In the fifth year of marriage, I asked Ethan Stone for a divorce. The reason was that I found potato chip crumbs on his passenger seat. And he never let me eat in his car. He was dismissive: “Just for this little thing?” This time I didn’t lower my head like before. I just looked at him and said seriously: “Yes, just for this little thing.” 1 When I went to wash the car, the staff frowned and asked me: “Ma’am, there are snack crumbs in your car. I think we should do a deep interior cleaning?” I was stunned and subconsciously retorted: “Impossible.” Ethan couldn’t stand anyone eating in his car the most. He had fallen out with me several times because of this. How could there be snack crumbs in his car? The staff gestured for me to look. I leaned into the car and actually saw yellow potato chip crumbs on the passenger seat. Still with seasoning powder, scattered in the corner. … When driving the car home, I sat in the underground garage for a long time. Finally, I opened the dashcam. After rummaging for a while, I quickly found the segment from when he got off work yesterday afternoon. After a moment of silence, the sound of the door closing rang out, and a familiar female voice laughed: “Quite on time today!” That voice was very pleasant, with the unique delicate softness of a young girl. However, my heart turned cold at this moment. Ethan said briskly: “Why did you come out so early? Didn’t your supervisor scold you?” Sophia Lin laughed: “They all know my relationship with you, who dares to stop me?” If a mature woman like me said this, it would only make people feel snobbish and pretentious. But if a young girl who just graduated said it, it makes people feel boldly cute. Sure enough, Ethan chuckled and said nothing more. I suddenly remembered when we first got married, at that time I was still working in his company. Once I met him on the road and wanted to say hello, but he walked past me as if seeing nothing, as if he didn’t see me at all. When I mentioned this at home, he just frowned and said: “I don’t want people in the company to know our relationship. What would they say about me, arranging my own wife in for personal gain?!” After that, his parents also hoped I could take care of his daily life at home, so I simply resigned and became a housewife. But it turns out, he doesn’t mind his relationship with others. He just minds his relationship with me. The sound of puffed food packaging tearing pulled me back to reality. Sophia chewed potato chips “crunch crunch”. Ethan said nothing. “Oops,” Sophia said: “I dropped potato chip crumbs on the car, sorry.” “It’s okay.” Ethan was calm: “Just wash it when we get back.” Paused a bit, he continued: “Don’t eat so many snacks, I’ll take you to eat something good later.” There was nothing more after that. In the dim garage, I sat in the car silently for a long time. I wanted to control myself not to think about those things before, but my mind couldn’t help but recall two years ago, when I rushed to work without breakfast and brought two buns into Ethan’s car. He roared at me to get off: “Get out, don’t eat in my car!” I explained anxiously: “I won’t drop it in the car, this is mushroom filling, no smell.” But he just looked at me with disgust, stepped on the gas and drove away. Leaving me alone holding the buns, standing stunned in the garage. 2 It was raining that day and hard to get a taxi. My high heel broke when I ran out anxiously. I was in a sorry state when I arrived at work and was scolded badly by the supervisor. I had low blood sugar and didn’t eat breakfast. My vision went black when standing and I almost fainted. It was a colleague who stuffed me a pack of biscuits that I survived. But now, he allows someone to eat in his car. It turns out his principles are not unbreakable, just haven’t met that special person yet. I closed my eyes for a long time and took out the divorce agreement from my bag. This agreement had been printed out for half a year, but I never had a chance to take it out. To put it bluntly, I was reluctant myself. I have liked him for so long, this person occupied my entire youth. From the first day I liked him, I was waiting, waiting for him to see me. Then I waited until he fell in love with the school beauty. He was with the school beauty. His mother didn’t agree with him marrying the school beauty, they broke up. He was desperate, under family pressure, he chose to be with me indiscriminately. But after waiting for so many years, I didn’t wait for him to fall in love with me. Actually, the moment I saw Sophia, my sixth sense as a woman sounded the alarm. She was too much like Ethan’s first love. Both have bright looks, passionate personalities, spicy and cute. I noticed his eyes stayed on her for a few seconds, then passed her resume. Even though her education didn’t match the company’s recruitment requirements. What made me feel wrong at first was once Sophia called. Actually, it was all business, but it is unreasonable for an intern to call the president directly. We were eating at that time, Ethan suddenly put down his chopsticks, almost scrambling to answer the phone. His voice was tight, as if a bit nervous: “Don’t be afraid, I’ll call Minister Li later, he won’t blame you.” After hanging up, he was stunned for a while, and the corners of his mouth uncontrollably rose slowly. That night, he was in a good mood and even sang a song when he went to take a shower, which was unprecedented. And I felt like falling into an ice cave. Initially, Ethan probably didn’t want to cross the line. He didn’t communicate much with Sophia, and occasional calls were all business. Just that liking someone can’t be hidden, it will run out of the eyes even if the mouth is covered. He started coming home later and later, holding his phone typing all night, like a hairy boy falling in love for the first time. No matter how I cried or made a scene, he just blocked me back with one sentence: “If you can’t go on, you can divorce.” Then I died down. Actually thinking about it, what defeated me was not him, but my love. But now, I don’t want to love him anymore. Divorcing for a little potato chip crumb sounds ridiculous. But, this is the last straw that broke the camel’s back. 3 When I handed the divorce agreement to Ethan, he was typing, took it impatiently and threw it aside. “What is it, you want to buy a house again? “How many times have I said house prices now—” I interrupted him: “It’s a divorce agreement, you’d better take a look. “There are some property divisions inside that I still want to discuss with you.” Ethan was stunned, then he took the document and flipped through it casually, sneering: “Mia Jiang, when did you learn this crying, making a scene, and threatening suicide routine? “I support you, provide you with food and clothing, isn’t that enough, still have to accompany you to act in idol dramas?” I looked at him and said: “If you don’t have Alzheimer’s, you should remember that I had a job originally. It was you and your parents who insisted on me resigning to take care of you at home. “Now live-in nannies in Hangzhou start at 8000 a month, completely enough for me to support myself, so you didn’t provide me with food and drink, instead I am taking care of you, don’t think too highly of yourself.” Ethan looked up at me in surprise, seemingly unexpected that I would talk to him like this. Immediately after, he threw the divorce agreement aside with some anger from embarrassment: “What madness are you suddenly having?!” I said calmly: “I saw the potato chip crumbs on the passenger seat.” Ethan frowned tightly: “Just for this little thing?!” I nodded. “Yes, just for this little thing. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t agree, I will sue. It’s just that if this kind of thing gets big, it won’t look good on you either.” Ethan stared at me deadly. After a long time, he snatched the agreement, took out a pen, signed his name on it and threw it back to me, sneering: “Are you satisfied now?! “Mia, I tell you, don’t come crying and begging me like before.” He said contemptuously: “Like a dog.” My heart instantly felt a tightening pain. I had mentioned divorce when I was angriest before, only I was always the one who admitted defeat in the end, swallowing my pride to beg him for reconciliation. He knows my weakness best. And knows best how to hurt me. Only now I won’t. I picked up my coat: “Let’s go, get the certificate by the way.” Ethan didn’t mock me again this time. His expression gradually became serious, stood up and looked at me steadily: “Mia, are you serious? “You know the house you live in, the car you drive, your quality of life and conditions are all because of me. “You have to think clearly, without me, you are nothing.” I glanced at him: “Don’t dawdle, the Civil Affairs Bureau closes at five, won’t make it if later.” “Fine!” Ethan frowned: “Mia, don’t regret it.” 4 Getting a divorce certificate is much more troublesome than a marriage certificate. There is also a one-month cooling-off period. After going out, Ethan didn’t even look at me, drove away directly, leaving me alone at the entrance of the Civil Affairs Bureau. I took a taxi back to pack things. Under his livid face, I only took a few clothes and left. Most of the things I added these years were his. Now I found that my own things were only a small part, a 28-inch suitcase could pack them all away. Didn’t have time to rent a house, I stayed in a hotel first. When lying in bed, I realized belatedly that leaving Ethan was actually not that difficult. Before I never dared to imagine what it would be like leaving him. I thought I would die of sadness. But now, it’s not as uncomfortable as imagined. On the contrary, there is a feeling of relief, as if a big stone pressing on the body was completely moved away. Maybe, I didn’t love him as much as I thought long ago. I just got used to loving him, unaware that in this messy marriage, my love had already been consumed bit by bit.

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Just like Nana always cursed, I was finally gone. Yet, late that night, she opened my journal, whispering into the dark. “Harper… you should come back as a boy next time. Just be a boy. Girls are born to suffer these things.” “Boys have it good.” 1 My body was found the next morning. The scene was packed with onlookers. Nana, on her early morning grocery run, stopped at the edge of the crowd to gossip. When she heard a young girl had passed away, she shook her head. “Weak. If the girl in my house dared to jump, I’d break her legs myself.” I watched her walk away, muttering under her breath. “Waste of money feeding them all those years. Just for nothing.” “Early morning too. Couldn’t she have done it somewhere else?” A little later, I saw Nana coming back. She had the freshest bacon, the best eggs, and a box of glazed donuts—Mason’s favorite. I didn’t need to count. I knew there were exactly eight inside. None for Pop-Pop. None for Nana. None for me. All for Mason. I followed Nana home. Usually, she heads straight for the kitchen, but today she stomped toward my room. “Just because it’s the SATs today doesn’t mean you get to sleep in! If you don’t want to go to college, get out and flip burgers!” She shoved the door open and slapped the light switch. The bed was empty. The sheets were thrown back. She started cursing again. “Damn kid left without saying a word. No manners.” Yeah. I was the damn kid. And I was gone. Only my wandering soul was left to watch them. The family found out I was gone during breakfast. A neighbor recognized me and brought the cops to the door. I watched Nana panic, trying to explain. “You guys made a mistake. That brat has a test today, she left early.” But when they saw the photos—my broken form, the face still recognizable—all three of them froze. Pop-Pop’s eyes bugged out. He turned on Nana, screaming. “Are you blind?! A whole person goes missing and you don’t know?!” Nana, who never liked me, collapsed on the floor. She finally realized the “girl” she gossiped about was me. “How was I supposed to know she’d actually do it? How dare she? We spent so much money on her and she hasn’t paid back a cent! How dare she jump?” Nana made a move to get up, raising a trembling hand as if to slap my body in the photo. The officer and Mason held her back. “We found a journal and a pen on the roof. Only her prints. Handwriting matches,” the officer said. “This is an old building, no cameras. It looks like a fall from the seventh floor, but there are some scuff marks on the roof. We aren’t ruling out foul play. Investigation is ongoing.” My journal… I didn’t want them to see it. But I couldn’t stop them. Nana couldn’t read well, but Mason and Pop-Pop were reading. Mason went silent, his eyes turning red. Pop-Pop read two pages and immediately raised his hand to hit Nana. “Why are you always telling her to go die?!” Nana didn’t understand, dodging the blow while the cops tried to separate them. Pop-Pop was screaming, his old bones shaking as he tried to kick her. “Do you have no shame?! She was a child! You pushed her to this!” Nana was angry and confused. “What did she write? Mason, what did your sister write?” Mason didn’t speak. He just kept turning the pages. Pop-Pop was an accountant. Nana barely finished middle school. She suffered from feeling inferior, so she never won an argument against him. But my notebook was full of words. How could she think it was only about her cursing me? I wrote about how she didn’t love me. How everything good went to Mason. I had nothing. I wrote about her hitting me, screaming at me. I wrote about begging Pop-Pop for help, but he just looked annoyed that I woke him from his nap and slapped me for being loud. I wrote about how Mason already had everything, yet still fought me for scraps. Even a bag of chips—he’d take them to share with friends rather than leave me a single crumb. “Mason! What did she write? Is it all lies? Blaming everything on me? That wretched girl doesn’t let us have peace even when she’s gone! I should have strangled her at birth!” “Nana!” Mason’s voice trembled. “I need to call Dad.” Oh. I wrote about Dad and Mom too. But they divorced eight hundred years ago. Mom had a new family. Would she even come back? 2 Dad came back first. He hadn’t smoked in years, but he sat there in silence, staring at the journal, chain-smoking. Dad loved coming up with “business ideas.” They always failed. Money was always tight. Pop-Pop was in the living room cursing out Nana. Nana sat at the table mumbling to herself. Mason locked himself in his room. “She’s gone, so she’s gone! Why don’t you just kill me too then?” Nana suddenly snapped back. “I’ll beat the life out of you!” Pop-Pop grabbed his belt, but Dad stopped him. Dad frowned, looking exhausted. “Dad, Mom, stop it. You’re tired. Just rest.” “Tired? You know I’m tired? I’ve been a slave to this family for decades! I haven’t had a day off since I married you! Now she’s dead and you blame me? How is it my fault? You didn’t raise her right!” Nana pushed Dad away, tears streaming down her face. “What good girl goes and jumps off a roof? Writing all this trash to curse me? I say good riddance! She deserved it!” “Mom!” Dad was always a mama’s boy. I think that was the first time he ever yelled at her. Immediately, his face crumbled into a begging expression. “Mom, she didn’t curse you.” “Harper was my daughter. She’s gone now. We pushed her until she broke. Mom… I don’t have a daughter anymore.” Dad buried his face in his hands and squatted down. The living room went quiet. I noticed for the first time how much gray was in Dad’s hair. His back was bent. In my memory, he was always in a crisp suit, looking important, going to dinners, traveling everywhere. But they always told him I was bad. I remember the time guests came over. Nana told me to cook. I was going to listen. But I looked up and saw Mason, only a year younger than me, playing video games on the couch. I refused. So, she took all the books and trinkets in my room, shredded them, and burned them in a metal bin. We fought that day. She called me horrible names. I cried and fought back. I obviously lost. But after that, I never called her “Nana” again. She went to Dad. Said I was getting rebellious. That I was trying to fly away. When Dad talked to me privately, he liked to show me the scars on his hands from his “hard work.” He’d say, “Harper, you aren’t small anymore. Why can’t you just let your brother win? Dad works so hard out there, it’s not easy. When will you grow up?” I remember sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his scars, crying, refusing to speak. I felt guilty. I was a burden. I was sorry for his pain. I thought I was too much. I wrote that in the diary too. I blamed myself for being immature. But I couldn’t let go of the resentment, which made me feel even worse. Dad must have read that part just now. Nana wiped a tear. “Fine. I won’t speak. But don’t blame me. The cops said someone might have pushed her. It has nothing to do with me.” She pushed herself up, her seventy-year-old body swaying. Pop-Pop muttered, “You’re the one who didn’t watch the door. You let her out.” Nana wanted to argue, but Pop-Pop slammed the door and left. I wanted to check on Mason. I walked through his wall. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed. His phone rang. It was Mom. Mason picked up. Her voice came through the speaker. “Sweetie, I’m just driving your little brother to school. What’s up?” Mom’s voice was so gentle. But she wasn’t my mom anymore. She was Mason’s mom. And that new little brother’s mom. 3 “Mom… Harper is gone.” I heard Mason’s voice. He was choking up. But shouldn’t he be happy? He could finally have everything. No more worrying about me taking a tiny corner of his world. But he looked sadder than I imagined. “Mom!” Mason’s voice cracked, rising into a cry. “Harper is dead.” Mom fainted. Her current husband picked up the phone to tell us. Turns out, Mom’s best friend died of cancer two months ago. Mom was emotional. She hadn’t recovered from that, and now she got the news about me. The stepdad scolded Mason for being insensitive. Mason just nodded, saying “sorry” over and over. I crouched beside him, a ghost in the room, crying. I was so bad. I was torturing Mom again. Back when Mom used to visit, she liked to tell me, “Birthing you took so much out of me. It hurt like hell. I was barely eighteen, and your dad didn’t have a dime.” “Harper, I carried you for nine months. You are a piece of my heart. How could I not love you?” I believed she loved me. I was sorry it hurt so much to have me. But every time she talked to me, after mentioning the hardships, she only talked about that new little brother. I knew he didn’t eat fat on his meat. No onions. No eggs. No milk. I knew he wet the bed at eight. I knew he had a crush on a girl named Bella. I knew he liked to sleep next to Mom. She told me all of it. I had never met him. Mom didn’t really like talking to me because I was boring. I just listened silently. I never knew what to say. She loved chatting with Mason. Everyone said Mason had a sweet mouth. By the time Mom arrived, my body had been prepped. She leaned over the viewing table, crying without sound. It hurt to watch. Dad tried to support her. She slapped his hand away. “Why did she jump?! How were you taking care of her? Why? Why did she do it?” Mom was gasping for air, her words broken. Nana started to speak. Pop-Pop cut in, his voice cold. “You’re the mother, and you blame us? She wrote that you didn’t like her. Said you only loved your son. That you didn’t want her. She couldn’t take it, so she jumped.” Mom froze. Her mind seemed to shatter. She stumbled backward. “She… she said that about me?” Her beautiful face was streaked with mascara. I didn’t! I rushed forward, trying to explain. I just wrote that Mom loves the little brother so much. I wished Mom loved me like that. I wished she talked about me like that. Pop-Pop lied. Mom collapsed to the floor, wailing. I tried desperately to lift her, but my hands passed through her shoulders. Thankfully, Mason and Dad caught her. Mom hugged Mason and screamed, pounding her chest. I was awful. Mom was going to blame herself forever. Losing a best friend, then a daughter. I couldn’t imagine how broken she was. The crematorium was burning my body. I went back home. I tried again and again to burn that diary, but I couldn’t touch it! Wind blew through the open window, flipping the pages. It landed on an entry: “It’s great. Dad bought a condo. Three bedrooms. Pop-Pop said to put Mason’s name on the deed so he can get a wife later.” “I didn’t dare ask if there was a room for me. They never looked at me when they talked about it.” “But that’s okay. Dad worked hard for it. I’ll save money and buy my own house one day.” 4 I didn’t have a funeral. Pop-Pop said my death wasn’t honorable. Guests would laugh. A lot of people in the complex were already moving out, selling their units. Mom didn’t stay at the house. She got a hotel nearby. Dad offered her my room. But my room was a converted storage closet. No windows. Just stacks of dried beans in the corner. Small and messy. I was glad Mom didn’t stay there. That night, I sat in the living room, staring at the notebook, willing it to rot. The house was silent. Around midnight, I heard a noise from the grandparents’ room. Nana, holding the wall for support, walked out in the dark. She picked up the diary from the table, went into my room, and gently closed the door. She clicked on the light. I watched her turn the pages, her wrinkled face almost pressed against the paper. “You wrote so much just to curse me. Did you hate me that much?” I saw a tear hit the paper. She quickly dabbed it with her sleeve, trying not to ruin the ink. She wiped her eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She sat on the edge of the bed. The yellow light highlighted the ivy-like wrinkles on her face. Nana looked so old. Her eyes were hollow. She whispered, “But isn’t this how everyone lives?” “Harper… my mother taught me this. Boys have to be taken care of better than girls. Was I really wrong?” “You’re gone now. Why are you still scolding me? Why didn’t you tell me when you were alive?” I looked at her pain and didn’t know what to say. I wouldn’t have said anything alive. I put everything in the book because no one in this house would listen. To them, my feelings were rebellious. Incorrect. “Harper, be a boy next time. Just be a boy. Girls are born to suffer these things.” “Boys have it good.” Nana’s voice was low, repeating it over and over. The room had no windows. The air was suffocating. Nana was bound by the chains of her generation. She never went to school. She worked in the house all day. She didn’t know that the ideas everyone followed in her time were obsolete. Her educated husband never told her. Her educated son just wanted to be ‘filial.’ The world moved on, but Nana was held back by the old ways. Left behind. She truly believed boys were more precious than girls. Maybe Nana wished she had been born a boy, too. I had some memories of Nana being good to me. Not many, but they existed. When I was little, we were poor. Other kids had candy; I was envious. If they dropped a piece, I’d check if anyone was looking, pretend to pick up a toy, and pocket the dirty candy. I’d wash it in the sink at home and eat it. It tasted like tap water, but it was sweet. Mason didn’t have to do that. He had allowance. One day, I was eating a washed candy while Nana picked vegetables. She asked if I found it. I smiled and said yes. “It’s good.” She said, “Don’t pick stuff up anymore. You don’t know if those people have diseases.” I didn’t know if they had diseases, but I was sickly. I drank bitter herbal concoctions all the time. It was so bitter it made me want to vomit. But after that day, every time I drank the medicine, there was a piece of candy. Small, but enough to kill the bitterness. I found out later Nana brought them home from weddings or diners. She’d shove handfuls of mints into her pocket, ignoring the weird looks from other guests, just to bring them to me.

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“The plot of your novel matches the Vance Family Massacre from ten years ago. perfectly. But due to the gruesome nature of the crime, the details were never released to the public.” The implication was clear: aside from the killer, no one could possibly know the specifics. Facing the interrogation, I let out a soft laugh. “You’re wrong, Detective. There is someone else.” “The victims.” 1 “The victims?” The man across the table scoffed. “So, what you’re saying is, you know the details because you’re one of the dead?” “Avery Stone, you’re a professional thriller author. Do I need to explain the concept of death to you?” The man speaking was Detective Miller, the youngest captain in the precinct’s history. He slammed his hand on the metal table for emphasis. I understood his anger. The Vance case was a cold case that haunted every cop in this city. Now, because of my book, it was back in the headlines. The internet was already buzzing with theories. Most people thought the author was the killer. Some trolls were even saying it was a manifesto—a preview of the next slaughter. The city was on edge. I smiled, leaning back. “Detective Miller, I’m just telling you that the killer isn’t the only one with a memory. Why are you so worked up?” “Besides, you know who I am. My face doesn’t look anything like the four people who died in that house.” Miller glared at me. “Avery, be serious. We ran a full background check.” “You have no relation to the Vance family.” “Ten years ago, you weren’t even in the state. Where did you get the details? What is your relationship with the suspect?” Seeing that I was about to be booked as an accomplice, I quickly countered. “Careful with the accusations. I don’t know any killer.” Miller gave a long, drawn-out “Oh?” and looked at me with a face that said, Go ahead, lie to me. I cleared my throat. “Everything I know, Lily Vance told me herself.” Lily was the teenage daughter of the victims. “Detective, do you believe the dead can dream?” At first, I didn’t believe it either. The first time I saw her was two weeks ago. I was blocked on my manuscript, totally burned out, so I went to meet an old friend for drinks. It was a Friday. Traffic was a nightmare. The cabbie asked if I minded taking a shortcut through the backwoods. I hate traffic horns, so I told him to go ahead, even if it cost extra. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. “Doesn’t cost extra. It’s just… that road is cursed. Most folks won’t take it.” My writer’s instinct kicked in. I shoved my phone in my purse. “Cursed how?” “Sigh.” The driver turned the wheel, his voice dropping an octave. “There was a headless massacre on that road. A whole family.” 2 “It was June 7th. Graduation night for the daughter, Lily Vance.” That morning, after the ceremony, her homeroom teacher realized Lily was missing. Thinking she was upset about something, the staff searched the entire school. Kids get emotional around graduation; sometimes they do stupid things. But the campus was empty. Then, a classmate spoke up: “Mrs. Higgins, Lily never showed up to line up for the diploma.” The teacher panicked. She drove straight to the Vance estate. The front gate was unlatched. She called out, but got no answer. According to the police report later, she knew something was wrong immediately. Lily’s dad raised Dobermans. Usually, they barked at everything. That day, the estate was silent as a grave. She walked into the yard and saw three dogs lying dead in the grass. Her legs went weak, but she pushed the front door open. The smell of iron hit her first. Then she saw them. Four bodies, seated neatly around the dining table. Heads nowhere to be found. That afternoon, the police issued a statement asking for leads. But they withheld the brutal details. No one knew where the heads were, or the time of death. Three years later, a developer bought the land. But every time they tried to demo the house, the excavators malfunctioned. Workers reported hearing weeping from the walls. The developer eventually fenced off a two-mile radius and built a factory down the road instead. The factory went bust. Now, no one goes there. “Look,” the driver said. A three-story Victorian stood alone against the setting sun. The gate was gone. Weeds choked the yard. Paint was peeling, but you could tell it used to be magnificent. “That’s the place.” I sighed, about to say something. Then I saw her. Standing in the overgrown grass was a girl in a blood-soaked dress, staring dead at me. I rubbed my eyes, thinking it was a trick of the light. She was still there. And she took a step toward the car. 3 I screamed. The driver jumped. “What? What is it?” I swallowed hard, stammering. “I… I think I saw a girl. No, not think. I really… I really saw… Ah!” The driver slammed on the gas, throwing me back into the seat. He sped away, muttering prayers. “Sorry, sorry, I won’t talk about you anymore, please don’t follow me.” When he dropped me off, he looked pale. “You better burn some sage, lady. Or they’ll latch onto you.” I told my friend at the bar. He just laughed. “Come on, Avery. You have an overactive imagination.” “Remember when you wrote that historical romance and swore you saw a knight in your kitchen?” True. The bar was loud, the drinks were strong, and I forgot about it. I went home drunk and passed out. In my dream, I saw the girl in the bloody dress again. She asked if I wanted to write a bestseller. I nodded desperately. A few days later, my editor called. She was screaming with excitement. The new book was viral. “Where did you get this concept, Avery? It’s genius!” Confused, I opened the link. Someone had uploaded a new book under my account. It was #1 on the charts. I read the first chapter and my blood ran cold. It was the story of the Vance family. “And that’s it,” I sighed, looking at Detective Miller. “Technically, I didn’t write it. Lily Vance did.” 4 The interrogation room fell into a dead silence. Miller kept his poker face, but the rookie cop next to him looked like he wanted to call an exorcist. Finally, Miller spoke. “If that’s true, why isn’t the book finished?” I had asked Lily that in a dream. She looked sad. She told me she didn’t know who the killer was. She used my hands to write the details to get the police’s attention. She wanted you to catch him. “So, the rest is up to you, Detective. If you have questions for Lily, let me know. I’ll ask her tonight.” Miller tapped his knuckles on the table. “Avery, do you really think I buy that?” “You’re a great storyteller, I’ll give you that. I almost believed you. Almost.” Almost? “We tracked your movements,” Miller said, his voice hard. “Two weeks ago, August 2nd. You took a cab, license plate 7723. You passed the Vance estate. The driver admits he told you the story.” “You got dropped off at the bar. You met a guy named Brad.” “But you never went home, Avery.” “We pulled the CCTV from your apartment complex. You never walked in that door.” “So, the whole ‘drunk dreaming’ story is a lie.” My heart hammered against my ribs. Impossible. How did he know I didn’t go home? I’ve been ordering takeout for two weeks. I have an arrangement with old Mr. Henderson upstairs to take my trash… Wait. The cameras. I forgot to smash the cameras in the hallway. 5 A knock on the door broke the tension. “Captain. Urgent.” The officer at the door stared at me with pure horror. Miller frowned and stepped out. He came back two minutes later, looking like he’d seen a ghost. “Someone just turned themselves in. Do you know who?” I shook my head innocently. “I’m not psychic.” “It’s Brad,” Miller said. I knew it. He was the only one who knew where I went that night. “Avery, do you know what he just told me?” Miller’s voice trembled slightly. “He says he killed a woman on the night of August 2nd. He says he killed you.” He was right. He did kill me. Or rather, he killed “Avery Stone.” But he didn’t kill me. 6 My name is Lily Vance. Ten years ago, on June 6th, my parents, my little brother Leo, and I were butchered in our home. Maybe my rage was too strong, but my soul became tethered to the house. I tried to leave to find the killer, but I was trapped within the property lines. For ten years, I watched people come and go. Police recreating the scene. Mourners leaving flowers. YouTubers breaking in for “ghost hunts.” I tried to scream, to move things, to make the air cold. I thought if I scared them, they’d bring a medium. Someone who could hear me. But no one ever did. Eventually, the world forgot us. Until Avery Stone showed up. I was sitting in the weeds, reading a book someone had left as an offering, when a cab slowed down. “That’s the place,” the driver said. I looked up and locked eyes with the woman in the backseat. She… she could see me? I stepped forward to test it. “I… I think I saw a girl…” she stammered. The car sped off. My hope shattered. But hours later, she came back. 7 It was 10 PM. Avery walked into the house with a guy—Brad. She was saying, “I know that was Lily Vance. She wants to tell me something. If I write this story, it’ll be a bestseller.” She started looking around for inspiration. Brad, however, was just staring at her legs. “Brad, stop…” she turned, noticing his look. He didn’t pretend anymore. He shoved her onto the dusty sofa. “Come on, Avery. You wanted a thrill, right?” She struggled, but she was a writer who sat at a desk all day. He was a gym rat. I rushed forward, screaming, clawing at him. But my hands passed through his body like smoke. I tried to slam doors, break windows—nothing worked. My energy was gone. “This place is haunted, Brad! Stop!” “Haunted? Good. No one will hear you scream.” I watched him assault her. I watched him strangle her. Just like I watched the killer slaughter my family. I knelt beside her, screaming her name, but her eyes went glassy. Brad cursed, realizing what he’d done. He ran. I reached out to touch Avery’s body. A blinding white light swallowed me. When I woke up, I was Avery Stone. 8 “Avery?” Detective Miller snapped his fingers. “Brad says he strangled you. What do you have to say?” I held out my wrist. “Want to check my pulse?” Miller frowned. “He’s hysterical. He’s on his knees begging us to lock him up.” “We told him you’re alive. He doesn’t believe us. He demands to see you. Do you… want to see him?” I felt a surge of adrenaline. “Yes. Why not?” Thirty minutes later, I walked into the viewing room. Brad looked like a wreck. Pale, shaking, eyes darting around the corners of the room. When he saw me, he froze. Then he dropped to his knees. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m a monster!” “Please, let me go. I’ll die. I’ll kill myself right now!” He tried to slam his head into the table. Miller grabbed him. “Look! She’s alive!” Brad shrank into Miller’s arms, trembling. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. The sound made him shriek. “She’s dead! That’s a demon! She’s come back for me!” The medics rushed in. Only I noticed the truth. Brad wasn’t looking at me. He was looking behind me. 9 I turned around. Nothing. Was I imagining it? They dragged Brad out. I sat down, exhausted. “What are you looking for? I’m right here.” A voice laughed beside my ear. I turned. The real Avery Stone—her ghost—was floating on the desk. I pointed at the door. “Brad… was that you?” She crossed her arms, looking smug. “Nobody hurts me and gets away with it. I’ve been haunting him for two weeks.” Miller walked back in. He saw me talking to thin air and paused. “What are you doing?” I smiled awkwardly. “Plotting my next chapter. I dictate aloud.” Avery giggled in my ear. “Liar. I hate dictating.” Miller sighed. “Writers are weird. Look, sign this statement.” He watched me sign. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the pen move. I left the station and talked to Avery. She told me her soul had latched onto Brad that night. That’s why I couldn’t find her in the house. “I drove him insane. But he tried to hire a priest to exorcise me. The nerve!” “Anyway,” Avery floated alongside me. “Did the book work? Did we flush out the killer?”

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The internet was blowing up with people looking for their lost online loves. I jumped on the bandwagon and posted a thread: [Thread] @MoonGazer: My first love. We met on a Discord study server in high school. He was a rich trust fund baby from New York with a terrible attitude but perfect grades. We promised to meet after graduation, but I ghosted him. Five years later, I still remember his name was Zach. A few minutes later, I got notifications for several replies: @King_J: I have a terrible attitude? @King_J: I’m standing exactly where we agreed to meet. Come say that to my face if you have the guts. @King_J: Also, my last name is Sterling, dammit. 1 The comment section under the “Find Your Digital Ex” video had over ten thousand replies. I naturally assumed my little contribution would vanish into the void. I didn’t expect my phone to buzz a few minutes later. @King_J: I have a terrible attitude? I froze. Before I could even process what that meant, new notifications popped up. @King_J: I’m standing exactly where we agreed to meet. Come say that to my face if you have the guts. @King_J: Also, my last name is Sterling, dammit. “…” I was baffled until my eyes drifted to his username and profile picture. My heart slammed against my ribs. Username: King. Avatar: A single moon in a pitch-black sky. The username was exactly the same as the one on the study server back in high school. The avatar was the one I used to use. It was really him. My first reaction wasn’t joy. It was panic. I only dared to remember him while hiding in the crowd. I was absolutely not prepared to face him. While I was spiraling, a DM popped up in my inbox from a stranger. King: Moon. A short, simple summons. No follow-up. A moment later, another DM from a different account: User882: Damn it, ‘Stranger’. The message was abrupt, but I recognized the tone instantly. It was the same person. Because right after that, a new message from a new throwaway account appeared every minute: User883: Give me. Your contact info. User884: 555-019-XXXX. That’s mine. Text me. User885: Where are you? Answer me! User886: Ignoring me, huh? Great! I can borrow a hundred more accounts! “…” I stared at the endless stream of DMs, realizing this man was locked in. He wouldn’t stop until he got a result. I sighed. I clicked on the “Where are you? Answer me!” message and replied with an ellipsis. For a long time, there was no reply. The spamming stopped. I realized he must be waiting. I went to find his original account to reply. But then, a new message jumped to the top of my screen. King: I’ve been looking for you for five years. I don’t even know your real name. Is it that hard to just say a word to me? One sentence. And I was dragged back five years into the past. 2 Jace Sterling and I used to be just internet friends. back in high school, Discord study servers were huge. High schoolers from all over the country would hang out there, mostly to compare notes and compete. Senior year, I spent all my time in the Math channel. If I saw an interesting problem, I’d solve it. One day, a post caught my eye. @MathWhiz: I’m top of my class, AP Calc medalist, but I can’t crack this. Can any god-tier genius help? The problem was genuinely hard. It took me an hour to derive the answer. Filled with a sense of accomplishment, I posted my solution. But I noticed someone else had uploaded theirs at the exact same second. He tagged me immediately. @King: Trash. You did it wrong. My answer is the right one. I scanned his process and easily found a hole in his logic. I circled the error in red and replied, not holding back. @Moon: Moron. The mistake is yours! Less than a minute later, he circled a flaw in mine. @King: Idiot. We ended up in an unspoken race, solving the problem again. But every time one of us posted an answer, the other would find a loophole and attach a colorful insult. In less than two hours, we had built a thread of 99+ replies under that post. Finally, half a day later, the original poster reappeared: @MathWhiz: Sorry guys, my teacher just said the problem itself has a typo. It’s unsolvable. We both paused. Then, simultaneously, we turned our rage on the OP. @King: Are you kidding me? A typo? I was about to solve it! @Moon: Ignorant child! Don’t mess with my flow! I was about to solve it too! This time I was right! The thread exploded with another 99+ comments. It ended with both Jace and me getting banned from the server for 24 hours. And that was how our “feud” began. From math, we moved to English, Physics, then to piano, art, and movies… We talked about everything, but never revealed our real names or backgrounds. We only used our handles. Because we made a pact: we would introduce ourselves properly the first time we met in person. That way, our first meeting would feel like a reunion. I only knew Jace’s name because once, during a video call where we only showed our desks, I caught a glimpse of the corner of his test paper. Turns out, I read it wrong. “Zach.” A wrong name that I had chewed on for five years. Just like my absurd life—traveling further and further down the wrong track. 3 Maybe humans are just obsessed with things that lack closure. You need an introduction when you meet, and a goodbye when you part. Only then is the circle complete. Otherwise, it haunts you. I figured that’s how Jace felt about me. The DMs were still coming. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and replied to his main account: Moon: I’m sorry. Breaking our promise and leaving without a word was my fault. I owed him that. Moon: I’m sorry I couldn’t make it five years ago. Moon: I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say besides sorry… If you need a formal goodbye to move on, I won’t run away. The spamming stopped the moment I sent the apology. But after a long silence, Jace sent just two words: King: Contact info. I paused. Moon: I don’t think that’s necessary. King: Not necessary? Jace seemed agitated. King: I was ghosted, not dumped. Moon: What do you mean… I was confused. Jace replied instantly: King: We never broke up. You’re still my girlfriend. 4 I never believed that a teenage heartbeat across a network cable could last. I thought Jace was looking for me out of indignation, anger, or a need for answers… I never thought it was because of love. Besides, we weren’t technically together. It was just one night before graduation. We were talking about colleges and realized we both aimed for New York. Jace suddenly looked at the camera—well, at his desk—and said seriously: “There’s a coffee shop across from the NYU campus. After graduation, let’s meet there.” I agreed happily. I saw the tips of his ears turn red on the screen as he looked away. “When we meet… be my girlfriend.” I was stunned, but I said yes without hesitation. We were young and shy, but honest. We weren’t afraid to pay the price for our feelings. But now… I couldn’t even afford the price of an apology. I stayed silent. Jace, sharp as ever, caught the loophole in my previous words. King: You said if I needed a formal goodbye, you wouldn’t run away. King: So don’t run. Number. Now. I was in the wrong, so I gave him my number. I accepted the friend request on WeChat. I thought he would demand to know where I had been for five years. I thought he would ask for explanations, reasons, groveling… Instead, his first message was: Jace: I’m sorry my temper is bad. Jace: I’ll change. 5 In an instant, my eyes welled up. That arrogant, domineering boy always bowed his head to me without hesitation. When we first met, he was so explosive I thought he was just a toxic guy who cared too much about face. But after a few arguments, I realized he was always the first to show weakness. He would pretend nothing happened and send a math problem: Jace: 1292 + 2013.1 I was still mad and didn’t check the math, just sending a question mark. He would reply lightly: Jace: Sum it up. [Note: In Chinese internet slang, numbers often represent words. 5201314 means “I love you forever”.] Two words, and our war would end. Looking back now, it felt like a lifetime ago. Maybe because I took too long to reply, Jace returned to his bossy self: Jace: I’m at the coffee shop across from NYU. Come see me. I sighed. Moon: Sorry, I’m not in New York. Jace: Then come to New York. Moon: I can’t. Jace was probably getting angry again. Jace: Are you playing me? You promised five years ago! Jace: Or? He stopped typing. A long silence followed before the second half of his thought appeared. Jace: Do you have another boyfriend now? Moon: No. I blinked, and a tear hit the screen. Moon: That’s not the reason. Jace: Then why? My finger hovered over the text box. Finally, through blurry eyes, I typed the truth, letter by letter. Moon: I don’t have the money for a plane ticket.

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Ten years after yanking the elusive golden boy off his pedestal, I, Cassidy “Cass” Jones, finally stopped pretending for Preston Brandon. I redecorated the apartment in the Vegas-flashy, ‘new money’ style I actually liked. I meticulously calculated and emailed him the household expenses, demanding we split them. I even got into a screaming match with a neighbor, the kind of public brawl that had the cops knocking on the door. When Preston walked in, I was standing in the hallway, hands on my hips, shouting loud enough for the whole floor to hear. “Mrs. Davison, my contractors work nine to five. Perfectly legal. Your kid plays the cello like he’s sawing a tree down at ten o’clock every night. Are you really calling the police on yourself for a noise complaint?” Mrs. Davison’s face went purple with fury. “You—you’re being ridiculous!” I didn’t budge. “I’m being factual!” Preston strode forward, his brow severely furrowed, a quiet disapproval radiating off him. “Cass, that’s enough. They’re neighbors. You need to play nice and apologize.” I finally raised my eyes to look at him. 1 He was wearing a simple white button-down and black slacks, yet he still exuded that innate, aloof refinement—the kind money and art had steeped into him—making him look utterly out of place amidst the chaos. Even Mrs. Davison, moments ago hysterical, flushed and began waving her hands. “Never mind, never mind. It’s a minor thing, apologies for disturbing you, Mr. Brandon.” But I turned my hostility on him, my voice sharp. “I’m entirely in the right. If you can’t handle it, you can always go back and live at the Estate.” Preston stiffened. He always hated my vulgar taste, my penny-pinching habits, and my aggressive, market-raised spirit. To please him, I had spent years suppressing my nature, trying to be the muted, quiet, uncontentious wife he seemed to want. This recent behavior was a complete reversal. Since Mrs. Davison backed down, the impromptu mediation was over. I was already disinterested, turning to walk into the apartment, when he called me back. “What is this temper tantrum really about?” Preston stared at me, searching my face for an answer. “If this is about Sienna staying at the Estate, I can explain. She just got back into the country, and I simply—” “What does that have to do with me?” I cut him off, genuinely confused. “That’s your family property. You can let anyone you want stay there.” His confusion deepened. “But you were the one who helped me buy the Estate back. If it’s not that, then what is it?” I sighed. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. This is just who I am, Preston. You know that.” Before he could speak again, I reached up and straightened his collar. “Never mind all that. Today is the ten-year anniversary of my father’s death. Get cleaned up. We’re going to the cemetery.” We went downstairs, where two town cars were waiting. Preston hesitated for a moment, then, to my surprise, got into the same car as me. I raised an eyebrow; he usually refused to be close to me because he couldn’t stand the faint scent of fish that always clung to my clothes. But I didn’t care about the small details anymore. I told the driver to start and turned my gaze to the city rushing by. If it hadn’t been for the Brandon family’s spectacular bankruptcy a decade ago, Preston and I would have remained galaxies apart. His father had been a shipping magnate. His mother, a socialite. Preston himself had studied under master artists since childhood, holding his first gallery exhibition at fifteen. He was the Brandon golden boy, the celestial being everyone in the City envied. My father was just their sous chef. My family ran a fish stall in the gritty Fulton Market Area to make ends meet. Everyone said Preston was the moon, and I was the dirt beneath their feet. That no amount of polish could ever make me worthy. Then their sky fell. His father’s investments tanked. Debt collectors swarmed the mansion, and his parents took their own lives. I was sixteen. That morning, my father had simply said, “The Brandon family is in trouble. I need to go see about them.” I waited all day. What returned was my father, bleeding and barely conscious, and a frantic, panicked Preston. “Cass, get the Young Master out of here…” My father choked out the words, then died. I looked down at Preston, who was kneeling beside my father’s body. The Brandon golden boy, the one I’d been secretly crushing on for years, looked like a drenched, beautiful stray. My heart hammered in my chest. I knew I shouldn’t, but I grabbed his hand and ran with him into the rainy night. I took him back to my tiny railroad apartment. He took one sniff of the fish smell and threw up. While I cleaned it up, I remember thinking, A prince’s stomach is so delicate. But I was willing to sacrifice everything for him. To support this precious young man, I got up at four a.m. to buy fish at the wholesale market, opened my stall at seven, worked a waitressing gig in the afternoon, and strung beads for jewelry late into the night. The first money I earned was always for him: canvas, oil paint, and the precise blend of Blue Mountain coffee he preferred. Once, he frowned and said, “The color in this paint isn’t pure enough.” I quietly asked the art supply store owner, who explained, “The pure pigments have to be specially ordered. A set is three thousand dollars.” I bit the bullet and took on three overnight beading jobs to save the money. When I presented the box of paint to him, he only said, “Thank you.” His tone was polite, distant, and formal. I was so happy I couldn’t sleep that night. Three years later, my seafood restaurant opened. I drank some wine that night, and the courage hit me. I took his hand and blurted out, “Preston, I’m crazy about you. So, so crazy.” Preston was silent for a long time. Outside, the neon lights of the City never dimmed. Inside, my heart was a wild thing. I watched his handsome profile and told myself that if he said no, I would understand. He was the moon; I was the mud. We were never meant to be. But Preston said, “Okay.” I laughed, and then I cried. I knew he was accepting out of debt—to repay the favor. I knew I was greedy; I had the man, but now I wanted his heart. But a lifetime is a long time. I was sure I would get my way eventually. Until Sienna Reed came back. She was his cherished childhood sweetheart, his former painting apprentice, and the girl he was once destined to marry. “Is all this change because of Sienna? She and I are truly just old acquaintances…” Preston had been holding it in all the way, and the question finally broke through, interrupting my memories. “Yes and no,” I said, shrugging indifferently. “After we finish honoring my father, I’ll tell you exactly what’s going on.” Preston had to settle for that, stuffing his anxiety back down. The car was only two blocks from the Northside Cemetery when his phone rang abruptly. He answered, and the sound of Sienna’s delicate, soft voice spilled from the line. “Preston, a pipe burst at the Estate, and there’s water everywhere! I’m so scared… can you please come over?” I acted as if I hadn’t heard, staring out the window, entirely unconcerned. Preston glanced at me, his frown deepening. “Sienna, I’m not free right now. Just turn off the main water valve. I’ll call the building management…” “I don’t know where the valve is!” Sienna sobbed, cutting him off. “Preston, are you still mad at me? My parents forced me to leave a decade ago, and there hasn’t been a day I haven’t regretted it. I’m sorry, but please don’t abandon me…” The air in the car solidified for a few agonizing seconds. The sound of weeping and gushing water over the phone was sharp in Preston’s ear. He squeezed his phone, took a deep breath, and turned to me. “Something happened at the Estate. Sienna was always pampered; she can’t handle this alone.” “Cass, I…” I had already anticipated his choice. I didn’t have the patience to listen to his elaborate excuses. I signaled the driver to pull over and unlocked Preston’s door. My tone was sincere, a simple nudge. “Just go. Don’t keep her waiting.” 2 Before stepping out of the car, Preston made a solemn promise: “I’ll be back as soon as possible. Wait for me.” I didn’t answer. Once his tall, elegant back had vanished into the stream of passersby, I told the driver to keep going. I didn’t doubt Preston intended to keep his word; I just knew Sienna Reed would ensure he couldn’t. When the Brandon family went bankrupt, all their friends scattered, and Sienna and her parents emigrated. Last month, she finally returned and made a beeline for Preston. I happened to be home. I opened the door to find Sienna standing there in a designer suit, adorned with perfect pearls—her entire look screaming ‘unapproachable wealth.’ I had to wonder who this elegant stranger was. Sienna bypassed me and looked into the apartment, her delicate eyebrows drawing together in a look of profound pity. “Preston’s been living here all these years? He’s been so wronged.” I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Two thousand square feet of prime City real estate, with panoramic skyline views, was “wronged”? When Preston emerged from his studio, Sienna immediately rushed forward and embraced him with an easy, intimate familiarity. “Preston, I missed you so much. It’s been too long.” I coughed twice. Sienna finally seemed to notice my presence, turning to flash a polite, practiced smile. “You must be Cass. Thank you for taking care of Preston all this time.” Her tone was the classic, patronizing delivery of a true hostess thanking the maid. I pulled my lips into a thin line. “My pleasure.” Sienna exchanged numbers with me, then took Preston’s arm, ready to leave for dinner. Before stepping out, she gave me an apologetic glance. “Cass, are you sure you don’t want to join? Though we’ll probably be talking about things you wouldn’t understand…” Before I could reply, Preston nodded slightly, his voice flat. “Cass, stay home. I’ll see you later.” I waited up until midnight that night. Then, I received Sienna’s first text. «Cass, Preston is helping me set up the gallery, so he won’t be home for a few days. Just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t worry.» Three days later, the second one arrived. «Preston gifted me several of his paintings to be the cornerstones of the gallery. I hope you don’t mind.» A week ago, the third. «I just found the sketchpad he kept from childhood. He drew me in it all the time. I heard he’s never painted a single thing for you? Is that true?» I never replied to any of them. The car reached the cemetery. I walked up the hill alone, set out the offerings, lit the incense, and had just finished my third bow when my phone buzzed. It was Sienna again. «Preston soaked his shirt fixing the pipes, so he can’t make it to the memorial. I know today is special, and I’m genuinely sorry, but please stop using gratitude to tie Preston down.» «Even though Preston is honorable, your backgrounds are too far apart, and you don’t understand his artistic vision. Letting him go now will be better for both of you.» The usual polite, veiled sneering was gone, replaced by a raw, brutal honesty. I read every word, then let out a cynical, short laugh. She was right. I truly didn’t understand Preston’s art. Every time I was asked to critique his work, all I could squeeze out was some hollow platitude like, “The colors are so pretty,” or “It looks exactly like the ocean.” Preston would simply nod, uninterested, and never asked for my opinion again. I even tried to suck up to him once, offering a massive sum to buy one of his skyline paintings to hang in my restaurant lobby. Preston had looked up at me, his eyes as cold and distant as if I were a stranger. “Cass,” he’d said, “don’t cheapen my art with money.” I was mortified, unable to speak, and never raised the subject again. Yet, the moment Sienna needed a gallery, Preston personally packed up most of his recent work and sent it over to boost her standing. And the sketchpad. Preston had treasured that thing. When he wanted to retrieve it from the abandoned Brandon Estate, he was so distraught I had to go in his stead. I twisted my ankle jumping out a window, got caught, and took a few solid hits to the head. Blood ran into my eyes, but my first instinct was to feel for the notebook in my jacket. It was safe. I hadn’t known what was inside, only that it was his treasure. It was filled with drawings of Sienna. I supposed I should thank Sienna for showing me where Preston’s heart truly lay. Otherwise, I would have continued to bury my head in the sand, grinding my way through a strained marriage. After all, Preston would never be the one to ask for a divorce. I touched the cold stone of the headstone and recalled the first time he visited this grave. He had knelt, his back ramrod straight, and his voice was earnest and serious. “Sir, I promise to spend my entire life repaying you and Cass for your kindness. I will always be with her.” He had meant it. A life for a life. He kept his promise. But I never wanted his gratitude. I only ever wanted his genuine love. I sighed, then typed my first-ever response to Sienna. «You’re right. Preston is honorable, which is how a girl like me got so lucky in the first place.» «No matter how late, he will be back today to pay his respects to the man who saved him.» I hit send, switched off my phone, and pulled the pre-signed divorce agreement from my bag, using a flat stone to hold it down against the headstone. I turned and walked back down the hill. I didn’t look back once. At nine that night, I was reviewing the restaurant’s monthly accounts when Preston’s call came in. His tone was heavy. “Cass, you didn’t wait for me, and you left a divorce agreement behind. What does this mean?”

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It was New Year’s Day when I overheard the conversation. My now ex-wife, Seraphina Wells, was at the third wedding of her best friend, Bianca. “Seraphina, a woman is always meant to upgrade,” Bianca chirped, her voice too loud for the hushed venue. “Why waste another minute on an old, crooked tree like Leo Vance?” “Look at me,” she continued, oblivious to the fact that I was in the next room. “I went from a coffee-kiosk owner to a tech millionaire, and now I’ve landed myself a Manhattan Trust Fund Guy—who’s five years younger, no less!” Seraphina fell silent. She never offered a single word in my defense. That night, everything shattered. I caught a glimpse of her phone screen: a search history for a divorce lawyer and a text thread with Bianca about “scouting new candidates.” The air left my lungs. The temperature in the room dropped to zero. “Seraphina.” I closed the door softly behind me. “If you truly believe you’re destined to trade up, then I won’t stand in your way.” 1 I saw the divorce papers over dinner at her parents’ house. I’d brought the requisite holiday gift basket—high-end artisanal cheeses and a bottle of vintage Pinot Noir. “Leo, let’s get divorced.” Her voice was flat, devoid of any feeling. Her expression was perfectly calm. She had already made up her mind. Everyone else at the table—her mother, her father, a handful of aunts and cousins—gaped at her, then at me. For five years, Seraphina and I had been their model couple, their gold standard. We never raised our voices. We never threw a plate. No one could have predicted this quiet, devastating implosion. “Seraphina,” her mother, Eleanor, cried, gripping her hand. “What in the world? Did this good-for-nothing man abuse you?” She whirled on me, her eyes narrowed. “Well? What are you gawking at, Leo? Get down on your knees and apologize! Do I have to teach a grown man how to salvage his marriage?” Seraphina’s father, Richard, hammered the table. “A father knows his daughter. To drive Seraphina to divorce, you must have committed an unforgivable offense. You’re not leaving this house until you give us an answer!” The chorus of the extended family began. “Leo, you’re sick! My cousin is so kind and refined. What more could you possibly want?” “Everyone used to call you ‘Mr. Steady,’ the emotionally stable one. Stable? I think you’re a ticking time bomb!” “Hypocrite! What kind of man is he? He probably hits her!” Their eyes were filled with disgust. Their words were razor-sharp. But the facts were exactly the opposite. Seraphina was the one who seemed calm and gentle on the surface, but she was the walking powder keg. When her mood was good, I was her warm sunlight. When it wasn’t, the change was terrifying. There was the night she woke up and couldn’t sleep; she spent three hours poking, prodding, and whispering right next to my ear, determined to keep me awake. There was the time I couldn’t get her favorite organic cake, and she locked me out of the master bedroom for an entire weekend. Of course, she always followed up with a tearful, “I’m so sorry.” I loved her. I swallowed my truth, my frustration, and my exhaustion, transforming myself into the perfect, uncomplaining husband she needed to maintain her image. I had become the architect of her perfection. It was all undone by a single, mercenary remark from a shallow friend. I took a deep breath, the air burning my lungs. I looked at the table of accusers, then at my wife. “We have no conflict,” I said, my voice low and even. “She simply believes I’m no longer good enough for her.” 2 The room went silent. Every head turned toward Seraphina, waiting for her denial. “He’s right,” she declared, her chin lifting with a familiar, self-satisfied arrogance. “My friend is right.” “A woman is always meant to upgrade.” “Bianca married a guy who started a chain of coffee kiosks, then moved to a tech millionaire who decked her out in diamond tennis necklaces. Now she’s with a genuine East Coast Trust Fund Guy who treats her like a queen—and is younger than she is!” “I am just as deserving,” she announced, her eyes blazing with conviction. Everyone in the room was stunned. I managed a bitter, internal laugh. Maybe she had never really seen me at all. Perhaps she only valued my stability, my kindness, and my provision—a temporary safety net until the real prize came along. She and her friend had always made comments about my “nice-guy” look—ordinary, dependable. I was the safe bet that, in their minds, she only landed because of some karmic stroke of luck. I had been devoted to her, and I had even agreed to a child-free marriage (DINK), simply because she wanted it. None of it mattered. After a shocked pause, Eleanor slammed her hand down. “What are you waiting for, Leo? Apologize! Buy her that designer handbag! Get her the diamond studs she wants!” “You must have done something, Leo! Seraphina wouldn’t do this otherwise! It’s your fault for making her say such absurd things!” I was speechless. She had just laid out her entire materialistic philosophy, yet they were still blaming me, demanding I beg. They weren’t leaving me a shred of dignity. When I didn’t move, Richard nudged my leg sharply under the table. “Leo, you’re the man! Swallow your pride. It’s a small price to pay to keep this marriage.” “You won’t find another woman as elegant and beautiful as my daughter. If you don’t fight for her now, you’ll regret it forever.” The others chimed in again. “Quickly, apologize! Don’t wait for my cousin to get serious about this!” “Marrying Seraphina was the biggest break your family ever had. Don’t ruin it!” “You clueless man! Just apologize, even if it’s not your fault!” They were a single, unified front against me. Every single person was telling me to bow my head. Why? Because she was pretty? Because she was ambitious? Because they were all collectively entitled? I slowly stood up, my gaze locking onto Seraphina’s. I spoke clearly, enunciating every word. “I agree to the divorce.” “The marriage is over. We are strangers from this moment on.” 3 My words were soft, but they ripped through the silence like a gunshot. Even Seraphina froze, momentarily shocked by how quickly I agreed. Before anyone could recover, I grabbed the divorce agreement, signed my name, and pressed my thumbprint into the designated spot. “Are you insane?!” Richard and Eleanor shot out of their seats. “Leo Vance!” Eleanor screeched. “Are you even a man? Is it so hard to apologize? She says divorce, and you just comply? Have some spine! Rip up that paper, get on your knees, and list every one of your faults! Start repenting!” Seraphina had initiated the split, yet they still saw me as the sole culprit. Like daughter, like parents. Their entire family DNA was woven with arrogance and narcissism. Seraphina snatched the papers from my hand, as if afraid I might change my mind. “Let’s go,” she said, already walking toward the door. “The City Hall office closes soon.” She couldn’t wait. I felt a sudden rush of bitter clarity. What had these five years been? A messy, expensive farce. I followed her, silent. Richard grabbed my arm, his face apoplectic. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Leo. You’re over thirty. You’ll be picking up stray dogs before you find another date!” “Be smart! Get down now! I’ll put in a good word. Failing that, put your parents’ retirement funds in Seraphina’s account. Just so she feels secure.” “Oh, and the house they live in? Change the deed into her name.” He had made these demands before. Now, in the midst of her self-created crisis, he was trying to leverage my parents’ security. If I agreed, would I even deserve to be called their son? I clenched my fist, pulling my arm away. “Maybe I won’t be the one who ends up alone.” I walked out without looking back. Behind me, the venom flowed. “You selfish bastard! It was just a house and a retirement fund! No wonder my daughter is leaving you!” “Seraphina with you was a rose next to a pile of dirt!” “Good riddance! She’s going to upgrade, and you’ll rot in the ground!” The relatives joined in, calling me worthless, cheap, and a failure for not being rich or handsome enough. Yet, over the years, I had lent them significant sums that were never repaid. I had treated Eleanor and Richard like my own parents—gifts, meals, new clothes for every holiday. When they were in a car accident, Seraphina was traveling for work, and I—with my own parents—had cared for them for a full month. I thought five years of diligent, selfless devotion would earn me a place in their hearts. Now I knew the truth. It wasn’t just Seraphina. Deep down, the entire Wells family believed I had high-climbed to be with her. No matter how hard I worked, I would never be enough. On the drive to City Hall, Seraphina broke the silence. “What did you mean, ‘Maybe I won’t be the one who ends up alone’?” “Are you implying I won’t find anyone better?” “Or are you saying,” she continued, a sneer forming, “you can actually trade up from me?” 4 Before I could answer, she burst into a cruel, knowing laugh. “Leo Vance, stop dreaming. What can you offer besides emotional labor and a steady paycheck? Nothing.” “I’m not afraid to tell you,” she said, turning to face me with a cold lack of remorse. “I got bored of your ‘goodness’ a long, long time ago.” We were divorcing, and she still needed one last slash. I remembered our wedding day. She had whispered, “You’re the only person in the world who loves me without an agenda. I love you, and I’ll never get bored.” Now, before the mistress even showed up, the sentiment was already dead. We signed the papers. Back at our apartment, the first thing Seraphina did was take the framed wedding photo off the wall and smash it. Then she set the pictures inside on fire. “Leo.” Her tone was a command. “Delete everything. I don’t want any trace of this failure left behind.” I looked at her. She was a stranger. “Fine.” I nodded, opened my phone, and deleted her number, her email, her social media profile, and every single photograph I had ever saved. My phone’s memory usage indicator dropped sharply. I stared at the sudden emptiness, then let out a long, slow breath. It felt like I had just shrugged off a 100-pound weight. She thoroughly inspected my phone to ensure the digital cleansing was complete. Satisfied, she dragged her suitcase toward the door. She paused, her hand on the knob. “Leo.” She said my name, almost softly. I looked up, meeting her gaze. A brief stab of sadness hit me, then receded. “Leo Vance,” she repeated, her voice hardening. “People have to look out for themselves. Don’t blame me.” “Blame yourself for being stale. Blame yourself for not being good enough.” This time, Seraphina didn’t look back. I heard the rapid click of her heels down the hallway. Her steps were light. Her energy was electric. She was already mentally calling out to her young, new prize. Outside, Bianca was waiting, leaning against a six-figure luxury sedan. Next to her was a man with slicked-back hair, wearing a massive gold watch and an arrogant smirk. He definitely looked like “money.” “Seraphina! Congrats on the divorce! Congrats on escaping the mediocrity!” Bianca exclaimed, waving her over. “This is my husband’s friend, Silas Kincaid. He loves a beautiful, recently available woman like you!” Seraphina’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. She looked Silas over—the car, the watch, the clothes—and her eyes lit up. Silas grinned, opening the back door for her. “Your chariot awaits, Princess.” “You are so charming,” Seraphina giggled, stepping in. From the window, I watched the sedan pull away. Silas Kincaid felt instantly, unnervingly familiar. I snapped a photo of him and the car, then texted it to my old college roommate, who now worked for a federal agency. [This guy. Is he on any of your lists?’]

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That night, during the corporate retreat, my husband tossed my dignity onto the high-stakes table like a spare chip. Caleb had been meticulously folding, making disastrous calls, and practically handing the pot to the twenty-two-year-old marketing intern, Tiffany. He let her win again and again, nine hands in a row, a flawless winning streak that had the whole room cheering her on. I frowned, ready to interject, but Caleb’s hand clamped down, dismissively, on my wrist. “Don’t sweat it, honey. It’s just a game,” he said, his smile tight, his eyes fixed on Tiffany. “Let the kid enjoy her moment.” When Tiffany’s greedy gaze landed on the vintage, inherited diamond bangle on my wrist, I instinctively pulled back, trying to protect the last thread of my composure. But before I could speak, Caleb had already agreed to the new stakes for her. “Fine,” he announced to the room, his eyes shining with cold excitement. “We’ll bet the bracelet.” Laughter erupted around the table, a booming sound that only amplified the sickening chill settling in my chest. It was then, in the suffocating silence of my inner world, that my abdomen gave a sudden, soft thrum. A gentle, nascent voice, a strange echo I’d only heard since I became pregnant, resonated in my core. “Mom. Bet it.” The voice was strangely calm. “I’m your Fortune Charm, the Ace Baby. We can’t lose.” I lifted my gaze, meeting Tiffany’s challenging stare, and slowly, deliberately, I unclasped the diamond bangle. 1 The silence that followed was total. Everyone at the table and those gathered around froze, watching my hands. “Is she really going through with it?” someone muttered. “I remember that bracelet. Caleb gave it to Bella for their tenth anniversary.” “Well, the CEO agreed to the stakes. Can’t back out now.” “This is getting heated. Pass the scotch, there’s going to be a show.” I placed the bangle softly on the green felt. It was indeed my tenth-anniversary gift from Caleb. Back then, under the soft lighting of a high-end steakhouse, he’d looked at me with an earnest devotion I hadn’t questioned, and said, “This is forever, Bella. Just like us.” And now? He was betting our ‘forever’ on a hand of high-stakes poker. Tiffany’s eyes were wide, bright with unbridled avarice, glued to the glittering diamonds. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Bet it. Are you game, Bella?” I looked to Caleb one last time, waiting for him to step in, to show a sliver of respect. He merely offered a dismissive laugh. “It’s a retreat, Tiffany. We’re having fun. Besides, you won’t necessarily lose, honey.” Marcus, our CFO, quickly jumped in to back him up. “Exactly, Ms. Bella. Your luck isn’t that bad.” My cheeks were burning, as if he’d slapped me. Everyone in the private room was watching, whispering. The boss’s wife being pushed to this extreme was certainly a rarity. Then, the gentle reassurance from my core returned. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve got this.” My heart settled again. Since I’d become pregnant, there had been a strange, almost mystical shift in our luck. The company had landed two massive deals. I’d bought a lottery scratch-off on a whim and won a decent chunk of cash. Caleb had joked then, “This kid’s a little godsend.” Now, the godsend was speaking. I’d be a fool not to listen. I took a slow, deep breath, and nodded. “Fine. I’m in.” Caleb raised a brow, a flicker of something—satisfaction, maybe—in his eyes. Tiffany’s face lit up, and she eagerly sat back down. “The next hand takes the pot!” The cards were shuffled, cut, and dealt. The four of us at the main table were myself, Caleb, Tiffany, and Marcus. My hands trembled slightly. Not from fear of losing the diamond bangle, but from pure, raw rage at Caleb’s complicity and Tiffany’s audacity. Beneath the anger, a terrible question started to beat: Were there more secrets between them? Secrets that had already shattered my bottom line… The hand began. I played cautiously, but my cards were trash. It was Caleb’s turn to act. He casually ran his thumb over the edge of his chips, a subtle glance flicking toward Tiffany. “Fold.” “Call and raise!” Tiffany announced, pushing a mountain of chips forward. She won the hand. Caleb had folded right into her path, allowing her to take a clean, massive pot. He’d seen her weak bluff and had deliberately withdrawn to give her the win. “Sorry, Ms. Bella,” Tiffany giggled, pushing her stack of chips toward the center. She extended a manicured hand. “The bangle is mine, all-in pot rules.” Caleb chuckled, pulling out his own wallet to cover the agreed-upon equivalent in cash and chips for the loss. “Tiffany, your luck is incredible. You’re unstoppable.” Tiffany slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, admiring the sparkle under the recessed lighting. “It really is gorgeous.” Caleb gave her a look that was entirely too soft, too fond. “It suits you perfectly.” A sharp, visceral pain pierced me. On a normal night, a reward to an eager employee would be one thing. But this was our anniversary gift. And he was openly, shamelessly, favoring her. “Don’t be sad, Mom.” The fetal voice cut through the sting. “Keep betting. What we lose now, we’ll win back later.” 2 Tiffany’s face was flush with triumph, her eyes meeting mine in a blatant challenge. “Another hand, Bella?” she asked, using my first name like a deliberate insult. Marcus, the CFO, chimed in, stirring the pot. “Don’t stop now! I’ve lost a ton of cash; I need a chance to redeem myself…” Caleb remained silent, watching me. He was waiting for my reaction. I smiled, my voice unnervingly level. “Sure. That was just a warm-up.” I straightened up in my seat, placing my hands flat on the felt. “Let’s keep going.” Tiffany looked briefly confused, then her face broke into a wider, more eager smile. “Great. What are the stakes this time?” Her eyes scanned me from my expensive blazer to my Louboutin heels, finally settling on the solitaire diamond pendant at my neck—Caleb’s gift to me for my last birthday. She pointed, her finger like a dart. “That. The necklace.” I managed a slight curl of my lip, then reached up and unclipped the clasp. The diamond pendant was far more substantial than the bracelet—easily three times the value. Tiffany’s eyes were huge, and a little gasp escaped her. The whispers in the room instantly grew louder. “That’s too much, isn’t it? She’s clearly just trying to strong-arm the boss’s wife.” “I know. This has to be intentional. You think the rumors are true? Her and Caleb…” The rest of the sentence trailed off, but the meaning hung heavy in the smoke-filled air. Caleb turned his head slightly, giving the gossiping crowd a silent, warning glare. The room fell into an awkward hush. My hands, hidden below the table, clenched into white-knuckled fists. So, it was true. While I was home, pregnant, protecting myself and the baby, Caleb had found comfort—and a partner in crime—in his eager intern. Seeing my composure, Caleb coughed lightly. “Maybe we should wrap it up, Bella? Just play for the house money.” “No!” Tiffany and I snapped in perfect, chilling unison. Caleb looked surprised, turning his complex gaze on me. “You really want to bet it?” I met his eyes with a cold confidence I didn’t entirely feel. “What, are you worried I’ll lose, or that she will?” He held my stare for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then gave a curt nod. “Have it your way.” I began to deal the cards again. This hand, I was hyper-aware. I listened to the shifting air, the scrape of chips, and the minute changes in their body language. After I had a strong set, I held back from announcing my hand, instead watching Caleb and Marcus. I noticed it immediately: every time I reached for a card, Caleb’s fingers would tap a certain way on his water glass. Tiffany would read the signal, adjusting her chips or her expression. Marcus was in on it, too, folding or raising the precise amount to push the pot and shape the betting for Tiffany. Three people, collaborating. The only one left out of the loop was me. “Mom, the girl behind you isn’t right.” The soft voice of the baby suddenly warned. I subtly tilted my head, catching the reflection in the window behind me. Mia, Tiffany’s friend and a junior admin, was standing slightly to my left, leaning in, her eyes fixed on my cards. There it was. An extra set of eyes. No wonder Tiffany had been able to avoid my strong hands and pull off those huge winning bluffs. “Mia, darling, would you be a dear and grab everyone a fresh round of lattes?” I called out suddenly, my voice deceptively warm. Mia jumped, startled. I gave her a gentle, focused look. “You look tired, sweetie. Take a break.” Mia’s face flushed scarlet. She glanced desperately at Tiffany, then stammered an apology and hurried to the corner to get the order. The game resumed. Without her eyes, Tiffany looked slightly unsettled, her gaze flickering constantly between Caleb and Marcus. The hand dragged on. We were down to the final draw. Caleb reached for his card, touched it, and hesitated a moment too long. He pushed it back into his stack. “Call.” “All in!” Tiffany shouted, slamming her chips down. I called her bluff, but she was telling the truth. She revealed her hand—a perfectly played Straight Flush. “Oh, too bad, Bella,” Tiffany said, her smile blinding. “It looks like I win again.” She snatched the solitaire pendant, clipped it around her neck, and immediately pulled out her phone for a selfie. Marcus burst out in forced laughter. “The boss’s wife is having a rough night! Maybe pregnancy is draining your luck.” Another manager, an oily man named Todd, leaned in. “We used to say Ms. Bella’s pregnancy was boosting the company. Looks like the Fortune Charm is with someone else now. Ms. Tiffany must be the new lucky star.” Caleb stared at me, a complicated mix of arrogance and relief in his eyes. “A bet is a bet, Bella,” he said, his voice flat. “You have to honor it.” I kept my expression blank, swallowing the burning indignation. “Don’t panic, Mom.” The fetal voice was back, steady as a heartbeat. “They’re trying to bait you, to push you to lose control, to go for the ultimate stakes.” “Trust me. I’m ready.” 3 The atmosphere in the private room had shifted from a fun retreat to a predatory circus. I had lost twice. My most valuable personal jewelry was gone. The colleagues had stopped pretending to play and were crowding around, watching the spectacle. Tiffany, wearing my diamonds and my bangle, was the smug center of attention. “Want to play another hand, Bella?” she taunted, running a finger over the stone on the pendant. “Though, I’m not sure you have anything left to bet.” I considered the remaining stakes. My designer handbag? My car keys? She wouldn’t be interested. I was right. Tiffany spoke, her voice laced with heavy expectation. “How about… we bet something really interesting.” She turned to Caleb, their eyes locking in a silent, conspiratorial moment. “Let’s bet company stock.” The room went dead silent. Everyone understood. This was no longer a game. Our company, AxelTech, was named after a combination of our initials—Caleb’s and mine. Caleb held 40%, I held 35%, and the remaining 25% belonged to our investor, Mr. Vance. My heart gave a heavy, cold thump. I finally understood the full scope of their plot. Tiffany didn’t want the jewelry. Caleb wanted to use her hand to dilute my ownership. I spoke, my voice sharp and cold. “Your salary is barely four thousand a month, Tiffany. Where is your capital to bet against 15% of AxelTech?” Tiffany grinned, turning back to Caleb. “Can I borrow it from you, Caleb?” Caleb paused for a calculated second, then laughed, loud and artificial. “Sure. We’re just playing, darling. Lighten up.” Playing with company shares? I stared at Caleb. How long had he been planning this entire charade? It didn’t matter now. If he wanted to play, I would show him what a real game looked like. “If we’re betting shares, we’ll do this officially. Call Attorney Reyes and have him draft the agreement,” I instructed Marcus. Marcus flinched. “Ms. Bella, are you serious?” “Call him,” I repeated, my voice leaving no room for argument. Caleb’s brows furrowed, and a line of irritation appeared between his eyes. “Bella, are you going to make this difficult?” “Didn’t you start this game?” I challenged, meeting his gaze. There were too many people here, too many witnesses. If I lost, he would take my shares without a second thought. But if he lost, without a contract, he would simply walk away. I knew him too well. Caleb’s face darkened. He stared at me for five solid seconds, a cold appraisal. “Fine,” he conceded. “Have it your way.” Attorney Reyes arrived half an hour later. “Attorney Reyes, I need a legal agreement. The stakes are 15% of my shares in AxelTech.” Fifteen percent. It was a significant slice. If Caleb acquired it, added to his 40%, he would control a whopping 55%, turning the company into a dictatorship. Tiffany’s eyes gleamed with reckless excitement. “My capital will be the bracelet, the necklace… and a $1 million loan from Caleb?” She looked at him for confirmation. “I can sign a promissory note, right?” Caleb nodded, his smile returning, a sickening, proprietary look. “Done. I’ll guarantee the loan. If you lose, I cover it.” The collective wow from the surrounding colleagues was audible. The favoritism was blatant. Caleb, however, simply crossed his arms, waiting for the deal to be struck. The agreement was drafted. I signed, Tiffany signed, and Caleb signed as the guarantor. A legally binding contract, in black and white. Before the cards were dealt, I touched my swollen belly. “Baby, this is all on you now.” The fetal voice was strong, steady, and certain. “Mom, relax. I’m thinking three steps ahead.” The final high-stakes hand began. This time, the silence was agonizing. Tiffany was sweating. Caleb was chain-smoking. I, oddly, was calm. I reached for my last card, the one I needed. I glanced at Tiffany, her face tight with desperation. She reached, and her face brightened. “I’m in!” she crowed. “I hit the full house!” The room erupted. Marcus was the first to cheer. “Congratulations, Ms. Tiffany! You’re a co-owner of AxelTech!” Tiffany was radiant with arrogance. She leaned back, glancing at me. “Thanks for the shares, Bella.” Caleb laughed, clapping her on the shoulder. “Incredible luck, Tiffany. Everyone, say hello to your new partner, Ms. Thorne.” The congratulations swirled around her. But I barely heard them. I lost again. The bangle, the necklace, the shares. My hands and feet felt frozen, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm. What was left to lose? “Mom. Don’t panic.” The voice was sharper this time, a sudden jolt of electricity. “I let them win. They needed to think they had the advantage. They needed to be pushed over the edge.” “Now. Bet everything you have left. The whole pot. We crush them now.” 4 The game was paused. Tiffany was basked in the congratulations of the crowd. Caleb was on a phone call, a smug, satisfied expression on his face. Marcus came over, feigning concern. “Ms. Bella, maybe call it a night? You’ve had a bad run.” I didn’t look at him. “Keep going.” My voice cut through the noise, and the room went quiet again. Tiffany turned, confused. “You want to play again? I don’t think you have anything left that can cover the stakes, Bella.” She rattled the agreement in her hand. I sat back down and surveyed the entire room. “ALL IN,” I announced. “I’ll bet my remaining 20% of AxelTech shares.” “I’ll bet my personal trust fund.” “And I’ll bet half of our marital assets.” A collective gasp swept through the room. She’s lost it. Caleb slammed his phone down and strode over. “Bella, enough!” he hissed, his eyes narrowed with genuine fury. He wasn’t mad that I’d lost—he was mad that I was ruining his neat, contained plan. I glanced at him, then back at Tiffany. “You wanted to play big, Tiffany. I’m playing to the end.” Tiffany’s eyes were filled with a wild mix of caution and insatiable greed. “I… I don’t have the capital for that.” “You can borrow it,” I said, finishing her thought for her. “From your CEO.” Caleb squinted at me, calculating. “Are you certain, Bella? If you lose this, you have no financial footing left.” He knew exactly how much was in that personal trust. “I am certain,” I stated, cutting the air with the finality of the words. Marcus rushed forward to intervene. “Ms. Bella, please! Don’t let the adrenaline control you!” “It’s just a game!” a chorus of other managers pleaded. Just a game. The perfect cover for all their malice. Tiffany looked at Caleb, playing the innocent damsel. “Caleb, can I borrow that much?” Caleb was silent for a few heavy seconds, then his lips stretched into a cruel, patronizing smile. “Yes.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, his voice softening, attempting a familiar intimacy. “Don’t worry, darling. If you lose, I’ll take care of you. You can take an early maternity leave, quit worrying about the company, and just focus on the baby.” The words were gentle, but the knife was already twisting. His goal was laid bare: to push me out of the company so he and Tiffany could take complete control. I scoffed, my eyes focusing on Attorney Reyes. “Please call a third-party notary. Redraft the agreement, to be signed now.” I looked at Caleb and Tiffany. “And this final hand will be Heads-Up. Just the two of us. No partners.” Caleb and Tiffany exchanged a panicked look. Without Marcus’s help, the risk was enormous. I gave a cold laugh. “What’s the matter? Are you scared, Tiffany, without Caleb and Marcus to help you with the signals?” Tiffany’s face went crimson. “I’m not scared! I just won a full house on my own!” I smiled, tossing the pen toward the freshly printed agreement. Caleb was furious but had no choice but to sign as the guarantor. Attorney Reyes and the notary set up a camera, ensuring the entire process was documented and legally sound. Everyone else was pushed back five meters. The table was cleared. Tiffany sat across from me, her composure completely gone. “Let’s begin.” I shuffled and dealt the cards. This final hand was slow, deliberate. Tiffany was twitchy, looking frequently over my shoulder. I played blind. I didn’t set my cards in a traditional rack, laying them flat on the table, face up. I forced Tiffany to guess my hand. Her eyes kept darting to the far distance where Caleb stood. Caleb was making subtle hand gestures, but he was hesitant—it was too high-stakes, and he couldn’t see my cards to be certain of his advice. I drew the last card I needed. My heart leaped, but I didn’t move. I looked up at Tiffany, giving her a slow, predatory smile. “Tiffany, do you know why Caleb has been helping you all night?” She froze, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and fear. “It’s not because you’re young or pretty,” I whispered. “It’s because he thinks you’re stupid.” Her face drained of color. “You’re talking nonsense! Just play the card!” I gave a gentle tug at the corner of my lips. “We’ll know soon enough.” Tap. I revealed the card in my hand. It was the Ace of Spades.

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Five years cut off. Five years of hauling bodies. Finally, I had the down payment for my own place. I was waiting for my final paycheck when I ran straight into my brother, Cole. He was there picking out a plot for his adopted sister’s dead dog. Our eyes locked. In the kind of unspoken truce we’d mastered years ago, we both looked away instantly. It wasn’t until my boss handed me the ten-thousand-dollar cash envelope that Cole let out a low, scornful chuckle. “Well, Skylar,” he sneered, looking me up and down. “Five years gone, and you’re actually doing okay for yourself.” I glanced at the black card clutched in his hand. “It’s fine,” I countered, my voice flat. “Still not as comfortable as Willow Reed’s dog.” A million-dollar burial plot, and he hadn’t even blinked. Meanwhile, the total price for my small condo was just thirty thousand. My brother’s voice tightened, a familiar, awkward attempt at dominance. “I know you were never meant for a rough life. Apologize now, and I’ll let you come home.” I shook my head, carefully tucking the cash deep into my jeans pocket. I’d already contacted the agent. Any minute now, I would have a home that was truly mine. 1 I left the mortuary and headed to meet my real estate agent, Sarah Lane. On the way, I stopped and bought a small celebratory cake. Sarah was genuinely kind. I’d dragged her to see countless properties over the years, only to back out at the last minute for one reason or another. Now that it was finally settled, the cake felt like the right way to share the relief and joy. I hadn’t walked far from the bakery before a hand clamped down on my wrist from behind. I gasped, startled. The cake slipped from my grasp, hitting the sidewalk and shattering into a messy pile of frosting and crumbs. Furious, I spun around—and crashed, eyes wide open, into Cole’s dark, rigid gaze. I froze for a second. His tone was a whip-crack of cold steel. “You don’t have anything you need to explain to me?” Frustration instantly boiled up. I yanked my arm free. “Explain what?” He pursed his lips and scanned me from head to toe. “You are a Jensen. How can you work in a mortuary? You might not find it disgusting, but I’m worried you’ll bring bad luck to Mom and me.” I dropped to a crouch to inspect the ruined cake. “Then stay away from me if you’re so worried about bad luck,” I shot back. “I’m earning an honest living. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He grabbed my wrist again, forcefully pulling me upright. “Skylar, why do you insist on talking to me like this? You’re the one who walked away five years ago. You still can’t get over it?” My patience was gone. I tore my hand away. “You’re the one who can’t get over it!” “Cole Jensen, we cut off all ties. Can you just leave me alone?” His face went completely dark. “Mom is sick. She talks about you constantly. How can you be so heartless? Do you have any conscience?” Now I was the heartless one. Five years ago, Willow had deliberately sicced her dog, Apollo, on my cat, Milo, killing him. I’d only hit the dog once in my grief, and Cole had slapped me. “Apollo is just a dog,” he’d roared then. “He doesn’t know any better. How can you be so cruel?” I’d been hysterical, sobbing, turning to my mother for comfort. Instead, she’d drenched me with a bucket of cold water. “That stray cat you brought back from the country has scratched up all the furniture. It’s dead, so it’s dead. What are you crying for?” Those two sentences were the final, crushing blow. That’s when I’d decided to leave and sever all ties. Cole’s face was still set in a scowl. “It was such a small thing. Does it really merit this reaction?” Small thing? Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them away, refusing to let him see them fall. Milo’s death was just the ignition. The final straw that broke me. From the moment I was brought back to that house—the house I was supposed to have been born in—Willow had been a constant source of torment. And my own mother and brother had never once stood by me. Willow claimed I stole her money. They searched my room, frisked me. Even when they found nothing, they never made her apologize. Because I had lived in the country for twenty years, my hands were often chapped and raw, and my face easily flushed red in the cold. Willow took photos of me and posted them in the class group, leading the ridicule. I was twenty and deeply self-conscious. Hiding my swollen, cracked hands behind my back, I finally lost it and kicked her in the chest. That was the only time I’d ever physically fought back. The result? That night, Mom made me kneel in the snow and write “I’m sorry” one hundred times. My affection for them had been a candle burning brightly when I first returned home. Over three years, it had slowly, painfully guttered out. Milo’s death gave me the resolve I needed to leave. I dropped out of the elite prep school and entered the workforce. As I walked out the door, Cole’s face was thunderous, his voice cold with threat: “Think carefully. You are nothing without this family. One word from me, and you won’t even be able to find a job.” I didn’t say a word. I just took the two worn suitcases I’d brought from the country. After that, the long, brutal search for work began. True to his word, Cole had me blacklisted. No matter what job I landed, I was fired within two months. The reasons were always vague, always different. But it only took a year for me to figure out a loophole. Mortuary transport: Five hundred dollars per body. It was grim, taboo work, but I was good at it. In four years, after all my expenses, I had saved up enough cash. I was satisfied. Cole stood before me, his expression the same furious, controlling mask he wore the day I left. Looking at him, a wave of cold revulsion rose from the pit of my stomach. “The heartless ones are the people you choose to protect. From now on, let’s pretend we’re strangers.” I bent down, finally collected the pieces of the broken cake, and walked away. His cold, cutting voice floated after me. “No matter what, you are not working that job anymore. Willow is a member of the Bellevue Animal Protection League. Look at you, Skylar. A disgrace.” 2 I ignored him, tossed the ruined cake into a nearby trash can, and bought two coffees. The encounter had made me late, but Sarah smiled brightly when I finally arrived. “Skylar, here’s the contract. Take a look.” I handed her a coffee, feeling a flush of guilt. “Sorry I held you up. I meant to get you a cake, but it was… ruined by a dog on the way here.” Her smile didn’t waver. She was a master of professionalism. “Good things take time! Let’s call it fate.” Warmed by her kindness, I picked up the contract. I didn’t truly understand the legalese, but a transaction this huge—this monumental step toward my freedom—felt like it needed time and careful attention. The Jensen house had never felt safe, only like a place of dependency. Owning my own home had become an obsession after the cut-off. Sarah waited patiently until I finished. She handed me a pen. “Sign when you’re ready.” I nodded, reaching for the pen, when her phone suddenly rang. “Company call,” she mouthed, smiling, and tapped ‘answer.’ The next second, she went completely rigid. “Fired? What… what did I do wrong?” A terrible premonition flooded me. My stomach clenched. Sure enough. When Sarah hung up, her eyes were instantly wet, her face blotchy with tears. “Ms. Jensen, you have such a powerful brother, one who can ruin my career with a few words. Why were you wasting my time looking at properties?” My pupils contracted in horror. I quickly tried to explain. “I cut off all ties with them years ago! That was Cole Jensen, and he—” “I think you’re just messing with me!” She leaped to her feet. Furiously, she snatched the contract from my hands. She reached for the coffee, intending to splash it on me, but ultimately just slammed the cup against the wall near my feet. The tea bucket burst open, splattering the floor. I tried one last time to explain. I opened my mouth, but she was already out the door. I stood there for a long time, stunned. Finally, I pulled out my phone and called Cole. He answered instantly. I couldn’t control the rage in my voice. “What the hell do you want! Fine, you want to mess with me, but the agent was innocent!” “Sister…” Willow’s soft voice answered from the receiver. “Brother is busy arranging for Apollo’s ashes. Tell me what you need.” 3 I had nothing to say to Willow. I was about to hang up when she spoke again. “To be honest, Sis, I forgave you a long time ago.” “Brother and Mom really miss you. Why don’t you just come home?” Then, Cole’s voice cut in. “Who is it?” “It’s Sky. I’m telling her to come home.” “Put on speaker.” I swore under my breath and hung up the phone decisively. I decided I had to try one last time. I went to the real estate company. Sarah was gone. I found the owner and explained, in painful detail, my relationship with Cole. I begged him not to fire Sarah, insisting that I was the reason for the trouble. The owner looked troubled. “Your brother offered a very high settlement for her departure. It’s actually a good thing for Sarah. She can still find another job, but now she has a generous payout.” The implication was clear: Sarah was not coming back. I felt like I’d been plunged into ice water. My blood ran cold. Once again, I realized that confronting Cole meant utter, humiliating defeat. After a long moment, I pressed my lips together and asked, “That condo. Can I still buy it?” “That one was purchased by Mr. Jensen. He bought up that unit and several similar ones nearby. They’re all reserved.” The owner pulled out two marketing flyers and handed them to me. “Ms. Jensen, you might want to look at these developments. The prices are comparable, but the location is a little further out…” “I’ll take this one.” I tapped a random spot on one of the flyers. Then, I pulled out the ten thousand dollars I had just been paid and handed it to him. In my line of work, there was a superstition: dealing with so much spiritual cash required real currency to keep things grounded. That’s why I was always paid in bills. Perhaps he hadn’t seen this before. The owner looked at me strangely, pulled out a cash counter, and verified the money. Then, he pushed the contract across the desk. This time, I didn’t read it. I flipped directly to the last page and signed. The owner hesitated. “This one’s down payment is twenty thousand more. Are you sure you looked it over?” “Yes. Give me some time. The deposit is paid; I’m not running away.” The owner sighed. “I don’t understand you and Mr. Jensen. You’re family. Why go to all this trouble?” Middle-aged men always feel the need to offer advice. I didn’t want to hear it. I grabbed my bag, walked out, and called my boss at the mortuary. “I’m coming in today.” He sounded surprised. “I thought you needed a couple of days off?” “I don’t. I won’t be taking any time off for the next two months.” “Alright, come on in as usual.” I hung up and contacted Sarah. She wouldn’t answer my calls, so I sent her a barrage of texts, apologizing profusely. I must have sent a dozen “I’m sorry” messages. Finally, she replied with a single sentence: [Forget it. Let’s pretend we never met.] Any further messages I sent received the dreaded red exclamation point. I stared at the phone for a long time before heading to work that afternoon. The funeral home was quiet. As I walked in, I saw Willow and Mom. They were clutching an urn, sobbing hysterically. It must have been Apollo’s ashes. I calmly shifted my gaze and walked toward the work area. My boss had already told me I only had one body transfer scheduled. I located the deceased’s family and, with a coworker, prepared to lift the body. Just as we were about to lower him into the casket, Cole’s voice exploded behind me. “Skylar Jensen! What are you still doing here?” Before I could react, he grabbed my arm with immense force. My grip slipped. The body fell with a sickening thud. It hit the floor face-first. 4 The deceased’s head cracked open. He must have died recently, as the blood hadn’t clotted. A thick, scarlet pool began to spread slowly. The sight was gruesome and terrifying. The mortuary fell deathly silent. No one had anticipated this chaos. Then, the deceased’s family reacted. “You trash! What did you do?!” The lead man’s eyes went red with fury. He lunged and kicked me in the lower back. I stumbled back several steps, collapsing painfully onto the floor. Before I could get up, two women surrounded me, slapping me from both sides. “You bitch! You cracked my father’s skull! What kind of monster are you?” The blows landed hard. My forehead was slick with cold sweat. I quickly covered my head with my arms. “Stop it!” Cole shouted, pushing the two women aside and shielding me. “She didn’t do it on purpose! You can’t assault her!” The enraged family wasn’t listening. They instantly swarmed Cole. His bodyguards rushed in. The scene erupted into utter chaos. My boss quickly stepped in to apologize and offer compensation. But the family was relentless, and Cole’s attitude was still cold and rigid. The situation was escalating out of control. I gripped my aching lower back and forced myself up. Then, with a painful thump, I dropped to my knees before the body. “It was my fault. Please, stop fighting!” After saying this, I bowed, pressing my forehead to the floor nine times in a loud, painful ritual. Then, I took a Ritual Atonement Marker from the boss—a packet of ceremonial paper—and lit it on the spot. This was a grave spiritual gesture, a public penance meant to spiritually compensate the deceased and his family for the desecration. Seeing the fire and the absolute nature of my submission, the family’s rage subsided slightly. Mom quickly stumbled over, apologizing profusely and offering a generous financial settlement. Her attitude was solicitous, and her offer was tempting. The family finally relented. They screamed a few final insults at me and then, pulling the casket, they left. The second they were gone, Cole grabbed my arm, his voice raw with urgency. “I told you to quit this job! Look at you! Let me see, are you hurt?” I pushed his hand away, my face expressionless. Then, I picked up a nearby ceremonial staff. Before anyone could react, I lunged forward and brought the staff down hard onto Apollo’s urn! CRACK! A loud, sharp sound. The urn shattered. The ashes of that cruel dog scattered across the floor. I didn’t stop. My eyes blazing, I brought the staff down again and again. “Skylar—” Willow shrieked and rushed at me. My eyes narrowed. I swung the staff directly at her! “Willow!” Cole screamed, rushing to cover her. The staff cracked against his back with a sickening force. He gasped, a strangled sound of pain, his face instantly draining of color. Mom stared in shock, then yelled at the two bodyguards. “Are you blind?! Stop Skylar now!” Before I could swing a second time, the bodyguards had me pinned. They ripped the staff from my hands. I glared at Cole, my heart pounding with hatred. “You agreed to the cut-off, but you still provoke me everywhere I go!” “What do you want from me? What will it take for you to finally stop forcing me into the dirt?” Cole’s forehead was covered in cold sweat. Before he could speak, Mom slapped me across the face. “I knew it! You’ve never let go of that silly incident! You have such a fierce temper, Skylar! Such a small heart!” “How could I have given birth to a daughter like you!” Ignoring the stinging on my cheek, I let out a mocking, cold laugh. “I stopped being your daughter a long time ago.” “Shut up! Don’t provoke Mom further!” Cole roared. He then turned to my boss, who was still standing there, stunned. “Skylar is my sister. I forbid her from working here. As of right now, she’s terminated!” “By what right do you make that decision for me?” I wanted to leap at him, to slap him until his face was as bruised as my own. The boss looked from Cole to me, then sighed. “Resolve your family issues outside. Skylar caused a major incident; she would have been fired regardless.” My heart chilled, freezing completely. “Let go!” Knowing the fight was useless here, I ripped free of the bodyguards and ran out. I had to call the police.

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I was the youngest tenured professor at the City Medical School, but five years ago, my wife’s testimony sent me to prison, where I became a convicted rapist. After my release, I scavenged for scraps, fighting stray dogs in the junkyards. I was a mangled, bleeding mess, often sleeping in ditches beside the dead. I curled up in the sludge, agonizing over the throbbing bites on my limbs, lost to the current of the putrid water. I opened my eyes to see a sleek black sedan gliding toward me. My wife, Genevieve—Gen. Five years gone, and she emerged—serene, pristine, her body already showing the curve of a pregnancy. Beside her sat Marcus, the scholarship student I’d personally mentored. In the back, my daughter, Sadie, covered her nose, her eyes wide with undisguised disgust. I staggered up, sludge dripping from my limbs, then crawled toward Gen, a sickeningly eager smile plastered on my face. “My dearest Gen. I’ve learned my lesson…” She watched me with the satisfied air of someone admiring a successfully broken animal. “You wouldn’t have learned without consequences, Alistair. Now that you know how to behave, come home.” I slammed my head on the ground in gratitude. But as I reached for the car door, Sadie kicked my hand away with her patent leather shoe. My hand froze mid-air. “Leave it, Alistair,” Gen said coolly. “You can walk back.” Once inside the estate gates, I became their most obedient mongrel. By day, I protected their home and performed humiliating tricks that had them roaring with laughter. At night, I knelt by their bed, ensuring their comfort, and afterward, wiping the sweat from their bodies with warm cloths. It continued until the anniversary of my parents’ death. Gen casually informed me that Marcus had my parents’ resting place bulldozed to make way for a cheap amusement park. Then, he ordered me to take the fall for his criminal workplace harassment suit. I didn’t hesitate. I simply nodded. I saw a flicker—a true, deep shock—in Gen’s eyes. “Alistair,” she whispered. “Don’t you hate me?” Hate? It was the blood in my veins. But I knew the truth: I had to be their most obedient mongrel. Only then would I get close enough to sink my teeth into their throats. … I managed to conjure the eager, fawning smile. “They’re dead. What good is hate now?” “My master is calling. Time for my daily entertainment routine. Care to join, mistress?” Gen’s expression instantly froze, a trace of confusion in her eyes. I was only repeating her old words. Five years ago, when Marcus framed me for assaulting her younger sister, using planted fluids and hair as ‘evidence,’ Marcus had driven my parents to suicide. I lost my last vestige of sanity and went for Marcus with a knife, but the police were already waiting. In the visitation room, Gen’s voice had been light, dismissive. “They’re dead. Why cause a fuss?” That was the moment I realized my wife had utterly, completely betrayed me. The girl who once swore tearfully to love me forever had been dead long before I went to prison. Gen’s expression softened. “I spent the last few months wondering if this was all a cynical act. But your spirit truly has been broken.” Marcus walked in, looping an arm around her shoulder. “He’s learned to keep his head down, Gen. You always hated how arrogant and self-righteous Professor Alistair was. Besides, Sadie loves her new daddy, doesn’t she?” He emphasized the last two words, testing the air between us. At the sound of that, Sadie suddenly hurled the pair of craft scissors in her hand directly at me. “He’s not my daddy! A rapist doesn’t deserve to be!” The metal sliced the skin near my eye. My vision instantly blossomed with red, but I didn’t flinch. Gen’s voice was sharp. “Sadie!” My daughter bit her lip and turned away, but her eyes were still full of challenge. I picked up the scissors, dusted them off, and held them out. She slapped my hand away. “Filthy! I don’t want them!” Gen frowned, then looked at the line of blood tracing my left cheek. “Go clean up your cut, Alistair. I’ll speak to Sadie.” I offered a servile smile. “Mistress, you honor me, but a man like me is not worth the trouble of changing your daughter’s mind.” “You…” Gen trailed off, her brow furrowed. She couldn’t understand how I could so calmly accept the venom of the girl I once adored. Sadie glared at me, her lips silently forming the word: Animal. I pretended not to see, bowing to gather the props for the day’s entertainment. Marcus’s polished leather shoe came down on my hand, grinding the bones against the wood floor. “Perform well, Professor. You look far better kneeling than you ever did lecturing.” Pain shot up my arm, turning my face crimson. Sweat beaded on my forehead. “Yes, Master.” I’ll give them a show, all right. I just wonder if they’ll still be laughing when the final curtain drops. Marcus enjoyed the daily entertainment ritual. His low-life cronies, whom he now called friends, loved it too. “Marcus, you’re something else! Not only did you score a rich wife, but her famous ex-husband is your obedient dog!” “He was supposed to be the medical field’s rising star, and look at him now.” Marcus blew a smoke ring, his laughter mocking. Just then, Gen’s tired voice drifted out from the house. “That’s enough for today, Marcus. Let him rest.” Marcus’s face instantly hardened, his eyes blazing with fury at me. “Tired?” I immediately prostrated myself on the ground, forehead pressed to the dirt. “N-no, Master. Not tired.” I couldn’t be tired. Last time, Gen had carelessly mentioned the old injury on my right hand from prison. That night, Marcus had me tied in the garden and used a pair of pliers to slowly, deliberately break each of my fingers. Ten fingers. I passed out three times. Marcus’s cold voice ripped me from the memory. “Good. Not tired.” He slowly walked up, grabbed a handful of my hair, and yanked my head up. “I spent five years making sure you were ‘specially looked after’ in prison, Alistair. You were expensive labor, but I finally got my obedient dog.” My pupils constricted. Five years. As a convicted rapist, I was the bottom of the hierarchy. At first, it was just isolation and beatings. Then, I became the forced object of compliance. The countless tortures—the sheer degradation—made me repeatedly cut my wrists, just to feel the clear, cleansing pain of my own blood and know I was still alive. I cannot die. Not yet. Not before revenge. When I gave no response, Marcus abruptly lifted his foot and stomped hard on my head. My face sank into the dirt, my nostrils filled with mud and the metallic scent of blood. The men’s laughter and whistles erupted around me. Just then, Gen stepped out, saw me groveling in the dirt, and merely sighed. Marcus spun around, pulling her close. “Gen, you shouldn’t be walking around with the baby. I worry about you.” His voice was all honey and possessive pride. They left. Moments later, I felt a sudden, warm splash on my head. A vile, hot liquid streamed down my face and into my mouth. The stench of urine, metallic and sour. The chorus of laughter exploded again. I closed my eyes, remaining perfectly still. The next day, Gen hosted a lavish dinner party to celebrate Marcus’s promotion to Senior Partner at his law firm. I was assigned to drive them. Midway through the journey, Marcus instructed me to pull over in a remote area, then ordered me out to fetch Sadie. I caught his smirk in the rearview mirror. “Go get Sadie. Don’t be late.” I heard the tearing sound of Gen’s dress as I got out, but I didn’t look back. I hailed a cab for the school. Sadie’s smile vanished the moment she saw me walk through the school gate. “Mistress sent me to fetch you, Miss Sadie.” She frowned, her voice dripping with utter distaste. “Why you?” She threw her backpack, slamming it into my chest. Her classmates glanced over. “Hey, isn’t that her dad? The one who went to jail…” Sadie’s face turned scarlet. She glared at me, then turned and ran. “Go away! You’re disgusting!” As I watched her run, I remembered the years when she wouldn’t sleep unless I tucked her in, when she spent twenty-four hours a day glued to my side. Now, I was a dirty stray she wanted to shoo away. Seeing them play the role of the perfect family, hearing her call another man ‘Daddy,’ caused a familiar, dull ache in my anesthetized heart. She had been my world since the day she was born. When I finally arrived at the restaurant, Marcus was surrounded by well-wishers, raising their glasses. He caught sight of me and his eyes lit up. He waved me forward. “Just in time! Our good Professor Alistair is a man of many talents. Come, entertain the guests!” His voice was loud, ensuring the entire hall heard. The guests chuckled. I stood rooted, my blood turning to ice. Gen sat at the main table, lightly swirling her wine glass, refusing to meet my eyes. “What’s wrong? Reluctant?” Marcus raised an eyebrow. I immediately obliged, performing a ridiculous, clumsy routine that sent the crowd into fits of laughter. I saw several familiar faces, including some students I had funded over the years. After the performance, Gen suddenly asked the waiter to add a chair. “Alistair, come sit and eat with us.” I froze, and the juggling bottle slipped, shattering on the marble. Instinct took over. Before Marcus could even open his mouth, I was on my knees. My kneecaps slammed down onto the broken glass. “I apologize, Master.” My head was bowed, my voice trembling. The patrons watched in scorn as the former medical professor knelt like a dog, picking up shards of glass for his wife’s lover. Marcus laughed—a cruel, sharp sound that sliced the sudden silence. “See, Gen? You try to be kind to him, and he refuses to accept it. Some people are just born to grovel. They’re only comfortable on their knees.” Gen didn’t respond. She simply stared at me, her expression complicated. I gathered the last piece of glass, stood up with bloodied hands, and bowed deeply. “Master, Mistress. I will go treat the injury now.” Late that night, I was in the utility closet, cleaning the shards from my hands. I looked up at the mirror—my face, gaunt and pale, looked spectral. I turned around. Gen was standing behind me. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me from behind. “Marcus has been excessive lately, Alistair. Try not to hate him for it.” I lowered my eyes. “Mistress, you exaggerate. Master has been nothing but kind.” Gen was silent for a few seconds. “Alistair, I sent you away for five years to teach you obedience.” She sighed. “But this… this isn’t you anymore.” I almost laughed aloud. When I used to fight Marcus, I was met with Gen’s scolding. That Alistair, she’d said, was too abrasive, making her feel insecure. Now she had succeeded in beating me into an obedient dog, stripping away everything she once disliked. And now, she missed the old me. I looked at her reflection in the mirror and forced a hollow smile. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” Gen’s pupils contracted slightly. Her hands searched my ribs, her voice hollow. “You’re nothing but bone… There’s no light left in your eyes.” The utility closet door flew open. Marcus stood there, his face thunderous. “What are you doing?” Gen immediately released me and spun toward him. “Marcus, I just came to tell Alistair that Sadie woke up and is asking for his rice porridge.” She tugged him away, perhaps her fleeting moment of guilt having saved me from punishment. As he left, Marcus looked over his shoulder, his eyes dark and complex. I knew. Things were about to get much worse. The next morning, I carefully approached Marcus. “Master, what entertainment would you like today?” Marcus slowly ate his breakfast, barely glancing up. “No show today. You’re coming with me.” My heart plummeted. I instinctively looked at Gen, sitting beside him. She kept her head down, a silent nod of consent. What was I expecting? “Yes, Master.” I lowered my head, my voice flat. The car left the affluent neighborhood and drove onto the highway. The scenery outside became desolate. The familiar route, like a needle of ice, slowly pierced the depths of my memory. This was the road to my parents’ cemetery. My breathing hitched—a tiny, traitorous intake of air—but I forced it smooth. In the rearview mirror, Marcus watched me, his smile widening, the pleasure radiating off him like heat. “What’s wrong, Alistair? Remembering something?” His tone was light, like a predator toying with its prey. “No, Master,” I whispered. Marcus laughed. “Don’t worry. You will soon enough.” The car stopped at the gate of the abandoned, overgrown cemetery. I barely had a foot on the ground before a crushing blow landed on the back of my head. The world tilted and spun. Several thick arms pinned me to the earth. I struggled to lift my head and saw the faces of the men who had owned me in prison for five years. The terror was instant, absolute. “Professor Alistair. Long time no see.” One man grinned, then swung a pre-positioned baseball bat down on my knee. CRACK! A loud, awful sound of bone shattering. Blood instantly surged into my throat, spilling from my lips. Seeing the blood, the others’ eyes flashed with excitement. They closed in. I felt like every bone in my body was being pulverized. Marcus stood a short distance away, idly playing on his phone. “Easy, boys. Don’t kill him. He still has to take the fall for me tomorrow.” They roared with laughter, pausing the assault. Then, exchanging knowing glances, they hauled me up. “Professor, we haven’t had a dog like you for a long time. Miss your old friends?” My body shook uncontrollably. I tried to beg, but I had no breath left. For the next hour, my body swayed with the impact of their blows. I was an empty shell, completely still, like a corpse. Soon, they found a new form of torture. They found a shovel. A minute later, one of them held up the urns. “No… Please, stop—” I fought, screaming, but my voice was useless. They forced my jaw open and began pouring the white, gritty ash into my mouth, mocking me. “Dogs love bones, Professor! Eat up!” My eyes rolled back. I retched, struggling violently, the tears mixing with the blood on my face. My sight turned black. My mind shattered. I faintly heard an engine. Gen’s car. She had come. Marcus quickly rushed over, instantly switching to a panicked expression. He clutched his own bloody arm. “Gen! What are you doing here? It’s dangerous!” “It’s Alistair’s old prison enemies. They came for revenge! You have to go!” Gen’s gaze landed on me. Her pupils contracted violently, but only for a second. She turned away, helping Marcus toward the car. As she walked, she paused. “Alistair, you… hold on. I have to get Marcus to the hospital. I’ll come back for you. Later.” The car sped away. I fell unconscious. I don’t know how long I was out. I woke to the vibration of my phone. A text from Gen. “Stay put. Someone will be there to pick you up.” I ignored it. Instead, with a finger caked in mud and blood, I dialed a number I’d kept hidden for five years. “It’s time. I have the ledger.” I closed my eyes again. The next day, just hours before he was due to take the fall for Marcus, Alistair was nowhere to be found. Marcus burst into the utility closet. His smile instantly vanished. “Where is Alistair?!”

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She was Seraphina Albright, the woman who traded a tenure track at The Claremont Institute—the kind of position people commit slow academic suicide for—to marry me. I was Ashton Cole, the man she’d chosen. The same hands that had snagged academia’s highest honors had made meals for me for three years. Everyone said she was madly in love with me. Until her research assistant, Jude Carver, formatted my core data right in front of my face. “What have you done?” My voice was a shaky whisper. He froze, utterly helpless, and Seraphina immediately stepped in front of him. “Jude didn’t mean to, Ash.” I stared at her hands—the hands that once held my victory trophy—now resting protectively on his shoulder. It was a searing, physical betrayal. Three years ago, my mother, gripping my hand tight from her sickbed, had rasped, “Ash, if you ever run into a wall, call her.” I took a ragged breath, the memory a ghost in the room, and pressed ‘Send’ on a message I’d drafted days ago. “Jude Carver, you are going to the inquiry board.” I spoke without raising my voice, yet the coldness made him flinch. He ducked behind Seraphina, plucking nervously at her sleeve. Seraphina frowned, easing me away from him. “Ash, stop it. You’re scaring him.” She turned, taking a seat at the main console, and started typing. I watched her back, my fists clenched tight enough to hurt. A few seconds later, she stopped. “Well?” I pressed. She stood, avoiding my eyes. “The data can’t be recovered.” The atmosphere in the lab instantly curdled into something toxic and heavy. I lunged forward, my punch aimed for Jude. Seraphina, a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, caught my arm with impossible ease and flung me aside. I stumbled, crashing into a heavy lab bench. She looked at me then, her eyes as frigid and detached as if I were a stranger. I stayed frozen where I stood. It was the first time she had ever looked at me that way. The lab door swung open just as Dr. Warren Carmichael’s booming, cheerful voice cut through the tension. “Ash Cole! I pushed my board meeting just for this! You finished the beast your mother couldn’t tame in three years. Truly, the apple didn’t fall far!” I quickly rearranged my face, trying to salvage the last scraps of my dignity. “Dr. Carmichael, I’m sorry. We’ve had a major incident with Project Triton. The sea trial is off for today.” “What kind of incident? Do you need our resources?” Seeing the genuine concern on his face only amplified my shame. Before I could offer a professional explanation, Jude blurted out, “The core control module data is just… gone.” “What?!” Dr. Carmichael’s volume shot up. A specialist quickly checked the system and his voice was ice. “Professor Cole, there are zero trace logs of the neural core algorithm running in the system’s underlayer. Academic credibility isn’t built on hypothetical data.” I spun around, stunned, to look at Seraphina. She was the only one who had touched the console. She was the only one with the skill to cleanly erase every trace. I looked at the eyes I used to drown in, and my voice came out trembling, unrecognizable. “Seraphina, why?” Every single person’s gaze was fixed on the two of us. She sighed and walked toward me, reaching out to take my hand, but I jerked away. Her hand hung in the air for a moment before she dropped it naturally, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Ash, I know I’ve been distant lately. I understand you’re upset.” She turned to the Dean, her tone laced with professional regret. “Dr. Carmichael, Ash has been under an immense amount of pressure. I think he may be experiencing some cognitive dissonance. The data might have only existed in his proposals.” “Seraphina, you’re lying.” I shrieked the words. “Jude did the format, and you, afterwards, wiped every single operation log and trace.” Jude fearfully scrambled behind Seraphina. She instinctively shifted her body, creating a barrier. That tiny, subconscious gesture was like a dagger twisting in my heart. Her expression shifted to one of sheer annoyance before settling into familiar, patronizing resignation. “Ash, let’s go home and talk about this, okay? You need to rest.” Dr. Carmichael looked utterly defeated. “Professor Cole, I will report the events of today exactly as they occurred. You are suspended from all duties pending a full investigation.” He and the others filed out. The remaining lab members quietly collected their things, avoiding my gaze, and melted away. Finally, it was just the three of us. I watched her protective stance over Jude and was suddenly thrown back three years to an image: Seraphina, black dress, gold medal, proclaiming on the stage, “My future is with him.” Now, it was clear her future had a different co-star. Seraphina opened her mouth as if to say something. I looked into her eyes, but I cut her off first. “Seraphina, we need to get a divorce.” She stepped forward, gripping my wrist without asking. “Ash, you need to cool down. You are not thinking straight.” I tried to pull away, but her grip tightened. “Stop this childishness. You are and always will be my husband.” She dragged me out, giving me no choice. Back at the house, the dining table was laid with all my favorite dishes. She served me meal, pushing the plate toward me, her demeanor eerily normal. “Eat something. You’ve lost weight.” “Seraphina,” I looked her straight in the eye. “Project Triton was my mother’s dying wish. It was my dream.” Her forks paused. She picked up a piece of asparagus and placed it on my plate. “The data is lost. With your ability, rebuilding it is only a matter of time.” Then came the knife. “But Jude just graduated. If this is pinned on him as a major accident, his life is over.” I couldn’t help the hysterical laughter that tore from my chest, and the tears that immediately followed. “His life is important, and mine isn’t? If the academic fraud is confirmed, my career is finished.” “I could go to prison, Sera. Have you thought about that?” Her expression faltered for just a split second. She reached out and gently wiped the tears from my cheek. “It won’t come to that. I will handle it. You are just exhausted. You need rest.” Watching her in complete, cold control made me feel overwhelmingly, impossibly weary. “I’m tired. I’m going up to rest.” My voice was flat, empty. She didn’t stop me. She only stood there, watching my back as I walked up the stairs, her gaze dark and complex. I don’t know how long I sat there before I heard the low thrum of her car starting downstairs. A half-hour later, a video came in on my phone from Jude Carver’s number. It was Seraphina, arms around him, soothing him, her expression a mask of gentle empathy. The video finished, and he instantly recalled it. A new message popped up right away. [Professor Cole, my apologies. Sent that to the wrong person.] I didn’t reply. I didn’t even look at it again. An hour later, I heard the door open and footsteps downstairs. Seraphina was back, quicker than I’d expected. As soon as she reached the stairs, her phone rang. She turned her back to me, her voice hushed. “What’s going on? Don’t panic, I’m on my way.” She hung up and immediately spun to leave. She stopped at the door, glancing back at me. “Something urgent came up at the lab. I have to go out.” “Don’t wait up.” I said nothing, just sat silently on the edge of the bed, watching her go. She didn’t return that night. My phone screen occasionally lit up. Picture after picture, short video after short video. Seraphina putting food on Jude’s plate in a restaurant. Jude leaning against her shoulder in the car. Under the harsh midnight light of the lab, the two of them bent side-by-side over a document, the space between them intimate and charged… Each time the screen glowed, it felt like a tiny blade slicing at an already numb heart. I thought I was past tears, but they silently began to fall again. The next afternoon, Jude showed up on my doorstep. I leaned against the doorframe, looking at him with utter indifference. My lack of reaction seemed to sting him. He tilted his chin up, a sneer forming. “Professor Cole, why the self-deception?” He curled his lip. “Whose heart Seraphina holds, who she held and comforted all night long—you still don’t get it?” “Clinging to a dead marriage—if you’re not exhausted, I am for you.” I watched him quietly until he was finished. Then I spoke, slowly. “Done? Then get out.” I slammed the front door with all my strength. Jude stared at the closed door, his eyes flashing with malice. “You’ll regret this, Ash Cole.” I looked down at the unanswered message thread on my phone, my fingers ice cold. Had my mother misremembered? Or had the contact simply vanished? Just as I prepared to try the number again, my Twitter feed erupted. #WestwoodWunderkindExposed: Academic Fraudster #ProjectTritonHead: The Professor and the Paramour #DidHeSleepHisWayToTheTop? I clicked through. My photos, my professional history, even my family background—all laid bare, paired with deeply inflammatory captions. A few comments defending me were swiftly buried beneath a torrent of insults and filth. The few brave souls who spoke up were quickly driven off. Then the School Oversight Office called. “Professor Cole, report to the school immediately for questioning.” I hung up and drove to the university. The lab’s soundproofing wasn’t great. As I reached the door, Seraphina’s voice drifted out. “Jude, I can overlook your childish impulses, but turning this into an online circus is too much.” “I’ve made arrangements. I’m sending you to the East Coast in three days. I will handle the university side. Go and finish your degree without worry.” “I’m not leaving.” “Sera, I was wrong. Just forgive me this once, okay? Please…” “Can you really bear for our baby to be born without a father?” I couldn’t stand it anymore. I shoved the door open violently. A flash of rare panic crossed Seraphina’s face. She instantly pushed Jude away and walked toward me. “Ash, wait, it’s not what you think…” My gaze dropped to her abdomen. No wonder she’d been inventing excuses to avoid me lately. She was pregnant. My voice was dead calm. “Misunderstand? Are you denying you’re carrying his child?” She looked like she’d been choked, frozen where she stood. I didn’t spare her another glance. I walked straight to my office area, scooped up my laptop, and turned to leave. I spent a full twenty-four hours in the Oversight Office before they released me. When I walked out, the online furor had vanished. As I descended the steps, a man in a baseball cap rushed at me. “Academic fraudster, you deserve to die!” A flash of steel. A fruit knife plunged into my abdomen. I clutched the wound, staggering back, my head hitting the ground with a sickening thud. When I next woke up, I was in the hospital. Seraphina was sitting by my bed, her eyes shadowed with dark circles, looking utterly exhausted. Seeing me awake, her lips parted, but no sound came out. My voice was raspy. “Just say it.” She was silent for a long time before speaking the difficult words. “The online news was already suppressed.” “But the video of your attack at the university gates was recorded, and it hit the trending list again. The public pressure is immense… The inquiry board hearing is in two days.” I barely registered anything but the words inquiry board hearing. I closed my eyes, saying nothing. “But don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She urgently tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away. “I’m tired. I want to rest.” I cut her off, closing my eyes again. Her outstretched hand froze mid-air. After a long moment, she let it fall, adjusted my blanket, and then left the room. Confirming she was gone, I slowly opened my eyes and looked at the phone on my pillow. [Mr. Cole, my apologies. The data cannot be recovered. You may request an alternative condition.] The last shred of hope in my heart shattered. Two days later, Seraphina came to pick me up. She gently straightened my collar, her gaze soft. “Ash, it will be fine. I’ve handled everything. It’s just a formality.” I barely managed a quiet “Mhm” and didn’t look at her again. The steps leading up to the courthouse were endless. I stopped, turning my head to Seraphina at my side. “Seraphina, I’ll be fine, right?” She paused for a brief second, then gripped my hand. “Of course. Trust me.” I stood before the inquiry panel. I handled every question with composure. Until my research results were displayed on the screen, and the authorship read, chillingly, Jude Carver. The blood froze in my veins. The only person who knew the full scope of those results was Seraphina. I snapped my head toward the spectator entrance. Empty. Just before the judge’s gavel was about to drop, the door flew open. Seraphina rushed in, late. My eyes were locked onto her. Her phone vibrated. She looked down at the screen, and her face instantly changed. My heart seized up. Then, under my pleading, desperate gaze, she turned and walked away. The door clicked shut quietly. The last sound in my world vanished. It took me a moment to realize where I was. My voice was a desperate, dry sound. “I request an immediate recess.” Trembling, I pulled out my phone and dialed the number I knew by heart. One ring, two rings… After the ninety-ninth ring, I finally gave up. Just then, a text message popped up. [Jude’s been kidnapped. It’s an emergency. I have to save him. Hold on, Ash, I’ll be right back.] Kidnapped? I stared at the words, and then a low laugh started in my throat. The laughter quickly turned into a violent cramp in my stomach. I doubled over, pressing my hands to the wound that hadn’t fully healed. So this was her ‘arrangement.’ She had abandoned me—again—for him. I looked down at the “alternative condition” text on my screen, edited a reply, and sent it back. When I stood on the panel again, my eyes were vacant. I stopped arguing. I stopped looking at anyone. I was ultimately sentenced to one year in prison. The next day, Seraphina came to visit. The look in her eyes held no guilt, only profound disappointment. “Ash, I never thought you’d sink this low—so malicious that you’d disregard a human life.” I froze, completely confused by her words. “I promised to send him away, but you still found someone to kidnap him. You are truly disappointing.” I weakly tried to explain. “It wasn’t me…” She cut me off, her voice sharp and cold. “Ash, the evidence is irrefutable. When you do wrong, you pay the price.” A few days later, a new sentencing document arrived. My one-year term was extended to five years. Two weeks passed before Eliza Holt appeared at the visitation window. “Mr. Cole. I am the person you contacted.” She passed me a file. “Your abilities fit our Institute’s requirements.” “If you join, your current identity will be erased. The world will no longer know an Ashton Cole.” I took the file, and my answer was instantaneous, requiring almost no thought. “I accept.” A week later, the news of my death from illness in prison spread. Sitting on the plane, I watched the coastal lights of San Valencia shrink to glittering pinpricks. Goodbye, Seraphina. Goodbye, my past.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389074”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel