The day before the engagement banquet, I changed the bride’s name to another woman’s. Because I’d finally realized that the most important person in my fiancé Ethan’s heart wasn’t me. It was my best friend, Lily. It started with my birthday dinner. When we were ordering, Ethan asked what I wanted to eat. I said, “Whatever you like.” By the time all the dishes arrived, the entire table was covered in spicy food. But three days earlier, I’d been hospitalized for acute gastritis. The doctor had explicitly told me to avoid anything spicy. Ethan knew this perfectly well. And yet there he was, piling spicy dishes onto my plate without a second thought. “Lily just got back in town,” he said casually. “I told her to come celebrate your birthday with us. The more the merrier, right?” I gripped my glass of ice water, a dull ache spreading through my stomach. Again. Lily. The friend I’d grown up with. And the first person she’d contacted when she returned to the country was my boyfriend. I looked up at him. Ethan didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. He was studying the menu, absently picking the bones out of a piece of fish. He placed the tenderest fillet on the empty plate in front of Lily’s seat. She hadn’t even arrived yet. But her plate was already taken care of. There was a time I would’ve made a scene. I would’ve snatched his phone, told him point-blank: “We’re a couple. Date night means just the two of us.” But now, I simply nodded. “Sure.” Ethan blinked, caught off guard. He probably hadn’t expected me to be this calm. He quickly looked back down and snapped a photo, posting it to our group chat — the one with all three of us. “Little foodie, saved this just for you. Get here soon or there’ll be nothing left but bones.” I stared at the message. The ache in my stomach crept upward, settling into my chest. I set down my chopsticks and picked up my bag. Ethan was grinning at his phone screen. He didn’t even notice me stand up. Just as well. Some departures were never meant to include a goodbye. … Twenty minutes later, Ethan finally texted. “You’ve been in the bathroom forever. Lily’s here — she’s already eating.” I sat in the back of a taxi, staring at the screen, my eyes stinging. I had been gone for twenty minutes. He thought I’d gone to the restroom. He hadn’t even noticed I’d taken my bag. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Miss, you want me to keep circling?” I was quiet for a few seconds. Did I want to keep going? Keep waiting for him to realize I was gone. Keep waiting for him to ask, “Where are you?” Keep waiting for him — just once — to choose me when a third person walked through the door. And then what? I’d go back? My phone buzzed. A message from a contact saved as “N.” “Is your stomach still hurting? I had someone pick up some medicine. I’ll bring it to you tomorrow.” I looked at it for a few seconds, then replied: “No need. I won’t be home tomorrow.” The response came quickly: “Okay. Get some rest.” I closed the chat and said to the driver, “Stop circling. Take me to my parents’ place.” The car had just merged onto the main road when Ethan texted again. “Are you upset again?” “Lily came back from her trip and even brought you a gift. Walking out without a word is pretty rude, you know.” “Again.” Funny word. It meant he knew this wasn’t the first time I’d been hurt because of Lily. It also meant he’d always thought I was making a big deal out of nothing. Lily had come back to the country today. Ethan knew. I didn’t. Two days ago, she’d messaged me: “Emma, I really can’t get away. I’ll definitely make it back by Sunday for your engagement.” I’d even reassured her. Told her it was fine. Told her to take care of herself. But she’d flown back on Friday. And gone straight to Ethan. It suddenly hit me — this was my fifth birthday since Ethan and I got together. The first year, Lily had insisted on joining us. Ethan had frowned and said, “Can’t we have some time alone? Your friend really doesn’t take a hint.” I’d laughed and teased him for being jealous. The second year, he was the one who suggested it. “Invite Lily. More people, more fun.” By the third and fourth years, I didn’t even have to say anything. He’d already arranged it. It was always the three of us. Dinner, shopping, trips. Every time, I sat on the sidelines watching them talk about things I couldn’t follow. This year, Lily was away on a business trip. I thought I’d finally have a birthday that was just ours. A few days ago, Ethan had held me and said, “This year it’s just the two of us. We’ll do it right.” I’d been happy about that for days. Looking back now, it was laughable. I opened the group chat. Lily had posted a string of photos — all of the spicy dishes on the table. She’d also shared the same pictures on her social media, captioned: “Someone knows I can’t live without spice. He really gets me.” Comments appeared almost immediately: “The three of you reunited again? You guys are literally inseparable.” Lily replied with a laughing emoji. I stared at the word “inseparable.” Every time I saw something like that, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. They all thought the three of us came as a package deal. But what I’d wanted was never to be crammed into the same photo with two other people. And certainly not to end up as the one who got cropped out. Soon, another comment appeared: “Who ordered a whole table of spicy food? Doesn’t Emma have a thing about spice?” I held my breath. The next second, Ethan replied: “She’s too prissy. Couldn’t hang with us.” I actually laughed. Two days ago, he had been the one who drove me to the hospital. The medical chart said in bold letters: avoid spicy and irritating foods. He’d promised he would remember. And it had been — what — two days? My inability to eat spicy food had become “prissy.” Today was my birthday. He’d promised to spend it with just me. And now it was me who couldn’t hang with them. The taxi stopped at a red light. My phone lit up again. Ethan had sent a voice message. “Emma, where’d you go? I slipped up — I forgot you can’t eat spicy—” I didn’t listen to the rest. I pressed the screen dark. Outside the window, the city lights stretched on like a runway with no end. I had been running on this track for five years. I’d always believed the finish line was his arms. Now I saw it for what it was — a loop. The start and the finish were both just me. And he had never once changed course for me.

By the time I turned the key in the lock, my parents were already asleep. A sticky note was pressed to the refrigerator, in my mother’s handwriting. “Sweetheart, if you come home, the cake is on the second shelf. Happy birthday.” If. She didn’t even know whether I’d come back. But she’d made me a cake anyway. I opened the fridge. A white cake box sat there, quiet and still. I scooped a bit of frosting with my finger and put it in my mouth. It was sweet. I was halfway through when Ethan called. I hesitated, then picked up. “You didn’t come home. Where are you?” I said nothing. Didn’t come home? I did come home. I’d even packed up all my things. Half the closet was empty. The vanity was bare. But he hadn’t noticed. His attention had always been on the person who wasn’t there. “Emma, if you have something to say, just say it.” Ethan’s voice was edged with impatience. “Lily came all the way back, and you just took off. It’s awkward for everyone.” I took a bite of cake. The frosting stuck in my throat. I let out a small laugh. So in his eyes, I was the one who’d made things awkward today. The two of them had eaten happily, posted photos, replied to comments, tagged each other. He remembered Lily liked spicy food. Remembered which kind of fish she preferred. He forgot I was still sick. Forgot I couldn’t eat spicy food. Forgot that I was the birthday girl. I hung up. A flood of old memories surged forward. Back in school, Lily’s family had been struggling. Her mother had gone to mine, invoking their old friendship, asking for help with Lily. My mother paid her tuition. My teacher asked me to tutor her. After graduation, her credentials weren’t strong enough. She hit walls everywhere looking for work, so I recommended her to a good company. Later, she used my connections to get into Ethan’s startup. And then, inch by inch, she moved closer to Ethan. While I was pushed to the margins. My mother got up in the middle of the night and found me sitting at the dining table. She froze. “Sweetheart, what are you doing home? Where’s Ethan?” She was still half-asleep, but worry had already crept into her eyes. “I missed you guys,” I said softly. She walked over, smoothed my hair, and didn’t ask anything else. I knew she was waiting for me to be ready to talk. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it. How was I supposed to tell her that her daughter had spent her birthday sitting in front of a table full of food she couldn’t eat, then taken a taxi home alone? How was I supposed to tell her that the man she believed would marry me couldn’t even be bothered to say, “Where are you? I’ll come get you”? I opened my phone. Ethan hadn’t sent any more messages. He probably figured he’d done enough to smooth things over. And I figured I’d had enough. I didn’t want to wait anymore. At one in the morning, I lay in bed and scrolled through my chat history with Ethan one last time. I swiped back to our first year together. He hadn’t been so busy then. There hadn’t been so many “something came up” excuses. He used to video-call me every night. One message made me stop. “From now on, every birthday of yours — I’ll spend it with just you.” “I missed all the ones before. I’m going to make up for every single one.” And he had. He’d bought twenty small cakes. Prepared twenty gifts. Made up for every birthday I’d ever had. I burst out laughing when I blew out the tenth candle, and frosting sprayed all over his face. Those memories were so good. Good enough that I almost softened again. My phone buzzed. Ethan. “Emma, I packed up the leftovers and put them in the fridge. Heat them up tomorrow — they’ll still be good.” “I also ordered an extra fish dish you like. Not spicy.” I stared at the dish he’d named, and laughed out loud. He’d gotten it wrong. Again. That was Lily’s favorite dish. She ordered it every single time we ate out. I’d told him to his face that I didn’t like it. Too rich. He’d been sitting right there and said, “Then eat something else.” He only remembered what Lily liked. He never remembered what I didn’t like. I opened his social media page. I thought he would have at least posted something about my birthday, the way he had in previous years. But his latest post was a photo of himself and Lily at the restaurant. The caption read: “Old friend’s back in town. Had to celebrate.” No mention of me. No mention that today was my birthday. I closed the page and deleted our entire chat thread. Memory cleared. From now on, my birthday had nothing to do with him.

The next morning, I woke at dawn. Three missed calls on my phone. All from Ethan. And a message. “Call me when you’re up. Lily’s mom is arriving in the city tonight. Go pick her up from the station.” A second one followed right after. “Lily’s coming with me to meet a big client. I want her to get some practice. Help me out and pick up her mom, would you? She said last time she really liked you.” I looked at the screen. It was almost funny. Almost. Ethan’s memory could be remarkably sharp when it suited him. He remembered that Lily’s mother had made an offhand comment six months ago about “liking” me. He remembered that I was the person who could run errands, lend a hand, show up whenever and wherever he needed. He just couldn’t remember how I felt. Or that we’d had a fight just yesterday. I got up and washed my face. I was about to head out when my mother came from the kitchen carrying a bowl of congee. “Sweetheart, where are you going? I wanted to talk to you about the engagement tomorrow.” She’d barely finished speaking when a message from the hotel arrived. “Ms. Emma, Mr. Ethan has confirmed the menu for tomorrow’s engagement banquet. Please review the attachment.” “If any changes are needed, please contact us by 5 p.m. today.” I opened the attachment. A dozen or so dishes on the menu. One glance told me everything — all spicy. I kept scrolling. The head table flowers had been changed from white tulips to red roses. The background music had been switched to “Slowly Falling for You.” The dessert station had gone from fruit tarts to a chocolate fountain. I didn’t know why Ethan had allowed these changes. But I knew that red roses were Lily’s favorite. The chocolate fountain was the thing she’d once called “like a fairy tale.” And that song was her ringtone. As for me — I was allergic to chocolate. I didn’t cry. I didn’t tremble. I simply replied, very calmly: “That’s fine. Could you help me with one last change?”

When I was done, I turned off my phone. My mother was still going over tomorrow’s plans beside me. “Your uncle keeps asking. I’m thinking, if you two want to move the wedding up after the engagement, I’ll push back some of my other commitments…” She picked up her phone as she talked. “Actually, we need to discuss this with Ethan. Let me call him over.” “Mom.” I placed my hand over hers. “We don’t need him to come.” My mother froze. I didn’t explain. I took a taxi to the apartment Ethan and I had been sharing. I’d left in such a rush the night before that I’d forgotten my passport in the bedroom drawer. After retrieving it, I walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. The takeout container from last night was sitting inside. I picked it up and dropped it straight into the trash. Then I closed the door. And didn’t look back. … The engagement banquet was scheduled for noon the next day. Inside the ballroom of a five-star hotel, servers were setting up the head table. Ethan arrived with Lily. As soon as Lily walked in, she set her bag on a chair and complained in that half-joking, half-serious way of hers: “Honestly, Emma. She made my mom wait forever at the station yesterday.” “Ethan, you spoil her too much. Being your fiancee doesn’t give her the right to act like that.” Ethan’s expression was stiff. “I sent my assistant to pick her up in the end. Your mom didn’t wait that long. Forget it.” Lily paused, then said softly: “But last night we were with the client so late, we just stayed over. Emma’s not going to be upset about that, is she?” “I mean, your engagement is today, and you spent the night before with another woman. No matter how you look at it…” Ethan cut her off. “It was work. What’s there to be upset about?” “This client matters. If we close the deal, I can buy her a wedding apartment downtown. Paid in full.” His expression softened slightly as he said this. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a gift box. Inside was a necklace. Emma had looked at it many times. But the company’s cash flow had been tight, and she’d always been frugal. She couldn’t bring herself to buy it. On Friday night, he hadn’t had a chance to give her the birthday present before she left. He was, in truth, a little angry. He thought she was being unreasonable. That she’d picked the wrong time and place to throw a fit. But he had forgotten she couldn’t eat spicy food. Fine. He’d take out the necklace in a little while. Apologize. Hold her. She was always easy to win back. Every time she got upset, all he had to do was make the first move, and she’d come around. Ethan walked to the door of the bridal suite and took a deep breath. He pushed it open. “Emma, I’m sorry about your birthday. I—” The words died in his throat. He stood frozen.

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Dominic had a rule. No one outside the family stayed overnight. Six years of marriage, and even my parents never got an exception. Last year my mother took the subway in from Brooklyn with a cast on her leg. She had a follow-up with the orthopedist in Manhattan the next morning and wanted to stay one night. Just one. Dominic pulled me into the bedroom and shut the door. “Your mother snores. I have a sit-down with the Lucianos tomorrow morning. You want me walking in there half-asleep?” That night I booked her a room at the motor inn down on Flatbush. I crawled into bed and cried until dawn, pressing my face into the pillow so no one would hear. After that, my mother never asked again. She said she didn’t want to be a bother. But I knew the truth—she didn’t want to make things harder for me. Until today. I came back early from a business trip to Boston—a distributor contract that needed my signature. I unlocked the front door of our brownstone on the Upper East Side and the smell hit me before anything else. Dominic was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, stirring the pot like he’d been doing it all afternoon. In the living room, Sofia Valenti sat on the sofa beside her mother, both of them watching television as if they lived here. Carmela Valenti smiled when she saw me. “Three months now, Nico cooks for me every night. Better than a son, I tell you.” Nico. The name only family used. Sofia was wearing a velvet house robe—the same one Dominic wore. Sleeves pushed up to her forearms, bare feet on my Persian rug, as natural as breathing. “Elena! We didn’t expect you back so soon. The place is a mess, I’m sorry.” I didn’t answer. I slid the ring off my finger—the platinum band engraved with the Conti family crest, the one Dominic had placed on my hand the day we married—and set it on the credenza by the door. Then I turned and walked out. My mother once said she wouldn’t come back. She meant it. So did I. …… The motor inn on Flatbush was still there. Half the letters on the sign were burnt out, flickering in the rain. I dragged my suitcase through the lobby. The girl at the front desk asked how many nights. “One.” She handed me a key card. The room number was two doors down from last year’s. I pushed inside. The sheets were stiff from overwashing. The window wouldn’t close all the way, and traffic noise from the BQE poured in like a tide that never ebbed. My mother had stayed on this floor. Cast on her leg, afraid to worry me, telling me over the phone: “The room is fine, sweetheart. There’s hot water. It’s close to the hospital.” The next morning when I came to pick her up, there was a half-empty glass of water on the nightstand, untouched since the night before. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes bloodshot, and the first thing she asked was: “Did Nico’s meeting go well?” I’d made excuses for him then. Said his sit-down was important. Said the rule about overnight guests was just how things worked. Said if you break it once, you can never say no to anyone again. My phone buzzed and dragged me back. A text from Dominic. 【You walk in and make a scene? Carmela made soup for you and you just left. That’s disrespectful.】 I sat on the edge of the bed, watching the screen glow and fade. Three minutes later, he called. “Elena, where are you?” “The motel.” I heard a pan clang against a plate on his end. His voice dropped a degree. “You actually went to a motel? The house is right there. Who is this performance for?” I stared at the mildew stain above the headboard. “You said no guests stay overnight.” A beat of silence. “Sofia and Carmela are different. Her father died for this family. They’re not guests, they’re blood.” “Three months is not ‘a few days,’ Dominic.” “Elena, don’t nitpick.” He lowered his voice. “Fine. Carmela’s a light sleeper anyway. Stay there tonight. Don’t come back late and wake her.” I almost laughed. “No important sit-down tomorrow?” “I took the week off. Carmela’s blood pressure has been bad. I need to be here.” He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Last year, my mother broke her leg, and he was afraid her snoring would cost him a meeting. This year, Carmela’s blood pressure dipped, and he took a whole week off to play devoted son. The rule was never unbreakable. My mother and I just weren’t worth breaking it for. “Are you listening?” His voice was edging toward impatience. “Pick up king crab legs on your way back tomorrow. Sofia likes them. And get Carmela’s blood pressure meds refilled. Oh, and a new pair of house slippers for Sofia—hers got stained.” I was quiet for a few seconds. “Dominic.” He grunted—already moving on, already sure I’d fold. “The credenza by the door. Did you see what’s on it?” “What?” “Never mind.” He hadn’t seen it. The ring was right there on the credenza. All he had to do was look down when he came in. But he never looked down to see what I left behind. After I hung up, I texted Gianna Ricci. 【Start the trust transfer. Everything under my name—La Fontana, the import company, the Arthur Avenue properties. Move it all into an independent trust. And reach out to that distributor in Savannah. Tell them I’m interested.】 She replied within minutes: 【You sure about this?】 【I’m sure.】 Then I messaged my mother. 【Mom, I’m coming to get you in a few days. We’re moving somewhere new.】 She took ten minutes to respond. 【Sweetheart, did you and Nico fight? I won’t come to your house, I promise I won’t. Don’t make trouble because of me.】 I pressed my face into my hands. My shoulders shook and I couldn’t stop them. Next door the television was blaring. Someone was laughing. A long time later, I wiped my eyes and typed back. 【It’s not about you, Mom. It’s about me.】 The next morning I went straight to the office. Dominic sent a shopping list. 【King crab legs, beef shank, skim milk, Carmela’s prescription refills. And a new pair of slippers for Sofia—hers got stained.】 I muted his thread. At noon, Gianna called. “You’re really pulling La Fontana out of the family books? That place is yours and Dominic’s.” I turned the page in front of me, pen hovering over the signature line. La Fontana. A small Italian restaurant tucked into a quiet street in the West Village. Old brick facade, window boxes I’d planted myself—basil and geraniums. Dominic had given it to me as a wedding gift, though it also ran as one of the family’s laundering channels. I was the legal owner. I was also the one who actually loved it. I remembered the day he took my hand and led me into the unfinished space, plaster dust on the floor, his eyes full of light. “Whenever we fight, we come here. After dessert, nothing feels that bad anymore.” That year, he still made pasta when I came home late. Still slid the fried egg from his bowl into mine. Still carefully labeled the jars of pesto my mother sent up from Brooklyn, writing the date in his slanted hand. He wasn’t always like this. That was why I’d lasted this long. “I’m sure. Move forward.” Gianna sighed. “Then come by the restaurant this afternoon to sign the final papers.” I closed the folder. “I’ll be there.” My phone lit up again. Dominic had noticed I wasn’t replying. 【Elena, don’t push it. Carmela is home waiting to eat.】 I turned off the screen and picked up my keys. I was halfway to the elevator when the restaurant manager called. A crowd of women had shown up at La Fontana wanting to throw a party. No reservation on the books. I stopped walking. La Fontana only took reservations. There was no booking for today.

La Fontana was full of laughter. Through the glass door I could see a dozen women crowded around the long table. The tablecloth was mine—hand-stitched Sicilian lace I’d brought back from Palermo, the kind of thing Italian families pass down like heirlooms. Pistachio shells and olive pits were heaped in little mountains across its surface. Behind the bar, Sofia Valenti was working a corkscrew into a bottle of wine. My wine. A 1971 Barolo from Piedmont. My father’s. He’d kept it for over thirty years, and my mother placed it in my hands on my wedding day. “Save it for your happiest day, Elena.” Sofia’s grip was clumsy. The cork snapped in half and red wine splashed across the white marble counter. Someone clapped. “Sofia, this place is gorgeous. Your husband really spoiled you.” Sofia’s cheeks flushed pink. “Oh stop, Nico would be embarrassed.” The table erupted in laughter. “It’s only a matter of time, honey. You two grew up together—that’s stronger than anything.” I pushed the door open. The bell chimed. Every head turned. Sofia froze, then shifted the bottle behind her back. “Elena! I didn’t think you’d be coming by. The restaurant seemed empty, so I brought my mother and some of the ladies over. Nico said you wouldn’t mind.” I looked past her to the wall behind the bar. There used to be a black-and-white photograph hanging there—Dominic and me on opening day, standing in front of the brick wall, paint on his hands, both of us grinning like fools. It had been replaced with a photo of Sofia posing against the geranium wall in a white dress. In her arms was Lucia—my Italian Greyhound. “Where’s Lucia?” Sofia’s smile thinned. “My mother is allergic to dog hair. Nico took her to a boarding kennel. Don’t worry—he paid for a whole year.” A year. I wasn’t home, and he couldn’t even tolerate my dog. The door swung open again. Dominic walked in carrying a cake box, saw me, and frowned first. “What are you doing here?” He set the cake on the table. Carmela waved him over immediately. “Nico, come, come. The ladies are all saying what a good man you are.” Dominic ignored her. He gripped my wrist and pulled me toward the door, his voice low. “Don’t make a scene. It’s Carmela’s birthday. Sofia just borrowed the place for a couple hours.” “Borrowing the place means opening my wine?” “It’s one bottle. I’ll buy you ten.” I looked at him and felt something inside me go very still. “Dominic, do you even remember how this restaurant came to be?” He blinked, thrown. The second year of our marriage, I’d had a miscarriage. For weeks I couldn’t sleep through the night. He brought me to see this old storefront—bare walls, cracked tile, a leak in the ceiling. “We’ll grow herbs together. We’ll cook together. We’ll make our life warm again.” On opening day he carried the first pot of geraniums to the windowsill with his own hands, got paint all over his fingers, and leaned in to nuzzle my nose with his. “Elena, things are only going to get better.” Better. So much better that he’d handed the place to another woman to play house in. “Stop digging up the past.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Carmela just got out of the hospital. Let the old woman have a nice afternoon. Go inside, say something pleasant, don’t make Sofia lose face.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Last year my mother broke her leg. Did you ever think about making her happy?” “That’s different.” “How?” He had no answer. Sofia appeared in the doorway, tissue crumpled in her fist, bottom lip trembling on cue. “Elena, don’t blame Nico. It’s my fault. I thought you didn’t come here often, so I borrowed it for my mother’s birthday. I can ask everyone to leave.” She glanced back inside. The women had gone quiet, every one of them listening. Dominic immediately stepped in front of her. “Nobody’s leaving.” He turned to me, voice gone hard. “Elena, enough. You keep throwing your mother’s situation in my face—what’s the point? I wired you money for the hotel, didn’t I?” I didn’t want to argue anymore. I took out my phone and called Danny, the busboy. “Danny, come to La Fontana. I need every tablecloth, every chair cover stripped and boxed. Now.” Twenty minutes later he pulled up in a van. I stripped the lace tablecloths myself—right in front of all those family wives, right in front of the pistachio shells and the spilled Barolo and every pair of watching eyes. In the world they lived in, this was the equivalent of flipping the table. Every woman in that room would carry this story home. Carmela stood up. “What kind of wife does this? Making a scene in front of everyone over a little party?” I dropped the last tablecloth into the box. “Garbage doesn’t stay overnight, Carmela. House rules.” Dominic’s face went dark. I turned away from him and pulled the trust transfer documents from my bag. “You’re pulling the restaurant out of the family? You know what runs through those books.” “My name is on the deed, Dominic. My signature. My liability. I decide what happens to it.” Sofia murmured from behind him. “Nico, let it go. Elena is probably just upset seeing us here.” Dominic stayed planted in front of her, shielding her. “You walk out that door, don’t expect me to come after you.” I signed my name, tucked the papers away, and walked past him. “When have you ever?” The bell over the door rang once more. Behind me I heard the sound of him slamming the cake into the table. Out on the sidewalk, my phone buzzed. A text from the hospital. My mother’s prescription refill was ready. A family member needed to pick it up by tomorrow.

The pharmacy line was long. I stood at the window holding my mother’s chart, waiting for my number to be called. She phoned while I waited. “Don’t worry about the medicine, sweetheart. My leg only hurts when it rains.” “I’ll get it today.” She hesitated a long time before asking. “Is Nico busy lately?” I tightened my grip on the chart. The corner bent under my fingers. “Busy.” “Then don’t fight with him. Every marriage has its bumps.” “The hotel last year was really fine, Mom. The mattress was even softer than home.” She was making excuses for him again. I didn’t know what to say, so I told her to eat on time and hung up. That’s when I heard the familiar voice from the concierge exit across the lobby. “Watch the step.” Dominic came through the private door with Carmela on his arm—one hand steadying her elbow, the other holding a thermos and a stack of medical reports. Sofia trailed close behind, gazing up at him with that look of helpless dependence she wore like perfume. At the curb, Carmela let out a small groan. Dominic bent down instantly. “Is it your knee again? I’ll bring the car around. Don’t move.” A security guard reminded him the emergency lane was no-parking. Dominic pulled a few hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and held them out. “The lady’s knees are bad. Two minutes.” The guard took the money. Didn’t say another word. Sofia spotted me first. “Elena, you’re at the hospital too?” Dominic turned. His eyes dropped to the chart in my hands, and his tone went flat. “What’s wrong with your mother now?” “Picking up her medication.” He glanced at the pharmacy queue, brow furrowed. “Don’t start comparing again. Carmela was really unwell today—that’s why I brought her through the VIP.” “My mother broke her leg last year. Was she not really unwell?” Irritation flickered across his face. “Can you stop putting an edge on every sentence? I really did have a sit-down that week.” Sofia shifted closer to her mother and said softly, “Nico, don’t argue with Elena. If she’s upset, let her take it out on me.” I looked at her. “You’re not worth it.” Her chin dipped. She pressed her lips together and looked away. Dominic stepped forward, half shielding her. “Elena, Sofia’s always been sensitive. Don’t be so aggressive.” I suddenly felt tired of all of it. I used to be sensitive too. After the miscarriage, the sound of a stroller bell on the street below would keep me up all night. Dominic would close the window, pull me against his chest, and whisper, “Don’t be scared. I’m here.” I’d believed, then, that I had been chosen. Firmly and finally. Later he started telling me I was overthinking. Making mountains out of nothing. Making things hard for him. The cruelest thing about having been loved is how long it takes to admit that someone’s heart has already left the room. I reached into my bag and found the Miraculous Medal. Two years ago, Dominic was ambushed by a rival family. Shot in the shoulder. I drove to St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral in Little Italy in the middle of the night and knelt before the statue of the Virgin until morning. I bought the medal at the church gift shop. By the time I got home it was four a.m. and my fingers were blue with cold. Dominic had worn it around his neck for two years, the silver disc pressed against his heart. A few months ago he said the chain didn’t go with his new suits. Took it off and tossed it in the nightstand drawer. It was never just the chain he’d discarded. I dropped the medal into the trash can beside me. The lid swung shut with a soft clang. Dominic’s face went white. “What the hell are you doing?” “Old things. No use anymore.” Carmela shook her head. “Nico, your wife has some temper. Throwing away a holy medal—what kind of woman does that?” Dominic’s phone rang. He turned away to answer, spoke briefly, then relayed the message without looking at me. “Mamma wants us at the house for Sunday dinner. She says to bring Sofia and Carmela.” A pause. “And you, if you’re coming.” If you’re coming. The ordering said everything. My own phone vibrated. A flight confirmation from Savannah. Tomorrow evening, seven forty-five. I tapped confirm. Behind me, Dominic’s impatient voice: “Did you hear me? Don’t be late tonight. Mamma hates waiting.” The pharmacy called my number. While I waited for the prescription bag, I pulled up my messages and texted Gianna. 【File the petition. I’ll sign when I get home.】 This dinner would be my last.

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The day my mother was wheeled into the ICU, I knelt before my husband—the Don of the Valenti family—and begged him for the treatment money. He didn’t lift a finger. He said: “Every dollar this family has was bought with blood. I don’t throw money where there’s no return.” “I had Russo send you a list of private lenders. Clean ones. Handle it yourself.” But a moment later, I heard him on the phone with Serena Kovac, a Hollywood actress looking to break into producing. “The five million’s already in your production account.” “Even if the whole thing tanks, it’s on me. Consider it tuition for learning the business.” That was his new pet project. A twenty-four-year-old actress he called a “strategic asset.” I gripped the insurance denial so tight my nails broke skin. Dominic turned around and saw me standing there. No tears. No scene. No more begging. He nodded approvingly: “Good. That’s what I want to see.” “A Valenti woman doesn’t go crawling to someone else every time things get hard.” “You solve your own problems. That’s how this family survives.” I said a quiet “mm.” “You’re right, Dominic. I’ll solve my own problems.” Just make sure you can live with the consequences. He didn’t look at me again. He straightened his cuffs and left. I pulled out my phone and called my attorney. “Prepare the divorce papers. And those files—the ones that could bring the entire Valenti family to the ground? Get those ready too.” …… By the time Dominic came home, it was nearly one in the morning. I sat in the living room of the Long Island estate. In front of me were the hospital bills, the critical condition notice. And the signed divorce agreement. He walked in, saw me, and only frowned. “Why are you still up?” I looked up at him. “My mother is still in the ICU.” He hung his overcoat on the rack and walked to the bar to pour himself a whiskey. “I know.” His tone was as calm as if he were commenting on the weather. “But you’re no good to anyone running on empty. Rest. Deal with it fresh.” I stared at the glass in his hand, and suddenly thought of that afternoon in the hospital corridor. The way I’d looked when I begged him for money. I’d said: “Dominic, thirty thousand dollars. That’s all. Just to keep her alive.” He’d said: “Amber, people have to learn to accept what they can’t control.” I thought I was already numb, but seeing him come home as if nothing had happened— something still slammed hard against my chest. Dominic finished his whiskey. His gaze fell on the table. “What’s all this?” “Divorce papers.” His hand froze on the glass. A few seconds later, he looked as if he’d heard some absurd joke. “Amber, what are you throwing a fit about now?” I pushed the papers toward him. “I’ve already signed.” He didn’t pick them up. He just looked down at the words, his eyes going cold by degrees. “Because I didn’t give you money?” “No.” My voice was very soft. “It’s because I finally realized today—the Don of the Valenti family could not possibly be short of $30,000.” “You just won’t help me.” Dominic’s expression darkened. “I just don’t want my money to go into a bottomless pit; I won’t get anything in return for giving you $30,000.” I looked up and stared straight at him. “But you gave Serena five million dollars.” Dominic’s face turned grim. “The Serena deal is family business. It’s a laundering channel. It’s not personal.” “I’ve seen the wire confirmations.” I looked at him. “Sent from your personal offshore account. Personal guarantee. You eat the losses.” “You call that family business?” A flash of impatience crossed his eyes. “You went through my desk?” I smiled. So his first reaction wasn’t to explain. It was to blame me for finding out. Dominic set the glass down hard on the table. “Amber, you’re out of control right now. I’m not discussing this with you.” “Your mother’s situation—I understand. But you can’t take your pressure out on me.” I looked at him. “She’s been your mother-in-law for six years. She sat at your table every Thanksgiving.” Dominic looked away. “I never said I wouldn’t help.” “I just don’t think we should hemorrhage money into something with no foreseeable outcome.” After he said it, as if realizing how harsh it sounded, he added: “I can have Dr. Ferraro make calls. Pull some strings at the hospital.” “But the cash—you need to figure that out yourself.” I suddenly felt my stomach lurch. I stood up, picked up the divorce papers, and slid them into the folder. “Tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock. Russo’s office. We sign together and file uncontested.” Dominic stared at me for a long time. “Valentis don’t divorce. The last wife who tried ended up in witness protection—and even that didn’t save her reputation.” “Also, if you leave me, how exactly do you plan to pay for her treatment?” The moment those words landed, my fingers went white. He knew exactly what I feared most. And exactly what I needed most. So he used it to force me to submit. I looked up at him. “I’ll figure it out myself. I always do.” “But Dominic—you might want to think about what I’ll figure out to do with you.” Something shifted in his jaw. A barely perceptible tension. He recovered quickly. His expression turned cold again. “Don’t threaten me, Amber. The last man who threatened this family is feeding crabs off the Rockaways. You want to test whether I make exceptions for blood?” “I’m not threatening the family.” I held his gaze. “I’m warning my husband,a husband who won’t spend thirty thousand to keep my mother alive.” I said nothing more. I turned and went to the bedroom. Before I closed the door, I heard him answer a call in the living room. His voice dropped much lower. “Serena, I’ve gone over the distribution contracts.” “Don’t worry. I’ll be at the signing with you tomorrow.” I knew exactly what I was doing. In this world, betraying the family carried one sentence—and there was no appeals court. But Dominic had taught me something useful over ten years: fear only works on people who still have something to lose. I shut the door, leaned against it, and slowly sank to the floor. A low, dragging ache pulled through my belly. I’d been so consumed with my mother these past days, I never went back for the follow-up. A reminder from the hospital still sat unread in my phone. [Ms. Marchetti, you are currently 7 weeks pregnant. Please schedule your prenatal checkup.] I stared at that line for a long time. Then I pressed the screen dark.

The next day, Dominic didn’t show up at Russo’s office. I waited for him two hours. I called. He didn’t answer. It wasn’t until eleven-thirty that he finally sent a message. [Serena’s signing with Paramount is today. Can’t step away.] The next one popped up right after. [Before you file anything, remember where you are. You’re not some civilian wife walking into family court. You’re inside the organization. Think very carefully about what “leaving” means in our world.] I stood outside the brownstone law office, still holding the unsigned papers. Wind swept up from the street, stinging my eyes. I didn’t reply. I went to the hospital. The doctor said my mother’s condition had worsened. Insurance had denied coverage for the experimental treatment she needed, and the out-of-pocket cost was crushing. Without it, they could only keep her on the basic protocol. “The family really needs to sort out the funding for the advanced treatment. The longer you wait, the greater the risk.” I looked down and said okay. I listed my father’s apartment—the one place that still smelled like him—for emergency sale. Signed the papers with a hand that wouldn’t stop shaking,and maxed out my credit cards. The realtor went quiet for a few seconds when he heard my asking price. “Ms. Marchetti, this is way below market value.” “Can it close today?” “It can, but—are you sure?” I said: “I’m sure.” After I hung up, I crouched in the hospital stairwell, palms slick with cold sweat. A notification popped up on my phone. Serena Kovac had posted something new on Instagram. In the photo, she stood on a stage at a studio lot in a white blazer, shaking hands with a Paramount executive. Dominic sat in the front row, looking up at her with a patience I hadn’t seen from him in a very long time. The caption read: [Signed my first major deal with someone who has my back. So this is what it feels like to be chosen. ] Someone commented below: [Don Valenti is so generous with his people.] Serena replied: [He just said he didn’t want to see me fail on my first try.] I stared at those words, my fingertips going cold inch by inch. That afternoon, Dominic came to the hospital. He stood in the corridor, suit impeccably pressed, holding a manila envelope. “Russo put this together. Private lenders, all vetted. Off the books, no family paper trail. Clean enough that it won’t trigger any federal flags.” “A few of them have decent limits. Should bridge you through.” I stared at the papers. I didn’t take them. He pressed them into my hands. “The money situation—that’s your call.” Then he turned and left. I looked down at the loan applications in my hands, tore them up one by one, and dropped the pieces into the trash. A few minutes later, a nurse came running. “Ms. Marchetti, your mother’s blood pressure is dropping. The doctor needs you to sign off immediately.” My legs buckled. I grabbed the wall just in time to keep from falling. The pain in my lower abdomen flared again. This time, sharper than last night.

They worked on my mother for four hours. When the doctor came out, his mask was still on. “She’s stable for now.” “But she needs the advanced treatment protocol. Without it, we can only do so much.” I nodded. My throat was too dry to speak. The apartment sale closed that same evening. Fire-sale price. The buyer barely hesitated. The moment the funds hit my account, I called the hospital’s financial counselor to authorize the treatment. She glanced up at me from her desk. “Just you, then? No other family?” I said mm. “Your husband?” I didn’t answer. In that moment, my skin burned. I couldn’t look up. I was married to the Don of the most feared family on the Eastern Seaboard. A man whose name made federal judges recuse themselves. Yet I couldn’t get thirty thousand dollars to keep my mother breathing. That night, I went back to the estate to get my documents. The moment I pushed open the front door, I heard a woman’s laughter in the living room. Serena Kovac was sitting on the sofa. In front of her was a bottle of Dom Pérignon, two flutes already poured. Dominic was handing her a glass. When she saw me, Serena jumped to her feet immediately. “Amber! You’re home.” She said it sweetly. But around her neck hung a diamond pendant. I recognized that pendant. Last month, on my birthday, I’d lingered at the Cartier counter for a moment too long. Dominic had said: “The markup on those things is obscene. That’s not your style.” Now it was on Serena’s neck. Dominic frowned at me. “Why are you back?” I looked at him. “This is my home.” Serena’s expression froze for a second. Dominic set the champagne flute down. “Serena closed her deal with Paramount today. I brought her back to grab some contracts.” “And to celebrate, while we’re at it.” While we’re at it. My mother lay in the hospital with tubes in her body. I’d sold my father’s apartment to scrape together the money. And he was here, in our home, celebrating with another woman. Serena ducked her head, voice soft. “Amber, please don’t misunderstand.” “Mr. Valenti was just worried I’d be nervous for my first big signing, so he encouraged me.” She touched the pendant at her throat. “This was a token for the deal. It’s not what you think.” I walked over and looked at the writing on the champagne bottle—a custom engraving. It read: To Serena — First victory down, limitless future ahead. The handwriting was Dominic’s. He’d once told me even a birthday dinner out was unnecessary. Said that kind of sentimentality was pointless for people like us. I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell. I just went to the study, opened the safe, and collected my documents. Dominic followed me in. “Who exactly are you putting on this face for?” I gathered my passport, my birth certificate, and my important papers into my bag. “Move.” He blocked the doorway. “Amber, you’re becoming completely unreasonable.” “Serena is twenty-four. She’s alone in this country with no family. As her patron, is it so wrong for me to look after her?” I looked up at him. “My mother is alone in the ICU too.” “Have you looked after her?” He was caught short. His expression quickly turned cold again. “Your mother’s situation is different from hers.” “How is it different?” “Serena still has a future.” After those words left his mouth, the room went silent. Dominic seemed to realize it himself. But he didn’t apologize. He just turned his face away and said quietly: “What I mean is—every dollar has to factor in return.” I looked at him. My chest felt as though something had been carved out of it with a blade. My mother had no future. So she wasn’t worth it. I had no future either. So I didn’t deserve it. I picked up my bag and walked past him. In the living room, Serena was sipping champagne from her flute. Seeing me, she seemed to gather her courage and said softly: “Amber, honestly? A woman really should be more independent.” “You can’t rely on a man for everything.” I stopped. Dominic stood behind me. He said nothing to stop her. I looked at Serena, and I actually laughed. “Did he teach you that line?” Her face flushed. I nodded. “Then remember it well.” “The day he decides you have no return on investment either, you’ll hear that exact same speech.” I looked at her a moment longer, then added: “And Serena? When that day comes, you won’t have ten years of the family’s financial architecture stored in your head.” “You’ll just have nothing.” Serena’s smile froze. Her eyes darted to Dominic. Dominic’s voice cut in—the same tone I’d heard him use with soldiers who spoke out of turn at sit-downs. “Amber. That’s enough.” I didn’t look back. On my way downstairs, a sharp, dragging pain pulled through my lower abdomen. I braced myself against the elevator wall and stayed there a long time. My palms were drenched in sweat. My phone rang. It was the hospital. “Ms. Marchetti, your mother’s condition has deteriorated again. Please come back immediately.” My vision went black. I nearly collapsed right there in the elevator.

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“Elara, I carved your Ascension Vow into a Mortal Bind.” Lila’s voice dripped with smugness through our mind-link. A lowblood from a fringe clan. Right now, she was laughing like a gambler who just hit the jackpot. Before I could even speak, my fiancé, Kaelen, cut in, already lecturing me. “Lila never touched the Sacred Stone before. She made a tiny mistake. Aren’t you supposed to be the bigger person?” His voice echoed right next to hers. Clearly, they were together, teaming up to screw me over. He snapped the link shut. A cold chill washed over me. Only one minute left on the countdown. Forcing the link back open, all I heard was an annoyed sigh. “Elara, what’s the big deal?! She was just terrified of you leaving us!” “With all your Golden Dragon resources, just hibernate and wait a century for the next cycle!” The countdown hit zero. The array was sealed, locking the Mortal Bind forever. I snapped back to reality and cracked a quiet smile. Kaelen forgot one little thing. Before his Arena Duel this morning, he handed his Blood Sigil to me! So that contract carved into the Sacred Stone right now? Whose blood is it actually binding? I couldn’t wait to find out. I wonder if he’ll still be the ‘bigger person’ the day he realizes he’s trapped in the mortal realm forever. … Half an hour later, Lila posted a tearful apology on the clan forum. “Elara, I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to. I guess my lowblood spiritual energy was just too weak.” She claimed it was her first time touching the Sacred Stone. The energy was overwhelming. She panicked, accidentally overwriting my Dragon Sanctuary Ascension into a Mortal Bind. —the kind of curse that binds you to a human, burning out your dragon core until you turn to ash. She attached a selfie at the end. Half-dragon form, eyes rimmed red. Playing the victim to perfection. “My clan can’t even afford a single Dragon Crystal.” “I was only trying to help Elara test the inscription array.” “I’ll take whatever makes her feel better… even if that means the Council.” “Guess us lowbloods were just born unworthy of pureblood magic.”

The second those messages dropped, the clan forum blew up. Everyone flooded the comments with sympathy for Lila, tearing into me for overreacting. Before I could even type a reply, Kaelen’s dragon-eye avatar lit up. “Elara, say something!” “Lila already apologized. What, you need her groveling and bleeding out just to satisfy your damn ego?” Lila chimed in almost instantly. “Kaelen, please don’t yell at her. It’s all my fault.” That set Kaelen off. “You’re too damn nice. That’s why entitled purebloods like her think they can walk all over you!” “Elara, hibernating for a century until the next Ascension won’t kill you.” “But Lila is different! Her clan even sold the firestone for her sister’s egg just to get her into this trial! She can’t take this kind of shock!” I stared at the screen. My nails dug into my palms so hard that the edges of my dragon scales flared white. Did it hurt? I couldn’t feel a thing. This was the man I grew up with. The one who had protected me for eighteen cycles. When we were young, an Earth Drake slammed into me and snapped my wing bone. He carried me on his back across two valleys, crying the whole way. Swearing he’d tear apart anyone who ever laid a finger on me. And now, for Lila—a girl he’s known for barely six months—he wiped out everything I’d worked for without a second thought.

People in the forum started stirring the pot. “Come on, Golden Dragon Princess. Cat got your tongue?” Lila dropped another voice note. Her tone was sickeningly sweet. “Please, guys, stop attacking Elara.” “I don’t blame her. Kaelen has been spending a lot of time helping me practice Draconic magic lately. She probably just got the wrong idea…” The forum went silent for two seconds. Then, a flood of popcorn emojis took over the screen. “Ooh—so the Princess is just jealous.” “No wonder she won’t let the whole Ascension Vow thing go.” I opened a private chat with Kaelen. “Are you absolutely sure you want me to just drop this?” He replied right away, acting like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What did you expect? Drag her to the Council and get her banished to the Deadlands? Elara, when did you become so vicious?” I clenched my jaw and typed out one final message— “If you were the one locked into a Mortal Bind today, would you still be so quick to play the bigger person?”

For over ten seconds, the mind-link went dead silent. Then, Kaelen’s arrogant voice cut through. He was convinced I was bluffing. “Let me make this perfectly clear!” “If I were the one locked into a Mortal Bind today, I wouldn’t say a single harsh word to Lila!” “You have no idea how hard she’s had it. Unlike you, Elara, all you care about is your pathetic bloodline!” “It’s about time you learned how to be a real dragon!” The chat exploded. “Lord Kaelen is on another level!” “Now THAT is our future Guardian of the Sanctuary!” I let out a cold laugh. Sick of their mindless ass-kissing, I closed the chat.

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We found them deep in the Sacred Grove,hidden among the laurels. A fierce Alpha scent choked the air.Mingling with the sweet,cloying scent of my sister’s Omega heat. Her clothes were falling off as she clung desperately to him.To the man who,in a past life,had been my mate. I once stood by him,watching him rise from an exiled Bloodrage rogue to the heir of North America’s supreme Silver Moon Syndicate. Heh…she had timed her heat perfectly. She flashed an incredibly smug smile. “Selena,such a powerful Alpha…in this life,I will be the one crowned as his Luna.” “Have fun rotting away in some human college.” I took a step forward.He shoved me back. He pulled her behind him,and his icy wolf eyes locked onto mine.”Who said you could touch her?Get out.” I swallowed every feeling that clawed up my throat. That night,I took my Ivy League letter and left my homeland behind. Ready to start over. …… Bella stood in the center of the Sacred Grove,her fur vest torn to shreds. A wild,victorious grin stretched across her face. She looked like a she-wolf who just sank her teeth into the ultimate prize. “Dad!Mom!” She shouted,her voice dripping with triumph. “I want him!I want him to mark me right now.He’s my mate!” Her manic joy should have stung.It didn’t. My mind drifted back to my past life.I could still see the madness in her eyes just before she died. Faking a friendly visit,she broke into the estate Kane and I shared. But in her hand was a silver dagger coated with wolfsbane. She lunged at me like a madwoman. My loyal Beta pinned her to the floor before she could even get close. She thrashed around,screaming. “Selena,I saw them drug you!I saw them drag you into the woods!” “I let it happen.I wanted your reputation trashed!” “It was the only way Dad would give me that Ivy League spot!” “But those rich Alpha heirs treated me like a plaything!They ruined my life!” “I lost everything!You married a Bloodrage rogue!Why do you get to have it all?It isn’t fair!” “If I got one chance,you’d be the one tossed to the human world to suffer!” As the guards moved to drag her away,she shoved them back.She vaulted over the balcony edge,plummeting to her death.

And now,in this new life. She moved faster than I could.Drugging Kane with a heat-inducing herb,she forced herself on him. Kane’s eyes were still glazed over from the drug. But the moment she demanded to be his mate,his ears turned red. He stared down at her.His voice clumsy but serious. “I’ll take responsibility for this.I’ll spend my life protecting you.” The exact same vow he made to me in my past life. But my parents exploded first. They turned and slapped me across the face. My cheek burned. “You’re supposed to be the older sister!” “If you watched her,she wouldn’t have snuck into the woods!Now some rogue has defiled her!” “You ruined her life.You’re a curse from the Moon Goddess.” They tried to drag Bella away,refusing to bless the mate bond. The pack only knew a daughter of our family got into trouble.They planned to make me take the fall. Even though the timeline had changed,when it all came down to it,I was still the sacrificial lamb. My heart went cold.

Bella leaned in,whispering Kane’s true identity to them. My parents’faces shifted.They eyed Kane up and down,then nodded. “If what you said is true,then this bond…should be made.” “If it turns out to be a lie,come back.Your sister can take your place.” Fearing I would steal him away,Bella demanded the mating ceremony take place that night. And to top it off,she forced me to help prepare the celebration. The pack talked behind her back,calling her shameless. Nobody set foot inside the venue.They stood outside,tossing out nasty insults. Bella’s eyes turned red with rage.She pointed at them and screamed. “Wait till my Alpha reclaims his throne!You pathetic losers will crawl to me like dogs!” The pack roared with laughter. Mom took her anger out on me,pinching my arm viciously. “They’re humiliating your sister!Are you just going to stand there?” She hurried inside to comfort Bella. Dad flipped the table.A wooden bowl of ritual wine splashed all over my dress. “Clean it up now,or I’ll punish you myself.” Nursing my bruised arm,I stood frozen.Numb inside. A red wildflower was pinned to Kane’s chest.He walked in with a satisfied smile,only to catch the whole scene.

Without pausing,he marched directly toward me. My chest tightened. Fifty years of past-life memories flooded my brain. I remembered how he used to shield me when my parents beat me.When the pack pushed me away. My throat closed up.I wanted to scream his name. But his voice cut like ice. “Watch yourself.Don’t ever try to hurt your sister again.” I froze,staring at him in shock. He stepped into my space,backing me against the wall. His dominant Alpha aura crushed me. He grabbed my chin,his words laced with venom. “Bella told me how you treat her.You love bullying her.” “You lured her into the Sacred Grove.She stumbled upon me while I was drugged.Now her innocence is gone and that is on you!” “Then you brought some pack members here just to destroy her reputation!” “How could you be this cruel?” A boulder slammed into my chest.I bit down on my lip. “I brought them to save you…” He scoffed,cutting me off.He looked at me like I was a stranger and a threat. “Enough.Save your fake tears and lies.” “Pray you never fall into my hands again,Selena.I’ll make you pay for this ten times over.” The last spark of warmth in my heart flickered and died.

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On my birthday, my husband Joseph—the one who was terrified of heights—claimed he had to work late. Then he turned up in his student Betty’s Instagram story, skydiving with her. On Christmas Day, I asked him to come with me to see my parents. He said his project was too demanding. Meanwhile, he was out having dinner with Betty to celebrate. My fingers went numb as I scrolled through the videos on her page, one after another. Watching all those sweet, everyday little moments unfold on my screen, I made up my mind to have it out with Joseph. But I was stopped at his office door. “Mrs. Smith, Professor Smith might still be busy in there—today’s the day his favorite student Betty is presenting her project results. Maybe… you could wait a bit?” I stood up. “No need. Tell Joseph to get ready for a divorce.” … Back home, I went straight upstairs to the bedroom to pack. I’d just placed the signed divorce agreement on the nightstand when I looked up into a pair of pitch-black eyes. Joseph’s gaze landed on the two large suitcases beside me. He frowned. “There was a student defense at noon today. I had to be there, couldn’t get out in time. Are you upset again?” I ignored him, grabbed the suitcases, and headed for the door. He pressed down firmly on my shoulders, pinning me in place. “Grace. Talk to me.” He watched me calmly, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. “Grace, when are you going to break this bad habit of going silent every time you’re angry?” I couldn’t budge the suitcases from his grip, so I straightened up. “I want a divorce.” “Reason.” “You’re cheating on me. Is that reason enough?” I pried his hands off and reached for the suitcases again. He blocked me once more. “Grace, can you stop this? You’re the only one I have.” “Am I?” I pulled out my phone. “Then who is she?” I tapped on Betty’s latest video. The footage of the two of them skydiving was crystal clear. “Weren’t you the one who said you were afraid of heights? That you hated extreme sports? So why aren’t you afraid of heights when it’s her?” “Tell me. Why is that, Joseph?” I tried to keep my voice level. “Grace, you’ve been checking up on me?” No apology. No admission. No explanation. Not what I’d imagined at all. Just an accusation. “Don’t you think you should be explaining this first?” He tugged at his tie irritably, took a deep breath. “Her name’s Betty. She’s one of my students. The kid was feeling down last week, so I went skydiving with her.” “That’s all it was.” “Joseph. Do you honestly believe that yourself?” One video could be explained away. But this many? How was he going to spin all of them? He went silent. I grabbed the suitcases again. He spoke. “Give me some time. I’ll sort it out.” “Get out of my way!” I shoved him hard and walked straight out the door. I went back to my parents’ house. I didn’t tell them about the divorce. I just made up some excuse—said he’d been busy lately, and I felt lonely being home alone. Thankfully, they didn’t ask too many questions. The next day, I went to my studio as usual, only to find someone standing at the entrance. Betty. She looked the same as in her photos—white dress, a little nervous. I walked past her and unlocked the door. She called after me. “Grace, I need to talk to you. Can we talk?”

In the end, I let her in. She sat across from me, fidgeting, trying to explain the situation with Joseph. “Mrs. Smith, Professor Smith and I—it’s really not what you think. That day, I genuinely wasn’t feeling well. I begged him to go skydiving with me. It was just a misunderstanding.” “A misunderstanding?” I laughed and pulled up her account. “The three hundred–plus videos underneath—those are all misunderstandings too?” Betty was speechless. I brushed her hand aside. “If you’re here to study, then study. Stop trying to seduce someone else’s husband.” Her face went white. Eyes red, she turned and ran out. Moments later, I got a message from Joseph asking why I was giving Betty a hard time. I laughed bitterly and called him. “Joseph, she came to me. What I’d like to know is how she got the address to my studio.” “Instead of wasting your time coming here to interrogate me, why don’t you sign the divorce papers and go find your true love?” Silence. Several seconds passed before he finally spoke. “Grace, you’re not in a stable emotional state right now. I’ll come over tonight and we’ll talk.” That evening, he showed up as promised. I sat at my easel, brush never pausing, voice dripping with sarcasm. “What? Here to demand justice for your little one?” He didn’t respond. After a long moment, he sighed, his tone resigned. “You’re the one who’s my wife, Grace.” I ignored him. He continued. “I have a conference abroad this week. I won’t be back for seven days. When I get back, we’ll sort things out between us.” My hand holding the brush froze. He went on: “Since you don’t like Betty, I’ll minimize contact with her going forward. I’ve handed off her project and coursework to other professors. I won’t be involved anymore.” I said nothing and went back to painting. He lingered in the doorway for a long while before finally leaving. The next morning, I received his boarding notification and a photo for proof. Over the following seven days, he sent me check-in messages like clockwork. During conference sessions. At meals. Even before bed. I didn’t reply to a single one. While Joseph was still out of the country, I went back to the house to retrieve an important USB drive. Just as I was about to leave, I heard Betty’s voice downstairs. “Professor, if I come home with you for your birthday, won’t your wife be upset?” “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t posted those videos, she never would’ve fought with you.” She was holding a cake, her expression full of guilt. Joseph tenderly ruffled her hair. “It has nothing to do with you. She’s just overthinking things and being petty.” The words had barely left his mouth when he looked up and saw me standing at the top of the stairs. I didn’t acknowledge him, but he scrambled after me in a panic. “Don’t be angry—I brought you that watch you’ve been wanting.” “I waited in line forever to finally get it.” He opened the box, revealing an elegant watch, his face a mask of self-satisfied tenderness. As if refusing the watch would prove I was the petty woman he’d just called me. “Don’t be mad, okay? I brought you a gift. It’d be pretty petty of you not to take it.” He opened the box. Inside was a beautiful watch. I let out a cold laugh. “This isn’t a recycling bin. Don’t bring me cheap garbage.” Then I turned on my heel and walked out. And blocked him on every platform.

The next day, he appeared below my building, begging. I didn’t acknowledge him. He stayed for three full days. He told me that day was truly a misunderstanding—Betty had shown up on her own to celebrate his birthday. He couldn’t bring himself to refuse. He said he’d already transferred Betty to another advisor. They would never be in contact again. He asked me to give him one more chance. I didn’t respond. On the fourth day, he didn’t come—something came up. I finally had a moment to myself and headed to the studio. I pushed the door open, and the sight that greeted me was utter devastation. Nearly half the paintings—years of my work—destroyed. Torn to shreds. Knocked over. Each one ruined in its own way. But the lock showed no signs of forced entry. I pulled the security footage from the entrance camera. There it was: Betty, using a studio key to let herself in and wreak havoc. And the only people who had a key to the studio were Joseph and me. I took the evidence and went straight to the university to confront her. Her eyes were red, her expression the picture of wounded innocence. “Mrs. Smith, I know you’ve misunderstood a lot because of what happened between me and Professor Smith. You’ve been targeting me at every turn—you even made Professor Smith hand me off to another advisor.” “But I’ve already explained—there’s nothing between Professor Smith and me.” “Why are you framing me like this?” “Don’t you think you’re being scary? Controlling Professor Smith’s every move—do you really think that makes him happy?” “Or is it because of the sexual assault you went through in high school that your personality became this… twisted?” “What did you just say?” Instantly, every pair of eyes around me shifted. The whispers erupted. “Wait, is that true? She was sexually assaulted in high school? God, that’s disgusting.” “No wonder she’s so messed up. Makes sense now, with that kind of history. Poor Professor Smith—juggling his career while dealing with a mentally ill wife.” “Bullying a young girl like that. She’s rotten to the core.” … I went ice-cold all over. My grip on her wrist tightened involuntarily. “Who told you that?” She didn’t answer, but I already knew. After all, the only person who knew about my assault and could have told her—was Joseph. She leaned in close, her smile a taunt. “Professor Smith told me, of course. Even that watch he brought back from the conference for you? I picked it out.” What… I stood frozen in place. So Joseph had never cut ties with Betty at all. Not only had he been with her the entire seven days he was supposedly checking in with me at the conference— Even the gift he’d given me was one she’d chosen. Betty looked at me with pure venom. Before I could react, a force shoved me back. I stumbled, nearly fell. Joseph burst into the room and pulled Betty behind him. “Grace, what exactly are you trying to do?” “I already listened to you—I transferred Betty to another professor. I’m not in contact with her anymore. Why do you keep going after her?” I’m going after her? I laughed. I was about to speak when Joseph grabbed Betty’s arm and walked out of the classroom without looking back. The other students filed out too. Only a few scattered figures remained, circling me, whispering.

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When I was born,Wall Street’s oracle named me the market’s golden girl. My fiancé,Julian Hawthorne,had delayed our wedding for three years. At the rehearsal dinner on the eve of our wedding,everything changed. He stood there holding his pregnant assistant,who was wearing my custom Valentino dress. “Ava is carrying my child.Let her wear the dress.Once the baby’s here,I’ll still marry you.” The assistant,Ava,stood there playing the crying victim. He was never worth waiting for. I smiled. “She can have the dress.The wedding is off.” Julian’s face darkened. “If you leave me,who on Wall Street would marry you?” A drawling,bone-chilling voice came from outside the ballroom. “I would.Call my lawyers.This venue is mine tonight.” … “Scarlett,stop making a scene.” Julian stood in the middle of the ballroom in a custom suit. He looked annoyed. The woman beside him wore the dress meant for me. She clutched her stomach,pale and trembling. That wedding dress. My mother had found a designer who had spent a year tailoring it for me. It was one of a kind. My hands curled into fists. “Take it off!” My voice shook with rage. “You don’t deserve that dress!” Ava’s eyes filled with tears. “Miss Sterling,it’s all my fault.I’ll—” She tugged at the dress,then stumbled into Julian’s arms. Julian steadied her. He looked back at me,irritated. “Scarlett,Ava’s pregnant.Do you really have to come at her like this right now?”

The ballroom went silent. Then murmurs spread through the room like a Manhattan cocktail party. Everyone knew I was the market’s golden girl. A born financial prodigy. Julian throwing away our marriage for an assistant? He’s insane. Mrs.Hawthorne came over with a practiced smile. She reached for my hand. “My dear child,you’ve been wronged.But Ava is carrying a Hawthorne heir,after all.Be the bigger person.It’s only a dress.” I pulled my hand back and gave her a cold look. “Mrs.Hawthorne,when your family approached mine about this marriage,you gave your word.You promised that no outsider would interfere in this marriage.” Mrs.Hawthorne avoided my gaze. She answered stiffly. “Of course.You’re going to be Mrs.Hawthorne.Surely you can show a little grace to a pregnant woman.” Before I could say anything,my brother Ethan stepped out from the crowd. He lowered his voice in warning. “Scarlett,think about the fallout for our family and the company.” I stared at him. “You expect me to just swallow this?” Ethan frowned. “The Hawthorne Group is too powerful.What will happen to the Sterling family’s reputation if you call this off in public?” Julian’s expression eased. He walked over and lowered his voice. “Scarlett,I know you feel wronged.Ava has been with me for three years.She went undercover in a rival firm when my company was at its lowest.Now she’s carrying my child.I can’t walk away.Why do you have to make this so difficult?” I stared at him and let out a cold laugh. “So you want me to give up the dress,the wedding,and the title?” “And what’s next?Am I supposed to raise her child for you,too?”

Julian fell silent. Mrs.Hawthorne spoke for him. “Legally,the child would be yours.No one would challenge your status.And with your health,this may actually be easier for you.” I laughed. So they had it all figured out for me. I took the custom Cartier bracelet from my wrist. He had put it on my wrist after pleading with my family for days. I threw it at his feet. The heavy Cartier bracelet clattered against the floor,silencing the room. “Julian Hawthorne,this deal between our families is over.” Julian’s expression twisted. “Scarlett,think this through.” He stepped forward,jaw tight. “It’s on the front page of The New York Times.Every prominent name in the country is here.If you dare call this off today,you’ll make both our families a laughingstock.” I looked at him,my voice ice-cold. “You made me a laughingstock first.” Julian didn’t expect that. He tilted his head back arrogantly. “Who else would dare have you?” A voice cut in from outside the ballroom. “I would.” Every head turned. It was Damian Blackwood. He strode in wearing a bespoke black suit,flanked by his notorious team of ruthless lawyers.He was the head of the Blackwood Group,a financial empire powerful enough to shake global markets. What was he doing here?

Julian’s face darkened. The hall fell silent. “…Mr.Blackwood,”someone stammered. Damian didn’t look at him. His eyes were fixed on me. “Miss Sterling.Forgive my late arrival.” Mrs.Hawthorne forced a smile. “Mr.Blackwood,we’re so honored—” “I’m here to propose.” Four words. Silence. Julian gritted his teeth.”Mr.Blackwood,this is my rehearsal dinner with Scarlett.” Damian slowly turned to him. “I believe I heard Miss Sterling call off the engagement.” Julian grew desperate. “She was angry!She didn’t mean it!” He turned to me and lowered his voice. “Scarlett,don’t throw your life away over a tantrum.Don’t drag a man like Blackwood into your little rebellion.”

Before I could speak,Damian laughed. “Interesting,Mr.Hawthorne.You didn’t think about her future when you put your mistress in her wedding dress.You didn’t think about her future when you forced her to mother your mistress’s child.But now I’m here to propose,and suddenly you remember her future.” Julian’s face went pale. Sensing the shift in the room,Ava clutched her stomach and let the tears fall on cue. “Mr.Blackwood,you misunderstand,”she said. “Julian was only thinking of my baby.He never meant to humiliate Miss Sterling.” Ava turned to me,eyes wet. “Scarlett,if my being here upsets you that much,I’ll go.But please don’t ruin Julian over this.” Julian immediately pulled Ava behind him. “Ava,you don’t have to beg her.” He glared at me,his eyes filled with blame. “Scarlett,I always thought you were cold.I never knew you could be this cruel to a pregnant woman.” I scoffed. Three years. When Julian’s investments failed,I used my trust fund to cover his losses. When the Hawthorne Group had a PR crisis,I stayed up all night to craft his crisis PR strategy. When a rival tried to short his company,my father pulled strings to stabilize the market for him. And now,I refused to let his mistress wear my wedding dress. He called me vicious. I was about to speak. My brother,Ethan,stepped forward with a tight smile. “Mr.Blackwood,my sister’s upset.Please don’t take her words seriously.”

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The night before the wedding, everyone gathered to play Spyfall. The word card I drew had the name of Julian’s ex-girlfriend written on it—my fiancé’s ex. The game began. Victoria, Julian’s sister, spoke with open contempt: “That country bumpkin who crawled back from the sticks.” Lucas, Julian’s best friend, flicked ash from his cigarette. “Such a poser. I hated being anywhere near her.” Julian was silent for a long moment, then added, “Jealous. Painfully so.” My sister Mia nodded eagerly. “She’s practically got a persecution complex. Always thinks everyone’s freezing her out.” Something tightened in my chest. I’d met Chloe, Julian’s ex, once—she was gentle, well-mannered, nothing close to what they were describing. So I couldn’t help defending her. “Smart. Beautiful. Fun, too.” The moment I said it, Mia burst out laughing. “Evelyn, I didn’t realize you were that full of yourself.” The next second, the whole room erupted. Then, in unison, every finger pointed at me. I was voted out unanimously. Only then did it finally register—*I* was the spy. The name on their word cards was mine. Evelyn Raven. And the person they despised was me. … While I sat there frozen, my best friend Sarah pushed the door open, back from her errand. She began handing out chilled beers, one by one. Six people. Five bottles. Nothing for me. An immense exhaustion crashed over me. The six of us grew up together. When I was ten, I got lost, spent a year drifting through the slums before I was finally found and brought home. After I came back, when they divided crêpes and doughnuts, only crumbs were ever left for me. At our college graduation, everyone decided last-minute to move the celebration elsewhere. No one told me. I stood waiting until dark, until a kindhearted security guard finally clued me in. By the time I made it over, they were already deep in laughter—not one of them had noticed I wasn’t there. This time was no different. My sincerity had earned me only mockery, spoken right to my face. I decided, then, that some circles simply couldn’t be forced. There was no point clinging to a place that would never hold me. “You guys keep playing. I’m a little tired. I’m heading out.” I grabbed my bag and turned to leave a heartbeat before the tears could fall. The door clicked shut behind me, but my legs felt like lead. I sank down into the shadows of the hallway, covered my face, and let myself sob. Through the door, I caught faint murmurs. “Julian, aren’t you going after her? Your fiancée looked pretty upset.” Julian’s voice came back flat, terrifyingly cold. “No need. She can process it on her own.” Victoria seized the opening. “We’ve been shutting her out since we were kids and she still acts like nothing’s wrong. Country folk—they can swallow anything.” Another round of laughter rang out from behind the door. … “No need. She can process it on her own.” Victoria seized the opening. “We’ve been shutting her out since we were kids and she still acts like nothing’s wrong. Country folk—they can swallow anything.” Another round of laughter rang out from behind the door. Then came Lucas’s voice: “She still has no idea we ditched her on purpose the day of that Taylor Swift tour, so Chloe could get her closure, right?” “Sharing a hug and a goodbye kiss on the stage of a sold-out concert—now *that’s* a romantic ending.” “Honestly, I don’t think any of us have ever gotten over the fact that Julian and Chloe didn’t make it.” “Tonight’s little game—consider it us finally getting revenge on her behalf.” Sarah quickly hushed them. “Shhh… don’t let her catch on. She spent one year on the streets and she’s been playing the fragile card ever since. If she finds out, she’ll milk the sympathy for all it’s worth.” Sarah paused, then asked, “The thing about her mom’s injury—that’s not going to leak, is it?” Mia’s voice, brimming with confidence: “Relax. I already coached Mom and Dad. They love me the most. Whatever act I ask them to put on, they’ll deliver.” Crouched by the door, my heart plunged straight through ice. So that day, when Mom said she’d burned her arm making pizza—it was a lie. Dad wasn’t actually flying to Sydney for business. Every single one of them had lied to me. All so Julian and Chloe could have their romantic farewell kiss. I don’t remember how I got out of there. Midsummer. A hot wind rolled off the river and swept over me, and still I felt frozen to the bone. Slumped in the back seat of the bus, my mind was a blank canvas, splattered only with the echoes of their sneers. With trembling hands, I dialed Sarah. “Sarah. In the seven years Julian and I have been together—he and Chloe never actually broke up, did they?” “You… you knew all along, didn’t you?” I gripped the phone, praying she’d tell me it was some sick, unfunny joke. She didn’t hesitate for even a second. “Yes. I’ve always known.” “Look, at first I thought Chloe was just some homewrecker too.” Sarah’s tone was infuriatingly casual. “But the more time I spent with her, the more I realized—she’s a genuine angel.” “She leaves her umbrella for stray dogs in the rain. She buys pads out of pocket for undocumented girls working under the table… She’s so kind. God, who *wouldn’t* love her?” My nose burned. Tears spilled unchecked. “And me, Sarah?! Do I *deserve* to be stomped on like garbage by every single one of you?!” Silence on the other end for a beat. Then a matter-of-fact scoff. “Evelyn, I’m doing this for your own good.” “You’re always so petty, holding grudges over every little thing. You’re honestly acting like a crazy bitch.” … Silence on the other end for a beat. Then a matter-of-fact scoff. “Evelyn, I’m doing this for your own good.” “You’re always so petty, holding grudges over every little thing. You’re honestly acting like a crazy bitch.” “Those two are ten thousand times better matched than you and Julian ever were.” I listened, disbelieving, to the voice bleeding out of my phone. My best friend. When she was being bullied at that private high school, I stood in front of her and nearly took a box cutter to the face. When her ex-boyfriend was cheating, I was the one who kicked down the hotel room door to get her justice. And now, she was standing on the opposite side of the line without a shred of hesitation. I hung up. The wedding event planner called next. “Miss Raven, regarding your castle wedding with Mr. Julian Grant—there are a few details I need to confirm with you.” “The roses for the venue arrangements have all been swapped out for lilies, and the dessert bar has been switched entirely to oat-milk-based items.” I went rigid. “Did… did Julian make those changes?” “They were Chloe’s suggestions. Mr. Grant said… to leave the arrangements entirely to her.” The last of the warmth drained from my chest. I have a severe lily allergy. Even brushing against the pollen sends me into anaphylactic shock. Julian knew this. He knew it perfectly well. And yet, for a single word from Chloe, he could dismiss even my life as if it were nothing. In that instant, my heart died. I typed and typed into the message field—accusations, curses, hurt—but in the end, I deleted every last word. “The details are fine,” I said, my voice steady. “You’ve only gotten one very important thing wrong.” *The bride.*

I hung up and started packing. In this mansion perched on the edge of Beverly Hills, there really wasn’t much that belonged to me. The expensive fiddle-leaf fig on the terrace—*they’d* picked it out together at that Malibu nursery. The California-leather sofa in the living room was lined neatly with limited-edition figurines *they’d* brought back from Disneyland. Even the double-door Smeg fridge was stuffed with the sugar-free seltzers, craft beers, and air-flown seasonal fruit that the five of *them* loved. The strawberries Julian had once picked up for me on a whim were shoved into the most forgotten corner of the crisper, skin split, weeping sour, rotting juice. And yet, the night we’d bought this house, Julian had held me tight and sworn: “This is *our* home, Evelyn. Just the two of us. No one else can ever intrude on us here.” Now every corner reeked of their late-night parties, their games, their laughter. It wasn’t a home. It was a hotel suite for entertaining friends. At two in the morning, the lock clicked. Julian walked in reeking of whiskey, a pink pastry box dangling from his hand. … It wasn’t a home. It was a hotel suite for entertaining friends. At two in the morning, the lock clicked. Julian walked in reeking of whiskey, a pink pastry box dangling from his hand. “Baby, don’t do this, okay?” He rubbed his temple, worn out. “It was just a joke at a party. Nothing personal. We’re getting married in a few days. Grow up a little.” He opened the box and pushed it toward me. “I made a detour to grab your favorite strawberry tart. Let me apologize on their behalf, hm?” I said nothing. I just stared coldly at the dainty little dessert. The tip of the tart had been bitten off. A perfect set of teeth marks was left behind. The truth was, I didn’t even like strawberries. Back in their circle, strawberry was the one flavor all five of them despised. So it was always the leftover they pushed onto me. Over time, they’d convinced themselves it was my favorite. My instincts told me: this half-eaten strawberry tart was Chloe’s discarded leftover. I lifted my head slowly. My voice was calm. “Call off the wedding, Julian.” “Chloe’s leftovers make me sick.” The evasion in his eyes flashed into anger. “Evelyn! Could you be any *more* sensitive?” His voice rose. “It’s just a dessert—do you have to conjure up an entire soap opera out of it? Chloe and I ended a long time ago! You’re on me like a paranoid guard dog every single day, and I’m exhausted!” I laughed, cold and sharp, and stared right through him. “*I* make you tired? I’d think the past four years of you and everyone else putting on a full-scale performance behind my back would be a lot more exhausting.” Julian and I had been together since high school. Then he left for Europe to study, and we survived four years long-distance. When he finally came back, he suddenly had every excuse in the book to delay the wedding. All of my friends kept telling me, “A man has to focus on his career first. Pushing him too hard will ruin his work.” So I waited, foolishly, for him to give me a title. Only tonight did I understand—for the seven years of our relationship, he and Chloe had never actually ended. No wonder he never once posted me on Instagram or Facebook as his girlfriend. Even in group photos, if half my shoulder was visible in the frame, he’d delete it within seconds and repost it cropped. I once asked him, in tears, why. He just stroked my hair, indulgent. “Silly girl. I’m protecting you. There are too many dangers in our circle.” Back then, I was naïve enough to think it was consideration. Now I understood. He wasn’t afraid others would envy me. He was afraid the girl he kept tucked away in his heart would *see* me.

“Julian. Sarah told me everything.” I took a step back, dodging his touch. “Haven’t you performed enough?” … “Julian. Sarah told me everything.” I took a step back, dodging his touch. “Haven’t you performed enough?” The color drained from Julian’s face. Panicking, he stretched his arms open to pull me in. “Evelyn, it’s not what you think! Let me explain—” “Don’t touch me!” Nausea surged in my stomach. I threw him off with everything I had. In the struggle, my elbow slammed hard into his lower back. “*Ah—*” Julian doubled over in agony, folded like a shrimp, and crashed to the floor with a strangled groan. I froze. Cold sweat soaked through my back in an instant. Julian had a serious old lumbar injury—one he’d gotten in senior year of high school, saving me. That night, I was walking home alone when a group of drunken vagrants cornered me. He came charging in with a baseball bat and took the beating in my place. Three of his ribs were broken. He was left with permanent nerve damage in his lower back. He’d been forced to give up his shot as an Olympic-track swimmer. For countless nights afterward, guilt kept me awake. But Julian, lying in his hospital bed, would grip my hand through the pain and kiss my forehead so gently. “Evelyn, my pearl. If something had happened to you, what would any of that glory even *mean*?” Back then, he really would have laid down his life for me. And now, he was the one grinding my heart into dust. I drew in a deep breath and calmly dialed 911. Half an hour later, I rode in the ambulance with him to Presbyterian Hospital. After swiping my card at the front desk for the emergency bill, I realized I’d left my trench coat draped over the chair outside his room. I doubled back. Through the glass window of the ER, I heard soft, coquettish sobbing from inside. “Does she even *know* how bad your back is?! How dare that lunatic put her hands on you?!” On the bed, Julian was gingerly lifting his hand, brushing tears from Chloe’s cheek. His voice was so tender it could have dripped water. “Don’t cry, Chloe… I’m not in pain. It’s my fault. I handled things badly between the two of you. I owe her an apology.” Chloe sniffled, her voice thick with resentment. “Are you really going to marry a woman that emotionally unstable? You two will *never* be happy! I regret it so much… If I hadn’t run off overseas out of spite back then, the woman marrying you should have been *me*!” Julian was silent. His silence was his agreement. If not for Julian’s gravely ill father wanting a docile housewife of a daughter-in-law, he would never have chosen me. Then Chloe, overcome with emotion, leaned down and kissed him on the lips. My blood turned to ice. … If not for Julian’s gravely ill father wanting a docile housewife of a daughter-in-law, he would never have chosen me. Then Chloe, overcome with emotion, leaned down and kissed him on the lips. My blood turned to ice. I was about to shove the door open—when a savage force yanked me back by the collar! *Crack!* The back of my skull struck cold brick. My vision blacked out instantly. Before I could even cry out, I was being hauled roughly around the corner of the stairwell at the end of the hallway. I forced my eyes open. Standing over me were the other four members of that little circle. Victoria stepped forward first, arms crossed, eyes brimming with condescension and disgust. “Evelyn. Since you already know, we’re not going to bother pretending anymore. You should be clear about one thing: the only woman Julian has ever loved is Chloe.” Lucas twirled a Zippo lighter in his fingers. “Evelyn, have some *dignity*. Don’t stand in the way of true love.” Mia leaned in, matter-of-fact. “Wake up. Julian only agreed to marry you as a tactic to force Chloe home from abroad. It’s called relationship gamesmanship. Get it?” I had done nothing wrong. And yet they’d convinced themselves I was the malicious homewrecker. Seeing me lying there, silent, Sarah crouched down. “I’m doing this for you too, Evelyn. Even if you strong-arm Julian into marrying you, he’ll never love you.” She pulled out her phone and thrust the screen at me—the group chat between the five of them on iMessage. “You know every time Julian said he was working late at the office? He was out shopping with Chloe.” “You know his phone’s Face ID was set to two faces? His own, and Chloe’s.” “You know the person highlighted on his Apple Calendar was Chloe’s menstrual cycle, and the person pinned at the top of his WhatsApp was her?” “Even that custom cake you got for your birthday last year? Chloe had already turned down that design.” “We kept it from you because we were afraid you—unhinged as you are—would hurt Chloe. Do yourself a favor and disappear.” Sarah added, with a cold smile, “If you try to make trouble for her, the four of us will make sure you regret it.”

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Five years with Leon Carter. And this is our second time standing outside the Manhattan City Clerk’s office. Right before we hit the front desk,he turned to me. “Jane,I’m sorry.I can’t do this.” “Chloe took a shot for me at the party last night and drank herself into the ER…I can’t just leave her.” I stared into his deep blue eyes,remembering the exact same scene a year ago. Right before getting our license,I caught him cheating. He cried,claiming he was so drunk he thought she was me,begging for one more chance. When I said no,he threatened to jump off the 42nd floor,screaming he couldn’t live without me. I caved. And now? He pointed at a fat,balding white guy hanging around outside. “I just asked around.That guy owns two places in Brooklyn,no baggage.” “Just marry him today. That way I won’t feel bad about wasting your youth.” I looked down at the crumpled marriage application in my hand. Our names were printed right next to each other. Too bad for him. This time,I’m not caving. … “Not interested?” Leon arched an eyebrow and let out a laugh. He snatched the application from my hand and shoved it into his suit pocket. “Okay then,just forget about it.” He never actually wanted me to marry that balding guy. It was just a sick joke. A joke to test my limits,to prove to himself that I couldn’t live without him. Seeing me freeze,Leon reached out and ruffled my hair,his tone softening. “Jane,I knew you couldn’t walk away from me.” “I was just messing with you. That’s what you get for checking my phone yesterday and pissing me off.” “Chloe is just an old friend from college. She drank that shot for me and burned a hole right through her stomach. I can’t just ignore her.” I swatted his hand away and took a step back. Leon’s hand froze in mid-air.His jaw tightened. “Jane,are you seriously throwing a tantrum right now?” “I told you it was a joke.What more do you want?” “Are you trying to make me do something crazy again just to prove a point?” A year ago,he stood on the edge of the penthouse terrace,eyes red,screaming. Swearing that if I left him,he would kill himself. I thought that was love. I thought I finally found someone willing to risk his life just to keep me. But now I saw the truth. It was just a tactic to control me. He preyed on the fact that I grew up in a group home in the Bronx. Desperate for a real family. All he had to do was throw me a few crumbs of twisted affection,and I’d forgive him. “Fine.We won’t get married.” I looked at him,my voice dead calm. Leon paused. Normally,I’d be crying.Clinging to him.Begging him not to leave. But he just chuckled,slipping right back into his arrogant smirk. “There you go.Good girl.” “We can sign the papers later.It’s not like you have anywhere else to go.” “I have a meeting on Wall Street this afternoon. Take a cab back to the Upper East Side.” He spun around and strode off,looking so damn smug. He was probably laughing to himself,thinking no matter how much he humiliated me, I’d always be waiting at home for him like a loyal dog. Instinctively,I touched my stomach. In my purse sat an ultrasound report from a private Manhattan hospital. Six weeks pregnant. I had planned to give it to him as a wedding gift after we signed the papers. Now,it was nothing but a cruel joke. I pulled out the report,tore it into tiny pieces,and dropped it into the nearest trash can. Then,I headed back to the apartment we shared. He bought this place after his venture capital firm took off. When he handed me the keys,he told me this was my home now. I believed him. I decorated the place exactly like my dream home. Picked out every single thing myself. Looking at it all now,it just felt ironic. I pulled out my suitcase and started packing. It wasn’t much. No designer bags.No jewelry. I only packed the old clothes I bought myself. And the old tin box I took from my group home. Inside was my only keepsake—a rusty little pocket watch. It was all my birth parents left behind when they abandoned me. Leon once tried to throw it down the garbage disposal because he thought it was dirty. I had to fight him to get it back. I clenched the watch in my palm.The cold metal grounded me. Halfway through packing,Leon came back. I zipped up my suitcase. Just as I reached the top of the spiral staircase,I heard a sickly-sweet female voice coming from downstairs. “Leon…is Jane gonna be pissed?”

Chloe stood in the entryway,wearing the matching slippers I had made by hand. With her blonde hair and that innocent,harmless face,she looked like someone who just screamed”protect me.” Leon had his arm wrapped around her waist. “This is my house.Who’s gonna complain?” He glanced up at me at the top of the stairs,his eyes turning ice-cold. “Chloe just moved to New York and hasn’t found the right apartment yet.” “With her stomach ulcer,I don’t feel comfortable putting her in a hotel. She’ll be staying in the guest room.” I stood on the steps,watching them cling to each other. A sharp pain pierced my chest,so deep that even drawing a breath hurt. For five years,I had never allowed a single outsider into this house. Leon used to promise me that this place was our private sanctuary. Now,not only had he backed out of our wedding,but he had brought another woman home. “If she’s staying here,where does that leave me?” Leon frowned,annoyed by the question. He let go of Chloe,walked to the bottom of the stairs,and looked up at me. “Jane,can you stop being so damn sensitive?” “I already told you,Chloe is just an old friend from college. Her ulcer ruptured because of me. Is it a crime to take care of her for a few days?” “You are still the lady of the house.That hasn’t changed!” “As long as you play nice and stop acting so paranoid,you’ll still get everything I promised you.” The lady of the house? A woman who wasn’t even worthy of a marriage certificate? A woman forced to watch her man play house with someone else? It was almost funny. I wasn’t the lady of the house. I was just a kept woman.A dirty little secret. Chloe flinched,acting as if it took all her courage just to speak to me. “Jane,please don’t be mad at Leon.This is all my fault…” “If me being here makes you uncomfortable,I can just go. I’ve slept in my car before.I’ll be fine.” Leon spun around and grabbed her hand,pressing her onto the leather sofa. His face softened with pity for her. “You’re still recovering!Don’t be ridiculous.” Then,he whipped his head back to glare at me,his eyes full of accusation. “Jane,do you really have to make everyone miserable?” “A year ago,you drove me to the edge of a roof,and now you want to drive away the woman who saved my life?” Looking at his self-righteous face,I almost laughed. Who pushed who a year ago? He always did this. Gaslighting me into taking the blame just to ease his own guilty conscience. I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to stay calm. “Do whatever you want.” I turned around. Sick of looking at them,I just wanted to finish packing. Leon thought I had caved again.The tension left his face. He jogged up the stairs,pulled an exquisite red velvet box from his suit pocket,and shoved it into my hand. “There you go.I love it when you’re reasonable.” “This is that Cartier diamond necklace you were eyeing last week. I had someone pick it up for you.” “So we didn’t sign the papers today. As long as you behave,there’s plenty of time for that later.” I stared at the expensive necklace in my hand. It felt like it was burning my skin. Whenever I showed the slightest hint of unhappiness,he would just throw a gift at me. He believed money could buy anything—even my dignity and my boundaries. I accepted the box without even opening it. God knows I wanted to throw the necklace right in his face. But I knew better. Doing that would only earn me another round of his humiliation. “Thank you.” Leon looked satisfied. He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Good girl.Now go make dinner. Chloe has been craving that creamy potato soup you make.” He turned and walked back down the stairs toward Chloe. I watched them exchange a smile. I stepped into my bedroom and shut the door,cutting off the sounds of their happy little reunion. I pulled out my phone and returned the call that had been buzzing in my pocket earlier. It was from the private clinic. “Miss Evans? This is regarding your termination procedure scheduled for 10:00 AM tomorrow. We just need to confirm you’ll be arriving on time.” “Confirmed.I’ll be there.”

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The day the wedding vows were revised for the third time, Devin and Margot got into another screaming match. One was my older sister. The other was my fiancé. Margot insisted on cutting the line “for richer or poorer.” She said it felt tired and incredibly cliché. Devin scoffed. “What do you know about it? The classics carry weight. That’s the whole point.” They argued in the church aisles, they argued through the tasting menu at the restaurant. They fought over the word count of the vows and tore each other apart over the processional music. By early evening, Margot called me. “I finally got Devin to cave. We’re keeping that stupid line, but the entrance music is being changed to an acoustic string cover of “Starlight”. I’ve already hired an arranger. Noelle, what do you think?” 01 Margot’s voice was a little hoarse—evidence of how long she’d been yelling. Yet her tone was distinctly elevated, triumphant. She sounded like she’d just won a war. Before she even finished her sentence, the other end of the line exploded. Devin’s voice chased after hers, the muffled rustle of the receiver making it obvious he was physically trying to wrestle the phone out of her hand. “I didn’t agree to a damn thing! You play dirty. You couldn’t win the argument so you resorted to kicking me under the table!” Margot’s voice dripped with venom. “Shut your mouth, you absolute dog.” Devin let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Why don’t you shut up? You threw the wedding binder at my head!” “I wouldn’t have thrown it if you weren’t crowding my space!” “I only crowded your space because I was trying to get the binder back!” “So you admit you grabbed it first! Hence, the throw!” “Margot, you are a complete psychopath.” I sat in my apartment, gripping my phone, listening to the volley of their voices. They grew louder and louder. Just like they had a thousand times before. Neither willing to yield a single inch. Until they finally remembered I was on the line. “Noelle, listen to me,” Margot demanded, breathless. “Tell him you agree with my vision. You do, right?” Devin wasn’t having it. “Noelle, don’t listen to a word she says.” He immediately pivoted back to Margot. “Why are you even asking her? Asking her is just forcing her to pick sides.” Margot let out a cold, sharp laugh. “She’s my little sister. So what if she takes my side?” “She’s my “fiancée”. Why the hell would she take yours?” I opened my mouth to speak. They started shouting over each other again. During a thirteen-minute phone call, I spoke exactly three words. “Hello.” “Yeah.” “Okay.” I slipped them into the microscopic fractures of their argument. It felt like trying to slide a sewing needle between two suffocating brick walls. 02 The strategic merger between the Hughes family and the Garrison family was originally supposed to be between Margot and Devin. They were the same age. They grew up in the same country clubs, attended the same prep schools. Our parents sat down over drinks at the estate three times, and the whole thing was practically signed in blood. Everyone was thrilled. Everyone except Margot and Devin. “Marry him? Are you out of your minds?” Margot had shrieked, face flushed with rage. “Just looking at him makes me want to break something.” Devin was equally dismissive, rolling his eyes. “Margot? Wow, thanks. I wouldn’t marry her if she were the last woman breathing on the Eastern Seaboard.” Both sets of parents tried to run interference. They offered the classic, wealthy-parent platitudes: “Feelings take time to grow. Love is built on partnership. You’ll figure it out.” Margot went nuclear. “I am never marrying Devin Hughes. If you’re so desperate for this corporate alliance, you have another daughter. Give him Noelle. From what I can tell, they get along just fine.” She wasn’t even afraid of sounding ridiculous. Me and Devin? We were acquaintances, at best. Over the course of our entire lives, we had exchanged maybe ten sentences. She was just using my name to disgust him, to make him uncomfortable. But Devin’s reaction threw the entire room off its axis. He looked away. A faint flush crept up his neck, and suddenly, this brash, confident heir couldn’t even form a straight sentence. “If… if it’s Noelle, I wouldn’t be opposed to that. Noelle is quiet. She’s sweet. She listens. Actually, I… I like Noelle quite a bit.” Just like that, the tides turned. The dying embers of our parents’ grand alliance roared back to life. And in the end, the name next to Devin’s on the wedding invitations was mine. 03 But once the engagement was set, Margot suddenly decided Devin wasn’t good enough for me. She stomped her feet. She hunted him down just to berate him. “When exactly did you start looking at Noelle like that? Have you been creeping on her this whole time? Who the hell do you think you are, Devin? You don’t deserve her.” Then she’d turn to me, eyes blazing with righteous indignation. “He’s a player, Elle. He has zero moral compass. Don’t let the tailored suits and the polite manners fool you. Underneath it all, he is an absolute animal.” Because of this, she appointed herself my personal watchdog. Whenever she and Devin were in the same room, it was a bloodbath. They were at each other’s throats instantly. She audited his friends, she interfered with his weekend plans. Above all, she strictly forbade him from being alone with any other women. “You’re overstepping,” Devin would snap. Margot would stand tall, utterly unapologetic. “I am protecting my sister’s investment. I am guarding your so-called purity for her, and I will be watching you like a hawk.” Eventually, they became the social circle’s favorite spectacle. The bickering childhood enemies. Someone at a cocktail party once joked, “Honestly, you two give off major enemies-to-lovers energy.” Margot had been furious. She dragged Devin over to me, practically spitting mad. “Don’t listen to those idiots, Elle. I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. If I actually wanted him, do you think you’d even be standing next to him right now?” I just smiled pleasantly and nodded. “Of course,” I said softly. “I believe you.” 04 My wedding to Devin was fast approaching. My family was rooted in Boston, but my art restoration studio was in Providence. Every weekend, I took the Amtrak up to play my part. Cake tastings, guest list audits, dress fittings. In reality, I was nothing more than a prop. Every single detail of my wedding was born out of a screaming match between Margot and Devin. They fought over the vintage of the champagne, the shade of the floral centerpieces, the font on the RSVP cards, and the brand of the artisan chocolates in the gift bags. It got so intense that our mother eventually teased Margot over brunch, “Darling, at this rate, you might as well be the one marrying him.” Whenever that happened, Margot would flinch, acting incredibly defensive. “I told you I can’t stand him! Why does everyone keep trying to push us together?” Today was my final dress fitting. Two gowns made the final cut, and it was time to choose. Devin drove over early to pick me up. We ran into Margot just as she was walking out the front door. She looked stunning. A tight designer slip dress, strappy heels, her hair blown out into perfect waves, makeup flawlessly understated. Devin took one look at her and raised an eyebrow. “Looking a little desperate today. Where are you going?” Margot’s eyes narrowed. She grabbed the hem of her dress and actually tried to kick his shin. Devin, having clearly anticipated the move, sidestepped it effortlessly. She scoffed, adjusting her purse. “I’m in a fantastic mood today, so I’m not going to stoop to your level.” Devin’s jaw shifted. His eyes swept over her, unreadable. Then, in a low voice, he said, “We’re going to the bridal boutique. You coming?” Margot rolled her eyes. “It’s not my wedding. Why would I go?” “Oh, so now you remember it’s not your wedding? Funny, considering you threw the floral samples in the trash yesterday.” “I threw them away because they were hideous.” “Hideous? You just have zero taste.” Just as they were about to spiral into another shouting match, Margot abruptly snapped her mouth shut. She rolled her eyes and shoved past him. “I don’t have time to entertain you. Move.” She strutted down the driveway, leaving Devin staring blankly at her retreating back. His expression was tight, caught somewhere between fury and something much heavier. I walked up beside him. “Is everything okay?” He immediately forced a smile, his voice dropping into that gentle cadence he always used with me. “It’s nothing. Come on, let’s go.” Devin was a powder keg around Margot, but whenever we were alone, he was mild. Polite. Considerate. He would carry the conversation, trying to make me laugh. Even though I was quiet and rarely gave him much of a reaction, he never seemed to mind. But today, the interior of the car was dead silent. I don’t know how many miles passed before he spoke. He tried to make it sound incredibly casual. “So, your sister looked like she was on a mission today. Where’s she off to?” I glanced at him. I didn’t say a word. He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. “I mean, just asking. If you don’t know…” “She’s on a date.” My voice was flat. Emotionless. Devin slammed his foot on the brake. “What did you just say?” My body jerked forward violently, the seatbelt locking and yanking me back against the leather. I frowned, rubbing my collarbone. “That hurt,” I said, annoyed. Devin didn’t even hear me. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Where did you say she went?” I looked up, meeting his manic gaze. “A date. Is there a problem?” Devin let out a harsh, breathless laugh. “No. Nothing. Great.” For the rest of the drive, the air pressure in the car was so heavy it felt hard to breathe. When we finally pulled up to the bridal shop, Devin didn’t turn off the ignition. “You go on in. I need a cigarette.” I murmured an acknowledgment, stepped out of the car, and followed the bridal consultant inside. “Miss Garrison, would you like to get into the first gown?” she asked warmly. I shook my head, taking a sip of the sparkling water they offered. “No rush. I’m going to wait a bit.” I waited for nearly twenty minutes. When Devin finally walked through the glass doors, he was walking fast, his face completely rigid. “Noelle, there’s an emergency at the firm. I have to head back right now. Can we reschedule the fitting?” 05 Devin left. I stood in the mirrored room, staring at the two final gowns hanging on the rack. One was the dress Margot had pushed for. The other was the one I liked. I pointed to the one Margot chose. “I’ll take that one. I don’t need to try it on.” Leaving the boutique, I didn’t go back to my parents’ house in Boston. I took the train straight back to Providence. An antique dealer had recently brought a piece to my studio. It was a 19th-century oil painting, a breathtaking landscape from the Hudson River School. The composition was brilliant, but there was a deep, jagged tear straight through the canvas, and the paint was badly flaking along the edges. It required patching, reweaving the canvas threads, and painstaking color matching. Half a month’s worth of meticulous labor. I was right at the finish line. Back in my studio, I pulled an all-nighter, hunched under the magnifying lamp until it was perfect. After I delivered the piece, collected the final payment, and closed the file, my phone buzzed. It was Devin. “Noelle, do you have some time? We need to talk.” His tone was grave. He had never spoken to me like that before. I narrowed my eyes slightly, my fingernail tapping lightly against my work desk. “I’m catching an afternoon train back to Boston,” I said. “Let’s do dinner tonight. With the families.” “Perfect. I actually have something I need to tell you, too.” 06 I arrived at the restaurant at seven. Both sets of parents were already there, chatting amicably over drinks. My mother was smiling. “Our Noelle is a bit reserved. She’s not as outgoing or charming as Margot, so you’ll have to be patient with her once they’re married.” Devin’s mother waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, stop it. I adore Noelle. Look at her—so well-behaved, so poised. I always tell my friends how jealous I am of you. Two daughters. Two absolute blessings.” I sat there, letting their voices wash over me like white noise, and quietly ordered for the table. Moments later, the heavy oak doors pushed open. Devin and Margot walked in together. They were standing incredibly close. But the second they looked up and realized how many eyes were on them, they froze, immediately jumping apart. It was a clumsy, guilty reaction. Luckily for them, I was the only one paying attention. “Margot, Devin, you’re here. Sit down,” my father commanded. “Waiter, we’re ready for the appetizers.” Devin and Margot exchanged a loaded look. Both of them looked physically ill. Devin took the empty chair beside me. Margot sat on his other side. “So, what’s the occasion tonight?” Devin asked, his voice strained. His mother looked at him, confused. “You didn’t know? Noelle told us she had a major announcement to make.” Every single eye at the table turned to me. I only looked at Margot. She stiffened, her eyes darting away in sheer panic. Devin frowned, his jaw clenched. “Noelle. What are you talking about?” I stood up. “I’m calling off the wedding.”

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