1 My husband of ten years had never brought home more than three thousand dollars a month. He claimed he was constantly making mistakes, incurring three-hundred-dollar or five-hundred-dollar penalties that stripped his take-home pay down to a meager two thousand. For years, my own salary was the only thing keeping our heads above water, paying off the mortgage, the car loan, and our daily expenses. But then, our seven-year-old daughter was severely injured. I had no choice but to quit my job to become her full-time caregiver, leaving the entire financial burden on his shoulders. To pay for her specialized treatment, my husband worked day and night, picking up food delivery shifts the moment he clocked out of his day job. Yet, we slid deeper and deeper into debt. Ultimately, my daughter missed her critical window for treatment, and the doctors had to amputate her leg to save her life. I thought this was simply our tragic fate, a burden we were destined to bear, until I went to file for her disability benefits and stumbled upon a hidden bankbook. It held a balance of over twenty-five million dollars, a fortune built from the very bonuses and commissions he claimed he had never received. And his plan for that money? To fund a lavish, multi-million-dollar fireworks display for his first love. … Because neither of us made much money, after paying off the house and the car, we had barely enough left to cover groceries. We lived on the knife-edge of survival. Our daughter, Rachel, was only7, but she possessed a heartbreaking maturity. She would quietly skip breakfast, saving the five dollars I gave her for lunch so we could use it for bills. Desperate to ease our burden, she secretly started earning her own pennies at school, running errands, buying breakfast, and carrying homework for her wealthier classmates. I was entirely in the dark until last week, when her teacher called to tell me Rachel had been struck by a car while crossing the street to buy breakfast for a classmate. Only then did I realize how much weight her tiny shoulders had been carrying. I quit my job immediately to stay by her hospital bed, but her condition continued to deteriorate. The doctors assured me she would survive, but they warned me that only a specialized, imported drug could save her leg from permanent tissue death. The catch? Each pill cost twenty thousand dollars, and she needed two pills a month. Our combined savings couldn’t even cover half of a single dose. We sold our car, listed our home, and mortgaged every asset we possessed, but the gap remained impossibly wide. The specialist warned us that the golden window for saving her leg was closing rapidly. Desperate, we begged our relatives, reached out to old friends, and launched a crowdfunding campaign online. Late one night, Rachel’s small, frail hand brushed against my arm. Her voice was barely a whisper in the quiet ward. “Mom, please stop the treatment. I don’t want you and Dad to suffer so much for me.” Hearing her speak, the emotional dam I had built over the past weeks completely shattered. I held her close and wept through the night, but when the sun rose, I had to wash my face and continue searching for ways to scrape together the money. “Maddie, I can’t do this anymore.” My husband, Kevin, walked into the room wearing his worn delivery vest, letting out a long, heavy sigh. “Between my office job and these late-night deliveries, we aren’t even making a dent in the cost of that medicine. Maybe we should just let them amputate. Prosthetics are incredibly advanced these days, she can still live a normal life.” We had a screaming match right there in the corridor. I couldn’t accept that my little girl would have to go through life missing a limb, but reality eventually caught up with us. Because we couldn’t pay the hospital fees, the specialty medication was halted, and the surgeon had no choice but to amputate. Losing her leg seemed to drain the last bit of life from our family. After she was discharged, we moved into a cramped, dingy one-bedroom rental. The small space was constantly filled with the medicinal smell of ointments and a suffocating silence. Kevin threw himself into his work with even greater intensity, working his day job and delivering food until the early hours of the morning. He would collapse onto his cot the moment he got home, barely speaking a word to us. I thought he was drowning in guilt and exhaustion. Until the afternoon the community center notified me that Rachel was eligible for disability assistance. While searching our closet for our marriage certificate, my fingers brushed against a small, stiff booklet tucked deep inside the inner pocket of an old suit jacket he rarely wore. It was a dark blue, textured bankbook, unassuming at first glance. Driven by a sudden, inexplicable urge, I flipped it open. It was a private account in his name, registered with an exclusive private bank known only to the city’s ultra-wealthy. My eyes scanned down the printed rows of transactions, eventually stopping at the final balance. I counted the digits once, twice, my mind going completely blank. I stared at the string of zeros, refusing to believe my own eyes. Twenty-four million, five hundred and sixty-seven thousand, eight hundred dollars. I had known Kevin for ten years and been married to him for eight. He always claimed his base salary was thirty-five hundred dollars, but insisted that after various deductions, he never brought home more than three thousand. His explanation was always the same: his superiors were vindictive, and the company found every excuse to dock his pay. I had begged him to find another job, but he always refused, claiming he owed a debt of loyalty to the firm. Now, looking at this bankbook, the puzzle pieces fell into place with a sickening click. The most recent deposit was a wire transfer from a week ago: a project commission of thirty-five thousand dollars. A week ago, we were begging on our knees for Rachel’s medical fees, and Kevin was weeping, claiming he wanted to jump off a bridge to end his misery. Yet, he was secretly sitting on a fortune. I forced myself to remain calm, grabbing my identification documents and the bankbook before heading out the door. I needed to know exactly where every single cent had come from. During the two-hour transit to the bank, I tried to rationalize his behavior, desperate to find an excuse. Maybe the account didn’t belong to him. Maybe the funds were being held in trust for his firm. But when the account manager printed out the complete transaction history, the truth stared back at me, cold and undeniable. 2 Clutching the thick stack of printed statements, I listened to the bank manager explain the account’s history with polite professionalism. “Mrs. Bennett, your husband is one of our premier private banking clients. His financial portfolio is exceptionally robust.” Kevin had spent years telling me that Grayson Group stripped his commissions, but the statements showed they had never docked a single dime. In fact, his monthly take-home pay had consistently exceeded twenty-five thousand dollars. My eyes scrolled down the pages, finding transaction after transaction that aligned with our family’s worst crises. Three years ago, Rachel was rejected from a prestigious private academy because we “couldn’t afford” the tuition. On that exact day, Kevin’s account received a deposit of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, labeled as a bonus from an overseas clean energy venture. Two years ago, my mother required an urgent cardiovascular procedure. Kevin claimed the company’s funds were locked up, forcing me to swallow my pride and borrow thirty thousand dollars from every relative we had. On that same day, his account cleared a wire transfer of five hundred thousand dollars for his annual management bonus. One year ago, Kevin had a minor collision with a luxury vehicle, claiming he had to pay a five-thousand-dollar deductible out of pocket. I took extra shifts to cover the cost, while his account was credited with seventy thousand dollars for quarterly performance. Every single time we were pushed to the brink of despair, every time I lay awake at night crying over utility bills, every time our daughter suppressed her own wishes because she knew we were poor, he was holding a fortune in his pocket. He chose to watch us drown. He chose to let us suffer, using our pain to play the part of the tragic, hard-working family man. Hot tears spilled over my cheeks. How could a man hold tens of millions of dollars in his hands and look his wife in the eye, weeping about how hard it was to put food on the table? “I’m fine,” I said, wiping my face and offering the manager a polite smile. “Thank you for your help. I’ll take these records with me. There’s no need to inform my husband of my visit.” Stepping out into the humid air, my mind was a chaotic blur. I knew I couldn’t handle this alone, so I pulled out my phone and dialed the number of the most ruthless divorce attorney in the city, Mr. Douglas. With his guidance, I finalized Rachel’s disability registration. But Mr. Douglas gave me a sobering warning: simply finding the money wasn’t enough to secure everything in a court of law. I needed to discover exactly what he was saving this money for, and why he had gone to such extreme lengths to hide his true financial standing from his own family. Since Rachel’s amputation, our neighbors had been incredibly supportive, dropping off home-cooked meals and helping with the garbage. But none of them knew the storm brewing inside me. Every evening, I had to look at Kevin and pretend to be the same supportive, grateful wife, thanking him for working multiple jobs to support us. That evening, Rachel mentioned she was craving her father’s homemade chicken noodle soup. I bought the ingredients early and called Kevin to let him know. An hour later, a text popped up on my screen: [Got a high-paying delivery order on the other side of town. Don’t wait up for dinner.] In the past, I would have felt a pang of guilt, wishing he didn’t have to work so hard. But tonight, I was standing across the street from a trendy uptown lounge, watching him park his delivery scooter. He pulled off his helmet, laughing and joking with a group of well-dressed men as they walked inside. “You think this is easy for me?” Kevin’s loud voice drifted from a semi-private booth near the back of the lounge. I slipped into the adjacent booth, hiding behind the high leather backrest, my phone’s voice recorder active. “I’ve spent ten years playing the poor bastard!” Kevin scoffed, taking a long swig of his drink. “Looking at those miserable pennies every month made me sick. And Maddie actually believes I’m some useless, low-earning failure.” His childhood friend clapped him on the back. “Come on, Kevin, you’re playing the long game. For Victoria, it’s worth every second.” Victoria. Victoria Ross. His first love, the girl who had walked away, his sacred muse. “I didn’t have the means back then,” Kevin sighed, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “Her family looked down on me and forced her to marry that wealthy snob. Now that her husband’s firm has collapsed, it’s my turn to step up. I’m going to give her the life she deserves.” He smiled, a look of pure satisfaction on his face. “I have more than enough to buy her whatever estate she wants. I’m going to give her everything.” One of his friends leaned forward, lowering his voice. “But what about your daughter? The kid just lost her leg. Why didn’t you use some of that cash to save her?” I held my breath, waiting for his response. Kevin slammed his glass onto the table, his voice turning cold and sharp. “Why should they get to spend my money?” “They’re nothing but dead weight. If Victoria hadn’t married that guy, I would have never married Maddie in the first place. I was just lonely.” “Every cent I made is for Victoria. She’s landing back in the country this weekend. I’ve coordinated a private, luxury fireworks display for her homecoming. You guys better show up.” The sound of clinking glasses and raucous laughter echoed through the booth. I switched off the recording, slid out of the lounge, and walked into the cool night air. When I got home, the nanny had already put Rachel to sleep. I sat in the dim light of the living room, staring at our wedding photograph on the wall. Was defying my own family to marry him worth it? No. It was a joke. I picked up my phone and dialed Mr. Douglas. “Mr. Douglas, I have new evidence. Along with the bank records, I have a recording of him admitting to hiding marital assets and intentionally withholding medical funds from our daughter.” Kevin, you think you can keep playing this game? You want to give your muse a beautiful fireworks display? Then I will make sure that when those fireworks reach their peak, you fall straight into the abyss you’ve dug for yourself.

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1 After slaving away like a dog for the Campbell family for twenty years, I received my termination notice on the exact day their biological daughter returned. My mother pointed at her and said, “From now on, she will be running all operations at Campbell Corporation.” The biological daughter, Bianca, who didn’t even know how to format a basic spreadsheet, immediately posted a smug picture on her social media, showing off the Porsche and the company shares that used to be mine. Our chief financial officer looked at the measly three-hundred-dollar severance check in his hand and let out a long, heavy sigh. I calmly handed over every key in my possession, walked out the door, and took a position at our fiercest rival’s firm. Two weeks later, my mother found me, weeping hysterically. “Why did the banks freeze all of our credit lines? What did you do to us?” … “My biological daughter is back. The corner office belongs to her now.” Before I could even speak, a girl dressed in my custom-tailored haute couture outfit sashayed over. This was Bianca, the true heiress of the Campbell family. She pointed a manicured finger at my face, her lips curling into a mocking sneer. “The fake should know her place. Pack your bags and get lost.” “This dress is entirely wasted on you anyway.” She gestured to my wrist. “And that watch you’re wearing, my mother bought that for me. Take it off.” Her tone was so self-assured, as if she were confronting a common thief. I looked at them: the woman I had called Mother for twenty years, and the biological daughter who had been back for less than a day. “Starting today, Bianca is in charge of everything,” my mother announced, her words signaling the end of an era. With that single sentence, my twenty years of dedication to the firm were entirely wiped clean. Our CFO, Mr. Henderson, walked over, his hand trembling slightly as he held an envelope. He slid a few bills across the polished desk, his voice barely a whisper. “Mrs. Campbell’s orders… this is your severance. Not a single penny more.” Three hundred dollars. It wasn’t even enough to fill the tank of the Porsche I had been driving. It wasn’t a severance package: it was spare change thrown to a beggar. The profits I had generated for this company were measured in the tens of millions. Now, my exit was valued at three hundred dollars. I didn’t touch the cash. I simply looked at my mother and Bianca with absolute calm. I placed my apartment keys, the office keys, and the combination to the corporate safe onto the mahogany desk. Then, I unclasped the luxury watch from my wrist and let it clatter beside them. “I hope you don’t regret this.” Bianca let out a sharp laugh, snatching up the car keys and snapping a photograph. She grabbed the share transfer agreement my mother had prepared, posting both images to her social media with the caption: Returned to the rightful owner. I’m back! Within seconds, my phone vibrated with notifications as the company group chats lit up. The very employees who had called me “Director Campbell” yesterday were now lining up to flatter Bianca. Even the security guard at the front gate looked away, pretending not to see me as I walked past. I was treated like a leaper carrying a plague. I walked out of the building carrying a single cardboard box containing nothing but a few of my favorite business textbooks. I took one last look at the glass tower. I no longer had a home. The moment I stepped onto the street, I dialed a number I had kept saved in my phone for three years. “Mr. Crawford, does your previous offer still stand?” 2 A low laugh echoed from the receiver. “Of course, Natalie. I’ve been waiting for you.” The moment I hung up, my screen filled with dozens of unread messages from suppliers and banking representatives. “Director Campbell, is the proposal for next quarter finalized?” “Natalie, when will our outstanding invoice be cleared?” I drafted a single, cold template and sent it to everyone: I have officially resigned from Campbell Corporation. Please direct all future business inquiries to Miss Bianca Campbell. The top-floor office of Crawford Enterprises offered a sweeping view of the city’s financial district. Marcus Crawford slid an authorization agreement across the glass desk. “Full executive authority. HR, finance, and operations: you have the final say.” I signed my name without a moment’s hesitation. “My first move is to secure the talent.” Meanwhile, Campbell Corporation was undergoing a massive, chaotic restructuring. Bianca had decided my old office was too plain, spending hundreds of thousands of dollars to redecorate it. The sleek leather chairs were replaced with pink velvet sofas, and the desk was cluttered with useless, expensive crystal ornaments. “That old-fashioned style of management is completely obsolete,” Bianca boasted, spinning in her executive chair while taking selfies for her followers. “We’re adopting a flat structure now. No more bureaucratic approvals, if I like a proposal, we move forward.” Mr. Henderson rushed into her office, holding a stack of corporate expense reports. “Miss Campbell, how can we charge these luxury handbags to the company account? This is a severe compliance violation!” Bianca didn’t even look up from her phone. “I’m the executive director. What’s wrong with buying a few bags? It’s for corporate public relations.” Mr. Henderson’s hands shook with frustration. He marched down to my mother’s office to protest, but she merely waved her hand dismissively. “Bianca is just settling into her role. What’s wrong with spending a little money? Don’t bring Natalie’s rigid, joyless rules into my office.” Mr. Henderson stood frozen, letting out a silent sigh before retreating from the room. That afternoon, a major municipal client called demanding the technical specifications for an active project. The files were locked on my old computer, secured with an advanced encryption protocol. Bianca tried a dozen passwords, growing increasingly frustrated. “Call IT! Tell them to break this piece of garbage open!” The IT department was summoned, and they forced open the hard drive. But because the security protocol had been bypassed, the system triggered a self-defense wipe, leaving the data corrupted. “What is this garbage?” Bianca sneered, staring at the screen. “Miss Campbell, the data is corrupted. We cannot send this to the client,” the technician warned. “The client is screaming for it,” Bianca said, applying a fresh layer of nail polish. “Just make up some numbers and send it over. They won’t know the difference anyway.” Two hours later, the client’s furious tirade was directed straight to my mother’s personal line. My mother spent the evening offering groveling apologies and promising discount rates, barely managing to salvage the relationship. When she hung up, she offered Bianca nothing more than a gentle scolding. “Be more careful next time, darling. Don’t let them catch you making mistakes.” Bianca rolled her eyes. “That client was just looking for a reason to complain.” At that exact moment, I was sitting in a quiet cafe across the street. Campbell Corporation’s Sales Director sat opposite me, his face lined with exhaustion. “Natalie, it’s a circus over there. That spoiled child doesn’t know the first thing about logistics, but she insists on micromanaging every shipment.” I took a sip of my coffee and slid a contract across the table. “Crawford Enterprises is expanding. We’re offering double your current compensation package.” His eyes lit up, his hand dropping over the contract. “Let me pack my desk.” That evening, Bianca posted another update on her social media, showing her signing a stack of documents with the caption: Running a corporation isn’t that hard. Some people just liked to pretend they were busy to seem important. I zoomed in on the photograph. The documents she was signing were non-binding letters of intent, riddled with glaring legal loopholes that left the company completely vulnerable. I put my phone down and dialed our acquisitions department. “The Westside development project Campbell Corp is bidding on: intercept it.” The next day, the news of the lost bid reached the Campbell executive suite. Instead of panic, Bianca addressed the senior management with condescending amusement. “A low-margin project like that is only fit for beggars. We are focusing on high-end ventures. Let them have the scraps.” She had no idea that the Westside project was Campbell Corporation’s only source of steady liquid cash flow. In the company’s inbox, an automated red-flag warning from their primary lending institution arrived. Bianca glanced at the screen, annoyed by the notifications. “Why is there so much spam today?” She selected all, clicked delete, and emptied the trash folder. The screen was clear, and her world was quiet once more. 3 The annual regional commerce summit was held at the grand convention center. Desperate to save face after losing the Westside project, my mother made a grand entrance with Bianca by her side. I encountered them near the registration pavilion. I was wearing a tailored, unadorned black power suit, devoid of any jewelry. “Well, look who it is,” Bianca sneered, clutching my mother’s arm. “Does Crawford Enterprises pay that poorly? You can’t even afford a decent necklace. Still looking like a basic assistant.” I ignored her, walking past to greet several prominent industry leaders. “Mr. Ross, Mr. Thomas, it’s wonderful to see you again,” I said, offering a warm smile. The executives immediately paused their conversation, their faces lighting up as they reached out to shake my hand. “Natalie! We heard you joined Crawford Enterprises. Marcus certainly lucked out getting you on his team!” “We must schedule a lunch next week to discuss the new distribution channels!” Bianca was left standing on the perimeter, her smug smile hardening into a mask of embarrassment. My mother’s face turned pale as she quickly ushered her daughter toward their assigned seats. When it was Campbell Corporation’s turn to present, Bianca walked onto the stage, clutching a speech she had spent the previous night memorizing. Her presentation slides were filled with overly stylized fonts and flashy graphics. “In the coming fiscal year… we plan to… build a synergy… of luxury ecosystems…” she read, her voice flat and devoid of any logical structure. The applause from the audience was polite but sparse, most of the executives already checking their phones. During the Q&A session, I raised my hand. The moderator immediately recognized me, passing the microphone down the row. Seeing me stand, Bianca’s eyes flashed with a sudden, sharp panic. “Miss Campbell, in light of the projected volatility in raw material costs next quarter, what is Campbell Corporation’s specific hedging strategy?” It was a standard industry question, but it was the lifeblood of a manufacturing firm. Bianca froze. She didn’t even know what the word “hedging” meant. She looked desperately toward our mother in the front row, who was frantically making hand gestures, but it was useless. “Regarding that query…” Bianca stammered, forcing a nervous laugh. “We will simply negotiate with our suppliers to bring the prices down.” A heavy, dead silence descended on the hall. Then, a ripple of quiet amusement broke through the crowd. Negotiating against global market index prices was an absolute joke. Marcus Crawford took the microphone from my hand, adding a dry postscript. “It seems Campbell Corporation’s strategy relies on wishful thinking. Fascinating.” The laughter in the hall grew louder. Bianca’s face burned crimson, and she looked as if she wanted to sink through the floor. My mother rushed onto the stage, grabbing the microphone. “What my daughter means is that we are optimizing our supply chain management to mitigate overhead,” she explained, using her twenty years of industry standing to salvage the situation. The next morning, the financial media was ruthless. Campbell Corp’s New Director Displays Shocking Ignorance. Attempting to Negotiate Against Global Markets: A Corporate Comedy. Campbell Corporation’s stock price immediately began to slide. Back at their estate, my mother threw the morning papers onto the coffee table. “This is your idea of being prepared?” Bianca burst into tears. “Mom, Natalie set me up! She used industry jargon I’ve never heard of before!” My mother let out a tired sigh, her heart softening at her daughter’s tears. “Alright, dry your eyes. Once the bank approves our capital injection, we can stabilize the stock price. The Campbell family can weather this storm.” Desperate to prove herself, Bianca secretly took a meeting with a foreign investment firm called Sinclair Holdings, which promised a guaranteed thirty percent return on short-term capital. The representative was impeccably dressed and spoke with a smooth, aristocratic accent. Bianca bypassed my mother’s approval, signing a high-yield leverage agreement. “Once this return clears, I’ll see who dares to look down on me,” she whispered as she signed the document, already imagining the city’s elite bowing to her success. In my office, I reviewed the photographs sent by my private investigator. The man shaking hands with Bianca in the pictures was a notorious international financial fugitive. I closed the file and opened a finalized document. With a single click, I sent a hundred-page risk assessment report to Campbell Corporation’s primary credit institution. The report detailed their fraudulent R&D claims, their corrupted technical data, and Bianca’s unauthorized, high-yield leverage agreements. Ten minutes later, the Campbell executive suite erupted into chaos. Our former Sales Director, accompanied by the entire corporate accounts team, walked into Bianca’s office and dropped their resignation letters onto her desk. “What is the meaning of this? This is mutiny!” Bianca shrieked. “Crawford Enterprises offered us double our salary,” the director replied with a cold smile. “And honestly, we’d prefer not to starve under your leadership.” Before she could process their departure, the procurement manager burst into the room, his face white with panic. “Miss Campbell! Our raw material shipments have been halted! The budget supplier we switched to has been shut down by federal regulators for toxic waste violations! Our warehouses have been sealed by court order!” Bianca collapsed into her chair. “Call Sinclair Holdings! Tell him we need an immediate withdrawal of our investment to cover the emergency procurement!” She dialed the number with trembling fingers. We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service. Only the cold, automated recording echoed in her empty office. The luxury investment firm had vanished into thin air, taking the company’s remaining liquid cash with them. Mr. Henderson marched into my mother’s office, holding a red-inked financial summary. “Mrs. Campbell, we are ruined! All of our corporate accounts have been frozen!” My mother’s vision blurred, and she gripped the edge of her desk to keep from fainting. “How is that possible? What about our credit lines?” “The bank just issued a formal default notice.” Mr. Henderson’s hand shook as he handed her the document. “Due to material breaches of contract and extreme operational risk, the bank has recalled all outstanding loans, halted all pending credit, and initiated asset liquidation.” My mother clutched the document, her manicured nails tearing through the paper. “Natalie… this was Natalie’s doing!” The empire was crumbling in an instant. Suppliers lined the street outside their building, holding signs demanding unpaid wages. The factory floors fell silent as workers walked off the job. Bianca locked herself in the executive washroom, her phone ringing continuously with threats and demands from creditors. Late that night, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I picked it up, and the agonizing, hysterical crying of my mother echoed through the line. “Why? Why did the banks freeze everything?” she wailed, her voice thick with panic. “Natalie! What have you done to us?”

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1 At four o’clock in the morning, my codependent, drama-addicted best friend pounded frantically on my front door. “Paige! My boyfriend is going to break up with me! We have to go kneel outside his apartment together and beg him to stay, please?” I stared at her in utter disbelief. “Why do I have to kneel?” Natalie nodded quickly. “It makes me look more sincere! If he sees you swallowing your pride for me, he’ll definitely soften up!” I opened my mouth to refuse, but she suddenly whipped a kitchen knife from her purse, pressing the dull side against her own wrist. “Paige, I love him so much. If he leaves me, I swear I won’t survive the night!” Terrified of what she might do, I allowed myself to be dragged through the freezing pre-dawn air to the high-rise downtown. We knelt on the hard concrete, shivering as the darkness slowly gave way to the first pale light of morning. Finally, just as the first rays of the sun began to warm the glass facade, the lobby doors swung open. A tall man walked out, his arm wrapped protectively around a heavily pregnant woman. The moment I raised my head, my mind went completely blank. The man was Derek Harrington, my husband of seven years, the man I had been in a bitter cold war with for the past month. Beside me, Natalie’s tears vanished. She stood up, brushing the dirt from her knees, and smugly pulled Derek away from the pregnant woman’s side. “We had a bet, Derek! Whoever got Paige to kneel and apologize first got you to yourself for a whole month! I won, sweetie. You can’t break your promise now.” My eyes drifted to the pregnant woman. She looked horribly familiar. She was Scarlett Moore, the underprivileged student Derek and I had sponsored through our charitable foundation for the past seven years. “No wonder you agreed to let me have Derek last night, Natalie,” Scarlett murmured, resting a hand on her round stomach, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “You already had this little performance planned.” “That’s enough,” Derek said, raising a hand to pacify both women. “Scarlett, you’re pregnant, go home and rest for the month. Natalie, you won, but you need to show some consideration for Scarlett’s condition.” Only after he had comforted them did his gaze finally land on me. “Stop fighting it, Paige,” he said, walking over to grab my hand. Our matching platinum wedding bands glistened in the morning light, feeling like cold iron against my skin. “Why that face? It was just a harmless joke. Besides, you know how I am.” Yes, I knew exactly how Derek Harrington was. He was a notorious playboy, a man driven by a desperate need to win. When our families arranged our marriage of convenience, he had promised to clear out his harem, and I had foolishly believed the reformed bad boy myth. “So… you slept with the girl we sponsored, slept with my childhood best friend, and conspired with them to make me kneel on the street, all just to see me submit?” “Of course,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my forehead. “In a marriage, someone has to have the upper hand.” “I admit the method was a bit extreme this time, but you’re my wife. No matter what happens, I would never let an outsider threaten our home.” Natalie grabbed my arm, her expression bright. “Paige, we’ve been best friends forever. You always said you wanted me to find a reliable man. I trust your taste, Derek is perfect. Besides, I’m a free spirit, I have no intention of marrying him or ruining your household.” Scarlett offered a timid smile, cradling her stomach. “Me too, Mrs. Harrington! This baby was an accident, but I only view you and Mr. Harrington as my benefactors. No matter the gender, I only want financial security, I would never try to take your place.” Looking at my husband’s modern-day harem, I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “This is the fidelity you promised me after our wedding?” Derek blinked, looking genuinely surprised. “Isn’t this enough?” “I’m a man, Paige. I was never going to spend my entire life tied to one woman. I agreed to the merger because I thought you understood that. I thought you didn’t mind.” “If you hadn’t tried to freeze me out this month, you would have never even known about them.” He wiped a tear from my cheek. “Be good, Paige. Stop making a scene. You are still the only one who matters to me.” I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. He didn’t get angry. He simply chuckled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “Go home and wait for me. Tonight, I’m all yours.” 2 By the time my driver found me sitting near the apartment gates, I was shaking with silent sobs. As the city lights blurred outside the window, my mind drifted back to our university years in London. Derek had been the campus playboy, always surrounded by beautiful women. At a party once, a classmate had joked about who would eventually be forced to marry him to settle his wild streak. When someone mentioned my name, the others immediately laughed it off. “No way! Paige Reynolds believes in true love and old-school romance. She’d never touch a guy like him.” Amid the laughter, Derek’s expression had turned serious. He pushed his companions aside, sat down next to me, and whispered, “If my partner is you, Paige, I’d give it all up.” I had looked away, hiding the secret love I had carried for him ever since he had defended me against high school bullies years before. Later, when the Harrington family faced a severe liquidity crisis, I found him drinking himself to sleep at a private club, and proposed our corporate merger. He had looked at me with tear-filled eyes, promising, “I’ll clear everyone else out, Paige. No matter how rotten I am, I’ll never bring that dirt home to you.” The car came to a stop. We were back at the estate we had designed together, the home we had shared for seven years. In corporate marriages, emotional decay was common, but I had never expected Derek and me to end up like this. I packed my bags quickly, preparing to move to a private townhouse under my own name. But as I opened the passenger door, my assistant called, her voice tight with panic. “Mrs. Harrington, we have a crisis!” “The shares of Harrington Enterprises are plunging. Someone leaked photographs of Mr. Harrington taking a young woman to an OB-GYN clinic. The media is claiming your marriage is over, and institutional investors are threatening to pull their capital!” I ordered the driver to take me directly to the medical plaza. The main entrance was already swarming with reporters, their flashes reflecting off the glass doors. I pushed through the crowd, heading straight to the private VIP wing on the top floor. Inside the examination room, Derek was kneeling beside Scarlett’s chair, his ear pressed against her pregnant belly. “You’re here,” he said, standing up and smoothing his tailored suit. “The lobby is packed with reporters. Did you have any trouble getting past them?” The truth hit me with sudden, freezing clarity. “You leaked those photos yourself.” “Of course,” he murmured, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I told you to wait for me, but you tried to leave. I had to use a little leverage to bring you back.” I couldn’t believe my own ears. “Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much this scandal is going to cost the firm?” Scarlett whimpered, shrinking behind him. “Mrs. Harrington, please don’t be mad at Derek. It’s my fault, my stomach was hurting, and he only came to support me. If you want to blame someone, blame me!” “Blame you?” I let out a cold laugh, thrusting my phone screen toward her face. “In three hours, we lost seventy million dollars. I could liquidate every asset you own, and you still couldn’t cover the margin call!” Scarlett burst into tears. “Why are you yelling at her?” Derek snapped, pulling her behind him. “Scarlett grew up in a small town, she doesn’t understand corporate finances. It’s nothing a joint public statement can’t fix. Why take it out on a pregnant woman?” “I only wanted to teach you a lesson, I didn’t expect the market to react this violently. But since we’re here, you’ll have to help me coordinate with the public relations team to clean this up.” His casual tone reminded me of our first year of marriage. An aspiring actress had tried to use Derek’s name for publicity, leaking photos of him escorting her to a hotel. Before the story could even break, Derek had blacklisted her and sued the photographer into bankruptcy. When the dust settled, he had thrown himself into my arms, murmuring, “My darling, you have no idea how hard I had to fight to keep my reputation clean for you.” Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my lower abdomen, forcing me to gasp. Derek’s eyes narrowed with concern. “What’s wrong?” He reached out to steady me, but I flinched away from his touch. He turned to his assistant. “Take my wife downstairs to the executive clinic for an immediate evaluation.” Then, he looked back at me, his voice softening. “Let them check you over, then go back to the house and wait for me. I’ll make sure this is settled by tonight.” I pushed past him, walking out of the ward. Just outside the clinic doors, a familiar physician called out to me. “Mrs. Harrington! I was just about to call you. Your laboratory results from last week are finalized. Congratulations!” 3 Even as Derek pushed open the front door of our estate that evening, the doctor’s words from earlier were still echoing in my ears. “Twins. Almost eleven weeks along. Everything looks perfectly healthy.” “Three months already…” I whispered, my hand resting gently on my flat stomach. “If I terminate the pregnancy now… will it be very painful?” The doctor had paused, her expression turning incredibly serious. “Mrs. Harrington, from a professional standpoint, I strongly advise against that. Your uterine lining is exceptionally thin. If you choose to terminate this pregnancy, it is highly unlikely you will ever conceive again.” A hand waved in front of my face, breaking my trance. “Are you listening to me?” Derek’s voice brought me back to the dim living room. “I’ve scheduled a press conference for tomorrow morning to clarify the hospital photos. As long as we stand together before the cameras, the rumors will die down.” I didn’t answer, my palm pressing against my stomach. “Derek,” I said softly, “if I were pregnant… would you change?” He froze, then let out a low laugh. “What a question. Are you really this jealous of Scarlett?” He stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “No matter what happens, you are my only wife. Natalie, Scarlett… they’re just distractions. They don’t compare to you.” “Even if Scarlett has the baby, I’ll simply establish a trust fund and send them abroad. Then, it will just be you and Natalie left here with me.” He looked down at me, his tone filled with a sickening kind of tenderness. “Don’t worry, you and Natalie have been friends since childhood. She would never hurt you.” I smiled. It was exactly what I had expected. Every trace of the love I had carried for him since our youth vanished into nothingness. So be it. Our marriage was a commercial transaction, a quest for profit. I should have never expected a soul. For the sake of the life growing inside me, I agreed to the compromise. “What time is the conference?” Derek let out a long, visible sigh of relief. “Ten o’clock tomorrow morning.” He patted my head. “You’ve had a long day. Go get some rest.” With that, he turned and walked toward the master bath. The next morning, we stood arm-in-arm before a wall of flashing cameras, presenting the perfect picture of corporate solidarity. Derek addressed the room with his trademark charm. “First, I want to thank everyone for their interest in our personal lives.” “The young woman in the photographs is an employee of our foundation. As her employer, I was merely assisting with a medical emergency. Any rumors of inappropriate conduct…” He offered a self-deprecating smile. “A few blurry photos and some internet gossip shouldn’t be enough to cause such a stir, surely?” A reporter in the front row pressed further. “Mr. Harrington, your bachelor years were quite colorful. Is this joint appearance merely a public relations stunt to stabilize the stock price? Is your marriage actually intact?” Derek’s laugh was warm and easy. “We all have our wild years. But from the day I married Paige, I understood the responsibilities of a husband.” He offered me a playful, apologetic look. “If you keep digging up my past, my wife might make me sleep on the couch tonight!” The room filled with polite laughter. I offered a gentle nod and a warm smile for the cameras, doing exactly what was required to reassure our institutional investors. The narrative was already shifting online: The Reformed Playboy, Corporate Power Couple, True Love in High Society. I kept the smile fixed on my face, watching him. Seeing the crisis averted, Derek relaxed, preparing to deliver his closing remarks. But suddenly, the phone in his pocket began to vibrate. My smile grew wider.

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1 My fiancée, Kristin, had a best friend named Brooke who proudly called herself a master of training men. She preached that all men were inherently flawed beasts who needed to be broken and house-trained. Under Brooke’s constant brainwashing, Kristin turned my life into a series of endless rules. I had to be on call twenty-four hours a day. Going on a business trip required submitting a written request for approval three days in advance. Every hour, I had to send my live location and video-call her to prove exactly what I was doing. I had to do ten things to please Kristin just to earn a single kiss, and I had to perform ridiculous public displays of affection to prove my loyalty. My buddies laughed at me. “Gavin, man, that good-husband training of yours… you might as well be in a maximum-security prison.” I would just smile it off. “Happy wife, happy life, right?” I was planning my ninety-ninth proposal, waiting for the exact moment my company went public. But then Kristin and Brooke burst into the conference room with a mob, ripped the stockings off my female business partner, and pulled them over her head. That was the exact moment my patience snapped. If they wanted a dog, they could go find another one. I was done playing fetch. … Ten minutes prior. I had just closed the deal of a lifetime with our investor, Diana Ward. The moment her pen touched the contract, my company would be cleared for its IPO. Just as Diana raised her pen to sign, a shrill screech shattered the quiet of the boardroom. “Kristin, watch how I handle this homewrecking whore!” Brooke did not even hesitate. She lunged forward and grabbed Diana by the hair. “Tear her apart! Look at that slutty face of hers!” Kristin’s face was twisted in absolute rage. They had brought five or six women with them. Some screamed, others swung. The room descended into absolute chaos. “Suit jacket on top, fishnets and stilettos on the bottom? What kind of business meeting is this? She is practically begging to be bent over!” “Exactly! Kristin, if we were ten minutes late, they would be rolling around on the lounge sofa!” Brooke’s words poured gasoline on the fire. Kristin glared at me, her eyes burning with a deep, ugly resentment, as if she had caught me red-handed. “Have you lost your minds? Get off her!” I snarled. When Brooke finally let go, she ripped out a bloody clump of Diana’s hair. Kristin leaped in, tearing Diana’s stockings off her legs and forcing them over her face. Seeing Diana exposed, I threw my suit jacket over her shoulders. She was shaking, her voice trembling with pure rage. “Is this your idea of a professional negotiation, Gavin?” “I am so incredibly sorry. I will make this right, I promise…” Before I could finish, Kristin ripped my jacket off Diana and threw it to the floor. “Why are you apologizing to her? She is a cheap homewrecker! She deserves to be humiliated!” “Exactly! Rising to the top at her age? We all know how she got her promotions,” Brooke sneered. Diana let out a sharp, furious laugh. “This is slander! I will sue you into the ground!” “Go ahead! Sue us! You came in here to seduce my fiancé, and now you are playing the victim?” Kristin sneered. My face turned cold. “Kristin! Shut up! Apologize to Diana right now!” “You are making me apologize? Gavin, I love you so much! What did I do wrong?” Suddenly, she was the victim. I bowed deeply to Diana. “Please, let my assistant escort you out first. I will handle this.” Diana glared at me, adjusted her torn clothes, and stormed out. Looking at the hysterical Kristin and her smug group of friends, a profound emptiness settled in my chest. Eight years of knowing her, six years of loving her, and I was finally, utterly exhausted. Eight years ago. Kristin was the golden girl of our university. An heiress with the title of campus queen, she had a line of suitors stretching out the door. I was nobody, a poor kid getting by on scholarships and hard labor. I worked night shifts just to buy her the fresh organic milk she liked every morning. My poorly written love letters filled her locker daily. Back then, Brooke would laugh and say, “Probably some broke loser dreaming of a miracle.” But Kristin never threw them away. I could not afford expensive roses, so I gathered fresh wildflowers from the hills. I quietly cleaned her classroom, pulled her shifts, and changed my elective courses just to catch a glimpse of her. If she wanted something done, I did it in secret. For two years, I loved her in absolute silence. Then, one day, she blocked my path. “Gavin Pierce. It is been a month. Where are my letters? Where is my morning milk? Where are my wildflowers?” I stood there, completely frozen. Dozens of rich guys showered her with designer bags, but she had noticed the broke kid. “I know your mom is sick. I paid her medical bills. Now, what do you have to say to me?” She was wearing a white summer dress, her smile so bright she looked like an angel. I stammered, “Thank you…” “Wrong answer,” Kristin whispered, stepping closer. Confused, I took a breath. “I love you?” Kristin stood on her tiptoes and pressed a quick, sweet kiss to my cheek. “Bingo.” 2 During those weeks when the letters had stopped, I had been working myself to the bone trying to raise money for my mother’s liver surgery. Kristin paid for everything, hiring the best specialist in the country. The eighty thousand dollar bill was settled without her even blinking. Every day after class, she came to the hospital with me, bringing food and telling jokes to keep my mother’s spirits up. When we started dating, Brooke screamed at her, asking what she could possibly see in a pauper. Kristin simply laced her fingers through mine in front of everyone. “Because Gavin shows me what real love looks like.” When my mother was recovering, Kristin stayed up all night with me. This girl, who had never washed a dish in her life, tried to help empty my mother’s drainage bags. I held her hand, my eyes burning with tears. “Kristin, I swear, I will spend the rest of my life making you happy.” Though my mother eventually passed away from post-op complications, Kristin remained my anchor through the darkest days. But then, Kristin’s father was caught in a massive cheating scandal. Her mother committed suicide in grief, and their family empire was torn company by company by greedy board members. After that, Kristin changed. Staring at the shrieking woman in front of me, my restraint finally snapped. I raised my hand and slapped her across the face. The sharp sound cut through the chaos instantly. Kristin froze, her hand flying to her cheek. Her cheek swelled rapidly, and a bead of dark blood welled at the corner of her lip. “You… you struck me?” She looked at me in utter disbelief, her eyes pooling with tears. My chest heaved with fury. I pointed toward the glass doors. “Who let these people in? Pack your bags and get out. You are fired!” I screamed at the security guards. “Gavin, are you blind? That woman was practically throwing herself at you! Or are you two already sleeping together?” Brooke shouted, stepping in. You would think they had caught me in bed rather than a board meeting. The veins on my neck bulged. “Get. Out.” The girls looked at each other, suddenly uneasy. They had never seen me like this. For eight years, I had been trained to protect Kristin from even the slightest scratch. Hitting her was unthinkable. Kristin burst into hysterical tears. “You will regret this, Gavin! I swear you will!” Brooke hugged her, sneering at me. “See, Kristin? This is what happens when you let a broke dog get too comfortable! You think staying by his side when he was poor means he will be loyal? Men are trash at their core! If I had not been watching him like a hawk, he would have cheated on you years ago!” The other girls chimed in. “Seriously. Brooke is the master at this. Look at how she turned her own husband from a player into a loyal pup! Toby does not even dare look at another girl. Brooke is a literal genius.” Brooke pointed a finger at my face. “Gavin, you know exactly how much Kristin did for you. If you get down on your knees right now and beg her for forgiveness, maybe she will take you back. Otherwise…” Here it was again. The endless humiliation, the emotional abuse. After her family fell apart, Kristin became paranoid. Brooke convinced her that all men were liars. To help us, Brooke took total control of our relationship. She boasted to Kristin, “My Toby is so obedient. If I tell him to jump, he asks how high.” Toby, indeed, never looked up in public. Brooke was incredibly proud of her creation. Back then, I tolerated it all just to give Kristin peace of mind. But soon, Brooke became a permanent fixture on our dates. 3 If a female passerby brushed past my shoulder, Brooke would scream in the street, forcing me to vow my undying love to Kristin on the spot. When I was building my company, working eighty-hour weeks, I had to answer hourly video calls. If I was even seconds late, Brooke would smirk on the screen. “Twenty-eight seconds to answer, Gavin? Hiding another woman under your desk?” Then Kristin’s face would darken, and I would spend the next hour begging for forgiveness. Whenever Kristin made a hand gesture representing a number, I had to immediately wire her that exact amount of cash. “A man’s heart is where his wallet is,” Brooke had declared. Even when I collapsed from a stomach ulcer due to stress, I did not dare miss her calls. Every holiday, every anniversary, I had to spend thousands on elaborate gifts just so Kristin would not feel embarrassed in front of her friends. Even when my company was struggling for cash flow, I took out personal loans to buy her what she wanted, always making sure to buy Brooke a matching luxury item too. But Brooke’s demands only grew. She helped Kristin set up a point system. Good behavior earned points; mistakes deducted them. Travel required three days’ notice. I was not allowed to make eye contact with female clients or give them compliments. I could not ride in an elevator or a car with another woman. My friends thought I was insane, but I did it all. Yet, Brooke mocked me. “He is only doing this because he has not gotten into your pants yet. Once he gets what he wants, he will change.” So, for six years, our physical relationship never progressed past simple kisses. And even those had to be bought with ten completed favors. I kept telling myself she was just insecure because she loved me. Once my company succeeded, I showered them with money, but their tests only became more sadistic. They sent honeytraps to seduce me during business trips. They tore up my business proposals just to see if I would raise my voice. They installed tracking software on my phone, suffocating my every move. Staring at Brooke’s smug face, I let out a low, cold laugh. “Otherwise what?” “Otherwise, I will personally make sure Kristin never marries you! Ninety-nine proposals? You can try nine hundred and ninety-nine times, and you will still die alone!” Brooke barked. I looked past her, staring directly into Kristin’s eyes. “Is this what you want too?” Kristin’s response was to step forward and slap me again, hard. I slowly picked up the torn pieces of the Diana Ward contract. “I was going to sign this today. Once signed, the company would have gone public, and my net worth would have skyrocketed.” “For our ninety-ninth proposal, I bought the estate overlooking the bay. I bought the sports car you wanted. I had a custom wedding gown made to your exact measurements, and I bought a rare emerald jewelry set at an auction…” Kristin’s anger suddenly wavered, replaced by a flicker of greedy anticipation. But then, I spat out a mouthful of blood and looked her dead in the eye. “But now, it is over. We are finished, Kristin. There won’t be a ninety-ninth proposal.”

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1 A year into my marriage, I was dragged into an alley, stripped of my jacket, and pinned to a wall. A woman live-streamed my humiliation, slapping me while screaming, “You homewrecking whore!” “I’m married! You have the wrong person!” I yelled, but she shoved a marriage certificate in my face. The photo showed her with my husband, Mark, dated three years prior. My life imploded. My TV station promotion was revoked, and I was blacklisted from the industry. In total despair, I climbed onto our penthouse balcony, ready to jump. Just as I prepared to leap, I heard voices inside. Gina, my attacker, laughed. “Mark, you’re wicked. Using a fake certificate to destroy her just to make me laugh after only three months.” Mark’s voice was indulgent. “Anything to make you happy, babe. Play with her however you want.” I stared at the glass door, my heart shattering. The nightmare I had endured for a month was nothing but a cruel game for his amusement. The wind on the balcony was freezing, yet their laughter carried perfectly to my ears. I closed my eyes, recalling the living hell of the past month. After being publicly branded as a mistress, I had posted my actual chat logs to prove I had been deceived. But every attempt at clarification only invited more vicious harassment. My colleagues shunned me, and strangers on the street spat in my direction. “Look at how she dresses. You can tell she is a home-wrecker.” “All those designer bags are probably paid for in bed.” I had tried to tune out the noise and bury myself in my work. But during a live broadcast, a guest unexpectedly asked me why I chose to destroy another woman’s family. I finally cracked, sobbing hysterically into the microphone. “I am not a mistress! I had no idea he was married!” Nobody believed me. The footage of my breakdown was edited, memed, and shared across the internet, triggering a fresh wave of harassment. I lost my job, and my career was effectively dead. Fear and nightmares became my nightly companions. I consumed sleeping pills by the handful, and my hair fell out in clumps. When Mark finally returned from his trip abroad with Gina, I confronted him, only for him to shrug with complete indifference. “You only asked if I had a girlfriend when I was studying in Europe, Alice. You never asked if I had a wife. How is that a lie?” The final thread of my sanity snapped. Death felt like the only escape. But standing on the balcony, learning the truth, I froze. If all of it was a lie, what was the point of the agony I had endured? Rage, hot and violent, surged to my head. I threw the balcony door open. Mark’s smirk froze. My words cut through the room like a blade. “Why would you do this to me?” He frowned, gesturing for Gina to wait outside. Then, he sat on the sofa and lit a cigarette. I was highly allergic to tobacco, coughing instantly as the smoke hit my lungs. Normally, he would never smoke near me, but today, he was entirely unmoved by my distress. Mark spoke calmly, taking a slow drag. “Since you heard us, I will be direct. Alice, I know you love me, but I am bored.” “I am bored of your unchanging hairstyle, bored of always having to soothe your insecurities, and especially bored of your predictable routine in bed. I need excitement, and Gina gives me what you can’t.” I took a ragged breath, fighting the nausea rising in my throat. “Mark, how can you do this? Does my mother’s memory mean nothing to you?” At the mention of my mother, his expression stiffened slightly. “It has been years, and you still use her death to guilt-trip me. I know she saved my life, but was marrying you not enough of a repayment?” We had been neighbors growing up. When a fire broke out at the Fairfax estate, his parents were away, and even their nanny had fled, leaving Mark trapped inside. My mother was the only one who ran into the flames to pull him out. She died shortly after from severe smoke inhalation. Her sacrifice had always been a sacred boundary between us. Hearing him dismiss it so casually, combined with weeks of humiliation, pushed me over the edge. I lunged forward and slapped him across the face. “I regret that she ever saved an ungrateful beast like you!” The slap left both of us stunned. Then, Mark let out a low chuckle. “That is the first time I’ve ever seen you look this angry.” He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. “This look actually suits you. It is quite stimulating.” “Since Gina is outside, why don’t we try the bathroom?” A wave of intense revulsion washed over me. I stared at him, unable to recognize the boy I had loved since childhood. I grabbed a heavy crystal vase from the table and hurled it at his feet, screaming at him to get out. After he left, I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air. Exhaustion weighed heavily on my limbs, and I dragged myself toward the bedroom, needing to sleep. But when I pushed the door open, my breath hitched. Our wedding portrait had been ripped from the wall and thrown onto the floor. My face had been defaced with black marker, with the word “WHORE” scribbled across my forehead. Next to the frame lay two dusty handprints, and as I stepped backward, my bare foot brushed against something slick. A discarded condom wrapper. I gagged, but my stomach was entirely empty. Pain consumed me, but my eyes remained completely dry. The tears refused to come. Then, my phone buzzed. Mark had posted a new update on his social media: “Returning to my family. Looking forward to spending the rest of my life with my beautiful wife.” The attached photo showed him and Gina, their silhouettes framed by a golden sunset. In that instant, my world shattered, and the tears finally spilled over. But beneath the grief, a cold, sharp resolve began to take root. 2 Over the next few days, I quietly compiled evidence of his infidelity, determined to dismantle his reputation. But the deeper I dug, the colder my heart became. Three months ago, on my birthday, I had sat alone in our dark apartment waiting for him until dawn. That entire night, he had been setting off fireworks on a private beach with Gina. Two months ago, I had sat alone in a hospital corridor, holding a positive pregnancy test and trying desperately to reach him. He had ignored my calls because he was busy buying heating pads and preparing tea for Gina’s menstrual cramps. One month ago, when the fake mistress scandal broke and the stress caused me to miscarry in a cold hospital room, he was in Iceland, watching the northern lights with Gina. I ran to the bathroom, vomiting until my throat tasted like copper. Only when my stomach was completely empty did the numbness in my chest offer a brief reprieve. The following morning, I sent the entire folder of evidence to a prominent investigative journalist. Back at the apartment, I forced myself to sit at the desk and draft a divorce agreement. My eyes grew misty as I typed. We had been childhood sweethearts, quietly harboring feelings for each other for years. We had promised that once he graduated from his university in Europe, we would finally build a life together. In the beginning, he would wait outside my office for hours, regardless of how late my shift ended. When I fell ill, he postponed a multi-million-dollar merger just to spend six hours simmering fish soup to bring to my bedside. On the night of my promotion, he had purchased a flawless diamond at an auction and knelt before me. I had insisted on keeping our marriage private because I did not want people accusing me of marrying for money. I never expected that my desire for privacy would provide the perfect cover for his betrayal. I eventually fell asleep at the desk, exhausted. By the time I woke up, the internet had exploded. But when I opened the trending news, my vision blurred. The evidence I had sent had been entirely manipulated. Instead of exposing his affair, the headlines presented a forged confession, claiming I was apologizing for being a mistress. They had used advanced voice-cloning technology to replicate my voice, and an AI generator to copy my handwriting. The digital mob turned on me with renewed ferocity. My photos were doctored with offensive captions and circulated across every platform. My personal accounts were deactivated, and my phone number was leaked online. Vicious messages and threatening calls flooded my inbox. Strangers demanded to know my nightly rates. I let out a hollow laugh. This was Mark’s retaliation. In the past, whenever I faced minor criticism online, he would use his family’s PR firm to scrub the internet clean within minutes. Now, he had used those same resources to build my personal purgatory. The front door clicked open, and Mark walked in. Rage eclipsed my judgment. I grabbed a glass mug and hurled it at his head. “Mark! I am not a mistress! She is! Sign the papers!” He ducked, the glass shattering against the wall. Before I could move, his hand clamped around my throat, pinning me against the wall. Oxygen left my lungs, and my eyes watered from the pain, but his grip did not loosen. Just before I lost consciousness, he let go, leaving me to slide down the drywall, gasping. “Have you calmed down?” Mark asked, straightening his cuffs. “If you pull another stunt like that, the consequences will be far worse.” “Alice, a little jealousy is fine, but this behavior is getting tedious. Stop trying to use these dramatic schemes to win back my attention.” “You love me too much to actually leave, and I need a wife who understands the family dynamics. This arrangement suits both of us perfectly.” He glanced at the divorce papers on the desk and let out a dry chuckle. “Do you honestly think you can survive a divorce? You have no career left. Who will support you if you leave me?” “Behave yourself, and once I’ve had my fun, I will clear your name.” I coughed violently, my throat burning. He ignored my pain entirely. “Gina has been crying for days because of the stress. I am throwing a grand wedding ceremony to reassure her, and she expects you to apologize to her in person before she will forgive you.” He turned toward the door. “Whether you show up is up to you. But if Gina remains unhappy, I will make sure your life becomes even more uncomfortable.” After the door clicked shut, my chest heaved with a mixture of laughter and tears. That evening, a new headline dominated the social media channels: “The Prodigal Son Returns! Fairfax Heir Spends Millions on a Lavish Wedding to Honor His Wife!” The comments section was filled with venom directed at me, with users criticizing my upbringing and mocking my mother’s passing. I sat on the kitchen floor, clutching the trash can, feeling an absolute detachment take over. The residual warmth I held for the boy who had once knelt in the rain to slide a ring onto my finger vanished completely. My phone vibrated, displaying an unknown number: “I received the files you sent. When are you free to discuss this?” 3 The wedding of the century became the sole topic of conversation online. The public narrative was set: Mark Fairfax was a reformed romantic protecting his fragile wife, while Alice was a desperate intruder who had tried to steal him away. When Mark returned to the apartment, he tossed an invitation onto the table. “The ceremony is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Do not be late.” The day after tomorrow. The anniversary of my mother’s death. I stood up, my chair scraping harshly against the hardwood floor. “I cannot make it. I am visiting my mother’s grave.” “And when are you going to sign the divorce papers?” He ignored the question entirely, letting out a soft grunt. “Your mother has been gone for years. There is no point in visiting a headstone. Gina’s parents will be there, so you can pay your respects to them instead.” A dull ache flared in my chest. Seeing my defiance, he pulled a velvet box from his pocket and opened it, revealing my mother’s delicate gold necklace. “This belonged to her, correct? If you choose to skip the ceremony and upset Gina, I cannot guarantee what will happen to this.” My jaw clenched so hard it ached. Before my anger could boil over, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I forced myself to take a slow, deep breath, checked the message, and looked at him calmly. “Mark, do you truly want me to offer my blessings to Gina in front of the press?” He smiled. “Absolutely.” On the day of the wedding, the venue was swarming with reporters. In the dressing room, Gina stood before the vanity in a custom satin gown. Her lapel bore a white rose labeled “Bride,” while Mark wore one labeled “Groom.” On the table lay a withered, black rose labeled “Mistress.” Gina let out a soft whine, and Mark immediately grabbed the black rose, pinning it roughly to my blouse. The sharp pin scraped against my collarbone, drawing a thin line of blood, but he did not care. “Do you truly want to go through with this?” I asked, looking into his eyes. He frowned. “It is just a flower, Alice. Don’t be dramatic.” Gina turned around, her expression triumphant. “During the ceremony, you will read the apology slides I prepared, word for word. Then, you will kneel and beg for my forgiveness.” “You will kowtow nine hundred and ninety-nine times before you are allowed to stand. Do you understand?” I remained silent, staring back at her. Annoyed by my silence, Mark gripped my jaw tightly. “Do not embarrass us today.” I shoved his hand away, maintaining my cold stare. Before he could speak, the double doors opened, and a crowd of reporters and high-society guests entered the suite. They immediately crowded around Gina and Mark, offering praise, before their eyes landed on my lapel. The whispers began instantly. “How pathetic. Some women truly have no dignity.” “She actually had the audacity to show up. If I were Gina, I would have had security throw her out.” I reached up, ripped the black rose from my chest, and threw it to the floor. “I am not the mistress. Gina is.” Nobody believed me. The sneers only intensified. Mark stepped closer, grabbing my wrist under the cover of his sleeve and squeezing until my bones ached, signaling me to be quiet. Gina offered a fragile, pitying smile to the cameras. “Please, do not be too harsh on Alice. She was simply blinded by her affection for Mark. She is here today to make things right.” The music began, and they walked out to the altar hand-in-hand. After the vows were spoken and the rings exchanged, I was escorted onto the stage under the harsh glow of the spotlights. But as the projector screen behind us lit up, Mark’s face drained of color, turning a sickly, translucent white.

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1 When my stepson pushed me down the stairs, Garrett’s immediate reaction was to cover the little monster’s eyes and scream at me. “Have you lost your mind? Hurting yourself just to frame my son?” Seeing me curled on the floor in agony, he threw out another line: “That is enough! If this baby is gone, we can always have another. We can have countless children, but I only have one Danny! Stop being so dramatic!” Even as the blood began to pool beneath me, staining the hardwood, he was still murmuring comforts to his son, telling him not to be afraid. Through the gaps in Garrett’s fingers, I saw the chilling, triumphant smirk on my stepson’s face. This was the third child he had managed to destroy. By the time the man finally noticed the deep red pool expanding across the floor, panicking as he tried to lift me, my heart had already turned to ash. On the stretcher to the ambulance, I pulled off the oxygen mask and looked at him with absolute calm. “Garrett, I want a divorce.” … The moment I fell down the stairs, my instincts took over, and I wrapped my arms tightly around my swollen stomach. The pain was immediate, a sharp, tearing sensation that soaked my dress and left a bright trail of blood on the floor. “Clair!” A desperate cry rang out. Garrett rushed toward me, his knees slamming hard against the floor, but he didn’t seem to notice. His hands shook as he reached for me, terrified to touch me. The usually composed, commanding CEO was weeping, his tears falling onto my face. “Don’t worry, don’t worry… the ambulance is on its way… Clair, please hold on…” Gathering my remaining strength, I grabbed his sleeve, pointing toward the top of the landing. “It was Danny… he pushed me… he did it on purpose…” Garrett froze. He slowly turned his head to look at his eight-year-old son, Danny, who was shrinking into the corner of the landing, sobbing as if he were the one traumatized by the blood. “Daddy… I am scared… there is so much blood…” Danny whimpered. The conflict in Garrett’s eyes lasted only a fraction of a second. The next moment, he pulled the boy into his arms, using his hand to shield Danny’s eyes from the scene. When he looked back at me, his gaze was filled with pleading. “Clair, you are in too much pain. You are hallucinating.” He wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, his voice hurried and tense. “Danny is only eight years old. He is terrified. It was just a tragic accident!” “An accident?” I whispered, my body shaking from the physical pain, though my chest felt even colder. The first time, it was a bottle of lubricant left directly outside the bathroom door. The second time, it was a high dose of laxatives mixed into my morning milk. This was the third time. Garrett continued to ramble, trying to convince me, or perhaps trying to convince himself. “I know you are hurting, and I am devastated about the baby too… but Danny is my only son. He has had a difficult life since his mother passed. As the adult, can’t you be more understanding?” More understanding? At the cost of my unborn children’s lives? As Garrett leaned down to kiss my forehead, attempting to quiet my protests, Danny looked at me through the gaps of his father’s fingers. His tear-streaked face held no trace of fear. He grinned, his lips moving silently to form three words: Go to hell. In that moment, I finally accepted the truth. Some people are born wicked, and some people choose to remain blind. Garrett’s love was too crowded, trying to accommodate the role of a devoted husband while protecting his monstrous son, and my children were the ones sacrificed to keep the peace. As they lifted me into the ambulance, Garrett clutched my freezing hand, his voice hoarse from crying. “Clair, don’t close your eyes, please… we can have other children, I will make this up to you, but Danny is my only boy…” With his other hand, he gently patted Danny’s back, whispering, “Don’t be scared, buddy. Daddy is right here.” The suffocating hypocrisy finally snapped my last nerve. I reached up and ripped the oxygen mask off my face. The medical monitors began to beep frantically. Garrett stared at me in terror. “Clair, what are you doing? Doctor! Help her!” I looked at the man I had loved for seven years, my voice barely a whisper. “Garrett, I want a divorce.” 2 When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. The heavy, warm weight in my abdomen was gone. “Clair, you are awake…” Garrett, who had been sitting by my bedside, gripped my hand. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw covered in dark stubble, looking as though he had aged a decade overnight. “I am so sorry… it is my fault. I didn’t protect you.” He pressed his face against my palm, his warm tears wetting my skin. Watching his display of grief, I felt nothing but a dull absurdity. I stared at the ceiling, my mind drifting back to three years ago, shortly after we married. We were happy then. Danny had been living with his grandparents in the country, quiet and isolated. It was my own sympathy that drove me to suggest bringing him to live with us. “Let us bring him home,” I had told Garrett back then, wrapping my arms around his neck. “A child needs his father. I will treat him as my own.” Garrett had been deeply moved, holding me close and telling me how lucky he was to have me in his life. I had naively believed that kindness could change a person. Instead, my misplaced sympathy had brought a natural-born monster into our home, a child who would systematically destroy three of my pregnancies. “Garrett,” I said, my voice dry and hollow. “When Danny pushed me, he stood at the top of the landing, waiting until I reached the exact step before he moved. He wasn’t scared. He was smiling.” Garrett stiffened, his shoulders shaking. He buried his face in his hands, running his fingers through his hair as if trying to block out a truth he could not accept. “Clair, I know you are angry… I am devastated about our baby too! That was my flesh and blood!” He looked up, his expression torn between grief and denial. “But the therapist said Danny is experiencing a severe stress response! He lost his mother at a young age, and he is deeply insecure. He is just afraid that a new baby will take away our love. He didn’t mean to do it. He is only eight!” “Does insecurity excuse murder?” I asked, my voice flat. Garrett flinched at my tone. He grabbed my shoulders, his voice desperate. “He is still a child. He doesn’t understand. We are still young, Clair. We can have other children. Please, don’t blame Danny. He had nightmares all night, crying and saying he was sorry. He is terrified too…” Looking at him, the last trace of warmth in my heart died. To Garrett, the lives of my three unborn children did not equal the weight of his son’s insecurity. I closed my eyes, pulling my hand from his grip. “Garrett, since you care about him so much, I will leave this house to him.” A heavy silence fell over the room. Panic flickered in Garrett’s eyes. He tried to reach for me, but I pulled away, my cold expression silencing him. Over the next two days, I refused to speak to him, refused to eat, and instructed my lawyer to send the divorce papers directly to the ward. 3 Garrett finally realized that I was serious about leaving. On the third morning, the door to my room opened, and Garrett entered, dragging Danny behind him. His grip was firm, lacking his usual tenderness as he pulled the boy to the side of my bed. “Kneel down.” Garrett’s voice was hoarse, his eyes rimmed with red from days of sleeplessness. Danny trembled, dropping to his knees on the cold tile. Tears immediately spilled down his cheeks, his small hands twisting together in a display of helplessness. “Clair… I am sorry… I know I was bad…” “I didn’t mean to do it, I promise I will be good… please don’t make Daddy leave…” The boy sobbed hysterically. To any outsider, I would have looked like a cruel, heartless stepmother. I watched the performance with a cold detachment. “Garrett, if you brought him here to put on a show, you can both leave.” “It is not a show,” Garrett said, taking a deep breath as if he had reached a difficult decision. Ignoring Danny’s crying, he looked at me, his eyes filled with a desperate resolve. “I know I have failed you, Clair. I have let you down.” “The car is waiting downstairs. As soon as he apologizes, I am having my driver take him back to his grandparents’ estate in the country.” My fingers tightened around the bedsheet, my breath catching in my throat. Sending him away? Danny was Garrett’s entire world. For seven years, even when Danny had physically injured a classmate at school, Garrett had never so much as raised his voice. Whenever I had suggested boarding school, it had led to explosive arguments, with him accusing me of being cold-hearted. But now, he was choosing me over his son? “Are you serious?” I asked, my voice dry. “I am,” Garrett said, kneeling beside the bed and burying his face in my hands. “I have thought about it for the past forty-eight hours. I am grieving our child too, but I cannot lose you. If his presence in this house causes you pain, then he cannot stay.” “This house needs you, Clair. Let us start over, just the two of us, please.” He looked up, his eyes filled with a raw, broken devotion. Beside the bed, Danny continued to cry, begging his father not to abandon him, but Garrett did not look back. He kept his eyes locked on mine. My heart, despite my best judgments, wavered. I had loved him for seven years, and I knew how much this boy meant to him. If he was truly willing to send his only son away to protect our marriage… perhaps I was his priority after all. Perhaps, without Danny’s influence, we could return to the life we once had. My mind warned me to refuse, but looking at his exhausted, pleading face, my old affection took over. “Garrett…” My eyes burned with unshed tears. “This is the very last time.” A look of immense relief washed over his face, and he pulled me into a tight embrace. “Thank you… thank you, Clair. I promise I will make this up to you. I will never let you suffer again.” 4 I closed my eyes, letting a single tear slip down my cheek. The first week after my discharge was the most peaceful time I had experienced in seven years. The house was quiet, free of Danny’s screaming and malicious pranks. Garrett was attentive, returning home early every evening to prepare meals and speak softly, as if terrified of disrupting my recovery. “Clair, try this soup. I let it simmer for three hours.” He held the spoon, blowing on it gently before offering it to me. “The doctor said you need to rebuild your strength. Once you are feeling better, we will take a trip together.” Seeing the exhaustion lingering in his eyes, I felt a touch of sympathy. Perhaps he had truly changed. Perhaps sending the boy away was the fresh start we needed. A few days later, Garrett went to the study for a scheduled video conference. As I sat on the balcony enjoying the afternoon sun, a gust of wind blew a freshly washed towel over the railing, landing in the courtyard of the neighboring villa. The house belonged to a neighbor who had moved abroad, and it had recently been leased to a new tenant. Rather than bothering the staff, I decided to walk downstairs and retrieve it myself. But as I approached the iron gate dividing our properties, a familiar, high-pitched laugh echoed through the garden. “Die! Die! The little monster is dead! Hahaha!” The blood in my veins turned to ice. I stepped closer to the climbing roses on the fence, looking through the metal gaps into the neighboring yard. Danny, who was supposed to be hundreds of miles away at his grandparents’ estate, was standing on a wooden play set, dressed in a brand-new track suit. In his hand, he held a small, handmade red doll, the protective amulet I had spent weeks sewing for the baby. “Go to hell! You don’t get to steal my daddy!” Danny threw the doll hard against the gravel, laughing hysterically, his expression identical to the one he wore the day he pushed me. And Garrett, who was supposed to be in his study on a business call, was standing right below the play set. He didn’t reprimand the boy. Instead, he picked up the muddy doll, dusted it off, and pressed a finger to his lips. “Danny, keep your voice down!” Garrett’s tone was filled with a gentle, indulgent sigh. “What did you promise Daddy? Until Clair calms down, we have to play the secret game. If she hears you, Daddy won’t be able to sneak over through the back gate to see you every day.” “She is just being dramatic,” Danny sneered, crossing his arms. “Daddy, when can I come back? I want to live in the big house again.” Garrett patted his head, sighing softly. “Soon, buddy. Just be patient. Once she is fully recovered and stops bringing it up, Daddy will bring you home. You are my boy, nobody can send you away permanently.” The world seemed to fracture around me. The country estate had been a lie; Danny had simply been hidden next door. His remorse had been a temporary tactic, and my grief was dismissed as mere drama. He had made his choice. He chose to treat me like a fool, continuing to harbor the monster who had killed my children. An absolute numbness settled over me. My love, my grief, and the seven years I had invested in this man dissolved into nothingness. I walked back to our house, pulled my suitcase from beneath the bed, and packed my belongings. I took nothing that Garrett had bought me, leaving only the signed divorce agreement on the kitchen counter, tucked beneath the cold, unfinished soup. Goodbye, Garrett. Take your fatherly devotion and your monstrous son, and burn in hell together.

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1 My husband’s childhood sweetheart always had a knack for taking things that belonged to me. After being reborn and realizing I would only end up dead if I kept fighting her, I decided to put a clear price tag on every single piece of my personal property. Claiming she suffered from severe motion sickness, she insisted on riding in my husband’s passenger seat every single time. I simply pasted a laminated payment code on the dashboard with a note: Passenger Seat Subscription. Fifteen thousand dollars a year. Renewals get a twenty percent discount. When she took a fancy to my quarterly project proposal, my husband knocked on my office door to plead her case. I didn’t even bother looking up from my laptop. “Seventy-five thousand dollars. The moment the wire transfer clears, I’ll take my name off the cover page and put hers.” On our son’s birthday, I cleared my schedule and rushed to his preschool to pick him up. But when the teacher brought him out, he looked up and told her, “She is not my mommy. I am not going with her.” As we stood there in a tense standoff, his favorite aunt, Rosemary, arrived late, clutching the expensive toy I had personally bought and wrapped for him. Toby immediately threw his arms around her legs, looking up at his teacher. “See, Ms. Jennings? This is my real mommy.” My husband, Hank, stepped forward to explain, but I cut him off. I held out my hand toward him, my face entirely blank. “One million dollars, and I will sign the legal custody transfer papers today.” Hank stared at me in absolute disbelief. “Alicia, are you seriously taking your anger out on our own son?” he hissed. “He is only four years old! You need to stop this nonsense!” Toby flinched slightly at my words, but his face quickly flushed a deep, angry red. He clung to Rosemary’s designer coat even tighter. “One million is fine! I don’t want a horrible mommy like you anyway!” So that was it. In his eyes, the mother who woke up two hours early every morning to prepare fresh, organic breakfasts, the mother who turned down a major promotion just to have more time to tuck him in, was nothing but a horrible nuisance. Rosemary played the gentle saint, patting Toby’s head. “Toby, sweetie, I told you it’s bad manners to speak to adults like that.” Toby pouted, pointing a finger at me. “But she has bad manners first! When Daddy was spending time with you the other day, she kept calling and calling to ruin his mood! You taught me that we have to give bad people a taste of their own medicine!” Hank’s face suddenly went pale. “Alicia, that night was only because Rosemary’s car broke down…” I raised a hand, cutting off his pathetic excuse. “You spent our wedding anniversary with her. That counts as an extra service. You owe me for that, too.” Hank froze, looking at me as if I had suddenly transformed into a stranger. After a long, heavy silence, he reached into his breast pocket, pulled out an elegant black card, and threw it onto the concrete. “Alicia, when even your own flesh and blood can’t stand you, maybe you should look in the mirror and figure out what’s wrong with yourself.” He guided Rosemary and Toby toward his car, leaving me to breathe in a cloud of exhaust fumes. I didn’t argue. I simply bent down and picked up the sleek plastic card. The sharp corner bit into my palm, but the physical sting only cemented my resolve. In my past life, when Hank let Rosemary strip away everything I owned, I had sobbed, screamed, and clawed for my dignity. My hysterics had earned me nothing but his disgust. He had eventually even given away my mother’s burial plot to Rosemary, just so she could bury her golden retriever. In a fit of blind rage, I had slapped Rosemary across the face and demanded a divorce. I thought taking a stand would make him realize his mistakes. Instead, to punish me, he agreed instantly. He hired the most ruthless corporate lawyers to exploit every legal loophole, ensuring I was cast out on the street without a single penny to my name. Days after the divorce, I was diagnosed with acute cardiomyopathy. I was so broke I couldn’t even afford the ambulance ride, forcing myself to crawl to the hospital. Desperate to survive, I swallowed my pride and called Hank over and over. He never picked up. Instead, Rosemary sent me a voice note from his phone. “Alicia, you gave this man up of your own free will. There are no refunds in this game.” While waiting for life-saving money that would never arrive, all I received were photos of her gloating. In the final moments of my life, I stared at my phone screen, watching Rosemary lounging in my silk pajamas, wearing my favorite perfume, and kissing my husband on the fresh, clean sheets I had washed myself. Reborn into this life, I knew love was a luxury I couldn’t afford. But money, cold and hard, could keep me alive. I just hadn’t expected the son I had cherished so deeply to turn against me so easily. Before the cold sadness could settle into my bones, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was the hospital. “Ms. Archer, we have excellent news. A donor heart has successfully matched with you. We can schedule your transplant surgery for next month.” The news hit me like a physical wave. My knees buckled, and I had to lean against the brick wall of the preschool to keep from falling. This time, I wouldn’t die in a dark, sterile hospital corridor. The moment I hung up, a text from Hank popped up. “I lost my temper earlier. I know I promised you a proper wedding ceremony back then. The designer just delivered your custom gown to the estate. Why don’t you come home and try it on?” I didn’t reply, but I didn’t refuse either. When I married Hank five years ago, his family’s shipping empire had just collapsed. He was so poor we couldn’t even afford a simple registry wedding. Back then, I believed in his brilliance. I knew he would build his way back to the top and give me the dream wedding he always promised. But when he finally regained his fortune, Rosemary came crawling back, stealing his attention, his warmth, and my son’s love. The wedding I had waited half a decade for had never materialized. When I pushed open the front doors of our penthouse, the first thing I saw was Hank and Toby circling Rosemary, who was draped in the cascading white silk of my custom wedding gown. They were showering her with praise. Noticing my presence at the door, the smile on Hank’s face instantly withered. He walked over to me, reaching out to wrap an arm around my waist, but I stepped back. “Alicia, listen to me…” he began, his voice laced with practiced guilt. “Rosemary’s mother is in the final stages of cancer. Her dying wish is to see Rosemary walk down the aisle. Rosemary doesn’t have a partner, so I thought we could do a mock wedding first, just to give her mother some peace of mind. Your ceremony will just have to be pushed back a little longer.” I stared past him at Rosemary. The gown, which had been meticulously tailored to my exact measurements, somehow fit her shorter frame perfectly. Rosemary looked down, biting her lower lip in mock hesitation. “Hank, maybe we shouldn’t. Alicia has been looking forward to this for five years. I feel terrible.” She made a show of trying to unzip the back, but Toby lunged forward like a little bullet, slamming his small body directly into my stomach. “You mean woman! You’re just jealous because Aunt Rosemary looks like a beautiful fairy in that dress! Your stomach is all wrinkly like old tree bark, you look ugly in everything anyway!” The force of his impact knocked me flat onto the hardwood floor. A sharp, searing pain flared in my chest, leaving me breathless and dizzy. Seeing me curled up on the floor in agony, Toby shrank back, a flicker of guilt crossing his face, though he still kept his chin stubborn and high. Hank rushed over, trying to pull me up. “Toby! How could you push your mother like that?” His eyes fell on my midsection, where the faint stretch marks from carrying Toby remained, and a shadow of shame crossed his face. “Alicia, if you really mind this, I can find someone else to play the groom…” I shook off his hand and pushed myself up, dust clinging to my clothes. “I don’t mind,” I said quietly. I pulled out my phone and opened the calculator app. “On top of the venue and the dress, we need to factor in the rate for the wedding night. If you’re playing the husband, you need to pay for the full package.” Before I could finish typing the numbers, Hank slapped the phone out of my hand. It clattered loudly against the floor. “Alicia, are you insane? Toby is standing right here! Rosemary and I are completely innocent! I don’t know what kind of demon has possessed you to make you this greedy!” I looked up, meeting his furious gaze. “She wants to take everything I have, and I can’t stop her. Is it really a crime to ask for financial compensation?” Hank choked on his words, his chest heaving with rage. “I am not doing this with you,” he spat. He pulled out his phone, typing furiously. A second later, my phone vibrated with a bank notification. The deposit was massive. “I must have been completely blind when I married you!” he yelled. He grabbed Rosemary and Toby, guiding them out of the apartment and slamming the heavy oak door behind them. The noise echoed through the empty penthouse. I stared at the long string of zeroes on my screen, fighting back the hot tears stinging my eyes. When Hank and I started out, he had nothing. We used to share ten-dollar takeout boxes and live in a damp, moldy basement apartment. He felt so guilty about our poverty that he would take night shifts delivering food just to buy me the pastries and boba tea he saw other girls enjoying. Once, when I offhandedly complained about how hard it was to dry clothes in the damp basement, he spent half his monthly earnings on a small, portable dryer for me. When I caught him drinking cold tap water in the middle of the night to quiet his hunger, I cried, holding him tight. He had wept into my hair, promising me that once he made it, he would spend the rest of his life making it up to me. Yet every single promise he fulfilled was handed directly to Rosemary. And now, when I demanded the only thing that could actually save my life, I was told he was “blind to marry me.” I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to distract myself by scrolling through social media. But my feed was entirely dominated by Rosemary’s posts. Hank had taken her to the wedding planner’s office. The digital mock-ups of the venue she posted were the exact designs I had spent months curating down to the last detail. The wedding I had dreamed of for five years was being handed to another woman. I squeezed my phone, ready to block her account, when a flash of silver on her wrist caught my eye. When I realized what she was wearing, the blood rushed to my ears. I grabbed my keys, looked up her tagged location, and drove there like a woman possessed. “Give me my bracelet back!” I lunged toward Rosemary the moment I burst into the bridal boutique, reaching for her wrist. That bracelet was the only keepsake my mother had left me. For years, I had kept it safely tucked away in a velvet box, barely brave enough to touch it myself. And now, it was resting on Rosemary’s wrist. Before I could touch her, Toby threw himself in front of her, shoving me back with all his might. “This is my gift to Aunt Rosemary!” he shouted, blocking her like a tiny shield. “Just tell me how much you want! I’ll pay you right now!” He held up his smart watch, tapping the screen to bring up his digital allowance wallet. The sheer shock of it numbed the physical pain of my fall. I stared at my four-year-old son, my limbs turning utterly cold. “Toby, what did you just say?” Toby rolled his eyes. “I asked you how much. You sell everything for money anyway, don’t you? Name your price.” My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t draw breath. When he was barely old enough to speak, I had shown him that bracelet. I had told him it was the only piece of his grandmother I had left, the only thing keeping her memory alive. Back then, he had buried his face in my neck, whispering in his sweet, baby voice, Mommy still has Toby. Now, using the very smart watch I had bought him for his birthday, he was trying to buy my mother’s final keepsake to give to another woman. Rosemary made a show of slipping the silver band off her wrist. “I’m so sorry, Alicia. Toby told me you never wore it, so I assumed you didn’t want it anymore.” Hank, who had been discussing the catering details nearby, hurried over when he heard the commotion. Seeing Rosemary taking off the bracelet, he glared at me. “Alicia, what are you making a scene for now?” “It’s just a piece of old jewelry. Your wrists are too thick to wear it anyway. What’s the harm in letting Rosemary borrow it for a few days?” I lost all control. “It is my mother’s heirloom!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “Rosemary, you steal everything from me! Aren’t you afraid my mother’s ghost will come for you tonight?” My scream drew looks from the boutique staff, making Hank’s face darken with embarrassment. “Give it back to her, Rosemary,” Hank said stiffly. “I’ll buy you a brand new one. Wearing things from dead people is bad luck anyway.” Toby chimed in immediately. “Yeah! Let Daddy buy you a bigger, prettier one!” With those words, he snatched the silver bracelet from Rosemary’s hand and flung it directly at me. “Don’t!” I shrieked. I scrambled forward, reaching out desperately, but my fingers only brushed the cool silver before it hit the tiled floor. It shattered into three jagged pieces. In that split second, a part of my own soul seemed to break with it. I fell to my knees, blindly gathering the sharp fragments, my tears splashing hot against the cold marble. “Stop making a scene,” Hank muttered. Seeing the blood dripping from my palm where a sharp edge had sliced my skin, he reached down to pull me up. “It’s just an object. Is it really worth all this drama?” I slapped his hand away with all the strength I had left, my eyes burning red. I reached into my bag, pulled out the divorce papers I had carried with me, and hurled them directly at his face. “We are done, Hank. We are divorcing…” Hank, however, barely glanced at the document, assuming it was another asset transfer agreement. He caught the papers, his face turning incredibly cold. “Alicia, so cash isn’t enough anymore? Now you’re trying to leverage my company’s shares?” He let out a dry, mocking laugh. “You probably told Toby to throw that bracelet just so you could use my guilt to extort more assets from me, didn’t you?” He pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled his signature on the back page without even reading it. “You’re incredibly calculating, Alicia. I’ll sign it this once out of pity, but don’t think you can play this card a second time.” He tossed the papers onto my bleeding hands and walked away without looking back. Sitting on the floor, surrounded by the ruins of my mother’s keepsake, I let out a soft, hollow laugh. He didn’t realize there wouldn’t be a second time. I didn’t want him, and I didn’t want our son. For the next few weeks, I lived entirely in the hospital. The money Hank had transferred to my account was more than enough to cover the transplant surgery, the private suite, and years of post-operative care. With a new heart, I would finally put the tragedy of my past life behind me and begin again. On the morning of the surgery, as the nurses prepped me for anesthesia, the lead surgeon suddenly walked into the room, pulling off his sterile gloves. “I am terribly sorry, Ms. Archer. We cannot proceed with your surgery today.” My heart did a terrifying flutter. “What do you mean? Why can’t we?” Despite the expensive therapies I had been buying, my cardiomyopathy was advancing rapidly. During my brief hospital stay, I had suffered three separate cardiac episodes. The most severe one had landed me in the ICU for twelve grueling hours. Only my sheer, stubborn will to live had pulled me back from the brink. My body simply did not have the time to wait for another match. The surgeon looked incredibly uncomfortable. “The donor heart that was matched to you has just been reassigned.” I clutched my chest, panic clawing at my throat. “Reassigned? To whom? Is it a matter of money? I can pay double, triple, whatever they want!” The doctor avoided my eyes, pulling his surgical mask up as if trying to shield himself from my desperation. I swung my legs off the operating table, stumbling after him, my voice rising in a frantic pitch. “You know my condition! I won’t survive another waiting list! How can you just take it away? This is murder!” My screams echoed down the sterile hallway, drawing the attention of patients and staff alike. “Who took my heart?” I shrieked, tears streaming down my face. “Do the wealthy get to decide who lives and who dies?” The gathering crowd began to murmur in sympathy, and a sympathetic nurse quietly pointed toward the executive wing. I ran down the corridor, ignoring the nurses calling after me, only to freeze when I saw the figure standing guard outside the VIP operating theater. It was Hank. He was standing like a sentinel, blockading the doors. Rosemary, who was sobbing softly in a nearby chair, looked up and saw me. She immediately ran over, grabbing my wrists. “Alicia? Are you saying my mother stole your heart?” She sank to her knees, weeping against my shins. “I was wrong to take your things, Alicia. I’ll apologize, I’ll give everything back! Just please, don’t take this chance away from my mother!” Hank’s face contorted with disgust. “Alicia, just because your own mother is dead, you want to drag Rosemary’s mother to the grave with her? How can you be so utterly malicious?” My fingernails dug deep into my palms, the copper taste of blood filling my mouth as I bit my lip. “Hank, her mother has terminal, systemic cancer! A heart transplant won’t save her! Rosemary is doing this on purpose just to—” Before I could finish, Rosemary began frantically bowing, her forehead cracking against the linoleum. “I’ll give you all the money you want, Alicia! I’ll pay you back for the heart, just please let my mother live!” A cold sweat broke out across my body, my chest tightening so painfully I could barely form words. “I don’t want your money! I want my match! Give me back my heart!” “That is enough!” Hank roared, grabbing my arm and yanking me away from Rosemary. “You’re faking a heart condition just to spite Rosemary’s mother, using people’s pity to cause a scene in a hospital! Alicia, you have crossed the line!” He signaled the security guards, who quickly seized my arms. I thrashed against their grip, but my weak, oxygen-deprived body was no match for them. My heart began to beat in a chaotic, erratic rhythm, a crushing pain blooming behind my ribs. By the time they threw me out onto the asphalt of the hospital driveway, the suffocating grip of death was already closing in on me. I reached out a trembling hand toward the onlookers, silently begging for help, but the crowd simply sneered and turned away. “Disgusting woman, trying to steal a dying old lady’s chance at life. Still acting even now.” My hand fell limp against the cold pavement. As the darkness swallowed my consciousness, my final, fading prayer was that in my next life, I would never, ever cross paths with Hank again. Meanwhile, inside the hospital, the transplant surgery went ahead. Shortly after, Hank hurried through a hasty, lavish wedding ceremony with Rosemary. But as he stood at the altar, preparing to exchange rings, Alicia’s pale, sweat-streaked face kept flashing behind his eyes. She had looked so incredibly fragile at the hospital. “I’m sorry, Rosemary,” Hank muttered, suddenly pulling his hand back. “Let’s pause the ceremony here. Your mother is still heavily sedated anyway, she won’t notice.” Without waiting for her response, he tore off his boutonnière and walked out, dialing his assistant. “Check Alicia’s medical records at the hospital. Now.” Ten minutes later, his assistant called back, his voice shaking with terror. “Sir… the records show Mrs. Archer was diagnosed with acute, end-stage cardiomyopathy. Her transplant surgery was scheduled for exactly one week ago…”

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At Nolan’s birthday party, I called off our engagement. He only offered a faint, dismissive smile. But his friends immediately erupted into loud laughter. “Since when did you learn to play hard to get, Audie?” One of the guys winked at Nolan’s childhood sweetheart, Hailey. “Princess, your turn to shine.” Hailey rolled her eyes playfully, walked over to me, and smiled. “Audie, don’t say things in anger. How did Nolan annoy you this time? Tell me, I’ll beat him up for you.” The routine was all too familiar. Every time Nolan and I had a disagreement, the moment she stepped in to mediate, he would swallow his pride. This time was no exception. He walked over with a helpless expression, not even bothering to ask what was wrong. “Okay, it’s all my fault. Stop making a scene, Audie. I really don’t want to get beaten up by her.” He exchanged a quick, knowing look with Hailey, a silent signal that said, got her. The laughter swelled around us, easily swallowing my quiet, building grief. I tilted my head back slightly, forcing the tears back from my eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Nolan. And I’m not making a scene.” As I turned, my phone buzzed in my palm. A flight notification popped up: Your flight departs in three hours. 1 My wrist was suddenly grabbed. “Come on, everyone is having a good time today. Can you stop throwing a tantrum?” I turned to look at his handsome face, feeling a strange sense of detachment. “I said, I’m not throwing a tantrum.” Hailey stepped in, wrapping her hands around Nolan’s neck from behind. “Who told you to make Audie mad? Believe it or not, I’ll choke you to death!” He laughed, letting go of my wrist to pull her hands down. “Alright, with your tiny arms? Please.” Hailey squealed playfully. “Nolan, you’re bullying me again! I’ll scratch your face so no one will want you…” Her fingers fluttered over his face, messing up his carefully styled hair. Laughter erupted around them. Ever since Hailey returned from Europe, this scene had played out countless times. No one in his circle found it weird. After all, in the years before I entered his life, they had always been this close. The passenger seat of his car had practically become her designated throne. The dashboard was cluttered with her cheap knickknacks. Nolan would complain about her terrible taste but warn me not to touch her things. Meanwhile, my things began to vanish. “Where’s the safety charm I hung here?” “Oh, Hailey said the color clashed with the interior so she took it down. I’ll ask her where she put it later.” He had completely forgotten. Three years ago, I had climbed ninety-nine hundred steps to St. Jude’s Chapel on the Peak just to get him that blessing. My legs were so sore I could barely stand for days. Later, when I asked her about it, she gave a careless shrug. “Oh, I thought it was some cheap street-vendor junk, so I tossed it out the window. My bad, Audie.” I had stared at her, unable to accept her apology. “It’s your fault for not stopping me!” she had laughed, nudging Nolan. “You’ve always been a hurricane, how could I stop you?” Nolan replied. Every single time, the script repeated itself. If I showed the slightest hint of discomfort, they would start roughhousing. Then someone would say how sweet and understanding I was, how I wouldn’t mind. My boundaries were slowly eroded until they ceased to exist. Even now, remembering it brought a dull sting of pain. Hailey smeared a dollop of cake frosting onto his hair. He merely laughed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “The only one nobody wants is you, Hailey. I’m an engaged man, unlike you, still single after a tour of Europe.” He glanced down at me. “Look at my Audrey. Gorgeous, sweet-tempered. Nothing like a wild cat like you.” A shadow crossed Hailey’s eyes, but she instantly recovered, wrapping her arm around mine. “Audie, are you still mad about our anniversary the other day? I only called Nolan away because of a dare…” 2 I instinctively pulled my hand back. Her smile froze. That day, I had spent four hours in the kitchen preparing his favorite dishes. Seven years was a significant milestone. It meant we had survived the seven-year itch. If he had spent that night with me, I would have wiped the slate clean of all the times he ignored me for Hailey over the past year. But he didn’t. He hadn’t even sat down for a minute when Hailey’s call came. “Nolan, do you like me?” He smiled. “What kind of game is this?” “Our old spot in ten minutes. If you don’t show up, I have to take a penalty drink.” “You’re always a headache. Wait there.” He grabbed his keys. He didn’t notice the fresh burn on my hand from the stove. He didn’t see the light die in my eyes. “Nolan, when will you be back?” He paused for a fraction of a second. “Soon. Hailey got caught in some stupid drinking game, I have to go bail her out.” It was always the same excuse, and it always worked on him. At that moment, I realized that holding on any longer was just humiliating myself. “Alright, Audrey, it was just a game of Truth or Dare. I was just playing along. Besides, we have anniversaries every year, it’s nothing special. Making a scene over this is really childish.” Nolan’s tone sharpened when he saw Hailey’s awkwardness. But he used to be so different. He used to cherish every milestone. He would book my favorite restaurant a month in advance, plan elaborate lantern displays. “Every anniversary reminds me that I’ve been lucky enough to have you for another year, Audie. I’m the luckiest man alive.” Later, those grand gestures went to Hailey. “She’s been stealing my things since we were kids. It’s a bad habit she can’t shake. Audrey, we’re an old married couple now, we don’t need those silly teenage rituals. Besides, what’s mine is yours, why bother wrapping it up?” The tension in the room grew heavy. Someone tried to clear the air. “Audie’s too sweet to get mad over something like that.” “Yeah, Nolan, just give her a cuddle. If you don’t know how, let Princess Hailey give you some tips.” Hailey’s eyes welled with tears. “Audie, I’m so sorry. Nolan and I have just always been this way. I didn’t think about boundaries. I won’t do it again.” Her voice trembled, making her look like the victim. I hadn’t even uttered a word, yet the gaze of the people in the room shifted. “Audie, don’t blame Hailey. We’ve all grown up together, it’s not that serious.” “Exactly, we never had these issues before. Why are we suddenly talking about boundaries?” “If that’s the case, I guess none of us have boundaries.” “It’s Nolan’s birthday, everyone was having a blast, and now it’s ruined…” Once, Nolan had organized countless dinners just so I could fit into his circle. Now, he stood by, silently agreeing as they picked me apart. I had no desire to watch their play continue. “I’m sorry for ruining the mood. It won’t happen again.” I looked at Nolan, whose face had darkened. “The engagement is off. We’re done. There won’t be a next time.” As my hand touched the brass doorknob, Hailey suddenly lunged forward, pushing me aside, and ran out sobbing, her hands covering her face. “Hailey!” The crowd rushed out after her. In the chaos, I was knocked to the floor, my fingers stepped on multiple times. The fresh scrapes flared with pain, mingling with the sting of the old burns. Nolan turned back to look at me, his eyes filled with profound disappointment. 3 “She’s always had fragile pride. You deliberately brought up breaking the engagement just to hurt her, to paint her as the homewrecker. If anything happens to her, Audrey, I will never forgive you.” The tears I had held back finally spilled over. He walked away without looking back. I returned to our shared townhome, bandaged my fingers, and picked up the suitcase I had packed days ago. As I reached the front door, Nolan walked back in. His eyes fell on my suitcase, his brow furrowing. “Are we still doing this? Are you trying to drive her to the edge? Audrey, when did you become so utterly unreasonable? You used to be so understanding…” “Nolan, do you not understand plain English? I said we are over. What the two of you do is none of my business.” I tried to step around him, but he grabbed my arm. “Come with me to Hailey’s. She’s in a terrible state. You’re going to apologize to her, clear the air, and we can put this behind us.” “Let go of me, Nolan! I have a flight to catch…” Ignoring my protests, he dragged me to his car, locked the doors, and drove off. He hauled me into Hailey’s living room. She was curled on the velvet sofa, sobbing softly. Her friends surrounded her, wiping her tears, offering to take her on trips, while throwing venomous glares at me. “Stop crying, Hailey. I brought Audrey to apologize.” Nolan looked at her with pure tenderness. I kept my lips pressed tight. The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Everyone was waiting for my submission. “Go on, apologize!” “Look at what you’ve done to her. Just say you’re sorry.” “Apologize!” I clenched my fists, my body swaying slightly from exhaustion. “I did nothing wrong. Why should I apologize?” Hailey burst into fresh wails. “Stop it, guys! It’s my fault. Audie has every right to be mad… I should never have come back…” Suddenly, a girl stepped out of the crowd and slapped me across the face. “She has never had to take this kind of abuse!” It was Becca. Two years ago, when she wanted to host her first art exhibition, she had begged me to bring Nolan to boost her profile, even tagging me in posts as “the future Mrs. Nolan” to draw a crowd. Nolan flinched when the slap landed, reaching out toward me instinctively, but Hailey’s renewed sobs pulled him back. I remembered how, when we first started dating, a tabloid had written a nasty article about my background. The next day, the publisher was shut down, and no one in his circle dared to speak a word against me. Now, they stood united against me, their faces twisted with satisfaction. “If I apologize, can I leave?” I asked, my voice flat. My pride had finally been ground into dust. Nolan nodded. “Once you apologize, everyone will move on. We can go back to how things were.” Back to how things were… I let out a hollow laugh. “Fine.” I gave Hailey a polite bow. “I’m sorry. I was petty, jealous, and malicious. I caused you distress. Please forgive me.” She blinked, wiping her eyes. “As long as you don’t misunderstand Nolan and me anymore, Audie.” “I won’t,” I said, looking at the floor. I turned and walked out. Nolan followed me to the porch. “I’ll drive you home.” “No need. Go back and comfort her.” He sighed. “This is over now. Don’t let it happen again, Audrey. I still prefer you when you’re sweet and understanding.” “Understood. It won’t happen again.” I went back to the house, rescheduled my flight to Sedona for the next morning, and sat on the edge of the bed with an ice pack on my cheek. I opened my phone and saw Hailey’s social media update from five minutes ago. 4 It was a screenshot of a group chat. I used to be in their circle’s group chat, but ever since Hailey returned, the main chat had gone dead. This was a separate group, one without me. [Becca: @Nolan, Hailey took such a hit today. How are you going to make it up to her? Don’t think a cheap apology from you-know-who cuts it.] [Nolan: Seven-day trip to Cabo. My treat, for everyone.] [Friend A: Wow! Classic Nolan. You’re the best!] [Friend B: Thanks to Princess Hailey, we get a free vacation!] [Hailey: Is Audie coming?] [Becca: Why would we invite that wet blanket?] [Friend C: Seriously, if she goes, she’ll just ruin the vibe.] [Nolan: She’s not coming.] [Friend A: Awesome! Can’t wait!] [Becca: She’s just green with envy because of Hailey.] [Friend B: You guys always said she had a sweet temper, but she’s actually so toxic.] [Friend C: Makes sense, she’s not from our world. She’s probably terrified Nolan will dump her, so she acts out.] [Nolan: Don’t say that in front of her.] [Becca: Nolan, you spoil her too much.] The screenshots went on for nine pages. I scrolled through them, feeling entirely numb. There was no anger, only a strange, calming sense of finality. Hailey’s caption read: And here I thought someone would choose his girl over his friends. My bad! Nolan had commented: Pack your bags, and don’t forget your essentials this time. Remember to bring your heating pad, your cycle is due. Hailey replied: I’m stealing all your sweaters anyway! What’s yours is mine! When Nolan returned home, I was still holding the ice pack. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I’ll be back in a week,” I said. “Okay.” I didn’t look up from my screen. I could feel his gaze lingering on me. “Audrey, aren’t you going to ask me where I’m going?” I looked up, my eyes blank. “What?” Nolan hesitated, then knelt in front of me. “Does it hurt?” It took me a second to realize he was asking about my cheek. “Oh. It’s fine.” I went back to scrolling through travel guides for Sedona. “I’m going to Cabo with Hailey and the guys. When I get back, we’ll take our engagement photos.” “Sounds good. Have fun.” “Audrey…” I let out a soft laugh at a travel video on my feed, typing a quick comment. Nolan stood up without another word and went to pack his bags. A few minutes later, he called out, “My flight is at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.” “Okay. Mine is too… I mean, have a safe flight.” That night, I curled up on the very edge of the mattress. Nolan wrapped an arm around my waist, whispering in my ear: “We won’t see each other for a week. Tonight…” I sat up abruptly. “Sorry, I’m not in the mood.” “Is it your period?” “Yes.” I lied. He had forgotten anyway. “Alright,” he said, his disappointment clear. The next morning at the airport, I spotted their group near the boarding gates. “Is our Princess happy today?” “How could she not be? Nolan left his future bride behind just to keep her company.” “Oh, stop it, you guys…” Nolan smiled, though he looked distracted. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with his call. “Audrey, it’s going to get cold this week, make sure to turn on the heater. Look over those dress designs, when I get back…” Just then, the airport intercom crackled to life: Passengers boarding flight 402 to Sedona, please proceed to gate twelve… The announcement played through the receiver and in the physical terminal at the exact same time. Nolan’s breath hitched. “Audie… where are you?” I raised my eyes, my gaze colliding with his across the crowded terminal. He was looking around frantically. Nolan’s eyes widened. I hung up the call, stepped forward, and handed my ticket to the gate agent. Suddenly, a loud shout echoed behind me.

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After years of marriage, when my critical illness notice was issued, Matt didn’t hesitate to propose mortgaging our house. To pay the massive medical bills, the once proud and aloof man dragged himself through the mud, working day and night. Not wanting to be a burden, I was ready to give up treatment. But then, a financial headline froze me in place. The Pierce Family Heir Returns for Love! Reclaiming a Billion-Dollar Empire to Save His Beloved’s Life! The photo accompanying the article showed Matt’s exhausted yet deeply affectionate profile. I trembled, thinking this was his final fight for me. But as the camera panned, the woman in the sterile hospital gown was revealed to be the girl from the faded photo in his wallet. And I, like an idiot, actually believed he loved me. 1 Matt walked into the room, bringing with him the sharp chill of the late-night air. He took off his cheap jacket, his face lined with deep fatigue. “How are you feeling today?” He poured a cup of warm water and handed it to my bedside. I shook my head, lacking even the strength to speak. He sat on the edge of the mattress, checking my temperature with his hand. “The doctors say the prognosis isn’t great. But don’t worry, Valerie. I’ve taken care of the money.” He pulled a document from his coat, carefully unfolding it. “I… mortgaged our house.” My heart seized. “You…” “Don’t say anything silly,” he interrupted, as if assuming I’d be moved to tears by his sacrifice. “Nothing is more important than you. If it means you get better, I’d gladly sleep under a bridge.” He spoke so earnestly, with such deep affection. If I hadn’t seen the news hours ago, I would have believed him. Matt Pierce, heir to the Pierce fortune, my husband of five years, had been playing the role of a penniless working-class guy in front of me. “Matt, do we… really have to do this?” I asked, my voice dry. He fell silent for a moment, then pulled out another document: a voluntary organ donation agreement. “Valerie, the doctor said we need to prepare for the worst.” His voice was soft, but every word stabbed my heart. “I know how kind you are. The doctor told me today that there’s a young woman, Stella. She has been waiting for a matching heart for a very, very long time.” Stella. Finally, he said the name. The girl in the faded photo hidden in his wallet. “She’s so tragic. Her health has been failing since she was a child. She has lived in constant agony.” He narrated her story calmly, as if my life and death were just a backdrop for her salvation. “If… I mean, if you donate your heart to her, it’s a way for your life to continue, isn’t it?” I looked at this man. His patience was wearing thin; he didn’t even bother to craft a better lie. He knew I was terminally ill and couldn’t afford the treatment. He was certain my deep love for him would make me grant his every wish. “So, mortgaging the house was to prepare for her surgery fees?” I asked directly. He froze, taken aback. Then, a sorrowful expression took over. “Valerie, how could you think of me like that? I did it for your treatment!” He turned back into the doting husband. “But your illness… you know the chances are slim. I just thought, if we fail, we could save another life, keeping a part of you alive. For my sake, please? Sign it first, and then we’ll fight this together.” I pulled my cold hand away. “I’m tired. I want to sleep.” A flicker of impatience crossed his face, quickly masked by tenderness. “Okay, rest up.” He placed the agreement and a pen on my nightstand, right where I would see it the second I opened my eyes. He put his jacket back on to leave. At the door, he turned back. “The doctor let me meet Stella. She’s in the VIP penthouse suite. If you want, I can arrange for you to meet. She’s a lovely girl.” The door closed. I stared at the agreement. It felt like a blade slicing through my chest. 2 The next day, a young nurse came to change my IV. She was chatty and quick with her hands. “Ms. Lin, you really need to take care of yourself. Your husband is an angel.” I closed my eyes, not wanting to engage. “He’s here every day, running around for your bills. We’re all so jealous.” Jealous? How ironic. “The girl in the penthouse suite is rich, but so tragic,” she gossiped, lowering her voice. “Her boyfriend is the heir to the Pierce Group! But honestly, he doesn’t seem that devoted. He’s always busy with work, only visits occasionally. Not like your husband, who practically lives by your side.” Her words sent my mind drifting back to our early years. We had started dating when Matt was a broke student. He once worked a week at a part-time job just to buy me a designer lipstick I wanted. When I make it, I’ll give you the world, he had promised. After graduation, he turned down high-paying corporate jobs for a simple clerk position. I don’t want to be tired, he had said. I just want to come home and cook for you. I believed it all. But he wasn’t humble; he was just biding his time, playing a part to keep me isolated and waiting for my heart to fail so Stella could have it. “Ms. Lin? Are you okay?” the nurse asked. “I’m fine, just thinking.” She packed her things. “Your husband called. He said he’ll be late tonight.” I knew he wouldn’t come. Stella’s condition must have deteriorated, making her far more urgent than his backup organ donor. By evening, Matt indeed hadn’t shown up. I sat up slowly. The nightstand still held the agreement and a poetry book Matt gave me as our first gift. To my lifelong love, Valerie, the inscription read. The door opened, and Matt walked in, smelling of expensive cologne and red wine, sharp against the sterile air of my room. He didn’t ask if I had eaten. He walked over, picked up the poetry book, flipped through it mindlessly, and finally asked, “Valerie, did you hear some gossip?” He was still trying to play the soothing husband. “Hospitals are full of rumors. Don’t take them to heart.” “Who is Stella?” I asked, gathering all my courage. He froze, then closed the book. “She’s just a friend.” “A friend who needs my heart to live?” The air turned to ice. Matt’s tender mask cracked. “Yes,” he admitted. “She’s suffered since childhood. Don’t you have any compassion?” “Why should I sacrifice my life for her compassion?” My chest throbbed with a sharp pain. “Valerie!” he raised his voice, his impatience fully bared. “What is this attitude? I’m discussing this with you, not begging! Are you losing your mind because of your illness? Since when did you become so selfish?” Selfish. I had given up career opportunities for him, lived in cheap clothes, squeezed onto crowded buses, and spent five years counting pennies. And now, he wanted my life for another woman, calling me selfish. “Matt Pierce, you disgust me.” With a loud slap, he threw the poetry book onto the floor, the pages scattering. 3 “Valerie, don’t push your luck!” His chest heaved. “You think you’re in a position to negotiate? Without me, you can’t even pay for tomorrow’s medicine!” He was threatening me with money. He pointed at the scattered pages. “A dying person has no right to hold onto these things. Can’t you show some gratitude for our past?” My heart was completely torn apart. I was just a dying object to him. “So, you’re threatening to stop my treatment if I don’t sign?” He looked momentarily taken aback by my calm, but quickly recovered his cold demeanor. “I’m just making you see reality. Signing is best for all of us.” “All of us” meant him and Stella, never me. His phone rang, and his face tensed. “What? Her condition is worsening? I’ll be right up!” He hung up, glaring at me with raw hostility. No more love, no more warmth. He stepped closer. “Valerie, sign it. Now!” I looked at him coldly. He was losing his composure because his precious Stella was running out of time. “And if I don’t?” “You have no choice.” He hissed. “Don’t force my hand. Stella can’t wait. Help her, and you help me.” He finally admitted it. It wasn’t about charity or keeping a part of me alive. It was to save his true love. “I spent five years of poverty with you, Valerie. Even if you don’t care about yourself, think of what I gave up! Do you know what I sacrificed? I, the heir of the Pierce family, lived in a cramped, moldy apartment with you for five years! I’ve done more than enough!” The ugly truth was out. “I did it all for Stella! Approaching you, marrying you, tolerating you, it was all for this day! The doctor said your body was weak and you wouldn’t live long, so I patiently waited! I thought when you died, I’d naturally get your heart. I didn’t expect you to drag this out so long!” My entire existence was a carefully orchestrated five-year trap to harvest my heart. Seeing my silence, he thought he had been too harsh. He thrust the agreement and pen into my hands. “Sign it. This is the last thing you can do for me. If there’s anything you want me to do after you’re gone, I’ll make sure it’s done.” I looked at the donor page: Donor: Valerie Lin. Recipient: Stella Su. My hands shook. Matt leaned down, whispering in my ear, “Be good, sign it, and I’ll remember your kindness.” His breath made me sick. I gripped the pen, looked up, and smiled at him. Before he could react, I didn’t write. I tore the agreement in half. The tearing sound was incredibly sharp in the silent room. I tore it again and again, throwing the pieces to the floor. I dropped the pen; it rolled to his feet. “Matt Pierce, in your dreams!” Before, I would have given up because I was broke and hopeless. But now, Matt had reclaimed his inheritance for Stella’s sake. Legally, half of that wealth belonged to me as his wife. Why shouldn’t I fight to live?

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The first thing I did when I clawed my way back to consciousness after the craniotomy was open my chat history with Rebecca. [Rebecca, my brain surgery is tomorrow.] [They just handed me the critical condition notice.] [If I open my eyes and you’re not here, we are done.] A full day had passed. No response. I scrolled up. It was the same story before every single operation. [Can’t make it. I’ll have someone sign it for you.] [Busy.] [Don’t bother telling me in the future.] Eventually, she stopped reading my messages altogether and assigned a personal secretary to me. His sole job was to sign my surgical consent forms, my critical condition notices, and every other document that required a spouse’s signature. Yet, the woman who was always too busy to reply was currently lighting up someone else’s social media feed. A grid of nine photos. A tropical beach in Maui. Golden sand, crystal water, and two figures standing so close their shoulders brushed. The caption read: He keeps pulling these sweet little stunts to make me smile, over and over again. It was posted exactly two hours before I was wheeled into the operating room. I sent a brief text to the secretary: [You don’t need to come anymore.] Then, I dialed my lawyer. “Draft a divorce agreement for me.” 1 As the anesthesia wore off, the pain at the incision site flared up, sharp and relentless, keeping sleep far out of reach. This craniotomy only had a one-in-three chance of success. When my mind had been slipping into the darkness of the anesthetic, I couldn’t help but wonder: if I never woke up, when would Rebecca actually find out? Probably only when the morgue called her to collect my body. After all, she never had any time or energy to spare for me. Around dusk, the heavy door of the recovery room creaked open. Rebecca walked in, carrying a thermal bag. “How are you feeling?” “Fine.” “Good.” She unzipped the bag and pulled out a food container. “I brought you some soup.” I looked at it. Seafood chowder. Shrimp, crab, a slick layer of oil shimmering on top. I am severely allergic to shellfish. Austin, however, loved it. “Austin got a terrible sunburn at the beach,” Rebecca said, setting the bowl down. “I brought him to the clinic downstairs to get him checked out. His back is completely raw.” “I see,” I murmured. “Why aren’t you drinking it?” She leaned in closer, and a cloying, fruity scent washed over me. Instead of answering, I asked, “Did you change your shampoo?” She blinked, then smiled faintly. “Austin recommended it. It’s actually pretty good. If you like it, I can have him grab a few bottles for you.” We had been together for eight years. She should have remembered that I couldn’t stand heavy fragrances. She should have seen that my head had been shaved completely bald before they cut into my skull. But she noticed nothing. Or maybe, since the last time she stepped foot in our house was six months ago when I still had a full head of hair, she had simply forgotten. Time had washed those details away. Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, until the sharp chime of her phone broke it. “Oh, right,” Rebecca said, staring down at her screen. “Carter said you told him not to come back?” “I won’t need him to sign anything anymore.” “Well, as long as you’re recovering.” I lightly touched my bare, stitched scalp. “I’m not. The tumor is back. I could go under the knife again at any moment.” She didn’t lift her gaze. I took a slow, shallow breath. “Do you still want this marriage, Rebecca?” Suddenly, a man’s laughter spilled from her phone speaker, bright and clear. “Rebecca, look at this video! It’s hilarious” She quickly muted the volume and finally looked up at me. “What did you just say?” The heart monitor beside me beeped in a steady, cold rhythm. “Did you enjoy Maui?” I asked quietly. “Are you done with your work there?” Her expression remained perfectly calm. “Austin had been begging to go to the coast for months. It coincided with a resort project I needed to inspect, so I brought him along.” She looked down at her phone again, typing a quick reply before standing up. “If you want to go, I’ll take you once you’ve recovered.” There was a knock on the door, and my neurosurgeon walked in to discuss the next steps of my treatment. Rebecca checked her watch, grabbing her coat. “I’ll leave you two to it. Austin should be done with his examination by now.” She always slipped away like this, rushing back to Austin’s vibrant, colorful world. Nothing about me could ever hold her interest. Once the door clicked shut, the doctor handed me my charts. “Mr. Kelly, the recurrence is aggressive this time. I strongly advise you to seek specialized treatment in London.” Three years ago, a previous surgery had put pressure on my optic nerve, leaving my left eye completely blind. I stared at the medical report for a long time, the words blurring through my single functioning eye. “Please set it up.” On the day of my discharge, Rebecca texted saying she would pick me up. I sat on a wooden bench outside the hospital clinic, waiting. A single canvas duffel bag sat by my feet, packed with discharge papers, medical records, and a mountain of prescription bottles. I pulled out my phone and scrolled. Austin’s feed had been updated. 7:00 AM. A photo of two silhouettes running into the sunrise, one tall, one slightly shorter. Caption: Early birds get the best views. 8:00 AM. A photo of a steamed-up glass shower door with a smiley face drawn in the condensation. Caption: Someone’s waiting for me to clean up. 8:30 AM. A sunny balcony breakfast with two place settings. Caption: Mornings are better when you’re being pampered. The woman who had promised to take me home was entirely occupied living a cozy, quiet life with someone else. At ten o’clock, Rebecca’s sleek black sedan finally pulled up to the curb. The passenger window rolled down, revealing Austin’s grinning face. “Hey, Oliver! Rebecca is dropping me off at work on the way.” My legs were stiff and numb. Grabbing my heavy bag, I stood up, but my balance faltered, and I swayed. Rebecca stepped out of the driver’s seat and opened the back door for me. “Traffic was a nightmare,” she said. I didn’t argue. I just carried my medicine over. Austin leaned over the console, his eyes locking onto my face. “Oliver, what’s wrong with your left eye?” He tilted his head, inspecting me. “It looks… a little vacant? That’s so weird.” He waved his hand right in front of my face. “Can you see this? How many fingers am I holding up?” Rebecca cut in, her voice dismissive. “He’s just near-sighted.” “Oh…” Austin pulled his hand back. I had lost vision in my left eye three years ago. I had told Rebecca at least a dozen times. She still didn’t remember. Austin pushed his door open and hopped out, bustling over to my side. “Oliver, what are all these pills? Can I see?” He reached out, grabbing at my canvas bag. I instinctively flinched away to protect my medicine. But the bag wasn’t zipped. As I jerked back, his hand caught the edge, and the contents spilled across the pavement. Bottles and cardboard boxes scattered. Tiny white and yellow pills rolled into the cracks of the concrete stairs and slid under the car tires. Rebecca frowned, looking away in mild annoyance. “Can’t you even hold a bag straight?” I got down on my knees, slowly searching the ground. My stitches had only been taken out a couple of days ago. Lowering my head sent a rush of pressure to my brain, making my vision swim with dark spots. Austin knelt beside me. “Oliver, let me help” In his clumsy rush, his palm came down hard, crushing several loose tablets into powder. “Oh no, they broke! I’m so sorry, Oliver…” Rebecca reached down, pulling Austin up by his elbow. “Don’t worry about it. They’re just cheap pills. Leave them.” I slowly pushed myself up to a standing position. “Yeah. Cheap.” I looked at Rebecca. “Then let him go back inside and get the pharmacy to refill them for me.” She glanced at her watch, her brow furrowing deeper. “Don’t be dramatic. He didn’t mean to do it. Just go back and get them yourself later.” “Austin is going to be late for his shift. I need to drop him off first. I’ll call an Uber for you.” Austin was already back in the passenger seat, waving cheerfully through the window. “See you later, Oliver!” Rebecca didn’t even look back as she got in and drove away. I thought I would cry. But my eyes remained dry, and my chest felt remarkably still. Watching her taillights disappear felt no different than watching a stranger drive by. I had finally reached the point where it didn’t hurt anymore. The moment I got back to the empty house, I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and signed my name on the dotted line. Then, I packed. A single medium suitcase was more than enough to hold the remnants of our eight years together. On the bedside table sat a framed photograph of Rebecca and me. It was taken at a gallery gala three years ago. Back then, I still had my hair, styled neatly, and she wore a soft cream dress, smiling up at me with real warmth. I picked up the frame and turned it over. On the cardboard back, someone had scrawled in black sharpie: *Austin was here! ~* I stared at it for a few seconds, then placed it face down on the nightstand, right on top of the divorce agreement. His laughter had frozen in our life three years ago, and my hair had stayed there too. My phone rang. It was Rebecca. She rarely called me unless she needed something. I picked up. Loud, pulsing music blared in the background. She was at a lounge. Before she could speak, I said, “Rebecca, the divorce” “Austin saw that painting of yours from the biennial exhibition,” she interrupted. Of course. It was always about Austin. I paused. “It’s not for sale.” “He really loves it, Oliver. I’ll write you a check for a hundred grand.” “I don’t like him. I’m not selling it to him.” The line went silent for a moment. “Name your price.” I let out a soft, hollow laugh and set the phone face down on the table, leaving her talking to an empty room. I pulled open the top drawer of the nightstand. Our marriage certificate was inside. But my face on the document had been covered by a glossy photo sticker of Austin’s face. In the sticker, he was flashing a cute, peace-sign grin. My own face was completely buried beneath it. I remembered the day we took that photo. My hair had been thick and healthy, and Rebecca had held my hand so tightly, her eyes full of devotion. When I had first discovered what Austin did to our marriage certificate, I had confronted Rebecca in a fury. She had barely glanced at it, offering a dismissive promise to get it replaced. “It’s just a piece of paper, Oliver. Don’t make a scene.” “Austin is young and foolish. Just let it go.” Three years had passed, and she had never found an hour to go to the registry office with me to print a new one. From the speaker on the desk, her voice drifted over the music: “Austin is basically a kid, Oliver. When he doesn’t get what he wants, he throws a fit. Why can’t you just indulge him for once?” “Since you want to play hardball over a painting, I guess you don’t need your art studio open either. I’ll have the lease suspended until you clear your head.” My lips curved into a cold smile. “Do whatever you want.” The line clicked shut, and the dial tone echoed in the quiet bedroom. The left side of my vision was a blurry, gray fog, like a winter storm that would never clear. A slow, familiar ache crept back into my chest. When Rebecca first pursued me, everyone told her she was out of her mind. I had a chronic illness that could return at any moment, an unpredictable temperament, and a cold disposition. I was the furthest thing from boyfriend material. But she had insisted it didn’t matter. She said she loved my quietness, my distance, everything. For the first time in my life, I believed I could actually love someone back. But what happened to that girl? She got busier and busier, always promising she would make time for me once the next deal closed. Gradually, the look of terror and heartbreak she used to have whenever I went into surgery hardened into exhaustion, then apathy, until she stopped showing up altogether. She stood me up so many times, yet every single time, I told myself: Next time will be different. She’ll be there next time. Until the night I almost died on the operating table. As my consciousness drifted, I remember thinking: I’m never going to see Rebecca again. I would never again feel the warmth of the girl who used to look at me like I was her entire world. When I woke up, the urge to see her was overwhelming. I spent twenty agonizing hours on a flight to France where she was on a business trip. When I finally tracked down her hotel suite, I found her blow-drying Austin’s hair, the two of them giggling and teasing each other like high school sweethearts. In that single second, the illusion shattered. She wasn’t too busy. She hadn’t lost her capacity to care or share her life with someone. She just didn’t want to do it with me anymore. That was the first time in my life I completely lost my mind. I ripped the hair dryer out of the wall, slapped Austin across the face, and smashed every glass and vase in the room. “Why are you doing this to me?! I almost died! Do you even care?!” Shards of glass sliced into my bare ankles, but I couldn’t feel the warmth of the blood pooling on the carpet. “Do you think I’m some kind of joke?!” Rebecca had stood there like a spectator, calmly picking up Austin to carry him away from the mess. “Are you done throwing your tantrum? Calm down.” “You look pathetic right now.” I had stood shivering in the middle of the wreckage, gasping for air. The hope that had carried me through twenty hours of travel right after major surgery dissolved into ash. From that day on, Rebecca rarely came home. She put my notifications on mute, and I had to rely on Austin’s social media just to know where my wife was sleeping. Yet, a person starved of affection will cling to the memory of love like a lifeline. It was like holding a piece of expired candy. The wrapper had melted, leaving a sticky, toxic mess in your palm, but you couldn’t bring yourself to throw it away. Because you had been hungry for so long, and you still remembered how sweet it tasted in the beginning. So you keep your fist clenched, holding onto it until the last drop of sugar drains through your fingers. Until one day, you simply don’t have the strength to hold on anymore. Three days later, I received a text from Rebecca. [Company gala tonight at eight. Be there.] She never read my messages, and she still hadn’t touched the divorce papers. After a moment of thought, I decided it was best to end this face-to-face. I put on a realistic wig, slipped the signed divorce agreement into my bag, and left. The ballroom was spectacular, lit by massive crystal chandeliers, filled with the clinking of champagne flutes and soft jazz. Near the entrance, I spotted Rebecca. Austin was at her side. They were slow-dancing in the center of the floor. He was a clumsy dancer, repeatedly stepping on her toes, but Rebecca only leaned in and whispered something that made them both laugh. I watched them for a quiet minute before walking into the crowd. Austin leaned in close to her ear, his voice carrying over the music. “You shut down Oliver’s studio because of me. Won’t he be furious?” Without missing a beat, Rebecca gave his waist a playful tap. “He’s desperate for attention. A little sweet-talking, and he’ll fall right back into line.” I stood right at the edge of the dance floor. The guests around us began to whisper, their eyes darting between me and the dancing couple. “Is that Rebecca’s husband? I haven’t seen him in forever. Did he come to catch them?” “With how much she spoils the new kid, who knows who actually holds the power in that house.” The music faded to an end. Rebecca noticed me and stepped away from Austin. “What are you doing here?” Austin wrapped his hand around her arm, giving me a smug, sweet smile. So he was the one who sent the text from her phone. I looked at Rebecca. “I need a word with you.” Austin tugged her arm. “Rebecca, the next dance is starting” She frowned slightly. “Whatever it is, it can wait until after the party.” Suddenly, the overhead lights flickered once and plunged the entire ballroom into pitch darkness. A wave of confused murmurs rippled through the crowd. In the dark, a hand reached out from behind, grabbing my hair with a violent yank that sent a shooting pain straight through my healing scalp. Then, the emergency lights flared back on. I looked down. My wig lay on the polished floor. My head was covered in nothing but a rough, uneven buzz cut, dominated by a thick, angry red surgical scar stretching across my skull. The room went dead silent. A hundred eyes locked onto me. “Oh my god, that’s horrifying…” “No wonder Rebecca never brings him out. If my husband looked like that, I’d throw up just looking at him.” “What kind of disease is that? Is it contagious?” A camera flash went off. Someone was recording me with their phone. Austin had a tiny, satisfied smirk on his lips as he quickly knelt down to pick up the wig, holding it out to me. “Oliver, I’m so, so sorry… It was dark, I couldn’t see…” I stood frozen, unable to reach out and take it. Rebecca grabbed my wrist and began pulling me out of the hall. Bald and exposed, I was dragged through the staring crowd. The cruel whispers slowly faded behind us. Neither of us spoke a word on the drive home. The streetlights flashed past the windows, throwing alternating shadows across the car interior. My mind felt completely blank, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. It had been years since I last thought about those dark, terrifying days. The endless chemo, the constant vomiting, the bald reflection in the mirror, and the way everyone avoided me like I was a walking plague. But back then, Rebecca had shaved her own head, stood between me and the world, and held me close. She had told me: Don’t be scared. I’m right here with you. And now, she was the one who had thrown me back into that living hell. When we stepped into the house, Rebecca poured a glass of water and set it in front of me. “I’ve already had the photos and videos from tonight deleted.” I said nothing. “Don’t let it get to you. I’ll make sure nobody talks.” I blinked slowly. “Does that include Austin? He’s the one who sent the text.” She frowned. “The lights went out, Oliver. He couldn’t see what he was grabbing.” “He isn’t malicious.” I didn’t bother arguing. My eyes fell on her wrist. She was wearing a red braided string. It was a matching protection charm she and Austin had gotten together at some temple. “Are you really this blind, Rebecca, or do you just choose to be?” I asked. “A brilliant businesswoman like you, and you can’t see through a cheap trick like that?” The living room fell into a heavy silence. Then, her phone rang. In the quiet room, the weeping voice on the other end was perfectly audible. “Rebecca… Is Oliver mad at me? I really didn’t mean to do it… I’ll go apologize to him tomorrow, okay? Please don’t be mad… I’m so scared…” “Don’t cry,” Rebecca said softly. “Nobody is blaming you.” She hung up and looked at me. “He’s hysterical over there. I need to go check on him.” “You said you had something to tell me. Wait until I get back, and we’ll have a real talk.” She walked to the entryway, grabbing her keys and slipping into her shoes. “Rebecca.” She paused. “You keep telling me you’ll come back and talk. When have you ever actually come back?” She didn’t turn around. She opened the door, letting the bright hallway light spill into our dark foyer. “I’ll be back in an hour.” The automatic hallway light clicked off, plunging the doorway into darkness. I walked into the bedroom, placed the divorce papers under the framed photo, and dragged my suitcase out. I called a cab to the airport. By 1:00 AM, I was boarded on a flight to London. Three hours had passed since Rebecca’s promised “one hour.” As the plane began taxiing down the runway, I switched my phone to airplane mode. Right before the signal cut out, a notification from Rebecca popped up: [What is the meaning of this divorce agreement?] A second later, the screen went black.

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