In my past life, I was a legal shark. After working myself to death, I was reborn—with my memories intact. While other toddlers made mud pies, I begged my dad for life insurance. While other kids rebelled, I dragged my family to a notary to secure my property rights. But my adoptive parents were painfully honest—even writing IOUs for borrowed sugar. For 18 years, my legal strategies gathered dust. Just as I embraced my comedic fate, a powerful family appeared, claiming I was their lost daughter. The impostor, Celeste, clung to the matriarch’s arm. At their mansion, they slid a severance agreement toward me. “Sign this for five million. Don’t get ideas.” Celeste fake-cried, “I’m sorry, Nina. They’re just protecting me…” As they watched with contempt, I calmly pulled out a voice recorder and a countersuit. “Severing ties is fine. First, pay 18 years of child support, emotional damages, and identity theft compensation—let’s call it 800 million. Oh, and I’ve already frozen the company’s assets. Until this lawsuit ends, you won’t touch a cent.” 1 “This is the final mediation before the hearing. Are you sure you want to proceed?” I leaned back in my chair, observing the family of three seated on the sofa across from me. No, a family of four. My so-called brother, Connor, was glaring at me with murder in his eyes. The man who had spoken was Mr. Sterling, the Delacourt family’s chief legal counsel. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his tone dripping with a condescending charity. “Ms. Lin, Mr. Delacourt is willing to increase the compensation to fifty million dollars and purchase a villa for your adoptive mother. This is our final, most sincere offer.” “All you have to do is drop the lawsuit and issue a public statement admitting this was all a misunderstanding.” I smiled. “Mr. Sterling, how many years have you been practicing law?” He blinked, caught off guard. “Fifteen.” “Then you must be familiar with the criminal code regarding felony child abandonment?” I slowly sat up straight, my gaze sweeping over the family, their expressions shifting. “When circumstances are heinous, resulting in serious injury or death, the sentence is no less than five years in prison.” “The day I was thrown in a dumpster, it was below freezing. If it weren’t for my adoptive parents, I would have been dead from hypothermia within twenty-four hours.” “Tell me, Mr. Sterling,” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “Wouldn’t you consider that heinous?” The color drained from his face. The patriarch of the Delacourt family, my biological father, Julian Delacourt, finally spoke. “Is that a threat?” His voice was deep, heavy with the authority of a man used to being in charge. “It’s not a threat.” I took out my phone and played a recording. “Sign this, and five million dollars is yours. Don’t get any ideas about things that don’t belong to you.” It was the first thing my biological mother, Isabelle, had said to me. I hit pause. “This is evidence of your admitted attempt to sever our relationship with a paltry sum, a threat which caused me secondary emotional distress.” “As for the eight hundred million…” I glanced at my assistant, who immediately handed me a thick file. “This is a calculation of your family’s average annual income based on Delacourt Enterprises’ financial reports for the last eighteen years. By law, the child support you owe is the sum total of all living, educational, and medical expenses enjoyed by Celeste during the time I was missing.” “Add in emotional damages and identity appropriation compensation, and eight hundred million is already a steep discount.” “Oh, and by the way,” I said, waving another document, “this is the court order to freeze your assets. Until this lawsuit is settled, you won’t be moving a penny from your corporate accounts.” Julian Delacourt’s face turned thunderous. Beside him, Celeste was sobbing, her face a mess of tears. “Nina, why are you doing this? We’re family…” “Shut up.” My gaze turned to her, cold as ice. “Illegally occupying someone else’s identity for eighteen years for immense personal gain. You’ll be receiving a second lawsuit from me shortly.” Celeste’s crying stopped abruptly. She stared at me in disbelief. “You’re insane! A complete lunatic!” my brother, Connor, shouted, leaping to his feet and pointing a finger at me. “How could the Delacourt family produce someone as cold-blooded as you? Suing your own parents for money!” I met his furious gaze, my own expression perfectly calm. “You’re wrong.” “I’m not suing you for money.” “I’m suing you to teach you the meaning of the law.” 2 “Connor, sit down!” Julian barked, silencing his enraged son. But the look he gave me was just as venomous. “Let’s talk.” That was the language of the weaker party at a negotiation table. I gestured for him to proceed. Mr. Sterling cleared his throat, trying to regain control. “Ms. Lin, there’s no need to burn bridges. You’re a young woman with a long future ahead of you. It’s unwise to be so absolute.” I ignored him, my eyes fixed on Isabelle, my impeccably preserved mother. Since I had walked in, she’d been watching me with a complex mix of disappointment, disgust, and a sliver of fear. “Mrs. Delacourt, eighteen years ago today, you gave birth to me in a hospital.” Her body gave a slight, almost imperceptible flinch. “You experienced the joy of motherhood, while I was waiting to die in a dumpster.” “For eighteen years, Celeste wore princess dresses, attended the best international schools, and grew up surrounded by your love. Meanwhile, I wore hand-me-downs from the market and collected plastic bottles for a week to afford a few dollars for school supplies.” I paused, watching her eyes well up with tears. I felt nothing. “So, you’re hoping to make up for those eighteen years with tears?” “I…” Isabelle’s voice was choked. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know you suffered so much…” “You didn’t know?” I laughed as if it were the funniest joke in the world. “You didn’t look for me out of guilt. You looked for me because of Celeste’s marriage prospects.” I pulled two photos from my file and tossed them on the table. One was of Celeste cozying up to a young, wealthy heir. The other was the heir’s medical report, highlighting a rare genetic disorder. “The Zhou family needed a healthy heiress to marry into their family and continue their precious bloodline. Unfortunately for you, Celeste’s medical exam didn’t pass. So you remembered me, your backup, didn’t you?” Julian’s pupils contracted. Isabelle’s sobs died in her throat. Connor’s face was a mask of shock. Even Mr. Sterling looked surprised. “How did you know?!” Connor blurted out. “Secrets have a way of coming out.” I leaned back, calmly adjusting my cuffs. “You thought my adoptive parents in that small town were simple country folk? Wrong. My father is a retired criminal detective, and my mother was an archivist. Your half-baked private investigations were like child’s play to me.” That was the first surprise I had in store for them. My adoptive parents were indeed humble, but their professional skills were my ace in the hole. “Now,” I said, my gaze landing on Julian. “Let’s talk about ‘sincerity.’ I don’t just want the money. I want a public, full-page apology in every major newspaper, admitting to the abandonment of your daughter and the deliberate confusion of your bloodline.” “Never!” Julian slammed his hand on the table, trembling with rage. “Then I’ll see you in court.” I stood up to leave. “Wait!” Julian stopped me, taking a deep breath to control his fury. “The apology is… negotiable. And the money… we can discuss it. But you must guarantee that this ends here.” I looked at him and smiled. “Mr. Delacourt, you still don’t get it.” “I’m the one in charge now.” 3 The Delacourts, as expected, fought back. The next day, the internet was flooded with stories about me. #Real-Life Viper: Heiress Returns Home, Demands $800 Million from Saviors# #Greed Personified: Poor Girl Sues Own Parents for Fortune# The articles painted me as a manipulative, bitter girl from the countryside, warped by poverty. They used a photo of me in a washed-out school uniform, eating at a cheap street stall. Juxtaposed with it was an elegant photo of Celeste in a couture gown, playing piano at a charity gala. The stark contrast immediately ignited the internet’s righteous fury. Is this woman insane? 800 million? Why doesn’t she just rob a bank? Her real parents come back to give her a life of luxury and she bites the hand that feeds her. What an ungrateful snake. I feel so bad for the fake daughter. Her identity was stolen and now she has to deal with this monster. Soon after, Celeste gave a video interview to a major news outlet. On camera, her eyes were red and swollen, her face pale. Her voice was as fragile as a feather. “I don’t blame my sister,” she whispered. “She… she must have had a very hard life. She’s just not thinking clearly.” “The money, the status… I don’t want any of it. I just want my sister to come home, so we can be a family…” She covered her face, breaking down into heart-wrenching sobs. Her performance of magnanimous victimhood won her the sympathy of the entire country. The hashtag #CelesteTheAngel trended at number one. My phone blew up with hateful, threatening messages. Red paint was thrown on my adoptive parents’ front door, with vicious words like “GET OUT OF THE CITY” scrawled across it. My mother’s blood pressure skyrocketed, leaving her bedridden. My father silently scrubbed the paint off the door, the veins on the back of his hands bulging. The Delacourts’ media blitz was swift and brutal. They thought that by turning me into a public enemy, they could force me to surrender. Connor called me, his voice dripping with triumphant glee. “See that, Nina? This is what happens when you cross the Delacourts!” “I suggest you drop the suit and apologize. Otherwise, I guarantee you and your pauper parents will never be able to show your faces in public again!” I listened to his tirade, feeling nothing but a cold calm. “Is that so?” I said. “We’ll see about that.” I hung up and dialed another number. “Hello, is this Ms. Zhang? This is Nina Lin. Yes, I’d like to hold a press conference. The location? Right in front of the Delacourt Enterprises headquarters. Time? Ten a.m. tomorrow. I have a gift for them. One they’ll never see coming.” 4 The Delacourts obviously heard about my plan. They probably assumed I was going to publicly surrender and beg for forgiveness. The day of the press conference, the plaza in front of the Delacourt Tower was a sea of reporters and news vans. Julian had even “graciously” sent company security to “protect” me. I stood at the makeshift podium, facing the flashing cameras. In the distance, behind the floor-to-ceiling windows of the tower, I could see their silhouettes. I knew they were watching, waiting for me to humiliate myself. “I know you’re all wondering why I am demanding eight hundred million dollars from my biological parents,” I began, getting straight to the point. “It’s because they owe me more than just eighteen years of child support.” “They owe me a life.” As I spoke, the large screen behind me lit up. It wasn’t a childhood photo or a family portrait. It was a faded police report. “Eighteen years ago, at City General Hospital, a female infant went missing three hours after birth. The report was filed by a nurse on duty.” “The police later found the infant in a dumpster in the alley behind the hospital, freezing and near death.” “That infant was me.” A wave of gasps went through the crowd. “And my biological mother, Isabelle Delacourt, despite knowing her child was missing, chose not to call the police. Instead, she and another new mother—Celeste’s biological mother—completed their discharge paperwork, and she went home with someone else’s child.” I pointed to the screen, where a second piece of evidence appeared: a hospital discharge form signed by Isabelle Delacourt. “What does this prove? It proves that from the very beginning, this was not a simple case of switched-at-birth. This was a premeditated swap and abandonment.” The crowd murmured in shock. The figures behind the glass tower window seemed to stir. “I know some of you will say this was all the other mother’s fault, that my biological parents were victims too. In that case, please see the next piece of evidence.” A new document appeared on the screen: a hospital record for Celeste from when she was ten years old. She’d had an emergency appendectomy and required a blood transfusion. The record clearly stated her blood type. “Julian Delacourt has type O blood. Isabelle Delacourt has type A. According to the laws of Mendelian genetics, it is impossible for them to have a child with type B blood.” “Which means, at the latest, the Delacourts have known for eight years that Celeste was not their biological daughter!” The crowd erupted. “But what did they do?” My voice rose, filled with the righteous anger of eighteen stolen years. “They did nothing! They didn’t call the police, they didn’t search for me. They chose to bury the secret, to continue enjoying the parental love that was rightfully mine, while I was left to grow up like a weed in some forgotten town!” “This is no longer a simple civil dispute!” I looked directly into the cameras, my voice ringing with clarity. “This is, by the definition of the criminal code, a case of malicious abandonment that has continued for eighteen years!” “I am standing here today not just to ask for money. I am standing here as a victim, to formally file a police report!” “I am demanding an investigation into the criminal liability of Julian and Isabelle Delacourt in this case!” As my last word echoed through the plaza, two uniformed police officers emerged from the crowd and walked purposefully toward the entrance of the Delacourt Tower. Every camera swiveled to follow them. I saw Isabelle’s form collapse, caught by a frantic Connor. And Julian… he just stood there, motionless. Even from this distance, I could feel the venom in his gaze. I met it without flinching. As of today, the nature of this war had changed. This was no longer a fight about money. This was a fight to the death, about crime and punishment. I, Nina Lin, a legal shark in my past life, a vengeful daughter in this one, was officially declaring war.

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After I retired, I had too much time on my hands, so I fell in love with knitting. My neighbor, Carol, gushed about a design I’d made and insisted on buying it for her daughter. I tried to refuse, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I let it go for the cost of the yarn. After that, it became a thing. Other neighbors would bring me yarn, asking me to knit sweaters for them. I’d only ever charge a ten-dollar fee for my time. It went on like this until the day Carol’s daughter, Jessie, came home from law school. She greeted me with a warm smile, holding three large baskets brimming with yarn. “Helen, I absolutely adore your sweaters! Could you please make me a few more?” Ten days later, she threw the finished sweaters on my floor. “Helen,” she said, her voice dripping with ice, “you wouldn’t want this little unlicensed business of yours to become a big legal problem, would you?” “And for selling defective goods? You’ll have to pay ten times the price back. Not just to me, but to all the neighbors.” 1 Carol was so thrilled to have her daughter back from law school that she spammed the neighborhood group chat with ten videos in a row. The shaky camera couldn’t hide her sheer excitement. A flood of thumbs-up emojis filled the chat, everyone congratulating Jessie on her achievement. Someone even commented how they wished they had a daughter like Jessie, someone to be proud of. After her public posts, Carol sent me a private voice message. “Helen, honey, have you finished that pattern I sent you? The temperature’s dropping, and my girl has nothing to wear.” I quickly pulled out the sweater I’d just finished and sent her a picture. It was a beautiful piece with a colorful star pattern, knitted from fine merino wool. The design was intricate and challenging, but the result was stunning. A moment after I sent the photo, another voice message came through. I pressed play, and a sweet, youthful voice filled the air. “Thank you so much, Helen! This is prettier than anything you could find in a boutique.” I rubbed the ache from my temples and replied with a couple of smiley faces. I’d barely put my phone down when a video call came in from my son, Alex. His eyes immediately spotted the leftover balls of yarn on my sofa. “Mom, how many times have I told you? Stop knitting for them,” he started, his voice a familiar mix of love and frustration. “We don’t need the money. Besides, you’re putting in all this work for practically nothing…” He went on, a gentle lecture from my boy who had just been promoted at his job in New York. He was managing a small company now, making a name for himself. “Mom, once you get things packed up, just come live with me. I can take care of you now.” I smiled and agreed, discreetly pushing the two large bags of yarn behind my back with my foot. The next morning, an insistent knock rattled my door. “Helen! Helen, open up! I’ve brought you some more business!” Carol was banging on my security door so hard it vibrated. When I opened it, I saw Jessie was with her, wearing the star-patterned sweater I’d finished just the day before. She was holding three overflowing baskets of yarn. “Helen, I’d like five more, exactly like this one,” Jessie said, pointing to the stars on her chest. I hesitated. “Jessie, that pattern is incredibly difficult. It takes a lot of time. Maybe you could pick another design?” Jessie’s face fell. She grabbed my arm, her voice turning into a playful whine. “Oh, please, Helen? Pretty please? I posted a picture of it online yesterday, and everyone went crazy for it!” Her sweet-talking left me flustered, and before I knew it, I’d agreed. “Alright, Jessie. But like we discussed, I’ll have to charge you for the labor. Let’s say fifty dollars a piece for this design.” A flicker of something crossed Jessie’s face, almost too fast to see, but her smile never wavered. “Oh, I heard all about your fees from my mom yesterday,” she said, her tone still light. “That’s not exactly cheap, is it?” A knot of discomfort tightened in my stomach, but I explained calmly. “Jessie, the simple patterns are just ten dollars, more of a thank-you than a fee. But one of these sweaters takes me two full days to make. Fifty dollars is already far less than you’d pay anywhere else.” Jessie just smiled wider, squeezing my hand apologetically. “I get it, I get it. A woman’s got to earn a living, right?” Her eyes scanned the room, landing on the stack of design charts in the corner of my desk. “Okay, it’s a deal then. I’ll come back in ten days to pick them up.” She quickly pulled out her phone and transferred the money—two hundred and fifty dollars, exactly. I took the payment and saw them out. That evening, Jessie joined our neighborhood group chat. It was a casual group where we’d share new knitting patterns and organize our morning Zumba classes in the park. Jessie chimed in right away, asking where the class was tomorrow, adding a few playful emojis and saying she wanted to join. I chuckled to myself. It was sweet that a young woman like her wanted to hang out with a bunch of old birds like us. I worked tirelessly, knitting day and night to get the sweaters done on time. The night before the deadline, just as I was getting ready for bed, my phone buzzed. It was a friend request on my secondary account, one I rarely used. The note attached read: Helen, we need to talk. It was from Jessie. I was confused. Why wouldn’t she just message my main account? The next second, I was pulled into a new group chat. The name of the group made my blood run cold: “Legal Action – Defective Goods Claim.” 2. Meanwhile, my main account remained silent. It slowly dawned on me that this secondary account was tied to a new SIM card I’d gotten with a phone plan. They probably didn’t know it was mine. But why was I in a legal action group? I hadn’t bought anything recently. Then, Jessie’s message appeared. It was a link to a spreadsheet, meticulously documenting every single sweater I had ever made for my neighbors. Names, photos of the items, the fee I’d charged—it was all there, clear as day. I hadn’t realized until that moment, but scrolling through the list, I saw I’d knitted hundreds of pieces over the past few years. Some were for the neighbors themselves, others they had given away as gifts. A quiet pride swelled in my chest. Their satisfaction had always been my greatest reward. Then, Jessie sent a voice note. The words she spoke shattered my world like a pane of glass. “Ladies, please feel free to add any items I may have missed to the spreadsheet. According to federal and state law, any person engaged in business activities is required to hold a valid business license. What Helen Miller has been doing is illegal. But don’t you worry. I’m a lawyer, and I will help you all get the justice you deserve.” Her voice was firm, ringing with self-righteousness. I scrolled up through the chat history. Most of it was Jessie, laying out her case. She had posted screenshots of her mother’s requests over the past few months, alongside screenshots from a wholesale website showing a similar item. “Look here. This same style of sweater sells online for ninety-nine dollars. But Helen Miller charged a hundred dollars for her labor fee on a more complex design.” “Ladies, we provide the yarn, we find the patterns. What gives her the right to charge such exorbitant fees?” “I know we all value being good neighbors, and it’s hard to say no to her. But I can’t stand by and watch you all get ripped off like this. Rest assured, as soon as I have all the evidence, I will be filing a lawsuit.” Along with her messages were several photos, zoomed in to show a loose thread on one sweater, a slight pucker at a shoulder seam, and a decorative patch that was beginning to peel. “I only noticed when I tried on my sweater a few days ago that there were already quality issues. And it’s not just this one; many of the older pieces have lost their shape. This proves she’s been careless and her work is shoddy. She doesn’t deserve our trust!” When no one immediately responded, Jessie posted a barrage of legal statutes. Operating without a business license. Illegal enterprise. Selling counterfeit and defective products. The words swam before my eyes, making my head spin. “Don’t worry, everyone,” she continued. “She will be held legally responsible. At the very least, she’ll have to pay back ten times the amount for every item.” That last sentence ignited the chat. “She’s right! The shoulder on that sweater I got last month bunched up, and Helen tried to blame me, saying I must have hung it wrong. If she’d made it properly, it wouldn’t have warped so easily!” “Jessie, you’re amazing. A true credit to your education.” “Yeah, not like Helen’s son. I hear he’s still just a nobody trying to make it in New York.” For every word of praise for Jessie, there was a barb aimed at me. The friendly faces I knew had twisted into masks of greed, all blinded by the promise of a payout. They started one-upping each other, boasting about who had ordered more sweaters and calculating how much compensation they were owed. Looking at the familiar profile pictures, a chill went down my spine. These were the same people who had begged me to knit for them, and I’d only ever charged them a pittance for my time. My work was meticulous, and my fees were a fraction of what any professional would charge. Knits are delicate; they’re affected by the yarn quality and how they’re washed. I had explained to every single one of them that these sweaters needed gentle care if they wanted them to last. Just then, a new message popped up. I recognized the sender—an old neighbor who had commissioned more than a dozen pieces from me over the years. “Jessie, honey, we don’t know much about the law. Are you sure she’ll have to pay?” Jessie responded with a winking emoji. “Don’t you worry. I have an ace up my sleeve.” She then circled several of the sweaters I’d made. “These designs are original creations from well-known brands. What Helen did is copyright infringement. If it comes to it, profiting from infringement could land her in jail.” “If she refuses to pay,” Jessie continued, “I’ll use this to sue her. I have experience helping designers fight copyright theft.” The group went silent again. After a long pause, a voice note appeared. “Jessie, isn’t that a bit much? Let’s just get her to pay us back. Jail seems too harsh.” Jessie didn’t respond for a moment. Then, she reposted the spreadsheet. “Take a look, everyone. This is a record of how much she’s scammed from you. In just two years, she’s made thousands of dollars from her ‘labor fees.’ If we don’t hold the threat of jail time over her head, why would she ever be willing to give that money back?” In the face of profit, years of neighborly friendship evaporated into thin air. 3. I switched back to my main account. It was quiet. A wave of sadness washed over me as I scrolled through photos of the sweaters I’d knitted over the years. My mother, God rest her soul, had taught me to knit, and I’d loved it ever since. But back when I was working, I only had time for small projects on the weekends. A few years ago, my husband passed away after a long illness. I had just retired, and suddenly my life was empty. No work, no partner. I spent my days wandering the house like a ghost. My son, Alex, had just graduated and taken a job in another state. As a young guy starting at the bottom, he was working constantly and rarely had time to visit. Worried I’d be lonely, he signed me up for a class at the local senior center without telling me. They offered all sorts of craft classes, and that’s how I rediscovered my passion for knitting. At first, I just made things for myself—a scarf here, a sweater there. Then Carol became my first “customer.” The first few times, I didn’t charge her anything, but she started bringing me more and more complex patterns. Soon, other neighbors wanted in. More and more people started asking, and I didn’t have the heart to say no. That’s when I decided to charge a small fee for my time. To my surprise, the requests didn’t stop; they multiplied. My days became filled with the click-clack of needles. It was a good thing, really. It kept my mind off my late husband. I looked over at the sofa, where five perfectly folded sweaters were stacked neatly. My heart felt like a block of ice. The next morning, Jessie was at my door. As I opened it, I caught the triumphant gleam in her eye before she could hide it. She took the sweaters from me, and then, without a word, dropped them onto the floor in front of me. The pale yellow wool instantly picked up a smudge of dust. She watched my reaction, a smirk playing on her lips, and pulled a folder from her bag. “Helen, you should take a look at this.” Inside were the “evidence” documents from the group chat, now professionally bound. Tucked behind them was a formal letter of demand from a law firm. “Your actions are in serious violation of the Fair Business Practices Act and other relevant statutes. According to these laws, any individual or entity engaging in commercial activities must possess a valid business license. Your operation has disrupted the normal market economy and constitutes illegal enterprise.” Jessie recited the text with the crisp, clear articulation of a seasoned lawyer. She was good; I had to give her that. “Furthermore, you cannot escape liability for selling defective products. I have multiple witnesses—your neighbors—who will testify that the items they received were of substandard quality.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Helen, you wouldn’t want this whole mess—operating an illegal business—to get any bigger, would you?” “So let’s make a deal. Ten times the original price. That goes for my orders, and for everyone else’s too!” She flipped to the last page of the folder, where a long, itemized list detailed my “illegal profits.” They had diligently recorded every penny I’d ever received. But they’d conveniently cropped the screenshots, cutting out the parts where they had pleaded with me, as a friend, to help them out. Honestly, a single sweater took me the better part of a day, and I charged a measly ten dollars for it. You pay more than that just to get a pair of pants hemmed. If my prices weren’t practically free, they never would have kept coming back. Jessie’s voice softened, turning syrupy sweet. “Helen, I understand you might be upset. But the law is the law. It’s our duty as citizens to abide by it.” She glanced around my living room. “Looking at your home, Helen, it doesn’t seem like coming up with ten thousand dollars would be a problem for you. Why make things ugly over such a small amount?”

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I’d never given the new intern a second thought. So when he pushed my buttons, I marched right up to my wife, the CEO, and slapped two documents on her desk in front of the entire company. A letter of resignation, and divorce papers. “Tell him,” I said, my voice cutting through the office silence. “You choose.” The next second, the woman who had always been fiercely, irrevocably mine, the woman I thought would move mountains for me, picked up a pen. Without a moment’s hesitation, she signed her name on the divorce papers. “He’s just a kid, he’s insecure,” she said, her voice cold. “I won’t indulge your temper tantrums, Julian. Not now.” The confident smirk on my face froze, then shattered. I thought the new kid was just a clueless rookie trying to get ahead. Reality just slapped me across the face. Turns out, I was the clueless one all along. … The entire office was dead silent. I couldn’t bring myself to look at my colleagues, at the faces I’d known for years. Their stares felt like physical blows, a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin, making my whole body ache with humiliation. I reached for the divorce papers on the desk, trying to appear calm, but my hand trembled uncontrollably. Ten years. Ten years married to Evelyn, and everyone at this company knew how much she loved me. They’d seen the late-night soups she brought to my desk, witnessed the fire in her eyes when she defended me in meetings, saw the way her gaze would soften and light up whenever she looked at me. Now, all those memories twisted into razors, slicing into my heart, leaving me breathless. I forced myself to look up, to meet her eyes, desperately searching for a trace of the woman I knew, trying to salvage a shred of my dignity. “Evelyn, stop it,” I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper. “Everyone’s watching. Don’t make a scene.” Her gaze was like ice. There was no joke here, no game. “I’m not making a scene, Julian,” she said, her voice flat. “We’re done.” “Why?” The word scraped my throat, dry and raw. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she shifted slightly, her eyes moving past me to the back of the crowd, to where the new intern, Leo, had been standing in silence. The look she gave him was one I’d never seen before. It was a mixture of… indulgence? And… was that sympathy? Her eyes snapped back to me, her expression detached. “Like I said, he’s insecure.” “Julian, you only ever care about your pride, about winning and losing. Have you ever once stopped to consider how anyone else feels?” A kid? That man, a man in his early twenties, was a “kid” in her eyes, someone who needed protection? And I, her husband of ten years, the man who shared her bed and built this company with her, was now just some unreasonable tyrant throwing a tantrum? It was absurd. Utterly, laughably absurd. A toxic cocktail of betrayal and shame surged through me, burning away the last of my composure. I snatched the signed divorce papers from the desk and, in front of everyone, ripped them to shreds. “You’d humiliate me like this, in front of the entire company, for some pretty boy who just walked in the door?!” The paper fragments drifted to the floor like bitter snow. Evelyn watched me, her expression unreadable. When I was finished, she finally spoke, her voice still quiet but carrying the finality of a judge’s sentence. “My lawyer can have another copy sent to the house.” “Julian,” she repeated. “We’re done.” The second time she said it, the words hit like a physical blow. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. She didn’t even wait. She turned her back on me and walked straight toward him. Toward the intern. I watched as the young man, Leo, instinctively straightened his posture as she approached, his eyes holding a mixture of dependence and… was that a flicker of triumph? Evelyn stopped in front of him. She reached up and, with a gesture of practiced intimacy, gently straightened the collar of his shirt. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “Don’t be scared.” In that instant, the last drop of blood drained from my face. The world went silent, replaced by a dull ringing in my ears. I was frozen, my body suddenly feeling hollowed out, devoid of all strength. The woman I was so certain would choose me, had just walked away and chosen another man, as naturally as breathing. All this time, I was the one who was out of my depth. I had lost. Utterly and completely. Evelyn turned to the gawking crowd, her composure absolute. “This company doesn’t care about seniority or personal connections,” she announced, her voice resonating with authority. “Every single employee is treated like family.” Her eyes darted to me, a clear warning in them. “And I will not tolerate anyone using their position to bully a new hire. I don’t care who you are.” Every word was a hammer blow to my pride, shattering my last illusion. Family? So that was her justification. Some noble, high-minded “company principle.” I was now officially cast as the villain, the petty executive “bullying a new hire,” the fool who tried to use a personal relationship to break the sacred “company rules.” The looks from my colleagues shifted. The initial shock and curiosity morphed into something else. Pity for the fallen executive was replaced by admiration for the “righteous CEO,” and a quiet contempt for my pathetic, self-inflicted humiliation. I could hear the whispers, just barely suppressed. “Wow, Julian really blew it this time…” “Seriously, threatening her with divorce? As if a woman like Evelyn would ever fall for that.” “He had it coming. He’s always been so arrogant. Finally met his match…” My face burned as if I’d been slapped, over and over again. I looked at Evelyn. She had expertly used the most professional means to uphold her company’s “integrity,” and in doing so, had used the cruelest means to publicly execute our marriage and my career here. After delivering her grand speech, she finally deigned to look at me again, her eyes filled with warning and impatience. She was used to being in control, used to the fawning respect of her subordinates. And she was used to me, always playing along, always making sure she looked good. It was our unspoken agreement. But as I looked past her, at the intern standing behind her with a smirk of victory on his face, I suddenly felt no desire to play along anymore. I nodded slowly. “Fine. I get it.” Evelyn nodded back, satisfied. “Good. You’ve been a profound disappointment today, Julian,” she said. “But since you understand your mistake, it’s not too late to fix this.” “All you have to do is get on your knees and apologize to Leo. Then we can put this whole thing…” Her words were cut off by a collective gasp from the crowd. I had snatched a water glass from a nearby desk and, with a flick of my wrist, flung its contents in her face. Her perfect makeup dissolved into streaks. Leo shrieked dramatically. “Julian! How could you do that to Evelyn?” I shot him a venomous look. “This is between my wife and me. When did you earn the right to butt in?” The sound of sharp intakes of breath filled the room. Even Evelyn stared at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. After years of compliance, she probably never imagined I would defy her so publicly. I looked straight at her, my voice low and dangerous. “Are you awake now?” Before she could answer, I turned my cold gaze on Leo. “Evelyn?” I repeated his familiar address. “How cozy. But as I recall, the company handbook is quite clear. All employees are to be addressed by their professional titles. No exceptions, not even for the CEO or Vice President.” I let my eyes sweep across the crowd, landing on the head of HR. “For a new intern to make such a mistake, does that mean HR training was inadequate? Or are there… some people… who can’t even remember the most basic company rules?” “If an employee is this incompetent,” I continued, my voice like steel, “according to company policy, shouldn’t they be terminated immediately?” The air in the room turned to ice. Evelyn’s face, smudged with running mascara, was a mask of fury. She looked at me as if I were a stranger, her eyes burning with the sting of challenged authority. The HR manager looked from me to Evelyn’s thunderous expression, his lips trembling, unable to speak. Finally, Evelyn found her voice. “Julian!” she roared. “Have you lost your mind?!” A humorless smile touched my lips. “I’m discussing company policy with you, Ms. Thorne.” I put a deliberate, mocking emphasis on her formal title, my eyes locked on Leo. “Are the rules written in black and white just for show? Or,” I paused, letting my gaze drift over Evelyn’s furious face, “is there a special exception for… special people?” Leo panicked, looking to Evelyn for help, his voice cracking. “Ms. Thorne, I… I didn’t mean to. I was just… I was worried about you…” I cut him off. “My wife. Needs you to worry about her?” “You just gave a speech about impartiality, about not playing favorites,” I said, turning the screw. “So please, enlighten us, Ms. Thorne. This intern, who can’t even remember the most basic company regulations, what should be done with him?” I had thrown the ball directly back into her court. She wanted to champion company rules? She wanted to be the picture of fairness? Fine. Let’s talk rules. Let’s talk fairness. Evelyn’s chest heaved. For a long moment, she just glared at me, before finally exploding. “Enough!” she yelled. “Everyone, get back to work! Julian, my office. Now.” I glanced at Leo, who was fussing over Evelyn, trying to dab at her face with a handkerchief. “No, thank you,” I said calmly. “The office is for business, not personal matters. Since you’ve already made your choice, Ms. Thorne, I respect it.” “I resign.” Evelyn’s brow furrowed. “We’ll talk about this at home tonight.” I didn’t wait for “tonight.” I went straight to HR and told them to process my termination. After the scene I’d just caused, no one dared get caught in the crossfire. They didn’t even bother checking with Evelyn; they just started the paperwork. I pulled out my phone and found an email from last month. It was a job offer from a rival company, Horizon Group, sent after I’d closed a big deal with them. I typed out a reply: I’m in. A moment later, my phone rang. The voice on the other end was ecstatic. “Julian! Excellent! I knew you’d come around. You’re a perfect fit for us.” “This is perfect timing, actually. We have a meeting tomorrow to finalize a partnership with your old company, Stellar Dynamics. I wasn’t entirely happy with their terms, but with you on board, we can consider any concessions a… parting gift to Ms. Thorne. I’ll schedule the signing for tomorrow. You know both sides, you can handle it. We’ll make it a combination farewell and welcome party.” He hung up quickly, as if afraid I’d change my mind. A second later, a message popped up on my screen. It was from Leo. It was a candid photo, slightly blurry, but the image was unmistakable. Evelyn, looking drunk, was pressed against Leo. They were kissing. I was about to close the app when my phone buzzed with an incoming call. Evelyn. I declined it. She called again. I declined it again. The phone stayed silent after that. It was always like this. Evelyn’s patience with me never lasted for more than three tries. And yet, on Leo’s first day, she had patiently explained the same simple task to him over a dozen times. I remembered it clearly. I’d gone to her office to discuss something. Through the glass wall, I saw her leaning over Leo’s desk, her finger tracing something on his monitor. I didn’t think much of it at first. But when I came out of my meeting, she was still there. Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “Your username is your employee ID. The default password is the last six digits of your social. Remember to check the caps lock.” Leo looked completely lost. “I’m sorry, Ms. Thorne, I’m… I’m so stupid.” “It’s okay,” she had said, not a hint of impatience in her tone. “Take your time. I’ll explain it again.” She leaned in closer, practically holding his hand as she guided him. A flicker of unease had gone through me then, but I’d quickly dismissed it. He was a new intern; of course he needed extra help. Evelyn was a demanding boss, but she was also supportive. I’d even laughed at myself for being so petty. Now, that memory returned with a new, chilling clarity. A dozen times. For an intern who couldn’t even log into his own computer, she had spent so much time, repeated herself so many times, with a patience that bordered on abnormal. And me? I remembered our first year of marriage. The company had just upgraded its systems, and the new interface was complex. I got stuck on a process and casually asked her for help. She was engrossed in a contract, and without even looking up, she’d snapped, her voice sharp with irritation, “Read the manual, Julian. Don’t bother me with trivial things.” Trivial things. Yes, compared to her ambitions, her grand vision, most of my problems seemed to be “trivial things.” As the company grew, we each took charge of different divisions, and I learned to stop asking her for help with work. Not because I didn’t need it, but because I had subconsciously adapted. I’d gotten used to being self-sufficient, to handling everything on my own. I thought that was our dynamic, the way a power couple was supposed to operate. But it wasn’t that she lacked patience. Her patience, her gentleness, her endless reserves of understanding… they just weren’t for me. Leo’s helplessness and incompetence brought out her nurturing side, her desire to teach and protect. My strength and independence had just become a license for her to ignore me, to demand my unending compromise. My phone lit up again. Not a call, but a text from Evelyn. Julian, can you please stop this? Be mature. I’ve already sent Leo home. I’ll be back late. We need to talk. Look at that. Even now, after everything, in her eyes, I was the one “making a scene.” I was the one who needed to “be mature.” Ten years of marriage. Ten years of what I thought was understanding and partnership. It was all a delusion, a story I’d been telling myself. She had been walking in a different direction for a long time, and I was the fool still standing in the same place. I typed back. There’s nothing to talk about. County courthouse. 9 a.m. tomorrow. Be there.

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1. The moment the public apology went live, the comments section exploded. Within three minutes, it was already at 99+. A private message popped up from Liam, the junior I was forced to apologize to. His words dripped with scorn. “Sebastian, the only thing you have on me is luck. You just happened to meet her first. In what other way are you better than me?” “All I had to do was shed a few tears, and she immediately made you bow down and apologize.” “So what if you have a marriage contract? As long as I’m not happy, you two will never get married.” He followed it up with a screenshot, a blatant boast showing two first-class tickets to Paris. My fiancée was taking him on a trip to cheer him up. I was about to lock my phone when a new notification appeared. It was Liam, commenting publicly on the apology post: “Everyone, please don’t be so hard on Mr. Padel. It was my fault, too…” Less than a minute later, my fiancée replied directly to his comment. “Don’t take all the blame, Liam. This was clearly Sebastian’s fault from the beginning.” My colleagues piled on, accusing my apology of being insincere, its every word dripping with resentment and sarcasm towards Liam. Someone tagged me. I ignored it. A moment later, my phone began to ring. It was my fiancée, Isabella, calling to rake me over the coals. She called again. And again. Thinking of her boundless, unconditional defense of Liam, I calmly powered off my phone, silencing the incessant ringing. Isabella Padel and I had been engaged since we were children. The agreement was simple: upon our marriage, I would bring 5% of my family’s old company shares as a dowry, and in return, I would join the Padel family and their corporate empire. But ever since she brought her protégé from her alma mater, Liam, into the company, her world had begun to revolve around him. Whatever Liam wanted, Isabella delivered it to him on a silver platter. Even a project I had slaved over for months could be casually tossed his way as a gift to soothe his feelings. A few days later, Isabella came home in a rush. The moment she walked in, she ordered me to pack a few suitcases for her. She had a business trip. I remembered the Paris tickets Liam had sent me. “A business trip,” I said, my voice heavy with irony, “or a vacation?” She heard the edge in my tone and immediately assumed I was still sulking about the apology. Her brow furrowed. “It was your fault, Sebastian. You have no right to be angry. If I hadn’t stepped in to mediate, your own colleagues would have run you out of the company.” “This is a critical project,” she continued, softening slightly. “I have to go myself. Don’t worry, I’ll be back as soon as it’s over. It won’t delay the wedding.” Seeing my silence, she seemed to relax, thinking I had accepted her “greater good” reasoning. She changed the subject, asking what gift I wanted her to bring back. In the past, she always brought me a souvenir from her trips. I used to cherish them. Then I discovered by accident that they were all things she had first offered to Liam—gifts he had rejected or deemed unworthy. The memory soured my mood. “Whatever,” I said flatly. Sensing my lack of interest, she had the housekeeper finish her packing and turned to accept a gift box from Arthur, our butler. She held it out to me. “A reward. For your generosity with the shares.” I glanced inside. It was an expensive watch, a rare vintage piece. Except, I had seen this exact watch on Liam’s wrist just a few days ago. So, this was a fake. A cheap knock-off she was passing off as a reward to shut me up. She saw me smile and mistook it for pleasure. She moved to put it on my wrist. As her fingers reached for the watch, I flinched back, a reflex I couldn’t control. She froze, her expression turning awkward. “You… you don’t like it?” I caught the flicker of guilt in her eyes. After a long moment, I said one word: “Expensive.” She visibly relaxed, relieved. She was about to offer some hollow words of comfort when her phone buzzed with an urgent ring. A glance at the screen, and she quickly stepped out of the walk-in closet to answer. The moment she picked up, Liam’s whining voice drifted down the hall. “Bella, where are you? I’m getting impatient down here…” I casually tossed the watch into a drawer. Arthur, the butler, saw me and drew a sharp breath. “Sir, you’ve always treasured the mistress’s gifts. What’s changed?” Treasured them? I practically worshipped them, enshrined them like holy relics. But ever since Liam had entered our lives, Isabella had allowed him to rummage through my things, to take whatever caught his fancy from the gifts she’d given me. I had argued with her about it, and she’d called me selfish and petty before turning around and buying Liam something even better, even more expensive. Isabella ended her call and strode back in, grabbing her luggage from Arthur. “I have to go,” she said hurriedly. “Make sure you follow up on the custom wedding suits. Don’t let anything delay the ceremony.” She moved to hug me, but I instinctively took a step back. A confused look crossed her face. She started to say something, but the thought of Liam waiting outside seemed to win out. She awkwardly dropped her hands, grabbed her coat from the housekeeper, and rushed out the door. I stood by the window and watched as Liam gallantly opened the car door for her. She practically jumped inside, eager to be with him. That car. It was the first gift Isabella had ever given me. A classic sports car. I had kept it in the garage, pristine, never driving it for fear of damaging something so precious, a symbol of her affection. Then Liam saw it. And with a wave of her hand, Isabella gave it to him. “You don’t have a license anyway, Sebastian,” she had said. “You can’t use it. Liam lives far from the office; he could use a reliable car. This way, he’ll be more productive for the company. I’ll buy you a better one when you finally get around to taking your test.” I had said nothing, just watched as Liam took the keys and immediately coaxed her into going for a joyride with him. I had to smile at the memory. The truth was, I’d had my driver’s license for years. It was sitting in the drawer of my bedside table. She had just never cared enough to notice. As the car disappeared down the driveway, I pulled out my phone and made a call. “I need to cancel the order for the custom-made bridal shoes.” “Yes, I understand. I’ll cover any and all cancellation fees.” 2. They were meant to be my wedding gift to Isabella, a surprise to make her happy on our big day. But now, it was clear they would never be worn. The next day, I arrived at the office with my resignation letter in hand. The moment I walked in, I was met with hostile stares. I was used to it. I calmly walked to my desk. I could only imagine what new lies Liam had been spreading. He was constantly whispering about me to our colleagues. At first, I didn’t care, but the misunderstandings piled up until any attempt to defend myself was dismissed as a weak excuse. Eventually, I just stopped trying. While I was getting a cup of tea, my phone buzzed relentlessly. 99+ notifications. All from Liam. I didn’t have to open them to know what they were: a stream of photos documenting his blissful time with Isabella. The timestamp in the corner of each picture showed he was sending them around the clock. I’d never seen Isabella so patient, so engaged. In all our years together, she had never been like this with me. She had never laughed with such genuine, uninhibited joy. In every photo, she was radiant. It was a side of her I had never been allowed to see. I remembered the year I bought her a professional camera for her birthday. I’d secretly taken photography classes for months, wanting to capture her beauty. When I gave it to her, her face fell. “I’ve always hated having my picture taken,” she’d said, her voice cold. “As my fiancé, how could you not know that? Or is this some kind of power play?” “Stop pretending you know me, Sebastian. It’s disgusting.” She didn’t speak to me for a month after that. I had to work myself to the bone on two major projects to secure her promotion to Vice President before she would even look at me again. The difference between being loved and not being loved… it’s painfully obvious. When you love someone, you cherish everything they are, everything they do. I put my phone away and walked straight to HR to submit my resignation. When I returned to my desk to hand over my work, I realized there wasn’t much to hand over. Most of my projects had been stripped from me weeks ago, given to Liam as peace offerings. The handover took less than an hour. As I was packing my personal effects, the head of the project department stormed over, slamming a rejected bid proposal on my desk. “Sebastian! You were in charge of this bid! The client just called, furious. There are major errors in the proposal. I want an explanation, now!” The surrounding colleagues, already poisoned against me by Liam’s stories, saw their chance. This was their moment to play the hero. “How could you screw up such an important project? Do you have any idea how much this meant to Ms. Padel?” “I can’t believe they let him handle it. If Liam had been in charge, this never would have happened.” “You think his salary can even begin to cover this loss?” “Cover it? He couldn’t afford to. They should just fire him and be done with it.” I ignored their chatter and glanced at the proposal’s cover sheet. A cold smile touched my lips. “This wasn’t my project. It was Liam’s.” Kevin, one of Liam’s most devoted sycophants, scoffed. “Can’t even take responsibility for your own mistakes? Are you a man? We all know this was your project. Now you’re trying to pin it on Liam? Do you think we’re all blind?” The others murmured in agreement. Just then, an HR representative walked over. “Your resignation has been approved, Sebastian.” Kevin’s face twisted into a sneer. “Trying to run away now? It’s too late. You’d better figure out how you’re going to compensate the company and explain this to Ms. Padel.” “You’re a disease,” he spat. “The company should have cut you out long ago. If it wasn’t for Liam, always defending you, Ms. Padel would have thrown you out on the street ages ago.” His words lit a fire. The mob mentality took over. They decided I was a blight on the office and needed to be removed immediately. Within minutes, they had shoved all my belongings into a black trash bag and tossed it out the office door. Kevin stood over me, his arms crossed. “Well? Are you going to leave, or do we have to make you?” I looked at him, this pathetic, spineless yes-man, puffed up with borrowed power. I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. Twice. Then, leaving him and the others in a state of stunned silence, I walked out of the company for the last time. 3. A few days later, Liam sent me another barrage of photos. This time, it was a professional photoshoot. “By the way,” his message read, “you and Isabella have been together for so long. Have you ever had a professional portrait session? I’ve never seen a single photo of you two at her place. Don’t tell me you don’t even have one picture together… how pathetic.” I was about to block him when I accidentally opened one of the images. The theme of the photoshoot was a wedding. My vision darkened. So, the man Isabella intended to marry was Liam. It suddenly occurred to me that our own wedding was just around the corner, and we still hadn’t taken any engagement photos. I had brought it up with Isabella multiple times, but she always brushed me off, saying she was too busy with work. Her “work,” it turned out, was taking Liam on romantic getaways. My mother called just then, asking about the wedding preparations. “Sebastian, darling, you must double-check everything. We can’t have any mistakes. It would be an embarrassment to the Padel family.” “And if you need anything, you tell me. Our family may have lost its standing, but we will not be bullied by anyone.” An image of Isabella, radiant in a wedding gown and smiling at Liam, flashed through my mind. “Mom,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m not getting married.” She thought I was throwing another tantrum. “Sebastian, Isabella is a woman. Can’t you just be the bigger person? You’re about to walk down the aisle. You can’t do it with a sour look on your face.” Be the bigger person? How many times had I been the bigger person? How many times had I watched her sacrifice my work, my dignity, to appease Liam? How many times had I swallowed my pride when she took him on trips alone? I had told myself it would get better, that if I was just patient, she would come around. But she only pushed further, and now this. A wedding shoot with another man. This time, I was done being the bigger person. Sensing my silence, my mother gave me a few parting words of advice and hung up. A little while later, Arthur came to my room. The custom-tailored wedding suit and gown had arrived. He said Isabella had already gone to the boutique and was waiting for me. I was surprised. I hadn’t expected her back for at least another week. She never cut her trips short. Could it be that this wedding actually meant something to her? But if it did, why had she been completely absent from the planning, leaving everything to me? I scoffed at my own foolish hope, went to the garage, and drove to the bridal shop. As I approached the entrance, I heard raised voices. It was Liam and Isabella, arguing. “Why do you have to marry him?” Liam demanded. “You’ve been chained to that ridiculous contract your whole life! Are you going to let him ruin your future too?” “You love me! When you’re with me, you shine! You’re alive!” “I can’t bear to see you unhappy. If you go through with this wedding, I’ll… I’ll kill myself right in front of you!” Isabella was stunned into silence. Seeing her hesitation, Liam’s emotions boiled over. He grabbed a letter opener from the counter and dragged it across his wrist. Isabella screamed, lunging forward to snatch it away. She grabbed a swatch of fabric, pressing it against the bleeding cut. He shoved her away. “Don’t stop me! Let me die! At least then I won’t have to watch you suffer every day!” Terrified he would try again, she nodded frantically, agreeing to anything. Seeing her surrender, Liam’s face broke into a tearful, triumphant smile. She tried to take him to the hospital, but he refused. “I want you to announce it,” he said, pressing his advantage. “On your wedding day, in front of everyone. You will tell them that I am your groom, and that Sebastian is just some pathetic stalker who’s been obsessed with you. It’s the lesson he deserves.” Isabella looked at the blood soaking through the fabric, and she agreed. I turned and walked away from the shop. I pulled the simple silver ring from my finger—the one she had given me when we first got engaged—and tossed it into a curbside trash can. 4. When I got home, the sound of a cooking show was echoing from the kitchen. The living room was a disaster zone, ingredients strewn everywhere. In the kitchen, I found Isabella, flustered and surrounded by mess. She had been up all night, trying to learn how to make a restorative soup for her dear Liam. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. “Sebastian! You’re good at making soup, aren’t you? Come and teach me. I need to make something for Liam. Something to replenish his… energy.” The bright, eager look on her face was one I recognized. I had seen it once before, the day I agreed to sign over my 5% share in the family company. I never thought I’d see it again, especially not for another man. I glanced at the red, scalded marks on the back of her hand. “We have a chef for that,” I said coldly. “You don’t have to do it yourself.” “You don’t understand,” she cut me off, her eyes shining. “It means more when you make it yourself.” I looked into those bright eyes. I, too, had once poured my heart into making nourishing broths for her, ignoring the servants who whispered that I acted more like a maid than the master of the house. She had shown no gratitude then. She had mocked me, and once, she had even thrown a bowl of scalding soup at my legs, leaving a scar that never faded. I took an involuntary step back. She saw it as defiance. Her expression hardened instantly. “Are you still angry about the apology?” she snapped. “I already promised you, didn’t I? After the wedding, I’ll buy you any car you want.” “Besides, our wedding is in three days. I’ll make sure you’re the most envied man in the city.” I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked up the stairs. Her temper flared. She grabbed the spatula she was holding and hurled it at me. It struck me squarely in the back. Later, I came downstairs to find Arthur carefully bandaging her arm. She had failed to make the soup and had only managed to burn herself badly in the process. She saw me and her face contorted with rage. “You’re nothing like Liam! Liam would never treat me this way!” she screamed. “He…” “Then cancel the wedding,” I said, my voice cutting through her tirade. “Since I’m not the one you want to marry anyway.” Isabella shot to her feet, aghast. The bandage slipped, revealing an arm covered in blisters. Tears welled in her eyes. “Sebastian, how dare you! Say that again!” I was momentarily stunned. I couldn’t believe she would go to such lengths for him. I took a deep breath. “We’re breaking up. The wedding is off. Do I need to repeat myself?” She stared at me, disbelief warring with contempt. “Is this a game to you, Sebastian?” she sneered. “You were the one who insisted on this wedding. Now you’re the one trying to call it off. Do you really think these pathetic threats will give you some kind of control over me? You’re dreaming.” I wasn’t going to argue. I packed a suitcase, walked out the door, and booked a flight out of the country for that night. Before I left, I prepared a video—a personal monologue—to be played at the wedding instead of a photo montage. I gave it to Arthur, my final gift to Isabella. He, thinking it was a romantic surprise, promised to play it on the big day. He hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowed with concern. “Sir, that blow you took to your back… are you alright?” I paused, then managed a small smile. “I’m fine.” When Isabella got angry, she threw things. She never considered the consequences. Over the years, I’d gotten used to it. Besides, the pain from that little spatula was already gone. As I watched the other passengers board the plane, I sent one last voice message to Isabella. “Congratulations on your wedding, Isabella. You and Liam deserve each other. I hope you like my gift.” A red exclamation point appeared next to the message. Of course. She had blocked me long ago. The cabin announcement for takeoff began. As the plane lifted off the ground, I smiled at my dark phone screen and whispered, “Goodbye, Isabella.”

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1 Caleb Brady rejected his stepsister Seraphina in front of everyone—then asked me, the quiet scholarship student no one noticed. Sera shattered, and her madness soon turned toward me. Yet every time she attacked, Caleb pulled me behind him, a slow smile spreading as he watched her face pale. “She’s clean. She’s beautiful. You and her aren’t in the same league.” His voice dropped low. “Leave her alone—or you’ll regret it.” The students cheered. I felt a warmth in my chest, believing I’d found the best man alive. Until Sera cornered me in the hall, ripped my shirt open, and had her crony force a kiss on me while everyone filmed. Caleb snapped. He pulled me into his arms, then dragged Sera into a stairwell and slammed her against the wall, kissing her over and over. Muffled groans tangled with sharp breaths. “Is this my punishment or reward, brother? You tell me,” Sera’s voice purred through the door gap. “You won’t be my boyfriend? What should I do next time?” “Go on—warn me again.” “Don’t you dare say you love her. You’re the one who let me play psycho to punish her.” Her mocking laugh pierced me like ice. Cold rose from the floor, freezing me in place. All along, I was just a prop in their twisted game. “Don’t flatter yourself, Sera,” Caleb’s voice was strained. “I only let you pretend to be crazy so she’d depend on me more.” “You have no idea how soft she gets when she melts against me, all hurt and needing comfort.” Sera’s foot traced a slow path up his calf. “Flatter myself? Soft, you say?” “You’re such a bad liar, big brother. That’s not what you were saying last night, when you were holding me in Mom and Dad’s bed.” “Tell me, do you have to pop a pill to get it up for Chloe, too?” “Or was that just for me? A little something to earn your reward?” Her arms snaked around his neck, her laughter bright and sharp. The sound was followed by the wet noise of biting kisses and ragged breathing, punctuated by Sera’s coquettish murmurs. “Next time, I’ll leave your lips so swollen you won’t be able to go home,” Caleb growled, his voice thick with something that sounded dangerously like pleasure. “I know,” she cooed. “I’ll be sure to try even harder.” “See you tonight, brother.” Long after Sera’s footsteps faded away, I heard Caleb’s quiet echo. “See you tonight.” My fists clenched, a roaring sound filling my ears. A few minutes later, Caleb stepped out of the stairwell, his expression a perfect mask of concern. He wrapped his arms around me, just like he always did. But this time, I didn’t dissolve into tears. I didn’t beg for his help. I didn’t even return the embrace. He stroked my hair, his touch gentle. “My sweet girl, you’ve been hurt. But I’m here now.” “I just punished her for you. Don’t be angry anymore.” I looked up at him, my eyes landing on his lip—swollen and split, a tiny bead of blood welling at the corner. My public humiliation, my helpless, screaming breakdown… was just a “punishment” in his eyes. A trivial event. Worse, it was just an excuse for their twisted foreplay. Those beautiful, almond-shaped eyes had once captivated me completely. The day another boy tried to ask me out, Caleb had smoothly cut in. “Hey, good girl. Mind if I cut in line? I’ve got a confession to make, too.” His long, elegant fingers offered me a folded note. Inside, the handwriting was bold and sweeping, filling the page with passionate words. My face burned. I couldn’t speak. He was the one who laughed first. “You’re blushing already? How red are you going to get when we’re under the covers?” He had the face of a poet and the mouth of a sailor. In a daze, I nodded my consent. From that day on, he walked me to and from school. Every single day. Rain or shine. I felt a dizzying sense of vertigo. Were they the same person? Just like now. He was talking to me, but his gaze kept drifting in the direction Sera had disappeared. I pushed myself out of his arms. “Caleb, I’m telling a teacher.” No response. Instead, his voice came out choked with anguish, full of a desperate sincerity. “I truly love you.” My heart stuttered. I looked up, only to find him staring at Sera’s retreating back in the distance. A suffocating tightness squeezed my chest. I raised my voice, forcing the words out. “Caleb, I’m going to the principal. I deserve justice.” That finally snapped him back. His hand shot out, grabbing my arm. “I told you, I already punished her.” “She’s mentally ill. She’s pitiful enough as it is. Don’t hold it against her.” “Besides,” he added, his tone dismissive, “I trust you. It’s not that big of a deal.” The casual indifference in his eyes sent a chill down my spine. Not a big deal? Then what was? Oh, right. Seraphina’s happiness. That was what mattered. Caleb draped an arm over my shoulders, a hint of impatience in his gesture. “We’re practically family, anyway. Just let it go.” “Let’s get back to class.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, but the sharp tang was nothing compared to the agony ripping through my heart. As we walked, whispers and stifled giggles followed us like a cloud of flies. They were all pointing, all staring. Suddenly, someone shoved me hard, sending me stumbling into our classroom. A blizzard of photos rained down on me, their sharp edges kissing my skin like paper cuts before fluttering to the floor. They were all of me—my shirt torn, my face twisted in shock as that boy forced himself on me. “Surprise!” Sera appeared, holding another handful of even more explicit shots, scattering them over my head. “We’re all so curious, Chloe! Why don’t you give us a little performance right now?” “Performance!” “Performance!” “Performance!” The chant hammered into my skull. My entire body started to shake. Helplessly, my eyes found Caleb. Our gazes met for a split second before he looked away. “Shut up,” I screamed, grabbing the nearest textbook and hurling it at Sera. But Caleb’s hand shot out, his fingers closing around my wrist like a vice. “That’s enough. Everyone, disperse,” he commanded. “Class is starting.” As the crowd melted away, Sera shot me a triumphant smirk. She unhooked a lacy bra strap from under her shirt and casually looped it around Caleb’s wrist. Then she raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me in a blatant challenge. “What is this supposed to be?” he grumbled, but he quickly pulled down his sleeve to cover the strap. My heart felt like it was bleeding, drop by painful drop. This was the same guy who thought my simple hair clip ruined his image, yet here he was, treasuring his stepsister’s underwear like a trophy. I sank into my seat, a numb automaton. The whispers around me grew louder. “Too bad for Caleb. Guess he only gets sloppy seconds.” “Seriously. I was late today, I missed everything. Someone send me the pics?” “She looks so innocent, but who knows how many guys she’s slept with behind his back.” The words were quiet, but they felt like needles stabbing into my back. I gripped my pen, but my hand was trembling too much to write. Suddenly, a hail of trash—half-eaten snacks, fruit peels, wadded-up napkins—pelted my head and shoulders. Someone even threw the contents of a small trash bag at me. I whipped around. Sera just hummed, looking bored. “What’s wrong, good girl? Why don’t you ask my brother for help?” “Give him a little kiss. He’d probably die for you,” she said, covering her mouth in a mock giggle. My voice was a choked sob as I reached out my hand. “Caleb.” He flinched away from my touch. His eyes were fixed on Sera’s back. “Go wash up,” he told me, his voice flat. “Tonight, I’ll lock her in the dark room. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” In the girls’ bathroom, I scrubbed frantically at my skin, trying to wash away the filth and humiliation. Through the crack of the stall next to me, I saw her. Sera, perched on his lap. “Don’t push it, Sera.” “She’s pure and clean. She’s not someone you can mess with.” Sera just giggled. “Is that so? But my dear, dear brother—” “Why did you pull away from her just now?” “Don’t even try to tell me you weren’t disgusted by her.” “Shut up,” Caleb hissed, his voice tight with rage. “I have a thing about germs.” “You think everyone’s like you, swapping partners like they’re changing clothes?” “It’s disgusting.” Sera was unfazed. “Brother, you’re not a very good liar.” “Does my lingerie smell nice? Is it satisfying, holding it while you sleep at night?” “I’ve been with so many men, but you still sneak into my room every night to kiss me, don’t you?” Caleb’s breathing grew heavy and ragged. “Shut up! That’s your punishment! For what you do to her.” “Tonight. The dark room.” “The dark room? Tonight, I want to be on top.” “And the sheets are getting old. The bed isn’t soft enough.” “I saw the maid outfit you hid in the closet. I want you to wear it for me tonight.” Caleb’s body went rigid. “If you dare touch her, I’ll double your punishment.” “In Mom and Dad’s bathtub this time? It’s nice and big in there.” Sera leaned in and pressed her lips to his. “Admit it, brother. You’re madly in love with me.” I stumbled backward, my hand flying to the wall to keep myself from collapsing. My nails scraped against the tile, leaving bloody streaks, but all I could feel was a hollowing ache inside me. My heart was emptying out, becoming a vast, cold cavern. A bitter smile twisted my lips. Caleb, oh, Caleb. What a true love you are. When I got back to the classroom, a girl grabbed me by the hair and shoved my head toward a trash can. “Thief! How dare you steal from me!” I struggled wildly. “I didn’t…” A series of sharp slaps rocked my head. “Still denying it? We found the necklace in your bag!” “You’re just a poor charity case! How could you ever afford something like that?” Pain exploded behind my eyes, and the world started to go gray. I reached out, grasping for something, anything. “What’s going on?” Caleb walked in, looking a bit disheveled. Sera stood behind him, a smug look on her face. A moment later, our teacher followed. After hearing the story, the teacher frowned at me. “Chloe, is this true?” I shook my head. “No.” “But the necklace was found in your possession.” “Sera told me yesterday she saw you acting suspiciously in the classroom after hours.” My heart seized. I whirled on Sera. “It was her! She’s the one who has it out for me!” “She’s doing this on purpose! She’s jealous of me and Caleb, so she framed me!” “She even had someone rip my clothes this morning!” The teacher looked conflicted, her gaze finally settling on Caleb. He looked at Sera, and a flicker of understanding crossed his face. He stepped in front of me. “Ma’am, Chloe told me yesterday how much she liked that necklace.” “She didn’t mean any harm. I’ll apologize on her behalf. Please, let’s just forgive her.” The teacher sighed, looking at me with a mixture of pity and disappointment. “Your scholarship is revoked. And I want a ten-thousand-word apology on my desk by tomorrow morning.” I stood there, frozen. A bone-deep chill spread through me. In this vibrant, lively school, I felt like a ghost. Caleb patted my shoulder. “It’s okay. So what if it’s revoked?” “It’s just a few thousand dollars. I’ll transfer you the money right now.” A second later, my phone buzzed with a notification from my bank. Sera shot him a glare. “Well, aren’t you someone’s little treasure?” “You better take good care of her. We wouldn’t want her turning into a little thief again, would we?” “Get back to your class,” Caleb snapped at her. He turned back to me and gently wiped a tear from my cheek. “Don’t be scared, sweet girl. I’m here.” I stood there like a wooden doll, unmoving. Sera was right. He was already hopelessly in love with her. And I was just the shield he used to deny it. I opened my phone, staring at a familiar contact. My thumb hovered over the words I had typed out, the most decisive words I’d ever written. Then I let the screen go dark. 2 Maybe it was guilt. For the next few days, Caleb stuck to my side like glue. But his mind was elsewhere. His thumb was always rubbing the jagged scar on his wrist. I knew the story behind it. I’d overheard it one day. Sera had been dating some guy, and Caleb had lost his mind with jealousy. He’d hunted the guy down and started a fight. But Sera had protected the other boy. In the ensuing chaos, she had been the one to shatter Caleb’s wrist. He should have hated her for it. But when she came to apologize, to gently clean the wound and apply medicine, he forgave her instantly. He even refused to change the dressing she’d put on, wearing it until it was gray and frayed. How ironic. When we first started dating, I’d worried about that scar. I’d gently touched it once, and he had recoiled violently, shoving my hand away. He’d rushed to the nearest sink and scrubbed his skin raw, as if terrified my touch had contaminated that sacred ground. Just like now, in the cafeteria. From across the room, Sera let out a small cry, and Caleb was on his feet in a second, rushing to her side. His face was a mask of panic, which quickly soured into annoyance when he realized it was just a prank. Sera wrapped her arms around his waist in front of everyone. “Brother, I ordered too much food. I can’t finish it.” “Can you help me? Please? Just eat the rest for me.” He grumbled and said no, but then he took her plate and finished every last bite, without even changing the fork. He even ate the fatty piece of pork she’d left, the one thing I knew he absolutely detested. If I had ever asked him to do something like that, he would have lectured me about how disgusting it was to eat someone else’s leftovers. It wasn’t the food that was disgusting. It was the person. I stared down at my own plate, my vision blurring. My phone buzzed. [I’m only going along with her because I’m afraid she’ll bully you. Eat up, my sweet girl.] How kind of him to find the time to string me along. I couldn’t breathe. It felt like a dull knife was being dragged over my skin, again and again, leaving me a mangled mess of flesh and blood. A wave of nausea hit me, and I ran to the bathroom, heaving until my stomach was empty. When it was time to go home that evening, Caleb still hadn’t noticed anything was wrong. He just muttered something about having to take care of something and left without me. My face was pale as I walked down the street alone. Suddenly, a bag was thrown over my head. I was dragged into a narrow, damp alley. Sera clapped her hands together, her voice sharp and gleeful. “Hit her hard. I’ll pay you double.” “Beat her until she’s half-dead. It’ll be more fun that way.” “Don’t hold back. I’m a certified psycho, remember? My brother will clean up any mess I make.” The sharp clicks of her heels echoed as she walked over and kicked me hard, several times. “Harder! You think you can mess with me? You overestimate yourself.” “Don’t you know who I am? I’m the princess of the Brady family.” “You’re so small and skinny. My brother says there’s nothing to grab onto. I don’t know what he sees in you.” A brick slammed into my collarbone with a sickening crack. A pained grunt escaped my lips. I was in so much agony. “Caleb…” I whispered his name, a desperate prayer. I still clung to the hope that he would appear like a savior and rescue me. The blows rained down, heavier and heavier. Finally, I stopped fighting back, collapsing onto the grimy pavement as darkness encroached. Through a haze of pain, I thought I heard familiar footsteps. He won’t leave me like this, I thought, a desperate flicker of hope igniting within me. He couldn’t. Not when I’m this broken. But the next voice I heard was Caleb’s, cold and detached. “Are you done venting? We can go now.” “You’ve been a little hard on her lately. She’s been crying in secret. Don’t go too far.” He sounded so indifferent, but Sera just melted against him, her voice a playful whine. “But it’s her fault for messing with me. I’m not done yet.” “That’s enough. Don’t think you can do whatever you want just because I’m here.” Sera’s voice turned demanding. “Then tell me you love me.” “Don’t be ridiculous.” “Tell me you love me, and I’ll stop.” A long silence stretched out. Just when I thought he wouldn’t answer, he did. “I love you.” “That’s more like it.” Sera snorted. “I knew you loved me most. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have tipped me off that she was coming this way.” “If I hadn’t done this, you already had people lined up to take care of her, didn’t you?” “The only tough thing about you is your mouth… my sweet, dear brother.” She planted a series of loud, wet kisses on his face. Satisfied, she signaled for her goons to leave. Caleb stepped into her path, blocking her way. “Now, what about my reward?” “Three hours. Is that enough?” “Not enough. I want the whole night.” He cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek before he leaned in and kissed her deeply. “You’re so greedy,” she murmured against his lips when they finally broke apart. She leaned against him, her body pliant. They stayed like that for a long time before finally leaving together. Caleb glanced back at the crumpled figure on the alley floor. A frown creased his brow for a moment. Then, without a second thought, he turned and walked away. I don’t know how much time passed. I managed to drag myself up against the rough brick wall. A stray dog trotted over and snatched my shoe. My hand was sticky with something warm and metallic-smelling. I couldn’t seem to draw a full breath for the pain. My phone lit up with a message that felt like a devil’s whisper. [Chloe, you shouldn’t have touched her.] My bloody fingerprints smeared across the screen as I clutched the phone, a wave of helplessness washing over me. The edges of my vision were growing darker. I remembered when we first got together. He held me close and promised, “Sweet girl, no one will ever bully you again. I’ll make you happy.” Even with his demanding schedule, he found time to write me poems. He once stood up in front of our entire class and read one aloud before leaning in to kiss the tip of my nose so gently. Now I realized it was all just a performance. Another way to provoke Sera. My collarbone was broken. The delay in getting treatment meant it would never heal properly. It was a twisted, ugly knot under my skin, like a maggot. I was out of school for a long time while I recovered. Caleb never came to see me. He’d send the occasional placating text, claiming he was busy. But he wasn’t busy. He was in the park just down the street. Kissing his stepsister. When I finally returned to school, the taunts were louder, the cruelty more blatant. They put glue on my chair, tore up my books. Someone spat in my water bottle. They’d hoot with laughter when they succeeded. Caleb was always there, standing on the sidelines with a cool, detached expression. His silence was a green light for all of it. Occasionally, he’d offer a few hollow words of comfort. But every time he did, Sera would retaliate with something even worse. Which would lead to another one of Caleb’s “punishments.” And I would fall deeper and deeper into the abyss. I couldn’t take it anymore. I dragged Sera up to the rooftop. She just crossed her arms, completely unfazed. “Well, well. The good girl finally snapped?” “How many times have you cried yourself to sleep?” “You did all of it on purpose.” My voice was tight, my chest aching. She just smiled, then reached out and pulled my collar aside, exposing my mangled collarbone. “Tsk, tsk. Look at that… so ugly. I wonder if brother will still be able to stomach kissing you now.” I grabbed the front of her shirt. “Sera!” “Chloe, stop it!” Caleb charged onto the roof, breathing heavily. He looked terrified. But his terror wasn’t for me. It was for her. I threw a small audio recorder at his feet. “Listen to it.” “They did it on purpose. They planned it all.” “I’m going to expose everything!” Caleb’s eyes widened. He was scared. Scared of how he was going to clean up Sera’s mess. “Sweet girl, come here.” “She’s sick. Let’s not stoop to her level.” “You’ve been in love with her all along, haven’t you!” “What? How could you think that?” “She’s disgusting. I’d never be interested in her. Sweet girl, are you feeling insecure?” Even now. Even now, he was still lying. “Then you release the recording. Right now.” His brow furrowed. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s the Brady family name…” I pulled Sera back toward the edge of the roof. “I don’t care! Do it now! Post it!” “Don’t! Sweet girl, don’t move!” “Choose! Choose right now!” I was getting more and more frantic. He lunged forward. And pushed me off the roof. Maybe he didn’t mean to. Maybe, in his rush to grab Sera and pull her to safety, he just shoved me out of the way. By some miracle, I survived. When I came to, I heard their voices. “Sera, you have to stop,” Caleb was saying. “You’ve gone too far recently.” Sera scoffed. “No way. Why are you so concerned about her?” “She’s my girlfriend. Your future… sister-in-law.” “She is not!” Sera shrieked. She grabbed Caleb’s head and pulled him down for a bruising kiss. “Why do you call me disgusting?” she demanded. “I was young and stupid, someone tricked me. But now, you’re the only one I want, brother!” “You know you have feelings for me, too. Now let me sit on your lap.” Caleb turned his head away, silent. “What if she wakes up…” “I don’t care! I want to! You bastard brother!” He gave in. I clutched the bedsheet, tears sliding silently down my temples. The pain was sharp, drilling into my very bones. I didn’t dare open my eyes, didn’t dare face what was happening. A week later, I chose a time when I knew they’d be out and went home to get my things. From down the street, I could hear the sound of things smashing. The inside of our small apartment was destroyed. And my brother, my only family, was lying in a pool of his own blood. “Leo!” I screamed, rushing in and gathering him in my arms. Sera saw me. She didn’t even seem to care. She was on the phone with Caleb. “She’s back. Way to ruin the mood.” I screamed into the phone, my voice cracking. “Caleb, help! It’s my brother, he’s—” His voice on the other end was calm, unhurried. “Alright, sweet girl. Maybe you’ll learn your lesson this time.” “I’ve already taken care of everything. Don’t even think about calling the police or making a scene. It won’t do you any good.” Sera raised a triumphant eyebrow at me. “The good girl,” she purred. “Brother says… being with me is exciting. It’s interesting.” “And you? You’re just a toy to pass the time.” The ambulance arrived too late. My brother was dead. The day of his funeral, a cold rain fell from a gray sky. And I dialed a familiar number. “About what we discussed before… I’ll do it.”

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1 Our doctor called Caspian Hamblett and me a match made in heaven—a cruel twist of fate, really. His fertility rate was practically zero, a severe case of male infertility. Mine was the exact opposite; I was hyper-fertile. We were a biological paradox. And so, in our third year of marriage, the impossible happened: I conceived naturally. I tucked the positive pregnancy test into a small, elegant box, planning to give it to him on his birthday. The perfect surprise. But he beat me to it, exploding across the internet first: #HamblettHeirCaspianAndSupermodelGirlfriendInSteamyHotelRomp #SeraphinaRowesBody #LearningNewTricksAtTheApexHotel I felt like I’d been plunged into a cavern of ice. I called Caspian, my hand trembling. He answered, his voice a low, intimate murmur. “Babe, I’ve got a business dinner tonight. Don’t wait up.” Before I could utter a single word, he hung up, leaving me frozen in silence. I didn’t sleep that night. … The comments online were a torrent of poison. [You can’t really blame him for finding another woman. His wife is barren.] [Exactly. He’s handsome, rich, incredible in bed. He has everything. Genes like that deserve to be passed on.] [Please, Seraphina Rowe is an international supermodel. Can you imagine how perfect their kid would be?] Through the long lens of a paparazzi camera, Caspian made no effort to hide as he pressed the woman against the floor-to-ceiling window. His large hands were strategically placed, cupping her private areas, his movements powerful yet tender. Below, on the street, a crowd of onlookers and photographers grew, their cameras flashing until night fell. [Damn, three hours, four rounds. Caspian Hamblett is a god.] [Seraphina must be in heaven.] For me, those three hours were an eternity of torture. I watched the man who had promised to love me for a lifetime tear off his mask for the world to see, losing himself in another woman. I remembered a year ago, after a full year of trying for a baby with no success, when his parents pressured us into getting checked. The results came back. The doctor told me the problem was Caspian. To protect his pride, his fragile male ego, I begged the doctor to keep it a secret. I told everyone the problem was me. That I was the one who couldn’t conceive. That night, his mother laid out dozens of photos in front of him. “The Hamblett family empire is enormous. We can’t let it die without an heir.” “This one is from Harvard, high IQ. This one is a professor at Juilliard, artistic, from a family of intellectuals…” Right in front of me, Caspian swept the photos into the trash can. “Mom, forget it. I only love Elara.” “I can’t separate my body from my heart.” His mother tried everything to force us apart—tears, tantrums, threats. But he just held my hand tighter and we moved out of the Hamblett mansion. He even threatened to publicly disown his family. “You two can have more kids if you want,” he’d told his parents. “That way you won’t have to worry about the Hamblett legacy.” “Elara and I are going to live a happy, carefree life, just the two of us.” The conviction in his eyes back then was absolute. I truly believed we would love each other for the rest of our lives. But now… Tears blurred my vision. I rested a hand on my stomach, on the precious new life I was carrying, and sent Caspian a text. [Are you sure you don’t want to know what your surprise is?] I stared at my phone, praying for a reply. If he would just apologize, even with a pathetic excuse like he’d lost his head for a moment, I would keep our child. I would give him one more chance. But the only reply I received was a city-wide firework display, lighting up the night sky with a message for everyone to see: [To Seraphina Rowe’s first love, Mr. Hamblett. It began with you, it will be true to you, and it will end with you. I love you~] [Happy Birthday. Here’s to many more with me.] The fireworks spelled out the words, one by one, for a full thirty minutes. Their grand romantic gesture was trending again. They were on a yacht on the Hudson, having a candlelit dinner. [I heard Caspian bought that yacht for her. It’s their private love boat now.] [Wow, so romantic. I can only imagine what happens on that thing~] My heart shattered, piece by piece. Today wasn’t just his twenty-eighth birthday. It was our tenth anniversary. We were eighteen when we got into the same university. One kiss, and we were inseparable. Now, he had clearly forgotten all about the woman waiting at home to celebrate with him. I sat at the dining table for five hours, watching the food grow cold and the cake I’d baked collapse in on itself. Finally, my phone buzzed. It was from Seraphina. [Caspian and I had a wild night. He just fell asleep.] [If you want to know what happened, it’s all online. Need me to send you a highlight reel?] A flood of video files came through, eating up nearly twenty gigabytes of my phone’s memory. [Here’s the whole thing. Enjoy the show, honey.] [Okay, I’m exhausted. Going to cuddle with your husband now. Bye.] The last message was a photo of Caspian asleep. His brow was furrowed with fatigue, but a sweet, satisfied smile played on his lips. A wave of nausea washed over me. I ran to the bathroom and dry-heaved over the toilet. The baby kicked restlessly inside me. I bit my lip until I tasted blood as tears streamed down my face. “I’m sorry, little one,” I whispered. “It’s not that I don’t want you. It’s that I can’t have you.” I wanted so badly to give our child a happy home. But I couldn’t. Not anymore. I couldn’t pretend nothing had happened and continue to share a bed with Caspian. After I was done being sick, I pulled myself up from the floor. I started packing a bag, my mind set on going to the hospital for an abortion. Just then, there was a knock at the door. It was Alfred, his parents’ driver. “Ma’am, Mrs. Hamblett would like to see you.” I went with him. His mother slid a divorce agreement across the table. “I’m sure you’re aware of what happened yesterday.” “Caspian has been carrying on with that woman in public, for the whole city to see. He’s made it perfectly clear he’s ready for a divorce.” “You need to accept the fact that he doesn’t love you anymore. Sign the papers. Don’t hold him back.” After a sleepless night, I had already steeled myself to end our ten-year relationship. To lose his child. To divorce him. I just hadn’t expected the Hamblett family to be in such a hurry to throw me out. I picked up the agreement with a bitter taste in my mouth. The terms were simple: I would leave with nothing. I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. I pushed the papers back. “I’ll agree to a divorce. But I’m not signing this.” “Caspian’s affair is public knowledge. I want a seventy-thirty split of the assets.” “Seventy for me, thirty for him.” His mother slammed her hand on the table. “How dare you!” “In all the years you’ve been married into this family, you haven’t produced a single heir.” “Marrying Caspian elevated you, a girl from a bankrupt family, to a status and respect you never deserved.” “And now you have the audacity to demand money? You should be compensating us!” The absurdity of it all was suffocating. “Has it ever occurred to you that the reason I can’t have a baby is because your son is the one who’s broken?” SLAP. The force of the blow sent a ringing through my ears. She threw a debit card at my face. “Don’t you dare spew such nonsense.” “Your youth was worth about five hundred dollars.” “Take it, and get out of my house.” Just then, the door opened. Caspian walked in, holding Seraphina’s hand. He flinched when he saw me, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. He tried to pull his hand away, but Seraphina gripped it tighter, linking her arm through his. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hamblett,” Seraphina cooed. “Caspian and I were up so late last night, we overslept a little.” She pulled a sapphire necklace and an envelope from her purse. “This is for you. It was the grand prize from the modeling competition. A royal blue sapphire. The moment I saw it, I thought of you.” His mother’s eyes lit up. “This is a priceless piece, almost impossible to find at auction now. And you’re just giving it to me?” Seraphina nodded. “Of course. You’re Caspian’s mother. You raised this incredible man. I don’t know how else to thank you.” His mother beamed. “You are too thoughtful, my dear. It seems our Caspian has finally opened his eyes.” “I didn’t have time to prepare a proper gift for you, but please, take this.” She handed Seraphina a black credit card. “It has a five-million-dollar monthly limit. Spend it as you wish. I know you models have to maintain a certain image.” Seraphina hugged her sweetly. “Thank you so much! I’m opening the fashion show tomorrow. You have to come!” A bitter pang shot through my heart. In all my years with Caspian, I had never been treated with such warmth. I grabbed my bag to leave, but Caspian stopped me. “Stay for dinner.” I shook him off. “No, thank you. Let’s get a divorce.” “I’ll meet you at the city clerk’s office tomorrow at nine.” His brow furrowed with impatience. “Yes, I’m with Seraphina now. But she doesn’t mind you being around. You can keep your title as Mrs. Hamblett.” He leaned in, his voice low. “You need to remember, you have no one but me now.” “Throwing a tantrum and demanding a divorce won’t do you any good.” He was right. I had no one else. Ever since my parents died in a car crash that was meant for him, a deliberate act of sabotage, I had clung to him like he was life itself. He was the only one left who would be good to me. And now, this blatant betrayal. If I had known this would happen, I would have stayed away from him ten years ago. Then my parents would still be alive. Seraphina approached me with a bright, false smile, as if just noticing me. “Oh, Elara, you’re here! I actually had a little favor to ask you.” “Listen to Caspian. Stay for dinner.” I took a step back. “No.” Caspian’s face darkened. “Elara, don’t take your anger out on Seraphina.” “She’s sincerely asking for your help, not for your cold shoulder.” He shoved me into a dining chair. Seraphina poured me a glass of red wine. “The jewelry I was planning to wear for the show tomorrow has gone missing.” “This is a special exhibition. The pieces need to have a story. The other models are wearing family heirlooms or purchased antiques. I can’t find a suitable replacement on such short notice.” “So, I was hoping to borrow yours.” Her eyes were fixed on the necklace I was wearing. “With the story behind it, your necklace would be the talk of the show.” Her earnest expression was a mask for raw provocation. My heart seized. I instinctively covered the necklace with my hand. I had taken it from my mother’s body. I remember that day with sickening clarity. A massive truck plowing straight into my parents’ car. Their multi-million dollar Rolls-Royce, crushed like a tin can. Blood pooling on the asphalt. It was the darkest day of my life. I knelt before their mangled bodies, my screams tearing through the air, and salvaged the broken half of the necklace from my mother’s neck. It was the only thing I had left of her. And now, Seraphina wanted to use my tragedy as a prop for her career. “Never. My pain is not a tool for your publicity.” Caspian glanced at her, then at me. “Let it go, Seraphina. That was her mother’s.” Tears welled in Seraphina’s eyes, her hand, holding a wine glass, frozen in mid-air. “I just wanted to borrow it,” she choked out. “It’s not like I wasn’t going to give it back.” “Caspian, you know how important this show is to me. I’m on the verge of breaking into the international market.” As her tears fell, Caspian’s expression softened, his brief sternness melting into concern. “Elara, maybe you could just…” “Impossible,” I cut him off. I stood to leave, but Seraphina grabbed my arm. “Please, Elara. I’m begging you.” “I really don’t have time to find anything else. If you’re angry at me because of Caspian, you can hit me, you can yell at me, whatever you want.” I tried to pull away. “Let go of me.” She stumbled backward and fell to the floor, the red wine staining her dress like a fresh wound. Caspian rushed to her side, his face a mask of fury. “That’s enough, Elara.” “Your parents are dead. They’re gone. What’s the point of clinging to a necklace? You’d be better off visiting their graves.” He reached over and ripped the necklace from my neck. “Seraphina is borrowing it. Stop making a scene.” He scooped her up into his arms. “Mom, this woman has ruined dinner.” “I’m taking Seraphina to change. We’ll see you at the show tomorrow.” He carried her out the door. I stumbled after them, my voice raw. “Caspian, that belonged to my mother! You can’t!” “Give it back to me!” He settled Seraphina into the car, then turned to me, his face flushed with anger. “Maybe I’ve been too good to you, Elara. Is that why you feel like you can treat Seraphina this way?” “All she did was ask to borrow something.” He had forgotten. That crash was orchestrated by one of his family’s enemies. They thought he was in the car that day. My parents had died for him. I remember him kneeling at their memorial, sobbing, swearing an oath. “Mom, Dad, don’t worry. I’ll take care of Elara for the rest of my life. I’ll love her and protect her.” “I’ll never let anyone hurt her. I’ll never let something like this happen to her.” All those promises were now dust. A man’s heart changes so easily. For his new love, he could steal my most precious memory. Disappointment was etched across his face. He slammed his foot on the gas, the car screeching away, leaving me standing alone in the road. I didn’t care. I scrambled to my feet and ran after him. At an intersection, there was a deafening screech of tires and a sickening crunch. The next thing I knew, I was flying through the air, thrown several meters by the impact of a car. Blood poured from my nose and mouth. My clothes were soaked with it, a sticky, warm wetness spreading from beneath me. I tried to move, but my body was a dead weight. Through a hazy fog, I heard the wail of a siren. “Quick, call Mr. Hamblett!” “She’s losing too much blood. The baby’s gone. We have to focus on saving her.” “If we lose her, Mr. Hamblett will tear this hospital apart!” A doctor’s voice, choked with tears, “Director, he’s not answering.” “Then use her phone.” They fished my phone from my pocket. The screen was shattered but somehow still worked. A few seconds after they dialed, he picked up. “It’s the middle of the night, Elara. What do you want now?” The paramedic spoke quickly. “Mr. Hamblett, this is City General Hospital. Your wife—” A cold laugh cut him off. “Is Elara being dramatic again? Did she hire actors to try and guilt me into coming home?” “Seraphina has a huge show tomorrow. She’s nervous and needs me with her.” “I’ll come home after it’s over.” “And don’t worry, I’ll bring your necklace back with me.” “No, sir, you don’t understand,” the paramedic insisted. “Your wife has been in a serious car accident.” “She’s in critical condition.” “And she’s miscarried. You need to get to the hospital.” Caspian’s voice was laced with annoyance. “She can’t get pregnant, so how could she have a miscarriage?” “I told you, I’m busy tonight. Tell her to stop acting like a child.” Click. The line went dead. Caspian’s eyelid twitched all night. It was still twitching the next day. A knot of anxiety tightened in his gut. After the fashion show, he hurriedly dismissed the reporters. As he was heading to his car, a man stopped him. “Mr. Hamblett? Miss Elara asked me to give this to you.” In front of all the flashing cameras, the man handed Caspian a small, ornate wooden box. The media swarmed, their lenses focused tightly on it as he lifted the lid.

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Being a trophy wife in a world of immense wealth isn’t without its troubles. But a problem you can solve with money isn’t really a problem at all. So I spent three hundred thousand dollars to hire a master of seduction. His one job: to ensnare the mistress who was trying to take my place. 1 The rich in this world come in two flavors. There are the ones you see on the Forbes list, with their assets laid bare for all to see. And then there are the others—the ones who can move capital and resources on a scale that defies public accounting. My husband, Marcus Sterling, is the latter. His name is unknown to the masses, but the assets he manages approach a trillion dollars. In this world, there are very few things he wants that he cannot have. I am under no illusions. If he ever wanted to divorce me, he could, with a single word, have me thrown out with nothing but the clothes on my back. It would be a mercy if he didn’t saddle me with a mountain of debt to crush me for the rest of my days. After more than twenty years together, perhaps he wouldn’t be quite so cruel. But why should I stand by and let someone else harvest the fruit from the tree I spent my life planting? At my age, I’m long past caring about love. He can sleep with whomever he wants. But touch my money? Not a chance. The problem was, this mistress was a master of her craft. First, she was younger and more beautiful than me. To a man like Marcus, she was a more presentable accessory. Second, her manipulation of men was flawless. She was playing the lead in some grand, pure love story. She never asked my husband for money or connections, never hinted at wanting to replace me. It was all about pure, unadulterated love. She was content to be the other woman, satisfied with the moments he could spare to grace her bed. In her own words, her income was more than enough to support her; all she wanted was love. A pretty lie. Every project she landed was backed by my husband’s resources, his silent endorsement. She was a competent executive, yes, but she knew as well as I did that without a titan propping her up, she wouldn’t have secured a single deal. Third, she and my husband were in the same world: finance. They had endless things to talk about. In contrast, after years as a full-time homemaker, my world had shrunk. I couldn’t compete with her on an intellectual or spiritual level, and the common ground between Marcus and me had eroded to almost nothing. She offered him high-quality emotional support without any pressure. What man wouldn’t fall for that? And finally, the most important point of all. Marcus was her first. And I know my husband—he has a severe virgin complex. In his heart, I suspect he feels a deep sense of indebtedness to her. The less she asked for, the more he felt he owed her a lifetime of responsibility. The only reason he hadn’t divorced me yet was likely because of the three children I had borne him. But I had already heard him, more than once, praising her to the media and to our friends, talking about how brilliant she was, how much she helped his career. She was outmaneuvering me on every front. A war was coming, and the only card I had left to play was the faint, flickering ember of our shared history. The stress was so immense that during my postpartum recovery, I lost twenty pounds. I didn’t know if our marriage would even last until our youngest child’s first birthday. To be honest, I’m not afraid of being without a man. But I have three children. My eldest son just started college, studying finance. In that industry, without his father’s backing, his path would be brutally difficult. My daughter is at an international boarding school that costs a million a year. Her dream is to study art abroad, an endeavor that will require a multi-million-dollar investment to even have a chance at success. And my youngest, another son, was an unexpected blessing. The bills from his first month of life could cover an average person’s annual salary. Behind me, I also have my aging parents. Last year, a simple cold sent my father to the ICU. The cost was twenty thousand dollars a day. He was there for six months. If my money-tree of a husband hadn’t been willing to pay, I would no longer have a father. All of these threads wove a net that I couldn’t escape. I couldn’t leave Marcus. If I could, who wouldn’t want to be the hero of her own story, a woman of immense talent who could handle everything on her own? But I am just a woman of ordinary talents. I don’t have the genius to get into the Ivy League, nor the wealthy family to back me, nor any special powers. The one thing I had—my beauty—has faded. But no one should ever underestimate a mother’s will to protect her family. I couldn’t touch Marcus. But moving a pawn like Isabelle Jiang… that was another story. 2 As soon as my postpartum recovery was over, I went to meet someone. Jian Fang. I’d met him in a bar I invested in—a scoundrel, but the most masterful PUA I had ever witnessed. I once watched him, with nothing more than a glass of water, pick up a stunningly beautiful woman. Within days, he had moved on, and she was threatening suicide, swearing she would never marry anyone else. At the time, my daughter had started going to clubs with her friends, and I was a nervous wreck. I found out their usual spot and invested some money, asking the management to keep an eye on the kids and make sure they stayed out of trouble. Then Jian appeared. The staff wasn’t sure how to handle him, so they called me to come see for myself. Hiding behind the bar, I witnessed his entire seduction process. Afterward, I warned him to stay away from my club. He had looked at me then, his gaze wicked, a slow smile playing on his lips. In that single glance, I understood what the ancients meant by a soul-stealing gaze. Luckily, I was prepared for his type. Otherwise, that look would have sent my heart fluttering. Seeing my lack of reaction, he lazily blew a smoke ring and drawled, “Too much mom energy. Boring.” Then he slid a business card to me. “Let’s be friends. You never know, you might need me someday.” I remember thinking, What could I possibly need a hustler for? I never imagined I’d be eating my words so soon. When I saw him again, he seemed even more captivating than before. He had a rugged, devil-may-care charm, like a vampire from the shadows—mysterious, dangerous, and radiating raw sex appeal. “Well, well, if it isn’t the beautiful boss. You finally called.” “Mr. Fang, you’re as prescient as ever. I do have a matter that requires your assistance.” He raised an eyebrow, gesturing for me to continue. I laid out the situation with the mistress, the pressure she was applying. My request was simple: seduce Isabelle Jiang. Even a single night would be enough. Knowing Marcus’s complex, he would never touch her again. “A mission of this difficulty, you say?” He stroked his chin, feigning reluctance. “Name your price.” “A woman like Isabelle has seen it all. A typical persona will be sniffed out in a second. I’ll need to establish myself as a diamond bachelor. Luxury yacht, private jet, fancy cars, expensive watches—all essential. And a generous expense account.” “I’m not a blank check. I’ve seen your social media; you already own the clothes and accessories. As for the rest, I trust a professional like you can find cost-effective solutions.” “So stingy. The enemy is at your gates, and you’re not willing to bleed a little?” “I’d rather not lose my marriage only to be scammed out of a fortune by you.” “You don’t trust me? Then why did you call?” he said, pretending to get up and leave. I didn’t stop him. The bartender had told me Jian was ordering cheaper drinks lately. He was probably short on cash. “Hey! You’re really not going to beg me?” As expected, he couldn’t hold out. He turned back. “I’m the client. I’m hiring you for a job. If you don’t want the contract, I’ll find someone else. I’m sure you’re not the only ‘top graduate’ from those pickup artist bootcamps.” He smirked but sat back down. “Fifty thousand. On completion, I’ll pay you a fifty-thousand-dollar fee. All other operational expenses will be reimbursed with receipts. And you’ll wear a listening device. I want to monitor the project’s execution.” “Deal.” This time, he didn’t play hard to get. He agreed instantly. Just as I was preparing to meticulously plan a “chance encounter” for Jian and Isabelle, he gave me a masterclass in the art of the approach. In less than five minutes, he had already made his first intimate contact with Isabelle Jiang. 3 I had compiled a comprehensive dossier on Isabelle and presented it to him. He glanced at it, his eyes lingering on her photo before he muttered a few callous words: “Looks like a black widow. An easy takedown.” Then he tossed the file back at me. “Aren’t you going to study your target? Even romance scammers prepare multiple scripts. Isabelle is a wealthy woman in her own right. Could you please show some respect for the client?” “The client?” He suddenly leaned in close, our faces inches apart. I could feel his breath on my skin. “The person who pays is the client,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low. “If I’m respecting anyone, it should be you.” I grabbed the dossier and slapped it across his face, pushing him back. “Ow! This nose was expensive. You break it, you buy it.” “Get over yourself! Rule number one: do not harass the employer!” This man was too much. If I didn’t lay down the law now, this would happen again. He shot me another sidelong grin. “Boring.” He pocketed the listening device I gave him and held up one finger as he turned away. “One month. Keep your husband out of the way. Don’t interfere.” One month? Isabelle was no fool. He was arrogant. For a moment, I regretted hiring him. But my doubts vanished after their very first encounter. That day, I was sitting in a Starbucks on the second floor of a high-end mall, watching as Jian walked toward Isabelle with a gentle, restrained smile. It was a completely different look from his usual swagger. He was wearing a Loro Piana-esque cashmere sweater in a deep burgundy, making him look warm and effortlessly confident—the kind of sunny disposition only seen in boys who have been coddled in luxury their entire lives. Combined with his strong, chiseled features, he had the air of the affable, slightly clueless heir of an old-money dynasty. I expected him to approach Isabelle directly. Instead, he ignored her completely and addressed the older woman beside her—Isabelle’s mother. “Excuse me, I found this card. I was wondering if it might be yours.” It was a uniquely designed membership card for a restaurant called “The Study.” It was a small, exclusive private kitchen, known for its high-profile clientele. You couldn’t get in without connections. I had no idea where Jian had procured such a prop. Isabelle’s mother naturally shook her head, but I saw Isabelle’s eyes fix on the card. Jian feigned a shy smile, even scratching the back of his head. “Actually… this is a bit forward, but I was hoping to meet your daughter. But I felt I should ask for your permission first.” Her mother had probably never been approached by a handsome young man in such a courtly manner. She glanced at Isabelle and said generously, “It’s fine for you young people to get to know each other.” Isabelle was the golden child of her family, a phoenix risen from humble beginnings. Her mother’s status was entirely dependent on her success. This was likely the first time in her life her mother had been granted such a position of authority. It was a simple move, but Jian’s execution was flawless. And Isabelle? Every woman in finance is an opportunist, no exceptions. Jian’s old-money style, the Patek Philippe that peeked from his cuff, and this incredibly rare membership card were more than enough to make her want to know him. As expected, she extended her hand. “Isabelle Jiang, from Apex Capital. Have we met somewhere before?” Jian acted as if he were completely charmed by her forwardness. He took her hand, giving it a light, respectful squeeze. “I don’t think so. If we had, you’d already be in my contacts.” He grinned, a flash of bright white teeth, looking utterly captivated and, frankly, easy to fool. They exchanged numbers. I immediately checked the social media profile Jian had curated. It was filled with pictures of him competing in Codeforces Rounds, one of the world’s most prestigious programming competitions. Scrolling further back, I found a photo of him at the Royal Ascot in England. In one fell swoop, he had established himself as not only wealthy, but also a high-IQ tech genius with a deep family pedigree. The photos were expertly doctored, the timeline seamless. I wondered how many of these fake personas he maintained. If I didn’t know his real story, I would have been completely taken in. With Jian making swift progress, it was time for me to make my move. The baby’s hundred-day feast was approaching. It was the perfect opportunity to strike a nerve.

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The real heiress, after enduring years of abuse in the countryside, was finally reunited with the Ashworth family. In her second year back, she killed our father, the city’s richest man, with a single knife wound. And I, the fake heiress, was the only witness. I called the police immediately, swearing she would pay with her life. Every piece of evidence at the crime scene, every forensic finding, and the autopsy report all corroborated my testimony. The real heiress, Seraphina, had no defense. She could only confess. But the lead detective on the case, Miles Corbin, was convinced there was more to the story. To uncover the truth, he latched onto me and refused to let go. But later, when I finally told him everything, the sharpest blade in South Crest Homicide completely broke down. “Stop,” he begged, his voice cracking. “That’s enough. Please…” 1 The harsh light of the interrogation room beat down on my face, making my eyes ache. Across from me sat the man leading the questioning: Detective Miles Corbin, head of the South Crest Police Department’s Homicide Division. Every question he threw at me was a hammer blow against my nerves. “After Seraphina Ashworth was brought back to the family, you repeatedly tried to force her out. Why?” “We hear that Mr. Ashworth planned to transfer a five percent stake in the Ashworth Corporation to her at her college acceptance party. He was also going to announce her engagement to the Prescott family.” “You grew up with Julian Prescott, the youngest son of the Prescott family. You’ve been in love with him since you were children, haven’t you?” “Seraphina came back and took everything that was supposed to be hers. You must have wanted her to disappear, didn’t you?” I remained silent. An eerie quiet settled over the room. Suddenly, Detective Corbin slammed his hand on the table, the sound echoing through the sterile space. SLAM! It was just like the thud of my father’s body hitting the bed after the knife went in. “Seraphina confessed so quickly,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Your statements match perfectly. Almost too perfectly.” “But you both overlooked one crucial detail. Seraphina had no motive!” He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto mine. “Chloe Ashworth, she’s taking the fall for you, isn’t she?” I closed my eyes, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. It was always like this. People who had never walked a mile in my shoes felt they could so easily judge me. After all, in every story about the swapped heiress, the real villain is always the vicious, jealous fake. Detective Corbin watched me, not missing the slightest flicker of emotion on my face. When I still didn’t speak, he tapped the table, a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Conrad Ashworth was in his prime. He was fit. Seraphina, on the other hand, is malnourished and frail. Assuming she was the killer, tell me, how did she manage a single, fatal blow?” “We’ve looked into Seraphina’s past. The sixteen years she spent in that rural village… it was hell. Her adoptive parents’ actions constituted severe abuse and neglect. Yet, she never gave up. She fought with everything she had to find her way back to her real family.” “Do you really think someone who cherishes life that much, someone who clawed her way toward the light, would kill her own father over a little favoritism?” His gaze deepened, his tone heavy with meaning. “Mr. Conrad Ashworth was a great philanthropist. You can go outside and see for yourself how many people in South Crest, and across the country, have benefited from his generosity!” “He didn’t deserve to die like this.” I slowly opened my eyes. I hadn’t had a single night of proper sleep since the murder. Now, the sound of Corbin’s voice, the rhythmic tap of his fingers on the table, felt like a drill boring into my skull. But my lawyer, Mr. Davies, had warned me. Everything in this room was a calculated psychological game. I had to stay sharp. “I have already recounted the events of that night as they occurred,” I said, my voice steady. “The law expressly prohibits the use of inducement or deception to obtain evidence.” “You have been leading me with your questions. I request that this line of questioning be noted in the record, and that this entire session is being recorded.” Corbin shot to his feet, leaning over the table on his knuckles. His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, pinned me in place. “When Seraphina was in that remote mountain village, she did everything she could just to attend school. After returning to the Ashworths, she was given the best educational resources imaginable. Your father not only hired the finest tutors for her, but he also enrolled her in South Crest’s top preparatory academy.” “As long as Conrad Ashworth was alive, Seraphina’s future and fortune were secure. What possible reason could she have to kill him?” “According to the autopsy, the weapon entered at a 35-degree upward angle, right through the diaphragm. It didn’t strike the heart directly at first, but the killer then twisted the blade, severing the major blood vessels nearby.” His voice was a low growl. “That’s a special kind of hatred. Making sure he wouldn’t survive.” This man, the embodiment of justice, stood before me. He was an immovable mountain, before which all evil was exposed. His voice was crushing. “Chloe Ashworth, tell me. What are you hiding? Or maybe the question is, what are you holding over Seraphina’s head to make her confess?” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Your mother’s death last year… was it really an accident?” The thread I’d been holding onto snapped. I shot up from my chair and shoved him, but it was like pushing against a brick wall. “Why are you dragging my mother into this?! She’s dead! She’s already dead! Why can’t you just let her rest?!” “Seraphina killed him! The evidence is there, the witnesses are there, why won’t you believe it?!” “Go interrogate the murderer! Why are you in here grilling me, the witness?!” The female officer taking notes rushed over, shouting, “Sit down! Hands on your lap!” I was trembling all over, my eyes burning with hatred as I stared at Corbin. After a long moment, I sank back into the chair, my eyes red, and slowly forced my breathing to even out. “Fine,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “I’ll prove her motive.” “…Two years ago, the very first day Seraphina, no, she was called Daisy back then, the very first day Daisy set foot in our house, she tried to kill me.” 2 That day, Julian Prescott and I were coming home from school. I was on my period and in a foul mood, so I stormed out of the car and headed straight for the house. Julian trailed behind me, holding a thermos of the ginger tea he’d brewed just for my cramps, trying every trick in the book to cheer me up. “Your Highness, your humble servant skipped class to prepare this elixir. Won’t you grace it with a sip?” The household staff nearby covered their mouths, trying to stifle their laughter. My face flushed. I snatched the thermos from him, twisted the cap open, and took a small sip. Julian stood there, grinning as he watched me. Suddenly, he spoke. “Huh, who’s that?” “Why are there cops at your house? Did something happen?” I followed his gaze and saw them, two police officers standing outside the main house, and next to them, a thin, sun-darkened girl. Daisy. She wore an ill-fitting red dress. Her thin, straw-colored hair was pulled into a braid over her shoulder, and on her feet were a pair of faded black cloth shoes. Everything about her screamed cheap and out of place, yet she held herself with a strange, clean dignity. She was clearly nervous, but her back was ramrod straight. Her eyes were fixed on me, the girl who had everything, and they were filled with a profound sadness. She had obviously seen the whole exchange with Julian. When she noticed me looking, she took a clumsy step back, as if trying to hide the worn-out toes of her shoes. My father was gratefully seeing the officers off. My mother, Eleanor, was crying, pulling Daisy into her arms without a hint of hesitation. “My daughter,” she wept. “I’m so sorry. Chloe’s blood type was the same as yours… we never knew those monsters swapped you. All these years… how much you must have suffered…” The thermos slipped from my hand and clattered onto the stone path. Julian was stunned. He recovered quickly, his hand finding mine, his grip full of concern. My mother turned to me, her expression a mix of emotions. Wiping her tears, she spoke in a soft voice. “Chloe, this is your sister. My… my other child. She grew up in the countryside and has been through so much. From now on, you need to be understanding with her.” My father, usually so stern, looked at Daisy with undisguised pity. He gently patted her back. “You’re home now. That’s all that matters.” “We won’t call you Daisy anymore,” he declared. “To match Chloe, we’ll call you Seraphina.” “Everything you’ve missed, your mother and I will give it back to you.” “You and Chloe are the same age. You can keep each other company. You’ll get used to each other in no time.” My nose tingled, my eyes burned. I opened my mouth to say “Okay,” but all that came out was a weak, trembling smile. Daisy’s lips remained a thin line. The affection from her biological parents didn’t seem to move her. If anything, she looked disappointed. Her eyes landed on me again, her focus intense. She studied my face, then my school uniform, the designer backpack slung over my shoulder, and the simple but expensive leather shoes on my feet. Her gaze swept over to Julian, who stood protectively beside me, his refined air screaming old money. Finally, she looked back at our parents and forced a smile that was more painful than a grimace. “You raised her well.” Slowly, she pushed up her sleeves, revealing arms littered with scars. “I assume the police notified you of my existence a few days ago.” “I don’t know how much they told you, or what you’ve found out on your own, but before we make this official, before you change my name, I want you to hear my version.” “Chloe’s biological parents stole me and took me back to their village in the mountains. It’s so remote the bus lines don’t even go there. Most people live their whole lives without ever seeing a city.” “My earliest memories are of being chained in a pigsty, fighting animals for scraps.” “My ‘parents’ couldn’t have a son, and in the village, that was a disgrace. They took all their bitterness out on me. They cursed me, beat me, tried to break my spirit, and made me kneel on the ground and lick up my food like a dog.” “Later, a charity school opened in the village. I insisted on going. They would have rather beaten me to death than let me. I begged the village chief. I worked myself to exhaustion at the homes of the village elders, collapsing several times in the dead of winter, just to earn the chance to go to school.” “As long as they didn’t kill me, I was going to study. To escape that hell, I was so careful, so patient. But last year, they sold me to an old bachelor in the village.” “Five hundred dollars. That’s all it took for them to ruin my life.” “I didn’t know the truth about my birth then. There’s a taboo in the village about marrying relatives, but they sold me to a distant cousin, and no one stopped them. Now I understand. They all knew. Every single one of them was an accomplice.” “My hands and feet were bound, and I was carried to his house. I was pregnant within three months. I was only fifteen… The next year, I had a difficult birth. I begged him to take me to a hospital.” “The county hospital had a maternity ward. It was my only chance to get to a city. I was hemorrhaging, but I screamed for help from the doctors and nurses.” “I almost died on that operating table. The baby didn’t make it. I sent my ‘parents’ and that man to prison.” “Back then, I thought my life was completely ruined. But at the police station, they told me I had other parents.” “So I thought, even though I was broken, I had to get better. I had to face my real parents looking my best.” “I had let go of the hate. They weren’t my real parents, so it wasn’t my fault they treated me that way.” “But coming here, seeing the child you raised like a precious jewel, I realize… that all the cruelty I endured, all those years I was treated worse than an animal… you can’t just erase it with a simple ‘we didn’t know’.” My mother nearly fainted from grief. My father’s face was etched with sorrow. Even Julian’s eyes were red. Daisy raised a scarred finger and pointed it at me. “So, Chloe and I can never be at peace.” “I will only stay in this house until I graduate from high school. After that, I’m leaving. I won’t fight Chloe for anything, and don’t you dare try to use family to tie me down.” Her words pinned me to the spot. Only then did I understand what kind of life we had traded. The novels and TV shows always start the story when the real heiress returns, but the heartbreaking past, which is only ever shown in flashbacks, seems to be a pain only she bears. But for two girls who have lived such a twisted fate, can there ever be an easy reconciliation? Julian brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. I hadn’t realized I was crying. He looked at Daisy and said earnestly, “But Chloe is a wonderful person. You can’t blame her for what happened. It’s not fair to her.” “You’re back with your family now. It’s a new beginning. Why not let go of the past so you can all be a family?” He gave me a gentle push forward. I stumbled a few steps. Timidly, I reached out my hand. “Seraphina… sister, I…” But it was like a switch flipped inside her. Her face contorted with rage. She lunged at me, her hands closing around my throat, and slammed me against the wall. “I can’t let it go! I will never let it go!” she screamed, her voice raw. “Don’t call me sister! Don’t talk to me! Don’t you dare look at me with those pathetic, pitying eyes!” “Chloe Ashworth, your very existence is a sin!” Her eyes were filled with hate, with despair, and with tears. Our parents’ attempts to pull her off were useless. She was like a cornered animal, fighting with a suicidal ferocity. Julian, enraged, kicked her hard, sending her stumbling away. I gasped for air, my throat burning. Angry red marks were already blooming on my neck. In that moment, I knew. She truly wanted me dead. Julian hadn’t held back. Daisy’s head hit the corner of the coffee table, and blood streamed down her forehead. She ignored it, pushing herself back to her feet. Her voice was cold, empty. “Are you angry? That feeling of suffocation, of near-death? I’ve felt it more times than I can count.” She straightened her dress. “I’m not taking anyone’s name. From now on, I’m Seraphina. Seraphina Ashworth.” “From this day forward, my life is my own.” The timid, awestruck, hysterical girl who had arrived just moments before was gone. In her place was a warrior in a suit of armor, her eyes devoid of any warmth. I shrank into my mother’s arms, watching her through a blur of tears. It was like looking at a demon summoned from the depths of hell. 3 As the memory faded, I snapped my head up to look at Detective Corbin, my voice rising with agitation. “She’s just born bad! She’s violent! She’s the one who killed my father!” “She hated me for taking her place. She hated our parents for losing her. She only came back for revenge!” “But what did I do wrong? What was my crime in all of this?!” The young female officer looked on with a pained expression, her eyes welling up, though for whom, I couldn’t tell. Detective Corbin, however, remained impassive. After a long pause, he gave a small, humorless smile. “You’re smart. You’re using this emotional outburst to hide the truth.” “But you’re still young, Chloe. You’re not talking to some random person on the street. You’re talking to a seasoned detective who has dealt with countless criminals.” The young officer beside him awkwardly scratched her nose. Corbin’s fingers resumed their soft, rhythmic tapping on the table. “Anger is sharp. It’s easy to express with your body. But hatred… hatred is chronic. It’s much harder to fake.” “Your eyes tell a different story. You don’t hate Seraphina. On the contrary, you’re heartbroken by what she went through.” “So, what was that display of anger meant to accomplish?” “Chloe Ashworth, let me remind you. Providing a false statement not only obstructs justice, it carries legal consequences. We don’t need your clever games. We just need the truth.” “Did Seraphina Ashworth really kill your father?” My pupils constricted. A chill ran through me. I remembered something Seraphina had once said to me. “You’re a little greenhouse flower. You wear every emotion on your face. Don’t even try to play games with me. Only a fool like Julian would fall for it.” “So when you’re dealing with someone like me, you have two choices: either swallow your little schemes, or tell the truth.” I dug my nails into my thighs, forcing myself to meet Corbin’s gaze. My voice was calm, earnest. “Then I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you, Detective.” “I know you suspect me, but I did not kill my father.” He studied me, and for the first time, a hint of uncertainty flickered in the veteran detective’s eyes. Corbin thought for a moment, then spoke in a low voice. “Studies show that when women commit crimes, their motives are often directly tied to external triggers.” “Chloe, you’re the only witness. You say the killer is Seraphina. Even if the evidence is solid, the trigger you’ve given me isn’t strong enough. It doesn’t convince me.” “Now, tell me again what happened on the night of the murder.” I lowered my eyes. My mind was dragged back to that night. “After Seraphina came back, my mother was consumed with guilt. She wanted to give her everything. Slowly, she started to neglect me.” “Because of that, my father paid more attention to me. Whenever my mother treated us differently, he would defend me. He took me to business events, bought me priceless jewelry at auctions, and made it clear to everyone that I was still his cherished daughter.” “During that time, my parents fought almost every day. I felt caught in the middle and just tried to avoid it. But Seraphina would always stand in front of my mother, a wall of thorns, confronting my father head-on. The tension between them just got worse and worse…” “Then my mother died suddenly. After that, Seraphina stopped calling him ‘Dad.’ She blamed his indifference for my mother’s decline.” “That night…” That night, the rain was torrential. In the dead of night, a flash of lightning tore the sky in two, as if a god had slashed it with a blade. My eyes flew open. I scrambled out of bed in terror and fell to the floor. Cold sweat soaked my back, and my breathing came in ragged gasps. Just then, my bedroom door creaked open. “Chloe, the thunder is bad. Are you okay? I was worried.” The next flash of lightning illuminated his face, twisting his features into a monstrous mask, as if he’d grown fangs. A scream tore from my throat. My father immediately flipped on the light and rushed in. He was still wearing the expensive suit he’d left in, clearly just having returned home. Seeing my terror, he knelt beside me, his eyes full of concern. “A nightmare? Don’t be scared, Chloe. Daddy’s here.” He held out a jewelry box. “I went to the villa to get your mother’s favorite necklace. Want to see?” “Silly girl. Mommy’s gone, but you still have me. And you have your sister…” He unfastened his cufflinks, took off his watch, and shed his suit jacket, rolling up his sleeves. Then he took out the priceless sapphire necklace and gently fastened it around my neck. I replayed the scene in my mind. “My father was talking to me, trying to calm me down. Then, Seraphina burst into my room. When she saw the necklace on me, she went insane and lunged for it.” “She had never known a moment of kindness in her life. My mother was the only light she’d ever had. Like me, she couldn’t accept her death. She couldn’t stand my father touching my mother’s things.” “She pulled so hard the chain scraped my neck and drew blood. My father got angry and slapped her…” “They kept arguing, breaking things. Then the thunder started again. I was so scared…” “When I came to my senses, my father was lying in a pool of blood. Seraphina was standing there, holding the bloody knife, her face a mask of shock…” Tears streamed down my face. I wrapped my arms around myself. “There was blood everywhere… on the floor, the walls… I couldn’t tell if it was his or hers… all I could do was scream…” My vision blurred. My voice broke, losing the line between reality and memory. But Corbin cut through the haze, his voice sharp. “That bread knife. Why was it in your room?” “The Ashworths need you to slice your own bread?” I paused, then answered in a low voice. “I have trouble sleeping. I often get up to study at night. My mother worried I’d get hungry, so she had a small kitchenette set up in my room with some basic supplies…” The words were barely out of my mouth when Corbin fired another question. “You and Mr. Ashworth were close?” My face was a calm mask, but a sharp spasm shot through my left hand. I quickly used my right to grip my thumb, stilling the tremor. In psychology, when a suspect is lying, you increase the pace of questioning. So, he thought I was lying. I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, they were swimming with tears. “As everyone knows,” I said, my voice trembling, “I was the person my father loved most in this world.” Corbin scrutinized me. After a long moment, he stood up abruptly. He paced back and forth, thinking. “No.” “That’s not right.” “The first half of your story was incredibly detailed. But the second half… you glossed over certain parts, rushing through them.” “Between the moment your father put the necklace on you and the moment Seraphina burst in… what happened in that gap?” “Someone truly terrified wouldn’t be able to recall details so clearly. But you remember every step he took. Unfastening his cufflinks, removing his watch, taking off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves.” “Your attention must have been completely fixed on him. You were watching his every move. So what happened next?” My curled fingers twitched. Then, my body began to shake uncontrollably. I tried to stop it, but my teeth started chattering. When I looked up, my eyes were wide with a primal fear, as if I were staring into an abyss. Corbin’s pupils dilated slightly. He returned to his seat. I braced for him to dig deeper, but instead, he changed the subject entirely. “What is your assessment of the relationship between Julian Prescott and Seraphina Ashworth?” 4 I fought to regain control, waiting for the wave of terror to pass. When it did, I spoke softly. “Julian…” It felt like a lifetime since we had truly spoken. My memory drifted back to the summer Seraphina arrived. To help her catch up academically, my father hired the best tutors in South Crest. South Crest Preparatory Academy was the top school in the state, where both Julian and I were students. At first, because of the animosity between Seraphina and me, Julian was firmly on my side. He not only ignored Seraphina himself but also acted as my bodyguard, making sure I was never left alone with her, terrified she might hurt me again. That changed one day when we overheard Seraphina’s English tutor complaining to her physics tutor in the garden. “It’s like teaching a toddler to speak,” the English tutor said with dramatic flair. “But at least toddlers are clever. They can learn and adapt.” “This ‘real heiress’ speaks English with such a thick rural accent… I just can’t get rid of it.” The physics tutor sighed. “They said she finished middle school, but I looked into it. The school was at the foot of a mountain, understaffed… the same teachers taught both middle and elementary school.” “Mr. Ashworth expects us to get her up to speed with the academy’s curriculum. It’s an impossible task.” I saw a sliver of Seraphina’s dress from behind a nearby wall. She was listening. Mortified for her, I was about to pull Julian away, but he was already marching over to them. “Is that how a teacher is supposed to speak?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “You were hired by Mr. Ashworth to teach, and you’re being paid handsomely for it. The least you can do is provide the service you were hired for!” “I will report every word you just said to him. You’d better think about that.” The two tutors jumped, stammering apologies. The genuine anger on Julian’s face vanished the moment Seraphina stepped out from behind the wall. He looked flustered, tugging at the collar of his uniform. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I just…” “Thank you,” Seraphina cut him off. They stood there in awkward silence. After that, whenever Julian saw Seraphina, he would still look uncomfortable, but he would offer a simple greeting. And Seraphina, instead of her usual icy glare, would usually give a curt nod in return. I watched as the boy I’d known my whole life started mentioning her more and more. His nickname for her changed from “that violent girl” to “your sister,” and finally, to “Seraphina.” Summer ended, and autumn flew by. By the first snowfall of winter, Julian was tutoring her himself. “She’s brilliant, you know,” he told me once. “And tough. She never backs down from a challenge.” “If she had grown up here, she would have been one of the most remarkable women of our generation.” More than once at parties, he would say with a sigh, “Compared to Seraphina, Chloe, you’ve had such a blessed life.” He took her to fine restaurants, to the symphony, to amusement parks where they screamed on rollercoasters. He introduced her to a world she had never known. During their tutoring sessions, he poured all his knowledge into her. The time he spent with me dwindled to almost nothing. Eventually, Seraphina’s grades broke into the top hundred in our year. And then, our two families sat down to discuss the engagement. Julian’s father proposed that the engagement be with Seraphina instead. Seraphina did not refuse. Julian did not object. As the decision was finalized, I saw it clearly. A small, subtle smile touched the lips of the boy I had cherished for more than a decade. No one heard the sound of my heart shattering. I skipped school and sat at my mother’s grave for the entire day. Even though I was no longer the center of her world, in my deepest sorrow, she was the only one I wanted to be near. I remembered when I was very small, my mother holding my hand, leading me to Julian for the first time. She had smiled and said, “Julian, this is my little treasure. She’s starting at your preschool tomorrow. Can you be her knight and protect her for me?” A young Julian had looked at me with curiosity, then puffed out his little chest. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Ashworth! I’m the best protector there is!” And just like that, he had taken my hand and protected me as I grew up. But in the same year my mother died, he let my hand go. As I left the cemetery, I told my mother that my boy was no longer mine, and that I was all alone in the world. The life I had stolen was finally being returned. As I finished recounting the memory, my eyes welled with tears. Suddenly, the interrogation room door was pushed open. “Detective,” an officer said, “we’ve got new evidence.”

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I think my girlfriend has been reborn. It’s like she’s suddenly realized I’m the bad guy, that I’ve been playing with her heart. And she’s started being incredibly kind to my sweet, innocent younger brother. The other day, I saw them together, tucked away in a quiet corner. Her eyes were red as she said: “I was so stupid. So blind.” “It was you. You’re the one I was always meant to find.” “I missed you in my last life.” “In this one, let me make it up to you with everything I have. Please?” 1 This was the fifth time Elara had bailed on dinner. Before, that would have been unthinkable. I sat by the window, staring out at the relentless rain. Then, I ran out into the storm. 2 Elara Hollingworth and Aiden were sitting in a café. They looked completely absorbed in each other. I shoved the door open and stormed inside. A little bell chimed, slicing through the quiet atmosphere. My brother’s face went pale with shock. Elara pulled her hand back and looked up at me. “What are you doing here?” I managed a weak, fragile smile. I’d checked my reflection in the glass door on my way in. I looked pathetic enough to inspire pity. So, when I slid into the booth beside Elara, she didn’t push me away. “You said you’d have dinner with me. Did you forget again?” I leaned in close, our noses almost touching. I’ve always been confident in my looks, especially when I put on this wounded, pleading act. As expected, the woman hesitated, then apologized. “I’m sorry.” “Aiden had some homework he needed help with, and I lost track of time…” “We didn’t eat together.” “…” I smiled, playing the part of the magnanimous boyfriend. “It’s okay.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dear brother. His fists were clenched tightly under the table. He was struggling to hide the pain on his face. 3 Back in middle school, when those bullies were shoving my head into a toilet, I made a vow. I would do whatever it took to get the life I wanted. I would never let anyone see me broken again. So no, I’m not a good person. I never have been. I studied relentlessly, perfected my posture, and learned how to present the best version of myself to everyone, constantly expanding my social circle. I was ruthless in my pursuit of excellence, becoming so outstanding that whenever people mentioned my name, they’d say: “Sam Thorne? How can a guy that perfect even exist?” I finally earned the approval of my stoic, demanding father. My teachers adored me. My friends supported me. I thought I could maintain this delicate balance forever. Until Aiden showed up. 4 He was my father’s illegitimate son. Aiden found his way to us on his own. The moment he appeared, the balance of our family shattered. I demanded to know why my father had cheated, but he only met my questions with silence. And Aiden just stood in the corner of the room, shrinking away as if none of it was his fault. Worse, there was a kind of magic about him. It was an innate, effortless vulnerability, completely different from my carefully constructed facade. It was as if everyone around him was compelled to protect him. Soon, my own father was defending him. My friends all told me to be nicer to him, that it wasn’t his fault, that I shouldn’t become some evil step-brother from a TV drama. That old sense of crisis washed over me again. I realized he was slowly, quietly stealing everyone from my life. I had to defend my territory. 5 So I took Elara from him. Although, it was less “taking” and more that Aiden handed her to me on a silver platter. Aiden, ever the selfless hero, had volunteered for a disaster relief team after an earthquake. He’d rescued Elara Hollingworth, a debutante who had been hiking in the mountains. Unfortunately for him, Elara’s vision was blurred, her consciousness fading in and out. She never got a clear look at her savior. So I stepped in and took his place. Elara had been desperately searching for the man who saved her. But for some reason, Aiden refused to admit it was him. So I said, “Brother, if you really don’t want her to know, why don’t you introduce her to me?” At the time, he agreed. But I imagine, by now, he’s regretting it. 6 Elara. Elara was a good person, full of warmth and a fierce sense of justice. When she was good to me, she was all in. She’d do anything for me. She’d peel my grapes for me, for God’s sake. But then, overnight… She changed. Her warmth turned to ice. She started ignoring my calls. On Saturday morning, I went to her studio. She’s an oil painter, a graduate of a top international art academy. The studio smelled of sunlight and turpentine. I walked into the wide, open space and saw her, slumped over her easel, asleep. She must have pulled an all-nighter. Her breathing was slow and even. I crept closer to look at her canvas. The man in the portrait looked about thirty, maybe forty percent like me. He was smiling at the artist. The colors hadn’t been filled in yet. It took me a moment to realize. It wasn’t me. It was Aiden. 7 I must have been staring at the painting too intently, because I didn’t even notice her wake up behind me. I was crouching. When I turned, she was watching me silently. “What’s this? Painting my brother now?” “How about you paint me next time?” She sighed and wrapped her arms around me from behind. “No time.” The gesture was gentle, but the words were pure ice. I think the phrase “each with their own ulterior motives” described our current state of mind perfectly. But I’ve always been good at wearing a mask. I blinked and turned back to face her. “Elara, listen. If I ever do something you don’t like, you have to tell me, okay?” “Don’t keep it bottled up, you dummy.” I reached out and gently pinched her nose. It wasn’t just about playing the part of the gentle, sensitive boyfriend. It was an attempt to find a way back to what we had. Sometimes, silence is the deadliest poison in a relationship. And right now, I still needed Elara. Her brown eyes stared at me for a long moment. She looked so serious, so intense, that I had the distinct feeling I was digging my own grave. Then, I heard her ask: “That day… was it really you who saved me?” 8 “…” That was a difficult question to answer. Elara was an elite graduate, and her family’s business empire spanned half the city. She was the ideal, perfect partner for the perfect life I was building. At first, I had pursued her with marriage in mind. But after we got together, I discovered that when it came to love, I was just as clueless as any other guy. To put it simply, I had fallen for her. And that made lying to her… complicated. But she didn’t wait for my answer. For the first time, I saw genuine disappointment in her eyes. “Don’t answer.” “…” She was right. My silence was an answer in itself. A hollow feeling opened up in my chest. It was like the fortress I had spent my whole life building… Had just been effortlessly torn down by a single question. 9 “So? Did you and Elara break up?” On the school rooftop, I was sharing a coffee with another girl. Her name was Maya. She was a year below me. But she was one of the few people I considered a true friend. We’d known each other since middle school. She had seen me when I was bullied. She’d even helped me get revenge on those guys. I rubbed my thumb over the rim of the can. The way things were, even if Elara hadn’t officially ended it, we were close. “Oh, by the way, your brother has been coming to see me a lot lately.” Maya stretched lazily and grinned at me. … Looking back now. I should have paid more attention to what she said that day. “Oh, by the way, your brother has been coming to see me a lot lately.” Because slowly, gradually… Aiden’s name started popping up more and more in my conversations with Maya. After Elara started ghosting me, Maya was the main person I talked to. My life was still a frantic rush. I had countless competitions to win. It wasn’t just about relationships. I had to be perfect in every single area to maintain my image. It was exhausting. But it was the only way I knew how to live. I never complained. Until one day, before a public speaking competition. Something happened backstage that made my entire life feel like a joke. 10 I was the last speaker of the night. The headliner. So, I was the only one left in the dressing room. The door was thrown open with a bang. I was just tightening my tie. The person who stormed in was my girlfriend, Elara, who I hadn’t seen in ages. Oh, and she was holding someone’s hand. My brother, Aiden. She was furious. Aiden looked like he was on the verge of tears. She dragged the boy in front of me and shoved his sleeve up for me to see. “You did this, didn’t you?” The boy’s pale arm was covered in angry red welts. They looked like they were made by a whip. I raised an eyebrow. That small movement seemed to enrage her even more. “What’s that look on your face?” “Hah. Sam, you couldn’t even leave your own brother alone, could you?” My dear brother was still playing the victim, tugging on Elara’s sleeve. “Please, Elara, don’t,” he whimpered. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t Sam’s fault…” Elara. So familiar. I looked down at the marks on his arm. I had no idea how he got them. But it was clear Elara had already decided I was the villain. I was about to explain. But then someone else walked in. Maya, her hands shoved in her pockets. I felt a wave of relief. I tried to smile, to look composed. “Elara, think about it. Why would I do something like this to my own brother?” “Maya, you’re just in time. You know my history. You know I was bullied. Why would I…” My words died in my throat. Because I saw the look on Maya’s face. I had never seen her look at me with such disgust. My mind reeled, uncontrollably replaying the last few weeks. Maya, constantly bringing up Aiden. “Your brother is so shy.” “Your brother is seriously terrible at calculus.” “I ran into your brother in the cafeteria today.” “Your brother…” In the silent dressing room, her voice finally cut through the air. I heard her say, word by word. “Sam, I was so wrong about you.” “Just because you were bullied, does that give you the right to bully someone else?” 11 The scene felt sickeningly familiar. I watched Aiden pathetically clutching Elara’s sleeve. I watched Maya instinctively step in front of him, shielding him. I smiled at them, even as my eyelashes trembled. “Is that so? If you think I’m a bully, then call the police.” “Let them handle it. How about that?” I moved to walk past them. Elara grabbed my wrist, her grip like iron. I heard her hiss, “Apologize to your brother.” Maya blocked my path. “Sam, don’t become this person. Don’t be so cruel.” I haven’t done anything wrong, so why is everyone attacking me? I glanced over at Aiden. His eyes were red-rimmed. He knew. He had to know I wasn’t the one who hurt him. But he said nothing. I wrenched my arm free, shoving both of them aside. “Excuse me, ladies. I’m a very busy man.” “I have a speech to give. And I intend to win. I don’t have time for this.” “At a time like this, you’re still thinking about your stupid speech?” Maya’s voice followed me, but I didn’t care. I didn’t look back. I walked onto the stage. Even with nothing but emptiness behind me, I would keep moving forward. 12 The speech went off without a hitch. The applause at the end was thunderous. I smiled and bowed. But my mind was elsewhere. I looked out at the audience. I saw Aiden, in his crisp white shirt, being led away by Elara. Maya trailed behind them, her fingers playfully flicking the ends of his hair. But why? The spotlight was on me. I hadn’t lost. I hadn’t let them humiliate me. So why… Why was my heart being swallowed by this overwhelming, crushing wave of despair? … A few days later, Elara contacted me out of the blue. Honestly, I didn’t have time for relationship drama. If Elara was gone, another woman could take her place. But as I stared at her name on my phone screen… I realized it wasn’t that easy to let her go. It was true. She was the only girl I’d ever been with. It started as a strategic move for my future, but somewhere along the way, I had actually started to like her. I held onto a tiny sliver of hope. Hope that she’d come back to me. Or that she’d realize I could never have bullied my own brother. But she summoned me to a deserted gymnasium. And then she was gripping my wrist, her voice dripping with venom. “Sam, can you just leave your brother alone?” “Why are you spreading rumors that he’s the one who broke us up?” “We’re over. Have some damn dignity, Sam.” I blinked, almost laughing from the sheer absurdity of it. That tiny bit of lingering affection I had for her vanished in an instant. “Wait, Elara, who told you I was spreading rumors?” She scoffed. “Who else could it be?” “Your brother is a saint. He’s always telling me how great you are.” “Can you stop projecting your own pathetic jealousy onto him?” “???” I was about to explode. “You two are together 24/7! Anyone with eyes can see what’s going on! Why is this my fault?” She sneered at me. “There it is. Your true colors. Let me tell you something, Sam. Your brother is a thousand times purer and kinder than you’ll ever be.” “I won’t let you hurt him.” “Not in this lifetime. Never again.” ??? I wanted to scream at her, but my only reply was the sound of a heavy door slamming shut. When I tried the handle, it wouldn’t budge. ??? She locked me in here? For the first time, my composure was about to completely shatter. I rattled the door violently, the noise echoing in the empty gym. “Hey! Elara! Get back here!” “What gives you the right to say that to me?!!” “You…!” “Are you an idiot???” No one was around. I let it all out. I kicked the locked door until my leg ached and my nose stung with the threat of tears. I’d been playing a part for so long, this was a perfect release. Just as I was exhausted, spent, and miserable… A soft laugh came from nearby. “Sam Thorne?” “So this is the real you.” 13 I slowly turned my head. A girl I didn’t recognize at all was sitting on a stack of old gym mats. She was swinging her legs, watching me. She must have been sleeping there, which is why neither Elara nor I had noticed her. My first thought when I saw her was, how many holes does this person have in her face? An eyebrow stud, a lip ring, a constellation of earrings. I despised anything that challenged my traditional sensibilities. But she was beautiful, in a wild, untamed way. I froze for a second, my usual mask taking too long to slip back on. “Hm? Do I know you?” She smiled, a pure, innocent kind of smile. “Quite the quick-change artist, aren’t you? Weren’t you just kicking the door down a second ago?” “How did you turn back into the perfect student so fast?” I ignored her teasing. I smiled my polished smile. “Excuse me, do you know if there’s another way out of here?” She shook her head. “Just that one. And your lovely girlfriend locked it.” “…” I nodded and pulled out my phone to call a friend for help. She hopped off the mats, hands in her pockets, and sauntered over to me. She leaned in and whispered with a laugh. “Sam, you really don’t remember me?” I turned to look at her. Hmm. She had the kind of face that suggested a long list of ex-boyfriends. I would never get involved with a girl like this. She didn’t fit any of my criteria for a future partner. “No.” She raised an eyebrow. “We have each other’s contact info.” “Impossible.” Refusing to believe it, I held out my phone for her to type her number. She leaned over, entered her digits, and sure enough, a contact popped up. The nickname I had saved for her was: “Rich Girl – No Reply” “…” She was silent for a moment, then let out a sly laugh right next to my ear. I suddenly remembered. Back when I was searching for a suitable girlfriend, I had… categorized… the girls in my contact list. “Sam, don’t you even remember the fish you try to catch?” She had to twist the knife, didn’t she? … I took another look at her. My memory is excellent. I hadn’t forgotten her. Her name was Vesper Liang. But the girl in my memory was completely different from the one standing in front of me now. I had met her at a gala my father dragged me to. If Elara’s family’s empire covered half the city, Vesper’s family was one of those colossal dynasties woven into the very fabric of the metropolis. Even my father had to grovel before them. The reason I didn’t recognize her… Was because I remembered her clearly from that night. She was wearing a black evening gown, an untouchable ice queen. And on social media, she ignored me. Completely cold. I had asked her out several times, only to be rejected every single time. 14 After that encounter in the gym, Vesper started showing up everywhere. Consequently, the nickname in my phone for her changed from: “Rich Girl – No Reply” To: “Rich Girl – Certified Psycho” I would never tell her that, of course. Her family was powerful, which meant connections. If she was interested in me, it suited my purposes perfectly. As for romance… I had learned a valuable lesson: Women were nothing but trouble. Elara and I were officially over. Though it didn’t seem like she was with Aiden, either. Sometimes I’d see her waiting for him outside his classroom. So, she was still chasing him? I didn’t have time for any of it. My father had started handing over company responsibilities to me, and I was busier than ever. I knew he had originally planned to train Aiden, but Aiden was… not very bright. I thought I had finally beaten him. I thought I had proven myself, that I could finally have my father back. But one afternoon, my father sat me down in his study and poured me a cup of tea. He spoke slowly, each word deliberate. “Sam.” “Study hard.” “In the future, you will need to support your brother.” 15 I had worked so hard. I studied from dawn until dusk. I had no time for fun, no time for myself. I fought tooth and nail for everyone’s approval. And for what? My father wanted me to learn all this… Just to pave the way for my love-sick, useless brother? That afternoon, I had a massive fight with my father. He smashed his inkstone on the floor, pointing a trembling finger at me, too furious to speak. “Don’t you know, the truth is, you’re…” In that moment, I felt like he was about to reveal the secret he’d been hiding from me for years. But a shadow burst into the room. “Enough! Dad, don’t say any more.” Aiden stood between us. His eyes were red. “Sam, please don’t be mad at Dad, okay?” “It’s… it’s all my fault…” “If it weren’t for me, none of this would have happened.” “I’m just a curse…” He started playing the victim again. I didn’t understand. I wasn’t the one crying, so what right did he have to? I laughed, leaned in close to him, and said, word for word: “You’re right. You are a curse.” He flinched, like a startled rabbit. My father had already grabbed a dictionary from his desk and hurled it at me. This time, I didn’t dodge. The sharp pain in my forehead was blinding, but I refused to cry. I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t. I turned and walked out of the room, my father’s roars echoing behind me. He told me to get out and never set foot in this house again. 16 When did it all start? Everyone leaving me, one by one. No matter how hard I tried, it was useless. They all ended up standing behind someone else. My brother, Aiden. It was strange, wasn’t it? As if an invisible hand was orchestrating everything. I stopped winning competitions. First place went to my brother. Not because he was more skilled, but because the judges saw his “effort” and were “moved” by it. My brother would always add my friends on social media, under the pretext of wanting to be closer to me. And after a while, for reasons I never understood, those friends would drift away. Lately, the rumors at school had started again. That I was a bully. That I was a vicious, two-faced hypocrite. That I had been bullied myself, and now I was taking it out on my own brother. Some of the old photos from when I was bullied were leaked. They were like a knife, slicing open old wounds. Only Maya had those photos… I confronted her, demanding to know why she would do it. Spreading rumors was one thing, but posting pictures of my deepest humiliation on the school forum? She said. “You deserve it.” “This is what you get for hurting your brother.” 17 “What’s the point of hanging upside down like that?” Vesper stood in front of me, her head tilted. I was, in fact, hanging upside down from the parallel bars in the abandoned gym. It was the only way to keep the tears from falling. I’d forgotten that Vesper also used this place as her private napping spot. We had gotten to know each other over the past few weeks. I learned that beneath her cold exterior, she was a complete weirdo. I learned that she was lonely, too, which was why she always sought me out. No one else hung out with her. They all said she was bad luck. “Vesper, I was reading a novel recently.” “It’s about a fake young master living the high life, and then the real young master returns.” “I think… I think I’m the fake young master.” “I’m the villain who stole someone’s place, the evil side character, the one who ends up abandoned by everyone and gets his face slapped in the end.” She looked at me, then smiled. “Really? I’ve never seen such a cute side character.” She laughed and helped me down from the bars. “Come on, you’re going to get a brain hemorrhage. Are you a bat?” Outside, the rain continued its endless drumming. I suddenly asked her, “Do you think I’m a bully too?” She blinked, looked down, and pulled out the necklace she always wore. It was a tarnished, brass-colored, six-pointed star. A girl like her had no business wearing something so cheap. “This… a boy gave this to me back when I was in the orphanage.” The star glowed dully in the light of the setting sun. “That little boy… he was my reason for living back then.” “He told me that it’s the cracks in life that let the light in.” “Sam.” “You can be the kind, good person. You can be the determined protagonist. You can be the one who gets a happy ending.” “It’s your path to choose, isn’t it?” … Yes. So what if fate was playing games with me? So what if the whole world was against me? Even if I had to die, I was going to die beautifully. 18 That’s how I survived. Even if my bones were broken, I would get back up. Even if I wasn’t happy, I would act happy for the world to see. I thought if I was stubborn enough, if I refused to lose, fate would eventually have to side with me. I was wrong. … After spending so much time together, Vesper had heard a lot about Aiden. They had never met, and Aiden didn’t know I knew her, so he hadn’t tried to add her. “You know, I’m kind of curious what your little white-rabbit brother is actually like,” Vesper said one day, chewing on her straw. “White Rabbit” was her nickname for him. I could tell from her tone she didn’t like him. But I still frowned instinctively. “Don’t go near him.” “There’s something… wrong about him. Something dangerous…” I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I didn’t actually believe Vesper would be swayed by Aiden. She wasn’t like the others. For one thing, she was a psycho, and the thoughts of a psycho are hard to predict. But I still felt a deep unease. “What? Are you afraid I’ll get stolen away by him, hmm?” Vesper was enjoying this, teasing me. …Yes. That’s exactly what I was afraid of. Vesper was the only person left on my side, even if she was crazy. “Seriously? Like I would ever leave you.” Vesper laughed it off. At the same moment, a gentle voice sounded behind me. “Oh? Sam, what are you doing here?” It was too late. I watched as the woman across from me, the one who had just been laughing, froze solid when she saw Aiden. For the first time, I felt like I was in the grip of a giant, cosmic hand. Vesper had a necklace given to her by a little boy in an orphanage, a necklace she still wore to this day. Who was that little boy? My brother’s expression was one of pure surprise. He smiled at Vesper. “Vesper! What are you doing here?” “Sunny Meadows Orphanage… do you remember me?” …Remember him? She had said. He was her reason for living.

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1 My husband has such crippling social anxiety that he bailed on our wedding day. Later, when I was hemorrhaging after giving birth, my mother fell to her knees and begged him, but he never came to sign the papers. My son was branded the “fatherless boy,” and I wore the title of “widow” for eight years. Until one day, a madman broke into our yard and plunged a knife into my stomach. Looking at Liam standing by the window, I cried out for help. But he only watched for two seconds before looking away. His voice was ice. “Just hold on. I’ll call the police for you.” My mind went blank. In that instant, something inside me died. Just as I thought I was going to bleed out right there, Liam’s young assistant suddenly burst through the door, and the madman found a new target. The second he touched her, Liam transformed into a raging lion, lunging forward and knocking the man to the ground with a single punch. As the paramedics loaded me, covered in blood, into the ambulance, one of them leaned down and asked, “Where is the accompanying family member?” My gaze drifted from Liam, who was holding his assistant and whispering reassurances, back to the paramedic. My lips parted, my voice quiet but final. “I’m a widow. My family is dead.” … After two grueling hours in surgery, I managed to cheat death. As the nurse wheeled me out, I saw Liam across the hall, sitting with his assistant while she received counseling. I froze. The hallway was crowded, yet Liam, the man with crippling social anxiety, seemed completely at ease, as if in a world of his own. This was the same man who had fled his own wedding. The same man who, afterward, had held a knife to his own wrist and screamed, “Stop pushing me! Do you want me to just die?!” So I had given in. For eight years of marriage, he never left the house except to go to the office. He wouldn’t go to our son’s parent-teacher conferences. He wouldn’t visit relatives during the holidays. Even moments ago, when my life was hanging by a thread, all I got from him was, “I’ll call the police for you.” The nurse, who knew he was my husband, hesitated before whispering, “Do you want me to get him? You’ll need someone to stay with you.” “No.” Her eyes filled with pity. I’d overheard the nurses whispering earlier. “I’ve never seen anything so tragic. The wife is clinging to life, and the husband is off with his mistress at a therapy session. The way he’s hovering over her, you’d think the other woman was his wife.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I closed my eyes as they wheeled me into my room. It wasn’t until dusk that Liam seemed to remember I existed. He shuffled in hesitantly. “Aria, you’ve been through a lot.” I flinched away from his touch, my voice weak. “Don’t let Leo know.” Leo was so young, and he’d just recovered from a serious illness. I didn’t want to upset him. The next second, the door opened, and his assistant, Chloe, walked in, holding Leo’s hand. “Mommy!” Tears streamed down Leo’s face as he rushed to my bedside, too scared to touch me. I shot a death glare at Chloe. I had explicitly texted her not to bring him here. Chloe’s eyes immediately reddened. She looked utterly pathetic. “Aria, Leo wanted to see his mommy. What’s wrong with that? If you’re upset, just hit me.” She raised a hand to slap herself. Liam instantly stopped her, turning to me with fury in his eyes. “Why are you blaming her? Leo wanted to come! Chloe has a good heart, but you’re just relentless.” A good heart? The thought was so bitter it made me want to laugh. This wasn’t the first time. Everyone knew Leo was severely allergic to shellfish, yet Chloe had taken him out for lobster. Leo had an immediate anaphylactic reaction, his face turning purple. It was only after the doctors administered the injection that I could hold my son, who I had almost lost, and break down in tears. But Chloe cried even harder than I did. “I didn’t think lobster would be a problem,” she’d sobbed. “It was a moment of carelessness. If anything had happened to Leo, I couldn’t have lived with myself.” But I wouldn’t forgive her. I demanded that Liam fire her. His face was a mask of impatience. “Aria, don’t be so unforgiving. Everyone makes mistakes.” That time, I was truly ready to divorce him. It was Leo, his little face flushed with tears, who begged me over and over. “Mommy, please don’t divorce Daddy.” My moment of weakness only emboldened them. I couldn’t let Leo grow up around people like this. “Get out! Both of you, get out!” Liam looked worried, as if he didn’t want to leave. I grabbed the cup from my bedside table and threw it at them. Chloe shrieked, and Liam immediately shielded her, backing out of the room. “Aria, calm down. I’ll come back in a few days.” My son’s hand trembled in mine. His eyes held a maturity far beyond his years. “Don’t be angry, Mommy. It’s not good for you.” My eyes stung. I forced a smile to reassure him. “I’m fine, sweetie. Don’t you worry.” That night, Liam hired a nurse for me. A few days later, once I could manage on my own, I took my son and rented an apartment. When Liam discovered we were gone, he bombarded me with messages. I didn’t reply to a single one. But the next morning, my mother-in-law burst through the door. She was furious. “Aria Thorne, have you no shame? How dare you run off with the heir to the Thorne family!” Chloe stood beside her, the picture of concern. It was clear she’d been stirring the pot again. Over the years, whenever Liam and I had a disagreement, she would run to his mother and add fuel to the fire. “Aria yelled at Mr. Thorne again. She said he was useless…” “Mr. Thorne is so pitiful. He came to work with a scratch on his face, and all the employees were laughing at him.” “Aria has been seeing other men lately…” By the time I realized what was happening, my mother-in-law’s dislike for me had solidified into a deep-seated hatred. “Aria, don’t blame Mr. Thorne,” Chloe started in again. “He’s ill. You can’t expect too much from him.” “What does this have to do with you?” I clutched my still-healing wound and slowly got to my feet. “What do you do besides cause trouble?” “You keep saying he’s ill. Then what were you two doing the day before yesterday?” They had gone to a concert together, in a packed hall. Liam had even pulled some strings to get Chloe a photo with the conductor. But just last month, when I had begged him to take our son to an amusement park, he had refused without a second thought. “You can’t even handle a simple thing like that? Are you useless?” Chloe was speechless, cowering behind my mother-in-law. Just as the older woman was about to erupt, Liam appeared. His mother and Chloe immediately flocked to him. “Look at this wonderful wife you’ve found! Look at how she’s treating your mother! How am I supposed to live like this!” “Mr. Thorne, your mother just wanted to see her grandson, and Aria told us to get out.” Hearing her twist the truth, the blood rushed to my head. “What are you talking about!” “Enough!” Liam’s voice was a sharp rebuke, his eyes filled with disappointment. “Aria, can’t you just be normal for once? You always have to make a scene over every little thing.” My mind went blank. I stared at him, my eyes burning. “I’m not normal?” A husband with selective social anxiety, a backstabbing homewrecker, and a mother-in-law who couldn’t see the truth. And he called me the abnormal one. Eight years of thankless sacrifice turned to dust in that single moment. “Liam, let’s get a divorce.” My voice was quiet, but the finality in it was unmistakable. Liam’s face froze. For once, he looked completely lost. “Aria, don’t joke around…” “I’m not joking,” I repeated. “Do you have your ID? Let’s go today.” The room fell silent. When my mother-in-law recovered, she started screaming. “Just divorce the bitch already! She doesn’t want you anymore! What are you holding on for?” A vein throbbed in Liam’s forehead. His eyes were like chips of ice. “Aria, I’m asking you one last time. Do you really want a divorce? Because you are not getting the kid.” Just then, Leo burst out of the bedroom. Tears streamed down his face as he yelled, “I want to stay with my mommy! I’m not going with you!” My mother-in-law looked like she was about to have a stroke. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “Look what this woman has done to a perfectly good child!” Chloe lunged for Leo. He struggled wildly. “Mommy, help me!” I rushed to him, but his grandmother grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked. “You bitch! Trying to poison my grandson against us!” The pain was excruciating. Liam instinctively cried out, “Mom, let her go! Her wound hasn’t healed!” At that moment, Chloe’s sharp nails dug into the back of my hand. I screamed in pain. My son’s eyes turned red. He bit down hard on her hand. “Ah!” Chloe shrieked. Liam’s face contorted with rage. He slapped our son across the face. Leo fell to the floor, his mouth bleeding. My heart shattered. I scrambled to him, holding him tight. “Leo, let me see.” “Mommy, don’t cry. It doesn’t hurt.” Leo managed a weak smile, but beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Liam was blind to it all. He pointed at the bite mark on Chloe’s hand and yelled at me, “Is this how you raise him? Is he a dog? I can’t believe I ever trusted you with him.” With a dark look, he hoisted Leo over his shoulder. “Mommy! Mommy!” Leo’s hoarse cries tore through me, but his grandmother and Chloe held me back. They started hitting me. “You bitch! You think you can get away with this?” My lip split open, and my wound began to bleed again. They didn’t stop until I was limp on the floor. Then they left, leaving me in a heap. I gasped for air. As soon as I could move, I called a lawyer. My parents, though ordinary people, supported me completely, immediately transferring me twenty thousand dollars. On the eve of the court date, Liam came to my office. It was the first time in eight years. “Aria, can you stop this? Chloe is just my assistant. Nothing has ever happened between us.” I pointed to the bruises on my face. “She did this after you left that day. She hates me, you know that?” A flicker of pain crossed Liam’s eyes. He reached out to gently touch my face. “I’m sorry, Aria… Chloe was just emotional.” I pulled away, pointing to the scar on my stomach. “And was it ’emotional’ when you stood there and watched me get stabbed, but ran to save her?” Liam looked away, his voice stiff. “Think whatever you want.” My voice was cold. “I want a divorce.” We parted on bad terms. As he left, Liam gave me one last, long look. “Aria, you won’t win this.” I didn’t believe him. I had years of evidence of his neglect. I couldn’t believe they wouldn’t give me custody of Leo. But on the day of the hearing, Liam had a string of witnesses. The household staff said I was unstable. The neighbors said I was erratic. “Aria is just high-strung. She’s always yelling at her husband or her son.” “She even taught her son to hit his grandmother. She’s not human!” “She had postpartum depression. She tried to kill herself.” … With all the rumors swirling, I was painted as a monster. My explanations were useless. I lost the case. Then, Liam released a video. It showed Leo pushing his grandmother, crying and screaming, “You’re a bad person! I want my mommy! I only want my mommy!” The internet exploded. “His mother must have taught him that. He’s turning into a monster.” “That kid is ruined. What kind of person is he going to grow up to be? No discipline at all!” “Like mother, like son!” The vicious comments were endless. People started recognizing me on the street. Someone threw a rotten egg at me. I fell to the ground, vomiting. After the crowd dispersed, Liam walked up to me. His eyes were filled with pity. “Aria, why can’t you just listen? I do love you.” I slapped him, my eyes burning with hatred. He grabbed my wrist, his own face turning red with anger. “Fine. Let’s see how long you can keep this up.” Exhausted, I went home and started planning how to get to Leo. The next morning, Leo burst into the apartment, his face a mask of terror. “Mommy, help me!” He was pale and sweating. I held him close. “What is it, sweetie? Tell me slowly.” “Auntie Chloe’s neck is bleeding! She says I did it! Daddy’s going to kill me!” My blood ran cold. So this was Chloe’s plan all along. To get Leo back just to destroy him. Just then, we heard shouting at the door. I shoved my son into the bedroom. “Leo, don’t come out,” I said sternly. “No matter what you hear, do not come out!” Leo was crying too hard to breathe. I knew what he was afraid of. I forced a smile. “I’m a grown-up, sweetie. I’ll be fine. Just cover your ears and don’t listen.” I locked the door just as Liam and a red-eyed Chloe burst in. Her neck was wrapped in thick gauze. It looked serious. Before I could speak, Chloe dropped to her knees. “Aria, I don’t deserve to die. That knife wound from Leo almost killed me.” “What good will it do you for your son to be a murderer at his age?” She was a picture of wronged innocence, her voice choked with tears. Liam was beside himself with concern. He helped her up, his eyes like daggers when he looked at me. “Get him out here!” “What proof do you have that Leo did it? Is there a security camera?” I screamed, my heart breaking for my son, for his father who was so blind. “Enough!” Liam’s roar nearly deafened me. He strode forward, his pent-up anger finally erupting. He said, word by word, “I regret it. I regret ever having that little bastard!” I stood rooted to the spot. After a long moment, a trembling smile spread across my face. “Little bastard?” He, a father, was calling his own child a bastard. Liam pretended not to hear. His face was grim. “Chloe found a boarding school. We’ll send him there for a year.” He started for the bedroom. He was moving so fast he didn’t see the madness, the final, desperate resolve in my eyes. Just as he was about to break down the door, I lunged at him and bit down on his neck. The pain made him roar. He threw me off. He clutched his bleeding neck, his voice full of rage. “Aria, you’re going to be the death of me!” I hit the floor hard, but I was laughing, a wild, crazed sound. I felt a strange, wet sensation beneath me. A triumphant, painful smile stretched my lips. I pointed to my stomach and laughed, my voice rising with hysteria. “You said Leo was a bastard? Well, here. You can have this little bastard back, too!”

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