That was the last time I ever brought up the subject of our engagement with Rhys Kingston. The room went silent. Then, a collective snicker turned into a roar of laughter when they caught the look of sheer annoyance on Rhys’s face. “Seriously, a childhood promise? What is this, a Jane Austen novel?” “Our Princess Anya is finally feeling the heat, huh? Thought that old family pact kept you safe?” I ignored the crass, drunken mockery. My eyes were fixed on Rhys, who was draped in a velvet armchair. His shirt collar was undone, and I could just make out faint, tell-tale marks—hickeys—on the skin above his collarbone. My heart seized, a sharp, almost surgical kind of pain. The full, brutal realization of what those marks meant hit me a second later than the sting. “We were naive children, Anya. That kind of ridiculous arrangement only makes sense when you’re twelve.” Rhys met my gaze, a lazy, utterly dismissive look. His lips curled in subtle mockery. “We’re not kids anymore, Anya Wells. Let’s be adults and call this whole childhood thing what it is: over.” 1 I stared at him, my mind scrambling for a response. The door to the private penthouse lounge swung open. Holly Quinn came in, wearing the black uniform of the catering staff, holding a tray of champagne flutes. She flinched visibly when she saw me, her voice dropping to a near-inaudible whisper. “Ethan’s sister… I mean, Miss Wells.” Then, quick as a flash, she darted a tearful glance at Rhys. “I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize I was interrupting something.” Holly’s voice trembled as she rushed to set the tray down and leave. Rhys’s composure broke. He suddenly kicked out, flipping the heavy mahogany coffee table in front of him. Glasses shattered, and the sound of cracking crystal echoed through the sudden silence. Shards of glass flew. A piece grazed my arm—a sharp, immediate stinging—and I watched the blood bead up, slowly spilling onto my white dress. Rhys didn’t even glance my way. His face was thunderous as he strode toward Holly. He roughly grabbed the frilly apron tied around her waist and yanked it off. “Holly, did I not make myself clear? You are not to be working here or anywhere.” She nodded immediately, obediently, but then her eyes welled up. “I just… I don’t want to keep leaning on you, Rhys. You and Ethan have done too much already. I can earn my own living…” “But it makes me sick to see you in this,” Rhys growled, tossing the apron aside. “You’re coming home with me now. And if I ever see you trying to work again, I swear I will personally shut down the place.” He spun around, his gaze finally snapping back to me. “And anyone—anyone at all—who tries to use their connections to make your life difficult, they’re going to pay. No history, no relationship, will matter to me.” I pressed my hand to my bleeding arm. The room was chaos, but I held his gaze, my face a mask of cold neutrality. This penthouse lounge is part of the Wells Group portfolio. Rhys thought I had pulled strings, using my family’s power to make a point, to make her suffer. The ridiculous, painful thing was that Holly was already living like a pampered princess, showered in my brother’s and Rhys’s money. She had no need to “work her way through life.” But I knew that even if I presented the club manager as a witness, Rhys wouldn’t believe a word of it. In his mind, I was the malicious antagonist, the entitled heiress using her power to crush the fragile, innocent heroine. “Anya Wells,” Rhys said, his voice flat with finality. He pulled Holly securely into his side. “You’re too much, Anya. Too demanding. Too dramatic.” He tightened his grip on her shoulder. “The engagement is off, officially. You can stop grasping at that childhood agreement now.” The room went silent again. Holly’s face went white, and she trembled, shrinking further into Rhys’s embrace. My so-called friends looked at me with a mix of disgust and pity. A strange feeling, almost like relief, washed over me. I remembered the months of hysterical arguments and the tears I’d shed, all because my entitled, spoiled existence couldn’t handle sharing the unconditional affection that had once been solely mine. I reacted, I threw tantrums, I cried. All I managed was to cement their loyalty to her. Now, I was simply tired. Exhausted, down to the bone. “Fine,” I heard myself say. It was a single, utterly calm word. I took a slow step forward. Rhys instantly moved to shield Holly further. “Anya Wells, you want to start something, start it with me.” I lowered my injured hand and spread my fingers. The white skin of my palm was a mess of spreading crimson. Rhys’s eyes flickered, the anger in them softening a fraction, a brief moment of human doubt. But then Holly pulled away from him. “Anya, please don’t be angry with Rhys. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have intruded…” Her tears began to fall perfectly on cue, running down her porcelain cheeks. “I’ll leave right now.” “Holly, I told you. I have you,” Rhys whispered, immediately stroking her cheek and wiping her tears away. Any brief moment of wavering was gone, replaced by a fierce protectiveness—and unconcealed revulsion directed at me. “Anya, why do you have to be so manipulative—” I cut him off. “Ending the engagement is fine. But I want my things back.” Rhys looked confused. “What things?” I reached behind my neck and unclipped the scarlet cord. Hanging from it was a small, plain silver locket—the heirloom his mother had given me when the pact was made. My mother had given him a heavy, much more valuable signet ring, a family heirloom blessed by some high-ranking archbishop in the past. “The locket for the scarlet wristlet,” I stated, referring to the ornate silver cuff he’d received. Rhys’s face hardened. He knew how much that locket meant to me. I hadn’t taken it off since I was fifteen. “You think everyone is as obsessively sentimental as you are, clinging to sentimental trash?” Rhys scoffed, snatching the locket from my hand. He held my scarlet wristlet, the piece that had been mine since childhood, and sneered. “What a pathetic thing. Carrying it around like some lovesick puppy.” He gave me one last cold look. “I’ll find your wristlet and have it delivered to your house. We’ll be done.” * * * Ethan was waiting for me in the living room when I got home. “Anya, listen, there’s something I need to tell you.” He handed me a thick folder of documents. “I’m planning to sign over the title of the Commerce Building to Holly so she can manage the leases and have an income stream.” I looked at the documents. That building was part of Mom’s estate—a massive asset she brought into the Wells family from her side. I snatched the stack of papers and tore them, cleanly and deliberately, right down the middle. “Anya! What is the meaning of this?” Ethan pushed his glasses up, looking severely disappointed. “I covered for you when you shoved Holly down the stairs last month. You owe her this, if not more.” He lowered his voice. “Did you forget Mom’s final request?” Ethan fell silent. On her deathbed, Mom had made him swear to protect me, to look after me, and to never let anyone steal what was mine. “I didn’t forget,” he said slowly. “But Anya, she’s my sister now too. Is it really too much to ask for me to split my affection? To share the love I have for you with her?” He sighed, a patronizing sound. “You’re being stubborn and spoiled. Why can’t you be more like Holly?” The urge to laugh died in my throat, replaced by a sudden, choking well of tears. “Ethan Wells,” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “Mom’s legacy. Nobody takes it.” I dropped the shredded papers into the bin. “You want to give Holly a gift? Give her one of Dad’s properties.” “What good things has the Wells family ever had?” he muttered, instantly recoiling. I had the answer already: From people to property, nothing good remained. I turned and headed for the stairs. “Mom’s death anniversary is next week. Don’t forget.” “How could I forget?” Ethan gave a weak, shifty smile. “You go rest. I’m heading to the study to catch up on some work.” I didn’t reply, nor did I look back. I didn’t sleep that night. I walked through the house, collecting every single item that held a memory of the three of us—Ethan, Rhys, and me. The photos I burned in the fireplace. Anything that could be smashed, I smashed. Whatever was salvageable—expensive clothes, jewelry, books—went into boxes destined for a local charity. Only the house remained—the small villa that was the only place Mom had ever felt happy in. I sat out on the balcony, holding Mom’s framed photograph, and cried until I finally drifted off to sleep. The day after my birthday was Mom’s anniversary. She had held on just long enough for me to celebrate one last time. For eight years since, Rhys had never failed to spend the entire day with me, making sure I got through it. This was the first time he’d bail. It didn’t matter. But while Rhys was absent, Holly’s influence was not. Her Instagram feed was a continuous stream of celebration all night, which my frenemy, Chelsea, helpfully live-streamed to me. “Couldn’t think of a reason for a party, so Rhys suggested we celebrate my new tablet! Just kidding—it’s really just an excuse for cake and champange! Look at my new tiara!” I quit Instagram, flipped my phone face-down on the nightstand, closed my eyes, and made a wish over the flickering candle. “Mom, please bless me with a clean break. Mom, please help me finally be free of these rotten people.” On Mom’s anniversary, I waited. Dad sent flowers and a few expensive items for the memorial. Ethan never showed. I called three times. No answer. The fourth call was answered by Brenda Quinn, Holly’s mother. “Anya, honey, is that you? Are you looking for Ethan?” “Today is my mother’s death anniversary.” “Oh, your mother’s anniversary? Bless her heart. You know, our little terrier just had a litter of puppies this morning, and Ethan and Holly have been so utterly distracted. They completely lost track of time.” She spoke with faux pity. “It’s probably too late to head over now, don’t you think?” “Auntie, who is it?” Holly’s sweet, muffled voice in the background. “It’s Anya. She sounds upset. What should I tell her, Ethan?” Ethan’s voice came on the line. “Anya, hello?” I hung up the phone and blocked his number immediately. Mom’s photo smiled back at me from the granite tombstone. It was a beautiful spring day, but kneeling there, I felt like I’d fallen into a cold, bottomless void. I hugged the stone marker and kissed the smooth surface. It’s okay, Mom. At least I’ll never forget. * * * I returned from the lawyer’s office to the house, only to find Rhys, Ethan, and Holly standing by the door. Holly was flanked by both of them, clutching a massive bouquet. Ethan spoke first. “Anya, look! Holly’s design just won the International Young Designers Award. I’m so proud of her.” “I was only trying to follow in Anya’s footsteps,” Holly said, a perfect picture of demure humility. Rhys took the portfolio and gave a dismissive laugh. “Follow her? Anya had the best tutors money could buy and never made it past the preliminary round. This takes real talent, baby. Don’t downplay it.” I ignored them and reached for the design pages. My breath caught. Sheet after sheet, the sketches were almost identical to my abandoned portfolio. Holly had stolen my work. “You stole my designs! Holly, you’re despicable!” I was trembling with fury, and my hand instinctively shot out to strike her. Rhys’s grip clamped down hard on my wrist, stopping me mid-air. He shoved me backward with a violent force that sent me sprawling onto the ground. “Anya Wells, your spoiled tantrums have gone too far.” He stood over me, livid. “Holly won that award fair and square. Where is your proof? If you can’t produce it, you’re making a slanderous accusation.” “I would never steal your work, Anya,” Holly cried, tears already streaming. “You hate me so much—I’ve never been near your computer!” She collapsed into Rhys’s arms. I looked desperately at Ethan. My computer had been in his study. Only he had access. Ethan immediately broke eye contact. I didn’t need any more answers. “Anya Wells, look at yourself.” Rhys looked down, radiating contempt. He threw the scarlet wristlet onto the ground near my hand. “I truly don’t know what I ever saw in you.” I looked up, ready to meet his mockery, but my eyes locked onto the delicate diamond tulip pendant around Holly’s neck—the necklace my mother had left to me. “Ethan! How could you give her Mom’s necklace?” I pointed at Holly, my vision swimming red. Ethan pressed his lips together, shifting nervously. “Anya…” Holly immediately reached for the clasp, tears falling faster. “Anya, I didn’t know this was your mother’s. I’ll take it off right away.” Ethan, instantly heartbroken by her distress, grabbed her hand. “Don’t, Holly. It’s my gift to you.” He turned back to me. “It’s just jewelry, Anya. A trinket. Holly loves it, and she deserves something nice. I’ll buy you a better one.” “I’d rather throw this thing into the ocean than let the daughter of the woman who destroyed Mom’s life wear it!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. Ethan’s face flushed with shame. “Anya, stop with the hostility! That’s between the adults! What does any of that have to do with Holly?” Holly was sobbing hysterically, burying her face in Rhys’s chest. Rhys was incandescent. “Anya Wells, enough is enough!” He yanked the necklace off Holly’s neck and threw it at the ground with force. “Here! Take your damn trinket! Let’s go, Holly. I’ll buy you a piece ten times better and ten times more expensive right now.” Ethan sighed, then looked at me with pity. “Anya, why do you have to be so difficult? Why can’t you be a little kinder? Holly is going through so much.” He lowered his voice. “She needs this win to establish herself in the design world. It’s her first step toward having a real life here… and to eventually be accepted by the Kingston family.” He reached out to help me up. “Anya, please…” “Get your hand off me,” I hissed, pushing his arm away. I looked at him, and then I smiled—a cold, genuine smile. “Brother,” I said. It was the last time I would ever use that title. “You will get what you deserve.” Ethan frowned, unwilling to meet my eyes. “Anya, I promise, I’ll fix this. I’ll make it up to you.” He rushed to catch up with Rhys and Holly, his back turning on me. I sank down, picked up the diamond tulip, and clutched it to my chest. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. It was the strange, numb calm that comes when human pain finally exceeds the capacity for tears. The sun finally sank below the horizon, painting the sky in a bloody, dramatic wash of orange and red. The weather forecast had warned about high temperatures and dry air. Late that night, I began to feed the thick stack of yellowed letters into the fireplace, followed by the photos. Rhys and Ethan and me, their faces all bright, beautiful, and happy. The smiles disappeared into the smoke, turning into nothing but fine gray dust. My eyes were hot from the flames. I leaned close, catching a glimpse of the old handwriting. Ethan wrote: “I will always love my little sister and protect her. Anya will be my princess forever.” Rhys wrote: “I’m going to marry Anya when we grow up, and we’ll have two kids—a boy and a girl.” They had meant every word. They had both sworn that I mattered more than their own lives. But the promises, like the faded ink on the page, always drift away on the wind. The heat scorched my fingertips, and I dropped the last piece. It drifted down onto a forgotten silk garment bag. The small flames caught, licking up the side of the curtains and then onto an old storage trunk. Thick smoke began to pour out of the window. Rhys’s number flashed on my phone. I didn’t answer. Ethan called next. I hung up. As I was about to block them both, a text from Rhys came through. “Anya, look, Holly is still your sister. I wish you could just be happy for her. She really hoped you’d call. I’m going to buy you that set of diamond studs you liked tomorrow. Don’t be difficult.” Ethan’s text followed immediately. “Anya, I’ll pay for a custom replica of Mom’s necklace. I’ll make it up to you. Can you just forgive me?” I wanted to laugh, and finally, the tears came—choked, silent, and bitter. My reply to Rhys: “I hope she gets disqualified, and I hope you both burn for what you did to my mother.” My reply to Ethan: “Go ask Mom for forgiveness. Oh, wait. You can’t.” I blocked and deleted their numbers. I dragged my single suitcase out, taking one last look at the house saturated with memories, and walked away without looking back. Soon after I left, a draft caught the candle I’d left burning by the fireplace. The small flicker became a hungry lick of fire. The dry air and the old wooden structure devoured the flame. The home, the archive of our life, was a ruin.

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I’ve had four boyfriends. The first was an arrogant, old-money scion. I chased him for two years. We lasted three months. When he dumped me, he looked down his nose at me, his eyes cold. “Harper, to me, you were just a game.” The second was a brilliant academic, an associate professor. I pursued him, too. We were together for a year. His smile was gentle when he ended it. “Reed, I don’t have the time to wait for you to grow up.” The third was an A-List actor. Ironically, he was the one who chased me. When he cast me aside, his voice was laced with spite. “A bastard child is a nasty thing, after all. You just need a little attention and you come crawling.” Years later, when I finally announced my marriage to the fourth, they all came calling. 1 Life’s a long journey, and with you, I’ll take my time. I posted the announcement on my social media—a picture of Owen Maxwell and me, our signed marriage license held up between us. Friends flooded the comments with a gratifying wave of love and blessings. Then I saw one comment that felt like a needle scratching glass. Are you seriously going through with this? It was from Elias Hawthorne. My first boyfriend. My so-called first love, though the ending was so humiliatingly brutal that it purged him of any possibility of becoming a “ghost of my past” or “the one that got away.” Given Elias’s staggering arrogance, I was surprised he hadn’t scrubbed me from his contacts entirely. Maybe he kept me around as a footnote, a minor conquest he occasionally enjoyed glancing at, like a museum piece he owned. I replied to the well-wishers, pointedly ignoring Elias’s loaded question. I sent a quick voice note to Owen: “Could you pick up that small blueberry micro-cake on your way back?” The moment I hit send, a new message popped up, and my hand actually trembled: Marcus Albright. Why on earth was Marcus texting me? You’re getting married? My feelings toward Marcus were complicated, a tangled knot of longing and anger. When we were together, I had truly envisioned a future—house, dogs, kids, the whole middle-class dream. Marcus was a PhD Candidate when we met, six years my senior, polished, polite, and overwhelmingly gentle. He was just as calm when he ended things. I had been hysterical, pleading with him not to leave, yet he’d simply dried my tears and smiled that serene, hollow smile. “Harper, you’re just too immature. I don’t have the time to help you find yourself.” Marcus was always so painstakingly controlled. Even when I was a screaming mess, he remained detached. He listed my failings like bullet points in a dissertation, which, for months afterward, sent me spiraling into crippling self-doubt and emotional exhaustion. But those dark days were behind me. I glanced at the marriage license resting on my coffee table. I had found my ground. Yes. We signed the papers this morning. The “typing…” indicator stayed on for a long time. Finally, one sentence came through: Congratulations, and happy wedding. Thank you, Professor. It was startling. The intense love and the residual sting of betrayal I felt for Marcus had, with time, faded into something polite and dull. I logged off the chat and scrolled through social media. The top news story was A-List actor Dean Kinsley’s live-stream. He had been on camera when his expression suddenly froze into a dark scowl. The comments section was full of speculation: What did the king see? His face just went totally black! I raised an eyebrow. Dean Kinsley, still unable to mask his immediate emotions. Given his massive family influence and Hollywood status, I supposed he never needed to hide anything. Dean was my third ex. Although the words he used when we broke up were cruel, they hadn’t cut deep. From the first day we started dating, I knew it wouldn’t last. I knew his motives were shaky, but I was so crushingly lonely then. When he pursued me, I accepted. I was slightly curious what news had wiped the smile off his face. Just then, the doorbell rang. Owen was back, holding my small cake. Looking at the towering, solid man in front of me, it was still hard to believe we were finally here. 2 My encounter with Owen Maxwell was purely accidental—or so I thought at the time. I had just broken up with Dean. Though I’d always known the end was coming, I’m sentimental, and I felt hollowed out. To shake the feeling, I flew to the American West—to the vast, remote open spaces of Montana. That’s where I ran into Owen. I’d actually seen Owen once before. When the nominal patriarch of the Reed family—my “father”—died, everyone was summoned back for the will reading. Even as the illegitimate daughter, the law protected my rights, and Owen was the estate lawyer assigned to the case. I ended up with three million dollars and a modest condo. In the grand scheme of the Reed family’s wealth, it was less than pocket change, a paltry sum. My half-siblings and other illegitimate relations received much more. I knew they’d done it deliberately—they hated me the most because my mother had nearly succeeded in securing a permanent place in the family. But it didn’t matter. The money was enough for me to live on simply. At the time, Owen, in his formal suit, had clinically asked if I required legal counsel for any further action. I had declined. We hadn’t seen each other since. Yet here we were, meeting again amidst the breathtaking scenery of Big Sky Country. Owen explained that his wallet and ID had been stolen. He said I was the only familiar face he knew in the area and asked if I’d let him tag along. I was traveling alone, and traveling with a lawyer felt reasonably safe. I agreed. Owen was usually reserved, almost cold, but he was incredibly considerate. He was also endlessly knowledgeable; no matter what topic I brought up, he could keep the conversation flowing. Traveling with him was unexpectedly joyful. He taught me to ride, and we galloped across the vast Montana plains. With the entire sky above us, and the ground flying beneath the horse’s hooves, I felt a deep sense of release. It was in that moment I finally shed the burden of my first two decades of misery and misfortune. I’m a graphic novelist. I turned my Montana experience into a webcomic, and it blew up overnight. The sudden success of my career finally eclipsed the failure of my love life. After we returned to the city, Owen and I kept in touch. We talked about everything under the sun, and sometimes I was stunned by our intellectual and emotional synchronicity. We were so effortlessly compatible it felt like we’d known each other forever. We started planning more trips together. One night, in a small, rustic cabin in the Pacific Northwest, we had a few drinks. The moon hung bright and low in the sky. I smiled and turned to him. “Do you like me?” Owen gave me a faint smile in return. “Took you long enough to notice.” “I was only semi-sure. But I felt like you did.” “No need to be unsure. I’ve liked you for a long time now.” Owen’s eyes were bright, like starlight on a crisp night. He simply held my gaze. He later confessed that he was terrified in that moment, convinced I was about to reject him. I burst out laughing. “Well, I like you, too, then.” Getting together with Owen felt entirely natural, as if it had been destined. Once we were dating, Owen encouraged me to try things I’d always been afraid of. He took me to see the penguins in Antarctica, and we watched a volcano erupt in Hawaii. We kissed passionately on the deck of a cruise ship in a gale-force wind. “Harper, life is passionate. I want you to always be radiant.” Meeting Owen filled the empty spaces and quiet loneliness that had shadowed me for years. When he proposed, I didn’t hesitate for a second. 3 It was the Reed family patriarch’s ninetieth birthday, and we, the extended family, were all summoned for the celebration. I dreaded it, but the old man was obsessed with appearances. If I publicly snubbed him, he could still make my life hell. Besides, when my half-siblings had tried to ruin me completely, it was the patriarch who intervened. So, even knowing the gala would make me nauseous, I had to go. At least I had Owen by my side. My half-sister, Daphne, and her brother, still looked at me like I was a piece of refuse. The naked hatred in their eyes was barely concealed. There were four illegitimate Reed children, but the legitimate siblings despised me most. My mother had been the most ambitious, the closest to achieving the coveted status of ‘wife.’ I was brought into the Reed house at twelve, given a life of luxury, but it was the most hateful place I’d ever lived. Daphne always loathed me. She pulled countless small, cruel stunts: locking me out in the rain, cutting the power to my room in the summer, sealing my windows shut, and instigating bullying against me at school. Daphne was the one I hated most in the Reed family. When I found out that Daphne had a crush on Elias Hawthorne, I immediately saw a path to revenge. I would seduce Elias and make the high-and-mighty princess feel the pain of loss. I spent two years catering to Elias, putting myself on display. Everyone whispered that I was as low-class as my mother, a cheap flirt, but I didn’t care—I was consumed by my hatred for Daphne. I succeeded. I remember the look on Daphne’s face—the raw, fire-spewing fury—when I walked past her, hand-in-hand with Elias. “Harper Reed, you are a parasite,” Daphne hissed darkly. The more miserable she was, the happier I felt. I offered a brilliant, saccharine smile. “Thanks to you all, I’m doing just fine here in the city.” Daphne’s eyes flickered to Owen beside me, and she let out a disdainful scoff. “Which stray man did you hook this time?” “Ms. Reed,” Owen cut in smoothly. “It’s been a few years. I am Owen Maxwell, Harper’s husband.” The instant Daphne heard the word ‘husband,’ the contempt in her eyes evaporated. The Maxwell family has a long history in law and politics. Owen’s grandfather was a celebrated legal figure. “Ms. Reed, your comment just now was offensive to Harper and an insult to me,” Owen said, his voice calm yet deeply intimidating. “I would ask that you apologize to us both.” Daphne’s face flushed crimson. She choked, unwilling to apologize. I noticed more and more gazes turning toward us. Daphne’s brother, Jackson, stepped forward. “Daphne, apologize to them.” Reluctantly, and clearly furious, Daphne mumbled an apology. Ugh. Adult Daphne was so much more pathetic than her childhood self. As I took in the scene, I felt a heavy gaze fixed on me. I traced it back to Elias Hawthorne. Of course, Elias would be here. The Hawthorne and Reed families were historically linked. Years had smoothed some of Elias’s sharp edges; he looked reserved now, radiating the cold confidence of a CEO. I offered him a purely reflexive, fake smile—a little piece of calculated nastiness. I wanted to see him squirm. Instead, his entire face seemed to crumple. The suffocating atmosphere of the ballroom made it hard to breathe. I slipped out to the Reed family’s private courtyard for air. Just as I was about to head back to Owen, Elias suddenly appeared. “What did you mean by smiling at me like that?” he demanded. I honestly found Elias irritating. He always had that high-handed, old-money entitlement. When I’d chased him, I’d poured my heart and soul into it. Even though my initial motivation was cruel, I’m a person, I’m emotional. He had genuinely helped me a few times when I was completely isolated, and I really did fall for him. But we only lasted three months. When we broke up, he ground my face into the dirt, calling me utterly worthless. I offered a dismissive shrug. “Nothing. Just saying hello after all these years.” He was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was tight. “Are you really married?” “Why? Is there some reason it would be a fake marriage?” I retorted, a sharp edge of sarcasm in my voice. When he broke up with me, he’d said, “I told you I was just playing a game, and you actually believed me.” “The Maxwells are a political dynasty. They would never accept an illegitimate child like you,” Elias declared, using that patronizing, ‘for your own good’ tone, laced with the same old, familiar contempt for my identity. “Harper, stop deceiving yourself. End things with him soon.” A calm voice came from behind him. “Mr. Hawthorne, do you often interfere in other people’s marriages? You don’t need to worry about Harper and me. My family loves her. Birth status is not a choice, and it certainly won’t be a chain around my wife.” Owen walked up and leaned in close to me. “Where were you? I’ve been looking for you.” The sight of us, cheek-to-cheek and intimately close, was clearly the last straw for Elias. His eyes went dark. He let out a cold, hard laugh. “Harper Reed, do you actually think Owen Maxwell is some kind of saint?” I looked at him oddly. Had Elias lost his mind abroad? He was spewing absolute nonsense. “He’s not. But are you?” Elias’s chest heaved with suppressed rage. I didn’t see the smug, triumphant flash that crossed Owen’s eyes before he turned to walk away with me. 4 Later that evening, Elias sent me a text. Harper, what I said earlier wasn’t intended as a taunt. I just wanted to warn you. LOL. Don’t worry about it, Mr. Hawthorne. My husband and I are doing great. Not everyone looks down on me because of my past. I never looked down on you, Harper. It was a voice note, and I could hear a trace of panic in his voice. It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t need your respect. Are you still angry that I broke up with you? But you were the one who lied to me first. I had briefly hated Elias, but the years had swept all those intense feelings away. The love and the resentment were gone. I’m not angry anymore. If you’re still upset about my deception back then, I apologize. I drew a clear, businesslike boundary. After I sent that, Elias went quiet. I couldn’t figure out why he was suddenly so invested in my life, breaking character to sound genuinely concerned. But it didn’t matter. Ten years was a lifetime. I had truly forgotten him. The Elias Hawthorne who I once considered the single source of light in my chaotic life had vanished the moment his plane took off from LAX. Two weeks later, my alma mater, Capital University, held its fiftieth-anniversary celebration, inviting alumni back for a ceremony. It was then I realized Owen had also graduated from the same school, three years before me. I joked with him that if I’d gone to college earlier, we would have met sooner. He didn’t look pleased. He only muttered darkly, “You were too obsessed with your Professor Albright back then. Would you even have noticed me?” His jealousy was thick enough to cut with a knife. I had been honest with Owen about my dating history, so he knew about Marcus. That night in bed, he kept insisting I call him “Professor.” I refused at first, but he wore me down with inventive persistence. Finally, weakened, I meekly whispered the word a few times. But then the man went completely feral. I could barely move the next morning. I was annoyed, and Owen spent the drive to the university catering to my every need. Capital University was bustling. Students, alumni like Owen and me, and various guests flowed through the campus. We strolled around for a bit until we reached my favorite spot: a secluded gazebo near the old oak tree. It was quiet there, away from the main thoroughfare. As we approached, I realized someone was already sitting inside: Marcus Albright. My first impulse was to turn and run, but Marcus saw us and called out. “Harper Reed. It’s been a while.” His voice was still the same—warm, cultivated, and pleasant, like a gentle breeze. I held myself steady and forced a natural smile. “Marcus Albright. Good to see you.” Marcus’s gaze dropped to my hand, which was firmly clasped in Owen’s. I stepped forward to introduce them. “This is my husband, Owen Maxwell.” Owen gave a slight nod in greeting. “Well, we won’t interrupt you,” I said, already trying to pull Owen away. But Marcus stopped us. “Harper, do you remember? This was your favorite place to bring me. I came here specifically hoping to run into you.” My footsteps faltered. A thousand memories flooded my mind. 5 I had truly wanted to spend my life with Marcus Albright. Our breakup had been completely unexpected. Only a week before, he’d been telling me about the beautiful spring flowers blooming on campus. Then, over a quiet dinner, he dropped the bomb. I remember my wide-eyed disbelief when I asked him why. He called me childish and said our relationship was exhausting him. I promised to change. I cried and begged him to stay, but he simply wiped my tears away and delivered his crushing verdict. “I can’t wait, Harper. The time investment is just too high.” I refused to accept it. I hounded him for two months until he finally chose to take a “research fellowship” in Africa just to avoid seeing me. If there was one thing I would never forget, it was the final, determined retreat of Marcus’s back as he walked away. So, what was he doing now? Feigning regret? Or just trying to make me feel terrible? “What do you want?” “Can I speak with you alone?” Even confronted with my obvious hostility, he remained infuriatingly calm. I used to love his unflappable composure. Now, it just made him seem like a corpse, drained of life. “We have nothing to talk about.” I threw the words out and prepared to leave with Owen. “Harper,” he called, desperation finally cracking his veneer. “I never wanted to break up with you.”

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Since I can remember, my mother has listened to billionaire romance audiobooks every single day. It’s why the term “billionaire CEO” makes my skin crawl. While my mom was weeping over the ‘chase-and-apologize’ trope—the part where the male lead grovels for forgiveness—I’d be silently calculating his net worth, drafting a preliminary divorce settlement offer in my head. When she’d lament the heroine being a mere placeholder for the ‘Golden Girl’—his one true love—I’d tell her, “Then she should be aggressively shaking him down for every penny he has!” Unfortunately, I was born with a face that screams “don’t even think about it.” No man ever dared to approach me. It meant my carefully crafted dreams of becoming a professional gold digger had never once materialized. That is, until the night of a graduation mixer at a downtown bar. A group of guys in tailored suits—the kind that look expensive even when you can’t name the designer—spent a good minute sizing me up. “Holy hell,” one of them muttered. “She’s a dead ringer for Vivian.” The most attractive one—the one with the quiet, commanding presence—walked up to me. He smiled, a slow, practiced gesture that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You look uncannily like someone I once desperately wanted and couldn’t have,” he said. “If you’re willing to stay by my side, I’ll make it worth your while.” A thrill shot through me. Finally. I immediately pulled out my phone and opened my payment app. “Venmo me a million dollars right now,” I told him, holding the screen up. “And the stand-in fee, the emotional damage fee, and the ‘lost youth’ compensation fee will all be calculated at triple the market rate.” “If you hesitate, I’ll package up that whole speech you just gave and send it directly to your Golden Girl.” 1 The man froze instantly. His entourage looked completely bewildered, taking a few long minutes to process what I’d just said. “Shit, she’s a hustler!” one of them exclaimed. “What a waste of a gorgeous face. Link, let’s go!” They started pulling him away, but Lincoln Rhodes didn’t budge. He just stared at me, a flicker of disgust adding a new shade to his expression. “Right. No one can compare to Vivian.” “Even a perfect likeness couldn’t capture her pure, untainted soul.” I swirled the drink in my glass, tapping my foot impatiently. “Hold on, hold on. If you need an acting partner, the studio lots are downtown. I am not contractually obligated to play a role in your little melodrama.” The second the words were out, the guy closest to me reared back, his hand shooting toward my face. “You bitch! Who the hell do you think you are?” he roared. “You don’t disrespect Link! I’ll teach you a lesson!” Just as his palm was about to connect, Link’s hand shot out, grabbing his friend’s wrist in a death grip. He ignored the commotion, his eyes still burning into mine. “A million dollars, you said? Fine.” “Three times a week. I set the schedule.” He pulled out his own phone, ready to scan my code. I locked my screen and looked at him coolly. “The million is the non-disclosure fee, not the retainer, big shot.” “Billionaire CEOs these days are getting cheap. The old-school ones threw around hundreds of millions. Now they haggle?” Link’s eye twitched. A flash of irritation, quickly masked, crossed his face. But he took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm, and asked, “So, what are you suggesting?” I held up my right hand, palm facing him, and spread my fingers to show a five. Link understood immediately. He considered it for ten seconds, his jaw tight, then nodded. “Six million. Done.” When the notification popped up—six million dollars deposited into my account—I nearly burst out laughing right there. His friends were losing it, jumping up and down in impotent rage. “Link, are you insane? You’re letting her dictate the price? This is blackmail!” “You have dozens of women throwing themselves at you! Why pick this mercenary lowlife?” “She’s nothing without that face, man, she’s not worth it…” I lifted a hand to silence him. “One more word out of you, and I’m raising the price.” I met the furious glare of his friend. “If you’re so upset, take my photo to a plastic surgeon and see if they can replicate the results. Or maybe consider selling your own services? It’s a growth market.” With that, I leaned back into the sofa and opened a game on my phone. Six million dollars! I’m clearing out my entire shopping cart and buying my mother two massive gold necklaces. Link pulled his friends aside, gave them a stern dressing down, and they sheepishly filed out of the bar. He tossed a business card onto the table. “I’ll contact you when I have time. Do not attempt to reach out to me.” I immediately flicked the card onto the floor. “I’m free Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons. Weekends are reserved for my personal schedule.” “If you need me on a weekend, that’s time and a half. Federal holidays are triple pay. You know the drill.” Then I picked up my bag and left without a backward glance. I didn’t need to see his face to know the look of furious indignation stamped on it. On the ride home, I texted my mother. “Mom, I landed a huge offer at a major firm!” “Only three days a week, and the pay is unbelievable!” 2 Monday morning at nine on the dot, my doorbell rang. Lincoln Rhodes stood on my stoop, impeccable in a bespoke suit, flanked by two assistants. “Change into this.” He handed me a designer shopping bag containing an expensive dress. “We’re going somewhere.” “The service contract didn’t specify required travel or location changes,” I said, leaning against the door frame. “Ten times the hourly rate,” Link said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “The itinerary is highly confidential. Requires an additional non-disclosure agreement. That’s billed separately.” I pulled out my phone. “Ten thousand dollar retainer up front.” Link’s eyes narrowed. The assistant behind him audibly gasped. “Ms. Shaw, with all due respect…” Link cut him off with a raised hand and completed the swift transfer. “Now,” he said, the word clipped. “Can we go?” The car stopped outside the Rhodes Global corporate headquarters. Link led me into the top-floor conference room. Through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, the entire city skyline stretched out before us. The long table was packed with serious-faced executives. “Sit down and listen,” Link ordered, pushing me into a chair in the corner. His tone brooked no argument. “Keep that mouth of yours shut the entire time. Don’t say anything you shouldn’t.” I knew this plot twist. Bringing the stand-in to the company to piss off the real girlfriend. Rich people are so predictable. He turned and walked to the head of the table. The meeting began. The screens displayed complex financial data and the title, “East Side Land Acquisition.” The executives argued fiercely, the main point being how to crush a small company called ‘Lancaster Holdings’ to force a cheap buyout. I was bored, idly examining my manicure. That is, until a CFO quickly skipped past a section containing an abnormal set of financial correlations during his report. I raised my hand. The entire room went silent. All eyes pivoted to me. Link frowned, furious. “What now?” “Could you go back to the previous slide?” I pointed at the screen. “The reconciliation between your third-quarter cash flow and the fixed asset movements looks off.” The CFO’s face instantly changed. “Look, Miss, if you don’t understand, please don’t interrupt.” “I don’t understand?” I smiled, stood up, and walked to the screen, using the laser pointer to circle a few numbers. “The incremental increases here, and here, don’t align with the publicly disclosed construction in progress. Who is this surplus being laundered for?” The conference room was deathly quiet. Sweat beaded on the CFO’s forehead. Link’s gaze was sharp, sweeping between me and the executive. “Keep talking.” “Business consulting is billed by the minute,” I said, looking at Link. “Are we starting now?” Link ground the word out. “Start!” I immediately launched into a rapid-fire assessment, pinpointing three crucial financial loopholes. Each one pointed directly to embezzlement from the project funds. “My preliminary estimate puts the compromised amount at no less than this.” I held up my hand, showing an eight. Not eighty thousand. Eight million. The CFO’s face was ashen. Link’s expression hardened to steel. He gestured to an assistant. “Escort Mr. Lee to a private room. Assist him thoroughly in auditing his books.” He stressed the word ‘assist,’ making his meaning chillingly clear. After the meeting, Link brought me back to his corner office. “How did you see that?” He scrutinized me as if I were a biological anomaly. “Basic training,” I shrugged, keeping my tone deliberately cold. “Also, my consulting fee for those ten minutes, calculated at ten times my hourly rate, comes to eight thousand dollars. You can scan my code.” Link didn’t move. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence immediately dominating the space. “You’re more interesting than I thought. Not just a pretty face.” “Thank you for the compliment. Compliments are free.” I took a step back, maintaining the boundary. “Crossing this line, however, is not.” At that moment, the office door was violently flung open. Vivian Lancaster burst in. She stopped short when she saw me, then recovered, bursting into tears. “Lincoln! How could you bring her to the company! And you fired Mr. Lee for her? He works for my father!” Link immediately moved backward, putting distance between us. “Vivian, what are you doing here?” he asked, his voice softening with concern. “Of course, you didn’t want me here!” Vivian pointed at me, her voice shaking with righteous indignation. “This woman! She was secretly taking pictures of the lobby’s security layout downstairs! She’s clearly a spy!” My heart dropped. I had taken a few photos while waiting downstairs, but they were of the artistic chandelier. I wanted to show my mom an idea for our new apartment décor. Link’s gaze immediately locked onto me. “Explain yourself.” A flicker of smug victory crossed Vivian’s face. I met Link’s intense, searching look and slowly pulled out my phone. “I can explain.” “But the accusation of corporate espionage is a serious one. The compensation for my damaged reputation…” “Ten million,” Link stated, his eyes boring into mine. The air thickened. He suddenly laughed, a sharp, bitter sound of disbelief. “Ten million? Sydney Shaw, your appetite is becoming insatiable.” “Thank you for the compliment. Inflation is high, and my market value naturally increases.” I rattled my phone. “Pay up, and I’ll prove my innocence instantly.” Vivian shrieked, “Lincoln! Don’t listen to her!” Link ignored her, waving his hand toward his assistant. “Transfer it.” The deposit notification chimed. I immediately unlocked my phone, opened the photo gallery, and turned the screen toward them—a series of close-ups of the ornate, luxurious chandelier. “Your company’s lighting is impressive, Mr. Rhodes. I was taking photos for my mother’s interior design inspiration. Is that a copyright infringement?” Vivian’s face went white. Link shot her a dark, menacing look. “Vivian, apologize.” “I…” I casually twirled a strand of my hair, smiling sweetly. “Apologize, or I’ll call your fiancé and let him know why you spent your afternoon here.” Vivian instantly clamped her mouth shut. She glared at me, humiliation etched into her features, and choked out three words. “I’m sorry.” “I recorded that,” I said, pocketing my phone. “Next time, the price doubles.” Vivian ran out of the office, sobbing. Link drove me back to my apartment. He pinned me against the floor-to-ceiling window. “Sydney, who the hell are you?” “Your creditor,” I said, pushing him away. He didn’t listen, closing the distance and kissing me hard, with a punishing intensity. I managed to turn my head, dodging his mouth. “Kissing is a separate charge. Ten thousand dollars a pop.” His action stilled. His eyes were turbulent, filled with rage and a newly sparked, aggressive desire to dominate. That night, he proved physically that he was indeed very rich and very strong. But even in bed, I didn’t forget my principles. “A change of position? Sure.” I gasped, looking up at him. “Add another ten thousand to the tab.” Link’s movements instantly became rougher. He squeezed my waist, a cold mockery in his voice. “You charge for everything. Sydney, doesn’t it make you feel cheap?” I laughed, meeting his gaze. “And doing it for free is somehow nobler, Link?” “It’s a transaction. Don’t flatter yourself by thinking of it as anything else.” He lost control then, taking me with a savagery that felt like an attempt to devour me whole. When it was over, he leaned back against the headboard, lighting a cigarette. “Vivian is getting married.” “Oh. Congrats.” I was too tired to move. “I’m not interested in your love life, and I can’t offer comforting words.” He crushed the cigarette out. The smoke obscured his eyes, leaving them dark and unreadable. “The Lancasters need the Ashworths’ financing. It’s a business alliance.” “So, she dumped you for money?” The logic clicked instantly. “And you hired a stand-in to punish her and console yourself?” Link didn’t answer. “Pathetic,” I scoffed. “But don’t worry, Mr. Rhodes.” I propped myself up and leaned close to him, my fingertip tracing the line of his chest. “Here with me, you can always experience something more honest than love, something money can truly buy.” “Like what?” “Like right now. Post-coital cleaning services. Fifty thousand. Cash or transfer?” Link stared at me, then slowly, a chilling smile spread across his face. He gripped my chin, his fingers digging in. “Sydney Shaw, you better stay this sharp forever.” After that night, Lincoln’s visits to my apartment became more frequent.

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On our wedding anniversary, my husband, Colonel Ethan Cole, told me he had an emergency deployment. I smiled as I watched him leave, then turned and opened the GPS tracker on his car. The location wasn’t The Base. It was St. Jude’s Women’s Center, the best fertility and obstetrics hospital in the city. I logged into the hospital’s security camera system. On the screen, he was carefully guiding a fragile-looking woman, his eyes filled with a tenderness I had never once seen directed at me. The woman touched her stomach, asking sweetly, “Ethan, have you picked a name for the baby yet?” Ethan said, “How about Haven? To memorialize our love.” A glacier formed in my chest, solid and unmoving. Just then, my phone rang. It was the command center calling, asking about Ethan’s location. I looked at the couple on the monitor, so deeply engrossed in their lie, and pressed the speaker button. My voice was eerily calm as I replied: “Report, Commander. I suspect my husband, Colonel Ethan Cole of Special Operations, may have compromised classified information and potentially gone AWOL.” 1 The words caused both the officer on the phone and Ethan on the screen to freeze simultaneously. Over the phone, the voice of Commander Davies, Ethan’s direct superior, instantly hardened. “Audrey Stone, repeat that statement.” On the monitoring screen, Ethan’s phone rang. He saw the caller ID, his face draining of color, and quickly hung up. Then, without a moment’s thought, he called my private line. I didn’t answer. I just spoke into the phone, every syllable precise and distinct. “Report, Commander. Ethan left this morning citing an emergency deployment but appeared at St. Jude’s Women’s Center. His movements are suspicious, he is refusing to answer the secure military line, and I suspect he may be a flight risk.” My voice was quiet, yet it felt like a detonated charge. Commander Davies was silent for a full five seconds. “Audrey Stone, stay exactly where you are. Do not move. Secure your location. We are mobilizing immediately.” The order was swift and absolute. I hung up and watched the monitor. Ethan was in full-blown panic. He abandoned the woman, Willow Price, frantically calling my number while sprinting toward the hospital entrance. Willow cried out pitifully behind him, “Ethan, where are you going? Our baby…” He didn’t look back. The warmth and patience in his eyes were entirely gone, replaced only by a desperate terror and raw aggression. But it was too late. In less than ten minutes, several olive-drab military SUVs roared to a stop, sealing off every hospital exit. Heavily armed soldiers leaped out, their movements swift and their presence intimidating. They stormed into the lobby and located their target instantly. “Colonel Cole, you’ll need to come with us!” The muzzles of their rifles were pointed directly at him. Ethan raised his hands, his face pale as paper. He was pinned against a wall, his hands cuffed behind his back by two soldiers. As they marched him through the lobby doors, he saw me. I was standing just outside the glass entrance, watching him with cold indifference. His eyes dilated. It was as if he’d seen a ghost, or the most unbelievable nightmare. “Audrey!” He roared, his face contorted in a snarl. “Are you insane! What the hell are you doing! I’m being framed!” I simply gave a desolate laugh. Yes, I knew he wasn’t being framed for treason. He hadn’t compromised national security. He was just, on our anniversary, while I was preparing a surprise, helping his mistress name their bastard child. He was just an adulterer. But why should I explain for him? When he lied to me, and to his command, while wearing that uniform, did he ever consider that this day might come? The soldiers didn’t give him another chance to shout. They roughly shoved him into one of the vehicles. The woman, Willow Price, was also taken away, ostensibly for “protective custody.” She was shaking with fear. When she passed me, she suddenly lunged forward like a madwoman. “You! You did this to Ethan! You poisoned bitch!” Two female soldiers quickly restrained her. I looked at her tear-stained face and her slightly rounded stomach. “Haven.” I breathed the name softly. Willow’s face went instantly white. “To memorialize your love, right?” I smiled, a smile so broken my eyes were stinging with unshed tears. “It really is a lovely name.” The commotion around me faded into irrelevance. The world had turned into a monochrome blur. Ethan Cole, the game has begun. You destroyed my love. I will destroy everything you are proud of. 2 I was taken back to The Base, not as a spouse, but as a “key witness.” I was met by Commander Davies, a man in his late forties whose quiet demeanor nonetheless commanded authority. He personally poured me a cup of hot water. “Audrey, don’t be nervous. Please detail the situation you discovered today.” I held the mug steady. “Today is my and Ethan’s three-year anniversary. This morning, he claimed he had an emergency deployment and rushed out. I knew something was wrong immediately.” “How so?” Commander Davies pressed. “He wasn’t in uniform, and he took his personal SUV. When he left, I saw a crumpled piece of paper fall out of his pocket—it was a registration slip from St. Jude’s Women’s Center.” I pulled a wrinkled paper from my pocket. Of course, he hadn’t dropped it. I’d recovered it from the trash can in his home office. He thought he’d cleaned up all his tracks. He didn’t know that ever since I became pregnant, my sense of smell had become abnormally acute—and that I’d caught the scent of a perfume that wasn’t mine. From that day on, I stopped being a wife and became a hunter. Commander Davies took the slip, his expression increasingly grim. “Why did you suspect him of something as serious as compromising his post?” This was the critical question. I lowered my eyes, introducing a carefully modulated tremor of distress and injury into my voice. “He’s been acting very strangely lately. He frequently takes encrypted calls late at night, and he’s been using a second computer secretly in his office. When I asked, he always dismissed it as classified material.” “As a military spouse, I respect the rules; I don’t ask what I shouldn’t. But today… he lied about an emergency mission just to take another woman to an OB-GYN appointment. Commander, if he’s willing to deceive his own unit and his wife, what else is he capable of?” My words were a skillful blend of truth and lies. He did have a second computer, but he used it to play online games with his mistress. He did take calls late at night, but it was Willow calling to complain about morning sickness and to seek comfort. I had seen all of this through the hidden cameras I’d installed in our home. But I couldn’t say that. I needed to muddy the waters. Commander Davies’ brows furrowed into a tight knot. “Do you know the woman he was with?” “No,” I shook my head, “but I gained access to the hospital system and found her name: Willow Price.” “You have hacking skills?” Davies looked surprised. “My degree is in cybersecurity,” I answered calmly. This was my trump card. I hadn’t just hacked the hospital; I could also recover all the deleted files and chat logs from his “game computer.” Commander Davies fell silent. A Special Forces Colonel, acting secretly, deceiving his command, and intimately involved with a woman of unverified background. And his wife, a cybersecurity expert, had reported him. Each element was a shocking headline in itself. “Audrey Stone, the information you’ve provided is critical. We will begin an immediate, full-scale investigation. In the meantime, for your own security, you’ll need to stay at the Base Annex.” “I understand. I have only one request.” “Go on.” “I want a divorce.” My tone was resolute, without the slightest hesitation. “Regardless of the investigation’s outcome, this marriage is over.” Commander Davies looked at me, his eyes clouded with complicated emotion. “Understood. The organization will support your reasonable petition.” As I walked out of the office, the sun was shining brightly outside. But I felt only coldness. My phone vibrated with a text from an unknown number. Audrey, you bitch! You destroy Ethan, and my mother will make you pay! It was Ethan’s sister, Sienna Cole. I deleted the text without emotion and blocked the number. This was just the start. Immediately, my phone rang again. It was my mother-in-law, Evelyn Cole. The moment I answered, the line was filled with a torrent of curses. “Audrey! What kind of sick, twisted monster are you! What did Ethan ever do to deserve this! You are a curse, a jinx! I should never have allowed you to marry my son!” I listened quietly. When she finally ran out of breath, I spoke softly. “Mom, before you scream at me, maybe you should worry about your unborn grandchild.” The other end of the line went instantly silent. “You… what do you mean?” “Ethan was at the hospital for his mistress’s prenatal checkup. She’s three months pregnant. Oh, and they already picked out a name: Haven.” “To memorialize their love.” With every word, I could imagine the blood draining from my proud mother-in-law’s face. “You’re lying! That’s impossible! My son would never do such a thing!” she shrieked. “You’ll find out soon enough.” I hung up, letting out a long, slow breath. The knot of tension in my chest eased, if only fractionally. Ethan Cole, you thought your family was your fortress? Soon, they will become another pillar collapsing on top of you. 3 I settled into the Base Annex. While it was technically a guest quarter, the security was top-notch, with soldiers on guard twenty-four hours a day. I understood it was both protection and surveillance. Until Ethan’s name was cleared, I, the “first informer,” couldn’t move freely either. It suited me perfectly. I needed an absolutely safe and quiet environment to plan my next move. The investigation team came for me the next day. This time, in addition to Commander Davies, there were two sharp-eyed, serious men in plain clothes. They were from Internal Affairs, specializing in security clearances and internal probes. “Audrey Stone, we’ve reviewed the hospital footage and conducted initial interviews with Colonel Cole and Willow Price. Colonel Cole insists this is merely a moral lapse, a personal failing, which is why he panicked.” One of the men spoke, his pace measured, his gaze like a hawk. “Willow Price also claims their relationship is purely romantic, and she knows nothing of his work.” “Is that so?” I raised a subtle brow. “Purely romantic?” I took a USB drive from my purse and placed it on the table. “Inside is all the data I recovered from Ethan’s ‘game computer.’” “It includes the chat logs from the moment they met, a record of every transaction he made to her, and even… documents showing his attempted unauthorized use of his rank to apply for ‘Temporary Dependents’ Housing’ for her.” The faces of the three men at the table changed instantly. Commander Davies’ expression was one of shocked fury. The Internal Affairs men were openly grave. A moral lapse is entirely different from using one’s position for personal gain for a mistress. The former is a character flaw; the latter is a severe disciplinary violation—a disgrace to the uniform! “In the chat logs, Willow frequently complained to Ethan about feeling unsafe living alone, saying she envied me living in The Base Annex.” I narrated calmly, as if discussing someone else’s tragedy. “To appease her, Ethan lied, telling her he had successfully applied for temporary housing under the ‘Special Talent Dependent’ program and that she would move into a community not far from the Base soon.” “That community, as far as I know, is reserved for military families who have made significant contributions and for high-value contracted personnel, correct?” My gaze rested on Commander Davies. The Commander’s lips were tightly pressed, but the vein pulsing in his forehead betrayed his rage. The Internal Affairs agent immediately snatched the USB drive. “We will verify this immediately.” After they left, only Commander Davies and I remained. “Audrey…” He sighed, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “You… you’ve been wronged.” I shook my head. “Compared to my personal pain, I care more about the honor of that uniform he wears.” I meant that, sincerely. I married Ethan not just for love, but out of profound respect. I respected him as an honorable soldier, a protector of our nation. Now, he had personally shattered all my reverence. “The organization will not protect any failure, and we will not wrongly condemn any good man,” Commander Davies assured me. I nodded and rose to leave. Just as I reached the door, I paused, turning back as if a thought had just occurred to me. My expression was tentative and uncertain. “Commander, there is something… I don’t know if I should mention it.” “Tell me.” “That woman, Willow Price—when I looked up her details, I found she has a brother named Asher Price.” “This Asher… I don’t think he’s an American citizen. He has an overseas background. And in the chat logs, Willow mentioned several times that her brother was extremely curious about Ethan’s work, always probing for details about Special Forces training, equipment, and tactics.” I chose my words carefully, making myself look like an ordinary spouse who had stumbled upon a loose thread but was terrified of misinterpreting it. “I thought it was just family curiosity at the time, nothing serious. But thinking about it now, it feels wrong.” “I worry… I worry Ethan might have been set up by this woman…” My voice trailed off, ending in a slight, controlled sob. The tears were half acting, half real. Real for the death of my love. Real for the husband I was personally pushing into the abyss. Commander Davies shot up from his chair. The last flicker of sympathy vanished from his eyes, replaced by an unparalleled sharpness and alertness. “What is her brother’s name? Which country is he associated with?!” The nature of the situation had, in that instant, fundamentally changed. It had spiraled from a simple moral lapse, to severe abuse of power, and now… to a major suspicion of jeopardizing national security. Ethan Cole, I had just played the final card in your checkmate.

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Declan Kincaid and I were supposed to get married. Five years after Liam Scott left the country to join Doctors Without Borders, his gift for my wedding arrived: two large crates filled with all the handwritten love letters I’d ever sent him. My fiancé, Declan, meticulously went through every single one. With tears in his eyes, he slipped off his platinum wedding band. “I’m sorry, Evie. I thought I could convince myself to accept your past.” Seeing Liam, wind-battered and dusty, standing in the doorway behind Declan, a sudden laugh escaped me. Five years. And he was still using the same tactics. But the bitter truth was, I no longer loved him. 1 The upbeat celebration music screeched to a halt. The guests in the ballroom gaped, the clinking of silverware and dishes abruptly ceasing. The wedding planner, sweat beading on his forehead, gripped the microphone and forced a strained laugh, clearly unsure how to salvage the situation. A gust of wind swept through the open door, scattering the drapery and setting the indoor chimes ringing. This space, a blend of rustic charm and modern elegance, was a labor of love, a joint effort between Declan and me. As Declan walked past Liam, he stumbled, but he didn’t look back, vanishing around the corner of the hallway. Liam was staring right at me, his handsome, sun-darkened face breaking into a wide, bright smile. “Evie. Long time no see.” My expression blank, I slowly lifted the veil from my hair. My mother shot up from her seat, the scraping sound of her chair against the polished floor a jarring alarm. She bit down hard on her lower lip, shaking her head at me. The fleeting joy in her eyes was swiftly replaced by a torrent of despair. Lifting my chin, I spoke flatly: “It certainly has been a long time, Liam. And thanks to you, again, my wedding is cancelled.” A woman, slender and impeccably dressed, poked her head out from behind Liam. She pursed her lips in a display of indignation. “We came all this way to see you, out of the goodness of our hearts, and you’re still holding on to ancient history…” “That’s enough, Chloe!” Liam cut her off with a sharp frown. Chloe, once the epitome of an untouchable, spoiled socialite, immediately fell silent, her compliance unsettling. Liam still knew how to train his dogs. I calmly addressed the stunned room: “Everyone, please, enjoy the feast. It’s on me. I’ll ensure all gifts and contributions are returned shortly.” I took my mother’s hand, guiding her toward the exit. Her palm was a sheet of ice, sending a shudder through me. A tall, lean figure blocked our path. Standing against the light, I couldn’t make out Liam’s expression, but his voice was much softer now. “Mrs. Miller, Evie. Please, believe me. The gift I sent was not those crates of letters. It was a framed butterfly I caught in Africa—a symbol of peace and safe return—I wanted you to have it. I don’t know how the courier service messed up.” He paused, his voice thick with a forced sincerity. “It’s been five years. I missed you both. I wanted to come back and see your father, Evie.” My mother’s pale face flushed crimson with rage. Her lips trembling, she spat out, “Get out. You don’t have the right to see him!” Liam’s eyes were full of a contrived conflict and helplessness, and he cast a meaningful look at me, as if expecting me to intervene, to solve his problem as I always had. I did not hesitate. “My mother is right.” A person, after all, can’t afford to fall into the same trap twice. Declan’s discarded wedding ring still sat on the stage. The cold diamond caught the light, refracting a chilling brilliance. I walked over and picked it up. As I turned, Chloe and Liam’s fingers intertwined. She held their joined hands high, a triumphant smirk replacing her frown. “Annabel Miller. Liam Scott and I are back, and we’re getting married soon, by the way. Since you and ‘Liam’ have known each other for so long, we’d love your blessing.” The murmuring in the room intensified, guests sighing and expressing their surprise at the dramatic spectacle. I put my arm around my mother and headed out without looking back. “Why wait? You can use my stage for your wedding today. You love picking up things other people have tossed aside, don’t you?” The crowd behind us erupted in a chorus of whispers and mocking laughter. Strangely, there was no rush of relief or satisfaction. I placed a hand over my heart. It was silent. It no longer beat for them. All my joy, anger, sorrow, and delight had been burned away in that fire five years ago. After settling Mom into the care facility, I walked home in my heavy bridal gown. Along the way, I tossed both the engagement and wedding rings into a public trash can. Bad things, once recognized, should be discarded. People, too. Yet, people aren’t always bad. At least Liam Scott, once upon a time, had been so good. 2 My father had always been a charitable man. When his army buddy died unexpectedly, he took on the responsibility of funding the education of the man’s only son. Liam Scott, that year, was true to his name—quiet and subdued. He wore a school uniform mended countless times, his lips pressed into a thin, unyielding line that no one could seem to break. The teacher seated us together when he transferred to our class. Finding him a frustratingly silent companion, I deliberately hid his pen, just to make him say something to me. To my surprise, after school, instead of going home, he spent the entire evening collecting empty bottles and cardboard to sell. With the money he earned, he bought a new pen, and then, respectfully, placed the remaining coins into the cup of an old beggar on the street corner. He must have known that man was a notorious local scammer. That day, I realized Liam was not just a quiet ox; he was a stubborn fool, too. But even a stubborn fool like Liam sometimes learned to yield. I woke up, groggy and disoriented, to a startling number of notifications on my phone. The chat thread that had been blank for five years had new messages from Liam. “I haven’t agreed to marry Chloe. Come out, let’s talk properly. There are so many misunderstandings between us.” Misunderstandings? My pain, the trauma I had lived through, was a misunderstanding in his eyes? Smart as he was, Liam knew exactly how to get me to agree. He mentioned he wanted to tell me the last words my father had spoken to him before he died. I agreed to meet. He brought a butterfly-shaped cake, pushing it toward me with a smile. “Here. I remember you used to love sweets.” “Liam, you loved it. You had an insatiable sweet tooth. I never did. Don’t you know that, truly?” A wave of helplessness washed over me. I rubbed my temples, utterly drained. “Forget it. Just say what you need to say, then I’m leaving.” A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, imperceptible, but it was there. He quickly regained his composed, reserved demeanor. “Evie, you should apologize to Chloe. The things you said today were unacceptable. She was reduced to tears.” I laughed, the sound hollow. “Everything I said today was the truth. You know that better than anyone.” “Apology is not happening. If you’re so concerned, go back and comfort her right now.” It wasn’t the first time he’d abandoned me like this. His scales had always been unbalanced. The year Liam met Chloe, we were already planning our wedding. I had clumsily chased after him, and he had finally turned to look back at me. He chose medical school instead of the military academy. He told me, “Northern University’s Medical School is closer to your home. You’re a homebody, and I don’t want us to be too far apart.” That summer, Liam Scott worked relentlessly, saving up for tuition, and took me on a graduation trip. We held each other on the beach, and we kissed on the Ferris wheel. After graduation, we were finally of legal age. My father, with a kind heart, said Liam was an unfortunate child, and since I loved him, we should give him a home. I was ready to give him that home. But he was afraid to enter it. He went to my father and knelt heavily on the floor. “Sir, I watched my father die right in front of me. For years, all I’ve thought is, what if I could have saved him?” “I couldn’t save him, but I can save more people. Being a Doctor Without Borders is my dream.” Clap! The sound was sharp. Eavesdropping by the door, my heart skipped a beat. My usually gentle father shouted at him, his voice laced with fury: “Don’t even think about it! I promised your father I would look after you! Your life, this life, is meant to be one of domestic bliss!” When Liam emerged with a blazing red handprint across his cheek, I still hadn’t moved. His eyes were bloodshot as he stared at the matching wedding bands I had just bought, his voice a choked, painful whisper: “Evie, you always said marriage wasn’t a cage. Why do I feel so much pain?” I wasn’t doing any better. I rushed into the study to find Dad clutching his heart, struggling for breath, slumped in his chair. As I pressed his medication into his hand, he gripped my wrist tightly. “Evie, you must… you must hold on to Liam.” I didn’t know how to hold on to Liam. I only knew he loved sweets. Perhaps his life was too bitter, and he needed the sweetness to balance it out. I spent the afternoon baking a cake, searching everywhere to find him. Finally, I found them at his father’s gravesite. Chloe was clinging to his embrace, her pale, delicate face flushed. “I know you’re a man with great ideals and ambition, Liam. Whatever you decide, I support you. My family has the means to be our safety net.” “I’m willing to go with you, to the ends of the earth.” I ran toward them, throwing the cake right at her. Ignoring all dignity, I yelled, “Shameless! He already rejected you, and you’re still sticking to him like a leech!” Liam did not push her away. Instead, his hand landed on me. “Evie, are you done with this drama?!” He had never once raised his voice at me since we were kids. I fell silent, gently wiping the frosting from his face. Liam’s gaze was fraught with inner conflict, but in the end, he followed me back home. However, he was going back to pack. Unable to stop him, I pulled out a clinic report. “Liam, I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father.” He snapped his head up, meeting my eyes with a look of pure scorn. “What new trick is this?” My stomach began to seize up, the pain forcing me to crouch down. When I looked up again, I was alone. He was leaving. He had made his choice. The day before his departure was his birthday. I went out to buy him a gift. A car screeched to a halt beside me, and as the door opened, a strong force yanked me inside. A hood was thrown over my head, and a rain of fists began to fall. I covered my abdomen, begging them to stop, but my clothes were violently ripped off. I heard the continuous click-click-click of a camera shutter and a girl’s high-pitched, triumphant giggle. When I was dumped on the side of the road, I reached down, wincing in agony. My hand came away sticky and warm. I lost consciousness completely. I woke up to the smell of disinfectant and my phone ringing non-stop. When I answered, Mom’s hysterical scream hit me like a physical blow, leaving my mind numb. By the time I rushed back, the house that held all our happy memories was reduced to a heap of ruins. Smoke hung thick in the air, a towering pile of black, collapsed debris. As the morticians wheeled away my father’s charred remains, my mother collapsed, passing out from the shock. I couldn’t reach Liam, but I knew my father’s last visitor had to be him. The investigation concluded that the culprit for the massive fire was a single candle. My father had lit it, hoping Liam would make a wish. That was all. I found his rental apartment, only to be told by the landlord that he had already left for Africa. He’d left in a hurry, taking only the two large crates of handwritten love letters from our dating years, entrusting the rest of his belongings to the landlord. The only thing he left for me was a text message before his number was deactivated: “Evie, I’m gone. I hope every day of your future is as happy as the first day I met you.” Suddenly, I no longer wanted to pursue why he left when I needed him most. His manipulative softness was, indeed, potent. For five years, my mother has fluctuated between periods of lucidity and madness. The start was incredibly hard. I worked during the day to earn money for her medical bills and delivered food at night, sleeping only three hours a day. Once, I collapsed at work, my head hitting the floor with a sickening thud. Blood poured from a gash. Thankfully, Mom’s condition gradually stabilized. I borrowed some money and opened a bakery. She asked me if I couldn’t let go of Liam, that curse on our lives. No. It wasn’t that. I simply started to understand why Liam loved sweets so much. Because life, truly, was unbearably bitter. The candlelight flickered on the table, illuminating Liam’s face, which overlapped with the image of the man in my memory. I asked him, “So, you won’t tell me until I apologize to her?” Liam paused. “Yes.” I picked up the wine bottle in front of me and smashed it against his head. CRASH. My heart shattered too. “I will never apologize to the person who killed my child!” Blood streamed down Liam’s face, tracing an ugly path. His eyes widened, and a panicked look replaced his composure. “There must be some mistake, Evie. Chloe might be spoiled, but she wouldn’t hurt anyone.” “Besides, did you really get pregnant back then? I remember I didn’t…” I didn’t listen to the rest. I turned and walked out quickly. There was no point wasting my breath on a man who refused to believe me. My mother had a relapse after seeing Liam. When I arrived at the hospital, she was banging her head against the wall. I held her tightly, letting her bite and pinch me, new, terrifying bruises forming over old ones. I finally managed to soothe her to sleep. When I looked up, Liam and Chloe were standing outside the glass window, exposing my most vulnerable moment. He was quiet for a moment. “What happened to your mom?” I didn’t answer. Chloe spoke first, her tone laced with faux sympathy: “Liam said your parents were kind to him, so he should check in on them. But since your mom is like this, maybe we should just go. Wouldn’t want her to hurt anyone.” “And your dad?” I forced a tight smile. “My dad? He died on June 12th, 2015.” The day Liam left. I clearly saw the composed barrier in his eyes crack, tearing apart. He finally seemed to grasp the reality, reaching out clumsily to catch me. 3 “Evie, the real reason I left so decisively was because…” 4 “It was because Uncle Annabel told me I should pursue the life I wanted. He said he wouldn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want anymore.” “I never imagined he would get hurt after I left. How… how did he pass away?” Tears streamed from my eyes. I took a step back, and his outstretched hand fell short. “After you left, he had a heart attack and knocked over the cake. The single candle he lit especially for you is what killed him.” “Liam, sometimes, I can’t help but hate you. If you hadn’t been so eager to leave that day, if you had just stayed a little longer, he would still be here with me.” Chloe stuck out her chin, placing herself protectively in front of Liam. “Hey! You can’t blame Liam! It’s your father who had a short life!” “That’s enough, Chloe! Get out!” Liam roared, the sound echoing down the hallway. Chloe flinched, her eyes instantly filling with tears. “You’re shouting at me—for her?” “Don’t forget who spent five years with you in that impoverished, dreadful place! If my father hadn’t given us all that money, do you think you’d be living so comfortably?!” “Liam, do you even have a heart?!” She ran off crying. A flash of blatant annoyance crossed Liam’s eyes. He truly had no heart, I thought bitterly. Wiping the tears from my face, I spoke calmly. “It’s been so long. Neither of us wants to see you anymore. Just go. Marry Chloe, and you’ll be set for life.” “I’ll just pretend my father took in an ungrateful stray dog.” Liam stared intensely at me, a raw, near-feral cry escaping him: “You don’t want me? You were the one who told me you’d give me a home—that’s why I came back!” “I’ve held on to those words for five years!” “I never intended to marry Chloe. She’s the one who’s been constantly clinging to me!” A dark figure charged in, landing a punch that sent Liam stumbling six feet away. I grabbed Declan’s arm, the skin under my palm hot with adrenaline. “Stop, Declan. Don’t dirty your hands on him.” He looked at me, stunned, a flicker of confusion in his expression.

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I ran into my parents for the first time in ten years while taking my daughter for a low-tide stroll on the beach. Lila was sprinting toward a statue for a photo with her favorite limited-edition plushie, when she ran straight into my mother. Lila looked up to apologize, and the moment my mother saw her face, she froze. A stunned silence hung in the humid air. “Rob, look at her,” my mother murmured, her voice thin. “She’s Seraphina. Exactly like our Sera at that age.” I pulled my sunhat lower, hurried forward with a quick, generic apology, grabbed Lila’s hand, and spun to walk away. But my father’s voice, unchanged, harsh, pinned me in place. “Seraphina Prescott! Ten years! Why haven’t you come home?” He stepped closer, his face a mask of practiced hurt. “Do you have any idea how much money we spent trying to find you? We looked all over the world.” He took one look at my weathered linen shirt and the simple life stretching behind me on the sand. “You’re still so willful, so much less grounded than Briana!” I turned back, my voice flat, calm, and definitive. “Sir, Ma’am, you have the wrong person. My home is right here.” The home they were talking about, I had left behind a decade ago. 1 “Seraphina! What is this attitude? You don’t recognize your own parents?” Seeing my silence, my father’s face flushed a deep red. “It seems the lesson we gave you wasn’t enough!” Before I could speak, five-year-old Lila stepped forward, throwing her arms out wide to shield me. “Mommy is a good person! You are mean people, and you can’t bully my mommy!” My father’s hand shot out, his finger trembling as he pointed at me. “Is this your daughter? Fine! No wonder you didn’t come home. You ran off with some lowlife!” He raised his hand. “I’ll beat the willfulness out of you, you ungrateful girl!” The sharp crack of his palm against my cheek echoed the sound that had once shattered my childhood. When Lila realized I’d been hit, she wailed and threw herself at my father’s legs, punching and kicking him with tiny, desperate fists. “Mean man! Don’t hit my mommy! My Daddy will fight you!” Ignoring the stinging heat on my face, I yanked Lila back. “Lila, we’re going home. Now!” My mother rushed up, grabbing my arm. “Sera, stop being dramatic! Your father is just upset because he’s missed you!” “He missed you so much a few years ago that he had a heart attack—he almost… Just apologize to him and come back with us.” I snatched my arm free. My voice was ice. “My name is Ava Jensen, not Seraphina Prescott. If you follow me, I’m calling the police.” With that, I scooped Lila into my arms and walked toward the small inn, not once looking back. Back at the inn, I collapsed onto a stool behind the bar, feeling hollowed out, unmoored. Lila, still sniffling, ran into the kitchen and dragged my husband, Owen, out by the apron strings. “Daddy, kiss Mommy! A mean man hit Mommy today!” Hearing this, Owen quickly wiped his hands on his checkered apron and strode over to me. He pulled me into a fierce hug, then gently cupped my face, turning my head from side to side. “Where? Does it hurt? Come on, I’ll take you to the clinic.” I caught his hand and shook my head. “I’m fine. Just ran into a couple of people I’d rather not see.” Owen understood. He didn’t ask for details, just pulled me tighter, stroking my back, slow and steady. “Don’t worry, Ava. I’m here. No one is going to hurt you again.” Lila stretched up on her tiptoes, her soft, little hand patting my forehead, mimicking the way I comforted her. “Mommy, be brave! Don’t worry, Lila protects you!” Owen joined the chorus, pitching his voice to match our daughter’s sweet, silly tone. “Ava, be brave! Don’t worry, your husband protects you!” Watching them, the edges of my vision blurred. A long, long time ago, I had been cherished that way, too. I was afraid of the dark, so my parents covered the hallway between their room and mine with glow-in-the-dark stickers. Dad told me the flower fairies would guide me to them. I was afraid of thunderstorms, so on rainy nights, they’d set up a small tent in my bedroom. We’d all three squeeze in, me sandwiched safely between them. “Sera, my girl, be brave! Don’t worry, Daddy and Mommy will always protect you!” All of that ended the year I turned seven, the day my mother brought home her best friend’s daughter. “Sera, this is Maureen’s daughter, Briana Weaver. She’ll be your sister now.” I was thrilled. I took her hand and led her on a grand tour of my princess room. I gave her the music box my father had brought back from Europe. I pulled out the designer sundress, the one I treasured most. “Bree, this was my birthday gift from Mom. It’s custom-made. The only one in the world!” Briana took the dress, looked at it for a second, and then violently flung it on the floor, stomping her foot down hard on the delicate fabric. “What are you doing!” I shrieked, pushing her away. The crisp, new fabric was ruined with muddy footprints. Briana sat down instantly and erupted into dramatic, gasping sobs. Her cry brought my mother running. She rushed in, picked up Briana, and hugged her close, soothing her. “Bree, darling, what happened? Tell Aunt Victoria.” Hiding in my mother’s embrace, Briana choked out a lie. “Sera called me a charity case and said I wasn’t allowed to touch her things…” “Aunt Victoria, where is my Mommy? I miss her. Did she really leave me?” My mother’s eyes instantly filled with tears. She hugged Briana tight. “Bree, sweetheart! I’m your mother now.” Then, she turned and yelled at me, her voice sharp and unfamiliar. “Seraphina Prescott! How could you be so insensitive? Apologize to Briana, right now!” I pointed at the ruined dress on the floor, my own eyes swimming. “But she stomped on my dress first!” “A silly piece of cloth is more important than your sister’s feelings? You are so spoiled!” “But you made it for me…” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I haven’t even worn it once.” “Seraphina, we have clearly spoiled you rotten,” my mother sighed, rubbing her temples. “You will stay in your room tonight and think about what you’ve done.” She took Briana to The City Grille, the upscale restaurant I had been begging to visit. That night, she brought me back a small slice of stale carrot cake. Mom told me Briana was a poor, sad girl. She had lost her father, and now her mother. I had to be the understanding one. I needed to let her have things. Eating the cake, I nodded dumbly. But that single allowance cost me everything I owned. If Briana wanted it, my mother would simply say, Sera, let Briana have it. My dolls. My bedroom. Even my passion. When I was ten, the painting I’d worked on for six months was entered into a prestigious national competition by Briana, who won first prize. I confronted my mother, demanding to know why. “You’ve won so many awards, what’s the harm in letting her have this one? Bree needs this prize to secure her apprenticeship.” “But I worked on that for half a year!” I screamed at her. “Enough!” My father emerged from his study, his face thunderous. “If it takes you six months to finish one painting, you have no talent anyway. Stop this nonsense!” That evening, I ran a dangerously high fever. While I lay burning up, delirious, they were out at a lavish dinner party for Briana’s new mentor. It was my grandmother, who drove in from the country the next day, who found me and rushed me to the hospital. The doctor said an hour more and the fever would have caused brain damage. Grandma lost it. She took me back to her simple farmhouse, ignoring my parents’ protests. They tried to call me home, but every time they planned a trip, Briana would conveniently fall ill or run away. Eventually, they stopped calling. And I stopped asking. The years with Grandma were the most peaceful of my life. She didn’t call me Seraphina; she called me Ava. She said I was her best girl, her top-notch granddaughter, the best girl in the world. But Grandma’s health failed. When I was a senior in high school, she was hospitalized again, and she insisted my parents take me back for my final year of school. I carried a massive bag of Grandma’s famous buttermilk biscuits, full of anticipation, and burst through the door. Grandma said Mom loved these biscuits when she was little. The housekeeper, however, informed me my parents had taken Briana on a trip to Europe. For three days, I kept the biscuits warm, waiting. “Sera, Mommy missed you so much!” My mother rushed in and hugged me the second they got home. My father ruffled my hair. “Kid, you’ve grown taller!” I was about to hand over the bag of biscuits when Briana let out a sharp, dramatic shriek. They instantly dropped me and rushed to her. “Mommy, Daddy, I wanted to give Seraphina a gift, but I pinched my hand on the suitcase latch!” Briana wailed, her eyes overflowing with tears. “I’m so clumsy!” My mother blew gently on her fingers. “Silly girl, how will you paint now that you’ve hurt your hand?” “Look how red it is! Come on, we’re going to the emergency room.” My father’s face was etched with concern as he grabbed the car keys. “Sera, Briana’s hurt. We’re taking her to the hospital.” As they walked out, my mother glanced at the biscuits in my hand. “Those things are pure carbs, Sera. You’ll pack on the weight and get zits.” I looked down at the blister on my own hand, where hot grease had popped during the baking. I sat down and slowly ate every single biscuit. That night, I told my parents I was moving into the campus dorms. They initially refused, but after Briana’s saccharine, “good-hearted” suggestion that I needed space to study, they consented. The day I received my university acceptance letter, I flew home to pack. Grandma’s greatest regret was never having seen the ocean. I chose a college right on the coast. I was going to take her there. I pulled my suitcase to the front door, my hand on the knob, when my phone rang. It was the county hospital. “Is this Seraphina Prescott? Your grandmother… she’s in critical condition. You need to come quickly…” The phone slipped from my fingers and smashed on the floor. I stumbled out the door. My parents were standing there, their faces pale and distraught. “Mom… the hospital called… Grandma… she’s dying…” I collapsed into my mother’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. “Take me… take me to the hospital… I have to see her… one last time.” “Sera, your grandmother will be fine. We’ll take you right away.” My mother held me close, stroking my back. “But first, promise Mommy one thing. Please?” “What?” I looked up through my tears. “Help Briana!” My mother gestured behind my father. Briana peered out, smelling strongly of alcohol, shaking like a leaf. A cold wave of dread washed over me. “What’s wrong with her?” “Briana… she was drinking tonight, and she drove… she hit someone. She panicked and left the scene.” My mother’s voice was shaking. I instantly understood, but I forced myself to ask. “What do you want me to do?” My mother gripped my arm tightly. “Sera, help her. Take the blame for her, okay?” “Briana is still so young. She has no parents left, her life has been hard enough. She can’t have a criminal record. It would ruin her. She would kill herself!” I yanked my arm away, my voice a raw scream. “What about me? Is my life disposable? Can I be ruined?” “How can you even think that?” My mother looked genuinely wounded. “You are our daughter, a Prescott! Even with a stain, you’ll always be our cherished Seraphina. We can afford to take care of you forever!” “This will not affect your future!” I looked at her, and a strange, terrible laugh escaped me. “I can’t help you with this.” “If you won’t take me to Grandma, I’ll go myself!” I grabbed my suitcase and rushed for the door. “Stop right there!” My father bellowed. Two bodyguards appeared out of nowhere and grabbed me, holding me fast. “If you don’t agree today, you won’t take one step out that door!” I looked from him to my mother standing behind him. “Mom, that’s your mother! You don’t care if she lives or dies?” “Sera, your grandmother has doctors. But Briana? If we don’t help her now, it’s a death sentence!” My mother began to wail. “Briana said she’d die if she went to jail! Seraphina, please, just pity your mother. Save her life!” As she screamed, she snatched the car keys from my hand and tossed them to the lawyer standing nearby. Then she pulled out her phone and, right in front of me, dialed 911. “Hello, I’d like to report a crime. The person who committed the hit-and-run on Coastal Road was my daughter, Seraphina Prescott.” When she hung up, I looked at them, tears streaming down my face from laughter. “Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, you truly are pillars of the community.” I stopped struggling and spoke calmly. “Fine. I agree to take the fall for Briana Weaver.” “But you must immediately take me to the hospital. I have to see my grandmother.” When we arrived, it was too late. Grandma had stopped breathing thirty minutes earlier. I knelt by the hospital bed, unfolding my university acceptance letter and placing it where she could see. “Grandma, look! Ava got into college. Ava can take you to the ocean now!” The police escorted me out of the hospital shortly after. At the station, I tried to recant. But my parents, with the help of their high-powered lawyer, had already manufactured a flawless chain of evidence. The day of the trial, my parents sat in the front row of the gallery. Briana was nestled in my mother’s arms, weeping theatrically. My mother stroked her back, her eyes full of pity. My father sat beside them, whispering comforts. I never looked at them again. I was convicted of hit-and-run and sentenced to three years in prison.

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The guys who wanted her treated me like a prized stepping stone. The guys who wanted me were usually her faded leftovers. I had spent my entire life trying to escape my sister, Victoria. Until her favorite ex-boyfriend looked at me and asked, “Marry me?” Staring into the sharp, perfectly sculpted face of Rhys Thorne, I heard myself say, “Yes.” Six years into our secret marriage, Tori came home. Everyone waited for their epic reunion. I calmly booked a flight. “I have other plans. You’ll have to excuse me.” 1 I heard about Tori’s return in our old high school alumni group text. Liam Chase, the class president, posted screenshots of their chat, excitedly announcing: “Our queen, Victoria Sterling, is coming home! Who’s in for a welcome party?” Tori was always adored. Within ten minutes, the thread was at 99+ messages. I don’t know who started the frenzy, but the next message that caught fire was: “We have to get Rhys in on this!” And just like that, the entire group exploded. “Rhys and Tori were the Northwood High power couple.” “I still remember them winning the State Debate Championship—Rhys on first argument, Tori on second—they wiped the floor with the competition.” “And that campus promotional video they shot? Every frame dripped with pure gold.” “They were so perfect. How did they break up right after college?” “I heard they’re both single. The Golden Girl and the CEO, maybe they can finally pick up where they left off.” They shared memories. Someone recalled Tori playing her violin on the rooftop at sunset, claiming all the world’s beauty gathered just for her. Someone else remembered countless girls crying over Rhys, only for him to remain completely unmoved. What none of them knew was that Rhys, the untouchable golden boy, was my husband. My secret husband. My old lab partner, Mia, was the only one who remembered me. But her @ was a complaint. “Eliza, you’re awful.” “You’re the goddess’s sister! You didn’t give us any heads-up? Those of us out of state barely have time to fly back!” I stared at the screen, speechless. Was I supposed to tell her that Tori and I were practically strangers, and my relationship with our parents was colder still? My sister’s homecoming was news to me, too. My parents hadn’t bothered to call. I started to type a reply, but stopped. I hadn’t asked Rhys what he thought. This year marked Tori’s seventh year abroad, and my sixth year married to Rhys. I wanted to text him, but decided to wait until he was home. What would I even say? Your Golden Girl is back. Do you want me to gracefully exit? The silence of the house became heavy with anticipation. I started dinner. Rhys likes his rice slightly softer than average. The scallops and bamboo-pith soup needs to be just-off-the-boil. The soup wasn’t ready when my phone rang. It was Rhys. “Your mother called me,” he said. “She mentioned feeling under the weather. If you have a moment, could you check on her for me?” He used the phrase “for me,” not “you should.” A small kindness, and I was grateful. Rhys knew my relationship with my mother was fractured. In the last few years, he’d paid more attention to her than I, her own daughter, had. It made sense. He and Tori were childhood sweethearts. Our families were intrinsically linked. When they dated, everyone celebrated. When they broke up, everyone mourned. When Tori left for her advanced studies in Europe, my mother tearfully declared, “It is the great regret of my life that I won’t see Rhys as my son-in-law.” If she knew her greatest regret was that I was the one who married him—the daughter she barely tolerated—she’d probably be even more devastated. 2 I picked up a few groceries at the corner market, walking slowly toward my childhood home. As I tapped on the door, I heard a light, melodic voice from inside. “Rhys, you made it!” Tori’s radiant smile vanished the moment she saw me. My parents peeked out from the kitchen. “We called Rhys,” my mother, Anne, said, a note of disappointment sharp in her voice. “Why are you here?” I placed the bag of groceries on the floor, vaguely replying, “I just came home to check in.” I was still their daughter. No one could legally tell me I wasn’t allowed inside. My mother sighed, taking the bag from me. “All this time, and you bring these?” The hallway wall was stacked with gifts, clearly from Europe, that Tori had brought back. My humble store-bought fruit was instantly pathetic. I ignored her look of disdain. “Rhys said you weren’t feeling well, but he’s swamped, so he asked me to come instead.” My mother didn’t pause to wonder why Rhys would contact me at all. She simply turned and called out to my father, Robert. “Call Rhys again, honey.” “Tori is finally home. He simply has to see her.” That’s when I noticed the table. It was laden with all of Rhys’s favorite dishes. This wasn’t an ailing parent’s request; it was an ambush. A carefully orchestrated family meeting to reunite Rhys and Tori. My mother pulled me aside, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Eliza, when Rhys gets here, you need to behave. Don’t you dare mess this up for your sister, or I swear I’ll skin you alive.” I couldn’t help the bitter laugh. “What if Rhys isn’t single anymore?” My mother glared at me. “Don’t you speak such nonsense.” “Your sister has carried a torch for him all these years. Her returning now is her attempt to get him back.” A heavy feeling settled in my chest. Before I could speak, my father had already placed the call. Rhys’s polite refusal was audible. But then Tori snatched the phone. “It’s me. I’m back.” “Rhys, I need to see you.” Her voice was soft, yet the slight tremor in her tail end held a dramatic vulnerability that was impossible to ignore. The line was silent for a moment. Then Rhys’s simple reply: “I’m stuck at the office. I’ll be there in an hour.” Tori hung up. She ran a practiced hand through her long hair and smiled at my mother. “See? I knew he wanted to see me, too. He’s just too proud to admit it.” “We were young and stubborn back then. We let small things tear us apart.” Her eyes were bright with absolute certainty. “But I’ve learned to compromise.” Tori had always been the famously spoiled princess. But Rhys was equally sharp-edged and self-possessed. Their combined intensity had led to inevitable friction. I sat on the sofa, quietly eating a handful of strawberries, trying to disappear. The doorbell rang again. Everyone rushed to greet him. Over their heads, my eyes met Rhys’s. 3 He still wore the black suit he’d worn to the office, which only accentuated his height and his cool, reserved demeanor. Rhys was the kind of person who projected a faint, untouchable aura even in the most crowded room. Few were ever allowed into his inner circle. My sister, clearly, was an exception. We sat at the round dining table. Tori strategically placed herself closest to him. She was naturally beautiful and always the center of attention. But the three years she’d spent in Europe had polished her sharp edges. Every gesture was thoughtful, every word perfectly placed. She smoothly transitioned from discussing her European travels to his recent business dealings. When she brought up funny old memories, I saw the hard line of Rhys’s brow relax slightly. I sat in the corner, a transparent presence. But that was how it had always been for over a decade. I was accustomed to it. My mind drifted to a childhood memory: I was huddled in the hallway, twisting my dress hem, watching Rhys and Tori, constantly surrounded by well-wishers and admiration. They were born to stand in the light. A dull ache started in my stomach. My grip slipped, and my teacup crashed to the floor. Rhys was the first to snap out of his conversation with Tori. His gaze landed on my bleeding finger, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “I’ll take you to get that bandaged.” But my mother immediately stepped forward, pressing Rhys back into his chair. “You two stay and talk. You haven’t seen Tori in so long, you must have so much to catch up on.” She dismissed me with a wave. “Eliza is clumsy. Let her handle it herself. Don’t pay her any mind.” It wasn’t a deep cut, but the pain felt profound, cementing my silence. The dinner ended quickly and unpleasantly. Rain was falling outside. Rhys announced he had an early flight and had to leave. I vaguely recalled his business trip was scheduled for tomorrow. Had it been moved up? I stood up, too. “Rhys, I’m leaving with you.” Before I could reach him, my father grabbed my arm. “I’ll take you. Let your sister see Rhys out.” I understood. They were desperate to manufacture a moment for the two of them. I clenched my fists and slowly released them. I watched them both disappear into the entryway. “Dad,” I said, defeated, “just drop me off at the subway station.” He thrust an umbrella into my hand. “Walk yourself. It’s late; I don’t want to go out.” My throat tightened, a familiar, acrid burn. I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped. I had known my place in this house since I was four. When I was little, I had snuck out to play. Tori went looking for me and was tragically abducted. She was found three years later. My parents spent the next two decades compensating her for the trauma. I was the careless initiator of her suffering, and therefore deserved to be cold-shouldered. In that house, I wasn’t allowed new clothes or toys; I took Tori’s hand-me-downs. I couldn’t object to anything she told me to do. If I did, I was punished. Once, she tried to use a toilet brush to clean my teeth. I begged my parents for help. They only shook their heads. “You are the sinner in this house. Did you forget?” 4 I walked into the downpour without opening the umbrella. The night was a thick, ink-dark blur. When I got back to my apartment, my clothes were soaked through. Rhys wasn’t home. I thought about texting him, asking when he would return, but decided against it. Let it go. He was reconnecting with his past. I shouldn’t be the one to interfere. I took a long bath, then tidied the kitchen. Rhys finally returned. It was impossible to read his face; his typical aloofness made it hard to tell if his time with Tori had been enjoyable. I kept my head down, pretending to be busy. But he walked over and gently touched my wet hair. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I truly was busy today. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have sent you.” “And your parents… they gave you a hard time again, didn’t they?” The tears I’d held back all day finally spilled over. In that moment, I knew Rhys did care about me. But how much did he care about Tori? That thought felt like a rusted saw blade, scraping against my most fragile nerves. I was afraid to ask, but the words slipped out anyway. “Rhys, Tori is back. Are you… going to get back together with her?” When we got married, we’d agreed not to ask questions about each other’s past. But if I didn’t know the answer now, I thought I might actually lose my mind. Rhys abruptly took a lock of my hair, his voice serious, as if speaking a vow. “I would never do something that disrespectful.” “Eliza, you can trust me.” The heavy breath I’d been holding finally released. I watched silently as he used a towel to dry my hair. He gently pulled me into his arms, his fingers tracing my face. From my brow bone to my lips. Then lower. My face flushed, and I tried to pull away. He held me tighter. “Don’t move.” Rhys was rarely so forceful. It was difficult to resist. And then, as my world began to spin, I heard his low murmur. “I don’t want her anymore.” “Eliza, you are enough.” … I was still wide awake when the city finally went quiet. I was three years younger than Tori, yet I’d been forced into her class. When she was finally recovered, she was mentally fragile, sensitive to noise and bright lights. My parents, unable to constantly monitor her, ordered me to skip two grades to be her academic companion. I was too young to keep up. My grades plummeted, my physical education was the worst in class, and I made no friends. I cried myself to sleep countless times. But my parents needed me to keep tabs on Tori. In those years, my academic record was always at the bottom. Tori’s was always at the top. When people asked, my parents would beam. “Our elder daughter is exceptional.” “Our little one simply can’t compare.” My entire adolescence was spent in that kind of suffocating shadow. 5 The year I was supposed to graduate, Tori was accepted into a prestigious music conservatory in Vienna. My own grades were abysmal. I had to repeat the year before I finally got into a decent state university. I thought my mother would finally be happy for me. She merely said, “Repeating a year and still only managing that school isn’t exactly a badge of honor.” I should have known. I was not meant to be favored. I didn’t argue. I went straight to a nearby coffee shop and applied for a job. Over the next four years, I paid for my tuition and living expenses entirely on my own, never asking my family for a penny. I was too busy, and I rarely went home. I saw Rhys less often. In those days, he was a big brother figure. He helped me correct my math. He lent me inspirational books. If we took a nice photo together, he’d send me a copy. But most of the time, his attention was fixed on Tori. Once, on a rare visit home, Rhys looked at my wind-chapped hands and tired eyes. His brow furrowed. “Eliza, I never see you. What are you always doing?” I told him I was working three part-time jobs and my schedule was completely full. Rhys looked at me for a long time, his voice barely a whisper. “Aren’t you tired?” My eyes instantly welled up. No one had ever asked me that. My parents occasionally muttered, “Our younger daughter is sensible, she doesn’t cost us anything.” They never wondered how hard it was for a college student to maintain decent grades while working constantly. I was exhausted. I was holding on by sheer willpower. That’s the thing about a wound—you can bear the pain alone. But the moment someone offers a single word of genuine care, all the walls collapse. Looking back, that was probably the moment. That one sentence from Rhys. I stammered through some incoherent response. He actually smiled at my panic. “My company needs an administrative assistant. Why don’t you come help me?” Rhys had started his own company in college. It was small, but profitable. Every Friday, my job was to run out and buy the team afternoon treats. One time, I bought the pastries and went to deal with something else. When I came back, the platter was empty. I was staring at the crumbs when Rhys called my name. “I saved you the strawberry one. Your favorite.” I hid in the corner and ate that slice of cake. It tasted sweeter than anything I’d ever had. But soon after, Tori showed up at Rhys’s office. She smiled brightly. “Eliza is too clumsy to help you. Let me take over.” Just like that, I lost the job. It had always been this way. The moment Tori appeared, anything that was mine was taken. Now, she was back again. Would Rhys be taken from me too? 6 Rhys left for his business trip. I fell back into a routine of managing the apartment and my own freelance work. Something felt wrong. Before, no matter how busy he was, Rhys always found time to text me, a brief update on his status. This time, my messages vanished into a void. Days went by with no reply. The silence made me uneasy. Finally, I called his assistant, Mr. Davies. Rhys was a private, measured man. He didn’t believe his marriage was public business. Mr. Davies was the only person who knew we were secretly wed. Per Rhys’s instruction, he always referred to me as “Ms. Thorne” externally. I rarely interfered with Rhys’s affairs, but Mr. Davies was usually upfront when I asked. This time, he only said, “I need to check with the CEO and then I’ll call you back.” Moments later, his voice was apologetic. “Ms. Thorne, Mr. Thorne had a minor car accident. He didn’t want to worry you, so he kept it quiet.” “When he’s feeling better, you can come see him.” I couldn’t wait. I went to every major hospital, using the vague details I had. I finally found him at the third hospital. A group of nurses was clustered around the station, whispering excitedly. “They’re so in sync, are they really just friends?” “Their energy together is insane. The mogul and the violinist, and they were high school sweethearts…” The blood in my veins turned to ice. The answer I’d been dreading was right there. Through the slightly ajar door, I saw Tori spooning food from a thermos into a bowl. Rhys had a bandage wrapped around his forehead. His voice was flat. “Thank you for your effort, Tori, but you don’t need to do this for me.” “Besides, you just returned. You must have a lot to do.” Tori’s eyes were full of unconcealed tenderness. “I do have a lot to do. But, I can’t focus on anything until I know you’re okay.” I stood frozen in the doorway, a clumsy, abrupt intruder. Rhys finally saw me. He raised an eyebrow. “Why are you here?” Tori looked at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, quickly replaced by a dramatic sigh. “Did Mom and Dad tell her about this, too?” I forced myself to stand still, my insides churning. “Rhys, how did you get hurt?” 7 Rhys didn’t answer. Tori answered for him. “I was meeting a friend nearby and happened to run into him.” “Then… we got into an accident.” The hospital room window showed the reflection of Tori and me. She was wearing an elegant, fitted designer sheath, poised and graceful. I was in a messy sweatshirt and jeans, my hair wild from running, my makeup smeared. The contrast was brutal. I had a ridiculous thought: I want to know if the way Rhys looks at me is different from the way he looks at her. But I couldn’t get an answer. Rhys looked down at the documents he was reviewing, not meeting either Tori’s eyes or mine. I hadn’t been in the room for long when Tori urged me to leave. “Rhys is tired and needs rest. I’ll stay. Eliza, why don’t you go?” I turned to Rhys, my voice barely a whisper. “Do you want me to stay?” Our eyes locked. Rhys’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He said, “Yes.” Tori immediately positioned herself in front of me. “Rhys, don’t. You have me. She’s too clumsy and useless to take care of anyone.” But then, Mr. Davies knocked and walked in, saying a video conference was about to start. He politely asked us both to wait outside. Tori and I stood in the small waiting room. I felt awkward. I reached for a cup of water, but Tori suddenly stepped in front of me. She tilted her head back, looking down her nose. “Eliza, you are so stupid.” “Don’t think I haven’t figured out what you’re trying to do.” “But you need to look at yourself. I may have been apart from Rhys for a few years, but all it takes is one word from me, and he’ll stop liking you.” I clenched my fists. “Would you say that in front of Rhys?” Tori let out a cold laugh. “Do you think I wouldn’t?” Rage pulsed through my chest. Then, an interruption. Mr. Davies opened the door, smiling politely. “Ms. Eliza, Mr. Thorne would like to see you.” Tori looked genuinely shocked. “Her? Not me?” Mr. Davies’s smile became even more courteous. “That is the CEO’s request. I wouldn’t presume to question it.” Rhys was alone in the room. He looked at me, his voice soft. “I had Mr. Davies send your sister home. Stay and eat something with me.” I followed his gaze. A thermos sat on the bedside table. It wasn’t the one Tori had brought. Rhys explained. “I know you don’t eat their food. I had the staff send a different one.” 8 I had no appetite. Rhys, however, was patient. He scooped up a spoonful of soup and brought it to my lips. “Just a little. Your lips are completely drained of color.” His voice was gentle, coaxing. Seeing this side of the usually distant, self-controlled man was heartbreaking. My eyes burned, and I burst out, reckless with pain, “When are you going to tell Tori, and my parents, that we’ve been married for years?” The smile vanished from Rhys’s face. He stared at me intently. “Eliza, we had an agreement.” Years of suppressed emotion came boiling up. I asked, my voice trembling, “Then why did you marry me in the first place?” Rhys didn’t speak for a long moment. He chose his words carefully. “Why did you say yes?” “Eliza, over the years, you’ve started wanting more.” He was right. I was greedy. At 19, I only wanted Rhys to notice me. Now, I was greedy enough to want to walk fully and completely into his world. Rhys must despise me for this. He had to. Something dense and painful lodged in my heart. I looked down, choked up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t put you in this difficult position.” But Rhys gently stroked my hair. “I’m the one who failed to consider your feelings.” “I will choose the right time to tell your parents about us.” Rhys’s voice held a natural certainty, the kind that could instantly relax my coiled tension. I forgave him in a rush. I leaned my head against his shoulder and cautiously asked, “Can you promise me not to see Tori again?” He didn’t hesitate. He kissed the top of my head. “Yes.” Rhys kept his word. He went home to recover the next day. I don’t know what he told Tori, but after that, she was silent for a few days. The peace didn’t last. The class group chat suddenly exploded again. Tori’s welcome dinner was finalized. A dozen local classmates would attend. Even I, the perennial wallflower, received an invitation. I held my phone and asked Rhys, “Are you going? Tori will be there.” He was in a rare, good mood, and he pinched my cheek playfully. “No.” “Someone told me I’m not allowed to.” 9 I hadn’t expected the scale of the reunion. Liam Chase had rented the hotel’s largest private room and ordered a bespoke cake. The room was noisy. Everyone was gathered around Tori, showering her with praise. She wore a classic white silk blouse and a pencil skirt—elegant and poised. Someone nudged her playfully. “We heard Rhys said he’d seen you already! You’ve only been back a few days.” “Spill it. What’s the status?” Tori smiled lightly, feigning embarrassment. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just that we’ve actually seen each other every year for the past seven years.” My mind went instantly blank. The words burst out before I could stop them. “You’re. Ly. Ing.” The atmosphere instantly plummeted to freezing. Mia tugged at my sleeve under the table. “What are you doing? That’s your sister!” I knew she was my sister. But why was she lying? Tears stung my eyes. My voice was stubbornly defiant. “Victoria Sterling, do you have proof?” Tori glanced at me, a mocking smile playing on her lips. She opened her phone, pulled up a picture, and handed it to me. “Does this count?” The photo showed Tori and Rhys standing side-by-side by a river. They weren’t touching, but they were both smiling at the camera. Tori spoke with a nostalgic sigh. “We’ve met up in Paris, in Switzerland.” “He even flew to Vienna to hear me play at the Golden Hall.” “This one is from the apartment I rented. He came to visit, and we took this picture.” My heart felt like it had been violently ripped apart. I couldn’t breathe. I suddenly remembered Rhys’s laptop wallpaper—a similar landscape photo. Every time he opened his computer, he was looking at a memory I’d never been part of. I bit down hard on my lower lip, forcing myself to find logic. Maybe the photo was taken before we got married? Maybe it was right after, when he hadn’t fully fallen for me. Maybe he never fell for me. Maybe he married me just to survive that difficult time. That year, he had broken up with Tori, endured the sudden death of his parents, and had to keep his massive company afloat alone. He was desolate. And I happened to be there. A man as reserved and controlled as him, once he’d been intimate with me, felt obligated to give me a name. … The dinner was half over, and Rhys still hadn’t shown up. The group decided they needed a plan to force him to appear. Liam called him. “Get here now! The goddess is drunk, you have to take her home.” The phone was on speaker. Rhys sounded like he was at a loud business dinner. He asked, “Is Eliza there?” 10 Liam looked momentarily stunned, but quickly recovered and played along. “Yes. She’s drunk, too.” Rhys didn’t hesitate. “Fine. I’m coming to pick her up.” The phone went silent, and the entire room erupted in excitement. “Rhys still cares about Tori!” “He’s just playing hard to get.” “I think we’ll be drinking their wedding wine this year!” But a few people still whispered, “Why did he even bring up Eliza?” A brief, heavy silence descended. All eyes slowly turned to me. Tori’s face was a mixture of triumph and confusion. Liam suddenly slapped the table and burst out laughing. “Why would he? Because Eliza is Tori’s sister!” “When you love a woman, you put her family first.” Is that what it was? I poured myself another glass of wine and took a silent, bitter drink. I overheard a couple of classmates chatting, saying Liam had really splurged on this dinner. Liam’s smile was wide and sincere. “It’s nothing. Tori’s story has always inspired me! Without her, I wouldn’t be who I am.” He was talking about Tori’s high school speech, the one that made her a campus legend. She’d detailed her abduction experience. It was rousing and tear-jerking, cementing her status as a genuine “goddess.” But soon after, someone found out that Tori had been kidnapped because she was searching for me after I’d wandered off. Furious students left a bloody knife on my desk. I was too terrified to attend school. It was Tori who publicly intervened. “My sister was only a child then,” she said. I truly believed she had forgiven me. But later, I stumbled upon her diary. It read, starkly: If only I didn’t have a sister. Those words felt like a dull blade, carving me to pieces. I hated myself for being alive.

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They all applauded the day I left Crest Harbor. It was a relief, really—a madwoman like me would no longer monopolize the city’s headlines. Until, three years later. I was back on the front page. It was because of the first thing I did upon my return. It wasn’t a trip home; it was a visit to the cemetery. That day, I happened to run into my brother, Rhys Beaumont. He asked me: “All these years, why didn’t you come home?” I tightened my grip on the flimsy oncology report in my hand. I managed a strained smile. “I’ll be home soon.” 1 I hadn’t expected the reunion with my brother, Rhys, to be so utterly flat. There was none of the old, razor-sharp animosity. Three years ago, we were notorious tabloid fodder—the siblings known for pure, unadulterated hatred. “When did you get back?” I looked at the sprig of jasmine in his hand—Mom’s favorite flower—and felt a momentary lapse in reality. “Yesterday.” “Yesterday was Dad’s birthday.” His voice was as cool and distant as ever. “Since you were back in Crest Harbor, why didn’t you come?” “Because I didn’t want to.” Rhys’s brow furrowed as he stared at me. “Ranna, are you still holding a grudge against us?” I shook my head slightly. How could I hold a grudge? The moment I left Crest Harbor, the hatred I felt for anyone here dried up. I simply figured Dad wouldn’t want to see me at his birthday dinner. He and Rhys hated me equally. Because I was the one responsible for Mom’s death. If I hadn’t thrown a tantrum for a birthday cake on my eighth birthday, Mom wouldn’t have gone out. She wouldn’t have fallen into the hands of our family’s rivals and been brutally tortured and killed. I still remember Dad cradling her body, his agonizing sobs echoing through the foyer. I remember Rhys kneeling on the floor, his eyes bloodshot as he screamed at me to get out. That day, Dad lost his beloved wife. Rhys lost his mother. They withdrew every ounce of love they had given me. And they started to hate me. Rhys’s gaze softened, a complicated expression flitting across his face. He leaned closer. “Ranna.” He paused, then continued, “You look… different. You’ve become much quieter.” I offered a weak smile. If I had changed, it was only that I’d stopped expecting anything from them. Not long after Mom died, they brought Savannah Davies home—the impoverished student Mom had been sponsoring. They didn’t give her cold shoulders, didn’t ignore her, and certainly never told her to get lost. The glaring disparity in treatment drove me to hysterics, to desperate acts of demanding attention. I was too young then to understand why their hatred for me was so absolute. By the time I did understand, I had already started leaving score marks on my wrists. Still, I couldn’t stop antagonizing them. At least that way, they saw me. A gentle breeze lifted the cuff of my sleeve, revealing the pale, permanent scars that were no less prominent than they had been years ago. The silence grew heavy until Rhys finally said the phrase I’d been waiting for. “Come home with me.” I stared down at my shoes. What home? What place was left for me in that house? For years, even the society columns had been referring to Savannah as the Beaumont heiress. My own name had long been blacklisted by the city’s media. In their eyes, I was nothing more than a certifiable madwoman. It wasn’t enough that I’d publicly humiliated Savannah countless times in a pathetic bid for attention. They truly believed I’d crossed the line into depravity by orchestrating her brutal kidnapping and assault by a local gang. Rhys had arrived just as the ordeal ended, cradling an almost lifeless Savannah. He’d spun around and slapped me hard across the face. We had hurled the most vicious curses at each other, but he had never laid a hand on me before. “Ranna, are you sick? What kind of monster are you?” The sound of his hand connecting with my cheek drowned out my single, desperate syllable: “I—didn’t—” He wouldn’t believe me. Because Savannah shrank back in fear, tears streaming down her face, and cried, “Rhys, I’m sorry! I’ll never compete with her again! Please, can’t you just let me go?” My father, who rushed in right behind them, didn’t believe me, either. He forced me to my knees to apologize to Savannah. When I refused, he didn’t hesitate. He took out his handgun and fired right into my shoulder. Blood spattered across the marble floor. But not one of them looked at me. To exact their revenge for Savannah, they had me tied up and institutionalized in a psychiatric ward. When I was released six months later, Dad treated me like I was invisible. Rhys looked at me like a stranger. They both said the same thing, with the same cold finality: “I don’t have a daughter named Ranna.” “My only sister is Savannah.” I haven’t had a home for a long time. So how could I go back? I was about to refuse, but my phone screen flashed. It was a text from the cemetery: [Ms. Beaumont, please finalize the paperwork soon if you’ve decided on a plot.] Over the years, to pay for my treatment, my savings had dwindled. I couldn’t afford the plot closest to Mom. I needed to go back and retrieve the last two things Mom left for me. I ended up following Rhys into the car. Midway, he suddenly reached out toward me. Out of pure reflex, I flinched and ducked my head. Rhys’s hand froze mid-air. “Ranna, I just saw a leaf in your hair.” “I’ve got it.” The rest of the drive was silent. The car pulled up to the old Beaumont estate. Savannah, who must have heard about my return, didn’t seem surprised. She greeted me with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She probably thought I was here for revenge, judging by my old, petty nature. But she was wrong. The day I was diagnosed with terminal cancer, I granted myself a pardon. I pardoned them, too. Dad saw me from a distance, gave me a long look, and then walked into his study. Business as usual. I headed straight to my room to retrieve the dowry savings account Mom had prepared for me years ago. But when I reached the bottom of the trunk, the wedding dress she had handmade was gone. I found Mrs. Davies, the long-time housekeeper, and asked. She stammered nervously: “Ms. Savannah is set to marry into the Sterling family… The dress, well, it was given to… to Ms. Savannah.” How dare they? The dress Mom had been working on since before I was born. How could they so easily give it to Savannah? Even if I were dying, I intended to take it to the grave with me. “Which Sterling is she marrying?” “The second son, Mr. Grayson Sterling.” I froze. Grayson. My childhood anchor. The boy who had sworn to protect me forever. When Dad and Rhys hated me the most, he was the only one who stood firmly by my side. When someone asked him if he was afraid of catching fire, he just raised an eyebrow and said, “She’s my childhood friend. I know exactly who she is.” But ever since that fabricated kidnapping, Grayson had slowly, subtly, started to distance himself. His nickname for Savannah changed to a soft “Savvy.” I once cried and asked him what was wrong. He recoiled slightly, pushing me away, a flash of annoyance in his eyes. He said, “Ranna, Savannah is a good person.” A good person? But she stole my father and my brother. And she framed me. Why wouldn’t you believe me, too? I should have known then. The moment Grayson started taking Savannah’s side, I was truly alone in Crest Harbor. The notification about the successful grave plot booking pulled me out of the memory. I shook my head bitterly. I turned to go find Savannah. But just as I stepped out of the room, my arm was violently grabbed. I spun around to find a breathless Grayson. He must have rushed here; the corners of his eyes were red. “Ranna, you… you finally came back?” I didn’t answer. I just watched his guilty gaze slide down to my right leg. I had almost forgotten. Three years ago, when Savannah faked falling down the stairs, missed her big dance competition, and threatened suicide, an enraged Grayson sent people to break my leg. He knew how many years I’d trained for that international competition, how much Mom’s dream it represented. I was so close to the stage. But everything had shattered with the crack of a baseball bat. When I was lying in the hospital, Grayson came from Savannah’s room. He looked at me coldly. “Ranna, bad deeds must be punished.” I stopped trying to explain and just wept. He mistook my tears for remorse and softened his tone. “Ranna, once your leg heals, I’ll take you to Arch Point.” I’d always wanted to see that famed coastal spot. I never expected the trip to be bought at such a horrific price. I stopped crying. I quietly pulled out my phone. He probably thought I was checking flights to Arch Point. In reality, I was looking at a ticket for a ferry out of Crest Harbor. Seeing my silence, Grayson’s expression grew more pained. “Where have you been all these years? Are you… doing okay?” “I’m fine.” After leaving Crest Harbor, I went to the Lowcountry, the place Mom always talked about. As soon as my leg healed, I started cooperating with my doctors. One for severe depression, the other for Stage IV gastric cancer. The day I was diagnosed, the doctor told me, “Ranna, get your family to spend time with you. Being loved is beneficial for depression.” I looked at the fresh scratches on my wrist. I forgot to tell the doctor that I had no family. He saw my silence and then grew serious. “Stage IV gastric cancer gives you a maximum of three years, Ranna. I hope you can find some joy in your last days.” But I hadn’t genuinely smiled since Mom died. So, whether my final days were happy or not seemed irrelevant. “You—” Grayson’s words were cut off by the sudden appearance of Savannah. “Grayson, what are you doing here? Dad’s been waiting for you in the study forever.” Grayson seemed to snap out of a trance. He looked at me with a complicated, regretful expression, but yielded to Savannah’s urgency and turned to leave. The moment he was gone, Savannah turned to me. “Ranna, you actually dared to come back?” Her voice was hard. “Are you here to ruin my wedding?” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Why? Are you scared now that I’m back?” The venom in Savannah’s eyes was unleashed; the act was over. “I got rid of you once. What makes you think you can win this time?” She hadn’t changed at all over the years. Innocent in public, a viper behind closed doors. Too bad. This time, I was going to be outside of her plan. I wouldn’t be leaving. I skipped the pleasantries. “Give me the wedding dress.” Savannah was stunned for a few seconds, then let out a peel of triumphant laughter. “Ranna, Dad and Rhys gave the dress to me ages ago. What right do you have to ask for it back? Besides, I’m marrying Grayson soon.” She held out her hand, showing off the Sterling engagement ring on her finger, and taunted, “Ranna, everything that was yours is mine now.” I was expressionless. She seemed so pathetic. From the moment Savannah was adopted, she started taking everything that belonged to me. My clothes, my room, my family… even the title of Beaumont Heiress. But who cared anymore? Perhaps my sheer indifference was what finally broke Savannah. She ordered a servant to bring the dress. Before I could even react, she grabbed a pair of tailoring shears and viciously slashed the gown twice. “You want to come back, Ranna? You have to pay a price!” I watched Mom’s last personal relic fall to the floor like torn rags. My blood ran cold. She wasn’t finished. She leaned in, her voice low and saturated with cruelty. “If your mother hadn’t died, I’d still be stuck in a trailer park, and I wouldn’t be able to steal your things! So, thank God she died!” “You should have died with your mother that day!” My eyes burned. In a surge of pure, blinding fury, my stomach cramped, a dizzy spell washed over me, and I felt the irresistible urge to vomit. I raised my hand and swung it, putting all my failing strength into the hit. CRACK! Savannah’s head snapped sideways, but she just cackled. “I’m going to find out whose life is more important to them now!” She plunged the scissors deep into her own abdomen. Blood instantly gushed out. She yanked the shears free and threw them at my feet. Hearing the commotion, Rhys burst into the room. He shoved me away—a brutal, full-body rejection. “Ranna!” The roar of his voice came just as the blood surged up my own throat. “Are you completely insane?” Insane? Yes. The moment they sent me to the asylum, I went insane. Savannah’s eyes were brimming with fake, wronged tears. “Rhys, it’s my fault! Ranna just got home, and I shouldn’t have provoked her!” Then, she conveniently fainted. Rhys looked down at the swelling bruise on Savannah’s cheek and the rapidly blooming red stain on her dress. He bellowed at me: “I thought you were different! I thought you had changed!” “Ranna! I swear, I regret letting you step back into this house!” At that, my hand—reaching out to gather the torn remnants of the dress—froze mid-air. I stumbled, using the wall to pull myself up. Just then, Dad and Grayson walked in. One look, and their judgment was sealed. Dad ignored me as he always did, dialing the doctor from ten feet away. Grayson rushed to cradle Savannah, his eyes filled with bottomless disappointment when he looked at me. This sight crushed the last shard of hope I held. My entire body was screaming in pain. The blood surging in my throat could no longer be contained. I covered my mouth to cough, but sticky, thick blood immediately oozed between my fingers, splattering onto the floor. One drop. Two drops. Then, a whole pool. Rhys’s eyes widened. Grayson gasped and shouted my name. Even Dad paused, his phone halfway to his ear. Rhys took a hesitant step toward me. I violently pulled back, avoiding his touch. “Why won’t you ask me if I hurt her?” My voice cracked. “Every time something happens, you only listen to Savannah’s word! You never once bother to hear mine!” “You always accuse me, always nail me to the cross! Why? Because you think I owe Mom a life, and I deserve to die!” Tears that had been dried up for years finally spilled out, crashing onto the floor along with the blood. Rhys was silent. But Dad ended his call, looking utterly calm as he returned the question. “And aren’t you?” The room fell into a terrifying silence. I laughed, the sound hollow and manic. More blood surged from my stomach, pouring out. “Yes. I am the sinner.” “One life, right? I’ll pay you back!” The next second, I coughed up a final, massive mouthful of blood and collapsed heavily onto the floor.

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My adoptive father, Rhett Callahan, was the biggest rancher in the entire state—a true land baron of the West. The day he found out I was the lost heiress, he held me close, his eyes full of the vast, quiet sorrow of the plains. “You listen to your new parents, little Aura,” he’d rumbled, using the nickname only he used. “The people in Manhattan are sharper than your old man, a rough-cut cowboy. They’ll mold my Nu-nu into a delicate little princess.” I nodded, trying to be brave. I hauled the cooler filled with the prime, dry-aged beef he’d butchered himself and stood at the gates of the Prescott estate in Greenwich, Connecticut. When Evelyn Prescott, my biological mother, saw me, she wrinkled her nose. Jonathan Prescott, my biological father, scowled. Skylar Prescott, the girl who had taken my place, pointed a perfectly manicured finger at my chest and sneered that I was a savage from the sticks. My new parents ordered the housekeeper to use a scrub brush—I swear, it felt like steel wool—to scour the smell of the range off me. They forced me to sit through endless etiquette lessons and kept me hungry, claiming it would make me “delicate.” The Prescott world was nothing like I’d imagined. My eyes stung, and I finally sat down in the attic room they’d given me to pen a frantic letter. A week later, Dad’s reply arrived. “The measly Prescott Industries? Your Abba could buy and sell them for a coffee tab with the longhorns I own. Do not suffer their foolishness, Aura. Your Abba will be there in three days!” 1 Skylar snatched the thick envelope from my hand, the rough texture of the paper crinkling under her perfect grip, and then she slapped me. Hard. This time, I remembered Dad’s words. I wouldn’t stand for it. I clenched my fists and focused my eyes, locking onto Skylar like a lone wolf tracking a weak calf on the open range. My gaze made her skin prickle. She clutched the letter, taking a hesitant step back. “What are you doing? This is the Prescott house! If you dare to touch me—” Warm-up complete. I slid my right foot, dropped my center of gravity, and put all my core strength into my arms. With a yelp of pure panic from Skylar, her body traced a sharp, clean arc in the air before hitting the antique Persian rug with a sickening thud. A perfect, textbook hip-toss. Jonathan and Evelyn rushed in. Skylar’s expression twisted into a caricature of pain faster than a spooked mustang. “Mom, Dad, I only asked what Autumn was reading! She just… she tried to kill me!” They automatically ignored the bright red print of Skylar’s hand on my cheek. “Autumn Reed Prescott! Were those etiquette classes completely wasted? You resort to such crude violence against your sister?” My blood-stained year of experience in the Prescott house told me one thing: the more I argued, the more severe the punishment. I stayed silent, staring at my worn boots. Skylar wasn’t done. She dramatically waved the letter. “Look, Mom, Dad! She got a letter from her savage father!” My heart squeezed tight. If they saw Dad’s proud dismissal of their “measly” empire, their fragile upper-class egos would shatter. Jonathan and Evelyn squinted at the rough, looping script, which was written in Dad’s private ranch code—a language only we spoke. They couldn’t decipher a word. They tossed it to Skylar, who claimed to know “simple Western dialects.” Skylar read the characters, her voice dripping with venom. “Her poor adoptive father is clearly after the Prescott fortune! He’s telling her to steal as much cash as she can!” That was it. My dad was the largest landowner and stockman in the state, a bona fide hero of the range! He would never be reduced to a common thief! “You’re lying!” I managed to choke out half a word. Smack! Jonathan’s palm slammed across my face, the impact sending a ringing echo through my ears. “Haven’t you disgraced us enough? A Prescott heiress acting like some common brute who throws people around. You’ll skip dinner tonight. You can spend the evening kneeling in front of your sister’s room.” They guided a tearful Skylar away, their voices thick with exasperation and disappointment. “They’re the same age—barely ten. How can their personalities be so different?” Evelyn sighed. “If the whole adoption scandal hadn’t been picked up by the news, damaging our stock, I would never have brought Autumn back.” “Honestly, I wish she’d just been lost forever when she wandered off at six months.” As they comforted each other, Skylar twisted her head around and gave me a wicked, triumphant smirk. In this house, I was Autumn Reed Prescott. Only Dad called me Aura. I sucked in a shaky breath, my fingernails digging hard into the soft flesh of my thigh. Dad said girls raised on the range don’t cry easily. That night, I knelt outside Skylar’s polished oak bedroom door. My knees were starting to swell, and my stomach growled a miserable complaint. A sliver of moonlight fell through the window, and a big, ugly whip scorpion crawled next to me. I remembered being bored while watching the herd, and Dad teaching me how to find scorpions and race them. When that was boring, he’d teach me how to count our livestock—a cow for twenty grand, until I reached thirty million—and then I’d fall asleep, safe on his wide, warm shoulders. Just two more days. I’d see Dad soon. Drifting off, I gently cupped the whip scorpion and curled up, exhausted, by the door. 2 The next morning, Skylar’s piercing scream jolted me awake. She was staring at the whip scorpion in my hand, her face paper-white, tears streaming down her face. “Autumn… I didn’t make you kneel! Why would you bring this… this thing to scare me!” I saw the flash of cunning in her eyes and knew the performance was for someone else. Sure enough, a dark shadow fell over me. A large hand snatched the insect away. The next second, the whip scorpion was a two-part corpse on the polished marble floor. Jonathan Prescott’s face was grim. “Autumn, we have been too lenient with you.” Before I could speak, he waved his hand and summoned the head groundskeeper. “Bring Shadow over.” At the name Shadow, my pupils contracted, and an involuntary tremor ran through my body. A smug smile played on Skylar’s lips. “See, Autumn? Dad is just applying your rules. You can’t accuse him of favoritism.” I instantly dropped to my knees, clawing at Jonathan’s bespoke trousers. “Dad, I wasn’t trying to scare Skylar! I know I was wrong!” He glared at me, annoyed, and kicked my hand away. “We gave you a chance! Skylar even hand-stitched you a welcoming doll, and you deliberately tore it to shreds and told her to get lost!” “We assumed you inherited the superior Prescott genes and would adjust quickly, but it’s clear the rotten ideologies of your dirt-poor upbringing are ingrained in you!” The groundskeeper approached, respectfully leading a massive, heavily-muscled Rottweiler named Shadow. The man’s face wore a sickeningly eager smirk. I looked up at the dog. The last time, my ankle was shredded—the tendons barely healed. A familiar, throbbing pain started in my foot. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony of the first day, when the Prescott family had collectively ripped apart any hope I had for a new home. They had thrown away the special, cured side of beef Dad had prepared. Skylar had brought the doll, pretending to be sweet, but the minute Jonathan and Evelyn left, she snatched the eagle feather Dad had tied to my belt—a mark of honor on the range—and snipped it into tiny pieces with her scissors, calling me a country bumpkin. I lost it. I tore her handcrafted doll to shreds. When the Prescotts sided with Skylar, I protested. “Where I come from, adult grievances don’t cross into the children’s arguments! We fight it out in the corral, and then it’s done! No hard feelings!” Dad had taught me that the vast land gave us the right to love freely and hate openly. Jonathan sneered. “Oh, you like to fight, do you?” He tenderly lifted Skylar, called the groundskeeper, and had me thrown into the kennel where Shadow was kept. Jonathan and Evelyn had stood by while the dog tore at me for a full day and night. I spent half a year recovering in the hospital. The groundskeeper gripped the back of my collar. “Miss Prescott, let’s go.” No matter how I thrashed, he didn’t slow his pace. Jonathan seemed deaf to my pleas. I was suddenly weightless, falling into the kennel. Shadow, the Rotty, immediately bristled, bearing its teeth and issuing a deep, guttural warning. I moved cautiously, playing a terrifying game of chase with the dog inside the chain-link enclosure for several dizzying rounds. Skylar gave a fake, fearful yelp from outside. Shadow, startled and agitated, lunged. Its jaws locked onto my forearm. Canine teeth pierced skin, sinking into the flesh and tearing, hot blood spurting out. The intense pain nearly made me black out. Skylar, spoiled and sheltered, had never seen real blood. She collapsed into Jonathan’s arms. “Daddy, I’m scared.” Jonathan tenderly covered her eyes. “It’s alright, my precious Skylar. Daddy is here.” Clutching my profusely bleeding arm, I felt a familiar haze of pain and delirium, and then, I heard Dad’s voice. “If the livestock goes mad, you tame it!” “Abba, I’m afraid.” “I’m here, Nu-nu. Don’t be afraid.” “Get on its back!” I spun around and scrambled onto Shadow’s back, clamping my legs tight around its torso. “Wrap your arms around its neck! You don’t let go until it stops struggling!” I seized Shadow’s neck, pulling back with all the power I could muster. Under the stunned stares of Jonathan and Skylar, the dog’s violent struggle turned to whimpers, then a pathetic gasp, before it finally collapsed, foaming at the mouth. Evelyn rushed over, muttering, “What a sin, what a sin.” Jonathan just scoffed, spat out the word “Crude,” and stalked off, clutching Skylar. I stood in the metal cage, covered in my own blood. My last sight before passing out was Skylar’s face, a mask of pure, ugly defiance. When I next woke up, Evelyn was crouched beside me, dressing the wound. Half the muscle on my forearm had been ripped away; I was a hair’s breadth from seeing bone. She gently blew on the wound as she applied ointment, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Why is this child so stubborn? Where did she get this temperament?” “Mommy is so heartbroken for you. But Skylar is the only child I’ve known since she was an infant. Listen to me, be a good sister to her, okay?” I reached out my small, bloody hand and hooked my little finger around hers. “Mom, I want my Abba.” Her expression instantly froze, turning cold. The ointment tube clattered to the ground. “Abba, Abba, it’s always your damn Abba! You are so ungrateful for the life we’ve given you!” She stormed out. The housekeeper cautiously inquired. “Mrs. Prescott, what about the wound…” “It’s bandaged. The school gala is tomorrow, and the media will be everywhere. We can’t afford any rumors of child abuse. It would be too much trouble.” I listened to the click-clack of her heels fading away. 3 The housekeeper applied some miraculous ointment that stopped the bleeding, then ordered the makeup artist to slather my face with unnatural rouge. I was stuffed into a hideous, frilly couture disaster, a sad attempt at a delicate princess. I was compliant. Dad would be so happy to see me looking… safe. At the Charity Gala, my classmates whispered into their parents’ ears. “That’s the bumpkin who just arrived. She stole Skylar’s parents and bullies Skylar every day.” “No class whatsoever. That blush looks like a baboon’s rear.” “Good thing Skylar’s parents saw through her tricks. Skylar didn’t have to turn into a poor orphan.” Was that really the truth? I watched as Jonathan and Evelyn crammed themselves into a single seat, preferring to hover over Skylar than give me a sliver of their attention. Out of every child in the room, I was the only one standing alone in the center. When reporters asked, Jonathan and Evelyn forced a strained smile. “She’s not close with us. We respect her privacy.” The gala dragged on into the evening. I bit my lip until it went white, my burning eyes fixed on the school entrance. “Abba… are you going to break your promise to Aura?” On the stage, the Headmaster was thanking each corporate sponsor. The highest donor would receive the coveted Diamond Tiara—a social prize. Skylar was ignoring me. She had worn the Tiara for three straight years, and this was her favorite moment of glory. But today, after thanking Prescott Industries, the Headmaster paused, and the Tiara remained on the velvet cushion. A flicker of annoyance crossed Skylar’s face. “Headmaster, where is my Tiara?” The Headmaster looked genuinely embarrassed. “This year, the largest corporate donation… was not the Prescott family. It was from a private philanthropist named Rhett Callahan.” My stunned mind suddenly clicked, and a bolt of pure energy shot through me. “It’s my Dad!” Every single eye in the crowded ballroom snapped to me. “What? I thought they said the Prescotts found this kid in a backwater town? How could he be richer than the Prescotts?” “The kid’s just distraught from being neglected at the Prescott house. She’s probably making things up.” Skylar was furious at the sudden shift in focus. She charged at me, grabbing my ugly dress collar. “Autumn Prescott! You’re not just a nobody, you’re a liar!” “I am not! The Headmaster is talking about my Dad!” The rough tug-of-war ripped the delicate sleeve, exposing the horrifying, concave scar on my forearm. A collective gasp swept through the room. “Good God! Has this child been abused at the Prescott house?” “No wonder she’s talking nonsense—she’d rather go back to the country than stay here.” Cameras flashed furiously. Jonathan and Evelyn rushed over, and both slapped me. “It was bad enough that you tried to push your sister into a kennel! Now you’re faking injuries for sympathy!” “I’m not faking—” Their own parents’ betrayal was a poison I couldn’t combat. “Autumn Reed Prescott! Your father and I are taking you to a treatment center tonight to fix your twisted brain!” They grabbed me, trying to drag me toward the exit.

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My husband and his identical twin brother were in an accident out of town. One dead, one injured. When the news reached us, my sister-in-law was already red-eyed from crying. When I saw my husband walk through the door, alive, the knot of terror in my chest finally loosened. I started toward him, but he stopped and handed me the urn he was carrying. “Ava, I’m so sorry. The hospital… they got it wrong. It was Michael who died.” Beside me, my sister-in-law’s sobs hitched to a stop. I pressed my lips together, suppressed a smile, and dutifully clutched the urn to my chest and began to wail. 1 Michael had come home prepared for my questions, my disbelief. He never expected me to accept his death so easily. After all, the initial report had said that Matthew, his twin brother, was the one who hadn’t made it. Now, hearing me cry out his name with such heart-wrenching grief, Michael looked visibly unnerved. He made a show of steadying me, and I seized the opportunity, my fingers digging into his arm. A thick bandage was wrapped around his forearm. He’d really gone through the trouble. To get rid of the prominent birthmark that so clearly distinguished him from Matthew, he’d carved away his own flesh. My nails sank into the muscle beneath the bandage. Michael flinched in pain, but when he met my tear-filled eyes, he didn’t dare pull away. He just offered a dry, hollow comfort. “Ava, please, try to be strong. Michael… Michael wouldn’t want to see you this devastated.” I wiped away a tear. “You’re right. I need to pull myself together.” After all, from this day forward, I, Ava, was a widow. My in-laws passed away years ago, and my husband was “newly deceased.” That meant if I wanted to get rid of the baby in my belly, I didn’t need to tell a single soul. 2 People always said the two brothers were impossible to tell apart. Michael probably thought impersonating his brother would be child’s play. He was wrong. Even after removing the birthmark, even after mimicking Matthew’s every mannerism, there were subconscious habits that would always betray him. Besides, I was his wife. We’d shared a life, a bed. I knew the moment he walked through that door that the man who came back was my husband. I could recognize him. In this life, and the last. Unfortunately, in my previous life, I couldn’t for the life of me understand why Michael would pretend to be his brother. So I’d stubbornly insisted to everyone that he was, in fact, Michael. He vehemently denied it. His sister-in-law, Amy, called me a shameless homewrecker, accusing me of coveting her man the moment mine was in the ground. But they both knew the truth. They both knew the one who survived was Michael. The way people looked at me slowly shifted from pity to disgust. They thought I’d lost my mind, unable to accept my husband’s death. Michael’s constant denials sent me spiraling into despair. It wasn’t until I discovered I was pregnant that a flicker of hope reignited within me. 3 I thought, if I just had this baby, Michael would have to acknowledge his own child. He couldn’t possibly deny who he was then. And during my pregnancy, Michael did seem to soften. He stopped pushing me away. He even started coming over to take care of me. He still wouldn’t admit he was Michael, but I took it as a sign that things were getting better. I gave birth to a boy. Michael was ecstatic. For a split second, he forgot his act and blurted out, “You did so well, Ava!” Exhausted from labor, I finally felt a wave of relief wash over me. He’d finally admitted it. A brother-in-law would never call me by my pet name. When I woke up again, the baby was gone. The first thing I saw was Michael’s grief-stricken face. He told me our son had suffered from sudden respiratory distress. The doctors tried, but they couldn’t save him. Once again, he uttered those hollow words. “Ava, please… try to be strong.” 4 I left the hospital. And I truly went mad. Michael moved to the city with Amy. I became the town crazy lady, the one everyone avoided. My days were spent sitting on a stone by the crossroads, staring into the distance. Whenever someone passed, I’d shout, “Michael’s back! Michael’s back!” Mischievous children would trail behind me, mimicking my cries in their high-pitched voices. “Michael’s dead! Michael’s long dead!” Hearing their laughter, I’d reflexively chase after them, screaming, “My baby! Where’s my baby!” They would scatter like birds. I lived in that hazy nightmare for years. Until one night, in a fit of madness, I ran out of the house and straight into the path of a passing car. By the time I was found, I was barely breathing. The townspeople had no choice but to call Michael, to tell him to come back and arrange the funeral for his “sister-in-law.” On my deathbed, I saw him one last time. Maybe it was guilt from seeing the wreck I’d become, or maybe he just figured a dying woman was no longer a threat. But at my bedside, Michael confessed everything. He told me it really was Matthew who had died in the crash. He just couldn’t bear to see Amy become a widow at such a young age, so he decided to take his brother’s place. The three of them had grown up together, and both brothers had fallen for Amy. When she chose Matthew, Michael had never gotten over it. The accident, while tragic, had presented him with a twisted opportunity to fix his lifelong regret. How laughable. He couldn’t stand to see his white moonlight in mourning, so he let me bear the agony of losing a husband? Then what were all his promises to me when we were dating, when we got married? Were they just him trying to convince himself to let Amy go? Just a way to numb his own pathetic pining? But the final blow, the one that shattered what was left of my soul, was when he told me my baby hadn’t died. Amy was too frail to have children of her own. So he had taken our son and given him to her to raise. He even had the audacity to explain, “I just thought it would be better for him to grow up in a complete, healthy family.” Was I supposed to thank them? Thank them for giving the child I bore a “complete home”? Michael thought I was delirious, that I couldn’t hear him. But in that final surge of life before death, my mind was terrifyingly clear. Tears of bitter regret slid from the corners of my eyes. I had wasted my short, miserable life on a man like this. I didn’t even have the strength to lift my hand and slap him. I just lay there, my heart full of hatred, and breathed my last. 5 “Ava, the most important thing right now is to arrange Michael’s funeral.” Michael’s voice pulled me back from the horrifying memories. I lifted my gaze to meet his, but his eyes darted away, unable to hold my stare. After a long moment, I finally spoke, enunciating each word with chilling precision. “You’re right, little brother.” “It’s time to let Michael rest in peace.” Since he wanted to be with Amy so desperately, he could spend the rest of his life as Matthew. 6 At the funeral, I was the picture of a heartbroken widow. My cries were so raw they moved everyone present. They thought I was mourning the dead Michael. In truth, I was mourning the woman I had been in my last life. Michael and I met in college. We fell in love, and our relationship had always been strong. We first saw each other in a small noodle shop behind campus. I’d ordered a bowl of soup but forgot to tell the owner to hold the green onions. As I was meticulously picking them out with my chopsticks, I felt a pair of eyes on me. I looked up and met a handsome face. His gaze was intense, and I quickly looked away, my cheeks burning. After a few more chance encounters on campus, he started pursuing me, and I quickly fell for his gentle, attentive nature. Picking the green onions out of my food became his habit, something he did without thinking every time we ate together. It wasn’t until my death in my last life that I learned this habit didn’t start with me. And I wasn’t the only one who didn’t eat green onions. Michael had confessed that the only reason he’d approached me in that noodle shop was because watching me pick out the onions reminded him of Amy. With Matthew and Amy together, he no longer had an excuse to do it for her, so he found a replacement to fill the void. Hilarious. You’d think he was the patron saint of picking out green onions. 7 Staring at the funeral money burning in the brazier, the flames licking at the paper, a fire of my own raged within me. On impulse, I stormed back into the house and returned with an armful of trinkets and keepsakes, dumping them all into the fire. When Michael realized what they were, he lunged forward to pull them out, but the intense heat forced him back. “Ava… what are you doing? Weren’t those all gifts from my brother?” The things I was burning were all the presents Michael had given me while we were dating. I had once treasured them as symbols of our love, keeping them safe in a box like precious jewels. Michael knew how much they meant to me, which is why he lost his composure when he saw me burning every last one. Faced with his frantic question, I sobbed. “That’s exactly why I have to burn them! They were from your brother! Keeping them will only make me think of him and break my heart all over again!” His anger deflated. “But you can’t burn all of them… at least keep one or two…” “He’s gone! What’s the point of keeping his things?” I cut him off. “Your brother is nothing but ash now. Do you really expect a few dead objects to replace a living, breathing person?” A nearby relative chimed in, trying to console him. “Matthew, just let her do it. Her heart is broken over Michael’s passing!” Michael’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but he said nothing. I watched his face, a mask of strained control, and thought to myself that the relative was wrong. My heart wasn’t the one that was broken. 8 Later in the service, I slipped away for some air, having run out of convincing tears. That’s when I overheard Michael and Amy talking. “Michael,” Amy said, her voice laced with insecurity, “if you’ve decided to take care of me for the rest of your life as Matthew, then why do you keep staring at Ava? Have you forgotten that you’re not her husband anymore?” Michael rushed to explain. “No, it’s not like that. I just saw how devastated she was, and I was worried she’d do something drastic.” Amy’s lip trembled. “But Matthew is the one who’s dead! Michael, I’m so scared. Please don’t leave me all alone. You know, if Matthew hadn’t confessed his feelings to me first, maybe we…” Seeing her tears, Michael pulled her into a comforting embrace, murmuring sweet nothings. Of course. Amy, the same woman who in my past life had called me a homewrecker without batting an eye, had known all along that the man who came back was Michael. But when he claimed to be Matthew, she didn’t correct him. She played along. Perhaps to her, it didn’t matter which brother she ended up with. Both of them were utterly devoted to her, after all. And who wants to be a young widow? It was Matthew I felt sorry for. Not only was his grave marked with the wrong name, but his woman was already whispering sweet nothings to his brother. I wondered if he was turning in his grave, a shining green halo over his head. I turned and walked away, my hand in my pocket, fingers tracing the thin edges of my household registration book. To make his lie official, Michael had used his own ID for the cremation. And I had already taken his death certificate to the county clerk’s office. My marital status had been officially changed. From “Married” to “Widowed.” 9 After the funeral, I went to the hospital in the city. In my last life, I didn’t realize I was pregnant until the morning sickness became undeniable. That child became my obsession. But until the day I died, I only ever saw him for that one fleeting moment after his birth. I’ll just have to accept that we were not fated to be mother and son. This time, I refused to let him become a chain binding me to Michael. After scheduling the procedure, I was about to leave the hospital when a voice called out behind me. “Ava?” I turned to see a figure in a white coat hurrying toward me. “It really is you!” “Ryan,” I smiled and nodded at him. “Professor.” “It’s been so long!” Ryan’s face lit up with genuine surprise. “What brings you to the hospital?” His eyes fell to the paperwork in my hand, and his expression shifted to one of understanding. “Oh! Congratulations!” I didn’t correct him, just offered a small smile in return. After a few minutes of catching up, I made to leave, but Ryan stopped me. “Hey, my shift is almost over. Wait for me, let’s grab dinner.” I was about to politely decline when he added, “My mom was just talking about you the other day.” Ryan’s mother. My college professor. My mentor, who had been furious with me for giving up a full scholarship to grad school to follow Michael back to this small town and get married. I hesitated for a moment, then stopped walking. Ryan and I sat down at a restaurant. He must have sensed my melancholy because he started recounting funny stories from our college days, trying to cheer me up. But with every story, I felt a growing wave of regret. The decision to marry Michael right after graduation felt more and more foolish. Noticing my darkening expression, Ryan trailed off, looking embarrassed. Seeing him scratch his head awkwardly, I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. He breathed a sigh of relief. “There’s that smile. Pregnant women shouldn’t be frowning all day.” Just then, a sharp voice cut through the air. “Ava!”

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