A tube of lipstick lay on the passenger seat of my husband Leo’s car. An unfamiliar shade of Lancôme L’Absolu Rouge. In my past life, the day after this discovery marked the beginning of my transformation from a respectable, wealthy wife into a madwoman in the attic. I installed a GPS tracker on Leo’s phone. I hired private investigators to follow him. I called the police to raid hotels, hoping to catch him in the act. I stooped to every sordid, undignified trick in the book. Finally, through my relentless efforts, on our seventh wedding anniversary, I caught him in bed with his secretary. Our divorce battle became a public war. He dismantled my life with the precision of a corporate takeover, clinging to every penny of his fortune. I consulted every lawyer in the city and walked away with a settlement of just forty-eight dollars. Shortly after the divorce, I was diagnosed with cancer. When the pain was so intense I thought I was dying, I swallowed my pride and knelt before Leo. He stood by and let his secretary slap me three times, then refused to give me a single cent. Penniless and broken, I froze to death on the doorstep of the home I had lived in for seven years. So in this life, seeing the exact same lipstick in the exact same spot, I calmly picked it up and placed it in the glove compartment for him. 1 My simple action seemed to unnerve Leo. He suddenly felt the need to explain. “That lipstick belongs to Jenna.” “I took her to a business dinner last night,” he said. “The silly girl thought she could land the contract by drinking the client under the table. She started downing glasses of wine the second she sat down. She got the deal, but she was completely wasted.” “I know you don’t like other women in the passenger seat, but Jenna is the daughter of a dear family friend. He helped me out when I was just starting my company. I couldn’t just leave her there.” He’d said the exact same thing in my last life. Back then, the sight of the lipstick, combined with the fond, gentle way he spoke about his new secretary, had sent me into a blind rage. I’d unbuckled my seatbelt and screamed at him. “Stop the car, Leo! You and this car are equally disgusting.” I don’t remember the details of what happened next. I only remember him pulling over, spitting the word “psycho” at me, and speeding away, leaving me on the side of the road. I walked for four hours in the cold winter drizzle, tears streaming down my face. My heels rubbed my feet raw until they bled. I ended up with a fever of 104 degrees. And as I lay in bed, sick and miserable, Leo was on a plane with Jenna, heading overseas for a business trip. Photos and videos of him adjusting the strap of her slip dress, of her leaning in to kiss his cheek, became the top gossip on his company’s internal forum. How stupid was I in my past life to think that hurting myself would ever make him care? The irony was so bitter that a smirk unconsciously touched my lips. The next second, Leo slammed on the brakes, screeching the car to a halt in the emergency lane. He turned to me, his voice sharp. “How many times do I have to tell you? Jenna is the daughter of my father’s friend. I’m just looking out for her.” “There is absolutely nothing going on between us. Can you please stop being so unreasonable…” Seeing the sudden anger flash across his face, a familiar bitterness welled up in my chest. But this time, it wasn’t for him. It was for the woman I used to be. In my last life, I had pancreatic cancer, one of the most painful forms of the disease. Every day was a blur of nurses jabbing long needles into my skin, leaving me a sobbing mess. Or I’d be curled on the floor, clutching my stomach, begging for a quick death. When I was at my most desperate, I’d taken a fruit knife and stabbed at my own emaciated body, just hoping for a single night of uninterrupted sleep. Yet even then, I could never bring myself to sell our wedding ring for another dose of painkillers. When the doctor told me I had a month to live, I dragged my skeletal frame out of the hospital to find Leo, intending to ask him to remarry me. After all, when my parents died, he had sworn he would take care of me for the rest of my life. But when I finally reached the house we had shared for seven years, I had to kneel and beg the security guard just to call him for me. Leo heard my voice, said my name, and then replied with chilling calm, “Vera, we’re divorced. That means we have no relationship anymore. Whatever happens to you, don’t contact me again.” Then he hung up. I collapsed in the backyard of the villa we once called home. In the final moments before my life faded away, I saw him through the window. He was holding Jenna, his secretary, in his arms. In the home I had so carefully decorated, they were using the dishes I had bought, drinking from the wine glasses I had chosen, sharing a romantic dinner, kissing intimately. The pain in my chest was a physical weight, stealing my breath. Shoving the memory away, I calmly took an eye mask from my purse and slipped it on. “I believe you. There’s nothing going on between you and Jenna.” “Now, can we please get moving?” Leo’s face was a canvas of shock, but I simply pulled the mask down, shutting out the world. 2 The moment we got home, I went straight to our bedroom. I called the hospital, made an appointment with a top specialist, and scheduled a full physical for the next day. Whether in this life or the last, all I ever wanted was to live. Just as I hung up, Leo pushed the door open. “What was that in the car all about?” he demanded. “Vera, can you stop giving me the silent treatment over every little thing?” Ever since Jenna became his secretary, Leo had become exceptionally harsh with me. No matter what I did, he found fault. It was his change in attitude, coupled with Jenna’s constant provocations, that had driven me mad in our last marriage. I fought back the suffocating ache in my chest and turned to him calmly. “Leo, believe it or not, I’m not angry. I’m not trying to start a fight, and I’m not giving you the silent treatment.” “I honestly don’t care about the lipstick.” Without another glance at him, I walked into the bathroom and locked the door. When I came out, he was gone. But my phone was blowing up with notifications. It was Jenna’s signature move. Whenever she was with Leo, she would bombard me with photos of them together, treating my message inbox like her personal cloud storage. In my past life, this would have sent me into a spiral of crying fits or provoked me into a screaming match with Leo. But now, as I looked at the photos she sent, I didn’t curse her. Instead, I offered some sincere advice. You’re holding the phone at the wrong angle. Leo’s profile is more handsome. Try holding it higher next time. And you should crop the photo tighter. Less empty space. It’ll make you and Leo look closer. She replied almost instantly. Has your account been hacked? I sent a smiling emoji back. Nope. Just wanted to let you know, he’s all yours. Then, I blocked her. This new arrangement worked for me. I wanted the title of Mrs. Vance and the supplementary credit card. As for Leo’s body and his affection, Jenna could have them. Unlike the foolish woman I was in my last life, I no longer wanted his love. 3 After dealing with Jenna, I lay down and closed my eyes. But even with a second chance at life, sleep didn’t come easily. Just like when I was sick, my dreams were haunted by memories of Leo and me. When we were kids, Leo was quiet and introverted. His mother, a strict teacher, was constantly punishing him. I’d wake up at midnight and see him still at his desk, thick glasses perched on his nose, scribbling away at worksheets while his mother stood over him with a cane. For every wrong answer, the cane would come down hard on his back. Living across the street, I’d watch this happen and my heart would ache for him. Whenever I got candy, I’d sneak it into his backpack at school. “Leo,” I’d whisper with a smile, “eat one when your back hurts.” The first time I gave him candy, his face turned bright red. He waited until I was a hundred feet away before mumbling, “I… I don’t eat candy.” I just waved back, grinning. “Leo, you should talk more. You have a really nice voice.” It became a habit. The boy who was always a loner started waiting for me, waiting for me to slip candy into his bag. In the small alley outside our neighborhood, we walked through countless springs, summers, and winters together. Then, when we were eighteen, Leo, the valedictorian of our county, was accepted into a top university. He awkwardly handed me a brochure for another school. “I checked,” he stammered, pushing his glasses up. “This one is really close to mine, only a ten-minute walk. Your scores aren’t high enough for a four-year program, but you could get into this two-year college.” Looking at his nervous face, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that my parents had already decided I would go to a four-year university, even if it was a less prestigious one. They could afford it. I secretly changed my application, a decision that earned me a lecture and grounding from my parents, but I never regretted it. We went to college in the same city. Away from his mother, Leo blossomed. He swapped his thick glasses for contacts, grew his buzz cut into stylish curls, and traded his plaid shirts for crisp white ones. His old black sneakers were replaced by clean white ones. I didn’t understand the sudden transformation until I was gushing about my favorite band coming to town for a concert. Leo grabbed my arm, his eyes red-rimmed. “I’ve changed everything about myself to be the person you like,” he said, his voice raw. “Can’t you still find a way to like me?” The word “like” hit me like a sledgehammer. Even though we were at different schools, I’d heard the legends about him—the programming prodigy who won national competitions as a freshman, the coding genius who had job offers from major tech firms by his sophomore year. A group of girls had even started an online forum dedicated to documenting his transformation. I thought an ocean separated us, that we would forever be just friends. I never imagined he felt this way. Without a second thought, I, the girl who was never shy, stood on my toes and kissed him. We started dating. My life revolved around feeding him my favorite milk teas, desserts, and pastries. I had no career plans; my days were spent deciding what to feed Leo or where to take him for fun. Meanwhile, his life continued its meteoric rise. He started his own company while in grad school, secured multiple rounds of funding right after graduation, and by the time he finished his Ph.D., his tech company was ranked among the top 10 in the country. My life went in the opposite direction, as if cursed. I failed the entrance exam to transfer to a four-year program. After graduation, I lived off the allowance Leo gave me. In my second year out of college, my parents, who had always doted on me, were rushing to see me in the hospital for pneumonia when they were killed in a car crash. Suddenly an orphan, I clung to their bodies, my tears soaking through their clothes. And Leo knelt beside me, in front of their bodies, and under his mother’s cold, disapproving gaze, he swore he would take care of me for the rest of my life. We got married. I had multiple miscarriages. Every pregnancy ended in loss. And then, Leo met Jenna. He started to find fault with me. I had no substance, he said. All I ever did was ask him what he wanted to eat or drink. Unlike Jenna, who could discuss world-famous paintings with him, who could debate the future of the tech industry. Tears welled in my eyes. I blinked them open and realized the sun was up. Just like in my last life, my pillow was soaked. Just then, a message from Leo came through. We’re going to the nursing home to see my mom this afternoon. 4 I calmly replied: I’m busy today. I can’t make it. His call came instantly. “What are you busy with?” “Vera, how many times do I have to tell you, there’s nothing going on with Jenna. Why do you have to keep fixating on this one little thing?” Hearing him bring up Jenna again, a bitter smile touched my lips. Since his company took off, Leo had become a man of few words. This was the first time he’d ever harped on a single issue. Was he trying to convince himself he wasn’t interested in her, or was he trying to lessen his own guilt? The pain in my chest was a sharp, trembling thing, but my voice was steady. “Leo, I’m not feeling well. I have to go to the hospital for a check-up. I really can’t go with you to see your mom today.” “Besides, your mother has a heart condition, and she’s never liked me. Isn’t it better if I don’t go and upset her? And doesn’t she adore Jenna? She always said only a woman of Jenna’s status was a worthy match for you. You should take her instead.” I was genuinely trying to be helpful, but my words only made him angrier. “Fine, Vera. Keep throwing your tantrum.” Then he hung up. Listening to the dial tone, I let out another humorless laugh. See? That’s the difference between love and no love. When he used to love me, the slightest hint of sadness on my face would have him anxiously asking what he’d done wrong. Now that he didn’t, even my most sincere suggestions were just me being unreasonable. 5 The familiar ache returned, but I didn’t let it delay me. I went to the hospital, and to avoid any emotional triggers, I left my phone at home. This check-up was too important. It would determine if I was doomed to repeat my past life. For the next seven days, I stayed at the hospital, undergoing biopsies and having vial after vial of blood drawn. I had to thank Leo’s connections and his bank account for the thoroughness of the care. By simply using his name, I got an appointment with a specialist I couldn’t get to see for a month in my last life. Now, he was the first doctor to check on me every morning during his rounds. In my last life, penniless, I’d had to sell my bags and jewelry. Without connections, every test meant another trip to the hospital, waiting two hours for a blood draw, a week for a CT scan. Now, thanks to Leo, I just had to lie in a VIP room, and the nurses came to me. The results were bittersweet. I did have cancer, but it was in the early stages. When the doctor told me, his face was full of sympathy. I, on the other hand, burst into tears, my body shaking uncontrollably. Everyone thought I was terrified. Only I knew I was crying with joy. I finally had a chance to live. The day I got the results, I checked into the hospital to begin treatment. I was confident I could be cured. This time, I had money, the best doctors, and the best medicine. Chemotherapy was still hell, but because it was early stage, the dosage was lighter, and the imported drugs had fewer side effects compared to the generic ones I had in my past life. Aside from losing my hair and some weight, I had enough energy for daily walks. And because of the medication, I never once felt the excruciating pain of a full-blown pancreatic cancer attack. After a month of treatment, the doctor gave me more hope. He said that after two more rounds of chemo, I would likely be able to go home. It was a spark of hope that ignited a fire in my soul. In my last life, my greatest dream was to be cured, to live. But just as I was about to pay for the third round of treatment, the hospital informed me that my supplementary card had been canceled. The payment wouldn’t go through. Hearing the news, I remained calm. As long as we were still married, he was legally obligated to pay for my medical care. I simply asked the nurse for a day pass and took a cab to Leo’s company. The receptionist stopped me at the entrance. “I’m sorry, miss, but you need an appointment to see Mr. Vance.” I smiled faintly and took my marriage certificate out of my purse. “With this, can I see Leo Vance?” The receptionist’s eyes widened. She shot up from her chair. “My apologies, Mrs. Vance. I didn’t recognize you.” I just shook my head and followed her to the elevator. As we passed the main office area, I felt eyes on me. I knew I looked awful—bald, with a thick down jacket thrown over my hospital gown—but I felt no shame. In my last life, after the divorce, I had come here desperate to borrow money for treatment. I never even made it past the front door. Back then, all I had was a divorce certificate, not a marriage one.

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In our sixth year of marriage, my husband, Jackson, began doting on a pretty, fragile college girl. He even grounded a private jet for her. Everyone said he must be madly in love. But this was the same Jackson who’d come home every night and play the part of the perfect, devoted husband. Until he found out I was having an affair, too. The day it all came out, he screamed at me, his voice tearing, asking me why. “If it’s the thrill of someone new you want, I can do whatever they do for you! Anything!” 1. I was humming a little tune when I walked through the door. Jackson was just finishing up in the kitchen and looked up at the sound of my arrival. “You’re back late.” He approached me with that familiar, gentle smile, taking my bag and sliding a pair of slippers onto my feet. “You mentioned last week you were craving that steak from Delmonico’s, so I tried to recreate it. Work was slow today. I made almond torte for dessert, too.” “That’s sweet of you!” I beamed, my smile not quite reaching my eyes. “But I’ve already eaten. You go ahead. Just toss whatever’s left.” I smoothed my hair back, ready to retreat to my study and finish the last pages of my script, but as I passed him, his hand shot out and clamped around my arm. His eyes were dark, unreadable. He bit his lip, a wounded look clouding his features. “Ella, I feel like… you’ve been distant lately.” He chose his words carefully. “Did I do something wrong?” That was a great question. A slow, knowing smile spread across my face as I turned to him. “No, nothing. I’ve just been in a bit of a mood.” I saw the relief wash over him, and just as he began to relax, I added nonchalantly, “My flight for that business trip last week? I was already on the plane when some lunatic started screaming that his woman was on board and was going to run off. He actually forced the entire plane to turn back.” Jackson’s expression flickered through a dozen emotions. “The flight was canceled. I had to rebook, just like everyone else. By the time I got there, the studio exec said I had no sense of professional courtesy and pulled the plug on the deal. Jackson,” I said, my voice dripping with mock despair, “can you believe my luck?” He dropped his gaze, his mind clearly racing. When he looked up again, his face was a mask of weary resignation. “Ella, you never told me you were on that flight. It was Rosalie… she’d hurt her leg and was trying to run off somewhere. I was just honoring the promise I made to her brother before he died. I couldn’t let her make her injury worse.” He added, as if it explained everything, “A dancer’s legs are her entire life.” I nodded slowly. “I get it. You were afraid she wouldn’t be able to make it on her own. So you bought her a condo, sponsored a university dance competition with her as the star, and rushed over to see her in the middle of the night. I get all of it.” I looked right at him, my expression the very picture of empathy. “I understand completely. So, can you let go of my arm now?” Jackson stared at me for a long moment, a profound exhaustion settling over him. He rubbed his temples, shaking his head with a sigh. “Ella, you have so much already. It was just one deal. Don’t be difficult about this, alright?” He reached out, trying to pull me into a hug. “Whatever deal you lost, I’ll make it up to you. Just let this go.” I let him hold me, my gaze fixed on the open door of my study. The wall opposite was covered with the awards and trophies I’d won over the years as a screenwriter. I could write the destinies of others with such ease, but I never imagined my own life would become such a cliché. My husband of six years, the man I’d been with for eleven, was cheating on me with his best friend’s little sister. He showered her with money every month, a constant stream of gifts and support. He’d even forgotten that his own wife was deathly allergic to almonds. The one who loved almond torte was Rosalie. It was never me. I patted the small of his back, my eyes drifting away as he held me. I said nothing. 2. Jackson must have thought he’d smoothed things over, because he let out a visible sigh of relief. But then his phone rang, and he was gone in a flash. He covered the receiver as he turned, his face a canvas of undisguised urgency, but he consciously softened his voice when he spoke to me. It was the same tone he used for the person on the other end of the line—as if he were speaking to a fragile treasure that might shatter at the slightest vibration. “Ella, something’s come up at the office. I have to go.” He paused for a second as he grabbed his coat. “Rosalie… she’s been through a lot. I’ll explain everything when I get back, okay?” After the door clicked shut, I sank onto a chair, my eyes drawn to the framed photo of Jackson and me on my desk. No, it wasn’t okay. Not at all. Forcing me to rehash something I already knew inside and out would only be twisting the knife. But Jackson didn’t see it that way. I remembered last week, when I first heard the flight was being grounded. Before I could even process it, a flight attendant was rushing down the aisle after a phone call, anxiously asking, “Is there a Miss Rosalie Dubois on board?” Rosalie, dressed in a flowing white dress, stood up, a vision of fresh-faced independence. The attendant quickly escorted her off the plane. There was only a thin curtain separating business class from economy. If she had just glanced up, she would have seen my stunned face. Through the window, I watched as my husband grabbed her wrist, his voice sharp and scolding. Tears streamed down Rosalie’s beautiful face, and in the next second, Jackson cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. Some of the other passengers, oblivious to the full story, were more captivated by the real-life drama than annoyed by the flight delay. They started recording on their phones, murmuring about what a perfect couple they made. If the man in the video hadn’t been my husband, I might have thought it was a scene from some classic romance movie, too. But all I could do was watch as Jackson, after that passionate kiss, swept Rosalie into his arms and carried her away, leaving nothing but his back turned to the world, and to me. I lit a cigarette, the ember glowing red as it burned down to the filter. When Jackson and I first got married, Rosalie’s brother was our best man. She was only in high school then, watching us from a distance. She was so teary-eyed, so moved, I thought she was just an overly empathetic kid. I even joked that she should save some of those tears for her own wedding. How had I been so blind back then? How had I missed the undisguised ache in Jackson’s eyes when he looked at her? At the thought, a wave of nausea churned violently in my stomach. I bolted upright and ran for the bathroom. After a session of dry heaving left me exhausted, I leaned against the washing machine, my mind a blank haze. Then, my own phone started ringing. “Ella, my star writer! You busy? Just caught some fresh trout. Want me to bring them over?” It was Leo, an actor who’d recently started making a name for himself. He was an influencer-turned-actor, and while he had the looks, a built-in fanbase, and even some decent acting chops, he couldn’t seem to land the right script to break out of the C-list. We’d exchanged numbers at a wrap party, and he’d been texting me ever since, asking me out, making his intentions clear. After all, a role tailor-made for him could launch a nobody into a household name. I was about to say no, but as the word formed on my lips, I caught a glimpse of my own haggard reflection in the mirror above the sink. Instead, I gave him my address. “Be right there!” Leo sounded ecstatic. He said a quick goodbye and hung up. I clutched my phone, staring at my reflection. A bitter, ugly smile twisted my lips. If you can keep making excuses for your betrayal, Jackson, then why can’t I? 3. By the time Leo arrived, I had just finished scraping every last bit of the food Jackson had cooked into the trash. When I opened the door, a stunningly handsome face greeted me. Leo held up two still-flapping trout in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other. “Haven’t eaten, have you? Good thing I’m a decent cook. Let me show you what I can do.” He had a way of making himself at home instantly. The moment I gave him a sliver of an opening, he slipped right inside. I watched him put on a pair of Jackson’s slippers and almost told him to change them, but I let it go. “No gigs lately? You have time to go fishing?” “I’m a nobody, Ella. The agency signs me and then forgets I exist. But hey, no work means I have plenty of time to cook for a brilliant, beautiful woman.” Leo shot me a wink. Within minutes, he had one of the fish cleaned and prepped. As he dumped the scraps into the trash, he paused. I knew he’d seen the feast I’d thrown away. He just pursed his lips. “Whoever cooked this clearly doesn’t know you. This stuff is way too rich. Didn’t you just have your appendix out? You’re supposed to be eating light, right?” I blinked, momentarily caught off guard. I didn’t correct him. He was right. I’d been rushed to the hospital with acute appendicitis not long ago. When they needed a family member to sign the consent forms, Jackson was unreachable. He finally showed up the next day, after the surgery was over, rushing in with tears in his eyes, telling me how sorry he was. He’d been exhausted from work, fallen asleep at the office, and hadn’t been there for me. If I hadn’t seen the post on Rosalie’s private social media account—if I hadn’t known the day of my surgery was her birthday, and that Jackson had been with her the whole time—I probably would have believed him. After all, I used to trust him so, so much. Leo was happy to play chef, and I was in no mood for small talk, so I went back to my study to finish my script. “Dinner’s ready!” Leo burst into the study, wearing an apron Jackson had tossed on the sofa before he left. He brandished a pair of chopsticks and shot me a playful look. “Seriously, Ella, I’m a pretty great cook. If you ever write a chef character, you have to recommend me to the director! I’m not afraid of hard work!” “You talk too much,” I grumbled, but a small smile touched my lips. As I walked into the living room, I realized Leo had turned on the TV. The image on the screen made me freeze mid-step. It was Jackson, his face grim, protectively shielding a petite woman in his arms. A swarm of reporters surrounded them, shoving microphones in his face. “Mr. Thorne, sources claim you and Miss Dubois have been secretly involved for six months. Can you confirm you’re having an affair?” “Mr. Thorne, we heard you grounded a jet for Miss Dubois and flew in a world-class dance coach from Europe just for her final exams. Isn’t that a bit extreme?” “Mr. Thorne, your wife is the renowned screenwriter Ella Vance. Does she know about any of this?” At the mention of my name, Jackson finally looked up, his eyes flashing with a clear warning. “Shut your mouths, unless you want your entire network to go under.” Jackson wasn’t in the entertainment industry; he underestimated the tenacity of the press. His threats only made them bolder. “Tch. The girl he’s protecting is Rosalie Dubois, right?” To my surprise, the voice came from behind me. I turned to see Leo, still meticulously wiping the edge of a serving bowl with a paper towel. Seeing me look at him, he offered a lazy grin. “I saw that Rosalie at an industry dinner once. She was with some real estate mogul. His own daughter just got married last year, and Rosalie’s about the same age. She was all over that old creep, fawning over him, taking drinks for him. Later that night, she left with him and a few other investors.” Leo sneered, his face full of disdain. “The girl’s toxic. And that Jackson guy is blind, thinking she’s some pure, innocent flower. He can’t even see she’s a Venus flytrap. He deserves to be played.” The knot of grief in my chest loosened slightly. I glanced up at the large wedding portrait of Jackson and me hanging in the center of the living room. I pointed a thumb at it. “Hello? See the wedding photo on the wall?” “Saw it!” Leo replied cheerfully. He pulled me over to the dining table and sat me down, then leaned in close, his voice a soft, husky murmur in my ear. “Ella, your husband’s got terrible taste. So why don’t we get rid of him, what do you say?” “Consider me, Ella. I’ll be so much more loyal to you than he ever was.” I watched impassively as Leo took my hand and placed it on the smooth, pale skin of his neck. The beautiful young man in front of me held my gaze without blinking. “Choose me. I guarantee… you won’t be disappointed.” 4. The news of Jackson’s affair vanished from the internet in less than a day, replaced by a trending story about a starlet wearing a suspiciously expensive piece of jewelry. I was lounging on the sofa of a condo I’d owned before the marriage. Beside me, Leo was meticulously de-seeding chunks of watermelon and feeding them to me while I argued with a production company on my laptop. “Ella, everyone in the business knows you don’t allow changes to your scripts. And they want you to rewrite a main character? What’s their angle?” Frustrated, I snapped my laptop shut. My last message to them was a simple “Let’s cancel the contract.” Leo had been on a tirade against the director ever since he’d heard, not even bothering to ask for a role for himself. He was just angry on my behalf. “Vent all you want to me, but be careful. That’s a big-shot, award-winning director. Don’t get yourself blacklisted.” Leo just smiled and leaned closer, gently tucking a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. “Blacklisted, not blacklisted, who cares? I’m on your side, no matter what.” He really was breathtakingly handsome. The slightest flutter of his eyelashes was enough to captivate you. It was no wonder he’d managed to break out of the influencer world and into this industry. I found myself reaching out, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. He leaned into my touch, a picture of willing submission. Then, Jackson’s call came through. “Ella? You haven’t been home the last few days?” Jackson’s voice on the other end was hesitant. “I noticed the bed hasn’t been slept in. Are you on a trip?” I glanced at Leo, who was still trying to get my attention. He held up a goofy novelty mask and mimicked its exasperated expression, making me let out an involuntary laugh. “Are you out right now?” Jackson asked, his tone sharpening. “Yes,” I replied, my patience wearing thin. “Is there something you need? If not, I’m hanging up. I’m busy.” “Wait!” he cut in urgently, taking a deep breath. “You saw the news online, right? That day, Rosalie was being falsely accused of being a sugar baby. I was just helping her out of a jam. You know how the media loves to twist things.” Across from me, Leo rolled his eyes and started tapping away at his phone. “Mhm, yes, I heard. You’re such a saint,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “If the media just makes things up, why did you bother paying to have the story buried?” “I didn’t bury it.” He was growing agitated. “Where are you? Give me an address, I’ll come to you. There’s something I need to discuss.” I paused, glancing at the bag I’d brought with me today. “Perfect. I have something to discuss with you, too.”

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1 The day the Blackwoods came for Ethan, a car crash shattered my world. The driver, heiress Isabelle Thorne, arrived at my hospital bed begging to marry him to avoid scandal. Ethan refused, tearing up the contract. Enraged, Isabelle ripped the oxygen tube from my nose, sneering that he would never marry a “vegetable” from the orphanage. Ethan threw her down the stairs, breaking her legs, and vowed revenge. Over the next three years, he destroyed the Thorne family. Once bankrupt, they handed Isabelle over to him. He forced her to be my caretaker, punishing her cruelly for any harm that came to me. But one day, after she scalded my hand with boiling water again, he forced her onto the floor beside my bed. As their bodies tangled, she gasped, “What if I get pregnant? Is this still revenge?” “Exactly,” he replied coldly. “You’ll have the baby. I will torture you forever.” When they finished, I slowly opened my eyes, tears streaming down my face. After four years in a coma, I knew the truth: Ethan had fallen in love with her. … “I told you, I could get pregnant!” “Ethan, can’t you be a little gentler? We’re not even married, don’t knock me up just yet.” The woman’s soft cries and struggles sounded less like resistance and more like the playful banter of lovers. My vision was blurry, clouded by a film of tears. As a sliver of light pierced the haze, I heard a familiar, husky laugh. “I don’t need to be gentle with you. I want you to feel the pain.” “I’m never letting you go.” As Ethan moved, the cloying, intimate scent of their passion drifted towards me. After four years in a coma, the first thing I smelled upon waking was her perfume clinging to his skin. “Take good care of Lily,” he commanded. “Next time, I won’t let you off so easily, no matter how much you beg.” Isabelle laughed, gathering her clothes from the floor and carelessly wiping the moisture from her body. “You’re a real sicko, Ethan.” A moment later, the curtain draped around my bed was pulled aside. The instant he saw me, someone’s breathing grew ragged and heavy. “Lily!” “Doctor! Get the doctor up here, now!” Ethan frantically shoved Isabelle aside, a raw, uncontainable joy exploding across his face. Covered in the marks of their lovemaking, Isabelle met my gaze and a triumphant smile spread across her lips. “Well, look who’s awake. Lily.” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I shouldn’t have woken up. In these four years… something had fundamentally changed. The Blackwood mansion wasn’t like the orphanage; the family doctor was there in minutes. “It’s a miracle! An absolute miracle!” the doctor exclaimed. “Miss Chen is truly awake.” At his words, a radiant smile lit up Ethan’s face. “Lily, this is amazing,” he whispered, kneeling down and pressing his face against the back of my hand, his voice thick with reverence. “I was so afraid you’d never wake up, that you’d leave me all alone.” For a fleeting moment, I was lost in a daze. How did someone like Ethan end up growing up with me? I first met him at Havenwood Orphanage when I was three. He’d been kidnapped. After the ransom was paid, his abductors turned on each other over the money. Four-year-old Ethan was injured in the crossfire and left for dead on the side of the road. By the time the Blackwoods arrived, all they found were the kidnappers’ bodies and a pool of Ethan’s blood. They assumed the worst. A few days later, villagers found him and brought him to the orphanage. He couldn’t remember his name or his parents. With a scar on his forehead, he became Leo of Havenwood Orphanage. We grew up together, leaving at eighteen to make our own way in the world. I remember, right before the accident, he had just rented a small, cozy apartment for us. I’d just gotten into a good college. Staring blankly at my own hand, my gaze drifted back to Ethan. A button was missing from his shirt, torn off in the heat of passion, now lost somewhere on the floor. This wasn’t Leo, the boy who swore he’d marry me as soon as he earned enough money. This was Ethan Blackwood, the heir to the Blackwood fortune. I tried to pull my hand away, but he sensed the movement and gripped it tighter. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly. “Lily, don’t worry. You’ve been unconscious for so long, it’s normal to have trouble moving. After a full check-up, I’ll arrange for the best physical therapists to help you. You’ll make a full recovery.” My hand trembled as I looked past him. Isabelle was staring at me. Noticing my gaze, Ethan instinctively moved to block her from my sight. “She won’t hurt you again,” he promised. “I’ve already made her life a living hell. She can’t hurt you anymore.” He leaned in, kissing my forehead as if to shield me from some unseen threat. But as he pulled back, I saw it—a smudge of crimson at the corner of his mouth. Isabelle’s lipstick. As he kissed me, the reflection in his eyes showed a faint red mark now transferred to my own skin. Filthy. I tried to form the word, but my voice was gone. A cold draft seemed to blow through my chest. In the suffocating silence, I let my eyelids fall shut. My heart seized, twisting in a knot of pure agony. I closed my eyes again. Ethan would never know. For the past four years, while my body was still, my mind was awake. I heard every word he and Isabelle spoke in front of me, every sound of their lovemaking. He was lying to me. Seeing me close my eyes, Ethan frowned and glanced over his shoulder. He saw Isabelle and assumed I was afraid, his voice laced with panic as he tried to explain. “You don’t want to see her, do you? Don’t worry, I’ll send her to one of the other houses. She won’t stay here.” “She has nowhere else to go but by my side,” he added quickly. “I’m keeping her close… to torture her. For you.” The pain in my chest was so sharp it felt like a physical blow. I tried to turn away, but my body wouldn’t obey. Isabelle took a silent step forward, but Ethan shielded me from her. With a cold expression, she turned and walked out of the room. Just as the door was about to slam shut, her voice cut through the air. “Ethan, I’m pregnant.” “And it’s yours.” For a second, Ethan’s face was a complete blank. I saw his fingers, hanging by his side, twitch as if wanting to reach for her retreating figure. Finally, he turned back to me. His expression was gentle, as if nothing had happened. “Lily, I have something to tell you.” “I’ve been waiting for you all these years. I made her pay. The Thorne family is bankrupt, her parents are overseas… she’s been abandoned.” “Listen to me…” He rambled on, recounting every detail of the three years I had missed. But he didn’t seem to notice how often Isabelle’s name slipped from his lips. “Isabelle is so stupid. Such a spoiled little princess, so easy to fool.” “If this wasn’t a civilized society, I would have played her to death.” “You have no idea how satisfying it was to see her kneeling and begging me for mercy.” He let out a short, harsh laugh, then his eyes lit up as if remembering something. “Lily, I took pictures. Let me go get them.” My fingers twitched. I wanted to stop him, but before I could summon the strength, the corner of his shirt disappeared from view. None of that mattered anymore. My eyes burned as I stared at the ceiling. Ethan was just like he’d always been, deliberately changing the subject when things got uncomfortable. He hadn’t even realized it himself—the flicker of joy on his face when Isabelle announced her pregnancy. I knew she was trying to provoke me, but Ethan’s smile… that wasn’t fake. Lying in bed, I tried to shift my body and froze. A needle. Isabelle had hidden a needle in my mattress. It pricked my skin. She always did this when no one was looking, these small, secret acts of torture. A pinprick is just a tiny red dot. Ethan would never check me that closely… no one would ever know. And even if they did… My thoughts were interrupted by hushed whispers from the hallway. “That woman’s awake. Miss Thorne was so close to marrying Mr. Blackwood.” “Miss Thorne is pregnant. You think a vegetable means more to him than that?” “What punishment? He’s just in denial. It’s love. He just needs someone to spell it out for him.” Turning my head was an immense effort. After being comatose for so long, opening my eyes and wiggling my fingers was my limit. The maids giggled as they looked my way. A stabbing pain shot through my heart, and I could barely breathe. “What are you all talking about?!” A furious roar made them all jump. Ethan was standing right behind them, his face dark as a storm cloud. He glared at the woman who had spoken first. “You’re all fired. See my secretary on your way out to collect your pay.” I watched him quietly. He still defended me unconditionally, just like before. But the old Ethan, the old Leo, would never have dodged my questions. When they were gone, he buried his face in my neck, his touch gentle. The tickle of his hair was a familiar comfort, but his next words were a betrayal. He held me tight, his voice low. “Lily, the baby was an accident.” “I’ll make Isabelle get an abortion.” His eyes were firm, but as I struggled to turn my face towards him, he covered my eyes with his hand. “But Lily… Isabelle has had a few miscarriages before. I… took her to the clinic each time.” “The doctor said this might be her last chance to have a child.” His breath ghosted over my hair as he spoke softly. “The doctor also said… your injuries from the accident were severe.” “We might… we might never be able to have children of our own.” “I want to…” My blinking fluttered against his palm. Before he could finish, the hand he held began to trace letters into his skin, one painstaking stroke at a time. “O. K.” I blinked again, a silent nod. Ethan went rigid, as if he couldn’t believe it. I slowly spelled it out in his palm a second time. By the third time, a tremor ran through him. He was speechless for a long time. “Lily… I’ll make it up to you. In the future.” The future? There was no future for us. In the long years he spent waiting for me, he had already fallen for that arrogant, beautiful monster. The moment the scales tipped in Isabelle’s favor, I knew. I had lost. Ethan wanted to keep that child. It was the fruit of their love. For the next two weeks, Ethan spent every spare moment with me during my physical therapy. I progressed from wiggling my fingers and blinking to being able to sit in a wheelchair and control my facial expressions. But I still couldn’t speak. The recovery of my speech was agonizingly slow. I communicated mostly by blinking or slowly tracing letters into Ethan’s palm. By the time I could stand on my own, a month and a half had passed. Ethan was working late in his study. I shuffled toward the door, my body trembling as I clung to the wall for support. “Just focus on the pregnancy,” I heard him say. “Don’t worry about anything else.” “I’ll help you with the Thorne family’s overseas ventures. They’re already breaking into new markets.” I froze, the blood turning to ice in my veins as I stared at the sliver of light under the door. Before I could process it, my phone buzzed with two new messages. The notification sound was jarringly loud in the empty hallway. My eyes fell to the screen. It was Isabelle. An unknown number had sent a voice message and a photo. “This was my first time getting pregnant. We’d been trying for a while.” “He’s very excited about this baby.” It was her voice. Ethan hadn’t made her get an abortion. He hadn’t even sent her away. Isabelle was living in another one of his mansions. One bigger and more luxurious than this one. She didn’t have to wait on me anymore; now, others waited on her. Her voice message was laced with triumphant laughter. “Ethan could never bear to make me get an abortion. He’ll take very good care of me.” “He comes to see me in secret all the time.” I fled from the study door, my phone vibrating relentlessly in my hand. “A cripple who can’t even walk or talk.” “You think I’m not good enough for Ethan? What does that make you? Waking up is even more miserable than being a vegetable, isn’t it?” “The first time we were together… he was the one who initiated it.” My eyes burned, a sharp pain lancing through my chest. Isabelle knew I wouldn’t reply. After her tirade, she let out a condescending laugh. “Delete all these messages.” “Or I’ll have that pathetic little Havenwood Orphanage of yours shut down.” A violent tremor shot through me. A flood of images filled my mind: Mama Rose, a tiny version of me, and a little boy named Leo. He wasn’t Ethan yet. That was where we grew up together. I had told him once that after I graduated, I wanted to go back to Havenwood. He had pressed a popsicle into my hand and ruffled my hair, a wide grin on his face. “Okay. And if I were a rich man, I’d donate tons and tons of money to Havenwood.” “We’d hire twenty nannies to take care of the kids.” “You’d be the beautiful Mama Lily, and I’d be Papa Leo.” The memory was a distant, muffled echo. My hands shook as I typed out a reply, one character at a time. “I’ll tell Ethan.” The person on the other end seemed to hesitate. But a few seconds later, the screen lit up with an incoming call. I answered. Isabelle’s voice was dripping with arrogance. “He already knows.” “He knew when I kicked out your precious Mama Rose and all those other paupers.” “In fact, Ethan helped me. Do you want to go see for yourself?” Her voice was a seductive whisper. I froze. After a long pause, I lowered my head and began deleting her messages, one by one. “Okay.” After Ethan’s car left the mansion, Isabelle arrived at the front door. The maids were clearly familiar with her, taking her coat and offering her a small, exquisite cake. One of them noticed me watching and smirked. “Mr. Blackwood’s special order. For… Miss Thorne. Her favorite cake, made by a chef from Europe.” “Maybe Miss Thorne will be moving back in soon.” “This isn’t for you. You shouldn’t eat it anyway.” I tore my gaze away. When she was ready, she easily led me out of the mansion. No one stopped us. I was bundled into her car, the maids watching us go as if they saw nothing. The car stopped. I was pushed out onto a familiar stone path. I looked up, and a high heel pressed down hard on my back. “Take a good look,” Isabelle sneered. “This is your precious Havenwood.” A roar filled my ears. My breath caught in my throat, the pain suffocating me. The old, dilapidated building, the once-neat vegetable patch now choked with weeds. Through the fence, I saw a few gaunt children. One of them spilled a bucket of water and was immediately slapped by a caretaker. “You little brat! Are you blind?!” This wasn’t my home. This wasn’t Mama Rose’s home. It was all wrong. Where was Mama Rose? I frantically searched, and Isabelle noticed my desperate movements. She leaned down. “Looking for that old hag?” “She didn’t want to ‘retire’ and hand the orphanage over to me. So Ethan forced her into early retirement and sent her abroad.” “All the old staff were kicked out, too.” My heart stopped. My hands clenched as I struggled to breathe. A soft laugh came from above me as Isabelle held up her phone. “It’s Ethan.” His familiar voice came through the speaker, muffled by background noise. He sounded… off. “Weren’t you supposed to be at your prenatal appointment? I’m here, but the hospital says you’re not.” “Oh, silly me. I must have gotten the date wrong,” Isabelle replied without a hint of sincerity. Ethan didn’t sound angry. Instead, Isabelle glanced at me with a smirk before cooing into the phone. “I’ve been looking at that plot of land the orphanage is on. The building is so old.” “I’m thinking of tearing it down and building a shopping mall.” I struggled desperately, craning my neck, clawing at the phone, trying to force out a choked, desperate “no.” “Then tear it down,” Ethan said. “Just don’t tell Lily.” My frantic movements ceased. Ethan’s detached voice continued. “I’ve hated that place for a long time. It’s a stain on my past I can never wash away.” “There’s no point in keeping it.” Amidst Isabelle’s triumphant laughter, her tone turned sweet and cloying as she flirted with him. “Well, if you marry Lily, I won’t be able to sneak into your bed anymore. I’m her enemy, after all.” The line was silent for a few seconds. Then, Ethan chuckled. “Then just be quiet about it. Don’t let her know.” “I’m not going to marry her. I’ll come see you tonight.” One drop, then another, splattered on the ground. I couldn’t tell if they were my tears or the first drops of rain. Isabelle’s high heel left a trail of bruises on my back and arms. I was dropped back at the mansion, a broken doll, and found Ethan just as he was about to leave. “Who did this?!” Seeing my disheveled state, he swept everything off a nearby table in a furious rage. He demanded answers, but the maids just exchanged glances and lowered their heads, feigning ignorance. His face was a mask of fury. As he moved towards the door, I reached out and grabbed his sleeve. He turned, and I forced a weak smile. “Leo,” I whispered, the sound raspy, “do you remember Havenwood Orphanage?” “Of course I remember. You have no idea how much I want to go back,” he said, his expression softening, a hint of anxiety in his eyes. “But I’ve been so busy.” “Why? Do you want to see her?” I shook my head, my voice still just a breath of air. “No rush.” I wasn’t used to his scent anymore. The cologne was too heavy. He gently applied ointment to my bruises, then looked up and froze. “Don’t cry. Did someone hurt you?” “Tell me who it was. I have money and power now. I can make them pay.” “Who took you out of the mansion? Tell me.” “Please, don’t cry.” All the pain and fear I had bottled up erupted in that moment. He looked helpless, pulling me into his arms and repeating those two words over and over. “Don’t cry.” He never could stand to see me cry. He used to say it felt like a piece of his own heart was being carved out. He carefully wiped my tears and stayed with me until I was back in my room. We sat together, leaning against each other, just like when we were kids. But when I woke up in the middle of the night, the space beside me was cold and empty. Long before I had woken, he had taken the car and driven off into the darkness. He went to see Isabelle after all. Standing by the window, I took out my phone with a trembling hand. Staring at the unknown number, I summoned my courage and typed a single line. “I need to see you.” After sending the message, I smiled through a fresh wave of tears. It’s almost over. Everything is almost over.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386482”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I was grabbing a greasy kebab from a street cart—a guilty pleasure—when I ran into an old college classmate. Her eyes widened. She said I was taking the silent treatment with Sophia too far. Sophia Thorne. Daughter of the wealthy family my father worked for, and my first love. We’d planned to study abroad together—a bright, clear future. But at our graduation party, someone drugged her. When I rushed to help, she suddenly came to her senses in the haze. She had her bodyguards throw me, naked, out of the room as everyone watched, screaming I was a gold digger who’d do anything for money. After that, my name meant “social climber.” The city’s scorn grew suffocating, so I left with my father. That was two years ago. Now my classmate pulled out her phone. “You have no idea—Sophia’s been searching for you like crazy,” she said. “Just apologize and humor her. Couples fight and make up. It’s not a big deal.” A bitter laugh escaped me. I showed her my lock screen—a smiling woman and a baby—and the gold band on my finger. “Make up?” I said flatly. “I’m married. I have a kid.” … 2 This classmate, Chloe, had been Sophia’s best friend since childhood. She’d been a spectator to our entire relationship, from its innocent beginnings to its fiery end. She fumbled, hanging up the phone, her hand trembling slightly. After a long moment, she stared at me, her voice a hushed, horrified whisper. “No way, man. You seriously had a kid with someone else behind her back?” I’d snuck out tonight for a moment of peace, not a trip down memory lane. I had no intention of continuing this conversation and turned to leave. But she scrambled to block my path, her face a mask of undisguised panic. “Sam, listen to me! Sophia is even richer now than when you two broke up!” Her words tumbled out in a rush. “She took over the family business. She’s Northwood’s most eligible bachelorette! She even said if you come back, she’ll marry you. No prenup, nothing!” Her desperate pitch faltered as she saw the complete lack of emotion on my face. Still, she pushed on, one last desperate plea. “Just… divorce your wife. Get rid of the kid. I’ll pretend I never saw you tonight.” My blood ran cold. The look in my eyes must have been sharp, because she flinched. “You and Sophia need to see a shrink,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Stop harassing people.” Her face flushed a deep, angry red. She pointed a trembling finger at me, speechless. I was already halfway down the block when I heard her shriek behind me. “Who are you trying to fool, Sam? Weren’t you the pathetic loser who drugged Sophia trying to climb into her bed in the first place?” Climb into her bed. That label had been stuck to me from the day Sophia and I started dating. She was the city’s beloved heiress, and my father was just a gardener on her family’s estate. An heiress and a nobody. It was a mismatch in everyone’s eyes. But Sophia’s love had been fierce, unapologetic. People whispered that I must have used some dirty trick, some low-class charm to bewitch the daughter of a prestigious family. Back then, I was young and proud, my self-respect my most prized possession. All I knew was that I loved Sophia, and she loved me. So I gritted my teeth, fueled by a burning desire to prove them all wrong. I wanted to show the world that Sam Cole, on his own merit, was worthy of Sophia Thorne. I refused her supplementary credit card. I never used her connections to pad my resume. From eighteen to twenty-two, our relationship, the one everyone swore would fail, lasted four years. I thought we would have so many more. Then, the summer after graduation, Julian Vance, the son of a close family friend of the Thornes, came to stay with them in Northwood. Julian was the real deal—a blue-blooded scion from a legacy family. He played the harp, excelled at equestrianism, and could dance like a professional. He was radiant and confident, possessing everything I had, and everything I didn’t. Whispers started circulating, dropped casually in front of me, about an old, informal betrothal pact their parents had made years ago. Julian’s visit, they said, was to make it official. Anxiety gnawed at me until I couldn’t take it anymore. I drove to the stables to find Sophia. Every Saturday afternoon, she’d be there, riding to blow off steam. But this time was different. When I found her, she wasn’t riding. She was leaning against the fence, her gaze fixed on the center of the ring, her eyes sparkling with an unfamiliar light. I followed her line of sight. There was Julian, magnificent in his riding gear, effortlessly commanding his horse. I watched him for a moment, then looked back at Sophia. She hadn’t noticed me. Her attention was completely captivated by him. My unease morphed into full-blown panic. I finally called her name. She started, turning to me. Then her face lit up, and she grabbed my hand, gushing about how incredible Julian’s riding skills were. Finally, she asked, “Sam, want to give it a try?” My face burned with shame. “I… I don’t know how to ride,” I mumbled, feeling myself shrink. The disappointment that flashed in her eyes felt like a dagger to my heart. We had a fight that day, a stiff, awkward argument. She looked utterly bewildered but tried her best to explain. She insisted she didn’t like Julian, that the childhood engagement was just a drunken joke between their parents that no one took seriously. Logically, that should have been the end of it. But the knot in my throat only tightened. I wanted to tell her to stay away from him. I wanted to say, Just wait for me. I’ll be someone great one day, someone who deserves you. But the words were trapped, suffocated by a pride that felt more like poison. To say any of it would be to admit my own inferiority, my own desperate, pathetic jealousy. So, I grew quiet. Sophia didn’t seem to notice. She and Julian had too many shared interests to explore. But her mother did. Mrs. Thorne summoned me to the sunroom, her tone as light and pleasant as if she were discussing the weather. “Do you know why I never tried to stop Sophia from dating you, Sam?” I remained silent. “Because I knew it would never last,” she continued, her smile never reaching her eyes. “This way, she gets it out of her system. There will be no lingering obsession.” She gestured vaguely towards the garden. “See? Look how well she and Julian are getting along now.” I stood there, a chill spreading down my spine as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over me. “Sophia told me she doesn’t like him,” I managed to say. Mrs. Thorne let out a soft, soundless laugh, adjusting the cashmere shawl around her shoulders. “You foolish boy. If you step aside gracefully, you’ll give her an easy way out.” “And if I don’t?” “Sam,” she said, her voice losing its feigned warmth, “this is a notification, not a suggestion.” Mrs. Thorne was a woman of her word. The next day, she fired my father. He stood before me, tears streaming down his weathered, sun-beaten face, his chest heaving with frustrated sobs. His hands moved frantically, signing his story. “They said I was a thief. They docked a month’s pay. But I wasn’t! I never left the gardens!” I choked back my own tears, apologizing over and over, promising I’d get his wages back. But when I went to find Sophia, she was playing a video game with Julian. She glanced up at my interruption, tossed her controller aside, and asked in a strange, detached tone, “Sam, why did you get together with me in the first place?” I froze. “Did your mother say something to you?” I asked, my voice sharp. “Sophia, don’t listen to her, she—” “Don’t talk about my mother like that, Sam,” she cut in, her expression hardening with irritation. I stood there, lost, staring at this suddenly unfamiliar woman. The annoyance in her eyes felt like a physical blow. After what felt like an eternity, she turned away, waving a dismissive hand over her shoulder without even looking at me. “Just go home for now.” I stood outside the door, watching as she sat back down. Julian picked up his controller, said something that made her laugh, and she leaned against him, her body relaxing into his. He didn’t pull away. For the first time, I felt a horrifying certainty that Mrs. Thorne had been right all along. A few days later, two things arrived simultaneously: my father’s missing wages and my acceptance letter from UPenn. Seeing the joy on my father’s face as he clutched the check, and reading the email on my phone, I hesitated. Finally, I sent Sophia a text, thanking her and telling her my offer had come through. Going to UPenn together had always been our plan. She replied instantly with an address and two words: “Come here.” Sophia was out with her circle of friends—the daughters of Northwood’s elite, whose favorite pastime was stirring up trouble. When I walked in, the girl nearest the door raised her champagne flute. “Well, well!” she drawled. “Look who it is! Sir Sam himself. Congrats on the UPenn acceptance letter! Don’t forget us little people when you’re on top!” I’d grown used to this kind of veiled mockery over the years. I ignored her and walked straight to Sophia, who was staring down into her drink. Before I could even sit, the same girl added with a smirk, “You know, Sam, you’re a classic case of marrying up. Let’s be real, someone from your background would never get a chance to study abroad if it weren’t for Sophia.” Her words had barely settled when Sophia let out a cold laugh. She rose slowly, gracefully, holding her wine glass. Then, in front of everyone, she poured the entire contents over the girl’s head. The empty glass smashed at her feet, and Sophia’s hand cracked across her face in a vicious slap. “Your mouth stinks,” Sophia spat. “You should keep it shut.” The room erupted into chaos. The two of them were a tangle of flailing limbs and curses until they were finally pulled apart and sent to separate hospitals. In the car on the way to the emergency room, Sophia wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. Without looking at me, she asked, “Did you get the money?” I was dabbing at a cut on her knuckles with a napkin. I nodded. She snatched her hand back, a strange, bitter chuckle escaping her lips. Then she grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze. Her eyes were intense, searching. “Sam,” she said, each word a carefully placed stone, “if I didn’t have money, would you still be with me?” A wave of exhaustion washed over me, so profound it was almost dizzying. But I held her gaze, swallowing the lump in my throat, and answered with all the sincerity I had left. “Sophia, believe it or not, it’s always been you. Just you.” Years ago, my father, who is deaf-mute, was repeatedly cheated out of his wages by unscrupulous agencies who took advantage of him. It was Sophia, passing by, who stopped and gave me her number, telling me her family needed a gardener and that my dad should try applying. The memory of her bright, confident smile still visited me in my dreams. She was a splash of vibrant color in my otherwise gray life. How could I not love her? But I knew, in that moment, she didn’t believe me anymore. The way she looked at me was different now. It was the calculated, scrutinizing gaze of a superior assessing a subordinate, someone trying to curry favor. For the first time, I seriously considered ending things with her. But the thought alone was a physical pain, a fist clenching around my heart. So I did the cowardly thing. I buried my head in the sand and did nothing. Until the graduation party. I was in a storage closet, grabbing more chairs, when I saw Sophia stumbling down the hotel corridor, swaying so badly she was about to collapse. My heart seized. I dropped the chairs and sprinted towards her, catching her just as her knees gave out. Her hair was a mess, her face flushed, and she was muttering about being hot. I assumed she was just drunk and started half-carrying, half-dragging her towards a private lounge to rest. It wasn’t until she pushed me onto the sofa and pinned me down that I realized something was terribly wrong. I struggled, trying to hold her off while fumbling for my phone to call 911. But she clung to me, her body trembling with sobs, mumbling my name over and over. A traitorous thought flickered through my mind: maybe this was fate making the choice for me. And Sophia, it seemed, had made her choice too. She lifted her head, her eyes hazy as she tried to focus on my face. “E…than?” My hands trembled as I reached up, my fingers brushing against the back of her neck. The next second, a powerful kick sent me sprawling onto the floor. Sophia clutched at her dress, staring down at me with wide, horrified eyes. “Are you insane? What do you think you’re doing? You drugged me!” I stared back at her, stunned. “Drugged you? No, I just saw you… you looked like you were about to pass out, so I…” My words died in my throat. The look in her eyes—pure contempt and disgust—silenced me. “Keep lying,” she sneered. “Just keep lying, Sam. When did you become this… this creature?” My face burned with humiliation. “It wasn’t me,” I pleaded, a last, desperate attempt to salvage the truth. “I didn’t do anything! You can check the security cameras!” Her only response was a cold, mocking silence. My heart felt like it was turning to ice. I turned away, wiping at the corner of my eye, and whispered the words I’d been avoiding for weeks. “Sophia, let’s break up.” The silence was shattered by her sharp, cruel laugh. She strode over, her heel pressing down hard on my shoulder, pinning me to the floor as she pulled out her phone and called security. “Wow, Sam, you’re good,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “Playing hard to get now? Is money really that important to you?” She let out a sharp, decisive breath. “Fine.” Before I could react, two burly security guards were at the door. Sophia opened it wide, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Get him out of here,” she commanded, her face a blank mask. “Throw him into the hallway. Just like that.”

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On my son’s fifth birthday, I found messages on my husband David’s phone about a hotel room with another woman. He called her baby, bought her jewelry, and promised a Disney trip after our party. I confronted him. He admitted to cheating but swore we were his real family. After eight years of marriage, I couldn’t ruin our son’s birthday, so I pretended nothing happened. Then a voice message played aloud: “David, I’m on the roof. I’ll jump if you don’t come now!” He bolted for the door. I told him coldly, “If you leave, we’re done.” He froze, but didn’t look back. … 1 Unlocking David’s phone had been an accident. But seeing the messages from a girl named Lily was not. They stretched back to last March, a relentless, daily stream. When it was windy, she’d remind him to wear a jacket. When it rained, she’d share a picture of the new umbrella he’d bought her. On Valentine’s Day, she’d sent a photo of herself wearing the necklace he’d given her, shyly modeling a new piece of lingerie. And then there was today’s message, sent with a cute kitten emoji: “When is your son’s party over? I’ve already booked the hotel at Disney. We can leave tonight.” … I scrolled through their so-called love story for half an hour and still hadn’t reached the beginning. The old me would have thrown this phone at his face, screamed “You bastard!” and walked out without a second thought. But that was then. Now, we’ve been married for eight years, and today is our son’s fifth birthday. Both our families are here at the hotel, ready to celebrate. The party starts in less than an hour. And this is the moment I find proof of his affair. A thousand tiny needles pricked at my heart, a searing, relentless pain. But I didn’t have time to cry. My five-year-old son was waiting for me in the living room. It was his day. The minutes ticked by. I went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, fixed my hair, and then walked out to the living room. I called David, who was helping Tim open a new Lego set, into our bedroom. I laid it all out for him. I didn’t ask him who she was. I just asked him, “Tim is only five. What are you going to do?” The smile vanished from David’s face. His hands trembled as he pulled out a cigarette, then another, and another, until the entire pack was empty. He didn’t move until our son knocked on the door, his small voice asking when we were leaving for the party. That seemed to snap him out of his trance. His voice, hoarse from the smoke, was strained. “I admit it, I cheated. But you and Tim are my real family.” “It will never happen again.” Right there, in front of me, he opened his messages, blocked her number, and deleted the chat history. As if he could erase it all like a bad dream. I wiped my own tears, fixed my makeup, and opened the bedroom door with a smile plastered on my face. He scrubbed a hand over his face, then hoisted Tim onto his shoulders and carried him out to the car. As if nothing had ever happened. It wasn’t until eight o’clock that night, when the waiter rolled in the birthday cake and the lights dimmed for the candles, that the illusion shattered. David’s phone lit up, and a voice message played loud enough for the whole table to hear: “David, I’m on the roof. If you don’t come, I’m going to jump!” 2 The clatter of a bowl hitting the floor shattered the moment. As David lunged to his feet, a tureen of steaming hot soup sloshed over the table, right onto our son’s arm. A piercing scream cut through the room, and everything descended into chaos. My parents rushed to pour cold water on Tim’s arm. His grandparents were already in tears, trying to soothe his hysterical crying. And David, the cause of it all, just stumbled back, a flicker of apology in his eyes before he turned and ran out of the room without a second thought. His younger sister, Sarah, looked terrified, rushing to cover for him. “Lily is… she’s one of his junior employees. Something awful happened with her family, she’s not doing well. As her boss, he can’t just ignore it… I’m sure he’ll be right back.” Lily? So she even knew the girl’s name. What else had she been hiding for him? Sarah was five years younger than David. When I married him, she was just starting college. She used to follow me around, calling me her big sister, promising we’d be best friends for life. Now, that same girl couldn’t even meet my eyes as she stammered, “Chloe, you and my brother have been married for so long… You understand, right?” My throat felt like it was clogged with stones, raw and aching. I didn’t answer her. I just reached out and pulled my son into my arms. “We’re going to the hospital.” At the emergency room, the diagnosis came back: second-degree burns. Blisters of all sizes and angry red welts covered his entire arm. He had cried himself into exhaustion. My parents were furious, their voices shaking with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “This is insane! What kind of employee is more important than his own son? Tim is only five! Why should he have to suffer like this?” David’s parents were deeply ashamed, trying to comfort me while urging Sarah to call him. “Get that worthless boy on the phone right now! My grandson is seriously hurt. He needs to be here!” But for three hours, through five bags of IV fluids, David didn’t answer a single call from any of us. Instead, a friend request popped up on my phone. [This is Lily. I’m pregnant.] 3 I accepted her request. In the suffocating silence of the hospital room, her first message came through. It was an ultrasound report. Thirteen weeks. Doing the math, she would have conceived around the time David’s mother was in the hospital for back surgery. He’d said he was too busy with work to help. So I was the one who juggled taking care of a five-year-old Tim while running back and forth to the hospital. The second message was a picture of a two-carat diamond ring. It wasn’t massive, but it wasn’t cheap, either. The design was one David had sketched himself. I’d found the drawing in his desk drawer right before our anniversary. He told me it was a surprise he was designing for a friend’s proposal. Before I could even open the third message, David finally showed up. His clothes were disheveled, and the guilt in his eyes as he looked at me and Tim was impossible to hide. Our parents quietly left the room, telling David to comfort our son and apologize to me properly. David nodded and sat down, his hand hovering over Tim’s sweaty forehead. After a long silence, his voice came out, strained and heavy. “She’s pregnant.” My fingertips trembled. “And?” “She’s so young. An abortion would be really hard on her body. I… I think she should have the baby.” For a moment, I felt like my brain just shut down. I asked, my voice hollow, “What about Tim? What about our son? What happens to him?” David looked startled, as if the thought had never crossed his mind—or maybe it had, and he just didn’t care. “Tim is our legitimate son. Nothing will happen to him. He’ll be fine.” The tears I’d been holding back finally broke free, streaming down my face, washing away my makeup and revealing the broken mess underneath. I didn’t say anything. Instead, I opened the third message from Lily. It was a picture of a crumpled piece of paper. I could see the hospital’s logo on the back; it looked like a blank prescription pad she’d torn off a desk. Scrawled all over the small sheet were lists of names. [These are the names David picked out for our baby.] As I stared at the list, David’s anxious voice filled the silence. “Lily said she doesn’t want status or money. It’s just… when it’s time to register the baby’s birth certificate, she hopes I can… temporarily divorce you…” I let his words sink in, a roaring sound filling my ears. In such a short time, he had already planned out their entire future. We had been in love for ten years, married for eight. And it was all undone by an eight-month affair. My eyelashes fluttered, sending a chill straight to my soul. I looked at my son, asleep in the hospital bed, his little brow furrowed in pain even in his dreams. Then I looked at David—at his guilty, pleading, and ever-so-slightly impatient eyes. And just like that, the storm inside me stilled. I knew what I had to do. I put down my phone and spoke softly. “David, we’ve been together for more than ten years now.” “I remember when you first asked me out. You were twenty years old, clueless about girls and romance. But you saved up for weeks to buy me a gift. That necklace was truly hideous, but it was from you.” “I remember our wedding day, how you panicked when you couldn’t find my shoes, terrified you wouldn’t be able to marry me.” “And when I was pregnant, you never missed a single doctor’s appointment. When my feet swelled up so badly I couldn’t sleep, you’d get up without complaint, comforting me, massaging my legs, telling me you would only ever love me…” I paused, my gaze fixed on him. “David, tell me. Do you still love me?” He couldn’t, could he? Otherwise, how could he have shattered our family so completely on our son’s birthday? His eyes reddened. His lips parted, then closed, over and over again. Finally, only three words came out. “We’re family.” Family. Like a blow to the head. It shocked me out of my memories and back into this cold, sterile reality. I didn’t say another word. I told him to leave the room. Then I texted my best friend. “Help me find a lawyer. I want a divorce.” 4 Getting a divorce is never easy. Especially when there’s a child involved. The moment I got the separation agreement, my parents got wind of it and rushed over to talk me out of it. “He was wrong to let Tim get burned, Chloe, but he’s still his father. Please, don’t do anything rash.” Sarah showed up too, with my in-laws in tow. “Chloe, I yelled at him yesterday, I really did. He knows he messed up. He even had me order a new birthday cake for Tim.” My mother-in-law chimed in. “Yes, he did! It arrived first thing this morning. It’s still in the box.” Sarah placed the cake box on the coffee table and opened it. The air in the room froze. It was a gaudy, multi-tiered cake with “Happy 80th Birthday!” scrawled across it in bright pink frosting. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the picture before he ordered it. A bitter, cynical laugh almost escaped my lips. I looked away and went back to packing my suitcase. Sarah was on the verge of tears, stammering out excuses for him. “The delivery guy must have mixed up the orders! My brother loves Tim so much, he would never—” The sound of a key in the front door cut her off. David was home. And he was holding Lily’s hand. In his other arm, he carried several bags overflowing with maternity and baby supplies. The silence was absolute. Every eye in the room was fixed on Lily’s swollen belly. Sarah’s voice trembled. “What is she doing here?” My mother’s eyes filled with tears as she pulled Tim into a tight hug. “Who is she?” The question I hadn’t asked, my mother asked for me. David didn’t answer. He let go of Lily and grabbed my suitcase. “Where are you going?” I wanted to give him a dignified smile, but I realized he didn’t deserve it. My voice was flat. “Somewhere my son and I belong.” His eyes widened in panic. “Just… just for a little while, then? I’ll come get you. We can…” “Ow!” Lily cried out, interrupting him. “David, my stomach hurts.” He instantly forgot about me, his face flooding with panic. He swept Lily up into his arms and started carrying her toward our bedroom. “Daddy!” Tim’s small voice cut through the tension. The white gauze on his arm was a glaring reminder of everything that had happened. “Daddy, are you still going to celebrate my birthday with me?” The childish innocence of his question stunned everyone into silence. My father-in-law closed his eyes in defeat. Sarah turned away to hide her tears. My dad picked up my suitcase. His voice was low and firm. “Let’s go, Chloe. We’re going home.” David’s arms seemed to slacken around Lily. “Wait!” He pushed Lily away and stood in front of me and Tim. “Lily has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. After it’s over, I’ll come straight to your parents’ house to pick you both up.” I stared at him, bewildered. “You don’t have to—” He cut me off, barreling ahead with his own plans. “That villa we looked at in South Hills, the one you said you liked? I bought it. You and Tim can move in there.” “You always wanted a garden. I already had the property manager plant those pomegranate trees you love.” I frowned. “David, really, you don’t—” “And Tim,” he continued, his voice softening as his gaze fell on our son’s bandaged arm. “I had my assistant contact a specialist. We have a consultation this weekend. I promise, he won’t have a single scar…” “David.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I cut him off, pulled the divorce papers and a pen from my bag, and signed my name right there in front of everyone. “If you really want to make it up to me, then sign this. Now.” “Let’s get a divorce.”

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I was with Jax for ten years. But the day he decided to go straight, his crew was already calling someone else “boss lady.” Those hands, which had seen their share of blood and battles, were now gently tying the laces on a young girl’s canvas sneakers. “Sandy,” he told me, “she’s not like you.” “You can run wild with me, no questions asked, no title needed. She can’t.” I didn’t look back that day. What Jax never knew was that my family had been waiting for me to get this out of my system. They had a good man waiting in the wings the whole time, just waiting for me to give him a title of his own. 1 The day Jax decided to wash his hands of the life, he pulled me into bed and the world outside ceased to exist. I stared at the shredded lingerie on the floor, a tangled mess of black lace. For a moment, I was speechless. “Jax,” I finally managed, “is it the end of the world?” The raw, desperate way he’d taken me… it felt like there was no tomorrow. He was smoking his usual post-sex cigarette, his eyelids heavy, a haze of smoke blurring his features. “Sandy, if I were to… break it off with you,” he started, the cigarette bobbing between his lips. “You wouldn’t, like, lose your mind over it, would you?” He said it like a joke, but a chill ran down my spine. Ten years with Jax had taught me to read every nuance. He liked his women obedient on the surface, but with a core of rebellion he could play against. Just like now. I took the half-smoked cigarette from his fingers, pushed down the storm churning inside me, and raised a lazy eyebrow. “Jax, do you still think I’m eighteen?” If I were still that eighteen-year-old in canvas shoes, I would have demanded answers. I would have made him pay for leaving me, consequences be damned. But I’m twenty-eight now… A lump formed in my throat, and I couldn’t finish the thought. Jax just ruffled my hair and stubbed out the cigarette as it burned down to his knuckles. “Sandy, let’s end it here.” “And stop smoking. For fuck’s sake, stop treating your body like it’s disposable.” “We’re not kids anymore. We can’t keep living like this.” In that instant, I froze. A breakup at twenty-eight. The first one to cry loses everything. The smeared makeup, the raw vulnerability—it’s a complete defeat. I tried to act casual, reaching for my jacket on the floor, ready to leave. But Jax’s long arm snaked out and pulled me back into his arms. Outside, the clouds were a swirl of dark ink, pregnant with a coming storm. His lips traced a path down my spine as he expertly adjusted the strap of my dress. He nibbled on my earlobe, just like he always used to. “Heard me?” he whispered. I didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to mind. His tone was that of a man in absolute control, a king speaking to his subject. “It’s about to rain. Stay a little longer, hm?” Ten years can smooth over any conflict, creating a deceptive calm on the surface. Jax must have forgotten. My temper… it wasn’t just for show. If we were going to break, it had to be clean. I straightened my back, pushing his chiseled, handsome face away, and offered a small, cool smile. “How long is this storm going to last?” He had someone else in his heart now. How long did he think he could keep me here? A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he recovered quickly. When he introduced the other girl, his words were simple, brutal. “Sandy, you’re a smart woman.” “Her name is Ava. She’s not like you. You can be in the muck with me, without a title.” “She can’t. She’s too pure.” I swallowed hard. The wreckage of our night was all around us. Suddenly, I didn’t know what to say. What did he mean, I could be in the muck with him without a title? The black silk, the high heels, the slip dresses. For years, Jax had molded me into his perfect woman. Now that I’d finally perfected that sultry, dangerous look, he found it cheap? For a moment, I wanted to scream at him. But he put a finger to his lips, silencing me. It was a phone call. From the girl, Ava. “Jax? You said you were coming to pick me up…” her voice was a fragile whisper. “I’m all alone, and I’m scared…” 2 Jax left me for her. The roar of his engine echoed from the underground garage as a text message lit up my phone. [I’ll be out of town for a bit. Get your stuff out of the house.] [I’m having someone change the locks in two weeks.] I didn’t reply. I just moved through the villa I’d called home for five years, silently erasing every trace of myself. After a long while, my phone lit up again. Jax must have reached the terrified Ava by now. This was him, tying up the last loose end of our decade together. [Call me if you need anything.] [I can’t give you a title, but other than that, we can still be friends.] I had loved Jax for ten years. And in return, I got a casual dismissal. A friend. … The downpour lasted for two full days. The city was drowning, a damp chill seeping into my bones. I couldn’t sleep. I’d wake in the dead of night and flick a lighter open, just to see the small flame. The year I got with Jax, he was just a street hustler who couldn’t make rent, living in a damp basement apartment. In that humid air, the only light came from his lighter. Click. Click. The flame sparking, then dying. Jax, with his sharp buzz cut, had stared at me in my school uniform. “Think this through, Sandy.” “A guy like me, I’m not going anywhere.” “I can’t give you the future you want.” I was so damn naive back then. I took off my rain-soaked canvas shoes and tucked my ice-cold feet into the warmth of his chest, right against the thin fabric of his tank top. His body heat was like a torch, slowly setting me ablaze. There was only that single, flickering flame, but I stubbornly nodded. “Jax, I don’t want a future.” “I just want you.” We went through hell together. Nights filled with the smell of antiseptic and the rustle of bandages. Nights of desperate, clinging passion. Jax used to say that the day he finally went straight, the very first thing he would do was marry me. Now, he was going straight. And the first thing he did was cut me out of his life. I’m twenty-eight. I’m not a kid anymore. I can’t keep messing around. Besides, my family had a man waiting for me. Just waiting for me to give him a title. 3 I decided to leave the city. But first, I took the keys to the villa and went to Jax’s club. No makeup, no fancy dress. Just jeans and canvas sneakers. When I walked in, most of the guys didn’t even recognize me. It was only when I took off my cap that the crew—the same guys who used to eagerly call me “boss lady”—fell silent. They all knew about Jax and the new girl. The ones who were still loyal to me started trying to stir things up. “Sandy, for what it’s worth, we all think you and the boss are the perfect match.” “This new girl… she’s a lightweight. Can’t exactly show her off, can you?” “Why don’t you go talk to him? You know he always listens to—” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Ten years with Jax. I had an innocent face, but with a slash of red lipstick and a bit of eyeliner, I could look deadly. Plenty of men had their eyes on me, but Jax was always there to protect me. Anyone who dared to touch a hair on my head ended up hauling sandbags in some godforsaken desert outpost. If I shed a single tear, Jax would drop everything to comfort me. That was a privilege once reserved only for me. But this time, the guys didn’t get to finish their sentence. A porcelain cup shattered against the wall, right next to one of their heads. Jax’s face was dark with fury. “Anyone listening would think Sandy runs this place.” “Is this how you watch my business when I’m gone?!” The sprawling room went dead silent. That was the power Jax commanded. Only now, that power was being used against me. I started to explain, to defend the guys, but the girl behind him peeked out, her tone deceptively innocent. “Jax, is this the Sandy you told me about?” “She’s dressed just like me!” Jax’s brow furrowed as he looked me up and down. Jeans, canvas sneakers. It was a mirror image of Ava’s style. He looked at me with suspicion in his eyes. “Sandy, did you look her up?” If you looked closely, Ava did look about five parts like I did at eighteen. Especially in this outfit. I saw right through the girl’s little game, but I refused to defend myself. Instead of me investigating Ava, wasn’t it more likely that someone had investigated Jax’s tastes? After ten years together, he couldn’t even trust me on this… I pressed my lips into a stubborn line. Jax let out a short, sharp laugh. A sneer. “No matter how much you dress the part, you’re not eighteen anymore.” “Sandy, what are you fighting me for?” I blinked, unable to believe what he’d just said. “How about this,” Jax said, licking his lips, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Ten years. Name your price.” I froze. I had been with Jax for ten years. I’d taken a bullet for him. I’d taken a knife for him. But nothing, not a single moment, had ever hurt more than this. My nails dug into my palms, my voice trembled. “Jax, what did you just say?” “I said, I wasted ten years of your youth.” “Name your price.” He stood there, hands in his pockets. Even as a storm of emotion raged in his eyes, he forced the words out. I felt like I was going to collapse. Ava tugged on his sleeve, whispering, “Jax, don’t be so mean.” “Sandy didn’t do anything wrong.” He looked down at her, his expression softening as he gently brushed his nose against hers. “It’s okay, baby. Be good.” He pushed her behind him. “I’m not going to let anyone bully you.” That’s how he used to protect me. I couldn’t watch. A bitter bile rose in my throat. I looked down and saw the silver bangle on my wrist. The year he gave it to me, it was a snug fit. But the deeper I fell in love with Jax, the looser it became.

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I’m nearsighted. I went to the convenience store where Jax worked part-time to buy some gum and accidentally grabbed a box of condoms instead. “Three boxes?” The hand he was using to ring me up paused. His lips curved into a half-smirk. I shot back, full of righteous indignation, “Don’t worry about it. They’ll all get used.” … And they were. All in one night. 1 I have high myopia, severe astigmatism, and congenital night blindness. If I take my glasses off, I can’t see people’s mouths move, which actually affects my ability to hear them. When I can’t see, I get frustrated. When I get frustrated, I frown. Add to that my fast-paced, distracted way of walking, and I completely miss classmates who give me a small wave in the hallway. Over time, thanks to my menacing expression and terrible eyesight, I’ve managed to single-handedly avoid ninety-nine percent of all social interaction. By the time I realized what was happening, I had already been branded the “gloomy guy.” Even when I tried to explain, people would either look right through me or actively dodge me. One time, I finally worked up the nerve to apologize to someone I’d accidentally ignored, only to realize I’d cornered a kid from the class next door. After I finished my mumbled apology, he just stared at me, bewildered, then waved his hands frantically and backed away like he’d seen a ghost. As I walked past the classroom door, I heard him complaining to his friend: “Dude, that was so creepy! I was just walking, and this cold-looking glasses kid suddenly blocks my path. His eyes were darting around behind me, and he had this super weird grin while he was apologizing for not recognizing me earlier. I’ve never even seen him before! It totally freaked me out.” “Ew, get away from me. You sure you’re not haunted or something?” “Shut up!” … For the record, I’m just a guy who can’t make eye contact. Psychic abilities are currently beyond my skill set. 2 It’s been a nightmare. Every attempt I make at being social just makes me seem even weirder to everyone else. A string of blunders has cemented my status as the campus freak: I once mistook a sack on the ground for a fainted student and tried to help it up. During P.E., I lined up with the trash cans. I’ve even lectured a traffic cone about the dangers of standing in the middle of the road. Everyone gives me a wide berth, retreating to a safe distance before turning to whisper about my “fascinating mental state.” The only exception is Jax. “LEO WHITE—!” He’d bounce and holler like one of those pop-up ads you can never close, starting his sprint from two hundred yards away. He’d make an impossible amount of noise the entire way, finally getting right in my face to say hi. “Finally found you! We’ve got the fitness test next period. Let’s be partners, yeah?” Jax had a death grip on my sleeve, making it clear he wouldn’t let go until I agreed. His grin was goofy, like a golden retriever’s. I thought about it for zero seconds. “No.” It was a ridiculous request. I rejected it outright. Was he kidding? The two of us together would look like a blaring trumpet dragging along a silent, despairing cello. The optics were just too bizarre. Besides, we barely knew each other. I figured he’d back off after being rejected. But no. Jax’s approach to social interaction is basically a home invasion. The idea that a minor setback could stop him from making his presence known was pure fantasy. For the next few days, I constantly felt a pair of eyes on me. When I ate, he spied on me. When I left class, he tailed me. When I was in the library, I’d find him sitting directly across from me. I even saw him lurking near the dumpsters when I was taking out the trash. It wasn’t that he was clueless; he was deliberately trying to get my attention, eagerly waiting for me to give him a disgusted look. He seemed to get a kick out of it. Finally, I snapped. “Hey, what the hell do you want?” He showed no shame at being caught, just grinned. “I want to apologize.” “?” “At first, I saw you walking around with that ‘I hate the world’ look on your face, ignoring everyone, so I told my friends you were just a pretentious prick. Ahem, sorry about that,” Jax said, scratching his cheek, completely unembarrassed by his ill-timed epiphany. “But I’ve noticed you’re like that with everyone. You’re not arrogant, you’re just blind.” I felt my fist clench. 3 Even with a bruised face, Jax was relentless, buzzing around me like a hyperactive fly. He was unbelievably loud. With his face a canvas of black and blue, he declared his mission was to make my life more “colorful.” During lunch break, the door to the rooftop was kicked open with a bang. I turned, and unsurprisingly, there was Jax, strolling in like he owned the place. “Whoa, so this is where you hide out! Nice spot. I was wondering why I never saw you in the cafeteria,” he said, clicking his tongue. Then, faster than I could react, he snatched my lunchbox. “Chewing on a few leaves is so boring. Eat enough of that, and you’ll be mooing your way back to the pasture. Let’s trade.” Before I could process what was happening, a container of braised pork appeared in my left hand, and another with sweet and sour ribs in my right. Then he looked around, and, as if making an offering, lined up a row of rice balls in front of me. “Eating with a view. This is the life,” Jax said, plopping down beside me and digging into my salad without a hint of shame. How can someone have such a complete lack of personal boundaries? I was furious. “I thought you said it was just leaves? Why are you eating it?” “I have pica,” he said without looking up. I couldn’t win. Frustrated, I stared down at the ridiculously lavish lunch in front of me. The rice balls were different flavors, and he had even warmed them all up. I understood, of course. He wouldn’t have known I was missing from the cafeteria if he hadn’t been specifically looking for me. It’s just… I was used to sharp-edged malice. I didn’t know how to deal with this unexpected sweetness. With a complicated swirl of emotions, I picked up a piece of pork and chewed it slowly. Out of the corner of my eye, I could almost see a non-existent tail wagging happily. After that, Jax showed up on the rooftop every day at noon, uninvited, loud, and carrying bags of food, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 4 Jax’s original goal may have been to apologize, but you don’t bite the hand that feeds you. Besides, I wasn’t angry with him anymore. I just figured he was missing a screw, a guy who said whatever was on his mind, even spouting childish insults right to your face. At least he was honest, which was better than people who sulked and made you guess what was wrong. Once I’d made peace with that, I turned to him during lunch one day. “Is there anything you need my help with?” A second ago, Jax had been complaining about how the temperature was dropping so fast it was like a bad DJ was scratching on the thermometer. My question shut him up instantly, a look of utter confusion on his face. “What’s that all about? Why the sudden offer? Are you serious?” “Of course, I’m serious. Friends should help each other out,” I said, gesturing to all the food he’d brought. “It can’t just be you giving all the time. You’re not a dog…” My words were cut off by his goofy laugh. “Heh heh. Friends. Heh heh.” Was that really the most important part of what I said? I was speechless. The steam from the food was fogging up my glasses. I decided to wipe them clean and ask him again. But as soon as I took them off, Jax’s hand shot up without warning and knocked them right out of my grasp. My glasses sailed through the air in a graceful, tragic arc before shattering on the concrete. After a moment of stunned silence, I cracked my knuckles, a serene, murderous smile on my face. “You had better have a very good explanation for this.” “It was an accident, I swear,” Jax wailed, shrinking back, his voice trembling. “I was just reaching for a rice ball.” 5 Jax is my personal curse. I came to this conclusion within three minutes of losing my glasses. He’d crashed into my life like a human beagle, yapping and destroying everything in his path. Without my glasses, the world was a featureless blur. I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him as close as I could, but I still couldn’t make out his face. “Jax, when you were a baby, did you pick a power drill as your first toy? How else do you explain this level of destructive force?” “Thanks.” “That wasn’t a compliment!” I seethed. “I don’t have a spare pair. I can’t even see the ground in front of me. Maybe instead of the stairs or the elevator, we should just try free-falling on the way down.” “I’m sorry, but can you let go of me first?” That’s when I noticed the tips of his ears were bright red. Jax covered his face with his hands. “Too… too close.” Then he bolted, leaving me alone on the rooftop to face the cold, lonely wind. A few minutes later, he came back, muttering something about helping me down the stairs. BRRRING— The school bell shrieked. We were definitely going to be late. Jax was consumed by guilt. He couldn’t even look at me, just stared at the ground as he hurried along. In his haste, he tripped over his own feet, nearly sending both of us tumbling. “Are you trying to help me or kill me? Let go!” A vein throbbed in my temple. I gave up on my useless human crutch and felt my own way down the stairs, one hand on the railing. 6 Years later, someone asked how Jax and I became friends. After all, we were polar opposites, the perfect embodiment of “the chaotic one and the grumpy one.” When I heard the question, I just smiled faintly. It looked like serene acceptance, but in reality, I’d just run out of options. From the very beginning of our friendship, I could have written a book: The Art of Putting Up With People. 7 Because we were late, we ended up standing side-by-side as punishment outside the classroom. I had my spare glasses on now, so I could clearly see Jax sneaking glances at me, looking like a guilty puppy. My slightest movement made him flinch, bracing for a hit. I sighed in exasperation and looked out the window. The sunlight was so fierce it seemed to bleach the world white. Cicadas, summer’s most fervent disciples, shrieked without pause. The only relief was the breeze that snaked its way into the collar of our uniforms. Ivy crept up the red brick wall of the building across the way. When the wind blew, the leaves fluttered, making it look like a giant, furry creature breathing softly. As the light shifted, the leaves broke apart into a thousand tiny shields, as if the creature were shaking its scales. The vibrant colors were dazzling. I was so captivated that I forgot why I was standing there in the first place. I’d always rushed through the hallways, trying to avoid eye contact, never once noticing the view outside, even though I saw it every day. In a way, being late was a blessing in disguise. A small smile touched my lips. I’ve gotten so used to bad luck that I can even talk myself into seeing the bright side of things like this. “Leo?” Jax whispered, his head still bowed. “Hm?” “It’s all my fault. I’m so clumsy,” he said, tugging on my sleeve, his voice thick with unshed tears. “I’ll pay for your glasses, I promise. Just… please don’t ignore me, okay?” “It’s fine. I’m not mad.” “Really? But you were just smiling in this really scary way. Like you were already planning my burial.” … I should just hit him. 8 To show how sorry he was, Jax invited me to his “secret base.” “Come on, come on! I promise you won’t be disappointed!” For someone whose life revolved around a boring two-point routine between home and school, the offer was undeniably tempting. Dad was on the night shift, so no one would notice if I got home a little late. After a moment’s thought, I agreed. “Yes!” Jax beamed, a five-fingered handprint still visible on his cheek. He started humming a tuneless little song, skipping ahead of me, his shirt catching the wind. A warm halo of light surrounded his head, and dappled shadows danced at his feet. The sun was setting, painting the distant sky with a rose-colored veil. I followed him in silence for a long time. “We’re here.” We passed through a crooked wooden fence. I looked where he was pointing, and the scenery changed in an instant. It was a garden overflowing with roses, so vibrant it looked as if the sunset itself had descended to embrace the earth. Soft colors swirled and stretched in a gentle, unhurried dance. The flowers seemed to hold hands, weaving together a delicate dream. “Whenever I’m feeling down, I come here to plant flowers,” he said, uncharacteristically shy. “I planted the first one when I was in elementary school. It was Arbor Day, and the teacher said we could all plant something at school. I was so excited.” “And then what happened?” “I forgot my uniform sash, and I was too scared to go in. I just stood at the gate, holding my little flower, while all the other kids were laughing and having fun on the other side of the wall. I felt so left out that I just started crying and ran away. I ended up here somehow. When I was done crying, I realized it was a pretty good spot for a flower. So I dug a hole with my bare hands and got mud all over my face.” “Hahahaha!” I pictured a tiny, miserable version of Jax, planting a flower with tears streaming down his muddy cheeks. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Whoa, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you laugh,” Jax said, blinking at me. “You probably don’t realize it, but you never actually laugh out loud.” I froze. He was right. Since my brother died, I rarely smiled, let alone laughed. I knew I was gloomy and boring, completely unlikable. Sometimes, when I tried to get closer to people, my expression would be so stiff it looked like I was trying to start a fight. Social failure made me avoid people even more. Less interaction made me more nervous for the next attempt, which would inevitably go worse. It was a vicious cycle. Jax’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Look up, Leo.” Twilight had fallen. In the darkness, his eyes were still shining. “It’s a full moon.” I looked up. The moonlight was fragrant and serene. It was probably just me, but for a moment, I imagined the moon was a spotlight, and Jax and I were the only two people on stage. Bathed in the beauty of the night, the self-pity that had filled my mind just moments ago seemed to melt away. It was magical. I took off my glasses. I could feel an intense gaze on me. Jax was staring at my face. “I have a bad astigmatism,” I explained. “The moon actually looks bigger without them.” “Oh, r-right,” he stammered. “You, uh, you should look at the moon. Not at me.” I had no idea what was going on, but I did as he said. I was too young then to understand: The eyes will always betray the heart’s deepest secrets.

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The day I was trying on my wedding gown, a strange woman stormed into the VIP suite and plunged a knife into me. “You think a homewrecking bitch like you deserves to wear a dress this expensive?” She ripped the hem of my gown, a twisted snarl on her face as she hurled a vial of acid at me. The cold blade was already buried in my stomach. I collapsed to my knees in agony, but she grabbed my hair, forcing my head up. “Ethan is my husband. What the hell are you? A dirty little secret he keeps on the side!” Blood dripped from my fingertips. In that moment, it all clicked into place. The man I’d loved for seven years, my fiancé, had another woman. “What are you looking at?” she sneered, her voice dripping with arrogance. “Even if I kill you right here, with my husband’s power, no one can touch me.” Looking at her smug face, I took out my phone with a blood-slicked hand and dialed my brother’s number. “Rovan,” I said, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Come get me at the bridal shop.” “And while you’re at it, inform the Cranston family—the engagement is off.” 1 After I hung up, I looked down at the multi-million-dollar couture gown, now eaten away with gaping, blackened holes. My exposed skin burned from the high-concentration acid. A foul, yellowish liquid mixed with blood oozed from the festering wounds. I stared at the woman, Sophia, the fury in my eyes hot enough to incinerate her. But the onlookers who had gathered because of my phone call just burst into laughter. “Hahaha, she actually dared to steal from Mrs. Cranston? She’s really in for it now!” Sophia pointed a sharp, manicured finger at my nose. “Slut! Still putting on an act? You think calling some nobody is going to make me let you go?” she shrieked. “What family? Hawthorne? Never heard of it! I’m calling the cops right now to have you arrested, you little wedding-dress-stealing whore!” I pressed a hand to my seared flesh, hot blood seeping through my fingers. The rapid blood loss made my vision swim. Looking at the thugs standing behind Sophia, I regretted not bringing my bodyguards today. I glanced around, my eyes pleading for help. But they just watched, cold and detached, whispering amongst themselves with mockery in their eyes. No one dared to step forward. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I lifted my head and stared her down, my eyes crimson with murderous intent. “I don’t know who you are, but let me tell you something. My name is Hawthorne. Seraphina Hawthorne. Of the Hawthorne family. Get the hell out of my sight before I decide to kill you right here, right now.” Enraged by my stare, Sophia kicked me hard in the stomach. “What damn Hawthorne family? You think I’m scared of you?” she spat. “Let me tell you something! I, Sophia, am the wife of Ethan Cranston, CEO of the Cranston Corporation! Who the hell are you to talk to me like that?” The kick tore the stab wound wider. A fresh wave of blood and pus gushed out, but in that moment, I barely felt the pain. Sophia’s words echoed in my ears. She’s Ethan’s wife? Then who was I? Seeing the triumphant look on her face, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. I finally understood. Ethan… he was cheating on me. The man my family had chosen for me, my partner for seven years… had a secret wife. I knew this wasn’t the time to fall apart. Forcing my rage down, I spoke, my voice like ice. “Sophia, is it? You’re going to take me to a hospital, right now. And then you’re going to tell Ethan Cranston to get his ass over there.” She looked at me, surprised. I shot her a look that could kill. “Because if anything happens to me today, the first person he’ll destroy is you,” I hissed. “And then, he can damn well die with me.” Sophia just threw her head back and laughed. She grabbed my hair again, her voice a shrill taunt. “Who do you think you are? Such big words! Daring to order my husband around?” She slammed my head against the floor, her voice booming with arrogance. “Even if I kill you today, the Cranstons have more than enough money to pay for it!” My head rang, my vision blurring into a red haze. Sophia’s stiletto heel twisted in the wound on my stomach. Pain and despair washed over me like a tidal wave. Just then, the screech of tires tore through the air. I saw the familiar Maybach pull up outside the shop, and the breath I was holding finally released. I gave Sophia a cold, chilling smile. “I told you. My name is Hawthorne.” “My brother is here. Are you ready to die?” “Sera!” Rovan’s eyes blazed with a volcanic fury the moment he saw me. He rushed to my side, instantly shrugging off his jacket and wrapping it around my ruined dress and exposed body. He held me tight, his eyes overflowing with a pain that mirrored my own. “Are you okay, Sera? Don’t be afraid. I’m here now.” A sob caught in my throat, and tears I hadn’t let fall finally streamed down my face. Rovan gently wiped them away before turning a murderous glare on Sophia. “You’re the one who dared to touch my sister. You’re looking to die.” Sophia acted as if she’d heard the world’s funniest joke, doubling over with laughter. When she finally caught her breath, she shot my brother a dismissive look. “Big talk. Let’s see if you’re still breathing in a few minutes to back it up,” she sneered. “Men! Get him! Show him who he’s messing with!” Her bodyguards charged. The men Rovan brought with him formed a protective circle around us, efficiently taking down the first wave. But more and more thugs poured out from behind Sophia, and soon, my family’s guards were overwhelmed. “Rovan,” I asked, my voice trembling, “is this everyone you brought?” His face was grim. He squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Dad’s on his way. With everyone.” His voice dropped to a low growl. “I’d like to see who has the nerve to lay a hand on Rovan Hawthorne’s sister.” Seeing her men fall one by one, Sophia started to panic. She shot us a venomous look and pulled out her phone. “You just wait! I’m calling my husband right now to come and kill you!” The second the call connected, she started wailing. “Honey! Some guy named Rovan Hawthorne is picking on me! He says I hurt his sister and he’s going to kill me! You have to come quick!” She put the call on speakerphone. The moment she finished, the voice on the other end changed, laced with sudden, raw panic. “Rovan Hawthorne? Which Rovan Hawthorne?… Where the fuck are you?! Don’t move! Stay right there!” After seven years, how could I not recognize that voice? It was Ethan. And through the tinny speaker, I could hear the unmistakable tremor in every word he spoke. Oh, I’ll wait for you, alright. Sophia hung up, a triumphant, piercing laugh echoing in the room. “Hah! My husband’s on his way to kill you! He said he doesn’t know any Rovan Hawthorne! He’ll just pay for your deaths!” She pointed at her remaining thugs. “Go! Whoever kills them first gets a million dollars from me!” At the mention of a million dollars, their eyes lit up with greed. One of them immediately snatched a fruit knife from a nearby table and charged at us. “Sera, close your eyes!” Rovan yelled, spinning me around and shielding me with his body. A warm, large hand covered my eyes. I heard my brother let out a muffled grunt, and the thick, coppery smell of blood filled the air. A terrible feeling seized me. I clawed at the hand over my eyes. “Rovan! What happened?!” The first thing I saw was the jagged gash on his arm, blood dripping onto the pristine white floor. Then a vicious kick sent us both sprawling. Rovan coughed, a spray of blood erupting from his lips. “ROVAN!” A scream tore from my throat, my heart shattering into a million pieces. I was unharmed, but my brother’s shirt was already soaked crimson. A black, venomous hatred bloomed inside me. I looked up, my face a mess of blood and tears. I snatched a pair of heavy tailor’s shears from a nearby worktable and launched myself at Sophia’s smug face. SCHLICK! I plunged them deep into her stomach. “AHHH!” Sophia shrieked in pain, but I just twisted the shears, grinding them deeper into her flesh. “You bitch! You dare to hurt me?!” she screamed, grabbing the handle and kicking me away with her high-heeled shoe. I slammed onto the floor, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. Sophia had gone completely insane. “Kill her! Someone kill her now!” Her thugs turned, their faces menacing as they swarmed towards me. A heavy wooden chair was lifted, ready to crash down on my head. “DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH MY SISTER!” a raw voice roared. My eyes widened in horror as Rovan staggered to his feet and threw himself in front of me. The chair came down on his head with a sickening crack. “Rovan!” His body fell heavily on top of me. He convulsed for a moment, then went still. Frantic, I tried to push him off, to lift him, but the thugs were on me, pinning me to the ground. My face was ground into the floor, my limbs held fast. I struggled, screaming through blood and tears. Sophia just smiled, grinding her stiletto heel into my fingers. “Can’t take it already?” I curled into a ball, the pain so intense my vision tunneled. Cold sweat drenched my body. Her crazed laughter was the only thing I could hear. “Don’t you worry. I have a special gift for both of you.” A final blow, and my world went black. When I woke up, my brother and I were in a glass-walled freezer. The skin touching the frozen floor burned with a sharp, searing pain. I was shivering uncontrollably. Rovan’s face was already a deathly shade of blue-purple, frost clinging to his eyelashes. I rubbed my hands together, trying to generate some warmth, and pressed them to his face. Blood and tears mingled, freezing on my cheeks. “Rovan, hold on! Don’t fall asleep! Dad’s coming, he’s coming to save us! Please, just hold on…” I felt his breathing grow shallow, and my heart plummeted. I looked out at Sophia, my eyes so red they felt like they were bleeding. “Sophia! If anything happens to my brother, I will kill you with my own two hands!” She just laughed, striding into the freezer wrapped in a cashmere coat. “You really talk too much.” She roughly shoved a rag into my mouth and kicked me hard in the chest. “So much fire in you. I guess it’s time to cool you both off.” With that, she kicked over a bucket of water. The icy liquid spread underneath me, instantly freezing in the sub-zero temperature, cementing my battered body to the floor. The cold was a physical thing, a deep, agonizing pain that shot through my bones. “So? Do you like the gift I prepared for you?” She admired her handiwork for a moment, then hummed a little tune and left. I looked at Rovan’s lifeless form, a wave of despair and regret so powerful it threatened to drown me. I hated that I couldn’t just break through the glass and kill her. And then— The phone in my pocket began to vibrate insistently. My eyes snapped open. The caller ID read Ethan. Ignoring the searing pain of tearing my frozen skin from the floor with every movement, I dragged myself toward the phone and answered. “Seraphina! Where are you?” Ethan’s voice was frantic. “We can talk about Sophia later! Just let her go! Or else…” He paused. “Or else I’ll hate you for the rest of my life!” The blood frozen beneath me steamed a faint, horrifying red. My heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice. My face twisted with a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred. Hate me? From the day we made our relationship official, Rovan had been secretly helping me prop him up, helping Cranston Corp become an industry leader in just three years, all so my father would finally accept him. And he repaid us like this. Using my family’s money to keep a mistress, letting her hurt me and my brother to the point of death. That animal. Sophia was the one trying to kill us. The rag in my mouth turned my furious screams into muffled sobs. Just then, Sophia returned. When she heard Ethan’s voice on the phone, she froze, then snatched it from me. “Hello, honey? Why are you calling her?” Ethan, hearing only silence from my end, sounded even more panicked. “Where is Seraphina?” “So the little tramp’s last name really is Hawthorne,” Sophia said dismissively. “I’m just teaching her a little lesson! Letting her know that Mrs. Cranston is not to be trifled with!” There was a dead silence on the other end. Then, Ethan’s furious roar exploded through the phone, so loud it was distorted. “SOPHIA! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO SERAPHINA HAWTHORNE?! SHE’S THE HAWTHORNE HEIRESS!” “ARE YOU TRYING TO GET ME KILLED, YOU PSYCHO?!” CRACK. Sophia’s body jolted. The phone slipped from her hand and shattered on the frozen floor. Her eyes were wide with a terror that bordered on disbelief. After several seconds of stunned silence, she whipped her head around to stare at me. Her composure was gone, replaced by frantic fear. She ripped the rag from my mouth. “You’re really Seraphina Hawthorne?” she shrieked. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. I gave her a cold smile. “You believe me now? Good. Now get my brother to a—” Before I could finish, she slapped me, hard. “Shut up! I’m the one Ethan married! I’m Mrs. Cranston! Who the hell are you?!” “So what if you’re Seraphina Hawthorne? That doesn’t change the fact that you’re the other woman!” She shoved her phone in my face. And there it was. A digital copy of her and Ethan’s marriage certificate. My world dissolved into a roaring buzz. I looked at the date on the certificate and started to laugh. A wild, broken laugh. Now I knew why, starting five years ago, Ethan was always “busy with work.” He’d married Sophia then. And I, like an idiot, felt sorry for him, thinking he was working too hard. I begged Rovan to send over talented people from our company to help him. All those nights he was supposedly pulling all-nighters at the office, he was with her. Out of my seven-year relationship with Ethan, Sophia had been there for five of them. It turned out I really was the homewrecker she’d called me. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. My body convulsed, and I coughed up a mouthful of dark, clotted blood. “My husband loves me! He would never yell at me like that! You seduced him, didn’t you?!” Sophia screamed, her hands closing around my throat. “Say it! Say something!” I lunged forward and bit down hard on her wrist. The taste of her blood filled my mouth, so sickening I wanted to vomit. I spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at her feet and looked at her with pure contempt. She didn’t even flinch, her face a mask of insanity. “Just die! If you die, Ethan will be all mine!” She staggered out of the freezer. When she returned, she was carrying a canister of some unknown liquid. She tipped it over my head, dousing me. The acrid, pungent smell hit me instantly. I knew what it was. Gasoline. She was going to burn me alive. Primal survival instinct kicked in. I grabbed Rovan, trying to drag him out of the freezer, but it was too late. She flicked a lighter and tossed it at me. My clothes instantly erupted in flames. The fire consumed me. The smell of burning flesh filled the small space. I rolled on the ground, screaming in agony, but the flames only grew stronger. Maybe my screams were so horrifying they pierced through his unconsciousness. Rovan’s eyes slowly fluttered open. “Sera!” His eyes flew wide with horror and rage. He snapped the ropes binding him and stumbled towards me. I endured the searing heat, screaming at him, my voice raw. “No, don’t save me! Rovan, you’ll die too! Don’t come over here!” But he didn’t listen. He started beating at the flames on my body with his bare hands, his voice a desperate reassurance. “Sera, I won’t let anything happen to you!” The moment his hands touched the fire, his skin blackened and peeled back, revealing the raw, pink flesh underneath. The look of agony on his face shattered my heart, but my tears evaporated in the heat before they could even fall. He didn’t stop, forcing a pained smile to his lips. “Don’t cry, Sera. It doesn’t hurt.” I had never seen my brother so broken. If it wasn’t for me, this never would have happened. Regret was a poison, consuming me from the inside out. I beat my chest in despair, my eyes fixated on Sophia with a bottomless hatred. It was all my fault. I did this to my brother. If I hadn’t been so blind, so stupid, to fall for a monster like Ethan Cranston, we wouldn’t be here. I shrieked at her, my voice barely human. “Sophia! When my father gets here, I swear to God I will end you!!” She just laughed, a demonic sound. She sloshed the rest of the gasoline all over the glass-walled freezer and toyed with the lighter in her hand. “Still talking tough when you’re about to die! I’ll send you both to hell to be a miserable pair of siblings!” Just as the flames were about to engulf us both, two furious roars echoed through the building. “STOP!” Ethan screamed, his face sheet-white as he burst in. “Who dares touch my children?” My father stormed in, flanked by a small army of guards. The moment he saw the state my brother and I were in, his eyes filled with an apocalyptic rage. Ethan’s legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees. Sophia just stood there, utterly dumbfounded.

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My mother, it seemed, was incapable of understanding human language. I had pulled an all-nighter preparing a project proposal, telling her I had a critical meeting in the morning. In response, she slipped sleeping pills into my milk and secretly turned off my phone. By the time I jolted awake, it was 10:30 AM. “A mother knows what’s best for her own daughter. I just wanted you to get some more sleep.” There was no time to argue. I frantically turned my phone on, only to be flooded with over a hundred missed calls and frantic texts from my boss and colleagues. Thankfully, the office wasn’t far. I grabbed my laptop bag and bolted downstairs, only to find the tires on my scooter were flat. My mom called down from the balcony. “You were complaining the other day about the tires being low. I tried to be helpful and add some air, but I must have forgotten to put the valve caps back on.” Again, no time to argue. I sprinted to the office, my lungs burning, and forced a smile as I opened my laptop. But the screen was dark. The whole machine was damp, water seeping from the seams. It wouldn’t turn on. I was fired. When I got home, my mother had the nerve to look hurt. “You said last night you needed to clean the dust out of your computer. I figured, it’s just dust, right? A little water should wash it right off. So I took it to the sink for you.” The rage and despair were so overwhelming that I fainted on the spot. When I woke up, a strange, one-eyed old man was grunting and thrusting on top of me. My mother stood by the bed. “You’re over thirty with no job. I was just trying to be helpful and find you a husband. Why are you so ungrateful?” I grabbed a knife, ready to kill her, to kill myself, to end it all. But my father, my brother, and the neighbors swarmed in, wrestling the knife from my hand. They called me a monster, an ungrateful brat who didn’t appreciate her mother’s love. In the chaos, someone wrenched the knife from my grasp and plunged it into my chest. I collapsed in a spreading pool of my own blood. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the night I was finishing the project proposal. The dense text of the proposal glowed on my screen. I pinched my arm, hard. A sharp jolt of pain shot through me, and tears of pure, unadulterated joy streamed down my face. I was really back! Back to the night that had completely destroyed my life! The horrors of my past life flashed before my eyes. This time, I wouldn’t be a passive victim. This time, all the people who called me an ungrateful brat would get a full, undiluted taste of my mother’s “kindness.” As I sat there, weeping silently at the screen, my mother walked in with a glass of milk. “Lily, sweetie, look at you. Working so hard your eyes are watering.” “It breaks my heart to see you like this. Come on, drink some warm milk and get some rest.” As she spoke, she reached for the power cord to my laptop. My fingers flew across the keyboard, hitting save. I snapped the laptop shut just before her hand reached the plug. “Can’t. There’s a problem with the data for the presentation. The boss just called, wants everyone back at the office to work on it overnight.” “I probably won’t be back tonight. I’ll just crash at the office.” I couldn’t stand to be in this house a second longer. I had to escape. But as I grabbed my jacket, my mother darted in front of me, blocking the door. “You’re my precious girl. You’ve already been working overtime for two weeks. I can’t let you go back there.” “Give me your phone. I’ll call your boss and tell him you’re not going. You’re staying home to sleep!” She lunged for my phone. It had been like this since my very first job. Anytime she disapproved of my work hours or duties, she’d snatch my phone and call my boss to complain. I’d been reprimanded, humiliated, and forced to switch jobs more times than I could count because of her. I cherished my current job, especially this project. If it went well, I wouldn’t just get a promotion and a raise; I could get transferred to the headquarters in New York. I could finally leave this family behind. The thought gave me strength. I clutched my phone to my chest and shoved her away. “Enough! I’m an adult, not a child!” “This is my job, my responsibility! You have no right to harass my boss!” I hadn’t pushed her hard, but she crumpled to the floor as if she had no bones. Just then, my father and brother emerged from their rooms. My mother immediately started wailing, wiping away crocodile tears. “Lily, I’m your mother! Would I ever do anything to hurt you? How could you treat me like this?” Before I could even get a word out, my father’s hand cracked across my face. “You heartless thing! Your mother treasures you more than her own eyes, and this is how you repay her!” My brother followed up with a sharp kick to my leg. “Ungrateful brat,” he snarled, before turning to help our mother to her feet. “Don’t blame Lily,” my mother sobbed, leaning on him. “It’s all my fault. I just worry about her too much.” She let out a long, theatrical sigh. “I know she thinks I’m just a useless old woman. She doesn’t listen to me anymore. She probably thinks I’m trying to ruin her life on purpose!” Watching her performance, I felt nothing but a dark, bitter amusement. I’d always worked so hard, but at every major turning point in my life, my mother was there, ready to sabotage me with her “good intentions.” For my high school entrance exams, she “helpfully” made me a huge seafood feast. I spent the next three days with violent food poisoning and missed my chance to get into the state’s top school. For my college entrance exams, she “helpfully” booked me a hotel on the opposite side of the city from the testing center, claiming it would be quieter. The morning of the exam, I was late because of traffic and missed my shot at my dream university. When I was job hunting, she “helpfully” edited my resume, inflating my qualifications and sending it out to dozens of companies. I was blacklisted by half the HR departments in the city for being a fraud. Every time I confronted her, she would dissolve into tears, apologizing profusely for her “good intentions” gone wrong. I used to believe her. Like my father and brother, I was brainwashed into thinking this suffocating interference was love. No matter how angry I got, I never truly fought back or tried to leave. But now, having been literally murdered by her “kindness,” I would not make the same mistake again. While my father and brother were busy comforting the matriarch of misery, I snatched my laptop and phone and bolted out the door. Downstairs, the tires on my scooter were still full. In my previous life, she must have snuck down to flatten them after I was unconscious. I heard the frantic thud of footsteps echoing in the stairwell above. Not wasting a second, I twisted the throttle and sped out of the complex, leaving the sounds of my family behind in the dust. At the office, I slipped the security guard a fifty, begging him not to let my family inside under any circumstances. But even with that precaution, my presentation was derailed. First, a colleague’s phone started buzzing incessantly. Then my boss’s. Finally, even the client’s phone began to ring nonstop. The client, a portly man with little patience, answered with a scowl. “Who is this? Why do you keep calling me?” My mother’s shrill voice erupted from the speakerphone. “I’m Lily’s mother! My daughter pulled an all-nighter for you heartless capitalists!” “I bet you vultures didn’t even let her eat breakfast! You tell her to come downstairs right now! I’m waiting outside with coffee and donuts!” The boardroom was dead silent. Everyone stared at me. I snatched the phone from the client’s hand. “If you ever interfere with my work again,” I hissed into the receiver, “you can consider yourself without a daughter.” I hung up and blocked her number before she could reply. Whether the threat worked or she had simply run out of numbers to call, the rest of the presentation went smoothly. The boss and the client loved my proposal. But when the meeting concluded, my boss still docked my pay by eight hundred dollars for “disrupting a client meeting.” He looked at me, his expression a mix of pity and frustration. “The project was a success, Lily. The transfer to the New York headquarters is practically a sure thing.” A jolt of joy went through me. It was the opportunity I had dreamed of—a new life, far away from this toxic mess. But then his tone shifted. “You have to get your family situation under control,” he said sternly. “I’m not really fining you. That eight hundred dollars is to shut up the people gunning for your position. But if your family keeps pulling stunts like this, it affects your work, and next time, I won’t be able to protect you.” I understood completely. I nodded, my jaw tight. “I understand, sir. I’ll take care of it.” Leaving the office, I took a deep breath. The successful project was my ticket out, but the thought of returning to that house felt like a lead weight in my stomach. The moment I stepped through the door, I was greeted by the sound of my mother’s theatrical sobbing in the living room. My brother sat beside her, rubbing her back. “Don’t cry, Mom. Lily’s just immature.” “She’s still young. Once she gets married and has kids of her own, she’ll understand all you do for her.” My father sat on the couch, chain-smoking, his face a thundercloud. Seeing me, he stubbed out his cigarette and shot to his feet, his voice booming. “So, you’re too important to answer your phone now? Your wings have really grown, haven’t they?” “Do you have any idea how many times your mother called? She was so worried she couldn’t eat or sleep!” My mother lifted her head, her eyes red and puffy. “Lily must be tired of me,” she whimpered. “I know, I just worry too much. I want to be involved in her life, but I guess I just…” She trailed off, dabbing at her eyes. My brother stood up, pointing a finger at me. “Lily, what are you waiting for? Apologize to Mom, right now! Look at the state you’ve put her in!” I looked at the three of them, a familiar sense of hopelessness washing over me. This was my family. They would always side with her, no matter what she did. The fault would always be mine. But I couldn’t fight them now. Not when my escape was so close. I just needed to get through the next few weeks until the transfer to New York was finalized. Then they would be nothing more than a bad memory. I bowed my head and delivered the lines they wanted to hear. “Mom, I’m sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have ignored your calls. I promise it won’t happen again.” My mother’s sobs immediately subsided. “Lily, honey, I only do it because I love you. It’s a dangerous world for a girl all alone.” My brother snorted. “About time you learned your lesson.” My father sank back onto the couch, his expression softening slightly. “Alright, as long as she knows she was wrong. We’ll let it go this time. Don’t let it happen again.” I nodded meekly, and with that, the performance was over. They were satisfied. Back in my room, I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The next few days, I locked myself away, focusing entirely on preparing for the headquarters’ assessment and online interviews. This was my one shot to break free, and I couldn’t afford any mistakes. But my mother was relentless. Tap, tap, tap on my door. “Lily, sweetie, let me in to mop the floor. How can you prepare for an interview in such a messy room?” I refused. A few minutes later, tap, tap, tap again. “Lily, I made you some soup to help your brain. You must be exhausted from all that studying.” I opened the door, frowning. “Mom, I can’t be disturbed right now. Can’t this wait until after my interview?” Her eyes instantly welled up with tears. “Lily, I’m just trying to take care of you. I woke up at four this morning to make this soup for you. Look, I even burned my hand.” She thrust her hand in my face. A small red blister stood out against her skin. My father heard the commotion from the living room and stormed over. “Lily! Your mother works herself to the bone for you, and this is how you treat her? Apologize and drink the soup!” I looked at the soup, spotting the glistening sea cucumbers floating in the broth. A wave of exhaustion hit me. “I can’t eat this. I’ve been allergic to seafood since I was a kid.” My mother waved her hand dismissively. “That was only because we were poor back then and you didn’t eat it enough. If you eat more now, you’ll get used to it. I’m doing this for your own good.” My father’s face grew darker. “Your mother got up before dawn to make this for you, and you’re being picky? Drink it and stop being so ungrateful!” I saw the fury in his eyes and knew it was pointless to argue. “You’re right. Thank you, Mom. I’m sorry.” My mother’s tears vanished, replaced by a triumphant smile. “That’s my good girl. Hurry and drink it before it gets cold.” I took the bowl back to my room, closed the door, and quietly opened the window. I poured the soup into a spare dish and set it on the ledge. A stray cat, drawn by the smell, appeared moments later and lapped it up greedily. A few days later, my project was officially launched to great success. My performance secured me the official recommendation letter from my company for the New York transfer. That afternoon, I aced the final online interview. I felt confident, relieved. The finish line was in sight. But when I walked out of my room, I found my mother sitting on the living room couch, wearing her reading glasses. In her hands was my recommendation letter, the seal broken, the contents spread open for her to read. I froze. No wonder she’d been so quiet during my interview. She’d found a new target. “Mom! That’s a sealed, official document! Once the seal is broken, it’s invalid!” I shrieked, my voice cracking. “I might not be able to report to the headquarters now!” She looked up, completely unfazed. “I was just doing it for your own good, Lily. I was worried your boss might have written something bad about you in there, to sabotage you.” “Besides,” she added, “what’s the big deal? I can just glue it shut again.” I was so frustrated I could have screamed. “It doesn’t work that way! It’s a legal document! Once it’s been opened, it’s useless! Years of my work could be for nothing because of this!” But she wasn’t listening. Her face began to crumple again. “I was only trying to help you,” she mumbled, tears welling up. “Why is it always my fault?” The sound of her crying was like a dinner bell for my father. He shot out of his study. “Lily! Your mother was just looking out for you! And what kind of company is that anyway? If they won’t accept you without one stupid letter, they’re not worth working for! All these rules and regulations, it’s just a way to bully people!” He snatched the letter from my hands and, in a fit of rage, tore it to shreds.

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“I’m broke and hungry,” I texted my family. After thirty minutes, all I got was a photo of a bag of apples, followed by a voice message from my dad: “Picked these myself this morning. Had someone deliver them to you.” Liam, my boyfriend who was serving me dinner, froze. “Your dad’s an upstate apple farmer? So you’re not from some old-money city family?” I shook my head, confused. He eyed my Chanel outfit with dawning disgust. “This is a university, not a brothel. You’re just a peasant buying knockoffs to trap a rich guy,” he sneered before walking away. The words My family practically built this city caught in my throat. Tears welling, I pulled the black card from the plastic bag where it lay tossed beside the apples and played the rest of Dad’s message: “Your hotel’s Christmas apple-picking event is a huge hit. The hotel’s in your name now—the card’s your bonus.” Just then, Liam posted my photo in a campus group chat with the caption: “Sugar baby, 9/10 condition. Delicate. Best offer.” With shaking hands, I canceled the $50,000 monthly grant my dad had been anonymously sending him. If he looks down on me for relying on my family, he shouldn’t rely on them either. … “A GOLD DIGGER’S DIARY! FAKE SOCIALITE TREATS CAMPUS KING LIKE A DOG!” My fingers went numb the moment I clicked the link. Liam’s “heartbreaking exposé” was the top post. “These past three months have been a complete joke,” he wrote. “She told me her father ran a ‘small business.’ Turns out he grows apples upstate! I spent my scholarship money taking her to fancy dinners while she was parading around in fake designer clothes.” Below the post were screenshots of our chats. “Check-in! 34976! Send me a selfie video with the hand sign!” The post showed days of these “check-ins,” and the comment section exploded. “So controlling! Lily Monroe is a psycho!” “OMG, is our campus king getting PUA’d?” “Someone tag the Dean’s office! Shouldn’t this trash be expelled for moral corruption?” Someone else quickly posted a picture of me eating bread in the evening. “Look at her! Eating plain bread just to afford knockoffs! So pathetic!” I sighed and typed a reply: “That was my pre-workout meal.” The chat went silent for a beat before a new wave of mockery crashed over me. “Now she’s pretending to be a fitness guru?” “A single session with her trainer costs a thousand bucks! Where would a peasant like her get that kind of money?” “Poor Liam! She scammed his heart and his money!” My nails dug into my palms. The screenshots were deliberately incomplete. He conveniently left out the part where every video he sent was followed by a wire transfer from me for the exact amount he’d signaled. But now, he was twisting my affection into proof of his victimhood. What sent a true chill down my spine was the marketplace link that popped up minutes later. “Sugar baby, 9/10 condition. Delicate and soft. Best offer.” Tears pricked my eyes as I scrolled through the comments, which were overwhelmingly sympathetic—to him. “Our boy is heartbroken! A real heiress needs to come and save him!” Liam had even “accidentally” leaked my contact information. My phone immediately froze, overwhelmed by a flood of friend requests and hateful messages. Words I had never seen before filled the screen. I’d been sheltered and adored my whole life; I’d never heard such filth. My hands shook as I tried to message Liam, but then I saw his latest comment on the forum. “I loved her once,” he wrote calmly. “That’s why I’m helping her find her next client. I can’t bear to see her with nothing.” I let out a bitter laugh. Nothing. He wasn’t entirely wrong. I had poured all my personal funds into the Christmas event for the new hotel I’d acquired. I had planned to give him the hotel as a birthday gift. Not anymore. I looked at the last message on my screen from Liam: “Fake sugar baby. We’re done.” I sent a voice message to my father. “Dad, that fifty-thousand-dollar anonymous monthly grant for Liam…” “Cancel it.” If he despises me for being a sugar baby… Then he can stop being one himself. That silver spoon? I’ll smash it for you. The moment the message sent, my father called. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Fifty thousand is nothing.” His tone was light, but he must have sensed my silence, because his voice immediately hardened. “Did that boy hurt you?” A lump formed in my throat. I’d only asked my father to set up the “anonymous grant”—which was just the daily interest from one of his savings accounts—because I saw that Liam was poor but driven, and I didn’t want to hurt his pride. My father’s voice was cold as ice. “Power and money are the best gifts for a girl. A man is just an accessory. If he doesn’t suit you, find a new one.” His tone shifted, a hint of a smile in his voice. “Speaking of which, the Sterling Group is begging for a partnership with your hotel. You should meet them as the new owner. It’ll be a good distraction.” “Okay.” The dark cloud over me began to lift. I went to my closet to get dressed, but it was empty. My roommate, Megan, leaned against the doorframe, a smirk on her face. “Well, well, if it isn’t the campus queen. Going to beg Liam for forgiveness?” she drawled. “Or… which sugar daddy are you visiting tonight?” Her eyes raked over me. “It must be nice to be pretty. Just spread your legs and someone pays the bills. Slut.” My fists clenched, my heart turning to ice. When her father was sick, I had transferred her ten thousand dollars without a second thought. I took a deep breath. “If you have so much shame, Megan, you can start by paying me back the ten thousand you owe me.” The color drained from her face. I soon understood the source of her newfound confidence. BANG! The dorm room door was kicked open by Chloe, the Student Council President. Megan scurried over to her, grinning obsequiously. My eyes followed her gaze, and my stomach dropped. All of my clothes were in a trash can in the hallway, drenched in bright red paint. My gaze fell on a stained white dress in the corner. My vision went red. It was a birthday gift, designed by my late mother. Now it was trampled in a puddle of filthy water. I lunged for it, but Chloe stuck out her foot, tripping me. I fell hard, and she planted her shoe on the back of my hand, grinding her heel into my knuckles. Megan pointed at the ruined clothes. “Chloe says she’s never seen these designs before. They’re all fakes. Let me tell you, one of Chloe’s handbags is worth more than your entire family’s lives!” I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. My clothes were sent directly from the designers. There were maybe three of each piece in the entire country. Of course someone of her social standing had never seen them. Chloe looked down at me, her voice dripping with condescension. “As Student Council President, I have a duty to uphold the standards of this campus. Someone get her things off that bed and throw them out!” I struggled, trying to reach my phone to call my dad. Chloe kicked me again, sending my phone smashing against the wall. “Trying to call Liam? Want to play the victim?” She pinned my wrist with her foot and mockingly opened Liam’s social media. The latest post was a picture of his hand intertwined with hers. The caption read: “The struggle is over. I’ve found my true love.” Chloe’s smile was triumphant. “My family’s company is signing a deal with the Kanes tonight. What do you have that can compete with me?” I froze. The Kanes? Was that the partnership my father mentioned? Chloe’s hand came swinging toward my face. I summoned all my strength and screamed, “Chloe! Go ask your father—if you don’t let me go right now, your deal is dead!” Her palm connected with my cheek, and the world went dark. “Bitch! I’m going to make you watch as my family climbs to the top on the Kanes’ coattails!” When I came to, I was staring through a floor-to-ceiling window at the iconic rooftop garden of my own hotel. “You’re awake?” Chloe’s voice came from behind me. “The Kane heiress will be here soon. Liam told me you’re very… flexible. A good little dancer.” “Miss Kane enjoys dancing, too.” The tape was ripped from my mouth, and I coughed violently. “Give Miss Kane a good ‘performance’ later,” she said, patting my cheek. “If she’s happy, I might even arrange for your father to be a janitor at my house. One month of his salary would be more than your family makes in a year of digging in the dirt.” The door slammed shut. Megan stood guard outside. Seeing my chance, I broke free of my restraints and slipped into a service corridor. I had to get to the top floor, to my dad. As I passed the banquet hall, a wave of dizziness washed over me. I hadn’t eaten properly in three days, consumed by the Christmas project. On a side table sat a tureen of mushroom soup, still warm. My father’s favorite, prepared just for me. I picked up a spoon, and a tear splashed into the broth. CRACK! A splitting pain shot through the back of my head. My face was shoved into the scalding hot soup. “Miss Kane hasn’t even arrived, and a piece of trash like you dares to eat?” Chloe yanked my hair, slamming my head against the rim of the bowl again and again. “I’ll let you drink! Drink it all!” Hot soup and blood flooded my throat. I was suffocating. Just as Chloe raised her hand to slap me again, someone grabbed her wrist. Liam. His brow was furrowed. “That’s enough.” His gaze drifted to the decorative apples on the table, and he seemed to recognize the logo on them. He reached out to take a closer look, but Chloe looped her arm through his. “Liam, you’re here!” she cooed. “It’s our first day as a couple! I want you to meet the Kanes!” I used the distraction to scramble for my shattered phone, but Megan snatched it away. “Calling for backup?” Chloe sneered, slapping me again. “I guess you haven’t learned your lesson!” I spat out a mouthful of blood. “I am a Kane,” I said, each word an effort. “Stop now, and you might just live.” In the struggle, my black card fell from my pocket. Liam bent down to pick it up. The moment his eyes landed on the embossed gold Kane family crest, his pupils shrank to pinpricks. Megan’s lip trembled. “Chloe… could she really be…?” Chloe stomped her stiletto onto my fingers. I heard the faint crack of bone. “Don’t be an idiot! The Kane heiress isn’t named Monroe!” I’d used my mother’s maiden name since I was a child. It was a detail few people outside our inner circle knew. Chloe snatched the card from Liam. “Did your dirt-farmer dad find this in a ditch? Or did you dig it out of your dead mother’s grave?” She accidentally woke my shattered phone screen. A picture of me and my father filled the display. The next second, her hand cracked across my face again. “Perfect. I was wondering what to get Miss Kane as a welcoming gift. It’s a well-known fact that Mr. Kane adores his daughter. If I kill his secret little mistress and present the body to the real Miss Kane, he’ll probably applaud.” She stared at the smile on my face in the photo, then gave Megan a look. “Go on. Carve out those cute little dimples for me.” The cold tines of a fork pierced my cheek. The pain was so intense I almost passed out. Liam started to intervene, then stopped himself. “Chloe’s doing this for your own good, Lily. If Miss Kane finds out about you, it’ll be much worse. I’m disappointed. I thought you were just a poser, but you’re just pathetic trash.” My mouth throbbed. Chloe smiled, satisfied. “Now you look like a proper clown.” She waved a hand. Her bodyguards swarmed me, lifted me up, and threw me into the nearby swimming pool. “Give her a good wash,” Chloe’s laughter echoed across the water. “When Miss Kane arrives, she can see for herself what kind of shameless bitch tries to crawl into her father’s bed!”

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