My boyfriend sent me, five months pregnant, hiking in Death Valley. All because I blacklisted his old flame’s breakfast spot. We had been together for eight years, and he always put me first. Until he took me to her café. His old flame, Stella, deliberately put something I was severely allergic to in my food. My face was nearly ruined, and I was slapped with a massive penalty clause from my modeling agency for breach of contract. When my manager tried to protect my career by warning others away from Stella’s café, my boyfriend’s punishment was swift. He abandoned me in the desert. On the brink of death, I managed to escape, only to overhear him laughing with his friends. “It was just a little lesson for her. Does she still think she’s who she used to be? Pregnant before marriage… who else would want her besides me?” 1 “Her face will never be the same. Her grandfather found a younger wife and cut her off. And in her state, she dares to challenge Stella? So what if her face is scarred and she owes some money? That’s what she gets for messing with my girl.” Standing outside the door, I trembled as I listened to Landon Croft’s words. It had taken me ten days, alone, to escape that hell. When I was close to collapsing, the only thing that kept me conscious was my love for him. The thought of him kept me moving. Now, the dozens of cuts and scratches covering my body felt like a cruel joke. The architect of my suffering had been the man I’d loved for years. “Landon, what if she finds out and breaks up with you? What if she calls off the wedding?” one of his friends asked. Through the crack in the door, I saw Landon sneer. “Her? She won’t leave, whether she knows or not. No one else loves her or cares about her. Besides, she’s pregnant. Who would take her in now?” He was gloating, basking in his victory. “And you all know, I’m the center of her universe. It’s pathetic, really.” His words sent me plunging into an abyss, shattering me on impact. He was so certain I would never leave. I stumbled to the security office and borrowed a phone to call my grandfather. I needed to prove Landon wrong, to hear that someone still loved me. The moment the call connected, the words rushed out. “Grandpa, it’s me, Ingrid.” Before I could say more, his harsh voice cut me off. “Why are you calling? We have no relationship anymore. I’ve thrown out all of your things. I’m sending you the disinheritance papers. Don’t contact me again. I’m not having this family’s name dragged through the mud.” Landon was right. Even my own family didn’t love me. Eight years ago, he had pulled me from the ocean, saving my life. He gave me a new one. He told me my eyes were beautiful. Only later did I learn that my eyes were the one feature I shared with Stella. Rain fell, tracing the bloody scratches on my skin, making them stand out in stark relief. I walked into the hospital’s maternity ward. After the examination, the doctor sighed. “The previous allergic reaction did significant damage to your system, and you’re suffering from severe malnutrition. You’re quite far along. Terminating the pregnancy at this stage would pose a serious risk to your own life.” My face was a mask. My body wouldn’t stop shaking from the pain. “Do it.” “I’ll schedule the procedure for seven days from now. You need to spend this week resting and building up your strength.” When I arrived home, Landon and his friends were in the middle of a boisterous drinking session. “Ingrid, what’s with the ghost act? You should be taking it easy, with the baby and all.” Landon’s face was smug. Shouldn’t I be calling him a master actor? To feign love for a woman for eight years, to turn my eight years of happiness into a lie. I didn’t answer, just turned and went to my room. Our wedding portrait was still on the wall, a monument to irony. The wedding was just a month away. Making sure everyone saw his pregnant-out-of-wedlock bride—that must have been part of his plan, too. A message popped up from my manager. She had successfully negotiated a payment plan for the contract penalty. I smiled bitterly. I had no one in my corner. That night, Landon pressed up against my back, his hand covering my belly. “Are you… and the baby… okay?” “Yes,” I answered, my voice cold. He stiffened, surprised by my tone. “Landon, do you still want to marry me?” He didn’t hesitate. “I do.” The next second, the special ringtone I knew was for Stella chimed. The hand on my belly was instantly withdrawn. “Landon, please don’t leave me, okay? Don’t leave me all alone. I don’t want to lose you.” Stella was sobbing on the other end of the line. “Stella, don’t be scared. I’m always here for you. I’m on my way.” After hanging up, he turned back to me. “Ingrid, you heard her. Stella needs me. You need to put aside your little tantrums for now. I’ll give you what you’re owed. Just take care of yourself.” Perhaps it was guilt. For the first time in a long time, he sounded concerned. Then, without another word, he was gone. I guess it wasn’t the crying child who gets the candy. It’s the beloved child who gets the candy. I looked around our room. The walls were covered with sticky notes he’d written for me, filled with declarations of his love and care. In the early hours of the morning, Stella posted a photo of Landon cooking in her kitchen. He would cross the city for her at a moment’s notice, remembered every little thing she liked. Landon wanted me to be understanding. But the understanding girl never got her candy. I tore every note from the wall, shredding them into tiny pieces. The residual adhesive stung the raw cuts on my hands. The next morning, just as I was taking down our wedding portrait, I heard a key in the lock. It was Stella. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she sneered. “I was wondering who the ugly hag was. So it’s you, Ingrid. Let’s see you try to compete with me now.” She wasn’t even trying to hide it. “What do you want?” My voice was flat, my expression unreadable. “Rory, darling, I only came to take care of you. If my moving in really bothers you, I’ll leave right now. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your life with Landon.” Her voice cracked with a sob. A performance, I realized. For Landon’s benefit. She stepped closer, then jabbed her sharp nails into my pregnant belly. I recoiled, pushing her away instinctively. She stumbled back into a side table. A glass tumbled to the floor, shattering. Shards flew, cutting her arm and leg. Stella let out a piercing shriek, her eyes welling with tears. “Stella!” Landon dropped his luggage and rushed to her side. “It’s okay, Landon. As long as Ingrid feels better, it’s fine. Please, don’t blame her.” A single tear traced a path down Stella’s cheek. Landon exploded. “Ingrid! Stella and I have put up with you because you’re pregnant, but can’t you tolerate her for one second?” His face was dark with fury as he pointed at me, as if I were a hardened criminal. “Landon, it’s not her fault! It’s mine. I shouldn’t have come here, I shouldn’t have disturbed you. It’s all my fault. Please, don’t blame Rory because of me,” Stella whimpered, tugging on his sleeve, the perfect picture of a wronged, benevolent victim. “Ingrid, I’m telling you, stop being so paranoid! If there was really something going on between Stella and me, do you think you’d still be here? What do you possibly have to offer?” I listened to him in silence. The old me would have already been apologizing, begging for forgiveness. I had been a fool for eight years. Not anymore. After a long, heavy silence, Landon’s expression shifted from anger to suspicion. He was confused by my lack of reaction, my failure to immediately admit fault. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.” I turned and walked back to the bedroom. No explanations, no tears. Now that I knew the truth, I no longer had to fear losing him. I had never possessed him in the first place. That night, Landon slipped into bed beside me, sliding his arm under my neck. “Ingrid, be reasonable. Stop going after Stella. I’ve been so tired lately. But don’t worry, I promised you a wedding, and I’ll give you one. You’ll be the most beautiful bride.” The most beautiful? Maybe once. Landon, I don’t want anything from you anymore. And I don’t want to be your bride. The next day, Landon drove Stella and me to a gathering with his friends. He thoughtfully put me in the back seat, saying it would be more comfortable. I stared out the window, my heart twisting as I listened to their flirtatious banter. When we arrived, his friends started whispering, cooking up some scheme. “Well, if it isn’t Landon’s wife number one and wife number two,” one of them smirked, winking at Stella. “Oh, stop it,” Stella said, blushing prettily. “It’s not like that between Landon and me. Besides, Rory is more than five months along. I could never compare.” “Alright, alright,” Landon cut in, not because he found their words inappropriate, but because he was afraid I’d make a scene. “Ingrid, sit here.” He pulled out a chair for me, then one for Stella. When the waiter came to pour wine, Landon stopped him. “Not for her. She’s a lightweight. Even a little bit makes her feel sick.” I looked at the full glass of red wine in front of me, a bitter taste in my mouth. The same gesture, a world of different feelings. After a few rounds of drinks, his friends suggested a game. Spin the bottle, and whoever it landed on had to do a dare. The first spin landed on Stella. The dare was to touch noses with a member of the opposite sex. Her cheeks flushed as she looked at Landon. “Landon, is that okay?” He glanced at me. Seeing no reaction, he nodded. The catcalls grew louder. I grew calmer. After the dare, Landon and Stella were visibly flustered and shy. “You two have to get married, there’s no other way this ends!” a friend shouted. “I always said you were a perfect match. I still remember all the stupid things Landon used to do for you, Stella.” Landon cleared his throat, and the friend fell silent. He reached over and ruffled my hair. “Ingrid, don’t mind them. They’re just joking.” I forced a smile and shook my head. He looked satisfied. The bottle spun again. This time, it stopped in front of me. “Hey, sister-in-law, how about you act like a clown for us? It’s perfect casting, really. Your face after the allergic reaction… just as ugly, just as pathetic as a clown.” The table erupted in laughter. I turned to look at Landon. He showed no sign of discomfort. He acted as if it were completely normal. And why wouldn’t he? It wasn’t the first time his friends had insulted me. I had played the fool for them so many times, just to fit into his world. Today, I finally woke up. “Landon, what do you think?” He looked at me, his patience wearing thin. “Ingrid, can you not make excuses? We’re all here to have fun. Are you going to ruin it for everyone? No one means any harm. And it’s not like this is the first time.” In his eyes, I must have seemed so unreasonable right now. I stood up, poured the expensive red wine onto the table, and then smashed the bottle down in the center. Everyone stared, their eyes wide with shock. Landon was frozen in his seat. I strode towards the door. He grabbed my wrist. “What is your problem? Can’t you take a joke? Ingrid, I’m giving you a chance to apologize. Don’t ruin everyone’s fun.” I yanked my arm free and stared at him with cold eyes. “Landon, I don’t want to be with you anymore. I don’t want to marry you. I’m done with you.” He burst out laughing. “Ingrid, are you trying to negotiate with me? What leverage do you have? You have nothing. You’re pregnant and alone. You should be grateful I haven’t dumped you yet.” I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked away. He followed me, blocking my path. “Fine, Ingrid. I was too harsh just now. We’ll call it even. You don’t have to apologize. But can you promise me you’ll be more reasonable?” He leaned in, resting his chin on my shoulder and wrapping his arms around me. He used to say this was the moment when their hearts were closest. My arms hung limply at my sides. Our hearts were miles apart, and they would never be close again. “Ingrid, there’s one more thing. I promised Stella I’d spend these last few days before the wedding with her in Paris. Think of it as compensation, from both of us. You stay home and take care of our baby. When I get back, we’ll get married.” My heart no longer pounded for him. The overwhelming love I once felt had finally calmed. When I didn’t respond, he murmured, “Good girl.” He kissed my forehead, and then he left. I had told him I wanted to honeymoon in Paris. I wanted to walk through the city of romance with him, to attach a lock to a bridge, a symbol of our love. That would never happen now. Landon, this time, I’m really done with you. As soon as I got home, I started packing. I didn’t take a single thing he had ever bought for me. They were all just things Stella didn’t want. I packed a few changes of clothes. As I closed the lid, I realized that my entire eight years with him couldn’t even fill a small suitcase. I left without a backward glance. Just before I was wheeled into the operating room, I received a text from him, letting me know he was at the airport. As the anesthesia flowed into my veins, he was taking Stella’s hand and boarding a flight to the city of romance. As the instruments entered my body, the tiny life inside me was extinguished. Landon, this was the most painful lesson you ever taught me. I woke from a dream to a night that had swallowed all the light. I touched my stomach. It was empty. The little life was gone. I opened my phone. The first thing I saw was Stella’s social media post. A picture of her and Landon holding hands in Paris, a small padlock engraved with their initials hanging from a bridge behind them. After several days of recovery, my phone buzzed with two messages. One was from Landon. The other was from my manager. “Ingrid, that massive penalty fee… you paid it all off in one go?” “Ingrid, I’m coming home. How are you and the baby?”

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My husband’s adopted sister never shopped online. She would always ask me to buy things for her, but every time she transferred money, it was always exactly $20. She was the daughter of my father-in-law’s fallen comrade, and the whole family pitied her for being an orphan. So whether it was skincare that cost hundreds or a phone and handbag that cost thousands, I would cover the difference myself, only accepting the $20 she sent. Until one day, my husband, Nicholas, tested me, his tone casual but pointed. “When Tessa asks you to buy things for her, you buy them at the market price, right?” “She’s so naive. You never send her a receipt. She wouldn’t even know if you were pocketing the difference.” And Tessa just smiled helplessly, making no move to explain. My in-laws shot me suspicious glances. A chill went down my spine, but I didn’t say anything. So when she asked me to buy New Year’s gifts for the whole family—a shopping list that totaled nearly two thousand dollars—I accepted her usual payment and then bought a pile of trinkets from the dollar store. 1. At the lavish New Year’s Eve dinner, everyone stared at the pile of nail clippers, keychains, and stainless steel tumblers, completely bewildered. I smiled brightly. “These are the New Year’s gifts Tessa picked out for everyone. Please, take your pick!” Tessa’s smile was strained. “Ashley, this isn’t the time for jokes. These aren’t the gifts I wanted to give.” Her voice began to tremble, and she looked at my husband, Nicholas, and my in-laws with wounded eyes. “Tessa uses her bonus every year to buy everyone lovely gifts. She’s never bought junk like this,” my mother-in-law said, putting down her chopsticks. “Ashley, you must have made a mistake.” A relative chimed in, “Yes, Tessa has always been such a grateful girl. The gifts in previous years were nothing like this…” I knew they wanted to say “junk,” too. And they were right. In past years, Tessa’s gifts had included imported candies, gourmet snacks, expensive perfumes, and fine liquors. This year, the nicest item was a plain, graying stainless steel tumbler. It wasn’t even in the same league. “No mistake,” I said, my voice firm. “This is it.” Tessa shot up from her chair. “Ashley, why are you doing this to me? Did I do something to upset you?” There it was again. Whenever something happened, she always twisted it to be about her upsetting me, painting me as the cruel bully of the family. I was about to show them the transfer record when Nicholas, who had been scowling beside Tessa, slammed his hand on the table. “Ashley, I’ve had enough of you! Tessa clearly transferred you two thousand dollars to buy gifts. What is this garbage?” “This stuff isn’t even worth twenty bucks! I’ve let it slide when you’ve pocketed the difference from Tessa’s other purchases, but deliberately humiliating her like this in front of everyone? You’ve gone too far!” At his words, the expressions of the relatives around the table shifted. My mother-in-law pointed a finger at me. “Ashley, I thought you were a kind and generous person for helping Tessa all this time. How could you do something so despicable?” My father-in-law cleared his throat, his eyes filled with contempt. “Does the Pierce family not provide for you? Are you so desperate for money that you’d cheat a war orphan?” I ignored their accusations and looked directly at Tessa, my expression innocent. “Tessa transferred me twenty dollars to buy gifts for all of you. This is what I could get.” “Ashley, how can you lie like that? I sent you two thousand! It was my entire annual bonus!” Tessa cried, her eyes darting nervously to Nicholas. He immediately backed her up. “It was two thousand. I knew about her bonus, and I knew she asked you to buy the gifts. Stop making things up.” His declaration was so forceful that everyone believed him. “Tessa is the daughter of a hero. She would never be so deceitful. But Ashley is a businesswoman. Profit is in her blood. I just never thought she’d stoop to this…” I raised my hand, cutting off Nicholas’s uncle, and placed my phone on the table. “See for yourselves how much she sent me.” 2. Tessa froze, her first instinct to snatch the phone. But Nicholas’s younger cousin was faster. He looked at the screen and burst out laughing, then passed the phone around for everyone to see. Nicholas was the last to look. The righteous indignation on everyone’s faces vanished. “Tessa, you really did only send Ashley twenty dollars.” A muscle twitched in Tessa’s cheek. She forced a laugh. “Oh, did I? I didn’t even realize.” She slid up next to me, linking her arm through mine. “I’m so sorry, Ashley. I’m used to being frugal, so I’m not in the habit of making large transfers. I must have made a mistake. Please don’t be mad. I’ll send you the two thousand right now!” She pulled out her phone, a sly smile on her face. I was about to refuse, but Nicholas pulled her away, making her put her phone down. “Why should you pay her? Ashley, Tessa only made one mistake. You could have just covered the difference. But instead, you chose to embarrass her in front of the whole family. What are your intentions?” “How much have you skimmed off her over the years? It’s got to be more than two thousand by now, right?” he accused. Tessa murmured from the side, “It’s okay, Nick. We’re family. It doesn’t matter.” I laughed coldly, watching their little performance. What was this? Were they really going to brand me a thief who cheated a war orphan, with no proof at all? My gaze fell on Tessa. She shrank behind Nicholas, her guilt obvious. He, of course, thought she was frightened by my stare. “You know how hard Tessa’s life has been,” he snapped. “She wasn’t born with a silver spoon like you. She only started to have a decent life when she came to live with us, and even then, she’s always been so careful not to be a burden.” “We all promised to treat her like our own daughter. But you? Her monthly salary is barely anything, and you still have the nerve to cheat her? Do you have a conscience? Are you that desperate for money?” His words grew uglier. The looks from the others grew colder. Tessa pretended to intervene. “Nick, please don’t fight with Ashley because of me. I’ll be fine.” She dabbed at her eyes, darting glances at me. I had to laugh. This was exactly what she wanted. Nicholas and I fighting over her, then she would play the victim, and he would spend the night comforting her, sometimes staying away for days. This little drama had played out countless times over the years. Before, I tried not to think too much of it. I respected her father’s sacrifice. I wanted to believe in the integrity of a hero’s daughter. Every time Nicholas accused me of being unfair to her, I would wonder if I was being intolerant, and so I would bite my tongue. But now, I was done being silent. I looked at the circle of relatives who saw me as a petty, greedy merchant. “Since you’re so sure I’ve been cheating her, let’s settle the accounts.” 3. The moment I said that, Tessa’s panic was palpable. She quickly tried to smooth things over. “Settle what? It’s New Year’s Eve. Let’s not make a scene over something so small.” “Ashley,” she said, moving closer and whispering in my ear, “making a big deal out of this won’t be good for anyone. It’s just about money. My godparents will never say I’m in the wrong. And you don’t want to burn bridges with my brother, do you?” A sarcastic smile touched my lips. This was the innocent, sweet girl Nicholas and my in-laws adored. When they weren’t looking, she didn’t even bother with the act. “Tessa, you don’t have to speak up for her,” my father-in-law said, his face grim. “If Nicholas hadn’t said something, I would have never known how much you’ve been suffering by her side all these years.” “Settle the accounts? Does she dare? I’ve always said a merchant’s daughter was not fit to be a Pierce. You can’t wash away the stench of money. She’s just like her greedy father.” The contempt in his voice when he mentioned my father made my blood boil. My father was an honest businessman who had donated millions over the years. My father-in-law himself had taken no small amount from him under the guise of charity. And now we were the greedy ones? I clenched my jaw and slammed my phone on the table. “I have a clear conscience. Tessa, today, in front of all our relatives, we are going to settle this. If I have taken a single cent more than I was owed, I will pay you back tenfold!” “You…” Tessa blinked at me frantically from behind everyone’s backs. I ignored her. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She twisted the hem of her dress. Nicholas put a protective arm around her, an intimate gesture that stung my eyes. “Ashley, you don’t need to threaten Tessa. Every transfer, every payment leaves a record. If you want to settle this, fine.” His support only made Tessa more flustered. Then, my mother-in-law sighed. “It’s New Year’s Eve. This is no way to behave.” Her words seemed to give Tessa an idea. She composed herself. “Godmother is right. Ashley, there’s no need for all this. A little extra money here and there doesn’t matter. In a little while, I’ll transfer you a few thousand, as a thank you for all your help over the years. Today is about family and celebration. Let’s not ruin it.” Before I could speak, her strategic retreat had already provoked Nicholas. “Tessa, you can’t be so naive. Even if you let it go, a person like her won’t appreciate it. She’s taking advantage of your good nature. She should be the one paying you back!” He then turned to me, his voice commanding. “It’s true we shouldn’t make a scene. So let’s do this. Let’s say you’ve skimmed twenty thousand over the years. Transfer that to Tessa now, and we’ll call it even.” His proposal met with enthusiastic agreement from the relatives. “That seems fair. Ashley, just give her the twenty thousand. Tessa won’t quibble over the exact amount, and you can all still be a happy family.” “Yes, otherwise this will get out, and it will be so embarrassing. A sister-in-law cheating her husband’s younger sister… disgraceful.” 4. They had convicted and sentenced me without a trial. Before I could say a word, Nicholas was holding out Tessa’s phone, her payment QR code displayed on the screen. I stared at my husband, feeling as if I was seeing him for the first time. He was holding Tessa’s hand, shielding her behind him. Shouldn’t that have been me? “What are you waiting for? Scan the code and pay!” Nicholas’s voice rose. Seeing my silence, a triumphant smirk appeared on Tessa’s face. She raised an eyebrow at me in challenge. I took out my phone. Just as everyone thought I was about to pay, I snatched Tessa’s phone from Nicholas’s hand. “The proof is right here! You haven’t even looked at it, and you’re already accusing me. How can I accept that? Now that I have both phones, I’m going to show everyone the transfer records…” I backed away, starting to navigate the two phones. Tessa, realizing what was happening, was horrified. Before anyone could react, she lunged at me. “Don’t! Ashley, I’m trying to save you some face! Why are you being so relentless?” She grabbed at me, her eyes red with fury. She was surprisingly strong, and in the struggle, both phones went flying. I panicked, letting go of her to try and catch them, but I heard her scream as she threw herself onto the table laden with dishes. The sound of shattering porcelain filled the room. She fell to the floor, clutching her hand, which was bleeding from a small cut. Tears streamed down her face. “Ashley, I’ve always thought of you as my own sister. I don’t care about the money. But do you really hate me this much?” The two phones lay smashed on the floor. Before I could speak, a sharp slap cracked across my face. The room fell silent. My head snapped to the side, my cheek burning. “Ashley, have you lost your mind? How dare you lay a hand on Tessa?” “She was trying to protect you, and you attack her? All for a little money? You’ve disappointed me more than I can say.” Nicholas rushed to Tessa’s side, cradling her in his arms. He saw the tiny cut on her hand and was ready to call an ambulance. My in-laws just shook their heads, muttering about what a disgrace this all was. Nicholas’s eyes were bloodshot, his gaze filled with venom. “Ashley, I always thought you were a good wife, that you were kind to Tessa. I never realized it was all an act. We’ve sheltered Tessa, tried to protect her from any more pain, but you… you bully her. It’s true what they say, you can’t trust an outsider.” “You talk about settling accounts, but then you smash the phones. You hurt Tessa. Are you satisfied now?” I was now the villain of the story. They pointed and whispered, shaking their heads in disapproval. Tessa sobbed into Nicholas’s chest. I saw her let out a huge sigh of relief. She thought she had won. The phones were broken, the proof was gone, and she had turned my entire family against me. I touched my still-numb cheek. A desolate emptiness filled me. I bent down and picked up the shattered pieces of the phones. I took a deep breath, and then, to everyone’s astonishment, I sat back down. I called out towards the door. “Mr. Davies, you can come in now.” The door opened, and a man in a sharp suit walked in, placing a file on the table. Tessa just glanced at it, and her face went white.

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For our anniversary, I asked Daniel to bring home some of that spicy shrimp pasta from the little Italian place downtown. The morning sickness in my first trimester was brutal, and it was the only thing I craved. But he came home late, empty-handed. Said he forgot. I didn’t say a word, but my eyes caught on a single strand of hair on his collar. It was long, brown, and definitely not mine. Later, scrolling through my phone, I saw the pasta I never got. It was on the social media page of his junior colleague, Sophie. Her caption read: “He remembered it’s my favorite. Feeling so spoiled!” 1 In the photo, a handsome hand was gently twirling the pasta onto her fork. The watch on that hand was the one I’d given Daniel for his birthday last year. It wasn’t that he was too busy. It was just that his warmth and attention were being given to someone who, in his eyes, needed them more. I shut my phone, a wave of nausea crashing over me. I grabbed the trash can and threw up until my whole body ached, a bitter taste rising from my throat and seeping deep into my heart. When it was over, I set the can down and laughed. A hollow, empty sound. I was the world’s biggest fool. Back in the bedroom, Daniel was just stepping out of the shower. “Why are you still up?” “Daniel.” He looked at me, his eyes questioning. “We need to talk.” He dropped his towel and sat on the edge of the bed across from me. “About what?” “Who is Sophie to you?” His whole body went rigid. The color drained from his face, and the panic of being caught was written all over him. “What are you talking about?” he snapped, his brow furrowed in a practiced display of indignation. “She’s my junior colleague. You know that.” “Oh, I know,” I said, nodding slowly. “I also know she loves spicy shrimp pasta. And that she has beautiful, long brown hair. And that when she works late, you don’t just bring her food, you stay and eat with her.” The last of his composure shattered. “Were you following me? Did you go through my phone?” He shot to his feet, looming over me. “Anna, when did you become this person?” I didn’t move, just tilted my head back to meet his furious gaze. “I didn’t have to. You’re just not as careful as you think you are.” “So what?” he spat. “So I had dinner with a colleague. Is that such a crime? Are you really going to blow this completely out of proportion?” “We’ve been together for ten years, Anna. You’re pregnant with our child. Can you stop being so paranoid and sensitive for one second?” I stared at him, and suddenly, the fight just drained out of me. It was all so pointless. “Aren’t you exhausted, Daniel?” He froze. “Playing the devoted husband to me and the perfect boyfriend to her. Doesn’t it tear you apart?” “I’m not,” he said automatically, but his voice was weak, stripped of all conviction. “Whatever,” I said, waving a dismissive hand. I couldn’t stand to hear any more of his lies. “What do you want, then?” he asked, his voice laced with irritation. “What do I want?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Daniel, I want a divorce.” 2 Daniel refused to even consider it. His eyes welled up. “Anna, after ten years together? With our baby on the way? How can you be so cruel?” He started listing off memories, from our college days to now, painting a picture of a man who’d made a single, foolish mistake but whose heart had only ever belonged to me. He cried, his voice thick with emotion, as if he were the one who’d been wronged, the victim in all of this. I let him finish, sitting in cold silence. When his tirade finally sputtered out, I asked him one simple question. “Are you done?” He stared at me, dumbfounded. “If you’re done, then get out. I’m tired.” After that night, Daniel transformed. He started coming home on time every single day. He cooked elaborate meals designed for pregnant women, took me on gentle walks, and read to me before bed. He was playing the part of the perfect, doting husband, so attentive and caring it was almost believable. It was as if our confrontation, the pasta, the woman named Sophie, had all been a figment of my imagination. My friends told me to give him another chance. Men make mistakes, they said. The important thing is that he’s trying to come back to you. I didn’t argue. But I knew that some things, once broken, can never be pieced back together. One afternoon, I was walking home from a doctor’s appointment when a white VW Beetle suddenly lost control, swerving straight for me. The impact sent me flying. I landed hard on the pavement. A searing pain ripped through my abdomen, spreading like fire through my entire body. Before I blacked out, I saw crimson blooming beneath my dress, staining the concrete dark. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. Daniel was slumped in a chair beside my bed. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw covered in dark stubble. He looked wrecked, utterly devastated. “Anna, you’re awake,” he croaked, grabbing my hand. I ignored him, my other hand instinctively going to my now-flat stomach. “The baby…” Tears instantly flooded Daniel’s eyes. “The doctors… they couldn’t save the baby.” My own tears began to fall, silent tracks down my cheeks. The tiny life I had cherished for three months, the one whose faint flutters I had just begun to feel, was gone. Just… gone. “Anna, please don’t,” Daniel pleaded, trying to pull me into an awkward hug. “We’re still young. We can have more children.” I twisted away from his touch. “Who was driving?” I asked, my voice flat. Daniel’s body tensed. “It was… it was Sophie.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “She’s in the room next door. She was hurt too. She said she mixed up the gas and the brake.” “And?” I stared at him, my heart turning to ice. “What are you going to do about it?” Daniel fell silent. It was a long time before he finally met my gaze, his eyes begging for understanding. “Anna, she didn’t mean to. She just made associate director, her future is so bright. If she gets a criminal record, her life will be ruined.” “Can we please… handle this privately?” I looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. My child was dead. I had almost died. And he was worried about the killer’s career. In that moment, whatever was left of my heart turned to ash. “Daniel, what is your heart made of? Is it stone?” His face went pale, his lips trembling as he struggled for words. “Get out,” I said, closing my eyes. The sight of him made me sick. He didn’t get out. Instead, he did something even more disgusting. He put me under house arrest in my own hospital room, all under the guise of “letting me recover in peace.” He took my phone and forbade anyone from visiting. Every day, he brought my meals himself and watched me take the vitamin pills he brought. But I knew they weren’t vitamins. They were sleeping pills. I played along, tucking the pills under my tongue and spitting them out the moment he was gone. Sophie showed up on the third day. She dismissed the nurse and locked the door behind her. “Daniel said you weren’t feeling well, so I thought I’d come see you,” she said, walking to my bedside with a triumphant smirk. I kept my eyes closed, saying nothing. “You must hate me so much right now, Anna,” she whispered, leaning in close. “But what can you do about it? You lost a baby, but I haven’t lost a thing. Daniel still protects me. He still loves me.” “Did you know,” she continued, her voice a venomous purr, “that when the car hit, Daniel ran to me first? He held me and told me not to be scared. He never even looked at you.” Beneath the blankets, my hands clenched into tight fists. “You probably want to kill me, don’t you?” She chuckled. “Too bad you just took your medicine.” She pulled a long, thin silver pin from her pocket. “I wonder… will this hurt?” She smiled, grabbing my hand and shoving the pin straight through the back of it. The sharp agony jolted me. My eyes flew open, and I stared at her with the cold, dead gaze one reserves for an enemy. She flinched, startled by my sudden movement. In that split second of her surprise, I summoned every ounce of strength I had, raised my free hand, and slapped her hard across the face. Sophie stumbled back, stunned, her hand flying to her cheek. “You’re awake?” she stammered, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You… you hit me?”

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I found an earring tucked between the passenger seat and the center console of my husband, Frederick’s, car. It was the kind his star student, Tessa, always wore. He glanced at it when I held it up. “It was snowing, so I gave a couple of students a ride home,” he explained. “It must have just fallen off.” I carefully set it aside. “It’s okay,” I said, my voice even. “You don’t have to explain.” I knew the students Frederick was talking about, and the only one who ever insisted on riding shotgun was Tessa. Because of her, I had lost my mind, screaming at Frederick in fits of hysteria more times than I could count. Because of her, I had threatened to leave him again and again. It was only after I miscarried that he finally backed down, promising me he would never be alone with her outside of the university. Seeing my nonchalance now, Frederick looked stunned. He couldn’t hold back the question. “Don’t you care at all?” There was a time when I did care. All it got me were endless fights, a river of tears, and an empty womb. Now? Now, I truly didn’t. 1 I didn’t answer Frederick’s question. When we got home, he stopped me in the entryway, his face etched with a deep weariness. His eyes were a storm of complicated emotions. “Why?” he asked. I managed a small smile. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” I asked softly. He was silent for a moment before trying again. “Tessa is my student. I gave her and another student a ride today. That’s all. Why do you always have to…” He trailed off, but I finished the sentence for him in my head. Why do you always have to assume the worst about us? He seemed to realize his mistake and sighed in frustration. “I wasn’t alone with her. And she sat in the front because she gets carsick.” “Beyond that,” he insisted, “she is my student, and I am her professor. There is nothing else between us.” I said nothing. A shadow of exhaustion and helplessness crossed Frederick’s face. “Julia, what do you want from me?” I looked at him, my expression placid. “I don’t want anything from you.” “And you don’t need to explain so much to me.” The image of the earring flashed in my mind. “Maybe you should take that back to her now. It’s not safe for her to be knocking on our door in the middle of the night.” Frederick’s face fell. Tessa had shown up at our house late at night twice before. The first time, she claimed she’d left a lab report in his car and arrived with red-rimmed eyes, looking distressed. In the end, Frederick drove her home. Two weeks after that, I found a tube of lipstick under the passenger seat. “That must be Tessa’s,” Frederick had said with a casual shrug. “She probably dropped it.” He pocketed it without another thought. I frowned, trying to push down the strange feeling in my gut. I didn’t ask. But that night, Tessa appeared on our doorstep again. She held out her hand to him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Professor, can I have my lipstick back?” Frederick pulled it from his pocket and handed it to her, his tone flat. “Be more careful next time.” Tessa stuck her tongue out at him playfully. “I know, Professor!” she chirped, her tone oozing a familiar, practiced sweetness. I stood frozen in place, watching her. That was the first time I ever really fought with Frederick. At the end of it, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Julia, not everyone’s mind is stuck in the gutter like yours.” “Tessa isn’t like you. She’s a brilliant student.” Tears clung to my eyelashes as I stared at him, stunned into silence. He said nothing more, just turned and walked away. The memory faded. Frederick was staring at me now, searching my face for any hint of a reaction. He found none. As I turned to go upstairs, his voice, hoarse and tinged with a desperate hope, stopped me. “Julia, today is our fifth wedding anniversary.” “Did you remember?” If he hadn’t mentioned it, I would have forgotten. Ever since he’d started mentoring students, our anniversaries had been reduced to a single word. Busy. Last year, I had called him, my voice tight with nervous excitement. It wasn’t Frederick who answered. It was Tessa. “Mrs. Albright? The professor’s had a bit too much to drink. Maybe you should call back when he’s sober?” Hearing her voice was like having a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. Frederick hated anyone touching his phone, and that included me. In our first year of marriage, I’d accidentally picked up his phone instead of mine. He hadn’t said anything, but the look on his face was enough. I never touched it again. And yet, Tessa felt comfortable enough to answer his calls. That incident led to another explosive fight. He ended up storming out of the house. The special dinner and gifts I’d prepared sat untouched all night. I turned back to him now. “I forgot.” Frederick’s expression froze. He looked at me in utter disbelief. “You forgot?” I didn’t reply. I just went upstairs to our room. Later that night, a noise from downstairs woke me. I groggily opened my door to see what was going on. As I reached the top of the stairs, I heard Tessa’s voice. “I just want to know what I did wrong. Professor, did your wife misunderstand something about us?” “You’ve been ignoring me. You don’t answer my texts.” “If it’s because of her, I can explain everything to her.” By the end, her voice was thick with tears. Tessa was the only female student Frederick had mentored in the last two years. Perhaps because of that, everyone, including Frederick, seemed to give her a little extra attention. Her name came up in his stories far more often than anyone else’s. After a long pause, I heard Frederick’s weary voice. “It has nothing to do with you. Don’t blame yourself.” “Really?” Tessa asked, her voice still choked with sobs. “But… you were ignoring me.” “Yes, really.” And then, Tessa laughed, the sound bright and relieved. I walked slowly down the stairs, just in time to see her throw her arms around Frederick, her hands clasped tightly behind his neck. I glanced over, said nothing, and walked past them to the kitchen for a glass of water. Frederick’s expression changed instantly. He pushed Tessa away. She quickly wiped her face, her voice flustered as she tried to explain. “Mrs. Albright, it’s not what it looks like. I was just so relieved, so I…” I turned my head and offered a small smile. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” “I’m trying to sleep. Could you please keep it down?” Tessa’s face froze. She looked instinctively to Frederick. After he sent her home, Frederick came upstairs. “Julia,” he said, his voice heavy with fatigue. “There’s something wrong between us. We need to talk.” I laughed. “What do you want to talk about? Tessa?” He fell silent. I sighed, my gaze on him unnervingly calm, as if I were looking at a stranger. “Frederick, I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. Tessa is your only female student. It’s natural for you to treat her well. I’m not going to get angry about things like that, so you don’t need to come to me with special explanations.” “There’s nothing to explain,” I said. “I understand completely.” The color drained from Frederick’s face. Those were the exact words he had said to me during one of our countless fights about her. Now, I was giving them right back. He opened his mouth to say something, but his phone rang. It was Tessa. He looked at me, hesitating for a second before answering. He even put it on speaker. Tessa was crying on the other end. “Professor, I was in a car accident. Can you please come? I’m so scared.” Frederick’s brow furrowed. “Did you call 911? Don’t panic. I’ll send someone over.” He hung up and quickly dialed another number, explaining the situation in a few curt sentences before ending the call. He looked up at me, lost for words. I spoke first. “You should have just driven her home yourself.” He was quiet for a long time. “It wouldn’t have been appropriate for me to take her.” I gave a humorless smile. Our talk was over. He went back to his room. My desire to sleep had vanished. Thirty minutes later, I heard the soft click of the front door closing, followed by the sound of a car engine starting. He had gone to her after all. Lying in bed, I suddenly started to laugh. Frederick and I met in college during a competition. I was the one who pursued him. After three years of dating, we got married right after graduation. For the first two years, things were good. In his first year of his PhD program, he won a breakthrough award in physics, and his talent secured him a position as the youngest professor in the department right after he graduated. He became incredibly busy. Buried in experiments, constantly traveling for conferences. I understood. Even when he missed my birthday, I swallowed my disappointment and told him it was okay, that his work was important. I worried he wasn’t eating properly, so for a whole year, I brought him lunch every day. Then, one day, he told me to stop. “You don’t have to bring me food anymore. The cafeteria is fine, and it’s too much trouble for you.” It wasn’t long after that I discovered he had taken on a new female student. When I asked, he said, “Another professor recommended her. It would have been awkward to say no.” I accepted it and didn’t press him. But then I noticed Tessa was always around him. She was bubbly and charming, and she knew how to be playful. Frederick, who had always hated being bothered, somehow allowed her to constantly orbit him, to text him about every little detail of her life. The day he returned her lipstick to her was the day we had our first major fight. He thought I was overreacting. “Julia, she’s my student. Don’t be so sensitive.” The cracks between us grew wider. We fought more and more. And it was always about Tessa. It got so bad we nearly divorced, but he wouldn’t sign the papers. During that time, I became a person I didn’t recognize. I was a paranoid wreck, constantly checking his phone, demanding to know his schedule. If he didn’t text back immediately, my mind would spiral. Once, when he was away at a conference with his students, I bombarded him with frantic messages. Finally, a voice note came through, sent from his phone. It was Tessa. “Mrs. Albright, the professor is busy right now. He’ll call you back when he’s finished. I know you like to be in control, but you have to pick your moments to have a scene, you know? Could you please just not bother him for a little while?” I snapped. I sent Tessa a string of vicious, ugly messages. When Frederick came home, it was another huge fight. He looked at me with such profound disappointment. “Julia, what’s happened to you?” “Do you have any idea what kind of damage those messages could do to her? If she showed them to anyone, what would the university think of me? What would they think of you?” “Did you ever stop to think about that?” He never once mentioned Tessa’s behavior, how she had crossed a line. In his eyes, I was the one being unreasonable. The argument got so heated that my vision tunneled, and I collapsed. When I woke up in the hospital, the doctor told me I was pregnant. I instinctively touched my stomach. It was a shame. I would never have children now. Frederick didn’t come home until the next morning. He offered no explanation. I didn’t ask for one. Tessa was kept in the hospital for three days of observation. After she was discharged, she sent Frederick a stream of grateful texts. After all, he had visited her whenever he had a spare moment during those three days. I didn’t say a word about it. I went about my days, not even sparing him a glance. He tried to start a conversation several times, but always seemed to lose his nerve. One evening after dinner, he finally cornered me. He spoke hesitantly. “She was in the hospital for a few days. As her professor, it would have been wrong not to visit.” I paused. I had expected something else. I didn’t expect this. I forced a smile. “I understand. Don’t worry, I won’t cause any trouble for her.” “Is there anything else?” It was like a dam broke inside him. His voice trembled with suppressed frustration as he confronted me. “Julia, that’s enough.” “How long are you going to keep treating me like this?” he demanded. “You’re not the same person you used to be.” My smile faded. He stared at me. “Are you blaming me? For the baby? I was devastated too.” My gaze turned to ice. “Shouldn’t I blame you?” He was instantly silenced. That day, I had slipped and fallen down the stairs. I called him, and he was almost home. But then Tessa called him, saying she didn’t have a ride. He turned the car around to take her home. He hung up on me before I could even finish my sentence. By the time I got to the hospital, the baby was gone. The doctor said if I’d gotten there just a little sooner, they might have been able to save the baby. Then came the second blow: my body was too weak, and the miscarriage had done so much damage that it would be nearly impossible for me to ever get pregnant again. When Frederick found out, he knelt by my hospital bed for two days, begging for my forgiveness. After I came home, he changed. He cut off all private contact with Tessa. He let me check his phone, told me his schedule without my asking. But it was too late. I didn’t need it anymore. I was just so tired. And besides, I had already bought my ticket to Ashworth. I looked away from Frederick and went upstairs. The day I left, Frederick’s team had another major breakthrough. He was out of town, giving a live-streamed press conference. When the camera focused on him, he said just one thing: “I’d like to thank my wife, Julia.” The live chat exploded with comments about what a devoted husband he was. Beside him, Tessa’s smile looked a little strained, but she finished the interview. I turned off my phone and went to the airport. Right before boarding, Frederick called. A final call, perhaps. I answered, and the first thing I heard was Tessa’s cheerful voice in the background. “Professor, you were amazing! We have to celebrate tonight, right?” I hung up the phone and got on the plane. Frederick instinctively covered the microphone, hoping Julia hadn’t heard. He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Tessa grabbed his arm happily. “It’s a date then, Professor!” He looked down at his phone and saw that the call had already been disconnected. When he finally returned to Crestwood, Tessa ran into his office, looking flustered and holding a large envelope. “P-Professor, this was delivered for you. From your wife.” “What is it?” Confused, Frederick took the envelope from her. He tore it open and his face changed instantly.

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1 My husband’s childhood friend, Poppy, has always been the innocent, whimsical type. Despite being nearly thirty, she insists she’s just an eight-year-old at heart. She eats from a special baby bowl and drinks from a sippy cup. She even sleeps in a cradle. My husband, Arthur, and his mother enable her completely. They even had a nursery built for her in our home. Then one day, while I was busy cooking in the kitchen, Poppy picked up my one-month-old daughter and threw her onto the hard tile floor. Her tiny skull was fractured, and she died right in front of me, her blood pooling on the white floor. I grabbed a knife and went for Poppy, determined to make her pay for my daughter’s life. But Arthur and his mother stood in my way. “She was just a girl. If she died, she died. Now you can have a second child, a boy this time.” “Poppy is still just a child. Why are you making such a scene?” Why was I making a scene? Because my daughter was dead. My life was over. That night, I broke into Poppy’s room with the knife, but Arthur stopped me. He beat me until I stopped breathing. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that same morning. Without a second’s hesitation, I called my parents and had them take my daughter to their house. But this time, a child still died. My parents’ car had just pulled away when Poppy’s shrill voice echoed from upstairs. “This is my baby cradle! What gives you the right to sleep in it!” The words were identical to the ones she’d screamed in my previous life. A chill shot down my spine, and I whipped my head around to look up at the second-floor landing. Poppy was standing there, holding an infant in her arms. When she saw me looking, a provocative smirk curled her lips. The next second, she hurled the baby to the floor below. A sickening thud, followed by a short, piercing shriek. Then, silence. A pool of crimson spread instantly from beneath the tiny body, staining the pristine tiles. The image of my own daughter lying in her own blood overlapped with the horror before me. I looked up, my eyes meeting Poppy’s. She stood just a few feet away, showing no fear. Instead, she shot me a triumphant smirk before darting back into her nursery and slamming the door. Arthur and his mother rushed out of the study, their faces draining of all color at the sight. Arthur stumbled forward to look, then collapsed to the floor. “No… not breathing…” His mother took two staggering steps back, her hand clamped over her mouth. I fought down the murderous rage boiling in my chest and walked to Poppy’s door. I hammered on it with my fists. “Poppy, open this door! Get out here right now!” Her petulant voice came from inside. “Baby is sleepy now! Go away! Don’t bother Baby!” “You murdered someone, and you think you can just hide?” My body trembled with fury. I kicked the door, the wood groaning under the force, the whole frame shaking. “What are you doing?!” Arthur scrambled over and grabbed me. “Julia, Poppy is just a child! Don’t take it out on her… She didn’t mean to do it!” Didn’t mean to? I violently threw his hands off me and glared at him, my eyes blazing. It was just like before. Poppy killed our child, and they turned on me, telling me not to blame her. But that was our daughter, a living, breathing human being! As expected, his mother repeated the same chilling words from my past life. “That’s right. What’s done is done. It was only a girl, anyway. If you’re that upset, you and Arthur can just have another one. Maybe you’ll have a son next time.” A son. A cold laugh escaped my lips, my heart turning to ice. Before we were married, Arthur and I had agreed—one child, boy or girl, that was all we wanted. But now… Thank God. Thank God I woke up this morning and sent my daughter away from this house of horrors without a second thought. But as I stared at the coagulating blood on the floor, a terrifying thought slammed into me. If my daughter is safe, then whose child did Poppy just kill? Bang! Bang! Bang! The thought sent me into a frenzy. I kicked the door with brutal, frantic force. The wood splintered and creaked, threatening to shatter. “Poppy! Get your ass out here!” My voice was a raw, terrifying rasp. “You murderer! Stop hiding in there!” “Julia, stop it!” Arthur wrapped his arms around my waist, his grip like iron. I couldn’t break free. “She’s just a child! What if you scare her?” His mother rushed over. “He’s right, Julia! Why are you fighting with a child? Poppy has never been treated harshly in her life. You’re going to terrify her!” “A child?” I stopped struggling and turned to stare at them, my eyes filled with venom. “What kind of child is almost thirty years old?” I pointed a shaking finger at the closed door. “She’s not a child, she’s a murderer! She just killed a baby, snuffed out a life! And you’re standing here defending her?” “Now, that’s not fair,” his mother said, her tone hardening. “Poppy is just innocent. How would she know anything about killing? It must have been an accident. You can’t blame her.” “An accident?” I sneered, the fire in my chest burning hotter. “Intentionally throwing a baby onto the floor is an accident? Are you both insane?” Just then, the door creaked open. Poppy peeked out, her eyes red and her lip trembling as she looked at Arthur and his mother. “Artie… Auntie…” she whimpered, her voice soft and pitiful—a complete one-eighty from the monster who had just committed murder. “She’s a mean lady… She was so loud, she scared Baby… Baby is so scared…” The sight of her broke Arthur’s heart. He instantly let me go and rushed to her side, shielding her with his body. He turned back to me, his eyes filled with fury. “Look what you did! You scared her! She’s always been timid, and you come at her like that!” His mother hurried over, stroking Poppy’s back. “It’s okay, Poppy, don’t be scared. Auntie’s here. No one can hurt you. And you, Julia,” she said, turning to me, “a grown woman acting like this with a child. You should be ashamed of yourself.” Watching them coddle this killer, the rage I’d been suppressing finally exploded. Crack! I slapped Poppy hard across the face. Her crying stopped abruptly. She stared at me, her hand flying to her cheek, completely shocked that I would dare to touch her. “How dare you hit Poppy?” Arthur roared, shoving me to the ground as he rushed to inspect her face. I stumbled back, my eyes locked on Poppy. “I’ll ask you one more time,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Whose baby is that on the floor? Where did you get it?” Poppy, still stunned from the slap, burst into a wail. “It’s… it’s your daughter…” “My daughter?” My body went rigid, but then a cold calm washed over me. I had watched my parents drive away with my daughter this morning. The child on the floor could not possibly be my Rosie. “It is your daughter!” Poppy stomped her foot, her face a mask of petulant fury. “It’s all her fault for taking my cradle! I’m the only baby in this house! That cradle is mine, and only I get to sleep in it!” So that was it. My rage hit its peak. What baby? This was a twisted, sick adult who, over a piece of furniture, had committed an atrocity against an innocent child. If I hadn’t had a second chance, that would have been my own daughter lying dead on the floor. “Poppy just really loves that cradle,” his mother was saying, still making excuses. “Children are possessive of their things. Besides, she didn’t know it would cause such a big problem.” Arthur nodded in agreement, his tone pleading. “Julia, what’s done is done. Just let it go. Poppy didn’t mean it; she just got confused. We need to handle this quietly. If anyone finds out, Poppy’s reputation will be ruined.” “Her reputation?” I was shaking with fury, the irony of it all burning like acid. “She’s a murderer. What reputation does she have left to protect? Is her reputation more important than a human life?” I couldn’t hold back any longer. I lunged forward, grabbed a handful of Poppy’s hair, and slammed her head against the wall. Thud! The dull impact echoed through the hall. Poppy shrieked in pain. “What baby? You’re a grown woman, do you understand?” I screamed, my eyes red, my grip tightening. “You’re thirty years old! You kill someone, you pay the price! Don’t you get it?!” “Let go of her!” Arthur charged at me, grabbing the back of my collar and flinging me across the room. I landed hard on the cold tile, a searing pain shooting up from my tailbone as my vision swam with black spots. “Poppy is a baby! Are you insane?!” he yelled, pointing at me with disgust and rage, as if I were the monster. I pushed myself up, looking at his contorted face, and felt like I was staring at a complete stranger. “What baby?” I coughed, a trickle of blood escaping the corner of my mouth. My voice was thick with mockery and despair. “She’s a psychopath! And you two are the ones who made her this way!” Struggling, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. I was calling the police. I was going to have this lunatic locked up. But Arthur lunged, snatched the phone from my hand, and smashed it on the floor. The screen shattered, sending pieces flying. “What are you doing, calling the police?” he hissed, his eyes filled with menace. “You’ll ruin her! Julia, can’t you just be reasonable for once? For the sake of this family, for Poppy, can’t we just let this go?” I clutched my chest, staring at the man who bore no resemblance to the one I married, and a hopeless laugh bubbled up from my throat. In that moment, I finally saw my husband for who he truly was. Without another word, I got to my feet and started walking downstairs. I remembered. I knew whose child it was. I had just reached the first floor when Arthur grabbed my arm. “Julia, it’s settled then. We’re moving past this.” I froze, turning to look at him. He avoided my gaze, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “If you’re really that upset about the girl,” he added, “I promise, we’ll get you pregnant again as soon as possible. We’ll just have another one.” Another one. He spoke of a child’s life so casually, as if it were a misplaced object. My face was a blank mask as I shoved him away. I needed to see the baby, to confirm my suspicion. But my pupils contracted in horror. The spot on the floor where the baby had been was empty. The child was gone. I scrambled over, my hands searching the cold tile. A faint, lingering scent of blood was the only proof that it hadn’t been a hallucination. I shot to my feet and grabbed Arthur by the collar. “Where is the baby? What did you do with the baby?!” His eyes darted away, unable to meet mine. “What baby? Don’t talk nonsense…” “Nonsense?” I almost laughed, but tears were already streaming down my face. “What did you do with the child?!” Just then, the piercing wail of a police siren sliced through the silence. Two uniformed officers appeared at the door, silhouetted against the bright light. “Who called the police?” Arthur’s face went white. He reacted instantly, clamping his hand over my mouth and forcing a stiff smile. “Officers, it’s a misunderstanding! All a misunderstanding! My wife made a mistake, no one called.” His mother came rushing down the stairs. “She’s crazy!” she yelled, pointing at me. “They had a little fight, and she blows it all out of proportion and calls the police. We’re so sorry to have wasted your time.” The officers’ eyes moved between us, their expressions skeptical. But with no body and no other signs of a crime, they treated it as a domestic dispute. After taking a statement, they left. Only when the siren had faded into the distance did Arthur release me. He was breathing heavily, his eyes full of resentment. “Julia, don’t you think I’m upset the child is dead? But you had to make a scene and drag everyone into it. How is Poppy supposed to live her life now?” I looked at the hideous man before me, my voice terrifyingly calm and laced with ice. “Is any of that more important than a human life?” I pushed him away and began to tear the villa apart. Under the sofa, behind the curtains, in the corners of the storage room… I searched everywhere, but there was no trace of the baby. It was as if the child had vanished into thin air. I stumbled out into the yard, my eyes scanning the flowerbeds, the walls. Finally, my gaze fell upon the rusty dog kennel in the corner of the yard. Inside lived two large mastiffs, which were occasionally fed raw meat. My heart began to pound. A terrible premonition seized me. I started walking toward the kennel. “What are you doing?!” his mother shrieked, rushing to block my path and grabbing my arm. “Julia, there’s nothing to see over there! You’ll get bitten!” The more frantic she was, the more certain I became. I coldly shook her off and continued toward the kennel. Before I even got close, a thick, coppery smell hit me, mingling with the stench of rust from the cage. It was nauseating. With a trembling hand, I unlatched the kennel door. In the dim light, a small, tattered piece of clothing lay in the corner. Its edges were soaked through with dark, dried blood. They had fed the child to the dogs. My body was wracked with violent tremors. A raw, guttural scream tore from my throat. “Are you insane?!” But his mother just looked proud, as if her decision had been a stroke of genius. “The baby was already dead. It was just a piece of meat at that point. This way, we didn’t have to dig a grave.” Poppy peeked out from behind her. “You evil woman! It’s your fault for having a brat that tried to steal my cradle! It deserved to be dog food!” Arthur just frowned at her words, then turned to me with a placating tone. “Come on, let’s just put this behind us. I’ll transfer the title of the penthouse to you. Don’t be angry. It was just a baby. We’ll have another one. I’m sure we’ll have a son next time.” The sheer monstrosity of this family made me weak. Black spots danced in my vision, and a crushing pain in my chest made it hard to breathe. I had only one thought left. I needed to know if this child was who I thought it was. “Bring the baby out,” I said, using every last bit of my strength. “We… we have to bury him.” Arthur frowned, looking with disgust at the tattered clothes in the kennel, clearly not wanting to touch them. I almost laughed. “Arthur, that is your nephew!” He took a deep breath, as if making a great sacrifice, and stepped forward. But his mother blocked him, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Arthur, she’s tricking you! The second you bring that body out, she’ll call the police and they’ll take Poppy away! Poppy’s life will be ruined!” As she spoke, Poppy started tugging on Arthur’s sleeve, whining and crying. “Artie, don’t listen to her! She’s trying to hurt me! It’s good that baby is dead! He tried to take my things! If you bring him out, I’ll never speak to you again!” Arthur wavered, then took a step back. “Julia, the child is already gone. Let’s not disturb him. Let him rest in peace.” I closed my eyes, suppressing the tidal wave of hatred inside me. “You’re going to regret this.” With that, I turned and walked toward the gate. His mother panicked and lunged, grabbing my wrist. “Where do you think you’re going? I’m telling you, as long as I’m here, you are not calling the police!” She tied my hands together with a piece of rope. I struggled, but it only tightened, drawing blood. I looked at my husband, begging. “Arthur, that was a life. How can you be so heartless?” He looked away, his voice cold. “Just behave yourself, Julia. Stop making trouble.” Seeing me helpless, Poppy rushed forward and slapped me hard across the face. “You think you’re so tough?” she sneered. “You hit me before! Try hitting me now! Hah!” I gritted my teeth, shaking with rage and humiliation, but my hands were bound. “You psychopath!” I screamed. This only encouraged her. She kicked me hard in the back. A sharp pain exploded, and I doubled over, drenched in a cold sweat. Even then, a small part of me hoped Arthur would show a shred of decency and stop this. But he was too busy comforting Poppy. “A baby like Poppy can’t kick that hard,” he said dismissively. “It doesn’t hurt. You scared her earlier. Just let her blow off some steam.” With Arthur’s blessing, Poppy became bolder. She kicked me in the side. “Your daughter deserved to die for trying to steal from me! And you should die too!” I curled into a ball on the ground, the pain overwhelming as my consciousness began to fade. Suddenly, the front gate was kicked open with a tremendous bang. My parents stood there, holding my daughter. Behind them were several police officers. Their faces were grim as my father’s voice boomed across the yard. “What in God’s name are you doing?!”

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To everyone who looked at us, my sister and I were the perfect children, the absolute gold standard. No matter how brutal the exam, we were the twin prodigies who always clinched the top two spots in the grade, usually with matching perfect scores. That illusion shattered during the last mid-term. When I missed the grade-A student’s podium, landing in second place by a single, agonizing point, my mother’s face, for the first time, was a mask of sheer, cold disappointment. “Audra, are you even embarrassed? Losing the top spot by a single point?” My sister, Penny, who’d just wrapped up a round of Fortnite on her headset, looked up with an unsettling calmness. “It’s just pathetic, Sis.” “To throw away such an easy point.” I wrung the hem of my shirt and started to speak. “Next time, I promise—” But Mom cut me off, her voice sharp as glass as she pointed toward my room. “Don’t you dare talk back! You think I don’t know that look?!” “Ten practice tests. You don’t come out until they’re finished. And you don’t eat a bite of dinner!” Locked inside, I heard the familiar, low, angry murmur of my parents’ argument starting up. “She’s a child, Joyce! You’re going to starve her just for one point?” my father, Rick, protested. “Starve her? She just failed us! What right does she have to eat?” “Besides,” Mom’s voice dropped to a cutting whisper, “what’s one night going to hurt?” Their fighting made my head swim. My consciousness blurred, and a strange, desperate fantasy began to form: If only I could truly be the flawless, gold-medal child my mother wanted… The next second, a sterile, synthesized voice whispered in my ear. “Congratulations, Player. You have successfully triggered the Golden Child System.” “Do you wish to activate?” 1 When the Golden Child System actually materialized before me—not as a ghost, but as a chillingly real interface—I hesitated. “What’s the cost?” I whispered, my heart hammering. “The cost? You will be entirely overwritten by the perfect persona. To put it simply, upon system activation, the ‘you’ you are now will cease to exist.” The raw sound of my parents’ argument continued to echo from the hallway. “You blame me for being hard on her?! What other choice do I have?” Mom wailed. “The fortune teller said Penny is a born savant, a golden ticket, but Audra is a remedial class waiting to happen!” “We liquidated almost everything—sold the custom house and the good car—just to afford the best tutors and brain-boosting programs to claw our way back to good grades for Audra!” “And now she’s slipping…” “She isn’t the prettiest, Rick, and if she doesn’t have perfect grades, what will she have? Who will want her when she’s older? I’m terrified!” My mother’s painful sobs blended with my father’s frustrated sighs. I could barely hear them anymore, too consumed by my own realization. That’s why our big, beautiful custom kitchen had been replaced by this cramped townhouse. That’s why Dad was constantly staying late at the office. That’s why Mom’s meticulously maintained face now had those sharp, new worry lines, and her hair was streaked with gray. That’s why Penny’s designer clothes were fewer, and she often looked at me with a strange mix of regret and judgment. It was all because of me! I was dragging them all down. Looking at the void, I nodded, the action surprisingly firm. “I agree. I will activate the Golden Child System.” “Acknowledged. Deducting all current assets from the Player’s account.” I reflexively tried to interrupt. “Wait!” “Can I please keep seventy-five dollars?” The system’s voice was laced with digital impatience. “Negotiation is prohibited.” I clutched the crumpled fabric of my shirt, a final, desperate plea escaping my lips. “Please. Tomorrow is my mother’s birthday. I want to give her a gift. One last time.” After a long silence that stretched forever, the system finally relented. “Fine. Consider it a holiday bonus. Seventy-five dollars retained.” “However, your persona will be completely suppressed by the end of tomorrow. You are advised to say your final goodbyes now.” I nodded, feeling a quiet understanding settle over me. After the system vanished, I heard a sharp rapping on the door, followed by a low, furious mutter. “What? Are you sulking because I yelled at you? How old are you, throwing a tantrum?” “Fine. Don’t open it. I’m taking your plate. Starve, for all I care!” “Honestly, I must have signed away my soul in a past life for this child!” I couldn’t bring myself to open the door. I was terrified that if I looked at my mother, I would burst into tears and beg the system to abort. Only after the sound of the TV had faded did I dare to pull the door open. The hallway was dark and empty. On the dining table, a bowl of smash potato sat beside a pile of my favorite dishes. Next to the plate was a small, untouched slice of my favorite strawberry cake. I pressed my hand hard against my mouth, stifling a sob. 2 The next morning, I planned to wear a new, crisp button-down shirt—my final, clean slate for a day of goodbyes to my friends. But the moment Mom saw the shirt, her face darkened instantly. “Audra Sophia, have you lost your mind with all those worksheets?” “Why are you putting on a brand-new uniform shirt for a regular school day?” The bite of my bagel suddenly tasted like sawdust. I mumbled an excuse. “Because…” Penny, adjusting her glasses, spoke up, her tone frighteningly cold. “They’ve been talking at school about you hanging around with boys, Sis. Looks like the rumors were true.” Hanging around with boys? I’d just been cornering the Calculus TA in the library to ask about an obscure theorem… But Mom didn’t wait for an explanation. Her hand lashed out, delivering a hard, stinging slap across my cheek. She was shaking with fury. “How dare you! You’re already chasing after boys?!” “And here I was, feeling guilty last night for getting upset over one measly point!” “Your mind hasn’t been on your studies for months, has it?” The spot where she struck me burned. Before I could even cry out, she roughly yanked the new shirt off my body, forcing the faded, threadbare polo I normally wore back onto me. She then violently pulled the carefully tied high ponytail I’d spent so long perfecting, tearing the tie out and only stopping when my hair was a tangled, wild mess. In the bathroom mirror, I looked like a desperate mess. “You will go to school looking like this every single day from now on!” “See if you dare to have any ‘bad intentions’ when you look like a madwoman!” I looked toward my father, my eyes pleading. Usually, he would step in and be the peacemaker. But this time, he was just as furious. “Don’t look at me. You heard your mother.” “Young woman, you should be focused on your studies, not on this irrelevant nonsense!” I sniffled, holding back my tears. I reached out to grab a bagel to eat on the way, but Mom snatched my hand away. “What are you eating for?!” “Get out! Go to school! Just looking at you makes me sick!” I silently slung my backpack over my shoulder and waited by the door for Penny. Mom helped Penny perfectly braid her hair and handed her a pre-packed bento box. “The fruit today is excellent. Make sure you share with your friends at school.” She caught my pitiful gaze, and her expression chilled instantly. “There’s nothing for you today.” “You can have a fruit cup the day you get back to the number one spot.” I nodded, the disappointment a heavy weight in my chest. But then I remembered that this was my last day with them, and I managed a small, forced smile. “Okay, Mom.” As I opened the door to leave, she called out, “Wait!” “I haven’t given you this yet!” A flicker of hopeful anticipation sparked in me. The next second, her action crushed it. She shoved a thick stack of advanced placement workbooks into my already full backpack. The weight caused my shoulder to slump instantly. She didn’t hesitate to push me out the door. “There. Go to school.” “Oh, and by the way, you are to submit a Daily Accountability Report every evening.” “Everything you did in school, everything you studied—written out clearly. Don’t try to fake it. I will call your teachers and your classmates to verify every detail.” Penny stood beside her, headphones on, playing a game, completely oblivious. A bitter taste filled my mouth. Why did she get the effortless perfection, everything she wanted? Why could I never, no matter how hard I tried, stand beside her? I shook my head, trying to banish the ugliness. It was okay. After today, I would be their flawless child. They would never differentiate between us again. I suddenly looked forward to tomorrow. 3 The moment school was over, I rushed to the mall to buy Mom’s gift. It was a long commute, and I didn’t get home until after eight that evening. I threw open the door, excitement overriding caution. “Mom, happy birthday!!” “Look what I got you…” But I was met with my mother’s furious, ink-black face. She blocked the doorway, stopping me from entering, a heavy object—a rolled-up magazine, perhaps—held tight in her hand. “Audra Sophia, it’s eight o’clock. Where in the hell have you been?!” “Do you have any idea how worried your father and I were?” Dad’s voice, tired and strained, came from the living room. “It’s your mother’s birthday, Audra. Can you just keep it together for once?!” Penny snatched the bag from my hand and tossed it onto the floor. “You are impossible, Sis! We waited for hours, and you’re out shopping with your boyfriend!” I instinctively lunged to grab the bag. “No, I wasn’t! I didn’t!” “That’s for my…” But in their eyes, my frantic denial was a clear sign of guilt. “No, huh?” Mom ripped the bag open. She roughly tore the elegant wrapping paper and stared at the delicate silver necklace inside. She froze for a moment, picking up the chain. “What is this…” Did she recognize it? I swallowed and took the chance to explain. “It’s your birthday gift, Mom!” “Every time we walk past the Tiffany counter at the mall, you always stop and stare at that gold necklace…” “You always say it’s ‘just okay,’ but I know how much you love it. I couldn’t afford the gold, so I bought you the silver one instead…” “But I know you won’t mind, right?” I spoke faster, more excitedly, reaching for the chain. “Mom, let me try it on you! If it doesn’t fit, we can still exchange it tomorrow!” Mom jerked her hand back, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Really?” Her gaze made my stomach churn, but I managed to hold her stare and nod. The atmosphere grew thick and heavy. Finally, Dad spoke. “Alright, alright. The child made an effort. Stop being so paranoid, Joyce.” “Audra, go wash your hands. We’re eating dinner.” I sighed in relief. The next second, the heavy magazine in Mom’s hand snapped across my leg. “Only he would believe that garbage!” she hissed. “I saw the price tag! This cost several hundred dollars! Where did a student like you get that kind of money?” I cried out, doubling over from the pain. “Aah! That was… my savings! From all my birthday money!” She paused for a second. Then she struck me again, harder. “You’re still lying! You spent all your allowance on those advanced placement books months ago! There’s nothing left!” “Tell me—did that tramp from school buy this for you?!” “I am a total failure! How did I raise a child like you?!” I tried to endure the pain, reaching out to support her trembling body. “Mom, no. You’re not a failure. I’m the problem!” “I’m not good enough…” She shoved my hands away with surprising force. “Get out!” Her voice was frail, almost a whisper. “If only I just had Penny. If I only had one daughter…” I looked up to see her clutching her chest, her breathing shallow and ragged. “Mom—” She collapsed to the floor. Dad immediately called an ambulance. As I tried to follow them, Penny blocked me from getting into the vehicle. “Audra Sophia, you just caused Mom to faint. How dare you even try to get in the car?!” Helpless, I grabbed my father’s sleeve, tears streaming down my face. “Dad, please! I want to go to the hospital with you!” But he angrily flung my hand away. “Stop making things worse! Are you trying to kill me too?!” I fell hard to the pavement. He didn’t look back, climbing into the ambulance as the doors slammed shut. The siren wailed as the car sped away. I ran after it. “Mom!” “Mom!!” But no matter how loud I screamed, the ambulance never stopped for me. I stared blankly at its disappearing taillights. “System, can you activate the program now?” The cold, synthetic voice responded instantly. “Your current neural network has not achieved full sensory suppression. Premature activation will result in unimaginable, excruciating pain.” “Do you wish to proceed?” I nodded, utterly resolute. In less than a second, a line of blood bloomed on my forearm. The system was forcibly implanting a neural chip beneath my skin. A strange sensation washed over me—an intense, sickening feeling of something else tearing at my body, fighting for control of my consciousness. As the physical pain slowly began to recede, I heard my own voice—but not my tone—speak the final command. “Golden Child System officially initiated.”

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They called it a welcome-home gala, but the truth was, I was just a misplaced asset, the biological daughter of the Hawthorne fortune, finally found after twenty-three years. At the height of the Recognition Dinner, my adopted sister, Isla, suddenly pointed at me and gasped. “Aubrey, you look so familiar,” she exclaimed, her voice pitched high for maximum attention. “Aren’t you one of the specialty dancers from the Onyx Lounge?” She paused, then lowered her voice only slightly. “I think the woman squatting with her head covered in the vice-raid news two years ago—the one they blurred—had a red mole behind her ear, just like yours.” Isla then dramatically scurried into my mother’s arms, whispering loud enough for the ballroom to hear, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mother. And you, Aubrey. That was rude of me. That’s your privacy, I shouldn’t have said it out loud…” The whispers started instantly. The rich relatives—the entire East Coast elite—turned their collective gaze on me, their eyes filled with instant contempt. “How can someone with that kind of background be allowed through the Hawthorne front door?” “It’s the environment, isn’t it? The apple doesn’t fall far. Country-raised trash is just trash.” My biological parents’ faces hardened into masks of black disappointment. In that moment, they looked like they wished they could un-claim me. I stood my ground. I adjusted the cuff of the ill-fitting dress the housekeeper had found for me and studied the trembling figure of Isla. “Familiarity is expected, Isla,” I said, my voice cutting through the sudden silence. “For three years, while you were serving time at the State Correctional Facility for Women, I was your commanding officer.” I had been back at the Hawthorne’s sprawling Greenwich estate for less than three days when they threw this spectacular dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne stood at the head of the room. Though their faces were arranged in polite smiles, their bodies leaned subtly toward the other side of the stage—where Isla stood. Isla, the cherished fake heiress they had raised for twenty-three years. She was radiant in a custom, diamond-encrusted white gown, clutching my mother’s arm, her smile perfectly sweet and innocent. I, on the other hand, was wearing a faded, off-the-rack dress the staff had dug out. It hung on me, making me look every bit the impoverished outsider. The guests didn’t bother to hide their judgment. “That’s the daughter they found in the sticks? She looks like she’s wearing a costume.” “I heard she dropped out of middle school to join the streets. Zero class. Not a fraction of Isla’s poise.” “Blood only matters so much, I say. Nurture is what makes a Hawthorne.” Every word was a needle, but I stood there, expressionless, my back ramrod straight. It was a physical habit, ingrained from years of discipline in the police department. My father, Mr. Hawthorne, cleared his throat, ready to begin the formal introduction. Isla seized the moment. She stepped forward, her eyes wide with what looked like shock. “Oh my God!” Her dramatic gasp pulled every eye in the room to her. She pointed at me, her finger shaking faintly. “Aubrey, how do you look so familiar? You’re one of the headliners from the Onyx Lounge, aren’t you?” The ballroom went instantly silent. The Onyx Lounge. Everyone knew it was the city’s infamous black hole, a high-end cash-for-flesh establishment. My father’s face instantly darkened. He snapped at her, “Isla, stop that ridiculous chatter!” Isla flinched, appearing terrified, but her voice didn’t lose its volume. “But Daddy, I’m not! I saw the news years ago. The one they arrested during the vice bust, the one squatting against the wall with her head down—it was her!” She gestured toward my left ear. “They blurred her face in the video, but she had a distinct red mole right behind her ear. Just like Aubrey’s!” The crowd surged forward, every pair of eyes scanning the spot behind my ear. I involuntarily raised my hand, touching the small, raised mark. It was definitely there. The murmurs became a roar, full of naked, brutal judgment. “Good God, a working girl?” “No wonder she has that vibe. She’s been in the gutter.” “The Hawthornes are ruined. They brought this… this filth into the house.” My mother swayed, her face ashen, looking at me with a mix of shock and utter disgust. Isla, seeing the effect, made her eyes water instantly. She fluttered her hands, her voice cracking with fake distress. “I am so sorry, Aubrey. I truly didn’t mean it… I was just so shocked. I shouldn’t have revealed your scar.” She was careful to use the word scar. “Please, don’t hate me, Sister…” The more she apologized, the more the guests despised me. Her apology was the nail in my coffin. I watched Isla’s flawless performance with cold detachment. Three years in lockup had really polished her acting skills. I was about to speak when my mother shoved away my hand as I tried to steady her. “Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, batting at her dress where I hadn’t even made contact. “You are a crushing disappointment!” Her scream drew more attention. My mother was shaking, her finger pointed directly at my face. “Aubrey Hayes! Tell me the truth! What did you do out there for all those years? Did you really resort to that kind of vile business for money?” I looked at this woman, my biological mother. Three days ago, she’d wept in my arms, swearing she owed me the world. Now, based on one accusation from the girl who stole my life, she was ready to disown me. I took a slow, deep breath. “I didn’t,” I said, my voice steady. “I was a civil servant. I had a legitimate career.” “A civil servant? Puh-lease.” A wealthy woman—Isla’s godmother, of course—snickered. “You? A country girl without a high school diploma, somehow passing the Civil Service exam? Try harder with the lies. Isla is right. You’re stained by whatever club you were in.” My father’s face was dark. He swept his eyes over mine. “Aubrey, the Hawthorne name demands integrity and a spotless reputation. If you truly did that kind of work, admit it now. We’ll give you a settlement and you can leave. Don’t make a spectacle of us.” Any flickering hope I had for this family died right there. “I told you, I did not. Slander is a crime.” “Do you want proof, Aubrey?” Isla timidly pulled a phone from her expensive clutch. “I didn’t want to do this, but you won’t own up to your mistakes, and you’re still trying to deceive Mom and Dad…” She pulled up a photo—a blurry news screenshot. In it, a group of scantily-clad women were huddled against a wall, their hands covering their heads. The face of the woman in the front was pixelated, but the red mole behind her ear was unmistakable. The angle matched mine exactly. “Everyone look. This was the original news photo.” Isla turned the phone, making sure all the relatives got a good look. “I remembered it because the mole was so unique. Aubrey, will you still deny it?” The relatives clustered, then pulled back, buzzing with certainty. “It’s an exact match!” “What else can she say? The proof is right there!” “She’s unfit to enter the Hawthorne family. An embarrassment!” “Like mother, like daughter. The rats always find the hole. That’s what comes from a cheap, country upbringing.” Vicious words rained down on me. My mother stared at the photo, clutching her chest. “You… you utterly shameless creature!” she choked out. “How could I have given birth to you! If I had known you were this, I would have left you where you were!” Isla rushed to support my mother, rubbing her arm while giving me a look of false concern. “Please, Sister, just apologize to Mom. If you admit it, they’ll forgive you. You’re their biological daughter, after all.” She spoke of forgiveness, but her eyes glittered with malice. She knew the Hawthornes. They prized reputation above all else. A daughter who had been a stripper or a prostitute was a permanent stain on their legacy. I let out a short, hollow laugh. “That’s a decent photoshop job, Isla. How much did that little manipulation cost you?” Isla reacted with a perfect, instantaneous shriek. “How can you say that! This is the news photo! You’re trying to discredit me just because I told the truth?” She spun, collapsing into my mother’s arms, sobbing hysterically. “Mother, look at her! She’s trying to throw mud on me! I’m scared…” My mother hugged her tightly, her eyes blazing at me. “Enough! Aubrey, shut your mouth!” “Shut my mouth? Why should I?” I scanned their faces, the contempt radiating off them. “You would all rather believe a blurry screenshot than run a background check on me? Check my official records?” “Your records?” My father sneered, slamming his glass down. “What good are your records? Do they list which back alley club you worked in?” He was spitting mad. “You’ve humiliated us all!” The chorus of relatives joined in the baiting. “She’s buying time! Her records must be a mile of criminal activity!” “I hear women from those places carry diseases. Keep your distance, everyone!” A circle of empty space opened up around me. I was the quarantined subject. If I were an ordinary girl, I would have broken down. But I was Captain Aubrey Hayes, the correctional officer who managed the most volatile unit in the State Facility. This was nothing. Isla, mistaking my silence for fear, wiped her tears and walked toward me. Then, she dropped to her knees. “Sister, I know you’ve suffered. I know you were desperate.” She looked up, her expression a perfect portrait of suffering saint. “I forgive you for being mean to me. If you’ll just turn your life around, I want to help.” This act of kneeling put her on an unassailable moral pedestal. The guests cooed with admiration. “Isla is too good for this world.” “She’s defending her sister, even after being abused. That’s class.” Isla’s voice was pleading and earnest. “I know a wonderful place, Aubrey. A Redemption and Etiquette Program upstate. It teaches young women character and self-respect. We can send you there for a while. To cleanse the filth from your mind. Then you can come back whole.” A “re-education camp” disguised as piety. She truly was evil. My mother nodded eagerly. “Isla is right. That kind of stain needs to be scrubbed off! Lock her up for a year. We’ll bring her back when she’s learned how to behave like a respectable woman!” A flash of triumph crossed Isla’s eyes. Send me to a remote, controlled environment, and she could arrange for me to have an “accident.” Everything would go back to how it was. I laughed, the sound low and cold. “Turn my life around, Isla? You seem very familiar with that whole process.” I took a step closer, looking down at the girl kneeling before me. “It makes sense, I suppose. Only people who have actually been inside know the ropes, don’t they?” Isla’s face froze. Her eyes darted away. “Sister, I don’t know what you’re talking about…” “You don’t?” I crouched down, close enough to whisper into her ear. “Tell me, in those three years you spent ‘studying art in Milan,’ did you ever pick up a paintbrush? Or did you just learn how to act pathetic in the common room?” Isla’s pupils contracted violently. Her body went rigid. She shoved me hard and screamed, jumping to her feet. “You’re a liar! You’re insane! Daddy! Mommy! She’s threatening me! She said she’d hurt me! She has a violent past!” Isla scrambled behind my father. “She threatened to kill me! She’s a lunatic! She worked at that club too long, she’s completely unhinged!” My father, enraged, didn’t ask questions. He stormed at me, raising his hand to deliver a vicious slap across my face. “You rotten thing! You dare threaten your sister!” The force behind the blow was substantial. It was meant to knock me down. But I wasn’t just Aubrey. I tilted my head an inch, avoiding the strike effortlessly. My father, unbalanced, stumbled, his anger escalating. “You dodge me? You absolute savage! Guards! Get in here!” he roared. “Pin this wretched girl down! If I don’t break her legs tonight, I’m changing the Hawthorne name!” Two massive security guards immediately moved in. They were professionals, and their grip was like steel. My mother stood by, nodding approvingly. “Do it! Teach her respect! That’s the rule in this house. You do wrong, you pay for it!” Isla, hiding behind my father, a smug look playing on her lips, continued her performance. “No, Daddy, please! Don’t hit Aubrey! She’s just confused… If she’ll just apologize and kneel to me, I’ll forgive her. Please, don’t hurt her.” Her plea just highlighted my father’s belief that his real daughter was the cruel one and his adopted daughter was the angel. “Hear that, Aubrey? Isla is still pleading for you! Now, you will get down on your knees and beg her forgiveness! You will stay there until she says you’re done! Or you won’t walk out of this room!” The relatives chanted. “Kneel!” “Pay your dues, tramp!” “If she won’t kneel, snap her legs! Let’s see her attitude then!” The two guards clamped down on my shoulders, trying to force me to the floor. The enormous pressure on my traps couldn’t break my posture. I stood tall, my spine locked. Surrounded by their sneering, superior faces, their judgment burning into me, all remnants of attachment were scorched away. My father screamed, “Kick her knees! See how tough her bones are!” One guard drew his foot back. That was the trigger. I dropped my shoulders, shrugging off their combined weight. My hands shot up, grasping their wrists, and twisted. Crack. Crack. Two sickening sounds echoed through the room. The guards screamed, instantly releasing me, clutching their broken wrists. A profound silence descended. I raised my head, my eyes zeroing in on Isla. “You really thought I was kidding, Isla?” I advanced slowly. “You’re right to feel like you know me.” I stopped three feet from her, letting the weight of my uniform—the one they couldn’t see—crush her. “You served three years at the State Correctional Facility, A-Pod. And I was Captain Aubrey Hayes, your Unit Officer, code number zero-nine-eight. Did you forget the one person who kept you in line?”

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The day of our wedding, Beckett Thorne was diagnosed with psychogenic mutism. He ran, abandoning the ceremony, saying he couldn’t bear to drag me down. Tears streaming, I held him, swearing I would love him forever, even if he never spoke another word. Beckett’s pride was a fragile, towering thing, and from that day on, he rarely left our small apartment. To keep us afloat and pay for his endless, specialist appointments, I worked three jobs. I bussed tables, scrubbed floors, and washed dishes in cold water even during my heaviest cycle. I never complained. Until the day a raging fever finally brought me down. Semi-conscious in bed, I heard him on the phone. “Five years, Gigi. I kept my promise. I haven’t said a single word to her, I’ve kept my identity a secret, and I haven’t spent a dime of my real money on her.” “Isn’t it time for the agreement to end? Come home. I miss you.” Georgina Sinclair. His childhood sweetheart. I didn’t say a word. I simply booked a flight for the following week. It’s alright, Beckett. This game ends now. 1 I wiped my eyes dry, repositioned myself in bed, and called his name, pretending I’d just woken up. Beckett’s voice—which I had just heard speaking sweet nothings to another woman—fell instantly silent. He hurried to my side, kneeling. He saw the faint redness around my eyes, and his brow furrowed. He typed quickly on his phone and held the screen out: Why are you crying? “I dreamed you spoke again.” He shot up, kicking the old wooden stool beside him with a violence that made the cheap frame rattle. I knew I had pushed him. Any mention of his voice turned Beckett into a cornered, feral animal. He looked down, his fingers flying across the screen before he thrust it at me: Sylvia, you’re tired of me, aren’t you? If you think I’m a burden, you can walk out right now. In the past, I would have thrown my arms around him, promising him I’d never leave. But this time, I felt only a crushing tide of weariness, swallowing me whole. I turned away from him and murmured, “That’s not what I meant. I’m just tired. I’m going back to sleep.” A strange, heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the loud, rattling hum of the ancient air conditioner. In the dark, I pulled out my phone and finalized the ticket purchase. Then, on a sudden impulse, I searched his name: Beckett Thorne. The results popped up immediately. Heir apparent of the Sampson Group. Tears tracked silently into the pillow. I dug my fingernails into my palm, punishing myself for five years of blindness, of desperate, pathetic devotion. I didn’t know whether to blame him for concealing it so expertly, or myself for loving so deeply, so blindly. Five years, and I hadn’t known a single truth. I lay awake all night. Beckett never returned to bed. He stayed in the living room, chain-smoking and whispering those rehearsed declarations of love into his phone—all of them for Georgina. He never talked to me like that. When we fought, he never comforted me. He only ever pushed me to the brink of hysterics, then calmly typed: Sylvia, I can’t speak. I can’t comfort you. Even when I was shaking with the flu, delusional with fever, after he’d finally called 911, he still hadn’t uttered a sound. The EMTs had thought it was a prank call, and if not for our neighbor, I might have genuinely died that winter. I gave a self-mocking laugh. It seemed my life was less valuable to him than Georgina’s amusement. Suddenly, the fierce grip of my love felt weaker, brittle. 2 Beckett was up early. For once, he had made a table full of breakfast. He took out a tarnished metal lunchbox we hadn’t used in years, polished it bright, and covered it with little stickers. It was as if nothing had happened the night before. He typed: You’re still sick. I made Pecan and Brown Sugar Oatmeal. I put in extra pecans, just the way you like them. Eat up. I’m going to meet a friend. My spoon froze halfway to the bowl. My heart clenched, a sudden, sharp spasm. I was severely allergic to pecans. Georgina liked pecans. If I wasn’t mistaken, the “friend” he was meeting was at the airport, on the receiving end of his trip. Seeing my hesitation, he gave my head a tender, patronizing rub. What’s wrong? Still no appetite? I looked down, my voice muffled. “I’m fine. You should go.” It didn’t matter anymore. He smiled, then moved past me to retrieve something: a pair of stunning, charcoal cashmere gloves. He carefully wrapped them and tucked them into his bag. I went numb. Weren’t those supposed to be my birthday present? His phone buzzed on the table. Georgina. Don’t forget my gloves! It’s freezing in Crestwood, and a woman’s hands are her second face! My eyes burned with unshed tears. Beckett snatched up his phone and made for the door. “Beckett,” I called out, stopping him. “Do you remember what today is?” He rushed back, bending down to type: I know you’re upset and want me to stay. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. With that, he walked out. Tears dripped, one by one, into my bowl of pecan oatmeal. I finally gave in, burying my face in my hands. It was my birthday. I’d seen those gloves and convinced myself they were for me. I had stared at them for days, afraid to even touch them. I had planned to give him a huge kiss when he presented them, and buy him that expensive goose-down jacket he needed for winter. Everything had been a beautiful mirage. I shouldn’t have hoped. In five years, he had never once remembered my birthday. I held up my hands, covered in chapped, cracked skin from years of cold water and harsh soap. I knew a woman’s hands were her second face, but what choice did I have? If I didn’t wash those dishes, if I didn’t do that brutal labor, we wouldn’t eat, and he couldn’t see his doctors. It wasn’t that Beckett was absentminded. His care and thoughtfulness were simply reserved for others. Our meeting had been dramatic enough for a film. He was a popular radio host then, and he frequented the high-end restaurant where I worked. He claimed he’d fallen for me at first sight. I was deeply insecure and avoided him. Until one night, a drunken client cornered me after my shift. Beckett rushed in and smashed a wine bottle over the man’s head. He spent the night in a police holding cell, emerging the next morning with a goofy smile. “As long as you’re okay,” he typed. My parents died when I was young. For the first time in my life, someone had genuinely cared for me. A tight, protective string deep inside snapped. I accepted his pursuit, and we quickly planned a wedding. Then, on the very day of the ceremony, Beckett was abruptly fired from his job and, hit by the shock, supposedly lost his ability to speak. He fled the altar. For the last five years, I had held no bitterness, believing he was a shattered man. But combined with last night’s phone call, I saw the truth: it had been a calculated performance, a game orchestrated by Beckett and Georgina. The private amusement of the rich and bored, with me as the unsuspecting pawn. I was morbidly curious about the nature of their “agreement.” A fog thickened in my head. As I tipped the bowl of oatmeal into the trash, I noticed a discarded prescription bottle—Atenolol, for phobic speech disorders. I laughed. A bitter, tearing sound. I laughed at my own foolishness, at the futility of my sacrifice. I didn’t want to fight for him. I didn’t want to challenge this. If this was a game, I was withdrawing my piece. Beckett, I don’t want to love you anymore. 3 My landlady called. “Sylvia, rents are going up around here. I’ve only held back because I pity you, dear. The lease expires tomorrow. You see…” I tossed the empty oatmeal bowl into the sink. “I won’t be renewing the lease.” The notification on my phone flashed: Tomorrow morning, 9:00 AM flight to the Opal Coast, the one place I’d always dreamed of visiting but never could afford. This month’s paycheck was due. If I wasn’t paying for Beckett’s non-existent treatment, I had enough saved to make a start. At 5:00 PM, I left for work as usual. After changing into my uniform, my coworker frowned. “Sylvia, your boyfriend is here.” “I thought you said he never left the apartment? How does he have so many friends?” “Also, I thought you two were strapped for cash? How can he afford this kind of exclusive club?” Her words felt like thousands of tiny needles pricking my skin. Just then, the manager called out, “Sylvia, take a bottle of that pricey single-malt up to VIP Suite 8888.” I seized the opportunity to escape, barely hearing my coworker’s hissed, “Hey, your boyfriend is in there!” When I reached the suite, the door was slightly ajar. The room was loud and celebratory. Inside, a woman in a dazzling gown and a diamond tiara looked every inch the princess. That had to be Georgina. The man in the center of the room, his eyes fixed on her, was singing “Happy Birthday.” It was Georgina’s birthday, too. His singing voice was soft, rich, and achingly beautiful. If that man wasn’t Beckett, I might have genuinely felt happy for them. When he finished, a round of applause broke out. “Thorne,” one of the men slurred, “you are a goddamn legend. To test your devotion, Gigi asks you to chase a waitress, you do it. She asks you to run from your own wedding, you do it. She asks you to fake being a mute pauper for five years, and you endure it.” “Now that Gigi’s back, your true feelings are clear. When’s the wedding?” “When are you finally dumping that chick?” The agreement was far more sickening than I’d imagined. They had played with a human life, high and mighty. I was just the fool who took it seriously. Beckett took a swig of scotch, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “Not yet,” he said. “She’s so dependent on me, so completely in love. I just worry about what she’ll do.” I smiled and wiped a solitary tear. That was the old me, Beckett. Now, I despise you. I knocked and entered. The room instantly fell silent. Someone nudged Beckett’s arm. As his gaze snagged on my uniform, a rare panic crossed his face. I kept my eyes down, placing the bottle on the table. I spoke softly. “The scotch is here. Enjoy your evening. Call if you need anything else.” Beckett rushed toward me. Our eyes met. He slowly reached up and traced the edge of my eye. “Crying?” His first words to me in five years. I turned my face away. “I’m fine. Just enjoy your party.” I backed out and closed the door, leaving behind a room full of stunned, silent faces. Beckett didn’t chase me. The silence lasted maybe a second. Then the laughter and noise started up again. I was, truly, insignificant. Not even a footnote. 4 Beckett and his friends partied late. At 2:00 AM, my manager insisted I go home, concerned about my health. I walked in the door, and Beckett followed right behind. He was carrying a crushed, discarded cake box, still bearing smudges of pink icing. “It was Georgina’s birthday cake. They barely touched it, so I brought the rest home for you,” he typed. I know you love sweets. Was I supposed to commend him for his thoughtfulness? He offered no words, no explanations. He seemed certain that no matter what he did, I would forgive him. I thought about asking him if he remembered that it was my birthday, too, but then decided against it. It was pointless. We wouldn’t see each other again anyway. I murmured an “Okay,” and went to the closet to pack my clothes. The small wardrobe held only a few items of mine: a thin, polyester coat and a couple of pilled sweaters. That’s how I had survived five winters. What are you doing? he typed, suddenly behind me. I stopped. Let it go. I’d buy new ones. “Nothing. Just looking for a sweater.” Beckett smiled and took my hand. Don’t worry about it. You have tomorrow off. I’ll take you out. We can buy a whole new wardrobe. Before I could reply, his phone rang. I saw the caller ID: Georgina. He turned away and answered, his voice dripping with affection. “You want to see me? Okay. I’ll be right there.” He didn’t even try to hide it. He walked toward the door without hesitation. “You should sleep. Don’t wait up.” A sudden, overwhelming impulse seized me. “Beckett,” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Do you love me?” His expression faltered. He only typed: What is wrong with you? Tears burst forth. All the suppressed humiliation, the exhaustion, the pain—it erupted in great, wracking sobs. I clung to his arm, pleading over and over: “Beckett, just say you love me. Please. Just one time.” Please, I thought. Just let me win this one thing. But slowly, agonizingly, he pulled my hands off his arm. He typed: I’m sorry. I’ve just started talking again. I’m still struggling with certain sounds. Then, he walked out without looking back. I stayed on the floor, crying until my eyes were swollen shut and I had no more tears left. When the sun finally rose, I gathered my documents. I took one last, long look at the small, suffocating apartment, and then I left. 8:30 AM. Thirty minutes until my flight. A message from Beckett popped up. Where are you? Overtime again? I’m better now. You don’t have to work so hard. I remember you love the sourdough toast from the bistro on East Street. I picked some up. I didn’t reply. At 8:50, he sent a photo of a small, perfect chocolate cake. You didn’t touch the cake last night. You probably didn’t like it. I bought you a new one. Should I pick you up after your shift? At 8:55 AM, I typed my reply. Beckett, yesterday was my birthday, too. I know about the agreement between you and Georgina. I know all your secrets. We’re done. I’m leaving. Then, I powered down the phone. The plane began its slow taxi and takeoff. I looked out the window as a final tear slipped down my cheek. Beckett, goodbye forever.

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One hour before the live broadcast of the New Year’s Eve Countdown Gala (NECC), I found out I was being orchestrated, not directed. My entire world—my fiancé, my mentor, my star talent—was a lie, and they were all in on it. My fiancé, Ryan Holloway, texted me: “Quinn, Daisy is broken. You need to fix this and apologize. Otherwise, the anchor spot is a ghost town.” The call came from my trusted mentor, Charles Langdon: “Little Q, don’t be a martyr. Is one intern worth blowing up your career? Just bring her back.” Then, the ultimatum from the A-lister, Beckett Stone, was pure arrogance: “No opening number from me, no show. You want to see the ratings crater? Get on your knees and apologize to Daisy. Maybe then I’ll walk on stage.” All of this, because yesterday I fired an intern named Daisy Miller for stealing the NECC’s Master Rundown. My father, Victor Callahan, the Deputy Director of the Network, finally called, his voice a contained roar: “Quinn, for God’s sake, put the network first! Swallow your ego. Will one apology kill you?” I hung up, clipped the master headset over my hair, the silence a heavy blanket over the empty theater. “All departments, listen up. Initiate Plan B.” “Audio, push my microphone to the limit.” “Control Room, when the countdown hits zero, give me a tight close-up.” “Tonight’s Countdown Gala, I’m taking the stage.” 1 Victor Callahan’s fury pierced through the secure channel. “Quinn! Are you insane? You’re going on air yourself? You’re treating a national broadcast like a joke!” “Twenty seconds.” “Quinn! I am ordering you! Get Ryan back on that set immediately! Beg, if you have to!” “Do you have any idea what’s happening on social media? #NECCAnchorMissing is trending number one! You’re going to ruin the network’s reputation, everything we’ve worked for!” I muted his channel. The world instantly went quiet. “T-minus ten seconds.” “Nine.” “Eight.” I looked at the empty space in the center of the stage, the spot reserved for my fiancé of five years. He was supposed to be there, wearing the custom-tailored tuxedo I had chosen, giving me that practiced, gentle smile. “Seven.” “Six.” My phone screen flared with notifications. First, Charles Langdon. “Little Q, pull back! You can still save this!” Then, Beckett Stone. “Quinn, don’t be an idiot! Without me, this is a punchline!” Finally, Ryan. “Q, babe, stop the drama, come to the green room. We can talk. Daisy really knows she messed up.” They didn’t even bother to call back. They were that certain of my defeat. “Five.” “Four.” I flipped my phone face-down on the control console. The screen went dark. In the green room, Ryan was frowning, staring at his silent phone. Daisy’s eyes welled up again. “Ryan, maybe I went too far… Is Director Callahan really that mad? Should I… should I go apologize?” Charles Langdon took a slow sip of tea. “Relax, Daisy. I know that girl’s temper. All bark, no bite. She’s just playing tough. Give it ten minutes, and she’ll be begging us to come back.” Beckett Stone scrolled through his phone, a smirk playing on his lips. “Begging? She better hurry. Five more minutes and my fans will crash the network’s homepage.” Ryan patted Daisy’s hand with certainty. “Charles is right. She can’t handle this alone. We wait.” He looked smugly at the television screen, utterly convinced I was about to appear before him in a desperate, broken state. “Three.” “Two.” “One!” Brilliant digital fireworks exploded across the studio’s massive LED screen. The electrifying opening theme began right on cue. But the center stage remained empty. In the Executive Suite, Victor Callahan closed his eyes in utter despair. The live stream exploded with questions and ridicule. WHERE IS EVERYONE? HOST SLEPT IN? LOL, BIGGEST BROADCAST FAIL EVER. NO ANCHOR. Quinn Callahan needs to resign! How dare she screw up the NECC! Just then, a single spotlight slammed onto the stage-left shadows. I stepped out, sharp in a power-red suit, and walked deliberately toward the center mark. 2 “Good evening, everyone, and Happy New Year!” My voice, clear and commanding, soared through the microphone and into millions of homes. WAIT, WHAT??? THAT’S QUINN CALLAHAN, THE DIRECTOR??? How is SHE on stage? Where’s Ryan? NGL, she has ten times the presence Ryan Holloway does! In the green room, Beckett Stone’s coffee splashed onto Daisy. “How dare she! How dare she actually go on stage!” Charles Langdon’s face, too, was a portrait of disbelief—this wasn’t the compliant, smart student he remembered. Ryan Holloway’s face was bloodless. He knew exactly what it cost me to get him on that stage. Three years ago, Ryan was a regional anchor nobody had heard of. I was the one who pulled every string, burned every favor, and leveraged my entire network to push him toward the spotlight. I custom-built segments for him, fought for his exposure, and even went head-to-head with competing producers. He had held my hands and promised, sincerely: “Q, you’re my break, my angel, my everything. I’m yours for life.” Now, he was turning on me for an intern, Daisy Miller, who’d been at the network for two months. Yesterday, I caught her using her phone to photograph the core production bible—the final, detailed schedule and contingency plan—the kind of document that, if leaked, could be disastrous for the entire network. I confiscated her intern badge on the spot and told her to leave immediately. I thought that was the end of it. But an hour later, Ryan, Charles, and Beckett were in my office, with Daisy shielded behind them. Ryan was utterly self-righteous. “Quinn, what gives you the right to fire Daisy? She’s just a fan, a kid who wanted to study your work!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Study? Ryan, look closer. This is corporate espionage! It’s stealing!” “Don’t be so dramatic!” Beckett sneered, arms crossed. “It’s a piece of paper, Callahan. Why the high-and-mighty act? I think you’re just jealous of Daisy’s talent.” I was shaking, turning to the man I respected most. “Charles, you agree with this?” Charles Langdon adjusted his glasses. “Little Q, let’s keep the peace. Give the kid a break, and give yourself some cover. You were too rigid. This one’s on you.” In that moment, I saw the three most important men in my life stand united, speaking in perfect, synchronized defense of a woman they’d known for less than two months, all while pointing the finger at me. The scaffolding of my world disintegrated. Not with a bang, but with the cold, silent realization of my utter expendability. On stage, I finished my opening remarks to polite, measured applause. I smiled flawlessly into the camera. “And now, please welcome the performers for our opening dance number!” The music suddenly shifted. Ryan Holloway’s eyes narrowed. “No… that’s not Beckett’s track.” 3 The green room door burst open, and Victor Callahan’s nervous assistant rushed in, breathless. “Mr. Holloway! Director Langdon! Mr. Stone! What are you doing here?” He saw the three men lounging, then glanced frantically at the TV where a dance number was already underway. He looked like he was about to cry. “The Deputy Director wants you at the ready! Director Callahan… she’s initiated Plan B!” Beckett Stone grabbed the assistant’s lapel, his eyes red with rage. “Plan B? What the hell is Plan B! My dance was the opening! Who are those people on stage?” On the screen, a group of young dancers, dressed in simple rehearsal clothes, were performing a powerful fusion of classical and hip-hop. There were no flashy costumes, no dazzling effects. The raw, explosive life force of their movement instantly captivated the entire room. The assistant stammered, terrified. “I… I don’t know! Director Callahan started prepping this a year ago. Nobody knew the details… only that it existed…” “A year ago?” Charles Langdon, the Network’s Art Director, was utterly blindsided. He immediately called my private number. “Quinn! What the hell are you doing! You replaced Beckett’s number? Do you know what the ramifications are?” I looked at his distorted, enraged face on the control room monitor and spoke calmly. “Charles, I know exactly what it means. It means the stage of the New Year’s Eve Countdown Gala does not close because of any one person’s absence.” “You!” “Didn’t you teach me to keep the peace and have cover? I’m creating my own cover right now.” “You’re doing this for revenge! You’re destroying yourself!” “Destroying? No. I’m saving my own life. I was backed into this corner by certain people.” I hung up. Daisy whimpered, “Director Langdon… this is my fault… if I hadn’t…” “Shut up!” Beckett snapped, rubbing his temples. “What good is that now?” He couldn’t grasp why the woman who always treated him like a god, who always obeyed, would defy him. When the dance ended and the studio erupted in deafening applause, Ryan Holloway knew he had lost the first round. My stage presence and control surpassed all expectations. The transitions were seamless, the dialogue was witty, and I even managed to pull off some sharp, unscripted banter with the live audience. That’s when Victor Callahan’s call went straight to Ryan’s personal cell. “Ryan, you get your ass to the studio floor right now. I don’t care how you do it, take that microphone back from Quinn.” “Mr. Callahan, you mean…” “I mean, Quinn is out of control. If she keeps this up, the whole network goes down! You always said she listened to you. Now, prove it. Make her admit on national television that she was out of her depth, and then let you rescue the show!” “You want her to… publicly surrender?” “Yes! It’s your last chance, and the only way she can save face for the network!” Ryan hung up and looked at Charles and Beckett. Charles Langdon immediately understood Victor’s strategy. “It’s brilliant! The ultimate power move! If you walk back on that stage live, it proves she failed and we are indispensable. The narrative will instantly flip!” Beckett grinned. “Let’s go! I want to watch her cry and beg you to take over!” Ryan took a deep breath and straightened his tuxedo. You can be brilliant, Quinn, but so what? You love me. That was his ultimate power. He was certain that the second he appeared, all my strength would crumble. 4 I had just finished introducing the next segment. “Home is the smallest country, and country is the largest home. In the American heart, patriotism and community are intertwined. Next, let’s look at this year’s Hometown Heroes—a look at the extraordinary in the ordinary.” This was a fixed, emotional segment—a pre-recorded video package that allowed the host a few minutes to step off stage. I was heading to the wings when a commotion broke out near the backstage entrance. Ryan Holloway, Charles Langdon, and Beckett Stone appeared, walking abreast. Trailing behind them was a visibly teary-eyed Daisy Miller. The floor cameras quickly picked them up, and a few lenses swiveled their way. A low buzz of chatter rippled through the audience. In the Control Room, Victor Callahan was screaming into my earpiece. “Quinn! They’re here! Do what I told you! Give the stage to Ryan! Now!” I stopped, looking at them. Ryan stood before me in the tuxedo I’d chosen, handsome and tall. He held out his hand, for all the cameras and all the viewers to see. “Q, babe, that’s enough. Come back to me.” His voice, broadcast through my open mic, was clear. WTF is happening? Ryan’s here! He said ‘stop playing games’? So she was throwing a fit? Knew it. A director can’t handle a live broadcast. Ryan Holloway to the rescue! Beckett and Charles stood a few feet away, their faces showing unconcealed smugness. Daisy hid behind them, looking at me like a victorious, sorry little queen. Seeing my silence, Ryan stepped closer, his voice turning even softer and more patronizing. “I know you’re mad, and I was wrong to upset you. But this is live, and the whole country is watching. Be a good girl, hand me the mic, and take a break. Okay?” “We can talk about this when we get home.” I slowly raised my other hand toward the Control Room, making a specific, familiar hand gesture—the one only my Plan B team understood. Ryan’s smile stiffened, a flicker of unease in his eyes. “Quinn, are you…” My voice cut across the stage, amplified by the mic. “Control Room, prepare to roll the Hometown Heroes segment.” Ryan sighed, relieved. He thought I’d backed down. “That’s my girl…” The very next second, my voice rose again, cold and final. “Cut the planned segment. Play Backup Zero, Tape I.D. 00 on the main screen.” In the Control Room, Victor Callahan shot up, gasping into his mic. “Zero Tape?! What the hell is that! Don’t touch it! Nobody move!” But it was too late. The Plan B team only answered to one director. The colossal LED screen at the center of the studio went instantly dark. Then, a segment of ultra-clear, time-stamped security footage filled the view of the entire nation.

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My sister, Zara, is a total wreck in love. I, Chase, am a wreck for my sister. She went after the Hawthorne family scion, Gideon. Naturally, I went after his older sister, the ice-queen CEO, Quinn Callaghan. Guess which one of us actually sealed the deal? Not Zara. Worse, Gideon fell for Zara’s sworn enemy. To save my sister’s sanity, I ghosted Quinn—the most powerful woman I’d ever met. Then, in a glorious, tear-soaked mess, Gideon dragged us both back to his mansion. “I’ll marry Zara if you marry Quinn,” he sobbed, his voice cracking. “I cannot listen to her sing the ‘I Will Survive’ version of ‘Wrecking Ball’ in the shower one more time.” Me: What the actual hell? 1. When Zara started college, she instantly fell for a fellow freshman. Later, I learned he was Gideon Hawthorne—the Golden Boy, the heir, brilliant, and unfairly good-looking. I told Zara he was out of her league. Zara told me I didn’t know crap. So, Zara spent the next four years relentlessly pursuing Gideon. She was relentless, and she was humiliatingly unsuccessful. They went on countless dates, had meals together, but Gideon never once agreed to be official. To everyone else, my sister was just the ultimate simp. I called her a love-brained idiot, and she cried, saying she was proud to be one. What was I supposed to do? We’ve always been a package deal. Since our parents passed, the sharks—our distant relatives—had been circling, ready to tear the company apart. Zara took the initial hit. She worked around the clock, endured endless, sleazy dinners, and even landed in the ER just to keep me safe and the company intact. She protected me so well that, in my eyes, everything she did was right. And if her heart finally landed on an unattainable ideal, I had to swallow my cynicism and cheer her on. Until Gideon graduated and announced he was heading abroad for a two-year stint of self-discovery. By then, I’d already taken over the reins of our company. I was far better suited to business than Zara, but even with my talent, it took a brutal amount of political maneuvering to finally win the board’s respect. The day Zara heard the news, she—the one person I’d never seen truly break—drank herself into alcohol poisoning and ended up in the hospital. I rushed from the office, pure, protective fury surging through me. I burst into her room, and she was mid-pull, trying to rip her IV out. “I’m done,” she whispered, eyes vacant. “How could he abandon me?” My temple throbbed. I grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a sharp, violent shake. “He went abroad, he didn’t die! Do you not have a passport? Are you suddenly broke? Can you not follow him?” Zara froze. “Oh. Right! Get me my phone! I need a plane ticket!” I handed it over. She frantically scrolled through her messages with Gideon, and the excitement drained away, replaced by deep anxiety. “Two days ago… I saw this girl propose to him, and he hesitated when he turned her down. I got so mad, I blocked him. I kept texting him after, but he never replied. I called him, but…” I felt my eye twitch. “So, let me get this straight. You have no idea where in the world he actually went?” Zara nodded miserably. “God, Zara.” I resisted the urge to scream. “Fine. I’ll get someone to track him down. Now, stop drinking. You don’t want to meet your future brother-in-law with liver damage.” The word “brother-in-law” made her smile, and the drama subsided. She finally rested, sleeping soundly. I, however, sank into a cold silence, staring at the text from my private investigator. “Mr. Maxwell, Mr. Hawthorne’s sister has completely obscured his trail. We can’t find a trace.” Gideon’s sister? That had to be Quinn Callaghan. The legendary CEO. Rumor had it she’d cracked the Forbes list before her thirtieth birthday. It was sickening. The Eastons and the Hawthornes weren’t in the same industry, so I didn’t know her, had never met her. But if she was actively hiding her brother, I was screwed. What Quinn Callaghan decided to keep locked down, stayed locked down. If I told Zara this, she’d be back to the IV-pulling drama. My head ached just thinking about it. The next day, I sent an assistant to negotiate with Quinn. He came back trembling. “Mr. Maxwell, Ms. Callaghan said…” “Said what?” “She said she would absolutely never hand her brother over to a ‘useless, emotional wreck of a woman,’ and that we should forget about it.” 2. I was incandescent with rage. How dare she talk about my sister like that? Zara might be a sap, a bit of a crybaby, and absolutely terrible at business, but she had a heart of gold. Quinn Callaghan. That insult was a declaration of war. Negotiation failed. My next move should have been financial—a tempting business deal. But looking at the project’s profit margins, I decided Zara’s happiness, while important, wasn’t worth forfeiting millions. So, I went with the classic: a charm offensive. I hired several attractive men and women from a talent agency. Who doesn’t love a beautiful person? A few days later, they all came back, weeping and hysterical. “Mr. Maxwell, Quinn Callaghan is a monster! On our first day, she made us run fifty laps around the campus before the morning meeting!” Enough. I decided to take the mission myself. I told Zara the new plan. “You handle the company for a few weeks. I’m going to go seduce her.” Zara looked stunned. “Seriously? Sounds like you just made up an excuse to skip work.” I gave her a fake, saccharine smile. “Say that again and I’ll tell you she’s right.” Zara’s lips started to tremble, a storm brewing in her eyes. “Please, Chase,” she whimpered. “You have to succeed. If I don’t marry Gideon, I swear I’ll join a convent.” “Don’t worry. I’m more invested in this than you are.” I successfully snuck in, applying as a regular college graduate and passing the impossible series of interviews to land an internship at the Callaghan Group. I had to admit, the massive corporation lived up to its reputation; even the intern pay was excellent. But after a week of running errands, I hadn’t even seen Quinn, let alone figured out how to seduce her. Frustrated, I decided to take the executive elevator right up to the penthouse and demand a face-to-face. The doors slid open, and there she was. Quinn Callaghan. My expression soured. Hers did, too. I spoke first. “Ms. Callaghan, I need a word.” “Do you want to be fired before you even start?” In the vast, silent CEO’s office, I threw the ledger I’d been secretly compiling for the last week onto her polished mahogany desk. My professional habits kicked in despite my mission—I couldn’t help but investigate the suspicious entries I’d noticed. The person bleeding the company dry was quickly exposed, and I instantly became Quinn’s right-hand man. She promoted me. I was now a high-level executive at the Callaghan Group, the kind of person lower-tier employees had to butter up. This was the exact opposite of my goal; I didn’t want to be chained to another major corporation. However, it was also exactly what I needed: Quinn’s complete trust. She even started bringing me along to elite social functions, like the industry gala tonight. I was wearing my cheapest off-the-rack suit, shadowing my new boss, Quinn, when I ran into Zara—a bizarre, utterly localized clash of worlds. Quinn clearly couldn’t stand my sister. The moment she saw Zara, she recoiled, ice radiating off her. Zara tried to chat her up, but Quinn just stood there, silently stone-faced. My fists tightened. Why was she so rude to Zara? Zara caught sight of me and immediately started to cry, only stopping because I gave her a sharp, threatening glare. At the dinner table, the two of them entered into a silent, ridiculous drinking contest. They were glass-for-glass, and even people coming to toast Quinn were giving them a wide berth. Quinn got drunk. Zara got completely hammered. The alcohol gave Zara a massive, reckless surge of courage. She stood up and raised her glass to Quinn. “To you, sis! May your company crush the competition!” Quinn simply lowered her chin, her eyes narrowing. “Who are you calling ‘sis’? I don’t have a weepy little sister-in-law.” Zara’s resolve shattered. Tears immediately welled up. I grabbed two full glasses, walked over, and, making sure no one was watching, pulled Zara’s hand and dragged her out a side door. “Stop crying! You’re weeping away all your good karma!” Zara hiccuped. “But I haven’t seen Gideon in thirty-five days! You promised when you had her wrapped around your finger—” I clamped a hand over her mouth. “Quinn is right over there. If she hears that, we’re both screwed.” “Okay. But I really miss Gideon.” “What are you two doing?” 3. The voice hit me like a thunderclap. I almost passed out. I slowly, stiffly turned around. Quinn was standing there, watching us with a chillingly cold expression. “I asked, what are you doing?” she repeated. I finally gathered my wits and snatched my hand back from Zara. “I was scolding her, Boss. Who does she think she is, talking to you like that? I was infuriated on your behalf.” Zara nodded along frantically. Quinn’s gaze moved back and forth between us, sharp and analyzing. Something must have clicked in her mind, because her face turned even colder. “Chase, get over here.” For the first time, I was grateful that Zara and I had different last names—hers from Mom, mine from Dad. I scuttled over, head down, while Zara looked at me with a bewildered, betrayed expression. Quinn grabbed my arm and pulled me into a deserted, silent corner. I kept glancing back, giving Zara the ‘I’m fine’ signal. Quinn’s grip tightened, and my arm pulsed with a dull ache. The scent of alcohol wasn’t strong on her, but her face was flushed, and the look in her eyes was terrifying. I was too afraid to speak. What if she knew the truth about Zara and me? “Chase, you like her?” I lifted my head, utterly shocked. What the hell was she talking about? Seeing my silence, Quinn seemed to confirm her suspicion. “Don’t like her. She’s in love with my brother. It’s never going to happen.” I was not into some weird sibling love-triangle fantasy. I shook my head violently. “No! I don’t like her!” Quinn’s expression immediately softened, the tension easing out of her shoulders. “Really? You looked awfully close just now. When did you two become friends?” “Honestly, Boss, I just heard she liked Gideon, so I made it my mission to get close to her and talk her out of it.” “That’s good. I was actually planning on calling my brother home, but since you don’t like her, maybe—” “Wait! Actually, I do like her.” I smiled the smile of a man facing the gallows. For Zara’s future, I had to double down. Quinn’s face darkened again. “Chase, are you playing games with me?” I put on my most pathetic, wounded expression. “The truth is, I’ve liked her for a while, but I know she’s obsessed with your brother. That’s why I got close to you.” Quinn just stared. I poured on the dramatics. “Could you just tell me where your brother is? I just want to see him once, secretly, to understand what kind of man could capture her heart completely.” She remained silent. I kept the tragic look on full display. Finally, Quinn sighed, a long, weary sound. “Fine. I’ll give you the address. But when you get back, you have to stop liking her. Do you hear me?” Her gaze was deadly serious. I nodded immediately. “You have my word, Boss. I definitely won’t like her anymore.” Because I never had. Quinn believed me. 4. With Gideon’s address secured, I embarked on the voyage of helping my sister find true love. Zara was ecstatic, vibrating with anticipation. She asked me, “How do you think it’ll go if I re-propose to him right there?” I nodded thoughtfully. “I think proposing in the dead of winter is smart. Your nose will be bright red, you’ll look like a frantic clown, and when he turns you down, you can at least tell yourself you have an interesting life story.” Zara sniffed. “Gideon likes me. You just don’t get it!” Fine. I didn’t get it. I just wanted Zara to be happy. Through the massive window of the music conservatory, Zara’s smile froze solid. Gideon was inside, playing a four-hand piano piece with a girl. It was Tamsin Reed—Zara’s absolute, most hated enemy. Their legendary brawl in college had become campus lore. Tamsin looked up and smirked. “Well, well, Zara Easton. Fancy meeting you here.” Zara looked like she’d been struck by lightning. She charged inside. “Gideon Hawthorne, how could you do this to me?” Gideon frowned at her. “I never gave you any indication that I loved you. Why did you chase me all the way here?” My blood pressure spiked. I rushed forward and, without a moment’s hesitation, slapped Tamsin across the face. Twice. Some people just need a reminder. Tamsin covered her cheek. “What the hell, Chase Maxwell! I didn’t even say anything to you!” “I’ll hit you when I want to. Does it need to be Tuesday?” Gideon’s eyes filled with tears. “Zara,” he choked out. “You never actually liked me. You just chased me for four years. Were you trying to humiliate me?” Zara was beyond confused. “I don’t like you? Which eye are you using to see that?” “Both of them!” …I was watching two emotional toddlers squabble. The fight ended with Gideon slamming a door and storming out. Zara was shattered. “How could he possibly think I don’t love him?” Seeing her so devastated, I finally broke. I pulled out my phone and immediately resigned from the Callaghan Group. My phone instantly blew up with calls from Quinn. I ignored every single one. “Come on! We’re drinking till we can’t remember our names!” I dragged Zara to the most infamous bar in the city. I was blacked out by midnight. When I woke up, I was completely tied down. The room was silent and empty. Had some rival company kidnapped me and Zara? But I’d bankrupted all our serious rivals. Where would they get the cash for an international snatch-and-grab? I frowned, trying to twist my neck. I couldn’t move. The bindings were professional. My ancestors would be impressed. I decided to conserve energy. I looked around and realized I was back in the States, or maybe even domestic territory; no criminal safe house would have this kind of antique furniture. I took a deep breath. “…I’m screwed.” If this was a typical kidnapping, it would be about ransom. But the atmosphere felt different. My feet were also tied. After a moment of silence, I finally called out, “Hello? Is anyone here?” No answer. I strained against the rope again. It didn’t budge, but the sound was muffled by the soft velvet headboard. I rolled my eyes. Even the kidnapper was polite enough to pad the furniture. Footsteps sounded outside, and the door was pushed open. “Don’t bother struggling. I’m not letting you go.” Gideon stood there, his face streaked with tears. “You kidnapped me. Why are you crying?” I tried to reason with him. “How about you untie me, and we talk this out like adults?” Gideon shook his head adamantly. “My sister said you’re a slippery fox. You’ll be gone the second I look away.” I chuckled. “Your sister thinks highly of me.” We fell into a stalemate. After a while, he wiped his nose. “Aren’t you going to ask why I tied you up?” “You want me to get Zara off your back, so you need my help?” To my surprise, Gideon shook his head. “She doesn’t love me at all. She loves my older cousin. But my cousin got married, so Zara just used me as a consolation prize! A stand-in!” I was stunned. “No way. That’s impossible.” Gideon gritted his teeth. “It’s true! I saw her with my own eyes. She was holding a bouquet of roses and standing right next to my cousin. How could that be fake?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389893”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel