A single bottle of hair mask. That’s all it took for one of my student’s parents to lose her mind. “Are you trying to marry into money, Ms. Lister?” I stared at her message, completely baffled. Her tone dripped with contempt. “My husband just posted photos of his new car last night, and what a coincidence, I run into you buying a fancy hair mask at the store today.” “But let me tell you, the gap between us isn’t something you can close with a single bottle of conditioner.” “If you don’t cut all that hair off, I’m reporting you to the Board of Education. I’ll tell them you’re seducing my husband and get you fired.” I read the message, took a screenshot of the entire conversation, and immediately posted it in the parent-teacher group chat, tagging everyone. “Just a PSA for everyone: Be careful buying hair masks. People might accuse you of being a gold digger.” 1 Leo Carr was the wealthiest kid in my kindergarten class. His mother, Sandra, dropped him off and picked him up every day in a different luxury car. His backpack was a new designer model every week. The amusement park that other kids only got to visit for their birthdays was a weekly weekend trip for their family. But perhaps all that money had made his mother incredibly particular. In less than a month since school started, she had summoned me for meetings multiple times. The first time, she complained that the school’s stainless-steel lunch trays weren’t “refined” enough and demanded we switch to ceramic. I explained, “We use stainless steel because the children are still very young, and it prevents injuries from broken plates.” “If you’d prefer, you’re welcome to pack Leo’s lunch in a separate container from home.” Sandra was instantly displeased. “As a school, providing for the children’s daily needs is your responsibility. Why should the parents have to spend extra money?” She made a scene, but in the end, the school didn’t give in. The second time, she complained that the single air conditioning unit in the classroom wasn’t enough and demanded we install more. I politely refused. “The school’s budget is limited. If we only upgrade this classroom, it will cause complaints from other parents. However, if you would be willing to fund the purchase yourself, we can certainly arrange for installation.” Sandra went silent. The third time, she complained that the toilets were old-fashioned and demanded they all be replaced with modern, automatic-flush models. I had grown accustomed to her unreasonable demands. “That can be arranged,” I said calmly, “but you would need to cover the costs yourself.” … Perhaps because she kept hitting a wall, Sandra finally quieted down for a while. But it didn’t last long. That evening, I had just stepped out of the shower. I unlocked my phone to find over a dozen missed calls and messages. They were all from Sandra. I towel-dried my hair with one hand and typed with the other: “Mrs. Carr, is there a problem? I see your messages.” An audio message popped up instantly. 【Ms. Lister, why did it take you so long to reply? The school day is over. What could you possibly be so busy with?】 I frowned, a flicker of annoyance rising in me. My time after work was my own. But I pushed the feeling down, thinking something might have happened to Leo. I typed back patiently: 【I was in the shower, so I couldn’t get to my phone right away.】 Unexpectedly, Sandra sent another long audio message. 【I messaged you at 7:00. It’s 7:40 now. Almost an hour. Does it really take you that long to shower?】 I was completely dumbfounded. Her tone was hostile, and I couldn’t understand why she was so angry. But assuming it was something urgent, I continued to explain. 【A shower doesn’t usually take that long, but I washed my hair tonight. It’s quite long, so it takes a bit more time.】 Sandra went quiet. I waited for a long time, but nothing came. I finally picked up my hair dryer. Just then, my phone chimed again. It was Sandra. This time, she’d sent a picture. I tapped on it. It was a photo of me, in a supermarket aisle, looking at hair masks. Sandra: 【Ms. Lister, don’t you think you owe me an explanation?】 I stared at the photo, trying to figure out what she could possibly want me to explain. Finally, I just wrote back: 【I’m sorry, Mrs. Carr, but I don’t understand what you mean. And I have to ask why you were taking pictures of me without my knowledge.】 Sandra shot back: 【I’m asking you, why were you buying a hair mask?】 This was getting bizarre. What business was it of hers what I bought? But I wanted to clear up this misunderstanding and get some rest, so I answered honestly. 【Because I ran out of the one I had at home.】 Her next audio message was practically a shriek: 【Ms. Lister, do you take me for a fool?!】 Me: ??? I frowned. 【Mrs. Carr, I really don’t understand what you’re implying.】 Sandra: 【Fine, Ms. Lister. Since you want to play dumb, I’ll spell it out for you. Why are you trying to seduce my husband?】 【So young and already scheming to sleep with your student’s father. Have you no shame?】 【Do you even deserve to be a teacher?!】 A hot rush of anger surged through me. I had never even had a proper conversation with Leo’s father. Where did she get off accusing me of seducing him? My fingers trembled as I typed. 【Mrs. Carr, I suggest you watch your words. I have had no contact with Leo’s father. There is no ‘seduction.’】 Her reply was shrill. 【Still playing innocent? Then how do you explain the hair mask?】 I truly could not see the connection. 【What does one have to do with the other?】 I typed. 【Everything.】 Sandra replied. 【Haven’t you seen the shows lately? The scheming woman who uses her beautiful hair to trap a rich man.】 【You always seemed so simple and plain before. I actually thought you were a decent girl.】 【But the moment my husband posts about his new car, I find you in the store, spending ages picking out a hair mask.】 【I have a witness and evidence. What more is there to say?】 I actually laughed out loud. She’d been watching too much TV. I took a few deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down before replying. 【Mrs. Carr, you’re overthinking this. I bought a hair mask because my old one was empty. If you don’t believe me, I can send you a picture of the empty bottle.】 It was absurd, but I just wanted it to be over. I walked into my bathroom and snapped a picture of the empty plastic bottle in the trash can. In case she still didn’t believe me, I added an explanation. 【Mrs. Carr, for the record, I have all parents’ social media feeds muted. 【I have 46 children in my class, and I teach two groups, so I’m connected with over ninety parents. If I didn’t set restrictions, it would be impossible to separate my personal life from my work.】 【So, I had absolutely no idea that Leo’s father posted about a new car.】 The next second, my phone started ringing. It was Sandra. 2 I answered the call. Sandra’s sharp, furious voice erupted from the other end. “Ms. Lister, what is the meaning of this? How dare you post our conversation in the group chat?!” I put the phone on speaker, set it on the table, and calmly continued drying my hair. “It means nothing,” I replied coolly. “I just thought your imagination was impressive, Mrs. Carr. I figured everyone could learn something from your unique perspective.” “I’ll have you know I’m calling the Board of Education right now to file a complaint against you!” Her voice was distorted with rage, grating on the ear. “Go right ahead,” I said, my tone even. “In fact, I’d love for the board members to weigh in on this.” “Let’s see what law a rule-abiding kindergarten teacher breaks by purchasing a bottle of hair mask.” “Let’s see if from now on, all female teachers will be forbidden from taking care of their hair, lest they be accused of trying to seduce a student’s father.” “You…” Sandra was so choked with anger she couldn’t speak. All I could hear was her heavy, ragged breathing. I was done wasting my breath on her. I hung up. The sudden silence was a relief. But I knew this wasn’t over. I opened the parents’ group chat, which was already flooded with over 99 new messages. As expected, it had exploded. The first to react were some of the more active mothers. 【Lily’s Mom: Oh my god, what is going on? Buying a hair mask = seducing a parent? My brain can’t even process that logic.】 【Ben’s Mom: LMAO, I just bought two giant tubs of hair mask last week. Am I going to get fired too? @Ms. Lister】 【Chloe’s Dad: Those soap operas are a menace to society.】 Of course, there were a few trying to smooth things over. 【Max’s Grandma: Oh dear, this must be some kind of misunderstanding. I’m sure Mrs. Carr was just joking.】 【Sam’s Mom: Yeah, exactly! Ms. Lister, don’t take it to heart. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.】 I read the messages and scoffed. A joke? Was that a joke? Accusing me of being shameless, of trying to steal her husband. I wasn’t that forgiving. I was about to reply when a new message popped up. It was from Leo’s father, Chris Carr. He tagged me in the group. 【@Ms. Lister, I am so sorry. My wife has been binge-watching some ridiculous TV shows lately and isn’t thinking straight. I apologize for the trouble she’s caused you.】 Then, he tagged Sandra. 【@Sandra Carr, apologize to Ms. Lister right now! What is all this nonsense you’re spouting!】 The group chat fell silent. Everyone was waiting for Sandra’s response. After about two minutes, she finally appeared. But it wasn’t an apology. It was an audio message, her voice sharp and piercing. 【Chris Carr, what is your problem? You’re taking her side against me? She’s publicly humiliating me and you’re telling me to apologize? Are you interested in her too?!】 A dead silence fell over the group chat. I could feel the secondhand embarrassment radiating through the screen. This was no longer a simple misunderstanding; this was a public airing of their marital problems. Chris didn’t reply again. He was probably either furious or deeply embarrassed. Sandra, however, seemed to have found a new target. She started spamming the chat, tagging Chris over and over, her messages growing increasingly nasty. I quietly exited the chat. This was a mess I wanted no part of. I finished drying my hair, put on a face mask, and went to bed. The world could be ending, but it would have to wait until I’d had my sleep. The next morning, the moment I arrived at the kindergarten, the principal called me into her office. Her name was Mrs. Davison, a kind woman in her fifties who always looked out for the younger teachers. “Leah, come in, sit down.” She poured me a glass of water. “I heard about what happened last night.” I nodded, waiting for her to continue. “Sandra Carr called me first thing this morning. She’s threatening to file a formal complaint and demanding you give her a ‘satisfactory resolution.’” Mrs. Davison sighed, a look of weary frustration on her face. “She said that if you don’t cut your hair short and post a public apology in the group chat, she’s going to the Board of Education and the local news to drag our school’s name through the mud.” I almost laughed. Cut my hair? Who did she think she was? The Queen? “Mrs. Davison, I will not apologize, and I am certainly not cutting my hair,” I said, my voice firm as I met her gaze. “I have done nothing wrong. If I give in to such a ridiculous demand, what kind of authority will I have left in my classroom?” “What will the other parents think? What will the children think?” “They’ll learn that teachers can be bullied, that any parent’s unreasonable demand must be met.” Mrs. Davison nodded in agreement. “You’re right. That’s exactly my thinking as well.” She patted my hand reassuringly. “Don’t you worry. The school is behind you on this. I will handle Sandra Carr.” “You just focus on your class. Don’t let this affect your mood or your work.” With the principal’s support, a weight lifted from my shoulders. I went back to my classroom as the children began to arrive. Leo was there, dropped off by his nanny. He seemed withdrawn and sad, his eyes red and puffy as if he’d been crying. I sighed internally. When adults fight, it’s always the children who are the most innocent victims. I walked over and gently stroked his hair. “Good morning, Leo.” He looked up at me and mumbled, “Morning, Ms. Lister,” before looking back down at the floor. Throughout the day, Leo was much quieter than usual. He didn’t play with the other children or say much at all. I was worried. During nap time, I called him over to sit with me. “Leo, what’s wrong? Are you feeling sad?” He shook his head, silent. “Is it because Mommy and Daddy had a fight?” I asked gently. His eyes immediately welled up, and big, fat tears started rolling down his cheeks. “Mommy… Mommy smashed Daddy’s computer,” he sobbed. “And she said… she said it was all because of Ms. Lister.” My heart sank. Sandra was taking her anger toward me out on her family. I pulled Leo into a hug, patting his back softly. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s not your fault, and it’s not the teacher’s fault.” “Grown-up problems are complicated, but your mommy and daddy both love you very much.” I didn’t know how else to explain it to a five-year-old. I just did my best to comfort him. When it was time to go home, Sandra arrived. She wore a pair of enormous sunglasses that hid half her face, and her expression was grim. She ignored me completely, walked straight to Leo, and yanked his hand, pulling him toward the door so forcefully he stumbled. “Mrs. Carr, please be gentle with him,” I couldn’t help but say. Sandra whipped her head around, her eyes glaring at me from behind the dark lenses. “Well, aren’t you concerned about my son, Ms. Lister,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “One might almost think you were trying to be his new stepmother.” Other parents were still in the hallway, and her words made all of them turn and stare. I was shaking with rage. “Mrs. Carr, that is completely inappropriate!”

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1 To pay for my boyfriend’s heart condition, I scrimped and saved, refusing to even buy medicine when I was sick. I worked eight different jobs a day, pushing myself to the point of collapse. To get the money for his treatments, I signed up for a “Gold Rush” event at the local mall. I crawled on my hands and knees like a feral dog, desperate to find the tiny gold-painted rice grains that could be exchanged for cash—cash that could save his life. It wasn’t until I went with a staff member to cash in my findings that everything fell apart. Through a thin partition wall, I heard a reporter interviewing my boyfriend. “Mr. Hatton, you spent three million dollars on this event just to see Miss Vance smile. Your love for her is truly something to be envied.” “That amount of money is nothing,” a familiar voice replied. “If it makes Sierra laugh, then these peasants have served their purpose.” I clutched the three thousand dollars I had just received for my golden rice, the irony a bitter pill in my throat. … My boyfriend, Thomas Hatton, was a broke kid with a congenital heart condition who couldn’t even scrounge up three hundred dollars. So when I heard that voice, my first thought was that it couldn’t be him. He couldn’t afford three hundred, let alone three million for some publicity stunt. Besides, he was in the hospital, recovering from a heart episode. It had to be a coincidence. Someone who sounded like him, who also had the last name Hatton. But the next sound I heard shattered my last sliver of hope—a woman’s flirtatious giggle from the other side of the wall. “Thomas, they look like little dogs crawling on the floor! It’s hysterical! Especially that one who looks like your girlfriend, Kate. She’s really going for it. Is she that desperate for money?” I heard Thomas’s breath catch. He was staring intently at a monitor. Then, his fingers tapped on his phone. A second later, my own phone buzzed. [Baby, where are you? If you’re tired, take a break. Don’t push yourself too hard.] A bitter laugh escaped me. My hand trembled so badly I could barely hold the phone. [Don’t worry, I’m resting now. I found a really generous employer today. Made a full three thousand.] He sent back a kissing emoji. [That’s my girl. Three thousand will cover my hospital room for another few days.] Hilarious. My lips stretched into a grotesque smile as tears streamed down my face like broken pearls. Once he was sure the woman on the monitor wasn’t me, Thomas relaxed. He scoffed. “Crawling on the ground like that… she looks like a dog begging its master for a bone.” The room erupted in laughter. “Look at the way her ass is sticking up! Isn’t it just like a dog wagging its tail?” “People like that would do anything for money. If you told her to lick your shoes, she’d do it without a second thought.” “Mr. Hatton’s shoes are custom-made! They’re worth millions! Letting a peasant like her lick them would be an honor!” On my side of the wall, I stared in shame at my big toe, peeking through a hole in my worn-out shoe. In that moment, my pride shattered into a million pieces. I took the money and turned to leave. But I ran straight into Thomas. He saw me, and for a split second, panic flashed in his eyes. His gaze dropped to my tattered work uniform, and a flicker of disgust crossed his face. Then, he barked at the security guard. “How did a participant get in here? What are you people paid for?!” The staff member with me quickly explained, “This participant needed to cash in her winnings for a medical bill. I’m sorry, Mr. Hatton. We’ll leave immediately.” I stared at Thomas, my mind reeling. He was dressed in a bespoke suit, looking every bit the arrogant, wealthy heir. There was no sign of sickness. The fabric of his suit was exquisite, some parts even threaded with gold. I could probably never pan that much gold in my entire lifetime. My throat was raw. I couldn’t tell if I was trembling or just unable to speak. “Thomas, are you going to pretend you don’t know me?” Before Thomas could answer, the people who had been mocking me just moments before went pale. “Is this the girlfriend? But… her clothes…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but everyone in the room knew what he meant. I was sallow, my skin loose from exhaustion, dressed in rags. I had just been crawling on the ground like an animal. I looked like I was on the brink of starvation. How could I possibly be Thomas Hatton’s girlfriend? Thomas’s face darkened, a vein throbbing in his arm. His eyes were cold as he looked at me, as if my very presence was a source of deep embarrassment. The woman next to him, Sierra, let out a dramatic yawn. “Trying to get Thomas’s attention again? Honestly, I’m so tired of these desperate tactics…” Thomas seemed to finally find his voice, a way out. He stepped around me without a second glance. “That’s a really pathetic way to get a guy’s attention.” The bitterness in my mouth was overwhelming. My mind flashed back to college. My freshman year, I was hazed by the student council and forced to run five miles. I refused and stood up to them. They retaliated by dumping a bucket of toilet water on me. They made me stand in the blazing sun for two hours until I finally collapsed. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was Thomas, scooping me up and rushing me to the infirmary. He told me the defiance in my eyes shone like a star. From that day on, he always stood in front of me, protecting me. He didn’t care if he offended the rich kids, if he got punished or bullied for it. He didn’t care if I was covered in filth. His love for me had felt so real, so genuine. It’s why I stayed with him, even after I learned about his heart condition. The man from my memories and the man standing before me now were two different people. I don’t know where the courage came from, but I lunged forward and grabbed his arm. White fingerprints appeared on the expensive fabric of his suit. His brow furrowed with annoyance. “You probably couldn’t afford to replace this even if you sold yourself…” “If you’re not sick, and you’re not poor,” I interrupted, “can you… can you give me my money back?” Because I am sick… With a single look from Thomas, the others in the room discreetly filed out. “I pretended to be poor and sick to test you,” he said, his voice cold. “To see if you were like all the other gold-digging women, only after my money.” “And it looks like you’re all the same.” I didn’t argue. I just looked at him and repeated, “Can you… give me my money back?” Thomas yanked his arm away with such force that I stumbled and fell to the ground. “You stained my suit, and you have the audacity to ask me for money?” He saw the tears welling in my eyes, and his tone softened slightly. “Don’t work for the next few days. Just rest. I’ve scheduled some appointments with a few stylists to give you a makeover.” “Until the makeover is done, let’s just pretend we don’t know each other, okay?” It was as if I hadn’t heard him. I enunciated each word, my voice flat. “Give. Me. My. Money. Back.” His patience wore thin. Thomas’s eyes darkened, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “If you just behave, I’ll give you as much money as you want.” He looked as if he was making a great sacrifice. “Even if you were only with me for my money, fine! I’ll accept it!” I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall. “Thomas, let’s break up.” He smirked, a look of “I knew it” on his face. “Afraid I’ll think you’re a gold digger, so you’re preemptively breaking up with me?” “You found out who I am and deliberately joined this event.” “Even the way you were sticking your ass in the air… you did that for us to see, didn’t you?” I stared at him in disbelief. I had never known he could be so irrational. “Thomas, how did I never realize how disgusting you are?” “If you hadn’t pretended to be sick, would I have had to work myself to death?” “My life would be better without you.” He scoffed. “Still acting?” “Without me, do you think you would have graduated from college?” “Without me, do you think you would have landed a job at a Fortune 500 company right after graduation?” “You’re nothing without me!” I turned away, done with him. His confident voice followed me. “You’ll be back. I give you a week.” The next few days were a nightmare. First, all my part-time jobs suddenly “no longer needed” me. Then, my full-time job at the corporation fired me, offering a generous severance package just to get rid of me. The moment the money hit my account, long-lost relatives appeared out of nowhere, claiming my parents had owed them money. After everything, all I had left was the three thousand dollars from the Gold Rush. My chest ached. It was hard to breathe. Three years of sleeping only five hours a night had taken its toll. My body was shutting down. After buying the medicine I desperately needed, I didn’t even have enough left for rent. Every company I applied to rejected me the moment they heard my name, Kate. Just when I thought all hope was lost, I got a call for a one-day gig. When I arrived, I found that my employer was Sierra Vance. She poured a bucket of water on the floor and ordered me to clean it up on my hands and knees. One of her servants used a thin rod to poke at me while I was bent over. “Ugh, you stink,” Sierra said with a theatrical grimace. Then she kicked me into the swimming pool and watched me struggle to stay afloat. She threw banknotes at me, which stuck to my now see-through clothes. When I didn’t react, she seemed to get bored. “Have you no dignity?” I gathered the money, carefully tucking it away. “Dignity is a luxury for the rich,” I said. “You wouldn’t understand.” She smiled slyly. “And this? Does this mean nothing to you?” I stared in shock at the necklace in her hand. It was the only thing I had left from my mother. I had given it to Thomas on his birthday. Something inside me snapped. I lunged at her, but a strong arm caught me. Thomas held me back easily, looking at me like I was a misbehaving pet. “Sierra has a heart condition. Go easy on her.” “How much is the necklace? I’ll buy it from her for you.” How much was my cheap, pathetic love worth? The thought was so ridiculous, I started to laugh. “Thomas, you promised me forever. That’s why I gave you the necklace.” “To me, it’s not just a memento from my mother. It was her blessing.” “It’s priceless. Do you understand?” Thomas looked at me, confused. “If you don’t want money, that’s fine. I’ll take you to a jewelry store. You can pick out whatever you want.” A wave of helplessness washed over me. How had I never realized he was completely incapable of understanding anything? As he watched in shock, I slowly sank to my knees. “Miss Vance, please. Give me back my necklace.” A cruel smile played on Sierra’s lips. “Thomas gave it to me. I can do whatever I want with it.” She tossed the necklace to her pet dog. The dog’s sharp teeth snapped down on the delicate chain, breaking it in two. Shattered. Just like my heart. I flew into a rage, scrambling on the ground with the dog, fighting for the broken pieces of the necklace. Thomas was startled, but his body instinctively moved to shield Sierra. My hands were bleeding, but I clutched the pieces of the necklace to my chest. I was crying with joy. A flicker of pity crossed Thomas’s eyes, but he didn’t help me up. He just frowned. “I didn’t expect that to happen. I’ll have someone transfer you some money.” In his world, there was nothing money couldn’t fix. I was done being a rich man’s toy. I looked at him, my eyes clear. “Thomas, as long as you use money to measure a person’s worth, you will never find real love.” I turned and walked away. The moment his money transfer came through, I bought the first bus ticket out of the state. I was never coming back to this city. After Kate left, Thomas stood frozen. Her words echoed in his mind, unsettling him. Her hands were still bleeding, her face was deathly pale. Yet, she had walked away with such finality, her back so straight. It reminded him of how she had stood under the blazing sun in college for two hours, refusing to bow her head. He had thought back then, if she wasn’t after his money, he would find a way to be with her forever. How could he be sure if a person was truly a gold digger? He had asked his assistant. Pretend to be poor, pretend to be sick, the assistant had advised. So he pretended to be poor. Kate hadn’t been disgusted at all. In fact, she had spent her scholarship money to buy him fruit. Then he pretended to be sick. Kate had worked eight jobs a day and had never once considered leaving him. But Sierra had told him that women like that were cunning. She probably knew his identity all along and was just putting on a show for him. He decided to continue testing her. His family’s empire was vast; he had to choose its future mistress carefully. But Kate was too stupid. She didn’t understand his intentions. He pretended not to know her to protect her from being looked down upon. All his tests were to build a foundation of trust for their future. Why couldn’t she understand? It didn’t matter. When she ran out of money, she would come back. He refused to believe that someone who would trade her dignity for money could resist the temptation he offered. But for some reason, a heavy feeling settled in his chest, and it annoyed him. Thomas called his assistant. “Notify all the Gold Rush participants. We’re holding a follow-up interview. Everyone who attends gets another fifty thousand.” He didn’t believe Kate could resist that. I used the money Thomas gave me to create a fake death certificate. To make it more believable, I even bought a burial plot. I changed my identity, my phone number, everything. After leaving the city, I returned to my hometown. It was a small, underdeveloped town with poor transportation. But there was no Hatton Industries here, and no one would pretend to be poor to test me. I found a job and rented a small house with a garden. I wasn’t making a lot of money, but life was peaceful. I spent my days gardening and cooking. It was a quiet, contented existence. One day, while scrolling through my phone, I saw Thomas on the news. He was known for his extravagance, and he was offering fifty thousand dollars to each Gold Rush participant who came for an interview. People flocked to the event. But Thomas seemed distracted, his eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for someone. When he couldn’t find who he was looking for, his expression soured. He waved his hand and increased the offer to one hundred thousand. But no matter how long he waited, the person he was looking for never showed up. On the live broadcast, Thomas’s face was cold as he asked, “Where is the participant who collected the most golden rice?” A staff member, avoiding his gaze, stammered, “Her phone has been disconnected. We can’t reach her…” Thomas finally lost his composure. He opened his contacts, his finger hovering over a certain number. After a long moment, he pressed it. The call connected to a cold, automated voice. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service…” The impatience in his eyes intensified. Thomas’s grip on his phone tightened, the veins in his hand bulging. “Disconnected her number? Fine.” “Find her. I don’t care how much it costs. Turn this entire city upside down, but find her!” Thomas’s men searched for seven days before they found a lead at a hospital. Kate had been there two weeks ago. She had been diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer and didn’t have long to live. Two weeks ago. The day I broke up with him. Thomas clutched the report, a cold smile on his face. To make him regret it, Kate would go this far. She worked eight jobs a day without any problems. How could she have stomach cancer? But then, his men found a gravestone with Kate’s name on it in a cemetery. Thomas’s composure finally shattered. He rushed to the hospital, demanding to speak to the doctor. The doctor explained that Kate’s cancer was caused by prolonged malnutrition, an irregular diet, excessive fatigue, and a compromised immune system. He suddenly remembered a day when Kate had told him her stomach hurt. He had dismissed it, telling her to hurry up and get back to work. He had killed her. Thomas finally broke. They say that day, he went to the cemetery and started digging at her grave with his bare hands. He was going to unearth her body and rebury her in the Hatton family plot. Even in death, he said, she would be with him. His men tried to reason with him, to tell him to let her rest in peace.

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1 Someone was blowing up the Crestwood University group chat with questions in the middle of the night. I sent a quick message reminding him to check the time. A second later, a friend request popped up. The moment I accepted, the bombardment began. [Hey, is that you in your profile pic? Do you always dress that sexy on campus?] [I’m starting at Crestwood soon. If I see you around, how am I supposed to focus on my studies? You’re going to be a major distraction.] I found his string of questions deeply offensive and chose to ignore him. But I never imagined he would take a screenshot and post it on his own social media feed. When I warned him to delete it, he just scoffed. [Everyone in the comments agrees with me. As a future classmate, I’m advising you to focus on your schoolwork instead of trying to sleep your way to the top!] His words made me laugh. Because at that very moment, his application for the student hardship fund was sitting in my email inbox. … My phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. The verbal assault from him showed no signs of letting up. [You girls are always hiding behind ‘freedom of dress.’ You think we can’t see what you’re really after? Take my advice and turn back before you go too far down that slutty path!] [Is that a Chanel bag? Heh, it’s so easy for women like you to make a quick buck. Just spread your legs and you get everything you want.] [Don’t think I don’t know what your type comes to university for—to hook a rich guy, right? This campus is a place of learning. It won’t be tainted by trash like you!] The messages popped up one after another, each one a sledgehammer to my sense of decency. The profile picture was, in fact, me. A candid shot my best friend, Lily, took during our college days. I was wearing a black slip dress, a bright smile on my face. But in his mouth, the photo was twisted into something as sordid as a nude. Fighting the urge to gag, I muted his notifications. The next day, I went to Crestwood University to meet Lily, as planned. Walking down the tree-lined path, I couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on my back, but every time I turned around, I saw nothing. That evening, I remembered the creep on my phone and was about to delete him when another message arrived. This time, it was a screenshot from an online forum. The psycho hadn’t just stolen all the photos from my social media; he’d also included a candid shot of me and Lily from our shopping trip the day before. The caption was vile. [Check her out, guys. That chest, that waist, that ass… classic gold-digger material. If you know, you know!] [Playing all high-and-mighty in the group chat at midnight, just trying to get my attention. Stop pretending to be some innocent little virgin!] [Too bad I’m not some bald old rich guy. Guess I’m not good enough for Her Highness!] The comments below the post were even more disgusting. [I’d give up ten years of my life for a body like that!] [Damn, another cheap whore sleeping her way to the top!] [Dude, go conquer her! Show those old geezers what a real man is!] I suppressed my rage and sent a warning. [Listen, what you’re doing—slander, defamation, and stalking—is enough to land you in jail. Delete it all and apologize. Now.] It was as if he’d been waiting for me. He replied instantly. [Aww, did I touch a nerve? Which part of what I said was wrong?] [You dress like that on campus, aren’t you just putting a price tag on yourself, begging for a sugar daddy?] [I’m doing you a favor. Don’t be ungrateful!] I knew there was no point in reasoning with scum like him. I simply screenshotted the entire chat log and the forum post, saving everything. Just as I finished, a new email notification appeared. I opened it. It was the list of this year’s applicants for Crestwood’s hardship fund. As I scrolled through the first few applications, a familiar name caught my eye—Dylan Thorne. It was an exact match for the creep’s user ID. I clicked on his social media profile. It was filled with nine-panel grids of his selfies, the captions cringeworthy. [What’s it like waking up this handsome every day?] [If a rich cougar wanted to throw money at me for my looks, would you guys be jealous?] [Today’s motivation: Don’t underestimate a guy when he’s broke! Just watch, I’ll have the rich girls chasing me tomorrow.] Fighting back my nausea, I carefully compared his social media photos with the ID picture on his application. Even with all the filters, those distinctive narrow eyes and acne scars were unmistakable. It was the same person. 2 I started reading his financial aid application more carefully. [Name: Dylan Thorne.] [Personal Strengths: Enthusiastic, outgoing, my morals are as good as my looks, sociable, polite, knows how to respect others…] I couldn’t help but snort with laughter when I read the “personal strengths” section. The self-proclaimed virtues were a perfect, ironic contrast to the filth he spewed online. I read on. He briefly described his family situation. Both parents were disabled and lived on government assistance. His entire university education was funded by student loans and financial aid. At the end of the document, there was an officially stamped proof of hardship. For a moment, I felt a swirl of conflicting emotions. His family’s situation did give me a moment’s pause. This grant was undoubtedly crucial for him. If I exposed this at Crestwood, he wouldn’t get a cent from any sponsor. He might even get expelled. I gathered all the evidence and compiled it into an email. My eyes fell on the photo attached to his file, the one showing his gray-haired, disabled parents. My finger hovered over the send button. But in the end, I pulled it away. The next day, I met Lily for lunch. Lily and I had been classmates, and after graduation, she’d taken a position at our alma mater, Crestwood. Over our meal, I casually told her about Dylan. Lily was shocked. She pulled up the student directory, then a class photo. “Is it this guy?” I nodded. “A student with such rotten character is a disgrace to Crestwood! I have to report this to the Dean’s office. We need to get him off the financial aid list immediately!” I stopped her. “Wait.” She looked at me, bewildered. “You’re just going to let this go? You’re not even going to teach him a lesson?” I clenched my fist. “I just feel like it wasn’t easy for his parents to raise a university student. Let’s handle it privately. If he apologizes, we can just leave it at that.” Lily shook her head, smiling at my soft-heartedness, and went back to scrolling on her phone. Suddenly, she gasped, her brow furrowing. “What is it?” I asked. She just handed me her phone. On the screen was a photo, framed to look compromising. It was me, walking ahead in a little black dress. A man in his fifties was walking behind me, a Chanel bag in his hand, with his other hand resting on my shoulder. Beneath the picture was Dylan’s comment. [I know this girl! Her social media is full of slutty pics. Total professional, you can tell.] [How can she stand to be with a fat old pig like that? She really has no shame when it comes to money.] Lily’s fists were clenched so tight her nails were digging into her palms. “That little bastard! I’m getting him arrested today! This is way beyond what campus security can handle!” she seethed. “Spreading these disgusting rumors in broad daylight… he’s absolutely shameless!” I knew why Lily was so furious. When she was in university, someone had spread a rumor that she was having an affair with a professor. The scandal had been huge at the time, and it nearly pushed her into a depression. Even though the truth eventually came out, the shadow of it remained. Now, seeing history repeat itself, there was no way she would let it slide. I gently placed a hand on hers, my voice turning to ice. “Even if we call the police now, all he’ll get is a lecture. That’s letting him off way too easily.” She took a deep breath and nodded. “You’re right. He’s obviously done this before. We can’t just let him get away with it.” Over the next few weeks, we had a friend who was good with tech trace Dylan’s IP address and dig up all his online activity. Just as we suspected, Lily and I were far from his only victims. Dylan, oblivious to our investigation, escalated his online attacks, spreading even more rumors about me. He claimed he saw me on campus all the time, always in different designer clothes, and that the “old man” with me was the one keeping me. The internet was flooded with hate. Dylan even took screenshots and sent them to me, gloating. [I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen. How does it feel to be public enemy number one?] [Why hasn’t your old sugar daddy spent some money to get these posts deleted? Guess he doesn’t care about you that much, huh?] [Told you so. Only people like us, who work hard for a living, can stand on solid ground!] I ignored all his provocations. Until the day of the final review for the student hardship fund. There, Dylan and I finally came face to face. 3 When Dylan saw me, a flicker of admiration crossed his eyes before twisting into a sneer. “Well, well, if it isn’t the famous ‘socialite’ who slept her way to the top.” “Isn’t your closet already overflowing with Chanel? Why are you here, trying to steal this little bit of aid money from us poor students?” He raised his voice deliberately, then glanced at the sponsors present before leaning in and lowering his voice to a hiss. “How many of the old geezers in this room have sent you money in the middle of the night?” The room fell silent. Dozens of eyes turned to stare at me. I walked past him without a word, my expression unreadable, and took a seat near the back of the classroom. The review proceeded as scheduled. Applicants from each department came up one by one to present their family situations. A review panel would then score them to determine the recipients and the amount of aid. Just as the last self-introduction ended, Dylan shot to his feet, his voice ringing with righteous indignation. “Professor! Why does someone get to skip their introduction?” The professor leading the panel looked confused. He checked the list and, after a careful review, replied, “All the students on the list have completed their introductions. No one was missed.” Dylan clearly didn’t buy it. He stood there, a paragon of virtue. “Impossible! I distinctly saw that girl come in! But she never went on stage!” He scoffed. “Oh, I get it. It was already a done deal. You couldn’t even be bothered to put on a show for us, right?” The professor’s face darkened. “Young man, please watch your words! Our review process is fair, just, and transparent! There are absolutely no predetermined outcomes!” Instead of backing down, Dylan grew louder, his voice cracking with rage. “Bullshit! I saw her walk in with my own two eyes! What, did her old man buy her special privileges?” He shoved aside a security guard who tried to intervene, his face contorted in a euphoric frenzy. “This is ridiculous! What’s the point of us fighting for a chance? We should just drop our pants and climb into some old man’s bed!” His words sent a buzz through the classroom as everyone started whispering. Countless curious eyes were fixed on me. When a security guard tried to escort Dylan out, he dodged and whipped out his phone, starting a livestream and pointing the camera directly at the review panel. “Everyone in the livestream, take a good look! This is the corruption happening at Crestwood University!” he yelled. “A female student sells her body to get ahead, and the school officials cover it up!” “We study our asses off for over a decade! Why should we be trampled on by some filthy whore?!” He looked magnificent, like a revolutionary hero leading an uprising. As his impassioned cries echoed through the room, the buzz of discussion grew louder. Seeing this, Dylan’s spirits soared. He reached the peak of his performance. “Drag that bitch out here! Let the whole internet see just how dirty this filthy flower really is!” I slowly rose from my seat in the back row, leaning against a desk with a faint smile. “Are you talking about me?”

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The first person I ran into after getting out of prison was Ava. I was squatting on the curb, shoveling down a cheap box of takeout. And there she was, the woman who once had to grovel before everyone, now towering over me in a perfectly tailored, expensive dress. Her first words were, “Ethan, you’ve lost weight.” I looked up at her but said nothing. “Don’t you have anything you want to ask me?” Ava pressed, a flicker of anxiety she couldn’t quite hide in her voice. I just shook my head slightly. There was a time when I did, right after she’d sent me to prison. But five years is a long time. The unspoken questions had long since faded into nothing, taking my feelings for her right along with them. … My silence made her face stiffen, though she recovered quickly. She handed me a bottle of water she must have just bought, her movement awkward. “Don’t choke.” It was free, so I didn’t refuse. I thanked her in a low voice. I could see she was holding something back, but she didn’t speak, and I didn’t ask. I mechanically finished the last few bites of food, then stood up and swung my leg over my beat-up electric scooter to continue my delivery route. As I put on my helmet, she called out my name. “Ethan!” I turned back out of habit. Her voice was laced with an almost desperate plea. “If you ever need help, you can call me.” I managed a small smile. “I don’t think there will be an occasion for that.” I delivered food until midnight. Back in my cramped, rundown apartment, I rolled up my pant leg and expertly applied ointment to my knee. Unlike most people’s, my kneecaps are deformed. Five years had passed, but the memory of the bones being shattered into splinters was still sharp. The pain always came back—on damp, rainy days, in the humid darkness of my cell, after the numbness of a long day running around on my feet. It would awaken suddenly, tormenting me over and over. Just like the memory from six years ago, the one that felt like my soul being sliced apart, piece by piece, when I learned I was just a pawn in Ava’s meticulously crafted game. But time, thankfully, grinds everything down. My wounds were slowly healing. The next morning, I woke early. It was the anniversary of my grandmother’s death. She was the only person in this world who had ever truly wished me well. I requested the day off, changed into a faded old shirt from seven years ago, and went to the cemetery. I brought her a bouquet of roses, still wet with morning dew. Roses aren’t typical for gravesites, but this was the first time I’d come to see her, and I wanted to bring her something she would have loved. I knelt before her headstone and talked for a long time, only stopping when I heard footsteps behind me. Deep down, I think I knew who it was. But when I turned and saw Ava, my breath still caught in my throat. She had shed the designer clothes for a simple white dress. So simple it made my head spin. For a fleeting moment, she wasn’t the ambitious, power-hungry Ava I knew. She was just the girl from my childhood. Clean and pure. Ava and I were practically childhood sweethearts. Before I could even form proper memories, I was abducted by traffickers. It was my grandmother, who scraped by collecting recyclables, who saved me. After that, she raised me as her own. It’s doubly hard for an old woman to raise two children, but she never let me go without. Whatever Ava had, I had too. Ava was smarter than me, so Grandma would have her tutor me. When Ava went out to play, Grandma made her take me along, telling her to hold my hand tight. When Ava got new clothes, Grandma would have a matching set ready for me. … We were inseparable in those years. The neighbors would always tease, calling me Ava’s “little groom-to-be.” Ava never denied it. She would just ruffle my hair and say softly, “Then you’ll have to marry me when you grow up, okay?” It was around then that I started to notice her feelings for me, the love hidden in her actions. How her things were only for me to touch. How she would appear at my side the moment I needed her. How she would kiss my forehead as if I were a precious treasure while I slept. The year we finally let things fall into place and got together was the year everything started to fall apart. I was found and taken in by my biological family, the Prestons, and Ava started her own business. Her world expanded overnight. I was no longer the only one in it. Now, there was my younger brother, Caleb. Ava once asked me tentatively, “We don’t have as much time alone now. Does that… upset you?” I still remember the answer that has haunted my nights ever since. “Not at all,” I’d said. “I’m happy that you and my brother get along so well.” My words became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Ava and Caleb grew closer at a suffocating pace. They joked, they argued, they sulked, and I, the “older brother,” was always the one who had to play mediator. The first real alarm bell went off when I noticed how, in the middle of some casual banter, Ava would remember Caleb’s preferences with unnerving precision. She knew he was allergic to peanuts, that he hated cilantro, that his favorite vegetable was enoki mushrooms. Once, when the three of us were out for dinner, the first thing she ordered was garlic butter enoki mushrooms baked in foil. But Ava had forgotten. I’m allergic to garlic. In the space of a single month, Caleb had replaced twenty years of my life. The pent-up hurt and panic finally boiled over, and I confronted her. She just looked at me with cold eyes. “Ethan,” she said, her words sharp and deliberate, “you’re being ridiculous. Do you hear yourself?” It was the first time I had ever seen that coldness in her. Before, she would have pulled me into a frantic hug, whispering over and over, “I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I made my Ethan sad.” Tears welled up in my eyes, but she remained unmoved. Her expression even soured with annoyance before she turned and left me standing there, walking upstairs alone. I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob. A moment later, I heard footsteps on the stairs again. I froze when I saw it was Caleb. But my vision was clear enough to see the triumphant glint in his eyes. He walked right up to me and roughly wiped the tears from my face. “Aww, big brother, it breaks my heart to see you cry,” he sneered. “But what can you do? Nobody cares about you anymore.” “Whether you came back or not, Mom and Dad only ever had eyes for me. And now, even Ava is on my side. Tell me, how are you going to compete with me now?” My world tilted. The words wouldn’t come out right. “Caleb, you…” “Don’t call me that!” he snapped, the polite facade shattering. “Every single day I had to pretend with you made me sick.” “If it wasn’t for Ava, do you really think you’d ever have the chance to call me brother? You idiot!” He spun around and went back upstairs. The same stairs, the same confident stride, but two different people. In a single day, I had gone from the cherished center of the universe to a complete and utter outsider. The raw betrayal and malice left me stunned. I couldn’t accept it, and I was terrified that the next words I heard would be Ava telling me it was over. So, I started avoiding them. Frantically. Ava noticed. She cornered me, waiting outside my door, leaving me no room to escape. “Ethan, we need to talk.” I shook my head and backed away. For every step I took, she advanced, until my back hit the wall. I was trapped. The moment she opened her mouth, I wanted to clap my hands over my ears. But her words came out in a rush, too fast for me to react. “If we got married, would you stop all this worrying?” Ava was a woman of her word. The very next day, she took me to the city hall. With the marriage certificate in hand, we moved into the small bungalow my biological family had given me. My so-called parents had no real feelings for me; they barely tolerated my presence. The house was just a formality, a way to keep up appearances. I once suggested we bring Grandma to live with us, but Ava refused. She gave no reason, and I chose to remain silent. I chose to trust her, making time to visit Grandma whenever I could. I thought the marriage certificate was our final safeguard, that Ava would finally draw a line between herself and Caleb. But in reality, they started seeing each other even more often. So often that I began to doubt every word that came out of her mouth. Before I could even recognize the precarious state of my own mental health, my bottled-up emotions erupted. It was my birthday. The same Ava who had once promised to spend every birthday with me chose to leave me behind to attend a gala with Caleb. The last thread of my sanity snapped. I stormed into the ballroom, ignoring the shocked stares, and confronted Caleb. “You know what she is to me! Why do you always have to get between us?” I yelled, my voice shaking with rage and despair. “She’s your sister-in-law! How could you keep trying to seduce her?!” Caleb looked at me with wide, terrified eyes. “Ethan, I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re scaring me.” “Stop pretending! You admitted it yourself, didn’t you? That you only got close to me to get to her!” Whispers spread through the room. What brought me back to reality was the sharp sting of Ava’s hand across my face. “I know you’re paranoid, Ethan, which is why I married you! But that doesn’t give you the right to push your luck and slander Caleb!” she hissed. “Security, get this madman out of here!” The guards were fast. They roughly clamped a hand over my mouth and dragged me out. I struggled, but it was useless. As I got closer to the exit, the chatter of the high-society guests grew clearer, drilling into my ears. “Tsk, tsk. What a lunatic.” “More than that, he’s completely unhinged. I feel sorry for whoever married him. He’s completely ruined Ava’s night!” “If it wasn’t for Ava’s competence, this whole project would probably be dead in the water…” I was the one on the marriage certificate. I was the victim. Why didn’t anyone believe me? I closed my eyes, tears streaming from the corners. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. I went home. For the first time, I didn’t touch the glass of milk the housekeeper always prepared for me on Ava’s orders. I showered and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. I don’t know how long I lay there before the tears started. I cried until I drifted into a heavy, exhausted sleep. In the hazy space between sleep and waking, I felt a heavy weight press down on me. Even after our fight, my body reacted instinctively, moving to welcome her. Until my hand, fumbling in the dark, touched the thick, fleshy waist of a woman. My heart plummeted. It wasn’t Ava. Ava’s waist was soft and slender. The woman clearly hadn’t expected me to wake up. Her face was a mask of shock and panic. In the faint moonlight filtering through the window, I saw the grotesque body. Overweight, stout, and radiating a cloying, suffocatingly sweet perfume. A single glance sent my stomach churning. The woman scrambled to grab her clothes and run, but she tripped and tumbled down the stairs. It was only then that my mind caught up. I went insane, grabbing a fruit knife from the nightstand and chasing after her. Seeing the knife in my hand, she shook her head, begging. “I’m sorry, please don’t kill me, I’m begging you.” My entire body was trembling, bile rising in my throat, but I started to laugh. “So, you can feel fear?” I whispered, my voice ragged. “Why would you be afraid? You shouldn’t be afraid at all.” I was rambling. By the time I came to my senses, the woman’s face and body were covered in a crisscrossing web of cuts. I dropped the knife in a panic and stumbled into the bathroom. I couldn’t stop washing myself, trying to scrub away the memory of her touch from every inch of my skin with soap and water. I was still standing under the shower when Ava came home. She froze in the doorway as if turned to stone. After what felt like an eternity, she wrapped her arms around my waist, her voice trembling uncontrollably. “It’s okay, Ethan. It’s okay. I’m here now.” It was the first time I had ever been assaulted. I was terrified and disgusted. I wanted to push her away. Her embrace felt suffocating. But besides Grandma, she was the only person I had ever trusted without reservation. For the next few days, Ava didn’t leave the house. She cut off all contact with Caleb. She started taking care of me around the clock. When my fever wouldn’t break, she changed the cool cloth on my forehead countless times. When I woke up screaming from nightmares, she would soothe me back to sleep. When I became afraid of seeing people, she severed all business ties with the outside world. A pathetic fantasy began to bloom in my mind: maybe Ava really did care about me. Until Caleb showed up with a stack of contracts, and a series of photos of strange women. “You probably don’t recognize this face,” he said, holding up a picture, “but your body… it certainly does, doesn’t it?” “Thanks to you, she green-lit Ava’s project.” He laid them out one by one. Each photo corresponded to a contract. By the end, my head was roaring. “What… what do you mean?” Caleb let out a low chuckle, a sly, malicious glee in his eyes. “Still don’t get it, my dear brother?” “Ava… she’s using you as a stepping stone to climb to the top! Your marriage certificate is a fake. Do you have any idea how many people have slept in your bed?” There was a deafening crash, as if something inside me had collapsed. “You’re lying!” I screamed. “Am I? Why don’t you take a look for yourself and find out?” Caleb gave me one last look, a mixture of pity and contempt, then tossed a USB drive on the floor and left. I scrambled to pick it up, plugged it into my laptop, and clicked on the video file… On the screen, a parade of unfamiliar women appeared, one after another. They keyed in the password to my front door like they owned the place and walked straight into my bedroom. My body in the videos was flushed an unnatural red. Then the camera would shake, and the scenes that followed were too vile to watch. No, this can’t be right. I was with Ava… My chaotic gaze swept across the room and landed on the empty milk glass on the nightstand. It froze there. Suddenly, everything made sense. All the kindness Ava had ever shown me twisted into sharp blades and plunged into my heart. Just then, the door opened. Every emotion I had suppressed exploded at once.

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1 To save my people, I sought help from my childhood friend Caspian, now a famous scientist. He was still obsessed with me—kept me in his bed for seven days. Then he poured acid over me, coldly saying, “So mermaids feel pain. But it’s nothing compared to what your kind did to my parents.” For two years, he married another woman but kept me chained. He cut out my Coral Core to heal his wife, made me clean their bed, and listen to their nights. When she got pregnant, he fed her my flesh. He hated me, yet nursed me back each time I neared death, whispering, “You’re defiant because you know I love you. Tell me where my parents are.” I stayed silent. But soon, I won’t need to—a mermaid who stays on land for three years dies. I had three days left. … At three in the morning, the wooden door to the storeroom was kicked open. Hands grabbed me, hauling me to my feet before a series of sharp, ringing slaps struck my face. The assault only stopped when my lip split and I could taste blood. Caspian’s personal assistant, Marcus, dragged me out by my legs, cursing under his breath. “The madam is hurt, and you have the nerve to sleep so soundly!” The salty sea air was thick with the scent of blood. A crimson trail snaked all the way to Caspian’s bedroom. He saw the bloody path I left on the floor and his brow furrowed in disgust. “Rosalind is hurt,” he commanded, his voice flat. “Heal her.” I lifted my eyes, first to Rosalind, her cheeks flushed and dewy, then to her swollen belly— CRACK! The back of his hand cracked across my face. He loomed over me. “I told you to heal her. Do you think a creature like you even deserves to look at her?” I immediately lowered my head. “I’m sorry.” Slowly, I crawled toward the bed. I learned then that Rosalind had woken in the night to feed the piranhas and one had nipped her finger. After all these years, I was used to her various “ailments.” I numbly opened my shirt, dug my own sharp nails into the flesh over my heart, and, through gritted teeth and a cold sweat, pulled out the glowing Coral Core to heal her. The room was silent, until Caspian’s voice cut through the air, cold as ice. “Playing the victim won’t work on me, Lira.” In his eyes, this was just an act. After all, a mermaid’s blood could also heal. But my blood no longer held that power. Rosalind stirred, letting out a soft cough, and Caspian was at her side in an instant, gathering her into his arms. “Does it still hurt?” She bit her lip, her gaze flicking to the open wound on my chest. “Darling, I don’t know why, but since I’ve been pregnant, the smell of blood just makes me so sick.” At her words, Caspian’s leg shot out, kicking me hard. “Get out. And stand guard.” I crawled out of the room, my body aching, as I heard his voice soften behind me. “Rosalind, my love, you haven’t been sleeping well. Is the baby keeping you up? Let me listen.” My heart, which I thought had turned to stone, clenched painfully. The wound on my chest, not yet healed, began to bleed anew. A maid appeared, dumping a bucket of foul, fishy water over me. Her face was a mask of disgust. “Filthy monster. Aren’t you supposed to heal? Why are you still bleeding all over the floor? It’s disgusting!” She threw a mop at me, the handle striking my forehead. I flinched, curling into myself. “Clean this up. Now. Or I’m telling Mr. Caspian.” For the rest of the night, I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. I listened to the sounds of their intimacy from within the room, and a single, hot tear fell from my eye. The memory of Caspian’s loathing was a phantom that haunted me, growing larger with every passing moment. Soon, I thought. Soon I’ll be free. The immortal mermaid could die. Three days left. By the time the last drop of blood was gone from the floor, my wound had finally sealed itself. A new day was dawning at the seaside estate. Caspian emerged from the bedroom, his neck dotted with fresh, red marks. He frowned at the blood-soaked mop. “Why was there so much blood?” I didn’t try to explain. I just bowed my head. “I’m sorry. I’ll dispose of this filth immediately.” Nearby, a maid was trimming flowers, her voice deliberately loud. “You won’t believe it, but that thing actually asked me how to make someone happy. Oh my god, is she trying to seduce Mr. Caspian?” “Heh, of course she is. Does a worthless creature like her actually dream of becoming the lady of the house? If it weren’t for her kind, Mr. Caspian’s parents would never have disappeared.” I tried to hurry away, but Caspian was faster. He kicked the cleaning supplies aside and dragged me to his laboratory. I was strapped into the electric chair, capable of delivering a hundred-thousand volts. The world swam before my eyes, and I fought back nausea. Caspian held the remote, his legs crossed, his expression dark. “I almost forgot. It’s been a month since our last session.” “Tell me,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Where did they take my parents?” He hadn’t even pressed the button, but my hands were already clawing at the armrests, a frantic, reflexive terror taking over. My fingers were bloody before the first jolt hit. “I don’t know.” The words had barely left my lips before the current tore through my body. I screamed, my body convulsing violently as a hot liquid streamed down my legs. The first shock ended, but I couldn’t stop twitching. Caspian stood up, pacing, his jaw tight. He asked again. I spat out a mouthful of blood. Every organ in my body screamed in protest. “I won’t tell you.” I couldn’t. Their safety depended on it. This time, he didn’t press the button. Instead, he had Marcus bring out a small, velvet pouch. From it, he poured several shimmering pearls—Coral Cores I had hidden in a loose floorboard. My eyes widened in horror. My whole body trembled. “What are you doing?” “Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m doing.” A cruel smirk played on his lips. He tossed one of the Cores onto the floor and brought his heel down on it with a sickening crunch. He laughed at my blood-choked scream. “Was this your mother’s Coral Core? Or your father’s? I hear the only way to truly kill one of your kind is to crush the Core. Otherwise, you just keep coming back.” He ground the fragments under his shoe. “Such a resilient species… still not talking?” My nails had broken, exposing the white of the bone underneath. Tears of blood streamed from my eyes. “Caspian,” I whispered, my voice raw with hatred. “I hate you.” His response was a kiss that felt like he wanted to bite my tongue off. The kiss sent me spiraling. My body was so weak these days, I could almost forget how deeply we had once loved each other. Merfolk have always been drawn to humans, often taking human form to live and love among them. I was three when I first met Caspian. The first time he saw me, he looked up at his mother and asked, “Mommy, is this the bride you found for me?” His mother had laughed and tapped him gently on the head. Our families became close, spending all our time together. Then, when I was fifteen, a wave of persecution drove my people from the shores. We had to leave. But I would still sneak back onto land sometimes, just to see him. Once, when someone asked who I was, I was about to say I was his sister. But he cut in, his expression deadly serious. “She’s my girlfriend,” he declared. “And my future wife. Lira.” In that moment, my heart truly belonged to him. Years later, a deal was struck between a faction of merfolk and a group of elite human scientists. The liaisons for this exchange were my parents… and Caspian’s. And then, his parents vanished. I was the prime suspect. I knew he hated me for it. But I couldn’t tell him the truth. Years passed. Caspian became a top scientist in his own right. And I, for the sake of my people, had to get close to him again. So many times, I wanted to tell him everything. But I couldn’t. It didn’t matter anymore. Soon, the suffering would be over. Caspian’s fingers were setting fires on my skin. He suddenly stopped, staring at the blood on his hands. Only then did I realize that all the old wounds—from the cuttings, the bloodletting—were beginning to reopen. I let out a hollow, numb laugh. “I’m dying, Caspian.” He reacted as if I’d spoken a forbidden word. He looked like he’d gone mad. He scrambled for a bottle of pills and forced them into my mouth. His voice was like cracking ice. “Without my permission, you don’t get to die.” He unlocked my shackles, dragged me to a pool of medicinal solution, and forced my head under. I choked, water flooding my senses. His eyes were bloodshot, his breathing ragged and harsh, as if he were the one suffocating. I held my breath to keep from drowning in the solution. The lack of air made my face swell and turn purple. Only when the powerful healing agents in the pills took effect and my wounds stopped bleeding did he grab my hair and yank me out. I had barely caught my breath. When he shackled me again. He chained me to the bedpost like a dog. Rosalind, her eyes full of sultry invitation, leaned against his chest. Her gaze shifted to me, and it was filled with a strange, venomous glee. Her red lips moved, forming silent words only I could see. “Lira, I want you dead.” In a state of half-sleep, I felt a hand gently stroking my hair. A tear fell from their eye and landed on my lips. It was salty. “Lira,” a voice whispered, full of a pain I hadn’t heard in years. “If none of this had ever happened… how wonderful would that have been?” Was it Caspian? Was he… crying? I struggled to open my eyes, but there was no Caspian. It was Marcus, yanking on the chain, dragging me out into the estate’s courtyard. Merfolk hate the sun. For one on the verge of death, it was agony. Rosalind saw me and smiled sweetly. “Lira, are you hungry?” Caspian had his arm around her. When I didn’t answer, he kicked me. The blow landed squarely on a wound that was already on the verge of splitting open. Blood immediately soaked through the fabric of my dress. Caspian looked away, irritated, not sparing me a single glance. He just tossed a trench coat from a nearby lounge chair over me. “Rosalind gets faint at the sight of blood. Cover yourself!” A flicker of something crossed Rosalind’s eyes before she smiled again, tossing chunks of raw meat and muddy vegetables onto the ground in front of me. Her voice was as soft as silk. “Eat up, Lira.” For some reason, I looked up at Caspian. Why did I ever think he felt sorry for me? Expressionless, I bent down and began to gnaw on a dirty cabbage leaf, my fingers digging into the soil in humiliation. I heard Rosalind’s concerned voice. “Lira, why aren’t you eating the meat? You need meat to be healthy, you know.” Without thinking, I tore off a piece of the raw flesh. My sense of smell had degenerated so much I was almost numb to it. I didn’t know what kind of meat it was. “Is it good? It’s mermaid meat! Very nutritious!” I froze mid-chew and stared at her. Her smile widened, and my stomach heaved. “Ugh—” “Ah! My shoes!” I had vomited on the heel of her shoe. Marcus didn’t even need to be told. He grabbed me by the collar and slapped my tear-stained face. Caspian, who was notoriously germaphobic, knelt down and began to wipe Rosalind’s shoe with his own handkerchief. He was so gentle, so meticulous. He had never once, after using my body to vent his frustrations, even bothered to clean me. He was clearly furious. “Ungrateful bitch. If you don’t want to eat, we’ll feed this to the dogs!” Rosalind gave a weak, delicate smile. “Lira’s just not hungry. Don’t force her.” “Why don’t we let her join me while I paint? It can be her way of making up for this, what do you think?” Caspian sighed, a faint smile touching his lips. “You’re just too kind.” He shot me a cold look and was about to say something else when his phone rang. He murmured something loving to Rosalind, then leaned down and gently kissed her pregnant belly. For some reason, my nose began to sting. After he left, Rosalind’s expression turned to ice. “I don’t like people watching me paint. Go to the basement.” I said nothing and did as I was told. In the basement, a maid tossed several small buckets at my feet. Her voice was a derisive, pinched whine. “Hey. The madam needs more red for her painting, and there’s no red prettier than blood. Fill these three buckets. Now.” A rusty blade clattered on the floor in front of me. “Use this.” I hesitated, mumbling, “It’s rusty.” The maid spat. “Who do you think you are, a princess? Why would an unkillable monster like you deserve anything good?” She crossed her arms and watched me. I picked up the blade without another word and sliced open my wrist. Hot, crimson blood dripped into the bucket. By the time all three were full, I was shivering, my lips blue with cold. I leaned against the wall, my mind adrift. Two maids passed by, carrying laundry, their voices loud with gossip. “The madam’s paintings are so beautiful, aren’t they? It’s just a shame the materials are so hard to find. They had to kill several mermaids just to get a tiny bit of Coral Core powder.” “And some of the blood isn’t even pure. A monster is a monster. They’re not like us.” The hair on my body stood on end. I pushed myself up, using the wall for support. I staggered into the courtyard and was met with the sound of piercing shrieks. The ground at Rosalind’s feet was littered with the mangled bodies of merfolk. She had her foot on one of their tails, carving out a translucent Coral Core before crushing it in her fist. I felt my own heart shatter with it. Rosalind turned to me, silhouetted against the light, a malicious curve to her lips. “Lira, I learned something new today! Did you know every Coral Core is a different color?” “Such a shame I only want white ones. Why don’t you be a dear and help me? Dig out all their Cores for me—” My eyes locked on a small figure in a nearby water tank. My little brother. He was only ten. He hadn’t even learned to take human form yet. “Sister, help me!” he cried, banging on the glass, his tears turning to pearls as they fell. Rosalind pouted, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Oh, so he’s your brother? How cute! Why don’t we start with him?” Two guards seized my brother and dragged him before her, holding him down under her blade. I couldn’t control it anymore. I fell to my knees and slammed my forehead against the ground, over and over. “Madam, I’m begging you! Please, let my brother go!” “Use my Coral Core! Mine is white, I swear it!” Rosalind twirled the knife playfully. “But I’m in the mood for a surprise today. Isn’t this more fun?” “Little boy, today sister is going to open you up first, and then Lira—Ah! What are you doing?!” “Don’t you dare hurt my sister!” My brother, his eyes red with defiance, struggled with all his might and sank his teeth into Rosalind’s wrist. A second later, Caspian, who had just returned, sent him flying with a vicious kick. All his teeth were knocked out. He landed in a heap beside me. Caspian held Rosalind, comforting her, the rage in his eyes practically spilling over. “Lira! Your kind stole my parents, and now you try to harm my wife?” I shook my head, tears streaming down my face, shielding my brother’s broken body with my own. “I was wrong! Kill me, just kill me! Let my brother go, he’s just a child…” “Heh. Let him go? Fine.” Caspian’s burning gaze swept over us. “Tell me where my parents are, and I’ll let him go.” Those same words again. All the strength drained from my body. For the first time, I looked at Caspian with pure, undiluted hatred. “You don’t know anything. You don’t understand anything.” “I told you, when the time is right, you will understand everything. Why do you have to hurt my family?” Caspian, I hate you. God, how I hate you! He averted his gaze, refusing to meet my eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek and sneered. “Fine. If you won’t talk, then your brother can pay for your sins.” It happened so fast. Caspian’s hand moved in a blur, and the dagger was buried in my brother’s chest. I thought I heard something shatter. My brother’s small face, once so soft, was now cold and still. His Coral Core was gone. I just sat there, forgetting how to beg. Rosalind, clutching her belly, came over to “help” me up, only to collapse dramatically a few feet away. She sobbed, a pathetic, kitten-like sound. “Lira, they were just animals! My baby is a person! Are you trying to kill my child?” Caspian had never believed me. This time, I didn’t even bother to explain. “Yes,” I said, my voice dead. “I want to kill you both.” Caspian trembled with rage. He was about to strike me when he realized Rosalind’s water had broken. He shot me one last, venomous glare. “After the baby is born, I’ll deal with you.” I just smiled, a hollow, empty thing. You won’t get the chance. I’m almost dead. I was locked in the storeroom again, in the suffocating, sunless dark. I curled into a ball, feeling the warmth steadily leech from my body. The floorboards above me were alive with activity. They had set up a temporary delivery room for Rosalind. She screamed for a day and a night before the baby was finally born safely. Caspian, relieved, leaned against the doorframe, lighting a cigarette. Just then, Marcus rushed up, out of breath. “Mr. Caspian! Sir, there’s… there are people at the gate for you!” He raised an indifferent eyebrow. “Who?” “Your parents!” Caspian moved like a bolt of lightning. But when his parents saw him, their first reaction wasn’t a tearful embrace. It was frantic, desperate questioning. “Is Lira here? You have to get her to the sea! She’ll die without saltwater!” A cold dread gripped Caspian’s heart, but he feigned nonchalance. “She hurt Rosalind. I locked her in the storeroom. Dad, mermaids can’t die.” “Let’s not talk about her. Tell me, where have you been all these years?” His father looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. He raised his hand and slapped Caspian hard across the face. “Where is the storeroom? Take us there! Now!” Reluctantly, Caspian led the way and opened the decrepit door. “See, Dad? She’s fine.” His parents took one look inside and burst into tears. Caspian turned. He saw that half of my face had dissolved into seafoam. But in the next instant, he did something I never could have predicted.

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My roommate, my brother, always went for the sweet, girl-next-door type. I was always drawn to the strong, sophisticated woman. We used to joke that we’d never end up as rivals in love. But three years after my girlfriend vanished, I saw her again. She was at my roommate’s wedding. She was the bride. I was the best man. A friend clapped me on the back, laughing as he recounted their love story. “Her company went bankrupt back then, and she was about to jump off a roof. I was the one who saved her. I heard some other guy was clinging to her at the time, but I took her abroad to start fresh.” “Pretty smooth, right, Liam?” Leo was still talking, beaming, but I couldn’t hear a word. My mind went white. Three years. Over a thousand days and nights. The love of my life had been hidden away for three whole years by the man I saw every single day. 1 I listened to my friend’s words, my legs feeling like they were about to give out. A tremor started in my hands and spread through my whole body. Leo noticed my pale face and quickly helped me into the bridal lounge, his voice laced with concern. “Liam, what’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?” For three years, I had searched for Ava. I’d traveled to countless cities, questioned hundreds of people, plastered up missing person posters, filed police reports, and scoured the internet. Even her own family had given up, convinced she was truly gone. I was the only one who believed she was still alive, the only one who never stopped looking. I don’t know how many nights I spent standing on the edge of a rooftop, contemplating an end to the crushing despair. And now, it was all a joke. I looked down at the network of faded white scars that crisscrossed my forearms. A bitter sting filled my eyes, and my heart felt like it was being shredded. Leo sighed. “You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you? Let it go, man. It’s been too long. You need to move on. You could find a great girl, just like I did, and start over.” “I’ll get everyone together soon,” he added, trying to cheer me up. “I’ll have Ava introduce you to some of her friends.” Just as he finished speaking, Ava walked in. She was wearing a magnificent wedding gown, her figure as stunning as it was three years ago. The only thing that had changed was the way she looked at me. Before, her eyes held only me. Now, she gave me a fleeting glance before turning to adjust Leo’s suit. Her bridesmaids followed behind her—the same friends who used to call me their brother-in-law. I remembered it all so clearly. When they saw me, their eyes were filled with unspoken words, a flicker of pity and guilt. A moment ago, I might have been able to delude myself into thinking she’d lost her memory in the fall. But every one of her friends standing there was a silent testament to the truth. She hadn’t forgotten. She remembered everything. She just didn’t love me anymore. Leo gazed at Ava with pure adoration. “Honey, tell your friends not to leave tonight. We’ll have a big party, celebrate properly.” He shot me a meaningful look. Ava gave a noncommittal nod, her eyes fixed on Leo. She never looked at me again. It was as if we were complete strangers. I slowly closed my eyes, the feeling of a giant hand squeezing my heart, crushing it, then tossing it into a fire. The pain… it was unbearable. I stumbled into the bathroom, my back sliding down the cool tile wall as a wave of agony washed over me. My chest heaved with a pain so deep it felt physical, and a choked sob escaped my lips. “Ava, how could you leave me…?” 2 As I walked out of the bathroom, I overheard one of her friends asking her in a hushed tone, “Ava, are you sure about this? You really don’t love Liam anymore?” Her reply was flat, devoid of emotion. “He’s just some broken relic from the past. You can have him if you want.” “…” The ceremony began. Leo, sensing my state, found someone else to stand in for me at the last minute. Ava watched with a serene expression as Leo knelt before her, waiting for him to slide the ring onto her finger. I stood in the furthest corner, watching her smile and say, “I do.” A bitter jealousy surged through me. I wanted to rush the stage, to stop them, to scream at Leo and ask him why he’d stolen my girlfriend. Why did he hide her away? Why did he let me search for three agonizing years? And I wanted to ask Ava why she was pretending not to know me. Why didn’t she come find me when she returned? Why did everyone keep this secret from me? I wanted to burn the whole wedding to the ground. But I didn’t. I just sat in my corner and, after they exchanged their vows, I was the first to applaud. I clapped so hard that people nearby turned to stare. I didn’t care. I just held Ava’s gaze when she looked out at the crowd. Our eyes met. My nose stung, and the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. Ava’s expression flickered for a fraction of a second before her gaze slid away, her dark eyes as cold and empty as ice. My fingernails dug into my palms. I think I was going insane. I pulled out my phone and sent her a text. [Ava, I don’t wish you a happy marriage.] [I hope you never find the one you love. I hope you spend the rest of your life searching!] The moment I hit send, I felt like a fool. The man she loved was already her husband. My curse was meaningless. I left before the reception ended. If I stayed any longer, I was afraid I’d lose control completely. Over a year ago, after another long stretch with no news of Ava, I had tried to kill myself. But I failed. My neighbor found me and I was rushed to the hospital. When I woke up, Ava’s mother was holding my hand, her face streaked with tears, begging me to live. For her daughter. But a world without Ava was just darkness. It was too much to bear. We had grown up together, started dating right after middle school. We were just about to pick a date to get married after graduating from college. Then her company collapsed, leaving her with a mountain of debt. She couldn’t take it. She jumped. And then she was gone. I went to the police station countless times, questioned every single person who was there that day. The story was always the same. No one saw her. Now she was back. But she didn’t love me anymore. 3 I fell into a restless sleep. When I woke up, I checked my phone. Besides a string of missed calls from Leo and a comforting message from Ava’s mom, there was one other notification that stood out. A single, cold reply from her. [Get lost.] A bitter laugh escaped my lips. The connection I had clung to so desperately was nothing more than a joke to her. Suddenly, my gaze fell upon my wrist. A thin red thread was tied around it, a gift from Ava three years ago. The color had long since faded, but I could never bring myself to take it off. Before our engagement, she had gone to a temple on a mountain. She had climbed ten thousand steps to get this one precious thread from a master artisan. She’d been in a car accident on the way back, but she had protected the thread, holding it tight against her chest. The first thing she did when she woke up in the hospital was tie it around my wrist. “Liam,” she had said, her voice full of earnest love, “I found our destiny. We’ll be together forever.” Her clear, serious voice still echoed in my ears, but everything was different now. My eyes burned. I yanked the red thread from my wrist, threw it in the toilet, and flushed. In seconds, it was gone. Ava, from this moment on, we walk different paths. After a long, hard cry, a strange clarity settled over me. I resigned from the orchestra. The paperwork would take a week. I booked a flight to leave the city for good, one week from today. That day happened to be the tenth anniversary of the day Ava and I started dating. Fitting. Where it began, it would also end. I shut myself away for seven days. Other than leaving to handle my resignation, I spoke to no one. My phone was off. On the day I was set to leave, Leo showed up at my door with Ava in tow. He rushed in and hugged me, then tried to drag me to the hospital. I knew what he was afraid of. I pulled my arm away, my expression blank. “I’m fine, thanks,” I said, my voice polite but distant. I didn’t know how to face him. Should I hate him? Should I wish him well? I knew I couldn’t do either, so my instinct was to push him away. He didn’t seem to mind my sudden coldness, assuming I was just in a bad mood. Leo let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Can you please answer your phone from now on? Do you have any idea how worried I was?” “We came to get you. It’s your birthday, did you forget? We’re throwing you a party tonight, introduce you to some new people.” “And you can’t say no. No is not an option!” His expression was stern, his tone leaving no room for argument. He was always so cheerful and warm-hearted. It was easy to see why people liked him. Easy to see why Ava would fall in love with him. I looked past him to the woman standing in the doorway. Her gaze was frigid, her eyes like frozen pools, as if she were looking at a stranger. I don’t know if it was my inability to refuse his concern, or some selfish part of me that wanted to see her one last time. It was still early. I let them in. This apartment was supposed to be our marital home. After she disappeared, I had decorated it exactly to her tastes. The furniture, the layout—everything was just as she would have wanted it. Leo’s eyes widened. “Wow, Liam, your taste is… something else. Why is everything so dark? It’s kind of depressing.” “It’s all black and dark gray. Not a single pop of color.” Because there was no color left in my world. “My ex-girlfriend liked it this way,” I said quietly. “So I decorated it for her.” 4 Leo clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “You should have your own style, man. Why do you have to listen to her on everything?” “With our place, my wife lets me handle all the design choices. It looks great. I even make her sleep on pink bedsheets every night.” I didn’t say anything, my mind drifting back to three years ago, when we first lived together. I had loved the color pink, bought everything in pink. Even her underwear. She never wore it. The sheets, too. She would rather sleep on the floor than in the bed. I finally gave in and bought dark gray sheets, and only then did she come back to bed. I let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Really? And she doesn’t just sleep on the floor?” Leo snorted, glancing at Ava. “She wouldn’t dare.” “Even her underwear is pink now.” Ava’s lips twitched. She gently tapped his head, a silent plea for him to stop. “What’s wrong with pink sheets?” he continued, oblivious. “If your girlfriend refuses to sleep with you over something like that, it just means she doesn’t love you enough.” “And to think you spent all those years looking for her. What a bitch.” After a long silence, I nodded slowly. “Yeah. You’re right.” “Maybe she really didn’t love me enough.” The moment I said it, I felt Ava’s gaze sharpen, raking over me. Her voice was cold. “In that case, Mr. Evans, you should know when to back off.” “Don’t disturb other people’s lives. And if you can, it would be best if she never had to see you again.” “Your self-pity is just pathetic to everyone else.” Her words were direct and brutal. Self-pity… so that’s all it was… My eyes turned red, and my voice trembled. “Are you so familiar with her because you’re just the same?” “You like to disappear, to make people wait, to crush every last bit of their hope without so much as an apology. And then you have the nerve to call their pain self-pity. All I ever wanted was an explanation. Do my three years just count for nothing?” Ava’s brow furrowed in anger. “No one asked you to wait. Love and hate are choices. You chose to wait, so you have to bear the consequences!” “Or what? You think just because you waited three years, she owes you something? That she should be grateful and marry you?” Her words were merciless, absolute. I stood there, stunned. The last flicker of hope in my heart was extinguished. Tears streamed down my face. Every word she spoke was a knife, twisting in my gut. She was right. Love and hate are choices. No one forced me. No one asked me to wait. The outcome was mine, and mine alone, to bear. A love that had once felt so unbreakable had become a hollow lie. “Fine,” I choked out. “I’ll make sure she never sees me again.” Leo, sensing things were escalating, quickly stepped in, pulling Ava into another room. I heard his warning, his voice just loud enough for me to hear. “Are you trying to get punched? You know Liam has depression, and you’re still talking to him like that?” “Stop provoking him. Do you hear me?” Ava’s cold laugh drifted back, dripping with scorn. “He’s just putting on a show.” I stood there, numb, for a long time. After a while, Ava left on her own. I couldn’t stop myself from asking Leo, “Where is she going?” “She hasn’t been back in the country for over a year, right? She has a lot of work to catch up on at the office.” I froze. “Ava came back a year ago?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Why didn’t I know? “Yeah. To plan our wedding.” My mouth fell open. The light in my eyes died. My mind, numb and slow, could only process one phrase, over and over. She came back. She came back. An icy chill spread through me. I wanted to scream, but the words were lodged in my throat. Leo’s casual remark was like a slap across the face. “Come on, let’s go! My wife’s done for the day. Go change, we’re heading to the club.” He grabbed my arm, trying to pull me out the door. “You go ahead. I’ll clean up and meet you there.” “Okay, but be quick!” He left without a second thought. As I watched his car drive away, I took out my phone and made a call. “I’ve decided to come home. Please arrange for me to meet my fiancée.” An excited voice came from the other end. “Brother! You’re finally willing to come back! The family has been so worried about you being in Northwood all alone. We just want you home…” The dam inside me broke. Tears streamed down my face. I took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll come home. And I’ll try to get to know the woman you’ve chosen for me. I won’t make you worry anymore.” My sister, Grace, was overjoyed. “Oh, Liam, that’s wonderful! Just tell me when you want to meet her, and I’ll set it up.” “Whenever. I’ve booked a flight for tonight. I’m coming home today.” I grabbed my suitcase and left for the airport. Before the plane took off, I blocked everyone connected to Ava. I turned off my phone. As I watched the lights of Northwood shrink below, I made a silent promise. Goodbye, Ava. Forever.

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1 The third time Damien and I stood before the courthouse, it was because he’d given my top spot as Metro News Network’s lead weather anchor to the new girl. He leaned against his car, lighting a cigarette, his handsome features twisted with impatience. “Is all this drama really necessary? She takes your spot, you get a nice long break at home. What’s the problem?” He took a drag, smoke curling from his lips. “Besides, I just gave her the position to keep her happy for a bit. Can’t you just suck it up for my sake?” I stared straight ahead, my voice a flat, emotionless thing. “Let’s go inside.” That night, I saw Damien with his arm around the new girl, laughing with his friends. “Hey, what if Clara actually goes through with the divorce this time?” someone asked. Damien scoffed and took a swig of his drink. “She loves me too much. She’d never do it for real.” It wasn’t until he saw me in the backseat of someone else’s wedding limousine that the slow, dawning horror hit him: I wasn’t playing games anymore. … Walking out of the courthouse, Damien shoved the divorce decree and other legal papers into my arms. “There. Happy now?” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he lit another cigarette, his eyes raking over me. I carefully folded my copy of the papers, tucked them into my purse, and then slapped his copy against his chest. I didn’t say a word, just turned to get in my car. Before I could open the door, his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. He slammed me against the car, trapping me. That sickly sweet rose perfume—the one he wore for her—filled my lungs, making me want to gag. Damien’s grip was like iron, his eyes blazing with a barely controlled fire. He spoke through gritted teeth. “It’s just a job! You’re giving me this attitude over a stupid job?” “I already told you, I’m just letting her play anchor for a few days to keep her happy! Once she gets bored of it, you’ll get it back!” “Do you have to drag me to the courthouse threatening divorce over every little thing?” “Clara, have you lost count of how many times you’ve pulled this? I have my limits, you know!” Our breaths mingled in the cold air, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Damien, you have the audacity to talk to me about limits?” We were childhood sweethearts, married for six years. A week ago, Damien had brought Rachel into our home. Without a word, he got on the phone with the station director, right in front of me. He announced a two-million-dollar investment in the network, with one condition. He glanced at Rachel, who was beaming with anticipation, before his heavy gaze landed on me. His words, spoken with deliberate, cruel precision, sent a shard of ice through my heart. “The condition is, Clara’s out. Rachel takes her place.” He met my look of utter disbelief and sealed my fate. His bodyguards held me down, clamping a hand over my mouth to stifle my protests. “Yeah, she knows,” he said into the phone. “She’s fine with it.” “Great. I’ll have Rachel come in tomorrow to get started. You can show her the ropes.” That day, I screamed at him. I broke everything I could get my hands on in our house. I slapped both him and Rachel across the face. “Damien! What gives you the right to make my decisions for me? I never said I wanted to quit my job!” “The right? I’m your husband! That’s my right! And this is final!” he’d roared back. “You’re out, Rachel’s in! You get to relax, she gets to try something new. It’s a win-win, isn’t it?” I screamed at them to get out. Damien wrapped a protective arm around Rachel, glaring at me with contempt. “You’re insane,” he spat. No one knows what I went through that week. Fearing I’d go to the station and cause a scene, Damien locked me in our villa. I spent my days and nights in our room, trapped in a cycle of weeping and hollow laughter. I had spent six years clawing my way up to become the lead weather anchor, the most beloved and trusted face at the network. Damien knew exactly how much I’d sacrificed for that position, how much that job meant to me. But he didn’t care. Or rather, for Rachel, sacrificing my reputation and my career was a small price to pay. After all, for Rachel’s sake, he’d once been willing to sacrifice his own child. The memory brought a fresh sting to my eyes. My tears seemed to startle him for a second, and in that moment of hesitation, I slapped him with all the strength I had left. “You don’t get to talk to me about limits!” I screamed, my voice raw. “Damien, listen to yourself! What do you mean, ‘when Rachel gets bored of it’? You sound like you’re offering me scraps! Do I need your charity? I earned that position myself!” “One slap and then a piece of candy to make it better. That’s always been your style, hasn’t it, Damien!” I shoved him away and pulled a gift bag from my car, throwing it at his feet. It was the expensive handbag he’d bought to “compensate” for my job. I hadn’t even opened it. We parted in anger. Our two cars, which once drove side-by-side, now sped off in opposite directions. Just like our marriage, an arrangement by our families, had finally shattered after years of loving and fighting. That evening, a text from Rachel summoned me to a private lounge. Through a crack in the door, I saw Damien, his arm draped around her on the central sofa, holding court with his friends. “Hey, what if Clara actually goes through with the divorce this time?” Damien just scoffed. “She loves me too much. She’d never do it for real.” From across the room, Rachel shot me a smug, triumphant glare, a silent warning to just sign the papers and disappear. I turned and walked away. Damien didn’t come home for two weeks. I didn’t care. A persistent drizzle seemed to have settled over the city. On TV, Rachel, in a smart blazer and skirt, her hair perfectly styled, was delivering the forecast in a stiff, robotic tone. “Over the next few days, a cold front will cause a significant drop in temperatures across the country. For example, in the Northeast…” Her smile was plastered on, looking unnatural. She stumbled over the more complex meteorological terms, her delivery faltering. That’s when Damien walked in. He brought the damp chill of the rain with him. He tossed a towel at me and then leaned in close, expecting me to dry his hair for him. I looked down, unmoving. Rainwater dripped from his hair onto my silk nightgown, staining the fabric dark. Seeing my expression, Damien’s mouth opened, then closed. He snatched the towel and started drying his own hair. His eyes caught the TV, and a proud grin spread across his face. “That’s Rachel’s first official broadcast. What do you think? Not bad, right?” The pride in his voice was thick and undisguised. I had no energy to play along. I simply got up and went to the bedroom. Damien followed, his gaze falling on the damp spot on my thigh. A flicker of desire ignited in his eyes. Before I could react, he pushed me onto the bed, his mouth covering mine, his kisses frantic and sloppy. “Clara… it’s been so long. Don’t you miss me?” A humorless laugh bubbled up inside me. The image of him and Rachel tangled together on the living room sofa flashed in my mind, and a wave of nausea rose in my throat. I tried to push him off, but he pinned my wrists behind my back. Our eyes locked, and I decided to wound him. “What’s wrong? Rachel’s at the office now, so there’s no one to get you off?” He was busy unbuttoning his shirt, and he just raised an eyebrow. “Why would that be a problem? I still have you, don’t I?” I never imagined he would sink this low just to spite me. As his hot breath washed over my face, I couldn’t hold it back any longer. I gagged, a dry, retching sound. Damien recoiled as if he’d been burned, his face a mask of disgust and fury. When my heaving subsided, he grabbed my face, his fingers digging into my cheeks. “You find me that repulsive? I thought you loved me. What, you can’t even pretend anymore?” A tear escaped and trailed down my cheek. He flinched and let go as if my tear was acid. I managed a small, tired smile, my heart feeling strangely calm. “I don’t love you anymore, Damien. A cheating man is like rotten food. Disgusting and foul.” His face paled. He opened his mouth to argue, but seeing the genuine sickness in my expression, he snapped it shut. “Don’t talk nonsense! God, I must owe you something in a past life! What a buzzkill!” With that, he grabbed a change of clothes and stormed into the bathroom. Fighting the bile in my throat, I went to the kitchen and downed a glass of water. The tears I’d been holding back finally broke free, blurring my vision. Damien was right. He did owe me. The weather forecast had ended. Outside, the rain was coming down harder, drumming a relentless rhythm against the windows. My phone buzzed. It was a string of texts from Rachel. She sent me screenshots of large money transfers from Damien, peppered with his complaints about me. “I can’t stand her anymore. That long face all day, like I owe her the world.” “She has zero passion! Every time things get good, she pours cold water on it. It’s boring!” “Are you off work yet? Get changed. I’m coming over.” Then, a voice message. Rachel’s voice, sickly sweet and mocking. “Did you watch my show, Clara? It was my big debut! Damien said I was so much better than you! He sent me five hundred thousand dollars to go shopping for luxury bags!” “Oh, and Damien told me you’re all upset about losing your job? I just wanted to tell you not to be so angry, sister. Stress causes wrinkles! And you’re already twenty-six… you can’t compete with a twenty-year-old girl like me.” I closed my eyes. I was used to Rachel’s provocations. But this time, I was done enduring. I opened my eyes and pulled up the chat with my brother, Liam. A year ago, he had sent me an application for an internal transfer to a lead position at NBN, the national network. But back then, I still wanted to give my marriage one last chance, so I’d turned him down. Now, that hope was gone. Utterly extinguished. I had given Damien and me three chances. My job, my child, my dignity. He had taken them all. My love for him had been bled dry. I typed: “Brother, that application you sent me last year… is it too late to submit it?” He replied almost instantly. “It’s not too late.” A pause, then: “Have you… figured things out?” I wiped the tears from my face. “Yes. I’ve figured it out.” “…And that other thing I asked you about… have you thought about it?” I held my breath. After a long moment, I heard my own voice, barely a whisper as I typed the words. “Yes. I’ve thought about it… and I accept… Liam.” Though Liam was adopted, our father, before he passed, had always hoped he would become his son-in-law. I knew if my parents were still alive, they would approve of my decision. As for Damien and me, it was time to cut the cord. Our love, our marriage—it all ends here. When Damien came out of the shower, he didn’t say a word. He just grabbed his coat and left. He moved in with Rachel after that, and for the next ten days, she bombarded me with photos of their happy life together. On the day the divorce was to be finalized, I didn’t show up. I was on a plane, and I fell asleep and dreamt. I dreamt of a time before everything soured between us. Our marriage may have been arranged by our families, but for the first three years, we were good to each other. We respected one another. And the most important thing was, I loved him. We grew up together. From the moment I understood what a crush was, it was him. That was why I never fought the arranged marriage. Damien, on the other hand, had resisted fiercely. He’d pleaded with me to join him in refusing the union. But out of my own selfish love, I hadn’t. Then, one day, he just… accepted it. In the beginning, our marriage was polite, like two roommates sharing a life. But over time, I started to believe he was falling for me, too. He’d bring me little surprises every day—a bouquet of flowers, my favorite dessert. He’d hold me tight every night as we fell asleep. I remember once, someone left a comment on the station’s website asking for my contact information. Damien was so consumed with jealousy he kept me in bed for an entire week. He clung to me like a lost puppy, begging me not to look at any other man. He even carried me to the bathroom. That was the fourth year of our marriage. Then, I heard from our families that his first love, his high school sweetheart, had gotten married and had a child. And that’s when Rachel appeared. She had the same innocent, pure look as his first love. It was around that time that Damien found the notes app on my phone. It was filled with years of my secret feelings for him, from my teenage diary entries to my thoughts after we were married. And Damien… he snapped. He became convinced that I had conspired with our families to drive his first love away. The truth was, I never even knew he had a girlfriend. I had no idea he was in love with someone else. But he wouldn’t listen. From that day on, he made it his mission to hurt me. The first year Rachel was in the picture, she was exposed as a homewrecker. The scandal was everywhere. Despite photos, videos, irrefutable proof, Damien forced me to go on record and clear her name. Because of that, the public labeled me a “doormat,” a “pathetic wife.” The ratings for my segments plummeted. The second year, by some accident, I got pregnant. Rachel threw tantrums, staged dramatic goodbyes. Damien’s heart softened. It reminded him of being forced to leave his first love. In a moment of cruel vengeance, he forced me to take pills that would induce a miscarriage. My health was already fragile; the doctor had told me the pregnancy was high-risk. The potent dose sent my body into shock. I was bleeding uncontrollably. Damien just stood there, watching the life drain out of me, a crimson flower blooming on the floor beneath me. His voice was laced with poison. “Does it hurt? When she and I were forced apart, it hurt a thousand times more than this! A million times!” “You’re such a good actress, Clara. No wonder you never fought the marriage.” “You’re pathetic. You owe me this. Now suffer.” I passed out from the pain. Only then did he show a sliver of mercy and take me to the hospital. The doctor said if he’d waited any longer, I would have died. And the third year, this year, he took my job. … I didn’t see the two missed calls until I landed that night. They were from Damien. I opened his voice message, and a sneering, sarcastic voice filled the air.

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1 My BBQ joint, “The Corn-Fired Grill,” uses dried corn kernels for fuel. It’s cleaner than charcoal and more sustainable. Until today, when a young girl showed up and, through a flood of tears, threatened to report us. “I’m a farmer’s daughter! The one thing I can’t stand is people wasting food!” “When crop prices are low, farmers starve! You’re all just vile capitalists!” she declared, her face set in a look of fierce determination. I nodded, apologized immediately, and promised I would no longer buy corn from her town. Then I went to the next town over. But this year, the rains came and didn’t stop. When all the corn in her town rotted in the fields, unsold, the farmers came knocking, asking why I hadn’t come to buy their harvest. … The girl showed up on a busy night, the restaurant packed. She was sobbing as if she’d suffered a terrible injustice. At first, seeing how young she was, I tried to explain. “Listen, sweetie, corn doesn’t have to be eaten to be useful.” Before opening, I’d done my homework. Using corn as fuel wasn’t a whim. Only a small fraction of all corn grown is for human consumption; the rest is used for animal feed or industrial purposes. You can ferment it into ethanol and put it in your car’s gas tank. Why couldn’t I put it in a furnace? I thought a little education would clear things up. But she only cried harder, her lip trembling. “I don’t wanna hear it! Corn is cheaper than charcoal, so you’re just doing this to make more money!” “There’s no such thing as an honest businessman! You can’t talk your way out of being a heartless monster!” I had to explain again. “You’re right, using corn is more cost-effective. But I buy all my corn at market price from local farmers. Whether it’s old, stale, or just won’t sell, I take it all. This is corn that’s so dry and hard, it’s been sitting in silos for years. No one would ever eat it. Normally, it would just rot. Now, they get extra income, and I save on costs. It’s a win-win.” Wasting food isn’t about how it’s used; it’s about failing to realize its value. A customer at a nearby table chimed in. “The farmers are happy, the owner’s happy. What’s it to you?” Seeing she had no allies, the girl’s face flushed with anger. She stormed into the grill and grabbed a carton of eggs. Then, she started throwing them. Everywhere. Slimy, disgusting streaks of yolk ran down the walls. Splatters hit other customers, the raw, fishy smell clinging to their clothes. She acted as if she were a revolutionary, holding an egg aloft like a banner. “You’re not burning corn! You’re burning the sweat of our farmers!” she screamed. “A farmer’s daughter will not allow this!” Unbelievable. She was accusing me of waste, claiming to be a voice for the farmers. Yet, in less than a minute, she had smashed over twenty eggs. Who was the one being wasteful now? Who was speaking for the poor hens that worked so hard to lay those eggs? Her tantrum spent, she straightened her shoulders and marched out, wrapped in a shroud of self-righteousness. I wanted to chase after her, but the restaurant was in chaos. Customers were leaving in droves, complaining that this random disaster was worse than finding a hair in their food. I had no choice but to stay and manage the fallout. I promised everyone their meal was on the house and that I’d cover their dry-cleaning bills. As for the girl, from the look of her clothes, her family didn’t have much. Even if I caught her, she wouldn’t be able to pay for the damages. I let it go. In business, you have to pick your battles. The world is full of fools; I’d just have to count this as a lesson. The next day, I opened up as usual, only to be ambushed by a pack of reporters shoving cameras in my face. “Do you have a response to the allegations online?” That’s how I found out I’d gone viral. Someone had posted a video exposing my “wasteful” use of corn. But it didn’t stop there. The video spun a vile rumor. “A woman owning a business? She must have slept her way to the top.” “I bet some sugar daddy paid for this whole place.” At first, people were skeptical. Then the original poster dropped a photo of me in the comments. In the picture, there was a sticky, white puddle in the middle of my skirt. Paired with the suggestive captions, it was designed to make people’s minds go straight to the gutter. The comments section exploded with filth. “Pop quiz: If she’s using the kernels for fuel, what do you think she’s using the cobs for?” “Now we know the real reason she’s buying all that corn.” I laughed, a bitter, angry sound, and clicked on the poster’s profile. Dozens of selfie videos confirmed it. It was her. I sent her a private message. “You know exactly where that picture came from.” It was just egg yolk from when she’d pelted me last night. I thought she was just having a meltdown, but this was a different level of vicious. And from another woman, no less. She didn’t even bother denying it. Her reply was instant. “Hehe, a farmer’s daughter has to defend her crops!” I told her what she was doing was illegal. Slander. She didn’t care. She just kept repeating the same childish taunt. “Aww, did I strike a nerve? U mad?” Fine. Let the video ferment. Once it crossed the viewership threshold for criminal charges, we’d see who was really mad. Thanks to the online mob, not a single customer came in all day. Instead, I got a visit from the police, the fire marshal, and the health department. It turned out the girl had filed a full suite of complaints against me, a tactic she’d learned online. My conscience was clear. I told them to inspect whatever they wanted. I wasn’t worried about that. But one thing bothered me. Why was she so obsessed with me? If she was truly outraged about using corn as fuel, my grill wasn’t the only one doing it. Her actions were clearly meant to destroy me, personally. I couldn’t think of any time I might have crossed her. What could she possibly gain from all this? Something wasn’t right. The grill was forced to close pending the inspections. With the unexpected free time, I decided to drive out to the countryside and sign my contracts for the fall harvest. I’d made a promise to support the local farmers, and I wouldn’t back out, even if my restaurant stayed closed for the rest of the year. The drive out was rough. Recent rains had turned the country roads into a muddy mess, and my car bounced and slid the whole way. When I arrived, I had to wait a long time before the town’s mayor, an old man named Hemlock, finally came out to see me. He looked sour. I remembered my first year buying from them. The whole town had thanked me with tears in their eyes. They said I had saved them, giving them enough money to have a proper holiday season. Seeing their joyful faces was what made me decide to come back every year. “Sarah. You’re here again,” Mayor Hemlock said, sitting down and taking a sip of tea. Maybe he was just having a bad day. I didn’t let his attitude bother me. I wasn’t doing this for thanks. I handed him the contract. “Same as last year. You know the drill.” He didn’t take it. He set his teacup down with a deliberate clink. “I’ve been thinking. This one-dollar-a-pound rate… feels a little low, don’t it? The cheapest charcoal is four dollars a pound. Why shouldn’t you give us that three-dollar difference?” He looked at me with narrowed eyes. “We’re simple country folk, Sarah. We don’t take kindly to being cheated.” This was bizarre. Suddenly everyone was an expert on my corn procurement. “Mayor, you’re misunderstanding,” I said calmly. “First, the contract clearly states that I’m buying your low-grade, unsellable corn. The market price for that is fifty cents a pound. I’m offering double that. Second, I have to cover all the transportation costs myself. When you factor that in, my total expense is about the same as buying charcoal.” The town was tucked away in the hills. A single trip for a truckload of corn cost me thousands in gas alone, not to mention the time and effort. That’s why no other buyers ever came out here. It’s why, for years, their corn sold for pennies on the dollar, if it sold at all. Most of it just sat in their barns and rotted. And there was another thing. I’d noticed they liked to mix small rocks into the corn sacks to add weight. I figured they were just trying to make ends meet, so I always turned a blind eye. I never called them on it. The mayor seemed to waver, maybe convinced by my logic, or maybe just remembering how desperate things were a few years ago. He sighed and finally decided to sign. “Ah, fine. Take your profits, then.” His words stung. He made it sound like I was begging him. I wanted to just get up and leave. But I thought of the other families in the village who were counting on this, so I swallowed my pride. The mayor put on his reading glasses and scrutinized the contract, reading it over and over. Finally, just as he was about to put pen to paper, a hand shot out and knocked the pen from his grasp. “Mayor! She’s ripping you off! Don’t sign it!” I looked up. It was the girl from my restaurant. “I went to the city and did my research,” she announced. “This woman is sucking our blood, paying a dollar a pound for our corn!” “Do you know how much a corn tart costs in the city? Eighteen dollars! She can make three tarts from a single ear of corn that she buys from us for pennies!” The girl’s name was Jenna, and this was her hometown. She puffed out her chest and launched into her grand vision. “I’ve already figured it out. We’ll all pool our money and open our own dessert shop in the city. We’ll process the corn ourselves and sell it at a huge markup! We’ll make a thousand times more than we would selling to this crook!” I almost burst out laughing. So that was it. She wasn’t mad that I was “wasting” their corn; she was mad that I was buying it at all, getting in the way of her get-rich-quick scheme. All that righteous talk was just a cover. But what she didn’t seem to realize was that gourmet products like corn tarts and corn bread are made from premium, sweet corn. This village, with its poor, alkaline soil, could never produce that kind of quality. Besides, fad foods like corn tarts were already past their peak. The novelty had worn off, and no one was paying those inflated prices anymore. But Jenna was lost in her own fantasy business empire. “Mayor! We have to keep this wealth in our community!” she urged. “We just need to raise fifty thousand dollars to open the shop. I promise, I’ll make this whole town rich! We won’t have to bow to greedy capitalists ever again!” Fifty thousand dollars. Split among the families in town, that was a couple of thousand each. For most of them, that was a huge chunk of their annual income. But the mayor didn’t even hesitate. He agreed on the spot and called a town meeting. Everyone was dazzled by the potential profits, scrambling to invest. They turned to me, their faces twisted with indignation. “You witch! Preying on honest farmers! You’ve been getting rich off us for years, haven’t you!” “She knew one ear of corn could be worth fifty bucks, and she cheated us because she thinks we’re all uneducated hicks!” As they worked themselves into a frenzy, someone’s eyes turned red with rage. He grabbed a nearby sickle and swung it at me. Before I could react, a sharp pain seared across my arm. Then another. This wasn’t just about business anymore. They were attacking me. I had tried to do something good, never asking for anything in return, and this was how they repaid me. My consideration, my turning a blind eye to their petty cheating, it was all a joke. I saw another blade coming down. There was no time to dodge. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact. The pain never came. Someone had grabbed the man’s wrist, stopping the blade inches from my face. “Assault with a deadly weapon is a felony! I’ve already called the police!” The word “police” sobered the mob. They shuffled back, suddenly timid. My rescuer was a man named Miller. He was from a neighboring town. He had approached me before, asking if I could buy their surplus corn too, but my grill’s demand was limited. I’d had to turn him down. He was just passing through today and saw that my deal had fallen through. He made his offer again. “If they don’t want to sell, we do!” But after being betrayed like this, I was hesitant to get involved again. “Don’t worry,” he said, seeing the look on my face. “We’re not like them. We’re not ungrateful.” “We know our corn isn’t top quality. We’ll take whatever you think is a fair price. And we’ll split the transportation costs with you, fifty-fifty.” Hearing this, Jenna scoffed. “A low price? Fifty cents a pound? Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how much that’s worth once it’s processed? You should invest with me.” Mr. Miller just shook his head. “We’re not looking to get rich quick. We just want an honest, steady income.” I thought it over. His offer was more than fair. I wasn’t the type to let one bad experience scare me off forever. If he was sincere, I was willing to give his town a chance. I drew up a new contract and signed it with him right there. “I’ll be back with the trucks after the harvest.” Jenna watched the whole exchange, her laughter growing louder and more mocking. “Fine, fine. Have it your way. Throw your lot in with the crook. But when you see us rolling in cash, don’t come crawling back, begging for a piece of the pie.” As I got in my car, I took one last look at her.

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On the eve of my wedding, my best friend, Stella, told me she was getting me a huge wedding gift. To afford it, she was swamped with gigs, working herself to the bone. My fiancé, Ethan, was getting busier too. Our dates were constantly cut short by last-minute work emergencies. I didn’t think much of it at first. Not until one late night, scrolling through my feed, I saw a clip Stella had posted of her gig at a downtown bar. The camera panned across the audience, and a silhouette of a man, head bent to light a cigarette, made my fingertips go cold. Ethan. He was wearing the limited-edition shirt I’d bought him, his face a sharp, painful silhouette in the hazy, colored lights. When I asked him about it, he just said, “I was entertaining clients. The meeting happened to be there.” Stella, who was with us, chimed in with a laugh. “Yeah, Vivi, your man is a real rainmaker for the bar. He brings in a ton of business.” They played off each other perfectly, their reasonable explanations deflecting all my doubts. I even started to question myself. Was it just pre-wedding jitters making me paranoid and jealous? Then, the day before the wedding, a local clip popped up on my feed. And the last shred of hope I was clinging to vanished. 1 In a dimly lit alley, a man had a woman pinned against the wall, kissing her deeply. He was tall and well-built in a sharp suit; she was all curves in a wine-red minidress. They looked like they were made for each other. The comments section exploded. “The chemistry is off the charts!” someone wrote. The top comment read: “This tension is clearer than my life plan!” A reply below it said: “You can just feel the history there, that push and pull between two people who know exactly what they’re doing. They should cast them in the next big romance drama.” You couldn’t see their faces clearly in the video, but the glint of crushed diamonds on the man’s watch face was a knife in my eye. It was the watch I’d given Ethan for our fifth anniversary. And the woman he was kissing? Dangling from her purse was a little rabbit charm, one with a single red rose tucked behind its ear. A birthday gift I had hand-knitted for my best friend, Stella. In that single, soul-crushing moment, my twelve years of friendship with Stella and my eight years of love with Ethan turned to ash. Twelve years ago, I had run away from home with nothing but my ID. It was Stella who supported me through college, Stella who stood up for me when I was bullied. She’d used the same phone for three years but gave me the latest model she’d won without a second thought. She had even helped me get with Ethan in the first place. I would have done anything for Stella, just as she had for me. I would have emptied my own pockets to give her the world. If she and Ethan had just told me they had feelings for each other, I would have stepped aside. I would have let them be happy. But why did they have to play me for a fool? Was the thrill of a secret affair just too good to pass up? I wiped the tears from my face and pulled up Stella’s profile. When I was a broke, recent graduate, she was already a well-known singer on the local circuit. Every time she posted a video or an update, she’d tell me to like and comment, and she’d pin my comment to drive traffic to my page, helping me build my career as an illustrator. Once my commissions started rolling in, she stopped linking our profiles together. Her last post was from a bar event three days ago. The video was shaky, but aside from her on stage, the frame captured a man in a white shirt on the right, only his forearm visible. I didn’t need to look closely to know. It was Ethan’s arm. Three days ago, Ethan had told me a shipment at work had run into problems. He had to work late. How convenient. One minute he was “working,” the next he was at her gig, staying out all night. September 11th. Ethan was “working late” again. But in the reflection of the TV in Stella’s video, I could see his silhouette. They were in a hotel room, and in the heat of the moment, they were still wearing the matching watches we’d bought as a couple. September 1st. The bar owner opened a new branch out of town, and Stella went to perform for the opening week. Ethan went on a “business trip” for five days. He came back with a small bandage on his temple and scraped knuckles that hadn’t quite healed. He said he’d seen a drunk harassing a girl and had gotten into a fight. Today, Ethan was “working late” again. I started to laugh through my tears, then cry through my laughter. The past and the present collided in my mind, a brutal, chaotic crash. I wanted to believe I was delusional, that I was inventing all of this, anything but face the truth. We were supposed to get married tomorrow. My wedding dress was hanging in the closet. The hair and makeup artists were scheduled to arrive in eight hours. The bouquet was sitting perfectly on my vanity. I had even practiced the bouquet toss eight hundred times, determined to make sure Stella would be the one to catch it. Everything was ruined. They say that after you shatter, you become colder, more rational than ever before. I opened my laptop and started drafting an email to cancel the wedding, but my eyes kept drifting to my phone. Should I call them? Demand an explanation? Listen to them spin more lies until they were cornered, then finally admit their sordid little secret, only to turn it all around and blame me? Just then, my phone screen lit up. A notification from our shared credit card. I tapped it open. A charge from a hotel. The suite they’d booked, at $11,888 a night, was the hotel’s luxury romance suite. The only time Ethan and I had been there was the night he proposed. He really knew how to spare no expense. The thought of ending things with dignity flickered in my mind for a split second before being incinerated by a blaze of pure rage. I wasn’t one to just let things go. They did this to me. And I was going to make them pay. 2 I deleted the email draft and walked into my studio. If they were so in love, then fine. I would give them my blessing. A stack of unused invitation jackets, nearly half the original order, sat in the corner. I found a template online, typed in the guest names, and printed out a thick new stack. It was far less work than the ones I had painstakingly designed and painted by hand. As I slipped the new inserts into the beautiful outer shells, a sharp pain twisted in my stomach. The names on the paper blurred. It was love at first sight for me with Ethan. He was on stage in a crisp white shirt and silver-rimmed glasses, giving the freshman welcome speech. His voice was calm and steady, and he had this cool, untouchable vibe that just made you want to be the one to break through it. The line of people trying to win him over stretched from the main hall to two miles off campus, from high school girls who’d known him before to seniors about to graduate. I was just another face in the crowd, completely unnoticeable. My art program was so demanding that I spent twice as much time as anyone else on coursework, leaving me no time to engineer a “chance encounter.” I could only follow his life through campus forums. But you can’t hide a crush from your best friend. The day after Stella found out, she cornered Ethan in an alley near campus as he was heading back from his tutoring job. With a lollipop sticking out of the corner of her mouth, she had this cocky, playful swagger. “My girl here wants to get to know you,” she’d said. “Give her your number?” Ethan’s gaze landed on me, and he let out a resigned sigh. My hand was trembling as I scanned his code to add him. He held his phone out for me, then turned his arm towards Stella. “What about you?” Stella just shoved me forward slightly and sauntered away. “Don’t have a phone.” When did they exchange numbers? I sealed the last invitation, clutching my stomach as I curled over the desk, the pain intensifying. Every single moment Ethan and Stella had shared replayed in my mind. The way he’d tilt his head when she laughed, how he’d play along with her jokes, go shot for shot with her at the bar, and drive her home. And I, like a fool, thought it was just him being kind to my best friend for my sake. Once the pain subsided, I grabbed my wedding dress and took a cab to the hotel where the ceremony was supposed to take place. That wedding was my dream, the culmination of all my fantasies. I’d spent a year and a half designing every detail, overseeing every vendor, crafting a perfect moment. Ethan hated all that stuff, and I never asked him to get involved, only consulting him on the invitations and the wedding favors. Now, I was about to tear that dream down with my own two hands and face the ugly reality. I had all the photos of us taken down, leaving only our names at the entrance, stark and bare. I whispered his name, “Ethan,” and felt the knot of rage in my chest begin to loosen. But as much as I hated Ethan, I hated Stella more. 3 The way Stella and I met was a total cliché. As a quiet, average student with parents who couldn’t care less about me, I was practically invisible at school. People like me are easy targets for bullies. But I got lucky. The very first time I was cornered in an alley, Stella was there. She was two years older than me and had stopped school after vocational high. Her family was a pack of leeches, so she’d moved to the city and started working as a hostess at a shady bar, hustling drinks from sleazy customers. The day I met her, she’d just been kicked out by her manager to “cool off” after telling off a customer. She chased away the girls who were bullying me. She was so stunningly beautiful that I couldn’t help but stare. A cigarette dangled from her lips. “Hey,” she said, smoke curling around her face. “Go home. What are you gawking at?” I have asthma. The smoke was fine from a distance, but as soon as she got close, my chest seized up. I collapsed, struggling to breathe. I kept pointing frantically at my backpack, where my inhaler was. But Stella, bless her heart, was an idiot. She didn’t understand and started performing some clumsy version of CPR that nearly broke my ribs. One emergency surgery later, my medical bills had wiped out Stella’s entire savings. My parents weren’t around, and there was no cash at home. Luckily, Stella wasn’t expecting me to pay her back. She just muttered something about her bad luck and left the hospital. From that day on, I was determined to repay her. A few thousand dollars—I could earn it back over time. I started making a point to walk by that alley every single day, just hoping to see her. At first, it was hit or miss. Then, she started waiting for me. And soon after that, she’d always have a small cupcake or a piece of pastry for me. Just like that, Stella became my protector, and I became her loyal sidekick. No one at school ever dared to mess with me again. Stella was always watching her figure, so she never ate any of the treats. All the “protection money” I offered her seemed to end up in my own stomach. We were like that for a year. Then, my parents came home. 4 They demanded I cut ties with “the wrong crowd,” or they’d pull me out of school and make me get a job. I refused. I packed a bag, and at seventeen years old, I ran away from home. I didn’t have an umbrella and got caught in a downpour, ending up completely soaked. Stella called me an idiot, yelling at me for fighting with my parents. I just smiled like a fool and said, “Stella, you’re the best person to me in the whole world.” And it turned out, I was right. She quit smoking because the smell triggered my asthma, and she’d change her clothes before meeting me. She gave up spicy food because I couldn’t eat it, sneaking out at 2 a.m. to get her fix at a barbecue stand. Little things like that, too many to count. She covered our rent, the utilities, our living expenses, and my tuition. I wanted to drop out and get a job to ease her burden, but she tore into me, unleashing a torrent of words so harsh I’d never heard her speak that way. And in her anger, she was putting herself down. “Vivian,” she’d snarled, “do you want to end up like me? Having people point at you and call you a slut behind your back?” I didn’t. “Don’t worry,” she’d said, her voice softening just a little. “I can take care of you.” I remember her expression, the sound of her voice, so clearly. I had long since come to see her as the closest family I had. My stomach churned, and a wave of nausea washed over me. How did we end up here? I spent the entire night on the top floor of the hotel, just sitting. The first hint of light reflected off the polished floor. I pulled back the curtains and saw the sky was already bright. In the ballroom next to ours, the family of another couple was bustling around, checking the decorations, their faces beaming with joy as they prepared for their children’s big day. I looked down at my own shadow. I was used to being abandoned, to being given up on. Being alone wasn’t so lonely after all. At nine o’clock, the wedding cars pulled up to the hotel entrance. The other bride, the one getting married on the same day as me, was surrounded by her loved ones, walking towards her future, towards happiness. I glanced in the direction the cars had come from and saw him, tucked away in a corner. Ethan. He was chain-smoking in the shadows, one cigarette after another, until another hand snatched the last one from his lips. Stella ground the cigarette out with her high heel. She slapped him across the face, her voice sharp and unforgiving. “Ethan, don’t you dare make me lose respect for you.” 5 Like a guilty child, Ethan grabbed her arm. “Don’t go. I just want a little more time with you.” They clung to each other, a desperate, intimate embrace, as if trying to fuse their bodies into one. It made me look like the villain who was tearing them apart. A laugh escaped my lips. I had been so considerate of his demanding job, cutting out most of the tedious wedding formalities. All he had to do was show up, say his vows, exchange rings, and let our friends and family witness our happiness. I never imagined he’d use that free time to whisper sweet nothings to another woman. I waited for them to slip inside the wedding hall. Then, without another moment of hesitation, I turned and went downstairs. Just as I’d instructed, a large trash bin was placed by the entrance where they had just been. Next to it was a box of new invitations. On every single one, the name “Vivian” had been replaced with “Stella.” Knowing them, they were probably holed up backstage, whispering their tragic confessions to each other. There was no way they’d come back out. The thought brought a sliver of satisfaction. Vengeance really was the best therapy. The staff followed my orders, collecting the original invitations from the arriving guests, tossing them into the trash to be destroyed, and handing out the new ones from the box. A confused murmur rippled through the venue. Ethan’s face was a mask of thunder. He had no idea what was happening; he was just an unwilling star in a show he didn’t want to be in. That’s fine. I was about to make it a day he would never forget. The time had come. The lights dimmed. I stood at the podium where the officiant should have been, dressed in my pure white wedding gown, and raised the microphone to my lips. As Ethan and Stella stared at me in horror, I began. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming. Welcome to the wedding of Ethan Blackwood and Stella Monroe.” A spotlight hit Stella. She looked as if she’d been expecting it, a bitter smile gracing her lips. “Vivi…” Ethan snapped out of his shock and lunged for my microphone. “Vivian! This isn’t funny! Stop it!” I pulled out a second microphone. My voice dripped with sarcasm. “Let’s take a walk through their incredible love story and witness their beautiful romance.” Stella grabbed my wrist, her eyes pleading. “Vivian! You—” The massive screen behind us lit up with the photo of them kissing in the alley, followed by the unedited video of their embrace just moments ago. Ethan froze. In a split second, his shock turned to rage. “That’s photoshopped! You’re lying!” I smirked. “Let us all wish them a lifetime of happiness together!” Ethan scrambled to do damage control. “Everyone, I am so sorry. My fiancée… she’s been under a lot of creative pressure lately. She’s not… well.” The grip on my wrist loosened. I pushed the microphone into Stella’s hand and whispered, my voice for her ears only, “Stella. We’re done.” Not plastering this all over the internet and destroying everything she had was the last act of mercy I would ever show her. As for Ethan… I’d invited his managing director and his wife. If I played my cards right, his career was over. Stella’s expression was a storm of conflicting emotions. “Vivi, I’m so sorry.” Then, her tightly clenched fist opened. A single piece of paper fluttered from her palm, drifting on the air and landing at the feet of a guest in the front row. She raised the microphone and looked directly at Ethan. “I’ll tell you what that is,” she announced, her voice ringing through the silent hall. “It’s an invoice for an abortion!”

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For my mom’s birthday, I bought her a sports car. That night, I overheard the housekeeper complaining to my boyfriend. “It’s my birthday today, too, but she only gets a gift for her mom, not me. When you two are married, you can’t let her keep funneling money to her family like that!” The driver chimed in, “Exactly! What’s an old broad like her need a car like that for? She should’ve given it to me! Son, you should just get her pregnant sooner rather than later!” But I remembered my boyfriend telling me he was an orphan, that he would love and cherish my mother as his own. The next day, I watched on the security camera as he swapped my daily vitamins for folic acid. 01 My mom has a thing for fast cars, so for her birthday, I got her a custom sports car. Before I could even say anything, our housekeeper, Brenda, jumped in, her eyes wide with disapproval. “Valerie, why would you buy a car like this! It’s all flash, completely impractical. You should return it before it’s even been driven. Don’t waste your money!” The celebratory mood instantly evaporated. Everyone else went quiet. But Brenda didn’t seem to notice. She snatched my phone off the table and shoved it into my hand. “Well, what are you waiting for? Call them! What if they won’t take it back later? You young people just know how to spend, you have no idea how to be frugal!” My expression soured. Anyone would be furious if a housekeeper overstepped her bounds and trashed a gift you’d carefully chosen for your mother. But it was a special day, and I didn’t want to upset my mom. I simply slipped my phone into my purse. “Mom, here are the keys. Go ahead, take it for a spin. See if you like it.” My mom, bless her, played along and got into the car. Only then did I turn to face Brenda’s face, which was as dark as thunder. I was about to lay into her when Rick, our driver, staggered over, reeking of alcohol, his face flushed red. I glanced at the table and saw that the bottle of expensive wine I’d bought specifically for the celebration was already open, more than half of it gone. Rick waved his hand dismissively, acting more like the lord of the manor than I did. “Valerie, Brenda didn’t mean it like that. She only says these things because she sees you as family. But she’s got a point. A big purchase like a car, that’s something a man should have the final say on. Did you even discuss it with Jason?” Jason was my boyfriend. But it was my money that paid for the car, and my name, Valerie Hayes, on the paychecks that paid their salaries. I don’t pay people to walk all over me. “That’s enough!” I cut him off, my brow furrowed. “It’s my money, and I’ll spend it how I please. Brenda, you should stick to your duties as a housekeeper and not cross the line. And Rick, you’re a driver. Should you be drinking on the job? And for that matter, that was my bottle of wine. Did you have permission to open it? If this happens again, you’ll be paying for it in full!” I lowered my voice, but my tone was steel. “Today is my mother’s birthday. If anyone else forgets their place, they can leave immediately.” I’ve always been generous, paying top-tier salaries with excellent benefits. At my words, the rest of the staff nodded in agreement. Only Brenda and Rick stood frozen, their faces burning with humiliation. I knew I’d wounded their pride, but if I didn’t put my foot down now, they’d inspire the others to act the same way. Just then, my mom returned from her test drive, beaming. “Thank you, sweetie. I absolutely love it! Let’s go inside and eat, I’m starving.” She gently took my arm, completely ignoring the two statues standing by the car. My mom is sharp; she knew exactly what I was doing, but she always respected my decisions, whether at home or in the office. After that incident, Brenda served the dinner quietly, a stark contrast to her usual chatty self. The expensive wine was replaced with a bottle from our own cellar. The only sounds were the soft clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation between my mom and me. “Valerie, Mrs. Hayes, sorry I’m late.” My boyfriend, Jason, arrived, presenting my mom with a gift and a bouquet of flowers before sliding into the seat next to me. Jason came from a poor background. He was an orphan, he’d told me, but he never let it define him. We’d been classmates since middle school. I wanted to help him, so he often came over to my house to eat and do homework. Our relationship had blossomed naturally from there. “Not at all, dear. Sit down, have some soup. Work has been crazy lately, hasn’t it?” Mom adored Jason, and had long since considered him part of the family. Jason accepted a bowl of soup from Brenda and immediately noticed her strange mood. “Brenda, is everything alright? If you need help with anything, just let me know. I’ll do what I can.” That was Jason. Kind, warm, and able to get along with everyone. Brenda shook her head, but her eyes were red-rimmed, and her voice trembled with a sob. She glanced at my mom, then at me, looking for all the world like she was the victim. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Jason. I’m fine.” I frowned inwardly. She was done at the end of the month. A housekeeper overstepping because she “feels like family” is one thing; I can give a warning for that. But I would not tolerate someone who actively tried to stir up trouble in my home. At the same time, I was watching Jason’s reaction. “Is something wrong at home?” he asked gently. “If so, you can take a couple of days off. Work is important, but so is your life outside of it.” He took a few sips of soup, then seemed to have a sudden realization. He cut a large slice from the birthday cake on the table and handed it to Brenda. “I just remembered, it’s your birthday today too, isn’t it? Happy birthday.” I had baked that cake for my mom myself. It was decorated with all her favorite fruits. Giving a piece away wasn’t the issue. The issue was that my mom hadn’t even sung “Happy Birthday” or made a wish, and the cake was already carved up, its perfect shape ruined. “Oh, my! You shouldn’t have! Thank you so much, Mr. Jason. I’ve never had such a fine cake before!” Brenda had been there the whole time. She knew the cake had just been brought out. But instead of asking my mom or me, she accepted it from Jason with beaming gratitude. The unease in my gut tightened into a hard knot. I could barely contain my anger. My mom gently patted my hand. “Take the whole thing, Brenda. I’m trying to watch my figure anyway. Valerie and I will just bake another one in a few days. It’ll be even better for the good luck.” “Oh, that would be wonderful! In that case, I will. Thank you, Ma’am. Thank you, Miss Valerie.” I thought that was the end of it. Next month, Brenda would be gone. But when I woke up in the middle of the night for a glass of water, I saw a light on in the kitchen as I reached the top of the stairs. Brenda’s voice, sharp and clear, drifted up to me. “Did you see that! How much do you think that sports car cost? It’s just a birthday! Does she have to be so wasteful?” So, I had let it slide, and she was still gossiping behind my back? I was about to storm down and fire her on the spot when her shrill, venomous voice cut through the air again. “It’s my birthday today, too, and what do I get? A slice of cake? What am I, a beggar? I don’t care! When you two are married, you can’t let her keep funneling money to her family like that!” Rick, the driver, chimed in. “That spendthrift. She’s just like her mother, wasting money.” “What’s an old broad like her need a car like that for? She should’ve given it to me! Son, you should just get her pregnant sooner rather than later!” A tidal wave of shock crashed over me. We always had a rotation of live-in staff. Brenda being here was normal, but why was Rick still in the house? And what did he mean, son? What did he mean, get her pregnant? A sickening thought swirled in my mind, and as if to confirm my worst fears, a familiar, gentle male voice sent an icy dread washing over me, plunging me into an abyss. “I’m already planning the proposal. It’s just a matter of time. Don’t rush it.” Jason’s last name was Miller. Brenda’s was Miller. Rick’s was Miller. I had never connected them. Rick was so overbearing and patronizing; I couldn’t imagine him letting his son take his wife’s name. But now that I knew, all the little things that had seemed slightly off suddenly clicked into place. No wonder. No wonder Brenda and Rick knew all our likes and dislikes from the moment they started. I thought it was just professional experience. It turned out someone had been feeding them information. No wonder Brenda played the victim in front of Jason. She was complaining to her own son. My face must have been a mask of horror. My hand tightened around the water glass until my knuckles were white. I knew Jason was secretly planning to propose. I’d been pretending not to know to avoid ruining the surprise. But it wasn’t a surprise. It was a conspiracy. “What if she says no?” Rick’s voice was a cold hiss, like a snake coiling around my feet. “Hmph. I think we need a backup plan. If she’s pregnant, she’ll have to marry you.” “Mm, I know,” Jason replied. Hearing his answer, my heart sank to the floor. After all these years, I thought I knew him. But now, all our sweet memories felt like slaps across my face. He wasn’t an orphan. He had smuggled his own parents into my home, right under my nose. If he told me he didn’t have an ulterior motive, I wouldn’t believe him for a second. Taking a deep breath, I crept back to my room. I would see. I would see if he would actually do it. If this was just him placating his parents, I could give him a chance to come clean. But if he really went through with it… then I would have to assume he had approached me with malicious intent from the very beginning. And I would show him no mercy. The next morning, Brenda was all smiles, as if yesterday’s confrontation had never happened. “Valerie, come eat! I’m telling you, a girl can’t be too skinny. It’s not good for having children later on!” I sat down but didn’t touch the food. I have a habit of working out on an empty stomach. Brenda had never commented on it before. Was she already playing the part of my mother-in-law, now that she thought my marriage to Jason was a done deal? “Brenda, your employment is terminated at the end of the month. I’ll pay your salary and severance according to the contract.” “On what grounds!” she shrieked, the flesh on her face trembling. “Is-is it because of yesterday? I won’t do it again, I swear! Please, just give me one more chance!” I shook my head, easily seeing the hatred simmering beneath her pleas. “Employment is a two-way street. After this period, I’ve concluded that you are not a good fit for our household. I will be hiring someone new next month. This is a notification, not a negotiation.” With that, I left the dining room and headed out for my morning run. Once I was a safe distance away, I pulled out my phone. We’ve always had security cameras in the house. Only my mom and I knew about them. With staff always around, we’d never had a reason to check the footage. I never thought the first time I did, it would be because of Jason. In the video, Brenda went upstairs and knocked on Jason’s door. The two of them went out onto his balcony. I put in my earbuds, and their voices came through, crystal clear.

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