Travis filed the divorce papers the very hour his retirement party ended. In the courtroom, his eyes darted from the judge to the metallic brace on my left leg—the one I’ve dragged behind me for forty years—before he spoke. “Forty years, Sutton. Forty years of looking at that… that mangled limb. I’m done.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper meant only for the court reporter. “Our marriage was always transactional, a business deal. But this job—being your husband—it’s been too heavy. It’s crushed my future. Sutton Hayes,” he used my full maiden name, the name he’d stripped from me for decades, “I don’t have another forty years to waste. Please, just let me go.” He forgot, of course, that the mangling of that leg was the only reason he ever escaped the dead-end farms and secured that coveted Union appointment, the one that guaranteed his comfortable retirement today. The cruel reality hit me like a physical blow, leaving a taste of blood in my throat. I swallowed it down. “Fine,” I said, my voice steady. “But you walk out with nothing.” Except, when the judge revealed the asset disclosures, there was less than two thousand dollars remaining in our accounts. The rest? Travis had systematically drained it for two decades, sending continuous, undisclosed payments to fund the private-school education and trust fund of Cassidy’s son—his ‘perfect memory’s’ child. My vision went black, and I felt myself pitching forward. The last thing I saw was Travis, not rushing to catch me, but his tear-filled eyes locked on the gallery, desperately seeking out Cassidy, his first, true love, his perfect memory. When I next opened my eyes, I was back. Back to the exact day I was scheduled to sign the final paperwork, exchanging my crippled leg for Travis’s guaranteed job and city status. This time, I didn’t hesitate. I chose the massive, life-changing financial settlement and a ticket to the medical mecca of Boston for treatment. Travis, I was cutting you loose. Sink or swim, but you will not drag me down with you. … I sat, shell-shocked, in the Human Resources office of the old Raleigh Textile Plant. The suffocating despair from the courtroom—from my past life—still clung to my chest like static. Bethany, the HR sister who’d always looked out for me, kept sighing, trying to talk me out of it. “Sweetie, are you absolutely sure you want to pass up the full disability settlement for just the spousal transfer? For his job?” She frowned, stacking the thick files. “It’s not my place to tell you what to do, Sutton, but some things—like cash—are only yours when you hold them. Once this confirmation is submitted, there’s no going back. That money goes to the plant.” I stared at the paperwork on the desk. I, Sutton Hayes, voluntarily waive all rights to a disability settlement and all compensation from the Textile Plant. My sole demand is that the Plant resolve the city transfer and Union Appointment for my husband, Travis Hayes. The job, the transfer, the city life—everything he desperately craved was laid out on the table. My mind replayed the memory of him kneeling before me, forty years ago, his eyes swimming with what I thought was love. “Sutton, you only lost a leg, but I will devote my life to you. I swear it.” “Please, give me this chance to stay in the city, to secure our future. Only then can we be together forever.” I never dreamed that his promise of “forever” would be nothing more than a cheap, ill-written script. The minute the curtain fell, the minute he retired, he walked out and filed the suit. Before court, he’d stood over me, his words cold and flat. “Sutton Hayes, I hate that I sacrificed my dignity and my true heart for that job and transfer. I married you, and I missed out on the one person I was meant to be with.” “I endured you for forty years. I’m not wasting another minute.” My brain, self-punishing, kept looping the image of him running, relieved, to Cassidy. Tears, hot and sudden, spilled over. They splattered onto my left thigh, a sharp jolt of pain pulling me back from the horrific trance. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, reached for the Waiver and Transfer Form that Bethany held out to me. Then, without another thought, I tore it in half, then into quarters, then into unreadable shreds. “Bethany, you’re right,” I said, my voice strong for the first time in four decades. “I don’t want the spousal appointment. I want the full disability settlement.” I pushed the scraps back across the desk. “I also want to petition for an immediate, extended leave of absence. I’m going to Boston. To fix my leg.” Stepping out of HR, I immediately saw Travis standing by the Plant entrance. And just behind him, partially hidden, was the perfect memory—Cassidy. A cold, hard sneer crossed my face. Travis, this leg, the one that has crippled my life for decades, will no longer be your stepping stone. I wonder if you two can manage to be as miserable as you were the first time around. Seeing me emerge, Travis’s eyes flashed with urgency. He rushed forward a few steps, lowering his voice. “Sutton, did you sign it? Where is my Appointment Letter?” I gripped my aluminum cane tightly, leaning back a deliberate half-step. My eyes landed directly on Cassidy’s face, which was peeking out from behind Travis’s shoulder. “What is she doing here?” I asked, my voice chilling. Cassidy scoffed, her eyes sweeping over me before landing pointedly on my immobile leg. She gave a little upturn of her lips—a hint of viciousness—but her voice was soft, laced with false weakness. “Oh, Sutton, honey, I just heard your injury can’t be fixed. That you’ll be on that cane for the rest of your life.” She sighed theatrically. “I just wanted to come comfort you. But if I’ve made you upset, I’ll leave right away.” Travis frowned, stepping protectively in front of Cassidy. He fought to mask the clear impatience in his eyes, but his voice was already tinged with ice. “Don’t make a scene, Sutton. Leave Cassidy alone.” He softened his tone, trying to sound reassuring, manipulative. “Look, I secured the job and the transfer. I’ll marry you. I don’t care if you have to use that cane for life, I don’t mind.” I let a harsh, dry laugh escape my lips. They were so sure. They were both convinced I would waive the cash, that I’d be forced to remain dependent on him, a permanently disabled woman with no money for proper treatment. But in my previous life, less than a year after the wedding, Travis had claimed his new job was too demanding and moved out of our home and into the employee dorms. He never touched me. I remember once, in my pathetic desperation, wanting to try to conceive a child to anchor him to me. But he wouldn’t even come near my bed. It wasn’t until the night Cassidy got married that he came home drunk, stumbling through the door. He threw the liquor bottle at my twisted, ugly leg, his voice venomous and cold. “Do you know what people say about me behind my back? They pity me! They say I had to crawl to a cripple just to get a decent life!” “You’re not a woman! You look like a monster! Sutton Hayes, the sight of you is disgusting.” God, the sheer revulsion. I squeezed my eyes shut, choking down the burning acid of that memory. When I looked at him again, the last embers of forty years of resentment were gone. All that remained was cold, surgical mockery. “Travis,” I said, making sure every word landed like a tiny knife point. “Did you want the Appointment Letter so you could marry me, or so you could get your hands on the Plant’s Union transfer and city status?” Travis’s face instantly went pale, his composure shattered. He stared at me, disbelief warring with humiliation, rage, and a sudden, panicked fear. Having been his wife, I knew exactly where to twist the blade. His pride, his carefully constructed reputation—it all lay under my heel. He clenched his jaw, about to speak. But Cassidy burst out, shrieking, and hurled herself toward me. My injured leg couldn’t take the sudden impact. I collapsed hard onto the cement, my left thigh cracking with a fresh burst of pain. The blood immediately began to seep, staining the denim of my jeans. Cassidy was crying, pointing down at me, her voice shaking with righteous fury. “Sutton Hayes, how dare you humiliate Travis like that!” “Do you think all of us who grew up in the country have no dignity? Do we have to put up with your insults? He already agreed to marry you! What else do you want?” She wept, positioning herself as a shield in front of Travis, ready to sacrifice herself for his honor. I struggled, splayed on the ground, unable to get up. The crumpled, voided Appointment Letter, which I had somehow managed to hold onto, slipped from my pocket and landed near my head. Travis’s eyes lit up. He snatched the paper from the ground. He devoured the few lines of text, his fingers visibly trembling. Finally, his gaze drifted back to me. “I’ll be at the Registrar’s office tomorrow morning…” As he spoke, Cassidy made a show of trying to help me up, but her shoe ground itself heavily onto my already throbbing, injured thigh. She leaned close, her eyes filled with the cold venom of a viper. The pain, coupled with the outrage, made me tremble uncontrollably. I lunged to push her away, but before I could make contact, she staggered backward, letting out a piercing scream. “Sutton! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have lost my temper!” she wailed, clutching her side. “You can hit me all you want! It’s my fault! I was just so worried he wouldn’t get the letter after all his hard work getting back from the country, and that you were deliberately trying to hurt him.” Cassidy’s calculated fall sent Travis into a total frenzy. He quickly pulled her into his arms, anxiously checking her over. Then, he turned on me, his grip tight on my arm, his voice a guttural, ugly sound torn from his lungs. “Sutton Hayes, what in God’s name are you doing?!” “Apologize to Cassidy. Now.” I yanked my arm away. The extreme surge of emotion left me hyperventilating, my voice shaking. “Apologize for what?” Travis held the weeping Cassidy close, his cold, flat gaze sweeping over my entire body. I met his stare with my own, my eyes burning with a blinding, desperate hatred. “Travis, what gives you the right?” He flinched, instinctively reaching out to help me, lying there bleeding on the pavement. But Cassidy whimpered in his arms. “Sutton, please, don’t hurt him like this. He worked so hard to get back from the farm, he’s suffered so much. Just help him. You lost a leg, but without this chance, Travis will lose the rest of his entire life.” Travis snapped back to attention. He looked down at Cassidy, his expression a mixture of profound tenderness and complex guilt. “Cassidy… thank you.” How bitterly laughable. I was the one who was permanently damaged, the one who sacrificed my future, yet his entire focus was on her, moved by a few simple, self-serving words. I forced myself to sit up despite the searing pain, firing back a question, my voice thick with derision. “By what right do you demand anything of me? Cassidy, don’t overestimate your importance.” Before I could finish, Travis cut me off with a high, contemptuous laugh. “Sutton Hayes, the one who’s overestimating her importance is you.” He dropped the final hammer. “Who else is going to take on a dependent, jobless cripple now, Sutton? Besides me?” With that, Travis folded the Appointment Letter, tucked it into his shirt pocket, and, without a glance at my bleeding, injured body, took Cassidy’s hand and strode away. Snuggled into his side, Cassidy turned back and gave me a smirk, a triumphant curve of her lips. I watched their backs recede, then slowly, painfully, used the wall to pull myself up. I wiped the last of the tears from my face and drew my eyes inward, cold and remote. Travis. Did you really think one signed-but-voided piece of paper would guarantee you everything you want? Dream on. The next day, I finalized the last of my paperwork—the extended leave and the full disability settlement. As I headed out, I saw Travis again. He was standing motionless by the Plant gate, his face like a thundercloud, his eyes dark with simmering rage as they tracked me. Cassidy was quick to intercept. She rushed at me, her hand raised to strike. “Sutton Hayes, why would you destroy my reputation! Why would you spread those lies about me being married and having a child in the country!” “I hope you die!” I didn’t expect the blow. The slap landed hard, my head ringing. I raised my own hand, ready to strike back without thinking. But Travis grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in like a vice. He pinned me to the spot. “Sutton Hayes, I dare you to touch Cassidy!” Cassidy stopped crying, her head buried in his chest. She gave me a silent, vicious smirk over his shoulder. The suppressed anger of two lifetimes erupted. I tore my arm free. My eyes burned with a desperate fury, wanting to rip them both to shreds. In the struggle, Travis shoved me down. My suitcase went flying, its contents scattering on the ground. “Enough!” he roared. “Sutton Hayes, you destroyed Cassidy’s name with your rumors. You cost her the job she was just about to get. As compensation, I am not going to marry you. I’m going to marry Cassidy. This is what you owe her!” I bit down hard on my lower lip until I could taste metal. So, this was his grand plan? Trick me into waiving the settlement, secure the Appointment Letter, and then, presuming I was alone and helpless, abandon me and marry his perfect memory, all while claiming moral superiority? His careful scheme that ruined my previous life, leaving me broken and alone. Not this time. I swallowed the bloody taste in my mouth, painfully climbed back to my feet, and retrieved my suitcase. Travis reached out to stop me, but Cassidy subtly blocked him. “Travis, we need to get to the Plant Manager’s office right now for your enrollment.” She turned to me, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Sutton, honey, she’s just throwing a temper tantrum. She’ll come around once she accepts that you’ve moved on.” Behind me, Travis’s voice was low and heavy. “Sutton Hayes, apologize to Cassidy. If you do, I’ll still look out for you, for old times’ sake. Otherwise, you’ll regret this.” I managed a mocking twist of my lips. I didn’t look back as I walked away. Travis stared at my retreating back, his eyes dark and unreadable. Inside the Plant Manager’s office. Travis stood before Mr. Thompson, his hand cradling the cherished Appointment Letter. Beside him, Cassidy’s face was bright with expectation, already picturing their new city life. “Mr. Thompson, here it is. Which line are you putting me on?” Travis asked, a note of nervous reverence in his voice. The Plant Manager glanced at the thin sheet of paper, then offered a small, knowing chuckle. Travis frowned, struggling to maintain his composure. “Sir, I’m the spouse of Ms. Sutton Hayes. She was injured on the job and lost a leg for the Plant. This is my…” The word ‘compensation’ died in his throat. Travis’s attention had fixed on the document Mr. Thompson slid across the desk. It was the full Disability Settlement Confirmation—signed and stamped—the one I had torn up and then been given a clean copy of. His face went stiff. He snatched the paper, his eyes frantically scanning the text, his chest heaving. His voice was a choked, rasping sound. “Waived the spousal appointment and took the twenty thousand dollar settlement…?” “No. That’s impossible, Mr. Thompson. She promised me! She swore she would give me the job! I don’t believe it. The Plant must have forged this! I don’t believe it!” Mr. Thompson’s expression hardened. “Hardly. The Plant doesn’t forge signatures for a single Union Appointment.” He leaned forward. “You claim Ms. Hayes transferred her compensation to you. So, where is she? And, more importantly, what proof do you have that you are Ms. Hayes’s family? To my knowledge, Ms. Hayes worked here diligently for years, entirely focused on production, and has never married.” Travis’s knees buckled. He fell heavily into the chair behind him. He had no proof. In fact, he had just publicly announced he was going to marry Cassidy, not me. He had stood there, moments ago, high and mighty, warning me I’d regret my choices. The fog of smug excitement lifted from Travis’s brain. In one blinding flash of awareness, he saw all the details he had ignored in his haste to secure the Union Appointment. He realized the entire time, he had never been in control. And now, Sutton, the woman who had believed him, the woman who had loved him, had simply walked away and taken the table with her. His greedy, entitled scheme—his attempt to have his job, his wife, and his perfect memory—had become a pathetic joke. Travis gripped the Settlement Confirmation, his heart finally, truly, sinking into pure panic.

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Jax had his crew. Three guys, one girl. And that girl was the axis their whole world spun around. My roommates had warned me countless times to steer clear of that tight-knit quartet. I ignored them. It took a solid year of strategic pursuit, but I finally landed Jax. Before he brought me into their inner circle for the first time, Jax gave me a severe warning. “Stella is the cornerstone of this group, the one we all protect. If you do anything to make her feel uncomfortable, we’re done. You and me.” I nodded obediently, but on the inside, I was ecstatic. People like me thrive on subtly displacing the existing center of attention. 1 “You might be my girlfriend, Sasha, but Stella’s place in my life is the highest.” “If you want to be with me, you have to respect her. You have to love her.” My roommates nearly leaped across the room to curse him out after Jax finished his utterly ridiculous declaration. I clapped a hand over my closest roommate’s mouth, my eyes crinkling in a sweet, placating smile. “Of course. Your friends are my friends. I’m sure Stella and I will be best friends.” Seeing me act like a total doormat, my roommates sputtered with exasperation. “You’re a gorgeous girl, Sasha! An absolute catch! Why are you chasing after a guy who comes with that toxic group? You’ll regret this, I promise!” My friends left in a huff, but I paid them no mind, already linked intimately with Jax’s arm. “Come on,” I said, tugging him lightly. “We shouldn’t keep your friends waiting.” The moment the private room door swung open, my eyes zeroed in on the girl seated perfectly in the center. She wore a simple, white sundress. She was the quintessential girl-next-door archetype, the kind of pure, sweet beauty that guys universally label as ‘the goddess.’ Two handsome guys were perched on either side of her, their body language undeniably proprietary and close. I had expected this legendary “group sweetheart” to be spoiled or bratty. I was wrong. The second she saw me, she sprang up, rushing over to take my hands in hers with a rush of warmth. “You must be Jax’s new girlfriend! Wow, you’re gorgeous.” She turned, directing the other two men. “This is Kian and Spencer. Why are you two just standing there? Welcome the new member!” She introduced the other two guys in the group. Kian was the aggressive, short-haired type; Spencer was the one with glasses, the thoughtful-looking one. But beneath the surface of their polite greetings, I detected an unmistakable, vague hostility. Spencer offered a tight, forced smile, his hand leaving mine the second our palms touched. Kian, the buzzcut guy, simply crossed his arms, making zero effort to hide his disdain. I licked my lips, letting my smile deepen slightly. Stella kept chattering, holding my hands. “A beautiful girl like you—how did you fall for that jerk Jax? He’s such a handful!” Jax simply smiled, ruffling Stella’s hair with a familiar, easy affection. He then meticulously folded his jacket and placed it on her seat. “You’re on your period, Stell. Use this as a cushion. It’ll keep you a little warmer.” Stella glanced at me self-consciously. “Jax, stop. Sasha will get mad. Are you trying to stir up trouble between us?” The room went quiet for a beat. Jax’s brow immediately furrowed. I simply raised an eyebrow in faux-surprise, completely unbothered. “I would never get mad,” I chirped. “Jax already told me you’re the group’s sweetheart. Now that I’ve met you, I completely understand why. Such a pretty, sweet girl. It makes sense that the guys dote on you like a little sister.” The tension in the three guys’ faces instantly eased. Stella’s expression, however, stiffened almost imperceptibly. She quickly covered it up with a look of delighted surprise. “You’re so different from the other girls! Jax’s exes always ended up creating girl-on-girl drama with me. I always wanted to be friends with them, but they just… hated me.” She paused, looking down bashfully. “To keep me from getting hurt, the three of them actually stopped dating for a while.” 2 She gave Jax a slight, injured side-eye. “I can’t believe Jax got snagged by you. You must have some serious moves, Sasha.” I offered an ambiguous little laugh, pretending to be completely oblivious to the barbed compliment. The server began bringing out the food. I was acutely aware of Stella preparing her first move. I held my breath, waiting for the first formal confrontation. I truly hoped her game was a high-level one. I didn’t want to be disappointed. Stella’s shriek cut through the air. A plate of soup—lukewarm, thankfully—had spilled onto her dress and lap. Her face was contorted in a mask of pain. Before I could even offer a sympathetic hand to check her injury, Jax exploded, shoving me back onto the tiled floor. Kian was instantly on his feet, spitting mad. “I knew it! I knew these women were all the same. Acting so sweet and mature a minute ago, and now the mask is off, right?” Spencer adjusted his glasses, his face completely impassive as he laid out the accusation. “We promised we’d always protect Stella. No one gets to hurt her.” “You’ve been here five minutes, and your girlfriend is already hurting Stella out of jealousy. Jax, you need to give us an answer.” Jax’s face was dark with fury. “Sasha, apologize to Stella. Now!” Stella was huddled in the protective arms of the three guys, and she shot me a tiny, triumphant smirk over Jax’s shoulder. Any normal girl, faced with her boyfriend and his entire posse turning on her, would have flipped the table and walked out. But I wasn’t any normal girl. The tears came instantly, filling my eyes and hanging perfectly on the ledge of my lower lashes. My voice was thick with a calculated sob. “I’m so sorry, Stella. I didn’t notice you were trying to offer me the soup.” I turned my head slightly, presenting my most vulnerable profile. “I really love Jax, and I truly want to be your friend. You’re so kind, you’ll forgive me, won’t you?” Stella’s expression and body language froze. She managed a rigid smile. “Of course. Don’t blame Sasha, guys. It was just an accident.” I threw myself into Jax’s arms, my face tear-stained and my eyes looking up at him with a mix of pained adoration and faint accusation. For the first time, a flicker of guilt crossed Jax’s eyes. He put an arm around me, just about to speak, when Stella jumped in urgently. “Let’s go swimming! Jax, you said you’d teach me, remember? I even brought my suit.” Once Stella gave the order, no one bothered to check if I’d finished eating. The others immediately dropped their forks. “Let’s go.” The three of them surrounded Stella, ushering her out of the room like she was the single most precious object on earth. I followed behind, suddenly isolated. Jax glanced back at me, but Stella instantly leaned closer, asking him some urgent, nonsensical question about proper swimming form. Kian muttered unhappily from the side, “I’m a better swimmer than Jax. Let me teach you, Stell.” Stella chuckled sweetly. “One at a time, guys. Next time, it’s your turn.” The five of us soon arrived at the aquatic center. Stella, already in a modest, floral one-piece, held Jax’s arm without a shred of boundary. The second her toe hit the water, she let out a theatrical yelp and leaped into his arms. I emerged from the changing room, wearing the kind of bikini that demands attention, and caught the entire display. “Jax,” I called out, making sure my voice carried. “I don’t know how to swim, either. Could you teach me?” The three guys turned to look at me, and their eyes were instantly filled with undisguised appreciation. To be a successful bitchy practitioner, the right hardware is essential. I saw the lingering glances of other men in the pool area drift my way. Jax’s face darkened instantly. 3 He instinctively loosened his grip on Stella, making a move toward me. But Stella snagged his hand, smiling widely in my direction. “Sorry, Sasha. Jax is mine today.” Jax froze, rubbing his neck. “I promised to teach Stella first. Just wait your turn.” They both slid into the water. Stella immediately began flailing, clinging to Jax like a human barnacle. As I stood watching, a complete stranger walked up to me and smoothly offered a pickup line. “Hey, beautiful. I can teach you how to swim.” Jax, looking over from the water, saw the exchange and his face went instantly dark. “She’s my girlfriend. Mind your own business.” The stranger looked from Jax to the girl plastered to his chest and gave a look of pure contempt. “Got one in your arms and one on the sidelines, huh? Not a lot of respect for your girl.” Jax bristled, immediately angry. “What did you say? Stella is just my little sister.” “A ‘little sister’ you’re kissing in the water? Sure.” The stranger’s sarcasm was so spot-on that I almost burst out laughing. Seeing Jax truly losing his temper, and worried about a scene, I quickly intervened. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I’ll just chill out for a bit.” The stranger gave up reluctantly, but not before delivering a final jab. “Here’s my number. When you break up with this guy, give me a call.” Once the stranger was gone, Jax glared at me, his expression nasty. “Those guys are just looking to take advantage of you. Can you be a little more careful?” I looked at him forlornly. “But I’m so bored sitting here alone. If you’re busy teaching Stella, could Kian or Spencer teach me instead?” “You’re all such close friends. They won’t try anything, right?” Kian, sitting nearby, snapped his head up. “Who said I wanted to take advantage of you? Don’t flatter yourself.” I didn’t take offense. “So, it’s settled. You two can teach me.” Kian and Spencer were roped into the job. They reluctantly helped me into the water, carefully keeping their distance. Then, Stella’s dissatisfied voice drifted over. “Jax, can you focus, please?” I looked over and met Jax’s gaze. Ever since I got in the water, he’d been completely distracted, his eyes constantly flicking over to me, which was clearly starting to piss Stella off. I gave him a quick blink. Then, my foot seized up with a cramp. I immediately lost all strength and tumbled straight into Kian’s embrace. Kian went stock-still, paralyzed, unable to move a muscle. “My foot hurts so bad. Could you rub it for me? I forgot to stretch before getting in the water.” I whispered the request near Kian’s ear, then glanced across at Spencer with a pained expression. Spencer paused for a moment, then dove underwater to massage my calf. “Kian!” Stella’s high-pitched, almost shrill voice suddenly exploded. Kian flinched, immediately pulling away from me and swimming toward Stella. The abrupt movement sent me sinking. I choked on a gulp of water. In the sheer panic of drowning, I instinctively wrapped myself around Spencer’s body, locking my mouth onto his to suck in oxygen. Spencer’s eyes went wide with shock. Once the cramp subsided, I scrambled out of the water, looking completely distraught. Spencer’s eyes darted away, mortified, unable to meet my gaze. The second I was on deck, Stella marched over, her face indignant. “Sasha, you’re Jax’s girlfriend! How can you be so intimate with Kian?” “Kissing and hugging in front of everyone—where is Jax supposed to put his face?” 4 I put on a hurt expression, about to offer a pitiful explanation, when both Spencer and Kian’s voices rang out simultaneously. “Sasha just had a cramp; it wasn’t intentional. Stella, stop talking about her like that.” “Some body contact is normal when you’re teaching someone to swim, Stell. You and Jax were hugging the whole time, and Sasha didn’t say anything.” The air around the group instantly fell silent. Stella’s eyes went wide, hurt, and she started to tear up. “You guys are yelling at me—for her?” Kian and Spencer, having spoken before thinking, looked stunned themselves. It was clear they hadn’t meant to defend me. Seeing Stella cry, they were instantly filled with regret. Kian quickly grabbed Stella’s hand, using it to hit his own face. “I’m sorry, Stella. I wasn’t yelling. You can hit me all you want to vent your anger.” Spencer tenderly wiped the tears from her face. “Please don’t cry, Stella.” Jax’s face was green with anger. He couldn’t help but say sourly, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think Sasha was your girlfriend. You’re reacting more than I am, and I’m her actual boyfriend.” Spencer closed his mouth, looking guilty. Kian raised his voice, defensive. “Girlfriend? Are you serious? I only want Stella. I don’t need any girlfriend!” After another long session of cajoling, Stella finally managed a tearful smile. Just as I thought she might settle down, she looked right at me. Our eyes met, and my professional bitchy radar immediately started buzzing. “Sasha, I really thought we could be friends. But I see you’re just like the others. The first thing you did when you joined the group was try to sow discord between the four of us.” “But your methods are so much more effective. They’ve never been this mean to me for an outsider.” Stella’s tone was filled with genuine sadness. “Why? We’re both girls. Why can’t we just get along? Why do you have to create girl-on-girl drama with me?” As Stella spoke, I felt Spencer’s gaze on me instantly turn cold and distant. Kian reverted to the open hostility he’d displayed when we first met. Jax’s face hardened. “Sasha, were you really doing this on purpose?” Wow, I thought to myself. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Wasn’t Stella the one who had been waging an endless emotional war? No wonder this clique had such an infamous reputation. Jax, Kian, and Spencer were all good-looking guys, yet girls steered clear of them. Their ex-girlfriends must have suffered under Stella, the ever-present, faux-innocent, childhood friend. Well, she’d met her match. Time for a lesson. I blinked, letting the tears well up. “I’m sorry, Stella. I just let Kian and Spencer help me because Jax was so focused on teaching you. I was bored.” “I thought we were already friends, and you considered me part of the group. I guess I was fooling myself.” I lowered my head, my lip trembling as I bit it until it turned white. I managed to suppress my sobs as I looked at Jax. “Let’s break up.” Jax’s eyes widened in shock. A flicker of annoyance mixed with something else crossed his face. “If it was an accident, then it was an accident. It’s no big deal. Who said anything about breaking up?” “Don’t overthink this. Stella is always telling us to find good girlfriends. She truly wants to be your friend.” Kian and Spencer chimed in awkwardly. “Yeah, Stella was just venting. She loves hanging out with other girls.” Stella was trapped. She could only force a smile. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it, her expression innocent and sweet. “Sasha, what are you saying? I truly want to be your friend, that’s why I was so sad.” “I’m relieved you weren’t intentionally trying to break us up.” Jax frowned slightly, a hint of suspicion touching his face at the odd phrasing of Stella’s words. But he quickly dismissed the feeling, reaching out to put his arm around my shoulder. “Didn’t you want to learn to swim? I’ll teach you personally. Kian and Spencer can help Stella today.” I stepped back, evading his embrace. My voice was choked with tears, but firm. “No. I want to break up with you.” Jax was clearly bewildered. “Why?” Stella’s eyes darted around anxiously. “Sasha, you still care that I exist, don’t you?” Her mournful gaze swept over the three men. “It’s always me who ruins your relationships. Jax, forget me. Go comfort your girlfriend.” Seeing Stella so wounded, Jax finally erupted in anger. “Sasha, is this really about Stella? I told you from the start, she holds the highest place in my heart.” I cut him off. “No, I want to break up with you because of you.” “My gut tells me that Stella hasn’t truly accepted me, and Kian and Spencer still look at me with hostility.” I looked at Kian and Spencer, and both men awkwardly shifted their eyes away. I continued, “I’m choosing to break up with you now because I like you, and I don’t want to put you in a difficult position.” “I’ll come back when Stella and the others genuinely accept me.” With that final, dramatic line, I turned and walked away. To complete the performance, I went straight back to my dorm and blocked Jax on every platform. 5 I saw the four members of the crew again a couple of weeks later at a campus mixer. The student organizer, a senior, giggled. “Since we’re all here looking to couple up, let’s play something spicy. How about a round of King’s Game?” “Rule is, no hard feelings if you get a consequence. If you don’t want to do the dare, you take a shot.” I smiled and agreed, and even though I never looked in Jax’s direction, I could feel several intense stares burning into me. I pretended not to notice. The game started. The dares, typical for a college mixer, were fairly raunchy. After several rounds, the awkwardness between the men and women had all but melted away. I was watching the fun when the ‘King’ called out, “Number 1 and Number 7, a three-minute French kiss.” The room erupted in wolf whistles. I looked down at my card: Number 7. Number 1 raised his hand. It was Jax. His eyes were dark and unreadable as he stared at me. Everyone was watching. As a campus personality, plenty of people knew about my brief, dramatic entanglement with Jax. Jax stood up and walked toward me, the crowd cheering him on. Only Stella’s face was utterly miserable.

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The nursing home called. They said my father had checked in. I instinctively replied, “You have the wrong number. My father, George Stone, passed away three years ago.” I heard the rustle of papers on the other end. “The intake form lists George Stone, age sixty-five, a recipient of the eminent domain buyout, and his daughter, Harper Stone. This is your cell number.” The hand holding my phone started to tremble. My father was George Stone, and I was Harper Stone. And yes, our dilapidated family home had recently been condemned by the city, qualifying us for a substantial seven-figure buyout. Every single detail was correct. But my father’s urn was sitting on the memorial mantel in my living room. How could he possibly be in a nursing home? “You must have made a mistake. My father died of a heart attack three years ago. His ashes are right here.” A two-second silence. More paper rustling. “Ms. Stone, I’ll verify your information. You are Harper Stone, you work at Deloitte, correct?” “Yes,” I said, frowning. “And your family property was recently approved for the East District Buyout, is that right?” A chill ran down my spine. How did this person know such specific information? “Yes, but my father truly…” The voice cut me off. “Then I suggest you come down immediately. Your father isn’t doing well. He keeps crying out for his daughter.” Then the line went dead. I stared blankly at my cell phone, my heart pounding with a sudden, inexplicable dread. Half an hour later, I pulled up to the Green Meadows Assisted Living Facility. The moment I pushed open the reception room door, I saw a frail, silver-haired man sitting on the small sofa. He was a roadmap of wrinkles, but his eyes lit up the instant he saw me. “Harper!” The old man jumped up, arms wide, ready to hug me. I took a reflexive step back. I had never seen this face before. “Who are you?” I asked, my voice tight with suspicion. Just as the words left my mouth, someone darted out from the side. Smack! A stinging blow across my face sent me stumbling backward. Half my face felt instantly hot and swollen. “You have the nerve to show up now!” The man who hit me was my younger brother, Leo Stone. He was wearing a filthy, crumpled t-shirt, his hair was greasy, and his eyes were bloodshot. “Leo, are you insane?” I gripped my cheek. “Insane? You dumped Dad here three months ago and never looked back! You left me—your poor brother working an honest job—to be hounded by collection calls every damn day! Who’s insane?” He jabbed a finger inches from my face, spittle flying onto my skin. I suppressed my rising fury and turned to the woman behind the desk, the facility manager. “Ma’am, please show me the intake form.” The manager impassively pushed a clipboard toward me. The form clearly read: George Stone, Male, 65, Buyout Recipient. Emergency Contact: Harper Stone. A photocopy of a driver’s license was clipped to the form. I picked it up. The photo was an exact match for the old man sitting on the sofa. But my father was supposed to be three years… “How long are you going to keep up the act, Sis?” Leo smirked, pulling out his cell phone. He shoved a photo into my face. “This is you, three months ago, on the security footage, dropping him off. Still going to deny it?” In the picture, a woman in a sharp professional suit was helping an elderly man through the facility’s front doors. The clothes, the build—it looked disturbingly like me. “That’s not me,” I ground out. “It’s not you?” The old man, the imposter, spoke up, his voice a raspy whisper. “Then tell me, was our old house on Maple Street, Apt 3B?” I froze. “When you were ten, you broke your leg, and I carried you to the clinic. The doctor said you needed a cast, and you cried so hard the whole hospital could hear you.” As the old man spoke, his eyes welled up with tears. My head swam. Those were details only my father would know. The man’s trembling hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, embroidered handkerchief with a clumsy, off-center ‘G’ stitched into the corner. “You gave me this for my tenth birthday. I’ve carried it ever since.” I stared at the stitching. It was unmistakably my work from childhood. But… “Enough of this reunion! Pay the bill!” Leo shoved me hard. The other residents’ families gathered, watching and pointing. “These young people today, they think their parents are an embarrassment. Denying your own father.” “Look at her. Dressed like a queen, heart black as pitch.” A large woman rushed toward me and gave me a violent push. “An ungrateful viper like you deserves the worst!” Caught off balance, I fell, my knee striking the chair leg with a sickening thud. Leo didn’t help me up. Instead, he pulled out his phone and started filming. “Look everyone! This is my sister! She dumped her own father in a facility, ignored him for months, and now she’s pretending she has amnesia! I’m putting this video online to expose her!” I lay on the floor, my knee throbbing. I looked up at the stranger dabbing his eyes. But my father’s urn was on the mantelpiece. What in God’s name was happening? I gripped the chair and hauled myself up. I fumbled for my own phone and pulled up the photos from the funeral three years ago. “Look closely! This is a photo from his wake. I have the cremation certificate. This man is not…” Before I could finish, Leo lunged, snatching my phone. Crash! He slammed it onto the floor. The screen instantly shattered and went black. “You evil witch! You’re actually fabricating evidence that Dad is dead? Have you lost your mind trying to hoard the Buyout money?” Leo’s scream vibrated in my eardrums. The old man buried his face in his hands, his shoulders convulsing with sobs. “Harper, what did I ever do to deserve this? To be cursed by my own daughter…” “I’m not cursing you!” I pleaded. Leo suddenly tore open his t-shirt, revealing a network of old scars and calluses. He dropped to his knees in front of the old man. “Dad! Look how your sister treats us!” He wailed, tears and snot smearing his face. “She’s been an ungrateful viper since childhood! I’ve been hauling concrete and working construction to send money home, and look at my hands—they’re raw!” “She sits in her air-conditioned office collecting a six-figure salary, and now she wants to kill you off just to steal your money!” The onlookers gasped. “That woman is cold-blooded.” “Hurting her own father? She’s not human.” The manager tapped her desk. “Ms. Stone, please be mindful of your behavior. Your father is clearly distressed.” A middle-aged woman in a caregiver uniform hurried over, leaning in to whisper. “Ms. Stone, I’m Donna, the lead nurse. When the resident first arrived, he was disoriented, kept saying he wasn’t George Stone. He’s only stabilized recently. I suspect he has advanced dementia…” “Shut the hell up!” Leo leaped to his feet, jabbing a finger in Donna’s face. “You cheap hired help! Don’t you dare spew your medical garbage! I’ll get you fired!” Donna paled and backed away, silenced. I stared at the old man, my mind racing. “Then answer this: What was my mother’s name?” The old man froze, his eyes darting away. He stammered, his lips moving soundlessly. “Eleanor!” Leo jumped in. “Eleanor Stone! What kind of daughter doesn’t know her own mother’s name?” “My mother’s name was Eleanor. But we called her Ellie,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Eleanor Lee Stone.” Leo didn’t flinch. “Lee was her maiden name! Ellie was her family nickname! You’ve forgotten your own mother’s name, you traitor! I think you’re the imposter!” He grew louder, spitting his accusations. “You hated us because we were poor. You left for college and never came home. Mom cried your name until the day she died, and you didn’t come back! And now you want to pretend to be the dutiful daughter?” The crowd murmured in agreement. “Too educated for her own good. Disowned her whole family.” “She needs to be on the news.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. The manager stood up, her face grim. “Ms. Stone, your father has an outstanding balance of eight thousand dollars. Please settle it immediately, or we will have to call the police for abandonment.” “That’s right! Pay up!” Leo lunged, grabbing a handful of my hair from behind. “Ah!” The agonizing pain from my scalp made me gasp. He started slamming my head against the wall. Thud! Warm liquid trickled down my forehead. “Pay up! You bloodsucker! This is Dad’s life savings, and you’re trying to hoard it! I’ll kill you today!” Leo continued to slam my head. It felt like my skull was splitting open. “Hit her harder! That’s what an ungrateful daughter deserves!” “Teach her a lesson!” I could hear people cheering him on. My vision blurred; all I saw was red. I heard Leo’s curses, the crowd’s jeers, and the old man’s sobbing. Then, I laughed. “What are you laughing at, you psychopath!” Leo released me. I crumpled to the floor. The old man, Victor, pulled a worn photograph from his jacket and handed it to the manager. “This is our family portrait. Harper was only five…” The manager took the photo. I looked up. It was a shot of a young couple standing in front of a carousel at an amusement park. The mother was holding a little girl in pigtails. That little girl was me. I remembered that trip—it was for my fifth birthday. The date handwritten on the back read: June 15th, 1990. My birthday. But the man in the photo… I shot to my feet and snatched the picture. The angle was natural, and the lighting suggested it hadn’t been digitally altered. “See? Iron-clad proof!” The manager’s expression hardened. “Ms. Stone, the photo proves you are avoiding your responsibility. I am calling the police right now to report elder abandonment.” The surrounding families pulled out their phones, snapping pictures of me. “Take her photo! Put her on blast!” “She has to be exposed!” Leo grabbed the picture back, holding it aloft triumphantly. “You see this? This is my sister! She thinks she can get away with not paying a penny!” He spun toward the crowd, his voice shrieking to a fever pitch. “I’m telling you! My father is sitting on a $750,000 buyout fund! My sister wants to hog every cent, she’s a snake!” “$750,000?” The crowd gasped. “No wonder she’s pretending he’s dead!” “Betraying family for money. She’s toxic.” A man in a suit pushed through the crowd, flashing a badge. “I’m a city mediator. I received a call from the facility.” He looked at the photo, then at me. “Ms. Stone, the evidence is overwhelming. You need to fulfill your duty of care, pay the balance, and sign a commitment agreement. Let’s resolve this now.” I wiped the blood from my face, my eyes fixed on the photo. The “father” in the picture had his left hand resting on the “mother’s” shoulder. On his left ring finger, there was a small, dark mole. I closed my eyes, recalling the hand of my real father. There was no mole. There was a scar—a jagged, white line from a construction accident when he was young. I opened my eyes, a slow, cold smile touching my lips. “Fine. I concede.” Leo stared at me. “What did you say?” “I said I concede. This is my father.” I reached into my purse and pulled out my wallet, extracting a credit card. Just then, Leo slammed an arm around my neck from behind. “Don’t you dare try anything! You’re not leaving until that money is paid!” His knee ground into my lower back, choking the air from my lungs. The mediator frowned. “This is a family matter. Keep your hands off her.” He turned his back. My face was turning purple, and my vision dimmed. I clawed at Leo’s arm, finally prying his grip open, gasping for air. “I said I concede.” I braced myself against the wall, straightening my suit. I looked at the old man. “However, my father, this George Stone, is mentally ill.” The old man’s face changed instantly. I pulled out my cell phone—the old, broken one—and searched for a page on advanced dementia symptoms. “Look, everyone. Memory loss, cognitive impairment, emotional instability. He fits every criteria.” I read the symptoms out loud, one by one. “He initially claimed he wasn’t George Stone. That’s a classic case of identity recognition failure—mid-stage Alzheimer’s.” Nurse Donna’s eyes widened. She nodded frantically. “Yes! That’s exactly how he was when he arrived!” “Furthermore, he exhibits violent tendencies. He was extremely agitated just now. If his condition deteriorates, he could seriously harm the other elderly residents.” The facility manager’s face went pale. I looked at all the horrified faces. I spoke slowly, distinctly: “As his daughter, I must be responsible for him, and for the safety of everyone else in this facility.” “I am sending him to the state psychiatric hospital for a mandatory hold.” The room went dead silent. The old man collapsed back onto the sofa, his face a sheet of white. “No, please don’t…” “You’ve gone mad!” Leo roared, lunging toward me. “You evil bitch! You want to lock Dad up in a lunatic asylum? Over my dead body!” He rushed to the mediator. “Aren’t you going to do something? This is elder abuse!” The mediator looked uncomfortable. “Ms. Stone, I don’t think that’s appropriate…” “Why not?” I pulled out the working cell phone from my jacket pocket—a backup—and dialed the city psychiatric intake line. “Hello, I need to arrange for the immediate transfer of an elderly patient with Alzheimer’s. He has displayed violent behavior and requires a mandatory psychiatric hold.”

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On the flight back from the business trip, I saw the video. A newborn, abandoned on the side of the road, frostbite already showing, screaming a guttural, terrifying cry. As a new father, I paused, watching with a surge of pity. What stopped my breath was the realization: he was a mirror image of my son. But my wife and Noah were in a penthouse suite at The Haven, the city’s most exclusive postpartum recovery center, with a round-the-clock team of nurses and specialists. Knowing Bianca, my wife, wouldn’t be checking her phone during her recovery, I immediately called Ms. Klein, the center’s manager. She chuckled, professional and reassuring. “Mr. Lockwood, rest assured, your wife and child are doing beautifully. They just drifted off to sleep.” The next second, she texted me a photo of a sleeping infant. I stared at that stranger’s face. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I had been gone four days. How had my son been replaced? 01 I burst out of the train station and drove straight to the spot where the baby had been abandoned—an obscure section of Oak Avenue. “Officer! That’s my child!” I shoved my way through the small crowd. A police officer blocked me. “Sir, this baby was just found. We’re taking him to Child Services. You say he’s yours? Do you have proof?” I immediately pulled out my phone, displaying Noah’s birth certificate and a few snaps taken right after he was born. After verifying the information, the officer’s tone held a hint of reprimand. “Mr. Lockwood, you need to be more careful with your baby… It’s freezing out here. Half an hour exposed like this is dangerous.” I nodded, gripping the officer’s hand in thanks. I bundled Noah tightly in my jacket and raced toward The Haven. I was going to find out what the hell was going on. When I threw open the door to my reserved suite, Mrs. Davies, our long-time nanny, was in the living room organizing baby supplies. She’d worked for my family for twenty-three years, practically raising me. I’d entrusted Bianca and Noah to her care before I left. Hearing the door, she looked up. Her eyes swept over the bundle in my arms, and her brow furrowed. There was a flicker of something dark in her gaze—a deep revulsion. “Why was Noah left on Oak Avenue? I was so lucky to—” I began, my voice choked with urgency. Mrs. Davies cut me off, her voice hard and sharp. “Callum, Noah is perfectly fine, right here at the center. What is this… this stray you’ve brought back with you?” “A stray?” I was stunned. “Mrs. Davies, what are you saying? This is Noah!” She stepped forward, reaching out to snatch the baby from my arms without a word. “You’re confused from your trip! Throw that feral little thing back where you found it!” Her unexpected force made me nearly drop him. I was completely bewildered. “Mrs. Davies, look closely. This is him.” She recoiled instantly, as if I were holding something dirty. Just then, the bedroom door opened. My wife, Bianca, walked out. For a brief moment, the tension in my chest eased. A mother would know her own child. Instead, Bianca pointed a shaking finger at the baby in my arms and shrieked. “Callum Lockwood! Have you been cheating on me? Did you bring your little bastard back here?” I was utterly lost. Bianca continued, her voice laced with venom. “Get that wild child out of here, Callum! Or I’m divorcing you!” I couldn’t believe my ears. Noah, sensing the fear and malice, wailed, burying his tiny fists in my shirt. Bianca and Mrs. Davies. They were the two closest women in my life. Why were they now conspiring to deny my child? 02 Cradling Noah, I kicked open the door to Ms. Klein’s office. “Why was my son, Noah, abandoned on the street? Who is the child in the photo you sent me?” I demanded, my rage shaking the walls. Ms. Klein quickly deployed her professional smile. “Mr. Lockwood, I believe you are mistaken. Allow me to show you the security footage.” She clicked on the monitor. The video clearly showed the ‘fake Noah’ in the crib, and he never once left the room from the moment he was born until now. “As you can see, your son has been well cared for here. As for the baby in your arms… I’m afraid only you know where he came from.” I grabbed the mouse, incredulous, and dragged the timeline. The footage was real-time, no visible edits. Just then, the door was thrown open again. Bianca’s brother, Ronnie Sutton, charged in with a few of her relatives. Ronnie clapped me on the shoulder, his voice patronizing. “Look, little brother. What in God’s name are you doing? Bianca just had a baby. Can’t you give her a break?” “We’re all men here, I understand… but wait until she’s out of recovery to sort out your little issues.” “That’s right,” another relative chimed in. “How could you bring a bastard child back to the house when your wife suffered so much to carry your baby?” “Trying to pass off a tramp’s kid as your heir? You’re disrespecting your wife and family!” The Sutton relatives surrounded me, their words buzzing with manufactured concern. I was shaking with fury. I pointed to the small, faint red birthmark behind Noah’s left ear. “Look closely! My son has a birthmark here. Does that baby have it?” Bianca suddenly ran in, bursting into theatrical sobs. “Ronnie, I’m so hurt! I gave him a son, and he’s trying to bring in some gutter trash to replace him!” Ms. Klein smoothly intervened. “Mr. Lockwood, look how upset you’ve made your wife. Why don’t I have a nurse feed the child you’re holding? Then you can calm down and we can discuss this.” Before I could object, she signaled a nurse, who immediately presented a bottle. Noah was clearly starving; he reached for it, arms flailing excitedly. I couldn’t stop the nurse before she put the nipple to his lips. Less than two minutes later, Noah suddenly began to vomit violently. His face turned deep purple; he was on the verge of choking. I frantically patted his back, but as I did, I saw the nurse try to slip away, tucking the empty bottle behind her back. I lunged, grabbing the bottle. “What formula is this? Why is it so thin and pale?” The nurse’s eyes darted away. “It’s… it’s our house-made blend, Mr. Lockwood.” I glared at Ms. Klein. “I ordered the top-tier imported European formula! Why is my son drinking this?” Ms. Klein’s expression was casually contemptuous. “Your son, Noah, is drinking the best. As for the one you’re holding… he should be grateful for the scraps.” I was about to lash out when Ms. Klein suddenly reached over and brutally pinched the frail infant in my arms. “An abandoned baby, begging and still complaining about the slop,” she spat out. Noah, already weak, let out a piercing scream. A surge of blind rage shot through me, and I raised my fist to strike her. Ronnie Sutton suddenly lunged, grabbing my collar and pulling me back. “Don’t you dare, Lockwood! Don’t you try to hurt my sister or my family!” he snarled, his eyes narrowed. “Cross us, and you’ll regret it.” At that moment, Noah started convulsing and vomiting again, his breathing shallow and rattling. I held him tight, my eyes locking onto the circle of Sutton relatives. “If anything happens to my son today, I swear I will make you all pay in blood!” I shoved Ronnie aside and ran, clutching Noah, toward the exit. 03 I blew through two red lights and burst into the Emergency Room, Noah in my arms. “Doctor! Please, save my baby!” Nurses and doctors immediately swarmed us, beginning emergency procedures. The red light above the trauma room door clicked on. I took a deep, ragged breath, forcing myself to be coherent. First, save Noah. Second, find the absolute, irrefutable proof that Bianca and her family were lying. The most powerful evidence was a DNA test. I carefully plucked a few strands of hair Noah had shed onto my sweater. I turned, intending to go to the hospital’s forensic center. But just as I reached the stairwell, a familiar figure blocked my path. “Callum, where are you going?” Mrs. Davies stood there, her face a mask of chilling hostility. Two enormous security guards from The Haven flanked her. Her voice was ice-cold. “Bianca has suffered a severe postpartum hemorrhage. Her condition is critical. You must come back with me now!” I instantly recognized the cheap, frantic deception. I backed away, clutching the hair samples. Mrs. Davies’s eyes narrowed, fixed on my hand. “What are you holding? Are you trying to pull another stunt? You’re coming home!” “Mrs. Davies, you watched me grow up!” I roared, my voice raw. “How can you side with them and lie to me?” Her eyes flickered with a strange emotion for a fraction of a second, then hardened. “Since you refuse, you leave me no choice.” She nodded to the guards. They stepped forward and clamped down on my arms, one on each side. Their grip was like steel; I couldn’t move. I was forcibly dragged back to The Haven. The moment they pushed me back into the suite, I saw Bianca lying in bed, tears streaming down her face. Ms. Klein and several nurses stood over her, looking deeply concerned. Ms. Klein scolded me, her tone one of injured reproach. “Mr. Lockwood, finally. Your behavior at the hospital was appalling! Ms. Sutton just gave birth, she’s fragile. You caused her so much stress it triggered a major hemorrhage. She almost lost her uterus…” I looked at Bianca, a cold cynicism in my eyes. “If it were truly that serious, you wouldn’t be lying in a postpartum recovery center. This place has no trauma services.” I walked to the crib, staring at the baby with the unfamiliar face. “This is not my child.” I pulled out my phone, intending to pull up the video and photos of Noah’s birth to compare, only to find they were all gone. But I had just shown them to the police a few hours ago! A cold dread washed over me. They hadn’t just switched the babies; they had erased my evidence. My phone rang, slicing through my panic. It was the hospital. “Doctor, how is my son?” I asked, desperate. The doctor’s voice was grave. “Mr. Lockwood, your baby has severe infection and respiratory failure. He needs an immediate blood transfusion.” “The critical issue is his blood type: Rh-Negative. Our emergency stock is insufficient. Are you or your wife this blood type? You need to come and donate immediately.” Rh-Negative! I was not, but Bianca was. I spun around, pleading with her, my voice cracking. “Noah needs a transfusion now! You are Rh-Negative—you have to go to the hospital and save him!” Bianca looked at me with a chilling, mocking smile. “That stray has nothing to do with me. Why should I save him?” I gripped her hand, asking the question that had been tearing me apart. “He is the flesh and blood you carried for ten months! You suffered so much during your pregnancy. How can you be so merciless now?” She violently shook off my hand and let out a cold, sharp laugh. “My son is in the crib, safe and sound. The one in the hospital is a bastard! I won’t save him. Forget it.” 04 Ms. Klein immediately pulled out her phone and started a live stream, aiming the camera directly at me. The headline flashed across the screen for all to see: #CEOForcesWifeToSaveAStray. Bianca leaned weakly against the pillows, her eyes red, crying to the camera. “Callum, I just climbed back from the brink of death from hemorrhage. I almost lost my fertility. Why are you forcing me to save a child who has nothing to do with me?” Sobbing, she lifted her gown slightly, exposing the fading scar from her C-section. The comment section exploded. Waves of vicious hatred washed over the screen: “Is this man cold-blooded? Forcing his wife to donate blood right after giving birth!” “He’s clearly pushing his mistress’s kid onto his family!” “The Lockwood family has no decency! Does a new mother’s life mean nothing?” My secretary called immediately. “Mr. Lockwood! The company website has been hacked—it’s flooded with banners calling you ‘Callum Lockwood the Scumbag’! Three of our key partners just sent termination letters, and the stock is down 30%!” Before I could reply, the doctor texted a code-red warning. “Mr. Lockwood! O2 saturation is down to 35, breathing is failing. You must donate immediately! He won’t make it without blood!” I turned back to Bianca, practically groveling. “Bianca, Noah is dying! He’s your son, too! I’m begging you, please, go save him!” Bianca’s face split into a sudden, chilling grin. “Begging me? Fine.” She pointed a finger at Ms. Klein’s camera. “You have to admit, right here, in front of everyone, that the baby is a bastard. That he has no connection to me or the Lockwood family.” She paused, her eyes venomous. “Then, you sign a statement saying you will hand him over to Child Services, and you’ll never recognize him as your own. You can never even say his name again.” “Say it and sign it, and I’ll go save him now.” “You are insane!” I shook with fury. “He is your son!” Seeing my hesitation, Ronnie suddenly rushed in, his fist slamming into my face. “What are you waiting for, you fool? Say it! Do it now, or I’ll cripple you!” The Sutton relatives swarmed me, pushing me toward the camera. Bianca handed me a piece of paper and a pen. “I wrote the statement for you. Just sign it.” I stared at the paper. It read: “I admit to having no relationship with the abandoned child and willingly surrender him to the care of Child Services.” Someone grabbed the pen and shoved it into my trembling hand. “Don’t play tough! If you don’t sign, you won’t even see the corpse!” Someone else pressed down on my hand, forcing me to hold the pen. “You’ll sign this today, willingly or not!” A hard kick landed on my knee, and Ronnie spat in my ear. “Hurry up! That little bastard is running out of time!” Just then, my phone rang again. I fumbled to answer. The doctor’s voice was a final, frantic alarm. “Mr. Lockwood! The baby’s breathing has nearly stopped. We are performing CPR… If you truly care about this child, get here now!” Bianca’s smile deepened. “Callum, time’s up. Are you signing or not?” My hands were shaking. I raised the pen, about to touch the paper. The door slammed open. Mr. Peters, my grandfather’s loyal head of house, strode in with four formidable security men. “Stop!” Mr. Peters’s voice boomed. “Everything is a lie.”

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At the end of the year, Ashton, the man who told me he was on a business trip, showed up at my family’s holiday dinner. He was sitting cozily next to my cousin, his arm draped possessively around her. When he saw me, he froze. “Aurora? What are you doing here?” “You two know each other?” My cousin, Michelle, looked surprised for a second before wrapping her arm around mine, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially in my ear. “Hehe, Rory, this is my company’s CEO,” she giggled. “I was just complaining about my parents nagging me about being single, and he immediately offered to come home with me and pretend to be my boyfriend!” She squeezed my arm, her voice buzzing with excitement. “Isn’t he the best? He bought all that stuff in the living room! And he calls my parents ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ so naturally! You’d think it was real!” I stood rooted to the spot, my entire body turning to ice. We didn’t just know each other. He was the man I’d been with for seven years, the boyfriend who always used “work is too busy” as an excuse to avoid meeting my family. But… not anymore. 1. “Oh, right! How do you two know each other, cousin? Don’t tell me you have a crush on Ashton?” Michelle’s smile was bright, but a flicker of hostility glinted in her eyes. She’d always been possessive, loving to snatch away my things since we were kids. Now, her words were a blatant claim of ownership. I let out a soft, humorless laugh and glanced at the stiff-as-a-board Ashton, just about to speak. Then my phone buzzed with a text from him. [Rory, don’t make a scene. I know you’re angry, but I’m here as Michelle’s boyfriend today. Don’t blow my cover and make everyone uncomfortable.] [Michelle’s young. She can’t handle the embarrassment.] “We’re not close. We’ve met a few times,” I said through clenched teeth, my knuckles turning white around my phone. I almost laughed out loud from the sheer audacity. “Ooh, I want shrimp! Ashton, peel one for me! And that crab, get the meat out for me!” Michelle, completely oblivious, expertly ordered him around as if they’d done this a million times before. But Ashton was allergic to shellfish. I instinctively opened my mouth to stop her but was met with Ashton’s sharp, warning glare. After Michelle had eaten her fill, another text arrived. [A few shrimp won’t kill me. Don’t make a big deal out of it. Just grab me some allergy pills on your way out later.] A chill settled deep in my bones. I gripped my chopsticks tighter. In our seven years together, he’d always refused to peel anything for me, citing his obsessive cleanliness. And he certainly never would have risked an allergic reaction to peel shrimp. “Rory, didn’t you say you had a boyfriend of seven years? Why didn’t you bring him home for us to meet?” “Yeah! You said he runs his own company, right? Or were you just making that up to save face?” “Did you guys break up? You’re such a fool, letting him use you for seven years. You’re used goods now…” The voices of my relatives swirled around me, their judging eyes pinning me in place. My parents managed a strained smile, trying to smooth things over, but my aunt, Michelle’s mother, cut them off with a shrill voice. “Oh my god, don’t tell me you’re someone’s mistress out there? That’s just not right!” “You’ve been staring at our Michelle’s boyfriend ever since you sat down. You wouldn’t go after your own cousin’s man, would you? Aurora, a person has to have some morals!” Her words left me cornered, the color draining from my face. I looked to Ashton, a silent plea for help in my eyes. But when our gazes met, he flinched away, and in front of the entire table, he tightened his grip on Michelle’s hand. “No matter what, Michelle is the only one I’ll ever love,” he declared, his voice firm. “Anyone else with ulterior motives is just wasting their time.” He shot me another warning look. That single glance sealed it. It confirmed for every relative at the table that I was, indeed, trying to seduce him. “Oh, just look! See what a wonderful boyfriend our Michelle found? Some people want to be the other woman, but no one wants them!” “Rory, tell us the truth. Are you really some old man’s mistress?” “Of course she is! She sends thousands home every month! What kind of job pays that much? It has to be a sugar daddy! No wonder she’s too ashamed to bring him home! Her parents must be dying of embarrassment!” I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, my nails digging into my palms. My parents couldn’t even look up, their faces shifting between pale and flushed as their attempts to defend me were shouted down. I couldn’t take it anymore. I shot up from my chair, a storm of anger and hurt raging inside me. “Ashton! Say something!” “You know damn well whether I’m a mistress or not! Say something!” 2. The room fell silent. Every eye was locked on us. Michelle’s face went pale, and her hand tightened nervously on Ashton’s. “Ashton, aren’t you going to explain?” I stared at him, my heart heavy with disappointment. I could accept him refusing to meet my parents, putting off marriage, even rejecting me when I proposed to him with a ring in my hand. But I could not accept my own boyfriend eagerly playing the part of someone else’s partner. Ashton was quiet for a long, agonizing moment, his expression darkening. “Aurora isn’t a mistress,” he began, his voice low. “The man she’s been with for seven years is actually…” I clutched the hem of my shirt, holding my breath in anticipation. But he avoided my gaze, turning instead to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind Michelle’s ear. “It’s my best friend, Noah. Noah has been pursuing her. There’s no way she’s a mistress.” In that instant, my world shattered. The composure I’d clung to all evening, the forced smile I’d maintained at the table, it all crumbled into dust. A sharp, painful sting filled my nose. “Aurora, you should bring Noah home to meet your parents,” Ashton said, his tone casual, but his eyes were locked on me, sharp and intense. I understood his meaning perfectly. He wanted me to endure it, to play along, to be obedient. Fine. If that’s what he wanted, then I’d give it to him. I would become Noah’s girlfriend. For real. Forcing back the tears, I managed a relaxed smile. “He’s right. It’s Noah. We’ve been together for seven years, and we’re planning to get married this year.” “Noah? Isn’t that the boy who used to follow Rory around everywhere like a lost puppy? He was always saying he was going to marry her when they grew up!” someone exclaimed, as if uncovering a long-buried secret. “I remember him! He brought gifts to the house every single year! So that’s why! I always wondered why a boy with no relation to the family would be so attentive!” The mood in the room shifted, but no one noticed the thunderous look on Ashton’s face. The three of us had always been close. Noah had confessed his feelings for me more than once. Ashton, fiercely jealous, once gave me the silent treatment for days just because Noah walked me home. That’s why I never told him Noah and I grew up together. Just then, the door swung open. “Uncle, Auntie, sorry I’m late! Where’s Rory? I brought her favorite cake, fresh from the bakery! I know she’ll love it!” Speak of the devil. Noah strode in, gesturing familiarly toward a mountain of gifts by the door before holding up the cake box toward me. “Hey, why are your eyes all red? Who said something? Tell me and I’ll tear them a new one.” A real laugh escaped me then. I walked over and, to his complete shock, linked my arm through his. “Mom, Dad, this is Noah. My boyfriend. We’re getting married next year.” My voice overlapped with Ashton’s, who had suddenly spoken. “Since when were you and Noah childhood friends? Why didn’t I know that? You never told me!” Noah stood frozen, his eyes darting from me to Ashton, then to Michelle clinging to Ashton’s side. His brow furrowed in confusion. Ashton’s eyes, now cold as ice, were fixed on where my hand was linked with Noah’s. “Aurora, I need an explanation.” Michelle bit her lip, a venomous look flashing in her eyes. “Cousin, you didn’t ask Noah to play along, did you? You said last year your boyfriend was much better than him. Besides, Noah doesn’t even own a company.” “Ashton!” she added, her voice full of innocent concern. “You’re all friends, you can’t just team up to fool the parents!” Her tone was so guileless, as if the thought had just occurred to her. Ashton let out a cold laugh, a look of understanding dawning on his face. His voice dripped with impatience. “Aurora, your little games are pathetic.” 3. “Ashton, they might not know, but you do. My company is up and running, and things are going great,” Noah said, his brow knitted in a frown. After a quick, whispered explanation from me, he seemed to grasp the situation. He shot a cold, contemptuous look at Ashton. “And when did you get a girlfriend? Weren’t you supposed to be on a business trip over the holidays? That’s why…” “Noah!” Ashton cut him off, his face grim, a silent warning in his eyes. Michelle’s face went white, and she clutched Ashton’s sleeve. In the end, it was my mom who broke the tension, pulling Noah to the table and catching up with him. After dinner, Ashton’s allergy predictably flared up. Red, angry welts broke out across his arms and neck. Michelle, seeing this, burst into tears. “You knew you were allergic! Why did you still peel them for me? Are you stupid?” “It doesn’t hurt. I like peeling them for you,” he murmured, trying to soothe her. Then she whirled on me, her voice thick with accusation. “And you, cousin! Why didn’t you warn me? Do you just love seeing Ashton suffer? Is Noah the only person you care about?” At her last sentence, Ashton’s expression soured instantly. “Noah is my boyfriend. Of course, he’s the only one in my eyes,” I said, a bitter smile on my face as I watched the two of them, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in my heart. “Aurora!” Ashton roared, his face dark enough to curdle milk. “You don’t need to fake this. Hiring Noah to be your pretend boyfriend is just childish. It’s pointless.” I knew what he meant. He wanted me to stop. But. “Weren’t you the one who said it? The man I’ve been with for seven years… is Noah.” Before I could finish, an enraged Ashton grabbed my wrist and dragged me out into the deserted back garden. A vein throbbed on his forehead. “What the hell are you trying to pull? How are we supposed to clean up this mess later?” “Michelle is a young girl being pressured into blind dates by her family. I wanted to help her, what’s wrong with that? I only kept it from you because I didn’t want to upset you! Do you have to be so difficult about it?” “Aurora, my patience has its limits! You know I hate seeing you with Noah!” “Let me tell you one last time! You are not to tell anyone about us! And as my girlfriend, you are forbidden from having any physical contact with Noah! Do you understand?” I stared at him for a long time. There was no deceit in his eyes, and a laugh bubbled up from my chest. It started as a chuckle and grew until tears were streaming down my face. “So, what you’re saying is,” I choked out, “you can cheat on me, but I have to remain your faithful, uncomplaining girlfriend?” “That’s not what I mean! And it’s not cheating! I was just helping Michelle!” he retorted, his voice rising in frustration, trying to convince himself as much as me. But we had been together for seven years. He never, ever used pet names for any woman but me. And he would certainly never volunteer to be a fake boyfriend “just to help.” No wonder. Ever since Michelle started at his company, he’d come home and stare into his coffee mug with a strange, secretive smile. It wasn’t nostalgia. It was a new crush. “Rory, Michelle… she’s different. She’s not like you. She’s so vibrant, so direct… I just find her special, that’s all!” A scornful laugh escaped my lips. I swung my hand and slapped him across the face. My heart ached, but the nausea churning in my stomach was worse. “Ashton, let’s break up.” “We’re done.”

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1. My fiancé’s childhood friend, Candy, claimed to be a girl’s girl, a total man-hater who only ever wanted to cuddle with pretty women. So at our engagement party, drunk and emotional, she suddenly lunged at me. “My sweet, beautiful Stella,” she cried, her voice syrupy and thick with tears as she clung to me. “How could you let yourself get snatched up by some pig?” She wouldn’t let go. All the guys were laughing, and even Brian, my fiancé, came over to pry her off, a look of weary amusement on his face. “She’s my wife, Candy. Go hug a dyke or something.” But she only squeezed me tighter, tilting her face up to look at me earnestly. “Don’t you worry, beautiful. I’ve already checked out the merchandise for you.” “Brian is… exceptionally gifted. You two will be very ‘compatible’ after the wedding.” … The boisterous private room fell dead silent. Brian was the first to react, grabbing her arm. “Candy, what nonsense are you spouting now?” Though his face had hardened, his voice was as gentle as if he were scolding a child. Candy stumbled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “I’m not talking nonsense! At the bachelor party yesterday, we showed each other, didn’t we?” Her eyes were wide with innocence. “I’m doing this for you, Stella! What if he was all talk and no action? You’d be getting a raw deal!” “Candy!” Brian’s composure finally cracked. “Shut your mouth!” He turned to me, forcing a smile. “We were playing truth or dare yesterday, just drunken foolishness!” Candy snorted with laughter, poking him in the chest. “Oh really? And who was it bragging to his old man about his eight inches yesterday? You pigs are so disgusting when you joke around.” The room erupted in laughter. Someone even whistled. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, the only way I could keep my expression neutral. “That’s enough!” My best friend, Jenny, shot to her feet, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. “Candy, have you no shame, saying things like this in public?” Candy flinched, letting go of Brian and throwing herself back into my arms. “Jenny, why are you yelling at me…? If it wasn’t for Stella’s sake, who would want to look at that disgusting thing?” She looked up, her eyes red-rimmed. “Stella, are you mad at me? I was just… I was afraid you wouldn’t be happy…” Seeing my prolonged silence, Brian frowned. “Stella, Candy and I grew up together. I think of her as one of the guys!” “Don’t look so grim. You’re scaring her.” His friends chimed in. “Come on, Stella’s always been so understanding. Why get so hung up on this tonight?” “If there was anything between them, it would have happened ages ago. You know that, Stella.” “What are you guys talking about? Stella loves Brian to death. She wouldn’t get mad over something so small.” Amidst the chorus of casual dismissals, only Aaron, Jenny’s brother, sat quietly in the corner, not smiling. He held his glass, his gaze fixed on me. I took a deep breath and, to everyone’s surprise, smiled and patted Candy’s back. “You silly girl. Why would I be mad at you?” Candy’s body went rigid for a second. I turned to Brian, my eyes filled with a perfectly measured shyness. “The fact that Brian can talk to you so openly about this stuff just proves he sees you as a true friend.” “That being the case, why would I overthink it?” The tension drained from Brian’s face, and his gaze softened. “Stella, I knew you were the most sensible…” Jenny shot me a look of pure, unadulterated fury. She kicked over a bottle of wine on the table and stormed out of the room. The atmosphere turned awkward. I smiled faintly. “Jenny has a short fuse. I’ll go talk to her.” Under the dim light at the end of the hallway, Jenny was wreathed in smoke. The cigarette in her fingers trembled when she heard my footsteps. “Stella, have you simped yourself brainless?” “That was a power play, you idiot! Can’t you see she’s putting you in your place?” 2. Of course I could see it. Not only could I see it, I knew exactly why she was doing it. After all, this same “girl’s girl,” Candy, had been the reason for the demise of Brian’s last five relationships. At first, I thought she genuinely liked girls. But then I started to notice things. She would use the excuse of “sharing a drink with my beautiful Stella” to snatch Brian’s half-drunk bubble tea from the table. She would use the excuse of “needing to cuddle with my beautiful Stella” to shove him away from me countless times. And on every single trip we took, she would insist on sleeping between us. “Stay away, you pig. You’re not allowed to defile my beautiful Stella.” Having grown up in a wealthy family, I was no stranger to these subtle wars of attrition. Jenny was even more incensed. “You know, and you still put up with it? Is it really like they say? Do you love him that much?” I stared out the window into the pitch-black night, silent for a moment. I had been in love with Brian for ten years. The day I found out we were engaged to be married, I was too ecstatic to sleep… But even the most ardent flame can’t withstand being doused with cold water, again and again. “The Gu family needs my family’s shipping routes, and my family needs their real estate channels,” I said quietly. “Even if I break off the engagement, I have to do it in a way that leaves them with nothing to say.” Jenny studied me for a moment, then a slow grin spread across her face. “I knew you weren’t the type to just take it. So, what’s the plan? I’ve got your back, 100 percent.” Just then, Candy peeked her head out of the room. “Stella, why aren’t you back yet? I miss you…” She dragged me back inside, and the drinking resumed. Brian’s eyes were filled with satisfaction at my “sensible” behavior. Candy squeezed in next to me, her hand casually landing on my thigh. “Stella, your skin is so nice. So smooth and soft. What’s your secret?” Before I could react, she flipped my skirt up. A sudden cold draft on my inner thigh was followed by a chorus of catcalls. “Damn, look at those legs!” “Candy, how’s it feel?” I jerked away, pulling my skirt down in a panic. Brian saw it happen and just chuckled. “Candy, stop messing around.” Those few, weightless words were enough to make Jenny start to rise from her seat again. I caught her eye and gave a slight shake of my head. Then I turned, took Candy’s hand, and smiled warmly. “You like it, Candy? It’s all bought and paid for. Thirty thousand a month on treatments.” “If you like, I can get you a membership. Your hands are so rough. How will any boy like them?” A muscle twitched in Candy’s brow. She forced a smile. “I don’t want gross boys hanging around me. I only like you, Stella…” “But I have Brian,” I said, tilting my head with a sweet smile. “I take care of myself so Brian will like what he sees. As for anyone else…” I looked at Brian, my expression turning wounded. “I don’t want anyone else to see…” The words had barely left my mouth when a suit jacket was draped over me. Brian had wrapped me up completely, and for the first time, there was a hint of reproach in his voice. “Candy, that’s going too far.” Buried in Brian’s jacket, I watched with amusement as Candy’s face turned ashen. From the shadows in the corner, I heard a very faint laugh. It was 1 a.m. when the party finally broke up. A drunk Candy was draped all over me, clinging like a limpet. “I don’t want to be separated from my beautiful Stella…” Seeing how drunk she was, Brian sighed, but then naturally slipped an arm around her waist. “Alright, stop making a scene. I’ll take you home first.” Candy, who had been attached to me like an octopus, immediately let go and expertly slid into the passenger seat of his car. The back seat was piled high with sports bags, leaving no room to sit. Brian gently wiped a bit of drool from the corner of Candy’s mouth and started the car. “Wait for me, Stella. I’ll be right back for you after I drop her off.” The engine roared to life, and his taillights vanished into the night. I crouched on the steps of the curb. The night wind blew, chilling my knees. Before the party, he had told everyone in the room, “I’m not drinking tonight. I have to drive Stella home.” But there had never been a place for me in his car. An SUV pulled up behind me. Jenny rolled down the passenger window and waved. “Stella, get in. My brother will give you a ride.” Jenny cursed a blue streak the entire way home, from Candy to Brian to their whole pack of idiot friends. Aaron drove in silence, his eyes occasionally flicking to me in the rearview mirror. Before I got out, I looked at Aaron. “Can you do me a favor? I need you to find some information for me.” Before I went to sleep, Candy posted on her social media. [Taught the pig who’s trying to steal my girl a lesson today! Since he apologized so nicely, I’ll forgive him for now! Ladies, a man needs to be put in his place!] In the photo, she was pinching Brian’s ear, their faces pressed together intimately. They were both wearing hotel bathrobes, necklines gaping open. I liked the post and let the darkness swallow me whole. 3. Brian didn’t contact me all night. It wasn’t until noon the next day that a text came through. “Stella, I’ve booked the wedding dress designer for 3 p.m. Let’s go look at some styles together.” No mention of last night. No mention of Candy. As if nothing had happened. I waited in the bridal shop for forty minutes before a familiar laugh echoed from the entrance. Brian and Candy walked in, playfully shoving each other. A sales associate greeted them with a practiced smile. “You two make such a lovely couple.” Candy giggled, wrapping her arms around Brian’s neck and giving his inner thigh a playful pinch. “Hardly! I’ve got a grudge against him for stealing my wife!” The associate’s smile froze on her face. Only then did Brian look over at me, his hand still resting on Candy’s waist. “Stella, have you been waiting long?” “It’s all this one’s fault. Had to pick a fight with me before we left, complaining that I stole her precious Stella…” Candy playfully punched his chest and ran over to hug me. “Stella! I’m here to help you pick out your dress! I promise you’ll be the most beautiful bride ever!” The designer rolled out a rack of gowns. Heavy lace, vintage satin, ethereal tulle—each one breathtakingly expensive. I tried on the first one, a strapless mermaid gown. The expert tailoring perfectly accentuated my waistline. But Candy circled me, her fingers hovering near my waist. “Oh no, this one makes you look fat. Your waist isn’t thin enough, Stella. It makes you look like a barrel.” The second was a vintage V-neck, elegant and classic. “Your features are too plain, Stella. This one looks like a nun’s habit on you. It’s so drab. No, no.” The third, a dramatic ball gown with a long train, was dazzling. “Pfft, on your tiny frame, it looks like a toilet brush has come to life…” Brian laughed helplessly. “So none of them look good? I suppose they’d only look good on you, right?” Candy’s eyes lit up. “Can I try one?” Without waiting for an answer, she pointed at the mermaid gown I had just taken off. “That one. In my size.” Five minutes later, she emerged in the dress. She was curvier than I was, and the gown strained against her fuller figure, her chest practically bursting out. Brian’s gaze was fixed on her. Candy puffed out her chest, raising an eyebrow. “See? Your old man’s still got it.” Then she turned, grabbed me, and started snapping a flurry of photos with her phone. The flash was so bright I couldn’t see. “Beautiful girls belong with beautiful girls. We can’t let the gross men have all the fun.” After the photoshoot, she suddenly hooked her arm around Brian’s neck, her voice a playful threat. “I want to wear a wedding dress too! I want to get married on stage with you and Stella!” Brian chuckled, pinching her nose affectionately. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Candy shook his arm. “You stole my Stella from me! The least you can do is let me walk down the aisle with her to console your poor old dad, right?” I clutched the hem of my dress, waiting to see what Brian would choose. A part of me already knew the answer, but I stubbornly waited for the axe to fall. Sure enough, Brian turned to me with that look—part question, part plea—expecting me to be “sensible” one more time. “Stella, everyone knows it’s our wedding. The clothes don’t really matter that much, so maybe…” The last bit of warmth in my heart turned to ice. I smiled calmly. “Of course. As long as you’re happy, Brian.” A wedding with two brides. This was going to be a show.

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At twenty, I knitted my first scarf and gave it to my secret crush, Seraphina Sinclair. At her birthday party, amid mocking gazes, she accepted it. Three days after my sister’s death, I went to the university to withdraw. In the admin office, I overheard people sorting through files. “Are you really throwing out that scarf from hick Asher?” “This thing? It’s not even as nice as the designer coat Wyatt gave her. A hotel towel is probably better. Just toss it.” “If I’d known she didn’t want her lapdog’s gift, I’d have used it as a foot rag. What a waste of all that knitting.” Wyatt. Her childhood sweetheart. Seraphina laughed, balled up the scarf, and tossed it toward the other girl. It missed, landing beside the trash can — a pitiful sight. Our eyes met briefly. I said nothing, just picked up my papers and left. I knew I had no right to question her. Six years later, back in Northgate, I heard a rumor: Seraphina Sinclair, the city’s most famous heiress, had a long-lost love who’d been missing for years. 1 I came back to Northgate to expand my clothing brand. On opening day, a familiar face walked into the new boutique. “Asher?” I was straightening clothes on a rack. It had been years since I’d used that name. The sound of it made me freeze for a moment. When I turned, I was met with a pair of wide, shocked eyes. The woman in front of me looked vaguely familiar, her features sharp and elegant, her clothes tailored from expensive fabric. But I couldn’t place her. I offered an awkward smile. “I’m sorry, you are?” She subconsciously scratched her head. That gesture instantly brought it all back. Sienna. One of Seraphina’s friends. The same girl from the office six years ago who wanted to use my scarf as a foot rag. A young man stood beside her, his arm linked with hers. He was tall, slender, and had a warm smile. We sat in the VIP lounge. While her boyfriend was in the fitting room, Sienna looked around my store. “You… you own this place? This brand has been blowing up lately. I can’t believe you’re the one behind it…” A flicker of embarrassment crossed her face as a memory surfaced. “The things I said back then… I was just joking. Please don’t take it to heart. I’ve actually wanted to apologize for years, but I couldn’t find you.” “Where have you been all this time? Why did you just drop out of university like that? Not a single word…” Her voice trailed off, growing quieter. I calmly took a fruit platter from a server and placed it on the table. “I didn’t go anywhere special. Just went back to my hometown for a while.” Back to my hometown, where I changed my name and restarted my life. She was about to ask more when her boyfriend came out of the fitting room. The clothes fit him perfectly, and he was so pleased that he bought several other styles on the spot. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “your autumn/winter collection is a bit incomplete. Other stores usually cross-promote with matching hats, brooches, shoes, and scarves.” “I noticed when I was trying things on that you don’t have any matching scarves. I think that’s something you could improve on.” I explained gently, “We aren’t planning to add scarves to our line just yet. I’m sorry about that. As a courtesy, I can give you thirty percent off your purchase…” As they were leaving, Sienna spoke up hesitantly. “You know, all these years, Seraphina has been…” A loud crash of metal echoed through the store. I turned to see a half-installed clothing rack topple over. I sighed, rubbing my forehead. Great, now I have to put it up all over again. Sienna was still talking. I gave her a rushed nod and turned to instruct an employee to handle the mess. Her face lit up, and she quickly pressed an invitation into my hand. “Then it’s settled! It’s Seraphina’s birthday tomorrow. You have to come!” Before I could refuse, she hurried away, giving me no chance to back out. My business partner, Penny, stretched as she came out from the back. “What was that noise? It woke me up. What’s this… Seraphina Sinclair?” Her eyes were glued to the invitation in my hand. Her arms, frozen mid-stretch, forgot to come down as she gasped out the name. I was a little confused. “You know her?” Penny nodded vigorously, her sleep-deprived eyes suddenly shining. “Of course! The Seraphina Sinclair? I saw her at a fashion show a while back.” “She was sitting in the front row, so tall and gorgeous. She took over her family’s company right out of college, and under her leadership, their profits have skyrocketed…” “Wait, is that a birthday invitation? How did you get that?” “Sienna gave it to me,” I said flatly. At that, Penny’s eyes filled with a new level of awe. 2 “Sienna?! Oh my god, Cade, how many powerful people do you know that I don’t?” “First Sienna, now Seraphina… but…” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I heard Seraphina has someone she loves.” “But he disappeared, and she’s been searching for him for years, turning the city upside down. I remember hearing his last name was… Grant. What a coincidence, Cade, your original last name was Grant too!” I dropped my gaze, cutting off her fantasy. “Don’t get any ideas. There are a lot of people with that name.” “So, are you going to her birthday party tomorrow?” “No.” She looked disappointed but seemed more fascinated by my connections. A chilly autumn wind rustled, sending fallen leaves skittering across the pavement. I pulled my coat tighter, my hand instinctively going to my neck, which suddenly felt cold. Under Penny’s relentless questioning, I finally unsealed the past I had deliberately buried deep in my heart. “I had a crush on Seraphina Sinclair. Back when I was a boy.” “It was a complete and utter failure.” On the first day of university, during introductions, student after student went on stage, confidently sharing their hobbies and dreams. When my turn came, I felt a wave of shame. My family was poor. My mother died in childbirth. My father raised us alone. When I was a sophomore in high school, he was diagnosed with cancer. My older sister, Clara, dropped out of school to work and pay for his treatment, but the mountain of medical bills was still crushing us. When I stepped on stage, my palms were sweating. My stammering introduction made the other students laugh. “Where did this hick come from? Is he actually wearing a floral shirt? That’s so out of style. Hasn’t he ever heard of fashion?” “I saw him on move-in day. His family seemed really poor. Two of the wheels on his suitcase were broken, but he couldn’t even afford a new one…” “He can’t even introduce himself properly. Get him off the stage already, he’s wasting our time!” I stood there helplessly, clutching the hem of my shirt, my face burning. My dad and sister had taken me shopping for this shirt before I left for school. I told them it was too expensive, but my dad just smiled and paid. “Don’t worry about the money. Wear something nice on your first day. Make a good impression.” It wasn’t cheap—almost two hundred dollars, half of my living expenses for a month. Humiliated, I turned to leave the stage when a clear voice cut through the chatter. “Who said it’s ugly? I think it looks good.” Everyone fell silent. I followed the voice and saw her. Seraphina Sinclair, leaning back in her chair with a lazy confidence, chewing gum. As she spoke, her eyes were fixed on me. In that moment, the world seemed to fade to grey. All I could see were her bright eyes and the slight smile on her lips. Penny nodded thoughtfully, shaking my arm with excitement. “So that’s when you started crushing on her? A beautiful girl defending you when you were in trouble… I would’ve fallen for her too.” I took a calm sip of tea. Actually, no. My real connection with Seraphina began during winter break. I was working at a car wash to earn tuition money when the sound of an argument grew louder. A car screeched to a halt in front of the shop. A meticulously wrapped bouquet of flowers was thrown from the window, landing squarely on my head as I bent over to adjust a machine. “Seraphina, what’s with the attitude? I came back to make things right with you, and this is how you treat me?” Seraphina’s dismissive laugh floated out. “Wyatt, I picked you up from the airport so your parents wouldn’t lose face. What makes you think I was waiting for you to come back?” “We promised we’d go to an Ivy League school together, but you left for Europe without a word. You have the right to chase your dreams, so don’t I have the right to chase love?” Wyatt scoffed. “Love? Don’t tell me the great Seraphina Sinclair has fallen for someone else.” Seraphina turned her head, and her gaze met mine as I rubbed my sore head. She smiled suddenly. “You thought I couldn’t live without you?” “Wyatt, let me tell you something. From now on, I can be with anyone but you.” With that, she got out of the car, pulled a black velvet box from her pocket, and tossed it to me. “It’s yours.” Wyatt was so angry he was on the verge of tears. “The little brother washing cars on the side of the road? Him too?” Seraphina’s reply was flippant. “Yes.” Wyatt got out of the car, his eyes red, and disappeared into the crowded street. He didn’t look back, so he didn’t see Seraphina’s gaze linger on his retreating back. From that day on, I became Seraphina’s little follower. She was paying me to be part of her act. As long as I played my part well, the money was good. 3 I agreed. I became the tool she used to provoke Wyatt. I spent almost the entire winter break with her. At parties, she would gently wipe the beer foam from my lips. When she lost at truth or dare, she would laugh and take the penalty drink for me, declaring that no one was allowed to bully me. On snowy nights, she would walk me home, her umbrella tilted toward me even as snowflakes collected on her own shoulders. When I caught a cold, she took me to the clinic, registered me, and stayed with me while I got an IV drip. Watching her rush around, something in my heart stirred. There were moments when I almost believed she really was my girlfriend. One evening, at a fancy restaurant, she mimicked a couple at the next table. “I want a scarf that you knit yourself,” she said. Her tone was casual, but I took it to heart. I started secretly gathering materials. I was clumsy, knitting and unraveling, unraveling and knitting, until parts of the yarn lost their elasticity and the stitches became crooked. At first, Wyatt didn’t care. He couldn’t believe Seraphina would actually fall for someone like me—ordinary, plain, completely unremarkable. But as the break wore on and she continued to ignore him, he started to panic. At a bar, her friends started jokingly calling me her boyfriend. Seraphina casually pulled down the collar of her shirt, revealing a temporary tattoo on her collarbone: the initials of my name. Everyone gasped, saying she had finally fallen for real. In that moment, something in Wyatt snapped. He grabbed a beer bottle and smashed it over my head, the butterfly tattoo on his wrist trembling. “Asher Grant, who the hell do you think you are? You think a poor kid from the sticks is worthy of stealing her from me?” Crimson blood trickled down from my eyebrow into my eye, turning my vision red. But I could still see her clearly. Seraphina, a faint smile on her lips, her eyes locked on Wyatt. She was desperately trying to hide the pain in her eyes. This was what she wanted: for Wyatt to feel regret, to go mad, to lose his mind completely. Just as Wyatt was about to break, Seraphina finally dropped her act. She pulled him into a fierce embrace, her lips finding his in a restrained, desperate kiss. “It was a temporary tattoo, you idiot. Did you really believe it?” No one cared about me, the guy with a head full of blood. The same people who had been calling me her boyfriend were now cheering for their love. I quietly slipped away with the other rich kids, leaving them their space. After getting my head stitched up, I buried the half-finished scarf in the deepest part of my closet. Seraphina didn’t contact me for the rest of the semester. She had probably forgotten I even existed. She and Wyatt seemed to be getting closer. Sometimes in class, I would see her on a video call with him. The way she looked at him was always so gentle. Because of the time difference, he was usually in bed, looking like a lazy, noble cat. For some reason, my heart ached. I remembered a time we were lying on the grass, looking at the stars, and she suddenly said, out of nowhere, “I wish it could always be like this.” I was confused. “Like what?” She went quiet, and after a long moment, she just shook her head and said it was nothing. Later, my dad’s medical bills became urgent. My sister’s advanced salary wasn’t enough to cover everything. Desperate, I remembered that Seraphina still owed me my final payment. So I worked up the courage to find her at her usual bar. She seemed to be fighting with Wyatt again. She was shrouded in darkness, the air around her chillingly cold. She told me she needed me to play a part one last time. So I did. I staged my own kidnapping. The media reported on Seraphina’s dramatic rescue, her deep affection and concern for me plain for all to see. She had successfully provoked Wyatt again. And I got the money to pay my dad’s medical bills. Two weeks later, she handed me a birthday invitation. I took it, my mind racing, trying to figure out what kind of gift to get her. She seemed to have everything. I couldn’t afford anything expensive, and she would look down on anything cheap. My gaze eventually fell on the unfinished scarf. When I presented it to her at her birthday party, the room fell silent, then erupted in jeers. Seraphina didn’t laugh. I started to withdraw my hand in embarrassment, but she grabbed my wrist. “Thank you. It’s beautiful. I love it.” It wasn’t until much later that I realized this was probably just another performance for Wyatt’s benefit. The next day, it was pouring rain. Amidst the claps of thunder, I received a phone call. “Is this Asher Grant? Is Clara Grant your sister? There was an accident at the construction site. She was gone by the time she got to the hospital. We need a family member to come sign the papers…” The foreman said her safety rope wasn’t secured properly during high-altitude work. I didn’t believe it. My sister was never that careless. I tried to ask for more details, but the construction company paid out fifty thousand dollars and closed the case. I held the money, feeling numb, the tears not yet coming. At the same time, my dad found out about my sister. At the hospital, he hesitated for a long time before his voice trembled. “The doctor said it’s terminal. The medicine isn’t working anymore. Asher, I’m done with treatment.” I refused, insisting he stay. But he started packing his things and walked out without looking back. At the hospital entrance, I fell to my knees, blocking his path. “Dad, I’m begging you, please get treatment! You’re all I have left! I’ll pay for it, no matter the cost! I’ll drop out of school, I’ll work, I’ll get the money!” “Clara is gone! I don’t want to live without you, don’t you understand?” “I’m begging you, on my knees!” Passersby stopped to watch, shaking their heads with pity. In a hospital, scenes like this were a daily occurrence, nothing out of the ordinary. Three days after handling my sister’s funeral, I went to the university to withdraw. And that’s when I overheard Seraphina talking about throwing away my pathetic scarf. Penny gasped. “How could that happen…” The wind chimes at the entrance jingled as a cold draft swept in. I fell silent, discreetly wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. Before I could say “welcome,” a pair of rain-splattered high heels entered my line of sight. “Asher… is it really you?”

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The woman my husband always loved was pregnant after a violent assault. And so was I, his wife. The day I gave birth, Adrian Blackwood served me divorce papers at my hospital bed. “Isabella is planning her comeback,” he said, his voice void of emotion. “She can’t be dragged down by a scandal. You need to make way for her and the child.” I picked up the pen and signed my name with a clean, steady hand. In my last life, I had refused. I’d fought him, clung to our marriage, and gone on live television with my son, exposing everything and shattering her career. She was blacklisted, bankrupted, and finally, she took her own life. Afterward, Adrian arranged her funeral with a chilling calm. Then he stood by and allowed her loyal followers to orchestrate an “accident” that claimed the lives of both me and my son. It was only in my final moments, as the life bled out of me, that I finally understood the icy hatred in his eyes as he turned away. He had wanted me dead all along. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in this hospital room, the divorce papers lying on the sheets before me. … My son, Noah, was born premature and rushed immediately to the NICU. And it was in that moment of vulnerability that Adrian chose to hand me the papers. “You know Isabella was a principal dancer before… all this,” he said, as if reasoning with a child. “These past few months have already cost her the performance season.” “If news breaks that she’s an unwed mother, her career is over. Utterly destroyed.” I was fresh out of the operating room. Every tiny movement sent a searing pain through the stitches in my abdomen. To be reborn on this day… it meant fate was giving me a second chance. A chance to choose differently. “I’ll sign,” I said, my voice hoarse. “But first, you get our son a birth certificate. And I want compensation.” Adrian had clearly prepared a whole speech to wear me down. My calm acceptance caught him off guard, and a wave of relief washed over his face. “Fine. Two million. Is that enough for you?” He was the heir to a corporate empire, and he was offering me a paltry two million dollars. My knuckles were white where I gripped the thin hospital sheet. I knew arguing for more was pointless. I just nodded. He took care of the certificate, and after I confirmed every detail was correct, I signed his papers. With the agreement in hand, Adrian couldn’t leave fast enough to rush to Isabella’s side. He didn’t even spare a single thought, not one glance, for our son. From the room next door, I could hear laughter and the cheerful clicks of a camera as a family gathered around their newborn. But I was utterly alone. The man who had been my husband was now a stranger. Two days later, Noah was released from the NICU. I wrapped my baby in the softest swaddle I had and prepared to leave the hospital. Just as I was about to get into the car, a message came through from Adrian’s secretary. “Ms. Audrey, please cooperate by reposting the corporation’s official statement.” We weren’t even officially divorced, but I was already stripped of the title “Mrs. Blackwood.” To protect Isabella’s pristine image, Adrian wanted me to publicly state that our divorce was due to a simple, mutual drifting apart. I agreed, but my phone was about to die. I decided I’d handle it when I got home. When I arrived at the villa, I asked the housekeeper to turn up the heat, but no one answered. As I walked toward the nursery with Noah in my arms, I heard their hushed voices from the kitchen. “The nerve of her, bringing back a bastard she had with another man.” “Mr. Blackwood is too kind not to press the matter. And instead of being grateful, she has the audacity to demand a payout!” I froze, a cold sweat breaking out on my back despite the thick robe I was wearing. Drifting apart? When did the story change to me being an adulterer? “What are you all talking about!” I demanded, pushing the kitchen door open. The maids, who once respectfully called me “ma’am,” looked up at me with open contempt. Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper, was the boldest. She sneered right at my face. “What are we talking about? The statement is already public. Are we not allowed to speak the truth about your infidelity?” I rushed back to my room, plugged in my phone, and frantically pulled up the news. The top headline was “Blackwood Heir Announces Divorce.” The article read: “Due to Ms. Audrey’s unfaithful conduct during their marriage, Mr. Adrian Blackwood has terminated their marital relationship. This statement serves as official notice.” A roar filled my ears, the world tilting on its axis. To pave the way for Isabella, Adrian was willing to utterly annihilate my reputation. I was about to type a furious rebuttal in the comments when my phone vibrated, startling Noah awake in my arms. It was the police. “Ms. Audrey, we have a breakthrough in your case!” the familiar officer’s voice was filled with excitement. “Your abduction originated in Crestwood!” “We’ve cross-referenced their missing children files with local police. We need you to come in for a DNA test as soon as possible!” My heart, shattered by Adrian, suddenly reignited with a flicker of hope. Tears streamed silently down my face. Since being kidnapped at the age of six and brought to this city, I had never known the warmth of a family. I thought marrying Adrian was a new beginning, but it was just another nightmare. But now… now I might find my real parents. My son could have a family that would truly love him. After hanging up, I quickly packed a small bag and turned to the nursery to grab a few essentials for Noah. My hand had just closed around the doorknob when the front door of the villa was thrown open. “Audrey! Who said you could touch anything in there?” Adrian stood in the doorway, his brows furrowed in annoyance. “I was just getting a few changes of clothes for the baby.” “Those were prepared for Isabella’s child,” he snapped. “If you need something, go buy it yourself.” Every single item in that nursery was something I had picked out with love and care during my pregnancy. Now, he was giving it all to Isabella’s child. A child that wasn’t even his. I swallowed the bitter pill of his cruelty, knowing it was a battle I couldn’t win right now. But then Mrs. Gable suddenly grabbed my arm, her face a hard mask, and began dragging me toward the door. “Mr. Blackwood has ordered us to go to the rehabilitation center to look after Miss Frost.” A sharp, tearing pain shot through my stitches. “I just gave birth too!” I cried out. “I need to rest!” Adrian didn’t even look back. “Which means you have experience.” “Stop whining,” he said dismissively as he slid into his sedan. “You grew up doing manual labor. Your body can handle it. You don’t need bed rest.” He drove off, and I was shoved into an SUV heading for the center. When we arrived, Isabella was reclining on a lounge chair, surrounded by a team of at least five or six nurses. Seeing me, she made a show of trying to sit up. “Audrey, you’re here! Please, sit down. You must be exhausted from childbirth…” Adrian gently pressed her back down, then shot me a glare. “She once worked through a high fever. This is nothing for her.” He turned his cold eyes on me. “Audrey, if you take good care of Isabella, I’ll add another half a million to your payout. A fair deal, don’t you think?” Another half a million. It was tempting. I bit my lip. “I can’t. My baby is home alone with no one to watch him.” A flash of impatience crossed his face, but Isabella softly took his hand. “Adrian, darling, if she doesn’t want to, don’t force her. I don’t want to make things difficult for you.” Adrian’s grip on her hand tightened, and when he looked back at me, his expression was pure disgust. “Letting you take care of her is a favor. You’re an orphan with nothing and no one. Marrying you brought me absolutely no benefit, and you can’t even do this one simple thing. Serving Isabella is the only value you have left.” He belittled me with the ease of habit, completely ignoring my pale, drawn face. He waved a hand, telling Mrs. Gable to go back and watch the baby. But Mrs. Gable had always despised me. How could I trust her to care for my son? Adrian ignored my silent plea and ordered me to feed Isabella her nutritional meal. I looked back at the closed door, realizing I was trapped. Dragging my weak body, I prepared the food. As I brought a spoonful of the warm broth to her lips, she suddenly recoiled, crying out in pain. “It’s hot!” Adrian snatched the bowl from my hands and slammed it down at my feet. Hot liquid splashed all over my pants. “What is your problem? If you’ve burned her, you won’t be eating today!” Isabella nestled against his shoulder, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Adrian, please don’t be angry. I’m sure she didn’t mean it…” “Stop calling her that. She won’t be Mrs. Blackwood for much longer! We’re signing the papers tomorrow!” I was left standing there, stained and humiliated, while no one offered me so much as a glance. The next day, Adrian took me from the center to the city registrar’s office to finalize the divorce. As we stepped out of the building, he walked straight to his car. “I’m going to order a custom performance gown for Isabella. You can get back on your own.” He paused, his face grim. “Audrey, if you’re not back at the center in forty minutes, you’ll regret it.” The car sped away, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust. I hailed a cab, but instead of going to the center, I went back to the villa. The moment I stepped through the gate, I heard a baby’s cry coming from the storage shed in the backyard. That’s where they kept the gardening tools! I burst in and found Noah lying on a cold, stone slab. There was formula and fresh diapers right beside him, but his tiny face had a bluish tint, his cries were faint whimpers. He hadn’t been fed or changed since yesterday. There was no time to confront Mrs. Gable. I snatched up my son, feeding him and changing him with trembling hands. As I burped him, Noah gave me a blurry, unfocused smile. My eyes burned, and a tear splashed onto his clothes. Isabella’s child was being coddled by a legion of staff, while mine was forgotten in a shed, starved and cold. “It’s okay, Noah,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Mama’s going to get you out of here.” Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the front door. I had just opened it when Adrian’s hand flew out, and the force of his slap sent my head ringing. “Audrey! How dare you bring trash like this into my home!” I shielded Noah as Adrian shoved me into the living room. Isabella followed, wrapped in a cashmere shawl and flanked by her nurses. The scene inside made me gasp. Several strange men were sprawled across the carpet, the stench of cheap liquor hanging heavy in the air. The entire villa was in disarray, looking like the aftermath of a wild party. There were men passed out in the bedrooms and the study. On our master bed, three people were tangled together, their clothes in disheveled piles. I shook my head, horrified. “It wasn’t me! I wasn’t even here yesterday!” Mrs. Gable stepped forward, her expression one of deep disappointment. “Sir, a group of men forced their way in last night. They said Ms. Audrey gave them a keycard and invited them for a party…” “They complained the baby’s crying was annoying them, so they moved him to the shed…” I was trembling, my voice desperate. “I don’t know them! I was at the rehab center all day, how could I have given them a keycard?” “That’s true…” Isabella said softly, tugging on Adrian’s sleeve. “Audrey was taking care of me yesterday. Adrian, dear, why don’t we just ask one of them?” Adrian’s hard expression softened slightly. He ordered his men to wake the nearest man. “Who let you in here!” he roared. The man blinked, his eyes bleary with drink. “Some chick named Audrey gave us a keycard. Said the place was empty and told us to have some fun… Hey, where’s the booze?” He waved his hand, and dangling from his fingers was my keycard, instantly recognizable by the small, hand-braided lanyard I’d made myself. I instinctively checked my pocket. It was empty. “No, my keycard was stolen! It wasn’t me!” “Still lying!” Adrian’s face was contorted with rage. “If Isabella hadn’t been worried about you and insisted on coming back, I would have never known about your filthy little secrets!” “You wanted this house so you could cheat with these degenerates!” His patience snapped. He ordered Mrs. Gable to lock me in the storage shed. As the door closed, I heard Isabella’s gentle voice. “Adrian, darling, she was probably just having some fun. Don’t be so angry…” “She needs to be taught a lesson! This house is disgusting now. We’re staying at the city apartment.” The shed door was bolted shut. Through the grimy window, I watched them drive away. Just before she got in the car, Isabella glanced back at the shed. She gave me a triumphant, venomous smile. Late that night, after I finally managed to soothe Noah to sleep, the single lightbulb in the shed flickered and died. It was probably old wiring. I turned on my phone’s flashlight to check the bus schedule. Suddenly, I heard the sound of the bolt being drawn back. Isabella stood silhouetted in the pale moonlight. With no one else around, the pure, naked malice in her eyes was terrifying. “You got divorced and you still want his money? Audrey, have you no shame?” I immediately clutched Noah tighter and backed into a corner. There was nowhere to run. “Isabella, I have never done anything to you. Why are you so determined to destroy me?” “Never done anything?” she hissed. “If it weren’t for you, I would have been the one to marry Adrian!” I stared at her, stunned. She was right. Someone with my unknown background had no business marrying into the Blackwood family. Years ago, Adrian’s grandfather had collapsed from a stroke on the street, and I was the one who found him, got him to a hospital, and paid his initial medical bills. To repay this debt of gratitude, the old man had forced Adrian to marry me, threatening to cut him off completely if he refused. We got the license, but we never even had a wedding. Adrian treated me like I was invisible, until one night he came into my room, drunk. One time was all it took. His grandfather passed away two months into my pregnancy, and with him went my only protector. So Isabella truly believed I had stolen her life. “You have what you wanted now,” I said, my voice shaking. “Why can’t you just let me go?” “No!” she shrieked. “If you hadn’t married him, I never would have gone to that bar to drown my sorrows! I never would have ended up with this… this bastard growing inside me!” “It’s all your fault! Audrey, I’m going to make you pay with your life!” She grabbed a pair of garden shears from the corner and lunged at me. I dodged, my heart pounding. But in the next second, she let out a piercing scream, slammed herself hard against the edge of a metal shelf, and collapsed to the floor. Adrian burst in. “Audrey! Are you insane!” Blood was streaming down Isabella’s arm. She fell weakly into his embrace. “Adrian, darling… I was just worried she wasn’t comfortable here, so I came to check on her…” “But she… she called me a cheap dancer and she attacked me…” Adrian pressed his hand against her wound, his eyes blazing with fury as he looked at me. “Audrey! Isabella has shown you nothing but kindness, and you push her, again and again!” “She has to perform again! Are you trying to destroy her career, her entire life?” Noah, terrified by the shouting, began to wail. I tried to comfort him while defending myself. “Adrian, you just believe everything she says?” “Who else could it be! I am sick to death of your pathetic, vicious act!” Adrian lifted Isabella into his arms and nodded at Mrs. Gable to restrain me. “You’re coming to the hospital with us! If that cut leaves a scar and affects her performance, I’ll make you pay a thousand times over!” In the hospital corridor, Mrs. Gable couldn’t be bothered to watch me. She wandered to the end of the hall, scrolling on her phone. Noah was still crying, unsettled and scared. A kind-looking woman with a gentle smile came out of a nearby room. Seeing me struggling with the baby, she offered me a pack of tissues. “Here, wipe your brow,” she said softly. “The little one might just be hungry.” I nodded my thanks, her simple act of kindness a stark contrast to the cruelty of my child’s own father. After changing Noah’s diaper, I saw Mrs. Gable was still engrossed in her phone. I clutched Noah and made a move for the stairwell. But I ran straight into Adrian, who was rushing down the hall with Isabella. The moment he saw me, he struck. Another slap, sharp and brutal. “You bitch! I should have taken your ID and passport!” I stumbled backward, and Mrs. Gable rushed over to block my path. As I regained my balance, Isabella, her arm now wrapped in a clean white bandage, began to sob for all to hear. “Audrey… before you and Adrian divorced, we were just old friends. How could you go online and slander me as a homewrecker? If you want to ruin me this badly, I might as well just die!” Adrian pulled her into a protective embrace. At his silent command, Mrs. Gable lunged and snatched Noah from my arms. “Give me back my son!” I screamed, scrambling forward. But Adrian’s hand shot out, closing around my throat. He squeezed, holding me there until my vision started to spot and my lungs burned. Only then did he release me. “Get your phone. Start a livestream. Now,” he commanded, his voice deadly calm. “You will confess that you were the one who cheated. That Isabella and I are innocent.” “Do it. Or you will never see your son again.” I gasped for air, my throat raw. Over his shoulder, I saw Isabella give Mrs. Gable a subtle nod. The housekeeper then took out a handkerchief and pressed it firmly over Noah’s mouth and nose. She was trying to suffocate my child. Noah’s cries began to weaken. And Adrian just watched. He didn’t care. He had never once seen Noah as his own flesh and blood. Panic, cold and absolute, seized me. I dropped to my knees. “Okay! I’ll do it! Please, just don’t hurt my baby!”

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Alistair Marshall’s voice was poison as the needle slid into my vein. “Lydia,” he whispered, “go back to the girl who only had eyes for me.” When I opened my eyes, I saw his face—a mask of false devotion. I pulled my hand back, finding hands once insured for millions now cracked and calloused. Seeing my daze, he smiled. “The drug worked. It reverts your memory to eighteen.” “Welcome back, Lydia. For ten years you’ve been hysterical, accusing me about Penelope. Now we can start over.” I looked toward the doorway. A woman in white stood there, timid yet provocative. “Lydia, you’re awake,” she cooed. “Mr. Marshall turned down a million-dollar contract to stay with you.” I ignored her. Under my pillow, my fingers found a leather journal. Inside, in my own writing: Lydia Prescott, if you’re reading this, that bastard Alistair really did it. Do not trust him. You are the Prescott heiress. You never loved him. I closed the journal, heart aching. So this is what I became? This broken shell? Alistair waited for me to fall into his arms. Fighting nausea, I smiled mockingly. “Sorry, old man. Who are you?” 1 The smile on Alistair’s face froze. But he quickly composed himself, chalking it up to the kind of playful tantrum my eighteen-year-old self was known for. “Lydia, don’t play games. I’m your husband, Alistair Marshall.” “You used to love calling me Alistair. You told me it was love at first sight, that you were willing to cut ties with your family just to marry me.” He spoke as he reached for my hand. I sidestepped his touch, my gaze landing on the dust-covered Steinway grand piano in the corner. My most prized possession. Now, it was treated like a storage shelf, piled high with junk: Penelope’s cheap handbag, a stack of Alistair’s files, and an unopened, tacky piece of lingerie. “That’s my piano.” My voice was ice as I pointed at the heap of garbage. Penelope scurried over, making a great show of sweeping the items aside. But in her haste, she “accidentally” knocked over a cup of coffee, spilling it all over the keys. The dark brown liquid bled between the black and white, a grotesque scar. “Oh! I’m so sorry!” Penelope gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as tears instantly welled in her eyes. “Lydia, I didn’t mean to… I was just trying to help you clean up…” A furious roar filled my ears. Almost instinctively, I raised my hand to slap some sense into this insipid, conniving woman. But before my palm could connect, my wrist was caught in an iron grip. Alistair pulled Penelope behind him, a look of pained concern on his face as he frowned at me. “Lydia, don’t take it out on her.” “It’s just an old piano. You haven’t touched it in five years anyway. Ever since you fired the housekeeper out of jealousy and insisted on doing all the chores yourself, these hands have been useless. What’s the point of keeping it?” He grabbed my ruined hand, his tone laced with a sick, twisted sort of pride. “Look. These hands may not be able to play the piano anymore, but they’ve washed my clothes. They’ve cooked my meals.” “Every callus on them is a medal of your love for me.” I stared at his self-satisfied face, then glanced down at the journal on my lap. On page 15, it read: Alistair was drunk. He burned the back of my hand with his cigarette. He said he hated the way I looked when I played the piano, so aloof and superior. He said I only looked like a real wife when I was on my knees, scrubbing the floor. I turned my hand over. Sure enough, there was a round, ugly cigarette burn marring the skin. So this was his “medal.” A wave of bitter sorrow washed over me. Not for him, but for the version of me who had cried herself to sleep, night after night, in utter despair. Lydia Prescott, what did you go through to be broken so completely? “Alistair.” I snatched my hand back. I took a wet wipe from the nightstand and began methodically cleaning each finger he had touched, as if trying to scrub off a virus. “Since the piano is dirty, just throw it out.” “This entire house, in fact, makes me sick.” Alistair’s brow furrowed, and he was about to retort when his phone rang. To display his supposed transparency, he put it on speaker. A man’s fawning voice came through the line. “Mr. Marshall, that ‘Eternal Love’ diamond ring you ordered has arrived. The inscription ‘For my beloved Penelope’ is all done. Should I have it delivered tonight?” 2 The air in the room turned to ice. Penelope couldn’t hide the delighted surprise in her eyes. She lowered her head, feigning shyness. “Oh, Alistair… you shouldn’t have…” Alistair fumbled to end the call, his eyes darting toward me. He expected me to scream, to fly into a rage, to interrogate him with the same hysterical fury I apparently had before. After all, the diary detailed how the twenty-eight-year-old Lydia had turned herself into a haggard shrew over trivial matters like this. But he was about to be disappointed. To my eighteen-year-old self, this scene wasn’t infuriating. It was comical. I simply sat there, even picking up my chopsticks to eat a piece of braised pork. “How lovely,” I commented coolly. “‘Beloved Penelope.’ It has a nice ring to it. After all, garbage belongs with the trash.” Alistair was stunned. He stared into my eyes, searching for a flicker of jealousy or pain. All he found was a dead, chilling indifference. That indifference terrified him. It was a sign that I was slipping from his control. He took a deep breath, reverting to his old tactics of manipulation. “Lydia, are you jealous?” “I know that ring is the style you’ve always wanted. We were poor back then, and I couldn’t afford it. You suffered so much with me…” “Now that I have money, I want to make it up to you. But Penelope has been with me for years, without any official title. This is just a small token to comfort her.” He grew more confident with every word, seemingly moved by his own twisted generosity. “Come on, Lydia, stop this. Tonight is our wedding anniversary. I have a surprise for you.” “As long as you behave, accept Penelope, we can all be a happy family again, just like before.” I put down my chopsticks and looked at this insufferably arrogant man. And I laughed. I laughed so hard tears started to form in my eyes. “Alistair, are you an idiot?” I grabbed the journal and, in one swift motion, hurled it at his face. It hit him with a sharp, satisfying crack. He staggered back, stunned, a red mark blooming on his forehead. “Who told you I was in love with you when I was eighteen?” I stood up, looking down on him as if he were an insect. “When I was eighteen, I was the diamond of the city’s high society. The line of men trying to date me could have circled the city three times over.” “And you? You were just a scholarship kid in a washed-out shirt, too poor to even afford meat in the university cafeteria.” The color drained from Alistair’s face. That was the past he fought so desperately to forget. “The only reason I ever gave you a second glance was because you reminded me of a pathetic stray dog my family once took in.” “Loving you was something that foolish future version of Lydia did.” “As for me, right now, all I want is for you to…” “Get out of my house with nothing but the clothes on your back.” 3 Alistair wasn’t enraged by my demand for long. He touched the red mark on his forehead, and instead of anger, a knowing, condescending smile spread across his face. “What’s this? Your memory reverts to eighteen, and your temper along with it?” He calmly picked the journal up from the floor and tossed it into the trash can as if it were a child’s toy. “As I recall, the eighteen-year-old you would stand under the blazing sun for two hours just to catch a glimpse of me on the basketball court. This little act of disgust you’re putting on now…” He stepped closer, towering over me, and playfully twirled a lock of my hair between his fingers. His eyes held the mocking amusement of someone teasing a pet. “Are you trying to cover up the shame of me discovering your little secret crush? Or do you think playing the part of the proud, feisty girl is a better way to hold my interest?” My stomach churned. I was about to call him delusional, but he produced a black credit card from his pocket and tucked it into the collar of my dress. “Alright, that’s enough. The performance was good. This thorny little attitude is certainly more appealing than the crying lunatic you became.” “You will attend the charity gala with me tomorrow night. It’s Penelope’s first time at such an event, and she’s nervous. You were raised in high society; you know the rules. You’ll be her chaperone. Teach her how to socialize.” “Keep Penelope happy, and I’ll unfreeze the limit on this supplementary card. Your mother is still waiting for her medical funds overseas, isn’t she?” My entire body went rigid. So that was it. That was the leash he had me on. The journal mentioned it: the Prescott family had gone bankrupt, and my mother was critically ill in a hospital abroad. Alistair controlled all of her medical payments. He dangled life-saving money in front of me like a treat for a dog, and only if I obediently wagged my tail would he deign to spare a little. He seemed to relish shattering my eighteen-year-old high-society fantasy, turning and leaving with a contemptuous smirk. At the gala, Penelope wore the “Mermaid’s Tear” necklace Alistair had bought for a million dollars at auction, preening like a proud swan. I trailed behind them in an out-of-season black pantsuit, looking like a sullen butler. Alistair sipped his champagne, his gaze as arrogant as a lion tamer’s. “Go on. Play ‘Für Elise.’ It’s Penelope’s favorite.” Under the watchful eyes of the entire room, I sat at the piano. The hands once hailed as those of a prodigy were now covered in chemical burns and the ugly scar from a cigarette. The moment my fingers touched the keys, a shooting pain made them go stiff. The notes that came out were discordant, clashing, like noise. Penelope giggled behind her hand. “Oh dear, is Lydia trying to ruin the party on purpose?” Alistair slammed the piano lid shut, nearly crushing my fingers. He leaned in, his voice a furious whisper. “What are you trying to pull? Are you so desperate for my pity that you’d resort to self-harm?” Self-harm? I looked down at my hand, which was trembling uncontrollably. My fingertips were red and swollen, nearly numb from the impact. That instinctive flinch wasn’t a ploy. It was a decade of deep-seated, bone-deep terror of this man, embedded in the very cells of this body. And the pathetic irony was that he mistook that terror for love. He saw my brokenness as his prize. I forced myself to ignore the searing pain and met his gaze, which was filled with a mixture of disgust and smugness. Any hint of tears that the pain had brought to my eyes evaporated instantly. Seeing my silence, Alistair assumed he’d correctly guessed my intentions. He scoffed and shoved my hand away. 4 After the gala, as if to punish me for my “uncooperative” behavior, Alistair gave me the silent treatment. He and Penelope watched movies in his study, while I was forced to hand-wash his expensive suit in the cold night air. I took a pair of scissors and cut the five-thousand-dollar suit into ribbons, then flushed them down the toilet. Then, I snuck up to the attic. The journal mentioned that my twenty-eight-year-old self had hidden all of the mementos from my eighteenth year in a secret compartment in the attic. I found the small tin box. The moment I opened it, my eyes burned. Inside was a thick stack of letters, a withered dried-flower necklace, and a silver lighter engraved with the initials ‘D.K.’. These were memories that belonged only to me and him. The boy who was wild and rebellious to the world, but gentle only with me. When my family’s fortune collapsed, I had said the cruelest things imaginable to him, forcing him to go abroad so I wouldn’t drag him down. Then, I had turned around and married Alistair. I traced the engraving on the lighter, almost feeling the warmth it once held. “What are you doing?” A cold voice sliced through the silence behind me. I jumped, and the box fell from my hands, scattering its contents across the floorboards. Alistair stood in the doorway, his gaze dark and menacing as he stared at the letters on the floor. Then, a mocking sneer spread across his lips. He strode over, picked up one of the letters, and began to read it by the moonlight streaming through the window. “‘Lydia, wait for me. When I come back, I’ll give you a home…’” “Signed, D.K.?” Alistair looked as if he’d stumbled upon a hidden treasure. He threw his head back and laughed. “No wonder… no wonder you hid them all the way up here.” He pointed at the signature, a look of smug understanding on his face, as if he had just found irrefutable proof of my love for him. “Lydia Prescott, you tell me to get out, but behind my back, you’ve been hiding the love letters you wrote to me for ten years?” “D.K… Darling Marshall. So you’ve been secretly in love with me since you were eighteen?” I looked at this monumentally delusional man and felt a sense of pity at how absurd he was. “Alistair, have you ever looked in a mirror?” “D.K. stands for Damian Knight! As in, Damian Knight of the Knight family!” The smile vanished from Alistair’s face, replaced by a furious, violent rage. The name Damian Knight was a shadow that had haunted him his entire life. In university, Damian was the sun, and Alistair was the dirt. The only reason he had pursued me so relentlessly was for the chance to beat Damian, just once. “Shut up!” He struck me across the face. “You’re still trying to lie to me? Damian Knight died overseas years ago!” “You’re just saying his name to make me angry, to make me jealous!” He pulled out a lighter from his own pocket and set the pile of letters ablaze. The firelight danced across his twisted, contorted face. I lunged for the burning letters with my bare hands, my palms searing in the flames, but all I managed to grab was a handful of hot ash. Alistair kicked me away in disgust. “Stop the act. Tomorrow, we have a meeting with a trillion-dollar investment magnate. A real player.” “Cover up those disgusting injuries. If you dare to embarrass me in front of our guest, I’ll have them pull the plug on your mother.” 5 At the airport’s VIP terminal, Alistair was so nervous he kept wiping sweat from his brow. Penelope had shed her usual arrogance and clung to his arm like a docile pet. Only I stood there, my hands wrapped in thick gauze, my eyes empty as I stared at the arrival gate. With the letters gone, the last spark of light inside me had been extinguished. The only things keeping me upright were my hatred for Alistair and my concern for my mother. “Listen to me,” Alistair warned in a low voice. “This CEO is a difficult man. He’s ruthless and has no interest in women.” “When he gets here, you keep your mouth shut and stand in the back like you’re invisible.” “If I can secure this investment, Marshall Industries will ascend to a whole new level. I’ll finally be a part of the city’s true elite.” He adjusted his tie, his face alight with a desperate hunger for power. “He’s here!” A commotion erupted at the gate as a group of bodyguards in black suits emerged, surrounding a tall, imposing man. The man was dressed in a bespoke black suit, his posture ramrod straight, radiating an aura so powerful it was hard to look at him directly. He wore dark sunglasses, and his thin lips were set in a firm line, a clear warning to stay away. Alistair immediately plastered a fawning smile on his face and practically bowed as he scurried forward. “Mr. Knight! It is an honor, sir. I’m Alistair Marshall of Marshall Industries. Thank you so much for taking the time…” The man didn’t break his stride. He didn’t even glance in Alistair’s direction. He walked right past Alistair’s outstretched hand as if he were stepping around a piece of trash. Alistair’s hand hung in the air, his smile frozen on his face, a portrait of pure, unadulterated humiliation. Penelope tugged at his sleeve, her own composure crumbling. The man stopped directly in front of me. Through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, I felt an intense, burning gaze lock onto my face, then drop to my bandaged hands. The terminal fell deathly silent. Alistair scrambled to recover, rushing forward to explain. “Mr. Knight, my apologies, this is my wife. She doesn’t know any better. Please forgive her for startling you…” He reached out to pull me away. “Get out of the way! Don’t block Mr. Knight’s path!” CRACK! Before Alistair could finish his sentence, the man raised his hand and delivered a brutal backhand slap across his face.

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1 On the last day of December, Mom took my five-year-old hand and led me out of the orphanage. She named me Eve. “Eve, your sister’s name is Hope. Your birthday is on New Year’s Day. It symbolizes a new beginning.” “So, every year on your birthday, you must make a wish. A wish means a fresh start, something full of hope.” I nodded hard, my teeth chattering from the cold. Back then, I didn’t understand. For every wish I made, Mom would take something from me. At six, I wished to see fireworks, and she took my bone marrow. At seven, I wished for a doll, and she took a kidney. At eight, I wished for a birthday cake, and she took a piece of my liver. This year, I am ten. Mom looks at me tenderly in the soft glow of the candles. “Make a wish, Eve.” As the candlelight flickers, I close my eyes. This year, I have only one wish. I wish to live through the year. … The fireworks outside dance in Mom’s gentle eyes. She asks softly, “What did my Eve wish for this year?” I look into her eyes, searching for the warmth I’ve craved all year. I inch closer, my voice a whisper. “I wished for Mommy to love me forever.” Her expression freezes for a second. Then, she opens her arms and pulls me into a hug. It’s tight, so tight I can barely breathe. She smells faintly of perfume. My cheek presses against her soft sweater, and my eyes instantly burn. “Silly girl,” Mom’s voice comes from above me, laced with a smile. “Of course, Mommy loves you. As long as you’re a good girl, as long as your sister Hope can live, Mommy will love you forever.” I nod forcefully, wiping my tears on her sweater. Mom only ever hugs me when I make a wish. This is the hug I have waited a whole year for, from last New Year’s Day until now. As I raise my thin arms to hug her back, she lets go. She cups my face in her hands, her thumbs wiping away my tears. “Such a good, sensible girl. Now that Mommy has granted your wish, will you grant Mommy’s wish and help your sister one more time?” I nod. It’s always like this. I’m used to it. “Hope’s heart is getting weaker,” Mom’s voice is still gentle. “The doctor says she needs a healthy heart. Eve, are you willing to give your heart to your sister?” “Tomorrow, Mommy will take you to the hospital for a compatibility test. If it’s a match, Hope can live. You want your sister to live, don’t you, Eve?” I look at her expectant eyes, at the gentle smile on her lips. “Okay,” I say. Mom’s smile brightens. She hugs me again, this time a light, quick squeeze. “I knew you were the best girl.” As she turns to cut the cake, the living room door bursts open. My sister Hope rushes in, wrapped in a thick down jacket, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her eyes sparkling. “Mom! The countdown event is starting in the square! Mrs. Peterson said she can get us front-row seats for the fireworks show!” Mom immediately puts down the cake knife and walks over to Hope, brushing the snowflakes from her shoulders. “Sweetheart, slow down, don’t get choked up. It’s so cold out. Why don’t we wait until after your surgery?” “But I want to go!” Hope whines, tugging on Mom’s hand. “It’s only once a year! And the doctor said I’m stable right now…” Mom glances back at me, then at Hope’s eager face. The glance is so fleeting I can’t decipher the emotion in it. “Alright, alright. But only for a little while. You can’t get tired.” Her tone is filled with a fondness I’ve never heard directed at me. Then she turns to me. “Eve, you have the compatibility test tomorrow. You need to rest early tonight, so you’ll stay home.” My mouth opens. I want to say that I want to see the fireworks too. A real fireworks show. On my sixth birthday, Mom had promised. I remember her smiling as she said, “Of course, sweetie. As soon as you’ve helped your sister, Mom will take you.” But after I donated my bone marrow on the operating table, all she did was pat my head and say, “We’ll see the fireworks next time. Your sister can’t wait.” The words die on my tongue. Mom is already at the door, holding Hope’s hand, not looking back. “Eve, don’t eat anything after you finish your cake. You need an empty stomach for tomorrow.” The door clicks shut. 2 I stand there, still holding the piece of cake Mom handed me. The living room is suddenly silent, except for the boisterous sounds of the New Year’s Eve show on TV. The host is counting down excitedly, “Ten minutes to go! A new year is coming!” I take my cake and slowly walk back to my small room. The storage closet has no windows. I sit on my little cot and take small bites of the cake. It’s sweet. So sweet it’s bitter. I remember that night when I was seven, after the kidney surgery. The anesthesia wore off, and the incision burned like fire. I cried for my mom. A nurse came in and told me Mom was in Hope’s room because Hope had a nightmare. That night, I counted the cracks in the ceiling. I reached three hundred and twenty-seven before the sun came up. After the liver surgery when I was eight, I was violently ill. Mom came to my room, looked at me with a frown, and asked the nurse, “Why is her reaction so strong? It won’t affect the quality of the liver, will it?” She never asked if I was in pain. She never asked if I was scared. She only cared about the organ that was no longer inside my body. The cake is gone, but the emptiness and a sharp pain in my stomach are even worse. All I’ve had to eat since this afternoon is this one small piece of cake. Mom said I needed an empty stomach, but no one told me it would feel this bad. The old scar on my abdomen begins to ache. Ever since they took my kidney, I haven’t been able to sleep through the night without pain. The lights in the living room are off. Mrs. Peterson must have gone to bed after cleaning the kitchen. The house is silent, except for the rumbling in my stomach and the distant pop of firecrackers. I try to endure it, but finally, I quietly push open the door to my room. There should be something to eat in the kitchen. Even a slice of bread. In the fridge, there’s a bowl of soup that looks delicious. I swallow hard. “Eve?” Mrs. Peterson’s voice comes from behind me. I jump, nearly dropping the bowl. “Are you hungry?” she asks, a troubled look on her face. “But your mother gave me specific instructions. You have a blood test tomorrow. You have to have an empty stomach…” “Just one sip,” I plead, my stomach letting out another loud growl. “Please, I’m so hungry. My tummy hurts…” Mrs. Peterson hesitates. She looks at the clock on the wall, then at my pale face and the hand clutching my stomach. She sighs. “Alright, just a tiny sip. I mean it. If your mother finds out, I’ll be in big trouble.” She takes the bowl from the fridge, pours a small amount into a mug, and heats it in the microwave. In those few seconds, the rich aroma fills the air, and my stomach clenches as if squeezed by an invisible hand. “Here. Drink it slowly.” The moment the warm liquid touches my throat, I almost cry. I’m so hungry that every warm sip feels like salvation. I cradle the mug, taking tiny sips, afraid it will be gone too soon. Just then, I hear a key turning in the front door. Dad, Mom, and Hope are back. Dad is carrying Hope, her little face buried in his shoulder, her breathing even. Mom follows behind, carrying Hope’s small backpack. Their smiles freeze when they see me in the kitchen, holding the mug. “Eve? Didn’t I tell you to have an empty stomach?” Mom rushes over and snatches the mug from my hands. The sudden movement startles Hope awake. She sees Mom’s angry face and shrinks back into Dad’s arms. “Mommy…” I look at her, tears welling up in my eyes. “I was so hungry. My tummy hurt so much…” I point to the side of my abdomen where my kidney used to be. It’s throbbing with a dull ache from the hunger and the cold. “What do you mean, it hurts? You’re doing this on purpose! You don’t want to give your heart to your sister, so you’re eating on purpose, aren’t you?” “No, Mommy, I was really hungry…” I sob, reaching for her sleeve. Dad frowns, turns, and carries Hope toward the master bedroom. “Honey, put Hope to bed first. Don’t scare her.” Mom’s finger is practically jabbing my nose. “Eve Chen, didn’t I tell you that Mommy would love you if you were a good girl? Didn’t you promise to give your heart to your sister?” “I promised, I promised! Mommy, please don’t yell at me, please don’t leave me…” I cry, gasping for breath. “You’re a liar! You just don’t want to save your sister! I raised you for nothing!” She grabs my arm, her grip so tight it feels like she’s going to crush my bones, and drags me toward the storage closet. A familiar tide of fear washes over me. She’s going to abandon me. Just like the ladies at the orphanage said, children who don’t behave get thrown away. Mom shoves me hard into the closet. I stumble and fall, a searing pain shooting through me. “You selfish, ungrateful brat! You can stay in here and think about what you’ve done!” The door slams shut, and the familiar darkness swallows me whole. 3 I curl up in the cold corner, my stomach a hollow, aching pit. Hunger gnaws at me from the inside, making my body cold and shaky. Worse than the hunger is the itching. I can’t stop scratching, my nails leaving red welts on my skin. The more I scratch, the more it itches, a maddening, deep itch that makes me want to writhe on the floor. “Don’t be hungry anymore… Mommy doesn’t want me anymore…” I mumble, my fingers digging into my skin. “It will be better after the transplant… If I scratch myself clean, Mommy will come back…” My nails break the skin. Warm liquid oozes out, and the pain finally overwhelms the itch. The darkness has stolen my sight, but it sharpens my other senses. I can hear my own ragged breathing. I can smell the sweet scent of dumplings from somewhere in the house. It’s New Year’s Day. Every family is eating dumplings. I want some too. My consciousness begins to fade. I see her again. On a snowy night, a woman in a thin cotton coat holds a bundled-up child. I can’t see her face, only that she’s crying, her shoulders shaking violently. She places the child on the cold steps and walks away. “Mama… Mama…” the child cries, reaching out a small hand. That’s me. At one or two years old. The woman hesitates but doesn’t turn back. The snow falls on her, quickly turning her into a white silhouette. “Mama, take me with you! I’ll be good!” “Don’t leave me… Please… don’t leave me…” I cry and chase after her, but her figure shrinks, disappearing into the blizzard at the corner of the street. I kneel in the snow, crying until my throat is raw, until my body is stiff with cold. A lady from the orphanage comes out, scoops me up like a piece of trash, and throws me into the small, windowless dark room. “What are you crying for? Your mother doesn’t want you! Crying won’t help!” The sound of the lock turning is the same as tonight. “No… Mama… don’t leave me…” I wake up from the dream, sobbing, my face wet with either cold sweat or tears. It’s morning. I struggle to my feet. The scratches have formed thin scabs that tear open with every movement. I lean against the wall and slowly make my way to the door, pushing it open a crack. The living room is brightly lit. On the dining table sits a large platter of plump, white dumplings. Hope is sitting in her special high-backed chair, a few dumplings in her small bowl. Mom is picking one up, carefully blowing on it, and bringing it to Hope’s lips. “Here, sweetie, open up. These are good luck dumplings. They’ll bring you peace and health in the new year.” Hope obediently opens her mouth and takes a bite, a happy smile spreading across her face. “Yummy!” “If you like them, have some more,” Dad says, smiling as he pours Hope a glass of warm milk. “It’s New Year’s Day. Our Hope needs all the good luck she can get.” My eyes are fixed on the platter of dumplings. I’m hungry, so hungry my vision is starting to blur. I forget the pain, forget last night’s punishment. All I see is food. “Eve?” Dad sees me first, a look of surprise on his face. Mom and Hope turn to look at me. But I don’t care. My attention is completely focused on a dumpling that has fallen from Hope’s bowl. My fingertips are about to touch it when Hope, trying to protect her food, accidentally knocks my hand. I am already weak. The slight touch sends me toppling over, crashing into the dining table and sending everything flying. Hope lets out a loud wail, tears streaming down her face. “My dumplings… my good luck dumplings… they’re all gone… waaaah…” Mom’s face turns livid. She stands up abruptly, and a heavy slap lands on my cheek. My head snaps to the side, my ear ringing, one side of my face numb and burning. “Eve Chen, did you do that on purpose? You can’t stand to see your sister happy, can you? You even have to ruin her good luck dumplings?” I shake my head, crying, my insides twisting with fear. “I’m so hungry… I want to save Hope, I’ll give her my heart… please let me eat something…” Mom lets out a cold, sharp laugh and grabs my arm, dragging me toward the door. “Then let’s go to the hospital right now and get it over with! At least then you won’t be in the house, plotting against your sister!” The cold morning wind cuts my face like a knife. I’m still in my thin pajamas as Mom shoves me into the car. We drive to the hospital. I’m taken to a brightly lit room. A doctor in a white coat looks at my bruised and scratched body and frowns. “Mr. and Mrs. Chen, this child can’t be more than ten. She’s severely malnourished and has undergone significant physical trauma. Are you sure you want to proceed with a heart compatibility test right now?” “Is the child willing? Have you asked for her consent?” Mom’s face is hard. “She’s willing.” I don’t know where the strength comes from, but I drop to my knees in front of her, tears streaming down my face. “Mom, Dad, I want to eat good luck dumplings. I want Mommy to call me sweetheart. I want Mommy to love me.” “I want to live through the year too.”

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