Intimate photos of me and Chris, the industry’s reigning golden boy, were plastered across every tabloid and social media platform. Beneath the trending tags, his fans had already doxed my apartment. Some called me a desperate, aging leech clinging to his coat-tails; others threatened to camp outside my office to “clean up Chris’s trash.” I called him. His voice was a soothing, gentle balm, just as it had always been. “Don’t be afraid, baby. I’m holding a press conference in an hour. I’m going to make us public.” “You’ve been by my side for ten years, building me from a nameless extra to who I am today. It’s about time I gave you the recognition you deserve.” At the press conference venue, I stood in the wings, my heart in my throat, waiting for him to reach out and take my hand. Instead, Chris walked onto the stage with Selena, the sparkling new IT-girl. “Selena and I have been together for three years.” “As for the photos online, they were leaked by my former manager, Naomi. She has been obsessively stalking and harassing me.” The flashbulbs instantly pivoted toward me. Someone lunged forward, ripping at my hair; a chair was flung in my direction, splintering near my feet. When security finally dragged me out of the screaming mob, Chris didn’t even glance my way. Half an hour later, he found me in the shadows of the subterranean garage. He reached out, smoothing down the torn collar of my blouse. His touch was still agonizingly gentle. “I’m so sorry, baby.” “A scandal like this would destroy me, so I needed someone to take the fall. It had to be you.” I looked into his beautiful, hollow eyes. “You leaked those photos yourself, didn’t you?” Chris hesitated for a fraction of a second, then let out a soft, mocking chuckle. “Otherwise, how would I convince the world that you’re the one obsessed with me?” I looked down, my fingers quietly tapping the screen of the phone hidden in my pocket. The voice recorder was running. He thought I was waiting for him to beg me to stay. He had no idea that from this moment on, the only thing I was waiting for was his complete and utter ruin. 1 When Chris found me, I was tucked into the darkest corner of the underground garage. He pulled down his mask, his first words completely devoid of any concern for my bruised temple. “I’ll handle the press, but you need to play along.” “Resign from the agency and walk away from the industry. I’ll wire you two million dollars as compensation.” I leaned against the cold metal of my car, staring at him. “And us?” Chris frowned, genuinely surprised I’d even ask. “Nothing changes between us.” “Selena is just for the public. I’ll still see you once a month. You pick the hotel.” He said it so casually, as if handing me a generous promotion. Ten years ago, he was a nobody in LA, living off cheap ramen and fifty-dollar extra gigs. When it rained and he had no place to sleep, I took him into my cramped studio apartment. I paid for his acting classes. I held him when directors spat in his face, and I ran lines with him until our throats were raw. I quit my residency at the hospital to become his full-time manager. Now, his grand finale for us was one day a month in a nameless hotel. “You want me to be your mistress?” “Naomi, don’t make it sound so ugly.” Chris checked his Rolex. “Selena just signed a Tier-A contract. She has major backing from the network and big capital. Binding my name to hers for six months gets us more resources than we could claw our way to in a decade.” “It’s business. It benefits both of us.” “You’re the only one I love, Naomi. A title is just for show.” I wanted to laugh, but my throat was too tight. “You promised you’d marry me.” “Ten years. Does that promise still count?” His silence was my answer. I let out a soft breath. “Fine. Two million to buy out ten years of my life.” “Wire it tomorrow, and we’re done.” He visibly relaxed. “Naomi, I knew you’d understand.” He said my name with that old, familiar warmth. I didn’t bother correcting him. His phone buzzes. “Selena” lit up the screen. When he answered, his entire demeanor softened instantly. Selena’s voice floated through the speaker. “I want a home that’s truly ours.” “You’ll have it,” he murmured. “And what about the rest of your life?” He smiled. “It’s yours too.” There was a brief pause on the other end. “Is she handled?” “Yes. Go back to the penthouse and wait for me.” He hung up and looked back at me. “The two million will have to be paid in installments.” “I need to buy Selena a penthouse first. I can wire you two hundred thousand tomorrow. Your brother is still in treatment, right? That should cover your emergencies.” I stared at him. “Give me the full amount first.” His face darkened slightly. “I said I’d pay you.” “If you’re that desperate, you can always go to Beckett. He’s thrown enough offers your way. You know exactly what he wants.” “Make use of your options while you still have them.” He knew exactly where to twist the knife. When we were young, his father ran off with a mistress, and his mother abandoned him. He used to hold me tight, whispering that he despised home-wreckers more than anything. Now, he was begging me to become one. I opened the car door. “Fine.” Chris blinks, caught off guard. “What?” I just smiled and got into the car. 2 Chris had no idea that my brother didn’t need that money anymore. Months ago, Declan was diagnosed with terminal bone cancer. As a cardiothoracic surgeon, he knew the prognosis better than anyone. At the time, Chris claimed he had no cash on hand and begged me to secure a high-paying reality TV contract for him. “The cash flow is fast. Once the network pays out, we’ll get Declan the best care.” I believed him. To land that deal, I drank myself into stomach bleeding with the network executives. The night the contract was signed, my father called. His voice sounded like he had aged a decade overnight. “Naomi… Declan is gone.” Declan didn’t want to be a burden. He pulled his own ventilator. Before he died, he left me a final voicemail. “I won’t make it to your wedding with Chris.” “But when you have a moment, bring him to my grave. Pour a drink for me, so I know my little sister is being taken care of.” I ran to the funeral so fast I broke the heel of my shoe. Someone snapped a photo of my tear-streaked face, and it went viral. Chris complained that my disheveled appearance ruined his brand image, and he didn’t speak to me for three days. Only later did I find out that the reality show wasn’t for Declan’s treatment. It was the launchpad for Selena’s career. He made me destroy my body to secure resources, not for my dying brother, but to elevate his new lover. Back in the garage, Chris was still pressuring me to sign the NDA and exit agreement. “Those photos,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “You leaked them to the tabloids, didn’t you?” He froze. “Who told you?” “The camera angle. It could only have come from the old security camera in our living room.” “You’re the only one who has the login.” He dropped the act. “So what if I did?” “How else was I supposed to explain why you’re always around?” “How else do I make the public believe you’re a stalker and Selena is my true love?” My fingers gripped the steering wheel, but I was entirely calm. “You were terrified that if you broke up with me publicly, you’d be branded an ungrateful bastard.” “So you painted me as the villain first, to pave a golden path for Selena.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Even if you figured it out, what can you do?” “You have no proof.” “The agency’s social media accounts, the contracts, the PR narrative—they’re all mine. If I deny it, you’re just a crazy ex-manager.” “Take the money and run, Naomi.” “Push me, and I’ll make sure you can’t even find a job in this city, let alone get a dime of that two million.” He didn’t know my phone was recording every word. He didn’t know that after ten years of managing him, I was the one who cleaned up every single piece of his dirt. “Selena is innocent, so I have to be sacrificed?” I asked. Chris didn’t hesitate. “You’ve had ten years of my life. It’s only fair you step aside for my future.” I pressed save. File length: Forty-seven minutes, eighteen seconds. This time, he handed me the knife himself. 3 I didn’t release the recording immediately. Chris was right about one thing: a simple recording of a bad breakup wasn’t enough to destroy him. I wanted him ruined. That night, the agency released an official statement under Chris’s name, claiming I used my position as his manager to control his life, even using surreptitiously filmed videos to blackmail him into a relationship. Selena immediately reposted it: “I have never come between anyone. I’ve let go of the pain of the past, and I only hope Ms. Naomi can move on.” Several tabloid blogs concurrently posted “sources” claiming I bullied rival actors, stole resources, and slept around with younger talent. The “evidence” consisted of photos of college students helping me into a car after an exhausting press event. Two hours later, the video of me running hysterically to my brother’s funeral was leaked. The caption read: “How many years did this emotionally unstable manager hold Chris hostage?” I watched the video on a loop, then closed my laptop. Keira arrived with antiseptic. She gently cleaned the gash on my forehead from the thrown chair. “What’s the plan?” “We wait.” “Still?” “He only wants me out of the industry right now.” I turned my screen toward her. On it was a backed-up ledger of Chris’s agency over the last five years—tax evasion, paid internet mobs, predatory pricing, and the original metadata of the leaked photos sent to the tabloids. “I kept these to protect him. Now, they’re going to save me.” Keira asked, “Why not post it now?” “He just announced his relationship. The spotlight isn’t bright enough.” “I want him at the absolute peak before I pull the rug.” My phone rang. It was Beckett. He had just got back from Europe, and he was the primary sponsor for this year’s Screen Guild Gala. Three years ago, he asked me to leave Chris and join his firm as the Director of Talent. I refused. He told me the offer would stand until the day I regretted it. “I hear you’ve been thrown out on the street,” his voice was as dry as ever. “Are you calling to gloat, Beckett?” “No.” He paused. “I’m calling to ask if you need a lawyer, a media blitz, and a stage big enough to burn it all down.” I looked at the files on my laptop. “Save the stage for me.” 4 The next day, Chris showed up at my door with Selena and his mother. Three paparazzi were already positioned in the hallway. Selena was wearing a simple, soft-colored dress, her eyes red. The moment the door opened, she slapped me across the face. “Why won’t you just let Chris go?” Then, right where the cameras could see her, she dropped to her knees. “We’ve been together for three years. Please, give him back to me.” Chris’s mother lunges forward, grabbing my hair. This was the woman who abandoned him when he was ten. She only returned once he started making millions. Back then, Chris’s only comment about her was, “She’s not my mother.” Now, to paint me as the monster, she was the mother he must protect. I wrenched myself free. Chris “coincidentally” appeared around the corner just as his mother and Selena were on the floor, and I was standing over them. “Naomi! What are you doing?” He rushed forward, shielding them. “I respect what you did for my career, but that doesn’t give you the right to abuse my family.” I looked toward the end of the hall where the paparazzi were hiding. “Are you done acting?” Chris’s eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?” “I upgraded the security cameras outside my door last week. The audio is incredibly clear.” “Selena’s slap, your mother pulling my hair, and your pre-arranged paparazzi—it’s all recorded.” Selena’s face went pale. But Chris quickly recovered. “Footage can be edited. The public believes what they see.” “Do they?” I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Let’s let the police look at the raw footage first.” They were taken to the station to file reports. That night, another round of articles dropped: “Naomi Forces Chris’s Pregnant Fiancée and Elderly Mother to Kneel; Police Intervene.” Chris thinks he still controls the board. On the same day, the Screen Guild Gala announced its nominations. Chris was nominated for Best Lead Actor for the very show I nearly killed myself to get him. In his red carpet interview, he said: “On the night of the awards, Selena and I will be sharing some very special news.” Beckett called. “He’s planning to propose on stage. Are you still going?” I opened the evidence folder and hit send to Beckett and my legal team. At the bottom of the email, I wrote: “Special segment for the awards ceremony. Run time: Seven minutes, forty-three seconds.” “Of course I’m going.” “He wants the crown and the girl. I’m going to make sure he gets exactly what he deserves.”

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When I was ten, my family brought my older sister home. Mother said, “She has always been delicate, so we had to raise her at a mountain retreat for her health.” “Your temperament is too domineering. We are changing your name, just to yield to her a little.” And so, I became Gill. When it came time for our debutante season and betrothals, my sister set her eyes on Lady Beatrice’s son, Henry. My brother said, “She has always been the good one, never asking for anything.” “Lord Henry favors you, so restrain yourself. Let her have this one.” On the day of the introduction, everything went wrong. Both my sister and I fell into the lake during the boating party. When I woke up, the doctor said I had lost my memory. “Gill,” Lady Beatrice said, holding my hand by the bedside. “I’m your mother.” I stayed silent for a moment, then whispered, “Mother.” 01 I wasn’t always called Gill. When I was eight, my parents brought Charlotte back to our estate. It was Easter. The Governor had gifted our family an exquisite silver rabbit statue, crafted by a master jeweler. My father, flushed with wine, decided to host our annual parlor game—a classic poetry recitation contest. “With ‘Light’ as our theme, whoever can recite the next stanza without faltering wins the silver rabbit.” I had a photographic memory, sharp and relentless. After five rounds, my brother Elliot was out. At the end, only Charlotte and I remained. She spoke in a tiny, trembling voice, flushing with embarrassment, unable to recall the next verse. Young and arrogant, I laughed. “Then the silver rabbit is mine!” Charlotte didn’t say a word. Her eyes just filled with tears, and a heavy drop spilled down her cheek. The laughter in the room died. My mother reacted first, pulling her into her arms. “Oh, my sweet girl.” Charlotte buried her face in Mother’s neck, sobbing. “She just couldn’t remember a verse,” I said, genuinely confused. “Why is she crying?” No one answered me. They all crowded around her. Elliot offered his handkerchief. “It’s just a decorative piece,” Father sighed, rubbing his temples. “Why don’t you let your sister have it?” “Why?!” I yelled. “I won it fair and square.” Ever since Charlotte arrived, her allowance was larger, and she got the best room in the east wing. “I won’t give it up,” I cried, years of quiet resentment bubbling over. “It’s mine.” “Quiet!” Mother snapped. “Always so aggressive, always needing to win. You have no compassion.” Her eyes were freezing cold. “Victoria, you disappoint me.” That was the last time she ever called me Victoria. 02 “Smack.” The wooden ruler struck my palm. It burned like fire. Mother sat in her high-backed chair. “Do you admit your mistake?” “I did nothing wrong,” I said stubbornly. “I won it honestly.” “Smack.” Another strike cut through the air, the pain so sharp I gasped. “What did I do wrong?” I asked through tears. “Why do I have to yield to her?” “Because she is your sister!” Mother said. “She was born sickly. We had to send her to a private sanctuary in the hills just so she would survive.” “She was away from us for years, suffering. What is so hard about giving her this one small thing?” I looked down, sniffing, fighting back the tears. “First you tried to outdo Elliot in everything, and now you must compete with Charlotte.” Mother sighed. “Why must you be so stubborn?” My vision blurred. A suffocating tightness gripped my throat. But then, Mother set the ruler down. She reached out, took my hands, and pulled me into her lap. Her familiar, lavender scent enveloped me. She looked down, gently stroking my red, swollen palm. She rarely held me like this. This simple embrace washed away all my anger. “The vicar was right. The day Charlotte returned, he said your spirits would clash.” “Charlotte is fragile. Your presence is too demanding, too loud. I’ve been thinking about changing your name.” I looked up, tears finally spilling over. “True grace lies in restraint, in leaving room for others. From now on, your name is Gill.” Mother stroked my hair. “You must learn that in this life, you cannot demand absolute fulfillment.” 03 In the end, neither Charlotte nor I got the silver rabbit. It was placed on the mantelpiece in the grand hallway, right outside Charlotte’s bedroom. Every afternoon, when I finished my tutors’ lessons and walked down the corridor, I would see that silver rabbit, and I would hear the laughter coming from her room. Elliot’s boisterous laugh: “Charlotte, you lost again! No cheating!” Mother’s soft chuckle: “This sweet girl is so clever, always keeping us on our toes.” Sometimes even Father’s rare, quiet laugh. Before her marriage, Mother had been a senator’s beloved daughter, showered with affection. Now, her love was the center of our household. Wherever she turned, that was where the warmth went. At first, I tried to join them. The first time, I noticed Charlotte’s room had twice as many maids as mine. Walking back in the shadows, I told myself: “She is weak. She needs the care.” The second time, I noticed the peaches brought to her room were sweeter than mine. Under the moonlight, I thought: “Maybe I just picked a bad one.” The third time, I saw Charlotte wearing a beautiful pearl hairpin I had never seen before. Had Father bought it? Or Elliot? I stopped in my tracks. A design that exquisite, crafted with such delicate care—only Mother could have chosen it. I looked down at the paper lantern in my hand, its base crumpled from where I had gripped it too hard. It felt like my heart. Why didn’t Mother give one to me? I asked myself, over and over. Why never me? 04 The last time I went to Charlotte’s room was on her fourteenth birthday. Years of careful nurturing and expensive doctors had restored her health. Yet, when I walked in wearing my riding habit, she was draped in a thick wool shawl, despite the warm early summer air. “Riding again?” Charlotte’s voice carried a sharp edge. “Elliot told me you even managed to hunt a deer.” Society was modernizing; girls riding and hunting was no longer scandalous. Happy about my ride, I smiled, ignoring her tone. “Just luck.” My seat was right next to hers. As I sat down, Charlotte suddenly pressed her handkerchief to her mouth and turned away, retching. Mother gasped. I stood up quickly. “Do my clothes smell of sweat?” “You know your sister is delicate,” Mother frowned. “Why would you come here dressed like that?” Charlotte didn’t speak. When she looked up, her eyes were red, tears brimming. “I… I’ve ruined the mood,” Charlotte sobbed, pushing her maid away as she fled the room. Everyone froze. Elliot was the first to react. “I’ll fetch the doctor.” A cold rain fell that night. The lamps in Charlotte’s room stayed lit, servants hurrying back and forth. At midnight, Mother came to my room, smelling of herbal tonic. “You are not to go riding anymore,” Mother said immediately. “And do not wear those riding clothes in front of your sister.” “Why?” I asked, incredulous. “Did she fall ill just because I rode a horse?!” “Yes,” Mother said, her face expressionless. “Because you went riding.” “You know Charlotte can barely leave her room, let alone ride. Today, seeing you so free and happy made her spiral. She coughed up blood. Can you not just restrain yourself for once?” The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Thunder rumbled outside. Suddenly, I laughed out loud. “Because she is sick, I cannot even ride a horse?” I stared into Mother’s eyes. “If she dies tomorrow, do I have to die right along with her?!” “Smack.” Mother’s hand struck my face. 05 My head snapped to the side. My hairpin flew off, and loose hair fell over my face. The ringing in my ears was followed by a sharp, throbbing pain. “Silence!” Mother’s hand and body were shaking. “How can you say something so malicious?” “Am I the malicious one?” I cried, my tears thick with hatred. “You tell me to yield, and I must yield. You tell me to endure, and I must endure.” “Is Charlotte the only daughter who matters? Am I nothing to you?” Mother said nothing. The shadows of the candlelight hid her expression.

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In our marriage, Callum and I spent thirty years slowly tearing each other apart. Even when the earth shattered and we were trapped beneath the rubble, waiting for the dark to take us, his final words to me were laced with a bitter, lifelong poison: “If there’s a next life, get your degree and get out. Don’t waste your youth latching onto my family again.” So, when I woke up and found myself back in our senior year of high school right before graduation, Callum didn’t waste a single second. He practically ran to Rosalie—the delicate class beauty—and poured his heart out to her. He even threatened to end his own life to force his father, Richard, to agree to kick me out of the house the moment we finished our exams. I didn’t cry. I simply smiled, accepted the arrangement on Richard’s behalf, and packed my bags to move into the school dorms. Before I left, I looked Callum in the eye and offered him a polite, hollow thank you: “Thank you for the shelter these past few years. From now on, our paths diverge. May we both find peace.” He stood there, stunned, watching me slip past the front gates of the Osborn estate. After that, I got into my dream university in Boston and accepted the pursuit of a senior classmate. Callum got engaged to his first love. He stayed in Charleston; I left for the North. But on the day I was set to leave forever, he rushed to the airport, fell to his knees, and begged me through tears to stay. 01 “Irene, sweetie,” Richard stood in the doorway of my bedroom, his shoulders hunched, looking older than his years. He couldn’t quite meet my eyes. “The firm has been so demanding lately, and keeping track of both you and Callum… it’s a lot. I have an old friend, a good man with a comfortable estate. Would you… would you be willing to stay with him for a while?” A flimsy, transparent excuse. We both knew it. Richard and my father had served in the military together. My mother passed away when I was small, and when my father fell in the line of duty, Richard took me in out of pure pity. In the ten years I had lived under his roof, we had never shared a moment this agonizingly awkward. I forced a gentle, reassuring smile, behaving with the quiet obedience I had practiced for a decade. “Of course, Richard. You’ve taken such wonderful care of me for so long. I’m practically an adult now, and I don’t want to impose on anyone else. I’ll pack my things and move into the dorms tomorrow.” Richard’s eyes softened with guilt. He sighed heavily, reaching out to pat my head. “It’s that damn boy of mine. I have a perfectly lovely girl right here, and he has to go ruin everything for…” I knew. Lately, Callum’s antics had been the talk of Charleston’s high society. The golden heir of the Osborn family had suddenly lost his mind over a quiet, sickly girl from a working-class neighborhood. He showered her with expensive gifts, jewelry, even his own savings. Richard had been furious. He’d broken three leather belts over Callum’s back and even locked him in his room for a week, but Callum had knelt on the hardwood floor, stubborn and unyielding, refusing to break. He was utterly subservient to Rosalie. Because of her fragile health, Callum had even abandoned his lifelong dream of architecture, deciding instead to study medicine—a field he had despised his entire life. “Irene, I know I’m failing you,” Richard murmured, his voice cracking. “But he’s my only son. He’s never begged me for anything in his life.” I watched him quietly, gently patting his back to offer comfort. “It’s alright, Richard. Truly. I understand. You’ve done more than enough for me.” Callum didn’t love me. I had learned that lesson across thirty agonizing years in our past life. There was no need for him to apologize now. 02 In our previous life, Callum and I were married for thirty years. We had no children, and to the outside world, we never seemed to fight. Everyone praised our marriage, calling us the picture of domestic bliss. But only I knew the truth. Thirty years of sharing a bed, and I had never once occupied a corner of his heart. We never fought simply because he didn’t care enough to argue. Until the great Charleston earthquake. We were pinned beneath the collapsed concrete of our home, the air thick with dust, all hope of rescue fading into the dark. It was then that Callum stripped away his polite, gentlemanly mask. “It’s because of you,” he hissed, his voice raw with a hatred I had never heard before. “If it weren’t for you, I would have never lost Rosalie.” Rosalie, his untouchable phantom. She was the love of his life, a girl who had died of a congenital heart condition in the sweet, blooming spring of her youth. In those final moments under the rubble, Callum spat out the most vicious curses, blaming me for her death. He said that if God had any mercy, in the next life, he would run far away from me, find Rosalie before her heart gave out, and make up for every regret. Staring at his dust-caked face, I realized he was right. So, when the universe spun backward and gave me a second chance, I chose to let go. The next morning, I packed my life into a single suitcase and hailed a cab, leaving behind the house I had called home for ten years. A clean break. “What do you mean you and Callum are over? And his dad kicked you out?!” Mag Harrington, my best friend, practically leaped out of her chair in the empty classroom. “That miserable bastard! He had you, and he still spent all his time playing the loyal dog to Rosalie? And now his dad throws you out? Oh, hell no. I’m going to castrate him.” Mag grabbed a broom from the back of the classroom, her eyes blazing with protective fury. I had to physically hold her back, coaxing her down with soft words. “It wasn’t Richard’s fault,” I explained gently. “I chose to leave.” Mag poked my forehead, her expression a mix of frustration and heartbreak. “Ten years, Irene. Ten whole years. You let them sell you out and you’re still counting their cash for them? You’re going to drive me to an early grave!” I lowered my head, listening to her scold me. It had been so long since I’d heard her voice like this. Mag was the heiress to the Harrington fortune. In our past life, after graduation, our paths split. She took over her family’s empire, while I buried myself in domestic life. She became a titan of industry; I became a ghost in the Osborn mansion. I couldn’t help her, and she couldn’t save me. Slowly, we drifted apart. Such a beautiful friendship, ruined by the slow erosion of time and a man who wasn’t worth it. “Mag,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around her sleeve. “If it’s meant to be mine, I won’t have to fight for it. If it isn’t, fighting is useless.” Mag let out a sharp scoff. “Maybe. But I still want to break his nose.” “Don’t be angry,” I murmured, leaning my head on her shoulder. “It’s not like Callum was my only option.” Instantly, Mag stiffened. “Don’t tell me you mean that rebel kid? Absolutely not! I refuse!” She glared at me suspiciously. “Irene, Holden Beck is trouble. Pure, unfiltered trouble. When he isn’t street racing, he’s picking fights or skipping class. Don’t you dare ruin your life for him!” “My Irene is the best girl in the world,” Mag said, her expression softening into fierce loyalty. “If worst comes to worst, I’ll support you. Let the men rot.” I felt tears prick my eyes, deeply moved by her devotion. But, Mag… the boy you call a rebel… Was the only one who died trying to save me. In those terrifying seconds when the world tore itself apart, when Callum let go of my hand and ran for his own life, I saw Holden. Amidst the choking dust and falling concrete, he was running against the screaming crowd, stumbling, throwing his body forward just to reach me. The raw, desperate terror in his eyes was louder than the crumbling earth. 03 I was determined to find Holden, just as Callum was determined to chase Rosalie. The school gossip mill, which had already labeled Callum insane, quickly added me to the roster. The wealthy kids of Charleston called us the “lunatic pair” behind our backs. They grouped my name with Callum’s again, and the association made me sick. Callum must have heard the rumors. One afternoon, after a heavy summer rain, he cornered me in the school library, dragging me out into the damp courtyard before I could even protest. He didn’t even wait for me to speak before he unleashed his fury. “Irene, have you lost your mind?!” He knew I had returned to this life, too, but he couldn’t comprehend my choices. “Rosalie and I are meant to be. We’re childhood sweethearts. But Holden Beck? He’s nothing but trash! How could you look at him?!” Raindrops clung to the fresh green leaves, and the courtyard was wrapped in a heavy, wet mist, like a watercolor painting left out to dry. I looked up at Callum. I had to admit, he was handsome—sharp jawline, dark eyes, the kind of classic, effortless beauty that had made me love him so blindly in my youth. But looking at the water dripping from his lashes now, all I could see was the dusty, gray silhouette from my nightmares. The deafening roar of the earthquake, his vicious curses, and the sheer disgust in his eyes when he flung my hand away to run… those memories were sharper than the disaster itself. The damp wind brushed my cheek, and I realized I was clenching my fists so hard my nails were cutting into my palms. In truth, Callum had been a decent husband by societal standards. The Osborns were prominent, and he ran the family business flawlessly. He was always polite, always respectful. That was why everyone thought we were happy. But he had never loved me. Not for a single second. I knew what his eyes looked like when he actually loved someone. Thirty years of marriage, thirty years of a beautifully rehearsed lie, only for the truth to shatter him in the end. The ugliness of his true heart was burned into my soul. “Irene!” His sharp, impatient voice broke my thoughts. He hated when I drifted away. “Why shouldn’t I?” I asked, my voice flat. “What?” “If you can choose Rosalie, why can’t I choose Holden? Is there a rule that only you get to pursue your happily ever after?” “Irene, Rosalie and Holden are completely different.” “How? At least Holden tried to save me. While you left me to die.” I laid the truth bare between us, a cold, mocking smile on my lips. Callum stiffened, the color draining from his face. For a long time, he couldn’t speak. He lowered his head, his posture suddenly defensive, almost fragile. “We were married for thirty years, Irene. I’m trying to look out for you, truly.” “Anyone else would be fine. Just not Holden. He’s not a good man.” He sounded so earnest, so desperate to keep me from ruin. “Callum, we’ve both been given a second chance. Stop acting,” I said, my voice dead of emotion. “There was never any love between us, and you know it. Drop the hypocrisy.” “Irene!” he snapped, frustrated by my coldness. It was a mirror of our past life, only the roles were reversed. Back then, I was the hysterical wife driven mad by his indifference, and he was the cool, detached husband watching my descent. The trauma of thirty years had carved itself deep into both of us, but in different ways. “Can we please just talk?” he pleaded, his voice dropping to a vulnerable whisper. I saw a figure running toward us in the distance and let out a quiet sigh. “I have all the time in the world, Callum. But I don’t think your girl does.” “Mr. Osborn!” Callum’s driver ran up, panting heavily. “Miss Rosalie is having chest pains. She’s calling for you. You need to come quickly.” See? Even now, he didn’t have a spare moment for me. Hearing the news, Callum’s face instantly twisted with panic. He looked back at me, silently begging me to understand. And I did. After thirty years, how could I not? If a person’s heart doesn’t belong to you, no amount of begging will ever change that. In our past life, I had been the one begging. This time, I turned my back and walked away first. 04 The weeks leading up to graduation flew by. Pyramids of textbooks slowly shrank under the morning light and evening shadows, and the red marks on my practice exams became a map of my future. And just like that, the grand curtain fell on our high school years. “Which college are you applying to? Maybe we can end up at the same school,” Mag said, setting down her iced coffee, her eyes bright with hope. I felt a sudden pang of guilt. “I’m going to Boston.” “Boston?!” Mag’s voice pitched into a screech, exactly as I had expected. Her eyes widened. “Why Boston? Is Charleston not big enough for you? Sure, Callum is here, but so am I! You don’t know a soul in Boston!” As she started her usual lecture, I quickly stuffed a pastry into her mouth to silence her. “Holden is in Boston,” I whispered. “Wait, what?” Mag swallowed hard, practically leaping out of her seat. “I wondered why I hadn’t seen that rebel around lately. He went back to Boston?” I nodded. “I’m going to find him.” “Irene, you absolute romantic idiot!” Mag groaned, taking a long sip of her coffee to calm her nerves before launching into a detailed lecture on the dangers of moving across the country for a boy. “But Mag, I don’t have any family left in Charleston anyway,” I said softly, smiling. It was the simple truth. Mag couldn’t stay by my side forever; she had her own empire to build. I had learned that in our previous life. Mag went quiet. I thought I had convinced her. But on the morning of my flight, as I dragged my suitcase through the airport terminal, a familiar figure appeared. It was Mag, holding a ticket of her own. “If I can’t keep you here, then I’m coming with you,” she said, tossing her hair back with her signature bravado. “What’s so great about Boston anyway? I might as well conquer their market too.” The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over. “I’m not worth all this, Mag.” “You are,” she said softly, wiping a tear from my cheek. “You’re worth everything, Irene.” I threw my arms around her, holding onto her like a lifeline. Waiting at the gate, we sipped our iced coffees, and Mag didn’t waste a single opportunity to curse Callum. “You’re leaving the state, and he didn’t even have the decency to come say goodbye. What an absolute prick.” “Didn’t he get engaged to Rosalie the second finals ended?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. “He’s probably playing the doting fiancé right now.” “Ugh, pathetic!” Mag spat. I took a sip of my coffee, listening to the hum of the terminal and my best friend’s familiar rants, and closed my eyes in pure contentment. Compared to the wreckage of my past life, this felt like a real beginning. I looked down at my boarding pass. It was almost time to board. 05 In truth, my chest was tight with nerves. It had been three months since my rebirth, and I hadn’t actually seen Holden yet. My only memory of him from our adult years was from a high-profile science and tech gala in our past life. I remembered the crystal chandeliers of the ballroom casting a sharp, brilliant light over the elite crowd. I had been holding a champagne glass, watching him glide through the room. Holden had been tall, striking, with a quiet authority behind his wire-rimmed glasses—a brilliant young mind in the tech sector, highly sought after. And I had been nothing but Callum’s trophy wife, a hollow shell, drifting past like a ghost in the shadows. But I had recognized him instantly. I remembered how, years ago in a narrow Charleston alleyway, he had looked up at me with a crooked smile, his eyes reflecting the brilliant summer sun. On graduation day, he had pressed a love letter into my hand, his face flushed red. And I had held it like a dry, dirty leaf, too proud, too blind to see the gold in front of me. Now, we truly belonged to different worlds. The last time I saw him was under the crushing weight of the earth, his body shielding mine as the ceiling fell, tying our fates together in death. The terminal was loud, and a sudden wave of doubt hit me. Would he love me in this life the way he had before? What was he like right now? Was he still the rebellious street kid, or had he already begun to carry the weight of his brilliant future? Why had a top student from a prestigious Boston university been wasting his days in the alleys of Charleston? Was it really because of me? My heart hammered against my ribs. I reached out and squeezed Mag’s hand. Was this second chance really mine to take? The intercom announced our boarding group. I pushed the doubts down and stood up, pulling Mag toward the gate. Suddenly, a voice cut through the noise of the terminal. Mag spun around first, immediately stepping in front of me like a shield. That was when I saw him. Callum. He looked a mess. His expensive designer suit was wrinkled from running, and his hair was wildly disheveled. “Irene! Irene, please don’t go! I was wrong… please don’t leave me!” Before the entire gate, he dropped to his knees, begging like a desperate man. Mag let out a disgust-filled sneer and kicked his hands away, but Callum didn’t care. He crawled forward, grabbing the hem of my pants, his dark eyes—usually so cold and arrogant—swimming with shattered tears. “Irene, please… I made a mistake. Just stay. Please.” To be honest, even when Rosalie died in our past life, he hadn’t cried this desperately. Mag looked like she was about to smash her carry-on over his head, but I caught her arm. Callum’s eyes lit up with a fragile hope. He scrambled closer, looking up at me with raw desperation. “Irene, stay with me. I’ll marry you. I’ll give you everything.” I stared down at him, and a cold, sudden laugh escaped my lips. He looked exactly like he did when he proposed to me in our past life. Kneeling on the floor, promising me a lifetime of happiness. 06 What was our marriage really like, anyway? Was it a cold arrangement under the same roof, separated by an invisible wall, or a carefully choreographed dance of polite strangers? We had grown up together, and after college, marriage had seemed like the natural next step. On our wedding day, Rosalie had attended to offer her blessings. But just as we were exchanging rings, her heart failed. She died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. After that, Callum’s warmth toward me froze completely. I knew he blamed me. But what had I done wrong? Rosalie had always been quiet, but she had a singular passion for red roses. Every summer, she would travel to the fields just to watch the endless scarlet blooms burn under the sun. In an old, faded photograph Callum kept, she was surrounded by a sea of red, her smile brighter than the flowers themselves. She was beautiful, tragically so. Later, Callum spent a fortune building a massive glass conservatory at our estate, moving an entire rose garden indoors. Every summer, the brilliant red would climb the glass walls, a burning reminder that stung my eyes. He would stand among the shadows of the roses, searching for a smile that would never bloom for him again. Our relationship only began to shift after Richard passed away. No matter how cold Callum was, Richard had loved me like a daughter. On the day of his funeral, I collapsed into Callum’s arms, weeping. Later, someone told me that Callum had carried me all the way back to the car, refusing to let go. Like the most devoted husband in the world. With his father gone, Callum threw himself into the business. He had no time to tend to the glass greenhouse, and slowly, the red roses withered. I had foolishly believed that time would heal us, that he would eventually learn to love me. I lived in that delusion until the night he came home drunk, stumbled into the decaying greenhouse, and wept over the dead roses until dawn. I watched him the entire night. It was then I realized that Callum’s heart was a locked room, and I would never have the key. Not then, not now, not ever. Even dead for twenty years, Rosalie was a queen on a throne I could never touch. And now, the real Rosalie was alive. They were engaged. They were a hair’s breadth away from the life he had always dreamed of. I couldn’t understand why he was here, begging at my feet. His dying words from our past life still echoed in my ears. “Callum…” I bent down, meeting his frantic gaze. “You were the one who told me that because of me, you lost the only woman you ever loved. So tell me, what are you doing here?” Callum shook his head, tears smearing his face. His endless apologies only filled me with exhaustion. “Was one lifetime of mutual misery not enough for you?” He clutched at my jeans, but I pried his fingers loose, one by one. “We’re going to miss our flight, Mag. Let’s go.” I turned my back on him, just as he had turned his back on me so many years ago. Some bonds are meant to be broken. “Callum, if you truly want to make amends, leave me alone. We were never meant to walk the same path.”

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I’ve always been able to see the numbers hanging above people’s heads—their moral debt laid bare in glowing digits of gold and crimson. When you’re the most hated girl on the internet, though, your own numbers don’t matter much. My agency had practically blackmailed me into joining “Wilderness Trials”, a live-streamed celebrity survival show. My only job was to be the pathetic, incompetent foil to the network’s golden girl, Tiffany. During team selections on the rain-slicked soundstage, Tiffany made a big show of recoiling when Beck Cameron walked past. Beck had been Hollywood royalty once—an Oscar-winning darling whose career had imploded overnight after a brutal assault scandal. Now, he was a pariah. Tiffany wrinkled her nose, physically shoving him away, and pivoted to throw herself into the arms of Taylor, the latest pop-star-turned-influencer. “I am not partnering with a violent predator,” Tiffany sighed into her lapel mic, loud enough for the millions of live viewers to hear. “We’re heading into a dense, unmonitored forest. What if he loses his temper and kills me?” “Honestly,” Taylor chimed in, throwing a smirk toward the cameras. “A washed-up piece of trash like him belongs with a social reject. Hey, Cassie—looks like you found your match.” I didn’t hear him. My eyes were locked on the space above Beck’s head. Most people’s Karma hovered in modest, faint yellow numbers. But Beck’s? His was blinding. A brilliant, incandescent halo of pure gold, radiating like a miniature sun. And right beside it, floating in shimmering, elegant text, was a system prompt: [Billionaire heir to the Cameron Media Empire. Undercover to root out a massive corporate embezzlement scheme. Acquiring this entire streaming platform tomorrow.] [Whoever partners with me today: I will not only pave her way to a clean sweep of the Academy Awards, but I will also make her the co-owner of the entire empire.] I didn’t even blink. I lunged forward, throwing my arms around Beck’s leg, clinging to him like a lifeline. “Pick me!” I cried, looking up at him with utter devotion. “I’m low-maintenance, I don’t complain, and I can take a hit!” Bad press is still press. And besides, who in their right mind turns down a chance to marry the man who owns the printing press? … I held onto Beck’s leg with a grip of iron. The studio went dead silent for two agonizing beats before erupting into a wave of cruel, mocking laughter. Tiffany pressed the back of her manicured hand to her lips, her voice dripping with sugary malice. “Oh, Cassie. Thank you for doing the heavy lifting. I suppose every dump needs a garbage collector.” Taylor smirked, pulling Tiffany against his side. He jerked his chin toward us, his eyes scanning my desperate posture with lazy disgust. “A toxic washed-up actor and the internet’s favorite punching bag. Match made in heaven. I hope you two stay locked together forever.” On the massive studio monitors, the live chat was scrolling so fast it was a blur of vitriol. I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to see the screen to know what they were saying. Beck looked down at me. His eyes were incredibly cold—like dark glass reflecting winter—as he scanned me from head to toe, dissecting my sudden desperation. I didn’t let go. I just grinned up at him, baring my teeth in a sharp, determined smile. He didn’t speak. But he didn’t push me away, either. When the production staff rolled out the equipment carts, Tiffany trotted over in her pristine designer hiking boots. She pointed immediately to the largest, most polished silver case. “Director,” she cooed, looking back at the crew. “I’m taking the multi-room dome tent. Oh, and the Swiss fire-striker kit!” Gary, the associate director, practically bowed as he pushed the gear toward her. When he passed by me, he casually dropped a dusty, gray canvas sack on the concrete floor. Inside, something clanked heavily. I unzipped it to find a rusted, cheap folding knife. Taylor let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Seriously? You’re going into an old-growth forest with a piece of scrap metal? The bears are going to eat you alive.” The live feed was flooded with comments like ‘Desperate clinger gets what she deserves’ and ‘Wild boar bait.’ I ignored them, testing the weight of the heavy, neglected blade in my palm. When the transport helicopters dropped us onto the high mountain plateau, the wind whipped up a freezing gale, turning everyone’s hair into a wild mess. Tiffany, clutching her high-end gear, immediately headed down the gentle eastern slope with Taylor. Beck and I were relegated to the western sector—a sheer, untamed drop of briars, dense brush, and loose shale. Ten minutes after landing, I was crouching beside a flat river stone, scraping the rusted edge of the folding knife against the wet rock, grinding away the oxidation. Flakes of rust fell away, revealing a surprisingly decent steel edge underneath. Beck stood a few paces away, hands tucked into his pockets. He didn’t offer to help, but his intense gaze never left my hands. Once the blade was sharp enough, I stood up and sliced through a thick, hanging vine overhead. A milky white sap dripped from the cut. Within an hour, using five strong vines, seven thick branches, and a mountain of broad palm fronds, I constructed a sturdy, off-the-ground A-frame shelter large enough for two. The palm leaves provided waterproofing, the raised platform kept out the damp ground, and the entrance faced away from the wind. It was textbook wilderness survival. When Beck watched me use a hand-drill technique to coax a spark from dry wood, his posture shifted. He leaned in, just an inch. The moment a tiny orange flame caught the tinder, I heard him let out a soft, almost imperceptible breath. “Where did you learn that?” he asked. I didn’t look up, threading wild mushrooms onto a shaved stick and positioning them over the crackling embers. “College elective. Wilderness Survival 101. Got an A-plus.” It was the truth, and the only skill keeping me alive in this trainwreck of a show. The live chat began to shift slightly. A few comments popped up saying, ‘Wait, she actually knows what she’s doing,’ though the majority still accused me of desperate clout-chasing and trying to force a romance angle. As the mushrooms began to release a rich, earthy aroma, I handed the skewer to Beck. He took it, but he didn’t eat. He just stared at me, searching my face. I lowered my voice, leaning in close enough that only he could hear, my words fast and deliberate. “Eat up, Beck. You’ll need your strength to catch the ghosts.” His hand froze mid-air. The icy armor in his eyes cracked for a split second, replaced by a sharp, calculating focus. “What do you know?” I didn’t answer directly. Instead, I smiled and nodded toward his pocket, where the brass rim of an old-fashioned compass peeked out. “Survival gear doesn’t usually include a vintage military compass, does it?” Beck slowly nudged the compass deeper into his pocket. He stared at me for a long, heavy moment. Finally, he took a bite of the mushroom, chewing thoughtfully. His voice was low when he spoke. “Not bad.” I took that as his confirmation. Before sunset, the temperature plummeted. I estimated it would hit below freezing tonight. The fire inside our shelter burned brightly, radiating perfect warmth. I had even woven a soft mattress out of extra palm leaves. Beck sat by the flames, absentmindedly turning the brass compass in his hand. I noticed the needle was twitching erratically. Then came the sound of approaching footsteps—heavy, clumsy, and accompanied by Tiffany’s shrill whining. “Are you completely useless, Taylor? How hard is it to set up a tent? My hands are turning blue!” The two of them, followed by their cameraman, stumbled into our camp’s firelight. Tiffany was shivering, her face pale. The high-end multi-room tent was dragged behind Taylor, half-unpacked, its carbon-fiber poles clattering uselessly on the ground. The moment Tiffany saw our roaring fire and beautifully constructed shelter, her eyes lit up. She marched right over, the red light of the camera following her every move. “Cassie, the rules say we have to cooperate in emergencies. You can’t just leave us out here to freeze.” Without waiting for an invite, she sat down on my carefully woven palm mattress and patted the space next to her, gesturing for Taylor to join. “This place is decent. We can all squeeze in for the night.” Taylor barged in, his heavy boots kicking straight through the ring of wood ash I had painstakingly laid around the perimeter. He scattered half of it. My expression went cold. I had spent forty minutes gathering that ash from the fire pit. It was our primary barrier against nocturnal insects and snakes. “That ring you just ruined,” I said, “keeps the vipers away.” Taylor waved his hand dismissively, leaning back closer to the warmth. “Oh, relax. It’s winter. There are no snakes out here.” Tiffany crossed her legs, flashing a sweet, photogenic smile at the lens. “Look, everyone! We’re all getting along so well. Survival of the fittest can still be cozy.” I stared at the Sin score floating above Tiffany’s head. It had ticked up another 0.3 in the last hour. I didn’t say a word. I simply reached out and tugged Beck’s sleeve. He rose immediately, stepping out of the shelter with me. Taylor called out behind us. “Smart move. Glad you know your place.” I led Beck toward an upwind spot about two hundred yards away, keeping my eyes glued to the forest floor. When we reached a massive, ancient oak tree, I stopped. I pulled a pouch of wild sulfur-musk powder I’d gathered earlier from my pocket and sprinkled it around the trunk. Then, I scaled the trunk, finding a pair of thick, intersecting branches. Beck leaned against the trunk, looking up at me. “You’re not going to warn them about the ash?” I looked down from the branches and shook my head. “It would be pointless. Tiffany wouldn’t believe me anyway. She’d just accuse me of trying to scare her for camera time.” Beck didn’t argue. He swung himself up onto the branch beside me with an athletic grace that caught me off guard. He leaned back against a neighboring branch, less than two feet away. “How long are we waiting for the show to start?” I pressed a finger to my lips, whispering, “Just watch.” At exactly 11:47 PM, a bloodcurdling shriek pierced the silence of the woods. It was Tiffany. Shrill, panicked, and loud enough to wake the dead. It was instantly followed by Taylor’s frantic shouting and the dull crash of camp gear being kicked over. Peering through the leaves, I watched two silhouettes scramble frantically out of the shelter under the pale moonlight. Tiffany tripped, faceplanting into a muddy bog, her screams echoing through the valley. Taylor was running in circles, flailing his arms and screaming, “Snakes! Oh my god, snakes!” Without the protective ash barrier, the drop in temperature had driven several ground vipers straight toward the warmth of the fire. They had swarmed the shelter. The cameraman’s feed was shaking violently, the red recording light bobbing erratically. Up in the tree, I reached into my jacket and pulled out the lightweight, thermal lining of Tiffany’s Swiss tent, which I had quietly slipped from her gear pile during the chaos earlier. It was ultra-light, windproof, and ten times warmer than palm leaves. I shook the fabric at Beck with a grin. “Looks like we got the luxury suite after all.” In the shadows, Beck stared at me. A faint, rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but I caught it. By morning, Tiffany and Taylor looked like swollen disasters. Taylor’s right hand was purple and swollen from a pair of bites, and Tiffany had a nasty puncture wound on her calf. The show’s medical team talked them through basic field treatment over the radio, but they didn’t send a rescue team. This was a raw, unscripted survival show; nobody was getting evacuated unless they formally tapped out. By late afternoon, a torrential downpour began, locking us in a relentless storm that lasted for two days and nights. The satellite feeds flickered, and the production radios degraded into static-heavy chatter. On the third morning, a crackling broadcast from camp announced an early emergency supply drop at random coordinates due to the severe weather. I spent twenty minutes on a high ridge, studying the wind patterns and topography. In a heavy storm, helicopter drops always drift. The wind shear through the canyon would push the crates northwest. After calculating the drift angle, I grabbed Beck’s wrist and ran toward the northwest river bend. Sure enough, the metallic green crate was sitting right there. Inside were two boxes of broad-spectrum antibiotics, a sealed waterproof radio, three packs of emergency rations, and a thermal blanket. I stuffed the medical supplies and the radio into my dry bag, then tossed half the rations to Beck. “Let’s move. Back to camp.” We hadn’t gone five hundred yards before we ran right into Tiffany and Taylor. Taylor looked terrible, shivering from a raging fever, sweat pouring down his pale face as Tiffany dragged him along. The moment Tiffany saw my waterproof bag, her eyes flashed with desperate fury. She let go of Taylor, lunging toward the camera crew, tears instantly welling in her eyes. “Cassie! Those supplies are meant for everyone! How can you be so selfish? Taylor is burning up, and you’re just going to let him die!” The lens swung to focus on me. I knew the live chat was probably erupting with outrage. I couldn’t see the screen, but the cameraman’s cold expression told me everything I needed to know. I was the villain again. Tiffany sobbed dramatically, her voice rising to a crescendo. “You did this on purpose! You calculated the drop zone just to steal our medicine! You want Taylor to die out here!” Over the radio, Gary’s voice barked with forced authority. “Cassie, hand over the supplies immediately, or we will have the authorities waiting for you at extraction.” Beck’s jaw tightened. He took a step forward, but I reached out and gently caught his wrist. “Don’t,” I whispered. Leaving him there, I walked over to a nearby pine tree and untied a small GoPro I had strapped high on the trunk the day before.

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After failing the portfolio review for my dream art college, I had to drag myself back to the prep studio for another season of intensive training. But the moment I walked into the painting room, I froze. Someone was driving a knife straight into Mr. Evans’s chest. I clamped my hand over my mouth, bolted out of the building, and called 91 Yet, when I returned with the police officers, Mr. Evans was sitting calmly by the window, sipping hot tea. He set his cup down, looking at us with utter confusion. “Is something wrong, officers? Why are you here?” The lead officer turned on me, his face grim as he gave me a harsh lecture. “Prank calling emergency services is a federal offense, young lady. Don’t ever pull a stunt like this again!” An icy chill ran down my spine. If Mr. Evans was alive… then who was the person I saw get stabbed to death? 1 Mr. Evans shielded me, bowing slightly to apologize to the officers. “I’m so sorry, officers. She probably just saw things. She didn’t mean to cause trouble. Chloe, thank you for worrying about me. But as you can see, I’m the only one here, and I’m perfectly fine.” I stared at Mr. Evans. He looked and sounded exactly like his usual self. The other students, who had started trickling in, began whispering. They all assumed I had lost my mind after failing my college admissions. “Chloe, I know getting rejected by the art academy was tough, but you can’t just make up crazy stories like this.” “Seriously. Mr. Evans has been so good to you. How could you wish death on him? Talk about ungrateful.” Mia, who had also failed her portfolio review, nodded sympathetically. “Chloe, what’s going on with you? Mr. Evans is standing right there.” The officer sighed, giving me a look of pure pity. “Look, kids these days are under too much pressure. I’ll let it slide this time. But make sure you verify the situation before you call us next time, okay?” How was this possible? When I walked in earlier, I distinctly saw someone plunging a knife into Mr. Evans. He had collapsed on the floor, pooling in a massive, sickening puddle of crimson blood. Could the victim have been someone else? Was the killer actually Mr. Evans? Had he murdered someone and cleaned up the scene? Seeing me stand there frozen, the officers nodded to Mr. Evans and turned to leave. I rushed forward, grabbing the officer’s sleeve. My hands were shaking violently. “Just because Mr. Evans is fine doesn’t mean no one died! What if it was someone else? Officer, please, can you just look around before you go? A person might be dead!” The officer looked at me thoughtfully, then exchanged a helpless glance with Mr. Evans. Ultimately, he decided to do a quick sweep of the main studio. “Kid, we checked everywhere. There’s nothing. Based on what you described, if there was a stabbing, there should be blood everywhere. But the hardwood floors are spotless. Even if a crime did happen, how could a killer clean up a massive pool of blood in less than ten minutes?” The other students chimed in. “Class is about to start. Who would commit a murder right now? They’d have to be stupid. The timing and place are way too risky.” “Chloe, are you sure you’re not having stress-induced hallucinations?” “Yeah, if you’re sick, go home and rest. Don’t ruin our studio time.” I stared at the highly polished floor, falling into a deep silence. The officer was right. There should have been blood. How did the killer do it? “Officer, please, could you check the other rooms? And around the building? I swear to you, someone was hurt. Even if they aren’t dead, with that much blood, they must be gravely injured. I’m telling the truth, please believe me!” Seeing the sheer desperation in my eyes, the officer hesitated before agreeing to search the rest of the facility. The other students lost interest, ignoring me as they sat down at their easels and began sketching. The whole thing felt incredibly surreal. Taking advantage of Mr. Evans stepping out to the restroom, I dropped to my knees, pretending to look for something. Finally, in the far corner, I found it—a faint, wiped-clean smudge of blood. There were also a few tiny, almost invisible red splatters on the wall. Staring at those faint red spots, my hands and feet went completely numb. Someone had been attacked here. But the sheer volume of blood I saw earlier couldn’t possibly be represented by just this tiny smudge. What was going on? No matter what, when we arrived, only Mr. Evans was in the room. He had to be involved. 2 “Chloe, what are you doing down there?” Mr. Evans’s voice suddenly boomed from right above me, making me jump. I frantically waved my paintbrush, trying to sound casual. “Oh, I just dropped my brush.” “Get up. The floor is dirty.” He didn’t seem to suspicious, walking back to his usual spot by the window. Even his smile was the exact same warm, encouraging smile he always gave us. Suddenly, an terrifying thought popped into my head. What if… this man wasn’t Mr. Evans, but the killer disguised as him? And the real Mr. Evans was already dead. I stood up, brushing off my jeans, and pulled a sketchbook from my bag. “Mr. Evans, I’m really struggling with this shading. Can you show me how to fix it?” “Sure, let me see.” He reached out and took my sketchbook. “Chloe, I mainly teach gouache and color theory, remember? I’m not the best with charcoal sketching. You should ask Mr. Carter about this later.” I took the sketchbook back, nodding slowly. “Right. Sorry, Mr. Evans. I grabbed the wrong book.” Except, I hadn’t. Mr. Evans was a gouache teacher, but he was incredibly skilled in sketching too. Last semester, I had asked him for help with my charcoal drawings multiple times, and he had always patiently guided me. But now, this man was rejecting me under the excuse of “not being professional enough.” I swallowed hard, my throat dry. Maybe he just didn’t feel like doing charcoal work today? I reached into my bag and pulled out my color-wheel notebook, opening it and handing it to him. He pointed to a heavily blended shadow on a gouache piece, picking up a brush to adjust it. “The saturation here is too high. Blend in a bit of grey tone, and keep your strokes lighter. See? That creates the depth.” I stared at the perfectly corrected shadow, cold sweat breaking out across my back. He wasn’t Mr. Evans. Going back to my seat, I pulled out my phone and quickly sent a Snapchat message to Mia. Mia, that guy isn’t Mr. Evans. He painted directly onto my paper, and his brush grip is totally different from how Mr. Evans holds it… Mia glanced at me, then stealthily turned her head to observe the man by the window. She snapped back a reply a moment later. Oh my god, you’re right. The grip is off. So what you told the cops… it was real? Yes, I know what I saw. But I don’t know how the scene was cleaned up so fast. But Mr. Evans is right there, and the cops didn’t find anyone else. I typed and erased my reply several times before finally sending: Do you trust me? I think Mr. Evans was murdered, and this guy is the killer. Before she could reply, the police officer came bursting back into the room. He tapped on the door, nodded to the fake Mr. Evans, and then looked at me with a grim expression. “The security cameras for the studio are down, so we couldn’t get any footage. But we found something else. Miss, step outside for a moment.” The fake Mr. Evans blinked. “Officer? Did something happen?” The officer rubbed his temples, looking exhausted. “We found a body near the back exit of the studio. We need everyone to cooperate with the investigation.” The room went dead silent for a second before exploding into chaos. “No way! Someone is actually dead? I thought Chloe was just losing it. Oh my god…” “She was probably just guessing! First she said Mr. Evans was stabbed, now she says it’s someone else. It’s just a crazy coincidence.” “This is terrifying… Was the murder actually committed inside the studio?” Mia froze, staring at me in shock. My face was pale as I stood up, slowly following the officer out of the classroom. Whose body could it be? 3 The fake Mr. Evans, looking concerned, followed us out. Our small group walked in tense silence toward the back exit. Sure enough, a body was lying in the corner. The police had already taped off the area. The first thing I noticed was a foot wearing a black leather shoe. I looked down. It was the exact same brand and style of shoe that the fake Mr. Evans was currently wearing. Which meant the shoes on the corpse didn’t belong to the real Mr. Evans. I took a deep breath, forcing my eyes to travel upward. The victim’s clothes were utterly soaked in blood, a silver kitchen knife still protruding from his chest. I recognized that knife. It was the exact one I had seen this morning. And those clothes… Mr. Evans had a very similar outfit. I stole a glance at the fake Mr. Evans standing next to me, then looked back at the corpse. Could my memory be playing tricks on me? The corpse had a very rugged, coarse face, but a very thin, frail frame. I was absolutely certain. This was not the man I saw being stabbed this morning. A face that distinct was impossible to misidentify. Something was deeply wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. The officer pointed a chin toward the body. “Is this the man you saw this morning?” I shook my head firmly. “No, I’ve never seen him before. His build is completely different from the person I saw.” The fake Mr. Evans turned pale, looking horrified by the sight of the body. “Officer… how could a body end up here?” The officer scratched his head. “We found him during our sweep. This area has low foot traffic and no cameras. The young lady said there was an assault inside the studio this morning, but she claims she doesn’t recognize this victim. And since there’s no blood inside the studio, this is likely a separate incident. In fact, this alley seems to be the primary crime scene.” I looked where he was pointing. The brick walls and the grass were covered in splatters of blood. It looked exactly like the pool of blood I had seen on the studio floor this morning. The fake Mr. Evans took a step back, looking down at me. “Chloe, it seems this case has nothing to do with our studio. Are you sure you didn’t just have a nightmare? I got here at 7:00 AM, and I didn’t see anyone, let alone get attacked.” I kept my head down, saying nothing. For a second, I actually began to wonder if I was losing my mind. The moment I sat back down at my easel, a boy next to me started mocking me. “I heard the cops. The body outside looks nothing like what you described. You really are losing it, Chloe. If you fail your portfolio review again this year, are you going to go on a killing spree next?” “Stay away from her. I heard mentally unstable people don’t even go to jail. Let’s keep our distance.” “Mr. Evans, you should call her mom to pick her up. No one can focus on painting with a psycho in the room!” Mia couldn’t take it anymore and snapped back at them. “You guys aren’t focusing because you’re lazy, don’t blame Chloe!” I gently tugged at Mia’s sleeve. “Don’t waste your breath.” She glared at the boys one last time before sitting down beside me. My mind was spinning. A corpse vanishing from the studio, and another appearing at the back gate. Two gruesome crimes happening in the exact same place on the exact same day? There was no way it was a coincidence. I holding my brush, but I couldn’t paint a single stroke. Finally, the afternoon session arrived, but Mr. Carter, our sketching teacher, never showed up. The fake Mr. Evans checked his watch repeatedly and tried calling him several times, but there was no answer. By the time the studio closed for the day, Mr. Carter was still missing. A horrible dread began to pool in my stomach. Could the dead body in the alley be Mr. Carter? 4 “Class dismissed, everyone. Go straight home and stay safe,” the fake Mr. Evans said, quickly packing his things and leaving. Mia was also packing her bag. I tapped her shoulder and leaned in close to her ear. “Now that he’s gone, want to do a little searching?” I pointed out the window. The fake Mr. Evans was walking incredibly fast, already crossing the street. “I don’t think he’s coming back tonight.” Mia hesitated, but eventually nodded. I pulled her toward the deeper parts of the studio. There were a few smaller classrooms in the back that were rarely used, mostly serving as storage for canvases, plaster casts, and extra paint. We checked them one by one, but found nothing. Disappointed, we were about to leave when Mia said she needed to use the restroom. The moment we walked in, a metallic, iron-like smell hit our noses. But since it was a communal women’s restroom, we didn’t think much of it. There were four stalls. The first three were messy and unlocked. But the door to the fourth stall was locked tight from the inside. “Someone must be in there. Whatever, I’ll just wait till I get home,” Mia said. As we walked out, Sophie, the receptionist, was sweeping the lobby. After walking a few steps outside the building, I stopped. “Let’s go find Mr. Carter. I can’t shake this bad feeling.” “But we don’t even know where he lives.” “Sophie should have his address on file. Let’s go back and ask.” As we retraced our steps, Mia asked quietly, “Do you think the dead body is Mr. Carter?” “I don’t know. But you know Mr. Carter is never late, let alone skips a whole day of class. Today he just completely ghosted us, and no one could reach him. Plus, there were those bloodstains I found. It’s too much of a coincidence.” When we got back, Sophie was sweeping our classroom. She gasped when she saw us. “Oh! What are you guys doing back?” “Sophie, we wanted to ask for Mr. Carter’s address. He missed his class today, and Mr. Evans said he couldn’t reach him either. We’re worried and wanted to check on him.” Sophie pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Oh, Mr. Carter? Yeah, he didn’t show up this afternoon, and I couldn’t reach him either. But about ten minutes ago, he posted in our WhatsApp group chat saying he overslept.” She turned her screen toward us. Sure enough, there was a message from Mr. Carter in the studio’s group chat. So sorry, everyone. I caught a nasty cold and took some heavy meds. Totally slept through my alarms. He had also sent a $50 Starbucks e-gift card to the chat. Right below his message, the fake Mr. Evans had replied: Man, I thought something terrible happened. I was actually on my way to your apartment. Glad you’re okay. I’m heading back home now. Mia and I finally let out a massive sigh of relief. “Thank God. He’s okay.” Even so, I decided to text Mr. Carter directly. Mr. Carter, are you coming to the studio tomorrow? He replied almost instantly. Yes. If you have any questions about your sketches, bring them to me tomorrow. The heavy weight on my chest lifted. But the original questions rushed back to haunt me. Who was the person killed this morning? Where did the body go? And was Mr. Evans really the killer? My brain was a tangled mess. We said goodbye to Sophie and turned to leave. Suddenly, we heard Sophie mutter behind us, “Wait, why is this rug over here?” I spun around. The rug that was always placed right at the entrance of the classroom had been moved to the far window. Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in my head. “I know what happened!”

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Seven years of marriage. To repay a so-called debt, Devon trampled my daughter’s and my dignity into the dirt. His savior’s son wanted to see fireworks, so Devon abandoned our daughter during the piano finals she had practiced a year for. His savior’s son wanted a trophy, so Devon personally smashed the wooden music box our daughter had stayed up all night carving. He always said, “Iris is a widow, and Leo has no father. They are so pitiful. Lily has us. Why can’t she just let him have his way for once?” “Devon, you owe Julian your life. If you want to pay him back, use your own life! Stop sacrificing my daughter’s happiness to pay your debts!” It wasn’t until my daughter’s hands were covered in blood and she smashed that grand piano in despair that I finally threw the divorce papers in his face. From then on, he could pay his debts all he wanted. I was going to live my own life. The City Symphony Hall was lit as bright as day. The auditorium was packed. The applause was deafening. Seven-year-old Lily was wearing the white swan dress Devon had picked out for her. Standing beside the massive Steinway grand piano, her tiny hands gripped her skirt so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “Next, let’s welcome Lily and her father, Devon, for their four-hands piano performance of ‘The Starry Night’!” The announcer’s voice echoed through the vast hall. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. The heavy red velvet curtain at the edge of the stage remained closed. No one came out. Lily stood there under the glaring spotlight like an abandoned doll, enduring the stares, whispers, and confusion of thousands of people. I sat in the front row, clutching my phone. The screen showed forty-two unanswered calls. “The mailbox of the number you are calling is full…” The cold, robotic voice of the operator felt like a rusty knife sawing slowly at my heart. Six months ago, Lily had practiced until her fingers blistered just to get into this national youth piano final. Devon had held her gently, kissing her forehead, and swearing he would be there to help her win the championship. “Daddy is your biggest supporter, Lily. You will definitely be the brightest little princess on that stage.” His promise was still ringing in my ears. But now, where was he? Lily’s eyes welled with tears, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall. She looked at me and mouthed silently, “Mommy, where is Daddy?” My heart squeezed so hard I could barely breathe. I stood up, wanting to run onto the stage and pull my daughter into my arms. But suddenly, Lily turned around and walked toward that massive piano alone. She climbed onto the piano bench, took a deep breath, and placed her trembling hands on the keys. There were no deep bass chords from her father. No warm hand to guide her. Alone, she played a fragmented version of “The Starry Night.” The high notes echoed through the hall, thin, fragile, and trembling—just like Lily. My tears finally broke free. Right then, my phone screen lit up. It wasn’t a call from Devon, but a notification from Snapchat. Sender: Iris. Attached was a picture taken at an amusement park. Devon was wearing a custom suit, but he had thrown all professionalism out the window. He was carrying a six-year-old boy on his shoulders. The two of them were pointing at the fireworks in the night sky, laughing joyfully. Iris’s caption read: “Thank you, Devon. When Leo was crying for his dad, you canceled all your work meetings just to watch the fireworks with him. Leo said today he finally feels like he has a dad.” Boom. The last string of sanity in my brain snapped completely. Canceled all his work meetings. So, the national final my daughter had spent six months preparing for—something she cherished like life itself—was just a “work meeting” he could cancel at any moment for Iris and her son. On stage, Lily missed the very last note. The sharp, jarring sound of the mistake stung everyone’s ears. She didn’t bow. Instead, she stumbled off the stage, threw herself into my arms, bit my shoulder, and sobbed uncontrollably. “Mommy, Daddy lied… Daddy doesn’t want Lily anymore…” I held her tight, my eyes locked on Devon’s smiling face on the phone screen. My nails dug so deep into my palms that they drew blood. “Shh, Lily. Don’t cry,” I whispered, stroking her sweat-soaked hair. My voice was as cold as ice. “He doesn’t want you, and Mommy doesn’t want him either.”

At eleven o’clock that night, the front door clicked open. Devon walked in, bringing with him the cold night air and the faint scent of jasmine perfume. That was Iris’s favorite perfume. The living room was dark. I sat on the sofa, watching him quietly change his shoes and take off his blazer. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” He flicked on the wall light. Seeing me, he froze for a second, then rubbed his temples with a sigh of exhaustion. “Is Lily asleep? How did the competition go? Did she win first place?” He didn’t even know if she had finished her performance. I stared at him coldly, remaining silent. Devon walked over, reaching out to hug me, but I stepped aside. His hand froze in midair, his brow furrowing. “Chloe, what is it now? I had an emergency at the office today. I really couldn’t get away. Tomorrow, I promise I’ll throw Lily a huge celebration party, okay?” “An office emergency?” I laughed in pure rage and threw my phone right at his chest. “Devon, since when did your company relocate to Disney World?!” The phone fell onto the plush carpet, its screen still glowing with Iris’s Snapchat story. Devon’s face turned pale instantly. He glanced at the screen, panic flitting across his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by an air of self-righteous exasperation. “Chloe, let me explain. I was on my way to the theater. But then Iris called me, crying. She said Leo was being bullied at school for not having a dad. He was so devastated he tried to climb onto the school roof.” “What was I supposed to do? That’s a child’s life! Julian died saving me! If I ignored Leo, would I even be human?” Julian again. That life-saving debt again. Three years ago, when Devon was inspecting a construction site, the scaffolding collapsed. It was the foreman, Julian, who pushed Devon out of the way. Julian was crushed by the steel beams and died on the spot. Devon’s life was saved, but his soul had been kneeling before Julian’s widow, Iris, and her son, Leo, ever since. “If he wanted to jump, you call 911! You call a therapist!” I stood up, pointing at him, my voice cracking with emotion. “But what did you do? You went to watch fireworks with him! You went to play daddy!” “Devon, did you forget today was the most important day of your own daughter’s life? While she was standing alone on that stage, being laughed at by thousands of people, you were smiling at another man’s son!” Devon’s expression darkened, and his tone became harsh. “Chloe, can you stop being so unreasonable? Lily only missed a silly competition, but Leo lost his actual father!” “Lily has everything. She has us, she has a rich life. What’s wrong with her letting Leo have this one thing? As an adult, can’t you be more generous?” Let him have this. These words had been a curse on our heads for three years. Lily’s birthday presents? Leo liked them, so she had to let him have them. Lily’s playroom? Leo wanted to sleep there when he visited, so she had to let him have it. And now, even the fatherly love Lily had craved for six months had to be given away. Looking at the man I had loved for seven years, I felt like I was looking at a complete stranger. “Devon,” I said, breathing deeply to keep down the metallic taste of blood in my throat. “You owe Julian. You can pay him back with your money, or even your life. But you have no right to use my daughter’s dignity and tears to pay for your guilt.” I turned to walk upstairs, leaving him with one final sentence. “Tomorrow, my lawyer will deliver the divorce papers to your office.” Devon was stunned. He quickly chased after me, grabbing my wrist, laughing in disbelief. “Chloe, have you lost your mind? Just because I missed one competition, you want a divorce? Do you think marriage is a joke?!” “Let go of me,” I said coldly. “No! You’re just jealous and throwing a tantrum! Calm down. Tomorrow I’ll bring Iris and Leo over to apologize to Lily, and we can put this behind us.” He actually wanted to bring that woman and her brat into our house. With all my strength, I flung his hand off and slapped him across the face. Slap! The entire living room went dead silent. Devon touched his cheek, staring at me in complete shock. “Devon, you make me sick.”

The next morning, while I was packing Lily’s bags, the doorbell rang. I walked to the stairs and saw Devon opening the door. Iris was standing there, holding Leo’s hand. Iris was wearing a simple, fragile-looking white dress. Her eyes were red, and she was holding a bakery box. “Devon, is Chloe still mad?” Iris’s voice was so soft it sounded like it would blow away in the wind. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have called you yesterday. Leo, quickly call Devon ‘Daddy,’ and apologize to Lily later.” Six-year-old Leo looked chubby and spoiled. His eyes were filled with mischief. He pouted and grunted, “Daddy Devon.” Devon immediately patted his head, taking the cake. “It’s not your fault. Chloe is just overreacting. Come in. Have you eaten breakfast? I’ll have Maria make some waffles and bacon.” Standing on the stairs, watching this happy “family of three,” my stomach churned with disgust. Lily walked out of her room, clutching her favorite hand-carved wooden music box. Seeing Leo downstairs, she hid behind me. That music box was for next month’s youth craft fair. Lily had spent three nights using small carving tools to make it. Carved on top of the music box was a family of three: a dad, a mom, and a little girl. Devon looked up and saw us. His brow furrowed, but he waved his hand. “Lily, come down. Leo is here to apologize to you. I even bought your favorite strawberry cake.” Lily clutched my shirt and shook her head. “I don’t want the cake, and I don’t want his apology,” she said, her voice stuffy. Iris stepped forward, looking up at us with a pitiful expression. “Lily, I’m apologizing on Leo’s behalf. Please don’t be mad at your dad. He is a good man; he just feels sorry for Leo. You have everything, but Leo only gets to see your dad once in a while. You’re a good, understanding girl. You can understand that, right?” What a toxic guilt trip. I laughed coldly, holding Lily’s hand as we walked downstairs. “Iris, cut the act. My daughter is not a saint, and she doesn’t need to understand your sob stories. Take your brat and get the hell out of my house.” “Chloe!” Devon shouted, pulling Iris behind him protectively. “Have you had enough?! Iris came all this way to apologize, and you have to be this nasty?” Suddenly, Leo broke free from Iris’s grip, ran over to Lily, and pointed at the music box in her arms. “What’s that? It’s so pretty! I want it!” He reached out to grab it. “No! This is my project for the fair!” Lily screamed, holding it tightly. “I want it! Daddy Devon said I can play with anything in this house!” Leo used his weight to shove Lily hard. Lily stumbled and fell to the floor, but her hands still clutched the music box. “Leo!” Fuming with anger, I rushed over, pushed him away, and pulled Lily into my arms. Leo landed on his butt and immediately started wailing. “Waaah! Daddy Devon, she hit me! She won’t let me have the toy!” Iris rushed over to hug her son, tears streaming down her face. “Leo, don’t cry, Mommy’s here… Chloe, he’s just a child. Did you really have to push him that hard?” Devon’s face turned completely black. He strode over, pulled Leo up, and then glared down at Lily. “Lily, give the music box to Leo.” His voice was an absolute command. Lily looked up, her face covered in tears, looking at the father she used to look up to. She shook her head desperately. “No! I carved this! Daddy, you promised to go to the fair with me…” “I said, give it to him!” Devon’s patience ran out. He reached down to snatch it from Lily’s arms himself. “Devon, are you crazy?!” I tried to block him, but he shoved me away. I hit the edge of the coffee table, a sharp pain shooting through my hip. During the struggle, there was a loud crack. The music box fell to the floor, splitting into two. The carved “dad” figure’s head broke off, rolling under the couch. Lily froze. Looking at the shattered pieces, she let out a sharp cry and reached down to grab them. But the sharp metal spring of the music box had popped out. Its jagged edge sliced right across Lily’s delicate palm. Blood gushed out, dripping onto the white carpet. “Mommy! It hurts…” Lily held up her bloody hand, shaking with pain. I scrambled over like crazy, using my shirt to press against her wound, my tears spilling over. “Don’t worry, Lily. Mommy is here. I’m taking you to the hospital!” I glared up at Devon, my eyes filled with hatred. “Devon, are you happy now?!” But Devon wasn’t even looking at Lily’s bleeding hand. He was frantically checking Leo’s fingers. During the scuffle, Leo’s hand had been lightly scratched by a tiny splinter. It wasn’t even bleeding, just slightly red. “Does it hurt, buddy? Let me blow on it.” Devon’s voice was incredibly gentle. At that moment, my heart died. Completely. Not even ashes were left. Without looking at him again, I picked up my bleeding daughter and rushed out of the house. Behind me, I heard Iris’s fake voice. “Devon, maybe you should check on Lily, she was bleeding…” Devon’s annoyed voice followed. “It’s just a scratch. Chloe spoils her too much. Come on, buddy, let’s go buy you a new Lego set.”

In the ER, the doctor put three stitches in Lily’s hand. With every stitch, Lily flinched, but she bit her lip and didn’t cry once. But her eyes, which used to sparkle, were now dull and lifeless. “Mommy,” she whispered, leaning against me. “The wooden daddy broke. Does that mean I don’t have a daddy anymore?” My tears fell onto her hair. I hugged her tight and said, “You have Mommy, and that’s enough. Mommy will find you the best dad in the world.” After her hand was bandaged, I sat on the hospital hallway bench. I took out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in seven years. The phone rang once before it was picked up. A deep, cold, yet slightly trembling voice came through. “Chloe?” “Ethan,” I closed my eyes, tears rolling down my cheeks. “Does what you said back then still count?” The other side went silent for ten seconds. Ethan. The most powerful billionaire heir in the country. He was ruthless in business and cold to everyone. But he was also the boy next door who had grown up with me. Seven years ago, when I insisted on marrying Devon, who had nothing, Ethan had stood in the pouring rain all night. Finally, with red eyes, he had told me, “Chloe, if you ever lose, just turn around. I will always be right behind you.” “It counts,” Ethan’s voice was firm and powerful. “Where are you?” “City General Hospital, ER.” “Ten minutes.” Hanging up, I looked at the pouring rain outside and let out a long breath. Devon, since you care about Julian’s debt more than anything, you can spend the rest of your life with his widow. In less than ten minutes, heavy, synchronized footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway. Eight bodyguards in black suits quickly cleared the area, standing in two neat rows. Ethan, wearing a long black coat, walked in with long strides. His face was as sharp as a sculpture, carrying the intimidating aura of someone who ruled a business empire. But the moment he saw me holding Lily, looking completely disheveled, the ice in his eyes shattered. He quickly walked over and knelt on one knee in front of us. His gaze fell on Lily’s thick bandage, and his aura turned incredibly cold. “He did this?” Ethan’s voice sounded like it came from the depths of hell. I nodded. Ethan closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to suppress his rage. He reached out his large hand, gently stroking Lily’s head. His voice was surprisingly tender. “Lily, does it still hurt? How about I take you home?” Lily looked at the handsome, tall man and asked timidly, “Ethan, will you leave me for another kid?” Ethan’s heart squeezed. He looked into Lily’s eyes and said word for word, “I swear, even if the sky falls, I will protect you first.” Lily finally let out a loud cry, wrapping her uninjured arm around Ethan’s neck. Ethan picked her up easily, using his other hand to hold mine tightly. “Chloe, let’s go.” Ethan’s motorcade drove straight to Devon’s villa. I needed to pack Lily’s most important belongings and leave the divorce papers. When the bodyguards kicked the front door open

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Five years into my relationship with Ethan Vance, I accompanied him and his childhood friend, Chloe Brooks, on an adventure trip to the barren canyons of Utah. When a sudden flash flood hit, Ethan tied the only life-saving rope around Chloe, leaving me behind in the raging, muddy torrents. “Chloe has severe claustrophobia, Summer. I have to pull her up first! Just hold on to the rock and don’t move!” I soaked in the freezing, bone-chilling floodwaters for five agonizing hours, nearly dying in the middle of nowhere. Yet, all I got from him later was a text: “Chloe is severely traumatized. Find your own way back with the rescue team.” I simply threw the engagement ring he gave me into the desert sands, turned around, and left without looking back. The wind in the Utah Canyon carried coarse sand, scraping against my face like a sharp blade. This was the fifth year of my relationship with Ethan. This trip was originally planned as our pre-wedding photoshoot. But there was an extra person on this trip—his childhood best friend, Chloe. The disaster struck without warning. The once-clear sky suddenly darkened, and a massive storm upstream triggered a rare, violent flash flood. The muddy water, carrying broken branches and sharp rocks, roared through the narrow canyon like a wild beast. The water level rose rapidly, swallowing our calves in just a few minutes. “Ethan! I’m scared!” Chloe shrieked, clutching Ethan’s arm tightly. Her face was as pale as paper, her whole body trembling. We were trapped on a slightly elevated rocky ledge, but it was too low. The floodwaters would soon submerge it. The rescue team above threw down a single rescue rope. But because of the wind and the tricky terrain, they could only pull one person up at a time. Without a second thought, Ethan grabbed the thick rope and quickly, expertly tied it around Chloe’s waist. “Ethan…” I stood in the knee-deep mud, struggling to stay upright against the strong current. I instinctively reached out and grabbed his jacket. He turned his head. There was panic in his eyes, but more than that, there was a cold, absolute decision. “Summer, Chloe has severe claustrophobia. The canyon is too narrow and dark; she’s going to have a panic attack. I need to get her up first.” “But the current is getting stronger, and I don’t know how to swim…” My voice was drowned out by the roaring flood, sounding weak and desperate. Ethan forcefully pried my fingers off his jacket and pressed my hand onto a sharp, protruding rock beside us. “Hold on tight to this rock. Don’t move. The rescue team will throw a second rope down soon. You’ve always been the strong one. Just wait for me, okay?” With that, he wrapped his arms around Chloe and shouted to the top: “Pull!” I watched helplessly as he shielded Chloe, slowly rising out of the dangerous muddy pit under the pull of the rescue team. In mid-air, Chloe turned her head and looked down at me. There was no fear in her eyes. Only a smug, barely perceptible smirk. The second rope never came down. Another wave of flood crested from upstream. A massive wall of water slammed against the rock, sweeping me entirely into the freezing mud. “Help…” Mud and sand rushed into my nose and mouth. The suffocating darkness instantly consumed me. I struggled desperately in the water, my fingernails clawing into the cracks of the rock until they bled, just to keep myself from being swept away. Those five hours were a living hell. The freezing water drained the last bit of warmth from my body. My consciousness began to fade, and my life with Ethan over the past five years flashed before my eyes. I thought that after surviving the hard early days of starting his business and spending countless nights supporting him, I would finally become Mrs. Vance. As it turned out, in a matter of life and death, I was just an option that could be discarded at any time. In the end, a local cowboy passing by spotted me half-dead. He used his lasso to drag me back from the grip of death. I didn’t even know how I managed to get back to the desert lodge. My body was covered in cuts and bruises, my clothes soaked in mud. The cold wind made my teeth chatter violently. I pushed open the door of our lodge room. The heater was running high, filling the room with warmth. Ethan was sitting by the bed, holding a warm mug of chamomile tea. He was gently blowing on it before feeding it to Chloe. Chloe had changed into a clean, soft bathrobe, leaning against the pillows with red, teary eyes. Hearing the door open, Ethan looked up. The moment he saw me, his brows furrowed in annoyance. “Why do you look like a total mess? Didn’t I tell you to come back with the rescue team?” There was no relief in his voice. Only blame. I stared at him, my throat so dry I couldn’t make a sound. Chloe shrank back slightly, her voice sweet and innocent. “Summer, please don’t be mad at Ethan. I was so terrified, I couldn’t let go of him. That’s why he couldn’t go back for you. You’re soaking wet, you should go take a hot shower.” I dragged my stiff legs into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. But the water running from the shower head was ice-cold. As it turned out, the hot water supply at this remote lodge was limited. The only tank of hot water had already been used by Ethan to fill the bathtub for Chloe. I slid down against the cold tiles, water dripping down my face. I couldn’t tell if it was the shower water or my tears. Five years. Even if you raise a dog for five years, you develop feelings, don’t you? I dried myself, changed into clean clothes, and pulled out my phone. Silently, I canceled the round-trip flight I had booked for the two of us and booked a single ticket back to Los Angeles for tomorrow morning. This time, I was done waiting.

The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache. The freezing floodwaters from yesterday had given me a high fever. Every bone in my body felt like it had been crushed and put back together. It was excruciating. Just as I struggled to sit up and pack my bags, the door pushed open. Ethan walked in, wearing a sleek windbreaker, holding two pairs of sand goggles. “Summer, get up and pack. We’re going off-roading in the sand dunes today.” I leaned weakly against the headboard, my voice raspy. “I have a fever, Ethan. I can’t go. I want to go home.” Ethan walked over and touched my forehead. His frown deepened. “You do feel a bit warm. But Chloe has been looking forward to this off-road trip for months. She’s too scared to go alone. Just push through it. The SUV has air conditioning. It won’t be that bad.” I looked at his dismissive face, a cold laugh bubbling in my chest. “Ethan, I almost died in that flood yesterday. I am sick.” “Stop talking about dying all the time. Aren’t you standing here perfectly fine?” His tone carried a hint of impatience. “Yesterday was my bad, I admit it. But like I said, Chloe’s situation was special. We finally got some time off. Can’t you just be a little more mature and stop ruining the mood for everyone?” “Mature?” I whispered. So, when it came to choosing between my actual life and Chloe’s entertainment, choosing to survive made me “immature.” From outside, Chloe’s cheerful voice called out, “Ethan! Is Summer ready? The guide said the sandstorm will pick up if we wait any longer!” Ethan shoved the goggles into my hands and practically dragged me out of bed. “Alright, stop throwing a tantrum. I’ll get you some ibuprofen after lunch.” The SUV sped over the rolling sand dunes. Chloe sat in the passenger seat, squealing with excitement. Ethan kept one hand on the steering wheel, occasionally looking over to gently remind her to hold on tight. Meanwhile, I was tossed around like a ragdoll in the bumpy backseat. The window wasn’t fully closed. Dust swirled in through the gap, making me cough violently. Every bump made my stomach churn and my head throb. “Ethan, look at that dune! It’s so high!” Chloe pointed ahead. Ethan stepped on the gas. The car flew into the air and slammed heavily back down. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I covered my mouth and dry-heaved. Ethan glanced at me through the rearview mirror, his voice filled with annoyance. “Summer, if you really didn’t want to come, you could have just stayed. There’s no need to show your attitude in front of Chloe. She was traumatized yesterday, and she’s finally having some fun today.” I closed my eyes, too exhausted to even argue. At noon, the car stopped in front of a roadside diner in the middle of the desert. Chloe took the menu and ordered a table full of greasy, heavy diner food, including a plate of spicy buffalo wings dripping with hot sauce. “Summer, their wings are famous. Have some,” she said with a sweet smile, placing a spicy wing onto my plate. Looking at the red hot sauce, my stomach clenched. I had a high fever and a severe stomach ulcer. Ethan knew this. Back when we were happy, he never allowed a single drop of hot sauce on the table if I was around. “I can’t eat spicy food,” I said, pushing the plate away. “Can I just get a plain oatmeal or some toast?” Before Ethan could speak, Chloe lowered her head, looking incredibly hurt. “I’m so sorry, Summer. I forgot your stomach is sensitive. But… this diner only serves these fast foods. They don’t have oatmeal. If you really hate it, maybe Ethan can drive you to another place?” The nearest town was thirty miles away. Ethan’s face darkened completely. He slammed his fork onto the table. “Summer, enough! You’ve been acting passive-aggressive since yesterday. Chloe was just trying to be nice, and you’re throwing a fit? We’re in the desert. Stop being so high-maintenance!” I looked up, staring straight into his eyes. “Ethan, I have a stomach ulcer and a fever. You’re forcing me to eat spicy food. Do you want me to end up in the emergency room?” “Don’t exaggerate!” He stood up abruptly, grabbing Chloe’s hand. “Since you’re so miserable here, stay by yourself. Chloe, let’s go eat some energy bars in the car. We don’t want to ruin her appetite.” Chloe let him drag her out, turning back to look at me with a face full of innocent triumph. “Ethan, is it really okay to leave Summer here alone…?” “Don’t worry about her. I’ve spoiled her too much. She needs to cool down and get a grip!” With a loud slam of the car door, the SUV kicked up a cloud of dust and sped away. I stared at the plate of greasy wings, and suddenly, I laughed. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. Since he had abandoned me again and again, I didn’t need to treat him as my home anymore.

Thanks to the kind-hearted diner owner, I managed to hitch a ride on a supply pickup truck and made it back to the lodge by sunset. By the time I reached my room, my fever had spiked to 103 degrees. My body felt like it was on fire. Even breathing felt like inhaling hot needles. Ethan pushed the door open, walking in from the outside. Seeing me curled up under the blanket, shivering violently, his expression finally changed. He rushed over, touching my forehead, and quickly pulled his hand back as if he’d been shocked. “How is your fever this high? Why didn’t you call me!” I weakly opened my eyes, looking at his panicked face. It felt incredibly pathetic. “Call you? So I could listen to you call me high-maintenance again?” A flash of guilt crossed his eyes. He hurriedly searched his duffel bag for medicine, pouring a glass of warm water and holding it to my lips. “I’m sorry, Summer. I was out of line this afternoon. I thought you were just playing difficult. Take the medicine first. I won’t go anywhere tonight. I’ll stay right here with you.” I looked at the water and finally swallowed the pills. Because I needed my strength. Tomorrow morning, I had a flight to catch. Right then, the door was pushed open. Chloe stood there, wearing a beautiful bohemian dress, perfect makeup, and holding a glow stick. “Ethan! The guide said there’s a meteor shower deep in the dunes tonight, and a bonfire party! Everyone is waiting for us!” Seeing Ethan sitting by my bed, her smile stiffened for a fraction of a second before turning into a look of deep concern. “Oh my gosh, is Summer really that sick? Then… Ethan, you should stay here with her. I’ll just go by myself. Even though the dark desert is super scary, I’ll try my best to be brave.” Ethan froze. He looked at me, then at Chloe, who stood at the door looking fragile and helpless. “Chloe, going into the desert alone at night is too dangerous. I’m not comfortable with that.” “It’s fine. I’ll just stay close to the guide,” Chloe bit her lip, looking like a brave martyr. Ethan stood up, tucking my blanket in. “Summer, sleep after taking the meds. I’ll just drop Chloe off and make sure she’s safe, then I’ll come right back. Thirty minutes max.” I looked at him, my voice so calm it surprised even myself. “Ethan, if you step out of this room tonight, we are over.” He paused, turning around with a flicker of anger in his eyes. “Summer, can you stop being so unreasonable? What if Chloe gets lost in the desert? You’re lying in a warm room with a heater and water. What danger could you possibly be in? I said I’ll be back in thirty minutes!” With that, he walked out without looking back. The door slammed shut. The room fell into a dead, suffocating silence. I didn’t cry. I just stared quietly at the ceiling. As the medicine kicked in, I drifted into a heavy, feverish sleep. When I woke up in the middle of the night, the room was still empty. I picked up my phone. There were no messages from Ethan. I opened Instagram. The very first post on my feed was an update from Chloe, posted ten minutes ago. In the video, a huge bonfire was crackling. Ethan and Chloe were wearing local flower crowns, holding hands, dancing around the fire to the music. Ethan had a bright, brilliant smile on his face—a relaxed, happy expression I hadn’t seen on him in years. The caption read: [Brilliant stars, endless desert, and the best view is right next to me. ✨❤️] In the comments, a mutual friend wrote: [Omg, Ethan and Chloe look like the perfect couple!] Ethan didn’t deny it. Instead, he had liked the comment. Looking at his casual betrayal, I finally realized that some love is rotten to the core. The next morning, just as the sky was turning gray. My fever had gone down a bit. My body was still weak, but it was enough to get me out of here.

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Three days before our biggest product launch and our engagement gala, I was in a horrific multi-car pileup. The driver’s side door was completely crushed. Shards of glass sliced deep into the back of my right hand, leaving me drenched in blood. As the freezing rain poured down, I shook violently from the agonizing pain. I called Ashton Thorne twenty-three times. When the line finally connected, it wasn’t Ashton’s voice. It was Serena Cole, sobbing hysterically. “Ashton… Pudding ran into that abandoned construction site. It’s so dark, and I’m so scared…” Ashton’s voice cut in, frantic yet incredibly tender. “Don’t move, Serena. I’m coming right now.” Then, he addressed me, his tone turning instantly dismissive. “Chloe, Serena’s cat is missing. She’s out in the middle of nowhere by herself, and she can’t see in the dark. It’s just a fender bender. Call a tow truck and go to the ER yourself. Stop trying to compete with her right now.” Click. He hung up. Six years. For six years, the moment Serena so much as sneezed, he would drop me without a second thought. I looked down at the engagement ring, now stained crimson with my own blood. With my left hand, I slowly pulled it off. This engagement? I didn’t want it anymore.

Heavy rain lashed against the shattered windshield. I was pinned tight in the driver’s seat, unable to move. The impact of the airbag had left my chest incredibly tight, and the metallic taste of blood welled up in my throat. The deepest cut was on my right hand. A triangular shard of glass was wedged deep into my skin. Blood dripped from my fingertips. It stained the steering wheel. It ruined the fresh gel manicure I had specifically gotten for our engagement gala in three days. The bright red against the pale skin made me feel physically sick. Outside, a paramedic was pounding on my window, shouting something, but the roaring storm drowned out his voice. I just stared at my phone. The screen lit up with Ashton’s name. My twenty-fourth call. Finally, he picked up. “Chloe Vance, are you seriously doing this right now?” Ashton’s voice was dripping with annoyance, backed by the loud revving of his car engine. “I told you, Serena’s cat is lost. That construction site has no lights, and you know she has severe night blindness. What if something happens to her?” I parted my lips, wanting to tell him I had been in a terrible crash. I wanted to tell him I was bleeding out, that my hand might be permanently ruined. But before I could make a sound, Serena’s weak whimpers came through the speaker. “Ashton… I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have come looking for Pudding in the dark… Is Chloe mad at you? Please go back to her. It’s fine if I just freeze out here…” Ashton’s breathing grew heavy with panic. “Don’t talk like that! I’m already here. I’m not leaving you.” He turned back to the phone, his voice as cold as ice. “Chloe, I know you like to be strong, but do you really have to play the victim to compete with Serena right now? Even if you got into a crash, you’re not going to die. Go to the hospital yourself!” Beep— The line went dead. The phone slipped from my weak fingers, falling into the puddle of water on the floor mat. The screen went black. Just like my heart, which had loved Ashton for six years, sinking into total darkness. The firefighters finally pried the door open. The freezing rain rushed in, making me shiver uncontrollably. As they lifted me into the ambulance, the paramedic looked at my bleeding hand and frowned. “Where is your emergency contact? You’re losing a lot of blood. We need someone to sign the consent forms!” I stared at the sterile white lights on the ceiling and forced a faint smile. “I don’t have anyone.” “It’s just me.” The paramedic blinked, startled, and didn’t ask further. The ambulance sped toward the hospital, sirens wailing. I closed my eyes, his words echoing in my head: Even if you got into a crash, you’re not going to die. He didn’t know that the glass shard was less than a centimeter away from my main artery. Just then, my phone—which the paramedic had retrieved for me—buzzed. It was a text from Carter, Ashton’s assistant. “Hey Chloe, Ashton asked me to let you know he’s helping Serena find her cat tonight and probably won’t make it home. Get some rest.” I didn’t reply. Instead, my eyes drifted to a new post on Instagram. It was from Serena. It was a photo of a dirty ginger cat snuggled in Ashton’s arms. Ashton’s expensive white designer shirt was covered in mud, but he didn’t seem to care. He was looking down, gently stroking the cat’s head. The caption read: “Even when the world goes dark, he is always my light. 🤍” Underneath, one of our mutual friends had commented: “Ashton is so sweet to you. Chloe really takes a backseat, huh?” Serena had replied with a playful emoji: “Oh, Chloe is way too mature to be petty about a cat! 😘” And Ashton had liked the post. I stared at that little red heart. The nurse came in with tweezers, preparing to pull the glass from my hand before the anesthesia was even administered. “Chloe, this is going to hurt. Squeeze my hand if you need to.” I nodded. The moment the glass was pulled out, blood gushed. The pain was so intense that my fingers clawed into the bedsheets, and my breath caught in my throat. But compared to the agony in my chest, this physical pain was absolutely nothing.

Twelve stitches. The doctor looked at my pale face and sighed. “The laceration is very deep. You cannot use your right hand for at least two weeks, or the stitches will rip. It could lead to permanent nerve damage.” “Thank you, Doctor,” I whispered. At 3:00 AM, the hospital corridor was dead quiet. I sat on the plastic bench, holding the prescription with my left hand, waiting for my meds. Suddenly, Carter appeared at the end of the hallway. He was holding a dripping black umbrella and Ashton’s favorite charcoal-grey wool coat. When he saw my heavily bandaged hand, his eyes widened in shock. “Chloe… you… you actually got into a car crash?” I looked up at him. “Did you think I was making it up for fun?” Carter swallowed hard, looking incredibly awkward. He offered me the coat. “Ashton… he was going to come himself. But Serena got a severe fever from the shock of losing her cat, and Ashton really couldn’t leave her side. So he sent me to check on you.” I didn’t take the coat. Mainly because I could smell the faint scent of orange blossom perfume on it. It was Serena’s favorite scent. “Take it back,” I said, my voice completely flat. “I’m not cold.” Carter stood there, fidgeting. “Chloe, please don’t be mad at Ashton. You know how it is… Serena saved his life back in college. He just feels a heavy sense of responsibility toward her…” Responsibility. I had heard that excuse for six years. Back in college, during a backpacking trip in the Rockies, they were caught in a sudden rockslide. Serena had pushed Ashton out of the way, getting her own leg crushed in the process. She was left with chronic pain and could no longer run or do heavy sports. Since then, Serena had become Ashton’s untouchable queen. Whatever she wanted, Ashton gave her. Even at Novis MedTech, the company Ashton and I had co-founded, Serena held a high-paying, do-nothing title just so everyone could cater to her whims. I used to think that if I was supportive enough, if we finally got married, Ashton would eventually realize who was actually standing by his side for the long haul. But I was wrong. I stood up and walked toward the pharmacy window. “Carter, tell Ashton I’ll see him at the launch tomorrow.” Carter let out a massive sigh of relief, thinking I was letting it go again, just like I always did. “Thank you for being so understanding, Chloe. Ashton said that as soon as the launch is over, he’s going to give you the most lavish wedding this city has ever seen.” I didn’t say anything. I took my meds and walked out into the freezing New York rain. A lavish wedding? No. I was only going to the launch to take back what was rightfully mine. The next morning, Ashton returned to the office. When he pushed open my door, I was struggling to edit our presentation slides with my left hand. The moment he saw my right arm in a sling, he froze. A flicker of genuine guilt flashed in his eyes. “Chloe… your hand…” He rushed over, reaching out to touch me, but hesitated. “Why is it so bad? Why didn’t you explain it to me last night?” I pulled my hand back, keeping my eyes fixed on the laptop screen. “I called you twenty-three times. Did you give me a single second to explain?” Ashton went rigid. He took a deep breath and placed a coffee cup on my desk. “I’m sorry. Serena’s fever spiked to 102 last night, and I panicked.” “Here, I got you your favorite latte. I drove all the way downtown to get it.” I looked at the cup. There was no condensation on it. It was lukewarm. The sticker on the cup read: Decaf oat milk latte, two pumps of vanilla. I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Ashton, I don’t drink decaf lattes. I drink iced black Americanos.” “Sweetened decaf is Serena’s order.” Ashton’s face turned pale, then incredibly tense. He stared at the label, opened his mouth to explain, then sighed. “I… I must have ordered wrong. I’ve been so stressed about the launch. I’ll buy you another one.” “Don’t bother.” I swept the cup directly into the trash can. “We clearly have different tastes. Forcing it down will only make me sick.” Just like our relationship. It was time to stop forcing it. Ashton stared at the discarded cup in the trash, his eyes darkening. But he didn’t snap. Instead, he softened his voice. “Chloe, our engagement is in three days. It’s also the launch of Project Nova, the AI surgical robot we’ve spent three years developing. This is the most important week of our lives. Please don’t pick a fight right now, okay?” I looked up, staring straight into his eyes. “Okay. I won’t pick a fight.” Ashton let out a sigh of relief and reached out to pat my hair. “Good girl. I have a meeting to run. Let’s do lunch later.” He turned and left. I watched his retreating back, my eyes turning ice-cold. He had no idea that the file I was editing wasn’t just the presentation slides. It was the legal document to revoke Novis MedTech’s authorization to use the patent for Project Nova’s core algorithm—a patent registered solely under my name.

Ashton didn’t show up for lunch. Because Serena came to the office. She was wearing a flowing white sundress, looking incredibly pale and fragile as she pushed open Ashton’s office door. “Ashton… my head is spinning so bad. I don’t think my fever is completely gone…” I was walking over to get Ashton’s signature on some financial papers at the time. Through the glass wall, I saw Ashton immediately drop his tablet, rush over to the couch, and place a hand on her forehead. “Why aren’t you resting at home? Chloe and I have everything under control here.” Serena leaned into his chest, her eyes pooling with tears. “I just didn’t want Chloe to think I’m useless and getting paid for nothing… and I really wanted to help you guys pick out the party favors for the engagement gala.” Ashton sighed, his voice dripping with affection. “You worry too much. Chloe isn’t that petty.” Serena bit her lip, her eyes darting toward the hallway. She saw me. Then, she gasped softly. “Oh no, Ashton, my necklace is caught on your shirt button.” Ashton leaned down to untangle it. They were so close their breaths were practically mingling. From where I stood, it looked exactly like they were kissing. I didn’t knock. I didn’t interrupt. I just stood there, watching them for a quiet moment, and then turned back to my own office. That afternoon, the bridal boutique delivered my engagement dress to the office. It was a stunning, custom-made midnight-blue gown dusted with crystals, designed to look like the night sky. Ashton had picked it out himself. He once told me that blue was my color—deep, mysterious, and elegant. The stylist carefully helped me try it on, but when she saw my bandaged hand, her face fell. “Oh, Ms. Vance… this dress has tight, long sleeves. With your hand bandaged like this, it won’t fit. If we force it, it’s going to rip your stitches.” I stared at myself in the mirror. My makeup was flawless, but it couldn’t hide the dead, exhausted look in my eyes. “Then cut the sleeve off,” I said flatly. The stylist gasped. “Cut it? But this is a two-hundred-thousand-dollar custom gown…” “Cut the right sleeve,” I repeated. Just then, Ashton and Serena walked in. Ashton’s eyes lit up with momentary awe when he saw me in the dress. But when he heard me tell the stylist to cut it, his brows furrowed. “Chloe, the entire beauty of this dress is its symmetry. Cutting it ruins it. Just bear with it for a few hours. Once the ceremony is over, you can take it off.” I looked at him. “The doctor said any pressure on the wound will rip the stitches.” Ashton walked over and grabbed my left hand. “Chloe, there will be major tech investors and media outlets there. If you walk on stage with a ripped, asymmetrical dress, what will that say about Novis MedTech’s attention to detail? For the sake of the company, just deal with it.” For the sake of the company. For the sake of appearances. For the sake of his perfect night. But never once did he consider whether I would be in pain. Serena chimed in from behind him, her voice dripping with fake sweet concern. “Yeah, Chloe, Ashton spent so much time custom-ordering this dress for you. It would be such a shame to ruin it. Besides, the bandage is on the inside, nobody will even notice. You can do it for him, right?” I looked at Serena’s innocent, wide eyes and smiled. “Serena, since you think it’s no big deal, why don’t you wear it instead?” Serena flinched, waving her hands in panic. “Oh, Chloe, don’t play like that, it’s your engagement dress…” Ashton’s face completely darkened. “Chloe Vance, what is wrong with you lately? Serena is just trying to help, why do you have to be so toxic to her?” I ignored him, turning to the stylist. “Take it off. I’m not wearing it.” Ashton exhaled sharply, clearly trying to suppress his rage. “Fine. You don’t want to wear it? I’ll have them send a short-sleeved option. But you better make sure you look flawless on that stage in three days!” He grabbed Serena’s arm and turned to leave. “Let’s go, Serena. Don’t waste your breath on her.” The door slammed shut. The stylist trembling as she helped me unzip the dress. During the process, the heavy fabric dragged across the back of my hand. A sharp, white-hot pain flared up, and warm blood instantly soaked through the white bandages. I closed my eyes, fighting back the tears. Ashton, you always do this. In the name of love, you force me into the most painful compromises. But this is the absolute last time.

The day before the launch, we had a full-dress rehearsal. It was held at the Jacob Javits Center, the biggest convention venue in the city. Project Nova was our baby. If tomorrow went well, we would secure a $50 million Series A funding round, officially making Novis MedTech a unicorn company. I stood on the massive stage, clicking through the slides with my left hand, double-checking the flow. My right hand was throbbing with a dull, white-hot pain, but I had popped three painkillers to numb it. Ashton sat in the front row, frowning at his Rolex. “Chloe, this is going too slow. When is Serena’s segment?” I stopped and looked down at him cold. “Serena is literally just walking on stage to hand us a bouquet of flowers. What is there to rehearse?” Ashton stood up, his voice tight. “Her leg isn’t fully recovered, and those stage steps are steep. I’m not comfortable. Plus, I want to add a tribute video at the end of the presentation to thank everyone who supported us. Serena is going to be the main highlight.” I froze. “A tribute video? That’s not in the schedule. And for the past three years, the people who worked eighty-hour weeks in the lab writing code and debugging were me and the dev team. Serena did absolutely nothing but bring us Starbucks once a month. Why is she the highlight?” Ashton walked up the stage stairs, lowering his voice. “Chloe, don’t be so petty. Serena lost her ability to run because of me. I owe her this. Giving her some recognition on a stage like this will make her feel valued.” “Besides, you’re going to be my wife. You’re the co-founder of this company. Why are you jealous of a silly little highlight?” Always the same excuse. I let out a cold laugh. “What if I say no?” Ashton’s gaze turned freezing. “Chloe, I’m the CEO of this company. It’s already decided.” He turned to the tech booth and shouted, “Cue Serena’s video!” The massive LED screen behind me flickered, and the video started playing. It wasn’t a documentary of our engineering team’s sleepless nights. It was a compilation of Ashton and Serena. Ashton carrying Serena on his back during a hike. Serena feeding Ashton fruit in his office. Even a snapshot from two nights ago—Ashton holding the ginger cat, smiling warmly at Serena under a streetlamp. At the end of the video, text faded in: “To the one who never gave up on me. Thank you for being in my life.” The crew members in the venue looked at each other awkwardly. Everyone knew tomorrow was our engagement gala. Yet this video looked like a public love confession to another woman. A wave of intense nausea hit me. “Ashton, do you honestly think playing this at our engagement is appropriate?” Ashton looked slightly embarrassed, but he doubled down anyway. “This is just a rough cut. I’ll have them add some photos of you in there before tomorrow.” “Add me in? To make it look like a throuple?” I mocked openly. Ashton snapped. “Chloe Vance! Does everything out of your mouth have to be so venomous? Serena cried all night because of what you said yesterday. She was too scared to even show up to rehearsal today! What more do you want?” Just then, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and picked up immediately. “Serena, what’s wrong?” Serena’s terrified scream pierced through the quiet venue. “Ashton, help me! I’m on the rooftop skywalk… my vertigo kicked in and my legs locked up. It’s so high… I’m so scared…” Ashton’s face went pale. “Don’t move! Close your eyes, I’m coming up right now!” He hung up and bolted toward the exit. I lunged forward and grabbed his arm. “Ashton! The lead investors are arriving in ten minutes to review the rehearsal. If you leave right now, what happens to the pitch?” Ashton violently shook my hand off. The force of his shove threw me off balance, sending me crashing to the floor. My right hand slammed hard against the wooden stage. Thud. An agonizing pain ripped through my arm, and my vision went black for a second. Blood immediately seeped through the bandage, pooling onto the stage. Ashton stood over me, his eyes devoid of any pity—only burning rage. “Chloe, the investors can wait. But if anything happens to Serena, I will never forgive you!” With that, he ran out of the hall without looking back. I lay on the cold stage, staring at the fresh blood on the floor, and suddenly burst into laughter. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. You’ll never forgive me? Ashton, you have it backward. I am the one who will never forgive you. The stage crew rushed over to help me up. “Ms. Vance, you’re bleeding really badly! We need to get you to an urgent care!” I used their support to stand up, then gently pushed them away. “No need.” I picked up the presentation clicker with my left hand, wiped my tears, and stood tall. “Tech booth, delete that garbage video. Restore the original slides.” “Everyone, back to your positions.” “We are continuing the rehearsal.” At that moment, I finally woke up. Depending on a man whose heart was never yours is a fool’s errand. You can only depend on yourself. AsAshton, since you love Serena so much. I’ll gladly let you have her.

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Three years into my engagement with Ethan Vance, he became the most famous billionaire in America. He claimed to be a germaphobe who couldn’t stand the touch of women. Once, I accidentally brushed against his sleeve, and he not only threw the entire designer suit away but also showered three times. I thought he was like that with everyone. Until today, when his Maybach’s dashcam automatically synced to my cloud storage. On the screen, the man who claimed to despise physical contact was gripping his ex-girlfriend’s tiny waist, kissing her passionately in the backseat. Ethan ripped her expensive silk dress. The woman gasped breathlessly, “Ethan, what if your fiancée finds out? Won’t she make a scene?” He sneered, his voice dark and raspy. “She’s like a dead fish. Boring. How could she ever compare to you? Just touching her makes me sick.” I watched the screen. No tears, no screaming. I just calmly pressed Enter on my keyboard. And injected a lethal self-destruct virus into the core code of the autonomous driving AI—the very code I had spent three years of blood, sweat, and tears writing for him. Ethan, since you dared to betray me, let’s see if you can afford the price.

“Stella, run a bath for me. I need to wash up.” Late at night, Ethan returned home. As usual, he ordered me around like a servant. I sat in the shadow of the living room, where the lights were off, and didn’t move. He casually threw his damp jacket onto the sofa without throwing a single glance my way, walking straight to the bar to pour a glass of water. I could clearly smell a faint, sweet trace of tuberose perfume on him. It was Bianca Reed’s favorite scent. The laptop screen in front of me glowed with a ghostly blue light. Frozen on the screen was a snapshot of him in the garage half an hour ago, pinning Bianca against the steering wheel, kissing her like crazy. For the past three years, to accommodate his so-called “germaphobia,” I had always kept my distance. How pathetic that I was only finding out now—his germaphobia was highly selective. It only applied to me. “Ethan.” I closed the laptop, my voice sounding strangely loud in the empty room. He froze mid-pour, then turned around. “Why are the lights off? It’s pitch black.” He walked over, looking down at me. He pulled a cheaply made charm bracelet from his pocket and tossed it onto the coffee table. “I went to a business meeting today and picked this up for you. Stop complaining about my germaphobia.” I looked at that cheap piece of junk. Suddenly, the image from the dashcam flashed through my mind. He had just hand-fastened a twenty-million-dollar ruby necklace around Bianca’s neck. “My darling deserves the absolute best. Stella Brooks is nothing but a useful tool.” That was what he had whispered to Bianca. A wave of intense nausea surged from my stomach. I stood up, ignoring the bracelet, and looked directly into his deep eyes. “Let’s call off the engagement.” Ethan narrowed his eyes, studying me before letting out a soft, mocking chuckle. “Stella, who taught you to play these hard-to-get games?” He slowly pulled out a wet wipe, thoroughly wiping the fingers that had just touched the bracelet, as if he had contaminated himself. “If this is about me coming home late tonight, there’s no need for this drama. Bianca’s depression flared up, and she tried to slit her wrists. I only went to the hospital out of basic humanity.” He tossed the used wipe perfectly into the trash can, his tone flat, without a single ripple of emotion. “Don’t joke about marriage. If you wanted my attention, congratulations, you got it. Tomorrow, I’ll have my assistant order a custom gown for you. You’ll accompany me to the Tech Summit next week.” “Consider it compensation for your wild imagination tonight. Don’t push your luck.” Looking at his hypocritical face, I felt nothing but disgust. Over the past three years, I had stayed up until dawn countless times writing code. Whenever I begged him to watch a movie with me, he always excused himself, saying he had to prepare for the company’s IPO. Now, suddenly, he was willing to make time. “I’m not going.” “The engagement is off. Tomorrow morning, I will contact my lawyer to revoke Vance Enterprises’ free access to all AI patents under my name.” Ethan finally lost his patience. He slammed his glass down onto the marble counter with a heavy thud. “Since you’re not in a state to listen to reason, stay home and reflect. When you’ve cleared your head, call me.” He turned toward the door. “I’m staying at the Westside Villa tonight to get some peace.” At the doorway, he paused and muttered to his assistant outside, “Go buy her a cake.” The front door slammed shut, and the roar of his sports car faded into the heavy rain. Half an hour later, the assistant, drenched, rang the doorbell holding a pastry box. “Miss Brooks, Mr. Vance went out of his way to buy this to cheer you up.” I didn’t take it. Ethan’s notes on his phone made it crystal clear: every time Bianca had an episode, she needed cake to calm down. Even his way of comforting me was copied from his habits with another woman. “Throw it away,” I said, shutting the door. That night, Ethan didn’t go to the Westside Villa. At 2:00 AM, I saw a photo posted on Bianca’s Instagram. In the photo, Ethan was wearing his black silk shirt, leaning against the headboard of a five-star hotel bed, holding a steaming bowl of soup for her. The caption read: [Even if the whole world abandons me, my god will still descend from his heaven for me.]

The next morning, I took an Uber to a law firm downtown. Separating my core patents and revoking the prenuptial agreement was a tedious process. I sat in the conference room for five hours straight, checking every single line of code and patent I had once handed over out of love. When I signed the final revocation letter, a sharp pain shot through my chest. My vision went black, and I almost collapsed onto the desk. Over the last three years, to keep up with Vance Enterprises’ IPO timeline, I had worked day and night. My severe tachycardia was the direct result of that endless grind. Terrified, the lawyer quickly called a ride and sent me straight to the high-end private hospital owned by Vance Enterprises. The VIP cardiology suite on the top floor was a private sanctuary Ethan had publicly reserved for me during last year’s annual gala. Clutching my chest, I dragged my heavy legs out of the elevator. But just as I reached the corner of the hallway, two hulking security guards in black suits stepped in front of me. “Miss Brooks, we’re sorry. Mr. Vance ordered that no one is allowed to disturb them.” Leaning against the cold marble wall, I gasped for air. Through the half-drawn blinds of the ward, I saw everything. Ethan was sitting by the bed, carefully peeling an apple with a silver knife. Beside him, Bianca had a thin layer of gauze wrapped around her wrist. It wasn’t a suicide attempt at all; it was barely a scratch. She leaned weakly against Ethan’s shoulder, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Ethan, I had a nightmare last night. I dreamed you left me. I was so scared…” Ethan set the apple down, draped his designer suit jacket over her shoulders, and pulled her into his chest, resting his chin on her hair. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here.” His voice was so tender it could melt ice. That was a warmth he had never once shown me. Suddenly, the door opened. Ethan walked out with an empty thermos, intending to get hot water. He bumped straight into me. Seeing my deathly pale face and bloodless lips, his brows knitted into a tight, irritated knot. He didn’t ask why I looked so ill. He didn’t even notice my hand clutching my chest in pain. “Stella, are you really trying to steal a hospital room from Bianca now?” He lowered his voice, his tone dripping with disgust and accusation. “Bianca has severe depression and can’t handle any stress. You’re perfectly healthy—why do you have to fight a sick person for attention?” “This jealous, clinging act of yours is getting ugly.” The pain in my chest made it hard to breathe, let alone argue. I clenched my teeth, staring at the gradient-colored thermos in his hand. It was a limited-edition piece I had waited in line for three hours to buy him last winter. It had been kept in this room for my use. Now, it belonged to Bianca. Seeing my silence, Ethan assumed I was feeling guilty. He signaled his assistant in the distance. “Take Miss Brooks downstairs to the general ER to queue up. And grab a cashmere blanket from my car for her. Don’t let her stand here making a scene.” The assistant returned quickly, holding a white Hermès cashmere blanket, and offered it to me. “Put it on,” Ethan said, looking at me with a condescending pity. “Once Bianca falls asleep, I’ll take you out for that sushi you love.” I looked down at the blanket. The strong scent of tuberose perfume hit my nose. It was obvious who had been wrapped in this blanket in the backseat of his Maybach last night. Ignoring the agony in my chest, I walked past Ethan step by step toward the medical waste bin at the end of the hall. I let go. The expensive cashmere blanket fell perfectly into the yellow bin labeled [Infectious Waste]. Ethan’s face darkened instantly, the veins on his temples throbbing with rage. I turned around. I didn’t take the elevator. Holding onto the cold handrail, I walked down the stairs, step by step, leaving the top floor behind. Behind me, Ethan’s voice hissed with venom. “Stella Brooks! If you walk out of this hospital today, don’t you dare crawl back begging for my help ever again!” I didn’t look back.

I spent the entire night on oxygen in the emergency room observation ward. The next morning, I ripped the IV needle out of my hand and took a cab straight to the Vance Enterprises headquarters. The global launch of the [Stellar-Drive AI System] was scheduled for tomorrow morning. This was Vance Enterprises’ golden ticket to entering the billion-dollar electric vehicle market. Over the past three years, to stand by his side as an equal, I had hidden my identity as his fiancée. I had worked as the chief engineer, leading my team through countless sleepless nights and writing millions of lines of code to perfect this system. It was my life’s work as a master software architect. I walked to my desk to back up the final data. But as I stepped out of the elevator, the massive LED billboard in the lobby made me freeze. Where it once read: [Stellar-Drive AI — Chief Architect: Stella Brooks] It now read: [LunaTech — Chief Architect: Bianca Reed]. I pressed the button for the top floor and kicked the CEO’s office door open. Ethan was sitting in his large leather chair, signing documents. Bianca sat on the Italian leather sofa nearby, browsing seasonal high jewelry on an iPad. Hearing the noise, Ethan looked up. Seeing it was me, he set his Montblanc pen down. He walked to the bar, poured a warm glass of milk, and slid it toward me. “Drink some milk first. You look terrible. Did you stay up throwing another tantrum last night?” His tone was gentle, carrying a suffocating sense of entitlement. “I was actually about to call you about the name change and the credits.” “Stella, you’re going to be my wife. Everything Vance Enterprises owns will be half yours in the future. Why get worked up over a silly title?” “Bianca’s depression is very severe right now. Her therapist said she needs a strong social identity and a sense of achievement to rebuild her confidence.” “Just look at it as a charity case to save her life. Give her the credit. Everyone in the industry knows how good you are anyway; you don’t need this one title.” Bianca put down her iPad, walked over to wrap her arms around Ethan’s, and looked at me timidly, her eyes turning red instantly. “Stella… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to steal your hard work. I’ve just felt like life is so pointless lately. Ethan said this project would help me find my value. If you mind, I’ll give it back to you right now…” Ethan held her hand, patting it reassuringly. Then, he slid a black Amex card toward me. “Take this no-limit black card. Go buy that Porsche you’ve wanted for a long time. Consider it my compensation. Be good, and don’t make a scene in the office.” I didn’t touch the milk, nor did I look at the black card. I just stared at this man, watching him trample all over my hard work just to feed another woman’s vanity. “Fine.” I nodded, without saying another word. I turned and walked out of the office. The moment the door closed, my fingers brushed against the cold metal of the micro-USB drive in my pocket. The tech empire I had spent three years building for him would become the first tombstone of Vance Enterprises tomorrow.

The annual Tech Summit and Charity Gala was held at the Park Hyatt in the city center. Dozens of tech media and financial channels were livestreaming the event. For the past three years, Ethan had demanded that I dress modestly and stay out of the spotlight. Tonight, I wore a backless, pure black designer gown. With my hair pinned up and bold red lipstick, I looked as sharp and cold as a blade. Holding a glass of champagne, I stood by the edge of the circular balcony on the second floor, looking down coldly at the fake smiles below. When the gala reached its peak, Ethan went up to the stage to deliver his keynote speech. Bianca stood right beside him, wearing a white mermaid gown, looking like a proud swan. As she reached up to adjust the microphone, her wrist caught the brilliant light, flashing a deep blue. I saw exactly what it was. It was my late father’s last bequest—a rare, limited-edition Patek Philippe Sky Moon Tourbillon. Two weeks ago, Ethan had taken it from me, claiming he was sending it to a master Swiss horologist for maintenance. Now, it was on Bianca’s wrist, serving as her latest trophy. After the speech, Ethan went to mingle with the crowd. Bianca, holding a glass of red wine, walked straight toward the champagne tower where I was standing. She stopped half a meter away from me. Nearby, cameras began to drift toward us. “Stella, this black dress really doesn’t suit you. You look like a widow who just lost her husband,” Bianca whispered, her voice too low for anyone else to hear. She raised her wrist, stroking the Patek Philippe watch mockingly. “This watch is beautiful. Ethan said only my elegance could match it. Leaving it with you is just a waste of a masterpiece.” I stared at her and took a step back, widening the gap between us. “Why are you backing away?” Bianca suddenly shrieked. She lifted her glass, her body suddenly leaning forward, and threw herself directly into the massive champagne tower beside us. Her wrist slammed hard against the solid glass base. With a sharp crack, the sapphire glass of the watch face shattered, and the delicate gears spilled across the floor. The champagne tower collapsed, sending glass shards flying everywhere. Bianca used the momentum to fall right into the pile of broken glass, her arm getting sliced by several small shards. “Ah! It hurts!” Clutching her bleeding arm, she looked up at me in terror, tears streaming down her face like broken pearls. “Stella! I know you’re mad at me for taking the credit for the AI system, but why did you push me?! You know my depression can’t handle this!” The crowd gasped. Everyone’s eyes and dozens of high-definition cameras locked onto us instantly. The crowd was roughly pushed aside, and Ethan rushed out like a furious beast. He took one look at the blood on the floor and the shattered watch, then ripped off his suit jacket to wrap a trembling Bianca tightly in his arms. He stood up slowly, stepping right in front of me, his eyes terrifyingly dark. Slap! Without any warning, a heavy blow landed on my cheek. The force of the slap whipped my head to the side, and the metallic taste of blood burst in my mouth. The flashbulbs went wild. Ethan’s hands gripped my shoulders so hard his knuckles turned white. He twisted the heavy platinum ring on his finger, his eyes, usually so cold, now burning with pure rage. “Stella Brooks, did you leave your manners in the gutter? You know how fragile she is, yet you pushed her! How can you be so vicious?” He commanded, his voice heavy with undeniable pressure: “Kneel down. Apologize to Bianca. Don’t make me say it twice in front of the press.” I didn’t shed a single tear. I wiped the blood from my lip with my tongue, tasting the iron. Then, I reached out and grabbed a broken champagne bottle neck from the table beside me. Before anyone could comprehend what was happening, I drove the jagged glass deep into Ethan’s left shoulder. The glass tore through his expensive white shirt, sinking deep into his flesh. Blood sprayed instantly, splashing across Bianca’s pale, horrified face. “Ah—!” Bianca screamed like a dying pig. Ethan let out a sharp gasp of pain, his eyes wide. His grip on my shoulders loosened instantly. He stared at me in disbelief, as if he didn’t recognize the woman standing before him. I pulled a thick manila envelope from my purse and slammed it hard against his perfect face. Inside were the bank records and signed documents proving Ethan had used my AI patent royalties to purchase three luxury villas overseas for Bianca. The papers scattered like snow, falling around the guests’ feet. I slipped off the diamond engagement ring that represented three years of my wasted youth and threw it onto the red carpet like trash. “Ethan Vance, you played the clean germaphobe for so long, did you actually start believing you aren’t filthy?” I looked at his bleeding shoulder and spoke, my voice echoing clearly through the entire hall. “Take your trash and rot in the gutter.” I turned, stepping over the glass in my high heels, and walked out of the gala without looking back.

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Every single one of my boyfriend Logan’s friends had tried to seduce me. It was always Logan’s idea. Every time I rejected one of them, he would throw a party to celebrate. His friends all said I was fiercely loyal to him. “We tried every trick in the book to tempt her, but Vivian never took the bait. Logan, man, you can finally sleep easy now, right?” Logan would look at me with a guilty smile and say, “I just love you too much, babe. I couldn’t help but test you. This is the last time, I swear!” He had said that phrase over and over again, always looking so sincere. Until he introduced me to his newest friend, Dominic. When Dominic stood in front of me, he was the definition of mature, sexy, and aloof. My heart suddenly skipped a beat. Logan had finally, successfully found my exact type. “Nice to meet you, Vivian.” Dominic’s deep, velvety voice washed over me. It was an incredibly sexy voice. He politely extended his hand. His fingers were long and clean, with prominent veins running under his sun-kissed skin. Even his hands were sexy. A few scandalous thoughts flashed through my mind, and my breathing hitched. “Nice to meet you too,” I replied, keeping my voice low and cool to hide my racing thoughts. But the moment our fingers brushed, a spark of electricity shot up my arm, leaving a delicious, lingering itch in my chest. Logan had me sit next to him, with Dominic on my other side. Before we arrived, Logan had given me the rundown on Dominic. Even in New York’s elite circle, there was a hierarchy. The Dominic family was at the absolute top of the food chain. And Dominic was the oldest son, the sole heir they had spent a lifetime grooming. Logan used to complain about him all the time. While the rest of the rich kids partied together, Dominic remained cold and distant, never deigning to hang out with them. Later, Dominic went to Europe for college, cutting off contact entirely. Who would have thought that shortly after his return, he’d suddenly become so approachable? When Logan sent out the invite, Dominic had joined without a second thought. Logan’s theory was: “He probably didn’t have any friends in Europe, so now that he’s back, he’s finally trying to fit in.” Of course, in front of Dominic, Logan sang a completely different tune. “Vivian, Dominic has some amazing connections in Europe. Didn’t your fashion design studio want to go international? You should totally ask him for advice. Why don’t you guys add each other on Instagram?” I glanced at Logan. His expression was dead serious. He looked exactly like a supportive boyfriend trying to help my career by networking. But I knew, with absolute certainty, that this was another one of his loyalty tests. Everyone at the table had that look on their faces—like they were waiting for a show to start. I scanned the room. They were all the same old actors. The first time Logan tested me was on our third day of dating. He was terrified I was only after his money. So, he had one of his rich buddies approach me, offering me millions to dump Logan and go with him instead. I was completely caught off guard back then. But more than anything, I was furious. I couldn’t believe Logan had such a backstabbing snake of a friend. So, I told Logan everything, warning him to watch his back around that guy. Instead, Logan just smirked at me. Later, that friend came to apologize, claiming he was just helping Logan test me and meant no harm. “Vivian is amazing!” he had said, giving a thumbs-up. “I literally offered her ten million dollars, and she didn’t even blink! Logan, you’re one lucky bastard!” Sitting at the head of the table, Logan had grinned with smug satisfaction. After that, he brought out guys who were hotter than him, richer than him, sweeter, funnier… a whole parade of men trying to get into my pants. And every time one of them failed, Logan would throw a party to “clear up the misunderstanding.” Gradually, everyone in his circle came to know that Vivian was hopelessly in love with Logan. They believed no man on earth could ever steal his girl. To outsiders, I didn’t care about money, power, or looks. I was just purely, unconditionally in love with Logan himself. As if. If I didn’t care about any of those things, why wouldn’t I just adopt a dog? I liked his money, and I liked his face. Among everyone I knew, he used to have the best package that fit my taste. But not anymore.

Dominic took out his phone. “Scan me. Let me know if you ever need anything.” Clearly, Logan had set this up beforehand. I ran a high-end, custom fashion design studio. With Logan’s connections and my unique designs, my studio had quickly made a name for itself. After styling a few celebrities for red carpet events and creating some viral looks, my business had boomed. By now, I was the go-to independent designer for the city’s elite. But my ambition didn’t stop there. I wanted to build my own commercial brand and take it global. “Vivian? Don’t just stand there. Not everyone gets a chance to get Dominic’s personal contact,” Logan’s voice pulled me back to reality. I blinked and saw Dominic holding out his phone with a QR code on the screen. His long fingers held the edge of the device in a relaxed, effortless grip. I pulled out my phone and scanned it. With a soft ding, we were connected. His profile picture was a solid, matte black background. Nothing else. His Instagram grid was completely empty. No posts, no clues. I put my phone away and looked up, catching his gaze. He wasn’t looking at his phone. Instead, his eyes were locked onto my face… specifically, my lips. It was only for a split second before he looked away. But I still caught the faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. Interesting. I looked away and took a sip from my glass. It was ice water. Suddenly, Dominic spoke up. “You should drink something else.” “What?” “Ice water isn’t good for you right now.” Quietly, he pushed his own glass of warm water toward me. I took a sip of the warm water, lowering my head to hide the small smirk on my lips. When I had reached into my bag for my phone earlier, I had purposely let him catch a glimpse of the tampons in my purse. So far, this man was passing with flying colors. After the party, I didn’t reach out to Dominic. Since he had agreed to help Logan test me, he would definitely make the first move. I was right. He showed up directly at my studio. He claimed he was in the neighborhood for a meeting, remembered my studio was nearby, and wanted to see if I could custom-make a suit for him. A client is a client. I had no reason to turn him down. “Of course. But I’ll need to take your measurements first. Are you in a rush, Dominic?” “Not at all.” I stepped forward with my measuring tape. Dominic cooperatively took off his suit jacket, leaving him in a crisp, high-quality white dress shirt. I measured his shoulders and arms. Everything went smoothly until I wrapped the tape around his waist. Because of the angle, I practically had to step right into his chest. The clean, woody scent of a mature man instantly wrapped around me. He looked down, his warm breath brushing against my ear. Then, without warning, his lips lightly grazed my earlobe. I gasped, stepping back as if I’d been electrocuted. He lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” I let out a mocking laugh. “Logan sent you to test me, didn’t he?” “Yes,” he admitted, completely unfazed by being caught. Instead, he looked at me with burning intensity. “But what if I’ve fallen for you for real? What do I do now?” “Is that so?” I met his deep gaze, a slow smile spreading across my face. “Then you’ll have to try harder.” We stared at each other. Some things didn’t need to be said out loud. When two people are on the same wavelength, they just know. Just as he was about to speak, his phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen and answered it right in front of me. “Don’t worry, she hasn’t texted me at all.” “Don’t believe me? I’ll send you a screenshot.”

Logan was still talking on the other end. Dominic glanced at me and “accidentally” hit the speaker button. Though he kept the phone near his ear, Logan’s voice was crystal clear in the quiet studio. “Bro, you gotta help me out a bit more. Be more aggressive. See how she reacts. If even you can’t charm her, then I can finally be at peace.” Dominic chuckled. “How many times have you tested this girl?” “This time is different. You know how it is in our world—we have to marry for business. She’s brought up marriage a few times, and I’ve been dodging it. But my parents are pushing me to go on blind dates with heiresses lately, and I don’t want to break up with Vivian yet.” “So you need to help me. Once I’m 100% sure she’ll never leave me, I can go ahead with the family dates with peace of mind.” Dominic looked at me. “If you’re going to marry someone else anyway, why not just let her go? Keeping her in the dark is messed up.” “Dominic, you don’t get it. I really love her. If she loves me enough, she won’t care about a stupid piece of paper.” “Aren’t you afraid…” Dominic’s eyes darkened, “that I might actually steal her from you?” Logan let out a loud laugh. “Come on, Dominic. You’ve seen the most beautiful women in the world. Why would you ever fall for her?” “Anyway, if she passes this final test, I’ll reward her with a private commitment ceremony. Just a small event for our inner circle. That’ll keep her happy for life.” “But if she fails… well, then you help me throw it in her face. I’ll make sure she regrets it for the rest of her life.” Dominic hung up. We stood there in silence. Honestly, I wasn’t even that sad. I had thought about marrying Logan once. But after his constant dodging, I had checked out a long time ago. Staying with him was purely for his connections. To me, Logan was like a bland, tasteless dish. Dominic, on the other hand, looked delicious. I wanted him. But not quite yet. I threw myself entirely into my work, knowing Dominic would eventually be my prey. Dominic knew how much my career meant to me, so he kept feeding me resources. And I accepted every single one of them. He used his connections to help restructure my company, headhunted top talents for me, connected me with the best factories, and got me premium fabrics at dirt-cheap prices. He even secured a showcase spot for me at next year’s Milan Fashion Week. He kept giving without asking for anything in return, and I didn’t mind giving him a little taste of what he wanted. Just a little taste. Never the full meal. I acted like a total heartbreaker, soaking up all his favors while keeping him at arm’s length. But he didn’t seem to mind. To him, these favors were effortless. Except sometimes, when the tension got too thick and he was left hanging, he would let out a bitter laugh. “I feel like a dog you’ve got perfectly trained. How can you be so cruel, Vivian?” But that wasn’t true. He was incredibly attractive to me. Under the guise of fitting his suits, I would let my hands wander. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, I would trace the hard lines of his chest and abdomen. But I always stopped right before he lost his mind. That was my favorite game. Our flirting was practically out in the open, yet Logan was completely oblivious. He actually believed that all the resources Dominic was giving me were just “bait” to test my loyalty. Even his friends thought the same. During their parties, they would gossip about me behind my back: “Logan’s got his girl completely whipped. Even a guy like Dominic can’t tempt her. I bet she’d jump off a cliff for you if you asked!” “Vivian acts all cold and elegant, but in front of Logan, she’s probably begging for his attention.” “Imagine her face when she finds out Logan is marrying someone else. She’s going to cry her eyes out.” “Let her cry. It’s not like she can ever leave him.” “Hahaha…” Dominic had secretly recorded all of this and sent it to me. “Vivian, I didn’t want to play this for you because I didn’t want to hurt you. But I thought you should know what he’s really like behind your back.” “I don’t have any ulterior motives. I just… I hate seeing you treated like this.” “If I had the honor of being your man, I would never hang out with people who disrespect you like this.” “Are you refusing to be with me because you still love Logan?” Me: … I was just used to getting my bag first. Since Dominic was already on my plate, I was in no rush to eat.

The day Dominic’s prototype suit was ready, I decided to deliver it to his office myself. Dominic’s office took up an entire floor of his family’s skyscraper. His assistant buzzed me right through security. Dominic had given strict orders: I never needed an appointment. Which was how I unfortunately ended up overhearing Logan’s voice. “Dominic, you’re going way too hard just to help me out. Did you really have to give her all those premium connections?” “Women don’t need to work anyway. I can provide for her. Giving her all those resources is just a waste.” I had always known Logan never took my career seriously. When he initially supported my studio, it was just a patronizing gesture to keep me entertained. He figured his rich friends could buy a few dresses to fund my little hobby. Even when I started succeeding, his boasting felt more like a proud owner showing off a prettier vase than his neighbors’. Dominic didn’t argue. He just said coldly, “I don’t do charity.” “Of course, of course. I know you’re only doing this as a favor to me.” “But seriously, has she really not shown any interest in you?” Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Do you want her to?” “That’s not what I mean,” Logan waved his hand dismissively. “I already met Victoria, the heiress my parents set me up with. We’re both happy with the arrangement. The news is going to break soon, so I need a definitive answer before that.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice: “Dominic, we need to up the stakes. Before my engagement party with Victoria, you have to make Vivian fall in love with you.” I sat in Dominic’s private lounge and ate three slices of cake, and Logan still hadn’t left. Losing my patience, I sent Dominic a text. A few seconds later, I heard footsteps in the hallway. Logan was saying, “Alright, I’m heading out. Don’t forget what we agreed on!” The footsteps faded away. Thirty seconds later, the lounge door opened. I raised the garment bag in my hand. “Brought your suit for a fitting.” Dominic’s dark eyes flared with hunger. I unzipped the garment bag and gestured for him to come over. He stared at me for a few seconds before finally stepping in front of me. I reached up, naturally unbuttoning his suit jacket and sliding it off his shoulders. He raised his arms cooperatively, letting the old jacket fall to reveal his crisp white shirt. Since a new suit required adjusting the shoulders and waist, I stepped behind him, draping the new fabric over his shoulders. My fingers slowly traced down his shoulder blades. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin through the shirt. “Raise your arms.” Instead of raising his arms, he suddenly spun around and grabbed my wrists. His grip wasn’t painful, but before I could react, he pinned me against the door. He leaned in, his hot breath mingling with mine. I didn’t push him away. Instead, I grabbed his tie, pulling him even closer. He paused for a fraction of a second, then slammed his lips onto mine, hard and desperate. I tilted my head up, matching his frantic rhythm. His hand slid down from the door to cup the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me flush against his hard chest. When the kiss finally ended, his voice was thick and raspy. “When are you going to let Logan know?” I tilted my head and smiled. “I never said I was keeping it a secret.” Logan’s birthday bash was scheduled to be at Dominic’s luxury cabin resort in Aspen. That would be the perfect place to reveal the truth.

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