The old spiritualists in this City—the ones who whisper fortunes to the families whose names line the skyscrapers—they called me the ‘Dynastic Anchor.’ Marry me, and you didn’t just get a wife; you acquired a generational guarantee: a century of prosperity for the Rhodes line, with the promise of strong male heirs. When I was eight, they brought me from the tiny, rugged fishing island and placed me in the Rhodes mansion, where I became Sterling Rhodes’ shadow. He treated me like a priceless treasure, catering to my every wish, and the entire Rhodes family embraced me as their own daughter. But in the first year of our marriage, at my five-month checkup, the ultrasound confirmed I was carrying a girl. My mother-in-law, Eleanor Rhodes, dosed me with something. While I was unconscious, she had me rushed to a private clinic for a surgical termination. Sterling knelt by my hospital bed, his eyes red-rimmed, promising me that such a horrifying mistake would never happen again. The second time I conceived, I guarded myself obsessively. Yet, during labor, I was given a powerful anesthetic. They suffocated the baby inside me, a silent, smothering death in my own body. As I lay on the hospital bed, empty and consumed by despair, Sterling walked in with my maternity nurse, Penelope Hayes. “Penny is carrying my child, Clara. A boy, already four months along.” He spoke with the cold, measured tone of a CEO delivering bad news. “I won’t hold the ‘Dynastic Anchor’ lie against you, because I do love you in my own way, but I have a family duty that comes before everything else. I can’t abandon that.” He continued, his eyes meeting mine: “Penny will move into the penthouse’s East Wing. I’ll oversee her care myself. Once the baby is born, we will register him as your son. He will be presented to the world as the heir you delivered, a final act of service to the Rhodes name.” I stared at Penny’s gently rounded belly, and an eight-year-old memory flashed through my mind: the spiritualist’s final, chilling warning as I left the island. “Fortune is tethered to you. But should the day come when someone wrongs you or breaks you, your luck will drain completely, and calamity will follow.” 1 The old spiritualists in this City—the ones who whisper fortunes to the families whose names line the skyscrapers—they called me the ‘Dynastic Anchor.’ Marry me, and you didn’t just get a wife; you acquired a generational guarantee: a century of prosperity for the Rhodes line, with the promise of strong male heirs. When I was eight, they brought me from the tiny, rugged fishing island and placed me in the Rhodes mansion, where I became Sterling Rhodes’ shadow. He treated me like a priceless treasure, catering to my every wish, and the entire Rhodes family embraced me as their own daughter. But in the first year of our marriage, at my five-month checkup, the ultrasound confirmed I was carrying a girl. My mother-in-law, Eleanor Rhodes, dosed me with something. While I was unconscious, she had me rushed to a private clinic for a surgical termination. Sterling knelt by my hospital bed, his eyes red-rimmed, promising me that such a horrifying mistake would never happen again. The second time I conceived, I guarded myself obsessively. Yet, during labor, I was given a powerful anesthetic. They suffocated the baby inside me, a silent, smothering death in my own body. As I lay on the hospital bed, empty and consumed by despair, Sterling walked in with my maternity nurse, Penelope Hayes. “Penny is carrying my child, Clara. A boy, already four months along.” He spoke with the cold, measured tone of a CEO delivering bad news. “I won’t hold the ‘Dynastic Anchor’ lie against you, because I do love you in my own way, but I have a family duty that comes before everything else. I can’t abandon that.” He continued, his eyes meeting mine: “Penny will move into the penthouse’s East Wing. I’ll oversee her care myself. Once the baby is born, we will register him as your son. He will be presented to the world as the heir you delivered, a final act of service to the Rhodes name.” I stared at Penny’s gently rounded belly, and an eight-year-old memory flashed through my mind: the spiritualist’s final, chilling warning as I left the island. “Fortune is tethered to you. But should the day come when someone wrongs you or breaks you, your luck will drain completely, and calamity will follow.” … I hadn’t even finished my recovery period when Sterling ordered me home. Stepping into the marble foyer, the first thing I saw was the staff clearing all my belongings from the master suite. Penny stood there, her belly slightly protruding, looking at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Clara, I truly didn’t want to take your room. But my doctor insisted that pregnancy requires a space with maximum light and good qi flow—it’s crucial for prenatal education. You don’t mind, do you, dear?” Eleanor, my formerly kind and doting mother-in-law, watched me with open contempt. “After deceiving the Rhodes family for this many years, she should be grateful we haven’t shipped her back to that shantytown she came from. What right does she have to complain? All that talk of being a ‘Golden Key,’ and she couldn’t even produce a male heir. What a waste of fifteen years of our investment, and what a cruel delay for Sterling’s life.” I looked to Sterling. He was gently cradling Penny’s lower back, his gaze skimming past me. He said nothing. Penny sidled up to Eleanor, linking her arm sweetly. “Mrs. Rhodes, please don’t be upset. As the City’s premier family, the Rhodeses are bound to attract some opportunists. But since I am carrying your grandson, I can resolve this issue for you. Don’t be too hard on Clara.” Eleanor’s eyes lit up. Her tone softened instantly. “You have a truly good heart, Penny. And stop calling me Mrs. Rhodes. Soon, you’ll be calling me Mom.” Penny’s cheeks flushed pink. She turned and buried her face in Sterling’s chest. He paused for only a second before beginning to stroke her hair in a compliant, proprietary way. I stood in the opulent foyer, a stranger holding a small bag of clothes. I bent to pick up the luggage at my feet, turning toward the guest wing. Eleanor’s voice, sharp as a glass shard, cut through the air. She pointed toward a prefabricated metal shed tucked near the landscaping. “That’s your room.” I spun back to Sterling. His expression was flat. No denial. “Sterling! It’s over a 40 degrees outside! You’re putting me in the maintenance shed with the housekeeping staff!?” My voice cracked. “I accepted that you brought her home! I accepted giving up my room! But I haven’t even finished recovering from a major medical trauma! You…” The crash of a heavy vase interrupted my protest. Sterling loosened his tie, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. “Keep your voice down, Clara. Don’t ruin the peace for everyone.” He sighed, the perfect portrait of a man inconvenienced. “The guest rooms are being converted into a yoga studio, music room, and meditation space. We’re bringing in several pre-natal specialists to live here for Penny’s early education. She’s an expert in the field.” He paused. “Just see it as temporary. I’ll find a separate place for you to move into in a few days.” As the City’s wealthiest tycoon, Sterling owned properties spanning the continent. The fact that it would take him ‘a few days’ to find me a place was a calculated effort to punish me. I walked toward the sweltering metal structure, acutely aware of the contemptuous stares from the staff and my in-laws. The shed contained a few wooden cots, surrounded by scattered sandals and cleaning supplies. A broken, dust-coated fan whirred futilely, doing nothing to cut through the oppressive heat. An old plastic basin was shoved at my feet, splashing me with fetid water. “These are our uniforms. Wash them before dark and hang them outside.” I looked coldly at the housekeeper, a woman who had once knelt to adjust the train of my wedding dress. “Why should I?” She spat a mouthful of grape skins at my feet, grinning. “You still think you’re the high-and-mighty Mrs. Rhodes? Everyone knows the boss is replacing you. You’re a low-born piece of trash from a fishing village who tried to climb the ladder on the back of a superstitious lie. You have a lot more coming.” They snatched my bag and, using a broom and a mop handle to prod me, forced me into the blazing sun to wash basin after basin of clothes, socks, and even their undergarments. The sun beat down, turning my face crimson, pushing me toward unconsciousness. Through the heat haze, I looked up and saw the full-length window of the master suite. Sterling was inside. One moment he was carefully folding Penny’s clothes; the next, he was kneeling, cautiously pressing his ear to her slightly swollen belly, a picture of warm, doting devotion. When I was pregnant with our first child, he feared the housekeepers would be too clumsy to care for me. He had personally helped me dress and folded every piece of my maternity wear. “I will only ever be this devoted to you,” he’d sworn, “pregnant or not, I will wait on you like this for the rest of my life.” He had kissed my forehead with such genuine sincerity. I was naive enough to believe it was true love. Now, watching him rush to cater to the child in another woman’s womb, I understood the true extent of my foolishness. The thick, hot air pressed down, making my breathing shallow and tight. A suffocating pressure seized my chest, and I pitched forward, collapsing into the basin of soapy, gray water. Just before the blackness took me, I thought I saw his face—the man in the window—catch my eye. Was there panic? Does he still see me at all? When I woke, I was lying on a sofa. Sterling was sitting beside me, holding a glass of iced tea. He gently blew on the surface to cool it and held it to my lips. I kept my mouth shut, staring at him. “Why, Clara? What was the point? You know the entire family is furious with you. What harm is there in staying in the shed for a few days? Once this blows over, I’ll take care of you. Why are you making a spectacle right now?” My face was stark white. I managed to force out two words: “I’m making a spectacle?” He slammed the glass down, his expression hardening. “Isn’t this just attention-seeking? You deliberately put Penny’s personal laundry in with the staff’s, and then you poured pest-control spray into the basin! You know that was meant to upset her!” “She is pregnant! Did you even consider the consequences? If anything happens to this baby, it can’t be undone!” A raw, humorless laugh escaped my throat as tears streamed down my face. I whispered, “You know that a child’s loss can’t be undone.” My voice rose to a broken shout. “What about my children? The two children murdered by your family’s hands? Were those losses justified?” Sterling flinched, then his eyes turned cold as ice. “Clara, children founded on a lie shouldn’t have been kept.” A deafening roar filled my skull. All thought ceased. I felt like a stunned marionette. Founded on a lie? Shouldn’t have been kept? In his eyes, those two aborted fetuses weren’t even worthy of being called his children. I took a deep, shaky breath, pushing myself unsteadily to my feet. He reached for my hand, a flicker of something that looked like regret in his brow. “Clara, I love you. But Penny is carrying my son. Once she gives birth, I’ll pay her off handsomely and send her out of the country to pursue her education.” “But don’t try anything else. I told you, next time, you know what I’m capable of.” He strode quickly away, leaving me shivering in the suffocating heat. Twenty years of knowing him, and he had just prioritized another woman by explicitly threatening my life. I walked back to the shed, collapsing onto the foul cot. A sharp kick landed on my shin. Rosa, the head housekeeper, snarled, “Hey, Disaster. Stop slacking. Get up and finish the wash!” She raised the wooden broom handle, ready to strike. I grabbed the nearest object—a spiked high-heeled shoe—and swung it with all my remaining strength at her head. Then again. And again. I didn’t stop until her face was streaked with blood and her eyes were wide with pure terror. I surveyed the stunned staff. I spoke slowly, my voice flat. “I’m a disaster. Anyone who touches me again, I will kill them.” Surrounded by a circle of sudden, palpable fear, I let myself fall onto the wooden slats, still clutching the blood-splattered heel of the shoe. A sudden, insistent beep-beep woke me deep in the night. [Come up to the second floor. Got a little something to show you.] I took a deep breath and started walking toward the main house. A gripping, terrifying premonition had seized my heart. The moment I reached the second floor, I heard the faint sounds of gasping and moaning. The moonlight streamed through the slightly ajar door, throwing the intertwined, intimate shadows onto the wall. Sterling’s hard, muscular silhouette was clear even in the dim light. Penny’s eyes found mine, filled with a look that was both seductive and utterly provocative. “Sterling, who’s better? Me or Clara?” Sterling bit his lip, refusing to answer, but his movements grew deliberately more intense. Penny ran a finger across his chest and asked again. “Mmm… you. You’re the best.” He gasped the answer, his eyes glazed over. “Do you love me?” “Yes. I love you.” “Then when I have your son, I’ll stay here forever. Day and night. I’ll be your only Mrs. Rhodes, won’t I?” I was past pain, numb. I held my breath, waiting for the final, mortal blow. Sterling was silent for a moment, but as Penny’s hands urged him on, he surrendered completely. “Yes. Stay with me forever. You’re my only one.” On the wall directly facing the bed, our wedding portrait—the one where we were laughing into each other’s eyes—still hung. I fled the villa, swallowed whole by the inky blackness of the night. The cold shock of water woke me before dawn. Sterling leaned against the doorframe, exhaling a plume of smoke. Two security guards dragged me by my hair to his feet. “Clara, why won’t you behave?” He crushed the cigarette under his heel, grabbed my chin, and spoke with icy detachment. “The surveillance showed you entered the villa last night. This morning, we found Penny’s prenatal vitamins were switched with Mifepristone. That’s an abortifacient!” “Since you have such a cruel heart, you will never be allowed to have a child again.” A terrible premonition chilled me to the bone. My voice shook. “What are you going to do to me?” He released me and nodded to the guards, who dragged me onto the lawn. Every member of the staff surrounding us had been handed a heavy wooden dowel. Sterling turned his back and lit another cigarette. “Give the soon-to-be-ex Mrs. Rhodes a solid beating. Pay special attention to the abdomen. Make sure she understands the true meaning of a mother’s devotion.” As the cold words dropped, a barrage of blows rained down. They aimed viciously at my stomach and hips. I could feel the warm, sticky flow of blood immediately run down my legs. The extreme agony made me crawl, forgetting all dignity, to Sterling’s feet. I gripped his pants. “Sterling, I didn’t—” My legs were violently yanked out from under me. “Clara, you were a mother once. How could you try to harm an innocent child?” Penny approached, gently stroking her belly. “Oh, I forgot. Your children were either terminated or stillborn. A woman who can’t even protect her own lineage doesn’t deserve to be a mother.” She looked at the staff with a sweet, feigned confusion. “Are you all tired? You’re barely hitting her.” Rosa, the head housekeeper—the one whose head I’d split—stood at Penny’s side, her bandaged head still oozing. With the new permission, she began to kick and strike me with a horrifying ferocity. “That’s what you get for being defiant! You low-class slut who everyone has had a turn with, daring to challenge me! You deserve to be barren for life!” Sterling, who had remained indifferent with his back to me, suddenly turned when he noticed Penny near the action. He extinguished his cigarette and rushed to support her waist. “Why are you out here? The doctor said you needed bed rest.” Penny instantly transformed into a picture of fragile worry. She looked at me with what she hoped was ‘concern.’ “Maybe that’s enough, Sterling. After all, I managed to throw up the pill. Isn’t this too much?” Sterling glanced at my prone body. “She needs a lesson that will stick. She won’t learn otherwise.” I was so numb that I forgot how to struggle. Surprisingly, even the pain in my heart had dulled. As I faded into unconsciousness, I watched Sterling gently lift Penny into his arms and carry her away. His final words drifted back to me: “I’ve punished her. This is over.” I awoke in a sterile hospital room. Faint voices carried through the closed door. “Mr. Rhodes, is the former Mrs. Rhodes truly refusing surgery? If we treat her now, there’s a small chance she could conceive again. The injuries are severe, and delaying the procedure will make it impossible.” Sterling’s voice, cold and clinical, cut through the quiet. “No. No surgery. The goal is to ensure she never gets pregnant. Just make sure she’s stable, and process the discharge immediately.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small, unique talisman I had carried for years. I remembered the spiritualist’s instruction: “If you wish to sever the karmic bond and end your flow of fortune, burn this charm.” I picked up the lighter Sterling had left on the bedside table and, without a second’s hesitation, set the unique Talisman of Fate alight. Within three days, the bond would be severed, and the Rhodes family would face the ruin they had so desperately tried to avoid. The early summer sun on my body did nothing to relieve the chill in my bones. I was shoved into Sterling’s car, still in a thin hospital gown, and driven to the City’s most exclusive hotel. Security guards flanked me and threw me into the middle of a massive, high-society gala. The elite crowd—all in couture and holding crystal glasses—turned, their stares filled with shock and malicious curiosity. “Is that Mrs. Rhodes? Why is she dressed like that?” “What is this? Some kind of morbid performance art?” “Haven’t you heard the gossip? The headlines say she ‘Snapped from Grief and Obsession’—husband has a mistress, and she’s carrying his heir.” Their gazes were like razor blades, peeling away the last vestiges of my dignity. Penny, dazzling in a custom-tailored evening gown, was hanging sweetly on Sterling’s arm, gazing at me with a smirk that was anything but sweet. I tried to escape, but the bodyguards blocked every exit. A journalist, invited for the spectacle, rushed over to Sterling. “Mr. Rhodes, can we get a photo of you and the Second Mrs. Rhodes?” With her designer clothes and her proudly visible pregnancy, Penny looked every bit the legitimate socialite. In this city’s old money circles, a mistress who was publicly acknowledged was no longer just a mistress—she was the official Second Wife. She had everything but the certificate. And I, the legal wife, had nothing but the certificate. The journalist, sensing a better story, swiveled toward me. “Oh, there’s the official Mrs. Rhodes! Why don’t you join them for a family portrait?” The room erupted in suppressed laughter, waiting for the show. Sterling frowned, his voice cold. “Get over here. Help Penny stand, Clara.” I remained frozen. “Clara, I know you hate me,” Penny purred, her voice carrying across the quiet room. “But the baby is innocent. I’m willing to forgive the past. I truly hope we can all move forward and be good friends.” With a single, perfectly crafted sentence, she cast me as the unforgiving, jealous villain. “Do you know the difference between a person and a parasite?” I countered, my voice sharp. “People and parasites don’t become friends.” My retort drew a ripple of laughter across the floor. Penny’s face drained of color, then flushed crimson. She burrowed tearfully into Sterling’s chest. Sterling held her protectively, then raised his hand and struck me across the face, a hard, echoing slap that silenced the room. “Serve Penny a cup of tea. Apologize.” He wanted the legal wife to publicly submit and serve the mistress. “And if I don’t?” I wiped the blood from my lip and stared at him without flinching. He dropped his arm, his voice lethally calm. “Then we divorce.” “You will get nothing. No assets, no shares. You will be sent back to that island with nothing but the clothes on your back. And I will ensure no one in this entire City’s social circle will ever touch a discarded trophy wife who was thrown out without a cent.” He looked me over. “If you serve the tea and apologize now, I’ll pretend this never happened—” “Fine. Let’s divorce.”

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The day Alexander “Alex” Sterling chose the “true love” over me, I discovered I was pregnant. Eight months later, while he was finalizing the details for a sprawling, televised society wedding to Tiffany Reed, I was in a brutal, near-fatal delivery giving birth to Leo. Then, the news alert: Breaking: Sterling Heir, Alex Sterling, Involved in Late-Night Street Racing Crash. Tiffany Reed Seriously Injured. Sterling Permanently Sterilized. Terrified he would try to take Leo, I spent five years looking over my shoulder, disappearing into the city’s background noise. Until Eleanor Sterling’s sixtieth birthday gala. Drafted as a last-minute server, I brought Leo with me to the staff lounge. He must have slipped out, because I heard the commotion just as he ran headfirst into Eleanor. The entire ballroom went instantly, shatteringly silent. That face. It was a perfect, heartbreaking copy of Alex’s own childhood portrait. Alex pushed through the crowd, rushing toward the child. His voice was hoarse, warped with shock: “Little guy, whose son are you?” Leo was frightened, his voice catching on a sob: “Mommy… I can’t find my mommy.” “Her name is Joanna Nelson.” 1 Knock, knock, knock. My supervisor, Mr. Chan, rapped impatiently on my desk. “Joanna, the catering company for the Sterling gala is short-staffed. You’re drafted for a server shift tonight. Triple pay.” I hesitated. Eleanor Sterling’s birthday. That kind of high-society event was exactly where I risked running into people from my past. More importantly, I hated leaving Leo alone at night. “Mr. Chan, I can’t leave my son tonight…” His tone turned dismissive. “Leave him with your parents, a neighbor, or the staff lounge for God’s sake. Can’t you figure out basic childcare?” A sneering laugh came from the next cubicle. It was Brenda, the office gossip. “Oh, triple pay. I’d kill for that! Mr. Chan, you’re doing Joanna a favor, aren’t you? After all, a single mom with a kid whose paternity is a mystery always needs the cash.” Brenda’s words were cruel, but they were true. Leo was growing fast, and the cold snap meant he needed a proper winter coat. I told myself I’d only be working the external area of the hotel, far from the main ballroom. I nodded, accepting the assignment. “Thank you, Mr. Chan. I’ll do it.” “Fine. Change now. Hotel service entrance, six p.m. Don’t be late.” As I walked toward the locker room, I passed Brenda’s desk. Her voice was just loud enough—intentional, I knew—for me to hear. “Please. Unwed and pregnant. Acting like some high-and-mighty saint. She doesn’t even know where the hell his father came from. Someone probably knocked her up and tossed her.” A muffled snicker came from a nearby intern. I felt the sharp sting of heat in my eyes and couldn’t help but stop. “Brenda, you’re a mother yourself. Watch your mouth.” Brenda humphed, crossing her arms as she stood up. “My mouth isn’t clean?” “And yours is? A little tramp. Coming here acting like a virtuous maiden when we all know she was just used goods. If I were you, I’d fix myself up. Maybe some drunk millionaire at the party will be desperate enough to look past your little brat and offer to be a stepdad.” My eyes were burning. I was ready to fire back, but Mr. Chan intervened, smoothing things over. “That’s enough, Brenda. Joanna, go get your son and don’t be late for the shift.” I tilted my chin up, ruthlessly shoving the heat back down. I wouldn’t cry here. On my way out, I could still hear Brenda laughing with a colleague, their expressions flicking to me with undisguised contempt. I turned the corner and quickly wiped my eyes. Joanna, you cannot cry. For Leo, you can swallow anything. I couldn’t shake the worry of leaving Leo alone, so I brought him with me to the staff lounge at the hotel. I set him up with his favorite dinosaur picture book, snacks, and water. “Leo, Mommy has to work just outside for a little while. You play here, okay? Promise me you won’t leave this room.” Leo was always so earnest. He nodded, then asked quietly: “When will you be back?” “Very soon.” I kissed his forehead. “As soon as you finish reading this book, Mommy will be back.” “Remember, don’t run off, ever, okay?” He nodded firmly and stuck out his pinky. “Promise, cross my heart.” We completed our ritual, and only then did I feel slightly better about heading toward the main hall. Brenda and a few other female colleagues were already there, gathered near the ballroom entrance, touching up their makeup. “God, the Sterling heir is such a tragedy. Handsome, rich… why did he have to get ruined?” “I heard the Tiffany girl was the one to blame. The long-lost daughter, right? Total loose cannon. Loves to race. She almost killed herself and took him out in the process. Now the poor man’s sterile.” “If you ask me, the Sterling family is cursed. She’s a jinx. She destroyed their entire bloodline.” … Just then, a delicate, yet furious voice spoke from behind them: “Who are you calling a jinx?” Tiffany Reed glared at Brenda and the others. They went pale, bowing their heads and muttering apologies. Tiffany’s gaze swept past them until it landed on me, standing a little way off. “Joanna?” she called out, a note of startled surprise in her voice. 2 I swallowed a heavy sigh, annoyed I hadn’t slipped away fast enough. I braced myself and walked toward her. “Tiffany.” Tiffany closed the distance, her eyes raking over my cheap server uniform. She managed a smirk that was half triumphant, half sickly-sweet. “It really is you. Why are you wearing this? Are you low-tier staff? It must be exhausting.” With an overly dramatic gesture, Tiffany grabbed my arm and tried to pull me toward the main ballroom, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Come on, I’ll get you a job inside, it’s easier work. Who knows, maybe you’ll even see Mom and Dad!” She led me a few steps, then remembered the terrified huddle of Brenda and the others. Her face instantly hardened. “All of you. You’re fired. Get out of here! A bunch of filthy trash.” Brenda’s group scattered, too shocked and scared to beg. They shot daggers at my back, unable to direct their hatred at Tiffany. Inside, Tiffany stopped and wore a mask of sudden, innocent realization. “Oh, Joanna, I completely forgot. We don’t need any more staff inside right now. Only the restrooms and the trash bins need attention.” She tilted her head, enjoying the moment. “But you…” I knew this was a deliberate humiliation. But honestly, compared to the last five years I’d clawed my way through, this was nothing. “I’ll do it.” I took the cleaning supplies without preamble. I was wiping down a bin tucked away in a corner when the guest of honor, Eleanor Sterling, made her entrance. Before the crowd could swarm her with fawning compliments, Eleanor’s voice, sharp with fury, cut through the noise. “How can I have a long life when my son’s future is destroyed!” I looked up. Five years hadn’t touched Alex; he was still impossibly handsome, but his face was etched with a new, dark shadow of perpetual gloom. The inability to have children had clearly broken him. Alex stood silent. Tiffany offered a nervous, careful smile. “Mom, don’t get upset. It’s bad for your health…” “Don’t call me Mom!” Eleanor roared, cutting her off. “I can’t bear it! If you hadn’t insisted on that ridiculous street racing, Alex wouldn’t have been in that accident! What terrible luck has the Sterling family had? Our son, ruined. You destroyed the Sterling line!” Eleanor turned her wrath on the silent Mr. and Mrs. Reed. “And you two! You brought back some… some fraud. Now you’ve ruined my son! Are you happy?” The Reeds’ apologetic murmurs were lost in the lavish room. Eleanor was becoming hysterical, years of pent-up resentment finally erupting. “That Joanna girl you two raised, she was quiet, decent, and respectable! It was Alex who lost his mind, insisting on bringing this jinx into our house! I regret it! I regret it all!” Tiffany’s face went even paler, a mix of sheer hatred and mortification crossing her features, especially when Eleanor mentioned me. She quickly diverted the attention. “Mom, you won’t believe the coincidence. You just mentioned Joanna. I ran into her here today!” Before I could react, Tiffany grabbed my arm and dragged me into the center of the ballroom. The spotlight was unforgiving. My coarse uniform, the half-wet cleaning rag still clutched in my hand, were starkly visible. I felt a rare rush of shame, but forced a greeting. “Hello, Mrs. Sterling. Mr. and Mrs. Reed.” Eleanor stared at me, her eyes complex. The words of praise she’d just spoken seemed to hang awkwardly in the air. The Reeds were stunned. After a beat of deafening silence, a light, contemptuous laugh was heard. Soon, low, mocking comments spread through the gathered guests. “Oh my God, is that her? The one who used to follow Alex around?” “Look at that uniform. That’s the lowest-tier housekeeping staff. And she’s still holding that filthy rag! Tiffany calls her ‘sister’? I’d have security toss her out. What a bad omen.” “I heard she got a massive payout when they broke up. How is she this broke? Must have blown it all on some loser boyfriend.” … The waves of humiliation were about to drown me when— “Quiet.” I hadn’t expected Alex to intervene. His expression was flat, but his gaze swept the room with such cold authority that the crowd immediately fell silent. He turned back to me, his tone almost gentle, pitying. “Joanna, why are you working as a cleaner? I thought I gave you a substantial amount when we broke up.” Money? I looked up at him, bewildered. In five years, I hadn’t received a cent. After giving birth to Leo, I couldn’t even afford the rent. I’d been out taking odd jobs before my six weeks were up. I opened my mouth and instinctively whispered the question: “…What money?” Those two quiet words were a thunderclap. Alex’s pupils instantly constricted. The shock was impossible to hide. His gaze snapped to Tiffany. “Tiffany, where is the money?” 3 Tiffany stammered, choked on an excuse, and frantically looked to her mother. Mrs. Reed instantly stepped forward, reaching out to take my arm, but I subtly pulled away. Her hand hung awkwardly in the air before she recovered and scolded me with a forced affection. “Oh, Joanna, you silly girl! You left in such a hurry back then! We’ve had that money set aside for you all this time, just waiting for the right moment. It’s a complete misunderstanding, darling!” Mr. Reed nervously rubbed his hands together, nodding frantically. “Yes, yes! We never forgot!” The lie was transparent, riddled with holes. Alex’s face went dark. His eyes were like cold steel on Tiffany. “Three hundred million dollars. Every cent. You have until noon tomorrow to deposit it into Joanna’s account. Fail to do so, and you can stop pretending to be a Sterling.” Tiffany was aghast that Alex would be so ruthless, forcing her hand in front of this entire crowd. She shot me a look so venomous I could practically taste the acid. She managed a strained smile for Alex. “Alex, I was just so negligent. You don’t have to worry. I’ll handle it tomorrow.” I sighed. I just wanted out of this mess. All I wanted was to take Leo and live our quiet life. “The money is unnecessary. I can provide for myself now.” “I still have work to do. Please excuse me.” Without looking back, I headed for the corner. The ballroom returned to a muted buzz. Clutching the mop and bucket, I returned to cleaning. One more stall in the restroom, and I could take Leo home. Suddenly, I heard shouting outside. Tiffany’s shriek cut through the noise: “How is this possible? It was right here on my wrist! That diamond bracelet is fifty million dollars!” “It’s gone!” A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. A wave of ominous foreboding washed over me. The next second, I heard Tiffany continue, her voice low and calculating: “Just now… only Joanna was close to me. The bracelet was still there right before I walked her in from the entrance. Could it be…” Tiffany didn’t have to finish the sentence. The door to my stall was violently shoved open. Two massive security guards grabbed me. “I didn’t do it!” I cried out. “I’ve been working this entire time. I haven’t touched anything that wasn’t mine.” I struggled desperately, but I was easily overpowered and dragged back toward the ballroom floor. Tiffany hurried forward, putting on a pretense of distressed apology. “Sister, I’m so sorry! I truly am!” “But this bracelet is irreplaceable. I only need to check. If it’s not on you, I’ll tell them to release you immediately. I’ll even apologize!” Despite her gentle words, her actions were precise. She reached immediately for my right pocket. Under the cruel glow of the chandeliers, in front of every single person present, the diamond bracelet was pulled out. The entire ballroom erupted in gasps, followed by a torrent of disgusted whispers and judgmental glares. Tiffany stumbled backward, feigning shock and profound disappointment. She clutched the bracelet. “Sister, how could you…?” “If you needed money, you only had to ask! How could you resort to… stealing?” At that moment, the police and venue security arrived. The evidence was irrefutable, played out under the harsh, public eye. I looked around in a panic, my voice a desperate, choked whisper. “It’s not me! I swear, it’s not! I don’t know how that got into my pocket!” Frantic, I grabbed the sleeve of Alex’s suit. I was so helpless, so terrified, I could only plead with him. “Alex, we grew up together! You know me!” “I am not a thief! Alex, please, you have to help me!” “I didn’t take it! This is a setup!” Tears streamed down my face. Alex looked at my wet, pleading eyes, his own expression complex. He reached up, gently wiping a tear from my cheek. His voice was chillingly devoid of warmth. “Joanna, you know the rule.” “I only trust the facts.” 4 Alex didn’t believe me. The lead officer didn’t hesitate, stepping forward to address me gravely. “Ma’am, we suspect you are involved in the theft of a high-value item. Please come with us to the precinct to assist with the investigation.” Click. The cold, metallic handcuffs snapped shut on my wrists. I stared at Alex, unable to speak. The old wounds ripped open, a fresh, painful ache in my chest that made me sway. We had been inseparable since childhood. He once swore he would always protect me. Why? Why did he keep hurting me like this? As the officers escorted me away, Tiffany leaned in close, her voice a low, triumphant hiss that only I could hear. “Bitch, you really think you can win against me?” I was led away and pushed into the back of a police cruiser. Meanwhile, back in the staff lounge, Brenda and her friends were sullenly gathering their things. “It’s that Joanna’s fault. She was probably trying to get us fired! She saw them coming and didn’t warn us!” The intern chimed in, “Serves her right to get arrested as a thief! I hope they lock her up for ten years. Let’s see her flaunt that little brat then!” Brenda had lost her job and was seething. She zipped her bag shut, her teeth grinding. Just as they were about to leave, Brenda’s eye caught a small figure in the corner. It was Leo. He was still being a good boy, quietly flipping through his old picture book. A malicious idea instantly seized Brenda. She dropped her bag and pasted a fake smile on her face, walking over to Leo. “Leo, honey, reading your picture book? You’re so good.” Leo was shy but polite. “Hello, Auntie.” “Aww. Leo, Auntie has to tell you something. Your mommy was just taken away by the police officers in uniform. They said your mommy did something bad.” “What?” The picture book slipped from Leo’s hands. He frantically shook his head, his voice high and thin with panic. “Mommy doesn’t do bad things!” “Auntie believes you, too. That’s why you have to go save her!” Brenda pointed toward the main ballroom. “Leo, don’t cry. See that way? Run toward the brightest, loudest place. Go in there, and find a… a very glamorous old lady who looks the most important!” “Find her, and you beg her to save your mommy! Tell her to make the police let your mommy go!” “Remember, she’s the only one who can help your mommy!” Leo was too young, too distraught to register the malice in Brenda’s words. “Thank you, Auntie!” he cried. He didn’t even stop to pick up his book. He bolted toward the ballroom. Brenda watched him go, a twisted, triumphant smile spreading across her face. Her friends crowded around, slightly worried. “B-Brenda, will he be okay?” “Okay? What could happen? He might annoy the Sterlings and make Joanna’s life harder in jail. If the little brat gets lost, it has nothing to do with us.” Brenda walked out, leading her relieved group. Leo was terrified, but the need to save me was a primal urge. He ran blindly into the main ballroom. He instantly saw her: the imposing old woman in the center, surrounded by fawning people. She was sparkling, and everyone deferred to her. That’s her! Leo didn’t hesitate. Saving Mommy was all that mattered. He ran with all his strength, pushing through the barrier of adults, crashing into Eleanor Sterling. Eleanor staggered, only caught by an attendant’s quick reflexes. She looked down, her angry words freezing in her throat. “Oh my… who is this child…” That face! The entire room went instantly, shatteringly silent. His eyes, his nose, his brow—they were the exact, tiny replica of her son, Alex, when he was small. At that moment, Alex rushed over. He saw Leo’s face, scooped him up in disbelief, and asked in a voice raw with emotion: “Little guy, whose son are you?” Leo, frightened by the sudden attention, sobbed into Alex’s shoulder. “Sir, please save my mommy! The police took her!” “Mommy… I can’t find my mommy.” “Her name is Joanna Nelson.”

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The night before our engagement party, I found the adoption papers in Nolan Rhys’s jacket pocket. The name listed under “Child to be Adopted” was the son of his late squadron mate. Nolan, my fiancé, was going to be the child’s legal father. I didn’t choose the high road. I didn’t pretend to be the magnanimous woman, throwing the documents in his face demanding an explanation. Instead, I waited. Nolan spent the entire night on the rooftop, the scent of expensive cigar smoke thick on the air, battling his conscience. He walked into the living room at dawn, his eyes red-rimmed. “I owe Mac, Ellie,” he said, the words heavy with the weight of his aviator’s code. “It’s a debt. I have to give that boy a stable home, a name.” Eight years. I’d loved him for eight years. To have him ask me to concede our future for a guilt-driven obligation to someone else’s child—I couldn’t swallow it. I put on my bespoke ivory gown and let the engagement party proceed as planned. The speeches were just wrapping up when his best friend, Liam, burst through the ballroom doors. “Nolan!” Liam’s face was a mask of panic. “Serra—Serra Hayes is on the roof with Finn! She says the child can’t live without a father!” The champagne flute I was lifting, ready to toast my parents, slipped. It hit the marble floor with a sharp, sickening crash. Nolan was already sprinting toward the exit, a blur of tailored tuxedo. I watched him go, my throat tight. “Nolan Rhys!” I shouted after him, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. “You walk out that door, and I promise you, I’m closing it forever!” He paused, a momentary tremor in his spine, but his feet kept moving. He was gone. He chose them. …… I stood suspended in the middle of the dance floor, the fragments of glass and spilled wine around me, still holding the bottle of celebratory champagne. The live band music died. Every eye in the room was fixed on me. Nolan’s parents were ashen. They rushed over, his mother clutching my hand. “Eleanor, that bastard! We’ll go drag him back here!” I shook my head, my control absolute. I placed the bottle back on the linen-draped table. “No, Mrs. Rhys. Let him go.” My own parents approached, my mother’s eyes already welling up. “What kind of stunt is this? Where do we put our face, Ellie?” I stepped down from the dais. “I’m taking you home, Mom. Dad.” The whole scene dissolved into chaos. Liam, Nolan’s friend, stood nearby, his face crumpled with guilt. “Ellie, I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. But Serra was really unstable. She was going to do it.” I just looked at him, saying nothing. Liam and Nolan had been inseparable since childhood, and they shared the same fierce loyalty to their fallen squadron mate, Mac Harding. They saw Mac’s widow, Seraphina Hayes, and her son, Finn, as a sacred trust. But a grieving relative doesn’t pick the exact moment of a man’s engagement to stage a suicide threat. It was a calculated detonation. I retrieved my clutch and walked out. My phone vibrated endlessly inside the bag. I didn’t need to look. I knew it was Nolan. He would explain. He would apologize. He would tell me how fragile Serra and Finn were and how he had to go. After eight years, I knew his playbook. His sense of duty to his wingman’s memory was his personal North Star, one that eclipsed all others. Mac had crashed covering Nolan’s fighter jet. That guilt had been a three-year-long weight on his chest. I used to admire that devotion. I used to believe that him taking care of them was a noble, necessary thing. Until he decided to put that child’s name on his own legal documents. Until today. I finally understood the truth: that particular line of responsibility had been crossed long ago. I returned to my apartment, peeling off the ruined couture gown and slipping into my scrubs and white coat. I’m a cardiac thoracic surgeon at the City Medical Center. If Serra was serious enough to be hospitalized after a suicide attempt, she’d be coming through our doors. I drove to the hospital. The rooftop access was roped off with caution tape. Nolan was inside, holding little Finn, who was wrapped in a blanket. Serra sat beside them, eyes swollen and red. Nolan looked up and saw me. Holding the child, he stood instantly. His eyes were layered with a thick, cloying apology. “Ellie, you came. I—I’m so sorry about tonight.” “How is the patient?” I cut him off, looking past him to Serra. “She’s fine. Just shaken up. Finn, too.” I nodded. “Good.” I turned to leave. Nolan grabbed my arm. “Ellie, don’t be like this. Mac died for me. I can’t abandon his wife and child. They’re helpless. They’re just… pitiable.” I pulled my arm free. “Nolan, I’m not angry. I’m just realizing that our engagement party wasn’t as important as a woman you’ve known for three years and her son.” “That’s not it! Ellie, you are the most important person to me! But they were threatening to die!” “The police said it was a low-probability threat.” I met his gaze, my voice flat. Nolan’s jaw worked, but he had no reply. Then, Serra walked over, still clutching the blanket. She looked up at me timidly. “Dr. Sterling, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I didn’t—didn’t mean it to be like that. I just saw the two of you, and it reminded me of Mac and me, and I just completely lost it.” She began to sob, shaking uncontrollably, looking on the verge of collapse. “I ruined your engagement. I apologize.” Nolan immediately handed Finn to Liam and put his arm around Serra, stabilizing her. “Stop, you need to calm down. Your health is what matters.” He looked at me, and his eyes held a flash of reproach. “Can’t you try to be a little understanding, Ellie? Look at her state.” I didn’t say another word. I simply turned and walked away. Outside the main doors, the night air hit my face. Only then did I realize: my hands were trembling. The next morning, Nolan showed up at my door with coffee and a bag of high-end pastries. I opened the door but stood blocking the entrance. He held out the bag. “Ellie, I’m apologizing for Serra. She had a genuine breakdown yesterday. It wasn’t calculated.” “Can’t she apologize for herself?” Nolan paused. “Her state is really poor. And little Finn has a fever.” “Nolan, let’s talk about us. Forget her. What about the engagement? What do we tell our friends and family?” He went silent. After a moment, he said, “We wait for the dust to settle, and then we re-do it.” “Re-do it?” I stared at him. “You think this is something we can just reschedule, like a reservation?” “What else can we do? It happened. Ellie, I know this is rough on you, but she just lost her husband. She’s alone with a child. Can we just have a little more patience, please?” Patience. That word again. I took the pastries and set them on the entryway table. “I understand. Go. They need you.” Nolan visibly relaxed, believing I had conceded. “I knew you’d come around. Don’t worry. When they’re stabilized, I will make this up to you. Everything.” He left. I picked up the breakfast and dropped it, untouched, into the trash. Then I went to work. Near the Pediatric wing, I saw him. Nolan was holding Finn, his brow furrowed with concern, while Serra walked beside him, her face a mask of anxiety. Nolan’s expression was awkward when he saw me. Serra immediately ducked her head, playing the role of the chastened victim. I ignored them both and headed to my office. That afternoon, Dr. Kaplan, my department chair and former mentor, tracked me down. “Ellie, I need you to consult on the Hayes boy. Finn. He’s got some cardiac issues, and we need a surgical opinion.” I frowned. “I’m a cardiac-thoracic surgeon, not pediatric cardio.” “I know, but you’re the best we have, and this case is complicated. Just take a look.” Dr. Kaplan was my teacher, and I couldn’t refuse. I went to the room. Finn lay in bed, his skin pale. Serra sat at the bedside. When she saw me, the tears started instantly. “Dr. Sterling, please, save Finn. He’s all Mac left behind.” I picked up the chart and flipped through the reports. “Congenital Ventricular Septal Defect. The hole isn’t large, but the location is bad. It’s a high-risk surgery.” Nolan stood beside me, his entire body tense. “How high is the risk?” “A thirty percent intra-operative mortality rate,” I said, closing the chart. Nolan’s color drained. Serra immediately collapsed to the floor. “How could this happen… how could this happen…” Nolan lifted her up, then turned to me, his voice sharp with command. “Ellie Sterling, you will do this surgery, and you will succeed!” I looked at him, leveling my gaze. “Nolan, I’m a surgeon, not a miracle worker. I can only inform you of the risk; I can’t guarantee an outcome.” “I don’t care!” he shouted, his voice rising. “Mac died for me! His son will be saved! If you’re not confident, you find the best surgeon in the country! I’ll pay any amount!” The entire room turned to look at us. I kept silent. At that moment, Serra grabbed the sleeve of my white coat. “Dr. Sterling, I’m begging you. I know you resent me for the engagement. If you hate me, take it out on me, but the child is innocent. You can’t fail him because of me…” Her words were a master stroke of emotional blackmail. The buzzing whispers started immediately. “That’s her, the fiancée of the pilot who ran out on the engagement.” “Wow. What a mess. Do you think the doctor will use this to get back at them?” Nolan’s face was thunderous. He looked me dead in the eye, saying each word with icy control: “Eleanor Sterling, if you use this child’s life to play games, we are finished.” My heart plummeted, the coldness spreading to my bones. I looked at him, then at Serra, and then I nodded. “Fine. I’ll do the surgery.” I added, “But you will sign a full liability release, and we will formally upgrade the surgical risk level. Every relevant department in the hospital will be notified to prepare for the worst. Nolan froze. Serra stopped crying. “What are you saying?” Nolan asked. “I’m saying I want the entire hospital to know exactly how high-risk this is, and that you, Nolan Rhys, required me to perform it. If the child dies on the table, the responsibility is not mine. It’s yours.” Every word was measured and clear. Nolan’s fists clenched. He stared at me, his eyes filled with disbelief and rage. “Eleanor, I never thought you were this kind of person.” I smiled, a thin, brittle thing. “You know now, don’t you?” I slapped the chart against his chest. “Decide, and go sign the papers.” I turned and walked out. In the pocket of my white coat, my hand was shaking so badly I couldn’t make a fist. We entered a cold war. Nolan didn’t call. I didn’t call. He was busy with Serra and Finn, preparing for the surgery. Our unit-assigned home, the one we had meticulously furnished and planned to move into after the engagement, sat empty. I went there alone. The house was large and silent. We had picked out every piece of furniture together. I sat on the couch for hours, in the middle of our suspended future. A week later, the surgery was scheduled. The pre-op consult included me, Dr. Kaplan, Nolan, and Serra. I detailed every conceivable risk: post-op complications, and the worst-case scenario. Serra’s face was white. Nolan signed the papers. He looked up at me after he finished. “Ellie, I trust you.” I ignored him. On the day of the procedure, Nolan and Serra stood vigil outside the OR doors. I changed into my scrubs and entered the sterile field. Washing my hands, I caught my reflection in the steel mirror. My eyes were bloodshot. I had barely slept for a week. I had reviewed Finn’s charts, scans, and images over a hundred times, modeling dozens of approaches. I wasn’t doing this for Nolan. I was doing it for the oath of the white coat. The surgery lasted eight grueling hours. It was more difficult than the imaging suggested. The defect was trickier, surrounded by vital vessels and nerves. Every movement was a walk on a razor’s edge. When I stitched the final layer and stepped out of the OR, my legs felt like rubber. Dr. Kaplan steadied me. “Well done, Ellie. Textbook success.” I nodded. Nolan and Serra rushed forward instantly. “How is he?” “The surgery was successful. He’s been transferred to the ICU,” I said. Serra sobbed with relief, burying her face into Nolan’s chest, crying and laughing at the same time. Nolan looked at me, his eyes unreadable. “Ellie, thank you.” He stepped forward, reaching out to embrace me. I took a deliberate step back, dodging his touch. “Don’t thank me. It’s my job.” I pulled off my surgical cap, my voice heavy with exhaustion. “Nolan, I came here to tell you something. I don’t want the house.” He froze. “What does that mean?” “The unit-assigned house. The one that’s in your name until we married. I don’t want it anymore.” “Why? The surgery was successful! It’s our home!” “I’m afraid that one day, Ms. Hayes’s son will have another midnight fever, and you’ll decide she needs a home more than I do.” Nolan’s face darkened. “Eleanor, do you have to be so cruel? You have to stab at me right now?” “Am I wrong?” “That’s different! That was a matter of life and death!” “Was the shame on my parents’ faces at the engagement not a kind of death? Are my eight years of devotion not a kind of life?” My questions silenced him. Finally, he took a deep, shaky breath. “Fine, Eleanor. If you think that, I’ll prove you wrong.” He looked at me, every word a deliberate, crushing blow. “From today, I’m moving Serra and Finn into that house. I’ll put them in the guest suite.” My mind went instantly, utterly blank. “What did you say?” “I said I’m moving Serra in!” He raised his voice, trying to convince me, or perhaps himself. “She can’t manage alone! The child just had major surgery and needs care! If they’re under our roof, I can supervise them, and you can see that nothing is happening! That’ll settle your mind!” I looked at him as if he were a stranger. “Nolan, you’re insane.” “I’m not! I’m perfectly clear! I will not let Mac’s son be displaced!” Every word was a nail driven into my heart. A profound weariness, the kind that permeates the bone marrow, washed over me. “All right,” I said. “Move them in.” Nolan seemed stunned that I agreed. I took the keys to the house out of my pocket and placed them on a nearby chair. “Here’s the key. It’s yours.” “From now on, this is your home with your squadron mate’s widow.” “I wish you both a happy life.” I stood up and walked away from the corridor that was supposed to lead to my future. As I pulled the heavy glass door of the ICU entrance shut, I thought I heard the sound of something—a chair, maybe—smashing inside. My tears finally fell. Eight years. It was over.

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That New Year’s Eve afternoon, my best friend Sasha’s floral shop received an order from my husband. I stared at the name on the shop’s mobile ordering app—three times, just to be sure. It was definitely Dean, my husband, who was supposedly away on a business trip. But the recipient wasn’t me. I dialed his number for a video call. It rang for a long time before he finally answered. Before I could launch my interrogation, Sasha, with a forced smile, squeezed into the frame. “Not even coming home for the holiday, Dean? What kind of apology gift are you sending Brooke?” she chirped, saving me from myself. The room behind him was pitch-black. Dean had the sheets pulled over his head, only his eyes visible, and the corner of his mouth twitched unnaturally. “Babe, I am so sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you when I get back.” “I pulled an all-nighter yesterday. I’m exhausted. Just going back to sleep for a bit.” The interruption had given me a moment to calm the frantic beating in my chest. I mumbled a few non-committal words and hung up. I picked up the packaged bouquet and headed for the door. “I’ll take this delivery.” 1 The delivery address wasn’t far from the shop—a newly developed, upscale apartment called The Bluffs. The security guard stopped me at the gate. “No outside deliveries allowed past this point.” I pulled out Sasha’s shop phone and dialed the number on the order, putting on a slightly saccharine voice to explain the situation. Dean’s voice, clear and loud, came over the speaker. “This is Dean Sterling, owner of Unit 1603 in Building Five. She can come in.” The guard nodded, logged my license, and waved me through. Ding. The elevator door opened onto a plush, silent hallway. I took a deep, shaky breath. “I’ll go the rest of the way myself.” Sasha nodded, walking toward the nearby stairwell. “Yell if you need me.” I started the video recording on my phone, then pressed the doorbell. Dean’s muffled voice called out, “Honey, can you grab that?” A moment later, the door swung open. The woman on the other side froze. “Lily’s mom?” I, too, was stunned. This was Chloe Vance, Lily’s former art teacher. She had left her job six months ago, citing a difficult pregnancy. Was she carrying my husband’s child? Her gaze dropped to the flowers in my hand, then back up to mine. A slow, almost triumphant smile spread across her face—a mix of bashful pride and subtle provocation. “Lily’s mom, are you… doing deliveries now?” she asked, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. She wore a long, loose-fitting sleep dress. Her belly was dramatically, undeniably round. The paper wrapped around the flowers crumpled under the sudden, desperate tension in my grip. She reached out to take the bouquet, her expression all-too-solicitous. “Thank you so much. It must be freezing out. Why don’t you come in and warm up?” “I’d love to. Thank you for offering.” She faltered, clearly not expecting me to accept so readily. Her eyes darted quickly toward the kitchen before she smiled again and opened the shoe cabinet, pulling out a pair of slippers. The cabinet was full of men’s shoes. One pair—a pair of Italian leather oxfords I’d bought Dean last month—was right on top. They were the exact shoes he’d worn when he left for his supposed ‘trip.’ On a small console in the foyer was a framed, slightly cheesy photo of the two of them. Chloe inhaled the scent of the roses. “My husband is such a romantic. He never forgets a holiday. Always surprising me.” I gave a cold, small laugh. “Does he send flowers for tax day, too?” She paused, mouth half-open, then snapped back, slightly defensive. “Tough times since the divorce, huh? The socialite turned delivery driver.” I scanned the apartment’s open-concept living area. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the winter sun set over the sweeping panorama of Lake Bluffs. The view was breathtaking, but all I could feel was a profound, icy ache. A thousand tiny needles of pain spread through my body. “It is,” I agreed smoothly. “Not everyone can snag a successful CEO and climb the socioeconomic ladder the way you did, Chloe.” With the truth laid bare, her mask of politeness dissolved into smug satisfaction. “Dean would have divorced you years ago if it wasn’t for Lily. But my baby is more important. The moment I told him I was pregnant, he filed the papers.” “Filed the papers?” I asked, feeling a strange calm settle over the shock. “Don’t play dumb. Dean told me everything. He only goes back once a month to keep up appearances for Lily. Now that you’ve seen us, just be smart about this. Stop trying to cling to him.” She lifted her chin, radiating confidence. “I know exactly how women like you operate.” Just then, Dean emerged from the kitchen, carefully carrying a bowl of freshly brewed chicken soup. He put it on the dining table, then reached for a ladle. He hadn’t seen me yet. Chloe wrapped her arm around his, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Honey, we have a guest.” Dean turned. The moment he saw me, his hand jerked, and the porcelain bowl crashed onto the hardwood floor, shattering into sharp pieces. “What are you doing here!” he yelled. Chloe sighed a showy, theatrical sigh. “Lily’s mom is having a hard time. She’s delivering flowers now.” Dean glanced at the bouquet on the table, realizing that the delivery voice on the intercom had sounded vaguely familiar. He paled, stumbling toward me. He reached out, panicked. “Brooke, let me explain, this—” Chloe yanked his arm back, staking her claim. “You two are divorced, Dean. What’s there to explain?” “Lily’s mom, Dean will cover the child support for Lily, but don’t be pathetic and try to chase after him.” I held Dean’s gaze, my voice steady. “We are getting divorced,” I said, not as a question, but as a final decree. 2 Dean yanked his arm free of Chloe and grabbed mine, pulling me toward the exit. “We need to talk outside. Chloe is heavily pregnant; don’t frighten her.” Chloe gasped, then slid her foot—perhaps intentionally—onto a shard of porcelain. She lost her balance and crashed to the floor, grabbing Dean’s pant leg. “Dean! My stomach!” Dean’s focus instantly shifted. He hoisted her up frantically. “Chloe, don’t panic. I’m taking you to the hospital.” His elbow slammed into my lower back as he spun away, sending a jolt of searing pain through me. “Ah!” Dean paused, looking back over his shoulder for a split second. “Brooke…” Chloe let out a pained whimper, cutting him off. He looked down at the agony on her face, his features contorted with concern, and sped toward the door. I walked out slowly, Sasha rushing over from the stairwell to steady me. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” I lied. Sasha held up her phone, showing me a conversation with her brother, a corporate lawyer. “I told Grant to start looking into any suspicious asset transfers. Just in case.” I nodded gratefully, sending her the video I’d just recorded. “The woman is Chloe Vance, Lily’s former art teacher. Have Grant draft a full divorce agreement for me now.” “I’ll take you home.” Sasha insisted I was in no state to drive. She drove me home, then took Lily to her place for a couple of days. Grant was astonishingly fast. The moment I got home, the initial documents landed in my inbox. The house and car in Chloe’s name, plus wire transfers, amounted to nearly seven million dollars. A year ago, Dean had told me the subsidiary needed him to travel constantly. Turns out, he was establishing a luxurious second life with Chloe the entire time. I immediately called the company’s CFO. “Mr. Wallace, please send me the financial statements for the main company and all subsidiaries for the last three years.” “Mrs. Sterling, company financials are confidential. You don’t have the authority to view them.” “I am a majority shareholder!” There was a two-second pause on the line. “I will need to get Mr. Sterling’s signed approval before releasing any documents to you, Madam.” Good. Very good. Since my first pregnancy, I had retreated from the business world, spending my days shopping, getting spa treatments, and raising my daughter. Everyone thought I had simply married well. It seemed even Dean had forgotten that I was still the company’s largest shareholder—and had the authority to fire him at any moment. I started clearing out the house. I threw open the walk-in closet and pulled Dean’s clothes out, one by one, tossing them onto the floor, tearing and stomping on them like a madwoman until the fury subsided into exhaustion. As I emptied the last shelf, a small, clear storage bin slid out of the corner. It contained all the things Dean had given me during our four years in college. A tulip-shaped LED nightlight. A backpack he’d sewn himself. A silver hair clip he’d designed. Jars filled with paper stars on which he’d written out sweet memories. His family hadn’t had money then. He couldn’t afford expensive gifts, so most of them were things he’d made by hand. I hugged the bin to my chest and cried until the sun came up. The next day, my mother-in-law (MIL) and sister-in-law (SIL) stormed into the chaotic apartment, immediately launching into a loud tirade. “Brooke Sterling, have you lost your mind? You smashed all this expensive stuff! Do you think my son earns money easily? Why did he marry a wastrel like you? You couldn’t even give him a son, and now you can’t manage a home!” My MIL saw me and her hand lashed out, delivering a stinging slap across my face. “You bitch! You almost hurt my grandson!” “You gave us a useless girl and now you think you can put on airs in front of Chloe? You know what? Be smart, divorce my son, and get out of the Sterling family.” The SIL started emptying the kitchen cabinets, filling designer bags with things like expensive supplements and imported vitamins. “These good things are wasted on her, Mom. Let’s take them to our new daughter-in-law. She needs to recover.” The MIL rushed to the kitchen, joining the grab-and-stuff operation. “Yes, Chloe is the great hero of our family. She needs to be well nourished.” My MIL didn’t even look at Lily the day she was born, furious that I hadn’t given her a boy. But I wasn’t focused on her attitude. I was focused on the revelation: Chloe had given birth? “Where is Dean?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. My MIL spat. “He’s with my grandson, of course! I’m warning you, if anything happens to that boy, I’ll hold you responsible!” 3 Chloe had given birth to a boy. My entire extended family had known about the affair for months, conspiring to keep it from me. Dean finally came home that afternoon, his eyes bloodshot with fatigue, his expression a mask of impatience. “My mother took a few things from the house, and you called the police? It’s my money that bought those things. What’s the big deal if my mother takes them?!” “Clean yourself up and come with me to the police station to clear this up.” I had waited until the MIL and SIL left, then called the police, reporting the theft. The security camera footage clearly showed them stealing items worth well over the felony threshold. The police had found them at the hospital. Dean was there alone, juggling the baby and Chloe’s post-delivery needs. He was overwhelmed. He had finally managed to hire a postpartum nurse, which was the only reason he had time to come home and settle the score with me. I looked at him and let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Your money?” He seemed genuinely amused, his tone mocking. “Whose else would it be? If I hadn’t held the company together all these years, it would have collapsed. I’ve been supporting you. You’ve had over a decade of luxury.” “I need an heir for a company this size. You couldn’t have another child. Just stick to being Mrs. Sterling, and no one can threaten your position.” I pointed to our framed family photo on the mantelpiece. “Isn’t Lily your child?” “What use is a girl? She’ll just belong to someone else eventually.” A fresh, horrifying wave of dread washed over me. Belong to someone else? “Dean,” I whispered, my heart racing, “Did you only approach me in college because of my family’s company?” Dean stepped closer, grabbing my hands, his voice dropping to a fake, soft tone. “Brooke, I do love you.” I pulled my hands away and slapped the printed divorce agreement onto his chest. “Sign it.” He glanced at the document, then tossed it onto the floor, sneering. “Brooke, look around. How many men out there don’t have mistresses, or even multiple small families? I made one little mistake, and you want to throw away our marriage?” “Stop being dramatic. My mother wanted a grandson, and you can’t have another child. I had no choice. What’s the big deal? We can even bring him back when he’s a bit older and raise him here.” He spoke as if he were commenting on the weather. I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. I reacted instinctively, slapping him hard across the face, then again. “You Asshole.” He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. “Wife, I know you’re angry. But how will you survive without me? You’ll really go back to delivering flowers?” “Don’t forget, this company is my family’s now.” Dean snorted, a sharp, dismissive sound. “Don’t be naive. After a decade, the people at the company won’t listen to you. They are loyal to me.” “We can fix this. I promise, no one will ever threaten your position as my wife. I won’t short-change Lily, either.” “But if I don’t agree, you won’t get custody of Lily. Can you really let her grow up in a broken home, all because of your pride?” The irony was sickening. He hadn’t thought about Lily when he cheated, but he was willing to use her as a moral hostage now. My father had given Dean a 10% share when we married, hoping he would protect me. Now that stake was Dean’s weapon against me. Before marrying Dean, I had hidden my family’s wealth. After graduation, we both started working at the company. I found out I was pregnant right as we were both competing for executive roles. My father, overjoyed, quickly arranged a wedding and ordered me to focus on my health. He passed away suddenly soon after. The stress led to a miscarriage, and I spiraled into severe depression. Dean cared for me, all while stepping in to manage the company. He promised to protect my father’s legacy. I believed him. I worked with the other shareholders to elect him as CEO and Chairman. At the time, I truly wasn’t capable of running things. I became the envied Mrs. Sterling, and eventually, I gave birth to a beautiful daughter. Because of the child I lost, I was fiercely protective of Lily. Dean knew all this. That’s why he thought he could use her to control me. “Dean, you’re the naive one,” I said, turning my back on him. “Not me.” 4 A few days later, I exercised my rights as the majority shareholder, issuing a comprehensive notice of Dean’s immediate dismissal from all executive roles, and announcing that I would be taking over all company affairs. The email landed in every employee’s inbox. I put on a professional suit that hadn’t seen the light of day in years and walked into the lobby of Sterling & Co. The receptionist, a young woman who had been hired recently, stopped me. “Ma’am, who are you here to see?” I hadn’t been in the office in at least five years. Most employees wouldn’t recognize me. “I am Brooke Sterling. I’m here to work.” “Brooke Sterling?” The receptionist mumbled my name, then her eyes widened as she recalled the morning’s explosive email. “You’re the new Chairman!” She respectfully scrambled to open the main security doors for me. The elevator climbed to the 26th floor. The doors slid open, and Dean, flanked by a group of key shareholders, was waiting for me. He wore a patronizing, confident smile, clearly ready to dismiss me as an amateur. The first to speak was an older man, Mr. Wallace, who had worked alongside my father for years and had watched me grow up. He adopted a stern, paternal tone. “Brooke, Dean has told us everything. You’re being utterly ridiculous! You can’t let a small marital spat spill over into the company like this. The Chairman position is too important to be used as a political statement!” The surrounding employees, drawn by the commotion, laughed quietly. “The CEO’s wife probably can’t even read a balance sheet.” “Why can’t she just stay home with the kid? What’s the point of this scene?” “I know her type. She’s just worried her husband will leave her. This is just a performance.” The other shareholders chimed in with friendly-sounding advice. “Mrs. Sterling, the Chairman’s seat is not a joke. You should go home to your daughter.” “Brooke, Sterling & Co. has grown so much under Dean’s leadership. Why rock the boat?” “The company doesn’t belong just to you. What right do you have to make this kind of decision?” Dean smiled confidently and stepped forward to play the benevolent victim. “It’s my fault. I upset Brooke, and she’s reacted to it. I apologize to everyone for this disruption.” “Nonsense, Dean. This is between you two, we won’t get involved.” “Brooke, don’t make these jokes again!” The group chuckled, preparing to disperse. Dean leaned in close to my ear. “See that, Brooke? No one is on your side.” Many of the people gathered had been my father’s loyalists, yet they were now fully aligned with Dean. I scanned the room, the internal chill growing until it was absolute zero. I spoke, my voice devoid of emotion. “A joke? I am the largest shareholder in this company. I am demanding the immediate dismissal of Dean Sterling from all his roles.” The shareholders froze, turning en masse to look at Dean. Dean, however, remained unfazed. “Since everyone is here, why don’t we just hold an impromptu shareholder meeting? We can elect a new Chairman right now.” “Assistant Stone, take everyone to the conference room. And notify Mr. Robert, we need him here for a vote.” We filed into the room. Dean naturally took the head seat, then dramatically produced his ownership agreement. He now held a staggering 20% stake. “I’ve acquired all the scattered stock over the years. I hold 20%, and Brooke holds 35%. Who do you all support?” Mr. Wallace, Mr. Mac, and others quickly voiced their full support for Dean. Dean leaned back, crossing his legs, looking down at me with an air of superiority. “Forty percent of the shares are already on my side. You only have thirty-five. Time to concede, Brooke.” I ignored him, looking toward the door, waiting for the final shareholder to arrive. Dean followed my gaze, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. Half an hour later, my Uncle Robert finally arrived, giving me a weary look. “Brooke, you shouldn’t be doing this.” My eyes immediately welled up. “Uncle Robert, Dean betrayed me.” My uncle pulled me aside, starting his lecture. “Even if Dean is at fault, you can’t air this in public! Men need face. Now, you two go home and settle this privately.” Then he turned to the room. “I support Dean.” I could stomach the others, but the betrayal from my own flesh and blood, my mother’s brother, cut me deep. Dean stood up and thanked everyone. “Brooke, the tally is 46% for me. Do you have anything more to say?” “Mr. Sterling, you seem to be forgetting the 19% shareholder who hasn’t cast a vote yet.”

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My billionaire husband framed me—falsifying evidence and pinning an entire corporate fraud case on me—all to clear his innocent-act secretary’s name. Faced with the planted evidence, I was powerless. I served two years. When my mother heard the news, her weak heart gave out. She was gone shortly after I was locked away. When I was released, the secretary, Skye Abbott, was five months pregnant. Seeing that I was quiet and compliant, my husband, Spencer Graham, thought I’d finally learned my lesson. He promised to put me in charge of our new tech venture, The Meridian Project. But at the shareholders’ meeting, he abruptly announced that Skye Abbott would be the new CEO. Back home, he explained it to me with a dismissive shrug. “Skye graduated from a top-tier university, and she’s competent,” he said, utterly nonchalant. “More importantly, she has a clean track record. People will trust her.” I gazed at the raw, dark hickey staining the skin above his collar and simply nodded. Spencer, taking my silence for acceptance, looked pleased. He promised the next new company would surely be mine. But I didn’t want it anymore. I only wanted a divorce. I wanted us to part ways, never to cross paths again. … After the shareholders’ meeting, the office buzzed with gossip. Every time I sat at my desk, I was met with pitying or sneering glances. The break room was a constant hive of noise. “Seriously, how does Audrey Hollis even show her face?” I overheard. “Her husband basically threw the mistress in her lap, and she’s just… sitting there.” “Maybe two years inside scrambled her brains.” “She’s probably terrified Spencer will divorce her. She’s useless now. Without him, she’d be begging on the street.” A burst of cruel laughter followed. They exchanged knowing looks when I walked in. Years ago, I would have stormed in and confronted them. Now, I just quietly collected my things and left. Prison does change you. Inside, there was only the relentless grind of bullying and degradation. I was immune to this kind of cheap shot now. Everyone in the firm knew Spencer and I were married, and they certainly knew about the tawdry affair with Skye Abbott. Spencer and I had been college sweethearts. We married right out of school. Our relationship had been solid—or so I thought. I’d been a star student, recruited by a major Silicon Valley firm straight out of graduation. Spencer was fiercely ambitious, desperate to build his own empire, but he was fundamentally mediocre. I quit my high-paying job and threw myself into helping him. I secured the investors he couldn’t charm, and I did the crucial groundwork he couldn’t execute. I was the architect who put him in the corner office. Then, two years ago, he insisted on hiring Skye—a woman with zero experience—for the executive assistant pool. He claimed her troubled background reminded him of his own struggling youth. I was unhappy, but I reluctantly agreed. I didn’t want him to be unhappy. I trained Skye myself, painstakingly teaching her until she could handle all the necessary tasks. She repaid me by telling Spencer I was using my position to feed intel to a rival firm. Spencer, without checking a single fact, immediately transferred me out of the executive suite. From then on, Skye was untouchable. He dumped her work on my plate and “accidentally” deposited portions of my salary into her account. One rainy night, he even ordered me to drive two hours to deliver a bag of toiletries to Skye and her alleged boyfriend. I convinced myself he just saw her as a little sister. I never imagined he would frame me. Skye, drunk, had caused a serious accident. Spencer paid off the victim and destroyed the evidence. To cover the financial trail and ensure my silence, he used the company’s existing tax discrepancies—which I’d been trying to fix—and pinned them on me as massive corporate fraud. Faced with the victim’s accusations and crushing debt, I had no choice but to take the fall. He never visited me once in the two years I was inside. Only his lawyer came, delivering a single, cold message: “Mr. Graham says don’t talk. He’ll still give you a meal ticket when you get out.” The memory made me curl my lip in a self-deprecating smile. I sent the heavily-encrypted folder from my laptop to my lawyer and let out a long, quiet breath. Since my release, I had played the role of the devoted, humbled wife. I was always near Spencer, always agreeable. He believed I was tamed. What he didn’t know was that I had been methodically, patiently gathering irrefutable proof of my innocence. “Alright, Audrey. We can file the motion now.” My lawyer’s text came through quickly. Not yet. I thought. I wanted to catch them both in the same net. Before I could reply, Skye’s text arrived. It was a photo. Spencer was in a high-end baby boutique, smiling a gentle, paternal smile I’d never seen before, picking out newborn essentials. He’d always claimed he was a DINK—Double Income, No Kids—and loathed shopping, preferring everything online. It was clear now. He just loathed me. “Audrey, your husband is shopping for OUR baby’s clothes,” the text read. “He said I’m the best woman he’s ever met, and only a woman like me deserves to carry on his legacy. That new company? It’s a gift for my tireless work every single night.” Her taunt left me completely unfazed. I simply saved the text and the photo. When I didn’t reply, she started flooding my phone with photos: sweet dates, intimate moments, pictures of them touching. I saved every single one. I still didn’t respond. A minute later, Spencer called. “Why are you giving Skye the silent treatment?” he demanded the moment I answered, his voice thick with undisguised contempt. “How dare you ignore her? She’s your boss now! You should be kissing up to her. Instead, you freeze her out.” I remained silent. “You apologize to Skye immediately!” Then Skye’s saccharine voice chirped in the background, “It’s okay, Spence. Audrey doesn’t need to apologize. She’s your wife, I won’t make trouble for her.” Skye’s ‘generosity’ only enraged Spencer further. “See her maturity, her class?” he spat at me. “You’re such a petty, small-minded senior employee. Audrey, apologize to Skye! Do it, or I swear I’ll divorce you.” I couldn’t stop a quiet, dark laugh from escaping. “Fine. I was wrong,” I said flatly. Wrong to have ever trusted you. Wrong in not leaving you sooner. Spencer sounded instantly mollified. “Good. Glad you get it. Look, I’m doing you a favor by staying married. You have a record now. It’s an act of grace.” “Your apology needs sincerity. Buy Skye a gift.” “Try to be a good wife going forward…” Buy her a gift? I thought. Go to hell. But Spencer took care of the ‘gift’ himself. He gave Skye my mother’s heirloom jewelry. Before we married, my mother had given Spencer the antique set—the most valuable thing our family owned, worth more than our childhood home. He had casually handed that irreplaceable piece of my legacy to his pregnant mistress. The set was in our home safe, which required both our fingerprints to open. “Get home now!” Spencer barked over the phone, his voice sharp with command. Scrolling back through our chat logs, I realized Spencer’s texts had devolved into nothing but short, clipped orders. I ignored him. I finished clearing my desk and left the office. I found Spencer seated on the living room couch, arms crossed, when I returned home, divorce papers tucked into my bag. He stood up abruptly at the sound of the door, then stormed into the master bedroom, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame. It was a tantrum. He was demanding to be coddled. Though I despised the routine, the thought of the signed divorce agreement soon made me knock and enter. A coffee mug smashed against the wall by my head, sending ceramic shards flying. A piece grazed my calf. Spencer’s eyes widened slightly when he saw the blood bead up, but the surprise quickly morphed into a look of impatient annoyance. “Fine, I won’t hold a grudge about you failing to beg for forgiveness earlier,” he said. He meant that in the past, a tantrum like this would have ended with me on my knees, followed by an emergency shopping spree for his favorite luxury goods. God, I was a fool. “I know you’re still sulking about the company. But I explained the reason.” He didn’t meet my eye. “Can’t you be more generous?” He looked down at his phone, gazing at a photo of Skye’s pregnant belly. The tenderness in his face was something I had never once been shown. “The baby will be here soon. Audrey, my child will be your child. I’ll make sure they treat you like their mother,” he vowed. “Let’s forget the past and move on.” I felt a hysterical laugh bubble up. He slapped me with public infidelity and now expected me to raise his mistress’s child? “And I gave her that jewelry,” he continued, oblivious. “It was a thank you. When you were incarcerated, if Skye hadn’t gone to the victim every day, practically begging for mercy, your sentence would have been much worse.” The audacity of the lie was breathtaking. If not for him and Skye, I would never have been arrested at all. I knew every small, sordid move they’d made behind my back. Seeing my silence, Spencer thought I was wavering. He leaned in, kissing me quickly on the corner of my mouth. “Just tell me where the set is, and let’s put this behind us.” God, that’s disgusting. I fought down the wave of nausea. “I have a few company documents here,” I said, pulling out a slim folder. “The firm needs your signature urgently.” Eager to get his hands on the heirloom, he swiftly signed every page, including the separation agreement tucked subtly at the back. “Great! Let’s get the jewelry now,” he said, dropping the pen. I gave a faint nod. I retrieved the antique necklace and bracelet. Even in my hands, the gold and diamonds seemed to shine with a perverse glow. “Give it to me.” Spencer reached out, his hand already grasping for the box. The ringtone for Skye’s personalized ringtone cut through the air. Spencer’s face softened into a smile, forgetting the heirloom entirely. I took advantage of his distraction and swapped the real necklace with a high-quality replica I’d retrieved earlier. I placed the fake set in his hand. “Fine, you can go now. Don’t bother me.” I knew who was on the line. He and Skye often talked all night, sometimes making noises that drifted through the wall. Whatever Skye said, it sent him rushing out of the apartment. He didn’t come back for days. I didn’t call or text him. I was busy preparing. The moment the court summons was issued, my vindication would begin. I returned home from work a few days later to find all my personal items tossed into the hallway. My prized collection of rare figurines was shattered in the trash bin, lying next to my wedding ring. I pushed the bedroom door open. Spencer and Skye were kissing. They broke apart at the sound of the door. “Don’t you knock when you get home?” Spencer snapped, annoyed at the interruption. I found it mildly hilarious. I shot them a cold glance. “This is my house,” I stated icily. “Spence, Audrey’s being mean,” Skye whimpered, her tone soft but her eyes flashing with provocation. “Maybe I should just leave.” Spencer’s eyes immediately went soft with protectiveness. “No, you stay here. Don’t worry.” He turned back to me, his expression hardening with outright disgust. “I’m turning this apartment into a collection gallery for Skye. She loves designer handbags, you know.” This apartment was my parents’ graduation gift to me, purchased outright. The deed was only in my name. Spencer had zero claim. “I don’t agree,” I said. Spencer rolled his eyes. “Your agreement doesn’t matter.” He remembered something else. “And I heard you left work early yesterday. How irresponsible. Do you think this company is your playground?” “Tomorrow, you will follow the rules and stand in the lobby, shouting out your apology to the entire staff.” This particular humiliation was only ever reserved for me. While the rule was supposedly for all employees, anyone else who messed up was given a pass. I was always punished with severity. This was the reward for building his empire. “Spence, please don’t be angry. Audrey is probably still adjusting to life outside. Give her a chance. You’ll upset the baby.” The mention of the child instantly dissolved Spencer’s anger. He looked at me with deep disappointment. “See how mature Skye is? Young, yet capable and considerate,” he lectured. “And look at you. Accomplished nothing. A leech.” I cut him off. I was sick of the monologue. “This apartment was my parents’ gift. It has nothing to do with you. You have no right to decide its use.” I held up the paper. “We signed the divorce agreement yesterday. You and your mistress need to get out of my house.” Spencer’s face tightened into an ugly scowl. “Audrey Hollis! Who do you think you are?” he roared. “We’re married! Your assets are mine! And as for divorce, you can forget it!” I gave a humorless laugh. “Whether we divorce is my call. Are you really willing to risk me pressing charges for bigamy?” Spencer’s face turned scarlet. All he could manage was a guttural, “You are despicable, Audrey!” Skye rushed to him, soothing his back. “Don’t fight over me, Spence. If you don’t want me here, I’ll go.” She started walking out. As she passed, she leaned in close and whispered, her voice laced with malicious glee, “You know, your mother was crawling at my feet before she died, clutching my pant leg, begging me. She looked just like a sick dog.” The fury that erupted in my chest was blinding. Call me what he liked, but he would not touch my family. “You filthy bitch.” I put all my strength into a slap across her face. Her frail body crumpled, hitting the corner of the wall with a whimper. Seeing his lover on the floor, Spencer became a raging beast. He hauled off and struck me across the face. “How dare you touch her!” He lunged at me, fists flying. I sidestepped, and he stumbled, falling hard onto the floor. “Get out, both of you!” I said, my voice dangerously low. Suddenly, Spencer tore his own shirt and raked his nails across his cheek. He rushed to the door and flung it open, screaming: “Help! Someone, help me!” The noise drew curious neighbors out. “What in the world is happening?” Mr. Donaldson from upstairs asked, supporting the tearful Spencer. “I am so sorry to bother everyone,” Spencer apologized profusely, bowing deeply. “I just didn’t know what else to do.” Naturally, the neighbors instantly saw Spencer as the victim. A clamor of voices demanded an explanation. Spencer spoke with the voice of a man broken by grief. “My wife came home demanding money. When I said I didn’t have it, she attacked me and my pregnant sister…” Seeing Skye on the floor, her lip already bleeding, the neighbors immediately turned on me. “You’ve been out for over a year! Why aren’t you working?” “And your sister is pregnant!” “Call the police! Put this viper back in jail! Your husband is a saint for putting up with you!” Spencer had clearly paved the narrative long ago. He had engineered the perfect mob scene. Someone even grabbed my arms, restraining me. It was at that moment my lawyer arrived, followed by a team from the Prosecutor’s Office. “Prosecutor’s Office. We have a warrant,” the official announced, flashing a badge. “Wait, we called the police, not the District Attorney,” a neighbor muttered, confused. Spencer looked stunned. The prosecutor spoke, his voice grave. “We are here regarding a two-year-old case of aggravated assault and corporate fraud.”

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Liam had always had Skylar. She wasn’t just his lifelong best female friend; she was a permanent, slightly toxic shadow in our lives. From the first moment I met her, I knew the look in her eye: I was the outsider. The resentment was a cold current beneath her saccharine smile. When we planned a trip with his group, his “Crew,” Skylar was in charge of booking the flights. She somehow forgot to book mine. Just mine. She cried, of course, a delicate, teary apology about being “so scatterbrained.” Liam immediately stepped in, his arm around her, telling me, “Babe, she’s just clumsy. Let it go.” At our wedding, she orchestrated a cruel prank. She and the groomsmen—her acolytes—deliberately smeared cake and God knows what else all over my custom ivory dress during the receiving line. “It’s an old tradition!” she giggled, eyes bright. Liam told me to be the bigger person: “Come on, Anya, it’s just The Guys being The Guys. Don’t let it ruin the day.” After we finished decorating our new home—our marital sanctuary—she threw a “housewarming” party with The Crew that turned it into a disaster zone. Broken art, cigarette burns on the new Persian rug, deep-red wine stains on the white sectional. A violation. I finally snapped. I screamed, years of suppressed rage boiling over. Liam looked bored. He tried to physically soothe me. “She literally overturned a table at a friend’s wedding last month, remember? They get carried away. They’re my blood, Anya. Please, just forgive them.” I felt the familiar, weary weight of my swelling abdomen and bit down on the real fury. My baby. Not worth the stress. But the line had to be drawn. “Next time,” I whispered, the threat heavy and final, “I file for divorce.” After Liam delivered a stern warning to her, Skylar finally backed off. Things were quiet. Too quiet. Until our daughter, Poppy’s, first birthday party. Skylar was staring at Poppy with a calculating look, her brow furrowed in mock concern. “Wow, Liam, she’s getting big. But… she really doesn’t look like you at all, does she?” She tilted her head. “Are you sure she’s yours, bro?” The rest of The Crew quickly chimed in with nervous chuckles and agreement. My face went cold, and Liam was furious. He knew this was too far. He practically shoved them out the door. “That’s it,” he hissed at them. “The cheap shots at Anya I can tolerate. But my daughter? If you ever question my daughter again, you’re not my friends anymore.” That same evening, I stumbled upon a trending post on the Thread. [My daughter just turned one. All my buddies say she doesn’t look like me. I’m afraid my wife cheated. What do I do?] 1 [User 1]: Unless you want to spend the rest of your life raising another man’s kid, go get a DNA test. Stop being a coward. The Original Poster replied: [OP]: I’ve thought about it, but if my wife found out I distrusted her, she’d leave me. I don’t want a divorce. The comments were a mix of insults, calling him a spineless cuck, and others defending him. [User 2]: You call them ‘brothers,’ but do you really think they have your best interest at heart? Toxic friends secretly want to drag you down. [OP]: No way. We grew up together. Why are you all so malicious about my friends? My wife says the same things! Then came the helpful suggestion: [User 3]: Dude, sneak a hair or a toothbrush. Get a quick, private test. If it’s yours, no harm done. If it’s not, you’ve got your exit strategy. Poppy had just had her first birthday. Skylar, Liam’s female friend, had just blatantly suggested Poppy wasn’t his. And now, this post. All the details matched. I looked at Liam, sleeping next to me, already muttering in his sleep. A wave of ice-cold anger and sick betrayal washed over me. I unlocked his phone. I searched, frantically, but there was no trace of The Thread. The last chat records with The Crew were from yesterday, innocuous chatter about fantasy football. Maybe… maybe it wasn’t him. The thought calmed the raging fire in my chest to a mere simmer. I put the phone down, praying for the best. The next morning, Liam woke early, as he always did, to gently care for Poppy. He loved her fiercely; there was no doubt. I started to relax, telling myself the post was a horrible coincidence. But when I came out of the kitchen, holding her warm bowl of mashed fruit purees, I saw him. Liam, bent over the crib, gently, stealthily, pulling a strand of hair from Poppy’s head. “What are you doing!” I lunged forward, shoving him back and snatching my daughter into my arms. Liam looked genuinely startled. “Anya? What the hell?” My voice was shaking. “What were you doing with her hair?” He held up his hand, pinched between his thumb and forefinger was a tiny speck. “You mean this?” “I was grabbing a little fly. It was buzzing around her head.” He looked wounded. “Anya, why would you think I was pulling our baby’s hair? Why are you so aggressive?” The shame hit me instantly. I had wrongly accused him, physically attacked him. “I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I just… I was afraid you’d hurt her.” He dropped the subject, accepting my apology, but his eyes were still hurt. Later, after I’d managed to rock Poppy to sleep, I reopened The Thread. The post had been updated. [OP Update]: Almost got caught pulling a strand of hair this morning. I played it cool and convinced her it was a bug. I don’t think she suspects anything. Help me come up with a better plan. 2 My head exploded. A black curtain dropped over my vision, and I staggered against the wall. It was him. There were too many coincidences, too many agonizing parallels. Every instinct screamed at me to march into the living room, shove the phone in his face, demand the DNA test, and start the divorce. But then I saw a new comment on the thread. [User 4]: I see you’re in the Tri-State area, friend. Where exactly? I have a guy at a private lab who can rush the results. DM me. Don’t raise another man’s kid. The OP replied: [OP]: I’m in Philadelphia. DMing you now. My relief was so profound it was almost painful. I was in New York. The poster was in Philly. I had almost ruined everything, again, based on a poisonous suspicion. Had I confronted Liam, the distrust would have fractured us permanently. Liam had always stressed that trust was the foundation of our relationship. I remembered the college trip. He and The Crew—Skylar included—had secretly planned an island getaway. He’d only told me about it a week before departure, an afterthought. I already resented how much he shared with Skylar that he kept from me. I felt like the girlfriend was the mistress. I went to the airport with him, only to find Skylar hadn’t bought my ticket. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Anya!” she wailed. “I’m just so used to buying six tickets for The Crew, I completely forgot to include you!” I knew it was malicious, not clumsy. My face was cold stone. Liam’s friends started calling me melodramatic and self-centered. Liam tried to smooth things over. “Don’t be mad. She’s just an airhead. I’ll stay back with you.” The Crew immediately turned on him, calling him whipped and a betrayer. He looked trapped, miserable. I forced a calm smile. “Go. I’m fine.” He checked in on me until he boarded. The moment his plane lifted off, I blocked his number, all The Crew’s numbers, and sent him a single text: Have fun with Skylar. He took the red-eye home that night. He was frantic, begging for forgiveness. I refused to see him. Finally, desperate, he attempted suicide—jumping into a freezing-cold river. I only went to the hospital when his mother called me. He explained the island trip was meant to be a surprise for me. “Skylar told me girls love those spontaneous gifts,” he said. He promised to cut all ties with Skylar. “Whatever happens,” he’d cried, clutching me, “you have to trust me, Anya. The lack of trust is worse than dying.” And he had kept his word. For the most part. Until now. I felt a wash of fresh guilt. I had almost destroyed the faith he had worked so hard to rebuild. To make it up to him, I decided to send Poppy to the nanny and take Liam on a spontaneous date. I messaged him and went to the walk-in closet to pick out clothes for both of us. It was while I was rummaging through his socks drawer for a specific brand that my fingers hit something hard underneath. I pulled it out. It was a phone. A burner. One I had never seen before. 3 The screen lock was the same as his main phone. Click. My fingers instinctively went to The Thread. I found the app. I clicked on the familiar user ID. There was the post. My mind didn’t just buzz; it went silent. The tears started before the shock registered. I choked them back and clicked on the private messages. There it was. The chat with the “Tri-State” user. [OP]: Actually, man, I’m in New York. My ex-wife is in Philadelphia, so I assumed I was close. How fast can you get a rush job done? I’m thinking of bringing in a toothbrush this afternoon. The air rushed out of my lungs. New York. Our city. The Philadelphia comment was just a decoy. A smokescreen for an anonymous forum. I closed the app, the rage returning, but this time, it was icy. I started to dig, to peel back the layers of our life. The hidden phone held so much more. In his secondary messaging app, there was a group chat with The Crew, prominently titled: The Skylar Faithful. Skylar’s frantic messages: Liam, I swear I didn’t mean to say that in front of Anya! You have to tell her I didn’t mean it! She already hates me. Now she’ll think I’m trying to break you two up! The Crew chimed in, defending her. Liam was silent for hours. Then Skylar: But Liam, you know I’m only saying it because I love you, bro. She genuinely doesn’t look like you. I’m just looking out for you, man. I’d hate for you to be a cuck and raise a kid that’s not yours. Liam’s only reply: Shut up. But then, he’d posted to The Thread. Scrolling up, I saw photos of him at bars, women draped over him. All the times he said he was “working late” or “on a sales trip.” He was out playing around with Skylar and The Crew. I let out a single, hysterical laugh. It was a joke. Our marriage was a sick, pathetic joke. I checked his other social media app. Skylar was constantly sending him “suggestive” videos. Skylar: Look at this body, bro. Much hotter than the ice queen at home, right? Skylar: I’m giving you the good stuff, man. Why are you still mad at me? His replies were always just ‘Go to hell’ or ‘Knock it off,’ but every single one of those videos was marked ‘Seen.’ The digital evidence felt like a thousand tiny lashes across my face. I sank to the floor, my legs useless. My face was pale, my chest burning. He’d lied about everything. The avoidance. The trust. The distance from Skylar. It was all a performance for the stupid, trusting wife. He and Skylar had never been apart. They had watched me, the idiot, living in blissful ignorance. A wave of nausea hit me. I forced myself up. I heard the nanny’s voice outside. “Mrs. Hayes is in the bedroom.” Click. The door opened. Liam was smiling, walking toward me, his face bright. “Hey, honey! I took the day off. Nanny is with Poppy. Where are we going on our date?” His smile died as his eyes met mine. “Anya? What’s wrong?” He reached out to wipe a tear. I flinched away from his touch, looking at him with naked disgust. I picked up the hidden phone, opened The Thread, and held the screen up to his face. “So,” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Is the DNA test done?” 4 Liam’s face went instantly white. “Anya—what test? I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I gave a cold, sharp laugh. “Don’t you? You told your internet friend you’d grab Poppy’s toothbrush this afternoon, Liam. Did you forget?” “I was just… I was having a momentary freak-out! I saw your post, and I got paranoid, so I posted a burner! I never went through with it, I swear!” he babbled, desperate. I ignored his pathetic plea and held out my hand. “Let me see the results, then. Maybe I did cheat. Maybe the baby’s not yours. Wouldn’t that be a shame?” My cold composure terrified him. “Anya, please, you know I would never go through with it. I just needed to vent—” I tossed the phone onto the bed. “Fine. Then let’s go. Right now.” I grabbed Poppy from the crib. “We’re going to the lab. Together. We’ll do a full, legitimate DNA test. Wouldn’t want you to worry yourself sick on an internet forum, would we?” Liam was shaking, his face pasty white. I dragged him toward the garage. “Oh, and you should call your ‘Skylar Faithful’ Crew,” I added, looking back at him. “Let them all come. They’ve earned the right to see whether their friend’s daughter is your seed.” Liam was on the verge of tears. “Anya, please. We don’t have to go. I was wrong. I was stupid. I know I was wrong!” I shoved him into the passenger seat and snatched his main phone. I typed into The Skylar Faithful group chat: DNA Test at the lab in an hour. Come watch. Liam is finally getting peace of mind. Skylar was the first to reply: BRO! FINALLY! Don’t worry, man. The Crew has your back. No woman is worth this trouble! We’re heading there now! When The Crew showed up at the hospital, they froze the moment they saw me holding Poppy. Then Skylar stepped forward, hitting Liam on the shoulder with a triumphant smile. “Good for you, Liam! You finally grew a spine!” She turned to me. “Don’t be mad, Anya. What man wouldn’t want to know the truth? This is for his peace of mind. You understand, right?” “I understand perfectly,” I nodded, my face empty. The nurse led us back. Liam, Poppy, and I all gave blood samples. When the needle pricked my daughter’s tiny vein, she looked at the nurse, confused, then burst into inconsolable tears. The sheer terror in her wail shattered my composure. The cold facade I’d built crumpled. I pulled her into my chest, rocking her, my own tears finally falling. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I whispered. I’m sorry I chose this man to be your father. I’m sorry you have to go through this because of my failure. We waited for hours. Finally, the doctor came out with the report. Skylar snatched it before anyone else could react. She read it quickly, then threw her hand over her mouth, eyes wide with performative shock. “Liam!” she gasped. “It says… it says the baby isn’t yours! Anya cheated on you!” 5 “What the hell are you talking about!” Liam, who had been sitting hunched over in silent misery, jumped to his feet with a roar. He grabbed Skylar by the lapels of her denim jacket. “Say that again, and I swear to God I’ll choke you!” Skylar was genuinely terrified, tears streaming down her face. She held out the report. “Bro, it’s on the paper! Not me! It says the child is Anya’s, but not yours! Why are you screaming at me? She’s the one who cheated!” The rest of The Crew pulled Liam off her, grabbing the report and passing it around. Their faces darkened with a sudden, vindictive solidarity. “It’s true, Liam. She did it! The bitch cheated on you!” Liam wouldn’t believe it. “I already took a test this morning—a quick one with the toothbrush. Poppy is my daughter! You’re trying to set us up!” Ah. So he did lie this morning. A fresh wave of disgust washed over me. Liam grabbed the official report, his eyes scanning every word. When he hit the line stating exclusion of paternity, he swayed. He grabbed the doctor’s arm. “This is wrong! Your lab is wrong! I want a retest!” The doctor frowned, unimpressed. “Sir, this is a state-certified facility. We don’t make mistakes. What lab did you use this morning?” Liam stammered out the name of the lab he’d found on The Thread. The doctor scoffed. “Never heard of it. Probably a private storefront scam. You can do this test a hundred times, and the results will be the same.” The doctor’s certainty hit Liam like a sledgehammer. His eyes turned bloodshot. He seized my shoulders, his grip bruising. “Anya. Tell me. Why? I gave you everything! Didn’t I love you enough? I cut off my friends for you! I was faithful! I almost died for you!” Poppy, startled by the noise, started to cry, reaching for him. “Dada?” He recoiled from her hand as if she were poisonous. “Don’t touch me! You’re dirty!” SLAP! My hand cracked across his cheek. The sound echoed in the sterile hallway. Liam stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief and a new, terrible hatred. “You hit me? After you cheated? You betrayed me! You raised another man’s kid in my home! You have no right, Anya!” He was spiraling. “Who is it? Tell me the name of the bastard you slept with!” I stepped away, taking Poppy further down the hall. “There’s nothing to explain.” I looked back at him, my voice flat. “Let’s file for divorce.”

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Claire and I weren’t just a couple; we were a shared history, two chapters bound in the same book. We grew up on the same quiet street, went through high school together, and then, without a single spoken negotiation, listed the same highly selective university on our applications. Everyone called us an inevitability. Four years of college were a continuous loop of shared existence. I hit the gym court, and she had the water bottle ready. I lived in the engineering lab, and she saved my favorite spot in the quiet stacks of the library. Even Mrs. Kim, the manager at the campus grill, would hold back the last plate of her famous chicken burger for “the little professors.” Our perfect symmetry held until the day the acceptance letters arrived for graduate school. I was in. She wasn’t. What made my heart plummet further was my advisor’s offer: a direct-track Ph.D., fully funded, based on my postgraduate research. I panicked internally. I was terrified of putting my life so far ahead of hers, of the distance it would create. But Claire, eyes shining with unshed tears, reached up and kissed my forehead. “You think a piece of paper defines us, Cam? Don’t be stupid. Your success is my bragging right. I’d wait forever for you.” The day my doctoral dissertation passed, I clutched a flight ticket I’d bought the night before, rushing straight back to her apartment. Tucked deep in my pocket was the engagement ring I’d saved for three grueling years. This was it. I was finally going to ask her. I stopped cold on the sidewalk in front of her building. The air hissed out of my lungs. A poster was stretched taut across the entry to the building, a gaudy, screaming in primary colors: CONGRATULATIONS TO Claire AND RHYS—WELCOME BABY BOY. …… Claire. The name I’d spoken for twenty-something years felt like rust and metal in my throat. I was nailed to the spot as the familiar front door swung open. She emerged. Still the same gentle face, the same soft curve of her smile, but in her arms, she was carefully cradling an infant. Beside her, a man I didn’t recognize wrapped an arm around her shoulder with proprietary affection. Her face was serene, radiating a completeness I’d never seen before. The neighbors’ voices buzzed like angry wasps around my ears: “Look at that family of three, perfect, aren’t they?” “Rhys is such a doting father. He cooked for her every single day she was pregnant.” “And so thoughtful to her mom! He and Diane are like mother and son.” Blood hammered in my temples. I wanted to rip that poster down, to grab her and demand the truth. She said she would wait forever… I took a blind step forward, but a cool hand clamped onto my arm. I spun around and faced Diane, Claire’s mother. In my memories, her face was always wreathed in the warmest, kindest smiles. I remembered her stroking my hair, sliding her father’s heirloom timepiece onto my wrist years ago, telling me, “This is for the man who marries my girl.” Now, her face was etched with a complex mix of guilt and exhaustion, her lips pressed into a thin, white line. “What are you doing back?” Tears instantly flooded my eyes. I gripped her arm, my voice catching and shredding. “Diane, why? She told me she wouldn’t marry anyone but me…” Her gaze flickered down to the empty space on my wrist where her father’s watch should have been. She sighed, her tone weary and brutally honest. “You left, Cameron. You went off to chase that Ph.D. for years. How much time does a girl have? Claire couldn’t wait. We couldn’t afford to wait.” She let out a heavy sigh, a flicker of shame in her eyes. “I was the one who pushed her to go on dates. She fought me at first, locked herself in her room, just staring at your old photos…” “But then she met Rhys… He’s solid. Gentle. He wanted a real life, a family, now. Not after five more years of research and papers.” She looked at my tear-streaked face with pity, but the dominant emotion was a rigid, final detachment. “You and Claire… your chapter is closed.” “She’s happy now. Rhys is a good son-in-law, and that baby is the air we breathe. You need to let go, son. Move on… And please, don’t try to see her again.” She withdrew her hand, turning to join the bright, noisy scene—her new son-in-law, her grandchild. The last bit of scaffolding that had held me upright shattered. I stood in the shadow, a disoriented ghost, watching Diane take the baby and laugh, watching her hug Rhys and whisper something. The sunlight was warm and golden on their perfect circle. The velvet box in my pocket—the one holding the ring I’d saved three years for—dug a searing crescent into my palm. The world began to spin, blurring at the edges. I felt the last anchor line snap, and heard the muffled thud as my body hit the pavement. Darkness rushed in. The last thing I saw was that glaring, triumphant poster. I woke up in a sterile, white hospital room. Claire was slumped in the chair next to the bed, deep, dark shadows beneath her eyes. Startled by my movement, she bolted upright, leaning close. Her finger brushed my cheek, her voice rough and cracked. “You’re awake? Where does it hurt? The police called. They said you collapsed outside the apartment…” She choked on the words, swallowing hard, her eyes flooding red. I stared at her genuine panic and pain, and a memory, sharp and specific, cut through the fog. The winter after my parents’ accident. I was seventeen, a ghost in the funeral home corner, staring at their fixed, black-and-white smiles. She was the one who pushed open that heavy oak door, knelt by me, and chafed the circulation back into my frozen hands. “Don’t be scared, Cam,” she’d promised, her voice clear and strong. “I’ll be your family now.” She had kept that promise. Matching university codes on application forms. Waking up at 4 AM during my finals week to make me coffee. Video-calling me at midnight during my most brutal dissertation months just to read highly technical reference papers aloud. “My little genius,” she’d told me, “you have to fly high.” But now… “Was the dissertation defense too much?” she whispered, wiping the moisture from my cheek with her thumb. “Or did all that pressure I put on you… did that finally break you?” She lowered her head, gently pressing her forehead to mine, just like she did whenever I was upset as a child. “Don’t be stupid,” her voice was muffled against me. “Even if you never graduated, I’d still take care of you. I meant it. No matter what, I’ve got you.” I knew she meant it now, too. Just as I knew the phone in her jeans pocket was vibrating. The caller ID, which I could just make out, was listed as “Rhys.” It was the third time the screen had lit up. She finally pulled away, glancing down at the phone, her brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. “I have to take this.” She stood and walked toward the door, her tone still gentle. “Hello? Did the baby wake up again? Okay, use the 40ml scoop… and check the water temperature first, you know how he gets…” The door clicked shut, but her voice drifted through the gap. “Formula can, third shelf… I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I closed my eyes, a single tear tracing a path down my temple. I heard the girl on the snowy sidewalk saying, “Don’t be scared.” I heard the twenty-three-year-old in the library kissing my forehead and promising, “I’ll wait forever.” I heard the woman next to my bed insisting, “No matter what, I’ve got you.” And then I heard the present—the familiar, loving cadence of her voice, directed at another man, nurturing their new life. The call ended. My heart was finally, completely dead. She pushed the door open, her face a mix of lingering worry and apology. But that worry was now divided, split between me and the husband and son on the other end of the line. “Something came up with work,” she said, her eyes shifting away from mine. “I have to go home for a bit.” I watched her, and then, very quietly, I laughed. “Go.” I turned my head toward the window. Her guilt deepened. “I… I’ll come right back after I handle it.” She turned and left the room quickly. A moment later, a nurse pushed the door open, smiling softly. “Was that your fiancée? She’s a trooper. Watched you all night, her eyes were so bloodshot.” She handed me a few sheets of paper and turned to leave. I gripped the thin paper, staring out at the hallway where Claire’s shadow had just disappeared. A faint sound echoed in my mind. The old, drafty apartment we’d rented while in school. She’d wrapped her arms around me from behind, resting her chin on the top of my head. “We’ll have two,” she’d said. “One smart like you, one handsome like me.” “Our parents would be so happy. You’ll have a house, a big, noisy, full life.” The sunset back then had filtered through the window, bathing the whole room in a warm gold. Now, there was only the pale, clinical glare of the hospital lamp. I didn’t have a family anymore. My parents were long gone, and Claire… she had become someone else’s family. My phone vibrated. A text from a number I didn’t know. It was a photo. Rhys was holding the baby, smiling genially at the camera. Diane stood beside them, looking every bit the proud grandmother. Claire was tucked into Rhys’s side. The background was clearly their living room. Rhys’s hand, resting casually on the baby carrier strap, was wearing an heirloom watch. I automatically lifted my hand to my wrist. Empty. It had been taken off me while I was unconscious. When? I gave a dry, self-mocking laugh. Maybe when she was stroking my face and calling me “stupid” for thinking I could lose her? The text continued below the image: “The watch looks good on me, don’t you think? Rhys. By the way. And the little guy? Claire says his eyes are exactly like mine.” “We didn’t meet on a blind date, Cameron. We met while you were busy writing the abstract for your final defense. The day after she promised you forever, to be precise.” “All those years in the ivory tower, Cam. All that brilliance. And you couldn’t see the one thing happening right under your nose. I helped her pick out the poster, just for you.” Each word was a poisoned dart, sinking into the last warm corner of my heart. Her late-night video calls, reading me references, overlapped with the quiet, domestic moments where she was falling for, and starting a life with, another man. A wave of gut-churning nausea swept over me. The last vestige of hope, of hesitation, was crushed by this malicious show of victory. I opened a travel app and booked a one-way flight for the next morning. There was nothing left here worth staying for. The next morning, I checked myself out of the hospital. The sky was gray, spitting a fine, cold rain. Since my parents’ deaths, I had technically lived with Claire until college, but I still had a few boxes of books and belongings in her old room. I needed to cut the tie clean. The key slid into the lock, turning with a stiff, heavy click. I pushed the door open. The familiar space was saturated with an alien scent. My old black leather loafers were gone from the entry, replaced by a pair of new, chunky, cable-knit slippers. The mismatched ceramic mugs Claire and I had made in a disastrous college art class were now a lone, chipped survivor on the shelf above the kettle. The living room sofa was covered with a beige, floral throw I didn’t recognize, and the coffee table held a mother-and-baby magazine and a half-empty bottle of bottle-washing soap. Each replaced object felt like a tiny, sharp splinter. “Rhys? You’re back early today…” Diane’s voice called out from the back of the apartment, carrying its usual, bright tone. Her footsteps approached, and her smile instantly froze the moment she saw me standing in the doorway. “What are you doing here?” She instinctively blocked the hallway. “Claire isn’t here. Please just go, don’t start trouble.” Start trouble. The phrase landed softly, but the impact was a dull, bruising ache in my chest. “I’ve come for the few things I left here,” my voice was unnervingly calm. “I’ll be gone once I’ve got them.” A look of distress flashed across Diane’s face, but before she could speak, the sound of a key turning and a man’s footsteps came from outside. Rhys pushed the door open, a baby bundled in his arms. The soft smile he wore for his son hardened into raw hostility when his eyes met mine. “What the hell are you doing here?” He clutched the baby tighter. “Didn’t my text spell it out clearly enough? Claire is my wife now, we have a child! How dare you show up at my home?” He took a step closer, and I was hit with the sweet, sickening scent of baby formula on his shirt. “Who let you in? Get out! Get out now!” He shoved his free hand into my shoulder. I stumbled back, my spine hitting the cold, sharp edge of the shoe rack. “Rhys, stop it…” Diane tried to intervene. “Mom!” Rhys’s voice was a harsh threat. “If you take his side, I’m walking out right now, and I’m taking my son with me!” Diane’s outstretched hand froze mid-air, then fell away. She turned her face, defeated. Just then, the door swung open again. Claire walked in, bringing the cold air of the street with her. She stopped dead, her eyes scanning the scene. Her face instantly drained of color. “Claire!” Rhys practically threw himself at her. “He just barged in, he scared the baby! He even shoved me and nearly made me drop him!” Claire’s eyes darted frantically between Rhys and me, but her attention immediately snapped to the infant’s face in Rhys’s arms. That tiny, wrinkled face completely commandeered her focus. “I didn’t push him.” My voice was low, firm, but she ignored me. At that exact moment, Rhys let out a sharp, theatrical yelp and deliberately swayed backward. The baby in his arms dipped dangerously low. Claire’s eyes widened in sheer terror. Instinct took over. She shoved me aside with all her strength. “The baby!” I was caught completely off guard. I lost my balance and crashed backward. The vase on the entryway table shattered. I felt the stinging of shards against my skin. A warm, slick sensation began to spread from my lower abdomen. It pooled quickly on the floor, a patch of shocking, vivid red. The sounds of the world rushed away. All that was left was the tearing pain in my gut and the sight of that rapidly expanding stain. I curled into a ball on the cold tile, unable to make a sound, only able to look up at the woman who was frozen, clutching her child. Her face was a mask of horrified disbelief, staring at the blood beneath me. I opened my mouth, tears blurring my vision as I forced the words out. “Claire…” “Did I become so disposable that you had to destroy me to protect him?”

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Nine months pregnant, and a sudden, wrenching craving hit me: the artisan doughnuts Alex and I used to share back when we were first dating. I convinced him to take me, but the moment he started the engine, the Smart-Drive navigation system whirred to life, instantly pulling up a familiar destination. The address was an unfamiliar apartment complex on the west side of the city. Alex quickly pressed the ‘X’ button when the prompt popped up. He casually changed the subject, and I, the accommodating wife, played along, pretending I hadn’t seen a thing. Later that night, long after he’d fallen asleep, I connected to the car’s mobile app. The cloud-uploaded trip log showed a recurring sixty-mile anomaly in the car’s daily behavior. Recently, under the “Owner” profile, it had been categorized as a “Daily Habit.” The video logs showed that every night after I’d gone to bed, Alex would quietly get up and slink off into the darkness toward the address I’d accidentally seen. Every time the car arrived, a slender, fragile figure was waiting by the entrance to the apartment block. She’d take his coat, brush a speck of dust from his sleeve, and adjust his scarf before he left. Most of the time, I could hear her voice, soft yet pointed: “Don’t come if you’re too busy, Alex. I’m not like your wife, who can’t be left alone for a second.” I didn’t sleep at all that night. Five years of marriage, four rounds of IVF just to get this one baby—I couldn’t bring myself to be ruthless. My friends had advised me to be practical: he still had some feelings, he still had responsibility. A marriage is a business, they said; just turn a blind eye and move on. But a week later, on the day my labor began, Alex’s phone rang in the delivery room. A panicked voice came through the speaker: “Savannah is standing on the ledge of her balcony! She says if you don’t get here, she’s jumping!” The reflex that made him snatch his hand away from mine was quicker than his thought process. “She’s my late mentor’s daughter,” he mumbled, avoiding my gaze. “I just have to talk her down.” My eyes were already red, but the scream I let out was raw, deafening. “If you walk out that door today, I will consider this child to have no father!” Alex’s steps faltered. He turned back, his face a mask of conflict and pity. But in the very next second, his stride was firm as he bolted out of the hospital room. 1 I knew exactly who the woman on the phone was. I’d seen Savannah Monroe countless times on the car’s dashcam footage. I was lying on the operating table. My gown was soaked through with sweat, sticking to my skin. My child wasn’t even born yet, and his father had already abandoned him. In a haze of pain, I heard the screaming match taking place just outside the door—my parents versus my in-laws. The fierce uterine contractions hit me like a tidal wave, but they were nothing compared to the wrenching pain in my heart. My mother was sobbing, her voice breaking with rage: “Who the hell is that woman? Has Alex lost his mind? Leaving his wife in labor?” Alex’s parents were frantically calling him, their voices tight with tears. “Rory, sweetheart, hold on! We’ve sent people to find that fool. If he doesn’t get back here today, we’ll disown him!” In my thrashing, my wedding ring slipped from my finger and skittered across the floor, kicked by a rushing nurse and swallowed by the shadows beneath the operating table. The contractions were rapid, and the monitors blared in alarm. “Fetal heart rate is dropping!” The doctor’s roar tore through the sterile air, and then everything went black. When I opened my eyes again, the smell of antiseptic filled my nostrils. A nurse was adjusting my IV drip. Seeing me awake, she spoke softly: “It’s a miracle you survived the hemorrhage. The baby… you can try again later.” Boom. It felt like someone had driven a spike directly through my chest. My mother sat beside the bed, tears welling up as she gently wiped my face. “My love, you’ve suffered so much.” My father stood by the bed, his face pale with concern. My in-laws stood huddled in the corner, overwhelmed with guilt. I stared at the stark white ceiling, tears streaming silently into the hair at my temples. Five years of mornings and evenings flashed across my mind, a silent, repeating reel. Alex’s proposal at graduation when I was twenty-two. The nights he stayed up late to prepare tailored, nutritious meals when I was sick with morning sickness. The way he meticulously logged the fetal heart rate data at every appointment. Now, all those gentle, tender moments had become a cruel joke. Alex’s best friend, Marcus Riley, stood by the doorway, looking sheepish and nervous. “Rory, Savannah… she had a depressive episode. She said if Alex didn’t come, she’d jump. There was no other way. You have to…” He trailed off, finally realizing the sheer impropriety of what he was asking. “So, do you need me to be understanding?” I retorted, my voice flat, devoid of feeling. I wanted to ask how many times he had covered for Alex—how many “guys’ nights” were actually just a cover—but suddenly, I didn’t care to know the answer. From the recovery room to the private suite, I waited for my lawful husband. I waited from dusk till dawn, and then until the next night descended. Alex finally appeared at eight in the evening, after being gone for twenty agonizing hours. His suit was wrinkled, and his eyes darted away from mine. “Rory, I’m so sorry,” his voice was dry and rough. “Savannah’s situation was truly dangerous. My mentor entrusted her to me before he died. I had no choice but to…” I cut him off, my voice a croaking whisper. “Do you know our baby is gone?” He chose to abandon my scheduled C-section to go to her. “Alex, that was our child.” A heavy silence settled in the room. He reached for my hand; his palm was cold. “Rory, I haven’t asked you for anything in these five years. Just this once, I’m begging you—don’t make a scene.” He squeezed my hand. “Savannah just lost her father. If people start accusing her of being a homewrecker, her depression will get worse.” I gazed at the naked plea in his eyes, and my heart felt like it was being shredded into a thousand pieces. He shouldn’t be begging me. He should be kneeling outside the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, weeping. A person’s first reaction is the honest one. He hadn’t asked the doctor about the hemorrhage. He hadn’t asked how terrified I was during the surgery. His very first words were all about another woman. Tears rushed out, soaking the pillowcase. I gathered every ounce of strength I had, and a single word scraped its way from my throat. “Fine.” A visible wave of relief washed over him. He continued, already planning. “Savannah can’t be left alone right now, so I’m moving in with her for a bit. Once her emotions stabilize—maybe five months or so—I’ll move back. We can try for another baby then. Okay?” Alex spoke as if he were scheduling a board meeting. I stared at him, my eyes wide, as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over my head. My baby, whom I’d waited five years for, was barely cold, and he was already outlining his future—a future that included another woman. In that instant, my world collapsed. 2 I instinctively touched my flat lower abdomen, the place that had so recently nourished a new life—the proof of our love, now a profound, cruel irony. I slowly withdrew my hand from his grasp, my voice frighteningly calm. “Alex.” I started reciting the memories. “The first time you tried to make soup, you filled the kitchen with smoke, just because I couldn’t keep anything down due to morning sickness.” “You secretly recorded the baby’s heartbeat and set it as your ringtone, showing it off to everyone.” “You paced outside the exam room, shouting, ‘Don’t be scared, Honey!’ until the nurse kicked you out three times.” “For five years, you spoiled me until I was helpless. You even knelt down to tie my shoelaces…” “I truly believed we would be happy forever.” I lifted my tear-streaked face to him, my voice breaking. “But now, Alex, I can’t see an ounce of care for me in your eyes.” The five years of memories crashed over me. Alex’s throat bobbed violently, and he finally managed a hoarse reply. “But Honey, Savannah really needs me right now.” That single phrase, needs me, completely pulverized the last vestige of my fantasy. I looked at him and felt I was staring at a stranger. My voice shook as I spat out the word through clenched teeth: “Get out!” His body tensed. He seemed to want to hug me, but he simply turned and disappeared down the hospital corridor without looking back. On the day of our child’s memorial, I knelt at the grave. Alex did not come. “Hello, my baby,” I whispered, my voice trembling. My mother put her arm around my shoulder, wiping away her own tears. “Rory, I’m here.” I leaned into her embrace, my throat tight. “It’s okay. At least the baby was here with me for a little while.” I looked at the freshly turned earth. “And, honestly, given the situation, perhaps it’s better he never had to come to this home.” The words had barely left my mouth when Alex finally arrived, late. He knelt beside me. “Baby, Daddy…” I cut him off, my voice cold. “I told you that day. If you walked out, this child would have no father.” “Rory, I know you’re hurting, but don’t say things like that…” He frowned at me, his expression making it abundantly clear that he thought I was being unreasonable, and that he was being the magnanimous one for tolerating my tantrum. “I’m also heartbroken that our child is gone. You…” My mother raised her hand and delivered a sharp slap across his face. “Heartbroken? Your heartbreak is abandoning your wife in labor to go tend to some tramp? You should be ashamed!” Alex’s face darkened instantly. Before he could speak, Savannah, eyes red-rimmed, rushed in from the path outside the cemetery. She looked at Alex, her voice thick with sobs. “A-Alex… are you done with your prayers?” “Are you… finally coming back home to me?” My father immediately stepped forward. “Alex! What day is this? How dare you bring this woman here?” Alex seemed to know his behavior was inexcusable, and he spoke with an air of guilt. “Dad, I couldn’t help it. Savannah’s mental state has been fragile lately. I can’t leave her alone.” “Fragile? And it falls to another woman’s husband to babysit her? Do you know it’s your child’s memorial today? Do you know how Rory has suffered?” Savannah instantly lowered her head, her voice barely a whisper. “Uncle, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Alex just said he was going out, and I got scared, so I followed him.” It was the perfect, pathetic display. Just as expected, Alex immediately stepped in front of her. “Dad, take your anger out on me. Don’t torment her.” My father was furious, turning to Alex’s parents. “This is the ‘good son’ you raised!” My mother helped me stand up, shaking with anger. “Alex, are you even a man?” Alex’s parents panicked. “Alex, this is completely inappropriate. Please find someone to send Savannah home.” But Alex acted as if he hadn’t heard them. Instead, he tightened his grip on Savannah’s hand. “Her mental state has just stabilized. She can’t take any more shock.” I looked at him, my voice dry. “So… in your eyes, she can’t be shocked, but I can? I’m supposed to shoulder the death of our child all by myself, is that right?” Before he could respond, Savannah spoke up weakly, her tone heavy with manufactured remorse. “It’s okay, Alex. Rory is right. I’m being thoughtless. You… you go back. Take care of your wife.” “I’ll… I’ll go home and pack up your things now.” She stumbled as she turned, her high heel catching on a gravestone, sending her sprawling to the ground. Alex’s grip on my hand tightened, then instantly went slack, the impulse to rush to her side almost winning. But he stayed put, watching Marcus rush to help her up. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice low and firm. “I’ll stay with you for a bit longer.” He then looked directly at Savannah. “But you need to remember this, Savannah. Rory is my lawfully wedded wife.” “The day she needs me back, I will leave you. Do not cry or cause trouble. I have already done more than enough for you these past years.” Savannah bit her lip, seemingly unable to hold back any longer, and she ran crying out of the cemetery. Alex remained expressionless and did not follow. But the hand that was holding mine was trembling slightly. Intentions are impossible to hide. I remembered years ago when I was hospitalized with acute gastroenteritis. He drove through the night to get home. His eyes were red with worry and pity, yet he still lectured me for eating junk food. Back then, he had also spoken harsh words, but his fingers had gently caressed the back of my hand the entire time. 3 That evening, we sat at a large table in a private dining room. The two families’ elders were present, and the atmosphere was thick with tension. Marcus leaned toward Alex and whispered in his ear. “Savannah’s still crying in the parking lot. Security says she won’t get out of the car.” Alex was calmly passing me the meal. He didn’t look up. “Let her be.” The air in the room grew several degrees colder. The meal was entirely flavorless, no different from dining alone. Savannah was the daughter of Alex’s mentor, and they had grown up together. Though Marcus didn’t outright say it, the level of care he showed her was clearly greater than what he showed me, the official wife. The main courses arrived. The last dish, a whole roasted ribbs, was placed in front of me. Marcus suddenly spoke up. “Can we save some of that for Savvy? She loves ribbs. Rory, if you want more, we can just order another one.” Alex gave a cold laugh. He simply lifted the entire platter and placed it directly in front of me. His voice was hard. “What my wife likes is not meant to be shared with strangers.” Even so, after putting down his chopsticks, he kept glancing toward the private room door. A waiter began collecting the finished dishes and preparing to leave with a cart of food waste. After a long stretch of silence, Alex suddenly stood up. “I’ll take that.” The waiter hesitated, handing him the large trash bag with a confused look. Once Alex was gone, Marcus immediately moved to the seat furthest from me, pretending to check his email. Both sets of parents sat in awkward silence, mechanically chewing their food. I felt a suffocating tightness in my chest. I got up and walked out into the corridor, needing fresh air. Before I realized it, I had reached the underground parking garage. I faintly heard Savannah’s tearful sobs, intermingled with Alex’s low, soothing voice. I hid behind a concrete pillar. Outside, soft flakes of snow were beginning to fall. Alex and Savannah were sitting side-by-side on the hood of his sedan, sharing a takeout container of food. He lifted his hand and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. Savannah, her eyes red, lightly punched him on the arm, her face a mask of wounded entitlement. “You’re going back to her, so why are you still bothering to care about me?” Alex let her hit him, his gaze devoid of any impatience. His eyes were tender and completely accepting. It was a look that was fundamentally different from the carefully maintained, polite warmth he always showed me. He spoke, his voice filled with weariness. “Don’t be ridiculous. I promised my mentor I’d look out for you forever. You know I would never abandon you.” Savannah sniffled and moved closer to his side. Alex picked up a piece of rib with his chopsticks and brought it to her lips. “I had my private caterer make this specifically and send it over. It’s much better than the food at the restaurant.” She took a bite and her crying gradually subsided. Alex lowered his voice to explain to her. “Rory just lost the baby. Her emotions are unstable.” “It’s just one dinner with the families.” “If she’s satisfied, she won’t constantly nag me about coming home.” That was it. That was how he saw it.

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My wife, Sienna, is a concert pianist. I spent five years of my life trying to win her over, a devotion that bordered on the absurd. She finally agreed to be with me, but after we married, she insisted she couldn’t have children. She always claimed it was for her career—her art—the grueling practice schedule, the touring. I knew her ambition; I was also tired of waiting. So, I did the unforgivable: I subtly compromised the barrier between us. I poked a few tiny holes in the rubber. Sienna finally got pregnant. Twins, no less. Just as I was drowning in the sheer, dizzying joy of becoming a father, I scrolled through her colleague’s social media feed. It was a screenshot of a pregnancy test—Sienna’s actual results—and a caption. “Thank you, Sienna, for finally making my dream of fatherhood come true.” “So excited for my twin babies!” The words hit me like a lightning strike. I felt the floor drop out from under me. I was a punchline. I had been living a joke. I packed my bags that night, during her colleague’s birthday party. I took all my clothes, my books, my chargers—everything that was definitively mine. The only thing I left on the writing desk was the signed divorce agreement. 1 Sienna came home and found me sitting on the living room sofa, my phone still displaying that screenshot: the positive test, the congratulatory post by her mentor’s student, Caspian. She was six months pregnant, moving with a noticeable, heavy waddle, but her face held a deep, pleasurable contentment. As always, her eyes drifted to the entrance table, waiting for me to place the slippers and bring a warm glass of water. But this time, I didn’t move. She paused, then bent to change her shoes herself, the enormous swell of her belly making the action clumsy and difficult. Her fingers managed to brush the laces, but she couldn’t undo them. Watching her struggle, a raw ache twisted in my chest. Any other day, I would have been on my knees in an instant, helping her off with her shoes, running her bath, maybe even massaging her back. But today, my limbs felt bound by invisible chains, completely immobilized. She looked at me, a flicker of confusion and then a slight, wounded expression in her eyes. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Usually, that simple, soft tone, that look of innocent vulnerability, was all it took for me to melt and cater to her every need. After a few excruciating seconds of delay, the ingrained habit won. I stood, walked over, and slid the comfortable indoor slippers onto her feet. Maybe it was habit. Maybe, despite everything, it was still love. My utter silence finally broke through her pleasant fog. “Grant, seriously. What is it? You look completely miserable.” I didn’t answer. I just handed her the phone. The screen glowed with the undeniable evidence. Her gaze fixed on the image and the accompanying caption. The smile vanished, replaced by an expression of pure blankness, swiftly followed by a flash of panic. Then, the script was ready. She chose her words carefully, a deep breath steadying her before she spoke. “Caspian has always desperately wanted a child,” she began, her voice low and rehearsed. “You know Sylvie passed away before they could have a family. He says he’ll never remarry, and he feels it would be wrong, maybe even illegal, to just use a surrogate.” “I’m his student’s peer. We’ve known each other for years. We share a history.” “Besides, Professor Ellington has done so much for my career, asking nothing in return. When he finally asked this one thing of me… I couldn’t refuse him.” “It was just… a medical procedure. In vitro.” “As soon as the babies are born, they will go to Caspian to raise.” A desolate chill swept through me. I thought back to the nights when I had first found out about the pregnancy, ecstatic and unable to sleep. I had worried that she would be furious at my deceptive act, that she would refuse to keep the twins. But then I saw her joy, and I believed she had finally had a change of heart. I thought she wanted our family. Now, I knew. It was all a terrible, soul-crushing misunderstanding. When I was smugly congratulating myself for my clever little trick, she was probably just breathing a sigh of relief that the initial hurdle was cleared. I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. I felt like the biggest fool alive. “So you decided to hide it?” My voice was dangerously flat. “You let me run around like an idiot, fussing over you every day, planning nurseries, thinking these were our children!” “Do you have any idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this? How much joy I felt?” “And now… now I find out that I’m just collateral damage. That I’ve been living a joke!” Tears streamed down her face. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling dramatically. I felt a confusing mix of white-hot anger and deep, agonizing pain. She had been my everything; my happiness was something I’d spent half a decade fighting for. Now, it was a shattered illusion. She lifted her head, all soft, fragile pleading. “Please, Grant, don’t be angry. This was only about repaying the kindness and mentorship of Professor Ellington.” “When I deliver this baby, I promise, we can have as many of your own children as you want. I’ll give you everything you need, okay?” 2 I wanted to scream, No! I wanted to walk out and slam the door, to wipe the entire nightmare away. But in the end, all those impulses condensed into one long, hollow sigh. I succumbed to the reality of the situation—and to the last dying embers of my love and reluctance to lose her. Then, her abdomen spasmed violently. Her face turned chalk white. Panic took over. I scooped her up immediately, rushed her to the car, and drove like a maniac to the nearest emergency room. Her hand gripped the passenger seat strap, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. “Call Caspian… quick, call him…” My heart seemed to clench, hard and painful, but I did as she asked. I pulled out my phone and dialed Caspian’s number. At the hospital, the doctor wheeled her into the examination room. Moments later, Caspian came sprinting down the hallway, his face a mask of frantic concern. He didn’t spare me a single glance. He headed straight for the door and slipped inside. I stood outside, glued to the spot. Through the partially open door, I saw a scene that twisted my insides. Sienna lay on the examination table, still pale, but the moment she saw Caspian, her eyes softened with a look of absolute, reliant devotion. She grabbed his hand, her voice thick with tears. “Caspian, I’m so scared… are the babies going to be okay?” He leaned over her, gently stroking her hair. His voice was a tender murmur, capable of dissolving any fear. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m here. You and the children will be fine. I promise.” I was the outsider, the invisible man. Watching their intimate exchange, the last fragile wisp of hope I’d been clinging to evaporated. She possessed a tenderness and dependence for him that she had never shown me. My heart felt like it was being fed into a grinder. I stood there, still clutching her patient file and lab reports, realizing I was utterly superfluous. I took a step toward the table, but Caspian shifted his body, a silent, definitive barrier between Sienna and me, as if I were the trespasser. His voice, though still gentle toward Sienna, carried an edge of cold, non-negotiable authority. “Sienna, you need to rest. Don’t get emotional.” He finally turned to me, his eyes cool and dismissive. “I’ve got it from here, Grant. You can go home now.” I opened my mouth, a pathetic attempt to argue, but Sienna spoke first. “Honey, why don’t you go? With Caspian here, I’ll be fine.” Her tone was a soft, urgent plea, making it clear that his presence was the one she actually required. Caspian remained where he was, a human wall standing firmly between the two of us. My heart felt suddenly hollowed out. I stood there, awkward and utterly useless, the patient file suddenly heavy in my hands. The only thing I could think to say was pathetically mundane. “Is there… anything you want to eat? I could go get something.” “I’ll buy you that seafood chowder you love. And fresh strawberries. How does that sound?” Caspian cut in immediately, a faint note of mockery in his tone. “She doesn’t like that anymore. Her tastes changed in the second trimester. Didn’t you know that?” I froze. I looked at Sienna, desperate for a rebuttal, a defense. She only lowered her head, nervously twisting the corner of the hospital sheet. Her voice was weak. “Hmm… yeah. I don’t really want that right now. It sounds kind of heavy.” My heart sank. I’d bought her that exact chowder just a few days ago, and she had eaten every spoonful, thanking me with a kiss. Now, she was telling me she was sick of it. 3 The misery was a suffocating weight, but I forced my voice to remain calm. “Then what do you want? I’ll go get it right now.” Caspian preempted me again, pulling a beautifully packaged box of pastries from his pocket. He offered them to Sienna. “I made a quick stop. These are your new favorite flavors, aren’t they? Try one.” Sienna took the box, a genuine, delighted smile lighting her face. Her voice was suddenly lighter. “Thank you, Caspian. You always know exactly what I want.” I stumbled out of the room, shell-shocked. Was this the “no influence” she had promised? Caspian stayed with her the entire time she was admitted. On the day she was discharged, I drove to the hospital early, a massive bouquet of her favorite white lilies in my hand. But when I pushed the door open, the scene inside struck me motionless. Sienna was already dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed. Caspian was kneeling, lacing up her shoes. Professor Ellington, her esteemed mentor—the elderly man who had always been polite to me—stood nearby, holding a small overnight bag, a subtle, satisfied look on his face. “Sienna, the car is waiting downstairs. Whenever you’re ready, we’ll go.” Sienna nodded, looking like a dutiful student. “Ready, Professor.” I stood in the doorway, the lilies suddenly feeling like a heavy, absurd prop. A profound, aching emptiness washed over me. “Sienna, I came to take you home.” She glanced up at me, her eyes completely devoid of warmth or recognition. “Grant, the Professor says I should stay at his home until I deliver. My due date is close, and it’s getting difficult to move around.” “It’s not that you couldn’t manage, but… the Professor’s house has a larger staff. They can look after me better.” Her tone was utterly matter-of-fact, as if this was a simple scheduling update that required no discussion. I was an afterthought, someone she was merely notifying, expecting my cheerful agreement. “Sienna…” I tried to speak, but the Professor was already picking up the bag, and Caspian was helping her stand. She finally met my eyes, and a flash of impatience crossed her face. “With the Professor and Caspian looking after me, what exactly do you have to worry about?” “Besides, they have a dedicated housekeeper. How can one man possibly provide the same level of care?” The Professor’s voice broke in again, edged with subtle urgency. “Let’s go. The driver is waiting.” Sienna nodded and moved with them toward the door. As she passed me, she didn’t even offer a glance, acting as if I were nothing more than a coat rack. I stood there, holding a bouquet of slowly wilting lilies, completely gutted. Back home, I sat in the echoing silence of our living room. I stared at the dead lilies in my hand. The image of the hospital room—Sienna’s coldness, Caspian’s smugness, the Professor’s condescending authority—kept replaying in my mind. It was in that moment that the decision became absolute. I needed a divorce. Just as I sank into the black hole of my confusion, my phone rang. The name on the screen made my eyes snap open. Sienna. Already? Did this mean she hated staying at the Professor’s house? Was she calling to come home? 4 The sudden rush of hope completely overwhelmed the misery. My voice was tight with an unwarranted surge of joy. “Sienna, are you—” She cut me off before I could finish. “You need to bring me a few changes of clothes. I can’t stand these borrowed robes.” “Also, Caspian’s birthday is coming up. The gift I bought for him? I need you to bring it over.” My throat suddenly went bone-dry. I knew exactly which box she meant. When I first saw it—beautifully wrapped, elegant—I assumed it was my own delayed birthday gift, since Caspian and I were born only a month apart. I let out a silent, ragged laugh. Tears pricked my eyes. I had been delusional. I forced a tight smile onto my face, saying only, “Alright.” When I arrived with her clothes, Professor Ellington’s home was a flurry of activity—they were setting up for Caspian’s party. Most of the guests were music colleagues, fellow students, and prominent figures in the local art scene. The party space was exquisite, romantically lit, with soft, classical music playing. Sienna was seated next to Caspian, a violin held in her hands. He was at a grand piano, his fingers hovering over the keys. Their music began, intertwining perfectly, an undeniable, breathtaking harmony. They were the very definition of a Golden Duo. Their eyes met constantly, exchanging a profound sense of recognition and history, as if the rest of the world had dissolved and only the two of them existed in a white-hot spotlight. The crowd erupted in applause. People whispered, their voices carrying easily in the silent afterglow. “They truly are a perfect pair! A match made in artistic heaven.” “I heard they grew up studying music together. They’ve always shared this soul-deep harmony.” I stood frozen in the corner. The more beautiful their music became, the more profoundly I felt my own displacement. The sheer, overwhelming feeling of being an intruder, of being utterly irrelevant, crashed over me like a tidal wave. I turned silently and left the party. I started packing my belongings into my suitcase, the movements mechanical and numb. Finally, I walked to the desk, pulled out the drawer, and retrieved the divorce agreement. The pen in my hand trembled slightly, but I pressed down and firmly signed my name. I placed the agreement on the desktop, next to a small, single key. It was the key to our home, and it was my final goodbye. I wheeled my suitcase out the front door and didn’t look back. But just as I reached the sidewalk, my phone started ringing again. 5 I stared at the name flashing on the screen, feeling it stab and twist in my heart. The tears I had held back finally broke free. It was Sienna. I didn’t want to answer; I was terrified I’d waver. The phone rang until it fell silent. Then, a text message alert. From Sienna. “Grant, why aren’t you answering your phone?” “You drop off my things and leave without a word? That is incredibly rude!” “I was just talking about you to the Professor, telling him you’re a sharp businessman, tactful and well-mannered. You just completely made me look bad!” The sheer self-absorption in her angry text was a bucket of ice water dumped over my head, killing the last flicker of hope. In love, the person who cares the most is always the one who loses everything. I bought a ticket and returned to New York City. My life was not what Sienna believed. My mother is the legendary concert pianist, Minerva Stone. My father is the celebrated composer, Rory Stone. My parents had wanted me to follow in their footsteps, but I had absolutely no musical talent and fiercely rejected the art world. I went to business school to escape their control, creating a rift that lasted years. That’s why I hadn’t returned home. When Sienna and I got married, I hired actors to play my parents. Sienna met them a few times, but finding no common ground with the stiff, fabricated relationship, she slowly drifted away from them. I focused entirely on our small, isolated life, only maintaining the bare minimum of contact with my real family. Sienna once told me she idolized Minerva Stone. At the time, I’d considered revealing the truth to her. But then my parents started calling, urging me to come back for a business engagement, and I decided against bringing Sienna into that world. Now, she had clearly found her true path, her shared legacy, with Caspian. It was time for me to go home. Standing before the familiar mahogany front door, I felt a mix of anxiety and excitement. Years had passed, but the house felt utterly unchanged. I took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately. My mother, Minerva Stone, stood there in an elegant silk dress. Her eyes rested on my face for a few seconds, then instantly welled up. “Grant? You’re finally home…” My throat tightened. “Mom, I’m back.” My father, Rory Stone, came out of the living room, a musical score in his hand. His hair was streaked with gray, but his eyes were still sharp. He looked at me, his voice low but with a hint of undeniable emotion. “Welcome home, son. Welcome home.” The familiar sound of piano music drifted from the living room, mixing with a faint scent of cedarwood and polish. My mother took my hand, her voice laced with gentle reproach. “All these years, not a single visit. Do you know how worried your father and I have been?” “If you hadn’t come back soon, we might have disowned you.” I lowered my head, guilt washing over me. I had been stubborn, foolishly convinced I needed to completely detach from their influence. “I’m sorry, Mom. I should have come back sooner.” My father interrupted, his voice kind and accepting. “It’s over now. You’re here.” “We won’t dwell on the past.” My mother nodded, a bright smile returning to her face. “That’s right. And speaking of which, Vivian is here today. You two haven’t seen each other in ages, have you?” “Vivian?”

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My daughter, Jolie, was born with a startling, almost mythical genetic Polycoria —a rare condition that made her irises appear strangely duplicated. It had terrified Stella’s freshly returned ghost of first love, Liam. In a fit of panicked, cruel deference to him, Stella had hired an eye specialist to remove the eyes. I knelt in the driving rain for three days and three nights, begging her not to do this to our child. But Stella had simply looped her arm through Liam’s, looking down at me as if I were a stain. “I’m helping Jolie, Marcus,” she’d said. “It’s better to be blind than to be called a freak and a monster, isn’t it?” “Having her eyes removed won’t kill her. I can just get her a pair of high-end prosthetics afterward.” The moment Jolie’s surgery was over, Liam called the doctor away, complaining that his own eyes were dry and strained. When I burst into the operating room, my daughter had already stopped breathing, her tiny body ravaged by infection. After covering Jolie with a white sheet, I pulled out my phone and dialed my father-in-law, George Hawthorne. “Five years ago, you saved my life. When the Hawthorne Group faced ruin, I honored that debt by joining your family with a colossal half-a-billion-dollar investment. My daughter is now dead. You and I are officially even.” 1. Blood seeped continuously from Jolie’s hollowed-out eye sockets. I clutched her small, thin body and kowtowed to the doctor, pleading with him to save my daughter one more time. The doctor’s face was etched with unbearable pity. “Mr. Ashworth, the child is gone. Please, accept my condolences.” I had heard that sentence countless times. Now, my heart went cold, fading along with the last remnants of my daughter’s body heat. George Hawthorne arrived, late and breathless. He saw me, collapsed and cradling my daughter on the hospital floor, and his expression twisted in shock and rage. “Marcus, what in God’s name happened? Jolie, she—” The grief in my chest was so immense that no sound could escape. The doctor standing nearby felt compelled to speak up. “The child’s eyes were brutally removed. The fresh wounds were left unattended, leading to a massive infection. We did everything we could, but…” Those few words summed up the cause of her death. Yet, all I could see in my mind was the terrifying image of Jolie strapped to the operating table, screaming, “Daddy! Daddy!” I couldn’t believe Stella could be so utterly ruthless—that she wouldn’t even allow the doctor to tend to the child’s wounds. George swayed, clutching the wall to stay upright. His hands clenched into fists, and he slammed them against the sterile white paint. “I never thought the daughter I raised with such indulgence could have such a viperous heart!” The words had barely left his lips when Stella’s personal assistant walked in with a strawberry cake. He casually placed it on a chair in the corridor. “Ms. Hawthorne sent this as a reward for Jolie. She told me to tell Jolie that she is the bravest, most obedient child, her mother’s good girl.” George was trembling with fury. He snatched up the cake and hurled it directly into the assistant’s face. “That wretch ruined her own daughter! And now she sends a reward? Tell her to get over here right now!” The assistant was silent, terrified. George had no choice but to call Stella himself. When she picked up, her voice sounded slightly annoyed. “Dad, did Marcus run to you to complain?” “Liam said children with the anomaly bring a curse on the family. I’ve already arranged for a custom-made, high-end pair of prosthetic eyes. Once she has them, everything will be fine.” Hearing Stella’s casual dismissal, a fresh wave of blinding fury surged through me. “Jolie was the child you carried for nine months! Stella, how can you speak with such brutal indifference!?” She became instantly impatient. “Marcus, are you going to be tiresome? I know Jolie suffered, but I sent a cake over, didn’t I? Liam and I are busy with our own baby’s prenatal care every day. Can you stop bothering me with these petty issues?” My eyes fell on the ruined cake splattered on the floor. Stella always bought strawberry cake when she wanted to placate Jolie. But I had told her countless times: Jolie was severely allergic to strawberries. She never remembered. Jolie’s body was completely cold now. I carefully lifted her, rising to my feet. Blood dripped steadily from her eye sockets, like long, continuous streams of tears. Seeing this sight, George’s legs instantly gave way, and he fell to his knees with a loud thud. Panic and terror clouded his face. Thick, miserable tears poured down his cheeks. “Marcus, this disaster—it’s the fault of the animal I raised!” “I will teach her a lesson she’ll never forget. Please, for the sake of the years you spent with Stella, and for what you did for the Hawthorne Group, forgive us this one time…” I couldn’t hold back my own tears any longer. They fell, warm and stinging, onto Jolie’s pale, blood-flecked face. Five years ago, to repay George for saving my life, I brought that colossal investment to the company and even agreed to an arranged marriage, joining the family as the son-in-law to ensure a steady stream of business. After the wedding, Stella and I were polite strangers, sharing no real spark. I had foolishly believed that with a child, our family of three would finally find happiness. Instead, my child met this miserable, cruel death. And Stella, her own mother, was already eagerly anticipating the birth of the other man’s child. I held Jolie’s corpse tighter, looking down with cold indifference at George’s pleading face. “If it weren’t for Jolie, I would have walked away from the Hawthornes years ago. Now she is gone. The debt is paid. I have no further ties to your family.” 2. I left the hospital and personally buried Jolie. I cut a lock of her hair and wove it into the wristband she loved to wear. It was the only tangible memory I allowed myself to keep. George looked devastated. After a long silence, he begged me not to completely erase Jolie’s name from the Hawthorne family records. I agreed. After all, a part of her did share their blood. After settling Jolie’s affairs, I carried her small wooden memorial pendant back to the Hawthorne manor to pack my belongings. The moment I stepped through the door, I saw Stella and Liam lounging together on a sun-drenched chaise lounge. And what they were fiddling with in their hands were Jolie’s eyes, preserved and mounted. “I heard the anomaly wards off evil. Is that true?” Stella asked, her voice soft and lazy. Liam leaned down and kissed her, his tone tender. “Of course. I’ve been researching ancient texts to protect you and our baby. And I found this remedy. The anomaly is so rare, but of course, Jolie had a perfect set!” As he spoke, he jabbed a needle and thread through one of the orbs. He was stringing the two eye-orbs together with a few pearls, crafting a small, delicate bracelet. Watching them treat my daughter’s eyes like grotesque toys, I felt my heart violently tear apart inside my chest. My rasping, ragged breath finally drew their attention. I moved toward them like a wounded animal. Stella looked at me, a flash of pure annoyance in her eyes. “What are you doing back?” Her gaze dropped to the small pendant in my arms. “Why are you carrying a memorial pendant? That’s utterly bad luck! Get that thing out of my house!” “Marcus Ashworth, why do you constantly have to create drama? You know I’m carrying Liam’s child, so you’re deliberately trying to upset me, aren’t you? I’m warning you, it won’t work! Everything the Hawthorne Group owns belongs to Liam’s child!” “As for Jolie, if she’s willing to call Liam ‘Dad’ and properly respect us in the future, I might even set up a trust fund for her so she’ll be comfortable.” Hearing her speak of Jolie like this, the grief and rage inside me threatened to become uncontrollable. Since Jolie was born, Stella had never once looked her in the eye. Even at her young age, Jolie had sensed her mother’s disgust. Every night, she would hold my hand and whisper her cautious questions: “Daddy, is Jolie too demanding? Is that why Mommy doesn’t like me?” “I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll do whatever Mommy says. Can you ask her to come see me, just for a minute?” Thinking of it now, Jolie’s innocent words felt like sharpened knives, stabbing my already tattered heart. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to suppress the searing pain. I just wanted to grab my things and leave, now. But Stella wasn’t finished with me. “Marcus, are you speechless?” “You walk around here like some successful scion, fooling my father completely. Now you can’t say a word? And where is Jolie? Bring her out! She’s probably not learning anything good from you, her father. Maybe we should just let Liam raise her from now on!” She invoked Jolie’s name one time too many. I lost all control of my temper. My hand lashed out, and I slapped her across the face. “You don’t deserve to say her name!” Stella clutched her cheek, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief. “Marcus Ashworth! You dare to hit me? I swear I will make sure you never see Jolie again!” I squeezed my eyes shut, struggling against the devastating sorrow. “Jolie is dead. You can’t threaten me. I will never see her again anyway!” Stella froze, slowly knitting her brows. “What did you say?” I repeated the words, flatly. Just as Stella opened her mouth to speak again, Liam finally stepped forward, his expression grave. “Marcus, we hired the very best surgeon for Jolie.” “I know you’re upset about the procedure, but you can’t use your own daughter’s life as a weapon to deceive Stella.” 3. “Marcus Ashworth, you don’t deserve to be a father!” The flicker of doubt on Stella’s face vanished, replaced by cold certainty. “You’re just afraid that the baby Liam and I are having will cut into Jolie’s inheritance, aren’t you? You always pretended to be the heir to some hidden dynasty, but you’re just a leech who used the Hawthorne family wealth! You’re just a son-in-law who refuses to leave!” “I’m telling you now, as long as I’m here, you will never get what you want!” She gently stroked her stomach, a soft, tender look entering her eyes. “Everything here belongs to Liam and me.” “If my father hadn’t forced me to marry you back then, Liam and I would have been together years ago. Now, we’re simply getting things back on track!” With that, she didn’t spare me another look. She took Liam’s hand and walked away. She seemed to have forgotten the truth: Liam was the one who abandoned her, moving abroad with another woman. Stella had been utterly devastated, falling into a severe depression, leading to repeated acts of self-harm. I had stayed by her side to protect her, even taking the blade for her when she spiraled. To this day, my body bears the scars from her moments of emotional breakdown. Later, she would cry as she traced those scars, swearing she would be with me forever. But Liam’s return shattered everything. Stella’s resentment for me surfaced. She started staying out all night. She even brought Liam into our house on countless nights. The memory made my stomach clench with a rising nausea. I rushed into the house and quickly stuffed my clothes into a suitcase. Just as I was about to walk out, Liam appeared, blocking my path. He glanced at my luggage with contempt. “Open it. The diamond necklace Stella and I bought for our baby is missing. I suspect you stole it.” I looked at him and let out a cold, bitter laugh. “If you want a confrontation, just say so. Don’t use such a pathetic excuse.” Liam merely raised an eyebrow. With a swift hand gesture, two bodyguards materialized behind him. The hulking men marched up to me, grabbing my arm and twisting it sharply backward. A sickening snap of splintering bone exploded in my ear. I cried out in raw pain. Liam pointed at my waist and commanded in a cold voice, “Open his suitcase for me!” I violently widened my eyes, struggling with all my might. Seeing my desperate fight, Liam scowled and personally joined the two bodyguards, pinning me down hard onto the floor. I watched, helpless, as my suitcase was violently ripped open. Jolie’s small, wooden memorial pendant hit the hardwood floor with a sharp crack. Her name glared up at everyone present. Stella, rushing in after hearing the commotion, saw the pendant. Her expression instantly shifted. “Marcus Ashworth, you actually dared to write your daughter’s name on a memorial pendant!?” 4. Stella’s face was dark with anger. She marched forward and slapped me hard across the face with the back of her hand. “How dare you? You’re the child’s father! How can you do such a thing!?” “Liam is about to be a father, and he thinks every day about how to protect his child. And you? You’re cursing your own daughter to death!”

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