Driving out to check on the new condo, a woman with too much makeup and a tight dress suddenly darted into the street, slamming her hands on the hood of our Range Rover. She kicked the metal—a harsh, gut-churning thud—and screamed for me to get out. I was reaching for my phone, ready to call 911, but Rhys was faster. He fumbled with his seatbelt, threw his door open, and practically lunged out, stripping off his expensive suit jacket to drape over her shoulders. “Honey, it’s freezing out here. Why would you run out dressed like that?” I tried to push my door open, desperate to understand what was happening, but Rhys’s hand shot out, pressing hard against the frame. “Don’t come out! You’ll freak her out, she’s sensitive!” The woman, nestled into his chest, pointed a crimson nail at my face. “Listen up, old baggage! Rhys promised this loft to me! Who are you to tell us what to do? Get lost. His money and his heart? They’ve been mine for ages!” At that, I couldn’t help but smile. His money? What an amusing mistress. Let the games begin. 1 Rhys Harrington was rubbing her back, trying to calm her down, when he twisted his head to look at me. “Lilah, honey, just drive the car away. I’ll come back later and explain everything.” I sat in the passenger seat, staring at the man who had once sworn to love me forever, now shielding his mistress with a panicked, protective care. My heart felt like a massive, icy hand had just squeezed it, stopping the breath in my chest. Three years ago, I almost died giving birth to his child—a difficult delivery that resulted in a major hemorrhage and left me paralyzed. I spent three grueling years in Europe undergoing intensive nerve therapy. The moment I could stand unassisted, I came home. I hadn’t been back long, and this was the homecoming gift Rhys had prepared. I didn’t drive away. I pushed the door open and stepped out. Rhys was clearly surprised, freezing mid-motion. The woman, Tiffany Price, didn’t flinch when I approached. She pulled away from Rhys and strutted toward me, chin held high. Up close, she was impossibly young, her face plump with unearned collagen, but her eyes were pinpricks of pure greed. “What are you looking at? Three years of paralysis and you still couldn’t kick the bucket. You’ve got nerve.” She sneered, running her eyes up and down my body. “Look at you. You can walk, sure, but I can smell the hospital and the medication from two feet away. Rhys has to act like he still wants you every day. I feel sorry for him.” My hand shot out before my brain could stop it. CRACK! The sound was sharp and clean. The world went silent. Rhys froze. Tiffany froze. “You… you hit me?” Tiffany’s hands flew to her cheek, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I did.” I shook my hand out, my voice flat. “Dirty mouth. Consider it an education your parents failed to provide.” “Rhys! She hit me! Look what she did!” Tiffany’s composure shattered. She wailed, throwing herself back into Rhys’s arms like she’d been mortally wounded. Rhys’s eyes were filled with instant, gut-wrenching pity. He gripped her tight and spun around, glaring at me. “Lilah Shaw! Have you lost your mind? Tiffany is just a kid! How dare you lay a hand on her?” “A kid?” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “A kid who crawls into a married man’s bed? Rhys, your taste is truly unique.” Tiffany shrieked and tried to lunge at me, but Rhys took one look at my cold, mocking face, sighed, and bent down, scooping her up in his arms. “She’s not stable right now. I’m taking her away. I will come home and explain everything to you later!” With that, he carried Tiffany to a waiting cab and sped off, never looking back. He left me standing on the side of the road, next to the car with the dented hood, as strangers gathered, pointing and filming. I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing back the sting behind my eyes. That’s when my phone rang. I looked at the unfamiliar number and answered. “Hello, old baggage.” Tiffany’s voice, now triumphant, crackled through the speaker. “You saw it, didn’t you? Rhys cares about me. You’re smart enough to disappear and be a silent partner, or I swear, I will find ways to make your life a living hell!” I hung up without a word. I called a tow truck, sent the Range Rover to the dealership, and took a cab back to the Harrington estate. My in-laws were watching TV in the sprawling living room. They barely reacted when I walked in. “Dad. Mom,” I said. My mother-in-law didn’t even look up. “You’re back? Where’s Rhys? Didn’t he come with you?” “He went to comfort Tiffany Price,” I stated plainly. The air in the room became instant crystal. My father-in-law lowered his newspaper. My mother-in-law finally turned her head to face me. There was no shock on their faces—only a mild, detached annoyance. “Oh, that girl,” my mother-in-law said, casually flicking a speck of dust off her manicured nail. “Rhys mentioned her. She’s a lively young thing.” My heart didn’t just sink; it shattered. They knew. The entire family knew, and I had been the only fool. “Mom, Rhys is cheating. You’ve known this?” I asked. She frowned, clearly offended by my choice of words. “Cheating? Don’t be so dramatic, Lilah. Men have needs; it’s just part of doing business. Besides, you were away for three years. Do you know how hard it was for Rhys to hold this family together alone? What’s wrong with having a companion who offers a bit of comfort?” “As long as he keeps her out of the house and doesn’t touch your position as his wife, you need to turn a blind eye. This marriage is an alliance between two powerful families, dear. Business is always the priority.” My father-in-law chimed in, “She’s right, Lilah. Be the bigger person. Don’t cause trouble over something so trivial.” Trivial? The bigger person? Looking at their two cold, judgmental faces, I felt a wave of nausea. I didn’t want to waste another word. “Understood,” I replied. I turned and left them in their opulent silence. If they wanted to talk about business, then we would talk about business. I immediately sent a text to Dean: Dean, I need you to run a deep dive on Rhys Harrington’s asset transfers and the full background of a woman named Tiffany Price. Yesterday. Dean Foster was my late mother’s most trusted lawyer, and the only person in the world I could rely on completely. Rhys finally walked in around ten that night. He opened the bedroom door, saw me sitting on the edge of the bed, and paused. He walked over, collapsing onto the velvet armchair opposite me. The tension in the room was thick and suffocating. He hunched over, rubbing his face with his hands, the picture of guilt and remorse. “Lilah, I’m sorry.” It was the first thing he said. I looked at him, and flashed back to him at eighteen, clean-cut and earnest, declaring his love for me on the university quad. The man across from me was a stranger. “Sorry for what?” I asked. “I’m sorry to you,” his voice was raspy. “The last three years, it’s been exhausting. Tiffany… she gives me something different. She’s not so, well, strong like you. She needs me, Lilah. She makes me feel like a man again.” Strong? I nearly burst out laughing. I had given up my post-graduate studies and devoted myself to his career, content to be the woman behind the man. I almost died having his child. And in his eyes, I had become too strong. “And that’s your justification for cheating?” Rhys lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed. “I couldn’t help it! I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to hurt Tiffany. I love you both; I can’t let either of you go.” “I’ve thought this through. I’ll make it up to you, double everything you’ve suffered. Tiffany doesn’t want the title; she just wants to be near me. I swear I will balance things out and make sure you are never disrespected.” Listen to the sheer poetry of it. He wanted his cake and his mistress too. He was dreaming. “Rhys, we need to divorce,” I said, my voice steady. “If you can’t choose, I’ll choose for you.” Rhys shot up from the armchair, his face a mask of horror. “Divorce? Absolutely not! I will never divorce you!” “I married you, and I will be responsible for you for life! Besides, you were paralyzed because you were having my child! If I divorce you, I’ll be crucified in the media!” “And don’t forget, our partnership with the Sterling Group is at a critical stage! If we divorce now, the stock will tank! Can’t you be reasonable?” Watching his desperate, cornered reaction, I felt nothing but mockery. He didn’t care about my heart; he cared about his reputation and his stock portfolio. “So what’s the plan? Keep the official flag flying at home while keeping the side show running?” “If you just stop making a scene, we can make this work!” Rhys pleaded, rushing to convince me. “Tiffany is simple; she won’t threaten your status. You just have to pretend she doesn’t exist…” Suddenly, his phone buzzed. Rhys glanced at the screen, and his face instantly changed. He didn’t even acknowledge me as he answered and bolted for the door. “Hello, babe? What is it? You had a nightmare? Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’m on my way right now…” The door slammed shut with a final, echoing thud. I walked to the window and watched Rhys’s car speed away from the mansion. He would drop everything, at any time, for her. Perfect. Rhys Harrington, since you broke the contract of our marriage, you can’t blame me for breaking the contract of our business. I was getting divorced. But before that, I was going to make him and that “simple” Tiffany pay the price. The next morning, I went to Harrington Industries. Although I hadn’t stepped foot in the building in three years, I still held twenty percent of the company’s shares and maintained a seat on the board. The receptionist nearly fainted when she saw me, immediately calling the CEO’s office. I ignored the curious stares and went straight to the finance department. My first order of business: an audit. The Chief Financial Officer stammered out that no one was allowed to view the books without Mr. Harrington’s explicit signature. Expected. Rhys had been treating me like a thief for months. I didn’t argue. I left the building and went to the nearest high-end shopping center. If I couldn’t audit his books, I’d start by bleeding his wallet. In the jewelry store, I picked out a new emerald necklace, priced at two hundred and ninety thousand dollars. Normally, I would have considered it too expensive, but today, it felt too cheap. “I’ll take it,” I told the sales associate, handing her my black card. It was an unlimited-spending titanium card Rhys had given me on our fifth anniversary. The associate’s smile was professional and wide as she took the card. A few seconds later, the smile froze. “Ma’am… I’m terribly sorry, the card was declined.” “What?” I stared at her. “It says ‘Insufficient Funds,’” she whispered, handing it back with trembling hands. Insufficient funds? An unlimited card? The only explanation was that Rhys had either capped the main account or, more likely, canceled my access to the secondary card. Rhys Harrington! He had actually cut me off! As I stood there, stunned, the click of expensive heels echoed across the marble floor. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the former Mrs. Harrington. What’s the matter, can’t afford it?” Tiffany, carrying a brand-new Hermès bag, sashayed over. She was dripping in new custom-made clothes and jewelry, looking impeccably styled. Next to her, my slightly dated trench coat suddenly felt shabby. “Kevin, bag that necklace up for me, and those rings over there, and the diamond bracelet.” Tiffany waved her hand dismissively, not even looking at the price tags. The sales associate immediately ditched me and ran to her new high-roller. “Miss Price, you have excellent taste! Those are all new arrivals! The total is five hundred and eighty-eight thousand dollars.” Tiffany didn’t blink. She pulled a black card out of her Hermès bag and handed it over. It was exactly the same card as mine. “Run it,” she commanded, lifting her chin to look at me, her eyes glinting with malice. “A man’s heart follows his money, honey. Some people walk around waving a canceled credit card and pretending to be a wealthy wife. So sad.” I scoffed, pulled out my own phone, and dialed 911. “Hello, Police? I’d like to report a major theft. Someone is using my husband’s stolen card to fraudulently purchase millions of dollars in jewelry.” “The address is the ground floor jewelry store at the Starling Mall. The thief is still on the premises. Please hurry.” I hung up and looked Tiffany dead in the eye. Tiffany paused for a moment, then burst into a cackle of laughter. “You called the police? You actually called the police on me? Mrs. Harrington, have you finally lost your mind? Rhys gave me this card! I’m spending my man’s money; it’s perfectly legal! What are the cops going to do?” She wasn’t scared. She was even more arrogant. She called Rhys. “Honey! Your old hag has gone crazy! She called the cops on me! She’s saying I stole your card! Get over here right now! I want you to slap her face yourself! If I don’t see you in twenty minutes, I’m done with you!” The police arrived quickly. Two officers walked in, looking serious. “Who called 911?” “I did,” I stepped forward. “Officers, this woman is currently using my husband’s card without my permission.” Tiffany, still admiring a pair of earrings, rolled her eyes at the police. “Officers, don’t listen to this crazy woman. My boyfriend gave me this card.” The officer looked at me. “What is your relationship to the cardholder?” I pulled up my electronic marriage license. “I am Rhys Harrington’s legal wife. The cardholder, Rhys Harrington, and I are still legally married. I have never authorized this woman to use our joint marital assets.” The two officers exchanged a look; their expressions turned complex. “Ma’am, we need you to present identification and accompany us to the station for questioning,” the officer told Tiffany. “I’m not going! You can’t arrest me!” Tiffany slammed the card onto the counter. “You’ll see when my boyfriend gets here! He’s going to call your Chief of Police!” Just then, Rhys burst through the door, out of breath. He didn’t even glance at me, rushing straight to Tiffany and pulling her into his arms. “Tiff, are you okay? They didn’t touch you, did they?” With her rock behind her, Tiffany’s confidence soared. “Rhys! Finally! This witch brought the police to arrest me! She says I stole your card and wants me to go to jail! You better tell them who I am!” Rhys’s face darkened with rage. He spun around, glaring at me. “Lilah Shaw! Have you made enough of a scene? I told you I would handle this! Did you have to blow it up like this? Aren’t you embarrassed?” “Embarrassed?” I gave a cold laugh. “Rhys, who should be embarrassed? You used our marital funds to support a mistress, then canceled my card so she could charge six figures. Do you have any shame?” More and more onlookers had gathered, pointing and gossiping. Rhys, clearly humiliated, hissed at me under his breath, “What marital funds! That’s my money! I’ll spend it on who I want! Now shut your mouth!” He turned back to the police, forcing a smile. “Officers, this is all a misunderstanding. I did give my girlfriend this card. It’s not theft. It’s just a domestic dispute; we can handle it ourselves.” “Girlfriend?” the officer frowned at him. “This woman says you are legally married.” Rhys’s face froze. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “We’re… we’re filing for divorce. It’s in progress.” “You’re still married until the papers are signed,” the officer said sternly. “Since the cardholder is claiming it was willingly given, it’s not technically theft. However, Mr. Harrington, since you are not divorced, large transfers of marital assets can be challenged. I suggest you deal with this through your lawyers.” Hearing this, Tiffany shot out from behind Rhys and lunged at me, trying to scratch my face. “You b*tch! You called the police on me! I’ll scratch that smug look off your face!” I was ready, dodging her initial attack and aiming a retaliatory slap. But I forgot Rhys was there. The moment my arm swung out, Rhys grabbed my wrist, his fingers digging in hard. “Lilah Shaw! You’re going to hit her again? Who do you think you are?” He shoved me hard. Wearing heels, I lost my balance and crashed backward into a glass jewelry display. A sharp, searing pain shot through my lower back. I bit back a cry. Seeing her chance, Tiffany rushed forward, long nails raking across my face. “I’ll ruin your face! Then no man will ever look at you again!” Tear— My cheek burned. Rhys didn’t stop her. He held me pinned against the counter, allowing Tiffany to vent her rage. “That’s enough, Tiff. Don’t hurt your hand.” In that moment, the last flicker of hope in my heart was extinguished forever. The police finally intervened, pulling them apart. “That’s enough! Fighting in front of police officers! You’re all coming with us!” At the station, Tiffany immediately played the victim, claiming I filed a false police report and that I was the aggressor. She demanded to press charges for assault and battery. Her face didn’t even have a red mark, but my cheek was bleeding from three deep scratches. Rhys, however, stood with her. He pointed at me and told the police, “Officers, it’s true, my wife initiated the physical contact. You saw it. If I hadn’t stopped her, she probably would have given Tiffany a concussion.” I looked at him, utterly disgusted. “Rhys Harrington, you’ll sell your own soul to protect a cheap mistress.” Rhys avoided my gaze, lowering his voice. “Lilah, stop. If Tiffany has a record, it will ruin her life. You go in for a few days, cool off, and we’ll drop the whole thing.” The police officers looked like they wanted to argue on my behalf, but I shook my head at them. Then, I looked straight at Rhys. “Rhys Harrington, I hope you never regret this.” Based on Rhys’s testimony and my refusal to defend myself, I was charged with disturbing the peace and held for seven days of administrative detention. As they led me away, I watched Rhys. He was cradling Tiffany’s hand—the one she’d used to scratch me—and gently blowing on her fingers. In my heart, I started a silent countdown. Rhys. Your perfect life is about to end.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387711”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I scrolled past a TikTok discussing common-law marriage and how in some states, five years of cohabitation counts as a domestic partnership. Grinning, I turned to Dean Kinsley, the man I’d lived with for exactly five years, and asked, “So, if we ever break up, are we going to split all the assets?” Dean, who usually couldn’t stand the mention of a breakup, looked at me with chilling composure. “Strictly speaking, what I’m spending on you right now is marital property belonging to me and your best friend. If we’re going to talk division, you’ll walk away with nothing and probably owe me.” Seeing my stunned silence, he pulled out a marriage certificate and sighed, a gesture of weary patience. “The truth is, Serena and I signed the papers two days ago. You know about her extreme phobia—the one where she’s averse to men? She’s only immune to me. Her family is pushing her hard to get married. We’re doing the wedding tomorrow, and then I’ll file for divorce immediately. You are the one I want to be my wife.” “It’s just a piece of paper, Sum. For the sake of your best friend, you won’t make a big deal out of this, right?” I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I simply nodded. And then I quietly booked an appointment for a termination the next morning. Five years of love wasn’t worth a single request for help. This love was over. 1 “I swear to you, I’m only helping her out. You are the person I love the most, the person I want to marry!” “I know I shouldn’t have kept it from you. But her parents are literally threatening to cut her off. I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.” His words slammed into me like a thunderclap. He married my best friend to help her out. Then what was the point of all the times I’d brought up marriage, only to have him deflect, joke, or sidestep the issue? Last year, when my mother was in the ICU, her dying wish was to see me married. I begged him, and he told me he wasn’t ready, that he didn’t want to rush such a lifelong commitment, and he wanted our wedding to be perfect, not tainted by urgency or sadness. Three months ago, a relative saw me leaving my OB-GYN and gossiped to my father that I was going for “checkups” before marriage—shameful, indecent. My dad beat me so badly I spat up blood and told me he’d disown me if I didn’t get married. Dean told me marriage was too important to be rushed by external pressures. He swore he would be my family forever, even if my father abandoned me. Even last week, when I felt sick, the doctor told me I was at risk for a miscarriage and needed to rest. I joked that we needed to get married before I passed my prime childbearing years. He replied that not having children was fine, too; he didn’t want me to risk my health. I genuinely believed he was looking out for me. But two days ago, I was doubled over in pain, about to tell him I was pregnant. That’s when Serena called. She just casually complained that her parents were going to kill her if she didn’t get married soon. Dean didn’t hesitate. He threw on his jacket, told me curtly to go to the emergency room if I felt worse, and rushed out to marry her. I stared at the marriage certificate on the coffee table—the certificate I’d begged for for a year—now bearing his and someone else’s smiling faces. Tears I couldn’t control streamed down my face. Guilt flashed in his eyes. He reached for a tissue to wipe my tears, just as my phone rang. It was Serena. My hands were shaking. I couldn’t process any of it. I moved to hang up, but Dean snatched the phone, a frown creasing his brow. “Don’t hang up. She’ll overthink it, and I don’t want her to feel guilty or burdened over something this small.” He quickly answered the call and pressed the phone back into my hand. I was stunned. In the past, his philosophy was that my feelings were paramount. If I was even slightly unhappy, he’d sit with me—no matter what I did—just so I wouldn’t bottle up my emotions. “Sum, you… why aren’t you saying anything? Are you still mad at me? I’m so sorry, I know I shouldn’t be so selfish, but you’re my best friend…” Dean abruptly pushed my arm and took the phone back. His voice was instantly warm and gentle. “No, she’s just a little surprised. Don’t worry, I’m taking her to try on bridesmaid dresses in a minute.” He hung up and began rubbing my stiff, numb hands. “There. Whole charade. I know you’re upset, but after tomorrow, I promise everything goes back to normal, okay?” He grabbed my wrist and dragged my lifeless body to a high-end bridal boutique, a place you needed to book at least a year in advance. Serena stood before us, wearing the wedding dress Dean had designed for me two years ago. 2 “You finally came! I thought you were angry and wouldn’t show up. Quick, tell me, don’t I look beautiful?” My heart clenched, again and again. That dress—the style, the fabric, the meaning behind it—was everything I had ever wanted. I had maintained my weight and figure to fit into it perfectly. Dean had told me he would only pick up his pen again to design a gown for the woman he loved the most. I had dreamed of the moment I would wear it and walk toward him. I had even told Serena how much this dress meant to me. Yet, here she was, wearing it right in front of me. Before I could speak, Dean’s gaze swept over her, full of admiration. “Stunning! The alterations are perfect. It fits you like a glove.” A sudden, sharp pain flared in my chest. I fought back tears and looked at him. He offered a helpless shrug. “She really loves this one. It’s just a dress. You two are practically sisters; don’t be petty about it. We’ll have it altered back afterward.” Serena gave me a pained, apologetic look. “Sum, if you mind, it’s fine. I don’t need it. I already asked you…” Dean placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “My bride, my call.” Serena smiled playfully and looped her arm through his. “Will you help me choose the accessories? Sum won’t mind, will she?” Watching their easy intimacy, all the minor, nagging details I had suppressed over the years surfaced, like shards of glass. At a party, he’d casually cover for her, saying, “She’s on her period,” and drank her share of cocktails. While shopping, a single, embarrassed glance from her was enough for him to pull a maxi pad out of his pocket. I’d always told myself he was trying to make a good impression on my best friend. Now I knew he wasn’t just showing ‘friends-of-my-love’ affection. His heart had simply drifted off course. A torrent of hurt, fury, and betrayal welled up, and tears began to fall. I didn’t want to make a scene here. I took a deep breath and started to leave. Just as I turned, I heard Serena call out. “Oh, Sum! That heirloom jade bangle of yours would go perfectly with this dress. Can I borrow it?” My hand instinctively tightened around the cool, smooth stone on my wrist. This was the bracelet my mother had placed on my hand just before she died last year. She said I had to wear it on my wedding day so it would feel like she was walking beside me. I looked down at the soft glow of the jade. My voice was raspy. “I can’t lend this. My mother gave it to me. They have plenty of suitable accessories here.” Serena sighed, visibly deflated. “Oh, well. That’s a real shame.” As she spoke, a vice-like grip clamped down on my hand. Dean leaned down and awkwardly tried to yank the bracelet off my wrist. “It’s just a bracelet. Your aunt didn’t just leave you one thing, did she?” “Besides, if Serena hadn’t pulled you out of that situation with that predator three years ago, would you even be here today? Aunt Clara saw her as a daughter—it’s just a bracelet. She deserves it. Don’t you dare forget who saved you, Sum. Ungrateful people tend to repeat their mistakes!” The jade ground against my bone, agonizingly painful. But his flippant words tore my heart open. The man I loved most was peeling back the scar tissue and stabbing a deeper wound into the original injury. He used to endlessly regret not being there to protect me that night. Now, he was wishing I’d repeat my mistakes. Slap! He froze, clutching his cheek, looking at me. My eyes were blazing red. “Do you know what you’re saying? You know exactly why that happened—because you ditched me to go drinking! I called you a dozen times, and you answered none of them! That’s why it happened!” “And you know this bracelet was put on my wrist by my mother. Now, because of her little sigh, you want to strip me of the most important thing I have left?” The anger in his eyes was replaced by a look of crushing guilt. He looked at my wrist, rubbed raw by the jade, his face contorted in a mix of pain and conflict. Serena rushed over, gazing at Dean with feigned distress. “Sum, it’s my fault. Please, don’t fight because of me. You shouldn’t have grabbed her hand like that.” Her words were like a constant, needling jab, suggesting my value in Dean’s eyes was rapidly diminishing. I swallowed the lump in my throat and readjusted the bangle on my wrist. “You two go ahead and try things on. I don’t feel well. I’m leaving.” 3 With that, I turned to walk away. But before I could take a step, a searing smack across the face sent my head spinning. “You little tramp! Who gave you permission to bully my nephew-in-law?” “You keep crossing the line just because my niece is your friend. You like being the side piece, don’t you?” A large woman I didn’t recognize grabbed my collar. Before I could react, her hand swung back and struck my face again. “Speak up! My niece and nephew-in-law tolerate you, but I won’t!” Dean stepped forward to intervene, but she shoved him away. “What are you doing? Your wife is standing right here! Why are you defending this little tramp?” I watched him take a staggering step back, his guilty eyes sweeping over me. My heart hit the floor. Clutching my stinging cheek, I glared at him. “Dean Kinsley! Are you just going to stand there and watch me get hit?” He hesitated, about to speak. The next moment, Serena lightly wrapped her hand around his arm, leaving him completely helpless. “Sum… I’m getting married tomorrow. You need to keep your distance and manage your expectations.” His dry, flat words cemented my identity as the other woman. Tears burned as they streamed down my throbbing cheek. The woman raised her hand again. I shoved her away, pulled out my phone, and opened my photo gallery. “Look closely! These are pictures of us! We are…” Smash. The phone was knocked out of my hand and shattered on the floor, the screen instantly black. Dean was agitated and furious, glaring at me. He swung his hand without hesitation. “Enough! If you’re not here to give your sincere blessing, then get out! Don’t ruin things before our wedding! If it weren’t for Serena, I wouldn’t even give you the time of day! Stop now!” I stumbled backward, my lower abdomen slamming into the door handle, the spot where the bangle sat hitting the metal. The weight on my wrist instantly vanished. I stared at the shattered pieces of jade on the ground. A cold, empty feeling washed over me, as if my last tangible connection to my mother had been severed. “No… Mom, don’t… don’t leave me.” A flicker of distress crossed Dean’s face. He started to bend down to pick up the pieces, but Serena clutched her leg and cried out in pain. A trickle of blood began to seep between her fingers. Dean panicked. He swept her up in his arms and sprinted for the door. His urgent steps knocked me over. The shattered jade cut into my palm. And it sliced my heart in two. He paused for only a split second before leaving without a backward glance. The older woman sneered and kicked the scattered shards of jade across the floor. “The little bastard thinks she can steal my niece’s man! Pfft!” Under the scornful gaze of everyone present, I was shoved out the door. In the freezing snow, I endured the sharp, stabbing pain in my lower abdomen. I clawed through the icy dirt and slush, eventually retrieving the last fragmented piece of the bangle. Clutching the remnants, I disappeared into the night, step by agonizing step. The warm, viscous liquid pooling on my inner thigh turned icy cold. I felt the life that shouldn’t have been—the life Dean had indirectly stolen—slip away. And with it, five years of my life with Dean. I woke up in a hospital room. The acrid smell of disinfectant stung my nose. A nurse beside me gasped. “She’s awake! She’s awake!” “Where is your family? Your pregnancy was unstable—why were you running around in this weather?” “And your phone was broken! We were so worried!” I touched my flat, empty stomach. My voice was a raw whisper. “The baby? Is it gone?” She sighed. “You’re young, and your health is good. You can try again later.” She handed me a small box and a blurred ultrasound image, then quietly turned and left. Staring at the tiny, blurry bud of life resting in the cold container, I felt as though my core had been hollowed out. Why did everything I cherished, everything I carefully protected, have to be taken from me? The doctor checked on me periodically. Seeing my quiet sobs, she stressed the need for rest. I borrowed her phone and ordered a new one. After transferring my old SIM card and paying her back, the constant ping of new notifications began. Most were from Dean. [I told you to wait it out. It would all be over tomorrow. Why did you have to make a scene?] [It would’ve been better if you just gave her the bracelet; then it wouldn’t have shattered.] [Whatever. We can get it repaired later.] [Oh, and make sure you have a wedding gift ready tomorrow as an apology.] 4 [If Serena and I hadn’t smoothed things over, her family would have plastered your mistress status all over social media. Pick something expensive, apologize, and don’t cause any more drama!] [Does your face still hurt? Learn a lesson from this. Don’t be so impulsive in the future!] [I’m not coming back tonight. Pack your things up in the apartment. Her family needs to see the place tomorrow, and we can’t have any slip-ups.] I let out a hollow laugh, staring at the frigid, heartless words. He was the one who promised me a home. Now he was ordering me out of it. He was the one who cried over a tiny burn I got while cooking. Now he slapped me and told me I deserved it, that I needed to “learn a lesson.” I laughed until the tears started again. They dripped onto the screen. The phone lit up. This time, it wasn’t Dean; it was Serena. [You can see he cares about me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have married me in a day when you couldn’t get him to commit in five years.] [It’s awful to say this, and I know it’s unfair to you after five years, but that’s just how love is. People get bored.] [A person’s value is in their self-awareness. Some mistakes don’t need correcting. If you really love him, then let him be happy.] [Consider it repaying my life-saving kindness to you.] Tears blurred my vision. Seeing their new profile pictures—a matching couple’s set—left a taste of bitter acid in my mouth. I clicked on social media, where videos celebrating Dean’s wedding were already circulating. I sighed deeply. Maybe this was just fate. If that night three years ago hadn’t happened, perhaps none of this would have unfolded. I slowly made my way home to pack. When the elevator stopped on the surgery floor, two familiar-looking girls stepped in. “Oh my god, I can’t believe she actually pulled it off. Three years, lying in wait next to that poor girl, just to steal her boyfriend. That’s next level.” “Seriously! You have no idea how twisted she is. She staked out their party, hired some guys to pull the boyfriend away, and then got thugs to corner the girl in the alley. When the timing was perfect, she pretended to just ‘stumble upon’ the scene and rescue her. Became her best friend naturally! She’s been eating food she’s supposedly allergic to for three years to fake that men-aversion thing, just to chip away at them.” “Holy hell! That’s insane! That other girl is seriously unlucky!” “Shh! Quiet down. We don’t want anyone hearing.” Ding. The elevator reached the first floor. Watching their backs disappear, a wave of cold nausea washed over me. I shakily unlocked my phone and looked at the picture Serena had posted just moments ago, showing friends visiting her in the hospital. In the picture, besides Dean’s attentive figure, two girls were wearing the exact same outfits as the ones who had just left the elevator. My entire rescue, my salvation, had been her calculated scheme. I wiped my tears and went to the surveillance office. Citing a lost item, I reviewed the elevator footage and recorded the audio and video. Next, I filed a police report for intentional harm. I would give them a wedding gift they would never forget. The next day, at the wedding. A subtle feeling of dread lingered in Dean Kinsley’s heart. Especially when he saw Serena Meyer’s radiant, smiling face. For a fleeting second, he regretted everything. This day was supposed to be his and Summer’s. “Do you, the groom, take this beautiful woman to be your wife?” He hesitated. Serena’s eyes, full of gentle supplication, were fixed on him. Whatever, he thought. Just a bad dream. He parted his lips. The word “I” hadn’t even left his throat. CRASH. The doors to the ballroom burst open. It wasn’t the figure he secretly yearned for. The crowd buzzed, but no one dared stop the commotion. Under the watchful eyes of two uniformed officers, a delivery man handed a small box to Dean. “This is a wedding gift from Ms. Summer Weston.” Serena looked panicked, urging him to open it after the ceremony. But the dread in Dean’s heart had finally found its anchor. He trembled as he lifted the lid. Inside were two items. An ultrasound image of a five-week-old fetus. And a medical diagnostic report bearing Serena Meyer’s name, which read: [Diagnosis: Patient exhibits no symptoms of androgen-related phobia or aversion to the male hormone.]

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Twenty years ago, on my wedding day, I discovered my fiancé was having an affair with my maid of honor. I canceled the wedding on the spot. In an act of monstrous collusion, our families—our own flesh and blood—had me committed to a psychiatric facility. “She’s raving mad!” they declared. “She’s slandering her fiancé and her own sister!” In that place, I was subjected to electroshocks, force-fed medication, and often strapped down and beaten. I endured that life for two decades. Twenty years later, I finally walked free. But my hair was completely white. My teeth were mostly gone. I looked utterly broken, like a woman easily seventy years old. I hid myself away in a small regional assisted living center, working as a patient aide under an assumed name. I genuinely believed I would never have to see any of them again. Until one day, my former fiancé arrived. He was with a little girl—the daughter he’d had with my sister. They were there to visit his mother. When he saw me, his entire body froze. His eyes immediately welled up. “Eliza?! God, is that you? I thought you were gone…” I kept my head down, scrubbing the floor. I said nothing. I didn’t want to acknowledge his existence. The doctor had just told me I had late-stage Alzheimer’s disease. At most, I had three months of coherent memory left. After those three months, all the hatred would be gone. The twenty years they stole from me would be wiped clean. 1 I gripped the washcloth, my hand trembling violently. Hot water splashed out, scalding the back of my hand, but I felt nothing. Patty, the head aide, snatched the cloth away, slamming it into the basin. Water splattered across my face. Her voice was sharp and cruel. “Ruth, you move like a zombie! You’re useless!” “If you can’t manage this, what good are you?” I kept my head down, silent. “Hurry up! Next patient!” Mechanically, I picked up a mop and headed toward the next bed. Just then, a commotion erupted at the doorway. A man in a bespoke suit walked in, leading a little girl dressed in an expensive party dress. The man was handsome and towering; the girl was beautiful and perfectly adorable. They were glaringly out of place in this room saturated with the smell of disinfectant and old age. I instinctively shrank back, trying to melt into the shadows. But the man saw me. He stared, riveted, for a full fifteen seconds. Then, his eyes turned instantly red, and his voice cracked as he spoke my name. “Eliza? Is it really you?” The blood in my veins solidified. I recognized that voice. It was Liam Maxwell. The man who had personally signed the papers that delivered me to hell twenty years ago. I lowered my head and scrubbed the floor with all my strength. My voice came out coarse and grating. “You have the wrong person. My name is Ruth Miller.” He strode over quickly and grabbed my wrist. His grip was strong, squeezing my bones until they ached. “Eliza, I know it’s you! Don’t try to hide!” I struggled to pull away, and the mop handle clattered onto the linoleum. The little girl beside him immediately shrieked. “Dad! That old lady is gross! She touched me!” Liam flinched as if burned, releasing my wrist instantly. He turned to console his daughter, his voice melting with tenderness. “It’s okay, Calla-girl, it’s not dirty. Daddy will take you to wash your hands right now.” Patty rushed over like a whirlwind. She didn’t spare me a glance, instead bowing profusely toward Liam. “Mr. Maxwell, please don’t be angry. This old woman has no manners.” Then, she whirled around and slapped me across the face. The smack echoed in the hallway, and my cheek instantly began to swell. “How dare you serve a distinguished guest like this?! That’s three days’ pay, gone!” Liam frowned, holding up a hand to stop Patty before she could strike again. “It’s fine. Don’t hit her.” He looked at me, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Eliza, I know it’s you. We need to talk, later.” I ignored him, bent down, picked up the mop, and limped toward the supply closet. Behind me, I heard his determined voice. “I will come back every day until you agree to speak with me.” I closed the supply closet door, shutting out his voice. Leaning against the cold wall, my entire body was shaking. That night, I retrieved a worn, rusty tin box from beneath my cot. Inside, there was only one sheet of paper. My diagnosis. The flashlight beam focused on the words, stinging my eyes. Alzheimer’s Disease, Late Stage. The doctor said I had three months of memory left, at best. Three months until I forgot everything. Forgot the twenty years of electroshocks, force-feeding, and restraints. Forgot every ugly face. Forgot the blood debt they owed me. With a trembling hand, I wrote the first line on the back of the diagnostic report. “Let every single one of them pay the price!”

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When Savannah, my fiancée, lost a bet to her “man-bestie,” Dane, and canceled our wedding for the ninth time, I knew I had to draw a line. I told her, seriously, that if she called it off again, I would go home and marry someone from an approved family, someone who could deliver on a commitment. She just laughed, completely unconcerned. “Rhys, you transplanted your bone marrow for me. How could you possibly marry anyone else?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Besides, who else would take on a bitter old bachelor like you?” On the morning of our tenth wedding attempt, Dane sent her a photo: a key card to a secluded Springs Resort suite. His accompanying challenge was simple: if she could find him there in three hours, he’d agree to be my groomsman. Savannah’s face instantly changed. She tore off her veil and sprinted out of the ballroom. Three hours later, Dane posted a photo to his feed: the two of them, half-submerged in a steaming outdoor spa, watching fireworks explode over the mountains. The caption read: The people who truly care will always find a way to get to you, no matter where you are. I silently stripped off my tuxedo. Then, I pulled out a number I hadn’t dialed in years. “Eleanor Vaughn,” I said, my voice steadying. “That promise you made to marry me, is it still good?” A choked, excited gasp came from the other end of the line. “Of course, it’s good, Rhys. For you, that promise is good for a lifetime.” 1 A wave of embarrassed silence washed over the high-society guests in the ballroom. Even among this cynical crowd, the awkwardness was palpable. Someone muttered, “Mr. Harding has wasted seven years on Ms. Sinclair. This is beyond reckless. How can she ditch him every time for a glorified platonic friend?” “Seriously. He gave her so much. Bone marrow, for God’s sake. He was even disowned by his grandfather because of her.” They looked at me with pity. Even strangers knew Savannah had gone too far. Mrs. Sinclair, Savannah’s mother, rushed up to me, grasping my arm tightly. “Rhys, darling, you need to explain! Tell everyone there was a massive crisis at Sinclair Enterprises and Savannah had to run. Just start the dinner service now.” I looked down at the woman who always claimed to treat me like a son. The anger was a slow burn in my chest. “Mrs. Sinclair, do you think everyone here is stupid? That is the exact story I’ve told nine times already.” Her face hardened, and her tone turned sharp. “Well, you’ve said it nine times. What’s the harm in one more?” She leaned closer. “Unless, of course, all those grand promises you made about loving Savannah were nothing but lies?” Her self-righteous indignation—the absolute belief that it was perfectly normal for me to be treated like a total fool—was staggering. The memories flashed back, a quick-cut montage of humiliation. Our wedding dates had been a joke ever since Dane Foster, her childhood ‘man-bestie,’ returned to the States three years ago. Every single time, she took Dane’s bait. Every time, she lost. The first wedding: She drank her “last single-life cocktail” with Dane, overslept, and we had to postpone. The second: She lost a bet and literally gave Dane the wedding venue to host his ridiculous, scantily-clad rave. The guests were shell-shocked. The third… Each time, she offered the same weak excuse: “Rhys, Dane just got dumped. He’s heartbroken and needs me. As his best friend, I can’t abandon him now.” My hands clenched into fists. They chose our wedding day, every time, to play their games and she never won. Did they truly think I was that blind? As Mrs. Sinclair continued to prattle on with her condescending advice, the grand doors burst open. Savannah walked in, composed and beautiful, her arm intimately looped through Dane’s. “Rhys, I lost the bet again,” she announced to the room, a faux-apologetic look on her face. “It took me three hours and one minute to find Dane. You wouldn’t put me in a difficult position, would you?” She glanced at the clock. “The auspicious hour is long gone. We’ll just have to pick a new date.” Then, standing directly in front of Dane, she calmly took off the remaining part of her dress and dropped it, along with a framed wedding portrait, directly into a passing trash receptacle. A collective gasp swept the room. The sheer contempt in the act made the guests look at me with fresh sympathy. The heir to the powerful Harding family, treated as nothing more than an inconvenient afterthought. I met Dane’s eyes, which were shining with smug satisfaction. I let out a cold laugh. “Savannah, how about we make a bet?” I asked. “Let’s bet on the eleventh wedding. Will you lose that one, too?” She rolled her eyes, her gaze full of boredom. “Rhys Harding, betting is a special tradition between me and Dane. Don’t try to join the fun.” I paused, letting the silence hang heavy. “The bet is this,” I said slowly. “I bet on the day of the eleventh wedding, Sinclair Enterprises will be bankrupt.” Savannah’s face drained of color. “Rhys Harding! Just because I didn’t marry you today, you’re cursing my family?” She sneered. “No wonder Dane says you’re just an old loser who only knows how to threaten people with favors and guilt.” Rage finally snapped the chain. I couldn’t keep the roar in. “If you were sleeping with Dane, just admit it and marry him! Stop playing these pathetic, idiotic games to humiliate me!” Dane instantly flared up, his face turning beet-red. “Mr. Harding, how dare you! Savannah and I have been best friends since we were kids. Don’t you dare taint our connection!” He stepped closer, then leaned in, whispering into my ear, his breath hot and disgusting. “Rhys, after being dumped ten times, do you really have the nerve to stand here and beg like a dog? If I were you, I’d have taken the hint and left already.” He chuckled, a venomous sound. “The truth is, Savannah always said you were useless. Couldn’t satisfy her even once.” He pulled back, feigning exasperation for the crowd. “Savannah, last time you lost a bet, you said you were going to shred Mr. Harding’s suit and use it as a rag for the dog. I didn’t take it seriously, so why is Mr. Harding making such a scene?” Savannah gave him a soft, affectionate smile, grabbed a pair of shears from a nearby centerpiece, and handed them to him. “I honor my bets, Dane. Go ahead. I can’t break my word in front of family.” I stared at Savannah, utterly frozen in disbelief. In that moment, she was a total stranger. She placed the scissors in Dane’s hand and spoke to me with chilling indifference. “Rhys, it’s just a suit. Don’t be such a drama queen.” The custom-tailored wedding suit, a masterpiece my late grandmother had personally commissioned, was savagely sliced to ribbons. Dane grabbed a handful of the silk, his eyes glittering with disdain. “Savannah, didn’t you say this was made by a famous designer? It looks even worse than our dog’s rag.” He contemptuously tossed the shreds into the nearest trash bin. Savannah patted his arm, a gentle gesture of appeasement. “Okay, okay, you don’t like it. We’ll buy you something better tomorrow.” I watched the two of them, the bile rising in my throat. I lashed out with every ounce of strength I had, hitting Dane squarely on the jaw. Then, I snatched the shears from the table and plunged them deep into his chest. My hand was instantly soaked in blood. Dane gasped and staggered backward, clutching his wound as he collapsed into Savannah’s arms. The ballroom erupted in chaos. “He’s killed him! Call the police!” I stood there, gasping for breath, my body shaking uncontrollably. “Savannah,” I asked, looking into her panicked eyes. “Are you satisfied with this bet?” This was the first time I had ever seen genuine terror on her face. She gripped Dane tighter, shoved me away with her foot, and screamed, “Call 911!” Then, she looked down at me, her eyes arctic cold, filled with pure revulsion. “Rhys Harding, no wonder your father left and your mother killed herself! You deserve to be miserable. You don’t deserve anyone’s love.” Her words were a frozen blade. My blood ran cold, and a thousand needles pierced my heart. She knew my most vulnerable spot, the ultimate wound. She had targeted it perfectly. I collapsed onto the floor, defeated and wretched. The paramedics arrived. Savannah helped load Dane onto the gurney. As they wheeled him out, she paused, giving me one final, icy glance. “Rhys, you hurt Dane. This isn’t over.” The guests silently filed out, shaking their heads in disgust. My tenth wedding had ended in bloodshed. I sat there for a long time, the silence growing heavier until the last person was gone and the police arrived. “Are you Rhys Harding? We received a report of aggravated assault. You need to come with us.” I managed a bitter, humorless laugh. “Savannah called you, didn’t she?” The officer nodded. In the interrogation room, I numbly recounted the entire process and my motive. The detective looked at my disheveled state with pity. “Mr. Harding, why stay devoted to a woman who treated you like this? Why hang yourself on one rotten branch?” I looked at the officer, the question echoing in my mind. Why? Was it because I was drowning in the undertow, and she had once offered me the illusion of a lifeline? When I was fifteen, my mother, consumed by depression, jumped from a rooftop. I became the parentless outcast overnight. Months later, my father remarried. They were instantly a happy family of three. My stepmother hated me, making it clear I was never welcome in that house. I was an outsider. I was shivering, starving, and close to collapsing on the street that day when Savannah found me. She held me, comforted me, and gave me the courage to keep going. My love for her wasn’t just romance; she was the single anchor in my drowning world. A few hours later, Savannah returned with a limping Dane. When questioned by the police, she fixed me with a hostile glare. “We will not settle this. He needs to be prosecuted to the full extent. He was violent even as a kid. If we don’t teach him a lesson now, he’ll become a killer.” Dane, his head held high, looked at me with open provocation. The police officer sighed, pulling me aside. “Mr. Harding, Ms. Sinclair is still your fiancée. Go apologize. This whole thing can go away.” He looked at me meaningfully. “Don’t let pride ruin your life. If they press charges, you’re looking at serious time. Can you survive that?” I gritted my teeth, the gravity of the situation crushing me, and reluctantly agreed. I followed the officer back into the room, swallowing my shame. I lowered my head. “I’m sorry. I acted on impulse. I apologize and I’ll make restitution. Please, forgive me.” Dane looked utterly unimpressed. “Mr. Harding, it’s not that I don’t want to forgive you. But a narrow-minded, malicious snake like you needs to be punished, or you really will hurt someone badly one day.” The stress of the day, combined with my chronic stomach issues, sent a wave of agonizing abdominal pain through me. My face broke out in a cold sweat. Seeing my obvious physical distress, Savannah’s voice softened momentarily. “Dane, how about this? I’ll make him apologize by bowing and swearing on his grandmother’s grave that if he ever threatens you again, they can both burn in the lowest circle of hell.” She snapped her head toward me. “Now, kneel down and apologize to Dane until he’s satisfied.” The police officer, clearly wanting the conflict resolved, pushed me hard from behind. With a dull thud, I landed on my knees. Savannah grabbed my head and slammed it against the polished floor. Once. Twice. Thrice… Blood streamed from my forehead, blurring my vision. After what felt like an eternity, Dane’s voice, now bored, cut through the agony. “That’s enough, Savannah. Fine. I’ll let it go for your sake. But if this ever happens again, I won’t be so lenient.” Savannah instantly let go of me and hurried to support him. “Don’t worry, Dane. As long as I’m here, he won’t lay a finger on you again.” They started walking out. Just before they passed through the door, Savannah turned back. “Go home and think about what you’ve done, Rhys. When you truly understand your mistake, we can talk about the wedding again.” She gave me a final, contemptuous glance. “You are completely useless. You really need to learn something from Dane.” I scoffed. She had forgotten the seven years I’d spent building Sinclair Enterprises from a nobody to a powerhouse. She had forgotten that I’d sold the last asset my grandmother left me—our family home—to provide the capital for her company’s IPO. She had forgotten that I gave her my own bone marrow. Stumbling out of the precinct, I doubled over, clutching my throbbing abdomen, and immediately headed to the nearest hospital. The attending physician was furious when he saw my bloodied, disheveled state. “Mr. Harding, you are a fool! You know you have severe complications from the transplant. Your heart is overloaded! You should be resting in bed!” He immediately ordered a battery of tests. I took the stack of requisition forms and headed toward the fourth floor. As I passed a private room, I heard two familiar voices. I instinctively stopped and peered inside. Savannah was carefully helping Dane settle onto the bed. “Savannah,” Dane said, his voice laced with suspicion. “You tricked Rhys into giving you his bone marrow by faking a serious illness, and then you kept dragging out the wedding. You wouldn’t scheme against me like that, would you?” “Don’t be silly, my darling. Of course not. You are the only person I truly love.” Then she lowered her voice, but I heard every word. “I pushed his mother off that roof, Dane. All those years ago. I did it because I wanted to shatter all his reliance so he’d only have me. Robert Harding only has one son; eventually, the estate is all Rhys’s. Once I get the money, I’ll ditch him and marry you.” The world exploded into a high-pitched ringing silence. My mother didn’t jump. She was murdered. By Savannah. Tears streamed down my face. I stumbled back to my own room, locking the door. After hours of staring blankly at the ceiling, I finally grabbed my phone and made the call. “Eleanor, I’m ready to move forward and marry you abroad. But I have one condition. Sinclair Enterprises must be annihilated. I want Savannah Sinclair back on the bottom rung where she started.” A delighted, utterly composed voice answered instantly. “Consider it done. I’m flying back now, Rhys. Wait for me.” The next morning, I woke up, opened my phone, and saw the breaking news: Sinclair Enterprises Faces Mass Contract Breach as Overseas Conglomerate Launches Aggressive Market Attack: Stock Plummets. As I lay there, processing the carnage, my door was pushed open. A striking, coolly beautiful woman strode in, bringing a blast of cold air with her.

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It was the day my lawyer boyfriend took me home to meet his parents, and the future mother-in-law, Eliza Alistair, decided to share a little anecdote at the dinner table to “break the ice.” “I’d just gotten my license back then,” she said, taking a delicate bite of her artisanal bread. “I snuck out with your father’s prize possession—that vintage Porsche he worships—and I was so nervous, I hit something out on Sycamore Creek Road. I think it was a large dog, maybe? I panicked and just kept driving.” She chuckled, a light, dismissive sound. “The bumper was totally bashed in. It took forever to fix it in secret. Your father still has no idea!” She lifted her glass of Meritage, elegantly sipped it. “Thank God that area is so isolated. No traffic cameras, or I would have been in real trouble.” The knife and fork slipped from my fingers, hitting the porcelain plate with a piercing, metallic shriek. The model of the vintage car, that specific stretch of suburban road, even the detail of the light drizzle that evening… every single detail slotted perfectly over the memory of the night my brother died. I looked at Rhys, and his face was a portrait of abject terror. He was deathly pale, his eyes darting away, unable to meet mine. In that frozen instant, I understood everything. 1 The clang of my cutlery against the white china plate was a scream in the otherwise quiet, stately dining room. Eliza Alistair, Rhys’s mother, froze, the practiced smile on her face dissolving. She looked at me, a slight frown creasing her brow, her gaze carrying a hint of annoyance at the interruption. “Cassidy, what is it? Not to your taste?” Rhys’s father, Judge Wallace Alistair—a former judge, now semi-retired—also looked up from his newspaper, his eyes, magnified slightly by his reading glasses, sizing me up with cold assessment. I didn’t look at them. My eyes were locked solely on Rhys. His hands, resting on the tablecloth, were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. A bead of sweat tracked down his temple, and he didn’t even dare lift a hand to wipe it away. “Rhys.” I spoke the name, the sound of it light, yet laced with a chilling coldness I hadn’t known I possessed. “That road your mother mentioned—is it… Sycamore Creek Road?” Rhys’s body jerked as if struck. Eliza’s mask of aristocratic grace finally fractured. She looked at me, eyes narrowed, instantly on guard. “How do you know that?” I pulled at the corner of my mouth, trying to produce a smile that felt more like a grimace. “My brother,” I said, the words heavy and deliberate. “He died on that road.” “Hit by a hit-and-run driver in a vintage car.” “On a rainy evening, just like you described.” A deathly silence settled over the room. The air felt vacuum-sealed, pressing down on my lungs until I could barely breathe. Eliza’s face cycled through confusion, shock, rising panic, and finally, a sheet-white terror. The stem of her wine glass snapped, the bowl crashing to the floor. The crimson spill of wine on the pale rug looked horrifyingly like a pool of blood. “You… you’re talking nonsense!” she shrieked, her voice warped by fear. “Sycamore Creek? I don’t remember any of that!” “You don’t remember?” I repeated slowly, my gaze drifting to the brand-new, cherry-red sports car parked in their massive driveway. “The car. The license plate ended in 77, didn’t it?” “Those were the last two numbers my brother managed to whisper before he died.” Eliza’s lips trembled, unable to form a single word. Rhys finally moved. He shot to his feet, grabbing my wrist with a violence that felt like he was trying to crush bone. “Cass! Calm down! This has to be a misunderstanding! My mother, she—” “A misunderstanding?” I ripped my arm out of his grasp and stood up. The sudden, sharp movement sent a jolt of searing pain through the old injury in my right leg. I stumbled, leaning hard against the table for support. “Rhys, tell me, what is the misunderstanding?” “Is it that you knew who I was the first day we met, didn’t you?” “Is it that you approached me, pursued me, and were so kind to me, all because your mother killed my brother, didn’t you?” “Your love, your tenderness, your thoughtfulness—it was all a lie! It was your form of atonement! Your hush money! Wasn’t it?” My voice rose with each accusation, each one more desperate than the last. Every word was a blade, first stabbing him, then plunging back into my own heart. Rhys Alistair! He looked at me, his mouth opening and closing, his face ashen, utterly unable to deny a single thing. “Enough!” The sharp, authoritative command came from Judge Alistair, who had remained silent until now. He slammed his newspaper onto the table. Standing up, he fixed me with an icy stare. “Ms. Linnea, you may speak freely in this house, but you cannot speak recklessly.” “The police classified that incident as an unsolved cold case due to insufficient evidence.” “To come into my home today, basing your claims on a few baseless speculations, and to loudly ruin my wife and son’s reputation—that is a gross overreach!” His voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable, crushing judicial authority. I looked at the three of them. A frantic killer. A guilt-ridden deceiver. A cold, ruthless accomplice. Perfect. What a perfectly intact family. I suddenly laughed, a hollow sound that ended with tears streaming down my face. “You’re right. I overreached.” I wiped my eyes, and slowly, deliberately, limped toward the front door. “My apologies, Judge Alistair, for the disturbance.” 2 I thought I would flee the city that night. But I had only just cleared the wrought-iron gate of their estate when Rhys caught up to me, wrapping his arms around me in a crushing embrace. “Cass! Don’t go! Please, just listen to me!” His voice was thick with tears, hot and wet as they hit the skin of my neck. “I’m sorry, Cass, I’m so sorry… I never meant to deceive you.” “The first time I saw you, it was in my father’s case files. The photo—you were holding your brother, crying your heart out.” “I admit, I approached you with an ulterior motive at first. I wanted to make amends for my mother.” “But after that, I truly fell in love with you! You have to believe me, Cass!” His arms tightened, holding me as though I might dissolve into smoke if he eased his grip. An hour ago, those words would have shattered me with grief and gratitude. Now, I only felt a sickening, churning nausea. Atonement? Using love as atonement? How noble. How deeply moving. But how dare he think his love could possibly pay for my brother’s life? I didn’t struggle, letting him hold me until his sobs subsided and his emotions were somewhat steadier. Only then did I speak, my voice cold and flat. “So, you’re admitting it.” Rhys’s body stiffened in my arms. “I…” “Your mother is the one who ran over my brother,” I finished for him. He remained silent. Silence was the only answer needed. I pushed him away, looking at his handsome face, now etched with pain. “Rhys, we are done.” “No! Cass, you can’t do this to me!” He grabbed my arm again, his eyes pleading. “We were going to get married! We were going to travel the world together—” “Married?” I laughed, the sound brittle and unbelievable. “To you? And live with your mother, the hit-and-run killer?” “My mother didn’t mean to! She was terrified at the time…” “So she was entitled to flee the scene? To leave a young boy bleeding on the roadside? To live a life of comfort for ten years without a single pang of guilt?” My rapid-fire questions silenced him completely. Behind us, the heavy front door opened. Eliza, draped in a luxurious cashmere wrap, stepped out. The panic in her eyes had been replaced by a cold, calculating scrutiny. “Ms. Linnea, name your price.” She walked toward me, her tone that of a CEO wrapping up a minor business deal. “I know your family has struggled; you’ve had a difficult life.” “A condo in the city, a new SUV, and five million dollars in cash.” She paused, evaluating the weight of her offer. “That figure is enough for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life. Forget what happened. Continue your relationship with Rhys. It’s better for you, and certainly better for us.” I stared at her. The woman who killed my brother, now trying to buy my silence with the blood-money from her son’s fraudulent affection. To them, a human life, my grief, my brother’s wrongful death—it was all an itemized, negotiable expense. I smiled. “Fine,” I said. Both Rhys and Eliza looked stunned. Meeting their shocked gaze, I spoke clearly, one word at a time: “I don’t want the money.” “I want you to go to my brother’s grave, kneel down, bow your head, and confess your crime.” 3 Eliza’s face instantly hardened, turning the color of oxidized metal. “You’re dreaming!” she spat. “Me, kneel before a dead boy? Who the hell do you think you are?” “Mom!” Rhys quickly gripped her arm, desperate to stop her from saying anything more incendiary. I ignored her outburst, keeping my focus on Rhys. “That is my only demand.” “If you can’t meet it, we call the police.” The word “police” struck Eliza like a physical blow. Her body swayed, and Rhys had to stabilize her. Judge Alistair walked out of the house, his expression dark and menacing as he watched me. “Ms. Linnea, there is a concept called leaving room for maneuver,” he said, his voice frigid. “Escalating this will not benefit you. Don’t forget, Rhys is a prominent attorney, and even in retirement, I maintain considerable influence in the judicial system.” It was a naked threat. They were informing me that even if I went to the authorities, they could ensure their escape. And I, a woman with no power, no influence, and a visible disability, would only be crushed under their heel. A cold certainty settled in my heart. This was the power of privilege. It could twist the truth and trample over human life. “So, there’s nothing left to discuss?” I asked. Judge Alistair gave a dismissive grunt, his attitude clear. “Fine.” I nodded, pulled out my phone, and pretended to dial a number. “Wait!” Rhys lunged forward, pressing his hand over mine. He turned to his parents, his eyes a warzone of agonizing conflict. “Dad, Mom, please, just agree to it.” “We… we owe her this.” “Rhys! Are you insane!” Eliza stared at her son in disbelief. “You want me… you want me to—” “Mom!” Rhys cut her off, his voice a strained plea. “I’m begging you! Or Cass will destroy us!” Eliza’s lips trembled. She glared at me, her eyes filled with a murderous hatred. Finally, she collapsed against Rhys, deflated. “Fine… Fine… I agree,” she hissed, squeezing the words out between clenched teeth. “Tomorrow. I’ll go tomorrow.” I pocketed my phone, looking at them. “Not tomorrow.” “Now.” I needed to strike while the iron was hot, to deny them any time to regroup or plot. Rhys’s face went white. Eliza nearly fainted. “Now? Look at the time! The cemeteries are closed!” “Then we go to Sycamore Creek Road,” I said coldly. “The intersection where the accident happened.” “I want you to kneel at the place where my brother died.” 4 The night was deep and dark. The streetlights on Sycamore Creek Road cast a sickly, yellowish glow, stretching human shadows thin and long. This was the suburban edge, and late at night, the road was deserted. The wind whistled through the roadside trees, a mournful, crying sound. Eliza, in her expensive, custom-made suit, was kneeling on the cold, unforgiving asphalt, her entire body shaking. She had likely never experienced such humiliation in her life. Rhys stood beside her, his face pale, his hands clenched tightly. Judge Alistair remained in his luxury car parked a little distance away, the twin beams of his headlights acting like cold spotlights, fixed solely on me. “Are you satisfied?” Eliza spat, looking up at me, her voice ragged. “I knelt. Is that what you wanted?” I didn’t answer. Instead, I opened my handbag and took out a faded, yellowed photograph. The picture showed a boy with a radiant, gap-toothed smile. My brother, Finn Linnea. I placed the photo on the ground directly in front of Eliza. “Look at him.” My voice was quiet, but it carried an undeniable command. “Tell me why you killed him.” Eliza’s breathing hitched. Her eyes darted around, desperately trying to avoid the photograph. “I… I didn’t mean to… it was dark, raining, I didn’t see anything…” “You didn’t see?” I scoffed. “You stopped the car after you hit him, didn’t you?” Eliza’s pupils constricted. “How… how do you know that?” “My brother told me,” I said, and the tears I had held back for ten years finally broke free. “He was still alive. He thought you had stopped to help him.” “But you didn’t.” “You paused for a few seconds, and then you pressed the gas pedal and drove… right over him.” My voice was trembling as I delivered the final words. This was the secret I had buried for a decade, the nightmare that haunted my every sleepless night. I had seen it. I saw the car pause, then surge forward, the wheel passing mercilessly over my brother’s body. I was too young, too terrified, hiding in the tall grass, unable to even cry out. “No! It’s not true! I didn’t!” Eliza shook her head wildly, desperate to dislodge the accusation. “I didn’t run him over! I just drove away!” “Oh, really?” I knelt down, forcing my gaze to meet hers. “Then look into my brother’s eyes, and say that again.” Eliza’s eyes were forcibly drawn to the clear, smiling gaze in the photo. She recoiled as if burned, screaming and pushing the photo away. “Ah! Don’t let him look at me! Take it away! Take it away!” She was breaking. In the face of the truth and the terror, all her poise shattered. Rhys rushed forward, wrapping his arms around his mother, then looked up at me, his face twisted with anger. “Cassidy! That’s enough!” “My mother apologized, she knelt down. What more do you want?” “Do you want to destroy us completely before you’re satisfied!” I looked at him. The man who claimed to love me, now shielding a murderer. It was ludicrous. “Destroy you?” I stood up slowly, wiping my tears, looking down at them both. “Rhys, you misunderstand.” “I never wanted your lives.” “I wanted something far worse than death.” With that, I turned, and with a slow, deliberate limp, disappeared into the cloak of the night. 5 I thought the kneeling on Sycamore Creek Road would be the end of the spectacle. I was wrong. I severely underestimated the utter shamelessness of the Alistair family. The next morning, my phone was besieged. News headlines dominated every outlet, each one more sensational than the last. [Alistair Family Scandal: Disabled Orphan Blackmails Future Mother-in-Law for Millions!] [Former Judge’s Son Duped: Girlfriend Revealed as Vicious Gold Digger Seeking Extortion!] [Exclusive: The Truth Behind the ‘Kneeling Gate’—A Calculated Scheme of Blackmail!] In the media’s narrative, I had become a calculating, greedy, malicious woman. Eliza Alistair, meanwhile, was portrayed as a poor, victimized mother, forced into humiliation by her vicious future daughter-in-law. The accompanying photos were damning: an aerial shot from Sycamore Creek Road of Eliza on her knees, and me standing over her—the angle deliberately highlighting my coldness and my leg’s residual injury. Another image showed Eliza, looking pitiful, being treated at a hospital with an orthopedic cast on her arm. I was shaking with rage. They dared to strike first! I immediately called Rhys. The phone rang for a long time before he answered, his voice thick with exhaustion. “Cass, did you see the news?” “Rhys, how could you be so utterly despicable!” I yelled. “Cass, listen, this was unavoidable,” Rhys said, a strained tone of helplessness in his voice. “Someone filmed last night’s incident and posted it online. We had to preemptively control the narrative, or the firm—our family—would be ruined.” “Control the narrative? By painting me as a malicious gold digger?” “Cass, I know this is rough. But it was the best way. Once the dust settles, I’ll make it up to you.” Make it up to me? Compensation? Again? I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Rhys, I must have been blind to ever love you.” “Cass…” “Let me tell you, this isn’t over. I will publicize the entire truth! I will make sure everyone knows what kind of murderer your mother is!” I slammed the phone down. I opened my laptop, ready to compose a long social media post, laying out every single detail. But as I typed the first letter, a new push notification popped up. It was an official statement from Rhys’s law firm. The statement, drafted in ruthlessly professional legal language, defined my actions the previous night as “the intentional use of threats and coercion, with the intent of illegal financial gain, to extort property from the victim.” Blackmail. Extortion. They had formally labeled me a criminal. The statement concluded with a stern legal notice, warning me to immediately cease all “libel and harassment” of the Alistair family, or face the full force of judicial prosecution. I stared at the frigid legal document, my hands and feet turning to ice. I had forgotten. Rhys was a top lawyer. His father was a former judge. Manipulating the law and controlling the narrative was their specialty. What could a civilian like me, without power or legal resources, do against them? Just as I felt all hope drain away, an unknown number called my phone.

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“Take the shack. Don’t say I didn’t play fair.” Grant Elliott slid the divorce settlement across the polished mahogany table toward me. I looked at the division of assets: the two properties and the luxury sedan registered in his name were all his. The four-hundred-square-foot studio apartment, my only property, was mine. “Fine.” I signed the papers. Deirdre, my mother-in-law, scoffed from the armchair. Her newly manicured fingers tapped the leather armrest. “A dump like that? No one would even bother tearing it down.” Three months later. I received the notice from the City Planning Office. Compensation: $85.5 million. 1 The relief on Grant’s face when I finally signed was unmistakable. In five years of marriage, it was the first time I’d seen such a clear expression from him. “Hannah, let’s keep this amicable.” He stood up, his suit perfectly tailored. “If you ever get into any trouble, you can call me.” I didn’t reply. I folded my copy of the settlement and tucked it into my bag. Deirdre was sitting on the sofa, her legs crossed, a smug smile plastered across her face. “Hannah, dear,” she called me, her tone dismissive, like addressing a distant, slightly embarrassing relative. “Our Grant has excellent prospects. He won’t have any trouble finding a good match. You, on the other hand, shouldn’t be too choosy. Settle for something manageable.” “Mom, that’s enough,” Grant frowned. “Did I say something wrong?” Deirdre stood up, her voice rising. “What did she bring into this marriage? A tiny, run-down studio. What did we provide? The apartment, the car. She’s lived off us for five years—ate our food, slept under our roof—” “Enough,” I cut her off. She paused, then chuckled. “What, you can’t handle the truth now?” I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked to the door. “Grant,” I turned back. “You filed for divorce. It was your mother’s idea—and your agreement—for me to walk away with nothing but my old place. Don’t ever say I didn’t give you a chance.” Grant’s eyebrows furrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?” I didn’t answer. I just pushed the door open and left. In the hallway, I heard Deirdre’s voice, sharp and loud: “What an act. Give us a chance? How much is that shack of hers even worth? Our Grant makes twelve thousand a month. She barely clears four. He’ll find someone so much better once she’s gone!” I pressed the elevator button and didn’t look back. Five years. For five years, I had been a ghost in that house. Deirdre hated that my job was ‘unrespectable’—an elementary school teacher in a public school. She hated that my parents were working class. She hated my old studio, calling it an ‘embarrassment.’ And Grant? He never once contradicted her. I’d asked him once, “Your mother speaks about me that way. Why don’t you ever stick up for me?” He’d shrugged. “She’s not entirely wrong.” I had held onto that sentence. For five years. The elevator doors opened. I stepped in and hit the button for the parking garage. Downstairs, Grant’s Lexus ES 350 sat gleaming in the reserved spot. His mother had paid for it, and it was registered in his name. I walked past it without a second thought. My old electric commuter bike was tucked away in the darkest corner, covered in dust. Deirdre had said the bike was ‘tacky’ and forbade me from riding it. Now, I was free. I pedaled the bike past the high-tech gate of The Gates at Riverwood. The gate guard glanced at me but didn’t offer a greeting. He never had. He only greeted the residents. I was not a resident. I was merely the resident’s ex-wife. Now, I wasn’t even that. I rode away, not looking back. Behind me, the lights of the condo building were bright. I’d lived there for five years, but it had never felt like home. 2 I returned to The Old Mill District. The 400-square-foot studio was what my parents had left me. It was a pre-war building, six flights of creaking stairs, no elevator. The walls were stained, the hall was dim, and the plumbing was temperamental. But it was mine. Only here did I feel like I belonged. I unlocked the door, and a scent of dust and mildew greeted me. It had been empty for three years. Grant hadn’t allowed me to visit after we married. He’d said the neighborhood was too rough and the place was unlivable. I opened the windows, letting the stale air rush out. Outside, the street was a tight weave of identical old brownstones. This was the oldest neighborhood in Crescent City. My father grew up here and was later allotted this unit. I was born and raised here, leaving only for college. Before my dad passed, he held my hand and said, “Hannah, don’t ever sell this place.” I promised him I wouldn’t. My mother said the same thing before she left. I promised her, too. They never explained why. But a promise was a promise. Grant didn’t understand. “What’s a dump like that worth?” he’d asked. “Sell it, take the cash, and invest in something real.” I said no. He called me stubborn. Deirdre said I was crazy. But I refused to sell. Now, post-divorce, this apartment was my sole asset. I looked around the small, cluttered room and allowed myself a tiny smile. At least it was mine. One hundred percent. I started to clean. Wiping dust, scrubbing the floor, changing lightbulbs. I worked all day until my back ached. But my heart felt light. The suffocating anxiety was gone. That night, I lay on the old bed, listening to the drone of the summer cicadas outside the window. My phone rang. It was Grant. “Hannah, where are you?” “My apartment.” “You’re actually staying there?” “It’s my apartment. Why wouldn’t I?” Silence on the other end. “It’s not safe for you to be alone in that kind of neighborhood.” “You don’t need to worry about me.” “That’s not what I meant—” “We’re divorced. Let’s not contact each other again.” I hung up. And immediately blacklisted his number. It felt clean. 3 News of the divorce spread quickly through the extended family. Deirdre’s mouth moved faster than the local news cycle. The phrase ‘walked away with nothing’ was her rallying cry. “Grant’s prospects were so good, she was lucky to marry him at all. Now she thinks she’ll get a piece of his success? Dream on!” This was what my Aunt Carol heard from a cousin who’d heard it from Deirdre’s bridge club. Aunt Carol was furious and wanted to confront Deirdre. I told her to let it go. “Let it go?!” Aunt Carol slammed her hand on the kitchen counter. “She called you poor, said you weren’t good enough, and now she’s spreading rumors that you were trying to bleed Grant dry? You handed over your entire paycheck to that woman!” I stayed silent. It was true. For five years, I had handed over my full $4,000 monthly paycheck to Deirdre. She called it a ‘tradition.’ It was their family ‘rule.’ I had obeyed for five years. Four thousand dollars a month for sixty months. That was a quarter of a million dollars. $240,000, all exchanged for the line, “What did she bring into this marriage?” “Hannah,” Aunt Carol looked at me, her expression softening. “Why aren’t you angry?” I smiled faintly. “What good would being angry do?” “But you can’t just let them walk all over you!” “I haven’t lost anything.” Aunt Carol didn’t understand. She didn’t know that my small, broken studio was the biggest chip in the game. Why hadn’t my parents wanted me to sell? Because they knew something. The Old Mill District had been on the City’s rezoning and demolition list for decades. It had just been slow to move. Before my father died, he told me: “Hannah, this area is going to be redeveloped eventually. When it is, you won’t have to worry about money again.” I remembered. So, no matter how much Grant and Deirdre scoffed or pressured me, I never sold. They didn’t know the internal city planning details. They only saw a 400-square-foot studio, which, to them, was worthless. They didn’t know the redevelopment countdown had begun. I hadn’t told anyone. Why bother? Let them look down on it. Let them dismiss it as trash. When the time came, they would find out. 4 The second week after the divorce, I received a text. It was from a new number—Grant’s. “Hannah, my mom was out of line. Please try not to let it get to you.” I didn’t reply. The next day, he sent another: “We’ve known each other for seven years, married for five. I don’t want things to end on a bad note.” Still no reply. On the third day, he called directly. I answered. “Hannah, are you still upset?” “No.” “Then why won’t you respond to my messages?” “There’s nothing to say.” “We could still be friends—” “Grant,” I cut him off. “You filed for divorce. Your mother engineered my leaving with nothing, and you agreed. Now you’re calling me to ask to be friends?”

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Ash Rhodes chased me for five years. The day after I finally said yes, I scrolled past a post from his childhood friend. [Ten years of secret love, finally over.] [My best friend since childhood is in a relationship. But it’s not with me.] [We were a story of missed timing and near misses. The most intimate we ever were was that kiss I stole when he was drunk.] [It’s a strange feeling, letting go of a decade of emotion. I’m heartbroken, but I’m also happy for him.] [If I had been the one to give him that piece of candy back then, would I be the one he loves now?] The comments section was full of people commiserating over her decade of silent heartbreak, admiring her dedication and the courage to finally let go. Ash’s reply sent the post’s engagement through the roof. He wrote: [I would.] I stared at that one word and let out a soft breath. Well, there was my reason to break up with him. 1 I sent the post link to Ash. “We’re done. I’m letting you have your ten-year-delayed happy ending.” Then I blocked him. It felt like a massive stone had been lifted from my chest. When I agreed to date him yesterday, I saw the shock in his eyes, and I definitely didn’t miss the flicker of regret that followed. He hadn’t seemed all that thrilled by my “yes.” But then, just as quickly, he’d squeezed my hand and pulled me into a tight hug. I instantly tensed up, biting back the urge to pull away, trying to coach myself. I said yes. Just try it. Maybe the feelings will come later. I woke up the next morning thinking: I want to break up. I simultaneously condemned myself as a terrible person while searching a popular social app for “how to dump your one-day-old boyfriend without seeming like a monster.” But soon, my attention was snagged by the bizarre, brightly colored world of other posts, and I forgot what I’d opened the app for. There was one post, ten thousand likes and climbing, with comments lamenting a ten-year crush. I glanced at the poster’s profile picture and my heart gave a jump. I switched to my texts. Ash’s profile picture was his Samoyed, the same dog his childhood friend had done a digital painting of for him. He’d sent me the artwork a while back, joking: “Serena Price loves all this over-the-top stuff. I still think your drawing style is better.” I’d been busy then, took a quick look, and didn’t reply. He had changed the subject shortly after. That artwork was warm and vibrant. I remembered it well. It was identical to the profile picture on the post. My suspicions piqued, I checked the IP address and clicked on the top reply—Ash’s infamous “I would.” The reply’s content was empty, but his saved bookmarks were full of restaurants Ash had once shared with me. I froze for a moment. The top commenter was the boyfriend I’d just officially confirmed. The poster was my new boyfriend’s childhood friend. They had a decade of painful history, a tragic missed connection. It was truly a shame. Could I, a genuinely good person, stand by and watch this tragedy unfold right in front of me? My lips curved into a wild smile as I typed a new comment: “Oh my God, that’s terrible! You should have said something sooner. I was already rooting for you guys!” “It’s not too late. I’m breaking up with him right now. You two are meant to be. Congrats on your forever!” 2 After sending Serena my blessing and blocking Ash, I crawled back into bed for a proper rest. Regret over saying yes to him yesterday had kept me up all night. Now, with my conscience clear, I fell into a deep sleep the moment my head hit the pillow. It felt like only minutes had passed when a relentless pounding on the door and the frantic ringing of the doorbell woke me up. I walked to the entryway, my face wooden and a fire of pure irritation burning inside me. I peeked through the security hole and saw two figures. A frantic Ash. A despondent Serena Price. I checked my phone. The Threads app was blowing up with messages. The “tea” was boiling over, and strangers were flooding my DMs. My blocked number was getting an endless stream of calls and texts. All of them were Ash begging me to reconsider. I grabbed a handful of my hair in exasperation. What the hell? They finally got their wish. Why weren’t they making out somewhere instead of showing up at my door to whine? The banging switched to knocking. Ash yelled, “Sky, it’s not what you think! I only love you!” The moment he yelled my name, I pictured how I’d have to face my neighbors later, the strange looks and the whispers. “Yeah, that’s her. The one with the crazy drama on her doorstep. Tsk, tsk.” A chill ran down my spine. I flung the door open. “Shut up!” Ash’s eyes immediately lit up. “Sky, I brought Serena here so we could explain. There’s nothing between us. We’re just friends.” Serena, red-eyed and pale, managed a bitter smile and a nod. “He’s right. Just friends.” But my focus was entirely on— My nosy neighbor’s door, which had just creaked open a crack. 3 I didn’t want to bring them inside. I was terrified that if they got too emotional, I’d end up as a neighborhood news item. So, I kept the door open, letting my neighbor eavesdrop to their heart’s content. “Okay, are you done explaining? Anything else?” I hissed, urging them in a low voice, “If that’s it, then please leave. I’m begging you.” Ash’s face was even more anguished than mine. He grabbed my hand desperately. “Please don’t break up with me. It’s all a misunderstanding. Serena doesn’t have feelings for me anymore. Nothing is ever going to happen between us. We grew up together. I only think of her like a sister. If I had ever…” The line was so cliché I couldn’t help but interrupt. “If you had ever, you’d be together already, and I wouldn’t be standing here, would I?” Ash was speechless. Serena’s face paled further. She stared blankly at the ground, then suddenly spoke up. “He’s right. I don’t love Ash anymore.” That declaration made Ash flinch. His expression turned dark, a hint of genuine anger lurking beneath the surface. He forced a smile for me. “See? Sky, you heard her. I’m completely innocent. I chased you for five years. You know how I feel.” I leaned against the doorframe, watching their subtle, dramatic exchange. Such touching melodrama. “The kind of innocent that involves stolen kisses?” Ash frowned, looking at Serena. “I had no idea she did that. It was something she did in secret.” Serena stubbornly fought back tears. “It’s true. On his birthday this year, he was drunk, and I kissed him while I was taking care of him. He didn’t know.” I’d been at Ash’s birthday party this year. It was loud, with tons of friends. But I hated the atmosphere, the way everyone kept trying to push Ash and me together, so I made an excuse and left early. A thought struck me, referencing her post. “Ash, you love me because of that candy—you’d love anyone who offered you kindness when you were at your lowest. Your reply to Serena confirms that you’re still looking for that feeling, no matter who offers it. You’re not completely over her.” A flicker of hope crossed Serena’s eyes. Ash vehemently denied it. “No! I only said I would to comfort her! I swear, if I had even an ounce of romantic feeling for her…” “Stop it!” Serena’s shout was louder than my earlier command to “shut up.” The neighbor’s door even shuddered slightly. Ash looked at Serena in surprise. Serena took a deep, shaky breath, looked at me, and her expression became one of absolute resolve. “I will never see Ash again. If I ever try to have a relationship with him, I’ll swear to whatever curse you want. Are you satisfied?” I frowned. “I already told you I broke up with him…” She closed her eyes, wiping away a tear. “If you’re satisfied, then stop this whole drama. He truly, genuinely cares about you.” Serena didn’t look at Ash again. She simply turned and walked away. Ash watched her retreating back, lost in thought for a long moment. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Does she not understand basic English?” My remark made Ash turn back. His eyes were tired, and his voice was raw. “There. Sky, are you satisfied now?” I took a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll admit it. The post isn’t the only reason I broke up with you. The truth is, I just don’t like you that much. And you clearly still have some kind of feelings for Serena, don’t you? I’m bowing out. You two get together. It’s a win-win-win. Everyone’s happy, right?” The fatigue vanished from Ash’s face. It turned an unhealthy shade of green. “What did you say? You don’t like me?” I guess I couldn’t get out of this without revealing myself as the bad guy. I nodded weakly. “Yes. I know I’m not a great person, but you and Serena weren’t exactly innocent, either. Pot calling the kettle black. Let’s just call it even and move on!” Ash looked at me, utterly disbelieving. “You’re saying you don’t like me?” Me: … 4 A string of muffled laughter came from behind the neighbor’s door. The person inside tried to cover it up. “That main character is a total zero, tsk.” I coughed loudly, and the neighbor finally closed the door. Ash’s face was grim, his body faintly trembling. I was genuinely afraid he might try something, and I slowly shuffled backward into my apartment. Ash clenched his fists, staring deeply at me. “I know you’re upset about Serena’s post. You don’t have to make up excuses. I’m giving you time to think clearly.” He turned and walked away, his posture just as resolute as Serena’s. I stood silently for a moment. I went back to my room, miserable, and opened my phone. My Threads DMs were flooded with drama-hungry strangers. I clicked on Serena’s post. It had been updated ten minutes ago. [Yes, I loved him for ten years, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to be a prop in their little drama. Do they need to insult me to prove their relationship is real?] [Ten years, I was completely blind.] [My love gave him a filter. Now that the love is gone, he’s nothing special.] [Since it’s come to this, I wish you a long and happy life together. Your business is no longer mine. Stop bothering me.] Every sentence was a targeted blow. The mob was already coming for me. [She had a secret crush, and she was letting go. You didn’t have to humiliate her.] [Wifey needs to control her man. She just wanted closure, and your boyfriend was the one who ran over to reply ‘I would.’] [(Insert Viral Reaction GIF here)] Are these people serious? I was so angry I threw a quick set of air punches. I slipped on my house shoes and knocked on the next-door neighbor’s door. The drama-lover on the other side was surprisingly reluctant to open up. I knocked for three minutes before he slowly opened the door. “You two were yelling so loud. Is it my fault I overheard everything…?” I cut him off. “Hurry up. Give me the recording.” The camera by my door was broken; the new one was still in the mail. He paused, glancing at the camera with the blinking red light. “What happened?” I rolled up my sleeve, gritting my teeth. “An epic battle with a pair of total drama llamas. Eight hundred rounds of mutual roasting.” 5 In under three minutes, I received a video file from Dean Wallace. A gamer’s hands are certainly fast. I walked back toward my place, downloading the file. Dean followed me. “Where did you have this fight? Let me in on it. I’m excellent at trash talk. Hello…” I shut the door on him. Is being the subject of an online witch hunt something to be proud of? I edited the video, censoring the faces, and uploaded it. I tagged Serena and Ash with the caption: “Are you two for real?” Dean’s video only showed Serena walking away. The crowd rushed in: [Classic: ‘She’s just like a sister to me.’] [And the ‘Stop making drama’ line.] [Who exactly was using who as a prop in the end…] [Sending signals to a crush when you have a girlfriend is trashy. Boyfriend is 100% the villain. Confirmed.] [How do we define ‘stolen’ kiss? If you steal it then post about it online, is it really stealing?] [I wanted to say this after the first post: Asking if he would love you instead when he’s currently dating someone is so cringe. Who are you trying to annoy?] I felt the pressure in my chest release a little. I started replying to everyone who had insulted me. [Humiliate? Sweetie, the childhood friends ganged up on me. The nice girl finally fought back.] [Wifey? That’s my ex. Keep calling me that, and you’ll be calling your own husband names.] [(Insert Viral Reaction GIF here)] I was in the middle of my glorious comeback when the system notified me the post had been taken down. A slight regret. My phone started buzzing with texts. I checked. It was Dean Wallace sending me a screenshot. It was Serena’s post. He wrote: [In case you rage-quit, I archived it for you.] This guy was actually experienced at online drama. I sent him a fist-bump emoji: [You’re a man of integrity.] He replied with a reaction GIF. Wait a second. How did he find the post? [How did you find that?] This guy is a tech expert. Did he hack my phone? The thought sent a shiver down my spine. Dean Wallace: [It popped up under ‘Nearby People’ recommendations.] …Oops. I guess my paranoia is a little over the top. 6 My phone started ringing. I have three rules for calls I won’t answer: No answer for numbers without a contact name. No answer for suspected spam or scam calls. No answer for calls I just don’t want to take. This call met all three criteria. I waited for it to go to voicemail. I let out a sigh of relief. The next second, it rang again. I bit my finger, waiting for it to automatically hang up. I sighed again. Then the number sent me a text message: [No one is innocent in this online war, but you’re the culprit. Aren’t you afraid you’ll wake up screaming in the middle of the night?] Attached was a photo of a rooftop taken from a downward angle. Did I commit a federal crime by dating someone for half a day? Relationships are my doom. I immediately unblocked Ash and sent him a screenshot of the text: [Your childhood friend is about to jump off a roof.] Then I called the police. The photo included a landmark, so the location wouldn’t be hard to find. I changed clothes and headed out, running into Dean Wallace as he was going to take out the trash. He looked surprised. “What’s the occasion? The Mole has surfaced?” I work from home, and my work attire is pajamas. I barely leave the apartment once a month. I gave him a look, like I’d just tasted something foul. “I’m about to go down without taking the stairs or the elevator.” Dean looked thoughtful. “The Bat-Woman.” I quickly walked toward the elevator. “I’m not the one flying. Someone is about to jump.” Dean grabbed his trash bag and hurried after me. “Who? The Ten-Year-Crush, or The ‘Will’ Guy?” I pressed the elevator button. “The Ten-Year-Crush.” I bit my tongue. What terrible nicknames. And I was using them, too. Dean followed me into the elevator and immediately pressed the button for the underground parking garage. “You’re taking the trash to the garage?” He looked at me righteously. “Is trash more important than a human life? Trust me, if I didn’t love gaming more, I’d be a race car driver.” I glanced at him. The words thrill seeker were practically glowing above his head. But I didn’t call him out. I got into the passenger seat of his car. He threw the trash bag in the back seat. With one step on the gas pedal, we were off like a shot. I was the first to arrive. On the rooftop, Serena was sitting on the ledge. I spoke hesitantly. “Serena, it’s not worth it for any man. Really.” Serena looked out at the distance and spoke softly. “Do you know how long I loved him? Ten years… How many decades does a person get? And now that entire decade of devotion has become a source of shame.” “Do you know how crushed I was when I found out he liked you? But you don’t even appreciate him. What I desperately wished for, you treat with indifference…” “Five years. I watched him pursue you for five years, and you never said yes. I waited and waited, hoping he would finally give up on you. But you changed your mind, and my hope was crushed all over again.” I licked my lips. What comforting words could a reclusive mole person possibly offer? I nudged Dean with my elbow. He nodded at me, giving me a determined look. Hope surged in my chest, and then I heard him say: “You’re waiting for him to finally notice you, right? If you jump, what you’re really waiting for is for him to come visit your grave every year.”

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I was his longest commitment. The gossip whispered that my methods were masterful, that he was actually going to marry me. “Marriage? Is that even possible?” The lighter in his hand flipped open, the sharp click echoing in the dark. “She and the rest of them—they’re all gold-diggers.” That was the day after I threw myself in front of a car to save his life. I opened the hospital room door. Under his cold, watchful gaze, I climbed onto the railing and dropped twenty-eight stories. It was the end of a life spent enslaved to the system that governed my love-struck brain. 1 Valentine’s Day. On the subway, during the evening rush. The phone screen of the stranger next to me was paused on a financial news report. His name appeared. Rhys Kincaid. Sometimes he felt impossibly distant. Other times, impossibly close. Close enough that I still walked into the grocery store and instinctively picked out only the foods he liked. “Be home in ten.” He didn’t reply. The penthouse residence. The moment the door opened, I smelled a perfume that wasn’t mine. “Don’t you need to leave and be with your girlfriend?” She was already sitting up on the sectional, pulling her dress straight. Her legs were straight and pale. The kind of sharp, young beauty that belonged to a girl barely twenty. “Girlfriend?” He was hidden in the half-shadow of the living room, his tone noncommittal. “Do I have one?” Everyone in our circle knew I’d been with him for ten years. “Oh, you’re bad!” The little dog found me first. It wagged its tail and pushed the door fully open. All eyes turned to me. She ran over and threw her arms around mine. “Gen, you’re home!” Skylar was my younger cousin, currently staying with me while she started college in the city. “Look what Rhys gave me!” She shook the high-end designer bag on her wrist. In all our years, I had never once asked him for a gift. The things he had sent me, I had never touched. I thought that by refusing his money, I could distinguish myself from all the other women in his orbit. Eventually, he stopped sending them. Yet now, he gifted a fortune without a second thought. Of course. To him, what was the difference between ten thousand and a million? Just as, to him, what was the difference between me and the rest of them? “Skylar, go back to your room.” She listened to me. She glanced at Rhys Kincaid first, then slowly shuffled away. “You’re back?” He asked, though he clearly saw me. I walked in and set the bags of groceries on the kitchen island. “The kid was just playing around.” He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. He still carried her scent. Sickly sweet. A smell entirely unlike mine. I turned my face away from his kiss. He let go. “If I really wanted her, I wouldn’t need to sneak around behind your back.” He only offered an explanation once. If I didn’t take the out, the fault would be mine. I took a deep breath. “I only ask one thing of you. Don’t touch her.” His expression was indifferent. He lifted a hand and brushed the hair from my temple. “Were you having fun with your boss, Marcus?” “Why are you dragging him into this?” “He has you working late every night. Who knows what you’re doing in that office?” I pulled my arm free of his touch. “Rhys Kincaid, be reasonable.” Skylar rushed out of the room. “Gen, please don’t fight with Rhys because of me.” He smirked, leaning against the marble counter. “See? The kid is more sensible than you are.” I pursed my lips, grabbing my purse to leave. He caught the strap and yanked it back. “Enough. Are you really making a scene? Do you think you’re that important?” “Rhys Kincaid, anyone but my cousin. She just graduated high school!” He laughed, his eyes lifting lazily. “You were about her age when you climbed on board.” “And she’s much prettier than you.” “Why is it okay for you, but not for her?” Skylar started to cry. She came over and anxiously took my hand. “Gen.” I didn’t want her to hear any more cruel words. I had promised her mother I would look after her. “Come on. We’re staying somewhere else tonight.” She didn’t move. She hung her head, standing right next to Rhys Kincaid. “Skylar?” “Gen.” She hid behind him. “You go ahead. Rhys will take care of me.” I froze in place. She had only been here for two weeks. She’d barely seen him more than a handful of times. “When your mother used to favor your brother and hit you, who stepped in and took the beating for you?” She avoided my gaze, looking utterly pathetic. “When you didn’t have money for high school, who worked her ass off to pay your tuition?” “You’ve known him for less than a month, and now you want me to leave?” “Skylar, after everything I’ve done for you, do you have any conscience at all?” She frowned slightly. Tears welled up, making her look like a damsel in distress. “I didn’t ask you to be good to me. Don’t use moral blackmail.” “Besides, wasn’t all that money yours anyway, thanks to Rhys?” “His money?” I lifted my chin. “Ask him if I have ever taken a single cent from him.” “No. Because you’re pure.” He mocked me with a laugh. He carelessly picked up the groceries from the island and threw the bag at me. “Then take your damn groceries and go. What are you sticking around for?” I didn’t move. I looked straight into his eyes. “Rhys Kincaid, do you think I can never leave you?” He raised an eyebrow lightly. “Could you?” A jolt of painful, physiological shock went through me. I collapsed onto the floor, trembling. Next to me, his voice was laced with derision. “Starting to act now?” [Host’s clarity value rising, punishment initiated.] The system’s voice echoed in my mind. I tried to get up, shaking, but my strength failed me, and I was overcome with cold. Why did I ever love this man? [He is rich, powerful, and handsome. He is the best choice in the world.] [Given your background, meeting him is winning the lottery.] He treats women like toys. [So what? He loves you.] Dizzily, I looked up. Beneath his prominent brow ridge, his eyes were utterly cold and impassive. He still thought I was faking it. I asked the system how I could complete the task. [There is no ‘complete the task.’] [This is a perfect life.] [He is just mistreating you now. Soon he will realize he loves you.] [You will be the happiest woman alive.] [You shouldn’t be upset.] The next second, my vision went black. Before I passed out, I saw a flicker of panic and concern in his eyes. Ah. That was the moment he was supposed to “realize he loved me.” How ridiculous. After ten years, I had the thought for the first time: I wanted to die. Not for him. But to take the system controlling my body down with me. I was too tired. When I opened my eyes, I was in bed. He was slumped on a sofa nearby, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. The moment I moved, he was alert. “Awake?” “Rhys Kincaid.” I looked at him. The mental pain from the electric shock made the tears stream down my face the moment I spoke. He froze. I rarely showed any weakness. He walked over and pulled me into a hug. “It meant nothing with her.” “She’s not even my type.” His thumb brushed away my tears. “I was just angry.” “Why were you willing to ask your boss for help, but not me?” “Gen Lane, am I really that unreliable to you?” So that was what mattered to him. Skylar’s previous art audition had required an exclusive private lesson with a professor, and my boss, Marcus, had arranged it. I could have easily asked Rhys. It would have been nothing to him. But I didn’t want to. I was desperate to keep this relationship uncomplicated. “I can’t pay you back.” I pulled his hand away. “I can repay Marcus. I can’t repay you.” He countered, “When have I not helped you?” I asked back, “How long can you help me?” How long would he even stay with me? We both knew the truth. The power in this relationship was never mine. He was silent for a long moment. “So this is why you faked fainting?” I couldn’t help but smile. A sense of reckless abandon took hold. “Yes, I was faking it. I want to marry you. Is that too much to ask?” Rhys Kincaid’s eyes were dark and steady. He had clearly already made his final judgment of me. “I’ve given you everything I can.” “Gen, don’t be greedy.” The door was slightly ajar. I knew Skylar was still listening. For the next month, Rhys Kincaid didn’t come near me. Skylar moved out. She claimed she was moving into the dorms for orientation. But I knew Rhys had bought her a condo in a high-rise near campus. On my birthday, he called. “What do you want for your birthday?” I was packing. Clearing out every item that belonged to me from the penthouse. In the end, it was only two suitcases. “I don’t want anything.” My eyes were empty, but my voice was gentle. “Could you stay with me?” Silence on the other end. I heard the sounds of foot traffic. He was on a business trip overseas—the place he’d promised to take me. “Can’t make it back. Be good, I’ll call you when I’m done.” I hung up. I moved out of the apartment. That night, Skylar flew overseas, alone, to find him. He was furious. Angry at her reckless impulsiveness. She was like a willful child. But she told him she missed him too much to wait. He kept her. In his hotel. The next day, he cleared his schedule to take her skiing. She was clumsy but reckless. Rhys taught her a few basics, and she immediately wanted to tackle the advanced slope. The accident happened as expected. He was nearly hit trying to shield her. She instinctively reached out to pull him back. She just nicked her calf. She was taken to the hospital. Sawyer, his friend, told me all of this as I stood in the corridor of the international hospital. “Guess what she said when she woke up?” I didn’t respond. He continued. “She was sobbing hysterically.” “And she told Rhys, ‘How could you? I was so afraid it was you who got hurt!’” The glass reflected the images of Sawyer and me. “That was the first time I ever saw genuine emotion in his eyes.” “What man can resist that? Gen, you can’t play her game.” The hospital room door opened. Sawyer offered a quick greeting and left. It was just Rhys and me. “You promised me,” I said, not looking at him, “that you wouldn’t fall for her.” Rhys spoke softly. “Do you know the difference between you and her?” “She never talks to me like this.” “She just loves me.” “Gen, why can’t you be like her?” He probably expected me to throw a fit, based on my past temperament. But I didn’t. I just smiled. “So, are you breaking up with me?” “How much money do you want?” he asked. I looked up at him. There was not a ripple of emotion in his eyes. He looked like he was simply processing a routine change in personnel. “I want a lot of money.” I gave him the answer he expected. “Give me your entire fortune.” Predictably, he frowned slightly. Finally, an expression. Then, he smiled, his eyes cold. “Do you deserve it?” “She would die for me. Could you?” Before returning to the States, Sawyer threw a party and invited me. It was a private club, the massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. Neon lights intersected beneath the inky blue night. Rhys arrived late. As soon as he did, people stood to greet him. Skylar was right behind him. Her small scratch had healed in three days. The guests’ judging eyes subtly landed on me. But Rhys didn’t spare me a single glance. The sound of mahjong tiles clicked again. Skylar, with her long, dark hair, was trying to play but failing. Rhys chuckled, patiently guiding her moves. As he leaned in, his hand rested on the back of her mahogany chair. Her hair occasionally brushed the back of his hand. “New arm candy?” I was standing on the terrace getting air. I overheard a few women chatting near the window. “After all these years, he was bound to get bored.” “I thought she was clever enough to lock him down. Thought they were going to get married.” “He spoiled her so much back then. Now he’s moved on—it’s always the same, just another toy.” I pulled my jacket tighter and turned. I saw Skylar. She was toying with Rhys Kincaid’s lighter. She smiled, radiating innocence. “Gen, are you jealous that I stole him?” I headed back to the table to grab my purse and leave. Sawyer stopped me. “Don’t go. The fun’s just started.” He said it to me, but his eyes were testing Rhys. Rhys lifted his eyes dismissively, looking at Sawyer’s hand wrapped around my wrist. He smiled loosely. “She doesn’t have a place here.” “Of course she does.” Sawyer stood up and pulled out a seat for me. “Let’s play for high stakes.” His hand was still on my wrist. “If I win, I get Genevieve for the night, how about that?” Rhys’s fingers paused. I looked into his eyes—those famously charming eyes. They were entirely, naturally cynical. He didn’t refuse. I sat down. Rhys didn’t join the game; Skylar sat in his spot. But this time, he didn’t teach her anything. He just watched, silent. The result, of course, was that I won. But Skylar wore the satisfied expression of a victor. Sawyer grabbed his sports car keys and led me away. Before the car crossed the bridge, another luxury sedan cut us off. Rhys Kincaid sat alone in the driver’s seat. His eyes were empty, and he waited with unnatural patience. He was waiting for me to step out of another man’s car. But I didn’t. “In such a hurry?” He got out of his car and tossed my purse at Sawyer. “You forgot her bag.” I watched him calmly. “Thank you. Is there anything else?” His gaze shifted to me. Clearly, there wasn’t. I tried to roll up the window. He slammed his hand on the door, yanked it open, and roughly pulled me out. “Rhys!” A car sped past, drowning out the rest of Sawyer’s protest. Rhys shot him a look, and Sawyer fell silent. “Run off with the next guy before the check even cleared? Is that what I taught you?” The words hadn’t even fully left his mouth. A scream rang out behind us. [Event triggered.] The system voice sounded. I saw the distant figure raising a gun. My body moved without my consent. I shielded Rhys Kincaid. [Congratulations, Host. The Abuse Fiction storyline is complete.] As the bullet tore into my body, I felt nothing.

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“You are the center of my universe, Anya. For you, I’d take on the world!” When Rhys Thorne knelt before me, his eyes brimming with what looked like devoted passion, publicly proposing marriage, I felt no happiness. Only a cold wave of dread and profound fury washed over me. No one else knew this was the third time he had asked me to marry him. In the first life, I had tearfully accepted, imagining a lifetime of perfect happiness stretching before us. It was only after the wedding that I discovered Rhys had been financially supporting another woman, a sleek-haired marketing executive named Talia Vance. I confronted him, the argument escalating until I demanded a divorce. That was when he pinned me down and, with a terrifying tenderness on his face, choked the life out of me. In the second life, I had refused his proposal outright. Rhys went on to marry Talia, but he stalked me relentlessly, an unshakeable shadow. When Talia finally crumbled, tearfully demanding he release me and grant her a divorce, Rhys had held her close, whispering undying vows of love to her even as his other hand clamped firmly over her mouth and nose, suffocating her. After he killed Talia, he had turned to me, his gaze still unsettlingly tender, and said, “Anya, promise me you’ll never leave me. Say you won’t, my love.” I remember staring at him, paralyzed by terror, wanting to scream, to call the police, before his hands were around my own throat again, squeezing the air out of my lungs for the final time. Dead twice now, what was I supposed to do when faced with this sociopath’s third proposal? Who the hell did he actually love? 1 My hesitation made the look in Rhys’s eyes soften even further, becoming dangerously gentle. He spoke with deep sincerity, loud enough for the onlookers. “Darling, we’ve been together for so long. You know who I am.” “You are my absolute one and only. I cannot live without you.” “I swear, from this day forward, I will never give you cause to doubt me.” Rhys’s friends, all tailored suits and expensive watches, started to whoop and cheer from the sidelines. “Anya, what are you waiting for? A perfect catch like Rhys? Miss this, and you’ll regret it forever!” “Rhys is worth billions, looks like a top male model, and is the most devoted guy in the city. He’s every woman’s dream. Don’t be foolish, Anya. Say yes!” “He’s got a massive wedding planned! The dress is a custom creation by a European master, worth a fortune.” “And he bought that two-hundred-million-dollar estate just for you. Just waiting for the two of you to move in after the honeymoon!” The chorus of advice and encouragement left me untouched. In fact, I wanted to laugh. To the world, Rhys Thorne was the ideal man: successful, handsome, and deeply in love. Who could ever suspect that this man, who looked at me with such fervor, was a monstrous, psychologically twisted killer? I once thought his true love was Talia, especially after the first life when he killed me over her. But the end of the second life had plunged me into deeper confusion. The question was still screaming in my mind: Who was the psychopath truly obsessed with? I took a sharp breath, staring down at Rhys, who was still kneeling, my disgust curdling into cold hatred. I spoke in a voice that was low and clear. “Mr. Thorne, please. I have my heart set on someone else.” The entire room went silent. Rhys froze for a beat, a faint crease appearing between his eyebrows. He still managed to keep his tone warm and gentle. “Anya, please don’t joke. You couldn’t possibly have feelings for anyone else.” “My devotion to you is absolute, the heavens are my witness…” I didn’t wait for him to finish. My voice was a block of ice. “Believe what you like, but I will not, under any circumstances, marry you.” With that, I turned and walked away, ignoring the stunned silence and the frozen faces of his friends. Behind me, Rhys let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “Anya, whether that’s true or not, my feelings for you remain unchanged.” “I will wait. I’ll wait until you come back to me, until you’re ready to spend forever by my side.” His words prompted another round of commiseration from his friends, who began tut-tutting about my poor judgment while praising Rhys’s unbelievable devotion. I didn’t look back. My scalp was tingling, and my heart hammered with raw panic. In the second life, I had rejected him, but he clung to me like a sickness even after marrying Talia. There was no shaking him off. I had been given a third chance. I absolutely could not repeat the same mistakes. My first thought was to escape. But I had tried that in the second life, too—even fleeing to Europe. Rhys had tracked me down every time, as if he’d implanted a GPS chip beneath my skin. How could I possibly get rid of this man for good? Lost in thought, my phone vibrated in my hand. I looked at the screen, and my breath hitched. My pupils contracted instantly. Talia Vance was calling. Hesitantly, I answered. Before I could speak, Talia’s voice, raw and panicked, rushed through the speaker. “Anya! Did you just refuse his proposal?” “That sick, twisted bastard just called me. He wants to propose to me now.” “What am I supposed to do?” Talia’s frantic words sent a shockwave through me. I didn’t even think before I spoke. “You’ve been reborn too?” 2 It was late evening at a discreet corner cafe downtown. Talia and I sat facing each other, surrounded by an awkward, heavy silence. In the past, we had hated one another, each convinced the other was the vile mistress who had destroyed her marriage. Now, as we looked at each other, our eyes held a shared, profound pity and a sense of shared trauma. Talia was the first to speak, her voice raspy. “I wasn’t a mistress. He never ‘kept’ me.” “In the first life, I truly didn’t know he was with you. I was a fool, Anya. I bought the perfect boyfriend act. I was utterly deceived.” “It wasn’t until you showed up and confronted me that I understood. After he killed you, I tried to call the police, and he strangled me with a length of rope.” I sighed heavily. “If you knew what a monster he was, why on earth did you marry him in the second life?” Talia rubbed her face, her jaw clenched. “My memory of the first life didn’t fully return until after the wedding. It was late, Anya. Too late.” I lowered my voice. “In the second life, no matter where I ran, he found me. He was like a leech, impossible to scrape off. The moment he killed you, he came straight back for me.” “I still don’t understand. Who the hell does he love?” Talia gave a bitter, humorless laugh. “I initially thought the psycho only loved himself. But in the second life, I started to notice things.” “The woman he truly loves—she has to be connected to us somehow.” “We’re both just substitutes for her!” I nodded, the pieces of my own memories starting to fall into place. “I noticed things in the second life too.” “He always had a faint, strange scent on him. It wasn’t a cologne or any perfume either of us wore. It was odd—almost like a musty, earthy, medicinal smell.” “And every month, he would disappear for a few days without explanation.” Talia pounded her fist lightly on the table, frustrated. “If he has someone he loves, why torture us? Why the obsession?” “What is going on in that monster’s mind?” It’s impossible for a normal person to understand a psychopath’s logic. Talia and I talked for hours, long after the cafe had emptied. Her plan was to accept Rhys’s latest proposal, but only to secretly cooperate with me. We needed to find out who the real woman was. If we could find her, we could finally expose Rhys’s hideous true face to the world. As we walked out, I had a strange, prickling sensation on my neck. It felt like my paranoia from the second life had returned. I couldn’t shake the feeling that a pair of eyes was watching us from the shadows. Back at my apartment, I sat in front of my laptop, listing all the connections and confrontations I’d had with Rhys, hoping to find a pattern. A few days later, Talia and Rhys were married. She was contacting me frequently, sharing her findings. “Rhys’s study has a secret vault beneath it. I have no idea what he’s hiding.” “That strange smell he carries? It comes from that vault.” “I’m convinced she’s hidden down there. I’m looking for a window of opportunity to sneak in when he’s away…” I cautioned her to be extremely careful. I also told her what I had uncovered. “Whether he married you or me, he always makes his move exactly one week after the wedding.” “I checked the traditional calendar. That day is the third of the third lunar month. It must be a date of profound significance to him.” “If you’re going to get into that vault, you have to do it before that day.” Talia and I were both electrified with nervous hope. For the first time, we saw a sliver of light in the darkness. … The third of the third month was tomorrow. Talia hadn’t contacted me all day. I felt a building anxiety, a cold knot in my stomach. Based on Rhys’s previous pattern, he would make his move tomorrow. Had Talia found his secret? Did she have the clue to the woman he truly loved? I called her several times, but it went straight to voicemail. Had something happened? Just as my heart began to pound with certainty that the worst had happened, my phone chirped with a new message. It was from Talia. She said Rhys had gotten absolutely drunk and passed out. This was her chance to slip into the secret vault. She asked me to come to the house immediately. 3 I didn’t hesitate. I threw on a jacket and raced to Rhys’s sprawling estate. The heavy front door was ajar, and the thick, pungent smell of expensive liquor spilled out into the night. My shoulders dropped in relief. Talia had done it. I didn’t care how she’d managed to get him drunk, but if Rhys was truly out cold, our plan might still succeed. I slipped quietly into the house. I knew this home intimately. After all, I had been the woman Rhys intended to make its mistress—twice. I navigated the sprawling, immaculate halls to the study. The heavy oak door was slightly ajar, just as Talia had indicated. As I reached to push it open, a sudden, primal tremor ran through me. Something was wrong. I couldn’t name it, but my heart started hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. This was the same instinct, the same chilling premonition of danger, I had felt in the moments before Rhys had killed me in the previous lives. Without a second thought, I spun around to flee. But I was too late. The study door swung open, and a hand like a steel clamp shot out, seizing my arm. Rhys stood there. He looked perfectly fine, still holding that warm, gentle expression. His grip was impossibly tight. No matter how hard I twisted or struggled, I couldn’t break free. My heart sank into the icy depths of dread. Rhys was not drunk. Not even close. He smiled at me, a soft, chilling smile. “Anya. You finally came.” “I saw you and Talia together. I worried you might fight, but it seems you’ve become the dearest of friends! That makes me so happy, Anya. You are my greatest love, and she is my other great love. Seeing you two get along so well…” “So I decided to use her phone to invite you over tonight.” He had been tracking us? And he knew about my alliance with Talia? My entire body went cold. I glared at him, grinding my teeth. “What did you do to Talia?” “You sick, twisted bastard, I should have—” He didn’t let me finish. He dragged me violently into the study, his smile unchanged. “Don’t worry, darling. She’s sleeping peacefully now.” “You’re too agitated, Anya. You should rest as well.” “After tonight, we will all have a new beginning.” Before I could process his words, he slammed a cloth over my mouth and nose. The smell was acrid, chemical. I fought, but my vision blurred, and the world went dark.

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During the reality show challenge with the A-list movie star, a rising newcomer actress and I were locked inside the same room. The Director announced the rules: the door would only open when the two people whose hearts truly beat as one joined hands. The person left behind would face an immediate career penalty and be forced out of the industry. As soon as I grasped the stakes, I grabbed the movie star’s hand and moved toward the door. After all, everyone in the industry knew we’d been together for ten years and had just recently married. The day we announced our wedding, the entire internet crashed, and our shipper fanbase was larger than some top-tier idols combined. But when I gripped his hand and tried the knob, the door didn’t budge. The moment I froze, his hand slipped from my palm. The lock clicked open. When I finally lifted my head, Rhys Maxwell and Willow Tate were standing in the open doorway, their fingers laced together. 1 In that instant, it wasn’t just me. The entire internet paused. On the live stream, captured by the real-time cameras, the comment section exploded: [WHAT IS HAPPENING?! The door that the A-List star and CEO Avery Stone—the ultimate power couple—couldn’t open, was opened by him and the newcomer?] [The Rhavery shippers are going to riot, Director! You are about to be completely canceled!] [Didn’t they say the door was connected to a heart-rate monitor? Does this mean Rhys and Willow’s hearts raced when they held hands?!] [Don’t be ridiculous! Senior Rhys was obviously just being kind! He didn’t want to bully a new actress with the show’s cruel challenge!] [Exactly! The production team paired ‘Rhavery’ with Willow for this mission just to eliminate her! Rhys clearly remembered his own humble beginnings and stepped in. Don’t be so sexual-minded, people!] I slowly looked at Rhys. The eyes that used to hold such gentle affection were now icy, tinged with a cold impatience at being caught. “Mrs. Stone, please don’t misunderstand!” Willow immediately snatched her hand away, her eyes wide with feigned fear. “Rhys and I were just acting, ma’am. He only didn’t want to see me eliminated in the very first round. Please, don’t think anything of it!” I raised an eyebrow and glanced at the heart-rate monitor beside the door. The machine, which had been as flat and dead as still water when Rhys and I touched, had spiked the moment his fingers intertwined with Willow’s. “To be able to fool a machine, your acting must be Oscar-worthy.” “I…” “Avery!” Rhys frowned, subtly shifting his body to block my direct view of Willow. “Willow is a new talent who debuted just last year. It would be a tragedy for her career to end over a game. I only wanted to do what was in my power, the way you helped me all those years ago.” So, he did remember. He remembered that it was I who went against the entire board to establish the talent division, signed him out of the crowd of forgotten extras, and then spent years molding him into the coveted multi-talented actor he was today. How could he dare? How could he publicly cheat on me with a new actress, right under my nose, with countless cameras rolling? “The rules state that the person left behind must accept the career penalty.” I looked up at Rhys. “You’re taking her with you? Did you stop to think about what would happen to me?” The red light of the camera blinked above my head, a silent, mocking eye. In the moment of Rhys’s silence, the comments boiled over again: [Wait! Avery Stone hasn’t been in a lot of movies, but she made her debut with Rhys on ‘Second Chance Skyline’ over a decade ago! Is the production team really going to play this hardball?] [What is wrong with Rhys? He’s ignoring his wife to help a rookie? And Willow, can you not read the room when the actual wife is standing right there?] [Leave Willow out of this! Blame the Director! The pairing was a disaster! Our Willow’s screen time is being stolen by ‘Rhavery’!] [Setting aside the drama, doesn’t anyone think the Rhavery vibe is off today? Could their marriage really be on the rocks?] “Avery.” Rhys sighed. “You have the Stone family behind you. Even if you retire as an actress, you’re still the CEO of Stone Entertainment! But Willow is different. She has nothing…” “So?” I cut him off. “You want me to retire?” Rhys pursed his lips. The darting of his eyes and his heavy silence answered for him. I let out a hollow laugh, pulled out my phone, logged into my social media, and posted a concise retirement statement. Rhys instantly relaxed. He reached out and touched my head, a patronizing gesture. “That’s my girl. You weren’t classically trained anyway. Opportunities should be given to the younger talent.” With that, he shot a glance at Willow and led her out the door. I signaled the cameraman to cut the feed, then called my assistant, Leo. “Call Director Kincaid. The male lead for his new A-List Tentpole, The Crest, needs to be replaced.” Leo’s voice hitched. “Mrs. Stone, did you and Rhys… have a fight?” “No,” I said. Before he could breathe a sigh of relief, I continued. “We’re getting a divorce.” 2 Leo inhaled sharply. “Ma’am… what about Director Kincaid’s film? Rhys was set as the lead. The penalty fees aside, Kincaid won’t find a replacement on such short notice!” A broadcast announcing ‘MIDSESSION BREAK’ played just as a young crew member sent by the production team approached to remove my mic pack. He had pale skin, sharp features, and a clean profile. As his fingers deftly worked to detach the equipment near my collarbone, I suddenly raised my hand and tilted his chin up. The coldness of my touch made him flinch, but his hands didn’t stop moving. He pressed the button on his headset. “Area B, Room 302. Please bring a cup of hot water for Mrs. Stone.” He was bold. And smart. “Do you want to act?” I asked him. When I walked out of the studio, Rhys was surrounded by a swarm of fans. I overheard something he said, followed by a boastful laugh. “Smooth sailing? Honey, I’ve been walking on water since my debut!” I couldn’t help but let out a small, quiet scoff. A group of shippers nearby heard me and immediately rushed over, full of concern. “Avery, did you and Rhys fight? You’re not really retiring over a stupid reality show, are you?” “Avery, I want to see you act again. We’ll miss you!” “Don’t worry!” Before I could speak, Rhys walked over and draped his arm possessively around my shoulder, pulling me close. “It’s all for the show. Avery and I are great.” The fans sighed in relief and pushed photos forward for signatures. As countless glossy prints were shoved toward me, one caught my eye: a duo shot from our first collaboration, Second Chance Skyline—my debut, and the film that launched his career. Back then, his star was too low, and no actress wanted to work with him, so I had to step in and finish the movie with him. It became the ultimate shippers’ artifact. Fans constantly brought this particular shot for us to sign. But this time, the space next to Rhys’s signature—where mine should have been—was instead scrawled with the name Willow Tate. “Mrs. Stone, please don’t misunderstand!” Willow had materialized at my side. She pointed to the signed photo in my hand. “This is my fault! I was standing next to Rhys talking to fans, and I wasn’t paying attention to the photo they handed me. I accidentally signed it…” Looking at her pitiful, tearful expression, I smiled. “Going blind so young. How are you ever going to navigate this business?” My voice wasn’t soft. The area instantly went silent. Even the surrounding fan chatter died down. “Avery Stone, it’s just a photo. Willow has apologized. Do you really have to be so cruel?” Rhys’s expression hardened. He yanked me aside and glared at the cameras sweeping around us, his voice seething with anger. “I know you have connections, but do you want the whole internet to see you bullying a junior actress with your influence?” I curled my lips into a chilling smile. “Am I cruel and using my influence, or are you two morally bankrupt?” “You!” Sensing the situation escalating, the Director rushed in to disperse the fans. Rhys quickly pulled me further away. “Alright, honey, my attitude was bad. I just didn’t want you to be negatively edited.” “Willow and I are truly just friends. You have to trust me! I know losing the game upset you, but I already talked to the Director about letting you finish this episode before retiring. Can we please drop this?” I didn’t engage. I just stood there, looking at him with a frightening calmness. “Rhys, do you still remember the first thing the female lead in Second Chance Skyline said when she discovered the male lead was cheating?” 3 Rhys’s expression froze, and a flicker of panic crossed his eyes. “That was years ago. Who remembers old lines?” Just then, the Director’s voice called for the next scene, and Rhys, visibly relieved, headed straight for the recording area without looking back. Watching him leave, I picked up my phone and called Leo again. “Find out how many projects and endorsements Rhys has left. Cancel all of them.” “The penalty fees are my problem.” Just like the line in the movie: Work, dreams, career… I’m going to take away everything you ever built, one step at a time. For the second round, we were all taken to a massive Ferris wheel. The challenge required us to split into two-person and one-person groups through a compatibility quiz. The two-person team would enter a gondola and have to kiss when it reached the apex. The remaining person would be locked in an isolation booth and would have to find the escape key by monitoring the couple’s kissing-cam and solving clues. The rules instantly sent the comment section into a frenzy: [This round was made for Rhavery! The Kiss at the Apex! The production team is brilliant!] [OMG, we get to see Mom and Dad make out! It’s Christmas for the shippers tonight!] [Point the camera right at them! I want the HD close-up!] In a corner where no one was paying attention, Willow tugged at Rhys’s sleeve, her voice pitiful. “Rhys, please, can you go easy on the quiz? I… I’m terrified of the dark. I can’t go into the isolation booth alone.” Rhys didn’t answer, but I could already see the hesitation in his eyes. The compatibility quiz began. Unsurprisingly, Rhys failed every question about me—my least favorite food, my alma mater, even the name of the dog we co-adopted. He knew nothing. After the first round, the Director looked more upset than I did. This was clearly derailing his plan to milk our “model couple” status for ratings. There was nothing for it but to let Rhys and Willow try the compatibility round next. What happened next shocked everyone. From major things like her astrological sign and career goals to minor details like the song she listened to last night, Rhys knew everything about Willow. The chime for correct answers rang repeatedly, yet the atmosphere in the room turned subtly corrosive. [Wait a minute… This isn’t right. He knows absolutely nothing about his wife, but he knows everything about Willow? How?] [Did Willow cheat and leak the answers? Doesn’t she think this is too obvious if she’s just trying to steal attention?] [Avery has looked miserable all day. Are they really having marital issues…] [Stop the conspiracy theories! It’s probably the show’s script, using Rhavery for clicks!] The final score was a foregone conclusion. Rhys and Willow won by a landslide, securing their spot as the only two to enter the kissing gondola. “Honey, don’t take it to heart.” In front of the camera, Rhys leaned in and closed the distance between our lips with a calculated kiss. In the brief moment our mouths touched, he stroked my hair, his voice sickeningly gentle. “It’s just a game. Think of it as us filming a scene up there. Be understanding, okay?” [OMG, kissing in front of the camera! I’m dying!] [Who said Rhavery was falling apart? It’s just a reality show script! People who believe the rumors are losers for life!] [Worried his wife will get jealous, he kisses her before getting on the Ferris wheel with another woman! Ahhh, this is the most beautiful love story!] 4 “No.” My refusal hit the floor with an audible thud. Rhys froze in place, and Willow immediately scampered over. “Mrs. Stone, please don’t misunderstand!” She clasped her hands tightly, her eyes instantly welling up. “Rhys and I are really just completing a task. I know I don’t deserve to compete with you, but the rules are the rules. I have no choice…” Her tragically vulnerable expression was precisely captured by the cameras, and a wave of comments flooded the screen, condemning me: [It’s just a game. Does Avery Stone really need to be such a diva? Look how scared she’s made poor Willow!] [What do you mean, ‘diva’? Would you want your husband kissing a strange woman on a Ferris wheel?] [Why is the person making three thousand dollars a month defending the person making thirty million? They get paid to take this kind of crap!] [Exactly! Our Willow is so pretty, the movie star isn’t losing anything!] Rhys, watching the scrolling comments, finally spoke. “Avery, stop being dramatic. Everyone is watching.” He paused, his eyes softening slightly in a manipulative plea. “Have you forgotten? You have a fear of heights. You wouldn’t be comfortable going up there anyway. Isn’t it better for Willow to go in your place?” I looked at Rhys. “I haven’t forgotten.” He was the one who had forgotten. After the accident on the set of Second Chance Skyline, I was trapped in an elevator for ten hours. The doctor later confirmed the severe claustrophobia that I had lived with ever since. Afterward, Rhys had held me, his voice choked with tears, and promised, “I will never leave you alone in the dark again!” He had forgotten. The moment Rhys turned to leave with Willow, the coldness in my heart spread all the way to my fingertips. I lunged forward and grabbed his wrist, discarding the last shred of composure I was maintaining for the cameras. “Rhys, I can’t be alone down here. I…” “Avery Stone!” He lost all patience, raising his voice to cut me off. “You need to cut it out! This is work! Is your basic professionalism going to be ruined just because you’re being suspicious and insecure?” He swept his gaze around the area, his sharp eyes pinning me in place. “Kissing on set is part of an actor’s job! Everyone has to overcome difficulties to complete a shoot! Are you special? Are you too precious? Stop making a big deal out of nothing!” Rhys’s sudden shift in attitude shocked the production team. Dozens of eyes were now focused solely on him. I let go of his wrist. All the fear, the anger, and that last, ridiculous shred of hope—all of it sank into the icy darkness of my eyes with that one movement. Rhys seemed satisfied with my surrender. He signaled the Director. “Stick to the original plan. Willow and I are going up. Avery… she needs to cool off.” Willow followed closely behind him. As she passed me, the corner of her mouth lifted in a fleeting, but perfectly clear, smirk. I stood there, watching their backs as they headed toward the massive wheel. Then, I pulled out my phone and quickly sent a message to Leo: [Terminate all contracts with Rhys Maxwell. After this episode airs, I want him to vanish from the entertainment industry.]

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