Harlan Sterling, the heir to the Sterling empire, was suddenly exposed as having a secret marriage and a daughter. He immediately issued a public clarification. “No secret marriage, and certainly no daughter.” “As everyone knows, I have been single all these years.” I watched his cold face on the TV. Then I looked at our daughter, who was crying secretly, feeling wronged and confused. My years of obsession suddenly dissolved completely. When he came home, I didn’t greet him at the door with our daughter like before. Nor did I look forward with excitement to our reunion after a short separation. Instead, I opened the messages I had received again. A vasectomy report from six days ago, and a sentence: “As long as you are willing, Lily will be my only child from now on.” With tears streaming down my face, I replied: “Come pick me up. I don’t want to stay in the Sterling house anymore.” 1 I stared at Harlan Sterling’s handsome, indifferent face through the camera lens. For a moment, I was in a daze. He was known for his cold personality, deep scheming, and poker face. But contrary to the rumors of him being an ascetic workaholic, Harlan had a high libido. Before his business trip, ignoring my tears and pleas, he tied my wrists with his tie and pinned me down, taking me four times. I couldn’t help but bite his neck; the mark should still be there. The navy blue tie with the subtle pattern he wore was an anniversary gift I hand-picked. This is the fourth year of our marriage. We have a lovely daughter who just turned three. But now, my nominal husband, Harlan Sterling, just clarified to the media in the coldest, most serious tone. “No secret marriage, and certainly no daughter.” “As everyone knows, I have been single all these years.” He pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses on his high nose bridge. The cold light in his deep eyes was palpitating. It felt like he was looking through the lens, straight at me with a chilling gaze. “I advise those with ulterior motives to stop their wishful thinking and embarrassing themselves.” 2 After saying this, Harlan stood up abruptly. His bodyguards and personal assistant immediately dispersed the crowd, escorting him to his car. I stiffly turned off the TV. The living room plunged into darkness. Only the floor lamp in the corner emitted a faint, cold light. Suddenly, I heard a low sob. I turned around sharply and saw my little daughter. Her face was tear-stained, full of grievance and confusion, standing there frozen. “Lily?” I quickly got up and hugged her. “Why aren’t you sleeping? Why did you sneak downstairs?” Lily buried her wet face in my chest. Her small mouth pouted as she asked chokingly. “Mommy, why did Daddy say he doesn’t have a daughter?” “If he doesn’t have a daughter, what is Lily?” My heart twisted in pain instantly. Harlan was usually stern and taciturn. Although he loved Lily, he spent little time at home and rarely smiled. Lily adored him but was also a bit afraid of him. Because of this, she was more sensitive than other children. As tears poured down again, it seemed the obsession that had supported me for so many years suddenly dissipated into dust. I wiped the tears from my daughter’s face. “Lily, do you want to leave here with Mommy?” “Where are we going?” “Will we come back home?” I looked down and smiled: “No.” “This isn’t our home.” I looked at Lily and answered with utmost seriousness: “This is your Uncle Harlan’s home.” “We’ve stayed for a long time and disturbed him enough.” “So, it’s time to leave here and go to our own home.” Lily nodded, seemingly understanding, and replied in her milky voice. “Lily listens to Mommy. Where Mommy goes, Lily goes.” “Good girl.” I carried her back to her room and kissed her cheek lovingly. “Sleep. Mommy will stay here with you.” Lily fell asleep. My gaze fell on the photo frame on her bedside table. It was a photo of our family of three. The only photo of the three of us. In the photo, Harlan sat upright with his usual distant expression. I held one-year-old Lily, smiling shyly and happily, leaning slightly towards Harlan. But he didn’t lean towards me. Lily was fast asleep. I took the frame and quietly left the room. When I cut the photo, I suddenly realized. The gap left between our bodies back then was meant for today, so I could easily cut along it. 3 A week later, Harlan returned from his business trip. It was already 10 PM. In the past, my daughter and I would wait for him no matter how late. But tonight, Lily had bathed and fallen asleep long ago. I wasn’t in the master bedroom but in the guest room on the second floor. When the familiar engine sound rang out, I was on the balcony, staring blankly at the message received six days ago. The vasectomy report still stung my eyes and brought tears. “Marianne, just nod your head if you’re willing.” “I will treat Lily as my own.” “From now on, she will be my only daughter, no, my only child.” I stared at those lines for a long time. Until the screen went dark. Until Harlan’s footsteps came upstairs. Until he came down from the third-floor master bedroom and stood outside the guest room. Then, a knock. “Marianne, open the door.” I wiped my tears hastily and hid the phone under the pillow. “I’m sleeping. Let’s talk tomorrow…” But before I could finish, he opened the door from the outside. I was stunned at first, then quickly sobered up. This is Harlan’s home, Harlan’s house. He naturally has 100% sovereignty. “Why did you move to the guest room?” He seemed displeased, his voice colder than usual. I slowly sat up and looked at him. He looked tired from the long flight, rubbing his brow as he spoke. His voice was hoarse. Ignoring the last trace of heartache, I looked away. “I haven’t been feeling well these days. Didn’t want to infect you.” “I don’t mind. Move back.” Seeing me still sitting on the bed without moving, he frowned slightly. “Marianne?” “I want to sleep. You should rest early too…” Harlan didn’t respond but walked straight to the bed. He bent down and picked me up. “It’s been a week. Don’t you want it?” He lowered his head to kiss me. But I turned my face away. He was surprised, and soon his expression turned displeased. “Marianne.” “What tantrum are you throwing?” 4 In four years of marriage, I had never rejected him. He had high needs. Except for my period or business trips, we did it almost every night. If it were before, after a week-long trip, I wouldn’t have slept all night. Back then, I was happy, even blissful. Because only in bed did I feel like he liked me. Normally, I was afraid of him getting angry. But privately, during our intimacy, I secretly wanted him to get angry. Because when he was angry in bed, he was so different from his usual self. Once, we had a disagreement, and I ran off to stay with my best friend for a week. Harlan personally came to pick me up in Hong Kong. That day, in the most luxurious penthouse suite, he coldly unbuckled his belt with one hand and pinned me against the massive floor-to-ceiling window. I cried until my voice was hoarse, but he wouldn’t stop. At the end, he gritted his teeth and whispered in my ear. “Marianne, if you dare play the runaway game again, I’ll kill you in bed.” “Crying won’t help.” Maybe I had a bit of a weird fetish. His cold, slightly angry look easily got to me. I liked that he lost control of his emotions because of me. But now, my body felt closed off. It was calm, like a pool of dead water. Just like my heart. I struggled out of his arms. “Harlan, let’s separate.” I looked at him calmly, then suddenly laughed at myself. We have a child, yet I can only say “separate.” Harlan and I, apart from a piece of paper agreement, don’t even have a marriage certificate. He was stunned at first, then asked in a deep voice. “Because I clarified the marriage to the media?” I wanted to say, not just because of the clarification. If it were just that, I might have found hundreds of reasons to comfort myself. But he denied our daughter’s existence. These past few days, whenever I close my eyes, I see my daughter’s aggrieved and confused look. I can’t accept it. “Yes.” “You know that was just to deal with the media.” Harlan looked at me with a distant and serious expression. “I’m very busy. I don’t have time to soothe your emotions over such a small matter.” I tried to look at him calmly, but my hands hanging by my sides couldn’t help trembling. My eyes felt like they were being pricked by needles, but I held back the tears. “I don’t need your soothing.” “I’m serious.” “We can tear up the previous agreement. I just want Lily.” A hint of sarcasm seemed to flash in Harlan’s eyes. “Are you using Lily to force me to reveal your identities?” “No…” “I told you, that’s impossible.” “At least for the next few years, absolutely impossible.” He interrupted harshly: “Marianne, I can indulge you in many things.” “But there’s no room for negotiation on this.” He looked down at me like I was a stranger. The room was constantly temperature-controlled, but I felt incredibly cold. The chill seeped into my bones, making me shiver. Before marriage, my best friend had subtly advised me against it. But I was brave and unafraid. “Even if Harlan is a stone, so what?” “Water dripping day by day wears the stone away.” But now, I’m giving up. I want to be free water, not a droplet confined under the eaves for a lifetime. “Think about it tonight. Move back when you’ve thought it through.” Harlan turned and left the guest room. The door closed with a heavy sound, unlike his usual controlled demeanor. I pulled up the quilt and closed my eyes. In a few days, Grandpa Sterling would return from his recuperation in the south. He was the one who decided on Harlan and me back then. As long as he nodded, I could leave with Lily. The Sterling family valued sons over daughters. Mrs. Sterling rarely looked at Lily directly. She had her own preferred daughter-in-law, so naturally, she disliked me. Now that I wanted to take my daughter and leave the Sterling family, it would probably suit them perfectly.

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I received a text from Caleb, the boy who grew up with me. [If you’re willing, you and Lily will be my only family. Forever.] I looked up at the TV. On the screen, Dominic Vance—tech mogul and head of the Vance dynasty—was holding an emergency press conference to address the rumors about his secret life. [Let me be clear. I am single. I am not married, and I certainly do not have a daughter.] I looked down at the text on my phone. Then, I looked at my daughter, sitting beside me, tears welling in her confused eyes. Finally, I made up my mind. With blurry vision, I typed my reply: [Come get me. I miss you.] 1 I stared at Dominic’s handsome, indifferent face on the screen. For a moment, I felt a strange sense of dissociation. To the public, he was a cold, calculating machine. A man of deep reserve who never let his emotions show. They called him a stoic workaholic. They were wrong. Dominic had an insatiable hunger. Before his last business trip, he ignored my tears and my pleas for rest. He used his silk tie to bind my wrists, pinning me beneath him, taking me four times in one night. In a moment of exhaustion, I had bitten his neck. The mark was probably still there, hidden beneath his collar. That navy blue tie with the subtle pattern? I picked that out for our anniversary. It has been four years since we started this life together. We have a lovely daughter. She just turned three. But now. My “husband” in everything but legal paper, Dominic Vance, was standing in front of flashing cameras, using his coldest voice to erase us. “No marriage. No child.” “It is public knowledge that I have been single for years.” He pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his high nose. His dark eyes held a chilling light that seemed to pierce through the camera lens and freeze the blood in my veins. “I advise those harboring delusional fantasies to stop embarrassing themselves.” 2 After dropping that bombshell, Dominic stood up abruptly. His security team and personal assistants immediately swarmed him, clearing a path through the reporters to his waiting car. I turned off the TV with stiff fingers. The living room plunged into darkness, save for the dim, lonely light of a floor lamp in the corner. That’s when I heard a low, stifled sob. I turned around and saw my little girl. Her face was streaked with tears, her expression a heartbreaking mix of grievance and confusion. She stood there, frozen. “Lily?” I got up quickly and rushed over to hug her. “Why aren’t you asleep, baby? Why did you sneak downstairs?” Lily buried her wet face in my chest. Her lip trembled as she choked out a question. “Mommy, why did Daddy say he doesn’t have a daughter?” “If he doesn’t have a daughter… what am I?” My heart shattered into a million pieces. Dominic was strict and quiet. Though he provided for Lily, he was rarely home and rarely smiled. Lily admired him, but she was also afraid of him. She was sensitive. She understood rejection. As my own tears began to fall, the obsession I had held onto for so many years suddenly dissolved. It turned to dust. I wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Lily, do you want to leave this place with Mommy?” “Where are we going?” “Are we coming back?” I looked down and smiled, though it was sad. “No. We aren’t.” “This isn’t our home.” I looked at her, deadly serious. “This is your Uncle Dominic’s house.” “We’ve stayed here a long time, and we’ve bothered him enough.” “So, it’s time to go to our real home.” Lily nodded, half-understanding. “I listen to Mommy. Where Mommy goes, Lily goes.” “Good girl.” I carried her back to her room and kissed her soft forehead. “Sleep now. Mommy is right here.” Once Lily was asleep, my gaze fell on the picture frame on her nightstand. It was a photo of the three of us. The only one we had. In the photo, Dominic sat upright, looking regal and detached. I was holding a one-year-old Lily, smiling shyly, my body leaning slightly toward him. He was not leaning toward me. I picked up the frame and left the room. I took the scissors from the drawer. As I cut the photo, I realized something. The gap between our bodies in the picture—the space where we didn’t touch—was there for a reason. It was there so that today, I could easily cut him out of our lives. 3 A week later, Dominic returned from his trip. It was ten o’clock at night. In the past, no matter how late it was, Lily and I would wait for him. But tonight, Lily was asleep. And I wasn’t in the master bedroom. I was in the guest room on the second floor. When I heard the familiar roar of his engine, I was sitting on the balcony, staring at a document on my phone I had received six days ago. A vasectomy report. “Elena, if you say yes,” the text from Caleb read. “I will treat Lily as my own.” “She will be my only daughter. My only child.” I stared at those words until the screen went black. Until I heard Dominic’s footsteps on the stairs. Until he came down from the third floor, stood outside the guest room, and knocked. “Elena. Open the door.” I wiped my face and shoved the phone under my pillow. “I’m sleeping. We can talk tomorrow…” The door opened before I finished. It was Dominic’s house. He had the master key to everything. “Why are you in the guest room?” He sounded displeased, his voice colder than usual. I sat up and looked at him. He looked tired from the long flight, rubbing his temples. His voice was raspy. I ignored the last shred of heartache I felt for him. I looked away. “I haven’t been feeling well. I didn’t want to get you sick.” “I don’t care about that. Move back upstairs.” When I didn’t move, he frowned slightly. “Elena?” “I want to sleep, Dominic. You should rest too.” He didn’t answer. He walked to the bed, bent down, and scooped me up into his arms. “It’s been a week. Don’t tell me you don’t want this.” He lowered his head to kiss me. I turned my face away. He paused, surprised, and then his expression darkened. “Elena.” “What kind of tantrum is this?” 4 In four years, I had never rejected him. His drive was high. Unless he was traveling or I was sick, he wanted me every night. Before, if he had been gone a week, I wouldn’t have slept at all that night. And I would have been happy. Because only in bed did I feel like he might actually love me. I used to be afraid of his anger, but secretly, I craved it during intimacy. Once, we argued, and I ran off to a friend’s house for a week. He came to pick me up personally. In the penthouse suite, he loosened his belt with one hand, his face like thunder. He pressed me against the floor-to-ceiling window. I cried until my voice was gone, but he wouldn’t stop. “Elena,” he had gritted out, “if you ever try to run away again, I will break you in this bed. Crying won’t help.” Maybe I was broken. I used to like seeing him lose control because of me. But now? My body was closed off. Dead water. Just like my heart. I struggled out of his arms. “Dominic, let’s separate.” I looked at him calmly, then laughed at myself. We had a child, yet I could only say “separate.” Because we didn’t even have a marriage license. Just a contract. He looked stunned, then his voice dropped. “Is this because of the press conference?” I wanted to scream. It wasn’t just the denial of our relationship. It was the denial of his daughter. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lily’s confused face. I couldn’t forgive that. “Yes.” “You know that was just PR. A necessary statement for the stock market.” He looked at me with that stern, CEO expression. “I am very busy, Elena. I don’t have time to soothe your emotions over something so trivial.” I tried to keep my hands from shaking. “I don’t need you to soothe me.” “I’m serious.” “We can tear up the agreement. I just want Lily.” Dominic’s eyes flashed with mockery. “You’re using Lily to threaten me? You want me to go public?” “No…” “I told you, that is impossible right now.” He interrupted me sharply. “Elena, I indulge you in many things.” “But on this, there is no negotiation.” He looked down at me like I was a stranger. The room was climate-controlled, but I was freezing. The cold seeped into my bones. “Think about it tonight. When you come to your senses, move back upstairs.” He turned and left the guest room. The door slammed shut. I pulled the covers up. In a few days, Dominic’s grandfather, Arthur Vance, would return from his health retreat. Arthur was the one who had set us up. If he nodded, I could take Lily and leave. The Vance family was old-fashioned. Dominic’s mother hated me and ignored Lily because she wanted a high-society daughter-in-law. Me leaving would make everyone happy.

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I was born a chatterbox, and I pride myself on having a rock-solid moral compass. I’m willing to debate anyone, anytime, about anything. If you need advice or a hot take, I’m your girl. And by “anyone,” I don’t just mean the living. I mean the dead, too. I’ve been haunted by this brooding, clingy male ghost. Every night, he insists on being the big spoon. “Babe, why aren’t you reading those affirmations today?” he whispered. Affirmations? I wasn’t manifesting! My throat was just scratchy, okay? 1 I talk too much. It’s a condition. I love lecturing people. Even when I’m in an Uber, I can’t help but coach the road-raging driver. “Swearing is bad for your cortisol levels,” I told him. “And passing on the shoulder? That’s a traffic violation and morally ambiguous.” The driver, fueled by caffeine and fury, kicked me out halfway to my destination. Before he sped off, I leaned into the window. “You need to be rational. Acting on impulse is a trauma response. You’ll feel better when you accept that.” He flipped me off. Then, to prove a point, he floored it. It was an electric car, so the acceleration was instant. Too bad he ran a red light. He didn’t see the speed camera. I sighed. I forgot to warn him about that trap. I called my dad. No answer. I texted my mom. Ding. A notification from my bank app. $10,000 deposited. Mom’s text followed: [Sweetie, your father and I are finally having a peaceful spa day. Please, go buy something shiny and leave us alone.] Another $10,000 hit my account. Seriously? Why does everyone find me annoying? What did I do wrong? I’m just trying to make the world a more civilized place. I couldn’t call my friends. They’ve all muted my notifications. I was stranded on a desolate road. I had to rent one of those electric scooters and wobble my way to the new property my dad bought for me. By the time I arrived, the sun had set. I looked up at the house. No wonder it was cheap. It was a mid-century modern nightmare in the middle of nowhere. Who builds a mansion in a dead zone? 2 I walked inside. It was spotless. My dad had already sent a cleaning crew and movers to unpack my stuff. He really wanted me out of the main house so he could enjoy his empty nest. Rude. The porch light flickered. Probably faulty wiring. It flickered again. Definitely faulty wiring. Just as I stepped into the foyer, a gust of wind slammed the front door wide open. Leaves swirled in like a tornado. Creeeeeak. It was the classic horror movie entrance. I relaxed. At least it wasn’t a zombie. Ghosts I can handle. Ghosts are rational; they used to be people. I cleared my throat and used my “customer service” voice. “Hello, original inhabitant. I’m the new owner. I know you hate gentrification, but my dad dropped five million on this place. I have rights.” “You can haunt the guest house if you want.” The wind stopped. The lights stabilized. But I smelled a distinct scent of annoyance in the air. I doubled down. “Moving is stressful, even for the spectral. We can be roommates. But let’s set boundaries. You don’t pay property tax, so you don’t get master bedroom privileges.” “Also, scaring people is rude. Didn’t your mother teach you manners? Be a polite ghost.” The lights in the living room flared to life. I saw a silhouette. Even in the dim light, I could tell. This was a god-tier handsome man. I guess my luck was finally turning. I skipped into the living room. The ghost drifted to the corner where a grand piano sat. He sat down and began to play. My family is “new money,” so I don’t know Mozart from Beethoven, but it sounded expensive. Melancholy. Beautiful. I sat on the couch and entered “Hype Girl” mode. “Damn! That’s fire!” Compliments need to feel raw to be genuine. “Seriously, that was spiritual. My ears have been blessed. I feel purified. The emotion? The angst? Unmatched. No Grammy winner could touch you.” I rambled for three solid minutes. I got distracted by his profile. He was stunning. Pale skin, sharp jawline, messy hair, and a tear mole under his eye that made him look tragic and sexy. “This song is so handsome… I mean, this ghost is so catchy…” The music stopped abruptly. He turned. His eyes were dark and moody. High nose bridge. Thin lips. Prominent Adam’s apple. Holy… He was gorgeous. It’s a tragedy that we’re on different planes of existence. Wait. Ghost movie starring Demi Moore? It can work. He faded away before I could ask for his Instagram handle. 3 Delivery fees out here are criminal. Good thing I have my parents’ credit card. I ordered everything. Spicy wings, crawfish boil, truffle fries, a whole cake, and three boba teas. I was ripping into a bag of wings when the hot ghost reappeared. I offered him a wing. He looked at me with infinite sadness. “I’m not alive.” Right. My bad. I opened all the containers and set them out like a shrine. “Inhale the vibes,” I suggested. He actually tried. Then he started coughing. Or, the ghost equivalent of coughing. His face turned red. He choked out one word: “Spicy.” I hurriedly poked a straw into a milk tea and offered it to him. He looked like he’d been through a war. His lips were swollen and red. I stared. A six-foot-two ghost looking this disheveled? If I had a physical form that could touch him… well, let’s just say I’d be cancelled for my thoughts. He felt my gaze. “What are you thinking?” “Just admiring the aesthetic,” I lied effortlessly. “You’re giving Victorian Prince mixed with Calvin Klein model.” He blushed. Cute. After eating, I showered and flopped onto the king-sized bed in the master suite. In the middle of the night, I felt a dip in the mattress. I opened my eyes. The hot ghost was lying next to me. He was asleep. This was it. The universe was rewarding me for all my good deeds. I was living in a paranormal romance novel. Weirdly, on the bed, he looked solid. I poked his cheek. Soft. I got bolder. I touched his collarbone. Then his chest. Abs. I went lower. His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. I froze. I quickly scanned my brain for “laws against molesting the undead.” “Sorry,” I squeaked. “The flesh is weak.” He stared at my left wrist for a long time. “You’re still wearing the bracelet.” “So, you admit you’re still my fiancée?” Huh? I looked at the vintage emerald bracelet on my wrist. I swiped this from my mom’s jewelry box before I left because it looked expensive. “This is an heirloom my family gives to the daughter-in-law,” he whispered, tracing the green stone. What? No. My mom has a shopping addiction; she probably bought this at an estate sale. This ghost is delusional. “You’ve got the wrong girl, Casper,” I said. He was silent for a moment, then vanished. I lay there, mourning the loss of the abs under my fingertips. Later that night, half-asleep, I felt strong arms wrap around me. I was too tired to fight it. It felt safe. I snuggled backward into the cold embrace and slept like a baby. 4 I woke up screaming. I was tangled in the ghost’s limbs. “Ahhh!” He woke up, sat up, and rubbed his eyes. Sunlight streamed through the window, hitting his face. He looked like a painting. Wait. Sunlight? Ghost? “Why aren’t you burning up?” I asked. “It’s noon.” He looked confused, his hair messy. “Why would I burn?” He stood up and walked directly into a sunbeam. Okay, so movies lied to me again. Not a vampire, not a traditional ghost. Maybe a day-walker?

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On a live variety show, I was forced to call my ex-boyfriend. “Can I borrow five hundred bucks?” He scoffed. “You’ve got some nerve asking.” A second later, a notification popped up on the big screen. [Your account has received $50,000,000.00 from account ending in 2222…] 1 It was a live broadcast. The challenge: call the person pinned at the top of your contacts and ask to borrow money for the day’s activity fund. I unlocked my phone and stared at the pinned contact. My soul left my body. Damn. It was my ex. The one I dumped. The one I swore I’d never see again in this lifetime. My phone screen was mirrored on the giant studio monitor. The contact name was crystal clear: AAA Adrian Sterling. The other guests froze. The live comments exploded. [Wait… is that THE Adrian Sterling? The Sterling heir?] [Who? Is he famous?] [Famous? He’s old money royalty! His family owns half the city.] [He showed his face once at a tech summit and broke the internet. He’s been topping the ‘Most Eligible Bachelor’ list ever since.] [Wait, isn’t he way out of Chloe’s league? She’s just a B-list actress.] [Exactly. Look at her face. She’s embarrassed because she probably tried to climb the social ladder and fell off. She’s scared he won’t even pick up.] The host, sensing drama, leaned in. “The audience is dying to know, Chloe. Is this the Mr. Sterling?” I was about to deny it when Bella, the show’s resident “it girl,” bounced over. “The profile picture looks like him, but who knows?” she said, covering her mouth in mock surprise. “Oops, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m actually calling him too! Chloe, you go first.” She flashed her phone screen to the camera with a sugary smile. Her pinned contact: AAA Adrian <3. The host gasped. "That nickname..." Bella acted like she'd just realized her mistake, covering her phone and blushing. "Oh, stop! It's just a silly name. I shouldn't have shown everyone!" I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. Wow. Could you be any more obvious? Just call him already and spare me the theatrics. 2 I didn't have the energy to deal with her. I forced a smile. Then, under the gaze of millions of viewers online and offline, I dialed the number. Beep... Beep... The ringing echoed through the silent studio. It felt like an eternity. Finally, the call connected. Silence on the other end. As the audio amplified, I could hear steady breathing and faint background chatter. My throat went dry. I tried to sound casual. "Are you in a meeting?" Adrian: "Mm." The man was a vault. No emotion. No words. "Is it a bad time?" Adrian: "Mm." Excuse me? We broke up years ago, and now you've devolved into a grunt-machine? The other guests looked at me with pity. Bella blinked her big innocent eyes, feigning sympathy. Just kill me now. "So, um, I wanted to borrow five hundred dollars." "If you don't want to, that's fine." Even without seeing him, I knew he paused. Then, a low, husky laugh escaped his lips. "You've got some nerve asking." His voice dropped at the end. Like a cold stream in early spring—chilling, yet mesmerizing. Then... Click. The line went dead. Are you serious, bro? You own half the skyscrapers in downtown. And you won't lend your ex-girlfriend five hundred bucks? Stingy jerk! I let out an awkward laugh. "Sorry guys, we're really not that close." Bella patted my shoulder, oozing fake kindness. "Adrian is usually super busy at this hour. He probably doesn't have time for small things. Don't worry, I'll try. As long as we get the money for the team, right?" 3 You really deserve an Oscar for "Best Villain disguised as a Saint." My request is a "small thing," but yours is important? If I didn't want to keep my history with Adrian a secret, you wouldn't be standing here acting so smug. I shrugged. "Go ahead." [What is wrong with Chloe? She got rejected by the big shot and now she's taking it out on Bella?] [Bella is just trying to help!] [Am I the only one who thinks Bella is being passive-aggressive?] [Yeah, Chloe held back. I would have snapped.] [You guys are reading too much into it. Bella is known for being sweet but blunt.] [Chloe is just jealous. The man she couldn't land is wrapped around Bella's finger.] [Get ready for the slap in the face, Jealous Chloe.] I ignored the comments and watched Bella perform. Her call was answered in seconds. A stark contrast to mine. Ahhh! That dead man! He's humiliating me! "What is it?" Adrian's voice was even flatter than before. "Adrian, I'm out having high tea," Bella cooed, dragging out the vowels. "But my card got frozen for some reason. Can you transfer me some cash for an emergency?" Adrian paused. "Got it." What?! You have a new girl already? Fine. Good. Great!!! I clenched my jaw to keep a neutral face. The producers, hungry for drama, kept my phone screen up next to Bella's. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the transfer notification. Ding! [You have received $10,000.00 from account ending in 7144.] The sound came from Bella's phone. She turned around, beaming. "Chloe! We have money!" Before she could finish, another notification chime rang out. Loud and clear. On the big screen, a message popped up on my phone. [You have received $50,000,000.00 from account ending in 2222.] WHAT?! 4 Account ending in 2222?! That was Adrian's personal black card! My brain short-circuited. I tapped the message open. Everyone saw it. The guests and the host gasped in unison. They stared at the string of zeros, unable to look away. Five... fifty... five hundred... five million... Fifty million?! Adrian, are you insane? You hung up on me, then sent me fifty million dollars? I've only seen this kind of money on a Monopoly board! Are you trying to send me to an early grave via heart attack? If the internet sleuths dig this up, they're definitely going to think we're running an illegal laundering scheme or having a sordid affair! [LMAO. The slap in the face came, but not for Chloe.] [Bella asked, and he sent 10k like a chore. Chloe asked for 500, and he dropped 50 mill.] [This CEO x Actress trope is spicy!] [Wait, who sent the money to Chloe? Was it Adrian too?] [Look at the account numbers! They're different!] [Maybe Chloe has a sugar daddy.] [Yeah, she's probably two-timing. Trying to climb Adrian while milking her sugar daddy for 50 mill.] [Adrian would never look at her.] [Are these comments bots? Why so much hate?] [Not everyone is a gold digger, okay?] [Those are definitely Bella's fans.] Before I could drown in the spit of internet trolls, my survival instincts kicked in. "Oh! I forgot. Today is settlement day for my studio. Sorry for the confusion, everyone." Bella looked at me suspiciously. I gave her a cold stare back. Believe it or not, sister. Go ask Adrian if you have a problem!

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It was deep into the night when Mom picked me up to drive us back home. After we pulled out of the rest stop, I noticed the black sedan parked behind us started its engine at the exact same moment Mom did. It followed us the entire way. Same direction. It stopped when we stopped. It signaled when we signaled. It kept a consistent distance of about fifty yards. I was one hundred percent certain: we were being followed by a stranger. My mind raced, calculating how to shake them or how to call for help. But I would soon find out that the reality was far more terrifying than anything I could have imagined. 1 After we exited the interstate, Mom started to feel it too. She glanced nervously at the rearview mirror. “That black Volkswagen… it’s still behind us.” I had told her back on the highway that I felt like we were being tailed. Even though traffic was light, there were other cars around, so the tailing wasn’t immediately obvious. It was Mom’s first time driving on the interstate at night, so her nerves were already fried. When I first mentioned it, she brushed it off, saying I was paranoid, too afraid to take her eyes off the road to check. But she had floored it to 90 mph and changed lanes three times. Now that we were off the highway and on the lonely county roads, the traffic had vanished. Yet, the black car remained. There were two routes home. Mom had deliberately chosen the one that took five minutes longer. A stranger wouldn’t take the long way. But the black car did. The narrow county road was poorly lit. Just our white SUV and that black sedan, one after the other. Its high beams were blinding, stark and intrusive in the darkness. Mom finally started to panic. I had just finished my driver’s ed course before heading off to college. I didn’t have my license yet, and I hadn’t driven solo, but I knew the rules. This was a narrow two-lane road. Dotted yellow lines separated the directions. Passing was legal. Night driving is exhausting, especially after a high-speed highway run. I tried to soothe Mom’s rigid posture. “Mom, don’t panic! Maybe they live in our town too and just happened to take this route. Let’s slow down. Force him to pass us.” Mom nodded frantically, “Right, right.” She hit the brakes. The speed dropped instantly to 25 mph. The sudden deceleration was jarring. Compared to the highway speeds, it felt like we were crawling. Mom was too tense; she had braked too hard. The distance between us and the black VW shrank rapidly. It looked like an imminent rear-end collision. I silently swore that once I got my license, I’d never let Mom drive again. I stared at the side mirror, heart in my throat. But the black car had reflexes like a cat. It slowed down just as abruptly, maintaining that fifty-yard gap. It showed zero intention of passing. Mom frowned. She steadied herself and slowed down even more. 20 mph. Then 15 mph… The black car was like a phantom shadow. It slowed down in perfect sync. The distance was locked in. Now, both Mom and I were terrified. This car was definitely targeting us. 2 We fell into a heavy silence. The radio signal turned to static as soon as we hit the backwoods. Mom turned it off, leaving only the low hum of the engine and the sound of our tires on asphalt. The GPS showed we were still thirty miles from home. Mom’s brow was furrowed tight. She didn’t say a word, but the speedometer told me she was accelerating again. 30, 40, 50… 60 mph. On this winding county road, that was dangerous. I frantically scrolled through the map on my phone, looking for any populated areas, gas stations, or police stations along the route. If I found one, we would drive straight there. Nothing. The closest station was in the opposite direction, forty miles away. I quickly texted Dad, explaining the situation. I shared my live location and told him to drive our truck to meet us halfway. With Dad coming, surely the black car wouldn’t be so bold. Dad replied instantly. He hadn’t slept, worried sick because he had to work late and couldn’t pick me up himself. I told Mom that Dad was on his way. The tension in her face relaxed slightly. I exhaled, feeling a bit safer. Meeting Dad meant cutting the danger zone in half. I reached out to pat Mom’s shoulder and realized her muscles were rock hard from stress. Looking back, I realized we were targeted at the last rest stop. We had stopped for gas and a quick bite. While Mom was in the restroom, I sat eating a burger. That’s when I felt eyes on me. It was a stranger. Dark complexion, maybe early twenties, tall. He was wearing a baseball cap pulled down low, despite it being night. The overhead lights cast a shadow over his face, hiding his eyes. It made me uncomfortable. I fidgeted, checking my clothes to see if I was revealing anything. By the time I saw Mom coming out and looked up to glare back at him, he was gone. Back in the car, I remembered thinking about those online threads warning women drivers. Mom’s car was white with cute decals—a clear “female driver” signal. Mom started the car. At that exact second, the headlights of a black Volkswagen parked two rows back flicked on. I had a bad feeling then. A gut instinct that the car was waiting for us. I glanced at the windshield but couldn’t see the driver’s face. He was wearing a black baseball cap. The same one. The car wasn’t cold, but goosebumps erupted all over my arms. As Mom pulled out, that car followed. And it hadn’t stopped since. I looked at the dashboard. Mom was pushing 70 mph now. “Too fast,” I thought. “Way too fast for this road.” My heart pounded in rhythm with the engine. Trees blurred past on both sides. A deer jumping out now would mean a fatal rollover. My palms were sweating. But I didn’t tell her to slow down. The fear of the stalker outweighed the fear of the crash. We just wanted to get to Dad. But then, the black car behind us did something new. It started flashing its high beams frantically. 3 At first, it was just a couple of flashes. When Mom didn’t react, the black car went berserk, strobing its lights continuously. The reflection in the rearview mirror blinded Mom. She raised a hand to shield her eyes, and the car swerved slightly. But she didn’t slow down. The flashing got faster. And he was speeding up. He was closing the gap. He was right on our bumper. I could almost see the tense jawline of the man in the cap. Too close! Mom was forced to swerve into the left lane—the oncoming traffic lane—to try and let him pass. We were driving on the wrong side of the road. It was insane. Mom was sweating bullets. She tried to merge back into the right lane, but the black car wouldn’t let her. He matched her speed, blocking her return, flashing his lights like a maniac. He was forcing us to stay in the wrong lane. “Maya, call 911!” Mom’s voice trembled. “This guy is crazy! He’s trying to kill us!” If a car came over the hill now, we would hit head-on. There was no shoulder, just trees. Why? Why did he want us dead? I was hyperventilating. I forced myself to grab my phone. Suddenly, I heard a horn blast from far ahead. But I couldn’t see any headlights. Blind spot. There was a blind spot ahead, probably a dip in the road or a sharp curve. The honk was a warning from a vehicle we couldn’t see yet. I looked to my right. The black car was neck-and-neck with us. The man in the cap had his window down. He was waving his arm frantically at us. What was he doing? Then, the black car slammed on its brakes, dropping back instantly. “Mom! Car ahead! Merge right! NOW!” I screamed. A split second later, high beams cut through the darkness. A massive pickup truck crested the hill. I covered my eyes and screamed. The car jerked violently. I felt like I was in a boat capsizing in a storm. I imagined the sound of crunching metal, the silence that follows death. But the impact never came. I opened my eyes. The white light was gone. Mom was gasping for air, eyes wide with terror. We were back in the right lane. When I screamed, Mom had realized the danger of the blind hill too. The truck driver, an experienced local, had honked a warning. That honk saved our lives. I burst into tears. “It’s okay, Maya. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Mom stammered, reaching over to touch my head. Her hand was ice cold, but her shirt was soaked through with sweat. I looked in the mirror. The black car was back. It had sped up again and was right on our tail. No flashing lights this time. But his window was still down. His arm was hanging out, waving at us. He kept sticking his head out, trying to signal something. What did he want?! We were twenty miles from home. I dialed 911 with trembling fingers. We had a dashcam. Once we were safe, I was going to make sure this psycho went to jail. The call connected. “911, what is your emergency?” I opened my mouth to speak. Suddenly, a cold hand reached out from the back seat. A rough palm clamped over my mouth. A blade, ice-cold and sharp, pressed against my jugular. A voice, wet and raspy like it came from the bottom of a grave, whispered in my ear. “Shhh. Don’t move.” 4 Mom heard the noise and glanced back. She screamed. I screamed—a muffled, terrified sound against the hand. Mom jerked the wheel. The tires screeched as we fishtailed across the road. When the car finally straightened out, the air smelled of metallic rust. Blood. My shirt was wet and warm. “Maya!” Mom shrieked. The knife had slipped during the swerve. A long, shallow cut ran from my neck down to my collarbone. It wasn’t deep enough to hit the artery, but it was bleeding freely. “Tsk, tsk. I told you not to move,” the voice behind me said. It sounded almost annoyed. “Look at that pretty neck. Almost snapped it.” He turned his attention to my mother, who was on the verge of a breakdown. “Don’t slow down! Keep driving!” “You were driving like a demon a minute ago. Keep it up! Damn, that swerve hurt like hell.” There was a third person in our car. I bit my lip to stop from crying out. Through the rearview mirror, I saw him. A man in his forties. messy, curly hair. His forehead was bleeding, blood dripping down a face bisected by a horrific scar. His eyes bulged, red and manic. He snatched my phone away. The dispatcher’s voice was tinny and small. “Hello? Ma’am? Is anyone there?” The Scarred Man hung up and tossed the phone. He reached forward, grabbed Mom’s phone from the dash mount—the one running the GPS—and threw both devices out the cracked window. “Who are you?” I thought, paralyzed. “When did you get in?” Mom was weeping as she drove. “Who are you? Please, we need a hospital. My daughter is hurt. Take the money, take the car, just let us go!” The Scarred Man bared his teeth in a gruesome grin. He tapped my cheek with the flat of the bloody knife. “Shut up! Turn right up ahead. Lose the black car behind us!” “Or I’ll gut your daughter right here.”

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I bought a used laptop online, expecting a beat-up machine to get me through the school year. What arrived was the latest, high-end model, brand new out of the box. I opened it up, and my jaw hit the floor. The wallpaper was a photo of me. The password was my birthday. Just as I was wondering if I had a secret admirer or a stalker, my phone blew up. The seller was spamming me with frantic texts: “Dude! I sent the wrong one! That’s my sister’s brand-new laptop!” “That wasn’t the one for sale! Oh my god, she’s going to kill me.” “Did you see the guy on the wallpaper? That’s her future husband. She’s obsessed with him.” “Please, for the sake of true love, can you send it back?” 1 My four-year-old laptop finally gave up the ghost right before payday. I was broke. I teach third grade; “broke” is my default setting. I scoured eBay for four days until I found a listing that fit my sad little budget. To save even more money, I decided to shoot my shot. I pulled out the metaphorical machete: “Would you take $200?” The listing was for $500. I expected to be blocked or cursed out. Instead, the seller replied instantly: “Sure. Free shipping, too.” I felt like I’d encountered a benevolent god. I sent a string of generic, over-the-top compliments to the default avatar profile: “You are an angel! May you win the lottery! May you get a promotion! May your crush fall in love with you!” After a pause, she replied: “I hope so.” I paid immediately. The seller messaged: “We’re in the same city. Can you pick it up?” “Totally.” A few minutes later: “Actually, something came up. I have to go out of town. I’ll have my family courier it to you tomorrow.” The next day, I came home from school to find a package. I opened it, and my smile froze. This wasn’t the gray brick I ordered. This was a Rose Gold, top-of-the-line beast. It cost ten times what I paid. Confused, I hit the power button. The screen lit up. And there I was. It was a photo of me from high school, standing under a cherry blossom tree, holding an ice cream cone, waving at the camera. I looked young, happy, and full of life. Unlike the current me, who looks like a walking corpse fueled by caffeine. Why did a stranger have my photo as their wallpaper? Was this a prank? A gift? I looked at the password field. on a hunch, I typed in my birthday. Click. Unlocked. I grabbed my phone to ask the seller what was going on. That’s when the barrage of texts came in. “I messed up! I grabbed the wrong box!” “That’s my sister’s laptop! She keeps a photo of her ‘dream husband’ on it because she’s crazy!” “Please, help a girl out!” 2 I stared at the screen. “Dream husband?” Me? I convinced myself it was a coincidence. Maybe my photo became a meme online or a stock image. As for the birthday… plenty of people are born on that day. The seller’s panic seemed genuine, and honestly, a little hilarious. I replied: “Okay, I’ll return it.” I’m a teacher. I can’t steal a laptop, and I certainly don’t want to mess with someone’s “dream husband” delusion. The seller sent a flood of crying emojis. “Thank you! You’re a saint! I’ll meet you at the mall near the elementary school. Call me when you get there.” I grabbed the laptop and headed to the mall. I scanned the entrance for anyone looking like they were waiting for a package. Instead, I saw one of my students. Zoe. Zoe was staring at her massive, pink smartwatch, stomping her foot nervously. Seeing her triggered a memory from that morning. During recess, Zoe had cornered me. “Mr. Miller, do you have a girlfriend?” “No,” I’d said. She slapped her hand on her desk and pulled over another kid, Lucas. “Okay, Mr. Miller. Two choices. One: You become my brother-in-law. Two: You become his uncle. Pick one.” I was confused. Then I remembered Zoe was Lucas’s aunt (don’t ask about the family tree). Lucas had chimed in, “Yeah! My Aunt Nora is super pretty! She’s a police detective! She’s tall and kicks butt!” I had laughed it off. “I’ll give you two choices. Double homework, or triple homework?” They had scattered like roaches. Now, seeing Zoe at the mall, I tried to hide. I didn’t want to get roped into another “Choose Your Own Adventure” romance plot. I looked at the sky. I looked at my shoes. “Mr. Miller!” Too late. Zoe sprinted over. “What a coincidence! Are you waiting for a girlfriend?” I sighed. “No, Zoe.” It was 7:30 PM. “Where are your parents? It’s getting dark.” Zoe held up her watch. “I am on a mission. To protect my sister’s love life… and my own survival.” “Is your ride here?” She pointed to a sleek, expensive black car by the curb. “Driver’s right there.” I remembered I needed to call the seller. I dialed the number. Zoe’s giant pink watch started ringing. 3 The look on Zoe’s face was a masterpiece of pure terror. She stared at the laptop in my hands. Her brain rebooted. “M-Mr. Miller? You bought the laptop?” I handed it to her. “Here.” “Lying isn’t a good habit, Zoe. Also, tell your sister to refund my money.” Zoe looked like she was about to cry. “I can’t refund it! If she sees the transaction, she’ll know I sold the wrong one! She’s a cop! She knows how to hide a body!” “She beats me! You don’t want to see your favorite student with a black eye, do you?” “I thought you said she was nice?” I asked. “She is! I mean… no! She’s a tyrant! Please, Mr. Miller!” She was spiraling. “Okay, okay,” I said. “But I need the computer I actually bought. Or the money.” Zoe sniffled. “Can you… come to my house and get it?” 4 I followed Zoe into her house. The living room was full of people. “Mom, Dad, I’m home!” Zoe announced. “Sister… you’re back?” On the couch sat a woman. She had her eyes closed. She was wearing a simple T-shirt and sweatpants, but you could see the muscle definition underneath. Tan skin. Sharp jawline. Even sleeping, she looked intimidatingly gorgeous. So this is the sister. My eyes lingered a little too long. Zoe tugged my sleeve. “Mr. Miller, you’re drooling.” “I am not.” Zoe ran over to the woman and shook her. “Nora! Wake up! Emergency!” Her parents walked over to me, looking confused. “Who is this?” They didn’t recognize me. Which was weird, because “Zoe’s Guardian” liked every single one of my Facebook posts. “Hi, I’m Liam Miller. Zoe’s teacher.” The woman on the couch snapped her eyes open. She looked at me. Her gaze was sharp, analytical. A predator assessing prey. I looked away, nervous. Zoe was whispering to her sister. “Buy me the Lego Death Star! Or else!” Nora grabbed Zoe by the collar and tossed her aside like a sack of potatoes. “You failed math. No Death Star. Be quiet.” Zoe’s mom ushered me in. “Is Zoe in trouble at school? She’s a handful.” “No, no,” I explained. “I actually bought a laptop from… Zoe’s sister. There was a mix-up.” “Nora?” Her dad called out. “Go get Mr. Miller his computer.” Nora stood up. She walked past me without a word, her face completely blank, and went into a bedroom. Zoe was punching the sofa cushions in rage. “She won’t buy it! Evil woman!” I sat awkwardly with the parents. I decided to make conversation. “Zoe is a great kid,” I lied. “Very spirited. She’s talked the ears off nine different desk-mates.” Before I could finish, a slice of orange was shoved into my mouth. “Eat, Mr. Miller,” Zoe hissed. “My sister peeled it.” Zoe hopped off the couch and grabbed the rose gold laptop I had placed on the table. She opened it. The screen lit up. My face, eating ice cream, beamed at the entire family. Just then, Nora walked out of her room. Zoe gasped theatrically. “Oh my god, Nora! Why is Mr. Miller on your wallpaper? That is so weird!”

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I was born broken. A bad seed. By the time I was six, I knew how to kill. My sister, Claire, was my opposite. She was the golden girl, the angel everyone adored. Including me. Mother locked me in a hidden room behind the wine cellar for ten years. Only Claire ever came to visit. But ten years later, Claire was carried back into the house, broken, bloody, and ruined beyond recognition. For the first time in a decade, Mother unlocked my chains. Her voice was trembling with a hatred that finally matched my own. “I want you to… kill everyone who did this to your sister.” 1 In the esteemed locking-away of the wealthy elite, twins were seen as a liability—a split inheritance, a redundancy. Mother built a hidden room the year we were born. She rotated us, letting Claire and me take turns being the “perfect daughter” in public. That arrangement shattered when I turned six. That year, I looked at the white rabbit we’d raised for two years and felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to explore. I used a pair of silver embroidery scissors to open it up. I walked into the drawing room, hands red, smiling, and offered the dissected creature to Mother. Mother fainted. When she woke up, she took a riding crop to me until I was covered in welts. I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel pain. I just stared at her with dead eyes. “Monster,” she screamed. “You are a monster!” She threw me into the dark room to “reflect” for a month. I spent those days bored, toying with the blood-stained scissors. Only Claire came to see me. She brought pastries and toys. I ignored them. I grabbed her hand, my eyes wide and excited. “Claire, catch me another bunny?” Claire’s face went pale, but she swallowed her fear. “Blaire… why did you open the bunny’s tummy?” “Because I felt something thumping inside,” I said innocently. “I wanted to see what was making the noise.” “Oh…” Claire forced a smile, though it trembled. “Maybe you’re just a natural surgeon, Blaire. But next time, let’s look at books to learn about anatomy. I’ll bring you books.” I froze. I looked at my sister like she was a rare artifact. She was the first person who didn’t call me a monster. She tried to understand the why. I wanted to tell her I didn’t care about medicine, but her smile was so fragile I didn’t want to break it. Mother eventually let me out. The first thing I did was stab a fork through the hand of our nanny. Claire was soft; she didn’t hold grudges. I did. While I was locked up, the nanny had been whispering that Claire was “cursed” and feeding her weird herbal concoctions to “purge the evil.” No one knew there were two of us except Mother and the staff. They thought Claire was the one who killed the rabbit. When the nanny leaned over to force-feed Claire that bitter sludge, I drove the fork into her palm. It was fun. A satisfying crunch. I poured the sludge over her screaming face. “Consider it a bonus.” 2 That was the last straw. Mother was terrified. She had her bodyguards bind me and dump me in the city’s derelict industrial zone—the Boneyard. “I don’t have a monster for a daughter! The rumors were right, twins are a curse. From now on, I only have Claire!” Three days later, I walked back into the estate. I was covered in filth and dried blood, gripping those same silver scissors. To Mother, I must have looked like a demon crawling out of hell. I grinned, revealing teeth that looked too white against the dirt. “Mother, I’m hungry.” After that, Mother tried to kill me multiple times. But every attempt failed. And strangely, every time she tried to hurt me, Claire would get violently ill. High fevers, seizures. When I was on the brink of death, Claire’s breathing would shallow. Mother couldn’t risk losing her perfect daughter. She compromised. She chained me in the hidden room. I found out later that Claire had been inducing those illnesses—taking ice baths in winter, eating foods she was allergic to—just to make Mother think our lives were linked. She risked dying to save me. I stayed in that room for ten years. Mother never visited. Only Claire. She brought me novels so I wouldn’t be bored. She bought me a high-tech nightlight with her allowance so I wouldn’t be scared of the dark. She taught me how to read, how to sing. Even when I had episodes and bit her, she never got angry. Aside from a boy I met in the Boneyard, Claire was the only human being I tolerated. But this time, I waited a month, and Claire didn’t come. The heavy steel door creaked open. Mother, looking ten years older, stepped in. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face haggard. “Your sister… something has happened.” 3 Claire was in a coma. Her head had been shaved. Her face was a roadmap of deep, jagged scars. Her fingers had been crushed. “Who?” I asked. My voice was rusty from disuse. That’s when I learned what my gentle sister had endured. Three powerful men. The untouchables of the city. They had played with her like a toy. I laughed, a cold, dry sound. “Mother, you know what happens if you let me off this chain, right?” Mother shredded the silk handkerchief in her hands. Her eyes burned with a venomous light. “I want the men who hurt my Claire… to die.” And so, I became Claire. For a month, no one was allowed in Claire’s room except the doctors and Mother. I spent that month starving myself to match her wasted frame, studying her mannerisms. We were identical, and Claire had taught me everything she knew in that secret room. I softened my gaze. I hid the predator behind a mask of doe-eyed innocence. Even Mother flinched when she looked at me; the resemblance was terrifying. But it wasn’t enough. Claire had been branded. “Your father knows,” Mother whispered, stirring a bowl of soup laced with arsenic for her husband. “But he needed the political connections. He turned a blind eye.” Father had climbed from a low-level bureaucrat to a top government official on Claire’s back. Julian Vance, the Senator’s son, had a “savior complex.” He loved gentle, broken things. He had met Claire at a charity gala and became obsessed. He wanted her as a trophy wife, but Claire refused. Enraged by the rejection, and jealous of her friendship with the academic prodigy Oliver Thorne, Julian broke into her room. Because Julian was powerful, Father let it happen. He treated it like a business transaction. I picked up a scalpel. I needed to replicate the scar Julian had left on her thigh. A jagged ‘V’. I carved it into my own flesh without blinking. I put the bloody scalpel in a velvet box. One day, I would use it on Julian Vance. 4 There was more. Sterling Cross, heir to a shipping empire, had burned a lotus flower brand onto her lower back. Claire was brilliant. A pianist, a painter, a scholar. She was better than any man in their circle. Sterling hated that. He liked to destroy beautiful things. He wanted to break her spirit. I heated the iron. I pressed it into my skin until the smell of burning meat filled the room. When the wounds healed enough to pass as old scars, I moved back into Claire’s bedroom. Her personal assistant, Maya, looked at me with a flicker of surprise. “Don’t recognize me after a few months?” I asked, mimicking Claire’s soft, melodic voice. Maya looked down, shifting her feet. “You just seem… even more beautiful than before, Miss Claire.” “Miss, Oliver Thorne heard you were recovering. He invited you to the Skyline Lounge.” Oliver Thorne. The youngest professor at the university. Claire’s “soulmate.” The public knew Claire was entangled with Sterling and Julian. They called her a social climber, a whore who played powerful men against each other. Only Oliver defended her. He admired her mind. He was the “good guy.” But I didn’t miss the way Maya blushed when she said his name.

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Everyone who knows Damian Cross knows he treated me like a princess. I once casually mentioned I wanted a star, and the next day, there was a certificate on my nightstand naming a celestial body “Sloane.” Everyone thought he was hopelessly in love with me. I almost believed it myself. Until one day, I overheard him talking to his friends. “In love with Sloane? Don’t make me laugh. She’s just a placeholder. A pastime to keep me entertained until Audrey gets back from Paris. Now that she’s returning, it’s time to cut Sloane loose.” Hearing Damian’s words didn’t break my heart. Actually, I let out a sigh of relief. Sleeping with the same man for two months is like eating the same meal every night. I was starving for something new. I immediately turned around and gifted the ten-thousand-dollar “breakup watch” I’d bought him to a gorgeous, obedient college student who knows exactly how to call me “Ma’am.” 1 It was eleven at night when I got back to Damian’s penthouse. I kicked off my heels in the foyer and realized, a beat too late, that the living room wasn’t empty. Damian was sitting in the dark on the leather sofa. He radiated an aura of “don’t mess with me.” His side profile was undeniably perfect. Sharp jawline, brooding eyes. That’s what attracted me in the first place. It’s just a shame… Even filet mignon gets boring if you have it every day. Thinking about how he planned to dump me made me hum a little tune. I walked past him, unbothered. He finally spoke, his voice low and laced with suppressed anger. “Where were you?” “Drinks with a friend.” I finally noticed the dining table. The plating was exquisite, but the steak was stone cold. The tapered candles had burned down to awkward nubs. Rose petals were scattered across the mahogany, looking wilting and sad. I raised an eyebrow. “You did this?” His eyes were dark with possessiveness. “Why didn’t you text back? Who were you with for this long?” I glanced at my phone. I remembered chatting with Leo, the young guy I’d met. My phone had been blowing up with notifications, so I’d checked it. Leo had looked up at me with those big, puppy-dog eyes, his voice dripping with playful jealousy. “You’re so busy, Sloane. I finally get a moment with you, and you’re talking to someone else? If you’re busy, it’s okay… I’m just happy to sit next to you.” He was handsome, young, and sweet. How could I not be charmed? So, I silenced my phone. Which meant I missed Damian’s texts telling me to come home early. I’d left him waiting all night. “Sorry,” I said, sounding sincere enough. “Something important came up.” Suddenly, rows of floating text appeared in the air in front of me. It was The Commentary. The toxic peanut gallery of the universe. [So the heroine’s ‘important business’ is cheating? Disgusting.] [What kind of romance heroine stays out until midnight? She should be waiting at home!] [She needs to learn her place. She only matters because the hero chose her!] [If a man stays out late, it’s business. If a woman does it, she’s loose. She deserves whatever happens to her.] [The hero cooked for the first time! He burned his hand for her! And she’s out flirting?] [She deserves it when he goes back to his true love, Audrey. She needs to be humbled.] I rolled my eyes at the invisible text. The double standards were exhausting. “Something important” meant networking. And Leo. Technically, we hadn’t done anything but talk. Yet. 2 Still, I felt a twinge of guilt about the wasted steak. “You haven’t eaten, right? Should I… order you a pizza?” “No,” Damian said coldly. I nodded and headed for the shower. “I’ll have my assistant book you a hotel tomorrow,” Damian said to my back. “You’re moving out.” I turned around, crossing my arms. “Is this the breakup?” I was about to say, Great, deal, when he cut me off. His gaze raked over me. “Were we ever really together?” I mentally kicked myself. Damn it. I should have used that line first. Imagine how satisfying that would have been. Damian saw the annoyance on my face and misinterpreted it as pain. The corner of his mouth twitched upward. His mood instantly lifted. “I have other properties,” he said casually. “You can pick one. If I have time… I might visit.” [See? He still loves her. He can’t let her go.] The Commentary floated by. I saw it for what it was. He wanted to keep me as a side piece while he pursued his “White Moonlight,” Audrey. I’m the heiress to a fortune. I don’t do “side piece.” “No thanks,” I said. “I can afford a hotel.” “Oh, right.” I walked over to the sofa, grabbed my bag, and pulled out a stack of cash. Ten grand. I threw it onto the coffee table. “Consider this rent for the last two months. I don’t want you to feel used. I’ll stay tonight since it’s late, but I’m gone in the morning.” He frowned, disbelief written all over his face. “You’re treating my home like a motel?” I yawned, covering my mouth. “Isn’t it?” I turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist. His eyes were intense. “Then who is your home, Sloane?” I ripped my hand away. “None of your business. You’re the one ending things. What, are you gonna miss me now?” His pupils constricted. He looked at me like I was radioactive. “Of course not.” “Good,” I smirked. “We were just having fun. It would be embarrassing if one of us caught feelings.” Damian’s face turned black. “Whoever catches feelings is a dog.” I went to the bedroom to grab my pajamas. The room was set up for seduction. Scented candles, fresh roses, and a box of strawberry condoms on the nightstand. A single rose petal had fallen right on the box. I suddenly felt nauseous. Thank god I stood him up. Eating the same meat every day really does ruin your appetite. The next morning, I checked into the Four Seasons. My phone buzzed. Damian: Where are you? I replied: Moved out. Thanks for the hospitality. Damian: Did you forget something? [She’s playing hard to get! He’s hooked!] The Commentary cheered. [She forgot her heart! She forgot HIM!] I thought for a second. Actually, I did. I Venmo’d him $500. Forgot to pay for last night’s stay. Thanks. Damian: You are unbelievable. Men are so contradictory. He wanted to break up, but now he’s mad I’m gone. 3 I saw Damian again a week later at a private charity auction. I brought Leo. And I gave him a title. Since we’d crossed the line from friends to lovers, Leo had been insatiable. Between breathless moments, he’d bite my ear and whisper, “Sloane, you have my body now. Give me a title. Call me your boyfriend.” I was weak for him. So, there we were. And there was Damian, with Audrey, his “White Moonlight” who had just returned from France. Audrey was beautiful—elegant, poised, classic. We sat in the front row. Damian and Audrey sat directly behind us. Leo interlaced his fingers with mine. I felt a burning gaze boring into the back of my hand. A friend of Leo’s walked by and laughed. “Leo, you player. Your ex is staring daggers at you. Did you hire someone to make her jealous?” The burning gaze vanished. I heard Damian scoff behind me. I ignored him. The auction was boring until a vintage, limited-edition Patek Philippe watch came up. “That watch looks nice,” Audrey whispered. “If you like it, it’s yours,” Damian declared. A few days ago, I had been looking at the auction catalog on Damian’s couch. He had asked what I liked. “Just the watch,” I’d said. He knew. He was doing this on purpose. But I hadn’t told him why I liked it. The moment I saw it, I knew it would look perfect on Leo’s strong, veiny wrist. 4 The bidding started at $100,000. I waited until the crowd thinned out. “Two hundred and fifty thousand,” I said, raising my paddle. “Two hundred and thirty thousand,” Damian said simultaneously. [Why is she bidding against him? It makes him look bad!] [She’s just jealous. She doesn’t want him buying it for Audrey.] [She’s wasting money to get his attention. Pathetic.] “Three hundred thousand,” Damian drawled. “Three hundred thousand and one dollar,” I countered. “Three fifty.” “Three fifty… and one dollar.” By the time we hit six hundred thousand, it was just the two of us. Damian’s friend leaned over. “Dude, just ask her for it. She’ll give it to you.” Damian apparently believed this delusion. I won the watch for $650,001. When the staff brought it over, Damian spoke up, cool and arrogant. “Audrey really likes that watch, Sloane. Let her have it.” [She has to give it up! He asked!] I laughed. Loudly. “You’re generous with other people’s property, Damian. If you like giving things away so much, why don’t you give me your CEO position?” I turned to Audrey. “Ms. Wu, be careful. A man who gives up on things you like this easily… isn’t reliable.” Damian looked ready to explode. I turned to Leo and handed him the box. “For you.” I smiled. “I saw it in the catalog and knew it belonged on your wrist.” Leo beamed. “Put it on for me?” I obliged. As I fastened the clasp, I glanced back. Damian was gripping Audrey’s arm so hard his knuckles were white. “Ouch! Damian!” Audrey cried out. He snapped out of his trance. “Sorry. I… I was distracted.”

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My boyfriend, who had never paid attention to my appearance, suddenly said something strange while blow-drying my hair two days ago. “You should dye your hair auburn. It would look so good. It really complements the skin tone.” This man, a complete fashion disaster, knows that auburn complements skin tone? Whose skin tone? 1 Water dripped from the ends of my hair onto my neck, cold as ice. I sat up, dodging his hand. Caleb’s breath hitched. He snapped back to reality. Realizing what he had just said, panic flashed in his eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down rapidly. After a moment of silence, he awkwardly changed the subject: “Why did you sit up? Your hair isn’t dry yet.” I lowered my eyes. Even though my hands behind my back were trembling uncontrollably, my voice remained calm and natural: “It’s dry enough.” “It’s getting late. You should go shower.” He paused, then stood up compliantly. Habitually, he reached out to touch the top of my head and the ends of my hair. Confirming that my hair was indeed mostly dry, he finally left with relief. A moment later. The sound of water started in the bathroom. I suppressed the emotions churning in my heart and, with trembling hands, picked up Caleb’s phone. I entered the passcode. Five seconds later. The four words on the screen: [Incorrect Passcode], completely shattered my last shred of hope. I tried my birthday, Caleb’s birthday, our anniversary… none of them opened his phone. [Incorrect Passcode. You have 1 attempt remaining.] The cold, mechanical system prompt made my world collapse. For so many years, I never thought about checking Caleb’s phone. Because, until today, his passcode had always been my birthday. Because he had promised me that I could check his phone anytime I wanted. But the irony was, in the year I trusted him the most, he changed his passcode, and I didn’t know. What was even more ironic… Tomorrow was the day Caleb and I had been looking forward to for so long—our wedding day. Not far away hung the wedding dress and tuxedo we had carefully selected. Even a second ago, he was nervously confirming the details of tomorrow’s wedding with me over and over again. I didn’t want to believe it. But a clear voice in my heart kept telling me: [Caleb is cheating.] I curled up in the corner of the sofa. My hands were shaking so much I could barely hold the phone. The water in the bathroom stopped. Caleb walked out. Seeing me, his gentle and doting words slipped out: “Chloe, why aren’t you asleep yet?” “Didn’t you say you wanted to be the most beautiful bride tomorrow…” He stood in front of me. But when he saw what I was holding, the unfinished words got stuck in his throat. He was very close to me. Close enough that I could see his pupils constrict and the panic that flashed in his eyes. I stared at his slightly pale face and handed him the phone: “Why did you change your passcode?” 2 He forced a stiff smile. Pretending to be calm, he took the phone. His fingers paused on the screen for a second, then he skillfully entered the passcode and unlocked it. “Didn’t I break my old phone?” “The new phone’s passcode was set by the salesperson. I’ve been so busy lately I haven’t had time to change it.” After unlocking it. He handed the phone back to me: “Look at whatever you want.” His confident demeanor dazed me for a moment. Perhaps he was too sure I wouldn’t check. When I raised my hand, his hand instinctively flinched back. I lowered my eyes and pretended not to see. I took the phone as if it were natural. While scrolling, I even managed to distract myself and casually explain to him: “My phone died. I suddenly remembered something and need to call Mom.” His contacts were clean. His chat history was wiped clean. Everything was flawless. But his shifting eyes and his constantly bobbing Adam’s apple still made my heart grow colder by the inch. I suddenly lost interest in investigating to the end. I handed the phone back: “Forget it, it’s not a big deal. I’ll ask her in person tomorrow.” Hearing my words, he breathed a sigh of relief. He chuckled: “I thought my wife was having pre-wedding jitters and wanted to check up on me?” I looked up and stared at him: “If I really wanted to check up on you, would you be scared?” He was stunned, then took two steps forward. He knelt on one knee in front of me, with a sincerity and certainty I had never seen before: “Of course not. After so many years, we finally made it here. How could I dare do anything to hurt you?” “When we got together, I swore that if Caleb ever did anything to hurt Chloe, he would be punished by losing Chloe forever.” “Chloe, you know that losing you would be worse than death for me.” I stared at this familiar yet somewhat strange face. I kept asking myself. Yeah, how could he dare? He’s Caleb. The Caleb who has loved me for eight years. How could he lie to me and betray me? I wanted to deceive myself again. But the text message notification for a three-thousand-dollar charge at a hair salon was still sitting in my phone. 3 Caleb went to the hair salon today. Spent three thousand dollars. And used my card. He probably forgot that the salon membership was linked to my phone number. When the text came in this afternoon, I was still making excuses for him. Maybe he took his mom to get her hair done since tomorrow is the big day. Maybe a relative came to town and wanted to get their hair done. Maybe… But, during the ten minutes he was showering. I had already called to confirm. None of our relatives had seen hide nor hair of him all afternoon. In other words. On the busiest day before the wedding. Caleb hid from everyone, took half a day off, and took a woman I didn’t know to get her hair done. And she dyed her hair auburn. That color must be beautiful. Beautiful enough that he, who was usually so cautious, blurted out today that I should change my hair color. I closed my eyes, suppressing the emotions surging in them. I said to him hoarsely: “You go to sleep first. I have some details to think over.” Caleb thought I was thinking about wedding details. His brows relaxed. He reached out and ruffled my hair, patiently comforting me: “Silly, don’t be nervous.” “Our wedding will definitely go perfectly tomorrow.” His phone chimed with a message notification. He glanced at it, turned off the screen as usual, and added: “Don’t stay up too late. I need to reply to a work message.” He went to the study. The door closed, shutting everything out. But, a few minutes later. He had changed his clothes, grabbed his car keys, and walked up to me with an apologetic face: “Chloe, there’s a huge problem with the project I’m working on. I have to go fix it tonight.” “Go to sleep first, don’t wait for me.” “Don’t worry, I’ll definitely make it to the wedding on time tomorrow.” The anxiety and annoyance on his face were undisguised. He didn’t even wait for my reply before rushing off. The sound of the car engine faded into the distance. I looked at the closed door. My heart was filled with sorrow. This kind of sudden overtime. Had actually happened several times in the past year. I had been suspicious before. But the occasional photos of him working overtime always managed to dispel my doubts in time. But today. I seemed to finally glimpse the truth. I stood up numbly and tore down every red decoration in our new home, piece by piece. When I was tired, I sat directly on the floor, hugged myself tightly, and let the tears blur my vision. Caleb, we have no tomorrow. 4 Morning light shone through the gap in the curtains. I stood up from the ruins. Cleaned myself up simply. And went to that hair salon I knew so well. When Caleb was frantically calling me, I was sitting in the salon listening to the stylist recommend the trendiest hair colors. I glanced at the caller ID. And silenced it. Half an hour later, I sent my location to Caleb. When he found me, he looked terrible. He stood at the door, trembling. He didn’t even have the courage to step inside. I stood up. Picked up the samples of auburn hair colors the stylist had found for me, and walked over to Caleb. I showed them to him one by one: “Pick one. Which of these auburn shades looks the best?” His face went instantly pale. His lips trembled uncontrollably, but he couldn’t say a word. I raised an eyebrow: “So it’s none of these? Let me look again.” He tried to grab me but didn’t even have the strength to reach out. I turned around. He finally recovered enough to grab the hem of my shirt. His lips quivered, his words broken. “Chloe, I’m sorry.” “But today is our big day. Our parents and relatives are waiting for us at the hotel.” “Let’s get the important stuff done first.” “When we get back, I’ll kneel and apologize, I’ll do whatever you want. You can hit me, scold me, anything.” I tilted my head and looked at him, asking seriously: “Did you really go to work last night?” His face turned even paler, and his hand clutching my shirt instantly lost strength and slipped off. I smiled slightly. I picked up the sample book in my hand and smashed it into his face. The hard edge of the book cut his cheek, leaving a stinging red trail of blood. He didn’t dare dodge from start to finish. Tired of hitting him. I sat back down on the stool. He followed me in, half-kneeling in front of me, his tone timid: “Are you feeling a little better?” “It’s almost time for the wedding…” I closed my eyes heavily, hiding the desolation in them. I didn’t know where Caleb got his confidence. After everything that happened, how could he naively believe the wedding could still go on as planned? I ignored him. I called the stylist over and cut off the long hair I had painstakingly grown for a year for this wedding. Caleb waited on the side, watching the hair fall to the ground strand by strand, not daring to utter a word of objection. Cutting back to my original short hairstyle, I was dazed for a moment. It turned out. After going in circles, short hair suited me best after all. What doesn’t fit, whether you insist for a year or eight years, still doesn’t fit. I exhaled the gloom in my heart. Turned and left the hair salon. Got into Caleb’s car. After all, I had to explain to everyone why the wedding was canceled because of what Caleb did.

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I spent two years wiping his face, massaging his atrophied muscles, and whispering to a man who couldn’t hear me. Or so I thought. On the day Caleb Sterling finally opened his eyes, his “first love,” Chloe, swept into the room in a white dress, holding a bouquet of lilies. “Caleb,” she sobbed beautifully. “I’ve taken care of you for two years. You’re finally back. Will you marry me?” He stared at her blankly, then reached out and took the flowers. Standing in the corner, I felt my heart shrivel. Two years of devotion, erased in a second. I was just the background character in their epic romance. Then, Caleb sat up and kicked her square in the chest. “Absolutely not! Get the hell out! I was in a coma, Chloe, I wasn’t dead.” He threw the flowers at her shrieking form. “You want me to marry you? Keep dreaming. Actually, don’t even dream about it. It makes me sick.” 1 I’m Maya. The invisible daughter. I spent two years living in the Sterling estate, caring for Caleb after the car crash that nearly killed us both. Today, at the Sterling mansion, I was blocked by security while Chloe strutted in. She stopped to sneer at me. “Give it up, Maya. You can’t compete with me.” “You think washing his face for two years matters? Watch. I’ll propose, and he’ll say yes. He’s always loved me.” I believed her. Caleb and Chloe grew up together in the Hamptons. They were the golden couple. Before the accident, Caleb treated her like a princess. But I needed to see him wake up. Just once. I stood in the shadows as the family doctor finished his examination. The moment the doctor stepped back, the double doors swung open. Sunlight flooded the room, framing Chloe like an angel. “Caleb… I’ve waited so long. I took care of everything. Now that you’re back… marry me? Let’s finally be together.” Caleb rubbed his eyes, silent. Chloe pressed on, her voice trembling with rehearsed emotion. “I love you so much. You slept for two years, and I watched over you for two years. It’s finally our time. It’s fate.” Caleb stopped rubbing his eyes. He reached out. He took the bouquet. I closed my eyes. Of course. Then came the thud. And the scream. “Fate?” Caleb roared, his voice raspy but terrifyingly loud. “You call pregnant with some other guy’s baby ‘fate’? You think I look like a charity case here to raise your bastard?” “Get lost!” Me: Wow. 2 Chloe sat on the floor, stunned. Her perfect makeup was smudged. “Caleb… what… what are you saying?” “Are you deaf or just stupid?” Caleb snapped. “Do I need to repeat what you said while you were hooking up with your boyfriend right next to my hospital bed?” “Caleb, no! Listen to me!” “No?” Caleb’s face flushed red—probably from the exertion of kicking her. He slumped back against the pillows but kept pointing a finger. “Wasn’t it you who brought guys into my room? Wasn’t it you who laughed about how ‘exciting’ it was to cheat next to a vegetable? Wasn’t it you calling me a brain-dead cripple? And now you propose? Do you have no shame?” My jaw hit the floor. Chloe hadn’t lifted a finger to help him in two years. I assumed she was just lazy and wanted to steal my credit. I didn’t realize she was using his room as a motel. Chloe’s face went from pale to green. She pointed a shaking finger at me. “Caleb! That wasn’t me! That was Maya! I love you! I’m Chloe, your Chloe!” “I know you’re Chloe,” Caleb sneered. “If I didn’t know you well enough, I wouldn’t have known you were that heartless. Loving you was my biggest mistake.” “Caleb…” “Get out. Before I release the hounds.” 3 Caleb wasn’t bluffing. He hated her. Chloe was terrified of dogs. Before the accident, Caleb locked his beloved Dobermans in the basement whenever she visited. Once, when his dog had puppies, Chloe had the staff throw them out into the snow while Caleb was away. They froze to death. He never forgave her for that, but he never threatened her. Until now. “I’m serious!” Caleb shouted. “Arthur! Get me ten dogs. Big ones. If she comes back, let them loose.” “And burn this furniture. The sofa, the curtains—she touched them. Disinfect the whole room. Who knows what diseases she has.” Chloe tried to squeeze out a few tears. “Caleb, we grew up together… why are you humiliating me?” “I’m humiliating you?” Caleb laughed darkly. “I didn’t bring a lover to your bedside. Get out!” He turned to the butler. “Arthur! Get Bella. Tell her it’s feeding time.” Bella was the mother of the puppies Chloe had killed. Chloe shrieked, gathered her dress, and ran. On her way out, she shot me a look of pure venom. I decided to slip away while the chaos settled. I turned to the side door, hoping to disappear. “Maya?” I froze. I’m the illegitimate daughter of the family. The one kept in the attic. Caleb used to only have eyes for Chloe. He shouldn’t even know my name. “Maya, my head hurts. Why aren’t you comforting me?” He sounded… whiny? “And why didn’t you kick that psycho out sooner? I’ve been awake for twenty minutes and I’m already exhausted. I missed you so much, and you try to leave?” “Do you only like me when I’m a vegetable? Fine, I’ll go back to sleep. But say yes to my proposal first.” I stared at him. Did the coma fry his brain? Or did he wake up with a personality transplant? He tried to stand, wobbling. He braced himself against the wall. “Maya. I love you. Marry me.” I was paralyzed. He seemed to sense my confusion. His expression softened. “Maya, I know it was you. For two years. I felt you wipe my hands with warm towels. I smelled the lotion you put on my skin. I heard you crying when Arthur wasn’t in the room.” “I was locked in my own body, but I made a promise. If I ever woke up, I would treat you like a queen. I would marry you.” “My legs are still jelly, but give me a few weeks. We’ll get married. Then we can cuddle. For real.” He stumbled. I instinctively rushed forward to catch him. He collapsed into my arms, grinning like an idiot. “I knew you loved me. Here, take the flowers. Chloe has trash personality, but she picks decent lilies.” I looked at him. This wasn’t the cold, aloof CEO I remembered. “Maya? Why won’t you speak? Say yes.” I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Caleb frowned. He gently lifted my chin. “Maya… what happened to your voice?” I couldn’t answer. 4 He dragged me to the hospital immediately. The diagnosis was the same as before. Vocal cord paralysis caused by trauma from the accident two years ago. Exacerbated by lack of timely treatment. Caleb’s eyes welled up. “Maya… I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t been driving…” I watched him cry in his wheelchair and thought back to that night. It was pouring rain. Caleb was picking Chloe up from the airport. My father forced me to go along to carry her luggage. A truck lost its brakes and swerved into our lane. Caleb swerved. He put his side of the car in the impact zone to save the passenger side. To save me. If he hadn’t turned the wheel, I would be dead. Instead, I lost my voice, and he lost two years of his life. I grabbed his hand and wrote on his palm with my finger: Not your fault. You saved me. He looked at the words, tracing them. Then his face hardened. “The doctor said it was treatable. Why didn’t your family pay for surgery? Chloe gets a million-dollar piano, and they let you go mute?” He didn’t know. My father, Richard, barely acknowledged my existence. When the accident happened, they were too busy crying over Caleb to notice I was hurt. By the time I realized the damage, it was “too expensive” and “not a priority.” “Maya,” Caleb said, his voice dropping an octave. “I will fix this. And the people who did this to you? They’re going to pay.” Just then, my phone rang. It was my father.

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