1 At 2:00 AM, the rustling beside me woke me. I saw Marcus’s brow tightly furrowed. I couldn’t help but ask, “Why are you back? Did you have a fight with her?” He remained silent for a moment, then gave a slow nod. I sat up and offered a quiet word of comfort. “She’s young and spoiled. Just throwing a little tantrum. Buy her that bag or necklace she’s been eyeing tomorrow, and she’ll be fine.” He stared at me, a deep, unreadable look in his eyes, but ultimately didn’t say a word. I lay back down and fell asleep as peacefully as ever. Four years. It had taken four years to transform me from a hysterical, suicidal, jealous wreck into his most understanding confidante. … At 7:00 AM, Marcus walked out of the bedroom. He glanced at me. “What’s your schedule for today?” “I have plans for coffee,” I replied, sliding the bowl of oatmeal toward him. “Want some?” He didn’t sit. Instead, he pulled an envelope from his briefcase and slid it across the table. “See if you like these.” Inside were two VIP tickets to an art exhibition. I tucked them into my bag. “Thanks. What brought this on?” “Tessa likes the artist,” he paused, his voice dropping slightly. “These were extras.” I nodded. If this had been years ago, that bowl of oatmeal would have been dripping from his face by now. But now, I had learned not to waste food. I took a quiet sip. He lingered, waiting for a reaction. When none came, he turned and left. It wasn’t long before my phone rang with an unfamiliar number. I used to ignore calls like this to avoid hearing her voice, but I had outgrown that habit. I picked up and put it on speaker. “Hey, Vivienne. It’s Tessa. Marcus left some important documents at my place. Do you mind swinging by to pick them up?” I scooped up another bite of oatmeal. “He has keys. He can get them himself.” “Actually, I wanted to talk to you. There are things I’ve been keeping inside…” My expression didn’t change. “I’m busy this afternoon. Maybe another time.” I hung up. I was never actually a generous woman. Tessa had been provoking me for exactly four years and eight days. I kept count. At first, I was a tinderbox, blowing up at the slightest spark and making a fool of myself. Later, friends advised me to focus on myself and ignore her. So Tessa shifted her strategy. She stopped hiding and started pushing herself into my life. One day she’d post the designer bag Marcus bought her; the next, she’d send screenshots of their late-night texts. In the end, I couldn’t take it and went to confront her. But Marcus always believed her over me. The more I fought, the uglier it got, trapping me in a vicious, suffocating cycle. But now, no matter what cards she played, they had lost their power over me. At 3:00 PM, I had barely been at the café for half an hour when Marcus suddenly showed up. He rarely crashed my plans. This was a surprise. “I was in the neighborhood,” he said, pulling out a chair and casually flipping through the menu. My friend, taking the hint, politely excused herself. I looked at him. “Is something wrong?” “Did Tessa call you this morning?” “Yes.” “What did she say?” I looked up at him. What could she say? Nothing but her usual boasts about how he was a beast in her bed but a corpse in mine. I still remembered the first time she called me. It was our second anniversary. I had hosted a small dinner party, inviting our closest friends to celebrate our marriage. We waited for him until the party was nearly over. Then, an unknown number called, filling the line with heavy, breathless gasps. Just as I was about to apologize for a wrong number, a familiar male voice came through the speaker, breathless and feral: “Tessa, don’t bite.” Our friends froze, glasses suspended in mid-air. Before leaving, every single one of them offered the same well-meaning advice: “Vivienne, Marcus is a powerful man now. The temptations are endless. Talk to him when he gets back, but don’t do anything rash.” And I listened. That night, we sat in the living room until 3:00 AM. I didn’t scream. And he confessed. He claimed it was a momentary lapse, that he’d had too much to drink and mistook Tessa for me. Then he dropped to his knees, begging for forgiveness, swearing he would never do it again, swearing I was his only love. I believed him. I thought that by exposing Tessa’s cheap trick, Marcus would see her for what she was and keep his distance. After all, what self-respecting man wouldn’t learn his lesson after being manipulated like that? But he didn’t. Instead of backing away, he decided Tessa was “brave enough to risk everything for him,” and his heart bled for her. Behind my back, he bought her a luxury apartment downtown, nurturing her with his wealth and affection. That was when I finally understood. There was no mistaken identity. He knew exactly what he was doing. Tessa wasn’t an accident. She was his choice. And I was the one left behind, biting my tongue and pretending to be the bigger person. 2 Pulling myself out of the memory, I looked up at him and shook my head. “Nothing.” But I knew him well enough to know this question wasn’t innocent. I must have done something to hurt Tessa again. I set my cup down. “Did she tell you something?” “Did she say I hired someone to ruin her? Or that I put up banners at her apartment complex to trash her reputation?” “You can just say it, Marcus. No need to test me. I can explain.” I used to do countless stupid things when she pushed my buttons. And by some cruel stroke of luck, Marcus would always catch me in the act. The villain was cast, and I was banished to the cold. But I had learned my lesson. No more desperate explanations. No more frantic counterattacks. I lifted my cup, took a slow, deliberate sip, and waited for him to show his hand. He blinked, his face darkening slightly. “She didn’t say anything.” I nodded. “How rare.” His lips parted, and he turned his cup in a slow circle. “I came back last night because we had a fight. But that wasn’t the only reason.” “Mainly because of the fight, then. What else?” I waved the waiter over to refill my hot water. “Can you stop doing this?” He rubbed his temples, looking exhausted. “If you’re angry, just say it.” “I’m perfectly fine, Marcus. You’re overthinking things.” 3 He didn’t speak, just kept staring at me. I didn’t know how to make him believe me. Because honestly, even I found it hard to believe. I had lost everything in this marriage. How could I possibly be fine? But I couldn’t explain it to him. Suddenly, his favorite phrase felt incredibly useful: “If that’s what you want to think, I can’t stop you.” He let those words sink in, paused, then got up and walked out. I watched his retreating back, then picked up my book again. Over the past four years, countless nights of him not coming home had eroded my boundaries to dust. I had screamed, I had threatened to end it all, only to end up more broken than before. Now that I truly didn’t care, he suddenly wanted me to express my feelings. I was never meant to be a bitter wife. Before Marcus, I was always poised, logical, and entirely in control. Back when I was making waves on Wall Street, I never imagined I would lose myself to a relationship. I had become the very kind of woman I used to despise. Love makes you selfish, demanding exclusivity. And when you can’t have it, you unravel. But once the love is gone, you find your way back to who you were. … At 8:00 PM, as I was getting ready to head home, Tessa sent a voice note. I tapped it. “Hey, Viv. Marcus had too much to drink, and he’s insisting I pick him up. But I’m not his wife, am I? Maybe you should come instead?” A location pin followed. It was a bar downtown. I didn’t go. Instead, I called Albert. “Marcus is drunk. I’ll text you the address. Go pick him up.” At 11:00 PM, Albert lugged Marcus back, reeking of alcohol. When I opened the door, Marcus nearly collapsed on top of me. “Where’s Tessa?” I asked Albert. “The bartender said… Miss Tessa expected you to show up. She wanted Mr. Marcus to choose between the two of you tonight. She didn’t expect me.” “She tried to drag him away in a huff, but he wanted to keep drinking. I couldn’t watch any longer, so I just put him in the car.” I helped him onto the bed and loosened his tie. He suddenly grabbed my hand. “Do you… do you not love me anymore?” “You’re drunk.” “I’m not drunk.” His eyes were bloodshot. “You used to cry. You used to scream and throw things. Now, even when Tessa baits you, you don’t care. What is going on in your head?” I pulled my hand free. “Go to sleep.” He rolled over, muttering under his breath, “You didn’t come to get me…” I found it almost laughable. Get him? Every time I tried to rescue him in the past, I was met with a locked door. Even on his father’s memorial day, I went to his office to pick him up. But Tessa called complaining of a headache, and he rushed to her side. “Viv, it’s a matter of life and death. I have to get her to the clinic first.” The rest of us became invisible props in his life. That day, I stood there holding the memorial offerings for half an hour before heading to the cemetery alone. In their game of “choose one,” I was never the choice. They might not be tired of playing, but I was done. The next morning, before he even woke up, I went to the bank. The teller asked, “Mrs. Marcus, are you sure you want to transfer this fixed deposit to a checking account? Is there an emergency?” “I’m planning to go abroad soon. Just preparing in advance.” As I walked out, I ran into Tessa. She was standing near the entrance, a smirk playing on her lips. “What a coincidence, Viv.” After four years of dealing with her, I knew every trick in her book. I used to take the bait, shaking with rage while she watched the show. Now, I couldn’t be bothered. “Indeed.” I didn’t break my stride. She called out behind me, “Don’t you want to know what happened at the bar last night?” I didn’t turn around. She raised her voice. “You don’t love him anymore, do you?” I paused. This was one question I couldn’t ignore. “A wife naturally loves her husband. Why does an outsider care so much?” “You…” She was left speechless, her face flushed with irritation. When I got home, Marcus was awake, sitting in the living room and smoking. For all his flaws, he rarely smoked inside the house. I frowned and opened the windows to let the smoke out. “Have you been neglecting your girl lately? She’s been following me around.” I approached him, pulling a box I had prepared long ago from the cabinet under the coffee table. I slid it toward him. “This is a limited-edition bracelet. Use it to patch things up with her.” His fingers, holding the cigarette, stiffened. “By the way,” I continued, ignoring his reaction, “the peace-offering fund you kept with me has been draining fast these past two months.” “Budget wisely. Try not to upset her so often.” This was the arrangement we agreed on during our truce. Every penny he spent on Tessa had to go through my accounts. I wanted to see every transaction. I couldn’t stop him from spending money on his mistress. But instead of driving myself mad with speculation, I preferred to see the cold, hard numbers. His face darkened, and he muttered a brief response before stubbing out his cigarette. “The bank called. They said you made a major transfer.” His voice quieted. “Are you leaving the country?” 4 I hadn’t expected a man who normally ignored me to suddenly care about my finances. Our marriage had crumbled because of secrecy. And the cracks had only widened when the truth came out. So, I had no intention of lying. “Yes. I’m planning to study abroad for a while.” He was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy. “Are you getting ready for a divorce?” Divorce? This marriage gave me wealth and status. As long as I didn’t crave his affection, it was a comfortable arrangement. I had no plans to divorce him. “I just want to get away for a bit,” I answered honestly. “And what about me?” I looked at him, genuinely puzzled. “Marcus, these past four years have taught me one thing: a person must prioritize their own peace of mind. The same goes for you. Stop worrying about whether I’ll be angry, and just do what you want to do.” He stood up, his voice raspy. “I’ve told you a thousand times, Tessa is just… never mind. What if I told you I’m ready to cut things off with her?” “That’s your business. You don’t need to consult me.” If he cut off Tessa, there would only be another Tessa. A man who strays once will stray again. I understood that much. Before he could say more, the doorbell rang. Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose and went to open it. It was Tessa. It seemed she had followed me all the way home. Honestly, she didn’t need to try so hard. If anyone else had been in my position, Tessa wouldn’t have lasted four years. And the person keeping her from becoming the official wife was never me. She marched in, her stilettos clicking sharply on the floor. “Is Vivienne home? I need to speak with her.” I watched her peer into the hallway. Suddenly, I recalled the first time I met her four years ago. She had just graduated, fresh and full of life. Her youth, her vitality, and Marcus’s shameless favoritism had driven me mad back then. I had tried to compete with her in every way. Because she was young, I frequented skin clinics, getting botox, lifts, and every treatment available. Because she was active, I took up dance, yoga, and skydiving. But I could never win against his bias. During that phase, the tabloids were filled with my humiliation: “Mrs. Marcus assaults mistress on the street…” “Wealthy heir’s wife causes drunken scene late at night…” Every photo showed me looking unhinged. I turned myself into a laughingstock, and still, the man I loved never looked back at me. Those four years of fighting had drained me of everything. They made me forget that marriage and love are merely seasonings in life, not the main course. Marcus blocked her path. “Go home.” “No!” For the first time, she screamed at me right in front of him. “Vivienne, stop putting on an act!” “You don’t love him anymore! Why won’t you just divorce him? What is the point of holding onto this empty title?” 5 I stood up from the sofa. Walking over to the door, I greeted her calmly. “Hello, Tessa.” Then I looked at Marcus. “My friends just asked me to play bridge. I’ll head out.” I stepped aside to leave, as if making room for the two of them. But he grabbed my wrist, pulling me back. “You just got home. Don’t go out again.” Then he looked at Tessa, his voice flat. “Whether we get a divorce is between Vivienne and me. Stop making a scene.” I stood quietly to the side, staying out of it. Marcus used to tell me that Tessa was sweet and sensible, that she never cared about a marriage license, and that I should be more accommodating. I didn’t believe him then. I spent all my energy trying to prove she would eventually show her true colors. I still didn’t believe him, but the difference was, I no longer cared to prove anything. She could fight with Marcus all she wanted, demand a ring, demand whatever. As long as she left me out of it. Seeing my silence, Tessa pressed on. “Vivienne, what kind of game are you playing?!” I looked at her, my voice mild. “You’ve been with him for four years, and you still haven’t convinced him to marry you. What’s the point of asking me?” It was the simple truth. If Marcus truly wanted to marry her, I couldn’t have stopped him. He simply valued his own status and reputation more. When he married me, it was a grand, city-wide affair. The vows were too heavy for him to publicly tear down. Tessa’s eyes welled with tears, and she looked at Marcus. Surprisingly, Marcus didn’t comfort her this time. He just kept his eyes locked on me. I felt as if he was trying to drill a hole through me with his gaze. But even if he did, what did it matter? If I didn’t say anything, it would only be twisted into me disrespecting her again. I had learned the hard way to state my piece clearly and keep the high ground. Tessa covered her face and ran out. Marcus didn’t chase after her. He walked to the balcony to smoke a cigarette alone. I went back to the bedroom. I counted the days on my fingers, then pulled out my suitcase and began packing. I didn’t hear him come in, but he was suddenly leaning against the doorframe. “Your visa is approved?” I nodded. “Yes. I leave next Wednesday.” “When did you decide this?” “Three months ago.” He fell silent. Three months ago, our first child had slipped away from my womb. That was the day Tessa poisoned my golden retriever. In a fit of rage, I drove to her place and killed her two pet rabbits. She had called Marcus, sobbing. He rushed over and, in our frantic struggle, pushed me. The pregnancy, which had come as a surprise, ended just as quickly. Any decision made during that dark month felt entirely justified. Yet, even then, I hadn’t asked for a divorce. But ever since that day, he made sure to come home every night. He cancelled dinners and business meetings. It was as if he had finally remembered how to be a husband. Unfortunately, I no longer needed him to be. “Get some rest,” he muttered before turning and heading to his study. 6 On Wednesday morning, I carried my suitcase downstairs. Marcus was sitting in the living room, looking as though he hadn’t slept all night. Two identical sets of documents lay on the coffee table. His signature was already on them. I stared at him, confused. He pushed the divorce papers toward me. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Sign it, and you’re entirely free.” Without so much as glancing at the papers, I took hold of my suitcase and walked past him. “Stop right there.” He caught up with me at the door, his face grim. “What do you actually want?” I turned around. “I’m not signing. And I’m not divorcing you.” A flicker of hope ignited in his eyes. He assumed I was still the woman who loved him desperately, unable to let him go. “Viv, if you still love me, then we can…” “Love?” I laughed, cutting him off. “That doesn’t matter anymore. Didn’t you say it yourself? We’re adults. We don’t talk about feelings; we talk about practicality. This marriage is still useful to me.” His expression stiffened. In the past, because of Tessa, I had threatened divorce countless times. And every single time, he would say: “You rely on me for everything. If you leave me, you won’t even have a roof over your head. Think carefully before you throw a tantrum.” He couldn’t bear to let Tessa suffer the slightest slight. No matter what she did, he always blamed me for not being magnanimous enough. Whenever things escalated toward divorce, he held all the cards. Back then, it was because of love, because of resentment. So it was all empty threats. He knew better than anyone how much I adored him. But now, that cheap affection had exited the stage. All that remained was a calculated game of chess. I spelled it out for him: “Three months ago, I was negotiating an overseas venture. Do you know why that project was approved? Because of my status as your wife.” His face went pale. “Do you have any idea how many major clients my studio has landed over the past four years? They came to me because of your name, Marcus.” I offered a faint smile. “So my decision has nothing to do with love or hate. It’s simply…” “Good business.” He stood there, looking as though he had been struck. “You can do whatever you want with Tessa. I’m going to England, and I won’t be back for six months.” I opened the door. “Divorce is too much of a hassle right now. Let’s keep things convenient for both of us.” Before shutting the door, I added one last thing: “By the way, try not to make any babies. An illegitimate child is never a good look.” I dragged my suitcase behind me and walked away without looking back. In the elevator, I caught my reflection in the mirror. There were no tears, no smiles. Just absolute stillness. I had lied to him. If things went well abroad, I had no intention of ever coming back. … At the boarding gate, I had just pulled out my passport when two uniformed officers approached me. They blocked my path. “Miss Vivienne, you are a suspect in a murder investigation. Please come with us to the station.” I didn’t move. I simply let out a dry laugh. Another game. Tessa had played this trick to disrupt my life so many times that I was entirely numb to it. I tried to step around them. One of them held up a photograph of a crime scene. I took one look, and my eyes widened.

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When the horror game descended upon our world, my boyfriend awakened as the ultimate Boss. But me? I was stuck as the lowest-tier NPC. It happened again while I was complaining and demanding he spend his hard-earned points on expensive fresh fruit. That was when I saw the chat feed. 【He is so dramatic and annoying. Literally does nothing all day but stuff his face.】 【The Boss is fighting for his life out there against those psycho players. He is exhausted, and yet every single point he makes goes straight into this useless NPC’s mouth. Have some shame.】 【Exactly. The top healer on the leaderboard is coming to this instance soon. He and the Boss are the ones meant to end this world together. Useless NPC, just drop dead.】 I stared at the ridiculously priced fruit on the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. Beside me, Ross turned to look at me while washing blood off his hands. “What’s wrong? Pick whatever you want, babe. We have plenty of points.” Terrified, I slapped the interface shut, my voice trembling. “I don’t… I don’t want to eat anything anymore.” 1 Ross straightened up, shaking the bloody water from his hands. It had been three years since the apocalypse, three years since the horror game descended upon our reality. He had become the ultimate Boss of this sector. In the entire Northern Sector, there wasn’t a single player who didn’t fear him. Yet, right now, he tilted his head at me, his dark eyes filled with nothing but confusion. “What’s wrong, babe? Weren’t you begging for strawberries last night?” He walked over, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. “You don’t have a fever.” I instinctively flinched away. The cuts on his hands were still seeping blood. I had slowly grown accustomed to him returning from every instance covered in wounds. But now, the chat feed told me the truth. Those points were bought with his life, and I was using them to buy fresh fruit. How shameless of me. “I really don’t want to eat anything,” I murmured, keeping my head down. Ross narrowed his eyes, his crimson-tinted gaze locking onto me for several tense seconds. “Fine. If you don’t want it, you don’t want it.” He didn’t press further, turning his attention back to wrapping his wounds. “So, what do you want to do instead? Want to go for a walk? I’ll go with you.” I shook my head. “I want to be alone for a bit.” Ross’s movements faltered. Then, he sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside him. “Come here. Sit.” I didn’t move. He just watched me, patient, never rushing. After a long silence, I dragged my feet and slowly shuffled over. He reached out, pulling my shoulder into his chest. “What’s the fun in sitting alone? I’m here. But Jesse, you’re acting weird today.” I buried my face in his chest, staying quiet. Ross let the matter drop. He just held me close, resting his chin on my head, one hand gently tracing slow, rhythmic circles on my back, like he was soothing a frightened child. The chat feed drifted past again. 【Why did the little NPC stop whining? Did he suddenly find a conscience?】 【Please, him? Conscience? Pigs will fly first.】 【But seriously, Ross is so good to him. It actually hurts to watch.】 【What’s the point of being good to him? He’s not the main character. He’s bound to get written out sooner or later.】 I closed my eyes, refusing to look at the words. 2 Three years ago, the horror game merged with our reality. Back then, Ross and I were eating popsicles on Main Street. It was November in Duluth, twenty below zero. The two of us were freezing like idiots, yet we stubbornly insisted on eating them. Ross took a bite, shivering and hissing through his teeth. “Why do we even like this? I’m freezing to death.” I laughed, calling him a wimp. He glared at me playfully, shoving his popsicle toward my mouth. “Fine, tough guy. You eat it. Let’s see if you can swallow it in one bite!” Just as I opened my mouth, the sky went black. Everyone looked up. A colossal screen materialized in the heavens, towering crimson letters rolling down line by line. 【Game loading…】 【Instance generating…】 【Players logging in…】 I stood frozen, completely numb. Ross’s first instinct was to drop his popsicle and grab my hand. “What the hell is that? We need to run!” But the anomaly seemed to shroud the entire planet. The whole street erupted into chaos. People screamed, while others wailed. Once the text finished rolling, the screen began broadcasting the rules. The gist of it was simple: the real world had been retrofitted into a horror game. Everyone was automatically designated as either a player or an in-game character. Completing quests and slaying monsters yielded points, which could be exchanged for survival resources. Instances would refresh continuously, each one harder than the last. And the monsters inside those instances were once human. Those who failed to awaken as players in the first wave turned into beasts. The weaker ones became NPCs. And I was one of the weaker ones. I wasn’t even a high-tier NPC. I was a background prop, a scenario NPC. I was the kind of background character that merely triggers a single line of dialogue when a player walks past: “Lovely weather today, isn’t it?” My entire existence was meant to stand there, spout a useless line, and then be ignored by players or devoured by monsters. But Ross was different. He awakened as the ultimate Boss of this sector. In the Northern Sector, he was the apex predator. The day he carved his way through a sea of monsters to find me, he was drenched in blood. His crimson eyes had stared at me for what felt like an eternity. I had thought my lover, now turned into a monstrous Boss, had forgotten me entirely. Instead, he pulled me violently into his arms, weeping like a child. “I was so scared… Thank God you’re okay!” He brought me back to his safehouse. He used his hard-earned points to buy me the finest food, the warmest clothes. Whenever I pouted and said I wanted fresh fruit, he didn’t hesitate to spend half a month’s savings to get it. Under his protection, I lived a life more comfortable than before the world ended. But now that I thought about it, the chat feed was right. Over these past three years, Ross’s spoiling had turned me into a useless, demanding parasite. I truly didn’t deserve him. 3 From the day I saw the chat feed, I stopped throwing tantrums. Before Ross left to clear instances, I proactively organized his gear. When he returned, I made sure hot water was ready for him. Before, when he tried to teach me how to cook, I had stubbornly refused. Now, I began studying the system recipes. Though the meals I prepared tasted awful, Ross finished every single bite. He would hold his bowl, his expression a mix of bewilderment and amusement. “Babe… did you have some sort of epiphany?” I ladled some soup for him without answering. “Or did you mess up and break something?” he teased. “No.” “Then why the sudden change of heart?” I pushed the bowl in front of him. “Just drink your soup.” He chuckled, taking a sip. His brow furrowed. He took another sip, his grimace deepening. “…It’s incredibly salty.” I snatched the bowl back and tasted it myself. I nearly gagged. But Ross snatched it right back. “Salty is good. Goes well with rice.” He tipped the bowl back, gulping it down in seconds, then showed me the empty bottom. “See? All gone.” My nose stung with unshed tears. But the chat feed flared up again. 【Why are you crying? The Boss is about to meet his real partner.】 【Our precious healer entered the instance today! Get ready, girls!】 【Oh my god, really? The top-tier support on the leaderboard is coming to the Northern Sector?】 【Yeah, heard his previous team’s DPS was trash, so he wanted a change of scenery to farm some points.】 【He’s here! The true canon ship is finally sailing!】 My hand holding the bowl trembled. Ross noticed immediately. “What is it?” “Nothing.” I placed the bowl in the sink. He didn’t suspect anything. He simply walked over, wrapping his arms around me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder. “Jesse, if there’s something on your mind, talk to me. Don’t carry it alone.” “There really isn’t.” “Then why have you been staring into space so much lately?” I turned around, looking into his crimson eyes. “Ross.” “Yeah?” “What if…” I paused, carefully choosing my words. “What if one day you meet someone, and together, you two can end this horror game? What if you could bring everyone back to their normal lives?” Before I could finish, he cut me off. “What does that have to do with me?” “How does it not? You’re the Boss. Ending the game would mean…” “It would mean they have to kill me.” I fell silent. He squeezed my arm gently. “Listen to me, Jesse. I don’t give a damn about who ends this game. I don’t care about world peace or the fate of humanity. I only care about you.” “But…” “No buts. You’re mine. I don’t care who comes knocking; no one is taking you away.” The chat feed erupted. 【Ahhhh, he’s so smooth!】 【No, I can’t be swayed! I am a die-hard canon shipper!】 【Ugh, but he’s so good to the little NPC. It’s making me soft.】 【So what? An NPC is just an NPC. He’s destined to die anyway.】 【Our healer is almost here. The canon ship is supreme!】 I closed my eyes, burying my face in his chest. I memorized every word Ross said, but I also remembered every word of the chat feed. The healer was coming. My time was running out. 4 The next day, Ross went out to clear an instance. I was alone in the safehouse, tidying up, when I heard a commotion outside. Instinctively, I shrank behind the window and peered out. Someone was limping toward our perimeter from the direction of the instance portal. He wore a blood-soaked white mage robe. He moved slowly, dragging one leg, carrying another person on his back. As he drew closer, I saw that it was an injured teammate. He carefully laid the teammate down at the edge of the safe zone, then collapsed against a nearby wall, panting heavily. His face was deathly pale. His robe was shredded at the waist, blood seeping through the fabric. Yet, ignoring his own wounds, he immediately began channeling a healing spell on his teammate. A soft white light emanated from his palms, washing over the injured player. The wounds healed at a visible rate. Meanwhile, the gash on his own side kept bleeding. The chat went wild. 【He’s here, he’s here! Henry! The number one healer on the leaderboard!】 【Why is he so hurt? Who did this to him? I’ll kill them!】 【Apparently, he had a falling out with his trash team, so he came to the Northern Sector alone.】 【Oh, it hurts to see him like this. Our poor baby traveled so far alone.】 【It’s fine. Once the Boss takes him under his wing, no one will dare touch him.】 I stood frozen. So this was Henry, the legendary support. He finished healing his teammate, but his own strength gave out. His body swayed, and he slid down the wall onto the cold ground. From behind the glass, I watched his blood drip onto the dirt, stain by stain. A dark voice whispered in my mind: Leave him. If he dies, no one will take Ross from you. But a louder, more desperate voice countered: He’s the key to ending this godforsaken game! If he dies, this world will never go back to normal! Gnashing my teeth, I pushed the door open and stepped outside. Hearing the noise, Henry snapped his head up. His palms flared with a defensive white light, ready to strike. But when his eyes fell on me, he blinked in confusion. “An NPC?” I nodded slowly. He kept his guard up, eyes tracking my every movement. “What do you want?” I pointed at his bleeding waist. “Do you need help?” He looked down at his wound, then back up at me. “Wait here.” I dashed back inside, grabbed the medical kit Ross had left behind, and ran back out to offer it to him. Henry stared at the kit, making no move to take it. His eyes remained highly suspicious. “You’re an NPC. Why are you helping me?” I thought about it. “I don’t know.” And that was the truth. I had no idea why I was doing this. Players and NPCs were natural enemies, yet, watching him bleed out alone, I couldn’t bring myself to walk away. Henry studied me for several seconds before finally taking the kit. “Thank you.” He bowed his head and began treating his wounds. His movements were practiced and efficient, the mark of someone intimately familiar with pain. I squatted beside him, watching. After a moment of hesitation, I reached out. “Let me.” Without waiting for his permission, I took the gauze and began wrapping his side. I wasn’t a professional. My hands were clumsy, and the bandage ended up a messy, tangled lump. But Henry didn’t complain. He sat there quietly, letting me fuss over him. The chat feed went quiet for a few seconds before shifting. 【Wait… this little NPC… isn’t actually that annoying?】 【He’s bandaging Henry.】 【It looks terrible, but why is this kind of sweet?】 【No, stay strong! He’s just cannon fodder, don’t go soft on him!】 I ignored the floating words. I kept my head down, wrapping the gauze round and round. Suddenly, Henry spoke. “What’s your name?” “Jesse.” “Jesse. I’m Henry.” “I know.” He paused, startled. “How do you know?” My heart skipped a beat. “The number one healer on the leaderboard. Your reputation precedes you.” Henry didn’t press further. 5 By the time Ross returned, I had already settled Henry and his teammate into an empty room. His first words upon stepping through the door were, “Someone was here.” I was heating up dinner, and my hand froze over the stove. “Yes. Two players.” “Players?” Ross’s brow furrowed. “They were hurt. One of them was in really bad shape.” Ross said nothing. He shed his blood-stained coat, walked over to the window, and peered outside. Then he turned to look at me. “Guys or girls?” “Guys.” “Both of them?” “Yes.” Ross’s frown deepened. He walked over, towering over me. “Jesse, did you forget what I am?” “No.” “I’m a Boss. They are players. Between players and Bosses, it’s kill or be killed.” “But they were dying,” I whispered. “And what does that have to do with us?” “I…” I wanted to say, He’s your destined partner. But the words died in my throat. He couldn’t see the chat feed. He would think I was losing my mind. Seeing my silence, Ross sighed. He reached out, ruffling my hair. “Fine. They can stay. But on one condition.” “What?” “You are not allowed to be alone with them. Understood?” I nodded. But as I turned away, the chat feed drifted past again. 【The little NPC has been acting so strange lately. He’s gotten so quiet.】 【The official lore says the Boss and the Healer have to be together to end the game. It’s better if he steps aside willingly.】 【Exactly. Only the combination of the top healer’s power and the ultimate Boss’s strength can break the system.】 【Hurry up and write the NPC out. Stop delaying the plot.】 My mind became a chaotic storm.

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It was the fifth year of my silent, unrequited love for Wesley Sinclair. Phoebe Heinberg, his impoverished first love, had finally chosen money over romance. She had sent me a message, asking me to pass it along: [Jas, Wesley’s family won’t let us see each other, and they are forcing me to go abroad. Can you tell him something for me? Tell him I will definitely come back for him after graduation.] I stared down at those two lines on my screen. With a calm face, I pressed delete. That same day, Wesley was involved in a terrible car accident while racing to the airport to catch her flight. When he woke, he had forgotten everyone, except for me. In his mind, I was his only fiancée. The once distant, cold young heir transformed into my devoted, clingy shadow, obeying my every whim. But at our wedding… His first love returned. “Wesley, she is a liar!” Phoebe burst into the chapel, tears streaming down her face. “She stole my identity and lied to you! The one you actually love is me!” As her voice echoed through the hall, Wesley’s hand froze, right as he was about to slip the ring onto my finger. 1 Wesley and the doctor stepped out of the examination room. Seeing me waiting outside, he naturally reached out and took my hand, his tone as casual as ever. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Were you about to fall asleep?” He gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, offering a soft smile to reassure me. “Don’t worry your pretty head over it. The doctor says I’m recovering well. We just need a trigger now.” The specialist beside him quickly chimed in. “Mr. Sinclair’s memory is returning steadily. He is already recalling scattered fragments. However, to fully restore his memory, he needs a significant emotional stimulus. Perhaps take him to places you two used to visit, or surround him with familiar personal items from your past. It will help stimulate his recall.” I swallowed the dryness in my throat, offering a polite smile. “I understand. Thank you, doctor.” Wesley had been in a severe car accident two years ago. He had forgotten almost everything, but he remembered me as his childhood sweetheart and his designated fiancée. All day, my mind drifted. Even during our wedding dress fitting, I could barely focus. The boutique director and the designers presented the custom, high-end gowns flown in from Paris for my selection. “Is the wedding scheduled for next month, Miss Croft? I’m so envious. I heard you two have known each other for over a decade?” Before I could answer, a familiar voice cut in. “Yes, we have.” Wesley walked over, bending down to help adjust the train of my gown. He carefully smoothed out every fold before looking up at me. “Jas and I grew up together. We were childhood sweethearts.” He stood up, leaning in close to brush his fingers against my cheek, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. “Jas… you look breathtaking today.” As the words left his mouth, his ears flushed crimson. My eyelashes fluttered, and I looked away. “Every girl looks beautiful in a wedding dress.” Wesley arched an eyebrow, clearing his throat with a playful, dismissive scoff. “None of them can compare to my wife. I only care about how my wife looks in a wedding dress.” The more certain he was, the heavier my chest felt. I turned toward the changing room. “I’m a bit tired today. Let’s just go with the simple satin gown.” Wesley quickly caught up to me. “What about the French lace mermaid gown with the intricate beading? Didn’t you say that was your absolute favorite?” He softened his tone, sounding slightly disappointed. “Jas, you don’t need to worry about the cost. Just pick the one you love the most.” My back was turned to him, and I bit my lower lip. The doctor’s words from this morning echoed in my head: Surround him with familiar personal items from your past… The French lace mermaid gown. It was indeed my favorite, but it was also Phoebe’s favorite. I could not, under any circumstances, let him recover his memories on the eve of our wedding. “It’s nothing,” I lied, forcing a smile as I turned around. “I just don’t like it anymore.” 2 After dinner, Wesley accompanied me for a walk along the lake near his family’s estate. When we were kids, I used to sneak out during the hot summer nights to catch tadpoles with him by this very water. Once, I stepped on some slippery moss and tumbled into the deep end. I couldn’t swim and began thrashing wildly. It was Wesley who dove in without hesitation and dragged me back to the shore. I quietly locked my phone. I had just texted my housekeeper, instructing them to sweep our home once more and remove any trace of Phoebe. “Jas, do you have any photos of us from when we were kids on your phone?” Wesley asked, his tone slightly self-conscious. “I want to see what you looked like back then.” I hesitated for a second before opening my gallery. “Sure.” Growing up, the heir of the Sinclair family was notorious for his arrogance. He bullied almost every other wealthy kid in our social circle, but he never crossed me. Perhaps it was because I was quiet, or perhaps because I was easily frightened. Ultimately, I became his little shadow. Wesley was a massive clean-freak, yet he would share his snacks with me while grumbling about my messy habits. He claimed to detest my lazy attitude, but his bedroom was the only place he ever permitted me to take my afternoon naps. His favorite thing to do was press his index finger against my forehead, lecturing me with mock exasperation. “Jasmine Croft, if anyone ever picks on you, you tell me. You hear me?” I held onto those words for years. But eventually, the person who hurt me the most was him. The day my family arranged our alliance, I had just returned to the country. Before even unloading my luggage from the car, I ran eagerly into the Sinclair mansion, only to overhear Wesley talking to another girl. Phoebe was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, looking at him with a provocative smirk. “It seems the young master of the Sinclair family is just another puppet on a string, unable to even choose who he dates.” Wesley’s lips thinned into a tight line. He frowned, his voice dropping. “Who says I can’t choose?” That very afternoon, I learned that the Sinclairs wanted to call off the engagement. Feeling guilty, his parents paid a formal visit to my family to apologize. Wesley stood at the back of the room. After high school, we had rarely crossed paths. He went abroad for university, and since I preferred quiet spaces, I often made excuses to skip the social gatherings he attended. The day we called off the engagement was my first day back in the country, and the day I prepared to let him go. Wesley looked at me across the crowded room. We stared at each other for a long moment, as if we had truly loved each other once. His lips parted, but in the end, he only uttered two words. “I’m sorry.” I smiled and remained silent, offering a quiet, obedient nod. Love was never something that could be forced. I had learned that lesson long ago. I scrolled to an old childhood photo and held the phone out to him. He took it, freezing for a moment before a soft laugh escaped him. “You were so adorable back then.” Wesley pinched my cheek gently. “In this photo, you ruined my birthday cake, but you were still standing there, smiling like an innocent angel.” This time, my face flushed warm. “I bought you another cake to make up for it,” I mumbled in defense. Wesley chuckled but didn’t say anything. He kept scrolling through the album, tracking our journey from kindergarten to middle school. “You had blunt bangs in middle school. You looked so sweet. Did anyone try to bully you back then? Look at this photo, you’re hiding behind me like a shy little bird.” Then, he swiped to the next slide. It was a candid shot taken by my best friend. I was flashing a peace sign at the camera, while behind me, Wesley was on his phone, completely oblivious. He was wearing a crisp white dress shirt; it was taken during our high school graduation ceremony. Wesley’s brow furrowed, his immediate reaction catching me off guard. “What kind of dress is that? The back is cut way too low.” He zoomed in on the photo, his tone dripping with jealousy. “Look at those two guys behind you, they’re practically drooling. Are you still in touch with them? Block them immediately.” He kept scrolling, and the screen flashed with the face of a girl he didn’t recognize. Before he could get a proper look, I snatched the phone away. “Alright, that’s enough!” I forced a cheerful laugh. “I was so awkward back then. There’s nothing interesting to see.” Wesley frowned, pressing his finger against my forehead. “Why are you acting like this? Who was that girl? I barely saw her. Are you worried I’ll look at someone else?” He took my hand, intertwining our fingers. His palm was warm and reassuring. “My wife is the most beautiful woman in the world. I’ve never thought you were awkward. If I did, how could I have loved you for all these years?” Is that so? I thought. Would you say the same things if Phoebe were standing here? 3 Phoebe was a scholarship student sponsored by the Sinclair family. Two months before the college entrance exams, she was brought to the city for intensive training. She was a few years younger than Wesley and me. While I was studying abroad, I frequently heard rumors about her from our mutual friends. “You know Wesley’s temper, right? He actually let that girl into his private study.” “I heard he drove her to her university dorms himself last week.” “Felix and I teased her a bit when we saw them together, and Wesley looked like he wanted to murder us on the spot.” “She talks back to him constantly at his house, and he never even gets mad.” “Are you serious? If I spoke to him like that, he’d throw me out the window.” The rumors were vivid. Through their descriptions, I painted a picture of Phoebe in my mind: bright, outspoken, and entirely unbothered by Wesley’s intimidating reputation. She was like a wild blossom, full of vibrant energy. Wesley had never had anyone like that in his life. At least, I was nothing like that. I could understand the appeal she held for him. It was the same way Wesley had once brought color into my quiet life. I had once asked Wesley about her over a text message. He had replied briefly: [She’s nobody. My parents are sponsoring her education, and she stays at the estate occasionally. I have to go, I’m busy.] He didn’t care to waste words on her. But her special status required no explanation; his silent indulgence had already made their relationship an open secret in our social circle. After returning to the country, I ran into Phoebe. Seeing me for the first time, she showed no nervousness. Instead, she walked up to me with a bright, easy smile. “You must be Jas,” she said, her voice light and cheerful. “Wesley talks about you sometimes. He says you’re very sweet and gentle.” She paused, offering a casual giggle. “But he also mentioned that you can be a bit boring sometimes.” She wasn’t wrong. I was indeed the designated “good girl” of our circle. Under my family’s careful guidance, I had lived a predictable life, studying, traveling, and painting. Wesley loved racing, hiking, skiing, and all kinds of extreme sports. I preferred painting, reading, and flower arrangement. Our lives had no natural overlap. If we hadn’t grown up together, he probably wouldn’t have spared me a second glance. I offered a gentle smile. “Boring is a fair description. He’s not the first to say so.” Phoebe blinked, clearly caught off guard by my easy admission. During my visit to the Sinclair estate, the living room was filled with their playful bickering. Mostly, it was Phoebe’s voice. “Wesley, you can’t even tell the difference between scallions and chives?!” Wesley sighed in annoyance. “Does it look like I care?” Phoebe stepped closer, looking up at him with a grin. “Of course you should care! If you can’t even recognize basic ingredients, how are you going to feed yourself in the future?” “I have a chef for that.” Phoebe smirked. “Don’t you ever want to move out and live on your own? To cook your own meals and have some real freedom? Or do you plan on being a pampered prince forever?” Wesley was rebellious at heart, craving freedom more than anything. Everyone knew it, but Phoebe was the only one brave enough to say it to his face. Sure enough, Wesley’s expression darkened, a clear sign of his rising temper. But before I could intervene, Phoebe spoke up again. “Tell you what, you can always come crash at my place in the future.” She laughed, her eyes crinkling. “Since your family pays for my tuition, the least I can do is cook for you. Feeding one extra mouth won’t ruin me.” Wesley fell silent, momentarily speechless. She knew exactly how to push his buttons and then pull him back. Later that day, on our drive back to her school, we passed a bridal boutique. Phoebe peered out the window, sighing wistfully. “So beautiful… especially that mermaid gown.” Wesley leaned his head back, his voice careless. “It’s average. Off-the-rack stuff can’t compare to high fashion.” Phoebe looked down, disappointed. “I still want to wear a beautiful mermaid gown one day.” Wesley frowned, glancing at me briefly in the rearview mirror. He didn’t say anything, but from that day on, a subtle shift occurred at the Sinclair estate. Whenever Wesley was scolded by his father, Phoebe was always there to comfort him. Sometimes she brought him fruit; other times she sat on the floor outside his study to keep him company during his grounding. During the winter break, when Wesley returned from university, Phoebe begged him to take her skiing, claiming she had never seen snow before. Although a whole group of us ended up going, I sat inside the lodge clutching a warm cup of tea, watching them slide down the slopes. A quiet voice echoed in my head: Jasmine, do you really think there’s still a place for you in his heart? The day he called off our engagement, he drove me to my villa. When we were alone in the car, I finally gathered the courage to ask the question that had been haunting me. “Are you calling this off because of someone else?” Wesley stiffened. He looked down, his brow furrowing. “Jas.” It had been a long time since he had called me by my nickname. “I don’t want to hurt you.” I don’t want to hurt you. That was his answer. That was the conclusion to my five years of silent adoration. 4 On the day of the wedding, I only managed two hours of sleep. I was terrified that this was all a beautiful dream, and that when I woke up, I would find nothing but a pillow soaked with my own tears. “Jas, did you not sleep well?” Wesley’s mother held my hand, her eyes filled with concern. She glanced over at Wesley, who was busy chatting with his groomsmen, and lowered her voice. “Jas, I need to tell you something. Don’t panic.” I kept my expression serene, offering a soft smile. “Go ahead, Aunt Eleanor.” She sighed, her face tight with anxiety. “Felix’s family contacted me yesterday. They saw Phoebe at the airport.” “I verified the flight logs. It’s her. She’s back in the country.” The air around me seemed to turn to ice. My mind went blank, and the words caught in my throat. Seeing my silence, Eleanor quickly squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry, Jas. Wesley doesn’t remember anything right now. You are the only one he recognizes. And you are the only daughter-in-law the Sinclairs will ever accept.” My throat felt dry as bone. I looked over at Wesley. He was laughing with Felix and Zach, his ears flushing red at whatever joke they were sharing. “Felix and Zach are keeping it from him too,” Eleanor whispered. “None of them will mention her name in front of Wesley.” Her expression turned sour as she continued. “I gave her four million dollars back then, and she signed the agreement. Why on earth is she coming back now, right when you two are getting married? What is she trying to pull?” The truth about Phoebe was something we all knew. Except for Wesley. When Eleanor first noticed Phoebe’s intentions, she had confronted her. To her surprise, Phoebe didn’t even try to deny it. She brazenly admitted that she liked Wesley and believed that, given his indulgence, winning him over completely would be easy. Her arrogance had caused a massive stir in the Sinclair household. Eleanor was so furious she nearly had a heart attack, and Wesley’s father immediately arranged for Phoebe’s transfer out of her school. But Phoebe had threatened them. “I already have a place in Wesley’s heart. He defends me, drives me around, and fights his friends for me. Have you ever seen him do that for anyone else? If I suddenly disappear, what do you think he will do? He’s your son, you know his temper best.” Eleanor had swallowed her anger and negotiated a price. At the time, my family’s relationship with the Sinclairs was strained due to the canceled engagement, and my father was preparing to pull his investments from their joint projects. To resolve the issue quickly, Eleanor had offered six million dollars to make Phoebe disappear. Phoebe took the money and left, sending Wesley a single farewell text claiming she was going abroad to study with her boyfriend. She then blocked all his contact information right in front of them. Of course, I only found out about all of this later. At the time, Phoebe had reached out to me, crying over a voice message, sounding incredibly weak and victimized. She claimed the Sinclairs had ruthlessly thrown her out because of their greed and obsession with social status. She said she had nowhere to go and was forced to cut ties with Wesley. “Jas, I know you’re the sweetest person. I don’t have parents like you do, I only have my grandmother, and she’s too old to help me. Can you please do me a favor and pass a message to Wesley? Tell him I’ll be back in two years. Tell him not to worry, and ask him to wait for me.” I realized later that she only came to me because Eleanor had cut the agreed amount from six million to four million at the last second. To everyone, I was the gentle, obedient girl who could never say no. Phoebe believed that even when it came to her rival, I would be kind enough to help. I stared at the message she wanted me to deliver. Tell him I will definitely come back for him after graduation. I pressed down on the text, and after two seconds, the option appeared. Without a shred of hesitation, I hit delete. That was the very first time in my life that I did something against my conscience. But I never expected Wesley to have a car accident that very night. He was carried into the emergency room drenched in blood, slipping into a deep coma. Perhaps he had caught wind of her departure and was racing to the airport to stop her. Or perhaps he just wanted to see her one last time. Either way, on the night of my birthday, Wesley lost his memory. When he opened his eyes three days later, the first name he called out wasn’t his parents’. He asked, “Where is Jasmine?” He had forgotten everything. He forgot the scholarship student who had lived in his house, forgot her name, forgot how he had protected her, and forgot that he had wanted to call off our engagement. In his mind, I was his childhood sweetheart, his only love, and his destined wife. Under the collective silent agreement of our families, our entire social circle chose to keep the secret. Phoebe was completely erased from Wesley’s world. Felix and Zach had sat down with me to make sure we were all on the same page. “From now on, Jasmine Croft is the only girl Wesley has ever loved.” I didn’t reject the lie. That was my second mistake. With everyone reinforcing the narrative, Wesley believed it completely. He was convinced of his deep devotion to me, insisting on moving our wedding forward. And I agreed. That was my third mistake. “Jasmine Croft, do you take Wesley Sinclair to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?” The officiant’s voice pulled me back to reality. Beneath the gaze of our families and guests, I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and nodded. “I do.” Applause erupted in the chapel. Wesley noticed my tension and gently squeezed my hand under the folds of my gown, silently mouthing the words: Don’t be scared. My eyelashes fluttered, and I forced a small smile. The officiant turned his gaze to Wesley. “Wesley Sinclair, do you take Jasmine Croft to be your wedded wife…” Wesley smiled, answering almost before the officiant could finish. “I do.” More applause swept through the hall. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wesley’s parents smiling with relief, while my own parents had tears glistening in their eyes. The officiant offered a warm smile, gesturing to Wesley. “You may exchange the rings.” Wesley carefully lifted the ring from its velvet box. It was a custom three-stone pink diamond ring, with our birthstones delicately integrated into the band. It held the promise of our future, along with the weight of my five years of silent longing. But just as the metal was about to slip over my ring finger, the heavy doors of the chapel were flung open. Someone rushed inside, breathless and frantic. “Wesley! She’s a liar!” Phoebe stumbled down the aisle, her eyes red, tears streaming down her pale face. “They all lied to you while you lost your memory! Jasmine stole my place! The one you actually love… is me!” A collective gasp echoed through the room. Wesley stared at the crying girl, then looked at his parents, who had turned pale but were trying to maintain their composure. He looked at his friends, whose faces were filled with awkward guilt. Even without his memories, he could tell that everyone had been keeping a massive secret from him. Finally, Wesley’s gaze landed on me. He frowned, his lips parting as he spoke in a low, tight voice. “Jas.” “What is going on?”

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Sally and I had been married for two years. I was desperately obsessed with her. She despised me. Just how deep did that hatred run? When I got into a car crash and shattered multiple bones in my body, I spent six months recovering in the exact hospital where she worked as an orthopedic surgeon. She did not visit me a single time. Nobody liked me anyway. Everyone said I was the toxic snake who chased away Nolan, the guy she actually loved. When I first had the accident and lost all my mobility, the people around me were secretly happy for her. They whispered, “Sally finally gets a break from him.” When it was time for me to be discharged, her friends were all holding their breath for her. “Asher is getting out. He is going to ruin Sally’s life again.” They were partly right. The very first thing I did after getting discharged was find Sally. Except, I was not there to cling to her anymore. I was there to hand her a document. “Sally, this is what you wanted.” “What is this?” I gave her a faint, empty smile. “Open it and see for yourself. Sally, I do not want the house. I do not want the car. I wish you nothing but success. Let us never see each other again.” After handing over the divorce papers, I stepped back and melted into the crowd. 1 “Nurse, what is the deal with the guy in the next bed? Why does he never get any visitors?” “Hmph. Probably karma. He did too many messed up things, so everyone abandoned him.” Trapped in a coma, I could hear the outside world perfectly. In that pitch black void, I fought with every ounce of my strength to wake up, but my body refused to obey. Finally, after a million failed attempts, the loud crash of a glass shattering in the next cubicle shocked my eyes open. “Oh man! Buddy, you are awake!” The older guy in the next bed gasped in shock. I stared at the white ceiling tiles, unable to move a single muscle. “Sorry about that, kid. I dropped my cup. Did I scare you awake?” No. I should have been thanking him. If it was not for the shock of that crashing sound, I might have never woken up. No one knew the sheer, suffocating terror I endured in that dark, silent world. 2 The news of my awakening reached the doctors quickly. They rushed in, ran a battery of tests, and declared it a miracle. But among that sea of white coats, Sally was nowhere to be found. I had not heard her voice while I was under. And now that I was awake, she was still absent. “Where is Sally?” I rasped. A few of the doctors exchanged uncomfortable glances. “Dr. Evans… she is in surgery right now. She cannot get away.” “Oh.” “How is my condition?” I asked. “When the crash happened, the back of your head took the brunt of the impact. You had significant blood pooling in your brain, which caused the coma. Your right arm is fractured, your left femur is severely broken, and you have multiple other minor fractures and soft tissue contusions. Long story short, you took a massive hit. You have been asleep for forty days. Thankfully, you were brought in fast enough. The blood in your brain is slowly absorbing, and we already operated on your fractures. You are in casts and on the mend.” 3 When dinnertime rolled around, the older guy next to me, Arthur, turned his head while feeding his wife. “Hey kid, who is this Dr. Evans you keep asking about? Someone important to you?” She is my wife. What kind of surgery takes eight hours? Your spouse wakes up from a coma, and you cannot spare a single minute to check on them? I shook my head slowly. “We just know each other.” “Ah, got it.” Arthur nodded. “What about your family then?” The only person taking care of me was a hired orderly. During my coma, it was this stranger who sponged me down and emptied my catheter. I was probably the most pathetic patient in the entire hospital. I spun a quick lie. “They live out of state. Health issues. They cannot travel.” My parents divorced when I was in middle school after my mom had an affair. I was given to my mom. My dad was devastated and moved overseas. My mom was a ruthless businesswoman, constantly flying from city to city. Aside from keeping my bank account maxed out, she had zero time for me. Oh, right. Three years ago, she had a new baby girl with her new husband. 4 I was the one who chased Sally. Actually, “chased” implies she eventually liked me back. But even after we got married, she treated me like ice. She never gave me even a fraction of the warmth she used to give Nolan. If I had not forced Nolan out of the picture, she probably would have married him. “Oh my god, your blood is backing up!” the orderly yelled, dropping my dinner tray. I looked down. The IV tube plugged into the back of my hand was completely filled with my own dark blood. The orderly slammed the call button. The nurse who walked in was Blake, a guy I went to high school with. Impatience was practically tattooed on his forehead. He aggressively ripped the medical tape off my skin and yanked the needle out without a shred of care. It made sense. Back in school, almost everyone talked behind my back. They called me a pretty boy, a toxic snake, a guy who rode his wealthy family’s coattails. He swapped the tube and walked out without a word. Even Arthur and the orderly were appalled. The orderly picked up my bowl, preparing to feed me. “Maybe he is just having a bad day.” Arthur frowned. “No, I noticed it too. He only acts like a jerk to the kid here. When my wife needs her bandages changed, he is perfectly polite.” I did not defend myself. I just looked at the orderly. “Could you buy me one of those overbed tables? Just put the food on there. I will feed myself.” My right arm was in a heavy cast. Only my left hand worked. If this were the old me, I would have made Blake’s life a living hell for treating me like that. But now, I felt completely hollow. I had no energy left to fight. 5 Sally finally walked in. I was wrapped up like a mummy, clumsily trying to feed myself with my non dominant hand. When she walked through the door, my spoon froze midair. I must have looked incredibly pathetic in that moment. She glanced at me for a split second, then immediately turned her attention to Arthur’s wife in the next bed. “How are we doing here?” She was here to do rounds. On the patient next to me. I lowered my head and mechanically shoveled food into my mouth. My entire body felt numb. Arthur spoke up. “Doctor, thank god you are here. My wife said her elbow has been killing her.” Sally gently loosened the cast on the woman’s arm. “Is that better?” “Oh, much better. The pressure is gone.” Arthur looked confused. “Did they switch our doctor? We usually have Dr. Bennett.” “She had a family emergency. I am covering her rounds for the next two days.” “I see. You are so young to be a surgeon here at Mercy. Good for you. Got a boyfriend yet?” Sally completely ignored the question. “The cast was too tight and compressing the joint. If it happens again, page a nurse immediately.” After finishing with Arthur’s wife, she lingered. She did not leave. I kept my head down, staring blankly at my hospital food. A pair of pristine white sneakers appeared right next to my bed. Before she could speak, a nurse came running down the hall. “Dr. Evans! Emergency in the ER!” The white sneakers spun around and vanished from my line of sight. I looked out the window into the dark night, swallowing the lump in my throat. 6 After that, Sally never came back. Dr. Bennett returned, so Sally did not need to cover our ward anymore. I heard there was a massive multi car pileup on the highway that night, resulting in endless casualties. Then I heard Sally went out of state for a medical exchange program. When she came back, a severe apartment fire flooded the hospital with burn victims. Later, rumor had it she was sent overseas for advanced training. Long story short, she was busy. The patients in the beds next to me changed time and time again. The moment I was cleared to bear weight, I threw myself into physical therapy. I had to stand on my own two feet again. I had to become a normal person. No matter how agonizing the rehab was, I gritted my teeth and pushed through the pain in that sweat smelling gym. Of course, during that time, I became a total joke among my old college circle. The arrogant ice prince, bedridden, unable to wipe his own mouth, needing someone to serve him hand and foot. We were all med students at Boston U once upon a time. But during my internship year, I severely injured my hand. I could never hold a scalpel again, so I gave up the profession. A lot of my former classmates ended up working here at Mercy. None of them pitied me. They all thought this was my karma. After all, everyone believed I was the monster who bullied Nolan into leaving the country. 7 “Your gait is completely normal now. Outstanding work.” Four months later, when I walked a full lap without parallel bars, my physical therapist clapped loudly. “Thank you for everything.” “Do not thank me. Your willpower is insane. Honestly, your femur was shattered. You had one of the worst breaks I have seen in years, and yet, throughout this entire grueling process, you never cried out in pain once.” I smiled faintly and did not say a word. I was officially discharged. I signed my own paperwork, hailed a cab, and left the hospital behind. It had been nearly six months since I last stepped foot in my own home. I stood in the hallway, staring at the door in silence, before pressing my thumb to the biometric lock. The door clicked open. The air inside smelled like dust. Just as I suspected, Sally rarely came home either. I cleared off the sofa and opened the takeout container of lean pork porridge I bought downstairs. After two bites, my phone buzzed on the coffee table. I stared at the messages popping up in the college group chat. I went dead silent. “Asher got discharged.” “Damn, already? I thought he was practically crippled.” “He is going to start harassing Sally again. She must owe him a massive debt from a past life to be cursed with him.” “Hey, shut up, he is still in this chat. If he sees this, he will ruin your career too.” “Oh crap, wrong chat.” Instantly, the messages were unsent. I locked my phone screen, picked up my spoon, and finished my cold porridge. I slept alone that night. Sally did not come home. When dawn broke, I rubbed my stiff eyes, taking a long moment to gather my bearings. I got up, showered, and got dressed. I grabbed the manila envelope sitting on the coffee table and walked to the door. Before pulling it shut, I paused, taking one last look at the beautiful three bedroom apartment I had meticulously designed. With a heavy thud, the door closed. 8 I found Sally in the hallway outside the orthopedics department. They had just finished their morning briefing. A crowd of doctors in white coats was streaming out of the conference room. When she saw me, her fingers froze on the clipboard she was holding. The doctor walking next to her gave us a knowing look and quickly hurried away. I do not know how I managed to smile as I walked up to her. Maybe it was the sheer relief of not being paralyzed. Or maybe I had just finally let it all go. Her skin was flawless, though faint dark circles shadowed her eyes. Still, nothing could hide how effortlessly breathtaking she was. She spoke first, her tone defensive. “Sorry. Yesterday, I was booked for three back to back surgeries. By the time I finished, the nurses said you had already signed your papers and left.” I nodded calmly and handed her the manila envelope. “This is for you.” “What is this?” A flash of confusion crossed her eyes. I shrugged, offering her a smile completely free of burden. “Open it and see for yourself. It is what you always wanted. Sally, I do not want the house, and I do not want the car. I wish you nothing but success. Let us never see each other again.” After handing over the divorce papers, I stepped back and melted into the crowd.

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At three in the morning, my sister boarded her flight. The baby was shoved into my arms, still smelling faintly of copper and fresh birth. Mom dragged me by the arm, sobbing, “Just raise him as yours. You can’t let your sister’s life be ruined.” I opened my mouth to scream at her. Then my phone buzzed with a text from my sister. “The father is Alfredo Davenport. Don’t look for him. He is too dangerous to cross.” I unlocked my phone and searched his name. Davenport Holdings. A multi-billion-dollar empire. I shut off my phone and pulled the tiny bundle closer. Dangerous? We would see about that. The next morning, I stood in Alfredo Davenport’s penthouse office, holding the baby. He spared me a cold glance. “Who are you?” I placed the baby directly on his mahogany desk. “Special delivery. Sign here.” 01 The phone rang just as I finally closed my eyes. After working forty-eight hours of overtime, my eyelids felt like lead. I fumbled in the dark for my phone and squinted at the screen. It was Mom. A call at three in the morning made my stomach drop. I picked up. Her hysterical sobbing flooded the receiver before I could even say hello. “Get to the hospital right now! Your sister… she had the baby!” My sleep-deprived brain refused to process the words. “A baby? What baby?” Mom’s voice hitched, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. “Fiona had a baby! Hurry! Mercy Hospital, maternity ward!” Fiona had a baby. My sister, Fiona, was twenty-eight. She was single, had no partner, at least as far as I knew. I threw a coat over my shoulders and bolted out the door. By the time my cab pulled up to the hospital, the clinical white lights of the maternity ward were blinding. Mom was huddled at the far end of the corridor, clutching a tiny bundle wrapped in a cheap hospital blanket. The infant was minuscule and wrinkled. Fiona was nowhere to be seen. “Where is she?” I demanded. Mom didn’t answer. She just wept. I scanned the quiet hallway. The delivery room doors were shut, and the nearby recovery rooms were completely empty. “Mom, where is Fiona?” Mom raised her head, her eyes swollen to the size of walnuts. “She left.” “What do you mean, she left? Where did she go?” “She boarded her flight.” Mom shoved the baby into my arms. “She bought a ticket to London. The flight departed at one-thirty. The moment the baby was out, she walked out of the hospital.” I looked down at the newborn in my arms. The clamp on his umbilical cord was still fresh, and he carried that distinct, metallic smell of birth mixed with formula. The baby’s eyes were squeezed shut, his tiny mouth twitching open and close. My head spun. “Call her,” I said, my voice trembling. “I tried. The number is disconnected.” I pulled out my own phone and opened my chat history with Fiona. Her profile picture was still there, but when I tapped into it, a red exclamation point appeared next to my message. You are no longer connected with this user. I dialed her number. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service.” Standing in that sterile hallway with a hours-old infant in my arms, I listened to that automated recording repeat three times. Mom grabbed my sleeve, her grip tight and desperate. “Just raise him as yours, Gemma. You cannot let your sister’s life be ruined over this.” “She dumps a newborn on me to save her own life, but what about mine?” “You are different. You are still young, you haven’t…” “I’m twenty-four, Mom. I can barely afford my own rent.” Mom ignored my words, her tears flowing freely. “Fiona said we cannot let anyone find out about this. The father… he is too dangerous to cross.” Before I could reply, my phone vibrated. It was a text from an unknown number. It read: “The father is Alfredo Davenport. Don’t look for him. He is too dangerous to cross.” I tried calling the number back immediately, but it was already disconnected. I stared at the name Alfredo Davenport. I opened my browser and typed it into the search bar. Davenport Holdings. Real estate, venture capital, healthcare. A conglomerate worth hundreds of billions. Alfredo Davenport, the current CEO, thirty years old. The man in the official photos wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His jawline was razor-sharp, his gaze detached and piercing. I closed my phone. The baby in my arms whimpered, a tiny fist escaping the blanket to clutch at my collar. I looked down at him. Dangerous? We would see. I held him tighter. The next morning, I called in sick to work. I walked to the corner store and bought a small tin of formula, a pack of newborn diapers, and a single bottle. Back in my cramped apartment, I fed the baby and changed his diaper. Once full, he drifted off to sleep, quieter than I expected a newborn to be. I searched through the belongings Fiona had left behind at the hospital. The nurse had handed me a manila folder before I checked the baby out. Inside was the hospital birth record. The mother’s name was listed as Fiona. The father’s line was blank. There was also a handwritten note. The handwriting was unmistakably Fiona’s, sharp and hurried. “Gemma, I’m sorry. I can’t keep this baby, and I can’t face Alfredo. You have always been tougher than me, so I know he’ll be safe with you. I’ve already talked to Mom. Don’t hate me.” I folded the note and shoved it back into the folder. Don’t hate her. She had booked her flight a month in advance, deactivated her phone, deleted her social media, and fled the delivery room within an hour of giving birth. That wasn’t a desperate mistake. That was a calculated escape. I scooped up the baby and walked out the door to hail a cab. “Take me to Davenport Holdings headquarters.” 02 The Davenport Holdings tower dominated the financial district, a sixty-eight-story monolith of steel and reflective glass. I stood in the sweeping marble lobby, surrounded by sharp suits and clicking heels. I was wearing a faded hoodie, my hair was unwashed, and my sneakers were scuffed with dirt. The baby was wrapped in a twenty-dollar blanket I had grabbed in a rush. The two receptionists behind the polished desk looked at me like I was a delivery courier who had wandered onto the wrong floor. “Good morning. How can I help you?” “I’m here to see Alfredo Davenport.” The two women exchanged a brief, telling look. “Do you have an appointment?” “No.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Davenport doesn’t accept unscheduled visitors. You can leave your—” “Tell him someone is here to deliver his baby.” The receptionist’s polite smile froze. “Ma’am, we don’t appreciate jokes—” “Just pass the message along. Tell him his son has arrived.” Without waiting for their reaction, I walked over to the lobby’s leather sofas and sat down. The baby began to fuss. I cradled him with one arm while reaching into my bag for the bottle. The receptionists whispered urgently to each other before one of them picked up the phone. Five minutes later, the elevator doors slid open. A woman in a sharp grey pantsuit stepped out. She was in her early thirties, wore gold-rimmed glasses, and walked with brisk authority. “Hello, I’m Ms. Ward, Mr. Davenport’s executive assistant. And you are?” “Gemma.” “Gemma, regarding this… baby situation. Could you explain?” “No. I will only explain to Alfredo.” Ms. Ward frowned. “Mr. Davenport is currently in a board meeting—” “I can wait.” I leaned down to feed the baby. He drank too quickly, coughing slightly on the formula. I gently patted his back until his breathing evened out. Ms. Ward stood there, watching us for a moment, before stepping aside to make another call. When she walked back, her professional composure had returned, though her eyes were guarded. “Follow me.” The private elevator took us directly to the sixty-second floor. The doors opened to a carpeted hallway so quiet you could hear the faint hum of the climate control. Ms. Ward led me to a heavy double door at the end of the hall and motioned for me to enter. The office was massive, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. Alfredo Davenport sat behind a sprawling mahogany desk. He looked exactly like his photos, but the reality was colder, sharper. His dark eyes locked onto me, completely unreadable, as if he were reviewing a minor legal dispute. He looked at me, then down at the bundle. “Who are you?” I walked straight to his desk and placed the baby gently on the dark wood, right over a stack of financial reports. The infant lay there, his tiny face wrinkled, a smear of white formula at the corner of his mouth. “Special delivery. Sign here.” Alfredo didn’t move. He looked at the baby, then back up at me. “Explain.” “Do you know Fiona?” His brow twitched. It was barely perceptible, but I caught it. “Who are you to her?” “Her sister.” “Where is she?” “London. She boarded a flight yesterday at midnight. Left right after giving birth, cut her phone, deleted her accounts, and vanished.” I tossed the manila folder onto his desk. “The birth certificate is in there. Mother is Fiona. The father’s name is blank, but she told me it’s yours. If you don’t believe me, we can run a paternity test.” Alfredo didn’t touch the folder. He leaned back in his leather chair, staring at the infant. The baby stirred, his tiny hand flitting outward until his fingers brushed Alfredo’s silver pen. “What is it you want, Gemma?” “Nothing. The baby is yours, so he’s your responsibility. I have no obligation to raise my sister’s child.” “And if I say this child has nothing to do with me?” “Then we do the DNA test. It takes three days. When the results are in, call me.” I pulled a slip of paper from my pocket with my phone number and apartment address, slapping it onto his desk. “Three days.” I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit. Just as my hand touched the brass handle, a sound echoed through the vast office. The baby started to cry. It was a thin, high-pitched wail that bounced off the glass walls. My footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second. But I didn’t turn around. I pushed the door open and let it click shut behind me. 03 I had barely reached the elevators when Ms. Ward caught up with me. “Gemma, you can’t just leave a newborn on—” “On Alfredo’s desk? Yes, I can.” “You can’t—” “I just did. Davenport Holdings is a multi-billion-dollar company. I think you can afford a nanny.” The elevator doors slid open. I stepped in and pressed the button for the lobby. Ms. Ward stood in the hallway, her expression a mix of shock and utter disbelief. Before the doors fully closed, I could still hear the distant, rising wail of the baby from the end of the hall. When I stepped out of the tower, the midday sun was blinding. I stood on the sidewalk, feeling dazed. My hands felt incredibly light. For the past thirty hours, those hands had been constantly holding that baby. Now that they were empty, a strange, hollow sensation settled over me. My phone rang. It was Mom. “Gemma! Where did you take the baby?!” “To his father.” The line went dead quiet for several seconds. “Are you insane?! Fiona told you not to look for Alfredo Davenport! You—” “Mom, you believe everything Fiona says. You believed her when she said she had no choice, and you believed her when she said he was too dangerous. She abandoned her own child. Why do you still trust a word out of her mouth?” “Your sister did what she had to—” “To save herself. Mom, I have to go. I’m late for work.” I hung up. When I got back to the office, my manager was cold about my half-day absence. I sat at my cubicle, staring at the monitor, but the spreadsheets blurred together. All I could see was the baby’s tiny, wrinkled face. And the sound of his cry. He had started crying the second I walked away. I rubbed my temples hard, forcing myself to focus on my emails. I dragged myself through the day until six-thirty. The moment I stepped out of the building, my phone buzzed. It wasn’t Mom. It was an unknown number. “Gemma?” The voice was deep, smooth, and entirely devoid of warmth. I recognized it instantly. It was the same voice that had asked Who are you? this morning. “Alfredo.” “Come get the baby.” “He’s not my baby.” “He isn’t mine either until the DNA results are back. Until then, you will take care of him.” “I don’t have the space or the money to raise him.” “That is your problem.” “Actually, he’s your problem too. You know exactly what kind of relationship you had with Fiona.” Silence stretched over the line. “I will have my driver deliver him to your address.” “Send him, and I won’t open the door.” “Gemma,” Alfredo’s voice dropped, laced with a quiet, dangerous edge. “You barged into my office and dumped an infant on my desk in front of my staff. Do you have any idea what that means?” “It means you have to face reality.” He didn’t reply. I continued, “Do the DNA test. In three days, when the results come back, if he’s yours, he’s your responsibility. If he isn’t, I will apologize and take him back. But until those three days are up, do not call me.” I hung up the phone. Standing on the bustling street corner as the evening wind picked up, I realized my hands were shaking. It wasn’t from fear. It was sheer exhaustion. I hadn’t slept a single minute since Fiona went into labor. When I finally reached my apartment building, someone was crouching by my door. It was Mom. She was holding a insulated food container, her eyes red and puffy. The moment she saw me, she scrambled to her feet. “Gemma, I brought you some soup—” “Mom, how do you know my address?” She hesitated. “Your sister told me.” Fiona had blocked my number and deleted me from her life, but she had made sure to give Mom my address. She had planned every single detail. “Mom, go home.” “Just listen to me—” “No,” I said, sliding the key into the lock. “I know exactly what you’re going to say. You want me to take the baby, stay away from Alfredo, and keep Fiona’s name out of it. I’m not doing it.” “Gemma!” She grabbed my arm. “Your sister worked so hard to get where she is. Her education, her career, her entire future cannot be ruined by a child!” “And what about my future?” “You’re different…” “How? Because my grades weren’t as perfect? Because my job isn’t as prestigious? So my life is just a safety net for her mistakes?” Mom’s mouth opened, but no words came out. I gently but firmly pulled her hand off my arm. “Go home, Mom. I’m handling this. But I’m doing it my way, not yours.” I stepped inside and shut the door, leaning my back against the wood. Outside, I could hear Mom starting to cry again. She cried for a long time. I didn’t open the door. My phone vibrated. A text message from Alfredo. “DNA swab collected. Results in three days. He stays with me tonight.” I stared at the screen for a long time. He hadn’t sent the baby back. He had kept him. I wasn’t sure if that was a victory or not, but at least for tonight, I could finally sleep. 04 Saturday morning. I slept until noon, the first real rest I had gotten in days. I washed my face and put the kettle on to boil, but before the water could heat up, the buzzer rang. I assumed it was Mom again. But when I opened the door, four people were standing in the narrow hallway. Aunt Jane, Uncle Thomas, Aunt Martha, and my cousin Lily. Aunt Jane led the charge, pushing her way forward before I could even greet them. “Gemma, your mother cried the entire night. Do you have any heart at all?” I blocked the doorway, refusing to let them step inside. “Aunt Jane, what are you all doing here?” “Your mother called us. She said you—” “She said what?” Uncle Thomas shoved his way to the front. “She said you dumped your sister’s baby with some random man! Gemma, are you out of your mind? That is your own nephew!” “He is Fiona’s child, and she abandoned him.” “Your sister had her reasons—” “What reasons? Do any of you actually know? Did she tell you?” They exchanged quick, uncomfortable glances. No one answered. Aunt Martha peered past my shoulder into the apartment. “You live here alone? This place is tiny. There’s barely enough room for a crib, let alone—” “Exactly. Which is why I can’t raise him.” Aunt Jane sighed, softening her tone as she reached out to grab my hand. “Gemma, we know you feel slighted. But think about how hard Fiona worked. Your mother took out so many loans to put her through school. She finally has a life—” “Aunt Jane,” I said, pulling my hand back. “Do you know when Fiona bought her plane ticket?” “What?” “A month ago. While the baby was still in her womb, she had already booked her flight to London. She deactivated her phone, cleared her bank accounts, and deleted her social media weeks in advance. She planned this entire thing.” The hallway fell dead silent. “She wasn’t forced into anything. She planned to give birth, dump the baby on me, and have Mom guilt-trip me into keeping quiet so she could run away scot-free.” Aunt Jane’s expression hardened, but Uncle Thomas snapped first. “She is still your sister! Blood is thicker than—” “Uncle Thomas, my blood is fine, but Fiona is the one who bled me dry.” Uncle Thomas’s face turned red. “How dare you speak to your family like that!” “I’m speaking the truth. If you all care so much about this baby, which one of you is going to take him home? Any takers?” No one spoke. Cousin Lily, who had remained silent the entire time, pulled on Aunt Jane’s sleeve. “Let’s go, Mom. Stop it.” Aunt Jane wanted to say more, but Lily tugged her again, harder this time. Finally, they turned and walked toward the stairs. Uncle Thomas glared back at me before leaving. “You haven’t heard the end of this. Your mother isn’t letting this go.” I shut the door and locked it. The kettle on the stove was whistling furiously. I poured myself a cup of tea and sat on the edge of my bed, staring into the steam. My phone rang. It was Ms. Ward. “Gemma, the DNA results came back early. Mr. Davenport wants you to come to the office this afternoon if you’re available.” “What are the results?” There was a pause on the other end. “It’s better if Mr. Davenport discusses this with you in person. Can you make it?” I checked the time. It was one in the afternoon. “I’ll be there at two.” I hung up, changed into clean clothes, and caught a glance of myself in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes, dry lips, pale face. It didn’t matter. I walked out the door. 05 When I arrived at Davenport Holdings, the receptionists didn’t stop me this time. Ms. Ward was waiting for me in the lobby, using her keycard to take me straight up to the sixty-second floor. The moment the elevator doors opened, I heard it. The sound of a baby crying. It was coming from the executive office. Ms. Ward’s professional facade was cracking slightly. “The baby has been crying on and off since last night. We brought in a professional nanny, but… it hasn’t been easy.” She pushed open the office door, and I saw Alfredo. He looked entirely different from our first meeting. His charcoal jacket was draped over the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his silk tie was loosened. The neat piles of documents on his desk had been pushed aside to make room for a baby carrier. The infant was inside, wailing until his little face was purple, his voice already hoarse. A middle-aged nanny in a neat uniform stood nearby, looking completely helpless as she held a bottle. “I tried feeding him, but he won’t take it. His diaper is clean, and I’ve tried burping him—” I walked past them without saying a word and lifted the baby out of the carrier. He was tiny, barely four days old, but his little body was stiff with distress. I cradled his head with one hand and pressed my other palm flat against his back, patting him gently. It wasn’t the rigid, textbook patting the nanny had been doing. It was a slow, rhythmic movement I had figured out during our first night together, my palm warm against his spine. The crying immediately softened to a whimper. After a few more pats, he let out a tiny, wet burp, then buried his face into my shoulder and fell silent. The massive office became perfectly quiet. The nanny stared at me, dumbfounded. Alfredo watched me, his dark eyes fixed on the baby. I ignored them both and looked down at the infant. His nose was red, his eyes closed, his mouth twitching as he drifted off to sleep from sheer exhaustion. “He’s not refusing the bottle,” I said quietly. “He has gas. A four-day-old baby’s stomach is the size of a walnut. If your nipple flow is too fast, he swallows air. What size nipple are you using?” The nanny stammered, “An extra-slow flow—” “Switch to the slowest round-hole nipple, and make sure to hold the bottle upright to clear any air bubbles before feeding him.” The nanny nodded quickly and began sorting through the baby bags. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, rocking the baby until he was deeply asleep. Alfredo hadn’t said a word. Once the nanny left the room, he spoke. “Sit down.” I sat on the leather sofa, still holding the baby close. Alfredo picked up a thick manila folder from his desk, walked over, and sat on the opposite sofa. “The DNA results.” He slid the folder across the marble coffee table. “Paternity is confirmed.” I didn’t open it. “And?” “And I acknowledge that this child is biologically mine.” “What happens next?” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and placed it on the table. A cashier’s check. I glanced down at the number. Two million dollars. “This is for you,” Alfredo said. “A gesture of appreciation for looking after him these past few days. I will handle the baby’s future arrangements.” “What kind of arrangements?” “I will find a reputable private care facility or a suitable adoptive family.” “You want to give him away?” “I do not have the lifestyle or the environment to raise a child.” “You have billions of dollars, and you’re telling me you don’t have the means?” “I do not have the desire.” I stared into his cold, unblinking eyes. His expression remained entirely flat, as if he were discussing quarterly earnings rather than the fate of his own son. I looked down at the baby. He was sleeping soundly, his tiny fingers still clutching my collar with surprising strength. I reached out, picked up the check, and ripped it down the middle. I tore the pieces again, letting the four scraps of paper flutter onto the table. For the first time, Alfredo’s icy composure cracked. “You can walk away from your son, but I don’t take hush money.” “Then what do you want?” “I want you to tell me, straight to my face. Are you going to be his father, or are you washing your hands of him?” He didn’t answer. I stood up, adjusting my grip on the sleeping baby. “Think about it. When you have an answer, call me.” I walked toward the door. “Leave the baby,” Alfredo called out behind me. “You just said you had no desire to raise him.” “I said I need to think.” “Then think fast. When you’re ready to be a father, come get him.” I didn’t stop. I pushed the door open and walked out. Ms. Ward was waiting in the hallway. Seeing me with the baby, her mouth opened slightly, but she glanced toward the office and decided not to stop me. In the elevator, the baby opened his dark, clear eyes and stared up at me without crying. “Let’s go,” I whispered to him. “You’re coming back with me for now.” 06 By the time we got back to my apartment, dusk had fallen. I laid him in the middle of my bed, propping pillows on either side to keep him secure, then warmed some formula and changed his diaper. Just as I finished, the buzzer rang. I braced myself for Mom again. I opened the door. It was Alfredo. He stood in the dim hallway, still wearing his tailored shirt, though his tie was completely gone. No assistant, no driver. Just him. He glanced at the peeling paint on my door frame, then at the cluttered hallway filled with my neighbors’ storage boxes. “Let’s talk inside,” I said, stepping aside. As he walked in, I saw his eyes take in the entire space. A forty-square-meter studio. A single bed, a wardrobe, a folding table cluttered with my laptop and work documents. The kitchen was a makeshift setup on the enclosed balcony, the range hood yellowed with age. The baby lay in the center of the bed, kicking his tiny legs in contentment after his feed. Alfredo stood in the middle of the room, looking absurdly tall and entirely out of place. “You live here?” “Yes.” “And you’ve been taking care of him alone?” “From the moment he was born until now, yes.” He didn’t respond. He walked over to the bed and looked down at the infant. The baby looked up, their gazes locking. A newborn doesn’t know strangers yet. He simply stared back with wide, unblinking dark eyes. Alfredo reached out a hand, hesitated for a second, then let his fingers hover near the baby. “He looks like Fiona,” he murmured. “He has your nose.” He glanced at me. I didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Have you made up your mind?” He pulled out the plastic folding chair by my desk and sat down. The cheap plastic groaned under his weight. “I had my security team look into Fiona’s travel records,” he said. I waited. “She booked her ticket a month ago. One-way. She traveled on a tourist visa, but she went straight to a friend’s apartment in London. The lease was signed weeks in advance.” “And?” “This wasn’t a sudden panic. She planned to abandon him from the very beginning.” “I know.” “You knew, and yet you…” He paused, searching for the words. “You’re cleaning up her mess.” “I’m not doing it for her. I’m doing it for him. He didn’t ask to be born into this.” On the bed, the baby let out a tiny yawn. Alfredo watched him, silent for a long moment. “I only knew Fiona for six months,” he said quietly. “Four months ago, she told me she was pregnant. I told her to keep the baby, that I would take full responsibility. She agreed. Then she changed her number, moved out of her apartment, and vanished.” I stared at him. This was not the story Fiona had painted. “You looked for her?” “For two months. When I finally reached her through an old acquaintance, she told me she had terminated the pregnancy.” “She lied to you.” “I see that now.” His hands tightened slightly over his knees. “She didn’t want me to know about the child,” he said, “yet she kept him anyway, just to dump him on you.” “Because she knew I wouldn’t leave him to die.” “You could have. You have no legal obligation to this child.” “And where would he go? He’s four days old. His umbilical cord hasn’t even fallen off.” Alfredo raised his eyes to meet mine. It was the first time he truly looked at me. Not with the cold, assessing gaze of a CEO, but with genuine curiosity. “What is it you want from me, Gemma?” That was the third time he had asked. First in his office, then on the phone, and now in my cramped room. “I want you to take responsibility.” “How?” “Not to me. To him.” I pointed at the baby on the bed. “He needs a father. Not a check, not an agency. A real, present father.” “I don’t know how to raise a child.” “Neither do I. I’ve been learning on the fly for the last four days.” He fell silent. The baby began to squirm and whimper. I walked over and checked his diaper. Wet. I grabbed a clean diaper from the nightstand, slid my hand under his lower back to lift him, and quickly swapped it out. My movements weren’t perfect, but they were twice as fast as they had been on day one. I turned back to Alfredo. “You can start by learning how to change a diaper.” He stared at the soiled diaper in my hand, his expression a mix of amusement and mild horror. “I will send some people tomorrow,” he said, rising to his feet. “What kind of people?” “A night nanny and a housekeeper. This place is too small. I’ll arrange a proper apartment for you.” “I’m not moving.” “You don’t even have room for a crib.” “Then buy a crib and send it here.” We stared at each other, neither of us backing down. Finally, he stepped toward the bed and looked down at the baby one last time. The baby, comfortable in his dry diaper, was kicking his legs and making soft, cooing noises. Alfredo reached down. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He touched his index finger to the baby’s tiny palm. The baby’s reflex kicked in instantly, his tiny fingers curling around Alfredo’s finger, holding on tight. Alfredo didn’t pull away. He stood there, bent over the bed, anchored by a four-day-old infant, completely still. After a long silence, he said, “I’ll have a crib delivered tomorrow morning.” “Good.” “And a nanny.” “Fine.” He straightened up and looked at me. “He needs a name.” “You name him. You’re his father.” He thought for a moment. “Let me think about it.” He walked to the door, opened it, and paused. He didn’t look at me. His gaze lingered on the baby in the middle of the bed. Then, the door clicked shut. I sat on the edge of the mattress. My phone vibrated with a contact request. The name read: Alfredo Davenport. I accepted it. A message popped up immediately: Let me know if he needs anything. I typed back: We’re almost out of formula. Newborn diapers. Baby wipes. They will be there tomorrow morning, he replied. I put the phone down and looked at the baby, who had drifted back to sleep. His tiny hand was still curled into a fist, as if he were still holding onto his father’s finger. I tucked the blanket around him. My phone vibrated again. I looked at the screen. It wasn’t Alfredo. It was an international number. There was no text, only a single image: a screenshot of a flight confirmation from London to Chicago for next Wednesday. The passenger name: Fiona Davenport. My sister was coming back.

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01 After exposing Debbie’s emotional affair online, the court ordered me to post a video apology every day for fifteen consecutive days. “I should not have publicized your explicit chat logs with Mr. Gary without blurring his name.” “I should not have secretly recorded your suggestive voice notes with Mr. Gary and shared them publicly.” To show my utter sincerity, I included their uncensored photos and full legal names in every post. Furious and humiliated by the public exposure, Debbie picked a massive fight with me after every single upload. By the time the thirteenth video went live, I tagged her assistant, Gary, to offer a solemn, targeted apology. Although she stormed out of the house in a rage, she surprisingly did not throw her usual tantrum afterward. I was naive enough to think she had finally recognized her wrongs and decided to save our marriage. The next day, I spent hours cooking her favorite meal and drove to her office to surprise her. The moment I pushed the heavy office door open, a suffocating wave of heavy breathing and whispered moans hit me. Debbie was pinning her flustered assistant to the couch, a cruel, mocking smile playing on her lips as he tried to pull away. “Since he already thinks we are doing it, we might as well go all the way, otherwise we are losing out, aren’t we?” She caught sight of my bloodshot, tear-filled eyes and let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Who else can you blame, Tristan? You forced my hand.” I stood frozen, paralyzed by the sheer betrayal. Debbie was defiled, and with her, our seven-year marriage lay in ruins. The glass container slipped from my numb fingers, shattering on the hardwood floor. The hot soup I had spent all night simmering splashed over my bare ankles, the searing pain making me break into a cold sweat. “Why did you make me watch this?” My voice shook so violently I could barely form the words. She had specifically demanded that I bring her lunch today, all just to orchestrate this cruel spectacle. Debbie only smirked at my accusation, refusing to shift from her suggestive position over Gary. “You already dragged our names through the mud online. If we do not make it real, Gary here would have suffered all that slander for nothing.” He was the one suffering? In our seven years of marriage, her text replies to me never exceeded a single word. Yet, she could send endless, soft-voiced audio recordings to Gary, reading him bedtime stories. When I was burning with a hundred-and-four-degree fever, she was on the phone giggling, telling Gary how adorable his new silk pajamas looked. When I was bleeding out after a car accident, she claimed she was too busy to sign my emergency consent form, only for me to find out she had rushed across town to tend to Gary’s sick puppy, a delay that nearly cost me my right leg. The tension in the office grew suffocatingly thick. Debbie finally, reluctantly, let Gary stand up. She reached over to adjust his belt before tossing a used wrapper into the wastebasket. “Yesterday, you tagged his name under the company’s official public page and called him all those disgusting things. Did you really think I would let that slide?” I stared at the dark red mark on her collarbone, my heart hammering in my chest. “What do you want from me?” Debbie casually picked up a pair of discarded underwear from the sofa and threw them directly at my chest. “I want you to wash his clothes right here, and apologize to Gary while you do it.” With a quick flick of her wrist, she opened the blinds facing the main office floor. Dozens of employees immediately gathered outside the glass wall, whispering and pointing at the drama unfolding inside. The fabric brushed against my bare arm, and a wave of intense nausea hit me, making my stomach churn. Debbie scoffed, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “You think this is dirty? When those thugs took ninety-nine private photos of you, you were a hundred times filthier than this.” I clamped a hand over my mouth, looking up at her in absolute shock. Years ago, when kidnappers took those compromising photos of me, Debbie had nearly lost her life trying to hunt them down and retrieve the film. She had held my shivering, suicidal body back then, whispering over and over, “You are not dirty, Tristan. My sweet Tristan is not dirty at all.” The exact same person, using the exact same mouth, was now ripping my old wounds open with words that made it hard to breathe. Staring at the bucket of soapy water she had her assistant bring in, I swallowed my remaining pride and knelt on the floor, rubbing the fabric together. Outside the glass, the spectators watched with looks of morbid curiosity and disgust. Driven to the edge by Debbie’s relentless mocking, I pulled out my phone and aimed the camera straight at her and Gary. “I formally apologize to Mr. Gary. I should not have barged in while he was sleeping with my wife in her office, ruining their fun.” With a sharp bang, Debbie kicked the bucket over, sending soapy water splashing across the floor, before grabbing my phone and throwing it against the wall. “Tristan, are you ever going to stop!” Soaked from head to toe, I sat on the wet floor as Debbie’s fury flared. “Is this your idea of an apology? Fine. You brought this on yourself!” She marched over to her desk, yanked open a bottom drawer, and threw a massive stack of glossy papers into the air. A single photo fluttered down, landing right beside my knee. My heart stopped. It was one of the intimate photos from my kidnapping, the very ones she had sworn to me she had burned years ago. Outside the office, the employees scrambled to pick them up, their eyes scanning the explicit images with greedy, mocking curiosity. I lunged forward, tearing the photos on the floor to shreds, screaming at the top of my lungs, “Debbie, you are an absolute monster!” For a split second, guilt flickered in her eyes, but she quickly masked it, turning to her security guards. “Take him home. He clearly needs to calm down.” They dragged me away and locked me in the dark basement of our house, plunging me into a panic. Years ago, on my way to the International Steinway Competition, I had been intercepted and locked away in a dark room. It was in that windowless room that those monsters took those ninety-nine humiliating photos, triggering the severe claustrophobia that had plagued me ever since. I clawed desperately at the heavy basement door, my nails tearing and bleeding as I screamed until my voice turned to gravel. Finally, the door swung open, and Debbie stood there, her face dark with anger. “I thought you would have learned your lesson by now, but you still posted that video!” On her phone screen, the final apology video was trending online, the very clip of me exposing their office tryst. I opened my mouth to explain that I hadn’t posted it, that I hadn’t even had the chance to press upload before the phone was snatched away. But before I could speak, she slammed the door shut again, letting out a cold sneer. “I am going to make you pay for this.” Minutes later, muffled groans and the creaking of weight filtered through the door, accompanied by the chaotic, jarring sounds of piano keys being struck in rhythmic succession. That piano was the last remaining heirloom of my parents, left to me before their tragic accident. On the eve of the grand competition, they had flown in from Europe just to watch me perform. But that very night, they received copies of those horrific photos from an anonymous sender, and in their panic-stricken rush to find me, their car spun out of control. I missed the competition I had trained my whole life for, and lost the two most important people in the world. And now, their sacred legacy was being used as a crude prop for Debbie and Gary’s twisted games. Gary’s breathy voice carried through the thin walls. “He is right in the basement, Debbie. What if he posts another video about this? It would be so embarrassing.” “Let him,” Debbie gasped. “Doesn’t knowing he is listening make it so much more thrilling?” The discordant, pounding notes of the piano battered my eardrums. I curled into a tight ball on the cold floor, the intense psychological trauma causing my stomach to heave as I dry-heaved repeatedly in the dark. The noise outside went on for hours. Finally, a notification buzzed on my phone, containing an old video link. It was the broadcast of that fateful piano competition years ago. On the screen, Gary stood on the grand stage, tears shining in his eyes as he held the golden trophy. “If my main competitor had not suffered an unfortunate incident right before the finals, I doubt I would be standing here today.” He blew a kiss to the camera. “I owe everything to my wonderful sponsor. She promised me she would secure the first-place spot for me, and she kept her word!” Every drop of blood in my veins ran cold. My sole rival in that competition had been Gary. When the kidnappers threatened me, they had warned, “If you dare step onto that stage, these photos go viral.” They were working for him. And the sponsor he spoke of was none other than Debbie. Before I could convince myself it was a coincidence, the camera panned to the VIP seats, revealing Debbie’s adoring, proud face. The phone felt like a hot coal in my palm, and I dropped it, shaking uncontrollably. When I was taken, Debbie had arrived with the police seemingly out of nowhere, saving me from those thugs in a flurry of violence and blood. I had spent years worshiping her as my guardian angel, believing our deep bond was the only reason she had found me so quickly. Now, the pieces fell into place. That was why she had those photos. That was why they were never destroyed. The savior who had pulled me from the abyss was the very person who had pushed me into it. Unable to bear the crushing weight of the truth, my vision faded, and I collapsed into unconsciousness. When I finally opened my eyes, the harsh white light of a hospital room greeted me. Debbie was sitting by my bedside, dark circles underscoring her tired eyes. Seeing that I lay quiet, without screaming or crying, she assumed I had finally been tamed. But she was in for a bitter disappointment. “The kidnapping, the photos, the threats… it was all you, wasn’t it?” I asked, my voice flat, every word carved from ice. Debbie’s eyes flickered, but there was no trace of remorse on her face. Instead, her expression hardened. “Have you been digging into my past?” “So you really used that old story to threaten Gary and drive him to a breakdown?” Gary suddenly burst into the room, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed dramatically. “Everyone online is saying my trophy was bought, and that I am responsible for your parents’ deaths! I didn’t know anything about the kidnapping, Tristan, I swear I didn’t!” He shrank back, looking at me with theatrical terror. Seeing her lover in distress, Debbie panicked. When she turned to me, her voice was soft, but her words were lethal. “Tristan, just release a statement. Tell the public you traded your body to the competition judges, got cold feet, and missed the finals, which led to your parents’ fatal accident. Today is the anniversary of their passing anyway. It is the perfect time to go to their graves and beg for their forgiveness.” I stared at her, my mind reeling. When my parents died and I had stood on the ledge of our apartment building ready to jump, she was the one who had pulled me back. “Your parents would want you to live, Tristan. I promise I will take care of you for the rest of my life.” It turned out her definition of a lifetime was incredibly short. A cold, hysterical laugh escaped my throat. “Never. Debbie, let’s get a divorce.” Her chest rose and fell as she struggled for breath, her jaw tightening. “Is our seven-year marriage so worthless to you that you would throw it away over a minor dispute?” Gary rushed forward, his eyes red and theatrical. “Please, Tristan, do not divorce her because of me. If you do not care about her feelings, I do! If it makes you happy, I will take the blame for your parents’ deaths, even if the public tears me to pieces!” He played the martyr perfectly, making me look like the heartless villain. Debbie immediately began to soothe him, then pulled up a live camera feed on her phone, showing a group of burly men holding shovels, standing directly in front of my parents’ graves. “You do not want a divorce, Tristan. You are just trying to destroy Gary’s life,” she said coldly. “If you do not post the statement, your parents’ resting place will be razed to the ground.” My pupils dilated in sheer terror. On screen, a heavy metal shovel slammed into the marble headstone, shattering my parents’ porcelain portraits into a web of cracks. My mind fractured. Forgetting all remaining dignity, I threw myself from the bed onto the floor, screaming in despair. “Stop! Tell them to stop! I will do whatever you want!” The tension left Debbie’s brow, and she smiled with her usual artificial warmth. “I knew you would make the right choice, Tristan.” She helped me off the floor and into her car, a convoy of reporters trailing closely behind us as we drove to the cemetery. At the cemetery, a barrage of flashing cameras blinded me, dragging me back into the nightmare of my past humiliation. I curled into myself, unable to look at my parents’ ruined headstone, biting my lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Like a hollow puppet, I read the script they had prepared for me. “I willingly took those intimate photos to generate publicity for the competition. My own greed and foolishness led to the distraction that caused my parents’ fatal accident…” Debbie stood slightly off to the side, her arms crossed, while Gary stood nearby, his winner’s medal catching the light as a smirk played at the edge of his lips. The moment I finished reading, the gathered crowd surged forward, shouting insults. “Disgusting pig, trying to frame others for your own filth!” “The photos are already circulating online anyway, he got exactly what he wanted!” “Who knew the CEO’s husband was such a cheap tramp? Did you see the photos? He actually has a six-pack!” They began taping copies of my private photos onto my parents’ shattered tombstone, spitting on the ground in disgust. I lunged forward to tear them down, but Debbie’s security guards pinned my arms behind my back. Debbie hesitated for a brief second, but chose to stand her ground. “It is just a few promotional videos for the media, Tristan. We can clean the headstone once they leave. I have already tolerated enough of your outbursts. As my husband, you should try to maintain some basic dignity.” With that, she stepped away to answer a ringing phone. The second she was out of earshot, Gary’s mask slipped, exposing his true, sinister nature. He leaned in, whispering in my ear, “I have seen every single one of those photos, Tristan. Debbie and I actually use them to get in the mood. It is a shame your parents didn’t appreciate the art. When they were driving to your venue, I kindly texted them the images to enjoy. I guess they panicked, lost control, and slammed right into that semi-truck.” His mocking face twisted in front of me. I summoned every ounce of my remaining strength, I raised my hand to strike his face, but before my palm could connect, Debbie rushed back and shoved me hard to the ground. “Tristan, how dare you! Gary has done nothing but try to keep the peace, and you are acting like a lunatic!” I lay in the dirt, gasping for air. “He killed my parents! He sent them the photos!” Debbie froze, but before she could process my words, Gary let out a theatrical gasp of pain. “My chest… Tristan hit me so hard…” Without another glance in my direction, she wrapped her arm around him and helped him walk away. The moment their luxury sedan cleared the cemetery gates, the hired thugs returned with their shovels, systematically pulverizing my parents’ headstone into gravel. I dragged myself forward, throwing my body over the ruins to shield them from the heavy iron tools. “Please, stop! I beg you!” A heavy boot slammed into my ribs, knocking me back into the dirt, the impact leaving me gasping for air. The more I struggled, the harder they pinned me down, forcing me to watch as my parents’ graves were reduced to dust, their portraits scattered and trampled. And today was the anniversary of their deaths. They pried open the concrete vault, dragging my parents’ urns out of the earth and pouring the gray ashes onto the ground. One of them grabbed a handful and shoved it toward my mouth. “Gary’s orders. You eat this, or you don’t leave here alive.” The dry dust filled my nostrils and mouth, choking me as I thrashed wildly against their grip, tears of blood leaking from my eyes. “No! Stop! Give them back to me!” A heavy stone collided with the back of my skull. A cold trickle of blood ran down my neck, and the world faded to black. Back in the city, after confirming Gary didn’t have a single scratch on his body, a strange, suffocating anxiety began to gnaw at Debbie. Ignoring his complaints, she grabbed her car keys and drove back to the cemetery as fast as her vehicle could go. But the moment she stepped through the iron gates, the scene before her drained every drop of color from her face.

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1 After three miscarriages, I finally had a baby girl. My husband celebrated by setting off city-wide fireworks. Then, an unknown caller cried, “Mom.” Holding my newborn, I was bewildered. “Wrong number.” The teen on the line pleaded, “Please, I’m your daughter, calling from eighteen years in the future. I know it sounds insane, but you must listen. Dad is cheating on you with Gemma. She caused your miscarriages to clear the way for her own son. When you find out, you’ll fall into depression and jump off a building. Please, leave him now, or you will die.” The line went dead. Staring at my phone, a sharp pain pierced my chest. I looked toward the adjoining suite where my husband and sister had just slipped in, claiming they were planning my anniversary surprise. The moment the call ended, a dull, throbbing pain flared through my lower body, a lingering ache from giving birth. But before I even realized what I was doing, I had already dragged myself out of bed and stood trembling outside their door. Low, intimate sounds drifted through the thin wood. “Careful, James. My sister is right next door.” “Why so shy now? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted, babe? You chose this room just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?” My mind went entirely blank, a deafening roar filling my ears. My breath caught in my throat, shallow and shaking. Just hours ago, when James saw me screaming in the delivery room, his eyes had brimmed with tears. He had held my hand so tightly, whispering, “Nora, sweetheart, after this baby, no more. I can’t bear to see you in pain.” His tenderness had felt so pure, so incredibly real. But now, his low, satisfied groans were equally real, slicing through my heart like a dull blade. “How is the soup? Sweet enough? Want me to feed you some more?” “What about my sister? She must be thirsty too,” Gemma giggled, her voice dripping with mock concern. “She just went through hell to give you a daughter. Shouldn’t you save some for the big hero?” “Jealous again, you little wildcat?” James chucked, his tone dripping with affection as he comforted her. “Everything I did with those babies was for you. When you told me you didn’t want them, didn’t I get rid of them exactly like you wanted?” Every drop of blood in my veins turned to liquid fire, then to ice. When I lost those three babies, I had wanted to die. I blamed myself constantly, weeping over my supposedly broken body. I had endured countless hormone injections, taking pills until I threw up, my skin mapped with painful bruises from the needles. James had played the doting husband so perfectly. He even got matching tattoos and claimed that we were one flesh, that he felt every ounce of my pain. But he was the executioner all along. I bit my lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I slammed the door open. The two of them were tangled together on the hospital bed. Gemma shrieked, scrambling backward. James’s instinct was to shield her, pulling the blanket over her bare shoulders. He looked up at me, his expression a chaotic mix of surprise, annoyance, and guilt. “Nora, don’t blame Gemma,” he said. He got out of bed, casually pulling on his robe as he walked toward me. “It was my fault. I had too much to drink one night and mistook her for you. Besides, Gemma is different from you. She is wild, uninhibited. I became addicted, and I just can’t quit her. But don’t worry, you will always be my wife.” He used the same soothing tone he always used to calm me down, but the words were pure venom. I shook so hard I could barely stand. Gemma crawled off the bed, kneeling at my feet with a look of utter innocence. “Nora, it’s my fault. I was just worried about James. He was so lonely, and I wanted to help you keep him happy. Please don’t fight because of me.” Her eyes brimmed with tears, but her fingers dug painfully into my wrist, gripping me like a vice. Furious, I wrenched my hand away. The moment I did, James shoved me hard. “Nora! Gemma is your sister. How can you be so heartless?” I stumbled back, crashing heavily against the doorframe. The impact sent a sharp jolt through my abdomen, and I felt a sudden, warm rush of postpartum blood soak through my gown. A flash of panic crossed James’s face, and he reached out to steady me, but I violently smacked his hand away. “I’m going to expose you both,” I rasped, choking on the pain. Gemma burst into fresh tears. “It’s all my fault. I’ll leave right now. Nora, please don’t take your anger out on James.” Looking at her run past me, James glared at me, his eyes dark with rage. “Nora, is this what a good sister does? Are you trying to drive her to suicide? Let me warn you, before you open your mouth to anyone, you better think about your daughter.” Without waiting for a response, he chased after Gemma. Not even an hour later, my phone lit up with a text from Gemma. It was a picture of her and James, their fingers tightly intertwined, with a messy hotel bed in the background. James was so worried I’d run away that he promised to exhaust me tonight. You don’t mind, do you, big sister? A crushing weight settled on my chest. I stared at the screen, swallowed down the bitter bile rising in my throat, and redialed the mysterious number. “What happens next?” my voice trembled. “Between me and James? And… you? Are you okay?” “You divorced him,” the girl on the other end paused, her voice cracking. “But on paper, Gemma became my mother. She… she was never kind to me.” I stopped breathing. “That’s impossible. You’re my daughter, Daisy. How could Gemma be your mother?” By now, there was no doubt in my mind. This girl was indeed my daughter. “Mom, think back,” Daisy said urgently. “Right before you gave birth to me, did Dad make you sign any documents?” My heart dropped. Yes, he did. While I was screaming through active contractions, James had suddenly pulled out a set of papers. Nora, honey, we fought so hard for this baby. We need to secure her future. Sign this for her. In my agony, I had trusted him blindly. I signed my name without reading a single word. “That was a divorce agreement,” Daisy said, her voice shaking with quiet anger. “On your anniversary last year, Dad didn’t go on a business trip. He was with Gemma. Things got wild, and she had an accident that resulted in an emergency hysterectomy. She can never have children of her own. To make it up to her, Dad planned to have you get pregnant one last time. Once you gave birth to me, he would use the signed divorce papers to take me away and legally hand me over to Gemma.” The room spun violently. I collapsed onto the edge of the bed, my remaining strength instantly evaporating. No wonder. No wonder James had been so unusually affectionate when he returned from his “trip” last year. He had clung to me every night, refusing to let me go. When I playfully asked why he was being so clingy, he had wrapped his arms around me and whispered that he was making up for missing our anniversary. At the time, my heart had soared with love. But it was all a lie. I was nothing but a breeding machine for his mistress. The betrayal cut so deep it felt physical. Choking back my tears, I asked Daisy when I finally discovered the truth in her timeline. She went quiet for a long moment. “When I was five years old.” She explained that when I finally uncovered the affair, I tried to expose them to the public. But James was steps ahead. He painted me as a mentally unstable woman driven mad by multiple miscarriages, even fabricating evidence that I had abused my own baby. In the end, everyone believed him. I was labeled a lunatic, locked away in a psychiatric facility, and left to rot. My skin crawled with dread. “But Mom, we can change it,” Daisy pleaded, her voice cracking with a vulnerability that broke my heart. “It’s not too late. You need to start gathering evidence now. Wait for the right moment, divorce him, and take me with you. Mom… I don’t want to grow up without you.” The raw loneliness in her voice made me weep. I gripped the phone, tears streaming down my cheeks as I looked over at the bassinet. Seeing my tiny, helpless daughter sleeping so peacefully, a fierce resolve took root in my chest. I would not let history repeat itself. Over the next few days, I remained quiet and focused on recovering. When James came to take me home, he noticed I didn’t bring up Gemma. He assumed I had swallowed my pride and accepted the situation. “I’m glad you’re being reasonable, Nora,” he said, adjusting the baby’s blanket with a gentle smile. “Our daughter needs a complete family. No matter what is going on between me and Gemma, we have years of history together. You should trust me.” I forced myself to look away, a dull ache throbbing in my chest. We had been together since college. I used to think our love was unbreakable. When I was drowning in self-doubt and darkness, he had been my guiding light. When my life was threatened by a mugger years ago, he had thrown himself in front of me, taking a blow that nearly killed him. He was the love of my life. I never could have imagined that the man who saved my life would eventually hold the blade that destroyed it. The moment we stepped into our house, Gemma strolled out of our master bedroom wearing one of my silk nightgowns. It was obvious she had made herself entirely at home while I was in the hospital. James quickly stepped in. “Gemma’s lease ended. Since you two are sisters, I figured she could stay here for a few days.” Gemma bit her lip, looking at me with faux-timidity. “Nora, please don’t get the wrong idea. I was just so exhausted last night…” The dark, purplish bruises on her neck were impossible to miss. I looked away, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry. “I don’t care,” I said coldly, walking past them into my bedroom. In the middle of the night, Daisy’s sharp, panicked crying woke me up. Dragging my aching body down the hall to the nursery, I pushed the door open, only for my blood to run cold at the sight before me. “What the hell are you doing?” I lunged forward, throwing Gemma away from the crib. Daisy’s tiny arms and legs were covered in fresh, red pinch marks. “Calm down,” Gemma sneered, her delicate facade vanishing instantly, replaced by a cruel, venomous grin. “If I wanted this little brat dead, she wouldn’t have survived the delivery room.” I stared at her, horrified. “Why? When our parents finally found me and brought me back, you were so kind to me. Why are you doing this?” Gemma let out a mockery of a laugh. “If I wasn’t nice to you, how else would I get you to trust me? How else could I get you to push our parents away?” She stepped closer, her eyes flashing with pure hatred. “I may be adopted, but before you showed up, I was the only princess in that house. I finally had a life where I was loved and pampered. Why did you have to be found? Why did you have to come back and steal everything from me?” So that was it. All these years, this was how she saw me. “I never wanted to compete with you…” “Stop acting so innocent!” Gemma snapped, her face twisting into a hideous snarl. “Even James was part of the plan. At first, we just wanted to make a fool out of you. James was supposed to play the hero, rescue you from some hired thugs, make you fall madly in love with him, and then dump you. But the idiot actually fell for you. He married you instead!” A violent shudder ran through my body. The mugging… the life-saving rescue… it had all been a staged performance. My heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. The pain was so intense I could barely draw breath. Suddenly, Gemma wiped the smirk off her face. She snatched Daisy from the crib and sprinted toward the door, her face twisting into a mask of pure terror. “James, help! Nora has gone crazy! She’s hurting the baby!” James’s heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, his face instantly darkening as he stepped into the light. “That’s a lie!” I screamed, shaking. “She did this!” “Nora, I know you hate me because of James,” Gemma sobbed, clutching Daisy to her chest as if protecting her. “But our baby is innocent! How could you take your anger out on her?” “I didn’t touch her! Gemma was the one pinching her!” “Enough!” James roared, cutting me off. “How can you be so sick, Nora? You’re so desperate to hurt me that you’d abuse your own child?” He didn’t believe a single word I said. Instead, he grabbed my arm, dragging me down to the cold, damp basement and throwing me inside. “Stay down here until you’ve cleared your head,” he snapped, locking the heavy door. He knew about my severe nyctophobia. He knew that staged attack had left me terrified of the dark. He had once held me during a blackout, promising that he would never let the darkness touch me again. “James, please, open the door! You can’t do this to me!” My voice trembled, raw with mounting panic. I could hear his footsteps lingering right outside the door. He hesitated. But then, Gemma’s soft, patronizing voice chimed in. “Nora is acting like a spoiled child. She does something terrible to the baby, and then throws a tantrum. It’s Daisy I feel sorry for…” Hearing her words, James’s hesitation vanished. “You brought this on yourself, Nora.” The sound of shifting fabric and a low grunt came from the other side of the thin wooden door. “James, stop… your wife is right in there,” Gemma whispered, her voice laced with breathless excitement. “That’s what makes it fun. She can’t see us, but she can hear everything…” Before long, the sickening, rhythmic sounds of their passion echoed through the basement door. I curled into a ball on the cold concrete floor, my fingernails digging into my palms until they bled. Every gasp, every groan from the other side of the wood was a physical blow, carving away whatever love I had left for him until there was only a hollow, aching numbness. When the sounds finally faded and they moved upstairs, I pulled out my phone and dialed the future number again. “What about my parents?” I whispered into the dark. “What happened to them in your timeline?” “Shortly after you were put away, they died in a tragic car accident,” Daisy’s voice sounded incredibly small and hollow. “They loved you so much, Mom. But Gemma kept telling them that you hated them, that you blamed them for losing you when you were little. Grandma used to hold your old photos and cry herself to sleep every night, whispering how sorry she was.” A tear slipped down my cheek. They did love me. Thank god. There was still time to fix this. The next morning, James unlocked the basement door. Dehydrated and pale, I dragged myself out. “Stop making a scene, Nora,” he said coldly. “Daisy’s one-month celebration is coming up, and the invitations are already out. You wouldn’t want to miss your own daughter’s party, would you?” So, I played along. I behaved perfectly. When the day of the celebration arrived, my parents were among the first to show up. Watching my mother cradle Daisy, cooing softly as my father smiled beside her, a wave of warmth rushed through me. There was so much I wanted to say to them. Right then, Gemma walked in, dressed in a stunning gown and clinging to James’s arm. “These heels are just too high to walk in, so I had James help me,” she giggled, looking at our parents with her usual bubbly, innocent demeanor. “You don’t mind, do you, Nora?” James stepped away from her, wrapping an arm around my waist instead. “You’ve worked hard today, Nora. Once this is over, we’ll go home and get some rest.” I fought down the sudden urge to vomit, remaining silent. When the ballroom was packed and the champagne was flowing, I quietly slipped away and pressed the button on the control panel. The massive projector screen, which had been displaying sweet photos of Daisy’s first month, suddenly flickered. In an instant, the screen filled with crystal-clear footage of James and Gemma wrapped in each other’s arms, whispering vulgar promises. The entire room fell into a dead, shocked silence, followed by gasps of horror. Gemma’s face drained of all color. My parents froze, staring at the screen in absolute disbelief. James panicked for a split second, but he quickly recovered. He strode onto the stage, shut off the projector, and looked down at me with an expression of deep, tragic resignation. “Nora, please… you’ve had another episode.” A murmur ran through the crowd. But James had prepared for this very moment. He pulled out his iPad and cast a document onto the screen—a psychological report claiming I had been suffering from severe prenatal and postpartum psychosis. Alongside it was a list of heavy anti-depressants under my name. “After her multiple miscarriages, my wife’s mental state became unstable,” James announced to the crowd, his voice filled with fake sympathy. “I apologize to everyone for the disturbance.” Gemma quickly stepped forward, wiping away fake tears. “The doctor said Nora’s depression makes her paranoid. I don’t blame her for fabricating these deep-fake videos to hurt me. I just want my sister to get the professional help she needs.” “This is ridiculous!” my father barked, his face turning red with embarrassment. “If you are sick, Nora, go get treated! Why would you drag your sister into the mud like this?” My mother looked at me with a mixture of pity and disappointment. “Nora, I know you still resent us for what happened in the past, but Gemma has done nothing but try to help you. How could you do something so malicious to her?” “No, that’s not…” I tried to explain, but my voice was drowned out as a glass of red wine was splashed directly into my face. Cold, sticky liquid dripped down my cheeks, ruining my dress. “If she can fake a video like that, who knows what else she’s lying about!” someone in the crowd sneered. “If she really is that crazy, she shouldn’t be allowed around normal people. Lock her up!” The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, hostile eyes glaring at me from every direction. Pretending to protect me from the hostile crowd, James grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the ballroom. The moment we stepped into the quiet alley outside, I gathered every ounce of strength I had and slapped him across the face. “You monster! I am not sick, and you know it!” James touched his bruised cheek, his sympathetic husband facade vanishing instantly into a cold, menacing sneer. “I warned you to think about the consequences, Nora. Since you were so eager to destroy Gemma, don’t blame me for being ruthless.” He pulled out his phone and called a private medical transport. “You’re going to a psychiatric facility, Nora. I’ll let you out once you’ve learned to behave.” Gemma suddenly slipped out of the venue, running up to us. “James, let me go with her in the car. I want to talk some sense into her before she does something stupid.” James nodded, trusting her completely. But as soon as the car drove off and reached a secluded, abandoned stretch of road, the driver pulled over. Gemma dragged me out of the backseat, throwing me onto the gravel at the feet of three burly, rough-looking men waiting there. “She’s all yours, boys,” Gemma sneered, tossing a thick envelope of cash to their leader. “Do whatever you want with her. Just keep her breathing long enough to sell her across the border.” She stepped closer, raising her designer stiletto heel and slamming it hard onto my chest. Her heel caught on the heavy silver locket resting against my collarbone. “Nora, with you gone, James and I can finally be together legally.” Despite the searing pain in my ribs, I looked up at her and let out a soft laugh. “Do you really think you’ve won, Gemma?” I gasped, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “Why don’t you check your phone?” Gemma froze. She pulled out her phone, and within seconds, every drop of color drained from her face. Back at the venue, James stood in the corridor, exhaling a long breath. My defiance had annoyed him. He couldn’t understand why I couldn’t just accept my role as a quiet, compliant mother. “Well, this stay in the facility will teach her a lesson. She’ll fall back in line,” he muttered, smoothing down his tuxedo jacket. The celebration was still going on, so he put on his charming smile and pushed open the heavy double doors to the ballroom. But as he stepped inside, he found the room in absolute, suffocating silence. The massive projector screen had flickered back on. It was broadcasting a live feed. The moment James’s eyes adjusted to the screen, his entire body froze.

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1 I was walking down the street when I spotted two of my wife’s childhood friends, guys she hadn’t seen in years. I was about to step forward and say hello when their conversation caught my ear. “I’m so glad Brooke is finally getting her happy ending and marrying again.” “No kidding. Her ex-husband was such a tragic, short-lived guy. Died right after they got married.” I froze in my tracks, completely bewildered. I was standing right there, breathing, perfectly healthy. How on earth was I dead? And what did they mean, marrying again? Brooke and I had been married for five years, and our son was almost three. Who was she marrying? As I listened further, I caught the groom’s name: John. He wasn’t anyone I knew. I quietly noted down the wedding venue and the date before slipping away unnoticed. When the weekend arrived, I drove to the hotel address they had mentioned. The venue was buzzing, packed with elegant guests. I walked up to the guest registry on the groom’s side and tossed a two-hundred-dollar check onto the table. The registry clerk picked up his pen and looked at me. “Under what name, sir?” I bared my teeth in a cold smile. “Just write: the resurrected ex-husband.” The clerk frowned, shooting me an annoyed look. “It’s a wedding day, sir. Why say something so cursed?” I didn’t answer. I turned around and saw a massive, life-sized wedding portrait standing near the entrance. The woman in the stunning white gown was indeed my wife, Brooke. The man standing beside her, holding her waist, was a complete stranger. The portrait looked incredibly expensive, shot in an elite studio. Years ago, I had suggested we go to a high-end studio for our wedding photos. But Brooke had dismissed the idea. “Wedding photos are just a pointless formality, Luke,” she had told me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “There’s no point in wasting money on them. As long as we love each other and build a good life, that’s what matters.” In the end, she had chosen a dingy little local studio down the street, opting for their cheapest package. Looking around the ballroom, I spotted several familiar faces, all of them Brooke’s relatives. I couldn’t believe she had the audacity to pull off something like this, openly committing bigamy right in front of her entire family. Then, my gaze drifted toward the VIP head table, and my blood ran entirely cold. Seated at the head table on the bride’s side were none other than Brooke’s parents, my mother-in-law and father-in-law. Relative after relative walked up to congratulate them, and my in-laws practically beamed with pride, their faces glowing as they laughed. Fragments of their conversation floated over to where I stood. “John is such a wonderful man. He’s going to bring Brooke so much luck. You two are going to be living in luxury from now on!” My mother-in-law grinned so wide her eyes squinted. “Oh, absolutely! Ever since Brooke met him, her life has been getting better by the day. Not like her first husband. That one had no luck, died so young, a total curse to our family. Well, let’s not speak of that deadweight on such a beautiful day…” Her words sliced straight through my chest. All these years, I had treated them with the utmost respect, supporting them financially and emotionally, only to be dismissed as a “curse” and a “deadweight.” If I had really brought them bad luck, they wouldn’t even be sitting here enjoying this luxury. My father-in-law nodded in agreement. “I never approved of Brooke marrying him in the first place!” Who? Me? “Oh, come on,” my mother-in-law whispered back, waving a hand. “The only reason we let him into the family was because of the generous financial gift he gave us. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.” “What good was that money? He was just an easy target, a fool. This new son-in-law is much more to our liking.” So, when I had doubled my financial gift to her family out of sympathy for their struggles, I had actually made myself a laughingstock. To them, I was just a fool to be exploited, and they despised me for it. Meanwhile, John had apparently demanded a massive $88,000 dowry from them, and they were thrilled to pay it. The sheer injustice of it made my head spin. I wanted to march over and tear down their table, but I forced myself to stay calm. This debt would be settled soon enough. I turned and walked out of the banquet hall. Near the entrance, the groom was standing with his groomsmen, straightening his tie and preparing for the ceremony. When John saw me coming out, he offered me a warm, friendly smile. “Hey, you must be one of Brooke’s colleagues!” My mind screamed at me to blurt out the truth, but I swallowed the urge and gave a quiet nod. “Yeah.” One of the groomsmen grabbed John’s wrist, staring enviously at the gleaming watch on his arm. “Man, John, you hit the jackpot. Brooke really splurged on you. That watch has to be worth at least six figures, right?” “She insisted on buying it,” John said, running a finger over the watch face, a proud smile stretching across his lips. “She said a wedding only happens once, so we had to get the absolute best.” It felt like a physical blow to my chest. When Brooke and I married, we had nothing. I had suggested buying a modest pair of diamond bands, just as a symbol of our commitment. But she had laughed it off. “Why waste money on those shiny rocks? We can’t eat them, and you’re not a shallow, materialistic guy, Luke.” Seeing my disappointment, she had hugged me and whispered, “Once my salary goes up, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” As her career took off and her income climbed, she did keep her promise in a way. Every year, when she received her annual bonus, she would buy a small gold bar and hand it to me, telling me it was security for me and our son. But wait. Where did she get the money to buy John a six-figure watch? Every month, she handed her salary over to me, and her annual bonuses were accounted for. As I stood there puzzled, another groomsman let out a sigh of admiration. “I heard your wife’s company is doing incredibly well. She gets over a million dollars in profit-sharing dividends every year. She could buy you ten of those watches and not even feel it.” Profit-sharing dividends? We had been married for six years, and I had absolutely no idea she owned shares in her company. I had seen her monthly pay stubs. Her net monthly salary was $18,000. She handed me $15,000 every month for our family expenses, keeping $3,000 for her personal use. I had never questioned it. And yet, she was secretly pulling in over a million dollars a year in dividends. John suddenly turned his gaze back to me. “Hey, since you work with her, you must have an idea of what she actually pulls in. Come on, give me a ballpark figure, just so she doesn’t hide any secret accounts from me.” It felt like a blunt knife was sawing through my heart. How much did she make? He knew her financial power far better than I did. She was pouring her massive fortune into this man, buying him luxury watches I could only dream of. I was just learning about her million-dollar dividends, and here he was, asking me how much she made. The muscles in my jaw twitched, and I struggled to maintain a calm expression. Sensing my sudden tension, John quickly tried to ease the awkwardness. “Oh, maybe you don’t know the executive payroll details. No worries. I’ve met most of her colleagues before, but you’re a new face. Did you join the company recently?” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “Yeah, I’m fairly new. I don’t really know her exact income details.” One of the groomsmen chuckled, nudging John. “Man, your woman is perfect. Beautiful, wealthy, and madly in love with you. She even quit smoking for you.” John let out a proud laugh. I nearly dropped my phone. Years ago, during her pregnancy, her morning sickness had been terrible, and the smell of smoke made me so nauseous I couldn’t sleep. I had begged her to quit, but she insisted she needed to smoke for networking and work stress. Then, three months ago, she suddenly threw all her cigarettes into the trash. She had told me she was doing it for my health and our son’s, because she felt guilty about making us inhale secondhand smoke. I had been deeply moved. But she hadn’t quit for us. She had quit for him. John gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry about them, man. They like to joke around.” With a storm raging in my chest, the words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Are you really that sure about her? How do you know she doesn’t have a whole second life somewhere else?” John’s smile faded, and he stared at me, bewildered. “What is that supposed to mean?” The groomsmen bristled immediately. “Hey, man. Just because your own wife cheated on you doesn’t mean you should try to ruin someone else’s wedding.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Actually, you hit the nail right on the head.” John looked at me with a touch of pity and superiority. “My Brooke isn’t like your wife. She would never betray me.” “Is that so? If she’s so loyal and perfect, why isn’t she here yet?” “Oh, some of her old college friends flew in this morning. She went to the airport to pick them up. She’ll be back any minute.” Right on cue, his phone rang. He swiped to answer, a warm smile returning to his face. “Hey, sweetie! Where are you?” The groomsmen fell silent, and her voice drifted clearly through the speaker. “Almost there, honey. I’m just so excited to finally marry you today.” John blushed, laughing softly. “Just focus on driving, okay? Be safe.” The groomsmen immediately began to tease him. “Oh, look at you two! Five years together and you’re still acting like newlyweds.” “Well, we have to make the most of it,” John said defensively. “Since we only get to spend half the year together anyway.” The words struck me like a physical blow, leaving my ears ringing. They had been together for five years. I couldn’t decide if I was incredibly stupid, or if she was just a master of deception. No, she wasn’t a genius. I had simply trusted her too much. I had believed her when she told me that her company required rotating regional assignments for her to get promoted, meaning she had to travel out of state every other month. I had supported her, proud of her career ambitions. I had taken on everything at home, caring for our son, cooking, cleaning, and working my own job, never complaining once. When our son had a high fever in the middle of the night, I had sat alone in the emergency room until dawn, cradling him in my arms. I hadn’t even dared to call her, terrified of disrupting her sleep during her “demanding business trips.” But she wasn’t working. She was playing house with another man. The groomsmen continued to lament their own single status. “Seriously, she’s perfect. Gorgeous, rich, sweet, and she even cooks for you? Life is so unfair!” “Yeah, come on, she has to have at least one flaw! Give us something to make us feel better!” John laughed as they nudged him. “Well, if I had to name one… she’s obsessed with making me healthy soup. She wakes up at the crack of dawn every single morning just to brew it fresh for me.” The guys groaned at his bragging, but the words felt like another knife twisting in my heart. Every morning. In our six years of marriage, Brooke had never made me breakfast once. Not a single time. When she was pregnant and could barely bend over, I was the one waking up early to cook for her. She had always told me she hated cooking and was terrible at it, and I had believed her, assuming she just lacked the skill. It wasn’t a lack of talent. It was a lack of love. I stood there as the cold truth washed over me, freezing me to the bone. The groomsmen insisted John was just showing off and demanded a real flaw. John bit his lip, his expression suddenly turning solemn. “Actually, there is one thing. But you guys have to promise never to bring it up in front of her.” “Brooke was married once before.” “Her ex-husband and her son… they were killed in a terrible car accident two years ago. It completely broke her, and she still gets emotional about it.” The blood rushed to my head, and my knuckles cracked as I clenched my fists. Her lies hadn’t just killed me off. She had killed our son too. Our beautiful, sweet little boy, who had just cuddled with her yesterday, whispering how much he loved his mommy. To clear the way for her new life, she had wiped his very existence from the earth. The sheer, cold-hearted selfishness of it made me tremble. I couldn’t let her get away with this. Not for my sake, and certainly not for Toby’s. I was about to step forward when my phone vibrated in my pocket. The screen showed my mother-in-law’s name. I stepped back into the quiet hallway to take the call. “Luke,” her voice rushed through the receiver, sharp and demanding. “I need you to wire me $88,000 right now. It’s an emergency.” “What kind of emergency requires eighty-eight thousand dollars, Mom?” “I told you before, your father and I are helping plan a wedding for some close family friends. They want to adopt us as godparents, and we need to present them with a traditional blessing gift. Eighty-eight thousand is a lucky number. Just wire it over quickly, we’re waiting on it.” A godparent blessing gift of eighty-eight thousand dollars? It didn’t take a genius to realize that this was the dowry gift they owed John. They were using my hard-earned money to fund my wife’s second wedding. When Brooke and I married, my mother-in-law had given me a measly $1,800 welcoming gift. Now that it was John, the price had skyrocketed. Controlling the rage in my voice, I said, “Is this new godson planning to pay for your funeral expenses, Mom?” Her voice instantly turned icy. “What is wrong with you? Why are you talking about funerals at a time like this? Do you have no manners?” “I’ve never heard of a godparent gift costing eighty-eight thousand dollars,” I replied coldly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to pay a new son-in-law his welcoming dowry.” The line went dead silent. After a long pause, she exploded into a scream. “How dare you speak to me like that! You always play the obedient, respectful son-in-law, but the moment we ask for a little help, you show your true, greedy colors! Let me tell you something, Luke. This is my daughter’s money, and we can spend it however we damn well please! You have no right to lecture me!” “Your daughter makes eighteen thousand a month and hands fifteen of it over to me,” I snapped back, refusing to back down. “We have a mortgage, car payments, and a toddler to raise. And don’t forget, I work too, and my income is just as high as hers.” She let out a harsh scoff. “Fine. You think you’re so smart.” She slammed the phone down, ending the call. I straightened my collar and walked back toward the groom’s suite, only to hear John’s voice drifting out. “Brooke’s mom said they’re skipping the cash dowry and giving me five gold bars instead. I’ve never heard of a wedding gift like that before. Quite a surprise.” My chest tightened. Five gold bars. Those were the exact gold bars Brooke had given me over the years as compensation for my missing wedding ring. The numbers matched perfectly. The groomsmen laughed, but my heart was entirely numb. Let them laugh. The higher they climbed, the harder they would fall. Footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor. Brooke was walking toward the ballroom, surrounded by her bridesmaids. Inside, the grand wedding march began to play. Under the gaze of hundreds of guests, John slowly walked down the aisle toward the stage. Brooke stood at the altar, her posture elegant, a beautiful smile playing on her lips as she waited for her new groom. Just as John reached the halfway mark, I stepped onto the stage, snatched the microphone from the podium, and spoke into it, my voice echoing coldly through the speakers. “Brooke, sweetheart. Why didn’t you tell me you were getting married today?”

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1 Ever since I was little, my parents drilled one lesson into me. Girls must be independent. As they aged, they said it was time for me to shoulder the family burdens. When I pointed at my older brother Austin and asked why he should not learn to be independent too, things changed. Not long after, Austin suffered a terrible fall. He was bedridden from that day on, supposedly paralyzed from the waist down. To keep our family afloat, I worked grueling part-time jobs while caring for him. No matter how hard I worked, we lived like ghosts on the margins of society. We ate wilted greens from grocery store bins and wore coarse, discarded clothing. Desperate for a way out, I signed up for experimental medical trials. The cash was quick, but the cost was my life. I contracted a rare, aggressive skin cancer that covered my body in painful sores. As the end drew near, I left every cent of that blood money for my brother. I did not even keep enough to buy a peaceful end. In the dark, I pulled a heavy plastic bag over my head and suffocated myself on my creaking cot. Death did not bring the quiet slip into nothingness I expected. My spirit lingered. I watched my supposedly paralyzed brother play a high-stakes basketball game. When the buzzer sounded, my parents rushed onto the court to embrace him, handing him the deed to the city’s most expensive luxury estate. It turned out my entire life of suffering had been a meticulously staged play. I was the only actor who did not know the script. Now that I am truly gone, why are they drowning in regret? … I was preparing for my second round of clinical trials when the nurse, syringe in hand, noticed the massive, weeping lesions spreading across my arm. She gasped, her hand trembling so hard the needle clattered to the linoleum floor. Within minutes, they dragged me into an examination room for a battery of tests. Before I could even ask what was wrong with my skin, two burly security guards lifted me up and threw me out into the alley behind the clinic. The nurse tossed a manila envelope containing my meager payment and the medical report onto my chest. “You have advanced skin cancer and you still showed up for experimental trials? How desperate for cash are you? You signed a waiver, so even if you died on our table, it wouldn’t be our problem. Take your money and get lost, and don’t you dare think about suing us!” Those words struck me like a physical blow, leaving me frozen on the cold pavement. Ever since I started the trials, my skin had been incredibly itchy, shedding dry flakes constantly. Every time my mother painstakingly swept up the skin flakes around my cot, I felt a deep wave of guilt for making her chores harder. I had no idea those flakes were the first signs of my body rotting from the inside out. Trembling, I pulled the diagnosis sheet from the envelope. My eyes strained against the stark, clinical terms, desperately hoping I had misread the diagnosis. Right then, my cheap phone began to buzz. My mother’s gentle, weary voice came through the receiver. “Daisy, sweetheart, your father and I are going to pull an extra shift to get some extra cash. We won’t make it home for lunch. Make sure you cook something nice for your brother.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing a quiet, shaky assent before dragging my leaden feet back to our run-down neighborhood. The moment I stepped inside, I hid the medical report under the thin mattress of my wooden cot. But when I turned and saw Austin lying in his bed, my eyes welled with hot, uncontrollable tears. Austin looked up at me, his expression softening with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Daisy. I’m just a burden to you. Honestly, it’s fine if I skip lunch today. You don’t have to tire yourself out.” I walked over and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at him for a long time before I could find my voice. “Austin, if I’m ever gone, how will you survive?” He reached out and gently patted my head, his tone affectionately dismissive. “What are you talking about? Even if death comes knocking, I’d go in your place. You aren’t going anywhere. You have to stay strong, Daisy. We’re going to get through this soon.” But I wasn’t going to get through this. I forced myself to stand, wiped my tears, and went to the kitchen. In a rare moment of extravagance, I used the last of our household money to buy a few fresh eggs to soft-boil for him. Just as I set the plate on our rickety table, our parents dragged themselves through the front door, looking thoroughly exhausted. My father reached into his frayed canvas bag and pulled out a handful of bruised, discarded vegetable leaves. He took a long gulp of tap water, his eyes shining with forced cheer. “Your mother was fast today! She managed to grab these greens before the supermarket threw them in the incinerator. They’re much fresher than usual.” I stared at them, their voices sounding as if they were drifting from underwater. My mother reached into her pocket and placed a sweet, glazed raspberry pastry into my hand. “Happy birthday, my sweet girl. We can’t afford a real cake, but you still deserve something sweet today.” The pastry felt incredibly heavy in my palm. The horrifying words from the medical report kept flashing in my mind, making it impossible to smile. Yet, the rich, buttery scent of the pastry brought a brief moment of clarity. I gently placed it on Austin’s bedside table. “Give it to Austin. I don’t really like sweet things anyway.” Austin pushed my hand back. “You’re the birthday girl, Daisy. You eat it. Just let me have a tiny bite of the frosting so I can share your luck.” He dipped a finger into the glaze and licked it clean. A pastry like this cost more than our entire food budget for two weeks. There was no way I could swallow it. My parents sat down at the table, quietly chewing on stale, hardened crusts of bread. They refused to touch the eggs I had prepared for Austin. Looking at their mismatched, oversized clothes, my heart ached with a profound, crushing sorrow. The terror of my diagnosis was slowly swallowed by a deep, hollow despair. I wanted so badly to throw myself into my mother’s arms and tell her how sick I was, to beg for comfort. But the words died in my throat. If my death meant one less mouth to feed, if it meant they could finally stop starving, then I would gladly welcome the end. 2 I could never understand why, despite how hard we all worked, we remained trapped in absolute poverty. When I was a child, my parents had moved us to a neglected trailer park on the very edge of the city to save on rent. The children there all came from struggling families. For many of them, survival was the only goal. They were resilient, sharp, and fiercely determined. Instead of being discouraged by the grim surroundings, my mother had grabbed my hand, her eyes bright with a strange excitement. “In an environment like this, my daughter will learn what it takes to survive and thrive.” I had turned to look at Austin, my young eyes wide with innocence. “I want Austin to be strong and independent just like me.” But shortly after, Austin fell, and his legs supposedly gave out forever. The guilt of that memory had haunted me for years. I used to sit by his bedside, slapping my own face until my cheeks were bruised, convinced that my childish words had cursed him to a life in a wheelchair. To make up for it, I worked myself to the bone while trying to finish school. As a student, I could only get the lowest-paying, most physically demanding odd jobs. I spent summers standing on scorching asphalt in ninety-degree heat, handing out flyers. When thirst threatened to overwhelm me, I couldn’t bring myself to spend two dollars on a bottle of water. Instead, I drank the dregs left behind in discarded plastic bottles, collecting the empty containers to sell to the recycling center. Once, a group of local vagrants cornered me in an alley, furious that I was taking their bottles. They shoved garbage into my mouth, warning me to stay off their turf before beating me until my ribs cracked. Spitting blood and covered in bruises, I had desperately wanted to buy a cheap bottle of painkillers. But I resisted the urge, locking my pennies away in a jar for Austin’s medical fund. Whenever I was in pain, I simply gathered ash from our wood stove and rubbed it over my cuts to stop the bleeding. When my parents found out, my father gave me a firm pat on the back. “Our girl has incredible grit. You have the making of a true survivor, Daisy.” They didn’t know the searing, agonizing pain of rubbing raw ash into open wounds. I never cried out. Asking my mother for a simple hug felt like an indulgence I couldn’t afford, because every minute wasted was a penny lost. I stared at the sweet raspberry pastry on the table, a dark, final decision solidifying in my chest. My mother walked into the small room and sat beside me, gently stroking my hair. Her voice carried a soft, apologetic tone. “Daisy, someone recommended a specialist in the city. We’ve managed to scrape together a bit of savings, and we want to take Austin there. Maybe, just maybe, they can make him walk again.” It was a completely normal departure, but it felt like a knife twisting in my chest. They had traveled for his treatments before, but I knew this would be the last time I would ever see them. Suppressing my grief, I scrambled to my feet, reached under my mattress, and pulled out the crumpled envelope of cash from the clinic, shoving it into my mother’s hands. Seeing her stunned expression, I forced a watery smile. “It was Valentine’s Day last week. A lot of wealthy couples got into arguments and threw away expensive gifts. I got lucky and scavenged them to sell.” My mother pulled me into a warm, rare embrace. “Take care of yourself while we’re gone, sweetheart. We’ll be back before you know it.” I stood by the cracked window, watching their figures grow smaller until they vanished down the dusty road. Only then did the realization hit me: I had been so desperate to save my brother that I hadn’t kept a single dollar to buy a painless way out for myself. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. Through the haze, my eyes fell on the plastic bag wrapping the raspberry pastry. I took one last bite of the sweet, rich dough, letting the flavor coat my tongue. Having my mother’s final embrace was enough. I could depart in peace. I pulled the empty plastic bag over my head and gathered it tightly around my neck. The lingering scent of sugar filled my lungs, making my hands hesitate. My instincts screamed for air, but I forced my fingers to hold the plastic tight. Our family couldn’t afford another sick person. Without me, they could focus every resource on curing Austin. I clenched my teeth and pulled the plastic tighter, shutting my eyes as the faint light of the room dissolved into absolute, suffocating darkness. 3 When I opened my eyes again, I felt weightless, floating near the ceiling. It took me a long moment to process the sight of my own stiff, pale body lying on the cot below. I was dead. I drifted down to look at myself. My face was a terrible shade of blue, and my emaciated frame looked even more wretched in death. But even as a spirit, my only thought was of Austin. As my desperation to find him intensified, the world blurred, and I suddenly found myself hovering over a pristine, sunlit basketball court. Before I could wonder why my soul had drifted here, I spotted my parents sitting in the front row of the VIP stands, laughing and cheering. The clothes they wore were tailored and luxurious, made of fabrics our family couldn’t have afforded even if we had worked for three lifetimes. I floated down to them, a jarring sense of unfamiliarity washing over me. My mother’s lips were painted a vibrant, expensive crimson, and her hair was styled in elegant, glossy waves, looking every bit like a high-society matriarch. Confused, I followed their gaze to the court. There, running with fluid, athletic grace, was Austin. He was dribbling the ball with ease, his legs strong and perfectly healthy. He was wearing a limited-edition jersey that cost more than a year of our slum rent. The confusion in my chest hardened into a heavy, suffocating knot. Suddenly, the referee blew the final whistle. My parents leaped to their feet, rushing onto the court to throw their arms around Austin, their faces glowing with pride. “Austin, sweetie, our efforts weren’t in vain! All those years of traveling the world with you were worth it!” But Austin was supposed to be paralyzed. How could he have traveled the world? Even in my confusion, a part of me was overjoyed to see him whole. “Austin! You can walk? How did you get better?” I screamed, but my voice vanished into the air. They couldn’t hear me. Austin hugged our mother tight. “Mom, I swear I almost lost my mind pretending to be bedridden for so long. Thank God for those monthly ‘doctor visits’ in the city, or I would have forgotten how to run.” My father patted his shoulder, his eyes soft with affection. “You’ve worked hard, son. Today, your mother and I have a reward for you.” With a flourish, my father pulled out a leather binder containing the keys and deed to a sprawling estate in Crestview, the most prestigious neighborhood in the city. I recognized the name instantly. I had once walked past those gates on my way to a cleaning job, staring at the manicured lawns. Back then, my mother had told me, “We won’t be poor forever, Daisy. If you work hard enough, you’ll be able to afford a place like this one day.” But they already had the means. They didn’t need to work hard at all. Austin seemed to remember something, his smile faltering slightly as he looked at our parents. “Mom, Dad… when Daisy came home yesterday, her eyes were completely bloodshot. Do you think something happened to her?” My mother’s expression instantly tightened, and she grabbed his arm. “You didn’t break character, did you? Our plan is almost complete. We can’t let her find out now.” Austin shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’ve kept up the act this long, I won’t ruin it now. I just feel like Daisy is keeping something from us.” My mother patted his hand, telling him not to overthink it, promising they would check on me once the wedding preparations were settled. Swallowing a bitter torrent of spectral tears, I followed them as they drove to a massive, gated villa. The estate was ablaze with lights, with caterers and servers moving in polished harmony. The long tables groaned under the weight of fine champagne and roasted meats. Today was Austin’s engagement party, and half the city’s elite had been invited. Standing in the grand foyer, my mother whispered to my father, “Daisy has been acting a bit strange lately. She used to be so full of energy. And she gave me so much cash before we left, do you think she got it illegally?” My father wrapped an arm around her waist, offering a reassuring smile. “Unlikely. We raised her to be independent and strong. Her moral compass is solid.” He took a sip of his drink. “Besides, Austin’s career is set, and Daisy is about to graduate. Once the wedding is over next week, we’ll bring her here and reveal the truth. She’s going to inherit her own branch of the firm. She’ll be overjoyed.” Standing in the shadow of the grand staircase, my spirit wept. I won’t be overjoyed, Dad. I’m never going to wake up. 4 The engagement party was a dazzling success, and the wedding was set for exactly one week later. After the last of the wealthy guests departed, my parents stood in the quiet parlor, looking slightly anxious as they stared at their phones. “We’ll be completely tied up with wedding prep this week,” my mother said. “We won’t have time to go back to the old house. Let’s call Daisy and make sure she’s doing alright.” She dialed my number, but the line simply rang and rang. I floated beside her, screaming that I was right there, reaching out to touch her arm, but my fingers passed through her like mist. Looking at them now, memories began to unravel. I remembered the faint scent of expensive, imported cologne on my father’s jacket when he returned to our drafty shack. He had laughed it off, saying he had merely brushed past some wealthy clients. I remembered the crisp, high-resolution photos my mother occasionally showed me, far too sharp to have come from the cheap, cracked phone she claimed to own. And Austin’s legs… despite years of supposed paralysis, his muscles had never wasted away. Our entire life had been a cruel, elaborate stage, and I was the only one who had truly bled for the performance. A wave of profound sorrow pressed against my chest, but as I looked at their happy, untroubled faces, a strange sense of relief washed over me. At least they were safe. At least they weren’t starving. After a long time, I drifted up the grand staircase. At the end of the long hallway was a bedroom door with my name beautifully engraved on a brass plaque. I stepped through the door. The room was breathtaking, decorated exactly like the sketches I used to draw in the margins of my school notebooks. On the nightstand sat a framed photograph of the four of us, laughing. My academic awards and certificates from childhood were neatly framed along the walls. Suddenly, a sleek, beautiful pedigree cat padded into the room, meowing softly. It was the exact breed I had always dreamed of owning. They had remembered every single wish I had ever whispered into the dark. They had built a perfect fairy-tale kingdom for me, but I could only stand on the outside, a ghost in the corridor. Below, the sound of footsteps and voices broke the silence. Several stylists entered the hallway, carrying racks of designer gowns and custom tuxedos. My parents and Austin stood before the array of high fashion. “Our outfits are finalized,” my father announced. “Now, let’s choose Daisy’s dress. This will be our first real gift to her.” I looked at the price tags hanging from the silk sleeves, numbers representing more money than I had ever dreamed of earning. Now, a dozen of them hung waiting for me. Austin reached out and touched a sky-blue chiffon gown with a sweeping train. “This one would look beautiful on her. It’ll complement her fair skin.” My father shook his head, pointing instead to a delicate, ivory lace gown. “No, Daisy would love this one. When she was little, she used to freeze in front of the toy store window, staring at the dolls in their lace dresses. She always wanted one.” Austin studied the racks for a moment longer before pulling out a soft, rose-pink silk dress. “You both forget. Pink was always her favorite. She wanted everything to be pink.” His voice grew quiet. “But light colors get dirty too easily, and she always chose dark, drab clothes just to save us the cost of laundry soap. Her classmates used to call her a plain Jane because of it.” My parents’ eyes shone with a brief, painful guilt. They exchanged a look and agreed to go with Austin’s choice. The week flew by, and the morning of the wedding arrived. In their frantic preparations, they hadn’t found time to call me again. But as the cars lined up, my mother instructed their private driver to head to our old neighborhood. “Drive to the old house first,” she whispered with a smile. “Don’t tell her who sent you. Just bring her straight to the venue. We want to give her the surprise of her life.” The driver nodded, starting the engine of the sleek black town car, heading toward the slums to fetch the secret heiress of the family fortune. But hours passed, and my mother’s anxious glances toward the entrance yielded nothing. Suddenly, the heavy glass doors of the venue were pushed open, and the driver rushed into the lobby, his face pale and slick with sweat. “Ma’am… there’s something wrong. The old house is surrounded by emergency vehicles. The neighbors… they say the young lady is dead.”

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On my birthday, Sean, the Alpha of Black Pack, was once again summoned away by his adopted daughter Lila. Furious, I posted a declaration on the werewolf forum: “The best birthday gift Sean gave me is his promise that I’ll become the Luna of Black Pack this year.” The next second, a provocative message from Lila popped up. It was a sex tape of Lila and Sean. In the video, all the buttons on her clothes had been violently torn open. Beneath her disheveled garments, glaring hickeys trailed down from her collarbone. And the broad-shouldered figure of the man on top of her—I could recognize him with my eyes closed. Below the video was a caption: “I gave my first time to my beloved Sean.” My phone screen froze on Lila’s provocative video. Behind the frosted glass, Sean’s silhouette in the shower pierced my heart like a thorn. On my 29th birthday, Sean left me alone in an empty villa and took his adopted daughter to a hotel. Looking at the post I’d made half an hour ago—visible only to him—I felt nothing but bitter irony. Unwillingness sprouted wildly in my chest like weeds. I grabbed my car keys and rushed out the door. His assistant said he was at the golf course today, playing with several Pack Alphas. I needed to ask him face-to-face what these ten years had meant. The golf course lawn was scorching hot. The caddy was about to announce my arrival when I raised my hand to stop him. I wanted to see how he’d explain today’s events in front of his brothers. I’d just walked behind the palm trees near the rest area when Sean’s voice drifted over, grating on my nerves: “I’m done with this hole. Lila just messaged saying she’s awake at the hotel and wants me to come back for brunch with her.” The Alphas playing with him burst into laughter. One of them slapped the table and teased: “Sean’s got eyes for no one but his adopted daughter these days. Last time we played, he took one call from Lila, dropped his club, and left. We were all stunned.” Another chimed in: “Speaking of which, Lila’s really blossomed into a beauty—tiny waist, long legs. Don’t tell me you’re not tempted, seeing her every day?” “Tempted?” His tone dripped with undisguised pride. He leaned back in his chair with a lazy, arrogant posture. “More than tempted. I took her virginity. She gave herself to me on her coming-of-age night.” As his words landed, the Alphas erupted in laughter, exchanging knowing glances. “Way to go, Sean! You know how to play it! Raised a girl for over a decade and made her yours in the end!” “I raised her all these years—what’s wrong with collecting a little interest?” Sean scoffed, his tone matter-of-fact. “Besides, her father died saving me back then. I owe her that much. Better she gives her first time to me than to some rogue or inferior Alpha out there.” Casual words, making his immoral possession sound like a grand favor. Someone laughed and added: “Aren’t you worried Elara will find out? Last time I saw her, she looked terrible. She’s probably sensed something.” At the mention of me, Sean’s tone turned cold, laced with undisguised disgust and impatience: “Her? What can she do even if she finds out? She’s nearly thirty, an Omega with no parents, no pack. Without me, she doesn’t even have a place to live. Does she dare make a scene?” He paused, as if remembering something, and scoffed with contempt: “Besides, who knows if she’s even clean? Ten years ago, she was in that alley with three rogue wolves for so long, her clothes all torn. Who knows what happened? I’m being generous by keeping her around. She should be grateful.” “Lila’s better,” he said, swirling his strawberry milkshake. His tone softened with a tenderness I’d never heard from him. “She grew up by my side. I know everything about her. She’s clean and well-behaved. She doesn’t nag me all day like Elara does. So damn annoying.” The Alphas chimed in one after another: “Exactly! A home-raised Omega is way better than a wild one! Clean and obedient!” “Elara’s so ungrateful. An Alpha willing to take her in is generous enough, and she still tries to control everything!” “If you ask me, Alpha, you should’ve dumped her long ago. Marry Lila—you’ll also win over her father’s old subordinates. Two birds with one stone!” Sean impatiently cut off the conversation, his tone suggesting even mentioning me was a mood-killer: “Enough, enough. Stop bringing her up. Why even talk about her?” “Let’s keep playing. Lila’s driving over to pick me up later. Don’t want to keep her waiting.”

I stood behind the palm tree, my entire body freezing cold. So my ten years of companionship were nothing but charity in his eyes. The night I nearly got killed by rogues trying to save my sister Eirlys had become evidence of my uncleanliness in his mouth. Memory yanked me back ten years to that chaotic night. Wind whipped at my loose hair. In a daze, I was transported to that cold, rainy border dusk a decade ago. I was nineteen. Eirlys, who grew up with me in the orphanage, had been lured to the northern border by three wandering rogues. No one at the orphanage cared if we lived or died. The police didn’t take it seriously. I clutched the money I’d saved from six months of part-time work, bought the cheapest bus ticket, and chased after her to the border alone. When I crept into the warehouse, Eirlys was tied to a pillar, her face badly swollen, her clothes torn to shreds. Three rogues surrounded her, taunting her with vile words. My vision went red. I grabbed a rusty steel pipe by the door and charged in, swinging wildly at them like a madwoman. As an Omega, I was no match for three adult Alphas. I was quickly kicked to the ground. Fists and feet rained down on me. The pain was excruciating. But I shielded Eirlys behind me, gritting my teeth, refusing to retreat even half a step. Even if I died, I couldn’t let them touch my sister. Just as the lead rogue raised his club to smash my head, the warehouse door was kicked open. “BANG!” Sean stood at the entrance with Black Pack’s border patrol. His black tactical uniform was soaked with rain, his eyes cold as ice. He merely raised his hand, and the guards behind him rushed forward, pinning the three rogues to the ground. He walked up to me and paused. I was covered in injuries, my face smeared with mud and blood. Though I was trembling with fear, I still shielded my sister behind me. When I looked up at him, tears mixed with rainwater streamed down my face. He crouched down and reached out to wipe the mud from my face: “It’s okay now. You’re safe.” He brought Eirlys and me back to the border camp, found us clean clothes, and called the medical officer to treat our wounds. I sat by the campfire, watching him crouch in front of me, cleaning the wounds on my hands. “You’re an Omega, and you dared to break into a rogue den alone? Have a death wish?” He looked up at me, his eyes carrying a hint of reproach, but more than that, undeniable emotion. I bit my lip, my voice hoarse: “Eirlys and I both grew up in an orphanage. No parents, no one to care about us. She’s my only family. I couldn’t lose her.” His hand cleaning his gun suddenly froze. He looked up at me. For the first time, the sharp edge in his gaze softened, replaced by something indescribable. That night, he gave Eirlys and me his room while he and his team stayed in tents outside, keeping watch all night. Everyone in the camp knew Sean never let anyone into his room. We were the first. The next day when he returned from patrol, he had a handful of milk candies and wildflowers picked from the roadside: “The herder’s kids gave these to me. Brought them for you to try.” The usually cold Alpha’s ears turned red as he handed me the flowers. I stayed at the camp for five days. He avenged us, wiped out that group of rogues, and even found Eirlys a proper office job in Chicago, renting a small apartment with a balcony for her. The day I left, he leaned against his SUV, looking at me with a deep, serious gaze: “Elara, come back to Chicago with me.” “From now on, Black Pack will be your support. Anyone under my protection—no one in Chicago will dare touch them.” He paused, reaching out to ruffle my hair. The gesture was dominant yet gentle. “I’ll give you a home.” In my nineteen years, no one had ever said such words to me. Orphanage kids were always abandoned. No one cared if we lived or died. I looked into his eyes, nodded, and tears fell. He removed the wolf fang pendant he’d worn for over a decade from his neck and personally placed it around mine. “This is for you. When I’m not around, it’ll protect you in my place.” On my first birthday back in Chicago, he—an Alpha—personally baked me a cake. Back then, he sat across from me, smiling: “From now on, I’ll bake you a cake every birthday. We’ll be together forever.” The memory receded like a tide. Ten years. He lured me in with the promise of home, dulled my claws with Black Pack’s protection. In the end, he joined others in mocking my origins and questioning my purity. I steadied myself against the cold wall and slowly straightened up. I glanced one last time at the man laughing and chatting in the main seat, then without hesitation, threw the pendant around my neck into the trash. Sean, it was you who let go first.

I turned and left the golf course, walking aimlessly along the coastline. The sea breeze carried a salty tang, making the tear tracks on my face feel ice-cold. Ten years of genuine devotion wasted. Even hatred felt superfluous now—only endless exhaustion and emptiness remained. I walked to a secluded rocky beach, a place Sean and I used to visit often. He’d once promised me a home here. Ironically, now only I remained. Just as I crouched down to pick up a stone to throw into the sea, footsteps sounded behind me. I turned around. Three men in black hoodies surrounded me, their eyes vicious—clearly not good people. “You’re Sean’s Omega?” The leader sneered. “Our boss got ruined by Sean. Today we’re taking it out on you!” They were sent by one of Sean’s business rivals. My heart sank. I turned to run but they blocked my path. “Where do you think you’re going?” The man reached for my hair. “Sean’s so arrogant, isn’t he? Why isn’t anyone here to save you now?” I struggled desperately but was kicked hard in the stomach by one of them. Searing pain hit instantly. I curled up on the ground, drenched in cold sweat. Seeing I couldn’t move, they became even more brazen, reaching to tear my clothes. Just then, a figure stepped in front of me. A powerful Alpha aura erupted, instantly forcing the three rogues to their knees. “You dare cause trouble on Black Pack territory?” A deep voice came from above my head. I looked up to see a man in a dark blue suit. Behind him stood several guards in Black Pack uniforms, guns drawn and aimed at the three men. The man crouched down, reaching out to help me. His voice was steady: “Are you alright?” I tried to stand with his help, but another wave of abdominal pain struck. Everything went black. The last thing I felt was my body falling forward uncontrollably. I woke to the smell of disinfectant in a hospital. I moved slightly. A clear, heavy pain came from my lower abdomen. The medical officer approached, voice calm: “Elara, you’ve had a miscarriage.” I blinked, staring at the ceiling lights. I didn’t cry or break down. It felt like the moment I heard Sean’s words, my heart had already died. What I’d lost now was simply a child who should never have come into this world. The door opened. The man who’d saved me walked in, holding my examination report. The hospital room door opened gently. The man who saved me entered, my examination report in hand. “You’re awake.” He poured a glass of warm water and handed it to me, his movements gentlemanly, maintaining an appropriate distance. “I’m Kael.” So this was the legitimate Black Pack heir Sean had always been wary of. I took the water glass and said softly: “Thank you.” “Security has taken those three men away. They were sent by one of Sean’s business rivals.” He paused, looking at me. “Do you need to contact your Alpha?” Sean? I thought of how he’d bragged about sleeping with his adopted daughter at the golf course, mocking my uncleanliness. I shook my head. “No need.” Kael looked at me but didn’t press. “I’ve already paid the medical bills. You need to rest. Miscarriages are very hard on an Omega’s body.” I looked at him and suddenly smiled: “Kael, how should I thank you?” He paused, then shook his head: “No need. Protecting Omegas is every Alpha’s responsibility.” He left a business card and turned to leave the room. I was alone in the hospital room. Waves of pain from my lower abdomen kept coming, as if reminding me of my past foolishness. I picked up my phone and opened Sean’s chat interface. The last message was one he’d sent this morning: “There’s a family dinner tonight. Wear that white dress I bought you. Don’t be late.” I stared at those words for a long time. Then my finger slid across the screen. Block, delete, done. From the moment he said those words at the golf course, we were already over. This child’s departure simply gave me a reason to let go completely. I would never look back. Sean, we’re even now.

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