Aria and I had a promise. The day we graduated, we would get married. We’d invite all our friends to witness it. But on that day, she married her first love instead. Clutching my chest, I asked her why. Annoyance flashed in her eyes. “Marrying Danny was just to fulfill a childhood promise. I’ll divorce him in a month. You’ve waited this long for me, can’t you wait one more month?” It was a joke. A cruel, twisted joke. I had loved her for eight years. In that single moment, the idea of her rotted away in my heart. 1. I watched Aria and Danny emerge from the courthouse, holding their freshly signed marriage certificate. Their faces were radiant with joy as Aria’s friends snapped photos, celebrating. Danny had the decency to look sheepish. “Asher, you’re not mad, are you? It’s just for a month. I’ll give her back to you, I promise.” Aria tugged on his sleeve, her face a mask of indifference, showing no remorse. “Danny, don’t feel guilty. I can marry whomever I want. It’s my choice.” The person standing next to her should have been me. I had loved her for eight years, and we’d been together for four. From the very beginning, she’d made a vow: “Asher, the day we graduate, let’s get married. It’ll be the perfect end to our perfect college life!” She had been so sure, so sincere. I had held onto that promise for four years, counting down the days. My friends all knew how much this day meant to me. I’d been eating clean for a month, just to have the perfect skin for our marriage certificate photo. I arrived at eight o’clock sharp and saw her immediately. She was wearing a flowing white dress, a delicate veil in her hair, her makeup flawless. It was the scene I had replayed in my mind for four years. But she was with Danny. She had forgotten our promise. On the very day I had yearned for, she gave me a “surprise.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I clutched it, my eyes stinging as I looked at her. “Aria, you’re my girlfriend. You promised you’d marry me today. I’ve waited four years for this!” My voice, usually so steady, broke. Aria’s face hardened with impatience. “Marrying Danny was just to fulfill a childhood promise. I’ll divorce him in a month. You’ve waited this long for me, can’t you wait one more month?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was marriage a game to her? I knew she had a first love, a whirlwind romance from her past. They had promised that the first thing they’d do after getting married was travel the world together. But I thought four years with me had erased him from her heart. Clearly, I was wrong. 2. “Come on, Asher, don’t be so dramatic,” one of Aria’s friends chimed in. “She said it’s only for a month. Danny’s a good friend to all of us. I can vouch that he won’t cross any lines with her.” “I can’t accept this,” I said, my voice hoarse and trembling. I hadn’t slept at all the night before, buzzing with anticipation, and now I felt a cold coming on. “Aria, you’re my girlfriend. You should be my wife. I don’t care if it’s a promise you plan to break. I won’t accept it.” Rage flared in Aria’s eyes. “So you won’t listen to reason? I hate it when you’re so possessive!” I knew this tactic. She was trying to bully me into submission. Whenever she didn’t like something I did, she’d say things like that, and I would panic, terrified of losing her, and immediately back down. But not today. “That’s right. I’m possessive,” I said, my voice firm. “I can’t accept my girlfriend marrying someone else.” Danny looked distressed. “Aria, maybe we should just go back in and get a divorce. Asher seems really upset.” “Forget him,” she hissed, her voice low and soothing to him, then turned a venomous glare on me. “Asher, I’m telling you right now, you’ll accept this whether you like it or not. I’ll divorce him in a month, and that’s final.” She took Danny’s hand and led him away. As they drove off in her convertible, I saw Danny glance back, a triumphant smirk on his face. Her friends melted away, leaving me alone. My chest felt tight. What should have been the happiest day of my life was a complete disaster. 3. I stood there for a long time before I finally left. The drive back felt surreal, like a nightmare. Just yesterday, we were happy, studying in the library. She’d propped her chin on her hands and said, “We’re getting married tomorrow. I’m so excited.” I thought she was excited to marry me. Now I knew the truth. Back at campus, Aria was in the middle of her graduation photos, proudly waving her marriage certificate. “I’m married!” she announced to everyone. “Tomorrow, I’m going on a trip around the world with the love of my life. It’s the bravest thing I’ve ever done!” “Congratulations, Aria! You look so happy,” a classmate said. “But where’s Asher?” Everyone knew we were a couple. Her smile vanished. “Who says I have to marry him? I married the boy I loved when I was younger.” Just then, she saw me. She walked over, her expression cold. “Have you come to your senses?” I couldn’t believe she had the audacity to ask me that. She was the one who broke her promise, who betrayed me. When I didn’t answer, she frowned. “Fine. Stop looking so miserable. I’ll marry you as soon as I get back, okay?” I used to think we were soulmates. That we understood each other, shared the same values. But now I realized we were on completely different paths. “Aria,” I said, looking her straight in the eye, “do you really think you’ve done nothing wrong?” Her gaze flickered. “I already explained everything,” she snapped. “It’s a fake marriage. Can’t you just let it go?” “Fine,” I said, nodding. There was no point in arguing. We were speaking different languages. 4. We didn’t speak a word to each other during the rest of the graduation photos. Our classmates kept stealing glances at us, whispering. Before today, we were inseparable, the couple everyone assumed would last forever. But nothing is absolute. Clear water can turn murky, food can spoil, and love… love can rot. As I walked out of the university gates, I saw Danny waiting with a suitcase. Aria was right behind me, dragging her own. So eager to start their new life together. My fists clenched, a bitter rage rising in me. “Don’t cause a scene,” Aria hissed, bumping into me as she passed. Then her face transformed, a bright smile appearing as she walked toward Danny. “Ready to go?” Danny hesitated. “But… Asher’s right here. He looks angry.” “Don’t worry about him,” she said dismissively. “You and I are married now.” She was right. They were husband and wife. What was I? Just the boyfriend. I had no right to question her anymore. But I couldn’t let her go. Not like this. I walked over, making one last attempt. “Aria, please don’t go.” For four years, I’d always been direct with her, wanting to avoid the misunderstandings that plagued characters in novels. Her face contorted with annoyance. “Are you deaf? I’ve explained it a dozen times. Why are you being so difficult, Asher? I never realized how insufferable you could be. Get out of my way.” In that moment, something inside me died. The girl who had been my sunshine, my everything, was gone. Replaced by this cruel, rotten stranger. Before I could say another word, she was gone, leaving with Danny. A short while later, I saw her post on social media. A photo of a detailed travel itinerary. The caption read: “Waited four years for this. Planned for four months. Finally fulfilling my childhood dream today.” A tear splashed onto my phone screen. I started to laugh. A hollow, broken sound. Laughing at myself for four years of foolish hope. 5. Aria’s father called me. He wanted to know if we’d gotten married yet. I first met Aria at a business gala. She was the daughter of the wealthy Lin family, a slender, poised sixteen-year-old who delivered a speech on behalf of her family’s company. I fell for her instantly. Born into a powerful family, an arranged marriage was my destiny. When my parents told me to choose a bride from a list of eligible heiresses, I chose Aria. We got to know each other, went to the same university, and slowly, a real love grew between us. Our parents knew of our plans to marry after graduation. “Mr. Lin,” I said into the phone, “Aria and I won’t be getting married.” “What happened?” “She married her first love. I’m planning to call off our engagement. I’m very sorry, sir.” He knew who her first love was. He also knew his daughter. After a long pause, he said, “Asher, don’t do anything rash. Let me handle this. I’ll get you an answer.” After we hung up, I saw Aria was live on social media. She and Danny were embracing on a vast, grassy plain. “It’s so beautiful here,” she said to the camera. “You have to come here with the person you love.” Danny was grinning from ear to ear. The sight was a knife in my gut. Aria was supposed to be mine. Now I was just an outsider watching their life unfold. I spent the night drinking, the memories of our time together replaying in my head. Every moment, every shared laugh, was a part of me, and now I had to carve it all out. The next morning, my phone shrieked, waking me from a drunken stupor. It was Aria. “Asher, I can’t believe how low you’ve sunk!” she screamed. “Running to my dad to tattle on me? You’re disgusting! But let me tell you, it won’t work. Nothing you do will stop my plans with Danny. I wouldn’t come back now even if you were dying.” The line went dead before I could respond. A moment later, a text from an unknown number. “Aria is mine. She’ll never love you again.” Attached was a photo of Aria and Danny in matching jackets, kissing at the foot of a snow-capped mountain. I recognized the location immediately. A place I’d always dreamed of visiting. “Aria,” I had told her once, “they say you have to go there with the person you love most in the world. Let’s go after we get married.” “Okay,” she had agreed. The memory hit me with the force of a physical blow. The pain in my chest was unbearable. Maybe we were never meant to be. If that was the case, why was I torturing myself like this? As the sun rose, I knew I had to move on. In the days that followed, I battled my grief. While I was wallowing at home, they were watching the Northern Lights. “There’s an old legend,” she posted, “that any wish made under the aurora will come true. I wished that the boy by my side and I would never be parted.” While I was sleepless with sorrow, they were sharing secrets under the stars. With every new destination, the unknown number would send me photos, rubbing their happiness in my face. I was a rat in the sewer, watching their perfect love story from the shadows. It was pathetic. Utterly pathetic. A month later, I finally pulled myself together. I told my parents I was ready to join the family business. I also told them I would marry anyone but Aria. The only constant in the world is change. I should have known that. It was time to build a better version of myself. Today was my first day taking over the company. I wore a black suit and held a press conference. It was also the day Aria was due back. She called and texted, but I ignored her. After the press conference, the new fiancée my parents had arranged for me was waiting by the door. She was beautiful, and she waved when she saw me. I walked over to greet her. Just as I was about to help her into my car, Aria appeared. A month hadn’t changed her. She was as stunning as ever. But now, her eyes were blazing with a furious, disbelieving rage. “Asher, I’m your girlfriend! What the hell are you doing?” 6. “What?” I asked, my voice flat, my expression calm. “Don’t you have a husband?” Her pupils contracted, as if I’d struck her. “I told you I’d divorce him after a month! It’s been a month!” She saw my hand on the other girl’s arm and lunged forward, prying us apart. “Don’t you touch him! He’s my boyfriend!” The girl I was with was no pushover. She laughed. “Honey, our parents arranged our engagement. Who the hell are you?” SLAP! Aria struck her across the face. I moved to intervene, but it was too late. They were already a tangle of flying fists and hair. The end result was both of them in the hospital. Aria’s father rushed in, apologizing profusely. “Asher, I’m so sorry. Aria was completely out of line.” He had always been kind to me, so I just said it was fine. Aria lay in her hospital bed, her eyes red with fury. “Dad! He’s already found a new woman, and you’re apologizing to him? You’re supposed to be on my side!” Her father’s face darkened. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Where have you been for the past month?” “I was just fulfilling a promise with Danny!” she snapped. Just then, the other girl’s parents arrived. Seeing the unresolved mess between me and Aria, they quickly called off the engagement. Aria leaped out of bed and grabbed my shirt, tears streaming down her face. “Asher, you heartless bastard! If I hadn’t come back, you would have married her, wouldn’t you?”

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While we were touring the penthouse, the sales agent’s eyes curved into crescents. “The bedroom gets so much natural light,” she chirped. “Nolan will love it.” My feet froze to the floor. I had never told her my fiancé’s name was Nolan… 1 She seemed to realize her slip of the tongue. Her smile vanished, replaced by a practiced, professional mask as she gestured forward. “Ms. Sutton, the dining room is this way.” Just then, my phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID before answering on speaker. “Claire, where are you?” A rich, magnetic voice filled the air. A step away, the agent—Hannah—visibly tensed. I gave Nolan the address before turning back towards the reception hall. Hannah, after a moment’s hesitation, hurried to catch up. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a distinguished, coolly composed man strode in. He took my hand in his, his grip firm and familiar. I smiled, my expression betraying nothing. “Weren’t you in a meeting? What are you doing here?” Nolan raised an eyebrow. He leaned in, the cool gleam of his glasses catching the light as the tip of his nose brushed against my cheek. “Isn’t it obvious? I missed you…” I was always a sucker for this side of him. This man, so aloof and unapproachable to the rest of the world, was only ever tender with me. The unease from a moment ago began to fade. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Nolan? There was no way. Perhaps the agent had simply seen a photo of us together in some financial report. As we started back toward the penthouse, I noticed she wasn’t following. I glanced back. Her eyes were glistening, brimming with unshed tears. 2 “Do you two know each other?” I let go of Nolan’s hand, my gaze flicking between them, demanding an explanation for the story I was clearly missing. The spacious hall suddenly felt small as the other employees turned to stare. Hannah’s face was pale, her eyes darting to Nolan in a silent plea. “We… we were…” “We were college classmates,” Nolan stated, his expression unreadable as he glanced at her. The girl froze, a thousand unspoken words seemingly trapped in her throat. Nolan’s brow furrowed. “Are we going to see the apartment or not?” His voice was suddenly sharp, laced with an unnerving edge. The sales manager scurried over, apologizing profusely to Nolan and trying to smooth things over. Another agent gently pulled Hannah aside, leaving her looking isolated and pitiful. My Hermès bag felt heavy in my hand as I walked toward her. “You failed to do your job, and no one’s even reprimanded you. What exactly are you so upset about?” Her voice, thick with tears, was barely a whisper. She bowed repeatedly. “Ms. Sutton, I-I’m so sorry…” “Enough!” The roar came from behind me. It was Nolan. I turned to see him tearing into the sales manager, his usual composure gone, berating him for his unprofessional staff. The atmosphere was ruined. There was no point in looking at the penthouse now. Back in the car, Nolan fastened my seatbelt for me. Seeing the storm brewing on my face, he softened his voice. “We can look at another place tomorrow, okay, Claire?” I met his gaze. “That ‘Enough!’ you shouted,” I said, my voice level. “That was for me.” 3 It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. His hand, midway through buckling my seatbelt, froze. Then, a faint smile touched his lips. “Why would you think that? Claire, when have I ever yelled at you?” I had no proof, but a woman’s intuition is a powerful thing. I knew that “Enough!” was meant to stop me from speaking to Hannah. My eyes narrowed. “What, exactly, is the relationship between you two?” “College classmates,” he repeated, a hint of weariness in his voice. “That’s all, Claire. Don’t doubt me. I swear.” I stared into his eyes. “You know how much I hate being lied to.” He handed me his phone, his gaze clear and unwavering, a silent testament to his fidelity. The passcode was my birthday. He’d always said he had no secrets from me, that I could walk into his office anytime without knocking. A wave of embarrassment washed over me. I had chosen this development. I had even specifically requested that agent, feeling sorry for her when I saw her standing alone. If I checked his phone and found nothing, I would look like a fool. After all, everyone knew I was Nolan’s first and only love—the one secret he had ever made public. Finally, I looked away, a stubborn pout on my lips. “Let’s just look somewhere else. I don’t like this place anymore.” Nolan took my hand, his voice a mix of indulgence and resignation. “Alright. Whatever you want.” 4 A week later, I found myself driving past that same sales center. On a whim, I pulled over and went inside. Hannah was nowhere to be seen. A familiar agent rushed to greet me. “Hannah?” I asked, my voice casual. “Oh, Ms. Sutton! Hannah doesn’t work here anymore,” she said eagerly. “I can assist you from now on. I know our properties even better than she did…” Suddenly, my heart lurched. A strange, sinking premonition took hold. Acting on instinct, I drove to Nolan’s company. The receptionist’s face lit up when she saw me. “Ms. Sutton! Here to see Mr. Pierce?” Her hand was already hovering over the telephone, a flicker of panic in her eyes. I stopped, my gaze fixed on the elevator. “You’ve never spoken to me before.” The color drained from her lips. She snatched her hand back from the receiver, her eyes darting away. “Oh… I just…” My patience snapped. “You. Come with me.” The elevator chimed, opening onto his executive floor. The outer office was a quiet hum of productivity. I made a beeline for Nolan’s private office. “Ms. Sutton!” the receptionist cried out behind me, her voice laced with desperate panic. I ignored her, my hand closing around the doorknob. Click. The door was pulled open from the inside. Nolan stood there, a smile on his face. “Claire. What a surprise.” 5 I swept past him into the office. The desk was immaculate. The sofa was perfectly arranged. Everything appeared normal. I sat down in his chair. “Since when,” I asked lightly, “does my arrival cause such a commotion?” His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” He stood beside me, dialing the internal line for HR. Just as the call connected, I reached for the tall, built-in wardrobe in the corner of his office. I yanked the door open. A startled cry echoed in the silence as a woman tumbled out, pulled from the wardrobe by the force of my tug. Nolan didn’t have time to stop me. As she looked up, her face pale and frightened, I read the name on the employee badge clipped to her blouse. “Sales Department. Hannah Nash.” The office was dead silent. For a long, long moment, no one moved. Finally, Nolan broke the silence. “She’s a college classmate,” he began, his voice strained. “We ran into each other here at the company, just catching up. She hid because she was afraid you’d misunderstand… Claire.” I looked at the woman on the floor. Her hair was a mess, but her clothes were neat. She was biting her lower lip, staring back at me. “That’s right, Ms. Sutton,” she stammered. “I passed the interview and got the job. After what happened at the sales center… I couldn’t work there anymore…” “Go on,” I said, my gaze locked on hers. “Tell me. What did I do to you at the sales center that was so terrible?” She was speechless. Her eyes started to well up with tears. “Claire.” Nolan’s voice came from behind me, tight with frustration. “Don’t scare her. This is my fault.” He shot Hannah a look, and she immediately lowered her head and scurried out of the room. We were alone. He rubbed his temples. “With your status, you made her uncomfortable. Of course she couldn’t stay in her old job.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “You’re certainly quick to see things from her perspective.” 6 Nolan froze. In an instant, he was kneeling in front of me, taking my hands in his. “Claire, I know you’re angry, but don’t say things you don’t mean. Don’t hurt me like this.” “I haven’t done anything wrong. I only had her hide because I didn’t want you to be upset. I swear, we’re just old classmates. Nothing more.” I said nothing. He sighed. “I can have HR fire her, if that’s what you want.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But Claire… Hannah’s mother is sick.” He let the words hang in the air, watching my reaction. The only sound was the low hum of the air conditioner. My face hardened. “Are you trying to tell me that if her mother dies, it’ll be my fault?” He winced. “That’s a harsh way to put it.” I stood up, but he grabbed my arm. “Claire! Don’t overthink this, that’s not what I meant at all…” Suddenly, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “But that’s exactly what you’ve done! You brought her into your private office! You told the receptionist to warn you when I arrived! You’re using her sob story to emotionally blackmail me!” Then, it hit me. “Nolan, if you just ‘ran into each other’ at the company, why would the receptionist need to give you a heads-up? Were you… getting ready to cheat on me?” He looked stunned, then almost let out a disbelieving laugh. “What are you thinking? Claire, how could I?” He answered my question with another question, deflecting. I stared at him. “She even knew you like waking up to a sun-drenched room. Nolan, what is the real story between you two?” 7 The air in the room was thick, suffocating. I pulled away from him. “Fine. You can answer me when you’ve figured out what the truth is.” I wrenched the door open. Hannah was standing right outside, looking startled. She met my gaze and awkwardly offered me the coffee in her hand. “Ms. Sutton, I… I was just worried you two might be thirsty…” My eyes fell to the distinct smudge of lipstick on the rim of the cup, then back to her face. “A used cup. Are you trying to send some kind of message?” She froze, the cup hovering in mid-air. Her eyes reddened again. “Claire,” Nolan’s exasperated voice sounded from behind me. He turned a cold glare on Hannah. “Who gave you permission to do anything other than your assigned work? Get back to your desk!” Flustered, Hannah nearly dropped the coffee. “Yes, Mr. Pierce,” she choked out, before practically running away. Nolan’s brow was still furrowed. “If you really want to ruin her career, Claire, I can call HR right now. You don’t have to get worked up every time you see her.” A hot surge of regret washed over me. I should have taken that coffee and thrown it right in his face. Even in the car, I couldn’t calm down. Nolan’s cold indifference was reserved for strangers. But the things he’d said to me, because of her… it was a clear attack. And I was supposed to believe he didn’t care about her? That their relationship was innocent? I didn’t believe it for a second. A notification pinged from the tablet on the back seat. I suddenly remembered Nolan had logged into his messenger account on it once when his phone was dead. I took a deep breath and tapped on the new message. There was no name saved for the contact, just a username: [Puppy’s Tears]. [I’m so sorry. I caused you trouble again.] [Yeah.] [So… can I still work here?] [Yes.] The exchange seemed innocent enough. Until the next message from Puppy’s Tears. [Don’t worry. I haven’t told anyone about our past. Not then, and not now.] Nolan hadn’t replied. Then another message came through. [Can we… can we love again…] [I won’t cause you any trouble.] [Nolan, I miss you…] There was nothing after that. A moment later, a system notification popped up on my tablet: [You have been logged out of your account.] The dark screen reflected my own ugly expression. Then, Nolan called. His voice was warm, just like always. “Claire, where are you?” “Just watching,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, “a man and a puppy having an affair.”

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When Liam Gallagher and I divorced, we were both calm. He asked me, considerately, what I wanted. I answered without a second thought. “The cars, the house, the savings.” “And half the company stock.” Liam blinked, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “What about the children? You don’t want either of them?” “You love them so much. Are you really going to abandon Leo and Mia?” I looked down at my wrist, at the latticework of scars from years of self-harm, and gently shook my head. Not anymore. From now on, I wanted nothing to do with Liam Gallagher. Nothing except his money. 1 Seeing my cold indifference, Liam looked like he wanted to say something more. But after a moment’s hesitation, he simply signed the divorce papers in silence. As we parted, he spoke with a detached politeness. “I can’t give you the stock, but you’ll always be their mother. If you ever run into trouble, you can always call me.” I nodded. The moment I turned away, I dropped the business card he’d handed me into the nearest trash can. In this lifetime, I would rather die than see Liam Gallagher again. When I got home, I told our housekeeper, Maria, to pack up all of Liam’s things and throw them out. She chuckled, thinking it was just another fight. “Ma’am, did you and the mister have another argument?” she teased. “If you ask me, you should just let it go. He really does care for you. It’s not worth giving up your place as Mrs. Gallagher over a moment of anger.” Maria had seen it all—the years of suffering, the endless humiliation. She knew the torrential force of my love for Liam, and she had witnessed my hysterical breakdowns after each of his betrayals. She, like Liam, was convinced I would never leave. But this time, I didn’t cry or complain. I simply took our wedding portrait down from the wall. “My mother is dead,” I said, my voice calm and empty. The smile froze on Maria’s face. She stood there, stunned and speechless, before stammering out an apology. I just smiled faintly and said nothing. Then, with all my strength, I smashed the heavy frame against the floor. Maria jumped back, startled. Then she was immediately by my side, helping me clean up the shattered glass. She expertly tended to the small cuts on my hand, a familiar routine. “Good riddance,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re a Harvard graduate, for goodness’ sake. You can do so much better without him. You don’t have to take that kind of abuse, dear.” “I know,” I whispered, my head bowed. I hadn’t wanted to cry. But as I looked down, tears began to fall, hot and unstoppable. There was regret and sorrow, yes, but also a flicker of something else: the exhilarating relief of a survivor. Ten years. The romantic fairytale of the prince and the small-town girl had finally reached its end. It wasn’t a happy one, but it was the one I should have expected all along. 2 At eighteen, I was the valedictorian of my county, accepted into Harvard. That same year, I met Liam Gallagher, a successful alumnus who had returned to campus to make a donation. The beginning of our story was breathtakingly romantic. Liam fell for me at first sight. The moment his speech ended, he began a relentless pursuit. He’d wait for me after class with flowers and bubble tea. He’d bribe my roommates for information on my whereabouts. He memorized every little thing about me and declared his love for me under a sky filled with fireworks. Back then, everyone said we wouldn’t last. A girl like me, a Cinderella from a small town, could never truly belong with someone like Liam Gallagher. But Liam didn’t care. He fought against the pressure from his family and the world, proposing to me and shielding me from all the malice. Under his protection, my once difficult life switched to easy mode. I was showered with jewelry and bouquets, offered scholarships to study abroad. Resources were poured on me, everything I could ever want handed to me before I even had to ask. For a naive, dreamy teenage girl, Liam’s intense affection was intoxicating. I fell hard and fast, giving up my ambitions to marry him. Dating, marriage, pregnancy—it all unfolded so perfectly. Life felt effortless. I was drowning in the joy of love, completely unaware that every gift from fate comes with a hidden price tag. The day our son, Leo, was born, Liam’s mother, a woman I had never met, swept into my hospital room and took my baby from his bassinet. Her smile was polite, but her voice was cold and dripping with condescension. “Leo is the future heir to the Gallagher fortune. His position is of the utmost importance,” she stated. “Given your background, you are not qualified to raise him.” After ten months of carrying him, after a difficult labor, I wasn’t even allowed to hold my own son. To even see him, I needed permission. I begged Liam not to be so cruel, not to separate me from our child. He just looked at me with a strange expression. “My mother’s right, Nora. You’re from the country. We had an agreement—I could mess around all I wanted, but when it came to the children, her word was law.” I was on the verge of collapsing from grief, but Liam just wrapped his arms around my waist and tried to kiss me, laughing it off. “Come on, don’t be sad,” he said casually. “If you love kids so much, we’ll just have another one.” I couldn’t push him away. But when his eyes fell on the dense network of stretch marks covering my stomach, he stopped. A flicker of disgust and conflict crossed his face. After a moment’s hesitation, he simply said, “You must be tired. Get some rest.” His coldness was like a slap in the face, waking me from my beautiful dream. I remembered his mother’s contempt, the snickering of those around me. I suddenly realized that this grand, sweeping love story was nothing more than the whim of a rich boy. Fate had given me a gift. Now, it was starting to collect the interest. Losing my son was only the beginning. During my postpartum recovery, I fell into a severe depression. I called Liam, but he never answered. I sent texts, but they went unread. I was sick with worry, imagining the worst had happened to him. The next morning, I woke up to the news. Photos of him in bed with a starlet were plastered all over the internet. The world began to speculate how long it would be before the small-town Cinderella was thrown out of the palace. The public mockery shattered the last of my illusions. I couldn’t accept it. My depression spiraled. We had the most vicious fight of our lives. In a complete breakdown, I grabbed a knife and threatened to jump from the balcony. That was the only time I saw fear in his eyes. He rushed to hold me, his body trembling as he apologized. Like every cheating husband, he wept and swore it was all a misunderstanding, that he loved me, begging for another chance. That night, Liam knelt before me, tears streaming down his face. “Nora,” he pleaded, “please forgive me. Just this once.” 3 I made the second worst mistake of my life. I forgave him. For our son. For the lingering love I couldn’t cut away. And because my mother was in a terrible car accident, leaving me with no other home to run to. So, Liam and I reconciled. And soon, I was pregnant with our second child, Mia. Just like with Leo, Mia was taken away the moment she was born. The excuse this time was that Liam needed to focus on work and couldn’t be disturbed by a crying baby. To see my children, I had to go to the family estate before dawn every day to serve his mother. I poured her tea, massaged her shoulders, and even knelt to wash her feet, all in the desperate hope that she would show a sliver of mercy and let me spend time with my own kids. But all my efforts were rewarded with Liam’s brazen betrayals and my children’s deep-seated resentment. Leo refused to call me “Mom.” Whenever he saw me, he would scowl and say, “That stupid country woman is here again. I don’t want to see her.” Mia was too young to speak. She would just cry until her grandmother held her. Meanwhile, my mother’s condition was getting worse. The coldness of my children and the crushing weight of my life left me exhausted and hopeless. Just when I needed him most, Liam was building a new life with another woman. It was our wedding anniversary. Leo refused my invitation to celebrate. Liam didn’t answer my calls. Instead, his new lover thoughtfully sent me a video of them in bed together. Listening to their intimate sounds, I finally broke. I grabbed a blade and dragged it across my arm, over and over. When Maria burst into the bathroom, I had almost bled out. She frantically called Liam. This time, he didn’t come home until morning. He crouched in front of me, a smirk on his face as he looked at my mangled arm. “Weren’t you going to die? A whole night has passed, and you’re still here, clinging to this family like a stray dog.” His words shattered my fragile calm. Without a second thought, I threw myself off the balcony. I didn’t die. I just broke my leg. Mrs. Gallagher paid off the reporters and dragged me to my mother’s hospital room. She looked down at me, her voice like ice. “The ICU costs twenty thousand a day. If you ever dare to embarrass the Gallagher name again, I’ll make sure your mother dies with you.” That was the first time I realized that even death was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I was trapped. I couldn’t let go of the past, couldn’t sever the ties to my children. So I humbled myself, shrinking into nothingness in a marriage that had devoured my soul. I watched my son and daughter grow distant, watched Liam move from one woman to the next, watched them use my own mother to control me. Marriage into a wealthy family was a sweet dream and a painful chain. Cinderella had become Mrs. Gallagher, but the prince was still lost in his game, “saving” one beautiful, poor girl after another. Until one day, Liam went too far. He fell for a socialite in her thirties with a string of ex-husbands, and he got her pregnant. Mrs. Gallagher was furious. She slapped me twice across the face, screaming at me for failing to control my own husband. “What good are you if you can’t even keep a man’s heart?” she shrieked. “I order you to clean up this mess immediately. Otherwise… I will cut off your mother’s medical funds and ensure you never see Leo or Mia again!” With my marriage in ruins, my mother was the only pillar I had left. I couldn’t lose her. Steeling myself, I went to see the woman, Seraphina. Unlike Liam’s other flings, she wasn’t arrogant or aggressive. She was polite, even deferential, calling me “Mrs. Gallagher” with a pleading look in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I never intended to disrupt your family,” she said softly. “I just love Liam so much. But for his sake, I’m willing to get rid of this child and disappear forever.” Seraphina was true to her word. She took the money and vanished. That night, Liam, who hadn’t been home in ages, walked into my room. Without a word, he pushed me onto the bed and took me. For an entire month, he didn’t let me leave that room. Not until I was pregnant with our third child. As a reward for solving his problem, and to keep Liam at home, Mrs. Gallagher made an unprecedented concession: I would be allowed to raise this child myself. Around the same time, my mother’s health began to improve under the care of the Gallaghers’ private medical team. I was ecstatic. I thought my suffering was finally over, that things were finally looking up. But when I was eight months pregnant, Liam pushed me down the stairs.

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My husband is one of the world’s leading hypnotists. But when the woman he could never forget killed someone in a car accident, he hypnotized me to clear her name. “Clara is fragile,” he whispered, his voice a soothing poison. “She’s terrified of prison. Just forget this memory and take her place. When you get out, I’ll make it up to you.” Our five-year-old son nodded along. “Besides, you’re just a useless housekeeper. When you go to jail, Aunt Clara can finally be my real mom!” A serene smile touched my lips. I gave them their wish. I forgot them completely. But now that I’m free of them, my memory wiped clean, they stand at my door every day, begging me to just look at them one more time. 1 After serving eleven months, I walked out of the prison gates. My husband, Adrian, was waiting for me with our son. “Let’s go home. We’re here to pick you up.” He patted the little boy’s shoulder. “Leo, go help your mother with her things.” “No way!” Five-year-old Leo ducked behind his father, sticking his tongue out at me. “She’s a convict, not my mom! My mom is Aunt Clara.” He tugged on Adrian’s sleeve. “Dad, isn’t it Aunt Clara’s birthday today? Let’s go celebrate with her. I don’t want to see some jailbird.” Adrian’s face paled. He shot me a panicked look. “Evelyn, he’s just a child. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Don’t take it to heart.” I shook my head. “I won’t. He’s just a boy with a father who never taught him any manners.” “What?” Adrian froze, his eyes snapping to mine. “Evelyn, how can you say that? This is Leo.” Leo burst into tears. “I don’t want a convict for a mom! I want Aunt Clara! Dad, let’s go! Send her away! We don’t want her home!” He wailed, watching me through his tears. When he saw my expression was nothing more than a mild frown, he cried even louder. Adrian was flustered. “He’s crying. You should comfort him. You used to dote on him more than anything.” He was right. The person I supposedly doted on was calling me a convict and rejecting me as his mother. It was a good thing I couldn’t remember them. How agonizing would it be to be stabbed in the heart by the people you love most? “I don’t remember you,” I said. “Adrian, let’s get a divorce.” It was the only logical path. We go our separate ways, and everyone is better off. Adrian went rigid. A stiff, forced smile stretched his lips. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not getting a divorce. You’re just suffering from temporary amnesia due to the trauma. You’ll remember soon.” He leaned closer, his voice confident. “We are the people you love most in this world. Once you remember, you won’t be able to leave us. Let’s go home. You need to rest.” He brought me to a three-story villa. I scanned the property, but it stirred no memories. If it weren’t for the fact that the house was filled with things I recognized as my own personal habits and preferences, I would have doubted I’d ever lived there at all. So, I really had lost my memory. No wonder I couldn’t recall the details of the car accident. I explored the villa, trying to jog something loose. As I pushed open the door to a cluttered attic, a figure who had been sneakily following me lunged forward, shoving me inside. I crashed into a pile of junk, and boxes and old furniture came tumbling down on top of me. An old chair leg struck my forehead, and a sharp, hot pain made me break out in a cold sweat. Clutching my head, I looked back at the culprit standing in the doorway. “You really are a spoiled little brat. Is your father dead? Is that why you turned out like this?” Leo’s face, which had been pale with shock, twisted into a look of disgust when he heard me insult his father. “It’s your own fault for coming back today. It’s Aunt Clara’s birthday. Dad and I are celebrating with her. You’re not going to ruin it!” With that, he stepped back and slammed the door shut. I heard the distinct sound of a lock clicking into place. A sense of dread washed over me. I scrambled to my feet and banged on the door, telling him to open it, but Leo just giggled and ran off. “You’re a bad woman! You can just stay in there forever!” 2 I kicked the door in frustration as the attic was plunged into darkness. Almost immediately, a wave of discomfort washed over me. The enclosed space felt like drowning, stealing the air from my lungs. I slid down the door, slumping to the floor as the world spun around me. A phantom hand seemed to be squeezing my throat. “Open the door…” I rasped, weakly pounding on the wood. The suffocating panic was so overwhelming that I could no longer feel the throbbing pain in my forehead. My eyes fluttered shut, and I fell into unconsciousness. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. My head was bandaged. A thin, lanky boy was standing over me. “You’re awake. Do you want some water?” His eyes were clear and bright as he leaned down. The clothes he wore were faded from countless washings. When he noticed me staring, he grew visibly flustered. A small smile touched my lips. “Did you save me? Thank you.” The boy shook his head quickly, stammering, “N-No need. I was just delivering a package and heard a noise from the attic, so I called the police.” He pointed towards the door, where two police officers were standing. “Well,” I said, turning back to him, “either way, you’re the one who found me. Thank you for saving my life.” The boy’s face turned bright red. He waved his hands dismissively and hurried out to get the officers. They explained the situation, I expressed my gratitude, and they left. I learned that the boy who saved me was eight years old. His name was Sam Lee. His parents had passed away two years ago, and he was supposed to go to an orphanage, but he had run away. He survived by running errands and delivering packages for people in the neighborhood for a few dollars. I was speechless. After a moment, I looked at him and asked, “Sam, would you like to come home with me?” He looked up, his eyes wide and hopeful. “Can I?” “Of course.” He nodded frantically. “Yes, I want to. I really do.” “Good. We’ll go home as soon as I’m done here.” After my IV drip was finished, I took Sam back to the apartment my parents had left me. It was a cozy three-bedroom, not huge, but warm. Sam was a whirlwind of help, carrying boxes and cleaning rooms without a single complaint—a world away from a certain brat I knew. A wave of contentment washed over me. This was the kind of son I should have had. After we finished unpacking, I went to the kitchen and made a pot of braised pork rib noodles. The rich aroma filled the small apartment, and Sam’s eyes lit up. “It smells amazing.” He took a bowl and filled it to the brim with pork ribs, placing it in front of me. “You’re hurt. You need to eat lots of meat to get better.” Then he sat down and served himself a small portion of plain noodles, eating them quietly. I looked at the stark contrast between our bowls and couldn’t help but ruffle his hair. “I need to recover, but so do you. You’re a growing boy. You need meat even more than I do.” I spooned a generous helping of ribs into his bowl. Sam let me fuss over him, his face flushing a happy pink as he nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Mom.” A week passed. I completed the adoption paperwork for Sam and enrolled him in a local school. He was officially Sam Evans now—coincidentally, the same last name as his birth mother. I figured it was fate. That weekend, I planned to take him shopping for new clothes. But early that morning, my phone began to ring, shrill and insistent. Adrian’s cursed name flashed across the screen. 3 I hung up without a second thought. He called back twice more, and I rejected them both. A moment later, two text messages came through. It was Adrian. “Where are you?” “The housekeeper said you haven’t been home all week. Where did you go?” Where I went was none of his damn business. I promptly blocked his number. It took him an entire week to notice I was gone. If Sam hadn’t found me, I would have been dead in that attic. I blocked every possible way he could contact me, then took Sam to the mall. We both picked out several new outfits. As we were about to leave, Sam’s gaze fell on a display of matching parent-child outfits in the window. “Want to try them on?” I asked, a smile tugging at my lips. He nodded shyly. “Alright, let’s go try on our matching outfits.” I changed quickly and waited for Sam outside the dressing room. And just my luck, that’s when I ran into Adrian and his entourage. He saw me and froze. “Evelyn? What are you doing here?” I ignored him, my gaze sliding away indifferently. Adrian’s expression faltered, a hint of guilt in his eyes. “I know about what Leo did, locking you in the attic. I’ve already punished him. I’m making him apologize.” He motioned for Leo, who shuffled forward and mumbled a half-hearted, “Sorry.” I laughed softly. “Locked me in an attic for what could have been a week, and a simple ‘sorry’ is supposed to fix it? Why not wait until I’m dead and burn some paper offerings as an apology instead?” Adrian’s face stiffened. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be so confrontational. Leo’s face was pale as he stared at the floor. Clara, the woman standing beside them, stepped forward as if she couldn’t bear to watch. She took my hand, her voice soft and persuasive. “Sweetie, Leo didn’t do it on purpose. Why make things so hard on a child? Blame me. After my birthday, I begged them to take a week-long trip with me. That’s why we didn’t realize you were gone.” She smiled sweetly. “How about this? You just got out of prison. We’ll throw you a welcome home party. It’ll be our apology and a way to wash away all the bad luck. What do you think?” Adrian’s face lit up. “That’s a great idea, Clara. Very thoughtful.” Neither of them noticed how the surrounding shoppers and store clerks took a subtle step back, their eyes now filled with a mixture of fear and disgust as they looked at me. I sneered. So, they locked me in an attic and ran off to play with the other woman? I yanked my hand away from Clara’s, disgustedly brushing off my new clothes. “What could possibly be more unlucky than running into you? My husband and son are tangled up with you. If you like them so much, tell him to divorce me. I’ll gift-wrap them both and send them over to you.” Clara’s face turned ashen. She never imagined I would be so blunt in public. The crowd’s scornful gaze immediately shifted from me to her. “Oh, she’s the other woman. So shameless, hooking up with someone else’s husband and son.” “Look at them. I honestly thought they were the family.” “The man’s no good either. Parading his mistress in front of his wife. How pathetic.” “So trashy. If I were the wife, I’d be furious.” Listening to the whispers, Adrian’s expression turned ugly. “What nonsense are you spouting? There’s nothing going on between Clara and me! Go home and reflect on your behavior, now!” Clara’s eyes welled with tears as she explained weakly, “Sweetie, you’ve misunderstood. I’m not trying to take Adrian and Leo from you. I just… I can’t bear to see them so lonely.” “Bullshit! You shameless homewrecker!” someone from the crowd yelled, spitting in her direction. 4 “The husband yells at his wife to protect his mistress, and the mistress makes pathetic excuses. Are you two even human?” “Scumbags like you deserve each other. Get lost before you blind us all!” Assailed by the crowd, Adrian and Clara looked increasingly cornered. Clara looked like she was about to faint. Leo, his face red with anger, rushed forward. “Don’t you bully Aunt Clara! Apologize to her!” He lunged at me. But before he could touch me, another small body slammed into him, knocking him aside. “Mom, are you okay?” Sam stood in front of me like a protective lion cub, glaring at the three of them. I shook my head, stroking his hair. “I’m fine, sweetie. Don’t worry.” “Mom?” Leo scrambled up from the floor, his face a mask of disbelief. When his eyes landed on our matching outfits, his expression morphed into one of shock and heartbreak. Suddenly, he launched himself at Sam, scratching and hitting him. “Who’s your mom? She’s my mom! Stop calling her that!” he shrieked. “You’re not allowed to wear matching clothes with her! Go away! Go away!” He tore frantically at Sam’s new shirt. Sam, who had been about to fight back, froze when he heard Leo’s words, letting the blows rain down on him. That silly boy. I strode over and pulled Leo off him. “Your mother is over there. Don’t get confused.” I held Sam close and glared at Adrian. “Control your little demon. If he causes any more trouble, I’m calling the police.” Adrian’s jaw was tight. “Evelyn, he’s your son!” Sam immediately wrapped his arms around my waist and shot them a defiant look. “I’m Mom’s son.” Leo looked like he was about to attack again, but Adrian held him back, shaking his head at me in disappointment. “Evelyn, you’re being completely unreasonable. When you get your memory back, you’re going to regret this.” “That’s right, sweetie,” Clara chimed in, comforting the crying Leo. “Even if you’re jealous that Adrian and Leo are nice to me, you shouldn’t just pick up some stray off the street and call him your son. Think of how much that hurts Leo!” I looked at her coldly. “Where’s your father?” “What?” She was taken aback. “I asked where your father is,” I repeated patiently. “I’d like to find him, slap him across the face, and ask him how he raised a daughter with no class, throwing around words like ‘stray.’” “You! How dare you say I have no class?” Clara sputtered, her face crimson. “I’m talking about you, Miss Other Woman.” A smirk played on my lips as I took Sam’s hand and started to walk away. I called back to the sales clerk, “This man is paying for our clothes. His son ripped my son’s shirt, so he owes us a new one. My outfit is for emotional damages.” Behind me, I could hear Leo’s heartbroken sobs. “You don’t remember me? Well, I don’t like you anymore! I never want to see you again! Waaaaah!” I didn’t even bother to turn around. Back home, Sam apologized guiltily. “Mom, I’m sorry. I made my… I made that boy sad. Maybe you should go check on him?” “What does that have to do with you?” I said, exasperated. “He started it. What’s wrong with me protecting my own son? Besides, he’s the one who didn’t want me. He’s not lacking for attention. You, on the other hand… does that long scratch on your neck not hurt?” I pulled him over to treat the wound. The tears he had been holding back all day finally fell. That night, I got a call from an unknown number. It was Adrian, using the housekeeper’s phone. “Evelyn,” he said, his voice demanding, “Leo is sick.” “Oh.” “‘Oh’? What’s that supposed to mean? Aren’t you worried? Aren’t you coming to see him?” “I’m not a doctor. Is he going to magically get better if I look at him? Is there anything else? If not, I’m hanging up.” I disconnected before he could reply, catching the sound of a child’s crying just before the line went dead. But what did that have to do with me? Another week went by.

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When David and I signed the divorce papers, a strange calm settled over us. He asked, with a veneer of concern, what I wanted. My answer came without a second thought. “The cars, the house, the savings.” “And half the shares in your company.” David froze, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “What about the children? You don’t want either of them?” “You love them so much. Can you really bear to leave Leo and Mia behind?” My gaze fell to the latticework of scars on my wrist, a silent testament to years of self-inflicted pain. I gave a small, slow shake of my head. Not anymore. From this day forward, the only thing I wanted from David Thorne was his money. Everything else connected to him, I was leaving behind. 1. Faced with my cold detachment, David looked like he wanted to say something more. But after a moment’s hesitation, he simply fell silent and signed his name to the agreement. As we parted, he offered a final, polite gesture. “I can’t give you the shares, but you will always be the children’s mother.” “If you ever run into trouble, you can always come to me.” I nodded. The moment I turned away, the business card he’d handed me found its home in the nearest trash can. In this lifetime, I would rather die than ever see David Thorne again. Back at the house, I told the housekeeper to pack up all of David’s belongings and throw them out. She chuckled, unconcerned. “Ma’am, did you and Mr. Thorne have another fight?” “If you ask me, you should just let it blow over,” she said, her tone light and teasing. “He does care for you, deep down. It’s not worth throwing away your position as Mrs. Thorne over a little spat.” Maria had seen everything. All the years of pain, the humiliation I’d endured. She knew the torrential force of my love for David. She had also witnessed my hysterics, the countless times I’d shattered in the face of his betrayals. Like David, she was convinced I would never leave. But this time, I didn’t break down in tears and complaints as I usually did. Instead, I took our wedding portrait down from the wall and spoke, my voice calm and empty. “My mother is dead.” The smile vanished from Maria’s face. She stood frozen, stammering an apology, her hands fluttering uselessly. I offered a faint, humorless smile and said nothing. With all my strength, I brought the heavy frame down, smashing it to pieces on the floor. Maria jumped back, startled. Then, she was crouching beside me, helping me clean up the shards of glass. She expertly bandaged the cut on my hand, a wound torn open by the impact. “Good,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “Good riddance!” “You’re an Ivy League graduate, a brilliant woman. You can live a much better life without him.” “You don’t have to take that kind of pain anymore, my dear.” “I know,” I whispered, my head bowed. I hadn’t wanted to cry. But as I looked down, the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable. There was regret, and a deep, aching sadness. But beneath it all, there was something else. A glimmer of the dizzying joy of a survivor. After ten years of entanglement, the fairytale romance of the prince and the cinder-girl had finally reached its end. It wasn’t a happy ending, but it was the one I should have seen coming all along. 2. At eighteen, I was the top student in my county, accepted into one of the most prestigious Ivy League universities. That same year, I met David Thorne, a successful alumnus who had returned to campus to make a donation. The beginning of our story was, like all fairytales, breathtakingly romantic. For David, it was love at first sight. After his speech, he began a relentless, whirlwind courtship. He’d wait for me after class with flowers and my favorite latte. He’d bribe my roommates with cash just to know my schedule. He memorized every trivial detail about me and declared his love in a field of a thousand roses he’d had planted just for me. Back then, everyone said we wouldn’t last. They were certain a small-town girl like me, a nobody, could never truly fit into his world. But David didn’t care. He brushed off their doubts, determined to be with me. He fought against the pressure from his family and proposed, shielding me from all the malice and judgment. Under his protection, my life, once a struggle, was suddenly switched to easy mode. Jewelry and bouquets, graduate school placements, opportunities to study abroad—everything was laid at my feet before I even had to ask. What teenage girl, inexperienced and full of dreams, could resist such an onslaught? I fell, hard and fast. I gave up my ambitions and stepped into the gilded cage of marriage. Dating, marriage, pregnancy, childbirth. It all unfolded so seamlessly. For the girl I was then, life felt impossibly easy. Everything I ever wanted was mine for the taking. I was drunk on love, completely unaware that every gift from fate comes with a hidden price tag. The day our son, Leo, was born, the Thorne matriarch, a woman I had never met, swept into my hospital room and took my child from my arms. Her smile was polite, perfectly composed, but her voice was a shard of ice. “Leo is the future heir to the Thorne fortune. His position is of the utmost importance.” “Your background, your… upbringing… hardly qualifies you to raise him.” I had carried him for ten months, endured a difficult birth, and I wasn’t even allowed to hold him. To even see my own son, I had to get permission first. I begged David, pleaded with him not to be so cruel, not to separate me from our baby. He just looked at me with a strange expression. “My mother’s right, you know. You’re from the countryside.” “She made it clear from the start. I can fool around all I want, but when it comes to the children, her word is law.” I was on the verge of collapsing from grief. But David simply pulled me into his arms and kissed me, completely ignoring my tears. He laughed it off. “Come on, don’t be so sad.” “If you want a baby that badly, we can just make another one.” I couldn’t push him away. But then his eyes caught the faint, silvery stretch marks on my stomach. He stopped. A flicker of… something between hesitation and disgust… crossed his face. After a long moment, he pulled away and said flatly, “You’ve had a long day. You should get some rest.” David’s indifference was like a bucket of ice water, shocking me out of my long, beautiful dream. I remembered his mother’s contempt, the snickering of those around me. And I suddenly understood. This grand, sweeping love affair of ours? It had been nothing more than the indulgent whim of a rich boy. Fate had showered me with blessings. Now, it was starting to collect the interest. And my son was just the beginning. In the weeks after giving birth, I spiraled into a severe postpartum depression. My calls to David went unanswered. My texts were left unread. Just as I started to panic, worrying that something terrible had happened to him, the news broke. Scandalous photos of him in bed with some starlet were plastered across every gossip site overnight. The world began to speculate how long it would be before the small-town Cinderella was kicked to the curb. The public mockery and vicious comments shattered the last fragments of my fairytale. I couldn’t accept it. My depression deepened. David and I had the most violent argument of our lives. In a complete breakdown, I grabbed a knife and threatened to jump from the balcony. That finally got his attention. He rushed to grab me, his hands trembling as he apologized. He was just like every other cheating husband, crying that he was sorry, that it was all a misunderstanding, that he loved me and I had to give him another chance. That night, David knelt before me, his face wet with tears. “Nina, please. Can you forgive me, just this once?” 3. I made the second worst decision of my life. I chose to forgive him. For our son. For the stubborn love I couldn’t yet sever. And because a sudden car accident had left my mother in critical condition, robbing me of my last safe harbor. So, David and I reconciled. And soon, I was pregnant with our second child, Mia. Like her brother, Mia was taken from me the moment she was born. The excuse this time was that David needed to focus on his work and couldn’t be disturbed by a crying baby. Just to see my own children, I had to go to the Thorne estate before dawn every day to perform my duties. I served tea, massaged Mrs. Thorne’s shoulders and back, and even knelt to wash her feet. I humbled myself in every way imaginable, all for the small mercy of being allowed to spend a few moments with Leo and Mia. But all my desperate efforts were rewarded with David’s flagrant betrayals and the deep-seated resentment of my own children. Leo never called me “Mom.” Whenever he saw me, he would scowl and say, “That stupid country woman is here again. I don’t want to see her.” Mia was too young to speak, but she would cry and reach for her grandmother the moment I came near. Meanwhile, my mother’s condition was steadily worsening. The coldness of my children, the crushing weight of my life… I was exhausted, hollowed out by despair. And in the moments when I needed him most, David was off building a new life with another woman. It was our wedding anniversary. Leo refused my invitation to celebrate. David didn’t answer my calls. Instead, his new lover took the initiative and sent me a video of them in bed together. Listening to their moans and whispers, I finally shattered completely. I lost control and dragged a razor across my arm. By the time Maria burst into the bathroom, I was bleeding out on the floor. She frantically called David. This time, he didn’t show up until dawn. He crouched in front of me, a smirk on his face as he looked at the gruesome wounds on my arm. “Still here? I thought you were going to die.” “It’s been a whole night. How are you still clinging to this family like a stray dog?” His words ripped open the fragile calm I’d found. Without a second thought, I threw myself off the balcony. I didn’t die. I just broke my leg. Mrs. Thorne paid off the reporters and had me dragged to my mother’s hospital. She stood over me, her voice dripping with cold fury. “The ICU costs twenty thousand dollars a day.” “If you ever dare to embarrass the Thorne family again, I will make sure your mother joins you.” For the first time, I realized that even death was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I couldn’t let go of the love that once was, couldn’t sever the ties to my children. So I remained, shrinking myself into nothingness in a marriage devoid of self. I watched my children pull away from me. I watched David move from one woman to the next. I watched them use my mother as a leash to control my life. A marriage into wealth was both a sweet paradise and a chain of torment. Cinderella had ascended to become Mrs. Thorne, but the Prince was still lost in his games of love, “rescuing” one poor, beautiful girl after another. Until one day, David went too far. He fell for a socialite in her thirties, a woman with multiple divorces under her belt, and got her pregnant. Mrs. Thorne was livid. She slapped me twice across the face, her voice shaking with rage as she berated me for failing to control my husband. “A woman who can’t even hold onto her own husband’s heart—what use are you?” “I am ordering you to clean up this mess immediately. If you don’t…” “I will cut off your mother’s medical payments and ensure you never see Leo and Mia again!” After my marriage had crumbled into ruin, the last thread of family I had left was my only reason for living. I couldn’t lose my mother. I couldn’t lose that final connection. With a heavy heart, I went to see the woman, Vivienne. Unlike David’s previous flings, she wasn’t arrogant or condescending. She was polite, almost deferential. She called me “Mrs. Thorne” with every other breath, her eyes dripping with faux admiration. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Thorne. I never intended to disrupt your family.” “It’s just… I love David so much.” “But if it’s for his own good, I’m willing to terminate the pregnancy and disappear from his life forever.” Vivienne was true to her word. She took the money and vanished without a trace. That night, for the first time in a long time, David came back to our bedroom. Without a word, he pushed me onto the bed. For an entire month, he barely let me leave it. Until I was pregnant with our third child. As a reward for solving David’s “problem” and a way to keep him at home, Mrs. Thorne made an unprecedented concession: I would be allowed to raise this child myself. Around the same time, under the care of the Thorne family’s private medical team, my mother’s health began to improve. I was ecstatic. I thought the worst was finally over. I thought things were finally looking up. But when I was eight months pregnant… David pushed me down the stairs.

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The eve of my wedding, Sarah posted a photo set on her social media. She was wearing a million-dollar custom gown, and beside her, kissing her forehead, was Tedd. The caption read: “Thank you to my dearest Tedd for being by my side since we were kids and making my bridal dreams come true!” The comments were a waterfall of congratulations, many from accounts I recognized. I blended right in, adding a comment of my own: “Since you love my fiancé and my wedding dress so much, consider them a gift.” 1 A second later, my phone rang. It was Tedd. He didn’t offer an explanation; he launched straight into an accusation. “Ava, you know Sarah is an influencer. What the hell was that comment? Are you trying to ruin her? Delete it. Now.” In the background, I could hear Sarah’s theatrical sobs. “Tedd, it’s all my fault. I’ll take the dress off right now. I’ll go apologize to Ava, I’ll beg her to forgive me!” Tedd, of course, wouldn’t hear of it. His voice softened as he soothed her. “No, don’t. If you like it, wear it. It’s just a dress. Why should you apologize? Ava’s the one who’s out of line. She should be apologizing to you.” It’s just a dress. The words made me laugh, a bitter, hollow sound. This “dress” was a year of my life. A million-dollar couture creation that embodied every dream I had for my marriage. I’d been involved in every step, from the initial sketches to selecting the fabrics. I’d flown to Paris and spent a month with the head designer to perfect every detail. Watching it take shape was like watching a blueprint of my future life being built, stitch by delicate stitch. When the boutique called to say it was ready, I was ecstatic. I wanted to try it on for Tedd immediately, but he told me he was stuck in an important meeting at work and couldn’t get away. I’d have to reschedule. I believed him without a second thought, disappointed but understanding. I didn’t realize what a fool I’d been until Sarah’s post went live. The pictures were perfect. A nine-photo carousel of them holding hands, embracing, him kissing her forehead. They looked so intimate, so right together. They’d even put on the wedding rings—my wedding rings—on their left hands. The way they smiled into each other’s eyes radiated a love so palpable that anyone would call them a perfect couple. And Sarah, a minor influencer with over a million followers, knew how to work it. The post exploded. Within minutes, tens of thousands of comments flooded in. “OMG, congrats! Our Sarah finally found her prince!” “He’s so handsome, she’s so beautiful! A match made in heaven! Wishing you a lifetime of happiness!” “That DRESS is stunning! It looks so expensive, it’s perfect for you, Sarah!” “Childhood sweethearts to husband and wife! So sweet, I’m obsessed with you two!” “That diamond on her ring is massive! True power couple!” … I even saw comments from a few of Tedd’s best friends. Amidst the sea of joyous celebration, I was the only one not smiling. Because the woman in my dress, being praised as the beautiful bride, was wearing my life. And the man they called her groom was my fiancé. Seeing that absurdly perfect, utterly devastating scene, I finally understood. Tedd wasn’t too busy for a wedding dress fitting. He was just too busy to have one with me. He had all the time in the world to take another woman to try on my bespoke gown and then plaster their love all over the internet. Did it never even cross their minds that I would see it? In less than an hour, the post had garnered tens of thousands of comments. I called Tedd’s phone again and again. I tried calling Sarah. No one answered. As the world cheered for a lie, I felt like I aged a lifetime. I waited for a call, a text, any explanation from either of them. Nothing came. But I saw them, active in the comments, replying happily to their fans. In that moment, something inside me snapped. He didn’t care. He wasn’t worth it. So, under that viral post, I typed my comment: “Since you love my fiancé and my wedding dress so much, consider them a gift.” And just like that, after an hour of silence, the man I couldn’t reach suddenly called me back. To hear them completely ignore their own betrayal and instead declare me the villain… the sheer hypocrisy of it was so astounding, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. 2 My laughter, however, seemed to enrage Tedd. The line went silent for a beat, then Sarah’s crying intensified, hitting a new, hysterical pitch. When Tedd spoke again, his voice was a low growl, vibrating with fury. “Ava. Delete the comment and apologize to Sarah. Or this wedding is off.” “Fine,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “Good. I’ll let it go this time. But don’t you ever pull a stunt like this again. You used to be so much more reasonable.” “I meant,” I clarified, speaking slowly and deliberately, my grip tightening on the phone, “the wedding is off. Sarah loves the dress, right? She can have it. The price is one million dollars. As for you… she can have you for free.” Tedd was silent, clearly not expecting me to call his bluff. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight with suppressed anger. “It’s just a dress, Ava. And I’ve told you a million times, Sarah is like a sister to me. Are you really going to be this dramatic?” He’d used that excuse so many times it had become a nauseating mantra. “Yes,” I said. “I am.” From the other end, Sarah’s saccharine voice piped up. “Tedd, don’t be mad. She’s just misunderstood, you know how women can be. Just be sweet to her, and she’ll come around.” Her attempt at peacemaking only fanned the flames of his arrogance. “Be sweet to her?” he scoffed. “Who the hell does she think she is?” An interesting question. “I’d like to know the same thing, Tedd,” I shot back. “When you were doing all this, who did you think I was? Am I not your fiancée? We were supposed to get married next month!” My words, meant as an accusation, were misinterpreted as a plea. “See, Tedd?” Sarah cooed. “I told you. She loves you too much to stay mad.” “Hah,” Tedd sneered. “It’s too late for regrets, Ava. This is on you. Unless you apologize to Sarah right now and gift her the dress, this isn’t over.” I sighed. Was it because I loved him more that they felt so invincible? Even now, there wasn’t a shred of remorse in his voice. I clung to one last, desperate thread of hope. “Sarah isn’t the one getting married, yet she gets to wear a bridal gown. What about me? The actual bride-to-be?” “It’s a dress!” he repeated, exasperated. “The boutique is full of them. Just pick another one. It’s just a wedding.” Then, as if bestowing a great mercy upon me, they began to decide my fate for me. “Sarah, you have good taste. Just find something for her. It’s not like it matters, she’ll only wear it for a day.” “Okay, Tedd, I’ll pick one out for Ava! Hmm, this one is tough… This one has a beautiful neckline, but she doesn’t have the… assets… to fill it out. Oh, and the train on this one is gorgeous, but Ava’s too tall, it would look awkward on her…” Listening to Tedd’s dismissive tone and Sarah’s backhanded insults, the last bit of my heart turned to stone. “Don’t trouble yourselves,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “I’m not getting married. And we… are over.” That finally did it. Tedd exploded. “Ava, that’s enough! We’re already being so generous, and you’re still being impossible! Fine! It’s over! But don’t you come crawling back. If it weren’t for your family forcing me, I never would have been with you in the first place!” News to me. I had no idea he felt that way. No wonder he’d always been so cold and distant with my parents and me. I’d mistaken his disrespect for a cool, reserved nature, a product of a difficult childhood. Turns out, he was just an ungrateful hypocrite. I refused to argue with him any longer. I simply hung up the phone. I didn’t realize that in that short time, my comment had sent the internet into a frenzy. “Wait, what’s happening? Is Sarah a homewrecker? No way.” “Impossible. You guys forget, Sarah is an heiress. The person who commented has a completely empty profile. Probably just some delusional fan.” “Let’s wait for Sarah to say something. I trust her!” … I watched the debate unfold, amazed. What was there left to say? I had, once again, underestimated their shamelessness. 3 A few minutes later, Sarah responded. “I don’t know how I offended this person, but I don’t understand why she wants to hurt me like this.” Simultaneously, Tedd posted: “I have no relationship whatsoever with this woman.” Soon, their friends chimed in, one by one, attesting to the fact that Tedd and Sarah were childhood sweethearts, their love as deep as the ocean. To cap it all off, a user claiming to be an employee of the bridal boutique posted photos of Tedd and Sarah at their fitting, along with a picture of a receipt signed with Tedd’s name. The evidence was overwhelming. I was a liar. The online sentiment shifted in an instant, and a wave of hatred crashed down on me. “Desperate much? Always trying to steal someone else’s man.” “Exactly! Sarah’s feed is full of sweet moments with her Tedd. This woman is a pathetic clout chaser, thinking we’re all blind.” “She’s an embarrassment to women everywhere. Why can’t she be more like Sarah? An independent, successful career woman who also happens to be an heiress!” … I could dismiss the rest of it. Sarah’s fake persona wasn’t new. Tedd’s denial, technically, was now true. Their sycophantic friends were just a pack of jealous freeloaders. But the bridal shop… how could they lie like that? I signed the contract. I paid the bill. How dare they? Tedd had never transferred me any money. Were they planning to just steal my dress and slander my name? I immediately called the boutique. The moment I gave my name, the line went dead. The sheer audacity of it made me laugh. Is this how they treated a VIP client who had just paid them a million dollars? Fueled by a white-hot rage, I got in my car and drove straight there. When I walked in, the sales associates, who knew me perfectly well, just gathered in small clumps, pointing and whispering. No one came to help me. “Get your manager out here!” I had to shout it three times before a tall, thin woman emerged from the back, her face a mask of contempt. “Well, look what we have here. It’s the delusional fan girl. What are you doing here? We don’t have any men for you to stalk in this store.” Her words were met with snickers from the other employees. “Where is my dress?” “Are you sick in the head? Why are you so obsessed with other people’s things? The dress was picked up already.” I took a deep breath. “Who picked it up? Don’t pretend you don’t remember that I was the one who signed the contract and paid for it.” “So what? It was Mr. Miller’s money. He just had you run an errand for him. Who knew you’d get it in your head that it was yours? You caused us so much trouble, making us do last-minute alterations. You have no shame!” Her logic was staggering. “You don’t trust contracts, you don’t trust bank transfers, you just take someone’s word for it?” The manager rolled her eyes. “We don’t do that for just anyone. But this is a special case. Sarah is an heiress. Why would she lie? You, on the other hand… you follow Mr. Miller around like his personal assistant.” So, she was one of Sarah’s fans. But I knew the truth about Sarah’s “heiress” persona better than anyone. It wasn’t entirely her fault, but that wasn’t the point. Right there, in front of the entire staff, I called Tedd and put him on speaker. Miraculously, he answered before it went to voicemail. “Ava. What, you want to beg for forgiveness? Too late. How does it feel to be torn apart online? I hope you’re enjoying it. You brought this on yourself.” Now that I was done with him, every word he spoke just made him seem more pathetic. I cut straight to the chase. “You took my dress, and you haven’t paid me for it.” “Your dress?” he scoffed. “The boutique let me take it, so it’s mine. You got a problem? Take it up with them.” The sheer arrogance in his voice left me speechless for a moment. Even after everything, a part of me, the part that remembered the decade we’d known each other, didn’t want to completely destroy him. But now, their brazen lies, their complete lack of remorse, had extinguished that last flicker of sentiment. I had made my decision. “Fine, Tedd,” I said, my voice chillingly calm. “You brought this on yourself. Good luck.” 4 After I hung up, the manager’s face was still twisted in a sneer. “I thought you were going to do something dramatic. Turns out you were just begging Mr. Miller for another chance.” I just smiled and shook my head. I dialed another number. This time, it was to the bridal company’s global headquarters in Paris. I conducted the entire conversation in fluent French. The manager didn’t understand a word, continuing her sarcastic commentary and even trying to have me thrown out. But it was too late. I quickly explained the situation to the executive on the other end of the line, demanding a public apology, a full retraction to restore my reputation, and, as stipulated in my contract for breach of service, triple the purchase price in damages. My month-long trip to Paris to meet with their team hadn’t been a waste. The headquarters promised a swift and serious investigation. When the boutique’s phone rang a moment later, the manager’s career came to an abrupt end. Facts are facts. No matter how much she tried to lie and squirm, she couldn’t hide her deliberate misconduct. With the matter settled, I turned and walked away, ignoring the sound of her desperate sobs behind me. The corporate office was efficient. A public clarification and apology appeared online almost immediately. At the same time, the fired manager, now facing a lawsuit, went on a rampage in Sarah’s comment section. “What heiress? What childhood sweethearts? It’s all a lie!” “A homewrecker and a broke loser had the nerve to come into my store and scam a wedding dress, and I’m the one who lost my job!” “Go to hell, you frauds!” The internet was stunned by the sudden reversal. “Wait, so it really was someone else’s dress?” “Does that mean… the other stuff is fake too?” “No way. Sarah is a real heiress and Tedd is a mogul! Just look at their lifestyle!” … An heiress? A mogul? I’d almost forgotten about that part. Sarah was no heiress. She was just a girl from some backwater town who had come to the city to stay with Tedd, her distant relative. When I first met her, she was just like any other girl from a remote village—dark-skinned, unsophisticated, and dressed in cheap clothes. I remember the greedy look in her eyes as she stared at my things, though her words were for Tedd. “Tedd, Ava’s clothes and jewelry are so beautiful. I love them so much!” Tedd didn’t say anything then. But later, he took Sarah into my walk-in closet and let her pick out whatever she wanted. Seeing my personal belongings on a stranger made my skin crawl. But Tedd had an answer for everything. “I don’t have any family left back home. Sarah is like a little sister to me. If you’re with me, you should help me take care of her. It’s just a few things, what’s the big deal?” Then, because Sarah was “afraid” to live alone, he moved her into my villa. And because she wanted to be an influencer, he used my designer clothes, my jewelry, and my home to craft her online persona as a glamorous woman of leisure. I had tried to talk to him about it. I suggested that if Sarah liked something, she could buy it herself; she didn’t need to take mine.

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1 The driver’s son became the king of our school, all by pretending to be a rich heir. He was the one who spread the rumor that I was desperately in love with him. When priceless heirlooms started vanishing from my home, he begged me not to call the cops. Then, at school, he led the charge to make my life a living hell. I was diagnosed with severe depression. Just as my parents started to uncover the truth, he had his father leak our company’s most guarded secrets to our biggest rival. We were ruined. My family, once titans of industry, were now homeless, wandering the streets. One rainy night, in a dark alley, we were beaten to death. The last thing I saw was his smug, handsome face, sneering down at us, telling us we deserved it. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back before it all went wrong. The driver’s son—Ethan—stood before the entire class, arms spread wide. “This weekend,” he announced, “party at my villa! Everyone’s invited!” A roar of excitement filled the room. As they cheered for him, I pulled out my phone and sent a single, cold text: Effective immediately, no outsiders are permitted in any of my family’s properties. Screw his rich-kid act. If he thought I was a fool, he was about to learn just how wrong he was. “Ethan, you’re the man! A true prince!” “Thanks, Ethan! We finally get to see how the other half lives!” The deafening cheers snapped me back to the present. Ethan stood in the center of it all, a king surrounded by his adoring court, basking in their praise. His eyes met mine, and a flicker of something—annoyance? confusion?—crossed his face before he frowned and looked away. His glance was enough. Someone noticed me staring and a ripple of laughter spread through the group, their voices deliberately loud. “Isn’t that the broke girl who’s obsessed with Ethan? Stare all you want, honey, he’ll never like you. He’s with Madison, our school’s queen bee, now!” Those words. They were a poisoned dart from my past, hitting me with the force of a memory I had already lived. I was reborn. The realization sent a tremor through my entire body. It wasn’t fear. It was pure, electrifying adrenaline. In my last life, the rumor that I was pathetically in love with Ethan had made me a social pariah. I thought if I just kept my head down, it would all blow over. But living it all again, I finally understood: Ethan had orchestrated everything. He paraded around as a wealthy heir, enjoying the same privileges I did, while secretly painting me as a desperate gold digger. “She’s crazy about me, practically begs for my attention,” he’d say with a put-upon sigh. “What can I do? We’re classmates. I don’t want to be cruel.” And just like that, the fact that we arrived and left school in the same luxury car every day was twisted into something ugly. It wasn’t my family’s car; it was his, and he was just taking pity on me. I, the heiress, became the gold digger. And he, the driver’s son, became the heir. He lived off my family’s generosity, yet he despised us with every fiber of his being. The money my father spent on his education could have funded scholarships for a hundred deserving students, but for him, it was never enough. Gratitude wasn’t in his vocabulary. My fingers flew across my phone’s screen. “Starting today, no outsiders are allowed in any of the Sterling family properties. If any of the staff can’t handle a simple thing like gate security, they can pack their bags and leave.” Let’s see you host your villa party now, Ethan. He and his parents had first come to our home when we were in high school. The three of them stood before my father, bowing and scraping. “Thank you, Mr. Sterling, for sponsoring our son’s education! We’ll work hard to repay your kindness!” Ethan’s father, John, was our driver. His mother, Linda, was our housekeeper. When they heard my father was looking to sponsor a student, they begged him to choose Ethan. My father, ever the philanthropist, agreed. Ethan had good grades; he was a smart kid. It was supposed to be a simple act of charity. Instead, it was the beginning of my nightmare. Ethan moved into our house, living a life identical to mine. Soon after, the rumors started at school: I was obsessed with him. He was the rich kid with the chauffeured car, and I was the charity case who didn’t know her place. I tried to set the record straight, but Ethan talked me out of it. “It’s just gossip,” he’d said, his voice smooth and reasonable. “Let it go. Do you really want people to think you’re some rich bitch who throws her family’s money around?” “Just focus on your studies,” he’d urged. “That’s what’s important.” So I buried the hurt and confusion. My parents were always busy with work, rarely home. I listened to Ethan and threw myself into my schoolwork. But just as I fought my way to the top of the class, our family’s valuables began to disappear. I wanted to call the police, but Ethan stopped me. “Just wait until your dad gets back,” he’d insisted. “Calling the cops is a huge hassle, and you have school to worry about.” I didn’t call them. But at school, the rumors escalated. Now, I was actively trying to seduce him, a desperate attempt to marry into his “wealthy” family. The other students started to isolate me. Madison, Ethan’s beautiful and popular girlfriend, made it her mission to torment me. I was locked in bathroom stalls, had drinks “accidentally” poured on me in the hallways. I knew, deep down, that Ethan was behind it all. By the time my parents returned and saw the shell I’d become, I had been diagnosed with severe clinical depression. They were ready to confront Ethan, to tear him and his family apart. But before they could, the final blow came. John, our “loyal” driver, had leaked our company’s most sensitive data to our fiercest competitor. We were ruined. My family was thrown out onto the street. One rainy night, we were dragged into a lightless alley and beaten to death by strangers. But just before I died, I saw him. Ethan, dressed in a designer suit, looking down at us with a cold smile. “I can’t stand you rich people,” he spat. “You all got exactly what you deserve.” The killers were hired psychopaths. They took Ethan’s money and walked away, free. The memory of that agony, that burning injustice, made my eyes sting with tears. Ethan, I thought, my hands clenching into fists. Just you wait. I will never let you get away with it again. With my orders in place, Ethan’s villa party was dead on arrival. The other staff knew who signed their paychecks, and it wasn’t a Clark—it was a Sterling. By the afternoon, the news reached Ethan, and he was livid. I could feel his furious glare burning into the back of my head all through class. My phone buzzed incessantly. Sophie, are you doing this on purpose? What the hell is your problem?! Your dad promised to pay for everything! Are you going back on his word?! I already promised everyone! If you don’t let this happen, you can be the one to tell them why! I scrolled through a dozen more messages just like it before silencing my phone and shutting it off. Ethan was seething, but he didn’t have the guts to confront me himself. He sent his pitbull instead. The moment the bell rang, Madison stormed into our classroom. After a few whispered words from Ethan, she marched straight to my desk, her hand raised to slap me. “You just can’t give up, can you? Still trying to get your claws into my boyfriend!” she shrieked. “You were so scared people would find out you live in the servant’s quarters that you made him cancel his party!” “You’re insane, Sophie! Threatening to kill yourself for attention? Are you that pathetic?!” Madison’s voice was like a megaphone. The entire classroom fell silent, all eyes on me. Some looked at me with pity, others with open contempt and mockery. Only Ethan kept his head down, pretending to be absorbed in his desk. I shot up and grabbed her wrist, stopping her hand inches from my face. As I opened my mouth to speak, Ethan finally moved. He wrapped his arms around Madison, pulling her back. He looked at me, his handsome face, framed by a designer haircut, a mask of confidence. But the words that came out of his mouth were pure poison. “Maddy, don’t…” he murmured, then raised his voice for the class to hear. “Hey everyone, I’m so sorry, but we’ll have to postpone the party. Something… came up.” He shot a glance at me, his eyes filled with fake helplessness and regret. “It has nothing to do with Sophie, so please don’t jump to any conclusions.” Of course, that’s exactly what they did. The other students exchanged knowing looks, their glares in my direction growing colder. Even Madison, held in his arms, was trembling with rage, as if I were the one who had wronged her. He was a master at this, painting himself as the victim while making me the villain in every story. It reminded me of the time he’d written me a love note. I’d turned him down flat, and without missing a beat, he’d asked Madison out the very next day. From the first day of school, we’d arrived together in my family’s Rolls-Royce. Madison, convinced he was a wealthy heir, said yes immediately. And that’s when the rumors truly began, started by her and fueled by everyone else’s gossip. My fate was sealed. How utterly ridiculous. The driver’s son became the prince, and the heiress became the gold digger. And the most pathetic part? Everyone believed it. Well, payback’s a bitch. Ethan was petty and vindictive; I knew he wouldn’t let this go. I spent the rest of the afternoon ignoring the whispers and focusing on my work. When the final bell rang, he made his move. He strode ahead of me and, with an air of complete ownership, slid into the back of the Rolls-Royce. He rolled down the window and looked at me with a condescending smirk. “Well, get in,” he said loudly. “They’re waiting for us for dinner at home.” The way he said it, he sounded like the master of the house, and I was just someone he was graciously tolerating. I stared at him, saying nothing. “Come on!” he snapped, raising his voice even more. Behind us, students were already starting to point and whisper. His father, John, sat in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead, pretending not to hear his son’s disrespect. I didn’t move. With an annoyed huff, Ethan told his father to drive on. As the car pulled away, I heard laughter behind me. I smiled, too. I made a quick phone call, gave them my location, and waited quietly by the curb. Suddenly, someone “accidentally” slammed into me from behind. As I stumbled to regain my balance, I heard a familiar, mocking laugh. “No matter how hard you try to get my boyfriend’s attention, he’s never going to want a charity case like you,” Madison sneered, puffing out her chest. Her long, curled hair bounced as she posed, a few of her cronies flanking her, all of them looking at me with undisguised scorn. I didn’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction. “Excuse me, you’re in the way,” I said calmly, my gaze shifting past her. Madison was about to retort when her eyes widened. She turned, saw the gleaming black Bentley that had silently pulled up behind her, and immediately fell silent, shuffling to the side. The chauffeur didn’t even glance at her. He walked directly to me, bowed slightly, and opened the rear door in one fluid motion. “Miss Sterling,” he said, his voice respectful and professional. “Shall we go home?” Madison’s jaw dropped. Her friends stared, mouths agape. I stepped into the car without a backward glance. As the Bentley purred to life, she finally found her voice, her face flushing a deep, angry red. “Sophie Sterling, who do you think you’re fooling?!” she shrieked at the departing car. “Everyone knows you’re broke! ‘Miss Sterling’… what a joke!” I tuned her out as we drove away. My family had more than one driver. If Ethan wanted to play pretend, I was more than happy to shatter his fantasy piece by piece. In the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of a familiar Rolls-Royce hiding awkwardly around the corner. The sight was so pathetic it was almost funny. Ethan and his father had been waiting, expecting me to come crawling to them. Seeing me leave in a Bentley had clearly sent them into a panic. The Rolls-Royce tailed us sheepishly, not daring to overtake. Seeing them follow, I took a screenshot of the dozen angry texts Ethan had sent me and forwarded them to my father. Then I met the new driver’s eyes in the mirror. “Evans,” I said casually. “From now on, you’ll be driving me to and from school every day. And John Clark is no longer permitted in the garage.” By the time we arrived home, John must have already received a call from my father’s assistant. He scrambled out of the Rolls-Royce, his face a ghostly white, beads of sweat on his forehead. He bowed low as I stepped out of the Bentley. “Miss Sterling, I am so sorry! I was wrong!” Wrong about what? I glanced at the top of his bowed head, then caught sight of Ethan standing by the door, his fists clenched, his face a mask of humiliation. The sight made my smile widen. “It’s not like you’re fired,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. “I just think you’ve been working too hard. Why don’t you take a few days off? Stay out of the garage, get some rest.” I walked past John’s ashen face and into the villa without a second glance. He couldn’t handle this? Oh, this was just the beginning.

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Married to Eric for ten years, and his phone was always “out of storage.” He cleared his chat history every single day. I told him to get a new one, but he’d always refuse, saying the old one worked “just fine.” And I believed him. Right up until the moment I discovered he’d deleted my messages and forgotten my birthday, yet somehow had space for over two thousand photos of him and a young colleague at a Halloween event at the amusement park. That’s when it hit me. The problem wasn’t his phone’s memory. It was that I was no longer worthy of taking up any of it. 1 On my birthday, after ten years of marriage, Eric came home late from work to find the dining table empty. He looked genuinely confused. I stared back at him, my own feigned surprise masking a deep disappointment. “The cake? You were supposed to cook tonight, remember? Did you even buy groceries?” Eric slapped his forehead. “Oh God, Kate, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot. I’ll go right now.” The bubble of anticipation I’d been holding all afternoon popped. I felt deflated. “Forget it,” I sighed. “It’s too late. Let’s just order something.” “Eric, can’t you just get a new phone? You have to clear your chats every single day!” I grumbled, the frustration finally bubbling up. He immediately tried to smooth things over, sending me a $5,000 transfer. “I’m sorry, honey. The phone still works, it’s fine. But you should get a new one. Go buy yourself something nice.” I gave him a look—a mix of annoyance and affection—and let it go. “Just go take a shower. I made soup. We can order a couple of nice dishes to go with it and still make it a feast.” Eric squeezed my cheek and disappeared into the bathroom. While I waited, I started browsing new phones online, still thinking of getting one for him. To compare prices and avoid getting ripped off by targeted ads, I picked up Eric’s phone… and a notification immediately popped up: “Storage Almost Full. Clean Junk Files.” On instinct, I went to his photo gallery, planning to delete some old screenshots to free up space. But what I found made my blood run cold. His gallery contained 2,438 photos. Every single one was of the same woman: his colleague, Norah. The oldest ones dated back a year. Each photo was perfectly angled, capturing the soft, pale light on her face. He’d even caught candid shots of her turning to smile over her shoulder. But the most recent ones made me physically tremble. It was a selfie of him and Norah together, their faces painted with bloody streaks, little devil horns perched on their heads. The background was unmistakable: a Halloween pre-party at the amusement park. It was from last week. The same day as our daughter Lily’s parent-teacher conference. I’d been out of town on business and asked him to go. Her teacher later told me no one showed up. When I asked him about it, he’d claimed he got stuck with last-minute overtime and forgot. He said he’d cleared our chat history and the reminder along with it. He was so apologetic, even buying Lily a gift to make up for it. But his “overtime” wasn’t work. It was a date with his colleague at the amusement park. An image of Lily standing alone and confused in her classroom flashed in my mind, and a hot wave of fury washed over me. I wanted to storm into the bathroom and demand an explanation. No wonder he cleared his chats every day. He was erasing his tracks. He must have trusted me so completely, so certain I would never check his phone, that he didn’t even bother to hide the photos. The doorbell rang. The food delivery had arrived. The sound snapped me back to reality. I collected the food, called Lily to wash up for dinner, and calmly placed his phone back on the sofa. I thought for a long moment and made a decision. I would say nothing. Not yet. He was confident I’d never look. But even the most careful person makes a mistake, and he wasn’t even being careful. He was flaunting it, treating me and our daughter like we were invisible. Fine. If that’s how he wanted to play it, I would make him feel so guilty, so utterly indebted to me, that he would willingly give me everything before I made him lose it all. 2 After Eric got out of the shower, we ate dinner as a family. Later, he retreated to his study, claiming he had some reports to review. I opened my laptop and searched for “Norah” and the name of his company. Big data did its thing, and her social media profile was the first result. I clicked. There were hundreds of short videos, and nearly all of them featured Eric. A stolen glance. Feeding each other bites of food. Eric, at least, seemed to have some reservations; his face was often cut off, showing only his chin and mouth. But the small mole on his jawline was unmistakable to anyone who knew him. Norah’s captions were… interesting. “He said he wishes he could go back ten years and drive me to school every day. Lol!” “He bought me a Children’s Day gift today! Said he was making up for the last twenty-something years I missed out on!” “A client was giving me a hard time, and my guy stepped up and put him in his place! Total hero.” Reading that, a memory clicked. About six months ago, I’d gotten a call from the police station saying Eric had been in a fight. I rushed over, frantic with worry, only to find him calmly consoling a young woman. He seemed flustered when he saw me, quickly explaining that some guy had been harassing his colleague and he’d stepped in. Norah had even thanked me profusely, telling me how much Eric had helped her. She even took us out to dinner afterward to show her gratitude. How pathetic. Looking back now, it was so obvious. It wasn’t about justice; it was his chance to play the white knight. And I, like an idiot, had praised his “strong moral compass” and even joined them in bad-mouthing the client. I kept scrolling and found the video from the amusement park. Her caption read: “Halloween pre-party! He promised he’d take me again on the actual night!” I checked the date and a plan began to form. The next morning, Eric did something he rarely did: he made breakfast. As we sat at the table, I brought up Halloween. “We should do something for Halloween. I saw a lot of people going to the amusement park. It looks fun!” Eric shot the idea down immediately. “No, that’s for young people. It’ll be too crowded. What if Lily gets lost?” he said dismissively. “Besides, it’s a foreign holiday. What’s it got to do with us?” Lily looked a little disappointed. “My teacher did say we should celebrate our own traditional holidays more.” Eric ruffled her hair. “Exactly.” I could see the sadness in Lily’s eyes. “But we could just go for a little while. There are other rides and things to do there, too,” I pushed gently. “Think of it as a little break. The next day is a Saturday, anyway.” Lily’s head perked up. “Yeah! Let’s go!” I looked at Eric. He sighed, his voice heavy with resignation. “Fine. You two decide.” Lily and I exchanged a triumphant smile. I knew exactly what he was planning. He’d “accidentally” clear his chats and forget all about it. I just nodded, playing along. On Halloween, just before leaving work, I sent Eric a text with the plan. Let’s meet at the main gate. And please, don’t delete this message. He replied with a simple “Got it” and then went silent. I knew what that meant. He was going to stand us up and then play the “I was so busy I forgot” card. I pulled up Norah’s social media. A new video had just been posted. They were already in the car. “He’s taking me out for Halloween! Tonight is all ours!” she captioned it, complete with heart emojis. The comments were a flood of envy. “OMG, total daddy-boyfriend goals!” “Wait, a guy that handsome and successful can’t possibly be single, right?” “How did you snag such a great guy?” Norah replied to that one: “It was fate. He’s always been focused on his career, that’s why he was single. We’re the perfect team!” And then, a truly defiant one: “So what if office romances aren’t allowed? He’s willing to risk it all to be with me!” 3 Everyone in the comments was fawning over her. Using a burner account, I typed a simple question: “I see a tan line on his ring finger. Is he married?” Norah’s reply was instant: “He’s a desirable man. The person he lives with isn’t the person he loves.” The commenters understood immediately. “So you’re saying he’s already taken? You’re a homewrecker?” “I knew a guy that good wouldn’t be on the market. Knowingly being the other woman is disgusting.” Norah quickly deleted the negative comments, but not before I screenshotted everything. Oh, Norah, I thought. You have no idea how much people despise the other woman. Your defensiveness just proves one thing: you’re not as confident as you pretend to be. To know your relationship is wrong and dive in headfirst anyway isn’t brave; it’s just cheap. I took a deep breath, said nothing, and took my daughter straight to the amusement park. On the way, Eric called. “Honey, I just remembered I ordered some fresh groceries online. They’re being delivered right now. You need to get home and put them in the fridge before they go bad!” I almost laughed. There were no groceries. It was a pathetic attempt to keep me at home so he and Norah could have their perfect date night. “Okay, I will,” I said, my voice perfectly calm. My composure must have unsettled him, because he quickly added, “Listen, something came up at work. I don’t think I can make it tonight. But I promise, I’ll take you and Lily another time!” “I know.” I hung up and checked the video from our doorbell camera. Sure enough, a delivery person was at the door. I texted my neighbor, asked him to accept the package, and sent him $20 for his trouble. Then, Lily and I walked through the gates of the park. Nothing was going to stop me. I was going to make Eric understand that his actions had consequences. Just then, an email from my lawyer arrived with the draft of the separation agreement. I had already compiled a list of Eric’s assets, including every expensive gift he’d bought for Norah that she’d so conveniently flaunted in her videos. It was all marital property. I forwarded everything to my lawyer. All that was left was to serve him the papers. The park was packed. I bought Lily a little devil costume she loved, and we walked hand-in-hand, having the time of our lives. I took dozens of photos of her, and even a few of myself. Our family of three was split in two tonight. In Norah’s mind, a washed-up wife like me had no place here. This was a playground for the young. But who made that rule? I followed the trail of Norah’s video posts, easily tracking their location in the park. Lily was ecstatic, her joy infectious. I even bought her a huge pink cotton candy. We were busy taking pictures with a costumed monster character when I saw them. Just a few feet away, Norah was wrapped in Eric’s arms, kissing him as they posed for a selfie. Lily saw him first. Her face froze. “Daddy?” Before I could stop her, she ran towards them. “Daddy!” The sound of her voice made Eric whip his head around. His eyes met mine, and raw panic flashed across his face. He shoved Norah away from him so hard she stumbled. “Kate! I—I can explain!” he stammered, his face a mess of shock and regret. Lily reached him, her small voice trembling. “Daddy, you said you had to work.” I walked up to him, a slow, cold smile on my face, and slapped him hard across the face. “Eric,” I said, my voice ringing with finality. “I want a divorce.”

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For our anniversary, my husband, Reid, promised me sunflowers. They’re my favorite. But when he walked through the door, it wasn’t a brilliant yellow bouquet he held. It was a cheap bag of sunflower seeds. “Sorry, babe,” he said, handing them to me. “Money’s a little tight right now. These are sunflowers too, right? Just a temporary substitute.” I was furious, but I tried to understand. I forced a smile and started cracking the seeds. The very next day, I saw a post from his junior secretary on her social media feed. It was a photo of her, beaming, holding a massive bouquet of sunflowers, with my husband standing proudly beside her. The caption read: “Here’s to a future that’s always facing the sun.” So, it wasn’t that he didn’t have the money. He just didn’t want to spend it on me. Without a word, without a fight, I quietly liked the post. Moments later, my phone rang. It was Reid. “Honey, don’t get the wrong idea. She’s been doing great work lately, it was just a bonus.” “Can you just help clear this up? I’ll come home tonight and we can sort this out.” But I was so tired of his pathetic excuses. “No need,” I said, my voice calm and clear. “Let’s just get a divorce.” 1 The line went silent for a beat before Reid’s voice, tight with irritation, came through. “I was just motivating an employee, Clara. Her performance has been outstanding. Besides, half of this company is yours. Everything I do is for our benefit!” “You have no gratitude, and now you’re making jokes about divorce.” “Let me tell you something, marriage isn’t a game. This is your only warning.” “I gave you a chance to be reasonable, and you threw it back in my face. Don’t blame me for what happens next!” He slammed the phone down. I let out a long, slow breath and turned to the woman sitting across from me. “Ms. Collins,” I said to my lawyer, “what’s the best way to maximize my share of the assets?” He didn’t know it, but I was done. This time, I was serious. After Ms. Collins left, I scrolled through my phone. The comment section on the secretary Olivia’s post was exploding. Most of them were from my own team members, people I’d hired and mentored, and they were furious on my behalf. “Wow, so being a homewrecker is ‘facing the sun’ now? You’ve got some nerve. Teach me your ways.” “+1. I can’t believe she’s so proud of stealing someone’s husband. So all those late nights we pull at the office are just part of their little workplace romance drama?” The comments were brutal. No wonder Reid had called me in a panic. His precious new flame was getting roasted. But they were just speaking the truth. I’d known for a while that she was more than just his secretary. She was his mistress. But a small, stupid part of me had held on to the hope that he still had feelings for me, so I never called him on it. He’d hired her over more qualified candidates. He’d promoted her and given her raises despite repeated, costly mistakes. When the office gossip became too loud to ignore, I’d confronted him. He just looked at me with disappointment. “Clara, I thought you’d understand. I can’t believe you’re discriminating against her just because she doesn’t have a fancy degree.” “Have you forgotten why we started this company?” he’d asked, his voice full of righteous indignation. “To give people a chance, to treat everyone equally.” I actually felt ashamed. I’d even helped him squash the rumors. My trust was a joke, a fact I learned the day I walked in on them in his office. As I was lost in thought, a message popped up from my most trusted subordinate, Leo. “Don’t worry, Clara. If Reid treats you like this, it’s his loss. He’s blind.” Other messages from my team started pouring in, each one filled with genuine concern. My heart warmed. I was about to tell them to stop commenting on Olivia’s post, worried that Reid would retaliate, when a new notification appeared in the company-wide group chat. It was a penalty announcement from Reid. “Effective immediately, any employee found wasting time on their phone during work hours will have their monthly salary cut in half. A second offense will result in immediate termination.” I scanned the list of penalized employees and a cold, humorless laugh escaped my lips. Every single person who had liked or commented supportively on Olivia’s post was fine. The ones being docked pay? Every single person who had defended me. My phone immediately blew up. “Reid has gone too far! Clara, this isn’t about us, he’s targeting you!” “Clara, have you ever thought about leaving and starting your own thing?” “Wherever you go, we’ll follow!” Seeing their outrage hurt. We’d been married for seven years, business partners for ten. He knew I was fiercely protective of my team. He knew loyalty and relationships were the most important things to me. So whenever I did something he didn’t like, he punished my people. I had tolerated it time and time again. But I was done tolerating. I made a phone call. The man on the other end answered with undisguised delight. “Clara! You finally came to your senses! Are you ready to join us? I told you that company was a dead end for you!” “I have one condition,” I said. “Name it. One, ten, a hundred conditions, I don’t care. Anything for you.” “I’m bringing my team with me.” He was ecstatic. “That’s fantastic! Our company is just getting started here, we need good people. I’ll draw up the contracts right now. Everyone’s salary and commission will be double what you’re making now. No, three times!” Reid seemed to have forgotten a crucial fact: my team and I were the ones who had landed over half of the company’s major contracts. We were consistently the top-performing unit, yet we were constantly being undermined because of me. We had become Reid’s leverage, his way of keeping me in line. Not anymore. 2 The international firm had been trying to recruit me for six months to lead their expansion into the domestic market. I’d turned them down before, but they saw my potential and had kept their offer open. I always thought I’d retire from the company Reid and I built together. I never imagined this day would come. After finalizing the details, I received the drafted divorce agreement from Ms. Collins. She advised me to find concrete proof of Reid’s infidelity to secure a more favorable settlement. I emailed the agreement to Reid and printed a hard copy. I was about to call and tell him to review it, warning him that I’d sue for divorce if he refused to sign, but he didn’t pick up. With a sigh, I decided to go to the office and find him. Just as I was about to leave, my phone rang. It was him. “So now you’re in a hurry?” he started, his voice dripping with condescension. “I tried to be nice, but you wouldn’t listen. I’m still pissed off, so nothing you say is going to work.” “I have to work late tonight, so I won’t be home. You should take this time to think long and hard about what you did wrong.” Then, I heard her voice in the background, sweet and cloying. “Reid, honey, come dry my hair!” The line went dead. Working late? His work was drying Olivia’s hair. A bitter taste filled my mouth. When we were newlyweds, I’d asked him to dry my hair, and he’d told me it was too much trouble and to do it myself. But for Olivia, he made an exception. Amazing what love can do. The flowers he couldn’t buy for me, he could give to her. The hair he wouldn’t dry for me, he would dry for her. He just kept twisting the knife. I pushed the thoughts away and met with my team and our new boss. Jason, the CEO, had just returned after years of living abroad and wasn’t familiar with the local market, so he had a lot of questions. The more we talked, the more confident I felt about the move. After the meeting, my team gathered around me. “Clara, listen to us,” Leo said earnestly. “A guy like Reid… he’s not worth it. You’ve got the looks, the brains, the talent. Why are you wasting it all on him? That Jason guy seems pretty great, just saying.” A sad smile touched my lips. I remembered his passionate pursuit of me in college, how he’d promised he would love me forever. People change. The man he was now was a stranger, a liar who hurt me again and again. And wasn’t I the one who let him become this way? In the beginning, I loved him so much that whenever he made a mistake, all it took was a few sweet words and I’d forgive him. He learned that I had no boundaries, and he started pushing them. The apologies became less sincere, and if I didn’t give in, he’d find ways to punish me. Now, his behavior was unforgivable. I had given him countless chances to hurt me, always hoping he would change. I was so naive. I shook my head, changing the subject. “My treat tonight! Let’s go celebrate!” We partied late into the night. When I finally got home, exhausted, I opened the door to find a surprise. Reid, who had sworn he wasn’t coming home, was sitting on the sofa. He had clearly been waiting all night. He caught a whiff of the alcohol on my breath and recoiled. “I’ve told you I hate it when people drink. Why did you have so much? Do my words mean nothing to you?” I laughed. It was because he’d said he didn’t like it that I always waited for the smell of alcohol to fade after a work dinner before I came home. He had no idea that half of our company’s biggest deals were closed over drinks. And for what? Just a few weeks ago, Olivia had sent me a taunting video. She was tipsy, looking up at Reid with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m sorry, Reid. I know you don’t like it when I drink. I won’t do it again.” He had cupped her face in his hands. “Silly girl. You can drink whenever you want. It’s not the drinking I hate, it’s the person who’s always drinking.” And then he’d kissed her. Remembering that, I swatted his hand away. “I thought you weren’t coming home.” He tossed a blanket at me. “I was worried about you being here alone,” he grumbled. “But you’re out having fun, not even a single call. And I even brought you takeout from your favorite place.” I used to love him so much I’d lost myself. Every time we fought, I’d be the one to come crawling back within a couple of hours, apologizing. But this time, I hadn’t responded to a single one of his messages all day. He must have sensed something was different. I looked at the food. It was all my favorite dishes. But I didn’t touch it. It was his classic move: hit you, then give you a candy. I wasn’t falling for it again. He didn’t notice my mood, assuming, as always, that a small gesture was enough to win me over. His expression softened. “Look, fighting is exhausting. Let’s just both take a step back.” “I’m willing to overlook the fact that you falsely accused Olivia and caused her all this trouble,” he said magnanimously. “But you need to give her that big contract you’re working on.” “She’s a natural at this. If you hadn’t been holding her back, she’d be much further along by now. If you do this, I can even cancel the penalties for your team.” Ah. So that was it. The early return, the takeout. It was all for Olivia. The depth of his love for her was almost impressive. He was even willing to act like he cared during our cold war, all for her. I laughed coldly. “Fine.” A smirk touched his lips. He wasn’t surprised by my surrender; this was how it always went. “Next time, think before you act. If you hadn’t been so petty, liking that post and telling your team to bully her, we wouldn’t have had this fight.” “Anyway, it’s over now. Go transfer the project files to her.” I pulled my company ID out of my pocket and tossed it on the table in front of him. “One contract isn’t enough,” I said with a smile. “My position, too. Give it to her.” 3 Reid froze. “What are you talking about?” “She’s so brilliant,” I said sweetly. “She deserves a senior position.” “I am trying to have a reasonable conversation with you, and you’re throwing another tantrum?” His face darkened with displeasure. When I refused to give up the project, he accused me of targeting Olivia. Now that I was giving up everything, he was accusing me of being unreasonable. See? In the eyes of someone who doesn’t love you, you can’t do anything right. I stopped talking. Seeing my silence, his brow furrowed. “Is this all because of a stupid bouquet of flowers? Fine, I’ll go buy you some right now. Is that what you want?” he snapped. “God, you’re so childish, holding a grudge over something so small.” He still thought this was about the flowers. “No, thank you. You should save your money for your beloved Olivia.” His face flushed with anger. He grabbed a pillow and threw it at me. “I told you, Olivia and I have a purely professional relationship! Why are you so damn cynical, just like everyone else?” “You know the truth.” “Fine!” he yelled, his face turning a blotchy red. “If you’re going to be like this, then just tell me! What will it take for you to give the contract to Olivia?” I pulled out the divorce agreement I had prepared, flipped to the last page, and pointed. “Sign this, and the project is hers.” He snatched it from my hand and grabbed a pen. He probably thought it was just another document, maybe a stock transfer agreement. It was all our money anyway, what did it matter? Without a second thought, he scrawled his name on the signature line. “You’d better do what you said!” he warned, and stormed out of the apartment. The old me would have cried all night, staring at the door he’d slammed behind him. But now? I felt a profound sense of calm. I went to bed and slept soundly. When I woke up, my phone had exploded again. This time, it wasn’t my team being demoted and fined. It was me. An official company memo read: “Since a certain individual feels she is unworthy of the General Manager title, her wish is granted. Effective immediately, she is demoted.” The people who had defended me had all been punished. Now, no one dared to speak up for me. I didn’t care. I took my entire team to HR and we all submitted our resignations. The HR manager frantically called Reid. “Mr. North, we have a situation… several people are resigning…” Before he could finish, I heard Olivia’s voice on the other end. “Reid, if you have something important to deal with, you should go. I can watch the movie by myself.” “No,” Reid’s voice was firm. “You’ve been through enough. I promised I’d make it up to you, and I will.” Then, his voice dropped to an angry hiss. “Resignations are a minor issue. Why are you bothering me with this? Can’t you handle anything yourself?” “But…” “But what? The company seal is in my desk drawer. Stamp the papers yourself and stop bothering me.” He hung up, then turned his phone off. The HR manager was at her wit’s end. With no other choice, she processed our resignations. The story that circulated, however, was that we’d all been fired. Olivia’s sycophants were gleefully reporting the news to her. “What good is talent if you can’t hold on to your man?” one of them crowed. “In love, the one who isn’t loved is the real loser!” They were badmouthing me, loudly and openly, just a few feet away. My team was ready to fight them, but I held them back. I smiled cheerfully at the gossiping group. “You’re so right,” I said. “I wish all of you the good fortune of having your partners find their own ‘true loves.’” Then I turned my back on their stunned, ugly faces and led my team away. “I’m in a great mood today,” I announced. “Lunch is on me. You guys pick the place.” My team started chattering excitedly, arguing between seafood and steak. While I waited for them to decide, I scrolled through my phone. A call came in from Jason. He’d heard we’d resigned and wanted to take us out for a celebratory meal. I ran it by the team, and soon our group was on its way to the restaurant Jason had chosen. Suddenly, Leo tugged on my sleeve. “Clara, look over there.” I followed his gaze and saw Reid and Olivia, holding hands, strolling through the shopping center. I said nothing, just quietly took out my phone and snapped a picture. One of their companions was teasing them. “Olivia, you finally decided to introduce us to the handsome mystery man you’ve been dating for three years! He’s so hot, no wonder you kept him hidden.” Reid smiled graciously. “I’ve been busy with work. My apologies.” Then he addressed the group. “Olivia tells me you’ve all taken good care of her. Whatever you want today, it’s on me.” Three years. Olivia wasn’t even out of college three years ago. So that’s how long it had been going on. No wonder he’d fought so hard to bring her into the company. Beside me, one of my team members kicked a chair in frustration. The noise startled Reid’s group. He turned, saw me, and his face went white. He dropped Olivia’s hand like it was on fire. “What are you doing here?” I laughed coldly. “So this is your ‘purely professional’ relationship?” He looked guilty for a split second, then remembered we were fighting. His voice boomed. “It was just an act for her friends! Are you too stupid to see that? And what gives you the right to yell at me?” “And you! It’s the middle of the workday and you’re slacking off! Do you have any respect for me as your boss? You and your entire team, you’re all docked a month’s pay!” Olivia, the one who took days off to go shopping, never faced any consequences. But for us, he was a tyrant. I smiled. “Forgot to tell you. My entire team and I quit.” “Have fun. We won’t be joining you.”

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I used to buy my fruit from the same little stand on the corner. I did it because the owners were an elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, with no one to look after them, just struggling to get by. So, I never haggled, never even asked the price or checked the weight. That is, until I noticed the dates he sold me were two dollars a pound more expensive than what he charged the person right before me. “Mr. Peterson,” I asked, “why did you sell those dates to her for eight dollars a pound, but charge me ten?” He just smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Because you’re a teacher, Miss Chloe. You have a beautiful, kind heart. You’re just storing up good karma for yourself.” So that’s what it was. They were ripping off a regular. 1 I made a point of stopping by their stand every Monday and Friday to help them out. They were trying to make a living, but their sons were worthless, and their life was pitifully hard. When Mrs. Peterson was in the hospital a while back, I couldn’t help myself and slipped him $800 in cash. “Make sure your wife gets the best care, Mr. Peterson,” I’d told him. His hand trembled as he took the money, his eyes welling up with tears. His voice cracked, thick with emotion. “Thank you, Miss Chloe. Thank you.” He then scooped a huge bag of dates and handed them to me. I quickly pulled out another hundred-dollar bill. “These look fantastic today. I’ll take them.” I never questioned the price with him, never asked how much things weighed. I always just gave him extra; it had become a habit over the last two years. To me, it was just pocket change. Just as he was about to take the bill, a hurried customer cut in. “Hey, how much for the dates?” Mr. Peterson’s eyes darted toward me, a flash of guilt in them. He suddenly seemed anxious to get rid of me. “Why don’t you head on home, Miss Chloe? I’ll hold these for you. You can pick them up after work.” I didn’t think anything of it. But as I turned to leave, I heard Mr. Peterson’s quiet voice behind me. “Eight dollars a pound. How many do you want?” Eight dollars a pound? My feet felt like they were glued to the pavement. I’d been buying dates from him every day for a while now. He’d told me just the other day they were ten dollars a pound. That’s what he’d been charging me all along. Why was it suddenly eight for someone else? A bitter feeling started to creep in. I didn’t mind giving them money to help; I like being charitable. But I couldn’t stand being deceived. To see if I was imagining things, I waited in my car for an hour before walking back to the stand. “Mr. Peterson,” I asked, trying to keep my voice even, “how many pounds were in that bag you set aside for me? What’s the total?” He held up a hand, showing all five fingers. “Five pounds even. That’ll be fifty dollars.” He grinned, revealing a set of decaying teeth. He looked so honest, so simple, as if charging me fifty bucks was doing me some huge favor. Had he been doing this for the past two years? “Fine,” I said, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. “Five pounds it is.” I tried to reason with myself. He’s an old man, his kids don’t support him, what’s a little extra money? I always gave him more anyway. I was used to it. It didn’t matter. But this time, it did. I pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and handed it to him. Mr. Peterson’s smile vanished. He clutched the bill, his face twisting. “Miss Chloe, you never ask the price… you never ask about the weight. Why are you… why are you doing this now?” “Is there a problem?” My voice was colder than I intended. “Well, you were going to give me a hundred before, weren’t you? Why only fifty now? Are you shorting me?” he pressed, his voice rising. “Come on, Miss Chloe, give me the hundred. Times are tough, you know? This fruit stand, it doesn’t make much.” He started to look pathetic again, his brow furrowed. “We’re regulars, aren’t we?” An hour ago, I was perfectly willing to give him that hundred dollars. Now, I wasn’t. And he had the nerve to act wronged. A wave of revulsion washed over me. I slapped the fifty onto the counter, grabbed the bag of dates, and turned to leave. I hadn’t gotten ten steps before I heard a voice call out from behind me. “Miss Chloe! You didn’t pay enough! It’s supposed to be a hundred!” It was Mrs. Peterson, his wife. She’d appeared from nowhere and was now hurrying after me. A hundred? They were really doubling down on this. I held up the bag. “Five pounds,” I stated firmly. “Your husband said ten dollars a pound. That’s fifty dollars, right?” “Oh, you misunderstood!” Mrs. Peterson cried, her voice shrill. “These are the large dates, the good ones, shipped all the way from California! They’re twenty dollars a pound! You have five pounds there, so it’s one hundred dollars. What you’re holding, Miss Chloe, that’s the premium stuff.” Her face was etched with a greed I’d never seen before, and it made her a stranger. And Mr. Peterson… he just stood there, watching, silent. The so-called premium dates in my bag were the exact same size as the ones the other customer had bought. There was no way mine were worth twenty dollars while hers were eight. They were trying to shake me down. The hundred dollars they thought they had in the bag had turned into fifty, and they weren’t about to let it go. A nauseating feeling shot through me, leaving me dizzy in the cold wind. I had been buying fruit from their stand, helping them, for two years straight. And this is how they repaid me? By ripping me off? “So you’re sure,” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet, “that you’re selling these to me for twenty dollars a pound?” My heart felt like a block of ice. “In that case, I’d like the eight-dollar ones. Do you have any of those?” As a teacher, I was used to maintaining my composure in public, so I kept my voice steady, even as my blood boiled. Mrs. Peterson shook her head frantically. “No, no, we’re all out of those! We only have the twenty-dollar ones left. They’re the sweetest, the freshest.” She was insistent. I had to pay the hundred. They had just taken $800 from me this morning, and now they were trying to bleed me dry over a bag of fruit? Did I have “sucker” written on my forehead? Or had their dependence on my charity morphed into some twisted sense of entitlement? I could be generous, but I would not be played for a fool. “Fine,” I said, my voice rising. “Then I don’t want them. Take your dates back, and you can give me my fifty dollars.” I slammed the bag back down on the fruit stand and held out my hand to Mr. Peterson. He plastered on a smile, his tone shifting into that of a preachy old man. “Now, Miss Chloe, I know you’re a good person. You love doing good deeds. You’ve been helping us for two years, and we’re very grateful. But in return, I’ve always sold you the best seasonal fruit, always saved the first pick for you.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, doing good deeds builds up good karma. Think of all the blessings you’ve stored up! You’ll find a wonderful husband, have beautiful children… you see? You’re not losing anything at all, are you?” Before I could even react, his wife chimed in with the same sanctimonious tone. “We appreciate your business these past two years, Miss Chloe, we really do. But business is business, and gratitude is gratitude. Let’s not mix the two.” “Many times,” she continued, “we wanted to repay you. But you’re a teacher, you drive a nice car… we knew you didn’t need anything from people like us, right?” She finished with a series of hacking coughs, bending over as if she were about to be sick. Watching her pathetic display, a hot spike of irritation shot through me. This was blatant guilt-tripping. Moral blackmail. The whole atmosphere felt toxic, and I needed to get away. But as I turned to my car, Mrs. Peterson lunged in front of me. “One hundred dollars for the dates, Miss Chloe. You pay, take the fruit, and then you can go.” I finally snapped. “I don’t want them! I’m not buying them! I’m not even hungry!” All thoughts of maintaining a professional image were gone, incinerated by their blatant manipulation. “But you already had us bag them up! You can’t just decide not to buy them now. You can’t bully us poor, honest old folks, can you?” I almost laughed. Me, bullying them? They had been working together to fleece me, and if not for that one little slip-up today, I would have been none the wiser. Helping them had become so ingrained in my routine. “I’m bullying you?” I shot back, my voice dripping with disbelief. “I’ve bought fruit here nearly every day, never asked the price, and always paid extra. Was I bullying you then? You sell dates to someone else for eight dollars and charge me ten, then try to jack the price up to twenty to squeeze a hundred out of me, and now you have the gall to say I’m the bully? Why don’t you calculate how much you’ve scammed out of me over the years?” “I have to get to school,” I finished, my voice shaking with rage. “Don’t waste any more of my time.” I swore to myself I would never set foot near this place again. Con artists didn’t deserve an ounce of my sympathy. Just then, Mrs. Peterson threw herself in front of my car, wailing. “Miss Chloe, you can’t just leave the fruit you picked out! These are the ones you wanted! You can’t waste our time like this!” Seeing that she wasn’t going to move, my frustration boiled over. “Mrs. Peterson, I need to get to school. And if you really want to talk about money, I gave you eight hundred dollars this morning. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to help you anymore. I regret it. So how about you give me my $800 back?” My whole body was trembling with a fury I hadn’t felt in years. My entire worldview, my belief in helping others, was being shattered on this dirty sidewalk. She started sobbing, a pathetic stream of tears and snot running down her chapped face. In the cold air, her weathered, gaunt features made her the very picture of a victim. Anyone watching would have thought I was the monster. “That’s not how it works,” she whimpered. “Your donation was a donation. The dates are business. You can’t mix them up. You’re a respectable person, Miss Chloe, you can’t act like this.” I was done. I couldn’t argue anymore. I yanked my car door open, threw it in reverse, and sped away. But I had only just pulled up to the school when I saw her again. I don’t know how she got there so fast, but there she was, hauling a huge basket of dates, tears streaming down her face. “Miss Chloe, don’t be angry!” she cried out, loud enough for everyone to hear. “The dates aren’t expensive! We’ll sell them to you for eight dollars a pound, but you insisted on three! There are ten pounds here… fine, fine, just give me thirty dollars for the whole basket!” Wait. A minute ago, she was demanding a hundred. Now, she was claiming I had more dates, and she was asking for less money? I looked around. Students and fellow teachers were walking by, many of them slowing down to stare. I knew exactly what she was doing. She was here to humiliate me, to make me look like a cheap, petty bully in front of my colleagues and students. This wasn’t just about money anymore; it was malicious. I felt a suffocating wave of disgust and regret. Why had I ever tried to help these people? Just then, a smug voice cut through the air. “Miss Chloe, you shouldn’t be treating an elderly person like this. Look how old she is, and you’re giving her such a hard time? I got it all on video. I can report you, you know. Get you fired.” It was Kyle’s mother. Kyle was the biggest troublemaker in my class, a bully I’d had to discipline countless times. I had called his parents, made him write apology letters—and his mother had hated me for it ever since. Of course she would show up now. Mrs. Peterson, though old, was sharp. Seeing she had an ally, her eyes lit up. She leaned in close to me, her voice a venomous whisper. “This can all go away very easily. Just give me twenty thousand dollars, and I’ll tell everyone you did nothing wrong. I’ll clear your name. What do you say?” Twenty thousand dollars. Blackmail. Kyle’s mom had a video of me “bullying” an old woman, and Mrs. Peterson was ready to cash in. I was trapped at the gates of my own school. If I paid her off, I would be rewarding her cruelty, and I would hate myself for it. If I refused, my career as a teacher could be over. My reputation would be destroyed. To think, all of this happened because I decided I didn’t want to be overcharged for a bag of dates. “Fine,” I said, my voice hollow. “Give me the dates.” She eagerly handed over the heavy basket. She said I wanted them for three dollars a pound, right? Then that’s what I’d give her, right here in front of everyone. If they wanted to make me miserable, I’d make damn sure they didn’t have a good day either. I took out thirty dollars and gave it to her. I turned to walk into the school, the basket feeling like a block of lead in my hand. Behind me, Mrs. Peterson let out a heart-wrenching sob. “Can you believe the nerve of some teachers? I bring her ten pounds of my best dates, and she only gives me thirty dollars! I was just being polite, and she takes advantage! The cheapest dates anywhere are eight dollars a pound! She’s cheating me out of fifty dollars! We work so hard, and for what? Pennies! Is she trying to kill us?” She was a master, twisting the truth, painting herself as the victim. To the onlookers, she was just a frail, poor old woman. A sympathetic figure. Kyle’s mom let out a triumphant laugh. “Hahaha, I got it all! You’re finished, Miss Chloe! Bullying the elderly! You’re toast! Nobody’s going to let you get away with this. How could you be so cruel?” Looking at their vicious, gloating faces, I didn’t even bother to argue. My heart felt bruised and numb. I walked woodenly into the staff room, set the dates down, and pulled out my phone. I dialed a number. “Mr. Davison? That fruit stand on East Gate… tear it down. I want them gone. Now.” The land that fruit stand sat on? It was my family’s property. When the area was redeveloped, all the old buildings were demolished. All except for that one little plot. I had specifically requested it be left for the Petersons. I charged them only $300 a month in rent. They sold fruit out of the small storefront during the day, and at night, they’d lock up and live in the spacious eighty-square-foot room in the back. “Of course, Miss Chloe. You’ve finally seen the light,” Mr. Davison said, a clear note of relief in his voice. “I never trusted that couple, but I didn’t want to say anything.” He had always followed my instructions without question, but I remembered now he’d been unusually quiet, almost disapproving, when I’d first told him my plans for the stand. He’d seen something in them I hadn’t. After the call, a small measure of relief settled over me. I had to focus on preparing for my classes tomorrow.

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