I have a terrible sense of direction. It’s bad. Every time I get lost, I call my landlord to pick me up. At first, he was annoyed: “I’m your landlord, not your husband. This is a hassle.” Then it became: “Do you want me to pick you up in the Lambo or the Maybach?” Finally: “It’s getting weird picking you up without a title. How about I just be your boyfriend?” 1 “Three months’ rent plus deposit, 3,000 a month. OK? If so, sign here.” The young man speaking was my landlord, Luke. He wore a faded tank top that showed off his thick shoulders and powerful muscles. Through the thin fabric, his tapered waist was barely visible. I gulped. He pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket, jingling them loudly. “Miss Lin, are you okay?” I snapped back to reality and nodded. After signing the contract and paying the deposit, I stopped him as he was leaving. “Can I add you on WeChat?” He seemed in a rush, pulling out a phone with a screen shattered like a spiderweb. “Hurry up, I’m busy.” I quickly added him. After moving in, I finally sat down to rest. My best friend called. “Momo, heard you moved?” “Yeah, the old landlord sold the place.” “Ugh, you lived there for five years and finally memorized the route home. Now you have to start over? Can you handle it?” Yes. I have a severe lack of direction. It took me two whole years to remember the way back to my old apartment. I sighed. “One step at a time, I guess.” The next day after work, I tried to go home. And… I successfully got lost. I didn’t even know where I was. I tried opening Apple Maps, but following it only got me more lost. Eventually, I inexplicably walked into a desolate suburb. No bus, no subway, not even a taxi. I panicked. Seeing the sky darken, I had no choice but to message my landlord. “Hi, Mr. Landlord, can I ask you a favor?” He replied quickly: “Speak.” “Um, I’m lost. Can you come pick me up? I’m so sorry, really sorry. I promise not to trouble you again.” No reply for five minutes. Just when I thought he was ignoring me, he replied: “Address.” I looked around. Nothing but wasteland. “I don’t know where this is.” He, being impatient, called me directly. I have mild social anxiety, but fear conquered all, so I picked up. His voice was deep, slightly impatient: “Any landmarks around you?” I shook my head. “No, just an abandoned construction site.” “Besides that?” I looked up. “There’s a cloud above me that looks like a flower petal.” Luke: “…” He gritted his teeth. “You better not be messing with me.” Finally, he asked me to share my live location and said he’d come pick me up. Soon, it was completely dark. The wind howled, and I heard animal noises. My throat tightened, goosebumps rising. Luke hadn’t messaged since hanging up. He told me to wait here. Half an hour passed, still no sign of him. I was getting desperate. Just then, a motorcycle stopped in front of me. A middle-aged man looked at me lewdly. “Hey little sister, all alone? Where to? I’ll give you a ride.” His gaze slid over me like a venomous snake. I stepped back warily. “No thanks, my… my boyfriend is coming to pick me up.” He smirked maliciously. “It’s dark, there are wild animals out here. Little sister, I’m not a bad guy. Let uncle take you home.” He reached out to grab me when suddenly, a foot kicked him from behind, sending him flying. 2 The creep scrambled up, cursing. “Who the fuck was that?!” A strong arm steadied me, a deep voice coming from above. “Get lost, or I’ll break your dog paws.” In the car, I was still shaken. Seeing me shivering, Luke turned on the heater. I whispered, “Thank you. I’ll pay you for the gas later.” He drove without looking sideways, brows furrowed, silent. Afraid of annoying him, I clutched my seatbelt quietly. Arriving downstairs, Luke said, “Next time, learn the route. I’m not always free.” My face burned. “So… sorry. It won’t happen again. Thank you.” I fled the car. That night, taking out the trash, I bumped into Luke opening his door. I was shocked. “You live here too?” He glanced at me, nodding slightly. “Yeah, occasionally.” “Taking out trash, you know the way back, right?” A teasing smile played on his lips. I smiled awkwardly. “It’s not far, I’ll be fine.” He paused, the mockery fading, replaced by uncertainty. “Are you really that bad with directions?” “Yeah, pretty bad.” I scratched my head embarrassedly. “Got lost a lot as a kid.” He said nothing more and closed the door. Back home, I thought about it and decided to give Luke something as thanks. If he hadn’t picked me up today, who knows what would have happened in that wasteland. I rang the doorbell and waited ten minutes before he opened it. “I said leave the delivery at the door…” Luke’s voice trailed off. He seemed to have just showered, shirtless, revealing a sculpted body, smelling faintly of body wash, wearing only board shorts. I blushed, not knowing where to look. “Land… Mr. Landlord, hi.” He frowned. “What’s up?” “Th… thanks for today. Just a small gift.” I shoved the homemade cookies into his hand and fled. The next day, I planned to take a taxi home. It was expensive, but I didn’t want to trouble anyone. Halfway there, the taxi got a flat tire. “Miss, just pay half the fare. The rest of the way isn’t far. Straight, left, cross the main road, then right.” My brain censored the directions. I was lost just listening. The driver dropped me off. I looked at the busy street, wanting to cry. Tried to hail another cab, but no luck. To make matters worse, it started storming. I hid under the awning of a nearby mall. Watching people get picked up by family or friends, I sighed at the rainy mist. If only my best friend hadn’t been transferred. Before leaving, she hugged me. “Momo, I’m worried about you. Find a reliable boyfriend. With him, you won’t get lost.” Boyfriend? For some reason, Luke’s face flashed in my mind. He wasn’t a pretty boy. Short hair, healthy tan, perfectly toned muscles. I remembered him kicking the creep away. His sharp warning eyes. At that moment, something bumped in my heart. Lost in thought, Luke messaged me. 3 “Ten o’clock and still working?” I stared at the phone, double-checking the avatar to confirm it was Luke. My heart pounded. I couldn’t imagine the cold landlord messaging me first. I took a deep breath, drafting a reply: “Yeah, still working.” Type, delete. “It’s raining, stuck at the mall.” Type, delete. “Can’t get a cab in the rain.” Type, delete. After a few tries, I felt embarrassed. Seeing me constantly retracting messages, Luke cut to the chase: “Address.” “Huh?” “What huh? Share your location. I’m coming to get you.” “Isn’t that too much trouble?” “Trouble is better than missing person.” Me: “…” When Luke arrived at the mall, it was 10:30 PM. But there were still many people waiting. A flashy Maybach pulled up. Before the door opened, whispers started. “Whoa, Maybach. Cool.” “Must be picking up his girlfriend. Ahhh, so lucky.” “Suddenly my boyfriend’s scooter isn’t so cute.” I stretched my neck curiously too. Just then, Luke got out. Holding a black umbrella, he walked straight to me and said coolly, “Let’s go.” Instantly, all eyes were on me. I felt prickly stares for the first time. Someone whispered. “He’s so hot. Why do others get rich handsome guys, and mine splits a boba tea with me?” “Do hot guys like average girls? She looks so plain, don’t get why he likes her.” Luke glanced at them, and they shut up. Back at the apartment, Luke stopped at the convenience store for instant noodles. He got in the car, and my stomach growled. I covered it awkwardly. He looked at the noodles, then went back. This time, he brought back noodles, eggs, and pickled veggies. Luke cooked in the open kitchen. I waited at the table. Watching him busy, I posted on Reddit. “If a rich, hot landlord drives a luxury car to pick you up daily and cooks noodles, what does it mean?” Soon, comments flooded in. “Suspected delusion before death from overwork.” “Means you need to read less romance novels. Go sleep.” “Coldest joke of the year: landlord returning deposit picking me up in a luxury car.” “Fighting you fake story writers, making up anything.” “Wow, caught another delusional wife.” “Admire people who post this, at least they live in their fantasy.” “If OP is telling the truth, he might be chasing you.” Chasing me? “Free lunch usually means trouble. If hot, take him down. If ugly, run.” I looked at Luke’s long back. Maybe he’s just simply kind. “I only know how to make this and instant noodles. Just make do.” Luke brought two bowls over. I took it gratefully. “Thank you.” Just took a bite, Luke raised an eyebrow. “Not afraid I drugged it?” I choked, unable to spit or swallow. He chuckled. “Just kidding.” “But…” He looked at me meaningfully. “Outside, don’t trust strangers so easily, especially men.” 4 Afraid of bothering Luke, I started taking taxis. One day after work, I met Luke at the gate. He wore a formal suit today, different from his usual casual style, looking mature and steady. With his height and build, he was a perfect clothes hanger. “Just off work?” He initiated conversation. “Yeah.” “Didn’t get lost?” Just then, the taxi driver yelled, “Miss, since you taxi every day, why not hire me monthly? 3,000 a month, I’ll throw in five days free.” Luke crossed his arms, silent, watching me. I said awkwardly, “Got it, I’ll think about it.” In the elevator, Luke suddenly asked, “How much do you make a month?” “Tw… twelve thousand.” I answered honestly. “Twelve thousand. Rent three thousand, taxi three thousand, plus food, how much can you save?” I froze. I didn’t spend much. No luxury goods, rarely ate out, saved money for grandma. “Three thousand isn’t small, it adds up.” He implied. I sighed. “Can’t help it. If only I wasn’t directionally challenged.” Getting familiar with him, I got bolder. “You don’t know, my nickname as a kid was ‘Let Go and Gone’.” “Got lost, squatted on the roadside crying. Nice people often took me home.” “But I remember once, I got lost, a very handsome big brother said he’d take me home.” “But he didn’t seem local. We both got lost in the woods. I was scared and cold. He swore while giving me his jacket, freezing himself.” I rambled on, not noticing Luke’s expression change. “Later, a passing uncle found us and took me back. Pity I never thanked that nice brother properly.” “There’s a chance.” Luke whispered. I looked up, meeting his gentle, clear eyes. In the narrow space, something heated up slowly. Exiting the elevator, Luke stopped me. “How about this. Give me 500 a month, I’ll drive you to and from work.” Me: “?” Seeing me dazed, he coughed lightly. “One person or two in the car makes no difference. I can earn gas money. No one loses.” “But…” He drives a Maybach, does he need gas money? “My office is near yours. Any questions?” “OK or not OK?” He pressed step by step. I lost the ability to think and dazedly agreed. Next day, sitting in his car, it felt real. We were commuting together. Since I start early, Luke still had bedhead. I felt bad. “Maybe just pick me up after work. I’ll taxi in the morning.” He glared at me, starting the car. “Took your money, gotta do the job. Understand?” I whispered timidly, “But you could sleep more…” He glanced at me, lips curling. “Early bird gets the worm.” His eyes held an emotion I couldn’t read. I nodded, silent. After that, our daily chat became: “Pick you up later, grocery run together?” “Okay.” “Car in service, driving a different one.” “Okay.” “Saw a cute seat cushion online, bought it.” He sent a pic. I replied: “So cute.” He was satisfied: “Mmh.” “Overtime today? I have errands, call me an hour before you’re done.” “Okay, no problem.” Replying to Luke, a colleague leaned over. “Chatting with boyfriend?” I turned off the screen. “No.” “Come on, smiling like that. Only people in love have that face.” “Besides, saw your chat. Couple talk, deny it?” I bit my lip. How to tell her he’s my landlord? While chatting, the boss’s wife walked in smiling, followed by the henpecked boss. She scanned everyone. “Boss and I discussed. You worked hard, so we’re taking you to a hot spring resort. Bring boyfriends if you have them.” She drawled, “Plus, bringing a boyfriend gets a 10,000 bonus.” She walked to me, scrutinizing. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

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The day I almost starved to death on the street, I found myself a dad. Shawn, sporting a shock of bleached yellow hair, pointed at himself and roared furiously: “I’m only eighteen! Do I look like your dad?!” Snot running down my face, I looked up at him pitifully and refused to say a word. Defeated by my silence, Shawn had no choice but to take me home. From that day on, everyone knew the local punk had adopted a daughter. Later, the fated day arrived when he was supposed to meet the heroine. The heroine danced gracefully in the rain, just to attract the hero’s attention. Shawn, who was supposed to be heartbroken and rush to hold an umbrella for her, instead hugged me and lectured: “See that? People like that have issues. If you ever do that, I’ll spank you until you can’t sit.” I nodded, snuggling obediently in his arms. Project: Save the Tragic Second Male Lead. Success. 1 I transmigrated into a cliché romance novel. The System tasked me with saving the deep, unrequited love interest—the second male lead. The original text described him as: Handsome features, elegant temperament, every gesture exuding the sexiness and romance of a mature man. I stared at the boy in front of me with bleached yellow hair and a thick iron chain around his neck, sniffing. Did I get the wrong guy…? While I hesitated, the boy finally lost patience. “Whose kid are you? Why are you blocking my way?” I shivered, startled. I’d been here a week and barely eaten a full meal. This was the slums. No one was rich. Being a little girl, even kind souls would only spare half a steamed bun. I had been hungry for so long. The more I thought about it, the more aggrieved I felt. I couldn’t help pouting and bursting into tears. “Wahhh!” Shawn froze instantly. “Hey, I didn’t scold you! Don’t blame me for crying.” Seeing the situation turn south, Shawn tried to slip away. I wiped my snot and tears, chasing after him with my short legs. Shawn went left; I went left. Shawn stopped, pretending to admire the peeling paint on a wall. I stood by his leg, looking up at him pitifully. Shawn squatted down, swallowing his anger, the iron chain clanking. He put on a fierce face. “Spit it out. What do you want?” I rubbed my little belly and whispered that I was hungry. Shawn dug in his pockets for a long time. Finally, gritting his teeth, he spent a fortune buying me a ham sausage. I wolfed it down, then looked at him pitifully again. “You ate! Why are you still following me? I’m warning you, follow me again and I’ll beat you up!” Shawn shook his fist and walked away without looking back this time. Seeing he was really leaving, in desperation, I opened my mouth and yelled, “Daddy!” Shawn stumbled. Seizing the chance, I trotted to catch up. “Daddy, don’t leave me.” Shawn walked faster. I had to run. “Daddy! I eat very little! Don’t throw me away!” Passersby started whispering and pointing at Shawn. Shawn’s face turned green. “I’m not! I’m really not her dad!” Frustrated, Shawn pointed at his own nose and yelled: “I’m only eighteen!” Great. Now the suspicious looks turned into disdain. 2 Shawn dragged me away. He probably wouldn’t come back to this area for a while. I gripped his bony hand tightly, not daring to let go. Finding Shawn hadn’t been easy. The System only showed me his photo when assigning the mission to change his fate. But something went wrong during the transfer. I arrived as my three-year-old self. Even my mind was affected by my physical age. I had to dodge human traffickers while searching for Shawn door-to-door. I found him, but he wasn’t the man described in the book. Now, I was clueless about this world. After so much fear, I wouldn’t let go even if I died. “Easy on the grip. Where does a kid get such strength?” Shawn wiggled his fingers. I realized I was squeezing his hand so hard his fingers turned white. I lowered my head in shame, thought for a moment, and hugged his thigh instead. “Hey, how am I supposed to walk like this?” Shawn seemed to lose his temper with me. He looked weary, sighed, and scooped me up into his arms. Muttering under his breath. “Guess you’re stuck to me now.” I stared at his suddenly close, handsome face. My nose stung, and I wanted to cry again. Two lines of tears rolled down. On my dirty face, two comical tear tracks appeared instantly. Shawn frowned and awkwardly wiped them with his finger. “Stop crying. I brought you home. If you really have nowhere to go, stay at my place for now.” My eyes widened in surprise, tears stopping instantly. Shawn took me to his small courtyard. The rusty iron gate creaked. Inside, piles of junk scavenged from trash heaps lined the path. Broken TV screens, shattered phones, discarded appliances. Inside the house was a large desk. Covered with parts and blueprints I didn’t understand. The book said Shawn would encounter a fateful turning point at twenty. By twenty-three, he would be a tech mogul worth millions. Because he knew poverty, he extended a hand to the future heroine. He funded her education, guiding her growth personally. But the heroine only cared about romance, not tedious learning. She used Shawn’s money for dance lessons, piano classes, and even breast augmentation, just to catch the hero’s eye. Even when rejected brutally, she persisted. Shawn tried to guide her, but she got angry. “Love is selfish. Even if you do everything for me, I won’t love you.” After officially getting together with the hero, she told him about Shawn as a joke. The hero, jealous, bribed Shawn’s people, bankrupting him and driving him out of Beijing. I watched Shawn tidying the room. Thinking, such a good Shawn. If only he never met the heroine. 3 Shawn finally cleaned his doghouse of a bed. He pulled out one of his faded shirts and stuffed it into my hands. “I’ll fill a bucket. Wash yourself. Let’s be clear: I won’t baby you. If you don’t like it, leave.” I nodded vigorously. “I’m very good. I won’t disturb you. I can eat and sleep by myself.” Shawn chuckled, waved his hand, and sent me to bathe. My three-year-old self was tiny. I’d been in an orphanage as long as I could remember. Other kids bullied me. Starved, sleep-deprived, thin as a bean sprout. So whenever adopters came, they thought I was sickly and chose the chubby kids instead. I scrubbed my little arms hard, washed my face clean, and put on Shawn’s shirt. When I returned to the room, Shawn glanced at me. “Hey, pretty little girl.” He dug two rubber bands out of a drawer. “Come here. Let me do your hair.” I ran over happily. A few minutes later, two crooked pigtails were born. I looked in the mirror. Pouted. So ugly. Shawn coughed, unobtrusively pulling the bands off. “It’s dark. Time to sleep. Uncomfortable to tie them.” I climbed into bed quickly, eyes closed tight. If I’m obedient, he won’t kick me out. Don’t know how long I slept. I frowned, peeking through one eye. In the blurry vision, Shawn was facing the mirror, tying pigtails on himself. Curse-muttering while experimenting, he finally found the trick. I chuckled involuntarily. Shawn threw the rubber bands away like hot potatoes, pretending to draw blueprints. I smiled, drifting back to sweet sleep. 4 Shawn was rarely home. He spent half his time patrolling, dumpster diving for usable parts. The first time I secretly followed him, he didn’t notice. Until he came home and found me gone, panicked. When I followed him in, Shawn’s eyes were red with anxiety. Suppressing his anger, he acted casual. “If you don’t want to stay, leave early. Saves me trouble.” I walked up carefully and took his hand. “Daddy, was I bad?” Shawn shook me off. “Don’t call me Dad! Never mind that, where did you go?” I sniffled. “Followed you. I’m scared alone.” A sourness rose in my heart. I only knew Shawn in this world. I was terrified he’d get annoyed and leave me one day. So I had to follow him everywhere. Shawn froze. He looked down at my bare feet, soles covered in grit and dust. His lips moved, but he said nothing. Silently, he fetched water and made me wash my feet clean. The next day, Shawn waited for me to wake up, then carried me out without a word. He spent a few bucks on slippers for me and hung a plastic bag on me. Whatever useful junk he found went into my bag. Hand in hand, we walked from the west alley to the east. When I got tired, he’d scowl but reluctantly carry me. Lunch was one steamed bun for two. Shawn gave me the bigger half, eating his with water. Watching me eat heartily, he’d mutter about me being a little debt collector. I grinned at him, devouring the bun. Delicious. That day, Shawn had to cross the street to the recycling station. Besides making things, he sold scrap metal there. “Stay here. Don’t go with anyone. If you get lost, don’t expect me to find you. Hear me?” I nodded seriously, sitting obediently on the side. Shawn pinched my cheek and left. I watched his back recede, squatting to watch ants. Minutes later, a shadow fell over me. 5 I looked up. Several older kids from the neighborhood blocked me, hands on hips. Rich kids. Clean clothes, chubby bodies. One boy pointed at me, grinning widely. “You’re the little beggar raised by that hooligan Shawn. I heard he has no future, doesn’t go to school. Play with me, I’ll give you two bucks a time.” I stood up angrily. “He’s not a hooligan!” “He is! I’m talking to you ’cause you’re pretty. Don’t be ungrateful.” I glanced at the recycling station. Shawn wasn’t out yet. Didn’t want trouble. I turned to walk away. But the fat kid wouldn’t let up. He grabbed my pigtail! “Hey, don’t go! We came to play! Why are you so naughty? My mom says naughty girls don’t get married. No one wants you!” The kids found it fun, each pulling my hair. Chanting around me: “Nobody wants you, nobody wants you! Crybaby, puppy pees!” It hurt. Tears fell. Memories of orphanage bullying overlapped with the present. I pouted, crying loudly. “Wahhh!” Suddenly, a furious roar came from afar. “Stop it!” A fast wind blew past! I opened my teary eyes. The chubby kids were pushed aside, landing on their butts. Shawn stood before me like a mountain. I grabbed his shirt, crying louder. The fat kid fell and started wailing too. Soon, several burly adults came out, cursing at Shawn. “Who are you? Touching kids!” Shawn rubbed my messed-up hair, looking at the hostile group, voice cold as ice. “I’m her dad.”

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The night of my birthday, I spent six hours baking a cake, waiting at home for Dean Lawson. He didn’t spare it a glance. “I’m buried in the lab tonight,” he said, already halfway out the door. “You should just eat it yourself.” I didn’t argue. I just ate the entire cake, slice by silent slice. In my midnight scroll, Dean’s post was glaringly conspicuous: a photo with his research assistant, Phoebe Carter, in the lab. She was holding a test tube; he was leaning over, recording data. The reflection in the polished window made it look like they were practically standing on top of each other. The caption stung: He says having me on the research path keeps him from feeling lonely. I didn’t give in to the familiar ache of insecurity and send a frantic, demanding text. Instead, I left a single word: “Teamwork.” My phone vibrated just as I was swallowing the last bite of frosting. “Don’t make a big deal out of this, Sky,” Dean’s voice was heavy with exhaustion. “Next time, for your birthday—” “Don’t bother.” I watched the rain streak the windowpane. “Research is important, Dean. I get it.” But there wouldn’t be a next time for us. 1 The rain was still falling when Dean pushed the door open. Usually, I’d be waiting in the entryway with a dry towel. This time, I stayed curled on the sofa, flipping through a design magazine. “Why didn’t you meet me?” Water dripped from his hair, staining the polished wood floor with dark circles. I turned a page. “I was busy.” He shrugged off his soaked jacket, his voice tired. “Can you warm up some milk for me?” Any other day, I would have been on my feet immediately. Now, I simply lifted my own mug. “I can’t be bothered. Get it yourself.” He suddenly grabbed my wrist. “Is this about your birthday?” I pulled my arm away, the ceramic cup base clicking lightly against the coffee table. “The project is at a critical stage,” he rubbed his temple. “Skylar, I honestly don’t have the energy to coddle you right now.” “Research is important, I get it,” I cut him off, echoing his earlier words. The rain hammered against the glass, just like the torrential night a year ago. I was in the sterile hospital corridor, listening to him comfort Phoebe on the phone: “Whatever happens, I’m here for you, don’t be scared.” Meanwhile, I had signed my own consent form for an emergency appendectomy. Dean’s eyes swept over my face, searching for a flicker of the old neediness, before he sighed, exhausted. “Sky, why are you doing this to me? Do you have to be this way?” I met his gaze calmly. “You’re overthinking it.” Silence thickened the air. He abruptly pulled a small, velvet box from his briefcase and tossed it onto the coffee table. “Here. Happy Birthday.” Inside lay a necklace, the pendant slightly askew, as if it had been jammed in there as an afterthought. It was a laughable contrast to the exquisitely wrapped Van Cleef & Arpels necklace Phoebe had flaunted on her birthday post last month. “Thanks.” I closed the box, my voice as neutral as if I were commenting on the weather. Dean stood up sharply. “That’s it?” He opened his hands. “Where’s my present?” “Oh, I forgot.” I pulled out my phone. “I’ll Venmo you. You can buy something for yourself.” His expression was a mix of shock and utter bewilderment. It was our thing. Every year, without fail, we exchanged gifts. For five years, I had insisted on it, even when he forgot mine. Last year, when his travel schedule made him miss my birthday, I flew across the country just to surprise him with a gift at midnight. After sending the money, I stood up, went to the closet, and changed my clothes. I slipped on a pair of high heels, ready to walk out the door. Dean called out, irritated. “It’s late, and it’s pouring. Where are you going?” “Dean,” I paused, pulling on my coat. “Do you know what the funniest part of all this is?” He looked utterly lost. “You always complained that I controlled you too much,” I opened the front door. “Now that I’ve stopped controlling you, you’re angrier than ever. And now you’re trying to control me.” With that, I closed the door behind me, ignoring his frustrated yell. The night air was a shock to my lungs, carrying a forgotten scent of freedom. Ever since I got together with Dean, I’d pushed away every late dinner and night out, based on his casual comment that he “preferred I was home early.” My colleagues and friends eventually stopped calling me, assuming I was the dutiful, boring wife whose husband kept a tight leash. Now, I was finally reclaiming those lost nights. The bar was loud, vibrant. My best friend, Maya, slapped my shoulder, laughing. “I thought you were going to be a perfect Stepford wife forever!” I threw back the rest of my cocktail. “Consider me back on the roster, Maya. Every time.” The years with Dean had narrowed my world until he was the only point in it: canceled gatherings, abandoned hobbies, alienated friends. Looking back, it all felt like a tragic joke. My phone screen glowed, the notification that Dean had rejected my Venmo transfer a harsh white light in the dark bar. It was two in the morning when I got back to the apartment. Dean was sitting in the dark, the end of his cigarette glowing in the shadows. I paused, momentarily disoriented, thinking I’d walked into the wrong house. “You finally decided to come home?” He crushed the cigarette and stood up. The smell of stale alcohol made him grimace. “You’ve been drinking? Stop playing this indifferent game. If you’re jealous, just say so.” I leaned against the entryway wall and chuckled softly. I was instantly reminded of the time three years ago when he’d come home late from a work dinner, and I had waited up until sunrise, only to be met with: “God, can’t you just leave me alone?” My head was spinning. I swayed slightly and braced myself on a dining chair. Dean’s nostrils flared, and a flicker of disgust crossed his eyes. “I hate the smell of alcohol. You know that.” He flicked on the overhead light. “And Phoebe and I are nothing. Are you really going to resort to self-destruction to get my attention?” I propped my head up with my hand and smiled languidly. “I was happy… so I had a few drinks.” He stared into my glazed eyes, his knuckles white. “Are you honestly going out drinking to spite me? I don’t have the time for this, Skylar. You’re a married woman. You have a husband. Can you please act your age and your station?” I nodded dismissively. He suddenly raised his voice. “Skylar, pay attention! My patience is limited! Don’t think I’m going to chase you forever!” My temple started throbbing, a deep, miserable headache settling in from the alcohol. I waved a hand. “Think whatever you want. I’m tired.” Dean suddenly knocked the glass on the table over, and the sharp sound of shattering glass exploded in the silence. “It’s always this! Every time we have a conflict, you put on this uncaring act! Do you even care about my feelings at all?” I bent down to avoid the glass shards, wincing as my lower back hit the corner of the table. He reached out to pull me up, but I sidestepped his touch. The instant I locked the bedroom door, I could hear his quick, agitated pacing in the living room. That night, I curled up on the edge of the bed, listening to the occasional, heavy sigh from the living room. I slept without dreaming. When the morning light finally cut through the blinds, I opened the door. Dean was slumped on the sofa, a dark shadow under his eyes, his face etched with exhaustion. He watched me silently as I walked past him, grabbed my car keys, and walked out. Just as I closed the door, I heard the sound of a mug being thrown against the wall. I stood outside the company building, clutching the printout of my resignation letter. The glass facade reflected the glare of the morning sun, almost blinding me. It was the same intense, burning sensation I felt three years ago when I gave up my secure job back home and dove headfirst into this new city just to be with Dean. My director slid the contract renewal across the table. “You’re our best Creative Director. Are you absolutely sure you won’t reconsider?” I looked at the impressive salary, my fingers brushing against the faint outline of a yellowed acceptance letter hidden in my purse—the offer from Pratt Institute in New York that I had locked away in a drawer years ago. Three days ago, I received my acceptance letter from a prestigious art program in London. The blue screen glow reflected on my face. I remembered Dean, twirling his pen, his face bored, saying, “Developing locally is more stable.” It hit me then: some dreams weren’t crushed by the passage of time. They were quietly buried by love. As I cleaned out my desk, Maya leaned in. “I heard you’re going to the UK? What about Dean? Are you two going to do long-distance?” I turned the framed photo of us face down on the desk, the embraced figures dissolving into shadow. “No long-distance. Because soon, he won’t be my husband anymore.” I returned to the apartment late that night. The motion-sensor light in the entryway flickered on. Dean was standing in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting his tie. The silver-gray suit made his features look especially handsome and sharp. A beautifully wrapped gift box rested by his feet, tied with a precise black ribbon—identical packaging to the one he had given Phoebe on her birthday last year. “I have a client dinner tonight,” he said, not turning around. His fingers were flying across his phone screen, and a soft, gentle curve played on his lips—a look I realized I’d never once seen directed at me. When a sweet, playful laugh came through the phone’s speaker, he unconsciously bit his lower lip, his eyes crinkling in a way that made him look like a stranger. He was smiling right up until the moment he noticed me staring at him. Then, the expression vanished. He was generous with Phoebe, attentive and gentle, but he couldn’t spare a single, real smile for me. His face darkened when I finally looked away. He didn’t say anything, just dropped his gaze in pure, unadulterated annoyance. As he efficiently changed his shoes, I thought about our first date, how nervous he was, clutching a bouquet of roses so tightly he crumpled the wrapping paper. Now he was composed, mature, and his newfound tenderness belonged to someone else. I knew the drill: he was starting the cold war. In our marriage, it always happened when Phoebe was involved. Before, I would always back down, trying to win him over. I would bring him food through rain and sun, even if he didn’t respond to my texts. Now, I simply watched him turn and leave. The security door’s soft clunk made a framed picture hanging near the entryway fall and shatter. I knelt to pick up the pieces, and found myself laughing. I opened my laptop to search for rental information in New York and brought up my saved list of must-try restaurants. Moonlight poured through the window, illuminating the plan I’d been working on. Those shelved dreams and futures were finally ready to begin growing again. Later, scrolling on the chaise lounge, I saw Phoebe’s Instagram post: It’s true what they say. When you’re with someone who’s truly your equal, you just shine. The accompanying photo was a mirror selfie of her in her Master’s gown, leaning into Dean. She was holding a bouquet of roses. The top comment, from Dean’s friend Blake, read: Congrats, little sister! Looks like old Dean finally got himself a worthy partner! haha! Scrolling down, Dean’s entire circle—colleagues and friends—had left comments, a stream of rose and heart emojis. Dean’s inner circle had always been cool toward me, subtly implying that a Bachelor’s degree graduate like me wasn’t a match for an academic star like him. They thought I lacked Phoebe’s higher education, her youth, and her ambition. In their eyes, I was just the tedious first wife, a stepping stone on his path to real happiness. I pulled a self-deprecating smile as I read Dean’s reply to the thread. He had written: Future guidance, little sister. Please. The layers of subtle affection in those words felt like a pinprick to my heart. Then Blake’s reply popped up: Maybe send that privately? Don’t want a certain someone seeing it and getting all dramatic. You know how sensitive she is. I remembered the times I had cautiously asked Dean to maintain distance from Phoebe. She had chased him once; now he was her mentor and colleague. His friends had instantly jumped to his defense, calling me possessive and paranoid. Dean would simply frown and tell me I was too sensitive, that I lacked trust. This time, I felt no urge for a hysterical fight. I simply closed the app and put on an old movie. As the familiar plot unfolded, I drifted into sleep. I was woken up violently in the middle of the night. Dean was standing over the bed, his face contorted in anger. A mixture of his cologne and alcohol fumes hit me. “Skylar, I was out entertaining clients all night. You didn’t send a single text? You didn’t check in? Look at other wives—they’re picking their husbands up, asking how their day was. And you? You always look like this—half-dead and completely disinterested!” I stared at him, bewildered. Why was he so agitated? I remembered when I used to ask him why he was late. He’d ice me out, saying, “We’re married, but I’m not a criminal you can check up on. Stop being so suffocating.” Now that I wasn’t asking, he was furious at my lack of concern. I suppressed the urge to push back, my voice measured. “I figured you were out with friends. I didn’t want to bother you with calls. And since you and Phoebe are close, I figured there was nothing to worry about.” Dean’s eyes flickered, clearly surprised by the calm way I brought up Phoebe. After a moment, his tone softened. “I was at Phoebe’s graduation party tonight. That post was just encouragement. Nothing else. Don’t let your mind wander.” I started to speak, but he rushed to elaborate: “What? You think I shouldn’t have gone? I’ve known Phoebe for four or five years. Even if she chased me back then, we’re just pure colleagues and friends now. I can’t exactly skip a friend’s party.” I nodded slowly. “I understand. I’m not angry. It’s late. You should get some rest.” Dean stared at me, his gaze searching, desperate to find a hint of displeasure or a hidden agenda in my expression. Finally, he reached out, trying to cup my shoulder. I subtly shifted, avoiding his touch. “I’ve been having some trouble sleeping lately. Could you sleep in the guest room tonight?” Dean’s eyelashes fluttered violently. He hadn’t expected me to dodge him. In the past, if he so much as raised his hand, I would instinctively lean into his embrace. His face turned as dark as a storm cloud. He spun around and slammed the master bedroom door, the frame rattling with the force. Once his footsteps completely vanished, I sank quickly into sleep. When you stop obsessing over someone else’s emotions, even sleep becomes light and easy.

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I’m a daddy’s girl, and for the last five years, he’s been gone. But this morning, after a stupid fall off my bike, I could hear him again. “Honey, don’t let that boy Garrett Pierce fool you again. He’s about to fake amnesia so he can manipulate you into doing something foolish. He wants to make a fool of you in front of the whole Base community.” I thought the ringing in my ears was just a concussion. I immediately ran next door to Garrett’s house. He opened the door and blinked at me blankly. “Who are you?” he asked. My father’s voice, sharp and frantic, echoed in my head: “Last time, you let your mother adopt him. You gave him everything good in your life. But he locked you in your house while he went off with someone else, and you were trapped in that fire! He left you to burn!” “Sloane, listen to your old man. Your mom is going to ask you to pick a little brother tonight. Don’t pick Garrett again. Pick Miles Thompson. The one who always glares and gets under your skin. But remember, every time you finished your dance practice, he was the one who quietly slipped you a bottle of water.” And sure enough, that evening, my mother, Base Commander Eliza Miller, walked toward me holding a handful of photos of young boys. “Sloane, honey,” she said, her tone serious. “These boys are all children of fallen service members. I’ve decided to adopt one to be your brother. I want you to pick. We’ll be a family.” This time, I didn’t hesitate. I pointed straight at the photo of Miles Thompson. “I’m listening to Dad,” I said. “I pick him.” 1 Mom looked at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “Miles? Sloane, you two are constantly fighting. Are you sure you want him as your brother? Think this through. Once we make it official, he’s family for life.” My mother is a high-ranking officer on this Base. Anyone she brings into our family gets an automatic ticket to a better life, better opportunities. Aunt Carol, Garrett’s distant guardian, stepped forward quickly, trying to interfere. “Sloane, Garrett may have a little temporary amnesia right now, but you two were inseparable before. Why don’t you wait a few days? I’m sure his memory will come back.” My dad made a loud, disgusted sound in my head. “She is full of it! Last time, that little Reed girl broke your most prized doll, and before you could even say a word, Garrett locked you out in the rain! You almost had pneumonia. It was Miles who came looking for you with an umbrella, muttering ‘This is such a pain,’ the whole time, but he still took you back to his place.” Hearing that, a painful knot tightened in my chest. I didn’t understand why Dad kept talking about these “past life” things, but every word felt heavy and suffocating, like cotton soaked in cold water. It was true that Brooke Reed had always been Garrett’s favorite playmate. They were always together, playing marbles and trading cards, and I was perpetually on the outside. “Mom,” I said, my voice firm. “I’ve made my choice. I want Miles Thompson to be my brother.” Mom collected the photos and gently ruffled my hair. “Okay, I respect your decision. I’ll host a dinner for the community two days from now and formally announce it.” Dad let out a long, audible sigh of relief. “That’s my girl. This time, my Sloane is going to grow up safe and happy.” After Mom and the adults left to discuss the official paperwork, I changed into a t-shirt and shorts, wanting to get some air. I wasn’t surprised to see three familiar figures standing in the hallway when I opened the door. They were the kids Mom was considering, my usual circle of playmates. Garrett was there, along with Zack and Ryan. Miles was, predictably, missing. Zack grinned and nudged me. “Sloane, we heard you’re picking a brother! Who did you pick?” Ryan chimed in, “Who else? It has to be Garrett! Everyone knows Sloane is totally obsessed with him and shares everything good with him.” Garrett, however, just glanced at me with an air of adult indifference. “I really don’t remember the last few years. I only remember playing with Brooke. But if the grown-ups decide I’m your brother, I’ll… accept you as a sister.” Dad gave a cold, hard scoff. “Accept you? Last time, he used that amnesia act as an excuse to be glued to Brooke while still taking advantage of all your attention. He broke your heart over and over again. The rotten jerk!” I looked at Garrett’s dismissive expression. If Dad hadn’t warned me, I might have fallen for it again. I had trusted him completely, truly believing he liked being my friend. I remembered my birthday three years ago. He had gathered all the Base kids to sing to me, his eyes bright as he said, “Sloane, I will always be right behind you.” I was so touched I nearly cried, and from that day on, I followed him everywhere. Now I knew he actually preferred Brooke, only being nice to me because of Mom’s rank. Now, he was faking amnesia, openly admitting he wanted to hang out with Brooke, yet still trying to begrudgingly agree to be my brother just to get into our family. Not on my watch. The obnoxious little fraud. I fought back the urge to expose him right there. Let him be smug for two more days, I thought. I wanted to see the look on his face when Mom made the official announcement. Zack poked my shoulder. “So? Who did you pick?” I kept my voice flat. “You’ll find out in two days.” I turned to leave, but Ryan’s voice stopped me. “Garrett, she definitely picked you. Don’t you remember when you had a cold, Sloane went out in the rain to the commissary to get you ginger candy and got soaked herself? She practically worships you.” “She does?” Garrett flashed a conceited smile. “I guess she really cares about me, then.” My heart seized up, a sudden, sharp pain. My eyes immediately burned with tears, but I refused to let them fall. Everyone on the Base knew I liked spending time with Garrett. The other kids often teased me, calling me his “shadow,” but I didn’t care. I lost my dad young, and Mom was often deployed or busy. Garrett was the only one who stood up for me when other kids bullied me. So, when he offered his friendship, I was ecstatic, promising myself I would be the best friend to him, ever. Now I realized his kindness might have been entirely transactional, entirely due to Mom’s influence. “Sloane Miller, wait up.” Garrett called out. I turned back. He walked toward me, holding a brightly dressed doll—Brooke’s doll. “I know you chose me. I’ll be your brother, but I need you to promise me you won’t interfere with me playing with Brooke.” I looked him dead in the eye. “You have amnesia, right? How are you so sure I chose you?” Garrett frowned. “Everyone says you like me best. Who else would you pick?” A rush of pure, hot anger went through me. So Garrett knew how I felt. He knew, and he was still using my affection to bully me. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t be chasing after you anymore. You can hang out with Brooke all you want.” In fact, I thought, he should be thrilled when he hears the news. Garrett looked genuinely stunned by how quickly I agreed. As I started to walk away again, he reached out, instinctively trying to grab my arm. Just then, a little kids’ scooter wobbled wildly toward me. The wheel slammed into my ankle, and I went down hard. My palms scraped against the rough concrete walkway, peeling the skin. Brooke, the little girl from the scooter, jumped off frantically, her voice already tearful. “Sloane, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you…” Before I could even speak, Dad started railing in my head. “The little actress! She’s doing it again! Last time she stole your toy, but she cried like you were the bully, and that idiot Garrett believed her every time!” Seeing Brooke’s watery eyes, Garrett immediately rushed to her side, his expression softening with concern. “It’s okay, Brooke. It was just an accident. Sloane won’t blame you.” He helped Brooke up, then turned to me, his face showing clear annoyance. “It’s just a scrape. Don’t make a scene.” My palms were throbbing, searing with pain, but I bit back my tears and stood up slowly. Brooke sniffled dramatically. “Sloane, please forgive me. I was playing carelessly. I’ll hit myself as punishment, okay?” She made a show of raising her hand to hit herself. Garrett quickly blocked her, then glared at me in anger. “Sloane, she apologized! Can’t you just drop it?” Dad’s voice was livid. “This rotten kid! My Sloane hasn’t said a single word—that little drama queen is doing the whole performance herself! Sloane, you can’t let this go!” I always listened to my father. I raised my hand and shoved Brooke squarely, sending her tumbling back onto the ground. I looked at Garrett. “That is making a scene. My father taught me to stand up for myself.” Brooke sat on the ground, completely frozen. Garrett was equally shocked, a flash of pure rage on his young face. “Sloane, you—” I raised my hand again and pushed him too. “That is taking it too far.” Since I’d known him, I’d always deferred to him, never once pushing back. The shove completely stunned him. Garrett stared at me in disbelief, his face red with fury. “Fine. You think you’re so tough? You’ll regret hitting me.” “Brooke, I’ll take you to the Base infirmary.” Dad was merciless in his derision. “Doesn’t even check on his hurt sister-figure, but rushes to comfort the one who crashed into her. You’d only regret having a family member who has no moral compass. Sloane, your hand must hurt.” I looked down at my bleeding palms. The raw, gut-deep feeling of betrayal was unbearable. In the past, whenever I was hurt, Garrett would be frantic, desperate to trade places with me. Maybe that concern wasn’t entirely fake. But now, he looked right through my pain, prioritizing Brooke instead. Everything Dad said was starting to sound horrifyingly true. Even if he did become my brother, it would only lead to the same tragedy Dad had described. 2 I wiped away my tears and went to the Base clinic to have the nurse clean and bandage my scrapes. The nurses were all gathered by the window, peering toward the main field. I looked out of curiosity. Garrett and Brooke were hiding behind the basketball hoop, whispering. Garrett was gently stroking Brooke’s hair. “Garrett,” I heard Brooke say in a tiny voice. “If Sloane finds out you’re faking amnesia just to play with me, she’s going to be so mad.” Garrett sounded completely unconcerned. “Who cares if she’s mad? She likes me so much. Even if I pretend to forget her, she’ll beg to be my friend again.” “Dream on, you little menace!” Dad spat in my head. “My Sloane didn’t pick you this time! Just wait until the announcement, then we’ll see how smug you are!” I scrunched up my face into a small knot of frustration, holding my bandaged hands as I walked toward the youth center. Suddenly, a loud scream rang out from the field. “The older kids are fighting! Get a coach!” The whole area erupted into chaos. I instinctively tried to run, but a high school-age boy who was fighting slammed right into me. The wooden handle of a broom he was holding was about to smash down onto my head. I had taken some self-defense classes with Mom, but I was still small and weak. Seeing Garrett look over in our direction, I screamed, “Garrett, help me!” Garrett started to move toward me, but Brooke immediately clutched his arm tightly. “Garrett, I’m scared. Please don’t go.” In that one second of hesitation, the broom handle connected with my arm. Blood immediately soaked through the bandage on my hand. The pain was so sharp that my eyes swam with tears. “This is an outrage!” Dad was stamping his imaginary foot. “That little punk has no conscience! My Sloane has been nothing but kind to him, and he’s going to let her get hurt?!” I was barely standing, using the last of my strength to yell, “Garrett, it hurts! Please, help me!” Before the words were out, Brooke shrieked again. Another boy from the fight was charging toward them. Garrett instantly pulled Brooke behind him and ran, not even glancing back at me. I watched their retreating backs, the sting of betrayal worse than the physical pain. Even if he didn’t want to play with me anymore, we had grown up together. In a moment of danger, he wouldn’t even spare a hand to pull me to safety? Suddenly, a blur of motion appeared. Miles Thompson sprinted toward me and kicked the charging teenager out of the way. He pulled me up from the ground and shielded me, pushing me toward the building. “Move!” By the time the adults broke up the fight, I was shaking, sitting on the edge of a planter box. Miles wordlessly handed me a bottle of water, his expression difficult to read. I noticed a tear in the sleeve of his uniform jacket from the chaos, revealing a patch of healed, faded scar tissue underneath. “Your arm…” I murmured. “It’s nothing,” he said, quickly pulling the sleeve down. “Drink your water.” I whispered a thank you, feeling a small ripple of warmth despite the cold shock. The incident quickly reached my mother’s office. Mom was furious and immediately tracked down the parents of the kids involved. Brooke’s family grounded her and sent over an expensive box of Godiva chocolates as an apology. That evening, Garrett came to my house, clearly annoyed. He tossed a bag of convenience store snacks onto my desk. “Sloane, what happened today wasn’t Brooke’s fault. Why did you get her grounded?” I held up my bandaged forearm. “See this?” Garrett paused, then quickly scoffed. “You’re fine. Everyone knows your mom protects you. You’ll always have people to help you. Brooke is younger and only has me to protect her. You saw what happened—she almost got hit, too. Can you stop targeting her? Go tell your mom to un-ground her, or I swear, I won’t be your brother.” Garrett sounded so entitled, so certain I would cave. “The nerve of this kid!” Dad was absolutely raging. I was completely done with him. I didn’t even want to argue. “I have homework. You should leave.” As the housekeeper ushered Garrett out, he flung one last furious parting shot: “Sloane, you’re going to regret this!” The next day, Mom held a lively party at the Base Community Hall, inviting all the kids. I wore my favorite athletic shorts and a t-shirt and went to the Hall. I was surprised to see Brooke, who was supposed to be grounded, already there, wearing a brand-new jacket, sticking her tongue out at me. “Garrett must have sneaked her out,” Dad snickered. “He never put that much effort into you, not even in the past life.” When Garrett saw me, he immediately turned his back, laughing loudly and intentionally with Brooke. The other kids were buzzing. “Why isn’t Garrett talking to Sloane?” “They look so cozy with Brooke.” “Sloane loves Garrett the most. She’s definitely going to pick him, right?” Miles stood quietly in the corner. When he heard the gossip, he shot a cold look at the kids talking, and they scattered instantly. Mom led me to the stage in the center of the Hall and handed me a red megaphone. “Sloane, today, you get to tell everyone who you’ve chosen as your new brother.” “Okay.” I took the megaphone, noticing Garrett staring at me, his eyes wide and anxious. Brooke gripped his shirt sleeve tightly. I gave Garrett a small, measured smile, took a deep breath, and shouted into the megaphone: “Thank you for coming to my welcome party!”

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Amelia always had him—her “guy best friend,” the one she constantly bragged about, the gold standard against which all other men fell short. Then, the fire came. Her parents were gone, consumed by the flames, her legs were broken, and her life was a ruin. And her best friend? He vanished. Just like that. Four years of total silence. It was me who stayed. Me who guarded her, night and day, for what felt like an eternity. The day she finally stood on her own—really stood—we had a small celebration with her closest friends. “Amelia, darling, if it wasn’t for Devin’s devotion these past four years, you wouldn’t be this far along,” one of them said, raising a glass. “Exactly! Devin is a catch, any girl would want him, but he put his entire life on hold, the most valuable four years of his twenties, just to care for you. It’s movie-worthy dedication.” “When are you two setting the date? The engagement is basically a done deal, right? You have to invite us to the wedding!” The celebratory mood didn’t just chill; it solidified. Amelia was silent for a long, agonizing moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was a strained, difficult whisper. “Devin… he’s amazing, yes. But… Jasper is back.” 1 I was standing right outside the door. The gift box—a small velvet case—slipped from my hand and hit the hardwood floor with a soft, sickening thud. I felt the sharp, immediate physical reaction of panic. I wasn’t just stunned; I was drowning. My lungs seized up. I couldn’t breathe. Inside, Sasha’s voice—Amelia’s most outspoken friend—exploded, laced with a furious disbelief. “Amelia! You cannot be serious! You’re talking about Jasper, aren’t you?” Another friend shouted, “Are you crazy?!” “When that fire took everything—your parents, your mobility, your entire future—Jasper didn’t even call. He never showed up! It was Devin who worked himself to the bone, day in and day out, asking for nothing. He was your nurse, your chef, your anchor!” “Now that you can walk again, don’t you have a responsibility to marry Devin?” As the accusations rained down, I heard Amelia start to cry, her voice barely audible, pleading. “Please, stop. I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do.” She sounded genuinely distraught, utterly wronged. But that sound, that fragile, victimized sob, felt like a giant, cold hand gripping my heart and squeezing. She said she was confused, didn’t know what to do. But in reality, wasn’t that the answer itself? Her refusal to choose was the choice she was making. Even her friends were appalled. “Amelia, what’s confusing? One man betrayed you; the other gave you his soul! Is that a tough decision?” “Look at Devin! The rest of us were dating, traveling, and living our twenties! He spent his most vital years caring for a paralyzed, broke friend who needed constant care, and he never complained! And you’re the one who feels put out?” Her cries intensified. “Stop saying that!” “Yes, I admit Devin did more for me than anyone else.” Her voice was high-pitched, defensive. “But just because he took care of me, does that mean I have to marry him?” “I’m a person, not property. I have my own mind, my own considerations!” “Stop morally blackmailing me, okay?” The use of the words “morally blackmailing” silenced them all instantly. And for me, standing outside, it was the first moment I could draw a real breath. I exhaled slowly, letting the oxygen trickle back into my starving lungs. I picked up the fallen box, adjusted the fake, dependable smile on my face, and pushed the door open. I walked straight to Amelia. “Amy? What’s wrong? Why the tears?” She quickly wiped her eyes, pulling herself together, the performance instantly kicking in. That soft, familiar tenderness she reserved only for me returned. “I’m fine, Devin. Don’t worry, my love. I’m just… overcome with happiness that I can walk again.” 2 It was a perfect, crushing lie. I saw right through it, but I didn’t call her out. I offered a gentle, worthless consolation. “Take it slow. You’ll get used to it.” “Mmm.” She looked at me with gratitude, then, tentatively, asked, “When did you get here?” “Just now.” I kept my voice casual, injecting a touch of manufactured guilt. “What’s wrong? Did you think I was late? I had an emergency at work. I’m sorry.” A wave of relief—not disappointment—washed over her face. “It’s okay. Your work is important.” I handed her the gift box. “This is for you.” She opened it eagerly. When her friends saw the stunning, expensive emerald necklace inside, there were gasps of envy. But Amelia just frowned, clearly disappointed. “This stuff again? It’s always emeralds, or diamonds, or gold. Can’t you ever get me something original?” At that precise, terrible moment, the door opened again. Jasper stood in the entryway, a massive bouquet of roses in his hands. The atmosphere in the room changed again, this time from quiet tension to outright hostility. Everyone in that room remembered his desertion. To them, he was a self-serving, cynical coward. Sasha, never one to hold back, glared at him. “What are you doing here?” Jasper flushed, visibly awkward. He forced a thin, weak smile. “I heard Amelia recovered. I came to congratulate her.” Sasha was furious, pointing a finger at him. “Amelia has Devin! She doesn’t need your fake sincerity! You’re not welcome. Get out!” Jasper’s face turned beet red. He looked ready to turn and flee. But Amelia caught his hand. “Since you’re here, Jasper, why don’t you stay for dinner?” Every single person in the room turned to look at me. I maintained the same easy, unwavering smile, but my fingernails were digging into my palm so hard I could feel blood collecting beneath the skin. It was true. My countless days and nights of sacrifice over four years couldn’t compete with her white-hot, idealized first love. Jasper, bolstered by her intervention, presented the flowers. “Congratulations on your recovery, Amy. I heard the news and came immediately.” Amelia reached out to take them. Sasha, reacting on instinct, slapped the bouquet from his hands. The roses scattered all over the floor. “Stop with the phony kindness! If you meant that, where were you for the past four years? You didn’t visit once!” Jasper looked down, his composure cracking. “You all misunderstand me. I didn’t want to stay away. My parents forced me to study abroad.” Sasha immediately shot back. “Study abroad? That’s the best, most self-serving excuse you could come up with? Even if that were true, in four years, you never came back for a holiday? There are no winter or summer breaks in Europe?” The silence that followed was suffocating. Then, Amelia knelt down, collecting the scattered roses from the floor, holding the fragile, ruined flowers carefully in her hands. “Everyone, please stop. Jasper must have had his reasons.” Sasha stared at Amelia in pure disbelief. But I saw it clearly. In that moment, Amelia only had eyes for him. She whispered, “Thank you for coming, Jasper. I love the flowers.” I felt a gaping wound open in the deepest part of my chest. I had spent a fortune and hours designing a custom piece of jewelry, engraving it with a private blessing. To her, it was common, boring. Jasper had bought a cheap bouquet from a corner store, and she held it like it was the most precious thing in the world. Suddenly, I felt exhausted. The room was too small, too loud, too real. I turned, walking out as everyone watched me go. “Devin! Where are you going?” Sasha called after me. I didn’t answer. Deep down, I was waiting for one voice, her voice, to call me back. But she didn’t say a word, not even after I’d closed the door behind me.

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The wedding was imminent. But my fiancé had just fallen in love at first sight with a con artist masquerading as an heiress. To save the strategic merger between our families, I did the dirty work. I hired a private investigator, compiled a dossier of damning evidence, and confronted the woman myself. When she saw the file, she trembled. She took my hush money, wrote a confession, and promised to disappear. My fiancé, Warner, was grateful I’d handled the “mess.” We married on schedule. But weeks later, in a glass-walled igloo deep in the Icelandic wilderness, he spiked my champagne. As the paralysis set in, I begged him for my life. He only laughed, his breath pluming in the freezing air. “She wasn’t honest about her past, Sutton, but her love for me was pure,” he sneered, watching the life drain out of me. “You drove her to suicide. A life for a life.” Only then did I realize: the con artist hadn’t left. She had faked her death to frame me. Trapped, freezing, and dying, I used my last ounce of strength to drag him out the door with me, plunging us both into the glacial crevasse. If I was going to turn into a statue of ice, he was coming with me. When I opened my eyes, the cold was gone. I was back in the library of the rental villa, the dossier in my hand, standing in front of the woman. Before I could speak, the doors flew open. Warner stormed in, snatched the file from my hands, and tossed it directly into the roaring fireplace. “Not this time,” he declared, his voice shaking with a terrifying conviction. “No one is going to tear us apart.” I nodded slowly, the ghost of the glacial chill still clinging to my bones. Her father, a grifter. Her mother, a gambling addict. A brother who treats the state penitentiary like a second home. Two children she abandoned… If you want to keep her, Warner, be my guest. I won’t stop you. 1 My fiancé, Warner Huntingdon, shielded Ivy Sinclair—the woman pretending to be Old Money royalty—behind his back. His face was washed in the relief of a man who had recovered a lost treasure. He ignored me completely, muttering to himself like a madman. “Thank God. Thank God I was on time. It’s not too late.” He turned to her, his voice dropping to a tender whisper. “Ivy, you don’t have to worry about anything. I know everything about you. You don’t need to be ashamed of your background. Someone like Sutton Mercer could never understand the depth of what we have.” Ivy, seeing the evidence turning to ash in the hearth, quickly shoved the check I had given her back into my purse. “Ms. Mercer,” she said, her voice trembling with practiced fragility, “true love isn’t for sale.” Watching this grotesque tableau, I finally confirmed it. The flashes of memory weren’t hallucinations. I had died and come back. And judging by the frantic look in Warner’s eyes, so had he. In our previous life, Warner had been possessed, obsessed with Ivy. I hadn’t loved him—our union was a boardroom deal, nothing more. I would have stepped aside, but Ivy’s rival had approached me with the truth. When I investigated and found layers of fraud, I intervened, thinking I was saving a childhood friend from a predator. I underestimated her. Ivy was smarter than I gave her credit for. She had fed Warner a “montage lie”—half-truths mixed with romance—convincing him she was a fallen princess too proud to ask for help. When she “died,” Warner played the grieving widower, married me to secure his inheritance, and then quietly sabotaged my family’s business from the inside. He wanted me to die knowing I was leaving my parents destitute. Remembering the agony of freezing to death, I smiled. I clapped my hands, a slow, hollow sound in the room. “Your love is truly inspiring,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ve decided to withdraw. I wish you both the best.” I turned and walked out of that rented mansion without a backward glance. 2 I had barely crossed the threshold of my parents’ estate when Warner arrived, Ivy in tow. I hadn’t had time to break the news to my parents yet. When they saw Warner interlocking fingers with another woman, the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees. “Warner,” my father said, his tone warning. “What is the meaning of this?” “Have you forgotten who you are engaged to?” my mother added, eyeing Ivy with distaste. “And Sutton told us about this woman. She’s a fraud. No business overseas, no—” “Enough!” Warner shouted, silencing the room. “I know what you people think,” he spat. “Yes, Ivy comes from a different world. But she is sincere! You think she approached me for my money? There are plenty of rich men, but she chose me. That proves it’s love!” He took a breath, puffing out his chest. “I’m here to break the engagement. I know our families have a contract. I know you need the Huntingdon capital.” He smirked, a cruel glint in his eye. “So, I’ll offer a compromise. I will marry Sutton. But behind closed doors, she will be nothing more than a servant to me and Ivy. To the public, she’s Mrs. Huntingdon. In this house, she’s the help.” Ivy chimed in, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “Sister Sutton, don’t worry. I’m sure we can get along.” Warner looked at her like she was a saint. He turned back to me. “And if you dare try to compete with Ivy, I will bankrupt the Mercer family.” My parents were purple with rage. “Who told you we needed your money? The audits clearly show—” I cut my father off. He didn’t know the future. The merger benefited the Huntingdons far more than us. If the deal fell through, it was Warner’s family who would suffer. But I didn’t want Warner to know that yet. I squeezed my father’s arm and looked Warner in the eye. “I accept the breakup.” The dissolution of the Mercer-Huntingdon engagement sent shockwaves through New York society. But Warner was too busy playing house with Ivy to notice. By the time his parents found out and demanded he crawl back to me, Warner had hatched a plan. He convinced them that Ivy was a secret heiress, her wealth temporarily tied up in offshore trusts, matching my family’s status. Of course, I helped him sell the lie. Without my subtle interventions in the background, his parents would have uncovered the truth in an hour. So, the wedding date was set. I thought I’d seen the last of Ivy for a while, but fate is funny. I was at the bridal salon for a final fitting when she waltzed in. She pointed a manicured finger at the gown behind me—my gown. “Sutton,” she said, entitlement radiating off her. “That dress belongs to me. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll hand it over.” I paused. I had designed that dress. I had flown to Paris to select the lace. It was only back in the shop because I’d lost a few pounds from stress and needed it taken in. “Ms. Sinclair,” I said coolly. “With your vast family fortune, surely you can commission your own gown? Or is taking other people’s things a pathology for you?” The shop assistants, who read the tabloids, covered their mouths to hide their giggles. Ivy’s face went pale. She wasn’t used to resistance from me. She wasn’t the type to back down, though. Suddenly, she slapped herself hard across the face, twice, and collapsed to the floor, sobbing. “Ms. Mercer! I know I shouldn’t have fallen in love with Warner, but I can’t help my heart! You can beat me, but I won’t give him up!” I stared at her, genuinely impressed by the performance. But before I could react, the door slammed open. 3 “Sutton Mercer! How dare you!” Warner stormed in, bristling with rage. “I told you to stay away from us! Ivy is my wife in every way that matters!” Ivy looked up through tear-filled lashes. “Warner, it’s a misunderstanding! I… I just fell. I fell right onto Sutton’s hand. It’s not her fault!” It was a masterclass in manipulation. Warner looked ready to explode. “I’m calling the police,” he snarled. “I don’t want a settlement. I want you in jail. Don’t worry, you won’t be lonely; I’ll make sure your whole family joins you.” As he pulled out his phone, I turned to the shop manager, my voice calm and bored. “Please save the footage from all eighteen 4K security cameras. The police will appreciate the evidence.” I looked back at Warner. “I don’t accept mediation either. filing a false police report is a crime, isn’t it? I wonder if a prison sentence will interfere with your wedding date?” Ivy froze. She realized too late that a high-end Manhattan bridal salon had better surveillance than a casino. “Warner… don’t call,” she stammered. “It really was an accident.” Warner wasn’t stupid. He saw the panic in her eyes. He lowered the phone, the realization dawning on him that the footage would show something very different from her story. The silence stretched, awkward and heavy. I smiled at Ivy. “If you like the dress so much, you can buy it. I’m sure with your combined ‘wealth,’ a hundred thousand dollars is pocket change, right?” Warner wanted to defend her honor, but he had given all his liquidity to his parents to prove Ivy’s financial standing. His cards were maxed out. He couldn’t buy a veil in this shop, let alone the gown. Defeated and humiliated, with no one offering them a graceful exit, they slunk out of the store like thieves. For the next few weeks, they were ghosts. Rumor had it they were holed up in Ivy’s rental, afraid to show their faces. I didn’t see them again until the day of the wedding. I was standing at the entrance of the Plaza Hotel, wearing the dress, greeting guests. Warner saw me and his face darkened. “Sutton, have you no shame?” he hissed, marching up to me. “I dumped you. Why are you standing here in a wedding dress? Are you hoping I’ll take you back as a mistress?” His eyes lit up with a twisted hope. In his mind, I was still the pathetic woman who loved him to death. “Is that it?” he laughed, arrogant. “You know I only said those things to hurt you, right? I didn’t mean to drive you crazy.” Ivy stood beside him in a rented gown that fit poorly. She looked at me, radiant in the dress she had coveted, surrounded by the elite of New York. Her eyes were red with envy. “Sister Sutton,” she said through gritted teeth. “You agreed to the breakup. Wearing a wedding dress here… it’s desperate. Warner and I have our marriage license. You’re practically making a move on a married man.” I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. The guests around me joined in, a ripple of amusement moving through the crowd. “First,” I said, wiping a tear from my eye, “my family owns this hotel.” “Second, if you’d bother to read the sign, this is my wedding to my husband. Not yours.” “And finally,” I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a chill, “get the hell out of my way. You’re bad luck.” 4 Warner and Ivy finally looked around. The signage was clear. The guests were mostly from my side of the aisle, or mutual business associates who had clearly chosen a side. And the groom… the man waiting for me inside was a titan. Compared to him, the Huntingdon family was new money trying too hard. Warner’s face drained of color. “We broke up less than a month ago,” he stammered. “Do you have no respect for feelings? Will you marry anyone just to help your family’s business?” I rolled my eyes internally. In our world, feelings were volatile liabilities; interests were stable assets. A marriage bound by profit was often stronger than one bound by passion. But that wasn’t a speech for a wedding day. “What?” I scoffed. “You can fall in love at first sight and elope, but I can’t dump a loser and find my soulmate? Don’t flatter yourself, Warner. You know who I’m marrying. He’s ten times the man you are.” Warner was speechless. Ivy, vibrating with jealousy, tried to salvage the moment. “Warner, don’t you see? To her, love is just a transaction. She’d marry a checkbook. I’m different. I love you, not your inheritance.” Warner seemed to relax at that. “You’re right,” he said, lifting his chin. “Sutton, my family business is facing a temporary liquidity crisis. We’re near bankruptcy.” He said it like a test. “But it’s temporary. Ivy doesn’t care. She’s standing by me to rebuild. Unlike you, who jumped ship for a bigger yacht.” I ignored him and turned to Ivy, smiling sweetly. “You do know, don’t you? The Mercer-Huntingdon merger wasn’t to save my family. It was to save his. Since I was going to be marrying down anyway, I figured I might as well marry up. At least now I don’t have to worry about whether the electricity stays on.” Before I could say more, Warner’s parents came running from the ballroom across the hall—the smaller, less prestigious venue they had booked. “What are you doing here?” his mother gasped. “Didn’t you get the venue change notification?” The crowd looked at them with pity. Warner’s parents straightened their spines. “Yes, our business has hit a snag,” his father announced loudly. “But our new daughter-in-law, Ivy, is no ordinary woman. Once the Sinclair trust funds transfer, the Huntingdon empire will be untouchable.” I laughed so hard I nearly choked. I pointed toward the hotel entrance. “Speaking of family,” I said, gasping for air. “You’re so busy crashing my wedding, you missed your own VIP guests.” Everyone turned. A large, chaotic group was pushing past security. They looked rough—worn down by hard living and bad choices. Warner’s parents looked confused. Ivy stumbled back, her face grey. “How… how are you here?” Two young boys, maybe ten and twelve, broke from the group and sprinted toward her, latched onto her legs. “Mom! Mommy! Why didn’t you tell us you were getting married?” “Is this our new daddy?”

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My mother has always been incredibly careless. The thing is, she only ever seemed to lose my things. Not just a critical client file or my passport right before boarding a flight. Every time she left me scrambling and humiliated, she would weep and insist her intentions were pure—she was just trying to help. Yet, she had perfectly preserved every single baby tooth my younger brother, Leo, lost when he was six. This time, my company needed me to fly out of state for three days over the major holiday weekend. My mom volunteered to watch my cat. When I got back, the cat was, predictably, gone. She started her routine—crying, hysterics. Leo accused me of being dramatic. I stood there, hands in my pockets, and a sudden, sharp laugh escaped me. “It wasn’t even my cat,” I said. 1 The emergency project came up during the holiday rush. I had three days of required travel. Finding a pet sitter for my cat, a tabby named Rory, was nearly impossible, especially since he had just undergone a neuter surgery and needed careful attention. I was frantic when my mother stepped in, offering to cover the three days. I was deeply skeptical, but I meticulously went over the care instructions, provided all the necessary supplies, and even set up a pet camera. “You know how important Rory is to me, right?” I asked her one last time. I’d gone through a really dark period with depression years ago. It wasn’t until I adopted Rory that my life started to heal. To ensure both my mom and Leo were motivated, I specifically wired ten thousand dollars to each of them before I left, purely for taking good care of Rory while I was gone. The day after I landed in the neighboring state, the feed from the pet camera suddenly pointed straight at the wall. My messages went unread; neither Mom nor Leo answered their phones. Anxiety clawed at me. I sped up my work, finished my presentation half a day early, and dragged my suitcase straight to my mom’s house. I shouted Rory’s name, but there was only silence. The place didn’t look or smell like a home with a cat. My supplies and the camera were gone. “Where is my cat?” I stormed into the living room and yanked Leo away from his video game console. He looked up, dazed. “What cat?” It took him a moment, and then he grinned. “Oh! Did we have a cat here?” I instinctively raised my hand to strike him. He flinched and yelled for Mom. She finally emerged from her room. “The cat was too wild,” she said dismissively. “It ran off.” “Rory is a house cat. He’s terrified of the outdoors. There’s no way he just ‘ran off.’ I set up the cage, his bed, and even installed a mesh barrier on the windows. How did he run off? How many more of my things do you have to lose!” Rory was like family to me—my most treasured possession. I had stressed his importance again and again, yet they were both so nonchalant. “So he ran off!” My mom’s voice rose. She kicked my suitcase, sending it skidding across the floor. “He’s just an animal. Why are you yelling at your own mother?” Leo stepped in front of her, shielding her. He pointed a finger at me. “Mom raised us single-handedly, worked her fingers to the bone, and now you’re yelling at her over a cat?” he shouted. “She did you a favor, and now she’s the villain?” A furious pressure built in my chest. I’d worked three exhausting days, dragging my suitcase straight from the airport without even a change of clothes, and this was my welcome. I took a shaky breath, cutting off my mom’s theatrical sob. “Just tell me,” I ground out. “When did he go missing?” My mom, touched by the public display of maternal devotion from her son, leaned into Leo’s shoulder, weeping softly. She mumbled, “I don’t remember.” I almost collapsed. Ignoring Leo’s insults, I rushed out, searching every bush and every corner of the neighborhood, from daylight until the streetlights came on, my back aching. I even tried a ridiculous folk remedy I’d read about. I begged the building manager for access to the security footage. Nothing. The only thing I found was Rory’s carrier and feeding bowls, crammed into a dumpster behind the apartment complex. That night, alone in my small rental, I watched the recorded footage from the pet camera, tears blurring my vision. Suddenly, the screen switched to a black, shaky image. Then, a sickening sound—a thud of a foot connecting with flesh—followed by a terrible, high-pitched cat scream. Leo’s lazy voice cut through the dark. “My sister treats this thing like gold.” Thump. Another kick. “Is this why she’s supposed to spend all her money on me?” I shot up from the couch. 2 To my surprise, Leo admitted it right away. He pulled up his sleeve, revealing a few faint scratch marks. “The little beast attacked me! So what if I kicked it a few times? Don’t be so ungrateful, treating an animal like some kind of trophy.” He made Mom show the back of her hand, which had a faint, thin scratch. I knew my cat. Rory was a domestic pet, not feral, and he’d just had surgery. He would only scratch if he was terrified or in pain, or if someone was deliberately provoking him. I was certain now: Rory hadn’t run away. I badgered my mother, my voice tight, demanding to know where they had dumped him. “Enough! It’s ‘cat, cat, cat’ all day long! You’re almost thirty and still not married, just obsessed with that animal. I’ve wanted to get rid of him for a long time!” “My marital status has nothing to do with this!” I retorted, shaking with rage. “Why would you get rid of my cat? Rory was the only thing my father left me seven years ago. I let you get away with losing my files, my passport, my paperwork—but how could you do this to Rory?” My mother’s chest heaved. “You are unbelievably selfish! If you don’t get married, how is your brother supposed to find a wife with a crazy spinster sister dragging down the family name? Are you trying to ruin us?” My not getting married would only ruin her chance to pocket a hefty wedding check. She launched into a tirade about how wonderful my most recent date had been. She claimed I was wasting my life and money on a mere ‘beast.’ “And you act so high and mighty with your fancy graduate degree! It was clearly a waste of money!” I let out a hysterical laugh. “If he was so great, why didn’t you marry him? Does being a widow at home somehow improve our feng shui?” The loss of Rory had completely consumed me. I was losing control of my tongue. I turned my fury toward Leo. “Ruined his life? He’s an unskilled dropout who can’t hold a job! I had to beg my company director to give him a dead-end maintenance job as a favor, and he’s still living rent-free in the condo I bought! I think my life is the one being ruined by the two of you!” It was a rare explosion of emotion. Everything—the ‘lost’ passport, the expense reports thrown into the washing machine—all the years of her casual, malicious sabotage flooded over me. Leo shifted, trying to play mediator, but I swept everything off the nearest table with a violent crash. My mom started to wind up for her performance, but I stopped her by smashing the ceramic ashtray against the tile floor. The white tile cracked, a deep divot marking my absolute fury. “Now. You will tell me exactly where you dumped him. Immediately. Or I swear, this isn’t over. If Rory isn’t found, you two are out of my house!” My eyes were burning as I delivered the ultimatum. “I mean it.” Finally, faced with my uncompromising fury, Mom and Leo confessed the truth. They hadn’t lost him. They had sold him to an illegal meat market. My head spun. I sank onto the sofa, the world tilting. 3 A gust of icy wind bit through my jacket. The winter snow felt warm compared to the freezing cold in my heart. When I was searching for Rory, seeing the falling snow, I kept thinking: My little Rory is so sensitive to the cold. He has no survival skills and just had surgery. How could he possibly live out there? My self-loathing had peaked. I hadn’t dared to stop searching in the freezing temperatures, afraid that if I left, I would miss him. But I never, ever imagined my mother and brother were capable of this. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. Leo led us, a family procession of absolute horror, to the meat market, tucked into the darkest corner of the local farmer’s plaza, operating brazenly in the open. I still clung to a sliver of hope until I saw it: a small, yellow vest lying in the mud near a pile of crates—the New Year outfit I had dressed Rory in before I left. “Hey! What are you doing back? Once it’s sold, there are no refunds. It’s already been processed.” The butcher’s words were a knife twisting in my heart. My mom, ever the victim, complained to the butcher. “It’s my daughter. She’s upset about this.” She made me sound like an overdramatic child. The butcher gave me a strange look. “You didn’t get her permission? I asked if you were sure, and you said you had the final say. You even took an extra fifty bucks, said the meat was good.” I balled my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I pointed a trembling finger at my mother and Leo. “You two are out of my house. Starting today.” These people, who could be so casually cruel, so indifferent to life—I should have cut them off long ago. I shouldn’t have clung to the faint hope of family connection, shouldn’t have given them the chance to hurt my Rory. A crushing, suffocating grief overwhelmed me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned to leave. But my mother grabbed my arm, her voice piercing. “You’re going to kick your mother and brother out for a cat?” The explosive statement caught the attention of everyone in the market. They gathered around curiously. My mom didn’t care. She sat down on the filthy ground and launched into her familiar, agonizing wail, slapping the pavement with her hand. This was the tactic she had used for years to force my father and me into submission. It worked when she insisted on a late-night drive for a craving, which led to my father’s fatal car accident, and it worked when she shredded my university application file, nearly costing me my education. She would cry, she would cause a scene, and the world would forgive her. Everyone would say, “Calm down, she didn’t mean it. No one wanted this to happen.” But my father and I were always the ones who paid the price. “Sweetheart,” a woman in the crowd said kindly. “I know young people love their pets, but a pet can’t be more important than your mother.” Leo stepped forward and helped my mom up. “Sis, just blame me. Don’t kick Mom out. She’s getting older. If you need to take it out on someone, kick me out.” I stood perfectly still, watching their disgusting performance, unmoved. Then, my mother suddenly shoved Leo away and bolted. She ran up the nearest exterior staircase toward the second-floor roof. She scrambled over the low wall, her feet dangling over the edge. “If you hate me that much,” she shrieked for the crowd’s benefit, “I’ll jump right now and pay for your cat!” 4 Half her body was hanging over the edge. But I knew she wouldn’t jump. After my father died in the car crash she caused, she’d threatened to join him out of fear of my grandparents’ wrath. She was still here, wasn’t she? “You always say it was an accident, an honest mistake, just ‘carelessness,’” I yelled up at her, my voice raw. “Would you be this ‘careless’ if it was Leo’s cat? Or if it was the CEO’s cat? You did this on purpose! You wanted to twist the knife, to hurt me! Who gives their daughter’s most cherished companion to a meat market? Who does that?” My sentence was cut short by her shrill scream. “You finally said it! You think I favor your brother! You’re using this cat as an excuse to destroy me!” My mother clutched the railing, sobbing to the crowd. “My daughter has a Master’s degree from a top university. My son only has a vocational certificate. Who am I really favoring? I’m the most unjustly accused person alive!” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. She was going to use my success against me? Every family resource had been channeled to Leo. Tens of thousands of dollars spent on tutors and school changes for him to barely squeak out a certificate. Meanwhile, I funded my entire education with scholarships and loans. I had to beg my teachers to vouch for me to keep her from marrying me off to an older man at seventeen. And now she was using my hard-won success as proof that she wasn’t prioritizing Leo? The surrounding onlookers bought it hook, line, and sinker. They gave me judgmental looks. “Young lady, you can’t just abandon your family once you’ve made it big.” “She made my son a janitor in her company!” my mother cried. “That’s because he wouldn’t learn basic office software! I did his work for him for the first month until his supervisor finally moved him to a job where he couldn’t cause trouble!” Leo walked out of the crowd, his face contorted in an expression of anguish. He slowly knelt on the ground in front of me. “Please, Sis, stop! I know I’m useless and a failure, but please don’t upset Mom. I don’t have Dad anymore, and I can’t lose her, too.” Several people started recording on their phones, their eyes blazing with righteous anger. “Look at this entitled person! For a cat, she makes her brother kneel and forces her mother to threaten suicide!” “Is a human life worth less than a cat’s now? Society is falling apart!” Trapped by the torrent of moral condemnation, I had no choice but to concede. I told my mother to come down, promising I wouldn’t press the issue for now. She instantly embraced Leo, and the two of them wept together, a touching scene of mother-son love for the cameras. As the crowd dispersed, I started to leave. Leo walked up to me, his expression suddenly shifting back to a smirk. “You know,” he said, his eyes glittering with malicious glee, “how loud your little cat screamed when I choked it and hung it up?” He mimicked the sickening sound, then looked at Mom, and they exchanged a smug glance. “How does the owner feel about that?” he taunted. The provocative, cruel smile danced on his face. I stopped, a sudden change sweeping over me. The gloom lifted. I smiled, too. I looked directly into his startled eyes. “Who told you,” I asked, my voice dangerously calm, “that was my cat?”

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My twenty-sixth birthday started with a cancellation. “Anya, I’m so sorry. The department had an emergency executive meeting come up. We have to cancel the Italian dinner tonight. I promise I’ll make it up to you once this crunch is over, okay?” “Okay. Just try not to overdo it. You need to take care of yourself, too.” I looked at my reflection—all dressed up with nowhere to go—and managed to keep my voice light. “Good girl.” The line went dead. Just as I set my phone down, a text popped up from my friend, Sasha. “Anya, are you and Dean at The Bellagio too? What a coincidence!” Attached below the text was a photo. It was Dean Harrison, my boyfriend, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from a young woman’s ear. The look in his eyes was so tender it felt like a physical blow. I knew the girl. Willow Tate. The perpetually “little sister” who had grown up next door to Dean, the one he always insisted was too fragile and needed his protection. I watched the twin flames of the little “2” and “6” on the cake flicker in the dark, then silently blew them out. I couldn’t even summon the energy for a wish. A man like that? I was better off without him. 1 My name is Anya Reed, and I’m just an ordinary corporate analyst. Dean Harrison, my now-ex-boyfriend, is a rising star in the Chicago business world. Young, ambitious, and on a trajectory to the very top. We were, by all accounts, two people from different worlds, and anyone on the outside would tell you I was punching far above my weight to be with him. I stripped off the cocktail dress and high heels, wiped away the meticulous makeup, and changed into my oldest sweats. I retrieved the tiny, lonely birthday cake from the fridge and inserted the “26” candles. In the sudden dark, the candlelight danced, reflecting the stark solitude on my face. I closed my eyes, about to make a wish I didn’t mean, when the screen of my phone flared to life. It was Sasha’s text again: “Anya, are you and Dean at The Bellagio too? What a coincidence!” The photo was still there. The background was the exact Italian restaurant I’d spent two months trying to get a reservation at. The focus was Dean, his hand near the neck of the girl, his gaze soft enough to melt marble. The girl was Willow Tate. His lifelong “little sister.” His pure, golden girl from the past. Sasha must have instantly realized her mistake because the text message was swiftly deleted, followed by a frantic, “OMG, I looked at the wrong table! That guy is totally not Dean! So sorry! So sorry!” I just stared at the ghostly image lingering on the screen, a nauseating wave churning in my stomach. His “emergency executive meeting,” it turned out, was him celebrating my birthday with his idealized first love, in my booked restaurant. I blew out the candles. The sickly sweetness of the store-bought frosting, combined with the bitter bile rising in my throat, made me want to gag. Exactly at midnight, Dean’s call came through. “Happy birthday, Anya.” His voice was slightly slurred, a mix of fatigue and a low-grade buzz. I didn’t answer right away. He must have picked up on my silence, because he softened his tone. “What’s wrong? Are you still mad at me?” “No,” I said, the word coming out husky and foreign. “Is the meeting over?” “Yeah, just wrapped up. My head is killing me.” He was lying so casually, without a flicker of remorse. “I dropped your gift off at your company’s front desk. You’ll see it when you go in tomorrow. Did you like it?” “Dean, you don’t have to work this hard.” A beat of silence followed, then his voice hardened with annoyance. “Anya, what is that supposed to mean? I spent the entire day working, I haven’t even had a minute to breathe, and I called you right at midnight to wish you happy birthday. Is that really the attitude you’re going to give me?” See? This was his move, always. The moment I showed even a sliver of disappointment or dissatisfaction, he would immediately seize the moral high ground, framing my feelings as childish or ungrateful. “It means nothing,” I said, taking a deep, shaky breath to push down the rising lump in my throat. “I got the gift. Thank you. I’m exhausted. I’m going to sleep now.” I didn’t wait for his reply. I hung up and immediately switched the phone off. I tossed the phone onto the sofa and buried myself under the comforter. I didn’t sleep a wink. I went into work the next morning with dark circles that looked like bruises. The receptionist, as expected, handed me a beautifully wrapped, petite box. Inside was a delicate diamond necklace I had mentioned wanting months ago. Yesterday, I would have been touched by his thoughtfulness. Today, it felt like an insult. He could use a necklace to make up for standing me up. What would he use to compensate for his complete and utter deceit? I dropped the necklace into the bottom drawer of my desk, opened my laptop, and pulled up the chat box for Mr. Powell, the Head of HR. I typed: “Mr. Powell, is that regional rotation opportunity to the Charleston branch still available?” Charleston, South Carolina. A sunny coastal city two thousand miles away from Chicago. Three years ago, I had turned down a corporate transfer to stay in Chicago with Dean, who had just returned from overseas. Now, all I wanted was to escape this city, and the man who was suffocating me here. Mr. Powell’s reply was instant: “Absolutely! Anya, I’m so glad you decided to go for it. I’ll send you the application forms immediately!” Staring at the application process on the screen, a feeling of lightness, one I hadn’t felt in years, washed over me. After work, I did something unprecedented: I didn’t go home to cook and wait for Dean. Instead, I met Sasha at a noisy, brightly lit music lounge. The deafening music and strobe lights were a temporary anesthetic for my bruised and broken heart. Sasha, peeling a spicy crab leg for me, was furious. “Anya, you are just too damn patient! If this were me, I’d be upending his entire life! Celebrating your birthday with another woman? What’s the difference between this and catching him red-handed?” I smiled bitterly, shaking my head. Dean had a severe form of germophobia. He never ate anything that required shelling or getting your hands messy. I used to love spicy seafood, but to accommodate him, I hadn’t touched it in three years. As the fiery, savory flavor hit my tongue, I realized with a sharp pang just how much of myself I had discarded in the process of loving him. “End it,” Sasha said flatly. “He isn’t worth it.” I was about to nod when my gaze inadvertently swept across a nearby booth, and I froze solid. Dean was sitting there. And beside him, of course, was Willow Tate. There was a third man, who looked like a client. Willow said something, giggling effusively, her body practically draped onto Dean’s side. And Dean—the man who claimed to hate crowds, loud noises, and had a meticulous obsession with cleanliness—was listening patiently, not a hint of impatience in his expression. What rotten luck. Sasha spotted them too, and instantly looked ready to flip our table. I gripped her arm tight. “Don’t.” “Why not? Go over there! Let him see you! Let him know you aren’t some piece of furniture he can just ignore!” “It won’t matter,” I murmured. Just as I spoke, Dean’s eyes scanned the room and locked onto mine. He paused, then his brow furrowed, and he rose, walking purposefully toward our table. “What are you doing here?” His tone was laced with accusation. Before I could speak, Sasha cut in, “What? Is this venue exclusive to officials and forbidden to common folk? If you can be here, why can’t Anya?” Dean’s face darkened. He ignored Sasha, focusing his stare entirely on me. “Come home with me.” “I’m not finished eating.” I gestured vaguely at the growing pile of shells and napkins on our table. He glanced at the mess, his frown deepening, a familiar flicker of disgust in his eyes. “Anya, you know how I feel about—” “I know,” I interrupted, my voice steady. “That’s why I stopped eating it. But now, I want to.” Our standoff drew Willow’s attention. She glided over, all soft curves and performance, and looped her arm through Dean’s. “Dean-Bear, what’s going on? Is this… the girlfriend?” She looked at me, a subtle, victorious gleam in her eyes. “Willow, stop it,” Dean said, his voice laced with the usual note of reluctant fondness. He then turned to me. “I’m in the middle of a work discussion. Go home first. We can talk about whatever this is when I get back.” “We can talk about this when I get back.” Always the same line. Looking at him, I felt an overwhelming weariness, a sense of deep pointlessness. I stood up. “No need. You two carry on. I’m finished and I’m leaving. Have a good rest of your night.” I grabbed my purse, didn’t give him a second glance, and walked out. Sasha, stunned for a moment, rushed to follow me. The cold Chicago air hit my face, and for the first time all night, I felt like I could breathe. “Anya, you were ice-cold just now! That was incredible!” Sasha exclaimed, excited. But I couldn’t smile. I knew this was only the start. The tug-of-war wouldn’t end until I was truly gone. I returned to my apartment. It was late, and I was on the verge of sleep, when I heard the distinct sound of the lock turning. Dean walked into the bedroom, bringing with him the sharp scent of stale alcohol and a strange woman’s perfume. I lay perfectly still, feigning sleep. He stood by the bed for a long moment, then leaned down and pressed a cold, brief kiss to my forehead. “Don’t be mad, Anya.” He whispered the words, the tone one might use to soothe an annoying but favored pet. I didn’t move, keeping my breathing unnaturally slow. I woke up the next morning to an empty room. On the nightstand, there was a velvet box. The exact necklace I had admired at the boutique yesterday. I opened it, and the glare of the diamond felt like an insult to my eyes. He always did this: using an expensive gift to replace a genuine apology, believing that monetary value could smooth over any emotional offense. I closed the box and tossed it into the drawer that was already full of his various “compensations.” Then, I signed the regional rotation application form and handed it to Mr. Powell. The die was cast. I just had to wait for the paperwork to clear. In the ensuing days, Dean seemed to believe the gift had successfully placated me, and our routine settled back into its weary, familiar rhythm. That Friday afternoon, I was packing up my desk when Dean called. “Are you free tonight? I want to take you somewhere.” “I can’t, I made plans with Sasha,” I declined instinctively. “Cancel them.” His tone was absolute. “I’m waiting downstairs at your building. Five-thirty. I’ll see you then.” He hung up. I sighed, defeated, and texted Sasha to cancel. I decided: tonight was the night I would lay all my cards on the table. At five-thirty, I walked out. Dean’s black Mercedes-Benz S-Class was parked conspicuously at the curb. I opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. He handed me a sealed envelope. “What is this?” “See for yourself.” He started the engine, a secretive smile playing on his lips. I opened the envelope. Inside were two first-class tickets to Italy, along with a thick, meticulously planned travel itinerary. “Italy?” I stared, bewildered. “You’ve always wanted to go, haven’t you?” He glanced over, his eyes soft. “Consider it my real birthday gift. We’re going to have our own world for a week, and forget all this unhappiness.” His gaze was genuinely tender, his voice sincere. A month ago, I would have been overwhelmed with gratitude. But now, all I felt was deep, bone-weary exhaustion. “Dean, we—” “Shhh,” he cut me off. “Don’t say a word. Just let me handle this.” The car sped toward the airport. He had orchestrated everything. Even our luggage was packed, already waiting in the trunk. I was half-coerced into the VIP lounge, holding a steaming cup of coffee, my mind numb. I watched the handsome, charismatic man beside me, who was now communicating fluently and confidently with the airport staff. He was dazzling, successful, and brilliant. But everything he gave me was laced with endless disappointment. This trip to Italy, I told myself, would be our final farewell. I mentally christened it the “breakup trip.” 2 After a grueling ten-hour flight, we landed. The air in Italy was humid and romantic, but my heart felt like a dry, cracked desert. Dean’s hotel was downtown, with a classic view of the ancient streets. He seemed to be in high spirits, wrapping his arms around me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder. “Do you like it?” “Mmm,” I replied noncommittally. My lack of enthusiasm seemed to annoy him, but he didn’t press. He just said, “You rest for a bit. I need to catch up on some emails. I’ll take you out for a Michelin dinner tonight.” I nodded. The moment he turned away, I subtly pulled out of his embrace. I was genuinely tired, and the plush bed was too inviting. I was asleep almost instantly. I woke to the jarring sound of a phone ringing. It was Dean’s cell. I fumbled for it in my grogginess. The screen displayed two words: Willow Tate. My stomach dropped like a stone. Seriously? I tossed the phone onto the nightstand, refusing to answer. But the persistent ringing went on and on, relentless. Dean was in the shower and couldn’t hear it. Frustrated, I sat up. Finally, I swiped to answer. “Hello?” There was a noticeable pause on the other end, followed by Willow’s voice, trembling and tearful. “Is that Anya? Where is Dean? Get him to call me! I… I’m in trouble!” “He’s busy,” I replied coldly. “Anya, please! I’m begging you! I’ve really messed up!” Willow sounded genuinely panicked. “I… I followed Dean here to surprise him, but my passport and wallet were stolen! I’m at the police station, and I can’t understand a word they’re saying! I’m so scared…” I wanted to laugh. A surprise? It sounded more like a self-inflicted disaster. “Followed him here.” “Stolen passport.” Did she think I was born yesterday? There were no such coincidences in the world. Just then, the bathroom door opened. Dean walked out, wrapped in a towel, drying his hair. “Whose call is that?” I threw the phone at him. “Your precious little sister, Willow. She came to Italy to give you a ‘surprise.’ She’s now at the police station and needs her hero to come to the rescue.” Dean’s face instantly changed. He grabbed the phone and began speaking rapidly in Italian, his brow tight with concern. A few minutes later, he hung up and started scrambling to get dressed. “I have to go out,” he said, struggling with his shirt buttons. “Go,” I said, watching him with detached calm. He looked guilty, and walked over, attempting to hug me. “Anya, Willow is a young girl, and this is her first time out of the country. I can’t leave her alone like this. Please be a good girl and wait for me here. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I sort this out, okay?” “Dean,” I met his eyes, my voice slow and deliberate. “If I were the one at the police station today, unable to speak the language and penniless, what would you do?” He hesitated, then said, “That’s not the same. You have me, don’t you?” Yes, I had him. Yet he was choosing, right now, to abandon me in this foreign country for another woman. “Where is my passport and wallet?” I asked. On the way over, he had insisted on keeping all our important documents and cash in his briefcase for “security.” He paused, a flicker of panic crossing his face. “They’re in my bag. Don’t worry, the hotel is perfectly safe. I’ll be back quickly.” With that, he grabbed his briefcase and rushed out of the room without a backward glance. The door slammed shut with a thud, extinguishing the last, faint flicker of light in my heart. Here I was, Anya Reed, in Italy, completely and unequivocally abandoned by my boyfriend.

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My twin sister and I were two halves of a whole, though we looked nothing alike, and we were only able to afford school thanks to a scholarship from a local tech mogul. But every time the university deposited the poverty assistance money into my sister’s account, the funds would immediately vanish. To keep me from worrying, she took on a shady job—a “black market gig,” as she called it—which led to her death. The university organized a memorial service for her. I stood in the corner of the room, listening as Sloan Foster, the unofficial queen of the freshman class, whispered and laughed with her circle. “Seriously, who knew taking a sip of your Smartwater could clean out someone’s account? You’re going to be a financial dominatrix by graduation, Sloan!” Sloan scoffed, cutting her friend short. “My family’s worth tens of millions, darling. I don’t care about the loose change.” “It’s just a new app. It’s not like using it on those people matters. Watching them scramble, totally frantic over a few hundred bucks? God, it’s hilarious.” That’s when it hit me. The vanishing money, my sister’s desperation—it was all a game to them, orchestrated through some kind of system transfer. A year later, I earned my acceptance to the same university Sloan attended. I lived my life the way my sister had—working hard, taking on part-time jobs—and I made sure to cross Sloan’s path again and again. Sure enough, she noticed me. Her eyes held that distinct glint of a hunter spotting their prey. Not long after, the university’s top benefactor came to campus to present the scholarships. I was on the recipient list. Sloan walked over, a bottle of premium mineral water in hand, her smile dripping with false concern. “Rowan, you look exhausted. Why don’t you take a break and drink this?” I took the bottle with a grateful smile. The second she turned away, I poured the contents into the glass of imported tea set out for the mogul. She liked playing the deposit transfer game, did she? Fine. This time, I’d play a round with much higher stakes. 1 The university had gone all out for the Donor Gala, a lavish event designed to secure major endowments. Dozens of alumni were invited—all captains of industry, financial titans, and political power brokers. Malcolm Price, the local tech mogul and one of the wealthiest men in the state, was the guest of honor, tasked with personally presenting the $10,000 Scholar’s Award. As a member of the Student Committee, I was busy setting up the main ballroom with the other volunteers. The atmosphere was one of frenetic, high-stakes energy. “Rowan, you look exhausted. Take a break and grab this.” Sloan’s voice was laden with concern as she smiled and offered me the mineral water. I wiped the sweat from my brow, giving her a shy, appreciative smile that was eerily similar to my sister’s. “Thank you, Sloan.” She was about to say more, but a staff coordinator called her name from across the room. Sloan answered, then turned back to me, her tone soft but carrying an unmistakable command. “Your lips look chapped. Make sure you drink the whole thing, okay?” I nodded enthusiastically. Watching her turn and walk toward the coordinator, the smile slowly slid from my face. I lowered my head, my fingertips tracing the chilled surface of the bottle. Sloan. Her methods were exactly as I remembered. Approach your prey with the biggest display of kindness you can fake. Then, use that intimacy as a chance to shatter their every hope. Watch them suffer, collapse, and finally be destroyed by despair. Just like she did to my sister, Lyra. We’d lost our parents young, and Lyra and I survived on the tech mogul’s scholarship. Lyra was kind and open-hearted. She’d met Sloan at the university and instantly considered the popular, wealthy girl her best friend. But from the moment she met Sloan, the monthly scholarship payments would mysteriously disappear from her account. She contacted the bank, filed a police report—nothing helped. The account was consistently zeroed out, as if the deposit had never arrived in the first place. Lyra never told me. She was afraid I’d worry. Instead, she listened to Sloan, who convinced her to take on that “fast money” gig—the one that got her killed. I didn’t learn the truth until the day of Lyra’s memorial. The whole nightmare began with a single, doctored bottle of water. A single sip, and the money in your account was silently, seamlessly transferred. From that day on, I had one goal: This university. I studied until my eyes bled and finally earned a spot here, where Sloan reigned. Sloan. My sister gave you her full trust and unconditional kindness. And you paid her back with playful theft and total annihilation. People who betray true kindness have to pay their penance. I lifted my head, my gaze settling on Malcolm Price, who was currently greeting the university administration at the front of the ballroom. My fingers tightened slightly on the bottle. You love the deposit transfer game? Fine. This time, I’ll let you play a much, much bigger one. 2 The memory flashed away, and the bottle of water in my palm was already warm from my body heat. I scanned the room, quickly locking onto my target. Spencer King. Student Committee Vice President. Heir to the formidable King Hospitality Group. He also happened to be the nephew of the regional bank president. The absolute picture of money and influence on campus. I adjusted my expression—a perfect mix of shyness and appropriate deference—and walked over. “Vice President King, you’re working so hard. Would you like a bottle of water?” Spencer had just finished hauling a crate of decorative props. He stood up, wiping the sweat from his brow, and turned to me with a grateful smile. “Thanks, Rowan. That’s really kind of you.” But just as he reached out to take the bottle, a sharp, piercing voice cut through the background noise. “No!” Spencer’s hand froze mid-air, his brow furrowing in confusion. I turned my head, feigning surprise. “Sloan? Why are you shouting?” Sloan met Spencer’s questioning stare and her composure faltered for a brief second before she quickly regained control. Her friend, Jessie, jumped in, immediately turning the focus onto me. “Rowan Hall, don’t think we don’t see right through you! What is this, a ploy?” “A scholarship kid like you trying to cozy up to Spencer King? Please. Did you think handing him a Smartwater was your ticket out of the cafeteria line? Know your place!” She turned to Spencer, her voice laced with exaggerated caution. “Be careful, Vice President King. Who knows what kind of garbage people like her, desperate to climb the ladder, would put in a bottle of water?” Spencer looked at me, a flicker of suspicion clouding his eyes. The commotion had drawn the attention of the surrounding committee members. The people who were usually friendly or indifferent now gathered around, their faces alight with the malicious joy of watching a public spectacle. “I’m just saying,” one girl sneered, giving me a dismissive once-over. “A charity case like her trying to catch Spencer’s eye? Seriously?” Another guy chimed in. “Yeah, people need to know their worth. Poor kids belong in the library, not trying to social climb.” “Look at her playing the innocent victim. I bet she scavenged that bottle from the recycling bin.” A final comment sparked a round of laughter. I tightly gripped the water bottle, my knuckles white, shaking my head in manufactured panic. “No, it’s not! This water… Sloan gave it to me just now…” Jessie paused, then put her hands on her hips, her expression growing sharper. “If Sloan gave it to you, why are you trying to give it to Spencer? Trying to play a dirty little Cupid, are we?” The crowd roared with jeers. “How shameless! Using Sloan’s kindness to impress Spencer!” “She’s clearly jealous of Sloan. The class queen is beautiful and rich, and Rowan? All she can do is fake cry.” “If Sloan gave it to her, why isn’t she drinking it herself? Does she have something to hide?” Sloan stared me down. “Rowan, you haven’t got some kind of issue with me, have you?” I waved my hands frantically. “No, no! Sloan, you’re always so generous and kind to me. Why would I have an issue?” Jessie and Sloan exchanged a look. Jessie scoffed. “If you don’t have an issue, prove it. Drink the water. Now. Right here in front of everyone.” I bit down hard on my lip, fighting to suppress the triumphant smile that was threatening to break through. Sloan had done half my work for me. Their desperate attempt to prevent me from transferring the water to Spencer only confirmed my suspicion: The transfer system was still active, and its effect could be passed on through my handing the water to someone else. I forced a trembling sob, my eyes red-rimmed, managing a sorrowful, twisted smile. “If you don’t believe me… then I’ll drink it.” I unscrewed the cap, raised the bottle, and chugged two mouthfuls. Water trailed from the corner of my mouth. I stubbornly wiped it away, my expression anxious and vulnerable as I looked up at them. “Is that enough?” Jessie nodded, satisfied. “That’s better. Keep drinking, girl.” I gave her a grateful, almost subservient smile and finished the entire bottle. Sloan and Jessie exchanged another glance, a signal that their sport was finished. The rest of the crowd, seeing the drama end, dispersed back to their posts. I let my pathetic facade melt away, and when no one was looking, I slipped into the back utility closet and retrieved the other bottle of water I had hidden earlier. Sloan only gave me one bottle. I certainly wasn’t going to use that one to test her. I uncapped it, drank a sip myself, and then poured the remainder into the water cooler that supplied the hot water for the VIP tea station. 3 By mid-afternoon, the main ballroom was almost finished. Sloan walked up to me, holding her phone, her voice unnervingly cheerful and warm. “Rowan, perfect timing for a quick vlog! You’re one of the new award recipients!” “Tell everyone—what are you going to do with the ten thousand dollars?” She’d asked Lyra that same question last year. My sister had faced the camera, nervous but her voice ringing with such gentle determination. “I’m going to save every penny for my little sister.” “When she graduates, I’ll finally throw her the birthday party she deserves.” That clip was posted online, tagged with the trending hashtag #AngelSister, and garnered millions of praises. But when Lyra’s account was emptied, Sloan bought a new trending topic, publishing a forged screenshot with a vicious, cutting headline: “Angel of Charity” Blew $10K Scholarship on Male Escorts in Late-Night Club Binge—Scamming the Whole Internet! The online sentiment immediately turned toxic. My sister couldn’t track down the money, and she was powerless against the tidal wave of online abuse. That’s when Sloan, ever the “good friend,” had appeared, suggesting she go to a club where she could “make fast cash.” It ended with Lyra being assaulted, degraded, and found dead in a dark alley on a rainy night. My hands, clasped behind my back, clenched into tight fists, but I raised my chin and smiled into Sloan’s phone camera. “Ten thousand dollars. I’ve never seen that much money in my life. It’s enough to last me a long time.” “But I want to take half of it and donate it to a foundation for disadvantaged children.” “Do good, and good will find you.” Sloan’s eyes brightened, clearly pleased with the answer. She tried to pry further. “With this money, you won’t have to worry about living expenses this semester, right?” I lowered my gaze, letting a suitable shadow of sadness cross my face, forcing out a pained laugh. “My family… they’re gone. It’s just me now.” “Thank goodness for the scholarship. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to stay in school.” In that instant, I saw the undisguised, hungry excitement in Sloan’s eyes. A girl alone. Her last lifeline of money. There was no more perfect “toy” than this. She must have been anticipating the moment when the money vanished, the moment I, utterly alone, would collapse in total despair. She seemed satisfied and walked away toward another group of students. I watched her back, my smile gone, replaced by an arctic chill. She didn’t hear it. Do good, and good will find you. It was my sister’s favorite phrase. I used to tease her for being so naive. But she would always say, “Oh, just you wait. The universe will be so blinded by my good karma that it has to look out for you, too.” But the universe didn’t look out for us. It only took the one light I had left. I stared coldly at Sloan, who was now laughing and joking with someone. I picked up the electric kettle and walked back to the water cooler. The university president had spared no expense for this gala, even procuring rare, imported black tea for the guests of honor. Sloan, you love to manipulate people and bask in the thrill of stripping away their hope. I want to see what happens when Malcolm Price, the city’s most powerful mogul, becomes the victim of your cruel little game. Will you still find the deposit transfer game so “hilarious?” 4 I poured the recently boiled water into the delicate ceramic teacups. The tea leaves, hit by the scalding water, twisted and rolled like a condemned man in agony. I watched the silent tragedy unfold, then meticulously placed the finished cups on the VIP table. The faces I usually saw on the Wall Street Journal or Forbes were starting to take their seats. When Malcolm Price arrived, the crowd instantly surged toward him with handshakes and effusive flattery. At two o’clock, the gala officially began. The first segment involved the host introducing Malcolm Price and the scholarship recipients—including me—to the stage. When I gave my acceptance speech, my voice was filled with the perfect degree of excitement and gratitude. Malcolm Price was visibly pleased with my heartfelt, worshipful testimony. After he delivered some obligatory, high-minded remarks, the staged segment finally ended. Backstage, I stayed busy, all the while keeping a close watch on the main hall. On the stage, students were performing a carefully choreographed dance routine. Following the performance, Price announced a new, expanded scholarship initiative. In the audience, the guests of honor, encouraged by the university president, started to sip their tea. A little distance away, Sloan checked her phone, a small, cruel smirk playing on her lips. She sauntered over to me, her expression a mix of condescension and outright mockery. It was a devastatingly cruel combination of pity and superiority. “Rowan, I assume your scholarship hit your account by now?” I nodded slowly, feigning realization, and pulled out my phone. My eyes widened as I checked the balance, and I froze in place. Sloan’s smile stretched wider. “What’s wrong?” My hands were shaking, my face ghost-white. I looked up at her, my expression blank, overwhelmed by an imagined, crushing defeat. “Sl-Sloan… my money… my three years of savings… it’s all gone…” “The money from my jobs, the scholarship—it just vanished. That was… that was my survival money… How… how could this happen…” I gasped for air, clutching my chest, and sank to the ground in manufactured despair. Sloan crouched down, her voice a poisonous whisper, filled with the exact, twisted pleasure I knew she sought. “How could that happen?” “Maybe you had some hidden debt or a late payment, and the money was immediately routed away? You know, last year, I met a girl just like you. Crying about working hard to support her little sister, only to blow the whole scholarship on male escorts at a late-night club.” I snapped my eyes open, the sheer rage in them almost impossible to contain. I scrambled up, looking utterly distracted and distraught. “No! I’m calling the police! I have to get my money back!” Sloan curled her lip, looking at me as if I were a pathetic insect. At that exact moment, the host on stage was mid-sentence, his voice booming. Suddenly, Malcolm Price bolted to his feet, shouting into his phone. “Say that again?!” The host stopped instantly, stunned into silence. A profound, deathly silence fell over the hall. The shaky voice on the other end of Price’s phone echoed loudly in the acoustically sensitive room. “Call the police! You have to call the police! Someone has definitely hacked and stolen from my bank accounts!”

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I was driving out of Harbor City for our long-planned Fourth of July trip when my wife suddenly pulled over and forced me out of the car. “The dog got loose and bit the neighbor across the way,” Seraphina said, her face tight with forced calm. “I have to go handle it.” Before I could even speak—before I could ask what dog, or what neighbor—she hit the gas and left me stranded on the shoulder of the interstate. I’d just finished calling the State Police for help when my phone pinged with a notification: a bank transfer. Withdrawal Alert: Rabies Vaccine Fee: $1,500,000. I instantly called Seraphina. “Have you completely lost your mind?” I yelled into the phone, the sound of passing semis drowning out my own voice. But she sounded frantic, not crazy. She claimed the neighbor was critically injured and would sue us unless we paid the absurd compensation immediately. It was ridiculous. The entire complex belonged to my family. There were no “neighbors” across the way; the entire exclusive tower was reserved for my immediate family. I hung up, dialed 911, and reported illegal trespass and suspected danger at my primary residence. While waiting for the State Trooper to pick me up, I sent a text to my assistant: Fire Seraphina Maxwell immediately. Then, have my attorney draw up divorce papers. I want her to walk away with nothing. 1 My fury was a physical weight, a hot, toxic energy that kept me vibrating the entire drive back. The Olympus Estates, the most luxurious high-rise in the city, had been my parents’ gift to me for my thirty-fifth birthday. To avoid any hassle or intrusion, the entire building was designated for my private use. So who was the ghost Seraphina was paying a million and a half dollars for a vaccine? The patrol car finally dropped me near the security gate of The Olympus, but the armed guard stopped me cold. “Hold it right there. This area is restricted. Ms. Sera Maxwell of Pinnacle Properties is hosting a major birthday party inside.” He puffed out his chest. “Everyone here is high-level—the city’s elite. Unless you’re her husband, you’re not getting in.” My blood boiled over. I shoved my pass toward him. “The entire building belongs to me! Let me through!” He didn’t even glance at the card, smirking instead. “The whole building is yours? Look at you. You look like you slept in your car. Trying to run a scam?” He laughed, a cruel, short sound. “Everyone knows the complex belongs to Ms. Maxwell. Don’t tell me you’re claiming to be her husband.” I was shaking with rage. What exactly had Seraphina been doing? “I am Seraphina Maxwell’s husband! Who else would I be? Let me in now!” The guard threw his head back and guffawed. He looked at me like I was a genuine idiot. “I know Ms. Maxwell’s husband when I see him. He’s inside celebrating his birthday right now! You should check your facts before trying to pull this kind of stunt.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “Ms. Maxwell’s husband is Rex Sullivan. He wears nothing but designer brands, and he tips us security guys with hundred-dollar bills and premium Cuban cigars.” “You look like you shop at a thrift store. You think you’re Mr. Sullivan?” He picked up his stun baton, gesturing me away. I felt the buzzing of electricity even before the baton was close. Rex Sullivan. The name hit me like a physical blow. I remembered him clearly: a notorious high school bully who, years ago, had been arrested and jailed after pushing a classmate to a suicide attempt. How was he Seraphina’s husband? And how had he moved into my private estate? When the electric current was dangerously close, I reacted. I kicked the guard’s feet out from under him, snatching the baton as he fell. “You should’ve kept your hands off me!” I forced the security team to back up, the stolen baton held high, and burst through the gate toward the penthouse tower. “Noah, tell Deputy Director Shaw thank you again! That Wellington University acceptance letter is yours! And be sure to thank Principal Harrington—he’s the head of Wellington. If you ever need anything, go straight to him!” I heard Seraphina’s bright, ringing voice before I even reached the main floor. When I got inside, she was standing next to Rex Sullivan, her arm linked tightly through his. Next to them stood a tall, grinning teenager—Noah—who was shaking hands with a man holding a cocktail. My appearance sucked all the air out of the room. The music stopped. Every single pair of eyes in the glittering ballroom turned to me. I swept my gaze across the faces: the Deputy Director of the State Board of Education, the Principal of Wellington University, the manager of The Olympus Estates… These people normally needed my father’s permission just to breathe. Now they were all gathered, enjoying Seraphina’s hospitality, apparently allied with her. And then I saw Rex again. The sight of him, dressed in expensive Italian silk, but still carrying the unmistakable menace of a thug, made my stomach clench. “Seraphina,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “What the hell is this gathering in my house?” She paled immediately and rushed to grab my arm, trying to pull me aside. “What are you doing here? I’m in the middle of groveling for forgiveness! Get out, now!” She hissed the last word. “And by the way, the money wasn’t enough. I’ve already promised his son the early admission scholarship to Wellington.” A roar started in my ears, drowning out her voice. I flashed back to their earlier conversation. Wellington was the most prestigious university in Harbor City. The scholarship—the one my son, Finn, had worked himself half to death to secure—was the top academic honor in the state. And she’d just handed it away? Before I could tear into her, the teenager spoke up, pointing at me. “Mom, who is this man? He just barged in. So rude.” Seraphina’s face shifted, her expression turning hard and fixed, a desperate resolve in her eyes. “He’s a lunatic, Rex! Get him out of here, now! If he doesn’t leave, call security to beat him out!” I stared at her, genuinely shocked. It was as if I was meeting her for the very first time. “Seraphina, what are you saying? I am your husband!” She glared at me, her eyes vicious. “Stop spreading lies! Rex is my husband! I told you to get lost! How long are you going to keep harassing us?” My entire body was shaking. I could barely stand. “Seraphina, has a donkey kicked you in the head?” The guests around us started whispering. “Is this guy for real? Can’t he see this is Ms. Maxwell’s husband’s birthday party?” Rex let out a contemptuous snort and looked down at me from his superior height. “Trash is trash. Trying to hit on my wife in front of me.” Just then, the security guard I’d kicked, along with a team of backup bodyguards, rushed in. “I apologize, Ms. Maxwell, esteemed guests! He forced his way in, but we have him now! I’ll tie him up and haul him to the police station immediately!” He waved his hand, and the bodyguards closed in. I backed up two steps, my jaw tight. I focused my fury on Seraphina. “You need to explain yourself, Seraphina. Right now. Or you and I are done.” She frowned. “Noah is from a single-parent home, and I was just trying to entertain these leaders for him. What is your problem?” She suddenly changed her tone, her voice turning into a bark. “Get out! Don’t push me to do something you’ll regret!” Rex took a step toward me, a sneer of challenge on his face. “Seraphina, The Olympus is a high-class reserve. We can’t let him just barge in and cause a scene like this. We can’t let him off easy.” He addressed his security. “What are you waiting for? Beat him! Show him what happens when you trespass! The Principal and the Director are watching—we can’t let them think we’re lax on security!” The bodyguards raised their batons and moved toward me. I narrowed my eyes at Seraphina, shouting, “Think clearly, Seraphina! Tell them to stop!” She hesitated for a brief second, lifting her hand as if to call them off. That’s when Noah tugged on her sleeve, his voice a whine. “Mommy… that man is scary. If we let him go, what if he comes to my school and hits me?” Seraphina looked down at the boy with a sickeningly tender gaze, her voice dripping with affection. “My darling, Mommy will always protect you.” She looked up at the bodyguards, her voice chillingly cold. “Forget the slaps. Break his arms and legs. Make sure he can never hurt my son again. My beloved son!” I stared at her, heart sinking with a terrible finality. I fixed her with a hard, flat gaze. “I am your husband. Try and touch a single hair on my head.” “You not only gave my son’s scholarship to this bastard, but you’re ordering men to beat me for him? I suggest you wake up, Seraphina.” Noah immediately exploded, screaming, “That’s a lie! The scholarship was mine! I don’t need your stupid son’s leftovers!” Principal Harrington watched me with a patronizing smirk. “Sir, slander is a serious offense. Noah is the City Valedictorian. His acceptance to Wellington is absolutely legitimate. Your fool of a son would be lucky to get into community college.” The surrounding guests joined in the mockery. My eyes burned as I focused on Principal Harrington. “You’re lying! My son, Finn, is the City Valedictorian!” That honor was the result of years of tireless work, a sacrifice on both our parts! The Principal looked at me with open contempt and flashed his phone screen in my face. “The Honor Roll is public. Look closely. Noah Sullivan is listed first. You’re delusional if you think otherwise. Wellington is not for every stray dog off the street.” I roared, “Shut up! My son’s name was on that list!” But even as I screamed, the screen showed Noah Sullivan at the top, with a score that matched my son’s perfectly. Finn’s name was nowhere to be found. Seraphina wouldn’t meet my eyes. Principal Harrington’s expression shifted, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He lowered his voice, the offer dripping with venom. “I can, however, give you a chance. Just get on your knees and knock your head on the floor one hundred times. I might consider having a conversation with you.” “You don’t need to keep acting hysterical. Just kneel down and—” The rage became a blinding, white-hot fire. I snatched the stun baton from the nearest bodyguard and thrust it toward the vile man’s chest. “Say one more word, and I’ll electrocute you where you stand!” Seraphina stared at me, her eyes promising a thousand cuts. “Leo Maxwell, where do you get the nerve to threaten Principal Harrington? Security! Bodyguards! Are you useless? Hold him down, now!” Suddenly, a group of men swarmed me, wrestling me to the marble floor in three violent motions. Seraphina immediately turned to the Principal, plastering a fake, appeasing smile back on her face. “Please don’t be angry, Principal. He’s completely unhinged. I’ll have him thrown out immediately.” The Principal was still shaken and furious at being shown up. His face was distorted with malice. “Ms. Maxwell, I can forgive the embarrassment, but to let a man who threatens me go free? That’s not good form.” “Order your men to strip him naked, and make him crawl around the perimeter of the building, barking like a dog. Until I say stop.” He paused, his smile sickening. “Otherwise, Noah’s enrollment may become… complicated.” Seraphina wavered for a split second, then her voice came out like a shard of ice. “What are you waiting for? Strip Leo bare! All of it!” The bodyguards immediately went to work. Within seconds, I was down to my underwear. Principal Harrington lifted his foot and pressed it down hard on my fingers, grinding them into the floor. He leaned in, his eyes narrowed. “I understand you’re upset. Just comply, and we can discuss the scholarship…” Ignoring the searing pain, I screamed at Seraphina. “Seraphina! I am your husband! Tell them to stop, right now! Or—” My vision tunneled. A sharp, paralyzing jolt went through my chest. My face went chalk white. My heart condition. My heart was giving out. “Let go of me!” I wrenched myself free from the bodyguards and scrambled toward the pile of my clothes, searching for my heart medication. I fumbled to twist the cap off the bottle. I needed the pills. Right now. If I didn’t take them, I could die. But Noah, seeing his opportunity, grabbed his own chest. His eyes wide, his face a mask of pain. “Mommy, my chest! It hurts so much!” Rex instantly understood the play. He looked at Seraphina, his voice anxious. “Sera, Noah’s heart condition! I forgot his medication…” Seraphina glanced at Noah, then at my shaking, sweat-soaked body. She hesitated. I couldn’t delay any longer. I finally twisted the cap and started to pour the pills into my mouth. That’s when Seraphina made her choice. Her voice was harsh and decisive. “Snatch the medicine! My son, Noah, needs those pills more!” I clutched the bottle to my chest, crawling backward. “Don’t come near me! If you try to take them, I’ll crush them all! No one gets them!” I guarded the pills, my eyes darting nervously between the approaching security guards. Seraphina’s voice suddenly softened, a desperate plea. “Leo, don’t do anything stupid! I was just kidding! Your safety is the most important thing—” I believed her. I relaxed my guard for one fatal second. A wine bottle exploded over my head. The world went dark and fuzzy. Seraphina had struck me with brutal force. I slumped to the floor, dazed, but the bodyguards pounced, seizing control of my arms and legs. The pills were wrenched from my tight grasp. “Give them back…” I gasped, struggling to calm my breathing and steady the runaway heart rhythm. Seraphina didn’t even look at me. “Noah is a child! He needs them more! You’re an adult—you can take a little pain! You won’t die if you wait a bit!” The light went out of my eyes. The cold settled in my soul. Rex looked at me, his eyes full of triumph. While Seraphina was fussing over Noah, he squatted down in front of me, grabbing a fistful of my hair and forcing me to look up at his cruel face. “A heart attack won’t kill you right away. It’s just going to hurt for a while.” He smirked. “You haven’t even barked for us yet. We can’t let you die now.” I lunged, my teeth closing hard on his forearm until I tasted blood. “You damned animal! You’re asking for it!” Rex struggled, prying my jaws apart. He looked at the teeth marks, blood oozing through his shirt, and his face turned monstrous. “Tear his mouth open! I want to see if he dares to bite again!” I clamped my lips shut, refusing to give them the chance. Enraged, Rex grabbed a pitcher of hot water and poured the contents directly onto my bare skin. Blistering heat. Excruciating pain. I screamed, thrashing, the bodyguards barely able to hold me down. Seeing me about to break free, Rex seized the guard’s stun baton, flicked the switch, and jammed the pulsating tip toward my chest. My heart seized up again. If he electrocuted me now, I would die. I lay on the floor like a landed fish, screaming. Just as the baton was about to make contact, the ballroom doors burst open, and a squad of large, uniformed men flooded the room. “Hold your fire! We are The Maxwell Group security detail! We’re here to protect the Owner!” Rex froze, then smiled in relief. “Sera, you called them? Perfect! Have them assist us immediately! I want to tear this bastard’s mouth open and break his arms and legs!” Seraphina looked flustered, but she quickly recovered and gave the order. “Don’t just stand there! Help my husband! Hold that trash down and get revenge for him!” The new security detail hesitated, taking a step toward me. I lifted my head, my eyes locking onto the leader. “Captain Miller, do you dare touch a single finger on me?” Captain Miller stopped dead in his tracks, his face registering total shock. “Young Master Leo, who did this to you? Who dared?”

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