheduled, but I only have today. “As for Rebecca,” I said, my voice steady and cold. “I’m done.” As I guided Gran toward the exit, my phone began to vibrate. It was Rebecca. I tapped the screen and put it on speakerphone. Her voice filled the quiet space—calm, sweet, and laced with a hint of exasperation. “Con, what’s going on? The coordinator just called and said you’re refusing to go through with the ceremony.” She spoke with such easy nonchalance, as if she hadn’t just abandoned her own wedding. As if I were merely a toddler throwing a fit over nothing. “Rebecca,” I said, “do you even know what you wrote on the instructions you gave that courier?” I heard her sigh softly on the other end. “I knew you’d be upset when you saw it. But I did it to keep things moving. You get so anxious in front of crowds, Con. I didn’t want you standing up there looking foolish and alone.” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “So you wanted our entire family to lie to my grandmother?” The line went quiet for a second. When she spoke again, her tone was softer, patronizing. “Con, let’s not make a big deal out of this. Gran’s eyes are so bad anyway, she wouldn’t have even noticed. Just cooperate with me, okay? Your tie is probably crooked, and it’s going to ruin the photos. You know how much I love you in that tuxedo. When I get back, we’ll take our own private photos.” “Where are you right now, Rebecca?” I asked slowly. There was a brief hesitation. “I’m with Zach. His landlord evicted him, and all his things were thrown onto the sidewalk. I couldn’t just leave him sitting out there in the cold.” I looked down at Gran, whose head was bowed. “So you left my grandmother to cry at our wedding instead?” Suddenly, Zach’s voice drifted through the receiver. “Rebecca, am I causing trouble again? You should go back. I’ll be fine on my own.” Rebecca’s voice instantly dropped, muffled as she spoke to him. “Don’t touch that box, Zach, it’s too heavy. Just wait for me.” Then she turned her attention back to me. “Con, a wedding is just a piece of paper and a party. You’re the one I chose to spend my life with. You’ve always been the sensible one. You wouldn’t want to embarrass both our families over something this trivial, right?” At that moment, the truth finally sank in. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how much this would hurt me. She knew. She just knew I would endure it. Because I was sensible. Because I loved her. She was handing me a blade, expecting me to press it into my own chest and smile through the bleeding. Gran suddenly reached up and took my hand. Her voice was quiet, but it carried perfectly through the silent hall. “You don’t let a stranger stand in for your wedding.” I squeezed her hand. “You don’t need to come back, Rebecca,” I said into the phone. “I’m not marrying you.” Her breathing finally hitched. “Connor, calm down. Don’t throw our future away over a tantrum.” I smiled, though there was no warmth in it. “You outsourced our wedding. I’m just cutting my losses on the marriage.” Before she could speak, I hung up. In front of Mrs. Christian and all the remaining guests, I blocked her number. As we walked toward the exit, the hotel manager caught up to us, looking highly uncomfortable as he held an invoice. “Mr. Mitch, I understand the wedding is canceled. But the remaining balance for the venue and catering must be settled today.” Before I could speak, Gran stepped forward. She reached into her coat and pulled out a faded red cloth purse. The edges were worn, mended with thick, uneven thread. I recognized it immediately. It was where she kept her life savings. Inside, there was supposed to be the welcoming cash gift for Rebecca, along with a pair of handmade red silk pillowcases she had spent weeks sewing for us. Because of her failing eyesight, she had worked on them day and night, tearing out the stitches and restarting whenever they went crooked. “Con,” she had told me when she finished them, “newlyweds need to sleep peacefully. These stitches carry my blessings for a long, happy life.” Now, she bypassed all of that and handed her debit card to the manager. “How much do we owe?” “Gran, no,” I said, trying to push her hand back. “I’ve got this.” She patted the back of my hand gently. “Connor. Money can always be earned back. But if you enter a family on your knees, you’ll spend the rest of your life unable to stand up straight.” The manager looked at her with pity. “Ma’am, the balance is quite high.” Gran nodded. “Run the card. My grandson doesn’t owe them a single dime.” Her hand shook violently as she pressed her fingers against the keypad to enter her PIN. She got it wrong the first time. And the second. Frantic, she apologized to the manager. “I’m so sorry. My eyes are failing me, and my fingers are clumsy. Please, don’t hold it against my Connor.” Watching her, a tight knot formed in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Just then, Mrs. Christian marched over. She snatched a red velvet jewelry box from her bag and threw it violently at my feet. The box burst open on the marble floor. “Since you’re calling off the wedding, give us back our family heirlooms,” Mrs. Christian spat. “Don’t act all high and mighty while holding onto our gold. Did you really think you deserved to be part of our family?” Gran instinctively bent down. Because of her poor vision, she thought something of value had dropped and wanted to help retrieve it. Before I could stop her, her palm pressed directly onto a shard of glass from the shattered box. Blood immediately began to pool on the floor. “Gran!” I gasped, dropping to my knees. Gran’s face went white with pain, but her first instinct was to pull her hand into her sleeve, trying to hide the wound. “Don’t let it drip, Con,” she whispered. “The hotel’s carpet looks expensive.” In that second, a blinding fury roared to life in my chest. Mrs. Christian scoffed, crossing her arms. “Oh, please. What a cheap performance. The Christian family gold isn’t something just anyone can touch.” I stood up, stepped forward, and slapped her hard across the face. The sharp crack echoed off the high ceilings of the lobby. Everyone froze. Mrs. Christian clutched her cheek, staring at me in absolute disbelief. “You… you dared to hit me?” I reached down, tore off the heavy heirloom gold bracelet from my wrist—the one she had insisted I wear as her future son-in-law—and hurled it straight at her chest. “Take your gold and get the hell out of my sight,” I snarled, my voice shaking with a rage I had never felt before. “If anything happens to my grandmother, your family won’t have enough money to pay for it.” In the sterile corridor of the hospital, I was still wearing my wedding tuxedo. Gran sat on a plastic chair outside the exam room, her palm bound in white gauze after receiving five stitches. I knelt in front of her, unable to look her in the eye. “Gran, I’m so sorry. I brought this on us. I chose the wrong person.” Gran reached out with her uninjured hand and gently stroked my hair. “Connor, don’t you dare apologize. Walking away today was the best thing you’ve ever done. My eyes might be failing, but today, I saw everything clearly.” That night, I spent hours returning every single registry gift and donation. By 1:00 AM, I finally unlocked the door to the apartment we were supposed to share. The entry code was still my birthday. I stood in the entryway, unable to take a step further. The living room was crowded with pink cardboard boxes, each one bearing Zach’s name in bold marker. His expensive sneakers were lined up on the top shelf of our shoe rack. His cologne sat dead center on my writing desk. In the master bedroom, his discarded jacket was draped carelessly over the headboard. The vibrant red silk bedding I had spent hours preparing for our wedding night had been ripped off the mattress and tossed into the dirty laundry hamper on the balcony like a piece of trash. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a notification from our mutual friend group chat—the one containing me, Rebecca, Zach, and a dozen of our college friends. Zach had posted a short video. In the video, he was sitting on our new bed, wearing the spare wedding tie I had left hanging in the closet. He smiled warmly at the camera. “Finally moved into the new home she built for me,” he said. From off-camera, Rebecca’s voice filtered in, soft and slightly scolding. “Stop playing around, Zach. Connor will mind.” Zach leaned back, flashing a boyish grin. “But he’s always so sensible. You said yourself, he’ll get used to it.” The video went silent for a second. Then, Rebecca murmured softly, “Just don’t push him too hard.” A second later, the video was retracted from the chat. But it was too late. I had already downloaded and saved it to my drive. My phone lit up again. It was a private message from my best man, Will. Con, are you okay? I stared at the screen, and a sudden, quiet laughter spilled from my lips. It turned out I wasn’t even the first groom to sleep in my own wedding bed. I walked into the walk-in closet, dragged out my suitcase, and packed only my essential documents, a few changes of clothes, and the handmade red pillowcases Gran had sewed for us. When I stripped off the tuxedo, I stood in front of the mirror for a long time. Then, I hung it up neatly right in the center of the closet. I placed the wedding ring boxes on the nightstand, beside a simple note: Rebecca, we are done. The next morning, Rebecca returned to the apartment. She was still wearing her wedding dress, though the hem of the white lace was stained with grey dust from Zach’s moving boxes. Zach hovered behind her, his voice small and hesitant. “Rebecca, do you think Connor is still mad?” Rebecca offered a tired, dismissive chuckle. “His heart is too soft, Zach. No matter how bad the fight was last night, he just needs to sleep it off. I’ll buy him a nice dinner and he’ll be fine.” She pushed open the bedroom door. The smile froze on her face. The closet was half-empty. My clothes, my books, my documents—all gone. Only the wedding tuxedo hung in the center, looking like a ghost. On the nightstand sat the rings, the house keys, and my note. Zach’s face paled. “Maybe… maybe he’s just trying to scare you…” Before he could finish, Rebecca’s phone rang. It was the hotel manager. She answered it, trying to keep her voice steady. “The wedding balance. Contact my assistant, she’ll handle the payment.” The line was quiet for a second. “Ms. Christian, the balance was fully settled by Mr. Mitch last night. However, he left a message for us to convey to you.”

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Three years after I faked my own death, the Caldwell women tracked me down. I held a knife to my own throat, desperate to escape them, willing to bleed out right there on the floor. But then my seven-year-old daughter wrapped her small hands around her grandmother’s ventilator hose. Isabel stood beside her, her voice trembling but cold as ice: “Choose, Henry. Do you want to watch your mother suffocate, or do you want to come back and be the man of the Caldwell house? It’s up to you.” My hands shook with a rage so violent it nearly tore my artificial heart from my chest, but I had no choice. I dropped the knife. I signed the remarriage papers. When I crossed the threshold of that familiar mansion again, I became the model husband. I lived to appease them. When Jared—Isabel’s foster brother—was having an off day and needed her comfort, I didn’t say a word. I packed a bag, booked a hotel room, and got out of their way. Even when my stomach lining ruptured and I had to undergo emergency surgery alone, I never called her once. When our daughter, Ruby, refused to eat, whining that she only wanted the dishes her “Uncle Jared” made, I didn’t complain. I got in the car, drove to his apartment, and brought him back to live with us. Then came my birthday. Jared sat at the dining table, his eyes turning a soft, performative red as he whispered, “I envy you, Henry. You have such a loving wife, a beautiful daughter… not like me. I’ve never even received a real birthday gift in my life.” Without a second thought, I slipped the carnelian bead bracelet off my wrist and pressed it into his palm. The deep crimson beads looked strikingly bright against his skin. But Isabel’s eyes flared with sudden, raw emotion. She grabbed my wrist, her grip painful, her teeth clenched so hard her jaw shook. “Henry Ward,” she hissed. “That is the amulet I begged for on my knees. I bowed at every third step on my pilgrimage to Tibet to get that for you. It was our promise!” 1 The air in the room instantly turned to lead. Jared quickly closed his hand around the bracelet, pretending to slide it off his wrist. “I’m so sorry, Isabel. I didn’t know. I’ll give it back to Henry right now.” Beside him, Ruby’s small face tightened with anger. She glared at me and shouted, “Daddy knew exactly how important it was! He did it on purpose to make Uncle Jared feel bad! You’re a monster!” Isabel stared at me, the exhaustion in her eyes heavy enough to sink a ship. “Henry, when is this going to end?” she asked, her voice cracking. “I brought you back because I wanted us to be a family again.” Inside, I felt nothing but a hollow, absurd amusement. Years ago, if I didn’t give Jared what he wanted fast enough, I was punished. Now that I was finally playing the submissive husband, she still wasn’t satisfied. I turned, picked up the antique brooch Isabel had just gifted me for my birthday, and held it out to Jared. “Is the bracelet not enough? Here. Take this too.” Isabel’s face turned a terrifying shade of gray. With a sudden, violent sweep of her arm, she sent my birthday cake flying off the table. Vanilla frosting splattered across my shirt as the porcelain plate shattered against the hardwood floor. “Do you have to be so incredibly petty, Henry? Do you have to twist the knife every single time?” “I’m not twisting anything,” I replied softly. Isabel closed her eyes, taking a long, ragged breath to force down her fury. “I know you’re still angry about the ambulance,” she said, her voice dropping. “I know you hate me for sending Jared first.” “But he was hemorrhaging, Henry. He almost died on that gurney.” “And these past few years, I’ve been searching everywhere for a compatible heart donor for you. I don’t want a tragedy to happen again.” “Please, Henry. Stop punishing me. Can we just go back to the way we were?” I nodded, offering her a vacant, agreeable smile. Ruby slammed her hands on the table and stood up, her little chest heaving. “Mommy just apologized to you! Why are you still acting like a block of ice?” She sneered. “No wonder Grandma is the only one in this house who actually likes you.” The words were a sudden, sharp needle to my chest. I let out a soft, cold laugh. “Funny. Because except for my mother, there isn’t a single person in this room I care about either.” Isabel froze, her gaze turning completely dead. “Fine. Perfect… Since you care about nothing and love no one.” She stood up, tall and unyielding. “Starting tonight, Jared and I are sleeping in the master bedroom. You can pack your things and move down to the maid’s quarters.” I didn’t argue. I simply turned and walked toward the stairs. Behind me, Ruby clapped her hands, giggling. “Yay! I finally get to sleep with Mommy and Uncle Jared every night!” 2 Back in my room, I began to pack in silence. I opened the closet. Cashmere coats, silk ties, designer cufflinks, limited-edition watches… All the luxuries I had starved myself of during my leanest years, Isabel had bought to fill the void. The lavender diffuser on the dresser was hand-blended by her; even the heavy drapes had been changed to the forest green I loved. In the two years since she dragged me back, she had tried so hard to act like the girl who once loved me blindly. But the old Henry was dead. I could no longer be swayed by expensive toys or sweet words. I only packed the worn, simple clothes I was wearing the day she dragged me back. As I zipped the suitcase, Isabel walked in. Without a word, she grabbed my wrist and forced the carnelian bead bracelet back onto my arm. “Keep it,” she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. “And don’t you ever give away anything I buy you again.” I looked up, genuinely surprised. She had actually gone and clawed it back from Jared. Her eyes drifted down to my open suitcase, her brow furrowing deeply. “That’s all you’re taking?” “None of the rest is mine,” I said, my voice flat. “There’s no point in pretending.” The old fury flared back in her eyes. “If you despise it all so much, then none of it matters.” She turned to the hallway and shouted, “Someone get in here! Take every single thing I bought for the master of the house and burn it in the incinerator.” She glared back at me. “From now on, if you want to use a single luxury in this house, you ask Jared for permission.” My expression didn’t change. I picked up my suitcase and walked out. I was halfway down the stairs when a heavy force slammed into my back. I lost my footing and went tumbling down the wooden steps. My knees scraped raw against the polished wood, a burning heat blooming under my skin. Ruby stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at me with absolute contempt. “You haven’t changed at all! You’re just pretending to be nice so you can drive a wedge between Mommy and Uncle Jared.” She pointed a finger at me. “I’m warning you. If you ever hurt Uncle Jared again, I’ll make sure Mommy throws you out for good.” Then, she spotted the yellow protection amulet peeking out of my breast pocket. She lunged down and ripped it away. “Give that back!” I gasped, scrambling on the floor to reach her. I had knelt on a stone floor for three days and three nights to get that blessed charm for my ailing mother. Ruby waved it in my face, a cruel, triumphant smirk on her lips. “Every time you make Uncle Jared sad, I’m going to destroy something you care about. Maybe then you’ll learn to behave!” She tore the paper charm to shreds. Bright yellow fragments fluttered down like dead autumn leaves, landing on my bruised hands. Something inside me snapped. The last thread of my endurance broke. I dragged myself up, stepped forward, and slapped her hard across the face. The slap echoed through the foyer. “The biggest mistake of my life,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a cold, absolute hatred, “was giving my heart to you.” “If you love Jared so much, go ahead. Let him be your father.” Ruby clutched her cheek, her eyes wide with shock. I didn’t wait for her to cry. I picked up my suitcase, limping heavily as I made my way to the tiny, cramped staff bedroom under the stairs. I was cleaning the dirt out of my bloody knees when the door was kicked open. Isabel stormed in, her face twisted in rage. “Henry Ward, you hit a child over a—” She stopped. The sight of the dark purple bruises and raw skin covering my legs silenced her. “How did you get these?” she whispered. She sat on the edge of the narrow cot, trying to pull my leg onto her lap to bandage it. For a split second, I saw the gentle girl from our youth in her eyes. My throat grew tight, a bitter burn rising in my chest. “Henry…” Isabel leaned in, her eyes searching mine, her lips reaching for a kiss. I instinctively flinched, turning my face away. She froze. Then, her grip tightened painfully around my jaw, forcing my head back as she kissed me with a desperate, punishing violence. The taste of copper bloomed in my mouth. I stayed entirely still under her touch, my mind flashing with a thousand terrible memories. When her warm hand began to slip beneath my collar, my stomach violently rebelled. I shoved her away with everything I had, leaned over the edge of the cot, and dry-heaved onto the floor. “Henry!” Isabel’s face turned white, then red with sheer humiliation. “Am I really that repulsive to you?” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my eyes fixed on the floor. “I’m sorry. I don’t feel well. If you want someone, go find Jared.” Tears welled in her eyes, her voice shaking with hurt. “Are you pushing me away again?” “Henry, I’ve told you a thousand times. Since you disappeared, I haven’t let another man touch me. I only look after Jared because your father begged me to on his deathbed!” I looked at her, completely detached. “I believe you. You two are perfectly innocent.” The calm in my voice drove her mad. She kicked the plastic trash can, sending it flying across the room, and slammed the door behind her. A few hours later, my phone vibrated. It was a video call from Isabel. I hesitated, then picked up. A low, ragged groan echoed from the speaker, filling the small room. On the screen, Isabel was straddled over Jared’s waist, pressing him against our wedding portrait on the master bed. Jared stared directly into the camera, a smirk playing on his lips. “Isabel… gentler…” he gasped. “Your husband is watching.” Isabel angled the camera closer to the sheets, her voice dripping with vengeful malice. “Since you insist on imagining it, Henry, I might as well make it real.” “Watch us. Watch how much Jared loves me.” “Don’t you dare hang up until we’re done.” 3 They kept the call going all night. She dragged Jared to every corner of the master suite, leaving their sweat and noise in every space we had once shared. The screen was a blur of skin and breathless whimpers that made my stomach churn with a deep, physical revulsion. It wasn’t until the first light of dawn broke through the window that she finally ended the call. My weak, artificial heart couldn’t handle the strain. A heavy, squeezing pain bloomed in my chest, making it hard to draw a full breath. I dragged myself out of bed to find my heart medication. But as soon as I poured the pills into my hand, a small figure rushed in and snatched them away, throwing them onto the floor. “Who said you could take medicine? Uncle Jared said you aren’t allowed to touch anything without his permission!” Ruby glared at me, her face contorted with anger. The pain in my chest was spreading like wildfire. I didn’t have the energy to argue. I bent down, trying to gather the scattered white pills. But before my fingers could reach them, Ruby’s foot slammed down, grinding the medicine into the dirt-covered floor. The pills dissolved into gray powder in the cracks of the wood. “Thief! Freeloader!” she screamed. “Get out of our house!” A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. The artificial heart inside me was failing, straining against the limits of its programming. I collapsed onto the floor, my vision blurring as the past rushed back to drown me. Ruby had been a sickly child, born with a failing heart. By the time we diagnosed her, there was no time left to wait on the transplant list. Without telling anyone, I went to the hospital, ran the tests, and found out I was a match. I gave her my own healthy heart and had a mechanical pump installed in my chest instead. I spent nearly a month hovering between life and death in the ICU. But the very day Ruby was allowed to leave her bed, she didn’t come to see me. She ran straight into Jared’s arms. “Uncle Jared, when are you going to marry Mommy and be my real daddy?” she had asked, her voice sweet and bright. “My actual dad is so annoying. He yells at Mommy if she drinks iced water, and he won’t let me watch TV.” “I like you so much better. You buy me burgers and take me to the theme park. Mommy and I love being with you.” I had been standing right outside the door. I heard every single word. The massive surgical scar across my chest burned like liquid fire. I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped into the room. “Ruby, I almost died on that operating table for you. Is this how you talk about me?” Jared immediately pulled her behind him, looking up at me with soft, helpless eyes. “Henry, she’s just a little girl. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. There’s no need to raise your voice and terrify her.” With Jared protecting her, Ruby grew even bolder. She peeked out from behind his back and screamed, “I hate you! You’re always so cold and miserable! Why didn’t you just die on the table?” “Mommy is going to have Uncle Jared’s baby anyway. I’m going to have a little brother soon. We don’t need you!” The words hit me like a physical blow. My body went cold. The blood rushed to my head, and my vision went entirely black as I fell to the floor. When I woke up, Isabel was sitting by my bedside. Seeing me open my eyes, she remained silent for a long time before speaking in a quiet, detached voice. “Since you know, I won’t lie to you.” “Jared and I slept together. It was the night of your father’s funeral.” “I told you I was drunk and didn’t hear your calls. The truth is, Jared was holding me too tight. I couldn’t get away to answer.” My mind went completely blank. I remembered that night. Jared had fainted at the memorial service. I was so worried about him that I told Isabel to take him back to the hotel while I stayed behind. But as soon as the service ended, my father’s greedy relatives descended on the house, trying to seize our inheritance. To protect my mother and the family home, I fought them off until my head was bleeding. During those hours of terror, I called Isabel dozens of times. She never picked up. While I was bleeding on the floor of my childhood home, she was in a hotel bed with Jared. The betrayal ripped through me. Rage and humiliation boiled over, and I slapped her across the face, over and over. She didn’t move. She didn’t try to block the blows. She just took them, staring at the floor. But the moment I stood up to find Jared, she grabbed my wrist with a sudden, violent strength. “Henry, please!” she cried. “You’ve had everything your whole life. Parents who loved you, me to protect you… you never wanted for anything.” “But Jared has nothing! He was an orphan, living under other people’s roofs, always afraid. Can’t you just let him have this one thing?” Looking at her—so thoroughly, hopelessly blinded by her pity for him—I felt the last drop of warmth leave my body. “Let’s get a divorce, Isabel,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. 4 “No!” Isabel threw her arms around me, her tone instantly softening into desperation. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean it.” “Henry, I only love Jared like a brother. He was just scared that after your father died, we would throw him out. He put something in my drink, Henry. I swear it.” “It only happened that one time. I promise you, never again.” “Think of Ruby. She just got a new heart. Do you really want to break up her family now?” For the sake of our daughter, I hesitated. No matter how much I hated what they had done, Ruby was still the child I had raised. “I will give you one last chance,” I told her. “But you have to send Jared away, terminate the pregnancy, and cut him out of our lives forever.” Isabel hesitated for a long second, then nodded, her jaw tight. “Okay. I promise.” She deleted his number in front of me. She started coming home early every night, behaving like the gentle, attentive wife she used to be. Even Ruby became quiet and obedient. I actually allowed myself to believe that we could heal. Until Ruby’s birthday. I left work early, wanting to surprise her with tickets to the amusement park. But as I approached her bedroom door, I heard their voices. “Mommy, when can we go see Uncle Jared? I miss him so much.” Isabel’s voice was a low, hurried whisper. “Shh, be quiet. Tonight, after your dad gets home, we’ll put some sleeping medicine in his milk. Once he’s asleep, we’ll go see him.” I stood in the hallway, the cold seeping deep into my bones. That night, I drank the milk she gave me. I waited until I heard their soft footsteps leave the house, then I got up and followed them. The trail led to a luxury penthouse on the other side of town. Through the half-open door, I saw Isabel sitting comfortably on the sofa, her loose maternity dress draping over a prominent, heavy stomach. Jared was gently feeding her grapes, massaging her swollen ankles. “It’s been so hard on you, having to hide like this,” he murmured. Ruby curled up next to him, pouting. “It’s all my stupid dad’s fault. Why won’t he just let Mommy bring you home?” I pushed the door open, my teeth chattering as I spoke. “You told me you terminated the pregnancy. You told me you sent him away.” “Isabel… is there a single word that comes out of your mouth that isn’t a lie?” Isabel immediately stood up, shielding Jared with her body. “Henry, enough!” she snapped. “Jared has never tried to steal anything from you. He lives here with no name, no status, just to be near me. He’s suffered enough. Can’t you stop being so selfish?” Jared looked at me from behind her, his voice dripping with condescension. “Henry, let’s be honest. You’re older, you’re boring, and Isabel was tired of you a long time ago. Instead of letting some stranger have her, why not me?” The rage overtook me. I picked up a heavy crystal vase from the entryway and threw it at his head. Chaos erupted. In the scuffle that followed, Jared and I both tumbled over the low balcony railing, crashing onto the pavement below. In the shock of the fall, Isabel went into premature labor, losing the baby. When the sirens wailed and the paramedics arrived, they looked at our broken bodies and turned to Isabel in panic. “Ma’am, they are both in critical condition. We only have one trauma bay available in this rig. Who do we take first?” Isabel didn’t even look in my direction. “Save Jared,” she said instantly. I lay on the freezing asphalt, watching the red tail lights of the ambulance fade into the dark. With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “If I survive tonight,” I whispered into the receiver, “help me disappear.” 5 “Henry! Henry!” Isabel’s frantic voice pulled me back from the edge of the dark. She was holding me, desperately shoving a nitro tablet under my tongue. As the medicine dissolved, the tight, suffocating grip on my chest began to loosen. I opened my eyes to see Ruby standing nearby, her jaw set in a stubborn, defiant pout. Isabel turned and slapped her hard across the face. “You stupid girl! Who told you to throw away your father’s medicine?” Ruby burst into tears, wailing. Jared immediately pulled her into his arms, glaring at Isabel. “Isabel, don’t scream at her. She’s just a child. She didn’t understand what she was doing.” He pulled a piece of folded paper from his pocket and tossed it onto the bed. “I wasn’t going to show you this, but Henry is taking this act too far.” “He had a heart transplant years ago. He’s perfectly fine. This ‘weakness’ is all a show.” Isabel scanned the forged medical report, her expression hardening instantly. “You’re fully recovered?” she whispered, her voice laced with cold fury. “You’ve been faking this entire time just to make me feel guilty?” I didn’t have the strength to argue. I just stared at her, exhausted. She crumpled the paper and threw it in my face. “I wanted to give you a real birthday today. But since you’d rather lie and play the martyr, we’re leaving.” She grabbed Ruby and Jared, walking out and locking the heavy bedroom door from the outside. I lay in the dark, feeling absolutely nothing. I had no desire to join them anyway. An hour later, my phone buzzed with a notification. Ruby had posted a photo on her social media. In the picture, Isabel was leaning against Jared’s shoulder, with Ruby standing between them, all three of them smiling brightly under the sun. The caption read: The perfect family. I stared at it for a moment, then tapped the ‘like’ button. Suddenly, the phone began to ring. It was the hospital. “Mr. Ward? You need to come quickly. Your mother’s condition has taken a turn for the worse. She’s failing.” My stomach dropped. I lunged out of bed and threw myself against the door. It was locked tight. I dialed Isabel’s number. Once. Twice. Three times. It went straight to voicemail. Desperate, I ran to the window, opened it, and jumped. The impact sent a sickening crack through my right leg. Pain flared like white-hot lightning, but I didn’t stop. I dragged myself up, limping and crawling to the main road, waving down a passing cab. But by the time I reached the ICU, the room was silent. The doctor looked at me with pity. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Ward. Her heart gave out. It was a sudden, massive shock.” I fell to my knees on the cold tile, the world dissolving into gray. While packing up her few belongings, my hand brushed against something beneath her pillow. A small digital voice recorder. I pressed play. Jared’s voice filled the quiet room—soft, polite, and dripping with venom. “Mrs. Ward? I thought you should know the truth before you go. I’m not some orphan your husband adopted. I’m his son. His biological, illegitimate son.” “You spent your whole life fighting my mother, and in the end, you spent decades raising her boy. Isn’t that hilarious?” “Oh, and that family home you and Henry fought so hard to keep? Your husband signed it over to me the day I turned eighteen. Thanks for taking such good care of my inheritance.” “My mother beat you, I beat your son, and soon, I’ll have his daughter, his wife, and his wealth. You really were our lucky stars, weren’t you?” My mother had been in a vegetative state, but she could still hear. He had literally tortured her to death. A blinding, blood-red rage took over my mind. I ran from the hospital like a madman, tracking them to the amusement park. Through the crowd, I saw them laughing on the grassy lawn. I pulled the small pocket knife from my jacket and charged at Jared, wanting nothing more than to drag him down to hell with me. But before I could reach him, Isabel caught my wrist, her grip like iron. “Henry Ward! Have you lost your mind?!” The crowd immediately gathered, muttering and pointing. Ruby leaped in front of Jared, screaming at the top of her lungs, “My dad is a psycho! He’s always trying to hurt Uncle Jared!” “Uncle Jared just got better, and now he wants to kill him!” “Go away, you crazy monster! Go away!” She picked up a stone from the path and hurled it at me. Encouraged by her, the onlookers began to join in, throwing trash and shouting insults. “Get him out of here!” “Crazy bastard!” The screams and abuse washed over me like a freezing tide. I looked past the crowd, my eyes meeting Isabel’s. She was still holding Jared, looking at me with nothing but disgust. I let out a laugh—a broken, hysterical sound that tore from my throat. “Isabel Caldwell, in our next life, I pray I never meet you.” Before she could react, I turned the blade toward my own chest and drove it deep into my heart.

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Because my sister and I were both genetically prone to obesity, our mother laid down a strict rule: we were forbidden from eating anything except the diet meals she personally prepared for us. I complied completely, terrified of gaining even an ounce. I barely dared to drink a single extra drop of water. But when I stepped on the scale a month later, the numbers shattered my world. I had ballooned to three hundred pounds. Panicking, I ran to my sister Mel’s room. She was standing in front of her full-length mirror, turning side to side with a smug smile. “Cassie, does this bodycon dress look good on me?” My eyes flicked to the digital scale on her floor. The display read ninety pounds. I felt like the ground had been pulled out from under me. I suspected something was wrong with the meal prep Mom was making. So, for the next month, I became her shadow. I watched her buy the groceries, watched her prep, and stood by the stove until the food hit the plate. The moment it was done, I took my portion straight to my room, eating behind locked doors, giving no one a chance to tamper with it. Yet, thirty days later, my weight soared to five hundred pounds. Deep, angry purple stretch marks tore across my skin. My blood pressure hit a dangerous 220. Because of my extreme weight, my company let me go. My boyfriend ghosted me without a word—a brutal, sudden breakup that left me hollowed out. My body became a prison of chronic pain and failing organs. I spiraled into absolute despair. I refused to touch another bite of Mom’s food. I begged them, screamed at them to take me to the hospital for gastric bypass surgery. But by then, I was nearly eight hundred pounds. I was suffering from severe hypertension, diabetes, and advanced congestive heart failure. The day after the surgery, a massive, rampant infection took hold. I died in my bed, suffocated by my own body. Then, I opened my eyes. And I was back. Back to the exact day my mother started her mandatory diet plan. … “Mel, Cassie, dinner’s ready!” My mother’s voice floated through the door, sharp and familiar. I walked out of my bedroom to find the dining table set with two identical meal-prep containers, just like in my previous life. Mel’s was on the right. Mine was on the left. The meal was simple: a piece of pan-seared fish, a few steamed broccoli florets, and a small scoop of brown rice. It looked like any standard fitness meal you’d buy at a health-food store. My hand shook as I picked up my fork. Why had Mel shrunk to skin and bones in my past life, while I had gained a hundred pounds in a single month? Was there some hidden difference between these two seemingly identical plates? I looked at Mel, keeping my voice casual. “Hey, Mel. Let’s swap plates.” A sharp clang echoed from the kitchen. Mom had dropped her spatula onto the tile floor. She hurried out, her expression momentarily slipping into panic. “They’re exactly the same, Cassie. Why would you swap?” Mel rolled her eyes. “What is your problem now? Just eat your own food.” Their resistance only fueled my suspicion. Without another word, I lunged across the table, grabbed Mel’s container, and began shoving the food into my mouth. Mel didn’t fight me. She just scoffed, rolled her eyes again, and quietly started eating the portion I had abandoned. Mom, however, looked downright skeletal in her fury. Her face darkened, her lips twisting into a tight line, but she forced herself to turn around and walk back into the kitchen. For the next three days, I did the same thing. I forced Mel to swap meals with me every single time, telling myself that this time, I had to lose weight. I had to. With a racing heart, I finally stepped onto the digital scale. The numbers flickered, bouncing up and down, before locking in. Two hundred and twenty pounds. My stomach plummeted. In just three days, I had gained twenty pounds. It was impossible. Mathematically, biologically impossible. In a blind panic, I picked up the scale and smashed it against the wall. The tempered glass shattered into a thousand glittering pieces across the floor. I drove straight to Target, bought the most expensive, high-end smart scale they had, ripped the packaging open in the parking lot, and stepped on it. Two hundred and twenty pounds. Exactly the same. Under the bewildered stares of passersby, I collapsed against my car door, tears streaming down my face. An older woman carrying grocery bags gently patted my arm. “Honey, the local hospital has a fantastic weight-management clinic. I lost fifty pounds with their help. You should go get checked out.” I managed a choked thank you, rushed home, and immediately confronted my mother. “Mom, I need to go to the hospital’s weight-management clinic. Will you take me?” Before Mom could answer, Mel walked out of my bedroom, holding a family-sized bag of potato chips. “Cassie! You’re stuffing your face with junk food in secret, and now you want to go to a clinic? Are you insane? Mom literally quit her job to meal-prep for us. Have some decency and stop binging behind our backs!” My throat tightened. I wanted to scream that those chips were old, from months ago, that I hadn’t touched them. But Mom stepped forward, turning her phone screen toward me. “Cassie, I already booked you an appointment at the clinic. We’re going tomorrow.” I was stunned by how quickly she agreed. Behind her, Mel crossed her arms, rolling her eyes so hard they almost disappeared. “Fine, Mom. Just keep enabling her!” At the hospital, I underwent every test they offered. Blood work, metabolic rate, thyroid function—everything. Even with a genetic predisposition, there was no biological pathway for a human to balloon this quickly on a calorie deficit. Something was fundamentally broken. These specialists saw thousands of cases. Surely, they would find the glitch in my body. The doctor flipped through my charts, a patronizing, all-knowing smirk touching his lips. “Young lady, if you want to lose weight, you need to start by losing the lies.” I froze. “What do you mean?” He gave me a pitying look. “Do you know what the law of conservation of energy is? With a metabolic spike like this, you are absolutely binging in secret. There’s no other explanation.” It felt like a physical blow. “I didn’t! I haven’t eaten anything else!” The doctor ignored my protests, typing away on his computer. “Next patient, please!” “Doctor, please, I didn’t eat junk food! I only ate the meals my mother prepared!” Mel, thoroughly embarrassed, grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the exam room. She shoved her finger hard against my forehead, poking me repeatedly. “Cassie, stop with the goddamn act! The specialist literally just called you out. What are you still lying for?” My head hit the drywall with a dull thud, leaving me dizzy. Through the haze of pain, I saw Mom standing nearby. Her eyes were swimming with a heavy mixture of disappointment and sorrow. “Cassie, please stop eating behind our backs,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “If you keep gaining at this rate, your heart won’t last another six months.” I opened my mouth, but the words died in my throat. I had to find out what was happening to me. I had to. Once we got home, I spent hours scouring the internet, looking for any medical anomaly that matched my symptoms. That’s when an ad for an intensive fitness retreat popped up. EXTREME WEIGHT LOSS. LOSE 50 POUNDS IN A MONTH. My heart hammered against my ribs. This retreat was a closed, controlled environment. It was my only lifeline. But would Mom let me go? My doubts about her meals hadn’t faded. She and Mel were keeping secrets—I could feel it in the tense silence of our house. But if I went to the retreat, I could escape whatever trap they had set for me here. I packed a single duffel bag and tried to slip out the front door at dawn, but a sharp voice cut through the quiet house. “Cassie, where the hell do you think you’re going?” Mel spotted the printed retreat brochure in my hand. Instantly, the color drained from her face, her eyes widening in pure terror. She screamed, “You can’t leave this house!” Mom stepped out of her bedroom, her expression dark and menacing. “Cassie? Are you actually trying to go to a fitness camp?” A cold sweat broke out across my back. I nodded numbly, clutching my bag tighter. A strange, calculated glint flashed in Mom’s eyes. She slowly slid her hand into her pocket, as if reaching for something. I braced myself to bolt, but instead of a weapon, she pulled out her designer leather wallet. “Cassie, if you really want to go… I’ll pay for it.” In that single second, a wave of intense guilt washed over me, instantly drowning out all my suspicions. I felt like a monster for doubting her. Maybe my body was just broken. Maybe my metabolism was uniquely resistant. I promised myself I would work twice as hard at the camp. I wouldn’t let Mom down again. At the retreat, the trainer looked at my swollen frame and smiled encouragingly. “Don’t worry, Cassie. Bodies with a lot of water weight actually drop the first few pounds fast. Just stick to the program.” My determination skyrocketed. Every morning, long before sunrise, I was on the track. I ran six miles, followed by three hundred jump ropes. Even after the grueling daily classes, I pushed myself through an extra hour of laps in the pool. My trainer told me I was the most dedicated client he’d ever worked with. He guaranteed I would see massive results. I strictly avoided binging, only eating my designated meals at the camp’s dining hall. Oddly, the low-sodium, high-protein meals here tasted strangely familiar. They had the exact same bland, slightly metallic undertone as Mom’s food. I shook it off, telling myself all diet food probably tasted the same. After seven days of sheer agony and sweat, the day of the first official weigh-in arrived. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the heavy-duty scale, letting my weight settle. A few other camp residents had gathered around, curious to see the hard worker’s progress. “You’ve got this, Cassie! You worked harder than anyone!” “I bet you lost at least ten pounds!” I blinked my eyes open. The glowing red digital display glared back at me: 250 lbs. The crowd went dead silent. “Is the scale broken? How did she gain thirty pounds?!” I froze, a primal, icy terror clawing its way up my spine. How? Why? I fled to my cabin, sobbing. My trainer chased after me, his face red with frustration. “Cassie, be honest with me! Did you sneak out to the diner down the road? Did you smuggle snacks in your duffel? Empty your bags right now!” Once again, I was trapped in the familiar, suffocating nightmare of being labeled a liar and a glutton. Broken and humiliated, I demanded a partial refund, packed my bags, and checked out. On the ride home, my chest felt incredibly tight. My body felt like rising dough, expanding from the inside out. I could almost feel the fat cells multiplying beneath my skin, suffocating my organs, heavy and suffocating in my limbs. The rapid expansion phase from my past life had begun again. If I couldn’t figure out how to stop this, I would end up exactly where I did before—a prisoner in my own failing body, dying of organ failure. When I walked through the front door, Mom looked at me with tears in her eyes, her face a mask of deep, performative disappointment. Mel scoffed from the couch. “Your trainer called Mom. He said you were binging at the camp. You’re hopeless, Cassie. Once you hit five hundred pounds, Mom is going to have to bathe you and wipe your ass. Do you want to keep her chained to you forever?” Mom shot Mel a warning look to quiet her down, then turned to me, her voice dripping with maternal agony. “Cassie, sweetheart, if you can’t control your eating, you’re going to die. Your father passed away from obesity complications. I can’t lose you too!” She began to sob, her shoulders shaking violently. A profound sense of helplessness settled over me. I couldn’t prove my innocence. I didn’t want to break her heart, and I desperately didn’t want to die. My mind spun in chaotic circles. In a desperate bid for answers, I posted my story on a popular health forum, begging for advice. But the replies were brutal. Most trolls made fat jokes, while others told me to “stop lying to myself” and admit to my midnight binges. Only one anonymous reply stood out. OP, have you looked at your sister? Why is she the one shrinking while you balloon, when you’re doing the exact same thing? Look closer at her. A jolt of electricity shot through my brain. It was true. We had the exact same DNA, ate the exact same meals, and I exercised far more than she did. Yet she was thin as a rail. What was she doing behind closed doors? I began to watch Mel’s every move. Her daily routine was incredibly sparse. She ate, used the restroom, and spent the rest of her time locked in her bedroom, ignoring all her friends’ texts. But there was one bizarre anomaly. While my showers took fifteen minutes tops, Mel would lock herself in the bathroom for two full hours every single night. I used to think she just liked long baths. Now, I realized that bathroom was hiding something. That night, the second she stepped out, I slipped inside before the steam could even clear. I searched the shelves. Standard shampoo, body wash. But then, tucked away in a corner soap dish, I found a strange, irregularly shaped bar of soap. I picked it up. It felt sticky and slightly oily to the touch—she had just used it. I brought it to my nose. A heavy, chemical-sweet fragrance hit me. It was the exact scent that clung to Mel’s skin lately. Was this the secret to her weight loss? My heart raced with excitement. I turned on the shower, got wet, and began lathering the sticky soap all over my body. Almost instantly, my skin flushed a bizarre, irritated pink. A strange tingling sensation spread beneath the surface, as if the fat cells under my skin were vibrating. I stayed under the water, rubbing the soap into my skin for two agonizing hours. By the time I walked out, Mom’s room was pitch black. But a thin sliver of light escaped from Mel’s bedroom door. I peeked through the gap. Mel was holding an unmarked green prescription bottle. She shook out a single pill and swallowed it dry. My brow furrowed. Another secret? I crept back to my room and waited in the dark. It felt like hours before Mel’s soft, rhythmic snoring finally drifted down the hallway. I slipped out of bed, crept into her room, and guided myself by the moonlight to her vanity. I picked up the green bottle. The label had been completely torn off. I carefully twisted the cap off, trying to tip one pill into my palm. Suddenly, a cold draft hit the back of my neck. “What do you think you’re doing?” The voice sliced through the silence, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. I spun around just as the overhead light flicked on, blinding me. Mom was standing in the doorway. Her face was cast in harsh shadows, completely devoid of her usual warmth. Mel bolted upright, rubbing her eyes. When she saw the pills scattered on the floor, she let out a screech of pure rage. “Cassie! Who gave you permission to touch my stuff?!” She scrambled off the bed, gathering the pills with trembling fingers, dusting them off and counting them frantically before locking them back in the bottle. Her panic only cemented my suspicion. This bottle was the key to everything. “Mel, what are those pills?” I demanded. Mel’s eyes darted toward Mom before she shoved the bottle deep into her nightstand drawer. “None of your business! Why the hell are you sneaking into my room in the middle of the night anyway?” Mom stepped into the room, her voice dangerously quiet. “Cassie… did you find something?” They flanked me, locking me between them. Their cold, calculating stares made my blood run cold. “I… I just wanted to see how Mel got so thin,” I stammered, my voice shaking. “I wanted to see if she was taking diet pills. I didn’t find anything else!” Mom’s tight posture slowly relaxed, and her face softened back into her maternal mask. She reached into her robe and pulled out a piece of paper. “Oh, Cassie. Mel’s weight dropped too fast, and her doctor said she’s severely malnourished. Those are just prescription vitamins to help her recover. And that soap in the bathroom? It’s just a specialized medicated soap for her eczema.” I stood frozen. Something felt deeply, fundamentally wrong with her explanation. Seeing my hesitation, Mom went back to her room and returned with a brand-new bar of the specialty soap and an sealed bottle of the same pills. “If you don’t believe me, try them yourself,” Mom said with a weary sigh, handing them to me. She walked away, looking defeated. Mel shoved me out of her room and slammed the door in my face. I was left standing alone in the pitch-black hallway, holding the bottles like an outcast. Every day after that, I took two-hour showers with the medicated soap and swallowed one of the pills before bed. But instead of dropping weight, my body expanded at a terrifying speed. I could literally see the fat multiplying under my skin, stretching it until it burned, leaving angry, weeping tears in my flesh. I crushed every scale we owned. When I stood in front of the mirror, I was a stranger to myself—a monstrous, ballooning shape expanding daily. My blood pressure spiked to a lethal 220. The deep folds of my skin, impossible to clean properly, began to chafe and decay, giving off a horrific odor. I couldn’t even use the bathroom without Mom lifting and cleaning me. My boss called to fire me, citing my “incapacity to perform physical duties.” And then came the text from my boyfriend: Looking at you makes me sick. Don’t contact me again. The neighbors whispered whenever they saw us. “Poor Helen, working herself to the bone to care for that gluttonous girl. It’s a tragedy.” I went on a total hunger strike, consuming nothing but water, clinging to the desperate hope that if I put nothing in, I couldn’t expand. Mom fell to her knees in the living room, sobbing, begging me to schedule a gastric sleeve surgery. I lay on my reinforced mattress, gasping for air. “No,” I whispered. “I’m not going.” I knew how that story ended. I wouldn’t die on a cold operating table from systemic infection like I did before. I closed my eyes in absolute despair. If death was inevitable, I wanted to go out on my own terms. That night, I wrote a suicide note, dragged my heavy body into an Uber, and rode out to the edge of the city. There was a wide, rushing river there. I stood on the bridge, staring down into the dark, swirling water. God, if you gave me a second chance, why did you let me end up here again? I didn’t want to die, but the agony of living in this suffocating skin was worse than death. Rain began to fall, soaking through my clothes. An elderly passerby spotted me on the ledge. He lunged forward, grabbing my coat. “Sweetheart, don’t do it! Please, step back!” As we struggled, my thin jacket ripped open, exposing my back. The cold rain hit my bare back, and a sharp, localized stinging sensation flared up. It was a chemical-like burn, spreading down my spine. In an instant, my mind cleared with terrifying sharpness. I gasped, the truth hitting me like a physical blow. “I know… I know what they did.”

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The moment graduation ended, I boarded a five-hour train to Boston to see my boyfriend. While waiting for Lewis at South Station, I was scrolling through my feed when I stopped on a viral post with thousands of likes: “Am I being too sensitive? My childhood best friend ditched me to pick up his girlfriend, and it kind of hurts.” “His girlfriend is my close friend. The three of us grew up together, a tight-knit trio. He’s always been incredibly good to both of us.” “A few days ago, I had a high fever. He panicked, carried me to the ER in the middle of the night, and even took a day off work to stay by my side. When my thesis advisor rejected my draft, he stayed up all night rewriting it with me…” “I used to think nothing of it, but lately, hearing him on the phone with his girlfriend for hours makes my stomach twist.” My heart skipped a beat. I remembered calling Lewis a few nights ago, only to find his phone switched off. He didn’t call back until the following afternoon. He claimed he’d been busy with research, but never mentioned who he was with. In the comments, people were egging her on: “Call him back! Let’s see who he chooses—you or the girlfriend!” I was about to leave a reply when a text from Lewis popped up. “Hey babe, something came up and I can’t pick you up anymore. Grab an Uber, okay?” My breath caught. I tapped on the poster’s profile. Her location tag showed the exact city I was standing in: Boston. … I froze, the noise of the crowded station fading into static. I kept telling myself I was overthinking, grasping at ghosts. Then, I saw the poster’s reply from a minute ago: “He says he’s almost here.” The comment section was in a frenzy, waiting for updates. I opened my rideshare app, my fingers trembling so hard I could barely type the address. In the four years I’d been visiting him in Boston, Lewis had always been there to meet me the second I stepped off the train, rain or shine. This was the first time he hadn’t shown up. Maybe it was the heavy, overcast sky, but a cold weight began to settle deep in my chest. I switched to a burner account and followed her profile. A few minutes later, she posted an update. The caption was dripping with playful affection: “I knew I was his favorite.” Beneath it was a photo of two hands, fingers tightly intertwined. I recognized the hand instantly. The watch on his wrist was the designer chronograph I’d bought him for Valentine’s Day. To afford it, I had worked two part-time jobs for nearly two years, draining every single cent of my internship savings. Taking a shaky breath, I read the rest of the text. “He heard me cough on the phone and rushed right back. My heart is so full.” The comment section was in a frenzy. “Go confess your feelings! We’re rooting for you!” Irene replied: “I don’t know, it feels wrong. He’s been with my best friend for seven years.” Someone shot back: “So what? Ever heard of the seven-year itch? Your friend is ancient history to him. You’re the one who owns his heart now!” A sudden crack of thunder echoed overhead, and the heavens opened up, pouring rain onto the Boston streets. Standing near the drafty exit of the station, I shivered violently. Seven years. Lewis and I had been together for seven years. We survived three years of high school drama and four years of a grueling long-distance relationship. When he and Irene got into the fast-track Ivy League graduate program here, I spent every waking hour planning to relocate to Boston so we could finally be together. During a FaceTime call a few days ago, I saw Irene drape her arms around Lewis’s neck, whispering something directly into his ear. He didn’t even flinch, let alone push her away. They just laughed, sharing some private joke, before abruptly ending the call. My stomach had dropped then, but I forced myself to swallow the doubt, telling myself they were just close. I hadn’t realized that their “closeness” had long since crossed the line of acceptable friendship. It took me twenty agonizing minutes to finally secure a ride. By the time the Uber pulled away, the rain was coming down in sheets. The radio announcer warned of a historic storm hitting the northeast, predicting days of heavy, unrelenting rain. The sedan I was in had low clearance, and as we hit a flooded intersection downtown, the engine sputtered and died. The driver cursed the weather, threw his hands up, and told me he couldn’t go any further. I had to get out and walk. Standing on the rain-slicked sidewalk, I dialed Lewis’s number. He usually answered on the first ring, but this time, the line rang and rang, stretching into a painful silence before he finally picked up. I stood at the street corner, drenched, freezing, and utterly exhausted. The moment I heard his voice, the tears I’d been holding back spilled over. “Lewis, please, can you come get me? I’m stuck near—” “Grace,” he interrupted, his voice flat and heavy. “You’re not a child. I can’t drop everything to rescue you every single time. Just call an Uber and head to the apartment, okay? Be reasonable.” “No, Lewis, listen—” Before I could explain that the streets were flooded, the line went dead. Just then, a notification pinged on my screen. It was an email from a prestigious firm in Boston—a formal job offer. To bridge the gap between us, I had spent the last four years killing myself academically—stacking my resume with internships, maintaining a perfect GPA, winning competitions. I had turned down great offers back in my hometown of Philadelphia, sending out over a thousand applications to Boston-based companies instead. After nearly fifty rejections, I had finally landed my dream job here. This was supposed to be the happiest moment of my life, but looking at the screen, I felt absolutely hollow. I stared at the acceptance button for what felt like an eternity. Then, with a numb finger, I clicked Decline. By the time I finally reached the apartment building, the city was draped in pitch darkness. I stood in front of the door, shivering, and punched my birthday into the keypad. Incorrect code. I tried again, and then again. The red light flashed mockingly. Before I could try a fourth time, the door clicked open from the inside. Lewis stood there. The moment his eyes fell on me, he froze. I was half-drenched, my hair plastered to my forehead, and water was pooling around my suitcase. He frowned, taking my suitcase with a look of mild irritation. “How did you manage to get yourself this soaked?” I didn’t answer. My eyes drifted to the shoe rack. There were several pairs of women’s heels and sneakers. None of them belonged to me. Irene sat up from the sofa, her voice dripping with sweet concern. “Grace! You’re finally here! You must be exhausted. I kept telling Lewis he should go pick you up, but he just wouldn’t listen…” Lewis grabbed a throw blanket and gently draped it over her shoulders. “You still have a fever. I wasn’t going to leave you alone.” Irene snuggled into the fabric, a delicate blush creeping onto her cheeks. I stared at the blanket wrapped around her. It was a custom cashmere throw I had bought him for his birthday. He’d told me it was too precious to use every day and kept it folded away in his closet. Now, it was keeping another woman warm. I looked directly at Lewis, my voice hoarse. “Why did you change the door code, Lewis?” The keypad code had been my birthday for four years. He had never changed it. Not once. “Irene kept forgetting it,” he said casually. “So we changed it to something easier.” But the three of us had grown up together. There was no way she didn’t know my birthday. I bit my lip, forcing the next words past my throat. “She’s here that often? Or… are you two living together now?” Only a few months ago, Lewis had promised me this apartment would be our sanctuary—the place we’d build our life together once I moved here. But looking around, every corner of this “home” bore the unmistakable stamp of another woman. Lewis’s expression instantly hardened. “Grace, what are you implying? Irene is our childhood friend. What’s wrong with her staying over for a few days while she recovers?” A draft seeped through the window, making me shiver. I broke into a sudden fit of coughing, my eyes watering from the strain. Lewis grabbed a towel and tossed it over my head. “Go take a hot shower. You look like a mess.” I clutched my change of clothes and ran into the bathroom. The moment the door clicked shut, my composure shattered. On the vanity, my toothbrush, my face wash, my towels—everything I’d left here—were gone. In their place were Irene’s things. Two matching, pastel-colored toothbrushes sat in a single ceramic cup. A couple’s set. From outside the door, soft voices drifted in. “Lewis, don’t be so harsh on Grace. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have stayed; I didn’t think about how it would look.” At the mention of my name, Lewis sighed, his tone laced with irritation. “It’s not your fault, Irene. She’s just being insecure. She always blows things out of proportion.” I turned the shower on full blast, letting the sound of rushing water drown out my muffled, breaking sobs. When I finally stepped out, Lewis and Irene were huddled over a laptop at the dining table, working on her thesis. They were sitting so close their shoulders brushed, their faces inches apart under the warm glow of the lamp. Lewis’s voice was gentler than I had heard it in months. “The transition in this paragraph is a bit weak. Let me smooth it out for you, and we should check these data points…” He was entirely focused on her screen, never once looking up to see if I was okay. I was a ghost in my own future home. I retreated to the bedroom and closed the door behind me. My suitcase sat untouched in the corner. When I opened the closet, half of the hanger space was filled with Irene’s cardigans and dresses. The vanity was covered in high-end makeup brands I didn’t recognize. This wasn’t a temporary guest staying over. Irene had moved in. She had claimed this space as her own, and suddenly, I was the intruder. I had absolutely no right to be here. As I pulled up my phone to book a train ticket back home, a text from Irene popped up. “Grace, please don’t take today the wrong way. Lewis and I are just friends.” But a few minutes later, my burner account refreshed to show a new post on her profile. It was a candid photo of Lewis, his brow furrowed in concentration as he edited her paper. The image was softly lit, capturing a quiet, intimate warmth. The caption read: “It’s official. I think my childhood best friend likes me back. Should I confess?” Within sixty seconds, the post was flooded with comments. “Do it! We need a happy ending!” “He’s so gorgeous, honestly, I would have fallen for him too!” With a numb hand, I typed three words under the post: “Have some shame.” Almost instantly, defensive replies came pouring in. “Someone’s bitter.” “Why are you hating on true love? Get a life.” The notifications piled up, filled with venom. Within minutes, my comment was deleted, and my burner account was blocked from commenting further. At 1:00 AM, Irene updated her caption: “I’ve decided! If this gets 100k likes, I’m going to tell him how I feel. I don’t want to lose him.” The likes surged rapidly, hitting tens of thousands in minutes. Sitting in the dark bedroom, I tapped the heart icon myself. If they were so desperate to be together, I would get out of their way. I didn’t hear Lewis come to bed. When I woke up the next morning, his arm was draped over my waist, pulling me against his chest. But the scent that clung to him wasn’t his—it was the sweet, floral perfume Irene wore. It was beautiful, and it made me feel physically sick. I tried to push his arm away, but he only tightened his grip, burying his face in my neck. There were dark circles under his eyes, proof of another sleepless night dedicated to Irene. “Stop it, Grace,” he mumbled. “Let me sleep a little longer.” I slid out of his embrace, went to the bathroom to wash my face, and began quietly packing my suitcase. The rustle of the zipper woke him. He sat up instantly, catching my wrist. “Grace? What are you doing?” “I’m going back to Philly.” “You said you were going to look for a job here in Boston. Why are you going back?” I looked him dead in the eye, my voice remarkably steady. “Lewis, we’re done. Let’s break up.” He stared at me for a beat, then let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “Are you seriously doing this because I couldn’t pick you up from the station? Grace, do you hear yourself? How childish can you get?” Childish. That was his word for me every time I expressed hurt. It was always easier to dismiss my feelings as immaturity. But I was done arguing. When I kept silent, Lewis reached into the nightstand drawer and tossed a folder onto the bed. “Look, Irene and I pulled some major strings to get you an internship at a tech firm downtown. You start next week. We had to cash in a lot of favors for this, Grace. Grow up and stop making everything so difficult.” I glanced down at the folder. It was an entry-level internship with a small tech agency, paying barely enough to cover groceries, working six days a week. The offer I had declined this morning paid more than double that, with full benefits. I slammed the folder back onto the nightstand, my eyes burning. “Is that what you think of me, Lewis? That I’m some charity case who can’t even get a job on her own?” Lewis stood up, looking down at me with a cold, exasperated sigh. “Grace, let’s be realistic. What credentials do you actually have? Irene and I graduated from Ivy League institutions. You went to a decent state school. Without our help, a resume like yours wouldn’t even pass their automated screening!” His words cut straight through me, sharp and precise. All our lives, Lewis and Irene had been the golden children, while I was just… ordinary. When we were younger and Lewis tutored me, he’d playfully knock my forehead and tease me for being slow. I had laughed it off then, thinking it was affection. Everyone in our hometown had always assumed Lewis and Irene would end up together; they were the perfect match on paper. When Lewis and I started dating, his parents made no secret of their disappointment. Every family dinner was an exercise in passive-aggressive remarks about how I wasn’t “intellectually compatible” with their son, how Irene would have been a much better fit. I had cried myself to sleep so many nights over those comments. Back then, Lewis would wrap his arms around me and whisper, “Don’t listen to them, Grace. You’re perfect for me. I love you for who you are.” But now, he was saying the exact same things. “So you agree with them,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “You think I’m not smart enough for you. You think my degree makes you look bad.” Lewis blinked, a sudden flash of panic breaking through his arrogance. “No, Grace, that’s not what I meant. I just—” I pushed past him, refusing to listen. As I threw open the bedroom door, I found Irene standing in the hallway. She reached out, grabbing my forearm with a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Grace, please, you’re misunderstanding. We were just trying to help you get a foot in the door…” Something inside me snapped. I yanked my arm away with all my strength. “Get away from me!” I snapped. The force of my movement sent her stumbling backward. She let out a soft cry and fell hard onto the polished floor. From behind me, Lewis roared. He shoved past me, kneeling to scoop Irene into his arms. “Grace! What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t take your frustrations out on her!” It was the first time he had ever raised his voice at me like that. A cold, suffocating pain radiated from my chest. I grabbed my purse, slammed the front door, and walked out into the rain. I didn’t look back. And he didn’t run after me. The storm showed no signs of letting up. I walked aimlessly down the slick sidewalks, the rain washing away the tears on my face. I remembered the night we got our college acceptance letters. Lewis and Irene were both headed to their elite Boston schools. They had begged me to go to a lower-tier college nearby just so we wouldn’t have to be apart. I had stared at my laptop screen all night, torn. In the end, I chose to go to the reputable state university in Philadelphia. I wanted to build something of my own. When Lewis found out, he was furious. He tried to convince me to transfer, saying, “Grace, I just want us to be together. I don’t care about the prestige of your school.” But I cared. I wanted to close the gap between us, even if only by a fraction. We hadn’t spoken for a month after that decision. In college, Lewis continued to shine. His social media was a constant stream of photos from international competitions and academic conferences—almost always alongside Irene. When we hung out during holidays, they talked about research grants and professors I’d never heard of, leaving me sitting in silence, smiling politely at a conversation I couldn’t join. There was no shortage of girls chasing him at school. Irene would always call to keep me “updated”—giggling as she told me about the freshman who confessed to him, or the department beauty trying to get his number. I had lived in constant, quiet terror during those years. I’d call him multiple times a day, even asking Irene to keep an eye on him. At first, Lewis was patient, reassuring me. But as the semesters dragged on, his patience wore thin. We began to fight constantly. Eventually, he started comparing us, hinting that Irene was much more understanding of his busy schedule. Terrified of losing him, I was always the one to apologize first. And with every fight we had, Irene moved a step closer to him. The warning signs had been there all along; I had just chosen to be blind. By afternoon, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. I walked back to the apartment to gather my things. Standing before the door, I stared at the keypad. I hesitated, then pressed the keys corresponding to Irene’s birthday. With a soft, melodic beep, the lock clicked open. I let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. The tears flowed freely now. The living room was quiet, but a warm light spilled from the cracked bedroom door. I stepped closer and peered in. Irene was leaning over Lewis on the bed. Their foreheads were pressed together, their noses almost touching, close enough that they were breathing the same air. Irene wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his jawline. “I love you, Lewis,” she whispered, her face flushed. Lewis looked stunned, but he didn’t push her away. She smiled, leaning closer, her lips hovering just millimeters from his. Every ounce of pain and restraint I had built up over seven years shattered. I threw the door open, grabbed Irene by her collar, yanked her off him, and delivered a sharp, stinging slap across her face. “Are you seriously this pathetic, Irene? Sleeping with your best friend’s boyfriend?” She shrieked, trying to scramble away, but I caught her by the hair, dragging her back. In the chaotic scuffle, she fell onto the floor, sobbing as her cheek began to swell. Lewis finally broke out of his stupor. He shoved me back forcefully and knelt beside Irene, his eyes filled with absolute panic as he examined her face. “Irene! Are you okay? Does it hurt?” He whipped his head around to face me, his eyes colder than ice. “Grace, have you lost your mind? Apologize to her right now!” I stared at his furious expression. I wanted to scream, to ask him how he could look at me like that, but I realized there was nothing left to say. I turned, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out. The elevator doors were just about to slide shut when Irene rushed in, catching the door. She grabbed my sleeve, her eyes red and tearful. “Grace, please, wait! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cross the line, I didn’t want to hurt you…” I unlocked my phone and held her viral post directly in front of her face. “Don’t you get tired of playing the victim, Irene?” The moment her eyes scanned the screen, the tears vanished from her face. She let out a quiet sigh. “Grace,” she said, her voice turning remarkably cold. “You and Lewis are too different. You were always going to break up. He’s surrounded by brilliant women every day. Even if it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else eventually.” We stepped out of the lobby. I tried to walk to the curb to hail a cab, but Irene grabbed my wrist, her grip surprisingly tight. “You can’t keep him, Grace. Just break up with him. Let him go.” “You are disgusting, Irene.” I pried her fingers off my wrist, but she lunged and grabbed the handle of my suitcase, refusing to let go. We struggled back and forth, stepping off the curb and onto the rain-slicked asphalt of the narrow street. A car suddenly rounded the corner, its headlights cutting through the heavy rain. The vehicle was moving too fast on the wet road, its high beams blinding us. Both of us froze in the middle of the street, our legs turning to lead. Through the glare, I saw Lewis sprinting toward us, screaming Irene’s name. He reached out and, without a single second of hesitation, shoved me hard to the side, throwing his entire body over Irene to shield her. I stumbled backward from the force of his push, falling directly into the path of the oncoming headlights…

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Even when my fiancé was picking out my wedding jewelry, he still bought two pieces and let my sister choose first. One was a pink diamond necklace he had tracked across three cities, paying a fortune for it at a luxury auction. The other was a cheap black onyx brooch that came as a free promotional gift. It didn’t match a wedding dress at all. For the first time in my life, I pointed to the necklace before she could. “Can I choose first this time?” Ryan ruffled my hair, his tone patronizing. “Victoria is competitive, Gina. If she isn’t the first choice, she’d rather have nothing. You’ve never been picky, and the other piece isn’t bad.” I didn’t say anything, but my chest felt completely hollow. Growing up with Ryan for twenty years meant I was always the one picking up Victoria’s scraps. Every summer, when the watermelon was sliced, Ryan would hand the platter to Victoria first. She would take the center piece—seedless, sweet, and vibrant red. Then, Ryan would push the remaining pale, seed-filled rind toward me. “This one is ripe too, just a little less sweet. It’ll do.” When he got a new car, he let Victoria claim her spot. She picked shotgun, claiming she was prone to car sickness. Ryan pointed to the back. “The back seat is a little cramped, but either side is fine for you.” Later, it was the same with love. He had loved Victoria, but she chose to chase her PhD and her academic ambitions abroad. Left behind and heartbroken, Ryan turned around and proposed to me. To Ryan, Victoria was always the first choice. I looked at the cheap black brooch and gently pushed it back. “Give both to Victoria, Ryan. I don’t want to choose anymore.” I didn’t want to choose from the leftovers. … Ryan let out an exasperated sigh. “Gina, a cheap promotional piece like this doesn’t suit your sister.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Then why does it suit me?” Ryan froze, then laughed it off. “Come on. When you two stood together as kids, everyone said you looked like her little shadow. You can’t carry off a loud color like pink diamonds. Black is low-key. It doesn’t demand attention.” The little shadow. Victoria and I are twins, but I never measured up. In school, she was always straight-A, while I pulled all-nighters only to scrape Bs. My mother would pinch my temple and sigh, “You came out of the same womb, how are you so slow? Whatever, we only need one genius in the family.” I followed Victoria around, carrying her bag, peeling her apples. I was the shadow for ten years. I had told Ryan more than once how much I hated that label. He would always promise, “Okay, I won’t say it again.” But the second Victoria was in the room, those words slipped out of his mouth anyway. I looked at him, my voice flat. “Ryan, we’re over. Let’s call off the wedding.” Ryan stared at me, smiling like I was a child throwing a tantrum. “Alright, if you don’t like the brooch, we’ll get you something else. No need to say things like that. We’ll go to the mall right now, and you can pick whatever you want, okay?” Victoria slid the pink diamond necklace toward me. “Gina, take it. You’re getting married, don’t act like a child.” But Ryan stopped her hand. “I bought that specifically for you, Victoria. Gina can’t pull it off anyway. It’d be wasted on her.” So much for letting me “choose” first. It was always meant for her. Ryan pulled me by the shoulder toward the door. But at the mall entrance, Victoria mentioned she wanted to check out a new designer perfume. Ryan immediately nodded. “We’ll look at Victoria’s perfume first, then get your gift. No rush.” Always the same. Victoria spent forever at the counter, torn between two scents. Ryan noticed her hesitation. “Just get both. Use one now, and give the other to Gina. You two can swap whenever you want.” He paid and handed me the extra bottle. “There, gift solved. Your sister has great taste, you should be happy.” I didn’t take it. I looked at the bottle, finding it almost funny. Didn’t he say we came here to let me choose? “I’m packing my things from your apartment tonight. I’m not coming back.” Ryan’s hand froze mid-air. His face hardens. “Gina, stop playing games.” That night, he called my parents over. The moment my mother walked in, she jabbed my temple. “Have you lost your mind, calling off a wedding? Do you know how lucky you are to have Ryan? You’re average-looking and slow. If your sister wasn’t so focused on her career, do you honestly think he’d look at you?” My head throbbed. I had heard this my entire life. I was slow, I was plain, I was not Victoria. Ryan stepped in front of me, smiling to smooth things over. “Don’t say that, Mrs. Miller. Gina is sweet. She’s not unworthy of me.” My mother beamed at him. “Look how he defends you! Where else will you find a man this good? If you break up with him, don’t bother calling me your mother.” Yes, such a good man. I should be deeply grateful. I sniffled. “Okay.” Everyone sighed in relief, like a petulant child finally behaving. I went to my room, locked the door, and called Beth. The tears fell silently. “Beth, is that spot still open at your pottery studio in Asheville?” Beth’s voice was cautious. “Aren’t you getting married next week? Will your family let you go?” I looked out into the dark night. “Beth, what would you say if I left him at the altar?” She gasped. To her, I had always been the quiet, obedient, non-confrontational girl. But being good never got me loved. I spent my life on tiptoe, trying to get Ryan and my parents to look at me, but I didn’t want to be the “good girl” anymore. The next day, Ryan took me to see the house renovations. I walked toward the passenger seat, but he pulled me back. “Silly girl, that’s Victoria’s seat.” Victoria walked up, and Ryan opened the door for her. “Victoria wants to buy a house soon too, so she’s coming to take a look.” I quietly slid into the back seat. “Okay.” At the beautiful townhouse, Victoria’s eyes lit up when she saw the master suite. “The light here is perfect, and the humidity is just right for my lab samples.” Ryan stood beside her. “If you like it, this room is yours whenever you visit. I’ll get my best designer to remodel it for your equipment.” I stood in the doorway. During the entire buying process, Ryan had never cared about the house. “A house is just a place to sleep,” he’d say. But now, he and Victoria stood side-by-side by the window, discussing blueprints like newlyweds. Victoria turned to me with a playful smile. “Gina, you don’t mind if I take this room, do you?” I looked at Ryan. “You know this was supposed to be our master bedroom, right?” Ryan’s gaze was perfectly calm. “It’s just a label, Gina. You don’t need scientific humidity levels. Just pick one of the other rooms.” I loosened my clenched fists. “She’s my sister. Let her have it.” Ryan patted my head. “Good girl, Gina.” Next was the bridal salon. My three custom dresses were ready. Victoria linked her arm through mine warmly. “Let me help you check them, baby sis.” She seemed like a caring sister. But while I was trying them on, she got a phone call and looked distressed. “The gown for my award ceremony gala got ruined, and I can’t find a replacement in time…” Ryan scanned the salon, his eyes landing on my reception dress. “Victoria has pale skin, this ivory gown would look stunning on her. Let her have this one.” The stylist can’t help but speak up. “Sir, Miss Gina came here thirty times to sketch and adjust the details for this custom dress. And… who wears a secondhand dress for their own wedding?” Ryan looked at me, taking my compliance for granted. To him, if Victoria needed it, I should give it. I clutched my chest. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as much anymore. I changed out of the dress and handed it to Victoria. “It’s fine. It’ll look beautiful on you, Victoria.” Ryan looked surprised for a second, then softened. “Thank you, Gina. I’ll help you pick an even better one.” But his eyes remained glued to Victoria in the gown. He knelt down, personally smoothing out the creases in her train. I used to dream of him doing that for me. Out of thirty visits, he only came once. When the stylist suggested he help adjust my train because “it’s romantic,” he hadn’t even looked up from his phone. “That’s dramatic, not romantic. We pay them to do that.” Watching him kneel at Victoria’s feet, I finally understood the price of my illusions. Everyone always preferred Victoria. My parents, Ryan. But I couldn’t help loving him because when my parents screamed at me for being stupid, Ryan was the one who slipped me a strawberry candy and said, “Being silly is cute, too.” I hid that love for years. Even when he proposed to Victoria and she rejected him for her career, and he proposed to me in a rebound haze, I said yes. I gave up my art to work as his assistant, forcing myself to read dry data sheets to be more like her. But I could never be Victoria, and he could never love me. My phone buzzed. Beth: The studio is ready. When are you coming? Victoria had changed out of the dress. Ryan handed me a simple black gown. “Just take this one, Gina. Victoria has to run, let’s not keep her. This one is simple and elegant. Fits you.” Black again. The color I hated. I looked down and replied to Beth: On the wedding day. I’m leaving. That evening, we went to my parents’ house for dinner. I realized it was my and Victoria’s joint birthday. Ryan bought the cake. “You two share a birthday, so one cake is easier.” The cake was beautiful, but it was layered with thick mango cream. Victoria loves mango; I am severely allergic. But no one seemed to notice. Ryan inserted the candles, placing the birthday crown on Victoria’s head. “Make a wish, Victoria.” I looked at the mango cake, the crown, and Ryan’s warm smile. “Ryan,” I said quietly. “You always buy two of everything, but we only have one cake. And why am I always the last one to choose?” The room went dead silent. Ryan frowned. “It’s always been this way, Gina. What is wrong with you lately?” My mother glared at me. “She’s your older sister, and she’s accomplished. Of course she goes first. If you were half as smart as her, I’d let you blow the candles first!” The words died in my throat. Victoria made her wish, and they sang to her. By the time it was my turn, the candles had melted down to the wax. Ryan shrugged. “No more candles left. A wish is just a wish anyway. You can make one next year, Gina.” Twenty years. Every year is “next year,” but next year never comes. Does an ordinary child not deserve to be loved? I watched them eat the cake, my mind drifting far away. The conversation shifted to the wedding. Mom asked me, “How are the banquet preparations?” Before I could speak, she turned to Ryan. “Oh, Ryan, since your business partners are coming, Victoria can present her new research product at the reception as a promotion!” Ryan nodded instantly. “Great idea. We can cancel the slide show of our memories and let Victoria take that slot.” Victoria smiled. “We don’t have to cancel it, I’ll just speak briefly. I don’t want to ruin Gina’s wedding.” Ryan looked at her earnestly. “Nonsense, if you do it, do it right. Don’t worry, I’ll handle the schedule.” The three of them excitedly planned the display stands, the stage timing, the banners. My wedding was being turned into a corporate product launch, and not one person asked for my opinion. But it didn’t matter. There wouldn’t be a wedding anyway. Feeling suffocated, I retreated to my room. Outside, they were waiting for the live broadcast of Victoria’s national science competition results. I packed my things in my old bedroom. There wasn’t much—just an old sketchbook of my childhood drawings hidden at the bottom of a drawer. Suddenly, a cheer erupted from the living room. Victoria had won first place. Laughter, applause, and excitement filled the house. Then I heard Victoria’s sweet, whining voice: “But the award ceremony is the same day as Gina’s wedding. None of you can come with me. It’s such an important moment, and I’ll be all alone.” Silence fell over the living room. Then I heard Ryan’s voice: “You won’t be alone.” A knock on my door. Ryan stood there, his tone pleading. “Gina, Victoria’s award is a once-in-a-lifetime achievement. Can we move our wedding to the evening?” I wanted to laugh. Is a wedding not a once-in-a-lifetime event? The housekeeper muttered, “An evening wedding? People only do that for rushed shotgun weddings or quick elopements.” My mother snapped at her. “Nonsense! Don’t fill her head with superstitious garbage!” Ryan looked at me with soft, pleading eyes. “Please, Gina? You’re always the understanding one.” I looked at him, remembering when I won a minor art contest as a kid. I begged my parents to come, but they said Victoria’s debate tournament was more important. Ryan saw me crying and promised, “Don’t worry, I’ll be there to watch you get your trophy.” But he ended up at Victoria’s debate tournament too. I stood on that stage alone, watching other parents hug their children. And now, I was still alone. “Sure. Move it to the evening.” A wedding without a bride could be held whenever they wanted. They celebrated, and Ryan got drunk. Looking at his hazy eyes, I asked, “Ryan, are you looking forward to our wedding?” He didn’t answer. The cold wind drafted between us. “Then why did you propose to me in the first place?” I knew it was a rebound, but I wanted to hear him say it. He muttered, slurring his words. “In life… you settle. Finding someone fifty percent similar to her… is the best I could do. And you’re her sister. Being with you… means I still get to see her…” The wind stung my eyes, but the tears had dried up. The truth was cruder than I had ever imagined. On the wedding day, before dawn, the house was bustling—not for my wedding, but for Victoria’s ceremony. Everyone was picking outfits, doing makeup, and coordinating routes for her big day. I walked out of my room, fully dressed. “I’ll head out first. There are things to prep at the venue.” Ryan didn’t even look up as he helped Victoria double-check her luggage. “Alright, go ahead. Don’t keep the guests waiting later.” I grabbed my small purse and walked out. I headed straight to the airport. As the Uber pulled away, I saw Ryan’s car in the rearview mirror. My family happily piled into it, driving toward Victoria’s triumph. The ceremony lasted four hours. By the time it ended, I had landed in Asheville. My phone buzzed. Ryan: Gina, since the wedding is in the evening, let’s skip the family tea ceremony and photos. I’ll be late. Victoria gets overwhelmed by these crowds, you go to the venue first. Be a good girl. I stared at the text, blocked his number, and turned off the phone. Beth hugged me at the terminal. “Let’s go.” Meanwhile, Ryan and my family finally arrived at the wedding venue, only to find chaos. A friend grabbed him. “I thought the bride was arriving early? Where is she?” Ryan froze. The wedding planner ran over, sweating. “Mr. Miller, we can’t reach the bride. Her phone is off.”

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My father’s life-or-death surgery was only an hour away. I was practically running down the sterile, fluorescent-lit corridors of the hospital when a bizarre, glitch-like hallucination flickered in my peripheral vision—a scrolling stream of glowing text, resembling a live-chat feed, bleeding into reality. [Oh god, the NPC dad’s donor heart is about to be completely ruined by the sweet little darling. Without a matching heart, the NPC dad is as good as dead.] [So what? The girl lost her mother years ago anyway. Losing her dad now just makes it a matching set.] The “NPC” they were talking about was me. And the one whose death was guaranteed was my father. I pushed through the double doors of the surgical wing, my breath catching in my throat. There, standing by the nurse’s station, was my husband, Luke, and his childhood friend, Sadie. Sadie was holding a specialized surgical cooler—the kind used to transport transplant organs. As I approached, Sadie let out a soft, delicate gasp, her eyes instantly pooling with theatrical tears. “Oh, Bella… I am so, so incredibly sorry,” she whimpered, her voice dripping with sweet, faux-innocence. “I honestly thought this was just medical waste. I… I threw it down the incinerator chute. I completely ruined your dad’s donor heart, didn’t I? You won’t hate me, will you?” Luke stood right beside her. He didn’t even look at me, only offering a dismissive, impatient sigh. “Sadie just started her nursing rotation, Bella. A little oversight is completely normal. Stop making a mountain out of a molehill.” A blinding rage surged through me. I was ready to tear them both apart, to scream until my lungs bled. But before I could take a step, my phone buzzed in my palm. It was an automated alert from the surgical coordinator. Dear Bella, your father’s heart transplant is scheduled to begin in thirty minutes. The donor organ has been successfully prepped and delivered to Operating Room 4. Thank you. The suffocating weight on my chest suddenly lifted, leaving behind a cold, clarifying silence. I stared at the empty surgical cooler in Sadie’s manicured hands. My dad’s donor heart was already in the operating room. If that was the case… whose heart did Sadie just destroy? … I quickly typed a reply to the surgical coordinator, my fingers trembling slightly. Is it confirmed that my father’s surgery will proceed as scheduled? The response was almost instantaneous. Yes, ma’am. The organ is in the OR. We are on track for a 4:00 PM start. I let out a long, quiet breath, letting the cool hospital air ground me. Then, I turned a cold, level gaze onto Sadie. Sensing the shift in my demeanor, Sadie immediately shrank back into Luke’s space, wrapping both of her arms tightly around his elbow. She practically hung off him, her shoulders trembling with practiced vulnerability. She looked up at me with wide, watery eyes, her voice taking on a sickeningly sweet, childish whine. “Bella, why are you looking at me like that? You’re scaring me.” “I just started this rotation. I don’t know how things work yet,” she continued, her lower lip quivering as she swayed slightly against Luke. “I really thought that box was garbage. I didn’t know there was something inside.” Before I could even open my mouth, Luke stepped forward, physically shielding Sadie from my sight. He frowned, his eyes hardening with irritation. “Bella, drop it.” “It’s Sadie’s first day on the floor. It’s completely understandable that she can’t distinguish between medical equipment yet. She already apologized. What more do you want?” Tucked safely against Luke’s chest, Sadie peeked out. She stomped her foot lightly, her nose turning a delicate shade of pink. “Luke, I tried to apologize nicely… but Bella just keeps staring at me like she wants to kill me.” She began playing with the hem of her scrub top, tilting her head in a display of pathetic helplessness. “You know how bad my learning curve is. I can’t keep track of all these different coolers. Getting yelled at by Bella makes my chest hurt so badly.” She clutched her heart, letting out a series of quiet, pathetic sniffles. A couple of passing nurses slowed down, casting disapproving glances in my direction. It was infuriating. With nothing but a pout and a childish act, Sadie was attempting to brush off what she believed was the destruction of a human life. I clenched my fists, forcing my rising temper down, and forced a look of panicked distress onto my face. “Do you have any idea what was in that cooler? It was a transplant organ! Without it, the surgery cannot happen!” A flicker of genuine panic crossed Sadie’s eyes, but she masked it instantly with another petulant pout. “But I genuinely didn’t know!” she argued, her tone turning defensive. “If the hospital didn’t label it clearly, that’s on them. It’s not my fault, Bella. You can’t just take your anger out on me.” She sighed, crossing her arms. “Fine. I’ll pray for your dad’s soul, okay? That’s the most I can do.” I rubbed my temples, pretending to be on the verge of tears. “Who said that was my dad’s donor heart? Look at the label on the side of that cooler. It clearly says—” Luke reached over, smoothing a hand over Sadie’s hair, murmuring sweet reassurances. Then he looked up and cut me off, his voice dripping with condescension. “Bella, stop being so hysterical.” “The damage is done. Blaming Sadie won’t change anything. Organs are rare, and throwing a tantrum won’t magically produce another one.” “Can you try to be the mature one for once?” Sadie leaned heavily into Luke’s embrace, casting a sly, triumphant smirk in my direction when she thought Luke wasn’t looking. “Do you really not know whose…” I began, but the words caught in my throat as I stared at the empty cooler. Luke’s mother, Martha, had always been incredibly kind to me. She treated me like her own daughter. I couldn’t let her die because of Sadie’s malicious stupidity. “I don’t have time for this,” I said, my voice hardening. “I’m going to the administrative office to request an emergency search for a backup donor.” The moment the words left my mouth, Sadie’s face fell. “No, don’t!” she squeaked, grabbing Luke’s arm again. “Luke, my stomach is hurting so much from all this stress. Can we please just go get lunch?” Luke immediately agreed, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Do what Sadie says, Bella. Stop running around like a headless chicken. Just sit down, wait, and accept the situation instead of causing unnecessary trouble.” I didn’t waste another breath on them. I turned on my heel and walked straight toward the medical records and administration office. Behind me, I could hear Sadie’s high-pitched complaints, quickly followed by Luke’s soothing, patient murmurs. I didn’t slow down. I found the charge nurse on duty and immediately asked about the protocol for securing a backup transplant coordinator. The nurse opened her terminal, pulling up the regional database, and began explaining the matching criteria. Suddenly, the door burst open. “Bella! Why did you run off like that?” Sadie rushed in, dragging Luke behind her. She scurried to my side and grabbed my arm, shaking it with frustrating force. I tried to wrench myself free, but her grip was surprisingly tight. With tears welling in her eyes, Sadie pouted. “We told you it’s pointless to look for another heart. Why do you have to be so difficult and exhaust yourself?” “You’re making my heart palpitate. It hurts so much.” She leaned her weight against me, pretending to be on the verge of fainting. The charge nurse stopped typing, her eyebrows knitting together in frustration. Before I could speak, Luke stepped forward and forcefully pried Sadie’s hands off my arm. He pulled Sadie behind his back, glaring at me with utter disgust. “Bella, get a grip!” he snapped. “Sadie is only trying to look out for you, and you’re just getting more erratic. Are you trying to force everyone in this hospital to cater to your drama?” Sadie peeked from behind his shoulder, her lower lip trembling. “Exactly, Bella… I just didn’t want you to tire yourself out over nothing. You’re acting so scary.” She gripped Luke’s waist tightly, adding in a soft, mocking whisper, “Besides, if your dad passes away, he gets to go to heaven and be an angel. Don’t you want him to be an angel?” I ignored them entirely, turning my back to address the charge nurse again. In that brief window of silence, Sadie’s eyes darted around. She slipped out from behind Luke, stepping up to the desk. With an air of childish curiosity, she began flipping through the physical registration logs lying on the counter. “Don’t touch those, please,” the charge nurse warned sharply. “Those are confidential patient files.” But before the nurse could finish her sentence, Sadie’s wrist swept outward. With a loud clatter, a massive stack of matching logs and patient records was sent flying. Papers scattered across the floor, and pens rolled into the corners of the room. The entire office fell dead silent. Every eye in the room locked onto her. My face went entirely cold. Sadie didn’t look remotely sorry. Instead, she sucked in her breath, widening her eyes in a display of childlike shock. Her lower lip wobbled, and she began to sniffle. “Oh… I’m so, so sorry.” “I didn’t mean to. My hand just slipped. I’ve always been so clumsy. Please don’t yell at me…” She grabbed the hem of Luke’s shirt, her shoulders shaking as if she were a terrified child. The charge nurse’s face was livid. “Those are the active donor match registries for the entire surgical wing. Do you have any idea how much chaos you’ve just caused?” Luke stepped in front of Sadie, completely shielding her from the nurse’s wrath. “I’m incredibly sorry, nurse. I apologize on her behalf.” “She’s young, and she’s a bit sheltered. She doesn’t always understand the weight of her actions. But it’s really not a national emergency. We can just pick the papers up. There’s no need to be so hostile.” With a few dismissive words, Luke completely erased her deliberate act of sabotage. With Luke defending her, Sadie grew bolder. She peeked out, whispering loudly to the nurse, “I really didn’t mean to… why is everyone always so mean to me? I’m practically still a baby.” Then, she shot me a quick, venomous look of pure triumph. My hands clenched so tightly my knuckles turned white. Luke glared at me. “Are you happy now? You insisted on dragging this out just to make Sadie miserable. Bella, when did you become so vicious?” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Luke, that donor organ was for your mother.” “If you and your little side-chick want to play daycare in a hospital corridor, do it somewhere else. Get out of my way before you cost someone their life.” Luke’s expression darkened instantly. He stepped closer, his jaw clenched. “What the hell are you talking about?” Sadie whimpered, shrinking back. “Why is Bella saying things like that? It’s creepy.” I didn’t want to waste another second. “The cooler you threw away didn’t contain my father’s heart. It contained the donor heart matched for your mother, Martha.” Luke’s temper flared violently. He raised his voice, drawing stares from the hallway. “Bella, that is sick!” “Just because you’re throwing a tantrum over Sadie’s mistake, you’re going to use my mother’s life to hurt us? You’re actually wishing death on my mom just to spite a girl who made an honest mistake?” Sadie’s eyes welled with fresh tears. “Luke… Bella shouldn’t use your mom’s health to punish me, even if she hates me.” On the floor, the scattered patient records still lay in a messy heap. Sadie knelt down, mumbling about helping to clean up. But as she reached out, her arm made a sudden, sharp motion. A rack of sealed glass vials containing pre-op cross-match blood samples was knocked off the edge of the desk. They shattered on the hard tile floor, thick red liquid pooling rapidly amid the shards of glass. A surge of pure adrenaline hit me. I lunged forward to grab her. Seeing my movement, Luke stepped in and shoved me back with brutal force. The impact sent me stumbling backward. My lower back slammed hard into the sharp corner of the wooden desk, and my forearm scraped against a metal bracket, tearing the skin. A sharp, burning pain shot up my arm. “You’re completely out of control!” Luke yelled, pointing a finger at me. “You lunged at Sadie, knocked over the blood samples, and now you’re going to blame her for that too?” He looked at me with deep, bitter disgust. “You’re lying about my mother, and now you’re destroying her actual medical samples. I can’t believe how malicious you are.” Sadie slumped against Luke, clutching her forehead and groaning softly. The charge nurse knelt by the ruined blood, her forehead creased in deep worry. “These were the urgent pre-op compatibility samples. With these destroyed, we have to draw new blood and run the labs all over again. That takes at least twelve hours. We will miss the surgical window.” Ignoring the throbbing pain in my arm and back, I reached into my pocket for my phone. If I called the regional blood bank immediately, we might be able to expedite a backup courier. But before my fingers could grasp the device, Luke snatched it from my hand and shoved it into his own pocket. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like a vise, and began dragging me out of the office. “Stop making a scene.” His voice was like ice. “You’ve done nothing but lie and manipulate my mother’s health to bully Sadie. I’m not letting you ruin this hospital’s peace any longer.” I thrashed against his grip, trying to pull away. “Luke, you idiot! That is your mother! Go check the patient log yourself before you accuse me of lying!” Luke sneered, but before he could speak, a nurse came running down the hall. “Mrs. Bella! There’s hope for the donor heart you inquired about. We have a patient who—” Luke cut her off immediately. “Don’t bother. Give the backup heart to someone else. We don’t need it.” I stared at him, my heart stopping. “Luke, that is your mother’s life! If you reject the backup, what is she going to do?!” The nurse looked highly uncomfortable, her eyes darting to Luke’s tight grip on my bruised wrist. Luke offered the nurse a polite, chilling smile. “We’re fine. Thank you.” He turned back to me, a cruel, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Let this be a lesson to you, Bella. This is what you get for falsely accusing Sadie.” The sheer absurdity of it left me speechless. Sadie giggled, wrapping her arms around Luke’s bicep. “Luke, you’re the best. It was just a tiny mistake. Why is Bella being so obsessive? I’m practically still a baby!” I yanked my hand back with all my strength, finally breaking his grip. “Luke, I truly hope you don’t regret this day.” Luke sneered. “I never regret anything.” “If you get on your knees right now and beg Sadie for forgiveness, maybe I’ll consider calling that nurse back and letting your dad have the backup heart.” I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Why would I apologize? I’ve told you three times: that first cooler was your mother’s heart. If you had half a brain, you’d look at the tag.” Seeing the cold conviction in my eyes, a shadow of doubt finally crossed Luke’s face. He looked down at the cooler in Sadie’s hand. “Sadie, let me see that…” Sadie’s eyes widened in temporary panic, but she quickly recovered, pouting sweetly. “Luke, I might be silly, but I can read! The tag says Room 305!” Room 305. My father’s room. She claimed it was an accident, but she had been targeting my father from the very beginning. Relief washed over Luke’s face, and his glare returned, colder than before. “Bella, you are pathologically unrepentant.” “Remember this: whatever happens to your father today is entirely your fault.” My father’s surgery was starting, and I had no interest in wasting another second on them. I turned to walk away. But Luke grabbed my shoulder, forcing me back. “Apologize to Sadie!” When I didn’t move, Luke stepped forward and kicked the back of my knee. A sharp, white-hot pain shot through my leg, and I collapsed onto the hard tile floor. My knees hit the ground with a sickening crack. Sadie gasped dramatically, covering her mouth with her hands. “Oh my gosh, Luke! Is she going to be okay?” Then, she looked down at me, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. “I told her it was an accident, but she just wouldn’t let it go. She must be so jealous of how much you love me.” I stared up at Luke, my vision blurring from pain. I tried to push myself up using the wall, but Luke kept a heavy, crushing hand on my shoulder. “Apologize!” I opened my mouth to speak, but a nurse with a clipboard appeared at the end of the hall. She smiled warmly when she saw me and handed over a packet of papers. “Mrs. Bella, your father’s surgery is complete. It was a total success! He’s being moved to a recovery room now. Two weeks of observation and he can go home.” My heart soared. But then, the nurse turned her gaze to Luke, her expression turning into one of utter confusion. “Mr. Luke? What are you doing here?” “Your mother’s donor heart was severely compromised, and the hospital couldn’t reach you. Her surgery has been officially canceled.”

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During the years Chase pursued me, his greatest trigger was when anyone brought up our six-year age gap. Someone would tease him at a bar, laughing about how he’d bagged himself an “older woman.” His face would instantly turn to stone. “I don’t care that she’s older,” he’d snap, his voice tight. “I only hate that I wasn’t born a few years earlier so I could have had more time with her.” But then his company started growing, and a new, young assistant came along. He began taking her to galas, drinking the cocktails meant for her, and teaching her how to close deals. When I asked him why he wasn’t taking me anymore, he didn’t even look up from his phone. “Georgia, you’re thirty-six. Staying up late at those events is hell on your skin. Besides, Piper is young. She has this energy, this vibrancy. She looks right standing next to me.” Then he added, “Don’t overthink it. No matter how young she is, she could never touch your place as my wife.” But that girl—the one who supposedly couldn’t touch my place—wore my custom couture, lived in my apartment, and handed me my own positive pregnancy test with a sweet, mocking smile: “Georgia, isn’t pregnancy incredibly risky at your age?” Later, she pushed me down the stairs. Lying in a pool of blood, I heard her call Chase. “Chase, Georgia is throwing another tantrum. I’m so scared.” That day, the baby Chase and I had spent three painful years trying for… was gone. I mailed him the pathology report and the divorce papers, then vanished the night before his company’s IPO bell-ringing ceremony. … The courier arrived to pick up the package while it was pouring outside. I handed him the heavy manila envelope. He glanced at the recipient’s name. “Chase Jenson?” “Yes.” “Do you want to declare a value for insurance?” “No need.” There were only three sheets of paper inside. A miscarriage report. A signed divorce petition. And a short, handwritten note from me. Chase, you don’t have to worry about naming this baby anymore. After the courier left, I stood by the door for a long time. The rain dripped steadily against the iron grates of the stairwell window. Drip. Drip. It sounded exactly like the sterile, icy beat of the IV drip in the hospital room. My phone vibrated in my hand. It was my sister, Gwen. “Georgia, are you packed?” “Yes.” “I’m on my way. Don’t touch anything heavy, do you hear me?” “I won’t.” Her voice went tight over the line. “Chase called me.” I paused, my fingers tightening around the phone. “What did he say?” “He told me to tell you to go home when you’re done throwing your tantrum, and to stop playing games with your health.” Gwen let out a sharp, disbelieving scoff. “He actually asked me if you were going through early menopause. If that was why your emotions are so ‘unstable’ lately.” I closed my eyes. Menopause. That was a word Chase would have never used to describe me before. When I was twenty-nine and he was twenty-three, he was just a fresh graduate standing under my apartment building with a massive bouquet of white roses. My mother had warned him back then: “You’re so much younger than her. You’ll get tired of her when she starts showing her age.” His ears had flared bright red with earnest desperation. “Mrs. Welles, I won’t. When she’s thirty, I’ll be twenty-four. When she’s forty, I’ll be thirty-four. I’ll always be chasing her. I’ll spend my whole life trying to cherish her.” He was so sincere back then. So sincere I believed him for eight years. “Georgia?” Gwen called out, pulling me back to the present. “I’m here.” “Don’t let him get to you.” “I’m fine.” My eyes drifted to the tiny pair of baby booties sitting by the entryway. Chase had bought them. Two months ago, when the test finally turned positive, he had spun me around the living room three times. “Georgia, we finally did it,” he’d whispered, burying his face in my neck. “I’m going to buy the best crib money can buy. If it’s a girl, we’ll name her Maisie. If it’s a boy, Henry.” I had laughed, telling him it was too soon to decide. “It’s not,” he’d insisted. “I’ve waited three years for this. Every night I dream of a little voice calling me Daddy.” Now, the little booties were still here. But the baby was gone. I picked them up and packed them at the very bottom of the cardboard box. The buzzer rang. Gwen burst through the door, her hair soaked from the rain. Seeing how pale I was, she immediately softened her voice. “Georgia, does it still hurt?” “Not anymore.” “Liar.” She knelt down to help me tape up the boxes. “The doctor said you need bed rest. Why are you moving heavy boxes?” “Because this isn’t my home anymore.” Gwen grit her teeth. “He’s going to regret this.” I offered a faint, tired smile. “What good is regret?” She didn’t answer, pulling the packing tape so hard it shrieked through the quiet room. Just as we hauled the last box to the door, the elevator chimed. The doors slid open, and Chase stepped out. He was wearing his tailored black suit, his tie slightly loosened. Standing right behind him was Piper. She was holding a clear umbrella, wearing the designer wool coat Chase had flown all the way to Milan to bid on for me at a private auction last winter. He had skipped a major client dinner for it, enduring weeks of teasing from his friends about how he’d lose his shirt just to keep his wife smiling. I had kept that coat in the center of our master closet, thinking it was sacred. Piper spoke first. “Georgia, please don’t be mad. It was pouring, and Mr. Jenson was worried I’d catch a cold. He just grabbed whatever was in the car.” Gwen snapped instantly. “Grabbed whatever was in the car? Chase, do you even remember what that coat represents?” Piper shrank behind Chase’s shoulder. “Oh… is this the coat from that auction last year? The one where you lost that massive account just to get it for Georgia?” Her eyes well up with performative tears. “I’m so sorry, Chase. I just… I liked the style. I didn’t know.” Chase frowned. “Gwen, it’s just a coat. Don’t scare Piper. She’s two years younger than you—why are you picking a fight with a kid?” Gwen let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, so being young means she gets a free pass? Is that why you think you can treat my sister like trash?” Chase’s face darkened. “This is between Georgia and me. It’s none of your business.” I braced myself against the doorframe, slowly standing tall. “Why are you here, Chase?” His eyes dropped to the boxes. “Are you actually leaving?” “Yes.” He took a step forward, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “Georgia, I don’t have time for this drama. The IPO is tomorrow morning, and I have a board meeting tonight. Yes, I couldn’t make it to the hospital immediately, but you’re fine now, aren’t you? You’re not a teenager anymore. Stop being so dramatic. I am incredibly busy.” “Busy?” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “Busy celebrating Piper’s birthday? Busy cleaning up after your little assistant?” His jaw tightened. That was the look he used to give his friends when they made jokes about my age. Now, he was directing it at me. I didn’t argue. I just smiled, a cold, empty feeling spreading through my chest. “Fine? You think I’m fine? Our ba—” Before I could finish, Piper began frantically peeling off the coat, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Georgia! I shouldn’t have been so thoughtless. I didn’t mean to come between you and Chase… Here, take it back.” She shoved the heavy wool coat into Gwen’s arms, shivering in her thin blouse, her shoulders hunched up to make herself look as fragile as possible. She looked up at Chase with wide, watery eyes. “Chase, I’m freezing. Can you please take me home?” Chase scowled, immediately slipping off his suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders. Then he looked at me, exhaling a long, weary sigh. “Georgia, if you’re determined to throw a fit, go stay at Gwen’s for a couple of days. I’ll take Piper home first. Once the IPO is behind me, we’ll talk.” I watched his back as he walked away, guiding her toward the elevator. The last shred of hope I didn’t know I was holding onto finally snapped. “Chase,” I whispered to the empty hallway. “There’s nothing left for us to talk about.” Gwen brought me to her two-bedroom apartment. The space was small but cozy, the balcony piled with her canvases and old art history books. She insisted I take the master bedroom. “Georgia, you sleep here. I’ll take the couch.” “No, Gwen. I’ll sleep on the couch.” “You just had surgery,” she said, her voice cracking. “If you sleep on the couch, I’ll go protest in front of Chase’s office building with a banner. I swear to God I will.” Looking at her fierce, protective expression, I couldn’t help but smile faintly. Gwen set a mug of hot water by my hand. “You’re still laughing.” “I’m just remembering how you were in high school.” “I was more mature in high school than Chase is right now.” A heavy silence fell over the room. Gwen and Chase had been college classmates. That was how Chase had met me. He used to pump Gwen for information: what tea I liked, what flowers I hated, when my birthday was, and the fact that my stomach was sensitive and couldn’t handle spicy food. “I really regret helping him pursue you,” Gwen whispered, tears finally filling her eyes. “Georgia, do you know what his classmates were saying in the alumni group chat today? Someone posted a photo of Piper at the pre-IPO dinner, saying she’s so young and gorgeous, that they look like a couple from a movie poster.” I sat back on the sofa. “What did Chase say?” Gwen hesitated. “He said, ‘Well, you know how it is. Youth brings its own energy.’ And then he said you didn’t like crowded events anyway, which is why he left you at home.” Suddenly, my phone rang. It was a landline from Chase’s office. I picked it up. “Georgia,” Piper’s voice giggled over the line. “Guess what I just found?” I heard the rustle of paper. “Let’s see,” she read aloud, mockingly. “‘Chase, you don’t have to worry about naming this baby anymore.’ Wow. You’re cold, aren’t you? The baby is gone, and you’re still trying to use it to guilt-trip him?” My grip on the phone tightened. “Piper. Give that package to him.” “What package?” she asked innocently. “Oh, the one I signed for? I threw it in the trash. Trash belongs in the bin, after all.” Gwen heard her voice and lunged to grab the phone, but I held her back. “Piper,” I said, my voice steady. “Are you scared?” A beat of silence. “Scared of what?” “Scared of Chase seeing the pathology report. Scared of him realizing I was actually in the operating room while you were sending him tearful selfies to get his attention. Scared he’ll realize a dead child outweighs a petty tantrum.” Her voice went cold. “Georgia, don’t act so high and mighty just because you managed to get pregnant. Do you think Chase actually wanted that baby? He only wanted it because he knew you were pushing forty and it was your last shot. He told me himself that having a baby at thirty-six is dangerous, and that you’d look like an old grandmother dropping the kid off at school anyway.” A sharp, physical pang hit my chest. Not because of Piper’s words, but because the man who used to scream at anyone who mentioned my age was now the one using it as a punchline. He had joked about it with his friends at dinner parties. “My wife has a strict eleven p.m. bedtime now. She can’t keep up with you young girls. I have to cut her some slack—she is six years older than me, after all.” They had laughed. He had laughed. And I had laughed too, pretending I couldn’t hear the humiliation baked into every syllable. “Georgia,” Piper added, “honestly, you should just stay quiet and keep your title as Mrs. Jenson. Don’t make a scene. A divorced woman your age isn’t exactly a hot commodity on the market.” I didn’t say a word. Gwen was practically vibrating with rage. “Georgia, don’t hold it in. Scream at him, cry, do something! You’re terrifying me.” I gently touched my abdomen. It was flat again. Empty. “Gwen,” I said softly. “I can’t cry. I used to think that as long as he loved me, I could bear anything. But now I realize it’s not that he stopped loving me. He just took his patience—the very best part of himself—and gave it to someone younger.” Gwen’s eyes brimmed with tears. “He wasn’t like this. Do you remember our graduation dinner? Someone made a joke about you being a ‘hot older woman’ and Chase literally smashed his glass on the floor.” I remembered. That night, he had gotten so drunk, wrapping his arms around my waist and refusing to let go. Georgia, don’t listen to them. You’re not my ‘older woman.’ You’re just the person I love. I love you at twenty-nine, and I’ll love you at ninety. Every year you get older is just another year I get to love you. My heart had melted completely. But now, he told Piper: Georgia’s too old for late nights. He told his board: She’s the wife, but you’re the face of the company. There’s no conflict. No conflict. I was tucked away in a drawer like a coat out of season, while Piper wore my actual coat and stood in his spotlight. Gwen poured the soup she had made into the sink. “If he comes here tomorrow, I’m not letting him in.” “Okay.” My phone buzzed. It was Chase. I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow for your follow-up appointment. Don’t be stubborn. At your age, your body heals slower. You need to listen to the doctors. I stared at the phrase at your age. I flipped the phone face down. Gwen snatched it up and blocked his number. “He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.” I didn’t stop her. I slept fitfully that night. In my dreams, Chase was kneeling before me, his hand resting on my stomach. Hey, little one. Daddy’s been waiting for you. When I woke up, the sky was still grey, and my pillow was soaked. I can still cry, it seems. I just do it silently now. At nine the next morning, the buzzer rang. Gwen blocked the doorway. “Can’t you take a hint?” Chase was standing in the hall, holding a bouquet. Not white roses. Pink carnations. I remembered Piper posting a photo of them once, saying they were her favorite. Gwen spotted them and laughed coldly. “Brought flowers for the wrong girl, Chase?” He looked down at the bouquet, his brow furrowing. “My assistant bought them.” “Your assistant knows what Piper likes, but has no idea what my sister likes?” Chase didn’t answer. He looked past her into the apartment. “Georgia, I want to see you.” I sat at the dining table, unmoving. “Let him in, Gwen.” Gwen stepped aside, glaring. Chase walked in, his eyes immediately searching my face. A flash of guilt passed over his features. “You’ve lost weight.” “Say what you came to say,” I replied. He set the flowers on the table. “I thought about what you said all night. Georgia, I’ve been so overwhelmed with the IPO. I didn’t mean to neglect you. And I didn’t skip the hospital on purpose. Piper had a sudden panic attack at the press conference, and I thought… I thought you were just trying to pick a fight to get my attention.” Gwen slammed her hand on the table. “She called you six times! The nurses called you! You didn’t answer a single one!” “My phone was with my assistant,” Chase said, his voice rising slightly. “Then how did Piper get through to you?” His expression hardens. “Gwen, stop turning everything into a conspiracy about her. She’s a kid. She doesn’t know any better.” I let out a soft laugh. “She doesn’t know any better? Is that why she wears my clothes? Takes my jewelry? Is that why she sent you crying selfies the exact hour of my ultrasound, claiming her blood sugar crashed?” Chase went quiet. I opened the drawer, pulled out a stack of photos, and tossed them onto the table. In one, Piper was wearing the diamond necklace Chase gave me for our fifth anniversary, sitting in the passenger seat of his car. In another, she was using our spare keycard to enter our apartment. Chase stared at the photos, his face pale. “You hired someone to follow me?” “My neighbor sent them to me,” I said calmly. “She wanted to know if we’d hired a new maid.” “Even a maid knows not to wear the mistress’s jewelry,” Gwen spat. Chase’s voice dropped. “I gave her the keycard because she had to drop off some urgent files. I didn’t know about the necklace.” “And the coat?” “She spilled coffee on her dress right before a gala. I told her to grab something from the closet.” “Why didn’t you ask me?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. He frowned. “You never used to care about things like this.” “Because you never used to give me a reason to care, Chase. Your devotion used to belong entirely to me. Now, you’ve handed it to someone else.” His lips parted, but no sound came out. “Georgia… Piper is just a kid starting out. I didn’t think you’d lower yourself to compete with an assistant.” I stood up. “You keep calling her a kid. Because she’s young, her mistakes are just innocent slips. Because I’m older, I’m expected to be the bigger person and swallow my humiliation. Is that the logic here?” He looked stumped. After a long pause, he sighed. “That’s not what I mean. I just… I expected you to be more mature. You have ten years of life experience on her. You should be above this.” Gwen lunged forward, but I held her back. “Gwen, don’t.” Chase looked at me. “Georgia, I didn’t come here to fight. We’ve been together for eight years. Let’s not throw everything away over a misunderstanding. I’m exhausted too.” “A misunderstanding?” I repeated. “Chase, our baby is dead. Is that a misunderstanding?” He froze. “What?” The color drained from his face. “Don’t say things like that just to hurt me.” “It’s not a joke. I mailed you the divorce papers and the pathology report yesterday.” He shook his head, his chest heaving. “No. No, Georgia, don’t play with me. We’ve wanted this child for years.” I walked to the door and opened it. “The package went out last night. Sign the papers. I don’t want a dime of your money.” “Georgia…” Before he could finish, his phone rang. It was his chief of staff. He answered, his expression gradually shifting from confusion to horror. “What do you mean, Piper took it? Why would she sign for my personal mail?” The caller’s voice was faint, but in the quiet room, the words slipped through: “Ms. Piper said it was just junk mail from a disgruntled neighbor, and she threw it out so it wouldn’t ruin your focus before the IPO…” Chase looked at me through the doorway, his eyes wild with sudden panic. “Georgia, I will handle this. I swear to you. Just… wait for me.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “518512”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Whenever Victoria and I were intimate, the ghost of a man with wildly unkempt hair would suddenly materialize, his broken form lurking in the shadows of our bedroom, terrifying me to my core. Victoria would patiently comfort me, holding me until the trembling stopped. Still, my nerves were completely frayed. For a long time, I genuinely believed I had developed some severe psychological intimacy disorder. Driven to the brink, I finally went to the hospital for a full neurological evaluation. Instead of a diagnosis for myself, I received entirely different news: Victoria was pregnant. After that, the male ghost still appeared from time to time, but he stopped trying to scare me. He would just stand there, an observer in the dark. Until the day our baby was born. He didn’t just appear; he hovered over me, his head lowered, whispering through cracked, bleeding lips. “The baby is going to be taken away by Victoria…” Doubt clawed at my chest. I refused to believe the ramblings of this hallucination. Victoria cherished this pregnancy—cherished me—more than anything. Why on earth would she swap our biological daughter? But later, fighting through a haze of severe hypoglycemia, I forced myself to walk to the nursery. I looked down at the bassinet. The baby sleeping peacefully beneath the pink blanket was flawless. My daughter had a distinct birthmark on her neck. This baby had none. It felt as though I had been struck by lightning. Panic seizing my throat, I frantically scoured every single crib in the maternity ward. Finally, I found her. My real daughter. My eyes dropped to the small, typed card slotted at the foot of the bassinet. Father: Donovan. The blood in my veins turned to ice, rushing backward to my heart. Donovan. My best friend. The man who had been in the delivery room next door, whose child was born on the exact same day as mine. Forcing down the violent hammering of my heart, operating on pure, adrenaline-fueled instinct, I silently swapped the two infants back. When I returned to my hospital room, the ghost was waiting. But this time, I wasn’t afraid. I walked right up to him and gently brushed the tangled, filthy hair away from his face. I stared at him, and the floor seemed to drop out from beneath me. His face… was my own. … The ghost opened his mouth, his chapped, bleeding lips parting as if to speak. Before he could, the door swung open. Victoria stepped in, bringing the scent of expensive perfume and hospital antiseptic. “Just checking in to see if my sweet Oliver is behaving and taking his IV fluids?” She walked over, her eyes entirely focused on me, and affectionately tapped my nose. “You’re a father now, darling. How are you still so afraid of needles? If you don’t take your medicine like a good boy, I’m going to ignore you.” I looked at her. My throat felt like it was coated in glue. Not a single syllable could force its way out. Years ago, when we first fell in love, Victoria had willingly offered to be the kept woman, the secret behind my wealthy family’s curtain. Later, terrified that society’s gossip would ruin my reputation, she took a meager five hundred dollars and moved overseas to build her empire from scratch. Whenever we FaceTimed, I would see the bruises and cuts on her face and legs from the volatile, war-torn regions where she negotiated her first supply deals. Once, an explosion nearly went off right through the screen of my phone. Even a moment ago, I could have dismissed the ghost’s whisper as a fever dream. But the swapped babies were real. Which meant the ghost’s words were real, too. A dark, suffocating fire of pure rage ignited in my chest. I dug my fingernails into my palms, desperately searching her face for even a flicker of guilt. She seemed completely oblivious, wrapping her arms around me intimately. “You know, honey,” she murmured against my shoulder, “Donovan had a baby today too. But he just doesn’t have my husband’s luck.” A cruel little smile played on her lips. “He doesn’t even know who the mother of his kid is. Poor bastard.” I heard the disdain in her tone, yet looking closely, the depths of her eyes were swimming with a sickly, profound tenderness. My heart seized. I managed a seamless, careless laugh. “If your heart bleeds for him so much, why don’t you go be his baby’s mother?” “Only if you want me to,” she replied without missing a beat, then immediately pivoted. “Alright, alright, I’m just joking. Be a good boy and rest. I’m going to go check on the soup I had them make for you.” I watched her figure hurry out the door. It felt as though my heart had been encased in a block of solid ice; every beat pumped freezing water through my veins. The ghost still stood there, looking erratic, broken. I forced my mouth into an ugly, trembling smile. “Are you going to tell me what happened now?” He didn’t speak, but suddenly, the truth crashed over me in a wave of visceral visions. I looked at him—at me. His hair was dry as dead grass, his skin ulcerated and weeping. One pupil was clouded over with a milky white film, entirely blind. All ten of his fingers hung limply, bent at grotesque, unnatural angles, like a monster from a cheap horror flick. Yet, I knew him. He was me. The future me. A tremor started deep in my core. As he finally began to speak, with every word that scraped from his ruined throat, the color drained further from my face. By the end, he threw his head back and let out a manic, despairing laugh. And I understood everything. Two years ago, just days after Victoria went overseas, I casually complained about having a “lack of architectural design inspiration.” Donovan, my closest friend, secretly flew out to help me find it. Eventually, he ended up in the same city as Victoria. Every day, he sent me photos, claiming he was keeping an eye on her for me. “Don’t worry, Ollie,” he’d text. “With me around, your wife won’t even make eye contact with another guy!” Every Valentine’s Day, every birthday, every Thanksgiving, Donovan would set up a video call to celebrate. At the center of their dining table, they always placed a framed photo of me. Back then, I had been blissfully, sickeningly sweet on the idea that I was the luckiest man alive to have such a devoted wife and such a loyal best friend. But the ghost’s words stripped the flesh from my bones. A year ago, they were already sleeping together. No wonder I had occasionally spotted the faint outline of condoms or men’s underwear in the background of those daily photos. I had spent nights wide awake, consumed by anxiety that Victoria had found someone else. It was Donovan who had played the hero. He had held a knife to Victoria’s throat in one of our calls. “Oliver, if she ever dares betray you, I’ll trade my life to get you justice!” Victoria had wept, looking so terribly wronged. “Oliver, do you not love me anymore?” I had let my guard down completely. I gave them the breathing room they needed to destroy me. According to the ghost, my biological daughter was destined to be taken by human traffickers and sold into indentured servitude. Meanwhile, I would raise Donovan’s child as my own precious princess for fifteen years. In the end, my relentless search for my missing daughter would cost me an eye and the use of my hands. I would be framed by Donovan and his mother, and an enraged Victoria would lock me in a basement. My mother and sister, in a desperate attempt to save me, would be blown to pieces, their bodies left in the wilderness. At the thought of it, my teeth began to chatter violently. The fury inside me threatened to burn through my skull. Victoria. You ruthless, cold-blooded monster. I had been with her since I was eighteen, and this was how she repaid me. While I sat there frozen in shock, Donovan walked into the room. I hadn’t even heard the door open. He reached out and affectionately grabbed my hand. “Ollie, I’m so jealous of you,” he cooed. “Having a wife like Victoria, a beautiful little princess. You have no idea—the night you went into labor, it was the first time I’ve ever seen her cry from fear.” Seeing him, the ghost beside me shrieked with absolute malice, lunging forward, only to pass powerlessly right through Donovan’s body. “Sigh,” Donovan continued, his voice dripping with faux self-pity. “Unlike me. I don’t even know who the mother of my little bastard is.” Before I could respond, Victoria stepped back into the room. She scoffed, slapping his hand away from me. “That’s what happens when you sleep around. You make your bed, you lie in it.” “But don’t worry,” she added smoothly, her eyes darting to me. “Our Oliver is so kind-hearted. Maybe he’ll do you a favor and adopt the child for you!” Donovan’s eyes lit up with practiced innocence. “Oliver! Really? Would you?” They both leaned in, waiting with bated breath for my reaction. I kept my head down, utterly silent. A self-deprecating smile pulled at the corner of my mouth. It was such an obvious, absurd setup. Yet, the future me hadn’t seen through it. “No. I don’t agree to that.” My tone left absolutely no room for negotiation. Both of them froze. Instantly, Donovan’s eyes welled with tears. “Oliver… do even you think my baby is dirty?” Victoria’s brow furrowed tightly. “Ollie, you’ve always been the most compassionate person I know. Did someone say something to you? Did you hear some rumor?” I slowly lifted my eyelids. I glanced at the ghost standing beside them, listening to his hoarse, weeping sobs. A sudden, inexplicable ache pierced my chest. Seeing my continued silence, Victoria quickly tried to smooth things over. “Alright, enough crying, Donovan. Oliver isn’t the kind of person you think he is. Go on, get out of here. Let my husband rest!” After they left, I slid out of bed and walked silently to the door. Looking through the crack, I saw Victoria frantically wiping the tears from Donovan’s face. “Alright, my little brat, I was just saying that for his benefit. I could never think you were dirty.” “Victoria, remember this,” Donovan hissed, his voice entirely different now—petulant, demanding. “You begged me to get into your bed! I’ve been called every name in the book for you. If you regret it, just walk away! I don’t care about my pride anymore; I just happen to be in love with my best friend’s wife!” Victoria’s expression darkened. She grabbed him roughly by the back of the neck and kissed him fiercely. “Don’t you dare! Donovan, in this life, you belong to me. Only me.” Bile rose hot and bitter in my throat. My hands trembled as I wiped away a stray tear. Victoria. When you were forcefully claiming another man… did you ever stop to think that back then, I had my pick of the most elite, wealthy women in New York? The line to date me wrapped around the block. You were the one who used every manipulative tactic in the book to beg for my love. A short while later, my mother and my sister, Caroline, came to visit. When the ghost saw them, his silent tears flowed even harder. My own eyes reddened uncontrollably. Remembering the gruesome fate that awaited them, I pulled Caroline into the corner of the room. “Care,” I whispered, keeping my voice dead steady. “I need you to start drafting divorce papers for me and Victoria.” Before she could process that, I pressed on. “Also, secretly transfer all of the Winthrop family’s shares and capital out of her company. Move the assets. It has to be done quietly, and it needs to be finished within a month. We’re relocating to Seattle.” Caroline looked at me with deep suspicion, her mouth opening to question me. I gave her a brief, heavily sanitized version of the betrayal. Her expression instantly turned to frost. “I understand,” she said simply. Over the next few days, Victoria didn’t bring up the idea of adopting Donovan’s child again. While a nurse was changing my IV, she leaned in to gossip. “The father of the baby next door… I walked past earlier and saw him hitting and cursing at his own newborn. Poor little thing was covered in bruises.” Hearing that, my arms instinctively tightened around my daughter. It was karma. The suffering my daughter would have endured in the original timeline was a hundred times worse than what he was dishing out to his own flesh and blood. Half a month passed quietly, leading up to the night before our daughter’s one-month milestone celebration. Victoria sat on the edge of my bed, looking hesitant. “Ollie… Donovan has been diagnosed with severe postpartum depression. I know you two haven’t been as close lately, but he really is quite pitiful right now.” “He asked me to ask you if tomorrow…” I furrowed my brow in feigned concern. “Why are you just telling me this now? Of course, let’s have him join the party tomorrow!” A flash of joy passed through Victoria’s eyes, quickly masked. “What did Donovan do to deserve a friend as incredible as my husband?” My gaze shifted to the ghost’s eyes in the corner. My fists clenched so tightly they trembled. The future me. The exact moment he went blind was at this very party, when Donovan threw a tantrum and drove a knife straight into my eye. The banquet hall was dripping in crystal. Victoria had invited every major power player and socialite in New York. Everything went smoothly until the emcee announced the final event of the evening. “We would now like to invite Ms. Astor and her husband to the stage for a toast.” Just as I stepped up to the microphone, down on the floor, Donovan intentionally stumbled, spilling his champagne and leaning heavily into the chest of an older, notoriously lecherous female executive. “Ms. Carmichael,” Donovan slurred loudly. “I hear you’re single. What do you think of me?” The older woman’s predatory eyes swept down his torso, her hands shamelessly wandering south. Right as they were getting cozy, Victoria snapped. Her face turned stormy black. She stormed off the stage, grabbed Donovan’s wrist, and yanked him back. “You’re coming with me!” Donovan feigned drunkenness, pouting like a petulant child. “Oh! It’s CEO Astor. What, do you want to get into my bed too?” Interrupted, Ms. Carmichael stomped her foot in irritation. “Victoria, he came onto me first!” Victoria’s expression turned murderous. Without a word, she kicked the older executive squarely in the stomach, knocking her to the floor. When Victoria spoke, her voice was chilling. “He is my man.” But Donovan wasn’t satisfied. He began thrashing wildly, screaming at Victoria. “You bastard! You should be up there taking pictures with your precious husband!” “And what about you, Donovan?!” Victoria screamed back. “Who else do you want to take scandalous photos with?! Last time, Oliver’s reputation was dragged through the mud because of you!” I stood on the stage like a stone statue. Dragged through the mud? The ghost’s words from yesterday echoed freshly in my mind. He had told me that when Donovan’s chaotic, promiscuous lifestyle was exposed by the tabloids, Victoria needed a distraction to clear the trending topics. In the dead of night, she had taken intimate photos of me and leaked them to the paparazzi. My face had been splashed across every screen in the city. For days, Donovan’s name was cleared, while the Winthrop family stock plummeted. My brother’s hair had turned gray overnight from the stress. I had been harassed and blackmailed by shareholders until I thought I would lose my mind. Back in the present, Victoria hoisted Donovan over her shoulder, turning to storm out. But in the next second, Donovan let out a hysterical scream, grabbed a heavy steak knife from a nearby table, and aimed it at his own chest. “Don’t touch me! I’m ruined! Just let me die!” The moment the blade descended, I sprinted off the stage and threw my body in front of his. Agony ripped through my torso. I looked down. The knife was buried halfway into my abdomen, warm blood pulsing rapidly through my shirt. “Oliver—!” Victoria’s face drained of color. She dropped to her knees, clutching me, her hands shaking like leaves in a storm. The hall erupted into chaos. The flashbulbs of a dozen reporters went off like a strobe light, all pointed at Donovan. As the darkness edged into my vision, right before I passed out, I saw Victoria. One hand was pressing against my bleeding wound. Her other hand was tightly gripping Donovan, dragging him to safety. When I woke up, two people were kneeling beside my hospital bed. Victoria and Donovan. Donovan’s face was streaked with tears. “I’m so sorry, Oliver. I was completely drunk. I almost killed you!” He slapped himself hard across the face, a sharp, echoing crack. “I’m a worthless piece of trash. The things I said… I didn’t mean any of it!” Victoria’s hands were shaking as she looked at me with what appeared to be genuine heartbreak. Slowly, she picked up a silver fruit knife from the bedside table. “Ollie, I lost complete control of myself today. Please, don’t take what I said out there seriously.” “Let this knife be my penance to you.” Without a second of hesitation, she sliced the blade deep into her own forearm. Drops of blood splattered against the sterile floor, quickly pooling into a vibrant crimson puddle. I laid there, watching their display of unshakeable solidarity. This tragic, star-crossed love. My heart ached worse than the stab wound in my gut. Years ago, Victoria was willing to be blown up in a war zone just to protect my reputation. Now, she was willing to mutilate herself to protect another man. In the end, I offered a weak smile and “forgave” them. I watched as they supported each other out the door to get her arm bandaged. Turning my head, I looked at the ghost beside me. Suddenly, the milky white film over his eye cleared. His pupil became dark, sharp, and brilliant. Thank you, he mouthed. My eyes grew dark and unreadable. “I’m only helping myself.” According to the original timeline, that banquet was supposed to cost me my eye. But by taking the initiative, I had actually rewritten the future. I stared at the ghost’s mangled hands, falling deep into thought. Over the next few weeks, I recovered from the surgery while simultaneously putting the finishing touches on my portfolio for a prestigious international architectural design competition. On the day the finalists were announced, the ghost and I both cheered. I had made the top tier. I was just picking up my phone to call my mother when the door banged open. Donovan stormed in, holding a dozen of my master sketches—torn to shreds. He threw them aggressively into my face. “Oliver, you still hate me, don’t you? Is that why you destroyed my entry portfolio?!” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Victoria isn’t here. Who exactly are you performing for?” Instantly, his entire demeanor shifted. The aggressive facade melted into a mask of pure terror. “W-what do you mean, Ollie? Please, don’t touch me! I’m begging you!” Out of nowhere, he grabbed a heavy glass vase from the table and brought it crashing down onto his own hands. “Aaaaaah!” he shrieked. Right on cue, Victoria rushed into the room. Seeing Donovan’s bruised, bloodied hands, her eyes locked onto me. The look in them was lethal. “Oliver. What is the meaning of this?” I heard the repressed hatred in her voice. If I tried to defend myself, she would tear me to pieces on the spot. A numb, dull ache spread through my chest. Keeping my face entirely blank, I replied, “I was angry. I accidentally hit him.” Donovan peered at me through his fingers, continuing to sob pitifully. “Ollie, I don’t blame you. I just want the truth about the competition! Why did you tear up my work?” It was almost funny. He was a photographer. I was an architect. Why would I ever tear up his work? The lie was so painfully hollow, utterly lacking in logic. But it didn’t matter. When someone favors you, you have the absolute audacity to do whatever you want. I stared at the tight knot between Victoria’s brows. And then, I smiled. I reached down beneath the hospital bed and pulled out the heavy steel emergency hammer kept by the window. Without a flicker of hesitation, I slammed it down onto my right hand. The agonizing pain tore a scream from my throat, but I bit down on my lip until it bled. Grabbing the hammer with my mangled right hand, I lifted it and smashed it down onto my left. The sharp, sickening sound of bones fracturing echoed loudly in the silent room. Both of them stared at me, paralyzed by the sheer brutality of what I had just done to myself. Robbed of her righteous fury, Victoria could do nothing but scoop up the weeping Donovan and flee the room. The moment they were gone, Caroline’s private medical team—who had been on standby—rushed in and surrounded me. My sister’s eyes were bloodshot with tears. “Ollie, why? Why would you do this to yourself?!” Gritting my teeth against the blinding pain, tears streaming down my face, I looked past her to the ghost. His hands—the hands that had been twisted and broken in the future timeline—slowly flexed, whole and perfectly healthy. Pale and trembling, I smiled in satisfaction, and finally let the darkness take me. After three days of intense medical care, my hands were stabilized. My brother sent me a single text: Everything is in place. We leave today. I carefully picked up my daughter and walked out the back entrance of the hospital. As I approached the street, a nondescript van idled suspiciously by the curb. A sharp spike of anxiety pierced my chest. I tried to ignore it, but suddenly, someone down the block screamed. “That’s the van from the news! They’re traffickers! Call the police!” Traffickers! Alarm bells shrieked in my head. I whipped around. Donovan was standing a few feet behind me, a serene, chilling smile on his face. He had heard the screams, yet he just watched me. Suddenly, I realized something was wrong. I ripped open the swaddle in my arms. The baby’s neck was bare. The birthmark was gone. This wasn’t my child! My mouth fell open in a silent scream. Like a madman, I sprinted toward the van as it screeched away from the curb. The ghost floated beside me, his hoarse weeping overlapping with my own ragged breaths. I couldn’t tell if the cries were mine or his. If I didn’t catch that van today, the horrific destiny I had tried so hard to avoid would replay itself flawlessly. Extreme terror and adrenaline pushed my body to its absolute limits. I roared in pure agony. The van suddenly slammed on its brakes. A surge of hope lit up my eyes. Then, a heavy blow struck the back of my head. The world went black. When I regained consciousness, the familiar voices of the two of them drifted through the doorway. “Victoria, is it really a good idea? Making Oliver raise our daughter, while we send his away?” Victoria’s voice was as cold as dry ice. “He ruined your competition. He permanently damaged your hands. Doesn’t he deserve to be punished?” “Besides,” she added dismissively. “I only sent his kid to a normal, working-class family. She won’t starve.” No… Rage detonated in my chest. My eyes burning crimson, I charged out of the room and tackled Donovan to the floor, my hands wrapping violently around his throat. I slapped him across the face, again and again. “Give me back my daughter!” Donovan shrieked, and the ghost beside me begged me to stop. But I was feral. I drove my fists into his face, his eyes, wanting nothing more than to crush the life out of him. But Victoria grabbed me from behind, hurling me violently to the floor. She wrapped her arms protectively around Donovan, finally unleashing a furious scream. “Oliver Winthrop! Have you completely lost your mind?!” “Give me back my daughter!” I screamed back. Victoria stared at me, a cruel, heartless smirk playing on her lips. “Sure. As soon as you pay back every single blow you just gave Donovan.” She snapped her fingers. A dozen of her personal security guards stepped out of the shadows, pinning my limbs to the floor. One. Two. Three… They slapped me until my teeth loosened, until the coppery taste of blood flooded my mouth. One hundred times. She still wasn’t satisfied. “You nearly blinded him,” she whispered. “Did you think I’d just let that go?” The guards approached, holding long, industrial steel needles. I thrashed in sheer terror, scrambling backward as the horrific image of the ghost’s ruined body flashed violently through my mind. They grabbed me. The needles pierced my hands. They drove them toward my eyes. I couldn’t see. My hands were shattered. Why… Despair swallowed me like a tidal wave. I was dragged down into the darkness of the basement. Just like the future me. Except that was supposed to be fifteen years from now. For three days in the dark, Donovan came down to gloat. He bragged that Victoria had moved him into the Astor family estate. He bragged that she had publicly named him her partner. Everything she had ever built with my family’s backing, she handed over to him on a silver platter. I struggled against my restraints, roaring like a wounded animal, but the heavy chain around my neck choked me into submission. When Victoria came to see me, she looked at me with a twisted, helpless affection. “I love you, Ollie. I do. But you need to learn to behave. You and Donovan are on equal footing now. We’ll live together, the three of us. Doesn’t that sound nice?” “I’d rather burn!” I spat blood at her feet. “Victoria, you make me sick!” All these years, the Winthrop family had elevated her, turning her into the city’s most powerful woman. And she was nothing but an ungrateful parasite. Finally, my mother and Caroline found me. They breached the basement and dragged my broken body to a waiting SUV. But halfway to the safe house, Victoria’s convoy intercepted us, boxing us in. “Oliver Winthrop,” Victoria shouted, stepping out of her car. “Your mother and sister drove Donovan to attempt suicide! He’s in a coma! And you think you can just run away?!” My teeth ground together in fury. “Check the cameras! He faked it!” Victoria didn’t believe me. She clapped her hands, and her men easily dragged my mother and sister out of the SUV. And then, they strapped heavy, ticking vests to their chests. Explosives. My breath stopped entirely. Victoria just smiled. “Don’t panic. I’m just taking a video to show Donovan when he wakes up. The bombs are fake. Nobody’s going to die.” But I looked at the men holding the detonators. I recognized them instantly. They weren’t Victoria’s men. They were Donovan’s. The countdown started at five seconds. “No!” I shrieked, a sound of absolute, soul-tearing despair. “No!” … At the last second, I sprinted away from the guards, throwing my body over my mother and sister. A deafening, earth-shattering BOOM ripped through the air. Victoria’s pupils dilated in pure horror as the shockwave hit. She screamed at the guards, her voice cracking in disbelief. “Wait! Turn off the timer! Turn it off!”

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