1 After the heir to the Campbell fortune got into a car crash and lost his memory, he forgot all about the simple girl who was his one true love. So his family arranged for me to swoop in. A strategic alliance, an engagement. But this heir, Damian Campbell, was once the family’s most disfavored son. Back then, even I had been among those who had casually humiliated him. Only the housekeeper’s daughter had stood by him, supporting him on his ruthless climb to become the Campbell successor. Fate, however, had a twisted sense of humor. After Damian’s amnesia, I never mentioned the past he’d forgotten. I played the part of his perfectly matched fiancée, and our life together was, for the most part, peaceful. Until two years later, when the housekeeper’s daughter, who had been driven away by the Campbell family, returned from abroad. And Damian’s memories began to resurface. Once his mind and heart were back on track, he was destined to settle the score with me. Everything would be set right. But then, I got pregnant. 2 I heard Damian was rushed to the hospital that morning, struck by a sudden, splitting headache at the office. When I arrived at the door of the VIP suite, his assistant was waiting outside. “Ms. Hopkins.” Nathaniel Reed, his executive assistant, stopped me before I could go in. “Mr. Campbell,” he said, his voice low, “he might be getting his memory back.” My fingers tightened on my purse. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. There were already people inside. Besides Damian, there was another man and a woman. The man was one of Damian’s few friends, Leo. The woman was dressed in a simple, elegant dress. She had a clean, almost ethereal beauty. She was speaking to Damian. “My name is Seraphina Rose.” “I’m back.” “Do you remember who I am?” Her voice was soft, laced with a fragile, trembling hope. Damian wasn’t in the hospital bed. He was sitting in an armchair in the suite’s living area, looking as imposing as ever. Dressed in a sharp suit, his handsome face was cold and impassive, his legs crossed in a posture of casual authority. If not for the faint pallor of his skin, you wouldn’t know anything was wrong. He didn’t answer her. Instead, he spoke to his friend, his tone laced with ice. “Leo, stop bringing random women to see me.” He then motioned for his assistant to show them out. As Leo led the woman away, he shot back, “Damian, you’re going to regret saying that.” The woman’s eyes reddened. She cast one last, lingering look at Damian before turning to leave. Her gaze was filled with a universe of emotions I couldn’t begin to decipher. Now it was just the two of us. As his fiancée, I played my part. “Does your head still hurt?” “I’m fine,” Damian said, his voice clipped. “Nathan said… you might be remembering things?” He pressed his fingers to his temple. “Just fragments. Flashes I can’t hold onto. Someone crying in the snow, a lot of muffled voices…” Damian uncrossed his legs. A moment later, he pulled me onto his lap. We’d been engaged for nearly a year and a half since his accident. It wasn’t as if our relationship was purely platonic. We had the intimacy expected of a couple. He spoke, his voice a low murmur against my ear. “That was just Leo playing a prank. Bringing in some girl and claiming she was someone I used to love.” Given Leo’s reputation as a troublemaker, it was an easy mistake for Damian to make. He leaned in, his cool lips brushing the corner of my mouth. “Compared to her,” he whispered, a hint of dark amusement in his tone, “your gentle beauty is far more my type.” He said it to reassure me, to dismiss the other woman. And it worked, because it was obvious his memory hadn’t fully returned. He had no idea who that girl, Seraphina Rose, really was. He didn’t remember how important she had been to him. I lowered my eyes, hiding the storm of fear inside me. “Good,” I whispered. 3 Damian was discharged from the hospital that same day. That evening, he took me back to his penthouse. In the car, he held my hand, his thumb stroking my knuckles. “Colette, I’ve been thinking,” he said suddenly. “About what?” “If my memory does come back,” he paused, “do you think I’ll find out there are secrets between us?” My heart hammered against my ribs. “Why would you ask that?” “A gut feeling,” he said, his gaze turning to the city lights blurring past the window. “I just feel like I’ve forgotten something… something vital.” I was silent for a moment before answering softly, “Whatever happens, happens. What’s meant to be remembered, will be.” Later that night, Damian’s hands were gentle on my shoulders and waist as he turned me so my back was to him. “Is this okay?” His voice was a low rumble, tinged with restraint. I finally nodded. “Be gentle.” In our relationship, Damian was the perfect partner, the ideal fiancé. Even in our most intimate moments, he was always considerate of me. After his amnesia, it was his grandmother, Matilda Campbell, who had personally chosen me for him. Before our engagement, she had summoned me for a private meeting. “This isn’t just about the alliance between the Campbell and Ashford families,” she’d told me bluntly. “Colette, when a beautiful, gentle, and understanding woman like you is by a man’s side, no man can resist falling for you.” Her intention was clear: she wanted me to replace Seraphina in Damian’s heart before his memory returned. And on the surface, it seemed to be working. Damian was clearly attracted to me. A few months after our engagement, we fell into the easy rhythm of a couple living together. He desired me, physically. But desire for a pretty face, for a warm body, is the most superficial connection of all. What the old matriarch didn’t know was that before Damian was the heir, during the darkest period of his life, Seraphina had been his rock. And me? Back then, I was one of them. One of the rich kids who looked down on him, who had played a part in his humiliation. The moment Damian remembers, replacing Seraphina will be a fantasy. He’ll want nothing more than to destroy me. 4 I slept poorly, my dreams filled with ghosts from the past—scenes I desperately wanted to forget but were seared into my memory. I woke to Damian’s hand on my forehead, wiping away a cold sweat. “Bad dream?” he asked, his voice husky with sleep. Seeing me clutch my stomach, he pulled me into his arms. He glanced down and his eyes softened. “Colette,” he said gently, “you’ve started your period.” It was a few days early, but it was never regular. This time, though, the cramping was worse than usual. A small, dark stain had blossomed on his pristine white sheets. My eyes fluttered closed. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He didn’t seem to mind at all. He got up, found a box of pads in the bathroom cabinet, and then carried me into the en-suite. “Does it hurt much?” he asked, his touch incredibly gentle as he helped me clean up. “It’s okay.” “I’ll have the housekeeper make you some ginger tea.” As my fiancé, Damian had never lacked attentiveness. But behind this flawless facade was a man who was always in control, always rational. In front of me, he was calm, composed, unshakable. This was the same man who, two years ago, had lost control so completely over Seraphina that he’d ended up in a near-fatal car crash. The thought made a question slip from my lips. “Damian, have you ever considered that if you get your memory back, you might discover you were in love with someone else?” “So in love you would have done anything for her.” “What would you do?” His hands stilled for a moment. “Colette, what are you worried about?” He lifted me onto the marble vanity, his hands bracketing me on either side. “I’m just curious.” “If there really was someone like that,” he said, his gaze serious, “I suppose the first thing I’d do is find out why I forgot her.” “And then?” “And then,” he paused, thinking, “I’d do what I believe is right.” It was a vague answer. But it was also terrifyingly honest. 5 On a weekday, Matilda Campbell insisted I bring Damian lunch at his office. It was, she said, what a good fiancée does. I arrived just as he was finishing a board meeting. Damian, impeccably dressed, took the insulated lunch bag from me in front of his top executives. He handed it to Nathan. “Thank you,” he said, his arm wrapping naturally around my waist. One of the executives was the head of a joint project between our families. And standing just behind him today was a familiar figure. It was Seraphina. Her eyes fell on Damian’s arm around me, and the light in them dimmed. The executive greeted me first. “Ms. Hopkins.” Then he turned to Damian. “Mr. Campbell, this is my new assistant, Ms. Rose. A brilliant graduate, just returned from her studies abroad. She’ll be our liaison with Campbell Corp for this project.” “Is that so?” Damian’s gaze flickered over Seraphina, cool and impersonal. “Welcome to the team. I trust you’ll be up to the task.” His tone was strictly business. Seraphina bit her lip. “I’ll do my best, Mr. Campbell.” An older vice president saw me and chuckled. “Damian, I hear wedding bells are in your future?” A faint smile touched Damian’s lips. “It’s about time I settled down.” He then made the announcement to everyone present. “The wedding is set for three months from now. You’ll all receive invitations.” A chorus of congratulations erupted. “Congratulations, Mr. Campbell!” “Ms. Hopkins is a lucky woman!” Through it all, I watched Seraphina’s face grow pale. Her fingers were clenched so tightly around her folder that her knuckles were white. 6 After lunch, Damian had me stay in his office. It was the perfect opportunity. “Your grandmother wants me to quit my job to focus on wedding preparations.” I taught piano at a prestigious international school and occasionally performed. But Matilda Campbell was a woman who did not tolerate being disobeyed. “Do you want to keep working?” Damian asked, putting down his chopsticks. “Yes. I love teaching. And I love music.” He saw the desire in my eyes. “If you don’t want to quit, I’ll handle it.” “Really?” “You’re my fiancée,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s my duty to support your choices.” He did, however, expect a reward. Before I could protest, Damian leaned in and captured my lips in a slow, possessive kiss. His hand rested on my waist, a firm, comforting pressure. We were interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in.” Damian pulled away, his fingers gently smoothing my hair. Nathan entered with a file. Though Damian looked perfectly composed, I was still catching my breath in his arms. It was obvious what we’d been doing. Nathan tactfully ignored it. “Mr. Campbell, this is the background check you requested on Seraphina Rose.” A knot of ice formed in my stomach. He was investigating her. He had seemed so dismissive at the hospital. Had some part of him recognized her after all? Nathan placed the file on the desk, then glanced at me, hesitating. “Is there something else?” Damian asked, sensing his reluctance. “No, sir.” Nathan retreated. After he left, Damian turned to me. “Colette, do you know why I’m looking into her?” I shook my head, my heart pounding. “Your stepbrother came to see me,” Damian explained. “He asked me to go easy on this project, to let Seraphina use it as a training ground. He said she’s exceptionally talented.” He then dropped a bombshell he thought I didn’t know. “There’s a reason the Ashfords are so invested in her. They’ve found their long-lost daughter.” I feigned shock. “You mean… Seraphina?” “Yes.” Damian nodded, opening the file for me to see. “The DNA results just came back. She’s the Ashford heiress, missing for years.” As I processed this, he continued, his voice low and protective. “You’re my fiancée. Soon, we’ll be husband and wife. I have to look out for you. I needed to know what kind of person she is. If she’s going to be difficult, I need to be ready to protect you.” His words were a complicated mix of comfort and terror. I wasn’t an imposter who had stolen Seraphina’s identity; my mother had married into the Ashford family when I was a child. But the irony was staggering. The file in front of me was detailed, but it only briefly mentioned that Seraphina had been adopted by a housekeeper. Her entire history with Damian, their shared past at the Campbell estate, had been completely erased. Someone was deliberately hiding the truth. With the wedding so close, Damian thought he was protecting me, his future wife. He had no idea that once Seraphina—the true Ashford heiress—was officially welcomed back into the family, the first thing she would want is the man this engagement was meant for. The man who was rightfully hers. 7 That afternoon, after my classes, I called my mother. “Your stepfather was planning to announce it at the family dinner next week,” she admitted. “When he asked you to bring Damian.” “Colette… I didn’t mean to keep it from you.” Her voice was heavy with guilt. Then, she asked a strange question. “Have you been feeling alright lately? Any discomfort?” I was about to dismiss her concern when, as if on cue, a dull, aching cramp started low in my belly. “I’m fine, Mom. Just a little tired.” “Well, get some rest.” After we hung up, the pain intensified. My period this month had been strange—spotty and light, but incredibly uncomfortable. I left work early and went to the hospital. I never imagined I could be pregnant. Damian and I had always been careful. For a while, it had been him. But recently, I’d gone to the doctor and gotten a prescription for a low-dose birth control pill, officially to help regulate my cycle. Now, sitting in the OB-GYN’s office, I stared as the doctor read my test results. “You’re about four weeks along,” she said. “Some light bleeding can be normal in early pregnancy.” She looked at me over her glasses. “But you need to be careful. Now that you’re pregnant, you should avoid strenuous intimacy. Get plenty of rest, and try to keep your stress levels down.” The paper in my hand trembled. Pregnant. I was actually pregnant. Now, of all times. I hid the test results in my bag. As I stepped out of the hospital, a light rain began to fall. I stood under the awning, watching the drops splatter on the pavement, completely lost. 8 On the day of the Ashford family dinner, I found my mother alone, overseeing the preparations. I didn’t mention the pregnancy. I just asked, “Are you hiding something from me?” She froze. “Colette, what—” She finally broke. “It was the Ashfords who pushed for this marriage alliance. Now, to make it up to his real daughter, your stepfather wants to call off your engagement before her official debut.” “I couldn’t let them just use you and throw you away,” she whispered. “So what did you do?” My voice shook. “A month ago… I paid the housekeeper at your place. I had her switch your birth control pills with vitamins.” My mother couldn’t look at me. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” My voice rose. “I know, but I had no choice!” she cried, her eyes red. “Colette, you’re my daughter! I can’t watch you be sacrificed and then discarded! With a child, the Campbells can’t just break the engagement. Even if Damian remembers everything, he’ll have to treat you better for the baby’s sake.” I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to control my rage. “Mom, you’re so naive. You don’t know the first thing about Damian and Seraphina.” I stopped myself before I could say more. A moment later, Damian found me. He came to my side, his fingers instantly finding mine. He brushed his hand over my bare arm, exposed by my sleeveless dress. “Why are you so cold?” He asked a passing maid to fetch me a shawl. I forced a smile. “It’s nothing, just the air conditioning.” My younger half-brother, my mother’s son with Mr. Ashford, ran up to Damian, chirping, “Brother-in-law!” A small smile touched Damian’s lips. He ruffled the boy’s hair. “Your sister tells me you haven’t been focusing on your studies. Work harder. If you make it into the top ten of your class, I’ll get you whatever you want. Don’t make your sister and me worry, understand?” The boy, spoiled by everyone else in the house, was surprisingly obedient with Damian. “I will, brother-in-law!” My mother chose that moment to interject. “Damian, you’ll make a wonderful father one day. You two should start trying for a baby soon. Colette, why are you wearing flats tonight? Are you pregnant already?” My heart stopped. The smile vanished from Damian’s face. His voice was cool and definite as he replied, “She’s not pregnant. She had her period last week.” “Oh, I see,” my mother said, disappointed. “Well, no rush. It will happen when it happens.” Later, when we were alone, I asked him directly, “After marriage comes children. But you don’t seem interested in having any.” Damian was draping the shawl over my shoulders. His handsome face was unreadable. “There’s no hurry,” he said. “We can wait a few years. We’re both still young. I’ve never thought about being a father this early.” “And…” he hesitated. “And what?” “Growing up in the Campbell family, I’ve seen too much bloodshed over inheritances,” his voice turned colder. “I don’t want my child to grow up in an environment like that.” His indifference on the subject was palpable. In a ruthless family like the Campbells, where love was a currency and siblings were rivals, he truly had no desire for an heir. My hand instinctively went to my stomach, where a tiny, secret life was growing. 9 Across the room, Seraphina—now officially Seraphina Ashford—was descending the grand staircase just as she spotted Damian and me together. She was transformed. Gone was the simple girl from the hospital. Tonight, she was breathtaking in a champagne-colored gown, her hair swept up to reveal a long, elegant neck. Her eyes, however, were fixed on one person. “Damian…” she breathed, her voice a fragile mix of longing and hurt. Damian’s gaze met hers, cold and detached. “Colette is only two months your senior,” he said, his voice cutting through the air. “But given the circumstances, you should be calling me your brother-in-law.” The color drained from Seraphina’s face. “I… I understand. Brother-in-law.” She managed a brittle smile and turned away, stumbling slightly. The rest of the evening was a blur. The Ashfords formally announced the return of their long-lost daughter. My stepfather stood with her, beaming with paternal pride. “This is my daughter, Seraphina. From now on, she is the eldest daughter of the Ashford family. Please, make her feel welcome.” The guests flocked to congratulate her. Seraphina handled them with a grace that betrayed none of her earlier distress. My mother somehow arranged for Damian and me to stay the night, in my old childhood bedroom. He was oblivious to the web of schemes closing in around us. After his shower, he came to bed. He kissed me, a simple goodnight kiss that slowly deepened. “It’s been a while,” he murmured, his fingers sliding under the hem of my nightgown. I caught his hand. “Not tonight,” I stopped him. “I’m still not feeling well.” His hair was still damp, his jawline sharp. I watched his throat move as he swallowed. “Your period is lasting a long time, isn’t it?” he said, his voice low. “It’s probably just my hormones,” I lied. “I have a follow-up appointment at the hospital tomorrow,” he said. “Why don’t you come with me and get checked out?” My breath hitched. For the past two years, Damian had been undergoing treatments, trying to reclaim his past. In the last six months, he’d started working with a top specialist, trying a more aggressive, interventional therapy. It was clearly working. He was going to remember everything. Maybe as soon as tomorrow.

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“Let’s get a fake divorce.” Mark placed a document on the kitchen counter in front of me. My hand, holding the knife I was using to chop vegetables, froze mid-air. “We’ll transfer the house to my mom’s name for now. Once the new regulations pass, we’ll remarry.” His tone was casual, as if he were discussing what to have for dinner. “It’s for the good of our family.” I just looked at him. My husband of eight years, saying the word “divorce” without so much as blinking. “I’ll write up the agreement,” he added. “All you have to do is sign.” I lowered my eyes to the papers. The house: goes to the husband. The savings: go to the husband. Custody of our daughter: goes to the husband. And me? I would leave with nothing. “For the good of our family,” I repeated his words, a small, tight curve forming on my lips. “Fine.” I set the knife down. “I’ll sign it.” 1. Mark seemed taken aback by how quickly I agreed. He just stared for a second. “You… you’re okay with this?” “You said it’s for the good of our family,” I said, wiping my hands on a towel. “How could I say no?” He watched me for a few more seconds, then a slow smile spread across his face. “I knew you were an understanding woman.” An understanding woman. I rolled the words around in my mind. In eight years of marriage, that was the first time he’d ever praised me like that. “Take a look at the agreement first,” he said, sliding the papers toward me. “If you have any issues, we can talk about them.” I picked up the document and read through it, page by page. Assets: • Property: Marital home in the Southwood district. 1,300 sq. ft., valued at approximately $850,000. To be transferred to the husband. • Savings: Joint savings account containing $140,000. To be transferred to the husband. • Vehicle: One Volkswagen Passat. To be transferred to the husband. • Child Custody: Sole custody of our daughter awarded to the husband. Me: Entitled to nothing. “This part…” I pointed to the custody clause. “Our daughter stays with you?” “My mom will help out,” Mark said without a second thought. “You can’t manage her on your own.” “And what about me?” “You can visit her whenever you want,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s not like I’m banning you from seeing her.” I met his gaze and held it, saying nothing. He shifted uncomfortably. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” I set the agreement down. “I’ll look it over. I’ll give you an answer tomorrow.” “Okay.” He let out a breath, visibly relieved. “No rush, anyway. The new tax laws don’t kick in until next month.” The “new tax laws” were the capital gains regulations everyone was talking about. His plan was to execute a sham divorce, transfer the house to his mother to shield it as her primary residence, and then remarry me when the dust settled. It would save us a fortune in taxes. It sounded perfectly logical. I nodded and put the agreement away in a drawer. “What do you want for dinner?” I asked. “Whatever.” He already had his phone in his hand. “You decide.” I turned and walked back into the kitchen. Whatever. That was his answer for everything lately. Whatever for dinner, whatever clothes to wear, whatever time he came home. Everything was “whatever.” Except for this divorce. On that, he was anything but casual. The agreement was meticulous, every clause spelled out, not a single word left to chance. I opened the fridge, my eyes scanning the contents. After a moment, I pulled out a steak. As I began to slice the meat, my hand was perfectly steady. His mother showed up during dinner. “Mark told me about the plan,” she announced with a smile as she walked in. “It’s the smart thing to do.” I put down my fork. “So you know about it, Mom?” “Of course, I know.” She took a seat at the table. “We transfer the house to my name, and once the policy stuff is over, we transfer it right back. No harm done.” “The agreement also says our savings and the car go to Mark.” “They’ll be safer with him for now,” she said, helping herself to some salad. “We’re family. What’s mine is yours, right?” “And our daughter?” “I’ll help raise her,” she declared, as if it were a settled fact. “You couldn’t handle it by yourself.” The exact same words Mark had used. I managed a small smile. “Mom, Mark and I have been married for eight years.” “That’s right, eight years,” she nodded. “Time flies, doesn’t it?” “For these eight years,” I continued, “the mortgage, our daughter’s tuition, the daily bills… I put every single paycheck I earned into our joint account. I never kept a cent for myself.” “Well, that’s what you’re supposed to do,” she replied. “You earn money to support the family.” “So when we get this ‘fake’ divorce, I’m supposed to walk away with nothing?” His mother blinked. “But it’s just for show!” she said, a note of exasperation in her voice. “Goodness, Evelyn, why are you being so difficult?” Just for show. I looked at her sincere, untroubled face. “You’re right, Mom,” I nodded. “I’m making a big deal out of nothing.” She beamed, satisfied. “That’s my girl. In a family, we don’t nickel-and-dime each other.” Beside us, Mark scrolled through his phone, not even looking up. I lowered my head and ate my dinner in silence. After dinner, I went to wash the dishes. I could hear Mark and his mother talking in the living room. Their voices were low, but I caught a few words. “…next month… transfer… no problem…” I turned the faucet on full blast, letting the rush of water drown out their voices. When I was done, I dried my hands and walked back into the living room. “Mom, it’s getting late. Why don’t I drive you home tomorrow?” “No, no, that’s alright.” She stood up. “I’ll grab a cab. You two get some rest.” On her way out, she patted my hand. “Evelyn, honey, try to be understanding. Mark is under a lot of pressure.” “I know,” I said. After she left, I went to our bedroom. Mark was already in bed, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone. I walked over to the dresser and opened a drawer. His credit card statements were tucked away at the very back. I pulled them out and started flipping through the last three months. September: a charge for $320 at the Fairmont Hotel. Another for $2,150 at Tiffany & Co. A third for $585 at a high-end steakhouse. October: Fairmont Hotel, $320. The Ritz-Carlton, $450. A single transaction for $3,700 at Nordstrom. November: Fairmont Hotel, $320. Fairmont Hotel, $320… The same hotel, once a week, like clockwork. Jewelry stores, department stores, fancy restaurants. I had never received any of these gifts. I put the statements back and quietly closed the drawer. “What are you looking for?” Mark’s voice came from the bed. “Just grabbing something,” I said, turning around. “Let’s get some sleep. We both have work tomorrow.” He grunted in response and went back to his phone. I lay down and closed my eyes, but the numbers kept flashing behind my eyelids. $2,150. $3,700. $320… It’s for the good of our family. Mark’s words echoed in my head. Was it, though? Was it for the good of our family? Or was it for the good of his? I opened my eyes and stared into the darkness above me. Tomorrow, I had some investigating to do. 2. The next morning, as soon as Mark left for work, I called in and took a half-day off. The phone rang almost immediately. It was my mother-in-law. “Evelyn? Why aren’t you at work today?” “I had something to take care of,” I said vaguely. “Just handling it from home.” “What is it?” “Work stuff.” She said “oh” and didn’t press further. After hanging up, I opened my laptop. First, I checked his location history. Mark and I had shared our locations since the year we got married. It was his idea, “to make it easier to find each other,” he’d said. I had never once used it to check up on him. Today was the first time. I pulled up his location data for the past three months. And then I froze. Three or four times a week, nearly every week, he went to the same place. An apartment complex on the east side of town. It wasn’t his office. It wasn’t a client’s address. It wasn’t anywhere he had ever mentioned to me. I zoomed in on the map and wrote down the name of the complex. Sunnyside Gardens, Building B. I’d never heard of it. I picked up my phone and sent a message to my best friend, Sophia. Soph, you there? Here. What’s up? she replied instantly. You’re a real estate agent. Can you look someone up for me? Who? Someone who lives at Sunnyside Gardens, Building B. I need to know whose name is on the deed. What are you digging for, Evie? I hesitated, then decided against telling her everything just yet. Just help me out. Dinner’s on me. Deal. Gimme a few. I put my phone down and went back to Mark’s credit card statements, sorting every charge by date. Hotel stays: 12 times. Jewelry stores: 3 times. Restaurants: 8 times. Department stores: 5 times. Every single one on a weekday. And every single one had nothing to do with me. I took out a piece of paper and started adding up the numbers. The hotel stays came to about $4,000. The jewelry, around $6,500. The restaurants, nearly $4,500. The shopping sprees, over $11,000. In just three months, he had spent over $26,000. That was more than $100,000 a year. And this had been going on for how long? Three years? The pen in my hand started to shake. My phone rang. It was Sophia. “Evie, I got it.” “Tell me.” “Sunnyside Gardens, Building B, apartment 1402. The owner is a Zoe Jensen. Female, 26 years old. The deed was transferred to her name this past June.” Zoe Jensen. I wrote the name down on the paper. “That’s all the public info I can pull,” Sophia said. “If you need more, you’d have to go to the county records office. Evie, seriously, what is this about?” “Thanks, Soph. I owe you dinner,” I said, and hung up. Zoe Jensen, 26. Sunnyside Gardens, apartment 1402. Deed transferred in June. I opened our banking app and scrolled through the transaction history for our joint account. I went back, and back, until I reached May of this year. May 28th. A wire transfer for $80,000. Recipient: Zoe Jensen. Memo: Down payment on house. The world stopped. Eighty thousand dollars. Almost everything we had managed to save in eight years of marriage. He had wired our entire life savings to her. I stared at the screen, my body numb. It’s for the good of our family. His voice was a venomous whisper in my ear. So this was it. This was what “for the good of our family” meant. Give my money to another woman. Then make me sign a document to leave with nothing. And after that? Marry her? I closed the app and leaned back in my chair, forcing myself to breathe. In, out. In, out. I didn’t cry. I didn’t throw anything. I didn’t pick up the phone to scream at him. I just sat there, my gaze fixed on the ceiling, as the numbers spun in my head. $80,000. 89 location pings. $26,000 in lavish spending. 8 years of marriage. And that “fake divorce” agreement. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. He had it all planned out. The fake divorce, transferring the house to his mom—no, that was a lie. He was never going to put it in his mother’s name. It was for her, wasn’t it? The savings were his. The car was his. Our daughter was his. And me? I was left with the scraps. He didn’t even want me to have the scraps. At five o’clock, Mark came home from work. “You didn’t go in today?” He seemed surprised to see me. “Took a half-day,” I said. “Had some things to do.” “What things?” “Work things.” He grunted and dropped his bag, slipping into his house shoes before collapsing onto the sofa. It was all so painfully normal. “Did you finish reading the agreement?” he asked. “I did.” “And?” I walked over and sat in the armchair across from him. “I have a question for you.” “Go ahead.” “The house. After we transfer it to your mom’s name, when can we transfer it back?” “As soon as the new regulations are clear. Six months, tops.” “Six months,” I nodded. “And the savings?” “They’ll stay with me for now. But if you need anything, you can just ask.” “Just ask,” I repeated, nodding again. He seemed a little on edge. “Do you… have a problem with that?” I looked straight at him. “No problem at all,” I said. “I just wanted to confirm.” “Confirm what?” “Confirm that everything you’re telling me is the truth.” He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then broke into a grin. “Of course, it’s the truth,” he said. “Why would I lie to you?” “Right,” I said, mirroring his smile. “Why would you?” I stood up. “I heated up dinner. You should eat.” “You’re not eating?” “Not hungry.” I started toward the bedroom. “About the agreement, I just need a little more time to think.” “Fine,” he said. “Take your time. There’s no rush.” I closed the bedroom door behind me. Take my time. Yes, I would. I needed to take my time. And think very carefully about how I was going to get back every single penny that belonged to me. 3. The next day, I did something I never thought I would do. I went to see a lawyer. Sophia had recommended her. A college friend who specialized in family law. “Tell me everything,” the lawyer said. Her name was Ms. Sutton, a sharp woman in her thirties with an air of no-nonsense competence. I laid out all my evidence on her polished desk. The credit card statements. Screenshots of the location history. The wire transfer record. The property information on Zoe’s apartment. And finally, the “fake divorce” agreement Mark had drafted. Ms. Sutton examined each document carefully, her expression unreadable. When she finished, she looked up at me. “Your husband is quite the operator,” she said, her voice dry. “He certainly has all his ducks in a row.” “He wants me to leave with nothing.” “This agreement,” Ms. Sutton tapped the paper, “did he write it himself?” “Yes.” “Has he signed it yet?” “He said he’d sign it after I did.” A small, knowing smile touched Ms. Sutton’s lips. “He probably has no idea,” she said, “that this very document could be his undoing.” I stared at her. “What do you mean?” Ms. Sutton flipped the agreement back to the first page. “Look here.” She pointed to a line. “Assets, Property: To be transferred to the husband.” “Right.” “But this was your marital home, purchased after you were married, correct?” “Yes.” “Who paid the down payment?” “His parents gave us $50,000, and we paid the other $150,000.” “And that $150,000 included your money?” “I put in every cent of my savings.” Ms. Sutton nodded, satisfied. “Then the house is marital property,” she stated. “He has no right to dispose of it unilaterally.” “But the agreement he wants me to sign says—” “The agreement he wants you to sign,” Ms. Sutton cut in, “is legally considered a postnuptial agreement.” She held up the paper. “If both parties sign this, it becomes legally binding.” “But here’s the thing,” she said, that smile returning, “the agreement he wrote, which gifts all assets to himself, assumes one thing: that you have no grounds to contest it.” “And I do?” “Oh, yes,” Ms. Sutton said, her eyes glinting behind her glasses. “He made a critical error.” “What error?” “He forgot something very important,” she said, her voice sharp and clear. “He’s the at-fault party.” It took me a moment to process. “Illegally transferring $80,000 of marital assets to a third party,” Ms. Sutton said, ticking off points on her fingers, “that’s fault.” “Adultery, that’s fault.” “Maintaining a long-term affair and cohabitating with a third party during the marriage, that’s fault.” “And our state’s laws are very clear. When a divorce occurs, the non-faulting party can seek damages, and the at-fault party may receive a significantly smaller share of the assets, or in some cases, none at all.” It was finally starting to click. “So you’re saying…” “I’m saying,” Ms. Sutton leaned forward, “he’s trying to leave you with nothing. But in the end, the one walking away empty-handed might just be him.” I stared at the agreement on her desk. “But I need more proof,” I said. “The transfer is one thing, but it’s not enough to prove everything.” “You need three categories of evidence,” Ms. Sutton said, holding up three fingers. “First, proof of the affair. Second, proof of the asset transfer. Third, proof that he acted with malicious intent.” “How do I get it?” “Proof of the affair: hotel receipts, text messages, photos,” she listed. “You already have the smoking gun for the asset transfer: the $80,000 wire record.” “And the third thing?” “That’s the easiest part.” Ms. Sutton’s smile was predatory. “You get him to admit it himself.” “How?” “You record him.” I fell silent. A recording. Get him to admit, in his own words, to the affair and the transfer of money. Then use his own voice against him in a court of law. “Are you willing to do it?” Ms. Sutton asked. I thought of him lying in bed, scrolling on his phone without a care in the world. I thought of his mother, telling me it was all for the good of the family. I thought of those four words on his agreement: Entitled to nothing. “I am,” I said. “Then let’s make a plan.” Ms. Sutton pulled out a notepad. “Step one: you continue to play along with his fake divorce.” “What?” “Don’t let him suspect you know the truth,” she explained. “The more secure he feels, the more likely he is to slip up.” “Step two: gather your evidence. Bank records, chat logs, and that recording. The more, the better.” “Step three: when he pressures you to sign the agreement, you sign it.” I was stunned. “Sign it?” “Yes,” Ms. Sutton confirmed with a firm nod. “Sign it.” “But that agreement gives him everything—” “That agreement was written by him,” Ms. Sutton said, her eyes practically shining. “An agreement he wrote and he signed becomes a legally recognized document.” “You sign it, he signs it, and the agreement is official.” “And then?” “And then,” she said, “you take that signed agreement, along with all your evidence, and you file for divorce in court.” “Think about what the judge will see,” she said, her words precise and deliberate. “A cheating husband who transferred $80,000 of marital assets to his mistress, then drafted an agreement to strip his wife of everything she’s entitled to.” “In that scenario, how do you think a judge will rule?” I finally understood. “The agreement he wrote,” I whispered, “becomes his own death warrant.” “Exactly,” Ms. Sutton grinned. “He’s selling himself down the river, and he thinks you’re the one holding the paddle.” On the way home, my mother-in-law called. “Evelyn, have you made up your mind about the agreement?” “I have,” I said. “You’ll sign?” “I’ll sign.” “Wonderful!” Her voice was overflowing with relief. “I knew you were an understanding girl!” An understanding girl. I gripped my phone, silent. “So, can we go handle the paperwork tomorrow?” she pressed. “I’ll have Mark schedule the appointment.” “Okay,” I said. “Whenever you’re ready.” I hung up and stood on the sidewalk, the cool evening breeze doing nothing to calm the fire in my mind. Tomorrow. Fine. Let them have their day. Their reckoning was coming.

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My father-in-law passed away, and my mother-in-law, a woman hopelessly obsessed with a fairytale romance, took his entire inheritance and began showering it on her high school sweetheart. He told her he wouldn’t leave his wife until she gave him a child. But my mother-in-law, Brenda, couldn’t conceive. So, she did the unthinkable: she secretly swapped my and my husband’s IVF embryo with one of her own. I carried the child for ten months. The day I gave birth, her old flame dropped dead of a heart attack. Brenda was devastated. Later, when our baby needed a blood transfusion, tests revealed the baby’s blood type didn’t match my husband’s. Brenda turned on me, accusing me of cheating and plastering the story all over social media. My husband, David, consumed by disappointment, divorced me. I was cyberbullied, isolated, and lost my job. To hide her secret forever, Brenda smothered the infant and framed me for the murder. With no one to believe me, I chose to prove my innocence the only way I had left. I jumped from a building. It was only after I died that I learned the other, more terrifying truth. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Brenda swapped the embryos. This time, I swapped them right back. And this time, I would calmly give birth to my child and wait for Brenda to light her own funeral pyre. 1 “This is amazing, honey! The clinic just called—the transfer was a success! I’m finally going to be a father! A father to a son!” Watching David’s eyes well up with tears of joy, I stood frozen. I was back. I had been reborn, sent back to a time before the tragedy unfolded. My body still ached with the phantom pain of hitting the concrete, a brutal reminder that my previous life had been no nightmare. It was real. David noticed my silence and misinterpreted it. He thought I was having second thoughts about the pregnancy, since it would mean pausing my career as a live-streamer. He tried to soothe me. “Jenna, I know your influencer career brings in more money than my job, but you’re always so public, you know? People talk. Why don’t you just quit?” “Don’t worry,” he continued, “I’ll have my mom take care of you. And every penny I earn will go toward your health and the baby’s.” In my last life, those words had moved me to tears. I’d agreed instantly, quitting my job to become a full-time mom. I had no idea that the baby growing inside me wasn’t mine at all. It was the IVF baby of my mother-in-law and her married high school flame. After my father-in-law died, Brenda claimed she was holding onto the inheritance for our future child. In reality, she was spending every last cent on Arthur, the man she’d pined for her whole life. She bought him cars and watches, desperately trying to replace his wife. But Arthur wanted a child, something Brenda could no longer give him. So, she turned her sights on me. On this exact day in my previous life, David and I had gone to the clinic, completely oblivious. After the successful transfer, Brenda doted on me, and I was filled with gratitude. I even covered for her when she was constantly out of the house. I never imagined that the ten months of pain and discomfort I endured were for another woman’s scheme. After I gave birth, Arthur died unexpectedly of a heart attack. Brenda, still determined to have David and me raise her child, kept the secret, even pushing us to get the baby a birth certificate. The truth only came out at the one-month celebration when the baby had a small accident. The blood type didn’t match David’s. Terrified of the scandal, Brenda immediately pointed the finger at me, accusing me of having an affair. But the baby wasn’t biologically mine, either. Back then, the idea that Brenda could do something so monstrous was inconceivable. I had no way to prove my innocence. A paternity test confirmed David was not the father. His disappointment curdled into rage. He slapped me across the face and demanded a divorce. My pleas were useless; he refused to believe me. Brenda posted a video of our fight online, cementing my reputation as an adulteress. My former agency cut all ties with me. I had no income, only the constant barrage of hate from strangers online and the scorn of neighbors and relatives in person. As the scandal grew and David wanted nothing to do with the child, Brenda panicked. Fearing the truth would come out, she quietly smothered the baby in its crib and framed me for the murder. I was sentenced to ten years in prison. In my despair, I took my own life. My spirit floated free, and I watched Brenda clinging to Arthur’s tombstone, her sobs echoing through the cemetery. It was then that I heard her confess everything, wailing about how unfair her life was. “You left me all alone, Arthur! I don’t want to live anymore either!” My soul trembled with rage. Her pathetic, love-sick fantasy had cost me everything. Did I deserve to suffer the consequences of her obsession? Thinking of how she had systematically destroyed me, I knew one thing for certain. This time, she would pay. If she loved drama so much, I would give her a performance she’d never forget. 2 This time, I didn’t foolishly quit my job. I applied for maternity leave, with plans to work for the first few months of the pregnancy. David was annoyed. “Either you get your mom to give us the inheritance money now,” I said coolly, “or we’re not discussing my job.” “What’s that supposed to mean? Mom already said she’s saving it for us.” I didn’t expose her lie. I wanted David to find that out for himself. “That’s my condition. Go ask your mother.” When we arrived at the clinic, Brenda was just walking out. A flash of guilt crossed her face before she replaced it with a warm, motherly smile. “Oh, there you are! I’ve been waiting forever!” I just smiled back. Before they wheeled me into the procedure room, I asked the doctor to run a final check on my embryo. When he saw the discrepancy, the color drained from his face. “It’s okay,” I whispered to him. “Just swap them back. This stays between us.” The doctor, immensely grateful, promised to keep it a secret from my family. As for the other vial, I tucked it into my purse. I spent a week recovering, letting Brenda and David wait on me hand and foot. I made sure to be as demanding as possible. “I’m craving the pot roast from that place on the east side.” David grabbed his car keys. “I’ll go get it!” Then, to Brenda: “I can’t just eat meat. I need some fruit. Mom, could you run downstairs and buy some?” Brenda, already sweating from running up and down the hospital floors, dutifully went. The pregnant woman in the bed next to me watched with envy. “Your husband and mother-in-law are so good to you!” I smirked. “It’s the least they can do.” Once I was discharged, I made a special pot of soup for Brenda. She sniffed it, wrinkling her nose. “This smells a bit off. Is the meat bad?” I leaned against David and started to cry. “Does… does Mom not like my cooking?” I stroked my belly dramatically. “Oh, little one, I hope Mommy’s bad mood isn’t affecting you.” Hearing that, Brenda grabbed the bowl and chugged the entire thing down. Not long after, she was clutching her stomach and running for the bathroom. She made the trip half a dozen times, finally emerging with her legs trembling. “What on earth was in that soup?” she asked, her voice shaky. I glanced at the empty hospital vial in the trash can and simply smiled. With the baby as my leverage, David and Brenda were wrapped around my finger. Five months into my pregnancy, I started my official maternity leave. A few days later, I got a call from my boss. She told me my husband, David, had submitted a resignation letter on my behalf. My boss knew I hadn’t planned to quit, so she called to confirm before processing the paperwork. The glass I was holding slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. I quickly assured her it was a mistake and that I fully intended to return to work. Relieved, she wished me well with the rest of my pregnancy. After hanging up, I was seething. That night, I confronted David. He looked guilty. “I was just worried you were overworking yourself.” “Did you get the money from your mom yet?” I pressed. He stammered, “Mom said… she said it’s in a long-term deposit. She can’t take it out right now.” That was it. I snapped. In a fit of rage, I flipped the dining table over. “I don’t care! If you don’t get that money back, you can forget about having a peaceful life!” David threw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay! I’ll go! Just be careful! The baby!” Later that night, I woke up and overheard him talking with Brenda in the living room. “The money just isn’t accessible right now!” Brenda insisted. “But Mom, Jenna’s going crazy! That baby is our family’s last hope!” Brenda sounded completely confident. “Don’t worry. Once that baby is born, she won’t be able to cause any trouble at all.” Of course. She still thought the baby in my belly was hers. She was just waiting for the birth to unleash her storm of lies.

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At 28, Victor wrapped his arms around me, his voice a low, sweet murmur in my ear. “Aria, my love, will you have my baby?” At 35, while I was fighting for my life in a hospital bed, Victor was caught by the paparazzi having a tryst with his young secretary in the hospital’s underground parking garage. Afterward, Victor was silent for a long time. He lit a cigarette, and through the veil of smoke, his voice was flat, detached. “Aria, don’t go after her. She’s young, she doesn’t know any better.” “I’ll make it up to you.” I stared at the miscarriage report on my phone, a numb smile twisting my lips. “Don’t bother, Victor.” “Let’s… get a divorce.” The hand holding his cigarette paused mid-air. “Aria, you’re not a child anymore.” “You need to think about the consequences before you act.” Consequences? Oh, I’d thought about them very, very clearly. 1. I placed the divorce papers on the table, wanting nothing more to do with him. I turned to leave. Victor stubbed out his cigarette and grabbed my arm. “Aria, it was just a baby.” “If you want one, we can always have another.” “Don’t throw the word ‘divorce’ around every time we have a problem.” A bitter sting filled my nose. I blinked hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. “Victor, he was eight months old. He was a fully formed person!” Victor sighed, a sound heavy with impatience. “Until it’s born, it’s just an embryo. Can you please stop being so emotional?” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “Is that what you were thinking when you were sleeping with Tessa, Victor?” His grip on my wrist tightened, his eyes narrowing. “What man doesn’t do this?” “It was a one-time thing. It’s not a big deal. I promise you, you will never see Tessa again.” “Aria, we don’t have to go down this road.” Looking at his smug, self-assured face, I closed my eyes. The bitterness was a physical ache in my chest. A one-time thing? Victor thought he’d hidden it so well. The truth was, I had known for a long time. He had told me he was on a business trip, but he was really in Bali with Tessa, watching the sunset she’d always dreamed of seeing. The girl was brazen, sending me a photo as a taunt. Her message read: Mrs. Marsden, the sunset is beautiful. Mr. Marsden is just a little rough, though. In the photo, against the fiery backdrop of the setting sun, Victor was kissing her passionately, the golden light bathing them in a lover’s glow. The pain was so intense I couldn’t breathe. I called him. He answered almost immediately, his voice husky with desire. “What is it, Ari?” I fought to keep my own voice steady. “What are you doing?” There was a muffled groan on his end, followed by a faint, sticky, wet sound that made my stomach churn. The phone in my hand began to tremble. I prayed, I begged the universe for him to tell me Tessa was lying. “Working out,” he said. “Listen, sweetheart, I’m busy. I’ll call you back when I’m done.” The line went dead. My heart turned to ice. With his actions, Victor had confirmed everything. He really was cheating on me with Tessa. My lungs seized. I couldn’t get enough air. My hands twisted together, my entire body going numb. I was rushed to the hospital. There, the doctor told me I was pregnant. I clutched the positive test and cried for hours. When Victor finally came home, I didn’t even have the courage to confront him. A tear escaped and traced a path down my cheek. Victor gently wiped it away with his thumb. “Aria, can’t you just turn a blind eye this once?” My voice trembled with rage. “The only option for us is divorce, Victor! There is nothing else!” His chest rose and fell in a frustrated rhythm. He took a few deep breaths, trying to rein in his anger. “I am not divorcing you, Aria.” “So you can just get that idea out of your head.” “Calm down and think about what you’re doing.” He snatched the divorce agreement and threw it in the trash, then slammed the door to his study with a force that shook the entire house. 2. The snow was coming down hard outside. Victor’s words kept replaying in my mind. He’d said, “It’s just an embryo.” He’d said, “Aria, are you completely blameless in this?” A sharp, cramping pain shot through my lower abdomen. Tears splattered onto the steering wheel. I couldn’t tell if I felt more sorrow or more hatred. There was a time when I was the center of Victor’s universe. Once, just because I told him I missed him, he dropped everything, flew halfway across the country, and showed up at my door in the middle of the night with a bouquet of my favorite flowers. In our second year together, I fell gravely ill. Victor, a man born with a silver spoon who had never believed in anything he couldn’t see, crawled up the hundreds of stone steps to the old chapel on his knees, his skin raw and bleeding, just to pray for my recovery. From priceless jewels to his constant presence, Victor spoiled me rotten. He truly cherished me. When we first married, the other wives in his social circle looked down on me. I was younger, and they whispered behind my back that I was a nobody from a working-class family who didn’t belong. I became so self-conscious that I refused to attend any important events with him. When Victor found out why, he made them all pay. A man who rarely showed his emotions, he called a press conference just to publicly defend my honor. After that, no one ever dared to disrespect me to my face again. Everyone in our circle envied me for marrying a man who loved me so deeply. I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. Until Tessa appeared. She was an undergrad at his alma mater. A sophomore. At first, he just started mentioning her more and more. I got jealous. “Are you falling for her?” I asked. He would kiss me. “Sweetheart, why are you always so jealous? She’s just a kid, with a terrible temper at that. Why would I ever like her?” Perhaps, even then, his heart was already leaning toward her. He just hadn’t realized it himself. Our fights about Tessa became more frequent, our love worn down with each argument. The tender embraces were replaced by weary sighs. “Aria, she’s a child. Why are you getting so worked up over her?” “I’m exhausted. Can you please just be mature about this?” And then came Tessa’s blatant provocations, one after another. The man who once loved me so fiercely was now allowing the new object of his affection to hurt me whenever she pleased. 3. I returned to our villa. The nursery, which I had spent months preparing, was quiet and still. The small, empty crib rocked gently with a push. I stared at it for a long time, and then the dam of my emotions broke. An eight-month-old child. How was that different from a newborn? The doctor had said my due date was just next month. I had planned everything. I’d read dozens of parenting books. I’d bought him a silver locket for protection, hand-stitched a quilt for him, and even worked with a designer to custom-build his crib, sanding every edge myself… I had waited for his arrival with so much joy. I wanted to give him all my love, to ensure he would be happy for his entire life. We were so close. So, so close… 4. Tessa came to find me because Victor was trying to break things off with her. He had told her, “Tessa, I’ll give you a generous settlement. After that, I want you to leave Port Sterling and never come back.” She refused. Crying, she asked him if he had ever loved her. Victor kissed away her tears. “Tessa, if I had met you first, I would have loved you. But I already have Aria.” “Don’t cry, Tessa. It hurts me to see you cry.” After that, he refused to see her. Driven by desperation, she somehow found her way to me. The moment she walked in, she pointed at my stomach. “You think having a baby can trap him?!” “Let me tell you, you’re dreaming!” “The person Victor loves is me! Me!” I clutched my belly and backed away, trying to calm her down. But Tessa, blinded by rage, was beyond reason. I called for our housekeeper, hoping she could escort Tessa out. Tessa shoved the older woman to the ground and lunged at me. “Aria Marsden! Why don’t you just die?!” “If you were dead, Victor would be all mine!” I couldn’t dodge in time. She pushed me hard, and my stomach slammed into the sharp corner of a table. A searing pain shot through me, and I broke out in a cold sweat. Tessa was like a wild animal. Her stiletto heel kicked my belly, again and again. She was screaming for me to die. I felt a warm gush of blood run down my thighs. Panic seized me. The housekeeper scrambled to her feet, pulled Tessa off me, and called the police, then an ambulance. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I dreamed of a small child waving at me from a distance. No matter how hard I reached, I couldn’t touch him. When I woke up, a doctor was looking at me with pity in his eyes. I opened my mouth, clinging to one last sliver of hope. “Doctor, my baby…” The doctor sighed. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Marsden. We couldn’t save him.” I had expected it. But hearing the words out loud, I shattered. My tears soaked the pillow. The doctor tried to console me. The next day, a gossip site published the story: Victor Marsden, caught in a tryst with his young secretary in the hospital’s underground parking garage.

A deep-seated fear of being framed has blessed me with an almost pathological need to document everything. When my elementary school teacher accused me of not turning in the class fees, I produced surveillance footage of me placing the cash on her desk, counting it out ten times under the camera’s watchful eye. She had to admit she’d lost it. Years later, when accounting tried to pin a late expense report on me, I produced chat logs from six apps and emails CC’d to eight managers. The accountant had to publicly admit her incompetence. And when that same company tried to fire me for “gross violations,” I presented over a thousand pieces of video and photo evidence, playing it frame-by-frame for thirty hours. My boss ended up tearfully writing me a check for two months’ severance. Then, my ultra-wealthy biological parents found me and offered me a position at Apex Industries. My direct supervisor? The fake heiress who had been living my life. To protect myself, every button on my clothes was a hidden camera, every pen a recorder. I screen-recorded every chat and even hacked into the company’s 188 surveillance cameras. My paranoia paid off when the fake heiress, Jocelyn, confronted me, her face covered in an angry red rash. “Vera,” she demanded, trembling, “I told you I was allergic to milk. Why would you put it in my coffee?” I knew right then that all my preparations were about to bear fruit. … I feigned a moment of confusion. “But you’re the one who asked for a latte, weren’t you?” The words had barely left my lips when my biological brother, Grayson, burst out of the CEO’s office. He cradled Jocelyn’s face, his expression a mask of anguish. Then, his eyes, burning with fury, locked onto me. “Jocelyn is deathly allergic to milk! Why would she ever ask for a latte? You were jealous, weren’t you? You wanted to kill her! Figures. Gutter-rat from the middle of nowhere.” Jocelyn quickly intervened, dabbing at her crocodile tears. “It’s okay, Grayson. Vera has every right to hate me. I’m the one who stole her life. If my dying would make her feel better, then I’m willing.” With a dramatic flourish, she grabbed the half-finished latte and brought it to her lips as if to down the rest. Grayson panicked, slapping the cup from her hand. He started shouting for a doctor, his corporate image shattering on the marble floor. He turned back to me, his gaze dripping with venom. “Even if something happened to Jocelyn, a piece of trash like you would never take her place as a Sterling! If you hadn’t come crawling back to us, she would still be my only sister. You’re the one who ruined her life! You’re shameless!” I almost burst out laughing. Ignoring Grayson, I stared directly at Jocelyn. “Are you sure you’re not trying to frame me?” Jocelyn’s face crumpled instantly into a theatrical display of tears. “Vera, are you suggesting I’d risk my own health just to frame you? If I’ve told a single lie, I’ll get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness right here, right now!” Without a word, I pulled out a pen recorder and pressed play. Jocelyn’s clear, sweet voice filled the silent office. 【Hey, Vera, if you’re not too busy, could you grab me a latte? One-third sugar, please.~】 The entire floor went dead quiet. Jocelyn’s eyes bulged as she stared at the recorder in my hand, clearly blindsided by my level of preparation. “You… you misheard me! I never said the word latte!” She tried to scramble for an excuse, but I just let the recording continue. 【Just to confirm, you want a coffee with whole milk?】 【Yes, that’s right. Thanks so much.】 This time, she had nothing to say. “Recordings are easy to fake,” Grayson snarled, still defending her. “A scheming bitch like you probably planned this from the start!” “I have video, too,” I said, pulling out my phone. I played the full, unedited clip for the entire office to see. Watching the color drain from Jocelyn’s face, then return in splotches of red and white, I allowed myself a triumphant smirk. “Well, Jocelyn? Get on your knees.” Jocelyn gasped for air a few times before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed. Grayson dropped to the floor, cradling her and wailing, but not without throwing one last accusation at me. “Are you happy now? Look what you’ve done to her!” I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck. What I had done? All I did was play back her own words! Just then, my dear biological parents rushed in. After hearing a wildly embellished version of events from a coworker, my father turned to me, his face a stern mask of disappointment. “Vera, I know you resent your sister, but you can’t force her to kneel before you!” I didn’t speak. I just pressed the play button on the recorder again. 【If I’ve told a single lie, I’ll get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness right here, right now!】 Hearing this, my parents’ expressions soured even further. “Even if Jocelyn made a mistake, she is still your sister,” my mother scolded. “You should learn to be more forgiving. We Sterlings don’t raise our daughters to be so petty!” “You never raised me at all,” I said flatly. The single sentence shut my father up completely. “Is there anything else? If not, I’m getting back to work.” Ignoring them, I walked back to my desk. This level of drama was child’s play compared to what I’d endured my whole life. They rushed Jocelyn to the hospital. That evening, I got a call from her. “Vera, I’m so sorry about today. Let me buy you a drink to make it up to you.” I considered it for a moment, then agreed. When I got to the bar, I found Jocelyn with a group of seven or eight other people. “So this is Jocelyn’s long-lost sister? A real step down.” “Told you there’s a world of difference between city folk and country hicks. Who cares if she’s the real heiress? She has zero class.” “I don’t know, guys, she looks like she could be a good time. Wonder if she had to sell herself to make ends meet.” I ignored their snide remarks and scrolled through my phone. A sleazy-looking guy swaggered over and offered me a drink. I politely told him I was allergic to alcohol. His face flushed with anger. “What the hell? You think you’re too good to drink with me?” Jocelyn chimed in, a sickly sweet tone in her voice. “Come on, Vera. If you don’t drink, it means you’re still mad at me, doesn’t it?” “You’re right. I am still mad at you.” My bluntness stunned her into silence. I truly couldn’t fathom the audacity of this girl who had stolen my entire life. I turned on my phone’s video camera and addressed the whole table. “Just so everyone is aware, if your pressuring me to drink results in any adverse health effects, under state liability laws, every single one of you could be looking at an assault charge.” That shut them up. The desire to interact with me vanished from the room. Jocelyn shot me a venomous look before turning back to her posse and continuing to drink. A few hours later, she was completely wasted. As I was about to help her home, one of her friends stopped me. “The Sterling estate is way too far from here. It’s not safe for two girls to be out this late. Why don’t you just take her to the apartment she rents nearby?” She gave me an address. It seemed logical enough, so I took Jocelyn there. The thought of spending another minute in the same room with her was nauseating, so I dropped her off and called a car for myself. I never expected to be woken up the next morning by Grayson dragging me out of bed and slapping me hard across the face. “You’re a monster! How could you do that to Jocelyn!” I was still reeling from the blow, completely disoriented. Before I could even ask what was going on, he hauled me to the apartment I’d left Jocelyn in. The scene was chaos. Jocelyn was on the floor, her clothes ripped, her skin covered in horrifying marks. She was sobbing hysterically. My parents were there, comforting her. When they saw me, my mother marched over and slapped me without a word. “What did she ever do to you?” she screamed. “How could you hate her so much that you’d hire someone to ruin her?” “I just took her to the address her friend gave me,” I managed to say, holding out the recording I’d made at the bar. But Jocelyn was one step ahead. “I-I don’t even know that person!” she cried. “And this isn’t my apartment! Vera, if you hate me, you can hit me, you can scream at me, but you can’t do this! You can’t destroy my life like this!” Grayson looked ready to tear me apart. If our parents hadn’t been holding him back, he probably would have. “You bitch! You brought her here, left her all alone, and didn’t tell anyone? And you expect us to believe this wasn’t your plan all along?” “But I did tell you!” “When?” Grayson scoffed. In the stunned silence that followed, I pulled out my phone and showed them the email I’d sent to all three of them. It detailed Jocelyn’s drunken state, her current location, and a request for them to come pick her up. “I also sent a message to Mom and Dad’s phones, but I guess they were asleep. As for you,” I said, looking at Grayson, “you never accepted my contact request.” Grayson fumbled for his phone. There it was, at the top of his requests: a message from me. I had even added a note: 【Jocelyn’s drunk. Come get her when you have a chance.】 He was dumbfounded. It took him a long moment to find his voice. “So what if you told us? This was obviously part of your calculation! How else could she have been attacked in her own room so conveniently?” “You’ll have to ask your dear sister that,” I said with a shrug. Jocelyn’s head snapped up. “Vera, are you actually suggesting I would use my own body, my own honor, to frame you? I’m not that depraved!” “She’s right,” my mother added, her voice laced with disappointment. “I raised Jocelyn for over twenty years. I know her character. But you, Vera… you were raised by those crude people in the countryside. It’s no wonder you picked up some of their wicked ways.” They tag-teamed me, defending Jocelyn while tearing me down. I let out a bitter laugh. What was the point of a family like this? “Good thing I was worried about my sister’s safety,” I said coolly. “So I planted a small hidden camera on her nightstand before I left.” Jocelyn’s face went white.

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For five years, we tried. Twelve rounds of IVF. Finally, Nicholas and I had our child. The day he was born, Nicholas, always so composed, broke down in tears. He gripped my hand, his voice thick with emotion. “Annette, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you. You and our boy… you’re my everything now.” He held our son with a reverence I’d never seen, hesitating before daring to touch the baby’s soft cheek. “We’ll call him Max,” he whispered. “For a life filled to the absolute maximum with joy and peace.” That was before his first love’s daughter was diagnosed with kidney failure. “Lily is a prodigy,” he’d said, his voice strained. “She’s destined to be a world-class painter. We can’t let her health stand in her way.” Then he was on his knees in front of me, stripped of all his pride, his voice a desperate plea. “Annette, I checked. Max is a perfect match for Lily. Please… just let him give her one of his kidneys. Please?” … Nicholas was a man defined by his pride. He never bowed his head for anyone or anything. Even when he proposed, he hadn’t asked. He’d simply tossed a ring box at me and said, “Marry me. You won’t regret it.” But now, for Claire’s daughter, he was on his knees, as pathetic as a stray dog begging for scraps. In the sweltering summer heat, an icy chill spread through my bones. I closed my eyes, the world spinning. “Nicholas, do you have any idea what you’re saying?” A tiny, foolish part of me held out hope. If he would just say it was a moment of madness, that he didn’t mean it, I could forgive him. We could pretend this conversation never happened. But Nicholas remained silent, his jaw set. He took a deep breath, his resolve hardening. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but people can live perfectly normal lives with just one kidney.” When I didn’t answer, his voice turned to steel. “If you won’t agree, then I’ll have to remind you that I am also Max’s legal guardian. I have the right to sign the consent forms.” The air left my lungs. A wave of grief and fury so powerful it almost knocked me over washed through me. “Absolutely not,” I choked out, the words tasting like poison. He reached out, his expression pained, and tried to stroke my hair. “Annette, don’t make this difficult.” I flinched away, hammering my fists against his chest. “You said we were your everything!” I sobbed. “The day Max was born, you promised! Nicholas, that was only three years ago!” I collapsed against him, my fight draining away. “There has to be another way, right? Medicine is so advanced now. Can’t they just wait? Maybe another donor will come along. Please.” A flicker of sorrow crossed his face. “If there were any other option, of course I wouldn’t want Max to—” His phone rang. He glanced at the screen: Claire. Without a second’s hesitation, he pushed me away and answered. Claire was hysterical on the other end. “Nicholas, Lily’s back in the ICU! I’m here all alone, I don’t know what to do…” The tenderness on Nicholas’s face vanished, replaced by sheer panic. He grabbed his car keys and bolted for the door, not even looking back. “We can’t wait any longer,” he threw over his shoulder, his voice cold and final. “Don’t worry. I’ll perform the surgery myself. I’ll make sure both children are safe.” Max, who had just woken up from his nap, toddled after him, calling out, “Daddy, where go? Max go too!” Nicholas didn’t even glance back. He let Max stumble and fall on the front steps, his cries echoing in the sudden silence of the house. In that moment, my heart turned to ice. I wiped my tears, scooped up my wailing son, and sent Nicholas a text. “I want a divorce.” Nicholas didn’t reply. He came home late that night, laden with toys and candy, and Claire was trailing behind him. Before I could stop him, Max had already run into his father’s arms. Nicholas smiled, handing Max a brightly colored plastic toy. “Do you like it? Daddy and Auntie Claire picked it out just for you. And look, your favorite snacks.” He settled Max on his lap, tore open a bag of candy, and popped a piece into our son’s mouth. Max, having already forgotten the morning’s abandonment, snuggled against his father’s chest, giggling happily. I watched them, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. Max adored his father, even more than he did me. And this man, this father, was willing to carve a kidney out of his own son. It was Claire who nudged him, reminding him of my presence. Nicholas looked up and pulled a necklace from his pocket. “It’s a wishbone, Annette. For you. From now on, whatever you wish for, I’ll make it happen.” I stared at him, my expression unreadable, and pushed his hand away. “My only wish is for you to call off this donation.” He looked down, mumbling something under his breath. “Annette, do you think this is easy for me? Max is my flesh and blood. But I’ve watched Lily grow up, too. I can’t just let her die.” “Nicholas, let it go,” Claire whispered, her eyes welling up. “It was my fault. I was impulsive to even suggest that Max could help Lily. I’ve caused nothing but trouble for your family. It’s all my fault.” She bowed her head, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, the very picture of tragic beauty. Watching her tears splash onto the polished floor, Nicholas’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. “How could this be your fault?” he said, his voice fierce. “Even if you hadn’t said anything, I would have offered.” The intimacy between them was a physical pain, a blade twisting in my gut. I took a deep breath to keep from screaming. The tension in the room made Max start to cry, but Nicholas only had eyes for Claire, his gaze full of pity and protection. The blood in my veins ran cold. Before I married Nicholas, I knew he had a childhood sweetheart. When I’d hesitated about our future, he’d sworn to me that he and Claire were just friends, that she would never come between us. Lies. All of it. When Claire went into labor, Nicholas abandoned a career-making international conference to be by her side. The day Lily was born, Nicholas, a man who scoffed at sentimentality, went to a high-end auction and bought a custom-made pink diamond tiara as a welcome-to-the-world gift for another man’s child. The moment Lily showed a flicker of interest in art, he pulled strings to have the country’s most renowned painter take her on as a private student. And my Max? When he was born, all he got was a small, silver locket. Two days later, his father volunteered for a medical mission in Africa and was gone for a month. He claimed to love us, to love me and Max above all else, but he always, always put Claire and her daughter first. For years I had lied to myself, pretending not to see. But I couldn’t lie anymore. Max was still holding the cheap toy Nicholas had brought, the cloyingly sweet candy still in his mouth. He never liked things like this, but because it was from his father, he treasured it. “Max, spit that out,” I said softly. “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it.” “That’s enough, Annette!” Nicholas snapped. “If you have a problem with me and Claire, say it to my face! Don’t take it out on our son! What kind of mother are you?” Even now, he was defending her. “If our Max had kidney failure, Claire and Lily would donate in a heartbeat! Annette, you can’t be this selfish!” “Don’t say that, Nicholas,” Claire sobbed, pressing herself against his chest. “Just pretend you never knew me. Pretend Lily and I don’t exist.” Nicholas’s eyes were glacial as he glared at me. “We’ve been married for years, and it’s only now that I see how cold and heartless you truly are.” A memory surfaced, sharp and painful. Our honeymoon in Hawaii. In the middle of it, Claire got divorced. She posted a single sad selfie on Instagram, and Nicholas, without a word to me, booked the next flight back to comfort her. He stayed by her side for two weeks. While I walked alone on beaches crowded with happy couples, Claire’s feed was full of pictures of the “World’s Best Friend,” featuring Nicholas in her kitchen, making her heart-shaped pancakes. While I sat by myself under a palm tree, her story was a picture of Nicholas’s profile in a darkened movie theater, captioned, “The secret from when we were eighteen.” For two weeks, I woke up every morning and scrolled through her life, my tears falling until I was just numb. But I still trusted him. I still believed him. Watching the undisguised tenderness in his eyes as he held Claire, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. “So, if we had gotten married just a little later, you would have called it off and married her instead, wouldn’t you?” Crack. The sting of his palm against my cheek exploded across my face. Nicholas’s eyes were bloodshot with fury. “Yes, I was in love with Claire. That’s not a secret. But I gave up a world of memories with her for you! Isn’t that enough? Why do you have to say things like that just to hurt me?” His cruel words were a knife, carving out my heart. The tears I had held back for so long finally broke free, streaming down my face. When I looked up at him again, there was nothing left in my eyes. No love, no pain. Just emptiness. “No,” I said, my voice hollow. “You don’t have to give up anything. From now on, you will never see me or Max again.” I scooped Max into my arms and turned to leave. But Nicholas blocked my path. “You can go,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “But Max stays.” My lips parted, but all that came out was a broken, mirthless laugh. “Nicholas, do you really have to be so cruel?” He didn’t answer. In one swift movement, he snatched Max from my arms and shoved me so hard I fell to the floor. He handed our crying son to Claire. “Take him and go! Now!”

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1 On our wedding day, my lawyer wife, Victoria, got into the wrong limousine and spent our wedding night with my assistant, Alex. The next morning, she knelt before me, covered in marks, begging for forgiveness. She swore she’d fire him. A year later, I found her in a hospital maternity ward during a supposed business trip. She held a newborn, and beside her stood Alex, back after a year away. Blinded by rage, I threw them out. But that night, the baby disappeared. Victoria was convinced I did it. To force my hand, she suspended my parents over an active volcano. I denied it, my voice desperate. “I sacrificed so much for you, Noah!” she screamed. “Return my child, or I drop them.” She lowered them—their shoe soles melted instantly. When I couldn’t produce the baby, she prepared to release the cable—until a call came: the child was found. Without looking back, she walked away. My parents fell into the molten rock. While she and Alex celebrated their son’s first month, I sifted through cooled ash for my parents’ charred bones. In that moment, I regretted ever loving her. … I knelt in the volcanic dust, cradling the blackened, incomplete remains of my parents, my heart a shard of glass in my chest. They had always treated Victoria like their own daughter. They had sponsored her through high school; without them, she never would have even made it to college. But just because I had thrown her out of the hospital, she assumed I had stolen her and Alex’s child. And for that, she had murdered my parents. One more week. In one more week, I could leave her forever, taking my parents’ ashes with me. I secured the small pouch containing their remains inside my shirt and went home. As I walked through the villa’s front gate, I saw Victoria, holding the baby, happily mingling with friends and family. She saw my swollen, red-rimmed eyes and shot me a single, cold glance. “Noah, you still have the nerve to show your face? You watched your own parents hang over a volcano, all for a petty act of revenge, and you still wouldn’t tell the truth. You almost made my son miss his own celebration. You’re truly toxic.” Her child was celebrating his new life, while my parents didn’t even have a complete skeleton left. My mouth opened, but my throat felt as if it were filled with hot ash. No sound came out. “Whatever,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “Thankfully, the baby was found. I forgive you. Mom and Dad must have been uncomfortable hanging over that crater for so long. I’ll arrange for them to have a check-up at the hospital later.” She handed the baby to a nanny and walked towards me, reaching for my hand as she always did. I yanked it away. “Don’t bother,” I said, my head bowed. Victoria’s brow furrowed, and she was about to question me when Alex rushed over and began to beat me with his fists and feet. “I’m not competing with you for Victoria anymore! Why do you still have to go after our child? Are you even human?” A grunt of pain escaped my lips. The image of my parents’ final moments flashed before my eyes, and I summoned all my strength to fight back. But at a sharp command from Victoria, two bodyguards seized me, pinning me to the floor. I couldn’t move, forced to endure Alex’s punches raining down on my stomach. After the ninety-ninth blow, when I was coughing up blood and barely conscious, Victoria finally gestured for them to release me. She looked at me, her expression complicated. “The baby developed a high fever right after we found him. You went too far. It’s only right that you let Alex blow off some steam.” I forced my lips into a smile, but a tear hit the floor before I could manage it. Victoria froze, and for a second, she looked like she might help me up. But then Alex clutched his chest and collapsed, groaning theatrically. Her face changed instantly. “Quick! Get him to the hospital!” She half-dragged, half-pulled me into the car. With every bump in the road, the searing pain in my abdomen felt like I was being flayed alive. At the hospital, Alex whispered weakly, “Victoria, I have severe anemia. The stress Noah put me under… I might need a transfusion.” Victoria’s eyes immediately fell on me. “Doctor, draw his blood,” she commanded, not even looking in my direction. The doctor tried to intervene. “The patient has just been assaulted and may have internal injuries. We can’t draw his blood!” But Victoria’s attention was fixed on the whimpering Alex. She turned back to me, her face set with grim determination. “Noah, this was your fault. Alex only acted out because he was sick with worry over the baby. You need to compensate him. We’ll do the transfusion, and when it’s over, I’ll make you soup myself. I’ll make sure you get your strength back.” Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. “I’m telling you again,” I said, my voice faint, “I didn’t take your child. Let me go.” She just frowned, her eyes full of disappointment. “You still won’t admit your mistake?” She had her men hold me down as the nurse drew tube after tube of my blood. As I was about to pass out, I saw a flash of pity in her eyes. But then Alex moaned from his bed, and she was instantly by his side, cooing and comforting him. Alex shot me a triumphant look and mouthed two words: “Pathetic loser.” Suddenly, the door to the room burst open and Victoria’s parents stormed in, making a beeline for Alex. “Oh, my sweet boy! Why are you so pale? Did that good-for-nothing piece of trash upset you?” her mother cried, stroking Alex’s forehead. Then she saw me on the floor, and her face turned to stone. She marched over and spat directly in my face. “My daughter must have been blind to marry a worthless animal like you! Can’t have your own children, so you steal someone else’s!” I used to consistently outperform Victoria in school, but I willingly stepped back to manage our lives so she could focus on her law career. Her parents saw this as me being lazy and unambitious. They had always disliked me, always using Alex to humiliate me. Before I could respond, her father was standing over me, his face a dark mask. He lifted his polished leather shoe and brought it down with all his force onto my already bruised abdomen. There was a sickening thud. The feeling of bone and organ shattering sent a final, blinding wave of pain through me, and I blacked out. I woke to the tearing agony in my midsection. Alex’s whining voice drifted over from the next bed. “Victoria, if Noah knew one of his kidneys was removed and transplanted into me, do you think he’d go crazy?” Victoria’s soothing reply came immediately. “Dad’s kick ruptured one of them anyway, and he was bleeding internally. They couldn’t save it. It was useless to him, so it was only right to give it to you as compensation for the scare he gave you.” She added, “He’s still unstable. Let’s not tell him for now.” I stared blankly at the ceiling. Alex had beaten me half to death, but he was the one who had gotten a scare. A scare that was compensated with my kidney. Victoria, I thought, did you ever love me at all? Just then, the curtain between our beds was pulled back. Alex’s triumphant face appeared. “You’re tough, Noah. I’m surprised you’re not dead. You know, I was never sick. The blood you gave me? I poured it out for the stray dogs. And your kidney? Fed it to them, too.” He pulled out his phone, played a video, and held it in front of my face. On the screen, my kidney lay on the pavement outside the hospital while a pack of wild dogs tore it to pieces. “Your parts are only good enough for the dogs,” he sneered, then burst out laughing. With my last ounce of strength, I slapped him across the face. The next second, I vomited a mouthful of blood, spraying it all over his expensive shirt. He didn’t care. His grin was victorious. At that exact moment, the door opened. “Noah—!” Victoria rushed to my bedside and slapped me twice, hard. Alex put on a show. “Victoria, don’t hit him. It’s okay. If he’s willing to steal our child, what’s a little slap? I was just trying to check on him. I guess he doesn’t want to see me.” He started to fake-sob. “Noah! Are you even human?!” Victoria’s voice was laced with fury and disappointment. “You’ve put Alex through so much, and he still defends you! I told you to reflect on what you’ve done, and this is the result? I truly regret ever marrying you!” Her words washed over me, and my heart turned to ash. I simply stared at her, then slowly lifted the bedsheet, revealing the fresh, angry scar on my abdomen. Victoria flinched and looked away, helping Alex to his feet. As they left, he turned back and mouthed silently: Loser. You were with her for five years. So what? She still prefers her assistant! I managed a bitter smile and closed my eyes. When your heart is dead, you can’t feel pain anymore. But Victoria, as for marrying you? I regret it more than you ever will. I left the hospital alone. When I got home, Victoria was on the sofa, her arms around Alex, the baby in her lap. They were watching TV, a picture of domestic bliss that burned my eyes. She saw me and quickly pulled away from him. I said nothing, just walked calmly to our room to pack my things. She followed me in, trying to hug me from behind. “Noah, let me explain,” she said, her voice artificially soft. “Alex hasn’t recovered yet, and there’s no one to take care of him, so I let them stay here temporarily. I promise, as soon as he’s better, they’ll leave.” I sidestepped her touch, continuing to pack. “You don’t need to explain anything to me. Let’s get a divorce.” She stared at me, shocked. “Divorce? Impossible! Noah, you know I love you!” Before she could finish, Alex was leaning against the doorframe, looking pale. “Victoria, don’t fight with Noah because of me and the baby. If he really can’t stand having us here, we can leave right now.” I ignored him and folded my last shirt. Victoria looked at my unresponsive back, her frown deepening. “Noah! I already apologized to you! Have you no compassion? Don’t forget, this villa is in my name! If anyone’s getting out, it’s you, with your cold heart! Alex and the baby deserve to stay!” She crossed her arms, expecting me to back down and beg as I always did. But this time, I slowly raised my head and looked at her with eyes like stagnant water. “Victoria, I’m serious about the divorce. Think it over. Let me know when you’re ready to finalize it. As for you and Alex, I wish you a long and happy life together.” Her eyes filled with disbelief, then she snapped, “Fine! Let’s do it! Whoever backs out is a coward! You don’t even have a kidney left! You’ll be on dialysis for the rest of your life! Let’s see how you survive without me!” I silently zipped up my suitcase, walked past her, and went to the living room to grab the jacket I had been wearing the day I was hospitalized. Tucked inside was the small pouch with my parents’ remains. As I reached for it, a maid brought out a bowl of soup. “Sir, Mr. Alex had us make this especially for you. He said it would warm you up.” I glanced suspiciously at Alex, who was standing in the bedroom doorway. He gave me a sadistic grin and gestured towards my jacket. I sprinted to the kitchen. In the soup pot were the fragmented remains of my parents. A pain so sharp it felt like a thousand needles pierced my heart. Numbly, I grabbed a kitchen knife and lunged at Alex. “Noah! Are you insane—!” Victoria’s shriek cut through the air. She had rushed between us, and with all her strength, she twisted the knife from my hand and plunged it into my abdomen. The surgical wound tore open again. I collapsed, laughing through tears of blood. “Am I insane? My parents are…” “Your parents are fine, Noah!” she cut me off, a flicker of pain in her eyes as she looked at me. “But you keep trying to hurt Alex and the baby! I can’t… I can’t just stand by and watch you make these mistakes…” She was rambling, her eyes darting everywhere but at me, everywhere but at the blood pouring from my stomach. “Don’t move. I’ll have the maids take you to the hospital. I’ll come see you as soon as I’ve calmed Alex down.” She left me bleeding on the floor and carefully escorted Alex back to the bedroom. I pushed myself up against a wall and retrieved my parents’ remains from the pot. With a cold smile, I tossed a file onto the floor. Then, as everyone stared in shock, I staggered out of the villa. Inside that file was the prenuptial agreement my parents had insisted Victoria sign. If the wife was found to be at major fault during the marriage, she had to agree to an unconditional divorce, and the agreement would automatically take effect. The effective date was tomorrow. Tomorrow, I would be free. At the hospital, the doctor silently stitched up the new wound on my abdomen. After the anesthetic wore off, I didn’t stay. I took the last of my parents’ ashes and boarded the first train back to my hometown. Meanwhile, back at the villa, Victoria’s unease grew. My dead eyes as I left haunted her. She was struck by the realization that she had been far too cruel to me. She grabbed her car keys and raced to the hospital. The nurse at the emergency desk checked the records. “Noah? He came in this evening. We treated his wound, and he left.” “Left? Where did he go?” Victoria’s heart leaped into her throat. “How would we know where patients go after they’re discharged?” the nurse replied impatiently. Victoria sped back home and tore through every room, the garage, the garden. He was gone. It was as if he had evaporated. She collapsed, clutching her head and sobbing, a terrible feeling washing over her that she had lost me forever. The old maid timidly approached and handed her the file I had left on the floor. “Ma’am, I think your husband left this for you.” With trembling hands, Victoria took the file and pulled out the papers. Tucked inside the prenuptial agreement was another document. A single sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. It was a death certificate.

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Twenty-eight days after my wife passed away. The CEO of Blackwood Industries—the man who had battled her in the marketplace for a lifetime—also committed suicide at his home. His lawyer appeared immediately, presenting the joint will he and my wife had signed, stipulating in black and white that they were to be interred together. Their story instantly became a legend. The world marveled at the intensity of their yin and yang existence. They said their darkness and glory, their joy and anguish, were forever intertwined. They spoke of the CEO, who had never married, finally getting his wish: to be with his beloved in death. No one spared a thought for me, her legitimate husband. In their grand narrative, I didn’t even rate a footnote as the jealous villain. I lived out the next three years in obscurity. When I finally closed my eyes, my soul was desolate. When I opened them again, it was that summer—a scorching, cicada-loud heatwave. Vivian Shaw was looking at me, a wide, sun-drenched smile on her face. She asked me to be her boyfriend. This time, I looked into the eyes that had once been my whole world and slowly shook my head. … Vivian’s smile froze, her expression shifting to one of sheer confusion. After a long silence, she finally found her voice. “Spencer, I need a reason.” “I thought we were just one word away from officially being together…” “That was your assumption!” I cut her off, the words sharp and final. Gazing at the slightly softer, younger version of Vivian Shaw, I forced myself to be cruel. “I’ve never had those kinds of feelings for you. You completely misread the situation!” I didn’t look at her again. I turned and fled. The tears came the very second I turned my back, splattering onto my hand, a shock of cold that brought back the terrible reality of my rebirth. Even though I knew with absolute clarity: This Vivian Shaw had not yet met Damon Blackwood, the man whose name would be irrevocably linked with hers for the rest of that life. She hadn’t yet committed the acts that had shattered me in the past. Still, I couldn’t stop the resentment. The memory of the last life was a rusted but razor-sharp knife. Every detail was embedded deep in my bones, a chronic, agonizing ache. Before thirty-six, Vivian had belonged completely to Spencer. She had abandoned the last three problems on her college entrance exam just because I’d said I didn’t want a long-distance relationship. She’d stayed up all night in winter, eyes red-rimmed, clumsily knitting me uneven scarves and blankets. In her junior year, she’d plunged into her first startup, driven only by the goal of building a life for us where we’d envy no one. But after thirty-six, Vivian Shaw was split in two. One half was tethered to the marriage, to the responsibility, to me—the increasingly silent husband. The other half, however, drifted uncontrollably toward Damon Blackwood. Toward the man who was her equal, her ultimate rival, her fated adversary. That was also the year I traveled across the country, seeking out every specialist and remedy. I finally managed to treat Vivian’s infertility, and we conceived our child. Yet, she ignored the herbal tonics I painstakingly brewed to support the pregnancy. She paid no heed to the doctor’s cautions. Instead, she was locked in a brutal, back-and-forth corporate war with Damon Blackwood. One day, it was the City Center merger; they’d drink until they had to prop each other up to walk. The next, it was the Weston Project; they’d meet at some exclusive lounge, gambling with dice and drinking until dawn. Once, at a corporate VIP event, they even walked away with a joke marriage certificate. They took a photo, posting it to social media, laughing with an unrestrained arrogance that made me sick. Then, when she was seven months pregnant, Damon called. In a light, challenging tone, he mentioned a newly discovered base-jumping site and dared her to join him. She agreed almost instantly. I grabbed her wrist, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “Vivian, are you insane? Look at your stomach! That’s our child!” She simply shrugged off my grip, annoyed by the interference. “I can’t miss this opportunity. Damon is waiting on that chopper, I can’t let him look down on me.” With that, she grabbed her jacket and ran out the door. She even signed the consent form for an immediate induction—all so she could board that helicopter and go head-to-head with Damon Blackwood. Later, she won the contest. Damon posted a photo of the two of them leaping side-by-side from the high altitude, captioning it, “An equal opponent. What a thrill!” It drew thousands of awe-struck comments. And I, in a hospital room smelling of antiseptic, was left alone. I took home the remains of the girl who had been so close to full term. She returned home a few days later. She looked at the remains—smaller than a grape—and was silent for a rare, brief moment. Then, without a word, she clasped a solid gold Rolex onto my wrist. “Spencer, I know this was wrong of me.” “We’ll have another baby later, but I couldn’t let Damon get the best of me…” I stared at the watch for a long time. My voice sounded dry, alien to my own ears. “Winning that jump—the one you chose over me and our child—how did it feel?” “Was it so exhilarating? Did it make you happier than seeing our baby?” A smug look crossed Vivian’s face. “Of course. It was mainly that Damon finally had to admit defeat.” She paused, attempting a hollow justification. “Actually… after the competition, I made him drink a bitter espresso, which he hates, as revenge for you and the baby.” I turned my head away, closing my eyes. A single tear tracked silently into my hairline. My mind flashed with the comments from the gossip sites, the rabid fans of their “Rivalry Royalty” coupling. They said: Rivals are rivals. Rivals can never become husbands. Vivian. In the moment you walked toward that jump site, deciding to give up our child… did you really know if it was ambition, or something else entirely? Vivian’s anxious voice broke through my daze. “Spencer.” She ran up and blocked my path, fine sweat beading on her forehead. “Spencer, why? You clearly… clearly felt something for me too. Why this sudden change?” The twenty-year-old girl standing before me wasn’t yet the corporate powerhouse of the past. Now, merely the rejection from the man she loved had made her eyes red. She was like a small, stubborn, abandoned animal, demanding an answer. My heart clenched painfully, leaving me breathless. How could this be? How could the Vivian who panicked when I simply went silent turn into the woman she became? The nightmare of the last life flashed before me again. To win a property bid, Damon Blackwood spread rumors that Vivian was sexually harassing him. Worse, at my father’s sixtieth birthday party, he played AI-spliced, intimate videos of her and Damon. The entire room erupted in chaos. My father suffered a cerebral hemorrhage on the spot and never recovered. I drove like a maniac to Damon’s company, determined to kill him. But Vivian rushed in and physically restrained me. She gripped my wrist so hard I thought the bone would snap. Yet, her voice was terrifyingly calm. “You can’t blame Damon for this.” “It’s Dad’s own fault for being so sensitive, for believing a fake video.” “He knew his blood pressure was high, but he couldn’t control his emotions. Besides, business is war. Winning is the only objective. No tactic is shameful.” I stared at her, chilled to the core. “That was my father! Vivian, the man who raised me! Are you going to use human lives as stepping stones in your rivalry?” The only response was her silence. As I was half-dragged, half-shoved out of Damon’s office, I finally understood. Vivian’s internal scales had completely tipped. She wasn’t split in two anymore. She had completely, irrevocably, tipped toward Damon. The red-eyed girl in front of me was still anxiously awaiting my answer. I dropped my gaze, forcing the words past a dry throat. “There is no ‘why,’ Vivian.” “Stop coming after me. From now on, we go our separate ways.” Vivian refused to believe me. Her eyes became redder, her voice edged with clear hurt. “Separate ways? We talked about this! I start my business, you go to grad school, and we build our lives in this city together…” Her mouth kept moving, detailing the future we’d planned. But she didn’t know. In that future, only she would sail smoothly to success and fulfillment. The memory snapped back to the fork in the road of the past life. Near graduation, her startup was facing its toughest time; the funding was nearly dry. I, meanwhile, had received an acceptance letter to my dream graduate program overseas. Everyone told me to give up the opportunity, that being the future CEO’s husband was the smarter, more respectable path. “Vivian needs you right now. You should go help her.” I gritted my teeth, holding firm. Until she was hospitalized with a bleeding stomach ulcer, caused by networking events and a chaotic schedule. Lying pale in the hospital bed, she sold me the lie. “Spencer, you’re so organized. It would be perfect if you came to work with me.” “We’ll build this empire faster, together.” Just like that, I surrendered to her emotional manipulation. But once I joined the company, I was merely the one who ordered the meals, ran errands, managed her calendar, and cleaned her office. I was the back office support. It was grunt work anyone could do, and I wasn’t even paid a dime. Whenever I voiced my frustration, she’d just smile and pinch my cheek, her tone dismissive. “Your job is to secure the home front, honey.” “You’re the man behind the boss. Why would you need a salary?” I had glimpsed her underlying contempt for men involved in non-core business activities, but I’d always buried it. Until a few years later, when Damon Blackwood appeared. That contempt vanished, replaced by an increasingly unconcealed admiration and respect. My heart spasmed painfully. I covered my chest and returned to the present. I quietly spoke her name. “Vivian.” She stopped talking, her eyes shining as she looked at me. I was about to speak. Suddenly, a clear, sharp male voice called out from nearby, interrupting us. It was Damon Blackwood. A man who should not have appeared for another decade. Vivian clearly didn’t know him and looked confused. Damon smiled slightly. “I’m Damon Blackwood, an exchange student from the University of Boston this semester.” “Your advisor asked me to find you. The lecture this afternoon was moved up, and I needed to let you know.” Vivian paused, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll head over now.” She turned back, her hopeful gaze landing on my face again. “Spencer, this is urgent.” “But I’ll come back for you. We’re not finished talking about… us.” With that, she rushed away. I turned to leave, but Damon’s voice rang out again behind me. “Spencer.” The smile in his eyes had completely faded, replaced by unconcealed malice. “I transferred here for Vivian.” “This time, the person who starts the company with her, the one who shares the trenches, will be me.” I stopped, turning sharply to face him. In that instant, I understood: Damon Blackwood had also been reborn. But I couldn’t understand why. In the past life, he was already a brilliant, highly acclaimed business tycoon, his name linked with Vivian’s for a lifetime. Why would he give up that life to fight for a role that was destined to be the silent backdrop for a woman’s ambition? A torrent of questions churned inside me, but on my face, I managed only a faint smile. “You’re speaking to the wrong person, Blackwood.” “Vivian Shaw and I are just acquaintances.” I turned to leave again. Damon seemed stung by my calm indifference and sharply raised his voice. “Stop pretending you don’t care!” “You only got to her first because of luck! You know she ended up loving me, don’t you?” When I didn’t stop, he panicked. His words came out like poisoned needles. “The time you were hospitalized with the stomach ulcer, you saw Vivian come to the hospital and were touched, thinking she still cared, right?” “I pitied you then, so I didn’t tell you the truth.” “My father had been in a car accident and needed a transfusion. Vivian heard and went straight to the blood bank for him.” “It was never for you!” Damon’s voice echoed sharply in my ears. But I couldn’t hear anything else. The world suddenly went silent, and the heart in my chest dropped straight down. That one moment—the belief that she had risked everything to save me—had been Vivian’s ultimate amnesty. Every compromise, every act of self-deception, stemmed from that one beautiful, false memory. It had been a ridiculous misunderstanding all along. The burning sensation behind my eyes became unbearable, and tears streamed down my cheeks. I bit my lip and fled, not looking back. I didn’t stop until I reached a deserted side street. I sank to the ground, burying my face in my arms. Scenes from the last life flashed through my mind: I attended the same top university as Vivian. My designs were already starting to gain recognition. Yet, because of her, I overturned my life plan again and again. First, I gave up the chance to study abroad for a domestic graduate program; then, at graduation, I forfeited that acceptance letter to become her company’s so-called ‘support staff.’ I retreated again and again until I had no footing left. By the end, I didn’t even have the courage to question her relationship with Damon. Thank God. Thank God it wasn’t too late. I wiped the tears from my face, took a deep breath, and pulled out my phone. I found the email address of the foreign professor I had once rejected. Word by word, slowly and firmly, I typed: Dear Professor Hayes, After careful consideration, I have decided that I must pursue my studies abroad. Please, may I ask for another opportunity? Professor Hayes’ reply was almost immediate: Of course. Prepare your strongest portfolio and send it to me. Closing the email, my life was suddenly full. Digging up old designs, drawing new sketches, pulling all-nighters became the norm. I often looked up and saw the first grey light of dawn. Vivian still showed up occasionally. Sometimes she waited with breakfast by my dorm, sometimes she sat silently in the back row of my study hall. But she wasn’t alone. Damon Blackwood was always there, too, hovering not too far away. The twenty-year-old Vivian was direct and passionate; her world held only my retreating figure. She had no patience for the man who trailed her like a shadow. Several times, she turned back, her tone icy. “Are you a piece of gum? Can you stop following me?” The students, who assumed Vivian and I were a couple, were also critical of Damon. They whispered that he had no boundaries. He was trying to be a homewrecker, chasing a girl who clearly had a boyfriend. Because of this, Damon often looked teary-eyed when I ran into him, as if he’d been crying. Even so, he stubbornly stayed close behind Vivian. Though I was committed to having no future with her, watching the young Vivian treat Damon with such cold indifference still brought a flicker of secret comfort. At least, it proved that the young man I had been in the past had not been wrong. Only the time, and the heart that changed later. Two weeks later, the acceptance letter arrived. I thought about it, then opened Vivian’s chat window. Let’s meet. Dinner. I have something I need to tell you face-to-face. Consider it a proper farewell to the twenty-year-old Vivian. The reply was instantaneous. YES! Name the time and place. I’m free. Through the screen, I could almost see her ecstatic expression. She was like a puppy, finally noticed by its owner. We agreed on Friday night at the Thai place near campus that we used to frequent. We’d barely sat down, the menus still unopened, when Vivian’s phone rang. She glanced at it and immediately hit ignore. But the phone stubbornly rang again. This time, she hesitated before answering. The moment she connected, a choked, male voice leaked from the speaker. The sound was loud, instantly filling the small space between us. I recognized it immediately: Damon Blackwood. “Vivian, everyone’s calling me a homewrecker…” “I don’t want to love you anymore. I’ll leave, okay?” Vivian’s face flushed with panic. She immediately lowered her voice. “Don’t be ridiculous. Where are you right now?” The voice on the other end was even louder, racked with sobs. “But you and Spencer aren’t even together!” “I just fell in love with someone, how am I the villain?” “Could you… could you come see me off?” Vivian gripped her phone, her knuckles white. She looked up at me, her lips moving silently, her eyes filled with agonizing internal conflict. After a long moment, she finally spoke, her voice dry. “Spencer, I have to go.” “Damon… he hasn’t really done anything wrong.” “It’s because of me that everyone’s judging him so harshly. It’s right that I go see him off.” I looked at her calmly. The last flicker of my lingering affection for the young Vivian Shaw vanished in that instant. Somewhere along the line, her impatient gaze toward Damon had been subtly seasoned with pity. I realized: whether she was twenty or thirty-six, Damon Blackwood would always attract her attention. I had been wrong from the start. Terribly wrong. I slumped back against the chair, saying nothing, just nodding my head. She looked immensely relieved and immediately stood up, running out the door. I sat alone in the noisy restaurant for a long time. Until my phone screen lit up with a photo. Under the hazy yellow streetlamp, Vivian was holding Damon tightly. They were kissing. Below the photo was a single line of text: You lose, in every lifetime. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then calmly blocked the number. I stood up, paid the bill, and walked back to the dorm. I pulled out the suitcase I’d packed days ago, called a car, and headed straight for the airport. The night grew deep, the city lights streaming past the window. This time, the twenty-year-old Vivian Shaw, and the thirty-six-year-old Vivian Shaw, were both gone forever.

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The video arrived on the tenth anniversary of my marriage to Serena Shaw, the scion of a New England financial dynasty. When I held my phone up, demanding an explanation, Seri merely shrugged, her expression calm, utterly indifferent. “I have nothing to explain.” She sighed, a delicate, practiced sound. “Your health… it’s been complicated. I couldn’t ask you to keep up, but people have needs, Ash, don’t they?” I froze, the arm holding the phone above the coffee table going numb. “That’s your excuse?” Seri didn’t answer. Her light gaze drifted over me. “Honestly, for years now, you’ve just been… underwhelming.” I looked at her, and my heart turned to an icy shard. All those promises of ‘forever’ had only amounted to a short, brutal decade. 1 Seri reached out, took the phone from my numb fingers, and tossed it onto the glass coffee table. She glanced at the screen, shutting it off casually. “I’m tired, Ash. I have been for a while.” She rubbed her temples, her expression unchanged. “I’m in my late thirties. Seeing younger men… it’s a vitality I crave.” She spoke as if discussing a new line of credit. “I had planned to keep this from you forever. But since you found out, I don’t have to walk on eggshells or manage your feelings anymore.” Seri let out a sigh of relief. Every word was a needle, puncturing my chest. The pain was so sharp I could barely stand straight. I tried to pull my lips into a smile. “Seri, this isn’t funny. Just tell me it’s a hoax, tell me it’s all a lie, and I promise I’ll believe you.” She looked at me with a complicated expression—pity, impatience, but not a flicker of remorse. She walked out and returned with a document, sliding it across the table. The bold black letters on the cover choked the words in my throat. “I’ve already signed it.” She tapped the paper. “If you’re done, sign it, and we’ll have a clean break. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of financially.” Her eyes hardened. “If you want to stay married, fine. We’ll remain husband and wife in the eyes of the media. But you won’t interfere with my private life, and I won’t interfere with yours. As long as we keep up appearances for the shareholders, nothing changes.” Her finger tapped the table again, a sound of gentle but unmistakable coercion. I opened my mouth, my eyes burning. “Why?” I whispered. “We’ve been together for twenty-two years…” Seri walked closer, taking my hand. Her thumb traced the smooth metal of my wedding ring, cutting off my protest. “Exactly. We’ve been together for that long. It’s time I tried someone else.” She paused, then looked up and gave me a dazzling, dimpled smile. “Why don’t you try someone else, too? I won’t stop you.” I lowered my eyes, pulling my hand away. My voice was husky. “I won’t divorce you.” I met her gaze, cold and steady. “Two decades of my life. I poured all twenty years into us. And you think you can settle that debt with a check?” The atmosphere thickened into a heavy silence. It was broken only by the piercing ring of her cell phone. Seri grabbed her expensive Italian leather bag from the couch. She paused at the door, glancing back at me. “Ashton, you’ll figure it out sooner or later.” The front door slammed shut, sending a rush of air through the great room. On the dining table was the dinner I’d spent all afternoon preparing to celebrate her return from a business trip. My chest heaved with rage. I picked up the divorce agreement and tore it into confetti. Then, I swept the entire meal off the table. The sound of porcelain shattering on the marble floor echoed through the cavernous, empty living room. Ten years of marriage, ten years before that in a relationship. I had spent two decades walking by her side. As her money grew, and our houses grew larger, her heart had only grown colder. When I first received the video, I’d convinced myself it was a deepfake. A cruel joke. I never once imagined that the person who would first betray our marriage would be Serena. The pieces of the divorce agreement lay scattered at my feet. Seri’s signature on the dotted line felt like a physical jab to my eye. I bent down to clean up the mess, and a shard of plate glass cut my finger. I didn’t even register the blood welling up. I needed to focus on anything else. But all I could hear was Seri’s voice from before she left. Just yesterday, we were talking about our ten-year anniversary. The day after, that video shattered everything. It was all so absurd. A waking nightmare. 2 I sat motionless in the living room for the rest of the night. By dawn, the news about Seri’s “new flame” was the lead story on every major entertainment site. The internet was flooded with news of her dropping a fortune on a custom yacht for him, or video clips of them tearing up the I-95 bridge in her convertible. The comments were everywhere: [At the end of the day, they’re all the same.] [Rich people rarely stay faithful. Of course she has a side-piece. I just didn’t expect it from Serena Shaw.] [I heard she was utterly obsessed with Ashton Reed back in the day. The fireworks on their wedding night lasted three days straight.] [Dozens of millions in pyrotechnics! It was a spectacle.] The posts felt deliberately placed, like Seri wanted me to see them. Every comment constricted my heart. I remembered the day Shaw Global went public. She stood on stage, holding my hand for all the reporters and cameras to see. “This is my husband, my first love, the man I’ve adored for fifteen years,” she announced to the world. “He got me through the absolute hardest times. Without him, there would be no Shaw Global today.” That day, she was radiant, clutching my arm, her dimples deep with happiness. It was also the day she promised the cameras: “I will love Ashton Reed forever.” That interview is still online, constantly cited as a testament to true love. But her version of forever was short—only ten years. Now, a different man stood beside her, receiving the same tender attention she used to reserve for me. She was fending off the press, a subtle smile playing on her lips. “Devin’s just a college kid. Direct your questions to me. Don’t harass him.” My vision blurred. I compulsively watched the interview playback again and again, almost in an act of self-flagellation. Finally, Seri called. Her voice was still soft. “Did you see the news? Everyone’s speculating that we’ve already divorced. Which, let’s be honest, is only a matter of time.” She paused. “The documents can be signed today if you’ve come to your senses. Or, would you rather see it for yourself?” She texted me an address. I gripped the phone, my knuckles white. I didn’t know if I was driving there because of a foolish, tiny spark of hope, or out of pure, white-hot defiance. I hadn’t even walked through the door when I heard the loud laughter coming from the private lounge. “Seri, what about your husband back home?” Through the cracked door, I heard Seri’s casual reply. “He’s about to be history.” My hand clenched at my side. I pushed the door open. In an instant, every eye in the room turned to me. My gaze went straight to the college boy. Just as she’d described him: young, handsome, and arrogantly self-assured. He met my eyes and smirked, throwing his arm possessively around Seri’s waist. “Mr. Reed. Seri and I had a bet. If you showed up today, you had to drink this bottle.” He gestured to a high-end bottle of liquor. “You’re not going to let us down, are you?” My breath hitched. I looked up at Seri. She said nothing, a clear indication that the wager was real. “I don’t drink.” I clipped the refusal, staring her down. “I need to talk to you. Alone.” Seri sighed, looking at me with undisguised impatience. “Ashton, you’re always so tedious. It’s just a shot, not a death sentence.” She leaned back into Devin’s embrace. “You want to talk? Finish the bottle, and we’ll talk.” My lips were pressed into a thin line, my heart stinging with a dense, agonizing ache. I picked up the bottle of clear liquor and, right in front of her, downed the entire thing. The smile on Seri’s face faltered. She seemed to have forgotten that I’d sacrificed half my stomach for her. Seri was allergic to alcohol, but she couldn’t avoid it when running deals. I had taken over every single client meeting, every brutal, boozy dinner, drinking myself sick to close the deals. I’d nearly killed myself doing it, until I ended up needing half my stomach surgically removed. “Can we talk now?” My voice was raw and hoarse. My stomach twisted with a sickening cramp, and my vision swam. Just before I lost consciousness, I saw the blood drain from Seri’s face. 3 When I woke up in the hospital, Seri wasn’t there. The doctor stood by my bed, frowning at my chart. “Where is the family member?” I weakly shook my head. The doctor moved on to the next patient. The bed next to mine was occupied by a young couple. The girl was chattering, mostly scolding the boy for being clumsy, but the love in her eyes was palpable and pure. It was exactly how Seri used to look at me. My phone buzzed on the nightstand—a barrage of anonymous texts. Each one contained a new photo of Seri and Devin: matching couple tattoos, ziplining together, praying at an ancient mission, chasing the aurora borealis. Seri was right. She was happier with Devin. “Youth has its currency, Mr. Reed. Wouldn’t you agree?” Devin’s faintly mocking voice echoed in my mind, a challenge I couldn’t refute. Seri finally came in on the third day of my hospital stay. She sat by the bed, looking at me, her expression fraught. “Devin is young and careless. Don’t hold it against him.” Her first sentence was a defense of him. The dull, persistent ache in my heart sharpened into a fresh stab of pain. “Are you still hurting?” She held my hand, searching for the right words. “I forgot you couldn’t drink, but you knew that, Ash. Why did you do it? Were you genuinely trying to punish yourself?” Seeing my silence, Seri realized her mistake. She ran a restless hand through her hair, inadvertently exposing a faint red mark on her neck. Finally, she slumped in defeat. “I’m sorry.” I pulled my hand back, turning my gaze away from her. An odd, charged silence filled the room. For a brief period after that, Seri seemed to revert back to her old self. Perhaps it was guilt, perhaps a fleeting moment of conscience. For a few days, she was by my bedside almost constantly, watching me take my medication, personally preparing me bowls of restorative broth. It was almost like the beginning again. The time when she’d lost everything: the daughter of Manhattan Royalty, stripped of her empire overnight. Her parents, unable to face the ruin, took their own lives. I found Seri after she’d cut her wrists, and thankfully saved her life. From that moment, I swore I would protect her. In our hardest years, we lived in ten-dollar-a-night motels, sharing a single cup of instant ramen. She’d always sneak the one egg I could afford beneath the noodles, pretending she didn’t see my grueling hours running errands and taking odd jobs. Back then, getting sick was terrifying because we had no money for medicine or treatment. She would look out the motel’s rusted-out window at the skyscrapers and the endless traffic. “Ashton,” she used to say, “we have to get out of this place.” We did. We climbed out. But she changed. That night, the dim bedside lamp flickered. Seri sat slumped in the chair, half-asleep. I looked at her, greedily absorbing the sight. Then I looked away. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t stay this way. Her heart had long ago left this room. Sure enough, a call from Devin woke her up. She didn’t offer a single word of explanation, grabbed her coat, and rushed out of the hospital room. 4 The next day was supposed to be my discharge date. Seri called after she left. The gentle tone from the previous days was gone. “Devin’s been expelled from school.” Her voice was tight. “Was that your doing? He’s threatening to hurt himself now. If anything happens…” “Ashton, don’t push me.” She hung up before I could reply. News about Devin spread instantly. One viral post after another popped up: [They say Song Yu is a vindictive loser. Looks like Serena was right to want a divorce.] [Being fierce and chasing what you want is the Big Female Lead move. It takes guts. Ashton Reed is just a petty, jealous man going after a kid.] [Isn’t he the kept man? The useless house husband? Those men are the worst.] The public narrative was entirely against me. Even worse, Seri, who rarely posted anything personal, updated her social media: [Twenty-plus years of history with Ashton ends today. I refuse to tolerate a man who is content to be utterly unaccomplished.] Her statement threw me straight into the pyre. I quickly signed my discharge papers. Stepping out of the hospital, I was instantly surrounded by reporters. Their camera flashes blinded me. I felt like a public enemy. I fought my way out of the throng and drove home in a desperate, panicked state. When I pushed open the front door, Seri was sitting on the sofa. A news channel was playing on her tablet, showing my pale, desperate face from outside the hospital. “Was it you?” My voice was terribly hoarse. Seri didn’t deny it. Instead, she pushed a fresh copy of the divorce agreement towards me. “What I said was true, wasn’t it, Ashton? Haven’t I been the one supporting you for years?” Her eyes were cold. “You spread rumors, claiming he was a kept boy, a mistress, and you got his scholarship revoked. I never knew you were so full of such intense jealousy.” A hysterical laugh burst from me. All the humiliation and grievance of the past weeks finally erupted. “So you’re playing both sides in the media? Devin is a homewrecker! We’re still married! And why did I stop working? You know perfectly well why! That huge company of yours? I built that with my life!” Seri’s face instantly darkened. She slapped me, hard. The force sent a ringing echo through my ear. “No one made you help. You did it voluntarily. I would have built this company just fine without you.” Her voice rose, laced with contempt. “Haven’t I been good to you all these years? The big house, the luxury cars. What can you actually contribute? All you can do is use your sacrifices to make me feel guilty and chase my attention!” She leaned in, her voice low and furious. “You’re pathetic! You love these self-pitying martyrdom plays!” It was as if she were finally voicing every unspoken resentment she’d bottled up over the years. “You’re an embarrassment, Ashton. Devin is at least young and attractive, someone I’m not ashamed to be seen with. What do you offer me?” My eyes were bloodshot. The last flickering ember of hope in my heart was extinguished. All my recent efforts, all the self-delusion, felt like a cruel joke. In that moment of pure rage, people speak their deepest, ugliest truths. Seri was about to say something else. I snatched a pen from the desk and scrawled my name on the signature line. She opened her mouth, but the words were stuck. She picked up the signed agreement, flipping through the pages. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the paper bearing my name. “We’ll see each other at the Registry after the cooling-off period.” I met her eyes one last time. “Your company’s half equity… it’s mine. It’s what I paid for.” I threw the pen down, turned my back, and walked out of the house we had shared for ten years. I could feel Seri’s gaze burning into my back. This time, I was never looking back.

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The lingering warmth of our wedding night was still heavy in the air when Damon leaned closer and dropped the bomb. “I have a mistress—a little canary I keep. Tonight is our 100-day mark. I need to be with her.” My mind went instantly, terrifyingly blank. “You love another woman, and you still married me?” He rose and began to dress. The crescent-shaped marks I’d bitten into his collarbone were still bright red. “I love you most, Sasha. But she’s feral. She gives me something you can’t.” He pulled on his shirt, his movements unhurried, agonizing. “Seven years, baby. Our life is safe. It’s… flat. I need the rush, the pure hit of adrenaline she gives me.” I clutched the tangled sheets, my knuckles white and aching. “So, on our wedding night, you’re going to leave me here alone to celebrate with your mistress?” “The wedding night part is finished,” he said, his voice flat. He leaned over, his thumb brushing my lower lip, a motion that was both possessive and chillingly impersonal. “She’s young, she’s dramatic. I have to placate her. You’re Mrs. Thorne now. You need to be the bigger person.” “And if I’m not the bigger person?” He gave a low, knowing laugh, as if he’d anticipated this exact line. “Then we divorce. But you walk away with nothing. Think clearly, Sasha.” I was sprawled across the rumpled silk of the bed, the residual heat of his body a cruel reminder of the past hour. The wedding portrait on the nightstand was a blinding white lie, searing itself onto my soul like a brand. … Perhaps the utter ruin in my eyes finally reached him. Damon sighed, a curt sound of impatience, and ruffled my hair. “Remember the day you picked your ring?” he asked, a new layer of cruelty entering his voice. “I was right in the next soundproofed suite at Tiffany’s. I was taking her.” He paused, savoring the shock that must have been written all over my face. “She was biting her lip, afraid you’d hear her moan through the walls. That kind of high-stakes thrill—you can’t give me that. You understand?” My blood didn’t just run cold; it froze solid. The tears, however, betrayed me, a hot, uncontrollable flood down my cheeks. That day, I’d been giddy, choosing the most beautiful diamond I could find, only to realize he’d disappeared. When I called, he’d sounded breathless, claiming he was handling a crisis downtown. I’d played the fool, telling him to be careful, don’t get hurt. Damon wiped away a tear with his thumb, his tone falsely gentle. “Truthfully, I didn’t want to miss a second of you planning the wedding. But the kid is new. I got a taste, and I was hooked.” I stared at the ring on my finger, my vision hollow, unable to even blink. He sighed, kissed my hand, and let go. “I’m sorry, Sasha. I know this hurts.” He motioned toward the window. “If you demand the divorce, I’ll give you the Crestwood Hills estate as compensation.” He took a step back. “But if you’re willing to ride this out, everything I’ve built is yours. Every cent. Even my miserable heart.” This was supposed to be the happiest night of my life. I was married to the man I’d loved for seven years—a grand wedding, a flawless diamond, and the envy of every woman who knew I’d become the wife of the city’s most formidable magnate. Ten minutes ago, we were a wildfire, consuming each other. Now, I was a punchline, weeping as I asked him: “Why tell me? Why tonight?” He continued to wipe my tears, his gaze unsettlingly tender. “Because I don’t want to lie to you, my girl. I know I’m rotten. But we’re husband and wife; I should be honest.” He paused, a dark, playful curve to his mouth. “And another reason. I wanted to see your face when you found out. Just as I imagined. Pathetic enough to break my heart, which just makes me want to make it up to you even more.” He leaned in close, his voice a low, gravelly promise. “So, please, don’t leave me. I’ll go back to loving you the way I used to, hmm?” I raised my hand and slapped him. The sound was a sharp, cracking retort in the silence. I grabbed the nearest objects—the photo frame, a bottle of perfume—and hurled them at him, screaming with every ounce of air in my lungs. “Get out! Get the hell out!” Damon turned his head, wiped a trickle of blood from his lip, and stood up, smoothing the leather of his jacket. He didn’t look angry, just… disappointed. He walked toward the door. “You should cool off, Sasha.” He opened the door. “I’m going to go celebrate with my girl.” The door clicked shut. I looked at my reflection in the diamond on my finger—a hysterical, disheveled stranger. I scrambled to the corner of the bed, tearing at my hair, hitting my head against the wall until the pain numbed me, until I finally collapsed into darkness. The moment my eyes closed, I was seven years ago. A grimy alley. My father, drunk and violent. Damon, a teenager with nothing but raw nerve, rushing out to shield me. He’d taken several blows to the back, yet he still smiled through gritted teeth. “Don’t be scared, Sasha. I’m here. No one will hurt you.” Later, we hid in a vacant lot, sharing instant ramen. My bed was his worn-out jacket spread on the cement. Eventually, he hustled his way into the gray area—the docks, the supply chain—and earned enough for a cramped, tiny apartment. He held me so tight then. “Sasha, we have a home now.” Those memories were a drug. I’d been addicted to them for too long, forgetting that hearts—and men—change. I woke up to my best friend Gwen’s frantic texts. “Sasha! This photo has to be deepfake! Damon loves you, this is a lie!” Fumbling, I clicked the video link she’d sent. One look, and the ice was back, deeper this time. Damon and a woman were having sex in his Maybach—a brazen, public display that a tourist had captured and posted. The scandal was viral. I called him, my voice trembling. “The video—is it true?” His tone was lazy, laced with annoyance. “Oh, that? We got a little carried away. Didn’t want you to see it. It’s a mess to take down. If you can’t handle it, maybe you can call my team and deal with it?” Like a ghost, I used the last of my energy to drive to the address he’d given me. I remembered when he first hit it big, and the daughters of two rival syndicates had both tried to trap him into marriage. Everyone advised him to take a side, to consolidate his power. But Damon had stood up, in front of the entire assembly, and said: “My heart belongs only to Sasha. I will marry her, and only death will part us.” From that day on, the world knew Damon Thorne adored me. That’s why his betrayal now felt like such a delicious, high-stakes event to everyone else. I found Damon’s second property, a secluded villa, but ran into his consigliere first. The man’s eyes held a pity that stabbed me in the chest. I pushed open the door. The place was wrecked—bottles and clothes strewn everywhere. Damon had a woman—Tess—pinned against the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked up, saw me, and just patted her hip. “Put your clothes on, Tess. My wife is here. Be respectful.” She slowly, provocatively dressed, then purred for him to help her with her bra clasp. She turned to me, a smug smile plastered on her face. “Mrs. Thorne, I honestly didn’t think Damon would actually leave you to celebrate with me. I was so happy, I guess we just… played too hard.” She looped her arm through Damon’s, her voice dripping with triumphant sweetness. “Oh, by the way, Mrs. Thorne, I think we forgot protection earlier. But I’ll take the pill, so don’t worry your pretty little head.” I clamped a hand over my mouth, my stomach churning. I bent over, dry-heaving violently. Damon’s face tightened. He moved to grab me. “Sasha? What is it? Are you sick? Let me take you to the clinic.” I shoved him away. Tears and involuntary bile poured from my mouth. Damon’s face hardened. He hissed at the girl: “Get out!” Tess stamped her foot, but Damon leaned in, kissed her on the forehead, and murmured: “Go on, I’ll have my men bring your medication. I’ll find you again tonight, okay?” Satisfied, she tossed her silk stockings onto his pristine white sofa, gave me a triumphant sneer, and sauntered out. Damon casually swept the stockings onto the floor. He turned, his voice full of feigned concern, and patted my back. “Sasha, are you better?” “I know you can’t accept this right now. I get it. So, if you want out, I won’t stop you.” I wiped the mess from my lips and stared at him through my swollen eyes. “Damon, I’m not divorcing you.” I didn’t know what I was holding onto. Hate, rage, but mostly, a refusal to lose. I didn’t want a clean break. I was a gambler who had lost everything, but was desperately clinging to the possibility that some tiny shred of his heart was still mine. I cried. I raged. I even used a shard of glass against my own wrist. Damon finally backed down, promising to cut the girl off. He still cares. He still cares about me. If he still cared, maybe I could fix everything. But the retribution was swift. A week later, on my birthday, intimate photos of Damon and my best friend, Gwen, at a private club went viral. The double-barrel betrayal was a blunt knife, tearing me apart. I threw up a mouthful of blood. I used every connection I had, wrote a damning exposé, and bought every bot available to destroy their reputations. Damon obliterated me with a single sentence. He told the press I was having a mental health crisis and produced a neatly forged psych report. He paid Gwen a fortune to disappear. I became the city’s joke—the “manic, jealous” Mrs. Thorne—while he remained the untouchable magnate. Under the harsh lights of a society event, he took my hand, a tender, protective gesture, and murmured in my ear: “You used your life to threaten me last time. I didn’t appreciate it. Doing this to Gwen was a warning.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I gave in to you. I put my life on hold for a week. But a man in my position? Every single one of us has outside entertainment. You can’t stop me.” “I thought the two of you were close. I’m disappointed you made such a scene.” “Try this again, and you’ll regret it.” The very next day, he moved a new model into the villa. To show his devotion to her, and to terrorize me, he sold our first, sacred little apartment. The one where we split a loaf of bread, dreaming of escaping the city, and he promised he’d never let anyone hurt me. I knelt and begged him. Take everything else, just leave me the apartment. I lost. The apartment became a five-figure designer handbag for the model. Two months later, he traded her for a casino dealer. His lovers cycled in and out like a Vegas slot machine. I was spiraling, depending on pills just to stay functional. Until the day I came home early and found him with a new woman in our master bedroom—the marital bed. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time I saw it. I lost it, attacking him and the woman until his security detail dragged me away. To soothe his new pet, Damon had me committed to a treatment facility. Five days of dehumanizing treatment left me a hollow puppet. The day I returned home, the bedroom door was locked. The sounds of their panting were muffled but unmistakable. “Sasha, wait outside. I’ll be out in a minute.” I didn’t cry or scream. I waited, from daytime into the late night. When Damon finally emerged, I had already opened my wrist with a box cutter. I woke up in a clinic. He was sitting bedside, his eyes bloodshot. He grabbed my hand, his voice hoarse with genuine fear. “I’m sorry, Sasha. I went too far this time.” “But how could you gamble with your life?” He let go, the fear giving way to a more familiar frustration. “If you really can’t bear this, we can get divorced. I’ll give you whatever you want.” Seven years. It was true, I hadn’t suffered as much as him. He had fought on the docks, passed out in cars, and collapsed right in front of me from exhaustion. Years ago, I’d worried he’d die of burnout because of me. I’d fought him, tried to run away. That was the first time I saw his eyes red with tears. “Sasha, please don’t leave me. If you go, I have nothing.” Now, I lay in this clinic bed, gently tracing his cheek. “Damon, do you still love me?” He squeezed my hand tight. “Of course, you idiot. How could I not?” During my hospital stay, he seemed to regress to his old self, staying by my side every day. We held hands, kissed, and shared the intimacy we had lost, as if the betrayals had never happened. But I knew it was only guilt. Sure enough, it didn’t take long for a new face to appear. This time, it was a girl named Piper. She wore a simple white sundress, and when she stood behind Damon, she called me “Sister” with a timid, frightened voice. I looked at her, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over me. But Damon didn’t let me linger. He completely shielded her, and for the first time, his eyes held a pure, unmistakable expression of defensive maintenance. “Piper is innocent. I pursued her.” He looked me dead in the eye, his voice low and firm. “If you have a problem, bring it to me. Don’t touch her.” In that moment, I understood. I was no longer the one he needed to fight for, the one he had to protect at all costs. He protected Piper ruthlessly. He kept her out of the public eye. He ditched high-stakes meetings just to be with her. Damon, who only drank black coffee, ate an entire box of macarons with her, ending up in the clinic with a sugar spike. Since he couldn’t give her his name, he transferred the ownership of two high-end clubs to her. On their hundred-day anniversary, he rented every LED screen in the Financial District and scrolled her name across the city skyline all night. I stood by the window, watching the blazing lights, a pain tearing through my chest. I remembered years ago, when we were in the warehouse, he’d found some discarded string lights. He always strung them up by my makeshift bed first. I treasured them, only turning them on for holidays or the night he came home. The weak light would cast a small, flickering warmth. He would hold me tight, his voice thick with emotion: “I’m sorry, Sasha. All I can give you is this trash light.” “I swear, one day, I’ll make sure you see the brightest, most expensive lights in the whole city.” We got rich. The wedding was over-the-top. But I never saw that light. I thought he forgot. He hadn’t. He had simply taken that promise and used it to illuminate another woman’s world. What finally broke me was the extravagant engagement party he threw for Piper. Every syndicate leader was there. He placed a ring on her finger and declared her the one, the only true love of his life. In that moment, Piper’s figure overlaid the ghost of the girl I used to be. I broke. I stormed the ballroom with a borrowed gun. “Damon! Why don’t you love me anymore? What is the difference between her and the girl I was?” His first instinct was to yank Piper behind him. Then he grabbed my arm and threw me off the balcony. I hit the ground hard. Blood bloomed across my white dress. I woke up in the clinic again. Damon was beside me, his black shirt stained with dark, drying blood. His face was a mask of self-loathing. The doctor told me the baby was gone. I couldn’t remember if this was the third or the fourth. The first few were due to poverty and exhaustion. The doctor had been gentle years ago when she told me it would be difficult to conceive again. Damon had held me, his eyes red. “It’s okay, Sasha. We don’t need children. I have you.” Now, this unexpected child had also left me in the most brutal way. Damon leaned over my bed, his shoulders shaking, weeping as he pleaded. “Sasha, I’m sorry. I swear I’ll protect you. I will never let you be hurt again.” But my soul had already bled out with that unformed life. He hadn’t gone back to Piper, but she found her own way to the clinic. She carried a fruit basket and cried pitifully when she heard about the miscarriage. “Sister, I didn’t want to say this now. I was afraid of upsetting you.” Her voice was soft, saccharine. “But… I’m pregnant.” That last, thinnest string in my heart snapped. I grabbed the medicine bottle next to me and hurled it across the room, screaming with all my might: “Get out!” Damon instantly stepped in front of Piper, taking the bottle’s impact on his shoulder. He turned to the nurses rushing in. “Give her a sedative! She can’t keep her own child, so she lashes out at Piper! I told you, if you’re angry, come for me!” The icy medicine went into my vein. The room spun, the edges blurred. But I distinctly felt the final collapse of the one thing that had kept me alive. I stared at the ceiling, tears flowing silently. Damon released Piper. He wore a pained expression and reached out to hug me, just like he always did. But right before his hand touched my shoulder, I spoke. “I agree.” He froze, confused. “What?” “I said, I agree to the divorce.”

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