It was the first time my parents, my brother, and my sister-in-law had met my fiancé, Graham Scott. Graham was poised, courteous, and handled the grilling with practiced ease. My parents, David and Carol, and my brother, Aaron, seemed placated. Satisfied, even. But Sienna, my sister-in-law, frowned. She looked at me with an expression of deep disapproval and spoke in a tone heavy with misplaced wisdom. “Willow, I’ve been around the block, and I can tell you: you’re clearly still hung up on Patrick, the man we met last week! You need to stop this.” “This is your whole life, darling. You cannot be rushing into this marriage, using Graham as a fallback just because you’re pregnant!” “Yes, the doctor warned you that one more termination might leave you infertile, but you cannot settle! I’d rather support you for the rest of your life than watch you compromise like this.” I rushed to deny it, appealing to my parents and Aaron to back me up. But they only started to waffle, their clarification vague, effectively muddying the waters instead of clearing them. Graham looked utterly defeated. He left in a fit of anger, driving away only to die in a car accident moments later. I went insane, demanding answers, cornering Sienna and the rest of my family. But Sienna merely shrugged, her voice light and dismissive. “I was only trying to help you, Willow. I was testing if he had one hundred percent faith in you.” My family nodded along in support. “Thank God we tested him, then! Imagine if you’d actually married that short-lived loser—you’d be crying for years!” Rage blinding me, I grabbed them, insisting they come with me to Graham’s grave to repent. I never made it. I was shoved down the stairs by one of them and died. I woke up, back at the beginning. I looked at Sienna, who was already starting to give me her knowing, conspiratorial eye-roll. I smiled. If you’re so intent on “testing” my fiancé, Sienna, then I’ll be “testing” my brother for you. 1 Dinner had just wrapped up. We were settled on the plush sectional in my new living room, the conversation inevitably turning to the wedding plans with Graham. Sienna Marshall couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Willow, this is a lifelong commitment. You can’t shortchange yourself like this.” “Where is Patrick, the man we had lunch with just last week? The handsome one with the investment banking job and the condo in the West Village? He was so much better, and you clearly liked him more! Why are you settling for this Graham Scott?” I paused, but I didn’t feel the surge of anger I had the first time. I only felt a strange detachment. “Sienna, what on earth are you talking about? I never—” She cut me off before I could finish, not even looking at me, barreling forward with her speech. “Even if you don’t want me to say it, I have to, darling. If I don’t say it now, it will be too late forever!” “I know you’re rushing to get married because of the baby! But I stand by what I said: don’t let a big house and a fancy car from this man force you to have a child that will only be used as an illegitimate pawn in a family fortune fight!” “I still hope you’ll reconsider, Willow. Terminate the pregnancy. Move on with your life. You’ve had so many, what’s one more?” “If what the doctor said is true, and this one really does make you infertile, so be it. Mom, Dad, Aaron, and I—we will all take care of you for the rest of your life!” Sienna went on and on, weaving a story about me being promiscuous and a gold-digger who was trying to trap an unsuspecting man for his money. I remained perfectly calm. I had lived through this exact scene before. Last time, everything had gone smoothly until we started talking about the wedding, and then Sienna suddenly went manic. Under the “neutral” oversight of my parents and brother, I couldn’t get a single word in edgewise. Graham believed me, but he couldn’t stand against the united “testimony” of my whole family. He left, he crashed, and I didn’t survive long after him. 2 I had been reborn. I wasn’t about to fall into the same trap twice. I had been ready for Sienna’s attack, and as she grew more animated, my expression grew colder. But I didn’t try to refute her. Instead, I stood up abruptly, raised my hand, and slapped Sienna across the face with every ounce of force I had. “I don’t care if you’re drunk or possessed, I order you to snap out of it!” The silence that followed the smack was absolute. Sienna was stunned. My parents and Aaron were also shocked into stillness. They couldn’t pretend they hadn’t seen it, nor could they keep playing dumb. They all jumped up, pulling me aside, a cacophony of outrage rising around me. Aaron Reed shielded Sienna behind him, his finger nearly poking me in the eye. “What in God’s name is wrong with you, Willow? How could you put your hands on her?” “She’s your sister-in-law! Don’t you remember how much she’s done for you over the years?” “No matter what she said, it was for your own good! You don’t have to appreciate it, but you certainly don’t get to hit her!” I let out a cold, cynical laugh. So, when Sienna was slandering me, they were deaf, dumb, and blind. The second I defended myself, they “came alive.” But Aaron’s attempt at moral blackmail failed. I spoke softly, my voice laced with steel. “She only deserves respect when she acts respectable.” “Did she do good things for me? Yes. But have I been good to her? You look at what she’s wearing, what jewelry she’s flaunting. Who paid for it? I did.” “She doesn’t have to thank me, but she certainly can’t spew lies in front of my fiancé. That’s for my good? For whose good?” “If we want to talk about good, I slapped her for your good. If you don’t rein in that filthy mouth of hers, she’ll bring down ruin on the entire Reed family. After all, trouble comes out of an open mouth.” All four of them were speechless. I hadn’t even bothered to deny her claims, yet I was armed with a superior logic they weren’t prepared for. This was completely off-script. In their plan, I was supposed to be sobbing, begging Graham to believe me, then pleading with them to vouch for my purity and virtue. But you can’t clarify something that never happened using only words. So this time, I wasn’t going to waste time on a battle of wits. Sienna, however, was nearly spitting mad from the blow. She hid behind Aaron and yelled across the room at Graham. “I didn’t lie!” “Willow is right; maybe I wasn’t doing this for her good. I just can’t stand how she treats relationships! I can see you’re a good man, Graham, and I don’t want you to be blindsided. I don’t want you to be a cuckold!” Graham’s expression was an odd mix of confusion and stoicism. After a long pause, he spoke. “I trust Willow’s character. Furthermore, she has been with me for most of last week. She had no time to meet any ‘stranger’ for an engagement talk.” He was right. My rebirth didn’t happen at this moment; it happened ten days ago. I had already spoken to Graham. Last time, he was 80% convinced; this time, he was 100% on my side. I stepped forward, took Graham’s hand, and turned back to Sienna, a triumphant smirk on my face. “Sienna, you are either lying or having a sudden mental breakdown. Since you’ve always been such a sweet sister-in-law, it must be the latter. I’ll call the clinic right now and have you admitted for a mandatory 72-hour hold for psychological observation.” “I’m sure Mom, Dad, and Aaron won’t have any objection to that, right?” 3 David, Carol, and Aaron didn’t dare object. Not only was my reasoning sound, but more importantly, I was essentially their sole financial backer. I paid their mortgage, bought their life insurance policies, paid for their car, and even the utility bills were tied to my bank account. I wasn’t bluffing. I actually reached for my phone to make the call. Sienna looked terrified. Her relationship with Aaron was already strained, and if I hadn’t been constantly supporting her, her life in the Reed family would have been hell. If I sent her to a locked psychiatric ward, she might never get out. She gritted her teeth. “I’m not lying! I have proof! You’ve all been deceived by Willow Reed.” As she spoke, she hesitated, then pulled a folded A4 paper out of her handbag. I recognized it immediately: a sonogram image. The results slip bore my name. Sienna stammered, “I went with Willow for a check-up last week. It shows she’s seven weeks pregnant. Everything I said just now—that she was trying to trap an unsuspecting man—was what she told the doctor. I haven’t lied about a single thing!” In the previous life, Graham had been driven away by their chaotic yelling before Sienna could even produce this evidence. I had no idea it existed. But I wasn’t scared; I simply shook my head. “That result? AI can generate thousands of those in a minute.” Sienna didn’t argue. She snatched my phone, typed in my unlock code with practiced ease, and navigated to the City Medical Center’s patient portal. “This is the official patient portal for Tri-State General. I just logged in with your information. This is the electronic medical record for that check-up. The paper can be fake, but this digital record can’t be!” This time, even I couldn’t find a quick retort. Sienna was right. A paper copy could be forged, but the official hospital electronic file could not. Seeing my silence, my mother, Carol Reed, seemed to sigh in relief. She looked at me with a touch of guilt. “Willow, I know your sister-in-law has a cruel way of putting things, but she truly is looking out for your future. You can’t hide something like this forever.” My father, David, nodded in agreement. “That’s right. If you want to keep the baby, we won’t stop you. But marrying him under false pretenses is no good. You can always have the baby and let Aaron adopt him. Your reputation won’t suffer at all.” Aaron bypassed me completely and patted Graham on the shoulder. “Buddy, I sincerely hoped you’d become my brother-in-law. You’re a great guy, well-mannered, and you treat Willow well. But my sister really isn’t good enough for you. She’s not a good girl.” “We’re the ones who failed you, Graham. We didn’t raise her right. So I have to apologize to you, on behalf of our whole family.” Sienna looked like she’d won the lottery. She was waiting for Graham to explode, to maybe even slap me or drag me out of the room. But Graham didn’t move. He just looked at me with an extremely odd expression, as if to say, Why is this all happening exactly as you predicted? Because I had specifically told him to listen and not speak, he could only close his mouth, his face a mask of confusing composure. I didn’t answer his silent question. Instead, I let out a genuine laugh. “What a coincidence!” “Graham’s uncle gave me a voucher for a full executive physical. Graham and I went together yesterday. Full body workup. And somehow… they missed the seven-week pregnancy.” 4 As I spoke, I pulled out my own detailed medical report for verification. “This one is from a reputable health center. It also has a verified digital file. And Graham was with me when I had the blood work done. So I don’t just have physical proof, I have a verifiable human witness.” Sienna stared at me in disbelief. I didn’t give her a chance to recover. I picked up my phone again. “But Sienna would never try to hurt me. She must have known something to get so upset. This is clearly the fault of whoever used my medical ID for insurance fraud.” “I’m calling the police right now to report the fraud…” Sienna slapped the phone out of my hand. “Don’t try to change the subject!” “Maybe you had an abortion after you saw me! That’s why your results are clean! As for witnesses, we are four witnesses! We can all testify that you brought a different man home last Wednesday to discuss an engagement!” Sienna shot a hard look at the three Reeds. They hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded. “She’s right. It was Wednesday. I remember clearly.” “If you want to deny it, tell us where you were that Wednesday!” I couldn’t answer. Last Wednesday, Carol had dragged me shopping all day, and she clearly wouldn’t be my witness now. I found the situation even more ridiculous than before. It turned out their plan wasn’t riddled with holes; they had thought of every possible angle. But I wasn’t worried. I pointed to the large screen TV in the corner. “Even more of a coincidence.” “I installed a hidden security system ten days ago. Since you claim I brought a man home last Wednesday to discuss marriage, why don’t we roll the footage? Let’s see what man I brought home.” Hearing this, Sienna’s face instantly went pale. She screamed, running toward the TV, clawing and yelling that I couldn’t turn on the monitor. “You can’t watch the monitor! If you watch the monitor, your engagement with Graham is completely ruined!” “If you must watch it, at least send Graham away first! He’ll be heartbroken to see it!” I almost laughed out loud. Graham, however, looked uncomfortable for a different reason. “Sienna, you don’t need to worry about me. I trust Willow. I’m willing to watch the monitor to confirm her innocence.” I chimed in, “Sienna, this is my house, and Graham is my fiancé. I’m not scared. Why are you so scared?” I held back the frantic Sienna and nodded to Graham to proceed. Graham had helped me install the system, so he was perfectly comfortable projecting the feed onto the TV. In seconds, the security camera facing the front door showed a strange man entering the house, moving with the familiarity of a homeowner, and heading straight for the guest bedroom. The Reeds gasped in surprise. Sienna quickly seized the moment. “See? There’s the man! Turn it off! There will definitely be some R-rated scenes!” But Graham didn’t turn it off. He simply hit the pause button. Sienna breathed a sigh of relief. Aaron looked at me with a furious, disappointed stare. “Willow Reed, the evidence is undeniable. What do you have to say for yourself? You hit your sister-in-law just for speaking the truth! You owe her an apology immediately!” Just as he finished speaking, Graham fast-forwarded a few minutes, as I had instructed. A second figure appeared in the surveillance footage. And that person was none other than Sienna Marshall.

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Elias wrote me so many letters after his cancer diagnosis. I hadn’t opened a single one. While sorting through old things, I fully intended to toss them all. But Lily’s voice broke my concentration. “Mom, what are you doing?” She looked at the stacks of neatly folded stationery in my hands and gave me a mysterious smile. “Tell me about them. I promise I won’t make fun of you!” I didn’t answer. Instead, I tossed them into the rusty metal burn barrel in the backyard without a second thought. Then I struck a match and watched them burn completely, cleanly. “Just useless things.” Elias. Those answers I once desperately wanted. Or maybe, your belated regret and love. Let them scatter on the wind with this fire. 1 Lily stared into the barrel and then, out of the blue, said, “Mom, was the person who wrote these letters very much in love with you?” I gave a faint, wry smile. She followed up quickly, “And is he still alive?” Suddenly, I didn’t know how to answer her questions. Did Elias love me? I looked down at the bright, consuming flame. Did he love me, or did I love him? Did it even matter anymore? After all, he was dying. But even if his life was cut short, it had been filled with a happy, picture-perfect family, with beloved, well-adjusted children. I thought our story was finished, neatly closed. But I never expected him to force his way back into my life like this. He was always like this—self-important, assuming the entire world should step aside for him. I took Lily’s hand, and she glanced down, her eyes catching the shocking prominence of the scar on my wrist. “Mom, does this still hurt?” I froze, instinctively tightening my grip on her hand. I tried to pull my sleeve down to cover it. The next second, Lily’s eyes welled up with tears. “Mom, I know you used to get headaches every night and couldn’t sleep.” “And this scar.” She gently covered the raised tissue with both her small hands. “I looked it up online. It only gets this raised and thick if someone has cut it multiple times.” My emotions were caught in her current, my voice cracking. “Sweetheart, all that is in the past. Your mother has you now, and I’m very happy.” She threw herself into my arms, tears streaming down her face. “Mom, you love me so much. But are you taking good care of yourself now?” I opened my mouth at her question, but the words wouldn’t come. After a few moments of silent crying, she slowly lifted her head, her eyes wet and searching. “Mom, can you tell me a story about your past?” “I just want to know who my mother was.” I stroked her hair, silent for a moment, and sighed softly. Then, my mind drifted, uncontrolled, back to a time long ago. 2 Ten years ago, at the Montgomery family estate in Boston, I had just finished celebrating my twenty-third birthday. I was heading to my room to finally rest when my cousin, Taylor, blocked my path. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she gripped my arm hard. “Sloane, you have everything. Can’t you just give Elias up to me?” My smile froze. The flush of champagne instantly faded. “Elias is my husband. We’ve been married for three years.” “What are you talking about?” Taylor’s tears finally spilled over. “I’m pregnant.” She added in a low whisper, “It’s Elias’s.” In that moment, my mind felt like it had been split in two by an axe. A roaring sound filled my ears, and even breathing became a struggle. I didn’t hear the rest of her frantic, rambling explanation. A cold numbness began to spread from my chest. I pushed Taylor away with trembling hands, only for her to stumble, falling backward. “Taylor!” A pair of strong arms caught her instantly. I clearly saw her slightly protruding abdomen for the first time. Elias held her tightly, his eyes wide with a mix of panic and overwhelming concern. When he looked up, the only emotion he directed at me was raw fury. I realized Taylor hadn’t been lying. “Sloane, I’m already with you. What more do you want?” The way he protected Taylor was exactly the same way he had protected me the year I was brought home from the hospital. All traces of the evening’s intoxication had vanished. I could even see the white knuckles of his hand as he tightly secured Taylor in his embrace. I forced myself to speak, maintaining a composure I didn’t feel. “Get rid of the baby. I can pretend none of this ever happened.” The words felt like someone had violently squeezed my heart. After a long silence, Elias finally looked up, his expression hardening with a clear resolution. “Sloane, we only had a wedding ceremony. We never actually signed the marriage license.” “In the eyes of the law, it doesn’t count.” My throat felt clogged, and I spoke in a voice barely a rasp. “Taylor is Father’s private daughter. Your child with her is also destined to live in the shadows.” “And this, in case you forgot, is the Montgomery estate.” To my surprise, Elias let out a bitter, cutting laugh. He ignored my words, instead helping Taylor gently onto a nearby chair. “Sloane, I told you I would take care of you for life, and that wasn’t a lie.” “But Taylor is pregnant. I can’t be an irresponsible man.” Finally, he looked directly into my eyes, his face calm. “I thought you would have understood the unwritten rules of our social circle by now.” “Stop creating a scene, and just listen to me. Be a good girl.” In that moment, I felt like I had never known Elias Prescott at all. After that night, I fought him every single day. At first, Elias would use a soft voice to coax me. “Sloane, you’re the one I love most. I thought you understood my heart. Please, just be reasonable…” Gifts of all shapes and sizes began to appear, piled up in my room. But I felt no happiness at all. I started trying to hurt myself. The first time I cut my wrist, he rushed me to the hospital, terrified and heartbroken. The doctor, after confirming the wounds were shallow, gave me a meaningful look and said: “Young people shouldn’t make such a fuss over love and emotions.” Later, as Taylor’s pregnancy progressed, no matter how much I screamed that I was going to kill myself, Elias never stepped foot in my room again. The last time I cut my wrist was the day Taylor gave birth to twins. We were both rushed to the hospital at the same time. When I woke up, only my wrist, throbbing with pain beyond words, was there to comfort me. Elias had stood vigil outside Taylor’s delivery room for over twenty hours. My father even hosted a lavish celebration for the two new lives. Everyone of note in the Boston social circle sent their blessings. They had already decided that Taylor, the illegitimate daughter, had successfully claimed her place. Elias held the twins, planting a kiss on Taylor’s forehead that overflowed with tenderness. He looked like the perfect husband and father. But when his eyes fell on the blood-soaked bandage on my wrist, his look of disgust was absolute. “Sloane Montgomery, do you look like a society wife right now?” 3 Lily hugged me tight again. Her small body was shaking uncontrollably. “Mom, did you adopt me because I look like the baby you lost?” She quickly lowered her head, adding in a whisper, “It’s okay. I won’t be sad.” I kissed her cheek. I started to peel back the layers of pain that had once nearly crushed me. Placing them in the sunlight, waiting for them to finally scar over. Three years after Taylor gave birth to the twins, I became pregnant. My mental state at the time was fragile. But when Elias heard the news, he was ecstatic, as if he had found some kind of salvation. “Sloane, we’re having a baby. Feel this.” He took my hand, his large one guiding mine to rest gently over my lower abdomen. I knew what this meant. From that day on, he assigned me bodyguards, twenty-four hours a day. And I stopped fighting. I naively believed this child would be his reason to come back. A clean break for us to start over. I obediently rested, not even seeking out Taylor’s presence anymore. One evening, Elias, breaking his long-standing rule, actually came into my room. “Sloane, the love between us isn’t gone.” “We just need to find the right arrangement for both of us.” He leaned over and placed a kiss on my forehead. “Just give me some time.” I nodded. “Elias, let’s get legally married. Now, will you?” He stiffened instantly. “Sloane, what are you talking about?” Suddenly, I became hysterical. “Did you never plan to truly spend your life with me, from the very start?” “The day I got pregnant, you turned around and legally married her.” “How long were you planning to keep lying to me?” I took a step back, my spine hitting the cold wall. “I thought you were different.” “But when I saw with my own eyes that you took her overseas to choose a wedding ring, I finally understood.” My voice wasn’t loud, but every word was clearly enunciated. “You told me you were only doing this for the Montgomery legacy, and that I was your true wife, but you turned around and signed the papers with her.” “After she gave birth to the first set of twins, I was foolish enough to think you’d settle down and come back to me. Instead, the very next year, she was pregnant again.” While they basked in the world’s blessings, I was carving up my own wrists, one slice at a time. His eyes grew colder, yet he still tried to soothe me with patience. “Sloane, I told you to give me time.” “Why do you have to be so difficult?” I raised my hand to cut him off. “I thought you were different.” “I even thought you would come back to me, settle down.” “You felt sorry for her going through labor twice, but you still wanted a full house of children.” I looked down at my pregnant belly. “Even if this baby is born, it will never be truly loved.” Everyone had accepted their relationship. Only I, like a desperate clown, was fighting for my life in the Montgomery house. I backed up to the landing of the staircase, speaking with a calm despair. “My father only ever loved his unattainable ideal. After my mother died giving birth to me, he turned around and married my stepmother.” “You want to be just like my father. You want to have your cake and eat it too.” His face drained of color. “Sloane Montgomery, the fact that I’m here, trying to talk to you, proves I still care about you.” “You better start acting like the legitimate daughter of this house. You should try to learn from Taylor and support me quietly from the shadows.” Over the years, my father had come to respect Elias’s sharp mind and ambition. From a virtual driver to his right-hand man, from a nobody to a rising star in the Boston elite. He escorted Taylor to every high-end event. And Taylor, having been refined through fire, was no longer the timid illegitimate daughter. She even ran her own exclusive socialite coaching business. She had leveraged nearly all of Boston’s old-money connections and resources. This was the path I had intended to pave for him. But all I got in return was: “Sloane Montgomery, look at yourself. Do you even resemble the woman I fell for anymore?” I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Dull hair, sunken eyes, a body so thin it was bloodless. Meanwhile, Taylor, despite two pregnancies, still looked like a girl, from her face to her figure. He allowed me to live without any dignity, yet he forbade me from doing anything that might hurt his image. I was about to turn to walk down the stairs. The next second, a force slammed into my back, and I tumbled down.

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For three years, since the day our son was born, my wife has suffered from unexplained mutism, a silence the doctors blamed on a severe psychological block. For three years, Jocelyn hadn’t spoken a single word to me. She’d stand by, silent, even if the carbon monoxide alarm was screaming. She never soothed our baby when he cried or fed him when he was hungry. When my small construction business went under, I didn’t have a second to mourn. I started driving for every delivery app—DoorDash, Uber Eats, you name it—just to pay the bills, all while still dragging Jocelyn to endless therapy appointments and specialists. That day, after working a grueling fourteen hours, exhaustion had turned my brain to mush. I was backing the van into our driveway and didn’t see her. I didn’t see that she’d let our three-year-old, Leo, play right behind the tires. The crunch beneath my back tire was sickeningly familiar, yet utterly foreign. A sharp, brief cry, then nothing. My legs gave out. I forced myself to move, my hands shaking so violently I could barely scoop up Leo and rush him to the car. Jocelyn just stood there. Silent, impassive, like she always did. She looked at the scene—at her own child—as if it were a scene playing out on TV, nothing to do with her. I finally snapped. I grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard, the years of silent suffering bubbling into a primal scream. “You saw him! Why couldn’t you shout? Why did you put him there? What twisted psychological problem makes you watch your own son die? Are you trying to kill me too?” I was hysterical, veins popping in my neck. But Jocelyn wouldn’t—couldn’t—open her mouth. The three years of dead silence had finally broken me. I was ready to collapse, to surrender to the despair. That’s when it happened. She pushed through the small crowd that had gathered, and for the first time in 1,095 days, she spoke. It was soft, barely a whisper, but the sound slammed into me like a physical blow. “Marcus…” Marcus Wells. Her first love. The man she never stopped calling her ‘forever ex.’ Her psychological block wasn’t a disorder. It was us. 1 I slumped against the waiting room wall at the ER, my hands clasped so tight my knuckles were white. A man like me shouldn’t beg, but I was begging. I was praying to a God I hadn’t spoken to since I was a kid. Please, let him live. Just let him live. Jocelyn? I didn’t want her anymore. Leo was so small, he could barely string a sentence together. I hadn’t taken him anywhere. I hadn’t shown him the ocean or the mountains. I hit myself, hard, across the face several times. Why was I so tired? Why was I so careless? Why didn’t I check the rearview camera one last time? The work fatigue had been instantly replaced by the raw, suffocating terror of a father. Why was fate so cruel as to make me the one to kill my own child? The emergency room light blinked off. The doctor, his scrubs soaked with blood, walked out. “He has multiple fractures. A rib pierced his heart. We stabilized him, but he needs to go to the ICU immediately. Prepare yourselves, family.” I hit the floor. The back of my head slammed against the concrete wall, and the world went dark. When I woke up, Jocelyn was standing over me, her face lined with a familiar, manufactured concern. She poured me a cup of weak hospital coffee. Still silent. I was too tired to press her. Too exhausted to chase the truth. It didn’t matter anymore. We used to dream about the day her voice came back, how happy we would be, a perfect family of three. But now I knew the truth. She wasn’t unable to speak to us; she was simply unwilling. A dead calm settled inside me. I spoke into the silence. “Jocelyn, we’re done. We are getting a divorce. Three years ago, you said you were a burden, and you were right. I hate you for it.” She recoiled as if I’d struck her. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She shook her head desperately. She typed quickly on her phone and showed me the screen. ‘I am devastated about Leo. We need to get through this together.’ Talking about Leo made my eyes burn again. How could I believe her? How could I convince myself that I had hallucinated that single, clear word? When my son’s life was hanging by a thread, she abandoned us. She broke her vow of silence for the man she never let go of. Her forever ex. I didn’t want to talk anymore. I just walked to the glass divider to look at my son. This was all my fault. Just give Daddy one chance, kid. I’m taking you away from here. We don’t need her. I swallowed the tears, forced myself into a functional state. ICU costs were crippling. I had to go back to work. That same morning, I called a realtor and listed our house. I was peddling snacks and drinks out of my delivery van later that week when a buyer called me. He was viewing the house and commented on how immaculate I kept the place, impressed by my work ethic. Then he saw a photograph of Jocelyn. His demeanor changed. “Oh, you’re a friend of Mrs. Reid? That makes this easy. Mrs. Reid is a generous woman, a true partner. Any man lucky enough to marry her gets a built-in venture capitalist. She backed her husband’s company with everything she had.” My smile froze solid. I didn’t understand what he was talking about. He chuckled, explaining. “Mr. Wells’ business is booming. He’s our biggest vendor now. I need him for my contract, so this house? Just name your price. I’ll make sure it closes.” Marcus Wells? My hands, calloused and scraped from loading up my beat-up delivery van, felt like a pathetic joke. From the conversation, I learned the horrifying truth: Jocelyn had funneled my money—our money—into Marcus’s company, becoming his silent, major shareholder, while watching my business fail and our family sink into penury. A searing pain bloomed in my chest. I excused myself to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, trying to regain control.

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Preparing for assisted suicide abroad, the journalist suddenly asked me, “Ms. Thorne, what is the single greatest regret of your life?” I thought for a long time before slowly beginning to speak: “When my parents went to the group home to adopt a child, I chose a quiet boy who rarely spoke, and then I insisted on marrying him, against everyone’s advice.” My answer piqued the reporter’s curiosity, and she pressed on: “Did you marry him in the end?” I touched the scar on my wrist, a wound that had long since healed over. This was a rare moment of lucidity for me. “I did. But then I divorced him. He ended up with my lifelong best friend. I heard they recently had their second child. Good for them.” That same afternoon, after the interview aired, Derek Hayes rushed from the States and stopped the procedure. He looked at me, his eyes wide with unconcealed relief and surprise. “Jenna, thank God you’re alive! Your mother has been asking about you constantly, she misses you. We all miss you.” I pulled my hand out of his grip and said softly, “Sir, do we know each other?” 1 Derek looked like he’d been hit with a two-by-four, frozen solid for a good two seconds. “Jenna, even if you hate me, you don’t have to pretend not to know me, do you?” I looked at his face, feeling a vague sense of familiarity. The foreign nurse beside me leaned in and whispered a reminder. “Ms. Thorne, do you remember? You showed us photos—this is your ex-husband.” Ex-husband? A flicker of recognition. I fumbled in the pocket of my hospital gown for a yellowed little notebook. I carefully flipped through a few pages, my finger stopping at a certain line, and finally matched the face to the name. “Oh, it’s you. Well, you came at the right time. You can arrange for my body. When I die, please make sure I’m buried next to my father.” Derek snatched the notebook from my hand and slammed it to the floor. “Jenna, have you lost your mind! How much longer are you going to keep this act up! Five years ago you faked your death and left, letting everyone live in agony and guilt—wasn’t that enough?” I lowered my head, saying nothing. The tumor in my brain was pressing on my nerves; I had forgotten too many things, and now I didn’t even have the energy to argue. Because of Derek’s arrival, I didn’t die that day. Perhaps it was the desire to die closer to my dad, but I agreed to go back with him. On the flight home, Derek kept talking. “Everyone went crazy looking for you after you disappeared.” “When they hauled the car out of the ocean, the driver’s seat was empty. Everyone thought you were dead.” “Your mother cried for a solid month, almost losing her eyesight. She’s the one who asked me to bring you back. You two need to talk; how can a mother and daughter have such deep-seated resentment?” The chattering gave me a headache, and I cut him off. “Derek, my notes say that the reason our marriage failed was that you cheated on me with my best friend. Is that true?” Screech! The sound of tires grating on the tarmac was jarring. The car swerved violently. Derek pressed his lips together, silent. The topic was dropped, never to be resumed. 2 The car pulled into the driveway, where Willow Sterling was helping my mother, Eleanor, stand at the front door. When she saw me get out, Eleanor let out a cold scoff and turned her head away. My heart ached, but I didn’t speak. Though the memories in my brain were disjointed, my body remembered. I instinctively walked across the living room and pushed open the door to my old room. My old writing desk, the baby grand piano—all gone. In their place was a sprawl of Legos and action figures covering the floor. Derek stepped in front of me, trying to block the view inside the room. “Jenna, I’ll have this room cleared out for you right away.” Before he could finish, a five-year-old boy suddenly darted out of the corner. He spread his arms wide, blocking the doorway, and glared at me fiercely. “This is my toy room! Don’t touch anything! Get out, you bad lady!” The boy hurled the metal toy car in his hand directly at me. The hard projectile hit my kneecap, and a sharp, piercing pain shot through me. I gasped, my body swaying, almost stumbling backward. “Leo!” Willow rushed over, covering the boy’s mouth, her face a mask of panic. I didn’t get angry. I just felt the pain in my knee travel up my nerves and settle in my heart. The air felt too thick here; I could barely breathe. I turned and dragged my aching leg outside. Derek followed me. He forcefully put me into the car and drove me to a high-end hotel. The moment the room lights came on, the memories I had suppressed flooded back to me instantly. I was seven years old when my parents took me to the group home, saying they wanted to adopt an older brother for me. Among the children desperately trying to impress, only Derek huddled quietly in a corner. My parents didn’t like him; they thought he was too solitary, too hard to bond with. But when a few older kids pushed me to the ground, fighting over my candy, Derek had stepped in front of me. He was battered and bruised, his nose bleeding, but he wouldn’t move. That day, I cried and threw a tantrum in my parents’ arms, pointing at his bloodied face. “I want him! I want that brother!” And so, Derek came home with us. For over a decade, we went to school together, we grew up together. He sheltered me, protecting me from every slight and sorrow. Later, we got married. But on our first wedding anniversary, I had booked a restaurant and couldn’t reach him anywhere. Fearing something had happened, I tracked his phone. It led me to a high-end hotel, just like this one. Willow, wearing a silk slip, opened the door. Derek lay passed out on the bed inside. One was the man I had loved for over a decade, the other my confidante for just as long. In that instant, my world collapsed. 3 I didn’t even have the courage to rush in and confront them. I ran like a coward. Despair, humiliation, and nausea flooded my mind. I stood on the cross-town bridge, staring down at the pitch-black, churning river, and I jumped. The icy water rushed into my nasal cavity, and I was engulfed in a suffocating darkness. My dad, Robert, worried about me, had followed right behind. When he saw me jump, he didn’t hesitate; he jumped in after me. He used all his strength to push me back toward the bank, but he struggled in the swift current and eventually sank. When my dad’s body was recovered, my mother, Eleanor, cursed me hysterically, hitting and kicking me. “What was so terrible that you had to do that? I told you, men are like this! If you can live with it, stay! If not, divorce him! Why did you have to be so dramatic!” For a long time after that, whenever my mother saw me, she would say, “Why wasn’t it you who died?” Yes, I wanted to know too. Why could she forgive Derek, forgive Willow for destroying my family, but not forgive me? As the memories returned, the searing pain made my body convulse. I clutched my chest, squatting on the floor, gasping for air. “Jenna, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?” Derek looked at me, huddled on the floor, his voice tight with alarm. A knock sounded on the door, and he stood up to open it. The door opened, and Willow’s eyes quickly scanned Derek, taking him in. When she saw that he was fully dressed, her tense shoulders noticeably relaxed. She squeezed into the room, her gaze falling on me, assuming the stance of the woman of the house. “Jenna, since you’re back, it’s better you come home. I’ve had the room cleared out. Leo is young and doesn’t know any better. You’re the adult, don’t hold it against him.” Five years later, I was this close to my former best friend again. The question I couldn’t ask then finally found its voice. “Willow, why did you betray me?” This question was not just about Derek’s infidelity but Willow’s calculated move. They both knew what they meant to me. 4 Willow’s forced smile instantly crumbled. With her so-called dignity stripped away, she dropped the act. “Yes, it was all my fault. But Jenna, is a matter of the heart something I can control?” “I was just trying to secure my own happiness. Was that so wrong?” What a self-righteous justification. That to secure happiness, she could shamelessly climb into her best friend’s husband’s bed. “Stop it!” Derek suddenly roared, cutting off her tearful confession. “The past is the past! Why bring it up now!” “Jenna is back, and I will do everything I can to make it up to her. I will return the Thorne family company and all the assets to her.” At this, Willow’s sobs instantly ceased. “Derek, you’re going to give everything to her, aren’t you? What about me and Leo?” Derek’s silence ignited Willow’s fury. She looked at the man before her with crushing disappointment and slowly retreated toward the door. “Fine! If you’re so determined to make amends, then let’s get a divorce!” With that, she turned and stormed out of the room. Derek stood rooted, his eyes darting between the direction Willow had disappeared in and me. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. In the end, he made his choice. “Jenna, get some rest here. I’ll come back for you tomorrow.” After this brief instruction, he turned and chased after her. Looking at the empty doorway, I started laughing. Jenna Thorne, you came back just to humiliate yourself again. I bent over, coughing violently for a while, and then looked at the faint blood on my palm. I suddenly felt nostalgic for my childhood, safe in my parents’ arms. One last look before I die. 5 Under the cover of darkness, I quietly crept back to the house. The front door was slightly ajar, and I could hear a fierce argument inside. Peeking through the gap, I saw my mother pointing a finger at Derek, scolding him. “Derek, what are you saying? You want to divorce Willow and remarry Jenna? Have you lost your mind! Marriage isn’t a game! Who do you truly love in your heart, do you even know?” Derek’s head was bowed, his hands buried in his hair in obvious distress. “Mom, that whole thing was an accident. I was drunk that night, completely blacked out, I don’t remember a thing! Jenna has always been the one in my heart! Now I just want to make amends. I want to give back what I owe her.” Eleanor slapped the table, her voice cold as ice. “What about Willow? What about Leo? And the second baby she’s pregnant with! If Jenna hadn’t come back, the three of you would have welcomed your second child soon.” “You tell me you can’t let her go, but can you let go of your current wife, let go of your two children?” Derek opened his mouth but couldn’t make a sound. Eleanor looked at his silence, her voice taking on a hateful edge. “If I had known her coming back would cause such a mess, I never should have let you go get her! The fact that she could fake her own death five years ago means there’s nothing she won’t do!” “She might even lie and say she has cancer, just to break you two up!” Inside the room, Derek fell silent. After a long pause, he seemed to yield. “Give me some time to think, but I won’t back down on one thing: as long as I’m here, no one is allowed to hurt her. I will return the Thorne family company and all the assets to her intact!” I didn’t want to hear the rest and turned to leave, but I bumped into Leo. He looked at me with open hostility. “You’re the bad lady trying to take Daddy away! Daddy said he’s going to give you the house and the money! Why? Those things are mine!” Leo was holding a pair of small scissors and suddenly lunged at me. The metal points plunged into my thigh. A searing pain shot through me, and I instinctively reached out and pushed him away. Leo fell back, hitting the ground, and began to wail, clutching his hand where the skin was broken. “Daddy, Mommy, Grandma, the bad lady hit me!” Willow materialized out of nowhere, shoving me hard. She snatched up Leo and looked at me, her guard up. “Jenna, whatever you have against me, take it out on me! Don’t take it out on my son!” I clutched my bleeding thigh, trying to walk away, but Willow held onto me relentlessly. Her grip was strong, making my arm scream in pain. I yanked hard, but unexpectedly, she staggered and fell heavily to the ground. Blood began to flow down her thigh, shocking and unmistakable. 6 My mother and Derek rushed out one after the other. Seeing Willow on the ground, Eleanor instinctively slapped me across the face. “Jenna! I knew you coming back meant trouble. That assisted suicide, the sickness—it’s all a fabricated lie! You just can’t stand to see us happy, can you? Get out! Never show your face here again!” Seeing Derek, Willow’s face crumpled into a mask of tears. “Derek, the baby, our baby!” Derek frantically picked up Willow and ran out. My mother followed with Leo. The yard was suddenly empty, save for me. I looked down at my still-bleeding thigh and strangely felt no pain at all, light and disembodied. I hailed a cab and went to the cemetery. Leaning against my father’s tombstone, I suddenly felt overwhelmingly sleepy. In my haze, I thought I saw my dad reaching out to me, smiling. “Jenna, Dad’s here to take you home! Where’s your mom? Did you make her angry again?” I pulled out my phone and dialed my mother’s number. The moment she answered, I started to cry. “Mom, I’m dying. Please, help me…” My mother’s voice was venomous, spilling out words without thought. “Jenna, Willow miscarried! And you have the nerve to call? I’m telling you, I won’t believe you this time! If you’re going to die, do it far away from here!” The phone went dead, and my hand slid away. The next morning, Derek was leaving the hospital building to smoke a cigarette when he saw a hearse from the funeral home pulling away. A sudden gust of wind lifted a corner of the white sheet. Derek saw my deathly pale half-face, and my eyes, which were still wide open.

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The Stanton Confessions Board blew up with an anonymous post. No photo, just a block of text dripping with passive aggression: [Saw the girl I’ve been crushing on for a year get into a Maybach outside the campus gates. Guess I should’ve known she wasn’t worth my heart.] [Some of these campus ‘queens’ really know how to leverage their assets to skip twenty years of the grind and jump straight into a penthouse apartment.] [Meanwhile, guys like us are eating the ten-dollar cafeteria special while the gold-diggers are sipping on thirty-dollar Starbucks lattes.] [P.S. I looked up the car. The owner is a fifty-something dude, married, family man. Some people better watch their backs.] The post instantly rocketed to the top of the trending list. The comment section was a storm of outrage: “Don’t worry, man, she’s not worth it!” “Which college? Spill the tea, dude! Can’t stand gold-diggers!” The anonymous poster replied with a mock sigh: “Hey, let’s give the girl some privacy. I won’t drop the name.” “I’m just disappointed. I really thought she was different. I mean, she walks around acting like a total angel, but behind the scenes… ugh.” I read the thread right after stepping out of the shower. My roommate, Piper Reynolds, leaned over my shoulder, face mask slipping slightly. “Izzy, look at this… that description sounds kind of like you, doesn’t it?” She blinked. “Wasn’t there a black sedan that picked you up last Friday when it was raining?” I paused, the towel in my hand stilling. That was my family’s driver. 1 The next morning, in my 8 AM Architectural History lecture, I felt the atmosphere shift immediately. A few guys in the back row kept glancing over, whispering, and letting out these little, smug chuckles. I sat down, and my phone vibrated. A new message popped up in our college group chat. It was the anonymous poster. “Some people acting like nothing happened, huh?” He tagged everyone in the class. “Fine, I’ll name names.” “@ArchitectureMajorIsabelleVaughan.” “Last Friday, 4 PM, East Gate. Black Maybach S680, license plate ends in 888. Do I need to post the video?” The group chat went dead for three seconds, then exploded. “Wait, seriously, it’s her?” “She always seemed so… wholesome.” “A Maybach S680? That’s like, half a million dollars, easy.” “No wonder she never went to any of the mixers. She thought we were peasants.” My fingers were ice cold, trembling as I typed: “That is my father’s car. Do you have a problem?” He instantly replied: “Here we go! The classic ‘it’s my dad’ line!” “Why don’t you just say it’s your sugar daddy?” “I did my research. The owner’s name is Davies, fifty-something, real estate mogul. Isabelle Vaughan, did your dad change his name?” I froze. Mr. Davies was indeed the family driver, and he’d been with us for over a decade. But how was I supposed to explain that? Saying “he’s my family’s chauffeur” would sound even more like a pathetic cover story. Seeing my silence, the poster’s bravado surged: “Nothing to say now? Fine. Be a gold-digger, be a mistress, but don’t act like a holier-than-thou saint.” “Just so you know, that guy has a wife and kids. Pull back before you wreck a family!” Piper Reynolds chimed in: “Guys, let’s not be so harsh on Izzy… maybe she’s just covering her rent with creative side hustles.” “Society’s tough these days. You have to respect a woman for taking shortcuts… right?” I almost laughed, the fury turning my insides to ice. I rushed to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face, trying to calm down. But I heard distinct voices from the stall next to mine: “That’s her, huh? Looks so innocent.” “Innocent? Honey, she’s got a talent for leveraging that image. I heard Braden Miller chased her for a whole year, flowers, coffee runs, everything, and she wouldn’t even look at him. Turns out she was just holding out for bigger money.” “Poor Braden, feeding his heart to a beast.” “But wow, trading up for a guy old enough to be her grandfather… she’s got the stomach for anything, I guess.” I leaned against the stall door, feeling a chill run through me. Braden Miller. The guy I had explicitly rejected multiple times, who had then devolved into an irritating stalker. Now, he was the “heartbroken victim”? Back in the lecture hall, the atmosphere was suffocating. The class rep, Maria, came over, lowering her voice: “Izzy, Professor Martin wants to see you in his office.” In the office, Professor Martin’s face was grim. The Confessions Board page was up on his monitor. “Ms. Vaughan, this is a very poor look for the department. Several students and faculty have already brought it to my attention. The university is concerned. Can you explain this?” I waited. “Now, Braden, he was a little harsh with his words.” He adjusted his glasses. “But you have to see, stepping out of a car like that, on campus, it’s going to generate gossip, right? You have to consider appearances.” “So, it’s my fault?” I countered. He waved a dismissive hand. “I’m just saying, you need to be mindful of the impact. This is a conservative school. A young woman must protect her reputation…” I cut him off: “Professor Martin, Braden Miller publicly defamed me in a class-wide chat, accusing me of being a mistress. That’s grounds for disciplinary action, according to the student handbook.” Professor Martin’s smile froze. “Well… Izzy, Braden comes from a disadvantaged background. His parents are blue-collar workers, and he’s on a full-ride scholarship.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “If you pursue this, he’ll have a mark on his record. It could ruin his career prospects…” “So, because he’s poor, he has the right to spread slander?” I stared at him. “Don’t put words in my mouth!” Professor Martin snapped, his face hardening. “I’m trying to protect you! Your reputation is everything! Do you really want to drag this into the Dean’s office? The whole campus will know you stepped out of a luxury sedan—is that the narrative you want?” “That car belongs to my father’s comp—” “Enough!” He waved his hand impatiently. “It doesn’t matter who owns the car, you should have been more discreet! Here’s what we’ll do: I’ll make Braden apologize, and we’ll let this whole thing die down. Agreed?” “What if I don’t agree?” He glared at me. “Isabelle Vaughan! Why are you being so difficult? Do you want to take this to the Dean? I’m telling you, if this blows up, you will be the one who suffers the most!” My phone buzzed. I glanced down. It was a text from my father. “Izzy, I heard someone at school is giving you trouble? Do you need me to handle it?” I took a deep breath and replied: “No. I can handle it myself.” Then I looked up at Professor Martin. “Since you can’t resolve this, I will proceed in my own way.” “What… what are you going to do?” he called after me. I didn’t look back. 2 Almost instantly, my dad called. “Izzy, if you’re unhappy, just walk away. I’ll get the transfer papers ready. You can go to any school you want. Also, I recall Stellar Industries pledged a one-billion-dollar endowment to Stanton last year, correct? I think we should hold that up. A student body with this kind of toxic culture…” “Dad!” I interrupted quickly. “Don’t stop it.” My father paused. I inhaled, trying to keep my voice steady. “That money… there are students in my class who genuinely need it. Sarah’s mom has late-stage cancer. Mike worked construction all summer just to pay tuition. We can’t let those who actually need help lose hope just because of a couple of toxic people.” I hesitated, my voice dropping. “But the transfer, I do want to think about it. I… I can’t stay here.” After a long silence, my dad sighed. “If anyone lays a finger on you again, tell me. Money can be donated, and it can also be withdrawn.” Hanging up the phone, I finally felt a flicker of warmth. I opened my contacts and found Braden Miller’s number. “Braden, delete your defamatory post immediately and issue a public apology and factual clarification across all relevant platforms.” He sounded like he’d heard the funniest joke in the world, his voice spiking. “Isabelle Vaughan, are you delusional? Defamation? Everything I said is true! Everyone can see it!” “That was my father’s assigned driver!” My voice shook with anger. “Driver? Ha ha ha!” He burst into malicious laughter. “Keep spinning that yarn! Why don’t you say he’s your long-lost father? I’m telling you, I’ve seen countless vain girls who pretend to be pure. I was blind to think you were different! Turns out, you’re dirtier than the rest! At least they’re honest about the price. You? You want to have your cake and eat it too!” “This is slander!” I yelled. “Slander? Go ahead and sue me!” He sounded completely unconcerned, even thrilled by the confrontation. Then, he hung up. That night, the campus Confessions Board updated. It was an audio link with the caption: “Forced to apologize due to pressure. Sorry everyone, I shouldn’t have told the truth. Her ‘sugar daddy’ has too much power. A poor kid from a small town like me can’t fight them. [Crying emoji] Hope Ms. Vaughan and her people will take pity on me.” I clicked the link. It was a maliciously edited snippet of our conversation. The comment section was completely lost. “Oh my God, he’s such a victim!” “Isabelle Vaughan is a bully! Using her wealth and connections to threaten students?” “No wonder the professor wouldn’t touch it. She’s connected!” “@UniversityOfficial, do something! Protect Braden Miller!” I dragged my exhausted body back to the dorm. The moment I pushed the door open, a force shoved me backward. Piper Reynolds stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, flanked by the two other roommates, their faces cold and hostile. “Isabelle Vaughan, don’t you dare come in!” Piper’s voice was sharp. “You’ve been sleeping around, who knows what you’ve picked up? We don’t want your filth here!” “Seriously! Get out now!” “You’re disgusting! We actually thought we were friends!” The other two roommates chimed in, roughly pushing my suitcase out the door. I tried to explain, but they wouldn’t let me speak. I watched helplessly as they shoved me out and slammed the door shut. I had no choice but to call Mr. Davies to come pick me up and take me home, making sure to ask him to drive a less conspicuous car. I slept for a day, feverish and heavy, finally waking up the next evening as the fever broke. I opened my phone. A new message was pinned to the top of the group chat: [Stellar Industries $1 Billion Poverty Relief Fund has been disbursed! Every student in this class is on the list, receiving $50,000 annually for the next four years!] 3 The chat exploded with cheers, dozens of screens flashing with “Thank you, Stellar Industries!” and “Best surprise ever!” Many of the quieter students posted with excitement, detailing how the money would relieve their family stress and allow them to focus purely on their studies. I was on the list, too. After an attempted kidnapping when I was a child, my father had insisted I maintain a low profile, so I was officially registered as a regular student, technically qualifying for the aid. Just then, two jarring messages cut through the noise. Braden Miller: “@ClassRep @ProfessorMartin I think this list needs a second look, don’t you? Some students clearly do not meet the ‘disadvantaged’ criteria, and some have serious moral issues. Giving them scholarships would be an insult to the donor’s intent. @IsabelleVaughan.” Piper Reynolds immediately backed him up: “Braden is right! Scholarships are for hard-working, needy students with good character! Some people are riding around in Maybachs and collecting poverty aid. That’s gross! I suggest we revoke @IsabelleVaughan’s eligibility, for the sake of integrity!” The previously festive atmosphere in the chat instantly froze. A few seconds later, someone tentatively posted: “…Honestly, Braden has a point.” “Izzy doesn’t look like she needs financial aid…” “And the character issues… that’s a bad look.” I stared at the screen, a profound exhaustion washing over me. I didn’t even have the energy to argue. I typed, then hit send: “I voluntarily forfeit my eligibility for this scholarship cycle. I wish everyone the best.” Then, I muted the group chat. The silence lasted less than two minutes. Piper Reynolds’ private message window started flashing wildly. I opened it. It was a selfie: Braden Miller, turning his head, kissing Piper on the cheek. Piper’s smile was saccharine, the caption cruel: “Braden says some people are born low, only fit to look up at other people’s happiness from the gutter. Oh, and I forgot to tell you—Braden’s not only top of the class, his family’s old house is in the new development zone. He’s major up-and-coming stock, babe. Some gold-diggers must be kicking themselves right now, huh? Too bad, you didn’t measure up.” I looked at the smug photo and the vicious text, completely unmoved. In fact, I felt a faint urge to laugh. I didn’t reply with a single punctuation mark. I blocked the number and deleted the contact. Clean. Decisive. The day of the relief fund distribution ceremony arrived. My father, as the CEO of Stellar Industries, was scheduled to speak at the university auditorium, which was packed with over thirty thousand students. I was submitting my transfer application paperwork to the advisor’s office and purposefully walked the long way around the main auditorium. Still, I ran right into Braden and Piper on a side corridor. “Well, well. Said no to the scholarship, but you’re still hanging around? Isn’t your sugar daddy giving you enough allowance?” Braden sneered, looking me up and down with open contempt. I didn’t want to engage and tried to step past them. Piper suddenly lunged forward, blocking my path, her voice shrill: “Isabelle Vaughan! How dare you show your face here? If it wasn’t for you, Braden wouldn’t be getting judged by everyone! You did this to him!” “Move.” I said, my voice cold. “Apologize to me!” Braden suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip painfully tight. Piper stoked the fire beside him: “Braden, why are you being gentle with her? A tramp like this needs a lesson! Scratch her face off! Let’s see her try to seduce old men now!” Then, Braden seemed to completely lose control. He violently shoved me against the wall. Piper jumped at me too, her sharp nails aiming for my face and neck. “Bitch! You think you’re so great! I’ve been waiting to do this to you.” “I’ll beat you up! See if you can keep acting so pure!” “Tear her clothes off! Let everyone see what she really is!” I fought back desperately, but my fever-weakened body was no match for their manic assault. In the struggle, we slammed against the slightly ajar safety exit door, tumbling down a few steps. I hit the floor, my vision blurring, my bones screaming in protest. “Drag her up!” Piper shrieked. “Drag her into the auditorium! Let the whole school see what a wreck she is! Let’s see her try to stay here after this!” Braden grinned, a nasty, contorted look, and he and Piper grabbed me by my arms, roughly dragging me like a sack of trash. I had almost no strength left, my consciousness fading. They dragged me to the side entrance of the main auditorium. Inside, the lights were blinding, the hall packed, the ceremony in full swing. I stumbled and fell onto the smooth, cold marble floor, right in the center of countless converging gazes. For a split second, the entire auditorium fell silent. Then, I heard a loud crash from the stage—a microphone had been knocked over. In the final moments before I blacked out, I saw my father’s horrified figure racing towards me. His voice thundered, raw with rage: “It seems this university doesn’t need our endowment after all!”

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Five years. Five years since I walked away—no, since I was wheeled away. My dominant hand had been shattered, my legs useless. I changed my name, quietly resigned my commission, and opened a tiny, anonymous pharmacy near the border. I was just a ghost running a dispensary. The first time I saw him again was five years later, when a young Captain came to pick up a refill. “Colonel Hawthorne never married, Sam,” the Captain told me, lowering his voice. “He’s been waiting for you all this time.” The words were still hanging in the air when Grant Hawthorne walked in. The man was a vision in his dress uniform, instantly drawing every eye in the room. Five years hadn’t stripped the edge from his handsomeness, but the reckless confidence of his youth had been replaced by a hardened, somber authority. He watched me for a long moment, the intensity in his dark eyes suggesting a thousand unspoken words. When he finally spoke, it was only a gentle, measured greeting: “Sam. It’s been a long time.” “Yeah. A long time.” My reply was flat, devoid of any of the turmoil that should accompany a reunion like this. I was careful to let no trace of the past show on my face. I thought of the day five years ago. His adopted sister, Violet, had accused me of prescribing her cheap, defective medication that led to her catching an infection. Grant had exploded. Right there, he’d used the heavy butt of his service rifle to smash the bones in the hand I used for surgery. Then, the ultimate betrayal. He’d posted the intimate photos we’d taken when love felt safe, uploading them to the Joint Base social forum. “My Hot Fiancee,” the caption read, “Proven Good, Available Free.” His own battle buddies had tried to intervene: “Grant, she’s about to be your wife. Why are you destroying her?” Grant, however, was unmoved. “She used bad medicine on Violet, almost caused her a breakdown,” he’d sneered. “And she won’t admit her mistake. She doesn’t deserve to be a surgeon.” “Besides,” he’d added, almost as an afterthought, “I was just scaring her, guys. I wasn’t actually going to let those dirtbags touch her or infect her. Not really.” I stood in the doorway, my face white, and met his eyes. He didn’t look guilty or ashamed. He just walked over, ruffled my hair like I was a wayward child, and said: “You messed up this time, Sam. You deserve the lesson.” “Just fix Violet’s condition, and then go apologize to her in person.” “I’ll still marry you.” I swallowed the scream, the tears, and every shred of my pride. I simply forwarded the link to the first private message I received. The next second, someone messaged back: “I’ll take her.” 1 Grant, watching my screen, clenched his fist so hard the wineglass he held shattered. The officers around him fell silent. One spoke in a low voice: “Colonel, maybe we should call this off? It’s not a good look…” Grant turned his head, looking straight at me. “Sam, what do you say? Are you coming with me to apologize?” I dropped my gaze, turned on my heel, and started walking toward the other end of the corridor. From behind me came his cold, casual voice. “Your ‘wife’ doesn’t have a problem, why are you guys so tense? If the buyer isn’t picky, I suppose I have to follow through.” I kept walking, my feet numb, heading for the exit of the Officers’ Club. The corridor was suddenly filled with whispering and pointing. My hands and feet were icy. Suddenly, a man—drunk, reeking—lunged and grabbed my waist, his breath hot and foul in my ear. “Heard you like the sick ones? Lucky you, I just tested positive for HIV two days ago…” I screamed, thrashing against him. The military spouses and officers nearby simply stepped back, avoiding me with expressions of disgust. The whispers reached me: “That’s her, right? The medical officer who was messing around. So gross.” “Serves her right. She posted that stuff online herself. Now she has the nerve to ask for help.” I was shaking violently. I forced a scream out: “My fiancé is a Colonel! You can’t touch me—” “Got a fiancé but still trolling for sick men online? Your chats are everywhere, lady. What officer would want you now?” He shook his phone in my face, the screen light blinding and painful. “Go on, call your man out. If he actually comes, I’ll let you go.” The moment the words left his mouth, the door to the private room opened. Grant and a few other officers emerged. Seeing him, the tears I’d been holding back burst forth. “Grant! Help me!” He didn’t even look at me. He just smiled at the drunk man. “Relax, buddy. She’s into that. She specifically goes for the sick ones.” Then, he walked past me. The drunk man roared with laughter. “Colonel Hawthorne doesn’t even want you! Who are you trying to fool?” I don’t know how long passed. Suddenly, a gush of warm liquid flooded my legs. The man, terrified, released me and ran off, cursing. I stumbled up and somehow dragged myself to the Emergency Room. I lost the baby. I had planned to tell Grant about the pregnancy on our three-year anniversary. Now, all that was left was a vague, bloody mass on a stainless steel tray. The colleague on duty looked at me, her eyes full of sorrow and hesitation. “Dr. Pierce, Colonel Hawthorne has been putting pressure on the hospital… demanding a severe review. They’ve decided to revoke your military medical certification, and they’re going after you for the training compensation. It’s… almost a million dollars.” I closed my eyes. The taste of rust filled my throat. My colleague’s eyes welled up. “How could Grant become like this? He risked a court-martial to get you transferred here; he almost died rushing into that disaster zone last year just to pull you out.” “He loved you so much. How can he destroy the hand you operate with and ruin your entire career, all for his adopted sister?” Yes, why? I shook my head, unable to speak. When I met Grant, I had no idea he had an adopted sister. He had been wounded while diffusing a bomb near the border—shrapnel just two millimeters from his heart. I stood at the field surgical table for fourteen hours, fighting the Reaper for his life. Three days after he woke, he had his orderly summon me. Beneath the oxygen mask, his voice was rough, but he smiled. “Dr. Pierce, you saved me. My life is yours now.” I dismissed it as the adrenaline rush of a wounded man. But he truly pursued me for a full year, securing the best medical equipment in the whole armed forces for my field hospital. Knowing I often missed meals, he would wait outside the infirmary after every exercise, carrying a thermos. It was hard not to fall for him, yet I was afraid. It wasn’t until three years ago, when a disgruntled, disciplined veteran broke into the infirmary with a knife. Grant threw himself in front of me, taking one slash across his shoulder and another across his arm. I said yes the day he got his stitches removed. For three years, everything was perfect. Until he missed our engagement ceremony. Three days later, he returned with Violet in tow, merely saying he’d “forgotten.” Grant asked me to take care of Violet, and I did my best. Three days ago, Violet came to me, complaining of lower abdominal pain. She begged me not to tell her brother. I thought she was just embarrassed. I ran the tests and gave her anti-inflammatory medication. But when I looked at the lab report, I froze—it was positive. Before I could figure out the best way to tell her, Grant burst in with his orderly, shielding a teary-eyed Violet. With a single command, my right hand was smashed by the rifle butt. Curled on the floor in agony, I managed to ask him why. He looked down at me, his eyes cold. “I thought you were different. I never expected you to be this vicious.” “Just because I missed the engagement, you deliberately gave Violet defective medication and infected her with that disease?” “She’s only twenty-one!” “You don’t deserve this uniform. Destroying your prescribing hand is a lesson you earned.” Violet suddenly burst into fresh tears, pointing at the lab report on my desk. “Sam… you planned it all! You hurt me, and then you forged the lab report!” “Do you hate me that much? I might as well just die!” “Did you already spread this report? What’s the point of me living now?” She lunged toward the wall, but Grant caught her just in time. He looked at me, his gaze icy. “Sam, you’d force my sister to commit suicide just over an engagement?” “Publicly apologize. Admit you maliciously harmed a fellow servicemember and forged a medical record out of personal resentment.” Tears streamed down my face as I shook my head. “Grant, this will destroy everything I am!” “I didn’t do it. I will not confess.” But no matter how I pleaded, how I begged him to have the ointment tested, He simply motioned for the military police to hold my head. In front of the entire medical staff, he forced me to my knees, making me bow my head repeatedly to Violet—a hundred times, it felt like. My blood splattered the floor. The bystanders raised their phones. I finally collapsed, slipping into unconsciousness. When I woke, I found a message from one of his officers, telling me to meet Grant at the base bar to explain myself. Clutching the last desperate sliver of hope, I went. And overheard him arranging to hand me over to someone else. My colleague, seeing the agony on my face, said nothing more. She handed me a box of Post-Exposure Prophylaxis (P.E.P.) pills. “Take these for a month, then come back for a recheck to make sure you didn’t get infected.” I thanked her softly and drifted home in a daze. My phone screen lit up. A message attached to a plane ticket. “Sam, don’t be afraid. I’m coming to get you. No matter the cost, I’ll fix this.” Tears streamed down my face, and I cried myself to sleep.

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My husband cheated on me one month after I found out I was pregnant. He insisted he’d cut it off clean immediately, and the entire family instantly rallied to his defense. “He’s learned his lesson, Anya. Everyone makes mistakes. He’s already fixed things. You’re pregnant, for heaven’s sake—how are you supposed to manage alone? Think of the baby.” I was trapped in a suffocating web of family pressure, everyone demanding I play the role of the forgiving, high-minded wife. But the sickening filth of his betrayal—it pressed down on me, driving me into a depression I couldn’t treat because of the pregnancy. The anxiety and insomnia were a constant, grueling battle I fought alone, venting my emotional chaos only through an obsessive, consuming need for cleanliness. Grant was always gentle, his voice low and soothing. “It’s alright, honey. Once the baby is here, things will be fine. I’m committed to making this right.” From then on, everything he did required a ritual of sanitation. He’d sterilize every dish he touched, wear gloves if he needed to hold my hand, and wrap himself up like a mummy to cook dinner, sweating profusely but never complaining. “It’s fine. I’m the one who messed up…” Until finally, after I quietly pointed out a single stray hair on the polished hardwood floor, he completely snapped. He ripped off his protective apron and gloves. “That’s enough! Yes, I cheated, and yes, I ended it instantly! Are you seriously going to punish me like this forever? Look at yourself, Anya! You don’t look like a normal person anymore! Am I that utterly disgusting to you?” He started deliberately trashing the house, smashing a ceramic bowl, kicking over the trash can—a calculated retaliation against the mysophobia that had become my defense mechanism. He knew he had the entire family in his corner, and he’d seen me compromise for the baby before. Now he was demanding I finally cave and let his betrayal fade into the past. My nerves instantly tightened. A sharp, unbearable cramp twisted my stomach, and blood, a horrifying amount of it, began pouring out between my legs. And yet, in that moment, I felt an inexplicable, chilling wave of relief. “Grant,” I said, my voice unnaturally steady. “We’re getting a divorce.” 1 The truth was, I couldn’t let it go. The barb was too deep. The thought that just one month into carrying his child, he couldn’t stand the sight of me and ran straight into his secretary’s arms. The disgust was a poison I couldn’t flush out. I had tried. I tried to forget, to convince myself to listen to our parents and become the magnanimous wife. But I couldn’t. Grant shoved the front door open, pulling on his jacket. “I can’t take this anymore! I’m a person, too! Fine, have your divorce!” He left without a second look, without even registering the darkening pool of blood on the floor. The five-month-old contractions finally overwhelmed me. I crumpled to the floor, dialing the hospital with shaking hands. Tears streamed down my face. I never imagined us reaching this point, where the sight of each other became a source of pure revulsion. A flash of memory: him in his youth, laughing, full of triumphant energy. He’d carried me into the wedding car while everyone cheered, promising me forever. We’d even left our vows at the most sacred spot in the valley, a promise that was now nothing but dust. The paramedic was astonished by the amount of blood as they lifted me onto the stretcher. She checked me, her expression grim and regretful. “I’m sorry, but we might not be able to save this baby. The blood loss is too severe. You need to prepare yourself.” My body was racked with pain, but my heart felt hollowed out. I remembered the hope that had come with this child, the stack of books, the countless articles, my desperate efforts to be a good mother. But… Forgive me. I had to be myself first. I still went through the agony of labor. Afterwards, drenched in sweat, I lay in the hospital bed, feeling like a corpse, next to the small bundle that had never had a chance to breathe. I endured the cremation alone. The ashes were so tiny, almost nothing left to gather. It was as if this little one was an understanding spirit, choosing the hardest exit to force my hand. I buried the remains in a beautiful, quiet park overlooking the ocean. During all of this, Grant never called. The hospital had followed procedure and contacted him, but he chose to vanish. He must have been too consumed by his own righteous anger. But what about me? I had nothing but my paralyzing fixation on cleanliness as an outlet. Otherwise, I felt like I was dissolving. So dirty… Why did he do this to me? After burying the baby, I walked straight to a law firm and requested a divorce agreement. Later, while I was back in the hospital for follow-up, my parents called. Their first thought wasn’t for my recovery, but to defend Grant. “Honey, why are you fighting again? You can’t be so stubborn. Marriage is compromise. Don’t keep bringing up divorce, it looks terrible.” I was too tired to argue. What was the point of clinging to a marriage that was already dead? They had used the baby to try and trap me for months; now they had no leverage left. So, I spoke calmly. “I miscarried. The baby is gone.” A long, thick silence followed before they finally hung up. That afternoon, Grant’s parents—my in-laws—rushed over. They looked at my now-flat stomach, their eyes filled with pity for the lost child, promising they would straighten Grant out. “That rotten boy, he’s nowhere to be seen! How could he not look after you?” “Anya, you rest easy. I’ll give that idiot a proper dressing down. You won’t see him until you’ve cooled off.” It was the same hollow routine. They pretended to be on my side, but every time they were just covering for their son, as if he were an innocent child and everything he did was forgivable. A massive wave of apathy washed over me. I wasn’t angry anymore. I was just done. I didn’t love him, and I refused to share a life with him. My voice was cold and steady. “I want a divorce.” Their expressions immediately changed. “Anya, don’t keep thinking that way. People need to compromise. Our son hasn’t been perfect, but I’ll make him change.” My mother-in-law muttered under her breath, “Sometimes women just need to stop making such a fuss.” A fuss? I gripped the edge of the hospital gown. My tone was frigid. “I am divorcing him, no matter what. Grant already agreed. You have an issue? Take it up with him.” Unbelieving, they called Grant. Still steaming from our fight, he simply agreed with my statement. “She’s right, Mom. Divorce. I can’t handle it. Do you know how much I’ve been degraded? I cheated, but I fixed it! I fired the secretary! What else do you want? Should I die and go back in time? I told her I was drunk, it was a mistake! It happened, we have to move on!” He hung up before they could even tell him about the miscarriage, completely dismissing the entirety of my suffering. How dare he play the victim? Cheaters are despicable. They don’t get to call themselves the ‘degraded’ ones. For the past five months—since the day I found out I was pregnant—my hormones had amplified everything. I suffered from depression and insomnia with no medication. While he slept soundly, I was struggling through morning sickness, crying, dealing with swollen feet, and losing my hair in clumps. I was a balloon filled with dark energy, constantly consumed by thoughts of ending it all. Everyone had hidden my medication for the sake of the baby. But what about me? I was a person, too. Who cared about me? And he has the audacity to complain, to call himself the suffering one. My parents arrived, too, demanding I maintain the marriage, just as they had demanded I get married in the first place. “Listen to me! You are not divorcing! Your father and I wouldn’t harm you!” They cared only for their image: a son-in-law who was successful, highly paid, and gave them “face” among their friends. I didn’t care. Looking at their self-serving faces, I smashed the glass of water on the bedside table. “Enough! From this moment on, I am responsible for my own life.” When they saw they couldn’t control me, they gave me the silent treatment, threatening to cut me off if I went through with the divorce. I ignored them. As soon as I was steady enough, I took the papers and went to his office.

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The first thing I did after I woke up in this second chance was stop bringing my attending physician husband his late-night coffee. He would be rounding on the fifth floor, so I’d make sure I was scheduled in the ER. In my past life, I knew he only married me for the coveted fellowship spot my mentor held, yet I insisted on walking down the aisle with him. I thought a cold heart could eventually be thawed. Instead, he kept me at an arm’s length for decades. When I tried to initiate intimacy, he’d shove a copy of The New England Journal of Medicine into my hands: “Read up on your professional literature, Sierra. Don’t go embarrassing me in front of colleagues.” I once gathered the courage to kiss him, fueled by a glass of wine, but he merely stiffened, his voice a flat monotone: “This is a biological obligation of marriage.” Decades later, on my deathbed, I found his journal. I read his final words in his journal: This marriage was a cage. If I get another life, I pray I am never again bound to Sierra. My heart was shredded, the pain blinding me as I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I was back. Back to the day the rumors started about him and the new surgical resident. This time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t rail. I simply filed for divorce. 1 The words left my lips, and for the first time in our marriage, Marcus’s perfectly unruffled facade finally cracked. Beside him, Brynn—the new resident—her smug smirk froze solid, immediately replaced by a look of agonizing remorse. “Nurse Sierra, please, don’t misunderstand.” “Marcus simply respects my capability. Our relationship is strictly professional.” “I came here with him to clear this up. You can take all your anger out on me!” She bent her knees, making a show of collapsing onto the floor. Marcus instantly caught her, then whipped his head around and glared at me. “Sierra! Are you finished with this melodrama? It’s a minor workplace misunderstanding. You have no right to humiliate her like this. Apologize to Dr. Brynn, now!” I hadn’t said a word, yet I was already the small-minded, irrational culprit. In my last life, every time I clashed with Brynn, I was the one who was wrong. Marcus always stood on Brynn’s side, turning every disagreement into a screaming match that made me the laughingstock of the floor. Everyone said I, the diploma-mill nurse, was too petty, my ‘dignity’ too small. “Apologize for what? I haven’t said a word,” I asked, meeting his harsh gaze. “If her knees are that weak, she can drop. I’m not her chiropractor.” Brynn hadn’t expected the sudden reversal of roles, nor my biting reply. Her eyes immediately welled up, and she continued her performance: “Nurse Sierra, you have to believe me. Marcus and I are truly just—” I was done watching her act. I cut her off. “Stop. I’m filing for divorce. I’m clearing the way for you, aren’t I?” My gaze dropped, landing on the delicate silver bracelet on her wrist. “If things are so ‘strictly professional,’ how is it that the bracelet Marcus saved four months’ salary for is on your arm?” “Some roles, Dr. Brynn, are oversold.” She recoiled as if burned, pulling her hand back instantly. I knew that bracelet. The day he bought it, he hid it deep in a drawer, like a sacred artifact. He even sewed a little velvet pouch for it himself, pricking his hands multiple times—a man who never touched a needle and thread. I was such an idiot. I thought, Our anniversary is coming up. Maybe this is the first time he’s prepared a gift for me. I waited, filled with a foolish, desperate anticipation. On our anniversary, I waited from dusk till late, the soup I’d made long since cold. I finally saw him and Brynn walking side-by-side beneath the streetlights. The look he gave her was a tenderness I had never received, an expression utterly foreign to me. And on Brynn’s wrist, she was proudly showing off that bracelet. Now, Marcus refused to meet my eyes. “It was a birthday gift for Dr. Brynn a few weeks ago. You’re overthinking this.” Even though I was already determined to let go, his words felt like shards of glass in my heart. Five years of marriage, and he had never once remembered my birthday. He’d known Brynn for two months. I remembered the lines from his journal: Every moment I spent with her was anguish and torture. The last flicker of defiance and hope died, leaving behind only an infinite weariness. “I am genuinely serious about this divorce.” I looked him in the eye and said quietly, “Marcus, let’s free each other.” Marcus didn’t return home that night, choosing instead to sleep in the on-call room at the hospital. I didn’t seek him out. Instead, I began preparing my resignation papers. The news spread through the hospital like wildfire. The gazes I received were a mixture of mockery and pity. “Did you hear? Sierra’s out.” “Must be because Dr. Brynn and the Attending are finally together.” “She’s a diploma nurse, only common sense she’d know when to fold.” Because Marcus never wanted to publicize our marriage, everyone assumed I was just some distant, easily dismissed relative. I’d wanted to correct them countless times, but fearing I might jeopardize his ascent, I always stayed silent. Hearing the whispers now, I merely offered a faint smile. “You’re right. This toad is done trying to eat the prince’s apple. This nurse gig is a dead end. Time for a change of scenery.” They didn’t know I wasn’t conceding defeat; I was just changing the game. In the previous life, I tried desperately to earn his respect, clawing my way up to head nurse. But even as Head Nurse, in his eyes, I was still the same insignificant woman who fetched coffee. He’d rather talk to the goldfish tank at home than exchange a civil word with me. This life, I was going to live for myself. I had planned to wait until my resignation was finalized, then find Marcus and sign the papers, cutting all ties. But one phone call shattered that plan. My father had a severe stroke and was in the ICU. He needed an emergency deposit of twenty thousand dollars. My hands and feet went instantly cold. I would receive a substantial severance package from my resignation, but that process would take a month! My father didn’t have a month. Just then, I spotted Marcus walking out of the outpatient clinic. In that moment, everything—my dignity, my plan, my anger—dissolved into pure panic. I bolted forward, blocking his path. “Marcus, I need twenty thousand dollars, immediately.” All surrounding eyes locked onto us, filled with curiosity and judgment. The smile instantly vanished from Marcus’s face. “Twenty thousand? I don’t have that kind of cash on hand.” That was impossible. Every month, out of my modest paycheck, I gave him $2,500 for ‘savings,’ only keeping a fixed amount for household expenses. Even if he was extravagant, he couldn’t have blown through all of it. My eyes burned with desperation, my voice shaking with a plea I hadn’t known I had: “My dad collapsed. A stroke. He’s in the hospital right now, waiting for the money to start his treatment! I really need this! My entire savings—five years of paychecks—are in your account. How can it be gone?” Marcus’s brow furrowed deeper. The stares of his colleagues made his face hot with embarrassment. He lowered his voice, the impatience in his tone barely suppressed. “Sierra, are you done making a scene? I told you, I don’t have it!” I stared at him, my heart sinking inch by painful inch. “Two thousand five hundred dollars a month, for five years. That’s a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. How can you not have twenty thousand available?” Marcus’s eyes flashed with annoyance, his face cold. “You spent plenty on yourself, didn’t you? You know how much you’ve frittered away.” His colleagues snickered, their derisive murmurs rising. “Wow, spends his money and then demands twenty grand back. She’s shameless.” “I bet she’s just trying to cause trouble because of Dr. Brynn.” I looked at Marcus. He was doing what he always did—saying nothing in my defense, even though he knew I hadn’t touched his money. I understood. He was punishing me. Punishing me for daring to file for divorce and for stripping him of his ego. But my father was dying. I couldn’t wait. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and asked, my voice hoarse: “What do you want? What will it take for you to give me the money?” He seemed satisfied by my submission, his chin lifting slightly. “Go apologize to Dr. Brynn. On your knees.” “Then I’ll give you the money.” Brynn stood nearby, her expression a mask of false gentleness. My knuckles were white, my nails digging into my palms. For my father, I would endure it. I bowed, a full ninety degrees, and squeezed out the humiliating words: “Dr. Brynn, I apologize. I was wrong to have misunderstood you the other day.” Brynn immediately stepped forward to offer a false embrace, but her words were laced with acid: “Nurse Sierra, you shouldn’t feel you have to. I never blamed you. Even though you constantly slander me behind my back and destroy my reputation in the hospital, we are colleagues. I can rise above it.” I snapped my head up. She was twisting the truth completely! Marcus’s face darkened, and he roared, “Sierra! You are truly despicable! How can you treat a colleague like this? Get on your knees and beg her forgiveness!” “I didn’t do that!” I cried out, the humiliation burning. “Still lying?” Marcus’s face was set, his eyes filled with disgust and disbelief. The surrounding colleagues began to jeer. “Yeah, make her kneel! Make her kneel!” “If she won’t, kick her out of the hospital!” Two male doctors, always eager to curry favor with the rising star, stepped forward and tried to forcibly shove me to the ground. I struggled fiercely, tears of shame blurring my vision. Marcus’s indifferent voice drifted over to me: “Don’t want that twenty thousand anymore?” Instantly, all the fight drained out of me. I stopped struggling and let them shove me down. The muffled thud of my forehead hitting the hard tile floor was accompanied by the sound of laughter.

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My husband had initiated a delayed mail service with the post office right before his plane crash. So, for eight years after his death, I continued to receive handwritten letters he had penned long ago. In the first letter, he bequeathed his entire estate to my stepsister, Savannah. I went completely insane and smashed everything in our house. In the second letter, he asked Savannah to look after our daughter, unaware that I was being forced to kneel outside the hospital entrance, begging Savannah for Maisie’s medical funds. In the third letter, he mentioned arranging medical care for my mother, completely ignorant that Savannah had her committed to a state psychiatric hospital. It wasn’t until the day I received the ninety-ninth letter. I walked in on him and Savannah passionately kissing at her birthday party. Seeing me, my husband, Liam Harrington, did the unprecedented and actually deigned to offer an explanation. “Skylar, I just lost a game of Truth or Dare. I’ve only been faking my death for eight years, I never meant to deceive you.” I nodded, my voice flat. “Hmm, I understand. Please, continue.” Liam’s eyes flickered, clearly stunned by my composure. After all, the old me would go ballistic in front of a camera every time one of his letters arrived. Everyone called me a basket case, a disgrace to my billionaire husband’s legacy. But he didn’t know that I only had three days left to live. 1 A brief silence followed before the two caught on to the deeper strangeness of the situation. Liam looked up sharply, meeting my eyes, the raw desire in his gaze vanishing in a blink. He spoke, his expression complex. “It was just a lost bet, a penalty.” I didn’t know if he meant the forbidden kiss or the eight years of fake death. Either way, I was dying soon, and nothing mattered anymore. I nodded again, devoid of emotion. “Yes, I know. Go on.” The calm, collected mask Liam wore began to crack. “Skylar, do you have some kind of cuckold fetish? You want to stay and watch me kiss your sister?” Recalling the end-of-life agreement I’d signed that morning, I offered a soft rebuttal. “Sister? The woman who shares my father’s mistress’s blood? She’s a sister by technicality only. Does she deserve the title?” “As for fetishes, Liam, I certainly wouldn’t presume to compete with you.” Liam’s face visibly darkened. Truthfully, before I even pushed open the door to the private room, I’d heard their conversation. “Darling, it’s been eight years. Why don’t we just make this fake affair real?” Liam had looked down at the wedding ring on his finger, his tone full of confident arrogance. “Silly girl, what nonsense are you talking about? Forget eight years—Skylar would wait eighteen years for me.” I stood outside the door and smiled faintly. Eight years, eighteen years—I wouldn’t even survive eight more days. Turning away in a numb daze, I heard Liam chasing after me. “Skylar, have you and Maisie been well all these years?” He had no idea our daughter was in a persistent vegetative state after a brutal car accident that happened right after his “death.” And he didn’t know that I had spent the last eight years draining my own life force to keep her medical bills paid. I didn’t turn around. I gritted my teeth. “It’s none of your business.” Liam sighed, his voice laced with annoyance. “All these years, and you’re still so petty. I only lost a bet. Do you really need to give me such attitude?” “I’m back now. What is there left to be dramatic about? The make-up wedding I promised you is set for three days from now.” “Skylar, don’t be late.” My steps froze. When we first married, we were poor and never had a real wedding. After he got rich, every time Liam brought up planning one for me, Savannah would inevitably interrupt. I had pleaded, I had cried, but nothing had worked. Liam had sworn to me then that he would one day give me a spectacular, once-in-a-lifetime wedding. Now that the promise was finally being fulfilled, I no longer wanted it. Because my final, scheduled euthanasia was also set for three days from now. 2 Just as I was about to leave, Savannah’s falsely sweet voice echoed behind me. “Skylar, you’re here for this month’s stipend, aren’t you? I already wired the funds. Make sure you check it.” I glanced at my phone. She had transferred two hundred and fifty dollars. Ever since Liam’s plane crash eight years ago, Savannah had controlled our family’s finances. When Maisie was critically injured, I was beside myself with grief and panic, and my first instinct was to beg Savannah for money. But after hearing my desperate plea, Savannah had slowly and deliberately wired me the two hundred and fifty dollars. She had looked at my tear-streaked face and laughed, her body shaking. “Skylar, if that’s not enough, should I send you another two-fifty?” “Oh, well, what can I do? Your husband’s will named me as the sole inheritor.” “How about this? You get down on your knees and admit your mother was the mistress, and I might consider giving you a couple more dollars.” I had snapped, grabbing a steak knife and holding it to her throat, demanding the money. But after she transferred the funds, she immediately called the police. Not only did I have to return the money I was “extorting,” I ended up spending several days in a cell. After I was released, I had no choice but to swallow my pride, beg for loans, and take on huge debt. It was still insufficient. So, I started streaming—performing painful acts and selling my grief to scrape money together. When I finally went to the doctor for a check-up, they handed me a cancer diagnosis. “Ms. Reid, luckily, we found it early. Otherwise, the consequences would have been unthinkable.” My throat tightened. Because the money I had could only go to one of us: myself or my daughter. I chose Maisie without a second thought. “Oh, darling, it’s all my fault. Skylar has been completely destroying the Harrington family’s reputation all these years.” Savannah’s voice yanked me from the painful memory. A crowd had gathered around us. Someone threw a rotten egg at me and laughed. “Basket case! Are you live-streaming yourself eating fermented shark today, or are you doing your possession act?” “Ugh, I’m sick of that. I think the first time, when she showed up at the airline office and snapped at everyone like a stray dog, was funnier!” “Oh, and the second time, kneeling outside the hospital for alms—that was truly captivating!” As the crowd roared with laughter, Savannah pretended to rush over and comfort me, whispering into my ear. “Skylar, I still have backup copies of your pole-dancing video from that questionable club.” “But I feel like I haven’t seen enough. Can you perform again for your stream? Do it in front of Liam. Let him see just how desperate you are.” Then, she took out her phone and showed me a security video. In the clip, my mother, suffering from advanced Alzheimer’s, was huddled in a corner, crying hysterically over a pillow. “Wake up, baby! Please wake up! It’s my fault! I failed to protect you!” After a few broken sobs, my mother suddenly grabbed her hair and screamed hysterically. “Where am I? Who am I?” Tears sprang to my eyes without warning. I gritted my teeth. “Savannah, don’t push me. I will kill you.” Liam heard me and instantly moved, shielding Savannah behind him. “Skylar, what new tantrum is this? I’m home now. You need to—” Before he could finish, I glimpsed Savannah behind him, waving her phone at me. She mouthed the words: Strip. If you don’t, I’ll make your mother do it. In the security footage, a few male orderlies grabbed my mother’s hair and violently shoved her head into a basin of water. My breathing hitched. Forcing down the white-hot rage, I mechanically unbuttoned my coat in front of everyone. Then I began a stiff, unnatural dance for the camera. Liam’s look shifted instantly from disgust to utter shock. Countless phone lenses focused on me. Curious, greedy, and even pitying eyes scanned my body. As I reached the last layer of clothing, Liam finally lunged forward and delivered a brutal slap, his voice a furious snarl. “Skylar, you really are a lost cause! You’ll never change!” He threw his jacket at me in a crumpled heap, then turned and strode away. Just then, the hospital called. “Ms. Reid, you need to come and settle the bill immediately, or your daughter…” 3 I threw on my coat, rushing to the hospital like a maniac, only to find out that Maisie’s life-saving funds had just been withdrawn by Savannah. I drove straight to Liam’s company. As I reached his office door, Savannah blocked me. “Skylar, you’re so sneaky. Who knew you could transfer so much company public funds right under my nose!” I remembered the hospital, seeing Maisie’s breathing grow faint and shallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I forced myself to explain, fighting my anger. “Give me the money back! It’s my daughter’s life support!” It was the money I had earned through eight years of humiliating, soul-crushing live streams. But then, the company’s CFO brought out a security video. The footage showed a woman who looked exactly like me secretly opening the company safe. She brazenly stuffed all the cash inside her bag. But that woman was not me! Savannah smiled a strange, cold smile. “Skylar, didn’t you always call my mother a mistress when we were kids?” “You were so vicious back then, forcing my mother and me to live on the streets for years!” “And now? For money, there’s nothing you won’t do!” I bit down hard, denying it. “This money is what I earned!” Savannah scoffed. “You? If you admit you sold your body for it, I’ll return it.” I glared at her, eventually giving up and hammering on the office door. “Liam! Get out here!” The door opened from the inside. Liam looked annoyed. “Why aren’t you with Maisie? Talk to Savannah. I’m in a meeting!” Ignoring the glaring red lipstick smear on his collar, I rushed forward and grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave! Savannah took Maisie’s medical funds. Maisie is…” Before I could finish, Liam yanked his arm free. “Skylar, why are you so obsessed with money? All you ever do is use our daughter to manipulate me!” The office door slammed shut. At the same time, the nurse sent me a video. “Ms. Reid, please come quickly. The child isn’t going to last much longer.” In the video, Maisie was already struggling to breathe and convulsing from lack of oxygen. Savannah clicked her tongue, a fake smile plastered on her face. “Aww, poor thing. Skylar, are you going to get down on your knees and beg me now?” I didn’t hesitate. I cast aside all my dignity and fell to my knees with a thud, steeling myself to plead. “Savannah, I was wrong before. Please, I’m begging you, have mercy and save my daughter.” Savannah looked triumphant, humming softly. “Finally admitting your mistakes? Hmm, I don’t think you sound sincere enough.” She extended one foot, her expression suggestive. “Oh, my shoes are dirty. If only someone could clean them for me.” I bit down so hard on the inside of my cheek I tasted blood. I rolled up my sleeve, ready to wipe her shoe clean. But Savannah leaned down and whispered, “My shoes are very expensive. Don’t get your filthy clothes on them. Lick them clean.” I trembled violently, my fists clenched, but eventually, I lowered my head. After I was done, I looked up, speaking each word distinctly. “Savannah. Can you please transfer the money to the hospital account now?” Savannah kicked me away, a look of utter contempt on her face. “Yes, yes, I know. You’re so annoying.” Just as she reached for her phone, it rang again. The nurse was crying when she spoke four devastating words to me. “The child is gone…” My body seized up. I ran to the hospital like a lunatic. By the time I arrived, Maisie’s tiny body was already covered by a sterile white sheet. The small life I had carried for nine months and fought so hard for had utterly stopped breathing. A deafening ringing filled my ears. I collapsed to the floor, weeping until my tears ran dry, then violently vomited a mouthful of blood before finally losing consciousness. When I woke up, I dialed Liam’s number. “Liam. Maisie is gone.” The man on the other end was silent for two seconds, then sighed. “Can you stop with the dramatics? Savannah gives you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a month for support. Isn’t that enough?” Two hundred and fifty thousand? It appeared Liam was completely oblivious to the eight years of abuse Savannah had inflicted. Before I could speak, Savannah’s sickly sweet voice cooed into the phone. “Darling, can you come rub my back? Being pregnant is such a chore. I even need your help to shower.” My heart felt like it was being violently squeezed, the pain so intense I couldn’t breathe. The call ended abruptly. I don’t know how I managed to grit my teeth and arrange my daughter’s funeral. When she was cremated, I couldn’t even cry anymore. The attendant handed me the soft pink and blue urn I had personally chosen for Maisie, sighing a sympathetic “Take care of yourself.” I clutched the urn tightly and went home to pack my bags. As I dragged my suitcase out, Liam walked in the door. I didn’t look up, my voice flat and emotionless. “Liam. Maisie is dead. Let’s get a divorce.”

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The class golden boy—Rhys—was a born bad seed, the kind of guy who took twisted pleasure in messing with people’s heads. I’d caught him manipulating things a few times: planting rumors, whispering calculated half-truths. It was sickening. But he was an absolute master of the disguise. The best friends who turned on each other, the couples who broke up in spectacular, screaming matches—they all blamed each other, unable and unwilling to believe that their gentle, kind Rhys could possibly be involved. I figured I could just wait it out until graduation and we’d all scatter to different colleges. But after the SAT scores were released, he sent a cryptic link to our class group chat. “Hey, babes, the Harvard Admissions Office reached out to me early! Anyone in our class who clicks this link and signs up can get an automatic acceptance to Harvard, even if you’re a little short on your score.” “They said it’s a new policy this year to lock in the top students, and I won’t lie—I get a two-hundred-dollar referral bonus for everyone who registers. It’s enough to cover my textbooks, so I’d really appreciate your help, guys.” The class ate it up. They adored their inspiring, hardworking golden boy and rushed to register. In the past life, I’d been the one to question it. Why does the site say it’s The Cambridge Center for Global Studies? My classmates had instantly turned on me. “Dean, are you serious? Everyone knows CCGS is just Harvard’s nickname! You sound ridiculous.” “He probably doesn’t know, he’s just jealous of Rhys, especially since he’s always had a thing for Sierra.” Infuriated but terrified for my best friend, Sierra, I’d revealed the suspicious link to her father, a university professor, during a dinner party. He’d instantly recognized it as a predatory scam, changed Sierra’s college application, and alerted the other parents in the group chat. Rhys got none of his commission. On the last day of the application window, he’d posted a picture of a fake Harvard acceptance letter and a cryptic photo of the ocean, with a caption about his dreams being crushed and hoping for a better next life. Then, he disappeared. He became their martyr—the angel on a pedestal I had spitefully torn down. They were convinced my jealousy had killed him. Sierra, whose infatuation with Rhys had become a terrifying obsession, took it to a depraved extreme. When she came over to our house, she poisoned the dinner my parents and I were eating. After our deaths, our classmates provided alibis, lying to the police and claiming she was with them. Sierra’s own parents, knowing the truth but prioritizing their daughter’s future, chose to stay silent. I opened my eyes, staring at the phone screen. The same class chat. The same deceptive link. This time, I felt nothing but a cold, heavy indifference as they rushed, one by one, into the trap. If they wanted to go to ‘The Cambridge Center for Global Studies’ so badly, then this life, they would have their wish. 1 The poison had felt like fire. My parents and I writhed, dark blood foaming at our lips. Sierra stood over me, her face a mask of triumphant vengeance. “You deserve this, Dean. I finally got revenge for Rhys!” “If you hadn’t been so nosy, maybe Rhys and I would be together! I don’t care if he was lying about the college—I would have followed him to a for-profit scam school if he asked!” After the agony of my death, my soul lingered. I watched the police investigation, the classmates providing their perfectly rehearsed, fabricated alibis, complete with timestamped photos. “Sierra was with us all night! She never went home. We have pictures.” “Dean died? Oh, it must have been food poisoning. I heard his family always ate leftovers and expired stuff.” Mr. and Mrs. Miller, who knew Sierra had been at our house, squeezed out two phony tears and then acted as if nothing had happened. My soul drifted further, and that was when I saw him: Rhys, who was supposed to be dead. He had a woman—a different woman—in his arms. His voice was thick with malice. “Too bad I couldn’t fleece more from those idiots. I’d be set for life.” “And Dean? The asshole deserved to die. All his meddling. Sierra, that idiot, was pretty useful, though. I played the heartbroken saint, and she was crazy enough to kill for me.” Watching his smug, victorious smile, a bitter wave of regret washed over me. I was the one who had brought that psycho into my parents’ lives, and it had killed us all. If I could do it over… Everything went black. Then, the cheerful, relieved voice of my mother, Laura, cut through the silence. “Dean! Your scores are incredible! I’m so proud of you, honey!” “I have to call your father, Robert. He was pacing just waiting for your final number.” I spun around, staring at Mom’s smiling face. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, streamed down my cheeks. She was startled, rushing over to wipe them away. “What is it, sweetie? Too much stress?” “No, Mom. It’s okay. Just… so surprised by the scores.” I forced a laugh, assuring her I was fine, urging her to call Dad. When she left the room, I pinched my arm hard, the sharp, undeniable pain confirming the impossible. I was back. The computer screen, still open to the score report, reminded me of the exact moment: the day Rhys sent the link. I picked up my phone. Rhys’s message was there, tagging the whole class. I didn’t need to read it; I knew the manipulative, sad-sack routine was in full swing, begging them to sign up. I will not interfere with anyone else’s destiny. I swore to myself. This life, all I cared about was protecting my parents and me. Everyone else could burn. I marked the group chat as unread and began formulating a plan. I’d tell Mom that since Yale was so far away, we should move. Living near a sociopath like Sierra was too dangerous. But then, my phone rang. The name on the screen made my stomach drop: Sierra. What did she want? After a moment of panicked indecision, I hit the record button and answered. “Dean, what took you so long?” “Whatever. Listen, Rhys got a special deal for the class. You need to click that link and sign up immediately. It’s Harvard. You should really thank him.” Sierra’s tone was sharp, condescending, as if she were bestowing a huge favor. I felt a cold sneer forming inside me. Last time, after I’d exposed the scam, she’d initially looked relieved. But later, she couldn’t accept Rhys’s ‘death.’ Knowing her friends and parents would protect her, she had murdered my entire family just to play the devoted, heartbroken lover and prove her commitment to him. She hadn’t always been this way. We were next-door neighbors, our mothers joking about a ‘baby marriage’ since birth. We grew up together, and she used to be caring, present. I honestly thought we’d be together forever, and seeing her fall for Rhys had been painful. I wouldn’t have tried to stop her if she’d just been honest. I would have offered my blessing. But she kept me on the hook. Even last time, I knew she was using me as a backup plan, but the history was too hard to let go. Now, I was finally free. “Hello? I’m talking to you. Say something.” My long silence made her impatient. “…Thank you for the offer,” I said, my voice carefully neutral. “But I don’t need the ‘favor.’ Give it to someone else.” “Don’t be an idiot. You’re turning down Harvard? Don’t tell me you’re jealous of Rhys again.” “Fine, whatever, be a drama queen. But sign up now—” I didn’t want to hear her sickening voice anymore. I hung up and blocked her number. But Rhys was too greedy to lose a referral fee. He started goading the other students to call me. “Dean, everyone else is signed up! Don’t be weird and unsupportive.” “Are you just refusing to help Rhys pay for his textbooks? That’s really cruel, man.” They moved from cajoling to aggressive moral blackmail. I was done. I silenced my phone. This life, I wouldn’t warn them. Not a word. Let the idiots learn their lesson. What kind of legitimate university recruits using a nickname, lets you skip the line, and gives out cash bonuses? Had Rhys hollowed out their brains? I went to find Mom, determined to find a reason to move away from the Millers. Mr. and Mrs. Miller had been kind, yes, but when their daughter’s future was at stake, they had tossed my family aside without hesitation. I understood the pragmatism. I just didn’t forgive it. “Mom, maybe… we should keep our distance from the Millers for a while.” She looked surprised, then smiled, thinking she knew what was wrong. “Did you and Sierra have a fight? I can go smooth things over.” “No, Mom. She has a boyfriend. She’s been using me as a… a backup plan. And she’s been really awful to me lately.” I forced a slight flush around my eyes. Her expression changed instantly, picking up on my manufactured pain. “That girl has the nerve to string you along? The ‘baby marriage’ was just a silly joke we made when you were babies! She actually took it seriously?” “No. She’s not doing that to my son. She doesn’t get to treat you like a consolation prize. I’m going to go talk to Richard about how he raised his daughter.” I quickly pulled her back. “Don’t, Mom. Please. I don’t want you and Dad caught in the middle. I just won’t associate with Sierra anymore.” “I want to go to Yale in Boston. And I want to stay in Boston after I graduate. Mom, let’s move there. I don’t want to be away from you guys.” She hugged me tight, her resistance gone. “We’ll do it. When your dad gets home, I’ll talk to him about selling the house. With the profit and our savings, we can buy a nice place in Boston.” “Don’t worry, Dean. Your parents will always put you first.” That evening, Dad came home, and Mom pitched the idea of moving. “That’s a great idea,” Dad agreed immediately. “We can find a place, and you’ll be close enough to come home on weekends.” We were deep in a cheerful discussion about the size of the new house when a frantic knocking sounded at the door. “Mr. and Mrs. Vance, I need to talk to Dean!” Dad frowned as he opened it. Mom had told him about Sierra’s manipulative games, and he was clearly annoyed. But this felt like a chance to end things cleanly. “Come to my room, Sierra.” I led her into my bedroom, intentionally leaving the door slightly ajar. As soon as we were inside, she launched into a tirade. “Why haven’t you signed up yet?” “That’s hilarious. Why do I have to? Do I need your permission to choose my college?” Provoked, Sierra lost her composure. Her voice turned shrill. “Stop being so childish, Dean. Do you get a kick out of causing problems for Rhys? If you just sign up, I’ll… I’ll consider giving us a real try. How about that?” “Don’t flatter yourself, Sierra. I said it once, and I’ll say it again: I don’t want you. Who cares if you’ll ‘try’? You have no right to tell me what to do with my application!” I must have triggered something deeper. Sierra completely lost control and shrieked. “You are malicious, Dean! You’re happy Rhys won’t get into college, aren’t you? You will sign up right now!” She shoved me aside and rushed toward my computer, trying to force the application. “Get out of my house!” The door was thrown open. Mom stood there, absolutely furious. “You’ve got nerve! Coming into my house, screaming at my son, and trying to change his application!” “My son doesn’t want you! Get away from him. Don’t you ever come back and harass us again!” My enraged parents pushed Sierra out the door. She tried to stammer a defense, but then her front door opened, and Mr. Miller stepped out. “What is going on, Laura? What did Sierra do?” “You’re just the person I wanted to see, Richard. I want to know if you have a problem with our family. Your daughter just called my son a vicious backstabber and tried to physically force him to change his college application!” Mr. Miller looked at Sierra with disbelief. But she was still trying to justify herself. “It’s not true, Mrs. Vance! Dean changed when we went to high school. He’s always targeting people, and I just wanted to help him!” “I was trying to get him into Harvard! He’s only doing this because Rhys gets a com—” “Enough! Sierra, my college application has nothing to do with you! Stop pretending you’re doing me a favor!” I quickly cut her off. Mr. Miller, as a college professor, would instantly recognize the scam if she mentioned the commission. I couldn’t risk her accidentally exposing Rhys’s plot. I was determined to let them all get what they deserved. “We’re done, Sierra. You go your way, and I’ll go mine. Act like we don’t know each other.” I pulled my parents back inside, slamming the front door with a resounding crash. I knew Sierra wouldn’t tell her dad about the commission—she was too afraid of getting Rhys in trouble, knowing how close our families used to be. But thinking of her chilling obsession in the last life, I still wasn’t comfortable until we moved. I immediately ordered a security camera/monitoring system for rush delivery. I just wanted to be safe. I never expected to use the feed so soon. The day before the application deadline, I was out shopping with Mom when my phone alerted me to a break-in. I tapped the screen. Sierra was in my bedroom, acting suspiciously. Our balconies weren’t far apart. In the summer, with the window open, she could have climbed over. But we were on the twelfth floor. She wasn’t just insane; she was fearless. I watched her fiddle with my computer for several minutes. Finally, in a fit of rage, she slammed the mouse down. I’d anticipated her attempt and changed my application password to the most complex configuration, deleting all the browsing history. Her loyalty to Rhys was insane. To commit felony breaking-and-entering for a stupid referral fee—did she really think a little neighborly history would stop me from calling the police? After another failed attempt, she clearly panicked about us returning. She gave up and turned to Dad’s study, quickly hiding something in his bookshelf before scrambling back out the window. “Mom, I’m suddenly exhausted. Can we go home?” As soon as we got inside, I rushed to the study. I found the manila envelope she’d stashed. Inside was an investment prospectus for ‘The Cambridge Center for Global Studies.’ Rhys must have given it to her to hide, planning to use it later to frame my family as the ones who owned the scam school. I tore the papers to shreds, soaked them into pulp in the sink, and flushed the disgusting mess down the toilet. Let those two bastards wait for their karma. Just a few days after the deadline passed, the students’ ‘acceptance letters’ started arriving. They bragged in the group chat, clearly trying to needle me. “Harvard’s letters came fast! See you all in Cambridge!” “The whole class is back together! Oh wait, I forgot, we’re missing one. Wonder if he regrets missing his shot.” “Forget him. The class weirdo. The local news heard about us all getting into Harvard, and they’re doing a feature! We’re going to be on TV!” I had to suppress a laugh. A TV feature? Would Rhys dare to show up, risking immediate exposure? The morons were so desperate for attention they were going to put themselves on national television. The interview was a live broadcast. I settled onto the couch, ready for the show. The entire class was present—except for Rhys.

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