It was the ninth year of our ‘thing,’ and Ethan announced his engagement. I hadn’t even had a chance to ask for my severance pay yet, when he sent a super long message, basically saying: You’re too low-class for my family. Staring at the screen full of his SnapChat messages and a string of sixty-second voice notes, a giant question mark floated above my head. Wait, I just treated you like an ATM. You actually thought it was real? Ethan must have binged too many rom-coms to think that. I came to that conclusion after professionally reading all thirty-seven of his messages. Otherwise, it’s hard to explain why he’d think I had any feelings for him beyond his money. Of course, I’m not some cold-blooded creature. Feelings? Yeah, I’d had them before. In college, I was the one who pursued him. He was the campus superstar, smart, artistic, and most importantly, his hands were gorgeous. Long fingers, clearly defined knuckles, perfectly rounded nails, a healthy, rosy pink. I’m a hopeless hand-fetishist. And those gorgeous hands came with a clean-cut face and a 6’1″ frame. I was practically drooling. Even if he had a mouth full of venom, I put up with his snarky comments and chased him for three years. Who hasn’t done something stupid when they were young? Things took a turn two days before our senior year internship. As student body president, he was leading us on an investor pitch. A beefy, square-built investor, Mr. Biggs, clearly liked what he saw. He brought out all sorts of booze, obviously planning to get Ethan wasted and take advantage. Watching Ethan choke on his drinks, tears in his red-rimmed eyes, I don’t know where I found the guts, but I grabbed a bottle and smashed it over Mr. Biggs’ head. My college sports elective was shot put, by the way. That ‘fun’ night landed me a trip to the police station. I finally got out when Ethan’s impeccably dressed butler came to pick him up, and I was just… brought along. It was late summer, early fall. The night breeze was cool, blowing away some of the alcohol fumes, and also my courage. After a few steps, my legs gave out, and I stumbled to the ground. God, for someone who’d been a straight-A, rule-following good girl for eighteen years, a police station visit was a huge deal. This time, Ethan didn’t just walk away. He stood under the streetlamp, silhouetted against the light. I couldn’t see his expression. But I still remember what he said. “Skylar, I don’t like owing people favors. Whatever you want, I’ll try my best to give it to you, except for…” Before he could finish, I stumbled forward to grab his hand. In my mind, I was supposed to grab his hand with teary eyes, crying out dramatically, “Besides you, I want nothing at all!” But I forgot about my jelly legs. My attempt to grab his hand turned into a desperate tug on his jacket, and the momentum pulled him into my arms, slamming him against the streetlamp. He braced himself over me, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth, so close I could count his eyelashes. His clean scent filled my senses, warm and dizzying, making my heart pound. He must have been stunned, not reacting immediately. When he turned his head, his lips landed squarely on mine. “Master Ethan!” Ethan’s impeccably dressed butler let out a high-pitched shriek. It was hard to believe such a dainty sound could come from a six-foot-three, bearded man. And just like that, I became Ethan’s ‘girlfriend.’ At least, in my mind, I was his girlfriend. And I became the poster child for the gold-digger who snagged a rich heir. Back then, everyone had something to say. Calling me a manipulative user, a pathetic hanger-on. I just tuned out the haters and kept enjoying my ‘sweet’ time with Ethan. Even if I shared my daily life in long essays and he only responded with a single “K”; Even if I saved up to buy him gifts, and he’d just toss them on the table, still wrapped; Even if I wasn’t feeling well and wanted to say no, but seeing his displeased frown, I’d force myself to endure his touch, only for him to find me boring and leave me alone at the hotel… None of that mattered to me. When you’re blinded by love, a hot guy gets a pass. Until I landed an offer from a major corporation, with a bright future ahead of me. I couldn’t wait to share the good news with him. But he didn’t even look up, eyes fixed on his computer screen, his finely articulated fingers tapping on the keyboard, each click like a hammer blow to my heart. “With your degree, getting into my family’s company would be tough.” “But you’ve been decent this past year, not too ambitious.” “So, I’ll arrange for you to join my company. The marketing department is crucial, and with my connections, no one will bother you.” “Do a good job, and I won’t shortchange you.” His tone was exactly like a boss using PUA tactics on an employee. But my young, love-struck brain didn’t catch on to his manipulation. Instead, I thought he was about to end things, and I panicked. I was pretty reckless back then, too, demanding like some heartbroken movie character: “What am I to you, really?”

He gave me a cold, condescending look, saying nothing, yet saying everything. In the end, he just walked away, and I cried so hard my hands shook. I didn’t dare truly offend him. He wasn’t wrong about one thing: good jobs are hard to come by. And a good job with connections? Even harder. Reality bites, and not using the connections I had would be plain stupid. I mourned my shattered romantic illusions for one night, then dutifully reported for work the next day. Others asked me: What’s your relationship with Mr. Ethan? I swept up the last remnants of my shattered romantic illusions and simply said, “We’re alumni.” Ethan was pleased with that answer and took even better care of me. He took care of me so well, it eventually led to the bedroom. It wasn’t complicated. Ethan’s ‘one that got away’ got divorced. Ethan gleefully went after her, only to ‘happily’ get the shocking news that she’d remarried her ex and was expecting their third child. He got absolutely wasted. The next day was a crucial meeting with investors. If that deal didn’t go through, the entire team’s bonuses were gone. Watching our massive bonuses evaporate, everyone in the group was tearing their hair out. As ‘Ethan’s connection,’ I was, of course, chosen to go ‘talk sense into him.’ I admit, when Ethan hugged me tight, his eyes misty with tears, I still felt a despicable flutter in my heart. Five years, from eighteen to twenty-three, weren’t something you could just forget. He held me so tight, as if he wanted to crush my bones. Big, heavy tears landed on my shoulder, and his gasps mingled with my own as our mouths found each other. Tears are a man’s best beauty treatment. Male beauty was just too tempting. I couldn’t resist, and I indulged completely. When he called out his first love’s name in my ear, I choked him. His eyes were bloodshot, and he pushed hard into me, grinding his hips. I was so into it, I even slapped him a few times, watching him gasp and plead. I honestly didn’t even care that he was calling out another woman’s name. The next day, I was woken by a splash of cold water. Ethan silently put on his suit, casually tossing me a freshly delivered, clean business suit to replace yesterday’s, which was… covered in unidentified liquids. He buttoned the last button, then pointed to the bedside table. All the documents were already neatly arranged there. “If I don’t see you in half an hour, don’t bother coming in tomorrow.” I jolted awake. Ignoring the bruises and bite marks he’d left on my legs, I quickly got ready, enduring the discomfort to stand by his side all day. Ethan didn’t spare me a single glance the entire time. It wasn’t until after work, when I couldn’t hold on anymore and wanted to go home and rest, that he suddenly called out to me. “Skylar.” My familiar name sounded foreign coming from him. His eyes had reverted to how they looked that night in our senior year—chillingly indifferent. “I always thought you were smart, honest, and knew your place.” His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, his finely articulated hands making me distracted. “But yesterday… I hope you understand one thing.” “A small slip-up between adults, as long as it’s consensual, isn’t something to be morally judged.” Jerk. That word popped into my head, but I kept my polite smile. “I hope we maintain a purely superior-subordinate relationship at the company.” Ha. My fists were clenched so tight. If I could, I would’ve repeated my ‘heroic’ act from when Mr. Biggs was trying to get him wasted. But reality bites, and my connections still depended on him. I nodded at him. “Okay, Mr. Ethan.” He was still rambling on, then paused, choked for a second when he heard me, and stared at me with a strange expression. I rolled my eyes internally. What are you staring at? Never seen a gorgeous woman before? My future hung on him right now. I’d be insane to pick a fight. Perhaps my docile obedience pleased him, because after that deal closed, my bonus was five times what others got. All those zeros… I thought that kind of money only existed in Hollywood movies. So, all his dirty talk? My brain just translated it to: “Want Daddy’s fat balance to fill your bank account?” Yes, I did. More than anything. From then on, Ethan and I maintained this purely ‘consensual adult’ relationship. From twenty-three to twenty-seven, my promotion speed was much faster than most. As a highly ‘professional’ and ‘consensual’ subordinate, I naturally met all my boss’s needs. I even went above and beyond, always available, and kept him utterly satisfied.

For that, he even magnanimously allowed me to pick up documents at his house. Oh, no thanks. I politely declined. Being a good ‘consensual subordinate’ requires boundaries. Back then, I cherished my position. And the string of zeros on my paycheck. Sometimes Ethan would go crazy and make all sorts of unreasonable demands, but for the sake of my bank balance, I could endure it. Of course, enduring for too long without release would turn anyone into a lunatic. That’s when Liam crashed into my world. I had just pulled two all-nighters working overtime with Ethan at the company. I was angrier than a pissed-off banshee. It’s a known fact that when people are angry, they do impulsive things. My impulsive act was a ‘weekend warrior’ trip – an intense, last-minute climb up Mount Rainier. To make sure I didn’t get stuck, I hired eight college-aged guides, telling them if I couldn’t make it, they’d have to carry me. Liam was the most emotionally intelligent of the eight. The other guys kept subtly hinting for more cash. Only Liam didn’t show such strong mercenary intentions. He was sweet-talker, actively bought water and snacks, and carried me up without asking for extra pay. After reaching the summit and watching the sunrise, I spent half an hour venting my frustrations about Ethan. Liam just stayed by my side, not bothering with the other guys yelling at him to come down for more gigs. He looked at me, his slightly downturned eyes gentle, like a puppy’s. On a whim, I stroked his chin, thinking, if it’s a ‘consensual adult relationship,’ and Ethan can do it, why can’t I? Liam was quick to catch on, satisfying me completely. I praised his flexible tongue, and he practiced until his tongue could do incredible things. Whenever Ethan got on my nerves, I’d go to Liam, and a smile would return to my face. Liam was smart, always available, and didn’t ask for a dime. Handsome, clean, and free? There was no reason not to take advantage. After a while, he even had the password to my place. Before I could even put down my phone, a pair of mischievous hands wrapped around my waist. Liam’s chest pressed against my back, and a rather inappropriate part of him rubbed against my lower back. The next second, a hot kiss landed on my lips, mixed with steamy breath that made my face flush. “Sis, I’m all showered…” His mouth asked for my permission, but his hands were anything but innocent. “You’ve seen this month’s physical report, Sis. I want…” Tiny kisses trailed from my lips down my back, and with a gentle push, I was knocked onto the carpet. Liam was the swimming team’s star at his sports academy. Great core strength, incredible stamina. If it weren’t for that, his measly $8,000-a-month income plus stipend wouldn’t even qualify him for my ‘hunting’ criteria. The kisses on my back continued. This time, he unhooked my bra with his teeth, leaving a damp trail on my earlobe. “Sis, please?” His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked at me piteously. His tongue tied a knot in my pajama drawstring. Seeing me momentarily stunned, a hint of triumph flashed in his puppy eyes, and he smiled, looking exceptionally goofy. Tsk, little brat. He’s quite the actor. If I hadn’t already seen his contact note for me: “97, June 13, Gemini. Big tits, easy to fool, and down for anything.” I might actually have fallen for it. I gave a light pinch behind him. His breathing hitched, hot air sprayed on the back of my neck, and with red eyes, he pinned me against the wall. “Sis, I can’t take it anymore, Sis, save me…” I smiled without speaking, then choked his neck, making his eyes well up with tears. He hugged me tight, refusing to let go. Men under twenty-five were the best. Young and fresh. Plenty of strength and stamina. And free. Done and tossed. Leaving a red handprint on his perfectly sculpted butt, I opened my phone to order takeout. Another screen full of green messages. Ethan had called at least ten times, and his messages were a saturated bombardment. [Skylar, hiding won’t help. There’s no future for us.] [Don’t even think about using past events to threaten me. You know the difference between us.] [Don’t try to disrupt my engagement party.] … [?] [Why aren’t you replying?] [Skylar, talk to me.] I slowly typed a question mark. He replied instantly. [Skylar, playing dead won’t work. We’re over. You’ll…] A flood of messages made my eyes swim. Anyway, my current savings could easily buy me a sweet two-bedroom apartment in a prime city location, fully paid off. Whether this relationship continued or not didn’t matter. Taking a sip of the herbal tea Liam had brewed before he left, I replied with a single word: [Okay.] The next second, I downloaded and secured all records of transfers, then blocked and deleted him. The next day, I was pulled awake. Half-asleep, I slowly came to, only to see Ethan standing by my bed, his dark circles rivaling a panda’s. His hollow eyes staring at me were like a snake’s, chillingly menacing. I screamed, my voice hoarse. Ethan’s eyes were bloodshot. He moved his lips, about to say something, when the door burst open and Liam rushed in. “Sis, don’t be scared, I’m here!” He was wearing a basketball jersey, holding a bag of breakfast. My nail marks and a few suggestive bite marks were visible on his muscular chest.

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“Give that account to her? Why? Just because she’s your favored one?” I pushed open Director Jenkins’s office door. Director Jenkins slammed her hand on the table. “Chloe Miller, watch your tone. I decide who gets what. Let’s keep things civil, for everyone’s sake. Otherwise, I have plenty of ways to make your life difficult.” “But I’ve been working on this for half a year, and it’s almost signed,” I stared at her. “Company resources, does it matter who handles it?” She leaned back, her posture relaxing slightly. “Think bigger picture. It’s all for the good of the company.” I looked at her self-satisfied expression and nodded. Then I suddenly smiled. “You’re right. I really should… think things through for the company.” As I walked out of the office, the smile vanished from my face. Back at my desk, a gasp came from beside me. “Oh, how can I accept this?” Brittany Hayes, wearing an ill-fitting short skirt, walked to the center of the office area, clutching a folder. She deliberately raised her voice. “Chloe, I heard you transferred that huge account you’ve been working on for half a year to me?” “That’s tens of millions in revenue!” “Thanks for all the groundwork you laid, Chloe. I’ll truly cherish it.” “I won’t let your efforts go to waste.” Her eyes glinted with provocation, and the corners of her mouth turned up. The sound of keyboards stopped. A few colleagues looked over, then quickly averted their gaze. I organized the documents on my desk, not even lifting my head. “No need to thank me. After all, Mr. Wang said new hires need a little ‘encouragement’.” “Whether you can hold onto that account is entirely up to your abilities.” Brittany’s smile froze. Mr. Robert Wang, the General Manager, walked out of his office. “Everyone, please stop what you’re doing. We’re having a short meeting.” Mr. Wang scanned the room, his gaze resting on me. “I have an announcement to make.” “Considering our year-end sprint, and to optimize resource allocation and cultivate new talent…” “Chloe Miller has proactively proposed transferring the TianSheng Group project she was managing to Brittany Hayes.” “Everyone should learn from Chloe. This is the kind of broader perspective we expect from our veteran employees!” “Come on, let’s give her a round of applause!” Sparse applause broke out. I clapped twice in cooperation. After the meeting, Brittany placed an iced latte on my desk. “Chloe, here’s an iced latte.” “Godfather asked me to come and get the TianSheng Group documents from you.” “Especially Ms. Carter’s preferences, her pet peeves, and all the previous negotiation details.” She held out her hand. I watched the dripping iced latte stain the documents. “They’re all on the shared drive. Download them yourself.” “Oh, Chloe, the shared drive only has official documents.” “I need your private notes.” She lowered her voice. “Godfather said if this deal falls through, you’ll be the only one to blame.” “You don’t want Godfather to think you’re holding out on us, do you?” I scoffed. I created a folder, packed the prepared materials, and sent them. “Sent.” “Read carefully. Don’t mess up something as simple as what kind of tea Ms. Carter drinks.” Brittany left with her laptop. Just before closing time, Director Jenkins called me into the pantry. She closed the door, her face turning grim. “Chloe, I know you’re upset.” “If this deal goes through, you’ll still get your share of the bonus.” “But if you dare to pull any stunts behind our backs or trip Brittany up…” “I’ll make sure you can’t work in this industry ever again!” Her manicured finger pointed at me. I bowed slightly. “Director Jenkins, you’re overthinking. How could I dare?” “I still have my mortgage to pay; work is important.” “Don’t worry, I’ll fully cooperate with Brittany.” Director Jenkins snorted and waved her hand. “Alright, get out. Just be smart about it.” Walking out of the company building, a cold wind blew. I pulled out my phone and opened the chat for “Mommy Dearest.” “Mom, I have something to tell you!” She replied instantly. “My sweet daughter, what’s wrong?” I typed out a line, put away my phone, and smiled.

Over the next few days, the office was quite noisy. Brittany frowned as she looked through the documents. The usually quiet WhatsApp group was stirred up daily by her @ mentions. “@Chloe Miller, what does ‘exclusive agreement’ mean in this clause?” “Ms. Carter’s legal team is asking if it can be removed. How do I respond?” “@Chloe Miller, how is the floating percentage in this quote calculated?” “The system keeps giving an error!” “@Chloe Miller, help! Ms. Carter’s secretary asked about Plan B from the previous proposal. I can’t find it anywhere!” I watched the screen, deliberately waiting for Mr. Wang to prompt me in the group before slowly replying. “Exclusive agreements are standard practice. Be firm with their legal team.” “The floating percentage is based on that formula; plug in the numbers yourself.” “Plan B is in the archived folder. Check there.” Brittany followed my advice and dealt with the client, but she was met with refusal. That afternoon, the office atmosphere was tense. Brittany slammed her mouse, her eyes red, and stormed into Mr. Wang’s office. Less than five minutes later, Mr. Wang’s voice pierced through the glass door. “Chloe Miller! Get in here!” I walked in, carrying my thermos. Mr. Wang slammed his hand on the desk. “Chloe, are you trying to get yourself fired?” “Brittany says she called Ms. Carter over a dozen times, and no one picked up.” “Did you give her fake contact info?!” “Are you intentionally trying to sabotage this deal?!” Brittany sat nearby, pointing at me and accusing. “Godfather, she’s doing this on purpose!” “She must have badmouthed me to Ms. Carter, otherwise why would Ms. Carter ignore me!” “Chloe, you can’t jeopardize the company’s interests like this!” I blinked. “Mr. Wang, you’re wronging me.” “The contact information is right there in the business card holder. How could I possibly give fake details?” “Maybe Ms. Carter has been busy these past few days and hasn’t had time to check her phone.” “Bullshit!” Mr. Wang slammed the folder on the floor. “Too busy to even pick up Brittany’s calls?” “Right now, in front of me, call Ms. Carter! If you can’t get through, you’re packing your bags and leaving immediately!” I pulled out my phone. “Alright, I’ll try.” I dialed the number and put it on speakerphone. It rang twice, then connected. A cold, indifferent female voice came through. “Hello?” Brittany froze, and Mr. Wang stiffened. I cleared my throat, my tone gentle. “Hello, Ms. Carter, this is Chloe.” “I apologize for disturbing you, but our manager, Brittany, said she couldn’t reach you.” “We’re worried about delaying the signing process, so I just wanted to ask…” There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a cold snort. “Manager Brittany? Which Manager Brittany? I don’t know her.” “She keeps sending me all sorts of ridiculous emojis; I’ve blocked her.” “Chloe, how many times have I told you? I only discuss my projects with you.” “Sending just anyone to bother me, does your company not want to do business anymore?” Brittany’s face instantly flushed red, and she lowered her head. Mr. Wang’s face alternated between green and pale. I quickly responded. “Ms. Carter, please don’t be angry. New hires are still learning the ropes; we’ll reinforce their training.” “As for the signing…” “Alright, out of consideration for you, I’ll let it go.” “We’ll discuss the specifics later.” The call ended. The office was silent. I put away my phone and looked at Mr. Wang. “Mr. Wang, see? The phone number wasn’t the problem, was it?” “Perhaps Brittany was a bit too enthusiastic, and Ms. Carter doesn’t like that style.” Mr. Wang glared at Brittany. “Useless! Can’t even figure out a client’s preferences! Now go reflect on what you did wrong!” He then looked at me. “Since you can reach her, you’ll continue to assist with communications.” “But Brittany will still sign the contract; that’s non-negotiable.” I nodded in agreement. “Yes, you’re right.” After this incident, Brittany became smug again. She posted a group photo on Ins, Photoshopping me out and replacing me with herself. “All those late nights pulling off a multi-million dollar deal were totally worth it!” Many people liked it below her post.

At the company, she started ordering me around. “Chloe, please print this contract. It needs to be double-sided and in color.” “Chloe, please book the meeting room for tomorrow. I need the largest one, set up with flowers and fruit.” “Chloe, go buy me a coffee, the hand-ground one from the corner café.” I accepted all her requests without complaint. Brittany leaned back in her chair, her eyes full of triumph. The day before the signing, the sales department was in chaos. Mr. Wang threw a document in front of me. “Chloe Miller, this is the script for tomorrow’s signing ceremony.” “You need to write it today, down to the minute.” “Who stands where, who says what. Don’t leave until it’s done.” I flipped through the document. “Mr. Wang, shouldn’t Manager Brittany be preparing this?” “After all, she’s the one in charge.” Mr. Wang shot me a sidelong glance. “Brittany needs to memorize the contract clauses; she doesn’t have time for this.” “I’m telling you to write it. This is your chance to participate in a major project.” Brittany sat nearby, painting her nails. “That’s right, Chloe. Just help me out a bit.” “If I make a fool of myself tomorrow, it’ll be the company’s embarrassment.” I took the document. “Alright, I’ll get it ready now.” At noon, Mr. Wang called me to the end of the hallway. Amidst the lingering smoke, her gaze was inscrutable. “Chloe Miller, for tomorrow’s signing ceremony… you won’t be coming in.” I raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Wang, I wrote the script, and I maintained the client relationship.” “Now you’re not even letting me into the venue?” Mr. Wang flicked off ash from his cigarette. “Chloe, you need to understand the situation.” “Brittany has more charisma than you, and she presents herself better.” “If you’re standing there, you’ll only draw attention away from Brittany.” “What if your attire offends Ms. Carter?” “Your job is to be at the door and handle logistics.” “After the signing, I’ll let you attend the celebration dinner.” I looked at her, and suddenly smiled. “Mr. Wang, are you sure you don’t need me to control the situation on-site?” “Given Ms. Carter’s temper, if there’s any unexpected change…” “Shut up!” Mr. Wang cut me off. “What unexpected change could there be? Just don’t be an eyesore.” “Have a broader perspective, understand?” I nodded. “Alright, broader perspective it is. I’ll wait by the door.” Back at my desk, Brittany was trying on clothes. It was a white lace gown with a train. “Chloe, doesn’t it look good? This is my power suit!” She twirled around. I glanced at it. “Gorgeous. You look just like a bridesmaid.” Brittany’s face darkened. “What do you know, you bumpkin!” Colleagues from other departments passed by, whispering to each other. Mr. Wang heard the commotion and cursed a few times in the WhatsApp group. I ignored the distractions and sent a message to my mom. “Mom, remember to wear that black suit tomorrow. The more serious, the better.” Just before closing, I went to get water. A cup of coffee was splashed in my face. I dodged, but my sleeve still got stained with brown. “Oops!” Brittany held the empty cup, a smirk on her face. “My hand slipped, it slipped. So sorry, Chloe.” “But you don’t have to see clients tomorrow anyway.” “It’s fine if your clothes get dirty; you should probably get some new outfits anyway.” I pulled out tissues to wipe the stain. Brittany took a step back. “What are you looking at? I already apologized.” I tossed the tissues into the trash. “It’s alright.” I smiled. “Out with the old, in with the new.” “I hope your power suit holds up tomorrow.”

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My wife gifted me an African Grey parrot. Every single day, it screamed at me: “Die, brother, die.” I sent it to a highly specialized avian behavioral correction facility. Every day, they locked it in a mirror enclosure, looping an audio track three thousand times: “I am a good bird.” I did this because I had been reborn. In my previous life, on the very first day this bird entered our home, it only knew two phrases. “Ugly brother.” “Die, brother.” I thought it was just mimicking something it had heard. Then, my health began to fail. It started with insomnia. I suffered through night terrors, drowning in a sea of shadows where a single voice kept repeating “die, die, die.” Then came the anorexia. The mere sight of food made me violently nauseous until I was nothing but skin and bones. Finally, my organs began shutting down entirely. It was only on my deathbed that I realized it was never just a bird. It was my “dead” best friend. 1 In my last life, I died in a cold hospital room. I was hooked up to a dozen tubes, the heart monitor beside me letting out a long, piercing beep. The very last sound I heard before the darkness took me came from Opal, that African Grey parrot. It tilted its head, staring at me from the windowsill of my hospital room, and let out a soft, mocking laugh. It was the laugh of a grown man. I was already too weak to speak, but I recognized that laugh immediately. It belonged to my best friend, Declan. The same Declan who had died of a terminal illness three years ago. My soul drifted out of my ruined body, floating near the ceiling as the nurses pulled a crisp white sheet over my face. My wife, Amy, stood in the doorway. Her eyes were rimmed red, and she looked absolutely devastated. She cried beautifully for a few minutes, wiped her tears, and then turned and walked away. I followed her. I watched her drive out to a secluded, modern cabin in the suburbs. I watched her unlock the front door. Sitting inside the living room was a man. Declan. He was wearing dark, comfortable loungewear, his messy hair falling over his forehead. There was not a single trace of sickness on his face. His skin was flushed with health, and he smiled with the vibrant energy of an eighteen-year-old. Amy walked over, wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. “He’s dead,” she whispered. “Finally.” Declan let out a low, satisfied laugh. “I spent three years trapped in the body of that damn bird. Every single day I cursed him, and every curse siphoned a little more of his life force away. Now that he’s dead, all that stolen vitality belongs entirely to me.” Amy tenderly cupped his face. “You can finally be human again.” Declan stood up from the sofa, stretching his arms high above his head and taking a deep, greedy breath of air. “I can finally use this body. Playing the pet bird for three years almost made me forget what it feels like to be a man.” Amy smiled sweetly. “When you were diagnosed with that terminal illness three years ago, I was terrified I was going to lose you.” “Thank God that occultist told us we could transfer your soul into a parrot and use someone else’s lifespan to keep you alive.” “But he specifically said we needed someone with the exact same soul resonance.” Declan pulled her flush against his chest. “Your husband’s soul resonance was a flawless match with mine. His life was practically designed to be harvested for my sake.” Amy kissed his hair. “Giving up his life to save yours was the greatest purpose he could have ever served.” I stood frozen in the center of the room, staring at the two of them. My wife. My absolute best friend. They held each other tightly, casually joking about how stealing my life was a privilege for me. I did not cry. Souls do not have tears to shed. I simply burned every single word, every twisted smile, and every sickening detail into my memory. And then, I woke up. I woke up exactly three years in the past. I woke up on the exact day Amy brought that parrot into our home. “Jeff? Jeff, what’s wrong?” Amy’s voice yanked me back to reality. She was looking at me with deep concern, resting a warm hand on my shoulder. It smelled exactly like her favorite expensive perfume. I looked down at my own body. My hands were steady, my chest broad. In my past life, this body had been hollowed out, drained drop by drop until there was nothing left. I lifted my head and looked Amy in the eyes. She wore a gentle, loving smile, but hiding deep beneath it was a flicker of eager anticipation. She was waiting for me to accept the bird. In my past life, I took it with a smile and treated it like a precious treasure. In this life. “Thank you, honey.” I smiled warmly, reaching out to take the ornate metal cage from her hands. “She’s beautiful.” 2 Amy let out a quiet sigh of relief and affectionately ruffled my hair. “I knew you’d love her. Opal, come on, say something sweet to your new dad.” The parrot tilted its grey head, opened its curved beak, and squawked. “Die, brother.” The sweet smile on Amy’s face froze for a fraction of a second. She quickly scrambled to cover it up with an awkward laugh. “The previous owner must have taught her that. Please don’t let it get to you, Jeff.” I chuckled, gently tapping the side of the metal cage. “This little thing has quite the foul mouth. Where did you even buy her, honey?” “A friend recommended the breeder. They specialize in highly intelligent, talking parrots.” Her eyes flickered to the side for the briefest moment when she said that. She was lying to my face. “Well, that’s fascinating.” I set the cage down on the glass coffee table and playfully wiggled my finger near the bird’s talons. “But honestly, work has been insanely stressful lately. Don’t you think having a loud bird in the house is going to be a bit much?” Amy didn’t miss a beat. “I actually asked my therapist about it. African Greys are perfectly fine as long as you keep their environment clean.” “Plus, you’ve been working from home so much lately. Having a little companion to talk to will do wonders for your mental health. A good mood means a healthy body.” Her argument was completely flawless. She had used the exact same lines in my previous life. Back then, I thought she was just being a loving, attentive wife. Now, I could hear the poison dripping from every syllable. Every single word was a calculated trap. “Ugly brother.” The parrot squawked again. Amy forced a light laugh. “Look, she’s already trying to bond with you.” I did not laugh. I picked up the cage by its brass ring and started walking toward the master bedroom. Amy called out from behind me. “Jeff, don’t take it personally. She’s literally just a bird.” “I’m not mad.” I glanced over my shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. “I just want to spend some quality one-on-one time with my new pet.” The second the bedroom door clicked shut, my smile vanished entirely. I placed the cage on my mahogany desk, pulled up my leather office chair, and sat down dead center in front of it. The parrot tilted its head, staring at me. Its beady eyes were gleaming with sick amusement. I knew perfectly well that Declan was hiding behind those grey eyes. He was sitting inside that feathered shell, watching me play the clueless idiot for his entertainment. I had been an idiot in my last life. But not today. “Opal.” I called the name softly. The parrot kept its head tilted, staring at me in complete silence. “Your name is Opal, right?” I leaned closer to the metal bars, a pleasant smile plastered on my face. “It’s a beautiful name. Did my wife pick it out for you?” The bird’s grey feathers puffed up slightly. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be this terrifyingly calm. “But you know,” I leaned back in my chair, casually crossing one leg over the other, “I don’t think it’s a very lucky name. Opals are delicate. They shatter easily under pressure. Don’t you agree?” The parrot ignored me, lowering its head to aggressively preen its wing feathers. I stood up, moving some loose paperwork around on my desk to look busy. “Tell me something,” I said casually, keeping my tone light as if I were just talking to myself. “If a man is forced to listen to a bird tell him to die every single day, does that classify as psychological abuse?” I heard the frantic fluttering of wings behind me. I didn’t turn around. “Die.” The parrot suddenly spoke. It didn’t say the full phrase. Just one single word. “Die.” The tone was unnervingly soft, almost mimicking a child trying out a new vocabulary word. But the timing was far too perfect. It was a direct, chilling response to my question. My hands paused over my paperwork for a fraction of a second. Then I continued organizing my files. “You know,” I stacked the folders neatly, “you are a very conversational little bird.” “Die.” It repeated the word, even softer this time. It was a calculated test. I turned around slowly, locking eyes with the creature inside the cage. It stared right back, completely unblinking. Then, it opened its beak and unleashed a chaotic barrage of random noises. The clicking of a tongue, the bubbling of water, the sharp trill of a smartphone ringtone. All blended together in a messy symphony. It was perfectly standard parrot behavior. Mimicking the random sounds of its environment. But those two specific instances of the word “die” had been perfectly timed. Too perfect to be a coincidence. I stared at the bird for several long seconds. It stared back. Something dark and unspoken settled heavily in the air between us. It wasn’t panic. It was a terrifying mutual understanding. He knew that I suspected something. But he had no idea just how much I actually knew. And I had absolutely no intention of showing my hand. 3 I cooked dinner that night. A simple steak, mashed potatoes, and roasted asparagus. Amy ate quietly, seemingly lost in thought. Halfway through the meal, the parrot in the living room let out a sharp squawk. “Die.” Amy set her fork down and shot me a cautious look. “Please don’t be upset with her. It’s just a bird.” “I’m not upset.” She nodded slowly and went back to cutting her steak. After dinner, while I was washing the dishes, Amy walked out into the living room. I could hear her talking to the parrot. Her voice was incredibly soft, dripping with genuine affection. “Opal, be a good girl. Say something sweet for me.” The parrot ignored her. “Come on, just one nice word.” “Ugly.” Amy giggled softly. “You really have a wicked mouth, don’t you?” I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her tease the bird through the bars of the cage. She had done the exact same thing in my previous life. She treated that bird with more tenderness and patience than she ever showed her own husband. Back then, I thought she was just an animal lover. I thought her compassion was endearing. Now the truth was glaringly obvious. She wasn’t being tender to a bird. She was being tender to the man trapped inside it. “Honey.” I stepped out into the living room. “I’m feeling a bit exhausted tonight. I think I’m going to head to bed early.” “Okay.” She didn’t even bother looking up, too busy tracing her manicured finger against the metal bars for the bird to nip at playfully. Around ten o’clock, Amy finally came into the master bedroom. She had just taken a shower, her long hair still damp and smelling of expensive shampoo. “Jeff, I need to let you know about something.” She sat gracefully on the edge of the mattress. “I have to go out of town for a business trip next week. I’ll be gone for about four or five days.” In my past life, she used the exact same excuse. She said four or five days, but she ended up staying away for a full week. “Alright.” “I need you to take good care of Opal while I’m gone. And please, don’t lose your temper with her. She’s just an animal. If she says something nasty, just ignore it.” “I know.” She reached out and affectionately stroked my hair. “Have you been in a bad mood lately?” “No.” “Good.” She reached over and clicked off the bedside lamp. “Get some sleep.” I did not sleep. In the suffocating darkness of the bedroom, a faint rustling sound echoed from the cage on the desk. He was moving. I rolled over, turning my back to the birdcage, and quietly slipped my hand under my pillow. My fingers wrapped tightly around a small piece of parchment, inked with a heavy warding sigil. The first half of the night was dead silent. But deep into the early hours of the morning, an unnatural, biting chill crept into the room. It wasn’t a draft from the window. It was a localized, creeping frost that seemed to seep directly into the top of my skull, like someone slowly pouring a pitcher of ice water over my brain. I didn’t move a muscle. I kept my breathing perfectly steady and rhythmic. The freezing sensation grew heavier and more oppressive. My grip on the warding sigil tightened until my knuckles turned white. And then. A violent, scorching sizzle echoed through the dark room. It sounded like raw meat being thrown onto a screaming hot skillet. The unnatural cold vanished in a fraction of a second. Complete chaos erupted from the cage. The frantic, desperate flapping of wings slamming against the metal bars was deafening in the dead of night. The panic lasted for about fifteen seconds before abruptly cutting into total silence. I slowly opened my eyes. Pale moonlight filtered through the narrow gap in the curtains, illuminating the desk. The grey mass of feathers was huddled miserably in the furthest corner of the cage. It was puffed up to twice its size, its chest heaving erratically. He wouldn’t dare try to siphon my energy again tonight. I calmly rolled over, tucked the warding sigil back under my pillow, and closed my eyes. I slept beautifully. The next morning, when I walked out of the bedroom, Amy was already sitting at the dining table. She had a cup of black coffee in one hand, staring intently at her smartphone screen. The moment she saw me, she immediately locked the device and set it face down. “Sleep well?” she asked, her tone entirely casual. “Like a rock,” I replied, pouring myself a glass of room-temperature water. “What about you? I noticed the light in your study was on pretty late.” “Just had to put out some fires at work.” She took a sip of her coffee. “By the way, Jeff, Opal is acting really strange today. Did something startle her last night?” “I have no idea.” I grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge. “I was in the bedroom. I didn’t hear a thing.” “Her feathers are completely fluffed up in distress.” Amy frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Did you accidentally scare her yesterday when I wasn’t looking?” I stopped pouring the milk and looked her dead in the eyes. “You think I scared the bird?” “I didn’t mean it like that,” she quickly backpedaled. “I’m just asking.” “I know you’ve been incredibly stressed with work lately, and your moods have been a bit unpredictable. You might have accidentally raised your voice. Birds are highly sensitive creatures. They get traumatized easily.” My fingers tightened around the glass. She did this constantly in my past life. No matter what went wrong, she found a way to spin the blame onto me. When my health started failing, it was because I was “overthinking things.” When I suffered from insomnia, it was because I was “too neurotic.” When the parrot verbally abused me, it was because I had “accidentally raised my voice.” “I didn’t scare the bird.” I kept my voice perfectly level. Amy studied my face for two long seconds before nodding slowly. “Alright. Maybe it was just thunder from a storm last night.” There was no storm last night. The sky had been perfectly clear. I didn’t bother calling out her lie. She finished her breakfast and retreated to her study. After washing the dishes, I walked into the living room. The parrot shifted nervously on its wooden perch. “Die.” I ignored it. “Die. Die. Die.” Three rapid-fire curses, each one sharper and more venomous than the last. I turned my head and stared at the cage. It tilted its head, its cold grey eyes reflecting my face. But I could see Declan’s shadow lurking just behind those pupils. The boy I grew up with. The man who stole my wife, and then decided to steal my life. “Say that to me one more time,” I whispered, my voice laced with pure, unadulterated malice. The bird snapped its beak shut. It didn’t make another sound. 4 Late that afternoon, Amy emerged from her study holding her phone. “Jeff, I just got off the phone with the breeder. He said Opal’s previous owner was a bitter old woman.” “She probably spent all day cursing at the television, and the bird just picked up her vocabulary.” “Oh.” I didn’t bother looking up from the novel in my lap. “He said it’s just a phase. If you spend enough time talking to her using positive words, she’ll eventually learn them and forget the bad ones.” “Okay.” Amy stood in the center of the living room for a moment before speaking again. “You need to stop ignoring her. The more you ice her out, the more she’s going to act out for attention. You need to actually interact with her.” I closed my book and looked up at her. “Amy. You want me to sit here and have a friendly chat with a bird that constantly tells me to drop dead?” “She’s just a bird!” Her voice finally cracked with a sharp edge of irritation. “She doesn’t even comprehend what the words mean! Why are you holding a grudge against an animal?” “I’m not holding a grudge.” “Then why won’t you talk to her?” I opened my mouth to argue, but snapped it shut. In my past life, every single one of our arguments ended exactly like this: in my defeated silence. Because I loved her. Because I couldn’t bear to see her upset. I honestly believed that if I just swallowed my pride and endured it, everything would magically fix itself. I endured it until the day it literally killed me. “Fine.” I stood up. “I’ll talk to her.” I walked over to the glass coffee table and crouched down, bringing myself perfectly to eye level with the cage. “Opal.” I said her name clearly. She tilted her head, watching me carefully. “Say something nice.” She opened her curved beak. “Ugly.” “Try again.” “Die.” Amy let out a soft, exasperated laugh from behind me. “See? She’s communicating with you.” I did not smile. “Teach me how to make her say something nice, then.” Amy walked over and gently nudged me out of the way. “You have to speak to her like this. ‘Opal, say hello.’” She leaned close to the metal bars, her voice melting into a sickeningly sweet coo. “Opal, hello.” The parrot tilted its head but stayed silent. “Hello,” she repeated softly. “Hello,” the parrot parroted back. Amy beamed with pride. “See? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the bird.” The unspoken implication hung heavily in the air. The bird wasn’t the problem. I was. She didn’t say anything else, simply turning on her heel and walking back to her study. I stood in front of the coffee table, staring into the cage. The parrot was intensely focused on the closed door of the study. There was a sickeningly human emotion in its beady eyes. It looked like longing. Like desperate, devoted expectation. It was waiting for Amy to come back. Because the parasite living inside that feathered shell was madly in love with her. In my past life, the second I was put in the ground, the two of them moved in together. I crouched back down and rapped my knuckles sharply against the metal bars. The parrot snapped its head toward me. “You can stop waiting.” I lowered my voice to a lethal whisper. “She left.” It tilted its head, as if trying to dissect the exact meaning behind my words. I stood up and walked straight into the master bedroom. I locked the door behind me, leaned heavily against the wood, and pulled out my phone. I typed a specific query into the search bar. “Avian behavioral modification boarding.” I clicked the top result and dialed the number. It rang twice before a woman answered. “Hello, Avian Echo Behavioral Center.” Her voice was crisp and strictly professional. “Hi, I need a consultation. I have an African Grey that has picked up some severe negative vocabulary. Words like ‘ugly’ and ‘die’. Do you have any intensive methods to correct this?” “Yes, we do. For severe cases, we utilize a mirror enclosure paired with aggressive positive reinforcement.” “The mirror enclosure is a specialized cage lined entirely with mirrors. Being surrounded by endless reflections of itself induces a highly stressful psychological response in the parrot. While it’s in this vulnerable state, we loop high-frequency positive vocabulary recordings. It usually only takes three to five days to completely overwrite the negative programming.” “Will the mirror enclosure cause lasting psychological damage to the bird?” “It will induce genuine fear, yes. But that is a necessary component of the correction process. Rest assured, our head trainer monitors the birds 24/7. It will not suffer any physical harm.” I remained silent for two full seconds. “Perfect. I’ll drop the bird off on Monday. I want the full boarding package.” I hung up the phone and stood alone in the darkening bedroom. A cool breeze slipped through the open window, making the sheer curtains flutter like ghosts. In my past life, he spent six months draining my life away with his curses. In this life, I am going to lock him in a box of mirrors, forcing him to stare at his own pathetic reflection until he loses his mind.

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1 Victoria was a renowned micro-expression expert who claimed no lie escaped her. To study us, she wired our home with surveillance, turning our lives into a lab. When Paige cried over a scraped knee, Victoria held her, praising her “genuine” emotion. But when I writhed in agony from cramps, she stared at her monitor, lecturing her students. “Twitching lips, shifting eyes—classic histrionic disorder. She is acting.” The day I ingested a lethal allergen, my throat sealed shut. Clawing at my neck, I crawled to her, begging. Victoria simply pushed up her glasses, opened her notepad, and wrote clinically, “Rapid respiration. Cyanosis. Gemma, your acting has improved, but your micro-expressions betray you.” As punishment, she disabled the medical alarm, locked the doors, and took Paige to a concert. “Enjoy your performance for the cameras. Let’s see how long it takes you to admit the truth.” I curled up on the freezing tiles, my vision fading as I stared at the blinking red eye of the camera above. Mom, you spent your life analyzing humanity. Yet, you never saw your own daughter. … I drifted into the air, looking down at my own body curled on the floor. My face, bloated and turned a dark, bruised purple from suffocation, looked grotesque, almost pathetic. All the agony, the burning in my lungs, the sheer despair had remained trapped in that useless vessel. It felt peaceful. Finally, the pain was gone. Lighter than a feather, my spirit slipped through the solid brick walls with a single thought, finding myself in the grand, gilded concert hall across town. Victoria sat in the front row. She took a strawberry candy from Paige’s hand, carefully peeled back the wrapper, and popped it into Paige’s mouth. Her eyes held a warmth I had never once received in life. “Eat slowly, sweetheart. Don’t choke.” Paige mumbled around the candy, her voice dripping with irritation. “Gemma is so annoying. She had to play sick today and almost made us late.” A faint, smug smile played on Victoria’s lips, filled with absolute certainty. “Don’t let her bother you. It’s just her histrionic tendencies craving attention. She needs a cold dose of reality. Once she realizes her little stunts don’t work on me, she’ll stop.” Right then, her phone buzzed inside her designer handbag. It was a notification from the home security app. Living Room Camera: Target motionless for an extended period. Potential anomaly detected. Please check immediately. Victoria casually unlocked her screen and opened the live feed. On the screen, I lay contorted on the cold floor, completely still. “Huh? Gemma looks weird,” Paige whispered, leaning over with a look of pure disgust. “She’s playing dead again. She just wants to trick you into coming home.” Victoria let out a soft huff, devoid of any real concern. Pinching her fingers to zoom in on my stiff, curled fingers, she turned my death into a teaching moment. “Look closely, Paige. This is what we call intentional rigidity. When someone actually faints or dies, their muscles go entirely limp in the initial stages. Look at her fingers. They are incredibly tense. It is a clear case of overacting. She is trying too hard to make sure the camera catches it.” She paused, pointing to my parted lips. “And see the downward pull of her lips? That is a classic masochistic-gratification expression. She is indulging in the tragedy of being misunderstood to gain psychological satisfaction.” A well-dressed woman sitting nearby overheard the explanation and leaned in, her eyes wide with admiration. “Excuse me, are you Dr. Victoria Brooks? The famous micro-expression expert from the talk shows? I’ve read all your papers. You’re brilliant.” “That analysis is absolutely incredible. Your eyes really are like X-rays. Nothing can slip past you.” “You’re too kind,” Victoria replied with a poised, graceful nod. Floating above them, I could only manage a silent, bitter smile. Mom, this time, you got it completely wrong. I remembered when I was little, before my mother became a renowned specialist. Back then, her eyes held nothing but pure affection for me. Whenever I felt hurt or upset, she would pull me tightly into her arms, kissing my forehead over and over. “Gemma’s feelings are the most precious things in the world to me. Mommy will always protect you.” But as Victoria’s fame grew, Paige was born. My sister was a naturally sweet talker, bright and endlessly cheerful, effortlessly capturing everyone’s hearts. I, on the other hand, was always stiff, my expressions awkward. Accustomed to absolute perfection and control, Victoria slowly grew to resent my existence. I used to think that if I just tried a little harder, if I strove to be better, she would love me again. But every attempt only pushed her further away. The classical music finally swelled to a close. As the crowd filed out, Victoria showed no intention of heading home. Paige tugged on her hand, looking up innocently. “Mom, aren’t we going home? Is Gemma still putting on her show?” Victoria stood up, smoothing the fabric of her elegant dress. Her eyes swept over the frozen image of my body on her phone. “No. I want to see who breaks first, her drama or my patience. If she wants to play the victim, she can do it all night. Come on, Paige. Let’s get that French dinner you’ve been craving.” At the upscale bistro, Paige kicked her legs under the table, her eyes wide. “Mom, Gemma’s been face down on that cold floor for so long. She must be starving. Should we pack some escargot for her?” The waiter pouring their lemon water smiled warmly. “Your little girl is so sweet and thoughtful.” Victoria smiled, stroking Paige’s hair. “Kindness is a virtue, Paige, but you have to choose who deserves it.” She spread her linen napkin over her lap. “For someone as full of lies as your sister, showing pity only enables her deceit. We aren’t bringing her anything. A night of hunger will teach her the true cost of honesty.” The phone on the table lit up again. Alerts from the security app flooded the lock screen, bright red exclamation marks popping up with persistent urgency. Warning: Extended immobility detected. Warning: Abrupt temperature drop in target area. Warning: Minor fluid leakage detected… Victoria glanced at the screen. My fingers remained in that stiff, frozen curl. Not a single line creased her brow. She flipped the phone face down onto the mahogany table. “Here, Paige. Try the foie gras. It’s excellent for development.” She neatly sliced a piece, blew on it gently, and fed it to her younger daughter. Meanwhile, the only variable in our heavily monitored house had finally arrived. Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, was scheduled to visit. Since she was leaving for her hometown tomorrow, she decided to finish the cleaning a day early. She stood outside the massive glass patio doors, peering in as she reached for the doorbell. The next second, her smile shattered. Through the pristine glass, she saw my pale, bluish-purple face contorted on the living room rug. A dark patch of fluid was slowly pooling beneath my head. “Gemma! Gemma!” Panic-stricken, Mrs. Gable began banging violently on the thick glass. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Open the door!” The glass remained impenetrable, and the body inside didn’t stir. Desperate, she slammed her thumb into the red emergency button near the door, but it was dead. Looking closer, she saw the wiring had been cleanly severed at the base. Shaking violently, Mrs. Gable pulled out her phone and dialed Victoria. “Yes, Mrs. Gable? What is it?” Victoria’s voice held a note of irritation. “Dr. Brooks, something is terribly wrong! You have to come home right now! It’s Gemma. She’s on the floor, completely still, and her face is turning blue!” My spirit drifted beside Mrs. Gable. Seeing her sweat-streaked, tearful face sparked a faint ember of hope in me. She had watched me grow up. Maybe, just maybe, she could make Victoria understand. But Victoria’s next words dragged me straight back into the abyss. “Mrs. Gable, ignore her. I’ve told you before, Gemma suffers from histrionic personality traits. This is part of a cognitive behavioral therapy scenario I set up to correct her manipulative lying.” “A scenario? What scenario?!” Mrs. Gable was hysterical. “Dr. Brooks, this isn’t acting! The poor girl is blue, her lips are turning black! Please, you need to come back!” “It’s makeup,” Victoria countered smoothly. “She once smeared ketchup on her face to fake coughing up blood just to get my attention. She is highly resourceful when she wants sympathy. Don’t let her play you. She thrives on manipulating people’s pity.” “No! This isn’t makeup!” Mrs. Gable begged, tears streaming down her face. “I’ve known this child for years. I know when she’s playing around, and this isn’t it! Please, just call an ambulance!” “Enough!” Victoria’s voice rose, sharp and laced with the fury of a professional who despised being questioned. “Mrs. Gable, I am the clinical psychologist here. I understand my daughter’s behavioral patterns far better than you do!” “I am in the middle of a critical psychological intervention. Your panic is going to ruin my entire therapeutic progress! Leave the premises immediately. Do not interfere.” The line went dead. Refusing to give up, Mrs. Gable redialed, only to be met with a cold, automated operator. The number you are trying to reach is currently busy… She had been blocked. Her hand fell limp. Pressing her face against the glass, she took one last, helpless look at my silent form. With no other choice, she walked away, glancing back over her shoulder in agony as she left the gated community. I watched the only person who could have saved me walk away. The last spark of light in my chest died. Back at the restaurant, Paige licked her ice cream spoon and asked innocently, “Mom, was that Mrs. Gable? What did she want?” Victoria dabbed her mouth with a napkin, her soft, maternal smile returning instantly. “Nothing, sweetheart. Just another fool falling for your sister’s theatrics.” “Weird. Why is the door deadbolted from the inside?” Robert stood on the front porch, dragging his suitcase and pressing the doorbell repeatedly. He had just returned early from a business trip, hoping to surprise his family. When the bell elicited no response, he reached for the red emergency alarm button. The button hung loose, its raw copper wires dangling helplessly. A cold dread seized his chest. Shaking, he dug his spare key out of his wallet and jammed it into the lock. With a heavy click, the deadbolt gave way. A heavy, stagnant odor of raw decay and bodily fluids rushed out, hitting him like a physical blow. Robert froze on the threshold, his gaze locking onto the center of the living room. And then, he saw me. He saw the body on the floor, stiff, pale, with dark lividity already pooling in the skin. “Gemma…” His lips trembled, unable to form a coherent sound. His suitcase hit the floor with a loud thud as he scrambled across the room, falling to his knees. “My baby. Oh God, Gemma, what happened to you?!” He tried to pull me into his arms, but my limbs were as rigid as stone. Touching my ice-cold, lifeless skin, he realized there was no breath. A raw, guttural scream tore from his throat. My spirit hovered near the ceiling. I watched this man, who had always been a pillar of strength, break down like a helpless child. He clung to my rigid form, crying my name over and over. The veins in his neck bulged, tears streaming down his face as he shook with heavy, violent sobs. “Victoria. Victoria, pick up!” He snatched his phone, his eyes bloodshot with rage, and dialed Victoria’s number. At that very moment, Victoria was at a high-end boutique downtown, watching Paige twirl in a white lace dress. “Mommy, look. I look just like Elsa!” Paige giggled, spinning in front of the mirror. “If you love it, we’re buying it,” Victoria said softly, pulling out her phone to pay. Robert’s name flashed frantically across her screen. She glanced at it, her brow furrowing in irritation, and swiped to decline. “Your father is so exhausting. He doesn’t call once during his trip, and now he won’t stop ringing.” The call was disconnected. But a few seconds later, an unknown landline number flashed on the screen. Annoyed, she swiped to answer. “Hello?” “Victoria, where the hell are you?!” Robert’s voice roared through the receiver, using a neighbor’s phone. “Gemma is dead. You killed her!” Facing this shattered, bloody accusation, Victoria was silent for a fraction of a second before letting out a soft, mocking sigh. “Robert, did you look at the cameras too? You have to trust my professional judgment on this. Don’t enable her drama like you always do.” Her voice was perfectly level, tinged with a clinical sort of disdain. “I watched the live feed earlier and analyzed her micro-expressions. Avoidant eye contact, manufactured physical stiffness. It is a textbook stress response to lying. She is attempting to leverage self-inflicted misery to force us to come home.” “You… you monster…” Robert shook so violently he couldn’t form the words. He slammed the phone down and immediately dialed 911. Sirens soon shattered the quiet of the exclusive neighborhood. Neighbors peered out of their windows as police cruisers and ambulances lined the street, cordoning off our lawn with yellow tape. Back at the mall, Victoria was signing the receipt, a pleasant smile on her face. Looking up, she caught a breaking news broadcast flashing across the massive digital screen in the mall’s atrium. Breaking News: A young woman was found dead in an upscale residence earlier today. Authorities are currently investigating. A brief shot of our gated community’s entrance flashed on screen. Victoria’s heart skipped a beat. But within a second, her professional pride took over, silencing the dread. No. Absolutely impossible. The rigidity and posturing in the live stream were entirely manufactured. The news report was just a coincidence. It had nothing to do with her household. The brief flash of panic vanished, replaced by an irritation at being manipulated. “Typical,” she muttered, taking Paige’s hand. “Your father is still trying to play his part in her little play. He realized I wouldn’t bite, so he stopped calling. Using life and death as a prop. How pathetic.” “Come on, Paige. Look at the camera and smile.” Victoria took Paige straight to the most exclusive portrait studio in the city. She seemed determined to use social media to show Robert and me that her resolve was unbreakable. The camera flashed, capturing a picture-perfect portrait of maternal bliss. Victoria immediately uploaded it, carefully crafting her caption: A day free from emotional hostage-taking. Honesty is the only foundation for true connection. #QualityTime #Parenting Below it, she posted a beautiful grid of photos showing her and Paige laughing in their matching dresses. Within minutes, comments and likes poured in by the dozens. So true, Dr. Brooks! Your parenting is such an inspiration! Paige looks like an absolute angel! Victoria scrolled through the glowing praise, her chest swelling with pride. At that moment, the heavy glass doors of the studio slid open, and three uniformed police officers entered, their faces grim. The chatter in the studio died instantly. Every eye tracked the officers as they marched across the room. The lead officer scanned the lobby, locked onto Victoria, and walked straight toward her. “Are you Victoria Brooks?” Victoria blinked, startled. Quickly recovering her composed, academic poise, she nodded. “I am. Can I help you, officers?” “I’m Detective Briggs from Homicide,” the lead officer said, showing his badge. “We need you to come with us regarding the death of your daughter, Gemma Brooks.”

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1 My girlfriend had a universal partner for everything. At first, it was just grabbing dinner or hitting the gym with him. Then it became movies, shopping, and weekend trips. “Then what am I to you?” I had asked her once. She had laughed, light and carefree. “You’re my boyfriend, babe. Don’t be petty over a platonic partner.” But when he wanted hot pot, she canceled our movie tickets and drove across the city at midnight to wait in line with him. When he wanted to go camping, she completely forgot our anniversary, spending the entire week planning a detailed itinerary to keep him happy. When my stomach cramps were so bad I couldn’t stand straight, she told me to order delivery. The seaside cabin I booked months in advance was canceled because she was “too tired.” On my birthday, I sat alone and sliced my cake seven times. By the time the candles burned down to melted wax, she still hadn’t shown up. Instead, she posted a beautiful grid of photos on social media. She was wrapped in his oversized jacket, watching him capture the sunrise for her. Life is so much better when you have a partner who will drop everything and travel with you. Thank you to the absolute best partner ever! I left a like and slowly typed a comment. I hope you two stay partners forever. I clicked send, turned off my phone, and tossed my ring into the trash. My birthday wish was simple: to walk away from her. … My screen lit up with a barrage of notifications. “Boss Brooke, is your man jealous?” I pulled off the silver band I had worn for three years. It left a faint, red indentation on my finger. It turned out some things weren’t impossible to remove. I had just been too afraid of the pain of letting go. Brooke didn’t walk through the front door until nine the next morning. She was carrying a bag of take-out dumplings from my favorite diner. “Still mad?” Her voice was casual, carrying a familiar mix of exhaustion, cheap appeasement, and absolute certainty that I would forgive her. She set the food on the table and stepped forward to wrap her arms around me. She smelled like mountain dew mixed with the rich, synthetic scent of his car air freshener. I leaned my head away. Her arms stiffened for a second, but then she laughed. “There was no signal up on the peak last night. I really didn’t mean to ignore your texts. Don’t be childish, babe. I’ll buy you an extra nice gift to make up for it.” “Elliot, you know how much I care about you, don’t you?” Of course I did. It wasn’t that Brooke had never been gentle. I hated cilantro, and she used to write it three times in the special instructions whenever we ordered takeout. When my back flared up from old racing injuries, she would drive to a late-night pharmacy to buy heat patches. When her garage first opened and business was slow, she had walked through nearby office buildings, handing out flyers floor by floor. Even when security kicked her out, she would just rub her nose and laugh, saying, “It’s fine. We’ll try the back entrance tomorrow.” Back then, I believed her willingness to spend her time on me was proof of real love. But time has a way of diverging. Slowly, she began to steer toward someone else. Seeing my silence, Brooke opened the soy milk, poked a straw through the lid, and pushed it toward me. “Stop giving me the silent treatment. I booked a table for us tonight. Let’s go out.” Before I could speak, her phone rang. Gavin’s voice leaked loudly through the speaker. “Hey, Brooke! Didn’t you say we were trying that new barbecue place today? I already told the guys we’re coming.” “Don’t flake on me! I skipped breakfast just for this!” Brooke looked at me, covering the receiver with her palm. “How about we all go together?” When I didn’t reply, she took it as consent, letting out a relieved laugh and reaching over to ruffle my hair. “See? Gavin doesn’t mind you tagging along. You really need to stop treating him like the enemy.” Suddenly, even anger felt like too much effort. On the other end, Gavin was still shouting. “Is your boyfriend coming too? Perfect! I’ll order for us. I know exactly what Brooke likes!” Brooke smiled. “Alright, I’ll tell him.” She hung up and reached for my hand again. “Stop sulking. Let’s go tonight.” I pulled my hand back. “I’m not going.” The smile faded slightly from her face. “Elliot, that’s enough.” “I apologized. I even offered to take you out. What more do you want?” “Gavin is just like that. He’s loud, casual, and straightforward. There’s no hidden agenda. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” I looked at the dumplings on the table. The steam had softened the paper bag, and the soy milk was still warm, but I didn’t have an ounce of appetite. Brooke waited for a few seconds. Seeing that I wouldn’t budge, she finally snatched her car keys off the counter. “Fine. Take some time to cool down.” “I’ll head over first. If you change your mind, text me.” The door clicked shut, plunging the apartment into a heavy silence. In the past, whenever she walked out like this, I would sit on the sofa and wait. I would wait for her to come home, offer a half-hearted explanation, and coax me back into her good graces. But the spark was gone. I was done waiting. I opened my laptop and pulled up an old email. The head coach of an international professional racing team had invited me back to train for three consecutive years. Every year, I had declined. The shadows of my past still clung to my scars, and I hadn’t wanted to touch a steering wheel again. I had preferred to hide as a quiet entrepreneur running a barber shop, staying far away from the track. But things were different now. The suffocating pain of staying by her side had far exceeded the fear of facing my old trauma. My fingers hovered over the keyboard before I typed a simple reply. I’m ready to try. 2 It took Brooke three days to notice my emotional absence. I kept running my shop, styling hair for clients, and kept my replies to her brief. Okay. No need. I know. At first, she figured I was just throwing a tantrum. But eventually, a quiet panic must have set in. That afternoon, she showed up at my shop to pick me up, holding a bouquet of cappuccino roses. “Let’s get Cantonese tonight. Haven’t you been craving it for weeks?” There were still clients in the shop. A few young girls stole glances at us, their eyes filled with envy. Brooke was striking, charming, and knew exactly how to play the doting partner. To the outside world, she was the perfect catch. I didn’t ruin her performance. When she reached for my hand, I let her hold it, though I felt nothing. “I knew you wouldn’t hold a grudge,” she murmured, smiling. I stared out the window as she drove. She kept talking, her voice smooth. “Elliot, I know you felt neglected.” “But Gavin grew up mostly around women. He doesn’t have filters. If you make a fuss over him, it just makes you look petty.” I finally turned to look at her. “So when he ruined my birthday, it was just a lack of filters? And on our anniversary…” Brooke furrowed her brows, cutting me off. “Why are you digging up old history again? I explained this to you. His tire blew out. He was stranded alone in the middle of nowhere. It was dangerous.” I was thoroughly exhausted by her excuses. As she spoke, I quietly asked, “Brooke, do you honestly believe that as long as you claim to love me, your actions don’t cause any real harm?” Brooke froze, momentarily speechless, before reaching over to ruffle my hair again. “There you go again, taking everything so seriously.” We arrived at the restaurant in silence. The host recognized us immediately. “Your usual table?” Brooke ordered a table full of my favorite dishes. But just as I picked up a shrimp dumpling, a familiar voice echoed from the entrance. “Brooke!” Gavin waved, wearing an oversized leather motorcycle jacket. “What a coincidence!” He strolled over to our table without a hint of shame. “Our riding group just split up, and I haven’t eaten. Mind if I join?” He directed the question at me, but his eyes were locked onto Brooke. Without thinking, Brooke stood up to pull out a chair for him. He glanced at the spread. “Ooh, shrimp dumplings! My favorite!” The next second, Brooke slid my plate right over to him. “I’ll order you another one,” she said to me. My chopsticks remained frozen in the air. Gavin rested his chin in his hands, looking at me with a smirk. “You don’t mind, right? Brooke and I are so used to sharing everything anyway. We don’t care about formalities.” A few other riders who had followed him inside chimed in. “Gavin and Brooke are basically brothers. Don’t overthink it, man.” Gavin waved them off playfully. “Hey, shut up! You’ll make him upset. Brooke and I are completely platonic. She just takes really good care of me. I guess she can’t help it since our driving styles are so in sync.” Brooke merely laughed. “Hush, you.” Her tone was dripping with indulgence. Gavin stuck his tongue out. “Alright, alright. The boyfriend is boss.” I quietly sipped my porridge as Brooke laughed off the awkwardness and changed the subject. They talked and laughed for the rest of the night, leaving me entirely in the dark. The next morning, a few regular clients came in for haircuts. As they looked through style books, they gossiped about the local motorcycle scene. “Have you guys heard about Gavin? The guy who’s always trailing after his big sisters?” “Oh yeah, he’s been bragging non-stop lately.” “He posted some passive-aggressive status about how his favorite sister treats him better than her actual boyfriend. The official guy must be losing his mind.” “He’s always done that. Remember how he latched onto that other female rider last year? Played the innocent little brother, accepted expensive helmets and watches, and eventually drove her boyfriend away.” “Exactly. His favorite excuse is always: We’re just riding partners, you’re overthinking it.” My scissors slowed down slightly. “He’s done this before?” I asked quietly. The client perked up, eager to share the gossip. “Oh, countless times! Everyone in the racing scene knows him. He specifically targets women in relationships. The more the boyfriend objects, the more he paints them as insecure. And the women eat it up. They think he’s easygoing and low-maintenance compared to their partners.” I listened quietly, piecing the puzzle together. Suddenly, Brooke seemed incredibly pathetic. Her taste in people was laughable. Well, before I made my exit, I could certainly leave her with a parting gift. 3 When the local riding club organized a weekend road trip, Brooke insisted on picking me up. She wore a sharp black windbreaker, her hair styled neatly. “Let’s go! I’m finally introducing you to everyone.” She opened the passenger door for me. “You always complain that I never bring you along,” she murmured, leaning in to buckle my seatbelt. “So today, you’re coming with me.” But I knew the truth. She wasn’t bringing me into her circle. She was dragging me there to force me to accept Gavin’s presence. A dozen sports cars were lined up, their engines revving in a loud, echoing chorus. Gavin spotted us, a sweet smile plastering his face. “Look who made it! Brooke actually managed to bring the househusband out!” “But hey, aren’t you going to be terrified in the passenger seat? Unlike me, the louder the brakes screech, the more excited I get.” The other drivers laughed. Brooke frowned slightly. But Gavin was already pulling open the passenger door, grinning. “Just kidding, don’t be tense. I’m just worried because you don’t know these mountain passes. There are a lot of sharp turns ahead. I should probably navigate for her.” Brooke rubbed her nose. “Gavin knows these roads like the back of his hand. Elliot, why don’t you sit in the back for now? Safety first.” The back seat. Mountain roads. Sharp turns. The words wrapped around my throat like a vice. On that rainy night years ago, my parents had been sitting in the back seat while I drove. The slick mountain pass, the screeching brakes, the world spinning upside down, and my mother’s blood-soaked, lifeless eyes. The flashing rescue lights cutting through the heavy rain. My entire family, shattered in an instant. Before that day, I wasn’t just Elliot the barber. I had raced in junior leagues, brought home trophies, and my coach had praised my fearlessness and sharp reflexes. I was on the fast track to the professional leagues. Even my father used to tell me, “My boy drives steadier than I ever could.” But that single crash had crushed everything. The memory left me pale and frozen. But Brooke just assumed I was acting up again. She grabbed my wrist. “Elliot, don’t embarrass me in front of my friends. It’s just a seat change. If you’re really that scared, I’ll take it slow.” Gavin was already buckled into the passenger seat, waving at me through the window. “Get in, buddy! Don’t worry, I’ll guide her!” The door slammed shut, and I climbed into the back. The city skyline shrank behind us as the winding mountain roads climbed higher. At first, Brooke kept her speed down, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “You okay back there?” I stared out the glass. “Keep it slow.” “I will.” But Gavin quickly pulled out his phone to start a live stream. He aimed the camera at the road ahead, then panned to Brooke’s hands tight on the steering wheel. “Hey guys, Brooke is taking me for a spin! This pass is absolutely insane!” The chat was flying by, and Gavin grinned widely. “Brooke, remember how you used to drift that sharp corner up ahead? Show them what you’ve got!” Brooke frowned. “Stop messing around.” “Oh, come on, driving slow is boring.” He brought the phone closer to her face. “Don’t tell me you’re scared just because your boyfriend is in the back?” The car’s walkie-talkie crackled to life with other drivers joining in. “Don’t back down, Brooke! Show your man how it’s done!” I stared at the road ahead. It had rained the night before, and wet patches still mirrored the trees in the shadows. I couldn’t help but speak up. “The road is slick. Don’t drift.” Gavin’s smile faltered. “Relax, buddy. We’ve run this route dozens of times.” I repeated, “There is standing water on the asphalt.” Brooke glanced at me through the mirror, her irritation clear. “Elliot, I know you’re uncomfortable, but don’t ruin the mood for everyone. I know what I’m doing.” But then, the tail of the car fish-tailed. The tires lost traction on a wet patch, and the entire vehicle lurched violently. The screech of tires from that rainy night, my mother’s screams, the sound of shattering glass, it all rushed back in a deafening wave. I clung to my seatbelt, my breath turning shallow and rapid. I heard myself whisper, “Stop the car…” but my voice was barely audible. Gavin shrieked first, “Brooke!” The moment Brooke regained control of the vehicle, her immediate reaction was to reach over and pull Gavin into her arms. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.” She unbuckled her seatbelt, turning her entire body to comfort him. I sat frozen in the back seat, my ears ringing. I tried to reach for the door handle, but my limbs felt like lead. It took several minutes for Brooke to finally look back at me. Seeing the pale, rigid expression on my face, she immediately scoffed. “He was terrified, Elliot! Can you please stop giving us that look? We’re all out to have a good time. You need to stop being so uptight.” I looked down at my phone, opened an app for a moving company, and sent them my address. Please arrive promptly at 9:00 AM the day after tomorrow. 4 I couldn’t recover after we got back. The sound of screeching tires echoed constantly in my head, and my stomach felt like it was being twisted in a knot. Brooke came over and pressed her hand to my forehead. “Why are you so burning hot?!” She rushed to pour a glass of water and rummaged through the medicine cabinet. “How did you manage to get yourself this sick?” Frowning, she tucked the blanket around my shoulders, placing her warm palm against my back to soothe me. But then, her hand froze as her phone began to ring. Gavin’s name flashed across the screen. “Brooke, I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see the car sliding on the mountain road. I’m so scared. Can you come over and keep me company for a bit?” A flicker of hesitation crossed her eyes, but she stood up anyway. “I’ll be right back.” She didn’t return until seven the next morning, carrying a container of porridge and medicine. Seeing me sitting up against the headboard, she walked over and touched my cheek. “Still mad?” “I know I shouldn’t have left last night,” she sighed. “But Gavin has no one else. You have me, Elliot. He’s completely alone in this city. Who else can he turn to?” I pushed her hand away. “Do I really have you, Brooke?” Brooke blinked, startled, then frowned. “Do you have to be like this? I came back, didn’t I?” She dismissed the question, clearly unwilling to engage. “Next Saturday is the garage’s anniversary party. You’re coming, right? You’re my future husband, you need to be there to support me.” I didn’t say yes, nor did I say no. A few days later, Gavin strolled into my barber shop, a breezy smile on his face. “Hey, big guy. Give me a fresh cut. I need to look perfect for the garage’s anniversary party next week. You’re coming to the party, right? Brooke said she has to bring you along for formal events.” “Honestly, I’m kind of jealous of you,” he laughed. “It must be nice to have the official title. Unlike me, I’m the one who goes drifting with her, stays up late, and helps her sign clients. But in the end, I’m still just a partner.” I kept my hands steady, carefully trimming the ends of his hair. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But Brooke did say you’re fragile. She doesn’t want you exerting yourself, so she lets me handle the heavy lifting to keep you comfortable.” The scissors paused for a fraction of a second. He saw the pause and grinned, thinking he had finally struck a nerve. I simply looked at him. “Anything else you want trimmed?” On the night of the anniversary, I closed my shop early. When I got back to the apartment, more than half of my belongings were already gone. Over the years, I had slowly filled this space with warmth. Now, in a single day, I had erased my presence entirely. My phone buzzed with a boarding reminder from the international racing team. I took one last look around the apartment. In that kitchen, I had cooked for Brooke. On that balcony, I had spent hours waiting for her to come home. At that dining table, I had sliced my birthday cake alone. This place held all the evidence of my love for her. Now, it was cleared away. I was truly letting go. At the garage’s anniversary party, Gavin was showing off his haircut, laughing with a group of drivers. “Where’s the boyfriend? Why isn’t he here yet?” Brooke checked her phone. There were no texts from me. A wave of irritation washed over her, but she forced a smile and made an excuse. “He’s not feeling well. He should be arriving shortly.” Gavin chuckled softly. “Maybe he’s still pouting. Men are so easy to manage once you soothe their egos.” Just then, an employee approached with a small gift box. “Brooke, a courier just delivered this from your boyfriend.” The box was incredibly tiny. Gavin glanced at it with a smirk. “A tiny box for such a big milestone? Well, I guess it’s the thought that counts.” A few people laughed. Brooke felt a twinge of disappointment, but her expression softened when she opened the box and saw a custom flash drive inside. She had given me that drive back when we first started dating. She had told me, “If you ever want to give me a major surprise, start with this. It has sentimental value.” Over the years, I had used it to organize her birthday surprises, compiling old promotional videos, client testimonials, and business proposals I had stayed up all night drafting. On one of those nights, she had held me with tear-filled eyes and whispered, “Elliot, you understand me better than anyone in the world.” Remembering that, her annoyance melted away. Her chest warmed with a quiet anticipation. Had I prepared another surprise for her? Was my cold behavior over the last few days just a setup for this grand gesture? Gavin rolled his eyes but urged her on. “Go on, Brooke, plug it in! Let’s see what kind of surprise we have.” With the entire room watching, Brooke stepped up to the main stage and plugged the flash drive into the laptop connected to the projector.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “452546”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After marrying my husband for the third time, I still hadn’t learned my lesson. Seeing his female secretary in our kitchen making breakfast first thing in the morning, I lost my mind, marched right over, and flipped the dining table. Suddenly, floating comments appeared in my field of vision like a live stream chat: [The reincarnated heroine is a genius! With just a few simple tricks, she got the villainess to self-destruct and divorce three times already. Girl boss is absolutely slaying!] [This annoying brat of a wife always treats her billionaire husband like trash and threatens divorce at the drop of a hat. This time, she finally pushed him to his limit.] [After the fourth divorce, the stupid ex-wife will still be waiting around for him to beg her to come back, completely unaware that the real heroine is already pregnant with his heir and taking her crown. The ex-wife ends up dying all alone in some miserable rented room.] I froze. But I still couldn’t hold back. I swung my hand and slapped Austin across the face. 1 A sharp, ringing crack echoed through the room. But my palm didn’t land on Austin’s face. Gemma had thrown herself in front of him, taking the blow. I stared, momentarily stunned. Before I could even say a word, Gemma was already biting her lip, looking up at me with tear-filled eyes. “Ma’am, if you wanted to take your anger out on me, I would have accepted it,” she sobbed, her voice trembling. “But how could you ruin this breakfast? The two hours I spent cooking don’t matter, but Austin has a sensitive stomach. If he skips breakfast, his ulcer will flare up again…” I rolled my eyes so hard they almost got stuck. “I was aiming for your boss. Who told you to dive in and catch the slap?” Gemma choked on her words, tears instantly welling up. At that moment, Austin stood up. He stepped between us, shielding her, and looked down at me. His voice was completely flat. “Don’t feel like wraps this morning?” I sneered, turning my head away to ignore this man who clearly had no concept of personal boundaries. Austin remained silent for a beat before suddenly addressing Gemma. “You should leave first.” I turned to walk away, cold and furious, but Austin grabbed my wrist. Gemma blinked in surprise, then nodded meekly. “Alright, Austin. I’ll do as you say.” Before stepping out the door, she paused and turned back, offering him a sweet, lingering look. “We have that meeting with Mr. Larson from Apex Enterprises at ten. I’ll head over first to prep the documents. Please join me as soon as you’re done here.” Austin finally glanced at her. “Right.” The way these two were making eyes at each other right in front of me was infuriating. Did they think I was dead? Anger surged through my chest. [Look at the CEO’s dark expression! He’s clearly furious that his girl got slapped. He’s totally done with the toxic wife!] [That’s why he told the heroine to leave first. He was terrified his psycho wife would hurt her again. What a protective king, haha!] [Our precious girl is still thinking about work even after getting hurt. She’s a true power player worthy of standing by his side, unlike the useless, pretty-faced ex-wife!] [Don’t worry, the wife is about to demand a divorce and he’s going to agree instantly. The plot is finally getting back on track!] My heart skipped a beat. I actually had been planning to throw a fit and demand a divorce. Were these bizarre floating comments actually real? Had Austin really fallen for Gemma, just waiting for me to step aside? Then why the hell did he keep begging me to remarry him? Before I could wrap my head around it, Austin was already tying on an apron with practiced ease. “What do you want to eat? I don’t have time for anything complicated since I have to run. How about some eggs and toast?” [Why hasn’t she brought up the divorce yet? The CEO is stuck cooking for her just waiting for her to say it. He couldn’t even leave with our sweet girl. Annoying!] [The toxic wife keeps using her father’s mentorship to guilt-trip him. Poor guy has divorced her three times and still can’t shake her off.] [That’s why the heroine couldn’t stand her. Reincarnating was her chance to snatch the CEO away and shower him with the love he actually deserves!] Staring at the aloof man in front of me, a sudden wave of bitterness stung my nose. “I’m not hungry! Just go to work!” I yanked my hand out of his grip and stormed back into my bedroom. Not long after, the sound of an engine revving came from the driveway. Austin had actually left without saying another word. 2 My temples throbbed with rage. Lying on the bed, my chest felt incredibly tight. I didn’t get it. Austin and I were the ones who were married. Why were these bizarre comments cheering on a blatant homewrecker? Just because Gemma was the heroine and I was the villainess? My birth had been a difficult one, resulting in mild oxygen deprivation. Because of that, I had always been a bit slow. When I was a kid, my relatives used to whisper behind my back, joking that if someone kidnapped me and sold me off, I’d probably count the cash for them with a big smile. I was also incredibly lazy. Whenever things got slightly difficult, my immediate reaction was to throw in the towel. Hey, persistence is hard. Giving up is effortless. Fortunately, I had an incredible father. He was the director of the National Academy of Sciences. He had mentored countless brilliant minds, and Austin was his absolute star pupil. Austin was also breathtakingly handsome. Tall, lean, and possessing the kind of presence that commanded any room he walked into. I had fallen for him at first sight. Armed with my dad’s connection, I spent three years chasing this absolute iceberg of a man until I finally melted him. While Austin came from humble beginnings, his talent was undeniable. Even my hard-to-please father had nothing but praise for him. And Austin certainly proved him right. The projects his team developed were wild successes, and within a few short years, his net worth skyrocketed, turning him into the brilliant young billionaire everyone gossiped about. With money and power, the vultures naturally started circling. Back when he was a nobody, I was the only one who wanted him. Now that he was wealthy and gorgeous, things had changed. Still, even though Austin always treated me with a certain cool detachment, he never showed the slightest interest in other women either, so I had never worried. Until Gemma showed up. I noticed Austin treated her differently. After all, she was the reason I had walked away three times already. Gemma’s tactics were cheap but effective. She would leave lipstick marks on his collar, send him late-night texts loaded with double entendres, or show up at galas wearing the exact same designer dress as me. But Austin was hopelessly dense. Whenever he saw me shaking with rage, he would just say, “You’re overthinking it. She’s not like you.” I decided to choose a better moment to address it. One night, in the middle of our private, intimate moments in bed, I brought it up and urged him to fire her. Austin paused his movements, pinning me down. “You’re right. She’s a distraction.” Yet the very next day, she was still right by his side. Furious and exhausted, I decided to set him free. I demanded a divorce. Austin only stared at me, his eyes dark. “Are you sure?” “Yes,” I snapped. “Fine,” he replied. He didn’t beg. But every single time, before a month had even passed, he would show up at my door asking me to come back. And I always agreed. Honestly? I was a sucker for his face and his body. 3 I rolled over in bed. The screen of comments in my mind was in absolute chaos: [What the hell? Why isn’t the toxic wife falling for it this time? In the original timeline, they should be in their fourth cooling-off period by now!] [Out of respect for his mentor, the CEO won’t be the one to ask for a divorce. Does this mean our sweet girl has to keep being his secret lover? This is so frustrating.] [Don’t worry, the wife is stupid and petty. The heroine just needs to provoke her a little more, and she’ll throw another tantrum.] [Forget about the wife, look! The heroine is accompanying the CEO to a client dinner. Someone just asked if she was Mrs. Finch, and he didn’t deny it! Ahhh, silent confirmation!] So Austin really did have feelings for Gemma. I angrily pulled my gaze away from the floating text. But I wasn’t stupid. I knew Austin’s character inside out. When it came to women who weren’t his wife, the man was incredibly stingy. When I was his wife, my credit cards had no limits. I could buy a whole wall of Hermès bags without him batting an eye. But the moment we divorced, he made sure I left with absolutely nothing. Not a single cent. Over the years, I had grown accustomed to living a life of luxury. A single spa session cost thousands. My own savings wouldn’t even last me two weeks. That was the real reason I always agreed to remarry him so quickly. So this time, I wasn’t going to be the one to bring up the divorce. Since Austin was so in love with Gemma, he would have to be the one to make the move to give her a proper title. I just had to wait. Let him ask for the split. That way, I could legally demand a massive payout. But before that happened… I was going to spend his money like there was no tomorrow! With that thought, I bolted upright and called my exclusive spa, booking a series of premium treatments worth a fortune. The next morning, the moment I woke up, I had a text from Austin: [Having dinner out tonight. Don’t wait up.] I stared at the screen for a long moment. Then, I dialed my best friend. Why spend his money alone when I could bring my bestie along for the ride? I threw on a high-end designer dress and rushed out the door. But as we walked out of the spa and passed a luxury jewelry boutique, Phoebe suddenly gasped. “Sienna, isn’t that your man? Who is that girl with him?” I followed her gaze. Through the glass window, I saw Gemma. She was leaning over a velvet counter, focusing intently on a tray of diamond rings. Beside her stood Austin, wearing a remarkably soft, gentle smile. So this was the business he had to attend to. 4 Phoebe finally recognized Gemma’s face and spat, “Isn’t that the homewrecker who caused your last divorce?” “What the hell is Austin playing at? He literally just remarried you, and now he’s out shopping for rings with her?” Phoebe grabbed me as I instinctively tried to turn away, pulling up her sleeves. “Sienna, why are you running? That’s not like you! You are the legal Mrs. Finch! Come on, let’s go in there and give them hell!” My best friend’s words made me pause. I suddenly realized how much those stupid floating comments were affecting me. I was acting like a doomed supporting character who was bound to be abandoned, choosing to retreat without a fight. But why should I back down? Even if I was destined to lose, I was going to make this cheating duo pay a heavy price first! Taking a deep breath, I balled my hands into fists, ready to catch them red-handed. Inside the shop, Austin seemed to sense something. He abruptly turned his head toward the window. Seeing my furious face, his brow instantly furrowed. [Look at how annoying the wife is. The CEO was smiling so sweetly at our girl, but the second he saw his wife, his face fell!] [Omg, is he helping her pick out an engagement ring? Is he planning a proposal?] [It breaks my heart knowing the toxic wife is going to use her dad’s influence to bully the heroine again. But her time is coming. Her father’s downfall is happening soon, and without him, let’s see how she throws her weight around!] What?! Is something terrible going to happen to my dad? The fury on my face instantly vanished, replaced by sheer panic. I couldn’t care less about confronting them anymore. I grabbed Phoebe’s hand, shoving my black card into her palm. “Max out this card. Buy whatever you want. I have an emergency.” Without waiting for her reply, I sprinted to my car and sped toward my father’s house. According to the comments, my dad was already feeling unwell but was brushing it off as typical old-age aches and pains. By the time he realized something was seriously wrong, it would be too late. He would pass away in less than three days. The mere thought of losing the father who had cherished me my entire life sent a sharp, agonizing pain through my chest. As I burst through the front gate, I saw my dad in the garden, watering his flowers. Since retiring, this had become his favorite hobby. “Well, look who it is! My little princess is home!” Seeing his cheerful, smiling face, my eyes welled with tears. When my mother died from complications during my birth, my father’s hair had turned white overnight. For years, people urged him to remarry. My grandmother had even threatened him, arguing that I was slow and practically a simpleton, and that he needed to have another child so the family line wouldn’t end. But he refused. He dedicated his life entirely to me, giving me all the love and indulgence in the world. Recalling the comments, I rushed over. “Dad, when was the last time you had a full physical exam?” “Uh, not too long ago. Maybe six months?” His eyes darted away, his voice lacking confidence. “Your old man is as strong as an ox. Aside from this stubborn cough, I’m perfectly fine. Don’t worry, I’ll be around to help you raise your kids!” Hearing that, everything clicked. For some reason, as people got older, they developed an irrational fear of doctors. My dad was no exception. “We are going to the hospital. Right now.” Seeing my stern face and realizing I was truly angry, my dad didn’t dare argue. He meekly followed me to the hospital. To my utter surprise, halfway through the checkups, Austin showed up. 5 Wasn’t he supposed to be with Gemma? Why was he here? But I was in no mood to figure it out. Listening to the veteran specialist’s diagnosis, my tears began to flow freely. Austin stepped forward to pull me into his arms, but I pushed him away with all my might. “This is all your fault! If you and Gemma hadn’t kept stressing me out every single day, I wouldn’t have been too distracted to notice my dad’s health! I would have caught this sooner!” Instead of letting go, he held me even tighter. Unable to break free, I ended up wiping my tears and nose right onto his expensive jacket. Austin sighed, gently stroking my back. “Shh, okay, it’s my fault. But your dad’s condition is in its absolute earliest stage. It’s completely curable with medication. Why are you crying like it’s the end of the world?” I froze. Looking up, I met the amused, knowing gazes of both the doctor and my father. Embarrassed, I let out a wet hiccup. While Austin went to get the prescription, my dad pulled me aside, speaking in a warm, earnest tone. “My sweet girl, Austin isn’t a man of many words, but I can tell his feelings for you are genuine. You throw the word ‘divorce’ around daily, yet he still accommodates your every whim.” “With his current status, there’s no shortage of women trying to climb into his bed. But have you ever actually seen him cross the line?” I opened my mouth to protest, wanting to warn him not to be fooled by Austin’s quiet exterior. I wanted to tell him about what I saw at the jewelry store, and the bizarre floating comments. But looking at the silver hair at his temples, I swallowed my words. I didn’t want to stress him and make his condition worse. I could wait until he was fully recovered. After driving my dad back to his estate and giving the housekeeper strict instructions, I turned around to find Austin still standing there. He was surprisingly free today. I didn’t ask questions, silently sliding into the passenger seat. The drive back to our place was quiet. Once home, I took a long shower, got changed, and crawled into bed to review the shopping list Phoebe had sent over. Just as I was admiring the ridiculous total, a pair of large, warm hands slid under the covers. I looked up into Austin’s deep brown eyes. He was wearing a loosely tied robe, his dark hair still damp from his own shower. I frowned, about to ask what he thought he was doing, when a cold sensation slipped onto my ring finger. I gasped softly, looking down at my hand. It was a massive diamond ring. And the design looked exactly like the one I had seen at the boutique earlier today. “Didn’t you always complain that your ring wasn’t big enough?” Austin murmured, his voice husky against my ear. Before I could say a word, his hot lips pressed against mine. The comments in my mind exploded: [Oh my god! The villainess actually used her sick dad to manipulate him! Poor CEO had to take the ring meant for our heroine just to placate his crazy wife!] [It breaks my heart seeing him forced to perform in bed like this. What’s worse is that the heroine hasn’t even touched him yet, but this toxic b*tch gets to enjoy him whenever she wants!] [It’s fine, it’s just physical for him. His heart belongs entirely to our girl!] To be fair, we hadn’t been intimate in a while. And according to the comments, Austin and Gemma were still strictly platonic? Meaning, my husband was still clean. With that reassuring thought, I stopped overthinking and pulled him closer, matching his intensity. But right at that moment, Austin’s phone began to vibrate on the nightstand.

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Five years later, in a chaotic emergency room, I crossed paths with my ex-husband, Tristan Sinclair. His new wife was on the brink of death from a stray bullet, yet he stood there, demanding to know why I refused to perform the surgery myself. “Are you still holding a grudge against me?” Facing his interrogation, I looked down at my trembling hands. His words echoed the exact tone he had used five years ago when he handed me the divorce papers. “Nora, I don’t love you anymore. I don’t even have a shred of pity left for you.” I whispered those words back to myself, turned on my heel, and walked out of the consultation room. He would never know that the woman once hailed as a surgical prodigy could no longer even hold a scalpel. 1 I stood silently in the sterile chill of the operating room, watching the lead surgeon apply the final, precise sutures. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound bridging the gap between life and death. When the last knot was tied, I quietly slipped out, shedding my bloody scrubs. Pushing through the double doors of the surgical ward, the first thing I saw was Tristan Sinclair. He was sitting on the hard plastic bench in the hallway, his head buried in his hands. At the sound of the doors swinging shut, he looked up. His bloodshot eyes locked onto me instantly. I pulled down my surgical mask, keeping my voice flat and professional. “The surgery was a success. She is out of danger.” I took a step to walk past him, but his voice stopped me. “Nora,” he rasped, his voice rough and dry. I halted, but I did not turn around to face him. “Amman is practically a war zone right now,” he said, his footsteps echoing slightly as he took a step closer. “What on earth are you doing here?” Why was I here? I looked down the long, dim hallway. This was a place where the rattle of gunfire was more common than fireworks, where human life was treated as cheaply as dust. When I didn’t answer, he closed the distance between us. The familiar scent of woodsmoke and expensive cologne washed over me, a ghost from a past life. “Does your family even know you’re in Jordan?” My entire body went rigid. I turned slowly, staring at him in utter disbelief. A wave of cold, dark absurdity washed over me. He didn’t know. He actually had no idea that my parents were gone. But then, why would he? I took two steps back, deliberately re-establishing the boundary between us. “I like it here,” I said, my voice steady. “Saving lives doesn’t require a passport. I think my parents would be proud of the life I’m living now.” Tristan’s dark brows drew together, his eyes darkening to a stormy gray. I knew that look all too well. It was the warning sign before his temper flared. But what was he even angry about? Was he mad because of my lack of deference, or was he simply furious that I was no longer under his control? Either way, it didn’t matter. I had no desire to entangle myself in his web again. Before he could speak, I walked away. The moment I stepped back into my clinic, my colleague Jane followed me in. A mischievous grin played on her lips. “Well, well. Who is the handsome stranger, Dr. Prescott? He looked like he wanted to swallow you whole.” The air in the room grew heavy. I sat down at my desk, trying to ignore her. “He was just asking about his wife’s condition. Nothing more.” “Really?” Jane leaned against the doorframe, clearly not buying it. Before she could pry further, the muffled vibration of Tristan’s phone echoed from the hallway. We heard him answer in a low, clipped tone as his footsteps faded down the corridor. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. When I looked up, Jane was sitting across from me, her chin resting in her hands. “Nora, spill it,” she demanded, her eyes bright with curiosity. “What’s the real story between you two?” I buried my face in a stack of patient charts, keeping my tone indifferent. “If you have this much free time, you should go monitor the aortic dissection patient in ward four.” Jane laughed, waving her phone in front of my face. “Oh, come on. If you don’t tell me, I’ll just go ask him myself. I already looked him up. Tristan Sinclair, the king of New York’s financial district. Ruthless in business, a daredevil in his private life. A total mystery, though. There isn’t a single photo of his wife online. He keeps her completely hidden from the press.” My fingers tightened around the edge of the chart, crumpling the paper. He had protected her so well. He had spared no expense to keep Vivian Mercer safe from the prying eyes of the world. I let out a soft, humorless laugh. Jane was stubborn enough to actually go confront him. After a long silence, I finally spoke. “He’s my ex-husband.” Jane’s jaw dropped. “What?!” 2 My mind drifted back to the first time I saw Tristan. He was the star alumnus invited to speak at my medical school graduation. On that stage, he was magnetic, brilliant, and completely out of reach. He moved with a quiet confidence that made it seem like the spotlight had been invented just for him. I fell for him instantly, a silent, hopeless crush. I knew a girl like me stood no chance with a man destined for the stratosphere. So when my father came home one evening and told me that the Sinclair family had selected me for an arranged marriage, I locked myself in my room and cried tears of pure joy. I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world. And in the beginning, our marriage felt like a dream. Tristan remembered every anniversary. He showered me with thoughtful gifts and brought home the random things I mentioned liking. For a couple of years, I was the envied Mrs. Sinclair, blessed with a loving husband and a thriving career as a rising star in cardiothoracic surgery. I pulled my lips into a bitter smile. But then, Vivian Mercer returned. She was loud, vibrant, and lived life on the edge. She chased adrenaline and radiated a wild, infectious energy. Tristan, the stoic man I had always thought of as an unshakeable pillar, was instantly drawn into her orbit. The first time, he missed my birthday dinner because he was skydiving with Vivian. The second time, he forgot our wedding anniversary entirely to help her photograph a sandstorm in the desert. It happened again and again, until it became a routine. By the time I reached this part of the story, Jane’s face was red with anger. “What an absolute, cold-blooded bastard,” she spat. I took a slow breath and continued. Eventually, I had reached my breaking point. I found Vivian and slid a check for five million dollars across the table. Leave him, I had told her. I am his wife. She had smiled and accepted the money. But that very night, Tristan stormed into our house and threw the check in my face. The sharp paper cut my cheek, but the look in his eyes hurt far worse. It was a cold, vicious fury I had never seen before. “Nora, don’t you dare use your dirty family money to insult Vivian,” he snarled. “As long as you stay quiet and behave, you will remain the respected Mrs. Sinclair. Don’t ruin it.” Jane was practically shaking. “Respected? Was he blind?” Apparently, he was. And back then, so was I. After that night, Tristan stopped hiding. He flaunted Vivian at social events and joined her in every dangerous stunt he had once called foolish. Skydiving, wingsuit flying, deep-sea diving. Until the night they went street racing, and their sports car wrapped around a concrete barrier. Vivian was rushed to my hospital. Her uterus was ruptured, her abdomen was filled with blood, and her vitals were flatlining. I was the chief surgeon on call that night. Jane held her breath, waiting. I hated Vivian, but my oath as a doctor was sacred. I blocked out my personal feelings and fought for hours to save her. In the end, to stop the catastrophic bleeding and keep her alive, I had no choice but to perform a hysterectomy. But when she woke up, they blamed me. “You did this on purpose!” Vivian screamed from her recovery bed, her face contorted with rage. “You wanted to make sure I could never have Tristan’s children!” I tried to explain the medical necessity, but she wouldn’t listen. In a fit of rage, she grabbed her heavy metal water flask and hurled it at my face. It struck my forehead. Blood poured into my eyes, hot and blinding. Exhausted and hurt, I walked out of her room. But there was no apology waiting for me. Instead, the hospital administration suspended me pending an investigation. A week later, I was quietly fired. And the day after Vivian was discharged, Tristan handed me the divorce papers. I begged. I cried. I made a fool of myself trying to claw back any shred of the man who had once held me gently. But he was hollow. “Nora, I don’t love you,” he said, his voice completely devoid of warmth. “I don’t even pity you anymore. Just sign it.” 3 Looking at Jane’s tear-stained face, a strange calmness settled over me. I reached out and patted her hand. “So you signed them and came straight to Jordan?” she asked, wiping her eyes. “No,” I whispered. “I didn’t.” Back then, the rejection had driven me mad. I grabbed the papers and tore them to shreds right in front of him. “I will never sign these, Tristan! Not unless I’m dead!” From that day on, Tristan never set foot in our home again. Instead, he used his massive financial influence to systematically dismantle my family’s business, trying to starve me into submission. In my desperation, I did the stupidest thing of my life. I leaked intimate photos of him and Vivian to the press. Overnight, Vivian was branded a homewrecker. The public backlash was vicious. But that act of retaliation triggered my absolute ruin. Within twelve hours, the internet was flooded with highly realistic, AI-generated nude photos and explicit videos with my face on them. No matter how much I screamed that they were fake, nobody believed me. Furious, I drove to the Sinclair headquarters. Every employee I passed whispered and pointed, their eyes filled with disgust. Tristan’s assistant tried to block me, but I shoved past him and threw open the office door. Tristan and Vivian were wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing passionately. The sight made my stomach turn. I lost control. I ran forward and slapped Vivian across the face. The next second, a heavy blow struck my own cheek, sending me crashing to the floor. My face went numb. Tristan stood over me, his eyes icy. “Nora, I’ve tolerated your tantrums for too long. It seems your family has no reason to exist in this city anymore.” As I lay on the floor, cradling my bruising face, my phone rang. It was my father. His voice sounded incredibly fragile. He told me that my mother’s heart had failed after seeing the horrific things written about me online. She was in the ICU. A week later, my family went completely bankrupt. My parents had to sell everything, including their home, just to settle the debts. They aged ten years in a matter of days. On the day they prepared to leave New York, my father hugged me tightly. His shoulders were stooped, his spirit broken. “Let him go, Nora,” he wept into my hair. “Tristan is not a good man. Come home with us.” Looking at my broken parents, the fog of my obsession finally cleared. I realized my stubbornness had destroyed the only people who truly loved me. “I will, Dad,” I sobbed. “Let me just finalize the paperwork, and I’ll join you.” I went back to my empty apartment to pack my things, waiting for Tristan’s lawyers to bring the new papers. But as I was wrapping up a box, the world spun, and I collapsed. I woke up in a hospital bed. The doctor delivered the news with a gentle smile. I was two months pregnant. That tiny heartbeat threw everything into chaos. I wanted to divorce him and raise the child alone, but the Sinclair family refused to let their bloodline be raised outside their household. For a brief moment, Tristan and I reached a tense, fragile truce. Until the afternoon I was kidnapped. I woke up tied to a chair in a damp, abandoned warehouse. Vivian stood over me, looking down at my bound hands with a smug grin. “Nora, let’s play a game. Who do you think Tristan will choose? You, or me?” I closed my eyes, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing my fear. When Tristan finally burst through the door, my heart leaped. “Tristan, please,” I begged, tears streaming down my face. “Save the baby! Vivian set this whole thing up!” But my pleas only made his face harden with disgust. He looked at me as if I were a monster, a crazy woman who would stage her own kidnapping just to win him back. Without a second thought, he untied Vivian, scooped her into his arms, and walked out. He left me behind, bound and pregnant, in the dark. Once Tristan was gone, the men Vivian hired stepped out of the shadows. Under her parting instructions, they beat me until the floor was slick with my blood. They left me there to rot. But I couldn’t die. I had to get back to my parents. I dragged my broken body across the concrete floor, inch by inch, crawling toward the light. I crawled for an entire day and night before someone finally found me. By the time I woke up in the hospital, the baby was gone. And my heart died that day, buried alongside my unborn child.

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1 On the night I secured a fifty-million-dollar profit margin for the company, my year-end bonus finally cleared: $250. In the memo line, there were only two words: Dog food. At that exact moment, Scarlett, the HR director who barely knew how to open an Excel sheet, posted a photo of a Porsche key fob on her social media feed. Her caption read: “My favorite cousin spoils me the most! Seven-figure year-end bonus!” The entire office waited for me to lose my mind or quit on the spot. Instead, I smiled and sent a polite text to my boss: “Thank you, sir.” Then I turned around and knocked on the door of his wife’s penthouse. I laid a thick stack of hotel check-in records and falsified accounting ledgers on the glass table in front of her. Elizabeth Croft looked at me, a dangerous smile touching her lips. “How do you want to play this, Nate?” I loosened my tie, taking a slow step toward her. “I want to be the man sitting right beside you,” I said, my voice low. “In the boardroom, and in your life.” … I stared at the three-digit deposit notification on my screen, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of it. “Oh, look. Nate, did your bonus finally hit?” Scarlett stepped up to my desk, her ten-inch stiletto heels clicking sharply against the linoleum. She lazily twirled her new Porsche key ring around a finger adorned with glittering, diamond-encrusted acrylic nails. I locked my phone and looked up. “Is there something you need, Scarlett?” She giggled, covering her mouth in mock innocence. “Not really. It’s just that my cousin, I mean, Richard, wanted me to ask if you were satisfied with your reward.” She bent down, leaning close enough for her heavy perfume to clog my senses. “I was the one who told payroll to send you that two-fifty, Nate. A stray like you doesn’t deserve a penny more.” “The company had a tough year. We all have to make sacrifices,” I replied, my voice dry and empty of emotion. My lack of reaction seemed to bore her. “Ugh, look at you. No spine at all,” she sneered. She stood up straight and raised her voice so the entire open-plan office could hear. “Listen up, everyone! Richard is treating the whole team to dinner tonight to celebrate our record-breaking year. Make sure you all show up!” The room erupted into cheers and sycophantic applause. Just then, my desk phone buzzed. It was Richard Cross, the CEO. “Get in here,” his voice grunted through the receiver. I grabbed my notebook and walked into his corner office. Richard was reclined in his high-back leather chair, his feet propped up on the mahogany desk. “Have a seat.” He jerked his chin toward the stiff wooden chair across from him. “I assume you got the text?” He exhaled a thick cloud of cigar smoke, looking at me like I was a joke he had already heard. “I did. Thank you, Richard.” He let out a sharp chuckle, flicking his cigar ash onto the plush carpet. “Don’t go thinking it’s too little. You know what the market is like right now. It’s a miracle the company is even afloat. Sure, your project brought in fifty million, but our overhead is astronomical. That two-fifty might seem like pocket change, but money is money. Go buy yourself a nice dinner.” Our net profit had tripled this year, yet here he was, crying poverty. I simply nodded. “I understand, Richard. Thank you for the perspective.” He blinked, clearly surprised by my submissiveness. The contempt in his eyes deepened. “Good. Since you’re being so reasonable, there’s one more thing.” He slid a manila folder across the desk. “The Apex Group account. You don’t need to worry about the follow-up. Hand all the files over to Scarlett.” My eyes snapped up. The Apex account was a massive deal I had nurtured for three long years. It was set to be our primary revenue stream for the next five years. Now that the hard part was done and the harvest was here, he was giving it to his mistress on a silver platter. “Richard, Scarlett doesn’t know the technical specifications, nor does she have any experience in high-level negotiations. The team at Apex—” “Enough!” Richard slammed his palm on the desk, cutting me off. “What is that tone, Nate? Do you own this company? I put whoever I want on my accounts!” He leaned forward, his face red. “Scarlett is young talent. She needs to be tested. As a senior executive, you need to show some leadership. Unless, of course, you’ve been hoarding these client relationships to start your own little agency?” He was setting the stage to freeze me out entirely. I didn’t argue. I stood up, pulled out my pen, and signed the transfer agreement with a smooth, unbroken stroke. Richard stared at my signature, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Now that’s what I call a team player. Make sure you come to the party tonight. Buy Scarlett a drink; she’s your boss now.” I walked back to my desk. Scarlett was already ordering a couple of interns to clear out my files. “Oh, Nate, this archive box is so heavy,” she said, pointing a manicured finger at a plastic tub on the floor. “Be a dear and carry it into my new office, will you?” Without a word, I bent down, picked up the heavy box, and carried it in. “My pleasure, Scarlett.” The rest of the office watched the humiliation unfold like vultures waiting for a carcass. I ignored them all. Back at my computer, I opened the main directory for the Apex project and ran a hidden script I had embedded months ago. On the surface, the data looked perfectly intact. But I had set a twenty-four-hour timer. If I didn’t log into the secure server from my personal gateway within that window, the entire database would corrupt into useless code. I shut my laptop, took out my burner phone, and sent a message to a contact saved only as S. “The fish took the bait. See you tonight.” The reply came instantly. “Perfect.” 2 Seven PM, the grand ballroom of the Hilton. Richard had rented out the entire top floor to celebrate the company’s record year. I stood at the entrance wearing the same gray suit I had worn for three years. The hostess checked my badge, her polite smile instantly freezing. “Mr. Harrison, your table is… over there.” She pointed toward a dim corner of the ballroom, right next to the service corridor and the restrooms. The table didn’t even have a tablecloth. Just a couple of chipped plates and a plastic pitcher of water. “It’s an overflow table,” she added dismissively. “I’m sure you don’t mind.” “Not at all,” I said, walking over. At the center table, Richard and Scarlett were surrounded by a crowd of adoring managers. Scarlett was wearing a backless crimson designer gown, her neck draped in a diamond necklace. I knew the price of that necklace. It was exactly the amount of the commission Richard had cut from my bonus. “Quiet down, everyone!” Richard shouted into a wireless microphone, his face flush with alcohol. “This year’s success belongs to all of us! But we owe a special round of applause to our new director, Scarlett! She’s young, she’s ambitious, and she just secured the Apex Group account! To celebrate, I’m personally awarding her a two-million-dollar cash bonus!” The room erupted into thunderous applause. “To Scarlett!” someone yelled. “Brilliant leadership!” another chimed in. Scarlett leaned into Richard’s side, her eyes finding me in the dark corner. “Oh, I didn’t do much,” she purred into the microphone, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I just had a great mentor. I’m not like some people who spend years dragging their feet only to end up worth two hundred and fifty bucks.” A wave of cruel laughter rippled through the room. “Man, Nate really took a beating today.” “He always acted like he was indispensable. Turns out he’s just a placeholder.” “Can’t even compare to Scarlett.” I sat quietly, raising my teacup to my lips, blowing gently on the steam. The heavy double doors of the ballroom swung open again, and the laughter died down. A woman in a simple, elegant slate-gray dress walked in. Her dark hair was pinned up loosely, and she carried herself with a quiet, undeniable authority that made the room feel suddenly small. Elizabeth Croft. She was Richard’s wife on paper, the co-founder of the firm, and the person whose family trust actually funded the entire operation. But over the last few years, Richard had systematically pushed her out of the day-to-day operations, keeping her isolated at home. Richard’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered his mask. “Elizabeth! Darling, what are you doing here? You should be resting at home.” Scarlett quickly let go of Richard’s arm, taking a cautious step back. Elizabeth ignored her husband entirely, walking toward the head table. As she passed my dark corner, her gaze flicked to me for a brief instant. I gave her a subtle, polite nod. She kept walking, but that split-second exchange hadn’t escaped Scarlett’s sharp eyes. Scarlett’s expression darkened. She grabbed a full glass of Cabernet from a passing waiter and marched over to my table. “Nate, what are you doing sitting all the way back here?” she asked loudly, drawing the attention of the surrounding tables. “Richard is so forgetful. How could he put our star employee next to the toilets?” She offered a sweet, patronizing smile, but as she reached out to set the glass down, her wrist gave a sudden, deliberate jerk. The dark red wine splashed squarely across my face and down the front of my white shirt. “Oh my gosh! I am so, so sorry!” Scarlett shrieked, grabbing a single napkin and frantically dabbing at my chest, smearing the stain further. “My hand slipped! You aren’t mad at me, are you, Nate?” Nobody offered me a napkin. They just grinned, enjoying the free entertainment. Richard called out from the stage, his tone annoyed. “Nate! What is wrong with you? You can’t even hold a drink? Go clean yourself up in the restroom. Stop embarrassing us.” I pushed Scarlett’s hand away. The cold wine dripped from my chin onto my tie. “No need,” I said calmly. I stood up, unclipped my security badge, and let it drop directly into Scarlett’s half-empty wine glass. “Richard, this wine is too expensive for a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar employee,” I said, my voice carrying clearly through the quiet room. “You’ll have my resignation in your inbox tomorrow morning.” I turned and walked out. Richard’s furious roar followed me down the hall. “Nate! You walk out that door, and you’re finished in this town! I will blacklist you from every firm in New York!” I didn’t slow my pace. As I reached the elevator, I looked back. Elizabeth was still sitting at the main table, swirling her wine. She caught my eye, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips. Then she set her glass down and stood up. “I’m tired,” she told her husband. “I’m going home.” 3 Eleven PM. The rain was coming down in sheets outside Elizabeth’s luxury townhouse overlooking the East River. The heavy oak door swung open, revealing Elizabeth in a flowing silk emerald robe, a thin cigarette smoldering between her fingers. She stepped aside. “Come in.” I took off my wet coat and walked into the living room, placing my leather briefcase on the marble coffee table. “Here is the paper trail showing Richard and Scarlett shifting twenty-three million dollars into offshore accounts over the last eighteen months,” I said, opening the case. “Here are the hotel records from their weekend trips. And these are copies of the fake invoices Scarlett approved.” Elizabeth sat on the velvet sofa opposite me. She didn’t look at the files. She just watched me through the rising curls of smoke. “How long have you been gathering this?” she asked. “Since the day he told me to write Scarlett’s proposals for her because she didn’t know how to use PowerPoint,” I replied. “That was two years ago.” Elizabeth laughed, though her eyes remained ice cold. “You’re a dangerous man, Nate. You could easily use this to blackmail Richard for enough money to retire comfortably.” She leaned forward, her silk robe parting slightly at the collar. “Why bring it to me?” I met her gaze. “Because I don’t like being treated like garbage. And I hate seeing thieves live in luxury while the people who built the foundation get discarded.” I unbuttoned my cuffs, revealing a small, faint scar on my wrist. “I nearly died of a stomach ulcer trying to keep his clients happy while he was taking vacations with his mistress. I want what’s mine. And I think you deserve a better partner than a man who is robbing you blind.” Elizabeth’s eyes softened as she looked at the scar. She reached out, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the files. “I want him gone with nothing,” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I want Scarlett to pay back every single cent she took. And I want sole control of the firm.” “Done.” I pulled one final document from my briefcase. “This is a restructuring agreement. Once Richard signs his shares over to you, the company is yours.” Elizabeth’s fingers trembled slightly as she looked at the paper. She stood up and walked over to me, stopping only inches away. I could smell the faint scent of jasmine and rain on her skin. She reached up, her fingernail gently brushing the dry wine stain on my collar. “You’re messy,” she murmured. “I don’t mind getting dirty if it gets the job done,” I said. Just then, my phone began to vibrate violently on the coffee table. The caller ID showed Arthur, our IT director. A second later, another call came in from Richard. I didn’t answer. I just let them ring. Elizabeth smiled, taking a sip of her wine. “It seems your little present just went off.” I picked up the phone and pressed the speaker button. Richard’s voice screamed through the speaker so loudly the audio distorted. “Nate! You son of a bitch! What did you do to the Apex servers? Everything is scrambled! The client is threatening to sue us! Get back here and fix this right now, or I swear to God I’ll have you arrested!” I listened to him panting on the other end before I spoke. “I don’t work for you anymore, Richard. And as far as I know, the Apex project belongs to Scarlett now. Let her handle it.” “Nate—” I hung up and tossed the phone back on the table. “Tomorrow is going to be a very long day,” I said. Elizabeth raised her glass to mine. “Let’s make sure we enjoy the show.”

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1 During our worst arguments, my hearing-impaired husband had a habit of ripping out his hearing aid. He would stand there in absolute silence, leaving me to scream and cry like a hysterical lunatic, entirely ignored. But this time, I froze. I had finally realized that he never treated his childhood sweetheart this way. I remembered a time when he had upset Lydia. In a fit of temper, she had accidentally slapped his hearing aid off, sending it shattering onto the pavement. Instead of getting angry, he had dropped to his knees, frantically searching the ground. “Lydia, please don’t be mad,” he had pleaded, his voice trembling as he groped in the dark. “Please don’t shut me out.” His first instinct wasn’t anger; it was sheer, suffocating anxiety. He was terrified of being locked out of her world. He was desperate to hear her voice, her sighs, her anger. He couldn’t bear to miss a single second of her response. The moment the device was repaired, he had rushed straight back to her, just so she could repeat the harsh words she had yelled at him. Seven years of built-up grief suddenly crashed over me. Looking at Oliver, I finally understood that I had never truly been allowed inside his world. Seeing that I had quieted down, Oliver calmly slid his hearing aid back into place. His expression was completely detached. “Since you’ve calmed down, go make dinner. Cook some sweet and sour ribs. Lydia is coming over later, and they’re her favorite.” My voice was flat when I spoke. “Oliver, let’s get a divorce.” He froze for a fraction of a second, his hand hovering over his ear. “What did you say? My hearing aid static was acting up.” “I said,” I began, but the doorbell cut me off. At the same time, his phone chimed with a custom ringtone. He glanced at the screen, a genuine smile instantly softening his features. “Lydia is off her shift. I’m going to pick her up,” he said, turning toward the door. “Don’t forget about dinner. And remember, no green onions. Lydia hates them.” With that, he hurried out. In our seven years of marriage, he had memorized every single one of Lydia’s preferences. For me, he only ever had one excuse: If you don’t tell me what you want, how am I supposed to know? Yet Lydia never had to say a word. A single crease of her brow was enough to send him into hours of anxious worry. I didn’t make the ribs. Instead, I cooked a table full of spicy, heavy dishes that I loved. Both Oliver and Lydia preferred bland, mild food. To accommodate them, I hadn’t eaten a proper, sweat-inducing spicy meal in years. Just as I plated the last dish, the front lock clicked. Oliver walked in, his arm gently guiding Lydia through the doorway. They were carrying several shopping bags. Oliver set them down and handed me a small, elegant box of red bean pastries from the Crescent Bakery. It was a famous, expensive shop. And those pastries were the one sweet I genuinely loved. Whenever Oliver upset me, he would bring a box home, and my anger would immediately dissolve at the sight of it. But this time, I didn’t reach for it. I simply pointed toward the coffee table. “Put it there.” When Oliver saw the bright red, chili-laden dishes on the dining table, his face darkened. “Bridget, did you do this on purpose? Lydia can’t handle spicy food. What is she supposed to eat?” Lydia quickly grabbed his sleeve, her voice soft and sweet. “Oliver, it’s fine. I can manage. Today is Bridget’s special day, after all.” The anger in Oliver’s eyes melted instantly. He looked at her like a protective dog being patted on the head. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, leaning down. Lydia nodded, a sweet smile on her face. They were standing so close. It was only then that I noticed the matching cartoon rabbit stickers pasted onto their identical hearing aids. I remembered our seventh anniversary. I had begged Oliver to use matching cartoon profile pictures with me on social media, wanting some small, public acknowledgment of our marriage. Don’t be so childish, he had said. Yet, the matching rabbits on his hearing aid apparently weren’t childish at all. I lowered my head, blinking back the hot tears stinging my eyes. Across the table, Oliver set a glass of plain water next to his plate. Every time he picked up a piece of food, he would carefully rinse it in the water before placing it gently into Lydia’s bowl. The lump in my throat grew tighter. I bit my lower lip, fighting to keep my composure as I sat across from them. Suddenly, Oliver placed a piece of rinsed beef into my bowl. I stared at it, caught off guard. This was the first time in our marriage he had ever served me. “I can get it myself,” I muttered. He didn’t look up. “Lydia is still recovering from her ear surgery. She can’t have beef right now. She’s eating this spicy food just to make you happy, so you should thank her.” My chest felt like it was being crushed by a boulder. I had accommodated them for seven years, and not once had anyone thanked me. Why did I have to thank Lydia for tolerating one meal? I slammed my chopsticks onto the table. “If you don’t like it, cook your own damn food.” 2 I had always been mild-tempered, rarely raising my voice, so my sudden outburst shocked them. Lydia scrambled to her feet, looking terrified. In her haste, she choked on a piece of chili, her face turning bright red as she began to cough violently. Oliver reacted as if a bomb had gone off. He slammed his fist on the table and stood up. “Bridget, Lydia came all this way to celebrate your birthday! You made this spicy food specifically to exclude her, and now you’re throwing a tantrum?” A cold, sharp pain pierced my heart. So he did know. He knew today was my birthday. Lydia shook her head frantically, her hands moving in rapid, fluid sign language that I couldn’t understand. Oliver replied to her in the same silent language. I stood there like an intruder, completely shut out of their conversation. Finally, Oliver let out a frustrated growl. “Why should you be the one suffering? Come on, I’m taking you out to eat.” He grabbed Lydia’s hand and marched out of the apartment, slamming the door behind them. The tears I had held back for so long finally spilled over. I sat down alone and began stuffing the spicy food into my mouth, chewing through my sobs. The spice burned my throat until I had to run to the bathroom to throw up, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t understand how the food I used to love so much had turned into pure poison. By the time the plates were empty, my lips were swollen and my eyes were red. I wiped my face and pulled a black bank card from my wallet. It held the savings I had scraped together over the last seven years. Seven years ago, Oliver had a chance to undergo a surgery that could have restored his hearing. But he had jumped in to save me from a group of thugs, and his ear bones were shattered in the fight, permanently destroying any chance of recovery. That guilt had been a phantom ache in my heart for years. I felt like I had ruined his life. To repay him, I spent three months nursing him day and night, eventually marrying him and spending seven years acting as his servant. A dull pain throbbed in my left leg. A year ago, when Lydia had broken his hearing aid, Oliver had wandered into the street without it and was nearly hit by a speeding truck. I had thrown myself in front of the vehicle to push him out of the way, shattering my leg. Even now, I walked with a permanent, slight limp. I had paid my debt. I owed him nothing more. I opened my phone, booked a consultation at a rehabilitation clinic in my hometown, and bought a one-way train ticket for the next morning. Whether Oliver agreed to the divorce or not, I was leaving. As I closed the travel app, my phone rang. It was the Crescent Bakery. Because I loved their pastries, Oliver had signed up for a VIP membership under my phone number. “Hello, is this Mrs. Cross?” the clerk asked politely. “Yes, speaking.” “Your husband ordered our exclusive ‘Four Seasons’ gift set, and it has just arrived. We tried calling his number, but he isn’t answering. Would you be able to pick it up?” “Of course,” I said, my heart fluttering with a tiny, fragile hope. The Four Seasons gift set was incredibly expensive and required booking months in advance. Perhaps, in some hidden corner of his heart, Oliver still cared about me. When I arrived at the bakery, the clerk handed over the beautifully wrapped box. I signed the receipt, my fingers trembling. But as I reached for the handle, the clerk stopped. “Wait, let me double-check. I think the greeting card in the system was addressed to a Ms. Mercer… Let me verify the name.” I froze, the warmth draining from my body. It wasn’t for me. After a few agonizing minutes, the clerk returned with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Cross. The name on the order doesn’t match. I can’t let you take this package.” My hands clenched into tight fists. I forced a polite, empty smile onto my face. “Oh, I see. No worries. I’ll have him pick it up himself.” I practically fled the shop, only to run straight into Oliver at the entrance. 3 I stumbled and fell onto the concrete, a sharp pain shooting through my bad leg. Oliver didn’t even look down at me. He muttered a quick, distracted apology to the air and pushed past me into the bakery. “Hi, is my gift set ready? I saw a missed call.” The clerk smiled and handed the elegant box to him. The transaction went smoothly, without a single hitch. As he turned to leave, the clerk called out, “Mr. Cross, would you like to add a small box of red bean pastries today? I noticed you always buy one whenever you pick up a gift for Ms. Mercer.” Oliver paused, then nodded. “Yes, the usual small box is fine.” I sat on the cold pavement, laughing until tears slipped down my face. I had always thought Oliver, who was usually so careless, bought those pastries because he kept my favorite treat close to his heart. It turned out I was nothing more than a afterthought, a cheap buy-one-get-one-free bonus to soothe his guilt while he spoiled Lydia. I watched his hurried figure disappear down the street. I didn’t call after him. I dragged myself to a bench in a nearby park, staring up at the gray sky. There had been a time, very early on, when we were happy. He would fill a basin with warm water to massage my feet after a long shift, and he would surprise me with small gifts. When did it all change? It was when Lydia returned from her studies abroad. They shared a childhood, and they shared a silent world of hearing loss. They had an endless supply of secrets and a language I could never speak. Sometimes, I couldn’t help but think that if Lydia hadn’t left for her treatment years ago, she would have been the one standing beside him at the altar. The sky grew dark. My phone remained silent. I scolded myself for still hoping he would call, for still wishing he would care. Suddenly, the phone vibrated in my palm. The screen flashed with the contact name: Husband. My heart leaped against my ribs, and I answered quickly. “Oliver, I’m—” “Bridget, did you put that trash on the internet?” his voice cut in, cold and accusatory. I went numb. “What trash?” Oliver let out a disgusted sneer. “Stop acting innocent. You make me sick.” I hung up and quickly opened my social media apps. At the very top of the trending list was a headline in bold letters: Lydia Mercer, prominent jewelry designer, exposed as a homewrecker. Clicking on the tag, the first image was a candid photo of Lydia and Oliver dining at a candlelit restaurant, sitting close enough that their lips seemed to touch. The captions were vicious, pointing out that Oliver was married and that they were out celebrating on his wife’s birthday. Lydia’s tearful voice echoed from the background of the call. “Bridget, I know you hate me, but how could you destroy my career? No one else knew about our dinner except the three of us. If it wasn’t you, who else would buy these rumors to ruin me?” My throat felt tight. I couldn’t find the words to defend myself, even though I was entirely innocent. Oliver snatched the phone back. “Don’t worry, Lydia. I’ll handle this.” He hung up. Within minutes, the trending tag about Lydia began to drop rapidly. But my relief was short-lived. My best friend sent me a frantic text: Bridget, why would you post about what happened seven years ago? Didn’t you swear to carry that secret to your grave? My hands began to shake violently. I clicked back to the trending page. When I saw the new headline at the very top of the list, my knees buckled, and I sank to the ground.

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1 On the third day of our silent treatment, a photo of my boyfriend, Gavin, holding his team’s cute new support player, Piper, hit the trending pages. To damage-control the rumors, Gavin publicly announced that he was single. I didn’t throw a tantrum. I simply rode the wave and let the breakup become official. But later, when I stood on a massive stage and calmly told the interviewer that I was single… Gavin’s eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. … I had been waiting in the private dining booth for six hours. Gavin’s team had just won the national championship, and he had secured the MVP title. He had texted me, saying he wanted to celebrate with just the two of us. But the moment he reached the door of the restaurant, his phone rang. It was Piper. “Gavin, I burned my hand on the kettle… I’m so scared…” Her voice was thick with tears over the speaker. Panic washed over Gavin’s face, and without even saying goodbye to me, he turned on his heel and rushed out. After that, his phone went dead. I checked the time. It was five minutes to midnight. The table of gourmet food had long since turned cold, the grease on the lamb chops hardening into a thick, unappetizing white layer. I stared at the plate, my appetite completely gone. My hand hovered over the table, my mind drifting back to the trending photos that had kept a lump in my throat all night. It was the championship finals, a night that should have been defined by match statistics. Instead, the top three trending topics were filled with photos of Gavin and Piper. The images were crystal clear, accompanied by viral video clips. The video showed Piper leaping into Gavin’s arms in a burst of excitement, her hands locked around his neck and her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Golden confetti rained down on them. Gavin held the trophy in one hand and kept his other arm wrapped securely around her waist, looking victorious and proud. In front of tens of thousands of fans, at the pinnacle of his career… Their interaction looked innocent to the casual observer, but the underlying intimacy was undeniable. Many comments were already romanticizing their bond, while others questioned the nature of their relationship. After all, my secret relationship with Gavin was an open secret in the pro scene. Gavin had promised to explain everything to me tonight. What he failed to realize was that he had already made too many excuses because of Piper. When you hear the same justification repeatedly, it eventually just makes you numb. I picked up my phone, mindlessly scrolling through my feed, only to freeze when I saw Piper’s latest social media update. “Lied to Gavin about hurting my hand, and he actually rushed all the way back! So, are you happy with the surprise party we threw for you, my MVP?” They had thrown him a private victory party. My finger trembled as I zoomed in on the attached photo. Balloons and banners filled the background. Surrounded by their teammates, Gavin stood at the center with his arm around Piper’s shoulders, his laugh loud and carefree. The photographer had captured the perfect moment. Piper was tilting her head, looking up at Gavin with an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration. I laid my chopsticks down, my stomach turning. Just then, the heavy door of the booth was pushed open, and Gavin rushed in, looking flushed. When he saw the half-eaten, cold dishes on the table, his jaw tightened. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” he asked, his tone laced with a strange hint of grievance. I let out a soft laugh, too exhausted to argue with his absurd question. “If you haven’t eaten, go ahead. I need to get back to the base.” Gavin reached out, grabbing my wrist. “Aren’t you going to stay with me?” “I have scheduled scrims.” Unlike Gavin, my team, Scythe Gaming, hadn’t even qualified for the playoffs. My schedule for the off-season was packed with mandatory training. I had to pull several favors just to get tonight off. If I didn’t return soon, the manager would gladly use it as an excuse to fine me. But my cold tone seemed to prick Gavin’s pride. He let go of my wrist, his face hardening. “Are you seriously letting those online rumors get to you? Do you really think Piper and I have something going on?” I paused, the words of defense dying in my throat. What was I supposed to say? Should I mention how our weekly date night was constantly cut short because he had to help Piper level up her rank? Should I talk about how his phone was always busy, and on the rare occasions he picked up, a girl’s soft giggles always echoed in the background? Or should I remind him of the time an angry anti-fan pushed me into a barrier, bruising my wrist, while he was busy comforting Piper over a lost match, ignoring my messages for three days? The silence stretched between us, heavy and stifling. Gavin lowered his gaze, his voice filled with deep disappointment. “I can’t believe you actually think so little of me.” 2 Gavin was notorious for his hot temper. He regularly laid into his teammates when a match went south, and he had only started showing a bit of restraint after Piper joined the starting roster. When he was angry, he was usually loud, defensive, and sharp-tongued. But right now, he just looked deflated. “She’s a young girl, and it’s not easy for her to survive in this industry,” he said softly. “I’m the team captain. It’s my job to look after my players.” “You know how important a player’s hands are to their career.” “I admit I pay a little more attention to her, but it’s only because she reminds me of how you used to be. Alone, struggling in a strange team. I kept thinking that if I helped her, maybe someone out there would show you the same kindness.” He placed a beautifully wrapped cake box on the table. “If you’re still upset, I can apologize. Is this explanation enough for you?” My heart gave a faint, painful flutter. I stared at the logo on the cake box. It was from my favorite patisserie in the city. Looking at the familiar box, my mind drifted back to our days in the academy. I had been the only female player in the entire program, naturally looked down upon by the coaches and players alike. I was blamed for losses, mocked during practice, and stressed to the point of severe insomnia and loss of appetite. Gavin was with a different club back then and couldn’t protect me directly. But despite his brutal training schedule, he would sneak out of his base at midnight, scale the high wall of my academy, and bring me small cakes, gently coaxing me to eat them bite by bite. In those quiet nights, huddled in his arms, I would let all my armor down and cry, absorbing his warmth to face another day. The lofty dreams I started with had been chipped away by the harsh reality of the pro scene. I had followed Gavin blindly into this chaotic world, only to end up on different teams. There was no one to help me. The pressure of evaluations, the isolation from my teammates—it all accumulated until I felt completely suffocated. I had wanted to scream, to let all the venom out, but when I finally looked at him, all my misery had condensed into a soft whisper. “It’s so hard, Gavin.” Gavin had pressed his forehead against mine, his voice a steady murmur. “Once I secure my place, I’ll have the team buy out your contract. We’ll play together, and we’ll never be apart.” I took a deep breath, pushing the memory away. Forget it, I thought. Maybe I’m just overthinking. I’ll trust him one last time. I stood up to go to the restroom to wash my face. But as I approached the door of the booth on my way back, I heard Gavin’s voice. He was on the phone. A girl’s playful whine filtered through the receiver. “Gavin, aren’t you back yet? I’ve been waiting for my strawberry cake for thirty minutes!” My steps halted, and my body went entirely rigid. By the time I managed to compose myself and push the door open, Gavin was already slipping his phone into his pocket. He looked up at me. “Great, you’re back. I need you to help Piper draft a statement to clear her name. It’s not fair that she’s being dragged online as a homewrecker.” So this was his real motive for bringing the cake tonight. “Why should I do that?” I asked, a bitter smile touching my lips. Gavin stared at me. “If you have a problem with me, take it out on me. Don’t ruin a young girl’s career over some jealousy.” “Did I force her to climb onto your shoulders at the arena? If you want to protect her, that’s your business. Keep me out of it.” “Nadia!” Gavin snapped, his temper finally exploding. “Are you really going to make a scene over this?” “I’ve spent the whole night trying to soothe your temper. How much longer are you going to act like a spoiled child?” “Piper is my teammate. You are my girlfriend. Can’t you see the difference? Do you have to throw a tantrum over some harmless jealousy?” I let out a harsh laugh. “Your idea of ‘girlfriend’ is making me wait alone for six hours without a single word?” “And your idea of ‘teammate’ is rushing back the second she whines about waiting thirty minutes for a cake?” Gavin froze, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes. “No, Nadia, that’s not—” But I had run out of patience for his excuses. “Gavin, I don’t think I can handle being your girlfriend anymore. Let’s break up.” Gavin’s face went completely cold. “I’m going to give you one chance to take that back. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it.” “If there are things you’re unhappy with, I can change. We can both take a step back. You write the statement, I’ll keep my distance from Piper, and we can go back to how we were.” My only response was the loud, solid slam of the heavy wooden door. “Nadia! You’re going to regret this!” Through the thick wood, I could hear the faint, sharp sound of glass shattering against the floor. 3 It was past midnight when I returned to the Scythe Gaming base. As I walked up the stairs to my dorm, a tall figure stepped out of the shadows. Marcus, our manager, checked his watch. “Curfew was at midnight.” “I took official leave, Marcus,” I said, my voice tight. He ignored me, adjusting his glasses. “Starting tomorrow, your daily training schedule is increased by an hour.” Knowing there was no point in arguing, I reached for my doorknob. But Marcus’s oily voice stopped me. “Also, there’s a dinner with our primary sponsor in a few days. You’re coming with me.” I paused, my fingers tightening on the handle, before slipping into my room and locking the door. When I opened my phone, Gavin and Piper were trending once again. This time, it was because of a simple, public statement Gavin had posted: “I am currently single.” It was a clean, powerful defense that immediately cleared Piper of any homewrecking accusations, but it threw all the mud straight at me. “If Gavin was single, what were all those rumors about him and Nadia? I thought they were practically married.” “Nadia was obviously just clout-chasing. Gavin didn’t care enough to address it before, but now that he has someone he actually wants to protect, he had to set the record straight. Talk about an embarrassing reality check.” “Honestly, I feel bad for Gavin. He let that benchwarmer use his name for years.” “Wishing our favorite bot-lane duo all the best!” Gavin, who had always hated public events, suddenly began appearing at every brand exhibition and promotional stream, always with Piper by his side. And around his wrist, he always wore a different colored hair scrunchie. He was doing everything in his power to build her up. Since I had refused to write the statement, he had taken matters into his own hands. Two years of devotion, erased in a single sentence. But maybe it was for the best. Relationships that had never been allowed to see the light of day were better off dissolving in the shadows. On the night of the sponsor dinner, Marcus looked at my worn Scythe Gaming jersey with clear disgust. “You look ridiculous. Go put on something decent.” I shoved my hands into my pockets, keeping my voice firm. “I’m a pro player. This is my uniform. Why do I need a dress to have dinner?” Marcus sneered but didn’t push it further, leading me into the private dining club with a sour face. Earlier this year, our parent company had appointed a new executive director, Mr. Davenport. During his first inspection of the facility, his eyes had lingered on me a bit too long, and he had been trying to corner me ever since. I had managed to dodge his invitations, but he had recently ordered all the locks on our dorm doors to be replaced with electronic locks that could be bypassed from the master console, claiming it was a “safety measure.” Several times, I had walked into my room after a long training session only to find Mr. Davenport sitting on my bed, offering a sickeningly warm smile. “Tired? You’ve been working so hard. Come sit down and let’s have a chat.” I had used the excuse of needing to call my boyfriend to escape. But Davenport, skeptical, had insisted I call him right then and there. With a racing heart, I had dialed Gavin’s number. It was the only time the call went through, but the voice that answered was Piper’s. “Nadia? Gavin is sleeping right now. Is there something you need?” That single sentence had shattered my safety net. It proved that Gavin was comfortable letting another woman handle his personal phone, and it exposed my lie to the predatory man sitting in my room. I still remembered the slow, knowing smile that had spread across Davenport’s face. “It seems our little Nadia isn’t being entirely honest.” I knew he wouldn’t let me go easily. But when his hand slid onto my thigh under the dining table, my body reacted before my brain could. I bolted upright, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Excuse me. I have to get back to training.” Davenport didn’t get angry. He simply smiled, swirling his wine. “Leaving so soon, Nadia? We were just getting to the good part.” “I have to train,” I repeated, my body trembling as I walked out. His easy compliance only made me more uneasy. 4 Two weeks later, the transfer window opened. Every player on Scythe Gaming signed their contract renewals—except me. I was listed on the transfer market, but the buyout fee Scythe had attached to my name was astronomically high, a price no mid-tier team could ever afford for a support player. I tried contacting several managers myself. They were always impressed with my mechanical skills during tryouts, but the moment they saw the buyout clause, they would shake their heads with regret. One sympathetic coach pulled me aside. “Nadia, your management is intentionally blocking you. You need to resolve whatever personal dispute you have with your owner, or you’re going to be benched indefinitely.” I could only offer a bitter smile. This was a dispute that could never be resolved. Just when I felt like I had hit a dead end, a message from Gavin popped up on my screen. “I can have Vanguard buy out your contract.” Vanguard Gaming was one of the few legacy clubs that could easily afford the fee. Gavin was their star ADC, and the support was his lane partner. His opinion carried immense weight in their roster decisions. Their starting support had just retired due to a chronic wrist injury, and Piper was only a temporary substitute from the academy team. They desperately needed a proven, high-tier support. With Gavin’s approval, my career could be saved. I wrestled with the decision for days. But when Marcus tried to push me into Davenport’s private car after a promotional event, the sheer terror drove me straight to Gavin. When I showed up at his training facility, a smug, victorious grin spread across his face. “Done throwing your little tantrums?” I swallowed my pride and lowered my head. “Yes.” Gavin reached out, patting my head with a gentle, patronizing hand. “I told you I’d bring you to my team to protect you. What were you so scared of, Nadia?” And just like that, we fell into a quiet, tentative reconciliation. He didn’t hide me as strictly as before. During a dinner with some of his childhood friends who weren’t in the esports scene, one of them noticed the colorful band around Gavin’s wrist. “Man, you guys are adorable,” the friend laughed. “Gavin, you’re still wearing your girl’s hair tie?” Gavin froze, his brow furrowing. “It’s just a hair tie. What’s the big deal?” The friend looked surprised. “You don’t know? A guy wearing a girl’s hair tie on his wrist is a universal sign that he’s taken.” Before Gavin could reply, his phone buzzed on the table. He slid the key to answer, and Piper’s playful voice echoed clearly through the quiet room. “Babe, where did my blue hair tie go? Did you happen to—” Gavin slammed the phone face down, cutting the call off instantly. The color drained from his face. He let out a dry, awkward cough, quickly placing some food into my bowl. “Eat. The food is getting cold.” The atmosphere at the table turned suffocatingly awkward. Everyone at that table knew the hair tie around his wrist didn’t belong to me. By the end of the night, his friends had made quick excuses to leave. Gavin sat quietly, twirling the silver band on his finger—a matching ring we had bought when we first started dating, which he had recently started wearing again. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, pointing to the hair tie. “If you had told me, I would have taken it off.” I let out a soft sigh. “If I had said something, you would have just told me I was overthinking things.” Gavin looked like he wanted to argue, but he restrained himself, keeping his voice gentle. “Piper is just careless. She’s always losing her things, and she asked me to keep a spare for her.” Why did she have to leave her spare with Gavin, of all people? But thinking of the transfer contract that was still entirely in his hands, I swallowed my resentment. “I see.” My quiet acceptance seemed to frustrate him. “Aren’t you even going to be a little jealous?” “You explained it, didn’t you?” I replied, placing my chopsticks down. I honestly didn’t understand what he wanted from me anymore. In the past, whenever he gave me an explanation, the conversation was over. I was expected to either swallow my feelings and move on, or deal with his annoyance if I pressed further. In his mind, an explanation was a resolution. If I refused to let it go, I was the one being difficult. But now that I was playing by his rules, he seemed miserable. Ultimately, Gavin left the restaurant in a quiet, dark mood, without saying another word. And after that night, he stopped answering my calls. As the days of the transfer window bled away, a deep, cold dread settled in my chest. Why hadn’t Vanguard sent over the contract? I tried reaching out to Gavin, but my messages went completely unanswered. On the final day of the transfer window, Vanguard Gaming released their official roster for the upcoming season. VGD-Piper was listed at the very top of the starting lineup. The letters burned into my eyes, and my mind went entirely blank. How could he do this to me?

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