My best friend discovered her husband’s old flame a year after their wedding. The woman ruined her life. Left with nothing, she sank into a year-long depression. Visiting her, she clutched my hand, crying: “If I’d known, I would’ve died before marrying him.” When my father arranged my marriage, I researched Sean Blackwood thoroughly. Perfect reputation, no past lovers, clean break from exes. Only odd detail: the Blackwoods adopted a girl ten years ago, studying abroad since. My father brushed it off: “She’s just his adopted sister. They set up a trust fund for her at eighteen—enough to live comfortably abroad.” I married Sean. But on our third wedding anniversary night, he brought his adopted sister home. She timidly opened our bedroom door, wearing a thin white nightgown. “Brother, it’s so quiet here… I’m scared to be alone…” Sean sighed, got out of bed, and told me to go back to sleep. I sat alone in the dark for hours. Then I invited over a dozen models to throw a party at our home. 1 The sound of music and laughter was what finally drew Sean out of the guest room. “Get out!” His voice was deceptively calm, but it sent a chill down everyone’s spine. The handsome men scrambled away like frightened animals, leaving just the two of us in the vast living room. “What is the meaning of this?” Sean frowned, his gaze fixed on me. Behind him stood Lily, still wrapped in that scandalously short, white lace nightdress, her long hair framing a picture of delicate innocence. I lounged comfortably on the sofa, crossing my legs and swirling the wine in my glass. “Isn’t your little sister scared of being alone? I just found her some company.” Lily’s face went pale. “What do you take me for!” I smiled, a bright, sharp thing, and enunciated each word with chilling clarity. “A shameless little tramp trying to seduce her own brother.” Sean’s expression turned to ice. “Rebecca Pierce.” Lily’s eyes welled with tears, her body trembling with rage. “What right do you have to talk to me! Everyone knows what a player you were! You’re a slut! If it weren’t for the marriage contract between our families, my brother would never have married a woman like you!” “Lily, that’s enough!” She froze, hurt flashing across her face before the tears began to fall. “You’re yelling at me? You’re yelling at me for her? Didn’t you hear how she insulted me? Fine, I’ll leave! I’ll leave right now!” The girl made a dramatic dash for the door, her pathetic excuse for a nightgown threatening to fall apart with every overwrought step. Sean’s frown deepened. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to her room before finally turning his attention back to me. “Go to bed.” I didn’t move, just watched him with a cold smile. He sighed, a note of exhaustion in his voice. “I’m tired, Rebecca. I’m really, really tired. Can we not do this right now?” “Did you hear what your sister called me?” “Lily’s young. She doesn’t always think before she speaks. I’ll apologize on her behalf.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “She’s not wrong, though. It’s true. Our families are well-matched, this was a business merger, the contract was signed a long time ago. But I, Rebecca Pierce, was a player. I was never short on men, especially the handsome ones.” The warmth drained from Sean’s eyes, leaving them cold and hard. He pinned me against the sofa, his kiss a punishment, his voice a low growl. “Rebecca, need I remind you that you are now my wife?” I laughed, but my eyes were burning and my voice trembled despite my best efforts. “But don’t you forget! Who was the one who dragged me out of bars night after night? Who was the one who shamelessly declared himself my fiancé to every man who looked at me? Who was the one who begged and pleaded for me to marry him?” Sean pulled me into his arms, his voice softening. “It was me. It was always me. I couldn’t live without you.” I shoved him away and slammed the bedroom door shut. “Sean, it’s her or me. Get her out of this house by tomorrow.” The next morning. Lily, wearing one of Sean’s dress shirts, greeted me cheerfully at the dining table. “Hi, sister-in-law! Good morning!” I froze in place. 2 Sean, who hadn’t set foot in the kitchen once in our three years of marriage, was standing at the stove, wearing an apron and stirring a pot of soup. “You have to try this, Rebecca! Sean’s fish soup is the best. Whenever I’m feeling down, one sip of his soup makes everything better!” Yesterday she was calling me a slut; today she was beaming, showing off how indispensable Sean was to her. And Sean acted as if nothing had happened. “You’re awake? Come, sit.” I took a deep breath, fighting down the wave of rage and pain rising in my chest, and pulled out my phone. “Get my breakfast ready,” I snapped to my new assistant. “On my desk by nine. Sharp.” Without another glance, I turned and walked out. Behind me, I heard Lily’s whining complaint. “I was trying to be nice to her. What more does she want? Fine, don’t eat it. Sean made it for me anyway.” On the way to the office, I called my brother. “I want a divorce.” “Are you kidding me?” I clutched my handbag, my knuckles white. “I’m not kidding.” My brother sounded incredulous. “Did Sean… agree? He went through hell to marry you…” “His opinion doesn’t matter,” I cut him off. “I want a divorce.” “Alright. Give me a month. I’ll get everything ready for you.” I tossed my phone aside. On that humiliating morning, I had made my decision. I would let Sean have his manipulative little snake. After the morning meeting, a huge bouquet of my favorite yellow roses arrived from Sean. I gave them a cursory glance before handing them to my new assistant. “Here, they’re yours.” Then I pulled out a credit card and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “The breakfast was perfect. A little bonus for you.” The assistant smiled, accepting both gifts without a hint of hesitation. “Thank you, boss.” Sean watched him leave, his face a calm mask. Then he cornered me against my desk. “You know exactly how to push my buttons. Is this your idea of revenge?” 3 I scoffed. “If I wanted revenge, I wouldn’t have given him a credit card. It would have been the keys to my private villa.” Sean’s expression was weary. “I postponed a full day of meetings to come see you. Are you still angry?” He pulled me into an embrace. “Rebecca, what are you so angry about?” I almost laughed out loud. I had been seething all night, and he had no idea why? I held out my phone for him to see. It was a friend request from Lily. Her profile picture was new, taken just this morning. In it, she was still wearing Sean’s shirt, surrounded by a sea of yellow roses, her face cupped playfully in her hands. “The breakfast. You made it for her, not for me. We’ve been married for three years, and you’ve never once cooked.” “The flowers. You send me one bouquet, and she pesters you until she gets an entire field of them. Am I wrong?” Sean was silent for a moment before he spoke. “If this is what it’s about, I can cook for you tonight. I can send you…” “Enough!” I cut him off, my voice shaking with fury. “Sean, don’t you get it? Lily is crossing a line! And you, you’re letting her! You’re letting her run wild and destroy what we have!” He looked at me as if I were insane. “Rebecca, what are you talking about? She’s just my sister.” “I’m my brother’s sister too,” I retorted coldly. “But I don’t prance around his house in a nightgown that short. I don’t, as a grown woman, need him to tuck me in at night. And I certainly don’t leave a bite mark just below his collarbone.” Sean flinched, his hand instinctively going to his neck. “Did you think I didn’t see it last night?” He tried to laugh it off, a strained, frustrated sound. “She’s always been like that, ever since she was a kid. Like a puppy, always nipping at people.” I held up a hand. “Stop. I don’t want to hear about your past. And don’t you forget, she is not your real sister.” He paused. “She’s not. But please, don’t twist our relationship into something so sordid.” I laughed, a harsh, broken sound, and pushed him away. “Get. Out.” But a slow smile spread across Sean’s face. He leaned in close, his eyes dancing. “Rebecca, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this jealous.” “I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her to be more mindful of her actions.” “Don’t be angry anymore, please?” He knew exactly how to soothe me when I was spitting fire. I was about to say something, to give in, when his phone rang. The caller ID read: Lily. 4 Sean answered, murmuring a few distracted phrases into the phone. After hanging up, he took my hand. “I’ll call my parents and have her move back home.” His warm lips brushed against my ear. “Come home early tonight. What do you want to eat? This time, I’ll cook just for you.” My mind flashed back to the past. To him, pulling me out of a bar, his eyes red-rimmed. To the helpless, pleading look on his face as he asked, “Rebecca, what do I have to do to make you look at me, to just see me?” A lump formed in my throat. “Alright, Sean. I’ll trust you one more time.” “But if you lie to me again.” “I will never, ever forgive you.” He smiled, a genuine, relieved smile, and gently kissed my damp eyelids. “Rebecca, I have never lied to you.” That evening, I returned home to find Sean wasn’t back yet. Lily was sitting on the sofa, radiating resentment like a sullen ghost. “Why didn’t you accept my friend request?” I gave her a dismissive glance. “Why would I?” “What did you say to my brother?” she demanded, blocking my path. “Why is he making me move out?” I had no desire to engage with her. But she suddenly snapped, grabbing a vase and hurling it at me. The heavy glass crashed against my forehead, the impact making my ears ring. The thorns from the roses scraped bloody lines down my cheek and arm. Just then, the front door opened. Lily immediately snatched a shard of glass and pressed it to her own wrist, her voice rising in a hysterical, tear-choked scream. “I was just trying to apologize to you! Why are you doing this to me? Do you want me to die? Is that what it will take to make you happy?!” Sean’s eyes widened in horror. He rushed toward her, his face a mask of panic. “Lily!” “Brother…” she sobbed, shaking her head tragically. “I know… I’ve always been the extra one in this family. I won’t get in the way of your happiness anymore, I promise…” Blood welled up on her wrist. Sean’s face went white. I had never seen him so terrified. “Don’t say that! Brother will take you to the hospital.” He swept her into his arms. From beginning to end, he never even looked at me. I slid down the wall, slumping to the floor. It felt as though my heart had been carved out with that same shard of glass. 5 Sean returned late that night, looking utterly exhausted. He stood in the doorway of our bedroom, jacket in hand, frowning as he watched me pack a suitcase. “You’re leaving?” “What else would I do?” My barbed tone made his voice harden. “Why are you making a scene? No one is blaming you.” “Oh, is that it? Is that the greatest mercy you can show me?” I dropped the suitcase and faced him, a cold sneer on my lips. “Sean, what right do either of you have to blame me?” He struggled to control his temper, trying to reason with me. “I already told you I was sending her home. Why did you have to provoke her?” “Provoke her? What did I do? I didn’t accept her friend request. I may not have any say over who you choose to sleep with, but I damn well have the right to control my own friend list!” His face darkened, his voice laced with a rare anger. “Rebecca Pierce! Must you always be so cruel with your words? I told you, she is my sister!” “Yes, she’s a bit dependent on me. But that’s because when she was a teenager, she found out she was adopted. It made her unstable. She became sensitive, attempted suicide several times, and was diagnosed with severe depression. I was the one who took care of her, who sent her abroad to study and get treatment.” “She can’t handle being provoked. I’m begging you! Can you not show her just a little bit of compassion? A little understanding?” I stared at the man before me, this stranger consumed by rage. A bleak emptiness settled in my heart. In three years of marriage, he had never been this angry with me. Not even during the days when I deliberately tried to make him jealous, not even then had he ever raised his voice to me. The words caught in my throat. I couldn’t speak. I fought to control the trembling that wracked my body. “You’re right. I’m cruel. I’m vicious. So please, Sean, go. Go and live happily ever after with your innocent, fragile, pitiful little sister!” He took a deep, ragged breath, as if he had reached his breaking point. His voice was like ice. “You don’t have to pack. I’ll take her and leave. We can talk when you’ve had a chance to calm down.” I locked myself in the room. I heard the sounds of him packing, and then, the cold, final click of the front door closing. I learned that when your heart truly breaks, you can’t even cry. Sean and I were separated. I didn’t know where he went, and I didn’t care. His cousin, however, sent me a few screenshots of Lily’s social media posts. “Who has a brother that still tells them they can’t go to bars at twenty-four? Teehee, not listening.” Attached was a screenshot of her texts with Sean. “Today’s special: my personal chef of a brother. Another day of being fed by the best~” The selfie showed Sean in the background, trying to spoon-feed her, his expression one of pure indulgence. “Can confirm, men’s dress shirts are incredibly comfortable to wear.” A selfie of her curled up on a sofa, intentionally framing Sean working in the background. The old me would have hunted them down and slapped them both across the face. But now, I felt nothing but a hollow sense of amusement. Just as a text from my brother arrived with an update on the divorce proceedings, my assistant placed a cup of coffee on my desk. I had to admit, Cole was an excellent assistant. In just two short weeks, he had learned all my preferences, anticipating my needs before I even voiced them. He perched on the edge of my desk, a brilliant smile playing on his lips. “Good news calls for a drink.” I raised an eyebrow and hooked a finger in his tie. Cole’s eyes darkened a fraction. “But I’m not in the mood for a drink today.” I took him to my private villa instead.

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When the car pulled over onto the highway shoulder, I thought Lucas just needed to use the restroom. “Sophie’s asleep. Try not to wake her,” I said, pulling my daughter’s little blanket up higher. Lucas didn’t look back, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. “Grace. Take Sophie and get out of the car.” I froze. “What?” From the back seat, Sarah spoke in a soft voice. “Lucas, darling, it’s alright. We can manage, it’ll just be a little crowded.” Her daughter, Ava, immediately started to cry. “No! I don’t want to sit with that sick little girl! She was coughing all over!” Lucas turned around, and his eyes were colder than I had ever seen them. “Did you hear me? Get out.” “My sister Tiffany is already on her way. She’ll be here in half an hour.” “You two can wait here.” The day before Christmas Eve, on the side of the highway, in below-freezing temperatures. I held my three-year-old daughter and watched him start the car again. The red of the taillights grew smaller and smaller in the swirling snow. Until they disappeared completely. … The snow was coming down harder now. I stood by the guardrail on the shoulder, holding Sophie, trying to shield her from the wind with my own body. “Mommy, where’s Daddy?” Sophie whispered, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. “Daddy… Daddy went on ahead to Grandma’s house,” I forced a smile. “Aunt Tiffany is coming to get us soon.” “But it’s cold…” I wrapped her inside my down coat, using my scarf to cover her head. My phone had 30% battery left. I called Tiffany. Once. Twice. Three times. Finally, she answered. “Grace? What’s up?” The background was loud, like she was at a party. “Tiffany, your brother said you were coming to pick us up. Where are you?” “Huh? Pick you up?” Tiffany paused. “Oh, right, right, I remember. He told me.” “But I’m out with friends right now, I can’t really leave.” “You guys just wait a bit, I’ll head over later.” “Tiffany, it’s freezing on the highway. Sophie can’t take it…” “Oh, come on, Grace, don’t be so dramatic. What’s wrong with waiting a little?” “My brother said Sarah and Ava can’t be out in the wind, that he had to get them home right away.” “There are two of you, an adult and a kid. A little wait won’t kill you.” The line went dead. I clutched my phone, my fingers numb with cold. I tried Lucas. Voicemail. Again. Still voicemail. Sophie was shivering in my arms. “Mommy, I want to go home…” “Soon, sweetie. We’ll be home very soon,” I whispered, kissing her forehead. My eyes burned. In four years of marriage, I never knew Lucas could be this cruel. To abandon his own wife and daughter on the highway for another woman’s child. All because Ava whined, “I don’t want to sit with that sick little girl.” Headlights cut through the gloom in the distance. I waved frantically. A black SUV slowed and stopped in front of us. The window rolled down, revealing a young man. “Need some help?” I felt like I was grabbing a lifeline. “Could you give us a ride? Just to the next service station would be amazing!” The man looked at the child in my arms and frowned. “Get in.” “Thank you! Thank you so much!” I reached for the door handle… “Grace?” I froze. Another head popped out from the car. It was Lucas’s cousin, Ryan. He looked at me, then at the empty stretch of highway. “Grace, what are you doing out here? Where’s Lucas?” I quickly explained what had happened. When I finished, Ryan’s face was dark with fury. “Is he insane? He left you and Sophie out here?” “So Sarah’s daughter is a delicate flower, but his own isn’t human?” He cursed under his breath, then said to the driver, “Rick, let’s get them in the car. We can squeeze.” The front was full, and the back seat was packed next to Ryan. “There’s no room…” the driver said, looking troubled. Ryan immediately got out of the car. “You guys go on. I’ll wait here.” “No way!” “Just go!” Ryan pushed me toward the car. “Sophie’s lips are turning blue. She can’t stay out in this cold any longer!” I climbed into the back seat with Sophie in my arms. The blast of warm air was so intense it made my frozen skin ache. Ryan shut the door and knocked on the window. “Grace, call me when you get to the service station! I’ll have my brother come get you!” “Ryan, it’s too cold out here, what will you do…” “I’m a grown man, I’ll be fine! Think about the kid! Now go!” The car pulled away. Through the rear window, I watched Ryan’s figure shrink in the swirling snow. A lump formed in my throat. My own husband had abandoned us on a highway. And in the end, it was a near-stranger who came to my aid. Sophie fell asleep in my arms, her small face an unhealthy shade of red. I touched her forehead. She was burning up. “Sir, can you please go faster? My daughter has a fever!” The driver nodded and accelerated. I took out my phone, intending to call Tiffany again. No signal. The highway cut through a mountainous area, where service was spotty. “How much further to the service station?” “About fifteen miles. In this weather, at least half an hour.” Half an hour… I held Sophie tighter, constantly checking her temperature. She was getting hotter. “Baby, wake up. Don’t sleep…” Sophie’s eyes fluttered open. “Mommy, I don’t feel good…” “I know, sweetie. We’re almost at the hospital. Just hold on a little longer.” She suddenly started coughing, a deep, wracking cough that made her face turn purple. I patted her back, the tears finally starting to fall. “Sir, please, I’m begging you, go faster!” The driver was getting anxious too. “This is as fast as I can go! The roads are slick with ice!” Sophie’s coughing grew more violent, her breathing a ragged, wheezing sound. “Mommy… I can’t… breathe…” I unzipped her coat and saw her chest heaving violently. It was acute pneumonia. She’d had it once before, last year. She almost didn’t make it. “Sophie, look at Mommy. Don’t close your eyes!” “Mommy will tell you a story, about the little white rabbit…” Her eyes were half-lidded, her breathing growing fainter. I started pounding on the window like a madwoman. “Help! My daughter is dying! Somebody help!” But on the highway, there was nothing but the wind and the snow. The SUV finally pulled into the service station. I ran with Sophie into the convenience store. “Is there a doctor? My daughter is sick, she needs help!” The clerk looked terrified. “We… we don’t have a doctor here…” “Call 911! Now!” “The cell tower is down… The call won’t go through…” My legs gave out, and I nearly collapsed. In my arms, Sophie had gone silent. At the small motel attached to the service station, the owner rummaged around and found a box of fever reducer and some antibiotics. “Maybe try giving her this?” My hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t tear the packaging open. Sophie lay across my lap, her breathing so shallow it seemed like it could stop at any moment. I managed to get the pill into her mouth, but she didn’t even have the strength to swallow. “Sophie, please, swallow it. I’m begging you…” The pill, dissolved in saliva, trickled out of the corner of her mouth. The motel owner couldn’t bear to watch. “Look, I can drive you to the county hospital. But with this snow, the roads might be closed…” “Go! We have to go now!” I pulled all the cash I had from my wallet and shoved it at him. “Please!” He clenched his jaw. “Alright. I’ll risk it.” The car crawled along the snow-covered road. With every bump, Sophie’s small body seemed to go limper. I held her hand, talking nonstop. “Sophie, remember how you wanted to go to Disneyland? Mommy will take you.” “We’ll ride the biggest carousel.” “And you can wear an Elsa dress, right?” “Mommy will take you to Universal Studios, too. We’ll see the Transformers, your big heroes, okay?” Her eyelashes fluttered. But her eyes remained closed. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. Signal! My hands trembling, I dialed Lucas’s number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. “Hello?” The background was quiet, like he was at home. “Lucas…” My voice was so hoarse I could barely speak. “Sophie is sick. It’s… it’s really bad…” “Where are you?” His voice was terrifyingly calm. “On the way to the county hospital. You have to come…” “Grace,” he interrupted me. “Didn’t Tiffany go to pick you up?” “She never came! She never showed up!” “That’s impossible. She just posted on social media that she was on her way.” I froze. I opened my social media app and found Tiffany’s profile. Her latest post, ten minutes ago. A selfie, with the highway visible in the background. The caption read: “On my way to pick up my sister-in-law! So sweet of my big bro to think of them~” The location tag was sixty miles away from us. She hadn’t moved. She was lying to Lucas. And she was lying to me. “See?” Lucas said. “Tiffany will be there any minute. Just wait.” “We can’t wait! Sophie is dying! Our daughter is dying, Lucas!” “Grace,” his voice turned cold. “It’s Christmas. Don’t say such unlucky things. What’s all this talk about dying?” “Sarah and Ava just got here, and Mom is in a great mood. Don’t ruin it.” “When Tiffany gets you, just take Sophie to a clinic.” “Kids get fevers. It’s normal. She’s not going to die. Stop being so dramatic. Be good.” He hung up. I stared at my phone, the blood turning to ice in my veins. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Your husband?” I nodded. “Bastard,” he muttered. “Hang on tight. I know a shortcut. We can’t let anything happen to this little girl.” The car turned onto a mountain road. The snow was even heavier here. I could barely hear Sophie breathing anymore. I felt for her heartbeat. It was so faint, it felt like a hallucination. “Sophie… don’t scare Mommy…” “Mommy was wrong. Mommy was an idiot to fall in love!” “Mommy was wrong to marry him…” “I shouldn’t have let you suffer…” Sobbing, I reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a small, button-sized metal device. My father had given it to me. “Gracie,” he had said, “the Harrison family has always favored sons. If they ever mistreat you because Sophie is a girl, press this.” I pressed it. There was no sound. But I knew a signal had been sent. My father had promised that if I ever pressed it, his people would be there within three hours. But three hours… Could my Sophie last for three hours? We finally reached the county hospital. I burst into the emergency room carrying Sophie, my throat too raw to scream. A nurse saw Sophie’s condition and immediately called for a doctor. “Acute pneumonia! Heart rate is dropping! Get ready to resuscitate!” I was blocked from entering the trauma room. Through the glass, I watched as doctors intubated Sophie, hooking her up to monitors. Her tiny body, lying on that big bed, looked like it could vanish at any moment. I sank to the floor in the corner, shaking uncontrollably. My phone rang again. Lucas. I answered, but said nothing. “Grace, where are you now?” he asked, his voice impatient. “My mother is waiting to eat dinner.” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. “Talk to me!” “The hospital…” I managed to squeeze out the words. “Sophie… they’re trying to save her…” “What?” He paused. “What are you doing at a hospital? Where’s Tiffany?” “She didn’t come…” “Impossible. She just texted me. She said she picked you up.” I opened our family group chat. Twenty minutes ago, she had sent a message: “Bro, got them. On our way back now.” Attached was a blurry photo taken from inside a car. The back of a woman in the passenger seat, wearing a coat that looked just like mine. It was an old photo she had taken of me. She was playing him. With a picture she had saved for this very purpose. “She’s lying,” I said. “Lucas, you need to come to the hospital. Now.” There was a few seconds of silence. “Grace. Are you trying to get out of coming for Christmas?” “Are you upset that Sarah is here?” “Is that why you’re making up these lies?” I was stunned. “You think I’m lying to you?” “What else am I supposed to think?” he scoffed. “Why would Tiffany lie to me?” “She’s my sister. What are you?” “A woman who was useless after giving me a daughter.” I gripped the phone, my nails digging into my palm. “Lucas, if Sophie dies today, I will never forgive you as long as I live.” “Whatever,” he said. “Besides, my mother already said Sarah can still have a son.” “If you can’t give me a son, you should make way for someone who can.” He hung up. I listened to the dial tone, slowly sliding to the floor. The doors to the trauma room opened.

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1 Melanie, the fake heiress, was all sweetness and light. From the moment I returned home, she pretended to treat me like a real sister. I was genuinely grateful. So when she complained of cramps and asked for a special herbal tea, I didn’t hesitate to get it for her. But the instant I turned my back, a laugh echoed in my mind. It was Melanie’s. What herbal tea? This is your one-way ticket out of the Ashton family. If you refuse to make it for me, I’ll just tell everyone you watched me suffer and did nothing. And if you do make it, I’ll just slip in some of those dried berries I’m allergic to and frame you. Mom, Dad, and Declan will skin you alive. Even if they don’t, I’ve arranged for a little ‘accident’ with a truck outside. In your next life, try not to be born the real, inconvenient heiress. I froze for a moment, realizing I could hear her thoughts. But I didn’t refuse. I didn’t expose her. An allergic reaction seemed a bit boring. If we were going to play, we were going to play for keeps. Besides, why should I be the only one she framed? With that thought, I went to find the brother who never missed a chance to declare that Melanie was his only sister. “Declan,” I began, my voice soft, “Melanie said she’s having terrible cramps and wants some herbal tea. Could you help me make her a cup?” This was the first time I had ever called Declan “brother.” He looked like he’d swallowed a wasp. “I’ve told you a dozen times, call me by my full name. We may be related by blood, but I’ve never acknowledged you as my sister. My only sister is Melanie—” He cut himself off, his eyes narrowing. “What did you just say about Melanie?” I mentally rolled my eyes, but my face was a perfect mask of pitiable helplessness. “Mr. Ashton, Melanie just told me she’s in a lot of pain and asked for her tea. It’s the first time she’s ever asked anything of me, so I didn’t feel right asking the staff to do it.” “But I don’t know how she likes it, and I’m afraid I’ll make it wrong…” “So, could you please, please help me?” I let my voice trail off into a whisper. “I’m a fast learner, I promise. If you just show me once, I can take care of her properly from now on.” The phrase “take care of her properly” seemed to placate him. His expression softened slightly, though he still looked at me as if I owed him my life. He led me to the kitchen and began preparing the tea with practiced ease. “Watch closely. Melanie has been pampered by me and our parents her whole life. If you really want to be a part of this family, you need to learn how to cater to her.” I nodded eagerly, watching his every move, especially when he specified the amount of honey and warned me to never, ever add the dried berries. I looked as if I were carving his instructions into my very soul. Seeing my eagerness to please, Declan finally seemed satisfied. “You’d better be grateful,” he said, a sharp edge to his voice. “When you first came back, we were hesitant. We were just going to give you some money and send you abroad. It was Melanie who insisted you stay, who wanted you as a sister.” “So you know exactly who you have to thank for being in this house.” 2 Oh, yes. I had Melanie’s “loving” mother—the nanny—to thank for my wonderful life. To give her own daughter a life of luxury, she’d switched us at birth. Melanie spent twenty years as the pampered darling of the Ashton family, while I was taken back to a dirt-poor village in the mountains. I was starving, cold, and by the age of five, I was expected to cook and clean for an entire household. The nanny, terrified I would one day learn the truth, planned to marry me off to some old creep for cash the moment I turned eighteen. Even as a child, I knew what that meant. It meant my life would be over. I begged a volunteer teacher to take me with her when she left. Seeing how miserable I was, she ignored the legalities and spirited me out of the mountains. I finally had a chance to learn, to study. Years later, I saw a woman on television who looked remarkably like the nanny, standing beside a society lady who bore a striking resemblance to me. It was then that I began to suspect the truth about my past. I worked my way into the Ashton family’s corporation, and inevitably, my identity was discovered. I was brought home. But the Ashtons were far from welcoming. Their only concern was protecting Melanie. “None of this was Melanie’s fault. Blood may be important, but twenty years of raising her means more!” “We’ll give you a sum of money…” It was laughable. My heart felt like a dead thing in my chest. I was ready to take the money and leave. But Melanie, her eyes red with tears, grabbed my hand and begged me not to go. So I stayed. She was often condescending, her words laced with a casual cruelty and a need to show off her superiority. But compared to the icy indifference of the others, she was the kindest person to me in that house. Or so I thought, until I heard her inner voice. It was all a scheme. She didn’t want me to take their money and live a comfortable life abroad. She wanted me to be despised by the Ashtons, to be cast out and erased from existence. 3 My mind was a whirlwind of these thoughts as Declan finished making the tea. “You’re really good at this, Mr. Ashton.” “Could I ask you one more favor? Can I be the one to bring this to Melanie? And please, don’t tell her you made it.” “I just want her to like me a little more…” Declan didn’t object. I went to the bathroom and scrubbed my hands until they were spotless, then carried the bowl of tea—the catalyst for the coming storm—into Melanie’s room. When I entered, I saw that it wasn’t just Melanie in the room. Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Ashton, were there as well. The moment they saw me, the smiles on their faces vanished. “What are you doing here?” Melanie quickly jumped to my defense. “It was my sister. She saw I wasn’t feeling well and offered to make me some tea. Mom, Dad, please don’t misunderstand her.” Mr. Ashton nodded, a flicker of approval in his eyes. “That’s more like it.” “Melanie took your place in this family and cared for your mother and me for twenty years. It’s only right that you show her some gratitude.” I scoffed internally. She lived my life of luxury, and I lived her life of squalor, and I’m supposed to thank her? But I didn’t say a word, just nodded meekly. Mrs. Ashton’s expression softened. She took the tea from the tray and began to feed it to Melanie. Melanie took a few sips from her mother’s hand, then claimed it was too hot and took the bowl herself. Instantly, my new parents turned on me, scolding me for not getting the temperature right, asking if I’d done it on purpose. While they were distracted, lecturing me, Melanie quickly dropped a few dried berries into her tea. I saw everything. But I pretended not to notice, just kept my head bowed. “Yes, yes, I’ll be more careful next time.” Melanie finished the entire bowl. Before I could even take the empty bowl back, the reaction began. 4 A red rash erupted all over Melanie’s skin. Her voice became hoarse. “Sister, what did you put in my tea?” “I told you I can’t eat those berries. Did you put them in here?” I feigned terror. “I… I… I didn’t.” “No… it wasn’t…” Before I could finish, my parents cut me off. “If it wasn’t you, then who was it?” “I knew it! It’s just like in those soap operas. How could a girl like you, who’s spent her life in the mud, ever behave herself?” “Are you trying to kill Melanie?” They were livid. Melanie, scratching at her arms, began to cry. “Don’t blame my sister. She feels like I’ve stolen her life. It’s only natural she’d want me dead.” “Mom, Dad, if I die, please don’t blame her. These years as your daughter… they’ve been more than enough.” She sounded so pathetic. But in her mind, she was laughing. What a complete idiot. Doesn’t she watch any dramas? Did she really think she could just bring me tea without consequences? This was a perfect plan. If she refused, she’d be cruel. If she agreed, I could frame her for poisoning me. Even if Mom and Dad care about bloodlines, they’d never accept a daughter who tried to poison her sister. A small price to pay—a little skin rash—for such a perfect outcome. I’m a genius. Her plan was perfect. But in the next second, her breathing became ragged. Her face turned a frightening shade of blue. Then, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed, genuinely unconscious. I chose that moment to interrupt my parents’ tirade. “Mom, Dad, maybe we should figure out who’s to blame later.” “Right now, we should probably call an ambulance. It looks like she might actually be dying.” 5 Because we got her to the hospital in time, Melanie survived. I was a little disappointed. But perhaps it was for the best. Death would have been too easy. Besides, I had come back to the Ashton family to claim what was mine—the entire fortune. A death in the villa would have been bad for property values. Melanie couldn’t understand how a mild skin allergy had turned so severe. But she didn’t dwell on it. The moment she woke up, with our parents and Declan watching, she fell to her knees before me. “Sister, I’m so sorry. I never should have stolen your life.” “I won’t press charges for you poisoning me with the berries. Just let me leave. Let me go. I’m still young, I just want to live.” “Mom, Dad, from now on, pretend you never had me as a daughter!” Her parents’ hearts were breaking. “Melanie, what are you talking about? You’re the victim here. The one who should leave isn’t you, it’s her.” “I don’t care if you’re my biological daughter or not. I will not have such a wicked person in my house.” Declan, who didn’t know the details, only knew that I had poisoned Melanie and nearly killed her. He slapped me hard across the face. “That’s right. The one who needs to get out is you.” “From this day on, you are no longer an Ashton. You won’t get a single penny from us.” At that, I finally “broke.” The previously tongue-tied girl suddenly found her voice. “Declan, how could you say that?” “You were the one who made the tea! You’re the one who poisoned Melanie! Not only do you refuse to take responsibility, but you’re blaming it all on me?”

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The day my grandfather was dying, I begged my wife, Paige, to stay. She abandoned me for a frantic call from her childhood best friend: “He just got dumped. He needs me.” I buried Grandpa alone and cut her off completely. A month later, I came home to find that friend, Grant Donovan, sprawled on my couch, wearing my wedding ring. He pointed at Grandpa’s antique pocket watch, the last thing he’d touched. “This thing looks morbid,” Grant whined. Paige snatched the watch and tossed it into the junk drawer. “Don’t upset Grant,” she snapped. I silently retrieved the watch, pulled out the prestigious acceptance letter I’d sealed years ago, and filed for divorce. Paige found the papers and exploded. “What about your grandfather? How could you leave him?” I looked at her, my voice dead. “Grandpa died the day you chose to comfort your ex.” 1 Grandpa had been in the ICU for three days. My hand shook as I dialed Paige’s number, the busy signal sounding like a siren in my ears. Finally, she picked up. The background noise was a chaotic murmur. “Paige,” my voice cracked, “you have to get to the hospital. Grandpa… the doctor says it’s bad. Really bad.” She paused, and her next words were slightly breathless. “I’m on my way. Hold on, Thea.” The line went dead. I slid down the cold wall, burying my face in my hands. He was still in there. My only family left in the world. Paige arrived quickly, her silk sundress faintly wrinkled. She grabbed my shoulders. “It’s okay. I’m here.” There was a faint, but unmistakably male, scent of cedar and smoke—a cologne I didn’t recognize—clinging to her. But I couldn’t focus. I clutched her arm like she was the last buoy in a rising tide. “The doctors said… it’s going to be in the next day or two…” My throat closed, and the rest became a choked sob. She patted my back, but the movement felt mechanical, awkward. We had sat on the corridor bench for less than ten minutes when her phone vibrated in her designer clutch. She glanced at the screen, her brow immediately furrowing in a deep knot of anxiety. She shot up and walked a few steps away to answer. I heard her voice, low and laced with a frantic edge I’d never heard directed at me. “Grant? What? Where are you right now?… Don’t do anything stupid! I’m coming!” She hung up, then rushed back to me, her face a mask of undisguised panic and impatience. “Thea, I have to go! Grant’s in trouble!” My heart plummeted. I gripped her hand, my fingernails digging into her flesh. “No! Please, don’t leave! Grandpa could go any minute… he just called your name a minute ago…” Tears streamed down my face, entirely uncontrollable. She forcefully pried my hand open. The sheer strength of it made my wrist sting. “I’m sorry!” Her words tumbled out. “Grant’s girlfriend just dumped him. He’s completely shattered. He’s been drinking, and he’s threatening to jump off the parking garage roof! I can’t let him do that. He’s a life, Thea!” There was no guilt in her eyes, just the hot, frustrated annoyance of someone whose plans have been derailed. “And what about my grandfather?” My voice was trembling and thin. “Isn’t his life a life?” She pressed her lips into a hard line, avoiding my gaze. Then, she spun on her heel and sprinted toward the elevators. Her heels struck the polished floor, the sound fast and heavy. She didn’t look back. The ICU doors hissed open. A nurse leaned out, her expression grim. “Mrs. Morgan, he’s asking for you. Hurry.” I stumbled inside. Grandpa’s eyes struggled open, his hazy gaze moving with painful slowness. His lips barely moved. I threw myself beside the bed, straining to hear the faint, cracked whisper. “Paige… she…” “She’s coming! Grandpa, just hold on!” I cried, pointlessly clutching his brittle, cold hand. It stiffened in my palm, growing colder, harder. The monitor’s high-pitched alarm shrieked, slicing through the sterile air. Doctors and nurses swarmed in. The sound and motion became muted, like watching a chaotic scene through thick glass. I stood frozen, watching their futile attempts at chest compression and paddles. After an eternity, one of the doctors stood up, pulled down his mask, and shook his head at me. Time shattered and fell in on itself. Grandpa was gone. The last person on earth who loved me without condition had just slipped away. Paige never came back. I don’t remember signing the paperwork or walking out of the hospital. The late autumn wind felt like sandpaper on my face. Walking aimlessly, I pulled out my phone. The screen light stung my eyes. My fingers moved with their own detached will, opening Grant Donovan’s social media profile. His newest post was from half an hour ago. The picture was a familiar female back, carefully supporting a man’s arm—a gesture of tenderness etched into her bone structure. The caption: [Thank you for being here. No matter how hard the future is, I’m not afraid anymore.] The location tag read: An expensive private therapy center downtown. The timestamp was exactly the moment Paige had abandoned me. I clicked the comment box and typed, one word after another: Maybe I should just vacate my position for you entirely, then? I hit send, then powered the phone off. 2 I returned to the small, familiar craftsman house Grandpa and I had shared for twenty years. The faint aroma of his preferred tea still lingered in the air. I set up a small, temporary memorial in the living room myself. Grandpa’s face, smiling gently in the small black-and-white photo, was now surrounded by candles. I knelt on the cold tiles, numbly praying and silently repeating the words I wanted to say to him. When I turned my phone back on, a barrage of missed calls and texts flooded the screen—most were from Paige. The newest one was a few minutes old: Are you done being dramatic? Turn your phone on! How’s Grandpa? I glanced at it and shoved the phone back into my pocket. The only sounds were the quiet crackle of burning paper and the hollow thud of my own heart. I stayed by Grandpa’s photo for three days. Paige didn’t appear. A new text arrived late on the fourth afternoon. Come home when you’ve cooled off. Stop making a scene. I know you’re worried about Grandpa. Once I get Grant settled, I’ll find a minute to take you to see him. I stared at the screen, a strange, hysterical sense of absurdity bubbling up. She thought I was throwing a tantrum? She thought Grandpa was waiting? She thought I was still waiting for her in that house, hoping for a crumb of her pity? My finger tapped the cold glass. I replied with only a few words: I’m at Grandpa’s house. I won’t be coming back for now. Then, I powered down again. I began sorting through Grandpa’s things. Every item spoke volumes, each one a crushing weight on my chest. Paige called a few times during this process. I answered once. Her voice was flat and carried a tone of suffocating condescension. “Thea, still pouting? Grant is in a really bad place right now; he can’t be left alone. As soon as he’s slightly stable, I promise I’ll take you to the hospital to see Grandpa, okay?” I looked at the worn, half-century-old teapot in my hand—a small chip near the spout. I said quietly, “Don’t bother.” She seemed to choke on her words. A few days later, I told her I was coming back to the main house to pick up some seasonal clothes. Her reaction was unexpectedly explosive: “No! Grant’s staying here right now! He doesn’t want to see you, and I don’t want you coming back here to upset him.” The next moment, my phone buzzed with an incoming transaction. A substantial amount of money. Her accompanying text: Here’s some money. Get something nice for Grandpa. Be sensible. I looked at the cold numbers, then at Grandpa’s gentle, smiling face in the photo. I accepted the transfer. It was the least she owed him. As for that house, I wouldn’t step foot in it again until I was ready to leave for good. 3 A month passed. I needed a crucial notarized document that was kept in the main house. I opened the front door, and a rich wave of that strange cedar cologne immediately washed over me, drowning out the house’s familiar scents. In the living room, Grant Donovan was draped across the sofa. The gray cashmere throw blanket I had personally chosen for our wedding was tossed casually over his legs. He was sipping from my preferred black ceramic mug. He simply raised his eyes when he saw me, a smug, half-smile playing on his lips. He made no move to get up. Paige emerged from the study, freezing when she saw me. A flicker of panic crossed her eyes, instantly replaced by a look of combined fatigue and forced annoyance. “What are you doing here?” Her tone was harsh. “I told you not to come back right now.” I ignored her and headed straight for the study. The document was tucked neatly inside the desk drawer. As I reached for it, the silver chain of the watch I wore around my neck slipped from beneath my collar. It was the only personal item Grandpa had left me, an old, plain silver pocket watch. Grant’s gaze landed on the watch and snapped tight, as if he’d been scalded. “Paige…” His voice instantly took on a whiny, vulnerable quality, and he pointed a finger at me. “That watch… it’s so old. It looks like bad luck… I… I feel kind of weird…” He pressed a hand to his chest, his brow furrowed, seemingly in real distress. Paige exploded into action. She rushed to me, her face a storm of naked tension over Grant’s discomfort. “Did you hear him?” Her voice was low and commanding. “Grant is emotionally fragile right now. He can’t handle seeing things like that. Take it off. Don’t upset him.” I instinctively covered the watch with my hand. My fingertips were ice cold. “It was my grandpa’s,” I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. My refusal seemed to ignite her rage. She reached out violently, grabbed the chain, and gave it a hard yank. The silver links tore, searing a line of sharp pain across the back of my neck. The small watch, carrying the last flicker of Grandpa’s warmth, was violently snatched into her hand. She didn’t even look at it. She pulled open the bottom drawer of the entertainment center—the one crammed with miscellaneous junk—and threw the watch inside like garbage, where it mixed with old batteries, broken remotes, and forgotten charging cables. With a final, sharp thud, she slammed the drawer shut, kicking up a small cloud of dust. That muted thud was a wrecking ball, smashing the last splinter of sentimentality I held in my heart. Grandpa’s final memory was, in her eyes, less important than a single furrow in Grant Donovan’s brow. 4 The study door clicked shut behind me, muffling Grant’s low, triumphant murmur in the living room. I leaned my back against the cold wood paneling and slowly slid to the floor.

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The first thing I noticed when I opened the office door was the junior analyst, Jett Sawyer, beneath the conference table. The kid, barely shaving, was intent on his mischief, and Cassia’s attempt to suppress her pleasure was failing dramatically. I placed the file on the desk without making eye contact. “The Soho Initiative funding request. Just sign here, please.” She was preoccupied with a much more immediate form of gratification. Distracted and humming, she grabbed the pen and signed through the pages without looking. Only then did she lift her slightly hazy eyes. “Wait… wasn’t your flight tomorrow? Why the sudden return?” I retrieved the file. “Came back to handle some urgent business.” Before turning to leave, I glanced under the desk. “Tell him to come out now.” Cassia paused, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. She was likely expecting a scene—me throwing a fit, making threats, recording the confrontation as I had done years ago. Instead, I simply added, “He’ll lose the circulation in his legs if he stays down there too long.” Feeling caught and slightly foolish, she deflected. “What urgent business are you here for?” I didn’t answer. I just closed the door and, with a gentle click, flipped the magnetic [Do Not Disturb: In Meeting] sign on the handle. She didn’t realize that my urgent business had already been accomplished. … 1 From inside the office, I heard Jett Sawyer’s voice, a childish hint of laughter threading through it. “Cassia, you scared the hell out of me just now.” Cassia’s low chuckle was intimate and throaty. “Scared of what? He’s not going to eat you.” “But he’s your husband…” “Exactly. And he’s well-trained. See? He just left on his own.” I stood motionless just outside the door. The afternoon light sliced into the hallway, leaving a sharp line by my shoes. Jett lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, are you coming home tonight?” “Business is business, but,” Cassia said, her tone utterly natural, “I always go home.” Jett scoffed from his throat. “Boss, you’re so used to being pampered, you miss him after a single day?” “Anything he can do, I can do better. Or did I not satisfy you a moment ago?” “You and him? It’s not the same.” Cassia’s lazy voice cut in. “He’s stubborn as an ox, but he can’t live without me! You know how much trouble he went to with his family just to marry me.” She paused, the implication hanging in the air. “If I don’t go back, do you think any of you little lovers would survive?” She spoke of weighty, painful history as if reciting a bedtime story. Jett’s voice was syrupy, laced with curiosity. “And do you… like that about him? The way he pretends to be the one in charge but is actually just pathetic?” The air went still for a beat. Then I heard Cassia emit a brief, dismissive laugh. She countered, “What do you think?” “I think—” Jett never finished the sentence. Because I opened the door again. Both people in the office froze instantly. Jett was half-perched on the edge of Cassia’s expansive mahogany desk. Cassia leaned back in her chair, the top two buttons of her silk blouse undone. She was startled for only a fraction of a second, then raised a knowing eyebrow. “Forget something?” I ignored the question, walking straight toward the side table where the key bowl was. My car keys were indeed there. I picked them up and turned to leave once more. “Declan.” Cassia stood, walking around the desk to me. Her arms instantly wrapped around my waist. She always did this at the office. Affectionate public displays of ownership—she was never stingy with those. I gently disengaged. After his encounter with her, Jett carried the distinct scent of the men’s cologne she’d given me. The exact same bottle. Last month, when she presented it to me as a birthday gift, she’d called the fragrance “irreplaceable” and uniquely mine. Now, I realized she must have bought them in bulk. “I’ll be home for dinner tonight.” Her voice adopted its usual, soft coaxing tone. “What do you want to eat? I’ll cook it myself, hmm?” Jett let out a small, contemptuous huff beside us. “Don’t bother,” I said. “I have plans tonight.” Her smile faded slightly, though her lips remained curved upward. “What is it? Are you upset?” She leaned closer. “Because of Jett? I told you, he’s nothing but a—” “I know,” I interrupted softly. “He’s an intern analyst. He needs your hands-on guidance.” What sort of skills she chose to instruct him in was entirely up to her. She seemed momentarily stunned. She probably hadn’t expected me to skip the protest, the argument, and even the sarcasm this time. She raised a hand to touch my cheek, but I had already taken a step forward. “Fine,” she shrugged, switching her grip to my forearm. “Whatever it is, be home before nine.” Jett snickered nearby. I looked at him, and he met my gaze. Compared to the other men I had quietly dealt with over the years, he was remarkably protected. His eyes held undisguised triumph and provocation. Youth is a powerful thing. Looking at his arrogant, fresh face, I was transported back to the summer I was twenty, when Cassia pulled me out of the psychiatric clinic. 2 It was the third day my father had sent me there for “treatment.” Treatment for my “pathological love” and my “disease” of wanting to marry a woman from the wrong side of the tracks. Cassia had waited all night, hidden in the air ducts, until the morning nurse change. She pried open my window. We slid down the wall on a rope woven from knotted bedsheets. She landed hard, fracturing her elbow, but never once let go of my hand. When we reached safety, her clothes were soaked with sweat. She shakily grabbed my hand and pressed it against her heart. It was beating fast and heavy. “Declan,” her eyes were bloodshot. “Listen to me. If we can get out of this place today, nothing will ever be able to separate us.” She fumbled in her pocket, then opened her palm. A thin, cheap silver ring, bought from a flea market stand. “Declan, put it on me!” She looked into my eyes, enunciating every word. “I want to tell the world I’m with you because I love you, not for your money.” “From this day on, every step we take—the good and the bad—it counts.” My fingers trembled as I put the ring on her. “When I have money someday, I promise I’ll replace it with the largest diamond ring in the world.” My voice caught. I felt she deserved so much better than the shame my family was putting her through. The sun that day was just like today, bright and blinding, shining on her young face, illuminating the fierce light in her eyes. I thought that was forever. … I didn’t stay in my own office long. My assistant knocked shortly after I got back. “Mr. Holt, this is the summary of the expense reports that were fast-tracked during your week away.” She placed the tablet in front of me. “Specifically… Mr. Sawyer’s spending requires your review.” I scrolled through the screen. Customized Italian personal grooming treatments, an exclusive wellness spa retreat, an extended lease on a Ritz-Carlton suite… Scrolling down further, my finger stopped on the last entry: Private OB-GYN Consultation & Services… The assistant cautiously added, “Finance said… these accounts were routed through the ‘Employee Wellness’ budget, authorized with Ms. Lane’s special approval.” I put down my coffee cup. “Jett Sawyer. How long has he been with us?” “Three months.” I nodded, asking nothing else. “If Ms. Lane approved it, process the expenses as normal.” The assistant hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of her jacket. “Mr. Holt… I’m not sure I should say this.” “Go on.” “The first day you were gone, he… he had Ms. Lane with him on your chair…” The assistant sniffled, her face flushed with discomfort. “I heard the noise when I passed. He was laughing, saying he wanted to take the thrill as far as it could go.” I subconsciously looked over at my executive chair. It was the one Cassia had specially ordered from Milan when we first started the company. She’d said, “You always have lower back pain. This chair is ergonomically designed for spinal support.” I already knew what my assistant was telling me. Jett Sawyer was barely twenty-two. Unlike the men who came before him—the ones who feared Cassia’s temper or losing their jobs—he was brazen, shameless. He wanted every love bite to be a close-up photo. Why wouldn’t he want to immediately send such a stimulating ‘trophy’ to me? Last Wednesday, at two in the morning. I was pulling an all-nighter on a proposal in my hotel room abroad when my phone screen lit up. A photo from an anonymous number. The moment I opened it, I couldn’t immediately process what I was seeing. Until I recognized it—my office. The man, his face obscured, was straddling my chair. Cassia sat on his lap, facing him, in a compromising position. The accompanying text message read: [It really is extra comfortable on this chair, isn’t it!] I didn’t see his face, but I knew exactly who it was. I didn’t reply. But in that moment, the dam I had been holding back for seven years suddenly burst. That was when I decided to return and handle the urgent business of ‘divorce’— And she, lost in her own smugness, had no idea that the divorce papers were hidden beneath the stack of “Soho Initiative funding requests.” 3 “Last Friday afternoon, the moment you left, Jett Sawyer came strutting in wearing your custom-made Italian Chelsea boots. I couldn’t help myself, I asked him why he was wearing your shoes. He had a ready answer…” The assistant paused, then relayed his words with disgust. “‘Ms. Lane said they look good on me. Mr. Holt? He’d never sweat the small stuff.’” She looked up, her expression a mix of sympathy and frustration on my behalf. “Mr. Holt, are you… really not going to sweat the small stuff?” I looked at the earnest, young woman who was standing up for me. I offered a small, bloodless smile, my tone completely level. “They always rubbed my heel a little. If he likes them, he can have them.” Before I left on the trip, I had no idea these two were involved. The company had been focused on a major market expansion, and I hadn’t paid my usual attention to Cassia. Besides, she’d had a seemingly steady lover installed in an apartment near the office complex. Judging by Jett’s audacity, the previous man had clearly been dispatched. “Wipe your eyes,” I handed her a tissue. “I’ll be out of the office next week. Keep an eye on things.” She looked puzzled. “Where are you going?” I didn’t answer. I simply looked out the window. The sunlight was perfect, just like the afternoon seven years ago when we went to the courthouse. Cassia had gone alone to the family estate. She knelt on the cold stone floor of my father’s library for three hours, begging for his approval. “Sir, I know you despise my background, but Declan and I love each other deeply. I swear I will never let him down.” Ultimately, my father had her escorted out. But he stood by the window for a long time that day. Later, he took her poorly constructed business plan, revised it in the library, and secretly mailed it to me. Bringing up these old wounds now feels like demanding payment for kindness, tainting sincerity with calculation. But if I don’t mention it… If I don’t mention it, she will truly believe she is a self-made prodigy. She will believe that all the data, the connections, the seed capital—she earned it all on her own merit. 4 Shortly after the assistant left, Cassia called me from the car. “Jett was completely spooked by your little surprise visit today,” her voice was low, laced with a playful intimacy. “I need to spend some time coaxing him back to normal. I’ll be late. Leave the front door unlocked for me.” I waited three seconds before speaking. “Didn’t we agree that you wouldn’t get pregnant?” Silence on the other end. “What are you talking about?” Her voice remained steady. “The OB-GYN visits Jett made—they can’t be without cause, can they?” A two-second pause. Then, a sudden chuckle. “You looked into him?” “It was on the company ledger,” I replied calmly. “A fifty-thousand-dollar premium prenatal package. Filed under employee benefits. You were very generous with the approval, Cassia.” Perhaps she signed the expense without looking at the details at all. She softened her tone, adopting a persuasive, honeyed sound. “Declan, that was an accident! He’s young, completely naïve. He thought if he got me pregnant, he could somehow force my hand.” “And?” “I’m handling it,” she said decisively. “Don’t worry, no one is going to threaten your position.” “Cassia.” I spoke her name. “Hmm?” “Do you remember,” I said slowly, deliberately, “how we lost our first child?” Her breathing hitched on the other end of the line. “Stop it, Declan. That’s in the past. Bringing it up again and again is pointless.” “You’re right.” I allowed myself a brief, dry laugh. “It’s all in the past.” The child who never made it. The vows she knelt and swore to me. The thing she held against me for so many years… “Get some rest,” she said. “I’ll come home once I’m done with him.” She hung up. I raised my hand and, for the first time, and the last, blocked her number. Then, I replied to the message that had been waiting for my confirmation for an entire week: [It’s handled. I will be on time for the wedding.] 5 When I left the office, all my personal effects had been discreetly packed and taken care of. The elevator descended, the gentle drop of gravity a comforting sensation of loss of control. There was a time, in this very elevator, when she pressed me against the mirrored wall, kissing me passionately, whispering: “Declan, I must have earned so much good karma in this life and the last to marry you.” Her eyes were so bright back then. Bright enough that she almost seemed to believe the lie she was telling. I had planned to meet a friend for a farewell dinner. The restaurant was downtown, overlooking the waterfront. I had barely settled in when I saw Jett Sawyer walk in, his arm draped around Cassia’s waist. He was leaning in to hear what she was saying, a lazy, entitled smile on his face. Cassia saw me first. She stopped for a moment, then her smile widened. Instead of avoiding me, she walked straight to my table. “Your ‘plans’ were to eat dinner by yourself?” She pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down. “The steak here is good,” Cassia said, picking up the bottle of wine on my table. “But this vintage you ordered is too mild. I’m having the server open a proper one.” The server brought the bottle she ordered. Cassia poured two glasses herself. One she pushed toward me, the other she handed to Jett. She looked at me. “How’s the taste?” “It’s fine.” “Just ‘fine’?” Her smile deepened. “I remember you used to love this. You said it had a certain… bittersweet almond note.” “People’s palates change,” I put the glass down. “Things you once thought were good, you look at now and realize they’re just mediocre.” Cassia’s eyes darkened slightly. But she quickly laughed, wrapping her arm around Jett’s shoulder. “Did you hear that?” She gently turned Jett’s face toward me. “Your brother is teaching you a lesson: don’t take women too seriously.” Jett looked at her, his eyes possessive. “What about you? Can I take you seriously?” “Me?” Cassia met my gaze, but her words were for him. “A woman like me is best enjoyed in passing, Jett.” 6 She spoke lightly, flippantly, likely expecting me to do what I always did—rise coldly and leave. To give them their private space. But I refused to be accommodating. I picked up the wine glass and took another sip. Only when I received a text that my friend couldn’t make it did I stand up. “He got held up,” I said. “If you’ll excuse me.” I turned to walk away. Jett suddenly spoke. “Bro, Cassia’s birthday is next week. We’re throwing a yacht party. You should come.” I paused. “You have to come,” Jett added, his voice loaded with suggestion. “Cassia said her most desired gift this year is…” He drew out the pause, looking to Cassia. Cassia lightly squeezed his shoulder, cutting him off. “Stop playing games.” I nodded. “I can be there. As long as you’re not afraid of me making the party even more ‘exciting’.” With that, I walked out. The glass door sealed shut, cutting off their laughter and conversation into a different world. I arrived at the house at seven. Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper, was in the kitchen simmering broth. “Mr. Holt, you’re back?” “Ms. Lane called and said she’ll be late. Should I save the soup for her?” “No,” I set down my bag. “She won’t be coming home.” Mrs. Gable looked uncertain. “Are you… sleeping here tonight, sir?” I paused, halfway through taking off my coat. “What do you mean?” “The days you were traveling,” Mrs. Gable’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Mr. Sawyer… he moved in.” The air was still for two seconds. I continued to unbutton my coat, one, two. “Which room is he in?” “The primary suite… four nights in a row. Ms. Lane… was there too.” I nodded slowly. “Ms. Lane,” Mrs. Gable hesitated. “I didn’t want to tell you, but she said you’d be upset, and she told me to…” “It’s alright. I don’t blame you.” I looked up, surveying the living room. Every piece of furniture here was chosen by me, every painting hung by me. She loved it. She always said, “Declan, this house only feels like a home when you’re in it.” Now, the house was no different from a high-end motel. Anyone could check in for a few nights. “Sir, don’t hold it in. If you want to yell, or even cry, it would be better than this…” Cry? I saw my reflection in the glass of the painting. My eyes were empty. A well that had been dry for years—how could it possibly produce water now? “Mrs. Gable, you can go home for the night.” I headed upstairs. Opening the door to the primary suite, a strange, unfamiliar scent washed over me. The sheets had been changed, and seven or eight boxes of unopened Durex were haphazardly scattered on the nightstand. I pushed the window open, letting the night wind rush in. It blew away the stale, unpleasant air. I pulled open the deepest drawer in the walk-in closet. Seven small journals, arranged by year. They were still there. The cover of the top one was a slightly dated deep-sea blue, the edges worn from use. That was the first year of our marriage. I had diligently recorded everything I did for this ‘home,’ like a student conducting a project: the light fixtures I fixed, the dishes she loved I taught myself to cook, the trips we planned… On the last page, a line of pencil read: [Seven-Year Plan, Completion: 1/7] In the second notebook, the focus shifted abruptly to me. It was filled with workout plans, excerpts from self-help books on maintaining intimacy… From the third book onward, the entries became sparse, the dates increasingly sporadic— Not because life was boring, but because my emotional energy was being spent elsewhere. I had thought seven years of beautiful records could fight off the seven-year itch. But I had stopped updating it four years ago. Those years had been dedicated to more practical matters— Tracking hotel charges on her bank statements, locating the apartments where her assistant delivered the flowers she’d ordered for her lovers… The men I had confronted during those years of escalating conflict were too many to count. I gently dropped the notebooks into the waste bin. Seven years. My plan had only reached one-seventh completion. I was the only one in the marriage striving for salvation. She, meanwhile, had long since opened her own private harem, seeking universal spiritual comfort. My phone chimed with a flight notification: [Mr. Holt, your urgent flight has been confirmed. Departure at midnight.] I replied, “Thank you.” While performing a final check of my luggage, I felt a hard object at the bottom of the suitcase. It was the silver ring Cassia had handed me, the one she made me use to propose to her. I tossed it onto the bed, grabbed the suitcase, and walked out. The rideshare was waiting by the curb. The driver asked, “The airport, sir?” “Yes.” … As expected, Cassia, wrapped up with Jett, didn’t come home. She woke up just after noon the next day, her phone buzzing. An automatic bank alert: [Your account ending in 8818 made a transfer of $1.00 USD to ‘Declan Holt’ at 03:47 AM. Memo: Divorce Settlement Payment.] She frowned, thinking she’d misread it. Just as she was about to scrutinize the screen, a breaking news alert popped up— [Tycoon Tête-à-Tête: The Holt Group Finalizes Strategic Split; Holt and Caldwell Families Announce Formal Union] “What is it?” Jett Sawyer’s voice was close, his chin resting on her shoulder, still thick with sleep. “Who’s being such a buzzkill so early…” Cassia rubbed her temples. The screen lit up again. It was a text from her lawyer: [Ms. Lane, the divorce petition with both signatures, authorized by Mr. Holt, has been filed with the court. You are required to file your response within seven days.]

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I was on a self-imposed sabbatical in the countryside when the text came in: I was the long-lost, biological son of the Kincaid family. When the two men in black suits strapped my hands behind my back, dragging me through the grand front hall, the fake heir, Chadwick Kincaid—Chad—stood behind my presumed parents, looking suitably distressed. He was a master of the wounded-gazelle routine. My biological father, Mr. Kincaid, a man whose face was chiseled from old granite, spoke in a frigid tone. “Your brother ruined the painting the Sinclair heiress sent to her younger brother. You will go to the Sinclair estate and apologize on his behalf.” Chad sniffled, his eyes red-rimmed, playing the role perfectly. “Don’t worry, little brother. If anything unfortunate happens to you, I promise I’ll be the dutiful son for Mom and Dad.” And my rumored fiancée, Brielle Lockhart, was staring at me with naked disgust. “Honestly, straight from the sticks. You reek of the gutter,” she spat, then turned her full venom on me. “Chadwick is too proud to ever bow his head. If you dare shirk this duty, you’ll be sorry you ever showed your face here.” Gutter? I looked down at the perfectly tailored high-end bespoke suit I was wearing. I’d only spent a few weeks in a quiet, remote town as a break from Manhattan life. How did that make me “poor”? More importantly, was my sister—the infamous Sloane Sinclair—really that heartless? It was just a painting I’d accidentally scuffed. Did it really warrant me being tied up and forced to grovel? … “Wait!” Just as the bodyguards began to haul me out, Brielle’s voice cut through the air. “I’ll go with him.” She walked toward us, adjusting the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist. “The Sinclair estate isn’t some backyard BBQ. Their rules are absolute. This country bumpkin knows nothing of decorum. If he tries to run along the way, or if he gets there and opens his mouth to spout nonsense, offending one of the Sinclairs—” She paused, her expression still one of pure contempt. “Well, then not just him, but all of us will pay the price.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “Remember, you must kneel for twelve straight hours at the Sinclair manor. That’s the only way to show true sincerity. Otherwise, your dirt-poor foster father back in the village…” The threat hung in the air, unfinished but crystal clear. Foster father? I froze. What in the hell were they talking about? When I was little and got lost, I hadn’t been picked up by a struggling rural family. I was found at a quiet Jesuit retreat by the founder, a man who saw me praying alone and declared that I was a child sent by God, full of good fortune. He processed the adoption paperwork instantly, taking me in. Coincidentally, the year after I arrived, his niece, who had been struggling with a chronic, debilitating illness, made a miraculous, full recovery. The whole family believed I was the source of her good fortune. They had spoiled me senseless. They must have mistaken a family groundskeeper, Mr. Henderson, who had recently gone back to visit his own relatives, for a “rural foster father.” “Son, your mother and I do care about you, truly. After this whole ordeal is over, we will treat you properly.” My biological mother, Mrs. Kincaid, spoke up reluctantly, perhaps remembering the weak tug of blood relation. “Your brother grew up with us, sheltered. He hasn’t had a hard day in his life, so you’ll have to take the fall for him this time.” Treat me properly? I scoffed internally. My father had kept my DNA on file with the police for twenty years, just in case. But they didn’t come for me until Chad screwed up and needed a human shield. Did they think I wouldn’t notice the convenient timing? He hasn’t had a hard day in his life, but I have? Fine. This was the clarity I needed. I’d see this through, and then I’d call my real father and tell him he could finally close that decades-old missing person file. The Kincaids could have their perfect little family back. “Brielle, you’re an angel.” Chad gave me a smug, triumphant look, then wrapped an overly familiar arm around Brielle’s waist. “Maybe I should go too. My little brother has been in the boondocks for so long, he’s probably untamed. A second person is just insurance.” “I think you just can’t bear to be without me.” Brielle tilted her head and gave him a quick, possessive kiss on the lips. Untamed? I was shocked. If the Sinclairs heard him describe their ‘good-luck charm’ in those terms, the Kincaid family would be annihilated before sunset. Swallowing the laugh that threatened to spill out, I plastered a look of terrified obedience on my face. “Brielle, please don’t worry. I won’t run. I know you’re my fiancée, and I have to listen to you. Wherever you tell me to go, I’ll go.” “Shut up! How dare you call her Brielle? And whether or not that engagement even stands is still up for debate!” Chad raged, furious that the fake-heir title was about to expire. Brielle’s face softened fractionally. “Enough. Get in the car.” I watched the venomous jealousy flash in Chad’s eyes. This was his limit? We hadn’t even started. The car pulled slowly away from the mansion. “You’re dead,” Chad hissed, leaning in close. His eyes were bright with a dark, ugly excitement. “The Sinclair heiress won’t let you off the hook. Let’s see what you’ll use to compete with me for Brielle and the Kincaid empire then.” He gripped my shoulder, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “I’m telling you, everything here belongs to me. Once you get to that Sinclair estate, you’re finished.” The Sinclair estate. I almost chuckled. That sprawling property was where I’d spent my childhood being absolutely lawless. And the Sinclair heiress, the rumored cold and stunning woman—if I remembered correctly, my sister, Sloane, had once helped me steal a priceless antique chess set from my grandfather’s study. We’d both been punished with two hours of military-style drills in the sweltering heat. I wondered what kind of spectacular meltdown she would have seeing me, her little brother, bound up like livestock, delivered to her doorstep as a sacrificial lamb. Would she break their legs first? Or start with their hands? Ten minutes passed, and we hadn’t even made a dent in the drive. I strained against the ropes binding my arms, a surge of regret hitting me. I hadn’t realized the Kincaids lived this far from the Sinclairs. “You idiot, what are you doing?” Chad instantly yelled, his paranoia spiking. “It hurts,” I muttered, rolling my eyes inwardly. Was he always this dramatic? “Hurts? You’re some poor piece of trash from the country. You’re thick-skinned! You’ve been bound for ten minutes and you’re already pretending to be in pain? I bet you’re just trying to escape.” “Escape? I’m hogtied in the back of a black SUV. You show me how to run.” I was almost laughing at the sheer absurdity of his logic. “Brielle, I told you his intentions weren’t pure. He just said he’d obey you, and now look.” Chad fixed me with a hateful stare and then turned to Brielle, clearly hoping to egg her on. Brielle, predictably, took the bait. “I’m warning you, stay in line. Don’t try anything clever,” she sneered, her voice laced with superiority. “Who do you think you are? Don’t assume that just because you share a sliver of Kincaid blood, you’re suddenly someone important.” “Everything belongs to Chad. Just look at yourself. You can’t even compare to one of his hair follicles.” She paused, her voice dripping with further scorn. “As for me, don’t even dream about it. My husband will be a man of true pedigree, like Chad. A peasant raised in the middle of nowhere like you isn’t fit to tie my shoes. Get that through your head.” Chad smirked triumphantly but played the peacemaker. “Brielle, don’t talk like that. Even if he came from a low-class background, he’s still Mom and Dad’s son.” Low-class background. No one had ever dared to speak to me that way. I struggled to contain the furious emotion swelling inside me. My sister had taught me early on never to argue with an idiot. I deliberately curled my arms, making the tight knots dig into my wrists, and adopted a pitiful expression. “I’m sorry. I won’t move again.” I said, my voice meek. “Chad, you don’t have to worry. You are the sole Kincaid heir, and I’ll listen to everything you say. I won’t fight you for Brielle, either.” Seeing me so completely broken, Chad’s arrogance exploded. He couldn’t help himself. He sighed dramatically. “Little brother, we’re only doing this for your own good. It’s good that you finally understand.” He leaned back, crossing his arms. “People like us, born into this status, are on a different level than your dusty village. We’re taking you to the Sinclairs to show you how the real world works, and to teach you to be careful. Don’t make mistakes.” But I wasn’t prepared for his malice to escalate. He turned to Brielle again. “Brielle, I’m still worried. What if he gets nervous? What if he’s clumsy and offends the Sinclairs? He’ll get us all killed.” “We should practice first. Give him some mental prep.” “What are you talking about?” I lifted my head abruptly, a sudden, chilling sense of dread washing over me. “What am I talking about? Don’t you get it?” Chad spoke with a cold calmness. “We’re going to practice. A dress rehearsal. You need to show us how you’ll beg and grovel. Just so you don’t choke when the real show starts.” Before Brielle could respond, he ordered the driver to pull over into a deserted, wide-open spot. Before I could process it, he violently yanked me out of the car. I landed hard on the cold asphalt. “Alright, little brother. Kneel for me.” Chad stood over me, his gaze contemptuous. “Practice how to kowtow and how to plead for mercy.” “Go to hell!” I glared back, unable to stop the words. I kneeled only to the heavens, the earth, and my parents. Chad was nothing. “Still talking back?” The fake smile instantly vanished from Chad’s face. He drew back his leg and kicked me hard in the stomach. A shockwave of twisting pain radiated through me. My bound hands made it impossible to brace myself, and my forehead slammed into the ground. A warm, sticky liquid immediately flowed into my eye. “I knew you were faking it!” Chad’s face was a mask of pure fury. “You spoke so sweetly in the car, but now you refuse to kneel? You’re clearly plotting to get me killed!” Brielle rushed over, equally enraged. “You pathetic trash! We almost fell for your act!” “You think you’re too good for this? I’m telling you, you will kneel whether you want to or not. You have no choice!” “Dream on!” I gritted my teeth and spit a mouthful of blood and phlegm toward them. “Still resisting?” Brielle’s palm struck my face with all her strength. The ringing in my ears was instantly replaced by her furious voice. “I’m giving you this chance! You are Kincaid property, a mistake they picked up. You’re lucky to be alive! It’s an honor for you to take Chad’s punishment! If you don’t start respecting the rules, I’ll be the one to teach you what they are.” “Don’t you dare!” I stared at her, my eyes blazing. I had been treated like a little prince, a source of good fortune my entire life. No one had ever dared to raise a hand or a voice against me. Who was Brielle Lockhart to teach me a lesson? My raw fury startled her for a moment. She faltered, then roared, enraged by her own momentary fear. “Watch me!” Chad stomped on my leg. Brielle slapped me again, and again, driven by a hysterical, escalating rage. “I’m a Lockhart heiress! You’re nothing but cheap goods from the sticks! I have every right to teach you a lesson! Stop looking at me like that!” She turned to the two hulking bodyguards. “Hold his head down and make him kowtow! When he learns his lesson, you can let him up!” The two men stepped forward instantly. One pinned my limbs, the other grabbed my head, forcing it down with crushing pressure. I struggled with every ounce of strength, but it was useless. Thud. My forehead hit the unforgiving pavement. My vision swam. Then, the warm, wet feeling returned, heavier this time. “Hahaha! Excellent!” Chad roared with laughter, watching my pathetic state. “See, little brother? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just cooperate? That’s a lovely, loud sound. Why go through all this trouble? A cheap life should know its place.” He ground the heel of his leather shoe onto my hand. The pain was blinding. Then, with his other hand, he mockingly patted my bruised cheek. “Good boy. Now, say ‘woof woof’ for us.” This was the ultimate humiliation. My body trembled, not from pain, but from white-hot rage. My eyes were bloodshot, staring daggers at him. I spoke through clenched teeth, every word dripping with venom. “Do you know who I am?” “I am Sloane Sinclair’s brother, June Sinclair.” I thought they would at least hesitate, maybe show a hint of doubt. Instead, they burst into raucous laughter, as if I had told the funniest joke in the world. “Hahaha! Did you hear that? The Big Sister’s brother? You must have lost your mind from the head trauma, or you’ve gone crazy from poverty and started hallucinating! The Sinclairs? Do you know who they are? They’re a dynasty that can shake the entire state of Connecticut with a flick of the wrist. Do you really think a piece of trash like you, dragged out of whatever mountain hole, can claim kinship?” Brielle leaned into Chad, giggling. “See, Chad? Good thing we made him practice. With this kind of raving madness, he would have ruined everything at the Sinclair estate and gotten us all wiped out.” He looked down at me, a dark glint in his eye. “It seems we won’t just make him apologize. We need to teach him a lesson for the Sinclairs. Sloane Sinclair is famously protective of her brother. If she hears this idiot is running around claiming to be him, she’ll be grateful to us for punishing him. We’ll get contracts, or even that prime piece of downtown land!” “Oh? What do you propose, Chad?” Brielle prompted, her eyes gleaming. Chad scanned the area. “Didn’t the ancients apologize by bringing a whip and thorns? Let’s honor tradition. Strip him, bind him with the thick, barbed rope, and drag him to the Sinclair estate. That’s what I call sincerity. I bet the Big Sister will be impressed.” Brielle’s face lit up. “My Chad is the smartest! Why didn’t I think of that?” It wasn’t until Chad pulled out a length of heavy, thorny vine that I realized he was serious. My eyes widened in terror. “Chad! Are you insane? This is assault! This is a felony!” “Law?” Chad scoffed. “Little brother, out here, I am the law. I’m helping you redeem yourself for the Sinclairs.” Chad ran his hand over the menacing barbs, grinning at my fear. “This is the only way Sloane Sinclair will believe our sincerity and forgive your insane babbling.” “Don’t you dare! Chad! Brielle! You wouldn’t!” I thrashed wildly, but the bodyguards held me fast. Brielle gave a cold wave of her hand. “Tear his clothes off and bind him. Make sure those ropes are tied tight. If a single one comes loose, you’ll lose your job—or worse!” The bodyguards lunged, ripping my suit jacket and dress shirt off. Then, they began brutally wrapping the thick, barbed vine around my back and arms. “Agh!” With every twist of the rope, the thorns dug deeper into my flesh. Blood instantly began to pour out, soaking the rope and the pavement beneath me. I couldn’t stop the scream. Chad’s excitement was manic. “That’s beautiful, little brother! So beautiful!” He squatted down, forcing his face close to mine. “When we get to the Sinclair estate, I want you to make that sound again. Every time you kowtow, I want you to scream it loud enough for the whole family to hear how deeply sorry this idiot is.” The ropes tightened further. More barbs pierced my skin. Each breath was an agony. I bit down on my lower lip until I tasted blood, swallowing the metallic tang. I fixed my scarlet eyes on them, the hatred absolute. I was fading. Consciousness was a distant shore. Suddenly, I heard Brielle’s sickeningly sweet, placating voice. “Oh, Miss Sinclair! Are you just heading out? What a coincidence.” Then, an older, familiar voice. “The Young Master is being a bit flighty and hasn’t come home yet. Miss Sloane is worried and going out to search for him.” Mr. Henderson. It was the family groundskeeper, the man they thought was my foster father. He was driving the car. A surge of frantic hope coursed through me. With my last ounce of energy, I stretched out my hand and fumbled for the car window button. The window whirred down. I saw her. My sister’s familiar, beautiful, decisive face. Tears instantly blurred my vision.

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My husband Pierce Donovan’s newest student, Brooke Miller, wasn’t just curious; she was a goddamn investigative journalist of my private life. The first time she was alone with me, she asked if I’d leaked urine after childbirth and if Pierce, the revered professor, still found me sexually attractive. Later, under the guise of “researching the human body,” she relentlessly pestered Pierce to let her examine him. It escalated to sending him lingerie photos late at night, asking which set would make a man “get off.” Yet, every time I confronted him, Pierce would cite her troubled background as an orphan and insist I show compassion and restraint. “She’s just a curious baby, Scarlett,” he’d sigh. I kept my mouth shut. I kept my rage tucked away. Until Christmas Day. I had stepped out with my mother-in-law to pick up a new playing card. When I returned, I found Brooke, not just holding a handful of crushed walnuts, but shoving them into my five-year-old daughter Daisy’s mouth. Walnuts. Daisy has a severe, life-threatening nut allergy. After rushing my daughter to the hospital, the adrenaline of terror gave way to pure, blinding fury. I slapped Brooke across the face. Pierce immediately pulled the sniffling girl into his arms. He looked at me, his handsome brow furrowed in disappointment. “Scarlett, you need to calm down. Why are you attacking a kid who has no family? Brooke was just curious about the reaction. An academic observation, that’s all. It’s not like Daisy is permanently damaged.” “She’s fine, isn’t she?” I closed my eyes, the cold finally seeping into the deepest parts of my soul. If he was going to protect his so-called “curious baby” like this, then the role of the Perfect Wife was officially vacant. 1 “Mrs. Donovan, I really was just too curious.” Brooke dabbed at her eyes, leaning on Pierce. “You let me stay in your home for the holidays. If I made a mistake, aren’t you the one with the bigger responsibility?” Even Pierce looked at me with a cold, accusing stare. “Brooke is young, Scarlett, and still just a kid. You knew Daisy has allergies, so you shouldn’t have any nut products in the house to begin with! This is your fault.” Standing outside the emergency room doors, my anger was so extreme it circled back around to a terrifying calm. I just nodded. “You’re right,” I said. “It is my fault.” My mistake wasn’t the nut products. My mistake was suffocating myself for so long, swallowing my justifiable feelings and compromises just to become his Perfect Wife. Daisy has a severe nut allergy, but my mother-in-law loves pecans. To accommodate everyone, I painstakingly prepared all the favorite holiday foods. Now, I realized I was the only person I had forgotten to accommodate. I remembered the past months. Every time Brooke’s “curiosity” led to inappropriate behavior with Pierce, I had gently questioned him, only to be met with that familiar, cold irritation. “Scarlett, I’m busy. I don’t have time for your silly, jealous games. Brooke is a student, not some mistress. We’re not the disgusting people you think we are.” That single sentence—disgusting people—had shamed me into silence and completely crushed my courage to ever question him again. From that moment on, I learned to rationalize their oversteps. I threw myself into being the perfect homemaker and hostess, desperate to earn his public acknowledgment as a “good wife.” I had it all wrong. The Perfect Wife gets neither his love, his attention, nor the ability to protect my daughter. Pierce, expecting a fight, looked confused. His expression softened with a complicated mix of relief and subtle condescension. “I’m glad you finally see your mistake.” Just then, Daisy was stabilized and rolled out. Her small face was pale, and she was silently mouthing “Mommy” and “Daddy.” Pierce, the doting father, took a step toward her. But his step was snagged by Brooke, whose legs suddenly buckled. “Professor, I feel faint…” He looked at his frail daughter, then down at the picture of helpless distress in his arms. He lifted Brooke, cradling her. “Daisy’s stable, Cami. You stay here. I have to get Brooke back to her dorm. She probably skipped breakfast ‘to observe the symptoms of hypoglycemia’ or some bullshit.” He hurried away. Daisy’s eyes filled with tears as she was wheeled into the recovery room. She clung to me, her voice a small, broken whisper. “Does Daddy hate me? Why did he hug the bad sister and not stay with me?” Her pale face was marked by the small, red scratches Brooke had left when forcing the nuts into her mouth. “I’m sorry, Mommy. Is it because I’m not a good girl that Daddy doesn’t want to come home? I’ll be quiet. I’ll be good.” My heart shattered. I hugged her tight, trembling, telling her over and over that none of this was her fault. That her mother loved her fiercely. The next day, Pierce was supposed to pick us up. He never showed. We were already in the car when he finally called. “The lab is crazy, Scarlett. I can’t leave. Take Daisy home, and I promise, I’ll make it up to her.” But through the phone, I heard Brooke’s voice, sickly sweet, complaining that her hand hurt and begging him to feed her. The tiny spark of hope in Daisy’s eyes died. “Mommy,” she whispered. “Can we go to a house with just you and me? Daddy likes my little brother. I don’t want a Daddy anymore.” Little brother? I froze. Pierce and I only had Daisy. Where would a “little brother” come from? Watching my five-year-old weep, a cold, hard knot formed in my stomach. I didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” I said, putting the car in drive. “We’re moving today.” As I drove Daisy to the first safe place I could think of, I called a private investigator. “I need everything you have on Pierce Donovan and Brooke Miller. Everything. And I need to know if they have a child.” The neighborhood was alight with festive decorations, firecrackers popping in the distance. It was a holiday. But when I arrived at the apartment building with Daisy, the security guard stopped me. “Who are you? Gotta have a keycard to get in!” I frowned. “My husband has the keycard, but I’m the owner of unit 603.” The guard snickered. “Mistresses are getting bold these days. The owner of 603 is heavily pregnant and definitely does not have a kid that big.” I stared at him. That apartment was my property, bought before Pierce. It was our first place, where we lived for three years, packed with the early memories he’d sworn were sacred. He’d promised it would be our “love nest,” the place we’d return to when we were old. The deed was in my name alone. I swallowed the rising panic. “I am the owner. I bought the unit eight years ago—” “Get lost!” The guard waved me off impatiently. “Go find a better time for this, lady! I don’t care about your story. No outsiders allowed on Christmas.” His eyes slid to Daisy, a look of outright contempt that seemed to call my daughter a bastard. The insult was a physical slap. I reached for my phone and pulled up the digital deed. He took his time reviewing it, waiting until a couple passing by paused to watch. Reluctantly, he handed the phone back. “The registration list doesn’t have your name, lady. Even if this is real, I need to see you open the door. That’s Professor Donovan’s home, and you are not going to cause a scene.” His arrogant face fueled my sudden calm. “Fine. You can follow me upstairs and watch me open my own front door.” I parked the car and took Daisy’s hand. The guard scoffed behind me. “What are you waiting for? Can’t even open your own front door, huh?” I extended my finger to the biometric reader. BEEP. Authentication failed. The guard laughed. I tried the keypad, punching in our anniversary. Password incorrect. “Told you you’re a mistress! The owner can’t get into her own house? Now take the brat and get out!” The guard lost all pretense of patience and reached out to grab my arm. Daisy screamed, terrified. As I fought to pull away, her small teeth sank into the man’s arm. He bellowed and viciously kicked my daughter. Her tiny body slammed against the stone wall. Her head snapped back, and she collapsed. “Daisy!” My vision swam red. I fought desperately against the guards, but all I could do was watch as the man who kicked her raised his security baton high above my unconscious daughter’s head. “Stop!” It was Pierce. My tightly wound body relaxed for a split second. Daisy was still his daughter. He would never allow them to hurt her. But the Pierce who stepped out of the apartment was not the Pierce I knew. He wrapped his arm around Brooke’s shoulders, his expression dark with fury. “Scarlett! I told you that child isn’t mine! I’m married! Stop harassing us!” In front of everyone, he hesitated, then pulled out a wad of cash and threw it, hitting my face. “This is charity, for you. Bringing a child out in the middle of winter as leverage? You’re a terrible mother.” “Guards, get them out. Don’t let them bother me again.” I gaped at him, my eyes burning. “Pierce Donovan! This is my apartment. My pre-marital asset—” Before I could finish, he kicked me—hard—in the chest. “Lies! Guards! Are you really going to let an outsider terrorize a resident?” The stunned security officers swarmed me, roughly dragging me and Daisy away. I shielded her body with mine, screaming, my voice raw with heartbreak. “Pierce Donovan! I was blind! I threw away my whole life for you!” For a fleeting second, his eyes met mine, and I saw a flicker of panic. But it vanished quickly. Brooke took his hand and placed it on her stomach. I couldn’t hear what she said, but I saw the doting, tender smile he gave her. The neighbors’ scornful whispers surrounded me. “No shame, trying to claim a married man like that.” “Look at the poor kid. Her life is ruined with a mother like that.” Out in the ice and snow, my daughter, just recovering from anaphylaxis, was being rushed to the emergency room for the third time in two days. Pierce’s texts popped up on my phone. He claimed that because Brooke had no parents, he was just letting her stay in the apartment temporarily. “Scarlett, don’t be ridiculous. If the neighbors find out you’re my wife, how is Brooke going to live here? You sound like a screaming shrew, Cami. Where is the calm, gentle wife I married?” Screaming shrew. That final line was the last, cold-blooded blow that shattered the lingering pieces of my love. The ‘gentle wife’ was a performance, a straightjacket I’d worn for him. Now, I was just raw, furious, and determined. My hands trembling, I called home. “Dad,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’m sorry… I made a terrible mistake. I need your help.” While Daisy was being treated, I made two major moves. First, I hired a professional legal team and drafted divorce papers that would ensure Pierce left with nothing. I also immediately sold the pre-marital apartment at a deep discount. Second, I had my family cut all hidden financial support for Pierce’s university research and, more immediately, instructed the nurse taking care of his paralyzed father to quit immediately. I had been the dutiful, sacrificing wife for so long that I’d almost forgotten the kind of leverage and freedom Scarlett Blake once possessed. The day the nurse left, Pierce called dozens of times. When I finally answered, his voice was tired and frantic. “Scarlett, where are you?! My father has been lying in his own filth for a day, the place is covered in dirty clothes and trash, the fridge is empty!” I listened, unmoved. “I’m with my daughter. She’s recovering.” His rant paused. His voice went husky. “I… I forgot. How is Daisy? I’m coming right now—” His words were cut off by a girl’s soft squeal, then the sound of urgent footsteps and a lingering kiss. I hung up, expressionless. He didn’t deserve to see our daughter again. He didn’t deserve any genuine human emotion. Pierce didn’t visit the hospital once during Daisy’s stay. He only rushed in when I was checking her out, right before our flight. “I’m so sorry, Scarlett. Home has been a total mess without you. I finally realize how much you do. When we get back—I promise, I’ll make it up to you and Daisy.” He knelt, forcing a weary smile onto his haggard face. “Daisy, sweetie, can Daddy hold you now?” My phone buzzed, saturated with texts from Brooke. “You know why the Professor hasn’t visited? I passed the three-month mark today! I told him I was curious about pregnancy sex, so he stayed in bed with me for seven days straight!” I looked up. There was a faint red mark just beneath Pierce’s collar. But this time, no emotion stirred in my chest. Daisy looked at Pierce, hope and fear warring in her eyes. She hugged my leg and whispered to me. “Mommy, can I just hug Daddy once? Then I really don’t ever want him again.” I stroked her hair and agreed. I left for only a moment to grab our belongings from the room, but when I returned, Pierce and Daisy were gone. I screamed her name, running hysterically down the halls. I stumbled around a corner, and a sharp, paralyzing pain exploded in the back of my skull. Darkness. I woke up in a freezing warehouse. Daisy was strapped into a restraint chair with electrodes. Her mouth was taped shut. She was crying hysterically, her face beet red, struggling for breath. “Professor, they say shock treatment makes kids smarter. Just let me try it, please?” I was paralyzed by shock. “Pierce Donovan, are you insane?! She called you Daddy! And you’re going to electrocuteher?!” Pierce’s eyes flickered with a hint of remorse, but it vanished as Brooke started to weep pitifully. “Professor! If I don’t satisfy my curiosity, I won’t be able to eat or sleep! My tummy hurts right now!” At the mention of her stomach, Pierce was instantly focused on her, his face a mask of panic. “Okay, okay, anything you want…” “Brooke Miller, don’t you touch her! If you hurt Daisy, I will rip you to pieces—” SMACK! A stinging blow split my lip. Blood bloomed on my chin. I stared at Pierce in utter disbelief. He was snarling. “Daisy wouldn’t listen to a damn thing I said! I just asked her to call Brooke ‘Mommy,’ and she bit her! She bit her!” Brooke seized the opportunity, cuddling into his side. “The bite hurts! Shock treatment doesn’t just make them smart, it makes them obedient. Professor, I want to play!” The “bite” was a tiny, unbroken red mark on her arm. I screamed and struggled, the ropes around my wrists cutting deep, drawing blood, but I couldn’t stop Brooke from flipping the switch. A current surged. Daisy cried out, instantly losing control of her bladder, convulsing, and passing out. But Brooke wasn’t finished. She cranked the dial up and hit the switch again. Daisy was only five! She started foaming at the mouth, her entire body twitching violently. Brooke laughed, picking up a metal rod and whipping it across Daisy’s face. Daisy woke up, screaming in raw pain. “Shut up! Stop crying! Tell me you’ll listen to me!” But a five-year-old child could only cry for her mother. My heart was hemorrhaging. “Stop it! Stop, you monster!” Seeing Daisy’s continued tears, Brooke’s eyes hardened. “How will you ever be a good big sister if you don’t learn obedience? You’re going to get a good lesson this time.” She reached for the highest-voltage switch. Pierce didn’t see it, but I saw her look at me, a silent, vicious challenge in her eyes. “Your daughter is going to die.” “NO!” Just as her finger made contact with the button— The warehouse doors were violently kicked open. Highly trained men in black suits swarmed the room, instantly tackling Pierce and Brooke to the floor.

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The first thing I did when I got home for winter break was check the safe deposit box containing my future inheritance. I stared into the empty space, my breath catching in my throat. My personal treasury—gone. Grandma Helen’s antique diamond and sapphire cuff, the emerald earrings, the gold heirloom watch, all totaling over $150,000—vanished. I was about to call my mom when a university acquaintance, Tatum Wells, posted a picture to her social media. [So grateful to my amazing parents for my new engagement cuff! Mom says it’s my first piece of my wedding jewels. I’m being spoiled! ] The photo showed two identical bracelets on her wrist. They were sickeningly familiar. I immediately messaged her: “Where did you get that cuff?” She shot back a reply: “Dad snagged it for me at an auction. Why, jealous?” I quickly took a screenshot for evidence and called my father. “Dad, did you happen to move the jewelry Grandma gave me?” His voice hesitated for a fraction of a second before he spoke, sounding completely casual. “No, sweetie, those things are safe and sound in your box, aren’t they?” I said, “Good,” with a laugh, then hung up and immediately drove to the location Tatum had tagged. 1 The car dropped me outside a high-end photography studio. I walked quickly inside and spotted Tatum Wells right away. She was facing away from me, her arm linked affectionately with a woman who was probably in her mid-forties, with dyed brown, wavy hair. I’d only caught a fleeting glimpse of that face once—on my dad’s phone screen. He had quickly pressed the power button, mumbling something about it being a photo of an excellent employee he needed to review for the company. I walked up and spoke her name clearly: “Tatum Wells.” The woman and Tatum turned simultaneously. The woman’s smile froze the instant she saw me, as if she’d been blindsided. But she quickly composed herself, greeting me with a polite, measured warmth. “You must be Tatum’s college friend. She’s mentioned you.” Tatum, however, just stared, the expression on her face pure disbelief. “Kinsley? What are you doing here?” “I’m here to take a family portrait with my parents. What are you doing here?” A sharp ache pierced my chest. I knew exactly what day it was. It was my parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Before Dad left this morning, he said he’d rush through his work at the office so he could come home early. Mom was humming in the kitchen, already looking forward to their celebration. He hadn’t come home. He was here. Tatum seemed to realize the connection, too, and covered her mouth in an exaggerated expression of shock. “Oh my God! You didn’t check my post and follow me here, did you? Are you stalking me?” Her tone and expression were theatrical, laced with a deliberate, mocking superiority. The woman, Bethany Wells, interjected smoothly: “Tatum, don’t talk like that. Perhaps your friend was just passing by. I trust that others are as well-mannered as you are, honey.” The comment was a subtle jab, not only calling me a stalker but also taking a swipe at my mother’s parenting. I smiled, cutting straight to the point. “Tatum Wells, would you mind asking your dad to come out? I’d like to meet him.” For four years of college, Tatum had subtly competed with me on everything—grades, fashion, and who received the most expensive gifts. I had always dismissed it as harmless, youthful rivalry, never quite understanding the source of her faint but persistent malice. Now I knew. Tatum paused, instantly defensive. “Why do you want to meet my dad?” Bethany tugged Tatum’s arm, giving me a perfectly composed, yet distant, smile. “Tatum’s father left right after we finished our family portrait. He isn’t here anymore.” “If you’d like to meet him, Kinsley, perhaps another time.” My eyes dropped to the woman’s neck. She was wearing a vintage emerald pendant necklace. The stone was clear and deep, like water. It was one of my favorite heirlooms, passed down through my mother’s family for generations. Bethany noticed my gaze. Her fingers delicately touched the pendant, and her lips curved into an unnervingly perfect smile. “This necklace looks decent on me, don’t you think? Oh, Tatum’s dad is just so sweet. He insisted it was the perfect match for me and had to have me wear it.” Tatum giggled. “Just take the compliment, Mom. Dad is crazy about you.” I looked at the familiar necklace on her neck and offered a small smile of my own. “Ms. Wells, that necklace is truly beautiful.” “Funny thing is, I have an identical one. Except… mine seems to have gone missing recently.” Bethany’s color drained slightly. Before she could speak, Tatum erupted. “There are millions of necklaces in the world! It’s totally normal for styles to be identical!” She paused, her eyes sweeping over the simple pearl necklace I was wearing. “Speaking of necklaces, isn’t that cheap internet trash? Those pearls look fake. You’re actually wearing something so low-quality?” A buzzing sound filled my ears. Blood rushed to my head. My father, Robert Sullivan, had personally put this pearl necklace around my neck last month for my birthday. He’d claimed he’d specially sourced it for me during an international business trip. When I first touched the cold, slightly plastic-feeling beads, I only assumed he was clueless and had been scammed abroad. I was afraid of making him feel guilty, afraid of his disappointment, so I wore it every single day, even when the inferior material irritated the skin on my neck. “What? Nothing to say? Embarrassed that I called you out for wearing fakes?” Bethany gently scolded her daughter. “Tatum, that is no way to speak to your friend. It’s rude.” Tatum pouted, but her eyes were bright with a triumphant smugness. I didn’t argue. I simply reached into my pocket and turned off the recording app on my phone. Then, after one last look at Tatum’s eyes—which, in the harsh studio light, bore a sickening resemblance to my father’s—I turned and walked away. Tatum Wells seemed to have forgotten one crucial thing. The luxurious life she enjoyed, the expensive jewelry her mother wore, the doting paternal affection she flaunted… The source of all of it. They seemed to think that stealing things and wearing them made them their own. That was fine. If they loved my inheritance that much, I certainly didn’t mind making sure they returned every single item they took from my home, with interest. 2 When I got home, my mother, Charlotte, was in the kitchen, simmering a pot of slow-cooked broth. My father grew up poor. He was undernourished and developed a chronic, severe stomach condition. My mother loved him so much she voluntarily stepped down from her corporate position to focus on the home. A woman who had been a sharp, commanding presence at the negotiation table willingly confined herself to the kitchen. She cooked, baked, studied medicinal recipes… She managed to nurse his gaunt frame back to health and cured his stomach issues by 80 percent. For as long as I could remember, my parents seemed deeply in love. Today was their twenty-fifth anniversary. And I had just discovered my father was having an affair. Watching her back in the kitchen, my fury morphed into a deep, agonizing sorrow. Tears welled up without warning and wouldn’t stop. My mother was forty-five this year. But years of focusing on her family and neglecting self-care made her look five years older than her age. Especially her hands. Her knuckles were slightly swollen from constant work, her palms covered in thin calluses, and the back of her hands bore several old scars. Every single one was for him. Mom heard the noise and poked her head out of the kitchen. Seeing my tear-streaked face, she visibly panicked. She quickly wiped her wet hands on her apron and rushed over, her warm fingers cupping my face. “Kin, what’s wrong? Why are you crying? Who hurt you?” Her brow furrowed, her voice frantic. “Don’t be scared, Mom is here. I’ll call your father right now, I’ll tell him to—” “Don’t call him!” I grabbed her wrist, shaking my head forcefully. She froze, looking at me anxiously, her eyes reflecting my miserable, desperate face. My eyelashes trembled violently. I forced the words out from my throat. “Mom, Dad… he has someone else.” “Her name is Bethany Wells, and she’s his childhood sweetheart. They grew up in the same small town.” Mechanically, I pulled the documents I’d researched on the way home out of my bag, presenting them to her page by page. “They never broke contact. Dad was always secretly sending her money, even after he went to college.” “Ten days after you married Dad, he faked a business trip. That night, they were together.” “When you were six weeks pregnant, Dad bought a luxury villa downtown. It was deeded in her name.” “During your severe morning sickness, when you couldn’t keep anything down, Dad was at her place, making her soup and cooking her balanced, nutritious meals.” “While you were in the hospital, fighting for your life to give birth to me, he was out walking with her, massaging her back.” “You had a C-section scar, lying helpless in the recovery room, and he was taking her to prenatal checkups.” “Mom, can you believe this? She was pregnant with his daughter at the same time you were pregnant with me. His illegitimate daughter is only four months younger than I am.” I felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up, but tears just streamed down my face. My mother stood utterly still, trembling. She stared intently at the words and pictures, whispering over and over: “How… how is that possible? Your father and I have been married for twenty-five years. You’re grown up, he couldn’t possibly…” I reached up and gently wiped her tears, continuing the assault. “Mom, do you remember the inheritance Grandma Helen left for me, the $150,000 worth of jewelry?” Mom nodded, her red-rimmed eyes reflecting the memory. “Of course, I remember. Your grandmother gave it to you on your eighteenth birthday.” “She loved you the most; you were her only granddaughter. She was upset with me for marrying your father against her wishes and didn’t speak to me for three years. She only softened when I was pregnant with you.” “You are my only daughter, and I’ve been saving my own jewelry to add to your dowry for years.” I closed my eyes, numbly pulling out the audio recording and the screenshots. “Well, what if I told you that Dad secretly stole my $150,000 inheritance and gave it all to his illegitimate daughter?” “Mom, today is your twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. He lied that he was at the office, but he was actually taking a family portrait with them.” “Grandma’s gold cuff, the emeralds, the diamonds—they are all on their bodies.” My nose was stinging. I spoke each word clearly: “Dad stole my $150,000 inheritance and gave it all to his bastard daughter!” “What?” Mom was incredulous, her pale face coloring with fury. “He dared to touch the inheritance your grandmother left you?!” Hearing that, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I wrapped my arms around my mother and burst into a loud, wrenching cry. “Mom, Dad never loved us! He loved your family’s money, he loved Grandpa George’s support! We meant nothing to him!” My eyes were hot and swollen, heavy with a mixture of betrayal and hatred. The last twenty years had been a perfect performance. The more I thought about it, the more the raw hurt twisted into pure hatred. I hated him for deceiving my mother, and I hated him for giving me years of his fake, superficial fatherly love, treating me like a charity case. My chest ached with the pain of it. I hurt for myself, but I hurt infinitely more for my mother. I was her flesh and blood; I knew how deeply she felt everything. She was the one who was truly devastated. Just as I was about to speak, my phone rang. It was my boyfriend, Grant Miller. I sniffed, answering the call. “Hello?” Grant’s voice was cold and detached, devoid of any concern. “Kinsley, I’ll be brief. We should break up.” I froze, tears still clinging to my lashes. “What did you say?” “I’m getting engaged next Saturday,” he stated flatly. “Let’s cut all contact after this.” “Why?” I gripped the phone, my knuckles white. “Grant, you owe me an explanation!” Silence stretched for two seconds. Then he said, “Because the other fiancée’s family is offering a much more generous dowry. It will be a huge boost to my career.” Buzz. My mind went blank. My blood seemed to turn instantly cold. “Tatum Wells?” My voice was trembling. “Are you getting engaged to her?” Grant blurted out reflexively, “How did you know?!” It was confirmed. I pulled my lips back in a short, sharp, cold laugh. “Grant Miller, you will regret this.” I hung up without another word, throwing the phone onto the sofa. Almost simultaneously, my mother’s phone screen lit up on the table. It was a text from Dad. [Honey, I just got a last-minute call. A distant relative’s kid is getting engaged next Saturday, and I have to attend to represent the family. Don’t wait up for me for dinner.] I clicked on Tatum Wells’s social media. Her newest post was glaringly clear: [Big day next Saturday! T-minus seven days until engagement! Thank you, Dad, for setting all of this up for me! ] I placed the two messages side by side in front of my mother. The air went silent for several seconds. My mother’s swollen eyes stared at the screens. Her chest rose and fell sharply a few times. She raised a hand and fiercely wiped away the tear stains on her face. When she looked up, the warmth in her eyes was gone. They were replaced by a clear, icy resolve. She looked at me, and I looked at her. Neither of us spoke, but in the other’s eyes, we saw the exact same, devastating determination. I smiled softly. “Mom, next Saturday’s engagement party. Let’s call Grandpa George and Grandma Helen. We’re all going.” I couldn’t wait to see the expression on my father’s face when he saw us there. 3 The night before the engagement party, the lights in our house were blazing. Dad hadn’t come home, claiming he was busy. Mom and I were busy, too. Busy compiling evidence of his infidelity, busy drafting the divorce papers, preparing to expose him at the engagement party the next day. During our preparation, Dad called to sound us out. “Kin, are you and your mom asleep yet?” “What are you two planning to do tomorrow?” “Oh,” I replied, flipping through a stack of documents, keeping my tone deliberately vague. “We’re just going to visit Grandpa and Grandma George tomorrow.” Dad visibly relaxed on the other end. He chuckled. “Okay, honey. Dad has to go. Good night.” The next day, Mom and I quietly slipped into the wedding reception and found seats in the back. Grandpa George and Grandma Helen were waiting in the car; we didn’t want to risk over-exciting them just yet. When most of the guests had arrived, Tatum Wells walked in, arm linked with Grant Miller. My dad and Bethany Wells followed behind them. They were all meticulously dressed in celebratory, expensive attire. The MC stepped onto the stage to start the event. “Congratulations to the happy couple! May you live happily ever after!” Tatum and Grant were invited onto the stage. After exchanging rings, they embraced and kissed. A wave of applause erupted from the crowd. My stomach turned. It was sickening. The MC handed the microphone to Tatum. “A few words from the bride?” Tatum batted her eyes sweetly. “First, I want to thank my parents.” She looked out at the crowd and smiled. “My dad spoils me. Every year for my birthday, no matter how busy he is, he cooks all my favorite dishes.” I leaned toward my mom. “Mom, did Dad ever cook you one meal?” Mom’s face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line. Tatum continued: “When I turned eighteen, Dad took a whole month off work to take me traveling around Europe!” I asked again. “Mom, what did Dad say he was doing then?” Mom’s voice was bitter. “He said the company had an urgent issue, and he had to take a long, emergency business trip.” I gave a grim smile. “Other than the honeymoon… did he ever take you traveling after that?” Mom was silent for a long time, then shook her head. “No. He always said he was too busy.” My heart turned to ice. I gripped her hand, which was cold as marble. The MC suddenly announced, “And now, please welcome the bride’s father to the stage!” My father straightened his tuxedo and strode onto the platform. He took the microphone, his back perfectly straight, his demeanor radiating pride. “Mr. Sullivan,” the MC prompted, “how did you manage to raise such a wonderful, grateful daughter?” Dad cleared his throat and swelled with paternal pride. “Raising a child has no secret. Just one rule—” He paused, looking lovingly at Tatum. “You get what you give! I’ve been a truly, genuinely good father to my daughter, and that’s why she is so thoughtful and devoted.” He then turned to Grant, his voice becoming heavier. “Son-in-law, I only have one demand for you. You have to be like me—put your whole heart into treating her well!” As he spoke, he became emotional; his eyes even welled up with tears. Listening to his speech, I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. Mom sighed. “Twenty-five years, and I never knew he was such a good actor.” A roar of applause filled the room. Guests were cheering. “Well said! What a great father!” In the midst of the congratulatory noise, I abruptly pulled my mother to her feet. “Excuse me, sir,” I called out, my voice clear and loud, overriding the applause. “You claim you put your whole heart into being a father. Does your so-called genuine devotion include stealing your biological daughter’s $150,000 inheritance and giving it to your illegitimate daughter as a dowry?”

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Seven years. Seven years with Grant Montgomery, and we were finally getting married. I was full of enthusiasm, meticulously planning every detail of the wedding, when I accidentally found our venue had been double-booked. My carefully prepared space was occupied. I complained to Grant, frustrated, but he cut me off without mercy. “You’re driving me crazy, Cara. It’s a venue. If this ballroom is booked, we’ll just switch to another one, alright?” I stared at Grant, taken aback by his sudden, icy tone. He didn’t call me again. My attempts to reach out were always met with the same dismissive reply: I’m swamped. I’m busy. It wasn’t until ten days before the wedding, when I went to his office, that I understood. His voice filtered clearly through the closed door: “Phoebe, sweetheart, relax. Our guests are going to The Belvedere. I haven’t changed the address on the invitations, okay? She can have the dress, the flowers… but on Saturday, you’re the only bride with a crowd.” “The RSVP card still has our original address,” he reassured her. I stood there, stunned. It wasn’t a venue clash. It was a groom clash. 1 I walked home in a daze. I was so disoriented I bumped into countless strangers on the street. “Watch where you’re going, lunatic!” “Seriously? Look at her, what a mess. Move it!” “Blind? If you don’t need those eyes, donate them!” I froze at the last comment, then let out a self-deprecating laugh. “You’re right. I was blind.” The person who had shouted at me faltered, a flash of surprise crossing their face before they hurried away. They probably thought I was a psycho. I didn’t care enough to explain. Rain began to pour, instantly soaking me through. I didn’t feel it. The icy water ran down my face, washing away nothing. Inevitably, I woke up in the middle of the night with a fever. Half-asleep, I answered my phone. “Cara, can you bring some Advil to The Nightingale Club? This crowd totally got me hammered.” My body tensed. Instinctively, I swung my legs out of bed to search for the medicine. I stopped myself. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I have a fever.” A moment of silence, then a chorus of teasing voices around him. “Grant, you lost! Looks like you’re buying your own hangover cure.” A high, charming voice—Phoebe Wells. I let out a cold, cynical laugh. Grant abruptly hung up the phone. He came home late, hours later, smelling strongly of whiskey and cheap cologne. He yanked me out of bed. “What is wrong with you? My friends were practically pouring liquor down my throat and you couldn’t be bothered to bring a bottle of Advil. You used a fever as an excuse?” “Do you even care about me, your fiancé?” The alcohol fumes cleared my head a little. I pressed my palm to my forehead, trying to steady myself. “I told you. I have a fever.” The emphasis finally made him look at me. My flushed cheeks were all the confirmation he needed. He was silent for a moment. He spoke softly, but the words were hollow. “Right. I’m sorry. I’ll take the study.” I scoffed, collapsing back onto the bed. I wasn’t going to sleep now. From the adjacent study, I could hear soft laughter and low voices. They were muffled, but loud enough. I didn’t sleep all night. Grant and Phoebe emerged from the study, looking refreshed and annoyingly cheerful. Grant’s smile froze when he saw me. He instinctively pulled away from Phoebe. “Morning,” he mumbled. “The party ran late last night, and Phoebe didn’t have her keys, so I just brought her here.” I nodded, stepping around them and heading for the door. He grabbed my wrist. I looked at him, confused. “Where are you going?” he stammered. “Aren’t we supposed to look at your wedding dress today?” I paused, then smiled brightly. “Why don’t the two of you go? I have an urgent matter at the firm.” Grant seemed to visibly relax, his smile becoming genuine. “That’s probably best. Phoebe has impeccable taste, I’m sure she’ll make sure we’re both happy.” “I’m sure,” I echoed. I immediately called his closest family friends and told them the venue had been changed. Then I called my own friends and told them the wedding was off. I turned off my phone. I couldn’t bear to explain. I headed straight for the Passport Agency. I’d secured a spot in a post-graduate program abroad months ago, but had put it on hold—who wants to be apart right after they get married? Now that the wedding wasn’t happening, I wasn’t giving up that scholarship. As I walked out, I saw Grant and Phoebe exiting the courthouse, faces beaming. We locked eyes. All three of us froze. “What are you doing here?” I asked, cutting him off before he could question me. Grant flinched, his gaze darting away. 2 Phoebe immediately slipped her hand through Grant’s elbow, a triumphant look on her face. “Grant just came to run an errand for me,” she purred. I gave her a flat look. “Congratulations.” Grant tried to follow me, reaching out to explain, but his hand snatched air. “Cara!” I didn’t stop, accelerating my pace. That evening, Grant brought Phoebe back to the apartment. I looked at them impassively. “Should I give you the master bedroom? I doubt you both fit in the study.” My comment must have hit a nerve. Grant’s face darkened. “Cara! Do you have to be so cutting? What happened to you? You sound like a shrew!” I almost laughed. I hadn’t said or done much, yet the label of “shrew” had already been slapped on me. I pointed at my head and smiled. “I’ve been wearing so many hats lately, I don’t even know which one fits best.” Grant looked momentarily uncomfortable. Then, with a sickening speed, he backhanded me across the face. “I gave you a life here! Don’t forget this is my apartment! You eat my food, live under my roof! And you’re going to talk to me like that?” “Get out! You’re done here!” He shoved me toward the front door, not giving me a chance to grab my purse or phone. My head spun. By the time I regained my senses, I was locked out of my own home. “Grant! Give me my phone!” I pounded on the door. It never opened. It was a cold autumn night. I rubbed my arms, goosebumps rising on my skin. This was the city I grew up in, and suddenly, I was homeless. Penniless and desperate, I walked the five miles to my office. I collapsed onto my desk, utterly exhausted, and slept until morning. With the help of a coworker, I bought a burner phone and called Grant’s number. It wasn’t him who answered. Phoebe’s voice drifted through the line. “Grant, it’s an unrecognized number.” Grant sounded impatient. “Just hang up.” But Phoebe didn’t. She must have known it was me. “Shouldn’t you call Cara back and apologize, Grant? She’s a girl; she has dignity…” The classic, innocent maneuver. A ‘Golden Girl’ playing the part of a saint. I gave a dry laugh, a terrible sound. But Grant’s reply froze the blood in my veins. “Why bother? She has no place to go in this city. She doesn’t even have her phone. She’ll break and come crawling back soon enough.” The line clicked dead. I stared at the phone. He knew. He knew I was out there. He knew I had nothing. I forced a bitter smile. I thought my heart was done hurting, but a flicker of pain still pierced my chest. I immediately dialed the number again. “Why are you calling again? Didn’t you hear what Grant said?” Phoebe’s voice was now sharp with irritation. “How pathetic are you? Sticking to him like a cheap sticker, don’t you have any self-respect?” I ignored the insults. I smiled faintly. “Let’s meet. I have something to give you.” Phoebe sounded suspicious, but after a moment of hesitation, she agreed. “The downtown café. Be there.” I hung up and headed out. The time came and went. Phoebe didn’t show. 3 “Cara! Are you trying to intimidate Phoebe again?” “I told you nothing is going on between us, why do you keep harassing her?” Grant’s voice rang out, followed immediately by the sting of a sharp slap. My cheek burned. I laughed mockingly, looking at Grant like he was a complete stranger. “Hitting a woman before you even bother to ask questions—is that the Montgomery family standard?” Grant’s face flushed deep red. He pursed his lips, unable to respond. Since Phoebe hadn’t come, I didn’t need the thing I’d brought. “If I wanted to hurt her, I wouldn’t have called your phone. Did you think I hoped she’d answer? That’s hilarious.” I advanced on him slowly, and he actually took a step back. I found him boring. I turned and walked away. Grant didn’t look for me again. The wedding day crept closer. On the day before, he performed an act of great ‘mercy.’ He brought me a necklace. No box. No velvet pouch. Just a dull, tarnished pendant. “I bought back the necklace you loved so much,” he said. I found it ridiculously funny. I looked at Grant solemnly. “If you think I’d care about a used, second-hand necklace that Phoebe stole from me and you retrieved like a bone, you drastically underestimate me.” Grant looked guilty, his face hot with shame. He tried to stand firm. “Why are you being so unreasonable? You have the necklace you love, and you have me. What more do you need?” “Tomorrow, we’ll be husband and wife.” I gave him a noncommittal smile. “I understand.” I turned to leave. “Wait,” he said suddenly, grabbing my arm. “Where have you been staying? Your ID and things are at the apartment. Surely you haven’t been…” For a moment, I was hurt. My anger flared. I violently shook off his grip. The look of pain in my eyes was unmistakable. “Grant! You knew I had nowhere to go, yet you threw me out!” “Did you honestly think—” He broke eye contact, looking guilty. He looked away. “I thought you’d last half a day before coming back to me.” In that moment, I was done. “Forget it.” I strode away, not bothering to look back. But there was an uninvited guest waiting for me below my office building. “Cara.” I turned. Phoebe. “You got the necklace, right? That was Grant and me trying to be decent. You loved it so much.” I looked at Phoebe. Around her neck was something incredible: the legendary, multi-million dollar Starlight Sapphire, rumored to have been sold at auction recently. Noticing my gaze, Phoebe lifted her chin arrogantly, running her finger over the massive stone. “Grant said you liked that old thing, so he traded the Starlight Sapphire for it.” Her tone was a punch to the gut. “It’s trash. Keep it,” I told her. Phoebe exploded with impotent fury. I ignored her. The next day, I boarded my flight to Copenhagen. I silenced my phone, ignoring the calls from the maniacs—Phoebe and Grant. Just as I was about to board, a strong force slammed me to the ground. “You’re abandoning the wedding just to leave the country?!” 4 Phoebe, wearing a ruined wedding dress and tears streaming down her face, looked pitiful and insane. Grant, standing beside her, was seething with rage. I glanced at their clothes. They were smeared with dirt and grime, as if someone had thrown mud or garbage at them. “Wow. Wasn’t this the wedding you dreamed of?” I asked sweetly. “What’s wrong? Can’t the wedding happen without me?” Phoebe seemed to remember something. She scrambled on top of me, pinning me down. “Do you know what you’ve done to me?!” she shrieked. “If it wasn’t for you, I would be the happiest bride alive today!” A terrifying pressure clamped down on my neck. I began to choke. Grant watched, his expression complicated, but he made no move to help me. Finally, airport security noticed my distress. “What are you doing? Get off her! We’ll call the police!” Several guards rushed over and pulled Phoebe off me. I gasped for air. I thanked the guards and sprinted toward the gate, boarding the plane with the fastest speed I could manage. The moment I turned on my phone, my best friend, Samira “Sam” Khalil, called. “Cara, you have no idea how awkward it was. All the guests were ghosted. The venue was empty.” “Mr. Montgomery was furious. He called Grant over and discovered the whole ‘changing the bride’ situation right in front of everyone. Grant and Phoebe got a massive beating.” I couldn’t help but laugh. I had guessed something like this would happen. Grant’s father was obsessed with reputation. Changing a bride at the last minute for a mistress was unforgivable. “I saw how pathetic they looked,” I said. “Phoebe tried to choke me, but security stopped her.” Sam gasped in alarm. She asked after me, her concern warming my heart. “I’m sorry, though. I wasn’t just in the city for the drama. I wanted to see you off.” I went silent, a sudden ache in my chest. “I’m sorry.” Sam chuckled gently. “Don’t be. I just want you to be happy. Once you’re settled, I’ll fly over to see you.” Hanging up, the loneliness of being in a foreign country finally hit me. But at least the annoying presence of my past was gone. Life settled into a quiet rhythm. Six months later, my old friends began sending me strange, synchronized messages of concern. The coordinated effort felt odd, but I couldn’t get any specific news out of them. Outside, the rain hammered down, mirroring the rising anxiety in my heart. BANG! BANG! BANG! A furious, heavy pounding on the door made me jump. I walked toward the door cautiously, my voice shaking. “Who is it?” Through the peephole, I saw no one. My hair stood on end. My mind raced through every possible scenario. “Open up! I want to come home!” The familiar voice made my soul leap out of my body. It was Grant. “This is not your home! Go away!” I shouted, trying to deepen my voice and speaking in the local language. But the person outside sounded delighted. “Cara, it’s you, isn’t it?” “I know that’s your voice!” “I came for you. We’ll be together, okay?” Grant’s voice was full of desperate excitement.

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After I caught my wife, Arabella, and her oldest friend, Pierce, in bed together, a single question—why?—was enough for her to have me committed. Five years in a place they called an “asylum.” When I finally got out, I was quiet. Extremely obedient. If someone told me to walk east, I wouldn’t even think about the west. Arabella brought me home, her eyes as cold as the November air. “If you ever speak to Pierce with disrespect again, Cal,” she warned, her voice low and sharp, “I won’t be so lenient next time.” I nodded obediently. Then, I turned and picked up a fruit knife, ramming it into my mouth until my tongue was a mangled mess of flesh and blood. She immediately snatched the knife away, the color draining from her face as she looked at the grotesque wound filling my mouth. Pierce leaned close, his voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “Try another pathetic stunt to win Bella’s attention, and I’ll personally ship you back to the Institute.” Then, with a practiced gasp, he slapped himself hard across the face, stumbled, and fell to the floor. “I’m sorry, Cal. I shouldn’t have gotten in your way. Hit me back. Please, take out your frustration on me.” Arabella walked in just in time to see him on the ground. Her eyes flashed with immediate, furious conviction. She stomped on my hand, grinding her heel into my knuckles. “I brought you home out of the goodness of my heart, and this is how you repay me? Uncaring, ungrateful. Have you completely lost your soul?” I got up, walked to the garage, and obediently laid down on the commercial-grade cutting machine. I found the power switch and pressed it. Bone dust and blood sprayed everywhere. Arabella froze, shaking violently, before finally snapping out of it and shutting the machine off. In the ambulance, I heard Arabella’s voice, trembling as she spoke to the EMT. “I just… I yelled at him. I didn’t tell him to start cutting off his own flesh…” I was convulsing from the pain, but I managed to nod. She hadn’t told me to do it. But five years in that place, five years of endless beatings and torture, had taught me the lesson. Obey the unspoken command. Always. Later, she would ask me to die for Pierce one more time. And when I did as she asked, she would just cry and beg for my forgiveness. … It took three days in surgery just to keep me alive. Arabella looked at me, wrapped head to toe in bandages, and a flicker of something—pity? distress?—crossed her face. Pierce was quick to shift the blame. “Bella, I know Cal wanted me gone, but I never imagined he’d throw himself onto that thing to try and manipulate us,” he whined. “Maybe I should just leave. Who knows what he’ll try to pin on me next!” Arabella instantly pulled him into a hug. “If anyone’s leaving, it’s Callum! Five years hasn’t changed him. Look at him! He’s using self-mutilation as a ploy to get attention!” she spat, her gaze never leaving me. “If he really wanted to die, he would have plunged the knife into his heart. He laid on that machine because he knew we could still save him!” I had just opened my eyes enough to hear the words. A cascade of memories—the grinning faces of my torturers, the sting of the whip—slammed into my mind. I couldn’t stop the full-body tremor. Panicked, I threw myself off the bed. The stitches in my fresh wounds ripped open, and I was instantly a bloody mess. I barely felt the pain. I scrambled, grabbed a discarded scalpel, and plunged it into my chest, aiming for my heart. A sickening thud as the blade met flesh. Blood spurted across the crisp white sheets. Slumped on the floor, my hand resting on my still-beating heart, I felt a deep disappointment. I’d missed the mark. As I struggled to thrust the blade in again, Arabella snatched the scalpel away. “Callum Forrester, what are you doing now!” I coughed up blood. A pool of it gathered beneath me. Pierce started to speak, but Arabella impatiently cut him off. “Just stop it, both of you. Whatever you’re doing, don’t provoke him right now.” Pierce’s eyes widened in disbelief. She was defending me? He immediately turned his outrage into a weapon. His eyes blazing red, he struck himself, hard, twice across the face. “You’re right! It’s all my fault! I was trying to provoke him, I made him hit me, I forced him to hurt himself!” he wailed, dissolving into theatrical, heartbroken sobs. “Bella, every mistake is mine. Punish me however you see fit.” Arabella’s gaze flickered back and forth between us, torn. Finally, she helped Pierce up, deliberately looking away from me. “Callum,” she said, her voice strained. “Pierce is kind-hearted enough not to press charges. Apologize to him. Right now. And we’ll forget this ever happened.” I looked up at her, weak, dizzy. My body reacted before my mind did. If I was to apologize, I needed to show her the appropriate level of conviction. Before either of them could stop me, I smashed the glass flower vase. The shards dug deep into my knees, shredding the muscle as I knelt before Pierce. I began to hit my forehead against the floor, a rhythmic, bone-jarring thud. Each one was done with maximum force. My vision started to tunnel. I heard a crisp, snapping sound, like a dry twig breaking. I felt the raw scrape of bone on the floor. Finally, the crippling pain consumed me, and I collapsed. Pierce, still in Arabella’s arms, stared down at me, utterly stunned. A moment later, the room erupted into panicked shouts. In the last sliver of consciousness, I saw Arabella running to get a doctor, frantic enough that she’d lost one of her high heels. That night, Arabella played the surveillance footage back for Pierce. The malicious threat, the self-inflicted injury, Pierce’s dramatic performance—it was all laid bare. Pierce’s composure shattered. Tears instantly welled up. “I was so terrified, Bella… Cal went to that place because of me. He must hate me enough to kill me.” “I was just trying to test him. I needed to know if I was safe around him,” he stammered, pulling a small pocket knife from his jacket. “I’m sorry, Bella. If you blame me, I’ll pay him back with my life.” He made a show of pressing the blade to his wrist. Arabella’s anger instantly evaporated, replaced by frantic concern. She snatched the knife away and clutched him to her chest. “I don’t blame you! Five years ago, Cal was bullying you. It’s normal that you’d be worried,” she soothed. “Besides,” she added, her eyes hardening as she looked toward my bruised and bloodied body, “what normal human being is so pathologically obedient? No one slices their own tongue or jumps into a grinder just because of a few angry words.” Pierce had completely convinced her. She dug her sharp fingernails into my torn skin. “Callum, is this what you wanted? Was this whole act just a complicated way to plot revenge on Pierce?” she accused. “Your manipulation is so deep, I almost believed you.” The agonizing pain made my lips tremble. “No,” I whispered. “I will be obedient. Even if you told me to die, I would do it.” Arabella didn’t believe me. From that night on, her eyes were filled with a cold, perpetual scrutiny. With Arabella’s tacit approval, Pierce’s torment became even more brazen. He deliberately scalded my face with boiling water. Even as the skin blistered and peeled, I didn’t make a sound. Frustrated by my silence, he snatched the antique pocket watch Arabella had given me—my most treasured possession—and smashed it to pieces. Arabella watched, arms crossed, waiting for the once-proud, arrogant Callum Forrester to finally erupt in fury. I didn’t even flinch. A flicker of irritation crossed Arabella’s face. “Doesn’t it matter to you at all?” I simply nodded in placid compliance. “If that is what you want, then no. It doesn’t matter to me.” Arabella froze. A dark shadow crossed Pierce’s eyes, quickly replaced by a smug smile. He wrapped his arm around Arabella, his tone deliberately intimate. “Since he’s so accommodating, Bella, I have one more test we can try.” He gave me a challenging look, then lowered his head and kissed Arabella. The wet, intimate sounds echoed in the sterile room. Arabella initially looked flustered, trying to push him away while staring at me. But soon, under his aggressive intensity, she began to respond. When my expression remained utterly blank, Pierce upped the ante, brazenly cupping and fondling her breasts. Arabella let out a soft, low moan, her face flushed with passion. They acted as if I were invisible, shifting positions and intensifying the act. I watched the entire obscene process in silence. When her eyes finally met mine, my calmness seemed to infuriate her. She shoved Pierce away. “Callum, how could you have no reaction?” she demanded, her chest heaving. I saw the angry red marks Pierce’s hands had left on her skin. I lowered my eyes submissively. “I said I would be obedient. I wouldn’t interrupt your pleasure.” She must have forgotten. Five years ago, I’d stumbled upon Arabella and Pierce in the throes of their passion. I was consumed by a blinding rage. I attacked Pierce, demanding to know how he could be a homewrecker. Arabella had shielded him, accusing me of being the irrational one. That night, she told everyone I was suffering from a psychotic break and had me locked away for “treatment.” But it wasn’t a hospital. It was the private hell Pierce had meticulously selected for me. I was kept like a dog in a lightless cage. Whips, branding irons, skinning, and even live experiments—I endured every type of torture. Day after day, the relentless cruelty taught me one thing: complete submission. Which is why, no matter the humiliation, I would never resist again. Arabella was red-faced and breathing heavily, a fire in her chest. Pierce saw his opening. His eyes narrowed with malice. “Bella, Cal can endure this? God knows what he’s planning for us. I hired some guys—you know, the kind who ‘train’ guys at underground casinos. Let’s see how long his nerve lasts with them.” Arabella hesitated. She was about to speak, but Pierce gripped her hand and sighed heavily. “Bella, it’s for his own good. If he’s truly compliant, you can trust him to stay at home, right?” With a wave of Pierce’s hand, two menacing thugs instantly grabbed me and dragged me toward the basement door. Arabella, silent, turned and walked away, giving them her silent consent. The moment the door slammed shut, they yanked my hair back and tried to shove my face into a box filled with thousands of tiny steel needles. I beat them to it. I grabbed handfuls of the needles and shoved them into my mouth. I started to swallow them, the pinpoints tearing at my throat and viscera. The agonizing, tearing pain made me convulse, producing only a low, guttural roar. But compared to the five years of nightmares, it was nothing. The thugs stared at me, shocked into inaction. Pierce’s gaze was pure hatred. He shrieked, “Bring in the industrial shredder! There’s no way he can endure this!” He revved the machine to full power, his eyes filled with contempt. He was absolutely sure I would finally break down, either begging for my life or cursing his name. I didn’t hesitate. I launched myself into the rapidly spinning blades. My flesh, bones, and sinews were instantly shredded and atomized. My blood and viscera splattered over Pierce, coating him head to toe. He screamed, a high-pitched sound of pure terror, and scrambled out of the basement. In the throes of my unimaginable agony, I managed a final, blood-drenched smile. This time, surely, they would be satisfied. My latest hospital visit made the local news and brought Arabella’s parents—my in-laws—to the hospital. When I woke up, my mother-in-law, Lydia, slapped me hard across the face. She ignored my mutilated, shattered body. “Callum Forrester! You’re a curse! The minute you came back, you ruined my daughter’s reputation! I regret not forcing Bella to divorce you years ago!” “You should have stayed in that damned asylum forever!” My father-in-law held her back, his voice low and serious. “Cal, if you’re still angry about five years ago, we can resolve it. Why turn yourself into a spectacle?” I looked slowly at them. Five years ago, when I begged them to help me, they’d walked away without a backward glance. Resolve it? They wouldn’t lift a finger. Arabella walked in. For the first time, tears streamed down her face in genuine distress. “Callum,” she choked out. “I believe you now. Don’t be afraid. I won’t let anyone hurt you again…” I looked at her, my face expressionless. My silence only made her sob harder. Lydia suddenly yanked Arabella away, sneering at me. “Bella, don’t fall for his tricks! He’s doing this on purpose to make you feel guilty, to drag you down for the rest of your life!” “I’m filing the divorce papers right now. We’re throwing this garbage out of the Ashworth family for good!” Arabella violently pushed her mother away. “Mom, can’t you see what he’s done to himself? He almost died!” “So what if he did!” Lydia shot back, glaring at me with disgust. “He’s a psychopath! A menace! He doesn’t deserve to be a son-in-law here!” She turned, her face softening instantly as she saw Pierce. “Pierce, honey, don’t worry. We only trust you to be by Bella’s side. No one is going to hurt you.” Pierce offered Lydia a grateful smile, then pulled out a sheet of paper, his face etched with fake concern. “Bella, the doctor sent this. It’s Cal’s psychiatric evaluation.” “The doctor says Cal has XYY Syndrome and Antisocial Personality Disorder.” Lydia’s voice rose to a screech. “Then send him back to that place! Now! Lock him up forever!” She pulled Arabella three feet away from me, as if I were a contagious piece of filth. “If he kills someone, he’ll ruin the family! Why doesn’t he just finish the job and die already!” Arabella’s expression wavered. The words “just die” echoed in my skull. I struggled to rise. While they were distracted, I managed to find a large surgical blade. I raised it to my temple. And as the look of sheer terror flashed across Arabella’s face, I rammed the blade into my own temple. Blood mixed with brain matter instantly coated the room. A piercing shriek tore through the hospital corridor. “Cal!!!”

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