Eight years into my marriage with Grant Hawthorne, he brought her back. Lacey Bloom. His high school sweetheart. The one that got away. Lacey was effortless. She possessed that wide-eyed, fragile charm that disarms people before they even realize they’ve been conquered. Despite drowning in debt, her “kindness” and “warmth” won over the entire Hawthorne dynasty in record time. My husband, the stoic CEO, softened around her, rekindling a romance that felt like it belonged on a movie screen. My own children, Bella and Leo, decided within weeks that this sweet, indulgent woman was far more suited to be their mother than I ever was. I wasn’t heartbroken. Actually, I was relieved. It meant the plot of this novel was finally concluding. 1 So, when my daughter stood before me, face twisted in bratty disdain, demanding I apologize to “Auntie Lacey,” I didn’t even look up. I just continued pruning the excess stems from the white hydrangeas in the vase. Snip. Snip. “Mom! If you don’t apologize, Leo and I aren’t going to acknowledge you as our mother anymore!” “Okay,” I said, my voice flat. “Then don’t.” I looked at the girl standing there—this child who was practically vibrating with entitlement. I felt nothing. I remembered nearly dying in labor to bring her into this world. I remembered the years I spent begging the best private tutors in Manhattan to teach her piano and French, giving her the skills to survive in this shark tank of a social circle. I remembered the nights I argued with Grant, fighting for her right to inherit company shares, not just a trust fund. I had given her everything. But since Lacey appeared, the narrative shifted. Lacey told them they were “just kids” and shouldn’t be crushed by expectations. She encouraged Bella to skip her lessons. Suddenly, Bella wasn’t practicing scales; she was shopping on Fifth Avenue with Lacey, racking up credit card bills. If this was the path she chose, I wouldn’t stop her. I was just the supporting character—the “cold wife”—in this book. My arc was over. The System had graded my performance, and soon, I’d be cashing out. Two weeks. That’s all I had left before the System extracted me back to the real world. I set the shears down and finally glanced at her. My eyes were empty. Bella flinched. A flicker of panic crossed her face. She wasn’t used to this. For her entire life, I had been the desperate, hovering mother. I had never just… rejected her. But the moment passed. She recovered her composure, lifting her chin to show off her new look. “Look at this,” she twirled, showing off a designer dress and a face full of makeup that was far too mature for her age. “Auntie Lacey bought me all of this. Isn’t it pretty?” “You never let me wear stuff like this,” she accused. “You said I was too young, that it was ‘tacky.’ You made me study until I cried. You hit my hands when I played the wrong notes. You treated me like a trophy, Mom. You never gave me any dignity!” I almost laughed. Dignity. Those were Lacey’s words, parroted by a child. I was afraid Bella would be eaten alive by this family if she wasn’t sharp, if she wasn’t impressive. So I taught her how to walk, how to talk, how to wield power. And in return, two gifts from Lacey were enough to erase eight years of maternal sacrifice. Did she have any idea what I had poured into her? Seeing my silence, Bella stomped her foot. “You don’t actually love me!” “Auntie Lacey is the one who loves me. She doesn’t wake me up at 6:00 AM for vocabulary drills. She buys me clothes, reads me stories, takes me to Six Flags! She’s a thousand times better than you!” She grabbed a vase from the console table and smashed it on the floor. “Daddy already said he’s going to marry Lacey! He’s going to divorce you soon!” She stormed out, leaving me alone in the shattering silence. Even though I had one foot out the door, her words left a bitter aftertaste. Is the Protagonist Halo really that blinding? Does it rewrite history? Does it make all my discipline look like abuse and all her negligence look like love? Or is it just because I’m the villainess? Is everything I do inherently wrong? When Grant first brought Lacey home, I didn’t care. Then the affair started. I realized that for eight years, I was just a placeholder. A shadow of the Golden Girl. The Hawthorne family, notoriously cold, melted for her. My children, exhausted by my high standards, flocked to her easy, sugar-coated parenting. Grant used to respect me. But the moment Lacey moved in, chaos followed. She got “food poisoning.” She “accidentally” fell into the pool. She had allergic reactions. Every single time, the evidence pointed to me. Grant tore my room apart, threatening divorce if I didn’t beg for her forgiveness. I snapped and called her a homewrecker. Grant slapped me. Hard. I fell into the shards of a broken vase. The glass sliced through my legs. Blood soaked the carpet. Even after bandaging it, the throbbing pain kept me awake all night. This morning, I had dragged myself out of bed just to arrange some flowers, seeking a moment of peace. Then Bella stormed in. Now, the pain in my legs was excruciating. The System was offline. The medical kit I bought from the System Store had been used up on Grant and the kids over the years. The housekeeper who raised me was fired by Grant last week. He had forbidden anyone from driving me to the hospital. The only person allowed in my room was Amber, Lacey’s personal maid. The “medicine” she brought looked suspicious, so I didn’t touch it. I felt like a ghost haunting my own house. It was past noon, and no one had brought me food. I dug through a drawer and found a cheap, tarnished ring. I sighed, turning it over in my fingers. Finally, lunch arrived. It was meager, but I wasn’t picky. I took one bite and immediately spat it out. Nutmeg. The entire staff knew I was deathly allergic to nutmeg. Lacey knew. As I was about to tell the maid to take it away, the door burst open. Grant stormed in, looking like a vengeful god in a bespoke suit. He kicked the side table over, sending the tray crashing. “You tried to kill Lacey,” he seethed, his jaw tight. “I told you to apologize, and instead, you sit here in your high tower, throwing away the food she asked the kitchen to make for you? Is there no end to your malice, Vivian?” I lay back on the pillows, looking at him with absolute exhaustion. Grant lunged, his hand closing around my throat. “Why is it so hard for you to just listen?” Eight years. I played my role perfectly. I was the devoted wife, the strict but loving mother. If they had accepted me, I could have stayed. I wanted to stay. Before the heroine arrived, I really tried. But now… I shook my head, a sad smile touching my lips. I looked at the man who used to hold me while I slept. “Grant,” I whispered. “I’ve told you. I didn’t hurt her. It’s a performance. She’s staging it all.” His grip loosened slightly, his eyes wavering. “You have cameras everywhere,” I rasped. “If you wanted the truth, you’d check the footage. But you don’t want the truth. You’re just bored of me.” “Since you’ve already decided I’m guilty, what difference does an apology make?” He stared at me, stunned. For a second, the anger vanished, replaced by something that looked like pain. He let go of my neck. Then, the narrative took hold again. He hardened. “I thought you loved me. I thought you were different. But you’re just jealous. You’re toxic.” “Lacey is an angel. How could you hurt her?” He stood up, straightening his cuffs. “From now on, no one gives Mrs. Hawthorne any medication. And she doesn’t leave this room until she crawls to Lacey and begs for forgiveness.” He waited for me to cry, to beg. I just stared at the ceiling. He left. The air in the room felt heavy. Amber, Lacey’s maid, started cleaning up the spilled porridge. “Oh, Madam, why did you spit it out? You need to eat to heal.” She smirked, her voice dripping with faux concern. “You probably don’t know, since you’re stuck in here… but yesterday, little Leo called Miss Lacey ‘Mommy’ in the garden.” “It’s a shame. You worked so hard, and now your kids hate you. You really failed as a mother, didn’t you?” She glanced at my bandaged knees. “I heard the bone might be infected. Without antibiotics… you might never walk again.” I laughed, a dry, rasping sound. “I am Mrs. Grant Hawthorne. I am the daughter of the Ross dynasty. Who are you? You’re just the help, Amber. Don’t speak above your station.” I ignored the hate in her eyes and adjusted my legs, wincing. Amber glared at me and stormed out. I lay there, wondering if I would survive until the System returned. If I died of sepsis or starvation before the transfer, would I still get to go home? A week passed. The food became sporadic—sometimes stale bread, sometimes nothing. I didn’t dare eat it. I managed to bribe a young maid, Sarah, whom I had helped years ago, to sneak me packaged crackers and bottled water. Days later, just as the System was initiating the countdown, Lacey burst in, interrupting the sequence. She had an entourage of staff. She looked down at me, her face glowing with triumph. “Vivian, darling. I wish I could help you, but my leg still hurts,” she pouted. Then she wrinkled her nose. “God, it smells in here. How are the maids cleaning this place? If Grant knew…” She giggled. “But then again, Grant won’t even let you go to the hospital. Why would he care if your room stinks? Right, Vivian?” Behind her, I saw Bella and Leo. They were clinging to Lacey’s dress, looking at me with a mixture of disgust and confusion. Bella stepped forward. “Mom, Auntie Lacey just wants a sincere apology. Why are you being so stubborn? Who are you performing for? You hurt her!” Leo, his face rounder than I remembered, scowled. “Yeah. You’re evil, Mom.” Evil. I almost laughed. Leo had impulse control issues. I spent a fortune on behavioral therapists to teach him boundaries. I watched his diet because of his health risks. Now? Lacey was stuffing him with cupcakes and letting him run wild. He looked like a balloon about to pop. “You came here to brag?” I asked, my voice weak but steady. “I didn’t expect you to be so heartless,” Lacey sighed. “Your own children reject you, and you don’t even cry.” I looked at my kids. “I gave you the best of everything from the moment you were born. But if you don’t want it, I won’t force it. You want Lacey to be your mother? Fine. I won’t fight for custody. She’s yours.” Bella and Leo froze. They stared at me, eyes wide. They never expected me to let go. Bella’s lip trembled. Lacey signaled the maid. “Don’t worry, kids,” the maid whispered loudly. “She’s just manipulating you. She’s playing mind games. She’ll be begging for your love in a few days. Do you want to go back to piano lessons and homework?” Leo snorted. “She’s faking it. Dad was right. You’re just pretending to be nice. I hope you never talk to us again!” He stuck his tongue out and dragged Bella away. “Happy now?” I asked Lacey. Lacey sat on the edge of my bed, leaning in close. “Happy?” she whispered. “This isn’t enough. I want you out on the street.” Before she finished the sentence, she screamed and threw herself backward, landing perfectly in the arms of Grant, who had just walked in. Oscar-worthy. Grant didn’t think. He raised his hand to strike me. I flinched, shielding my head. He froze, looking at my cowering form, then at his own hand. “She… she pushed me!” Lacey sobbed. Grant’s face hardened. “Lock her on the terrace. The unheated one. One day and one night. On her knees. No food. Anyone who helps her gets fired.” He paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing his eyes. “Vivian… if you apologize to Lacey, I might…” “I accept,” I cut him off. “I’ll go to the terrace.” The System would be back in 24 hours. I didn’t need to play the game anymore. “Don’t regret this,” Grant growled, his face pale. “I won’t.” He carried Lacey out. Amber laughed as she followed. “It’s freezing tonight, Madam. I hope you survive the wind.” I put on my down jacket, grabbed the tarnished ring from the nightstand, and walked to the terrace. It was colder than I imagined. The wind off the Atlantic cut through the glass. My knees were on fire, then they went numb. Hours later, I heard whispering at the service door. “Madam? Can you hear us?” It was Sarah and her sister, Lily. “Stop crying,” I managed to say, my teeth chattering. “I’m not dead yet. Go, before Lacey sees you.” “We brought bread and hot water,” Sarah sobbed, sliding it through the crack. I ate ravenously. “Don’t come back. Take the gold bracelets in my nightstand drawer. Split them between you.” “But Madam…” “I have a plan,” I lied. “I’m leaving Grant. I’ll be fine.” They left, weeping. I started to drift. The cold wasn’t painful anymore; it was like a heavy blanket. Finally, the voice in my head returned. “Payment secured! Host, click confirm to…” The System paused. “Holy sht. Host, you’re dying.”* “Took you long enough,” I thought, my consciousness fading. “Hold on! Extracting you from the narrative now. 5… 4… 3…” BAM. The terrace door was kicked open.

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Vivian joined a women’s empowerment book club. Every Tuesday night, like clockwork. I supported it. I championed it. I was the doting husband, right until today, when I found the card tucked into the pocket of her silk blouse while sorting the laundry. It was heavy stock, matte black. On the back, in elegant cursive: “The Gentleman’s Selection. Unbox your fantasy. Your exclusive concierge: Jax.” I scanned the QR code with my phone. It didn’t take me to a reading list. It launched a digital catalogue of men—oiled abs, chiseled jaws, eyes promising trouble. Every single one came with a price tag. And according to the transaction history I hacked into, my wife’s cumulative spending had already hit six figures. I stared at the screen, my face a mask of stone, and snapped a photo. I sent it to Marcus. “Vice squad. I’m sending you an address. My wife is a VIP client. Make sure to leave them a five-star review.” 1 On the other end of the line, Marcus—my partner, my brother in arms—was silent for ten seconds. “Holden, tell me you’re joking.” “Do I sound like I’m joking?” My voice was flat, a dead calm sea. “Your wife… Vivian? The literature professor? How the hell…” “Don’t ask me. I’m still trying to figure out which chapter of The Great Gatsby covers male escorts.” I flipped the black card over. The front bore the gold-embossed logo: The Athena Collective. The irony tasted like copper in my mouth. Marcus took a deep breath on the other end. “I got the address. ‘The Box.’ We’ve been trying to crack that place for months. We could never find a way in.” “You have one now,” I said. “VIP client. Six-figure spend. Is that enough probable cause?” “It’s enough. It’s more than enough.” Marcus’s voice dropped, shifting from cop to friend. “Holden, think this through. Once we kick that door in, you and Vivian… there’s no coming back from that.” I looked down at my phone. The chat logs between Vivian and this ‘Jax’ scrolled by. Intimate. Flirtatious. Transactional. Transfer after transfer. Every notification was a small, precise incision on my heart. We’d been married three years. For her, I had stepped back from the fast track, taking a transfer to a desk job in a sleepy logistics department. I bought the groceries. I cooked the meals. I treated her like royalty. She thought I had lost my edge. She thought I had settled. She didn’t know that my mediocrity was a costume, a necessary cover for a deep-cover investigation into a massive organized crime ring. She used to say she wanted a man with ambition, so I stayed up nights earning certifications I couldn’t tell her about. She wanted romance, so I curated every anniversary like a museum exhibit. She said she needed to elevate herself with this book club, and I pushed her to go. And this was how she elevated herself? “I’ve thought it through,” I said to the empty room. “Call me when you move.” I hung up, wiped the call log, and set the phone back on the counter. Moments later, the front door clicked open. Vivian breezed in, carrying the scent of expensive gin and a musk that wasn’t mine. She saw me sitting on the sofa in the dark, and her brow immediately furrowed. “Why aren’t you in bed? Waiting up like a lonely housewife, really?” Her disdain was a physical thing, sharp and cold. I looked up at her—the flawless makeup, the designer dress I knew cost more than my monthly ‘salary.’ “How was the book club?” I asked. I kept the tremor out of my voice. “It was fine. We discussed Sartre. Not that you’d understand the nuance.” She kicked off her heels, letting them lie where they fell in the foyer. “You’re a clerk, Holden. Your world is spreadsheets and grocery lists. You can’t grasp the spiritual pursuit we’re engaged in.” I looked at her. The woman I had loved for five years. “Is that right? Seems like an expensive hobby, this spiritual pursuit,” I said, testing the water. Vivian’s expression flickered, but her chin went up. “Of course it is. We hire renowned scholars. The venue, the catering—quality costs money. Unlike you, scraping by on that government paycheck. Your world is so small.” She walked over, looming over me. “Holden, let’s be honest. The gap between us is widening. I am evolving. I’m surrounded by the elite. And you? You’re stagnant.” She sighed, a theatrical, pitying sound. “Sometimes, I feel embarrassed just being seen with you.” My hands were resting on my knees. My fingernails were digging into my skin so hard I could feel the crescent moons cutting in. But my face remained blank. I just nodded. “You’re right.” “The gap is huge.” “Don’t worry,” I said softly. “Soon… you won’t have to deal with the embarrassment of seeing me at all.” Vivian paused. The sneer froze on her lips. “What does that mean? Did you finally grow a spine? You want a divorce?” She let out a dry, cold laugh. “Fine by me. If you have the guts. Split the assets, sell this house. I could use the cash for my… investments.” Her investments. Top-tier packages at the meat market. I smiled, a ghost of an expression, and didn’t take the bait. “Get some sleep. You have a class tomorrow, don’t you?” I stood up and walked into the guest room. She had moved me out of the master bedroom six months ago, claiming she needed “personal space” to reflect. In hindsight, that was probably when the “reading” started. I closed the door and leaned my back against the wood. The energy drained out of me, leaving me hollow. I pulled out my phone and opened the dossier I’d compiled from the QR code. Photos of men. Hundreds of them. The Athlete. The Poet. The CEO. Every “Concierge Service” had a price. From a few thousand to numbers that made my stomach turn. Vivian’s history was a ledger of betrayal. Over thirty thousand dollars just on this Jax character. I closed my eyes. The pulse in my temple beat against my skin like a trapped bird. The next morning, I made breakfast. Routine is a powerful anesthetic. Vivian emerged from the master suite, ghosting past me without a glance to start her skincare regimen. I placed the coffee and avocado toast in front of her. “Book club again today?” I asked, casual, skimming the news on my tablet. “Obviously. It’s the weekly intensive.” She snapped, annoyed. “It’s your mother’s birthday today. Aren’t you going to drive up to see her?” Vivian froze. She turned slowly, her eyes narrowing into slits. “Holden, what is this? Are you monitoring me?” “I’m just reminding you.” “I don’t need your reminders!” Her voice went shrill. “I already called Mom. I wired her a gift. She’s far more open-minded than you are. She knows my career comes first. She doesn’t sweat the small stuff.” Her mother’s open-mindedness. Right. The woman who was helping her spend my money. I remembered overhearing a call last week. Her mother’s voice, chirpy and shrill: “Viv, honey, that Jax seems wonderful. So much more charisma than Holden the Bore. lock that down, sweetheart!” At the time, I thought she was talking about a colleague. A rival academic. I didn’t realize she was talking about a rental. “Right. Career first,” I nodded. Vivian finished her makeup and grabbed her bag. At the door, she paused. “I have a networking dinner tonight. High stakes. I won’t be back. Scrounge something up for yourself.” She held out her hand, palm up. Expectant. “Also, I need the household allowance for the month. Cash flow is a little tight.” I looked at her hand. Perfectly manicured nails. I used to love holding that hand. Now, looking at it made bile rise in my throat. I opened my wallet, pulled out two thousand dollars, and placed the bills in her palm. “Make it last,” I said. Vivian snatched the money, a smirk touching her lips. “Understood, Penny Pincher.” She turned and left. The door slammed shut. The silence rushed back in to fill the void she left. I pulled out my phone and texted Marcus. Target is mobile. Tonight’s the night. Marcus replied instantly. Copy that. Holden… watch your six. I looked out the window. The sky was bruising purple, heavy with rain. Late that afternoon, my mother-in-law called. She didn’t say hello. She launched straight into an assault. “Holden! What is wrong with you? It’s my birthday. Vivian is busy, I get that, but where are you? I’ve sent you three texts!” “Do you have no respect for your elders?” I listened to her screech, keeping my voice level. “Mom, something came up at work. Urgent.” “Urgent? You’re a paper pusher! What could possibly be urgent? You just didn’t want to come!” She was winding herself up. “Let me tell you something. Vivian marrying you was charity! You are lucky she even looks at you. No money, no power… if you weren’t so docile, I’d have told her to leave you years ago!” I listened. I didn’t interrupt. I had heard this speech for three years. I used to believe it. I used to think I wasn’t enough. Now I realized that for some people, you are only as valuable as what they can extract from you. “Mom,” I cut in. “Vivian is at an important dinner tonight, right?” She stumbled. “Yes! Yes. For her career. For the family! Unlike you, she has drive.” “I’m not criticizing,” I said calmly. “I just wanted to tell you… I’m at that dinner too.” “You? How? Did Vivian take you?” Her voice dripped with suspicion. “She didn’t take me.” I walked to the window, watching the strobe of red and blue lights silently joining the flow of traffic below. “I brought the guests.” “What… what are you talking about? Holden, speak clearly!” “Mom, you always said I had no power. You always said Vivian was settling.” “Tonight, I’m going to show you exactly who your son-in-law is.” “And I’m going to show you exactly what kind of ‘important dinner’ your daughter is attending.” I hung up. I didn’t want to hear another word. Simultaneously, Marcus called. “Holden, we hit ‘The Box.’ It’s a ghost town. Just a front.” I wasn’t surprised. “I know. They aren’t there,” I said. “Then where?” “South side. The Sanctuary Private Club.” I gave him the coordinates. “How do you know that?” Marcus asked. “Because the owner of The Sanctuary is an old informant of mine. He just sent me the security feed. Vivian, Jax, and a whole party. Illegal gambling, solicitation, drugs. The works.” “Son of a bitch,” Marcus muttered. “We’re en route. Don’t do anything stupid. Wait for backup.” “Count on it.” I hung up and started the engine. The car roared to life, tearing into the night. The Sanctuary. Vivian. Jax. I’m coming. The Sanctuary sat halfway up the mountain, a fortress of glass and steel overlooking the city lights. Security was tight. I rolled down my window at the gate. I didn’t say a word. I just flashed my phone screen. A photo of me and the owner, arm in arm. The guard stiffened, nodded respectfully, and opened the gate. I parked in the shadows. I didn’t go in yet. I sat in the dark cabin of the car and lit a cigarette. The cherry glowed, a single red eye in the gloom. The smoke blurred my reflection in the rearview mirror. Message from Marcus: Perimeter set. Waiting for your signal. I typed back: Wait. I was waiting for a phone call. I was waiting for Vivian. In a moment of triumph like this, high on adrenaline and attention, she wouldn’t be able to resist kicking the dog. She would call to humiliate me, to contrast her glittering life with my mundane existence. Sure enough, five minutes later, the screen lit up. Vivian. I answered, put it on speaker, and hit record. “Hello?” “Holden, you loser, where are you?” Her voice was slurred, thick with expensive wine and cheap cruelty. Background noise: thumping bass, laughter. “Home,” I lied. “Hah! Home. Pathetic. Guarding the fort all alone.” She laughed, a sharp, brittle sound. “Do you know where I am? The Sanctuary. Do you know what this place is? You couldn’t afford a coaster in here with a lifetime of your salary.” “I’m surrounded by the elite, Holden. Winners. Not like you.” She paused, muffling the phone to ask someone, “You’re sure he didn’t follow me?” Then back to me. “Oh, by the way. Jax is here.” She passed the phone. A man’s voice, smooth and oily, slid through the speaker. “Hello, Mr. Ford?” Jax. “Hi, Jax here. Thanks for taking such… mediocre care of your wife. She’s mine now. Don’t worry, I’ll show her what she’s been missing.” Laughter erupted in the background. Vivian snatched the phone back. “Did you hear that, Holden? You are a complete failure.” “You can’t even satisfy your own wife. Why do you even bother?” “I’m done pretending. I want a divorce. And I don’t want to see your sad, hangdog face ever again.” “And don’t think about alimony. I’ll make sure you leave with nothing. I have friends who can make you unemployable.” There it was. The knife in the back. I crushed the cigarette into the ashtray. “Vivian,” I said. My voice was quiet. The line went silent for a beat. “Which room are you in?” She hesitated, then scoffed. “Why? You want to come catch me? You don’t have the balls. I’m in the Emperor Suite. Come and get me if you dare.” “Okay,” I said. Then, enunciating every syllable: “I’m right outside the door.” Dead silence. Three seconds later, Vivian screamed. “Holden! You stalker! You freak!” “I’m not stalking you.” I opened the car door, stepping onto the pavement. “I’m coming to arrest you.” “Arrest me? Who do you think you are!” “You’ll find out.” I hung up. Texted Marcus: GO. I walked into the lobby. The manager saw me and immediately rushed over, sweating, bowing low. “Captain Ford. We didn’t expect you personally.” I ignored him, marching to the elevator. “Emperor Suite.” The manager turned pale but didn’t argue. He swiped his master key. The elevator doors slid open. The double mahogany doors of the suite loomed ahead. I could hear the music thumping through the wood. I signaled the manager to leave. Then, I raised my leg and kicked the doors in. CRASH. The lock shattered. The doors flew open, bouncing off the walls. The room froze. The music seemed to die instantly. Dozens of scantily clad people on plush velvet sofas turned to look. In the center, Vivian and Jax were entangled. Vivian’s face went white, then furious red. “Holden! Are you insane? Get out! Get out!” She shrieked. Jax stood up. He was big—gym muscles, inflated ego. He smirked. “So this is the husband? The loser?” He cracked his knuckles, walking toward me. “I’m going to teach you a lesson for interrupting us, little man.” Three other bouncers peeled off the wall, closing in. Vivian crossed her arms, a cruel smile returning to her face. She wanted to see this. I stood still. I didn’t flinch. I watched Jax come into range. Just as he pulled his arm back to swing— “POLICE! NOBODY MOVE!” The roar was deafening. Marcus and a dozen tactical officers flooded the room, body armor heavy, assault rifles raised. “HANDS! LET ME SEE HANDS!” Panic exploded.

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The moment the new transfer student stole my seat, he didn’t just take a spot on the train; he unraveled my entire life. And the worst part? He regretted it. Eventually. I was born with a heart that beats to a broken rhythm. Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. It’s a fancy way of saying my heart muscle is too thick, too tired, and prone to giving out if I push it too hard. Weekly check-ups at the hospital are just part of my routine. Harper has been there for every single one of them. We grew up side by side, our lives tangled together like headphones left in a pocket. We were on the light rail, heading back from the city after my appointment. It was rush hour, bodies packed tight, the air stale and humid. Harper spotted the last empty seat—right next to where she was standing—and signaled for me to take it. I was about to sit, my legs aching from the long day, when I felt a tentative tug on my sleeve. “Leo… I’m feeling really lightheaded,” a soft voice whispered. It was Silas, the new transfer student. He looked at me with wide, doe-eyed innocence, one hand clutching his chest, the other trembling slightly. “Do you think… maybe I could have the priority seat? My anemia is acting up.” I almost laughed. The performance was flawless. It was so thick with artificial sweetness it could rot your teeth. I didn’t have the energy for games. I started to shut him down, polite but firm. “Sorry, man, I actually need to—” “Leo, just let him have it,” Harper cut in. Her voice wasn’t asking; it was deciding. I froze. “I know your heart acts up if you stand too long,” she said, her tone dismissive, “but I’ve fought for seats for you a thousand times. You can handle standing this once.” I stared at her. The betrayal wasn’t in the action; it was in the logic. Like a well-trained dog, I stepped back and gave up the seat. Silas sat down with a grateful, shy smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It wasn’t until the third time that week Harper bailed on walking to school with me—only for me to find out she’d already left with him—that the reality settled in. When I finally confronted her, she rolled her eyes. “Leo, seriously? It was just a seat on the train. Is it worth holding a grudge?” I bit the inside of my lip until I tasted iron. “You’re right,” I said, my voice quiet. “It was just a seat. So why couldn’t I have it?” The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Harper blinked, stunned into silence. 1 She had no answer. She wasn’t used to me pushing back. For years, I had been the soft one, the one who needed protection. Using her own logic against her short-circuited her defenses. It took her a solid minute to find her voice, and when she did, it was laced with defensiveness. “What is with this attitude? Silas wasn’t feeling well. You know that.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I turned and walked up the stairs. “Leo!” she yelled after me, her voice pitching up. “Are you seriously going to freeze me out over something so petty?” I didn’t look back. That was the beginning of the Cold War. I started avoiding her in the hallways, walking to class alone, eating lunch in the library. She didn’t chase me. The tether that had connected us since kindergarten had gone slack. Then came Monday. AP English. The teacher announced group projects. Before the sentence was even finished, Harper was flanked by her two best friends, Maya and Tess. Usually, I was the automatic fourth. I was gathering my books, waiting for the signal. I looked up to see Silas standing at Harper’s desk. He was blushing, looking down at his shoes, the picture of humility. “Hey, Harper… I know I’m new and I don’t really know anyone yet… do you guys have room for one more?” Maya and Tess immediately started cooing. “Oh, absolutely! We can’t leave the new guy hanging.” Harper looked pleased. She didn’t even glance my way. Her voice dropped into that gentle register she used to use for me. “Of course, Silas. You’re with us.” I stood there, my textbook hovering halfway into my bag. It was as if I had turned invisible. They had forgotten that their “Core Four” actually had four people. Once Silas sat down, he seemed to suddenly “notice” me standing there. He covered his mouth, eyes widening in mock horror. “Oh no… did I take Leo’s spot? I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize…” He looked at Harper, frantic. “Maybe Leo should take it. I can work alone. I’m not great at English anyway, I don’t want to drag you guys down…” Before I could speak, Harper shot me a look of pure annoyance. “Leo, your grades are perfect. You can handle a project on your own. Silas actually needs the help.” Suddenly, the whole thing felt incredibly cheap. I shoved my book into my bag, stood up, and walked to the back of the room without a word. The rest of the class had paired up. The only people left were the “burnouts”—the kids who slept in class or were too stoned to care. I pulled up a chair next to them. “We’re a team,” I said. “Let’s get this done.” 2 Since the grouping incident, the atmosphere in the classroom had shifted. It was subtle, but I felt it. My new team was a disaster on paper. One guy slept through lectures, another was addicted to reading fantasy novels on his phone, and the third wanted to help but couldn’t write a coherent sentence to save his life. I took charge. I broke the project down into microscopic tasks. You, look up these three dates. You, format the citations. You, just print the photos. I dragged them, kicking and screaming, toward a passing grade. It was exhausting. More exhausting than doing it alone. I had to monitor my heart rate constantly, breathing through the frustration. Deep breath. Don’t spike. Don’t spiral. Harper’s group, on the other hand, was having a blast. Silas didn’t know anything, but he knew how to ask. During breaks, he’d lean over Harper’s shoulder, pointing at a page, whispering questions in that breathy voice of his. Harper was endlessly patient, explaining the same concept three times over. Her friends giggled and teased them. I ignored the noise. I focused on rewriting my group’s barely legible notes. The tension peaked during P.E. Because of my condition, I sat out during high-intensity days. I usually did homework on the bleachers. Coincidentally, Silas sat out that week too. Anemia again. So, it was just the two of us on the concrete steps, overlooking the track. He scooted closer, invading my personal space. “Leo,” he said, hugging his knees and looking at me sideways. “Are you still mad at me?” I kept reading. “I know Harper cares about you a lot. You guys have history… I’m just jealous, honestly. I don’t have anyone here. She’s been so nice to me, I just wanted to be close to her.” His eyes started to water on command. “Am I causing problems for you guys?” Before I could figure out how to respond to that level of manipulation, the halftime whistle blew for the basketball scrimmage. Harper jogged over, wiping sweat from her forehead, holding two water bottles. The sunlight caught her hair, making her look like a golden retriever in human form—eager, bright, loyal. She stopped in front of us, cracked the seal on one bottle, and handed it to Silas. “Hydrate.” Then she set the unopened bottle on the step next to me. “You okay? You look pale.” Silas took small sips, looking up at her with adoration. “Harper, that three-pointer was incredible! You looked so cool out there.” Harper grinned, basking in the praise. She was about to say something when Silas suddenly swayed. His hand “slipped,” and the open water bottle tipped over. Ice-cold water splashed all over my lap, soaking my jeans instantly. “Oh my god! Leo, I’m so sorry!” Silas shrieked, jumping up. He reached out as if to wipe the water off my pants, panic written all over his face. But then, he stumbled over his own feet and fell backward, straight into Harper’s arms. “Whoa, gotcha!” Harper caught him, her reflex instant. “You okay?” “I… I’m fine,” Silas murmured, leaning his full weight against her. “Just dizzy. Vision went black for a second…” Harper scooped him up, her brow furrowed in concern. She started walking him toward the nurse’s office. A few steps away, she stopped and looked back at me. I was still sitting on the concrete, water dripping from my jeans, shivering slightly from the shock of the cold. I looked at her, waiting for the bare minimum. Are you okay? It didn’t come. Her eyes were heavy with disappointment. “Leo,” she said, her voice cold. “Silas is sick. Couldn’t you have kept an eye on him? I didn’t think you could be this cold-hearted.” She turned and marched Silas away. The whispers from the class washed over me. I sat there, frozen, feeling a familiar, tight pain clenching around my heart. 3 After that day, I stopped trying. I stopped explaining. I stopped fighting. I stopped looking at Harper. I walked home in wet jeans that day. The autumn wind cut through the damp denim, chilling me to the bone, but the cold inside my chest was worse. The next morning, Harper approached my desk. She placed a carton of warm milk in front of me—a peace offering. “Look… Silas didn’t mean it yesterday. His health is just fragile, you know? Like yours. Don’t take it personally.” I looked at her, and for the first time, I felt nothing. Just a vast, gray boredom. In her eyes, I was the one who didn’t need worrying about. Heart condition? I had meds. Misunderstood? I had a mouth; I could defend myself. Our history had convinced her that my resilience was infinite. I picked up the milk, placed it back on her desk, and spoke softly. “Thanks, but I already drank.” I turned my back to her and opened my vocabulary book. Harper stood there for a moment, embarrassed, before snatching the milk and walking away. I heard Silas’s whisper from across the aisle: “Harper, is Leo still mad?” From that day on, I excised myself from their narrative. I left school the second the bell rang. In group projects, I did the work but offered no small talk. Harper started to notice. She cornered me a few times, asking if I was still sulking about “the little things.” I just shook my head. “No. Finals are coming up. I need to focus.” She looked at me like I was a stranger. She was used to me nagging her, used to me getting reactive. My calm unnerved her. But I didn’t have the stamina for drama anymore. My heart couldn’t take it, and neither could my pride. My salvation came in the form of a flyer on the bulletin board. Citywide English Speech Competition. Theme: The Power of Silence. I stared at it. The Power of Silence. The phrase cut through the fog in my brain. Why was I trying to scream to be heard by people who had chosen to be deaf? Real power wasn’t in the argument; it was in the action. It was in succeeding without them. I tore off the tab, went to the office, and signed my name. The moment I handed in the form, my erratic heart seemed to find a steady beat. I threw myself into it. Lunch breaks were spent on the roof, practicing enunciation to the empty football field. Evenings were spent refining my draft, cutting out every unnecessary word. Meanwhile, Silas was thriving. He was the school mascot of kindness—handing out water to the team, helping people with homework (and then asking Harper for help when he got stuck). They were a perfect, sickening pair. One afternoon, I passed them in the hallway. Silas tugged Harper’s sleeve loud enough for me to hear. “Harper, look at Leo. He’s so focused lately. He barely talks to us anymore.” Harper’s gaze lingered on me, complicated and unreadable. I didn’t break stride. The night before the finals, I stayed late in the empty classroom for one last dress rehearsal. The moonlight spilled over the desks. I wore my white dress shirt—I wanted to get used to the feel of the stiff collar. I ran through the speech. Every pause, every inflection was muscle memory now. I felt ready. I felt light. I was packing up when the classroom door creaked open. Silas stood there, holding a steaming cup of coffee, wearing a smile that was all innocence and poison. “Leo! You’re still here? I brought you some coffee. To keep you going.” 4 “Thanks, but I was just leaving.” I folded my speech carefully, placing it in my folder on the desk. My white shirt, the one I’d ironed specifically for tomorrow, was draped over the back of my chair. “Don’t rush off, Leo.” Silas stepped into the room. He placed the coffee on the desk, dangerously close to my folder. “Tomorrow is the big day. You must be nervous. Drink something warm.” I instinctively took a step back, creating distance. I reached out to move my folder and shirt away from him. “I really don’t want it. Thanks.” My rejection seemed to fluster him. He took a step forward, as if to plead his case, but then his foot “caught” on a chair leg. “Ah!” It was theatrical. The cup of scalding coffee launched from his hand in a perfect arc. Dark brown liquid splashed across the folder, soaking the pages instantly, and splattered all over the pristine white shirt. It happened in slow motion. “Oh my god! Leo, I’m so sorry!” Silas dropped to his knees, grabbing tissues, frantically scrubbing at the mess, which only ground the coffee stain deeper into the fabric. “I didn’t mean to! I just…” I stared at weeks of work dissolving into brown pulp. I stared at the shirt I had to wear in twelve hours. My mind went blank. Then, footsteps. Silas heard them too. He looked up at me, tears instantly welling in his eyes. Then, he threw himself backward, landing hard on the floor as if I had shoved him. “Leo, please don’t be mad… I know you worked so hard…” The door flew open. Harper stood there. Her eyes swept the room—the coffee, the mess, Silas on the floor. “Leo!” “What the hell are you doing?” She didn’t look at the ruined speech. She didn’t look at the shirt. She stormed over to Silas. “You can’t win fair and square, so you resort to bullying?” She glared at me, her expression twisting into disgust. “I didn’t know you were this vicious.” Vicious? A sharp pain exploded in my chest, radiating down my left arm. My vision tunneled. I opened my mouth to say I didn’t do it, but no sound came out. My throat closed up. I stumbled, gripping the edge of the desk. My hand shook uncontrollably as I reached for my pocket. Meds… I need my meds… But my legs gave out. I slid down the side of the desk, hitting the floor. The pill bottle tumbled out of my pocket, rolling across the linoleum with a cheerful clatter-clatter, stopping just out of reach. The room began to spin. Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision. The last thing I saw before the lights went out was Harper stepping over my body to help a crying Silas. “Silas, are you okay? Did you get hurt?” Her voice was full of the panic and care I had never received.

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I had just wrapped an international merger deal, and the jet lag felt like lead in my bones as I dragged my suitcase into the foyer. That’s when I saw them: a pair of men’s sneakers that absolutely did not belong here. Crisp, designer high-tops, a limited drop, and definitely not a small size. They were tossed carelessly by the door, a silent, arrogant declaration of the intruder’s presence. Almost instantly, the semi-transparent, relentless torrent of text that only I could see—The Feed—began to scroll across my vision. 【HOLY SHIT! The forced-love scene is finally here! Tristan’s making his move!】 【AHHHH! Tonight’s the night! Cook that rice, baby! Go, go, go!】 【Wait until that stuck-up mom gets home and loses it, LOL. Her daughter belongs to our Tristan now!】 I watched the words with an expressionless face. They swarmed like a cloud of buzzing, bloodthirsty gnats directly on my retina. 1 My name is Delaney Stone. I’m a commercial litigator, known for my ruthless precision in the courtroom, and a single mother. Three days ago, I woke up. I realized I was trapped inside a toxic young adult novel titled The Exclusive Obsession of the Campus Psychopath. My role? The villainous mother, Delaney, who tries to keep the main characters apart, only to be utterly destroyed—her life ruined, her daughter’s future devastated, and finally, herself dying wretchedly in a psychiatric facility—by the “blackened” male lead. My daughter, Maya, is the tragic heroine. She would be kidnapped, tormented, and eventually develop severe Stockholm Syndrome, mistaking her captivity and trauma for “undying love.” And the owner of the shoes by the door, Tristan Kael, was the male lead—the so-called “beautiful, powerful, and tragic” hero. A maniac who packaged stalking, harassment, and violent coercion as deep affection, and who romanticized his own obsession and possessiveness as salvation. I lifted my gaze toward my daughter’s tightly closed bedroom door. Faintly, I could hear muffled sobs and a boy’s impatient, low attempts at persuasion. The Feed kept scrolling. 【Don’t cry, Maya! Tristan loves you so much! Your mom is such a puritan, what does she know about real love?】 【Seriously, this mom needs to just die and stop getting in the way of our ship!】 【Hurry up, hurry up! I can’t wait for the forced-love payoff!】 I silently set down my suitcase, kicked off my high heels, and walked toward the kitchen, my bare feet sinking into the carpet. I didn’t call 911. I didn’t call building security. Against a rabid dog that skirts the edge of the law, conventional methods only serve to excite them further. From the utensil block, I took the weapon I’d bought specifically for processing large cuts of meat: a heavy-duty, razor-sharp bone cleaver. The blade glinted under the recessed lights, cold and unforgiving. The Feed seemed to sense the shift. It paused for a brief, shuddering moment. 【??? What is the mom doing? Is she grabbing a knife?】 【That’s not in the script! She’s supposed to be pounding on the door and begging the ML to let her daughter go!】 【Whoa, wait a second. Something is off. Her eyes look insane.】 I ignored them. I walked, step by calculated step, to Maya’s bedroom door. It was locked from the inside. “BOOM!” I lifted my foot and drove it, with all the focused force of a trained athlete, into the door right next to the lockset. The solid-core wooden door shuddered violently. The sounds from inside ceased immediately. “Who the hell is that!” Tristan’s voice, sharp with alarm and irritation, cut through the silence. The Feed exploded. 【WTF! She kicked the door?! This mom is unhinged!】 【Spicy! Is the plot twisting?! Author, get your ass in here!】 I offered no response. I simply stepped back, focused, and drove my heel into the same spot. “CRACK!” The second impact. A spiderweb of cracks formed in the wood around the shattered lock housing. “SMASH!” The third. The lock assembly disintegrated with a wrenching sound, and the door flew inward, slamming against the wall. The scene inside was instantly exposed. My daughter, Maya, was huddled on the corner of her bed, her school blouse torn open at the shoulder, tears streaming down her pale face. She was trembling uncontrollably. Tristan, the boy The Feed worshiped as the “God-Tier Campus King,” was straddling her, one hand pinning her wrist, the other reaching for a button on her top. He was clearly stunned by the sudden violence. He froze, his body rigid, and turned his head to stare at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. The-Feed-was-in-ecstasy. 【OMG, that position! Tristan is so Alpha!】 【The mom’s arrival is perfect! Let her watch her daughter become his!】 【Hurry, Tristan! Do it right now! That’ll really piss off the old hag!】 Tristan recognized me. The shock on his face rapidly curdled into a mix of contempt and aggressive provocation. He even managed a playful, wicked grin, leaning down to Maya’s ear and speaking just loud enough for me to hear. “Look, Maya. Mommy’s home. Should we… continue what we started, right here, in front of her?” Maya’s trembling intensified. Tears spilled onto her cheeks. “You… let go of me…” “Let go of you?” Tristan scoffed, his gaze locked on mine in a pure act of defiance. “Look, Ma’am—don’t blame me. Maya and I are soulmates. You’re the one trying to tear us apart.” I looked at his face, flushed with adrenaline and dark excitement. I looked at the obscene comments scrolling before my eyes. Slowly, I raised the heavy cleaver in my hand. “What was that?” My voice was unnervingly quiet. “It’s loud in here. I didn’t quite catch that.” I aimed the blade directly at him. Tristan’s pupils constricted. He probably thought I was bluffing. The Feed did, too. 【What’s she doing? A middle-aged woman with a cleaver thinks she’s some kind of action star?】 【LOL. Does she really think she can touch a hair on our Tristan’s head?】 The very next second, I moved. I didn’t charge him. I simply whipped my wrist, putting every ounce of my body weight into the throw, sending the heavy bone cleaver flying. The blade cut a terrifying arc through the air, whooshing with the speed of its passage. Its target was not Tristan, but the heavy wrought-iron and crystal fixture directly above his head. “CLANG!” A deafening, metallic snap. The fixture’s main chain was precisely severed. The massive chandelier, dragging countless glass shards and wires, CRASHED! Tristan reacted on pure instinct, rolling off the bed and scrambling sideways, narrowly evading the impact. But Maya, pinned beneath him, was not so lucky. I would never hurt my daughter. In the instant the chandelier fell, I shot forward, grabbed the paralyzed Maya off the bed, and pulled her tight against me, shielding her body with my own. “KABOOM!” The crystal light fixture obliterated the mattress, turning the soft bed into a chaos of pulverized glass, twisted metal, and springs. Several shards of glass sliced Tristan’s cheek and arm, leaving bright red trails. He stared, dumbfounded, at the wreckage. If he had been half a second slower, he would have been crushed. The entire room fell into a deathly silence. The Feed stopped entirely. After a full five seconds, a single line of text appeared, shaky and hesitant. 【…she’s… she’s psychotic… this mom is a stone-cold lunatic…】 I held my daughter, who was still shaking violently, and stood up from the wreckage. My eyes, cold and assessing, settled on Tristan. He was clutching his bleeding face, and for the first time, his expression was a raw mix of terror and disbelief. “You…” I cut him off. I walked over, picked up the largest shard of glass near his feet—its edge was sharp enough to reflect his ashen face. I knelt down, and with that deadly piece of glass, I lightly tapped his cheek. “Now,” I looked him directly in the eye, asking, word for word, “Can you hear me clearly?” Tristan’s lips trembled. He stared at the shard of glass, which was easily capable of slitting his throat, and couldn’t utter a single sound. The contempt and swagger in his eyes had evaporated. Only fear remained. The pure, paralyzing fear one feels when confronted by a superior predator. 2 Tristan scrambled away, practically crawling. He even forgot his designer high-tops. The Feed was a scene of collective grief and bewilderment. 【I swear! My yandere hero just got scared off like a puppy? Character assassination!】 【What in God’s name is this mom’s background? She’s brutal! I thought she was going to murder him right there.】 【NGL, that was kind of hot? Psycho vs. Psycho?】 I didn’t care about The Feed, nor did I bother to chase Tristan. I knew he would be back. A narcissist and obsessive like him, whose ego was his universe, would never accept this humiliation. He would return for an amplified, vicious revenge. I shut the broken door, wedged the heavy sofa against it, and turned to hold my still-shaking daughter. “It’s alright, Maya. You’re safe. Mom’s here.” Maya buried her face in my shoulder and burst into deep, heart-wrenching sobs. Her body was fluttering like a leaf in an autumn storm. “Mom… I’m so scared… He… he wasn’t like this…” I knew exactly what she meant. In the original narrative, Tristan first appeared as Maya’s “savior.” Because of my own supposed “high-pressure parenting,” Maya was shy and insecure. When she was bullied at school, Tristan stepped in to protect her. This created the foundation for her dependence and the first stirrings of a confused attraction. She had no idea that her “tormentors” had all been put up to it by Tristan himself. A perfectly orchestrated, self-directed act of heroism had stolen my daughter’s initial trust. “I know, baby,” I stroked her back, my voice impossibly soft. “I know everything. But I promise you, he will never hurt you again. I guarantee it.” After calming her down and ensuring she had locked herself securely in the room, I began my cleanup. First, I called the building management. I reported a home invasion and attempted robbery, stating the door was forced and the property damaged. I demanded security be dispatched immediately and all hallway surveillance footage be secured. Then, I dialed a number I hadn’t used in years. A lazy, smoky voice answered. “Well, well, if it isn’t Delaney Stone, the Great Litigator. Did you finally finish your merger case?” “Quinn, I need a favor. Now.” I went straight to the point. “Run a background check on someone: Tristan Kael. Seventeen, St. Jude’s Academy.” Quinn was a college friend, now a private investigator with a notorious reputation. “Tristan Kael?” Quinn chuckled. “Oh, I know that name. The Kael Group’s messy little bastard son. What did he do? Key your Lexus?” “He tried to assault my daughter.” The laugh vanished. Quinn’s voice hardened. “Send me the address. I’ll have every dirty little detail on him, from his first parking ticket to who he stole a lollipop from in kindergarten, within three days.” I hung up, staring out at the heavy night outside. My gaze was ice cold. The Feed was still drifting by in scattered lines. 【Investigating Tristan? Useless. The Kael family practically owns Portland. What can one small-time lawyer do?】 【Just wait for Tristan to come back with backup and settle this with the mother-daughter duo.】 【Yeah, put this mom in the dark room, too. Hehehe…】 I scoffed. You think this is over? You think I’ll be like the “evil mother” in your plot, relying only on useless methods like calling the police or complaining to the school? No. You underestimate me. You want a psychopath. You want forced love. You want a storyline that spirals out of control. Fine. I will give you a performance of utter, unhinged chaos. The very next morning, the school called. The principal’s voice was strained and frantic. “Mrs. Stone, you need to come in right now! Maya… something awful has happened!” My heart sank, but I kept my tone calm. “What exactly is going on?” “On the school forum… someone posted… some inappropriate pictures of Maya… The whole school is seeing them…” I ended the call, my eyes the temperature of liquid nitrogen. Tristan’s retaliation was faster and more vicious than I had anticipated. I arrived at St. Jude’s Academy to find Maya surrounded by a cluster of students in a classroom corner. They were pointing, whispering vile comments. “Hey, Maya, that’s you in the pictures, right? Didn’t realize you were such a freak.” “How wild do you get with the Campus King? Was it good?” Maya was clutching her backpack, her head bowed, her face paper-white and silent. I strode over and shoved the most aggressive boy standing in front. “Move.” My appearance silenced the immediate circle. The boy I pushed, one of Tristan’s lackeys, stumbled, turned, and glared at me. “Who the hell are you?” I ignored him. I walked straight to my daughter, took off my trench coat, and wrapped it around her, pulling her close into my arms. “Mom…” Maya’s tears immediately began to flow. “Don’t be scared,” I patted her back, then lifted my head, my eyes sweeping over the young, malicious faces surrounding us. “Who posted the pictures?” No one spoke. The boy I had pushed, Leo, scoffed. “Ma’am, your daughter’s the one who posed for them. Don’t try to play the innocent victim here.” I looked at him and smiled slowly. “Your name is Leo, correct?” The boy froze. “How… how do you know that?” “Leo Davis. Grade 11, Section C, Student ID 24. You were suspended last month for fighting at an off-campus club. Your father is a mid-level manager at City Planning, and your mother works at the department store. You’re currently pursuing a girl named Tiffany in the next class, and you stole three hundred dollars from your dad to buy her a designer bag, didn’t you?” Leo’s face completely changed. His arrogance dissolved into sheer terror. “You… you investigated me?!” The surrounding students started murmuring, their eyes now wary. I didn’t acknowledge his panic. I continued: “As for the photos, they’re synthetic. The Photoshop work is amateurish. Any forensic photo expert can tell. I have already contacted the police and my litigation team. You, and every single student who has made a derogatory comment on the forum, will be receiving a cease-and-desist letter within the hour.” “Defamation is a serious crime. Depending on the severity, it can carry a penalty of jail time. Since you are minors, you won’t be incarcerated, but the resulting felony record will follow you for life. Say goodbye to college applications, federal jobs, and any chance of a clean start.” My voice was low, but every word sliced through the tension. The students, who minutes ago had been so bold, now looked sickly pale. 【HOLY SHIT! This mom is a professional!】 【I take back everything! She’s not a puritan, she’s a predator!】 【LOL, these pathetic brats got a major reality check. They picked the wrong fight.】 I allowed myself a moment to appreciate their fear, then shifted my attention to the teacher hiding in the corner. “Ms. Williams,” I said, looking at the stunned principal. “As the homeroom teacher, my daughter has been subjected to severe bullying and slander in your class, and you stood by and watched. I believe I need to have a serious discussion with the District and the Board about your professional conduct.” The principal’s face turned the color of beet juice. Just then, an arrogant voice cut in from the doorway. “Oh, what a lively scene.” Tristan had arrived. He had a bandage on his cheek and a wrap on his arm. He swaggered in, trailed by a few large, menacing boys. His presence was a shot of confidence to the students, who immediately began to look less terrified. Tristan stopped in front of me, looking down with eyes full of pure malice and triumph. “Mrs. Stone, I told you you’d regret crossing me.” He smiled, utterly feral. “This is just the beginning. I will make your daughter unlivable in this city, completely destroy her name, and she will crawl back to me on her hands and knees.” He believed he had won. The Feed agreed. 【Tristan is dominant! We love this psycho-energy!】 【That’s right! When dealing with an annoying bitch, you use the nuclear option!】 I looked at him. And I smiled, too.

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Elias always said I had become “tamed” since our last explosive fight. I stopped calling him a dozen times a day to track his whereabouts and no longer begged him to come home early when he traveled. Even when I found a strange lipstick smudge in his jacket pocket, I never asked a single question. This morning, before he left for the office, he was clingier than usual, insisting I personally fix his tie. Before he walked out, he sent me a bank transfer with a note: “Sweetheart, I know you have that hospital appointment today. Keep this. Spend the rest on whatever you want.” I didn’t text back. I just hit ‘Accept.’ After all, the baby was his. He should certainly pay for the procedure. 1 Seeing my silence, Elias suddenly became anxious. That feeling of being unable to grasp me made him lose control. He grabbed my chin and brought his mouth down in a punishing, aggressive kiss—hard and fast. When he finally pulled away, he wasn’t satisfied, and he bit down on my lip hard enough for me to taste the metallic tang of blood before he released me. He buried his face in my neck, his arms locked tight around my waist, like a child afraid of losing warmth. A faint, cloying scent of cheap gardenia wafted over me. I frowned, the first expression I’d shown all morning. “Skye has been shadowing you for years now. How has she still not learned? That cheap perfume is beneath you, Elias.” Elias’s body stiffened. He let go of me. “She came from nothing, Finn. She doesn’t care about designer labels or fancy things.” I nodded, pretending to be reflective. “Or maybe she just doesn’t think they’re as valuable as the title of Mrs. Elias Beckett.” His expression hardened. He pressed his fingers against his temples, looking utterly exhausted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Skye and I are over. We’re just… family now. A brother-sister dynamic. Don’t overthink this, Seraphina.” Overthink? Two people who had slept together calling themselves “siblings.” Didn’t they feel ridiculous? I turned my head, pushed him away, grabbed my bag, and walked out the door. 2 The cold, sterile instruments scraped inside my body, a pain worse than I remembered. Yet, compared to the induced stillbirth three years ago, this was manageable. At least this time, I wasn’t contemplating a leap off the hospital roof. “Where is your man? Why is he letting you go through this alone?” The woman in the bed next to me saw me struggling to sit up and quickly reached for the nurse call button. “Don’t move, sweetie. Your color is terrible.” I glanced at the glass window, catching my reflection. My hair was damp, cold sweat streamed down my face. I looked like a ghost crawled out of a storm drain. “You need proper care after a procedure like this. Someone should be looking after you.” The woman continued to fuss. “You young people are so reckless. It’s so hard to conceive. You can’t just toss a baby aside.” The head nurse, who knew my history, gave the woman a sharp look, silencing her. Everyone here knew I’d nearly died after the stillbirth at seven months. I had been standing in the maternity ward three years ago, happily trying out names for our son, when I saw my husband escorting Skye Collins out of the doctor’s office. Skye, a charity case I’d put through college, was clutching a sonogram. What happened next is a blur. All I remember is screaming, clawing, and thrashing—a complete, unhinged lunatic. And Elias, my husband, was always, only, shielding the other woman. Until a pair of hands shoved me hard onto the cold floor. My vision was instantly washed in a blinding, bloody red. Amidst the nurses’ shocked shouts, I was rushed to surgery. One moment, the life inside me was kicking; the next, it was being scraped away, ripped apart, dissolving into a pool of fluid and flesh. My world had collapsed overnight. I had lost my son, my own flesh and blood, and I saw the true face of my husband. When I climbed onto the hospital’s rooftop ledge, Elias dragged Skye up to apologize. He smashed her head against the concrete, the sound sickeningly dull, until her forehead bled. Skye cried, confessing it had been a bluff—a fake sonogram—that she just wanted his attention. Elias followed suit, weeping, claiming it was a momentary lapse, a terrible mistake. A bluff? A mistake? What did that make my son’s life? They knelt there, one apologizing repeatedly, the other begging for forgiveness. The noise was maddening. Watching their mouths open and close, I felt only disgust. A thought rose from the depths of my gut: Why them? Why was it my child, and not them, who paid the price? As Elias dragged me down, I bit his arm with a desperate, savage fury, my eyes blazing with hate. Blood dripped down my chin. He was clearly in pain, cold sweat pouring down his face, but he didn’t dare pull away. He held me to him like he was terrified I would simply vanish into thin air. It was from that day on that I became “tame.” Compliant. Obedient. 3 The clock ticked past midnight. I used to dread these long, hollow nights. I’d always leave the lights on, stubbornly waiting for Elias to come home. If he didn’t answer my calls, I’d spiral, convinced something terrible had happened. Once, during a brutal storm, the news reported a major multi-car pile-up on his usual route. After twenty unanswered calls, I snatched my keys and rushed into the torrential rain. I drove to every lounge, every bar, every high-end club he frequented. I finally found his car, perfectly intact, parked outside a discreet, members-only establishment. When I burst into the private room, my hair was still dripping water onto the expensive carpet. Elias stripped off his blazer and wrapped it around me, a look of profound embarrassment flashing across his face. “What are you doing running out in your nightgown?” he snapped, his voice laced with annoyance. “Didn’t you even think to grab an umbrella?” His friends erupted in laughter. “Ooh, look, the little wifey came to check his leash!” “Is that your wife, Beckett? Her outfit is certainly… unique.” “Elias, my man, that’s rough. Your phone has been blowing up all night.” The mocking laughter made Elias’s face turn a darker shade of red. He shoved the car key into my hand. “Get home. You’re making a scene.” Making a scene. The words pierced my heart. I instinctively reached out to take his hand, but he violently flicked mine away. I stared at my empty fingertips, lost. The joy I’d felt at finding him safe was instantly drowned by that cold, relentless rain.

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The engagement party was in full swing, and when I walked into the yacht’s main salon after a short nap, the first thing I saw was my fiancé, Rhys, playing a stripping game with my best friend, Piper. Piper was down to a silk chemise—barely there—and was sitting brazenly on Rhys’s lap. I frowned, the heat rising in my chest. When I questioned him, Rhys was utterly dismissive. “Standard Texas Hold’em is a snooze, Scarlett. We decided to spice things up.” Piper offered a syrupy, sweet smile, her eyes glittering. “We’re just playing regular Hold’em, babe, with one little addition: the loser sheds a piece of clothing. It’s just game rules, darling. You don’t mind, do you?” I was about to respond, but Rhys cut me off, his expression suddenly icy. “Haven’t even walked down the aisle, and you’re already trying to manage me? Don’t start acting like the wife yet, Scarlett.” So, I simply nodded and walked toward the table, settling into an empty seat under the gaze of our entire social circle. “A card game, is it?” I said, shifting my gaze from Rhys. “Perfect. I’ve been looking for something to do.” Rhys furrowed his brow and stared at me. I met his eyes calmly. “Since I’m already here, I might as well play a hand or two.” 1 A brief, awkward silence fell over the salon. Everyone’s attention was fixed on me. Rhys offered a strained, almost tender smile. “Be a good girl, Scarlett. This isn’t the kind of game for you. Go back to your cabin.” “I’ll have Declan arrange a stop at the duty-free shop tomorrow. I’ll buy you that bag you wanted.” In the past, that gentle tone would have been enough to melt me. I’d have instantly forgotten my anger and done exactly what he said. But today, I simply offered a faint smile and stayed put. Piper blinked, trying to diffuse the growing tension. “Oh, darling, if you don’t like this game, we can definitely switch.” Yet, she made no effort to move from Rhys’s lap. Rhys let out a cold laugh, his face darkening as he looked at me. “Scarlett, the engagement party isn’t even over, and you’re already throwing a tantrum and trying to put me in check? Are you really that naive?” Everyone in our circle knew that Rhys Vance, the scion of the Vance empire, was a notorious player. But I was the only woman he had ever publicly acknowledged. I had followed him tirelessly for ten years, believing he would eventually tire of his games and finally settle down. This engagement was supposed to be my reward. Yet here he was, at our own celebration, publicly humiliating me. A bitter laugh caught in my throat, but I managed to meet his eyes and keep my composure. “It’s a game, Rhys. I can afford to play.” Piper leaned toward me conspiratorially. “That’s the spirit, babe! It’s all just for fun. Rhys is always saying I’m going to corrupt you because you’re usually so straight-laced.” I gave a cold inward smirk. Piper’s family was a nobody, a minor name in this social labyrinth. But she was sweet-talking, manipulative, and knew how to grovel, which had earned her a precarious spot among the ‘It Girls.’ I had tossed her scraps over the years—a friend for appearances. I just hadn’t expected her to have the gall to come after the main course. I offered her a soft, brittle smile, using the same fake sisterly tone we always used. “Don’t be silly, Piper. You think too much.” A few onlookers finally stirred, trying to smooth things over. Declan, a close friend of Rhys’s, spoke up. “Come on, it’s a long night. We might as well play a few hands.” He quickly glanced at me. “Scarlett, we didn’t know you played Hold’em. Good thing we have Rhys as the pro.” He winked at Rhys. “Tonight, you two can’t team up to clean us out.” Rhys didn’t humor him. He kept his hand firmly on Piper’s waist and shot me a chilling look. “Once you’re at the table, it’s all fair game. Either go back to bed now, or when you lose, don’t throw a childish fit.” The words were a physical blow to my heart. I forced a weak smile. Piper, sensing her advantage, giggled. She exchanged a look with Rhys that was far too intimate. “Hey, let’s raise the stakes! Besides the basic ante and the stripping rule, the winner of each hand gets to designate any one person at the table to do anything they want.” She paused, then added sweetly, “But let’s be gentle with Scarlett. She’s a newbie. Don’t be too mean to my baby.” The salon erupted in noisy agreement. “Perfect! If I win, I’ll make Rhys sign over that West Side property to me, haha!” “Dream on, man. No one beats Rhys.” “If I win, can I get a little quality time with the beautiful Miss Vance here?” Amidst the crude remarks, I slowly straightened my posture, reached for the rack beside me, and pushed a stack of chips into the pot. “Deal the cards.” The air in the cabin was thick with tension. Declan nervously volunteered to be the dealer. He pushed the chips to the center. “Bets are on.” Rhys, leaning back lazily with Piper still draped across him, threw out a chip without even looking at his cards. “Raise.” Piper followed with a flirtatious giggle, practically melting into his chest. I peeked at my cards. Nothing spectacular. When the action reached me, I pushed out the equivalent stack without hesitation. “Ooh, Scarlett’s serious tonight!” someone cheered. I gave a slight tug at my lips. “Just having a little fun.” The first three community cards came out, but the board remained unthreatening. After a few more rounds of betting, the chips piled up. Rhys seemed bored. He started increasing his bets with a calculated, arrogant pace, clearly intending to dominate. Piper kept pace with him, throwing me a look of pure challenge. “Keep up, darling? Or should you fold now and save yourself the trouble?” I squeezed the two cards in my hand until my knuckles were white. I knew I was behind; Rhys likely had a strong hand. He was waiting for me to back down, to show the weakness he had always expected, so he could ‘graciously’ forgive my ‘misbehavior.’ My heart felt like a frozen, barren landscape. I watched the pair across from me—the intimacy in their posture, the casual way Rhys’s hand rested on Piper’s exposed thigh. “Call.” My voice was flat and steady as I pushed another stack forward. Rhys raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. The fourth community card didn’t change my position. My heart sank further. “All in,” Rhys said, his voice level, sweeping his entire stack of chips into the center. A collective gasp swept through the room. The pressure instantly shifted to me. I had only a handful of chips left. To call meant putting absolutely everything on the line. Piper covered her mouth, a false note of concern in her laugh. “Babe, don’t. Rhys is just being nice. He doesn’t want you to lose too badly.” All eyes were on me. The whispers were deafening. “What is Scarlett thinking? Why is she trying to embarrass Rhys?” “She’s loved him forever. Now that she has the ring, she thinks she can finally put him on a leash. Idiot.” “Rhys Vance will never be domesticated.” I clenched my right fist. Since Rhys had rescued me from a group of street thugs when I was fourteen, I had walked his path. I ignored the sneers and the gossip. All I cared about was Rhys. But tonight, at my own engagement party, why did I suddenly feel like I couldn’t play his game anymore? “I call.” I cleared the rest of my chips. Showdown. Rhys revealed two pair. I had nothing but scattered cards. “Hmph,” he scoffed softly, his expression unreadable. Piper let out a delighted shriek. “I have a small straight! I win!” She looked at me, a wolf beneath a lamb’s wool. “A bet’s a bet, darling. Strip one piece.” The salon fell silent, save for the hum of the engine and the splash of waves. Rhys merely glanced at me, completely silent. My face was pale. Without a word, I slipped off my blazer. Declan breathed a sigh of relief. “Alright, let’s keep going, everyone!” “Wait a minute,” Piper interjected. She drew out the words slowly, like a cat toying with a mouse. “If I remember correctly, I was the winner of that pot. And according to the rules, I get to designate someone to do anything I want, right?” No one spoke. The atmosphere was turning poisonous. “Then I designate Scarlett…” Piper’s voice was low, but clear enough for everyone to hear. “That’s right. Grant, in the corner, said he wanted to finally get to know our stunning Scarlett. So, Scarlett, I designate you to give Grant a kiss.” She pointed a finger at a corner where a known social parasite, Grant, sat—a man who’d been trying to get close to me for years, but always kept his distance out of respect for Rhys. I snapped my head up and looked at Rhys. His face was thunderous, but he said nothing. The salon was dead quiet. Even Grant looked stunned. Declan frantically tried to signal Piper. “Haha, maybe we’ve all had a bit too much to drink tonight, huh?” Piper ignored him, a mocking smile playing on her lips. “What? We all play these kinds of games, don’t we? Scarlett’s always been such a good girl. But she’s engaged now! What’s she afraid of?” The tension solidified until Rhys’s voice cut through the air. “A deal is a deal. Scarlett, you played the game. Now pay the price.” His simple sentence was a poison-tipped dagger plunged directly into my heart. He could tolerate Piper sitting on his lap. He could watch impassively as I was forced to shed my clothes. And now, he was actively pushing me into another man’s arms, forcing me to endure this violation. A terrible, cold clarity washed over me. I looked at his handsome, yet utterly indifferent face, and it was the face of a stranger. Numbly, like a marionette, I walked toward Grant and, under the collective, scrutinizing gaze of the room, pressed a brief, cold kiss onto his slick cheek. The silence was so absolute I could hear the sea slapping against the hull. I straightened up, my eyes burning but refusing to spill a single tear. “Satisfied?” Piper hesitated for a fraction of a second, then gave a delighted laugh. “Of course! My baby always plays fair.” Declan immediately jumped in. “Alright, alright, Scarlett, you look tired. Why don’t you head back to your room?” I took a deep breath. I didn’t move. I slowly returned to the poker table and sat down. “No. I’m playing another round.” My gaze swept over Rhys and finally locked onto Piper. I smiled, but there was no warmth in it. I had sheltered a treacherous animal. “That last hand,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Piper won the pot and exercised her right to set a challenge. Correct?” I leaned forward. “Now, I have a proposition for you, Piper. Just the two of us. Are you willing to play one final, high-stakes game?” Piper looked confused, then burst into a condescending laugh. “You? Play me? What stakes could possibly interest me?” “Texas Hold’em, head-to-head. But we raise the ante.” “You’ve always coveted my boutique resort, haven’t you? The one near Aspen? If you win, it’s yours. Deed signed over immediately.” I paused, looking directly at her, emphasizing every word. “If you lose, you strip to your skin, you get off this table, and you get the hell off Rhys’s lap.” The salon erupted. Piper’s face instantly lost its color. She instinctively glanced at Rhys for protection. Rhys was frowning deeply. He finally addressed me, his tone laced with a severe warning. “Scarlett, stop this nonsense!” But Piper, fueled by greed and my provocation, snapped back. “Fine! I’ll take that bet! But just leaving the table is too easy. If I lose, I’ll stay at least ten feet away from Rhys for the rest of the night. But if you lose, the Aspen resort is mine, and you will personally apologize and pour me a drink.” “Agreed,” I said, without missing a beat. Declan tried to interject one last time, but seeing the venomous glare between us, he reluctantly dealt the cards. The table was cleared; only Piper and I remained in the game. Rhys watched, his expression cold and furious, but he did not participate. The first three community cards were dealt. The board was innocuous. Piper’s eyes glittered with open contempt—the wary submissiveness she once showed me was completely gone. She was certain of her victory. When the fourth community card came out, she pushed all her chips to the center. “All in, Scarlett. Call, or forfeit and pour the drink now!” Rhys spoke up, a final trace of impatience in his voice. “Scarlett, enough is enough…” “I call.” I cut him off smoothly, pushing my remaining chips into the pot. Showdown. Piper flipped her cards: a pair of Kings. Combined with the board, she had a strong Three of a Kind. A smug, triumphant smile spread across her face. Declan hesitantly flipped my cards. His voice was laced with pity. “Scarlett, you have an Ace and a Queen…” “A high-card hand…” The sneers from the onlookers were immediate and loud. “Scarlett is insane. I’d be mortified.” “First time I’ve ever seen someone try to mark her territory only to humiliate herself further.” Piper covered her mouth with her hand, a gleeful look in her eyes. “Betting like that is a rookie mistake, darling. Now, a bet is a bet.” She kicked a bottle of champagne on the table with her high-heeled shoe, the gesture heavy with scorn. “It’ll be an honor to drink a toast poured by the great Scarlett Vance herself.” I took a deep, steadying breath. “I understand. A bet is a bet.” I stood up, walked to the bar under their mocking stares, and began pouring the drinks. Rhys, who had been silent for what felt like an eternity, finally spoke, his voice heavy with contempt. “Scarlett, are you not done humiliating yourself yet?” For the next hour, everyone on the yacht knew. Scarlett, the future Mrs. Vance, had tried to assert herself on the night of her engagement party. A novice gambler, she had played like a stubborn addict and lost everything she had bet. Most people around the table had shed a few layers. I was down to the final piece of clothing: a form-fitting, scarlet dress. It had been my secret, tender choice for the night—the dress I had hoped Rhys would gently take off me at the peak of our happiness. That day would never come. My hand, holding the liquor bottle, trembled slightly. My eyes burned, but I held back the tears. Ten years, from the age of fourteen until now. I finally had my closure. And he had given it to me in the most brutal, humiliating way possible. “Rhys,” I said, my voice regaining its clarity. “I still don’t think the stakes are high enough. Since we are in international waters, why don’t we try one last, truly spectacular game?” He frowned. “What new disaster are you planning now?” I met his gaze, my eyes devoid of emotion. “I have only this one dress left. So, I will bet my last hand. And I will bet every remaining asset under my name.” The words caused a shockwave. Rhys’s eyes instantly sharpened. He straightened up, finally giving me his full attention. “Scarlett. Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” I gave him a faint, chilling smile. “Perfectly clear.” “If I win, you will agree to one thing. And you and her…” I pointed at Piper and then to the smooth, black expanse of the ocean visible from the deck. “You will jump off my yacht and swim the rest of the way home.” A stunned silence. The yacht had been cruising for hours. To jump into the freezing, deep sea now was potentially fatal. Piper shrieked, “You’re crazy!” I stood my ground. “Are you afraid, Piper? That’s a fortune you’ll never see again.” Piper swallowed hard, her eyes flickering with lust for the money. Rhys gave a humorless laugh. “Whatever assets you can put up, I’ll match. But if you lose, you swim home. Scarlett, I gave you too many chances. You forced your way to this.” The dealer began to deal. This time, neither Rhys nor I looked at our cards. We kept raising, matching each other’s escalating bets. Piper eventually folded after three rounds, unable to handle the pressure. It was just Rhys and me. Declan’s voice was dry as he read out the final river card. The board was set. Rhys stared me down. “Scarlett, concede now. I’ll pretend you were drunk and throwing a fit. I’ll take your assets and manage them for you, but we’ll forget the jump.” I said nothing. I only reached out and slowly, deliberately, flipped over my two hole cards. The Ten of Diamonds, and the Jack of Diamonds. The community cards revealed: The Ace of Diamonds, the King of Hearts, the Queen of Spades, the Eight of Clubs, and the final, decisive card—The Queen of Diamonds. When that final card was revealed, Declan gasped, his eyes wide. The cold smile on Rhys’s face froze solid. He shot up from his seat. “That’s impossible!”

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Four years of college dating. Three years of marriage. And then, on a Tuesday that was aggressively ordinary, Grant dropped the bomb. I asked him why, my voice trembling in a way I hated. His response was terrifyingly calm, a CEO firing an underperforming intern. “You live in sweatpants, Nora. Your hair is always in that same messy bun. You refuse to wear makeup when I take you to client dinners. And our anniversary? It’s always the same homemade spaghetti.” He adjusted his cufflinks, looking through me. “I am done with this repetitive, beige existence.” That night, we slept in separate rooms. We didn’t speak. And neither of us noticed the pilot light on the vintage gas stove in the kitchen had flickered out, while the gas kept running. The explosion took the house, and us, instantly. When I woke up—alive, breathing, and inexplicably back in time—I realized Grant had come back too. We never spoke of it. We just severed ties with a silent, mutual efficiency. Until the high school reunion. He walked in with his arm around a girl named Sienna, looking like the poster couple for Town & Country. “Nora,” my friend Jess nudged me, wine glass tilting dangerously. “Grant’s dated half the cheerleading squad since graduation. Why haven’t you found anyone?” I smiled, swirling the ice in my water. “Who says I haven’t? I’m getting married next month. You should come.” 1 The words had barely left my lips when Grant guided Sienna to our table. The air in the room shifted. A dozen pairs of eyes darted between us like we were a spectator sport. Three years ago, we were the golden couple, the prom king and queen who actually made it. Then, post-graduation silence. I stared at the tablecloth, trying to make myself small. Of all the empty seats in the banquet hall, Sienna pulled Grant into the ones directly next to me. The tension was thick enough to choke on. The class president, trying to salvage the mood, raised a pitcher of beer. “Alright, gang’s all here! Let’s do a round!” He moved to fill the glass in front of me. “She’s allergic to alcohol. She can’t drink that.” Grant’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and instinctive. The table went dead silent. Everyone knew about my severe intolerance; it was a defining trait of my college years. Grant cleared his throat, realizing his slip. He grabbed his own glass and downed it, a frown etching lines into his forehead. Beside him, Sienna’s smile faltered, brittle as dried leaves. She laughed, a high, forced sound. “Oh, silly me. I almost forgot Grant was talking about me,” she lied, clinging to his arm. “My immune system has been so weak lately; the doctor said alcohol might trigger a reaction.” The table erupted in polite, awkward laughter, making jokes about Grant being such a protective boyfriend. I felt a wave of exhaustion. “Excuse me,” I said, standing up. “Restroom.” I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the past. When I stepped back into the hallway, Grant was there, leaning against the wall, a cigarette burning between his fingers. Seeing me, he immediately crushed the cigarette against the sole of his shoe. He stared at the smoldering butt, freezing for a second. I hated smoke. In our old life, Grant never smoked around me. If he indulged, he would stand outside on the porch for thirty minutes, letting the wind strip the scent away before coming near me. I loved him then. I felt nothing now. I tried to walk past him without a glance, but his hand shot out, gripping my wrist. He leaned in, the smell of tobacco and expensive cologne invading my space. “Nora. Did you hear I was coming? Is that why you’re here?” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “What? Want to try again?” I yanked my hand away, looking at him with genuine amusement. “Grant, you are hallucinating.” He took a half-step back but blocked my path, his jaw tight. “Fine. Better that way. Saves me the trouble of rejecting you. By the way, I heard you’re working at City General. I’m surprised. I didn’t think you had it in you to actually hold down a job.” I ignored the barb. I’d heard it all before in our first life. During our worst fights, he called me a parasite. He said I’d die without him, that I was just a pet he kept fed and housed. “Grant?” Sienna’s voice echoed from the banquet hall. “Where are you? We’re leaving!” Grant didn’t say another word. He turned on his heel and walked away. 2 The second time I saw Grant was strictly professional. His conglomerate was donating a fleet of MRI machines to our hospital. In the conference room, I stood by the projection screen, my voice steady as I ran through the hospital’s history and accolades. Grant sat in the front row, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the mahogany table. The Chief of Staff called his name twice before he blinked, snapping out of a trance. His eyes had been fixed on my face, clouded with a strange confusion. “Must be Dr. Vance’s captivating presentation,” the Chief joked nervously. People chuckled. The tension broke. When the meeting ended, I exhaled a breath I felt I’d been holding for an hour. My only goal was to escape. “Nora,” the Department Head intercepted me at the door. “Dinner tonight with the donors. Mandatory attendance.” That evening, I tried to slide into the seat furthest from the head of the table at the steakhouse. “Sit here.” Grant’s voice wasn’t a request. He pulled out the chair directly next to him, his eyes locking onto mine. The room went quiet for a heartbeat. “I want to hear more about the hospital’s logistics,” he added slowly, daring me to contradict him. “Dr. Vance wouldn’t mind, would she?” He had cornered me. The Department Head practically shoved me into the chair, signaling me with frantic eyes to play nice. I sat, stiff as a board, every nerve ending screaming run. Halfway through the meal, a serving spoon hovered over my plate. A large scoop of lobster risotto landed in front of me. “I remember you love lobster risotto,” Grant said, his voice dropping to that intimate register again. “This place has the best in Chicago. Eat.” I stared at the creamy rice, the chunks of rich meat. A sudden sting pricked my nose. Not for him. For me. I hated lobster. I hated the texture. But Grant loved it. So, for seven years, it became our favorite. Just like I stopped eating fish because he disliked the smell, even though I grew up by the coast. Grant didn’t know me. He only knew the reflection of himself he had forced me to become. I didn’t pick up my fork. Under the table, a warm hand covered mine. It felt like a branding iron. I jerked up, my chair screeching against the floorboards. Clatter. My sudden movement knocked the silverware off the table. The room froze. Everyone stared. I pressed my lips together, fighting the tremor in my voice. “I apologize. I’m not feeling well. I need to go.” And then, I fled. 3 In the back of the Uber, I scrubbed the back of my hand with a wet wipe until the skin turned raw and red. It stung, but the physical pain was better than the nausea rolling in my stomach. The moment I walked into my apartment, an unknown number flashed on my phone screen. I swiped answer. Grant’s voice filled the quiet room, sounding slightly unhinged. “Nora. You still feel it, don’t you?” He sounded so sure of himself. “If you didn’t, why did you freak out tonight?” I hadn’t eaten all day, and my stomach was cramping violently. I didn’t have the energy to scream. “Grant. I am married.” A scoff cracked through the speaker. Pure derision. “Married? At least come up with a believable lie. Who else could possibly give you the life you want?” “You think that hospital salary is going to buy you a brownstone in the Gold Coast? You think you’ll be wearing designer silk on a resident’s pay?” “Admit it, Nora. You’re just punishing me for not calling you sooner.” “But you didn’t call me either, did you?” I let out a dry, incredulous laugh, digging through my drawer for my stomach meds. “Grant, when two adults don’t speak for years, that’s called a breakup.” “I am asking you, for the last time, stay out of my life.” I hung up, tossed the phone onto the sofa, and dry-swallowed two pills. I lay back, closing my eyes, waiting for the silence to heal me. 4 The next morning, the stomach cramps had faded to a dull ache, but my head was pounding. The door to my exam room swung open. Grant walked in, guiding Sienna. I didn’t even blink. I put on my doctor face. “What seems to be the problem?” Sienna leaned into Grant’s chest, giggling softly. “Doctor, I’ve been so nauseous lately. Throwing up in the mornings.” I wrote out a lab slip without looking up. “Go to the lab. Get a blood draw.” An hour later, I held the results. My voice was clinical, devoid of emotion. “You’re pregnant.” Sienna’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. She grabbed Grant’s bicep. “Grant! Did you hear? We’re having a baby!” Grant didn’t look at her. His eyes were laser-focused on me, burning with intensity. I ignored him, going through the standard script about prenatal vitamins and scheduling the next ultrasound. “Do you have any questions?” I asked, picking up my pen. “Get rid of it,” Grant said. Sienna’s smile shattered. Tears welled up instantly. “What? Grant, why? Why don’t you want our baby?” Grant’s voice was flat, final. “I said no. That means no. There is no ‘why’.” Sienna followed his gaze. She looked at him, then at me. The realization hit her like a physical blow. “It’s her, isn’t it? Grant, look at me! Is it because of this bitch?” “You broke up years ago! I am your girlfriend!” Grant frowned, annoyed by the scene. “Now isn’t the right time for a child. I need to focus on the merger.” “Lies! It’s all lies!” Sienna screamed, lunging across the desk. Rrrrip. She snatched the medical file from my hands and tore it in half. Paper rained down like confetti. “You whore! Did you seduce him? Is that why he won’t touch me? Is that why he wants to kill my baby?” Smack! The slap caught me off guard. My glasses flew off my face, skittering across the tile floor. One lens shattered. My ear rang with a high-pitched whine. Grant’s face went pale. He grabbed Sienna, pulling her into a hug, his voice dropping to a soothing murmur. “Okay, okay. Calm down. It’s bad for the baby.” “If you want it that much, fine. Keep it.” He wrapped his arm around the sobbing woman and turned to leave. “Stop.” They froze. I bent down, picked up my broken frames, and placed them on the desk. Then, looking straight at them, I picked up the landline and dialed 911. 5 The police station was a drab gray box fluorescent-lit and smelling of stale coffee. Grant sat on a bench, holding Sienna, whispering comforts. I sat alone on the opposite side. My left cheek was swollen, pulsing with heat. I ran my tongue over a cut inside my mouth, tasting copper. An officer walked over, looking weary. “Ma’am, if you don’t accept mediation and insist on pressing charges, Ms. Miller could be facing assault charges. It’s a serious offense.” Sienna heard this and dissolved into theatrics, clutching Grant’s lapels. “Grant, I’m scared… it was just hormones… I didn’t mean it…” Grant patted her back, then looked at me. His eyes were cold, filled with the arrogance of a man who had never been told ‘no’. “Name your price, Nora. How much to make this go away?” I tried to speak, but my jaw ached. He hadn’t changed. Not one bit. When you amused him, you were a queen. When you inconvenienced him, you were debris. I looked him in the eye. “I don’t settle.” Grant sighed, like a parent dealing with a toddler’s tantrum. “Nora, don’t push it.” “It was one slap. Take the check and stop making a scene.” “I don’t want your money,” I said, enunciating every syllable. “I am pressing charges. I will not forgive this.” Grant’s jaw tightened. He pulled out his phone and speed-dialed his legal team. His lawyer arrived in twenty minutes—a shark in a three-thousand-dollar suit. He started listing reasons why a “simple misunderstandings” shouldn’t ruin a young mother’s life. Then my phone rang. It was the Department Head. “Nora! You need to drop this immediately. Make peace with Mr. Lockwood. If you don’t, consider your tenure review cancelled. In fact, consider your job gone.” It was Grant’s move. Threatening my livelihood. “Fine,” I said into the phone. “I quit.” Ten minutes later, the station doors burst open. The Head of HR and two administrators from the hospital stormed in. “Dr. Vance!” The HR director barked. “You are causing a PR nightmare! People are saying you’re a homewrecker who got into a brawl with a pregnant patient!” “Our stock dropped two points! If you don’t settle this and issue a public apology, we will sue you for breach of contract and damages. We’ll ruin you!” I stood there, surrounded, the walls closing in. Then, a voice cut through the chaos from the entrance. “I’d like to see you try.”

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The year I lost my scholarship to the Ivy League, my life derailed. I ended up effectively common-law married to the bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks who had been chasing me since junior year. Our life was fraying at the edges, poor but, I told myself, happy. My best friend, however, was living a different reality. She married into the Beaumont family—old money, private jets, the kind of wealth that whispers rather than shouts. She was their princess. If she texted, “My boss looked at me wrong today,” the company would be acquired and liquidated by noon the next day. While I was standing in a bodega in Queens, arguing with the owner over fifty cents for bruised produce, my best friend received a Hamptons beachfront estate worth millions just because her husband missed the clock striking twelve on her birthday. Their fairy-tale romance was viral fodder. #RelationshipGoals trended every time she posted. The world watched with envy. I watched too. But I wasn’t jealous. Not really. Until the day Declan and I were scheduled to go to City Hall for the tenth time to finally sign the papers. And for the tenth time, he vanished. Something about “old debts” and “guys from the neighborhood” coming to collect. At that exact moment, Sienna’s Instagram updated. He says the debt he owed her is finally paid. From this moment on, I am his only love. The photo showed her hand interlaced with the heir to the Beaumont empire. And on the man’s index finger sat a ring. A ring I had designed. 1 “Lady, are you buying the scallions or not? You’re holding up the line.” “I just… I buy here every day,” I said, my voice tight. “Can’t you knock off the fifty cents?” “Nora, look at you. You dress like you’re somebody, but you haggle like a beggar. Careful, or that man of yours is gonna trade you in.” Shame, hot and prickling, climbed up my neck. I grabbed the scallions, waving my hand dismissively. “Forget it. Keep the change.” As I walked away, I heard the mutter behind me. “Broke as a joke but acts like a queen. Probably stole that dress.” My grip tightened on the plastic bag. It was the bodega owner who had overcharged me, but I was the one being villainized. I wanted to scream. But then I remembered the date. Let it go, I told myself. Today is the day. City Hall. Finally. I was generous today. I was happy. My phone buzzed. My smile collapsed before I even answered. “Nora… I can’t make it. We have to reschedule.” Declan’s voice was breathless, rushing through a litany of excuses. He said he’d run into some heavy hitters from his past, guys he owed money to. He had to lay low for a day or two. “Stay safe, babe. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll cook that pasta you like when I get back.” His voice dissolved into static and wind. I stood on the cracked pavement, the noise of the city fading into a dull roar. The disappointment I had swallowed so many times before—forced down like dry bread—suddenly swelled in my throat, choking me. My hands went cold. “Nora? You there?” “Declan,” I said, my voice sounding hollow, like it was coming from someone else. “This is the tenth time. Ten times you’ve left me standing at the altar because of some street beef.” “I know, I’m sorry… Nora, I’m useless. I know I am. I can’t give you the life you deserve. I’m trash.” “I promise, I’ll be back tonight.” The line went dead before I could respond. Simultaneously, a notification slid down my screen: Vivi_Sienna just posted a photo. Sienna was my “ride or die.” We had a pact: whenever she posted, I was the first like, the first comment. I was the Maid of Honor in spirit, if not in proximity. I opened the app. There she was, holding a marriage license, beaming, nestled into a man’s chest. The backdrop was the glittering skyline of Victoria Harbour in Hong Kong, viewed from a penthouse that probably cost more than my entire lifetime of earnings. The caption: My puppy has paid his debts to that woman. Finally, he’s just mine. <3 The comments were in a frenzy. Omg, finally! True love wins! I’ve followed this saga for years. He treats you like a queen! If it wasn’t for that evil woman getting in the way, they would have been together ages ago. I was about to double-tap out of habit when my eyes locked onto the man in the photo. Specifically, his hand. The world went silent. The traffic, the shouting pedestrians—it all just stopped. Impossible. I zoomed in. My fingers trembled so hard the screen blurred. I zoomed closer. On the ring, barely visible, was an engraving: The Little Prince and the initials DB. My blood turned to slush. I had designed that ring. It was a custom commission. The Little Prince and the Rose. Because when Declan proposed—with a ring pop, back then—he had said, "Nora, there are a million roses in the world, but I only want you." I had saved for months to have that silver band made. There was only one in existence. In my shock, my thumb slipped. I liked the photo. Before I could undo it, Sienna’s name flashed on my incoming call screen. "Nora! You finally remembered your bestie!" Her voice was champagne bubbles and sugar. "My boyfriend... oh wait, my husband finally agreed to sign the papers. I am officially Mrs. Beaumont." I forced the muscles in my face to work. "Congratulations. You got what you wanted." "Nora, you sound weird. Did Declan upset you again? I swear, I’ll fly back and kick his—" "No," I cut her off. "Just a cold. Sore throat." She didn’t push. She launched into her usual monologue about the Beaumont heir. She told me how last week, he heard her mention the elevator was jittery, so he walked down forty flights of stairs with her, abandoning a multi-million dollar merger meeting just to hold her hand. How he tracked her cycle and stocked the Bentley with heating pads and chocolate. "Oh!" she chirped. "Declan told me you guys were supposed to go to City Hall today too. Lucky bastard, locking you down." "Anyway, I’m coming to see you tonight. We need to celebrate. Drinks on me." She hung up before I could say no. I stood on the corner, feeling the wind cut through my coat. My heart felt like it had been sliced open, cold air rushing into the wound. The crosswalk signal changed. Walk. Don’t Walk. Walk. I stepped off the curb. A motorcycle roared past, cutting the corner, splashing a wave of gutter sludge all over me. I froze. My white dress—my "City Hall" dress—was ruined. Brown, oily water dripped from my hair, my face, my hem. It looked exactly like my relationship with Declan. Spotted, dirty, ruined. "Watch where you're going, psycho!" the rider yelled. The dam broke. I didn't cry; I wailed. I stood in the middle of a Queens intersection and sobbed. "Hey! Watch your mouth!" I screamed back, wiping sludge and tears from my eyes. "Are you in a rush to die? You think you're tough on that piece of junk bike?" My voice cracked, but the rage was pure. I sounded feral. "You crazy b—" The rider started, but he saw the look in my eyes. I looked like I had nothing left to lose. Because I didn't. "Come on! Hit me! Do it!" They muttered curses and sped off, unnerved by my hysteria. I walked home, dripping. I didn't shower. I sat on the sagging sofa in my ruined dress and scrolled through Sienna’s Instagram. Ten years. We had been friends for ten years. I scrolled back to high school. There was a photo of the three of us. We looked so young. Declan was holding my hand, but his eyes... his eyes were locked on Sienna, who was making a funny face at the camera. The look on his face was pure adoration. It was like a knife twisting in my gut. I was the idiot. The third wheel who didn't know she was the third wheel. We were supposed to go to college together. But the day the SAT scores came back, I had tanked. Me, the valedictorian. I had fallen asleep during the exam. Sienna had cried when she found out. She wanted to march to the school board. I refused. I remembered falling asleep. It was my fault. She went off to a prestigious university and met her "True Love," the Beaumont heir. I stayed behind. My mother tried to marry me off to a landlord twice my age to settle her gambling debts. Declan saved me. He showed up with ten thousand dollars—money he said he borrowed from loan sharks—and bought my freedom. I remember my mother counting the bills, licking her thumb, not even looking at me as I lay on the floor, bruised and broken. Declan took me away. We lived a fugitive life, running from his "debts." He was good to me. If I craved sweets at 2 AM, he’d take his beat-up bike and find them. If we fought, he always apologized first. The only thing missing was the marriage license. Every time we tried, disaster struck. A storm. A breakdown. A "vengeful creditor." He told me the debt was the reason. He was protecting me. I scrolled further down Sienna’s feed. September 15th. “Nora, the guy I like finally confessed!” she had told me over the phone, weeping. “But he says he owes a debt to another woman. He says he has to pay her back before he can be with me honorably. What do I do?” I had been so angry on her behalf. I told her that man was trash for stringing her along. I even cursed the "other woman" for being an obstacle. Sienna had laughed then. A strange, dark laugh. "Nora, you are so silly. But I think he really loves me. He flew ten hours just to see me." That was the same day as my two-year anniversary with Declan. He had stood me up. Said he had a job interview out of state. It was all there. The breadcrumbs were boulders, and I had been blind. Sienna posted photos of the "Beaumont Heir," but never his face. A jawline. A hand. A clavicle. I pieced it together. The scar on the thumb. The shape of the ear. Declan was the Beaumont heir. My mechanic boyfriend, the "school failure," was the Prince of New York. I laughed. A dry, hacking sound in the empty apartment. I pulled a hidden pack of cigarettes from a shoebox. Declan hated girls who smoked. I didn't like it either, but sometimes the stress of poverty was too much, and I needed the nicotine to breathe. I lit one, coughing as the smoke hit my lungs. I wasn't a difficult person. If he had just said, "I don't love you," I would have walked away. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't used in years. "Mr. Grant? Does your sister still need the bone marrow transplant?" "She does," a deep, steady voice answered. "I'll do it. But I have a condition." "Name it." "Send me to school. Abroad. Cover my tuition." "Done." When Declan finally came home, the tears were dry on my face. The apartment smelled like stale smoke. He frowned, sweeping the cigarette butts into a pile. He gently took the unlit one from my fingers. He didn't scold me. He just pulled me into a hug. I looked up at the flickering ceiling light. "Declan, the bulb needs changing." "Mmm," he hummed against my hair. I had asked him last week. He forgot. It wasn't just the light that was broken. He was so busy lately. Living two lives must be exhausting. I pulled away. He looked handsome, even in his faded denim jacket. High cheekbones, deep eyes. The poverty was a costume, and he wore it well. "Still mad at me?" He smiled, that charming, lopsided grin that used to make my knees weak. He nuzzled my neck. "Declan," I said calmly. "You're dirty." He froze. Panic flickered in his eyes before he saw the mud on my dress. He relaxed, visibly relieved. "Right. The mud. I'll wash it for you, okay? I'll make it pristine." He was so good at playing the role. He hand-washed my cheap underwear. He ate spicy food he hated because I loved it. I couldn't reconcile this man with the one on the yacht with Sienna. When Sienna arrived an hour later, Declan was hanging my laundry. She burst in with a six-pack of beer. Declan’s face went cold. "Nora is allergic to alcohol. Watch yourself, Sienna." "Oh, shut up. Nora can drink you under the table. We used to work at that dive bar together, remember? I saved your little Nora once. You should be thanking me." She remembered. We were the tragic heroines of our own story back then. Her father was a gambler; my mother was a monster. We bonded over our emptiness. One night, I was cornered in the bar. She stood in front of me, terrified but screaming that she’d called the cops. The owner made us drink a bottle of whiskey each to leave. She almost died of alcohol poisoning. That girl... that brave girl... how did she become this? Why did it have to be her? Sienna pushed past him. "Nora! Let’s get wasted!" Declan started to intervene, but I shook my head. He mouthed, Be careful. It’s your time of the month. My heart spasmed. Pain, sharp and physical. I wished he was just a villain. It would be easier if he didn't care. But he cared in the details, while destroying me in the macro. Sienna got drunk fast. She slumped onto my lap, mumbling about our old promises. "Nora... we said we'd marry brothers... so we'd never be apart... live in the same house..." I stroked her hair. We did marry the same man, didn't we? She fell asleep, her face flushed and innocent. My fingers traced the delicate line of her throat. I could hurt her. It would be so easy. Why? Why you? Why him? The two people I loved most in the world.

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When I found Ashton, he was a wreck—a boy built on the fragile foundation of a fugitive father, a dead mother, a sister everyone seemed to want a piece of, and his own raw, shattered self. Yet, he stood there, somehow, utterly untouchable, aloof as a young cypress in the snow. I extended my hand. I lifted him out of the grime and into my world. The small-time bullies who cornered him in the lavatory? Their fathers’ businesses folded within the week. “Why are you doing all this for me?” The high-altitude flower, his eyes stained crimson, knelt before me. I simply smiled. “Because I like you.” Ashton froze, his ears burning a fierce red. It wasn’t fast, but over time, he let me in. He brought me a bouquet of blue roses. “They say the Montgomery Heiress loves cultivating flowers,” he’d said, his voice quiet. “A gift for you.” Then Skylar showed up. She was wearing my custom-fit, silk crepe dress from Kingsbury Atelier and the newest high-jewelry piece from my private vault. “I… I don’t belong in clothes like this,” she murmured. Ashton pulled her tight. “Yes, you do. You belong with the best things this world has to offer.” My gaze drifted over their intertwined, branded selves. A slight smile pulled at the corner of my mouth. My little project. The precious hothouse bloom I’d cultivated was now using my own resources to nurture his own. 1 The faint, rhythmic sound of the custom wheelchair wheels gliding across the stone patio jolted the intimate moment. Ash spun around. Our eyes met—his frantic, mine placid. He was beside me in two long strides, kneeling, taking my hands to transfer his warmth. “It’s too breezy out here, Gigi. Why did you leave the sunroom?” I glanced past him to Skylar, who gripped the hem of her expensive, borrowed skirt, hands hanging stiffly at her sides. I looked back at him. “You promised me those fresh floral pastries. Couldn’t find you, so I came to look.” A faint smile reached his eyes. He reached up, stroking my cheek—a move I allowed, though it was always slightly too intimate, slightly out of bounds. “Already baked, love. See? I knew you were just being impatient.” Today was my birthday. It wasn’t a massive affair, but a small, exclusive gathering at the beach villa. The guest list included my circle—the people I actually liked. Ashton was one of the few who’d been allowed to break the social barrier. And Skylar? She was uninvited. I watched the cloud of worry pass between them. Sure enough, Ash pulled Skylar forward. “This is the gift Skylar prepared for you, Gigi.” Skylar looked miserable. “I hope you like it, Miss Montgomery.” I took the brooch—clearly something far beyond her means—and handed it casually to Mr. Alistair, my estate manager. Ashton’s brow furrowed sharply. Skylar’s face lost all color. “Let’s go in,” I said to Ashton. He pressed his lips into a tight line, then stepped forward and took the handles of my chair. As we re-entered the living room, the fiery party atmosphere quieted for a beat. My inner circle of friends looked from me to the two people trailing me. We’d left as two; we returned as three. Ashton settled my chair at the head of the lounge, then took Skylar’s hand and sat opposite me. The atmosphere grew even stranger. But the game continued. I wasn’t drinking, so I watched their rounds with lazy amusement. After several turns, the clearly-aimed pointer landed squarely on Skylar. “A scandalous truth, or a shot.” Ashton tried to interject, but Skylar blocked him. She glanced at him, a sudden, challenging spark in her eye. “I hooked up with someone who is definitely not my childhood friend, two nights ago.” A mood killer. But Ashton was genuinely furious. “Who was it?” “None of your business! You’re just my friend!” “Just your friend?” He dragged her up, intending to forcibly remove her, leaving only the sharp, furious outline of his profile for me to see. “Miss Montgomery, I need to go discipline Skylar. I won’t be able to stay for the rest of your birthday.” They enacted their “childhood best friends in tormented love” drama right there at my party, then left. Before they vanished, Skylar shot a look over Ashton’s shoulder—a flash of pure, defiant challenge aimed straight at me. Finally, the party quieted. While Kiera adjusted the pearl diadem on my head, she murmured, “Something is deeply wrong with those two.” They are problematic. I didn’t answer. My phone vibrated. A ping from the security server. My deluxe penthouse suite at The Astor Towers, reserved only for me, had just been accessed. The in-suite camera feed clearly showed the two of them in a heated argument. “You were supposed to stay in the ‘childhood friend’ lane forever, weren’t you? Why do you care who I sleep with?” “Childhood friend?” Ashton’s eyes went dark. “Who the hell wants to be your childhood friend?!” The image then dissolved into something far more frantic and primal. I immediately called the hotel manager and had the closely entangled pair thrown out. My reason: that suite’s security clearance was restricted only to Genevieve Montgomery. Skylar, wrapped in a duvet, tried to challenge the hotel manager, asking if he knew who Ashton was. Ashton, still the picture of the aloof, high-altitude flower, had arrogance hardening his gaze. But the manager was immune. He held up his phone, official and unyielding. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. Would you like me to call Mr. Alistair, the Montgomery Estate Manager, to verify your access?” Ashton’s pupils constricted. Involving Mr. Alistair meant involving me. What would I think of him then? He quickly pressed his hand onto Skylar’s shoulder, forcing her into silence. He dressed silently in the bathroom and left. For days, Ashton didn’t show his face. Mr. Alistair informed me he was busy processing Skylar’s college enrollment. “Skylar?” I tilted my head, sunlight bathing my face. “Yes, Miss. Skylar’s birth name is actually Sheng. She and Ashton are not related; they were neighbors. The Davenports took her in when her family ran into trouble.” I said nothing. That evening, Ashton came over to cook. I was immersed in piecing together a massive Lego set on the living room rug. Suddenly, my body lifted. Ashton had scooped me up and set me gently at the dining table. “Your hands and feet are freezing, and you’re not wrapped up.” He sighed, covering me with a cashmere throw. “You need to take care of yourself, Gigi.” I turned my head slightly, my tone casual. “I heard you rented an apartment from Wyatt.” Wyatt is a friend who owns a couple of properties near Westwood University. Ashton nodded, sitting beside me. His voice was warm and smooth. “Skylar got accepted there, but the school dorms are dreadful. She can’t sleep well in that environment. Renting her a place will help her focus on her studies.” I paused. Just last year, Montgomery Corp donated a fortune to Westwood to fully upgrade their residential halls. I’d seen the plans. The new suites were hundreds of times better than the dingy place Ash himself used to live in. Not sleeping comfortably, or not conveniently located for their affair? I couldn’t say. A week passed. I was in the conservatory admiring the orchids when I heard hurried footsteps behind me. The next second, my wheelchair was spun around with jarring force. I flinched. Ashton’s face was inches from mine, his handsome features contorted with fury. “Why? Why are you targeting Skylar? What exactly has she done to deserve your casual cruelty?” I forced a calm I didn’t feel. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Don’t play dumb! Wyatt kicked her out of the apartment! If that wasn’t your instruction, then what was it?” I narrowed my eyes. “Who the hell gave you the audacity to speak to me like that?” Ashton’s lashes trembled. He straightened, his hands clenched at his sides, the anger still visible in the rigidity of his posture. Skylar, standing behind him, tugged at his sleeve. “Let it go, Ash. We can’t fight people from this level of society.” He looked at her, his heart clearly aching, and pulled her into a protective embrace. I watched the touching scene, then curled my lip into a cold sneer. “Though I don’t know what happened, Wyatt certainly does. Why don’t we call him? You two can sit down and get your answers straight from him.” “Absolutely,” Ashton said, ready to fight. “If he’s been playing games, he owes Skylar an apology!” I started moving my chair out of the conservatory. “Fine. Call him over.” Skylar, however, shuddered, the color draining from her face again. Oh God, what if this heiress actually makes us confront him? How could they confront him? Wyatt would tell the whole story about her trying to seduce him and the subsequent eviction. “Ash, maybe there’s just a misunderstanding. Let’s not create extra trouble.” Skylar gripped his forearm tightly. “Don’t worry. I stand with you, Skylar,” he reassured her. I watched Skylar squirm, letting the panic ripen before I finally spoke, unhurriedly. “He had to take an emergency business trip. He won’t be coming.” Skylar covertly studied my expression, relieved to see my face was unreadable. Did she not tell Gigi about me trying to hook up with him? Skylar let out a deep breath. But Ashton wasn’t finished. He took her hand, his brow still furrowed in concern. “So Skylar’s humiliation just vanishes?” I finally met his eyes. “She just said it was a misunderstanding. What is it, Ash? Do you want me to apologize?” He tugged at the corner of his mouth, a gesture of deep resentment. “Whatever Miss Montgomery says, goes.” He left without another word, arriving like a hurricane and departing filled with bitter, unspoken disappointment. I sat in silence. My phone, resting on my lap, lit up. It was a message from Wyatt. “Ashton’s childhood friend tried to seduce me. I threw her out.” “Understood. Let it drop for now. Ash looks pretty pissed off.” He was more than pissed off. He didn’t contact me for days. He seemed to have completely forgotten that I was the one who pulled him out of the fire, the one who elevated him across class lines. Worse, he began using the privileges I’d given him to show Skylar off—taking her to the very places I’d introduced him to. He used my contacts to order her custom-tailored outfits from Kingsbury Atelier. He took her to The Ridge Retreat & Spa to use the high-end medicinal baths that only the Montgomery family could access. He celebrated her Westwood University acceptance at the most exclusive mountaintop restaurant. One afternoon, I accompanied Kiera to the dog groomer. She drove past the upscale pet spas and parked the car in front of a grungy, insignificant little shop. “The place is a dump, Gigi. You’re too frail to be in here. Wait in the car.” I was intrigued. I shook my head, insisting on getting out. The shop was small, indeed, bordering on dilapidated. It was the first time I’d set foot in such a place. The owner recited the safety rules with a deadpan expression. Kiera nodded. A moment later, howls echoed from the back room. It was an odd understanding: the owner wouldn’t be held responsible for “scaring” the dog, and Kiera wouldn’t complain if the groomer got bitten. I looked at Kiera, who was blowing on her freshly painted nails. “You’re not worried about him?” I raised an eyebrow. She snorted. “I worried too much when I first took him in. I thought if I protected him, gave him the best of everything, he’d be grateful.” “Turns out he’s just an ungrateful bastard. He won’t let me near him during baths, he bites if I touch him. Massive attitude. He’s forgotten who his owner is.” The dog in the glassed-in room was agitated, still trying desperately to bite. But a sharp thwack from the groomer’s paddle quickly forced him to retract his teeth and claws. Kiera’s words hit me with sudden, sharp clarity. Ashton was exactly the same. I’d rescued him, given him the best, introduced him to the world, and even brought him into the company to train. But like this dog, he was utterly untamable. He actually dared to use my resources to nurture his own favorite, and then had the gall to confront me over her. I let out a soft, low laugh. Kiera asked what was funny. I looked up, a relaxed smile on my face. “Nothing. I just realized I no longer feel like cultivating flowers.”

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It was a suffocating, hundred-and-twenty-degree heatwave, and my roommate, Jenna Lynn, hadn’t managed to snag a bus ticket home. She’d practically begged to crash at my place to escape the brutal heat. In my last life, I’d felt sorry for Jenna Lynn, thinking of her as a cash-strapped student with nowhere to go, and I’d let her in. I opened the door, and that was my fatal mistake. She wasn’t alone. She’d brought her entire family with her, baggage and all. They ate my food, wore my clothes, used my everything, and then, as their final, sickening act of greed, they dragged me deep into the backcountry to be a forced bride for her older, unmarried brother. Refusing to be subjected to such a humiliation, I slammed my head against the wall of a pigpen and ended my own life. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day my roommate came knocking. 1 My hand was hovering over the doorknob. One slight turn and the door would swing open. But my body was trembling, a shock of pure terror seizing me, and I snatched my right hand back. Just inches. I was just one small, careless step away from letting Jenna Lynn and her monstrous family back into my life! Knock. Knock. Knock. A soft, pleading voice drifted through the thick wood of the door. “Lila, open up, it’s me, Jenna Lynn.” Last time, I’d seen a poor, pitiful college student—a scholarship kid, no less. After her watery-eyed confession about being stranded, I’d agreed to let her stay for two months, until the fall semester started. I never imagined that decision would cost me my entire future. The moment I’d opened that door, I was surrounded. Jenna Lynn, her parents, her towering brother—a whole family unit pushing their way into my home, staking a hostile claim. Before I could even process what was happening, she swiped my phone, cutting me off. I couldn’t call the police. I couldn’t escape their control. I was trapped under the same roof with them. It all ended with her avaricious family taking me into the mountains and leaving me for dead. I pulled up the live feed for the security camera mounted outside the door. Black. Nothing but an inky void. They must have planned this. They’d already covered the lens with tape. The knocking escalated from a gentle tap-tap-tap to an impatient, heavy drumming. “Lila, are you home? I know this is the address! The address is right, isn’t it?” “Hello? Don’t be scared, it’s just me, your roommate Jenna Lynn. Please, open up, I’m so hot—” I crouched low inside, making no sound. My phone screen flared with an incoming text from her. Jenna Lynn: Lila, I couldn’t get a ticket home, and I literally have nowhere to go. Could I please just crash at your place for a few days? Followed by a small, wounded-looking emoji. I sneered. I didn’t bother to reply. In my previous life, that feigned helplessness, coupled with her quiet, seemingly diligent nature at school, had been enough to melt my heart. She was my roommate. I didn’t want any drama for the next few years of college, and I certainly didn’t want to offend her. But Jenna Lynn wasn’t a girl in need; she was a viper waiting to strike. I ignored her text, pretending my house was empty. Jenna Lynn’s relentless messages quickly piled up in the chat thread. Jenna Lynn: Lila, it’s so hot outside, nearly 120 degrees. Can you at least let me in for a drink of water? I really think I’m going to get heatstroke… Jenna Lynn: Please, please, pretty please~ She attached a cute, cuddly capybara sticker. 2 Jenna Lynn was the poorest of the four of us in the dorm. She was usually silent and seemed meek and earnest. The rest of us felt sympathy for her, constantly sharing snacks, basic necessities, and free meals. We even helped her apply for financial aid and the department scholarship. Jenna Lynn never once offered anything in return. At the time, I didn’t care. It was a simple act of kindness, not a transaction. But now, in hindsight, that tiny detail was a glaring sign of her character. Even if her family was poor, she never brought back so much as a local delicacy or a small souvenir. She simply wanted to mooch off all three of us. And I’d never given Jenna Lynn my home address. I guessed she must have found it through one of my online order receipts or a class registry form. My home is a bit secluded—a sturdy, standalone building. The second floor is my living space, and the ground floor is a small convenience store I run. Because I was a young woman living alone in a remote area, I’d made sure the place was secure. The front door had a specialized smart lock, and the windows were fortified with shatterproof glass. Anticipating the record-breaking heat, I’d ordered three extra air conditioning units and stockpiled a mountain of supplies for the store. But it all ended up being a gift for them. After they forced their way in, Jenna Lynn’s family took a liking to my little shop. And her brother, Jared, was a man desperate for a wife. Ultimately, they settled on me. They wanted me as their daughter-in-law. “She’s a little too skinny, and her hips are small—not good for bearing children. But it’s fine, your mother doesn’t mind!” Jenna Lynn’s mother, Mrs. Bell, had said, looking me up and down. “She barely has any chest. The streamers I watch online all have huge chests and big butts… Tsk. Her face is decent, though. She’ll have to do,” Jared had scoffed, evaluating my body like a piece of livestock. I refused, of course, but they had my phone. They outnumbered me. I couldn’t fight them, couldn’t run. And Jenna Lynn, the timid girl from school, stood right in front of me and suggested: “Weddings are just a waste of money. Why don’t we just let our brother and ‘sister-in-law’ have their wedding night right here? Once the deed is done… she won’t have any choice, right?” A sharp pain shot through my palm. My fingernails were digging deep into my skin as the memory flashed back. We were roommates for two years. I’d gone out of my way to help her, worried she felt disadvantaged. How could my kindness be repaid with such malice? She wasn’t satisfied with the help I gave; she wanted to bleed me dry. 3 Since I wasn’t responding to her texts or answering the door, Jenna Lynn started a phone blitz. The calls kept coming, quickly turning into a cascade of “99+ Missed Calls.” The constant ringing was cutting off my data connection. Irritated, I finally hung up the calls and sent her a single text message. Me: Don’t bother. I’m not home. Seeing a reply, Jenna Lynn finally stopped calling. Jenna Lynn: It’s summer break. How could you not be home? Are you traveling? I’ll wait for you right outside the door (=^^=) I replied, my voice dry in my head: I’m really not home. Go back. Get a hotel if you have to. Outside the door, Jenna Lynn impatiently ran her fingers through her hair, then yelled into the corner of the building. “Stop hiding, come out! My roommate isn’t home!” A rustling sound, and then her family members began to speak. Her Dad, Mr. Bell: “Is this girl stupid? Not staying home in this crazy heat? Where could she have gone?” Mrs. Bell: “She’s probably lying to us. She thinks we’re poor, and she doesn’t want us to come in.” “Pah!” A thick glob of spit hit my door. Her brother, Jared, was big and dark, and his eyes were lasciviously fixed on my front door. “Hey, sis, is your roommate pretty? Does she have a boyfriend?” Jenna Lynn thought for a moment. “No, she doesn’t. But Lila is a city girl. She’s snobby and looks down on us country folk. She probably won’t even look at you.” “But, she’s probably telling the truth about not being home… Lila has no reason to lie to me. She doesn’t know I brought you guys. In the dorm, she always pretended to be nice and took care of me—she’s a total fake. If she were home, she’d be rushing to let me in.” Mrs. Bell kicked my door. “Our son is so handsome! She wouldn’t even give him a chance? It’s a huge blessing for her that he’d even consider her!” Jenna Lynn pursed her lips. “City girls are all like that, arrogant and think too highly of themselves.” Mrs. Bell’s eyes darted around. “Once we get in, I’ll teach her a lesson…” Mr. Bell lit a hand-rolled cigarette, his face a mask of impatience. “Forget the lesson for now. If she’s not home, what are we supposed to do? Die of heatstroke outside?” Jenna Lynn replied, “I’ll beg her again. She loves to act like a good person. Even if she’s out, she’ll definitely rush back to let me in!” Mr. Bell: “She’ll agree with all of us standing here?” Jenna Lynn shrugged. “It’s fine. When she gets back, you guys just hide in the corner. When she opens the door, we all rush in. What’s one girl going to do against four of us?” “Besides, there are four of us and only one of her. Once the door is open… we call the shots.” Mrs. Bell gave a knowing, wicked laugh. “See? It’s useful to have a daughter. The crazy old woman next door told me to throw you in the lake when I had you. Glad I kept you! My clever girl, going to college and finding your brother a wife!” Jenna Lynn’s brother, Jared, pounded his chest. “Don’t worry, when your roommate Lila is mine, I won’t mistreat her.” “And I’ll let you manage this city shop.” Hearing them discuss their twisted fantasy future made me want to vomit. The sheer audacity! That’s exactly what happened last time. I opened the door, they charged in, and I couldn’t stop them. I tried to kick them out, but Jenna Lynn immediately snatched my phone. I couldn’t call anyone. Mrs. Bell declared me her future daughter-in-law. She hated the sight of me. She forced me to do chores and wait on her, my self-appointed “mother-in-law.” If I messed up, she’d whip me with a thin stick. I’d never cooked in my life. The kitchen burned my hands until they were covered in blisters. Mr. Bell, my self-appointed “father-in-law,” made me wash his filthy, sixty-something-year-old feet. “A daughter-in-law is the best! No need to go to a foot spa anymore, heh heh…” Jenna Lynn was the most wicked of them all. She plotted to get me drunk. They locked Jared and me in the master bedroom, planning to consummate the marriage immediately, before I had a chance to escape. No matter how loudly I screamed for help inside the bedroom, the three of them outside remained indifferent. Jenna Lynn’s usually meek face was a mask of sinister triumph. “How does it feel to look down on us country people? Be a good girl now, won’t you?” “You should be grateful to marry my brother. He’s strong, and so many girls are lining up for him. You got lucky.” I cried and screamed, pleading for her to show a shred of conscience. “Jenna Lynn, I was so good to you at school! I helped you get scholarships, brought you food and supplies, introduced you to my friends, and tutored you! I never did anything to hurt you! Why are you doing this?!” Jenna Lynn sneered with disdain. “You think you were helping me? You were just using me as a tool to show off your own kindness! Don’t you think I know? You’re just a fake good person. Deep down, all of you look down on me! You all deserve to die!” “You know what? I hate your smug, high-and-mighty face the most! You think being rich makes you better? It’s just good luck you were born into money! Every time you brought me food, it made me sick! Who do you think you are, treating me like a beggar who can’t feed herself, you bitch!” “I’ll deal with you first, and then the other two roommates won’t be spared either. Heh heh…” I was dumbstruck. The reason for her cruelty was beyond ludicrous. It was the classic “give a man a bowl of rice and you feed him for a day; give him a bag of rice and you create an enemy.” I brought Jenna Lynn food because I saw her, a skinny young girl, eating steamed buns and pickles every single day. I felt pity for what I assumed was a difficult life as a girl from a patriarchal, rural family. I used my allowance to buy her good food, just trying to help, with no expectation of anything in return. … The sound of my phone ringing brought me back to the present. Jenna Lynn was still trying to persuade me, texts coming in relentlessly. Jenna Lynn: Lila, you know my family is poor, and I can’t afford a hotel. Please, you’re the kindest one. Just let me stay for a few days, I’ll go home as soon as I get a ticket, okay? Jenna Lynn: It is so hot out here. If you don’t save me, I’m literally going to die of heatstroke. It’s almost 120 degrees! 4 I thought for a moment, then replied: I’m really not home. I went on a trip to the next state. Even if I rushed back to pick you up, I wouldn’t make it in time. Outside the door, Jenna Lynn was cursing under her breath. “Is she crazy? Spending money on a trip? That’s our family’s money she’s wasting!” Mrs. Bell slapped her thigh. “What a waste! Throwing our money away! She can’t be trusted with money once she’s ours. She’ll bankrupt us!” Though she was clearly furious, Jenna Lynn kept up her pathetic act on the phone. Jenna Lynn: Lila, please. I’ve already spent all my ticket money on a hotel the last few days, and I can’t afford the bus ticket now… I had no choice but to come to you. I replied, deadpan: I can lend you the ticket money. You can take the express bus now. Jenna Lynn was gritting her teeth. “I’m not that kind of person. My mom taught me not to take things from other people. I can’t take your money.” “How about… you just tell me the password to your front door? Just let me in to cool down for a few minutes. Please, be a good person.” I didn’t budge: My ground floor is a store. It’s full of inventory. I can’t risk things going missing. No matter how Jenna Lynn pleaded, my answers were firm: It’s inconvenient. I’m sorry. Outside, Jenna Lynn was so angry she started kicking the door. “That idiot! Risk things going missing? What does she mean? Is she implying I’m a thief?! Who the hell does she think she is!” Mrs. Bell patted her back to calm her down. “Don’t be mad! Just figure out a way to trick her into coming back. I’ll teach that little brat a lesson once we’re inside, how dare she treat her sister-in-law like this!” Jenna Lynn hissed, “Once she’s in my family, let’s see how arrogant she still is! Mom, you have to help me teach her how to behave.” “Of course, honey, I’ll help. But it’s too hot. We need to figure out how to open this door first.” “How? She’s not replying to my texts now.” Mr. Bell offered a devious suggestion: “Why don’t you try the password? Maybe you can guess it?” 5 Behind the door, a jolt of alarm went through me. Sweat instantly beaded on my palms. What if Jenna Lynn actually guessed it? Once that outer door was breached, I’d be completely exposed. The password was simple: my birthday, month, and year. I’d celebrated my birthday in the dorm with my roommates, and Jenna Lynn had been there. I heard Mrs. Bell’s voice: “I heard city girls are all about that ‘special occasion’ nonsense. Try her birthday first.” Beep. Beep. Beep— Someone was entering a code at the lock. I dashed into the kitchen, grabbed a heavy butcher knife, and quietly hid behind the door. It was too late. Whoever came in first, I would strike them down. My hands were slick with sweat, almost too slick to grip the knife. The horrific memories of my last life crashed into my mind. Jenna Lynn’s brother, Jared, was big and strong, ate like a horse, and had incredible stamina. Her parents, though in their sixties, were old-school farm workers and deceptively strong. Last time, I fought back. I couldn’t even overpower Mrs. Bell. If I struck the first person, what would I do about the three others? My panic intensified. The hand gripping the knife shook uncontrollably. Outside, Jenna Lynn finished typing. Beep. Beep. Beep— Access Denied. I collapsed onto the floor, wiping a streak of cold sweat from my forehead. Did Jenna Lynn not remember my birthday? Outside, Jenna Lynn was furiously scratching her head. “That’s wrong! What was the date again? I don’t quite remember.” Mrs. Bell grabbed her ear. “You forgot that? You’re in college, and you can’t remember anything!” Jenna Lynn pouted. “So what if Lila celebrated her birthday in the dorm? It was just her showing off. Who cares about her birthday? I threw away her cake. I hate that kind of showing off!” “She bought that expensive cake just to spite me! Doesn’t she know I can’t afford it, she’s such a jerk!” Jenna Lynn rolled her eyes and kept trying random numbers. “Wrong… Still wrong… What the hell is it?” “She went on a trip and didn’t even send me the password. She has no manners. I’m her roommate. Doesn’t she worry about offending me when school starts? Hmph!” 6 Jenna Lynn suddenly remembered something. She pulled out her phone and made a call. “I’ll ask the other two. They must remember Lila’s birthday.” My heart plummeted. I frantically texted my two other roommates. I told them, Do not tell her anything about me. After a few tense seconds, they hadn’t replied. I heard Jenna Lynn’s call connect outside. “Hello? Alice, do you remember Lila’s birthday?” “Oh, hi. I want to surprise her and get her a gift, but I’m terrible with dates, and I don’t want to mess it up… Do you remember?” “Oh, okay… October 19th? Got it.” Jenna Lynn hung up, a sly smile on her face. “Type it in. 1019.” 7 Beep. Beep. Beep— Access Denied. Jenna Lynn’s eyes widened in disbelief. “How is that possible?! Did Alice lie to me?!” I let out a quiet sigh of relief. My roommate had given the Gregorian calendar birthday. My door code was set to my Lunar calendar birthday. Jenna Lynn immediately called our other roommate, Hannah. But Hannah gave the exact same date as Alice. Jenna Lynn racked her brain, trying different number combinations. “Maybe the password isn’t her birthday?” “No way… I specifically remember Lila saying in the dorm that she has a terrible memory, so she uses her birthday for almost all her passwords.” “What’s wrong with this? How could her front door code not be it?” Before hanging up, Jenna Lynn asked a final question. “Is Lila really traveling to the next state? Do you know when she’s coming back? How long is her trip?” Hannah sounded confused: “Traveling? No, we invited her, and she said no, she wanted to stay home and enjoy the AC. She’s home.” “WHAT?!” Jenna Lynn shrieked. “Are you sure she’s home?” After hanging up, Jenna Lynn was furious. She started kicking and pounding my door. She was screaming as she kicked. “Dad, Mom, Jared! That bitch lied to me! She’s been home the whole time, hiding, but she told me she was traveling!” “Lila! If you’re going to lie, have the guts to open the door! Why are you hiding? If you want to say no, just say it! What’s with the lies?!” Mrs. Bell was outraged. “The little weasel! We’re out here practically frying, and she’s inside enjoying the air conditioning! That’s evil!” Mr. Bell coughed and delivered a hard kick to my door. “If you want to marry into the Bell family, you need to learn manners! This is unacceptable!” Jared frowned deeply. “This new ‘wife’ is too much trouble. Did college make her wild? She needs to drop out and move back to the village. She’ll quiet down in a few days.” “I told you girls shouldn’t be educated.” Hearing their arrogance, my teeth ground in anger. Last time, I had pretended to be compliant, putting on the act of a good, obedient girl. And what did that get me? They dragged me into the depths of the mountains, planning to never let me out. The memory of the torture I suffered in that village made me bite down until my gums bled. To prevent me from escaping, Jenna Lynn had broken my legs, forcing me to crawl. I’d knelt and begged her to let me go. She just threw me into the pigpen and locked me in with the animals. Forced to eat with the pigs. “Hahahaha… Look at you, hahaha…” A cold hatred boiled up. A plan for revenge, ice-cold and precise, began to form in my mind. If I remembered correctly, the power to this entire district was scheduled to be cut off tonight at midnight due to the extreme heat overloading the grid. Power wouldn’t be restored for seven days. My little store was a reinforced, standalone metal building. The windows were custom-made, practically impossible to smash. The moment the power shut down, the specialized electronic lock would fail, locking the door permanently. This place would become a high-temperature prison—a thousand times worse than the 120-degree heat outside! If I could trick them into coming in, and then lock the doors and windows from the outside… This area was remote, and the building was soundproof. Trapped inside, their screams would reach no one. Seven days. They would be cooked alive, steamed in their own greed. Could I really do it?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387414”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel