Waking up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, I started scrolling through a social media thread. The title was: 【Day One of a Gen-Xer chasing a Gen-Z beauty—Hiding in her toilet to secretly enjoy her scent.】 A chill ran down my spine. Thinking it was just some creepy old man’s disgusting fantasy, I recoiled in disgust and swiped away. After washing my hands, I realized I’d misplaced my phone. I called out to my voice assistant to find it: “Hey, Siri.” The next second, my body went numb. Two Siri voices answered simultaneously from within the bathroom. “I’m here.” “I’m here.” One came from the crack behind the sink. The other came from inside the toilet. 1 I froze, my heart beating so hard I thought it would burst. The one behind the sink was mine. But whose phone was in the toilet? My mind flashed back to the post I just saw. A wave of cold air crawled up my vertebrae. Was there actually someone hiding in my bathroom? I mustered the courage to inspect the toilet. It was solid porcelain—no cracks, no hidden compartments. The tank was larger, but there was no way a grown man could fit inside. I let out a shaky breath, mocking myself for being paranoid after reading that sick post. My nerves were just shot. But just as I turned to head back to my bedroom— Rustle… rustle… In the silence, the faint sound of fabric rubbing against fabric drifted from the toilet area. My muscles tensed. I slowly turned my head. The toilet sat there, perfectly normal. Nothing out of place. To settle my mind once and for all, I shouted again: “Hey, Siri!” “I’m here.” This time, only the phone on the sink responded. Complete silence from the toilet. I sighed. I’d been working too many double shifts at the hospital. Auditory hallucinations. Back in my room, I closed my eyes but sleep wouldn’t come. Possessed by a dark curiosity, I opened the app again and clicked on that thread. The skin on my arms pebbled instantly. The user had updated two minutes ago. 【The beauty just came to the bathroom. I was right under her. I could smell her… she smells so sweet!】 【That pink silk pajama set is too cute. I can already imagine holding her while we sleep.】 I looked down at my brand-new pink pajamas. My stomach churned, and my heart began to hammer against my ribs. 2 This couldn’t be a coincidence. It was too specific. My fingers trembling, I scrolled up to find the description of the “target.” Born in 2000. Big eyes, pale skin. 5’7″. A nurse at the City General Hospital. That was me. Every single word. But the user claimed he lived on the same floor of the same building—that they saw each other every day. There are only four apartments on my floor. Across the hall, the two units are dark and caked in dust, clearly empty. My only neighbor is Mrs. King, a single mom with a small child. There are no adult men on this floor, let alone a “Gen-Xer.” Still, a deep, primal fear took hold. I typed a comment with shaking hands: “Aren’t you afraid her family will come after you for doing something so disgusting?” I waited. No reply. I scrolled through the other comments. Half were calling him a freak; the other half were asking how he fit in a toilet. But a few twisted users were egging him on: 【Bro, you’re already in her house. Why hesitate? Fortune favors the bold. Do it!】 【Exactly. You’re holding your breath in a toilet just for a scent? Just push the door open and claim her. She’ll be yours by morning. It’s a rush!】 The original poster replied almost instantly: 【You’re right. I’m taking her tonight!】 A split second later. Thud. A soft sound came from the direction of the bathroom. Then… tap, tap, tap, tap… Light, rhythmic footsteps were moving from the bathroom toward my bedroom. Someone was actually in my house. I stopped breathing. I lunged for the bedroom door and slammed the lock shut. Tap, tap, tap… The footsteps stopped right outside my door. Every floorboard creak felt like a gunshot. I pressed myself against the wall, sweat pouring down my face. The doorknob turned slowly. Creak. I covered my mouth with both hands, terrified of making a sound. The knob rattled again, more insistently this time. I thanked God I had locked it. But before I could feel relief, a low, faint chuckle drifted through the wood. My phone screen lit up. A notification from the app. He had replied to my comment. 【I’m not afraid of her family. She’s an orphan. She has no one.】 3 Terror swallowed me whole. It was me. I was raised in an orphanage. I had no family. The comment confirmation was the final nail. The predator was standing inches away. BAM! BAM! BAM! The door shook under a violent kick. Then another. He must have grabbed a tool because the wood began to splinter. CRACK. “Ms. Madison, I’ve loved you for so long. Just open the door!” The voice was deep, raspy, and dripping with excitement. It was a voice I had never heard in my life. The door was just cheap wood. He was going to break through. I ran to the balcony. Fifteen floors up. The height made my head spin, but the door behind me was already showing a hole. I climbed over the railing, my hands death-gripped on the cold metal. CRASH! The bedroom door gave way. In the final second, I swung myself out, grabbing onto the external fire pipe and shimmying toward the hallway window. My apartment is right next to the stairwell. I scrambled through the open hallway window. I saw the elevator was down on the 1st floor. I couldn’t wait. I turned to the stairs. I had only made it down one flight when— STOMP. STOMP. STOMP. Heavy, frantic footsteps echoed from above. He was coming for me. I ducked into a janitor’s closet on the 14th floor. I huddled in the corner behind mops and buckets, sending a 911 text with trembling thumbs. The footsteps thundered past the door. They didn’t stop. They kept going down. I let out a sob of relief. My body slumped. Then, my phone began to blare. The ringtone was deafening in the cramped space. An unknown number. It had to be him. He was using the ringtone to find me. The footsteps downstairs stopped instantly. 4 I silenced the phone, but it was too late. The footsteps were racing back up. He was only one floor away. I couldn’t outrun him now. My brain went into overdrive. I needed a weapon. I needed a distraction. My eyes landed on an old toolbox in the corner. Inside were wrenches, screwdrivers, and several unsealed bottles of industrial cleaning solvent. I grabbed a bottle and a rag. An improvised Molotov. I soaked the rag in the solvent, the acrid smell filling my lungs. As the footsteps reached the door, I sparked my lighter. The rag caught. I hurled the bottle at the door just as it swung open. SHATTER! The bottle clipped his shoulder before exploding on the floor. “Damn it!” the man screamed. Smoke and blue flames erupted in the doorway. I didn’t wait. I dove out the small closet window, clinging to the gas line pipe outside. My hands were numb against the freezing metal. Inside, the fire was small but the smoke was thick. I heard him coughing, cursing. I looked down. 13th floor. The balconies below were all glass-enclosed. No way in. I was trapped on a pipe. “Ms. Madison! Catch this!” I looked up. My neighbor, Mrs. King, was leaning over her railing, throwing down a makeshift rope made of bedsheets. I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed the rope, tested its strength, and hauled myself up. Scrape. Scrape. The man had reached the balcony below me. I felt something strike the heel of my shoe. I pulled my legs up, heart hammering, and finally rolled over Mrs. King’s railing. She pulled me inside and slammed the sliding door shut. “Don’t worry,” she panted. “I’m a single mom. I had this place reinforced with high-impact security glass and deadbolts. He’s not getting in.” I nodded, gasping for air. Sure enough, we heard a muffled thud against the door, followed by a stream of low-frequency curses. After a few futile attempts, the noise stopped. Soon, sirens wailed below. The police had arrived. Following my directions, they swarmed the building and caught a man in the lobby. He was tall, dressed as a delivery driver, covered in soot, with singed pant legs. Even as they cuffed him, he stared at me with a terrifying intensity. A delivery guy? Why did it still feel wrong?

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In the world of modern dark fantasy novels, I was the “Starter Girlfriend”—the one with zero screen time and a predictable fate. My boyfriend, Silas, was the Chosen One. Three years ago, when the Red Mist first descended and the world fractured, he awakened. He fought through the Rifts, became a savior, and naturally, gathered a “harem” of brilliant, powerful women. I was just the childhood sweetheart—boring, patient, and perpetually waiting at home. Until that thunderstorm night, when I broke the rules and opened the door for a soaking-wet, beautiful boy. From that moment on, the script didn’t just change. It shattered. 1 The rain slammed against the glass like a frantic drum. Through the peephole, a beautiful boy stood there, his clothes in tatters. His voice was cold, thin, and carried a hint of fear: “Hello? Is anyone there?” I glanced at him, then at my phone. My wallpaper was a jarring blood-red with distorted black text: [MIDNIGHT.] [DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR TO STRANGERS.] The time was [11:54 PM]. I watched him for a moment. He was strikingly handsome—sharp features, red lips, and a pale complexion that looked almost fragile. He had a broken beauty that made people want to pity him. “Hello,” I whispered, opening the door after a beat of hesitation. “Can I help you?” “Hi… Sister.” He looked down, his ears flushing red. “Could I have something to eat?” When I didn’t answer, his lashes trembled. He looked at me with clear, pleading eyes and tugged on my sleeve. “I’m really hungry.” “Come in.” I checked my phone: [11:58 PM]. I stepped aside, and he brushed past me. A wave of biting cold radiated from him. I locked the door just before the clock struck twelve. He stood there barefoot on the floor, his damp hair veiling his eyes. “Are you lost?” I asked, finding him a pair of men’s slippers. He didn’t move at first. He stared at the shoes on my feet, then stepped into them with an eerie, uncoordinated grace. “Yes. Thank you, Sister.” Outside, the horizon turned a sickly red. A crimson mist was surging through the city like a flood. 2 The kitchen light was bright and clinical. I sat Caleb down at the table and watched him. “What’s your name?” “Caleb.” “Caleb?” I paused. “Is it a bad name?” He looked down, his fingers curling. “No, it’s beautiful. Why don’t you take a hot shower?” I led him to the bathroom. When I grabbed his wrist, I felt him shaking. “Are you sick?” I pressed my palm to his forehead. Caleb’s lashes fluttered. He stared at my neck, his tongue flicking out to lick his red lips. So sweet… I want to eat her. He parted his lips, revealing teeth that were white and sharp—far stronger than any beast. “Your head isn’t hot,” I said, pulling back. Caleb instantly reverted to his harmless, shy state. “Sister, I’m hungry.” He was thin but tall. Since the “Anomalies” started three years ago, the world had been a mess. Looking at his rags, I wondered if he had been abandoned. I patted his head. “How long has it been since you ate?” “A long time.” But today, he thought, I’ll have a feast. I started a bath for him and brought a silk robe. “My boyfriend doesn’t live here,” I explained. “You’ll have to make do with this.” “Boyfriend?” Caleb repeated the word, his voice dropping into a register I didn’t recognize. “Yes.” I turned to leave. He caught my wrist. “Don’t lock me in.” “It’s just a shower,” I said gently. He wouldn’t let go. “Can you teach me? I don’t know how to wash.” Outside, the Red Mist hit the building. Eerie whispers began to echo in the hallway. I looked at the boy and nodded. I showed him the soap and the bubbles. “See? It’s easy.” Caleb stood dangerously close. I noticed a small mole below his lip—identical to the one my boyfriend had. “Can you take your clothes off?” I asked. He looked at his shirt. “Do I… tear it?” “No, you unbutton it.” I reached out and undid the top button, revealing a sharp collarbone. Caleb nodded. He tried to mimic me, but his movements were clumsy. Pop. A button flew off. “I’m sorry…” He flushed. “It’s okay.” With my help, he managed the rest. Beneath the rags was a body of lean, corded muscle. But there was a jagged scar over his heart and another on his palm. “Does it hurt?” I touched the scar on his chest. Caleb’s eyes turned a hazy red. He craved the touch. The monster told its first lie: “Yes. It hurts.” I kissed his palm. “There. A kiss to make it better.” “It hurts here too,” he said, pressing my hand to his heart. I smiled but pulled away. “I’ll cook. You shower. What do you want to eat?” “Meat,” Caleb said, his eyes dark. “Fresh meat.” 3 The wind was howling now. The Red Mist smeared the windows. Occasionally, a massive talon would scrape against the glass. I started some steak and peppers and a pot of pumpkin soup. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a call from my boyfriend—the hero of this story: Silas. Caleb stepped out of the bathroom, water dripping from his hair. “Sister?” I picked up the phone. Silas’s voice was deep and cold. “Still awake?” “Yeah. Had a nightmare.” “I’ll be back tomorrow,” Silas said. “Do you want anything?” “No.” Silas sounded annoyed. “You’re quiet tonight. Nothing to say to me?” In the mist outside, a giant crimson eye pressed against the glass, peering in. It locked onto Caleb and contracted in pure terror before vanishing. A loud crash came from the kitchen. Caleb was staring at a broken plate. He had grabbed a piece of raw steak and was about to shove it into his mouth. “It’s not clean when it’s raw,” I said, snatching it away. “Who was that?” Silas’s voice sharpened through the phone. I could hear the flirtatious laughter of women and the shrieks of monsters in his background. “Nobody,” I said, wiping a tear from Caleb’s eye. “Just a lost kid. He’s a bit of a crybaby, but he’s cute.” “A kid?” Silas growled. “That sounded like a man.” “You always have women around you, Silas.” “That’s different—” “How?” I interrupted. The sound of a building collapsing echoed on his end. Silas hung up. Caleb was staring at my phone. “Can I play with it?” I handed it to him. In the living room, Caleb’s grip on the phone tightened. Why did she talk to him for so long? She should only look at me. Shadows bled from his feet. Thousands of eyes opened on the walls, all fixed on the kitchen with primal hunger. I’ll have to kill him, Caleb thought. 4 “How is it? Good?” I asked Caleb. “Sister…” His forehead was damp with sweat. He was panting from the spice of the chili, tears in his eyes. “So spicy.” “Beef and peppers. Of course it’s spicy.” I turned to get milk. Caleb was suddenly right behind me, teeth bared. I pinched his cheek and rubbed his swollen lips. “Drink some milk.” He blinked, stunned by the touch, and took the milk. When I brought out a massive plate of celery and beef, his eyes lit up. “Meat raw is bad, cooked is better?” I asked. “Yes,” he nodded. “Eat your vegetables.” He tried to refuse, but I was firm. “Or I won’t cook for you again.” He pouted but ate. “Every day?” Caleb whispered, thinking about the word. “Yes. Every day.” I dried his hair. Caleb looked at the leftovers. The feast would be later. The monster was patient. 5 Caleb helped wash the dishes. He learned fast. At 2:30 AM, I went to my room. Caleb pushed the door open. “I want to sleep with you.” His eyes were pure. A monster doesn’t know shame. “No. It’s not appropriate.” “Why?” He hugged my waist, rubbing his head against me. “Sister, I’m scared.” I sighed and made him a bed on the floor. He still pouted. “I want to hold you.” “Not yet.” I kissed his forehead. “Be good.” As I slept, something cold wrapped around my waist. Someone bit my shoulder. I murmured “It hurts,” and the grip tightened. So fragile. So delicious. 6 I woke up at 9 AM. The mist was gone. Cleaners were removing monster remains from the street. I told Caleb to stay home while I went to buy groceries. “I want to go too,” he said, wearing my silk robe. He looked like a girl from behind, but he was clearly a boy. I found Silas’s old high school uniform in the closet. “Wear this.” Caleb emerged in the blue-and-white uniform. He looked clean, sharp, and incredibly innocent. “Is it weird?” he asked, his ears red. “No. It fits perfectly.” 7 I gave Caleb a mask and a hat before we left. He held my hand tightly as we walked. I bought him clothes and then headed for the grocery store to stock up on meat. At the entrance, Silas was there. Beside him was Gwen, an heiress and one of his harem members. They were laughing. “Why are you leaving?” Silas caught my wrist, his voice deep and confused. “Just buying food. Sorry for interrupting your date.” “It’s just a coincidence,” Silas explained. Gwen stepped forward too. “Don’t misunderstand, Lyra.” “I don’t,” I smiled. “I know you’re ‘just’ friends for now.” I pushed my cart away. Silas followed. “Are you sure you can eat all this meat?” “A kid is staying with me,” I said. “Lyra!” He pulled me into his arms to kiss me. I dodged. Suddenly, the Red Mist rushed into the mall. Screams erupted. Silas’s phone rang—it was Gwen, sobbing. In the original book, Silas saves Gwen here, and their romance blooms. I wasn’t even supposed to be here. “Wait for me,” Silas said, looking at me. “I won’t,” I replied, stepping out of his reach. “I didn’t ask you to choose me.” Silas hesitated, then gave me his black star charm. “Stay here.” He ran into the mist. I took the charm and threw it on the floor. A worm-like monster lunged at me. I pulled a knife from my bag and hacked it in half. 8 Monsters were everywhere. The blood was thick and foul. I slashed through another creature. Blood splattered my face. Behind the corpse, a shadow appeared. It was Caleb. “Sister!” He hugged me, ignoring the blood. “I almost lost you. I’m glad you’re okay.” The smell here is disgusting, he thought. But my food is still sweet. He remembered the other monster he just killed in the mist—the one that tried to touch his food. “I smell bad,” I said. “No. You smell good.” I dropped my knife and hugged him back. 9 Dinner was a feast: ribs, pork hock, beef brisket. Caleb ate until his face was messy. I wiped it with a silk scarf. “Don’t eat so fast.” His eyes were dark. My hands were soft. He wanted to bite them. Something slimy brushed my ankle. I looked down—nothing. Caleb looked excited. Later, I gave him a tablet to watch TV. He watched a romance show where the leads kissed. “Can I be your boyfriend?” he asked, holding a teddy bear. “Why?” “I want to kiss you.” “Only boyfriends do that.” “Did your boyfriend kiss you?” Caleb asked, a lethal glint in his eyes. “Not for a long time.” “Then break up with him. Let me do it.” “No,” I whispered. “I haven’t officially ended it yet.” “Does it have to be official?” His eyes welled with tears. “I really want to, Sister.” I kissed his cheek to stop the crying. 10 My parents died when I was in high school. My grandparents followed soon after. I was alone. I once sat under a peach tree with a knife, ready to end it. Silas stopped me. “Are you crazy?” he asked. He took the knife. His hand bled, staining the soil. “If you die, take me with you.” He became my boyfriend that day. He was gentle, protective, and clingy. But then he started entering the “Rifts.” He became a hero. He had enemies, teammates, and women. I couldn’t follow him into that world.

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I’ve been married to Harrison Thorne for ten years. In that decade, I’ve met every single one of his “distractions.” Whenever he got bored and wanted to move on, I was his favorite excuse for breaking up with a girl: “If you marry me, you’ll end up just like her. Eventually, we’ll become so familiar that there isn’t a single spark of mystery left.” On our tenth anniversary, I was handing tissues to the college senior he just dumped, while he was at the movies with his newest fling. By the time the tissue pack was empty, I realized I was looking at a ghost of my younger self. So, I asked Harrison for a divorce. He looked unusually baffled. “Aren’t you going to wait a bit longer? Who knows, I might actually settle down eventually.” I gave him a faint smile, offered no answer, and booked a one-way ticket across the Atlantic. Since I can’t wait for you to look back, I’m moving on without you. 1 Marrying a playboy requires a specific kind of spiritual endurance. As the stack of tissues in my hand grew thinner, those words played on a loop in my head. The girl sitting across from me was named Mia. She was a senior in college. She had been crying for two hours straight. Including the “honeymoon phase” of her fling with Harrison, they had barely been together for a month. Honestly, it wasn’t worth ruining her mascara over. I opened my mouth to offer some comfort, but she suddenly looked at me with bloodshot eyes. “He said I reminded him of you. Looking at you now… I see it.” I froze. None of Harrison’s previous girls had ever said that to me. Mia sniffed, wiping the corner of her eye. Her tone shifted from grief to sharp irony. “I don’t need your pity. You’re much more pathetic than I am.” And wasn’t she right? Everyone in the city knew Harrison Thorne had married a “saint.” A saint who had been cheated on more times than anyone could count, yet still spent her afternoons consoling his exes. I called every girl he dated after our wedding an “ex.” It was easier than calling them what they were. I had long since traded my pride for peace. My phone buzzed on the table. A text from Harrison. [Harrison: You done yet? The movie’s about to start.] I placed the phone face down and looked back at Mia’s reddened eyes. “Tell me what kind of settlement you want. I’ll make sure he gives it to you.” I had said these words so many times I sounded like an HR manager handling a layoff. She let out a harsh breath and stood up abruptly. “I don’t want anything from him.” I sighed. “Take something. Cash, a car, a condo. You need something solid to hold onto.” Her gaze turned icy. She reached for her cup and slowly poured her cold coffee over my head. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered. “And I’m keeping it.” I stared at her, paralyzed. The words of comfort died in my throat. A bitter smile twitched at the corner of my lips. Harrison, you promised me many things. In the end, you didn’t keep a single one. 2 I sat in the passenger seat, dripping wet. Harrison was on the phone. He didn’t even try to hide it; I could tell it was the new girl. My hand tightened around the seatbelt, my fingernails digging into my palms until they throbbed. The person on the other end said something that made him chuckle, the fine lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Alright, alright. I’ll come see you tonight.” He hung up, started the engine, and glanced toward me. His hand tightened on the steering wheel, his expression darkening instantly. “She did that?” I was already using a napkin to dry my hair, one slow stroke at a time. When I didn’t answer, he reached over and snatched the napkin from me. “Stay still.” I instinctively tried to pull away, but he grabbed me and pulled me toward him with a cold command. He dried my hair with surprising care, though his brow was furrowed and his face was grim. “You just sat there and let her pour coffee on you?” “Lydia, where’s the fire you used to have? Where’s the girl who used to snap back at me?” Used to… Since meeting Mia, a sense of weightlessness had been expanding in my chest. I pulled away from his arms, my face expressionless. “I can’t exactly lose my temper at a pregnant woman, can I?” He looked sheepish for a fraction of a second but remained stubborn, continuing to dry my hair. We didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. He drove; I stared out the window. I could see him in my peripheral vision, glancing at me every few minutes as if searching for something. But the ripples in my heart had long since stilled. Disappointment had traveled a thousand miles past despair. All that was left was numbness. I couldn’t focus on the movie. Harrison spent most of the time looking down at his phone, replying to messages. The “tradition” of our anniversary date collapsed into ruins before the credits even rolled. The irony was that afterward, I still had to sit by his side and watch him perform. The party was for close friends and family; the Thorne family invitations had been sent out weeks ago. Amidst the clinking of crystal and forced laughter, Harrison peeled shrimp for me. He piled them high on my plate, but I sat staring at his wrist as he rolled up his sleeves. Whose hair tie was wrapped around his wrist? A wave of nausea rolled over me, killing any appetite I had left. A man who peels shrimp for you doesn’t necessarily love you. A man who never forgets an anniversary after ten years doesn’t necessarily love you. A man who never takes off his wedding ring, even in the shower, doesn’t necessarily love you. I should thank Harrison. He taught me all of that. 3 Childhood sweethearts. Neighbors. A “perfect match” on paper. But those descriptions were meant for Harrison and my sister, Clara. Even before I understood what love was, I knew our families intended for them to marry. I had seen Clara’s cheeks flush pink whenever they went on dates. I had seen the notoriously arrogant Harrison Thorne turn quiet and gentle whenever he was with her. Why else would I have quietly hidden away the vintage records I spent months collecting for him when I was a teenager? In that trio, I was only Clara’s shadow. When their love was at its peak, there was no room for me to stand. Everything changed when Clara turned twenty. My poised, elegant sister ran away on the eve of her engagement party, only to die in a tragic plane crash. When her journals were found, the “perfect” facade of the Sterling family shattered. The shyness had been an act. Clara had been used as a bargaining chip by our parents to save their failing business empire. The only time she ever chose herself, it cost her her life. I carried the weight of my family’s survival on my shoulders. I was rushed into an engagement, then a wedding. To save the Thorne family’s reputation. To save the Sterling family from bankruptcy. In that whirlwind, I didn’t have time to process if I was more heartbroken or more relieved. Even as a substitute, I was marrying the man I had loved since I was a girl. But when we exchanged rings, I was the only one whose heart raced. During the “kiss the bride” moment, Harrison’s lips barely brushed mine. He whispered a sentence that would haunt us for a decade. “If you didn’t want this, why go through with it?” Back then, we agreed: we would each take what we needed from this arrangement. But ten years of marriage was too long. He did everything for me with perfection, yet he still didn’t love me. 4 The dinner ended after midnight. I couldn’t tell if I was buzzed or if my head just hurt. I climbed into the car and drifted into a heavy, feverish sleep. I vaguely heard Harrison on speakerphone, flirting with his new girl. The sweet talk was winding and elaborate. He never got tired of saying it; I was just tired of hearing it. During a lull, I felt a hand press against my forehead. The car braked hard. He let out a muffled curse. “Damn it, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you say anything?” The call was cut short. He seemed frantic as he draped his jacket over me. I thought I heard him whisper my nickname, CeeCee. I was probably just hallucinating from the fever. I let out a bitter laugh. He always called me by my full name, Lydia. As if omitting a single syllable would let me fantasize that I was the sister he actually wanted to marry. A person is more vulnerable when they are sick—but also more honest. A deep weariness took hold. Weariness of him, and of a love that never gave anything back. The car started moving again. The speed and the swaying made it hard to tell how fast we were going. He seemed to be on the phone constantly. Almost there, Doctor… she’ll be fine. Or maybe it was just a dream. Until the car stopped again. I forced my eyes open and saw him unbuckle his seatbelt and leap out of the car. He ran toward a slender figure standing at the hospital entrance. He pulled Mia into a tight embrace. The fragments of words I’d heard earlier finally made sense. “Wait for me. Don’t do anything reckless. I’m here. Everything will be okay.” Every word was for her. Even from a distance, I could hear her sobbing. I heard his voice, low and comforting. “I would never let you do anything to hurt yourself.” “It’s okay. We won’t break up. We’ll figure out what to do about the baby.” The memory I had buried deep in my heart was ripped open by the pain. Six months after our wedding, I had been pregnant too. 5 Back then, I was walking on eggshells at the Thorne estate while trying to manage the Sterling family’s affairs. Before I even realized what was happening, the pregnancy had ended. I’ll never forget the sound of Harrison’s voice outside the hospital room. Cold. Detached. “Maybe it’s for the best. It wasn’t supposed to happen anyway.” After that day, we reached a silent understanding. He could continue being a playboy. As long as the Sterling family stayed afloat. He could date whoever he wanted, as long as… as long as he didn’t “cause a scene” or a permanent complication. Now, he was the one who broke the deal. The Sterling family was an empty shell now, both my parents having passed away. And him? I didn’t want to force him anymore. I leaned my head against the car window, my breath hot against the glass. I watched him finish comforting Mia and walk back to me. He opened the door, draped my arm around his neck, and carried me toward the ER. Over his shoulder, I saw Mia sniffle and stare at me with pure contempt. As he passed her, she tried to grab his sleeve. She missed. He kept walking, his strides long and confident. His face, which no sculptor could ever improve upon, was set in a grim line. He always gave me the illusion that no matter how far he strayed, he would eventually come back. This time, I shook my head and woke up. “Harrison, I want a divorce.” His steps faltered, but he didn’t look at me. “What?” “A divorce. Please.” His expression shifted through a complex range—from anger to confusion, finally settling on a mocking laugh. “Why not wait a little longer? Maybe in a few years…” He glanced at me, his smile teasing. “I’ll finally be ready to settle down.” I laughed too, though my eyes felt hot. The fever was definitely getting worse. “What can I say? I’m bored of you. Maybe we should just be friends.” In an instant, Harrison’s face froze. His jaw tightened so hard the muscles jumped. “Not enough mystery for you anymore?” My vision was blurred by tears, but I kept smiling. “We should never have gotten married. We should have stayed exactly what you said we were back then.” “Lydia Sterling? I’d rather be her brother than her husband!”

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I hit the “golden daughter,” so my brothers committed me to a psychiatric hospital. When I was finally released, I had become unnaturally obedient. If my brothers told me to go east, I wouldn’t dare head west. But why did the fake daughter suddenly become even more “well-behaved” than me? Dr. Miller said that a professional patient never strikes back unless the other person hits first. Those are the rules of the ward. Oh? Please. Getting someone to swing first is the easiest game in the world. I have a thousand ways to make them do it. 1 The day my brother, Silas, came to pick me up from the asylum, I was wearing a Peter Pan collar blouse and denim overalls. My hands were neatly folded in front of me, my eyes downcast. The old, arrogant fire was gone. Silas looked me up and down, finally satisfied. “Do you understand what you did wrong?” I nodded obediently and recited the lines Dr. Miller taught me. “I’m sorry, Silas. I was jealous of Brianna. That’s why I hired those guys to scare her. I was wrong. I’ll never do it again.” The perfect amount of grievance, the perfect hint of remorse. Tears brimmed in my eyes but didn’t fall—a pose I had practiced by watching Brianna for a long time. It worked. Silas believed me. He reached out his noble hand and gave my head a condescending pat. “Good. If you hadn’t crossed the line so badly, Arthur wouldn’t have locked you away. From now on, try to get along with Brianna.” I mimicked Brianna’s habit of nuzzling into his palm. Silas actually smiled. No one noticed the Director of the asylum, Dr. Lowery, shuddering violently behind us. I flicked a glance at him, and cold sweat instantly beaded on his forehead. “Mr. Sterling, if there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to your family reunion.” Silas nodded. “You did well. The Sterling Group’s donation will be in your account by morning.” “Th-thank you!” Lowery stammered and bolted. “The Director is quite fast on his feet, isn’t he?” I murmured. Thump. Lowery tripped over nothing. Then, under Silas’s confused gaze, he scrambled up and ran like a ghost was chasing him. “Silas, can I go home now?” Seeing my submissive state, he nodded. But he didn’t forget a final warning: “If you bully Brianna again, even if Arthur doesn’t send you back, I will!” “Okay,” I whispered. 2 When we reached the familiar estate, I stood at the threshold. I didn’t enter. Brianna used to say this was her house. Her parents, her brothers. I was just the intruder. How could I enter someone else’s home uninvited? It wasn’t until Silas said, “Get inside,” that I forced a flattered smile. “Is it really okay?” Silas’s eyes softened with a hint of pity. But the memory of my past behavior quickly hardened his heart again. Soon, Arthur and Brianna returned. “Arthur, I brought Yasmine back,” Silas said. “Has it been six months already?” Arthur asked. Already? I had lived through a year’s worth of hell every day in that place, but to them, time flew. Arthur studied me with a cold, judgmental gaze. I immediately gave him a small, respectful half-bow. Brianna saw me and gasped, shrinking behind Arthur’s broad shoulders. Arthur patted her arm. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. If she touches you, I promise she’ll never set foot outside that asylum again as long as she lives.” He looked at me like I was a cockroach. I pressed a hand to my chest. So, an asylum patient’s heart can still feel pain. “I’ll be very good. I’ll listen,” I said, my voice small and pathetic. Arthur shot me a look of pure disgust and led Brianna away to wash up for dinner. 3 Dinner was, predictably, all of Brianna’s favorites. Suppressing her “fear,” Brianna picked up a piece of spicy popcorn chicken and put it in my bowl. “Here, Yasmine. Eat.” Pepper, chili, and… mango dipping sauce. This chicken was a curated list of everything I hated. Arthur leaned in. “Brianna, I raised you. You aren’t inferior to anyone. You don’t have to grovel to her.” Brianna lowered her head, a tear hitting her plate. I didn’t get it. They gave her the best of everything, tailored every meal to her taste, yet they thought she was the victim? Dr. Miller said: The best actor gets the candy. I sat there, staring at the chicken, swallowing hard. Then I asked the question that made the room turn cold. “Am… am I allowed to eat?” Arthur: … Silas: … Brianna: Internally screaming. When no one objected, I picked up my fork. I was starving. I hadn’t had real food in forever. I wanted to swallow the whole table. My unrefined, desperate eating style made them scowl. “Yasmine, didn’t they feed you in there?” Silas asked. I shook my head. “They did. But the slop buckets never had meat in them…” Slam! Arthur threw his fork down. “Yasmine Sterling, who are you trying to disgust? The Sterling family funds that facility. Lowery wouldn’t dare treat you like that. There’s a limit to lying.” Wouldn’t he? Arthur, have you ever seen a bed of nails? Have you ever felt the current of an electric chair? Have you ever watched a girl fight a dog for a scrap of gristle? Arthur hadn’t. But Brianna, hidden behind her napkin, was smiling. I stood there trembling, staring at Arthur in terror. Silas frowned. “Arthur, it’s her first night back. Can’t we just have a quiet meal?” Arthur suppressed his rage, his loathing for me deepening. Silas handed me a fork. “Eat if you’re hungry.” “Thank you, Silas,” I said with a sweet, wide smile. Silas’s pupils contracted. Did his sister know how to smile like that? Why had he never seen it before? For a split second, Silas felt a strange tug at his heart. Even Arthur’s eyes flickered, though his coldness remained. 4 I was about to go to bed when Brianna walked in. “I brought you some milk, Sister.” She didn’t knock. “Thank you,” I said, taking the glass. Those two words had never passed my lips before. Every time she “offered” something, it was a trap. Brianna smirked. “You’ve become quite the little pet, haven’t you?” The next second, her hand “slipped.” The milk splashed all over my clothes. “Oh no! Yasmine, why didn’t you catch it?” She looked at me provocatively. I didn’t move. She picked up the only gift my brothers had ever given me—a small music box from the year I returned—and tossed it into the trash. I still didn’t move. She scanned the room and saw the photo on my desk. It was the only picture I had of our parents and me. This time, I moved. I caught her wrist. Brianna laughed triumphantly. With her free hand, she snatched the frame and smashed it against the floor. My eyes burned with rage. “Oh, are you mad? Hit me then! I dare you!” Blatant provocation. But as an asylum patient, the first thing I learned was to follow instructions. I swung my arm and delivered a resounding slap to her face. Brianna was stunned for a few seconds before she began her performance. “Arthur! Silas! Help me!” They burst in instantly, shielding Brianna and glaring at me. “Yasmine, what the hell is wrong with you?” I folded my hands neatly. “She told me to hit her.” Brianna sobbed, clutching her red cheek. “I just brought her milk… I saw her throwing your gifts in the trash… she tried to rip up the family photo… I tried to stop her and she just attacked me! Look!” The gift was in the trash. The photo was on the floor. The frame was shattered. The evidence was “undeniable.” “Yasmine, do you still hate us that much? It wasn’t our fault the hospital switched you at birth!” Silas shouted, his disappointment palpable. Hate? I suppose. I spent ten years on the streets. My foster parents trained me to beg. I stole, I fought, I slept in alleys. I lived like a bug in the dirt. Meanwhile, the Sterlings pampered my replacement. How could I not hate them? I hated them for not finding me sooner. I hated them for replacing me. I hated that they always believed her lies. “I should have let you rot on the streets,” Arthur spat. I looked at him, my expression returning to that eerie “well-behaved” mask. “Brianna threw the gift away. Brianna smashed the photo.” “You—!” Arthur looked like he was about to explode. I pulled out my discharge papers. “I swear on my clinical diagnosis as a psychiatric patient, I am telling the truth.” Psychiatric patient. The brothers froze. Silas snatched the papers, his hands trembling. “This… this is real.” I nodded. “Dr. Miller said that for us ‘mentally ill’ people to survive in the world, we have to be obedient. We have to be quiet.” Arthur glanced at the papers and sneered. He didn’t believe me. “Obedient? Good. Move out of this room. Brianna is staying here now.” This room was the “Princess Suite” my parents had custom-built for me. My mother designed the layout; my father picked the furniture. It was supposed to be my sanctuary. Brianna had tried to take it a dozen times. “Okay,” I said. I immediately started packing my few belongings. Arthur, Silas, and even Brianna were stunned. This room was my last line of defense. Usually, I’d fight to the death for it. Brianna’s eyes sparkled. She finally had it. She tugged Arthur’s sleeve. “Arthur, is it okay? Can I really stay here?” Arthur’s face was grim. “If she can live here, so can you.” He turned to me and pointed toward the basement—the unfinished storage room. “You sleep there.” I nodded obediently and lugged my blankets downstairs. Arthur’s hand was still half-raised, frozen in the air. He watched me settle into the cramped, dark space. His chest seemed to be heaving with a strange, repressed fury. I didn’t get it. This is what you wanted, right? Why are you angry? As I lay down to sleep, he barked: “Wait!” I stayed still. The maid walked in and poured a bucket of ice water over my mattress. “Now you can sleep,” Arthur said, his face a mask of indifference. He was waiting for me to snap. He wanted my “true nature” to come out. Too bad. I lay down in the soaking wet bedding and, within minutes, I was snoring softly. Arthur: !!! 5 I woke up in a comfortable guest room. Silas was by my bed, muttering, “How long has she been asleep? Ten hours…” When I opened my eyes, he looked worried. “Yasmine, are you really…” He couldn’t finish, but I knew what he meant. “I’m a psychiatric patient,” I said calmly. “But I’m not ashamed.” Arthur didn’t trust me. He spent the next two weeks testing me. He told me to go left; I went left. He told me to eat fish; I ate fish. He even put a large, hairy spider on my hand. I shook with terror, but I didn’t dare brush it off until he told me to. Arthur’s face grew darker every day. Finally, he looked at Brianna and asked, “Was it really you?” Brianna had never faced this kind of doubt. That same day, she found the head maid. “Doesn’t your son want that new house?” she whispered. “Do this, and the money is yours.” The maid’s eyes gleamed. She’d made a fortune off me over the years. That night, she crept into my room and pinched me awake with her sharp nails. “Don’t you dare scream!” I was obedient. I didn’t scream. I just stared at her with wide, innocent eyes. My submission gave her courage. She grinned wickedly. “Get up. Take your clothes off.” I stood up, but I wouldn’t undress. Dr. Miller said a girl must have a baseline of dignity, no matter the environment. The maid grew angry and pulled out a long sewing needle. “Remember this? Strip, or I’ll bury this in your skin!” I tilted my head. Bad memories surfaced. Once, I had a high fever. My brothers had taken Brianna on a ski trip and left me with the maid. I couldn’t get out of bed. For three days, she didn’t give me a drop of water or a bite of food. I was dying. Every time I drifted off, she’d stab me with a needle to keep me awake. When the brothers returned, I told them. Arthur slapped me across the face. I found out later that while I was in that hell, the maid had called them every day, crying about how I was abusing her. She’d even scratched her own arms for “proof.” “Scared? Good. Now do as I say!” the maid hissed, her face contorted. Dr. Miller said that people like her—servile to the powerful but cruel to the weak—need no mercy. The next second, I grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the wall. I took the needle from her hand and drove it deep into her thigh. A pig-like squeal echoed through the mansion. “Shh,” I whispered. “Disturbing the peace gets you sent to the water tank.” She didn’t seem to understand. I dragged her by the hair toward the door. The brothers rushed downstairs, pale. “Yasmine! What are you doing?” Silas yelled. “She’s too loud,” I said. “I can’t sleep. Where is my chainsaw? I need to cut out her tongue.” The blood drained from Silas’s face. He lunged forward to stop me. “There is no chainsaw!” “Yasmine, let me throw her out for you, okay? If she’s outside, she won’t be loud!” I tilted my head. “Really?” Silas managed to pry her hair out of my grip. He threw her out the front door. It was much quieter. I went back to my room and fell asleep instantly. The rest of them stood in the hallway, staring at each other. The house was as silent as a tomb.

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My best friend and I both ended up with unplanned pregnancies at the exact same time. She was carrying the child of an Oscar-winning actor, and I had the baby of a high-stakes New York tycoon. Since neither of them seemed particularly thrilled about the idea of fatherhood, my best friend suggested: “What if we just keep the kids and lose the dads?” I didn’t hesitate: “Deal. Wherever you go, I go.” So, we vanished. We fled the country with our baby bumps and started a dream life together abroad. Two years later, her toddler went viral on TikTok because he was a dead ringer for the famous actor. The camera panned just enough to catch me and my daughter in the background. That night, my bar was surrounded by men in black suits. Just as I reached for my phone to call 911, my hands were pinned behind my back and bound with a leather belt. The man gripped my waist, his voice a low, dangerous snarl in my ear: “Go ahead, call them. Guess how many times I can break you before the cops even pull into the lot?” 1 Heartbroken and fed up with men, my best friend, Mia, dragged me to a high-end club to blow off some steam. She was just about to reach out and touch the abs of a gorgeous male model when Ethan Sterling, the Oscar-winning heartthrob, appeared at the entrance. Ethan, hidden under a baseball cap, stormed over and pointed at the model, who admittedly shared his brooding good looks. “Who is this, Mia? Am I that easy to replace?” Mia flicked a glance at him and stood up with a cold smirk. “Why not? You treated me like a stand-in for your ex-girlfriend, Sophie, for a year. Why can’t I find a better version of you?” “Besides,” she added, “your family’s ‘precious’ heirloom watch is currently sitting on someone else’s wrist.” Ethan went silent, his face pale. “I told you,” he stammered, “I didn’t give her that watch.” Mia: “Great. Then go get it back.” Silence stretched between them like a freezing river, making the thumping club music feel even more jarring. Ethan hesitated for a long time before sighing. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” Even though she expected that answer, Mia’s face crumpled for a split second. She grabbed her bag, signaled for me to call her, and stormed out in her stilettos. Ethan nodded to me and chased after her. Knowing how easily Ethan usually sweet-talked her back, I shouted after them: “Mia! Don’t go soft! This is a dealbreaker! Dump him for real this time!” My throat was dry from yelling. Suddenly, a long-fingered hand offered me a slice of watermelon. I looked at the hand, thinking, Wow, this model is smooth. I turned with a smile: “Hey handsome, what’s your name?” The smile froze. Standing behind me wasn’t a model, but Caleb Vance. Cold features, a sharp jawline, and eyes that looked like they were carved from ice. I stumbled back, but he caught my wrist. Caleb leaned in, a dark smirk playing on his lips: “You like ‘handsome’ guys, huh?” “Fine. Let’s go home. I’ve got plenty for you to look at.” 2 That night, Caleb Vance pinned me against the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse until dawn. The view overlooked the city skyline—prime real estate where every square inch cost a fortune. If it wasn’t for Caleb, I wouldn’t even have clearance to enter the lobby. But I wasn’t his girlfriend. I was his “pet.” His high-end distraction. In my first year as a struggling actress, I met a director who tried to force himself on me. Caleb appeared and ended the situation with a single sentence. He was a titan of industry; I was a nobody. He never made a grand romantic gesture, but he protected me and provided for me. With a face that put Hollywood stars to shame, it was hard not to fall for him. But I knew my place. A “pet” is meant to be replaced. I knew this would never last. “Distracted again?” As if punishing my lack of focus, Caleb’s grip tightened. “What are you thinking about? Your ‘handsome’ models?” I let out a sharp gasp, my nails digging into his arm as I shook my head, biting my lip. My response clearly didn’t satisfy him. He flipped me around. “Even if you weren’t, you’re going to feel this.” Much later, as the storm subsided, Caleb carried me to the bath and held me in his arms. “I heard your sister, Seraphina, is back in the country?” I asked softly. “Mhm.” Caleb was close with his sister; she was the real power behind the Vance family’s domestic affairs. More importantly, she had brought someone back with her—the woman Caleb was supposed to marry in a high-society merger. “Can I meet her?” I tested. Caleb’s eyes snapped open. He studied me with a cold, searching gaze before looking away. “There’s no need.” Of course. A secret mistress doesn’t meet the family. I hid my disappointment and forced a smile. “Okay.” That night, Mia never called. It wasn’t until noon the next day that I got a text. 【Don’t worry. We’re done for good.】 3 A month later, both Mia and I realized our periods were late. We went to the clinic together. When the ultrasound results came back with “PREGNANCY CONFIRMED” in bold letters, we both stared in dead silence. Mia snatched my results and hissed, “We agreed to get the career boost and then bail! How did you let this happen?” “We were careful!” I argued. Then, thinking of that night by the window, I lowered my voice. “But… things got intense. Maybe it failed.” Mia rolled her eyes. I snatched her results back. “You’re one to talk! You don’t even have a guy right now! Who’s the father?” Mia blinked, looking guilty. She muttered under her breath, “Ethan’s.” “Who?” I asked, doing my best ‘confused face.’ She took a breath and yelled into my ear: “MY EX! ETHAN! STERLING!” My ears were ringing. “I heard you! You don’t have to scream!” Mia was already broken up, and Ethan had his “first love,” Sophie, looming in the background. And I was Caleb’s secret plaything while his fiancée was moving into town. Neither of these powerful men would want these children. Mia grabbed my hand. “What if… we just keep the kids and lose the dads?” I thought about it. Caleb had been generous over the years. With my savings and acting checks, I could afford a house in Australia. “A villa. Two moms. Two kids. A dog and a cat.” It sounded like the perfect retirement plan. 4 We moved fast. Mia was already living separately from Ethan, so she was easy to spirit away. I was the problem. I spent weeks trying to find the right moment to end things with Caleb. Then, one night, he came home wasted. When I opened the door, my heart stopped. Caleb was leaning heavily on a beautiful woman. I recognized her from the tabloids—Caleb’s intended fiancée, Isabella Howe. “Hi, you must be Skylar? Caleb’s a bit drunk, I brought him home.” She looked at me with a kind, composed smile. Unlike the “jealous fiancée” trope I expected, she seemed to know exactly who I was. I forced a smile and helped her get him onto the sofa. Isabella didn’t leave. She looked around the penthouse and smiled. “Could I have a glass of water?” I walked to the kitchen island in silence. Her casual voice drifted from the living room. “I heard you’ve been taking care of Caleb while I was abroad. Thank you.” “I’ve seen your work. It’s hard for a woman to make it in Hollywood without a legacy. Seraphina and I actually admire you.” “She mentioned she wanted to meet you at the family gala next month. Did Caleb tell you?” The glass in my hand nearly slipped. I turned to meet Isabella’s eyes. There was no mockery in them. No arrogance. Just the effortless confidence of a woman who actually belonged in Caleb’s world. A confidence I could never have. The weight in my chest finally settled. I knew it was time. That night, while Caleb was passed out, I packed. I left all the jewelry and luxury gifts behind. I only took a braided cord bracelet Caleb and I had bought from a street vendor once—a cheap thing for “good luck.” I thought about saying goodbye to his face, but maybe silence was better. On the gray silk sheets, Caleb’s face was as breathtaking as the day I met him. He always thought he pursued me, but he never knew I fell for him at first sight. I felt a wave of bitterness. I sent one last text: 【I’m gone. Don’t come looking for me. Goodbye.】 I blocked his number and walked out. 5 Fast forward three years. We were living in a coastal town in Australia. We both had healthy toddlers. Mia’s son, Leo, and my daughter, Penny. When the kids turned three, Mia started a “Mommy Blogger” account, though she never showed her own face. I opened a small, trendy bar by the beach. Life was perfect. We had money, peace, and I had plenty of handsome surfers to look at. Then, a comment appeared on one of Mia’s videos. 【Is it just me, or does ‘Leo’ look exactly like Ethan Sterling?】 Ethan had posted childhood photos online years ago. Within hours, the internet had side-by-side comparisons. It wasn’t just a resemblance. It was a clone. “Leo” blew up overnight. People started tagging Ethan everywhere. Someone asked Mia: 【Who’s the dad?】 Mia snarked back: 【No dad. Parthenogenesis.】 When people started accusing her of being a “homewrecker” with a “secret love child,” she fired back: 【If you knew who the father was, you’d realize I’m the one who got unlucky.】 Seconds later, an account verified as Ethan Sterling replied. 【Are you sure about that, Mia?】 Mia panicked, deleted everything, and set her account to private. That night, she came to my bar, terrified Ethan would find her and sue for custody. I told her to breathe. “The internet is huge. Even if he sees the video, he can’t find us in a country this big.” To distract her, I promised to take her and the kids on a trip the next day. 6 We were at a famous landmark when a “Man on the Street” interviewer stopped us. Because of the viral drama, we declined and hurried away, but we couldn’t stop them from posting the footage. The video showed Leo clearly, and it caught me and Penny too. The internet exploded. 【Holy crap, in high-def, that kid is definitely Ethan’s.】 【Is that an actress in the background? She looks like Skylar Stone, the girl who vanished three years ago!】 Seeing the walls closing in, I talked to Mia. “Let’s move again. The bar isn’t doing great anyway. I’m ready to close it.” Mia nodded. “I’m with you. Wherever you go, I go.” Mia deleted her accounts. I posted a “Bar for Sale” ad. That same day, a buyer contacted me and asked to meet that night. I waited until closing time, but the buyer never showed. A weird sixth sense kicked in. Suddenly, the front door was kicked open. A dozen bodyguards in black suits flooded the bar. “Who are you looking for?” I demanded, my heart racing. No one answered. I bolted for the back exit. I ran out the door and slammed right into a solid chest. The scent of cedarwood hit me—a scent I knew by heart. I stumbled back and tried to dial 911. My wrist was snatched, and the phone hit the ground, its screen glowing in the dark. My hands were bound behind my back with a belt. He pulled me into his chest. A familiar, deep voice whispered in my ear: “Sky… have you been well?” The greeting was normal, but the tone was as cold as a grave. “Caleb, we broke up,” I gasped. “This is Australia. You can’t do this.” “Break up?” He let out a dark laugh. “Did I agree to that?” “And as for what I can do… well, you’re about to find out.” The phone on the ground was answered by a dispatcher. Caleb picked it up and held it to my ear, his voice a low, arrogant chuckle. “Go ahead. Give them the address.” “Guess how many times I can break you before the cops arrive?”

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Traveling back to my hometown for Christmas, I was scrolling through TikTok when I hit a video that made my heart stop. It was a clip of a guy from behind, sitting at a late-night diner. The caption read: “To the guy in the blue puffer jacket at the diner tonight: You are literally my dream man. TikTok, do your thing!” I stared at the screen. That was my boyfriend. I knew that jacket. I knew the way he sat. That was the day he dropped me off at the train station. We had a massive fight that morning. Since then, he had only sent me three dry texts. He has an Avoidant Attachment Style. I used to think his silence was just a test—a way to see if I’d keep chasing, keep choosing him. I thought my job was to be the “secure” one, to be his rock. I didn’t realize that this time, he’d found a “Secure Guide” of his own. I clicked on the girl’s profile. Her latest post was a photo of her beaming, wearing that same blue puffer jacket. Beside her was a man’s arm, solid and familiar, draped around her shoulders. Caption: “Update: The jacket fits. He’s even hotter than I thought.” 1 Caleb Reed warned me before we started dating. He told me he had an avoidant attachment style. He told me that loving him would eventually hurt. That was three years ago. We met at his veterinary clinic. I had rushed in with a stray kitten I’d found on the side of the road, clinging to life after being hit by a car. Caleb was about to clock out, but he took the kitten without a word. “How did it happen?” he asked, his voice low and clinical. “A car hit it,” I said, barely holding back tears. “But it was still moving when I found it. Please.” Caleb glanced at me. “You’re this upset over a stray?” At the time, I thought he was cold. But he performed the surgery, stayed late, and at midnight, he walked out and told me, “It’s going to live.” I burst into tears of relief. Caleb reached into his pocket, pulled out a fresh pack of tissues, and handed them to me. “Stop crying.” He took off his surgical mask then. He had a sharp, stern face, but his eyes… his eyes were soft, almost vulnerable. I fell for him in that exact second. I adopted the kitten and named it Dawn. Every “check-up” or “vaccine” became an excuse to talk to him. By the time winter rolled around, we were official. Caleb opened up to me for the first time on a snowy night. He told me he’d been a “stray” himself. His parents’ divorce was messy; he was the one left behind. He’d tried to run away to find his mother, but he got into a car accident. He said he’d wished he died then. It would have been better than hearing his parents argue about who had to take him. As he spoke, his eyes turned red. I reached for his hand, and he gripped it tight. “I’m avoidant, Chloe,” he whispered, his eyes searching mine for a reason to run. “People hate people like me. I’ll push you away. Are you sure?” I didn’t hesitate. I nodded. “I love you, Caleb. I don’t care what your ‘style’ is.” He kissed me then—a desperate, hungry kiss. For three years, I studied psychology. I read the books. I learned how to give him space when he retreated. I convinced myself that if I was just patient enough, I could heal him. But staring at that TikTok, I realized I’d overestimated myself. I looked at our empty chat log. I felt a bone-deep exhaustion. I typed: “Caleb, I think we should break up.” No reply. 2 They say avoidants will repeatedly push away the people they love most. Three days ago, we fought at the airport. Caleb wanted me to spend Christmas with his parents. I couldn’t. My grandfather was in the ICU, and the doctors said it was a matter of days. I showed Caleb the photos—my grandfather, skin and bones, hooked up to machines. Caleb is a good person at his core. He felt bad for my grandpa. But he didn’t feel bad for me. “What about me?” he asked. “I told my family you were coming. Everyone’s expecting you.” “Chloe, you just don’t want to commit. You’re looking for an excuse.” It was the old routine. He’d take a legitimate conflict and twist it until it was my fault. He’d say I didn’t love him enough. He didn’t want to solve the problem; he wanted to avoid the reality of my pain. If I didn’t back down, he’d end it with a cold “Fine, we’re done.” But I couldn’t let my grandfather spend his last Christmas without me. “Babe,” I pleaded, “I’ll visit them right after New Year’s, okay?” Caleb snapped. He shoved my shoulder—not hard, but enough to create distance. “Forget it. I don’t need this.” “Go home to your family. I’ll go to mine. Let’s just forget the marriage talk for now.” He grabbed his suitcase and walked away. He didn’t look back once, even when I yelled that I loved him. On the train home, I sent a dozen texts explaining, apologizing, even asking my parents to help me talk to him. But as the messages sat on “Delivered,” I started to think. What did I actually do wrong? The only mistake I made was thinking I was irreplaceable. Without me there, Caleb wasn’t mourning. He was busy letting a stranger wear his jacket. After I sent the breakup text, he finally posted a Status: “Nobody ever stays. Nobody ever chooses me.” I gripped my phone, my heart skipping a beat. Usually, I’d be calling him, crying, begging him to see that I was choosing him. But this time, I stayed silent. 3 I wasn’t sure if Caleb had actually hooked up with that girl yet. Under her video, people were begging for an update. “Did you get the guy??” “The 2026 plot twist we needed!” The girl replied, acting shy: “We haven’t made it official yet. He’s a bit of a mystery, very cold-moody lol. But we’re going to see the New Year’s fireworks together. Hehe.” It felt like a knife to the chest. Caleb doesn’t talk to strangers. In three years, he never played games with other women. Even when we fought, he was loyal to a fault. That was why I stayed. I thought his “avoidance” was a cage he was trapped in. I realized then that our relationship was actually over. What I couldn’t understand was why he couldn’t just talk to me. Why couldn’t he just say goodbye? My grandfather’s condition worsened. The only silver lining was that when I got to the hospital, he was still conscious. If I had gone to Caleb’s parents’ house, I would have missed our last conversation. I turned off my phone. I was done blaming myself. Suddenly, a notification popped up. A follow request on Instagram. The bio said: @EverlyQ_. The message in the request was anything but friendly: “Are you Caleb’s girlfriend?” I stared at the screen. Everly. The girl from the TikTok. I hit accept. “Who’s asking?” The reply was instant. “I’m Everly. I’m the girl who’s going to be with Caleb.” 4 I checked her profile. She was young, probably a college junior. She lived in the same town Caleb was from. She was also incredibly bold. “Look, Chloe. I’m not trying to be mean. Caleb told me you broke up with him.” Ah. So he did read the message. “And?” I typed. A long paragraph appeared a few minutes later. “You know Caleb. You know how much he’s hurting. He’s avoidant—he can’t handle being abandoned. I met him and I realized he has a girlfriend, and I was going to back off. But then he called me last night, crying. I realized you two are a toxic match.” “I like him. I know how to handle someone like him. I’m a ‘Secure Guide.’ I won’t give up on him or threaten to leave every time things get hard. I’m going to pursue him seriously. Just don’t go posting drama online once we’re official.” I sat there, stunned. I couldn’t even process the logic. I was the one who stayed for three years. I was the one whose grandfather was dying. But to her, I was the villain for finally reaching my breaking point. I typed back one word: “OK.” Everly: “Just ‘OK’? I actually feel bad for Caleb. He wasted three years on someone so cold.” 5 Was I cold? For three years, I tried to melt an iceberg. Caleb wasn’t a child. He could have understood why I chose my dying grandfather over a Christmas dinner. Any normal person would. But love isn’t enough to cure a personality disorder. And Caleb didn’t love me enough to try. It was the second day after the breakup. He still hadn’t replied. However, he had deleted the “Nobody ever stays” status. Then, he started deleting photos of us. One by one. It seemed petty, but I knew his language. This was his way of getting my attention. He wanted me to see the “erasure” of our memories and panic. He wanted me to come crawling back to save the relationship. But I didn’t have the energy to play the game anymore. My dad called. Grandpa was being moved home. I knew what that meant. Hospice. I burst into tears and ran for my car to get to the hospital. On the way, my phone rang. Caleb. I swiped answer, my heart in my throat. “Chloe,” Caleb’s voice was heavy, sounding both angry and desperate. “Are you really doing this? Are you really leaving me?” “Caleb, I can’t talk right now—” Then I heard it. A rustling sound through the phone. A soft, feminine moan. “Caleb… what are you doing?” Silence. Then a girl’s voice, muffled: “Caleb, come back to bed…” My world shattered. 6 I pulled over to the side of the road, gasping for air. The betrayal felt like a physical blow to the stomach. Three years of patience, three years of “healing,” and he was in bed with another girl within 72 hours of a fight. While my grandfather was dying. I sat there for twenty minutes, staring at the steering wheel, before I forced myself to start the car. I had to see Grandpa. The drive to the hospital, which should have taken fifteen minutes, took me forty. My eyes were so blurred with tears I could barely see the road. I stumbled into the hospital, looking for the room. I was a wreck. I accidentally slammed into a man in the hallway. “Whoa, easy there.” Strong hands caught my shoulders. I looked up through a fog of tears at a man in a white coat. He looked steady. Reliable. “I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I’m looking for Thomas Miller. He’s my grandpa… he doesn’t have long…” I was babbling. Doctors usually don’t know every patient by name. But this man didn’t pull away. “Take a breath. Follow me.” He led me through the maze of the hospital to the ICU. I saw my parents outside the room, their faces red from crying. I rushed to the bed. My grandfather opened his eyes one last time. “My… sweet girl…” The weight of the last three days finally broke me. I knelt by the bed, gripping his hand as the warmth left it. “I’m sorry, Grandpa. I’m so sorry.”

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It’s been a year since we broke up. My ex-boyfriend suddenly rose from the dead and sent me a text. 【Do you remember that lipstick you used to wear when we were together? What was the shade? I’m seeing someone new and want to buy it for her.】 I thought about it for two seconds and texted back: 【Oh, I forgot. Why don’t you ask that guy on your basketball team? He’s the one who bought it for me.】 My phone stayed silent for exactly two seconds before it started vibrating like a bomb. 【WTF!】 【Who? Which teammate?】 【Who the hell was it?】 【Answer me, please.】 I sent him a cheeky emoji with its tongue sticking out. 【None of your business.】 1 Friday night. I was huddled on my sofa, mid-slurp into a bowl of spicy ramen, when my ex-boyfriend’s name popped up on my screen. I didn’t just jump; I practically did a 360-degree backflip of joy. It wasn’t that I missed him—it was that “I won” feeling. When we broke up, I gave Caleb Vance the full treatment: deleted, blocked, and erased from every social platform. I only kept his number unblocked, waiting for the day he’d be the first to cave. “Ha!” I screenshotted it immediately and called my best friend. “Keisha, Caleb just texted me.” “No way. What’s he want?” “Probably realized I’m the best thing that ever happened to him. Probably crying into his pillow.” I opened the message, ready to reject a long apology. Instead, the smile froze on my face. 【Do you remember that lipstick you used to wear? It looked great. What was the shade? I’m seeing someone new and want to buy it for her.】 Are you kidding me? He’s already chasing a new crush? Was I the only clown here? Caleb really is a jerk to the bitter end. I thought for two seconds and hit him with the teammate line. Then, I turned my phone off. By the time I’d finished my dishes and came back, I had 99+ notifications. 【?】 【Chloe, tell me right now!】 【Who?!】 【Which one?】 【TELL ME.】 【Are you seriously ignoring me?】 Caleb’s texts were flying out like they were free. I pulled out my secret weapon: the cheeky emoji and the text: 【None of your business】. The phone went quiet. For a second. Then: 【Chloe!】 【Stay right there. I’m coming to your place.】 Someone’s triggered. 2 Caleb and I were a college romance that died at graduation. He’s a walking contradiction. Before we dated, he was the “Ice King”—cold, untouchable, the campus god. After we started dating, he turned into a total sarcastic brat. If I took my jacket off because I was hot, he’d ask if I was preparing for takeoff. If I crouched to tie my shoe, he’d call it “Transformers, roll out!” A high-altitude flower with a gutter mouth. I used to complain to Keisha, and she’d say it was “the gap-moe charm.” To be fair, Caleb had his perks. He did all my elective homework. He tutored me through Calculus until I actually got an A. He even mapped out the framework for my senior thesis. The price of being “carried” academically was that Caleb moved to Wall Street for a high-powered internship, while I became a junior editor at a tiny boutique agency. That’s when it fell apart. He was drowning in spreadsheets at an investment bank. We went from talking every hour to three sentences a week. I understood he was building a future, but I was lonely. The breaking point? One night, he finally had time for me. After a rare moment of intimacy, I wanted to cuddle and talk. Caleb just rolled out of bed, grabbed his laptop, and started working on a pitch deck. A total “hit it and quit it” move, even if we were dating. I snapped. I ripped off the necklace he’d bought me with his first paycheck and threw it at his face. “Caleb, we’re done.” The look on his face then was terrifying—like a storm about to break. I shuddered at the memory. “Bad vibes, bad vibes,” I muttered, closing my eyes to sleep. “Caleb has bad luck, Caleb has bad luck…” Just as I was drifting off, my phone rang. “What? Caleb is in the ER?!” Did my bad-luck chant actually work? Do I need to buy a lottery ticket? “Ms. Smith, you need to come down. It’s… complicated.” 3 I rushed to the hospital. I finally found the VIP wing and pushed open the door. Caleb looked up. His white shirt was stained with blood, his chest was half-bare, and his arm was in a heavy cast. Thankfully, his face was still perfect. The doctor handed me a chart. “Car accident. Road rash on his back, a fractured radius, and a significant concussion.” “Wait, a concussion? Did he hit his head hard?” I walked up to Caleb. “Do you know who you are?” Caleb stared into my eyes for a long beat, then slowly shook his head. Great. If I saw this plot in a Netflix drama, I’d turn it off for being too cliché. “Ms. Smith,” the doctor said, “you’ll need to settle the intake fees at the window.” “Wait, I’m not—we aren’t together.” The doctor looked at Caleb. “Didn’t you say she was your girlfriend?” I glared at him. What game was he playing? Caleb silently pulled out his phone and showed the doctor our lock screen—it was a photo of us making out from two years ago. Then he pulled up an old campus blog post about the “Chemistry Department’s Power Couple.” I couldn’t believe he still had that stuff. The doctor waved it off as a “lovers’ quarrel” and left the room. We were alone. I dropped the act. “I don’t have the money for this, Caleb. I’m leaving.” Caleb lunged for my hand, hissing in pain as he strained the wounds on his back. That low, gutteral groan… it was way too easy to misinterpret in a quiet hospital room. He looked at me with those puppy-dog eyes. “Babe, did we fight? My gallery is full of us, but I can only text you? Why am I blocked?” I fought the urge to give in to his “battle-worn” handsomeness. “Cut the crap. You’re faking. We’ve been over for a year.” Caleb’s breath hitched. “Babe, I’m not faking. Memories can go, but the feeling doesn’t. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.” I was losing the battle. Even the toughest woman can’t handle Caleb Vance when he’s being this pathetic. “I’ll add you back on WhatsApp if you give me the cash for the bill,” I bargained. “I’ll send you three thousand,” Caleb said calmly. “Pay the bill, keep the change.” I found a “Sugar Daddy” in the ER. I pulled out my phone immediately. “Fine. Deal.” Caleb smiled—a satisfied, “gotcha” smile—and scanned my QR code. I texted Keisha: 【He’s faking amnesia. I’m taking the money and running tomorrow.】 Keisha: 【Spoken like a true queen. Drain him dry, girl!】 4 It was nearly dawn. I decided to crash in the VIP suite’s lounge chair so he couldn’t claim I robbed him. When I woke up, Caleb was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at me like a lost kid. “Chloe… about that teammate.” Here we go. “Which one was it? Why did he buy you lipstick? What shade?” I sat up, doing that “fake-busy” thing people do when they’re caught. I couldn’t tell him the truth yet—that his teammate did give it to me, but only because Caleb had been too shy to give it to me himself and used the guy as a courier. “I don’t have to tell you,” I snapped. “I didn’t ask you about your ‘crush’ from the text.” Caleb’s expression hardened. “I don’t remember much right now, but I know for a fact I don’t have a ‘crush’ on anyone but you.” Liar. I ignored him and scrolled through TikTok. The algorithm knew exactly what I wanted: hot guys in gray sweatpants. I was literally drooling over a video when I noticed Caleb’s shadow looming over me. “Phone’s dying,” I said, turning around. “Got a charger?” Caleb looked at me, his voice muffled. “In my bag.” Who brings a charger to an emergency room car crash? I went into his bag—a high-end leather briefcase. Hanging off the zipper was a tiny, knitted peanut keychain I’d made him for his birthday. He’d called it “low-effort” at the time, but he was still using it. My heart twinged. I grabbed the cable and went to sleep. The next morning, I woke up to a heart-stopping sight. Caleb was shirtless, crouching by my chair. Eight-pack abs, high-definition, no filter. “Babe, you’re awake?” He only used that word in bed before. I pushed him away. “I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet, get back!” 5 I didn’t realize how hard I pushed. Caleb is 6’2″, but since he was off-balance, he went straight to the floor. He groaned, clutching his injured arm. I panicked and helped him up, my hand “accidentally” lingering on his abs. Smooth, warm, rock-solid. Better than college. Caleb smirked, catching my hand and pressing it harder against his stomach. He leaned into my ear. “Like it? I worked out just for you.” My heart did a Olympic sprint. I pushed him again. “You’re shameless!” Caleb just laughed. He was a completely different person. The “concussion” had turned the Ice King into a Golden Retriever. The nurse walked in, clearing her throat. “Alright, break it up. Time to change the dressings.” I bolted to the bathroom to wash my face. When I came out, the nurse was handing me a tube of ointment. “Once a day. And tell him: No strenuous activity.” Caleb winked at me. I rolled my eyes. “Caleb, I have to go to work,” I said, packing my things. “It’s Saturday.” “…” “I’m wounded. I can’t even feed myself. You’re going to leave me here?” “The doctor said you’re being discharged in two days. You aren’t paralyzed.” “Chloe, stay. I’ll pay you a hundred dollars an hour to be my ‘medical companion’.” I paused. “You’re that rich now? What’s your salary?” Caleb shrugged. “I don’t remember the exact number, but my bank statements suggest I’m clearing well over seven figures.” My jaw dropped. I make forty-five thousand a year. “Well… purely for humanitarian reasons, I suppose I can stay.” 6 I spent the next few days in a daze. Caleb was being… nice. He didn’t make fun of my “Transformers” movements. He praised my “cooking” (which was just takeout I plated to look fancy). I was almost ready to give him a chance. Until I saw the truth. I arrived at the hospital thirty minutes early with “lunch.” Through the glass of the door, I saw Caleb. He was hurriedly throwing off his suit jacket and putting on his hospital gown. Standing next to him was an elegant, mature woman with French curls and a tailored power suit. She was fixing his tie. “Slow down, Caleb. She’s not here yet.” Her touch was familiar. The vibe was intimate. Caleb didn’t pull away; he let her touch him like it was a daily habit. I felt like a total fool. Played twice by the same man. I turned around and walked out. I’m not a dog; I’m not coming back when you whistle. 7 I blocked him on everything. Again. I went to Keisha’s place with a case of beer and the most expensive sushi we could order. “He’s dead to me,” I sobbed. “Good,” Keisha said. “Because I have someone new for you. My high school friend. He’s 6’3″, a corporate lawyer, and looks like a Disney prince.” I needed a rebound to save my soul. “Fine. Set it up. Tomorrow.” The next day, I wore my best white sundress. My date, Ethan Hunt, was actually better looking than his photos. He was a total gentleman. He pulled out my chair. He talked about philosophy, travel, and the future. Just as I was starting to forget Caleb Vance existed, Ethan leaned in. “You know, you actually remind me a lot of my ex-girlfriend.” I almost choked on my drink. “Excuse me?” “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just… she was my first love. We met abroad. We were going to get married under the Eiffel Tower.” “Then what happened?” “My parents. They’re old-fashioned. They didn’t think she was ‘high-class’ enough. I couldn’t stand up to them. I regret it every day.” I felt a wave of pity. We were both victims of circumstance. Suddenly, a hand clamped onto my wrist. I was yanked out of my chair and into a solid chest. The scent of cedarwood and expensive cologne hit me. Caleb. He was in a sharp navy suit, his left arm still in a cast, but his right arm was wrapped around my waist like a vice. “Having fun?” he whispered into my ear, his voice tight with suppressed rage. Ethan stood up. “Who are you?” Caleb gave him a terrifyingly polite smile. “I’m her boyfriend. Who are you?” Ethan looked at me. “Chloe?” “He’s my ex!” I yelled, trying to wiggle free. Caleb let out a cold laugh. He dragged me toward the exit. I pounded on his back. “Caleb, stop! This is kidnapping! I’ll call the cops!” He ignored my screaming, threw me into his car, and locked the doors. “Chloe,” he warned, his eyes dark. “If you try to get out, I’m posting your drunk singing videos from college on LinkedIn.”

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The morning I signed the divorce papers with Caleb Vance, he was already on a private jet back to New York City by the afternoon, taking our daughter with him. Staring at the legal document in my hand, I realized that a piece of paper was all that remained of our five-year marriage. I sold our house in the suburbs, quit my job, and erased the last traces of myself from the life we built. On the train back to my hometown in the countryside, I got a call from my daughter. She asked why I wasn’t coming with them to the city. I smiled, my voice calm. “Didn’t you cry and scream that you didn’t want me as your mother anymore?” “Don’t worry. You’ll have a new mommy soon.” 1 When I arrived at my grandmother’s old farmhouse, she was waiting by the door, leaning on her cane. Standing next to her was a little girl with big, curious eyes, staring at me. In the past, seeing a child would have made me smile. I would have rushed to hug her. But now, I didn’t like children anymore. Grandma told me she was the neighbor’s granddaughter. Her parents had died in an accident, leaving her alone, so she was sent here to live with her elderly grandmother. I nodded, feeling a flicker of sympathy, but nothing more. The little girl looked up at me. “Ma’am, you’re really pretty.” I forced a tight smile, ignored her, and helped my grandmother inside. Later, the neighbor came to collect the girl. In the middle of the night, the wail of an ambulance cut through the silence. I opened the door to see the neighbor being loaded onto a stretcher. The little girl stood behind the EMTs, her face streaked with tears and snot. Later, the police took the girl away. Two days later, Grandma told me with a heavy sigh that the neighbor had died of a heart attack. I felt a pang of pity for the girl. “Does she have any other family?” I asked. Grandma thought for a moment. “I think there’s a distant cousin in the next town over.” I felt relieved. At least she had somewhere to go. The next morning, I opened the front door and froze. The little girl was sitting on the neighbor’s porch, shivering in the cold. It was obvious. The relatives didn’t want her. They had dumped her back here. Grandma looked at me, her eyes pleading. She wanted to take the girl in. I didn’t say a word. I took the girl’s hand and walked to the local police station to sort out the paperwork. In the end, I adopted her. My family registry gained a new name: Lily. 2 After a month of settling in, I decided to stay in my hometown for good. Lily used to be a cheerful kid, but losing everyone she loved had changed her. She went from a laughing child to a quiet, serious little adult. Though she was young, she acted years older. She watched my moods carefully, helped with chores without being asked, and followed Grandma into the garden to carry the vegetable basket. Every time I saw how sensible Lily was, I thought of my own daughter back in New York. Sophie Vance, the pampered princess of the Vance empire. If Sophie wanted steak, someone bought her a ranch. If she wanted to swim, someone bought her a hotel. Lily often woke up crying in the middle of the night, asking if I was going to throw her away. I would hold her tight, stroking her hair. “No. I want to live a happy life, and I don’t want to make the people around me sad.” “So, Lily, I’m going to make sure you’re always happy. Do you trust me?” She would stay silent for a long time, then hug me back with all her strength. “Mommy, I’ll stay with you forever. I want you to be happy too.” Time slipped by. Lily grew up. When she was seven, she started elementary school. Every day, rain or shine, I walked her to and from school. She was always quiet on the walk home. Sometimes, seeing other girls throwing tantrums at their parents, Lily would just glance at them and tell me that people should be calm. I laughed. She was growing up too fast. One afternoon, as we walked into the front yard, a little girl in a designer tutu came sprinting toward me. “Mommy!” I stepped back instinctively. Lily stepped forward and caught the girl before she could crash into me. “You have the wrong person,” I said, looking up at the man sitting opposite my grandmother on the porch. “Sir, I think you’re lost.” Sophie burst into loud, wailing sobs. Grandma looked at me helplessly and ushered Lily inside. When I moved back, I told Grandma I was cutting all ties with the Vances. She knew my history and never asked questions. After Lily arrived, Grandma stopped thinking about the great-granddaughter with the bad temper. Caleb Vance walked up to me, staring silently. I stepped aside, leaving the gate open—a clear signal for them to leave. Sophie saw Lily go inside and wiped her tears, clinging to my leg. “Mommy, I missed you so much. Come back to New York with us, please?” I smiled, patted her head, and gently peeled her hands off my leg. I walked toward the gate. “Mr. Vance,” I said, turning to him. “Let’s talk outside.” 3 Looking at Caleb’s familiar face, memories of our past flooded back. It felt like a story from a book—interesting, but irrelevant. My grandfather and Caleb’s grandfather had been war buddies. Legend had it that my grandfather was discharged early because of an injury he sustained saving Caleb’s grandfather. Because of that debt, our families were close until my grandfather passed. The year I graduated college, rumor had it Caleb got into a brawl with a powerful heir in the city. To let the heat die down, the Vances sent him to the countryside to stay with us. I was busy job hunting, exhausted from interviews, when Grandpa called and told me to pick someone up from the airport. I rushed there without even freshening up. When I arrived, Caleb had been waiting for a long time, looking impatient. He sat on his suitcase, scrolling through his phone, frowning one minute and smirking the next. Seeing him washed away my exhaustion. A boy as bright and intense as the summer sun is easy to fall for. My crush was a chase I knew I’d never win. The gap between our families was an ocean. After two weeks with my grandparents, Caleb got bored. Grandpa called me again, asking if I could help Caleb find an apartment in the city nearby. I knew he couldn’t handle the quiet village life. But I was so busy I forgot—until I came home one night to find Caleb sitting on my doorstep with his luggage. He didn’t complain. Once he found out I lived alone, he dragged his suitcase in and claimed my spare room. Living with him, I learned about his childhood sweetheart, Elena. The fight in the city had been over her. Someone had disrespected her, and Caleb had thrown punches. Their love was the kind people envied. As a bystander, I heard all about their romance, their fights, their cold wars. For three months, my apartment was filled with traces of him. One night, after another fight with Elena, I thought he’d gone to bed early. I opened the door to find him passed out on the floor. I helped him to the sofa and went to get water. In his drunken haze, he pulled me into his arms, demanding to know why I brought him home. In the chaos, mistakes were made. I don’t even know how it started. 4 I still remember the look in his eyes when he woke up. Cold. Even cruel. As if I had wronged him. I fled under his icy gaze, ignoring the ache in my body. That night, he had whispered someone else’s name in my ear. It was so tender, so full of longing. In the years we were married, he never said my name like that. It really was true: The falling flower loves the stream, but the stream cares nothing for the flower. 5 There was a large oak tree outside Grandma’s house. In summer, people gathered under its shade. Now, in deep autumn, there were only fallen leaves and a chill in the air. Caleb and I stood under the bare branches. “What do you want?” he asked, staring straight at me. “Did you forget the divorce agreement?” “What do you mean?” “Our marriage ended four years ago. I followed the agreement. I never contacted you. And judging by Sophie’s reaction, someone has been talking about me to her. When we left, she was three. She wouldn’t recognize me instantly.” Caleb took a step forward, glancing at Sophie playing nearby. “Grandpa reminds her. He shows her your photo.” “If that’s the case, why are you here?” Caleb smiled faintly. “We went to the apartment in the city. We found out you sold it. So I brought her here to find you.” I closed my eyes. “You know you aren’t welcome here. Just take her and go.” I was a strict mother. Sophie had been spoiled rotten by the Vances since I left. If we spent time together, she would only hate me more. Better for her to leave now. Caleb didn’t speak. He took Sophie and left. I thought that was the end of it. Two days later, Lily told me Sophie had transferred to her school. They were in the same class. I sat on my porch all afternoon, thinking. It didn’t matter. I had to live my life. I couldn’t let them disrupt my peace. 6 My hometown wasn’t wealthy, but for city people, it was a rustic paradise. I had given up my career for marriage. Now, I wanted to build a future with my own hands. I opened a bed and breakfast, a restaurant, and a small bistro bar. As tourism picked up, my business thrived. Influencers came to take photos. Since Caleb didn’t tell me about the school transfer, I pretended not to know. One day, Sophie was dropped off at my restaurant by a driver. The driver told me Caleb was on a business trip for a few days. Sophie didn’t throw a tantrum this time. She sat quietly on a stool, doing her homework. With my silent permission, the driver started dropping her off every day. Sophie looked like me, but her personality was all Caleb. When she was little, she wouldn’t sleep unless I held her. She wouldn’t eat or drink unless I fed her. Seeing her chubby face and hearing her call me “Mommy” used to make all the suffering worth it. But the moment she realized she didn’t need me, she changed. She learned to lie. She learned to scream at me. She told me to my face that she liked “Auntie Elena” better because Elena wore pretty clothes and let her do whatever she wanted. When Elena told her about the glittering lights of New York, Sophie screamed at me: “Mommy, why are you keeping me in this dump?! I want to go with Auntie Elena to the city!” “I hate a mommy who stays home all day! I want Auntie Elena to take me shopping!” 7 Lily was perceptive. She knew I didn’t like being around Sophie, so she was always polite but distant. Even when Grandma showed Sophie favoritism, Lily never complained. Grandma told me Lily had asked privately if Sophie’s dad had bullied me. She noticed the sadness in my eyes whenever I looked at Sophie. I didn’t know how to explain my relationship with Caleb to her. Lily knew I once dreamed of being a dancer. I gave it up. One day, Lily came to me and said she wanted to learn ballet. “Mommy, I’ll finish your dream for you.” Seven is the perfect age to start. Lily worked hard. She never complained about the pain. She often hugged me and told me she loved me. I remembered Sophie screaming, “I hate Mommy! I love Auntie Elena!” A month later, Caleb returned from his trip. He continued to drop Sophie off. Neighbors who recognized him asked Grandma if he was trying to get back together with me. I laughed and denied it. “The past is the past. A broken mirror can’t be fixed.” I used to be affected by every move Caleb made. Now, I felt nothing. My shop was in a small town. There were no malls, no theme parks. I thought they’d get bored and leave in a few months. Some people just like chasing what they can’t have. I hugged Lily constantly, telling her I loved her. I tucked her in. I surprised her with gifts. Every time I did, I secretly hoped Sophie would throw a fit, tell me she hated me, and demand to leave. But she didn’t. And Caleb just watched it all in silence.

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My billionaire boyfriend, Caleb Vance, hates children. But I’m accidentally pregnant. One night, I tried to test the waters. His hand rested lazily on my waist as he joked, “What, are you pregnant?” I panicked and denied it immediately. He stroked my hair, his voice smooth and dangerous. “Good girl. We don’t need kids.” But the test was positive. Then, I overheard a conversation at a boutique: “Lydia has been with Caleb for years and still hasn’t gotten a ring. She’s dreaming if she thinks she’ll ever marry into the Vance family.” “She’s stupid. Why doesn’t she just get pregnant and force his hand?” “You don’t know Caleb Vance. He despises illegitimate children. He’s the kind of man who would make both problems disappear.” For the sake of my life and my baby, I spent the night crafting my exit strategy. I left a note: Two weeks later, I was hiding in a small coastal town in the South. I had just finished chatting with a pregnant neighbor about morning sickness when a pair of strong arms pulled me into a hard chest. The man’s voice was raspy, heavy with exhaustion. “Baby, who invented the word ‘canary’? Since when am I not your boyfriend?” 1 “This baby is so cute.” Fresh from the shower, I sat on the edge of the bed scrolling through TikTok. Caleb’s long fingers combed through my damp hair, massaging my scalp. It felt amazing. Over the hum of the Dyson dryer, he gave a noncommittal “Mhm.” I pressed on, stubborn. “Don’t you think she’s cute? Look at those cheeks!” He glanced at my phone screen but didn’t stop drying my hair. “Baby, that’s the fifth time you’ve asked me that tonight. Are you pregnant?” My heart stopped. I never talked about kids. Bringing it up five times in one night was a red flag the size of Texas. I forced a casual tone. “No way. We’re super careful. It’s just the algorithm. I liked one baby video and now my feed is full of them. They’re all adorable, don’t you think?” Click. The dryer stopped. The silence in the room was deafening. Caleb leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “Babe, you don’t have to beat around the bush. You can just ask me.” “I don’t like kids. We aren’t having them. Okay?” So that was it. I fought the urge to cover my stomach and quickly rolled under the duvet. “Goodnight.” Caleb turned off the lights. The mattress dipped as he climbed in beside me. He pulled me into his arms. His voice was gentle. “Are you mad?” “No.” “Liar.” “Really, I’m not.” He kissed my earlobe, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Baby, I really just don’t like children. Can you just indulge me on this one thing?” But… In the moonlight filtering through the curtains, I could see my handbag hanging on the coat rack. It swayed slightly in the AC breeze. Peeking out of the side pocket was the corner of a white paper. It was the lab report I got today. Patient Status: Positive for Pregnancy. 2 I was pregnant. And I had no idea how. We used protection every single time. Every. Single. Time. I hadn’t been with anyone else. And even if I had, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to skip protection. I’ve always had irregular cycles. Two days ago, Caleb noticed. “Late again this month?” I was reading a book, lying on my stomach. “It’s chronic. It’s fine.” He gripped my ankle, his thumb rubbing the bone. “It’s been years, Lydia. You need to take better care of yourself.” “Yeah, yeah. I’ll go to the doctor this week.” I thought it would just be a routine checkup, maybe some new pills to regulate my hormones. Instead, I got referred from Endocrinology to OB-GYN. And walked out with a positive pregnancy test. I frantically Googled, scrolling through endless Reddit threads until I found the answer: Micro-tears. Condom failure without realizing it. I stood outside the clinic, clutching the paper, watching the busy New York street. Inside me was just a cluster of cells the size of a lentil. It didn’t even have a heartbeat yet. But I swear I could hear a second rhythm syncing with mine. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. It was my blood. It was my child. 3 Caleb had a crisis with his overseas division and had to fly out. Before leaving, he was in full “dad mode”: “No ice cream. Cut down on the junk food. Eat proper meals while I’m gone. Don’t go wandering around at night.” I pushed him toward the door. “I know, I know! Go make your millions.” Caleb scooped me up and carried me into the elevator. I panicked. “What are you doing?” He pinched my cheek. “Since you’re so eager to get rid of me, I decided to take you with me.” I shrieked. “No! I’m not going!” Caleb ignored me. He buckled me into the backseat of the Maybach. I tried to reason with him. “I really don’t want to go. I don’t know anything about your business. I’ll just be bored in the hotel.” Whenever we were in the car together, the driver knew to raise the privacy partition. Without witnesses, Caleb had no filter. He ran his thumb over my cheekbone. “I need you for stress relief.” I: “…” What a valid, corporate reason. In the past, I would have rolled my eyes and gone along with it. But now… I was pregnant. I whispered, “Can’t you just… handle it yourself?” “No.” My voice got smaller. “You’re rich. You can find plenty of willing volunteers in London. Or you could call…” Before I could finish, Caleb’s eyes narrowed. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. His voice was slow, a terrifyingly gentle purr. “What did you just say, Lydia? I didn’t quite catch that.” Thank god I was wearing long sleeves so he couldn’t see the goosebumps erupting on my arms. I shook my head. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.” I turned to look out the window. This sucks. My nails dug into my palm. I didn’t want to go to a foreign country. I didn’t want to sit in a hotel room waiting for him. I wanted to be in my own bed, safe. The city blurred past. Twenty-five-year-old Lydia felt like a dead leaf clinging to a branch in a winter storm. One gust of wind, and I’d be gone. Caleb broke the silence. He pulled me into his side. “I was joking. If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.” I blinked slowly. He rested his chin on my shoulder. “Your passport is at home. I just wanted you to see me off at the airport.” I realized then that if he really wanted to take me, he would have grabbed my bag. His voice was muffled against my hair. “I don’t like it when you try to push me away. And I really didn’t like what you said just now. Be good, Lydia. Behave.” 4 After a ten-minute make-out session in the VIP drop-off lane, Caleb finally let me go. He boarded his flight. I took the car back. I touched my swollen lips in the rearview mirror. My reflection looked flushed, alive. Then I touched my flat stomach. I didn’t know how to navigate this new reality with Caleb. We weren’t married. He hated kids. This baby was an accident. Logically, it should be removed. A quick procedure, and my life goes back to normal. But… I wanted it. I took a deep breath and sent Caleb a text. 【I have something to tell you when you get back.】 He would be gone for a week. That gave me seven days to prepare. If Caleb accepted the baby, we could get married. If he didn’t… I would disappear. I would never let him see me again. 5 On the third day of Caleb’s trip, my anxiety was peaking. I went shopping to distract myself. I was in a dressing room at a high-end boutique, trying on fall coats. I used to come here when I was a teenager, saving up my allowance to buy one nice thing. Later, when Caleb found out I liked the brand, he started buying out the new collections for me. But I preferred shopping for myself. As I zipped up a trench coat, I heard voices outside the curtain. They were talking about Caleb. And me. “Speaking of the Miller family, Lydia has been with Caleb for five years now. Still no ring?” “Marrying into that level of wealth? Please. Maybe back when the Miller family still had money, she had a shot. Now she’s just an orphan living off Caleb. He’s just playing with her.” My fingers froze on the zipper. “Maybe she should just get pregnant. Trap him.” Pregnant. My eyes darted to my bag in the corner. The one holding the ultrasound appointment card. “Ha! You’re funny. Caleb Vance hates illegitimate kids more than anything. Remember his dad? That whole scandal? Caleb would make her get rid of it. Or worse.” “Yeah, he’s ruthless. Lydia better be careful, or she’ll end up a headline.” I took off the coat and changed back into my clothes. When I walked out, the gossipers went silent. “Lydia? How long have you been there?” I smiled. “Longer than you.” I walked out without waiting for a reaction. 6 I sat on the swing on the terrace, staring at the fallen leaves. Caleb FaceTimed me. It was morning where he was. The sunrise behind him was fiery red. “You went out?” he asked. “How did you know?” “You’re not wearing the pajamas you slept in. Did you have fun?” “It was okay.” “Rest up. I’ll be back in four days. Can’t you tell me the news now?” “No. In person.” We talked for a bit before he had to go to a meeting. The silence of the house pressed in on me. Not married. Pregnant. Hates kids. Ruthless. Those words circled my mind like vultures. I stood up. The sun had set. I found a notepad and wrote a message. I bought a burner phone and a new SIM card online. The next day, I left my tracked iPhone on the nightstand. I took only my ID and some cash. I couldn’t wait for him to come back. I couldn’t risk it. 7 The South. Rain. The forecast said it would rain for another week. I hated gloomy weather, but I had to go to the clinic. I was six weeks along. I needed to check my progesterone levels. Stay healthy, little bean. I rubbed my belly while waiting for a cab. A pregnant woman walked by with a toddler and her husband. She noticed me staring. “New to the neighborhood?” she asked kindly. “Yes, just moved here.” “I haven’t seen you around. Where are you from?” “New York. I came here for a quiet place to… rest.” “Oh! Are you expecting? Is it your first? Let me tell you, you need to watch your iron levels…” She chatted happily until my ride arrived. “Take care!” I waved and got into the backseat. “Tail number 1234,” I muttered to the driver, checking my phone for the vitamins she recommended. Wait. The car wasn’t moving. The driver had gotten out. And there was someone else in the backseat with me. Panic spiked in my chest. Black cab? Kidnapping? I fumbled for the door handle, but a strong arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me back. The scent of bitter orange and expensive tobacco filled the small space. A man’s lips brushed the sensitive skin of my neck. “Baby, ghosting me is a very bad habit. Have I been too nice to you? Did you forget who I am?” It was him. I froze. Caleb bit my shoulder, hard enough to sting. He pulled me into his lap. “I didn’t ghost,” I stammered. “I left a note.” Caleb laughed, a low, dark sound. “Baby, have you ever seen a canary leave a resignation letter?” He leaned in, his breath hot on my ear. “Guess what happens to canaries who try to fly away?” His hand moved to my wrist, his fingers tracing my pulse. He’s going to lock me up. The golden cage in the basement. “Caleb…” my voice shook. “Hm?” “I’ll go back. I won’t run again. Please don’t…” I buried my face in his chest, listening to his heart hammering against my ear. Thump. Thump. Thump. It was racing. Normally, I knew how to calm him down. But Caleb wasn’t interested in sex as a peacemaker. He preferred genuine affection. When we first started dating, he got jealous of a guy friend. I tried to seduce him to make him forget. He got angrier and left for a week. “Baby, I don’t want you to use your body as a bargaining chip,” he had said when he returned. Now, his hand rested on my back, heavy and still. The silence stretched until I couldn’t breathe. I looked up. Caleb’s eyes were black pools of exhaustion. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Baby,” he rasped. “You weren’t like this before.” Wasn’t I? “Lydia, I am your boyfriend. Not your sponsor. Is being with me… that exhausting?”

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Three years ago, I begged him to let me go. He stepped on my hand, looked down at me from his pedestal, and called me trash. Three years later, he knelt on the ground, crying and begging me not to leave him. I looked at him and gave him back the exact words he once gave me. 1 When the school bullies cornered me in the alley, I sent one last desperate message to my online boyfriend. At that exact moment, the ringleader’s phone buzzed. Cole Sterling pulled out his phone. The cold cruelty in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a soft warmth I had never seen on him. He typed: [Be good, Summer. I’m busy. Wait for me.] As soon as he hit send, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was the special notification tone I had set for my boyfriend. I looked up in disbelief. He stood under the streetlamp, the sharp jawline and refined features perfectly matching the photos of my sweet, gentle “C.S.” But the way he held a cigarette between his lips, the darkness radiating off him… it was a world apart from the boy in the pictures. For a moment, I couldn’t tell if he was my perfect boyfriend, C.S., or Wendy Hart’s psycho boyfriend, Cole Sterling. “Leo, that’s the bitch who slashed my bag!” Wendy screeched, pointing a manicured finger at me. “She’s just jealous because she’s poor!” “I didn’t…” I hadn’t touched Wendy’s bag. That day, Wendy had tried to slap me for no reason. I dodged, she tripped, and her $20,000 Birkin scraped against the concrete. She demanded I pay for it. When I couldn’t, she told me to wait—her boyfriend, Cole Sterling, would “teach me a lesson.” I knew who Cole was. He was the heir to the Sterling empire. Rumor had it he was untouchable, ruthless, and feared by everyone. They called him the Devil of North High. I just never imagined that my kind, gentle “C.S.” and the Devil were the same person. Cole walked toward me, step by step. The warm yellow streetlamp light washed over him, but his eyes were ice cold. His tall frame loomed over me, suffocating. My fingers curled into fists as his voice cut through the air. “Two choices. Pay up, or get on your knees and apologize.” The cold arrogance was unrecognizable from the boy in my phone. I don’t know what came over me. Maybe my brain short-circuited. I looked him in the eye and said, “Do you believe me? I didn’t ruin her bag.” Cole stared at me for a second, then let out a scoff of pure disdain. “Ungrateful.” He turned his back on me, his voice bored. “Teach her a lesson.” My blood froze. His goons forced me to my knees. Slaps rained down on my face; kicks landed on my stomach. I was in so much pain I couldn’t even scream. Cole leaned against the wall, indifferent to the violence behind him. He stared at his phone screen with a tender smile, waiting for a reply. I curled into a ball, tears streaming down my face. After the beating, I lay on the ground for three hours before I could move. Two of my teeth were loose. My shirt was soaked in blood. I didn’t dare tell my parents. They were hardworking immigrants struggling just to keep the lights on. I was bullied because I was poor. “Trailer trash,” “Charity case,” “Selling you wouldn’t cover the tax.” Every insult taught me one thing: poverty strips you of dignity. “Ouch…” I applied antiseptic to my wounds in the dark. My phone kept dinging. It was C.S. [Summer baby, are you home?] [It’s late. Why aren’t you replying?] [Did I do something to make you mad?] Reading his sweet texts now made me feel sick. I typed and deleted a dozen responses. Finally, I sent: [Did you just go to the library tonight?] He paused for a second, then replied. 2 [Yeah! I studied hard today!] To prove it, he sent a photo of himself in the library. In the picture, he wore a crisp white shirt, smiling like a sunbeam next to a bookshelf. He looked like the perfect gentleman. It was all a lie. I was glad I never sent him my photo. I was glad he didn’t recognize me. It gave me a chance to see the monster beneath the skin. I didn’t dare skip school. I couldn’t afford to fall behind. During morning study hall, Wendy dragged me into the girls’ bathroom. Her clique surrounded me at the sinks. “Summer, you still have the nerve to show up? Wasn’t last night enough?” “Haha, maybe she likes it. She’s ugly and poor; thick skin is all she has.” “No wonder her name is Summer—she sweats like a pig!” They poured a bucket of dirty mop water over my head. The stench made me gag. “Ugh, Summer, you really are disgusting.” Wendy grabbed my hair, slapped me twice, then washed her hands like she had touched garbage and left. I slid down the tiled wall, burying my face in my knees to stop the sobs. They locked me in there until lunch. I thought that was the end of it. But Wendy wasn’t done. My desk was trashed. My homework vanished. The teachers stopped believing my excuses. Wendy was everywhere, haunting me. After school, I stayed in the library until closing to avoid her. But she was waiting at the gate with her crew. She slapped the thermos out of my hand. Splash. Coffee exploded over my legs, staining my only pair of white jeans. I looked up in anger, about to speak, but caught Cole’s warning glare. He stood next to her, smoking, looking at me like I was dirt. “What, Summer? You got a problem?” Wendy shoved me. I fell backward, landing in the puddle of coffee and mud. It smelled like earth and humiliation. Her friends laughed, calling me a pig rolling in slop. They tried to force my face into the puddle. Just as my nose touched the liquid, the librarian came out to lock up. “Hey! What’s going on?” Wendy and her minion let go instantly. Wendy flashed a sweet smile. “We’re just playing Truth or Dare with Summer!” “Yeah, Summer lost. She has to drink the coffee on the ground!” “No!” I shook my head, looking at the librarian with pleading eyes. “Ma’am, they’re forcing me.” The librarian frowned. Before she could speak, Wendy cut in. “Ma’am, don’t listen to her. She’s just a sore loser!” “Yeah, Summer, don’t be a baby. It’s just a game.” They outnumbered me. Their story was consistent. The librarian bought it. She glared at me. “Alright, enough games. Go home.” She left. She didn’t want to deal with it. Wendy looked down at me, triumphant. “See, Summer? No one believes you.” “You can tell whoever you want. I have a hundred ways to get away with it. You don’t.” 3 I sat in the puddle long after the campus lights went out. I walked home like a zombie. My mom was slamming dishes in the sink. “Look at you! Filthy again! I don’t have money to buy you new clothes!” “Wasting time on art… why can’t you be like your cousin? She works hard and doesn’t dream about useless things.” I was numb to her complaints. But tonight, I wanted to cry. I locked myself in my room. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Cole. [Summer, are you done studying?] [Reply to me!] [Baby, did I do something wrong? You’re so cold lately.] [Don’t ignore me. It breaks my heart.] His heart? Right. He would be heartbroken. Even though we were just online, I knew how dependent he was on me. He demanded 24/7 attention. He told me about his broken home, his mother’s death, the darkness that consumed his childhood. I had been his light. I walked him out of that darkness. Since then, he was like a puppy, baring his belly to me. He once said: [Baby, you are the only light in my life.] [I’m becoming better for you. I’m studying, eating right… becoming the Prince you deserve.] [I love you most. Never leave me…] I remembered his words. Then I remembered him watching Wendy torment me. I asked him: [Cole, if someone bullied you, what would you do?] [I’d destroy them. Make them regret ever being born.] [Why? Is someone bullying you, Summer? Tell me. I’ll kill them for you.] [Nothing.] I didn’t need him. Cole Sterling, I have my own ways to make people regret being born. 4 In art class, Wendy walked by my easel and knocked over my water bucket. She ripped my canvas in half. “Summer, trash like you doesn’t deserve to paint. Art is expensive. Can your parents even afford the paint?” She sashayed away. I cleaned up the mess. I washed my brushes in the sink, watching the pigment swirl down the drain. I felt eyes on me. I turned. Cole. He was leaning against the doorframe, smoking. His eyes were full of mockery. I gripped my brush. When I tried to leave, he blocked me. “Apologize to Wendy tomorrow.” “I didn’t break her bag.” I met his gaze. The next second, he pressed the burning end of his cigarette into my arm. “Cut the crap!” “It’s a twenty-thousand-dollar bag. Just apologize. Don’t be stupid.” “I don’t have patience. Apologize, or you know what happens.” Cole left. I clutched my burned arm, tears falling silently. That night, my mom nagged me to quit art again. My dad told her to stop. Before bed, Dad came to me. “Just study hard. We’ll pay for art school.” I looked at his premature white hair and his glass eye. He had lost an eye protecting me from a stray dog when I was little. “Dad, I’ll get a scholarship. I’ll make money.” He smiled. “Are you okay? You seem off.” I shook my head. “I’m fine.” I wouldn’t worry them. Wendy thought I was soft. But did I have to swallow it just because I was poor? I had the security footage from the mall where Wendy tripped and scratched her own bag. I saved it. I had photos of my bruises. I had recordings from the library. Cole was blowing up my phone. 99+ messages. [Summer, what are you doing? Why won’t you talk to me?] [Did I mess up? Tell me, I’ll fix it.] [Summer… are you dumping me?] He was panicking. Oh, Cole. You really do have a heart to break. Don’t worry. The real pain hasn’t even started yet. 5 I didn’t answer his calls. I texted back: [I’m not dumping you.] [Really?] He was so insecure. [Then promise you won’t ignore me. It hurts.] My fingers trembled. [Okay.] [You’re the best. Summer, I want to meet you. Can I come find you?] We had agreed to meet after graduation. He couldn’t wait anymore. He felt me slipping away. [Summer?] [You said you’d stay with me forever. You won’t break your promise, right?] I felt a twinge of sadness. [Cole, you said you’d become a better person for me, right?] [Yeah, Summer. I’m trying.] He answered so quickly. As if the boy bullying me wasn’t him. [Then you have to be kind. Justice matters. You can’t do bad things.] Cole Sterling, I’m giving you a chance. You better not blow it. … Wendy wasn’t done. She took to the school forums. She posted a sob story about how I ruined her bag and refused to apologize. She played the victim perfectly. She said I was jealous of her wealth, that I was vain and burdened my poor parents. The internet mob turned on me. “Poor people are so toxic!” “If I can’t have it, I’ll break it? Disgusting.” “Kick Summer out of school!” “I heard Cole slapped her. Good. She deserved it.” Under the most viral post attacking me, I uploaded the video. Wendy tripping over her own feet. Scratching her own bag. Blaming me. The comments section went dead silent. I went to school. 6 Classmates apologized to me. The forum turned on Wendy. Justice is popular when the evidence is undeniable. Wendy became a pariah. She lost face. She wouldn’t let this go. But would Cole help her this time? He promised me he’d be good. When Cole cornered me in the alley again with his crew, I got my answer. Wendy was screaming. “Summer, you bitch! You set me up!” “I’m going to kill you today!” I ignored her. I looked at Cole. “Cole, you saw the video. I’m innocent.” I had sent it to his phone myself to make sure he saw it. He didn’t look at me. He tossed his cigarette. “So what? You didn’t do what I told you.” His voice was ice. I laughed. I shouldn’t have hoped. Cole was never the boy by the bookshelf. He was always this. Dark, selfish, cruel. “Summer thinks she can get away with it!” “Get her!” Someone pushed me. I hit the ground. Kicks and punches landed. It hurt, but I had two burner phones recording everything. Then, they went for my hands. “She paints with these, right? Shame.” “Her family can’t afford art school anyway. Let’s do her a favor and break them.” No! Art was my life! “Cole! Please! Stop them!” Cole turned. He looked at me. Like I was trash. “Ah!” A boot stomped on my hand. Bones crunched. The pain blinded me. “Cole… C.S….” My voice was fading. “You promised… you’d become the person I liked…” “You promised… no bad things…” Before I could finish, Cole’s face went white. He screamed, a sound of pure terror. “STOP! EVERYONE STOP!”

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