Covering for My Brother in a Game Kellan’s friend scoffed on the comms: “Blake, how long are you going to keep messing with those jungle creeps?” I winced and finally pressed the push-to-talk. “Sorry. It’s his sister. I’m terrible at this.” The line went silent for a beat. Then, a low, easy voice, edged with a hint of laughter: “Don’t sweat it. You go play. I’ll carry the whole match.” 1 It was late that evening. I was bringing Blake a snack when I walked into his room. He practically shoved his phone at me. “I need to run to the restroom. Play for me for a minute.” I blinked at him. “I can’t. I don’t know how.” “It’s easy. Just chuck skills at the little monsters in the jungle, okay?” With that sage advice, my brother was gone. I looked at the character screen. The Shadow Blade. A high-skill assassin. I’d never touched the game, so I did what he said: I focused on the nearby jungle mobs. The brief moment of satisfaction I felt for taking down a particularly nasty-looking beast was immediately shattered. “Blake, are you planning on farming those jungle creeps all night?” “Seriously? You’re playing like you’re trying to throw the match.” The voice was young and sharp, laced with an impatience that was palpable even through the speaker. I instantly regretted entering my brother’s room. This was real, red-hot humiliation. And, naturally, Blake was taking his time. Terrified he’d start up again, I finally pressed the push-to-talk button, feeling guilty as I walked my character away from a newly spawned group of monsters. “Sorry. It’s his sister. I’m terrible at this.” “Blake will be right back.” The comms were silent for several seconds. Then I heard a hiss, like a heavy object had been hit. The enemy marksman’s character on the screen suddenly died. When the voice returned, it was low and easy, now fully edged with a familiar, teasing quality. “Don’t sweat it. You go play. I’ll carry the whole match.” It was only after his second comment that I let myself believe it. It was Kellan. My brother’s friend. Someone I hadn’t seen in years. I was still in a daze when Blake returned and took his phone back. “Nice. Didn’t die. You’ve got talent, June.” As I was leaving the room, I overheard Blake talking to Kellan. “How was my sister’s gameplay?” “Better than yours.” “When did she get back in the country?” “None of your business. Why do you care about your sister so much?” 2 Kellan and I went way back. I was a freshman then, and Blake was a sophomore. At the annual high school track and field meet, Blake was running long distance and made me promise to cheer him on. I was leaning against the railing, bored out of my mind, when my hand brushed against something warm. It was the hand of the guy standing next to me. The crowd was packed in tight, and we were accidentally pressed close. His fingers were long and lean, the knuckles clearly defined, the veins visible like blue rivers under the skin. It was beautiful, like an actual piece of art. I stared for a few seconds longer than was socially acceptable, completely lost in thought. He snapped his fingers, and a clear, melodic voice brought me back to reality: “Hey. What are you thinking about?” I jolted, meeting a pair of eyes that were laughing at me. He had sharp, handsome features, a high nose, and thin lips, and his hair was slightly ruffled by the wind. It was the first time I realized someone could look that effortlessly cool in a generic high school gym tee. My face felt like it was on fire, and I essentially fled. I don’t even remember what I stammered out to him. I thought that would be the end of it. But when Blake won his medal and took his friends out to celebrate, dragging me along, I realized how small the world was. Blake clapped his friend on the back and introduced him to me. “This is one of my main guys, Kellan Rowe.” Kellan raised an eyebrow at me. “Hey, little sister.” The light in his eyes made my heart flutter. Kellan Rowe. I repeated his name silently in my head. 3 Later, lying in bed. For some reason, I was possessed by the impulse to log into my old Messenger app—the one I hadn’t touched in three years. I stared at his dormant avatar for a long time. Apart from Blake, this was the only digital link I still had to Kellan. Then my phone vibrated, and the icon lit up. Kellan was online. He sent a message: “Apologies. Wasn’t trying to rag on you tonight.” And then, direct, no preamble: “When did you get back in the country?” It was abrupt, with no attempt at a greeting. I thought for a moment before replying: “Yesterday.” “Hmm.” The chat went silent. We were two people whose lines of life had gone parallel years ago. We had no common ground left. I didn’t know what to say. I even did a quick search online for “How to talk to an old friend you haven’t seen in forever.” Like a robot, I typed out a few words: “Long time, no see. How have you been?” Kellan replied immediately. But his message made my heart skip a beat. “Then let’s go see each other.” “Maybe someday.” 4 I didn’t expect “someday” to come so quickly. The next morning at breakfast, I was sipping my coffee when Blake casually brought up his birthday. “I was thinking of having my party at the old lake house in Willow Creek this year.” “If you hate the noise, we can go out instead.” I nodded, then the words slipped out: “Is Kellan going to be there?” Blake’s internal alarm went off immediately. His voice shot up. “How do you two know each other well enough for him to ask about you yesterday and for you to ask about him today?” I kept my head down, focusing on my breakfast to hide my expression. “We don’t. I just remembered him from the game last night.” Blake nodded, though he still looked suspicious. I couldn’t tell if he believed me. In the end, he did hold the party at the Willow Creek lake house. It was a proper bash on the back deck and patio. I didn’t go down immediately. I stayed on the second-floor balcony, getting some air. My gaze fell, and I immediately saw Kellan below, on the phone. He was tall and lean, his shoulders sharp and clean in a black sweater. He had completely shed the youthful awkwardness I remembered. As if sensing my stare, Kellan slid his phone into his pocket. Across the din of the party, he didn’t speak, but his eyes found mine. His thin lips moved, silently forming the words: “Long time no see.” The moment felt like a feather scratching at my soul, again and again. I realized Kellan had changed so much. 5 I finally went downstairs when Sasha, my best friend, came up and dragged me down. She threw her arm around my neck and whispered in my ear: “You don’t love me anymore, do you? Hiding up here like a ghost.” I patted her arm. “I love you. I love you.” “I just got back, and I don’t really know all these people anymore. I don’t want to be awkward.” Blake truly was a social butterfly. The back deck was packed. The clinking of glasses, loud laughs, and music all mixed together, making my ears ring. Blake’s friends were loud when they saw me. “Whoa, look at little June Hollis! You got so pretty!” Another voice yelled, “She’s even taller!” Someone nudged Blake with an elbow. “Remember me, little sister? You seeing anyone these days?” Blake immediately smacked the back of the guy’s head. “Beat it. Go on.” “Don’t pollute my sister’s eyes.” Blake made me sit in the chair on his left. Kellan was on his right. Feeling self-conscious, I looked for Sasha, only to find her on the lawn, singing her heart out into a microphone. Blake went over to join her, singing along. Hesitantly, I reached for a glass of something they’d just mixed. Before the rim touched my lips, a hand clamped around my wrist. Kellan’s voice dropped. “You don’t want that. Trust me.” I tried to pull my hand away. “Just a little. It’s fine.” “It’s nasty. And too strong.” Kellan took my glass and stood up, walking over to the nearby outdoor bar. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a clean, pale wrist. He looked down, pouring liquids into a new glass without hesitation. He looked serious, but in reality, he only added a few drops of liquor. The rest was all juice and soda water. It looked even less appealing. I instinctively recoiled from the glass he handed me. Kellan looked at me, a hopeful expression in his eyes. He seemed genuinely curious when I only took a small sip. “Afraid I poisoned it?” I forced myself to drink a few more sips. It was bitter. Actually really awful. But I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I smiled. “It’s great.” Kellan took the glass away, leaning in slightly, looking amused. “It’s mostly soda water. And you think it’s ‘great’?” “Years abroad, and still afraid to take a sip of bad booze,” he teased. I turned my head, ignoring him. Kellan’s gaze lingered on my profile, but his smile slowly faded. His voice dropped several degrees, carrying a distinct note of melancholy. “Why did you tell everyone you were leaving… but not me?”

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The day before the Elite Icon model search, I was locked inside my own burning apartment. When the firefighters finally pulled me out, my skin was a ruin of blisters and char. My face, once my fortune, was unrecognizable. Outside the operating room, my mother was wailing, a sound that tore through the sterile hallway. She kept blaming herself, sobbing about how she’d accidentally locked the deadbolt. Roman, my fiancé, had mobilized every top dermatologist in the city. He swore to the heavens he would restore me to perfection. But as I lay on the gurney, drifting in a haze of agony just outside the OR doors, I heard my mother’s voice. It wasn’t hysterical anymore. It was trembling, hesitant. “Roman… even if we wanted to help Tess win the competition… wasn’t setting the fire and locking Norah inside… wasn’t that too much? Look at her.” Roman’s voice was cold, a low rumble of disdain. “If Norah weren’t so vain, so selfish, I wouldn’t have had to resort to this. She knows Tess suffers from severe depression, yet she prances around the house, flaunting her body, triggering her sister every single day. Norah lost some skin. Tess was losing her will to live. It’s what she owes her sister.” He paused, his tone shifting to a terrifying, possessive calm. “Don’t worry. I’ll still marry Norah. With the title of Mrs. Roman Ward, no one will dare whisper a word about her scars, even if she looks like a monster. I’m giving her a life of luxury. She should be grateful.” Destroying my health, my career, my face—this was his definition of good? I clenched my jaw so hard I thought my teeth would shatter. The cold of the hospital air warred with the phantom heat searing my flesh. The man I had loved for a decade. The mother who used to brush my hair and call me her angel. I didn’t want either of them. Not anymore. … “Cancel the surgery. Tell the specialists to wait in the hall.” The trauma surgeon, already gloved up, looked at Roman in disbelief. “Mr. Ward, the burn coverage is critical. Her trachea has severe smoke damage. If we don’t operate immediately, she could lose her voice permanently. Her face… her skin… it will be irreversible.” My mother flinched. “Roman, she’s hurt so badly. She definitely can’t compete tomorrow. Maybe we should just let them operate…” “Let it rot,” Roman said, his voice devoid of emotion. “If we fix her now, her ego will bounce back. She’ll find a way to sabotage Tess even from a hospital bed. She needs to be broken—physically and mentally—so she stops trying to overshadow Tess. I’m doing this to humble her. It’s for her own good.” He picked up a wet cotton swab and gently dabbed my cracked, bleeding lips. It was a lover’s touch, terrifying in its tenderness. But his words were a blade. “I promised Tess that this championship is hers. I won’t let anyone, not even you, stand in her way.” My mother sighed, a sound of resignation, and turned to the doctor. “Just give her pain management. Clean the wounds, but… gently. Don’t let her hurt too much.” No one noticed my body trembling under the thin sheet. It felt like a shard of glass had been driven straight through my heart. The suffocation was worse than the smoke. The fire wasn’t an accident. It was a meticulously designed execution, orchestrated by the man I’d planned to marry, all to clear the runway for Tess, my adopted sister. And my mother—my soft-hearted mother—was an accomplice. They stood in the doorway, ignoring my silent screams, relieved that my light had finally been extinguished. Pain spiked in my chest. My throat convulsed, and I coughed up a mouthful of blood. My mother gasped, reaching out instinctively, but her hands hovered in the air. There was nowhere on my body left to touch that wasn’t raw flesh. “Norah, baby, Mom is here,” she wept, her eyes red. “Does it hurt? Don’t be scared. I’ll never leave you.” Roman turned on the hospital staff, performing the role of the distraught fiancé perfectly. “Where the hell is the dermatologist? If anything happens to my wife, I’ll bury this hospital in lawsuits.” The doctor, who had clearly been paid off, stammered his rehearsed line. “Mr. Ward, we’re trying. There was a pile-up on the bridge. The specialist is stuck in traffic. He won’t be here until tomorrow.” Roman kicked the surgeon in the shin. “Get out.” He turned back to me, crouching down until we were eye-level. His face was a mask of tragic guilt. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I got here too late. I let you suffer. But listen to me—I don’t care what it costs. I will fix your face. I will get you back on the runway.” I stared at him, numb to the bone. “Will I… really recover?” “You will. I promise.” His earnestness made me feel like a fool. To remove a stumbling block for Tess, this man—who had held my hand from high school prom to our engagement party—had woven a web of lies to send me to hell. And my mother, who had once chosen me over everything, had decided that the “fragile” adopted daughter mattered more. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask why. But the words died in the ashes of my heart. Nurses approached with antiseptic solution. “Miss Linley, since the specialist isn’t here, we have to disinfect the wounds manually. This is going to burn.” Burn wasn’t the word. As the liquid hit me, it felt like I was back in the apartment, the flames licking my bones. I thrashed, blood and pus staining the pristine sheets. My mother covered her mouth, sobbing into her hands. Roman gripped the bed rail, his knuckles white, eyes tearing up as if he felt every ounce of my pain. Their concern was Oscar-worthy. But I knew the truth. The love was fake. Only the pain was real. I woke up two days later. Roman and my mother were arguing in the corridor. “Roman, her condition is critical. We’ve delayed treatment for forty-eight hours. Are you seriously going to give her that experimental psych med?” “The doctors said the side effects aren’t fully tested. It causes seizures. Loss of bladder control.” Silence stretched for a few seconds before Roman’s voice cut through, decisive and cold. “Those side effects are exactly what I need. Tonight is Tess’s victory gala. Every major designer and editor will be there. Norah already looks like a monster; a little more humiliation won’t hurt. She needs to lose her dignity completely. Only when she’s truly humiliated will she stop trying to compete with Tess. After tomorrow, I’ll announce our wedding. That’s compensation enough.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Mom, tell the specialists to wait at the villa. As soon as the gala ends, we treat Norah.” My mother murmured her agreement. I stared at the ceiling tiles, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, stinging the raw burns on my cheeks. The physical pain was blinding, but it was nothing compared to the hollow in my chest. They knew. They knew I was born sickly, that I had clawed my way into the modeling world with blood and sweat. It was my identity. My soul. And with a few casual sentences, they had decided to crush it. If I had known this was the price of their love, I would have stayed in the fire. The door pushed open. Roman walked in, his expression softening into that practiced tenderness. He held out two pills. “Norah, honey. I asked the doctor. This is a new painkiller. No side effects. It’ll help you sleep.” I looked at the bright red capsules. They looked like drops of blood. “Roman,” I rasped, my voice like grinding gravel. “It’s too bitter. I don’t want it.” He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then smiled, squeezing my hand on a patch of unburned skin. “Watching you suffer is killing me. Do you want to break my heart? Please, take it for me.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He pressed the pills against my lips, forcing them past my teeth. “Good girl. Let me help you.” The bitterness dissolved on my tongue, choking me. Almost immediately, the room began to spin. Roman gripped my wrist. “Norah, tonight is Tess’s celebration. Her biggest wish is for you to be there. If you don’t go, the press will say you’re jealous, that you can’t handle your sister’s success…” “I’ll go,” I whispered. “Get my clothes.” I knew there was no choice. Roman had scripted this entire evening. My mother walked in just in time to hear my surrender. Her face lit up. “Oh, my good girl. I knew you’d do the right thing.” “After Tess’s party, I’ll plan the wedding myself. It will be perfect.” I pulled my hand away from them. My heart was a stone in a frozen lake. The limousine pulled up to the estate. The moment I was helped out of the car, a wall of flashing lights blinded me. I reached for my mother’s hand in panic, but I grabbed only empty air. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her guiding Tess away, shielding her, not sparing me a single glance. I kept my head down, clutching the brim of my hat, my body hidden in oversized clothes. “Miss Linley! Is it true you set fire to your own apartment because you were afraid your sister would beat you?” “Is it true you’re disfigured? Do you have no shame showing up here?” “Norah! Did you ruin your face because your sugar daddies weren’t satisfied?” As the questions rained down, a reporter lunged forward and knocked the hat off my head. The crowd gasped. A collective intake of breath that sucked the air out of the night. My face—a map of raw, red meat and charred skin—was exposed to 4K lenses. “Oh my god. That’s disgusting.” “I’m gonna be sick. She looks like a horror movie.” My heart hammered against my ribs. Black spots danced in my vision. They didn’t stop. Dozens of phones were raised, livestreaming my nightmare to the world. “Here she is, folks. The fallen angel, Norah Linley. Vicious, jealous, and now, getting exactly what she deserves. Let’s see the karma up close.” Someone shoved me. I hit the pavement hard. The loose clothes tore. My arms, my thighs, my stomach—wrapped in gauze and oozing fluids—were laid bare. A guttural, animalistic sound tore from my throat. Then, the shaking started. My limbs jerked violently, beyond my control. I was convulsing, my back arching off the concrete. The reporter who had pushed me looked ecstatic. “She’s having a seizure! Keep rolling! Zoom in on her face!” I could feel my eyes rolling back, foam gathering at the corners of my mouth. I was fully conscious, trapped in a body that was betraying me. I was a circus freak. A monster for their amusement. Then, the final blow. I felt a rush of warmth spread through my lower body. The sharp, acrid smell of urine cut through the night air. The shame was so absolute, so crushing, that I prayed for a heart attack. I wanted to die right there on the asphalt. Cameras flashed relentlessly at my stained clothes. I lay there like a broken doll, twitching in a puddle of my own waste. “What are you doing! Put the cameras down!” Roman roared, charging through the crowd. He grabbed a photographer’s camera and smashed it onto the ground. “Get the hell out of here!” My mother rushed over with a coat, covering my trembling body, tears streaming down her face. “Security! Where is security? Why are these vultures here? You’re all fired!” Tess stood slightly behind them, covering her mouth in theatrical shock. “Oh my god, you guys are too much! How could you do this to my sister? You are not allowed to publish those photos of her wetting herself!” It was so transparent. So disgusting. If they wanted the trophy, if they wanted to give Tess every ounce of love in the world, I would have stepped aside. Why did they have to destroy me like this? My consciousness was fading. I felt Roman kneeling beside me, gripping my hand so tight it hurt. “Norah, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t protect you. I promise, from now on, no one will ever hurt you again. We’ll get married right away, okay?” I wanted to say no. But the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, and I vomited red all over his pristine tuxedo. Roman’s pupils constricted. His face went chalk white. As the darkness took me, I heard him and my mother screaming for a doctor. “She was already in critical condition. The delay… plus the overdose of neuro-stimulants… her organs are failing. Survival rate is thirty percent.” Roman’s voice cracked. “Fix her! If my wife dies, you all die with her!” A tear hit the back of my hand. “Norah, we promised forever. You can’t leave me.” My mother was begging the doctors. “Please, save my daughter. Take my life instead. Just save her.” I closed my eyes, sinking into the void. Let me go, I thought. Just let me die. I didn’t die. I woke up back in my room at the villa. voices drifted in from the hallway. “Mom, are you really going to transfer all of Dad’s inheritance to me? Won’t Norah be upset?” My mother’s voice was warm, indulgent. “She doesn’t get to be upset. She’s marrying Roman; she’ll never need money. Tess, when your father died and I got leukemia… you were the one who gave me blood. You gave me your bone marrow. I swore then that you are the only daughter who matters.” “Besides, the money isn’t enough. I know you’ve always loved Roman. I’ve already spoken to him. With Norah’s… condition… she can’t carry a child. On their wedding night, you’ll take her place. You’ll give Roman his first heir.” Tess giggled, a shy, sickly sweet sound. “I’ll do whatever you say, Mommy.” The door opened. My mother froze when she saw my eyes were open. A flicker of guilt crossed her face, but she smoothed it over quickly. “Norah… since you heard, I won’t lie. The Ward family needs an heir. But don’t worry, your position as Mrs. Ward is secure…” “I agree,” I said. My voice was a flat line. “I’m in no shape for a wedding. Let Tess stand in for me.” My mother beamed. “Oh, Norah. You’ve finally grown up. You’re being so sensible.” Tess walked in, glancing at my bandaged, ruined skin with open disgust. “Don’t worry, big sister. I’ll take very good care of Roman for you.” I turned my head to the wall. I couldn’t bear to look at them. I just hoped that one day, when my mother learned the truth about who actually gave her that bone marrow, she wouldn’t choke on her regret. The wedding was held at the villa. It was Tess’s idea. She wanted me to hear the music, to know exactly what she was stealing. But I underestimated her. She wasn’t just a thief. She was a predator. She pushed open my bedroom door. She looked radiant in a custom couture gown, but her smile was a rictus of hate. “That fire should have finished the job, Norah. You’re like a cockroach.” I was too tired to fight. “You won. You have everything. What else do you want?” She laughed. “I want you dead, obviously. Only when you’re gone can I be the real Mrs. Ward.” She pulled a silver lighter from her clutch and flicked it open. She touched the flame to the heavy velvet curtains. Fire. The blood drained from my face. My PTSD kicked in, paralyzing me. I tried to drag my broken body off the bed to stop her, but she slammed her heel into my ribs, kicking me back against the headboard. Then she ran to the door and started screaming. Roman burst in seconds later. He didn’t look at me. He wrapped his arms around Tess. “Tess! What happened? Are you hurt?” My mother was right behind him. “Get her to the hospital! The baby!” There was no baby, but the panic was real. No one looked at me. No one saw the blood running down my forehead where Tess had kicked me. Tess buried her face in Roman’s chest, sobbing. “I just wanted to cheer Norah up… but she said… she said if she’s ruined, I should be too! She said she’d burn my face off! I was so scared…” Roman turned to me, his eyes blazing with hatred. “Are you insane? Tess came here out of kindness, and this is how you repay her? Look at yourself. You’re a monster, inside and out.” My mother shook her head, her expression one of utter revulsion. “I knew you were jealous, but this? You tried to burn your sister? You don’t deserve to be my daughter. Getting burned was exactly what you deserved.” They lifted Tess up and turned to leave. At the door, Roman glanced back at the fire climbing the curtains. He let out a cold laugh. “You like playing with fire so much? Enjoy it. Lock the door. No one opens it.” “No!” I screamed, forcing the sound through my damaged throat. “It wasn’t me! Roman, please!” The door slammed. The lock clicked. My mother hesitated in the hallway. “Roman… locking her in… is that safe?” “She started the fire; she obviously has an exit plan. She probably has an extinguisher hidden under the bed. She’s just manipulating us again.” Roman carried Tess to the car, speeding toward the hospital. It wasn’t until Tess was checked over and declared completely unharmed that he remembered me. He sighed, annoyed, and pulled out his phone. A news alert flashed on the screen: BREAKING: MASSIVE INFERNO AT WARD ESTATE. He frowned. Before he could dial, his phone rang. It was the house manager. “Let her out,” Roman snapped. “I’m sending the car around. We’re going on the honeymoon. Tell her I booked Paris.” The manager’s voice was trembling, barely human. “Sir… the fire… it was too fast. We couldn’t get to the door. The East Wing… it’s gone. Mrs. Ward… she…”

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I died on Christmas Eve, and honestly? It was the first time in years I actually got some rest. The handmade ravioli I’d spent all afternoon rolling out was still sitting in the pot, the water long since boiled away. The Christmas card for my son, stuffed with cash, was still clutched in my stiffening hand. People say death is like a candle blowing out—darkness, then nothing. But my soul didn’t dissolve. Instead, I was forced to float there, a silent spectator in my own living room, watching Cole walk through the front door. He’d just come from his assistant’s bed, carrying the scent of her perfume and the guilt of a thousand betrayals, right into our home. Cole walked in, trailing our son, Leo, and her—Tessa. When he saw me lying on the sofa, eyes closed, he didn’t scream. He didn’t panic. He just sighed—that heavy, weary sound he always made when I became an inconvenience—and dropped a shopping bag onto the coffee table. A limited-edition handbag. My “sorry I’m cheating on you” Christmas gift. “Asleep again? If you’re feeling sick, Mara, you shouldn’t have tired yourself out cooking.” Tessa, standing behind him, immediately welled up, her eyes rimmed with practiced red. “Cole… don’t be mad at her. Mara sent me a text earlier. She said she didn’t want to see my face, told me to get out… Maybe I should just go.” Cole looked at me—sleeping, silent, ignoring him. The flicker of pity in his eyes hardened into annoyance. “Mara, seriously? How long are you going to keep this up? Tessa is here for work reasons. Can’t you be the bigger person for once?” I lay there, dead and cold on the sofa, listening to my husband lecture my corpse for an entire night on behalf of another woman. It wasn’t until the second day after Christmas that the lie was finally, violently torn apart. 1. My body was curled into the corner of the sectional, my hand still gripping the red envelope I never got to give to Leo. I watched the three of them—Cole, Tessa, and Leo—standing in the foyer like a picture-perfect family that I no longer belonged to. Cole smelled the burning first. Acrid smoke was drifting from the kitchen. Frowning, he strode over and killed the burner. The pot of water I had set to boil for the pasta was bone dry, the bottom scorched black. “She’s getting worse,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Irresponsible.” But when he turned back, his gaze landed on me. For a second, the irritation softened into a complicated, reluctant concern. He walked toward me, his footsteps soft on the hardwood. He reached out, intending to shake me awake. But then he saw the dark, heavy circles under my eyes, the exhaustion etched into my pale skin. His hand hovered in mid-air, then dropped. Instead, he picked up the cashmere throw draped over the armrest and gently tucked it around me. “Forget it. Let her sleep.” “Her health… it’s really falling apart.” That sentence. Even dead, it made my cold heart phantom-twitch with pain. Leo dropped his backpack and ran over, nudging my shoulder. “Mommy? I’m home.” I couldn’t answer him. Tessa didn’t miss a beat. While Cole was on the balcony taking a call, she rushed over and pulled Leo away. “Leo, sweetie, Mommy’s very tired. Let her rest. Why don’t you go put your bag in your room?” She ushered my son away. Now, it was just the two of us in the living room. Me and the woman who wanted my life. I watched the mask slip. Her eyes went cold and sharp. She snatched my phone from where it had slipped between the cushions. She unlocked it effortlessly—she knew my passcode was Cole’s birthday. Her thumbs flew across the screen, typing something, sending it to herself, then deleting the evidence. She set up a scheduled message. She wasn’t done. She walked over to the sideboard, grabbed a crystal tumbler, and looked at my body with pure venom. Crash. She smashed the glass on the floor. “Ah!” She screamed, dropping to her knees, deliberately reaching for the jagged shards. Cole rushed in from the balcony. “What happened?” Tessa looked up, tears already streaming down her face. She held up a finger, blood welling from a fresh cut. “Cole… I… I just wanted to get Mara some water. But she… she seemed so angry. She knocked the glass out of my hand. She won’t even look at me.” She sobbed, clutching her hand. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t be here. I’ll leave.” Cole’s face darkened. He looked at the shattered glass, then at me—curled under the blanket, unmoving, silent. The pity was gone. Replaced by pure, unadulterated exhaustion. “Mara!” “We have a guest. You’re throwing things? Can you stop acting like a child?” I couldn’t defend myself. Leo ran out, scared by the noise. He looked at me, then at the crying Tessa, and wailed. “I don’t want pasta! I want pizza!” Cole snapped, “Ask your mother to make you—” He stopped. He glanced at my still form, waved his hand dismissively. “Forget it. Can’t count on her for anything. Come on, Dad’s taking you out.” Before leaving, he pulled a credit card from his wallet and slid it onto the coffee table next to the designer bag. Then, he took a small orange pill bottle from his pocket. “It took me weeks to source this medicine. When you’re done throwing your tantrum, take it.” He paused, his voice dropping to a glacial temperature. “And stop with the ‘I’m dying’ act to scare me, Mara. I’m tired.” He turned to leave. But at the door, hesitation struck. He looked back, stepping toward me as if to check my forehead for a fever. Just as his fingertips were inches from my skin, Tessa let out a sharp cry of pain. “Cole! My hand… it hurts so bad, the bleeding won’t stop.” Cole froze. He pulled his hand back, turned, and rushed to Tessa, inspecting the small cut with exaggerated care. “Let’s go. We need to get that cleaned up. Don’t want it to scar.” The door slammed shut. The world went silent. The life-saving medicine he had worked so hard to find sat on the table, less than two feet from my corpse. 2. I drifted, untethered, following them to a high-end steakhouse downtown. Cole was meticulously cracking lobster claws for Leo. Tessa sat beside them, phone raised, capturing the moment. She posted it to Instagram immediately. Years come and go, but having you two is everything. The photo showed Cole’s handsome profile in soft focus and Leo’s beaming face. Meanwhile, back in the living room, the temperature was dropping. My body, shrouded in the growing darkness of the winter evening, was cooling rapidly. Halfway through dinner, Tessa’s phone pinged. She glanced at the screen and her face went chalk-white. Her fork clattered to the floor. She covered her mouth, eyes wide with terror, tears instantly springing up. She handed the phone to Cole, her hand trembling violently. “Cole… it’s Mara… she… she texted me.” “She said if I dare come back with you tonight, she’ll stab me…” Cole’s expression turned thunderous. He snatched the phone. There it was—a text from my contact, sent ten minutes ago. The scheduled message Tessa had written herself. Tessa, don’t think you’ve won just because Cole took you to dinner. I just sharpened the paring knife. You walk through that door, and one of us is leaving in a body bag. I don’t care if I die doing it. Cole slammed his fist onto the table. The cutlery jumped. Patrons at nearby tables stared. He pulled out his own phone and dialed me immediately. His eyes were burning with rage. One call. Two. Three. All unanswered. He let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Great. Mara, you’ve really outdone yourself.” “You send death threats, and now you play the silent game? You want to ghost me?” Tessa shrank into his side, trembling. “Cole, I’m scared… I’m actually terrified. Her mental state… what if she’s actually waiting with a knife? And Leo is with us. We can’t risk traumatizing him.” Cole looked at the woman shaking in his arms, then at his son, who was oblivious, gnawing on a lobster tail. The disgust he felt for me finally outweighed his last shred of reason. He made the decision that would haunt him for the rest of his life. “We aren’t going back tonight.” “If she wants to go crazy in that house, let her go crazy alone.” He stood up, grabbing his coat. “We’re driving up to the lodge in Vail. We’ll ski for a few days. Once the holidays are over and she’s calmed down, I’m coming back to discuss the divorce.” He signaled for the check. The black SUV slipped into the stream of traffic, leaving the city—and me—behind in a blur of festive lights. The living room was pitch black. My phone, ringing uselessly, sat on the floor where it had fallen. The screen lit up the darkness, pulsing rhythmically, illuminating the purple lividity that had begun to pool in my face. Three missed calls from Cole. And one final voicemail. Mara, I’ve been suffocating for years. Tessa is my employee, she’s no threat to you, yet you can’t tolerate her existence. Spend the holiday alone. Don’t expect us back. For the next few days, I didn’t “bother” them. He thought his silent treatment was working. He didn’t know that while he was laughing on the slopes, I was rotting alone in a freezing house. 3. The suite at the ski resort was warm, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing a pristine white world. But Cole was restless. His right eyelid kept twitching—a bad omen. He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over my name. He wanted to check in. But then he saw the red row of missed calls and the threat “I” had sent. He tossed the phone onto the bed, stubbornness hardening his resolve. Tessa was playing the long game. To get closer to him, she staged a fall on a bunny slope the next day. “Cole! My ankle… I can’t walk.” Cole sighed and hoisted her onto his back, trudging down the mountain. Leo ran alongside them, clapping his gloved hands. “Daddy’s carrying Ms. Tessa! Like in the cartoons! Daddy carrying the bride!” Cole’s face dropped. He snapped his head back. “Leo! Stop it. Mommy is my wife. Don’t say things like that.” The reprimand hung in the cold air. Even Cole seemed surprised by his own defense of me. Perched on his back, Tessa’s eyes flashed with malice, quickly masked by a wince of pain. That night, Tessa screamed. She ran to Cole, phone in hand, face devoid of color. “Cole! Look! Look what Mara sent me!” Cole took the phone. The screen displayed a grotesque, close-up photo of a dead rat, bloody and mangled. Underneath, a caption: You will all die. This time, the sender was an unknown number—Tessa’s burner account. Cole stared at the revolting image, then looked at his lock screen—a photo of me from years ago, smiling softly. “How did she become this?” He whispered, his voice heavy with fatigue. “Where did the gentle, kind Mara go?” That night, Cole drank alone on the sofa until he passed out. Tessa sat by him, whispering poison disguised as comfort. Alcohol eroded his defenses. “When we get back,” he slurred, “I’m sending her to a facility. I can’t let her stay like this. She’s going to ruin Leo.” He fell asleep thinking he was making the responsible choice. The next morning, the property manager called. “Mr. Miller? We have a complaint from the tenant below you. There’s a leak dripping through their ceiling.” “We’ve been knocking on your door for twenty minutes. No one is answering.” It was me. My body fluids were liquefying, seeping through the sofa, soaking the floorboards, and dripping into the apartment below. Cole, hungover and irritated, snapped. “My wife is home sleeping. She’s not well, and she hates being disturbed. Do not bother her.” “Just shut off the main water valve for the unit. I’ll deal with it when I get back.” He hung up, but the anger simmered. He opened WeChat and sent me one more message. Mara, the building manager says there’s a leak and you’re ignoring it? What is wrong with you? Clean the place up before we get home. The message sent. Silence followed. He sneered and turned off his phone. He didn’t know that the Mara who could answer him was already gone. 4. On the afternoon of the second day of the New Year, Cole finally drove them home. Tessa sat in the passenger seat, managing expectations. “Cole, she’s going to be furious. She might have trashed the house.” She squeezed his hand. “Please, just don’t engage. If she’s unstable, don’t trigger her.” Cole drove in silence, his jaw set tight. They parked in the garage and took the elevator up. When the doors slid open, they froze. The hallway was crowded. Police officers in uniform. Property management staff looking pale. Neighbors whispering, craning their necks. And most jarringly—two coroners in white protective suits, masks on, walking out of our front door. The air was thick with a sickly-sweet, metallic stench. Tessa gasped, hiding behind Cole. “Oh my god… Cole… did she… did she kill herself to manipulate you?” Her voice trembled with feigned horror and hidden glee. “She’s terrifying! To do something like this…” Cole’s stomach dropped. He shoved through the crowd. “Mara! What the hell have you done now?!” A young officer stepped in front of him, hand raised. “Sir, stay back. Do you live here? What is your relationship to the deceased?” Cole shoved the officer aside, his eyes locked on the open door. “I live here! Who are you? Why are you in my house?” His brain short-circuited. “Deceased? Who died? My wife is inside sleeping! She has a temper, don’t scare her!” It wasn’t possible. He remembered tucking the blanket around me on Christmas Eve. He remembered the threatening texts from last night. People don’t just die. Tessa scrambled to keep up, turning to the police. “Exactly, officer! There must be a mistake. Mara is fine. She’s just dramatic.” She pulled out her phone. “Look! She sent me a death threat on Christmas Eve at 10 PM. And this! She sent a dead rat picture yesterday morning. How could she be dead?” The neighbors fell silent. An older medical examiner stepped out of the apartment. He pulled down his mask, looking from Cole to the babbling Tessa with cold, clinical eyes. “You say she sent you a photo in the middle of the night last night?” He thumbed over his shoulder, where two staff members were maneuvering a gurney covered in a white sheet out the door. “Based on the lividity, the rigor mortis, and the state of decomposition…” “The deceased, Mara Miller, died of sudden cardiac arrest. Time of death is estimated at over 40 hours ago.” The examiner stepped closer, staring hard at Tessa. “Which means she died around 8:00 PM on Christmas Eve.” “So, I have to ask: How does a woman who has been dead for two days send you a text message?” “Is she haunting you?”

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Meredith slept with a subordinate twelve years her junior. When I caught her, she chose to come back to the family. We were stitching our lives back together, or so I thought, until I glanced at her phone and saw an unsaved number flashing on the lock screen. I’m getting married tomorrow. Can you come to Harbor City? I need to see you one last time. It’s a three-hour drive from Seattle to the coast. If she left now, she’d hit the city limits by 1:00 AM. I watched her pulling clothes from the closet, frantic and focused. I kept my voice low, deadly quiet. “Packing that much lingerie, Meredith? Planning to sleep with him one last time for old times’ sake?” I leaned against the doorframe. “Should I pack you a box of condoms, or do you have that covered?” … 1 Meredith looked up, her face etched with a kind of exhaustion I hadn’t seen before. “Grant, I chose you. I’m here, aren’t I? What more do you want?” She threw a silk blouse into the suitcase. “Are you not going to be happy until you’ve pushed me into an early grave?” I remembered the look on her face the day I caught her and Kieran in that hotel room. Pure, unadulterated panic. I didn’t handle it with dignity. I wasn’t the stoic husband. I was the cliché—the rage-filled spouse screaming, tearing at them, snapping photos of their shame to burn their worlds down. And it worked. Kieran lost face, lost his job, and scurried back to his hometown in disgrace. Meredith lost a six-figure contract and her director title. Under the weight of moral condemnation, she had knelt before me, begging, promising to be the wife I deserved. For the past year, she had been perfect. Terrified, docile, obedient. While launching her start-up, she took on every night shift with our daughter, Rory, just to let me sleep. She wore herself thin, catching pneumonia twice, working herself to the bone until her new company started turning a profit. She looked successful again. She looked redeemed. As if karma had missed her address entirely. Oh, except for those few colds. That was her great penance. And now she claimed I was pushing her to the brink? The irony tasted like copper in my mouth. “Meredith,” I curled my lip, “where do you find the audacity?” “Did you forget your vow? You swore on your life you’d never see him again.” She folded a dress with trembling hands and zipped the suitcase shut. “Grant, we haven’t visited the shelter in ages. Tomorrow, let’s go together. We can bring donations.” She forced a smile, a mask of domestic softness. “Let’s get some sleep before Rory wakes up. You know how cranky she gets.” I dug my fingernails into my palms until the skin broke. I hated this. I hated how she pivoted, how she smoothed over the jagged edges of her betrayal with mundane distractions. She was the sinner, yet she stood there with the posture of a saint. “And what about Kieran?” I scoffed. “You loved him so much. Won’t he be heartbroken if you don’t show up? Or are you afraid God might actually strike you down for breaking an oath?” Her expression didn’t waver. “Grant, the kids at the shelter love those cinnamon rolls from the bakery on 4th. Remind me to pick them up.” This was Meredith. The colder she acted on the surface, the clearer the boundaries she drew, the more torrentially the feelings raged underneath. It was true with me once. Now, it was true with Kieran. I wanted to rip that calm, hypocritical mask right off her face. 2 I walked to the nightstand, opened the drawer, and pulled out the stack of stationery. My stomach churned, but I forced myself to read them aloud, my voice dripping with venom. “Kieran, you are the wind in the mountains, untouched by the dust of this world. Seeing you makes me believe that something pure still exists.” “People say the wind leaves no trace, but I will keep you hidden in my heart, protecting your clarity year after year.” “All I ask of this life is to drift along with you, never parting.” I paused, looking her dead in the eye. “Kieran, the man in my bed is not the man in my soul. Only in the deep of night do I see your face, so clean it makes my heart tremble.” Meredith’s composure finally shattered. “Stop it!” she screamed, covering her ears. “Grant, shut up! I made a mistake. Haven’t I paid for it every single day for a year?” “It’s in the past! Why can’t you let it go?” I laughed, a dry, hacking sound, and grabbed the pair of men’s boxers—custom embroidered with a lotus motif—and threw them in her face. “I can’t let it go? Oh, Meredith, your prose is just too moving. I had to keep it. A daily reminder that inside your heart lives the beautiful, pristine Kieran!” “And you call this past year atonement? Taking care of Rory isn’t penance, Meredith. It’s called parenting! She’s your daughter, not a punishment!” Meredith had always been a romantic. When she loved, she loved with purple prose and grand gestures. I used to roll my eyes at it, secretly thrilled that I was the subject of her intensity. I thought I was the only one. Until I was cleaning the bottom shelf of the bookcase and found the box. Five hundred and twenty-one letters. Written over two years. The embroidered boxers were his response to her devotion. Opening that box was like opening a vent to hell; the demons haven’t stopped eating me since. When I stormed that hotel, the staff thought I was a drunk. I had to call the cops. With their help, I got into the suite. I saw my wife—my brilliant, composed wife—looking terrified, shielding her lover with her own body as if I were the monster. I lost my mind. I fought, I screamed the vilest things a human can articulate. Meredith rubbed her temples, her voice dropping to a weary murmur. “Is this necessary? Yes, the hotel happened. I lost my mind for a while. But we only slept together that one time. You blew it up, and nothing came of it. We didn’t end up together, did we?” “Don’t you dare sound righteous about infidelity,” I spat. “You are hateful, Meredith.” She hooked a stray hair behind her ear, her eyes going cold and cruel. “Grant, you know what? The more you act like a lunatic, the more beautiful Kieran looks in my memory.” “You will never compare to him. Keep screaming. Let’s see how long you last.” I gasped for air, staring at her. She finally showed emotion, and it was contempt. My chest felt like it was being crushed by a boulder. The woman who once looked at me with stars in her eyes now looked at me like I was a disease. I had tried to forgive. She had come home. We had a child. 3 But for the last year, every time she touched me, every time we tried to be intimate, the image of her tangled in sheets with Kieran flashed in my brain. I was physically repulsed. I couldn’t pretend. The dam broke. “Then go!” I shrieked. “Divorce me and go marry him! Stop playing the martyr, Meredith, it makes me sick!” I picked up the boxers from the floor and ripped them until the fabric gave way. “Trash! You’re both trash!” Meredith watched my meltdown with a detached satisfaction. She reached out, wiping a tear from my cheek. “See? You work yourself up just to anger me. Is it worth it?” “Grant, it’s over. Why can’t we just live our lives?” “We have a daughter. Stop saying the word divorce.” I slapped her hand away. Rory woke up in the next room, wailing. I rushed to the crib, lifting her, rocking her, trying to soothe her terror with my own shaking hands. Meredith watched from the doorway for a moment, then turned and walked out. When Rory finally settled, I went to the kitchen to warm a bottle. The air smelled of expensive scotch. Meredith was sitting on the floor, surrounded by empty tumblers, eyes glazed. Half-dead to the world. Mourning her lover’s wedding, no doubt. Her phone buzzed. Her eyes shifted. Her hand trembled as she slid to answer. “Kieran. I’m here.” The voice on the other end was low, ragged. “Mer… he won’t let you come see me, will he?” Meredith’s gaze dimmed. “Kieran, he’s my husband. We have a child. I have responsibilities.” “I know. You’re good, Mer. You have honor. I always knew I had good taste.” Kieran’s voice broke, fragile as glass. Meredith gripped the phone, her voice dropping to a whisper. “We shouldn’t see each other again. Kieran… I hope you’re happy. Truly. Have a beautiful life.” Just as she was about to hang up, Kieran pleaded. “Mer, wait. Can I talk to him?” Meredith hesitated, then held the phone out to me. “He wants a word. Control your temper. Don’t scare him.” I didn’t take it. But Kieran spoke as if he knew I was listening. “Grant, listen. She chose you. She went back. I’m begging you, treat her well. You have no idea the pressure she’s under, making money, keeping face.” “She hates spicy food. She loves sweet things, specifically mango sago pompelo. Don’t let her drink cold water in the summer, her stomach is sensitive.” “And I bought her a neck massager a while back—her cervical spine is messed up. Use it on her. She’s in a growth phase with the company…” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Are you finished?” “You are truly pathetic. Managing my wife from three hours away? If you’re so worried, why don’t I gift wrap her and drive her to your bed tonight? You can swap out the bride.” 4 “Since you have no shame, maybe the wedding guests would love to see exactly what kind of—” Meredith snatched the phone back, shouting, “Stop it! Are you insane?” I looked at her with pure hatred. “He dares to do it, I dare to say it. You two are disgusting. Flirting right in front of my face.” From the phone, Kieran’s soft sobbing echoed. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to upset your husband.” Meredith’s face darkened. “Grant. Apologize.” My rationality snapped. I was back in that hotel room. I wanted to hurt her. “Apologize to who? Your boy toy? Meredith, are you human? I hope you both rot! I hope you both burn!” Meredith shoved me back, furious. “Grant! Are you deaf? I was saying goodbye! If you keep acting like a psycho, I swear to God, I will drive to Harbor City right now!” When she said it, I saw the flicker in her eyes. Hope. She wanted an excuse to go. But she had to maintain the act of the suffering, responsible wife. She made me the villain. I was the monster pushing her away. I laughed, a hollow sound. I ran to the bedroom, grabbed the pile of clothes she had abandoned, stuffed them into the suitcase, and hurled it into the living room. “Get out!” “Meredith, looking at you makes me feel dirty.” “Fine, Grant. You asked for this. Let’s see how you manage a toddler alone.” She smirked, a cruel, cold thing, grabbed the handle of her luggage, and walked out the door. The apartment fell silent. My knees gave out, and I collapsed on the floor, curling into a ball, weeping without sound. I stayed there until Rory cried again. I pulled myself up, shook the formula bottle, and went to her. I held my daughter’s small, warm body and didn’t sleep for a second. I was the one being pushed to the brink. By her. By him. For a year, we played house. But I was cracking. I had nightmares of white limbs tangled in hotel sheets. I started crying for no reason. I shook. I screamed at furniture. I broke things. I started cutting my arms just to feel something other than the pain in my chest. If she was ten minutes late, I accused her. I checked her phone. I smelled her clothes. She explained at first. Then she stopped. Then she moved to the guest room. Our marriage froze over. The day I found myself standing on the balcony of our 18th-floor apartment, holding Rory, looking at the pavement below, I woke up. I almost died. I almost took my daughter with me. Depression. Severe. I stepped back from the ledge. The cold wind slapped me sober. I got help. Therapists. Meds. I fought to stay alive. But today, Meredith, the architect of my ruin, pushed me back toward the edge. This nauseating, scarred marriage was done. I sat up until dawn. Meredith didn’t come back. Her parents did. 5 Her father looked me up and down and started the lecture. “Fighting again? Grant, look, if Meredith truly wanted that boy, you wouldn’t be our son-in-law.” “I’m not trying to be mean, but you’re petty. You have no vision. If you had just shut your mouth back then, Meredith wouldn’t have lost her job. She’d be getting bonuses. She wouldn’t be working this hard.” Her mother sighed, checking her phone theatrically. “Grant, honey, Meredith is a catch. Successful women have admirers. It’s normal.” She shoved her screen in my face. It was a screenshot of Meredith’s WeChat Moment, posted hours ago. The photo showed her hugging Kieran, wiping tears from his face. The caption: Traveled a thousand miles, just to see you one last time. I checked my phone. Nothing. She had blocked me from seeing it. I called her. Straight to voicemail. I looked at her mother. “Are you sure she’s with him?” Her mother smirked and dialed Meredith on speaker. “Mom? What’s up?” Meredith answered instantly. “Honey, where are you? Did you fight with Grant again?” Meredith’s voice was flat, dismissive. “Hardly a fight. He’s just having another episode. Too much time on his hands. I’m in Harbor City. Don’t tell him. I’m seeing Kieran one last time, then I’ll be back.” One minute. Click. She really went. My chest felt empty, cavernous, but strangely light. Her mother tsked. “See? Meredith tells me you’re dumb and slow, just yelling all day. If it weren’t for the kid, she’d have left you ages ago.” “I hear this Kieran boy is nice. Parents are teachers. A better match for our Meredith. Unlike some people. No parents, probably bad luck.” “Rotten roots grow rotten trees. Since she likes used goods so much, she can have him.” I said it calmly, picked up Rory, and walked out the door, leaving the old couple shouting insults at my back. I tolerated them for years because I loved her. That obligation evaporated last night. If Meredith wasn’t in Seattle, I was going to find her. I stopped at a lawyer’s office, drafted a divorce agreement, and drove to Harbor City. Using the geotag from the photo her mother showed me, I found the hotel. The ballroom was lavish. Kieran stood at the altar in a tuxedo, about to exchange rings with a woman who looked expensive. Meredith stood below the stage, looking like her soul had been ripped out. “Kieran,” she whispered, loud enough to carry, “you have to be happy.” Kieran’s eyes welled up. It was tragic. Romeo and Juliet, separated by the cruel hand of fate. I walked through the double doors, stopped right behind Meredith, and raised my voice. “Since the groom has feelings and the mistress has a heart, let me help you out!” “Meredith! Let’s get a divorce!” 6 Silence slammed into the room. The whispers started immediately.

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It was New Year’s Eve, and we were celebrating with friends when my husband’s “best bro” suddenly clutched his stomach and crumbled dramatically into Ryan Maxwell’s arms. His face was ghostly pale. He weakly grasped Ryan’s hand and said: “Ry, my gut is killing me. It’s got to be your wife’s bad juju—she must have passed her period curse to me. Rub it better, big bro!” Ryan immediately pulled him closer, his face etched with concern, then he spun around and snapped at me. “This is your fault for having a goddamn period and making him sick, Jessie! Riley is taking on your suffering—now, get in there and make him some hot soothing tea!” Riley—my husband’s supposedly platonic male friend—leaned weakly against Ryan. The look in his eyes was pure, cold provocation. “Don’t mind me, Jessie,” he whispered, his voice purposely gravelly and low. “We’re just bros. Honestly, if I had a uterus, I’d give Ry the heir he deserves before anyone else.” I stared at the overly-masculine posture and the obvious, fake lump he used as a makeshift Adam’s apple, and nearly burst out laughing. Did he truly think I was as blind as Ryan and his pathetic friends? Did they believe I hadn’t known Riley was a woman for months? I was tied to a “Wish Fulfillment” New Year’s Gift System. Since you are so desperate to be fertile, I thought, I will grant your wish. Take the torrent of good fortune you asked for! … 1 I glanced down at my phone, where a system interface only I could see had popped up. [New Year’s Gift System Activated. Detected Wish: To Conceive and Bear.] [Issue gift to target ‘Riley’?] I pressed Confirm without a moment’s hesitation. Ryan was still wrapped up in worry, haphazardly rubbing Riley’s abdomen through his thick sweater. “Good boy, Riley. Rub it better. It’s all this useless woman’s fault.” He looked up and glared at me, his eyes burning with a hatred that suggested he wanted to devour me whole. “Jessie! What are you standing around for? Can’t you see Riley’s in pain? Get your ass in the kitchen and make that tea!” “Of course, Ryan. Right away.” I turned and walked into the kitchen, a cold, silent laugh echoing in my mind. Inside, I slowly boiled the water, and casually added a modifier in the system. “System, dial the effect up. I want it intense.” [Request received. Energy doubled.] When I carried the cup of hot ginger-molasses tea out, the scene in the living room had already shifted. Riley’s pain had been an act. Now, the terror in her face was real. Large beads of cold sweat rolled down her forehead. “Nngh… it hurts so bad…” Ryan was panicking, pacing back and forth. “What the hell? You were just fine a minute ago!” I handed the tea to Riley. “Here you go. Drink it while it’s hot.” Riley took one sip, and a fresh scream ripped out of her. “Ah! What is this? Why does it hurt more!” Ryan snatched the bowl from her hand and hurled it onto the hardwood floor. The ceramic shattered, and the steaming liquid splashed onto my bare foot. “Jessie! What poison did you put in this? Riley’s worse now!” “Are you trying to poison him?” I stared at him, my expression blank. “It’s just tea, Ryan. What poison could there be?” Ryan’s spineless friends in the room chimed in. “Jessie, that’s seriously messed up. Riley’s always been nothing but kind to you.” “Yeah, your husband’s bro is our bro. You’ve got a twisted heart, woman.” Ryan pointed a trembling finger right at my face. “Kneel! Apologize to Riley now! He took your curse, and you repay him by trying to kill him!” Riley weakly pulled at Ryan’s hand. “Ry, don’t blame Jessie. It’s my poor constitution… ugh!” Before she could finish, another tortured cry. “There’s something kicking me in the stomach!” Ryan and the circle of friends froze. “Riley, what are you saying? You’re a grown man. There’s nothing in there to kick you.” Ryan was half-shouting when he yanked up Riley’s thick sweater. As soon as the fabric was lifted, everyone in the room gasped. 2 Riley’s previously flat abdomen, in front of all of us, began to swell like a grotesque time-lapse video. Once, twice… In just a few seconds, her stomach had pushed out into a distinct, high-riding curve, looking exactly like a pregnancy well into the second trimester. “What is this?” Ryan was terrified, his hands shaking. I put on a performance of shock, clapping a hand over my mouth. My voice trembled convincingly. “Oh my God, Riley! Your stomach is growing so fast! You… you couldn’t be pregnant, could you?” Riley stared down at her own stomach, her eyes wide with true terror. “Impossible! I can’t be pregnant!” Ryan was dumbfounded, tentatively touching the hard, tight skin of Riley’s belly. “Riley, what’s going on?” I pointed and shouted, “Look at her stomach! There’s something moving inside!” Everyone followed my gaze. Sure enough, a distinct, terrifying outline of a small foot pressed against Riley’s taut skin, kicking hard. “Ugh!” Riley screamed, curling into a tight ball on the sofa. “Ry, help me… it hurts so bad, I think my insides are tearing apart…” Ryan was completely lost, wanting to hold her but too afraid to touch that monstrous belly. “Hospital! Get him to the hospital, now!” One of the friends finally reacted, moving to lift Riley onto his back. Riley heard the word “hospital” and instantly lost it. Clutching her belly, she desperately burrowed into Ryan’s chest. “No! I’m not going to the hospital! Ry, please! It’s just acute gastritis, I just need to rest!” She yelled and desperately clamped her arms over her chest. I sneered internally. She’s terrified that once she’s in a hospital gown, the chest binder and her true gender will be exposed. “Riley, this is no time to be afraid of doctors!” I moved closer, feigning deep concern. “Look at that stomach. What if it… bursts if you don’t get medical attention?” “Ryan, you love your brother so much, don’t you? Do you really want to watch her die in your arms?” Ryan was shocked into action. “Right! Hospital! Riley, listen to me, I’m with you! No one is going to hurt you!” He scooped Riley up without waiting for a protest and charged toward the door. Riley was still screaming in agony. Before leaving, Ryan spun back and spat a threat at me. “Jessie, if anything happens to Riley, I swear I will never forgive you!” “And you’re paying the medical bills! He’s suffering because of you, you’re responsible for everything!” I watched his frantic retreat, slowly pulled out my phone, and swiped his secondary credit card. “Responsible? Absolutely, I’m responsible.” I immediately canceled that secondary card and finalized the paperwork to place a lien on the only property under Ryan’s name. The down payment for that house came from my father. The renovations were paid for by me. I used to love him; I used to be a willing punching bag. Now, all I wanted was to watch them all burn. “Come on, everyone! Let’s go see this medical miracle. A pregnant man—you can’t miss this!” I waved at the gawkers and friends, and we followed the frantic Ryan to the emergency room. We were barely inside the entrance when Riley let out a horrifying shriek. “He’s bleeding!” I looked down. Riley’s gray sweatpants were suddenly drenched in a large patch of crimson at the groin. Blood streamed down his inner thigh, staining the white hospital floor tiles—a chilling sight. Ryan froze, staring blankly at the blood on his hands. “Riley… does your gastritis come with blood in the urine?” 3 I bit back a laugh, putting on a stern face to correct him. “Ryan, try to use your brain for once! That location, that volume of blood—she’s in premature labor! She’s miscarrying!” The emergency room erupted into chaos. “Doctor, please save my brother!” Ryan bellowed at the top of his lungs. A few nurses rushed over with a gurney. When they saw Riley, their faces tightened. “Massive hemorrhage? Quick, Room One!” Riley lay on the gurney, now unconscious. A male doctor approached and reached for the clasps on Riley’s clothing to examine the injury. Ryan lunged forward and shoved the doctor away. “What the hell are you doing? You trying to assault my friend?” The male doctor staggered, looking utterly bewildered. “I’m a doctor! He’s hemorrhaging! How can I locate the bleed without an examination? Can you please be rational?” “He’s shy, you idiot! He won’t even shower with us! You keep your hands clean, you male doctor!” Ryan yelled, his neck bulging. The nurses and patients around us stared at him like he was insane. I stood at the back of the crowd and offered a cool comment. “Ryan, Riley is practically dying, and you’re worried about him feeling exposed? Oh, wait, I mean, male-on-male exposure.” “Maybe a female doctor would be better. Riley is a bit more sensitive than most girls.” Ryan jumped on this idea. “Yes! A female doctor! Get a female doctor, now!” The doctor, enraged, threw his stethoscope onto the counter. “This is an emergency! We don’t have time for you to handpick a physician!” “I demand one! If you don’t, I’ll sue! If my brother dies, you’ll all pay for it!” Ryan started throwing a tantrum until security had to be called. Finally, the hospital relented and brought in a seasoned female physician, Dr. Reyes. Dr. Reyes walked in, her face set in a grim expression. “Family out. We need to examine him.” Ryan refused to budge. “I’m staying! What if he gets scared?” Dr. Reyes fixed him with a stare. “This is a trauma room, not your bedroom! Get out!” Ryan finally backed out, muttering curses, but not before telling Riley, “Don’t worry, Riley. Your bro’s right here protecting you.” Less than two minutes later, a gasp of disbelief came from inside the room. “How is this possible?” It was Dr. Reyes’ voice, filled with shock. Ryan knew something was wrong. He kicked the door open and charged in. “What happened? Did you hurt him?” Dr. Reyes held a stethoscope, staring at Riley’s stomach as if she’d seen a ghost. “This gentleman has a fetal heartbeat! And this level of distension and hardness is clearly the result of uterine contractions!” Ryan froze for three seconds, then erupted into hysterical laughter. “Doctor, are you insane? My brother is a pure man! Do you think I wouldn’t know if he had a uterus? You quack, are you trying to scam me?” Dr. Reyes’ face turned dark red. “I’ve been practicing for thirty years. I don’t mistake a fetal heart for a stomach rumble! If you don’t believe me, we’ll do a sonogram!” “Fine! Bring it on! Who’s afraid!” Ryan scooped up Riley. As he passed me, he shot me a deadly glare. “Jessie, did you hear that? This whole hospital is a joke! When the results come back, I’m suing them for everything they have, and then I’m coming for you!” I shrugged, utterly unconcerned. “Sounds good. I’ll wait to see the miracle of a man giving birth.” On the way to the ultrasound room, Ryan was already on his phone, calling for backup. “Mom, get to First Hospital, now! Riley’s here because that crazy woman, Jessie, poisoned him, and now these doctors are humiliating him by saying he’s pregnant!” 4 I could hear my mother-in-law, Elaine’s, shrill voice through the phone. “What? Pregnant? Riley is my angel! Who dares to insult him like that?” “That jinx, Jessie! I knew she was bad news! You wait there, I’m bringing the family!” I listened to the call and smiled bitterly. My mother-in-law, Elaine, had always thought I wasn’t good enough for her son, treating me like a servant. Riley, on the other hand, was charming and sweet-talking, completely winning her over. Elaine had told me to my face more than once that if only Riley had been a girl, I would have been replaced long ago. Well, now Riley was “fertile.” Let’s see how she handled this. Less than twenty minutes later, Elaine arrived, flanked by several family members, her face a mask of rage. As soon as she saw me, she charged forward, her hand raised to strike. I was ready. I sidestepped, catching her wrist firmly. “Elaine, we’re in public. Public assault isn’t a good look.” “You dare dodge me?” Elaine was shaking with fury, pointing her finger at my face. “Jessie Maxwell, you black-hearted, husband-cursing witch!” “Riley is such a good kid, and you’ve tortured him like this, and then bribed doctors to say he’s pregnant? Are you trying to destroy him?” Ryan chimed in, “Exactly, Mom. You didn’t see that doctor, she sounded completely convinced.” “Jessie must be scared that Riley’s going to take my affection, so she’s resorted to this dirty trick.” I looked at the three of them—this bizarre family unit—and laughed out loud. “Fine. If you all think I bribed the doctor, then let’s prove it to the public. Right now.” “Ryan, you said Riley is a pure man. Do you dare do this ultrasound live for the world to see?” To prove his innocence and to extort money from the hospital, Ryan stuck his chin out. “Bring it on! I dare you! When the results are back, you will crawl out of my house on your hands and knees!” Riley, lying on the gurney, his stomach now swollen like a ceramic bowl turned upside down, was in too much pain to speak. He could only stare at Ryan with pleading eyes. “No… go home…” “Good boy, Riley. Don’t be afraid.” Elaine stroked Riley’s forehead, her heart clearly breaking. “We’re just going to get a picture, humiliate these scam artists, and make sure they never say such a thing again!” At Elaine’s insistence, Riley was wheeled into the ultrasound room. Ryan and Elaine demanded to go in, and the technicians, overwhelmed, allowed them behind a privacy screen. I calmly took out my phone and started streaming. “Elaine, you love Riley so much. If he really can bear a child, will you finally let me go?” Elaine sneered, her face full of disdain. “Of course! If Riley can give my son a child, I’ll kick you out that minute and bring him into the family!” My heart filled with a terrible glee, but I feigned a tearful sadness. “Fine. You heard her. You all witnessed it.” Inside the ultrasound room, the doctor placed the probe on Riley’s grotesquely high belly. The monitor quickly showed an image. The ultrasound tech, a fresh-faced young man, stared at the screen, his mouth agape. “It’s… it’s a human shape!” Ryan shoved the screen aside, his roar vibrating through the room. “What the hell are you saying! Look closer, you idiot!” He lunged toward the monitor and instantly froze. On the screen, a clearly outlined, small humanoid shape was curled up. You could even see the regular, flashing light of a beating heart. I calmly pulled out another piece of paper. This was a paternity and amniocentesis report I had redeemed from the System moments before. “Yes, Ryan. Not only is he pregnant, but it’s yours.” 5 Ryan snatched the paper, his disbelief absolute, and read it over and over. The System guaranteed perfection. This detection report was, even in the hospital’s system, a perfectly legitimate document. The live stream comments went wild. [OMG! He’s really pregnant? A 21st-century medical miracle!] [That guy’s stomach is bigger than mine was at six months. How fast is this baby coming?] [The streamer is amazing! She’s broadcasting the drama of the year!] Elaine’s elderly eyes practically glued themselves to the screen. After a long look, she slapped her thigh. “Oh, my! It’s a big fat boy!” She turned and grabbed Ryan’s arm, her face alight with manic joy. “Ry, this is a miracle! Riley has secured our family line! You listen to your mother—divorce Jessie now! Marry Riley!” Ryan’s face was a study in conflicting emotions—white, then green, then purple. He looked at the monstrous human shape on the screen, then at Riley, writhing in pain on the bed, his mind a complete wreck. “Mom, what are you talking about? Riley is a man!” “And so what?” Elaine’s eyes bulged, spittle flying. “A man who can bear a child is a godsend! It means our family is blessed! Jessie, that barren hen, has been taking up space without producing results—she should have left long ago!” She turned and rushed at me, her finger nearly poking my eye. “Witch! Did you hear that? The Maxwell line is safe! Pack your things and get out! Divorce!” I held my phone steady, the lens focused right on her. “Elaine, we’re live. The whole country is watching. Are you sure you want to demand your son divorce his wife for a man who can give birth?” Elaine paused, momentarily intimidated by the camera, but the ecstasy of having a grandchild quickly overwhelmed her. She didn’t back down; she leaned into the camera, looking even more self-righteous. “Let them watch! I’m telling you all, my son is lucky! His brother is a divine man who can bear his child!” “I demand an heir for my son! Jessie can’t deliver, so she has to yield her position to the one who can! It’s the law of nature!” Riley, lying on the bed, heard this and, despite the pain contorting his face, a triumphant smile touched his lips. He grabbed Ryan’s hand, his voice a ragged whisper. “Ry… I’m really having your baby…” Ryan finally snapped out of his trance. He violently flung Riley’s hand away, his eyes a mixture of terror and utter disgust. “Shut your mouth! It’s impossible! We’re both men!” He spun around, grabbing the ultrasound tech by the collar. “It’s you! You rigged the machine! You worked with Jessie, didn’t you? Tell me! How much did she pay you!” The young tech started to cry. “Sir, I didn’t… the machine doesn’t lie…” “To hell with your machine!” Ryan went completely insane, grabbing a nearby chair, ready to smash the ultrasound equipment. “Stop him!” The hospital security guards rushed in. Several men struggled to pin Ryan to the floor. I watched the spectacle coldly, then spoke into my phone camera. “Everyone, you see my husband, Ryan Maxwell. Because his ‘brother’ is pregnant, he is attempting to destroy hospital property, assault a doctor, and throw me out of the house.” “The down payment for that house came from my parents, and I paid for the renovations. Now, the Maxwells want a man to usurp my role and steal my property.” Elaine was still screaming. “The house is in my son’s name! It belongs to the Maxwells! You’re an outsider! You have no right to speak!” Just then, the ultrasound room door flew open again. Dr. Reyes walked in, holding a chart, her expression grave. “Stop yelling! The pregnant patient’s condition is critical! The contractions are too fast, and the fetal heart rate is crashing! If we don’t operate now, we will lose both mother and child!”

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The argument with my sister, Morgan, started on the drive to Grandma’s upstate home for the New Year holiday. It ended when she abandoned me at a highway rest stop and drove back to Harbor City alone. By the time I stumbled through the front door of the cabin, New Year’s Eve had long passed. Seeing me alone, Grandma gasped, her eyes wide with shock. “You walked all the way back? Where’s your sister?” My mind went blank. I realized, with a sickening jolt, that I had completely forgotten about the argument. Grandma’s face darkened with dread. She immediately drove me to the small clinic in town for a checkup. When the results came back, she collapsed into a chair, sobbing as she called Morgan. “You little monster! Didn’t you know your brother has brain cancer?” she choked out. “How could you leave him stranded on the highway? He walked for over twelve hours—his feet are raw!” I could hear Morgan’s cold laugh through the phone. “You two are in this together, aren’t you? Trying to con me. It’s Kai’s birthday today. There’s no way I’m driving back there.” She hung up. Grandma wailed, then slumped over, unconscious. In the ensuing chaos, I heard the doctor call my name. “Jamie,” the doctor said, his voice flat. “For your condition, surgery is useless now.” “Notify the family. You need to start making preparations.” … My breath hitched for several seconds. I stared at the doctor in a daze. I had a strange, overwhelming feeling that I’d heard those exact words not long ago. But the memory was just out of reach, frustratingly buried deep in my mind. The doctor sighed. “The brain tumor is pressing on your nerves. It’s completely normal for your memory to be unreliable.” “You have a sister, right? Call her now. From this moment on, you can’t be left alone.” My heart plummeted. A chill swept through my entire body. Grandma stirred slightly on the hospital bed, as if she sensed my panic. I quickly gripped her hand and asked the doctor, “Is Grandma really okay?” The doctor patted my shoulder in a calming gesture. “Don’t worry. Your grandmother simply passed out from emotional shock. She’ll wake up soon.” He paused, his expression solemn. “Young man, your situation is the one that’s truly serious.” I nodded numbly. As he left, I pulled my phone from my pocket. It was dead. I charged it and powered it on. A torrent of unread notifications flooded the screen—nearly a hundred missed calls. All from Grandma. She had been desperately calling for me during the twelve agonizing hours I was walking back home. My eyes welled up instantly. I scrolled through my messages, finding only a single text from Morgan. I ignored Grandma’s calls. Let me know when you actually get there. I dialed her number. The phone rang for a long time before she finally answered, her voice tight with impatience. “What is it?” I couldn’t help but shout, “You drove Grandma to collapse! Does Kai mean more to you than your own grandmother? You need to get—” Beep, beep, beep. She had hung up before I could finish my sentence. I stared at the screen in disbelief. Another text popped up from her: It’s the holidays. I don’t have time for this drama. I’ll come collect you on the sixth. My heart hammered in my chest. I called her again. The line was instantly busy. I kept trying for several frantic minutes until the truth sank in: I had been blocked. A knot of fury and despair tightened in my chest, making me tremble. Beyond angry, I snatched Grandma’s phone and tried calling. This time, it rang. She didn’t answer. I tried a second time. Grandma’s number was now blocked too. “Morgan, you monster!” I screamed, my voice cracking as tears streamed down my face. The door flew open. A nurse frowned, stepping into the room. “This is a hospital. Keep your voice down.” I wiped my face haphazardly and opened Kai’s social media. That night, he’d posted three updates. Thanks, Morgan, for coming back to celebrate with me. Everyone else is celebrating New Year’s, but I get to celebrate my birthday first! The necklace Morgan commissioned, captured by a private photographer—only two of these exist in the world. I love it! Have you ever seen a ten-tier birthday cake? My fingers clenched around the phone. My heart felt like it was being flayed alive. Tears hit the screen, blurring the text. Suddenly, Morgan’s furious voice echoed in my head: “Jamie, if you can’t manage to be civil, then just walk back to the cabin yourself!” The extreme emotion triggered a break in the fog. I finally remembered why Morgan and I had argued that morning. Days earlier, Kai had been crying, begging Morgan to stay in Harbor City to celebrate with him. Morgan was torn. Kai was an orphan, and his birthday falling on New Year’s Eve meant he never got a proper celebration. But Grandma was getting older, and the New Year was the only thing she truly looked forward to all year. Seeing her struggle, I suggested Kai join us. He refused. “That’s your family home. I would feel awkward there.” He sighed dramatically. “Besides, you and Grandma don’t like me… I can tell.” As soon as he finished speaking, Morgan glared at me, a flicker of profound displeasure in her eyes. She announced that day she wasn’t coming home; she was staying with Kai. I was shocked and spent days pleading with her. I used every argument, kind or desperate, but she held firm. Finally, Grandma blew up, and Morgan reluctantly agreed to come. But the entire drive, she wore a dark expression. I noticed her mood and cautiously tried to lighten the atmosphere. She irritably knit her brow. “Stop talking. I promised I’d go home for Grandma, and I will. Don’t worry about me leaving halfway.” I fell silent, afraid to say another word. Then Kai called, crying that he was sick and needed her. I couldn’t help myself. I snatched the phone and shouted at him, “Who are you to demand Morgan abandon Grandma for you?” The call dropped. Morgan furiously backhanded me. The slap cracked across my face. “What has Kai ever done to you that makes you despise him so much?” Stunned, my mind went blank. She didn’t spare me a single glance. She slammed the accelerator, driving to the nearest rest stop and screeching to a halt. When she spoke, her voice was hard and absolute. “This is a rest stop. You can catch a bus home from here. Get out.” Tears of betrayal and hurt streamed down my face, but I refused to move. I thought, She’s just angry. She won’t really leave me. But she saw my inaction and, without a word, got out, walked around, opened my door, and physically dragged me out of the car. “Call Grandma and tell her I’m not coming back. Don’t worry her with the details.” She released me, got back into the car, and sped off. I stood there, watching her taillights disappear, the tears falling harder and faster. For a long, long time, I stood frozen. Then, the memory vanished. I wiped my face and began the long walk home. If I hadn’t been under extreme stress, I might never have remembered. Because in my mind, the only thing I remembered was Morgan’s kindness. When I was little, a simple wish for ice cream meant she would run all over the city to find the flavor I liked. When our parents died, she held me and promised she would protect me, that I would never suffer. I still didn’t understand how we had come to this point. “Jamie…” Grandma’s raspy voice pulled me back. She was awake. Her clouded eyes searched mine, a hint of hopeful anticipation in their depths. “Your sister? Did she come?” I lowered my gaze. “Morgan didn’t answer. She must be busy.” Grandma’s face paled further. After a long silence, she asked, “When did this illness start? Why didn’t you tell me?” I gripped her hand, forcing a comforting smile. “I forgot. It’s okay, Grandma. I’ll take care of myself.” She closed her eyes, seemingly aging years in that single moment. She didn’t mention Morgan or my illness again that night. The next morning, she brought me home. She cooked a quick pot of pasta, then immediately started packing. She insisted we needed to go find Morgan. I didn’t want to go back to Harbor City. I held onto her, begging her to stay. Grandma’s expression hardened. “I have to ask Morgan what she’s thinking.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “And your illness—you need treatment in the city. The facilities here are not good enough!” So, we drove back to Harbor City. We opened the door to the high-end condo. Morgan wasn’t home. Kai was standing in front of a mirror, admiring the vibrant jade pendant around his neck. When he saw us, he immediately crossed his arms. “What, you can’t manage a holiday without Morgan, so you came crawling back?” I bristled. “Kai, show some respect to my grandmother!” “Respect? Why? If this old woman hadn’t forced Morgan to come back in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to fake being sick to get her back.” Kai sneered. “Are you here to start a fight?” “Too bad. Morgan is out buying me clothes. Come back later.” His arrogant, entitled attitude ignited Grandma’s temper. She pointed a trembling finger at him. “This is Morgan and Jamie’s home. Get out!” “You get out, you old woman!” Kai’s eyes narrowed, his gaze predatory and cruel. “You chose to stay in that dusty old cabin, and now you’re back. What, decided city life is better? You don’t want the ‘hard life’ anymore?” He laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound. “Morgan works so hard to earn money, and she still has to send you money every year. Why should she?” My pupils constricted. I clenched my fists, shaking with disbelief. Grandma was panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly. None of us expected Kai to be this brazenly awful. Seeing Grandma getting hysterical, I quickly ushered her to a chair. I then stormed over to Kai and swung my hand, landing a solid slap on his cheek. CRACK! Kai staggered back, stunned. “This is my house. You’re nothing but a charity case Morgan decided to fund. You call her ‘sister,’ but you are not a part of this family.” I yelled, ready to hit him again. He wasn’t going to just stand there. He grabbed my wrist, and we lunged at each other. “You little bastard! Don’t think being blood relatives means anything! Morgan likes me better!” Kai bit out, grabbing a handful of my hair. I kicked him in the kidney. He grabbed a heavy water glass from the counter and smashed it down on my head. BANG! “Jamie!” Grandma’s scream sliced through the air at the same time as the glass shattering. Dazed, a warm liquid streamed down my forehead, blurring my vision. My head spun, and I collapsed to the floor. Glass fragments dug into my palm. Strangely, I felt no pain in my hand, only a searing, piercing pressure, like steel needles being driven into my skull. Through the haze, I saw Grandma and Kai grappling. Grandma managed to land a few desperate slaps on him, and he finally shoved her hard. THUD! The sound was sickeningly loud. Grandma’s body hit the floor, her limbs twitching once, then going completely still. My body was numb. I wiped the blood from my eyes with my sleeve and struggled to focus. A slow, crimson pool was spreading beneath Grandma’s white hair. “I didn’t mean to!” “You old hag, why are you faking it? You attacked me first!” Kai’s voice was suddenly frantic. I gasped, crawling on my hands and knees toward Grandma. I touched her head. A jagged piece of glass was buried deep in the back of her skull. It scraped my finger, but I barely registered the pain. I drew a ragged, desperate breath, then let out a horrifying, agonizing scream. “Grandma—!” The front door opened. Morgan, loaded down with luxury shopping bags, froze at the sight. Her face went slack, her smile instantly vanishing. “Grandma!” Morgan shrieked, dropping her bags and stumbling toward us. When she saw the glass shard in Grandma’s head, her pupils shrank to pinpricks. She grabbed my wrist and screamed at me. “What is going on? Why did you bring Grandma back without telling me?” My vision was swimming. My mind went blank again—the familiar, terrifying feeling of weightlessness. More blood dripped down my temple. Morgan’s face went white. Her eyelashes fluttered. “Jamie, what did you do to yourself?” She released my hand and cupped my head, checking my wound. Kai, tears streaming down his face, sounded utterly pitiful. “Morgan, he’s gone crazy! I tried to hand him a glass of water, and he smashed it into his own head, and he hit me! Grandma tried to stop him, but she slipped on the broken glass…” Morgan’s hands stilled. Her face turned to stone. “Jamie, is that the truth?” “I don’t remember…” My voice was a choked sob. I was hyperventilating, desperately trying to catch my breath. I didn’t remember. I didn’t know what had happened moments ago. How could this be? Why was this happening? “It’s the holidays! Why are you always making a scene!” Morgan roared, her face iron-hard. “If anything happens to Grandma, I will never forgive you!” Before I could react, she shoved me aside. She picked up Grandma and rushed out the door toward the hospital. Kai stood over me, looking down. “See? No matter what I say, Morgan believes me.” He flashed me a chilling, triumphant smile. “Jamie, I think your grandmother is already dead.” “You killed her!” I looked up sharply, a cold terror shooting through me. “No, that’s not right. How could I have killed Grandma?” I mumbled, shaking my head mechanically. Kai scoffed and walked out the door. After he left, the house felt terrifyingly empty. The silence was absolute. My mind fixated on a single thought: I did not kill Grandma. After what felt like an eternity, a thought flashed into my mind. I scrambled up, shaking, and found a chair. I climbed up and ran my hand along the top of the living room pendant light. A moment later, my breath caught. A small pinhole camera was now clenched in my fist. I had installed it two months ago. When I was diagnosed with the brain tumor, the doctor warned me about the memory loss and suggested I install a camera at home. I followed his advice, then immediately forgot about it. I never imagined it would be needed today. Clutching the camera, I headed to the hospital. In the corridor, I saw Morgan hunched over, weeping hysterically. Kai was beside her, murmuring comforting words. “Morgan, don’t cry. Grandma is gone, but you still have me…” BOOM— My head went blank again. The familiar, crushing sense of void washed over me. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor. Morgan heard the sound. Her eyes, bloodshot and swollen, fixed on me with raw, surging hatred. She got up and walked over, slapping me without hesitation. “This is all your fault! Why did you bring Grandma back? Why did you argue with Kai?” Her voice was choked with fury. “It was just a few days! Why couldn’t you be sensible?” “Grandma is dead. Are you happy now?” The slap burned. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. I tried to speak, but no sound came out. What was I here for? And how could Grandma be dead? Tears of confusion and helplessness poured down my face. I vaguely knew I had forgotten something crucial, but I couldn’t grasp it. The harder I tried, the worse the headache got, and the more I cried. “You have the nerve to cry?” Morgan’s voice trembled with rage. She pulled a small gift box from her pocket and threw it at me. “I was thinking of you. When I bought Kai’s birthday present, I bought one for you too.” “Jamie, you don’t deserve my kindness!” The box hit the floor and shattered, revealing a delicate jade pendant identical to Kai’s. Just as I reached for it, Morgan stomped her foot down on the pendant. “You are forbidden from attending the funeral!” “Jamie, you are no longer my brother!” I looked up in shock, but she had already turned and walked away. Kai stood over me, a smug, cruel smile on his face. “You deserve it.” He bent down, scooped up the broken pendant from the floor, pocketed it, and hurried after Morgan. A sudden, sharp pain flared in my palm. I looked down. I had crushed the corner of the small pinhole camera. I realized with a jolt that I had, once again, forgotten what I was supposed to do. People passed in the corridor, their eyes full of judgment and pity. I buried my face in my hands, sobbing in utter despair. Why did I have this disease? Why did it steal my memories, denying me even a chance to explain? A desperate voice inside me screamed that I couldn’t wait. The funeral could wait. The truth couldn’t. To prevent myself from forgetting again, I prepared two ways to get the video out. First, I pulled out my phone and emailed the security camera footage of Kai pushing Grandma to the Harbor City Police Department’s official email address. Then, I slowly got up and started walking toward the police station. The truth, however, proved my fears right. After leaving the hospital, I didn’t go to the police station. Instead, I got on the bus going back to the old cabin. I was fixated on the belief that Grandma was waiting for me there. If I just went back, I would see her again. The bus slowly pulled away from Harbor City. By the time I opened the front door of the cabin, it was evening again. The house was cold and empty. A single plate of cold, congealed pastas sat on the table. I vaguely remembered those were the ones Grandma had left for Morgan. Suddenly, I felt my soul draining away. My vision went black. As I collapsed, my exclusive ringtone for Morgan started blaring from my phone. It was a warm melody, but now it sounded frantic and jarring. I didn’t even have the strength to answer. I closed my eyes.

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I tossed my bridal bouquet into the arms of my best friend, Daphne Max, wishing her the kind of happiness I thought I had just found. Daphne’s smile stuttered for a moment before she playfully scolded me. “Don’t you dare curse me, Cass. I’ve dedicated my life to my art. Men are irrelevant.” Less than a year later, I found her, naked, in my husband’s office. The fallout was a catastrophe. I made sure of it. I hired a dozen people to string up posters outside Nolan Bell’s company headquarters, exposing their sordid affair. I printed thousands of flyers with pictures of them tangled up in my marital bed, then handed them out personally. I reported Daphne to her art school, and during her graduation ceremony, I had a loop of the office footage projected onto a jumbo screen. Yet, Nolan protected her. He pulled every string imaginable, ensuring she graduated with honors from the country’s top art academy. I was seeing red. I went for the one thing he couldn’t buy back: Daphne’s soul. I destroyed the entire gallery Nolan had bankrolled for her first solo exhibition. The price for my final act of rage: three years in a federal prison and a final, disgusted dismissal from Nolan. “You forgave my mother for sleeping with your father,” he sneered, his face a mask of contempt. “Why can’t you forgive me?” Five years after our divorce, I ran into Nolan Bell at the Saks Fifth Avenue jewelry counter. 1 The sales associate was wrapping up a tie I’d just chosen for my husband. Seeing Nolan approach, her professional demeanor ratcheted up a notch. “Mr. Bell, welcome. Your wife’s gown is prepped and waiting for you.” Nolan gave a slight nod, his gaze lingering on the tie in my hands. “Pay for hers as well,” he murmured. I politely refused, placing a stack of crisp bills on the counter. He sighed, a dramatic flutter of breath. “Cassidy, after all this time, you still hate me.” I simply smiled. I didn’t have the time to hate him. I had moved on. I took the small designer bag and tucked it casually into the canvas tote bag filled with fresh groceries slung over my shoulder, then walked out. The early autumn wind howled around me. As I walked the familiar route toward the transit stop, my hair whipped into my eyes. I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision, and when I finally pushed the strands away, Nolan’s sleek black sedan was idling right in front of me. He frowned, noticing the redness in my eyes caused by the wind. “Get in. I’ll drive you.” “I’m fine, thank you. I’m taking the subway.” He studied me, head to toe, before his gaze settled on the canvas bag. He asked the question cautiously, as if approaching a skittish animal. “Have you been… okay these past few years?” “I’ve been great.” Nolan clearly didn’t believe me. “Just get in the car. Let me take you home.” The city bus behind us honked impatiently, but Nolan didn’t move. Under the scrutiny of onlookers, I reluctantly climbed into the passenger seat. “The Briarwood Estates,” I stated flatly. The air went dead silent. His voice was a rasp when he finally spoke. “Why are you living there? That development has been practically condemned. And for a woman alone, especially with…” He trailed off, unable to finish. But I knew exactly what he was going to say. It was the place where my mother died. Ten years ago, on the day of my wedding to Nolan, she refused to attend. She jumped from the tenth-floor rooftop. The backseat was spacious, but the heating was too high. I cranked the window down a bit. “You get sick the minute the wind touches you. Roll it up. If you’re hot, I’ll just lower the temperature.” I shook my head, offering a placid smile. “That doesn’t happen anymore. Suit yourself.” He fell silent. A moment later, his phone rang. “Hey, honey. Did you get the gown? Where are you now?” Daphne’s voice, familiar yet laced with an unfamiliar, syrupy enthusiasm, filled the car. “I did. I just ran into Cassidy and I’m dropping her off.” A pause hung on the line. “Cass? She’s back? Why didn’t you say something? We should all get together, why leave me out?” I had known Daphne for over a decade, but I had never heard that tone before. She used to be reserved and quiet, focused only on her painting. If someone stole her contest spot, she would just hide and cry. I was the one who grabbed a baseball bat and publicly smashed the usurper’s entry, wrote a letter exposing the corruption, and spent three days in juvenile hall to get her justice. The right kind of love could, apparently, turn glass into steel. “It was just a chance encounter, Daphne. She has things to do. I’m coming right back.” “A chance encounter means we’re fated to connect! Why can’t we just treat an old friend to one meal?” “Daphne, stop.” Another strained silence followed. Nolan’s coaxing had always been gentle, but when he decided something, no one could stop him. Daphne should have known that better than anyone. She hung up abruptly as the car pulled up to the curb outside the decaying apartment building. “We’re here.” I offered a quick, polite thank you and got out. Nolan slowly turned his head away from the surrounding buildings and called out. 2 “Cassidy, can I ask you one thing? Who was that tie for?” “My husband.” Nolan ran a hand over his face, a gesture of weary disbelief. He clearly thought I was still trying to wound him. “Same brand, same silk, same pattern you used to buy for me for five years.” “And?” I met his eyes, my gaze utterly calm. “You don’t have to keep this pretense up in front of me. After all this time, I just want to see you doing well, not… like this.” Like this. The glass of the main door reflected my image. Casual leggings, plain flat shoes, the grocery-filled tote bag. I looked like a thousand other exhausted women running errands for their families. For a woman who had once only worn couture and diamonds, this look felt perfectly fine. I smiled, not taking the bait. “I think I look great.” A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his face. “Cassidy, you really are different from before.” “That’s what everyone says.” I turned and walked away, not once looking back. I climbed five flights of worn stairs and unlocked the door. The interior was arranged exactly as it had been last year. A photo of my mother sat next to the old television. The candle in front of it had long since burned out. I lit a new one, tied on an apron, and went into the kitchen. I quickly prepared three dishes and a soup. A bowl of untouched rice sat opposite me at the table, and I ate slowly. “Mom, I ran into Nolan today.” “Don’t worry. He can’t hurt your daughter anymore. Besides, I’m not as stupid as I used to be.” The only reply was the vast, silent peace of the room. My appetite was gone. I put down my chopsticks and walked into the bedroom, pulling out an old photo album. “Let’s look at your stunning beauty, Mom. That black and white picture is depressing.” Before I could open it, a single photo slipped out and fluttered to the floor. I picked it up. Nolan, Daphne, and me. Three exuberant, youthful faces laughing for the camera. I was in the middle, my arms linked with theirs, smiling the widest—a gap where my right canine tooth should have been, making me look a little goofy. It was the summer I turned thirteen. Debt collectors had shown up at Nolan’s house, screaming threats. None of the neighbors, not even my parents, dared to intervene. But I charged in. The fist meant for Nolan’s face landed squarely on mine instead. My tooth was shattered instantly, and my face was swollen for weeks. My mother, heartbroken, told me to stay away from the Bell family. But Nolan’s mother, dragging her injured legs, crawled and knocked her head on our doorstep, thanking my parents until her forehead bled. My mother finally relented. For the next ten years, there was always an extra place set for Nolan at our dinner table, and an extra new outfit at Christmas. When my mother wasn’t busy, she helped Nolan’s mother run her stall, and if anyone tried to bully her, my mother would unleash hell. They called each other sisters. No one, however, could have predicted that the timid, stuttering younger sister, Loretta Max (Daphne’s mother), would end up in the bed of the elder sister’s husband. When I finally came home that day, everything had been smashed. My mother stood in the middle of the living room, weeping hysterically, the five-finger marks on her cheeks a terrifying sight. My father was shielding Loretta in his arms. “I’m divorcing you. You can have everything. I only want Loretta.” Nolan, standing beside me, panicked and tried to grab Loretta’s hand. My mother turned and slapped him. Twice. I pushed her away. She stumbled, falling to the floor, staring up at me in stunned disbelief. 3 I was crying, too. But the words I spoke were cruel and cutting. “Mom, how dare you hit Nolan.” The memories scattered. I looked down at the small photo in my hand. After the divorce, I had burned every single thing related to Nolan. This was a stray survivor. I was about to toss it in the trash when a knock sounded at the door. I assumed it was Mrs. Jones, who usually stopped by this time every year. I opened it without checking. Standing there were Daphne, arm-in-arm with Nolan. Her smile was radiant. “Cassidy! Long time no see! You haven’t changed a bit after all these years.” “Nolan couldn’t say no to me. We hope we’re not intruding?” I stared at them calmly. “I won’t invite you in. Do you need something?” Daphne faltered, shooting a wounded look at Nolan. “Daphne just wanted to see you,” he said, placing a luxury shopping bag on the foyer table. “She brought you a gift. No hidden agenda.” Daphne immediately jumped in to explain. “It’s a skincare set I’ve been loving lately. I had an extra one, and since we used to share everything, I thought I’d bring it over.” I glanced at the bag. It was the same brand my housekeeper, Marie, used. “And that photo…” Daphne’s eyes suddenly welled up. “Cassidy, after all this time, you still haven’t let go.” I crumpled the photo into a ball and dropped it into the wastebasket. “Hardly.” She started to reach for my hand, then hesitated, her fingers stopping mid-air. “I know you’re still hurting. Today would have been your wedding anniversary with Nolan.” “What happened back then wasn’t completely our fault. If you’re really over it, let us take you out to dinner. And please, tell us if there’s anything we can do to help you. We’re old friends.” My instinct was an immediate, firm rejection. Then the candle in front of my mother’s photo crackled loudly. I offered a small, quiet smile, suddenly changing my mind. “Sounds lovely.” Daphne talked far more than she used to. Her small, intimate gestures were also frequent. She recounted a romantic trip to Turkey the previous month, and while waiting at a red light, she leaned over and applied her lip balm to Nolan’s mouth with her finger. “Every fall and winter, I have to remind you. You kissed me so hard last time you made my lip bleed. Don’t you ever learn?” Nolan caught her hand, a hint of irritation in his voice. “Stop, Daphne.” “Oh, sorry! I forgot Cassidy was here. You don’t mind, do you, Cass? Nolan and I are just so used to this…” I cut her off, my tone utterly indulgent. “Of course not.” “I’ve seen the two of you tangle up on a king-sized bed, why would I mind a little lip balm?” The car fell into a profound silence. We were quiet the rest of the way. I watched the passing scenery, thinking that if my mother were still alive, she would be amazed by the changes. My father’s insistence on divorcing her for Loretta nearly drove my mother mad. And my secret marriage to the son of the woman who stole her husband was the final blow that killed her. At first, I only hated my father and Loretta. They had betrayed my mother, forcing her transformation from an unbreakable woman into a nervous, whiny wreck who aged before my eyes. 4 Later, I hated myself. After numbly arranging my mother’s funeral, I went south alone during what should have been my honeymoon, staying for a month. During that time, Nolan was the one person I couldn’t bring myself to hate. I saw him as a pearl covered in dust, a poor boy trapped by his circumstances. When I left, I entrusted Daphne to look after him. She took excellent care of him. In the new house Nolan and I had bought, she cooked with practiced efficiency; five dishes and a soup, all beautifully presented. I genuinely thanked her. For that year, the three of us became closer than ever. Nolan became even more devoted to me. He used the first big payout from his company to buy the sapphire bracelet I loved. He set off city-wide fireworks for my birthday. Every month, during my cycle, he canceled all in-person meetings and worked from home with me. I never once doubted it. He loved me completely. Until the day I went to his office unannounced. Behind a discreet, unmarked door in his inner office, I heard a low, breathless moan. I flung the door open. Two pale, naked bodies, white as bone, stabbed straight into my eyes. I shrieked, a sound ripped from my core. Nolan’s movement was swift and decisive, shielding the woman beneath him. “Who let you in here?!” “Get out!” I seized every object I could reach, hurling it at them. Blood streamed from a cut on Nolan’s forehead, but he remained rigid, desperately covering the woman in his arms. I smashed everything in the room, but I couldn’t bring myself to go near them—the two people I had loved most in my entire life. Terror was bone-deep. I tried to speak, my jaw trembling. “Daphne, look at me.” Tears streamed down her face. She pulled the covers up to her neck and knelt on the bed, looking at me. “Cassidy, I’m so sorry.” “Nolan and I know this is wrong, but we have fallen uncontrollably in love.” “Please, can you give us your blessing?” Her abject, pleading posture reminded me exactly of the day I first met her, cornered in an alley by a gang of girls. To protect her that year, I, the straight-A student, earned the lifelong enmity of that group and couldn’t walk home alone for months. I had personally handed her my wedding bouquet, wishing her all the happiness in the world. And now she was lying in my husband’s arms, begging me for permission. Tears poured down my face. My voice was a whisper. “When did this start?” She stammered, unable to answer. But Nolan answered for her. “Does it matter? Are you done making a scene? This is a corporate office, not our bedroom.” “Does it matter?! Nolan! Does it not matter to you?!” I screamed at him hysterically. He stood there, naked, his gaze shockingly frank. “Fine! I’ll tell you! Last March, when you ran off to the South and left me here alone—that’s when we started.” “I wasn’t trying to hide it forever. You had just lost your mother, and I couldn’t bear to hurt you again, so I let you maintain this marriage facade. Daphne has suffered enough, and I won’t let her worry anymore. I was planning to ask for a divorce after your mother’s death anniversary passed.” “Since you’ve discovered it now, let’s be honest. Divorce me. You can have anything, but I only want Daphne.” It was in that moment I understood the devastating force of the hand I had once pushed into my mother’s back, all those years ago when I chose Nolan. But before the divorce, I was determined to have my breakdown. 5 I used my phone to snap photos of them looking wrecked on the bed, printing hundreds of flyers and distributing them to every single one of his employees. I hung increasingly larger posters outside his company building, detailing their disgusting relationship. I reported Daphne to her university for professional misconduct. The art school forums were awash with vicious rumors about her. I even hired a projectionist to loop our happy pre-affair videos on a giant screen during her commencement ceremony. The memories I once cherished became the weapons I used to destroy them. But Nolan still protected her. She graduated from the nation’s top art academy and was set to open her own gallery show. To safeguard Daphne, Nolan finally deigned to look at me. “Daphne’s dream is about to come true. It has nothing to do with our grievances. Don’t you dare ruin it.” I was far beyond listening. “Ruin it? Hardly. I’ve already prepared something. I think the attendees will be very interested in seeing those masterpieces.” He slammed a document down in front of me. “If you want to keep your mother’s final resting place undisturbed, you’ll behave yourself. Sign the divorce papers and stay away from Daphne and me forever.” When my mother was buried, I was too overcome by grief to function. Nolan, as my then-fiancé, handled everything, including the selection and purchase of the plot. Given the land shortage, even final resting places had become commodities. If Nolan signed the paperwork, my mother’s eternal peace would be revoked. I hurled the cup of coffee I was holding right into his face. That night, I cried myself to sleep on my mother’s cold tombstone. The next morning, I went to the courthouse. The reality was different from what I’d imagined. Nolan only offered me the deed to his family’s dilapidated old apartment. “You reported the company’s tax issues, and a large portion of our funds is now frozen. This is all I can give you.” “If Daphne hadn’t pleaded for you, you wouldn’t get a penny.” I was no match for Nolan. Never had been. He was calm, serious, and achieved his goals through strategy and power. I was the one who rushed in without thinking, winning battles only to lose the war. I quieted down as he wished. I sold the apartment. But before I left for the South, I went to Daphne’s art exhibition. It was an impulsive decision. A massive digital billboard in the city center displayed her beautiful face. The exhibition was titled The Soul’s Latch. It was a phrase we used often in our letters during our teenage years—a naive hope, a pure wish for genuine friendship. Clinging to a final, masochistic sense of nostalgia, I fully disguised myself and stepped into the venue. I felt like a rat creeping into someone else’s happiness. Then I saw the painting titled The Soul’s Latch. It was two naked bodies. I had traced the small mole on the man’s shoulder blade a thousand times. The woman was clutching a crumpled pillow. The background was a bed covered in light lilac sheets. Outside the window, pink magnolias I’d personally chosen at the flower market were blooming, silent and beautiful. That was our house. It was also the place where Nolan and Daphne had first made love. The soul was hers, and Nolan was the latch. A violent, uncontrollable wave of nausea hit me. I vomited right there on the floor. The sound alerted the two of them, who were entertaining guests nearby. Daphne’s soft, velvety voice cut through the commotion. 6 “Are you alright, ma’am?” The heart-shaped brooch pinned to her chest was blinding, perfectly matching the key-shaped cufflink on Nolan’s sleeve. I went insane. I grabbed the brooch and scratched it violently across the massive canvas. SSSSCHLUCK! The sound of the canvas tearing echoed through the vast hall. Everyone gasped. The scene erupted in chaos. Security guards wrestled me to the ground. My face pressed against the cold marble, I looked up. Nolan was holding the crying Daphne, staring at me as if I were a sewer rat. “Call the police,” he said. I started laughing. A huge, maniacal laugh that shocked everyone, causing them to step back. Because the damages exceeded ten thousand dollars, I was sentenced to three years in prison, plus massive compensation for property and emotional damages. I made several attempts to end my life inside, but was miraculously saved each time. A year later, I was released early for good behavior, penniless, but radically changed. The car arrived at the restaurant. Daphne excused herself to refresh her makeup. Nolan stood beside me, his voice low and solemn. “I’m sorry.” “What we did was absolutely wrong. I’ll tell Daphne to watch her boundaries next time.” I raised an eyebrow. The old Nolan would never have bowed his head to me. Now, he was offering an immediate apology. I looked at him, confused. “Don’t bother. You’re married. I was just having a flashback to that time. It meant nothing.” A flash of genuine sadness crossed his eyes. I couldn’t decipher it, nor did I care to try. Fortunately, Daphne returned, acting as if the tense scene in the car had never happened. “We three used to love pooling our money for fancy steak. Let’s feast tonight!” Nolan quickly objected. “Cassidy only ate fancy steak for our sakes. Her stomach is too sensitive for anything too oily. How could you forget that?” “It’s fine. My stomach is much better now.” Years of dedicated recovery and a completely new lifestyle had brought my mind and body back to their best state. My phone suddenly rang. The name ‘Husband’ popped up on the screen. I answered. Lucian’s deep, clear voice was laced with a hint of playful complaint. “Wifey, taking Finn to that TV segment was more exhausting than ten days of work. I bet you’ll say I’ve lost weight when you get home.” In the background, my little boy’s voice squeaked a protest. “No way! Mama, Papa was talking to a pretty lady host, and they were laughing a lot!” “This little menace is digging a hole for his old man. That was the host, Cass!” I couldn’t help but smile at the noisy exchange. I looked up. The mall’s giant screen was playing Lucian’s handsome face, where he was formally giving an interview. Next to him, a perfectly adorable little boy with huge, round eyes watched the proceedings. I hung up after a couple more words and snapped a photo of the screen. When I looked down to send it, I realized that both Nolan and Daphne were frozen stiff. “Cassidy, you’re married?”

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The picture of Penny Wells, a young ingenue known for her ethereal beauty, sitting on my husband’s lap hit the headlines, and the entire internet was waiting for my reaction. For years, whenever Damon Cole—the celebrated, self-proclaimed genius director—had a scandal, I was the one who stepped out. I would smile for the cameras, post a perfectly staged photo, and dutifully perform the role of the stable, devoted wife, publicly vouching for our rock-solid marriage and deep emotional connection. Damon, naturally, expected me to maintain the illusion of marital bliss this time, too. When the media caught up with him, his tone was carelessly dismissive. “It was just a work meeting, part of securing a new project,” he’d explained. “She’s the leading lady for my next film.” He paused, adding the calculated line: “Seeing her reminds me of my wife when she was younger.” Online, clickbait sites were busy looping our wedding video. Damon kissing me, slipping the ring onto my finger, and declaring with theatrical sincerity: “I love you, more than life itself.” A popular gossip account bluntly captioned the clip: “Guess Director Cole’s life isn’t that important after all.” My agent, Yvette Miller, called. “Joss, are we going to pay to bury this one?” “No,” I said. “Not this time. Not ever again.” I looked down at the external hard drive clutched in my hand. The confusion and loss that had once dominated me were gone, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. I had reached my goal. The marriage I had endured for years was finally coming to an end. 1 “Joss, have you read Damon’s new script?” “No, I haven’t. Why?” Yvette hesitated. “The heroine of the film is a debut actress whose face was disfigured in a car accident.” A cold dread sank deep in my chest, and a chilling wind seemed to sweep through my core. I was the one whose face had been half-ruined by a car accident. It happened years ago. Damon had shot a searing, realist film exposing the corruption of a powerful syndicate. While he was shielded by high-level protection, I, his unsuspecting girlfriend, became the syndicate’s target—the proxy for their fury. My parents died in that crash. My younger brother was left in a persistent vegetative state. I survived, but half my face was scarred, and my nascent acting career was instantly annihilated. Partners canceled contracts. A major film role I had fought for was recast. Damon, meanwhile, became an overnight success. The film was his breakthrough, bringing him fame, wealth, and entry into the elite circle of Hollywood power brokers. I plummeted into an abyss. He stepped in, covering the astronomical contract penalties, overseeing my physical therapy, and painstakingly helping me walk through the wreckage of my life. He even personally penned a screenplay, tailoring the lead role for me, orchestrating my return to the screen. He proposed the night I won my first major award. The entire industry lauded his deep devotion. His profile soared higher, and his company’s stock valuation climbed steadily. The façade held until three years ago when he was photographed leaving a hotel with a film student. That was Damon’s first time cheating. He brushed off the criticism and installed the student as the lead actress in his next film. Everyone advised me to be pragmatic. This is how the industry works, they said. Damon’s been better to you than most men would be. Yet, my heart had never felt so utterly calm. I printed a divorce agreement. When I presented the papers, he dropped to his knees, his eyes red with performative tears. “Joss, I was just rehearsing lines with her. Her image was perfect for the role. The internet is just rumor and conjecture.” I held firm. He tore the document to shreds and kicked over a chair. “After all these years, are you really questioning my commitment? I only love you. That woman was an accident, a momentary slip.” He pulled me into a tight embrace, his voice as emotionally resonant as ever. “If you’re unhappy about her being my lead, I’ll write a script just for you, a new one. I’ll make sure you get an Oscar nomination—they won’t dare deny me. Don’t be dramatic, Joss. How will you survive in this industry without me?” I insisted on moving into the guest room, separating our lives. I refused the tailored script he offered and signed on for a different project. Days before shooting began, the production company suddenly backed out. “I’m so sorry, Joss,” the producer, who was a friend, told me apologetically. “We found a better fit. We’ll pay the penalty, of course.” He then whispered that Damon had personally contacted the investors and had me replaced. Not only that, but every script, every commercial deal, every opportunity that came my way from then on was instantly withdrawn. To make sure I stayed obedient, Damon replaced my brother’s specialist. “Dr. Ellis is the foremost authority on neurorehabilitation, a fan of mine, and someone I paid a fortune to bring in. You know what to do, Joss.” I lowered my eyes. “I’ll move back to the master suite tonight.” He pulled me into his arms. “I’ve already dismissed that woman. I rewrote the script; the lead role is yours. Joss, I only love you. These things happen in Hollywood. I lost my way, but I promise there won’t be a next time.” When the film wrapped, he threw a spectacular anniversary party on set. While heading to the makeup trailer to grab something, I saw him passionately kissing the supporting actress. She met my eyes, a blatant smirk of triumph on her face. I closed the door quietly and stopped anyone else from walking in. 2 From that day on, Damon was repeatedly photographed with a stream of different women. He knew I wouldn’t—couldn’t—leave him. To protect his “devoted husband” brand and keep the company stock steady, he commanded me to participate in his performance. I had to maintain the illusion of a happy marriage and personally squash his scandals. Then, yesterday, I went to see my brother. I walked in just as he fell down the stairs, hitting his head. The sight of the blood was a searing pain that shattered my heart completely. He managed to utter one single word: “Go.” This marriage truly had to end. Though in a vegetative state, my brother had always been aware of the outside world. I constantly talked to him, sharing everything about my life and career. He knew how miserable I had been for years. Yesterday, he had woken up. He saw Damon cheating with a nurse in his hospital room. Unable to reach me, he crawled out of bed, tried to leave the room, and fell down the stairs. He woke up. And then he lost his life. “Joss, are you absolutely sure about this?” Yvette asked, concern thick in her voice. “I’m sure.” “Damon will never agree. Without him, you’ll be blacklisted. He genuinely can destroy your career.” My voice was tranquil. “I don’t care. If I can’t hack it, I won’t.” I hung up just as Damon walked in. He reflexively opened his arms to hug me, and I sidestepped him. His face hardened instantly. “What’s with the attitude?” “You know perfectly well why I’m upset.” Damon sighed. “I know your brother’s passing has hit you hard. Honestly, it was so unnecessary. I was just in the bathroom in his room. Why didn’t he ring the bell? Why go out alone? It was an accident. No one wanted this.” I closed my eyes, forcing back the tears that threatened to overwhelm me. My heart felt like a hollowed-out space where a vital organ had been crudely removed. Damon ignored my pain entirely, grabbing my hand to lead me out. “Don’t dwell on it. I’ve saved a role for you in the new script, you’ll love it. I set up a dinner; you need to meet people. Penny is the lead. She’s a newcomer, so look out for her.” His lips curved into a gentle smile. He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Did you know? Penny is pregnant.” I froze completely. A thousand tiny arrows from every direction pierced me, pinning me to the floor. I stared at Damon, speechless, my voice a dry rasp, as if a large stone was lodged in my throat. “Pregnant?” “Yes.” Damon’s eyes were sparkling with a joyous pride, completely oblivious to my reaction. “I wanted to delay shooting, but Penny is committed; she doesn’t want to hold up the production. I need you to take good care of her on set. And the baby, of course. Right, Joss?” I clenched my fists so tightly my nails nearly broke the skin on my palms. I managed a faint, whispered acknowledgment. 3 The atmosphere in the private dining room quickly became strained until someone made a clumsy joke: “Only Director Cole can handle this—living the dream with two beautiful women.” Everyone forced a laugh. Damon, beaming, put his arm around my shoulder. “Of course. That’s what you get when you marry Joss.” Penny raised her glass of juice. “Let’s toast Joss. This film wouldn’t exist without her. My character, the heroine, is actually based on her life.” My face instantly drained of color. I looked up and met Penny’s eyes, which held a distinct spark of challenge. Yvette had hinted at the script’s theme, but hearing the confirmation now filled me with utter, chilling despair. I turned to Damon, my voice shaking. “Is the film really based on the car crash?” Damon shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. Penny’s voice rang out, deliberately loud. “It is! And Joss is playing the mother—you know, to reflect the passage of time.” The mother… My mother. The parents who died in that accident. I slammed my hand down, knocking over Penny’s juice glass. My entire body was trembling. “Damon, how could you… How dare you?” Penny shrieked, clutching her hand, and retreated into Damon’s arms. “Joss, did I say something wrong? You hit me! My stomach hurts.” Damon looked at me with open displeasure, but paused when he saw the tears filling my eyes. “It happened years ago,” he said dismissively. “Using it as source material for a film is a great idea. It’s perfect PR, and it will boost your profile.” Before I could speak, he told Penny: “That’s enough, you. Show your sister-in-law some respect.” Penny pouted but settled down. For the rest of the dinner, I sat like a puppet, hearing them discuss investments, roles, and the screenplay. The words registered in my ears, but my soul felt as if it were floating high above my body. Mid-meal, I went to the ladies’ room. Penny followed me in. “Joss, you don’t know this, but I suggested this story to Damon,” she whispered, leaning close. “I told him I wanted to play the heroine, and he agreed without a second thought.” She lowered her voice further, into a poisonous hiss. “Not only that, but I suggested a more dramatic twist: that after the crash, the heroine’s parents don’t die right away. They watch, helpless, as she’s… assaulted.” Slap! I struck her hard across the face. Penny stumbled backward and sat down heavily on the tiled floor. “Ah! My belly! It hurts so bad!” Quick footsteps approached. Damon rushed around the corner and scooped Penny into his arms. “Penny! What happened?” Penny looked up, her eyes swimming with tears. “Damon, I don’t know! Joss suddenly slapped me, and then she pushed me! I’m terrified… is our baby okay?” “I didn’t—” I only managed two words before Damon suddenly drew his hand back, ready to strike me. I flinched, closing my eyes, but his blow never landed. He glared at me, his rage simmering. “Jocelyn Yu, I didn’t want to go along with all of Penny’s darkest suggestions, but since you have no control over your temper, don’t blame me for being ruthless!” Damon carried Penny away without looking back. I yelled at his retreating figure. “I didn’t push her!” Damon’s steps paused for a fraction of a second, but he kept walking. I leaned against the sink, tears streaming down my face, splashing onto the polished countertop. Even though I had already decided to end this, the pain was excruciating. It hurts so much. He knew. He knew that incident was the unspeakable, agonizing pain of my life. My eternal nightmare. Yet, he was doing it anyway. Using it as a screenplay, turning it into a commercial film. I decided I had to go to him, beg him, and concede anything to stop him from grossly fictionalizing my trauma. I pushed the study door ajar, intending to walk in, but froze when I heard Penny’s voice. “Damon, can the heroine be disfigured and disabled? It’s not tragic enough otherwise. These kinds of movies are all about how much the audience can empathize with the suffering. The hero’s devotion is only showcased by her painstaking recovery.” She paused. “Also, let’s make it that the mother could have lived, but she watched the assault and died of shock.” Damon didn’t look up from his papers. “Fine. Whatever you want.” Penny’s voice was triumphant. “And since you and Joss never had kids anyway, why don’t we write that the car accident destroyed the heroine’s uterus and she had to have a hysterectomy…” “Wait…” Damon sounded a little hesitant. Penny coaxed him. “Damon, you promised you’d do whatever I wanted.” “All right,” he conceded. I slowly released the doorknob. Through the slight gap, my eyes locked with Penny’s. She knew I was there. Like a ghost, I retreated to my room. I found the external hard drive and sent a text to one person: Advance the plan.

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I lived on the good graces of my aunt and uncle for three years. My Aunt Carol made the same meal for me every single night: a plate of rare, boiled prawns. “Eat up, Vera,” she’d say, her voice flat. “They’re good for you.” I have always had a severe aversion to the briny, iodine-rich smell of seafood, and I’d feed the whole lot to the stray cat in the backyard when she wasn’t looking. After three years of this luxury diet, that scrawny street cat had ballooned into a magnificent, glossy, orange giant. Then came the pre-employment physical. The doctor stared at my lab report, his expression stunned. “You’re twenty-three, but your liver function markers are comparable to a professional athlete’s. How exactly do you manage your diet?” I was speechless. Walking home, one single, repeated phrase echoed in my mind… 01 The medical examination report report was a thin, flimsy sheet of paper, but in my grip, it felt like a lead weight. The doctor’s bewildered question was still buzzing in my ears. Liver function comparable to a professional athlete. It made no sense. I, Vera Hartley, an orphan who only finished college thanks to the grudging charity of my extended family, lived a life where the most rigorous exercise was walking from my bedroom to the dining room. As for “managing my diet,” I could barely afford to buy a decent moisturizer, let alone a personalized health regimen. A blast of late summer heat hit me, but I felt a deep, chilling cold run down my spine. I pushed open the front door, the familiar scent of oil and spice immediately washing over me. Aunt Carol Peterson was emerging from the kitchen, a platter in her hands. The moment she saw me, her eyes—which always seemed to be evaluating my worth—narrowed. “Well? Did you finally find a job? Hanging around outside all day. People will think we’re running a charity here, keeping a grown woman idle.” Her voice was low but laser-sharp, every word a tiny stone hitting my chest. I lowered my gaze. “I found one. I start next Monday.” “You did?” Carol paused, then slammed the platter onto the dining table with a sharp, jarring clatter. “It only took getting a job for you to speak up, did it? After all these years of eating our food and living under our roof, you’re finally going to be useful.” I clenched the report tighter, my nails pressing hard into my palms. Uncle David walked out of the living room, a weary peacemaker. “Now, Carol, finding a job is great news, Vera. Come on, wash up and let’s eat.” The dinner table felt, as always, like a trap. Carol brought out the last dish—the inevitable steamed spot prawns. She pushed the plate toward me, her tone devoid of warmth. “Eat more. They’re good for you.” That same phrase. Every night for three years. I looked at the pink, curled bodies on the plate. My stomach churned. I’d always hated the smell of these crustaceans. It wasn’t just fishy; it was a deep, primal scent that felt like it seeped into my bones, making me restless. My cousin, Brett, plopped into his chair, immediately snagging the last sparerib from the serving dish. Chewing loudly, he glanced at me with disdain. “Oh, look how special some people are. Getting their own plate of gourmet shrimp every night. Unlike me, stuck with plain old pork ribs.” His snide, entitled tone made the knot in my chest tighten. In this house, I was a perpetual outsider, a burdensome charity case living off their generosity. Carol gave Brett a half-hearted glare but didn’t correct him. She just pushed the plate closer to me. “What are you staring at? Eat them. They’ll get fishier when they cool.” I picked up my fork, selecting one prawn. The odor rose, and my throat tightened. In the past, I’d always found a way to discreetly dump them in the trash or, better yet, feed them to the stray cat by the garden wall. But tonight, the doctor’s words were a relentless mantra in my head: Liver function. Athlete. Diet. Prawns. Good for you. Was there a connection I’d missed? For the first time, I didn’t immediately plot how to dispose of this “torture device.” I studied the platter. The shells were translucent, the meat plump. They didn’t look quite like the regular shrimp I’d occasionally seen in the supermarket. I forced myself to ask, my voice a tentative whisper. “Aunt Carol, where exactly do you buy these? They look… different.” Carol was preoccupied, picking a piece of bone out of Brett’s pork chop. She didn’t look up, snapping back immediately. “Why do you care? Just eat. Does everything have to be a conversation?” Her retort slammed the door on all my questions. A surge of suppressed anger flashed through me, but I crushed it. Hold it in, Vera. You have no right to complain here. I looked down, mechanically pushing plain pasta around my plate, saying nothing else. The rest of the meal was a tasteless blur. After dinner, I took the dishes to the kitchen without being asked. Under the loud rush of the faucet, I scraped the near-full plate of prawns into a plastic bag I’d secretly placed under the sink. Using the excuse of taking out the trash, I headed toward the back garden. The orange stray—Cheeto, I’d mentally named him—seemed to be expecting me. He emerged from the shadows, letting out a soft, expectant meow. I emptied the contents of the bag into his little ceramic bowl. He immediately dove in, scarfing down the meat with gusto, a low, contented purr rumbling in his throat. I knelt down and stroked his back. Three years of high-end seafood had transformed him from a scrawny kitten into a sleek, formidable creature. His coat was thick and glossy, his eyes bright and alert. He looked… incredibly healthy. A ridiculous thought sparked in my mind. Could these prawns genuinely be something extraordinary? That night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed, endlessly scrolling through my phone: “benefits of spot prawns,” “shrimp for liver health.” The results were generic: high in protein, rich in nutrients. Nothing hinted at any miraculous, liver-boosting properties. They were ordinary food with ordinary effects. I tried different keywords: “special medical prawns,” “rare brackish water shrimp,” “black market seafood.” The results were even more far-fetched, mostly ads for herbal supplements. I turned off my phone. The room was dark, but my mind was brightly lit. Something was wrong. There was a piece of the puzzle missing. I made a decision. Tomorrow, I would find out where exactly Aunt Carol was getting these prawns. 02 The next morning, I woke before dawn. I put on a dark hoodie, a pair of jeans, a cap, and a mask—trying not to look like I was staking out a crime scene. Carol’s routine was clockwork: she left for groceries at 6:30 a.m. sharp. I hid behind the living room curtains, watching her walk out the gate with her market tote. I waited a full minute, then slipped out and followed her. The streets were quiet. I kept my distance, cautious and tense. The neighborhood market was only a fifteen-minute walk. My heart hammered against my ribs, my palms slick with sweat. I didn’t know if I was more afraid of being caught or of what the secret might turn out to be. Carol walked briskly, heading straight into the bustling Farmers Market. I melted into the crowd, my eyes locked on her. She navigated the vegetable stands and the butcher sections, but she didn’t stop. My gut clenched. She wasn’t going to the seafood area—the wet, loud, pungent section full of fish and crab. She walked straight past it. She walked straight through the entire market and exited out the back. Startled, I hurried after her. The market backed onto a dark, old alleyway, walls patchy with green moss, the ground uneven and damp. The air here was heavy and stagnant. The alley was deserted. Carol turned a corner into the deeper part of the lane and stopped, taking out her phone to check the time, clearly waiting for someone. I ducked behind a stack of abandoned cardboard boxes, poking only half my head out. I held my breath. Five minutes later, a beat-up utility truck rattled down the alley from the opposite end and pulled up beside her. The driver was a middle-aged man in a faded ball cap, his face obscured by shadow. He didn’t speak. He just hoisted a large white styrofoam cooler from the back of the truck. He opened the lid. A plume of white vapor, like dry ice, rose into the morning air. The man pulled out a black plastic bag, tightly sealed, and handed it to Carol. She took the bag. Almost simultaneously, she pulled a thick manila envelope from her tote and slipped it to the man. He weighed the envelope in his hand, gave a short nod of satisfaction, loaded the cooler back onto the truck, and sped away. The whole transaction took less than sixty seconds. No words, no greetings—it was a planned, secret exchange. I stayed frozen behind the boxes, my heart pounding so hard I felt dizzy. That large wad of cash. That mysterious man. That tightly sealed black plastic bag… The whole thing felt illicit, deeply wrong. I waited until Carol, clutching her market tote and the black bag, disappeared before I dared to move. I checked the alley entrance, but the truck was long gone. I returned home, shaken, locking myself in my room. The image played over and over: a seemingly ordinary suburban housewife making a large cash payment in a dark alley for a hidden package. That package had to contain the prawns that ended up on my dinner plate every night. What exactly were those prawns? And why were they worth such a clandestine transaction? At lunchtime, Brett was throwing a fit, demanding money for the latest gaming console. “Mom, it’s only five hundred bucks! Everyone at school has one, I’ll be the only one who doesn’t!” Carol’s face was etched with exhaustion and annoyance. She grumbled under her breath. “Buy, buy, buy! Is that all you know? Do you think I’m made of money, Brett? When are you going to bring some money into this house for once?” She was harsh, but she ultimately went into her bedroom and came out with a small canvas pouch. She counted out a thick stack of bills and handed it to him. I saw it clearly: her expression was one of genuine pain as she parted with the money. It was a stark, brutal contrast to the smooth, almost casual way she’d handed over the fat envelope to the mystery man that morning. She would endure her son’s entitlement and spend money she clearly didn’t have on a spoiled child, but she was eager to spend a huge sum on those mysterious prawns. The prawns, which were only for me. The fog of suspicion thickened, enveloping me. I realized the value of those prawns was far beyond any regular food item. And the secret behind them might be something far more difficult to bear than the simple sting of being an unwanted burden. 03 The following Monday, I officially started my job. The company was a reputable tech firm, and my starting salary was better than I’d expected. The day I got my first paycheck, holding the bank statement in my hand, I felt grounded for the first time. I could finally stop begging and live my own life. My first thought was to buy gifts for my aunt and uncle. After all, despite the atmosphere, they had seen me through college. I bought David a tin of high-grade Earl Grey tea, knowing he loved a good brew. For Carol, I hesitated. I thought about her worn-out wardrobe and decided to bite the bullet. I chose an elegant, high-quality wool-blend coat in a department store. It was expensive, costing nearly half my first month’s salary, but I didn’t regret it. When I got home, I presented the gifts. David’s eyes lit up at the tea. He clapped my shoulder, genuinely pleased. “That’s lovely, Vera. Our little girl is all grown up and thoughtful!” I handed the shopping bag to Carol. “This is for you, Aunt Carol.” She took it suspiciously and peeked inside. It was a deep plum color, one that I thought would suit her complexion and give her a sophisticated look. I watched her, full of cautious hope, searching for a hint of a smile. But she only glanced at it, pulled it out of the bag, and tossed it carelessly onto the sofa. “Wasting money already? You just started working. You should save that for your dowry. Why would a woman my age need anything this fancy?” Her voice was laced with her usual cutting sarcasm, dousing my hopeful spark in cold water. Brett, playing a game nearby, let out a loud, mocking laugh. “Pfft. Guess you kissed the wrong butt, huh? Mom doesn’t want your cheap stuff. It’s like a vulture bringing a gift to a sheep.” I balled my hands into fists, my heart sinking completely. Disappointment, humiliation, and an old, familiar pain washed over me. But this time, I didn’t retreat to my room to cry in secret. I simply looked at her, then at the coat lying ignored on the sofa, and turned toward the kitchen to help David make tea. Unbeknownst to me, my heart had begun to harden. Later that night, I woke up and went to the bathroom. Walking past the living room, I noticed the lights were off, the space illuminated only by a soft wash of moonlight through the window. I saw a figure standing by the sofa. It was Carol. She had quietly picked up the coat she had so scornfully rejected. I watched as she gently stroked the cashmere, then slowly held it up against herself, checking her reflection in the dark windowpane.

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For five years, everyone I knew looked at me with a mix of pity and scorn. They all said the same thing: I was nothing more than a placeholder for Conrad Wells. I was the temporary fix, the cheap replica, waiting to be tossed out the moment the original—his legendary ex—decided to claim her rightful place. They laughed at my blatant efforts to please Conrad. They pitied the desperation they saw in the way I clung to him. What none of them knew was the profound irony of it all. The only reason I ever entered Conrad’s orbit was because she orchestrated it. I took the money she offered, hired the best coaches for etiquette and posture, and even consulted a drama professor on the nuances of mimicry. I was a professional stand-in, and my performance was so good that Conrad never once lost interest. For my dedication, I received a substantial bonus from the “original” every year. With two weeks left on my contract, her final text arrived: [I land next week. Find a reason to break with Conrad before then. You need to disappear from Aiken, permanently.] After typing a swift, one-word reply—”Done”—I shredded the fresh sonogram report I’d been clutching. The paper scraps floated down into the waste bin. Then, I forwarded Conrad a reservation for a private booth at a Michelin-starred spot downtown. [Heard they changed the menu. Any chance you have time to try it out this week?] … While I waited for Conrad’s reply, I drove to a tiny, unassuming clinic tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was run by Doc Davies, a kind old man who specialized in natural healing. The minute his granddaughter, Maya, saw me, she yelled, “Grandpa! Elle’s here!” She’d been glued to her tablet, probably playing some intense mobile game. A familiar thump-thump echoed from the back room—the sound of the old man’s cane. “Girl, you weren’t due for a follow-up,” Doc Davies called out, his voice thick and raspy from years of telling everyone how to stop shouting. “What’s hurting now?” He pushed aside the wooden bead curtain, squinted at me, and then his eyes widened slightly. “Well, I’ll be,” he murmured. “Look at your aura. You’re expecting, aren’t you?” Maya instantly abandoned her game, scrambling to help me onto the consultation chair. After a long, silent moment of hearing my pulse, he finally smiled a calm, small smile. “Just two months. Your health is stable, but your constitution is weak, as we both know. You need to be extra careful.” He gave me a prescription for prenatal supplements. I also grilled him for any old-school remedies that might curb extreme morning sickness. After we talked for a while—just small talk, the kind I missed from my isolated life with Conrad—my throat suddenly felt dry. “Doc Davies,” I finally choked out, my voice rough. “I actually came to say goodbye.” He looked at me intently, his eyes deep with understanding. Then he sighed. “It was always going to happen, wasn’t it? Wherever you go, take care of yourself.” His gaze dropped to my still-flat abdomen, and his expression turned complicated. “And take care of that child.” On my way out, while Maya was distracted at the counter, I slipped an envelope containing a bank card and the access code into her favorite, battered medical textbook. It was tucked right in the middle, a place she’d look a hundred times a day. I gave them both a formal, heartfelt farewell. They had saved my life once; they deserved everything. Back in the car, I checked my phone. Still nothing from Conrad. I should have been used to the silence. It was his signature move. But knowing this might be the last text I’d ever send him openly made my chest ache. I felt a desperate need to flee before I lost my resolve. I pulled up a map, found a quiet, distant city on the West Coast, and booked a one-way flight for the following week. The confirmation text arrived right as Conrad’s reply finally buzzed through: [Out of town until Friday. Spencer will reach out to schedule something after I return.] I typed a hollow “OK.” Scrolling back through our brief, years-long history of texts, the screen was overwhelmingly green—my messages—with only sparse patches of white—his replies. Most of them were me initiating a plan, and him deflecting with the same formula: Spencer will contact you. As a high-ranking public servant, Conrad was busy. I understood that. But his identical, detached tone with me, compared to his colleagues or staff, was a constant, icy reminder: Don’t expect anything. Don’t fall completely in love. My vision blurred with tears again and again. I swiped up until my eyes stung with fatigue. I stopped at his profile picture—the one I had stared at countless times. It was a stark image of a lone, ancient lighthouse on a rocky cliff. The Beacon. I’d heard the whispers at parties. Since I had no real standing, his friends and associates felt free to discuss his past right in front of me. They said The Beacon was a tribute to his great lost love, Adeline Fox. They claimed I was only kept around because my eyes were a seven-out-of-ten match for Adeline’s, and my name, Elle, was a subtle nod to her middle name, Elise. The comparison had stopped stinging a long time ago; it just felt numb. No one knew I had chosen the name Elle Regan specifically because of those rumors. Conrad being out of town was a mixed blessing. It meant no last-minute, painful interactions, but it also made packing easier. A baby required a budget. Soon, I’d lose the substantial income from Adeline and the free housing from Conrad. Until I delivered and found stable work, I had to be frugal. I remotely leased a small apartment in my destination city and arranged for all my belongings to be shipped ahead of time. I had to save every dollar. The day after I found out I was pregnant, the nausea hit. I tried every remedy Doc Davies suggested. Nothing worked. Even a sip of water made my stomach revolt. After I ate a small dinner only to immediately lose it all, I regretted making our final outing a restaurant meal. The physical distress, coupled with the terror of Conrad discovering my secret, made me curl up on the sofa and weep. I almost changed my flight to leave immediately. Then, Conrad appeared on the news. Amidst a cluster of aging dignitaries, his sharp, reserved face stood out. He was standing slightly back, yet the camera found his profile constantly. I replayed the brief segment until my emotional meltdown began to subside. I placed a hand on my still-flat stomach and spoke to the tiny life inside me, my voice a soft, desperate plea. “Please, Kit. Don’t upset your mama. Not yet. I can’t let your father know you exist. Can you just be a good boy until we’re far away?” Whether it was psychological or a lucky coincidence, the sickness eased slightly. I managed to cook a small meal, and this time, while I felt waves of nausea, I didn’t throw up. I felt a rush of fierce excitement, gently patting my stomach and thanking the baby. I accelerated my packing pace, working constantly between rest breaks. I managed to ship the first batch of boxes before Conrad’s scheduled return. Spencer Zhou, Conrad’s right-hand man, called right as the courier drove off. “Ms. Regan,” Spencer’s tone was polite but sterile. “Mr. Wells has an hour free at five P.M. this afternoon. Please be ready.” I immediately called the restaurant manager, placed an order based on Conrad’s known preferences, and stressed that we had very little time. At five o’clock on the dot, Conrad walked in. I couldn’t stop the genuine smile that spread across my face when I saw him, but I quickly tamped down the emotion, meeting his eyes as he sat opposite me. “Your color is bad. Are you feeling ill again?” It was a rare moment of unprompted concern, and my heart hammered wildly in my chest. My hands clenched under the table. I gave him a practiced, careless shrug. “It’s just the heat, I think. Not much appetite these last few days.” Conrad nodded. He glanced at the limited menu and called the server over. “Add the chilled cucumber salad, please. Make sure the spice is minimal.” I inhaled slowly, reminding myself: That’s just his ingrained good manners. It means nothing. I barely touched my food, except for the cucumber salad he ordered. But since I’d already claimed to have a poor appetite, he didn’t notice. After he set his fork down, he mentioned needing to rush back for a public hearing. As he started to rise, I spoke the rehearsed line, sharp and clear. “I want to get married, Conrad. And I need a future that includes children. This… needs to end.” Conrad froze, his head bowed slightly as he looked at me. A light knock came at the door. Spencer’s low voice followed. “Sir, the meeting starts in thirty minutes. We have to go.” Conrad ignored him. His gaze remained locked on me, filling the room with the suffocating presence of a powerful man kept waiting. I held my breath, terrified he would see the lie in my eyes. “The meeting will be two hours,” he finally said. “We’ll finish this conversation when I return.” He finally broke eye contact. Just as his hand touched the doorknob, his deep voice softened slightly. “It’s rush hour. Drive carefully.” I didn’t move until I saw his black town car pull away from the curb. Then, I collapsed back into the leather chair, gasping for air. I waited almost an hour before driving home, worried my shaky state would cause an accident. Standing in the entryway of his penthouse, I scanned the room. Everything seemed normal. Conrad wouldn’t notice anything had changed. That foolish hope evaporated the second he walked in. “The photo on the media cabinet,” he said flatly, pouring a finger of scotch. “The picture of us is gone. It’s just my single portrait now.” I was stunned by his swift, brutal perceptiveness, but I held my ground. “I’m leaving, Conrad. I can’t exactly take my things when I go, so I thought I’d start getting rid of anything that belongs only to me.” He didn’t respond immediately. He took a seat in the single armchair by the fireplace, sipping his drink. “Why the sudden urge to marry? Did you meet someone you want to settle down with?” His cold, reasoned tone was a physical stab in my chest, but I maintained a bland smile. “I’m twenty-seven. You were never going to marry me, but I can certainly find a man who will. I always told you I wanted a home and a family.” Conrad downed the drink in one swallow. The sound of the glass hitting the mahogany table was synchronized with his next sentence. “I’ll have Spencer transfer the house and car to you immediately. And I promise you this: should you ever find yourself in real trouble, you get one call. I will use every resource I have to help you, as compensation for your time.” Thinking of the baby, I didn’t refuse. Perhaps it was the fact that I had been a quiet, uncomplicated presence for five years. Or perhaps he saw the ghost of Adeline in my acceptance. Either way, he added one final, stinging instruction before he left. “I know every eligible bachelor in Aiken. Tell Spencer who you’re seeing. I’ll run a background check. I don’t want some opportunistic bastard taking advantage of you.” I waited until the door had been closed for a long time before whispering, “Okay.” I’d always known how this would end, yet the reality was crushing. I couldn’t breathe. Terrified of jeopardizing the baby with a massive emotional breakdown, I found a mindless comedy on TV and forced myself to watch. I drifted off to sleep through the sound of canned laughter. In my dream, I was sixteen again. Conrad, only a few years out of college, peeled off his expensive wool coat and draped it over my filthy, ragged shoulders. He wasn’t the stoic public figure he was now. I saw the pure pity in his eyes, and something else—a fleeting, almost paternal tenderness. When the vile man who had bought me struggled against the police, screaming obscenities, Conrad stepped in front of me and gently covered my ears. “You’re a good girl,” he said. “We were just late. That’s all. You just suffered because we were late.” He stroked my hair. “You’re so young. Think of this as a terrible nightmare. The world is huge out there. You’ll see beautiful things, you’ll find a man who loves you deeply, you’ll have a wonderful baby, and you’ll live the life you want…” In the final, disjointed moment of the dream, I had that beautiful baby. But then Conrad showed up, furious. He accused me of running away while pregnant, of denying the Wells bloodline, of sentencing his child to a life of poverty and scorn. His expression was one of such pure disgust—the look he’d never once given me in our five years together—that I woke up gasping. I lay there for a long time, the nightmare’s residue a cold, heavy lump in my chest. A soft chime. The front door intercom. It was Spencer. “Ms. Regan, these are the transfer documents. Signatures here and here, and the house and vehicle are yours.” I signed Elle Regan swiftly. The moment he left, I contacted a local realtor and put the house on the market, priced to sell quickly. I had three days left. I wasn’t afraid of Conrad knowing I’d sold the house or that I was leaving Aiken. The nightmare had been terrifying, but I knew the real Conrad. He was decisive. When something was finished, it was finished. I was, after all, just a chapter. The lower-than-market price meant the house sold the very next day. The buyer, meeting my condition, paid cash in full and rushed the transfer paperwork before the county clerk’s office closed. The car was another matter. Too impractical to drive cross-country, and selling it felt wrong. I called Doc Davies and Maya. Seeing the old man again, he immediately tried to hand back the bank card. I stopped him with a single sentence. “Doc, if you hadn’t intervened that year, I would have died. Consider that money the delayed bill you deserve. You wouldn’t want me to spend the rest of my life feeling guilty, would you?” He wavered. I pushed further. “I want to give the car to Maya. If anyone asks about me—especially anyone connected to the Wells family—please, don’t mention the pregnancy.” Relieved that I had secured their silence and given them something substantial, I was finally free. On the morning of my flight, I went into the bathroom and took out my kit. I held the prosthetic adhesives, the color palettes, and the specialized wax—the tools that had made me Adeline’s double—and burned them in a heap in the sink. The smell was acrid. Looking at my reflection, the face that was now only three-tenths a match for Adeline Fox, I managed a stiff, awkward smile. Just in case, I put on dark sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat. I was crossing the lobby to the airport gate when I saw them—Conrad and Adeline—exiting the international arrivals lounge together. Perhaps he sensed my stare. Conrad looked up, and our eyes met. It was only a fraction of a second before Adeline’s voice pulled his attention away. I kept walking, my pace steady. Goodbye, Conrad, I whispered in my mind. Goodbye, my light.

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