1 My wife had postpartum depression. The day she stood on the edge of the rooftop, ready to throw herself off, I didn’t reach out to pull her back. Instead, I dragged a five-year-old boy out from behind me, pointed at her, and sneered. “Go on, jump. Do it quickly.” “The second you hit the pavement, I’m bringing this boy into our home. He’ll take your place.” “He’ll live in your house, spend your money, and beat your precious daughter.” On cue, the little boy looked up at me with wide, timid eyes and called me “Daddy.” The dead, hollow look in my wife’s eyes instantly erupted into a blazing fire of pure fury. She climbed back over the safety railing, stormed over to me, and slapped me across the face with everything she had. “Robert! You absolute monster! I’ll go to hell before I let some bastard child take over my home!” She packed up our baby daughter and left for her parents’ house. For the first time in six months, she had fire in her eyes. I touched my stinging, hot cheek and stood in the cold wind, laughing out loud. But the moment her taxi disappeared around the corner, the smile melted off my face. A sudden surge of metallic heat rushed up my throat. I doubled over, clutching my chest as a violent cough racked my body. A small hand reached up, offering me a crumpled tissue. Nick patted my back gently. “Mr. Robert, did I do good? Did I sound like a real actor?” I took the tissue, wiping the blood from my lips, and squeezed it tight in my fist. “You did great, Nick. Better than an Oscar winner.” Nick looked toward the empty railing, his brow furrowing. “But the lady… she looked like she really wanted to jump.” My heart squeezed, a pain so sharp it stole the air from my lungs. She did. Ten minutes ago, half of her body was already dangling over the edge. Those beautiful, bright eyes of hers had been completely empty. She couldn’t even hear our daughter crying in her bassinet inside. The psychiatrist’s words echoed in my mind: Unless she experiences a massive emotional shock, whether it is love or hate, something to trigger her survival instinct, she won’t make it. My love could no longer save her. For the past six months, I had knelt on the floor, begging her to eat a single bite of food. I had held her through sleepless nights, but she only wept, staring into the void. And I was running out of time. I reached into my pocket, my fingers brushing against the crumpled medical report. Late-stage pancreatic cancer. I was going to die. How could a dying man use love to save someone who wanted to join the dead? If I died while she was still in that state, she would surely follow me without hesitation. So, it had to be hate. A deep, burning hatred was the only thing that could force her to survive, to fight for revenge. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Miss Ward, yes, I’ve transferred the funds. Proceed with the plan.” I hung up and looked at the lock screen photo of Grace. It was taken right after our wedding, her eyes curved into beautiful, happy crescents. Grace, please don’t hate me. If keeping you alive means sending me to hell, I’ll gladly burn. When I got back, the house was dead silent. I marched straight into the nursery. The pink wallpaper, the white wooden crib, the drawers stuffed with tiny clothes, every single thing in this room had been chosen by her hand. It was the sanctuary of her motherhood. And it was the first place I had to destroy. I dismantled the crib, tore down the pastel wallpaper, and stuffed the baby clothes into heavy black trash bags. Then, I took the action figures, toy trucks, and plastic robots Nick had brought and scattered them across the floor. The delicate nursery was gone, replaced by a messy boy’s playroom. Standing in the doorway of the ruined room, my chest throbbed with a suffocating pain. But I forced my hands to stop shaking long enough to snap a picture and post it to my social media feed. The caption read: Finally, no more sickeningly sweet pink stuff. Welcome to your new playroom, son! Go wild! My fingers trembled as I hit post. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed with a bank alert. Grace had just transferred exactly half of our joint savings into a private account. I stared at the screen, tears spilling over my cheeks as a laugh escaped my throat. That’s my girl, Grace. She was fighting back. She was protecting what was hers. That was her survival instinct kicking in. She could take every penny to buy a weapon to kill me, as long as she stayed off that rooftop. Suddenly, a heavy pounding rattled the front door. I wiped my face, letting my expression freeze into a cold, arrogant sneer. I opened the door, ready to deliver another cruel insult, but stopped. Three police officers in uniform stood on the landing. “Robert Sinclair? We received a domestic abuse report. You need to come with us to the station.” She had called the police. The quiet, fragile Grace who used to hide under the covers and cry had learned to use the law to strike back at me. Good. Beautifully done. I calmly held out my hands to be cuffed, silently cheering for her in the dark. 2 Without any physical injuries or medical reports, I kept my story simple, calling it a heated domestic argument. The officers gave me a stern warning and released me after a few hours. When I unlocked the front door, the apartment was fully lit. Grace sat on the living room sofa, holding our baby daughter Emma. Her older brother, Thomas, stood beside her, his face dark with fury. Nick was sitting on the rug, playing with a toy car, though the tension in the room was thick enough to cut. Grace raised her head, her eyes shot through with red veins. She stared at me, her gaze cold enough to freeze water. I kicked off my shoes, picked Nick up, and kissed him on the cheek. “Hey there, buddy. Still awake? Did you miss Daddy?” Nick wrapped his arms around my neck, executing his role perfectly. “Daddy, can we get pizza tomorrow?” “Of course! The biggest, most expensive pizza in town!” Thomas’s face turned purple. He lunged forward, ready to swing. “Robert! You absolute piece of garbage! Your wife gave birth barely six months ago, and you bring your bastard into her home?!” I sidestepped his fist, letting out a mockery of a laugh. “Thomas, watch your mouth. What do you mean, bastard? This is the heir to my family name!” “Besides, it’s not my fault Grace’s body couldn’t even produce a son. I had to secure my legacy somehow, didn’t I?” Grace began to shake violently. She handed Emma to her brother and bolted toward the nursery. A few seconds later, a bloodcurdling scream echoed from the room. She had seen the trash bags of baby clothes. She had seen the broken crib. “Robert!!!” She charged out of the room, throwing herself at me, her nails raking across my cheek. A sharp sting flared across my face. But that physical pain was a relief. It was a distraction from the agony inside. I grabbed her shoulders and shoved her back. Her back hit the entryway cabinet with a dull thud. My heart stopped. My hand instinctively twitched, wanting to reach out and catch her, but I forced my arm to stay down. Instead, I pointed a finger at her and sneered. “You crazy bitch! You dare touch me?” “That slap just cost you every single penny of child support I was planning to throw your way!” “If you’re going to stay here, you learn your place!” “You want a divorce? Fine! Go ahead and sue me! You’ll leave this house with nothing, and the kid stays with me!” Grace clutched her bruised shoulder, panting heavily. She raised a hand to stop her brother from lunging at me again, using the cabinet to support herself as she stood tall. The wild, screaming rage in her eyes slowly hardened into a cold, unbreakable steel. “Thomas, go home,” she said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Grace! How can you stay here with this monster? Pack your things and come with me!” “I’m not leaving.” She stared directly into my eyes, speaking each word with deadly precision. “This is my home. I paid for half of this apartment. If I walk out now, I’m just clearing the way for this trash and his whore.” “I’m not going anywhere.” “I am going to stay right here, and I am going to watch the universe tear you to pieces.” Thomas couldn’t convince her. With a few final curses directed at me, he took his coat and left. The moment the front door clicked shut, Grace took Emma from the stroller, walked into the guest room, and locked the door behind her. Hearing the lock slide into place, my chest tightened. She was staying. For the sake of her daughter and her own pride, she had chosen to fight. And as long as she was willing to fight, she wouldn’t try to die. Late that night, I locked myself in the master bathroom, kneeling over the toilet bowl. My stomach twisted in agonizing knots, the brutal reality of the chemotherapy and the cancer spreading through my abdomen. I flushed away the crimson fluid, staring at the ghost looking back at me in the mirror. Sunken cheeks, dark hollows under my eyes. I looked like a corpse. Through the thin wall, I could hear her muffled, suffocating sobs. I pressed my forehead against the cold bathroom tiles, tapping my head against them until the skin broke and bled, desperate to let the physical pain drown out the screaming guilt in my mind. Don’t cry, Grace. Please, save your tears. Hate me. Want to destroy me. That is the only way you’ll have the strength to live. The next morning, the living room was a disaster zone. Nick’s expensive new toys were completely ruined, his plastic action figures smashed and piled high in the trash bin. Grace sat at the table, quietly feeding Emma some formula. She didn’t even look up when I walked in. “I cleaned up some of the trash around here,” she said, her tone light and conversational. “From now on, if I see any of that bastard’s things in my sight, they go straight into the garbage.” I looked at her tired but stubborn face, a smile almost breaking through my mask. Instead, I kicked the trash bin over, sending the broken toys scattering across the floor. “Grace, do you have a death wish?” I barked. “Clearly, you have too much free time on your hands!” “Since you love cleaning so much, you’re the maid now. You do all the housework.” “And if my son isn’t fed and cared for perfectly, you won’t see a single cent of allowance!” Grace finally looked up, her lips curving into a dry, mocking smile. “Robert, you think you can control me with a few dollars?” “Just wait.” Later that morning, Grace put on a tailored trench coat, applied a light layer of makeup, and walked out the door. She was going to meet with a divorce lawyer, and she was looking for a job. My Grace was finally baring her teeth to survive. But finding a job after a long gap and during a transition period wasn’t easy. It wasn’t enough to turn her into iron. I needed to add more fuel to the fire. And that fuel’s name was Gwen. 3 When Grace walked through the door that evening, she froze. Gwen was lounging on the living room sofa, wearing Grace’s favorite silk robe while applying a face mask, her bare feet propped up on our mahogany coffee table. Nick was riding on my shoulders as I chased him around the room, laughing loudly. The color drained from Grace’s face, her leather handbag slipping from her fingers and hitting the hardwood floor with a dull thud. That silk robe was the one she had bought for our honeymoon, a piece she cherished like a treasure. And now, a strange woman was wearing it. Gwen peered up from her mask, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Oh, is the wife back?” “Sorry about the robe, sweetie. I needed something to wear.” “Though, looking at how much your figure has stretched out, I doubt you could even fit into this anymore anyway.” Grace’s eyes locked onto Gwen. Before anyone could react, she stormed over, grabbed Gwen by her styled hair, and dragged her off the sofa. “Get out! Get the hell out of my house!” “Who gave you permission to touch my things? Take it off!” Gwen let out a dramatic shriek, deliberately falling into my arms as she began to sob. “Robert! Look at her! She’s completely insane!” I pushed Grace away, standing firmly in front of Gwen. “Grace! What the hell is wrong with you?” “This is Gwen. She’s going to be the new lady of this house. We’re all going to be living under the same roof from now on, so you better start showing her some respect!” Grace stared at me, her chest heaving, her eyes wide with disbelief. “The new lady?” “Robert, we aren’t even divorced! You dare bring your mistress into our home?” I let out a harsh laugh, pulling out my phone. I deliberately tapped the screen to initiate a bank transfer. The automated voice on the speaker announced: Transfer of fifty-two thousand dollars to Gwen Ward completed. When Emma was born, Grace had suffered from severe postpartum hemorrhaging, and she had hesitated for hours before asking me to spend a few hundred dollars on her recovery medication. And now, I had just casually handed fifty-two thousand dollars to another woman. I wrapped my arm around Gwen’s waist, looking down at Grace. “That’s some pocket money for Gwen, and child support for Nick.” “You kept complaining about me holding back money? See this? I have plenty of cash. I just don’t want to waste it on you.” “That’s what happens when you can’t even give me a son.” Grace stared at the transfer confirmation, tears pooling in her eyes. But she forced them back, refusing to let them fall. She turned around and marched into the study. A moment later, the hum of the printer started. She was printing her resume. And she was printing her divorce petition. Over the next few weeks, the torment continued. Gwen monopolized the bathroom, dumped out Grace’s skincare products, and blasted the television at all hours. And I took Gwen’s side every single time, without exception. Grace lived like a ghost in her own home, but she didn’t cry again. Her eyes grew colder, her movements sharper, and her resolve harder. Secretly, I was working behind the scenes. I called in favors from old business associates to ensure she got job interviews, quietly clearing the obstacles from her path. I was paving the way for her escape. One weekend, Nick snatched a small stuffed tiger from Emma’s hands, the toy she used to soothe herself to sleep. Emma burst into a loud, frantic wail. Annoyed by the noise, Nick grabbed Emma’s baby bottle and smashed it onto the floor. “Stop crying, you worthless girl!” Seeing this, Grace snapped. She rushed forward, shoved Nick to the ground, and slapped him hard across the face. Nick gasped in shock, and Gwen let out a piercing scream, lunging forward. “You dared to touch my son? I’ll kill you!” The two women began to claw at each other. I stepped in, shielding Gwen, and swung my hand back, striking Grace hard across the face. Crack. The room fell into a dead silence. Grace stumbled back, her hand clutching her cheek, which was already swelling into a bright red welt. The very last trace of affection in her eyes died in that instant. “Robert.” “That slap just ended everything we ever had.” “From this day on, you are not my husband. You are my worst enemy.” I looked into her dead eyes, swallowing down the lump of raw grief in my throat as I spat out my rehearsed venom. “What we had?” “You think you deserve to talk about that?” “Since you want to lay hands on my son, don’t expect me to play nice.” “Take your useless daughter and get the hell back to your room!” “If I ever see you touch Nick again, I’ll make sure you regret it!” Grace gave me one final look, cold and hollow, before picking up Emma and retreating to her room. That night, I kept my hand submerged in a basin of ice water to stop the shaking. But in my heart, I knew it was worth it.

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This was the third time Lucas forgot my birthday. I didn’t throw a fit. Instead, I quietly cooked my favorite meal and bought an expensive ice cream cake I’d normally never splurge on. It was a quiet celebration for a day that apparently mattered to no one but me. But when I stepped out of the shower, ready to finally enjoy my evening, I found the kitchen ransacked. The dinner I’d spent three hours preparing had been packed into insulated containers. Beside them, my cake lay ruined, half-smashed and melting on the counter. Lucas finally looked up. “Kate hasn’t eaten all day,” he said, barely glancing at me as he zipped up the insulated bag. “Her blood sugar crashed. I’m taking this to her. Don’t wait up.” I watched his retreating back, the door clicking shut behind him. In that silent apartment, a cold certainty settled over me. I was done waiting. 1 Minutes after Lucas left, our landlord knocked on the door. Mrs. Gable stood on the threshold, peering into the quiet apartment. “The lease is up at the end of the month,” she said. “Are you two renewing or moving out? I need to know so I can list it if you’re leaving.” Last month, I had asked Lucas if we should renew or look for a new place. At the time, his head had been bent over his phone, furiously typing a reply to Kate. When he finally looked up, his voice was laced with easy dismissal. “Whatever you want, babe. You decide.” Remembering his indifference, I looked at Mrs. Gable and said, “We won’t be renewing. We’ll be out by the end of the month. You can send the security deposit back to Lucas. No need to send it to me.” He had paid the initial deposit and the first month’s rent when we moved in. It was only fair he got it back. Mrs. Gable frowned in confusion. “But you two are getting married, aren’t you? Why keep the finances so separate? It’s all the same pocket, dear.” I just offered a polite, empty smile and said nothing. Satisfied with the answer, she turned to leave, pausing to add, “Just make sure the place is completely cleared out before you hand over the keys. I want it clean for the next tenants.” I nodded. “Of course. I’ll make sure of it.” Today was the twenty-eighth. I had exactly three days. I pulled out my phone and messaged a local leasing agent who had helped me before. He replied almost instantly, asking if I was still looking for a two-bedroom apartment for the two of us. “Just a one-bedroom,” I typed back. “Just for me.” The typing bubbles danced for a long time before his reply came through: Did you guys break up? The words made my chest ache with a dull, familiar numbness. When Lucas and I first started dating, the concept of breaking up felt impossible. Back then, my mind was constantly painting pictures of our future. Now, I couldn’t even remember the last time I had let myself hope. I bypassed his question. He sent another message: Need a moving company? I know a reliable one. “Yes, please,” I replied. When’s the move? “Three days from now,” I answered. Just enough time to pack up my life, let the lease run out, and quietly slip out of Lucas’s world forever. I confirmed the details and began pulling empty cardboard boxes from the closet. That was when my phone buzzed. It was Lucas. “Hey, Kate loved the food you made,” his voice came through the speaker, casual and demanding. “But her stomach is acting up now. Can you whip up a light soup and bring it over?” Before I could even draw a breath, he added, “And don’t put any green onions in it. She hates the smell.” I stared at the cardboard box in front of me, a heavy silence stretching over the line. “Lucas,” I whispered, “do you know what today is?” In our five years together, he had only celebrated my birthday twice. The first time, he took me to Disneyland. Under the burst of midnight fireworks, he had slipped a delicate heart-shaped necklace around my neck and promised to love me forever. The second time, I was away on a business trip. He had flown out to surprise me, holding a slightly lopsided cake he’d baked himself. I still remembered the warmth of his breath against my ear as he whispered, “Jane, no matter where you are, if you need me, I’ll be there.” But by the third year, his promises evaporated. My birthday, May thirtieth, became nothing more to him than the anniversary of the day he met Kate twenty-three years ago. Just as I expected, there wasn’t a second of hesitation in his voice. “It’s the anniversary of the day Kate and I met. Why?” 2 Getting the exact answer I anticipated, I did something I had never done before. I hung up on him. There was no panic, no hot rush of tears. Just a vast, cold expanse of nothingness. I looked back at the ruined ice cream cake on the counter. It was melting into a sugary puddle, losing its shape. Just like our relationship. I had once believed what we had was indestructible, but over time, it had quietly dissolved into nothing. I set my phone face down and went back to packing. Lucas didn’t come home until the next afternoon. When he walked in, his shoulders were slumped, and a faint flicker of guilt crossed his face. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, stepping closer and reaching for my hand. “I realized I forgot your birthday. I know you’ve been wanting a little car to commute to work, so I went to the dealership today and picked one out for you. Consider it your makeup gift.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off, a proud smile warming his tone. “Kate was the one who reminded me, actually. You should thank her when you see her. She helped me pick it out. She was so sure you’d love it.” Of course. It wasn’t his memory that had saved him, but Kate’s. Even my birthday present was curated by her taste. And I was supposed to be grateful, to smile and accept the crumbs of their shared life. He unlocked his phone, scrolling through his gallery to show me the car. “See? Kate picked pink. She said it’s perfect for girls…” I looked at the screen. But as his finger swiped to the next photo, my heart went completely still. It wasn’t a picture of the car. It was Kate, sitting in the driver’s seat of the pink sedan, winking and sticking her tongue out at the camera. Lucas cleared his throat, quickly swiping past it. “Kate wanted to take a selfie, but her phone was dead, so she used mine.” Without saying a word, I took the phone from his hand and swiped backward. There were three hundred and twenty-three photos in his recent album. One hundred and twenty of them were of Kate. Only three were of the car. A bitter irony settled in my chest. Lucas had always claimed he hated taking photos. He despised clutter on his phone. In five years, we didn’t have a single photograph together. My contact info wasn’t even saved under my name in his phonebook. It was as if I was a ghost in his life. When I had asked him about it years ago, he had kissed my forehead and laughed. “I know your number by heart, Jane. I could recite it in my sleep. Why would I need to save it?” Yet, Kate was saved in his contacts as “Lucky Pig.” On every social media platform, her chat was pinned to the top. I kept scrolling through the messages in silence. Lucas didn’t stop me. Instead, he chuckled, leaning against the counter. “Are you checking up on me? Go ahead. You won’t find anything suspicious.” Before he could finish the sentence, a notification popped up from “Lucky Pig.” Lucas! You can’t be biased! You can’t forget about me just because you have a girlfriend. If Jane gets a car, I want one too! Buy me one right now! The screen blurred slightly. I lost all interest, locking the phone and handing it back to him. Lucas took it, immediately typing a reply. I stood up from the couch and caught a glimpse of his screen as I walked away. The company’s cash flow is a bit tight this month. I’ll owe you one, okay? Kate wasn’t having it. She bombarded him with a flurry of crying and begging emojis. I saw the hesitation in Lucas’s eyes as he looked up at me. “Jane,” he began, his voice soft and coaxing. “Our apartment isn’t that far from your office anyway. Would it be okay if we let Kate have this car first? I’ll buy you another one next month.” 3 It was just like last month, when we had planned a movie night. We were standing in front of the theater when Kate called, complaining she was lonely and wanted him to go swimming with her. He had looked at me with that exact same apologetic, pleading expression. “Jane, let’s skip the movie tonight. I’ll make it up to you next time, I promise.” In the silent battle between Kate and me, she always won. I hadn’t argued back then. After he left, I bought a tub of popcorn and a soda, walking into the dark theater alone for the first time in my life. That night, I realized two things: going to the movies alone wasn’t terrifying at all, and giving up on things that were never truly yours was actually quite easy. “Sure,” I said now, my voice entirely flat. “Do whatever you want.” The tension drained from his shoulders instantly. He let out a relieved sigh. “I knew you’d understand. Kate’s such a handful sometimes, always acting like a spoiled brat.” He sounded like he was complaining, but the warmth in his voice betrayed his absolute indulgence. What he didn’t realize was that I wasn’t being understanding. I had just stopped caring. “By the way,” Lucas said, pocketing his phone. “Kate said there’s a new hot pot place downtown. She wants to buy us dinner.” I opened my mouth to decline, but he held up his hands defensively. “Come on, if we don’t go, she threatened to buy the groceries and cook at our place.” I hated the lingering smell of hot pot in our small apartment. More than that, I hated the subtle scent of gardenias that clung to Kate—the exact same scent Lucas had started wearing. Twenty minutes later, we were sitting in a booth at the crowded restaurant. The waiter walked over to take our order. “A mild broth—” Lucas started, but I cut him off. “Let’s do half spicy, half mild.” He stared at me, surprised. “Since when do you eat spicy food?” I didn’t eat spicy food because he had a sensitive stomach, and over five years, I had adapted my palate to match his. “I’ve always liked it,” I said, looking down at the menu. “You just never noticed.” I checked the boxes for the dishes I actually liked and added a matcha shaved ice for dessert. Seeing this, Kate immediately chirped, “I want a mango shaved ice too!” Lucas frowned, swatting her menu down. “Are you crazy? Have you forgotten how much pain you were in last month? No cold drinks for you.” He crossed out her shaved ice and replaced it with warm corn juice. Kate pouted, but a pleased smile played on her lips. “So what if it hurts? Your hands are warmer than any heating pad anyway. Why should I worry when I have you?” Once, I used to get terrible cramps too. Lucas used to stock up on heating pads and brew hot herbal tea for me. When I writhed in pain, his eyes would turn red with worry. He would press his warm palms against my lower back, his voice trembling as he whispered, I wish I could take the pain for you, sweetheart. Back then, I had felt exactly like Kate did. As long as he was there, I could handle any pain. But since Kate moved to our city, my nightstand was never restocked with heating pads. There were no more warm mugs waiting for me on the counter. Sitting across from them, watching them flirt in plain sight, I felt like a ghost haunting their happy little world. Just then, the waiter returned, placing a large boba tea with two straws in the center of the table. “Compliments of the house,” he smiled. “It’s our owners’ tenth anniversary, so we’re giving out free sharing drinks to all the couples tonight.”

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The fifteenth time he rejected me in bed, I finally accepted that my husband was repulsed by me. I retreated to the master bedroom, scrolling through divorce lawyers on my phone, when bizarre floating text suddenly materialized in the air right in front of my face. [Thank God! The ugly ex-wife is finally asking for a divorce. Our pure endgame couple is about to meet!] [Bro, who else is hyped? Watching the untouchable billionaire CEO completely lose his mind over the poor, sweet innocent girl, going at it seven times a night… that is the spicy content I need.] [I kind of feel bad for the ex-wife though. She loved him for years, never even got to sleep with him, and walks away with absolutely nothing.] [Who cares! Everything the male lead has belongs to our sweet Stella anyway. The ex-wife was born a broke loser! Once they divorce, she will be working fast food.] Reading those glowing words, a fiery rage boiled up in my chest. Why? Why does his next girl get everything, while I end up with an empty bank account and an empty bed? Blind with anger, I stormed right into the master bathroom, completely ignoring boundaries, and launched myself at Kevin while he was under the showerhead. Pure and untouched, huh? I am taking a massive bite out of this prime meat first. I refuse to leave him completely wrapped up in a bow for the next girl. 1 I threw the bathroom door open. Kevin was facing away from me under the spray. We had been married for a long time, but this was the very first time I had ever seen him completely naked. Hearing the noise, Kevin turned around. Our eyes locked. A rare flash of shock crossed his face. “What are you doing?” he asked. I stepped right into the shower. “Getting down to business.” I threw my arms around his neck, got up on my tiptoes, and smashed my lips against his. I had secretly loved Kevin for three years and had been married to him for one. This was my very first time tasting the lips of this untouchable man. It was incredibly intoxicating. I could not help but deepen the kiss, biting his lower lip until he let out a muffled groan. He finally snapped out of his shock and shoved me away hard. “Wendy, have you lost your mind? Who gave you the nerve to pull a stunt like this?” “Do not forget our agreement. This marriage is strictly a business arrangement.” Right. His wealthy family had backed him into a corner about settling down, and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. He used me as a convenient shield. But those glowing comments floating in my vision were stabbing me right in the heart. I refused to swallow this humiliation. Why? According to those comments, that so-called “sweet girl” had nothing going for her except being a little prettier than me. Why does she get to devour Kevin while I get kicked to the curb with absolutely nothing? I reject that script! I quickly stripped off my wet clothes, showing a reckless stubbornness I rarely displayed around him. “We are legally married anyway. I am getting my money’s worth out of this arrangement tonight.” My sudden outburst seemed to throw Kevin off balance. He completely forgot he was naked. He walked over and gently touched my forehead. “What is wrong with you? Are you feeling sick?” He looked so gentle and concerned. It was always like this. Always exactly like this. He clearly did not love me. He was usually entirely aloof and distant. But the second I showed any sign of discomfort, he acted like he deeply cared. The bitter ache in my chest became entirely unbearable. I threw myself against his wet chest. “Kevin, just kiss me, please. Just kiss me and the pain will go away.” The man in my arms tensed up. I could feel a distinct physical reaction pressing against me. Just when I thought Kevin was going to take things further, he let out a long, heavy sigh. His voice turned freezing cold again. “Wendy, get out.” “Our arrangement has not changed.” “Besides, I do not have feelings for you. We are not sleeping together.” “Drop this fantasy and just play your role as my wife on paper.” Maybe he realized his words were a bit too harsh. His tone softened slightly. “Tomorrow, I will have my assistant wire you one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” “Consider it compensation for your grievances.” 2 That night, he slept in the study again. Maybe he was afraid I would ambush him, because I heard the deadbolt click into place. I stared blankly at the locked door, completely frozen in place. The floating text flooded my vision once again. [LMAO I am dying! The ex-wife really thought she was the exception. Trying to seduce the male lead? The delusion is real.] [Right? Kevin is a total ice king. If he does not like you, throwing yourself at him is useless.] [Do not be so mean. I think she is kind of pitiful. Having a legal husband who refuses to touch you is incredibly depressing.] [Depressing? He just gave her one hundred and fifty grand! Though knowing this girl’s pathetic personality, she will probably refund the money tomorrow. But whatever! Kevin’s money is destined for our sweet Stella anyway. And his body too.] [Sigh. If I were the ex-wife, if I could not get the man, I would at least secure the bag.] [Exactly! At least she would not end up broke and working dead-end jobs after the divorce. In the original plot, she sees the male lead and Stella looking all happy together, loses her mind, and ends her own life. All because she played the proud martyr.] I rested my chin on my hands, sitting alone on the cold stairs. My heart felt suffocated and bruised. The chat was absolutely right. I was playing the proud martyr. I was dirt poor, yet I was trying to play the game of pure, unrequited love. Kevin literally offered me money and I was planning to reject it. If I had not seen those comments, I genuinely would have walked away from this divorce with nothing but the clothes on my back. I cried through the entire night. My eyes were completely swollen. But I finally figured it out. If Kevin was repulsed by me, I needed to play it smart. I would drain as much cash as possible, and when this Stella girl showed up, I would pack my bags and leave on my own terms. Having made up my mind, I crawled back into bed and slept in. I had no idea that when Kevin woke up and saw the kitchen empty, he completely froze. He hesitated for a long time before pushing the master bedroom door open. Seeing the lump buried under the blankets, he visibly relaxed. When he got to the corporate office, just as he was about to start reviewing files, he paused and called his assistant. “Here is my wife’s routing number. Wire her five hundred thousand dollars from my personal account.” 3 I slept incredibly well. From the day I married Kevin, I had been walking on eggshells, desperately trying to please him. Today was the first time I had ever slept this peacefully. When I finally got out of bed, it was already past two in the afternoon. That meant I had failed to make Kevin’s breakfast and completely missed dropping off his lunch. I figured he would not care anyway. I grabbed my phone. Surprisingly, there was a text from Kevin: [Let us forget about what happened yesterday.] [I wired you some money. Buy yourself something nice.] I opened my banking app. The balance read: $500,152.65. God bless Kevin for turning my bank account into six figures overnight. A bitter smile touched my lips. If I had focused on the cash from the very beginning, I would be financially independent by now. I washed my face and decided to go for a walk. Somehow, my feet dragged me right toward the plaza beneath Kevin’s corporate tower. I spotted a young woman in a plain white t-shirt handing out promotional flyers. The floating text started going absolutely crazy. [Ahhhhh! It is her! It is Stella! She is working so hard!] [I remember this scene! It is her time of the month and she is in severe pain. The male lead is going to bump into her and take her up to his private office!] Really? So this was the girl who would eventually make Kevin go seven times a night. She was definitely prettier than me. Her skin was flawless and pale, glowing a soft pink even under the harsh sun. Long, straight legs wrapped in cheap denim. Her plain clothes could not hide her natural beauty. But she did look terrible. She was clearly suffering from awful cramps. Right at that exact moment, Kevin strode out of the glass lobby doors. Stella swayed on her feet and collapsed directly into his arms. My vision was instantly completely obscured by words like [OMG], [SO SWEET], and [I AM SCREAMING]. Just like the chat predicted, Kevin stared at Stella’s face, momentarily stunned. For the first time in his life, he did not push someone away. He hesitated for a brief second, then scooped her up into a bridal carry and carried her straight back inside the building. I did not watch the rest. I just closed my eyes. I did not need to guess. The fated couple had met. They would be uncontrollably drawn to each other and fall deeply in love. And I, the unloved stepping stone, was officially written out of the story. It turns out some things simply cannot be achieved through hard work. I felt like crying, but I also wanted to laugh. Wendy, oh Wendy. You are always the one nobody loves. 4 I wandered into a nearby luxury mall in a complete daze and walked straight into a high-end salon. The stylist smiled at me. “What kind of look are we going for today, miss?” “Cut it short,” I said. He looked shocked. “You have such beautiful long hair. Are you sure you want to chop it off?” “Yes. Cut it right up to the jawline.” I always thought Kevin liked elegant, traditionally feminine women, so I tried desperately to mold myself into that image. In the end, he never even gave me a second glance. I knew I was not a classic beauty. I had sharp, slightly European features. Keeping my hair long and soft always felt strangely mismatched. When the stylist finished chopping off the length into a sleek, sharp bob, he smiled. “Wow, you know what? You absolutely rock this edgy vibe.” My smile was uglier than crying. “Really? Maybe this is the real me.” Unlike Stella. She just had to stand there to look like a runaway princess. I walked into a boutique next door and bought comfortable, oversized casual clothes. When the cashier asked what I wanted to do with my old floral dress, I said, “Throw it in the trash.” I only bought those dresses trying to guess Kevin’s preferences anyway. He hated them, I hated them, keeping them was pointless. When I got home, I cleared out more than half my closet. Donated some, trashed the rest. Around six in the evening, Kevin came home from work. He looked surprised when he saw me dragging garbage bags to the door. “What are you doing at this hour? I thought you loved that dress.” I kept my head down. “I do not like it anymore, so it is garbage.” “Your hair…” “Cut it. It is cooler this way.” “Oh.” He did not push the subject. He walked into the dining room and stared at the empty table. “You…” I suddenly realized I had not cooked dinner. “Sorry, I am really tired today. Do you want me to order you some takeout?” Kevin’s eyes stayed glued to my face. “No need. I am not hungry.” He turned around and walked straight into the guest bedroom. As he brushed past me, a faint scent of jasmine drifted off his suit jacket. It was Stella’s perfume. 5 Kevin scrubbed his skin in the shower, his eyes constantly darting toward the bathroom door. After what happened yesterday, he felt entirely on edge. He could not even name the emotion twisting in his chest. It felt like a strange mix of anticipation and resistance. He mindlessly lathered the soap, straining his ears to catch any sound from the hallway. But half an hour passed, and Wendy never barged in. He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, feeling like he was losing his mind. Why was he hoping she would barge in and kiss him again? He did not even like her. He aggressively rinsed off the soap, wrapped a towel around his waist, and stepped out. He told himself he was just hungry and needed to go down to the kitchen to find a snack. But when he reached the ground floor, the living room was completely pitch black. Wendy had already gone to sleep. A heavy, uncomfortable feeling settled in Kevin’s chest. He turned around and went back upstairs. That night, he dreamed about Wendy breaking into the bathroom again. And this time, he did not push her away. 6 When I woke up the next morning, there was a plate of food on the dining table. Kevin, who almost never set foot in a kitchen, gave me a slight, awkward smile. “You are awake. You looked really exhausted yesterday, so I made some eggs.” I gave a flat, monotone hum. Right as my heart started to feel a tiny bit warmer, the floating text ruined it. [Holy crap, what is happening? The male lead is cooking for the ex?] [Calm down, it is just because he heard Stella talk about her struggles yesterday. He wants to learn how to make breakfast for her, so he is using the ex-wife as a guinea pig.] [Honestly, the ex looks like she is about to cry. Do not tell me she is getting delusional again thinking he actually likes her.] [She has zero shame. She is so ugly, how does she not know her place? Stop throwing yourself at him!] The more they insulted me, the colder my blood ran. I ate the food in complete silence. Kevin watched me out of the corner of his eye while sipping his black coffee. “Is it good?” I nodded. “It is good.” When you make it for Stella later, she will definitely love it. I carried my plate to the sink, completely oblivious to the intense gaze Kevin had locked onto my back. When it was time for him to leave for the office, he leaned down, trying to kiss my cheek. I flinched like I had been burned and stumbled backward. “What is wrong?” he asked. “Nothing.” He cleared his throat, looking deeply embarrassed. “I mean, we are married. This is just a normal routine.” I offered a bitter smile and waved my hands. “No, no need.” “You never have to do this again.” You do not need to force yourself to act like a husband just to appease your guilt. Save it for what you actually want. I stared at Kevin’s strikingly handsome face and silently drew a permanent line under our four-year history. Kevin left for work with a dark, stormy expression. I figured since the female lead had officially entered the picture, our marriage was rapidly approaching its expiration date. Soon I would be entirely alone in the world, and I had no idea what my next steps were. I needed someone to talk to, so I took a cab to my mother’s house. She was sitting on the porch, rocking her toddler son in the sunlight. When she saw me walk up the driveway, genuine annoyance flashed in her eyes. “It is not a holiday. What are you doing here?” I shifted awkwardly. “Nothing, I just wanted to come see you.” “Mom, I actually need to talk to you about something…” Right at that moment, my little half-brother tripped and fell. My mother rushed over and scooped him up in a panic. “If it is important, just text me,” she snapped. “My husband is going to be home any minute. He does not like you being around. You need to leave.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and went to my father’s house, only to find a padlock on the front gate. I dialed his number. I could hear ocean waves crashing in the background. “Your stepmother and I are vacationing in the Bahamas. Do not call me unless someone is dying.” “Dad, I really need to talk to…” “Talk to your mother! Stop bothering me, you are not my only kid anymore.” Click. He hung up. I stood frozen on the street corner, feeling completely hollow. Right on cue, the floating text flooded my vision again. [Yay! Stella brought the CEO lunch! They had the sweetest afternoon eating together in his office.] [So adorable! When is the ex getting deleted? I am ready for the seven-times-a-night arc.] [Soon, soon. According to the timeline, the CEO proposes to Stella in two months. He will definitely dispose of the ex-wife before then.] 7 I wanted to scream, but the tears just would not stop falling. Even if I was just a disposable side character, could I not get a single drop of happiness? Forget it. From the day my parents divorced and abandoned me, I should have learned that good things were never meant for me. I squatted on the curb and cried silently until my legs went completely numb. I finally tried to stand up. My vision went entirely black. I swayed violently, and a pair of strong hands caught my shoulders. I blinked the darkness away and realized I recognized the face looking down at me. “Wait… are you Kevin’s cousin?” Grayson nodded. “Yeah. I just flew back into the country for business. You looked familiar, so I came over to check on you.” He was three years older than Kevin and spent all his time running the family’s overseas empire. Aside from a brief introduction at my wedding, we had never actually spoken. I was shocked he even remembered me. He was still gripping my hands tightly to keep me steady. I felt my face heat up. “Grayson…” I tugged my hands back gently. He immediately let go, looking apologetic. “Sorry about that. I overstepped.” He looked every bit the polished, perfect gentleman. The chat room immediately started losing its mind. [Yo! It is the mysterious billionaire cousin! He is insanely rich and barely has any scenes. I love him.] [I heard this guy is obsessed with his empire and refuses to ever get married.] [Honestly, the ex-wife has terrible luck. If she had targeted the older cousin instead, she would be dripping in diamonds for the rest of her life and would never have to worry about him falling for another woman.] [LMAO so true! The cousin loves nobody but his bank accounts. Marrying a guy like that would be zero drama.] Grayson… zero drama? Could that actually work? I entertained the thought for exactly two seconds before laughing at my own stupidity. Wendy, you absolute fool. How many times do you need your heart stomped on before you stop believing in fairy tales? When I got home that evening, I thought about the chat mentioning Kevin proposing to Stella in two months. If that timeline was accurate, we were going to be filing for divorce very, very soon. I needed to start packing up my life. I was in the middle of folding sweaters when I heard the front door open downstairs. I walked to the landing and saw Kevin walking in. And right behind him was Stella, dressed in a sharp, fitted business suit. 8 This was the first time I was getting a close, unhurried look at the so-called female lead. She was breathtaking. She clearly had been taken care of lately. Her makeup was flawless, and her clothes screamed quiet luxury. When she saw me on the stairs, she looked up, neither humble nor arrogant. “Good evening, ma’am.” I was utterly speechless. Before I could reply, she continued, “I am the new executive assistant. I am just here to help Mr. Kevin pack for an emergency business trip. Please do not misunderstand.” I am not misunderstanding a thing. Soon enough, this entire house will belong to you. I gave a deeply sarcastic, polite smile and glanced at Kevin, who was pouring a glass of water. He caught my gaze. “Can you pack a few suits for me? I will be back in two days.” I was about to nod and walk down the stairs. But then I saw the chat cursing me for interfering. I immediately sat right back down on the top step. I flashed Stella a warm, welcoming smile. “His bedroom is the second door on the left. Go right ahead and pack for him.” “You are his assistant, so you definitely know his itinerary and wardrobe needs better than I do.” A flicker of absolute thrill and shock crossed Stella’s face. She quickly masked it. She lowered her voice, feigning hesitation. “Oh, I could not possibly…” “It is totally fine. Go ahead.” The second she disappeared upstairs, Kevin marched over to the base of the stairs, his face completely black with rage. “Wendy.” “What?” “How could you let a stranger into my bedroom?” “Why not? It is not like you want me in your bedroom either.” He did not just hate me being in his bedroom. Standing within a three-foot radius of him seemed to actively disgust him. Kevin opened his mouth, but no words came out. He violently loosened his tie, looking incredibly frustrated. Just as he was about to yell something else, Stella came walking down the stairs with a sleek carry-on. I gave them a flawless, elegant smile. “All set? You should hurry to the airport. Safe travels.” I turned around and walked straight into the master bedroom, shutting the door behind me. 9 I considered my behavior absolutely perfect. I handled everything with grace and dignity. My only hope was that when the divorce papers were signed, he would throw a little extra alimony my way. Like the chat said, if I cannot get the man, I am getting the bag. I lay in bed, swallowing my pathetic feelings, and booted up a mobile game. Just then, Grayson sent me a text. He said he finished his meetings for the day and asked if Kevin and I wanted to grab dinner. I told him Kevin was out of town and I was home alone. He immediately sent a picture of a table covered in incredible food. “If you do not mind, you are welcome to join me.” Sitting at home overthinking was driving me crazy anyway. I threw on a jacket and took a cab straight to Grayson’s restaurant. Putting aside the weird family dynamics, Grayson was actually phenomenal company. He spoke at a slow, calming pace, and he constantly checked to make sure I was comfortable. When he noticed I was picking around the cilantro, he quietly flagged the waiter and had several dishes swapped out for a slow-cooked beef stew he remembered I liked. I had such a genuinely good time that I snapped a quick picture of the table. I posted it to my social media: [Thanks to the best cousin for treating me to dinner.] Kevin never looked at my social media anyway, so I did not bother hiding it from anyone. I never expected that at eleven o’clock that night, a massive thunderstorm would roll into the city. I had just finished my shower and was getting ready for bed when I heard a loud crash downstairs. Thinking the wind had blown over a vase, I grabbed my phone flashlight and walked out to the landing. Standing in the foyer was a completely drenched figure. His face was twisted into a terrifying, deadly scowl. The second Kevin saw me, he cleared the stairs in three massive strides. He slammed me roughly against the wall, his eyes completely bloodshot. “Just because I rejected you that one night, you immediately run off to another man?” “Wendy, how could you do this to me?” Before I could process a single word, he crushed me against his chest like I was a priceless treasure he was terrified of dropping. His lips crashed down on mine, chaotic and desperate. “Wendy, do not fall in love with anyone else.” “I was wrong. Please, please want me.”

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“This villa is my gift to Miss Vivian Lynn.” Under the camera flashes, Ethan Finch’s voice carried through the speakers and filled the entire venue. He stood before the home I had spent three years designing, the home I had built for us, his gaze soft as it settled on the girl in the white dress standing below the stage. I clenched my fists. That night, he pushed open the door and walked in, his tone matter-of-fact. “Vivian’s brother took a bullet for me. She’s having a depressive episode. It’s just a house. Can’t you be a little more gracious about it?” “But that was our home.” “When did you become so cold-hearted?” I looked into his eyes, and suddenly I started to laugh. Seven years of love, and it all came down to him asking me to just let her have it. That night, I packed every last one of my things and deleted every photo of him from my phone. Ethan Finch, this time I’m not letting it go. Natalie Smith POV Everyone said that Ethan Finch, heir to one of New York’s most powerful financial dynasties, loved me to his core. He had stayed by my side for seven years and loved me for seven years. Even when the edge of a blueprint nicked my finger, he would spend half the day with that cold, worried look on his face, ready to throw every sharp object within ten feet of me straight out the window. And yet this man, the one who had placed me at the very center of his world, was the same man who just destroyed three years of my life’s work. New York. The ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new villa development blazed with camera flashes as bright as daylight. I stood below the stage and quietly watched the man up there, composed, sharp in his tailored suit, carrying himself with that cool, aristocratic ease that had always belonged to him. That villa was my life’s work. Three years of late nights drafting plans and overseeing construction. I designed it to be our home. Every brick, every beam, and every oak tree in the courtyard had been chosen for Ethan. I stood there full of hope, waiting for him to announce that this was our future home. Instead, Ethan took the microphone, and his gaze swept over the crowd before landing on the frail girl in the white dress sitting in the front row. “This project,” he said, his voice low and steady as it rolled through the speakers, “is my gift to Miss Vivian Lynn. I hope the peace and natural beauty of this place will support her recovery from depression.” The room erupted. A wave of probing, pitying, and gleefully curious stares cut toward me all at once. My mind went blank. It felt like all the blood in my body had been drained in an instant. My hands and feet went cold. Vivian Lynn. The younger sister of Ethan’s late comrade. Six months ago, Vivian had attempted to take her own life during a severe depressive episode. Ethan had brought her into his care immediately. And from that point on, a shadow had crept into every corner of my world. Backstage, in the green room. I watched Ethan push open the door and walk in. My voice came out raw and tight. “Why?” Ethan tugged at his tie, a faint crease forming between his brows. There was a trace of exhaustion in his voice, and something that sounded almost like entitlement. “Vivian had another episode last night. Her doctor said she needs a quiet, natural environment to recover. This villa’s design is perfect for her.” “That was our home!” I stared him down, my eyes burning red. “Ethan, I stayed up night after night. I put everything into that house. I designed it for you. For us. How could you just hand it over to her like it was nothing?” “Natalie, can you just be reasonable for once?” Ethan’s expression hardened, his voice going cold. “Vivian’s brother took three bullets to save my life. If it weren’t for him, I’d be dead. She’s seriously ill. You’re my wife. Are you really going to fight her over a house?” “Just a house?” I almost laughed, but my tears fell instead. A house. As if that’s all it was. The master bedroom faced south because he loved the morning light. The study had triple soundproofing because even the smallest noise drove him crazy when he was working. Even the kitchen counter was built to a custom height so it would be comfortable for him when he occasionally felt like cooking for me. And now, with a few offhand words, he had given away every bit of love I had poured into that place, and handed it to another woman. “We have properties all over the city,” I said, my voice shaking. “Any one of them could give her the environment she needs. Why does it have to be this one?” Ethan stepped forward and placed his hands on my shoulders. His tone softened slightly, but the condescension never left. “Vivian saw the design plans. She fell in love with them. Natalie, you’re a talented architect. You can design another house. But Vivian only has one life. Just let her have this one. Okay?” Just let her have this one. Okay? I had heard those words more times than I could count in the past six months. Vivian was scared of thunderstorms, so on a night when I was burning up with a fever, Ethan left me to go be with her. Vivian couldn’t stand restaurant food, so Ethan reassigned our housekeeper of ten years to Vivian’s apartment. And now Vivian had taken a liking to something I had built with my own hands, so I was supposed to step aside again. I looked at that face, so familiar and yet suddenly a stranger, and felt something in my chest being carved apart by a dull blade, slow and deliberate, until even breathing tasted like blood. “And if I don’t?” I held his gaze, refusing to look away. Ethan’s patience snapped. He let go of my shoulders, and his eyes went flat. “I already announced it publicly. There’s nothing to reverse. Natalie, don’t make me think you’re heartless.” He turned and walked out without looking back. From the hallway, Vivian’s soft, trembling voice drifted in. “Ethan, is Natalie upset? I’m so sorry, this is all my fault. I don’t want the villa anymore…” “It’s not your fault. She’s just being stubborn.” Ethan’s voice was warm, gentle in a way I hadn’t heard him speak to me in a long time. “Come on, let me take you to dinner.” Their footsteps faded down the hall. I stood alone in the empty green room, staring at my own pale face in the mirror, and thought: seven years of loving this man, and it had all become one enormous joke.

Natalie Smith POV Late that night. Our high-rise apartment in the middle of the city. I sat in the unlit living room like a hollow statue that had lost its soul. The clock on the wall read two in the morning. Finally, the front door beeped, the fingerprint lock disengaging. Ethan walked in, carrying the cold night air and the faint scent of chamomile perfume. Vivian’s favorite. He noticed the dark figure on the couch and stopped for a second, then flicked on the light. A small crease formed between his brows. “Why are you still up? Don’t you have work at the firm tomorrow?” He walked over and set a sleek velvet jewelry box on the table. His tone carried a coaxing undertone. “I should have talked to you before today. This Van Cleef & Arpels necklace is a limited edition. Consider it my way of making it up to you. Let’s put the villa behind us.” I looked down at the box and didn’t touch it. Making it up to me. The Ethan I used to know would never have handed me something like this to smooth things over. I remembered one birthday, years ago, when I mentioned offhand that I’d love a hand-carved wooden miniature of a house. Ethan, the CEO of a billion-dollar empire, turned down a full week of business engagements, cut his fingers a dozen times on a carving knife, and handcrafted a breathtaking small-scale model just for me. He’d said, “Natalie, my time, my effort, they belong to you and no one else.” Now his time and his effort belonged to Vivian Lynn. What was left for me was this, cold, expensive, and bought with a credit card. “I don’t want it,” I said. My voice came out rough. Ethan paused mid-reach as he was pulling off his jacket. His expression closed over. “Natalie, how long are you going to keep this up? I told you, Vivian is sick. Her brother gave his life for mine. Looking after her is my responsibility.” “Your responsibility?” I lifted my head and met his eyes. “So your responsibility means letting her walk all over me? Treating my dignity like it’s disposable?” “You’re being completely unreasonable!” Ethan threw his jacket onto the couch, his eyes hard and cold. “When did you turn into someone like this? Vivian wouldn’t hurt a fly. What exactly do you think she’s taking from you? Are you seriously going to compete with someone who’s battling depression?” Something inside me flinched. So in his eyes, standing up for myself, fighting for our relationship, made me petty and bitter. I drew a slow breath and forced down the tightness rising in my throat. “Ethan, if Vivian ever decided she wanted to be your wife, would you ask me to step aside for that too?” The room went completely still. Ethan’s pupils contracted sharply. Something flickered across his face, panic quickly buried under anger. “Are you out of your mind? That’s insane. You are my wife. You will always be my wife. That will never change.” “Will it?” I stretched my mouth into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Because Ethan, look at yourself right now. Is there anything left in you that still loves me?” Ethan yanked open the top two buttons of his shirt, his voice clipped with irritation. “I’m not doing this right now. I’m exhausted. I’m going to shower.” He retreated into the bathroom like he was fleeing. The water came on. I sat quietly on the couch, and my gaze drifted to his phone, left carelessly on the table. The screen lit up. A text message. No contact name saved. “Ethan, I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see my brother covered in blood. I’m so scared.” Then another one right after. “Natalie looked at me so coldly today. Does she hate me? If my being here is causing fights between you two, I’d rather just die.” I read both messages without moving. The tips of my fingers had gone numb. The shower cut off. Ethan came out wrapped in a robe, and the first thing he did was reach for his phone. The moment he saw the messages, the color drained from his face. Without even toweling off his hair, he grabbed his car keys and started for the door. “Where are you going?” I spoke from the shadows, my voice barely above a whisper. Ethan stopped but didn’t turn around. “Vivian’s not in a good place. I’m worried about her. I’ll just check on her quickly. Go to sleep.” “Ethan.” I called after him. “Today is our third wedding anniversary.” His back went rigid. He turned and looked at me, something complicated moving through his expression. His lips parted. Then he closed them again. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” The door shut behind him with a dull thud. I sat in the empty living room, and the tears I had been holding back finally fell without a sound. Make it up to me. Some things, once broken, can never be made whole again.

Natalie Smith POV The next day. The architecture firm. I sat at my desk, stared at the final blueprints for the villa on my screen, and pressed delete. “Natalie.” My mentor knocked on my desk and slid a document in front of me. “The joint project in Zurich just got approved. They specifically requested you as lead designer. Three-year commitment. Are you interested?” I looked at the document and fell quiet. This was one of the most prestigious projects in the global architecture world. If I took it, my career would reach an entirely different level. But two weeks ago, I had turned it down. Because Ethan had said. “Natalie, three years is too long. I can’t be without you for three years. Stay here with me. You can have your pick of any project in New York.” I had been so happy then. I thought giving up that opportunity for him was the most natural thing in the world. But now… “Professor, I…” My phone rang. Ethan. “Natalie, I’m sorry about last night.” His voice came through the speaker, low and gently apologetic. “I’ve reserved the entire rooftop at Altitude tonight to celebrate our anniversary. I’ll pick you up myself.” My grip on the phone tightened. “Okay,” I heard myself say, calm as still water. After I hung up, I turned back to my mentor. “Give me one day to think about it. I’ll give you an answer tomorrow.” Seven o’clock that evening. Altitude. It was New York’s most exclusive rooftop restaurant, the kind of place where you could sit above the whole city and watch a million lights flicker to life below you. I wore the black velvet dress Ethan loved most and sat by the window. The table was set with red roses and an uncorked bottle of wine. Seven-thirty. No Ethan. Eight o’clock. Still nothing. At nine, one of the waitstaff approached carefully. “Mrs. Finch, would you like us to begin serving?” “Not yet. A little longer.” I kept my eyes on the glittering city below, my voice quiet. Ten o’clock. I picked up my phone and called him. It rang for a long time before someone picked up, but it wasn’t Ethan’s voice. It was Vivian’s, fragile and breathless. “Natalie…” Vivian’s voice was laced with a kind of strained suffering. “Ethan is in the bathroom wringing out a hot towel for me. I had a sudden stomach cramp tonight. The pain was so bad I was on the floor. He panicked. He refused to leave the hospital…” The air left my lungs. Something invisible had my heart in a fist and wouldn’t let go. “Natalie, I’m so sorry for ruining your anniversary.” Her voice was soft with innocence, and yet every word landed like something tipped in poison. “Ethan was about to leave, but I grabbed his hand and wouldn’t let go… I was just so scared to be alone in the hospital. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” I said nothing. From the other end of the line I heard footsteps, and then Ethan’s voice, urgent and tender. “Vivian, the towel’s ready. Here. Does that help? Are you still in pain?” “Ethan, Natalie’s on the phone.” Two seconds of silence. Then Ethan’s voice: strained, vaguely guilty, edged with impatience he couldn’t quite hide. “Natalie, it’s a bad stomach cramp. I can’t leave right now. We’ll reschedule the dinner. Head home, okay? Be good.” He didn’t wait for a response. The call ended. I sat there listening to the dial tone, and then I started to laugh. I laughed until tears ran down my face. I laughed until my shoulders were shaking. Be good. What did he think I was? A pet he could set aside whenever it was inconvenient, toss a treat to and expect gratitude? I stood up, picked up my bag, and turned to the nearest server. “Check, please.” Outside, the night air was cool against my skin. I stood on the sidewalk, watching the endless stream of headlights pass, and pulled out my phone. I typed out a message to my mentor. “Professor, I’ll take the Zurich project.” The moment I sent it, the weight that had been sitting on my chest for months finally cracked apart. Ethan Finch. Your world is full enough without me. So I won’t stay.

Natalie Smith POV Over the following days, I began quietly working through everything I needed to do before leaving the country. Ethan must have sensed the distance growing between us. He started overcompensating, gift after gift delivered to the apartment. Limited-edition bags. Custom-made jewelry. Even a sports car worth seven figures. I didn’t so much as glance at any of it. Everything ended up stacked in the storage room or the parking garage downstairs. On Friday afternoon, I went to Finch Group’s headquarters to drop off a document that needed Ethan’s signature, a property co-ownership form we needed to finalize. I didn’t ask his assistant to announce me. I pushed open the door to the executive office myself. What I saw stopped me cold in the doorway. Vivian Lynn was standing in the middle of Ethan’s office in a loose men’s dress shirt, barefoot on his Persian rug. And in her hands were my private design sketches, the ones I kept locked in the safe, the ones I had never shown to anyone. Those sketches were from my university years. Every single page carried something real, the rawest version of my love for architecture, drawn at a time when I still believed in things purely. “Natalie, you’re here.” Vivian saw me and didn’t flinch. She smiled, bright and guileless. “Ethan said I’m opening my own design studio soon, so he told me to look through some blueprints for decoration inspiration. I saw these and thought they were so beautiful, so I took them out to look.” The warmth drained from my face. I crossed the room in three steps and pulled the sketches from her hands, my voice dropping to something just above freezing. “Who gave you permission to touch my things?” Vivian stumbled back a step, startled by the edge in my voice. Her eyes immediately filled with tears, spilling over one after another. “I’m sorry, Natalie, I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to… I just loved them so much…” “What’s going on?” The door to the private lounge swung open and Ethan walked out, toweling his hair dry. The instant he saw Vivian crying, his expression darkened. He crossed to her quickly and stepped in front of her, shielding her, and turned to look at me with a furrowed brow. “What did you do? You just walked in here and started in on her?” I raised the sketches. My knuckles had gone white. “Ethan, why did you give her access to my private work? Do you have any idea what these mean to me?” Ethan glanced at the pages and his frown deepened. “They’re just some old drafts you didn’t use anymore. Vivian needed creative inspiration for her studio. What’s the harm in letting her look? Was that worth scaring her like this?” Old drafts. It felt like something heavy had swung directly into my chest. I couldn’t breathe right for a moment. In those sketches, there was the first draft I ever drew of a tie clip, designed specifically for him. There were rooms I had imagined for children we hadn’t had yet. Our children. A whole future, sketched out in graphite and hope. Things that carried every precious memory I had stored inside me. And to him, they were just old drafts that hadn’t been used. “Ethan.” My voice came out eerily steady. “Do you think that anything Vivian wants, you can just take from me and hand over to her?” He caught something in my eyes and something shifted in him. His tone edged toward gentleness. “Natalie, calm down. She’s just looking. She wasn’t going to take them. Can’t you just be the bigger person here?” “Oh?” I let out a short, cold laugh. “Sure.” Right there, in front of both of them, I took the sketches and tore them apart. One by one. The sound of tearing paper cut through the silence of the office like something final. “Natalie,stop. What are you doing?” Ethan lurched forward but it was already too late. I released the fragments into the air. They drifted down like snow, settling at Ethan’s and Vivian’s feet. “If they’re just trash,” I said, looking at them both with cold, clear eyes, “then trash is where they belong. Ethan, my things, even destroyed, will never belong to someone else.” I dropped the document on his desk, turned around, and walked out. Behind me, Ethan was shouting something, sharp with fury. Vivian was crying softly. I stepped into the elevator and watched the floor numbers count down. My eyes were empty. I already knew. Whatever had existed between Ethan and me, it was finished.

Natalie Smith POV Back at the apartment, I dragged a large black moving box out of the storage closet. I started packing. Honestly, I didn’t have much that was truly mine. Most of what filled this apartment was the “love” Ethan had furnished it with, gifts I hadn’t asked for, things that had always felt more like his than mine. I opened the desk drawer and found an old tin box. Inside was a thick stack of paper. Bus tickets. From college, the ones Ethan had saved from riding overnight buses to see me on weekends, each trip taking over ten hours. Back then he was barely getting his first company off the ground, so broke he sometimes skipped meals, and yet every dollar he managed to scrape together went toward a bus ticket so he could spend a weekend holding me. I looked at them for a moment. No feeling moved through me. I dropped them in the box. Next, a plain silver ring. The ring Ethan had proposed with. He couldn’t afford a diamond then. He had looked at me with his jaw tight and his eyes a little red and made me a promise. “Natalie, one day when I have the money, I’m going to buy you the biggest diamond in the world and make you the happiest woman alive.” He did eventually buy me diamonds, more than I could count. But the ring I had always treasured most was this worthless little silver band. Still. It didn’t matter anymore. I put the ring in the box. The letters. And the small wooden house he had carved by hand. I let that go too, without hesitating. If I was leaving, I was going to leave clean. No traces of anything left behind. The following morning, I met with a lawyer at a coffee shop. “Ms. Smith, are you certain you want to walk away with nothing?” The lawyer looked up from the divorce agreement I had drafted, clearly struggling to keep the disbelief off her face. “Given Mr. Finch’s current net worth, you would be entitled to an extremely substantial settlement. Even the villa. If you pushed for it, you’d have a real chance of recovering it.” “I don’t want any of it.” I raised my coffee cup and took a small sip. The bitterness spread through my mouth and stayed there. “I don’t want anything that came from him. It would feel dirty.” Not a cent of Ethan’s money. That was the one thing I was sure of. All I wanted now was to cut every last thread connecting me to this man, as fast as possible. “I understand.” The lawyer exhaled and gathered the papers, handing them across the table. “Once Mr. Finch signs, the process can begin.” I took the documents and tucked them carefully into my bag. That evening, Ethan came home early for once. He was holding a box from the bakery I loved most, the one with the dark chocolate layer cake. He had a small, winning smile on his face. “Natalie, I waited in line for two hours for this. Eat it while it’s still fresh.” I sat on the couch and watched him standing there looking like a man trying very hard to be sincere. All I felt was a deep, quiet contempt. Six months ago, that gesture would have undone me completely. I would have thrown my arms around him. Now it just looked like performance. “I’m not hungry,” I said flatly. The smile flickered. He set the box down and came to sit beside me, reaching out to pull me close. “Still upset about yesterday? I promise. Vivian won’t touch any of your things again. Okay?” He looked around and frowned slightly. “The apartment feels emptier than usual. Did you put things away somewhere?” “I threw some things out,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “Things I didn’t need anymore.” “Fine, I’ll have new stuff sent over tomorrow.” He didn’t notice anything was wrong. He just pulled me into his arms, resting his chin against the curve of my neck, his voice dropping low and rough. “Natalie. Stop pulling away from me. Can’t we just go back to how we were?” I lowered my eyes and let nothing show in them. Ethan. We can never go back to how we were. That’s already gone. “Oh, that reminds me.” He pulled back suddenly, like something had just occurred to him. “Tomorrow night is the annual architecture industry charity gala. You’re nominated for Outstanding Young Architect of the Year, right? I’ll come with you.” I paused. I had planned to go alone. It was going to be my last public appearance in New York before I left the country. “You don’t have to. You’re busy.” “I’m never too busy to be there when my wife accepts an award.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead, eyes soft with an emotion that looked almost real. “Tomorrow night, I want all of New York to see how proud I am to call you mine.” I looked at him and said nothing. If Vivian had never come into our lives, I might have believed him when he said things like that. But there was no version of events where she hadn’t.

Natalie Smith POV The night of the charity gala. The whole city dressed up. I wore a deep emerald velvet gown, fitted and tailored, and took Ethan’s arm as we walked the red carpet together. The two of us drew cameras immediately, every photographer on the carpet turning our way. “Mr. Finch, Mrs. Finch, over here!” Ethan moved to shield my eyes from the worst of the flashing lights and murmured close to my ear. “Nervous?” I shook my head. My face was calm. Then, near the far end of the carpet, a commotion broke out. A black Maybach glided to a stop. The door opened. Vivian stepped out in a white haute couture gown covered in hand-sewn stars, looking as if she had been placed there deliberately to make everyone look. But then she seemed to freeze, overwhelmed by the cameras, the crowd, the noise. She stood rooted to the spot like a startled deer, her eyes going red almost instantly. The press swarmed her like sharks that had caught a scent. “Miss Lynn, in what capacity are you attending tonight?” “We’ve heard Mr. Finch gifted you a multi-million dollar villa. Can you describe your relationship with him?” Vivian backed away from them, pale and trembling, tears rolling freely down her face. “Please stop. Please, stop taking pictures of me.” Out on the carpet, Ethan heard the commotion and spun around. The instant he saw Vivian, surrounded, shaking, barely holding herself together, something shifted in his face completely. And then, almost before I could register what was happening, he pulled his arm from mine. I stumbled. The heel of my shoe caught wrong, and I nearly went down right there in front of everyone. Ethan didn’t look at me. He was already moving, pushing through the crowd toward her. “Back off!” He shoved the nearest reporter aside and wrapped himself around Vivian, pulling her tight against him, shielding her completely. “Ethan…” She fisted her hands in his jacket and sobbed against his chest. “I was so scared…” “You’re okay. I’m right here.” He stripped off his dinner jacket and draped it over her shoulders, then swept the assembled press with a look cold enough to cut glass. “Anyone who publishes a single photograph tonight should expect a call from my legal team by morning.” Silence fell over the red carpet. Everyone stared. The heir to one of New York’s most powerful dynasties had just left his wife stranded alone in the middle of the red carpet for another woman. Every eye in the crowd turned to look at me. Sympathy. Mockery. Pure rubbernecking curiosity. I stood where he had left me. The night wind moved across my bare shoulders and cut straight through me. I looked at him, fifteen feet away, wrapped around Vivian as if nothing else in the world existed, and I felt something close to wonder at how absurd this all was. This was what he’d promised me. That all of New York would see how proud he was to call me his wife. I pulled my shoulders back. I did not cry. I did not flinch. I did not let my expression change by a single degree. I ignored every staring face around me, squared my heels, and walked the rest of that carpet, one step at a time, steady and unhurried, with my head held high. Inside the venue, the ceremony began. “And the Outstanding Young Architect of the Year is…Ms. Natalie Smith!” The spotlight found me. I stood, and before I moved, I let my eyes travel to the front row VIP seats. Empty. Ethan hadn’t come inside. He was still out there, somewhere, talking Vivian down from the edge. I walked to the stage at my own pace and accepted the award. “Thank you to the judges for this recognition.” I stood at the microphone, my voice clear and unhurried. “This award closes the chapter on the past three years of my work. It also marks the beginning of something new. Next month, I’ll be moving to Zurich to lead a major international development project. Goodbye, New York.” The applause was immediate and full. And Ethan, who had just finished calming Vivian down and was walking toward the entrance of the hall, heard those last two words. He stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes found me on stage. He looked like he’d been struck.

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I loved Adrian for seven years, and nearly died in the ICU saving him. But to him, I was just a tool for gratitude, while his student, Chloe, was the one who made his heart race. I accidentally overheard him, on our bed, holding Chloe, who was covered in kiss marks: “I only feel responsibility towards Elara. You, Chloe, are the love of my life.” My heart turned to ash. A month before our wedding, I submitted my application for an overseas medical mission. But he chased me to war-torn Mali, his eyes red, saying, “Elara, I can’t live without you.” I ignored him. Danger struck instantly, and he quickly ducked into a nearby building. But Liam Stone, the peacekeeping soldier I’d known for less than a month, rushed out without hesitation, shielding me from a stray bullet with his own body. The bullet grazed his shoulder, splattering blood on my face. I knelt, trying to staunch the bleeding, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold the gauze. Adrian stood in a safe spot, staring blankly at the scene. Afterward, he found me: “Elara, I finally understand… the love I gave you doesn’t even deserve to be called love.” I looked up and smiled at him. It was the first time I’d smiled at him in days. Then I said, “It’s fine. Because I don’t want your love anymore.”

Elara POV I had been in love with Adrian Reed for seven whole years before I finally went from being his assistant to his fiancée. But with only a month left until the wedding, I decided I didn’t want him anymore. “Mr. Thompson, please add me to the overseas medical team list for this mission.” I placed the signed application form on his desk, my voice calm. Behind the computer, Mr. Thompson looked up, his face full of surprise. “Dr. Jenkins, I thought you and Adrian were getting married next month. If you go to Africa now, what about your wedding?” I swallowed the dryness in my throat and forced a small smile. “I’m not marrying him anymore.” “What?” Mr. Thompson was utterly astonished. But I didn’t explain further. “Please add me to the list.” “Years ago, you gave up a chance at a top research lab abroad for Adrian and stayed here. You’re about to become his wife.” Mr. Thompson’s tone was kind. “You should think carefully. It’ll be too late to regret it later.” “I won’t regret it.” Mr. Thompson sighed. “If that’s your decision, I’ll submit your name. But you’re part of Adrian’s team. Remember to inform him before you leave.” I acknowledged him and left the Dean’s office. As I walked towards the elevator, I heard a few colleagues excitedly chatting together. “Look! Professor Reed and Chloe Davis are on an academic journal cover again!” “They look so good together. I heard Professor Reed personally mentored her on that paper.” “Professor Reed is usually so serious, but he actually guides her hand-in-hand? He’s really different with Chloe.” “I think the famous ‘Ice King’ professor has finally been melted by Chloe, his little ray of sunshine.” The snippets of conversation drifted over. I didn’t stop walking, but my fingertips curled into my palms, and I gave a self-mocking smile. The entire department was buzzing about how well Professor Reed and his student matched. And I, his fiancée, was like a ghost. Few people knew how much I’d sacrificed for Adrian. I graduated among the top three students in my program, and a medical paper I wrote caused a stir in the field, earning me an invitation from a prestigious pharmaceutical research lab in Switzerland. But I turned down that dream opportunity, staying at the medical school to become an obscure assistant in Adrian’s team. Adrian was the youngest professor at the medical school, academically rigorous, and naturally aloof and reserved, often seeming cold because he rarely smiled. It took me seven years to make him accustomed to my presence. I organized his documents, reminded him to eat on time, brought him warm oat milk when he had stomach pains, and packed all his travel essentials for him. I managed his work schedule and daily life with meticulous care. Initially, I thought an insurmountable chasm separated us, and I would forever be relegated to admiring him as a subordinate, a colleague. Then the lab accident happened six months ago. A chemical spill occurred. Only I rushed in to push Adrian out of the way, and I inhaled a large amount of toxic gas trying to save his research findings. I spent five days in the ICU with severe lung burns, nearly not waking up. When I finally regained consciousness, Adrian was unusually sitting by my bedside. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, and his voice was low as he asked, “Why did you risk your life to save those research findings?” Lying in the hospital bed, I gave a half-truthful answer. “I just didn’t want your hard work to go to waste.” “Elara, I want the truth.” He gazed at me with deep eyes, and that’s when I finally mustered the courage to voice the love buried deep in my heart. “Those were truths, but more importantly, it’s because… I love you, Adrian.” When my words fell, he watched me for a long time, then finally said, “When you’re better, I’ll take you to meet my parents.” At that moment, I thought he, this towering figure, had finally responded to me. My seven-year-long unrequited love finally had a result, and my heart soared with happiness. We became official and quickly set a wedding date. After we got together, Adrian treated me uniquely enough. He, who never celebrated any holidays, remembered only my birthday; he, who never gave gifts to anyone, would send me flowers; he, who detested dealing with people, would patiently entertain my difficult family. However, he still wasn’t comfortable with people getting too close. So, between us, even common displays of affection like holding hands or hugging were rare. I thought it was due to his naturally reserved personality. If it weren’t for Chloe’s appearance, I might have continued to believe I truly held a place in his heart. I returned to the research building and saw the lab lights still on from a distance. As I reached the lab door, my hand on the doorknob, voices drifted out. “Adrian, everyone in the department is talking about you and Chloe right now,” Dr. Sarah Miller, a colleague from our team, said. “Everyone saw that academic journal cover; they’re saying you two look really good together.” I paused outside the door. “They don’t know that you and Elara are engaged. I think you should find a time to explain things to Elara, so she doesn’t misunderstand anything.” “No need,” Adrian’s steady voice replied. “Chloe is my student. It’s perfectly normal for me to mentor her on papers and appear on journals together. Elara will understand.” His tone was so matter-of-fact, as if “understanding” was my obligation. Dr. Miller couldn’t help but sound curious. “All these years, countless women have confessed their feelings for you, but no one ever made your heart race. Yet, six months ago, you suddenly got together with Elara. Be honest, is it because you like her, or for some other reason?” Adrian was silent for a moment, then spoke in a complicated tone, “Six months ago, during that lab accident, she rushed in to save me, and she nearly died trying to salvage my research findings. I didn’t know how to repay her.” “So you decided to marry Elara… as a way to repay a debt?”

Elara POV Their conversation made my heart clench. Then, I heard Adrian slowly say, “Since she loves me, marrying her is the best way I can repay her.” A dull ache squeezed my chest, as if something was blocking my breath. Turns out, he, this towering figure, had never truly responded to me. He was with me only out of obligation. “What about Chloe?” Dr. Miller’s probing voice came again. “You’ve never taken on students all these years, but you made her your student, showing her the most special attention and care. Do you… do you like her?” This time, Adrian didn’t answer because his phone rang. “Chloe?” Adrian answered the call. I don’t know what Chloe said on the other end, but his tone shifted slightly. “Don’t be nervous. Just stay where you are and wait for me. I’ll be right there!” He hurried out of the lab, comforting Chloe on the phone, not even noticing when his shoulder bumped into me by the door. I stumbled two steps before steadying myself, turning to watch his tall back disappear without a glance. My chest was filled with an unspeakable mockery and sharp pain. My fiancé was tense and concerned about his student, completely oblivious to my presence. All of this was simply because he didn’t love me. The one who could make his heart race was Chloe, bright as the midday sun. Chloe was the daughter of Adrian’s former mentor and now his graduate student, having joined his university three months ago. She was like the wind through the mountains, vibrant, reckless, and uninhibited. She would directly snatch the pen from Adrian’s hand and scribble all over his papers; she’d offer him a bite of her apple, insisting he try it; she’d even creep up and whack him hard on the back when he was deep in thought, then laugh wildly at his startled reaction. And Adrian, from the initial stiffness at her touch, grew increasingly lenient with her boundary-crossing closeness. He tolerated her messing up his neat and tidy desk; he’d accept a sip from her coffee; and when she laughed happily, his eyes would show a glint of indulgent affection. Just last night, I even saw it with my own eyes. Chloe suddenly stood on her tiptoes in the lab and kissed Adrian’s cheek. Adrian, who would instinctively recoil if I got within three feet of him; Adrian, who, after six months of dating, had only held my hand or hugged me a handful of times, only froze for a moment. Then, his ears flushed, and he didn’t pull away from Chloe. I used to think his discomfort with closeness was just his naturally aloof and introverted personality. It was only then that I realized Adrian, when his heart was truly stirred, would also act clumsy like any other man, he’d blush, his heart would race, and all his principles would vanish. If that’s the case, why should I continue to hold the title of his fiancée? I had intended to tell Adrian about my plan to go to Africa, but I waited in the lab all day, and he never returned that evening. Finally, I couldn’t help but call him. “Elara?” The phone rang for a long time before he picked up, Adrian’s deep voice greeting me. I held my phone. “When are you coming back to the lab? I have something to tell you.” “If it’s not super important, let’s talk tomorrow.” I felt what I had to say was important. After all, I was canceling our wedding and setting him free. But before I could speak, he continued in a soft, gentle voice, “Chloe had an accident. Her car collided with another, she was shaken up, and the other party wanted to press charges. I’m still talking to the cops with her.” As soon as he finished speaking, Chloe’s curious voice came from nearby, “Adrian, who is it?” Adrian seemed to muffle the receiver, his voice softer. But I still heard him say, “It’s nothing, just a colleague calling about work.”

Elara POV “That’s it for now. We can talk tomorrow if anything comes up.” A dial tone sounded, Adrian had already hung up. I held my phone, listening to the tone, and after a long moment, gave a self-mocking smile. “Colleague…” I, his fiancée, was merely a “colleague” in his words. Putting away my phone, I left the lab and took a cab back to the single-family house in West New York. Adrian had bought this house as our marital home, but I had handled all the renovations and furniture selection by myself. From the overall style to the tiniest details like a lamp’s color temperature or the placement of a houseplant, I had arranged everything, carefully considering his preferences. But Adrian had never paid attention to any of it. Even after six months of being together and living under the same roof, we still slept in separate rooms. He once explained, “I’m a light sleeper and not used to having someone beside me. Besides, we’re not married yet, so it wouldn’t be appropriate to share a bedroom.” Back then, I thought he was conservative and didn’t want to cross any boundaries before marriage. Now, I realized it was simply because he didn’t love me. I went into the bedroom and pulled out my suitcase, packing all my personal belongings. I hadn’t lived here long, so I had surprisingly few things. A 24-inch suitcase was more than enough. Then, dragging my suitcase, I returned to my parents’ house. I opened the door with my key. The TV was on in the living room, blaring a noisy reality show. My father, Robert Jenkins, was sprawled on the couch, watching, while my mother, Carol, was carefully feeding slices of apple to my brother, Kevin. Hearing the noise, the three of them looked over. Robert was the first to frown. “Why are you back? And dragging a suitcase?” I leaned the suitcase against the wall, took off my shoes, my voice devoid of emotion. “This is my home, can’t I come back?” Robert sat up, scrutinizing me. “Did you and Adrian have a fight?” “No.” “No fight, yet you’re dragging a suitcase back home?” Robert’s tone sharpened. “Does Adrian know?” I bent down, took my water bottle from the suitcase’s side pocket, and walked towards the kitchen to get water, my back to them. “Whether he knows or not doesn’t matter, because I’ve decided to call off the engagement.” “What?!” Robert shot up from the couch. “Call off the engagement? Did Adrian back out? How dare he! You nearly lost your life for him, and now, after agreeing to marry you just a few days ago, he dares to back out? That ungrateful jerk! I’m going to find him!” He started to rush out. “Dad!” I turned and stopped him, hot water splashing onto my hand, a slight sting. “I’m the one calling off the engagement, not him.” “What did you say? Say that again!” “I said, I’m the one who wants to cancel the engagement. I don’t want to marry him anymore.” “Are you out of your mind?” Robert’s fury instantly shifted, his finger practically poking my nose. “Adrian has such great prospects. He’s a brilliant young professor from a well-respected family, and so many people want to marry him. You’re actually giving him up? Are you crazy?” Carol also put down the fruit plate and walked over. “Elara, don’t be so impulsive and headstrong.” Kevin sneered, “Elara, you’re really reckless. A man as handsome, wealthy, and respected as Adrian, do you know how many women are chasing him? You’re lucky to marry him. So don’t be so willful. Hurry back and apologize to Adrian.” Robert even directly threw my suitcase out and kicked me out of the house. “I’m telling you, you will marry him! Go back right now, and don’t you dare abandon your wedding! Otherwise, you’ll never step foot in this house again!” The door slammed shut in front of me, making my eardrums throb. No one asked why, no one cared if I was hurting. There was only panic over potentially losing money and accusations that I was “misbehaving.” I stood there, staring at the closed door of my home, closed my eyes, and forcefully suppressed the emotions welling up inside me. It had always been like this since childhood. My parents didn’t like me. Not only did they make me tolerate my brother in everything, but they also gave him all the best things. If Kevin scraped his knee, they were heartbroken; when I had an appendectomy at twelve, they left me alone in the hospital. He did poorly in school, always at the bottom of his class, and they gently coaxed him; I graduated among the top three in my program, and they ignored it. In this family, I was always an expendable character. If Adrian hadn’t said he would marry me, perhaps if I had died in that lab accident, they might not have even looked at me once. And now that I was canceling the engagement with Adrian, I didn’t even have the right to enter this house. The world was so vast, yet there was no place for me.

Elara POV Dragging my suitcase, I left the Jenkins’ house. With nowhere to go, I took out my phone and booked the cheapest single room at a chain hotel. Throughout my years of working, my family frequently asked me for money, and furnishing the new house had also cost a lot. My savings were alarmingly low. Fortunately, the departure date for my overseas mission was soon, so I wouldn’t be in this city for many days. The cheap motel room was small and damp, and the sheets had a faint musty smell. I lay down without taking off my clothes, staring at a dark water stain on the ceiling, only finding a little sleep past midnight. The next morning, I was woken by my phone ringing. “Adrian” flashed on the screen. I stared at it for a few seconds before answering. “Elara.” His voice was a little hoarse. “My stomach’s not feeling well. When you come to the lab later, could you bring me some oat milk?” I was silent. “Elara?” I mumbled a reply. I had originally wanted to refuse, but the words caught in my throat. Some things needed to be said face-to-face. After hanging up, I got up, washed, put on a simple shirt and trousers, and headed out. Arriving at the lab building, I pushed open the door. Adrian was sitting at his desk, his fingers pressed against his stomach, eyebrows slightly furrowed, an aura of cold detachment about him. Hearing the sound, he looked up. “You’re here.” I walked over and placed the paper bag containing the milk on his desk. “Here.” Adrian opened it and took a sip, then frowned. “This oat milk… the taste is different from what you used to bring.” I said nothing. Of course, it was different. Knowing he was particular, every oat milk I brought him before, I made myself. This one, however, I’d simply picked up on the way. Adrian took a few more forced sips, but ultimately had no appetite and pushed the milk aside. “You called me yesterday, did you need something?” He looked up at me, his tone flat. “At the time, Chloe had an accident, and the other party was very insistent. I couldn’t really focus on anything else.” My heart felt a light prick, like a fine needle. Yes, he couldn’t focus on anything else. Chloe’s matters were always paramount, and I, his fiancée, was perpetually relegated to the “other” category. “Nothing special,” I said, looking down, my voice flat. “I just wanted to tell you that I’ve already handed over all my ongoing work to my colleagues yesterday. I won’t be coming to the lab anymore.” Adrian looked at my face. “Our wedding is less than a month away. If you’re thinking of quitting to be a stay-at-home wife, that’s fine. I’ll cover all your living expenses.” He paused, then added, “However, I suggest you still have your own career. If you sit around all day doing nothing, it’ll cause problems for your health.” Listening to him, that self-mocking chill spread through me, little by little. He wanted me to have my own career, not because he respected my abilities or admired me, but simply because he thought I’d get unhealthy if I stayed home. Perhaps it was because he didn’t love me. That’s why he hadn’t noticed I’d already moved out of our new house. That’s why he couldn’t see that I was once a top student, that my thesis had made waves in the academic world, that I could have had a much broader future. Thinking this, it seemed there wasn’t much difference between how he and my parents treated me. “I’m not quitting to be your wife,” I met his gaze, speaking calmly and evenly. “On the contrary, Adrian, I no longer want to marry you. So let’s call off the engagement…” “Adrian!” The door was suddenly pushed open, and a cheerful figure ran in. Chloe came to Adrian’s side in a few steps, naturally linking her arm through his, her face upturned, a radiant smile on her face. “Thank you so much for yesterday! If it weren’t for you, facing those aggressive people, I would have been scared senseless and wouldn’t have known what to do.” She was intimate and warm, practically pressed against him. Adrian’s body stiffened for a moment, and he instinctively looked up at me, meeting my calm, unruffled gaze. His expression became a little unnatural. He cleared his throat twice, pulling his arm out of Chloe’s embrace, his voice holding an almost imperceptible hint of indulgence and affection. “Chloe, in here, I’m your mentor. You should watch your behavior.” Chloe stuck out her tongue, playfully shaking his sleeve. “Alright, alright, respected Professor Reed!” She let go but leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling. “To thank my esteemed mentor for his help yesterday, I’ve booked a private room tonight. You absolutely have to come!” Then, as if just noticing me standing nearby, she turned, her smile bright, and invited, “Dr. Jenkins, you should come too! The more, the merrier!”

Elara POV “You two go.” I didn’t want to make myself unhappy, so I declined Chloe’s invitation. “I have plans tonight and can’t make it.” “Oh, Dr. Jenkins, don’t be such a buzzkill!” Chloe seemed oblivious to my aloofness. She came over in a few steps, intimately grabbed my arm, and shook it, her actions full of enthusiasm. “I’ve already told everyone else in the lab, and they’ve all agreed! You’re the only one left!” I frowned, wanting to pull my hand away. I disliked such overly familiar physical contact, especially from Chloe. Adrian suddenly spoke in a steady voice, “Since Chloe invited everyone, you should go too.” I looked up at him. I remembered he always hated attending such events. He thought such gatherings were a pure waste of time, utterly meaningless. That’s why, for my birthday, when I invited everyone from the lab to dinner, he only sent me a message and had a bouquet of flowers delivered, never showing up himself. At the time, I thought it was just his personality, so even though I felt a little lost and sad, I quickly understood. But now, he was so quick to agree to Chloe’s invitation. The contrast was truly stark. I didn’t refuse again, deciding it would be my last gathering with colleagues before I left. That evening, when my colleagues and I arrived at the private room, we found a row of unfamiliar young people already seated, chatting and laughing loudly. Seeing us enter, Chloe immediately stood up from the crowd and greeted us with a smile, “You’re here! Come in and sit down!” She warmly linked her arm through Adrian’s, leading him towards the main seat, while introducing him to the others. “These are all my dad’s former students, Adrian’s classmates. We’re all familiar faces, so no need to be shy!” Adrian’s classmates immediately gathered around, slapping his back and exchanging pleasantries. “Adrian, you finally showed up!” “Exactly! You never come to our gatherings; you only have eyes for your research papers and new drug development. It’s only because Chloe personally invited you today that you’re willing to come!” Adrian was pulled by his classmates to sit with them. After greeting the lab colleagues, Chloe turned and sat next to Adrian. The private room quickly became lively. Some were singing, some were drinking, others were chatting and playing games together. During a brief lull, I heard someone from Adrian’s group laughing, “Our professor’s best student back then was Adrian, and now Chloe is Adrian’s student. This connection is practically divine!” This immediately drew a chorus of agreement. “Our professor had his eye on Adrian for a long time. He told me several times privately that he wanted Adrian and Chloe to get married!” “Oh, isn’t it obvious? Everyone can see how different Adrian is with Chloe, and Chloe is clearly in love with Adrian. They’re such a perfect match and clearly like each other; I’m sure they’ll end up together!” Chloe shot them a look. “What are you talking about? Adrian and I are just mentor and student now, not the kind of relationship you’re thinking of!” “Oh, she’s shy!” Everyone laughed. “Your face is all red, and you still say no? Chloe, you’re not being honest!” “Exactly! It’s only a matter of time!” Another classmate poured two full glasses of alcohol and handed them to Adrian and Chloe. “Come on! Since everyone’s happy today and we’ve set the mood perfectly, make it official and announce your relationship! What do you say, everyone?” “Yes!” The private room erupted in boisterous applause. The female colleague next to me frowned. “Elara, wasn’t Professor Reed engaged to you? What is this… why isn’t Professor Reed explaining anything?” My throat tightened, and I managed a strained smile, but didn’t know how to answer. My colleague couldn’t stand it. “This isn’t right. I’m going to tell them.” “No need, Ms. Taylor.” I quickly stopped her. Since Adrian didn’t want to publicize our relationship and permitted such misunderstandings, why should I humiliate myself? Besides, our engagement was already off. The others continued to egg them on, Chloe blushing and playing coy, and Adrian was clearly finding it hard to resist their enthusiasm. I didn’t want to watch anymore, to spare myself further unhappiness, so I put down my juice glass. “Ms. Taylor, I’m going to the restroom.”

Elara POV I stayed in the restroom for nearly twenty minutes. Finally, I turned on the faucet, splashed cold water on my face, and felt some of the dull ache in my heart dissipate before pushing the door open. Just as I exited the restroom, I saw Adrian’s tall, slender frame standing outside the door. He looked up at me. “Why were you in the restroom for almost half an hour?” My footsteps faltered slightly, and I casually replied, “My stomach was a little upset.” “Is it serious?” He frowned slightly. “Nothing major.” I didn’t want to dwell on the topic, so I changed the subject. “Were you waiting for me here? Do you need something?” Adrian stood with his hands in his pockets. “You’ve been out of the room for so long, I was a little worried, so I came to check.” I pursed my lips and nodded. “Let’s go, I’ll take you home.” I was a little surprised. “We’re leaving just like that?” “Isn’t your stomach upset?” he asked flatly. “Do you want to stay here?” I certainly didn’t want to stay. I thought for a moment and said, “It’s rare for you to gather with your classmates. You can stay longer. I’ll just take a cab back by myself.” Adrian looked at me with a puzzled expression for a long time but didn’t ask anything further. He suddenly spoke. “Everything they said just now was a joke. You don’t need to take it seriously.” I was surprised, startled. He… was he explaining himself to me? Seeing that I remained silent, Adrian gestured again. “Let’s go, we’re heading back.” He turned and walked ahead, his back straight and distant. I followed behind him, watching his retreating figure. In that moment, a feeling stirred within my heart. Perhaps he actually cared about me. But that thought didn’t last long. Less than five minutes later, reality told me it was just my imagination. Adrian pulled his car up to me and lowered the window, signaling me to get in. Just as I reached for the passenger door, a petite figure darted forward and opened it first. “Adrian!” Chloe, grinning, slid into the passenger seat and buckled up. “I’m heading back too. Can you drop me off?” Then she gave me an apologetic smile. “Dr. Jenkins, I’m sorry, but I’ve had a bit to drink and feel dizzy. I want to sit in the front. Is it okay if you sit in the back?” I looked at her, then at Adrian in the driver’s seat. Adrian remained silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. As the car owner, he showed no intention of telling Chloe to sit in the back. If I spoke up, I’d be the one seeming out of line. So, without a word, I turned and opened the back door. The car’s interior was filled with a faint woodsy scent, Adrian’s usual car air freshener. Chloe chattered non-stop as soon as she got in, making the atmosphere very lively. “Adrian, I’m so happy you came today!” “Oh, right, remember that Michelin-starred restaurant we went to last time? I went again by myself, and their new dish was absolutely delicious! Next time, you have to try it with me!” “My dad asked me yesterday if you had some free time soon. He wants to invite you over for dinner and maybe show you his art collection…” She spoke of topics exclusively theirs, ones I couldn’t enter. Adrian didn’t say much, but he responded to every one of her statements, his tone unusually gentle. I simply turned my head to gaze at the rapidly receding night view outside the window, pretending I wasn’t there. As the car drove steadily, suddenly, a dark shadow darted out from the roadside bushes. “Look out!” Adrian sharply swerved the wheel, trying to avoid it, but the car crashed violently into the roadside barrier. With a loud bang, the immense impact threw all three of us forward. In a flash, I saw Adrian instinctively reach out to shield Chloe, pulling her into his arms. “Ah!” Chloe screamed, curling up in his embrace. “Adrian! I’m so scared…” “It’s okay, don’t be afraid,” Adrian whispered, patting her back. “We just hit the barrier; the car has stopped. Are you hurt?” “I don’t know. I’m just so scared.” Chloe sobbed, her face buried in his chest. Adrian comforted her for a few more moments. Once Chloe’s emotions had stabilized, he finally remembered there was someone in the back seat. He turned his head, glancing at me in the back, about to ask if I was okay. But in the next second, his pupils suddenly constricted. Blood was gushing from my forehead, winding down my cheek and staining my pale face. I sat there quietly. No screaming, no crying, not even a whimper of pain. “Elara!”

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“Go ahead.” Liam stood by the operating table, his thin lips parting to utter those two words. His gaze was tender as the spring breeze, as if the blood-stained wedding dress I wore was a bridal gown for a wedding night, not a burial shroud. I opened my eyes and looked at the foster parents behind him—they were gathered around Violet’s hospital bed, faces full of affection, not even sparing me a glance. “Mr. Liam,” I smiled, shaking the vial in my hand, “this poison—did you prepare it for me, or should I give it to Violet?” The scalpel froze in mid-air. The doctor turned to stone. Liam’s pupils contracted sharply. “What are you trying to do?” “Nothing much.” I reached into the folds of my wedding dress and pulled out my phone, pressing play— From the speaker came Violet’s icy voice: “Vivian, as long as you die in that car accident, Liam will be mine and mine alone.” When Liam handed me that glass of wine, his eyes were soft enough to drown me in. Our wedding night. The room warm and intimate. In my past life, I would have blushed and thought this was the beginning of something beautiful. But now, all I felt was my stomach turning inside out. “Vivian,” he murmured, “once we drink this together, we’ll truly be husband and wife.” His voice was low and smooth, fingers tracing the rim of the glass, knuckles faintly white from the grip. He was nervous. The man who ran the entire Hargrove Group — nervous, on a night that was supposed to be something else entirely. I took the glass from him. Through the amber liquid, I studied that impossibly handsome face. God, he really was beautiful. Too bad it was just a mask. “Alright,” I said. I tilted my head back and drank it all in one go. The liquor burned down my throat, carrying a faint, almost imperceptible bitterness — like crushed almonds. Liam watched my throat move as I swallowed. His own throat shifted. Something close to frantic relief flickered in his eyes. He thought it was almost over. What he didn’t know was that it was only just beginning. The drug worked fast. Not even three minutes later, the glass slipped from my fingers and hit the thick carpet with a dull thud. My body went boneless and I fell backward. Liam caught me before I hit the ground. Reflexes like a predator. No panic. No calls for help. He simply gathered me up in his arms, his movements gentle — but carrying the stillness of something already dead. I lay limp against his chest. My eyelids were heavy, but my mind was terrifyingly clear. This is exactly how it happened last time. This is how he carried me into hell. He told me it was for love. For his “true love” — the woman who had spent three years lying in a hospital bed, brain-dead. My sister, Violet. He needed my heart as the key. My life in exchange for hers. “Don’t be afraid, Vivian.” He carried me through the lavish bridal suite, walking straight past the bed scattered with rose petals, heading directly to the walk-in closet. A faint mechanical hum, and the wall behind the full-length mirror slid open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into cold darkness. Frigid air rushed up to meet us, carrying the smell of antiseptic and something rotting underneath. “It won’t hurt for long.” He whispered it against my ear, the way you’d soothe a child throwing a tantrum. “Violet has waited too long. She can’t wait anymore.” Listen to that. How devoted. Willing to deliver his new bride to the altar on their wedding night, all for the sake of the woman he actually loved. I lay there with my eyes shut, and in the dark, the corner of my mouth curled into something sharp. Liam, you planned everything so carefully. You only missed one thing. I came back too. And I didn’t crawl back from hell to forgive anyone. The staircase was long, as if it led somewhere without a bottom. Liam’s footsteps echoed through the hollow corridor, each one landing somewhere tender inside me. Only this time, it wasn’t my heart fluttering. It was something closer to a slow, deliberate cut. Finally, light. Not warm light. The cold, flat white of surgical lamps. I was laid flat on a metal table. The chill seeped through my thin wedding dress and settled in my bones, raising goosebumps across my skin. But I couldn’t move. Not yet. For now, I still had to play the lamb. “Mr. Hargrove, the equipment’s calibrated.” A man in a white coat approached, his voice as flat as a readout. “Ms. Violet’s vitals are stable. Conditions are ideal for… extraction.” Extraction. Such a clean word for it. What it actually meant was cutting out my heart while I was still alive and draining me dry. Liam stood over me, looking down. His hand came up to brush my cheek, and his fingertips were ice cold. “Don’t blame me, Vivian.” “You had twenty-two years of the life that was meant for Violet. You enjoyed everything that should have been hers. Now it’s time to pay it back.” Pay it back? I laughed internally. The Hargrove family didn’t take me in out of charity. They took me in because Violet had been sick since childhood and needed someone on standby — a living spare parts kit, available whenever she needed blood or an organ. They gave me a comfortable life. They also took my dignity and my freedom. Now they wanted my life too. “Begin,” Liam said. He turned away from me and looked toward the sterile bed in the corner, surrounded by a constellation of machines. A woman lay there. Violet. The woman everyone adored, who had a heart full of poison. She slept peacefully. Like an angel. If you didn’t look too closely at the small mole beneath her eye — the one that had grown sharper and more cruel with years of jealousy. I felt the cold needle slide into my vein. My blood began to leave me. My body grew colder by degrees. Liam, since you want so badly to save her. Let me give you both a gift.

The door to the basement opened again. The heavy hydraulic seal let out a grinding shriek. Two familiar figures walked in. My adoptive parents. Arthur and Helena Hargrove. If Liam was the butcher holding the knife, they were the ones who handed it to him. In my past life, lying here half-dead, I had imagined them bursting through that door to save me. After all, I had called them Mom and Dad for twenty-two years. Even a dog, after twenty-two years, earns some loyalty. But as it turned out, when blood and money were on the table, twenty-two years of living together didn’t amount to a damn thing. “Liam, how’s it going?” Helena walked in and her gaze slid right past me, locked onto Violet across the room. Her eyes were full of fear and desperate love. Pure mother’s instinct. Just not for me. It had never been for me. “Everything’s on track.” Liam’s voice carried no emotion. “As long as the procedure completes tonight, Violet will wake up tomorrow.” “Thank God, thank God!” Arthur pressed his hands together, tears running down his face. “My baby girl is finally going to be okay.” They crowded around Violet’s bed, speaking softly to her, fussing over a woman who hadn’t responded to anything in three years. As for me? I was a used-up trash bag, discarded a few feet away on a cold metal slab. “Oh — and, um…” Helena seemed to suddenly remember there was another person in the room. She glanced back at me, her expression slightly uncomfortable. “Vivian didn’t… suffer, did she?” Liam glanced at me. “She’s under sedation. She can’t feel anything.” “Oh, that’s a relief. That’s good.” Helena patted her chest, wearing the expression of a woman who considered herself compassionate. “She may not be my biological daughter, but we raised her all these years. It’s only right she goes peacefully. We owe her that much, at least.” Owe her that much. I almost laughed out loud. You’re feeding me alive to your real daughter, and you’re framing it as honoring our bond. That’s old money for you. Devour people whole and arrange the bones into something that looks like virtue. “Enough sentiment.” Arthur made a dismissive sound and stepped in front of me, hands clasped behind his back. He looked down at me — unable to move, unable to speak — with no trace of pity. Only revulsion. “She took Violet’s place and let Violet suffer out there for years. And then she caused the accident that put Violet in that bed. She’s owed Violet her life from the start.” “She’s only giving back what was never hers.” The accident. That accident again. Three years ago, Violet and I were in a car crash together. I walked away with minor injuries. Violet was left in a coma. Everyone said I had done it out of jealousy. That I had deliberately caused the crash to kill the real daughter. No security footage. No witnesses. Only the words Violet had spoken as she lost consciousness: “Why are you trying to kill me?” That one sentence was my death sentence. No matter how I explained myself. No matter how I cried and begged. No one believed me. Not Liam. Not my parents. Not anyone. I lay there and listened to Arthur list my crimes. Stealing Violet’s doll in elementary school. Stealing her spotlight in middle school. Stealing her man in college. As if I had ever stolen anything. The doll was something Violet had thrown away and didn’t want anymore. The grades I earned were mine because I worked for them. And as for the man — Liam had never been Violet’s to begin with. Our engagement was arranged by our families before Violet was even found. But the way they told it, I was the thief. The villain. The one who took everything. “That’s enough.” Liam cut Arthur off, something impatient in his voice. “Please, both of you — go wait outside the marked area. Don’t disturb the doctors.” Arthur and Helena nodded and stepped back behind the line. They watched me. Their eyes were hungry. Not for me. For what was about to flow out of me — whatever force they believed could pull their precious daughter back to life. The surgical lights were turned up. The white glare cut straight into my eyes. The doctor lifted a scalpel, its edge catching the light, and began moving toward me. Liam stood to the side, hands behind his back. Cold. Judicial. “Proceed.” The word barely left his lips. The doctor nodded. The blade hovered above my chest. One inch. Half an inch. Just as the cold edge was about to touch my skin — I opened my eyes. No confusion. No fear. Just a deep, absolute darkness — the same kind that had settled into every corner of this basement. I turned my head. I looked at Arthur and Helena, who were bracing themselves to watch the sacrifice. And I smiled at them. Bright and open and deeply wrong. “Mom, Dad — so eager to send me off?”

“Ahh—!” Helena let out a short, piercing shriek, like something small being strangled. She pointed at me with a trembling finger, her hand shaking so hard she could barely hold it up. “She’s — she’s awake?!” The scalpel hit the floor with a clang. The doctor scrambled backward and collapsed onto the floor, face drained of all color. By all rights, with the dosage they’d given me, I should barely have been breathing. Speaking was supposed to be impossible. Liam reacted fastest. His pupils contracted. He stepped forward sharply, eyes locked on me. “How are you awake?” There was something in his voice he couldn’t quite hide. Not fear. Control slipping. He was the kind of man who needed to own every situation. Anything that deviated from his plan made him furious. I sat up on the metal table. Unhurried. I rolled my wrists where they’d gone stiff and pulled the IV needle out of my arm. Blood welled from the puncture and dripped from my fingers, blooming across the white of my wedding dress in a scattered pattern of dark red. Beautiful, in the most unsettling way. “Nice vintage, Liam. Too bad I can hold my liquor.” I tilted my head and reached into the layered skirt of my dress, pulling out a small glass vial. Clear liquid shifted inside it. It was what I’d managed to quietly spit back out from the drugged wine he’d given me — combined with something I’d prepared in advance. “Dr. Sullivan.” I looked at the doctor crumpled on the floor and smiled pleasantly. “If I were to put the contents of this vial into Violet’s IV line, do you think she’d wake up — or stay asleep forever?” Dr. Sullivan broke into a cold sweat on the spot. He was a specialist. He knew exactly what had been in that wine. High-concentration neurotoxin. Enough to drop a horse in seconds. More than enough to kill a woman who’d been lying in a coma for three years. “Don’t you dare—!” Liam’s voice cracked across the room and he lunged forward. “Don’t move.” I raised the vial. My other hand had somehow found a scalpel, and it was now pressed against my own carotid. “Take one more step and I drink this. Or I open the artery myself.” I watched him and let the smile widen. “If my blood drains out, or if it’s contaminated — there’s no saving Violet. Is there?” Liam froze. He was stuck, and he knew it. He loved Violet too much to risk a fraction of a percent. That love was his leash. And it was the sharpest weapon I had. “Vivian, have you lost your mind?!” Arthur’s voice came out as a shout, finally catching up to what was happening. “That’s your sister! How can you be so cruel?!” “Cruel?” Something in the word made me want to laugh. I did laugh, a little. My eyes went wet at the corners. “Dad, can you really say that with a straight face?” “You were about to cut me open alive to harvest my organs for her — and that’s love? That’s family?” “I defend myself, and I’m the monster?” “Interesting moral compass you’ve got there.” I slid off the table. My bare feet met the cold floor. With every step I took forward, Arthur and Helena took one back. They were afraid of me. And they should have been. Hair loose, dress bloodied, a lethal toxin in one hand and a blade at my own throat. I looked like something that had clawed its way back from somewhere no one was supposed to return from. I stopped at Violet’s bedside. Every muscle in Liam’s body went rigid. Like a big cat a second before it strikes. “Vivian. Put it down.” He drew a slow breath, reaching for that commanding softness he always used to manage people. “Tell me what you want. Money? Shares in the company? Your freedom? Put down the knife and I’ll give you anything.” “What do I want?” I tilted my head. My free hand drifted lightly across Violet’s pale cheek. Her skin was smooth. Like fine porcelain. “Liam, do you really think I care about any of that right now?” “I’m supposed to be dying. What would I spend money on in the afterlife?” I turned and looked at Arthur and Helena dead-on. “I want to play a game.” “A game?” Arthur blinked. “A game.” I pulled a chair to Violet’s bedside, dropped into it like I owned the place, and turned the vial over slowly in my fingers. “From now until sunrise. A few hours. I want to hear some stories.” “What kind of stories?” Helena’s voice barely came out. “Stories about Violet.” I pointed at the woman still sleeping in the bed. “I want you to tell me, out loud, every terrible thing this perfect Hargrove daughter has ever done. Start to finish. No gaps. No lies.” “And if I’m not satisfied — or if I get bored—” I swung the vial toward Violet’s IV line and let it hang there. “—I’ll let her have a drink.” Silence. The basement went absolutely still. Arthur and Helena exchanged a look, faces gone the color of old ash. They wanted them to expose their daughter themselves? Dismantle the image they’d spent a lifetime building? Worse than killing them. But if they refused, Violet was genuinely dead. “Nothing to say?” I raised an eyebrow. “Need me to start?” “I’ll give you an example.” “Five years ago. The girl from Violet’s middle school who jumped off the roof. Was that really about academic pressure?” My gaze settled on Helena. Quiet as a blade lying flat. “Mom. You went to the school personally to handle the fallout. How much did it cost? Two hundred thousand? More?” Helena’s knees buckled. She grabbed the wall to keep from going down. She stared at me like I was something that shouldn’t exist. “How — how do you know about that?”

Helena’s defenses crumbled faster than I expected. That secret was the Hargrove family’s deepest buried thing. When Violet transferred back to the school that year, she had developed an interest in a boy from a lower-income family. The boy liked the class president instead. So Violet spent six months making that girl’s life a living nightmare. Rumors. Isolation. Shredded homework. Chalk dust poured into her water bottle. In the end, the class president — a girl named Maya — stepped off the roof of the school building. The Hargrove family paid an enormous sum to have it buried. The official story became “suicide due to depression.” It was the first blood on Violet’s hands. The beginning of a long and well-hidden pattern. “Keep going,” I said, my voice as soft as if I were coaxing someone to sleep. “Mom, is your memory slipping? Want me to fill in the details? Like the threatening note Maya was holding when they found her — written in Violet’s handwriting?” Helena’s lips trembled. Her eyes kept darting to Liam. Liam stood with his brow furrowed, his expression dark enough to cast shadows. The look he turned toward Violet was different now. Something in it had cracked. In his mind, Violet had always been a white lily. The kind of person who cried over a crushed flower. Bullying? Driving a classmate to her death? Those were two entirely different people. “That — that was a misunderstanding!” Helena was still trying. “That girl was fragile to begin with! Violet was just joking around, she didn’t mean—” “Joking.” I cut her off with a flat laugh. “Stripping someone and posting the photos to the school’s internal network was a joke?” “Forcing someone to eat bread they’d dunked in toilet water — that was a joke?” “Enough.” Liam’s voice came out rough. He looked at Helena, his eyes sharp. “Is what she’s saying true?” Helena flinched under his gaze and couldn’t form words. Silence was its own kind of answer. Liam unclenched his fist. Then clenched it again. He looked at me, and something complicated moved across his face. “Why are you doing this?” “Because I want you to see what she actually is. The person you’ve been risking everything for.” I shrugged, all innocence. “Liam — do you love Violet? Or do you love the version of her you invented?” “Continue.” I looked at Arthur, chin slightly lifted. “Your turn, Dad. Violet’s sophomore year of college. A design student — very talented — suddenly withdrew. Official reason: plagiarism. Want to tell me about that?” The vein in Arthur’s temple pulsed. He looked like he wanted to cross the room and tear me apart. But he didn’t dare move. My hand was still resting above that IV line. “Talk.” My voice came down hard, and Arthur startled. “The design portfolio…” he started, voice deflated. He lowered his head. “Violet wanted it. Said she was the one who made it. We used our connections to have the university discipline the student who actually drew it.” Another ugly, familiar story. But in my hands, it was a weapon aimed directly at the heart. That night, the basement became a courtroom. I made them go through it all. One by one. Stealing a best friend’s boyfriend. Cutting my brake lines to stage an accident. Faking illness for sympathy. Paying people to intimidate competitors. Every item on the list was the kind of thing that rewrites how you see someone. Liam listened without speaking the entire time. He stood in the shadows, his expression unreadable. With every new revelation, the atmosphere around him dropped a few degrees colder. The goddess he had kept enshrined in his chest was crumbling in real time, and what was underneath was something rotting. But I knew it wasn’t enough. Old debts and past cruelty wouldn’t be enough to kill it completely. Not for a man like him. Men like Liam were specialists in rationalizing. He’d tell himself she was young and didn’t know better. That she’d been influenced by bad people. That everyone makes mistakes. As long as the idea of “saving her” still existed — as long as that romantic filter was still in place — he’d find a way to forgive her. I needed something stronger. Something that would sever whatever remained of his trust in her, cleanly and permanently. By the time the sky outside began to lighten, the stories had run dry. Arthur and Helena sat slumped on the floor, voices gone hoarse, looking like they’d aged ten years in a single night. Their eyes were blank. I looked at them and felt nothing but a bleak, dark humor. For a woman who was nothing but a fabrication, they had sacrificed every principle they had — and offered up another daughter’s life on top of it. What devoted parents. “That was satisfying.” I put the vial away and stood, stretching my arms overhead. “Since everyone’s exhausted, let’s rest a bit.” “After all, we’re only halfway through the show.” Liam watched me. His gaze was deep and unreadable. “Vivian. What exactly do you want?” He wasn’t calling me by my nickname anymore. The false warmth was gone too. Good. I liked him much better like this — looking at me like I was a threat he couldn’t calculate. “What do I want?” I walked over to him and looked up into his face. We were close. Close enough that I could see the red threading through the whites of his eyes, and the exhaustion dug into the lines around them. “Liam, I want to make a bet with you.” “What kind of bet?” “I bet that when Violet wakes up, the first thing she says is—” I leaned in close to his ear and said it quietly. “‘Why aren’t you dead yet?’” Liam’s pupils snapped tight. “That’s not possible.” The words came out like a reflex. “No?” I stepped back and smiled. “Then I guess we’ll see.” “Oh — one more thing I forgot to mention.” I pointed at the security camera in the corner. “I killed the feed hours ago. And that little confession session we just had? Recorded. Audio and video both. Already uploaded to the cloud.” “On a timer.” “If anything happens to me — if I have any kind of accident—” “That footage goes straight to every news outlet in the city. And the police.” Arthur and Helena went the color of old chalk. Liam’s expression turned into something unpleasant. “You’re threatening me.” “No. I’m protecting myself.” I held out my empty hands, smiling wide. “Looks like the leverage just changed hands, doesn’t it?”

For the next three days, the basement became the strangest place on earth. No blood ritual. No sacrifice. Just a suffocating, grinding standoff. I made myself at home in the hospital bed next to Violet’s. I wanted delivery from the best restaurant in the city — Liam sent someone to get it. I wanted a good bottle of red wine — Arthur opened one through clenched teeth. I wanted to watch something on TV — Helena held the tablet up for me. They despised me. And they couldn’t do a thing about it. Because I was the one holding the detonator. Liam, meanwhile, was visibly falling apart. He spent most of his time sitting in the corner in silence, smoking. The pile of cigarette butts on the floor tracked the erosion happening inside him. He was starting to doubt. Doubt whether three years of obsession had been built on a lie. Doubt whether the woman in that bed was worth what he’d done and what he’d become. Every time he looked at Violet, the things Arthur and Helena had confessed replayed in his mind — all of it ugly, petty, and deliberate. Like splinters he couldn’t pull out and couldn’t stop feeling. On the fifth night. The eve of the day Violet was supposed to wake up. The tension had nowhere left to go. Liam finally moved. He pressed out the cigarette and came to stand in front of me. “Vivian. We need to talk.” “About what?” I was working through a bowl of cherries, not even glancing up. “Name your price. Whatever it takes for you to walk away from this. The whole company if you want it. I mean that.” There was something raw underneath his voice. A note of pleading. He genuinely loved her that much. Even after everything. Even knowing she was rotten through. That kind of devotion would be touching if it weren’t so nauseating. I set down the fruit and wiped my hands. “You really are a true romantic, Liam.” “But I want you to think about something.” I looked at him. Let my expression go still. “That accident three years ago. What if it wasn’t an accident?” Liam went rigid. “What are you saying?” “You always believed I caused that crash. You assumed she had no reason to want to die, so it had to be me. Right?” I stood and started walking toward him. “But what if she wasn’t trying to die? What if she was trying to kill me?” “That’s insane.” Liam’s voice came out sharp. “You walked away. She’s been in a coma for three years. Nobody tries to commit murder and ends up the one in the coma.” “Because she miscalculated.” I didn’t soften it. “She tampered with my brakes. Meant to make it look like an accident — mine. But a dog ran into the road, I swerved hard, and the car hit the barrier. She was in the passenger seat. Seatbelt on. She should have been fine.” “Except right before impact, she unclipped it.” “Why?” Liam’s voice was shaking now. “Because she was going for the wheel. She wanted to make sure I actually died.” I touched my temple. “Something in here was broken a long time ago.” “She put her own life on the line to get rid of me. She just lost the bet. I survived. She didn’t.” “I don’t believe you—” Liam stepped back twice. His face had gone white. “You don’t believe me?” I pulled a USB drive from my pocket and dropped it into his hands. “Backup from my dashcam. After the accident, it disappeared. Want to know where it went?” “Arthur’s safe.” “It took me a long time to get that back. Play it. Listen to what your sweet, gentle Violet was saying to me in the minutes before that crash.” Liam’s hand closed around the drive. Such a small piece of metal. It felt like it weighed everything. He didn’t want to look. He was afraid to look. He was afraid of what it would do to whatever was left of the world he’d built. “Too afraid?” I let the silence stretch. “Fine. I’ll remind you.” I dropped into Violet’s tone — that honeyed, razor-edged sweetness. “‘Once you’re gone, he’s all mine. I’ve wanted this long enough that I’d trade my life for it.’” “Stop—” Liam’s hands went to his ears. A sound came out of him that was low and desperate and ugly. He didn’t want to hear it. But it was already in his head, looping, and it wasn’t going to stop. Every inconsistency he’d trained himself not to look at came flooding back at once. Why did the dashcam disappear? Why had Arthur and Helena always changed the subject when the accident details came up? Why had Violet taken out a large insurance policy on him before the crash, with herself as the beneficiary? The truth worked like a dull, rusted blade. Slow. Thorough. “Liam.” I watched him come apart and felt no pity. Only a clean, cold satisfaction. “That is who you love.” “A woman who tried to have me killed and accidentally destroyed herself in the process.” “And you were going to put me — the one who actually got hurt — on the altar for her.” “Doesn’t that strike you as a little absurd?” Liam raised his head slowly. His eyes were red. Completely red. He looked at me. Then at Violet. Then back. Something broke in his expression. The sound of a belief system collapsing. And then. The machines in the corner screamed to life. “Beep — beep — beep—” The flat line on the monitor began spiking wildly. Violet’s finger moved. She was waking up. On this night, of all nights. When every truth had been dragged into the light. When everyone in the room was armed and waiting. The real hell was only now opening its doors. I looked at the jumping lines on the cardiac monitor, and let the smile come. Wake up, little sister. Look at the world we’ve all prepared for you. This is your resurrection gift. Carefully arranged, just for you.

The alarm cut through the room like a serrated edge, snapping the last thread of tension holding everything in place. Violet was waking up. I had to give it to her — this woman had the kind of presence that could make a man lose his mind. Even after three years in that bed. Even pale as paper. The moment her eyes opened, she carried that particular quality — fragile, devastating, utterly practiced. A gift for manipulation so natural it looked like breathing. “…Water.” A small, faint sound. Helena and Arthur, who had been barely holding themselves back, practically fell over each other rushing to her side. “Violet! My baby! You’re finally awake!”” Helena sobbed, tears and snot running freely, hands trembling as she guided a straw to Violet’s lips. Arthur stood beside her, incoherent with emotion, his old face flushed red. Only Liam hadn’t moved. He stood there like a statue, the dashcam drive still locked in his fist. His eyes were fixed on Violet’s face — but the look in them was no longer tender. It was the kind of look you use when you’re taking something apart. He was waiting. Waiting to find out whether my bet had been right or wrong. Violet drank a few sips of water. Her unfocused eyes slowly sharpened. She saw her parents first — crying, barely holding themselves together — and a flicker of disdain crossed her face. It vanished in an instant, replaced by something soft and dependent. “Dad… Mom…” Her voice was gentle. It had a hook in it. Then her gaze drifted past their shoulders and landed on me. The air stopped moving. I was still sitting in the chair in my bloodied wedding dress, turning the scalpel casually in my fingers, watching her with a half-smile. I had imagined a hundred different reactions. Fear. Rage. A mask quickly assembled. But I had underestimated Violet. Or rather, I had underestimated how much she hated me — and how deep that obsession had run in the moment before the crash took her under. Her pupils snapped tight. That frail body produced a sudden, violent surge of energy. She shoved herself half-upright. That pretty, pitiful face twisted. Shock and pure venom, stripped bare. “Vivian?! How are you still alive?!” The words came out sharp enough to cut the air. Not a question. An accusation. Carrying the particular tone of someone who considers your continued existence a personal insult. The basement went dead silent. Helena’s hand froze mid-wipe. Arthur’s mouth fell open, like someone had grabbed him by the throat. And Liam — those eyes that had still held the smallest trace of hope — went dark. Like the last ember of a fire hit with a bucket of ice water. Clap. Clap. Clap. I brought my hands together slowly. The clean sound of applause rang out through the dead silence, sharp and deliberate. “Congratulations, Liam.” I turned to look at him standing in the shadows, and let the smile reach my eyes. “Looks like I win again.”

Violet hadn’t caught up yet. She’d been asleep for three years. Her memory had stopped at the moment of the crash. As far as she was concerned, waking up meant the plan had worked. It meant I had already been dealt with. So seeing me very much alive — sitting there looking like I owned the place — had completely fried her. “What — what’s going on?” She finally registered that something was wrong. She looked frantically at her parents. Then at the man standing a few feet away, radiating cold. “Liam…” She switched modes immediately. Her eyes went red, and tears arrived on cue. “I’m so scared… I had this nightmare that Vivian came back for me, like a ghost…” Solid performance. In the old days, Liam would already have crossed the room to hold her. Now he just looked at her. Like he was watching something pathetic try to perform. “A nightmare.” He finally spoke. His voice had the texture of gravel. He walked toward the bed. Each step seemed to add weight to the air around him. Violet instinctively pressed back against the headboard. Her eyes flickered. “Yeah… she was so scary, she was trying to hurt me—” “Was it a dream about her hurting you,” Liam said, cutting her off, his voice unnervingly calm, “or a dream about you hurting her?” Violet blinked. “Liam, what are you saying? I would never hurt her. I can’t even step on an ant without feeling bad…” “Is that right?” Liam laughed. It was a terrible laugh. The kind that laughs at itself — at three years of being played for a fool. He hurled the USB drive onto the bed in front of her. “Then explain what you said before the crash.” Violet stared at the silver drive. The color left her face. She didn’t know exactly what was on it. But the instinct of someone who has always had something to hide told her it was dangerous. “What do you mean? I… I can’t remember, my head hurts so much…” She pressed her hands to her temples and let out a soft moan, reaching for the oldest trick she had. Helena, seeing this, lurched forward: “Liam! What are you doing?! She just woke up — stop pushing her—” “Back off.” The two words came out like a gunshot. Helena flinched hard and went still. Liam kept his eyes on Violet, and they were like blades. “Stop performing, Violet. I’ve seen enough.” So had I. I stood, gathered the layers of my skirt, and walked to the bedside. I looked down at this woman who had spent years being untouchable. “Headache? I have something for that.” I held up the small vial, turning it in the light. “This is Liam’s special recipe. One drink and all your troubles disappear — even the messy memories. Isn’t that something?” Violet stared at the vial. Her body started shaking. “Stay away from me! You’re insane! You’re completely insane!” “Me, insane?” I leaned down close to her ear, dropping my voice to something only she could hear. “Violet, you helped make me this way. You were so calm when you cut my brake lines, weren’t you? What happened to all that confidence?” Violet’s eyes went wide. She hadn’t expected me to know that much. That precisely. In that moment, she couldn’t hold it together anymore. The mask — the one labeled “innocent” — cracked across her face. And what showed underneath was something ugly and real.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “412890”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I went to a private villa party with more than twenty friends one weekend. My wife was the one who suggested hooking up her phone to the projector to watch a movie. While she got up to grab the pizza delivery at the door, a sync notification suddenly popped up at the top of the screen. Someone casually tapped it. Nobody expected what came next — a private video of her and my best friend appeared right there in front of everyone. The next second, every single person in that room started running damage control: “That’s definitely a deepfake prank! The technology is insane these days!” “Exactly, it’s just an AI face swap, don’t read into it.” I looked around at all these people who called me their family, and I suddenly laughed. “You all seem pretty familiar with this video. Watched it a few times already?” The entire room went dead silent. I picked up my phone and started a live stream. “Why keep the good stuff to myself? Something this entertaining deserves a bigger audience.”

“Ethan, don’t be upset — this really is just a prank!” The atmosphere in the massive first-floor living room of the villa had reached a point of almost unbearable tension. The giant hundred-inch projection screen, which should have been playing a comedy, was now frozen on a scene that made your blood run hot. A dim bedroom. Tangled sheets. A man and a woman, tangled together with nothing on. The woman was my wife, Sophie — the woman I had been with for five years and married for two. The man was my best friend of ten years, the guy I trusted most in the world: Ryan. Just thirty seconds ago, Sophie had connected her phone to the projector to play a movie, then got up to grab our pizza delivery at the front door. Then her phone suddenly threw up a notification — cloud sync complete. And just like that, with no warning whatsoever, the video from that hidden album appeared in stunning 4K clarity, with zero blind spots, right in front of all twenty-plus people at the party. Silence. A silence that stretched on for more than ten seconds. Then the organizer of the party — who also happened to be Ryan’s girlfriend, Cassie — suddenly lunged forward and yanked out the projector cable. She burst into an exaggerated, over-the-top fit of laughter. “Oh my God! Holy shit! Sophie actually made that video!” She was laughing and slapping her thigh, then looked over at me. “Ethan, you totally freaked out, didn’t you? We made this a few days ago with that AI face-swap app — just to mess with you and see that jealous look on your face!” The moment she spoke up, the whole crowd of people who had been frozen stiff suddenly snapped back to life, like someone had hit play. “Right, right! Ethan, don’t take it seriously!” “AI is insane these days, it can even fake bodies — but look at the lighting, it’s obviously fake!” “Cassie, that prank was way too much. Look at Ethan, he’s gone pale!” Ryan was sitting diagonally across from me. His face was even paler than mine. He had his jaw clenched tight, his eyes darting everywhere but at me, his hands rubbing nervously at his knees. His voice came out strained: “Ethan… don’t be mad. This was all Cassie and them messing around. They kept pushing to use my photos with Sophie to run through the app…” Just then, Sophie walked in through the entryway carrying two big bags of pizza. She glanced at the now-dark screen, then scanned the faces in the room, and seemed to understand everything in an instant. She rushed over in three quick strides and shoved her phone into her pocket, then wrapped her arms tightly around my shoulders. “Ethan, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry — they insisted on doing this prank and I didn’t really want to go along with it.” Sophie’s voice carried just the right amount of panic and appeasement, her breath warm against my ear. “Don’t be upset. I’ll delete that stupid app the second we get home.” Her embrace was tight, carrying that familiar, faint floral scent of her perfume. But all I felt in that moment was my stomach churning, a nausea I could barely keep down. I lifted my head and looked around the room. Cassie’s exaggerated grin. Ryan’s carefully performed composure. The eyes of our friends — seemingly concerned but actually evasive. They were all so good at this. The whole performance was flawless. If my eyesight weren’t as sharp as it was, I might have actually bought the whole “AI face swap” story. In the last frozen frame of that video, I had clearly, unmistakably, caught a detail in the background. That was our master bedroom. On the rug at the foot of the bed, our golden retriever was lying there, watching the two people on the bed with curious eyes. Around the dog’s neck was a bright orange custom collar. That collar — I had bought it just last Sunday. Three days ago. From a pet expo. Could an AI deepfake really be accurate enough to include a dog collar I bought three days ago? I looked at Sophie’s face, so full of what she wanted me to read as sincerity, and I suddenly smiled. I gently pushed her away, let out a long breath, and patted my chest like I was still recovering from a scare. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! You people are seriously something else — what kind of prank is that?” I reached over and grabbed a throw pillow off the couch, then lobbed it at Cassie. “Cassie, that was genuinely evil. I’m cutting your beer allocation for tonight.” The moment those words left my mouth, the entire living room seemed to exhale. Everyone visibly relaxed, like a weight had been lifted off the whole room. “I knew Ethan was the most laid-back one here!” Cassie immediately ran with it, holding up a can of beer. “My bad, my bad — I’ll take the penalty! Let’s get the party back on track!” Sophie clearly relaxed too. She leaned in and gave me a quick kiss on the forehead. “Best husband ever. I’ll go grill those chicken wings you love.” Ryan sidled over and punched me on the shoulder. “Ethan, you’re not actually mad at me, are you? I thought I was gonna have a heart attack.” “Idiot, what would I even be mad at you for.” I patted him on the shoulder and gave him a wide, easy grin. “We’re best friends, man.” I watched his expression melt into visible relief, and felt something cold begin to spread through me — quiet and slow, like venom, creeping up inch by inch. Best friends. My beloved wife. The circle of people I trusted most. All this time, I had been living inside a real-life Truman Show.

The incident seemed to pass as casually as a cloud drifting by. The music in the villa started up again. People ate pizza, drank beer, played board games. The room was full of laughter. But I felt like a ghost drifting outside of all of it. I watched it all with cold, detached eyes. I noticed that Sophie and Ryan were going out of their way to avoid any appearance of closeness. They wouldn’t even let their eyes meet. They kept to opposite ends of the room. But the way other people looked at me had changed. It was subtle. But I caught it. Pity. Mockery. The kind of amusement you reserve for someone who doesn’t know how big of a fool they are. They were probably losing their minds internally: Look at Ethan, that idiot — his wife is cheating on him and he doesn’t even know. Someone feeds him a line and he swallows it whole. At some point I excused myself to use the bathroom. I stood at the sink, staring at the man in the mirror — well put-together on the outside, face like a storm underneath. Ethan, you’re pathetic. Then someone knocked on the bathroom door. It was Cassie. She was holding a glass of warm water, and the giddy smirk from earlier had been replaced by something that looked almost earnest. “Ethan, drink some water.” I didn’t take it. Just looked at her steadily. “Something you want to say?” Cassie let out a sigh and leaned against the doorframe, dropping her voice. “Ethan… look, we’re all adults. Some things, it’s better not to dig too deep.” Something sank in my chest. I kept my face neutral. “Meaning?” “I mean — Sophie is still good to you. Women sometimes make mistakes, get caught up chasing something new and exciting. But her heart is still at home. You’re still her husband.” Cassie looked at me with the kind of expression that made it clear she thought she was doing me a favor. “We’re all in the same circle, we’re all friends. If this blows up, nobody wins. Sophie’s career is really taking off right now, and you’ve got your reputation too. Digging into this only makes things ugly for everyone. Life can still be comfortable. You know what I’m saying?” Now I understood. She wasn’t here to comfort me. She was here to deliver a message. She was telling me: We all know Sophie is cheating. But you should play dumb, keep being the good husband, and don’t blow this up for everyone. I looked at Cassie’s self-satisfied face and felt a wave of something almost absurd wash over me. “Cassie,” I said, holding her gaze, speaking each word deliberately. “Ryan — your boyfriend — slept with my wife. And instead of being angry, you came here to tell me to let it go?” Cassie’s expression stiffened for a flicker of a second. A flash of discomfort crossed her face, but she smoothed it over quickly with that same breezy indifference. “Ethan, that’s not how you frame it. We’re all here to have fun, right? And Ryan, he’s… it’s complicated.” She glossed over it. “Bottom line, I’m saying this for your sake. Don’t push Sophie into a corner. You don’t want to end up with nothing — not her, not the lifestyle.” “For my sake?” I let out a short, cold laugh. “Well, thanks so much.” I pushed past her and walked straight back to the living room. I didn’t lose it. Because I knew that losing it now would only get me a wall of denials and people turning it back on me. That’s it. They had the numbers. They had a unified front. What I needed was evidence. The kind of evidence that would nail every single one of them — undeniable, inescapable proof.

Three in the morning. The villa had finally gone quiet. Everyone had drunk themselves sideways and retreated to their rooms. Sophie lay next to me, sleeping deeply, even snoring faintly. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, waiting in the dark. When I was certain she was completely out, I carefully sat up and reached for her phone on the nightstand. Her passcode was my birthday. The irony was almost funny. She used my birthday as her password, while hiding the secrets of her betrayal inside that same phone. The screen lit up. I went straight to the hidden notes folder. There was more than just the video. There was an entire album’s worth of photos. I scrolled through them one by one. Hotel beds. Our living room couch. The backseat of a car. Ryan’s apartment. Explicit images. Intimate exchanges that turned my stomach. The earliest photo had a timestamp from a year and a half ago. A year and a half. That was when I had just come out of a minor surgery. I was home recovering. Ryan would come over every day with fruit, patting his chest and saying: “Ethan, just rest up. Anything you need, just say the word.” Sophie would come home right on time after work every evening, making soup, telling me: “You’ve been through so much.” So at the time I was most vulnerable, most grateful, most full of feeling for both of them — they were sneaking around right under my nose. I clenched my fist until my nails cut into my palm. But I kept iron control over myself and didn’t make a single sound. When I finished going through the album, I backed out and opened her Snapchat. My gut told me this went deeper than I’d assumed. Why had Cassie been so completely unbothered when she came to talk to me? Why had all twenty-something people in that room reacted in such perfect unison the moment that video appeared? I scrolled down the chat list and my eyes landed on a group chat called “Weekend Squad.” Twenty-two members. Everyone who had been at the villa tonight. I opened it and scrolled back through the message history with cold fingers. It felt like a spiked fist had closed around my heart. Every page I turned, the spikes went in a little deeper. This group had been created a year ago. What was inside it shattered everything I thought I knew. The oldest messages were from Cassie. Cassie: “Oh my GOD, Sophie — you actually got with Ryan?? You legend!!” Sophie: “Keep it down, don’t let Ethan find out.” Friend A: “Please, Ethan is so whipped. Two words from you and he’ll believe anything.” Friend B: “Right? He seems sharp but he’s a complete idiot when it comes to feelings.” Ryan: “Okay okay, stop, this is embarrassing lol~” They were treating the whole thing like a reality show, openly watching and commenting on my wife’s affair with my best friend without a shred of guilt. They had even turned it into a kind of game. Friend C: “At the karaoke thing next week, I’ll get Ethan wasted so you two can have some alone time lol” Sophie: “You’re the best, I’ll treat you to dinner sometime.” Cassie: “Ryan, just don’t go too overboard on my end, okay? Haha” Ryan: “Relax~ You’ve got your person too, Cassie. We’re all playing our own games here.” My stomach was heaving as I read. So Cassie genuinely didn’t care that Ryan was sleeping with Sophie — because in this circle, that was just how everyone operated. The whole thing was rotten to the core. I kept scrolling back, and found something that made my blood boil even hotter. They had made bets on me. Friend D: “Let’s start a pool — how long before Ethan figures it out? I say within six months. Twenty bucks.” Friend E: “I’ll say a year. Fifty dollars.” Cassie: “I’m betting he never finds out. A hundred. Sophie has him completely wrapped around her finger. He got that job of his because of Sophie’s connections, right? Without her, he’s nothing.” I almost laughed. My job. The director position I had bled for — pulling all-nighters, grinding through three breakout projects to earn my way up. Sophie had forwarded my resume once before I joined the company. That was it. In their eyes, every ounce of work I had put in, every result I had fought for — it was all some gift from Sophie. I scrolled to tonight’s messages. The ones sent after the projector incident. Cassie: “@everyone Crisis averted. Ethan actually bought the AI face swap story. Everyone can sleep easy tonight!” Below that: a string of “Cassie you legend” and “Sophie deserves an Oscar” reaction GIFs and stickers. Ryan: “I genuinely thought I was about to get destroyed tonight. Scared the hell out of me.” Friend F: “Please, like he’d do anything. He’s so in love with Sophie, he’d just swallow it even if he knew.” Sophie: “Alright, drop it. Tonight was a fluke. Everyone be more careful going forward. Cassie, you saved us tonight.” Cassie: “What are sisters for. But Sophie, that video production quality though — send it to me privately sometime? For appreciation purposes?” Filth. Absolute filth. I stared at the familiar profile pictures on that screen. People I had treated with genuine warmth. People I had bought dinners for. People I had gone out of my way to help. Every single one of them had become something monstrous. I didn’t spiral. Rage at that level had actually made me icily, mechanically calm. I pulled out my own phone, and went through Sophie’s screen, photo by photo and page by page — every message thread, every photo, every video. I documented all of it. It took a full thirty minutes. I backed everything up to three separate cloud accounts. When it was done, I placed Sophie’s phone back exactly where it had been. I lay back down and closed my eyes. In the dark, my mind was sharper than it had ever been. So you all think I’m slow. Think I’m easy to handle. So you like watching a good show. Then let’s give you one worth watching. I was going to make sure every one of them understood exactly what happens when you back someone decent all the way into a corner.

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The day Ethan Shaw took home the Annual Medical Pioneer Award, I canceled a livestream that could have earned me over a million dollars. I put on my most ordinary clothes and sat in the most inconspicuous corner of the audience. I wanted to surprise him. Seven years of marriage, and I was the invisible ATM behind his success. To fund the ALS treatment he called “a drug that will change the world,” I worked nonstop for seven years, pushed myself until I coughed up blood, and wired him a total of thirty million dollars. But when the spotlight came on, and the host invited his family to the stage — A woman in a custom couture gown walked up holding the hand of a five-year-old boy. Ethan’s eyes glistened with tears as he kissed her forehead. “Thank you to my wife. Without her, there would be no Ethan Shaw standing here today.” I stared at that boy, and felt the blood drain from my entire body. The boy’s name was Noah Shaw. That was the name we had chosen for the child I miscarried.

The applause in the hall was thunderous, so loud it made my eardrums ache. I stared, unblinking, at the smiling faces of that family of three, enlarged on the giant screen above the stage. Ethan was wearing the black tailored suit I’d had custom-made for him. He stood tall and straight. He glanced down at the woman beside him, his eyes overflowing with a tenderness that looked almost too deep to be real. Her name was Vivian Cole. The starfield gown she wore was a globally limited edition from one of the most exclusive luxury fashion houses in the world. Last month, Ethan told me that a core centrifuge in the lab had broken down. He said they needed to rush-order a replacement from Germany, and they were two hundred thousand dollars short. Without a second thought, I dragged my fever-wracked body through four extra hours of livestreaming and wired him the money. That two hundred thousand dollars was now wrapped around Vivian Cole’s body. “Mr. Shaw, the journey to developing this treatment must have been full of obstacles,” the host said with a smile, holding out the microphone. “What kept you going?” Ethan squeezed the hand of the woman beside him, his expression warm and gentle. “She did. My wife. She’s been by my side every step of the way, and she gave me this wonderful son — Noah.” Another wave of thunderous applause swept through the hall. I sat in that dark corner and bit down on my lip until I tasted blood. Noah. Seven years ago, I was five months pregnant. We were crammed into a studio apartment that barely fit the two of us, and we spent an entire week going back and forth before we settled on that name. He said, “Lily, when our baby comes, let’s name him Noah.” The baby didn’t make it. That day, I was hemorrhaging on the operating table. I called him over a dozen times. Every single call went straight to voicemail. Afterward, he knelt beside my hospital bed with red-rimmed eyes and slapped himself across the face again and again, saying he’d been locked in the lab running the most critical data tests of his career and had missed everything. He said, “Lily, let’s keep the name Noah. Save it for our next one.” I believed him. I believed him for seven years. I thought he was pouring his soul out for the sake of humanity. I thought he was carrying the weight of our future on his shoulders. Turns out, he was just draining me dry — so another woman could live in comfort and ease.

The awards ceremony ended. The crowd dispersed. I pulled on a baseball cap and a mask, slipped past the press, and made my way to the VIP lounge. I knew this hotel well. The venue fee for tonight had been charged to Ethan’s account last month, under the line item “laboratory space rental” — approved by me. The door to the lounge was slightly ajar. I pushed it open. Vivian was sitting at the vanity mirror, touching up her makeup. The boy named Noah was on the sofa, slamming a rare limited-edition Transformer toy against the cushions. At the sound of my entrance, Vivian glanced at me through the mirror and frowned slightly. “Who are you? How did you get in here?” She looked me up and down — faded jeans, plain black tee — and made no effort to hide her contempt. “I’m here for Ethan.” My voice came out rough. Years of high-intensity livestreaming had done a number on my vocal cords. Vivian turned around and let out a cold laugh. “Another desperate patient’s family member? Or some broke startup founder begging for funding?” She stood up, smoothed out her starfield gown, and walked over to me, looking down at me like I was beneath her notice. “Ethan is very busy. I manage his entire schedule. Whatever it is, you can tell me.” I looked at her — specifically at the massive pink diamond on her ring finger. It caught the overhead light and threw sharp, glittering sparks in every direction. Your husband? I slowly curled my hand into a fist, my nails pressing deep into my palm. “Of course,” Vivian said, arching an eyebrow, her tone drenched in self-satisfaction. “We’ve been married for five years. Our son is right there. Do you have a problem with that?” Five years. Ethan and I had been married for seven. For all seven of those years, he’d told the outside world he was single. He said medical research demanded total purity of focus — that investors would think he was distracted. He was also afraid that my identity as a “livestream shopping influencer” would drag down the image of his high-tech company. To protect his reputation, I had never once mentioned his name in public. Even my closest assistant thought I was just a single woman who worked herself to the bone. Standing there looking at Vivian, I suddenly started to laugh. The kind of laugh that brings tears to your eyes. “What’s so funny?” Vivian stiffened, her expression darkening. “I’m laughing at you,” I said. “You’ve been played for a fool, and you think you’re the lady of the house.” Vivian’s face changed. She swung her hand up to slap me. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?!” I caught her wrist mid-air and shoved it away. She was wearing heels. She stumbled and nearly fell. “Mom!” The little boy dropped his toy and ran over, wrapping his arms around Vivian’s legs. At that moment, the door to the lounge was shoved open. “Vivian, the car’s ready, we should –” The words died in Ethan’s throat. He looked at me, standing in the middle of the room. Every trace of warmth and tenderness on his face vanished instantly, replaced by sheer, undisguised terror. “L-Lily?” Even his voice was shaking.

Vivian steadied herself and immediately switched to a wounded expression, throwing herself at Ethan. “Ethan! This crazy woman came out of nowhere and started screaming at me — and then she hit me!” Ethan went rigid. His eyes bounced between me and Vivian. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead in real time. “Ethan, get security to throw her out!” Vivian tugged at his sleeve, her voice syrupy. Ethan sucked in a slow breath, forced down the panic behind his eyes, and pushed Vivian away. “Vivian, take Noah to the parking garage and wait for me.” Vivian froze. “Ethan?” “Go. Now.” Ethan’s voice cracked like a whip, leaving no room for argument. She flinched. Shot me one last suspicious look. Then clenched her jaw, picked up the boy, and walked out. The door slammed shut behind her. Just the two of us now. The silence was total. Dead. Ethan looked at me. His throat moved. The panic bled out of his face, replaced by a look of weary resignation — the expression of a man burdened by circumstances beyond his control. He came toward me, reaching for my hand. “Lily. When did you get here? You should’ve texted me.” I stepped back. Kept my eyes on him, cold and steady. “If I hadn’t come, how would I have known that you’ve got a wife and a five-year-old son on the side?” Ethan sighed. Pressed two fingers to his temple. His tone took on that familiar flavor — patient, indulgent, the way you’d humor someone being unreasonable. “Lily, calm down. Let me explain.” “Her name is Vivian Cole. She was placed here by one of our major financial backers. You know how it is — we’re in the most capital-intensive phase of our Phase Three trials. There’s an overseas investment group willing to fund us, but they require one of their representatives embedded in the core management structure.” He held my gaze. Every word came out perfectly sincere. “To secure the funding, I had to play along. The boy was adopted — purely for optics. We needed the image of a stable, family-oriented man so the investors would feel confident putting money in.” I stared at his familiar face and felt a sudden, nauseating wave of revulsion rise in my stomach. There was a time when all it took was that look — weary eyes, quiet devotion — and I would soften. I would hand over every last dollar in my account without hesitation. “Playing along?” I let out a short, flat laugh. “Playing along means buying her a limited-edition designer gown? Playing along means buying her a pink diamond ring? Playing along means taking the name of my dead child — and giving it to someone else’s son?” Ethan’s expression flickered. But he recovered quickly. “Lily, those things were provided by the investors. I didn’t buy any of it. As for the name — that was a coincidence. Vivian insisted on it, and I had no choice but to go along for the sake of the bigger picture.” He stepped closer and gripped both my shoulders, his eyes pouring out a depth of feeling that should have been impossible to fake. “Lily, trust me. Everything I’m doing is for us. Once this drug hits the market, once I’ve made it — I’ll announce to the entire world that you, Lily Johnson, are the only woman I have ever married.” “Just give me a little more time. Please.” I looked at him and said nothing. If I hadn’t watched him kiss Vivian on that stage with the look of a man who had everything he’d ever wanted — If I hadn’t seen that boy’s face, and recognized Ethan’s features in every line of it — I might have believed him again. “Sure,” I said. The corners of my mouth pulled up into something that looked more like a wound than a smile. Ethan visibly exhaled with relief. “I knew it. You’ve always been the most understanding woman I know.” He moved to pull me into a hug. I put a hand against his chest and stepped back. “I’m tired. I’m going home.” I turned, opened the door, and walked out without looking back. Behind me, he didn’t follow. He probably assumed this was like every other time over the past seven years — that a few carefully chosen words had smoothed everything over. He didn’t know that the moment I turned away, the last of my tears had already dried. What was left wasn’t grief. It was the cold, bone-deep resolve of someone who has decided to burn it all down.

By the time I got back to my apartment, it was late. The place was empty, just like always. I’d paid for this penthouse in full. Ethan came by maybe once a month. He said the lab was too far away, that he kept a studio apartment near the office. I walked to the bar cart and poured a glass of whiskey. Drank it in one go. The burn traveled all the way down, but it didn’t touch the cold at the center of my chest. I picked up my phone and called my personal attorney, James. “James, I need you to pull everything you can on a woman named Vivian Cole. And I need a full financial audit — every dollar I’ve transferred to ‘Shaw Medical Technologies’ over the past seven years. Every transaction. I want it itemized down to the cent.” There was a brief pause on the other end. Then James’s voice sharpened with quiet understanding. “Ms. Johnson — are we closing the net?” “No,” I said, looking out at the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. My voice was flat as ice. “We’re going for the kill.” After I hung up, I opened my laptop and logged into a secondary account. I started searching Vivian Cole’s name across every social media platform I could think of. A woman like her — one who lived to show off — couldn’t possibly have left no trace online. I was right. It took almost no effort at all. Her verified account bio read: Lifestyle & Luxury Blogger | Wife of Shaw Medical Technologies CEO. Over a million followers. I scrolled through her feed. Page after page of obscene wealth dressed up as aesthetic living. Ethan’s five-year anniversary gift finally arrived after six months of waiting. Worth every second. The photo was the pink diamond I’d seen on her finger tonight. Posted three weeks ago. Three weeks ago, Ethan had told me there had been an incident in the clinical trials. He said they needed three hundred thousand dollars in hush money, or the company was finished. I’d stayed up all night running a flash sale livestream. By the end, my voice was completely gone. I spent three days on an IV drip at the hospital. Noah’s 5th birthday! Ethan chartered a whole yacht just for our little man. Best childhood memories incoming. The photo showed Ethan holding the boy on the deck of a luxury yacht, grinning like the happiest man alive. Posted two months ago. Two months ago was the anniversary of my miscarriage. I spent that entire day sitting alone at a memorial park. Ethan sent a message saying he was locked in the lab and couldn’t get away. Another day of being absolutely spoiled. Just picked up our new ocean-view villa — going to use it as my art studio. The photo showed a standalone house in the most expensive coastal neighborhood in the city, valued at no less than five million dollars. Posted one year ago. One year ago, Ethan knelt in front of me, crying, saying the company’s cash flow had collapsed and he wanted to jump off a building. I sold off majority stakes in my two most profitable beauty brands at a steep loss. I liquidated five million dollars in assets to bail him out. I went through the photos one by one. Every glittering image, every breezy caption. Behind each one was a night I’d stayed up past dawn. Blood I’d coughed into a sink. Pain I’d swallowed and kept moving through. I thought I was funding a dream that would matter. I was feeding two parasites. I screenshotted everything, packaged it all up, and sent it to James. Then I went to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. The woman looking back at me was pale from chronic sleep deprivation. Dark circles carved into the skin under her eyes. I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face. Lily Johnson. You really are something else. But it’s fine. Starting right now, I’m taking back everything that’s mine. Every single cent, with interest.

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I spent seven years with Ethan Cole. He was firm about it — no marriage, no kids. That was just who he was. I believed him. Three months ago, I got pregnant. Then I lost the baby. Alone in a hospital room, after what they called an “accident.” Until today. I went with my best friend Lily to a high-end immersive parenting experience — one of those events for expectant couples. She was the pregnant one, not me. On the stage, the host smiled and announced: “Please welcome the husband of Ms. Joanna Quinn to come up and experience labor contractions!” The next second. A man stood up, smiling, and walked onto the stage. It was my boyfriend. Ethan Cole. The electrode pads had him sweating through his shirt, but he held another woman’s hand tight the whole time. His voice was so tender it could melt: “Don’t be scared. I’ll go through the pain first so I’ll know how to take care of you.” That was the moment I understood. It wasn’t that he didn’t want children. He just didn’t want mine.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise, Ms. Smith.” Joanna Quinn spotted me before Ethan did. She was wearing a loose maternity dress, holding a warm cup of milk, her face soft with the kind of glow that only comes from being truly loved. My best friend Lily followed her gaze and her expression darkened instantly. “Ethan, when exactly did you sneak off and become someone else’s personal support system behind our girl Mia’s back?” Ethan had been crouched down, gently dabbing the cold sweat from Joanna’s forehead. He paused at the sound of Lily’s voice and looked up. The moment he saw me, a flash of shock crossed his eyes. His brow tightened — barely visible, but I caught it. As if my being there had interrupted something precious he’d carefully put together. “Joanna’s fiancé is abroad and couldn’t make it. She would’ve been here alone. I just came as a friend, to keep her company for a bit.” As he said it, he reached over and took the empty cup from Joanna’s hand with practiced ease, passing it off to a nearby staff member. His tone was completely flat. Like he was explaining away something trivial. But I kept my eyes locked on the veins standing out on the back of his hand — still raised from the level-ten contraction simulation he’d just put himself through. “Just keeping her company?” I stepped forward. My voice was steady in a way that surprised even me. “Keeping her company means taking a level-ten contraction for her? Standing up in front of everyone and letting them call you her husband?” Ethan’s brow furrowed deeper. That familiar edge of irritation crept into his voice. “Mia, can you stop being so sensitive? Joanna is pregnant — her emotions are already unstable. I just didn’t want her to feel embarrassed in front of everyone.” There it was again. Stop being sensitive. Stop overthinking. Stop making a scene. Three months ago, I was curled up in the hallway outside the maternity ward at St. Mary’s Medical Center, shaking so hard I could barely breathe. I called him ten times. From hopeful, all the way to numb. What I got back was a single cold text on Snapchat: [I told you — the company’s IPO is at a critical stage. Don’t interrupt me.] [If the baby’s gone, it’s gone.] That day, the doctor stood in front of me with a surgical consent form, looking at my pale face with the kind of eyes that meant he’d seen this before. “No family member coming? General anesthesia carries risk when the patient signs alone.” I bit down on my already-bleeding lip and signed my name, one stroke at a time. I walked into that operating room alone. I came out of it alone. I woke up to an empty room and lay there, alone. He never once asked if I was okay. And now — now he was willing to strap himself into that chair and endure pain most people can’t handle, all so another woman wouldn’t feel embarrassed. Joanna reached over and gently tugged at the hem of Ethan’s jacket. Her eyes went red in seconds, her voice small and shaky: “Mia, please don’t blame Ethan. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let myself lean on him like this. If it bothers you, I’ll never contact him again, I promise…” Lily let out a sharp laugh that had nothing funny in it. She pointed straight at Joanna. “You’re lonely and pregnant, go find your fiancé who’s supposedly abroad! What kind of person goes and borrows someone else’s boyfriend to play house with? What is wrong with you?” Joanna’s tears spilled over, one after another, and she swayed like she might actually fall. Ethan stepped forward almost before she’d started leaning, putting himself squarely between her and the world. He turned to Lily, and his eyes went cold. “Lily, watch your mouth. Joanna isn’t well. She can’t handle this right now.” I stared at his arm — that arm positioned in front of her like a shield — and felt something twist in my stomach. Ridiculous. The whole thing was ridiculous. A staff member chose that moment to walk over, holding a framed certificate and looking visibly uncomfortable. “Um… Ms. Quinn? This is your commemorative completion certificate — yours and your… partner’s. Please hold onto it.” The certificate had two names printed on it in clean, official lettering: Joanna Quinn. Ethan Cole. Ethan didn’t say a word to correct it. He took the certificate, folded it carefully, and slid it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Then he turned to me. His tone softened just slightly — the way someone softens their voice when they think they’re being generous. “Mia, once the event’s over, I’ll come home and explain everything tonight. Go with Lily for now. Don’t make a big deal out of this.” Don’t make a big deal out of this. In his eyes, the simple fact of me standing in front of him was already “making something bigger.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t do what I’d done so many times over the past seven years — stand there with red eyes, waiting for him to come around and soften. I just looked at him. Then I let one corner of my mouth pull into the faintest, coldest smile. “Sure. You two enjoy the rest of it.” I turned and walked away without hesitating. Ethan stood there, frozen. He clearly hadn’t expected me to let it go that easily. For seven years, I was always the one who fell apart over the smallest sign of his coldness. But I didn’t have anything left to fall apart with. In that moment, something in me finally came fully awake. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to be a good partner. He just never wanted to be one. Not for me.

The drive back was suffocating. Lily gripped the steering wheel and let it all out. “Has Ethan completely lost his mind? He ghosts you during a miscarriage, won’t even show up, and now he’s playing devoted daddy-to-be for someone else’s kid?” “Mia, if you forgive him this time, I swear to God I’m done with you.” I leaned my head against the passenger window and watched the city blur past. My eyes felt hollow. My phone buzzed in my bag. A Snapchat from Ethan. [Joanna got a little shaken up after what Lily said. Her doctor wants to monitor her. I’m taking her in to get checked.] [What do you want for dinner? I’ll grab it on my way home.] I stared at the words. She got shaken up. Something cold wrapped itself around my chest and squeezed. Three months ago, I came out of surgery barely able to walk a straight line. I messaged him. Told him I was in so much pain. He wrote back: [It was a minor procedure. Stop being so dramatic. I’m in a meeting.] So. Someone else’s baby catching a scare was a crisis worth dropping everything for. But me losing a life — that was just me being dramatic. I turned the screen off and dropped the phone back in my bag. “Lily.” I closed my eyes. My voice came out barely above a whisper. “I’m not forgiving him. Not this time. Not ever.” Lily hit the brakes hard enough to jolt us both. She turned and stared at me, eyes already going red. “Mia. God. You should’ve done this so much sooner. Do you have any idea how much you’ve given up for him? Seven years. Your whole twenties. You put your career on the line for him. And he treated you like — ” Seven years. I was twenty-one when I moved into that basement apartment with Ethan. It was barely four hundred square feet and always smelled like damp concrete, but we were in it together, and I didn’t care. His startup was hemorrhaging money. He had no way out. I went behind his back and sold the one thing I had — a vintage cello my grandfather had left me. Irreplaceable. Gone. The money, half a million dollars, went straight into his account. That night he held me and sobbed like a kid. He promised me. He said he would spend the rest of his life making me the happiest woman in the world. Then he made it. The Cole Group became a name people recognized. He became exactly what everyone wanted him to be — young, successful, the kind of man who gets featured in magazines. And he got busier. And more distant. And came home less and less. He said he didn’t want marriage. I said okay, I’ll wait. He said he didn’t want kids, said it would be too much of a distraction. I said okay. Then three months ago, the pregnancy happened. I thought it was a gift. I actually went out and bought a pair of baby shoes — tiny things with little bunny ears on them — and hid them in the back of my closet. I kept imagining the look on his face when I finally showed them to him. Instead, reality hit me harder than anything I’d ever felt. That evening, I came home to the penthouse apartment Ethan and I shared. I pushed open the door to find the crystal chandelier blazing in the living room. Joanna Quinn was stretched out on the sofa, covered with Ethan’s favorite cashmere throw. The coffee table was covered in washed fruit. Right in the center — a plate of sliced kiwi. I’m severely allergic to kiwi. Even being in the same room as it is enough to make my skin break out in hives. In bad cases, it affects my breathing. Ethan was in his home clothes, coming out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee. He saw me standing in the entryway and stumbled slightly. Something flickered across his face. Like he’d been caught off guard by his own life. “You’re back.” I didn’t take off my shoes. I looked past him, straight at Joanna. “Why is she here?” Joanna sat up immediately, like a startled rabbit. Her eyes filled instantly, and she looked at me with that particular brand of fragile helplessness. “Mia, please don’t misunderstand. I went for a checkup today and the doctor said the pregnancy is unstable — I need to rest. I was scared to be alone. Ethan offered to let me stay here for a few days, just until things settle…” Ethan set the milk down on the coffee table and turned to me with a look that said he’d already decided how this conversation was going to go. “Joanna’s situation is serious. She doesn’t know anyone in this city. As a friend, I can’t just leave her on her own. This place has four bedrooms — she’ll be in the guest room. It won’t affect you.” I stared at him. The sheer nerve of it almost made me laugh. “As a friend, you have a responsibility? Ethan, did you forget — this is my home. You brought a pregnant woman into our home. Did you think to ask me first?” His expression hardened. “Mia, do you have to be so aggressive about everything? She’s just staying for a few days. Why do you have to make it a thing?” “Just staying.” I walked toward him slowly, and pointed at the kiwi on the coffee table. “You let her eat kiwi in here. You know what happens to me if I even get near that.” Something shifted in his eyes. He looked at the plate. “I… forgot. Joanna said she was craving something sour, so I just picked it up without thinking.” Forgot. Seven years together. And my most dangerous allergy was something he could just forget. Joanna scrambled up from the sofa, flustered. “I’m so sorry, Mia — I had no idea you were allergic. Let me get rid of it right now…” She reached for the plate, and then her legs buckled. She started to go down. “Watch out!” Ethan crossed the room in an instant and caught her, pulling her against his chest. The reflex was too smooth. Too practiced. He turned and looked at me like I was the one who’d done something wrong. “Mia, enough. Are you trying to actually hurt her?” I watched them — his arms around her, her face against his shoulder — and felt my stomach turn. I was done talking. I walked into the bedroom and dragged out the suitcase I’d already half-packed. Ethan followed me in and grabbed the case. “What are you doing?” “Leaving.” I pulled his hand off the handle. My voice was completely flat. He looked at me like I was speaking another language. “Because I let Joanna stay for a few days? Mia, when did you get this petty?” I stuffed the last few things in, zipped the bag shut, and stood up. “It’s not about her.” I looked at him straight on. “Ethan. It’s about seven years. It’s about finally realizing that the man I fell in love with doesn’t actually have a heart.” He went still. Like something in my expression actually reached him. “What does that mean?” “Exactly what it sounds like.” I grabbed the handle. “We’re done.”

Ethan’s first reaction wasn’t to ask me to stay. It was anger. He thought I was pulling the same move I’d always pulled — threatening to leave as a way to get his attention, the same small-scale back-and-forth we’d fallen into so many times before. “Are you serious right now? You think breaking up is some kind of leverage?” He was practically grinding his teeth, his eyes sharp and cold. “What is this, Mia?” I reached into my bag, pulled out my key to the apartment, and set it down on the nightstand. “It’s not leverage. It’s just what’s happening.” I didn’t look at him again. I wheeled the suitcase out. Joanna was standing in the living room. She watched me pull the case toward the door. Something crossed her face — gone almost as quickly as it appeared — and then she was back to performing concern. “Mia, please don’t do anything rash. This is all my fault. I’ll leave right now. Please don’t fight with Ethan because of me…” Ethan grabbed her wrist before she could move, pulling her back toward the couch. “Sit down. She wants to leave, let her leave. Let’s see how far she gets.” He raised his voice at my back: “Mia, if you walk out that door, don’t even think about coming back.” I kept walking. I didn’t turn around. The door shut behind me with a heavy sound — and with it, seven years of my own foolishness. That night, I stayed at Lily’s place. Lily looked at my face — totally still, no tears, nothing — and started crying herself. “Mia, you can cry. Seriously. You don’t have to hold it all in.” I shook my head and leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “I’m not sad, Lily. I’m just tired. It’s like I’ve been carrying something incredibly heavy for seven years and I finally put it down. Honestly? I feel lighter.” The next morning, I went to St. Mary’s Medical Center to pick up my post-op report from three months ago. My regular doctor was out, so I was sent to a different exam room. The nurse searched my file on her computer. She took a while, and her expression started to pinch. “Ms. Smith, it looks like your folder was misfiled. Give me a moment — let me check the VIP prenatal suite next door.” A few minutes later she came back with a manila envelope and handed it to me. “Found it. So sorry about that. Oh — there’s also a consent form from three months ago that got mixed in with yours by mistake. It has a Mr. Cole’s signature on it. You can pass it along to him.” I stopped. “Which Mr. Cole?” She pointed to the form. “Ethan Cole. He came in three months ago with a Ms. Joanna Quinn to complete her VIP prenatal registration. This form was left behind. The front desk was slammed that day and it accidentally got filed with your records.” The world went silent. I looked down at the thin sheet of paper in my hands. VIP Prenatal Registration and Informed Consent Registration Date: Three months ago. Thursday. 10:30 a.m. That was the exact same time I was alone in the hallway outside the OR, shaking, calling him ten times, begging him to come. He hadn’t answered. He’d texted me that he was in a meeting. That I needed to stop bothering him. But he wasn’t in a meeting. He was in another building of the same hospital, standing next to another woman, reserving her a premium delivery suite for their baby. I looked down to the bottom of the page. Family member signature: Ethan Cole. And next to the signature, in small printed text: Relationship to patient: Fiancé. “Fiancé…” The word came out of me like I was reading something in another language. A cold so deep it felt physical moved through me from the floor up. The nurse was still talking beside me, her voice warm and cheerful: “Mr. Cole was so attentive that day — running around taking care of everything, making sure Ms. Quinn didn’t have to lift a finger. Our whole unit was talking about it.” I don’t remember walking out of the hospital. The sun outside was brutal. It should have been warm. I couldn’t feel it. This was the truth I’d been standing next to the whole time. He was never anti-marriage. He just didn’t want to marry me. He was never against having kids. He just didn’t want mine. While I was in the most pain I’d ever been in — alone, losing our baby — he was in the same building, practically glowing, checking in his pregnant girlfriend and signing his name as her fiancé. Seven years. I spent seven years warming up a stone, only to find out someone else had already carved it into exactly what they wanted.

I didn’t go back to Lily’s. I went straight to work — to my company, Bloom Early Learning. I’d built it from nothing two years ago. Every part of it was mine. My assistant, Sophie, nearly jumped when I walked through the lobby. “Ms. Smith — you look really pale. Do you want to sit down for a bit?” “I’m fine.” I walked past her and into my office. I locked the prenatal consent form in my desk drawer, took a slow breath, and steadied myself. “Call all the department heads. Meeting in ten minutes. And the co-branded curriculum project with Cole Group — shut it down. Effective immediately.” Sophie’s jaw dropped. “Ms. Smith, Cole Group has already put significant marketing resources behind that launch. If we pull out now, we’ll owe them a substantial termination fee.” “I’ll cover it personally. Pull everything — any promotional material with the Cole Group logo, I want it gone.” She didn’t push further. She hurried out. At three in the afternoon, Ethan kicked open my office door. He didn’t knock. His tie was half-undone, his expression wild. “Have you completely lost it?! Who gave you the right to unilaterally cancel the project? Do you have any idea what this does to Cole Group?” I didn’t look up from the document in front of me. “Mr. Cole. Watch your tone. This is my office. I don’t owe you an explanation for my business decisions.” He crossed the room in a few strides and slammed both palms down on my desk, looming over me. “What is this really about? Because I had Joanna stay over, you’re going to tank a business deal? Since when do you mix personal feelings with professional responsibilities?” I set down my pen. I looked up at him. “Mixing personal and professional?” I almost smiled. I reached into the desk drawer, took out the VIP prenatal consent form, and threw it at his face. “Tell me something, Ethan. When you signed ‘fiancé’ on that form — were you thinking about professional boundaries then?” The paper caught the edge of his cheek and drifted to the floor. He looked down at it. The color drained out of his face. The anger in his eyes cracked, and underneath it was something raw and cornered. “How did you — where did you get this?” “Surprised?” I stood up and faced him across the desk, my voice like something frozen solid. “Three months ago, I was in the OR in this same hospital, losing a pregnancy due to an accident. You didn’t even show up because of your IPO. While I was in there alone, you were one building over, registering Joanna for a VIP delivery suite. Ethan. Your time management is really something.” His throat moved. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t steady. “Mia, listen to me. That day — Joanna had a cramp, I was scared something was wrong, I drove her in. The signature was just to get through the paperwork faster. It didn’t mean anything — ” “It didn’t mean anything.” I cut him off. “Then explain this to me. You didn’t come to the hospital during my miscarriage because of the IPO. But somehow Joanna’s pregnancy doesn’t affect the IPO at all?” He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. The office door opened. Joanna walked in, wearing a designer maternity outfit, one hand pressed to her lower back. She looked down at the form on the floor. Her eyes shifted — just for a second. Then she rearranged her face into something soft and devastated. “Mia, please don’t be angry at Ethan. This is all on me. I was the one who asked him to come. And the fiancé thing — I begged him to write that because I was embarrassed about being unmarried and pregnant…” She drifted toward Ethan and caught his sleeve. Tears were already running down her face. “Ethan, please don’t fight with Mia because of me. If my being here causes this much pain for everyone, I’d rather just take my baby and disappear…” Ethan closed his hand around her arm, his face tightening with alarm. “Don’t you dare say that.” I watched them. I felt sick. I took out my phone. I pulled up a screenshot, zoomed in, and turned the screen toward them. “Joanna. Since you’re so reasonable and understanding — explain this. Three months ago, someone sent me this from an anonymous number.” The screen showed a text message: [Don’t blame Ethan for being cold, Ms. Smith. It’s not that he doesn’t like kids. He just doesn’t want to be tied down to you through one.] [My baby is different. He actually cares. He stayed up all night arranging the best doctors for me.] The moment Joanna saw it, she went white. Her whole body flinched. “That — that’s not from me. I don’t know anything about that.” I let out a short, cold laugh. “Really. Should I contact the carrier and pull the registration on that number?” Joanna’s lips were shaking. She couldn’t get a single word out. Ethan looked at the screenshot, then looked at Joanna. For the first time, something uncertain moved through his eyes. “Joanna. Did you actually send this?” “No — Ethan, I swear, it wasn’t me, please believe me — ” She was shaking her head over and over, face a mess of tears. I was already done watching. I pressed the intercom on my desk. “Security. Please come up and escort two visitors out of my office. If they refuse to leave, call the police.” Ethan stared at me. The look on his face was complicated in a way I didn’t have the energy to decode. “Mia. Are you really going to take it this far?” “You’re the one who took it this far, Ethan.” I pointed to the door. “Take your fiancée and get out of my building. After today, the only place I want to see you is in a courtroom.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “412887”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

To help my boyfriend pay off his loans, I spent two years shampooing hair at a salon. Christine, who requested me every single day, couldn’t understand it: “Lora, why don’t you find someone like my boyfriend? He’s incredibly generous with money — gives me at least five million a month as pocket change. “Though he has a bit of a twisted streak. He likes to play poor outside and mess around with naive girls. I heard some idiot was working herself to death supporting him, ended up in the hospital multiple times.” I turned to reach for the shampoo. “My boyfriend may not be rich, but he’s loyal. He really loves me.” Just then, a luxury car pulled up outside the salon. A man dressed head to toe in designer brands pushed the door open with a frown. “Christine, why are you getting your hair done at a dump like this again? The people here are unsanitary — don’t let them give you some kind of disease.” “Did you get the two million I transferred to your card?” My body went rigid. I didn’t dare turn around. The man’s voice was identical to my boyfriend’s — the one with two hundred thousand dollars in loans hanging over his head.

The cheerful click of heels sounded behind me. Christine fluttered over like a butterfly. “Got it! Why so much today? You just bought me a necklace yesterday.” Carter’s voice was warm. “I couldn’t be with you last night. Consider it an apology — one necklace isn’t nearly enough.” I stood frozen, my back to both of them. Last night, my arm had been in searing pain. I’d begged Carter for a long time before he finally agreed to take me to the hospital. Christine noticed I hadn’t moved and tilted her head. “Lora? Why aren’t you doing anything? My hair isn’t finished yet.” I took a deep breath. My voice came out a little unsteady. “Sorry… just a little dizzy. Low blood sugar. I’ll be fine in a second.” Carter’s tone turned cold. “What’s the point of an employee like this?” “I’ll tell the manager to fire her.” Christine laughed it off. “Oh, babe, don’t be so hard on her. She’s got a leech of a boyfriend draining her dry. She’s pathetic enough as it is.” The shampoo bottle slipped from my hands and hit the floor. Foam splattered everywhere. The man behind me went suddenly quiet. A pair of expensive leather shoes appeared at the edge of my vision. They stopped for two seconds. Carter said, “Go wait in the car. I need to talk to the owner.” Christine pouted. “Why? I haven’t finished my hair yet.” “Be good. I’ll have the driver pick up those pastries you love.” That was enough to get her moving. “Fine, but be quick,” she said, and walked out. The sound of her heels faded. The shop door closed. Carter stood behind me, his voice low. “Lora.” I crouched on the floor and didn’t move. “Why are you here?” I slowly stood up and turned around. Carter was wearing a perfectly tailored black suit. On his wrist was that limited-edition watch I’d only ever seen in magazines. He looked completely out of place in this run-down little salon. His eyes were cold. “Didn’t you tell me you worked in an office building?” “So every day when you came home from work, you were coming back from a place like this?” He stepped back, as if I actually had some kind of contagious disease. I opened my mouth. The explanation I wanted to give lodged in my throat. Right. I had lied to him. But why? Because of his two hundred thousand in loans — the monthly payment hanging over our heads like a blade. Because every time he noticed the calluses on my hands, he’d say with such tenderness, “Lora, once I make it, you won’t have to work this hard.” I didn’t want him to know I was washing people’s hair. I didn’t want him to feel like he was dragging me down. Suddenly I found it all very funny. For two years, I’d spent over twelve hours a day on my feet. My fingers were waterlogged and peeling. I’d developed cervical problems, tendinitis, low blood sugar — I’d been hospitalized more times than I could count. And he could casually wire two million dollars to another woman without a second thought. The shop door cracked open. Christine stuck her head in. “Honey, are you done? The pastries are here — they’re going to melt if you don’t hurry.” Carter glanced at me and lowered his voice. “Don’t say a word about today.” The door closed. I stood alone in the empty salon, staring at the puddle of shampoo foam on the floor. For a long time. My phone buzzed. A message from my manager: “Lora, you’re fired. A customer just complained about your service. Your entire paycheck will be withheld to cover the damages.” “Don’t blame me. These people have money and connections. Pack up your things and go now.” I stared at the screen. I couldn’t find a single word to say. Outside the window, the black luxury car slowly pulled away. The window was half down. I could see Christine leaning on his shoulder, and him bending down to press a kiss to her forehead. That kiss looked exactly like the ones he used to give me.

By the time I walked out of the salon, it was dark. The bank sent a payment reminder. Next week: two thousand dollars. My paycheck would have barely covered it. But now, I had less than five hundred in my account. I went home. Carter was standing at my door, holding a bag of fresh mangosteen — the kind I’d never let myself buy. “Lora, you shouldn’t be angry with me. I did it for your own good.” I stepped around him and kept my head down. He sighed. “I know I’ve let you down. These two years have been hard on you. But if you just trust me, I’ll find you a decent job. Somewhere clean and respectable. You won’t have to wash anyone’s hair ever again.” Memories flickered past like a slideshow. My back aching after twelve hours on my feet every day. A strain that never healed. The day I collapsed and couldn’t get up off the floor, the only thing running through my mind was: I can’t afford to be hurt. If something happens to me, Carter is finished. “Lora, I love you. Why else would I leave Christine to come find you? Isn’t that enough?” “You need to understand my situation. I wasn’t trying to deceive you. If you had my status and my position in this world, you would’ve kept it hidden too. Think about it — if I’d told you from the start that I was the CEO of the Carter Group, would you have treated me the same way? You would’ve been after my money and my name.” He said all of this with complete sincerity. As if he had spent two years lying to me, and somehow that was my fault. He held out a business card. A company address. “Come find me here tomorrow.” My tears were pooling at the edges of my eyes. I bit down hard on my lip and held them in. The next day, I went anyway. I knew how wrong it was. I knew what kind of person he was. But I’d borrowed two hundred thousand dollars to pay off his debts. If he walked away, I had no way to repay it. The loan sharks had made it clear: if I couldn’t pay, they’d take something else instead. I didn’t let myself think about what that meant. The Carter Group. The most impressive office tower in the city center. Twelfth floor. Human Resources. A middle-aged woman in glasses looked me up and down. “Lora?” She pushed her frames up and her voice came out with an unmistakable edge of contempt. “Mr. Carter already briefed us. We’re placing you in a janitorial position. Here’s your badge. Report at seven tomorrow morning. You’ll be responsible for floors eighteen through twenty.” Janitorial. I thought I’d heard her wrong. “He said… janitorial?” “What, too good for it?” The woman gave a short, cold laugh. “No degree, no skills. You should be grateful we’re giving you anything at all. Mr. Carter specifically requested this for you. Otherwise, do you think we’d just take anyone off the street?” I gripped the badge so hard my nails pressed into the plastic. First day on the job. I showed up in a cleaning uniform, pushing a supply cart down the hallway, mopping the floor. When I passed the elevators, the doors opened. Christine stepped out on Carter’s arm — designer everything, ten-centimeter heels. She spotted me and blinked. “Lora? What are you doing here?” She turned to Carter. “You got her a job?” Carter’s face was unreadable. “You kept saying you felt bad for her. Janitorial is all she qualifies for.” That afternoon, I was assigned to clean Carter’s office. I followed behind with my cart. His office was on the top floor — floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the entire city. When I pushed the door open, what I saw nearly made me sick. Christine was lounging on the couch with her legs crossed. “Sorry to bother you, Lora. Be a dear and clean up for us.” Carter sat behind his desk and didn’t even look up. I got down on my knees and started wiping the floor with a cloth. The things I was wiping up clung to the rag. My eyes burned. I was his girlfriend. How could he make me clean up after him and another woman? Christine suddenly spoke. “Carter, maybe give her a better position? Janitorial feels a little…” “She can’t do anything.” Carter’s voice was flat. “She’s barely fit to sweep floors. Giving her this job was already more than enough.” His words hit like something sharp driven straight into my chest. I kept my head down, finished the last section of floor, and walked out with my cart. The moment the door closed behind me, my tears finally broke loose.

It was almost the end of my shift. I was still cleaning the hallway windows. Christine appeared behind me. “Lora, did you see my gold bracelet anywhere?” I turned around. Her wrist was bare. “No. I haven’t seen it.” “That’s strange, it was just here.” She frowned. “Carter gave me that bracelet. It’s really important to me.” She started searching the hallway — checked the trash bin, looked through the break room. Nothing. Then she looked at me. “Lora, let me see your bag.” I stiffened. “What?” “I think you stole my bracelet.” “I didn’t!” I felt a rush of panic. “I’ve been washing windows the whole time. I never went anywhere near you.” “Then show me your bag. If you didn’t take it, I’ll apologize.” I had nothing to hide. I opened my bag and held it out. She rummaged through it. From the innermost pocket, she pulled out a gold bracelet. “That’s—” My eyes went wide. “That’s impossible. I never touched that.” Christine held the bracelet and her eyes went red. “Lora, how could you steal from me? Carter gave me this. It means everything to me.” “I didn’t! I really didn’t!” My mind was racing, and then a detail came back to me. “You picked up my bag earlier — at the elevator. You said my hands were full with the cart and you’d carry it for me. You must have put it in there then and forgotten.” Christine tilted her head with wide, innocent eyes. “When did I ever carry your bag?” “At lunch—” “Lora.” She cut me off. Her tone changed. It went cold. “I never touched your bag. Are you sure you’re not confused?” A chill moved through my whole body. Carter walked out of his office and saw Christine’s red-rimmed eyes. His expression darkened. “What happened?” “My bracelet…” Christine held it up. “Found in Lora’s bag.” Carter looked at me. His eyes were like ice. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t steal anything. She—” I pointed at Christine. My voice was shaking. “That’s enough.” Carter took out his phone. “I’m calling the police.” Christine grabbed his arm. “Don’t call the police, Carter. She’s so young. A record would ruin her.” He frowned. Christine thought it over and said: “Then… make her kneel outside the building. It’s busy out there. Until the end of the workday should be enough.” The blood rushed straight to my head. “What did you just say?” Christine blinked at me with that same guileless look. “I just want you to learn your lesson. So you don’t steal again.” “I didn’t steal anything!” I was almost shouting now. The tears finally came. “Carter, I’m your girlfriend. How can you do this to me?” The entire hallway went still. Christine’s eyes went wide. She looked at me, then at Carter. “Girlfriend?” Her voice jumped up an octave. “Carter, she’s saying she’s your girlfriend?” The expression on Carter’s face shifted several times. “She’s lying.” “Lora, there is nothing between us. You stole. You’re fired.” He took out his phone and dialed. “It’s me. I need you to put the word out across the industry. Lora — nobody hires her. Nobody.” Then he looked at me. “Go kneel outside until nine tonight. Otherwise, the consequences will be a lot worse than this.” Christine put on a heartbroken expression. “Lora, I thought of you as a friend. How could you do this to me? You’ve really, truly let me down.”

It was raining when I knelt outside the building. People walked past. Some looked with pity. Some with amusement. Some stopped to take pictures for their Instagram. My knees pressed against the cold marble. My wet pants clung to my skin, cold enough to sting. But the pain in my knees was nothing compared to what was happening inside my chest. Carter came through the glass doors with a black umbrella. Christine walked beside him. He saw me kneeling there. One look — and then he turned away fast, like holding his gaze on me even a second longer would somehow dirty his eyes. The rain got heavier. Nine o’clock finally came. I pushed myself up against the wall. My knees had gone numb. My calves were swollen and bruised. I made my way home one step at a time. Three kilometers. It took me an hour and a half. I collapsed onto the floor, soaked through. Carter’s calls came one after another. I never picked up. He kept calling. Third call. Fourth. Fifth. What could he possibly have to say to me? I didn’t want to hear it. I was afraid to hear it. I switched my phone to silent and tossed it aside. About fifteen minutes later, it buzzed. A text. From Carter: Two hundred thousand. I’ll have someone deliver it tomorrow. We’re done. We’re done. I stared at those two words on the screen. I wanted to cry but couldn’t. What gave him the right to call us done? But I had no energy left to fight it. I really had nothing left. The next morning, someone knocked on my door. I thought it was the money Carter had promised. I opened it. It was Christine. She was wearing a cream-colored trench coat, a sleek leather case in her hand, smiling at me brightly. “Morning, Lora.” I watched her carefully. “What do you want?” She let herself in without being asked, looked around my small, worn-out apartment, and made a little sound of disdain. “A place like this. How sad.” “What do you want?” She turned around, set the case on the table, and opened it. Inside were stacks of cash. “Two hundred thousand, from Carter. He asked me to bring it.” She smiled. “Except I told him you already received it.” I froze. “And then I told him you took the money straight to a casino and lost every cent.” Her smile widened. “Carter absolutely despises gamblers. Right now, he thinks you’re disgusting. Isn’t that hilarious?” Everything fell into place. “You—” “I’ve known about you for a long time,” she said, cutting me off, casually examining her freshly done nails. “I knew from the beginning that Carter was playing broke and dating you. Did you think you were keeping a secret? I knew everything.” “I just didn’t want him staying connected to you. So I took care of it. Pretty clever plan, right?” My whole body was trembling. I grabbed my phone and called Carter. He answered. “Lora.” His voice was as cold and hard as stone in a freezer. “I never thought you were a gambler. Gamblers are the one thing I can’t stand. Good thing I hid who I was — otherwise a woman like you would’ve drained everything I had.” “Carter, I never gambled!” “Don’t bother explaining.” He cut me off. “You took the money. You lost it yourself. There’s nothing left between us.” “Don’t call me again.” Click. I called back. It didn’t go through. He’d blocked me. Christine clapped her hands together lightly and called toward the door. “Come in.” Several men filed into the room. My stomach dropped. The loan sharks. The one in front looked me over with a slow, ugly smile. “Since you can’t pay the money, you’ll just have to pay another way. Don’t worry. We’ll be gentle.” I backed into the corner. I was shaking. They moved toward me. I fought. I screamed. Then my phone rang. Christine bent down and picked it up off the floor. “Oh, it’s Carter calling. But you’re a little busy right now. What a shame.” She hit accept and set the phone on the table. Speakerphone. One of the men grabbed me deliberately hard. I couldn’t stop the cry that tore out of me. The man in front laughed. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart. We’ll take good care of you.” On the other end of the line, Carter’s breath caught. “Lora, you really are something. I actually feel sorry I ever knew you. Any man will do, huh?” The call ended. He would never speak to me again. I knew it. “See? Now he really is disgusted by you.” My tears had run dry. The men in the floral shirts and their friends went about their business. I don’t know how long it lasted. An hour. Two hours. Maybe an entire day. All I know is that eventually they were gone. The room was destroyed. My body was covered in wounds. Blood everywhere. I lay on the cold floor and stared at the crack in the ceiling. It ran from the corner of the wall all the way to the light fixture, like a dried-up riverbed. I thought about two years ago, the day I first moved into this apartment. Carter had come to help me move in. He looked at that crack in the ceiling and said, “What a dump. Once I start making real money, I’ll buy you a proper place.” I slowly got up and walked to the window. It was open. The wind came in cool and easy. I looked down. Eighteenth floor. That would be enough. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. The wind roared past my ears. And then there was nothing. “Carter. Now we really are done.”

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