You think you’ve had an embarrassing day? Let me tell you how mine imploded during a lecture. I’m Ava, barely passing a class I hate. To skip it, I hired a substitute. Simple, right? Wrong. When the professor called my name, a guy stood up. The professor asked, “Ava Duffer is a man?” My substitute smoothly replied, “I’m her boyfriend, recording the lecture.” Just as I cringed, another person stood—my actual boyfriend, Jonathan Croft, the CS golden boy. Calmly, he said, “Actually, I’m her boyfriend. So who are you?” The room erupted. But they didn’t know this “real” boyfriend had told me my art dreams would leave me “rotting in the gutter” a month earlier. In the silence, I turned to Jonathan and announced, “Didn’t we break up? My new boyfriend and I have better things to do.” 1 I’d been sitting motionless in the university art studio for ten hours when my roommate called. “Ava, you have to see the campus gossip blog! You’re famous! Hahaha!” Her voice crackled with amusement. “Seriously, though, you should probably go talk to Jonathan.” My fingers, stiff and aching, fumbled with my phone. At the top of the blog was a video of the whole disaster. The professor calling my name. The substitute’s confident “Here!” The professor’s suspicion. The substitute’s brilliant, disastrous lie about being my boyfriend, painting me as some diligent student. And then, the grand finale: my actual boyfriend exposing the whole charade. The comment section was a wildfire. [Did the CS golden boy just get cheated on? LMAO] [That dude is 100% a hired sub. Epic fail.] [He thought on his feet, gotta give him that. Too bad he picked a girl whose boyfriend was literally in the same class. Ouch.] My vision swam. I pulled up the chat with the substitute. [YOU NEVER MENTIONED YOU WERE A GUY!] This was a major-specific course. The professor knew most of the students by sight, even if not by name. The plan had been simple: a girl, wearing a mask, sitting in the back. The professor would never have noticed. I saw the gender on his profile was set to ‘female’ and didn’t think twice. Big mistake. He replied instantly. [I’m so sorry! T_T It was my first time doing this, I didn’t know the protocol. (´• ω •`)] [I just panicked! I had no idea your boyfriend was there! ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ] [I explained everything to him afterwards, no misunderstanding! ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ] [Seriously, I feel awful. Let me buy you dinner to make up for it? (ಥ﹏ಥ)] I closed the chat with a sigh. This was bad. Jonathan was going to be furious about me skipping class again. We’d had a massive fight about this a month ago and hadn’t spoken since. 3 Jonathan and I grew up next door to each other. He was always ruthlessly self-disciplined, while I was a professional daydreamer. While other kids were playing outside, he’d be forcing me to do my homework, his face set in a serious frown. “This is wrong. Write it out ten times.” It was torture. In high school, he arranged for us to be desk partners, pushing me every single day. “You have to work harder, Ava. We’re going to Blackwood University together.” When he said it, a faint blush would creep up his usually cool, composed features. He always emphasized the “we together.” For those two words, I studied until my eyes burned. And we both got into Blackwood’s top-ranked Computer Science program. My parents cried with joy, declaring that Jonathan was a gift from the heavens. If it weren’t for him, they said, I would’ve gone astray and ruined my future. On the day the acceptance letters arrived, everyone was beaming. But under the blazing July sun, I felt like I was encased in ice, trembling uncontrollably. Because in the list of majors I had painstakingly submitted myself, Computer Science wasn’t even an option. And my grades were far too high to have been placed there by chance. Someone had changed my application. 4 From day one of university, I knew I hated coding. The rigid rules, the suffocating logic—it was all just… gray. I started skipping classes, secretly teaching myself to paint in the university’s art studio. I didn’t dare let Jonathan know. But you can’t hide from the truth forever. When he found out I was skipping his beloved CS lectures for art, his brow furrowed into a familiar, disapproving line. “That’s a waste of time,” he said, his tone as severe as my parents’ had been years ago. The huge fight last month, the one that led to our current cold war, was because I’d submitted an application to transfer my major to Fine Arts. Jonathan was furious. He said I was being reckless, irresponsible with my future. In that moment, a profound exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t have the energy to try and make him understand anymore. 5 I opened my chat with Jonathan. Our last messages were from a month ago. I hesitated, then typed. [Jules, guess what today is!] No reply. I sent another. [If you don’t guess right, you owe me a kiss.] An hour later. [Okay, fine, I know you’re just pretending not to know so you can get that kiss.] [It’s World Oceans Day! We should get dinner to celebrate!] [Where are you? I’ll come find you~] Frustration started to bubble up inside me. I was practically waving a white flag, and he was still ignoring me. I ate my dinner in the campus dining hall with one hand, my other thumb endlessly scrolling up our chat history, waiting for his name to pop up. The Wi-Fi here was spotty, and I was terrified I’d miss his reply. I stretched a single meal out for over an hour. Silence. 6 I finally caved and texted Jonathan’s roommate, who told me he was at the lab. When I got there, he was hunched over a keyboard, debugging code, his focus absolute. I waved, my voice overly bright. “Jules!” His head snapped up, his eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, feigning indifference. “What are you doing here?” I wrapped my arms around his, planting a quick peck on his lips. “Jules, don’t be mad anymore! I was wrong, okay?” A faint pink dusted his ears. The icy composure melted away, replaced by the soft warmth of a winter sunrise. “Hmph,” he grunted, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips. “Wrong about what?” “…Let’s go get dinner. You have dark circles under your eyes. You pulled another all-nighter coding, didn’t you? You probably forgot to eat.” I tried to change the subject. Honestly, I didn’t think I was wrong at all. His expression went blank again. “Excuse me,” a sharp voice cut in. I turned to see Millie, a girl Jonathan often teamed up with for competitions. She gave me an apologetic smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We can’t really leave for dinner just yet. We’ve got a major competition deadline coming up, and Jonathan and I need to grind this out. Sorry, but he can’t go with you.” She added, “I ordered takeout, it’ll be here soon. You want to stay and eat with us?” There was a subtle arrogance in her tone that rubbed me the wrong way, but Jonathan had told me how important this competition was. “It’s okay, I don’t want to bother you guys.” I turned back to Jonathan. “Jules, I’ll catch you when you’re not so busy, then.” He gave a noncommittal “Mm.” Millie smiled brightly. “Alright, see you around!” The last thing I saw before the lab door clicked shut was Jonathan and Millie leaning in close together, their heads nearly touching as they debated a line of code. A sour knot formed in my stomach. 7 Jonathan seemed to be in a perpetual state of “busy.” Another month passed after that day at the lab. He never messaged me. His roommate said he was practically living in the lab now. Ever since we started university, it had been like this. Always too busy to reply, and certainly too busy to reach out first. In that month, I lost myself in my painting and didn’t contact him either. The result? We hadn’t exchanged a single word. It was hard to believe we were even in the same program. It felt like we lived in different worlds. He was busy chasing GPA points, research grants, and competition trophies. I was busy skipping class to paint. He was a campus legend, drowning in awards. I was a campus ghost, drowning in failed assignments. When did we drift so far apart? 8 I finally broke the silence and called him. While the phone was ringing, a notification popped up in my dorm’s group chat. My roommate had shared a link to an article. It was about Jonathan and Millie winning first place in their competition. The photo showed the two of them on stage, accepting the award. They looked radiant, perfectly matched. My roommate tagged me: [@Ava your boyfriend is amazing!] Before I could reply, another notification appeared. A recommended article from a news app. [Power Couple of CS Department Fast-Tracked for Grad School…] I slammed the “dislike, show less of this” button, but a wave of sadness washed over me anyway. Suddenly, the call connected. Jonathan’s tired voice came through the line. “What’s up?” My mind was still stuck on that headline. A childish sense of grievance welled up. “Jules, why haven’t you talked to me? I just saw—” “Busy,” he cut me off. “…Well, do you have time to grab dinner with me?” “Where.” “Just the dining hall. It won’t take long. Five o’clock?” “Fine.” “See you there?” “Yeah.” He hung up. 9 I waited at the entrance of the dining hall for an hour and twenty-one minutes. Jonathan finally appeared, a silhouette against the deepening twilight. “Sorry,” he said. “Something came up.” I opened my mouth to ask, Couldn’t you have sent a text? But I swallowed the words. I didn’t want to ruin the first meal we’d shared in ages. I went to get my favorite spicy noodle bowl while he got his usual rice platter from the no-line counter. He always ate that because it was fast. For a prodigy like him, even eating was a waste of time. By the time I brought my steaming bowl to the table, he was already halfway done. He glanced at my food, his brow tightening for a second, but he said nothing. The broth was scalding. I meticulously picked out the cilantro and green onions. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jonathan lift his wrist and check his watch. First time, I counted silently. It was a habit of his, one he’d had since high school—timing how long a meal was taking. When he finished his plate, he checked his watch again. I pretended not to notice his growing impatience. “Jules, guess what?” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “There’s a small art exhibition on campus, and even though I’m not an art major, one of my paintings was selected! I was so—” He glanced at his watch a third time. It was like every second he spent with me was an agonizing waste of his precious, brilliant time.

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One day, a long-term client of mine hit me up. [15k to meet my online boyfriend for me? You can keep everything he buys you.] I was about to type out a polite “no thanks” when she sent the next message. It was a picture of my nemesis. My face went blank. [Are you telling me you’ve been using my photos and videos to date him?] 1 [You’ve been scammed, girl,] I typed back, trying to be gentle. [Impossible,] she shot back instantly. [He’s sent me so much money. He has to be the real Julian Henderson, the heir to the Henderson fortune.] I sighed. I dragged the photo she sent of Julian into a Google search. It was a stock image, used and abused by dozens of gossip blogs. I took a screenshot and sent it to her. She was unmoved. [We’ve worked together for ages, would I lie to you? My online boyfriend is the Julian Henderson.] I let out a slow, frustrated breath. From what I knew of the insufferable Julian Henderson, the swarm of women he dealt with in real life was more than enough to handle. The idea of him bothering with an online romance was laughable. Especially one where he had to look at my face. He wouldn’t fall in love behind a screen; he’d probably just throw up. [He saw my—well, my—photos and didn’t say anything?] I asked. [He said they were beautiful. I mean, you are,] she said, then quickly added, [I even used your voice notes! He sends me ten grand every time I use one!] Oh, dear god. If Julian actually heard my cutesy, high-pitched voice from those recordings, he’d lose his appetite for a week. That settled it. There was absolutely no way the guy she was talking to was Julian Henderson. With that comforting thought, I scrolled through the photos and videos I’d sold her. The pictures were just standard selfies, nothing too crazy. The videos, however… Me, in a series of tight mini-dresses, complete with a cutesy kitten-ear filter. Whatever. It wasn’t the real Julian. No harm done. My client’s messages turned desperate. [Please, babe, just help me out. It’s a totally safe, public meetup! I told him I’m not ready for anything physical. We’re meeting at the downtown galleria, it’s always packed.] When I didn’t reply, she sent another barrage of texts. [If you’re nervous, just stay for one minute and leave! Please? If he thinks I’m a catfish, how am I supposed to keep getting money from him?] A few seconds later, a notification popped up. A direct deposit of $50,000 had just landed in my bank account. The fingers I’d been using to type my refusal froze mid-air. Then again, what kind of person uses Julian Henderson’s photos for a dating profile and then has the guts to meet in person? Wasn’t he afraid of getting called out for false advertising? This client could hire me to be her stand-in, but nobody could order the real Julian Henderson around. You know what? I was curious. I wanted to see what kind of train wreck this guy was. I deleted my half-written rejection. [Fine.] This client was playing with serious cash. Honestly, the fake Julian sounded more generous than the real one. Fearing I’d change my mind, she immediately sent a flurry of screenshots of their chat history. It was a cringe-fest of “Hubby, kisses!” and “I only love you, hubby!” peppered with gifs of spinning cats and blushing kittens. The fake Julian’s replies were always the same. [You’re so beautiful, baby.] Transaction Notification. [You’re so cute, baby.] Transaction Notification. Transaction Notification. Transaction Notification. Holy moneybags. She quickly sent me the location. [This mall.] I glanced at the address. Well, what do you know. The Crown Prince actually did frequent this place; it was near one of his family’s villas. Maybe… I pulled up Julian’s contact and hit dial. Wouldn’t it be perfect to have the imposter see the real Julian Henderson show up right in front of him? Scare him half to death. Ah. Right. I forgot. He blocked me. I silently closed my phone. 2 After a thousand last-minute instructions from my client, I got dressed to the nines and arrived at the galleria half an hour early to scope the place out. I never expected to actually run into Julian Henderson himself. He was lounging near the central fountain, one hand casually tucked in his pocket. A girl was chattering away at his side, and while he wasn’t really listening, he wore a lazy, detached smile. The fact that he wasn’t showing any sign of annoyance was a miracle in itself. I just stood there, stunned. Then his eyes found me, and the smile vanished from his face. He muttered something under his breath. “Just my luck.” I heard him loud and clear but kept my expression neutral. The girl beside him instinctively tightened her grip on his arm, glaring at me. “And who are you?” When I didn’t answer, she turned to Julian with a wounded look. Julian sneered. “A charity case.” He wasn’t wrong. If I wasn’t broke, I wouldn’t be here to meet a fake Julian Henderson. I let out a small, dry laugh, my voice light. “To be hated by the great Julian Henderson… I must be doing something right.” His face instantly darkened. He crossed his arms, his words dripping with contempt. “Thea, what in this mall can you actually afford?” “As long as you can afford it, that’s all that matters,” I replied with a breezy smile, gesturing to a luxury boutique nearby. “Didn’t you buy me a purse from that very store once?” The girl’s eyes widened. “What’s your relationship?” What was our relationship? We were first loves. And dating this spoiled prince was the single biggest mistake of my life. Julian didn’t say anything, and I wasn’t about to embarrass myself further. I adjusted my bag and turned to leave. “Thea.” His voice was soft, but it carried the same arrogant, condescending tone it always had. “Which poor sucker did you trick into paying for your things this time?” I turned back. “Don’t worry, Julian. I haven’t managed to trick anyone more generous than you yet.” Of course, the guy my client was tricking didn’t count. Julian had been coddled his entire life; he never bothered to hide his emotions. So I knew, right then, that he was in a very bad mood. Worried he’d ruin my upcoming meetup, I decided to placate him. “You were right before,” I said softly. “Someone like me will never be happy. But as long as you’re happy, that’s what counts.” Honestly, I think the “nemesis” thing was one-sided. I never go out of my way to make enemies, especially not with a wealthy ex who used to be an open wallet. But the spoiled boy who was once so hard to please was even less receptive now. He curled his lip, his voice laced with venom. “Don’t you go anywhere. I want to see what kind of trash you’ve managed to catch this time.” I froze. I had no idea what kind of persona my client had created with this guy. What if it was some pure, innocent flower? My cover would be blown in seconds. Julian’s personality was tailor-made for exposing lies; he’d tear me apart with a few pointed questions. I swallowed my pride. “He’s not as handsome as you, and he’s not as rich. Julian, why do you have to humiliate me like this?” The girl beside him nodded. “Yeah, Julian, let’s just go.” Julian didn’t even glance at her. He pulled a black card from his pocket. She took it, her entire demeanor shifting as she turned and walked away briskly. “Okay, I’m going shopping then. Text me if you need anything, Julian!” “She’s cute,” I commented with a faint smile. Julian ignored me but made no move to leave. He just stood there, staring down at me. That was him, though. Impulsive and willful. I remembered a time he had a fever. I was frantic with worry, but he just lazily held my hand and whispered, “Want to see what 104 degrees feels like?” My eyes went wide, and my face turned beet red. Not from embarrassment, but from sheer rage. “Are you sick in the head?” He just smirked, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. In the end, we did try. And he ended up in the emergency room. Such childish memories. I lowered my gaze. Julian’s patience was wearing thin. He looked at me, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. “You didn’t just make someone up, did you?” I stayed silent. His patience finally snapped. He answered a call from a friend. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a bit.” Then he shot me one last look, his eyes swimming with mockery. “Instead of carrying that cheap canvas tote, you should’ve just swallowed your pride and kept the bags I gave you.” With that, he turned and strode away, his long legs carrying him further and further from me. I watched his tall figure recede. Even the way he walked was infuriatingly nonchalant. After Julian and I broke up, I packed up every single luxury item he’d ever given me and shipped them back to his family’s estate. His only reply was a text with four words: [I don’t want trash.] Then he blocked me. As for the gifts, a friend told me he threw them all in the dumpster outside his villa. My phone buzzed incessantly. N: [Hey, are you there yet?] [Maybe we should meet in the coffee shop? I’ll just tell him I’m waiting for him there?] [Babe, please answer me!] I took a deep breath, composing myself. [Okay, heading to the coffee shop now.] I walked in and scanned the room. I sent a text to my client: [Babe, bad news. Your Julian Henderson isn’t here. Even worse news, there’s only one handsome guy in the entire place.] [Impossible! He said he’s already there!] she replied frantically. I sighed. Just then, the one handsome guy stood up and started walking toward me. His eyes were almond-shaped, tilting up slightly at the corners, and a tiny beauty mark sat just beneath his left eye. He smiled, a gentle, warm expression that somehow radiated the charm of a cunning fox. I instinctively took a step back. He spoke, his voice a low, magnetic hum. “Thea.” My blood ran cold. I looked down at my phone and furiously typed: [Your name isn’t ‘N,’ is it? You didn’t use my real name, did you?] She replied instantly: [Uh, yeah. I was too scared to use my real name, and we were negotiating prices for the photos, so I just sent him yours. Sorry!] [Wow.] I shut off my phone, took another deep breath, and looked up at the handsome stranger. “Hi there.” Up close, he was even more striking. His features were exquisite without being feminine. A high-bridged nose, thin lips curved into a slight smile, and a single, sparkling stud in his left ear. He was far better looking than I had imagined. Stunning, even. Wait a minute. Why would this guy need to use Julian’s photos? I gave a weak smile. “You look a little different from the photos you sent me.” He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t recall ever sending you any of my photos.” My face twitched. This guy never even sent a picture, so how on earth did my client become so convinced he was Julian Henderson?! “Oh, my mistake,” I said through a clenched jaw, forcing another smile. “Would you mind if I used the restroom really quickly?” “Of course,” he said, his smile never wavering. The second I was inside the restroom, I dialed “N.” The moment the call connected, I exploded. “I TOLD YOU, YOUR ONLINE BOYFRIEND IS NOT JULIAN HENDERSON! NOT JULIAN HENDERSON! But you wouldn’t listen. I figured he was just a catfish, but it turns out HE NEVER EVEN SENT YOU A PHOTO! How in the hell did you decide he was Julian?!” There was a long silence on the other end. Finally, a stunned “Holy shit” echoed back. It was a man’s voice. I froze. “He’s not Julian Henderson? How is that possible? Then who is he?” a torrent of panicked questions came pouring out. “You’re asking me?!” I practically screamed back. “Where did you even find this guy? This is so unprofessional!” I thought I was dealing with some girl running a romance scam. Who knew it was a guy? No wonder he had to buy my voice notes. “What does he look like? Describe him, quickly!” The guy on the phone sounded even more panicked than I was. “He’s actually really handsome, so you don’t have to worry about that,” I said. Another silence. After a long pause, his voice came back, devoid of all life. “He doesn’t have a beauty mark under his eye, does he?” “He does.” “AHHHHHHHHH! I’M SO DEAD!” Right, now he’s dead. Where was this fear when he was scamming money off the guy? If he had been scamming the real Julian, he really would be dead. Julian would have had him skinned alive. A moment later, he asked mournfully, “So what do we do?” “I’m curious,” I said. “This guy seems a lot nicer than Julian. What made you think Julian was such a great catch anyway?” “No, you don’t understand. This guy—my brother—is way scarier than Julian. If Julian wanted to kill me, my grandma might step in. If my brother wants to kill me, no one will lift a finger to help!” He started sobbing. My eyes widened. “What did you just say?” He was clearly in despair. “No wonder Julian said I was an idiot. Am I really that stupid?” “So what now?” I asked. “Should I just make a run for it?” “NO!” he yelped. “If you run, he’ll investigate. He’ll one hundred percent trace it back to me!” I was speechless. “You know what? Just take over my account,” he said decisively. “Just pretend it’s been you two talking this whole time. My brother’s not bad-looking, and he’s loaded—” My jaw dropped. Before I could answer, he started muttering to himself. “I never knew he’d be so generous in a relationship. Shit, why isn’t he like this with my allowance?” “Forget it,” I said flatly. Ever since breaking up with Julian, I’d learned one thing: what doesn’t belong to you will never be yours. Especially not these wealthy young masters. Don’t waste your time fantasizing. Besides, if I actually got involved with this guy and Julian found out, who knows how he’d freak out. No, wait. He’d probably just sneer at the guy: “Your taste is terrible, getting involved with a girl like Thea.” I sighed. The guy on the phone wasn’t happy. “Hey, doesn’t your service include after-sales support?” Wow. They really were related. That twisted logic was just like Julian’s. “I’m hanging up,” I said. “Fifty grand! I’ll add another fifty!” he pleaded. “That’s all my New Year’s money! My brother can’t find out!” “One hundred.” “You’re a loan shark! You know you can get plenty from my brother, and you’re still trying to bleed me dry?” “Then forget it,” I said. “DEAL!” he cried, defeated. “What’s your brother’s name?” I asked. “Sebastian Henderson.” My head shot up. “You mean Julian’s cousin? The one who’s always been abroad?” “Yeah.” 3 I smoothed down my dress in the restroom mirror, reapplied my lipstick, and took a final, deep breath before walking back out. Sebastian was waiting for me. To be honest, Sebastian didn’t seem as prim and proper as his name suggested. He had an air of effortless confidence, like someone who existed outside the rules. That constant, gentle smile made him look like a fox. Why would someone with his kind of money and power bother with online dating? I took the initiative and linked my arm through his. He stiffened for a fraction of a second, then his smile widened. “Anything you want to buy? Or should we eat first?” he asked. “Either is fine,” I said. He then led me from one boutique to another. Unlike Julian, he would patiently comment on how each bag or dress looked on me before buying everything. Julian would just find a chair, play on his phone, and pay when I was done. It was strange. It felt like a perfect boyfriend had just fallen from the sky. But I knew Sebastian wasn’t as easygoing as he appeared. The more perfect they seem, the more dangerous they are. For now, though… He even had two bodyguards following us, their arms laden with shopping bags. “Thea, I made a reservation at that restaurant you said you wanted to try,” Sebastian said, his lips curling into a soft smile. “Let’s go!” I agreed cheerfully. “Do you remember which one it was?” he asked, his gaze dropping to me, deceptively casual. He looked like a cat watching a mouse in its paws. Which one. I had no idea. And I couldn’t exactly pull out my phone and ask my male-client-who-is-now-my-fake-boyfriend’s-brother. The silence stretched. My heart hammered against my ribs. I bit my lip, a sudden chill creeping over my skin. I finally understood what the kid meant when he said Sebastian was scarier than Julian. Julian wore all his emotions on his sleeve. If you pissed him off, you knew it immediately. But Sebastian… I couldn’t read him at all. I had no idea what he meant by asking that question. I opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, he chuckled, his voice a warm, deep timber. “It’s okay. You’re busy, it’s normal to be forgetful. You’ll know it when we get there.” I nodded frantically. Sebastian was actually a nice guy! If Julian had known I’d forgotten something about him, he would have spent the next five hours delivering a non-stop monologue of creative insults. 4 When we arrived at the restaurant, the maître d’ bowed respectfully. “Mr. Henderson.” He led us to a private room in the back, an elegant space complete with its own koi pond. I sat across from Sebastian. He had the cuffs of his shirt loosely rolled up, revealing well-defined wrists. The pale skin made the blue veins stand out even more. “You can order,” I said, not even looking at the menu. “I’m not a picky eater.” Sebastian smiled. “Alright.” I took the opportunity to text the kid, Noah. [You told Sebastian you wanted to eat at a French place? I almost got caught. Are there any other details I need to know? Tell me now.] Suddenly, the door to our room was pushed open. A familiar voice rang out. “Sebastian? You’re back in the country?” I froze. Julian clicked his tongue, his voice bored. “I thought this room was empty, so I didn’t bother making a reservation. The others are full. Mind if we share?” I ducked my head, trying to shrink into nothing. But I forgot what Julian once told me: he could recognize me even if I was reduced to ashes, just so he could scatter me to the wind himself. “Thea?” The lazy drawl in his voice instantly turned to ice. I didn’t dare look up. Worse, my phone lit up with a reply. [Huh? No way. I never told my brother where I wanted to eat. I hate French food. I like rotisserie chicken.] My eyes widened in horror. “Look at me, Thea,” Julian growled, his voice a low threat. Sebastian’s fingers tapped lightly on the table. “Is that any way to speak to your sister-in-law?” “My what?” Julian’s voice shot up an octave. Only then did I slowly raise my head, offering a weak smile. “What a coincidence.” Then, taking Sebastian’s cue, I added, “Little brother.” “Who the hell is your little brother?!” Julian exploded. He pointed a shaking finger at me, then turned to Sebastian. “You don’t know she dated me?” Sebastian sipped his coffee, completely unbothered. “I didn’t. Are you two still together?” “No, no! We broke up a long time ago,” I interjected quickly. “Shut up,” Julian snapped, his voice tight with suppressed rage. Each word was ground out from between his teeth. His hands were clenched into fists, his knuckles white. “Sebastian, didn’t you run a background check on me when I was dating her? Don’t you dare lie to my face and say you don’t know who she is.” Sebastian crossed his legs, his posture relaxed. In the suffocating tension, he actually managed a lazy smile. “I did. So what?” Julian’s eyes were red with fury. I sighed and decided to intervene. “Don’t be mad. Maybe we just weren’t meant to be. Why don’t you have some water and calm down?” I started to get up to pour him a glass. “Thea.” Sebastian’s voice was light, but his gaze was sharp. My heart seized. I immediately sat back down, perfectly still. Julian looked at me in disbelief. “You argue with me about everything, but you listen to him like that? Did he put a spell on you?” I didn’t answer. To be honest, Sebastian was just more intimidating. A long silence passed. Finally, Julian’s voice was hoarse. “When did you two get together?” I couldn’t answer that. Sebastian answered for me, his tone even. “End of last year.” “When, exactly?” Julian pressed, relentless. “The day after Christmas.” My smile froze on my face. A cold, mocking sneer spread across Julian’s lips. “Wow, Thea. You really are something else.” Julian and I had broken up on Christmas Day. But I wasn’t the one who started talking to Sebastian on the 26th! I kept my mouth shut, swallowing the bitter truth, and let him think I was the kind of girl who moved on in a day. Seeing my silence, Julian slammed the door on his way out.

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1 For three years, I was the gilded canary in President of Blackwood Holdings, Finn Keery’s cage. We were inseparable, our passion a scorching, all-consuming fire. He never used protection, always holding me close afterward, whispering, “If it happens, we’ll have it. I’ll marry you, Thea.” So when I actually got pregnant, I threw myself off his yacht right in front of him. I left him with a bloated, decaying corpse to remember me by. Months later, in a city far from his empire, he was hunting for another runaway heiress. Instead, he found me, a baby in my arms, chatting with his target. “Running away with the baby is the right move,” I told her, an expert giving advice. “Don’t listen to all the promises he makes. You go home with him? You’ll regret it.” “A man’s words are just pretty lies. They’re fun to play with for a while, but you can’t ever really trust them.” … “As soon as you’re pregnant, I’ll marry you.” Finn’s hot breath tickled my ear as he spoke, his voice a low, husky promise. “Once you’re part of the Keery family, you’ll never have to worry about your parents or that fake sister of yours again.” I forced a smile, my body going rigid. Pregnancy. My biased parents. The impostor sister. Did he really have to bring all that up right now? The mood was instantly shattered. “Pregnancy is impossible,” I said, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. “It hasn’t happened in three years. I’m probably infertile.” He could never know the truth. That I’d been secretly taking birth control this whole time. “You’re young and healthy. It just means I haven’t been trying hard enough.” He flipped me onto my back, his touch reigniting the fire in my veins. I had to admit, Finn was an artist in the bedroom. Our three years together had been a whirlwind of pleasure, a testament to his skill. He was the undisputed king of our city’s elite, powerful and obscenely generous. He took care of me, lavishing me with attention and gifts. Besides his obsession with getting me pregnant, he was flawless. “I can’t be pregnant!” I glared at the old herbalist. “I’ve been taking the contraceptive tea you prescribed every single day.” Ever since that night with Finn, I’d been feeling nauseous, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. I’d snuck out to this small, discreet clinic, only to be told: Congratulations, you’re having a baby. Congratulations? What was there to celebrate? I could barely take care of myself. A baby was not part of the plan. Three years ago, on the eve of my college entrance exams, I was plucked from a hyper-competitive, high-pressure province and dropped into the lap of luxury in the capital. I went from being a penniless orphan from a remote village to the long-lost daughter of a wealthy family. Everyone said I’d hit the jackpot, a Cinderella story come to life. But only I knew the truth. It was a nightmare. My biological parents already had a daughter, one they had raised and adored. I was an intruder, an unwelcome disruption. To avoid upsetting their precious ‘sister,’ they didn’t even bother giving me a new name, just tacked their surname onto my old one. I went from Thea to Thea Tang. When the exam results came out, I scored three hundred points higher than her. But instead of congratulations, I was met with a storm of accusations. “You know your sister struggles with her studies! Did you score that high just to push her over the edge? Do you want her to kill herself?” My mother slapped me across the face. My father, in a fit of rage, cut off all my financial support. To appease their other daughter, they forbade me from attending university. I tried to work and save for tuition myself, but they sabotaged every job I found. Just when I’d hit rock bottom, I met Finn Keery. I became his canary; he paid for my education and my life. The plan was to save up enough money and disappear. But now, there was a baby. What could I give a child? An illegitimate status, a mother who was a kept woman, a toxic and suffocating family? A chill ran down my spine. “No,” I shook my head, “I can’t.” “Your constitution is unique,” the old herbalist said, her gaze sharp. “If you get rid of this one, you may never be able to have another.” “Don’t do something you’ll regret.” My mind was a chaotic mess all the way back to the penthouse. I tried to prepare myself to talk to Finn. He was the father, after all. He deserved to know. But as I approached his study, I heard voices. “Vivian Song from the Song Corporation seems like a good match.” Someone agreed. “Miss Song is from a good family, she’s educated, beautiful. A perfect match.” Finn chuckled, his voice lazy and detached. “A wife for a strategic alliance needs to be sensible, obedient, and presentable. She needs to be able to tolerate… outside arrangements.” My body went rigid. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You’re right, Finn. A woman like that won’t cause any embarrassing scenes later.” My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. For three years, he’d told me, again and again: “If you get pregnant, we’ll have it. I’ll marry you.” It was all a lie. A suitable family, a strategic marriage—that had been his goal all along. A bitter taste filled my mouth. Why was I so upset? I’d known from the day I agreed to this arrangement that it wouldn’t last forever. Marriages in his world were business transactions. I was never going to be his wife. But maybe, after three years, I had actually fallen for him. I stumbled back to our bedroom, the traces of our life together suffocating me. “Thea, why do you look so pale?” Finn walked in, his face etched with concern. He reached out to touch my cheek. “Are you not feeling well?” I looked up, seeing the genuine affection in his eyes, and a wave of nausea washed over me. “I’m fine. Just ate something that disagreed with me.” I subtly pulled away from his touch, stepping out of his embrace. The baby. He could never know about the baby. I had to leave. The next day, I started taking inventory. Jewelry and bags to be sold for cash. Gold bars packed separately. Finn had been a generous keeper. He’d drape me in extravagant jewels as if they were trinkets, his eyes full of adoration. Now, looking at these cold, inanimate objects, all I felt was a crushing disappointment. Had he changed, or was it all just an act from the beginning? Finn saw the piles of luxury goods on the floor and smiled. “Can’t find anything you like?” he teased, stroking my hair. “I’ll take you shopping for the new collections.” I kept my eyes down. “I was just admiring them. They’re proof that you love me, after all…” A knock on the door interrupted me. “Mr. Song is here.” Finn gave me a quick, soft kiss. “Thea, I have something important to take care of. Go out, do some shopping. Use my card.” I watched him hurry away, a bitter feeling churning in my stomach. He was playing both sides, wasn’t he? Carefully negotiating his marriage with his future in-laws while placating me with money. Just as I was about to leave, I changed my mind. I tiptoed to the study door. “A high-society marriage is about mutual benefit and maintaining a respectable image. We can’t let trivial matters like personal feelings create an ugly situation,” Finn’s voice was firm and steady. “I’m not sure about the one on the outside… is she sensible?” Mr. Song sounded hesitant. “What if there’s a child…?” “There won’t be a child,” Finn said without a moment’s hesitation. “And if there were, I wouldn’t acknowledge it. The Keery name is respected. We only have legitimate heirs. We can’t afford a scandal.” He paused, then added, “No matter how much I spoil her, she’s just a plaything. The stability of the alliance is what matters.” I wouldn’t acknowledge it. A plaything. The words were like shards of glass in my gut, tearing me apart. A shiver wracked my body. I had become his canary to escape my parents and get an education, to give myself a chance at a future. I knew it wasn’t a respectable path. But I had always told myself: he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and I don’t have a boyfriend. We were just dating, like any other couple. But to him, I was just a toy. And our child… he wouldn’t even acknowledge our child. I went back to the bedroom, replaying his words in my head like a form of self-torture. Each time, the pain and humiliation grew, and the lingering affection I had for him withered away. The agony was so intense, my body started to shake. “Thea, why are you crying?” Finn rushed in, his face a mask of concern as he wiped away my tears. “What’s wrong?” I dug my nails into my palms until they drew blood, forcing myself to calm down. “It’s nothing,” I said, forcing a smile. “I just feel guilty. You’re so good to me, and the one thing you want is a child, and I can’t even give you that.” My voice was thick with fake emotion. “Will you be disappointed in me? Will you stop loving me?” His mood instantly brightened. He pinched my nose playfully. “So afraid I’ll leave you? Then you’ll just have to work harder to please me, so I can’t bear to let you go.” Please him. He had no respect for me at all. I really was just a toy. “What if I stop loving you first?” I asked. “What if I want to leave?” He laughed, a low, dismissive sound. “Leave? Where would you go? You have no money of your own, and your identity is linked to my systems. You think you can escape me?” He was right. He was all-powerful. I couldn’t even buy birth control from a pharmacy; I had to sneak to a back-alley herbalist just to avoid his network of spies. He leaned down, his eyes darkening. “Why are you asking these questions all of a sudden?” “I was just joking,” I cooed, snuggling into his chest. “I’ve been reading too many novels. I was just curious. I didn’t think you’d get so angry.” I looked up at him, my eyes wide and innocent. “If I actually got pregnant and ran away with your child, you’d probably go insane, wouldn’t you?” The arm around my waist tightened like a vise. His face was a thundercloud. “Some things are better left to the imagination.” His voice was dangerously low. “Thea, you can’t handle the consequences of my anger.” I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs, and forced a bright smile. It was clear. A simple escape was impossible. I had to find a way to die. My plan to run away was ruined. I looked at the piles of designer jewelry and bags, a wave of sadness washing over me. Three years of hard work, my entire canary empire… I couldn’t take any of it with me. I was an orphan, rejected by my own parents, forced to sell my body to survive, and the man I’d loved for three years was a monster. Now, my only way out was to fake my own death. And the worst part? I’d have to leave all my treasure behind. The thought filled me with a bitter, helpless despair. Just then, a light laugh echoed from the doorway. “She really is beautiful.” A woman stood there, looking me up and down. Her eyes lingered on the love bites on my neck. “No wonder he can’t let you go. You must be very good at what you do.” It only took me a second to realize who she was. Finn’s fiancée, Vivian Song. She and her friend sneered, their eyes raking over me like I was something dirty. In that moment, I felt a shame so profound I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I finally understood: no matter how I tried to frame it, in their world, I was nothing more than a cheap whore being put in her place by the wife. “Don’t be scared,” Vivian said, her smile condescending. “I’m not here to break you up. As long as you’re obedient and don’t cause any trouble, you two can continue for as long as you like.” She stood there, waiting for my grateful thanks. A wave of humiliation rose in my throat, choking me. “I…” Seeing my defiant silence, her friend exploded. “Vivian is being generous, you ungrateful bitch! Who do you think you are? You’re just a slut who sells her body! You need to be taught a lesson!” “Nana!” Vivian pretended to scold her. “Nana has a temper,” she said, turning back to me, “but she’s right. A girl in your position can’t afford to have pride. If you’re going to be a mistress, you can’t think too highly of yourself.” She went on, lecturing me on the rules of being a kept woman. The more she spoke, the sicker I felt. I doubled over, dry-heaving. Long after they left, I was still shaking. If I didn’t leave Finn, this was just the beginning. If he found out I was pregnant, he would either force me to have an abortion or lock me away, forcing me to live under Vivian’s thumb, enduring her taunts while our child grew up in shame. Despair washed over me, a suffocating tide. The door opened, and Finn stumbled in, reeking of alcohol. “Miss me?” he slurred, wrapping his arms around me from behind. The smell of liquor made my stomach turn. I shoved him away. “Ugh!” He stared at me, then knelt, his hand gripping my chin. “Something’s been off with you lately. You’re always sick, moody, and now you’re throwing up.” He leaned closer, his boozy breath hot on my face. A wicked grin spread across his lips. “Thea, you’re not pregnant, are you?” My heart stopped. “Of course not,” I said, forcing a calm I didn’t feel. “If something that wonderful happened, you’d be the first to know. I just have an upset stomach.” He studied me for a long time, his eyes dark and unreadable. I finally broke the tension by snuggling into his arms. He laughed. “Why so clingy tonight?” “It would be nice if you were always this obedient,” he murmured, a strange note in his voice. “Be a good girl, and I’ll take you on a trip soon. My private island in France, skiing in Switzerland, the Northern Lights…” He fastened a glittering necklace around my neck. “There’s a jewelry auction in Italy. I’ll buy you a few more pieces. How does that sound?” I was wrapped in his warmth, but my heart was encased in ice. “That sounds wonderful,” I said, tilting my head up to kiss him. Wonderful, my ass. “I love jewelry. I want so much I can’t even wear it all.” But what was the point of having treasures you could never show off, that came at the cost of your dignity? I loved money, but only if I could spend it freely, with my head held high. A man’s words were just lies. He promised me the world, but once his wife moved in, I’d be hidden away, a dirty secret. I pushed the thoughts down and showered him with kisses. “I heard they have a new cruise on the river. I want to go.” Pleased with my sudden affection, he agreed instantly. “I’ll charter the whole yacht. We’ll spend a few days on the water.” This was it. My plan. If I was going to fake my death, it had to be convincing. Without a body, Finn would never stop looking. But if I left a body… where was I supposed to find a corpse? The river was perfect. The currents were strong. A body could easily be lost, torn apart. I knew how to survive in the water; I’d grown up by a river. My only worry was the baby. “But my child,” I whispered to my belly, “I have to save myself before I can be a mother to you. Please don’t blame me.” The day of the cruise, the weather was perfect. “A few friends are coming,” Finn said. “Vivian Song will be here. You should spend some time with her.” “Why should I?” I retorted. She was his fiancée, but I was still a person, not her entertainment. “I just thought, since you two will be seeing a lot of each other in the future, you should get to know each other…” I laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “I’m not worthy of her acquaintance.” This was his way of telling me to get used to my place. I saw Vivian approaching. They stood together, a picture-perfect couple. “She’s going to be a proper wife. What am I? Find someone else to entertain her.” I turned to walk away, but Finn grabbed my wrist. “What’s gotten into you? What are you talking about?” A wave of disgust washed over me. I ripped my arm away. “Leave me alone!” Finn’s face darkened. “Thea, it seems I’ve spoiled you too much. You’ve become ill-mannered and unpresentable.” The last bit of affection I had for him vanished. He saw my defiant silence and his words grew sharper. “Don’t forget your place! Don’t forget who’s keeping you alive!” My world tilted. My pride shattered. He was right. I was nothing. A charity case, a whore. I deserved their contempt. He thought I was unpresentable? Fine. I was about to die anyway. I took a deep breath. “I’ve always been ill-mannered. I’m not fit to be in Miss Song’s company.” Tears streamed down my face. He froze. It was the first time in three years I had cried in front of him. I walked to the edge of the deck. He didn’t follow. He was probably inside with Vivian. I climbed over the railing. The water churned below. “Thea!” Finn’s voice, raw with panic. “Don’t move! Just wait for me!” I turned and gave him one last, liberating smile. His expression shifted from anger to pure terror. “NO!” He sprinted toward me as I let go, falling into the dark water below. Splash!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386958”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’ve walked this earth for three hundred years, a monster hiding in plain sight. I feast on the wicked to preserve my timeless youth, but I have a code: I only consume the truly evil. My world tilted the day he moved in. A detective. He knocked on my door, holding a list of missing persons, and pointed to a face. “Ever seen this man?” I smiled. “Never.” He had no idea that every single person on that list was already inside me. 1. The Hound at the Door I was in the middle of processing the day’s… material… when the doorbell rang. The man had been a domestic abuser. A polished executive by day, a savage beast to his wife by night. She had cried out for help—to community centers, to friends—only to be met with the same cold refrains: “Don’t air your dirty laundry in public,” and “He’s just under a lot of stress.” No one would help her. So I did. I was meticulous, just as I’d been with the hundreds before him. His bones would join the others beneath the ginkgo tree in my backyard, becoming the finest of fertilizers. The doorbell chimed again, insistent, pulling me from my work. I wiped my hands clean, slipped off the blood-flecked apron, and changed into a simple, elegant dress. Only then did I glide to the door and open it. A tall man stood on my doorstep. His features were sharp, with deep-set eyes and a strong nose that gave him an aquiline intensity. A tailored black trench coat accentuated his broad shoulders and long legs. He looked at me with the piercing gaze of a hawk. “Hi, I’m Lucian. I just moved in across the hall.” His voice was a low baritone, laced with an undeniable authority. I offered a perfectly measured smile. “Hello. I’m Selene. Can I help you with something?” Instead of answering, Lucian held out a sheet of A4 paper. It was a printout of missing persons, a dozen black-and-white photos of varying quality, each with a name, age, and date of disappearance. My eyes swept over the familiar faces, my heart a placid lake. “I’m a detective with the city precinct,” he introduced himself, his gaze locked on me, searching for a flicker of reaction. “There’s been a spike in disappearances in this area. We’re canvassing the neighborhood. Do you recognize any of these people?” Maintaining my smile, I took the paper and made a show of examining it. Arthur Wells, 42, suspected of financial fraud, missing for three months. Ah, yes. He’d swindled several elderly people out of their life savings, causing one to die from a heart attack. He tasted of avarice and stale grease. Lila Reed, 35, a notorious bully, missing for two months. She had driven a young girl to leap from a school building. When I found her, she was in a bar, bragging about her “glory days.” Her soul had the sickly-sweet stench of decay. … My fingertips traced over the faces, a chef reviewing her menu. Lucian’s gaze sharpened. He raised his hand and pointed to the last man on the list. “This one is our priority. Kyle Miller. Have you seen him?” The man in the photo was the very same one I had just… processed. I lifted my eyes to meet Lucian’s probing stare, my smile deepening. “No, I don’t know him.” He studied me in silence, trying to peel back my composure to find the lie beneath. After a long moment, he took back the list. “He was last seen near this building. If you remember anything, call me.” He handed me a business card before turning to leave. I closed the door and tossed the card into the trash without a second glance. Back in the kitchen, I looked at my half-finished work on the countertop and found my appetite had vanished. This detective, Lucian, was like a bloodhound with a keen nose. For the first time in three hundred years, I felt a prickle of annoyance. The next morning, as I went to take out the trash, I ran into him again. He was out for a morning run, dressed in athletic gear, a light sheen of sweat on his brow. He stopped when he saw me. “Morning, Selene.” “Morning,” I nodded, ready to move on. “Your trash bag…” he said suddenly, his eyes fixed on the black sack in my hand. “I think it’s leaking.” I looked down. A single drop of dark crimson was seeping from the bottom of the bag, staining the clean pavement. Kyle’s blood. I’d been too hasty, and a shard of bone must have torn the plastic. My heartbeat didn’t falter. I calmly met Lucian’s gaze. “Oh, it must be the leftover beef stew from last night. I was in a hurry when I threw it out.” His eyes traveled from the drop of blood on the ground, slowly, deliberately, up to my face. His stare felt like a scalpel, ready to slice me open. “Is that right?” he asked, his tone unreadable. “Funny. It doesn’t smell like beef stew to me.” 2. Trouble in the Garden “Perhaps my sense of smell is off, then,” I replied, my expression unchanged, before tossing the bag into a nearby dumpster. “If there’s nothing else, Detective, I should be getting back.” I turned and walked away without giving him another look. Back in my apartment, I stood by the window and watched his figure disappear into the morning light. This man was even sharper than I’d anticipated. Over the next few days, I kept “bumping into” Lucian. In the community garden, at the local supermarket, even at my favorite bookstore. He never initiated conversation, but he was always there, just within my line of sight, his hawk-like eyes a constant, silent presence. I knew what he was doing. He was watching me. One afternoon, I was in the backyard watering my ginkgo tree when someone knocked on the gate. When I opened it, Lucian was standing there, but he wasn’t alone. A plump woman I didn’t recognize was with him. The moment she saw me, her voice shot up. “That’s her, Officer! That’s the woman! The night Kyle went missing, I saw her creeping back home!” I vaguely recognized her now. Mrs. Gable from the next building, the neighborhood’s most notorious gossip. Lucian gave Mrs. Gable a brief glance before turning his professional gaze on me. “Selene, you are a person of interest in the disappearance of Kyle Miller. We need you to cooperate with our investigation.” “Me?” I feigned a laugh, as if it were the most absurd thing I’d ever heard. “On what grounds?” Mrs. Gable jumped in immediately. “On the grounds that I saw you! It was almost midnight, and I got up to use the bathroom. I saw her dragging a huge suitcase back home! It looked heavy, really heavy! Kyle was a big guy, over six feet tall. I bet he was in that suitcase!” My gaze turned cold as I fixed it on her. “Mrs. Gable, you can choke on your food, but you shouldn’t choke on your words. Which one of your eyes saw Kyle Miller inside my suitcase?” My stare made her flinch, but with a cop by her side, her courage returned. “Well… I guessed! What’s a single woman like you doing dragging a giant suitcase around in the middle of the night? What else could it be but a body?” What a foolish, venomous assumption. I was done wasting my breath on her. I looked directly at Lucian. “Detective, are you really going to investigate me based on this kind of baseless gossip?” Lucian ignored her chatter. His gaze drifted past me, settling on the flourishing ginkgo tree in my yard. “We’re just asking some routine questions, Selene,” he said, then his tone shifted. “That’s a fine ginkgo tree you have. Must be well-fed, huh?” I felt an invisible hand clench around my heart, but my face remained a placid mask. “It does alright. I use kitchen scraps for fertilizer from time to time.” “Kitchen scraps?” A cryptic smile touched Lucian’s lips. “Something like… bone meal?” The air crackled, thick with unspoken meaning. Mrs. Gable, oblivious to the undercurrent, kept flapping her gums. “Officer, you have to search her place! I’m sure you’ll find evidence! A woman like her, with no history… she’s up to no good, I tell you!” My patience snapped. I’ve lived for three centuries. I’ve met more people than Mrs. Gable has eaten hot dinners. Women like her—leeches who live vicariously through others, their only joy found in gossip and slander—were the one type of creature I truly despised. “Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “You, of all people, should know what kind of man Kyle Miller was. His drunken rages were loud enough for the whole complex to hear. A man like that goes missing, shouldn’t you be setting off fireworks? Why are you so eager to find his supposed killer?” Her face turned the color of raw liver. “What are you talking about! That’s just how some married couples are! What would a single woman like you know about passion?” “Passion?” I scoffed. “The kind of passion that lands someone in the emergency room?” “You… you…” She sputtered, trembling with rage, pointing a finger at me. Lucian cut in smoothly. “Selene, please answer my question.” His eyes were like nails, pinning me in place. “What, exactly, is in your kitchen scraps?” I met his gaze head-on. “If you’re so curious,” I said, my voice a low challenge, “why don’t you grab a shovel and find out for yourself?” I expected him to back down, or at least to go get a warrant. But he just gave me a long, searching look, then turned to Mrs. Gable. “Ma’am, we have your statement. You can go home now.” She left, grumbling under her breath. Now it was just Lucian and me at the gate. “Selene,” he began, his tone softening slightly. “I’m not targeting you. But Kyle’s wife… she’s not doing well. She’s pregnant, and her husband is gone.” I laughed silently. Not doing well? She was probably ecstatic. “That’s her business. It has nothing to do with me.” “You’re sure you don’t remember anything at all?” Lucian pressed. “Nothing.” He stood there for a moment longer, then turned to leave. Watching his retreating back, I didn’t feel relief. I felt a heightened sense of alarm. The hound was closing his net. 3. The Trap is Sprung As expected, trouble arrived on my doorstep. The next day, the property manager, a paunchy middle-aged man named Mr. Henderson, knocked on my door with two workmen in tow. “Ms. Selene,” he said, his face stretched into a sycophantic grin. “So sorry to bother you. We’ve received a complaint from another resident. They’re concerned the roots of your ginkgo tree might be compromising the building’s foundation. We need to have our guys take a look. We might… have to move the tree.” Compromising the foundation? The excuse was so flimsy it was insulting. This building was fifty years old; my tree had been here for less than thirty. I didn’t need to guess who was behind this. “Mr. Henderson, don’t you think that’s a bit of a stretch?” I said, blocking the doorway. His smile faltered. “Well, Ms. Selene, it’s a safety issue. And the complaint came from Mrs. Gable. You know how she is. Our hands are tied.” He shrugged, absolving himself of all responsibility. “And if I refuse?” His expression hardened. “This is a community matter, not a personal one. If you obstruct our work and something happens, will you take full responsibility?” The two workmen behind him clutched their shovels and pickaxes, looking ready to force their way in. I knew then they were digging up that tree today, one way or another. What lay buried beneath it could never see the light of day. I took a deep breath, preparing to use… unconventional means… to persuade them to leave, when a voice cut through the tension. “What’s going on here?” It was Lucian. He was standing off to the side, his face a cold mask as he observed the scene. The moment Mr. Henderson saw him, his demeanor changed instantly. “Oh, Detective! You live here too? We just received a complaint and came to deal with this tree.” Lucian’s gaze swept over the tools in the workmen’s hands, then settled on me. I said nothing, simply meeting his stare, waiting to see his next move. “Dealing with a tree requires this kind of equipment?” Lucian gestured to the shovels. “Are you here to transplant it or to excavate?” Mr. Henderson stammered, “Well, you know… just in case.” “According to city ordinance 34B, trees on community property belong to all residents. Unilateral removal or transplantation is illegal,” Lucian stated, his voice calm but imbued with a chilling authority. “Do you have a resolution from the homeowners’ association? Have you filed the proper paperwork with the Parks Department?” The string of technical questions left the manager completely flustered. “We… uh…” “If not, please leave,” Lucian ordered. “If this happens again, I’ll report it myself.” Mr. Henderson’s face cycled through shades of red and white. He hadn’t expected the new tenant to be so well-versed in the law. He shot me a venomous glare that screamed This isn’t over, then scurried away with his workmen. Just like that, Lucian had diffused the crisis. I looked at him, feeling not a shred of gratitude, only a deepening suspicion. Why had he helped me? “Thanks, Detective,” I said flatly. “Don’t thank me,” he replied, his expression complex. “I just don’t believe in using illegal methods to conduct an investigation.” He paused, his eyes locking with mine. “Of course, when I conduct my own investigation, I’ll be sure to use legal ones.” The threat was unmistakable. “Like a search warrant?” I raised an eyebrow. He didn’t answer, which was an answer in itself. “I’ll be waiting,” I said, before closing the gate. Leaning against the cool wood, I listened to his footsteps fade away. That familiar frustration churned inside me again. He was a stone tossed into the placid lake of my three-hundred-year existence, sending out ripples I couldn’t control. Worse, I was beginning to realize I couldn’t see through him. He suspected me, yet he stopped others from digging up my yard. What was his endgame? That night, I made a decision. I wouldn’t wait passively for him to corner me. It was time to go on the offensive, to create a diversion that would draw his attention elsewhere. I needed new prey. It didn’t take long to find the perfect target: a loan shark named Leo. He had ruined several families, and was currently in hiding after a deal went bad. Conveniently, his last known location was near a different precinct, far from Lucian’s direct jurisdiction. I dressed in black and melted into the night. Finding Leo was easy. He was holed up in an abandoned warehouse with a pair of goons. They were no match for me. Leo dissolved into a blubbering mess, falling to his knees and begging for his life. “Don’t kill me! Please! You want money? Take it all!” I looked down at him, my expression as cold as a butcher’s slab. “I don’t want your money,” I said. “I’m just here to deliver a message. Some people are not to be trifled with.” Then, I snapped his neck. Before I left, I carefully arranged the scene, leaving behind a few calculated clues—enough to link this case to other unsolved ones, creating the profile of a phantom killer, but nothing that could ever trace back to me. By the time I was finished, the sky was beginning to pale. I returned home, took a long shower, and believed I had finally bought myself some peace. But the next afternoon, my doorbell rang again. I opened it to find Lucian on my doorstep, his face as dark as a thundercloud. Behind him stood two uniformed police officers. “Selene,” he said, his voice hard as steel as he looked me in the eye. “You are under arrest for suspicion of involvement in multiple homicides.” He produced a pair of gleaming steel handcuffs.

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1 In my past life, my family was cursed with a secret I couldn’t share: they could all hear the thoughts of the girl who had stolen my place. Only I was deaf to her voice. Returning to the Powell mansion, I stood before them in faded, threadbare clothes. Her sweet, venomous thoughts filled the air: [Her foster parents aren’t poor. She’s dressing like this to win sympathy.] My parents’ warmth turned to ice. Years of hardship had given me stomach cancer; every dollar went to painkillers. But Jane spun lies in her mind: [She’s not sick—she’s a gambling addict. Those are drugs.] Their flicker of concern became disgust. They dragged me to rehab. When I vomited from pain, she accused me of being pregnant. I begged and pleaded, but the Powells wouldn’t listen. They locked me away, and the staff tortured me until I died. When I opened my eyes, I was back at the beginning. But this time, I could hear her too. I looked straight at Jane and said, “I can hear you.” … The moment the Powells found me, I was digging through a dumpster for something to eat, my hands trembling from hunger. Jane stared at my patched-up jeans, and her silent voice slithered into my mind. [Her foster parents aren’t even poor. She must be dressing like this on purpose, scavenging for scraps just to win Mom and Dad’s sympathy. Should I say something?] Instantly, the pity on my birth parents’ faces curdled into revulsion. Just like before. In my past life, I couldn’t hear her thoughts, couldn’t understand why their expressions changed so abruptly. I just assumed they were disgusted by how dirty I was. But this time was different. I looked directly at Jane. “I can hear you,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “And I’m not wearing these clothes for sympathy. They’re the only ones I own. I’m digging through the trash because my foster parents don’t feed me. If I don’t, I starve.” Jane’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected me to be so direct, to voice her inner thoughts out loud. She bit her lip, her mind racing. [Can she really hear me? How can she lie without even blushing? I looked into it. Her foster parents treated her like a princess…] As my parents’ gazes filled with suspicion, I shoved up the sleeve of my tattered shirt, revealing a roadmap of old scars and fresh bruises. “Did you really look into it?” I challenged Jane. “Because all they ever did was beat me. I can’t remember a day in my life when I wasn’t covered in wounds. If you don’t believe me, take me to a hospital for an examination. But stop slandering me in your head.” Jane’s face went pale. She shrank behind Mrs. Powell, her thoughts turning pitiful. [She’s terrifying. She’s hurting herself just to get Mom and Dad’s attention.] [She doesn’t even need to do all this. She’s their real daughter. They’d love her anyway.] I turned to the Powells. “Take me to a hospital.” Seeing the marks covering my body, their eyes reddened with a fresh wave of pity, their faces a canvas of confusion. Who was telling the truth? Mr. Powell stepped forward, trying to smooth things over. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said to me. “Your sister… we’ve spoiled her. Don’t take what she thinks to heart. She’s just scared we’re going to cast her out.” I knew Jane’s place in their hearts was secure. She was the one who had been by their side all these years. I agreed to come back, but not for their affection. Last time, their blindness to Jane’s manipulations cost me my chance at treatment. This time, I wouldn’t let her silent lies destroy me. They ushered me into their car, ready to take me to my new home. But a sharp, agonizing pain seized my stomach. My face went white, my body started to tremble uncontrollably, and I fumbled in my pocket for my pills. I had just gotten the bottle open when Jane’s voice echoed in my head again. [Oh my god, she’s an addict. That’s not a painkiller bottle, it’s full of drugs. This is so bad…] The concern on my parents’ faces vanished, replaced by that familiar look of revulsion. Mr. Powell stopped the car, reaching over to snatch the bottle from my hands. But I was faster. I swallowed two pills and, in one swift motion, shoved a few more into his open mouth. I clamped my hand over his lips, tilting his head back like you would a stray cat you’re trying to deworm, and held it there until he swallowed. 2. Only then did I let go. “Elara!” my mother shrieked. “What are you doing?” The medicine was already working, dulling the fire in my stomach. I shrugged. “We should probably head to the hospital. If you start having withdrawals, you’ll have to check into rehab with me.” Jane’s face was ashen, her mind scrambling to regain control. [She’s terrifying. The drugs must be making her act like this. We have to get her to a facility, quickly—] Before she could finish the thought, my hand shot out and I slapped her across the face. Then I gave her the same treatment, forcing a few pills down her throat. As she choked them down, I looked at her with a cold smile. “You know damn well what they are.” Jane fell silent. My father’s face was a thunderous mask, but he had no time to rage at me. He slammed his foot on the accelerator and sped toward the nearest hospital. They ran every test imaginable: blood draws, an endoscopy, even a full toxicology screen. There was no sign of drug addiction. Still, my father wasn’t convinced. He insisted I was just a casual user and forced me through another battery of tests. That’s when they found it. The cancer. And the pills, they confirmed, were nothing more than high-strength painkillers. My parents couldn’t meet my eyes, their faces etched with shame. I looked at them. “So, are we still going to rehab?” My mother forced a laugh and reached for my hand. “Elara, honey, what have you been through? How could you have gotten cancer?” My voice was flat. “By living a life where I never knew where my next meal was coming from.” “The people who raised me swapped me with their daughter, Jane. They wanted me dead. A census worker showed up at their door, so they were forced to register me. They saw me as a waste of food, starving me for days on end before tossing me scraps like a dog.” “As I got older, I started scavenging from dumpsters just to survive. The constant hunger turned into a chronic illness, but there was no money for a doctor. I just learned to live with the pain. When I was old enough to work, I could finally afford to eat, but by then, it was already cancer. Every cent I made went to painkillers. With no money left for food, I went back to the dumpsters.” “When you found me, I thought… I thought I’d finally have enough to eat.” I let out a bitter laugh. The guilt on their faces deepened. Jane chose that moment to make her move. She approached my bed, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry, Elara,” she sobbed, slapping her own cheek. “It’s my fault. I’m the one who stole your life…” Her strategy had shifted. Now, she was playing the victim. [Mom and Dad must hate me now. It’s all my fault. I’m the child of her foster parents. If it weren’t for me, my sister wouldn’t have suffered like this.] As predicted, my parents immediately rushed to her side. “Jane, honey, it’s not your fault. It’s your parents’ fault.” “That’s right, you had no choice in the matter! They switched you, you didn’t ask for this…” Just then, the hospital room door burst open, and my foster parents rushed in. My foster mother grabbed my hand, her face a mask of deep concern. “Elara, sweetie, are you okay? Why would you go digging through the trash?” she cried. “We gave you everything, we raised you like a princess! We know you were upset that we couldn’t buy you all the designer bags you wanted, but you can’t punish us like this…” She broke down into heart-wrenching sobs. My foster father hung his head, wiping away fake tears. “We’re just glad you’ve found your real parents. They’re wealthy. They can give you the life you deserve. It’s our fault we couldn’t provide for you…” 3. Every word was a carefully crafted performance, painting me as a vain, ungrateful brat. Jane’s thoughts chimed in right on cue: [But Elara said they were horrible to her?] My mother’s face flushed with anger. She spun around and slapped me. “Elara! Is this what you call being mistreated?” she spat. “I can’t believe you’d lie like that, pretending to be a victim just because they wouldn’t buy you a handbag! You manipulated us, tried to turn us against Jane!” “Thank god your foster parents showed up to set the record straight!” My foster mother immediately dropped to her knees. “Please, don’t hit her!” she begged. “If you have to hit someone, hit me! It’s my fault, I didn’t raise her right… I never laid a hand on her, not once! You can’t either!” My mother was furious. “This is what happens when you spoil a child! Look what she’s become!” But my foster mother remained on the floor, weeping with guilt. “It’s not her fault. We just couldn’t give her the life she wanted.” [Her foster parents’ clothes are so old and worn out. They look so poor,] Jane thought, fanning the flames. My parents looked at the couple—their threadbare clothes, their graying hair, the exhausted lines etched on their faces. The image of me, their daughter, throwing a tantrum over luxury goods while these poor people struggled to raise me, sent my mother into a fresh rage. “They worked so hard for you, and you repay them by pretending to be homeless? You’re unbelievable.” Having already died once, I felt strangely calm. “They’re lying,” I said simply. “And the hospital already confirmed I have cancer.” My foster father immediately shot back, “Elara, how could you lie to your birth parents like this? Just because the doctor is your cousin doesn’t mean you can make up something so serious!” I’d had enough. I walked to the door and raised my voice. “Excuse me! Doctor! My family says I’m faking my cancer and they want to stop my treatment!” A passing nurse and my own doctor, who was standing down the hall, both turned and hurried over. “What is wrong with you people?” the nurse scolded them. “Your daughter has stomach cancer and you want to refuse treatment? If she gets help now, she has a chance. If you do nothing, she might not have more than a few months…” My doctor’s brows furrowed. “Who here is Elara’s legal guardian?” My foster parents paled, realizing their lie had been exposed. The foster father stepped forward, trying to salvage the situation. “We are, we are. She’s just throwing a little tantrum, you know how kids are. We’ll just take her home now and get in touch with you later.” It was a clever move. To the doctor, it would sound like I was being difficult and they were responsible parents. To my real parents, it would confirm their suspicion that the doctor was my cousin. I didn’t bother arguing. I looked straight at the doctor. “My foster parents are claiming you’re my cousin, and that I paid you to fake my diagnosis.” The doctor’s face darkened. “That’s absurd! I’m nobody’s cousin!” He immediately called for the hospital administrator. Seeing things spiral out of control, my foster father tried to grab me and leave. The doctor blocked their path, his expression grim. “This is a serious accusation that affects my professional integrity. You will wait here for the police to arrive and take your statements.” Jane’s face went white. “You can’t call the police!” she blurted out. I smiled.

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“I’m pregnant.” The voice on the other end of the line was young. I stood in the middle of my living room, my hand tightening around my phone. “Congratulations.” “Kevin says he wants you to move out of the house.” I laughed. A dry, humorless sound. “Is he there with you?” “Yes.” “Put him on.” A few seconds of silence, then Kevin’s voice, laced with panic. “Grace, let me explain—” “Don’t,” I cut him off. “I have 47 screenshots of your text messages. Bank records show 67 separate transfers to her, totaling eighty thousand dollars.” The line went dead quiet. “I also have photos. And audio recordings. And video.” I stared out the window at the city lights. “City Hall. Tomorrow.” I hung up. 1. Kevin came home at ten o’clock that night. He opened the door and saw me sitting on the sofa, waiting. “Grace…” “Sit.” He sat down across from me, his head bowed. “How many months pregnant is Tina?” I asked. “Three.” “And what’s the plan?” “I…” He looked up, his eyes pleading. “I want a divorce.” I nodded. “Fine.” He stared at me, stunned. “But the house…” he hesitated. “The baby needs a home.” I just looked at him. When we got married five years ago, he had promised to give me a home. The down payment on this house was $200,000. My money. The mortgage is $2,500 a month. For the past five years, I’ve been the one paying it. He makes $4,000 a month. I make $15,000. “The baby?” I asked, my voice calm. “Your baby?” “Yes.” “With Tina?” “Yes.” I smiled. “Then that’s something for you and Tina to figure out.” “But the house is in your name.” “That’s right. In my name.” I stood up. “Which means the house is mine.” “Grace, you can’t be this selfish,” Kevin said, getting to his feet as well. “The baby is innocent.” “And what about me?” He had no answer. I walked into the bedroom and closed the door. My phone lit up. A text from my best friend, Sarah. Well? Did you find anything? I typed back. I did. 67 transfers. $80,000. Holy shit. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Three months ago, I noticed Kevin was always ordering two meals for delivery. One to his office, and one to another address across town. Two months ago, I saw a contact in his phone named “T,” with a message history that included, “Hey babe, what time are you coming home tonight?” One month ago, I checked his bank records. Sixty-seven transfers, all to a Tina Bell. The first one was three years ago, for a thousand dollars. The most recent was last month, for five thousand. I did the math. A grand total of eighty thousand dollars. Kevin’s salary for the past five years was roughly $48,000 a year, making his total income around $240,000 before taxes. He had given almost all of his disposable income to Tina. Meanwhile, the most expensive thing he had ever bought for me was my wedding ring. It cost $300. I turned off my phone and closed my eyes. Tomorrow, I had an appointment with Mr. Evans, my private investigator. 2. I met Mr. Evans at a coffee shop the next afternoon. “Ms. Hale,” he said, sliding a manila envelope across the table. “Here’s the information you requested.” I opened it. Inside was a stack of photographs. The first showed Kevin standing with a young woman in front of an apartment building. The second showed them holding hands, walking into the lobby. The third was a photo of the woman, her pregnant belly clearly visible. “Her name is Tina Bell, 26,” Mr. Evans said. “A colleague from his office. They’ve been involved for at least three years.” “Where does she live?” “The Veridian Apartments. Rents a one-bedroom.” I nodded, putting the photos away. “There’s also this,” he said, handing me a USB drive. “Surveillance footage. Fifteen separate occasions of them entering and leaving a hotel together.” I took the drive. “I also pulled their call logs,” he said, producing a printout. “238 calls. At least three a day. The longest was over two hours.” I looked at the dense list of dates and durations. “Thank you.” “My pleasure,” he said, standing. “Is this enough, Ms. Hale?” “It’s more than enough.” When I got home, Kevin wasn’t there. I plugged the USB drive into my laptop. The hotel footage was crystal clear. Kevin and Tina, holding hands, checking in at night, leaving together in the morning. I took screenshots. My phone buzzed. A text from Kevin: Company dinner tonight. Won’t be home. I didn’t reply. I opened his cloud storage and found a hidden folder. The password was Tina’s birthday. I tried it. It opened. It was full of pictures of the two of them. At the beach, at an amusement park, in restaurants. In one photo, Tina was wearing a white sundress, smiling beautifully for the camera. The caption read, “My gorgeous wife.” The date stamp was our third wedding anniversary. The day I waited up for him to celebrate, and he told me he was stuck at work. I closed the album and took a deep breath. My phone rang again. This time, it was Tina. “Hello?” “Grace, we need to meet.” “Fine.” “Tomorrow, three p.m., outside The Veridian.” “Okay.” I hung up. A message from Sarah popped up: You okay, hon? I’m fine. Want me to come with you? No, I’ve got this. I stood up and walked to the window. A light rain was falling, stretching the reflections of the streetlights on the wet pavement. I remembered the day Kevin proposed, five years ago. It had been raining then, too. “Grace,” he had said, “marry me. I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy.” And I believed him. 3. The next afternoon, I arrived at The Veridian on time. Tina was already waiting for me. She wore a loose-fitting maternity dress, her baby bump now noticeable. “Grace,” she said with a faint smile. “Hello.” “Let’s go somewhere to talk.” We found a quiet café nearby and took a table by the window. “I’m three months pregnant,” she began. “Kevin told me he wants a divorce.” “I know.” “About the house…” she paused. “Kevin said, could you…” “No,” I cut her off. She blinked, surprised. “The down payment was $200,000. My money,” I said, looking her straight in the eye. “The mortgage payments for the past five years? I’ve paid $150,000 of that.” “But the deed is in both of your names, isn’t it?” “I have a prenup. The deed is in my name only.” The color drained from Tina’s face. “Then Kevin…” “He didn’t contribute a single cent.” “That’s impossible!” Her voice rose. “The money Kevin has been giving me all these years—he earned that himself!” I laughed. “Sixty-seven transfers, totaling eighty thousand dollars.” I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app. “See for yourself.” I handed her the phone. Her face grew paler as she scrolled through the list of transactions. “His annual salary is forty-eight thousand dollars,” I said calmly. “Over five years, he’s grossed two hundred and forty thousand. He sent you eighty thousand of it.” “Then where did the rest of his money go?” “Ask him.” Tina handed back my phone, speechless. “Is there anything else?” I asked. “Grace, the baby is innocent,” she pleaded. “Can’t you just…” “No.” I stood up. “The house is mine. It has nothing to do with you.” I turned and walked out of the café. As I left, I heard her voice behind me. “Grace, you’ll regret this!” I didn’t look back. When I got home, Kevin was waiting in the living room. “Tina called me,” he said. “Why won’t you give up the house?” “Because it’s my house.” “But we’re married!” “Did you remember we were married when you were sleeping with her?” He fell silent. I went into the bedroom and came back with the USB drive. “What’s that?” he asked. “The surveillance footage of you and Tina at the hotel.” I placed it on the coffee table. “Fifteen times. I have the dates and locations.” His face went white. “And this,” I said, producing the call logs. “Two hundred and thirty-eight calls. At least three a day.” “And the photos. Forty-seven of them,” I continued. “At the beach, the amusement park, the restaurant.” “And the text messages. And the hidden folder in your cloud storage. The password is Tina’s birthday.” Kevin collapsed onto the sofa as if his legs had given out. “Grace, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “I was wrong. I was so wrong.” “I know you were,” I said. “That’s why we’re getting a divorce.” “But Tina’s pregnant…” “That’s your problem.” “Grace!” he shot up from the sofa. “You can’t be so heartless!” I looked at him, my voice devoid of emotion. “You transferred eighty thousand dollars to her over three years. The most expensive thing you’ve bought for me in five years of marriage was a three-hundred-dollar wedding ring.” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. “Now tell me,” I said. “Who’s the heartless one?” 4. For the next few days, Kevin was relentless. “Grace, I swear, I know I messed up.” “Grace, I’ll break up with Tina, okay?” “Grace, we don’t have to have the baby, just please don’t divorce me.” I ignored him completely and focused on preparing the divorce papers. My lawyer confirmed it. Because of the prenup, the house was mine. And because of his infidelity, I was entitled to damages. “No damages,” I told her. “I just want the house. He can have everything else.” “Are you sure, Ms. Hale?” my lawyer asked, surprised. “You could easily get a significant settlement for emotional distress.” “I’m sure,” I said, shaking my head. “I just want this to be over quickly.” “Understood. I’ll draw up the agreement.” That evening, Kevin tried again. “Grace, are you really going through with this?” “Yes.” “Then what about Tina and the baby?” “You figure it out.” “But I don’t have any money!” he said, his voice rising in panic. “If I had the house, I could sell it, use the money to support the child…” “You are not getting the house.” “Why not?” I looked at him as if he were a stranger. “Because the two-hundred-thousand-dollar down payment was mine. The one hundred and fifty thousand in mortgage payments were mine. That’s three hundred and fifty thousand dollars of my money.” “But I’m your husband!” “Ex-husband,” I corrected him. “We’re going to City Hall tomorrow.” “I’m not going!” “Then I’ll sue.” I held up my phone. “I have all the evidence I need. The court will grant the divorce.” Kevin sank back onto the sofa and said nothing for a long time. “Grace, I really am sorry,” he said, and then he started to cry. “I don’t know what got into me. I made a terrible mistake.” I watched him weep and felt absolutely nothing. Five years ago, I was in the hospital for a minor surgery. He said he was too busy at work to visit. I later found out he was with Tina, celebrating her birthday. Three years ago, my father was seriously ill. I asked him for a loan of five thousand dollars. He said he was broke. But his bank records show he transferred three thousand to Tina that same month. Two years ago, on our third wedding anniversary, I cooked a special dinner and waited until midnight. He never came home. He said he was working late. The photos in his cloud storage show him and Tina at the beach that day. “Kevin,” I said, my voice flat. “I gave you chances.” He looked up at me, his face streaked with tears. “Three years ago, you came home late, and your shirt smelled of another woman’s perfume. I asked you about it. You said you must have brushed against someone on the subway.” “Two years ago, your credit card statement showed a thirty-five-hundred-dollar charge for a necklace. I asked you about it. You said it was a gift for my mother.” “Last year, I saw the texts from ‘T.’ I asked you who that was. You said it was just an older colleague from work who was helping you with some leads.” “And I believed you. Every time.” Kevin lowered his head in shame. “But you sent her eighty thousand dollars,” I said, standing up. “And all you ever gave me was a three-hundred-dollar ring.” I walked toward the bedroom. “Tomorrow, nine a.m. City Hall.” I closed the door behind me. My phone buzzed. A text from Sarah: What did the lawyer say? It’s happening tomorrow. And the house? It’s mine. FUCK YES. I lay on my bed and thought about the woman I was five years ago. I was 27, newly promoted, making good money. Kevin was 29, a salesman making a fraction of my salary. When he proposed, I hesitated. But he told me, “Grace, I know I don’t make much now, but I’ll work hard. I’ll be good to you.” And I believed him. Turns out he did work hard. He worked hard to make money for his mistress.

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The mission succeeded: I’d captured the villain’s heart. But victory came at a cost—I was torn from his world at the peak of our triumph. Damian Blackwood, the man I’d broken and rebuilt, coughed up blood, clutching me as if to fuse me into his soul. “Cara, trust me,” he rasped desperately, “I’ll find you. I’ll wait for you to come home.” After I left, grief hollowed me. I spiraled into depression, turned to self-harm, and was committed to a psychiatric hospital. Three years later, the System took pity and sent me back to Damian. I rushed through the night, eager to surprise him—only to overhear him talking to a friend. “Congrats on settling down with that look-alike!” Damian laughed coldly. “Congrats? She’s a gold digger who plays hard to get. But she has her price.” A smirk betrayed him. “Gotta go, my substitute has a curfew. She’ll lock me out if I’m late.” He added, “And call off the search for Cara. If the new girl finds out, she’ll freeze me out for a month.” I stood frozen. The man I’d suffered three years for, through despair and electroshock therapy, clinging to his memory even when I forgot my own name—was gone in that shattering moment. And I finally let go. … My hand found the cold brick wall, my body trembling so violently I could barely stand. System, take me back, I pleaded silently. I don’t want to be here anymore. The System had heard it too. Its usually cold, electronic voice was laced with something like pity. Three days. Fine. Just three days. I stumbled back to the tiny, rundown apartment that had once been my home, needing a place to collapse. But when I pushed open the door, it wasn’t my world inside. It was another universe entirely. My cramped 400-square-foot studio had been blown out, merged with the neighboring units to create a sprawling, multi-level penthouse. It was luxurious, dazzling, and utterly alien. Our simple wooden bed frame was gone, replaced by a monstrous European-style king. The cozy sofa I’d spent weeks picking out had vanished. And there, pressing a woman against an imported marble dining table, was Damian. He was kissing her deeply when he saw me. He froze. Instinctively, he pulled his collar up to hide a fresh bite mark on his neck. His eyes, rimmed with red, locked onto mine in a daze. “Cara,” he breathed. “You’re finally back…” I sidestepped his attempt to embrace me. A few feet away, the woman—Zoe—was wiping her mouth with a look of disgust. Her eyes met mine, and she paused, a slow, cold smile spreading across her lips. “So it’s true. Everyone says I’m your spitting image.” She pushed herself off the table. “Well, Mr. Blackwood, now that your ghost is back in the flesh, I assume I’m free to go.” Damian, still stunned by my rejection, shot her a panicked look. A wave of guilt washed over his face. “What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped, then turned his frantic gaze back to me. “Cara, don’t misunderstand. It’s not what you think…” His explanation was pathetic, empty. I laughed, a hollow sound. I unclasped the thin silver bracelet from my wrist and, walking over to Zoe, fastened it around hers. “It suits you,” I said softly. “A welcome gift.” It was the bracelet he’d given me. The one that sealed our promise. The panic on Damian’s face intensified. “Cara… are you leaving me? Don’t you want me anymore? I swear, with her, it’s—” Zoe was staring at the bracelet, lost in thought, when Damian lunged for it. “What are you looking at?” he roared. “You’re not worthy of wearing that!” But Zoe was quick. She dodged his hand, a defiant spark in her eyes. It was unclear who she was trying to provoke. “Thank you for the gift, Cara,” she said with a saccharine smile. “I love it.” Damian’s jaw clenched. He looked like he was about to verbally tear her apart, but as his eyes landed on her bright, challenging smile, he faltered. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a flicker of something else. He swallowed his rebuke and turned back to me, desperate. “Cara, I’ll buy you another one tomorrow! An identical one!” Identical. Did he think a perfect copy could fool his heart into believing it was the original? Was it the same for people as it was for bracelets? I smiled. “A gift is a gift. I’m not a fan of playing with substitutes.” Damian froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. Zoe yawned and disappeared into one of the bedrooms. The silence between Damian and me stretched, thick and heavy. He finally opened his mouth to speak. “Cara… about her and me…” Suddenly, a piercing scream erupted from Zoe’s room. Damian didn’t hesitate. He forgot I was even there, sprinting towards the sound. Zoe was covered in angry red welts, her breathing ragged and shallow. She pointed a trembling finger at the bracelet, which had fallen to the floor. “…It… it…” A wave of fierce protectiveness washed over Damian’s face. He snatched the bracelet from the floor, and his expression instantly darkened into pure fury. He stormed back to me, his hand clamping around my wrist like a vice, all restraint gone. “What did you do to it?” he snarled. Pain, sharp and blinding, shot up my arm. Tears welled in my eyes. The wrist he was crushing was a roadmap of my despair. It was covered in deep, jagged scars from the days when the only way to feel something other than the agony of his absence was to feel pain. He seemed oblivious to the scarred, uneven skin beneath his fingers, his grip tightening with every word. “Why would you hurt her? Cara! You’ve changed!” Laughter bubbled up from my chest, wild and hysterical. A tribute to the three years I had bled for him. The searing pain in my wrist felt like a punchline. Look at that. The proof of my devotion had become the weapon he used against me. How pathetic. I don’t know how long passed before Damian was bundling Zoe into an ambulance. He shot a cold command to the housekeeper over his shoulder. “Watch the door. From now on, Cara is not to set foot in this place again.” He seemed to have forgotten. This was my home first. Before I returned, I’d spent days lost in fantasy, imagining a desperate, passionate reunion where we’d erase three years of heartache. I hadn’t even been back for a single day, and I was already being thrown out. the System chimed in. Of course it was. When Damian gave it to me, we had nothing. It was all we could afford. He had tended to Zoe like a prize flower, nurturing her until she was too fragile for my world. It wasn’t Zoe’s fault. But the injustice of it all burned like acid in my throat. I pulled out my old phone, the one I hadn’t touched in three years, and sent him the text that was long overdue. “We’re done.” Five minutes later, my phone exploded with calls from him. I just turned it off. I ended up at a bar, downing shot after shot of whiskey. A loud, cheerful voice cut through the haze. “Hey, there you are! What a surprise! The wedding’s just around the corner, can’t believe Damian would let you out to a place like this!” I looked up. The man’s eyes widened when he got a good look at my face. “…Oh. It’s Cara. You’re back?” He’d mistaken me for Zoe. I didn’t say a word, but he grabbed my arm and dragged me toward a private room. The moment we entered, the chatter died. Everyone stared. “Cara! You’re back! Does Damian know? Man, after you left, he completely fell apart. He was in the ICU for six months!” “Seriously! He was a wreck. I barely recognized him. It’s a good thing you’re back!” Someone must have called him, because five minutes later, the screech of tires echoed from the street below. Damian burst in, his eyes wild and red. “Cara, please don’t do this. Don’t break up with me. I swear, she’s just a substitute for you…” “She was drunk,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “She came onto me for money. I was in so much pain after losing you… that’s the only reason I kept her around…” The others chimed in, a chorus of condemnation. “He’s right, Cara. You’re the one who heartlessly stayed away for three years. If it wasn’t for… for Zoe, Damian wouldn’t even be alive today!” “Come on, be the bigger person! Just let it go! You’re not really going to throw him away over this, are you?” They all pointed their fingers at me, as if I were the villain. But what about my pain? Did they know I’d carved my own body until there was barely an inch of smooth skin left? That during the worst of my depressive episodes, I’d clenched my jaw so hard I nearly shattered my teeth? Did they think my friends hadn’t tried to find me a replacement for him? I remembered crying until I thought my eyes would bleed, shaking my head frantically. “Damian is Damian,” I’d whispered. “No one can ever replace him.” The crowd slowly filtered out, leaving Damian and me alone in the suffocating silence. I turned to leave, wanting nothing more than to get away from him. He caught me in the hallway, wrapping his arms around me in a crushing embrace. He sounded like a lost little boy. “Cara, please, hit me, scream at me, just… don’t leave me,” he begged, burying his face in my hair. “I can’t lose you again.” Just then, a man and a woman stumbled down the corridor. The woman was drunk, leaning heavily on the man for support. Damian glanced over, and his whole body went rigid. His pupils contracted. In a flash, he released me and launched himself at the other man, kicking him to the ground with a guttural roar. He snatched the woman, Zoe, into his own arms. His eyes were blazing red with fury. “Getting bold, are we? Meeting up with your ex-boyfriend behind my back?” I felt a dizzying sense of déjà vu. He’d looked at me with that same expression once—violent, broken, and terrified—when I’d had dinner with a male friend. Zoe kicked at his shins. “Get off me!” she sneered. “Your precious Cara is back. What are you still clinging to me for? Don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen for me.” Damian shot a nervous glance at me, then scoffed. “In your dreams. A money-grubbing parasite like you? I’d never fall for you. But what about you? Getting a little jealous, are we? Did you fall for me?” Zoe shoved him away and helped her ex to his feet. “You’re not worthy,” she spat. Damian’s rage boiled over. He grabbed Zoe’s arm, yanking her away from the other man. In the struggle, a ring flew from her finger, sailing through an open window and into the dark river below. Zoe froze. Her eyes filled with panic. “Damian! That was my mother’s! It’s all I have left of her!” Damian stared, his anger vanishing, replaced by shock. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he vaulted over the railing and plunged into the icy water. I closed my eyes, a single tear tracing a cold path down my cheek before splashing silently onto the floor. Damian was terrified of water. I had begged and pleaded with him for months, but he refused to even set foot inside a public pool. And yet, for her… Damian, I thought, a bitter ache spreading through my chest. Are you really sure she’s just a substitute? Even Zoe looked stunned, staring at the flailing, desperate figure in the river. Half an hour later, he hauled himself back over the railing, shivering, his face pale as death. He held up the ring like a trophy, then tossed it at her with disgust. “Tch. Only someone from the gutter would treasure a cheap piece of junk like this.”

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At twenty-six, my family finally wore me down, and I started going on dates. I never imagined my first setup would be with Julian Croft, the man I’d secretly loved for seven years. Six months later, he smiled at me and said, “Ivy, how did I not see you sooner?” My unrequited love had finally, miraculously, found its way home. He was in love with me. On our first wedding anniversary, I was scrolling through my phone when I came across a video from The Peregrine, a famous indie bookstore known for its art installations. This one featured a public display: a fifty-page letter, strung up with nearly a hundred plane and train tickets. Every line was a bloody testament to a love that couldn’t be, a story so painful it brought onlookers to tears. Curious, I zoomed in on a photo of the letter’s final page. The signature was a simple set of initials: J.C. The object of his undying devotion wasn’t me. It was his ex-girlfriend, Stella. And the cruelest twist? I was pregnant. Getting a divorce was suddenly going to be very, very hard. 1 A hot tear splashed onto my phone screen. A moment ago, I was crying for the tragic star-crossed lovers in the video. Now, I was crying for myself. I tried to lie, to tell myself the initials were just a coincidence. But I’d spent my high school years filling every notebook with Julian’s name. I had practiced his handwriting until it was a perfect imitation. He used to joke that I could sign documents for him one day. Outside, lightning tore across the sky, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. I dialed his number. “Ivy, I’m so sorry, the flight’s delayed. I promise I’ll make our anniversary up to you, okay?” He was in Austin for a business trip. My voice was a low rasp. “Does a business trip really have to keep you out this late?” “You miss me, don’t you? It’s all my fault. I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” he cooed, his voice warm and soothing. “And remember, no ice cream. Be good.” He hung up, but I felt a hand closing around my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs. The comment section of the video was a flood of heartbroken messages. “Why can’t two people who love each other this much be together?” “She had no choice, and he’s just numbing the pain. This is killing me. Someone please let them be together!” So, for the past year and a half, his love for his ex had never faded. Not for a second. I remembered my best friend’s warning. A man who ends a five-year relationship with nothing to show for it… Ivy, be careful. His heart might not have room for anyone else. Trying to get in there will be like trying to climb a sheer cliff. But my own heart had been too high on hope. I believed the past was the past, that we would move forward together. Instead, behind my back, he was flying from New York to Austin, again and again. He was standing outside Stella’s apartment building, just to catch a glimpse of her. It was almost eleven p.m. The restaurant was closing. My legs were numb as I walked out into the stormy night, my eyes vacant. And then he was there, holding an umbrella, standing right in front of me. He was smiling, and with a flourish, he produced a glittering necklace, letting it dangle before my eyes. It was the one I’d saved to my favorites list weeks ago. “Happy anniversary, Ivy.” “The traffic was a nightmare, so I took a motorcycle taxi. The driver floored it when I told him I was late for my wedding anniversary.” He fastened it around my neck himself, draping his jacket over my shoulders against the chill. A lump formed in my throat, and a tear escaped, tracing a path down my cold cheek. He panicked. “Ivy, are you mad at me?” he asked, his hands fluttering nervously. “Or have I been so bad at getting you gifts that one actually moved you to tears? I promise I’ll work on being more romantic!” His embrace was warm, but a deep, numbing cold spread through my veins. “Was the trip to Austin successful? Run into any old acquaintances?” “It went fine. No old faces, though. I was in such a rush to get back to you, I barely even checked my work messages.” I gripped the lapels of his coat, the words I know everything on the tip of my tongue. But before I could speak, the world went black. “Ivy! Ivy, wake up! Don’t scare me!” 2 When I woke up in the hospital, Julian was holding my hand, his grip tight and possessive. He was smiling, a wide, frantic grin that set my teeth on edge. “Ivy, we’re going to have a baby.” His voice was choked with emotion. “You’re going to be a mom, and I’m going to be a dad. Thank you, Ivy. Thank you.” He kissed my forehead, then pressed his ear to my flat stomach, murmuring to it. “You have to be good in there, little one. Don’t make things hard for your mom. Being pregnant is tough work.” I felt drained, hollowed out, my fingers weakly clutching the sterile white sheets. If things had been different, this baby would have been the beautiful result of our love. But all I could picture was him, fresh from crying outside Stella’s apartment, putting on this mask of a loving husband for me. The joy just wouldn’t come. “Julian, I want a divorce.” The air in the room turned to ice. How was I supposed to live in a marriage built on a foundation of lies? He pressed my hand to his cheek, his eyes red-rimmed. “The doctor told me… pregnancy hormones can make you emotional. It’s okay, Ivy. Don’t be scared. I’m not going anywhere.” “I’ve already requested time off from work to be with you. Don’t be anxious. We’re going to be okay, alright?” I buried my face in my pillow and cried without a sound. Later that night, I told my friends about the pregnancy in our group chat. “Ivy, you’ve officially won at life! You married your dream guy, and now you’re having a baby together!” “Julian’s going to treat you like a national treasure! Make him take that time off. He needs to take care of you!” I stroked my stomach, a profound sense of loss washing over me. Julian was the man I had bragged about to them countless times. I always said our love was the real deal, meant to be. Now, I couldn’t bring myself to tell them the truth about our crumbling marriage. Maybe a child would change things. Maybe, for the baby, he would stop going to Austin. After taking his leave, Julian threw himself into caring for me. He insisted on learning to cook from his mother over the phone, refusing to let her come over and “get in the way.” That afternoon, he took a call. I saw a flicker of panic in his eyes, quickly masked. “Ivy, there’s a huge problem at the branch office. I have to go, but I’ll be back within the day.” “Okay. Go.” He booked the next flight out. The destination was Austin. I booked a seat on the same flight and boarded right behind him. He was too engrossed in a phone call with Stella to notice me. “Stella, I’m almost there. Don’t do anything stupid.” “Who said no one loves you? There hasn’t been a moment I haven’t missed you. Don’t you understand that?” I leaned against the window, my face hidden under a baseball cap, tears blurring my vision. I couldn’t explain why I was doing it. I just had to see for myself how deep his obsession ran. And when I saw them in front of her apartment building, wrapped in each other’s arms, I knew I had lost completely. Stella was crying, pounding her fists against his chest, and his eyes were filled with nothing but excruciating pain, as if her sorrow was his own, magnified a thousand times over. “Julian, you’re married now! You’re supposed to be happy! What are you doing here?” “I don’t need your pity! You’re the one who pushed me away!” “Stella, I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Marriage was a last resort for me. I couldn’t let you go.” “You have no idea how many times I’ve come here this past year, just to look at you from a distance, unable to hold you. Do you know how much that tears me apart?” I cross-referenced the dates on his letter. The day I was in a near car accident, getting screamed at by the other driver, Julian was here, leaving a bouquet of flowers at Stella’s door. The day my boss was making my life hell and I called him, crying, he was here, fixing a lightbulb in her apartment. The day a burglar broke into our home and I was almost assaulted, he was here, walking her dog, holding her hand… In every single moment I needed him to hold me, he was a thousand miles away, comforting his other love. 3 I prayed he would remember his family, his unborn child. But he followed Stella into the elevator and went up to her apartment. The bedroom light flickered on. Through the curtains, I could see their two shadows, tangled together. The Austin night was colder than back home. The wind cut through my coat like a knife. I sat on the curb, forcing myself to stare at those two silhouettes, a form of self-torture. Julian had transferred to my high school in our junior year. He was quiet, brilliant in every subject, a natural athlete. He was popular. I was just a quiet member of his physics study group. One day, a sudden downpour caught us after school. He gave me his umbrella and ran out into the rain, grinning back at me. “Get home safe,” he’d called. And just like that, my bittersweet, secret love began. We went to the same university, though we were in different programs. He was still the center of every room, a star, and I was always there in the crowd, watching him shine. In his sophomore year, he started dating Stella, a girl from his department. Their names became a constant, painful refrain around campus. So I buried myself in my studies, swallowing the jealousy and the lonely tears that came with loving someone who wasn’t mine. After graduation, I went to a different school for my master’s, and our paths diverged. I knew he and Stella were happy together. By the end of my first year of grad school, I had finally, unilaterally, ended my seven-year crush. The next time I saw him, he was sitting across from me on a blind date. He was mature, steady, and easy to talk to. The blood in my veins, dormant for so long, began to stir. I frantically texted my friends for advice. Julian pursued me for a year. I saw his sincerity, and I finally agreed to be with him. I never told him about my past. I wanted him to love me for me, not out of some pity for the girl who had pined for him for so long. Our marriage was blissfully happy. He understood my every mood, my every unspoken need. He never made me sad. He was just so good at hiding the truth. Looking back, I can’t tell which of his sighs were for her, and which, if any, were for me. The sun began to rise, the tear tracks on my face long since dry. Julian emerged from Stella’s building. They were both smiling. I pushed myself up on numb legs, but I didn’t have the courage to confront them. In his mind, they had five years together. I had only been in his life for two. Somehow, that simple math made me feel like the intruder, and the word bastard died in my throat. My phone rang. I snatched it up. “Ivy! Your father had a stroke! He’s in the hospital! You and Julian need to get here now!” My body went rigid. I looked back, but Julian was already putting Stella in a car, sending her off to work. I booked the fastest flight home. Outside the operating room, my mother and I clung to each other, whispering reassurances we didn’t believe. I told her Julian was on his way. But my texts to him went unanswered. The exhaustion of travel, the stress, the pregnancy—it was all too much. I collapsed. In my dreams, I remembered why Julian and Stella had broken up. It was the long distance, and her family’s vehement disapproval. But it was also because Stella had health issues and couldn’t conceive. Julian’s mother would never accept her. Caught between their families, exhausted and defeated, they had finally gone their separate ways. A few days ago, Julian had been waking up in the middle of the night, just to sit by my bed, making sure I had water if I got thirsty. I thought he was being caring. Now I see it wasn’t about my pregnancy. He was probably imagining it was Stella lying beside him, thinking how perfect his life would have been. I struggled to open my eyes. My mother was beside me, her face swollen from crying. “Ivy,” she sobbed, “your father… he might not make it.” He was hooked up to a ventilator, unresponsive. The doctor said we’d gotten him here too late. There was little hope. I pulled my mother up from the floor where she had crumpled. “Mom, you have to be strong. We can’t fall apart.” The suddenness of it all was suffocating me. After being gone for two days and a night, Julian finally arrived, looking worn and tired. He wasn’t alone. Stella was with him. 4 My father was dying. My mother was in shock. And Julian walked up to me, holding Stella’s hand. Perhaps sensing the tension, Stella pulled her hand free. “Ivy, don’t misunderstand. I heard about your father, and I was worried, so I came to see if I could help.” “Don’t worry,” she added, her voice soft and placating. “Julian knows the top specialists at this hospital. They’ll make sure your father gets the best care.” My voice was sharp, laced with fury. “My family is none of your concern, Stella.” She shrank back, and Julian immediately stepped in front of her. “Ivy, don’t take it out on her. She was just trying to be kind.” “Stella had a problem at work, and she didn’t have anyone else she could trust. That’s why I had to help, and why I’m late.” “Helping her in bed? You’re a dedicated employee.” His eyes flashed with anger, his tone accusatory. “Ivy, do you have to make everything sound so sordid?” “Whatever. Julian, if you want a divorce, you can at least wait until my father recovers.” “Ivy, that’s not what I meant!” A commotion erupted from the hospital room. I ran. My father was conscious. My mother knelt by his bed. “You can’t go,” she pleaded. “You haven’t even met your grandchild yet.” I wiped my eyes. “Dad, we’re all here with you.” He nodded weakly, gesturing for Julian to come closer. Julian did as he was told. “Dad, we’re here.” My father took my hand and Julian’s, pressing them together. “Live… a good life…” he managed to say, his speech slurred. Beside us, Stella suddenly clutched her throat and retched loudly. Julian dropped my hand and rushed to her side, gathering her in his arms. “Stella, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Lean on me.” She looked up at him, her face pale. “Julian… that night… we didn’t use anything…” Her eyes were wide with a feigned innocence. “Could it be? Am I really pregnant?” The words were a lightning strike that ripped through me, leaving me scorched and bleeding. My father struggled to lift his hand, pointing a trembling finger at them. “You—how could you betray Ivy—” The heart monitor shrieked, a long, piercing tone. My father convulsed twice, then his eyes closed, a look of profound disappointment etched on his face. I threw myself onto the bed. “Dad! Dad, don’t go to sleep!” My mother let out a raw, animalistic wail and lunged at Stella. “You heartless bitch! You killed him!” “Ma’am, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Julian shoved my mother to protect Stella, sending her stumbling back into the wall. “Mom, you can’t touch her! She’s pregnant!” He stood over Stella, a fierce protector. “I’m here. No one is going to hurt you.” A blind rage consumed me. I flew at him, my nails bared. He held Stella tightly with one arm and grabbed my shoulder with the other, flinging me away with brutal force. I slammed into the wall, stars exploding behind my eyes. My mother screamed. “Ivy, your leg! You’re bleeding—”

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My best friend made a fortune off the same man twice. First, her debut novel, a thinly veiled account of her high school crush, became a bestseller. Then, it was adapted into a movie. On premiere night, I dragged my fiancé, Ashton Hayes, to the theater to show my support. During the Q&A, a fan asked the question on everyone’s mind. “To the screenwriter: did you and the real-life inspiration for the story ever get together?” My friend, Stella, lit up, her smile radiant. “Persistence pays off,” she said cryptically. “What was lost has been found.” The crowd erupted in cheers. I leaned over to Ashton, whispering, “Looks like Stella’s decade-long crush finally got a happy ending.” Ashton said nothing, but I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. I figured he wasn’t interested and let it drop. It wasn’t until later, backstage, that I heard Ashton’s voice, tight with a restraint I’d never heard before. “Stella,” he said, “we’ve wasted too much time.” 1 Stella’s laugh was bittersweet. “Ashton, I can finally stand beside you as an equal. I hope it’s not too late.” I froze. So, the man Stella had been secretly in love with for years was Ashton. “What was the meaning of that little speech you gave in front of Ava?” he asked. Stella rose on her toes, her hands winding around his arm. “Ashton, Ava Brooks isn’t right for you. She’s a spoiled princess who only knows how to spend money and have fun. Does she really understand you?” Ashton’s warning tone, which had started so sharp, softened into silence. A long moment passed. I lowered my eyes, a bitter smile on my lips. Ashton and I were childhood friends, but our personalities were worlds apart. I was born with congenital insensitivity to pain, a rare condition that made me physically fragile. My family catered to my every whim, and in our social circle, everyone knew not to cross Ava Brooks. Ashton, on the other hand, was the sole heir to the Hayes fortune. Raised with strict discipline, he was always cool, reserved, a man of few words and fewer desires. Only with me did his guard come down. He was my gentle, protective “Ash.” After a serious illness in my childhood, my memory became spotty. No matter how hard I studied, I’d blank out during exams. People whispered that I was an airhead. I grew to hate school, especially math and physics, subjects I could never grasp. Ashton was different. He was a physics prodigy with a near-fanatical obsession with astronomy. He’d gone abroad for college, studying at a top university. He came back to get engaged to me. The day of our engagement party, I invited Stella, who had just returned from a research project. After getting her doctorate, she’d become a university lecturer. I was clinging to Ashton’s arm, excited to introduce them. Stella just stared, speechless. Ashton stiffened beside me. He looked Stella up and down, his expression as cool and indifferent as ever. The silence was awkward. I forced a laugh. “Stella, I messaged you a few days ago! I wanted you guys to meet for dinner. Don’t mind Ashton, he was born with that grumpy face.” A flicker of sadness crossed Stella’s eyes, but she quickly masked it, pinching my cheek affectionately. “It’s fine. I was out in the field, no signal. I just never pictured our Ava ending up with someone so… serious.” At the time, I was completely oblivious to the undercurrents between them. Now, as Ashton’s footsteps approached from behind, he saw me standing in the drafty corridor and draped his coat over my shoulders. My sense of temperature was always off, but he was always the first to notice. The faint, bitter scent of oud wood from his coat enveloped me. I stared at the floor, my vision blurring. “Ava, it’s windy here. Let’s go home.” I pulled away from his outstretched hand. “I’m going to my parents’ house.” He stopped, his hand hovering in mid-air. He didn’t ask why. He just drove me home, as he always did. The car was silent. Normally, I would have been chattering away. I had always relied on Ashton, always felt safe to be myself around him, knowing he would indulge me. He could read my moods better than anyone. But tonight, I could feel his distraction. “Ash,” I said, breaking the silence, “what are you thinking about?” He murmured a name, almost unconsciously. “Stella…” Then he quickly corrected himself. “…the movie. I was thinking about the movie.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I tried to clench my fists, to transfer the emotional agony into a physical sensation, but I forgot—I couldn’t feel it. Ashton, in the story, the two protagonists were soulmates, destined for each other. And I was just the villain who stole him away, the one who broke them apart. I swallowed the pain. “Do you also think it was a shame the hero didn’t see the heroine at the airport when he left the country?” The car screeched to a halt. My heart jumped. I turned to look at him and found myself staring into his dark, unreadable eyes. 2 “Why are you suddenly asking about that?” I turned away, avoiding his gaze. “You just seemed really interested in the movie.” He seemed to relax, a faint, wry smile on his lips. “Weren’t you the one who insisted I come with you? You know I never watch these teen romance films.” I didn’t answer. He finally noticed something was wrong. He reached out and stroked my hair, his touch familiar and gentle. “Ava, are you still upset that I can’t make it to your art exhibit?” I shook my head. I knew he had a conference to attend out of town. As I got out of the car, he hesitated. “Ava, don’t be mad. When I get back, I’ll take you skiing.” I had been begging him to take me skiing in Switzerland for ages, but he was always worried about my health. My memory was poor, but he was always patient, willing to teach me the same thing over and over. I forced a smile. “You promise, Ash. No backing out.” Stella’s movie was a critical and commercial success. The clip of her interview went viral, racking up millions of views. The internet was abuzz. “Does this mean she got her man?” “The hero was definitely in love with her in high school too!” “OMG, you guys have to see Stella’s old private blog. It’s the sweetest thing.” I found the blog the fans had unearthed. For ten years, it had been a diary of a teenage girl’s secret love. After Ashton went abroad, the entries became a once-a-year affair. I scrolled through, reading until I reached the most recent post. It was from the day of my engagement party. The moment we met again, my heart knew it had been waiting. But it’s too late. Someone else is by your side now. My hands trembled as I kept scrolling. After that, the updates became more frequent. She chronicled their “reunion.” A chance meeting at the university that led to dinner. A rainy night when he drove her home. And finally, the premiere, where she used the movie to confess her feelings. She mentioned me several times. She called her beloved’s fiancée a “bimbo with a big chest and no brain,” an arrogant bully who used her family’s power to get her way, someone completely unworthy of Ashton. She claimed I repeatedly interrupted her “dates” with him. I stared at the screen for a long time. Stella was my college roommate. I knew her family was poor. A mother who played favorites, an alcoholic father. But she had fought her way out of that life. Early in our freshman year, I’d spiked a high fever in the middle of the night. It was Stella who got me to the hospital. We became close after that. I helped her out, both openly and behind the scenes, more times than I could count. When someone stole her scholarship spot, I was the one who stormed into the dean’s office and got it back for her. In her version of the story, I was “using my family’s power.” When she took an internship in another city, I let her stay in one of our family’s empty apartments, rent-free. She saw it as me “showing off my wealth.” When she wanted to write a novel, I was the one who connected her with a publisher. I even secretly pre-ordered a thousand copies to boost her sales. I thought we were best friends. In her eyes, I was just a stupid, spoiled brat. My misplaced trust felt like a cruel joke. Her name flashed on my phone screen. I rejected the call, my hand shaking. A text message popped up immediately. 3 “Ava, why did you leave so early? Weren’t you coming to my after-party?” I fought back the urge to scream at her, replying with a cold, detached message. “Not feeling well. Let’s catch up tomorrow.” She replied instantly. “I have a business trip tomorrow. I’ll call you when I’m back.” The next day, I dressed up and went to my gallery exhibit. The opening was a success. Near the end, Ashton appeared, holding a bouquet of flowers. My heart fluttered. He had made it back after all. He smiled, leaning in to playfully tap the tip of my nose. “You’re so calm. That’s not like you, Ava.” A wave of revulsion washed over me. I said nothing. He was back to his usual attentive self. The strange mood in the car the other night felt like a distant dream. He even kept his promise about the ski trip. I adjusted my goggles, looking out at the snowy slopes with excitement. My parents, ever-protective, had forbidden me from skiing. But somehow, Ashton had convinced them. “Ash, where should we start?” I asked, eager to learn the new turning technique he’d promised to teach me. But he didn’t move. He was looking at his phone, a complex email chain on the screen. A rare look of joy lit up his usually cool features. He didn’t answer my question. “Ava,” he said slowly, “our plans for today might have to change.” A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. My smile faltered. “We’re not going to the mountaintop restaurant tonight? Is the chef sick or something?” “It’s the observatory here. Stella just told me my application was approved. I can use their new telescope tonight. The viewing window is only three hours…” My excitement vanished, doused by a bucket of ice water. “Ashton,” I interrupted, “you promised you would spend the day with me. Are you going to ditch me now?” He finally turned to look at me, a hint of exasperation in his eyes. “We can ski anytime. This viewing window is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Ava, you have to understand.” The emotions I had been suppressing finally broke through. My voice was sharp, piercing. “I don’t understand! Ashton, you applied for this without telling me, but you told Stella? She understands you, so why don’t you just go with her!” He flinched, his brow furrowing. “Stella is just a colleague. Ava, don’t take your anger out on an innocent person.” I scoffed. “Innocent? Aren’t you two kindred spirits, vibrating on the same frequency? Your precious stars are a higher calling, and my plans, my feelings, are just cheap, meaningless things you can buy and discard?” He tried to explain, but his voice was cold now, laced with the assumption that I was being irrational. “This isn’t about value. Stella and I are both passionate about astronomy. This is about exploration, about understanding the very nature of our existence…” I couldn’t take it anymore. I booked a flight and flew back home that night. And just as I expected, Stella’s next blog post was geotagged in Switzerland. You said your orbit needed another star to resonate with. Am I that star for you? 4 She had attached a photo. It was the observatory Ashton had mentioned. I zoomed in. In the reflection of the glass, I could see the silhouette of a tall, slender man. I was like a drowning person, desperately searching for anything to cling to. Ashton had never lied to me. But in that moment, all my trust shattered. I should have laughed, but instead, tears streamed down my face. I blocked Ashton’s number. But our world was small. It was inevitable that I would run into him at a party. He was with his date. Stella. When he saw me, his expression was cold. After our fight, he’d tried to see me a few times, but I’d sent him away. The golden boy of the Hayes family wasn’t used to being rejected. He still thought I was overreacting, being unreasonable. Stella was as friendly as ever, showing no sign of guilt. I brushed her hand away and started up the stairs. She followed me, surprised by my coldness, chattering on about why I hadn’t been returning her calls. I couldn’t stand the pretense any longer. “Stella,” I said, my voice cutting through her monologue, “are you in love with Ashton?” She stopped on the landing, silent, her eyes locked on mine. In the dead quiet, I tore our years of friendship to shreds. “Stop acting, Stella. Did you really think you could get away with seducing my fiancé behind my back?” The color drained from her face, but she looked away. “Ava, you and Ashton are from different worlds.” I reached out and fingered the sapphire necklace she was wearing. I sneered. “No, Stella. You’re the one who doesn’t belong. That’s my necklace you’re wearing. And I’m guessing that’s a designer dress Ashton bought for you.” “Take those things away, and what right do you have to be here?” I ripped the necklace, my gift to her, from her neck. “Because of your sappy teen romance novel? Your self-proclaimed talent? Do you think your book would have ever been published if it wasn’t for me?” Her face flushed with anger, her voice sharp. “You don’t understand, Ava! That book is about my memories with Ashton! When he and I were discussing the universe, you were living in a gilded cage, so protected you couldn’t even feel pain without someone telling you it was there. How could you possibly understand his world?” My expression darkened. “Stella, even a stray dog has more self-respect.” She was right. I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand why my best friend had betrayed me. And I didn’t understand why Ashton, the boy who had always been on my side, was now standing opposite me. Dressed in black, his face was a cold mask as he stared at me, his voice dripping with disappointment. “Ava, that’s enough.” “How long are you going to keep this up?” I was rooted to the spot. A crowd was gathering. I could hear their whispers. “Did Ashton just yell at Ava Brooks?” “Is he really turning on her for another woman? I’ve never seen her look so… lost.” Ashton took Stella’s arm. “Ava,” he said, his voice cold, “it seems I’ve spoiled you. You should learn to behave.” Then they pushed through the crowd and left. I was shaking with rage, the air in the gallery suddenly too thin to breathe. Then I heard my name. It was Ryan Cole, Ashton’s junior colleague from his university days abroad. He handed me my coat, his gaze steady. I had only met Ryan a few times. He was the heir to a Hong Kong business empire, and he seemed to have a problem with me. Whenever Ashton took me to gatherings and people teased us, Ryan would let out a small, derisive laugh. I’d mentioned it to Ashton once. He’d dismissed my concerns, turning it back on me. “When did you become so sensitive?” I never brought it up again. But tonight, Ryan was different. He had stepped in to help me, and now he was driving me home. When we arrived, I handed his coat back, thanking him. He glanced in the rearview mirror, his words pointed. “You and Ashton aren’t a good match. You should break up with him.” I pursed my lips, offended. But I didn’t deny it. “I’ll consider it,” I said quietly. He raised an eyebrow, a knowing look in his eyes as he glanced behind me. Ashton, who had left the party, was standing there. He looked worried, anxious. “Ava, why didn’t you answer my calls? I went back to get you, but you were gone.” I crossed my arms, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You seemed pretty determined when you left me there.” He flinched. Ryan spoke up. “I’ll be going now. See you around.” His dark eyes lingered on me for a moment. I nodded. The silver sports car disappeared into the night. Ashton was still there, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Stella told me. You know about the book.” “No wonder you were so angry with her. Ava, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” I looked up at him, at the familiar tenderness that had returned to his eyes. “Ashton,” I said, my voice like ice, “I don’t accept your apology.”

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The intern, Nancy, had set up a deposit transfer on my account. No matter how much I deposited, the balance always reset to fifty dollars. In my past life, my biggest dream was to buy an apartment near the office. I finally saved the fifty-thousand-dollar down payment, my hands shaking as I handed over my card. But the agent just looked at me with pity. “Declined. Insufficient funds.” I checked statements, argued with the bank, even filed a police report. Everyone thought I was crazy. Every transaction was there, clear as day, but I hadn’t made any of them. I sobbed to my parents, only to be scolded. “Nora, if you need money, just ask. You don’t have to lie,” my mom said, sharp with disappointment. My coworkers smirked at my statements. “Look, Nora’s spending thousands at The Velvet Rope after midnight. Wonder what kind of escort costs that much?” I posted my story online anonymously, but was called an attention-seeker. Only one comment offered real advice: watch the people around you. So I did. Every time Nancy bought something—even a coffee—a matching charge appeared on my account. I confronted her. She laughed, called me pathetic, and convinced everyone I was having a breakdown. They had me committed. After two years of torment, I escaped and jumped into the river. When I opened my eyes, I was back, the day before I was supposed to buy my apartment. 1 The first thing I did after my rebirth was check my online banking. Just as I expected: fifty dollars. My mind raced, piecing it all together. By now, Nancy had already siphoned my life savings into her own account using some dark, digital magic. I wanted to tear her apart, to drag her down with me, but then I remembered the image of my parents from my last life, their hair turned white with grief overnight. I couldn’t be reckless. That would just be a repeat of the same tragedy. Just then, my department manager, Kate, called me into her office. “Nora, I’ve got a tough client for you, but the commission is a sweet five grand. Don’t say I never look out for you!” I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. Five thousand dollars. That was a month’s rent, with plenty left over. But I shook my head. “Thanks, Kate. But I’m not taking any new clients for the next month.” I walked out of her office, ignoring her stunned silence. The office walls were thin, and the chatter outside died down as my words carried. Instantly, the whispers started. Did you hear that? Nora—’The Machine’—is turning down a commission? Not just today! She said for the whole month! I ignored them, pulled out my phone, and opened a delivery app. I ordered the largest iced Americano they had, and with a tap, the last fifty dollars in my account vanished. In my past life, I wouldn’t have even spent four dollars on a sugary latte from the corner cart. To put down roots in the concrete jungle of Sterling City, I had lived on a knife’s edge. I worked until two or three in the morning doing client follow-ups, then woke before dawn to cram myself into a subway car packed like a can of sardines for a two-hour commute, all just to clock in on time. Fifty dollars docked for being late once. That was almost a week’s worth of food. All I dreamed of was a place of my own near the office, even if it was just a tiny, three-hundred-square-foot studio. Every payday, I’d allow myself a hundred dollars for living expenses. The rest went straight into my savings. And now, the fifty thousand I had bled for was lining someone else’s pocket. Suddenly, the office door flew open. “Lunch is on me, everyone!” It was Nancy, her voice obnoxiously loud. Her face was flushed with excitement, a brand-new Chanel bag swinging from her arm. She looked like she’d just hit the lottery. “We’re going to The Meridian Grand! Order whatever you want!” The office erupted. Coworkers swarmed her. “Nancy, did you strike it rich?” “Who’s the sugar daddy?” I didn’t move. I just sipped my coffee, my eyes cold as ice as I watched her. I knew exactly where the money came from. It was mine. Nancy, basking in the attention, waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it was nothing. I just bought a lottery ticket the other day and got lucky.” Someone nosy immediately pressed, “How lucky?” 2 Nancy’s eyes flickered toward me, a smug smile playing on her lips. “Not much,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Just a couple hundred thousand.” A collective gasp echoed through the office. A couple hundred thousand dollars. To us, people barely making five figures a month, that was an astronomical sum. But I noticed something. From the moment she walked in, her gaze kept drifting toward me, like a scientist watching a lab rat, waiting for a reaction. She was checking to see if I’d realized my bank account was nothing more than a hollowed-out shell. I fought back the tidal wave of hatred rising in my chest, swallowing the accusations that were burning my throat. I couldn’t spook her. Not yet. I stood up, forcing a perfectly pleasant smile, tinged with just the right amount of envy. “Nancy, that’s amazing! Congratulations! I hope some of that luck rubs off on me.” Seeing me act so normal, a flicker of surprise crossed her face, followed by a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. She must have thought I was still blissfully unaware. Later, just before lunch, Lily from the next cubicle leaned over. “Hey Nora, didn’t you say you were going to look at apartments once you had the down payment? When are you going? I can come with you!” The mention of the apartment made my fists clench so tightly my nails dug into my palms. I forced them to relax, my expression remaining breezy. “No rush,” I said. “I lost my ID a few days ago, have to wait for a replacement. Besides, with the market dipping, it’s better to wait and see, you know?” As the words left my mouth, I felt that familiar gaze on me again. It was Nancy. Watching me, a poorly hidden glee dancing in her eyes. Nancy had only been an intern for two months. She was short, overweight, with a plain face and performance that was always at the bottom of the department’s rankings. In our sales division, where looks and numbers were everything, she should have been invisible. But in my previous life, this was the woman who took my fifty thousand dollars, got full-body liposuction, and had her face completely redone. She transformed into a stunning beauty everyone adored. And it was her who used my money to buy loyalty, conspiring with those sleazy colleagues to have me committed for being “mentally unstable.” The memory of those two years in the hospital sent a chill down my spine. I took a deep, steadying breath. At The Meridian Grand, Nancy grandly told everyone to order whatever they wanted. I didn’t hold back. I flipped the menu straight to the most expensive pages. “The King Crab. The largest one you have.” “Lobster Thermidor.” “And this, the Foie Gras.” “I’ll have the caviar service as well.” With every dish I ordered, the expressions on my colleagues’ faces grew more and more priceless. Lily tugged at my sleeve, whispering, “Nora, isn’t this… a little much?” I just smiled at her, saying nothing. How can it be a waste when I’m spending my own money? Nancy’s cheek twitched, but in front of everyone, she had to maintain her generous facade. “It’s fine! Nora is our top salesperson, she’s earned it! She needs to eat well to keep up her strength.” Her smile was dazzling. “We need her to keep bringing in those big numbers for the department!” Before I could reply, another coworker chimed in. “Oh, Nancy, you weren’t here this morning. Nora already told Kate she’s not taking any new clients for the next month.” The air went still. I slowly wiped my mouth with a napkin and looked up at Nancy. The smile on her face froze, then cracked. “What did you say?” she shrieked, her eyes locked on me, her voice sharp and shrill. “Nora, why would you stop taking clients? What are you trying to pull?” 3 I met Nancy’s fiery gaze and let a slow smile spread across my face. “I’m taking a break. Why are you so worked up about it?” The other colleagues exchanged confused glances, the flames of gossip burning brightly in their eyes. “Yeah, Nancy,” Lily chimed in. “Nora’s not worried, so why are you having a meltdown?” “Seriously,” someone else added. “You’d think it was your commission she was giving up.” The chorus of questions was like a bucket of cold water on Nancy’s hysteria. The rage on her face vanished, replaced by a mask of deep, dramatic concern. “I… I’m just worried about Nora!” she declared, her voice rising as if volume equaled sincerity. “You said you were just a few deals away from your down payment! The listings at The Sterling Point Condos are so hard to get. If you stop now, you’ll lose so much money! I just feel terrible for you!” She looked like she was on the verge of tears. It was a masterful performance. I laughed. “I’m tired. I need a rest.” I nonchalantly picked up a grilled prawn and began to peel it with deliberate slowness. “Besides,” I paused, looking up at her with an expression of pure innocence, “didn’t you just win the lottery? A couple hundred thousand. If I happen to come up a little short on my down payment… you wouldn’t mind helping me out, would you?” The air froze again. Every eye in the room swiveled to Nancy. The color drained from her face, leaving it a sickly white. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. I popped the prawn into my mouth and added sweetly, “You’re so generous, Nancy. I’m sure you would. Right?” Trapped in the spotlight of everyone’s stares, she was being roasted alive. Finally, she managed to squeeze a few words through her clenched teeth. “Of… of course.” As if terrified I’d actually ask, she quickly added, “But, I mean, it wasn’t that much. Just… just some pocket money.” I glanced at the new Celine dress she was wearing, the limited-edition Chanel bag by her side, and the feast on the table that could feed a family for a month. Right. My fifty thousand dollars was just her pocket money. I enjoyed every last bite of that meal. Before we left, I asked the waiter to pack up the untouched King Crab and the rest of the lobster. I heard a few colleagues whispering behind my back. “Oh my god, she’s taking the leftovers? How tacky.” “It’s like she’s never seen good food before. So embarrassing.” I heard them, but I acted as if I hadn’t. I just turned to Nancy with a radiant smile. “Nancy, it was so good of you to treat us, but I can’t let all this amazing food go to waste. I’ll take it home to enjoy later. You don’t mind, do you?” Nancy’s face was a kaleidoscope of fury and humiliation. But in front of everyone, she could only grit her teeth and nod. “No… I don’t mind.” Back at the office, I placed the takeout containers in the communal fridge with a theatrical flourish, completely ignoring the judgmental stares. That afternoon, I knocked on the door of the finance department. “Sarah? I need to request a salary advance for half the month.” Sarah looked up from her screen. “You know the rules, Nora. Needs a manager’s signature, and it all gets direct-deposited at the end of the month.” I handed her the request form, already signed by Kate. “It’s been approved.” I leaned in closer. “And I don’t want a transfer.” “I want cash.” If money in my account could be stolen by a ghost in the machine, then physical cash should be safe. An hour later, I was back at my desk, a thick envelope of bills tucked into my purse. It was my base salary and last month’s commission—fifteen hundred dollars. I stuffed it into the deepest, most hidden pocket of my bag and zipped it shut. In my last life, my downfall began with fifty thousand dollars. This life, I would climb my way back up starting with this fifteen hundred. I hadn’t even been sitting for five minutes when it started. A frantic, uncontrollable twitching in my right eyelid. Thump. Thump. Thump. Each beat was more violent than the last. An overwhelming sense of dread seized my heart. My hands flew to my bag. I ripped open the zipper, my fingers scrambling for the hidden pocket— It was empty. The envelope was there, but the thick stack of cash inside had vanished into thin air. My blood ran cold. The hair on my arms stood on end. I never imagined the transfer Nancy was using on me had no limits. Was she trying to cut off every possible lifeline? I looked across the room at her. A flicker of pure, triumphant joy flashed across her face. I clenched my fists until my knuckles were white. Good. I already had a plan.

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