Five years into our marriage, my husband died of a sudden asthma attack, leaving me and our son alone. Friends said it was a tragedy I was widowed so young. My parents urged me to remarry, to find a father for my son. I refused. I was determined to honor my husband’s memory. But on the third anniversary of his death, I overheard my father-in-law angrily questioning my brother-in-law: “It was your brother who had asthma. It was your brother who died. You faked your death to take care of his wife and child. Was it worth it?” “For three years, Lily has been a widow, raising Leo alone. You gave your niece a home, but did you ever think that from the day you ‘died,’ Leo lost his father, too?” In that moment, my blood ran cold. I realized that the man who died three years ago wasn’t my husband, Mark. It was his twin brother, Matt. My three years of mourning were a joke. That night, I called my parents: “Mom, Dad, I agree to remarry!” Chapter 1 After my husband died of a sudden asthma attack, my in-laws were too guilt-ridden to look me in the eye. They were overly solicitous, terrified I wouldn’t be able to handle widowhood and would remarry, taking their grandson with me and ending their family line. My parents, on the other hand, constantly urged me to remarry. They said I couldn’t be a widow forever and offered to set me up. I was stubborn as a mule. I refused, determined to honor my husband’s memory. I even comforted my in-laws, telling them not to worry. I wouldn’t let my son call another man “Dad.” For three years, no matter how hard or exhausting life was without my husband, I gritted my teeth and persevered. But on the third anniversary of his death, everything changed. I accidentally overheard my father-in-law berating my brother-in-law in the study. “Mark,” he hissed, “your brother was the one with asthma since birth. He’s the one who’s gone. Why did you have to stage your own death and take his identity?” Mark? That was my husband’s name. What did he mean, “stage his own death”? I froze, unable to process what I was hearing. The next second, a man’s voice rang out. “Dad, Lily was pregnant. How could she have handled the shock? As for my wife, Sarah, I gave her a son. She won’t be childless in her old age. That’s enough.” “From that day on, I decided to take my brother’s place and care for his wife. As for the identity of Mark? Let it stay buried.” I couldn’t listen to any more. My limbs went cold, and my head buzzed like it had been pierced by needles. So, the man who died wasn’t my husband. It was his twin brother. And my husband, the man who should have been closest to me, faked his death and abandoned me and our son to raise another woman’s child. Tears finally, uselessly, flooded my eyes. Mark had saved me from a dark place. Even after I was kidnapped and my reputation was ruined, he didn’t reject me. Instead, he knelt on the spot and proposed, swearing to be good to me forever. After we married, he was devoted. He never let me suffer a single grievance. Everyone said the Peterson family had produced a great lover, and I became the envy of every woman in town. That’s why, when he died, I decided to honor him, even remain a widow. But now, thinking back, I felt pitifully stupid. Mark had always been healthy. He’d never even had a cold. How could he have died of asthma? It was all an act. He’d been pretending for three years, all to take care of the “one who got away.” What about me and our son? What were we to him? I desperately covered my mouth to keep from making a sound and fled in disgrace. Chapter 2 Back in my room, my son woke up, rubbing his eyes at the noise. Looking at his small face, so like Mark’s it was as if it had been carved from the same mold, my heart twisted. How could Mark, as a father, bear to let his young son grow up without a dad? Seeing my unconcealed sadness, my son’s face filled with concern. “Mommy, is Daddy pretending not to know you again?” My heart shook. I suddenly remembered that after Mark appeared as his brother, Matt, my son had continued to call him “Daddy.” At the time, I had always stopped him, telling him it wasn’t Daddy, it was Uncle Matt. I thought my son missed his father too much and couldn’t tell his identical twin uncle apart. I never imagined I was so wrong. A child’s eyes are always clear. He had always recognized his own father, but he didn’t understand why, overnight, his father wouldn’t acknowledge him. No wonder. No wonder “Matt” was so good to me and my son. He always bought a gift for my son whenever he bought something. He asked after his well-being, periodically brought meat and vegetables, and secretly gave us money. Yet, he was strict only when my son called him “Daddy,” always quickly interrupting and correcting him. Others said that as an uncle, he was impeccable. Even a biological father could rarely do so much. Before I knew the truth, I had been grateful to this brother-in-law, keeping his kindness in my heart, always thinking I would repay him someday. But now that I knew the truth, it was all so ironic. He was my son’s biological father. Wasn’t it his duty to be good to him? Didn’t he feel guilty doing these things? I couldn’t hide the bitterness rising inside me. I had never felt so clearly that the Mark I knew was dead. He had buried himself with his own hands. I had mourned him for three years. This relationship was over. After calming down, I looked at my son seriously and asked if he would be willing if Mommy remarried and found him a new daddy. “Mommy, I don’t know why Daddy won’t acknowledge me, but since you don’t want him anymore, I don’t want him either. Wherever you go, Leo will go. If Daddy won’t protect you, Leo will!” Sensing my grief, Leo hugged me, his small hand patting my back comfortingly. In that instant, tears burst from my reddened eyes. “Okay!” I hugged my son tightly, then called my parents. The call connected, but before I could say anything, my parents’ usual well-meaning advice washed over me: “Sarah, since Mark died, John has proposed to us dozens of times. You’ve known each other since you were kids, you know everything about him. And he’s a Captain now. Why are you so stubborn? Why won’t you agree to remarry…” I cut them off. “Mom, Dad, I’ve thought it through. I agree to remarry.” There was five seconds of silence on the other end, followed by a wave of wild joy and disbelief. “Really? That’s wonderful! It’s good you’ve thought it through. We’ll contact him immediately and start preparing the wedding! Don’t worry, John has promised us many times. After you marry him, he’ll treat Leo like his own son. As for you, just go and enjoy your life.” Through the phone, I could feel my parents’ excitement. They had worried about me so much these past three years, but because of Mark, I had disappointed them every time. Not anymore. Chapter 3 The next morning, I took my son downstairs for breakfast. At the table, Mark was attentive, serving his sister-in-law and niece, busy as a bee. To anyone watching, they looked like a happy family of three. Before I knew the truth, I had envied the cherished sister-in-law countless times, fantasizing that if Mark hadn’t died, he would have treated me this well, too. But now, watching this scene, I only felt a profound sense of irony. My eyes burned, but I forced myself not to cry. There was no one left to wipe my tears. Mark noticed my pale face from the corner of his eye and actively put a piece of meat in both my bowl and my son’s. “Sister-in-law, eat up. Mark is gone. Even if not for yourself, you have to think of your nephew.” His tone was natural, a normal concern from a brother-in-law, as if the Mark who died wasn’t him. “Uncle Matt, I’ll serve Mommy!” But in the next moment, my son raised his chopsticks, put a piece of meat in my bowl, and responded sensibly to Mark. Hearing this, Mark’s face changed abruptly. He even accidentally knocked over his bowl and chopsticks. Because this was the first time my son had called him “Uncle Matt.” Before, no matter how he corrected him, my son had never called him uncle. He had always called him Daddy. But today, the words “Uncle Matt” were like a thunderclap exploding in his brain. “Leo, you… you used to always mistake Uncle Matt for your daddy. Why did you change today?” He looked at my son, steadying himself before speaking. My son smiled at him. “Uncle Matt, I was little before, so I always mistook you for Daddy. Now I’m older. I know my daddy died three years ago. Don’t worry, I’ll never call you wrong again!” Hearing this, Mark was dumbfounded. He couldn’t say a word in rebuttal. Finally, he could only force a calm laugh. “Is that so? That’s good.” But his eyes kept darting between my son and me, as if trying to capture a clue from our faces. He held his chopsticks for a long time without eating a bite. My son and I didn’t give him a single glance. We just buried our heads and ate our food. This made Mark even more restless. He kept glancing at us, and finally, he tentatively spoke. “Although I’m not Leo’s dad, Leo is no different from my own son. Don’t be so distant in the future. We’re all family.” “If you have any difficulties in the future, just ask me for help. Don’t always carry it alone.” I forced a bitter smile. Was he regretting it because his son no longer called him Daddy? But he was the one who chose to fake his death and abandon his son. I put down my chopsticks and, taking my son who had finished eating, stood up directly. Before leaving, I didn’t thank him for taking care of my son as I used to. Instead, I stared straight into Mark’s astonished eyes and left one sentence. “Big Brother is right. No matter how close we are, you’re not Leo’s biological father after all. We, mother and son, can live our lives well on our own.” Chapter 4 Early the next morning, I went to the department store. I bought the milk candy and pastries my son had wanted to eat for a long time. Finally, I walked to the wedding section and pointed at a beautiful red dress, asking the clerk to take it down for me to try on. Coming out of the fitting room, looking at my reflection that seemed several years younger, I was stunned. The clerk looked at me and praised enthusiastically, “Getting ready for your wedding, right? Red is the most festive! So many people come to me to buy clothes, but you’re the first one to wear this dress so beautifully.” But I silently took off the dress and pointed to another one that was more elegantly colored, asking the clerk to wrap it up for me. Because people who are widowed cannot wear red when they remarry. When I walked out of the department store carrying bags full of things, I ran right into Mark, who was shopping with his sister-in-law. He was stunned when he saw me, then greeted me unnaturally. “Sister-in-law, why are you suddenly out shopping?” Since his fake death, I had stayed indoors, never having the leisure to go shopping. Seeing me buy so many things suddenly surprised him. I didn’t want to get entangled with him, so I made up an excuse to put him off. But when we passed each other, he saw the wedding dress peeking out of my bag. His face suddenly became solemn. When we got married, we also bought our wedding supplies here. Only the dress back then was red. Now, the dress in my bag was a plain color. But why would a widow like me buy a wedding dress? He stood frozen on the spot for so long that his sister-in-law next to him noticed something was wrong.

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Five years into our marriage, my husband suddenly passed away from a severe asthma attack, leaving me and our son alone in the world. Friends pitied me for becoming a widow so young. My parents begged me to move on, to find a new father for my son. I refused. I was adamant about honoring his memory, staying single to mourn the love of my life. But on the third anniversary of his death, I accidentally overheard my father-in-law screaming at my brother-in-law in the study: “The one with asthma was your brother! The one who died was your brother! Is it really worth it? Faking your own death, deceiving your wife and child just to take care of your sister-in-law?” “For three years, Elara has mourned you. She’s raised Leo all by herself. You gave your niece a father figure, sure, but have you ever thought about the fact that from the day you ‘died,’ Leo lost his dad?” In that moment, the blood in my veins turned to ice. It hit me like a freight train. The man who died three years ago wasn’t my husband, Caleb. It was his identical twin brother, Connor. My three years of grieving, of loyalty, of pain… it was all a joke. That night, I picked up the phone and called my parents. “Mom, Dad? I’m ready. I’ll marry Mason.” 1 After my husband allegedly died from that asthma attack, my in-laws looked at me with guilt-ridden eyes every single day. They tiptoed around me, terrified I wouldn’t be able to handle the grief, afraid I’d take their grandson and remarry, cutting off their family line. My own parents, on the other hand, kept pushing me to date. They said I couldn’t play the grieving widow forever, that they had great guys to set me up with. I was stubborn as a mule. I dug my heels in. I told my in-laws to rest easy—I wouldn’t let my son call another man “Daddy.” For three years, no matter how hard or lonely it got, I grit my teeth and survived. Until that third anniversary. I was walking past the study when I heard my father-in-law’s voice booming at my brother-in-law: “Caleb, your brother was the one born with asthma! He’s the one who passed! Why did you have to stage this fake death and steal his identity?” Caleb? That was my husband’s name. Fake death? I froze in the hallway, my brain unable to process the words. Then, I heard the voice I had yearned for in my dreams: “Dad, Elara was pregnant back then. The shock would have destroyed her. Besides, I gave her a son. She won’t be lonely in her old age. That’s enough.” “From that day on, I decided I had to step up and take care of Connor’s wife and daughter. As for the identity of ‘Caleb’… let him stay buried.” I couldn’t listen anymore. My hands were shaking, and my head felt like it was being split open by an axe. So, my husband wasn’t dead. His twin brother was. The man I loved more than anything had faked his death and abandoned me and our son, just to play house with another woman. Tears finally broke through the dam. Caleb had once pulled me out of the darkest time of my life. When I was at rock bottom, he didn’t turn away. He got down on one knee and promised to cherish me forever. After the wedding, he treated me like gold. Everyone said I was the luckiest woman in town. That’s why, when he “died,” I decided to dedicate my life to his memory. Now, I felt like the world’s biggest fool. Caleb was always healthy. He never even caught a cold. How could he have died of asthma? It was all an act. He had been acting for three years, pretending to be his brother to take care of his “sister-in-law”—his high school sweetheart. But what about me? What about our son? Were we nothing? I clamped my hand over my mouth to stifle a scream and ran back to my room. 2 Back in the bedroom, the noise woke my son. He sat up, rubbing his sleepy eyes. I looked at his face—a miniature copy of Caleb’s—and my heart shattered. How could a father be so cruel? How could he let his own child grow up thinking his dad was dead? seeing the devastation on my face, my son’s expression turned to pure worry. “Mommy? Is Daddy pretending he doesn’t know you again?” My heart stopped. I suddenly remembered all the times “Connor” (Caleb in disguise) came over. Leo would run to him, calling him “Daddy.” Every time, I would hush him. I’d tell him, “No, honey, that’s Uncle Connor. Daddy is in heaven.” I thought he was just a grieving child who couldn’t tell the identical twins apart. I was so wrong. Children see everything. He knew. He always knew that was his dad. He just didn’t understand why his dad stopped loving him overnight. It all made sense now. Why “Uncle Connor” was so good to us. The groceries, the secret cash envelopes, the toys. But whenever Leo called him “Daddy,” he would get strict. He would shut it down immediately. Neighbors whispered that he was the best brother-in-law on earth. Better than most real fathers. I had been so grateful. I kept a tally of his kindness in my heart, planning to repay him one day. Now, the gratitude tasted like bile. He was the father. Being good to his son was the bare minimum. Did he feel no shame? I swallowed the bitterness. The Caleb I loved was dead. He buried himself. My three-year vigil was over. I took a deep breath and looked at my son. “Leo, if Mommy wanted to get married again… if I found you a new daddy… would you be okay with that?” “Mommy, I don’t know why Daddy won’t talk to me. But if you don’t want him anymore, I don’t want him either. I go where you go. If he won’t protect you, I will!” He wrapped his small arms around my neck, patting my back with his little hand. The tears I was holding back finally fell. “Okay,” I whispered. “It’s a deal.” I hugged him tight, then dialed my parents. The moment they picked up, my mom started her usual lecture. “Elara, honey, Mason has asked us about you a dozen times. You grew up together. He’s a Colonel in the Air Force now, a good man. Why are you so stubborn?” I cut her off. “Mom, Dad. I’ve thought it through. I’ll marry him.” Silence for five seconds. Then, eruption. “Really? Oh, thank God! We’ll call him right now. We’ll start planning the wedding! Mason promised he’d treat Leo like his own flesh and blood. You just come home and be happy.” I could hear the relief in their voices. I had worried them sick for three years. Not anymore. 3 The next morning, I took Leo downstairs for breakfast. Caleb was there, acting the part of the doting uncle. He was bustling around, serving his “sister-in-law” Sarah and her daughter, looking for all the world like a happy family man. Before I knew the truth, I used to envy Sarah. I used to think, If Caleb were alive, he’d treat me like that. Now, the scene just made me sick. Caleb noticed my pale face and placed a slice of bacon on my plate, then one on Leo’s. “Elara, eat up. Even if you don’t do it for yourself, do it for my nephew. Caleb is gone, you have to stay strong.” He said it so naturally. Talking about himself in the third person like a sociopath. “Uncle Connor, I can put meat on Mommy’s plate!” Leo suddenly spoke up, moving the bacon with his fork. Caleb flinched. His hand jerked, knocking over his coffee mug. Brown liquid splashed everywhere. It was the first time Leo had ever voluntarily called him “Uncle.” Before today, no matter how much we corrected him, Leo insisted on calling him Daddy. The word “Uncle” hit Caleb like a physical blow. “Leo… you… you always used to call me Daddy. Why the change?” He tried to keep his voice steady, forcing a smile. Leo looked him dead in the eye. “Uncle Connor, I was little before. I got confused. But I’m big now. I know my Daddy died three years ago. Don’t worry, I won’t make that mistake again.” Caleb stared at him, mouth slightly open, unable to find a single word. Finally, he managed a dry, choked laugh. “Is that right? Well… good. That’s good.” But he couldn’t eat. He kept glancing at us, his eyes darting between my face and Leo’s, searching for something. We ignored him. We ate our breakfast in silence. The silence made him anxious. Finally, he couldn’t take it. “Even though I’m not Leo’s dad, I love him like my own. We’re family. If you ever need help, Elara, you come to me. Don’t carry the burden alone.” I forced a smile. It didn’t reach my eyes. Was he panicking because his son finally rejected him? He chose this. He chose to “die.” I put down my fork, wiped Leo’s mouth, and stood up. I didn’t thank him for the food. instead, I looked him straight in the eye. “You’re right, Uncle Connor. But no matter how close we are, you aren’t his father. Leo and I… we’ll build our own life just fine.” 4 The next day, I went to the department store. I bought Leo the expensive chocolates he’d been begging for. Then, I walked into the formal wear section. I pointed to a beautiful, soft ivory cocktail dress. “I’d like to try that on.” Stepping out of the fitting room, I looked in the mirror. I looked younger. The grey cast of grief was gone. The salesgirl clasped her hands. “It’s for a wedding, isn’t it? You look stunning. Most people buy the darker colors, but this… you glow in this.” I smiled, but then I took it off. “Actually, pack up the blue one. The silk one.” Widows don’t usually wear bright colors. But brides do. As I walked out of the store, loaded with bags, I literally bumped into Caleb. He was carrying shopping bags for Sarah. He froze. Then, he put on his “concerned brother-in-law” mask. “Elara? What are you doing out? You bought… a lot.” Since his “death,” I barely left the house. I certainly didn’t go on shopping sprees. I muttered a vague excuse. I didn’t want to talk to him. But as I brushed past him, the bag shifted. The silk dress peeked out. It was clearly a dress for a special occasion. A celebratory dress. When we got married, we bought my dress at this exact store. He stood there on the sidewalk, staring at the bag, long after I had walked away. Sarah had to tug on his sleeve to snap him out of it.

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My sugar daddy took me to a gala, and I ended up in a fistfight with the love of his life. He pulled me out of the brawl, his grip like iron. With my hair a mess and mascara running, I glared at him coldly. “You taking sides now?” He remained silent, his jaw tight. I ripped the diamond ring off my finger and threw it in his face. “I’m dumping you.” 1 I was Chloe, Damian’s kept woman. We’d been together for three years. He was handsome, wealthy, incredible in bed, and generous. His only rule was no kissing scenes in my movies. Because of that, I lost some roles and got labeled “fake” and “stuck up” by the critics. I didn’t care. I had always been obedient. I never caused trouble. I never imagined that the first time I caused trouble, it would be nuclear. I punched his childhood sweetheart in the face. 2 It started when Damian asked me to be his plus-one at a high-society engagement party. I never fit in with his “Old Money” crowd. I wanted to say no, but I’d been filming on location for three months. I missed him. So, I went. Naturally, I ran into people I didn’t want to see. I tried to avoid them, but they cornered me in the garden. Vivian was Damian’s childhood friend. Her family had moved to Europe years ago and just moved back to the States. Jessica was my nemesis in Hollywood. She constantly bought bots to trash me on Twitter. I didn’t know they knew each other. I sat on a bench, trying to be invisible. Jessica was examining her manicure, speaking loudly enough for me to hear. “It’s the Sterling engagement party. How did the trash get in?” Vivian glanced at me, her voice indifferent. “You dragged me out here just to gossip?” Jessica gave her a sycophantic smile. “Viv, don’t be like that. It’s stuffy inside. Besides…” “Viv, are you and Damian finally merging families? Like, marriage?” “It’s… pretty much settled.” “That’s amazing! A power couple. It’s about time some people realized they’re just placeholders.” Vivian didn’t respond. Jessica kept going. I turned to leave, but her next words froze me. “Some people are so trashy. Her dad caused that construction collapse years ago. People lost their jobs, and he only lost a leg? That’s karma.” I stopped. I turned around, walked up to her, and slapped her twice across the face. Jessica clutched her cheek, screaming. “Chloe! Are you insane?” I smiled coldly. “I can handle you talking trash behind my back, but did you think I wouldn’t hit you to your face?” Vivian frowned. “Miss Hart, this is the Sterling estate. Have you thought about the consequences?” My eyes were sharp. “Miss Vance, if someone mocked your crippled father to your face, I’d hope you wouldn’t stop to think about consequences either.” Vivian stayed silent, but Jessica lunged, grabbing my hair. I don’t know how Vivian got involved, but by the time Damian arrived, the three of us were a tangled mess on the ground. Damian, face like thunder, hauled me out of the pile. I looked like a wreck. Vivian barely had a hair out of place. I glared at Damian. “You protecting her?” He frowned, saying nothing. That’s when I threw the ring. “I’m dumping you!” I ran out, dove into a waiting Uber, and sped off. But the moment the door closed, I broke down. I had just wrapped filming yesterday. I came back full of love and excitement to see him. And instead of a warm welcome, I got humiliated, and he took her side. My phone buzzed. Damian calling. I picked up and screamed, “The penthouse in Bel Air is in my name! You have one week to move out!” I hung up and blocked him on everything. Bastard. We were done. 3 I didn’t go back to the Bel Air penthouse. I checked into a hotel in West Hollywood. After a shower, the adrenaline faded, and reality set in. I was probably the first sugar baby in history to evict her billionaire patron. I had gotten bold over the years. In the beginning, I was terrified of him. I met Damian at a slimy networking dinner. My agent forced me to go “socialize” with investors. My family used to be middle class, but after my dad’s accident on the construction site, we lost everything paying off debts and medical bills. To help, I signed a predatory contract with a talent agency. They gave me zero roles and treated me like an escort. I tried to dodge the dinners, playing sick, playing dumb. But that night, I had no choice. I walked into the VIP room. It was full of greasy middle-aged men. Damian sat at the head of the table, looking like a king among trolls. He got up to leave almost immediately. I panicked and followed him into the hall. “Sir,” I stammered. “Can I… go with you?” He towered over me, looking down with cold eyes. “Why? Do I look like the nice one?” He looked like the scariest one, actually. But I couldn’t say that. I shook my head. “You’re the best looking.” Damian scoffed. “I know.” He looked impatient. I blurted out, “You look like a good person.” He smirked, a dangerous glint in his eye. “You need glasses.” He left. My agent dragged me back inside. They forced whiskey down my throat. A fat producer put his hand on my thigh. I struggled, knocking over a glass. He slapped me, calling me ungrateful, and tried to rip my dress. In panic, I grabbed a shard of the broken glass and stabbed him in the leg. I sat there, shaking, thinking I was going to prison. Then the door swung open. Damian stood there. He glanced around the room. The producer, who had been screaming like a pig, instantly went silent. “Didn’t you want to come with me? Well? Come here.” I dropped the glass and ran to him. I was shaking so hard I couldn’t stand. He scooped me up and carried me out. 4 He took me to the penthouse. I spent an hour in the bathroom, terrified to come out. I heard him on the phone, fixing the mess I made. When the voices stopped, I walked out wrapped in a towel. He was leaning back on the sofa, shirt unbuttoned, looking effortlessly expensive. I stood in front of him, gathered my courage, and dropped the towel. I squeezed my eyes shut. He stood up, picked up the towel, and wrapped it back around me. “You’re young,” he teased. “But bold.” My face burned. “I… I’ve never done this… I don’t know the protocol…” “Look at me.” I gripped the towel, forcing myself to meet his eyes. They were dark, amused, and dangerous. “You trust me that much? Aren’t you afraid I’m worse than them?” “No,” I lied quickly. “Handsome people are usually kind.” He laughed. He pulled me close and kissed me. It was my first kiss. My brain melted. He brushed his thumb over my lip. “Go to sleep. Can you sleep alone?” I nodded dizzily. “Hm? Is that how you treat your sponsor?” His voice went up a pitch. I panicked and hugged his waist. “No! I’m scared. I need you to hold me.” He seemed satisfied, tucked me into bed, and went to make more calls. Half an hour later, he came back and held me while I slept. I checked the news for a week. Nothing. My predatory contract was dissolved. Damian set me up with a top-tier agency. The producer I stabbed vanished from Hollywood. For three years, Damian gave me the best resources. I went from a nobody to a B-list star. My parents’ debts were paid. They opened a small shop back home. Life was good. But for me, it was getting worse. Because I was falling in love with him. He was my patron. I was the contract lover. But loving Damian was the easiest thing in the world to do.

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Nate and I were childhood friends, practically inseparable since we were in diapers. His girlfriend hated it. They constantly fought because of me, playing out this endless drama of breaking up and getting back together, her running away and him chasing after her. It wasn’t until a group dinner that she decided to call me out in front of everyone. “Chloe, how about I set you up with someone? You know, so you stop being the third wheel.” The room went dead silent. I glanced at the man sitting next to Nate—his best friend, Julian. Then I smiled and shook my head. “No thanks. I already have a boyfriend.” The next second, Nate’s face went dark. His hand clenched around his wine glass until it shattered. 1 Nate and Sarah got back together. Again. When I heard the news, I felt absolutely nothing. Penny was texting me the gossip with her usual enthusiasm: Penny: [They were broken up for a whole three months this time. A new record.] Penny: [Apparently Sarah ran off to Paris in a huff, and Nate actually flew out there to win her back.] Penny: [Two years, five breakups. Do they ever get tired?] I laughed but didn’t reply. Penny: [Bet you anything Nate’s gonna be blowing up the group chat about a celebratory dinner…] Penny: [You going?] I sent a sticker of a cat saying “No way.” Me: [Pass. I have to practice. The concerto competition is next month.] Penny: [Fair enough. I’m going though. Gotta see the train wreck in person. I’ll report back with tea.] Me: [Deal. Good luck.] I put my phone down and picked up my violin. About thirty minutes later, I checked my phone again. Penny had sent another message. She seemed hesitant this time. Penny: [By the way… do you know why they broke up last time?] Me: [No clue.] Penny replied instantly. Penny: [Rumor has it… Sarah found out Nate’s phone passcode. It was your birthday.] 2 On Friday, the dormant group chat exploded. Just as predicted, Nate announced that he and Sarah were back together and he was treating everyone to dinner at our usual spot, The Rusty Anchor. The responses were a mix of congratulations and roasting. [Congrats, bro. Again.] [Nate, you’re slipping. Took you way too long this time!] [Is there a punch card for these ‘back together’ dinners? Do we get a free sub eventually?] … I was typing out an excuse to decline when Sarah tagged me directly. Sarah: [@Chloe You have to come!] Me: [Sorry, I’m really busy with rehearsals.] Sarah: [Oh come on, it’s just dinner!] Sarah: [I know I’ve misunderstood your relationship with Nate in the past, and I probably made things awkward for you.] Sarah: [I just want to apologize in person. Please?] The chat went dead silent. No one typed a thing. I gripped my phone, annoyance bubbling up in my chest. After a moment, I typed: [Fine. See you there.] 3 By the time I arrived, the private room was already buzzing. When I pushed the door open, the chatter stopped for a second. Nate was sitting at the head of the table. When he saw me, the tension in his forehead visibly relaxed. “Took you long enough,” he said, patting the empty chair next to him. “Sit here.” Sarah’s smile faltered for a microsecond, but she recovered quickly, looping her arm through Nate’s in a clear possessive gesture. “Chloe! You made it! We were waiting for you.” “Sorry, traffic was a nightmare.” Nate’s eyes were glued to me as I spoke. I ignored him and walked straight past the empty seat to the corner where Penny was waving frantically. As soon as I sat down, Sarah walked over with a glass of wine. “Chloe, I’m so glad you came. “I know I used to get jealous and misunderstand things between you and Nate. I made a scene more than once, and frankly, it was embarrassing. “I’m sure it was annoying for you too. So, I wanted to say sorry. I hope you don’t hold it against me.” She stood over me, looking down with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But don’t worry, it won’t happen again! “Nate promised me. He explained that even though you guys grew up together, he just sees you as a little sister. That’s all it is—brotherly concern. “And you used to follow him around everywhere because you saw him as a big brother too, right?” The room went quiet again. Everyone was suddenly very interested in their silverware or napkins. Nate was staring at me, waiting for my answer. Penny rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to snap back, but I put a hand on her arm to stop her. I picked up the wine glass in front of me, stood up, and looked Sarah dead in the eye. “I’m glad we cleared that up. Apology accepted,” I said with a polite smile. “Nate’s right. We’re just neighbors. Don’t waste energy misunderstanding him anymore. It’s bad for the relationship.” I raised my glass to her. “Cheers. Wishing you guys a lifetime of happiness.” I downed the drink. Thud. Nate slammed his glass onto the table, his face cold. He looked annoyed, but he kept his voice controlled. “You can’t handle alcohol. Put it down.” Sarah’s face went pale. Her knuckles turned white around the stem of her glass. Because Nate wasn’t talking to her. He was talking to me. 4 I met Nate when we were eight. Our families lived next door. In elementary school, I started learning the violin. Nate would stand in his yard covering his ears, yelling, “Chloe! Are you killing a cat in there?” In middle school, he tutored me in math, tapping my forehead with his pen when I zoned out. “Chloe, focus! Are you trying to fail?” In high school, I tripped during track and field. He carried me to the nurse’s office on his back, his voice shaking. “Chloe, does it hurt? Say something!” And when my parents died in a car accident my junior year, he held my hand at the funeral, telling me over and over, “Chloe, don’t be scared. I’m here. I’ll always be here.” We were the childhood sweethearts everyone rooted for. We were in every chapter of each other’s lives. I thought he meant it when he said he’d always be there. Until Sarah joined our orchestra class. Nate started talking about her constantly. He said, “Chloe, don’t you think Sarah looks a little like you?” “How?” “She plays the violin just as badly as you used to.” He said, “Chloe, Sarah’s pretty cool. Can you get her number for me?” Then he said, “Chloe, Sarah and I are dating.” …

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I spent a lifetime with Carter. We had a son and a daughter, stayed together until our golden anniversary. But on his deathbed, gravely ill, our son asked him if he had any final wishes. “After I die, bury me next to your aunt Bella. That is the only thing I have ever truly wanted.” The room went silent. Everyone looked at me with pity. I nodded, my face numb. “Do as he says.” People whispered behind my back. I had spent fifty years serving his parents, raising his children, and being a perfect wife, yet I couldn’t even keep his heart in his final moments. I was a joke. But they didn’t know that if I had a second chance, I wouldn’t have married Carter in the first place. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. It was my wedding day. Just as I remembered, Carter had run away, leaving me at the altar to face the humiliation of the crowd alone. I didn’t feel shame. I felt relief. I exhaled a breath I felt like I’d been holding for a lifetime. My gaze drifted slowly to a man in a black suit sitting in the corner. “Damon,” I called out, my voice steady. “I’m short a groom. Are you willing to fill the spot?” 1 My words dropped like a bomb. The entire ballroom went dead silent. Even the man chugging whiskey in the corner froze. He looked up, eyes wide with disbelief. “What did you just… say?” The corners of Damon’s eyes were slightly red. When he looked at me, a flicker of hope ignited in his dark gaze. I smiled. Ignoring the gasps of the guests, I walked firmly toward him. “I said, I want to marry you. Do you want to marry me?” Damon stared at me, stunned. His lips trembled slightly, unable to form words. Before he could answer, Carter’s mother rushed forward, grabbing my arm. “Layla, honey, I know that idiot son of mine hurt you today, but I’ve already sent people to drag him back.” “He’s just being immature. He’s acting out.” “Don’t worry. As long as I’m here, you are the only daughter-in-law I’ll accept. Don’t let your anger make you do something stupid. You can’t just marry someone else out of spite!” I smiled gently and pulled my hand away. “Mrs. Sterling, you can’t force love. I don’t have to marry Carter. You should just let them be together.” In my past life, I knew Carter’s heart belonged to my younger sister, Bella. But Bella had a wild history. She’d dated a string of boyfriends and had health complications that left her unable to have children. Mrs. Sterling, obsessed with lineage, refused to let her in the door. Plus, Carter and I were childhood sweethearts. Our families had arranged the marriage, and I had loved him since we were kids. It made sense for me to take the role. Everyone thought we were a model couple who made it to our golden years. But only we knew the misery behind closed doors. In sixty years of marriage, we slept in separate rooms for fifty-five of them. 2 Carter hated me. When I was in the hospital, suffering through a difficult labor, he didn’t show up once. Every year on our child’s birthday, he spent the entire day at the cemetery. He drank himself into a stupor constantly, calling out Bella’s name in his sleep. I thought feelings could grow. I thought trauma could fade. But year after year, we just became two ghosts haunting the same house. It wasn’t worth it. Now that I had a do-over, I was letting him go. And freeing myself. Mrs. Sterling looked frantic seeing me hold Damon’s hand. “Layla! You are the wife I chose for my son! How can you marry him?” “I’ve never liked Bella’s manipulative little acts. I don’t care why she called Carter away today, I will not let him bring that woman into my house!” In my past life, on this very day, Bella committed suicide by jumping into the ocean when she heard we were actually getting married. She left a note and a video. “Carter, I have to call you ‘brother-in-law’ now. But I love you, and I can’t say those words.” “I envy my sister. She gets you so easily. My luck always runs out.” “If there is a next life, Carter… let me be the one to marry you.” Mrs. Sterling had thought she was bluffing and forced the wedding to continue. But Bella really jumped. By the time the reception ended, her body had been pulled from the water, cold and lifeless. This time, Carter wasn’t going to let her die. When he got Bella’s video message, his eyes went bloodshot, and he sprinted out of the church without a backward glance. In my last life, I was devastated. Now? I felt nothing but relief. I turned back to the man in front of me. “Damon, if you want to marry me, come up to the altar.” 3 “This wedding belongs to us now,” I whispered. Damon smiled, a genuine, dazzling smile, and gripped my hand tight. “Okay.” The room exploded into chaos. Carter’s groomsmen were whispering frantically, texting Carter. “Bro, you really messed up this time. Layla is marrying someone else.” “I thought Layla was obsessed with Carter? Why is she swapping him out so fast?” “And why him? Of all people, she picked Damon Vance. The notorious playboy.” “She’s probably just doing it to make Carter jealous because he ran off.” I walked Damon down the aisle, our fingers interlaced. Damon’s hand trembled slightly. He lowered his head. I knew why everyone was whispering. Damon had a terrible reputation. He was known as a trust-fund baby who spent his nights in clubs, surrounded by scandals and models. His name was mud in our social circle. Decent families wouldn’t let their daughters near him. There were even vicious rumors that his promiscuous lifestyle had left him with incurable diseases. But I knew the truth. That wasn’t him. “Layla, are you acting on impulse?” Damon asked, his voice low. “If you just need to save face, I’ll play along. I’ll help you.” “But don’t ruin your life just to win an argument.” My heart ached for him. Just as I was about to reassure him, the church doors were kicked open with a bang. “Layla! Stop this nonsense!” “Marriage isn’t a game! You can’t just swap the groom! Get your ass over here!” My father stormed in. He must have heard the news. Guests stood up out of respect, some trying to curry favor with him. But he only had eyes for me, and they were filled with rage. “Why are you standing there? Are you deaf?” Damon frowned, whispering to me, “Go. Don’t embarrass your dad.” I stood my ground. As a child, I was terrified of that look. Whenever he glared at me, I folded. He told me to give my favorite toys to Bella. I did. He told me to give the biggest bedroom to Bella. I packed my bags. 4 Even when he told me to marry Carter, I dutifully tried on dresses and took etiquette classes to be the perfect Sterling wife. But today, I was going rogue. “Dad, I’m marrying Damon.” My voice was calm, cutting through the tension. “I’ve listened to you my whole life. But this time, I’m choosing the person I want to spend my life with.” Slap! The sound echoed through the high ceilings of the venue. The room went dead silent. “You ungrateful brat! If you marry Damon today, you are no daughter of mine!” I looked at him, touching my stinging cheek, and smiled. “Fine. Let’s sever ties then.” No one expected the obedient Layla to say something so rebellious. My father’s face turned white, his chest heaving. “You… you’re disowning your father for this piece of trash?” “I spoiled you too much! That’s why you’re so out of control!” Since my mom died and he married my stepmother, bringing Bella into the family, hitting me had become normal for him. He raised his hand to slap me again. But before it could land, a hand with prominent knuckles caught his wrist in a vice grip. Damon stepped in front of me, his expression icy. “Touch her again. I dare you.” He growled the words. Tears pricked my eyes. Growing up, no one had ever protected me like this. Everyone thought I was crazy for marrying the “playboy.” But only I knew the truth. In my past life, on the day I was dying in childbirth, it was the anniversary of Bella’s death. My husband and my father were both at the cemetery, mourning her. No one cared if I lived or died. The doctors issued a critical condition notice.

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When my childhood sweetheart pushed me off the villa balcony, my husband was on the phone, calling her “baby” in that adoring tone he used to save for me. I should have died. Instead, I ended up half-paralyzed. Unsatisfied, she hired men to assault me, and then, broken and bleeding, I was buried alive in the villa’s backyard. Three years after my death, she was diagnosed with kidney failure. That’s when my husband finally remembered me. He brought a team of bodyguards to the private villa to drag me back. When they couldn’t find me, he assumed I was hiding. “As long as you agree to donate a kidney to Ruby, I’ll end your punishment. You can come home.” In the end, he dug three feet into the earth, only to find my bleached bones. 1 Carter burst into the private villa with his security team, a permanent scowl etched on his face. This place was managed by his people, but no one was allowed near the main house. It was a prison for me, his “wayward” wife. But I had been dead for three years. No one had lived here since. Weeds choked the walkway, waist-high. Carter wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Nora is so lazy. Look at this place. She couldn’t even be bothered to pull a few weeds.” “Compared to Ruby, she’s trash.” He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose and mouth, shielding himself from a smell only he could detect. “Nora! You addicted to living alone? Get your ass out here!” He stood there, high and mighty, his eyes full of disdain. As if his presence here was some great favor he was bestowing upon me. He shouted my name several times. Silence. Carter’s patience snapped. “Break the door down,” he ordered his men coldly. With a crash, the guards kicked the door in and rushed inside to grab me. Five minutes later, they came back out, looking confused. “Mr. Sterling, your wife isn’t inside.” Carter’s brow furrowed deeper. He didn’t believe it. He went in himself, tore through the house, and found nothing. He pulled out his phone to call me. It had been three years since we last spoke. He frowned, scrolling through his contacts, trying to remember my number. Finally, he tapped on a contact labeled “Bitch” and hit dial. Floating beside him, I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. Carter hated me that much. Three years ago, his childhood sweetheart, Ruby, had a miscarriage and blamed it on me. Carter branded me a vicious woman and locked me away in this desolate villa to “reflect.” 2 Three years locked away, and he hadn’t thought of me once. Now, calling me felt unnatural to him. The call didn’t even connect. Straight to voicemail. Carter cursed angrily. “Fine, Nora. You want to hide? You think I won’t find you?” “Keep hiding. I want to see how long you can keep this up!” Suddenly, a loud, exaggerated laugh echoed from a dark corner. Carter spun around angrily. A drunkard in tattered clothes was sitting against the wall in a pile of weeds, holding a broken bottle. He looked up at Carter with bleary eyes. “Stop yelling. The person inside is long dead.” The drunkard laughed again, a sound so desolate it could have been a sob. “Where did this drunk come from?” One of the guards, eager to please, stepped forward and kicked the man over. “You dare act like this in front of Mr. Sterling? Don’t you know this whole mountain belongs to the Sterling family? Get lost before the boss gets angry!” The drunkard took the kick without flinching, as if he felt no pain. He just lay on the ground, laughing maniacally. “Dead. Died terribly.” “She was pushed from upstairs. Fell and got paralyzed. Blood everywhere.” “And… she was so beautiful. Those animals defiled her, then buried her alive.” Carter frowned deeply, looking at the drunkard with disgust. “Who are you? Where is Nora?” The drunkard just kept laughing and crying. His bottle had spilled clear liquid all over his face. It was impossible to tell if it was booze or tears. Still drunk, he crawled over and hugged Carter’s leg. “She was a good person. A good person.” “If she hadn’t given me a meal back then, I would have starved to death… What a pity, she died.” Carter kicked him away coldly. The man landed on a small mound of dirt. The drunkard seemed to sober up instantly. He scrambled to fix the mound, muttering apologies. 3 “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Carter looked confused. “What is that?” The drunkard smiled bitterly. “It’s her grave.” Carter looked closely. A crude, misshapen wooden plaque had a few words carved into it: “Nora’s Grave.” The drunkard treated the plaque like a treasure, carefully setting it upright. “Crazy old fool.” Carter pushed the man aside with a cold laugh and kicked the plaque in two. “Three years, and Nora is still pull these manipulative stunts. A fake grave? Really? How dramatic.” He not only destroyed the marker but ordered his guards to flatten the mound with shovels. “I want to see how long Nora can keep up this act!” The drunkard screamed as his hard work was destroyed. “I told you she’s dead! Why won’t you leave her alone?” “Miss Nora was such a good person, why did she have to suffer like this?” Carter looked at him with pure loathing and ignored him completely. He addressed the air. “Nora, I know you can hear me.” “I order you to come out within three days. Be a good girl and donate your kidney to Ruby. I’ll end your punishment and let you come home.” “If you keep playing these games and hiding, you will never see your son again!” Carter turned and left. Before going, he ordered his men to break the drunkard’s leg. “You filthy beggar, this is the price for offending Mr. Sterling!” I floated there, wanting to cry, but no tears would come. My son, Leo. I hadn’t seen him in three years. Carter knew Leo was my weakness. He was using him to threaten me. If I were alive, I would have run out immediately. But I was dead. 4 After Carter and his men left, the villa returned to its desolate silence. By the flattened mound of dirt, only the drunkard remained, sobbing. He was mourning me. Seeing his leg broken and bleeding because of me made my heart ache. In three years, not many people knew I was dead. But this drunkard was the only one who never abandoned me. He had been beaten for stealing once, and I had gotten a doctor to treat him and given him some food. He considered me his savior and refused to leave, guarding the villa door for me. He was there the day Ruby snuck in and pushed me off the balcony. He watched helplessly from outside as I fell. Falling from five stories should have killed me. But I survived, half-paralyzed. The drunkard ran like mad to get help. In that window of time, Ruby, seeing I wasn’t dead, hired some drifters to assault me. Then they threw my broken body into the backyard and buried me alive. “As long as you’re alive, you’re a threat to me and Carter,” she had said, her smile poisonous. “Only when you’re dead can I truly be Mrs. Sterling.” “Don’t blame me when you get to hell. Blame your bad luck for being in my way.” Ruby’s vicious smile was the last thing I saw. Maybe my resentment was too strong, because after I died, I didn’t move on. I was trapped here. I had done nothing wrong, yet I was framed and murdered. As the dirt covered me, I had only one thought: I wanted to see my son one last time. Without me, how would Ruby treat him? Three days later, Carter returned. This time, he brought a frail-looking Ruby and a small boy in a suit. Leo! I floated toward him joyfully. Before I could touch him, Carter grabbed him by the neck. “Nora, I’m giving you one last chance. Three days are up. If you don’t come out, I’ll strangle your son with my own hands!”

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“Where the hell did the three cents go?” “Oh my God, just let us go home already!” The intern who’d been gaming in the corner suddenly snapped. “I deleted those three cents. I saw the line of numbers was off-kilter, and my OCD kicked in. It was driving me crazy, so I just hit delete.” “And because you were feeling ‘driven crazy,’ twelve of us have pulled three straight all-nighters?” I shot back. “I was just curious!” She batted her huge, innocent eyes. “I heard that in accounting, people freak out more over losing three cents than thirty thousand. I wanted to see if it was true.” “Well, alright, alright, I won’t play anymore!” Skylar announced, reaching into her designer bag, pulling out a dollar bill, and tossing it at my feet. “Here. Take a dollar. Keep the change!” “Seriously, you corporate bootlicker, making us Gen Zers pull all-nighters over three cents? That’s just toxic.” With that, she swung her backpack onto her shoulder and started for the door. “Hold it.” I picked up the dollar bill, my face an expressionless mask as I blocked the doorway and turned the deadbolt. “What do you think you’re doing? Illegal detainment over three cents?” “I don’t need your dollar,” I said calmly. “But the federal penitentiary needs people to sew uniforms.” 1 The belligerence on Skylar’s face faltered slightly, but not by much. “Are you insane? This is a rule-of-law country! I just deleted a number. I didn’t steal anything.” I scoffed. “Oh, you know about the rule of law, do you?” “You call this ‘deleting a number’?” “You maliciously tampered with the company’s accounting records. That’s a five-year felony, minimum. What you deleted was a crucial indexing key that reconciles our entire annual ledger. It caused a catastrophic logical collapse.” I leaned in, my voice low and dangerous. “If the IRS steps in, the company faces massive fines, credit downgrades, and full-scale auditing. This is what we call ‘severe consequences.’” Skylar rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone. She pressed the voice note button, her voice immediately switching to a syrupy, little-girl whimper. “Marcus, honey, come quick! Ms. King won’t let me leave. She’s being so mean and says she’s going to send me to jail. I’m scared!” She tossed the phone onto the desk, crossed her arms, and stared me down. “Now I’m not leaving. I’ll wait for Marcus to show up. Let’s see how you handle him, old woman. Trying to scare me with the law.” I ignored her. I turned to my team, whose faces were a mixture of exhaustion and despair. “Everyone, stop. Save your current data. No one touches a computer until further notice.” A few minutes later, the office door rattled violently. “Open up! What in the hell is going on here, Vivian!” I unlocked the door, and Marcus, our CEO, strode in, immediately tearing into me. “Vivian King! Are you trying to stage a coup?” “Look at this office! It looks like a refugee camp, and you’re holding little Skylar hostage?” He gestured wildly. “We are in the middle of a funding round! What kind of impression do you think this gives the investors? A bunch of women who can’t even clean up after themselves.” Skylar immediately scurried behind Marcus, tugging on the sleeve of his expensive suit jacket. “Marcus, she’s holding me here over a three-cent discrepancy. I told her I’d pay her a dollar, but she won’t let it go.” I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to launch the stack of printouts right into his smug face. I rotated my monitor toward him. The screen displayed the IRS’s automated pre-audit alert. “Marcus, this isn’t minor. She deleted the general ledger index. We cannot generate the annual report. The system has flagged us for suspected income concealment.” My voice was flat, professional. “If we don’t find that three cents tonight, tomorrow’s tax filing will be incorrect. The company faces a full-scale IRS audit, massive fines, even a shutdown. This is criminal.” He was an amateur. He was a ‘soft-money man’ who couldn’t read a balance sheet. But surely, for the sake of his money—his shares, his bonus, his lavish spending—he would finally take this seriously? Marcus didn’t even look at the screen. He impatiently cut me off. “Enough, enough!” “You’re telling me you people needed three days of all-nighters for basic arithmetic? This is a problem with your Finance Department, Vivian!” “I don’t understand your technical jargon, and I don’t want to. I only care about results. If you can’t even handle an Excel spreadsheet, if you can’t tolerate a young intern, and you resort to threatening jail time, your scope is too small, Vivian.” Basic arithmetic? We were dealing with billions in transactions, thousands of complex accounts. In his mouth, it was grade school math. A rush of pure, professional rage flooded my brain. “Marcus, compliance is the baseline. The financial code isn’t something you change because you ‘don’t like the look of it.’ If we can’t guarantee the integrity of the data, what are we even reporting?” Marcus held up a hand to silence me. “Don’t talk to me about technical terms. I don’t listen, and I don’t care.” “I’ll ask you one thing: Can you balance the books?” 2 “Marcus, financial standards are mandated by law. They can’t just be changed at will…” Even Gary, the calmest guy in the room, couldn’t keep quiet. “Shut up!” Marcus roared. “In this company, I am the standard!” He glared at the team. “I think you’re all just faking it to rack up overtime pay.” He accused us of being ‘miserable and lazy.’ A choked sob came from Lisa, our bookkeeper. “Marcus, we haven’t requested a dime of overtime pay for these three nights…” Marcus’s gaze swept over her, and she instantly shut up. “Stop trying to fool me. I hire you to solve problems, not create them.” He checked his Rolex. “You figure out how to balance that ledger by tonight.” “If you can’t handle something this simple, I think the Finance Department needs a complete overhaul. You, Vivian, can go home and play mom. Skylar, you have so many fresh ideas, I think you should get more involved in management.” “Come on, Skylar. Let’s go. Don’t let these people bother you. I’m taking you out for omakase to settle your nerves.” He draped his arm around Skylar’s shoulders and led her toward the door. As they left, Skylar looked back, made a childish, mocking face at me, and was gone. She left a room full of defeated people, surrounded by mountains of crumpled work papers. Lisa stood up, tears streaming down her face. She ripped her badge off her lanyard and slammed it onto the desk. “I quit! I am done with this toxic place!” “We bust our butts, and we get chewed out. That log-wiping idiot gets a fancy dinner?” The others were similarly furious. “Vivian, we should all walk out.” “We can’t stay here.” “This is completely unacceptable!” I looked at the teammates who had stood with me for three years. “If we’re going to walk,” I said, my voice cold and hard, “they need to be crippled first.” “Gary, lock all original receipts and vouchers in the safe. Lisa, every single one of you, log and screenshot every modification you’ve made. Back up everything.” “And Sam, pull the security footage from earlier. The one where Skylar explicitly admits to deleting the key.” The next morning, my desk was gone. I walked into the office. The door was wide open. My belongings—my CPA certificate, my performance trophies, the framed photo of my team and me—were all strewn on the floor, shoved into a cardboard box. Skylar was sitting in my executive chair, spinning slowly. She wasn’t wearing business attire. She was in a tight cashmere sweater, a mini-skirt, and black tights. She was taking selfies and sipping a Starbucks coffee. “Morning, Old Timer,” she greeted me with a smirk. “Marcus said whoever gets here first gets the seat. Director, intern, it’s all equal now. You can take the spot by the front door of the main office. You’ll be convenient for running out and grabbing lunch orders.” Colleagues were pretending to walk past the office, their necks craned, trying to hear what was happening inside. I walked toward her. “This is the Finance Director’s workstation. It contains confidential company files. You do not have the clearance.” Skylar rolled her eyes, placing her coffee directly on top of the financial reports I’d meticulously organized. Condensation immediately ran down the cup, soaking the top page. “Confidential, schmonfidential. It’s just a bunch of stupid invoices, isn’t it?” “It’s all you guys ever do—nagging people about receipts. It’s so annoying!” she exclaimed. “I’m here to eliminate this kind of pointless busywork! No more pointless overtime! No more workplace gaslighting!” I reached out to move her coffee. Skylar screamed and snatched it out of my hand. “Are you trying to throw my coffee? I’m going to tell Marcus you’re bullying me!” Skylar grabbed a stack of original expense vouchers that Lisa had sent over for audit approval yesterday. Riiip! She tore the stack cleanly in half and tossed the pieces into the nearby trash can. “I’m not organizing these! This garbage job is beneath me.” 3 A collective gasp echoed in the hallway. Those papers contained hundreds of thousands of dollars in input tax deductions. They were now useless. I immediately pulled out my phone and started snapping photos of the shredded paper. “What are you photographing, you pervert!” Skylar lunged for my phone, and the coffee in her hand splashed all over my neatly organized reports. “Oops! Butterfingers.” She covered her mouth, her eyes full of malicious glee. I stared at the chaos. “Skylar, this is company property. You are destroying business operations.” Skylar threw back her head and laughed, walking close to my ear. “Why do you work so hard, Vivian?” “This company belongs to Marcus. Why do you even care?” She pulled out her phone and shoved it into my face, recording. “I’m putting this on TikTok right now, so everyone can see your ugly face!” “Hey, fam, look at this! This is the psycho Director who almost killed an intern over three cents! Now she’s trying to hit me! It’s terrifying!” She instantly uploaded the quickly-edited video to the company-wide chat and synced it to TikTok. The video only showed the snippet of me locking the door and glaring at her. The captions were sensational: WARNING! Psycho Finance Director Pushes Intern to Brink Over 3 Cents, Then Throws Her Coffee! #GenZCleanUp: Facing Down the Jealousy of an Old Woman—I Will Not Back Down! The video was sped up and set to a creepy, unsettling background track. The comment section exploded with angry, uniformed strangers. “That woman’s face is so harsh. She’s obviously jealous of how young and pretty the girl is.” “Three cents? Is she going through some kind of menopause meltdown?” “Feel so bad for the intern! Get out of that toxic company!” Later that afternoon, Marcus played the video for the entire executive team during the weekly meeting. He watched it, shaking his head, though a faint smile played on his lips. “Vivian,” he sighed, “I’ve got to be honest with you. Look at how poorly you’re portrayed online.” “We’re going public. Image is everything. Skylar, she’s young, but she’s the ‘catalyst’ this company needs—a fresh fish to stir up the stagnant water.” “You all need to learn from Skylar. Be brave enough to challenge outdated systems. Be vocal.”

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After the reunion, I became the copycat my mother hated most. Penny Lowell, the “Golden Girl,” had her Ivy League degree; I had my master’s from Metro U, earned in a blaze of three-month, hyper-focused study. Penny returned from overseas to launch a startup; I founded a disruptive, industry-leading e-commerce fashion brand within a year. Penny made the news for her charity work; I donated ten million dollars, securing the front-page headline. They couldn’t stand me, but they couldn’t stop me. Until I followed the fake sister’s lead and announced my own engagement a day after hers. My birth mother, Vivian Holloway, who hadn’t spoken to me in three years, immediately called. She ordered me to delete my engagement photos. “It’s one thing to constantly steal Penny’s spotlight, but now you’re trying to steal her fiancé, too? What exactly is your game, Scottie?” In the background, Penny’s choked, tearful voice carried through the phone. “Mom, don’t say that. I asked Spencer, and he swore he doesn’t even know a Scarlett Rhodes. That picture… she must have deliberately Photoshopped it just to spite me.” Spencer. My husband, the man I’d grown up with for eighteen years in the orphanage, had become hers? But when Penny texted me her own engagement photo, I felt a familiar dread. The groom was the spitting image of my fiancé. 1 I compared the two faces three times. They were virtually identical. When I remained silent for too long, Vivian’s voice returned, laced with contempt. “Scarlett Rhodes, caught red-handed, are we? Nothing to say now, is there?” “I’m outside your door. Open up and talk this out.” My mother looked at me like I was a cockroach until her eyes landed on the expensive basket of supplements I was carrying. Only then did she step aside, grudgingly allowing me entrance. “At least you came to apologize. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.” She lowered her voice, a predatory edge to it. “I’m telling you now, give it up. I know you love competing with Penny, but the Ashworth family is old money, a major institution. They are not in your league, you desperate social climber!” The Rhodes and the Ashworths were indeed old family friends, with a childhood engagement planned long ago. But the moment I was formally recognized, the Ashworths sent word that they only acknowledged Penelope Lowell as their future daughter-in-law. When they heard I was an influencer, they treated me with open contempt and refused to meet me. “Well, you’ll be disappointed then.” I raised my right hand, flashing the five-carat diamond on my ring finger. “I’m climbing a much higher ladder than the Ashworths. The pompous, stuffy types? I honestly couldn’t be bothered.” “And I’m not here to apologize. I’m here to drop off an invitation.” I gave a dismissive shrug. “My husband, Ashton Sinclair, is very particular about etiquette. He insisted I come, to avoid any regrets. It’s clear now there’s nothing worth regretting.” As I turned to leave, Penny lunged forward, grabbing my arm. She held her hand next to mine. The two diamond rings were terrifyingly, perfectly identical. “You even copied the ring! You spent a fortune just to spite me, didn’t you?” she wailed. “And the invitation—you purposely made it the same! How long are you going to obsess over and harass me?” She collapsed into my mother’s embrace, sobbing hysterically. “Is it just because I’m your daughter that I don’t deserve to be happy?” Seeing Penny’s agony, my mother finally lost control. The sound of the slap was sharp and deafening. SMACK. Five stinging, fiery fingerprints bloomed across my cheek. “If I had known you were such a shameless lunatic, I never would have claimed you!” I pressed my hand to my burning face, suffocating in the silence, fighting the desperate urge to cry. I’d started as a streamer, a niche internet personality. Because I looked exactly like a younger version of the famous actress, Vivian Holloway, people online kept jokingly pushing for a DNA test. It was supposed to be a gag, but a curious fan dug deeper. It turned out I really was Vivian’s biological daughter, switched at the hospital at birth. Riding the massive wave of the public reunion, Vivian successfully re-launched her acting career. Penny, pretending to be my sweet, supportive sister, also ate up the red carpet attention, started her own account, and siphoned off my followers and brand deals. I didn’t mind at the time. I thought I had found real family. But everything changed the moment I followed Penny’s own encouragement and got accepted to the Metropolitan University Master’s program. I was immediately rebranded online as the calculating copycat who could only mimic others. Whatever I achieved, there was an instant influx of trolls claiming I was merely playing a bad cover song to Penny’s original hit. I sank into a long period of quiet stagnation, retreating from the public eye. Now, Vivian pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at me. “If you want to still call me Mom, you will delete that post, apologize to Penny, and I will pretend none of this happened.” I stubbornly lifted my chin. “I’m your daughter, too.” My voice was barely a whisper. “Did you ever, even for a moment, consider believing me?” The raw desperation in my voice seemed to momentarily crack my mother’s resolve; her eyes softened. Penny’s sobs grew louder, immediately pulling Vivian back. “Don’t pretend! How can two unrelated people look that much alike?” She had a point. If I hadn’t grown up with Ashton, I might have started to doubt myself, too—wondering if the Ashworths were playing some elaborate prank on me with Penny. Ashton was always a stickler for tradition. He had been nagging me to meet my future in-laws. Now was the time. “Believe me or not.” I finally met Vivian’s eyes, holding her gaze for the first time since I walked in. “Ashton Sinclair will visit in three days. Personally.” “When he does, will you grant me an apology?”

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The day after my father died in that fiery truck crash, Mr. Beaumont—Owen’s father—set his sights on my mother. He didn’t waste a minute. To get her, that old bastard actually had his own wife, Evelyn, committed to an institution. Owen and I wanted to tear each other apart. Yet there he was, forcing our hands together, spouting some garbage about how we were a family now, and we needed to take care of each other. He didn’t waste time proving what kind of family it was. He practically packaged me up and delivered me to an ancient, balding wreck of a man. “Women,” he’d sneered, “are just a means to an end. It doesn’t matter who holds the leash.” He was right. Which is why I chose to crawl into Owen Beaumont’s bed that night—and, more importantly, record every minute of it. Owen hated me, but he had no choice but to protect me. I hated him too, so every time he found a new sweetheart, I’d use that video to extort a fresh chunk of cash. This time was no exception. I could see him from across the velvet ropes, his arm wrapped around his new flame, kissing her like they were the last two people on earth. I lifted my phone, giving him an innocent, little wave. My friend, unaware of the nuclear bomb I carried in my pocket, leaned in. “Did you notice something?” she whispered, a little conspiratorially. “Your brother’s new girlfriend… doesn’t she look exactly like you when you were eighteen?” 1 I glanced over. The small, white flower nestled in his embrace did share a certain delicacy around the eyes with me. But she, unlike the eighteen-year-old me, was clearly happy. “Like me? I don’t think so,” I said, dismissing the thought with a small, brittle laugh. “His taste isn’t that good.” I picked up my glass and walked toward him, plastering a sweet, compliant smile on my face. “Hi, Owen. Your new girlfriend is gorgeous. Prettier than all the others.” Owen’s lips were pressed into a thin, cautious line. He was braced, waiting for the inevitable bomb drop. The girl—Sienna—didn’t catch the acid in my tone. She lowered her head, blushing with shyness. “Owen, you have a sister? You never told me.” I beamed, my smile wide and fake. “That’s right, Owen. Why don’t you introduce your lovely little sister?” I pulled out my phone, pretending to search for something. “Sienna, have you seen pictures of my brother when he was a little kid? You know, naked? They’re adorable!” Owen practically lunged, clapping his hand over my wrist. He forced a smile for Sienna. “Enough, Lily. Don’t scare Sienna.” His eyes, however, were sharp and dangerous. He leaned in, whispering so only I could hear: “The money’s transferred. Now behave.” Satisfied, I slipped the phone away and pouted dramatically at Sienna. “He gets shy when I talk about his past.” I finished my drink and turned to leave, but he stopped me. “Don’t go, Lily.” He draped his arm around Sienna, a look of faux pride on his face. “This is my sister, Lily. Our father sent her to special dance academies from a young age. She won all the prizes. She’s phenomenal.” The smile froze solid on my face. My fists clenched, my nails digging deep into my palms. He knew exactly what to say to draw blood. The ‘dance academies’ were where the old man sent me to learn how to entertain his business partners. A specialized, overtly sensual routine designed for consumption. Owen knew how much I hated it. If I hurt, he was happy. Seeing my silence, Owen pulled a thick wad of cash from his jacket. “What’s wrong, little sister? Not enough incentive to perform?” He put the cash in Sienna’s hand, patting her shoulder. “You ask her. Make her dance.” “I…” Sienna held the money, completely bewildered. Owen took her hand, grabbed the cash, and threw the stack at me. The bills scattered across the floor. “Not enough? Lily, you’re being greedy tonight.” He wore a triumphant smile. I slowly crouched down, gathering the bills one by one, calmly tucking them into my small clutch. When I was finished, I looked up and extended a hand toward him. “If your girl wants to see it, of course I’ll dance.” “But this particular dance… it needs a partner.” Owen’s brow furrowed. Before he could speak, I slid my hand past his face and offered it to the nearest stranger—a man I’d never seen before. Maybe it was the alcohol, but I thought I saw a flicker of loss in Owen’s eyes. The performance was intimate and overtly seductive. By the time it was over, Sienna was staring, wide-eyed. My dance partner was flushed and eager. I linked my arm through his, waving at Owen. “Gotta run, big brother. Have fun.” I’d barely settled into the man’s sedan when a huge fist slammed against the window. Before I could process it, Owen had yanked the door open and pulled me out. “Lily Shen,” he spat, shoving me into his own black SUV. “You were actually going to leave with him? Huh?” I hadn’t even finished a curse before the driver hit the gas. “Where are you taking me?! Pull over! I’m going home!” He just grinned, a lazy, awful smile. “Home? What home? You don’t have a home, you damn leech!” Smack! My palm connected with his cheek. It was loud. He touched the red mark, and didn’t even look angry. “That’s all you’ve got? You must have skipped dinner; that was weaker than last time.” I raised my hand again, but he caught my wrist, pinning it against the headrest. He leaned in, his body heat trapping me against the seat. “What do you want to eat? Cake? Steak?” His hand slipped to my lower back. “Or me?” Before I could answer, his mouth was on mine, urgent and demanding. It was a kiss that bordered on suffocation. I bit down, hard, drawing blood, but he only grew more frantic, trying to consume me whole. The car stopped abruptly outside my condo building. Owen peeled himself off me, wiped his mouth, and waved me out. “I need to go comfort Sienna now. Don’t want her getting scared if I’m gone too long.” He sped away. I spat at the retreating taillights and then heard it: a wounded, whimpering sound from the bushes. A stray cat. Without a second thought, I took it to the nearest animal ER. At the counter, stroking the cat’s head, I felt the familiar, achy pity. “Find a good, responsible owner for her. I’ll cover all the future medical bills and the neutering.” The vet looked at me, confused. “Aren’t you taking her home?” Home? I thought. What home? It was nearly midnight when I finally got back to the complex. This condo was the only thing I’d managed to rent without anyone knowing. Somehow, Owen found out. He didn’t just find out; he bought the place and handed me the deed. But he had one requirement: he needed his fingerprint on the door lock. I turned on the lights. The place was simple and cozy, but Owen was slowly colonizing it. A spare toothbrush, a pair of slippers—small, insidious tokens of his presence, eating away at my only private space. I had barely fallen asleep when he returned. He was cold when he slid under the covers. I pulled away instinctively. “Ugh… get out…” “Don’t move.” He burrowed his head into my neck, his breath heavy with liquor. “Lily… don’t move.” It must have been the alcohol, but I thought I heard him whisper Sienna instead of Lily. And because I wasn’t sure, I didn’t kick him out. He bolted awake the next morning, scrambling to get dressed like I was toxic waste. A childish, beaded shell bracelet dropped from his cuff. I picked it up, dangling it. “Homemade? Wow, the new girl is pure.” Owen snatched it back, pulling it onto his left wrist like it was a sacred relic. “Don’t touch her things,” he growled. “You’ll ruin them.” A sudden, hot flash of rage—unnamed, useless—coiled in my stomach. I leaned up, kissed his cheek hard, and snapped a photo. “Ten thousand,” I said, waving the phone, the practiced, shameless currency collector. “Your mouth is filthy, too. Ten thousand for my silence, a fair trade.” He stared at me, jaw clenched tight. “Lily Shen, is there anything you won’t do for money? Just like your mother!” I met his stare, completely calm. “Yes. At least we get paid. Unlike…” Unlike my father and your mother, one dead, one crazy. I swallowed the words, along with the acidic taste of my own bitterness. I hit his shoulder on the way past the door. “Get out. I’m sick of looking at your face.” Owen left, and I went back to sleep. I had a long, heavy dream. My father’s face was blurred in the memory. He was in the driver’s seat of his big rig, smiling bright. “My good girl, Lily. When I get back from this run, I’m taking you and your mother to the water park!” I never made it to the water park. I only heard the news of his truck rolling over, his body consumed by fire. That charred corpse was a nightmare that still haunted me. My phone woke me up. My eyes were still wet with tears. “Who is it?” “Is that Lily? This is Sienna… your brother’s… girlfriend.” Her voice trailed off. I was instantly awake. I met her at the coffee shop she suggested. She was frail and small in a white sundress, like a nervous field mouse. “What do you want to talk about?” I already knew: she wanted to call me a slut and tell me to stay away from Owen. It had happened countless times before; I was used to it. “I should probably call you ‘Sister Lily,’ shouldn’t I? I didn’t ask you to meet for any bad reason.” Her eyes were pure and unfocused. I was suddenly dizzy, like I was truly looking at the eighteen-year-old me. “The two of you… your relationship is complicated, isn’t it?” Sienna’s voice was shaking. “I don’t know how deep it goes, I just hope you don’t mind my being here. I won’t interfere with anything you have with him. I just want to finish my degree. Owen promised to put me through college…” I felt a brutal, cold shot to my heart. She thinks he’s her hero. I couldn’t speak until the coffee was cold and Sienna was getting ready to leave. “He’s garbage,” I said, calling her back. “He’s not worth it. You can finish school without him.” That night, Owen was furious. He burst into my condo, yanked his belt from his jeans, and tied my hands securely. “What did you say to her?” “She broke up with me! Lily Shen, have you completely lost your mind?!” I didn’t resist. In fact, hearing the news gave me a flash of exhilarating pride. I tilted my head and kissed his earlobe, smiling. “You’re trash, Owen. And trash belongs only with me.” Desire ignited instantly. Owen poured all the frustrated emotion he’d been holding back from Sienna into me. By the time he carried me to the shower, it was late. Through the white noise of the water, he muttered. “She reminds me of you when we first met.” “But she’s obedient. She’s not stubborn like you.” I pretended not to hear, tilting my head back to let the water wash over me. A few days later, Owen staged a huge, over-the-top public display to win Sienna back. With everyone cheering them on, they embraced. Her pure white sundress stood out in the crowd. I was watching the video on my date’s phone. Elias Cole put his phone away and poured me another cup of tea. “Your brother looks serious this time.” I didn’t answer the observation; I just looked at Elias. “And you?” Elias smiled, his eyes holding a calculated depth. “I can be serious too.” The man extended his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Shen.” The news of my impending engagement to Elias Cole quickly reached Owen. He came running to my place, only to find I’d changed the locks. “Lily Shen, what the hell are you doing now?!” “What’s up with Cole? How much did he pay you? Tell me!” Sick of the noise, I ripped the door open and hurled his spare belongings at him. “How much did he pay me? Go ask your old bastard father!” “Lily Shen!” He grabbed my shoulders, his eyes blazing. He shook me, and a wave of nausea abruptly hit me. I turned and ran into the bathroom. “What? Does the sight of me make you throw up now?!” Owen suddenly froze. His expression went slack, and then he scrambled to leave. “Wait right there! Don’t move, you hear me!” I stared at the counter. Three pregnancy tests lay side by side. Every single one had two lines.

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“Comp time? Not right now.” Director Vivian Miller didn’t even look up as she signed the last document and slid it across the desk to me. I stood there, my feet planted. “You still here, Avery?” She finally lifted her eyes. “Vivian, I’ve requested compensatory time off seventeen times,” I said, keeping my voice level, perhaps too level. “Seventeen requests, zero approvals.” “Young people need to build grit,” she said, giving me a dismissive smile. “Let’s talk after the project launches.” After the project launches. She’d said the exact same thing when the last version of the project went live last year. I glanced down at my phone. The log for my late-night hours hadn’t been cleared yet. Three years. Three thousand hours. “Understood,” I nodded, turning to walk toward the door. I stopped with my hand on the cool metal of the frame. “Vivian,” I said, without turning back. “Three thousand hours for zero days. That ledger is balanced in my head.” 1 Working until 2:00 AM wasn’t a novelty anymore. It was just Tuesday. I stared at the lines of code on my screen, my eyes painfully dry. My light was the only one on in the office, the rest of the city outside long asleep. Ding. My phone lit up. A Slack notification. It was from Director Miller: Re-do the pitch deck for tomorrow’s meeting, update the financials to the latest pull. Two in the morning. She was definitely already tucked into bed. I didn’t reply. I just went back to the code. This entire financial settlement system—the front end, the back end, the database architecture—I built it all from scratch. It had been three years, and outside of me, not a single person had touched a line of the core code. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to learn; it was that they couldn’t. Nexus Financial Solutions had fifty employees, and I was the only software engineer. Everyone else was operations or sales. This system carried every dollar of the company’s revenue. If it failed, the entire business would seize up. And that, they believed, meant I couldn’t leave. At 3:30 AM, I finally patched the last bug. Shut down the laptop, locked the door, and took the elevator down. The late-night lobby was deserted. The security guard, an older man named Jerry, was dozing by the entrance. He lifted an eyelid when he saw me. “Late night again, Avery.” “Yeah.” “Your company is certainly dedicated.” I didn’t answer. I pushed the door open to the silent street. Dedicated? My salary: $100,000 a year, unchanged for three years. Overtime: 3,000 hours. Comp time: zero days. Last month’s vacation request? Vivian said, “The project is too busy, next time.” It was always next time. I got home close to 4:00 AM. Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling. A thought drifted through my mind: What if I just quit? The system would seize up. The financial data would be compromised. The company would have to halt operations. Vivian would panic. That woman, who never seemed to see me, would finally be afraid. I rolled over and closed my eyes. Forget it. Just sleep. Nine o’clock the next morning, I was at my desk. Or, rather, I was at my desk precisely on time and significantly underslept. The moment I sat down, Slack pinged. @Avery Jensen, is the pitch deck updated? I opened the deck, replaced the outdated figures. Ten minutes later, I sent it back. Five minutes passed. Vivian replied: That chart isn’t clear enough. Use a different format. I rebuilt the chart. Five minutes later: The colors are too dark. Lighten them up. I changed the colors. The font is too small. I increased the font size. You know what? The first version looked better. Change it back. I took a deep breath. I changed it back. I was used to this routine. In my three years here, I’d revised over five hundred presentations. Not because I was a great graphic designer, but because the company didn’t have one. Well, it had one. The last admin assistant quit after three months. Her reason: She couldn’t handle the hours. Vivian had spent thirty minutes in her office that day railing: “These young people just don’t have any grit.” I listened from my desk, silent. Grit? Vivian left the office every day at six on the dot. She never worked late. She ignored messages on the weekends, citing, “Family time.” Me? I hadn’t had a single uninterrupted weekend in three years. “Hey, Avery.” Devin, a sales associate, leaned in conspiratorially. “What’s up?” “Heard the news? Annual bonuses are coming out this month.” “I heard.” “What do you think they’ll be?” I shrugged. “No idea.” Devin sighed. “I asked around. Doesn’t sound great. Last year, old man George in Accounts, he hit his quota first. Got an eight-thousand-dollar bonus.” Eight thousand. A year of work, thousands of hours of overtime, top performance, and an eight-thousand-dollar bonus. That was this company. “Seriously,” Devin looked at me. “What are we even doing here?” I didn’t answer. What was I doing here? I wanted to know too. At 2:00 PM, the all-hands meeting began. The conference room wasn’t built for fifty people; the air was thick and stale. Vivian stood at the front, my presentation on the screen behind her. “This quarter, our financial settlement system has maintained stable operations, boosting efficiency by thirty percent,” Vivian rattled on. “This is the result of team effort.” Team effort. The system was solely my work. “And the recent version upgrade, in particular, solved the persistent data latency issue. Client feedback has been stellar.” The version upgrade was the result of two consecutive weeks of late nights. The client feedback email was also one I drafted. “This project was managed by my team,” Vivian looked out at the room. “Of course, Avery provided some support on the execution.” Some support. I clenched my fists under the table. After the meeting, Vivian walked over and patted my shoulder. “Avery, nice work.” “Thanks.” “Keep it up.” She smiled and walked away. Devin leaned over. “Didn’t you build that whole system by yourself?” “I did.” “Then why did Vivian say it was her team’s…” “She’s the director,” I cut him off. “It’s standard procedure.” Devin opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t say anything more. Standard procedure. In this company, everything was “standard.” No overtime pay? Standard. Comp time requests rejected? Standard. Credit stolen? Standard. I watched Vivian’s retreating back, and the thought from last night resurfaced. What if I quit? Maybe it was time to seriously consider that question. 2. Three days later, the finance department had a problem. “Avery, can you step over here for a second?” Brenda, the Finance Supervisor, stood by my cube, her face tight. “What’s wrong, Brenda?” “The numbers in the system aren’t matching up,” she whispered. “Last month’s accounts receivable are short by eighteen thousand dollars.” I frowned. “Short?” “Yes. Can you come look? See if it’s a system bug.” I followed her to the finance office. After twenty minutes of reviewing the data, I found the problem wasn’t a bug. “Brenda, this isn’t an error,” I pointed to the screen. “This transaction was manually deleted.” “Manually deleted?” Brenda was stunned. “By who?” I pulled up the operation log. The user account was clearly visible. It was Vivian Miller’s account. “This…” Brenda glanced at me, then looked away, saying nothing. I remained silent too. Vivian had used her own account to delete an $18,000 transaction. What that implied, we both understood perfectly. “Avery,” Brenda took a deep breath. “Don’t breathe a word of this.” “I won’t.” “I’ll talk to Vivian.” She left. I sat in the empty finance office, staring at that line in the log. A mix of feelings churned inside me. Eighteen thousand dollars. Maybe it was for creative accounting, maybe it was something worse. It wasn’t my problem. But one thing I knew for certain: The water here was a lot murkier than I thought. Later that night, as I worked late, Devin appeared at my cube again. “Avery, did you hear?” “Hear what?” “Vivian is being promoted to Vice President.” I stopped typing. “When did this happen?” “Just these past couple of days. They say it’s because of that financial system project. The CEO is thrilled.” The financial system I wrote. The one she used to score a promotion. “Will that help us?” I asked. Devin shook his head. “I doubt it. But…” he lowered his voice, “I heard a VP starts at two hundred thousand a year.” Two hundred thousand. My annual salary was one hundred thousand. She stole my credit and her salary more than doubled mine. “Got it,” I turned back to the screen. “Go get back to work.” Devin left. I stared at my monitor, my mind blank. Three years. I gave this company the best years of my twenties. I sacrificed sleep, weekends, and solved one impossible problem after another. I believed hard work guaranteed reward. And the result? The rewards were all handed to someone else. I opened my browser and pulled up LinkedIn, starting to update my resume. Three years of developer experience, expert in Java and Python, independently developed a complete financial settlement system. I should be able to find something, shouldn’t I? I clicked “Submit Profile.” The next morning, the moment I arrived, Rhonda, the HR manager, stopped me. “Avery, Vivian wants to see you. Head to her office.” I nodded and walked in. Vivian was sitting behind her desk, a smile plastered on her face. “Avery, come in, sit down.” I sat. “Vivian, what’s up?” “Oh, nothing major,” she flipped through a folder. “Just checking in on your work lately. Anything you’re struggling with?” I was genuinely taken aback. She had never asked about my work before. “I’m fine,” I said. “No issues.” “Good, good.” She set the folder down and looked at me. “Avery, you’ve been with us three years now, haven’t you?” “I have.” “And you’ve performed well consistently.” She smiled. “The company notices.” The company notices. I remained silent. “I talked it over with the CEO,” she continued. “Once this quarter wraps up, we’re bumping you up a pay grade.” A raise? My heart gave a small, traitorous flutter. “How much?” “Five hundred dollars. A year.” Five hundred dollars a year. My three years of grinding, my stolen credit, my rejected comp time—all of it bought me an extra forty-one dollars a month? “So? Satisfied?” Vivian asked, still smiling. I took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the volcanic fury in my chest. “Vivian, I want to apply for my comp time.” Her smile froze. “Comp time?” “Yes. I haven’t taken a proper break in three years. I want to take a few days off.” “That’s… not possible right now,” she frowned. “The project is too busy, it’s not a good time.” “When will the project not be busy?” “In a couple of months, once this quarter is finished.” “You said that last quarter.” Her face hardened. “Avery, what is this attitude?” I didn’t speak. “Young people need to learn how to grind,” she stood up. “Everyone here has put in the hours. Look at the rest of the staff—who is constantly asking for vacation time?” The rest of the staff? The rest of the staff got overtime pay. The rest of the staff got comp time approved. The rest of the staff wasn’t here until 2:00 AM every night. Only me. “Right,” I stood up. “I understand.” “Don’t be upset now,” she switched back to the saccharine tone. “I’ll take you out for dinner once things slow down.” I ignored the offer and turned to leave. Back at my desk, Devin cornered me. “How was it?” “A five-hundred-dollar raise.” “That’s it?” Devin’s eyes widened. “The value of that system is massive! And she gives you five hundred?” “And,” I added. “The comp time was rejected. Again.” “Rejected?” Devin paused. “So what are you going to do?” I looked at the newly updated resume on my screen and clicked ‘Refresh.’ “Find a different company.” 3. Two weeks later, I received my first interview invitation. It was from a larger tech firm, bigger than Nexus. The position was Technical Lead, with a starting salary of $180,000. That was nearly double my current pay. I called in sick for the day to attend the interview. The interviewer was the Director of Technology, a man in his mid-thirties named Mark, with kind eyes behind black-rimmed glasses. “Avery Jensen?” He flipped through my resume. “Three years, and you single-handedly developed a complete financial system?” “That’s correct.” “Walk me through the architecture.” I described the front-end, back-end, database design, and interface logic. He nodded throughout. “Impressive,” he said, then looked at me. “Any questions for us?” “How much overtime is there?” He smiled. “To be honest, yes, we burn the midnight oil when a major release is due. But under normal circumstances, it’s six on the dot. Weekends are sacred. And any overtime worked automatically qualifies for comp time.” Comp time. The phrase sounded like a language from a different universe. “Regarding compensation,” he continued. “We’re offering $180,000 annually, with a standard fifteen days of paid time off. How does that sound?” $180,000. Fifteen days of paid time off. I took a sharp breath. “It sounds excellent.” “Great. Our HR team will finalize the details and be in touch soon.” The interview was over. I left the building and stood on the sidewalk, feeling dizzy. $180,000. Two and a half times my current pay. Fifteen days of vacation. More than I’d been allowed in three years combined. It turned out that at normal companies, employees were allowed to leave on time. They were allowed to take time off. They were allowed to work with dignity. I’d been at Nexus for three years and almost convinced myself that was how the entire world operated. It was time to go. I got back to the office at 4:00 PM. The moment I stepped inside, Rhonda, the HR manager, intercepted me. “Avery, Vivian wants to see you.” Again. I walked into the office. Vivian was sitting there, her face stormy. “Avery, where were you today?” “Doctor’s appointment.” “A doctor’s appointment?” She scoffed. “All day?” “Yes.” “Do you think I believe that?” I said nothing. She stood up and walked around the desk to face me. “Let me tell you something, Avery. You better not try anything stupid. The company needs you right now. If you dare to…” “Dare to what?” I cut her off. “Dare to quit?” She froze. “Vivian,” I looked directly at her. “I have been at this company for three years. Over three thousand hours of overtime, zero comp days. All my credit was used for your promotion. My loyalty earned me a hundred-and-fifty-dollar monthly raise.” “You—” “What do you think,” I gave her a small, cold smile, “I have left to be afraid of?” Her face turned a sickly shade of gray. “Are you threatening me?” “It’s not a threat,” I turned toward the door. “It’s a statement of fact.” “You stop right there!” she shouted. “Avery Jensen, if you quit, I will make sure you never work in this industry again!” I paused at the door. “You’ll make sure I can’t work in this industry?” I turned back, meeting her eyes. “Then I’ll make sure you can’t stay at this company.” The door shut behind me. Back at my desk, Devin looked at me, utterly shocked. “Avery, did you just… fight with Vivian?” “No,” I said. “I just told her a few truths.” “And she…” “She threatened to ruin my career.” Devin sucked in a breath. “What are you going to do?” I powered up my computer and started exporting all my attendance logs onto a flash drive. “I’m keeping my receipts,” I said. “I might need them later.” Devin watched my movements, then murmured, “Avery, are you really leaving?” I didn’t answer. He sighed. “It’s about time. This place is a dead end.” That evening, I got the official offer letter from the new company. Black and white: $180,000 annual salary, start date in one month. I stared at the email, my heart strangely calm. Three years. I was finally leaving that soul-crushing place. But before I did, I had a few things to settle. I opened my laptop and started organizing the evidence. The Slack logs. The three years, 1,095 days, of overtime tracking. The comp time request log. Seventeen requests, zero approvals. The pay stubs. $100,000 a year, never a penny of overtime pay. And the employment contract. I dug out the signed copy and turned to the section on working hours. Plain text: Standard work week, 8 hours a day, 40 hours a week. Not flex-time. Rhonda and Vivian had lied. I organized all the evidence into a password-protected folder. I might need them later. No. I will definitely need them later.

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