The invitation to appear alongside Griffin Shaw’s protégé, Tessa Monroe, felt like a deliberate provocation. The moment the livestream opened, the comments section exploded, mostly praising me: [Holy cow, that’s classic Hollywood-era elegance. Who’s the new A-lister?] [Step aside, Tessa. This woman is a goddess.] Tessa Monroe offered a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You look so familiar, ma’am,” she said, tilting her head. “You remind me of the woman in that notorious viral clip. The one doing… well, that… with Pierce Shaw in his Rolls-Royce Cullinan.” I froze. Everyone watching knew Pierce Shaw was my husband. Griffin’s father. Tessa clapped a hand over her mouth in a mock gasp. “Oh, I must be mistaken! Forgive me, ma’am. You couldn’t possibly be that kind of person. I’m just rambling, everyone, please disregard!” I smiled—a practiced, steel-edged smile. “No mistake, Tessa.” The air thickened. Every camera lens seemed to zoom in, and the torrent of live comments stuttered into a stunned silence. “When Griffin brought you home to meet the family,” I continued, my voice smooth and low, “you called me ‘Mom.’” 1 The words “Pierce Shaw,” “had sex in the car” and “that kind of person” hung in the sudden, absolute silence of the studio. I watched Tessa’s performance. “Tessa, you don’t recognize me?” It was only three months ago that my son, Griffin, had proudly video-called me from our living room, introducing his supposed future fiancée. Tessa had been all sweet deference and had addressed me as “Mom” with a sickeningly saccharine lilt. Now, she seemed to have forgotten the face of the woman she was trying to replace. Revealing my identity now, in this setting, would shatter this event and, worse, embarrass my son for his awful taste. I decided to play the long game. “You must be mistaken,” I told her, keeping my tone light. “I haven’t been in any such video.” Tessa widened her eyes in feigned confusion. “Oh, but I’m almost sure. It was near The Grand Magnolia Hotel, around eleven-thirty at night. A black Cullinan, the customized one with the Connecticut plates. I’m so sorry, am I giving away too many details?” She fluttered her hands at the camera. “Everyone, seriously, please don’t look into this! I’m just talking out of turn. My lovely fans, you must promise not to go searching!” My composure cracked. In the age of the internet, a few precise details were all it took to get someone doxed. Tessa was spoon-feeding her followers the exact coordinates to destroy me. When Griffin first brought her name up, I told Pierce I had a bad feeling about the girl. Something felt off, too calculated. Now I knew what it was. This girl was a master manipulator. A Hollowwood hack with A-list acting skills. It was no wonder she had my son wrapped around her finger. But I wasn’t worried. Pierce and I had driven past The Grand Magnolia that night, but we certainly weren’t childish enough to be making a viral spectacle. Sure enough, the search failed to turn up any concrete evidence. I decided to give her one final chance to step back. I smiled again. “Tessa, you’re definitely misremembering. Pierce and I weren’t doing anything like that.” Her eyes darted away for a millisecond. She pressed her lips together, adopting a thoughtful pose. “You’re right, ma’am. You’re totally right. After all, the video was taken down quickly. Without proof, it’s just my word against yours.” My jaw tightened. She was characterizing a lie as a suppressed truth. Immediately, her fan club began flooding the comments: [Tessa says that, but I remember seeing it too! The time, the location, the car—it all checks out. Then poof, it vanished.] [Standard. The star of the video is Pierce Shaw. The Shaw Group’s PR is brutal. Of course, they’d scrub it.] [Wow. Didn’t realize the beautiful lady was so… adventurous. And with the older generation, too!] [Follow for a link to the uncensored version of Veronica Shaw’s content!] [+1!] [+1!] [I’m following!] I scowled. Though I looked closer to Tessa’s age, the host knew my true age. I glanced at him, expecting him to interject and clarify my identity, but he was watching the screen with a look of pure, cynical amusement. He and Tessa exchanged a fleeting, conspiratorial glance. The host, who I now realized Tessa must have introduced, cleared his throat. “Let’s not dwell on this,” he announced. “Whatever Ms. Shaw has done, it is her private business. Can we please move on with the event?” [??? Private business? So you admit Veronica Shaw slept with Pierce Shaw!] The host threw his hands up. “I didn’t say that!” [Exactly! You know what kind of guest you have! I thought we were getting another iconic face on the scene! Turns out it’s just a high-class call girl!] When Tessa saw the mention of herself as “the other iconic face,” her eyes momentarily darkened—a flicker of pure, untamed ambition. When she spoke, she was trembling, on the verge of tears. “Oh, please, I was just making an innocent comment! You mustn’t speculate about Ms. Shaw like this! Spreading malicious rumors about women is terrible!” [If she doesn’t want rumors, she shouldn’t be a homewrecker. And with the older generation! Pierce Shaw could be her father! Disgusting!] [Tessa is so genuine. She climbed to the A-list on her talent alone.] “Please, stop!” Tessa’s eyes were glistening red. “I was just talking casually. It’s unfair to speculate without any hard evidence.” [Tessa is such an angel!] [She’s defending the very woman who’s attacking her! I’m a fan for life!] “You all…” Tessa’s face was a study in tortured helplessness. She turned to me. “Ms. Shaw, my fans are young and perhaps a little overzealous. Please don’t be angry. I promise to educate them later!” “Have you staged enough of a scene, Tessa?” I asked, my voice cutting through the noise. She recoiled. “Ms. Shaw, what are you implying?” “I’m saying your cheap parlor tricks are something my colleagues tossed out eight hundred years ago,” I scoffed. “If you truly didn’t want your fans to misunderstand, why did you offer such perfectly precise details at the beginning? You get to play the victim and the moral high ground simultaneously. Your target is left eating dust, afraid to fight back against your mob. You’ve run this play many times, haven’t you? And it always works.” Tessa’s face went white. I leaned in, ensuring my voice wouldn’t carry to the mic. “And even if your malicious lie were true, what gives you the right to comment? You are a Hollowwood hack. The affairs of the Shaw family are not your business.” Tessa covered her mouth dramatically. “Ma’am, you’re being cruel…” I looked down at her. “I’m giving you one last chance. Clarify your mistake to the entire streaming audience. I will allow you that one shred of dignity.” The host intervened, frowning. “Ms. Shaw, what does Tessa need to clarify? She merely mentioned things she saw.” I fixed the host with a cold stare. “A hired mouthpiece thinks he can weigh in on the Shaw family’s business?” “You!” Tessa burst into perfect, glistening tears. She was stunning in her sorrow. “You are going too far!” Then, she pulled out a phone and dialed a number. A familiar voice instantly filled the room, sounding close. “Wifey? What’s up? Miss me already?” The comments section went ballistic: [OH MY GOD, whose voice is that?! It’s Griffin Shaw! The CEO’s heir!] Tessa sobbed harder. “Griffin… someone is being mean to me…” 3 [It IS Griffin Shaw! The ice-cold heir to the Shaw Group! Did you hear what he just said?! Wifey! They’re dating!] [My daughter is the best!] I stared, a cold knot forming in my stomach. Pierce and I had raised Griffin to be measured, almost pathologically calm. He was panting into the phone. He must truly be in love with this girl. Fine, I thought. He needs to see her true face. Tessa suddenly wailed. “And it gets worse! This woman is being slandered by cruel rumors, and when I tried to defend her, she slapped me with an insult and said I was the one trying to stage a scene!” The comments exploded again: [I was here! I saw it! Tessa is telling the truth!] [I actually thought the old woman was beautiful at first. Turns out she’s a tramp!] Tessa cried harder, and the host rushed to take her off-camera. “We need to pause the stream. Tessa is very distressed.” The feed was cut. I went backstage, only to find Tessa dramatically convulsing with sobs. “Griffin… am I not good enough for you? Am I a terrible person?” Over the phone, Griffin’s voice was molten with adoration. “Absolutely not. Don’t listen to that trash. I swear to you, baby, I will never marry anyone but you.” My eye twitched. “Ahem.” I cleared my throat, stepping closer. Tessa immediately pressed her hand over the phone’s mic, blocking my voice from reaching Griffin. Her eyes were red, but the malice was clear. “Why would you say such things, ma’am? Even if you and Pierce have some pathetic, under-the-table arrangement, it’s between Griffin and me. You aren’t Pierce’s real wife. You have no right to interfere.” I raised an eyebrow. “Actually, I am Pierce’s real wife. And Griffin’s biological mother.” She froze. Then, a chilling smile curled her lips. “You just admitted that yourself, Mrs. Shaw.” I blinked. What was she playing at? She slowly raised a second phone. The stream that was supposed to be cut was alive and well on her other device. The comments raced: [SHE ADMITTED IT! SHE REALLY DID SLEEP WITH PIERCE SHAW!] [Unbelievable! I thought she had class! Now they’re all this fake.] [Pierce Shaw just played with a piece of meat. She actually thinks she’s the First Lady of the Shaw Group? LOL.] [First time I’ve seen a woman so publicly own her status as a mistress. Wait until the real Mrs. Shaw finds out!] Griffin’s confused voice came over the line. Tessa immediately put the phone to her ear. “It’s nothing, Griffin, only… only that woman is harassing me again… Baby, what am I going to do?” Griffin’s voice trembled with protective rage. “Don’t worry, I’m canceling my entire schedule. Send me your location. I’m coming now, baby.” I got goosebumps from the sheer sweetness of his tone, but the comments were delighted: [Listen to Griffin! He sounds like he’s melting! That’s the ice-cold heir of a Fortune 500 company!] [Tessa has him wrapped around her little finger!] I took a deep, steadying breath. I narrowed my eyes at Tessa. “All right, if you want to play dirty, don’t blame me for the fallout.” I turned and walked away. If Griffin was coming, so much the better. I was ready to ask my son, the supposed future CEO of the Shaw Group, how he could be so breathtakingly naive. 4 The stream resumed shortly. Before the host could speak, Tessa addressed me directly. “Ms. Shaw, you still haven’t clarified the rumors about you and Pierce. Don’t you want to?” I chuckled. “Clarify? Absolutely. I’m going to clarify my entire identity. And then I’m going to press charges for slander and doxing.” Tessa’s eyes reddened. “Do you really want me to release the hard evidence, ma’am?” “Oh? Did you find the footage of Pierce and me in bed?” Tessa bit her lip. “You’re asking for it.” She nodded to the host, who directed everyone’s attention to the large screen behind us. The screen displayed a high-resolution, time-stamped surveillance photo of Pierce and me, clearly in our Cullinan, driving past The Grand Magnolia Hotel late that night. [OMG! It really IS Pierce Shaw and Veronica Shaw! Driving past a high-end hotel late at night! You know what that means!] “Well, Ms. Shaw,” Tessa said, eyes gleaming. “What do you have to say now?” I smiled back. “Just a photo? So what?” A few dissenting comments finally began to pop up: [Hold on, the mob is getting terrifying. There’s no hard evidence, but everyone is acting like they saw the sex tape. Internet, be rational!] [I agree. Tessa’s initial claim about a video was unsubstantiated. I feel like she’s trying to manipulate the narrative.] Seeing the tide turn, Tessa began to panic. I watched her, supremely composed. “What’s next? You have more evidence? Did you break into my house and plant cameras?” Tessa sneered. “No need for that.” The screen suddenly filled with a heavily pixelated video. The audio, however, was clear and sickeningly suggestive. Moans and gasps rose and fell. The thing that sent a cold chill down my spine: the female voice was unmistakably mine. The faces, though heavily obscured, were clearly Pierce’s and mine. [??? MOMMY, MY EYES!] [HOLY CRAP, it’s real! What about all those people who said Tessa was lying? Say something now!] [I can’t believe Veronica Shaw is so shameless…] The video was a patchwork of blurring and clear faces, deceptively authentic. I stared at the screen, my blood turning to ice. “Did you really spend your morning AI-deep-faking Pierce and me?” The host looked indignant. “Ms. Shaw, own up to your actions. Don’t blame A.I. for everything! Tessa wanted to give you a chance to save face, but you were the one who kept pushing.” [Exactly! She asked for the hammer!] [The entertainment industry is a joke.] [No! Tessa is the clean one!] Tessa wiped a tear from her eye. “Ma’am, you forced my hand. If I hadn’t released this, you would have escalated your attack against me. I tried to give you a chance to explain…” Watching the flawlessly fabricated video—the fake face and voice—I was done. I looked at the sniveling woman and the complicit host. My patience snapped. I stood up to leave. “Where are you going, ma’am?” Tessa rushed forward to grab me. I shrugged her off, but she lunged again. “Ms. Shaw!” She aimed for my collar. With a strong tug, she ripped the fabric, exposing a large portion of my shoulder. “Enough!” My palm cracked against her cheek. Tessa stumbled back, clutching her face, then screamed, “Griffin! It hurts!” Griffin? I turned, just as a familiar, enraged voice boomed through the studio. “Grab her! Hold her down!” Before I could react, two of Griffin’s private security guards grabbed me from behind, slamming me to the ground. My knee hit the floor with a sickening thud, swelling instantly. “You damn tramp! Harassing the future Mrs. Shaw! You’ve got a death wish!” They twisted my arm to look at my face. “M-Mrs. Shaw?!” The hands instantly released me. Griffin stood a few feet away, his back to me, cradling a sobbing Tessa. “Is your face swelling? Does it hurt? I’m so sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have left you alone.” “M-Mr. Shaw…” one of the bodyguards stammered. “Shut up! Can’t you see I’m busy?” “Mr. Shaw… the Mrs.…” “What Mrs.—” Griffin turned, annoyed, and saw me being helped up by his stunned security team, my face a mask of cold fury. He stopped breathing.

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Greg Elliot’s first birthday was a spectacle of polished family wealth. I remember him, a plump toddler in a tiny suit, ignoring the silver rattle and the stock certificate, crawling straight for me, a bright-eyed two-year-old in pigtails. We grew up intertwined—childhood sweethearts who became each other’s whole world for twenty years. Our wedding was less a surprise and more a quiet certainty finally realized. The minister smiled down at us, his voice a gentle benediction. Greg opened his mouth. It was four syllables, delivered without preamble, without warning, and without reason: “I do not.” The sound cracked the air. Greg’s mother, Mrs. Elliot, surged onto the platform, her hand flashing out to deliver a stinging slap across his cheek. “You have waited year after year to marry Laney, Greg. You spent three years planning this. What utter nonsense are you talking about?” I looked at the man before me, handsome and formidable in his tailored tuxedo. This was the boy who defended me in the third grade playground. This was the man who confessed his love over the college radio station. In the midst of the escalating chaos, I met his dark, unyielding gaze. My voice was steady, impossibly calm. “Greg,” I said. “I will give you one week. If you come back in seven days and tell me you still want this, I will pretend today never happened.” “If you still refuse, then we will pretend we never knew each other at all.” “You know me. I never look back.” 1 It was almost impossible to reconcile. Just last night, the man who kissed me goodnight, bubbling with excitement, was now looking at me with cold, surgical indifference. “I don’t think we’re right for each other, Laney.” “It’s better for both of us to end this now.” But yesterday, Greg sounded nothing like this. “Laney, I’m so excited I can’t sleep.” “I’m finally going to marry you.” I looked around the enormous ballroom. I had personally chosen the blood-red roses that smothered every surface—a symbol of the vibrant, scorching love we shared. Greg had overseen the entire setup himself. Yet his gaze was frozen, detached. He looked like he was watching a stranger on a screen. “Delaney Brooks, don’t drag this out.” “Maintain some dignity. Don’t make me look down on you.” A paralyzing chill swept over me. The single word why lodged in my throat, a painful, unaskable question. I took a deep breath, snatched the microphone from the stunned officiant, and addressed the cavernous room of gasping guests with a tone far cooler than his. “My apologies, everyone.” “The wedding is canceled.” Amidst the sudden, deafening clamor, I gathered the train of my dress and began walking, leaving Greg behind me, step by agonizing step. The memories of a lifetime scrolled before my eyes. We had walked through so many seasons together. Every stage of my life had his imprint, his presence. Even our parents were lifelong friends. Whatever his reason, this time, Greg had gone too far. He needed to grovel. He needed to beg. He needed to say all the right, soft words before I would even consider forgiving him. I clung to that thought. But over the next several hours, I checked my phone, again and again. I compulsively scrolled through his social media accounts. Like a private investigator, I analyzed every post, every like, every blurry comment, searching for a single clue, a single frame that explained this sudden, devastating pivot. There was nothing. Greg’s world was terribly, profoundly silent. No explanation, not even a single, desperate apology. The most chilling revelation came when I clicked on his profile again— I was completely blocked. All access to his life was gone. That night, my dream was a replay. The magnificent hall, covered in red roses. Greg smiling, saying, “I do.” He lifted my hand, the ring sliding gently onto my finger. Later, on the silk-embroidered sheets, he held me close, his breath warm against my ear. “Laney, you are finally my wife.” I woke with a gasp, my fingers instinctively reaching for the space beside me. Empty. Ice cold. It took a beat too long to remember. Yesterday, in front of everyone, Greg had said: “I do not.” I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to go to him and demand the truth. The front door to the Elliot house was ajar. Through the crack, I saw him. Greg was sitting on the floor in the living room, gripping the hand of a girl I didn’t know. His back was to me, his shoulders rigid. He looked up at his parents on the sofa and spoke, slow and definite. “Mom. Dad. She is the woman I want to marry.” 2 A savage blow struck my chest. The sound of a sharp, high-pitched ringing exploded inside my skull. A different memory, one I couldn’t control, surfaced: Nineteen-year-old Greg, sitting next to me, leaning in to place a feather-light kiss on my cheek. “Laney, let’s get married right after college, okay?” … “Laney!” I snapped awake from the memory, my head jerking up. It wasn’t Greg. It was Mrs. Elliot, her eyes full of horrified pity, rushing toward me. “Laney, darling, this is all on us. The Elliot family owes you everything.” “That idiot is out of his mind. Don’t take him seriously. Once he snaps out of it, I’ll make him crawl to you and apologize!” Greg remained seated on the floor. He didn’t turn around. His back was slowly straightening, his hands at his sides clenched into tight fists—a posture of absolute, unyielding resolve. The last of the light in my eyes dimmed. I looked down, defeated. “Mrs. Elliot, I’m tired. I should go home.” “Wait!” Greg’s voice stopped me. “Delaney Brooks, you should take that off.” He pointed to the braided red cord on my wrist. “My Juno will feel uncomfortable seeing it.” Juno? I stared blankly at the girl. It registered with a sickening jolt. She was his Juno. And I was merely Delaney Brooks, full name and all. The cord was just a bit of rough braiding. Greg had bought it impulsively from a street vendor because the old woman swore it was blessed by fate and would guarantee a century of love. When he tied it on, he’d mumbled a prayer to the Fates under his breath. I lowered my eyes to his left wrist. Empty. He’d taken his off long ago. Seeing me frozen, Greg rose and stepped toward me, reaching out. With a practiced, ruthless motion, he untied the knot. His fingertips deliberately hovered an inch above my skin, never making contact. As I watched the red cord of destiny flutter from his hand and vanish into the recycling bin, the pain, the humiliation, and the confusion all crystallized into a burning, cold hatred. “If you want to be this meticulous—” “Then I’ll take everything I ever gave you, too.” I forced a faint, cynical smile. “Wouldn’t want your new fiancée to be annoyed by my leftovers!” I walked straight toward his bedroom. His door had a biometric keypad, a system that had only recognized his and my prints for years. I pressed my finger to the familiar sensor. Zzzzzzt— An irritating, high-pitched beep. Access denied. The girl, Juno, followed me. She reached out and placed her finger on the handle. Click. The lock opened. That was the door that, moments ago, only I could open besides him. They say men are rational and women are emotional. From the age of two to twenty-three, every significant, glittering, mundane, or painful moment of my life was braided with Greg. If I pulled him out, my entire world would collapse. But Greg? The day after breaking up, he could dismantle our life with surgical precision—locking down social media, changing the access code, tossing a sacred promise into the trash. Precise. Clean. Leaving no room for doubt. And I, like an absolute fool, was still waiting for his apology. 3 I stepped inside the room. In the corner cupboard, the snow-globe he gave me still sat on the shelf. The glass jar of nine hundred and ninety-nine paper stars I folded was still by the window. On his desk, our latest photograph smiled up at the ceiling. Then there were the matching rings, the necklaces, the coordinating jackets… They sat innocently in their accustomed places, silent, damning witnesses to our shared history. I filled three large canvas bags. It took that much to deny and erase the history of our shared years. When I was finished, the room felt sterile, alien. Greg gently closed the door behind me. I looked back at him one last time. For a flash, I thought I saw a flicker of panic or concern in his eyes. “Greg, what in the hell—” “Are you done? Make sure you didn’t forget anything.” He cut me off with a cold voice. “Don’t use this as an excuse to come back.” “I worry that Juno will mind.” I bit down on my tongue until I tasted blood, swallowing the flood of questions and grief. My eyes were burning hot. I strained my neck and shouted: “Don’t you dare come looking for me either, Greg Elliot.” “I’ll pack up your things from my house and ship them to you.” At this moment, I didn’t care about the reason. I just wanted to be sharper, more final than he was. “Don’t bother.” “Throw it out. I don’t want any of it.” Greg’s voice was utterly devoid of warmth. The bags were heavy, cutting red marks into my palms. But inside, I felt an agonizing emptiness. I had lost. I was not as ruthless as he was. Yet, not long after I returned home, Greg was pounding on my door. “Delaney Brooks, give the pendant back!” It was the first time I’d ever heard him speak to me with such raw fury. I was stunned. “What pendant?” “Juno’s heirloom. You took it.” Greg’s statement was absolute. “It was her grandmother’s, passed down from her mother. It means everything to her. Hand it over.” “I never saw it.” My chest was tight with indignation. “Greg, look somewhere else! Don’t come near me.” “Don’t play innocent, Laney!” “No one else has been in my house. No one but you would make things this difficult for her.” He shoved past me, marching to the front hall where my bags were still sitting, unopened. I didn’t stop him. I let him rip open the canvas sacks. And there it was. A small, intricately engraved silver pendant. And it was broken. Juno, who had followed him, cupped the fragments in her hands. Tears instantly streamed down her face. “Delaney Brooks!” Greg’s face twisted with rage. He roared at me. “You are truly malicious!” “I didn’t know.” “I swear, I didn’t take it.” “Greg, you know me. I would never—” The word “never” was violently cut short by the sharp, concussive force of a slap. Time warped backward in the wake of the blow. The memory of lost class funds in middle school flashed before my eyes. Everyone’s gaze was a condemnation. I saw thirteen-year-old Greg stepping in front of me without hesitation. “I trust Laney.” “She didn’t take it.” Tears blurred my vision, but the world snapped back into focus. Now, it was twenty-three-year-old Greg, his hand clenched, visibly fighting the impulse to hit me again. 4 “Delaney Brooks.” Greg stood like a shield in front of another woman. “How did you become so insidious, so cruel?” “Being with you feels like the biggest, most regrettable mistake of my life.” He seemed choked by his own anger, his voice shaking. He violently turned his head away, as if looking at me was physically unbearable. The throbbing pain under my skin was clear and hot. Greg. He actually hit me. And he used such icy words to reduce our entire history to dust. Was this the nature of men—to be so utterly heartless? How could he change on a dime when I was still incandescent with love for him? I stared hard at Greg. I used every ounce of strength I had left and slapped him back, hard. For a split second, I thought I saw a shimmer of tears in his eyes. But it must have been a trick of the light. Because the very next moment, a surge of raw force hit me, and he brutally shoved me to the floor. “Delaney Brooks, I don’t expect you to apologize to Juno.” “We’re done. This is the end.” “Don’t let me see you again.” My parents opened the door and found me sitting exactly where I’d fallen, my face buried deep in my knees. “Mom, Dad… send back the gifts.” My voice was hoarse. “I’m not waiting seven days. I want this to be over. Now.” “The gifts? He already sent them back!” My mother’s voice was choked with suppressed fury. “He sent ours back too, said it was compensation for breaking the engagement. He made it look like you were clinging to him, Laney!” “How could he do this? Why couldn’t he have talked to us privately? After being such a kind, honorable boy all this time, how could he become… this?” She trailed off, her long sigh heavy with pain and regret. “We simply didn’t know him at all…” Didn’t know him? I slowly lifted my head, running those words through my mind. Twenty-two years of life. Had I really failed to see the truth of the person I loved? A few days later, Mr. and Mrs. Elliot showed up with more gifts, formal apologies for a formal closure. Both families had initially held onto everything, believing Greg was just having a temporary lapse. But now, they were here to admit defeat. “His father took a belt to him, but he still insisted on the breakup. He must marry that girl.” “We… we truly don’t know what to do anymore.” “Parents can only fight their children so much.” The two older people, both well past fifty, bowed low to my parents. “We’re so sorry… We are truly sorry for this.” My father sighed heavily. “We understand. We’re not the kind of people who cling to what’s gone.” “I hope our families… can still remain friends.” A deep silence fell. Everyone knew the truth. It was over. The decades of friendship, just like my bond with Greg, were irrevocably broken. In that hollow moment, a shameful thought pierced my heart. My hope had evaporated. I had lost the support of both our families. 5 I said I wouldn’t wait for Greg, but I was counting the milliseconds. Every moment that passed, my heart tightened. What if? What if he turned back? If he regretted it, maybe we could return to what we had, and our families wouldn’t have to suffer anymore… Every second was a spike of hope. Every second, that hope shattered. Six days. I watched 518,400 moments of hope dissolve. On the seventh day, I quit waiting. I pulled on a sports bra and yoga pants and headed for the indoor rock climbing gym. I desperately needed the sensation of my body suspended in the air. The tiny handholds, the precarious toe placement, the absolute focus required to face the fear of a plummeting fall. Only that raw, physical terror could blot out the overwhelming sadness and panic in my soul. But I never expected to find him there. Greg and his Juno. While I was being sliced up by sorrow and emotional agony, he was acting like a carefree man, teaching another woman how to climb. The gentle, focused smile on his lips was beautiful—and utterly blinding. Then, his peripheral vision caught me. The smile vanished as if it had never existed. “Delaney Brooks, are you stalking me?” Greg’s brow furrowed, his voice laced with undisguised disgust. “You are making yourself look pathetic!” His fists clenched. “Like some kind of… obsessed freak, hanging around. It’s disgusting.” “I am not stalking you! Greg, show some respect when you speak to me!” Rage and lingering attachment fought a vicious battle in my chest. Yet, I couldn’t help but speak the words I needed to say. “Greg…” “Today is the last day.” I should have turned around and left right then. But I couldn’t. I deliberately chose a wall right next to them and began to climb. I was possessed, desperate to see. Was she prettier? More interesting? How did they meet? What magic did she possess that made Greg discard decades of family ties and self-respect? When I was joyfully planning our future, was he already plotting his escape? Was he merely delaying, out of misplaced loyalty? Did he choose the wedding day—that public stage—just to deliver the most devastating, final blow possible? The thought took root, a toxic vine strangling my heart. “Greg, I’m scared.” The girl, Juno, spoke softly. “I don’t want to climb down.” Her voice, and the sound of my own voice in my memory, overlapped. “Jump. I’ll catch you.” Thirteen-year-old Greg, reaching up from the base of the oak tree. I jumped, tackling him to the ground. “Jump. I’ll catch you.” Twenty-three-year-old Greg, his arms now wider and stronger, opening for someone else. The other girl jumped and was safely cradled in his embrace. The edge of her white shirt fluttered a small, barely perceptible breeze across my face. I abruptly let go of the handhold. In the moment of my fall, my eyes were locked on Greg. He instinctively moved toward me. He started to reach out, just as he did when we were kids, and then—he violently checked himself, stopping cold. I slammed onto the thick floor mat. Screams and gasps erupted around me. People rushed over. In that lightning-fast moment, time slowed, reversed, and froze. I clearly saw Greg’s hand stretching out, his cuff sliding back. Revealed on the inside of his wrist was a stark, jagged scar. Seven days ago, the Greg I loved didn’t have that scar. And seven days was not nearly enough time for a scar of that size to fully form. “You’re not Greg Elliot!” “Who are you?”

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Seven years after my parents’ divorce, I earned my acceptance letter to The Westwood Institute. At the freshman orientation ceremony, I saw him: Pierce Harrison, attending as a major investment representative. My father. He froze for a fraction of a second when he saw me, his voice hesitant as he spoke: “Aubrey, is your mother… is she doing well?” I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and turned to walk away. He quickly grabbed my arm. “Tell your mother to call me. We should all have dinner together.” My eyes instantly welled up. I yanked my arm away. How utterly ridiculous. How can a dead woman have dinner with you? 1 As soon as the ceremony ended, my friend, Maya, rushed over, her voice soft and cautious. “Aubrey, is Pierce Harrison… your dad?” I kept my head down, offering no reply. Seeing my silence, Maya gently tried to comfort me. “Are you okay? I truly didn’t realize he was a major backer for the school.” “The Freshman Gala is this afternoon. You might run into him again…” I managed a faint smile, cutting her off. “Don’t worry. I already asked for an excused absence. I have other plans this afternoon.” Maya visibly relaxed a little, but the worry still hung in her eyes. “Please don’t try to pretend you’re fine. I hate it when you put on that brave face.” I squeezed her shoulder. “I’m heading out now.” I hadn’t walked far from the auditorium when an administrator, Mr. Keller, rushed up to stop me. He asked me to go to the Dean’s office. “It’s Pierce Harrison, isn’t it?” I stated, the finality in my tone leaving no room for doubt. Before he could answer, I refused him flat out. “Please tell him that there is nothing for us to discuss.” “I have an appointment. I’m leaving now.” The administrator was stunned for a moment, clearly aware of some of the history. He quickly grasped my arm, his tone complex. “Miss Monroe, I can’t speak to your family matters. But Mr. Harrison is your father, after all. What kind of feud could there be? He just wants to see you…” Feud? Father? No father poisons his child’s mother. He took both of my parents from me in one fell swoop. Seeing him for the first time in seven years, I didn’t look nearly as distraught as I used to. I was calm, like I was looking at a complete stranger. But I hadn’t moved on. At the very least, I couldn’t move on for my mother. Pierce Harrison’s betrayal couldn’t just be written off. Leaving campus, I headed straight for the cemetery. I placed my mother’s favorite irises carefully at her headstone. The woman in the photo looked vibrant, her smile bright and carefree. It was taken when she and Pierce were dating. Back then, they were the campus Golden Couple, the envy of everyone. They won competitions together, spent countless hours in the library, and led the school to victory in debate—they were like a couple living out a perfect romantic movie. I even used them as the inspiration for a short story I wrote. Everyone who read it said it was the sweetest thing. But reality isn’t a storybook. The ending of our story was anything but sweet. I wiped the dust from her picture, forcing a smile. “Mom, starting today, I’m a university student.” “I told you I’d get in. See? I didn’t lie.” “Do you remember promising me that we’d go to a concert together when I got into college? I went by myself. It was Fiona Apple—your favorite.” As I spoke, my voice caught in my throat. “Mom, I saw him today…” “…I still hate him. But I hate myself more.” 2 Leaving the cemetery, I wandered aimlessly. A passerby alerted me that my phone was ringing. It was an unknown number. Pierce Harrison had somehow gotten my contact information from the school. “Aubrey, your dad just wants to see you and your mother…” I hung up immediately and blocked the number. I didn’t have a father. I was better off without him. But he clearly wasn’t giving up. Soon, a text message arrived from a different number. [Aubrey, it’s your father. You don’t want me to bother Grandma Monroe, do you?] I stared at the screen, my fingers clutching the phone until my knuckles turned white. Seven years later, his shamelessness had reached a new low. I took a cab to the address he sent. He was wearing a bespoke suit, his posture poised, his demeanor cultured. He looked almost exactly as I remembered him. But my mother was gone. Seeing me enter, he set down the files he was holding and rose eagerly. “Aubrey, you’re here. Come, sit.” I didn’t move. He didn’t seem bothered, a smile plastered on his face. “I saw your transcript at the school. Very impressive. You are certainly my daughter.” Hearing his compliment, I only felt contempt. My accomplishments had absolutely nothing to do with him. Quite the opposite: it was precisely his suppression and his abandonment that forced me to run forward, desperately. The countless sleepless nights, the humiliation I swallowed—all of it was his doing. I just wanted to be a normal girl, safe in my mother’s embrace. This so-called excellence was nothing more than a survival instinct. Before I could speak, someone approached to greet him. “Pierce, fancy meeting you here. And who is this?” Pierce Harrison responded with a slight, proud smile. “This is my daughter, Aubrey.” While they exchanged pleasantries, I slipped away to the restroom. When I came out, I overheard the low voices of the group. “Pierce Harrison has a grown daughter?” “That’s the one from his marriage to Julia Monroe.” “Those two were the original golden couple in our circles, building that empire together.” “Didn’t that marriage end in a cheating scandal? A total mess, I heard.” “Exactly. Goes to show how easily people change. Speaking of which, I haven’t seen Julia Monroe around in ages…” I walked back, moving around them. Pierce glanced at me. “What took you so long?” “You couldn’t even manage a greeting for your elders.” I scoffed. “Mr. Harrison, why did you really ask me here?” He frowned, his tone hardening. “Aubrey Monroe Harrison, what is that attitude?” “I’m a Monroe!” I cut him off. “And I don’t have a father. Stop acting like one and lecturing me.” He slammed his hand on the table. “Your mother has truly ruined you. Is this how you speak to your elders?” “Call your mother. Whatever issues we have are between us. It’s not your place to interfere. Call her.” My eyes immediately turned red. I glared at him, venom in my voice. “See her?” “Pierce Harrison, do you think you’re worthy?” Slap! The sharp sting of the backhanded strike snapped my head sideways, my ears ringing violently. “I am your father!” I laughed out loud. See? This was his true face. A cold, utterly selfish businessman. His nature had never changed. If he set his mind to something, he didn’t care about anyone else’s feelings. Admittedly, that very coldness and calculation were what allowed him to reach his current heights. When my mother met him, he had nothing. It was Grandma Monroe who, recognizing his talent, subsidized him so he could finish school. From campus to the business world, in just a few years, he showed a startling commercial genius. He had drive, a plan, and ambition, completely shedding the label of a poor student. And my mother was once his most trusted partner. They pitched clients together; she blocked drinks and navigated social circles for him. They pulled all-nighters on proposals together; she stayed up until dawn with him. The company’s initial structure and clientele were all things my mother helped him build, piece by piece. He absorbed her dedication as capital for his own success. Successful career, beautiful wife. At their wedding, he promised my grandmother: “Teacher, I will take care of Julia for the rest of my life.” Too bad a man’s promises are worthless. Perhaps those moving words never truly entered his calculating heart. And my mother’s life, Because of him, stopped at thirty-three. I stared straight at him, my voice eerily calm. “When you were cheating with my classmate’s mother, why didn’t you remember you were my dad?” 3 I was the one who inadvertently introduced the other woman to him. It was pouring rain that day, and my father had come to pick me up from school. I saw my classmate, Hailey, and her mother standing on the curb, soaked to the bone. My heart softened, and I suggested he offer them a ride. Later, that Mrs. Price came to the house to thank us, and over time, she became familiar with our family. It wasn’t until I saw her at my father’s company that I first sensed something was wrong. I was young then, only vaguely uneasy. Pierce Harrison’s explanation was smooth: “Mrs. Price is a single mother, struggling to raise a child. I had an opening at the company that fit her skills perfectly.” “I asked your mother about it, and she thought it was fine, so I hired her.” I frowned, ready to argue, but he smiled and lightly tapped my nose. “What are you thinking? Isn’t it good to help your classmate’s mother?” “Mrs. Price has a certain drive… she reminds me of your mother and me when we were first starting out.” That comment reminded me of the story I was writing, and I quieted down to listen. The next time I saw Candace Price, she had been transferred from the logistics department to the Executive Office, becoming Pierce Harrison’s personal assistant. The sudden shift was jarring, and it made my stomach churn. I even heard colleagues joking. “Only Candace can handle the boss’s temper.” “If Mr. Harrison weren’t married, you’d think she was his girlfriend.” “They just have such incredible chemistry.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I rushed to his office and told him everything I’d heard. He just laughed. “You know how strong your mother’s and my feelings are. Mrs. Price is your friend’s mother. What could possibly be going on? Can I stop every single whisper of gossip?” He stroked my hair. “Aubrey, don’t mention this to your mother. She’s not well, and it will only upset her.” He promised me, “I’ll transfer her to another department. The rumors will die down eventually. Don’t worry, Dad will handle it.” Candace was transferred eventually, but he also forbade me from visiting the company, telling me to focus on my studies and leave adult business alone. I thought my mother remained blissfully unaware. Until the day I skipped class and came home, walking in on a terrible fight. The realization hit me like a blow to the head. I struggled to breathe. Pierce Harrison truly was cheating with Candace Price. My mother had walked in on them having sex in his office. His so-called attempts to “put distance” between them were all just excuses to keep me stable. He stopped me from going to the office only because he feared I’d discover more. As I strained to hear more, Candace rushed into the room. She stood in front of Pierce, tears streaming down her face. “Julia, it’s all my fault. Please, take it out on me…” Looking at her hypocritical face, I snapped. I lunged and slapped her hard. Pierce instinctively pushed me away, and my mother, trying to shield me, fell to the floor with me. He coldly tossed out one final phrase. “Calm down. We’ll talk later.” Then, without a backward glance, he led Candace out the door. 4 After the argument, my mother’s health deteriorated even further. Pierce, perhaps out of guilt, or perhaps out of respect for Grandma Monroe, pulled some strings. He used his contacts to bring in a top cardiology expert, Dr. Quentin. They reviewed her case repeatedly, creating the most comprehensive surgical plan for my mother. They carefully adjusted her medication and recovery schedule. For a period, my mother’s condition stabilized. I rushed to the hospital every day after school. Watching her color return day by day, I held onto the silent hope that everything would be alright. Until the day I saw Candace Price’s car downstairs at the hospital. My heart sank, and I rushed upstairs. In the hospital room, Candace was feigning concern. “Julia, Pierce specifically asked me to visit you, as he was worried you might be bored alone.” “There are some things he can’t bear to say. But since it’s come to this, why not just get divorced? A marriage without love is torture for everyone involved.” Her words were full of sharp barbs. I was trembling with rage. How dared she come to my mother’s bedside to say these things? I grabbed the glass vase from the cabinet by the door and hurled it at her. She screamed, clearly not expecting my sudden appearance, and froze in shock. I tried to lunge at her again, but a strong hand yanked me back. Pierce Harrison was gripping my arm tightly, his face contorted in fury. “Aubrey Monroe! Have you gone mad? Where is your respect?!” We had a massive fight that day. I cried, yelling at him, “That’s my mother! She can’t take stress! Candace did this on purpose! If anything happens to her…” Slap! A ringing slap cut me short. Pierce’s eyes were ice cold. “Can you try to act your age? If you behave like this one more time, don’t expect me to continue managing your mother’s surgery!” He turned to my mother, warning her. “Control your daughter. As long as you behave, I will treat you well.” After that, he stopped pretending altogether. He barely showed up anymore. But Candace’s provocations continued. She would “casually” reveal details of her time with Pierce to my mother. Sometimes it was newly bought jewelry, sometimes it was the corporate credit card he’d given her. She even left her prenatal appointment slips where my mother would find them… I quickly discovered these things. I held my mother, sobbing. “Mom, after the surgery, we’ll leave. We’ll get far away from them, and I’ll never let you be upset again.” She forced a smile, stroking my head. “My Aubrey is all grown up. You can protect your mother now.” “Don’t worry. I’ve signed the papers. I’ll hand them over to him after the surgery.” She was referring to the divorce agreement that had been sitting on the table for months. All I could think was: After the surgery, when she’s well, we can finally leave Pierce Harrison forever. But before that thought could be realized, my mother’s condition suddenly worsened. The monitoring machine sounded a piercing alarm. The doctors said she needed immediate surgery. But the hospital and I couldn’t reach Dr. Quentin. We frantically called Pierce Harrison. After countless busy signals, the call finally connected. “My mother is in critical condition. She needs surgery immediately! Why can’t we reach Dr. Quentin?” Pierce’s voice was filled with irritation. “Aubrey, stop causing trouble. I know your mother’s condition. It’s not critical enough for immediate surgery.” “Candace’s mother has a heart issue, and she needs Dr. Quentin to lead the surgery. I’ve arranged for other specialists to take over your mother’s case.” “Stay with her and stop being unreasonable. I’m very busy lately. Talk to my assistant if you need anything.” Before the phone disconnected, I faintly heard Candace’s voice: “Aubrey must be exaggerating. Julia was fine that day when she walked in on us, wasn’t she?” My mind went completely blank, the sound in my ears a deafening roar. Everything after that was a blur. I only remember the operating room light turning off, the surgeon walking out, and slowly shaking his head. … I pulled my thoughts back, about to speak to Pierce Harrison. A familiar voice came from the side. “Aubrey, I thought you said you were going to visit your mother’s grave today? Why are you here?” Next to me, Pierce Harrison instantly froze, his pupils contracting violently.

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I was born with a curse—a true Jinx Effect—and the first life I cursed was my own. I landed in the womb of Delilah Summers, the soon-to-be-disposed-of trophy wife of Reed Harrington, the scion of a powerful New England dynasty. I’d barely opened my embryonic eyes when I heard Blair Foster, the family’s golden-girl adopted daughter, gloating to my mother. “Dee, darling, Reed just dropped a hundred million to keep the artisanal oat milk brand I like from going under. A hundred million! What exactly are you bringing to the table?” I couldn’t have my mother looking defeated. I stretched my tiny limbs inside the uterine cocoon and muttered lazily. “Rich guy, huh? Investing without due diligence. What if the deal goes sour?” The Jinx Effect triggered instantly. Reed’s assistant called moments later. The boutique dairy company he blindly invested in had completely imploded after a massive health safety scandal. Not only was the hundred million dollar investment gone, but the fallout connected to the Harrington name caused the family’s publicly traded shares to plummet thirty percent. My father, Reed, was livid. He stormed into the room, pointing a trembling finger at my mother. “Delilah, I’m going to make sure the entire Eastern Seaboard knows you’re nothing but a desperate tramp who thought she could trap a Harrington heir! Once I get you and your little bastard off the premises, Blair moves in for good!” I barely lifted an eyelid. “So quick to discard your only chance at an heir. What if you damage your foundation, Dad? What if I end up being the only Harrington legacy you’ve got?” The next second, Reed suddenly clutched his groin, letting out a horrific, guttural howl of pain. 1 Blair Foster jumped back, shocked, rushing to steady him. “Reed, what is it? Don’t scare me! What’s wrong?” But he was already doubled over, his face contorted in agony. He only managed a choked “Get to the hospital,” before collapsing, unconscious. Reed was the only son of Arthur Harrington, the patriarch of the empire. He was rushed to the best private hospital, where the Chief of Surgery himself tended to him. Half an hour later, the doctor emerged, looking grim. “Mr. Harrington, your lifestyle—the abuse, the heavy drinking—it’s damaged your system. Permanently. I’m afraid you have total reproductive failure. You… you won’t be having any more children.” “What?!” Reed completely lost it. He began madly smashing every piece of medical equipment nearby. “How is this possible? I’m the sole heir of the Harrington name! My parents are relying on me for the next generation! I can’t be infertile!” Blair’s eyes widened in stunned silence. Everything had been fine just hours ago. But she quickly spun the narrative, pointing at my mother. “Delilah, this is your fault! You must have been clinging to Reed day and night, driving him to exhaustion until he ruined his health! You’ve ruined the Harringtons!” My mother, though clearly shaken by the unbelievable turn of events, immediately defended herself. “That’s a lie! Reed and I only had that one night—a drunken accident. Nothing since!” Tucked inside my mother’s womb, I could hear her heart hammering—she was terrified. I gently nudged the wall of her uterus, trying to send a silent signal to calm her frantic pulse. Just then, Arthur and Eleanor Harrington, my grandparents, arrived. They’d already heard the devastating diagnosis from the doctor and were both on the verge of collapsing. “Reed, what in God’s name happened? How can you suddenly be unable to have children?” Arthur’s voice cracked. “Our multi-billion dollar estate… who will inherit it now?” Eleanor wept. Before anyone else could speak, I took action. I gave a sharp, sudden tug on the umbilical cord. My mother gasped, involuntarily clutching her belly and stepping forward slightly. The small, protective gesture was immediately spotted by my grandmother. Eleanor’s eyes fixed on my mother’s hands. “Child… your stomach…” My mother knew she couldn’t hide it anymore. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, I’m pregnant. I’m carrying Reed’s child.” “Is it true? Oh, my sweet girl!” Eleanor’s face lit up, and she rushed to embrace my mother, her touch now impossibly gentle. “Stop calling us that! Call me Eleanor! Call me Mom!” Arthur, the family patriarch, beamed. “This is our legacy! The last remaining hope for the Harrington name! Thank you, child, you’ve saved us!” “Since this is the case, you must come back to the estate immediately to rest and recuperate. We will spare no expense for you.” Seeing her opportunity vanish, Blair instantly panicked. She grabbed Reed’s hand, tears streaming down her face. “Reed, you said you were going to marry me!” “Now your parents are taking Delilah, that… tramp back to the house! What am I supposed to do?” Despite the fact that my mother was carrying his one and only child, Reed’s infatuation with Blair blinded him. He slammed his hand onto the table. “Mother, Father, I refuse! I will never marry this low-class woman who wormed her way into my bed!” But Arthur, who had always indulged his son, didn’t hesitate. He delivered a stinging slap across Reed’s face. “Shut up, Reed! This is the Harrington legacy you’re talking about! She must be protected at all costs! If anyone objects, they are challenging the entire Harrington family!” 2 My mother was brought back to the Harrington estate and treated like a queen. To ensure her pregnancy was smooth, Arthur and Eleanor hired the best private physician for 24-hour on-call care. Expensive supplements and tonics were delivered by the truckload. Blair saw the lavish attention and her eyes turned green with jealousy. She ran to Reed, sobbing uncontrollably. “Reed, what are we going to do? Your parents only have eyes for Delilah! They’ll never accept me as their daughter-in-law!” “If I can’t marry you, I might as well die!” Reed, the absolute idiot, hugged her tighter. “Blair, don’t worry. I will never acknowledge the little bastard in her womb. Even if I have no other children in this life, I will marry you.” The two conspirators schemed, and Blair slipped Reed a vial of potent abortifacient, disguised as an herbal supplement. Honestly, when Reed came into the room with the tea tray and a sickly sweet smile, I was on high alert. He had always despised my mother. He’d only slept with her that one night to degrade her reputation and please Blair. His sudden attention could only mean trouble. I tumbled in the amniotic fluid and spoke up. “Dad won’t trip over his own two feet, will he? He won’t spill that tea all over the floor, right?” Predictably, the Jinx worked immediately. Reed stumbled, the tray flipped, and the black liquid splashed across the polished floor. He froze. But before he could clean up the mess, the 24-hour on-call physician rushed in. Even if it was just a spill, and even if Reed had prepared it, the Harringtons’ orders dictated that everything going into my mother’s body had to be checked. As the doctor prepared to swab the liquid with a test strip, Reed panicked. “What are you doing? That’s my child she’s carrying! Do you think I would harm her?” The doctor shook his head apologetically. “Mr. Harrington, these are Mr. Arthur Harrington’s explicit orders. My apologies.” The test results were, unsurprisingly, conclusive: a lethal dose of abortifacient, enough to kill both mother and child. Arthur and Eleanor’s faces were white with rage. Arthur delivered another vicious slap to Reed. “Reed, have you lost your mind? That is your only child! The future of the Harrington empire! And you tried to poison her!” Eleanor grabbed his collar and slapped him again. “Tell us, was it that fox Blair Foster who told you to do this? Tell us!” Despite their fury, the love-struck Reed didn’t point the finger at Blair. He took full responsibility. He was grounded, all his credit cards cut off, and locked in the estate study. But even that didn’t stop him. Late that night, he managed to slip past the security guards during a shift change and crept into my mother’s temporary suite. He turned the thermostat all the way up to fifty degrees Celsius (122 degrees Fahrenheit). “Delilah, if the temperature is high enough, you will miscarry,” he whispered to her sleeping form. “Without the child, my parents won’t protect you. I’m marrying Blair, and you deserve to be the laughingstock of the city.” He locked the door from the outside. As the room temperature soared, my sleeping mother frowned in discomfort. I woke up, instantly sensing Reed’s sinister plot. But I wasn’t scared. I spoke up calmly. “The thermostat won’t break, will it? The temperature won’t just drop back to a stable, comfortable seventy-five degrees, will it?” The air conditioner immediately sputtered, died, and the room temperature stabilized in the comfortable, pre-set range. My mother’s tight frown smoothed out. However, the noise of the struggling AC and Reed’s earlier movements finally attracted the attention of the security detail. When Arthur and Eleanor checked the security footage and saw Reed breaking into the room and cranking the thermostat to induce a miscarriage, they lost it. They grabbed a pair of golf clubs and beat him until he was bloody and bruised. Arthur grabbed Reed’s shirtfront. “Reed, I investigated! It was that wretch Blair Foster who put you up to this! Fine! You wait right here. I’m summoning her parents—the Fosters—for an immediate confrontation! I want to know how they raised that wicked girl!” 3 Under Arthur’s furious mandate, Mr. and Mrs. Foster (the parents of Blair, who were also Dee’s biological parents, a fact unknown to the Harringtons) were dragged to the Harrington mansion late that night. Arthur roared at them. “Mr. Foster, your adopted daughter has boundless audacity! She encouraged my son to poison my daughter-in-law’s supplements! What exactly are your intentions? And Delilah is your birth daughter—don’t you protect her?” The Fosters were startled by the sudden upheaval, but their first reaction was still to protect their favorite, Blair. Mrs. Foster put on a show of lightly slapping Blair, then immediately knelt before Arthur and Eleanor. “Mr. Harrington, it’s my fault for raising her so poorly. I let Blair cause trouble for you,” she wailed. “Please don’t be angry. I guarantee it will never happen again!” Mr. Foster, pale and shaking, also knelt. “Mr. Harrington, Blair is still young. She certainly didn’t mean any harm!” He then pointed a finger at my mother. “I say, all this chaos is the fault of Delilah, that black sheep! Our family disowned her long ago. I advise you to kick her out once she gives birth! Save the Harrington family from her curse!” Hearing this, I gnashed my gums (if I’d had teeth) in fury. How could my grandparents humiliate my mother like this in front of the Harringtons? They called her a black sheep! Did they have no ounce of love for their biological child? I was blood-bound to my mother. I felt her tidal wave of grief—nothing hurts more than being stabbed in the back by your own parents. But the Harringtons were not swayed by their pathetic plea. They shielded my mother behind them. “You won’t worry about the affairs of the Harrington family,” Arthur snapped. “This is a final warning. If Blair Foster ever tries to harm my daughter-in-law again, I will ensure there is no place for the Foster family in New England society!” With this threat, Arthur and Eleanor waved their hands, and security guards dragged the Fosters and a wailing Blair out of the estate. Seeing that my mother still had the Harringtons’ trust, I finally relaxed. It seemed we might have a few days of peace. For the next while, Blair disappeared and Reed made no further moves. My mother successfully carried me past the three-month mark. All her checkups were perfect, and Arthur and Eleanor had transferred a nine-figure “nutrition allowance” to her account. But on the day of her next prenatal appointment, Reed suddenly burst into the villa, with Blair in tow. They were followed by a man in a black tunic—a high-end, fraudulent psychic. Reed pointed at my mother’s abdomen in front of his parents and raised his voice. “Mom, Dad, Delilah has been lying to you! The thing she’s carrying… is a demon that will bankrupt the Harrington family!” 4 Arthur and Eleanor, of course, refused to believe this lunacy. Eleanor grabbed a glass vase from a nearby table and smashed it at Reed’s feet. “Reed, get out! The child in Delilah’s womb is yours! If you don’t care, we do!” Arthur chimed in just as fiercely. “We will never allow a single thing to happen to the Harrington heir! Don’t speak such nonsense!” Seeing his parents unmoved, Reed became desperate. He knelt on the glass shards and bowed, his head hitting the floor repeatedly. “Mom, Dad, I’m serious! I hired a renowned medium to consult the spirits! He says the baby in Delilah’s womb is a jinx—a demon! If she gives birth, the Harrington Group will collapse!” “I cannot stand by and watch the foundation of our ancestors be destroyed by this tramp and her little bastard!” “You have to believe me. This child cannot stay!” Hearing him, I started to panic. Did the medium really figure out my Jinx ability? While I’d used it to protect my mother, in their eyes, it could easily seem like a terrifying curse. As I fretted, my mother seemed to sense my anxiety. She gently stroked her belly, reassuring me. Seeing Arthur and Eleanor hesitate, Blair pressed her advantage. She threw a stack of fabricated photos onto the floor at their feet. The photos purported to show my mother in compromising situations with various male models and unsavory characters. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, look! Delilah is no innocent sweetheart! She’s lived a life of debauchery, sleeping with every man she can find!” “I’m telling you, this child is absolutely not Reed’s! Delilah is just after the Harrington fortune and she’s trying to pass off a bastard child! Once the child is born, it will not only curse the family with misfortune but also ruin your reputation!” Eleanor’s face went white looking at the stack of sleazy images. Her voice was thin and shaky as she looked at my mother. “Delilah, tell your mother the truth. Is any of this real?” “No, Mom, it’s not!” My mother sobbed her denial. In the past few months, Arthur and Eleanor had genuinely treated her like a daughter, and she had begun to call them Mom and Dad sincerely. Seeing the situation spiraling, she knelt before them. “Mom, Dad, please believe me…” “Reed is the only man I have ever been with. I have never done anything to disrespect this family!” But Reed stood up and slapped my mother across the face. “You tramp! You’re still lying after all this!” While Reed and Delilah were entangled, Blair quickly winked at the psychic, urging him to begin his “cleansing ritual.” I saw the situation deteriorating and desperately tried to open my mouth to trigger a Jinx. “This psychic is fake, isn’t he? He’s just a fraud trying to scam money, and nothing he does will work!” But as I opened my mouth, I realized something was terribly wrong. I couldn’t speak.

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The moment I stepped into the office, my coworker, Nicole, sidled up to my desk. “Well, look at you,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “All dressed up. Who are you trying to hook today?” I met her gaze calmly and fired back. “I haven’t decided yet. Who’s your usual target?” A ripple of stifled laughter went through the nearby cubicles. Nicole’s face flushed crimson. “It was just a joke,” she stammered. “You know me, I’m just brutally honest. I tell it like it is. Don’t be so sensitive.” Later, my husband, who also happened to be our department manager, pulled me aside to scold me for being immature. “Nicole is just blunt, Stella. When you embarrass her like that in front of everyone, it makes them think you’re using my position to bully your coworkers.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Besides, why does she only pick on you? You should really take a look at yourself and figure out what you’re doing to provoke her.” To “avoid any appearance of favoritism,” he later gave this year’s “Employee of the Year” award to Nicole. I had to laugh. To protect his reputation, I had been the top performer in this department for three straight years, yet I had never once been recognized for it. But what they didn’t know was that I was a Transmigrator. After completing my last world’s mission, the System had promised me one wish. Fine. If people loved to claim they were “just being honest,” then let them. From now on, they would be able to speak nothing but the truth. 1 “Wow, that outfit must have cost a pretty penny,” Nicole drawled, leaning against the partition of my cubicle. She took a slow sip from her mug, her eyes raking over my new dress. “A married woman needs to look the part, you know,” she continued, her voice loud enough for half the office to hear. “Dressing like you’re on the prowl every day… what do you think people are saying?” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Who knows what kind of… under-the-table deals you had to make to land those contracts.” Just then, my husband, David, walked out of his manager’s office. He heard every word. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second. There wasn’t a hint of support in his gaze, not an ounce of the defense a husband should offer his wife. He simply turned and walked into the breakroom. David’s deliberate indifference was all the encouragement Nicole needed. “You have a husband, Stella. A husband who happens to be the head of our department. Your every move doesn’t just reflect on you; it reflects on him. It’s his reputation on the line!” “If someone didn’t know better,” she added with a smug little laugh, “they might think our dear manager only got his position because his wife is so… accommodating.” She covered her mouth, her face a mixture of triumph and provocation. Then she leaned in again, raising her voice. “So, come on, tell your big sister. Who are you trying to hook today?” My eyes traveled from the thick layer of foundation and bright red lipstick on her face down to the ridiculously tight pencil skirt she wore. She noticed my gaze and her body tensed. “What are you looking at me for? I’m not like you. I’m single. I can dress however I want, and no one can say a thing about it.” I looked at her for a long, silent moment, then smiled as I settled into my chair. “I haven’t decided yet. You dress like this every day, Nicole. Who’s your usual target?” The choked laughter from the surrounding desks was audible. Nicole’s face went from pink to a furious, blotchy red, like a boiled lobster. “You—you… What are you talking about!” She opened her mouth, searching for a comeback, but all that came out was a hissed, “It was just a joke! You know me, I’m brutally honest. I tell it like it is. Don’t be so sensitive.” She spun on her three-inch stilettos and stomped back to her desk, the screech of her chair being yanked out echoing through the quiet office. A moment later, a message from David popped up on my screen. Nicole is a team lead. It was inappropriate for you to speak to her like that. People will think you’re using my position to bully her. I stared at the words, my finger hovering over the keyboard. I didn’t reply. During the morning meeting, David made a surprise announcement. The department’s official recommendation for the annual “Employee of the Year” award was Nicole. After the meeting, I cornered him. “Why?” I held up my tablet, the screen showing a side-by-side comparison of my performance metrics and Nicole’s for the entire year. “My sales figures are 42% higher than hers. My client retention rate is 28% higher. My average payment collection cycle is 15 days shorter.” “On what possible grounds does she deserve that award?” David glanced around nervously and pulled me into the fire escape stairwell. “Stella, listen. Nicole is a team lead. She manages a team of six. If you get the award, it could create resentment and unbalance the team dynamic.” “So my hard work means nothing? Or is it because I’m your wife, and we have to ‘avoid the appearance of favoritism’ again?” 2 “That’s a separate issue.” His brow furrowed in annoyance. “Why have you become so petty? It’s just a meaningless title. I promise, next year I’ll—” “That’s what you said last year,” I cut him off. “And the year before that.” We stood in silence, the green glow of the emergency exit sign casting shadows across his face. He sighed and reached out to pat my shoulder, but I stepped away. “Stella, the corporate world isn’t black and white. When you act like this, you put me in a very difficult position.” I looked into his eyes and saw a stranger. This man was not the same one who had proposed to me three years ago, promising he would always have my back. “David,” I said, my own voice frighteningly calm. “If someone else were number one every single year, and not me, would you be doing this?” He was silent for a long time. “Stella, you know I’m up for a director position next year. I can’t afford any gossip.” In that moment, I understood completely. My success was a weight on him. My brilliance cast a shadow he couldn’t escape. First, he needed to secure his manager position. Now, he wanted to ride my coattails to his next promotion, while simultaneously terrified that people would say he only got there because of me. When I returned to my desk, Nicole was laughing loudly with a few other colleagues. Seeing me, she deliberately raised her voice. “That’s why I always say, married women should just stay home and be housewives. Why bother trying to have a career?” “What’s the point of having good numbers? If you have zero social skills and can’t handle office politics, even your own husband won’t stand up for you!” Someone coughed awkwardly. Others suddenly became very busy with their work. This time, I ignored her. I sat down, opened my laptop, and started writing my resignation letter. A headhunter from a rival company had approached me last month. They were offering a senior position with a base salary of $250,000, plus commissions. It was time to make a decision. I typed the final sentence and hit print. I picked up the single sheet of paper and walked directly to the manager’s office. David looked up, his brow instinctively creasing when he saw it was me. “What is it? I’m busy.” I placed the letter on his desk. “I need your signature.” He glanced at the heading and his head snapped up. “Why are you resigning?” “I’m being treated unfairly here,” I stated calmly. “So I no longer wish to work here.” His face flushed with anger. “Stella, have you lost your mind?!” “All because of that stupid incident this morning? So Nicole said a few things you didn’t like? Is that any reason to threaten me with quitting?” He shot to his feet, leaning over the desk on his knuckles, trying to intimidate me with his posture. “Someone says a few words and you just throw a tantrum and walk out? Can’t you be a little more mature? This is a workplace, not your home! Not everyone is going to coddle you! Nicole is just one of those brutally honest people who says whatever is on her mind. Why are you letting it get to you?” Hearing those words again, I didn’t feel angry. I felt… amused. “She spreads slutty rumors about me in front of the entire office, implying I slept my way to the top, and you call that being ‘brutally honest’? You call that ‘saying what’s on her mind’?” “And you, my husband, not only refuse to defend me, but you sacrifice my interests to appease her?” David sank back into his chair. “So this is still about the award. I told you, it’s a meaningless title. You’ll still get all your commissions.” “Alright, stop making a scene over nothing. We’ll talk about this at home. This is the office, leave your personal emotions out of it.” He still thought I was just throwing a fit. I pushed the letter closer to him. “Mr. Martin, I am discussing a professional matter with you right now. Please sign this.” Seeing the resolve on my face, his irritation flared again. “So you’re determined to fight me on this, aren’t you? You know perfectly well that our General Manager recommended Nicole for her position. I’m on track to be a director next year. Can’t you just suck it up for a little while?” His voice rose, thick with self-righteous accusation. “And have you ever stopped to think why she only targets you? It takes two to tango! If you weren’t giving her ammunition, she’d have nothing to attack you with! Are you telling me she’s completely wrong?” His eyes scanned me from head to toe, cold and sharp as a knife. “You’re a married woman. Who are you dressing up like this for every day? You wear these tight clothes, making sure everyone knows what a great body you have?!” “And every time you go out for a client meeting, you’re dressed to the nines. Sometimes you don’t come back until the middle of the night, reeking of alcohol. Who knows if you were really talking business, or doing something else you wouldn’t want people to know about…” 3 His words were a sledgehammer, shattering the last fragile illusion of affection I held for him. I slapped him. Hard. The crack echoed in the office, interrupting his tirade. The air went still. The only sound was the ragged sound of our breathing. Three years. I had been married to David for three years. I had endured this department for three years. The first year, I had just transferred to the sales department, full of ambition. I worked myself to the bone, chasing clients, crafting proposals. At the end of the year, my performance was in a league of its own, 50% higher than the person in second place. Everyone assumed the “Employee of the Year” award was mine. In the car on the way home, David turned to me. “Stella,” he said. “About the award… let’s pass on it this year.” I was stunned. “Why? What did I do wrong?” “Nothing. You were too good.” He sighed, his voice full of a reluctant, manufactured difficulty. “I was just promoted to assistant manager. My position isn’t stable yet. You’re my wife. If the first major award goes to you, what will people think? They’ll say I’m playing favorites, that you got it because of me, not because of your talent. We need to avoid any hint of nepotism.” I looked at his tired profile and my heart softened. There’s always next year, I thought. I should be understanding. The second year. That was the year Nicole joined. To help him secure a promotion to full manager, I practically lived at the office. I pulled all-nighters perfecting proposals that clients called “textbook examples of excellence.” I landed a long-term contract with our most notoriously difficult client. On the sales chart, my name was still at the very top, my numbers even more impressive than the year before. Before the annual review, David had another “chat” with me. “There’s a supervisor position opening up this year, and Nicole is in the running,” he began. “She was recommended by the General Manager. It won’t do us any good to compete with her directly. Let’s let the award go one more time. I promise, next year I’ll find a way to get you something even better.” He held my hand, his eyes sincere, almost pleading. I gave in again. We’re a team, I reasoned. His career is our career. That year, Nicole got the award. And David got his promotion to department manager. At the annual company party, Nicole stood on stage, flushed and beaming, thanking the leadership. When her eyes swept over me, they were filled with undisguised scorn. Later, in the restroom, she touched up her makeup and spoke to my reflection in the mirror. “You’re still so naive, Stella. Sometimes, being aggressive isn’t enough. You have to learn to use a woman’s… advantages.” I just stood there, washing my hands, the water running cold as I dug my nails into my palms. The third year. I single-handedly landed a strategic, multi-million dollar project that would impact the entire company’s annual revenue. And Nicole? She lost several of her key accounts and failed to meet her targets for two consecutive quarters. In the past, when she would snipe at me or steal a minor client, David would say, “Let it go, she’s a colleague.” When she sabotaged my work or saddled me with menial tasks, he’d say, “The capable do more. Think of the big picture.” I endured it all. And what did I get in return? I got her escalating her attacks, spreading the most vicious, slut-shaming rumors about my integrity and my abilities. I got my own husband, who not only turned a blind eye but, after I finally fought back, was the first to message me and tell me to back down. And I got the final, crushing revelation that deep down, he believed the same filthy, untrustworthy things about me that Nicole did. Thinking about it all, I couldn’t stop the tears from welling in my eyes. “You’re a monster, David.” My tears seemed to scald him, shocking him back to reality. “Honey… I…” “I didn’t mean it like that! I was just stressed out, I wasn’t thinking!” “You know this is a critical time for me, with the director position on the line. Any little thing could—” “Enough,” I cut him off. “Three strikes, David. You’re out.” His critical time. His difficult position. His big picture. I had listened to it for three years. I had endured for three years. I was done. I pointed to the resignation letter on his desk. “If you don’t sign it, I’m filing a police report for slander against Nicole. I’m sure you don’t want a departmental dispute on your record while you’re being considered for a promotion, do you?”

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In our seventh year together, Asher’s private social media account was leaked. Post after post, it was a diary of his love life. 【The wife wore a pink sweater today. So cute! I just want to hold her and smother her with kisses!】 【Sang her my new song and she said she loved it! My heart is exploding!】 【Bought her a pink diamond, and the way she smiled… ahhh, I’d buy her the world! Anything my baby wants, she gets!】 【Day two of the concert tour. I miss my wife, ugh. No wife, no motivation. My sweet, soft wife.】 The comment section was a flood of fans swooning. 【OMG, Asher seems so wild and untouchable on the outside, but he’s a total simp in private.】 【LMAO, some people act all cold and indifferent to their S.O. in public, but inside they’re like: I AM MY WIFE’S DOG!】 My best friend forwarded the link to me with a playful jab. “Damn, you’re getting spoiled so much in private!” I scrolled through every single post, reading each one carefully. After a long silence, I replied to my friend. 【I’ve never owned a pink sweater.】 1. Actually, that’s a lie. I did, once. Back when I was chasing Asher, I’d heard a rumor that he liked the sweet, girl-next-door type. I’ve always hated the color pink, but I went out and bought a pink sweater specifically to wear when I brought him a home-cooked meal. It was the dead of winter, and I’d skipped a coat to look better. My face was pale from the cold. Asher finally emerged from the practice room, half an hour late. He looked me up and down, a slow, lazy appraisal. Then he crossed his arms and let out a short, sharp laugh. “Felicity,” he sneered. “You look like a giant pink pig.” The room erupted in laughter. I fled, my cheeks burning. I never wore pink again. My friend’s follow-up text was awkward, trying to smooth things over. 【Hey, don’t overthink it.】 【You know how he is. He probably loved it but just had to say something mean.】 【We all know what Asher’s like.】 She was right. In college, Asher was famous for his sharp tongue and permanent scowl. As my roommate used to say, “Such a handsome guy. It’s a shame he’s not a mute.” Nearly every girl who tried to get his attention was verbally shredded. But I was different. He criticized my clothes, my cooking, and the way I was always around him. But he was also the one who, at a party, would see me sitting alone in a corner and call out in his cold voice, “Hey. Come sit over here.” Later, he became a huge star. At his first stadium concert, he sang an entire love song looking directly at me. Then, the camera panned to my face. The young man on stage looked earnest, his features sharp and beautiful. “I want to introduce you all to someone,” he said. “The leading lady of my life.” The spotlights were blinding. All I remember is his smile cutting through the roar of the crowd. The second he got backstage, his manager tore into him. “Do you want to have fans? Do you want to have a career?” Asher just leaned against the wall, a careless smile on his face. “You don’t know her. She’s sensitive and high-strung. If I didn’t make it official, she’d give me hell for it later.” His career did stall for a few years after that. It only started to recover last year when his new single won a major award. But the person who presented the award to him was a junior artist who had once been far beneath him, a guy who had rocketed to fame after breaking up with his girlfriend of ten years to focus on his career. A reporter asked Asher if he regretted going public with our relationship. “No regrets,” he said, showing the camera the chain around his collarbone. It was the birthday present I’d bought him after working as a food delivery driver for five months. He once told me it was more precious than any trophy. But… In the most recent selfie on his private account, his face was hidden. And the chain around his neck had been replaced. In its place was a cartoon bear pendant from Hello Kitty. He used to say things like that were childish and girly. But now… The caption was ecstatic. 【Got matching necklaces with the wife!】 2. I sat in the living room all night, scrolling through his private account again and again. He said her desserts were delicious. I once spent a whole morning baking him a cake. He took one look at it and threw it in the trash right in front of me. He praised her for being lively, outgoing, and social. I once exchanged a few pleasant words with someone at a party, and he’d sneered, “There you go, showing off again.” He prepared elaborate gifts for her, marking the first day they met, their first week, their first month. This man, who had no patience for anything, would sit at a craft table for an entire day. 【I’m so happy just thinking about her face when she gets it! Her eyes will be sparkling. She’s so damn cute!】 Today was my thirtieth birthday. Asher didn’t even come home. I waited until midnight, then broke down and called him. It rang for a long time before he answered. The music on his end was deafening, a chaotic mix of male and female laughter. “I told you I’m busy, can you stop bothering me!” “What? It’s your birthday today?” “…I forgot.” I silently opened his private account. Ten minutes ago, he had posted: 【Don’t want to go home.】 3. Asher came home just before dawn. The sound of the door opening was followed by a wave of stale alcohol and heavy perfume. Then I saw him, leaning against the doorframe. He was typing on his phone. He noticed the living room light, glanced at me, then his eyes went straight back to his screen. “You’re still up?” “Yeah.” “Oh,” he mumbled, still engrossed in his phone. Someone on the other end must have said something funny, because an unconscious, gentle smile touched his lips. I just sat on the sofa, watching him. After three or four minutes, he finally seemed to register that I was still there. He put his phone away, rubbed his nose, and looked up at me with a frown. “Why aren’t you in bed?” “I…” “Good, you’re up,” he cut me off, plopping down on the sofa next to me. He issued a casual command. “Go make me some tea.” I had studied all sorts of herbal teas to help protect his voice. He always complained they tasted awful, but he would always drink them, grimacing the whole time. But not this time. I brought him the tea. He took one sip, then calmly poured the entire cup into a nearby potted plant. “Tsk. Your skills are really getting worse.” A sharp, searing pain bloomed on my fingers where the hot liquid had splashed. I kept my head down, silent. I thought of another post from his private account. 【The wife burned dinner today, but I ate every last bite!】 Suddenly, this all felt so pointless. “I’m going to bed.” “Hey.” Asher’s voice stopped me. I turned around. A small, palm-sized box hit me in the chest. I let out an involuntary hiss of pain. He frowned, annoyed at himself, then turned his head away. “Happy birthday.” Inside was a cartoon pendant, a matching one to his. A silly-looking teddy bear was grinning inanely. 4. “See? I told you he was talking about you on that account.” My best friend came over the next day. She saw the pendant and launched into a confident reassurance. “That’s just Asher. His bark is worse than his bite. If he really didn’t love you, would he have stayed with you for all these years?” “And look, he’s so careful not to worry you. During his performance the other day, he kept a whole galaxy’s worth of distance between him and his female dance partner.” “And what about his staff? Is there a single woman on his team? People in the industry say he’s sexist. His manager told him to hire a few women to quiet the rumors, but he refused.” “You’re just overthinking things.” I couldn’t find the words to argue. But a woman’s intuition is a powerful thing, and something felt deeply, fundamentally wrong. Like a childish, cartoonish pendant hanging on a fine silk nightgown. It just didn’t belong. My friend sighed at my expression. “Okay, how about this? Call him. Right now. See what he’s up to.” “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The refusal was automatic. Asher hated it when I “checked up” on him. I’d tried it a few times before when I was feeling insecure. Each time, it ended in a massive fight. He’d accuse me of not trusting him, of distracting him from his work. Once, he smashed a glass in a room full of people and screamed that I was a lunatic. “Felicity! Will you just get lost!” “It’s not like that,” my friend said, holding her phone up to my face. On the screen was one of Asher’s posts. 【The wife is checking up on me again!】 【She’s such a little dummy, she doesn’t believe how much I love her.】 【But I really love it when she gets all worried and insecure over me.】 【Praying my wife checks up on me every single day.】 The comments were a chorus of “I’m dying, this is so cute.” I hesitated, but finally took the phone and dialed his number. He picked up after the first ring. His tone wasn’t exactly warm, but he didn’t immediately hang up when I asked what he was doing. “Playing tennis with my assistant.” I could hear the thwack of a tennis ball in the background. Asher loved sports and always made time for a match a few times a week. I knew his assistant, Liam. A recent college grad, clean background, straight. “Oh,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed. I heard Asher’s signature scoff. “Feeling insecure again?” “You could always come down and see for yourself.” I immediately declined. “No, that’s okay.” I was terrible at tennis, and Asher played with a ferocious, competitive streak. I’d been on the receiving end of his brutal serves a few times and had no desire to repeat the experience. He let out another cold laugh. “By the way, I’m going out of town on business tonight. I won’t be home.” My concern was instinctual. “Is Liam going with you?” He grunted something noncommittal. “Well, tell him to be careful. Your throat needs to…” “Alright, alright,” he cut me off. “I’ve gotta go. My turn to serve.” He hung up before I could finish. My friend looked at me, amused. “Feel better now?” “Even if Asher were to cheat, I doubt it would be with Liam, right?” I managed a weak smile, but the uneasy feeling in my gut wouldn’t go away. I chalked it up to worry about his trip. The great artist Asher never concerned himself with mundane matters, so all the domestic duties fell to me. I washed his socks and underwear. I cooked his meals. In our toughest years, I worked two jobs a day and still came home to clean up the take-out containers he left on the table. My friend used to joke that I was more of a mother to him than a girlfriend. But that’s what love is, isn’t it? Giving a little more of yourself. I typed out a long list of instructions and sent it to Liam. Remembering he was on the court with Asher, I added another line. “No rush, you can read this after your game.” The next second, my phone was ringing. It was Liam. “Feli,” he said. “Didn’t Asher tell you?” “I quit two years ago.” 5. Asher had never told me. On the contrary, he mentioned his “assistant” all the time. A new tie clip in his jewelry box? A gift from his assistant. A photo of a beautiful meal on his social media? Had it with his assistant. Movie ticket stubs in his pocket? Saw it with his assistant. Even when he didn’t come home at night, the excuse was always the same… “I’m working late with my assistant.” “Don’t bother me.” So even when my fever spiked to 102 and I felt like I was about to pass out, I didn’t dare send him a single text. What was he really doing then? By the time I got to the tennis club, only Asher was left on the court. He looked startled to see me, then his brow furrowed in annoyance. “What are you doing here? Feeling paranoid again? Felicity, can’t you just for one day…” “Where’s Liam?” Asher’s tirade stopped short. He clearly hadn’t expected that question. He avoided my eyes, stammering, “He’s… in the locker room, changing.” Without a word, I started walking toward the locker room. “Felicity!” He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “What is wrong with you!” The movement pulled his collar open. On his collarbone was a red mark, angry and intimate. A scream tore from my throat as I started to struggle. “Let go of me!” The staff members turned to stare. Asher’s face darkened. He held my wrist tighter, dragging me toward the exit. “I told you, he’s changing! If you want to make a scene, do it at home!” Years of suspicion and anxiety finally exploded. I collapsed to the ground like a madwoman, letting him drag my dead weight. “I don’t believe you! I don’t believe you!” “Just let me see!” Someone recognized him and pulled out their phone. “Security!” Asher roared. Someone ran over and grabbed my shoulders. I fought and screamed. People were pointing, whispering. The world was a chaotic blur. And then it all went silent, broken by a single, soft voice. “Asher?”

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To save my husband and my mother, I tackled a bomber off a bridge. The blast took both my legs. I went from a rising star attorney to… nothing. A woman with no legs. A deep, suffocating depression swallowed me whole. In a fit of rage, I smashed everything in our home. My mother just held me, her tears soaking my hair. “Let it out, sweetie. Just cry. Mom’s here. I’ll take care of you forever.” When I grabbed a knife to end it all, Caleb’s hands shot out, his fingers closing around the blade until they bled. His eyes were wild. “If you die, I die with you,” he choked out. “We go together.” After that, I tried. I fought to cage the darkness inside me, for their sake. I didn’t want to be their burden. Until my mother’s birthday. All I said was that my legs were hurting. Suddenly, she swept the birthday cake to the floor. “I almost wish you’d died in that explosion!” she screamed, her face twisted in anguish. “At least then this daily torture would be over!” Before I could process her words, Caleb grabbed me by the throat and started dragging me toward the balcony. “You want to die so bad? Then do it! Be brave for once and jump!” I didn’t cry. I just waited for the push that would send me falling. But another woman lunged forward, throwing her arms around Caleb. “Mia, your life is already over,” she pleaded, “but do you have to drag Mom and Caleb down with you?” I knew her. Sophia. Caleb’s mentee from the firm. The woman he had introduced to the world on camera as his “soulmate.” She was gentle, kind. Full of life and laughter. She could be the daughter and the wife I no longer could. And I… I needed to disappear from their world for good. … The pressure on my throat was immense; I could feel the world starting to go dark. I let my body go limp, helping Caleb angle me over the railing. I even managed a faint smile to soothe him. “It’s okay.” His eyes, bloodshot and frantic, suddenly widened. He let go of me, stumbling back, and started slapping himself across the face, hard. “I’m sorry, Mia, I’m so sorry… I’m a monster, I’m not human…” He and my mother worked in a practiced tandem, pulling me back inside. One started cleaning the mess on the floor; the other tended to me. Sophia, her heart aching for Caleb, took the mop from his hands. As she did, my mother slipped on a wet patch. Both Caleb and Sophia reached out to steady her. Sophia shot me a glare. “We can’t even stay in this house anymore. Let’s go out. We’re going to give Mom a proper birthday dinner.” I tried to crawl toward my mother, to offer some comfort, but Caleb’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “Stay back!” I froze, my body flat against the cold floor. I watched as Sophia helped my mother into a new coat she’d bought for her, then turned to wrap a scarf around Caleb’s neck. With her, their smiles were real. My mother didn’t have to hide her pain, and Caleb didn’t have to mask his exhaustion. She was right. I was the poison in their lives. If I died, they could finally be a real family. My eyes scanned the room. My mother’s sleeping pills were on the dining table. Caleb’s utility knife was on the nightstand. I used to hoard my mother’s pills, planning my escape. I’d used that same knife to slice open my arms, my neck. After they found out, they locked everything away. I couldn’t remember when they started leaving them out again, in plain sight. It dawned on me then. My mother and Caleb… they’d been waiting for me to die for a long time. The prosthetics I wore were chafing my skin raw, blood seeping through the fabric of my pants. They were a gift from Caleb. They’d been the wrong size from the start. I never said anything. Neither did he. My mother never mentioned it either, not even as she forced them on, the metal clasps biting deep into my flesh to hold them in place. They wanted me to stand again. And I wanted to, for them. Even if it felt like walking on knives, I would have done it. Maybe it was the gentle look on my mother’s face as she made her birthday wish that made me want to feel close to her again, just for a moment. All I did was whisper that my legs hurt. But it was the final straw. It broke them. Sophia was right. I couldn’t keep torturing them. I pulled myself into my wheelchair and left the apartment. I didn’t touch the pills or the knife. I wouldn’t die in their home. My mother was terrified of blood, and the sight of it would give her nightmares. Caleb was a judge with a brilliant future; a wife’s suicide at home would stain his career. I wheeled myself to the bridge over the Inner Harbor and pushed myself over the edge. The water was freezing, filthy. But I didn’t struggle. I just hoped the current would carry me far away, to a place where my mother and Caleb would never have to see me again. My soul detached from my body, a weightless thing, and drifted back to them. They were in a private dining room, posing for a family portrait. Afraid of ruining the happy scene, I shrank into a corner, even knowing they couldn’t see me. I waited until the camera flashed before floating closer. A waiter brought in a new cake, complimenting them on having such a devoted son and daughter. My mother beamed, wrapping an arm around Sophia. “She’s the only daughter I have,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. She took Sophia’s hand and placed it in Caleb’s, holding them together. “And this is my son-in-law.” As she leaned over the candles to make a wish, my mother repeated it, her voice a low prayer. “I wish for Sophia to be my daughter, and for Caleb to always be my perfect son-in-law.” A tear escaped and traced a path down her cheek. She mouthed two words, silently. I’m sorry, Mia. I didn’t feel sadness. Only relief. Your wish came true, Mom. Three years ago, a case Caleb presided over had made him a target for a powerful criminal syndicate. They came for us during a family trip. In the final moments, as the bomber counted down, I pushed them away and threw myself, and him, off the bridge. The blast took my legs. My mother had never forgiven herself. “If I hadn’t insisted on that trip, if I hadn’t made you two come with me, you never would have been hurt!” She had that same look on her face now. My ghostly hand reached out, wanting to wipe her tears away. Don’t cry, Mom. If I had to choose a thousand times, I’d still choose to save you. I don’t regret it. My mother slid the family heirloom, a delicate sapphire bracelet, onto Sophia’s wrist, then gave Caleb a meaningful look. “Some friends are waiting for me. I’ll leave you two to talk.” The door to the private room clicked shut. Sophia leaned in close to Caleb, her touch intimate as she wiped a smudge of tea from the corner of his mouth. He slumped forward, resting his forehead wearily on her shoulder. After my… accident, he had refused all promotions. His life became a grueling cycle: investigating cases by day, studying nursing care at night, and taking me to physical therapy during his lunch breaks. All while dealing with my episodes of self-harm. I hovered above him, seeing how half his hair had turned a stark silver. A bitter ache filled my non-existent chest. I wanted to stroke his hair, to smooth away the lines of exhaustion. Sophia’s hand got there first. “You’ve spent all this time trying to save her, Caleb,” she murmured. “But who is going to save you? It breaks my heart to see you waste away like this.” She tilted her head. “Let me take care of you. Please?” Caleb was silent. After a long moment, he raised a hand and cupped her face, his voice trembling. “Okay.” Sophia melted into his arms. “Caleb,” she whispered against his chest, “stay with me tonight.” His arms, which had started to lift by instinct, hovered in the air for a second before wrapping tightly around her. He pulled out his phone and sent me a text. Working late. Ordered you some takeout. Make sure you eat. Tears I could no longer shed streamed down my face. Don’t worry about me anymore, Caleb. I knew that without Sophia’s love and support these past three years, he would have completely shattered. I was grateful to her. Because of her, my mother had a new daughter, and my husband had a new wife. My mother returned home late, humming a cheerful tune. She noticed the takeout bag by the door. “Mia, dinner’s here!” My bedroom door was closed. Silence. Her face instantly hardened. “What is it now? Are you throwing another tantrum? I swear, you’re driving me insane!” She dropped the bag in front of my door with a thud and slammed the door to her own room. It was better this way. It was her birthday. She shouldn’t be upset because of me. I drifted through the wall and hovered beside her. She was scrolling through Sophia’s social media. A video showed Sophia in a kitchen, stirring a pot of soup. Caleb came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His voice was a low, intimate murmur. “Thank you,” he said, “for making me feel alive again.” My mother liked the post and left a comment: “My beautiful children, live your lives well. I’ll officiate your wedding.” My eyes were fixed on the new diamond band on Caleb’s ring finger. I flew back to my own room, searching frantically. I found it in a corner, covered in dust. My old wedding band. Inside, the name he had engraved himself was worn almost smooth. I wasn’t heartbroken. He was getting his life back. He wasn’t being dragged down into hell with me. This was a good thing. Caleb didn’t come home until after midnight. He was humming, a faint lipstick smudge visible on his collar. He tripped over the cold takeout bag, and his good mood vanished. “Mia! If you don’t want to eat, then starve!” He stormed into his study. He’d just fallen asleep when his phone buzzed. It was Sophia. Caleb was sleeping too deeply to hear it. I circled frantically, hoping nothing was wrong. Finally, he stirred and answered. A terrified scream came through the speaker. “It’s all my fault! I couldn’t stop myself from falling in love with you!” “Caleb, please, just make your wife leave me alone! Please!” She sent a video. The sapphire bracelet my mother had given her was shattered on the floor. “She saw it on my social media feed! She sent people to my apartment to take it back, and they broke it!” The camera spun, revealing Sophia’s face, red and swollen with handprints. “She had them beat me… and… and she used these to threaten me!” Behind her, on the floor, was a pair of bloody, severed prosthetics. And scrawled on the white wall in what looked like blood were two words: HOMERWRECKER. DIE. I froze, for a moment forgetting I was a ghost. Caleb, you know me! I don’t even know where she lives! How could he possibly believe this? But then he was on his feet, rushing out of the study and kicking my bedroom door with furious force. “Mia, can you act like a human being for once? Torturing me and Mom wasn’t enough? Now you’re hiring thugs to terrorize Sophia?” “I must have been cursed the day I married you, you monster! Why don’t you just DIE?” I was completely still. A ghost isn’t supposed to have a heart. But I felt as if someone had just ripped mine out of my chest, leaving a gaping, frozen void. Colder than the winter river. I tried to console myself. This is a good thing, Mia. He has to hate you to truly let you go. I followed Caleb as he sped to Sophia’s apartment and watched them cling to each other. Caleb’s eyes were cold as ice. “I’m calling the police. A few nights in a holding cell will teach Mia a lesson.” Sophia, looking guilty, tried to defend me. “No, Caleb, don’t blame her. It’s my fault. I couldn’t control my heart.” “Just stay with me. Please don’t leave.” Caleb didn’t call the police. He took Sophia to a hotel. And there, he gave in to temptation, falling into bed with her. I found I couldn’t leave. I was trapped, forced to bear witness. All I could do was turn away. Sophia’s voice was a seductive moan. “Caleb… you have to take responsibility for me now.” His ragged breaths filled the room. “Thank you,” he gasped. “Thank you for freeing me from that monster.” “I’m filing for divorce tomorrow.” Caleb didn’t wake until noon the next day. He surveyed the messy hotel room, a flicker of regret in his eyes. He went to the balcony and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes, his gaze eventually falling on the fading red marks on Sophia’s face. His expression hardened. “This was my mistake. She shouldn’t have hurt you.” He turned to make a call, not seeing Sophia’s eyes flutter open behind him. “Miller? I need to report my wife. Assault, trespassing, intimidation. Can you bring her in, hold her for a few days…?” The voice on the other end was loud and chaotic. Shouting in the background. “Careful, it’s a floater! Heavily bloated… Caleb, look, we’re swamped right now!” “We pulled a Jane Doe from the Inner Harbor. Mangled by a boat propeller… we can’t even piece her together…” “The whole precinct is on overtime trying to get an ID. I’ll handle your thing when we’re clear.” My non-existent heart clenched. Caleb was sharp. Terrifyingly so. I was afraid he’d go to the scene, that he’d realize I had killed myself. And that my body was… ugly. Just then, Sophia let out a pained cry from the bed. “Aah—” Caleb’s head snapped toward her. She was whimpering in her sleep, tears on her cheeks. “Please don’t hit me… please, I’m begging you…” Caleb’s knuckles turned white. “Miller, just get someone over to my house as soon as you can. I’m afraid Mia might hurt someone else.” After a moment’s silence, the captain agreed. Still furious, Caleb called my mother. “Mom, Mia went after Sophia again…” My mother, sedated by her sleeping pills, had slept through Caleb’s rampage the night before. She was in the kitchen, making porridge for me, when the call came. She listened for a moment, then her face went cold. She turned off the stove. After hanging up, she poured the freshly made porridge down the drain. Then she picked up the cold takeout bag from my doorway and threw it in the trash too. “Maybe starving for a day or two will teach you a lesson. How did you become so vicious?” She sent a voice message to Sophia. “Sophia, honey, you’ve been through so much. Mom is on her way to take care of you.” She packed up all the expensive supplements and tonics in our house and left. As she stepped out of the building, she noticed a crowd gathered by the riverbank. She paused. I panicked, rushing to block her path. Don’t go, Mom! They just pulled my body out! You’ll see the birthmark… it will kill you! But she didn’t move. She was listening to a reporter giving a live update nearby. “Someone fell in,” she murmured, her expression unreadable. Then she whispered, “I wish it had been Mia.” I felt as though a hand was squeezing my throat, suffocating me. After a long moment, a bitter smile touched my lips. It was me, Mom. Your wish came true. My mother and Caleb met at Sophia’s apartment. They cleaned her place, and my mother cooked a meal. At the dinner table, she placed her bank card in front of Caleb. “This is my decision. You need to divorce Mia.” “This is for you and Sophia. A wedding gift.” Sophia snatched the card, her face alight with glee. “Thank you, Mom! Caleb and I will take good care of you after we’re married!” Caleb was silent for a long time before pushing the card back to my mother. “It doesn’t matter who I marry. You’ll always be my mother. I’ll take care of you.” “As for Mia… I’ll have her moved to a long-term care facility…” My mother didn’t see the venom in Sophia’s eyes. She took the card back, shaking her head as tears began to fall. “Caleb, Mia and I have been too much of a burden on you. I’m thinking of taking her to Switzerland… for euthanasia.” “I’ve heard they have these pods… you just fall asleep…” Her voice was choked with sobs, but her face was filled with an unmistakable look of relief. Caleb bolted from the table and rushed to the bathroom. I followed him, watching as he sagged against the closed door, crying without a sound. Mia, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t hold on. He slapped himself twice, hard. I couldn’t touch him, but I cried with him. It’s not your fault. It really isn’t. You did more than enough. For three years, he hadn’t had a single full night of sleep. The medication made me sick, and every night he would be up, cleaning up my vomit. Countless times he was jolted awake by my sobs, only to find me sitting in a pool of my own blood, a razor in my hand. He’d have to fight back his own despair to patch me up and coax me back to sleep. If our roles were reversed, I don’t think I could have done what he did. Caleb, I owe you everything in this life. In the next one, let me be the one to love you. I drifted back to my mother. Sophia was holding her hand, crying as well. “Mom, I’m so sorry… Caleb and I… we slept together.” My mother just smiled and shook her head, about to offer her blessing when Sophia cut her off. “And last night… when Mia sent those men… they beat me so badly… I lost the baby. The doctor said… I can never have children now.” The smile froze on my mother’s face. I screamed, trying to make them hear. She’s lying! She’s framing me! I never did any of that! Tears of blood streamed from my spectral eyes. I knew it was useless. My mother believed her. She left in a rage, calling my phone again and again. No answer. When she got home, she kicked my bedroom door open. The curtains were drawn, blocking out all light. She hurled her phone onto my bed. “Mia, I wish you had died in that explosion with that bomber! It would be better than the shame you’ve brought on me now!” “You made that girl miscarry! That’s murder!” Caleb followed her into the room. He held out a signed divorce agreement. And a pair of handcuffs. “You can have the house, the money. You’ll go to a care facility, and I’ll take care of Mom.” “I’m sorry, Mia. I can’t do this anymore.” He stepped forward with the handcuffs, reaching into the darkness to pull back the covers. “I’m taking you to turn yourself in. We can plead for a lighter sentence.” There was no reply. After a moment, Caleb’s voice was hard. “If you don’t cooperate, I’ll have to call the precinct and have them bring you in by force.” My mother pounded her fist on the bed. “Mia, after you get out, I’m taking you to a psychiatric hospital. You’ve gone completely mad! I don’t even recognize you anymore!” She let out a sob. “If only Sophia were my daughter.” A tearing pain ripped through my core. Mom, don’t believe her! She’s evil, she’ll never be good to you! But I was dead. They couldn’t hear me. Thud. Caleb fell to his knees beside the bed. “Mia, I’m begging you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Please. Let my mother and me live.” I already have, Caleb. I already made my choice. If there were even a sliver of light, they would see that the bed was empty. Just then, Caleb’s phone rang. It was Captain Miller. “Caleb, we got an ID on the body from the river. It’s your wife. Coroner puts the time of death at two days ago…”

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1 The fourth year I spent as Isabelle’s stand-in, she came back. Without a moment’s hesitation, Scott kicked me to the curb and got back together with her. At a party with friends, he raised his glass and sincerely wished me the best in finding love. I smiled and returned the toast, offering him the same. Everyone in the room thought I was just putting on a brave face. Scott thought so, too. Until, late one night, his best friend, Alaric, posted an update to his social media. The photo showed a seventeen-year-old Alaric standing next to a seventeen-year-old me. His caption read: “A broken mirror can be whole again.” The likes and comments from our mutual friends, in the minute that followed, exploded. … Maybe I’d seen it coming. So when Scott finally brought up the breakup, I was actually relieved. “Audrey, I’ve done you wrong.” “If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, just name it.” He was speaking to me, but his gaze drifted past me, landing on the clock hanging on the wall. It was almost nine. We both knew what that meant. Isabelle’s flight was about to land. “We can talk about it later. I just got back from working overtime. I’m tired,” I said, my voice heavy with exhaustion as I bent down to unbuckle my heels. There’s an unwritten rule among adults: three days of no contact is a breakup by default. Scott and I had already accumulated countless three-day silences. My response was meant for his offer of compensation. But Scott misunderstood. He blocked my path to the bathroom, his expression serious. “Let’s clear this up tonight. I don’t want to go see Isabelle with things still up in the air.” The overhead light cast an urgent shadow across his handsome brow. I was suddenly reminded of another night, years ago, under this same light. Scott had held my hand, insisting I make him my boyfriend. I stopped and simply stared at him for several long seconds. “You want to break up? Fine. I agree.” He seemed stunned that I’d agreed so easily. He flinched. The knot in his throat bobbed. “Don’t you have anything you want to say to me? You can scream at me, hit me, whatever you want.” I almost laughed. But my lips felt too heavy to lift. In the end, I just tilted my chin toward the space behind him. “Scott, it’s almost nine.” The unspoken meaning was clear: You should go. A complex emotion flickered across his face, a desire to say more that was quickly smothered by a greater urgency. He grabbed his jacket and was gone. From the moment he spoke to the moment he disappeared, the entire process took less than thirty seconds. That was the weight of Isabelle and me on the scales of his heart. Faced once again with that stark imbalance, I leaned back against the cold wall. A small, hollow laugh escaped my lips. 2 It was Scott who had pursued me first. After we met, he launched a relentless campaign to win me over. I asked him why so many times. Each time, he insisted it was love at first sight. Yes, love at first sight. I slowly grew accustomed to him appearing like clockwork every day. I let my guard down, letting him pull me closer and closer. The only strange thing was how, after we got together, he would often just stare at my face, lost in thought. When I’d ask him what was wrong, he wouldn’t answer. He’d just whisper in my ear how much he loved me. Back then, I truly believed I was loved. Everything changed on an unremarkable weekend. While tidying up, I accidentally knocked over a box in his study. Photos spilled across the floor. As I knelt to pick them up, I saw that they were all intimate pictures of Scott with another woman. On the back of every single one was the same sentence. “Scott and Isabelle, together forever.” The girl’s eyes, the curve of her brows—they were strikingly similar to my own. I stared for a long time before the truth finally dawned on me. I finally understood what he meant by “love at first sight.” I tried to break up with him then. But that winter, Scott followed me all the way to my hometown. The temperature had dropped below freezing, and he just stood outside my building all night, shivering in the wind. When I saw his face, pale and tinged with blue from the cold, my resolve softened. I accepted his clumsy explanations and his stammered promises. But the trust in our relationship was gone. In the years that followed, friends around us got engaged, then married. Occasionally, Scott would bring up our future, his tone half-joking. I would always find a way to deftly change the subject. Eventually, he stopped bringing it up. Instead, he just became more attentive, more thoughtful. Until one night, when I came home from a late business trip and found him fighting to stay awake at the dining table, a bowl of warm seafood soup waiting for me. In that moment, something inside me just…melted. Maybe marriage wouldn’t be so bad, I thought. The hurt was real. But so was the love I had for him. Just as I was about to let myself believe in us again, the news broke. Isabelle was coming back. Suddenly, Scott was always busy. His phone was always on silent. Messages went unanswered for days. He still came home, but it was like he’d left his soul somewhere else. And then, Isabelle’s flight was confirmed. Scott finally stood before me and said the words we both knew were coming. 3 I called my boss and accepted his offer for a two-week project out of town. He’d been hesitant, worried I’d burn out after my recent stretch of overtime. But now, I had changed my mind. Maybe work was the best way to fill the void left by a broken heart. It was late by the time I finished handing off my work to a colleague. I should have turned off my phone and gone to sleep. Instead, on some dark impulse, I opened my social media. The first thing I saw was a photo of Scott and Isabelle, holding hands. It hit me without warning. His caption read: “Glad I wasn’t too late. Hope I’m never late again.” My heart felt like it had been struck by a blunt object. I slammed my phone screen off and stared into the darkness until morning. The intense workload was a blessing. It forced everything else from my mind. In those two weeks, I lost ten pounds and barely had a spare moment to think about Scott. It was only in the quiet, empty moments that a flicker of him would return. On the day I was scheduled to fly back, a friend messaged me, a reminder about a party that night. I knew there was a high probability Scott would be there. And maybe Isabelle, too. But I had no intention of avoiding it. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I wasn’t going to sever all ties with my friends just because we had broken up. I typed a single word in reply. “Okay.” … The private room was dimly lit, a cacophony of voices and music. As I pushed the door open, several pairs of eyes turned to me. Before I could make out any faces, I heard Scott’s voice. He’d clearly been drinking; his pitch was higher than usual, laced with a desperate edge. “I’ve waited for Isabelle for so many years. Now that she’s back, I’m never letting her go again.” A calm, deep male voice cut him off. “So you can just end your last relationship without a second thought?” “Scott, is that all love is to you? A game?” The question seemed to stump Scott. He was silent for a few seconds before retorting, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Alaric, not everyone is like you, still hung up on a first love who vanished without a trace. I’m not you. I know what I want.” The other man didn’t reply. The air grew tense. Scott must have realized he’d misspoken, because he slung an arm around the man’s shoulders. “My bad, I’ll take a shot as punishment. You just got back, don’t let my drama ruin the mood…” Someone whispered my name. “Audrey’s here.” All conversation stopped. Scott looked up, a flash of panic on his face. And in the corner of the sofa, the man who had been hidden in the shadows slowly lifted his head. His features were sharp, his eyes deep-set. The way he looked at me… it was exactly the same. It was Alaric. It was really him. My breath caught in my throat. The world went silent, and the only thing I could hear was my own heartbeat, a heavy thud against my eardrums. And then another. 4 “Let me introduce you. This is my friend, Alaric.” Scott was the first to recover. He pretended nothing had happened, pulling Alaric in front of me. “He’s been abroad for a few years, just got back.” “I’ve been wanting to introduce you two, but it was always bad timing. Whenever he was back, you were out of town…” Scott was drunk and a little flustered, so he rambled on. But I didn’t hear a word. I just stared at the man in front of me. I never imagined that after all these years, we would meet again like this, by a cruel twist of fate. Remembering the words he’d just spoken, the faint ripple of emotion in my heart quickly subsided. Anyone in the world had the right to judge another’s love life. Anyone but him. I had no intention of dredging up the past. I smoothed all emotion from my face and acted as if he were a stranger. I simply nodded at him. “Hi. I’m Audrey.” … The atmosphere at the party remained tense. Everyone assumed the awkwardness stemmed from my breakup with Scott. I ignored it, finding a quiet corner to sit by myself. Alaric took a seat diagonally across from me. His gaze kept drifting my way, too intense to ignore. My heart began to beat a little faster. I didn’t even notice Scott sit down beside me. “Audrey, I’m sorry for how things ended. If there’s anything you need…” he began, his voice low and sincere. His words just irritated me. I forced a tight smile and shifted away, putting some distance between us. He couldn’t keep his promises when we were together; why bother making them now that we were apart? “You don’t have to. I wish you and Isabelle a lifetime of happiness.” I hated using arguments to demand an answer I already knew. If I couldn’t keep him, it was better to let go with dignity. Strangely, when I said that, the light in Scott’s eyes dimmed for a second. But he quickly recovered, raising his glass. “Well… here’s to you finding your true love, then.” More eyes turned toward us. I maintained the last shred of my dignity and raised the glass in front of me. As my gaze passed over Scott’s shoulder, I saw Alaric. He was watching me quietly. His brow was furrowed, his expression a complex mix I couldn’t decipher. In that instant, all the hurt and confusion I had suppressed came rushing to the surface. Why was I always the one who got hurt? What had I done so wrong? The cold liquor slid down my throat, burning all the way down. I set my glass down and excused myself to the restroom. As I stood up, I could feel their eyes on my back. Alaric’s. Scott’s. Everyone else’s. The door closed behind me, shutting out their muffled whispers. 5 “Did Audrey’s eyes look red when she left?” “She’s definitely just toughing it out. Four years… you don’t get over that so easily.” Scott overheard them and froze. He turned to the person who had spoken, his voice urgent. “Was she really crying?” The person was taken aback. “Well… her eyes were a little red. Maybe I was mistaken.” Scott was about to ask more when the door opened again. I was back, my face a perfect mask. “I still have some work to finish up, so I’m going to head out. You guys have fun,” I said, picking up my bag and smiling at my friends. Scott shot to his feet. “Audrey, I’ll drive you…” Before he could finish, his phone rang. The screen lit up, and his eyes darted away guiltily. Even without seeing the name, I knew who it was. The room was so quiet that the woman’s voice on the phone was perfectly clear. “Scott, my stomach hurts… Can you come home?” It was Isabelle. A sharp, clear pain, like the prick of a fine needle, pierced my heart. Scott clutched his phone, his gaze flicking between it and me, his face a picture of conflict. I couldn’t stand to watch anymore. I turned and pulled the door open, leaving without another word. … Back in the room, Scott watched the door close, a flicker of regret on his face. He spoke, as if explaining to himself as much as to everyone else. “Isabelle’s cramps are always really bad. I have to go…” Alaric, who had been silent the whole time, suddenly stood up and grabbed his jacket. Scott blinked, instinctively reaching out to stop him. “Where are you going?” “Leaving,” Alaric said, his tone flat. “Wait!” Scott grabbed his arm as if it were a lifeline, his voice pleading. “Alaric, we’re up in the hills. It’s not safe for a girl who’s been drinking to get down by herself. Can you please give her a ride? Please?” He knew Alaric was reserved and didn’t like interacting with people he didn’t know well. He didn’t have much hope. But Alaric stopped. He was silent for a few seconds. When he finally spoke, he agreed. “Fine.”

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After I was the one to break the silence between us, I saw the box of ultra-thins in Alex’s passenger seat. I quietly put them away for him, saying nothing. Alex shot me a complicated look and offered an explanation. “Look again. The whole box is there. We just ran out of the ones at home.” I hummed in acknowledgment, feigning sleep in the uncomfortable seat. He didn’t speak again until he pulled the car over to the side of the road, his voice soft. “Let’s pick up some supplements. We’ll go to your family’s home for New Year’s and visit your mom.” I couldn’t hold back the tears. I turned my back to him. My mother was dead. And he still didn’t know. 1 “Ava? Are you listening to me?” Alex’s voice hardened, a familiar pressure in his tone. My own voice was raspy. “There’s no need.” There’s no need to go back. Not ever again. He misunderstood. He leaned over, trying to see my face. “Are you angry? “Please, just trust me, okay? Here, you can count them if you want.” He opened the box and tipped out all the condoms. His eyes held a look of weary indulgence, as if he were dealing with a petulant child. I wiped my tears and looked over. “I’m really not angry.” Alex leaned in and hugged me, sighing. “You say you’re not angry. “But you’ve been wanting me to go back with you, haven’t you? “It’s New Year’s, and for once, I don’t have any work events. “If we miss this chance, who knows when the next one will be.” His hand gently rubbed my back, just like he always did. But I felt nothing. I numbly pushed him away and nodded. “Okay. Let’s go, then.” The last thing my mother had said was that her son-in-law was too busy with work; she hadn’t even gotten to see him. If Alex had time on New Year’s, it would be good for him to pay his respects. After all, once we were divorced, there would be no reason to ask him to go again. I ordered a lot of things online, mostly offerings for her grave. I was worried about inflation in the afterlife and wanted to make sure she had enough. But on New Year’s Day, Alex didn’t come home. 2 It was as if I’d expected it. I calmly accepted that he might not make the train. I took a taxi to the station by myself. He didn’t call until the train was already pulling away from the platform. “I’m sorry, something came up here. “Can you change your ticket? We could leave tonight instead.” I watched the scenery blur past the window and swallowed my tears. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve already left.” I couldn’t even be bothered to ask why. But he explained anyway. “This time it really isn’t because of Sophie. “A project we already settled had a last-minute issue. I really thought I could make it back in time. “Ava, don’t be like this.” I don’t know what in my calm voice made him think I was being difficult. “I know you’re busy,” I said evenly. “You can come tomorrow.” One more day doesn’t matter. It’s fine. Alex breathed a sigh of relief. “Wait for me, okay? When I get there, I’ll make that lamb stew for your mom. “She always said how much she loved my cooking. It’s been a few years since she’s had it. “This time, I’ll definitely…” “I’m tired. I’m going to get some sleep.” I cut off his happy planning, the tears finally streaming down my face. I wanted to scream. She can’t eat it! Where were you before? But I was just… tired. I didn’t want to fight. We had fought so much that I was exhausted. It made me feel like I had no self-respect, like I was pathetically begging for his attention. It was enough if he just came. If he came and paid his respects, so my mother could see him. That was all I asked. A small return for all the years my mother had practically raised him. A small return for the boy I’d taken in, who had eaten at our table almost every day for over a decade. But I had overestimated him. 3 My uncle’s face fell when he saw I had come home alone again. That evening, my aunt gently prodded. “Are you and Alex fighting? “Your mother sensed something was wrong when she was in the hospital, you know. She just didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to upset you. “You need to rein in that temper of yours. With your parents gone, your husband is all you have to rely on. “The most important thing now is to have a baby.” I listened quietly and told her Alex would be there tomorrow. “His business hasn’t been doing well the last few years, so he has a lot of work events,” I explained. “He wanted to come when Mom was in the hospital, too. Don’t worry, we’re fine.” I didn’t want my family to know I was planning to divorce him. I didn’t have the energy to deal with their attempts to mediate. But I never expected Alex to break his promise again. In the morning, he told me he was on his way to the station. My uncle slaughtered the chicken he’d been raising for a year. My aunt went to the market at dawn. “It’s good he’s coming. He didn’t even show up for your mother’s funeral. The whole village thought he’d abandoned you. “This will shut them up. “You two should come back more often.” My aunt chattered away as she bustled around the kitchen. But after the table was laden with food, Alex didn’t answer any of my calls. “Let’s just eat,” I said, forcing the words out. I looked at my aunt and uncle, my chest tight with guilt. They exchanged a look and nodded. “Yes, yes, let’s eat before it gets cold.” “I’ll go get your cousins to come over. We can’t finish all this food ourselves.” “They can go with you up the mountain later.” My aunt hurried to get more bowls and chopsticks. In the winter air, the food on the table was already lukewarm. I fought back tears, my smile feeling stiff and unnatural. My uncle suddenly sat down beside me and ruffled my hair. “You were always a strong-willed child. You should do what you want to do. “If your father were here, he wouldn’t want to see you this unhappy. “Our home is always your home. You still have family, you know. Don’t listen to your aunt. You should live for yourself.” I managed a watery smile at him and excused myself to the bathroom. I only came out after I had stopped crying. My aunt and uncle were in the kitchen, reheating the dishes. Just then, my phone rang. It was Alex. 4 “She’s in the hospital. In surgery. “It’s life or death, Ava. I can’t just leave her. “Tomorrow. I’ll come tomorrow and pick you all up. “We can bring Mom back to the city with us for a few days.” I listened numbly, a storm of emotion churning inside me. I didn’t want to get angry. My mother always used to say: “Ava, honey, don’t get upset so easily. It’s not worth it. “Just live a quiet, peaceful life. “Turn a blind eye, and the years will pass. “Look at me. I used to have so many complaints about your father, but after he passed, all I can remember are the good things.” But Alex… he was pushing me too far. “You don’t have to come. I have something to discuss with you when I get back.” I hung up before he could reply. He called again. I declined it. Then the texts started. [Stop being unreasonable. Just wait for me.] [If she had anyone else to help her, she wouldn’t have called me.] [She wanted to apologize to you for last time. I’m the one who didn’t let her.] [You know what your temper is like, Ava. I was afraid you’d hit her again.] [Can’t we just live our lives in peace? Why do you have to throw a fit over every little thing?] He sent a flood of messages. I skimmed a few. My cousins had arrived. I turned off my phone and ignored him. The meal was a somber affair. Later, at my mother’s grave, my cousins waited for me at a respectful distance. I sat on the cold ground, staring at her photograph, and the tears started to fall. There was so much I wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Just before I left, I finally whispered to her. “I’m sorry. I lost that son-in-law you liked so much. “You won’t blame me, will you, Mom?” A gust of wind rustled the trees, brushing my cheek like a gentle caress. I choked back my tears, turned, and walked down the mountain without looking back. 5 The next day, I took the train back to the city. On the ride, the divorce agreement I’d had my lawyer draft arrived in my email. I reviewed it carefully, requesting a few minor changes. I didn’t ask for the company. I had other plans for that. But I demanded all of our cash assets and real estate. It was an eight-figure sum. I never expected to run into Alex at the train station. We stared at each other. Standing beside him was Sophie, the woman who was supposedly in surgery just yesterday. It clearly hadn’t been a life-or-death operation. She was on her feet, wearing a full face of natural-looking makeup, looking perfectly fine. Sophie’s eyes were red, as if she were on the verge of tears. “Don’t blame him,” she said quickly. “I’m the one who insisted he come and find you. “Of course, I know a wife is more important than a friend. “I only called him because I thought he was free for the holiday. “I didn’t know he was supposed to be visiting your family. He didn’t want to worry me, so he kept it a secret. I’m so, so sorry. “You’re not going to blame him, are you?” Alex snapped out of his shock and instinctively moved to shield Sophie behind him. I had hit her once. Ever since then, he never let me get near her. Now, his voice was low and heavy. “This is my fault. Don’t take it out on her.” Watching them, I was struck by how perfectly they complemented each other. I nodded and looked at Sophie. “Since you’re here, why don’t you both come over?” She looked surprised. Alex frowned. I looked back at Alex, my tone teasing. “What’s the matter? I thought there was nothing between you two. “If you’re just friends, are you scared to bring her home?” I started walking, and they followed. “You don’t have to speak like that,” Alex muttered from behind me. “It’s ugly. “She’s just a young girl. You scared her last time. Of course she doesn’t want to come to our house.” I stopped and looked past him at Sophie. Our eyes met, and a triumphant, challenging smirk played on her lips. “Since your sister invited me, of course I’ll come,” she said sweetly. I turned my gaze back to Alex. “Be a man, Alex. The ‘young girl’ is braver than you are.” 6 As soon as we got home, I went to the study. I printed out the divorce agreement, bound it, and brought it out to the living room, handing it to Alex. “Read this. If there are no issues, sign it. “You can take your things and leave with her today. “My mother invested twenty thousand in your company when you started. I don’t want the shares. “But all our marital assets, the cash and the properties, are mine. Everything except the company.” I said it all in one breath. Alex’s expression shifted from shock to fury. “Are you insane? “Does your mother know about this? “You went through all this just to do this? There’s a limit to these tantrums.” I looked down, my voice flat. “I’ve already informed her. “What mother doesn’t want her child to be happy? “She was good to you because she wanted you to be good to me. No matter how much she liked you, she would never choose you over her own daughter. “So you don’t have to worry about what she thinks.” I glanced at Sophie. She could barely contain her glee, her eyes fixed on Alex, full of victorious certainty. I smiled and continued. “Now that we’ve reached this point, you don’t really think my mother would still be on your side, do you?” Alex grew even angrier. “What else did you tell her? “How many times do I have to say it? Nothing happened between me and Sophie!” I threw the papers at his face. “Does it only count if you sleep with her? “Who did you adjust your passenger seat for? “Our anniversary, my birthday, my mother’s birthday… “Which of those special days this year did you not spend with her? “Are all of her friends and relatives dead? “She needs you, a married man who has nothing to do with her, to sit with her through a minor surgery? “Alex, we’re not idiots. Stop treating me like one.” My voice started out calm, but by the end, it was trembling. But Alex just repeated, his face cold, “I am not getting a divorce!” He added, “Your mom would be heartbroken!” I couldn’t help it. I screamed. “My mother is dead! How could she be heartbroken?”

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1 My mother, Willow, is a master of the damsel-in-distress act, though her methods are clumsy. She stole the credit for saving my father’s life from her cousin, Sophie, just to get close to him. Then she drugged him, and nine months later, there I was. When she heard Dad was about to enter an arranged marriage to secure a business alliance, she panicked, ready to unleash another storm of pitiful theatrics. To save us from being cast aside, I decided it was time for me to intervene. Her first move was to stage a fall down the stairs and frame his fiancée, Ashley. As she prepared her dramatic tumble, I launched myself into her arms, sending us both rolling down the steps. I burst into tears. “It was my fault! I missed a step, and Mommy tried to catch me! That’s why she fell so hard!” Dad’s heart ached for us. Even the Prescott family’s icy disapproval of my mother began to thaw. But Mom wasn’t done. Her next plan involved drugging Ashley and hiring a couple of lowlifes to rough her up. I took matters into my own hands. I shoved my mother into the room with Ashley, then deployed the knockout gas I’d prepared. Once everyone was unconscious, I went to work, making sure they all, including my mother, looked like they’d been through a war. When Dad arrived, he found Mom, battered and bruised, protectively shielding Ashley from harm. Ashley was overwhelmed with gratitude. She called off the engagement immediately and even convinced her family, the Vaughns, to adopt my mother as their goddaughter. Dad was consumed by a mix of guilt and admiration. He stood up to the Prescotts, finally playing the card my mother had given him. “She saved my life,” he declared, recounting the story of the car crash. “Without her, I’d be dead.” Faced with his conviction, the Prescotts finally relented and agreed to let my mother into the family. Tears of pure relief streamed down Mom’s face. But as she was joyfully planning the engagement party, Dad suddenly grabbed her wrist, his eyes red-rimmed and blazing. “Willow,” he snarled, his voice tight with fury, “Sophie just told me she was the one who saved me. Why did you lie?” My head snapped up. How could that be possible? My mother’s cousin was dead. She’d died in the hands of human traffickers over a year ago. … Mom froze, her face draining of all color as she floundered for an answer. I shot forward and pushed Dad away. “Mean Daddy! Don’t you bully my mommy!” I threw my arms around her. My “accidental” movement pulled at the collar of her dress, revealing the distinctive butterfly tattoo on her shoulder. Dad’s furious gaze fell on the tattoo, and his brow furrowed. He remembered it clearly. The person who pulled him from the wreckage of his car had been cut on the shoulder by shattered glass. Right in that exact spot. His tone softened. “I’ll have this investigated. I won’t accuse you without proof.” With that, he pursed his lips and walked out. Mom’s lips were white with fear. She began to mutter to herself, her voice trembling. “But she’s dead… How can she be back?” I was just as baffled. A year ago, my own grandfather had taken us to the morgue to identify the body. The deceased was confirmed to be my great-aunt’s daughter, Sophie. The blow was so immense that Grandpa had ordered multiple DNA tests, desperate for a different outcome. Every single one came back as a positive match. How could a dead person come back to life? Mom tried to compose herself, tucking me into bed before collapsing into her own. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting until her breathing evened out. Then, I slipped out of bed and went down to the basement. Down there, I kept the biological samples I had secretly collected from my great-aunt’s supposed remains. I retrieved a tooth I’d saved and sent it out for re-testing at a private lab. My mind drifted back to how we got here. I knew from the moment I arrived in this world that my mother was a schemer, and not a very good one. Six years ago, she’d used the “lifesaver” story to get close to Dad. Then came the drugging, and then me. Dad never said much. He just let her have the baby and sent a check for child support every month. Nothing more. It was only a year ago, when Sophie showed up threatening to expose her, that I learned the truth: Mom was a fraud. I had been ready to step in then. But Sophie acted strangely. She demanded a sum—a mere twenty thousand dollars—and then vanished with the money and some college boy she’d been seeing. The next news we heard was from the police. They told us the man was part of a professional trafficking ring. Sophie had figured it out too late, tried to escape, and was killed in the process. Mom was consumed with a mixture of guilt and relief. Over the past year, she’d showered my great-aunt’s family with support to compensate. The new DNA results came back quickly. I read them three times. The body we claimed from the morgue was, without a doubt, my great-aunt’s daughter. My mother’s biological cousin. I breathed a sigh of relief, but the confusion remained. Sophie had never even met my father before she died. So who was this “Sophie” he was talking about? And how did she know about the rescue? I climbed back into bed, my mind racing. Just then, my mother’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. I picked it up. The screen glowed with a blatant provocation. It was a picture, taken from behind, of a woman nestled in my father’s arms. The caption was a dagger. [Willow, you stole my heroism and schemed your way into the Prescott family! I won’t let you win.] [The position of Mrs. Prescott was always meant to be mine!] 2 I deleted the message and placed the phone back where I found it. My mother’s schemes were clumsy because her nerves were weak. A message like that would send her into a tailspin, and she’d inevitably do something foolish that would only make things worse. The next morning, Ashley burst through our door like a hurricane. “Willow! Have you heard? Damian has some new woman clinging to him! Get up! We’re going to go tear her to pieces!” My mother’s face went pale. “What’s her name?” Ashley downed a glass of water in one go, then slammed a dossier onto the coffee table. I peered over to get a look. Name: Sophie. Below it was a complete life story: background, profession, even her grades from elementary school. It was, line for line, my dead cousin’s entire history. Except, of course, for the part about her death. Tucked inside were several photos of her looking intimate with my father. One was a crystal-clear headshot. She had the exact same face as my cousin Sophie. Impossible. Mom and I stared, then stared again, both of us rubbing our eyes in disbelief. My cheek stung as Mom gave me a sharp pinch. I let out a yelp, and the reality crashed down on her. “It’s not a dream! It’s really her!” A dead woman was standing right before our eyes, alive and well. Ashley watched our bizarre reactions, confused. “What’s wrong with you two?” My mom forced a bitter smile. “She’s… my cousin.” She didn’t mention that her cousin was supposed to be dead. She was probably questioning it herself, wondering if it had all been a lie. “What?” Ashley’s jaw dropped. Then her face hardened with anger. “That’s low! Even a snake doesn’t prey on its own nest! Your cousin has some nerve!” She scooped me up into her arms. “Come on! They’re on Crestwood Avenue right now. Let’s go confront those two!” Ever since Mom had “saved” her, Ashley had become fiercely protective. She’d not only willingly stepped aside but had also become Mom’s biggest champion, pushing for her to be with Dad. The Vaughns were generous, too; they’d promised to give Mom five percent of their company’s stock as a dowry. Mom felt incredibly guilty about the whole thing, but Ashley, with her straightforward nature, never noticed a thing. They were the best of friends. Ashley dragged us to a high-end shopping district, and when she found out Dad and the woman were at a cosmetic clinic, she was ready to charge in. But Mom froze, her face ashen. She saw the woman inside the clinic. It was her. It was the spitting image of her dead cousin. Mom’s feet seemed rooted to the spot. Her hand tightened on Ashley’s arm, her whole body trembling with fear. Ashley stopped, sensing her panic. Just then, Dad and the woman walked out of the clinic. The woman seemed to feel our eyes on her. She turned, and a cold, triumphant smirk spread across her lips. A moment later, Mom’s phone buzzed with another message. [Willow, just wait. I’m going to expose you for the fraud you are.] Mom’s face went completely white. She swayed, nearly collapsing. Ashley caught her, letting me down to steady her. “Willow, what is it? What’s wrong?” I used the moment of confusion to slip into the cosmetic clinic. “Hi!” I said sweetly to the receptionist. “That lady who just left was so pretty! Is she here to get even prettier?” The receptionist smiled, amused by me. “Oh no, sweetie! She was just here to have an old scar on her shoulder looked at.” My heart sank. I pressed on, asking the real question. “She’s so gorgeous! You see pretty people all day. Do you think… do you think she’s had any work done on her face?” 3 The receptionist paused, then chuckled. “Not a bit! That face is all natural. I agree, she’s absolutely stunning.” My heart plummeted into a black abyss. All natural. I had been clinging to the hope that this was an impostor, someone who had undergone surgery to look like my cousin. The truth hit me like a physical blow. I’d seen her clearly for that brief moment. Her hair was shorter, but there was no mistaking it. That was Sophie’s face. As I stood there, lost in thought, Ashley and Mom rushed in. Mom grabbed me and hugged me tight, still trembling. Ashley clutched her chest in relief. “Oh, you little rascal, you scared me to death! Your mom thought you’d been snatched by kidnappers. Don’t you ever run off like that again.” I lowered my head and apologized. I knew she wasn’t scared about me being kidnapped. She was terrified of what the new “Sophie” might do to me. After all, this woman was clearly out for revenge, and I was my mother’s greatest leverage. For the next few days, Mom was a nervous wreck, jumping at every shadow. Ashley, uncharacteristically, didn’t visit. The sky was a heavy, gloomy gray. I was on the phone with the private investigator I’d hired. He sent over a new batch of photos of “Sophie” and my father. They had visited the site of Dad’s car crash and were even trying to get their hands on the old surveillance footage. I frowned. What were they trying to find? After all, my mother wasn’t the one who pulled him from that smoking car. Before I could reply to the PI, there was a frantic banging on the door. I opened it to find Ashley, her face grim and devoid of its usual cheer. She stormed in and slapped a file down on the table. “Willow,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “My kidnapping. Was that your doing?” Mom was caught completely off guard. She blinked, her voice barely a whisper. “What are you talking about?” Her hand, reaching for the file, trembled. I leaned in to look. The file contained phone records and bank transfers between my mother and the middleman who had arranged the abduction. “Ashley,” I piped up, “why are you suddenly looking into this now?” Ashley ignored me, her eyes locked on my mother. Her voice was a sharp crack. “Willow. Answer me.” The command made Mom flinch. I reached out and patted her trembling hand. Just then, the front door opened. Dad strode in, his expression cold and detached. “Funny,” he said, his voice laced with ice. “I’d like to hear the answer to that myself.” Mom’s legs gave out. She collapsed onto the sofa. I ran over and hugged Dad’s leg. “Daddy, what are you asking? Are you putting Mommy on trial? On TV, they need proof and witnesses to accuse the bad guys. Where are your witnesses?” He picked me up, his eyes devoid of warmth. “Oh? So Poppy thinks I’m wrongly accusing her mother?” I pouted. “It’s just not like how they do it on TV!” Ashley took a deep, shaky breath. “Willow, I don’t want to believe you’d do this,” she said, her voice strained. “Since Poppy brought it up, and to avoid any misunderstandings, I’ll find the witness. I pray you haven’t disappointed me.” A humorless smile touched Dad’s lips. “Bring him to the family estate tomorrow. I have another matter to discuss with Willow. We can settle everything at once.” Ashley nodded curtly and left. Dad set me down without a word and followed her out the door. My mother crumpled completely, closing her eyes in despair. I, however, quietly pocketed the few strands of long, chestnut-colored hair I had managed to pluck from my father’s shoulder. Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve got this. Later that night, the DNA report comparing the hair sample to my great-aunt’s came back. I opened it with confidence, then froze. Printed in bold, black letters were the words that made my world tilt on its axis. —BIOLOGICAL PARENT-CHILD RELATIONSHIP CONFIRMED.

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