After my parents kicked me out, I overheard the school’s notorious bad boy and the straight-A genius making a bet: whoever got a nude photo of me would win ten grand. I stormed into the bad boy’s house and started stripping. “Fifty-fifty split! I want five grand!” Later, they made another bet: whoever dated me first would get the coveted spot at the corporate partnership summit. I immediately found the genius. “Tutor me for a semester, and I’ll say ‘I love you’!” The bets ended. I got into Stanford. But then, they cornered me at the campus gate, demanding I pay up. Looking at the new cute guy I just added on Snapchat, I tilted my head, confused. “A bet’s a bet. Why are you guys being sore losers?” 1 My mom always called me a leech. Said I drank her milk and ate her rice but was useless because I couldn’t carry on the family name. When my little brother was born, her milk dried up. She blamed me for sucking it all dry and tried to force me to drop out of high school to work and buy formula for him. I refused. So she cut me off completely. “If you’re so tough, don’t spend a dime of my money! I feed you, clothe you, and raise an ingrate!” Fueled by spite, I stayed in school. But being broke is brutal. I slept through morning hunger pangs. At lunch, I scanned the cafeteria like a hawk, ready to swoop on leftovers. Dinner was the free bone broth soup. Standing in front of the soup pot, I held my breath and scooped deep. My eyes watered. It was a huge bone! Thicker than my leg! Jackpot. “Put that down! That’s for the manager!” a staff member yelled. I skulked away with a bowl of radish water. But hey, radish is food. As I sat down, I heard two guys whispering behind me. “Wanna bet? Ten grand to whoever gets a nude of Scarlett Shen.” I almost choked on my radish. Me? Scarlett Shen? My mom says I’m worthless, that I wouldn’t even fetch a $3,000 dowry. But my nudes are worth ten grand?! Is this divine intervention? I was about to turn around and ask where to sign up when the other guy spoke. “Not interested. Play by yourself. But how did Scarlett piss off Princess Chloe?” Chloe? I scanned my memory. Chloe Xie. The richest girl in school. Her family donated two buildings so the school would open an international program just for her. I’ve never even spoken to her. Why is she interested in my body? Is she… into girls? Just as I was considering taking one for the team, a familiar voice answered. “Bad luck. She wore the same outfit as Chloe. But Chloe is too high-class to talk to trash like Scarlett, so she hired us to handle it.” Ah. So that’s it. When they left, I turned around. It was Jax Huo, the school bad boy, and Ethan Gu, the top scholar. 2 For seven days, I slept with my window open. Neither of them showed up. Fine. I’ll do it myself. After evening study hall, I tailed Jax. He spent thirty minutes eating a late-night snack, two hours playing basketball, and took a three-mile detour before finally entering a rundown bungalow in the city’s slums. Before the door could close, I rushed up and shoved it open. Under Jax’s shocked gaze, I started stripping. “Quick! Take the pic! Fifty-fifty, give me five grand!” Jax froze for three seconds, then scrambled to pick up my clothes and throw them back on me. “Holy sh*t! Lady, who are you?! Why are you stripping in my house in the middle of the night? I’m a minor!” I paused, shirt half-on. “What does your age have to do with anything? Aren’t you trying to get my nudes?” Jax looked even more shocked. Moonlight hit my face. He finally recognized me. “Scarlett Shen?” Just then, the lights flicked on. A couple walked out of the bedroom, rubbing their eyes. They saw us and their eyes bugged out. “Jax! Why are you undressing a girl?!” Me and Jax stared at each other. Yeah, it looked bad. Before we could explain, the man grabbed a belt and started whipping Jax. “I’ll beat you to death, you animal! Bullying girls!” Jax jumped around like a monkey. “Dad! Listen! It’s a misunderstanding!” Jax’s mom stood behind, wiping tears and signing frantically with her hands. It took thirty minutes to calm them down. I lied to his mute mom that I was here for tutoring. Jax used sign language to explain to his deaf dad that he was innocent. His dad didn’t believe him until his mom explained it again. Then he glared at his son, embarrassed. 3 After sending his parents back to bed, Jax dragged me into his room. Clean concrete floor, two boxes for clothes, half the window taped up with newspaper. The only intact furniture was the bed. The desk looked like it came from a dumpster, missing a leg. Jax sprawled on a chair, returning to his usual bad-boy vibe. “Didn’t know you were this wild. delivering yourself to my door? Aren’t you afraid your photos will be plastered everywhere?” I didn’t answer. I just started taking my shirt off again. Jax panicked. He jumped up and grabbed my arm. “Sister, I’m begging you! Stop stripping! Do you want my dad to kill me?” I looked him dead in the eye. “Ten grand. Five each.” “F*ck!” Jax cursed, rubbing his temples. He looked down and saw the burn scars on my arms and shoulders. “What happened?” “Are you blind? Burns.” “I mean who did it?! Did you call the cops?” I shrugged, adjusting my tank top strap. “My dad. When he drinks, he smokes. When he smokes, I’m the ashtray.” I grinned. “But every time he burned me, Mom gave me an extra bowl of rice! Count ’em up, that’s a lot of full meals! Pretty smart, huh?” Jax looked at me, eyes complicated. His Adam’s apple bobbed, veins popping on his forehead. He sucked in a breath. “F*ck his life.” The window was broken, and the wind was freezing. I shivered. “Are you gonna take the picture or not? Hurry up. Money doesn’t wait.” “Even if I was a bastard, I couldn’t take that picture!” He paced around the room like an ant on a hot pan. Finally, he opened a drawer, threw $200 at me. “Get out!” Two hundred vs five thousand? No deal. “Can I borrow your phone? I’ll take it myself. You can claim the reward from Princess Chloe.” Jax sat down, head in hands, slamming the table. “How many times do I have to say it? I can’t do it!” 4 “Why?” I genuinely didn’t get it. “It’s ten grand! Don’t you want it? You agreed in the cafeteria!” Jax shook off my hand. “I changed my mind.” “No! Nobody stops me from making money!” We were at a stalemate for hours. I wouldn’t leave; he wouldn’t shoot. In the middle of the night, a pained groan came from next door, then silence. I frowned. “Shouldn’t you check on them? Your dad sounds bad.” Jax turned pale. “Old problem. He hates me seeing him weak. It embarrasses him.” He looked even more conflicted. Finally, he gritted his teeth. “Fine! Shoot!” I stood up straight, ready for my close-up. But he threw my clothes at me. “Shoot me!” “What?” I thought I misheard. Jax’s ears turned red. He looked mortified. “You’re flat anyway. My chest is bigger than yours! I’ll pose! Keep the face out of frame, who can tell the difference?!” Before I could process the insult, Jax took his shirt off. He handed me his phone. “Make it look good… artistic…” He groaned, covering his face. “My reputation is ruined…” I poked his arm. “How do we split the money?” “Fifty-fifty. Five grand each.” With that promise, I put my clothes back on. Money without nudity? I’d be an idiot to say no. I went to the bathroom, took off my bra, and handed it to him. “Wear this. Girls wear these.” Jax looked at the ceiling like he wanted to die. He picked it up with two fingers like it was radioactive waste. I rolled my eyes, snatched it back, went behind him, and hooked it on. The fabric touched his skin, and he shuddered like he’d been electrocuted. “My reputation… my reputation…” he whimpered. Everything ready. I opened the camera app. I frowned at the screen. “Squeeze them together. Cleavage.” “Huh?” Jax looked confused, squeezing his legs together. “Not that! Your chest!” Whatever! I reached out with my cold hands and shoved his pecs together. Jax shrieked, then clamped a hand over his mouth. Much better. I took like fifty shots. I handed the phone back. “Good enough?” Jax’s eyes were red with shame. “Yeah.” Mission accomplished. I dusted myself off to head home. High school was busy, but Mom wouldn’t let me live in the dorms. It cost $300 a semester. I walked two hours home every night after study hall ended at 9:50 PM. And I couldn’t sleep when I got home. I had to chop wood, wash clothes, and mix pig feed for the next day. After getting kicked out, I lived in my uncle’s warehouse in town. Rent was tutoring his daughter in math. It was 4 AM. Might as well go back to school for morning study. As I stepped out, Jax called out. “Eat breakfast before you go.” I froze and turned around. He was dressed, lying on his desk. “I can sleep for an hour here. You take the bed.” He closed his eyes, looking exhausted. I hesitated for a minute, then tiptoed past him to the window. I lay down on the bed. “Thanks.”

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My oldest friend, a guy I’d practically grown up with, had done nothing to earn his stripes, yet he was trying to leverage his relationship with my wife to climb the corporate ladder. I refused, point blank. The consequences were swift and total. While I was gone on a year-long international venture—the kind of project that demands your entire focus—my wife, Seraphina, unilaterally promoted him to Executive Vice President, tripling his already generous salary. When I finally returned, jet-lagged and ready to reclaim my seat, my former friend, Brock Aston, acted like the company was his—his arrogance fueled by the certainty of Sera’s protection. Even the way he spoke to me was a calculated insult. “Don’t think for a second that just because you founded this company, you can push me around,” Brock sneered, his eyes hard and challenging. “As long as Sera’s in my corner, I could demand the chair you’re sitting in, and you’d have to hand over the keys.” Before I could process the audacity, he reached for a glass of water on the conference table and splashed it straight into my face. The cold shock was a sudden, violent wake-up call. I didn’t hesitate. I slapped him—hard enough to snap his head back—and fired him on the spot. What happened next was a choreographed coup. When Sera heard the news, she didn’t just object; she incited every employee in the room to hand in their termination notices. “Rhys Maxwell,” her voice cut through the stillness, cold and resolute. “Reinstate Brock immediately, or we all walk.” 1 The cavernous boardroom of Apex Dynamics was eerily silent. Every single person was waiting for Sera’s next command. They were all her hires, recruited while I was gone, replacing my loyal, long-term employees who had been quietly phased out during my absence. Brock, seeing his army assembled, let his mask of false camaraderie drop completely. He propped his expensive leather boots on the table, leaning back with a look of pure, unadulterated provocation aimed straight at me. “See that?” he drawled. “You want to fire me? Good luck with that. As long as Sera is here, you’d need her permission just to take a piss.” He took a slow, deliberate breath, the self-satisfied smirk widening. “Let’s be real. This company belongs to Sera now. You’re just the face, the rubber stamp—the puppet. You have zero actual power.” He let out a short, harsh laugh—a sound full of cheap victory. Then he pulled a cigarette out and lodged it between his lips. A crony immediately leaped forward to light it for him. Brock inhaled deeply, blowing the plume of smoke directly toward my end of the table. The haze of smoke did nothing to soften his brazen posture. “How’s that feel?” he asked, a venomous edge to his voice. “You hate me right now, don’t you? But what are you going to do? Nothing. You’ll just have to choke on it. Ha!” The “No Smoking” sign discreetly mounted on the wall meant nothing to him. My silence only fed his ego. “Though, I gotta say,” he mused, glancing at the nameplate on my desk. “EVP still feels a little low. That chair you’re in, Rhys? That’s the real prize.” The implication was clear: he intended to replace me. The audacity of this man—this incompetent, entitled leech—was staggering. I dragged my eyes away from him, letting them fall onto the mountain of stacked resignation letters. Then I slowly scanned the faces of the employees lined up against me. “You’re really going to commit corporate suicide for him?” I asked, my voice dangerously level. “For him? This man is dead weight. Is he worth throwing away your careers?” I leaned back, a bitter, weary amusement rising in my chest. I genuinely couldn’t fathom the depth of this misplaced loyalty—or idiocy. “You’re mistaken, Rhys,” a voice cut in from the doorway. “They aren’t doing this for him. They’re doing this because of me.” Every head snapped toward the door. In unison, their hostility evaporated, replaced by a sickening, deferential respect as they chorused, “Ms. Wells.” That honorific, Ms. Wells, was a direct strike. Apex Dynamics was my company, founded and built by me. Yet, they offered only cold disdain for me and utter reverence for her. “Thank you, all of you,” Sera said, gliding into the room. She reveled in their acknowledgment, standing taller, her usual composure now tinged with a smug superiority. When our eyes met, she offered me a cold, triumphant smile. “You see? If you insist on firing Brock, they walk. All of them. And when they walk, you won’t be able to replace this many people overnight. The damage to the company’s valuation? Think airplane crash fast.” 2 Her threat was a sharp, cold jab. My hands clenched into fists beneath the table, the knuckles white with strain. I couldn’t fathom her hostility. We were husband and wife. “Seraphina,” I ground out, my voice trembling with suppressed fury. “What the hell is wrong with you? Threatening me—your husband—over an outsider?” The sheer volume of my anger made my body shake. If I didn’t still love some phantom version of her, I wouldn’t have been this incandescently enraged. I knew the damage—a collective walk-out would be catastrophic. “Outsider?” Sera scoffed, crossing her arms. “He’s my chosen family, Rhys. My little brother. I watched him grow up. You think I’ll just stand by while you bully him?” She leaned forward, her expression hardening. “All he got was a promotion. Why do you need to fire him and publicly humiliate me?” Humiliate her? The irony was blinding. She was handing me charges of phantom crimes. “What exactly has Brock Aston accomplished for this company that warrants an instant promotion and three times the salary?” I demanded, laying out the facts. “As I recall, he hasn’t just failed to deliver—he’s personally bungled three major client pitches, costing us millions in projected revenue.” I should have let him go the second he proved to be a liability. The fact that I kept him on was a testament to my past loyalty, not my business sense. But to demand that I ignore his failure and reward him? They had both lost their minds. Facing my concrete accusations, Brock’s swagger slowly deflated. He turned quickly to Sera, his face a mask of wounded innocence. “Sera, see? He’s impossible,” he whined. “He blames me for his own failed projects. He purposefully sends me after dead-end clients just to make sure I don’t succeed! He’s trying to sabotage me!” His fabricated distress was the cue for the chorus of employees. “He’s a nightmare of a boss!” one yelled. “He deliberately kneecaps his employees to keep them down! It’s pathetic!” “Yeah! If we have to work for a self-serving tyrant like you, we’ll stick together and fight for a little justice for Brock!” “We stand against the corporate aristocracy!” Suddenly, the room was a cacophony of insults, a coordinated defense of Brock. I watched them all, these unfamiliar faces. They were all hers—a replacement guard brought in while I was focused on the bottom line overseas. The realization chilled me to the bone. She wasn’t just unfaithful; she was staging a total takeover. I thought back to her past. The struggling intern I’d found years ago, the one who barely knew how to draft a memo, who’d saved my life when I’d had a near-fatal cardiac event. I’d mentored her, taught her the business, elevated her, and ultimately fallen in love with her. Now, her ambition had consumed her. But I had faced down far greater threats than a handful of disgruntled payroll fillers. I picked up one of the resignation letters, a dismissive smile curling my lips. I tossed it onto the table in front of Sera. “Trying to spook me?” I scoffed. “I don’t scare easily. If you all want to quit and walk out, be my guest. The door is right there.” The entire room froze. My refusal to play their game—my willingness to call their bluff—threw them into a tailspin. Seraphina’s face instantly darkened, and the air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “Are you serious?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous. 3 “One hundred percent,” I affirmed. “Isn’t this what you wanted? You came here to bully me into promoting him. I don’t respond to threats. Anyone who wants to leave, go. The world won’t stop spinning without you.” Brock, panicked, started to stammer, looking desperately at Sera. “S-Sera, what about…?” “Relax,” she interrupted, her eyes never leaving mine. “As long as I’m here, he can’t touch you.” She stood up, her high heels clicking as she rounded the table, stopping right in front of my chair. She placed a hand on my shoulder, a gesture that felt sickeningly intimate and menacing all at once. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this, Rhys,” she purred, her breath sweet against my ear. “I wanted to keep you around as a figurehead, my puppet CEO, because, after all, you did give me a start. I was trying to be gracious. But you won’t play ball. You insisted on tearing up the contract.” I looked up at her, my eyes chips of ice. “What are you talking about?” She squeezed my shoulder, a light, mocking tap. “The company is mine, Rhys. I’m the one calling the shots. I used to be the one you called to fetch your coffee, but now I’ve acquired the shareholders. I am Apex Dynamics. I decide who gets promoted, and who sits in this chair. Do you understand?” Brock bolted to his feet, ecstatic. “Sera… Seraphina! Is it true?” She turned to him, her expression softening into pure adoration. She nodded. Brock let out a whoop, grabbed her, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her—a long, vulgar embrace right in front of me. The other employees merely looked away, relieved for their own futures. Rage, pure and undiluted, consumed me. In the year I was gone, Seraphina hadn’t just betrayed our marriage; she had stolen my empire. “Ha ha ha! Are you mad, you pathetic joke?” Brock yelled, breaking the kiss to look at me. “Good! I’m not scared to tell you, I’ve been sleeping with Seraphina the entire time! All 365 days you were gone, we were in your bed, drunk and satisfied. What are you going to do about it, you spineless bastard?” The employees snickered. They all believed Sera. They believed I was already defeated. I kept my face deliberately calm, but internally, the ocean had been whipped into a monstrous, churning storm. I had truly underestimated her. My good wife had orchestrated this entire thing, and given this fool his false sense of power. They all thought I was a finished man. I swept up the pile of resignation letters, scattering them to the floor at my feet. I stared at the pair of them, my fists clenched hard enough to draw blood. “The empire I built from nothing is not something you can just seize,” I said, my voice quiet but carrying the force of a threat. “I am still the registered CEO. I have not signed any stock transfer agreements. So tell me, how exactly did my company become yours?” Seraphina didn’t flinch. She simply laughed, long and cold. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned back into Brock’s embrace, regarding me with a patronizing smile. “I knew you’d ask that,” she said. “And I have a little surprise for you.” She clapped her hands. “Gentlemen, please come in.” The door opened again, and a group of men—the company’s shareholders—walked in. Every single one of them bypassed me and directed their attention to Seraphina. “What… what is the meaning of this?” A cold, awful certainty solidified in my gut. “I’ll answer that for you,” Brock chirped, kissing Sera’s cheek. “They are here to help Seraphina take back Apex Dynamics—and kick you out.” 4 Sera rewarded Brock’s declaration with a deep, lingering kiss. “You are truly mine, darling. Your confidence is getting so strong, just like mine.” Brock glared at me, his face alight with avarice. “When you fully take over, let me have the CEO chair, okay? I’ve never played the part of the big-shot boss before.” The thought of that buffoon sitting in my chair was ludicrous. He was barely qualified to stock the water cooler. Sera stood tall, surveying the shareholders. She wanted a public declaration, to maximize my humiliation. “Gentlemen, in front of Rhys, please state your allegiance,” she commanded. “I wouldn’t want rumors spreading that I’m some kind of backstabbing traitor.” Instantly, the shareholders replied in a booming, unified voice: “We stand with Ms. Wells!” The sound was like a volley of bullets. These were men who had been with me for decades, who I had worked with to build this company from a tiny start-up into a publicly traded empire. We weren’t just partners; we were brothers. I’d been gone for only a year, and Seraphina had bought their loyalty and orchestrated a total betrayal. The blow was physically painful. “Why?” I demanded, the word raw. “I want to know why.” They didn’t look away. Their answers were chillingly clinical. “Ms. Wells offered us a better deal,” one stated, shrugging. “We are capitalists, Rhys. We go where the return is greatest.” I actually laughed. Better deal? I had always taken the smaller cut, ensuring they were rewarded generously for every major deal. I’d prioritized their financial security over my own. And this was the thanks I got. Brock, emboldened by the shareholders’ affirmation, was positively glowing. “Hear that, Rhys Maxwell? You’re finished! Not only do the employees disrespect you, but the shareholders don’t respect you either. You’re a failure in life! You worked yourself to death, and now we reap the rewards.” He gestured dismissively toward my chair. “What are you waiting for? Get out of that seat. You don’t deserve it. It’s mine now.” I completely ignored Brock. My focus remained entirely on Sera and the men who had betrayed me. I was surrounded, cornered, and entirely alone. Sera stepped closer, her tone dripping with false pity. “Look at your situation. If you’d just done what I asked and promoted Brock, none of this would be happening. I made you CEO, Rhys. I can just as easily turn you into a nobody.” My fists tightened, then loosened, then tightened again. Brock, too impatient to wait, motioned for the security team he thought he commanded. “Rhys Maxwell, two options,” he spat. “Walk out with what little dignity you have left, or be dragged out like a dog. Pick one.” I was Rhys Maxwell. I chose neither. “Foolish,” I said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across my face. “Without my signature on a transfer of stock, none of you have a damn thing. You can’t take what isn’t yours.” “Oh, really?” Sera’s smile was the most confident I’d ever seen it. She pulled a thick Manila envelope from her briefcase. “Then take a look at this.” She slapped the document onto the table. “You did sign it. Last month, when I flew out to see you. I used my ‘pining wife’ act—my Honey Trap—to confuse you while you were tired and emotional. I disguised this as a standard project proposal and had you sign where the critical signature lines were. How about that, Rhys? Did the student surpass the teacher?” As the blood drained from my face, Brock leaned in, a cruel whisper of a confession. “I went with her that night. And after you left, I came back in. Turns out my shot was stronger than yours. Seraphina’s carrying my baby, you loser.” The finality of the betrayal was a physical blow. Without conscious thought, I swung my fist, connecting solidly with Brock’s jaw. “You slimy bastard!” “You hit me?! Guards, take him! Strip him naked and throw him onto the street! Let the world see how the great Rhys Maxwell became a stray dog!” He screamed the orders, but the security guards remained utterly still. This infuriated Sera. “What are you waiting for? Are you deaf?” she shrieked. “I told you, seize Rhys Maxwell—” SLAP! My open palm met her face with a thunderous crack, the sound echoing in the silent boardroom. “You got it backwards, Seraphina,” I said, my voice a low, terrifying growl. “I’m the one who elevated you from nothing, and I’m the one who can send you right back to being a penniless intern.”

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Picking up a few extra bucks driving rideshare after work, I’d asked my passenger to scan a quick twenty-five dollars for the fare. She’d transferred half a million. I was still staring, wide-eyed, at the string of zeros on my banking app when she pulled the door open. Her voice was flat, detached, as she spoke the words that would change everything. “Thank you for the ride, driver. Consider that a thank-you gift. Don’t be a stranger.” The memo on the transfer even read: Voluntary Gift. I pinched my thigh, the sudden jolt of pain confirming this was not a dream, and scrambled to catch up to her. That’s when I saw it. She was already past the safety barrier of the massive suspension bridge spanning the river, her slight frame swaying precariously in the evening wind. I pleaded, using every calming technique I knew, but she was already miles away. “I left school to be with him when I was eighteen,” she said, her voice barely audible over the rush of traffic. “He wouldn’t let me finish my degree. He wouldn’t let me work. He kept me like some fragile bird in a golden cage.” A tear tracked a path through the dust on her cheek. “Every time I mentioned leaving, he’d hit me. He said he loved me too much, and I believed him. But today, I watched him walk into the Riverwalk Hotel with another woman. Tell me, driver, where did I fall short?” I fell silent for a moment, then reached into my glove box. I pulled out my professional license and a framed gold medal from the National Debate Finals, placing them on the railing in front of her. “Forget love. Forget self-reflection,” I instructed. “Blame the bastard. That’s always the better move.” I met her eyes. “I know a guy who does ‘Curse-Out-Your-Ex’ campaigns. Guaranteed public humiliation, or your money back. What do you say?” 1 When we pulled up to the Riverwalk Hotel, Grace Carver suddenly got cold feet. “Maybe we should just… forget it,” she mumbled, pulling her hand away. “Grayson Blackwood isn’t someone we can afford to cross.” I gave Grace a cool look. “Floor number?” I needed to see what kind of man not only cheated and lied but was also a physical abuser. She hesitated, then provided the details: “The top floor, 2501. It’s his exclusive penthouse suite here. But you need a key card for the elevator. We won’t be able to get up.” As if on cue, I pulled a sleek, un-branded master access card from my wallet and punched the button for the 25th floor. When Grace looked at me, her eyes wide with confusion, I simply offered an easy explanation: “I have a lot of side gigs. Used to work contract security for this hotel.” At the suite door, I didn’t hesitate. I knocked three times, sharp and firm. “Who is it? I told you, no interruptions!” A deep, distinctly annoyed male voice, already laced with fury, boomed through the solid wood. Grace flinched, instinctively retreating to the far wall. I pressed my mouth close to the peephole. “Open up,” I said, my voice calm and official. “We’re sweeping for illegal activities.” There was a beat of absolute silence inside—the sound of a man freezing in surprise. Then, the deadbolt clicked. Grayson Blackwood stood in the doorway, draped loosely in a silk robe, his chest sporting a faint, un-wiped smudge of red lipstick. His hair was still damp from a shower. His gaze raked over me, and the corner of his mouth curled into an unmistakable sneer of derision. “Illegal activities, huh? You’re an interesting one. Why don’t you come on in and join the party?” He clearly thought I was some ambitious, opportunistic woman trying to climb her way into his bed. Given his immediate, dismissive invitation, this couldn’t have been his first time. I shoved his hand away as he reached out to hook my arm. “You’ve got a healthy appetite, Mr. Blackwood.” A woman emerged from the suite’s interior. She was wrapped in an even skimpier robe, her figure lithe and practiced. She assessed me with a glance—the kind of look a wealthy person gives to a cheap piece of furniture. “Grayson, who are you talking to?” Grayson’s eyes were flat, his laugh humorless. “Just some pretentious little… tease, trying a bit of reverse psychology…” I didn’t let him finish. I pushed past him and stepped directly into the penthouse suite. I let my eyes linger on the restraint cuffs and the soft leather whip scattered near the couch. I raised an eyebrow in a perfect arc. “Surface-level gentleman, utter garbage underneath. Good to know.” Grayson followed me in, crossing his arms over his chest, looking entirely at ease. “What? You knocked on my door. Isn’t this what you were after?” He fixed a greasy look on me. “I see your type all the time. No standards, no bottom line, all for the right price. What do you think you’re worth?” His gaze slid over my body. He reached out to snatch the whip from the coffee table, clearly seeing me as a new, disposable toy. 2 The second his fingers were inches from the whip’s handle, I moved. Before he could process the shift, I had efficiently twisted his arm behind his back and used one of the leather restraints to secure his wrist to his own back. Grayson’s initial shock quickly morphed into a look of intrigued excitement. “Huh… Didn’t think you were into this kind of play?” The words hadn’t even fully left his mouth when I snatched the whip he’d just been reaching for. With no hesitation, I snapped my wrist, and the leather coiled, striking him squarely across the thin silk of his robe. A sharp red welt immediately bloomed on his back. Grayson yelped—a genuine, surprised sound of pain—and the smarmy excitement on his face curdled into pure, incandescent rage. “You actually hit me, you bitch?!” I calmly pulled a stack of crumpled twenty-dollar bills from my bag and tossed them onto his face. “You tell me, Blackwood. What do you think you’re worth?” The other woman, Sierra Ellis, was now pale with shock and fury. “Who the hell are you, you common tramp? How dare you put your hands on Grayson?” I turned to her, my expression unreadable. “And who are you? Didn’t you know Grayson Blackwood is married? Or are you the type who knowingly sleeps with married men?” Sierra let out a sharp, mocking laugh, her eyes narrowing in contempt. “And who are you? You can’t possibly be… the pathetic little small-town idiot he conned with a twenty-dollar online marriage certificate? The one who actually believes she’s Mrs. Blackwood?” Grace, who had finally worked up the courage to step inside, heard Sierra’s words. Her body wobbled imperceptibly. She looked at the man I had restrained, her eyes filling with disbelief. “Grayson, is that true? Our certificate… it was fake?” Grayson, apparently not expecting Grace to appear, paused. But he didn’t answer her. Instead, his eyes, dark and menacing, turned on Grace. “Grace, who said you could be here? Didn’t I teach you that you need to obey?” Grace’s body spasmed, years of conditioning and fear making her instinctively recoil, pulling back toward the shadows. I reached out and firmly grasped her icy cold hand. The motion pulled up her sleeve just enough. Her slender forearm was a shocking mosaic of overlapping blue, purple, and yellow bruises. Some were fresh; others were scabbed over and sickeningly old. She’d told me he hit her, but seeing the extent of the violence made my blood run cold. “Grayson Blackwood, are you even human? Scamming her with a fake marriage and beating her relentlessly?” Grayson simply flicked a dismissive look at me, his eyes full of superior scorn. “And who the hell are you to lecture me on my private affairs? You don’t know who I am.” He allowed a cold, vicious smile to stretch across his face. “Keep sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong, and you’ll find yourself in a much worse situation.” I didn’t flinch. In fact, I smiled—though the mirth didn’t reach my eyes. “You don’t even know who I am? You must not be much of a Blackwood, then. Your family’s taste in people, it seems, is truly substandard.” 3 Grayson rubbed his wrist, which was beginning to turn red, his dark gaze scrutinizing me. Sierra, now recovered, sneered. “Another wannabe socialite, I see. Not a single designer label on you. Don’t even try the fake-rich girl act.” “Sierra Ellis, stop wasting time and untie me.” Grayson commanded, his patience clearly spent. I watched Sierra dutifully undo the restraint and smirked. “Ms. Ellis, you haven’t even been properly introduced to the Blackwood family, but you’ve already mastered the posture of the future Mrs. Blackwood.” “Of course,” Sierra declared, tossing her chin up, an undeniable pride shining in her eyes. “Grayson’s wife is going to be me. Period.” She glanced dismissively at Grace. “As for this useless little mouse, if she’s quiet and follows the rules, I might let her crawl off. If not…” She turned her attention back to Grayson. “Once Grayson and I are married, we have every right to reclaim every penny he spent on this little home-wrecker!” “Home-wrecker?” Grace laughed, the sound hollow and heartbreaking, tears streaming down her face. Her raw, red eyes fixed on Grayson. “When you did everything you could to keep me isolated, what did you call me then? That twenty-dollar fake certificate must be the cheapest thing you, Grayson Blackwood, have ever bought, wasn’t it?” Grayson flexed his wrist, his tone flat and emotionless. “Grace, be reasonable. Everything can go back to how it was. After Sierra and I marry, I’ll still take care of you. You won’t lose anything.” “We’re done.” Grace’s voice was soft, yet startlingly firm. A sudden, sharp flicker of rage crossed Grayson’s eyes. “That’s not an option. You know how possessive I am. Even if I tire of a woman, no one else is allowed to have her.” Grace’s face instantly paled. I stepped in, my voice laced with mockery. “You think you’re some medieval monarch? Even royal mistresses get to marry for love sometimes.” Grayson just sneered, his eyes still locked on Grace. “You heard Sierra. I can reclaim every dollar I spent on you. Leave me, and you’ll be buried under mountains of debt.” His tone shifted, a venomous edge entering his voice. “Do you really want to go back to your deadbeat father? The one who’d marry you off to the local town drunk for three thousand bucks?” Grace hadn’t shared much about her family, but the picture he painted—a family that would force their daughter out of school and into a fake marriage—was dark enough. Without haste, I pulled a business card from my purse and handed it to Grayson. “In that case, sue her. By all means. But while you’re at it, I’d love to discuss emotional fraud, economic coercion, and long-term physical and mental abuse. All further inquiries should be directed to my legal team.” Grayson looked down at the card and let out a bark of derisive laughter. “Thorne & Associates? Try to look the part if you’re going to play the lawyer. You really expect me to believe you’re associated with the Thorne Group? Don’t you know they own half the city? What the hell does a low-class girl like you have to do with the Thorne family?” 4 Grayson tore the business card in half. He didn’t bother looking at me again. He simply pulled out his phone and made a short, curt call. “Bring them up. Tell them Grace Carver wants to break up with me.” It took barely ten minutes for the sound of shuffling feet and the loud, abrasive voices of a middle-aged couple to echo in the hallway. “Where is my daughter? Where is that useless girl?” A rail-thin man with a sallow, cigarette-stained face—Grace’s father—burst into the suite first. He reeked of cheap beer and stale tobacco, his eyes darting around with a mixture of confusion and greed. “You damn waste of space! You think you’ve got the guts to piss off Mr. Blackwood?” Close behind him was Grace’s mother, her sharp cheekbones and pinched mouth suggesting a deeply unpleasant nature. Grace’s mother seized her daughter’s hair, yanking her head back, while her other hand brutally dug her nails into the cluster of fresh bruises on Grace’s exposed arm. Grace cried out, tears of pain and humiliation instantly welling up. “I told you to behave! I told you to stop making trouble! Mr. Blackwood gives you a good life—designer clothes, nice things, no worries—and you’re not grateful? You ungrateful bitch!” Grace’s mother spat her words out, jabbing a forceful, red-tipped finger into Grace’s forehead, leaving a clear indent. Grace’s father stepped up, pointing a trembling finger in her face. “I wasted so much money raising you! If Mr. Blackwood hadn’t taken you in and paid off our debts, I would have married you off to the town butcher for the dowry years ago!” He raised his foot, ready to deliver a savage kick. “You’re talking about a breakup? I’ll teach you a lesson!” “Stop it!” I yelled, taking a forceful step forward to halt the grotesque display. My intervention instantly shifted their focus. Grace’s mother whipped her head around, her small, triangular eyes focusing on me like poisoned needles. “Is this the bitch who put ideas in her head?” Sierra saw her opportunity. “Looks like it, Mrs. Carver. She must be a low-class friend. She’s encouraging Grace to betray Mr. Blackwood.” Hearing this, Grace’s mother released her daughter and charged at me, her face contorted with outrage. “I know what you are! You’re just jealous! Jealous that our Grace got to marry into the Blackwoods, wearing fancy jewelry and living comfortably!” “Who are you, you common trash? A dirty little peasant, telling us what to do? You don’t have the right to interfere in our family’s business!” Grace’s father chimed in, spouting vulgarities. “Ugh! Looks like a whore to me! What, you think Grayson is rich, and you want to push our daughter out and take her place? Go look in a mirror, you pathetic scrubber!” Grace’s mother grew hysterical, suddenly lunging at me, her calloused, dry hand shooting out and grabbing a fistful of my hair. “I’ll teach you to corrupt my daughter! You little parasite! I’ll tear your mouth off!” 5 A sharp pain radiated across my scalp. I hadn’t expected the woman to be so aggressively physical, with absolutely no warning. Grayson and Sierra stood nearby, watching the spectacle with cold, amused smiles. It was clear they were enjoying the show. Grace tried to break free to stop her mother. “Mom, let her go! It’s not her fault! I’m the one who wants to leave! Grayson cheated on me, and our marriage certificate is fake!” Grace’s parents, however, didn’t look surprised by the news. Grace’s father savagely dragged her back. “Shut your mouth! I’ll deal with you later!” My head was pounding from the force of the pull. I contained my anger, instead choosing to grab the mother’s bony wrist in a firm grip. “Let. Go.” “Let go? You dare command me? You’re just a cheap slut who couldn’t hook a rich man! I’ll kill you!” The mother refused to release my hair, raising her other hand to slap me across the face. The instant her hand started its downward arc, I tightened my grip on her wrist and swiftly sidestepped her clumsy attack. The mother cried out in pain and instinctively released her grip on my hair. I disentangled myself, smoothing down the few strands that had escaped my low, professional bun. My eyes were now completely cold. “Jealous?” I looked at the couple—a pair of leeches, parasites—and felt a profound sense of irony. “The ‘good life’ you keep talking about? It was built on her dignity, her freedom, and her physical pain. All for money. You’re willing to sacrifice your own daughter, regardless of her safety, for a few bucks. You don’t deserve to be called parents.” Grace’s father sputtered, his face turning an angry shade of red. “You’re talking nonsense! We were looking out for her! Following Mr. Blackwood is a blessing!” “Enough. There’s no point in arguing with this trash.” Grayson glared at me, his eyes full of contemptuous pity. He picked up the hotel phone and called the front desk, his tone arrogant. “This is 2501. I have a disruption. Send security up immediately to clear these people out.” I raised an eyebrow. “Clearing me out?” Grayson was obviously trying to isolate Grace, knowing he could control her easily without my interference. Sierra laughed delicately, leaning into Grayson. She toyed with her hair. “I wonder how this one snuck up to the top floor. Grayson, since when is your private suite so easily accessed? I bet the price of one night here is more than her entire life is worth.” Grace’s mother, hearing this, puffed up with renewed confidence. “See? She is trash! Now get out!” Within moments, a team of tall men in crisp security uniforms strode into the suite. The security captain bowed respectfully toward Grayson. “Mr. Blackwood, my apologies for the inconvenience. We’ll handle this immediately.” He then turned to me, his tone hardening. “Ma’am, I need you to leave the premises right now.” Sierra quickly stepped forward. “Check how she got up here. She probably stole a key card from a staff member. That’s grounds for arrest.” “People from the lower class will do anything to climb the ladder.” The security captain’s expression grew serious. He took a step toward me. “Ma’am, cooperate with us. Otherwise, we will be forced to use necessary measures.” I looked at the entire scene—Grayson, Sierra, the security team—and started to smile. Just as the captain reached out to take my arm, I slid my hand into my pocket and pulled out a single, un-branded black metal card. I flashed the card in front of the captain’s face. My voice remained perfectly level. “Necessary measures? Are you sure about that?”

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It had been eight years since I cut ties with my mother, and of course, we ran into each other in the one place I thought I was safe: The Butter & Bloom Bakery on the west side. She was there to pick up a cake for my sister, Willa. I was the one behind the counter, an employee. After a long, brittle silence, she spoke first. Her voice was layered with a complexity I didn’t care to decode. “Eight years away from your father and me, and this is how you’ve ended up?” Her eyes were red-rimmed, but the emotion behind them—pity, guilt, disapproval—was deliberately unreadable to me. I didn’t answer. I just kept my head down, finished packaging the Lemon Raspberry layer cake, and pushed it across the counter. She stared at the box, her fingers hovering over it as if it might be poisoned. I eventually just pressed the box into her hands and turned away to call the next customer. But she wasn’t finished. She moved closer, dropping her voice, though the edge of accusation was sharp enough to carry. “Don’t you have anything to say to me? I am your mother, Audrey.” I stopped ringing up a dozen macaroons and looked at her, genuinely confused. What was there to say? She was the one who, years ago, had formally forbidden me from using that word—Mom. I hadn’t been that desperate little girl craving her affection for a long, long time. 1 The tension was thick, an awkward, sour contrast to the sweet, buttery smell of the shop. Other patrons were beginning to watch. The silence was broken by my father, Arthur. He walked in, looking flustered. “Is Willa’s cake ready yet?” He spotted me, and the reaction was immediate: his eyes went wide, and this fifty-something-year-old man, a renowned expert in human behavior, teared up right there in public. He reached for my hand. “Audrey, why haven’t you reached out to us all these years? Do you have any idea how much your mother and I have missed you?” I shifted back, avoiding his touch. My voice was level, almost unnervingly calm. “If you don’t have business here, please don’t interrupt my work. I have other customers waiting.” Something in my composure must have enraged my mother. Her face went dark. Just as she was about to launch into a full-scale public dressing-down, her phone rang. I saw Willa’s name flash on the screen. Vivian immediately turned her back to me, adopting a completely different, syrupy tone. “Mom, where’s my cake?” Willa whined. “Almost there, sweetie. Just wait a minute for Mommy.” She hung up and instinctively started her usual monologue, the one I’d heard a thousand times. “You know how your sister is, she loves sweets, still a child at heart, even at her age. Not like you, who was always so…” I cut her off. “Enough.” She froze, the rest of her sentence dying in her throat. The shock on her face was satisfying. The old Audrey—the desperate girl—would have never interrupted. She would have hung on every word, even the insults, just for the chance of prolonging the interaction, the hope of a crumb of attention. “I genuinely have work to do,” I stated, meeting her astonished gaze head-on. “I don’t have time for a reunion. So, could you please leave? You’re disrupting my business.” Vivian started to object, but my father pulled her back. He pasted a practiced, warm smile on his face. “You go ahead and work, sweetie. We’ll come back later.” “Don’t bother,” I rejected instantly. Then I added the one line that would always work: “And please, make sure Willa doesn’t find out you came to see me. We wouldn’t want her anxiety to flare up again, would we?” The color drained from both their faces. Willa called again, her impatient voice audible even from where I stood. Finally, my parents retreated. They walked backward more than they walked forward, taking multiple backward glances, a faint, almost invisible flicker of something—regret? desperation?—crossing their eyes before they finally disappeared. Once they were gone, the professional calm shattered. My fingers were white where they gripped the edge of the counter, and the cloying sweetness of the surrounding cakes was suddenly sickening, almost like acid. It wasn’t until noon that Regina, my boss, returned from her supply run, her arms overflowing with bulk bags of flour and specialty cocoa. I started to move to help her, but she waved me away. “You’ve been on your feet all morning, sweetie. Go take a break. Besides, I know about your back. I can handle a few sacks of sugar.” I froze. Only then did the dull ache in my lower back register. I’d been running on pure adrenaline all morning, but now the pain was a sharp, clear presence. It was an old injury, a souvenir from a night years ago. I’d lived with the constant throb for so long, I usually forgot it was even there. Regina finished unpacking and noticed me sitting in the corner, staring at the floor. She walked over, smiling warmly. “What is it, kiddo? What’s going on?” I snapped out of it, offering her a practiced, easy smile. “Nothing. Just tired.” Skylar, my co-worker and friend, immediately came over, wiping flour dust off her apron. “Tired? Please. Were those two a hassle earlier? I was in the back, but I saw your face shift.” Regina immediately tensed. “What couple? Who was it?” Skylar shrugged. “I don’t know, but they looked vaguely familiar.” Regina, her curiosity piqued, pulled out her phone and rewound the security footage. The moment she got a clear look at Vivian, she gasped, loudly. “Oh my God, that’s Vivian Shaw! The Georgetown professor? I’ve seen her interviews; she’s huge in educational theory. And her husband is Arthur Shaw, the renowned family psychologist. They’re a power couple!” “They’re famous for how devoted they are to their daughters,” Regina went on. “They raised the perfect younger daughter.” “Younger daughter?” Skylar prompted. “What about the older one?” Regina shook her head, unable to recall. She then looked back at me, her eyes wide with confusion. “Audrey, do you know them? That whole scene looked personal.” I looked at both of them, my voice flat and completely devoid of emotion. “I am their older daughter.” The sentence hung there. The one they saw as a disgrace—the aggressor who supposedly preyed on her fragile sister, the villain who tried to kidnap the golden child. Regina and Skylar were speechless, their jaws actually slack. Eventually, their shock morphed into an urgent, quiet curiosity. They pressed me for the story, and I found myself—for the first time—reciting my childhood as if it were a detached piece of fiction. Once, I had the kind of parents everyone envied. They treated me like a princess in a fairytale. I mentioned wanting to see the Northern Lights, and they canceled meetings to take me to Iceland. My father gave up a huge opportunity at a high-ranking private university to stay close to home, just so he could be more present. Even after Willa was born—the sweet, sickly younger sister who cried through the night with fevers—their attention never completely wavered. They’d rock her, then sneak into my room, pulling me into their arms. I was an easy kid, always trying to help. I carried Willa’s backpack, defended her from playground bullies, and split my candy haul with her. For years, they managed to keep the balance. We had two of everything: identical rooms, clothes, toys. Everyone praised them for their enlightened, balanced approach to parenting. The happiness ended when Willa turned eight. They took her for a full medical workup, and when they came back, their faces were grave. My mother, eyes red, pulled me close. “Audrey,” she murmured, stroking my hair, “Willa is fragile. From now on, you have to let her have her way, alright?” My father nodded seriously. “She can’t handle stress. You’re the older sister; you have to take care of her.” I didn’t understand what “fragile” truly meant, but I knew what it meant to be a good sister. I nodded enthusiastically. “I will.” I didn’t know that those two words—I will—were the beginning of my total erasure. My sunny bedroom was converted into Willa’s “solarium” because she needed more light. My beloved upright piano was hauled into a dusty storage unit because the sound “disturbed” Willa’s rest. For my next birthday, when I asked for college prep books, they brushed me off, saying they needed to prioritize Willa’s imported health supplements. “We’ll get yours later,” they promised. But later never came. Skylar and Regina were listening with furious intensity. “Even if she was fragile, they shouldn’t have done that to you!” Skylar hissed. “What happened to the balanced parenting? And what about your sister? How did she treat you?” With my parents’ new attitude as permission, Willa became bolder. She’d deliberately spill milk on my research papers, then sob to my parents that I had pushed her. She’d sneak spicy food, get sick, and claim I had given it to her. At first, they’d ask for my side, but soon, they stopped asking altogether. It was easier to assume the narrative: I was the insensitive, difficult sister who bullied the poor, fragile Willa. “Audrey, she’s fragile. Can’t you just be the bigger person?” my father would lecture. “Willa is sick, you need to be mature and stop provoking her.” I’d try to explain, but my words would inevitably be drowned out by Willa’s immediate, hysterical tears. My parents would just frown, tell me to shut up, and pull her into their arms, leaving me standing there—irrelevant, an obstruction. I became the ghost in my own house. “Be the bigger person” became the family motto. Then came Willa’s ninth birthday. I’d bought her a graphic novel with my allowance, and she’d been thrilled. She suggested a game of hide-and-seek. I agreed, delighted that she finally wanted to play with me. But she vanished. I searched for her all day—nothing. When my parents realized she was gone, they went hysterical. My mother—Vivian—grabbed my shoulders, squeezing so hard I was crying, but she didn’t let go. “Audrey Shaw! Where is Willa?!” she shrieked. I told her the truth, that Willa wanted to play a game, but she didn’t believe me. She slapped me, hard, full force, until my ears rang, and then dragged me into a spare room, throwing me down. I landed hard. I heard a sickening crack from my lower back, and the pain stole my breath. Vivian locked the door. “You ungrateful child! You must be jealous! You hid her! If she isn’t back by morning, you won’t get food or water, you hear me?” My father stood by the door, watching the entire thing with cold, detached eyes. As night fell, I lay paralyzed on the floor. The pain was so intense it eclipsed the hunger. Just as my consciousness began to fade, I heard Willa’s voice from outside the door. Her voice was weak, terrified. “Mommy, Audrey said she was going to abandon me so you could only love her! I was so scared, but I ran back as fast as I could!” I heard my mother hugging her, calling her “sweet angel,” promising to “handle your sister.” My father’s voice was filled with relief and manufactured outrage. They shut the front door, leaving me in the cold, locked room. I don’t know when I passed out. I woke to my parents’ screaming. They rushed me to the ER. The doctor was furious, holding up my X-rays. “A fractured lumbar vertebra, severe hypothermia, high fever. What did you people do to this child? Any later, and the damage would have been irreversible.” My parents didn’t hear him. They had barely settled me when Willa started wailing from the hallway: “Daddy, Mommy, I was suffocating in that closet! Thinking Audrey would leave me made me tremble!” They abandoned my bedside instantly, running to comfort her. They put Willa through a full battery of tests, eventually coming back with a “mild anxiety disorder” diagnosis, which they immediately upgraded to “Severe Clinical Depression.” My mother stormed into my hospital room, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Audrey Shaw! Are you satisfied now? You scared your sister so badly she developed a serious mental illness! How could you be so wicked?” Lying there, battered and broken, listening to their self-righteous accusation, my heart didn’t just break; it froze solid. When I was discharged, my parents took Willa and moved across the state, claiming Willa’s “safety” required it. They left me in the empty house. My mother tossed a few hundred dollars on the table. “Don’t contact us, and don’t ever try to hurt Willa again. We’ll pay your tuition directly, nothing else. Figure the rest out.” They left without a backward glance. This became my life. Working nights to survive, studying during the day, all while managing the constant ache in my back. After graduation, I had respectable scores. I felt a surge of hope—I could escape them now. I applied to a college that fit my interests. But shortly after, my parents called, the first time in months. “You applied to the State University? Who gave you permission?” My mother snapped. “Change it immediately. Willa is here, and you know she can’t handle stress. You’ll just be an unnecessary disruption.” My father cut in, his voice all business. “We’ve already called your counselor. We are your parents; we have the right to make decisions for your future.” I was forced to change my application to a random, unresearched major. I missed the cutoff entirely. No college acceptance. Meanwhile, Willa was being sent to a prestigious European university, money no object, all to “stabilize her emotional state.” I took my meager savings and bought a bus ticket. I needed to know why. I found them in an exclusive downtown bistro I could never afford to walk past. They were celebrating Willa’s acceptance letter, cutting a ridiculously expensive cake. She was wearing a designer dress; they were radiating pride and adoration. Every suppressed feeling exploded. I ran to their table. “What did I do to deserve this? Why did you ruin my life?” The moment Willa saw me, her face turned paper white. She squeezed her eyes shut, did a dramatic, slow collapse against my mother, whispering, “I’m so scared… don’t come near me…” My parents went into full panic mode. Vivian shoved me backward. Arthur’s hand connected hard with my cheek. “Get out! Get the hell out of here, Audrey!” Vivian clung to Willa, her eyes burning with pure hatred. “We don’t have a daughter like you! You’ve always tormented her! From this moment on, we cut you off. We are done. Don’t ever contact us again!” A crowd gathered, their eyes full of judgment. Look at that girl, assaulting her sister. She looks thin, but her heart is wicked. The stares were needles. I watched them rush Willa out, frantic, towards the hospital. No one spared me a second glance. Back in the bakery, the silence was deafening. Skylar and Regina were openly weeping. I smiled faintly. “It’s over now. I don’t have a family anymore. After that, they sold the house, drained whatever money I had left, and cut off contact. I had no degree, no home, and a bad back. Regina hired me. That’s how I survived.” Skylar was stomping her foot, furious. “They’re phonies! That renowned psychologist and professor are absolute frauds!” “If they ever show their faces here again, I’ll handle them,” Regina vowed. “I’ll bake them a special cake—one so sweet it makes them sick!” Just as the words left her mouth, the bell above the glass door chimed. I looked up. My parents stood there, holding a thermal container. And right between them, linked to Vivian’s arm, was Willa.

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The night I went to the ER with stabbing stomach pains, my boyfriend, Owen, was right beside me. But before I could even finish describing the symptoms, the on-call physician cut me off with a dismissive wave. “I told you last time, you can’t push ten abortions!” the doctor snapped. “You insisted it wasn’t the father’s baby, that you had to go through with it—I can’t do anything for you now!” I started to deny it, then, realizing the slander, I grew angry and demanded to speak to her supervisor. Owen, however, put a hand on my arm, pulling me toward the cubicle next door. “I know you’re not that kind of person, honey. But right now, we need to focus on your pain. We’ll come back and file a complaint later.” But we never filed that complaint. That encounter went viral online. My reputation was destroyed. Swallowed by the public’s scorn and vicious mockery, I fell into a crushing depression and eventually took my own life. After I died, the doctor offered a tearful apology. “I just saw how much pain she was in and wanted to distract her. How was I supposed to know she was that fragile?” Owen, meanwhile, was heartbroken. “She probably had a guilty conscience,” he’d said. “Don’t blame yourself for a thing.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back. I jerked my hand free from Owen’s grip and dialed the non-emergency line. “Hello, I’m at St. Jude’s ER. I’ve just been told I’ve had ten abortions without my knowledge, and I suspect I’ve been systematically drugged.” 1 “Pain is exactly what you deserve.” The doctor, Sasha Reed, looked at me with open contempt. “An abortion is common, but it’s not ‘zero-harm.’ This stomach pain is just the start—there’s worse waiting down the line.” She offered a cruel smile. “But you probably don’t care about that. Aside from your hair, you’re a mess from head to toe. You’ve probably already gotten used to it, right?” Yet, when Sasha turned to my boyfriend, Owen Garrett, the change was instantaneous. Her expression softened, becoming a sickening blend of warmth and obvious flirtation. It took less than a second for me to realize: I was back. I had been reborn. In my last life, it had gone exactly like this. My gastroenteritis flared up, leaving me twisted with pain, and Sasha—without running a single test, just scanning my insurance card—launched into her fabricated rant. It had nearly killed me then, just from the shock. I’d been so desperate for relief that I hadn’t erupted in the moment. The next day, Sasha had posted a heavily edited, subtly coded video of my admission online. “It is so hard being a doctor these days. Ten abortions and you come to me asking why your stomach hurts? You’re lucky it’s just your stomach,” she’d written. “You weren’t there, but the way she looked at me—you’d think I was one of the scumbags who got her pregnant, not the doctor trying to help.” Though Sasha had tried to obscure my identity, the internet had “recognized” me, and the hate had been immediate. I had tried to explain my innocence, that I was careful, that the rumors were insane. But no one had believed me. “If you didn’t do it, why did you run? A normal person would fight, scream, and file a complaint.” “The doctor was just trying to help, and you just up and left. You’re clearly guilty.” “Thank god the doctor released the video first, otherwise the psycho patient would have blamed her for medical malpractice!” The spiral of online hatred had led to my depression, and finally, to my ridiculous, messy death. 2 The memory of that final, crushing despair had strangely dulled the physical pain this time around. I didn’t panic. I pushed Owen’s hand away and looked at Sasha, my voice calm and even. “Dr. Reed, is this a joke, or are you being serious?” My composure caught Sasha off guard. She froze for a beat. But a woman who can brazenly lie to a patient’s face has formidable nerve. She quickly regained her poise. “Of course, I’m serious. I’m a doctor. Why would I lie?” “I used to work in Obstetrics and Gynecology. I’m just rotating through the ER right now. We’re old friends, Audrey. Don’t pretend you don’t know me.” Sasha then turned her attention to Owen. “Which boyfriend are you, exactly? Number three? Number five? I don’t think I’ve seen you before. She usually has a rotating cast of characters that accompany her.” Owen didn’t answer. He was clenching his jaw, his thigh muscles twitching as he desperately tried to suppress a laugh. Last time, he had simply pulled me away, assuring me of his trust. Back then, I found his loyalty touching. Now, I found it nauseatingly funny. Of course, he believed me. He and Sasha knew better than anyone how truly innocent I was. My expression remained placid. “This is my boyfriend, Owen Garrett. I have never had an abortion, and I have certainly never visited the OB/GYN with any ‘other men.’” Sasha feigned a dramatic understanding. “Ah, I see. This must be the main squeeze, then?” She nodded sagely. “That explains why you’re trying to play the victim, pretending I’m joking. Okay, fine. Audrey Hollis is right. I was just joking. It’s not ten abortions, it’s… appendicitis. Or maybe bad takeout. We’ll get you scanned right away. Go.” Though her words seemed to be a retraction, her tone was laced with condescending sarcasm, a clear attempt to signal that she was only “giving in” because she was forced to. 3 Sasha handed me the requisition forms for the lab work and scans. I didn’t move. I fixed my eyes on hers. “An apology isn’t going to be enough. Since you claim I’ve had ten abortions, I’m going to need you to print out my medical records. The full history.” I raised my phone slightly. “If you can’t produce them…” “…I won’t be dropping this.” Sasha’s face darkened. She slammed her palm down on the desktop. “What are you doing? Are you trying to threaten me? Blackmail me into silence?” “I admit, I violated policy by discussing your private health matters. But I was trying to save you from yourself! Your attitude makes it sound like I’m the villain here.” I ignored her histrionics and simply repeated the request. The records. Seeing Sasha’s anger, Owen finally stepped in, abandoning his stifled laughter. “Audrey, stop making a scene. It’s obviously a mix-up. Someone who looks like you, or has a similar name. The doctor made an honest mistake.” He lowered his voice, trying to be soothing. “I trust you, honey. I know the kind of person you are. We don’t need to waste time here. Your stomach is killing you. Let’s go get checked out, and we can file a formal complaint later.” I didn’t hesitate. I slapped him across the face. Hard. “Are you seriously this spineless? A woman just slandered me in front of you, and your only solution is to run and hide?” The force of the blow stunned Owen into silence. Sasha’s face twisted between pity for Owen and pure venom for me. “You did something to betray your boyfriend, and now you have the gall to lash out at him?” “I was going to let you walk away with some shred of dignity, maybe even keep this perfect man. But since you want to push it, have a look!” She spun the computer monitor around with a furious swipe. My mind went blank. The screen was a dense forest of entries, every single one listing a consultation or a procedure in the OB/GYN department. Based on this evidence, Sasha wasn’t the liar. I was.

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It was a terrible day. I drove to a quiet, old cemetery and chose a headstone that looked appropriately tragic. I sat on the grass, hugged the cool marble, and just let myself dissolve into tears. Turns out, the grave belonged to a trust fund playboy. His mother, Mrs. Worthington, saw the genuine desperation in my breakdown. She approached, quiet as a ghost, and pressed a bank slip into my hand. Five million dollars. “Sweetheart, if you spend it, just ask your Aunt Clara for more.” (I was quickly given a new ‘aunt’.) “You’re not like those other vultures. I like spending money on you.” I hadn’t even figured out how to politely refuse the funds when Mrs. Worthington called. “Sweetheart, my son isn’t dead! You two can be reunited!” Good news: The playboy, Ryder Worthington, had been missing for a year and had total amnesia. He wouldn’t be able to call me out. Bad news: I actually knew him. After all, I’d spent three years dating his uncle. 1 The crowd had barely dispersed before I cornered Ryder in his family’s opulent sitting room. “I need to be honest with you,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m not your girlfriend.” He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of obvious relief. “Well, that explains it.” “I was just… crying at your gravestone. Your mother mistook me for someone who actually cared.” “I knew it,” he said, leaning back. “I mean, I just didn’t think I’d ever date someone like you.” He immediately sensed the faux pas. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not saying you’re unattractive. You’re actually beautiful, in a… very clean-cut, innocent way. Just not my usual flavor.” He flipped through a checkbook with a casual air. “Let’s be frank. How much do you want to walk away?” He glanced up. “I heard my mother offered you five million. The fact that you haven’t touched a cent—is that a sign you think you deserve more? Don’t get greedy, sweet thing.” I knew this type of man. They were conditioned to believe every problem, including a person’s dignity, could be solved with cash. Still, his bluntness hurt. Ryder had a reputation. His temporary partners were all glamorous, high-maintenance beauties. He’d tired of yacht parties and street races, so he’d gone exploring in a foreign rainforest and suffered an accident. They hadn’t found him for six months, so the Worthington family had given up and held a funeral, burying an empty casket. Now that he was back, safe and sound, the entire family was thrilled. They’d all cooed over me. “Audrey, we were so worried after seeing how distraught you were at the cemetery. You two must promise to never be separated again.” They all believed I was his dedicated, secret girlfriend, so heartbroken I could only hold his tombstone and cry. But I wasn’t. I was just having a bad day and picked a random tombstone. Bad luck chose Ryder Worthington’s. Worse luck, his mother showed up to mourn that very day. I was finishing up my crying jag when she embraced me. “Sweetheart, I’m so moved you haven’t forgotten him.” She patted my back. “It’s okay. Ryder may be gone, but I’ll take care of you.” The entire thing was a colossal misunderstanding. Maybe I should have just taken the money and left. I held out a trembling hand. “Five hundred dollars?” I asked sheepishly. “I had to take the day off work. Call it compensation for lost wages.” Ryder’s face broke into a smirk, though he fought to contain his laughter. “Audrey, is it? You clearly don’t know who I am. My gifts start in the six figures.” I gave a weak, awkward smile. “I wasn’t actually dating you, so no need for you to break the bank.” He agreed readily enough. But as he went to transfer the money, his expression shifted. He glanced nervously at me, turned his back, and pulled out his phone. “Mom, why did you freeze my credit cards?” he hissed, keeping his voice low. His mother’s reply was a roar I could practically feel vibrating through the room. “Why do you think, you idiot? The minute you disappeared, every one of those tramps vanished. Only Audrey remembered you!” Ryder was speechless. “She’s a rare, good girl,” Mrs. Worthington continued. “You are not going to break her heart. If you want to spend money, you use Audrey’s card. I’ve raised her limit to ten million.” Ryder hung up, turning back to me, his tone suddenly laced with an oddly appealing, boyish plea. “How about we fake it for three months?” he suggested. “You can’t just stand there and let me become a pauper.” 2 Ryder Worthington was undeniably beautiful. His features were perfectly sculpted, not a flaw to be found. His eyes, though sharp, carried a constant air of casual indifference. When he wasn’t smiling, he looked like he saw right through everyone. But when he did smile, there was a fleeting resemblance to someone I used to know. I quickly looked away. “Mr. Worthington, I truly don’t want to cause you trouble, but I have a genuinely unavoidable situation that prevents me from cooperating…” He cut me off, resolute. I wrestled with the decision. Money? Or dignity? I chose the former. “If I absolutely have to play your girlfriend, can we keep it strictly between you and your mother? And when we break up, it’s going to be entirely my fault.” The deal was sealed. Ryder promised I would only ever meet his mother and no one else in the family. He was totally unreliable. On the third day of being his fake girlfriend, he took me to a high-end department store. He pointed his finger at a display case. “That one, that one, and that one. Box them all up. Three of each.” I was astonished. Ryder explained, completely unconcerned. “Can’t be helped. If I shortchange any of them, they’ll raise hell.” I nodded knowingly, then swiped the credit card. Watching nearly a million dollars vanish in a single transaction left me reeling. A smooth, familiar voice spoke from right behind me. “Feeling better? What are you doing out already?” My body went instantly rigid. I fought the urge to turn, but Ryder clamped onto my wrist. He smiled playfully at me. “Come on, say hello to Little Uncle.” I heard a tremor in my own voice as I uttered the single word, my mind blank. “Alistair.” Seven years had passed, but Alistair Worthington’s face was almost unchanged. Still defined by elegant, clean lines, deep-set eyes, and a shade of black so intense it seemed to swallow the light. His gaze swept over my face, lingering for only a second. But his expression was perfectly neutral, as if he didn’t recognize me at all. I shrank back into a corner of the velvet sofa, watching the two of them converse easily. When Alistair had walked past me, I’d caught the faint scent of cedar and sandalwood. The same cologne he always wore. A wave of dizziness washed over me. After all these years, how was it possible that I still remembered such a minute detail? Human memory was a terrifying, vicious thing. It was like the storm I’d been waiting for had finally arrived, but I’d forgotten my umbrella. I stood there, feeling exposed and weak, yet there was a strange, grim relief. The storm had finally broken. Alistair’s eyes fell upon the mound of designer boxes piled on the counter. “Why so much?” Ryder didn’t hide anything. “You know how they are. They love to compete with each other.” Alistair looked at his nephew with a familiar, weary patience. He cleared his throat and asked, as if simply making conversation, “Audrey… is she okay with this?” 3 Ryder hadn’t actually introduced me by name. But Alistair had said it, and Ryder didn’t even notice. Ryder clapped me lightly on the shoulder. He grinned at his uncle. “Don’t worry. She’s very obedient.” Alistair finally looked at me. His gaze was intense, almost burning. “Audrey, are you ‘obedient’?” Caught completely off guard by Alistair’s sudden focus, my mind went blank. I could only offer a mumbled response. “Yes. I have no objections.” The atmosphere suddenly felt suffocating. Ryder seemed to sense a shift but couldn’t place the cause. He scratched his head, then picked up one of the handbags and handed it to Alistair. “Little Uncle, they said this is a limited edition. Only three in the country. Take it for your girlfriend.” Alistair raised a single, questioning eyebrow. “My girlfriend?” Ryder blinked, confused. “Didn’t Mom tell me? You and your girlfriend are getting officially engaged next month.” So, Alistair had a fiancée. A sharp, momentary pang of bitterness struck me, then immediately flattened out. Hiding behind Ryder, I watched Alistair turn and walk away. I thought, Seven years, and neither of us stayed still. That’s good. After we finished with the shopping, Ryder was supposed to take me to dinner, but his phone rang. A syrupy, feminine voice called out, “Babe!” He broke into a look of indulgent affection. As he was leaving, he checked with me. “I’m not dropping you off, Audrey. You can get home on your own, right?” “Of course,” I said. But it was rush hour. Ride-share apps were slow to assign a driver. I stood outside the mall for a while. The cold wind bit through my thin coat, and I shivered. My phone chimed unexpectedly. A message from an unknown number: “Get in the car.” I looked up and saw a black Roll-Royce Cullinan parked nearby. The window rolled down slowly. Moonlight traced the sharp lines of Alistair Worthington’s face, his eyelashes casting a shallow shadow. My composure shattered. My phone buzzed again. “Don’t make me wait.” When I still didn’t move, the phone rang. His voice, when he spoke, was impossible to read. “Do you really want me to wait? Or is it that you’re scared of me, Audrey?” Then, the final blow. “You weren’t so cowardly when you dumped me seven years ago.”

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The college reunion was the last place I expected to see him. Rhys Beaumont, my ex-husband, a man I hadn’t spoken to in three years. One of our mutual high school friends didn’t hesitate to launch the first volley of mockery. “Willow, this is a university alumni event,” Amber sneered, tossing back her blonde waves. “Didn’t you only go to, like, a local state college? Don’t you think you’re reaching a bit?” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper that carried perfectly. “Honestly, girl, have some dignity. Rhys got married—are you really still chasing him?” I held my gaze steady and offered a level statement. “I’m here to pick up my husband.” Rhys looked up from across the room, his expression caught somewhere between pity and discomfort. He hesitated, then spoke, his voice low. “Willa, we haven’t been married in three years.” I knew that, of course. And I hadn’t actually said I was here to pick him up. 1 “Pathetic. Still trying to ride on his success even after the divorce.” Dustin Cole lit a cigarette, his eyes scanning me with casual contempt. “First time I’ve seen someone actively audition for the role of the side chick.” Dustin used to be Rhys’s best friend and, once, the second best person in my world. We were a trio in high school. But when my marriage with Rhys imploded, he’d sided with Rhys instantly. Why? Because the woman Rhys eventually cheated with—the woman Rhys eventually married—was the girl Dustin had always secretly loved. And Dustin, it turned out, had spent months helping Rhys keep their affair a secret. I’d been the only fool, blind and happily clueless until the very end. “Dustin, enough,” Rhys cut in sharply, his lips pressed into a thin line. Dustin bristled, flicking the cigarette butt away impatiently. “What? I’m just speaking the truth. A clueless mess like Willa could never compare to someone like Verity Shaw. She’s brilliant, sophisticated, everything you deserve. You let this idiot drag you down for years.” Rhys met my gaze, his voice firm, “Willa isn’t dumb.” Willa isn’t dumb. Coming from the mouth of Rhys Beaumont—the certified genius, the Ivy League grad, the tech mogul—it sounded almost ridiculous. A patronizing relic of a forgotten time. But sixteen-year-old me, the naive girl I once was, had believed it wholeheartedly. My mother and Rhys’s father formed a new family the summer I finished middle school. Rhys and I were the same age and ended up at the same ordinary high school. We even shared a homeroom. He was dead last in class rankings; I was firmly in the middle. Rhys hated me. He never spoke to me. I constantly saw him in trouble for fighting, followed by the inevitable disciplinary action. Then, it would be my mother’s turn to arrive at the principal’s office, head bowed, quietly accepting the humiliating lecture. One night, I went to the kitchen for water and saw her sitting alone on the sofa, silently weeping. “Willa,” she whispered, her voice laced with despair. “How can I make Rhys accept me?” I didn’t know. All I knew was that after that night, the tentative truce between Rhys and me broke. Our relationship became a series of petty wars. I’d spike his juice with mustard, dump dirty water in his backpack, or slip laxatives into his lunch. Rhys had finally cornered me, his jaw clenched with fury. “What else you got? Listen up, Willa, if you don’t manage to kill me, I swear I will make your mother’s life a living hell!” We went on like that for nearly a year, locked in a toxic, bitter stalemate. I honestly thought I would hate Rhys Beaumont for the rest of my life. Yet somehow, he eventually became the only person in the world who truly loved me. 2 Our endless feud came to a violent stop after a single, defining night of trauma. Rhys’s father beat my mother so badly she ended up in the emergency room. As the paramedics wheeled her onto the gurney, his father was still shouting vile accusations. “I chased you for a year! All you are is a pretty face, completely useless, zero ambition, zero capability!” My mother was nearly forty, and she had spent the first half of her life pampered and protected by my own father. She was indeed, as he screamed, unskilled in the ways of the world. Rhys’s cold, arrogant expression shattered the moment he heard those words. He stared at me in shock, muttering under his breath, “It wasn’t your mom… she didn’t chase my dad…” Rhys had always hated my mother, convinced she was the aggressive interloper who broke up his original family and caused his own mother to leave. But it didn’t matter anymore, because after that day, I didn’t have a mother either. I went to the hospital with a bouquet of the white lilies my mother loved most, only to find out she had run. She hadn’t taken a single belonging. And she hadn’t taken me. Willa Reid had no home. I didn’t know where to go. Wandering aimlessly on the street late that night, I was found by Rhys. His eyes were red-rimmed, full of a fierce, silent anger. I was so afraid he was going to hit me that I immediately curled into myself. In my fear, his arms wrapped around me in a warm, solid hug. For the first time, he spoke to me with genuine tenderness. “Willa, come home with me.” “From now on, I’m your whole world.” I reached for the hand he offered and gripped it tightly. And so, from the age of sixteen, Willa Reid’s world contained only Rhys Beaumont. 3 After my mother left, Rhys’s father’s temper became more erratic and violent. Fearing for my safety, Rhys took me and we moved out. Our lives continued, but the dynamic had fundamentally changed. I stopped acting out, and the severity in Rhys’s eyes softened. He began spending more and more time reading and studying. I couldn’t help but ask him about it. “You never liked books or classes before.” He looked at me, his gaze intensely serious. Finally, he gave my cheek a gentle, helpless squeeze. “Willa, I want to give you a better life.” I watched the flush creep up his neck and color the tips of his ears, and I nodded resolutely. Willa would never hold Rhys back. I threw myself into studying with a newfound fervor. But while Rhys climbed from dead last to the top of the class, ultimately becoming the state’s top scorer, I was still stuck stubbornly in the middle. Rhys tutored me until midnight. I would stare at the calculus problems and just shake my head. He’d sigh. “Willa, you really are such a fool.” “But,” he’d add, his tone softening as he kissed my forehead, “I love that sweet, clumsy way you are. You’re adorable.” As sleep overwhelmed me, the pen slipped from my exhausted fingers. I remember mumbling, half-awake: “Rhys, can you slow down? I’m going to lose you.” Rhys had replied that I never had to chase him; he would wait for me forever. He didn’t. Later, that sweet, clumsy way I was became the very thing he grew to despise. 4 “See? I told you she was dumb. You practically killed yourself tutoring her, and she still only managed to get into a pathetic local college, didn’t she?” Dustin played with his zippo lighter, seizing the opportunity to jump back into the conversation. I glanced around the room, trying to spot my actual husband, Ethan Wells. Ethan did attend this university, but he was in a different, non-academic college. He shouldn’t be here. I figured he must have sent me the wrong address. I couldn’t be bothered to prolong the argument over old history. “My apologies for the intrusion,” I said, and turned to leave. I’d texted Ethan, but he hadn’t replied, and his phone went straight to voicemail. I decided to head home. Just as I reached the car, a hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. “Sweetheart, please forgive me.” Rhys lowered his eyes. His expression held an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. Sweetheart. That familiar, infuriating nickname. It used to make me blush, a fun, flirtatious jab between us. But later, that simple, intimate greeting became the signal that sent my life spiraling into ruin. “Rhys,” I yanked my hand free, my face an impassive mask. “Are you acting? Because I’m not playing this game anymore.” The tension was cut by a light, contemptuous chuckle. “Willa. Fancy seeing you here.” Verity Shaw clicked her heels as she approached, as arrogant and haughty as she always was. In the past, I would have been instantly intimidated by her sheer presence. I would have felt a surge of admiration, maybe even an uncomfortable rush of inadequacy. But after the years of mental anguish and emotional turmoil, all that history had settled into a hard, cold, unremarkable calm. “Willa, why don’t you just come home with Rhys and me?” Verity suggested, her smile condescending. “Your mother misses you very much, you know.” I couldn’t believe how easy it was to say, three years later. “I don’t have a mother.” My brother. My mother. They all chose Verity Shaw. And I had chosen to let them go. Verity grasped my wrist, then nonchalantly shifted her pose, ensuring I couldn’t miss the thick, vintage gold bangle she wore. It was Rhys’s mother’s heirloom. I had worn that bracelet for ten years. And ten years was the exact length of my relationship with Rhys. 5 Dustin was right: I was truly a fool. Despite Rhys’s superhuman effort to tutor me, I barely scraped by with acceptance to a state college. Rhys, on the other hand, was the state’s top scorer and went on to the Ivy League—a star at Columbia. We both stayed in the NYC area, not terribly far apart. Though we couldn’t be together all the time, our days were sweet, close, and blissful. It was the simplest kind of happiness, and a memory I would cherish forever. Rhys was handsome, brilliant, and constantly pursued. But he always gave me all the reassurance I needed. I would often visit him at Columbia. He was so famous on campus that every little rumor about him would spread like wildfire. Soon, comments started popping up on the forums: She doesn’t deserve him. No talent, no connections, just a face. The idiot shouldn’t even look at the great Rhys Beaumont. Rhys had already made our relationship official. These posts enraged him. He said they didn’t know the real me. So, on one of his final Political Science exams—a course where he was already a borderline genius—he changed every instance of the word “Materialism” to “Willa-ism.” He nearly flunked the course and was publicly reprimanded by the department for being “too obsessed.” The incident became an infamous campus legend. Rhys was so terrified of anyone not knowing I was his girlfriend. And yet, when it came time for us to finally get married, he said, “Willa, let’s keep this a secret for now. Let’s elope.” “Just wait a few more years,” he’d pleaded. “I’ll get to the top, and then I’ll give you the grand, public wedding you deserve.” I agreed. Four years into our marriage, Rhys was a wildly successful industry leader. I never got the grand, heartfelt wedding I’d been promised. What I got instead was his infidelity. 6 On our fourth wedding anniversary, Rhys threw a massive fit. Why? Because I had supposedly lost the heirloom bangle he’d given me. He was furious, slamming the door and storming out of the house. It was the first time he had ever spoken to me with genuine malice. It was pouring rain that night. I searched everywhere we’d been. Then, I remembered the small apartment we’d shared in high school. Rhys had bought it and kept it. The walls were covered with thousands of photos of us from those early years. The instant I pushed the door open, I saw it. Rhys had another woman pinned beneath him, their bodies colliding with brutal, desperate intensity. I knew her. Verity Shaw. Rhys had mentioned her, but only sparingly. He first told me her father had shoved her onto his team and that she was probably going to be a nuisance. Later, he said Verity was brilliant, hyper-competent, and a certified genius. It was around that time that Rhys began to feel that I was the slow, difficult one. Our shared interests dwindled. Rhys’s standard reply became: “Can you stop asking? You wouldn’t understand even if I explained it.” “Willa, you’re just so slow.” But I genuinely felt happy that he had found a partner who finally matched his intellect. Now, Verity was wearing the heirloom bangle, her eyes full of cold triumph. I had been wracked with guilt, searching frantically like a desperate dog for a thing I thought I’d lost. But I hadn’t lost it. Rhys had simply given it away. She stood up slowly, leaning into Rhys’s side, and spoke with deliberate cruelty. “What are you so shocked about?” “We’ve done it in your bed in the city, in your shower, in front of your floor-to-ceiling windows. We just wanted to try the very first place you two ever did it.” A ringing deafness overtook my ears. All the strength drained from my body. Acting purely on instinct, I grabbed the photo frame from the nearby table and hurled it. Rhys immediately shielded her, his eyes blazing red. “Willa, are you insane?!” The man who had promised to be my whole world brutally shoved me to the floor. My hand landed on the shattered glass. The photo—our very first picture together, the one where he had me wrapped in his arms, showing me off proudly—was now in pieces. And the eyes of the man above me held nothing but cold annoyance. Before I could process the pain, another bomb dropped, shattering what little composure I had left. “Willa, stop your childish drama! You’re being suffocating—no wonder your mother abandoned you!” My mother. She had remarried. She had married Verity Shaw’s father and had spent the last ten years doting on Verity, showering her with the love I had always longed for. My decade of hopeful fantasy turned into a nightmare in a single, devastating moment. Rhys later demanded a divorce. I fought him, determined not to give them the satisfaction. But I was fighting a losing battle. Everyone I loved, everyone I trusted, had switched sides. My husband. My best friend. And my mother. 7 Rhys locked me in our penthouse in the city. For nearly a week, he unleashed all his resentment and fury. “I won’t sign the papers. You want to marry her? In your dreams.” At the time, the marriage certificate was the only card I had left. I was desperate, stubborn, and acting like a lunatic. A week later, a heavily pixelated video surfaced. The audio, however, was chillingly clear. “Big Brother, I love you, but please save some love for Willa.” That was a clip from a private video he’d insisted we shoot when he was traveling. He’d said he needed a ‘consolation’ when I wasn’t physically there. Rhys was always intensely private and formal, so his request for the video had both stunned and embarrassed me. Rhys and Verity knew how to manipulate the narrative. That single, out-of-context line—“Big Brother…”—was enough to launch a massive social media scandal. The final touches of the disaster were added by my own flesh and blood and my supposed best friend. My mother publicly claimed I was incestuous, that I had seduced Rhys and forced her out of her home. Dustin claimed Rhys only ever treated me like a little sister, that I was an ungrateful person who wormed my way into his bed, forcing him to marry me out of misplaced obligation. But the final, crushing blow came from Rhys himself. I lay on the bed, numbly watching my family and friends’ accusations spread online, when Verity came to see me. She told me that she had confessed her feelings to Rhys back in college. Rhys had turned her down.

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Willow and Ezra had loved each other for a lifetime, only to be reborn together into the 1980s. To claim our destiny again, I waited two full years in the same community center social where we first met. Watching him walk toward me with that familiar, determined stride, my heart swelled with joy. I reached out my hand, ready to start our new life. But his steps carried him past me, stopping instead in front of Savannah Reed, the Director’s daughter. “May I have this dance?” It turned out he wanted to change partners. 1 “Willow, you’ve looked toward that door at least ten times. Who are you waiting for? So many handsome guys here, and you haven’t spared a glance for any of them?” I ignored Savannah’s chatter, my eyes fixed on the entrance. I had been reborn, and tonight was the night I first met my husband, Ezra Thorne. In our previous life, Ezra and I were the couple everyone pointed to. We started from nothing, building a life and a business over sixty years. We were poor, we fought, we struggled, we cried, we made up, and we complained—but we never once mentioned splitting up. In our toughest times, we shared a single roll, huddling together for warmth. After we made our fortune and moved into a house, we still supported our friends and family. We walked through life hand-in-hand, the enviable model couple. On his deathbed, I asked him: “If you could be reborn, would you still ask me to dance that night?” He kissed me without hesitation, and I ended that life with a smile. So in this life, I refused every man who showed interest, no matter how capable or handsome he was. I was waiting for Ezra Thorne. I was going to be his wife again. I avoided every social mixer at Talon Textiles & Design. I told my frantic parents I had a soulmate, and he would arrive at our company on this exact date next year. My parents thought I was losing my mind. I waited year after year. Ezra, who should have joined the company in 1986, finally showed up in 1988. It was then I learned he had spent two years in the military. Ezra had always lamented his biggest regret was never having served, yet here he was, having deliberately chosen two years in the armed forces. A guess formed in my mind: Had he been reborn too? When I heard Ezra was attending the social mixer, my excitement was uncontrollable. I was the first to sign up. Even two years late, I wore the same polka-dot red dress and had my hair styled just like the night we met. I turned down every invitation, sitting in the waiting area, staring intently at the door. Tonight, I would officially greet him. “That’s the new tech specialist at the plant.” “And I heard he just got back from the military—you can tell. The whole vibe is different.” Savannah nudged my arm, pointing toward the main entrance. That familiar silhouette entered my field of vision. The thumping music of the dance floor seemed to slow to 0.5 speed. His close-cropped hair, the sharp lines of his jaw—he scanned the room as if searching. The moment his eyes met mine, he gave a shy smile, revealing his signature dimple. He walked through the crowd, straight toward me, just like the last time. Twenty-four-year-old Ezra Thorne still made my heart race. I took a deep breath. My heart hammered faster as he approached. I raised my arm, ready to receive the happiness of this second life. My hand froze mid-air. He stepped past me, stopping in front of Savannah Reed, who was sitting just behind me. “Hello, miss. May I have this dance?” Savannah looked flustered, her face immediately flushing crimson. Colleagues around us started to cheer and egg her on. “Ezra’s the new guy, Savannah! Don’t crush his confidence!” “Yeah, go on! Just one dance!” Unable to refuse, Savannah placed her hand in his. Ezra took her hand, and they walked onto the dance floor. The crowd erupted in cheers. I sat there dumbfounded, the loud music now a meaningless buzz. Ezra didn’t spare me a second glance. He walked straight past me, his steps unwavering, toward Savannah. Had he wanted to ask Savannah to dance, even back then? I fled the venue. Rain poured down, and memories of the previous life flooded back. Last time, Savannah had invited me to the social. She had styled me from head to toe. The red polka-dot dress was one she often wore. The curls were a look she had copied from an old movie star. We were similar in height and build. When we were dressed up, standing next to Savannah, I looked a bit like her twin. I couldn’t dance, so I only dared to sit in the corner. Ezra had approached, lowering his gaze, and asked me in front of everyone: “Hello, miss. May I have this dance?” The stage lights were dim. He didn’t dare look up. Seeing my delay, he gathered his courage and added: “I’ve liked you for a long time. Please, dance with me!” That was the first time I had ever truly heard my own heartbeat. I’d silently been in love with Ezra for ages. Suddenly confessed to by the object of my affection, I panicked. My mind blank, I woodenly extended my hand and managed to reply, “I like you too.” The colleagues around us cheered. It was only then that Ezra looked up and our eyes met. At the time, I couldn’t read the shock in Ezra’s eyes. I thought it was surprise. After that one dance, I grew bolder and sought him out. Ezra never rejected me. The people at the plant quickly assumed we were a couple. Marriage and children followed, as if by simple momentum. Even though he was distant, I always believed he was just a naturally reserved man. But now, remembering the burning intensity of his gaze as he looked at Savannah in the dance hall— The truth hit me. Ezra had been aiming for Savannah all along. I remembered Savannah saying she had a soft spot for military men. That’s why he joined the military first thing in this life. His supposed regret from the past life was a direct reference to Savannah. Ezra’s purpose in being reborn was as clear as mine. Only our targets had changed. I went home, sick from the rain. My parents worried outside my door for days. Once I recovered, I said with chilling composure, “Mom, Dad, I’m ready to start dating.” In this life, Ezra seemed like a completely different person. The man from the past life was cautious and would consider every move carefully. But the man now practically moved his desk next to Savannah’s. It was as if he wanted everyone at Talon to know he was obsessed with Savannah. His aggression and passion were things I’d never seen. In the old days, if I got too close to him at work, he’d avoid me. “We’re in the same unit. People will talk.” I don’t know what ‘gossip’ he was afraid of then, but now, he’d been warned repeatedly by the Director and still hadn’t stopped pursuing Savannah. Savannah, my best friend, couldn’t stop venting to me about Ezra. “He’s so annoying! Ezra Thorne is like glue, everywhere I go, he’s there!” “You don’t like him? I noticed you kept the gifts and went to the movie he paid for.” “Keeping a gift means I have to date him? I get gifts from guys all the time.” Savannah had many suitors. Ezra, even with two years in the military, wasn’t particularly outstanding otherwise. Savannah shared the imported chocolate Ezra bought her with everyone. A pang of envy struck me as I looked at the piece in my hand. When I was pregnant in the last life, I desperately wanted a sweet piece of chocolate. But he said we were starting a business, and every penny had to be spent wisely. With a baby on the way, money was tight. No matter what I wanted, he always had a thousand reasons why not. Now, if Savannah just mentioned wanting some, he’d buy her so many boxes she couldn’t finish them. Love and disinterest were always obvious. It was just my own delusion that made me blind to it. Later, feeling a bit low on sugar at my desk, I unwrapped the chocolate Savannah gave me. “How could you eat that?” This was the first time Ezra had spoken to me since his rebirth. But his next action was to slap the chocolate out of my hand. “That’s for Savannah! Where did you steal that from?” The word “steal” chilled me to the bone. That was his opinion of me: a thief. “What is wrong with you! I gave that to Willow!” Savannah stepped in instantly to protect me. Ezra gave an awkward half-smile. “Oh, right. My bad.” He turned to Savannah, his tone shifting to pleading. “Savannah, that chocolate was expensive. It cost half my paycheck. You should really keep it for yourself.” “I’ll give it to whoever I want! It’s none of your business! Come on, Will, I’ll take you out to eat.” When Ezra had said “steal,” his eyes looked at me like I was a complete stranger. He never once considered that I might have been reborn, too. After all, we had been together for sixty years, started a business, built a home, and raised children. Even without love, surely there was family affection. His cold tone was laced with resentment. He was terrified of having any connection to me, even through a gift he had given to someone else. “So, Savannah, when are you going to make things official with Ezra?” Savannah sighed, pushing some mashed potatoes onto my plate. “His background is just too rough. Besides the military thing, nothing about him excites me. I’m still thinking about it.” Despite her words, within two months, the news of Ezra and Savannah’s relationship was all over the plant. Many speculated that Ezra was chasing Savannah because she was the Director’s daughter—a classic opportunist looking for an easy climb. But to prove his ‘true love,’ Ezra got Savannah’s face tattooed on his arm. In the last life, when our son tattooed a photo of me and Ezra on his arm, Ezra had shamed him relentlessly. I never imagined he’d use that same move to woo Savannah. Savannah’s parents hated the tattoo and Ezra’s perceived opportunism. They demanded they break up immediately. But with young people, the more you push, the tighter they cling. To show he wasn’t a gold-digger, Ezra swore he would buy Savannah the first fully paid-off condo in the city by next month. Listening to the gossip, a thought struck me: Ezra, from a poor background, where would he get the money to buy a house, let alone next month? Wait. Oh, hell. I suddenly remembered that next month, the city was hosting the first-ever National Bridal Design Competition. Last life, I entered a sketch just to try. My design won the gold medal and was bought by an industry insider for an astronomical fifty thousand dollars. In the 1980s, that fifty thousand became the seed capital for Ezra and my business. My brain spun. Last life, I only submitted the drawing. If I could actually sew the dress, I could get a lot more. I worked overtime for over a month. When I arrived at the competition venue, I heard waves of praise. “Who designed this? It’s practically art!” “This level is world-class!” “I totally underestimated Ezra Thorne! That heavy beadwork is simply divine.” … The applause was non-stop. I looked toward the cluster of people. A gown identical to my past life’s design was on a model. The elaborate beadwork, the jewelry choice, the lace pattern—everything was exactly the same. The only difference: the design was credited to Ezra Thorne. I had forgotten. In the previous life, he had seen that winning design hundreds of times and used it as the corporate showpiece for our company. I met Ezra’s eyes. I didn’t need to ask for an explanation, but his eyes were filled with provocation. He turned to the crowd of contestants and declared: “Competitions should be about sincerity. If you only bring a sketch, maybe don’t bother showing up!” “My finished work has been in process for over a month. Every stitch is my own blood, sweat, and tears!” He was certain I had only brought the sketch, just as I had the last time. The onlookers praised his dedication. The few who had only brought sketches lowered their heads in shame. My mother, who had come to help me, saw Ezra’s work and panicked. “Honey, how is his design exactly the same as yours?” Ezra and the people nearby overheard Mom’s words. A moment of silence passed. Ezra pounced as if he’d caught me red-handed. “Willow Sterling! We’re from the same firm. Were you spying on me while I was designing?!” “This is a competition! Are we really going to have plagiarism in the first year?” Ezra’s prepared accusations hit like a barrage. My mother, furious, opened my garment bag to argue with him. “This is what my daughter worked on for a month at home! Who copied who?” My gown was finished just this morning. The tailor’s basting stitches hadn’t been pulled out, and some threads weren’t trimmed. That made my alleged “copying” even more convincing. The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, and people started demanding I be disqualified. Even Savannah, standing next to Ezra, looked at me like I was a thief. If I hadn’t lived a whole life before and seen every scenario, I would have fled right then. I was unperturbed, my expression calm. I registered, I filled out the forms. Seeing my attitude, Ezra adopted a posture of phony magnanimity. “Look, let’s go easy on her. I’m sure Willow was just blinded by ambition. We’re colleagues, so let’s have some mercy.” “Designs can be similar. I’m sure she didn’t do it on purpose this time.” He was playing both the good guy and the victim. People’s goodwill toward him increased. “For the sake of fairness, Willow, your entry isn’t quite finished, and it’s a collision with mine. You really shouldn’t compete. You’ll only embarrass yourself.” I smiled. “Ezra, I never said this was my entry.”

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1 Four years after I left Matt, I flew back home for a reunion. It was snowing that day, the kind of thick, wet flakes that snarl traffic into a standstill. I was late. The moment I pushed through the door of the private room, someone called out with a laugh, “Look at you two, still playing games. What’s this new thing? Arriving separately to build suspense?” Every head turned, their gazes bouncing between me and him. Matt froze for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. I just smiled and found an empty seat, my movements calm. “Alright, Joyce, you know the rules,” one of our old friends chimed in, sliding a tray of shots toward me. “Latecomers owe us three.” Matt seemed to start to rise, as if to intervene, but I smoothly intercepted the glass and downed it in one clean swallow. “I’ll owe you the other two,” I said, setting the empty shot glass down with a soft click. “My husband will be here to pick me up soon, and he already thinks I’m a lush.” The hand he’d half-raised froze in mid-air before falling limply to his side. … A sudden, ringing silence descended on the table. The atmosphere hung thick and awkward for a few beats before someone finally broke it. “Oh, right! Haha, no problem. A family man, we get it, we get it.” “Yeah, totally understand. Just good to see you, man.” As if by silent agreement, no one mentioned the little slip-up again, the conversation quickly steering into safer waters. “So, Mr. Grey, you’ve really made it big. Don’t you forget about us little guys, okay?” “Seriously, man. You started out in pre-med, then jumped into tech and crushed it. That’s insane.” The praise for him was thick in the air, a mix of awe and genuine admiration. “Hey, I saw you in a tabloid the other day with some actress on your arm. So, you’re really playing the field now, huh?” A tight, humorless smile tugged at Matt’s lips. “Don’t believe everything you read. We’re just business partners.” As he spoke, his eyes slid sideways, landing on me. I kept my expression neutral, reaching for a cocktail on the table. But he was faster, leaning over to pass it to me himself. “Thanks.” His gaze was fixed on my hands as I expertly garnished the drink, a motion I’d perfected over the years. His throat seemed to tighten. “Joyce… when did you learn to do all this?” I took a sip, the cool liquid a welcome sensation. “I’m not obligated to tell you,” I said, my tone light but firm. In his memory, I was the girl who’d choke and turn beet-red after a single sip of beer. He didn’t know about the nights when my heart felt like it was being physically torn from my chest, when alcohol was the only anesthetic that worked. The nights I’d vomit until my limbs were weak and my mind was blessedly, temporarily, blank. But that wasn’t me anymore. Tonight, I was just happy to be with old friends. He looked stunned for a moment, then, in a clumsy attempt to please, he started picking the cherry tomatoes out of the fruit platter. “Here,” he said, offering them to me. “Your favorite.” “No, thanks. I got tired of them ages ago.” He opened his mouth to say something, but just then, Maya came over. “Joyce, can I talk to you for a sec? In private.” She was my college roommate, my best friend. After graduation, she’d left for a three-year humanitarian mission in South America, and to make a clean break, I’d cut off contact with nearly everyone, including her. I stood, and Matt’s eyes followed me all the way to the door. I didn’t look back. “Joyce, are you guys fighting?” Maya asked as soon as we were in the quiet of the hallway. “Nope,” I said with a small smile. “We’re divorced.” I used to think that if anyone brought him up after four years, I’d unleash a torrent of rage. But I was fine. My heart was a still lake. No ripples of grief, no waves of joy. “But…” she began, choosing her words carefully. “You two were so deeply in love. You were inseparable. How could you just… end it?” She was right. We’d been together for seven years, the couple everyone pointed to as proof that true love existed. He had been woven into the fabric of the brightest years of my life. How could I have borne to tear it all apart? It’s almost laughable now. Back then, I thought I couldn’t live without him. Even after he personally destroyed the one thing I cherished most, I still chose to forgive him. I wouldn’t have let go if I hadn’t been pushed to the absolute edge. I clung to the fantasy of our love until the very end. But now? The only thing I hoped for was to never cross paths with him again in this life. Meeting Maya’s questioning gaze, my mind drifted back, pulled into the current of a time I had tried so hard to forget. I slowly began to tell her the story. 2 The year I was a junior in high school, Matt and his mom moved into the house across the street. His mom, Helen, was always working, pulling double shifts at the hospital, which meant he was often home alone. My parents, bless their soft hearts, couldn’t stand the thought of it and started inviting him over for dinner. From then on, whenever Helen was home, a bag of fresh vegetables or fish would mysteriously appear hanging on our doorknob. And at our dinner table, the seat to my left was always reserved for him, a set of chopsticks and a bowl waiting. My parents, both professors, noticed his fascination with medicine and started borrowing books for him from the university library. I’d never met anyone who could speak about cellular biology with such passion. His enthusiasm was infectious. I started taking my own studies more seriously, inspired by his drive. Some afternoons, I’d be in the living room practicing my dance routines, and he’d be curled up by the window, lost in some dense medical textbook. Day by day, we grew closer, our lives intertwining seamlessly. When I went to New York for a summer dance intensive, he packed a bag without a word and came with me. “Mr. and Mrs. Davis, don’t you worry,” he promised my parents, his voice earnest. “I’ll take perfect care of Joyce.” And he did. He even followed me to the same university. My parents worried it would derail his own ambitions, urging him to follow his dreams. But his gaze was unwavering back then. “Westwood’s medical program is excellent, too,” he’d said. “And being with Joyce… that’s all I want.” Once we started college, he was terrified I’d skip meals. He’d wait for me outside the dance studio every morning with a thermos of hot coffee and a bagel. I just had to reach out, and something warm was always there, waiting in his hands. It didn’t take long for everyone to know him as my devoted boyfriend. They’d tell me how lucky I was. On days without classes, we’d walk across the campus green, his hand holding mine so tightly, his palm warm, the tips of his ears flushed red. I truly believed our life would just continue on like that, a sweet, simple melody. But life has a way of composing sharp, sudden discords. Helen, worn down by years of relentless work, was diagnosed with acute leukemia. The doctors said the first round of treatment alone would be nearly half a million dollars. Without a bone marrow match, it would be a bottomless pit of expenses. That night, I found him sitting on a curb, utterly lost, like his soul had been hollowed out. When my parents found out, they scraped together everything they had—three hundred thousand dollars—and transferred it to him that same night. “Matt, her health is what’s important,” my dad said. “Let us worry about the money.” When he saw the transfer notification, his hands trembled. He dropped to his knees right there in front of my parents, his voice choked with sobs. “This kindness… I’ll spend my entire life repaying it.” Not long after, he started walking me from class, and one day, there was a girl with a cherubic face trailing behind him. “Joyce, this is Lila. She twisted her ankle, so I was just helping her out.” She was sweet and bubbly, calling me “Joyce” with an easy familiarity. After that, Lila started seeking me out, asking for advice on her dance technique. I learned she was a freshman, two years behind me. Matt told me her life was tough, that her family demanded perfection in everything she did. I’ve always had a soft spot for younger students, so I shared my experience and tips freely. One day, she asked me out of the blue, “Joyce, do you think two people from totally different worlds, you know, financially, should even try to be together?” I didn’t think much of it. “Love can conquer anything,” I replied vaguely. She sent back a cute emoji of a bunny nodding enthusiastically. After that, whenever she saw me, she’d greet me warmly and recommend all these amazing restaurants for couples. I was so busy preparing for the state regionals that I never questioned it. I didn’t know that Matt had accepted her feelings for him long before. And all those restaurant recommendations? They were the places he had already taken her. The day before the competition, he gave me a gift—a pair of exquisitely crafted ballet slippers. A good luck charm. I trusted him completely. The moment I leaped into my first move, a rusted nail hidden inside the toe of the shoe pierced straight through my left foot. Blood bloomed across the satin. I lost my balance and fell, hard. And in that split second, as I lay crumpled on the stage, I looked out into the audience. I saw Matt, standing there silently. His fingers were laced with hers. Maya’s fists clenched, and she let out a sound of pure disgust. “We were there, in the audience. We all thought it was just a terrible accident.” “So it was all a setup by those two monsters!” She took my hand, her touch gentle, and sighed. “But Joyce… you knew. You knew he cheated on you, that he ruined your entire dance career.” “So why did you still marry him?” “Because,” I murmured, my lips barely moving, “his mother was dying.” 3 When they wheeled me out of surgery, Matt was sitting in the waiting area, rubbing his temples. I stared at the thick bandages swathing my foot, the doctor’s words echoing in my head. The nail wasn’t long, but it severed a nerve. You’ll likely never have full sensation in that spot again. I would never be able to dance on a stage again. Biting back tears, I looked at him and asked him why. Why was he with her? Why did he make that decision for me, stealing my chance to shine, without so much as a word? His expression was flat, detached. “I had no choice. Lila’s father was watching this competition very closely. If she didn’t place, he’d be furious with her.” “You’re her senior,” he continued, as if explaining something perfectly logical. “And you’re my girlfriend. It was only right that you help her.” “Dancing is just a hobby for you, Joyce. But it’s different for Lila. She carries the honor of the Vance family. She couldn’t afford to fail.” The way he said her name, “Lila,” over and over, sent a shard of ice through my heart. An eternity seemed to pass before I could force the words from my throat. “You’re both disgusting.” He was pouring a glass of water. He stopped, then deliberately, he flung the contents in my face. Cold water soaked the front of my shirt. I didn’t move. It was the first time he had ever shown me anger. And it was because I had insulted Lila. He never came back to the hospital after that. But the day before I was discharged, he appeared out of nowhere. “Joyce, I promised my mom I’d marry you after graduation.” “She’s not doing well. Let’s just… let’s get the license now. To give her one last wish.” He saw the hesitation in my eyes and, right then and there, deleted every trace of Lila from his phone. He swore to me it would never happen again. My resolve crumbled. I said yes. Deep down, I just couldn’t bear to let go of our seven years. After we were married, he switched careers to tech. It didn’t take long for him to find incredible success, but with every promotion, he grew more distant. He was always working late, always entertaining clients. He was rarely home. I took a quiet admin job at a large corporation, trying my best to leave the shadows of the past behind me. Sometimes, I’d see a dancer on TV, a flash of graceful movement, and the old ache would return, a dull throb in my chest. But then, a small miracle. I discovered something new to look forward to. On Matt’s birthday, I took the day off work, planning to surprise him. When I got to our apartment, the door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and saw something I could never unsee. A woman was draped over him on the sofa, her soft moans filling the silent apartment. The voice belonged to Lila. A primal rage took over. I stormed in and slapped her across the face, the sound cracking through the air. The next second, a foot connected with my stomach, and Matt sent me flying. I stumbled backward, the sharp corner of the coffee table digging into my spine. A violent cramp seized my lower abdomen. A warm wetness spread between my legs. I saw the blood. Trembling, I reached a hand out to him. “Matt… the hospital. Get me to a hospital…” He stood over me, his eyes as cold and remote as they were that day in the hospital. “Why would you hit me, Joyce?” Lila sobbed, clutching his arm, her face buried in his sleeve. “Is it a crime to love someone?” “We were trying so hard to stay away from you,” she whimpered. “But you just had to come home at this exact moment.” He gently cupped her face, his voice a soft murmur as he examined the red mark on her cheek. “I’m here. She can’t hurt you. Don’t be scared.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, but the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable. So they’d been seeing each other this whole time. And I, like an idiot, had been guarding the shattered remains of our relationship. My hand shook as I reached for my phone on the floor. He kicked it away. “You deserve this, Joyce.” I shook my head, my voice breaking. “Please… give it back.” “Matt, I’m pregnant. The baby… our baby…”

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1 For 365 days a year, my girlfriend would hire 365 different gig workers to go on dates with me in her place. All because of her insufferable ex, a man still playing his tragic game of winning her back, always using self-harm as his trump card. I suggested we move to a different city. But my girlfriend, Serena, just screamed at me. “If he dies, you’ll be a murderer!” “Why can’t you just tolerate him? You’re so petty!” It all came to a head on the day of our engagement party. She sent another proxy to stand in for her. This time, I slid the ring directly onto the proxy’s finger. “Fine,” I said. “New bride it is.” … I was just about to take off my suit jacket when Serena came through the door. She was propping up a man who was swaying, drunk off his feet. Her small frame strained under his weight, terrified he might fall. My hands froze on my jacket. “Go make Damian a hangover cure, and then cook me dinner,” she ordered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if I were her servant. Damian, his face flushed with alcohol, glared at me from Serena’s shoulder. “I’m not eating anything he makes. It’s disgusting.” “If Daddy’s not eating, I’m not eating either!” Ella, their daughter, shot out like a tiny cannonball, planting her hands on her hips and looking up at me with pure defiance. “Fine,” I said quietly. I had no intention of cooking for them anyway. Ella was Serena and Damian’s daughter, but I had been the one raising her since she was born. Five years of being the dependable man, the steady hand for this mother and daughter, yet in their eyes, I was still an outsider. Their world revolved around Damian. I turned and walked back to my bedroom. A few minutes later, Serena followed me in, holding a steaming mug. “Martin, I made you some coffee.” This was her pattern. She’d issue a command, then follow it with a small, placating gesture to soothe my feelings. It was our unspoken signal to move on. But this time, I just glanced at it. “Just put it down.” My flat reaction must have thrown her. Her expression grew complicated. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “Today was our engagement party. Aren’t you forgetting something?” “What?” I asked, genuinely confused. She held out her left hand, fingers spread. “You need to put the ring on me.” My gaze followed hers to her ring finger, and a sharp sting went through me. There was already a ring there. Her eyes darted away, and she quickly pulled it off. “Damian forced me to wear this. He said he wouldn’t leave the bar unless I put it on.” She held her bare hand out to me again. I ignored it, walking right past her to hang up my suit. “Don’t bother. The proxy is already wearing it for you.” Serena’s voice instantly became shrill. “You gave my ring to a gig worker?!” “Weren’t we celebrating my engagement to her today?” I replied calmly. “What’s the problem with her wearing the ring?” I don’t know which part of that set her off, but she suddenly hurled her handbag at me. It wasn’t enough. She grabbed a vase from the entryway and threw that too. I instinctively raised my arm to block it. Ella appeared from nowhere, slapping at my legs, her little face a mask of fury. “Bad man! Bad man! Don’t you hit my mommy!” Seeing her, I worried she’d get hurt. I quickly wrestled the vase from Serena’s hands, but Ella sank her teeth into my calf, hard. She clung to my leg, screaming toward the living room. “Daddy, come quick! Mommy’s being attacked!” A drunk man has little self-control, and I was already the person he hated most in the world. The next thing I knew, there was a sharp pain, and warmth trickled down the side of my head. Serena froze, her hands tightening into fists. Only Ella was clapping. “Yay! The bad man is down! The bad man is bleeding!” Serena rushed to get a first-aid kit, pressing a piece of gauze to my wound. “I’ll take you to the hospital.” She held the gauze firmly against my head. I tried to push her away, but she just kept pressing, guiding me out the door. A flicker of warmth touched my cold, numb heart. “Martin,” she said as she started the car. “I want to talk to you about something.” “I want to change Ella’s last name back to Vance.” My breath caught in my throat. That fleeting moment of gratitude, of feeling cared for, felt like a cruel joke. I looked at her and laughed, my voice devoid of any emotion. “Ella is your child. She should have your name. You don’t need my permission.” A flicker of surprise crossed her face. “You agree?” Before today, I would have fought for them, cherished them as my own, tried to tuck them away from the world and protect them. But now, I was just tired. I was done fighting. “She’s your daughter, Serena. It’s your decision.” A joyful light filled her eyes. “I knew you’d think of what’s best for Ella! This way, she’ll have two daddies.” My head was pounding. I didn’t reply. She chattered on for a while before focusing on the road. We were halfway down the winding mountain road when her phone rang, playing a custom ringtone I knew was for Ella. The moment she answered, Ella’s panicked voice filled the quiet car. “Mommy, Daddy’s cutting his wrist with a knife again! You have to come back!” Serena immediately slammed on the brakes and spun the car around. “Serena,” I said, my voice low. She shot me an irritated look. “This is a matter of life and death! Can you not be so dramatic right now? Have some compassion, for God’s sake! Don’t be so cold-blooded!” I shook my head, my own voice eerily calm. “Just do me a favor and call me a car.” Only then did she seem to remember the blood matting my hair. A sliver of guilt appeared on her face. She quickly made a call. “I’ll just go check on him, and I’ll come right back for you. Wait for me at the hospital.” I watched her car disappear into the darkness, a single thought echoing in my mind. I won’t be waiting for you anymore. 2 I met Serena five years ago. It was on a desolate stretch of highway, just like this one. She had collapsed on the side of the road. I took her to the hospital, where the doctor told me she was pregnant. For two whole days, I couldn’t reach any of her family. Finally, a man claiming to be her fiancé showed up, but he only accused her of faking the pregnancy and called me an actor she’d hired. I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. In the weeks that followed, I watched as Damian’s first love, a woman named Victoria, tormented Serena, framing her for things she never did. Eventually, Serena’s spirit broke. She begged me to take her away. Damian, of course, tried to win her back. But Serena, her heart shattered, refused him. I remember her saying that a broken mirror can’t be put back together. Once it’s cracked, the pieces will never fit the same way again. Naturally, after that, Serena and I fell together. And I came to love Ella as my own daughter. I woke up with a pounding headache, pressing my hands to my forehead as if trying to hold the pieces of a bad dream together. A man with a grim face was standing by my bed. “You’re awake? Good. Pay your fare.” “If I’d known you were a hospital case, I never would’ve picked you up. What a waste of my damn time.” I looked at him, finally recognizing the rideshare driver Serena had called for me last night. I opened my banking app, but all I had was the small amount of grocery money Serena had transferred to me. It wasn’t nearly enough. I had no choice but to call her. The driver’s impatient stare was burning a hole in me. I called twice. No answer. “Come on, kid, hurry it up,” he grumbled. “I’ve got other fares to pick up. Stop wasting my time.” Desperate, I called my daughter. The second I spoke, Ella’s voice, sharp with scorn, shot through the phone. “You’re pathetic! So pathetic you have to call a kid for money. You might as well just go die!” She was shouting so loudly that the quiet hospital hallway went silent. Patients passing by shot me strange, pitying looks. Just then, a nurse walked up to my bed. “Bed 102? You need to go down and settle your bill. The total is four thousand, three hundred and sixty-two dollars.” My face fell. That was it. The driver was now certain I was broke. He grabbed the front of my shirt, the flesh on his face jiggling with anger. “You piece of crap! You take a private car with no money? I’ll beat the hell out of you!” Seeing the commotion, the nurse’s tone hardened. “Sir, please pay your bill immediately. You’re disturbing the other patients.” Everyone was staring, whispering. I felt completely cornered, helpless. Suddenly, a young woman appeared, pulling the driver’s hand off my shirt and stepping in front of me. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, looking at me with feigned exasperation. “It’s my fault for letting you spoil me so much. You never leave any spending money for yourself.” She then turned, all business. “Sir, you can scan my QR code right here. And Nurse, I’ll be down to pay the bill as soon as I’m done here.” “Oh, so he’s just one of those guys, wrapped around his wife’s finger,” someone muttered. “Hey, kid, sorry about that. We misunderstood.” The crowd, suddenly enlightened, dispersed, their judgment turning into murmurs of approval. Later, in the hospital cafeteria, I looked at the woman with the chic, chin-length bob and it finally clicked. “You were the proxy from the engagement party.” She extended a hand. “Let’s start over. My name is Claire. I’m a lawyer with the Sterling Firm.” I let out a dry laugh. “A lawyer who does proxy work?” “A side hustle,” she said with a shrug. “Don’t judge. Since we ran into each other, I wanted to give this back to you.” She held out the ring. “No, thank you,” I said, the words tasting like ash. “It’s not mine.” Even the engagement ring had been bought with Serena’s money. I felt like a complete clown. “I don’t like owing people favors,” Claire said. “So, how about this? In return, I’ll help you get your job back at Apex Airlines.” I looked up, shocked. “You know who I am?” “The legend of Captain Jiang,” she replied with a small smile. “The man who saved an entire plane. Of course, I know you. I just never understood why you quit at the peak of your career.” The world thought it was psychological trauma. No one knew that Damian had systematically destroyed my career, pressuring every airline until none of them would dare hire me, all as part of his twisted campaign to win Serena back. I gave a bitter laugh. “Tell me how.” I didn’t believe for a second she could change anything. She crossed her arms. “The person who created the problem is also the key to solving it.” Before she left, Claire gave me her card and told me to think about her offer. I went back to the villa. For the next two weeks, I didn’t see Serena at all. Then, one night, I got a call from her best friend. “Serena’s drunk. She needs someone to take care of her.” “Let her sleep it off at your place,” I said calmly. “Or call Damian.” God is my witness, I was genuinely thinking of what was best for her. But Serena, who was supposed to be dead drunk, came home and threw herself at me, sobbing. She buried her face in my chest, her nose red. “Why didn’t you come get me?” “That bastard Damian… his precious Victoria is coming back, and he still won’t let me go. What does he think I am? A dog he can just summon whenever he feels like it?” I looked down at her. This time, I didn’t offer my usual comfort. I just said, softly, “Serena, you still have feelings for him. Maybe you should give each other a real chance.” Her face changed instantly. “What are you trying to say? You’re pushing me away? You’re pushing me onto someone else? I’m with you now! Are you trying to dump me and be the bad guy?” “I’ve already booked the wedding venue! Besides, where would you go without me? Begging on the streets? Don’t be ridiculous!” I checked the message on my phone. She was serious. She’d booked a venue for three weeks from now. I was stunned. Could she actually want to marry me? That very night, that foolish hope was brutally crushed. I was staring, numb, at the pregnancy test I found in her drawer. In the five years we were together, I had respected her boundaries. I had waited, never once touching her. She had told me she wanted to have a daughter with me, one just like Ella. She’d said her biggest regret was getting pregnant out of wedlock, letting Ella suffer the judgment of others. My head started to buzz, my breathing grew ragged. It was all a one-sided fantasy. She would rather have child after child with Damian than let me, her supposed partner, even touch her. My years of devotion felt like one long, sick joke. After that day, Serena threw herself into wedding planning with a manic energy. I felt nothing. No one could have guessed that I had also hired a proxy for the wedding day. On the day of the wedding, I sat in the audience, a baseball cap pulled low over my eyes, and watched Serena walk down the aisle in a flowing white gown. I had picked it out for her myself, ensuring it would be comfortable and place no pressure on her belly. The time for the ceremony drew near, and I still hadn’t appeared. Serena called my phone several times. I didn’t answer. She walked over to my best friend, Marco. “Marco, can you get ahold of Martin?” Marco shook his head, hiding his phone behind his back. “Serena, maybe you should just call it off. Everyone in the city knows Martin’s a player. Who knows what kind of diseases he might have? I don’t think you should marry him.” “Yeah, Serena, listen to us,” others chimed in, rallying around her. Just then, a voice called out from the entrance. “The groom has arrived!” Serena’s head snapped up. She lifted her dress to run toward the door, then froze. “Damian?” I took off my cap and walked onto the stage. “Congratulations to you both,” I said, my voice ringing through the silent hall. “Serena, this is the exclusive proxy I hired just for you. How does he compare to the 365 you hired for me? Are you satisfied?”

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