My family was poor, the kind of poor where we didn’t know where our next meal was coming from. Mom and Dad just holed up at home, refusing to work or earn a dime. I once overheard them talking: “Just endure it a little longer. Once Claire is born, everything will be fine.” Later, my little sister was born. They named her Claire. Overnight, my deadbeat dad founded a company and became a billionaire CEO. My lazy mother suddenly transformed into a sophisticated, highly sought-after socialite. By chance, I overheard another one of their conversations. It turned out my sister was the “female lead”—born to be the undisputed queen of this world. 1 My family was poor, the kind of poor where we’d eat one meal and starve the next. Mom and Dad were the town’s notorious deadbeats. They idled their days away, shamelessly begging for scraps from the neighbors. I still remember one winter, my mom dragged me to Mrs. Gable’s house next door to beg for a casserole, only to get kicked out. My mom cursed all the way home: “Today I’m begging you, but just wait until my Claire is born. You’ll be the ones on your knees begging me!” It wasn’t the first time I had heard something like that. She and Dad kept the phrase “wait until Claire is born” constantly on their lips, muttering it like a mantra. It was as if “Claire being born” possessed some magical power to completely alter our family’s destiny. Even though I was young, I didn’t believe it. Our family was in ruins; how could popping out another baby change anything? But the facts proved them right. 2 My dad, Arthur, said that on the day he and my mom got married, an eccentric fortune teller wandered into town. The man seemed half-crazy, rambling on and on about bizarre things. He claimed that the world we lived in was actually a book. He said their second daughter would be the female lead of this world. Once she was born, our family’s wretched fate would instantly change, because the female lead was destined to grow up with a silver spoon in her mouth. My dad believed him completely. After the wedding, he and Mom continued to slack off at home, refusing to lift a finger. I originally had an older sister. When she was born, they were disgusted that she was a girl—just another useless mouth to feed—so they abandoned her in the woods behind our town. When I was born, they assumed I was the female lead the psychic had prophesied. They treated me decently, but our house remained dirt poor. Until my mom got pregnant again. The very day she found out she was expecting, the county issued a massive commercial buyout notice for our area. Our family owned acres of useless, undeveloped land. Almost instantly, we became the wealthiest family in the county. My dad had a sudden, terrifying realization: the baby in Mom’s belly was the true female lead they had been waiting for all these years. To test his theory, on the day we received the buyout funds, my dad took half his net worth and headed to the casino. A week later, he drove back home in a luxury sports car. He scooped my mom, Fiona, into his arms, practically tossing her into the air. “Fiona! This baby is our savior, our guardian angel! She’s basically my god!” My mom looked at the towering stacks of expensive supplements and designer gifts he had brought back. Pushing out her barely-there pregnant belly, she paraded around the neighborhood for hours. She was positively glowing with arrogant pride. I stared at the yard full of fancy food, reaching out to touch a box here, a tin there. My dad fiercely swatted my hand away. “Greedy brat! This is to nourish your mother’s body. If you starve your little sister, I’ll end you!” My mom’s previously elated mood soured the moment she looked at me. “You useless, unpresentable thing! All of this belongs to your sister. Don’t even think about taking a bite!” With that, she placed her hands on her hips and started ordering my dad around. “You better serve me well! If I get upset, Claire will be the first to punish you for it!” My dad nodded profusely. “Yes, yes, of course!” For the next few months, he waited on her hand and foot. Until it was time for the delivery. My mom had a difficult labor with Claire. She begged my dad to come into the delivery room with her. My dad got a phone call about a massive business deal and walked away. Before leaving, he didn’t forget to literally shove me into the delivery room in his place. He stubbornly refused to authorize a C-section, repeating over and over: “This is our family’s golden goose! She absolutely cannot be touched by a scalpel!” In his ignorance, he was terrified that the surgeon’s knife might accidentally graze Claire. And so, my mom took out all the agonizing pain of childbirth—and all her resentment toward my dad—entirely on me. She grabbed my arm and bit down with everything she had. By the time Claire was finally born, the exhausted doctors and nurses realized that a massive chunk of flesh had been bitten out of my arm. When Mom was wheeled out of the delivery room, my dad scooped up Claire, hovering obsessively by Mom’s bedside. “Look, Fiona! Our precious baby girl. She’s absolutely stunning.” Only I stood shivering at the door of the hospital room, completely lost. I had been so terrified by my mom’s screaming that I had wet my pants, completely forgetting the searing pain in my arm. Smelling dirty and gross, my dad blocked me from entering the room. “Get lost! If you stink up the room for your mom and sister, I’ll skin you alive!” Mom lay weakly on the hospital bed. Dad excitedly explained everything to her. His factory permits had been instantly approved, and he had just signed a multimillion-dollar contract. “Fiona! Claire really is our lucky charm! I just sat at home, and the money practically delivered itself to our doorstep!” “Of course she is. Claire is our family’s greatest hero!” And Claire certainly didn’t disappoint them. From a very young age, she was the most dazzling existence in any room. 3 When I was seven, we moved into a lavish mansion in the city’s most exclusive neighborhood. If Claire snuck out to play, she would miraculously bump into a Wall Street tycoon who would safely escort her home. If she squatted by the front door playing with weeds, a renowned classical oil painter walking by would spot her and immediately take her on as his final apprentice. If she stood up for a homeless kid, she would instantly win the adoration of every child in the neighborhood. Just like Mom and Dad always said, she existed entirely as the main character. Everywhere she went, she sparkled. Because of this, every time my mom looked at me, her face contorted with disgust. “Get away from me! How on earth did I give birth to such an ugly monster!” Claire had porcelain skin and a bright, dazzling smile. I was tanned dark from the sun, horribly frail from malnutrition, and my hair was as dry as straw. Anyone who saw us said we looked absolutely nothing like sisters. Claire was like a little sun, making everyone around her feel warm and comfortable. And I was an out-and-out feral child, a peasant. My very existence was a constant reminder to them of those destitute days, of the humiliating past where they had to beg for scraps with their heads bowed. 4 As a young child, I didn’t understand the complexities of adult emotions. Having nothing else to do, my mom spent her days shopping with her new wealthy friends. She would bring home piles of gorgeous little dresses and hold them up against Claire. She didn’t have much experience shopping for kids yet, so many of the dresses were far too big. I thought they were bought for me. Overjoyed, I put one on and ran up to her, spinning in a circle. “Mom, is it pretty?” What greeted me wasn’t a compliment, but her explosive rage. “Who told you to wear that?! You don’t deserve it!” She frantically ripped the dress off me, her long, manicured nails leaving bloody scratches all over my skin. “Can’t you be a little more sensible? These are your sister’s clothes, and you’re trying to steal them?!” She was completely hysterical. After screaming at me, she turned around and pulled a terrified, crying Claire into her arms, comforting her with absolute tenderness. “There, there, Claire. Mommy’s got you.” As she said it, she didn’t forget to aim a harsh kick at my leg, ordering me back to my room. I was eight years old that year. Claire was three. Stripped down to my underwear, I fought back tears and walked back to my room. In my innocence, I desperately wanted to ask my mom: Since my sister has so many clothes, why couldn’t I just wear this one big dress? Why can’t you spare just a tiny bit of love for me? Just a little bit. But the words died in my throat the moment I saw the sheer, unbridled hatred in her eyes. 5 Once Claire started kindergarten, she was constantly bringing home certificates and gold stars. Whenever that happened, my dad would lift her high into the air or throw her over his broad shoulders, running wildly around the yard while she giggled. Mom would agree to absolutely any request she made. I started studying fiercely. I thought that if I, like Claire, brought home lots of awards, they would definitely be happy too. I wanted to be carried on my dad’s shoulders. His shoulders looked so broad and sturdy; sitting up there had to be incredibly comfortable. I consistently maintained first place in my entire grade. Yet, I never heard a single word of praise from my parents. “What’s the use of good grades? With our family’s wealth, if you have to rely on grades to eat, you’ll be laughed out of town!” At first, I didn’t understand what my dad meant. Then, Claire started taking all sorts of extracurriculars: ballet, piano, classical painting, etiquette classes. She traveled abroad two or three times a year. She had custom-made designer jewelry. Both materially and emotionally, Claire was raised like royalty. Meanwhile, when I was so hungry I stole a pack of expired cookies from the trash and was caught and beaten half to death, she just blinked her innocent, huge eyes and asked, “Sister, there are expensive imported truffles in the kitchen. Why don’t you go eat those?” That pack of expired cookies had been tossed in the garbage bin. I was so desperately hungry that I dug them out. Since they were individually wrapped, even though they were expired, they still tasted sweet and milky—a hundred times better than the sour, spoiled leftovers I used to beg for back in the old neighborhood. When Mom heard from Claire that I was digging through the trash, she grabbed me by the hair without a word of explanation and slapped me across the face, left and right. “Why can’t you learn how to behave?! Eat, eat, eat, are you the reincarnation of a starving ghost?!” She hit me so hard that after a few slaps, my right ear exploded in agonizing pain. I cried and begged for mercy. “Stop hitting me, stop hitting me! I won’t eat them anymore, I won’t eat them anymore!” “Chloe, are you trying to piss me off to death?!” “Get the hell back to your room!!!” Claire trotted over, hugging Mom’s leg to comfort her. “Mommy, don’t be mad. Claire loves you!” Watching this beautiful picture of maternal love, I stumbled back to my bedroom. My ear hurt like hell, but I didn’t dare beg her to take me to a doctor. Later that evening, the housekeeper came into my room to pass on a message. Because of my “disgraceful behavior” of digging through the trash, Mom ordered me to reflect on my actions. No dinner allowed. “Madam said if she doesn’t teach you a lesson, you’ll never learn.” She muttered a bunch of other things, but my ear was in such excruciating pain I couldn’t hear her clearly. Before she finally left, she spat hard on my floor. “You really think you’re some rich young lady? You’re absolutely nothing!” That night, starving and in agony, I didn’t even know how I eventually passed out.

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In the seventh year of our marriage, I went to the hospital to drop off Ethan’s dinner, just like I always did. But outside his office door, I heard his colleagues teasing him, calling a female patient “Mrs. Vance.” And Ethan didn’t correct them. Instead, he just smiled, tacitly accepting it. I set his thermos down, turned around, and walked away. He chased after me, yelling at me for being unreasonable. “Mia is just a patient! She just had surgery and can’t be stressed out.” “I’m a doctor. As my husband’s wife, can’t you be a little more understanding?” In the past, I would have thrown a massive fit. I would have turned the hospital upside down. But now, I truly didn’t care anymore. … When Ethan got home, I was already lying in bed. Last night, he had texted me saying his stomach hurt and he was going to sleep in the doctors’ lounge. When I called him, his phone went straight to voicemail. So I had woken up bright and early today to make him a special bone broth and drove it all the way to the hospital. If I hadn’t seen him looking perfectly healthy while flirting with Mia Sinclair, I probably would have still felt sorry for him. The mattress dipped as his heavy frame climbed into bed. Ethan wrapped his arm around my waist and whispered, “Honey, why did you go to sleep without waiting for me?” In the past, I would have thrown my arms around his neck and eagerly reciprocated his hints. But now, I just wanted a good night’s sleep. Seeing my silence, he took my left hand and gently rubbed it. “The soup was delicious. I finished it all. Just be careful next time, you burned your hand.” “I’ll put some ointment on it for you.” The cool sensation of the medical ointment quickly spread across my palm. He kissed my left hand and went to take a shower. As the sound of running water started in the bathroom, I pulled my red, blistered right hand from under the pillow, got up, and applied the ointment to it myself. While Ethan was showering, his phone kept buzzing on the nightstand. As a lead cardiothoracic surgeon, he often got late-night calls from the hospital. Afraid he might miss an emergency, I pressed answer. Before I could even speak, a sweet, delicate voice came through the speaker. [Dr. Vance, did you like dinner today? I learned a new recipe. I’ll make you slow-roasted short ribs tomorrow.] Before I could say a word, the phone was violently snatched from my hand. “Didn’t I tell you never to answer my phone?” His hand gripped exactly where my burn was. He squeezed so hard that a layer of blistered skin peeled right off. Blood immediately began to well up. I gasped in pain, clutching my hand. He told the person on the phone he’d call back later, then grabbed my wrist again. “You’re such an idiot. You don’t even know how to cook, yet you insisted on making soup. Now you’re hurt. Serves you right!” “Sit down! I’ll redo the bandages.” It was the middle of summer. If the wound wasn’t treated properly, it would easily get infected. I sat on the couch. He brought out the first-aid kit from the study and knelt in front of me to treat the wound. He sighed, his tone softening. “Does it hurt, honey?” I didn’t answer. I just felt his grip loosen slightly, and he blew on the wound a few times to ease the pain. As he stood up, a keychain fell out of his duffel bag. I picked it up and looked closely. It featured a cartoon dog and cat, with a line of text engraved below: [Hope my Golden Retriever Ethan is happy every day. Yours, Mia the Kitten.] Ethan frowned. “She gave that to me when she was discharged today. I just accepted it to be polite.” I placed the keychain on the coffee table and said calmly, “Hmm. That was very thoughtful of her.” The air in the room seemed to freeze for a second. Ethan looked at me in shock. “You want me to keep it? You’re not going to throw it away?” I looked up, feigning confusion. “Why wouldn’t you keep it? A harmonious doctor-patient relationship is a good thing. I should be happy for you.” His shock was entirely within my expectations. After all, the old me would have blown up and thrown away anything connected to another woman. But now, these petty little tricks couldn’t stir a single ripple in my heart. He was about to say something else when a loud crack of thunder shook the house, and the entire room went pitch black. The power went out. I couldn’t help but shrink back. He immediately pulled me into his arms, comforting me softly, “Don’t be afraid. I’m right here. Your husband is here.” I had terrible night blindness, so I was terrified of the dark. Ethan coaxed me gently while reaching for the candles we kept in the drawer. Right at that moment, his phone rang again. Mia’s sobbing voice was crystal clear in the quiet room. [Dr. Vance, my power went out and I’m so scared. I feel like my chest is tight and I can’t breathe.] Ethan immediately dropped the candle he was holding, grabbed his car keys, and headed for the door. “Mia isn’t feeling well. I’m just going to go check on her and I’ll be right back. Light the candle yourself.” My phone was dead. I blindly felt around with both hands until I found the candle and lighter he’d left behind. But the candle had no wick. It couldn’t be lit. In my panic in the pitch black, I slammed my waist hard against the corner of the table. A piercing pain shot through my entire body. Just as I was about to collapse onto the floor, I caught myself with my hands. But the burned area on my palm took the brunt of the impact. I lay on the floor in the dark, gasping for air like a stranded fish. A massive thunderstorm raged outside. I sat on the couch with my knees pulled to my chest for three whole hours. Ethan never came back. The next morning, Ethan rang the doorbell, looking exhausted from the storm. There was a faint smudge of pink lipstick on his collar. He frowned. “I forgot my keys last night. I knocked on the door all night, why didn’t you answer?” It had rained heavily all night. I hadn’t slept a wink, but I hadn’t heard a single knock. “The hotel bed was so hard and uncomfortable. It was awful,” he complained. If it were the past, I would have immediately hugged him and given him a massage after hearing his complaints. But now, I just slowly took a sip of my morning coffee, not even giving him a glance. He immediately walked over and started explaining. “I really did sleep at the hotel right by our subdivision last night. Look, I brought you those bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches from the corner deli. You’ve been craving these, right?” I glanced at the sandwich bag but didn’t pick it up. It was indeed the place I used to eat at the most. Back when Ethan and I first got married, our careers were just starting out, and we had to scrape together our meager salaries just to pay the mortgage. That corner deli was cheap and the portions were huge. I ate those sandwiches for seven years. Just then, my Instagram app pushed a notification from a “Person You May Know.” Mia had posted a photo of a luxurious candlelit dinner with the caption: [A 6’2″ cardiothoracic surgeon who is amazing in the living room and the kitchen. The best Golden Retriever Ethan in the world.] I calmly locked my phone. Ethan picked up a piece of the sandwich and held it to my lips. “Eat it while it’s hot. It won’t taste good if it gets cold.” The greasy smell of the bacon hovered right at my nose. I instinctively pushed it away, and the sandwich fell to the floor. Ethan slammed his hand on the table and sneered. “I just left you home alone for a little bit! I even got the candles ready for you! Do you really have to throw a tantrum over this?” “I’m a doctor. I have to be responsible for my patients. If something happened to Mia last night, neither of us would ever be able to live with the guilt!” I picked the sandwich up, threw it in the trash, and didn’t even turn around. “I respect your profession. I have absolutely no problem with it.” But Ethan wouldn’t let it go. He grabbed my wrist. “We’ve been married for seven years. Playing hard to get is a game for little girls. You need to stop watching so many romantic movies, they’re rotting your brain.” When I was younger, I loved watching romantic dramas, crying and laughing over other people’s love stories. Ethan would always pour cold water on me, calling me a hopeless romantic and a complete idiot. Now that I was older, anytime I didn’t cater to his every whim, he would accuse me of playing hard to get like the girls in those movies. If I dressed up a little, he would mock me and say, “Pink is for teenagers. Aren’t you a little old for that?” And then he would watch me slowly take off my makeup and change into sweatpants before he was finally satisfied. Listening to these words that used to sting me so deeply, I felt absolutely nothing. I just gave him a side-eye, looking at him like he was brain-dead. Then, I went into the bedroom, changed into a form-fitting black dress, sprayed on my newest perfume, grabbed my purse, and opened the front door. “Where are you going?” his angry voice rang in my ear. “I have plans.” The old Ethan never cared where I went. Because deep down, he believed that no matter where I went, I would always end up back by his side. But today, it was like the sun rose in the west; he was relentlessly interrogating me. It wasn’t until I sat in my car and hit the gas that the incessant buzzing in my ear finally stopped. My best friend Harper’s fashion studio was having its grand opening today, and she had invited me for the ribbon-cutting and champagne. When she saw me, her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, I haven’t seen you dress like this in years! Isn’t your husband going to be pissed?” I smiled and handed her a congratulatory card with a generous check inside. “It’s my body. I can wear whatever I want. He doesn’t get a say.” She happily took the card with a money-loving grin. “Yes, exactly! You’ve still absolutely got it.” Amidst the clinking glasses and flowing champagne, I realized I hadn’t felt this relaxed in a very long time. Meanwhile, my phone, which I had put on silent, was vibrating non-stop. Harper, her face flushed from the alcohol, nudged me. “Twelve missed calls. I think your husband is losing his mind.” I flipped the phone face down and kept drinking. After a few more rounds, I grabbed my purse and went downstairs to wait for my Uber. Instead, under the neon streetlights, I saw a furious Ethan. “Olivia Davis, you’re unbelievable. You ignore my calls and come here to get blackout drunk? Did you ever stop to think I’d be worried about you?” He canceled my Uber, threw me over his shoulder, and tossed me into the backseat of his SUV. In the cramped, suffocating space, he pinned my wrists down. His eyes burned with a familiar lust. He slowly leaned in, but the second his lips touched mine, I shoved him away. “Are you done throwing this fit?! You’re my wife! Am I not even allowed to touch you now?” The buzz from the alcohol instantly vanished. I sat up, straightened my messy dress, and said coldly, “Just drive home.” Ethan was always busy with work, so in the past, whenever he was home, I constantly wanted to be close to him. When he was leaning back on the couch reading medical journals, I would lean in for a kiss, and he would coldly shove me away—just exactly like I did to him right now. It used to pour a bucket of ice water over my burning heart. Seeing the firm rejection in my eyes, he froze for a long moment. Then, he slammed the car door shut and sped off. When we got home, I grabbed his blanket and threw it into the guest room. “I drank today and I’m a restless sleeper. So I don’t disturb you before work tomorrow, you’re sleeping in the guest room.” Hearing my absolute refusal to compromise, Ethan’s face darkened drastically. Finally, without a word, he went into the guest room. In our king-sized bed, I used to always want to cling to him. But now, I just realized how incredibly comfortable it was to have the whole bed to myself. When I woke up the next day, Ethan had already left for work. He had left cold deli sandwiches and coffee on the table. Bacon and egg sandwiches again. I was so sick of them. I packed up the food and went downstairs to feed the stray cats. While waiting for the elevator, I saw a job posting from my old company. Three years ago, Ethan was promoted to Deputy Chief of Surgery. To focus on taking care of him, I quit my job.

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1 When I pushed open the doors to the VIP lounge, Carter Sterling was down on one knee, holding up a massive diamond ring. Only, the proposal wasn’t meant for me. Standing in front of him was a young woman in a white dress, elegant and breathtakingly beautiful. Tears of joy streamed down her face as she nodded, crying out, “I do.” When I walked in, Carter didn’t even look up. His absolute focus was on sliding the ring onto the girl’s finger. It wasn’t until her best friend escorted her to the restroom to touch up her makeup that Carter finally cast a cold, indifferent glance my way. “Chloe is innocent, and she scares easily. It took me a lot of time and effort to win her over,” he said flatly. “Whatever messy history we had, you better make sure she never finds out about it.” “Also, she just accepted my proposal. I’m announcing our engagement to the press tomorrow.” Carter and I had been dating in secret for three years. Aside from the elders in our two families, only a tiny handful of people in our social circle knew the truth. As soon as the words left his mouth, the few insiders in the lounge awkwardly averted their eyes to look at me. I took a deep, trembling breath. “Carter, could you hold off on the announcement for just a little while?” “Even if it’s just a month… no, just half a month…” Carter let out a sharp laugh, a faint trace of mockery dancing in his eyes. “Hazel, we’re already at this point, and you’re still desperately clinging to me?” 2 “Carter, for the sake of our past together…” “That’s enough!” Carter suddenly snapped, his face turning freezing cold as he smashed his wine glass against the table. “Over the past three years, the Sterling family has poured at least thirty million dollars into the Hayes family’s sinking ship. Isn’t that enough for you?!” I was completely speechless. “Go home. I don’t want Chloe to come back and get the wrong idea.” I turned around, my body stiff as a board. As I opened the door to leave, I heard Carter mutter to someone in the room, “If your heart bleeds for her so much, why don’t you marry the bankrupt heiress yourself?” I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at my own expense. It was true. The Hayes family was bankrupt. Ever since my parents passed away in a tragic accident, our company had been teetering on the edge of total collapse. But Carter conveniently forgot one thing: it was our “bankrupt” Hayes family that had saved his and his grandfather’s lives at sea many years ago. He only remembered the resentment. He hated that my family had used a life debt to leverage our relationship. He hated me, the woman he felt had been violently forced upon him. 3 The news of Carter and Chloe’s engagement swept across New York City like wildfire. My grandfather, who was already severely ill from the grief of losing my parents, had a massive heart attack from the sheer rage of the betrayal and was rushed to the ICU. While I spent day and night holding vigil at the hospital, my Uncle Robert led a hostile takeover of our corporate headquarters. In the past, with the Sterling family backing us, my uncle and his faction were too terrified to make a move. But now? Against an orphaned twenty-four-year-old girl with no safety net, they stripped away all their scruples. During a brief moment of consciousness, my grandfather gripped my hand with whatever weak strength he had left. “Hazel… the company is your parents’ lifeblood. Even if it burns to the ground, you cannot let those wolves take it from you.” My eyes flushed red with hot tears. “Don’t worry, Grandpa. I already have a plan.” Uncle Robert and his faction were using the archaic excuse that a female heir couldn’t carry on the family legacy, plotting to legally strip me of my parents’ estate. But I would absolutely never let them win. 4 During the second week of Carter’s highly publicized engagement, I made the most absurd—yet most crucial—decision of my life. I needed a child. An heir to inherit the Hayes legacy. Because I didn’t meet the strict medical requirements for immediate IVF, I ultimately chose the traditional method: natural conception. As for the father of my child— George, the loyal butler who had served my grandfather his entire life, placed a single, meticulously vetted file on the desk in front of me. “Miss Hazel, please take a look.” The profile was simple. He was from Chicago, raised in a single-parent household, and took his mother’s maiden name. His academic records were flawless, proving a genius-level IQ. The genetics wouldn’t be an issue. A highly detailed medical report confirmed he was in peak physical condition with zero hidden hereditary diseases. But the most striking detail was the face in the photograph. He was so breathtakingly handsome it almost made my head spin. “Uncle George, are you sure a man this brilliant and… striking… actually needs to resort to this kind of business?” I couldn’t help but ask. George smiled kindly. “I believe a close family member of his has fallen severely ill. He’s desperate for quick cash to cover the medical bills.” Thinking of my own grandfather fighting for his life in the ICU, a wave of profound sympathy washed over me. “Add another fifty thousand dollars to his compensation.” “Right away, Miss Hazel.” 5 It was the twelfth day after Carter’s engagement announcement. It was also the peak of my fertile window. That night, I met the man named Liam Archer. He was wearing a generic black dress shirt and dark slacks. I couldn’t spot a single designer logo; they looked like cheap department store clothes. Yet, somehow, the bargain-bin outfit didn’t look cheap on his frame. Just as the contract stipulated, his eyes were securely covered with a black silk blindfold. When I pushed the bedroom door open, he instinctively stood up and faced the doorway. It was only then that I realized just how incredibly tall he was. He had to be at least 6’2″. His proportions were flawless—broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and endlessly long legs. “Miss?” Liam spoke, his voice carrying a probing, cautious tone. His voice was deep and rich. A wave of satisfaction settled in my chest. “It’s me. Don’t be nervous.” I walked slowly toward him, lifting a hand to give his arm a reassuring pat. His muscles were rock solid. “Have you showered?” I asked. “Yes, I have.” Truthfully, I was so incredibly nervous that a cold sweat had broken out across my back. But I deliberately put on a facade of a seasoned, confident employer. “Then let’s begin.” 6 Liam couldn’t see me, but I could see him perfectly. The moment the words left my mouth, the corner of Liam’s lips curved into a faint, subtle smirk. Facing me, shielded by the black silk, he gave a slight nod. “Of course, Miss.” His long, elegant fingers unfastened the buttons of his shirt one by one. With a smooth, practiced motion, he pulled the hem free from his trousers. The second I saw his perfectly sculpted waist and the sharp V-line dipping below his belt, my face erupted in flames. When he reached for his belt buckle, I panicked and immediately spun around, facing the wall. The rustling of fabric finally stopped. The man’s voice, now laced with a husky, magnetic edge, echoed in the quiet room. “Miss, I’m ready.” “Ah… oh, right. Okay, then… go lie down on the bed.” 7 I forced myself to take a deep breath, desperately trying to look relaxed and natural as I turned back around. But my eyes instantly widened. The long tails of the black silk ribbon cascaded down his sharp jawline. The blindfold concealed his eyes, only serving to highlight the aggressive, perfect bridge of his nose. In my twenty-four years of life, this was the very first time I had ever been this intimately close to a man’s bare body. “Miss?” Perhaps because I had remained dead silent for too long, Liam called out softly. He took a step forward, reaching out a hand as if searching for me in the dark. His fingertips brushed against my shoulder. After a brief pause, he boldly wrapped his hands around my shoulders—crossing the professional boundary. And in the very next second, he effortlessly scooped me up into his arms, carrying me bridal style. 8 My body sank into the plush mattress. Liam respectfully braced his hands on either side of me, ensuring none of his heavy weight crushed me. “If anything is uncomfortable later, please make sure to tell me.” My heart was hammering so violently against my ribs I was dizzy, practically suffocating. “Stop talking so much and just hurry up,” I snapped. I turned my face away, biting down hard on my lower lip. I had no idea that the tips of my ears and the back of my neck were glowing crimson. “Alright.” He lowered his head. The black silk brushed feather-light against my collarbone. When Liam leaned in to kiss me, I aggressively turned my head. “Don’t touch my mouth.” I bluffed, trying to sound as fierce and commanding as a billionaire heiress should. But I didn’t realize the end of my sentence trembled with unmistakable vulnerability. “Bite me if it hurts.” Liam’s cool fingers gently cradled my face as he pressed a searing, lingering kiss against the side of my neck. But the exact moment his chest pressed flush against mine, my phone began to ring loudly on the nightstand. 9 Liam instinctively froze. I pushed myself up slightly and grabbed the phone. I was completely caught off guard to see the name Carter Sterling flashing on the screen. I hesitated for a second before hitting decline. But almost immediately, the phone started vibrating again. My eyes drifted to Liam’s face in the dim light. He had incredibly thin lips. People always said men with thin lips were inherently cold-hearted and ruthless. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: Cold-hearted is good. A ruthless man was perfectly suited for a transactional business deal like this. We would part ways at dawn, severing all ties forever. I swiped the green button to answer. Carter’s voice sounded bizarrely foreign to my ears. “Hazel, why didn’t you tell me your grandfather was hospitalized?” “It’s not exactly a secret.” “Where are you right now? I’ll come pick you up, we can go to the hospital to see him together…” “That won’t be necessary.” “Hazel, your grandfather always treated me well. I just want to give the old man some peace of mind right now.” “I said, it’s not necessary. But thank you for the gesture.” “Hazel… you should know when to quit.” Carter’s voice was now tightly laced with barely suppressed rage. I knew him too well. For an arrogant, prideful man like him to actually call me and offer an olive branch was a massive concession on his part. But I genuinely didn’t need it. It was too late. I gripped the phone tightly, glancing at the man hovering over me. I could physically feel the turbulent wave of lust radiating from his body, forcibly restrained by sheer willpower. “Carter…” Before I could finish, Liam’s dark, gravelly voice cut through the silence. “Miss, can we continue now?” A scorching kiss was violently pressed against the corner of my lips. And he, fully primed and lethal, made his move. The phone slipped from my sweaty palm and crashed onto the hardwood floor. I furrowed my brows and let out a soft, pained whimper. “It hurts…” From the floor, Carter’s frantic, furious voice echoed from the speaker: “Hazel… who the hell are you with?!” The screen went black. The pain was so sharp I opened my mouth and sank my teeth viciously into Liam’s forearm. He paused for just a fraction of a second before leaning down. With devastating tenderness, yet undeniable dominance… He kissed my lips. 10 My first instinct was to violently shove him away. But the brief kiss was followed by an agonizing, tearing pain that felt like I was being split in half. Liam stopped moving immediately. The black silk ribbon cascading from his eyes brushed softly against my neck. I cried from the pain, my fingernails subconsciously digging deep into the flesh of his arms. His large hands, which had been gripping my waist, suddenly shifted. He pulled my entire trembling body tightly into his warm embrace. His long fingers gently swept aside the sweat-drenched hair sticking to my cheeks. Another scalding, bone-melting kiss fell against my lips. As my body slowly adapted, my mind slipping into a dizzying, euphoric haze… He drove me down into the mattress once more. Somewhere in the middle of the night, I briefly lost consciousness. Because of that, I never knew the truth. I never knew that in that exact moment, Liam ripped the black silk blindfold from his eyes. In the shadowy, moonlit bedroom, he stared deeply at my face. And he kissed me, inch by inch, starting from the center of my brow, all the way down. When I finally opened my eyes the next morning, I found myself dressed in a fresh, soft silk nightgown. The other side of the bed was completely empty and cold. It was as if the chaotic, intimate storm of last night was nothing more than a fever dream. I dragged my aching body out of bed to wash up. When I limped downstairs for breakfast, Uncle George informed me that Liam Archer had left in the dead of night, exactly as the contract dictated. I sat at the grand dining table. Remembering his aggressive boundary-crossing last night, and how I had completely, helplessly surrendered to it… the back of my neck burned with heat. “Did you pay him?” “As agreed, we wired him the first third of the payment. The remaining balance will be transferred the moment your pregnancy is medically confirmed.” I nodded, not saying another word. 11 At the Plaza Hotel. Liam Archer had long since discarded the cheap, off-the-rack clothing he wore the night before. He had just finished swimming laps in the hotel’s private penthouse pool. His family’s senior butler was waiting respectfully in the living room. “Madam heard you were staying in New York. She demands you join her for dinner tonight.” Liam casually tossed his damp towel onto a lounge chair and let out a low, amused scoff. “She has an ulterior motive.” “You are turning twenty-eight after the New Year, sir. You can’t blame Madam for being anxious.” Liam walked over to the minibar and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water. He slicked his dripping black hair back, exposing his sharp, aristocratic forehead and striking, aggressive brow line. “What’s the rush? Tell her that in a few weeks, she might just become a grandmother.” Liam took a swig of water, throwing a teasing smirk at the butler who had watched him grow up. The butler nearly had a heart attack. “Young Master, you cannot joke about something of this magnitude!” “You are the sole heir to both the Kensington and Archer dynasties! The future heir of this family is more precious than solid gold! You cannot be reckless with your bloodline…” “The future Madam of this house must be welcomed with a grand, traditional church wedding and all the proper respect!” “I am fully aware of that.” Liam sat down gracefully on the velvet sofa. He lowered his gaze, staring intently at his left forearm. The deep, crescent-shaped bite mark was still vividly clear against his skin. Remembering that night, an incredibly soft, tender warmth crept into his eyes.

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Years Later, My Second-Chance Romance Novel Went Viral. The Male Lead Was Him. At my new book launch, he sat in the audience as the lead investor. His girlfriend smiled and said, “We’re getting engaged soon. I hope certain people don’t flatter themselves.” The reporters didn’t give up. “Mr. Sterling, if you hate the author, why did you buy the copyright?” Noah Sterling didn’t even glance at me, answering with cool indifference, “The plot is atrocious. I don’t want to see it ever again.” 1 “Did you hear? In the novel, the main characters didn’t actually get back together. The female lead dumped the guy.” “Why?” “Because he was broke.” “Later, when Noah became the heir to the Sterling family, she went crawling back to him, but he turned her down.” “How does she still have the nerve to write a book?” The AC at the New York book launch was set to a freezing 64 degrees. Insults and jeers from the readers echoed through the room. I kept my head down, carefully signing my name on the title page of the hardcover books. I wrote this novel the year I graduated from college. I never expected it to blow up on Amazon. The crazier the readers shipped the characters back then, the more viciously they cursed me now that my past with Noah Sterling had been dug up. But I couldn’t afford to be upset. Even if I had to smile while being verbally abused, I had to finish this launch event. Because it was what the investors demanded. Noah was currently sitting in the audience. Dressed in a tailored bespoke suit, he sat poised and composed, watching the girl next to him accept media interviews. “We’re getting engaged soon, so please, some people shouldn’t flatter themselves.” The girl smiled sweetly. “If someone ruined another person’s entire life, it would be absurd to think they could just get back together.” I knew this girl. Stella Montgomery, our college classmate. Her family and the Sterlings were both old-money elites in New York, with ties going back generations. Back in college when I was dating Noah, she went out of her way to be my best friend. After graduation, we became strangers. The reporter then handed the microphone to Noah. “Mr. Sterling, rumor has it that the story between you and the author has gone viral online. How did you two break up back then?” Noah didn’t even look at me. “I suggest you ask the author.” That frigid, icy tone only further confirmed the rumors. It confirmed that I had overestimated myself and abandoned Noah. Laughter erupted all around me. “Some say your first choice wasn’t Wall Street, but rather going to MIT to become a physicist.” “Could you tell us why you came back to inherit the business empire instead?” Noah’s gaze pierced through the layers of people, staring at me expressionlessly for a moment. Then, he looked away. “I was young and didn’t know what I wanted.” “Facts have proven that people should return to the social class and field where they belong.” “Instead of… compounding a mistake.” After finishing his sentence, he asked blankly, “What do you think, Miss Evans?” Facing the cameras, my mind went completely blank. Just as I was about to say something, Noah lowered his eyes and turned to converse with a Wall Street executive next to him, seemingly unconcerned with how I would answer. The giant screen in the venue switched to an exclusive interview Noah had done previously. “What was your reason for purchasing the film rights to this book?” Noah’s tone was cold. “The plot is atrocious. I never want to see it again.” 2 I actually only found out today that Noah was my investor. Very few fans showed up to the new book launch. Instead, I received an industry blacklist order. My website was about to take down the novel, and physical copies were being pulled from shelves. “Lily, the Hollywood adaptation probably isn’t going to happen.” After the launch event, my literary agent, Arthur, stopped me. I stood by the door, feeling somewhat dazed. His gaze fell on my ears, and he hesitated for a moment. He asked, “Your… ears?” I touched the hearing aids hidden beneath my hair, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Yeah… The doctor said there’s a new experimental treatment at Johns Hopkins. I want to give it a try.” Over the past few years, my hearing had been deteriorating. If I didn’t stare at people’s lips, I often couldn’t decipher what they were saying at all. The medical bills for the treatment would be $150,000. Without the advance royalties from this book, I couldn’t possibly afford it. Arthur sighed. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.” I knew he was in a tough spot too. We were just a small independent publisher, trying to make a living. Who would have known we’d suddenly be targeted by major capital? The work I wrote right after graduation a few years ago had been dug up and hyped into a viral sensation. And I had been pushed into the eye of the storm. “It’s okay. I’ll figure something else out.” He patted my shoulder. Before he could finish speaking, someone suddenly bumped into me. I stumbled, and my hearing aid went flying. “Oh, sorry about that…” The UberEats delivery guy quickly disappeared into the elevator. I crouched down and found my hearing aid cracked. The ambient noise around me was suddenly muffled by a layer of fog, buzzing unintelligibly. That was, until the light above my head was blocked out. A pair of polished black dress shoes stopped in front of me. I looked up. Noah was in his sharp suit. His gaze cut through the cool metallic frames of his glasses, scrutinizing me without an ounce of warmth. His hand rested lightly on a stack of cargo boxes that had almost tipped over. His slightly furrowed brows revealed a hint of impatience. “Are you deaf?” I read his lips clearly. I also saw a terrified delivery worker next to him, apologizing to me profusely. It turned out I had crouched right in the middle of the hallway, blocking his path, and hadn’t heard his warning. He had been pushing a tall stack of boxes and couldn’t see me. Which was why I had almost been crushed. “I’m sorry for the trouble.” I hurriedly hid the broken hearing aid in my purse, stood up, and apologized to the worker. Noah withdrew his hand, and the boxes crashed down right next to my feet. “This is my corporate building. I don’t want any accidents happening here, that’s all.” After saying that, he turned and walked away without looking back. 3 I had been busy all day and hadn’t even eaten yet. I received an iMessage from my best friend and briefly explained the situation to her. “Stella is with Noah?!” My best friend exploded the moment she saw my text. “Does he know what kind of person Stella is? If she hadn’t abandoned you back then, would you have ended up like this?” I paused, then replied: “People naturally want to run when they encounter danger. You can’t… blame others for that.” The weather in New York in June was always unpredictable. A massive downpour started without warning. Just across the street, a massive LED billboard in Times Square displayed the new Manhattan real estate project jointly invested in by the Sterling and Montgomery families. It was in full swing. I remembered the analysis I’d seen on Twitter. Marriages between old-money families were historically unbreakable. In the years since graduation, I occasionally heard news about Noah from old classmates. Everyone used to think he came from a poor background. He had excellent grades and even won first place in the National Science Bowl. When we broke up, Noah was negotiating a full-ride scholarship to MIT. But later, his grades suddenly plummeted. He missed the Ivy League cut-off. When he reappeared, it was as the heir to the Sterling empire, suddenly exposed to the media. He was a completely different person. Ruthless and decisive. I knew who caused these changes. Which was why I couldn’t say a single word to offset the past. Rain drifted under my umbrella with the wind. My face and clothes were soaked. I touched my ear, hailed a yellow cab on the side of the street, and went to find someone to repair my hearing aid. Muffled thunder, like cotton-wrapped thuds, drifted into my ears. 4 Arthur was a good guy. Unwilling to let my hard work go to waste, he pulled a lot of strings to connect me with an independent film studio. They were willing to risk offending Noah to support me. Arthur set up a dinner meeting. If we struck a deal, I could get the check by next week. Unfortunately, on the night of the meeting, he got stuck in Manhattan rush-hour traffic. Leaving me sitting with a group of strangers in a VIP room at a high-end club. To make matters worse, Stella was there too. My hearing aid still hadn’t been fixed, so all night long, I had to carefully watch people’s lips to decipher what they were saying. Stella crossed her legs, swirling her martini. “Gentlemen, please don’t hold back with Miss Evans. She’d do absolutely anything for money.” A producer immediately chimed in, “Life is so hard, Miss Evans. Don’t you want an easier way out?” The remark drew a chorus of laughter. I kept my head down, picked up my wine glass, took a small sip, and remained silent. Arthur had gone to great lengths to arrange this meeting. His wife had just had a baby, their mortgage was high, and I couldn’t bear to let his hard work go to waste. As long as I waited for him to arrive, everything would be fine. Who knew their comments would only get more outrageous. “Spend the night with me, and I’ll—” A figure suddenly wedged himself between me and the producer, blocking my view. “You want her to spend the night doing what?” I looked up to see Noah throwing an icy remark across the table. Under the overhead lights, his features looked exceptionally cold and sharp. Why was he here? Stella’s smile vanished as she stood up. “Noah, what are you doing here?” The producer fell completely silent, forgetting how to even smile. “Mr… Mr. Sterling…” Noah grabbed my arm and started walking. Before I could even react, I was dragged out of the room. Stella’s face flushed with anxiety as she called out, “Noah… don’t be impulsive…” Her voice was quickly left behind. We walked unimpeded until I was thrown into the backseat of Noah’s Maybach. “How much do you want?” The icy words hit my ears like blocks of ice. The veins on the back of Noah’s hand, gripping the leather seat, bulged, betraying his rage. I stared at him blankly. “What?” He laughed out of pure anger, pulled a Centurion Black Card from his suit pocket, and threw it in front of me. “Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? Millions? Swipe as much as you want. There’s absolutely no need for you to go begging to other people like a dog.” My heart felt like it was being pricked by needles. I wanted to explain. But how could I? I was definitely desperate for money. My life these past few years had ground away too much of my pride. In this country, there is nothing more terrifying than medical bills and poverty. “Didn’t you want money?” Noah gritted his teeth. “Is my money too dirty for you?” I picked up the black card, gripped it tightly, and futilely said: “I’m borrowing a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I’ll pay you back.” I knew his black card held far more than $150,000; it was likely limitless. Noah’s face was stony. “Really? Remember your words.” “From now on, I expect to see money wired into my account every single month. If not, my legal team will contact you.” “So, you’d better not play hide-and-seek with me.” I clenched my jaw. “I’m not that kind of person.” “No?” Noah pressed closer. “Lily Evans, you have a criminal record with me.” The words stuck in my throat. I wanted to get out of the car, but Noah wouldn’t move. He leaned against the car door, cupped the side of my face with one hand, and forced me to look up. Forcing me to meet his eyes. “Now, let’s discuss the price.” I was stunned. “What price?” “Did you think I’d willingly let you use me again?” His freezing fingertips traced my cheek like a ruthless blade of ice. “Lily, you brought this on yourself. You didn’t show a single ounce of mercy back then.” “So, strictly business—” Noah’s final words were veiled in a layer of fog, pouring into my ears in a blurry hum. “Sign the prenuptial and marriage agreements, and I’ll give it to you.” 5 The Maybach cruised silently down Fifth Avenue. Noah didn’t let me out of the car. Because ten minutes ago, I had blurted out a lie on the spot. “I’m getting married.” Noah’s expression had turned exceedingly grim. He stared out the window at the gloomy sky without saying a word. It took him a long time to finally ask, “To whom?” I didn’t catch it clearly, so I looked up and stared at his lips. “Hmm? What?” Noah raised his eyes. “I asked you, who are you getting married to?” I opened my mouth but couldn’t formulate a coherent answer for a long time. A seasoned Wall Street shark, Noah possessed a ruthless eye. He asked calmly and coldly, “Time? Location? Do our college alumni know?” I couldn’t answer a single one of those questions. Noah’s eyelids twitched. “Lily, to hide from me, you don’t even bother rehearsing your lies?” “It’s none of your business.” “Sign this.” He suddenly tossed over a legal document. Printed boldly on the letter-sized paper were the words “Marriage Agreement.” My heart tightened as I read the clauses below. Did he… really not care? Almost all the clauses were in my favor. I wouldn’t even have to assume any marital debt. “I’m sorry, I can’t agree to this.” “Reason.” I pushed the contract back to him. “You and Stella—” Before I could finish, I saw a profoundly meaningful scrutiny on Noah’s face. “I thought you didn’t care?” “You disappeared completely all these years. Not a single word, not a single message on Twitter or Facebook to check up on me, right?” “So who I get engaged to, or what I think, why does that matter to you?” Actually, I really wanted to say that I had asked about him… But explaining it now would just be futile. Noah said, “Marrying Stella is the board of directors’ decision. I have no personal relationship with her.” “Lily, think this through.” His gaze was piercing. “Marry me, and you’ll get everything you want.” “Including hitting the New York Times Best Seller list, getting your novel adapted in Hollywood, and—” “Money.” At that moment, I finally understood why Noah had blacklisted me. When someone is pushed into a corner, they’re easier to control. He had always been a successful hunter. He simply wanted to force me out of hiding. “But what do you want to get out of this?” “You.” Noah’s tone was detached. “Don’t imagine the days ahead will be wonderful.” “The pain I experienced, I will return to you exactly as it was.” Actually, I had no reason to refuse. I desperately needed the money for my medical bills. I was willing to do it.

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When my college acceptance letters arrived, I sent a text to my online crush. “I can’t go to Harvard. Goodbye.” Then I turned around, enrolled at MIT, and blocked her number. Fast forward to my freshman year practicum. The graduate teaching assistant stood at the front of the class and called my name. “You. Come up to the board and solve this. I’ve taught you this before.” Me: “…” Are you kidding me?! Why the hell is the girl I met online, who desperately wanted me to go to Harvard, teaching my class at MIT?! During my junior year of high school, my grades took a massive nosedive. I was absolutely terrified I wouldn’t make the cut for MIT. Out of sheer desperation, I went online and started flirting with an older girl whose username was “Harvard Reject,” begging her to tutor me. She was sweet, considerate, and incredibly understanding. “Don’t worry. With me here, I guarantee you’ll get into Harvard.” I was flattered. “No, no, it doesn’t have to be Harvard.” Secretly, I was thinking: MIT is exactly what I want. “Tsk, what kind of attitude is that? You can doubt your own IQ, but don’t you dare insult my teaching abilities.” Me: “…” Yes, ma’am. I certainly didn’t dare doubt her. Because this girl actually knew her stuff. Under her rigorous tutoring, my grades didn’t just climb; they stabilized at the very top. On my final practice SAT, I scored a flawless 1600. I excitedly texted her to share the news. She was completely unfazed. “Mhm. That score should be enough to get you into Harvard.” It was definitely enough, but I didn’t want to go to Harvard. I had always dreamed of going to MIT. But over the year she spent tutoring me, I distinctly felt her bizarre, borderline obsessive fixation with Harvard. If she wasn’t obsessed, she wouldn’t have kept the username “Harvard Reject” for over a year. If I didn’t go to Harvard, would she be disappointed? Looking at her message, I decided to test the waters. “What if I don’t end up going to Harvard?” “Relax. You’ll definitely get in.” Well… She probably thought I was just having pre-college anxiety and was trying to comfort me. Because of that, I never brought up my dream of MIT again. The day before decision day, she texted me, telling me to relax. She was swamped with her graduate thesis and told me to just text her my final college decision once everything was official. Late spring rolled around, and the official acceptances came out. I had my pick of the litter. I could go to Harvard, or I could go to MIT. While I was agonizing over the decision, the MIT admissions office called my mom directly at three in the morning to confirm a massive scholarship package. So, she decisively chose MIT for me… Goodbye, Harvard. Getting into my dream school was amazing. But whenever I thought of the girl who had tutored me for an entire year, a wave of anxiety hit me. She had constantly pushed me toward Harvard. Choosing MIT felt like an ultimate betrayal. While I was stressing over how to break the news, her text came through. “Decisions are out, right? How did it go?” Look at that gentle, caring check-in. The guilt in my chest multiplied tenfold. I hardened my heart, gritted my teeth, and typed out a message. “I messed up. I can’t go to Harvard.” “…” She went silent. Before she could send a second message, I quickly fired off another: “I’m so sorry. Goodbye.” Then, I decisively blocked her number and went offline. After that, I completely lost contact with her. Even though it was just a fleeting, anonymous internet romance, when I arrived in Cambridge for my freshman year and walked past Harvard Yard, I couldn’t help but stop and stare. My roommate, Noah, asked me what was wrong. Seeing the lingering regret and longing in my eyes, I sighed. “Once upon a time, I was this close to going to Harvard.” “…” Noah rolled his eyes and dragged me toward the library to snag a seat. “Let me tell you a secret: every single MIT student who walks past this campus says the exact same thing. Hurry up, or the library is gonna be full.” Me: “…” Such a raw, unfiltered flex… Sure enough, by the time we got to the library, there were barely any seats left. Noah let out a groan of despair. “Are these people demons?! You already got into MIT, why are you still grinding this hard?!” At a glance, every table was packed. There were a few seats in the group study area, but after listening to the chaotic babble of five different languages being spoken at once, we decided the silent reading room was a much safer bet. “Hey, I see a spot! Over there!” Noah excitedly smacked my shoulder and sprinted over to negotiate. A few seconds later, he waved me over. “Ethan, hurry up, there’s room here.” I walked over just in time to catch the end of their conversation: “No problem at all. You guys freshmen?” “Yep!” Noah was smiling so hard his face was practically glowing. I glanced over and realized the person sitting across from us was an incredibly cute girl. I quietly sat down. The seat directly across from me was empty, but there was a textbook resting on the desk. “You should actually call me your senior. I’m a few years ahead of you guys. I’m in grad school now.” “Wow, you don’t look it at all! That’s awesome.” While I was busy wondering if the seat across from me was actually taken, Noah had already exchanged numbers with her. Once we settled in, silence fell over our section. I looked down at my textbook. A few minutes later, the lighting shifted as a delicate, floral scent drifted over the table. A slender silhouette pulled out the chair directly across from me and sat down. A whispered conversation immediately followed: “The professor dragged you into his office again?” “Yeah. There was a margin of error in one of the datasets. I had to recalculate the whole thing.” The first voice belonged to the girl who had let us sit there. The second voice, while unfamiliar, was incredibly melodic and soothing. I sneaked a glance upward. Sitting across from me was a breathtakingly pretty girl wearing thin, wire-rimmed glasses. She had straight, raven-black hair, porcelain skin, and long, dense eyelashes. Her eyes were exceptionally beautiful, almost like they were drawn straight out of an anime. Perhaps sensing my gaze, she looked up. The moment our eyes met, my breath literally hitched. She was stunning. But this anime-like girl merely gave me a cold, indifferent glance. Then, her eyes landed on the textbook resting in front of me, and a flash of surprise crossed her face. “Materials Science and Engineering? Is that your major?” Wait, she actually spoke to me? I nodded. I was a total STEM kid in high school. Thanks to my “Harvard Reject” tutor, my foundation was rock solid, so I declared this major the second I got to MIT. I didn’t know if I was imagining things, but the corners of her lips curled up ever so slightly. “Not bad.” While I was trying to figure out what she meant, the friendly girl sitting next to her chimed in: “What a coincidence! That’s our major too.” Ah, well, that is a coincidence. Direct upperclassmen. “Nice to meet you both.” I greeted them politely. The girl across from me just gave a faint “Mhm,” her demeanor immediately returning to freezing cold. “Don’t mind her, Emily is just like that,” her friend whispered with an apologetic smile. I smiled back, brushing it off. My major was notoriously brutal. The coursework was heavy, and the assignments were soul-crushing. It was another weekend. Noah and I were trapped in our dorm room, agonizing over a physical chemistry problem set. Finally, Noah let out a tortured wail. “I can’t do this anymore! Just kill me! How is this so damn hard?! I’ve recalculated it five times, and it’s wrong every single time!” Looking at the few strands of hair he had literally ripped from his own scalp, I genuinely felt bad for him. But there was nothing we could do. The difficulty spike from high school to college was a massive, vertical cliff. “Should we try asking someone else?” I suggested. “Ask who?” That was a very good question. The professor? We were way too intimidated. Our classmates? The guy sitting next to me was the literal state valedictorian, and he was currently tearing his hair out. While I was agonizing over it, a specific person popped into my head. My online tutor! If she were here, these problems would be an absolute breeze for her. But… I had already blocked and deleted her! If I had known I’d be suffering this much in college, I never would have acted so impulsively. Suddenly, Noah bolted upright from his desk like a zombie coming back to life. “I know who we can ask!” “Who?” “That grad student we met at the library! Chloe! I have her number! She’s in our major, she definitely knows how to do this.” Noah was a man of action. He immediately grabbed his phone and fired off a text. A minute later, he excitedly yanked me out of my chair. “Let’s go, let’s go! She said yes. We’re going to meet her right now.” Noah dragged me all the way to the research and laboratory building. “They’re running an experiment right now, we just have to wait a bit.” Not long after, people started trickling out of the lab. Soon enough, Chloe—the girl who had given us the seats—walked out and waved us inside. “Is it okay for us to just walk into the lab?” “The actual sterile lab is further in. This is just the briefing room, it’s totally fine.” Noah nodded eagerly and pulled me into an empty seat. Chloe sat across from Noah, and I sat next to him, just listening in. I have to admit, grad students really are built differently. Within minutes, Noah was nodding in absolute enlightenment. I was just about to ask a follow-up question. When the door to the briefing room swung open. The person who walked in stopped, and the three of us stared at each other in dead silence. “Oh, Emily, you’re back?” The girl standing in the doorway was the incredibly pretty, glasses-wearing senior from the library. Emily. Her cold eyes swept over Noah and me. Chloe quickly explained: “Oh, these are the freshmen we met at the library. They got stuck on a few problems, so they came by to ask for help.” “Mhm.” Her attitude was as freezing and distant as ever. Noah and I exchanged a quick glance. We read the exact same thought in each other’s eyes: What an ice queen. Noah pulled me up from the chair. “Well, uh, we got what we needed, so we’ll get out of your hair! Thanks so much, Chloe.” “No problem at all! Oh, by the way, our lab is actually looking for two undergraduate assistants. Are you guys interested?” Chloe suddenly asked. Noah and I both froze. I acutely noticed Emily furrow her brow. She was clearly not thrilled about the idea. I was just about to politely decline. When Noah blurted out, “We’d love to! Ethan, come here, exchange contact info with them so we can set it up.” Wait, why did I have to exchange info? Didn’t he already have Chloe’s number? While I was standing there in confusion, Noah practically shoved me forward, winking at me like a maniac.

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My Mother Said She Was a Systems Transmigrator. If She Couldn’t Make My Father Fall in Love With Her, She Would Be Erased. The kind of erased where your soul shatters and scatters completely. I secretly told my dad, but he just said, “Then let her die.” My mom heard him too. She didn’t cry. She just held me gently. Later, my mom really did die. But my cold, ruthless dad… he went insane. 1 Mom had been asleep for a very, very long time. It was time for me to go to preschool, but she still hadn’t woken up. I touched her arm. It was cold and stiff. Not warm and soft like usual. “Mommy, I’m hungry,” I shook her hard, but she didn’t open her eyes. She never used to be like this. Before, if I so much as whimpered, she would wake up instantly, pull me into her arms, and soothe me. But now, she was sleeping so deeply. I pulled the comforter up over her and climbed off the bed to get a phone to call Dad. Dad hadn’t been home for days. Our neighbor, Mrs. Miller, said his “first love” had gotten divorced and come back last month, and that Dad didn’t want Mom and me anymore. Mrs. Miller also said Mom looked a lot like this “first love,” and that Dad only married Mom because he saw her as a replacement. I didn’t know what a “first love” was, so I asked Mom. Mom stayed quiet for a long time before saying: “It’s someone you could never have; someone who belongs in the past.” I didn’t understand. I decided I didn’t like the past. Because it stole my dad. 2 To stop me from playing on her phone, Mom had set a passcode. I couldn’t use it to call Dad. I held the phone up to Mom’s face, but it didn’t unlock with Face ID like it usually did. I said to the phone, “Siri, I won’t watch cartoons in secret anymore. Please open, I need to call Dad.” But Siri ignored me. I went to knock on Mrs. Miller’s door, but no one was home. So, I climbed back onto the bed and lay next to Mom, just watching her. Mom was beautiful. Even asleep, she looked prettier than the fairy princesses on TV. Dad used to watch her sleep too. He would scoop her up from my bed and carry her to their room. He would nibble her neck like a puppy. Mom was terrified of dogs, but she never pushed him away. The next morning, Mom would always wake up late, rushing around the kitchen to make breakfast for me and Dad. Adults always say little kids don’t remember things, but I remember everything. I remember that no matter how chaotic the mornings were, Mom’s eyes were always smiling. But Dad never smiled. He would just sit there scrolling through his phone. After breakfast, he would head to his firm and drop me off at preschool on the way. The teachers at preschool loved it when Dad dropped me off. I heard them whispering that my dad was the most handsome dad of all—tall, rich, and looking like a movie star. They also said he was ice-cold and ignored everyone, and that he would be absolutely perfect if he were just a little warmer. I thought they were wrong. Leo’s dad was the best. Every time Leo’s dad dropped him off, he carried him on his shoulders. That was so cool. My dad just lifted me out of his SUV and told me to walk inside by myself. 3 I pulled a photo out of Mom’s hand. It was taken at an art museum a few days ago. Dad had plans and originally didn’t want to go with us, but Mom held him back. “Let’s just take one more picture. Lily can look at it when she grows up, otherwise… otherwise it’ll be too sad.” I saw tears welling in Mom’s eyes, but she held them back. Dad finally agreed. In the picture, Mom is holding me in my princess dress, leaning gently against Dad’s shoulder. Dad didn’t push her away; he just quietly let her lean on him. Out of the three of us, I was the only one smiling brightly. Last night before bed, Mom held me as we looked at this photo. She kissed my cheek and said, “I wish Mommy were more useful.” “Lily, you have to grow up brave. Never be afraid.” I rolled around in her arms happily. “Okay! I’ll grow up brave.” She smiled too, but her face was covered in tears. She cried a lot lately. She cried even more than I did. Later, as she rocked me to sleep, I vaguely heard her pleading with someone: “It’s not time yet, why are you here?… Just let me make one call to arrange things for my daughter… She’s only three, please…” I didn’t know who she was talking to. It was just the two of us at home. But I was so tired, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. When I woke up, Mom was lying next to me. The comforter had slipped off her, which was why her body was so cold. I held her hand in my small ones, hoping she would warm up. But she didn’t. 4 A while later, Mom’s phone rang. I reached for it, but the ringing stopped. The battery had died. I plugged the charger in, but the phone didn’t ring again. I was hungry. I pulled a small stepping stool over to open the fridge, but I could only reach a loaf of bread. I wanted to grab the milk from the top shelf, but the stool tipped over, and I fell hard. “Mommy, it hurts,” I cried, crawling back to her. Mom still didn’t wake up. She always used to be so terrified of me getting hurt. I cried until I fell asleep next to her. Then, in my dream, I heard Dad’s voice. No, not a dream. Dad had actually come home. I opened my eyes and heard the sound of the keypad lock chiming. The door opened, but Dad didn’t walk into the bedroom. I just heard his voice: “Lily’s preschool called and said she didn’t show up today. I came back to check. Don’t worry, it’s normal to feel like that after surgery. Ask your doctor about it, I’ll come see you soon.” He was on the phone. His tone was so gentle. He never spoke to me and Mom like that. With us, he was always flat, sometimes even cold. “Daddy!” I climbed off the bed and ran out. Dad frowned when he saw me. “Why aren’t you dressed? Where’s your mother?” I stopped, too scared to go closer. Standing by the bedroom door, I said softly, “Mommy is sleeping in bed.” He didn’t go check on her. He just spoke coldly toward the bedroom: “Mia, I’ll give you three more days to think about it. I’ll leave you this house and the cars. Sign the divorce papers quickly; it’s better for both of us.” Something fell to the floor inside the bedroom. I thought Mom had woken up and ran to look. It was just the phone slipping off the nightstand while charging. I ran back out to call Dad, but he had already taken the elevator down. I stood on my tiptoes, wanting to press the button and go after him. I wanted to tell him that Mom wouldn’t wake up. But Mom had told me little kids are absolutely never allowed to take the elevator alone. Once, I sneaked into the elevator and went down to the parking garage to play. Mom searched for me for so long and was crying so hard when she finally found me. I went back and lay down next to Mom. I didn’t want her to cry. When she cried, she looked so heartbroken, and she always hid so I wouldn’t see. I loved it when she smiled. 5 I finished the bread. Now all I had was water. But water didn’t stop the hunger, and Mom still hadn’t woken up. I figured Mom must be sick. When I was sick, I slept a lot too, but I always got better after Mom gave me medicine. I found the children’s Tylenol I took when I was sick and tried to feed it to Mom. She wouldn’t open her mouth, and it took a lot of effort to squeeze the syringe in. I got tired again and fell asleep snuggled against her. When I woke up, preschool had already let out. I squatted on the balcony and looked down. Leo was riding on his dad’s shoulders, and his dad was holding his mom’s hand. His mom looked a little chubby. Leo told me his mom wasn’t chubby; she was pregnant. He was going to have a little brother or sister soon. I wanted a little brother or sister too, so we could share toys and go to preschool together. When Mrs. Miller came over, she had told Mom, “Lily is three now. You and Ethan should have another one. The Sterling family only has him, and with his status, plenty of women will try to sink their claws in. Having another baby secures your position.” My mom had said, “A marriage held together by children isn’t a stable one. Plus, he’s been really busy at the firm lately.” Mrs. Miller laughed. “Busy? I saw you two getting cozy in his car down in the garage just last month…” “Emily,” my mom blushed and covered my ears. “Lily is right here.” Mrs. Miller waved it off. “It’s fine, kids don’t understand anyway.” She was right, I didn’t understand. After Mrs. Miller left, I kept asking Mom what she and Dad were doing in the car. Were they eating secret snacks without me? Instead of answering, Mom asked me, “Lily, do you want a little brother or sister?” I nodded vigorously. “Yes! Make one fast, Mommy! I want one tomorrow!” Mom touched my cheek. “That might be nice. With a brother or sister, you won’t ever be entirely alone.” Mom had told me she grew up as an orphan and was terrified of being lonely. She also told me that in her original world, she was incredibly sick and dying. A magical being called “The System” sent her here. As long as she could make Dad fall in love with her, she would get a healthy body and stay here forever with me and Dad. “Does Daddy love you?” I asked her. Mom didn’t answer. She seemed like she didn’t know either. 6 That night, Mom cooked a delicious dinner and tucked me into bed before Dad got home. But the moment Dad walked in, I woke up. I wanted to tell him that he absolutely had to love Mom so we could be together forever. I cracked my door open and saw Mom, wearing a beautiful red dress, pouring a glass of wine for Dad. My mom looked so gorgeous! But Dad pushed the glass away. “What, trying the same old trick again?” He was angry. Mom froze, and I felt a little scared. She put the bottle down nervously. “I… I don’t know what you mean.” Dad sneered. “Five years ago, you showing up at that bar… was it really just a coincidence?” “You just knew exactly what I needed at my lowest point, and you manipulated your way into my life.” Mom didn’t say a word. She just looked down, like she had done something wrong. Dad stood up. “I despise being used and lied to. We’re getting a divorce tomorrow. You keep this house and the cars, and you get full custody of Lily. I’ll give you a massive settlement, enough so neither of you will ever have to worry about money again.” I knew what divorce meant. Chloe’s parents from my class were divorced. She lived with her dad and said it was really hard to see her mom, no matter how much she missed her. Mom’s tears fell like shattered pearls. Dad offered no comfort. “Why are you crying? Isn’t this exactly what you plotted to get when you married me?” Mom shook her head. “No… I didn’t want any of this. Even if you didn’t have a dime… I just liked being with you.” Dad didn’t believe her. He walked out. Leaving Mom standing alone in the living room for a very, very long time. She whispered to herself, “You forgot. You were the one who held me tight and begged me not to go.” “You said you loved me. You said you loved me so much.” “That was the very first time… anyone ever loved me.”

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My ex-boyfriend was loaded, so I became his simp for the cash. I kissed his ass diligently every single day, right up until a two-faced pick-me girl stepped in. On the day we broke up, I cautiously asked, “Hey, about that condo you gave me… are you…” “Can you just get the hell out of here?” he snapped. He was annoyed. It was a scorching hot day. I obeyed, clutching the deed to the condo, and ran away as fast as my legs could carry me. Ever since elementary school, I was a total doormat for money. My desk-mate back then was filthy rich, his desk drawer literally stuffed with loose bills. I ran errands for the little rich boy every day—five bucks a pop. I was so money-hungry I even escorted him to the bathroom to make an extra buck. At a young age, my piggy bank was overflowing. Eventually, the rich kid transferred schools, but the stash I saved up got me through my childhood. In middle school, I ran a little side hustle. I’d hit up the corner store during lunch, pack my backpack full of snacks, and sell them at a markup to the kids in my class between periods. My best customer was a girl named Harper. She was a preppy, flawless girl who got hundreds of dollars a day in allowance. I still don’t understand her mindset back then. Every recess, she’d buy dozens of dollars worth of snacks from me. She wouldn’t even eat them; she just bought them to pass around for fun. When the empty wrappers littered the floor, she’d pay me twenty bucks to sweep them up. I was incredibly hardworking back then, buzzing around the rich girl day in and day out. Honestly, most students have zero concept of money, so I made a killing. On my best days, I could clear three hundred bucks. Student money is always easier to make than real-world money. People who haven’t tasted absolute rock bottom don’t realize how important cash is. As for me? No mom, no dad. I grew up in the foster system, so I was street-smart from day one, constantly scheming on how to secure the bag. When I got to college, I grinded hard to make a living. I worked my fingers to the bone until I met Tristan. He was a trust fund baby on steroids, spent money like water, and was an absolute godsend for my wallet. What kind of guy was Tristan? A brilliant art major whose family owned a massive real estate empire. A total golden boy. How did we meet? I was a campus RA, and this was the twelfth time I’d caught him skipping class. His academic advisor looked at the attendance sheet, furious. “So what if he’s rich? Look, don’t clear his name from this list. Let the penalties stand.” Since the advisor gave the word, I kept my mouth shut and kept marking him absent. Finally, right before the holidays, he sought me out. He asked me what the deal was. I carefully replied, “I’m sorry, I don’t really have a choice here.” “If there’s no choice, invent one.” He leaned back on the sofa, looking at me with pure irritation. Later, I actually did invent a way for him. I ran around campus with the golden boy, pulled a few strings, and got the issue resolved. He was extremely satisfied with my bootlicking. Probably because he was in a good mood, and because I looked tragically broke, he casually tossed me a designer gold chain. A thirty-thousand-dollar piece of jewelry. I pledged my highest allegiance to the golden boy on the spot, texting him good morning and good night like clockwork. Then one day, he asked if I was trying to hit on him. I cautiously replied: Are you annoyed by my texts? I can stop sending them. He didn’t reply. A long time passed before a message popped up: Your name is Riley, right? Yes. (Cute cat sticker attached). You know Harper, right? The popular girl? I do. She flunked a final… Understood. I’ll ask around the registrar’s office for you over the next couple of days. Cool, thanks. Tristan truly lived up to his status. Right below that text was a Venmo transfer. Five thousand dollars. I didn’t hesitate. I accepted the money and immediately sent back a wildly grateful reaction meme. Probably because I took so much of his money in the beginning, the phrase Tristan said to me the most when we eventually started dating was: Riley, could you stop being such a gold digger? I never defended myself. After all, I was a gold digger. I kept every single dollar he transferred me. From the very start, I was never in it for him. How did Tristan and I actually start dating? It all goes back to Harper. Harper and I actually had a lot of history—same middle school, same high school, and we both got into the same university. But once college started, our majors were completely different, so we rarely spoke. If we bumped into each other, we’d say hi, but that was the extent of it. Until one night, in the dead of winter, Tristan called me. He asked if I had a ride. I said yes. He said he was wasted and couldn’t drive. He shot me a Venmo payment and told me to come pick him up. In the middle of the night, I rolled up on my beat-up e-bike. The golden boy took one look at me and couldn’t hold back a laugh. “First time I’ve ever been on a moped.” “Do you want me to call you an Uber instead?” “Nah, cars make me nauseous right now. The moped is fine. The fresh air will help.” I picked him up, but before we even got back to campus, the alcohol took over. He started crying softly, mumbling into the wind. “She rejected me… First time I’ve ever confessed to a girl… and she rejected me…” Tristan looked so incredibly pathetic in the night breeze. Eventually, he just wrapped his arms around my waist, rested his head against my back, and fell asleep. I stiffened. I was only paid for a pickup; getting treated like a body pillow cost extra. When I finally parked the bike, Tristan confessed to me. He didn’t say it out loud. He just transferred me twenty thousand dollars with the memo: Be my girlfriend. I gritted my teeth and accepted it. When I looked up, Tristan saw the transfer go through, shoved his phone into his pocket, and walked into his frat house, completely satisfied. I stood outside in the freezing wind before it finally dawned on me. The golden boy wasn’t confessing his love. He was just humiliated from being rejected, and he was using me as a rebound to stroke his ego. I stared at the balance in my banking app under the streetlights. The longer I looked, the wider I smiled. I went home and slept like a baby. I had a boyfriend, but the only person who knew was Tristan. He didn’t tell anyone, and neither did I. Occasionally, he’d Venmo me with a note: Come eat. Followed by an address. I’d happily rush over. It was great—not only did I get paid, but I also scored a free meal. Sometimes it was just the two of us. Tristan would book a private room and eat at a leisurely pace. He was used to the finer things in life, completely unhurried. He also couldn’t stand seeing me scarf down my food. If I inhaled three bites at once, he’d raise an eyebrow. “Drink some soup.” I’d take a sip from the tiny bowl, look up to make sure he was satisfied, and then get right back to devouring my meal. If it was a group dinner, I’d rein it in. I’d sit quietly, taking small, polite bites. If someone spoke to me, I’d look up, smile, and answer their questions. When they stopped asking, I went back to eating. People told me I seemed so sweet and well-behaved, telling me to make myself at home. I’d just smile and nod. As for being “well-behaved,” I really can’t judge. All I can say is, if you grew up in the foster system, you’d be just as well-behaved as me. I stayed in my lane. When my birthday rolled around, Tristan told me to come celebrate, so I went. We were on his family’s massive yacht. The ocean breeze felt incredible. I closed my eyes to make a wish. He leaned back on the lounge chair and lazily interrupted, “If you want something, just say it out loud. Why keep it in your head?” I hesitated for a second before bluntly saying, “I want a house.” Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Funny you say that. My family literally builds houses. Congrats, your wish aligns with my inventory. I’ll take you to get the deed transferred in a few days.” He leaned back, casually scrolling through his phone. He promised it so effortlessly that my heart pounded, but I didn’t dare ask if he was serious. I just cut myself a piece of cake and sat beside him. The sunset over the marina was gorgeous, and the frosting was so sweet. For a brief, crazy second, I turned my head. I wanted to kiss him. I didn’t care about the house anymore. I could always save up and buy my own eventually. In that exact moment, I just really, really wanted to kiss him. But I didn’t say a word, and I didn’t move. He kept scrolling out of sheer boredom until he played an audio message. I didn’t catch what the voice said, but he frowned immediately. “Let’s go. We’re heading back.” It was getting dark. He had an emergency and left. I grabbed a rideshare back to my dorm, only to find out that Harper had passed out from low blood sugar and was rushed to the ER. I leaned over my roommate’s shoulder and saw a photo someone had taken at the hospital. Tristan was standing right by Harper’s bed. Suddenly, I remembered the slice of cake I never finished. I stood there for a long time, finally let out a yawn, took my phone, and climbed into bed. For the next few days, Tristan was busy, and I didn’t bother texting him. It wasn’t until the day Harper got discharged that Tristan finally messaged me, inviting me out. A weekend camping trip. He sent the money, so I happily packed my little duffel bag and went. When I arrived, I realized they brought two SUVs. Exactly eight people. I was the odd ninth wheel. I froze. Everyone was already in their seats, dead silent. The awkwardness hit me like a truck, but I was already there. I couldn’t exactly turn around and walk away without making it worse. Tristan looked at me, frowned, and then glanced toward the park’s shuttle carts nearby. Harper reached out and grabbed my arm. “Come on in, we can squeeze.” There was a tiny bit of space in her row, but she had just gotten out of the hospital and clearly still looked weak. I immediately shook my head. “I’ll just take the shuttle cart! It goes to the same place.” Harper looked at me, our eyes met, and after a long silence, she finally let go of my arm. Their cars drove off. I sat alone in the pavilion. It wasn’t tourist season, so the park was completely deserted. Just me, sitting there by myself. I waited a long time before the cart finally arrived. By the time I made it to the peak, it was pretty late. The group had already started the cookout. I barely knew any of them—I’d only had dinner with them once or twice. I found a quiet corner and sat there from noon straight through the afternoon. Tristan was grilling. Occasionally, someone would hand me a skewer. The scenery was beautiful. Once I was half-full, I decided to go for a walk to look around. I told Tristan I was heading out. He seemed preoccupied with something and didn’t even look at me, just giving a dismissive grunt. The mountain air was crisp. Because of my time in the group home, I rarely got the chance to just wander in nature. I walked for almost an hour, figuring they’d be wrapping up lunch by now, so I headed back. But things didn’t go as expected. I stared at the completely empty campsite. In that split second, I realized it’s impossible for a person to not feel a little heartbroken. It was already dusk. The shuttle carts had stopped running. My only option was to walk down the mountain. The sun dipped below the horizon, and I was alone in the wilderness. Halfway down, my phone died. I kept walking in dead silence. This trail felt exactly like the road I took when I ran away from the foster home as a little kid. The same dim light, the same blurring surroundings, slowly dissolving into pitch-black, suffocating darkness. I couldn’t find my way home, and my dad wasn’t coming back for me. I looked around in sheer terror and started running. The moonlight filtered through the trees onto the dirt path. I was terrified. I screamed at the top of my lungs: “Tristan…!” The echo bounced through the mountains, sending a bone-chilling shiver down my spine. I walked for the entire night. And I was terrified for the entire night. When dawn finally broke, I found a bus driver at a transit stop who let me charge my phone. He took one look at my disheveled state and jumped. “Were you out here all night? Why didn’t you call 911?” I held up my phone. “Forgot to check the battery. It died.” “Sweetheart, you can’t come hiking all by yourself. At least bring a boyfriend or some friends!” I did bring one… or maybe, he didn’t count as one after all. “Yeah, I’ll remember that. Thanks so much, sir.” I turned my phone on to see a text Tristan had sent me last night. He said they were heading out first and told me to get home safe. I let out a bitter laugh, leaned my exhausted body against the bus window, and fell asleep. Tristan still called me out to eat every few days. One day, he apparently remembered his birthday promise. He actually transferred the deed of a condo into my name. It wasn’t massive—three bedrooms, never been lived in. For Tristan, it was probably just spare inventory he kept around for loose gifts. The day I got the deed, I was just as ecstatic as I always was about cash. I happily inspected every inch of my new little home. Tristan couldn’t understand it. “It’s just a small condo. You really like it that much?” I nodded solemnly. “You just don’t get it.” I was still the campus RA. When I didn’t have class, I’d check in for Tristan’s courses. His only demand was that if he skipped, he didn’t want to hear about any disciplinary issues. I did my job perfectly. When winter break rolled around, everyone went home for the holidays. I didn’t, because I didn’t have a home. I went to my little condo. It had basic furnishings, but not even a TV. I figured I’d buy one before New Year’s. I bumped into Tristan while browsing at an electronics store. He was out with his little sister, who looked about eight or nine. She was adorable. He clearly had no idea how to handle kids. The second he saw me, he grabbed my arm. I immediately slipped into my simp persona. “Hey, Tristan.” “Do you know how to fold origami cranes?” “Yeah.” “Teach her for a minute, I’ll Venmo you.” Say less! I nodded instantly, noticing the little girl holding a piece of paper, crying her eyes out. Hearing my voice, she handed it to me. It was just standard origami paper. I folded it up, and the little girl grabbed the paper crane and happily ran back to the play area. Tristan frowned. “It’s literally a cheap piece of paper. I don’t get why she likes it so much.” I shook my head. “It has nothing to do with money. When you love something, even the cheapest thing in the world is a treasure.” He probably didn’t expect that kind of answer from me. He gave me a look. “Buying stuff?” “Yeah, looking for a TV.” “You helped me out. Come on, I’ll pick one out for you.” Him picking it out meant he was paying. I instantly lit up. “Thank you so much!” “Yeah…” He bought me a really nice TV. Tristan and I were familiar with each other, but we were definitely miles away from being a real couple. Maybe just friends, or acquaintances with benefits. I was a junior now, twenty-one years old. I cooked myself a simple holiday dinner for one and watched the New Year’s Eve fireworks explode outside my window. The streets were filled with teenagers running around with sparklers. I grabbed the sparklers I bought, blended into the crowd, and walked down to the river to watch the show. Back in the foster home, whenever New Year’s Eve came around, we’d eat dinner early and get sent straight to bed. None of us could sleep. We’d wait for midnight. When the fireworks started going off outside, all of us kids would crowd around the tiny window to watch. First, one kid would start crying, and soon, the whole room was in tears. We were so considerate—we never cried out loud. We just stared out the window with tears streaming down our faces. We didn’t want to upset the social workers who took care of us, but man, we missed the idea of a real family. Tonight, watching the fireworks, I started crying again. Surrounded by a roaring, happy crowd, staring up at the bright sky, I laughed and wiped my tears at the same time. Someone tugged at my jacket. I looked down. It was Tristan’s little sister, Lily. She was holding a stuffed animal, her eyes wide and bright. “Origami crane lady!” “Where’s your brother, sweetie?” I asked, picking her up. “Over there.” I looked where she was pointing and saw the group. It was the same crew from the hiking trip, with Tristan standing right in the center. They bought massive, gorgeous fireworks that painted the night sky red. Their celebration was loud and spectacular, and I was lucky enough to stand at the edge and watch. I put Lily down, made sure she ran back to them safely, and then backed away into the shadows and went home. The next morning, New Year’s Day, I slept in until someone knocked on my door around noon. It was Tristan. He handed Lily over to me. “She insisted on coming to wish you a Happy New Year. Wouldn’t shut up about it.” “…” “Happy New Year, Riley!” I definitely didn’t expect anyone to visit me for the holidays. I dug around frantically until I found a decorative envelope and stubbornly stuffed a twenty-dollar bill in it for her. Before they even left, there was another knock on the door. Busy morning. I opened the door and was immediately tackled in a bear hug. “Riley! Did you miss me?! I missed you so much!” The young guy hugged me so tight he was basically hanging off me. I fought for my life to push him away. “Noah, let go of me…” “No way…” “Ahem… we have company…” Noah finally let go. He looked at Tristan holding a little girl in my living room, processed the scene, and stared at me in pure horror. “Riley, please don’t tell me you sold out to become some rich guy’s stepmom?” “?” Are you out of your mind? Do I look like that kind of person? “Do I look that old?” Tristan was the one who broke the silence. Noah secretly rolled his eyes and whispered to me, “Who is this guy? Giving orders like he’s your dad.” “Wow…” “He’s my friend, Tristan. This is his sister, Lily. And this is my brother from another mother, Noah.” Noah pouted. “Why do I have to be your brother? Can’t I be your boy toy?” “No. I don’t date younger guys.” “Tch. Tastes can change. Whatever, I’ll take the hit, you can call me ‘babe’—wait, Riley, don’t walk away! What’s for lunch? I was on a Greyhound bus all night, I’m starving…” “Go sit at the table. Three minutes. The microwave is going, I’ll bring it to you.” “No, you always burn your hands on those plates. I’ll get it.” “You’re gonna burn your hands too.” “That’s different, it’s my hands.” “Get out! Get out! I bought oven mitts.” Tristan stood by the kitchen watching us bicker for a moment before finally picking up his sister and leaving. After eating, Noah happily crashed in my bedroom. I hadn’t bought a guest mattress yet, so my room was the only one set up. I honestly didn’t expect Noah to show up. Our colleges were on opposite sides of the country. Just getting here required three transfers, and holiday tickets were impossible to find. Whenever we called, he always said he couldn’t make it. Even when I called him yesterday, he said everything was sold out. But on New Year’s Day, there he was. I hadn’t seen him in three years. He had changed so much—gotten so much taller—but the second I saw him, he was still exactly the same kid I knew. A lot of big box stores were open on New Year’s Day. I went out and dropped nearly two grand on a high-end mattress, a luxury comforter, and hypoallergenic sheets. My wallet was screaming in pain, but Noah’s bedding had to be top-tier. He had incredibly sensitive skin and severe allergies. I still remember his first day at the foster home; they put him in the bed next to mine and told me to keep an eye on him. By midnight, he was covered in hives. I woke up, saw his swollen face, panicked, and carried him outside. The clinic doctor said he was allergic to the cheap detergent on the blankets and had almost gone into anaphylactic shock. After that, Noah had his own special blankets that nobody else was allowed to touch. I was the only exception, because he was just a kid and didn’t know how to do laundry yet. Ever since the night I rushed him to the clinic, he clung to me. He was allergic to everything, but somehow, he wasn’t allergic to me. He was like superglue, always trying to stick himself to my side. When he was a little kid, it was easy to carry him around. Now, he was six-foot-two. Hanging off me was just a liability. Noah finally woke up around 8 PM. Still half-asleep, he stumbled out to find me, and instinctively tried to hug me again. I shoved him away, and he finally snapped out of it. “Evening, Riley.” “Go heat up your dinner. Use the oven mitts. Your room is set up down the hall.” “Riley, do you wanna check my suitcase?” “Huh?” “I brought you a present.” Suspicious, I unzipped his bag. It wasn’t big, but sitting perfectly inside was a massive bouquet of roses. “Happy New Year, Riley!” I stared at the flowers. “Happy New Year.” “There’s a debit card hidden in the bouquet. The pin is your birthday…” “Noah.” “Yeah?” “You don’t need to do this.” “You have to take it. Maybe this means nothing to you, but it means everything to me. Not just because I love you, but because I want to actually provide for you. Even if you end up marrying someone else one day, or decide to live completely alone, you can’t reject this. If you won’t let me be your husband, I’ll be your safety net. “Riley, the reason I never visited all these years… I was broke. I didn’t have the right to say any of this without capital. I was too ashamed to see you. But today, I finally can. It’s been years. I missed you so damn much.” “Get out of here! Go eat your food and take your dramatic flowers to your room.” “No, I’m hungry. Don’t cry, you’re ruining the moment.” “Who’s crying? I just have overactive tear ducts! I cry easily, that’s all…” Noah stayed with me for a while. I took him shopping for some new clothes. Most of his clothes had to be specifically tailored from organic cotton. Not to flex, but because his immune system was practically aristocratic. Compared to anyone else, this kid was the real high-maintenance diva. It was the seventh time this month I bumped into Tristan while running errands. At this point, it was basically routine. He looked at me, his face much darker than usual. Noah couldn’t stand him. The second he saw Tristan, he started roasting him. “Does he know how to do anything besides scowl? Riley, how much money do you owe him? Honestly, I’ll sell a kidney to pay him back. Looking at his miserable face every day is a health hazard.” “Shut up. He gave me a condo. The one we’re living in.” “Huh? Just that? We could pool our cash and afford that. Just give it back to him!” “You shut up! I earned this condo. I had to go to a camping trip with his rich brat friends and ended up walking down a pitch-black mountain all night by myself. This is my hazard pay.” “Riley, that’s messed up. Just wait. The startup I launched with my buddies is actually taking off. Once I make real money, I’ll buy you ten condos. Go to grad school! I’ll move out here to be with you. If my friends ask why I moved, I’ll tell them I’m a sugar daddy for a grad student. Sounds amazing.” “Get out…” Tristan watched us whispering with our heads practically glued together, his brow furrowing deeper. “Why do you two need to stand so close to talk?” Noah muttered under his breath, “Talking trash about you.” But then he looked up and flashed a brilliant, fake smile. “Tristan, man! I’m heading out soon, so I need you to look after Riley for me. She gets spooked easily. Things like leaving her to walk down a pitch-black mountain by herself… let’s try to avoid that in the future. She’s just a girl, she was terrified…” Tristan froze. “When did I ever make her…” He stopped mid-sentence and locked eyes with me. I immediately looked at the floor. I didn’t tell him, wasn’t me.

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I awakened to the truth right before my arranged marriage with the male lead. After being drugged, I didn’t push open his hotel room door. Instead, gritting my teeth, I shoved open my stepbrother’s door. Under his stunned gaze, I pinned him against the door, kissed his earlobe, and whispered against his skin, “Please, save me.” I decided to go off-script. I wasn’t going to marry the male lead over some orchestrated accident, only to get divorced later because of another woman. I wasn’t going to waste years entangled with him, nearly losing my life in the process, just to have a toxic “happily ever after.” This time, I was going to hold onto the man who would give up his own life for me, even if he refused to say the words “I love you.” At the wrap party celebrating my Best Actress win, a single glass of wine sent my head spinning. I opted to leave early and head back to my hotel room to rest. Right before I pushed open Carter’s door, a flood of memories and scenes I had never actually lived flashed through my mind. I awakened to reality: I was the female lead in a toxic, angsty romance novel where the guy treats the girl like trash before finally begging for her back. The spiked drink tonight was a setup to get me into the director’s room, framing me for sleeping my way to the top and securing my award through the casting couch. In the original plot, I stumbled into the wrong room—Carter’s room. The next morning, a swarm of paparazzi would burst in, snapping photos of our one-night stand. To save face, Carter would be forced to put his arm around me and announce to the press that we had been secretly dating and were planning to get married. He would marry me, but in his heart, I’d always be the scheming woman who used dirty tricks to trap him into marriage. Because of that, the second we were married, he would slap a prenup and divorce papers in front of me to sign. The marriage would have a three-year expiration date. After three years, we’d divorce, and I’d get a ten-million-dollar alimony payout. He would repeatedly warn me not to catch real feelings during our sham marriage. But as the tragic female lead, I had already fallen hard for him long before this incident, all because he helped me out once in the past. Faced with his coldness, I foolishly hoped he’d change his mind, especially after I got pregnant from that one night. When I hinted at it, asking what he would do if I were pregnant, he ruthlessly told me to get an abortion. Later, when his childhood sweetheart and I were kidnapped together, he wouldn’t hesitate for a second—he’d choose to save her, leaving me alone on a burning yacht. I would fall into the ocean, my fate unknown. I’d end up stranded overseas, secretly giving birth to his child. Five years later, I would return to the States, determined to get justice. After my supposed death, he would finally realize his “true feelings” for me. He’d search frantically, throwing away business deals just to cross paths with me again. He’d uncover the truth about the spiked drink and confess that I was the one he truly loved. Eventually, after he took a knife for me from his deranged childhood sweetheart and ended up in the ICU, I’d soften, forgive him, and accept his proposal. The sweetheart would go to prison, and we’d have a grand vow renewal. What an absurd, pathetic storyline. Why should I ever look back at a man who put me through absolute hell? I was going to rewrite the script and sever all ties with Carter. This time, standing in front of the door I was supposed to open, I gritted my teeth and forced myself to walk a few steps further. Just as I was about to reach my own room, my legs gave out, and I crashed into another door. The moment the door opened, I froze. Standing there was Caleb, my stepbrother. I hadn’t seen him in seven years. He was wearing a bathrobe, the collar slightly parted. Droplets of water from his damp hair trailed down his chest. He wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses now, making him look far more aristocratic and aloof than he did at eighteen. He looked even more unapproachable now, radiating a cold, restrained energy that was completely intoxicating. Thanks to whatever was in my system, I was feeling a lot bolder than usual. Normally, I’d be slightly intimidated by him and would never dare to do what I did next—I shoved him backward, pinning him against the door. He looked down at me and reached out to feel my forehead. “Are you drunk?” The last thread of my rationality completely snapped. His hand felt so incredibly cool against my burning skin. I leaned in and haphazardly kissed his earlobe, whispering against his skin, “Please, save me.” I watched the tips of his ears turn a furious shade of red, a stark contrast to his usual stoic, ascetic expression. A second later, he scooped me up into his arms and carried me inside. But instead of the bed, he headed straight for the bathroom. Oh wow, going straight for the shower play… He turned on the showerhead, and freezing cold water instantly drenched my entire body. He looked away, his voice ice-cold. “Are you sober now? What kind of game are you playing this time?” Crap. I forgot. The first two years after he returned from abroad were when our relationship was at its absolute worst. He couldn’t stand seeing me act like a pathetic doormat for Carter, so he always gave me the cold shoulder. And ever since I joined his family, I felt like Caleb and I were natural enemies. I never had a nice word to say to him, thinking he was just my stepbrother who had no right to boss me around, so I constantly pulled pranks on him. It was completely normal for him not to trust me right now. I looked at his soaked torso, his bathrobe pulled halfway open by my grabbing hands, and closed my eyes. “I was roofied. Please get me a doctor.” When he heard I was drugged, his head snapped back toward me, his eyes dropping to freezing temperatures. “Who did this?” “I don’t know.” I paused, looking at his face, then took a deep breath and gritted my teeth. “Now get out.” I was barely holding it together. He let out a self-deprecating chuckle, muttered a quiet, “No wonder,” and stepped out of the bathroom. Caleb found a female concierge doctor who hooked me up to an IV. Finally, the heat in my blood subsided. The next morning, the paparazzi arrived right on schedule. But when the hotel door burst open, the cameras caught Carter in bed with his childhood sweetheart, Ashley. I guess she got exactly what she wanted. All these years, Carter had never really gotten over Ashley. She was his first love. Back in the day, his prominent family forced them to break up. The reason was cliché: Ashley came from a working-class background, and the wealthy family didn’t think she was good enough. She was smart about it. Instead of fighting a losing battle, she took the initiative to leave. She refused the buyout money his mother offered, smoothly handed the audio recording of the threat over to Carter, broke up with him on the spot, and flew overseas to build her acting career. She understood the toxic male ego perfectly: men always obsess over what they can’t have. So for years, Carter never forgot her. The second she returned to the States, his eyes were glued to her, clearly signaling he wanted her back. Behind the scenes, Ashley constantly provoked me, trying to make me lose my temper in front of Carter while simultaneously stringing him along. This time, she probably panicked because rumors of a corporate merger and arranged marriage between my family and Carter’s were leaking to the press. She wanted to kill two birds with one stone. She was the one who spiked the drinks last night, taking the same drug herself. The substance metabolized quickly in the bloodstream, leaving no trace for a tox screen. That was why I told Caleb I didn’t know who did it—without proof, pointing fingers was useless. In the original timeline, the truth only came out much later when she completely lost her mind and confessed. Besides, I didn’t want Caleb fighting my battles. I wanted to destroy her myself. “Are Mr. Carter and Ms. Ashley rekindling their romance?” a reporter shouted. “What kind of question is that? Look at them—the real question is, when’s the wedding?” “Could you two give a statement on your current situation?” Ashley played the shy, victimized card, pulling the duvet over herself and refusing to speak. All eyes darted to Carter, but he didn’t immediately confirm their relationship. Instead, his eyes were locked onto me, standing in the hallway, watching the drama unfold. Following his gaze, the paparazzi spotted me. A few reporters practically sprinted over, their eyes gleaming with the promise of drama. “Chloe, did you know about them? What are your thoughts?” I casually tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and smiled gently. “I wish them the best on rekindling their spark. They should totally lock it down.” The second the words left my mouth, a stunned silence fell over the hallway. “Chloe, there’s no need to pretend you’re fine. Everyone knows your history with Carter.” It was true—everyone knew the wealthy socialite Chloe was psychotically obsessed with Carter. For him, I got into underground street racing and ended up with a broken leg that took six months to heal. For him, I got into a fistfight that landed me in a police precinct. I even joined the entertainment industry purely because he once offhandedly mentioned he liked watching movies and would probably date an actress one day. I knew full well that comment was aimed at his ex, Ashley, but I blindly dove into Hollywood anyway. Even after his ex returned, I shamelessly clung to him. Despite being an A-list actress, my fans endlessly roasted me online for being a desperate “pick-me,” but I never changed. So, it was impossible for me to just casually wish them well. “In the past, I was blinded by my own stupidity. My brain was basically mush,” I said breezily. “But that’s all in the past. I have new priorities now. They’re a perfect match, and I hope they stay together forever.” Carter’s face darkened terrifyingly. Instead of announcing his reunion with Ashley like I expected, he snatched a microphone from a reporter, slammed it into the floor, and roared, “Get the hell out! All of you, get out!” With the show over, I turned around and headed back to my room. As I turned, I saw Caleb standing nearby, his brows furrowed as he stared at me. Once we were inside my room, he spoke. “If it hurts, just cry. I won’t laugh at you.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. He genuinely thought I was heartbroken over Carter and was just putting on a brave face for the cameras. A mischievous urge took over, and I threw myself into his arms. “I’m so heartbroken! My chest physically hurts. I gave up so much for him… why won’t he just love me?” Caleb went entirely rigid, his voice tight with a hoarse, bitter edge. “Do you really love him that much?” Seeing him like that, I couldn’t bear to tease him anymore. In the past, I used to think he was just after my family’s wealth, which was why he always tried to manage my life and play the responsible older brother. Whenever we were in the same room, I was usually mocking him. I mocked him for shamelessly following his mother to marry into my wealthy family. I mocked him, calling him a gold-digging freeloader who would do anything for cash. I constantly told him to drop the fake “caring brother” act. That is, until I was trapped on that yacht. When the fire raged and I was abandoned to the flames, I thought I was dead. But Caleb charged in from the outside. To protect me from the flames, he shielded me with his own body. Half of his face was severely burned, and a collapsing steel beam crushed his leg, leaving him with a permanent limp. After that, he only dared to protect me from the shadows. He secretly paid for my directing classes overseas, wrote me anonymous letters encouraging me to become a famous director, and helped me return home in triumph. When his wounds got infected in the hospital, he held a photo of me, whispering quietly to himself, asking if I really hated him that much. He said his scars were too terrifying now, and he didn’t even dare to show his face to me. He wanted me to remember him the way he was before—handsome and whole. When he died, he left his entire estate to me, never once mentioning that he loved me. I looked up into his eyes and told him with absolute sincerity, “Starting today, I don’t love him anymore. I am completely over Carter.” He froze for a second. Then he lifted a hand, gently wiping away the fake tear on my cheek, and spoke in a strained voice. “You don’t have to put on a brave face to lie to me. If you can’t drop the act around me, I’ll leave. I’ll have your friend come keep you company.” “I’m not lying!” “I get it. Brooke should be here soon.” He pulled my hands away and walked out with long strides. Damn it. I only fake-cried because I felt terrible remembering how painfully he repressed his love for me in the original timeline. Now he totally misunderstood. By the time my best friend Brooke arrived, I was downing shots out of frustration. “Wow, the great socialite Chloe is actually day-drinking over a piece of trash?” “I am not drinking over that idiot Carter.” I guess I was a little too blunt, because Brooke actually looked up at the ceiling in shock. “Is the sky falling? You actually insulted him? In the past, if I said a single bad word about him, you’d rip my head off and remind me he was your savior.” Carter had saved me once. I was walking home late at night and realized I was being followed into an alley. He happened to be there and scared the creep away. I had begged for his help, and he put his arm around me, pretending to be my boyfriend, forcing the stalker to back off. He probably didn’t even remember it, but it was seared into my brain. The moment I saw him on the cover of Forbes, I did everything in my power to get close to him. Honestly, everything I’d done for him over the years had more than repaid that debt. But I kept acting like a brain-dead simp, constantly offering myself up to get hurt. What a garbage plotline. “That’s ancient history,” I said. “Right now, I want to chase Caleb. But he keeps thinking I’m trying to prank him.” “It’s just the two of us here, you can drop the act. Haven’t you tortured the poor guy enough since we were kids? You really want to play mind games and break his heart now? Honestly, you don’t even need to try…” She trailed off abruptly. I raised an eyebrow. “Why’d you stop?” “He’s been hopelessly devoted to you for years. If you really want to mess with him, find another way. Watching you obsess over another man has been pure torture for him. He’s suffered enough.” So his feelings for me were blatantly obvious to everyone else, and I was the only idiot who hadn’t noticed. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” “I couldn’t even mention either of their names around you! One was your untouchable god, and the other was your mortal enemy. The second I brought Caleb up, you’d rant about how much you hated him. Years ago, just because you threw a tantrum and said you didn’t want to see his face in your house, he instantly packed his bags, went to college overseas, and built his own empire. He only came back this time because he has domestic corporate mergers to handle.” Back then, the year after my mom passed away, sixteen-year-old Caleb and his mother moved into my family’s estate. I blamed my dad for my mom’s death. I thought he didn’t care about her enough, which drove her to swallow a bottle of pills. While she was dying in the ER, he was away on a business trip and didn’t even make it back in time to say goodbye. And yet, so shortly after, he brought home a new woman—who was supposedly his first love. Because of that, I looked at Caleb with pure hatred. Even though he and his mom constantly tolerated my awful behavior. Once, when kids at my prep school mocked me for being motherless, Caleb actually threw punches for me. He told them I had a mom, and that his mother was mine too. I looked at him with pure disgust and told him they didn’t deserve to be my family. He would always quietly trail behind me, making sure I got home safe. But I kept relentlessly targeting him. I even went so far as to intentionally cut my own leg on a glass sculpture he made, just so I could frame him for it. Looking at my bleeding leg, he asked me in a dazed voice, “Do you really hate seeing me that much?” Back then, I was paranoid and obsessed with the idea that they were here to steal my father. I glared at him with hateful eyes. “Yes. I’m sick of your fake, hypocritical faces. You act like you care about me, but you’re just trying to push me out of this family.” “I’ll leave.” He immediately filed the paperwork for an overseas boarding school and never stepped foot in the house again. It was only after he left the country that I ended up being stalked and saved by Carter. I only found out the truth about my mom’s death much later. It had nothing to do with my dad being distant. She just never loved him. She manipulated him into traveling constantly because she was planning to run away with her high school sweetheart. When her lover died in a car crash on his way to get her, she couldn’t cope and took her own life. My dad had kept her ugly secret hidden, quietly enduring my misplaced hatred all those years. He and Caleb’s mom had only reconnected by chance long after my mom’s funeral. “What does he even see in me? I’ve basically been the evil stepsister in his life story,” I muttered. “You’d have to ask him,” Brooke said. “You want to chase him? Didn’t you just get an offer for that celebrity dating reality show? The one you were going to turn down? Don’t turn it down. Go on the show. And try to get him cast too. Let’s see how long he can keep up the stoic act.”

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When I opened my eyes again, the world was no longer white, sterile, and smelling of industrial bleach. I was back in my first year of grad school. In the dim light of the stairwell, Beth was hunched over, her eyes rimmed with red, her knuckles white as she gripped a tuition past-due notice. In my first life, I had found her here, sobbing because she couldn’t afford the semester. I had handed over five thousand dollars—every cent I’d clawed together from late-night tutoring and skipping meals. She had clung to me then, her voice thick with tears, swearing I was the most important person in her life. But by graduation, my senior thesis data had vanished into thin air. A week later, Beth published a paper with the exact same findings, claiming lead authorship. She didn’t stop there—she married our department head, Dr. Whitaker. When I confronted her, she simply leaned into his arm, looked at me with pity, and told the board I was “unstable.” She said I had “persecutory delusions.” That was how they dragged me to the psychiatric ward. For three years, I lived in a fog of sedatives, my veins hardening from the injections, until I finally died in a bed that wasn’t mine. 1 Beth sat on the concrete step, her shoulders shaking with rhythmic sobs. The notice was a crumpled ball in her hand, then smoothed out, then crushed again. I stood over her, the five thousand dollars I’d just withdrawn from the bank heavy in my pocket. In my last life, I didn’t hesitate. I’d pressed the cash into her palms like a lifeline. This life, I just watched her cry. All I could see was that hospital bed. The peeling white ceiling. The needle marks mapping my forearms. I could still feel the phantom chill of the sedatives turning my blood into lead. Beth looked up, tears snagged in her lashes, her lip trembling. “Julie, I’m tapped out. My mom’s medical bills… the house… we just don’t have it. If I don’t pay this by Friday, I’m out of the program. I’ll have to go back home.” I knelt down, but I only pulled one thousand dollars from my pocket. I laid the bills across her knee. Beth froze. She looked at the stack, then at me. “Take this for now,” I said, my voice steady. “For the rest, I’ll help you talk to the department. There are work-study positions available. If you apply, you won’t have to pay it all back at once, and you won’t owe me nearly as much.” Beth stared at the money. She didn’t move. “Is… is this it?” “One thousand is a lot, Beth. I make fifteen an hour tutoring. It took me months to save this.” I pulled a sheet of paper and a pen from my bag. “Write me a promissory note. It’s not that I don’t trust you—it’s just a habit I’m trying to start. For my own records.” Beth took the pen. Her fingers hitched for a fraction of a second. Then she smiled. It was a smile I knew too well—the corners of her mouth went up, but her eyes remained cold and flat. “Right. Of course. You’re being so sweet.” She scribbled the note and handed it back. I folded it carefully and tucked it into the hidden inner pocket of my backpack. On the walk back to the dorms, she looped her arm through mine. Her voice was still watery. “Julie, thank you. Seriously. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. You’re my sister.” “Mhm,” I murmured. You said that last time, too, I thought. Right before you locked me in a cage. I didn’t sleep that night. Once Beth’s breathing turned heavy and even, I crawled out of bed and opened my laptop. I exported every single byte of my experimental data. One copy to a private cloud. One copy to an encrypted Dropbox. One copy in a password-protected zip file sent to a burner email address. Finally, I sent a summary to my primary email with the subject: Thesis Progress Backup – Oct 17. Three locations. Three different, complex passwords. I watched the “Upload Complete” checkmark flicker on the screen and shut the laptop. Outside, the hallway light was buzzing, flickering in the dark. Beth rolled over in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent. The next morning at the lab meeting, our advisor, Dr. Whitaker, called for progress reports. He was forty-one, perpetually single, wore gold-rimmed glasses, and spoke with a slow, measured condescension that people mistook for wisdom. In my first life, I thought he was a visionary. Now I knew the truth: he was a weak man, easily swayed by a woman who knew how to play the victim. When it was Beth’s turn, she stood up. Her voice was thin. She got two sentences in before her voice cracked. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Whitaker. I’ve had some… family emergencies. My progress is a bit behind where I wanted it to be.” Whitaker pushed his glasses up his nose, his tone softening instantly. “It’s alright, Beth. If you’re struggling, talk to me. You don’t have to carry the weight of the world alone.” Beth nodded, dabbing at her eyes as she sat down. The other PhD candidates in the room shifted, their expressions full of easy sympathy. Then it was my turn. I flipped the slide to the third page and began detailing the data I’d pulled that week. Whitaker cut me off halfway through. “What’s the basis for this variable? Did you check the literature?” “Dr. Thompson’s 2019 paper, and the MIT study from last spring—” “Are you sure? I recall the MIT findings being inconsistent with your trajectory.” I rattled off the DOI numbers and the specific methodology citations. Whitaker scrolled through his tablet, silent for a long moment. “…Fine. Keep running it.” After the meeting, Beth sidled up to me. “Julie, that experimental design was actually really clever. Do you think you could send me the slides? I want to learn from how you structured the variables.” I pulled my thumb drive from the port and dropped it into my pocket. “Once I’ve cleaned up the formatting, I’ll send it over.” I never sent it. She asked again a week later. I told her I’d forgotten. She didn’t ask a third time. But that night in the dorm, as she lay on the top bunk, she spoke into the darkness. “Julie? Are you mad at me?” “No. Why?” “I don’t know. You just… feel different lately.” I pulled the duvet up to my chin. “Just tired, Beth. The lab is a grind. Don’t overthink it.” There was a long silence. “Oh. Okay. Goodnight.” “Night.” I lay there with my eyes open, listening to her toss and turn above me. Different? Of course I was different. The Julie she knew had died on day 1,087 in the psych ward. 2 The weeks blurred into a focused, rhythmic haze. I lived in the lab. Every time a result came in, I synced it across my backups. I sent myself a weekly email log. My lab notebook never left my sight; I took it to the cafeteria, the gym, even the bathroom. Beth, meanwhile, began cultivating her “tribe.” She started bringing lattes to the lab—one for everyone, except me. She didn’t “forget.” She would count heads right in front of me. “One, two, three… okay, that’s everyone who asked,” she’d say, then turn on her heel. Hannah, a senior student, walked over with her cup, whispering, “Did you and Beth have a falling out?” “No,” I said. “Then why—” “Maybe she’s just stressed.” Hannah looked at me skeptically but let it drop. In mid-November, I was in the campus restroom when I heard voices in the stalls. “Julie is just… she’s getting paranoid,” Beth’s voice echoed against the tile. “She locks everything. She carries that notebook like it’s the Holy Grail. Who does that? It’s not normal.” “Wait, really?” That was Kaitlyn, a junior. “That sounds a bit intense.” “I live with her, Kaitlyn. I see it every night. She wouldn’t even share a basic PowerPoint with me. I just wanted to learn, and she acted like I was trying to rob her. It’s honestly kind of scary.” The sound of the running faucet drowned out my footsteps. I dried my hands, looked at my reflection—colder, sharper than before—and pushed the door open. Kaitlyn was just coming out of a stall. Her face went beet-red. “J-Julie…” “The dispenser is out of paper towels,” I said calmly. “You might want to let maintenance know.” I walked out. From that day on, the atmosphere in the lab shifted. When I spoke during group sessions, no one followed up. When the group went to lunch, they didn’t look my way. I’d walk into the breakroom and the conversation would die like a snuffed candle. I saw Kaitlyn whispering to another girl as I walked by with my backpack. “See? She’s got the notebook. Everywhere. Isn’t that a bit much?” I filled my water bottle and kept walking. In early December, Whitaker called me into his office. He sat behind his mahogany desk, fingers interlaced. “Julie, I’ve been hearing some concerning reports about your lack of collaboration.” “Concerning how, exactly?” “Data sharing. Literature discussions. You seem to be isolating yourself from the team.” “My data is in a critical phase. Once it’s ready for publication, I’ll be happy to share.” Whitaker adjusted his glasses. “Academia requires an open mind, Julie. You can’t produce world-class work in a vacuum.” “Dr. Whitaker, you’ve seen my progress. The trends are excellent—” “I know,” he snapped. “But a good project doesn’t excuse a toxic personality. This lab is a team. Do you understand?” I gripped my notebook through the fabric of my bag. I said nothing. “Fine. Go back to work. Think about what I said.” As I opened the door, I ran into Beth. She was carrying a steaming cup of coffee. She blinked, surprised to see me, then offered a small, sympathetic smile. “Julie? Did the meeting go okay?” I brushed past her without a word. Behind me, I heard her soft knock. “Dr. Whitaker? I brought you an Americano. I saw your light was still on and figured you were pulling another late one.” Whitaker’s voice drifted through the closing door, ten times softer than it had been with me. “You’re too kind, Beth. Come in, sit down.” I walked faster. Back at my desk, I opened my laptop. Thirty-two backup emails sat in my inbox, each with a clear, unforgeable timestamp. I opened the latest one. Three control groups. Perfect results. The project was six months away from being a breakthrough. In my last life, Beth’s name was on the header of that breakthrough. Not this time. I closed the email and opened a new document. Title: Beth – Loan and Repayment Log. She hadn’t paid back a single cent. I saved the document, synced it to three clouds, and shut my eyes. From the top bunk, Beth’s voice drifted down. “Julie?” “Yeah.” “What do you think of Dr. Whitaker? As a person, I mean.” “He’s an advisor. Does it matter if he’s a good person?” Beth let out a small, airy laugh. “I guess not. Goodnight.” I didn’t say it back. I stared at the ceiling and counted to three hundred until her breathing leveled out. Then I rolled over, pressing my notebook under my pillow. 3 By spring, Beth’s “assistance” to Whitaker was undeniable. Mondays, she organized his desk. Wednesdays, she picked up his dry cleaning. Fridays, she handled his administrative filings. Weekends… she started going to his condo to “help with his organization.” The lab saw it. No one said anything. Except Hannah, who caught me in the breakroom once. “Is Beth… going a little overboard?” I shook my head. “None of my business.” “But she’s—” “Hannah, just focus on your own thesis.” Hannah looked at me for a few seconds, sighed, and walked away. In late March, I submitted my grant application for the next phase of testing. Two weeks went by. Nothing. Four weeks. Silence. I went to Whitaker’s office. “Dr. Whitaker, my grant application has been sitting in ‘pending’ for a month.” “I’m still reviewing the direction of your project,” he said, not looking up. “There’s no rush.” “But the reagents are going to—” “I said there’s no rush.” As I walked out, I saw Beth’s grant approval posted on the department bulletin board. Submission date: March 28th. Approval date: March 31st. Three days. My application had been rotting in his drawer for a month, but hers took seventy-two hours. I stood in front of that board for a long time. A junior student walked past, murmuring, “Still looking at that, Julie? Beth’s research direction is just really solid, I guess.” I didn’t answer. In April, my funding finally came through. It was a third less than what I’d asked for. I didn’t argue. I took two thousand dollars of my own savings to bridge the gap. The experiment couldn’t stop. By May, the core data began to finalize. All three control groups were yielding results that were even better than I’d hoped. I immediately synced them to my three clouds. I sent myself two emails—one with the attachment, one with just the raw findings and the date. Then, I opened my physical lab notebook. I copied the data in my neatest handwriting. Then I paused. I flipped to the back of the notebook. I wrote out a second set of data. This set was nearly identical to the real one, with one tiny, fatal flaw: in the third control group, I changed the p-value from 0.003 to 0.03. A single decimal point. To an untrained eye, or even a tired one, it looked fine. But anyone who actually understood the research would know that a p-value of 0.03 meant the results weren’t statistically significant. The entire conclusion would fall apart. I marked those pages with a sticky note: FOR VERIFICATION. Then, I closed the book and left it on my desk. Usually, it went everywhere with me. Today, I left it right there, in plain sight. Before heading to the cafeteria, I adjusted my desk lamp. I tucked a single strand of my hair under the base of the lamp. When I returned forty-five minutes later, the lamp had been moved two centimeters. The hair was gone. The notebook was exactly where I’d left it, but the sticky note had been moved by one page. I sat down, said nothing, and started typing my draft. Late that night, I stopped by the security office on my way out. The guard was scrolling through his phone. “Hey, I think I dropped my ID card in the building earlier. Could you help me check the footage to see if anyone picked it up?” “Which floor?” “Third.” “Let’s take a look.” He pulled up the playback. 6:32 PM: I leave the lab for dinner. 6:41 PM: Beth enters the lab. She walks straight to my desk. She looks around, then opens my notebook. She flips to the back—to the “bait” data. She pulls out her phone. Snap. Snap. Snap. She closes the book, replaces it perfectly, and leaves. The whole thing took less than three hundred seconds. The guard looked up. “See your ID?” “Oh, no. Must have dropped it outside. Thanks anyway.” “No problem.” I walked into the stairwell and stood in the dark. The motion-sensor lights stayed off because I wasn’t moving. I leaned against the wall and smiled. Okay, Beth. You took the bait. 4 From June to September, I waited. I waited for Beth to write her paper using that poisoned data. I waited for her to commit. I did nothing but run my own experiments and give my usual, lukewarm updates to Whitaker. His attitude remained cold. His attitude toward Beth remained… indulgent. In late September, Beth took a week off, saying she was visiting her mother. I was at the lab printer when I saw a discarded page in the recycling bin. It was a Table of Contents for a manuscript. The title was nearly identical to my research. Lead Author: Beth Miller. Corresponding Author: Dr. Richard Whitaker. I folded the paper and put it in my bag. I scanned it, uploaded it, and emailed it to myself. Mid-October, Beth’s paper was published. It landed in a high-impact journal. The lab was buzzing. During our weekly meeting, Whitaker stood up and singled her out. “Beth’s work is a testament to clarity and drive. She is quite possibly the most brilliant student I’ve had the pleasure of mentoring in years.” Beth stood up, blushing, looking modest. “I couldn’t have done it without Dr. Whitaker’s guidance.” The look they exchanged was one everyone in the room understood. After the meeting, I sat at my desk and downloaded her paper. I read every word. The methodology, the framework—it was mine. I scrolled to Section Three: Results and Analysis. Third control group: p=0.03. She hadn’t even caught it. She’d copied the error, character for character. I closed my laptop and exhaled. Game on. One week later, the University Academic Integrity Committee received an anonymous tip. The tip didn’t target Beth. It targeted me. The report claimed that I, Julie, had been spying on Beth’s research, stealing her ideas, and making “hostile remarks” about her in private. Attached were five “witness statements” from my lab mates. Kaitlyn wrote: Julie was always trying to look at Beth’s screen. A junior named Mark wrote: Julie told me Beth’s data was ‘fake’ to try and discredit her. Each statement was a half-truth or a fabrication, woven together to create a portrait of a jealous, unstable girl. The committee launched an investigation. I was placed on administrative leave. My keycard was confiscated. Whitaker held a lab meeting without naming me, but his message was clear: “Academic dishonesty is a red line. Anyone who crosses it is dead to this profession.” The room looked at me. No one spoke up. Hannah kept her head down, flipping through her notes. That afternoon, the university’s anonymous message board exploded. [LEAK: Grad student in the Bio-Sciences caught stealing roommate’s thesis] The thread was vicious. “Kick the academic trash out.” “Imagine stealing from the girl who literally helped you pay tuition.” “I heard she’s a total psycho. A real backstabber.” The last comment had the most upvotes. I shut down the forum. My phone rang. It was my mother. “Honey,” her voice was trembling. “Tell me the truth. Did you… is what they’re saying true?” I gripped the phone. “No, Mom. I didn’t do it.” Silence. “Then… then you have to explain it to them. You have to make them listen.” “I will.” I sat on the edge of my dorm bed. Beth wasn’t there. She’d been staying “out”—likely at Whitaker’s condo. I looked at my hands. In my first life, I would have broken here. I would have run to Whitaker crying, tried to explain it to the committee, sounding more guilty with every desperate word. And then Beth would have started “worrying” about my mental health. Not this time. I set my phone to Do Not Disturb and opened my evidence folder. The next day, Beth came back to the dorm to pack a bag. She saw me at my desk, hesitated, and then sat down across from me. “Julie.” “Mhm.” “How are you… holding up?” “I’m fine.” “I heard about the investigation. I don’t even know what to say. I just think the pressure got to you.” She reached out and put her hand over mine. Her skin was cool. “Maybe you should see someone? The campus clinic has great counselors. I can make an appointment for you.” I looked at her hand. Perfectly manicured. A small bite mark on her middle finger—a nervous habit she had when she was lying. In my last life, this was the hand that signed my commitment papers. “I don’t need a counselor,” I said, pulling my hand away. “I’m perfectly sane.” Beth sighed. “Julie, don’t bottle it up. I’m really worried about you. I’m afraid you’ll do something… drastic.” I looked her in the eye. “Beth.” “Yeah?” “When are you going to pay me back that thousand dollars?” Her face stiffened for a heartbeat. Then she smiled. “See? This is what I mean. You’re fixating on money. It’s not a normal way to react to all of this. You really need help, Julie.” She grabbed her things and left. As the door clicked shut, I heard her pick up her phone in the hallway. “Dr. Whitaker? Yeah, she’s getting worse… she said some really strange things… I’m scared, Richard. What do we do?” Her voice faded as she hit the stairs. I opened my laptop and logged the time and content of the conversation. Save. Sync. Email. The hearing was set for Wednesday. I made one more call. “Hi, is this the Facilities and Security office? I’d like to request a formal backup of the hallway footage from the Science Building. May 17th. Yes, I have the case number from the Dean’s office.”

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The digital clock on the dashboard flickered: 2:47 AM. My son, Toby, was burning up, his small body trembling against mine as I sprinted toward the Emergency Room entrance. The hospital was a vacuum of fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptic. As the nurse drew his blood, Toby’s screams tore through the sterile air, raw and jagged. The nurse, a woman with kind eyes, leaned in close, whispering that if he was a brave boy, Mommy would get him a special surprise afterward. Toby’s tear-filled eyes instantly cleared. He tugged at the hem of my sweater, his voice small but insistent. “Can I have the Lego Mars Rover? The one Daddy got for my brother?” The words hit me like a physical blow. I felt the gaze of the other parents in the waiting room—heavy, pitying, or perhaps just curious. My heart did a slow, painful roll in my chest. “Toby, honey,” I whispered, kneeling so I was eye-level with him once his fever had finally begun to break. “Who is this brother you’re talking about?” He looked at me with that terrifyingly pure innocence only a three-year-old possesses. “The brother who calls Daddy ‘Daddy,’ Mom. You know. My brother.” When my husband, Daniel, finally rushed into the hospital at dawn, his face was a mask of frantic concern. I didn’t greet him. I simply repeated Toby’s words, syllable for syllable, watching his expression. His features didn’t shatter; they shifted. A subtle recalibration. “He’s just confused, Elena,” Daniel said, his voice smooth as polished stone. “He must have seen me with my boss’s kid. We were… helping them move some stuff. You know how kids are. They project.” The next morning, I didn’t go to work. Instead, I grabbed a gift-wrapped Lego set—the exact one Toby had mentioned—and drove straight to the address of Daniel’s “boss.” 1 The woman who opened the door was wrapped in a charcoal-grey silk robe that probably cost more than my monthly mortgage. Her makeup was impeccable, even for a Tuesday morning, and her eyes raked over me with a cold, dismissive edge. “Can I help you?” Her tone was clipped, her hand firmly on the doorframe. “Hi. I’m Elena, Daniel’s wife.” I held up the gift bag like a shield. “I heard your son loves Legos. I wanted to drop this off for him.” Her eyebrows arched—a slow, calculated movement. She stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter. “The kids are out with their grandmother at the park. Sit down, if you like.” She handed me a glass of water, her movements languid and bored. “How did you get this address? Did Daniel give it to you?” I took a sip, the cold water doing nothing to soothe the fire in my throat. “Daniel asked me to drop off some local preserves here a few months ago for the holidays. I have a good memory for directions.” She nodded vaguely. “Right. Those preserves were lovely. Very… rustic.” I scanned the living room while she spoke. It was a cathedral of high-end minimalism, but the floor told a different story. A colorful play mat was strewn with toys—the kind of expensive, sensory-development gear you see in upscale boutiques. In the corner, a pile of discarded toys sat gathering dust. Right on top was the Lego Mars Rover Toby had cried for. Before we could exchange another word, the front door burst open. Daniel stood there, breathless, his face pale and then instantly flushed with rage. He didn’t look at the woman in the silk robe. He looked straight at me. “I told you yesterday Toby was talking nonsense. Do you really trust me that little, Elena? That you’d stalk my colleagues?” The air in the room turned brittle. I took a slow breath and set the water glass down with a deliberate click. “Toby kept asking for this specific set. I just wanted to see it in person so I wouldn’t buy the wrong model. And I figured I’d bring a ‘thank you’ gift to your manager for looking after you at the firm.” I turned my gaze to the woman. “I just didn’t realize your manager was so… striking. And so capable.” Daniel’s jaw tightened. He looked like a man standing on a collapsing bridge. “If Toby wants something, you tell me. I’ll buy it. You don’t just show up unannounced at Vicky’s house. It’s unprofessional. It’s embarrassing.” Vicky let out a soft, sharp laugh. “I understand, Elena. Mothers get so… protective. It’s a very primal thing.” She gestured carelessly toward the corner. “Honestly, my son is already bored with that Lego set Daniel brought over. It’s just taking up space. If you don’t mind hand-me-downs, feel free to take it. It wasn’t exactly cheap, after all.” I stood up, my spine rigid. “That won’t be necessary. If it’s that easy to get bored of, then it’s just expensive trash, isn’t it?” I didn’t wait for them to process the sting in my words. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go, Daniel.” As I walked toward the door, I didn’t acknowledge the dark navy blazer draped over the dining chair. I knew that blazer. I knew the slightly crooked button on the cuff because I was the one who had sewn it back on two weeks ago while Toby napped. Daniel followed me out, his voice a frantic whisper as we reached the driveway. “Elena, wait. The Lego… I bought it on behalf of the whole team. It was a group gift. I’d forgotten about it. I’ll buy Toby the newest version tonight, I promise.” I cut him off, my voice devoid of emotion. “You don’t need to explain, Daniel. Being a single mom in a high-pressure job like Vicky’s must be hard. It’s only natural for a supportive subordinate like you to go the extra mile.” Daniel’s shoulders dropped. He actually looked relieved. “Thank God. I thought you were going to make a scene. I’ll pick up the toy on my way home, okay? I love you.” As soon as his car pulled out of the driveway, I took out my phone and sent a detailed list of every observation to my lawyer. That afternoon, when I picked Toby up from daycare, I ran my hand through his soft curls. “Toby, guess what? Daddy’s bringing home the newest Lego robot tonight.” Toby practically vibrated with excitement. “Yay! Just like my brother!” My chest felt hollow. “Toby, why didn’t you tell Mommy you wanted that toy before?” He frowned, his little voice turning somber. “Grandma said Daddy works very, very hard for our money. She said one toy is enough. She said the other boy is smaller, so I have to share. She said I should wait until he’s finished playing with his things, and then I can have them.” 2 My heart didn’t just break; it curdled. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and pinched his cheek gently. “When did you see Grandma and the other boy, Toby?” “Daddy took me for cake and ice cream. Grandma was there, and the boy, and the lady.” He looked up at me, his eyes wide. “The ice cream was so good. Daddy said it was our ‘Little Secret.’ He said if I told you, I wouldn’t get ice cream anymore. But I only had three bites, Mommy. Can I have ice cream tomorrow?” The pieces of the puzzle were jagged, but they were finally fitting together. My three-year-old was being coached to lie to me by his own father and grandmother. “Of course, baby,” I whispered. “Mommy will buy you whatever you want.” Daniel came home early that night, acting the part of the perfect father. He brought the Lego set. He spent an hour in the kitchen making shrimp scampi—my favorite. He sat on the floor and played “dinosaur” with Toby, laughing as if he hadn’t spent the last three years building a second life. I watched them from the kitchen doorway, a cold, hard knot forming in my stomach. He had spent so many nights “at the office,” so many weekends “at conferences.” I had almost forgotten what we looked like as a family. As I tucked Toby into bed, he rubbed his face against my hand. “Mommy, Daddy played hide-and-seek today. I’m so happy.” “Aren’t you happy when Mommy plays with you?” He tilted his head. “Yeah, but Daddy is strong. He gives me ‘Sky-Highs.’ He gives the other boy ‘Sky-Highs’ too, but he hasn’t done it for me in a long time. He promised he’d do it every day now. I want us to be together forever.” My mind flashed back to Vicky’s smug expression—the way she’d bragged about how “the father” of her child would stay up late just to take them to the park. The room felt like it was closing in. Toby drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face, probably dreaming of being tossed into the air. When Daniel tried to pull me close in bed later that night, I went stiff. “I’m tired, Dan. It’s been a long day with Toby.” He didn’t push. He just yawned and was asleep within minutes. The sound of his rhythmic snoring, once a comfort, now sounded like a serrated blade against my nerves. I stared into the darkness. I hadn’t asked him how he knew the passcode to Vicky’s front door. I hadn’t pointed out that the men’s slippers by her mat were exactly his size. I was going to destroy him. I wanted him to lose everything—his career, his reputation, his pride. But then I looked at the monitor on the nightstand, showing Toby’s peaceful face. Toby was only three. He needed a father. He loved this version of Daniel. My phone vibrated. A message from my lawyer. “Found the birth registry for Vicky’s son. The father is listed as Daniel Miller. The child is three years old. He’s been cared for by Daniel’s parents since birth. His birth date is…” My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone. The boy’s birthday was only two days after Toby’s. Everything clicked. That was why my in-laws always “confused” Toby’s birthday, sending cards two days early. That was why they were always “too sick” or “too busy” to help me with Toby. They weren’t busy. They were just with their other family. The one they had actually chosen. 3 For the next two weeks, I became an actress. I played the role of the unsuspecting wife while I worked with my lawyer to gather every scrap of evidence—bank statements, travel records, the second lease. I was the primary breadwinner for the first five years of our marriage, and though Daniel made more now, I had worked too hard to let him walk away with my stability. When Daniel announced another “business trip,” I didn’t question him. I even packed his bag, looking right past a pair of lace underwear that didn’t belong to me. But the other side was getting restless. The late-night “emergency” calls to Daniel increased. He would give me the same tired excuses, and I would just kiss his cheek and tell him to be careful. He became more attentive at home, fueled by a cocktail of guilt and the thrill of the double life. One Tuesday, I left work early to surprise Toby at his preschool. The teacher’s words felt like a bucket of ice water. “Oh, Elena, Toby’s grandmother picked him up an hour ago. Didn’t Daniel tell you?” My in-laws never picked up Toby. They barely acknowledged his existence. I called Daniel. Straight to voicemail. I called his parents. No answer. My heart hammered against my ribs. I called my lawyer, my voice cracking. “They took him. They took my son.” “Calm down,” my lawyer said. “Think. Where would they take him? This is Vicky’s play. She’s forcing a confrontation.” I didn’t think. I just drove. I tore through the streets until I reached Vicky’s townhouse. Even before I reached the porch, I heard it. The sound of Toby sobbing—a high-pitched, hysterical wail that sliced right through my soul. I pounded on the door like a madwoman. “Vicky! Open this door! If you touch my son, I swear to God I will kill you!” The door swung open, and I shoved my way inside. What I saw made my blood turn to ice. My mother-in-law was standing over Toby, hitting his small, red hands with a plastic truck. “Stop grabbing your brother’s things! Stop being so selfish!” she barked. “I told you to let Jack play with it! Have you no manners?” Toby stood there, shaking, his face a mask of terror. “I’m sorry, Grandma… it hurts. Mommy… I want Mommy…” Vicky was sitting on the sofa, holding her own son, watching the scene with the cold detachment of someone watching a boring documentary. I lunged forward, snatching Toby into my arms. “Don’t you touch him!” “Mommy… Mommy, it hurts…” Toby sobbed into my neck, holding out his swollen, red hands. My mother-in-law had the audacity to look indignant. “Elena? What are you doing here? Daniel isn’t even off work yet.” “You hit him,” I hissed, my voice trembling with a rage so pure it felt like fire. “He was being difficult,” she said, smoothing her skirt. “He needs discipline. Jack is much more well-behaved. They’re brothers, Elena. They need to learn to share.” “You knew,” I whispered, looking at her. “You’ve known the whole time.” Vicky stood up, her smile razor-thin. “Of course she knew. We’re a family, Elena. It’s time you stopped playing house and realized you’re the outsider here. Just give Daniel the divorce and let us be.” The door opened behind me. Daniel walked in, carrying a bag of groceries. “Hey, I couldn’t find the cake Vicky liked—” He stopped dead.

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