My boyfriend, Liam, had the memory of a particularly self-centered goldfish. He’d grab an iced latte when my cramps were debilitating. He’d forget I was battling a stomach flu and suggest a three-hour road trip. He once completely blanked on my birthday because his college roommate spontaneously flew into town. After the fact, he always rubbed the back of his neck, the picture of contrite confusion. “I’m so sorry, Eliza. My memory is trash, you know that. Can you forgive me just this one more time? I promise, I’ll set a reminder.” The last time he brought me the wrong coffee order—extra foam, hazelnut syrup, the two things I despise—I told him I wanted to break up. He stared at me, genuinely bewildered. “Eliza, you’re ending three years over a latte? Seriously?” I nodded. Yes. Seriously. 1 Only thirty minutes until the film started. I sat in the theater lobby, staring blankly at my phone screen. Black and silent. Liam hadn’t texted. Not a single ping. The movie we’d planned to see—the one I’d been talking about all week—had completely slipped his mind. Again. I called him, just as I always did. No answer. A message popped up a moment later. It was a video. He was in a loud, dimly lit bar with his friends. My ears filled with the sound of a man weeping dramatically into a microphone, a beer bottle clutched in his other hand. “Haha, check out Kyle! He’s a mess after the breakup. I’ll be home late, babe! Grab dinner, don’t wait up.” “Text me if you want anything. I’ll pick it up on the way, my little glutton.” I took a sharp breath and typed one simple question. Are you still coming to the movie tonight? Silence. I gripped my phone, my knuckles white. It was always like this. We’d been together for three years. I couldn’t count the number of times this had happened—small things and big things, piling up like forgotten receipts. Each time, he’d offer a perfectly earnest apology, only to repeat the offense the following week. My screen finally flashed, but it was a text from my friend, Sasha. “Is the movie starting soon? Text me all the spoilers! I can handle the drama.” I wanted to laugh. Instead, a bitter lump formed in my throat. Sasha, who I’d told about the movie a week ago, remembered. Liam, who I’d reminded this morning, didn’t. A two-hour movie. Was it really that hard to remember? As I approached the ticket counter, a young couple was checking in ahead of me. They were a picture of gooey, casual intimacy. The girl pouted, asking for an ice cream. The guy gently grazed her nose with his knuckle. “Trying to make me regret saying yes? Iced coffee during cycle week? You’ll be cursing me in an hour, and I don’t want to hear it.” She playfully punched his chest. He grabbed her fist and started listing off every ridiculous thing she’d eaten in the past month. My vision blurred. It was only last month that I was curled up in a ball, crippled by cramps, and Liam had walked in with a giant, ice-filled slurpee. “Last one before winter hits, Eliza! You can’t have hot weather without a little ice, right?” Three years. And he still didn’t know my cycle, my pain tolerance, or the difference between a gesture of care and an act of oblivious cruelty. How many times? How many times did I have to watch this scene play out? I ended up sitting directly next to the couple. Watching their mid-movie whispers, their shared snacks, the gentle, knowing touch of their hands, my heart felt like it was shrinking in my chest. Why did that man remember every tiny detail? Why did Liam forget everything? Was he unable to remember, or unwilling? Did he simply not care enough to make the effort? My movie choice—a lighthearted rom-com—was completely overshadowed by the highlight reel of my failure with Liam. When the credits rolled, I couldn’t have told you a single plot point. The lights came up. My phone screen lit up immediately. Seven missed calls from Liam. A flurry of texts. Eliza! I’m so sorry! I totally forgot again! I’m heading over now! Are you still there? The movie just started, right? Can I make it? I’m here! I brought you your favorite red velvet cupcake! What theater number? Eliza, please pick up. Don’t shut me out, please. :(* See? The ritual of remorse. The cycle of neglect followed by a desperate bribe. A slap followed by a handful of sugar. Anything to prevent the argument, the anger, or, God forbid, the follow-through on my threat to leave. 2 I walked out of the theater and spotted him immediately. He was standing near the concessions, a paper bag full of takeout and a small box containing the cupcake in his hands, looking lost and confused. The moment he saw me, his eyes went red. He walked toward me with the classic, wounded-puppy shuffle. “Eliza, please don’t ignore me. I can’t lose you.” I closed my eyes and sighed deeply. I hated myself in these moments. Every single time, the sight of his genuine, panicked tears melted my resolve. The word “breakup” felt heavy and impossible on my tongue. He buried his head into my shoulder, his voice a quiet murmur. “I’m sorry, Eliza. I really messed up.” He pulled out his phone and immediately bought tickets for the next showing. “Let’s just watch it again, okay? I know you couldn’t have paid attention, not when you were mad at me. We were supposed to talk about the plot—I can’t let my wife watch a movie I haven’t seen.” He then shoved the bag of food into my hands, suddenly eager. “Are you starving? The takeout is fresh and hot. Eat now, please. We have just enough time before the next show starts.” I searched for the flaw, for the manipulative angle, and couldn’t find one. He was perfectly, annoyingly contrite. “Why did you forget, Liam?” I asked, my voice flat. “I reminded you right before you left for work this morning.” He looked up with those big, pitiful eyes. “I got swamped. Kyle called right before clocking out…” He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his calendar, showing me a flurry of meetings and deadlines. He grabbed my hands and kissed them repeatedly. “Eliza, I love you. It wasn’t intentional. I swear. Next time, I’ll remember. If I forget, you can hit me. Seriously. Slap me. Anything you want.” He held my hand out and placed it gently against his cheek. Always the same. I rubbed my temple. “Stop it. Just stop.” He pinched my cheek and forced a smile onto my face. “Eliza is only pretty when she smiles, remember?” “Now, eat your dinner while it’s hot. Don’t get an upset stomach, or I’m not playing nursemaid!” I bit into the takeout. It was still warm, but a chill settled deep in my bones. I looked at Liam. His expression was a perfect cocktail of soft adoration, guilt, and a desperate kind of love. It looked real. All of it. But how could love exist alongside such pervasive, careless amnesia? I truly couldn’t tell the difference between a flaw and a choice. I remembered everything about Liam. Why was I the only one who didn’t warrant the same care? We watched the second movie. Midway through, Kyle called, furious Liam had ditched him. “You have no idea, man,” Liam shot back. “If I behaved like you, I’d be sleeping on the couch tonight.” When we got home, my mood was heavy. I needed to talk. This cycle had to end. “Liam, I can’t handle your memory anymore. You don’t remember anything I say.” He immediately dissolved into tears. “Eliza, I am not doing this on purpose! My brain is packed with work stuff. I’m sorry. What do I have to do for you to forgive me? I’ll do anything. Anything but ending this.” I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. I’d suggested setting reminders, calendar alerts, even using a simple sticky note app. He’d done it, dutifully, only to forget the reminders and the app entirely. I gripped my glass of water, watching him through the distortion of the glass. He was still apologizing, still promising. “Just one more chance, Eliza. Please. Next time, you get to call the shots.” Next time. I knew, with the cold certainty of a final judgment, that there couldn’t be one. 3 The following week, I had to drop off some paperwork at Liam’s office. As I approached his department, I saw him standing there, his arms loaded with bags. A few colleagues waved hello. “Hey, Eliza! Your man is so thoughtful. He’s running a whole delivery service this morning!” I realized what he was holding: breakfast, snacks, and a small, brightly packaged box of heat patches. He saw me and his eyes went wide with a flicker of awkward panic. “Eliza, you’re here already?” “Liam! You took forever! I’m starving!” A sleek, somewhat languid voice cut in from behind him. I focused on the woman leaning against the door frame of the office, rubbing her stomach dramatically. She gave Liam a look of mock impatience. “I’m seriously about to waste away.” Liam quickly walked over and unloaded the bags for her, sorting the items: a specific type of oatmeal, a gourmet coffee, and the heat patches. He handed her the coffee and gave her a stern look. “I got you the hot roast, Gen. No iced lattes this week, remember? Cycle week.” The woman, Genevieve, looked pleased. “Nice, Liam! You actually remembered? And all my favorites, too. You have a great memory.” My eyes stung. My fingers curled into my palms, the pain a dull anchor in my rising panic. When I finally snapped out of the shock, I was already outside, rushing toward the parking garage. A heavy force wrapped around my arm, spinning me around. I was instantly pulled into Liam’s chest. “Eliza, what are you so upset about?” Upset? I laughed, a bitter, hysterical sound, and pulled back, slapping him across the face. “Are you kidding me, Liam? You think I’m an idiot? You’re making eyes at your co-worker right in front of your office!” He rubbed his stinging cheek and forced a smile. “Aww, is my Eliza jealous? She’s just a colleague, sweetie. She’s getting married next month, in fact.” He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But her uncle is the CEO. He’s cutting her into some massive projects. I need to get in good with her so I can secure the next big contract. It’s for our future, Eliza.” He even pulled out his phone and showed me Genevieve’s social media. Her profile picture was a stunning wedding portrait; the date was clearly listed. “Believe me now, Eliza? I’m doing this for us.” A cold knot tightened in my stomach. I kept telling myself it was just business. Just a contract. But the sting remained. Why did my future require him to remember a colleague’s cycle, her favorite snacks, and all her minute preferences? Why did business sense make him a genius, while love made him an amnesiac? He could remember. He simply chose not to. I yanked my hand away. “Liam. We’re over. I’m done.” The words were final. I walked away, feeling numb, struggling to process the revelation that he didn’t have a bad memory—he had a priority problem. But before I could fully digest the truth, my phone rang. It was Liam’s mom. Liam had been chasing me out of the office and was hit by a car on the street corner. I slumped onto the hospital hallway bench. My mind immediately jumped to the guilt. If I hadn’t been so dramatic, so selfish as to run… would he be okay? When the red light finally went out, the doctors confirmed he was okay—just a few broken ribs and a week in the hospital. For that week, and for the three months that followed, I never once mentioned breaking up. I convinced myself that I had been too harsh. That love meant endless compromise. He was still forgetting. Still grabbing the wrong food, still prioritizing a co-worker’s favor over our date night, still leaving me waiting for hours on our anniversary because his friend needed advice. I cooked a massive meal, only to wait until midnight for his weak apology. I swallowed it all down. Love is tolerance, I told myself. Love is… But the phrase began to taste like ash. Why was I the only one tolerating? Why did all the compromise fall on my shoulders? I felt like my throat and chest were stuffed with cotton, the air unable to move. Love shouldn’t feel like suffocation. 4 Liam’s work laptop went in for repair, so he borrowed mine. My annual review was coming up, and with it, the potential to lead a major new project. I needed my laptop for a critical presentation on Friday. I was already stressed, so I drilled the instructions into him. “Liam, this is the biggest pitch of my career. Please. Charge the laptop fully before you bring it back to me. 100%.” He slapped his chest, overly confident. “Have I ever let you down on something serious, Eliza? Don’t even stress. It’ll be maxed out when I hand it to you.” Still uneasy, I texted him on Thursday. Remember to charge the laptop while you’re at the office. He was up late working, so his reply was instant. Don’t worry, Wifey. I’ll pull an all-nighter if I have to, but that thing will be fully charged. On Friday morning, I waited by the company entrance, getting increasingly panicked. Liam finally arrived, late and disheveled, with an untrimmed beard. “Just made it,” he gasped. “Work held me up.” Before I could ask about the charge, his phone rang. My meeting was starting. I didn’t have a second to check the battery icon. I hurried upstairs. The conference room was full of encouraging faces. I’d prepared for months; I knew this material cold. All I needed was for the technology to work. Just don’t mess up. Just don’t mess up. But I had already messed up. I’d trusted Liam. He had not charged the laptop. I stood in front of the board, hitting the power button repeatedly like a pathetic street performer. Sweat beaded on my forehead. My boss’s expression morphed from expectation to cold disappointment. “Eliza, if you’re not prepared, you need to step down.” I retreated, carrying the dead laptop like a coffin. A colleague patted my shoulder. “What happened? You were so nervous you forgot to plug it in?” I shook my head, my eyes brimming with unshed tears. My hand trembled as I clutched the useless charging cable. It’s happening again. It’s always happening. I don’t know how I stumbled through the rest of the pitch. I felt like a clown. On my way out, I saw the CEO sighing, a slow, disappointed shake of his head. I wanted to scream, but not a single tear would fall. That afternoon, Liam texted me. Love you! xoxo! Our project was a massive success! Couldn’t have done it without my amazing, supportive wife! Gotta run, babe, team dinner! Grab something on your own tonight, kisses! I laughed, the sound cold and hollow. My vision blurred; I could barely make out the words. Why didn’t you charge my computer last night? No reply. This was the end. I was done. Liam finally texted me later that evening, the same panicked apology he’d used a hundred times. He finished with: I’ll make it up to you tonight, Wifey, I promise. What kind of coffee do you want? I took a deep, steadying breath. Three years, and he still didn’t know my coffee order. I didn’t reply. He must have rushed home, desperate. He burst through the door, breathless, shoving a paper cup and a bag of takeout into my hands. I looked at the coffee. I took a sip. I laughed, a sudden, angry explosion. It was hazelnut. Again. I threw the full cup into the trash can. “Is this funny to you, Liam? I told you, I hate hazelnut! How many times are we going to do this? We’re done. Breakup.” He stared at me, dumbfounded. “Eliza! You’re ending this—the whole thing—over a flavor of coffee?” “Yes,” I snapped. He violently yanked at his collar. “It’s my fault! But you know my memory is terrible! I told you I’ll change, why won’t you believe me?” My temples throbbed. “Yes, over this small thing! I believed you! How many times in three years did I believe you? What did that get me?!” “Don’t make me laugh, Liam! You won’t change! How many times have you promised? Name one time you actually followed through!” He was just as agitated, throwing the takeout bags onto the counter. “You know it’s been three years! Three years, and you’re throwing it all away over a coffee?!” He grabbed a pen and stabbed it against his palm, writing frantically. “I’ll write it down! I’ll get a tattoo! I’ll ink all your preferences on my body! Will that satisfy you? You know I struggle to remember, and you pick the night of my biggest career win to do this!” “Stop!” I screamed, the blood rushing to my head. “You have a bad memory? You’re a goldfish, Liam? Seven seconds of attention?” “You don’t remember anything about me, but you remember your colleagues’ preferences? Last month, Kyle mentioned a date a week in advance, and you remembered every detail. But you forgot what I told you yesterday?!” “Liam, I want the truth. Is it a bad memory, or did you just never put me first?” He stammered, still trying to cling to his defense. “How could that be? I would never forget something you told me yesterday!”

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The apartment complex where I live has a high number of elderly residents, many of whom struggle just to care for themselves, let alone shop and cook a full meal. Seeing their plight, I started something I called The Five-Dollar Supper Club. For just five dollars, they got a hot meal with two protein dishes and a side of vegetables. For those with mobility issues, I even delivered it right to their door. I’d been running it for three months when suddenly, someone jumped out and accused me of using rotten ingredients, claiming my food had sent an old man to the hospital. “My father was fine this morning, but after eating your charity meal, he was violently ill—vomiting and everything. He almost died!” The very same grandmothers and grandfathers who had been thanking me just a day before now stood silent. Not a single person spoke up in my defense. I thought about the hours I spent every day, starting before dawn, picking out the absolute freshest ingredients, and how I was losing money on every single plate I served. Suddenly, the entire endeavor felt utterly meaningless. “Very well,” I said, my voice heavy. “If that is the case, The Five-Dollar Supper Club is canceled. I’m done.” 1 “Harper, make sure you save me a portion of the braised pork today. My old man loves the way you make it!” “Harper, my mother can’t manage the stairs. Please deliver at the usual time. Thank you!” My phone was buzzing constantly, a flurry of messages from the Supper Club’s group chat. Then, Mrs. Rodriguez posted a voice note. “Oh, thank goodness Harper started this supper club!” “We have so many seniors here whose kids aren’t nearby. Cooking is a hassle. They used to just scrape by on instant ramen or cold bread. It broke my heart.” “Now, Harper gives them two mains and a side for only five dollars, and he brings it right to their door. The vegetables are stewed nice and soft—perfect for our folks. It has solved a huge problem!” As soon as her message ended, a wave of agreement flooded the chat. “Yes, yes! Mrs. Rodriguez is spot on! My dad used to live on leftovers, but now he eats a hot meal every day. He’s in much better spirits!” “Harper is truly a good soul. I did the math—five dollars doesn’t even cover the cost of the ingredients. He’s definitely subsidizing this himself!” Watching the messages scroll across the screen, I felt the strength return to my arms as I stirred the pot. For the past three months, I’d been up at five every morning to drive to the wholesale market for ingredients. Then it was back to washing, chopping, and cooking until the lunch rush at eleven. I often didn’t finish the deliveries and get a chance to eat my own lunch until two or three in the afternoon. Five dollars a meal barely covered the ingredients; utilities and gas all came out of my pocket. Sometimes, when a senior forgot their wallet, I’d just wave them off. I knew the tastes and dietary needs of everyone in that group chat. Occasionally, a neighbor, feeling guilty, would overpay by ten or twenty dollars, and I’d save that money to buy things like disposable containers or sanitizing wipes for the kitchen. The gratitude and reliance of my neighbors were the only fuel I needed. I was just about to type a reply to the group when a rough voice boomed from the doorway. “Harper! Get out here! Don’t you dare try to run!” My heart sank. I put down my stirring spoon and hurried over. Standing in the doorway was a man in his mid-thirties, face flushed red, eyes full of aggression. Several neighbors had already gathered nearby, watching the spectacle. “Can I help you, sir?” I asked, confused. “Help me?” The man’s voice was enormous, making my ears ring. “My father ate your supper club meal, and now he’s violently ill. He’s on an IV drip in the hospital right now, nearly dead!” “Does that sound like something you can help me with?” I froze for a second, then quickly pressed for details. “Who is your father? What exactly did he eat today? Did he eat anything else with it?” “My father is Mr. Davies from Building Three, Unit Two!” The man pointed a finger at my face, his tone turning even more menacing. “He ate the braised pork and the stir-fried greens you delivered yesterday at noon. By evening, he was vomiting and had diarrhea. The doctor called it food poisoning!” “Were you using expired ingredients? Are you so greedy for money that you’d poison old people?” My mind went blank, and the blood rushed to my head. 2 “Absolutely not! The ingredients here are bought fresh every single morning! There is no way anything is expired!” “Mr. Davies’s meal was cooked exactly the same as everyone else’s. If everyone else is fine, how could his meal cause food poisoning?” “The same? I bet you only feed the good stuff to your friends and save the garbage for the elderly!” The man sneered and threw an empty takeout container violently onto the floor. “Five dollars for two mains and a side? How could you possibly make a profit? You must be using bruised vegetables and expired meat that nobody else would take!” “If anything happens to my father, I will hold you responsible!” “How dare you say that!” I was shaking with anger. “I never intended to make a profit running this club! I lose money every single day! I just wanted to help solve a problem for our community. You can’t just go around slandering people!” “Slander?” The man—Luke Weaver, I now realized—took a step closer, towering over me. “My father is sick after eating your food. That is proof! What else do you have to say?” By now, the doorway was packed with neighbors, all whispering. “Mr. Davies got food poisoning? That serious?” “Harper seems so honest, not the type to use bad ingredients.” “But the son says his dad is in the hospital. Maybe the food really was tainted.” “Five dollars is incredibly cheap. Could there actually be a catch?” “I ate it today, and I think my stomach feels a little off… is that just my mind playing tricks?” Hearing their murmurings, a chill ran from my head to my feet. I rushed back into the kitchen, fumbling in a drawer for my purchase receipts and ledger. “Look! These are yesterday’s receipts! I bought the produce this morning. The vendor’s stamp is here. You can go verify this at the market!” “This is my ledger. I record what I buy and how much I spend every day. I absolutely do not use expired ingredients!” Luke didn’t even look. He swept the receipts and the ledger off the counter and onto the floor. “How do I know those receipts aren’t fake? How do I know that ledger isn’t a lie?” “All I know is my father got sick after your food. You have to pay for this!” I crouched down, gathering the scattered papers, and looked up at the surrounding neighbors. So many of them had benefited from my help. I’d delivered meals, warmed up dishes for them, and even let them wait in my little kitchen when they were locked out of their homes. Yet now, not one person stepped forward to defend me. Mrs. Rodriguez opened her mouth as if to speak, but the man next to her nudged her arm, and she swallowed her words. Everyone else either looked down or averted their gaze. In that moment, the warmth in my heart vanished completely, replaced by a devastating sense of injury and rage. I had been working from dawn till dark, selecting the best ingredients, cooking the cleanest food, subsidizing it with my own money and labor—and all I got in return was the label of a poisoner. Why did I do it? For a simple “thank you,” and the quiet satisfaction of helping others. Now, my efforts were casually dismissed, my goodwill trampled. All those thanks and compliments felt like a sick joke. Looking at the cold, judging faces of my neighbors, I suddenly felt that this whole thing was utterly, completely pointless. “I use the freshest ingredients every day. My conscience is clear, and I have nothing to hide from anyone who has eaten my food.” “You have no proof that my food is the problem, yet you are publicly assassinating my character. I won’t accept this.” “Since my kindness is being treated as dirt, and my hard work isn’t worth basic trust, The Five-Dollar Supper Club is done. I will not operate again starting today.” With that, I turned to the wall, grabbed the handmade sign for the Supper Club, and slammed it onto the floor. 3 The sign shattered, and many onlookers froze. “Oh, Harper, why are you doing this?” Someone sounded genuinely worried now. But I just looked at them coolly. “You’re all too scared to eat my food anyway, so what’s the difference if I stop now?” I started gathering my things, ready to leave this heartbreaking place. But Luke Weaver wasn’t finished. “Trying to run away when you can’t argue your way out of it?” He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed my arm. “If I let you escape today, you can call me by a different name!” he warned, glaring at me. I instinctively tried to shake off his hand. But Luke Weaver immediately dropped to the floor, letting out a dramatic wail. “Ouch! Not only did you hurt my dad, now you’re trying to hurt me, too?” He contorted his face into a mask of pain. The crowd of newcomers who hadn’t seen the beginning instantly erupted. “Harper, what are you doing? He just had a suspicion, and you’re getting physical?” “I knew there couldn’t be someone that stupid, running a non-profit just to help people! He’s so desperate to run away, there must be a catch!” “Exactly! Everyone, keep an eye on him! Don’t let him leave!” The crowd surrounded me, sealing the exit. Luke Weaver grinned smugly at me from the floor. “Apologize right now! Or don’t blame me for hitting an old man!” My face was burning red. I’ve never been good at confrontation, and being unjustly accused like this left me speechless. “I barely touched you! You’re the one who grabbed me!” I stammered, trying to explain. But a man in the crowd countered, “If you weren’t trying to run, would he have needed to grab you?” “He was the one who said my food was tainted first!” I retorted, feeling dizzy with frustration. The people surrounding me—men, women, and even some kids—were all people I had dealt with casually. Now, they were all looking at me with the eyes of a suspect. They didn’t have to trust me, but why were they so easily siding with Luke Weaver? Was it just because he was a better actor? “Well, there was a problem. I heard someone just now say their stomach felt off after eating it!” “Yeah! If you’re innocent, why are you trying to escape?” “I think we should all go to the doctor and get checked out. If there’s anything wrong, we need to demand compensation from this old scammer!” I could see the ugly truth on all their faces. Once the seed of suspicion was planted, any little piece of bad news would inevitably be pinned on me. For a brief, crushing moment, I felt utterly exhausted. “Luke Weaver, what exactly do you want?” I asked, looking over at him with a bitter smile. He looked back, radiating self-satisfaction. “What do I want? I want you to pay for it, of course!” “My dad’s IV drips and other costs are at least a thousand dollars!” He rolled his eyes greedily. 4 I looked at the triumphant Luke Weaver, completely drained in body and spirit. Coupled with the judgmental stares of the crowd, I finally gave up on trying to explain. “One thousand dollars, you say? I’ll give it to you.” My voice was flat now. I retrieved my cash box and counted out the bills, handing the exact amount to Luke. “Can I leave now?” I didn’t want to waste another moment on them. I’d consider it the price of peace, and since I would never restart the Supper Club, I wouldn’t be coming back here again. “Hold on!” Just as I turned to leave, Luke stopped me again. “The doctor said my dad has serious liver damage because of the food poisoning! Follow-up treatment will be at least ten thousand dollars!” He held out his hand to me. My eyes widened in shock. “Ten thousand dollars? I only have three thousand dollars to my name! If I give you that, I’ll only have two thousand left. You can’t drive a person to ruin!” I glared at Luke, outraged. He was clearly just price-gouging, taking advantage of my good nature to demand more money. But Luke didn’t care. “Me driving you to ruin? If you’ve got a problem, come with me to the hospital and hear what the doctor says!” He grabbed my collar. “I’m only asking for ten thousand because I’m being generous! Otherwise, my dad’s future treatment will cost eighty or even a hundred thousand!” Luke threatened, his expression smug. My face went scarlet. But what was even worse was the crowd of onlookers. “Hey, my stomach hasn’t been feeling right either! You owe me money, too!” “That’s right, I’m not feeling great either. I won’t ask for much, but you should give me at least five hundred dollars, right?” Seeing that there was money to be extorted, these people all rushed forward to demand compensation! The sight of their ugly, avaricious faces hit me like a physical blow. I couldn’t catch my breath, my vision went white, and I collapsed.

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“$25,000?” I stared at Declan’s phone screen. The text was from the bank: “Your loan ending in 8888 is due for a monthly payment of $25,000. Please remit immediately.” He was in the shower. His phone was sitting on the coffee table. I read it again. Twenty-five thousand dollars a month? What loan? We had been married for eight years. I had no idea he had any debt of that magnitude. My finger instinctively slid across the glass, locating his bank app. I tapped it open. Loan Balance: $4.5 million. A silent, deafening explosion went off in my head. The sound of the shower stopping jolted me. I placed the phone down and settled back onto the sofa, my hands resting calmly on my lap. Declan walked out, towel-drying his hair. “What are you looking at?” “Nothing.” I offered a slight smile. “Just wondering about that bank text,” I continued, keeping my voice level. “It said the payment due was twenty-five thousand dollars?” His color immediately drained. “Five million dollars?” I looked him straight in the eye. “In the eight years we’ve been married, I’ve managed to save up two hundred thousand dollars, and you’ve managed to run up five million dollars in debt.” 1 Declan didn’t speak. He stood there, the towel still draped over his shoulder, a statue carved out of sudden dread. “Care to explain?” My voice was flat. “I… I have a loan,” he stammered, wetting his lips. “But it’s not what you think.” “What do I think?” “It was a company investment project,” he finally sat down. “Last year, there was a major opportunity, and I put some money into it, and it just…” “It crashed?” “Yes, it was a massive loss.” He watched me, his eyes pleading. “So, I took out a bridging loan. I thought I could turn it around.” “Five million dollars?” “It’s not that much,” he hedged, avoiding my gaze. “Maybe a million and a half. Two at the most.” I laughed—a sharp, mirthless sound. I pulled my own phone from my purse, opening the screenshot I’d just taken of the bank message. “Loan Balance: $4,500,000.” I pushed the screen towards him. “Did you just say a million and a half?” Declan’s face went utterly white. “When did you take this loan out?” I asked. “And why, in eight years of marriage, did you never mention it?” “Last year…” His voice was a whisper. “Last March.” “Two years ago?” I stood up. “You’ve been hiding this for two years?” “Harper, please, let me explain…” “You’ve been paying $25,000 a month,” I interrupted, the facts rolling off my tongue like cold steel. “That’s twenty-four months. You’ve already paid back six hundred thousand dollars.” He lowered his head. “Where did that six hundred thousand come from?” “The firm…” “Don’t say the firm.” I walked closer. “Your salary is eighty thousand a year, maybe sixty-five thousand after tax. You contribute forty-eight thousand a year to our joint account. What exactly was left over to cover six hundred thousand in payments?” Declan was silent. “Do you have an emergency fund? Other money you haven’t told me about?” He looked up, his eyes darting away from mine. “Tell me.” “I… I have some.” “How much?” “Not much. Just…” He gritted his teeth. “About two hundred thousand, maybe a bit more.” I nodded slowly. Two hundred thousand dollars. A personal stash. A secret savings account he’d never seen fit to mention. “Is that two hundred thousand enough to cover the balance?” I asked. “No,” his voice was even smaller. “It’s nowhere near enough.” “How much is left?” “Over four million…” I took a deep breath. $4.5 million remaining balance plus the $600,000 he’d already paid back… wait. “You said you’ve paid back six hundred thousand?” “Yes.” “Then why is the remaining balance four point five million?” Declan froze. “Five million dollars minus six hundred thousand dollars is four point four million.” I stared at him. “So your original loan was five million dollars, wasn’t it?” He nodded, defeated. “You’ve been paying $25,000 a month for twenty-four months.” I sat back down. “How did you cover those payments?” “I…” “Don’t mention your two hundred thousand. Two hundred thousand divided by twenty-five thousand is only eight months of payments.” I leaned in. “Where did the other sixteen months of payments come from?” Sweat beaded on Declan’s forehead. “Is there more money, Declan? Money you haven’t told me about?” He didn’t answer. “Declan, I’m asking you one last time,” I stood up again. “What is the real story behind this five million dollars?” “It was an investment gone bad…” “Stop lying.” “It was! It really was a bad investment!” He rose, his voice escalating. “I went in with a few partners, and we got scammed! The money’s all gone!” “Scammed?” “Yes! They promised a guaranteed return, but it was a total fraud!” I looked at him. His eyes were still shifting, unable to hold my gaze. “If you were scammed, why didn’t you file a police report?” “I did, but…” “You did?” I pulled out my phone. “Then there should be a case number. What is it?” Declan was speechless. I smiled, the expression cold on my face. “You can’t even keep your stories straight, can you?” “Harper…” “Don’t call me that.” I turned toward the bedroom. “I’m exhausted today, and I won’t fight. Tomorrow, I’m going to the bank. You’d better use the night to come up with the truth.” “Harper!” I closed the bedroom door. Leaning my back against the polished wood, I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Five million dollars. The magnitude of the betrayal was only now sinking in. 2 I called out of work first thing the next morning. Declan was still asleep. I didn’t wake him. Taking my driver’s license and our marriage certificate, I drove to Summit Bank. “Hello, I need to check all loans under my husband’s name,” I said, sliding the documents to the teller. “Are you looking for a joint loan, or…” “All of them.” “Certainly, please wait a moment.” After several minutes of typing, the teller printed out a document. “Your husband has one active business line of credit. It was initiated on March 15, 2023, for $5 million. The term is five years. $600,000 has been paid back, leaving a principal balance of $4.4 million. The monthly payment is $25,000.” I took the paper. March 15, 2023. Exactly two years ago. “What was the stated purpose of this loan?” “It’s a business line of credit, so it was intended for corporate operations,” the teller checked his monitor. “At the time of application, he provided his company’s business license and financial statements.” “May I see the loan contract?” “Yes, please give me a moment to retrieve the file.” A few minutes later, the teller returned with a thick folder. I opened it. First page: Loan Amount: $5,000,000. Loan Purpose: Corporate Working Capital. Collateral: Real Estate Mortgage + Personal Guarantee. I kept turning the pages. Collateral Property: Unit 1003, Building A, The Riverwalk Residences. That was our home. Our primary residence. He used our house as collateral? “This property…” I pointed to the address. “It’s a joint marital asset. How could he mortgage it without my presence?” The teller looked surprised. “You didn’t sign the documents?” “No.” “When the mortgage was processed, he provided an authorized Power of Attorney form, signed by you.” My head began to swim. An authorized Power of Attorney? When had I ever given him that authority? “Can I see a copy of that POA?” “That will require a request to the archives. It might take a few days.” “Please, can you process that request for me?” “I will.” I walked out of the bank, clutching the loan contract. Standing by my car, I called my lawyer friend, Margot. “Margot, my husband secretly took out a $5 million loan using our house as collateral. What do I do?” “What?! Five million?” Margot’s voice was high with shock. “Were you aware of the loan?” “Completely oblivious.” “Then how did he put up the house?” “The bank said he provided a notarized Power of Attorney with my signature.” “A POA?” Margot paused. “Did you sign it?” “No.” “Then that POA is potentially fraudulent,” Margot said firmly. “You need to get the original document from the bank immediately. I’ll review it. If it’s proven to be a forgery, we can argue the loan is invalid, or at the very least, you have no joint liability.” “Okay.” I walked straight back into the bank lobby. “Hi again. I requested that Power of Attorney document. Can you expedite it? I need it now.” The teller looked at me hesitantly. “I don’t know if…” “Please,” I insisted, leaning in. “If that document is fake, my entire life savings and my home are at risk. I need to see it.” The teller hesitated, then nodded. “Wait here. I’ll talk to the manager.” Thirty minutes later, I was handed a photocopy of the POA. I stared at the signature. Harper Brooks. It was my name. But it wasn’t my handwriting. My signature is precise and controlled. The one on the POA was light, almost airy, clearly a rushed imitation. I snapped a picture and sent it to Margot. “Is that your signature?” “No.” “We’ve got him,” Margot confirmed. “Keep that copy. We’ll file for a handwriting analysis. If it’s a forgery, you walk away clean from the debt.” A wave of relief washed over me, quickly followed by a harder realization. Declan forged my signature to secure a $5 million loan. What, exactly, did he spend it on?

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It was past midnight, and I was scrolling through a toxic, post-bliss sub-forum after we’d made love. I found a post from a girl titled: [I Broke My Leg and Fell in Love with a Man in the Same Hospital Room. All in a Month.] The commenters were a whirlwind of advice, urging her to be brave and confess her feelings. But she refused, filled with a sudden, gut-wrenching dread. [I only just found out he has a fiancée. Someone he’s about to marry.] [He was on his way to see her when he ran into me. But now, all I see is him. I stole a kiss, and he kissed me back.] [They’re high school sweethearts, long-distance for four years. I’m just an accident.] Some people were sympathetic; others were furious. I typed out a reply, feeling a righteous anger for the fiancée: [Since the man already emotionally cheated, he needs to end things with his girlfriend. Don’t waste her time.] She wrote back almost instantly: [I’ve let go. He’s already flown to NYC to see his girlfriend. I shouldn’t have expected anything else.] My brow furrowed. Why did her story feel so hauntingly familiar? Me and Liam, maybe? Then, just before the thread was deleted, I read her final line: [Liam, please be happy with Ainsley. I’ll forget you.] A single, shocking wave of realization hit me: My boyfriend had fallen for someone else on his way to see me. 1 He was Liam, and I was Ainsley. We grew up blocks apart in the same neighborhood. He went to college in Boston, and I was here in New York City. Four years of a grueling, beautiful long-distance relationship. Every single detail in that post matched our lives. A sudden, paralyzing chill ran down my spine. My fingers trembled, and I nearly dropped my phone. Liam was on the balcony, shirtless, playing a video game. I slid out of bed and walked up behind him. He had never been a gamer. But since he got back from Philadelphia, he’d been logging in almost religiously. I used to tease him, asking if he was gaming with some cute girl he met online. He’d kiss me on the nose, that playful, boyish Liam kiss: “It’s just relaxing, Ains. I team up with randoms in the lobby. I’ll uninstall it if you don’t like it.” I’d laughed: “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not that petty. Play all you want.” Next to my mother, Liam was the person I trusted most in the world. He was too immersed to notice me approaching. From the phone’s speaker, a girl’s voice, sweet and choked, cut through the night: “Liam, let’s stop talking now.” “You and her—I hope you can be happy.” “Skye, wait—” The game closed, the call ended abruptly. Liam hadn’t even finished his sentence. I saw the distinct, telltale jerk of his broad shoulders. He stared out at the dark city, then fumbled for a cigarette. His lighter refused to spark. A sudden, sharp, cold ache pierced my heart. I took the lighter from his hand and flicked it, holding the small, fragile flame to the cigarette dangling from his lips. He instantly pulled away, his voice hushed and gentle: “What are you doing out here? The smoke will bother you.” Then he immediately pressed the cigarette out. I wrapped my arms around myself, gazing up at the sky. “Liam, that month you were in Philadelphia… did you meet someone?” Liam was a handsome man—broad shoulders, narrow waist, a nature that was both gentle and carried the easy swagger of a college athlete. Women had always gravitated toward him. Every time I’d expressed a fleeting insecurity, he’d wrapped me up and promised: “You’re the only one I see. The only one I want.” Only this time, he didn’t say it. He went silent. A silence I’d never heard from him before. I pushed on, my voice cracking slightly: “You didn’t notice, but you started using all these cute new emojis when you text me.” “You set the Philadelphia weather on your phone.” “You smiled at your screen sometimes, a slow, gentle smile, and when I called your name, you didn’t even hear me.” I’d noticed the small shifts. I had. But I’d always found a logical, innocent reason for them. The silence was a surgical knife, cutting me to ribbons without a sound. My nails dug into my palms. I mechanically turned to face his frozen profile. “Liam, you fell in love with her, didn’t you?” A single tear escaped and landed silently on his arm. He reached out and pulled me into his embrace. “Ainsley, I have never done anything to betray you physically.” “But about this life we planned? I need to get off this train.” A little over a month ago, a lab fire—caused by a careless undergrad—had left me with severe burns on one arm. I’d been hospitalized, but I kept it from Liam, not wanting to worry him right before senior year finals. After several weeks of me dodging his video calls, he figured out I was hiding something. When he learned the truth, he video-called me, and his eyes were already red. “Ainsley, if you ever hide an injury from me again, I swear I’ll be worse off than you are!” That night, he booked a flight to NYC to see me. On his layover in Philadelphia, he rushed out to get me the one thing I craved most: the famous local butter bread. “Remember that trip to Philly? You couldn’t stop raving about this bread. NYC doesn’t have a branch. I figured I’d bring some back to cheer up my favorite patient.” Tragically, he got into a car accident on his way back to the airport. The butter bread remained intact on the seat, but his leg was severely broken, requiring a cast and a month of bed rest. When I heard the news, I tried to rip out my IV and check myself out, ready to fly to him. My roommate physically restrained me. We’d video-called, and while I was dissolving into tears on my end, he was the one comforting me. “Ainsley, you’re still recovering. I can’t have you taking care of me.” “My leg is fine, honestly. I’m a big guy, this is nothing.” “It sucks I can’t get you that butter bread now, though. I guess I’ll see you in about a month.” He had grinned, completely carefree. Eventually, I insisted on hiring him a private nurse. He’d called every day, reporting on his meals and meds. And while I was counting the seconds until he finally arrived back in NYC, he was falling in love with a girl across the room. I fought back the tears, but my body wouldn’t obey, trembling violently in his arms. “Liam, tell me. What did you find so appealing about her?” “We have so many years of history, and you’re jumping ship? You owe me a reason.” I looked into his eyes and saw the pathetic, desperate reflection of my forced smile. He paused for a moment, unable to meet my gaze. I tried to sound casual: “Is she prettier than me? Does she make you laugh all the time? Do you guys talk about, what, astrophysics and philosophy?” I was rambling, lost. Liam let go of my shoulders and sat down on the edge of the bed. His lips curled into a gentle, reminiscent smile. His eyes held a light I’d never seen him direct at me. “Her name is Skye. She broke her leg skateboarding, and she came into the room crying her eyes out.” “She’s a total chatterbox. If she wasn’t sleeping, she was chirping away. The old man next to me ignored her, so she latched onto me.” “She had this weird, gravitational pull—she was completely unburdened. We listened to music, traded book recommendations, talked about skateboarding… stuff I hadn’t even realized I was missing.” His lips kept curling upward, completely oblivious to the cruelty he was inflicting on me. When he finally snapped back to reality, his eyes were full of apology. “Ainsley, you know my character. I didn’t cross any line with Skye. We never did anything physical. You can trust me on that.” Tears streamed down my face and tasted like salt. My voice was a whisper lost in the breeze: “What about us? Liam, does twenty years of history mean nothing to you compared to one month with her?” Had I loved him for so long that I’d become stale? Before he could answer, I started laughing, a high, panicked, breathless sound. “How about this: We pretend this never happened, okay?” “Liam, we’re graduating. We’re going to work our asses off, buy a place, move Mom here. Everything was falling into place. We can’t throw away the future we planned.” I told myself I didn’t care about his momentary distraction. With Liam, it was all or nothing. I wanted the wedding, or I wanted a total, definitive severance. The air solidified. My heart felt like it was being violently emptied. He sighed, a sound heavy with resignation: “If I told you that for the past five days we’ve been here together, all I can see when I close my eyes is Skye’s face, could you still accept that?” “Ainsley, I don’t want to live a lie, and I won’t sacrifice your future for my guilt.” His blunt honesty was the final, clean cut, showing me the futility of my fight. I gave a short, self-mocking laugh, then walked back into the room, my feet bare on the cold floor. Soon after, a storm of deafening crashes erupted from the apartment. He stood on the balcony, a silent, beautiful executioner. He watched me become hysterical, destroying the small home we’d built. The floor was a war zone of shattered glass. Fragments pierced my skin, but I felt nothing. Our dog and cat watched me, terrified, until I collapsed from exhaustion. I huddled in the bathroom, hugging my knees, biting down hard on my index finger to muffle the sobs. At 5:30 AM, I dragged my weary body to the balcony. My voice was hoarse as I looked at him. “Liam, we’re done.” Liam hadn’t expected me to cave so quickly. His eyelashes fluttered wildly. The collection of cigarette butts on the floor showed he’d had a long, agonizing night, too. “Ainsley, I am so sorry. Just hit me, yell at me, and let’s end this.” I lunged, gathering all my strength, and slapped him—hard—twice. Then I grabbed a ceramic planter from the railing and hurled it at him. The tears started again, but they were tears of pure rage now. He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. He made no effort to comfort me. After the torrent of rage had passed, I calmed down. “We split. Gus stays with me. Roux goes with you.” “I rent this place. You need to move out.” We’d rented this apartment in NYC, dreaming of a simple life with a cat and a dog. Now, we were simply parting ways. He squeezed out a single word from his chest: “Okay.” An hour later, he was standing at the door with his suitcase and Roux tucked under his arm. Then, I heard a sweet, high-pitched cry. “Liam! I finally found you!” “I just got to NYC, and my phone, ID, and wallet were all stolen. I honestly didn’t know who else to call—” Skye had followed him from Philadelphia. I stumbled backward, my eyes involuntarily fixed on the door. Liam immediately dropped his suitcase and the cat, sweeping the crying girl into his embrace. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here now. I’ll take you to the police precinct to file a report.” “I—I really didn’t mean to interrupt you and your girlfriend. Just lend me some money so I can get a place and retrieve my things. I’ll pay you back.” “If you’re worried about her misunderstanding, I can explain everything.” Skye was shaking like a leaf, radiating absolute helplessness. Liam kept murmuring reassurances, stroking her hair. His embrace grew tighter. It looked exactly like the way he had held me, years ago, when my father died. I tilted my head back to stop the tears and walked to the door. “You don’t have to worry about an explanation. Liam and I have already broken up.” “Now, I’d like you both to leave my apartment.” As I met Skye’s timid, tear-filled eyes, a wave of sour resentment washed over me. She was so young, so sweetly vulnerable. That’s why Liam gave up on me. I forced the words out: “Liam, if you don’t want Roux, I’ll take him.” Skye jumped in instantly: “Liam, take him! I love cats too! We can raise him together.” Liam smiled, a quick, easy, joyful smile. “Okay.” I fought to swallow the metallic taste of blood in my throat. I watched them pick up Roux, lace their fingers together, and push the suitcase out the door and down the stairs. Gus, my dog, let out a mournful bark, trying to call him back. Liam never looked over his shoulder. “You stop barking,” I choked out, wrapping my arms around my crying dog. “Your father doesn’t want us. Don’t humiliate us anymore!” Outside, I saw Skye smiling up at Liam, who was radiantly happy as he picked up a stray silver ginkgo leaf and placed it in her hand. I watched silently. This was what he looked like when he loved someone else. 2 The apartment was dark. Sunlight hadn’t touched it in three days. The floor was a ruin of empty liquor bottles and cigarette packs. I tortured myself by scrolling through Liam’s updates—he’d changed his profile picture to a cute couple avatar. His background photo was him and Skye posing happily at Universal Studios. Then my mother called. I forced my voice to sound level. “Ainsley, sweetheart, where’s Liam? You two should come home for dinner now that you’ve graduated.” I bit down hard on my lower lip. “Mom, we broke up.” “Oh, you’re coming tomorrow, then? Good. I’ll make you and Liam his favorite walnuts. Don’t try to steal his, you two!” I quickly hung up, burying my face in my knees. Mom had Alzheimer’s. Sometimes she was lucid, but often her mind reverted to simpler, earlier times. She had been talking about having Liam over for dinner for weeks. I hesitantly called Liam. “Liam, can you please come see my mom one last time? Just pretend we’re still together. Just dinner, and then you can leave.” I hated myself for begging. Instead of Liam’s voice, I heard Skye’s, too sweet and innocent: “Ainsley, sweetie, Liam is in the shower…” Then Liam’s voice boomed from the background: “Skye, the water’s ready! Come join me—” A violent tremor tore through my heart. The sound was like a final lightning bolt. I hung up, utterly broken, and immediately blocked him on every platform—my final farewell to our past.

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I scrolled past a trending thread on my feed after clocking out. The title asked: “Should you pursue someone who is already in a relationship?” One comment, in particular, caught my eye. It read: “Absolutely, you should.” “Five years ago, I moved next door to a gorgeous, high-achieving guy. He had a girlfriend at the time.” “I became friends with both of them first. Then, I played the victim, fabricating a story that his girlfriend had hurt me, making sure I looked weak and vulnerable. That immediately created a rift between them.” “They started fighting often. During their worst argument, he came to me to vent, and I kissed him. He lost all control instantly.” “That same night, his ex-girlfriend was probably still crying over not getting into her dream college.” “Now, I see my choice was definitely the right one. He’s a partner at a listed company, and we’re getting married soon. If I hadn’t been proactive back then, I wouldn’t have this life now.” Then, the tone shifted into gleeful cruelty: “As for his ex? She’s a trainwreck. She didn’t go to college. She’s probably going to rot in the gutter for the rest of her life.” A cold shock went through me, sharp and paralyzing. Because I realized, with sickening certainty, that I was the ex-girlfriend she was talking about. 1 My first instinct, upon reading that smug, detailed confession of relationship sabotage, was to close the tab. I’d lived through that betrayal; why reopen the wound? But my finger froze on the screen. The profile picture was the reason. It was a photo I knew intimately: the first picture of Sienna and Owen together, one I had taken myself on his birthday. I stayed on the comment thread for what felt like an hour. Most of the replies were tearing her apart—calling her a snake and a home-wrecker. But a chilling minority supported her. They argued she simply made the best choice. “This is how you level up. Snag a high-potential guy early and jump classes. Nothing wrong with wanting a better life.” “Even without this twist, they probably wouldn’t have lasted. I don’t think she did anything wrong.” Standing by the street curb, a sudden gust of wind caught me off-balance, and the cheap dinner I was holding slipped, rolling into a muddy puddle. I bent down and fished the ruined sandwich out, dropping it into a trash can. I was the ex-girlfriend in that comment. Owen and I broke up. I missed out on college. Then, my mother, the person who loved me most, had a terrible accident. There were times when I considered ending it all, a dark period I only started crawling out of in the last few years. It was only then, tossing the wet wrapper, that I realized it had been five years—five years since Owen and I split, and three years since I had truly, completely let him go. The old pain, the crushing humiliation, had faded, much like the scars on my wrist had healed, dissolving into the wind. 2 Back in my tiny apartment, I started tidying the mountain of chaotic sketches on my desk. Sienna was right about one thing: I hadn’t gone to college, and the opportunity to “jump classes,” as she put it, seemed to have passed me by. As I tucked the latest charcoal drawings back into the filing cabinet, my hand brushed against a thin, yellowed envelope—a letter I hadn’t touched in years. The handwriting on the front was bold and decisive: “For Eliza Only.” In his note, Owen had once written that he would give me everything he had. Yet, in the end, I felt like I had lost everything because of him. My mind was violently dragged back to the past. Owen and I were childhood sweethearts, practically raised as siblings. We lived in the same quiet neighborhood, back when his family was still whole. As his father’s business expanded, he spent less and less time at home. Owen constantly came to our house, saying our place felt like a home, while his felt like a mausoleum. When he was six, his father had an affair. His mother smashed everything in the house overnight—including her affection for Owen. During the messy divorce, his parents treated him like a hot potato, neither one wanting him. His once-warm, three-person home was reduced to an empty shell. My parents, seeing the lost, miserable boy, took him in, caring for him as if he were their own son. From then on, Owen and I were inseparable. He was the definition of exceptional: brilliant grades, movie-star good looks. I was just… average. Not beautiful, not a genius, my only notable talent being my knack for drawing. But I never felt I didn’t measure up to him. He always said that my family gave him all the warmth he had, that we were his real home. He called me the single beam of light in his darkening world. The incident happened during our freshman year of high school. We were walking home after late study hall, taking the usual shortcut through a dim alley. We ran right into Owen’s father. He reeked of cheap liquor, his eyes darting wildly. He had lost his fortune, and the woman he cheated with had left him. Now, he was back for Owen. Owen refused to go. His father lunged, trying to drag him away. I didn’t hesitate; I threw myself in front of Owen and screamed at the man until he finally staggered off. My legs were shaking so hard I could barely stand, but all I cared about was protecting Owen. That night, he held me tighter than ever, whispering that he would only ever love me. As high school progressed, Owen’s excellence attracted a steady stream of girls. He was the undisputed top student. I, meanwhile, was just an art student with mediocre grades. I started to worry that he would outgrow me. But Owen would just smile, pinching my nose. “Silly. How could I ever leave you? I owe you and your parents everything. I could never repay your kindness.” I genuinely believed we would be happy forever. Until Sienna arrived. It was a scorching summer day. I was at Owen’s house, working on homework, when the doorbell rang. Standing there was a girl with bright, sunny braids. She introduced herself as the new neighbor, her light, cheerful voice seeming to cut through the oppressive heat. An immediate sense of dread settled in my gut. Perhaps it was because she was stunningly pretty. Or perhaps it was the way her eyes lingered on Owen, a faint, undeniable spark of interest in their depths. I soon learned that my gut feeling wasn’t a mistake. It was a premonition of the slow-motion disaster that would consume the rest of my high school life. 3 The very next day, I learned that Sienna hadn’t just become Owen’s new neighbor; she had transferred to our school. We had just finished a round of exams, and the teacher was reviewing our scores. I, the average student, had somehow managed to get the highest grade in English. The moment the teacher opened her mouth to praise me, Sienna appeared at the classroom door. The whole class erupted. No one cared about my grade anymore; all eyes were fixed on Sienna. “Wow, we have a transfer student? I’ve never seen a girl this beautiful on campus!” I soon learned she would be joining our class. What I didn’t expect was her choosing me as her deskmate. “Eliza, you’re the only girl I know in this class. You’ll have to help me out.” She beamed. “I know you and Owen are close. Can you bring me along when you guys hang out?” Her smile was like the winter sun—bright, warm, and impossible to refuse. A chill ran down my spine, but I couldn’t find a reason to say no. From that day on, a third person was wedged between Owen and me. I never had many friends in class. But once Sienna arrived, the other students quickly decided that she and Owen were the obvious, destined match—even if Owen was supposed to be dating me. “The class queen and the quarterback. Why is Eliza always sticking herself in the middle?” “Who knows? Some people just try to punch above their weight.” Back then, I genuinely considered Sienna a friend. I even asked her if the students were right, if I really didn’t measure up to Owen. Sienna just laughed sweetly. “Of course not, Eliza. I mean, you’re not exactly pretty, but Owen doesn’t care about superficial things like that.” “Oh, right! Owen wants to take you to the amusement park this weekend. He was too shy to ask you himself, so he made me pass on the message. Don’t forget!” Though Owen and I had an unspoken understanding, this was our first official date. I left school early that Friday. Despite the torrential rain, I traveled to a distant mall to buy Owen a gift. I picked out a silk tie. The saleswoman asked if it was for my boyfriend, and I shyly nodded. The day of the date, I wore a light yellow sundress and let my ponytail down for the first time. Waiting outside the amusement park entrance, I kept wondering if I was overdressed. I waited until nightfall, but Owen never showed. My texts went unanswered. My excitement was replaced by dread. I started worrying that something terrible had happened to Owen. It was pitch black outside. Rushing to his house, I tripped, falling hard into the dirt. My yellow dress was ruined, covered in mud, and the gift tie flew out of my hand. I burst through his front door. My relief at seeing him alive vanished when I saw Sienna lying on Owen’s bed, looking fragile. Owen was standing next to her, preparing a mug of cold medicine. “What are you doing here? Where have you been? I couldn’t reach you all day.” His voice was angry, not relieved. “Don’t you know Sienna got drenched yesterday? She fainted with a fever this morning. If she hadn’t been my next-door neighbor, who knows how dangerous it would have been?” He didn’t apologize for standing me up; he just lashed out at me. In all the years we had known each other, he had never yelled at me like this. Sienna’s eyes welled up with tears. “Eliza, I know you had an emergency yesterday, but why did you have to take my umbrella in such a downpour?” “I didn’t have any cold medicine at home, and my parents are out of town. I kept texting you, but you blocked me! Thankfully, I came over to Owen’s house just before I passed out. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise.” She choked out a sob. “Eliza, I saw you as my best friend here. Why would you do that to me?” Owen reached out and gently wiped her tears. He cut her off, his voice soft. “It’s okay, Sienna. That’s enough.” I was frozen. In Sienna’s narrative, I was the villain. Tears sprang to my own eyes. After a long moment, I finally spoke, reaching out with the ruined tie. “I didn’t take your umbrella, I just—” But Owen didn’t even look at me. He handed the glass of medicine to Sienna. I felt like an invisible stranger. After a few minutes, I finally turned and walked out. That night marked the beginning of our first cold war. When school started, I quietly moved my seat, no longer sitting next to Sienna. But the class’s attitude toward me grew colder. Sienna had told everyone that I was targeting her because of Owen, successfully painting herself as the injured party. Everywhere I went, the whispers followed. “See? I told you she wasn’t good enough for the class heartthrob. She just had to butt in.” “The class queen is so sweet; she still tried to be friends with her. Now she’s being a snake. Who does she think she is?” Suddenly, I was the pariah, a scorned girl, even though I had done nothing wrong. Even Owen refused to meet my eyes. A girl of seventeen can only endure so much humiliation. Finally, after late study hall one night, I found Owen. He was sitting at his desk, patiently going over Sienna’s corrected exam paper. He looked surprised to see me. We walked home together. I poured out all my bottled-up anger and confusion, asking him why he was treating me this way. But when I described how Sienna had deliberately misled me about the amusement park and then framed me for stealing her umbrella, Owen frowned. He cut me off with an edge of impatience. “I don’t understand why you always have such a massive chip on your shoulder about her. She’s not the manipulative person you’re making her out to be. She’s not into petty drama.” “Since meeting Sienna, I’ve realized how fiercely jealous you are, Eliza. She’s only ever been kind to you, yet you keep slandering her. Is it because she’s prettier that you have to constantly drag her down?” His voice dropped lower, his tone accusatory. “Do you have any idea how bad her fever was that day? She was still saying it must have been her fault for saying something too harsh to you.” I was stunned into silence. After all these years, Owen wouldn’t grant me the most basic level of trust. “Eliza,” he said, and the words were sharp and clean, severing us. “After knowing you this long, I’m honestly disgusted. Are you so unremarkable that you can’t bear to see anyone else shine?”

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My name’s Oscar. I’m 27, run a private logistics firm that’s done surprisingly well over the last few years. And until recently, I was dating a woman named Daniella. We’d been toget her for about two years. On paper, it looked picture-perfect. She was smart, charming, from an old money family with all the polish you’d expect—polished teeth, polished dinnerware, polished judgments. Me? I was the outsider. The guy who didn’t grow up summering in Florence or brunching with investment bankers. The guy whose father left when he was ten, who worked two jobs in college and built his business from the ground up without connections, handouts, or family dinners in mansions with fireplaces taller than him. And to be honest, I was fine with that. I liked my quiet wins. Daniella and I met at a conference in San Diego. She was working in non-profit consulting, had a sharp wit, and was surprisingly down-to-earth—for a while. The first six months were great. She said she liked that I was independent, a builder, someone who didn’t need his hand held. I thought she admired me. I thought her family might too, eventually. I was wrong. I think they tolerated me at best. Or maybe Daniella was just really good at pretending they did. 1 The first time I met her family was at her dad’s 60th birthday. It was a massive affair—black tie, rooftop venue overlooking the city, string quartet playing something I couldn’t pronounce. Daniella told me not to wear a tie, that her family was “super chill” about that stuff. When I showed up in a navy jacket and open-collar shirt, her mother gave me a once-over and said, “Oh. Bold choice.” That should have been my first clue. The little jabs continued for months. Her older brother, Chase, once asked if I’d parked my “Uber” out front or if I’d taken the night off. Her sister, Brielle, corrected the way I pronounced charcuterie like I’d insulted her ancestors. Daniella always laughed it off. “That’s just how they are,” she’d say. “Don’t take it personally.” So I didn’t. At least, not for a while. I tried to brush it off, smile politely, offer a bottle of wine I’d spent way too long choosing, and act like I didn’t see the way her dad’s eyes glazed over anytime I mentioned my company. They were the type of people who asked what school you went to not because they cared, but because they wanted to rank you. And since I didn’t go Ivy, I didn’t rank. I started noticing Daniella slowly picking up some of those habits, too. Correcting me at dinners, telling me my shoes were “too brown” for that suit, or that my tone on the phone sounded “a little aggressive” when I was dealing with clients. Once, she asked if I could “maybe downplay the whole entrepreneur thing” around her cousins because they were really into “traditional careers.” I remember standing in her kitchen, frozen, staring at her like she’d slapped me. I didn’t say anything at the time. I just nodded and said, “Sure.” Looking back now, I wish I had spoken up sooner. But love does weird things to your sense of self-worth. I think it all really started to shift last Thanksgiving. Her family invited me to join them at their estate. Yes, estate. In Connecticut. It was a whole production. Horse stables, a winter wine tasting, a fireplace in every room, and a long list of passive-aggressive digs delivered over cranberry sauce. I brought a limited-run wine from a vineyard my company had a contract with—something truly rare—and her mom looked at it and said, “Oh. Red. That’s bold for turkey.” Chase offered me a “man’s apron” for the turkey carving contest and laughed like he was hosting a roast. Her dad didn’t even acknowledge me when I shared that we’d just signed our biggest contract yet. He just asked if I’d thought about getting an MBA to “fill in the gaps.” Still, I stayed. Because Daniella would squeeze my hand under the table or give me that look like, Just survive this weekend, and we’ll be home soon. I told myself I could endure the snide comments, the carefully veiled insults, the quiet condescension. I told myself it was just a test, that maybe someday I’d be part of the circle. And a tiny, insecure part of me—one I thought I’d buried years ago—wanted that. Wanted to be accepted. Respected. Wanted to belong. But something started brewing in me after that weekend. A slow, creeping sense of shame I couldn’t place. Like I was slowly turning into a version of myself that would smile through disrespect just to keep the peace. That version made me sick. Then came the birthday dinner. It was supposed to be a celebration. My birthday was technically the next day, but Daniella said her family wanted to treat us to an early dinner at this ultra-exclusive restaurant in the city, one I knew had a months-long waitlist. I was surprised, even flattered. I showed up in my best suit. Even brought a small gift for her mother—a rare tea set I found from a little boutique in Tokyo Daniella had mentioned her mom collected. We were seated at the head table, right in the center of the room. Waiters in white gloves. Candlelight glinting off gold-rimmed glasses. The works. The whole family was there. Her parents, siblings, their partners, even a couple of cousins I barely knew. I remember thinking, Maybe this is it. Maybe they’re finally trying. The dinner started out fine. A little too formal, but manageable. Then the wine started flowing. And with it, the comments. “So, Oscar,” Chase leaned in with a smirk, “how’s business? Still hauling boxes?” “Chase,” Daniella said, laughing nervously. “He doesn’t haul anything. He runs the company.” “Right, right. Logistics. Very glamorous.” Then her mom chimed in, asking if I’d ever considered going back to school to “polish up the resume.” Her dad asked if I wanted him to connect me with someone in his firm, “just in case the startup thing didn’t pan out.” Every laugh at the table felt sharper than the last. Daniella wasn’t defending me this time. She was quiet. Distant. Staring at her wine like she was waiting for something. Then she cleared her throat, put down her glass, and said, “Actually… I’ve been meaning to say something.” The whole table fell silent. Even the waiter paused mid-pour. My stomach tightened. “I think it’s time we went our separate ways,” she said. Just like that. “This… us… it’s not working anymore. I think we both know it.” I felt the air get sucked out of the room. My ears rang. For a moment, I thought I’d misheard. Before I could speak, her brother laughed. “Man, you’re really nothing without us, huh?” Her mom added, “Be grateful we even let you sit at our table, dear.” And just like that, the dam broke. I felt everything—shock, betrayal, rage—crashing down all at once. But I didn’t argue. I didn’t yell. I didn’t ask why, or beg, or plead, or try to save face. I just checked the time. And seconds later, like clockwork, a fleet of black SUVs pulled up outside the restaurant. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the whole family watched in stunned silence as the drivers in suits stepped out—coordinated, calm, like something out of a movie. A moment later, a waiter returned with a small bow and said, “Sir, your security detail has arrived.”

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There’s a photo on my mom’s fireplace mantle that still haunts me. It’s from six years ago, Thanksgiving dinner. We’re all in it. My mom, my dad, both my sisters, their husbands, and me. Everyone’s smiling. You’d think we were a Hallmark card family. But if you zoom in, and really look close, you’ll see it. I’m sitting just slightly off to the side. Like I didn’t belong even back then. Like I was already being slowly pushed out of frame. My name’s Jasper. I’m 32. I run a small but successful IT consulting business. Just me and a few freelancers I’ve worked with for years. Nothing flashy, but I’ve worked hard for every dime. I’ve always been the quiet one in the family. Not shy, but not loud either. The dependable one. The one who never asked for anything, who picked up the check when no one else reached for it. The one who listened to everyone’s problems but kept his own locked away in a mental drawer somewhere between Dad’s passive-aggressive comments and Mom pretending not to notice. 1 I’m the youngest of three. My oldest sister, Meredith, is 38. She’s a storm in heels—loud, intense, commanding a room the moment she enters. She married Brett six years ago, and let’s just say, Brett is a walking red flag wrapped in a golf polo. Job hopper, risk-taker, wannabe entrepreneur with a trail of failed ventures and maxed-out credit cards in his wake. He’s the kind of guy who calls himself a “visionary” because he once tried to start a kombucha subscription box. Spoiler: it never launched. Meredith, of course, stands by him like he’s the second coming of Steve Jobs, except with worse taste in sneakers. Then there’s Leila, the middle child. She’s 35 and a nurse, married to a chill guy named Aaron. They’re… fine. Quiet, like me, but more passive. Leila doesn’t stir the pot unless she has to. But Meredith? She’s the chef, the cook, and the waiter when it comes to stirring drama. And lately, it’s been boiling. Our parents, especially Mom, dote on Meredith. Maybe it’s because she gave them their first grandchild. Maybe it’s because she talks the loudest. Or maybe it’s just easier to agree with her than to push back. Either way, she’s always gotten her way. When she and Brett bought a house they couldn’t afford three years ago, guess who helped out with the down payment? Yep. Yours truly. Not because I was asked directly, but because Mom called and said, “Meredith’s just so stressed, honey. They’re in over their heads. If you could just spot them a little something to get through the closing, it would mean the world to her.” And to me, I sent them $10,000. I didn’t even get a thank-you text. That was the first drop in the bucket. The latest one? A few months ago, Brett apparently took out some sketchy high-interest loan to fund his latest “business idea”—something about crypto vending machines. Don’t ask. It bombed within weeks. Now they’re underwater with a debt collector on their backs and, surprise surprise, Meredith calls Mom crying that they’re going to lose the house unless someone steps in. Mom calls me again. “Jasper, sweetheart, they’re desperate. The kids can’t lose their home.” I felt it in my gut. This wasn’t just a plea. This was an expectation. Like I was some emergency ATM the family could tap whenever someone else made a reckless decision. Like I didn’t have my own life. My own limits. So I said no. I said it calmly. Firmly. Respectfully. But no. And just like that, something shifted. It wasn’t a blowout. No yelling, no screaming. Just cold silence. A group chat that went dormant. Invites I didn’t get. Calls that went unanswered. I’d see photos on Facebook of family dinners I wasn’t told about. Leila reached out once, awkwardly, to say she didn’t want to get in the middle. I understood. But it still stung. Then came Mom’s birthday. Every year, we go out to this mid-range Italian restaurant she loves. Nothing fancy, but tradition. It’s always the same: round table in the back, too much wine, way too many toasts, and a bill that somehow always lands in front of me. This year, I hesitated. I wasn’t going to go. But then I thought, maybe things had cooled down. Maybe I was overthinking. So I showed up, clean-shaven, button-up shirt, a bottle of wine from a local vineyard as a gift. The second I walked in, I knew something was off. Meredith glanced at me like I’d tracked mud into a museum. Brett didn’t even look up from his phone. Leila gave me a half-smile, and Aaron nodded. Mom hugged me, but it felt performative. Like she was acting for an audience. We sat. We ordered. The conversation buzzed around me but never included me. When I did try to chime in, Meredith would immediately redirect it. I became background noise at my own mother’s birthday. Then came dessert. And with it, the moment that would burn into my memory like a scar. We were halfway through some tiramisu when Meredith stood up and tapped her fork against her glass. “I just want to make a quick toast,” she said, clinking the side of her wine glass like a self-appointed queen. Everyone quieted down. “To family,” she began. “To those who lift us up, and to those who kick us while we’re down.” There was an awkward laugh. She smiled, tight-lipped, venom in her eyes. “And to those who forget what loyalty means. To those who turn their backs on blood when it matters most.” She turned, full body, toward me. “You’re no longer part of this family, Jasper. Not in my eyes. Not in Brett’s. And honestly, I doubt in anyone’s.” I didn’t flinch. Not at first. I just stared at her, blinking once. Twice. The table was dead silent. Everyone was looking at me. And then, like it was a scene from a bad sitcom, people clapped. Leila didn’t. Aaron didn’t. But the rest? Mom. Dad. Even the waiter, who I think was just confused, gave a polite little “heh” and walked off. I didn’t say anything. I stood up, nodded, and pulled out my wallet. “Happy birthday, Mom,” I said softly, placing the wine bottle in front of her. Then I handed the server my card. He walked off, and I walked toward the door. My chest was tight, my hands clammy, but I wasn’t going to cry. Not here. I was halfway to the exit when I heard footsteps behind me. “Excuse me, sir?” It was the manager, holding my card. “It was declined.” I froze. Slowly turned around. The whole table was looking at me again. Waiting. The applause was gone. Just silence. I looked at the card. I looked at them. And I smiled. I simply stood up straighter, tucked my wallet back into my pocket, and walked out the front door. No explanation. No argument. Just silence. I didn’t cry in the car. I didn’t scream. I didn’t punch the steering wheel. I just sat there in the driver’s seat of my Camry, staring at the dashboard, the cold digital clock blinking 9:47 PM over and over like it was trying to taunt me. I felt like I’d just stepped out of a play I hadn’t agreed to start in. Like I’d been handed a role—family scapegoat—and everyone else had learned their lines except me. My card hadn’t declined. I checked my bank app five minutes after pulling out of the lot. It was fine. Balance untouched. No notifications. No fraud alerts. I even called the bank just to be sure. The rep on the other end told me my card was active and functioning. No holds. No issues. Which meant only one thing. Someone at that restaurant, likely with the same last name as me, had told the manager to lie. To humiliate me. To make me feel like I didn’t even have the right to pay. Like I was nothing. I didn’t sleep that night. I lay in bed, eyes wide open, the ceiling fan chopping the darkness above me like it was slicing time into meaningless fragments. My brain played the scene over and over again: the toast, the applause, the smirk on Brett’s face. That smug, leech-like smile that said, “I won.” That night, something snapped in me. Not a rage. Not even bitterness. Just clarity. A dull, heavy click in my chest like a safe door swinging shut. I was done being the nice guy. But before I could make any moves, things somehow got worse. The first message came the next morning. From my mom. “I hope you’re not planning on coming to Easter brunch. It’s going to be too tense with everyone. Maybe take some space.” Take some space? I laughed out loud reading it. Space. That’s all I’d ever given them. Space to make mistakes. Space to take advantage of me. Space to pretend I didn’t exist unless my wallet was involved. Then came the second message. From Leila. “Hey. I don’t agree with how that went down. Just wanted you to know. I’m sorry. Aaron is too.” I stared at that one for a while. I appreciated it, in theory. But it was still lukewarm. Still safe. Still two steps away from standing up and doing the right thing. A week passed. Then two. Then I got a call from an unknown number. It was a debt collector. Asking for Brett. My number was apparently listed as his “business associate” on one of the loan applications. I told the guy I hadn’t spoken to Brett in months. He seemed skeptical. Told me my name was on some kind of informal guarantee agreement. I asked him to send a copy. He emailed it an hour later. And that’s when I saw it. A typed-up, unofficial contract with a digital signature from someone named “Jasper H.” stating I would “support any necessary short-term funding needs for BH Holdings LLC.” I’d never signed it. Never even heard of BH Holdings. But the email address? It was mine. Or, it looked like mine. Just slightly off. jasper.h@techsoltions.net. They’d dropped the ‘u’ in solutions. I checked the domain. It wasn’t registered to me. Brett had spoofed my email address. Made up a fake agreement. And used it to secure a $25,000 loan. I should have called the cops right then and there. I should have lawyered up. But I didn’t. Not yet. I needed more. I needed to know how deep this went. So I went quiet. I didn’t respond to my mom’s Easter guilt trips. I didn’t like Leila’s photos of her kids. I didn’t answer Dad’s half-hearted voicemail asking if I’d “cooled off yet.” Instead, I started gathering receipts. I pulled up every transaction I’d made for Meredith and Brett in the last five years. The down payment. The plane tickets. The emergency car repair. The time I covered their rent for two months during COVID. I tallied it all. $36,840. I dug into my emails and found dozens of threads where my mom had subtly pressured me. “You know how hard it is for them right now.” “Brett just needs a little runway.” “Meredith’s having such a rough week, can you help?” Then I went even deeper. I reached out to a friend of mine from college, Derek. He’s a cybersecurity consultant who now does freelance investigations for corporate clients. I asked him a simple favor: “Can you find out who registered techsoltions.net?” It took him three days. The domain had been bought anonymously through a privacy shield, but the account used to buy it was tied to a recovery email: Brett_M1984@somewhere.com. It was him. Brett had created a fake email address pretending to be me, signed a fake contract, and used it to get a loan he had no business getting. All under my name. I had enough. Enough to ruin him. But still, I waited. Because the betrayal that changed everything hadn’t happened yet. That came a month later. I got a call from my bank. My business account was frozen. Not because of fraud, but because there was a formal complaint filed accusing my company of wire fraud and financial misrepresentation. They were forced to lock it pending investigation. I thought it had to be a mistake. But when I checked the filing… it was from BH Holdings. A company run by Brett, and apparently, Meredith. They were accusing me of stealing money from them.

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1 Evelyn and I were reborn. We came back to the day of our wedding, right after college graduation. She was still in the makeup chair when she suddenly tore off the pristine white gown. “Tim,” she said, her voice sharp and final. “I’ve thought it over. We’re not right for each other.” “I’m not marrying you.” I didn’t try to stop her. I knew. In our last life, she regretted every moment she spent with me. A heart that won’t warm up stays frozen, no matter how hard you try to melt it. And just like that, three years of love evaporated. We went our separate ways. Evelyn left the country, cutting off all contact. I stayed behind in Riverton. Seven years later, she returned, a success story with her childhood sweetheart in tow. They were the picture of happiness, their engagement announcement splashed all over social media. But when she found out I’d been married for four years—to the daughter of the city’s richest man—her regret was a poison she couldn’t swallow. “Tim, you promised you’d only ever love me!” she’d screamed in our first life. “How could you do this to me?” But that was then. This is now. On a perfect weekend, I’d cleared my schedule to spend the day at the beach with my daughter. She was a whirlwind of joy, giggling as she flung sand and seawater all over me. I was watching her, my heart overflowing, when my old college buddy Mark called. “Tim, where are you? It’s getting late.” I’d completely forgotten about the class reunion. “Sorry, man, totally spaced. I’ll be there.” “By the way,” he added, his tone shifting, “forgot to tell you. Evelyn’s back in town. She’s with Ethan.” Ethan. Back in freshman year, he was my biggest rival. He and Evelyn were childhood friends, practically joined at the hip. Their connection ran deep. But I’d won her over, or so I thought. I still remember Ethan clapping me on the shoulder after she and I got together, a fake smile on his face. “You better take care of her, man,” he’d said, a warning disguised as a joke. “Or I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.” I had the housekeeper take my daughter home and grabbed a cab to the hotel. On the way, Mark filled me in. Turns out Evelyn had done very well for herself abroad. With Ethan’s help, she’d landed a management position at a Fortune 500 company. The rumor was she made more in a month than most people do in two years. On top of that, her design work had won international awards. She was a rising star. Their return to Riverton was almost certainly to get married. Mark kept warning me to be careful, to not lose my cool at the party. “The person she is now, Tim,” he said, “you can’t afford to piss her off. And don’t even think about messing with Ethan.” “Thanks for the heads-up,” I said with a calm smile. “I’ll be careful.” I was stepping out of the cab at the hotel when a sleek, black BMW 3 Series screeched to a halt behind me. “Well, well, if it isn’t our resident genius, Tim!” The voice dripped with sarcasm. I turned. At the wheel was Kevin, Ethan’s most loyal lapdog. He’d hated my guts ever since Evelyn chose me over Ethan in college, even threatening to have me jumped. I still suspected he was behind the “random” mugging I suffered just off campus back then. Kevin parked haphazardly and swaggered over, slapping my shoulder. “Tim, my man! Years go by, but you haven’t changed a bit, have you?” I just smiled. Before I could reply, a Porsche Cayenne pulled up. And in the passenger seat, looking like she’d stepped off a magazine cover, was Evelyn. Seven years had passed. She wore designer sunglasses, a head-to-toe brand-name outfit, and flawless makeup. Ethan was driving, and when he saw me, his eyes narrowed into slits, a triumphant smirk he couldn’t hide spreading across his face. Kevin, true to form, scurried over like a puppy, fawning as he opened the passenger door. “Ethan, you made it!” “Yeah.” Ethan got out and gave me a dismissive nod. “Tim. Long time no see.” “Long time,” I echoed. Evelyn looked me up and down—the sandy hair, the dirty t-shirt, the board shorts and flip-flops. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrowed in distaste. “Tim, have you gone backward? You couldn’t even bother to change for a class reunion?” I scratched my head, playing dumb. “Didn’t have time. It was a last-minute thing.” Evelyn scoffed. “With an attitude like that, I bet you don’t even have a girlfriend, do you?” I nodded. “Nope.” Kevin let out a derisive laugh. “Come on, Tim! You were the star of our department back at Riverton U. How did you end up like… this? You’re embarrassing all of us, man. Don’t you have any ambition?” Ethan could barely contain his glee, but he put on a show of magnanimity. “Alright, Kevin, that’s enough. We’re all old friends here. No need to be so harsh.” He turned to me, his voice oozing fake sympathy. “Look, talent doesn’t pay the bills these days. I’m sure Tim has his reasons for being in this spot. For my sake, let’s not rub salt in the wound.” Kevin just grinned and shut up. “Let’s go,” Ethan said. “Everyone’s probably waiting.” As we walked into the hotel, Evelyn linked her arm through Ethan’s, a gesture so natural it was like a second skin. She was tall and slender, her long legs accentuated by stilettos, turning more than a few heads. Ethan shot a glance back at me over his shoulder, a look of pure victory. I pretended not to see. The private room was already buzzing. When Ethan and Evelyn entered, our old classmates practically jumped to their feet, their faces lit up with welcoming smiles. “Ethan, man! You finally made it!” “Looking sharp as ever!” “Evelyn, you look stunning! So classy.” “You two look so good together!” “Looks like we’ll be getting a wedding invitation soon!” Ethan beamed at the praise, while Evelyn blushed, feigning modesty. I trailed in behind them like a ghost. No one said a word to me, no one even looked my way. Finally, Mark waved me over to an empty seat in the most inconspicuous corner of the room. As the food arrived, the room filled with laughter and toasts. I sat in my corner, ignored, and just ate. The conversation inevitably turned to Ethan. Mark asked, “So, Ethan, the company’s booming, huh? I heard you just landed a partnership with Sterling Enterprises. Is that true?” Ethan smiled casually. “We’re still in talks, but it’s looking very promising.” Kevin raised his glass. “Dude, the CEO of Sterling is the richest man in Riverton! Once you’re in with them, you’ll be unstoppable!” “It’s nothing, really,” Ethan said, waving it off modestly. “Just a small business. Compared to Evelyn, my achievements are nothing. She’s an internationally recognized designer now. Just won a major award.” As he spoke, he took Evelyn’s hand, and they exchanged a look brimming with affection. Watching them, my mind drifted. In our first life, after Evelyn and I got married, we both got jobs at the same firm. We lived a quiet, stable nine-to-five life. Our combined income was comfortably upper-middle-class for Riverton. We had a house, a car, savings. It was a good life. Evelyn seemed content, too. Until the day she saw her friend’s social media feed. Her best friend, a woman named Sarah, was by all accounts less attractive and came from a humbler background than Evelyn. But Sarah had married well. Her husband was a wealthy businessman. She never had to worry about money. She took spontaneous trips around the world, drove a Porsche, and lived in a mansion. Even the diamond on her wedding ring was five times the size of Evelyn’s. Evelyn couldn’t stand it. The thought of living out her days in quiet mediocrity became a nightmare. She started pressuring me, a daily barrage of brainwashing. “What’s the point of this dead-end job? This pathetic salary can barely support us!” “We only have a few hundred thousand in savings. It sounds like a lot, but we can’t even afford a luxury car.” “Thank god we didn’t listen to your parents and have kids early. We probably couldn’t even afford a decent preschool.” “Tim, you can’t go on like this! Just quit your job, let’s start a business together!” “Or we could move abroad! My friend guaranteed we could get residency within two years.” “We’re still young! If we don’t take a risk now, our whole lives are already written for us!” I tried to reason with her, to tell her that our life wasn’t so bad. Starting a business, moving to a new country—both came with massive risks. If we failed, we’d lose everything. But she wouldn’t listen. She gave me an ultimatum: take a risk with her, or get a divorce. Divorce. The word hit me like a physical blow. I never dreamed that the woman I’d loved so deeply, the wife with whom I’d never even had a serious argument, would say that. All because she’d seen her friend’s lavish lifestyle. The foundation of our love, which I thought was rock-solid, crumbled in an instant. In the end, I couldn’t change her mind. I agreed to the divorce. On the way to the courthouse, our car was rear-ended by a speeding dump truck. We both died. And then, we were reborn. “Tim! Hey, genius! Ethan asked you a question!” Kevin’s sharp voice snapped me back to the present. He gave me a rough shove. I looked up. Ethan was watching me, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “Tim, everyone’s shared what they’re up to. It’s your turn. So, where are you making your fortune these days?” “I’m not working at the moment,” I said calmly. “Unemployed, I guess.” “What? Unemployed?” Kevin crowed, his voice dripping with fake disbelief. “Tim, the genius from Riverton U, can’t even find a job? If word gets out, you’ll be a laughingstock!” A wave of snickers went through the room. Evelyn looked at me with a mixture of pity and disgust, but underneath it all, there was a flicker of relief. Relief that she had made the right choice. If she had married me, stayed in Riverton, her life would have been the same as the last one: comfortable, but painfully average. Nothing like the glamorous life she had now. Mark frowned. “Tim, if you don’t have an income, how are you getting by?” “I do odd jobs here and there,” I said. “Some freelance stuff. Enough to support myself.” Kevin scanned me from head to toe, his expression scornful. “And by ‘freelance stuff,’ do you mean hauling bricks at a construction site?” I didn’t answer, and the silence was all the confirmation they needed. The whispers started. “No wonder his clothes are so dirty, and he’s wearing flip-flops.” “He’s even got sand in his hair. Looks like Kevin was right.” “A top-tier university grad ending up as a manual laborer. What a waste.” “If I were him, I’d be too embarrassed to even show my face here.” “I bet the only reason he came was to see Evelyn.” “I still don’t get what she ever saw in him. She was the campus belle.” “Exactly! Ethan is handsome, rich… Tim can’t even compare to his little finger.” “Thank God they didn’t get married. Her life would have been ruined.” I’d had enough. I muttered an excuse and headed for the bathroom. I was washing my hands when I heard the click-clack of high heels behind me. It was Evelyn. She stood there, her eyes full of a familiar disappointment. “Tim, I can’t believe it. Just because I didn’t marry you, you let yourself go completely. You’ve become a total deadbeat.” “It’s been seven years,” she continued, her voice sharp with judgment. “Everyone has built a career. Even Mark is a sales manager now. But you… you have zero ambition. I’m so disappointed in you.” I looked at her face, so familiar yet so alien, and said calmly, “Everyone gets to choose their own life. I chose this one because I like it. I have enough to eat, a roof over my head, and I don’t have to deal with office politics or corporate burnout. It’s a good life.” Evelyn let out a contemptuous laugh. “Tim, do you know why I didn’t marry you?” “I do,” I said evenly. “We want different things. You want money and fame. That’s what matters most to you.” “It’s not just what I want. It’s what any sane person wants,” she retorted. “You only live once. If you don’t strive for something, what’s the difference between you and a piece of driftwood?” She softened her tone slightly, a calculated move. “You’re brilliant, you’re responsible, you can be romantic. You were the ideal husband material. But your biggest flaw is your lack of ambition. You’re happy being a big fish in a tiny, insignificant pond.” She took a step closer. “Tim, life is short. If you don’t push yourself, you’ll never know what you’re capable of. I’m glad I made the right choice. Instead of marrying you, I went abroad and fought for my career. Now, I’ve come back successful. You and I… we’re in two different worlds now.” I nodded. “You’re right. You’ve changed.” “But some people never change,” she said, her voice dripping with scorn. “Or they get even worse. Tim, I think you’re destined to be a loser for the rest of your life.” After delivering the final blow, she sighed dramatically. “But fine. For old time’s sake, I’ll give you a chance. Ethan’s company is looking for a design assistant. With your talent, you could handle it. The pay isn’t great, maybe six or seven thousand a month with bonuses, but it’s better than what you have now.” I shook my head. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m not interested.” Her brow knitted into a sharp ‘V’. “Tim, you’re in this state and you still have an ego? Ethan would never have offered this if it wasn’t for me.” Before I could reply, Ethan appeared. He wrapped an arm around Evelyn’s waist, his voice smooth as silk. “What’s wrong, babe? You look upset.” “Nothing. Just annoyed by someone who doesn’t know what’s good for him.” “Oh?” Ethan turned his gaze to me, a smug smile playing on his lips. “Let me guess. Tim turned down your generous offer, didn’t he?” He shook his head in mock pity. “Tim, Tim, Tim. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you. Evelyn has a good heart. She’s only trying to help you out of nostalgia. Look at you. You look worse than the security guard at the front door. She offers you a white-collar job with a decent salary that fresh grads would kill for, and you throw it back in her face. You’re a real disappointment.” I kept my voice level. “Ethan, I know my own limits. I haven’t had a real job in years. I’m used to being lazy. Thanks for the offer, but no thanks.” Evelyn snorted. “You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.” She turned and walked away. After she was out of earshot, Ethan leaned in close, his voice low and menacing. “Tim, remember what I told you freshman year? I told you to take care of her, or I’d move in. You actually let her go. So thanks for that. That’s the only reason I let her offer you a job.” His smile vanished. “But I’ll give you another warning. Stay away from Evelyn. Don’t even think about getting back together with her. Or I will make you disappear.” He punctuated the last sentence with a hard shove against my shoulder, his face twisted in a snarl, all traces of his charming facade gone. I just looked at him and smiled faintly. Back in the room, it wasn’t long before the main event began. Ethan got down on one knee in front of everyone, presenting Evelyn with a massive bouquet of roses as he proposed. The room erupted in applause and cheers. Evelyn feigned surprise, but a delighted, shy smile spread across her face as she accepted the flowers. Mark shot a worried glance my way, but relaxed when he saw my expression was completely neutral. But then, as Ethan reached into his pocket for the ring, his expression changed. “That’s weird,” he said, patting his jacket. “The diamond ring… it’s gone.” Kevin piped up. “Did you leave it in the car, man?” “No way. I remember putting it in my pocket when I got out. I checked on it during dinner; it was definitely there.” A murmur went through the room. “Maybe it fell out somewhere?” “Or… maybe someone stole it?” Kevin immediately seized on the idea. “That’s it! One of us is a thief! Someone with sticky fingers stole Ethan’s ring!” “That ring must have been expensive, right?” someone asked. Ethan tried to sound casual. “Not too bad. Just over a million.” A collective gasp went through the room. Mark suggested calling the police, but Kevin shot that down. “No, the cops will take forever. Let’s just search everyone. We’re all old friends here. For Ethan’s future happiness, we can all put up with a little inconvenience.” Without waiting for an answer, he marched straight toward me. “Tim, we’ll start with you. You don’t mind, do you?” I said I didn’t, and he immediately started patting me down. A few seconds later, he pulled a glittering ring from my pocket. “This is it!” Ethan exclaimed. “That’s my ring!” The room exploded. “Tim, I knew you were poor, but I never thought you were a thief!” “There’s no honor among thieves, but stealing from an old classmate? That’s shameless.” “Everyone, check your wallets! See if anything else is missing!” “I knew this guy was bad news. Call the police! Get him arrested!” “A million-dollar ring? He’s going to jail for a long, long time.” Evelyn stared at me, her face a mask of cold, absolute disappointment. I tried to tell them I didn’t do it, but no one listened. As I stood there, cornered and accused, the door to the private room swung open. Led by the hotel manager, a woman of stunning beauty and unshakeable confidence walked in. She was holding the hand of a little girl, about two years old, who looked like a perfect porcelain doll. Ethan froze for a second, then his face broke into a wide, sycophantic grin as he rushed forward. “Ms. Sterling! What a pleasant surprise! What brings you here?” The woman gave him a quizzical look. “I’m sorry, have we met?” “I’m Ethan from Apex Innovations. We spoke briefly at the bidding conference the other day.” Mark whispered to the person next to him, “Who is that?” Kevin, the resident expert on the rich and powerful, whispered back, “You don’t know? That’s Sophia Sterling, the new CEO of Sterling Enterprises! Her dad is worth billions. She’s a true heiress!” The entire room was stunned into silence. But the biggest shock was yet to come. The little girl suddenly let go of her mother’s hand and came toddling straight toward me, her arms outstretched. “Daddy, up!”

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1 My mother-in-law was having a heart attack. My husband, a top cardiac surgeon, was the only one who could save her. I didn’t call him for help. I just stood there and watched, my eyes cold, as she took her last agonizing breath in front of me. In my last life, when she had this heart attack, I called my husband immediately. He accused me of being a jealous, manipulative wife, faking an emergency just to drag him home. He refused to come. She died in the hospital. And when my father-in-law demanded to know why, my husband swore I had never called him, pinning the entire blame for his mother’s death on me. My father-in-law, consumed by hatred, stabbed me to death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that very day. … “Eva, Dr. Chen is the only one who can perform this surgery. You have to get him here now. If he’s not here within the hour, she’s not going to make it.” When I came to, my mother-in-law, Helen, was already on the hospital bed, her breaths shallow and ragged. The situation was critical. On instinct, I pulled out my phone and started to walk away. But after two steps, the image of my father-in-law butchering me flashed through my mind. I hadn’t died after the last stab wound. I remember looking down, my stomach a bloody, mangled mess. A shiver ran down my spine. My husband, Liam, loves to dodge responsibility, doesn’t he? Well, not this time. The phone rang for what felt like an eternity before he finally picked up. “What is it?” Liam’s voice was sharp with annoyance. My own voice trembled, thick with unshed tears. “Liam, it’s your mom. She’s had a heart attack. We’re at your hospital, and the head nurse said you’re the only one who can do the surgery. You have to come, please.” There was a pause, then his tone turned cold with fury. “Eva, are you serious right now? I take Winona to the mall for a few hours, and you pull a stunt like this? You’re using my mother’s life to score jealousy points? Have you lost your mind?” “No, I’m not,” I whimpered. “She’s really—” “Liam, honey… I don’t feel so good.” A sweet, delicate voice cut me off. “Winona? Are you okay?” Liam’s voice instantly shifted to panicked concern. He didn’t forget to hiss a final threat into the phone. “Eva, I hope you’re happy now. And you better stop cursing my mother with these fake illnesses, or I swear to God, you’ll regret it.” He hung up. I looked up. The faces of the emergency room staff around me were a mixture of awkwardness and pity. I offered them a helpless smile. Last time, I’d rushed out of the room to make the call, trying not to upset Helen further. But when everything went to hell, Liam, terrified of the hospital’s reprimand and his father’s wrath, denied I had ever contacted him. This time, I made sure to make the call in front of everyone. I needed witnesses. But that wasn’t enough. I hit redial. Once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth try, the call wouldn’t go through. He’d blocked me. I leaned over Helen’s bed. “Mom, just hang on. Liam wouldn’t just leave you.” She was still conscious. As I said those words, her monitor shrieked, the lines going haywire. The doctors and nurses jolted into action, a chaotic ballet of desperation. The head nurse pulled me out of the room, her face grim. “Eva, her situation is deteriorating rapidly. I don’t care how you do it, but you need to get Dr. Chen here. Now.” “But he won’t answer my calls,” I cried, my voice thick with panic. “Then try someone else’s phone.” She disappeared back into the room, leaving me alone in the hallway. Someone else’s phone? I borrowed phones from two different nurses. Both times, as soon as Liam heard my voice, he hung up. The head nurse had given me a direct order. I had to find another way. Wiping my tears, I opened the app for the city’s biggest livestreamer, a guy who ran a channel called “HelpForce Live.” I sent the biggest virtual gift they had. A moment later, I was live with him. “Hello, HelpForce,” I began, my voice choked with sobs. “I’m just a regular person, but I’m in a terrible situation. My mother-in-law has had a sudden heart attack, and Dr. Liam Chen is the only surgeon who can save her. But he won’t take my calls. He’s at the city center mall right now. If anyone sees him, please, tell him to get to St. Jude’s Hospital immediately. His mother only has about forty minutes left.” I finished, my whole body shaking, and sent the streamer a photo of Liam. The streamer hesitated. “Ma’am, I understand you’re upset, but doctors have private lives too. We can’t just ambush him because you say it’s an emergency. This could be a serious invasion of his privacy, so…” 2 Before he could finish, the head nurse burst out of the ER again. “Have you reached him? She’s worse than we thought.” I shook my head, my heart sinking. “That man is completely unreliable,” she muttered. Just then, another nurse poked her head out. “Charge nurse! Patient is in cardiac arrest! Get the crash cart!” Cardiac arrest. The words hit me like a physical blow. I stood frozen for a long moment. Then, as if waking from a trance, I bolted for the elevators. I stabbed the button for the top floor. The hospital’s CEO and all the department heads were in the middle of a board meeting. When I threw the door open, the room fell silent. Every eye turned to me. I spotted Liam’s boss, Dr. Peterson, the head of cardiology. I ran to him and dropped to my knees. “Dr. Peterson, please, you have to save my mother-in-law! She’s dying in the ER!” His face darkened. “Isn’t there a doctor in the emergency room? Why have you come all the way up here?” “Dr. Peterson, I’m Liam Chen’s wife,” I sobbed. “The doctors down there said only Liam can perform her surgery, but he… he can’t make it. Your skills are legendary. Please, you’re the only one who can save her now.” Hearing my story, the CEO gave Dr. Peterson a nod. He agreed to go down and assess the situation. When he heard the full story of my unanswered calls, Dr. Peterson let out a string of curses. “Has Liam lost his mind? He’s always been a bit of a flake, but to abandon his own mother? Don’t you worry, I’ll call him myself.” He pulled out his phone, trying to reassure me as he dialed. The call connected almost instantly. Dr. Peterson’s voice was granite. “Liam, I don’t care where you are or what you’re doing. Get back to the hospital now. Your mother has had a massive heart attack, and you’re the only one who can operate.” Liam’s voice on the other end was incredulous. “Dr. Peterson? You’ve got to be kidding me. She even dragged you into her little drama? Sir, I really can’t come back right now. Please don’t fall for her act. You have no idea what this woman will say when she’s jealous. I know my mother’s health. I listened to her heart this morning myself; it was perfect. She used to pull this stunt all the time to get me home. I’m not falling for it again, and with all due respect, neither should you. I have to go.” He hung up before Dr. Peterson could get another word in. Dr. Peterson’s face was a thundercloud. He tried calling back, but the phone went straight to voicemail. Liam had turned it off. “Son of a bitch,” the normally mild-mannered director snarled, his knuckles white around his phone. “Is that man even human?” Just then, the streamer’s voice came from my phone. “You heard it here, folks. It’s real. This is not a drill. If you’re in the city, keep an eye out for Dr. Liam Chen. We need to get him to St. Jude’s!” I’d completely forgotten the livestream was still running. Everything—Dr. Peterson’s call, Liam’s callous dismissal—had been broadcast to the world. When I looked at my screen, the viewer count had jumped to thirty thousand. The chat was flying. [OMG, I was about to roast this chick for being a drama queen, but holy crap, what a plot twist.] [This guy has serious issues. His MOM is dying and he’s out with his side piece? I wanna punch him through the screen.] Seeing that comment, I quickly cried out, “Please, don’t hurt him!” Then, I handed my phone to Dr. Peterson and knelt on the floor, facing the camera. “Everyone watching, please, I’m begging you, help me find my husband. My mother-in-law has always been so good to me. I can’t just watch her die. Liam, if you’re seeing this, please come back. If you save your mother, I’ll do anything you ask.” I slammed my forehead on the cold, tiled floor, over and over again. The raw desperation of the act brought tears to the eyes of the nurses around me. “What kind of scumbag makes his wife beg like this just to save his own mother?” someone muttered. But the performance was for nothing. Half an hour later, Helen was gone. As they wheeled her body to the morgue, the head nurse patted my back. “Don’t blame yourself,” she said gently. I collapsed into her arms, my voice raw with grief. “She’s gone! I don’t have a mother-in-law anymore!” Her own voice was thick with emotion. “You did everything you possibly could, Eva.” “Eva.” A familiar voice cut through my haze of sorrow. I looked up and saw my father-in-law, Arthur. 3 Arthur had just driven in from their country home, still covered in dust and dirt from the fields. As he walked toward me, I saw the ghost of the man from my last life, the man with the knife. I instinctively took a step back. But this time, he just reached out and gently stroked my hair. “I heard the broadcast on the way here. After everything Liam put you through, you still fought so hard for her. Thank you, Eva.” I nodded, my expression a mask of grief. Inside, a wave of relief washed over me. I’d gotten away with it. Arthur went to the morgue to see his wife. The moment the white sheet was pulled back, his legs gave out, and he crumpled to the floor. “Helen, my love, why couldn’t you wait for me? Why didn’t you let me see you one last time?” he wailed. “And that ungrateful son of ours… he’s the one who killed you!” Arthur and Helen had a deep, twisted kind of love. They’d married for passion, not arrangement. But neither of them was a saint. When they were young, Arthur had been so obsessed with her that he’d jumped into a river to force her to marry him. And Helen, who had been in love with someone else, was never faithful after they wed. One was dangerously obsessive, the other perpetually restless. Their life was a cycle of explosive fights. After each one, Helen would storm off to the city to stay with Liam, where she would spend her time criticizing me. She thought a simple accountant like me was lucky to have landed a brilliant surgeon, and she was the one who had introduced Liam to the beautiful and accomplished Winona. She never imagined she was digging her own grave. Arthur said he wanted some time alone with his wife, so I stepped out of the morgue. I was about to sit down and catch my breath when a voice barked my name. “Eva Chen!” A shiver of pure terror shot down my spine. In my past life, Arthur’s attack hadn’t killed me immediately. Liam had found me, bleeding out. I begged him to take me to a hospital. But he was afraid I’d tell the police what his father had done. Instead, he pressed a towel over my face and smothered me. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes as he killed me. Vicious. Final. “L-Liam.” My legs turned to jelly. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He shoved his phone in my face. The video of me begging and banging my head on the floor was playing. “Are you addicted to making a scene? Humiliating our family in front of the entire city wasn’t enough for you?” I shook my head. “That’s not what happened.” “Bullshit! Do you have any idea what I’ve been through today? People are calling Winona a homewrecker, screaming at us in the street, forcing me to come here. Are you happy now?” He backed me into a corner. “You said my mother was dying. So where is she? I didn’t see her in the ER.” I pointed a trembling finger toward the morgue behind me. He still didn’t believe me. “Oh, perfect. First, you lie about a heart attack, and now you’re pretending she’s dead? Fine. You’re coming in with me. And if I don’t find a body, I swear to God, you and I are finished.” He grabbed me by the collar and dragged me inside. The moment we were through the doors, he started shouting. “Mom? Where are you? The joke’s over! Honestly, why would you go along with this crazy woman’s scheme? Do you know how embarrassing this is?” His tirade stopped cold when he saw his father. Liam frowned. “Dad? What are you doing here? Don’t tell me Eva tricked you into coming, too.” Arthur strode forward and slapped his son across the face, the sound echoing in the silent room. “You ungrateful bastard,” he seethed. “It’s come to this, and you still don’t believe it? You let your own mother die for some tramp, and you have the audacity to come in here shouting?” Liam’s eyes widened. “What? It was real? Her heart attack… it was real? Then where is she?” Arthur kicked the back of his knee, hard. Liam buckled, landing on the cold floor. He looked up, and his eyes finally met the pale, lifeless face of his mother on the gurney.

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To take over the family airline, my grandfather insisted I rotate through the flight attendant position for a week. On my first day, I encountered a man brandishing a Platinum Card and acting like a petty tyrant toward the crew. “Do you know what this Platinum Card means? It can buy the miserable lives of every single one of you!” “That bow is too shallow. Is it a bad back or just disrespect? Ninety degrees! Hold it for a hundred minutes!” “What kind of hogwash are they serving in Economy? I’ll bless you with some premium ingredients!” I was about to intervene, but the flight attendant next to me quickly stopped me. “He’s the older brother of our CEO’s personal assistant. In our airline…” She leaned in conspiratorially and pointed upward. “You have a chance of survival if you offend our CEO, Ethan Bell. But if you offend his assistant… you’ll be utterly ruined.” I was stunned into silence, and honestly, a little amused. I reached for the satellite phone and dialed my grandfather. “Grandfather, tell the pilot to execute an immediate landing at the nearest airport. When we land, I want to see my divorce certificate from Ethan Bell.” 1 Today was the first day of my undercover rotation. I stood at the cabin door, maintaining a standard, professional smile as I welcomed the boarding passengers. Most passengers were kind and nodded cordially. Until a man in a bubblegum-pink Chanel tweed suit appeared at the jetway. He was clutching a shiny Platinum Card, his critical gaze sweeping over me from head to toe. “New here? That explains the total lack of decorum!” “Do you know what this Platinum Card means? It can buy the miserable lives of every single one of you!” “That bow is too shallow. Is it a bad back or just disrespect? Ninety degrees! Hold it for a hundred minutes!” Following the standard protocol, I offered a slight bow and a professional smile. “Good morning, sir. Welcome aboard.” That single word, “sir,” was enough to unleash hell. 2 His footsteps halted abruptly, his voice dripping with theatrical annoyance. “How should I put this? In the flight attendant profession, a cute smile isn’t enough. You need to have some situational awareness!” He pointed to his outfit. “Look at me. From my hair to my heels, what part of me looks like a ‘sir’? Call. Me. Ms. Kai!” Sarah, the senior attendant greeting passengers with me, looked horrified. She quickly snatched my arm, shoved herself forward, and dipped into a rigid, ninety-degree bow. “Our deepest apologies! Ms. Kai, good morning! She’s a new hire and hasn’t been properly trained, please forgive the oversight!” The man snorted dismissively through his nose, rolled his eyes at us, and strutted into the First Class cabin. Sarah immediately whispered to me, “That’s Kai Foster. A Platinum Card member. Serve him perfectly, or one complaint will ruin our entire crew’s career and bonus pool.” 3 I stiffened. Our airline had only issued three Platinum Cards. Two went to my grandfather’s oldest friends. And the third… I personally gave it to my husband, the current CEO, Ethan Bell, to use for the most crucial corporate relationships. But why would Ethan Bell entrust the Platinum Card—the symbol of our airline’s highest honor and absolute trust—to this outlandish man? I forcefully suppressed the rising turmoil and suspicion in my chest. For now, ensuring the smooth operation of the flight and caring for all passengers was my primary job. It was also a perfect opportunity to observe, under Ethan Bell’s esteemed leadership, exactly how his Platinum-level guest behaved, and what my frontline staff were being forced to endure. 4 Right after takeoff, Kai immediately pressed the call button. I walked over. He was lounging with crossed legs, not even bothering to open his eyes. “A cup of warm water. Forty-five degrees Celsius. Not a degree more, not a degree less. I need to take my medication right now.” I hurried to prepare it, but because I needed to mix in cold water to precisely regulate the temperature, I was delayed by exactly one minute. That single minute caused him to explode. When I rushed the cup to his seat, he slammed his hand down on the tray table. “What kind of service is this? Check the time! You missed my medication window by a whole minute! I’m taking birth control! Do you have any idea what the consequences are?” “If I end up pregnant, are you prepared to take responsibility?” Every eye in First Class snapped toward him. Though his makeup was heavy and he wore a skirt suit, his prominent Adam’s apple and firm facial structure made it obvious to everyone that he was a man. I struggled to maintain my composure. “Ms. Kai, I am sincerely sorry, but regulating the water temperature takes a moment.” He snatched the cup from my hand and, with no mercy, threw the water directly onto my chest, soaking my uniform. “Honestly, how did a clumsy pig like you manage to climb to this position? I bet you offered the pilots some ‘special services’ to get here. You disgusting plague! Get ready for the complaint that will fire you!” 5 My nails dug into my palms, my fist clenched. A scorching wave of fury went straight to my head. Just as I was about to lose control, Sarah shot forward and shielded me. “I’m so sorry! Ms. Kai! She is truly new, I apologize on her behalf! Please, please, don’t upset yourself. Your precious health isn’t worth getting angry over!” As she was speaking, she gripped my wrist hard, whispering an urgent plea only I could hear: “Hold it! Don’t you dare! Think of the complaint! Our entire team will lose our bonuses and face grounding! He’s not worth it, the trash! Let me handle him!” Kai Foster watched Sarah’s desperate deference, finally achieving the sense of superiority he craved. He slowly pulled out a tissue to wipe his hands. “Hmph. At least you old employees understand the rules.” His voice was a tone of condescending charity. “Come on. I’m going with you to catering!” 6 Catering? Airline catering has extremely strict safety and sanitation regulations. There was no way he could just walk in. “Ms. Kai, passengers are not permitted to enter the catering area. It’s regulation…” I tried to dissuade him. Before I could finish, Sarah yanked my arm again. “Are you still not getting it? His sister is Sienna Foster. She’s the CEO’s favorite personal assistant.” “You have a chance of survival if you offend our CEO, Ethan Bell, but if you offend his little assistant, Sienna Foster, you’ll be utterly ruined.” “The CEO practically does whatever she tells him! Everyone in the company whispers that she’s going to be the new Mrs. Bell! Our jobs are one word from her away from being terminated! You’re still on probation, don’t be a hero!” The new Mrs. Bell? My husband, Ethan Bell’s… new wife? Kai noticed my moment of stunned silence and, mistaking it for fear, let out a venomous, mocking laugh. “Oh, look! The name Ethan Bell finally made her cower?” “Let me tell you, a man like the CEO is not someone a low-level pig like you can provoke! He can decide your fate with a single sentence. Get it?” 7 In the brief seconds I was frozen, Kai had already barged into the catering area. “Ugh, what kind of hogwash do they eat in Economy?” He disdainfully picked up a piece of a vegetable with his fingertip, then violently flung it away. Next, he pulled an exquisite metal tin from his bag, tapping his nail against the side. “Looking at their poor lives, they’ve probably never seen anything good. Fine, I’m in a good mood today. I’ll bless them with some premium black truffle powder! Let them open their eyes to quality!” With that, he twisted open the tin and was about to sprinkle the contents onto the meals. “Ms. Kai! Absolutely not!” The Crew Chief, Olivia, finally broke. She shot forward, standing determinedly in front of the catering cart. Her voice was frantic but firm. “Airline food safety protocol absolutely forbids adding any outside food or seasoning to the crew-prepared meals. This is for the safety of all our passengers! Please, you must understand!” “Protocol? Safety?” Kai laughed as if he’d heard a joke. “You think my food is less safe than your garbage? Do you know this little tin cost more than your annual salary?” “Get out of my way!” Olivia stood her ground. “Ms. Kai, this is a matter of principle! If there is any issue, we cannot bear the responsibility! Please, don’t make this difficult for us!” Seeing that the Crew Chief dared to stop him repeatedly, Kai’s face instantly darkened to a thunderous storm. He pulled out his phone and initiated a video call. “Sienna, look at this! These flight attendants have revolted! They won’t let me add seasoning to the food! And they dare talk back to me!” On the other end, a delicate, sweet voice came through the speaker. “Brother, don’t get worked up. Give the phone to the Crew Chief.” Kai triumphantly shoved the phone in Olivia’s face. Sienna Foster’s voice instantly turned bone-chillingly cold. “All of you, kneel down and apologize to my brother immediately! Otherwise, every single one of you will be fired for severe misconduct and blacklisted from the airline industry forever! I mean every word!” 8 The air in the catering area solidified. Olivia’s lips trembled, tears of shame welling in her eyes. Sarah and the other flight attendants were deathly pale, exchanging desperate glances, their eyes full of struggle. Sienna, seeing their hesitation, gave a cold laugh. “Fine. No kneeling, huh? You’ve got tough spines, huh? You’ll regret this!” Immediately, the video feed began to shake violently. Sienna had run straight into the CEO’s private conference room! As the camera stabilized, the full view of the room became clear— The long conference table was filled with executives whose faces were grave, and the projection screen displayed the airline’s second-half strategic planning PPT. Ethan Bell was at the head of the table, listening to a report. Seeing Sienna suddenly burst in, he first froze, but his expression showed no annoyance at the interruption. Instead, it was instantly filled with deep concern. “Ethan, honey, huhu.” Sienna completely ignored the astonished looks of the executives. She ran straight to Ethan, practically collapsing onto the armrest of his chair. “Look at what the flight attendants are doing! They ganged up to bully my brother. He just asked for one small thing, and they yelled at him and insulted him! My brother has a heart condition, and they made him cry! Ethan, you have to defend us!” As she spoke, she leaned against Ethan, her body soft and boneless. Tears streamed down her face like a broken string of pearls, as if she had suffered an unthinkable injustice. She was a completely different person from the sharp-tongued woman from moments ago. Ethan Bell’s face instantly darkened. He didn’t ask a single question about the facts. All his attention was focused on the trembling, weeping Sienna in his arms. “Shhh, baby, don’t cry. Your eyes will get all puffy and ruined. Why cry over something so small? Hmm? I’m here. No one is allowed to bully you or your family.” He gently wiped her tears, then lifted his head, looking at the phone screen, his tone plummeting to freezing point. “Are you all deaf? Didn’t you hear what Sienna said?” “I am ordering you right now, do exactly as Mr. Kai demands! Kneel and apologize!” “If I don’t see your compliance in the next three seconds…” Before he could finish his threat, I walked straight into the center of the phone camera’s view. My figure, along with my calm expression, was clearly visible on the screen. “Ethan Bell. Are you sure you want me to kneel?” 9 “Wife?” The word ripped from Ethan’s mouth like a thunderclap. Those two words briefly ignited a spark of hope in the desperate flight attendants. But it vanished instantly. Ethan’s surprise was quickly replaced by a deeper feeling of annoyance and irritation. He didn’t even release his arm from around Sienna, only rubbing his brow impatiently with his free hand. “Audrey, what are you doing here?” “Your ‘new job’ last night… was an intern flight attendant at my own airline?” I nodded, my expression perfectly composed. Ethan’s gaze swept over my soaked uniform. His voice deepened. “Stop being dramatic. Just do what Mr. Kai asked and apologize. We’ll discuss this farce after the plane lands.” At that statement, not just I, but all the flight attendants in the catering area, were stunned. Their shock turned back into despair, and finally, only numbness remained. Sienna, seeing the reaction, nestled further into Ethan’s embrace, adding fuel to the fire. “Oh, Ethan, so this is Audrey. She was so mean, honey. I think she scared my brother badly!” Ethan immediately patted her back with sympathy. “Sienna and her brother are good, simple people. They just want a sincere apology.” “Be a good girl, Audrey. Just kneel and apologize to Mr. Kai. Don’t make this difficult for me.” 10 I looked at him, and then I smiled—a cold, cutting smile that held no warmth whatsoever. “Ethan Bell, do you remember the vow you made on your knees before our wedding?” “Now! It’s time for you to honor your commitment!” With that, I didn’t wait for his reaction. I ended the call. I didn’t stop for a second, turning sharply and walking to the crew storage cabinet. I pulled out a much heavier, secure satellite phone. “Grandfather.” “A passenger is interfering with normal cabin service and disrupting the security of the aircraft.” “Notify the pilot to execute an immediate landing at the nearest airport.” “And when we land, I want to see my divorce certificate from Ethan Bell.” 11 Kai Foster stared at the satellite phone in my hand. After two seconds of stunned silence, he burst into mocking laughter. “Oh my God, the new girl is putting on a show! You think holding a fake satellite phone and calling ‘Grandfather’ makes you an heiress?” His eyes were full of scorn. “Do you have any idea who the CEO, Ethan Bell, is? In this airline industry, when he stamps his foot, the whole ground shakes!” I gave a cold laugh, not even sparing him a glance. “Ethan Bell? He’s nothing.” He was merely a son-in-law to the Harrington family. Years ago, Ethan’s grandfather had done a favor for mine. The Harrington family never forgot a debt of honor. So, when Ethan’s family fell on hard times, my grandfather approached me, hoping I would fulfill the long-ago arrangement. I saw that he was capable and seemed honest enough. I agreed. Before the wedding, I called him to the study and made my terms perfectly clear: “Ethan Bell, loyalty is my absolute bottom line. The day you harbor a second thought or betray me, I will file for divorce immediately.” What was his reply then? He knelt before my grandfather, swearing on his life that he would never fail me. If he broke that vow, he would walk away with nothing, forever disgraced. My grandfather and I had one final contingency. We never told him the true extent of the Harrington family’s wealth. So Ethan Bell always believed I was just a “regular rich girl.” He also truly believed that he sat on the CEO’s throne purely because of his own hard work and superior ability. What an utter fool. Today, I would make sure he saw exactly what he was without my name—Audrey Lane—behind him. 12 My grandfather’s voice came through the receiver, calm but with an undeniable edge of seriousness. “My dear, have you thought this through?” “Yes.” I didn’t hesitate for a second. Grandfather was silent for three seconds, then gave a command to the person next to him. “Execute the order as my granddaughter has instructed. Immediately.” The moment the words finished, another voice—calm and highly efficient—cut in. It was Mr. Vance, my grandfather’s chief aide. “Understood, Mr. Harrington.” In the background, I heard the rapid clicking of a keyboard and clear instructions being broadcast: “AeroSky One to Tower. Flight G-1024 is initiating a maximum-priority emergency landing. Clear the airspace. Give them landing priority.” “Legal department: Initiate full asset separation. Ethan Bell is to be stripped of all assets. The signed divorce certificate must be delivered to the emergency VIP lounge within half an hour.” Mr. Vance’s final message came through: “Madam, everything is secured. Landing at Midcoast Airport in thirty minutes.” “The dossiers for the Platinum Card perpetrator and the accomplice, Sienna Foster, will be sent to you in ten minutes.” 13 Kai Foster, listening to the clear instructions from the other end of the line, laughed hysterically again. “Ha ha ha! ‘AeroSky One’? ‘Clear the airspace’? Keep acting! Just you wait! When we land, my sister will talk to the CEO, and you won’t even know how you died!” However, his laughter was cut short. The aircraft announcement system came on. This time, the pilot’s voice carried an unprecedented severity. “Ladies and gentlemen, please be advised. Due to circumstances involving a security matter, this flight is initiating an emergency landing at Midcoast Airport. Please return to your seats immediately and fasten your seat belts…” The mocking expression on Kai’s face instantly froze! He frantically pulled out his phone to call Sienna. Before he could dial, two security officers quickly walked over and confiscated his phone. “Mr. Foster, you are suspected of jeopardizing flight safety. Please cooperate with the investigation.” Moments after Kai was escorted away, I received a text from Ethan Bell. Ethan Bell: Audrey, that is quite enough drama. Sienna is very delicate; she would never be as hysterical as you! I want to be perfectly clear: I love you! But I need to be with her for at least three years. In the meantime, you need to be a quiet, dutiful wife and not cause me problems. If I get bored after three years, I might consider coming back to our marriage. Ethan Bell: Don’t forget, without me, Ethan Bell, you, Audrey Lane, are nothing. I picked up my phone and replied calmly: Audrey Lane: Be at Midcoast Airport in thirty minutes. Audrey Lane: I have a huge gift for you. Audrey Lane: You can choose not to come. If you don’t, I hand Kai over to the police. Then, I blocked his number.

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