The Hawthorne Academy’s Charity Case was in the marble-tiled bathroom, dousing herself in cold water. Willow, our resident poor-but-pure girl, was soaking her crisp, but perpetually faded, linen blouse, her eyes glittering with malice. “Guess who your brother and your fiancé are going to believe?” she challenged, the ice in her voice sharper than the water she was pouring over herself. The moment the heavy door slammed open—Beckett, my brother, and Graham, my fiancé, charging in—she was on the ground. A crumpled, shivering heap of innocence. “I’m sorry, Miss Hawthorne,” she choked out, her voice barely a tremor. “I was wrong. I promise I’ll stay away from them. Please, don’t hurt me again.” A wave of pure, red-hot fury—a familiar Hawthorne trait—surged through me. They were both barreling toward me, their faces twisted with an infuriated protectiveness that made my stomach clench. They were going to make me pay, again. Just as I prepared to launch my defense, a blinding, holographic text overlay—like a malicious, glowing subtitle—flashed across my vision: [This villainess is too much!] [It’s fine, let her keep acting out!] [Her reputation for being a bully is universal. Soon no one will believe her! Once she embarrasses the Hawthorne name, the family will cut her off! The Male Lead will step up, and she’ll be the first person he purges!] I froze. The anger was instantly replaced by a glacial, sickening clarity. A slow, cold smile stretched across my face. I raised my hand and began to strike myself—not once, but a dozen times. Then, I grabbed the collar of my designer top and ripped it down the front. Finally, I scrambled onto the third-story window ledge and jumped. I made sure every witness saw the final, terrifying tableau: me, driven to self-destruction from the third-floor ledge by my own brother and fiancé, all for the sake of the ‘poor white flower’ they so adored. I was unconscious before I hit the ground, rushed to the ER, the family name already screaming in headlines. That night, the roar of the Hawthorne private jet shook the quiet suburb. Every major name in the city—the old guard, the corporate titans—showed up at the hospital. Grandfather Elias Hawthorne, propped up by his silver-wolf-head cane, ordered Beckett to receive fifty strokes. Graham was forced to kneel in the hospital lobby for three days and three nights, begging for Grandfather to lift the corporate sanctions that were already crushing his family’s hedge fund. 1 In the restroom stall, Willow—her clothes strategically faded, a testament to her ‘hardship’—was methodically dumping a bucket of toilet water over her head. “Guess who your brother and your fiancé are going to believe?” she repeated, her eyes gleaming. I looked at her the way you look at a truly bizarre performance artist. This wasn’t even the first time she had used this exact trick to set me up. Willow had arrived at Hawthorne Academy as the token scholarship student. Her innocent features, soft voice, and weaponized fragility had earned her the nickname: The Ingenue. Everyone bought the pure, selfless act. I, Audrey Hawthorne, the sole granddaughter in the Hawthorne legacy, had been raised on a pedestal of absolute privilege. I was notoriously aloof, arrogant, and rarely suffered fools. Naturally, I hadn’t rolled out the red carpet when Willow started circling Beckett and Graham. I’d told her, in front of the entire Advanced Placement class, to stop pretending she could marry her way out of poverty. She’d never forgiven me. Her revenge campaign was insidious. She’d pretend I tripped her in the hallway, glue her chair to the floor, plant a dead mouse in her locker, or slap herself and scald her own arm with a hair straightener. Then, she’d turn on the tears and blame me. At first, Beckett and Graham had defended me. But Willow’s relentless, tear-soaked consistency had worked. They slowly started to believe her. My reputation as a privileged, reckless bully who persecuted the poor had solidified across the entire campus. This newest performance—the drenched victim in the private bathroom—was just another escalation designed to turn everyone, especially Beckett and Graham, further against me. Seeing my silence, Willow’s smile widened, radiating smug satisfaction. “Thinking of a defense, Miss Hawthorne?” she asked. Before I could speak, she violently slammed the back of her head against the wall. A red contusion instantly bloomed on her pale forehead. The sound of desperate, pounding footsteps echoed outside the door. Willow instantly dropped to her knees, hugging herself, shivering dramatically. “I’m so sorry, Miss Hawthorne. I was wrong. I won’t go near them again. Please, stop tormenting me.” Beckett and Graham burst in simultaneously. The flash of sick panic in their eyes as they saw Willow on the floor was like a physical stab in my chest. Graham ripped off his limited-edition cashmere jacket and draped it over her trembling shoulders. When he looked up, his eyes were pure ice. “Audrey. When are you going to stop being a goddamn sadist?” he hissed. “First the mouse in the locker, then locking her in the equipment room, and now this? Cornering her in a bathroom? The whole school knows you harass her. Are you happy only when you’ve driven her out of school?” Beckett, without a word, grabbed the bucket Willow had used and, without hesitation, dumped the rest of the freezing water right over my head. His voice was terrifyingly cold. “Is this fun for you, Audrey? Are you finally satisfied?” The cold shock ran from my scalp to my toes, but the freezing water couldn’t extinguish the inferno of rage in my heart. Just as I opened my mouth to scorch the earth, the text overlay reappeared, even brighter now: [This villainess is too much!] [It’s fine, let her keep acting out!] [Her reputation for being a bully is universal. Soon no one will believe her! Once she embarrasses the Hawthorne name, the family will cut her off! The Male Lead will step up, and she’ll be the first person he purges!] The words hammered the future into my mind. I was the novel’s Designated Villainess, whose sole purpose was to lose everything before being destroyed by my own brother, the true Male Lead, all because of my repeated attacks on The Ingenue. But I knew the ending. And I absolutely refused to play the role they had written for me. Willow, seeing my dazed, drenched state, leveraged the moment. “Graham, Beckett,” she whispered, her voice laced with tears. “Don’t blame Miss Hawthorne. It’s my fault for forgetting my place, for foolishly thinking I could be friends with you. I’ll stay away from you both from now on. I don’t want to be the reason you fight.” Graham, his face contorted with sympathy, bundled her tighter in his jacket. “This isn’t your fault, Willow. It’s Audrey’s. She never learns.” He glared at me, his eyes full of contempt. “Audrey, if you so much as touch her again, I am ending our engagement today.” Beckett stepped closer to Willow, smoothing her damp hair. “It has nothing to do with you. Everyone indulged her, which is how she became such a spoiled tyrant. I’m making her apologize to you now.” He grabbed my wrist hard. “You are going to apologize, Audrey. If you don’t, I’m telling Mom and Dad, and more importantly, I’m telling Grandfather everything you’ve done at this school.” The text overlay flashed again: [Will she apologize now that Graham used the break-up threat?] [No way. She’s too arrogant. Once Beckett tells the family, she’s going to face her first-ever session kneeling in the family chapel!] I looked from Graham’s cold indifference to Beckett’s smug certainty and finally to Willow’s carefully crafted distress. I violently yanked my wrist free from Beckett’s grip. SLAP. The sound echoed through the tiled room as I struck my own face. Beckett and Graham stared at me, their eyes wide and synchronized. “What are you doing?” they demanded. I let out a strange, choked laugh. “You’re both so heartbroken for Willow,” I whispered, tears of real, white-hot fury beginning to stream down my already wet cheeks. “You don’t believe I was set up. Now, I’m letting you taste your own medicine, my darling brother and soon-to-be-ex-fiancé.” I lifted my hands and began to strike myself again, harder this time. My white face was instantly blotched with red, swelling rapidly. They surged forward in alarm, but I was faster. I lunged onto the window ledge. I tore off the rest of my ruined shirt and screamed at the top of my lungs: “Ah! Willow! Beckett! Graham! I’m sorry! Stop hitting me! Stop!” A crowd instantly formed below the window. They saw me, drenched, shaking, my face hideously bruised, perched precariously on the ledge. Tears, real ones mixed with the shock, poured from my eyes. I was performing for the largest audience I’d ever had. “Oh, God, Beckett, Graham, I really didn’t touch her! She poured the water herself! She put the mouse in the bag! It was all lies! She set me up!” I wailed. “I know you’ll never believe me. But if I have to die for you to finally see the truth, fine!” I reached out and grabbed their hands, pulling them toward me, and smiled a cold, desperate, unhinged smile. “You’ll get to feel exactly like me now. Wait for it.” Beckett scoffed, attempting to maintain control of the spiraling situation. “I don’t buy it, Audrey. You’re not actually going to jump.” He threw my hand away. That was my cue. I turned and dropped. As I fell, I screamed a final, desperate plea: “AH! STOP PUSHING ME! HELP!” You want a villainess who masters manipulation? Fine. Let’s see you try to out-manipulate a girl who already knows the script. The pain was immediate and absolute, and then the world went black. As I fell, I saw the twin looks of utter, paralyzing horror on Beckett’s and Graham’s faces as they looked down from the frame. The fall happened during the passing period. A huge crowd instantly gathered. “What happened to Audrey Hawthorne? Why did she jump?” “I was right here! I heard her scream that Willow was setting her up, and she was begging Beckett and Graham to stop hitting her!” “But that’s her own brother and her fiancé! Why would they do that to her? And Audrey is so proud—she would never jump without a reason.” “I thought I heard her scream, ‘Don’t push me’…” Everyone stared at my visibly bruised face and the drenched, torn remnants of my clothes. Audrey Hawthorne, the spoiled tyrant, was untouchable. No one would dare bully her. The only logical explanation in their minds was that someone had pushed her, or driven her to it. The news of the Hawthorne Heiress’s jump spread faster than a market crash, alarming the headmaster, the board of directors, and the entire Hawthorne corporate apparatus. Within ten minutes, private security and medics swarmed the campus. My father, currently closing a deal in Zurich, mobilized his private jet to return immediately. I was out for a full day and night. Other than a nasty spiral fracture in my leg, I was fine. When I finally woke up, my room was packed. My eyes immediately locked on the three figures kneeling in the corner of the room. Grandfather Elias’s voice was the first one I heard. It was thick with concern. “Audrey. Tell me exactly what happened. Why did you do this?” My parents looked devastated. “They told us it was your brother and Graham… that they pushed you. Is that true, sweetheart?” Beckett exploded. “I already told you, she jumped! She did this to herself! Why won’t anyone believe me?” Grandfather roared, “Silence!” The text overlay flashed again, now with new, frantic comments: [Wait, what? This plot twist wasn’t in the draft! Did the villainess just jump to frame Willow and the guys?] [They’ve been kneeling for a day and a night because of her jump. What an evil, disgusting villainess!] […Is the villainess starting to use her brain? Beckett just got Grandfather’s wrath for the first time because of her.] A day and a night? Pathetic. My face crumpled. I unleashed a flood of tears. “Grandfather, Mom, Dad, you have to help me.” I reached for my father’s hand. “Willow poured water on herself to frame me, and they refused to listen. They slapped me, they poured water on my head, and they cornered me on the window ledge, telling me to apologize to her.” I forced a sharp, painful cough. “When I refused, they pushed me.” I leaned back, weak and frail. “It wasn’t just this time! Every time Willow hurt herself to set me up, Beckett and Graham believed her, and they always took her side. Grandfather, I was so scared. I thought I would never see you again.” My parents’ faces hardened. Grandfather’s expression was thunderous. “Grandfather! Dad, Mom! She is lying! She is framing us!” Beckett pleaded, furious. “She’s the one who bullies Willow at school! Everyone knows it! She had Willow cornered in the bathroom, and if Graham and I hadn’t gotten there, Willow would have been the one going out the window!” Willow, still kneeling, whispered meekly, her lips trembling, “I didn’t lie, Miss Hawthorne. I know my place is beneath you. I would never have the courage to harm you or offend you.” Graham quickly chimed in. “Mr. Hawthorne, Audrey is completely lying. She slapped herself, she ripped her own clothes, and she jumped. We never laid a hand on her!” Grandfather slammed his cane on the floor. “Nonsense!” he bellowed. “Audrey Hawthorne is the heiress of the Hawthorne legacy. She can snap her fingers and ruin anyone who crosses her. Why on earth would she mutilate herself and jump from a third-story window just to frame you three?” Exactly. No one could believe I would degrade myself that way. It only proves how desperate I was to clear my name. I met Willow’s eyes. A flicker of pure, unadulterated hatred swam in hers, but she didn’t dare speak another word. Beckett, emboldened by panic, stood up. “Grandfather! Why do you believe Audrey and not us? She’s a bully! She’s been tormenting Willow since she arrived!” Graham nodded seriously. “Mr. Hawthorne, Beckett is telling the truth. She’s the aggressor. Her jump was an attempt to frame us.” Grandfather’s face was a mask of cold disappointment. He directed his fury at Beckett. “Disgraceful! You, as the elder brother, not only failed to protect your sister but actively conspired with an outsider against her! You will take the fifty strokes, copy the family rules one hundred times, and kneel in the family chapel for seven days and seven nights!” He turned to Graham. “And you. You have been betrothed to my granddaughter since childhood. You have not only failed your duty as a fiancé but aided in her abuse. The Hawthorne corporation is immediately severing all financial and political ties with the Graham Group. The engagement is null and void.” Beckett and Graham stared, aghast and speechless, at the patriarch. I watched, a vicious joy coiling in my chest. Willow threw herself forward, forehead hitting the floor with a loud thud. Her voice was a heartbreaking sob. “It’s all my fault! I caused this! If hitting my head until I bleed would make Miss Hawthorne feel better, I would do it!” She hammered her head again. “Please, don’t punish Beckett and Graham! I caused this argument! Punish me instead! If Miss Hawthorne is still angry, I will leave the school and never show my face again!” [Oh God, our poor Willow! She’s being framed, but she’s apologizing for the villainess! When will this cruel villainess get what’s coming to her?] [Sweetie, you did nothing wrong! Don’t apologize! It’s only because you don’t have the background! You’ll step on Audrey Hawthorne one day!] Beckett and Graham rushed to her, their faces contorted with pity. “Grandfather, this has nothing to do with Willow. It’s my fault for not looking after Audrey. Punish me.” “Mr. Hawthorne, Willow is from a poor background. It’s hard enough for her to attend school. I’ll take the punishment.” Grandfather’s expression darkened, ready to deliver his verdict, but I spoke first, my voice weak but steady. “Grandfather, let her go. It’s not worth it. We don’t want to be accused of bullying a poor townie.” Willow looked up at me in shock. I gave her a small, sweet smile. You don’t think I’d just let you walk away after you put me in the hospital, do you? Grandfather looked at me with approval. “Fine. On the condition that Audrey has forgiven you, I will spare you the corporate consequences. However, you will write a full apology and read it aloud to the entire student body. If this happens again, you will be dealt with severely.” I was satisfied. The Hawthorne family was dangerously thin on heirs; it was just Beckett and me. Grandfather, being old school, favored the male heir, but I was still his only granddaughter. This incident had shaken his faith in Beckett. My goal wasn’t just revenge; it was the legacy. From this day forward, I would prove that Beckett was unfit to lead the Hawthorne empire. Beckett spent two weeks recovering from his fifty strokes. Graham was forced by his parents to kneel outside my hospital room for three days straight, begging Grandfather to reconsider. When Willow returned to school, the sympathy in her peers’ eyes was gone. Whispers of her being a manipulative “white lotus” followed her everywhere. She finally got a taste of what it felt like to be publicly maligned and utterly powerless. I spent a month recovering. During that time, I enrolled in the upcoming national academic competition. On the day of the competition, I arrived in a wheelchair, only to find Willow sitting in my reserved spot. Beckett and Graham were flanking her, still acting as her self-appointed bodyguards. They were whispering to her, eliciting a delicate, muffled giggle. The moment they saw me, their faces went cold. Willow remained firmly planted in my seat. She tilted her face up, a picture of false concern. “Miss Hawthorne, are you feeling better? I wanted to visit you, but I thought you wouldn’t want to see me, especially after… well, everything.” She brightened suddenly. “I see you signed up for the academic competition! I admire your courage! But you’ve been in the hospital. I know you haven’t had time to study. Don’t worry. I’ll let you have first place as my apology for everything that happened.” I looked down at her, utterly unimpressed. “Move,” I said, my voice flat. Beckett stepped forward, his eyes burning with familiar contempt. “Audrey, what is your problem? Willow is trying to be kind! Don’t be a brat! And for God’s sake, what’s the point of you even showing up? Don’t you dare come in last place and embarrass the Hawthorne name again.” Graham chimed in with his usual condescension. “Willow is being gracious. You’ve been sidelined for a month; you’ve probably forgotten the basic formulas. If you place dead last, you’ll only confirm the rumors that the Hawthorne Heiress is just ‘a golden cage with nothing inside.’” I ignored them both. “Move. This is my seat.” Willow immediately broke into a fit of delicate coughing, looking like a weak puff of wind could scatter her. “I’m so sorry, Miss Hawthorne. I didn’t mean to steal your spot,” she whispered. “After you poured that water on me, and then the kneeling… I’ve been sick off and on all month. I just felt dizzy and needed to sit down. Please, don’t be angry.” Beckett shot me a hateful look. “Willow, stay put. Rest here until the competition starts.” He turned to me, his voice a low, hostile growl. “Don’t think that just because Grandfather is protecting you, I’m afraid of you. I will make them see you for what you are. As long as I’m a Hawthorne, you will not touch Willow!” Graham stood directly behind her, shielding her. “I won’t let you bully her again.” I glanced past them. Willow caught my eye and flashed a small, confident smirk. She mouthed the words: What can you do? The text overlay exploded: [LOL, Willow’s so fierce! If Audrey charges in, she’s screwed! Willow already called the press—if the villainess loses control, tomorrow’s headline is “Psycho Heiress Bullies Sick Classmate,” and Hawthorne stock will plummet! Grandfather will disinherit her!] [Since Audrey framed them last time, Beckett and Graham are both wearing tiny pinhole cameras! If Audrey tries to lie, the recording goes straight to Grandfather!] I slowly released the arms of the wheelchair and stood up, leaning against the table. The noise around us had swelled. “Do you think Audrey will actually attack her this time?” “Of course, she will. It’s Audrey Hawthorne. She has no brain, only a terrible temper. She’ll blow up instantly.” “I bet $500,000 she flips the table!” “A million! I bet she slaps her!” Everyone was waiting for the show.

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They call me the Reaper. When I walked out of the head office with that familiar pale blue folder, a collective groan echoed through the cubicles. The usual mix of glares and whispered curses followed me. In the last six months, I’d personally escorted nearly two hundred people out the door of Ascend Corp, saving our CEO over a million and a half dollars. My hands were stained, but I thought my reward was finally here—the promotion I was promised, the one I’d sacrificed my reputation for. Instead, he handed me a folder of my own. My termination papers. Fine. So this is what it feels like to be the blade they use and then discard. If my name is on the list, then they’re about to find out just how terrifying the Reaper can be when she comes for you. 1 “Ava, take a look at this list. I need them processed by Monday.” I took the folder from Robert Peterson, our CEO, my stomach already tightening with a familiar dread. Another list. Another round of lives to upend. I opened it. A dozen names, all familiar, stared back at me. One of them, Frank Miller, had been a senior engineer here for eight years, three of which we’d spent working on projects together. “Mr. Peterson,” I began, testing the waters. “Frank is a cornerstone of the tech department. Are we sure about this?” A frown creased his forehead. “Ava, you know the position we’re in. We have to be lean. You’ve been at this for five months. Don’t tell me you’re getting soft now.” I pressed my lips together. He was right. For five months, I had been the company’s Grim Reaper. One hundred and eighty souls—or rather, jobs—sent into the ether on my watch. “Besides,” Peterson added, a knowing glint in his eye, “once we get through this quarter’s restructuring, that promotion is all yours. Director of HR. You know how many people would kill for that spot.” That was the shot of adrenaline I needed. My hesitation vanished. For that title, for that corner office, for the promise of finally making it, I could handle one last list. I could be ruthless one more time. “I understand, sir. It will be done by Monday.” I nodded, closing the folder and sliding it into my desk drawer. “Attagirl.” He clapped me on the shoulder, his face breaking into a satisfied grin. “Ava, you’re the most effective HR manager I’ve ever seen.” His praise was a warm balm, soothing the unease in my gut. All the anxiety, all the guilt, melted away. As I walked back to my desk, I felt their eyes on me. The glares were a mix of contempt, fear, and a sick kind of relief that it wasn’t them. I was used to it. Since the layoffs began, my name had become poison. I’d heard the whispers: “The Hatchet Woman.” “The Vulture.” “That soulless corporate witch.” But who cares what they called me? Once I was Ava Morgan, Director of Human Resources, their whispers wouldn’t matter. I pictured the doubled salary, the spacious office with a view, and my mood lifted instantly. Back in my chair, I began my work, pulling up the file for each name on the list. Years of service, technical skills, project contributions—I meticulously copied the key details into my personal, encrypted notebook. It was a habit of mine. The official company files were comprehensive, but my own records were cleaner, more useful. They helped me do my job. 2 Monday morning, I began sending the death sentences. “Frank, could you come by my office when you have a moment?” The silence on the other end of the line was heavy, broken only by a soft sigh. He already knew. In the current climate at Ascend, a summons from Ava Morgan was a pink slip waiting to happen. Ten minutes later, he walked in. The eight-year veteran, one of our best engineers, looked exhausted. Dark circles hung under his eyes. “Have a seat,” I said, gesturing to the chair opposite my desk. I had rehearsed the script a thousand times in my head. “Ava, let’s just get to it,” he said with a bitter smile. “It’s my turn, isn’t it?” I nodded, pulling his prepared severance package from the drawer. “The company has decided on another round of personnel optimization. Unfortunately…” “Spare me the corporate bullshit,” Frank cut in, his eyes sharp with scorn. “We’ve worked together for three years. Don’t pretend this is anything other than what it is. What’s the package?” I pushed the documents across the desk. “Two months’ severance for every year of service. It’s more than the standard. It’s the best I could get for you.” He let out a short, harsh laugh. “Generous. Eight years of my life for a few months’ pay.” His gaze hardened, pinning me to my chair. “Do you even realize what you’re doing, Ava? You’re gutting this company, kicking your own colleagues to the curb, all for that director title he’s dangling in front of you.” His words were a direct hit, striking a nerve deep inside me. I kept my face a mask of professional calm. “This is a corporate decision, Frank. It’s not personal.” “Isn’t it?” He stood, looking down at me. “Then you’d better pray you never end up in our shoes. You think Peterson’s promises are worth anything? He’ll kick you to the curb the second you’re no longer useful to him.” His warning felt like a shard of ice in my chest. I suppressed the feeling, forcing my voice to remain flat. “Please have your affairs in order by Wednesday.” Frank just shook his head, picked up the folder, and walked out without another word. That scene repeated itself more than a dozen times that day. With every person I let go, I felt a small piece of my own soul chip away. But the thought of the promotion, the finish line, was all that kept me going. Before leaving for the day, I compiled all the signed documents, ready for Peterson in the morning. This was it. The final list. After this, I could shed this Reaper persona and finally claim the throne I had bled for. A flicker of triumph cut through my exhaustion. I opened my laptop, updating my private spreadsheet one last time. As of today, I had terminated 196 employees, saving Ascend Corp an estimated $1.56 million in annual payroll. The numbers were my justification. My proof of worth. I walked out of the office with my head held high, ignoring the way people averted their eyes and fell silent as I passed. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon, they wouldn’t see the Reaper. They would see Ms. Morgan, the Director. 3 “Excellent work, Ava.” Mr. Peterson scanned the files I handed him, nodding in satisfaction. “The personnel optimization plan is officially complete.” I couldn’t help but stand a little straighter, my expression full of anticipation. “Sir, about my promotion…” “Right, about that.” He smiled faintly, reaching into his desk drawer. He pulled out a single, familiar folder. Pale blue, with the small “HR” logo in the bottom corner. My heart stopped. For six months, I had been the one pulling termination letters from those folders, placing them in the hands of others. This time, he was handing the folder to me. “I don’t understand,” I managed to say, my fingers trembling as I took it. Peterson’s smile remained, but his eyes had turned to ice. “The company has decided on a complete overhaul of the Human Resources department. Your position has been eliminated.” I shot to my feet, nearly knocking my chair over. “What are you talking about? I did everything you asked. You promised me…” “Circumstances have changed,” he said, his voice clipped and final. “This new phase for Ascend requires a fresh HR team. One without the… historical baggage.” I stared at him, speechless. The air had been punched from my lungs. He glanced at me, his tone softening just enough to be insulting. “Ava, you’ve done a lot for us, and we appreciate it. Per company policy, you’re entitled to a standard severance. But for your unique contributions, I’ve personally authorized the same enhanced package you’ve been giving out.” The same package. The exact same one I had just given Frank. The room began to spin. A hot rush of blood roared in my ears. “You can’t do this,” I said, my voice shaking with rage. “I laid off nearly two hundred people for you. I took all the hate for it. You know the reputation I have now! You promised me the director position!” For a fleeting moment, something flickered in his eyes—pity? guilt?—but it was gone as quickly as it came. “Business is war, Ava. Plans change. You, of all people, should understand that.” “I don’t understand!” I was practically shouting now. “This is a betrayal!” His face hardened. “Watch your tone. The company is providing you with a fair severance, which is more than generous. Don’t forget, there’s a line of people out there who would kill for a job here.” I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing myself to find some semblance of calm. “Then tell me who’s replacing me.” He hesitated. “Chloe Jenkins. The junior director from Marketing. She’s sharp, has fresh ideas.” Chloe? The kid who’d been here barely six months? I almost laughed out loud. “Mr. Peterson, she doesn’t even know basic labor law.” “She’ll have a team to support her,” he said, his patience clearly gone. “Ava, it’s done. There’s nothing more to discuss. Have your desk cleared out in three days. HR will handle your exit.” He stood up, the universal signal for “get out.” I walked out of his office in a daze, the pale blue folder clutched in my hand, a ringing in my ears. Back at my desk, I numbly opened it. The termination letter, with my name printed in neat, black ink, felt like an artifact from another dimension. Hours ago, I was the one issuing these. Now, I was the one receiving it. The eyes of my colleagues were on me again, but this time the emotions were different. There was shock, a little pity, but mostly, a chillingly familiar indifference. It was the same look I had given every person I had fired. “Karma’s a bitch,” I muttered with a humorless smile. Frank’s voice echoed in my head. He’ll kick you to the curb the second you’re no longer useful to him. A strange heat bloomed in my chest. It wasn’t just anger. It was the profound, burning shame of being played for a fool. 4 The clock hit five, and the office began to empty out. I remained at my desk, staring blankly at my monitor. My personal notebook lay on the desk, the one filled with the data of every single person I had let go. Names, positions, skills, major contributions… all the ammunition I had used to carry out my orders. Now, it looked like a monument to my own stupidity. I flipped through the pages idly. My eyes caught on a name, then another. Wait a second. This data… My mind started racing as I scanned the pages. An idea, audacious and cold, began to take shape. Peterson wanted a “lean” company, did he? He was so proud of the million and a half dollars I’d saved him. But what would be the cost if all that talent I’d cut loose ended up at his biggest competitor? A slow, icy smile spread across my face. I shoved the notebook into my bag, shut down my computer, and walked out of Ascend Corp for the last time as an employee. That night, back in my small apartment, I didn’t collapse into bed. I opened my laptop and began to organize the information from my notebook, focusing on the high-level tech talent. What was the real damage their absence would cause? I pulled up a job search site and looked up Ascend’s main rival, Apex Solutions. Just as I suspected. They were on a hiring spree, and their posted salary ranges were significantly higher than what we paid. After a moment’s hesitation, I created a new, anonymous email address. I drafted a short message to the head of HR at Apex Solutions. [> Subject: High-Value Talent Pool To Whom It May Concern, I have access to a curated list of highly qualified tech professionals with extensive industry experience. If you are looking to acquire top-tier talent, I invite you to a discussion.] After hitting send, I closed the laptop and lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Half a year as the Reaper, and now I was about to become a shepherd, leading the flock to a greener pasture. The irony was thick enough to choke on. But this was the perfect revenge. It was legal, professional, and it would hit Robert Peterson right where it hurt the most: his bottom line. The next morning, a reply from Apex was waiting in my inbox. They wanted to meet. Today. “Well, that was fast,” I murmured, sending back a confirmation. At the office, while gathering my things, Chloe—the chosen one—approached my desk. “Ava,” she began, looking deeply uncomfortable. “I heard that you…” “That I got canned? Yep,” I said, my face a blank mask. “Congratulations on the promotion.” Her cheeks flushed. “Ava, I swear I had no idea. Mr. Peterson only told me yesterday…” “Don’t worry about it. It’s just business,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand, pushing a stack of files toward her. “Here’s the latest project pipeline. You should get up to speed.” Chloe took them, but hesitated. “How can you be so calm? If it were me…” “What’s not to be calm about?” I looked up at her. “I fired almost two hundred people. Now it’s my turn. It’s only fair, isn’t it?” My words left her speechless. She stammered, “Well… what are your plans? Do you want me to see if I can… put in a good word for you somewhere?” I had to suppress a cold laugh. A rookie with six months of experience was going to give me a referral? Still, I kept my tone polite. “Thanks, Chloe, but I have my own plans.” She nodded and scurried away. At three o’clock, I was sitting in a quiet corner of a downtown café. The HR Director from Apex, a sharp woman in her thirties named Sarah, got straight to the point after shaking my hand. “So, what’s your story?” “Former HR Manager at Ascend Corp,” I replied, equally direct. “I was just let go. I have a deep understanding of your talent needs and where to find the perfect candidates.” Her eyes lit up with interest. “Oh? And who did you have in mind?” I slid a neatly prepared dossier across the table. “This is a list of top-tier tech talent. All of them are industry leaders with proven track records on major projects.” She scanned the first page, her eyebrows rising. By the second page, her expression was one of pure excitement. “This is… these are all from Ascend, aren’t they?” “Yes. All recently laid off,” I confirmed. “And their current project expertise aligns perfectly with your company’s recently announced strategic initiatives.” “This is incredible,” she breathed, closing the file. “We’re trying to staff three critical projects right now. These people could fill every gap we have. Can you connect us?” I smiled. “Of course. But first… we should discuss my commission.” “Naturally,” she said without hesitation. “Standard rate is fifteen percent of the candidate’s first-year salary. For key personnel like these, we can go up to twenty.” I did some quick math. A senior engineer like Frank pulled in at least $250,000 a year. Twenty percent of that was fifty grand. If I placed even half this list… I’d make more than Peterson had ever promised me. “Deal.” I extended my hand, and we shook on it. “I look forward to working with you.” On the way home, I felt something I hadn’t felt in months: genuine, unadulterated joy. This wasn’t just revenge. This was a brilliant business opportunity. That night, I started making calls. The first message went to the man whose curse had become my prophecy. [> Frank? It’s Ava Morgan. I have a job opportunity I think you’ll want to hear about.] He replied almost instantly. [> You’ve got a hell of a nerve.]

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Everyone in New York City knew I was the gold digger who’d clawed her way into a marriage with Grayson Ford for his money. Grayson, however, only had eyes for the ghost of a girl his mother had once paid fifty thousand dollars to break up with him. The one that got away. So, the moment Ava Cole set foot in Ford Industries, the vultures in our circle started a betting pool, taking odds on how long it would be before Grayson kicked me to the curb. Some said three months. Others said six. I had every intention of fighting to save both my marriage and my money. But that resolve crumbled the moment I saw Grayson—a man who was usually a glacier in a bespoke suit—turn a rare, warm gaze on his new secretary. I can lose the man. I can’t lose the money. That evening, I walked straight into the city’s most exclusive speakeasy and laid down five million dollars. “I’ll take the one-month bet,” I said. 1 Who on earth doesn’t love money? I was intensely curious about this sainted ex-girlfriend of his. The day after I heard she’d been hired, I stormed into Ford Industries, dressed for battle and ready to see for myself. Grayson was in his office with a client. When he saw me walk in, his expression didn’t flicker. I was used to it. My husband had a face carved from ice. What could I do? He was handsome and rich. My only option was to spoil him. I’d just settled onto the plush leather sofa when his new secretary, whose back was to me, spilled a cup of coffee. It splashed, with almost theatrical precision, all over the new shirt I’d picked out for him that morning. The secretary’s face was a mask of calm. She expertly retrieved another shirt—one I’d never seen before—from the private adjoining room, her chin held just a little too high. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Ford. You’ll have to change.” Despite the interruption in front of a client, Grayson didn’t reprimand her. He simply took the shirt and went to change. When he came out, adjusting his collar, he glanced at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window. “How does it look?” he asked her, his voice casual. “It looks good on you.” Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, a silent understanding passing between them, followed by the ghost of a shared smile. Oh. I could smell the stench of betrayal from across the room. Before I could demand he shut the door for a private conversation, Grayson was already ushering the client out and toward the conference room. I stood up, my four-inch heels clicking furiously on the marble floor, but I couldn’t keep up with their brisk pace. The secretary, cool and detached, stopped me at the door. “Ms. Langley, there’s an important meeting today. Unlike you, some of us have things to do. We don’t have time to entertain you.” Her voice was low, but sharp. “For those of us who believe in earning our place in the world, our time is best spent on things that actually matter to this company.” A mocking smile touched her lips. “Besides,” she added, “you’re dependent on this company to survive, aren’t you?” I stared at her, this legendary woman who supposedly couldn’t be bought, this icon of integrity and strength. I let out a soft, deliberate “tsk.” Ms. Langley? Earning our place? What a perfect performance. The noble working girl who scoffs at the very capital that keeps the lights on. So this was his type. No wonder a bombshell like me didn’t even register on his radar. … When I agreed to the merger of our families, I already knew about the one that got away. Ava’s family wasn’t wealthy, and she was fiercely proud. She couldn’t stand the constant condescension from Grayson’s mother and had ended things, walking away without a second glance. Grayson had been hung up on her for years. On our wedding night, he slept in the guest room, clutching a cheap, hand-knitted scarf she’d once made for him. I scoffed, rolled over, and buried my face in my five-figure, custom-made silk comforter. It smelled divine. I slept until dusk the next day, then met my friends to continue the bachelorette party we’d started two days prior. It wasn’t until the fourth day of my marriage that I found out Grayson had fled the country for a “business trip,” a trip that lasted three months. The story of his blatant rejection spread like wildfire. Everyone in New York’s elite circles knew that the beautiful daughter the Langley family had pushed on the Fords couldn’t even keep her husband in their bed on their wedding night. The humiliation was… immense. Gritting my teeth, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I eyed his broad shoulders, his lean waist, the outline of his abs through his shirt. One evening, I found my chance and slipped something into his tea. We spent the night tangled together, a blur of skin and heat. The next morning, he woke up in a fury. “Aurora! Have you no shame? This is… this is coercion! You can’t just—” I crossed my legs, lounging against the headboard, and gave him a lazy, dismissive glance. “Please, Grayson. It’s called fulfilling your spousal duties. Besides, don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.” He was a mess of shame and indignation. “I’m warning you, Aurora. If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will pull all funding from Langley Enterprises.” That got my attention. I immediately backed down, hopping out of bed. “Fine! Don’t sleep with me! It wasn’t that great anyway!” I, Aurora Langley, fear nothing. Except being broke. To seal this marriage, my father had reluctantly signed over thirty percent of his company’s shares to me. Threatening the family business was the one way to get to me. With Langley Enterprises still on shaky ground, I was living on Grayson’s dime. Pissing him off was not a good strategy. So, I decided to lay low and play the long game. And so, two years of our marriage passed. The numbers in my bank account grew exponentially with each passing day. Life without love but with plenty of money was a kind of blissful, hollow existence. It was certainly better than the years I’d spent after my parents, high on their first taste of success, had dumped me in a small town in the middle of nowhere to be raised by my grandmother. It was better than begging door-to-door in a storm to scrape together a few hundred dollars for her medication. I was done with the anxiety of wondering how we’d pay for things. I was done watching my grandmother’s trembling hands pull wrinkled dollar bills, one by one, from her old wooden box. From a very young age, I decided my life could be devoid of a soulmate, devoid of family, but it could never, ever be devoid of money. … Honestly, I truly did want to make things work with Grayson. That is, until his sainted ex showed up at our front door that night. Ava Cole held out the ruined shirt, her chin still tilted in that same posture of defiant pride. “Mr. Ford, just tell me how much it costs. I’ll pay you back in full.” Grayson, fresh from the shower and wrapped in a loose robe, paused at the sight of her standing in our doorway. His voice softened. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a shirt.” “Five thousand dollars. Cash or transfer?” I stepped out from behind him, plucking the shirt from her hand. A slow, deliberate smile spread across my face as I watched the color drain from hers. “Can’t afford it? That’s alright,” I purred. “I can just deduct it from your salary. Installments are fine.” … 2 “You went too far, Aurora! Do you need that five thousand dollars? Didn’t you see she was about to cry?” The second the door closed, Grayson’s anger was palpable, rivaling the morning after I’d drugged him. I sat down gracefully, taking a moment to admire my fresh manicure. “No, I don’t need the money. But why should I have to pay for her mistake?” “Her family is struggling, Aurora! That’s several months’ salary for her. She has a sick grandmother to support. How is she supposed to live?” “Is her financial situation my fault?” I countered, my voice dangerously calm. “If you know you can’t afford to make mistakes in life, you learn to be careful with everything you touch. Whether it’s a man… or a job.” Grayson was speechless for a moment. “You’re unbelievable,” he finally spat out, before storming upstairs to his study. The door slammed with a resounding crack. I just lowered my gaze to the wrinkled, unrecognizable shirt in my hands. He seemed to have forgotten. Two years ago, he’d developed a severe skin allergy. Even the finest custom-tailored fabrics irritated him. I had gone to a master tailor in Charleston, a man known for his work with a rare, limited-edition heritage silk. I’d bought the entire bolt. And then, with my own two hands, I had stitched that shirt for him, thread by thread. My carefully manicured fingers were pricked and raw by the end, but when I saw that rare flicker of genuine pleasure in his eyes, I felt the ridiculous, hands-on effort had been worth it. For a little while after that, our marriage had a hint of sweetness to it. But that was before Ava Cole’s return. Before I realized that Grayson—the man who treated me with such icy indifference, whose smiles felt like charity—could be so gentle with someone else. I never knew his eyes could hold that kind of warmth so effortlessly. I could faintly hear the low murmur of his voice through the closed study door, comforting her. It was quiet, but it grated on my nerves. A bitter laugh escaped me. I crushed the shirt in my fist and threw it into the trash can with a satisfying thud. A gift that isn’t cherished is meaningless, no matter the effort. Money, on the other hand, is loyal only to the person holding it. The next day, I called my friends and went on a marathon shopping spree. When I returned home, arms laden with bags from every designer on Fifth Avenue, I was stunned to find Ava Cole in my house. She was wearing a simple cotton dress, her hair in a low bun. Modest. Understated. An apron was tied around her waist. She was walking out of my kitchen, carrying a steaming tureen of what smelled like a hearty beef stew. 3 I stared at Grayson, who was sitting on the sofa, engrossed in some documents. I tried to rack my brain, wondering if I’d suffered some sort of memory loss. “What did I miss? When did we start the part of the show where you move into my house?” Ava’s eyes immediately welled with tears. She lifted her chin, her voice trembling with indignation. “Ms. Langley, does having money give you the right to bully people like this? You’re attacking my character and my dignity!” Grayson didn’t even look up from his papers. “You pushed her to the point where she was about to start delivering food to pay you back. That’s dangerous. You were never happy with the last housekeeper anyway. I told Ava she could work here instead.” “You have my word, Ms. Langley,” Ava said, regaining her composure and that infuriatingly righteous expression. “I will pay back the five thousand dollars as soon as possible. I won’t be in your debt for long.” “Hah.” I glanced at the stew on the dining table. “Did you bother to do any research before you started playing house? I’m allergic to mushrooms.” Ava flinched, but her face quickly settled back into a neutral mask. “Mr. Ford enjoys this recipe. If you don’t like it, Ms. Langley, you can have something else. I also made a salad.” “Tsk,” I clicked my tongue, applauding softly. “So, you’re paying off your debt to me with money you earn by waiting on my husband?” Ava’s face flushed. “You…” “That’s enough!” Grayson stood up, his face dark. “I asked her to come here. If you have a problem, take it up with me. Stop making things difficult for her.” “Grayson! She just appears out of nowhere at your company, and now she’s in our home! She is not here with good intentions!” I was losing my composure. A cold smirk crossed Grayson’s face. “Do you really think every woman is like you, Aurora? Don’t forget why you married me in the first place. This family, this company… I’m in charge of it all. And that includes your family’s little business.” The air crackled with silence. After a long moment, I burst out laughing. “Fine. You’re the boss.” I shrugged. “You two enjoy your dinner. I’m going out for martinis.” Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked out, ignoring the stunned look on Grayson’s face. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ava. She was standing perfectly still, a look of pure, triumphant scorn directed right at me. … I drove aimlessly for a while before pulling over. I couldn’t explain the feeling. Seeing Grayson defend her left an ache in my chest, a hollow space that made it hard to breathe. I pulled out my phone. The screen was blank except for a single notification from my doctor’s office with my recent test results. Bored, I opened the file and started scrolling. When I got to the gynecology report, my eyes widened. Wait. Abnormal hCG levels? What did that mean? Was I… pregnant? My mind went into a tailspin. Last month, overcome by a rare wave of desire for him, I’d put on a silk slip and tried, with a little flourish, to seduce him. And now… this. As if on cue, a dull ache started in my lower abdomen, a phantom pain that felt like something was actually taking root. This baby… It was coming at the worst possible time. And the best possible time. A wave of melancholy washed over me. Because I had, in quiet moments, actually imagined… having a child with Grayson. 4 I had seen him once before, long before we were married. I was twelve, a year before my parents, who had finally struck it rich, remembered they had a daughter and brought me to New York. He had come with a team from his family’s foundation to donate supplies to the schools in our small town. He was only eighteen, but he moved with a quiet confidence. He was so handsome it made my heart ache. I saw him, and I never forgot him. So later, when my parents decided to trade me and Langley Enterprises’ most profitable division for an alliance with the Fords, I agreed. But he had always been cold to me. And our marriage was a business deal, tainted by ambition and money. There was never a moment for heartfelt confessions. There was never a chance to tell him I’d fallen for him when I was twelve. It was a shame, really. But then I thought, she’s the one who walked away from him. Why should I be the one to step aside now that she’s decided to waltz back into his life? If anyone should leave, it’s the expired ghost of his past. With that thought, I spun the car around and drove back, my foot heavy on the accelerator. The moment I opened the front door, I saw her. Ava was standing in the foyer, the house spotless behind her, as if she’d been waiting for me. She saw the storm on my face and a knowing look crossed hers. “Grayson already left for a meeting with a client.” She paused, her voice laced with condescension. “You really have a low opinion of me, don’t you, Ms. Langley? Did you think I would try to seduce him the moment you were gone? I’m not like you. I don’t do everything for money. If I did, you never would have had the chance to become Mrs. Ford.” She smiled, a cruel, cutting thing. “But a woman like you, who needs Grayson to survive… you must be terrified of losing him.” Her eyes flickered with amusement. “By the way, do you and Grayson sleep in separate rooms? I noticed while I was tidying up the master bedroom. Your side of the bed looks… untouched.” I ignored her, striding past her into the immaculate living room. My eyes landed on the coffee table. Sitting there, as if placed on display, was a single, gold-rimmed coffee cup. Used. A cold laugh escaped my lips. I swept the cup, the apron she’d worn, and a hairpin she’d “accidentally” left on the table into the nearest trash can. “Sorry, Ava. You’re fired. I don’t welcome people who help themselves to the owner’s private belongings. Nor do I welcome people who are obsessed with whether or not my husband is sleeping in the master bedroom.” I turned back to her. “Oh, and that coffee cup was part of a set worth twenty thousand dollars. I’ll expect you to reimburse me for the one you used. If you don’t, I won’t hesitate to file a police report.” Ava’s calm facade finally cracked. Her face was flushed with fury. “On what grounds? This is Grayson’s house! You can’t just throw me out!” I grabbed her arm and physically pushed her toward the door. “I can,” I said, my voice like ice. “Because I am Mrs. Ford.” 5 Night fell, and a cold rain began to pour. Ava remained outside the gates, a stubborn, pathetic statue in the downpour. I made myself a coffee and sat on the second-floor terrace, watching her, until Grayson’s car screeched into the driveway. He saw her there—the proud girl who had never bowed to anyone, now a tear-streaked mess locked out of his house—and his face contorted with rage. He looked up at me, his eyes burning with a hatred that chilled me to the bone. Without a second’s hesitation, he shrugged off his suit jacket, draped it over her trembling shoulders, and gently helped her into his car. And then I remembered. In two years of marriage, Grayson had never once let me ride in his car. I drove myself everywhere. Once, I’d been stranded on a back road outside the city during a torrential storm. The roads were flooding. Terrified, I’d called him, sobbing, but he’d hung up before I could even finish my sentence. So, this was the difference between love and the lack of it. … My phone rang, shattering the quiet. It was my mother, a woman I rarely heard from. She didn’t bother with a greeting. “The finance department at Langley just called. Grayson pulled the funding! The news just broke and our stock is already tanking. What in God’s name did you do to him?” I was silent for a moment. In the past, when I’d annoyed him, he’d threatened this. But he’d never actually done it. This time, he’d acted swiftly, without warning. I had clearly crossed a line. “Oh…” I said slowly, my voice devoid of any real concern. “I’ll figure something out.” She let out a theatrical sigh on the other end of the line. “Aurora, please, take this seriously. Your brother is about to take over the company. We can’t afford any problems. And don’t forget, you get a healthy dividend from Langley every month. Keeping him happy is keeping your own wallet happy, isn’t it?” She paused. “And whatever little tramp he has on the side, surely you can handle her. A woman with your looks?”

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I was supposed to be the mother of the tragic heroine in a paperback drama. My mission, handed down by a disembodied voice I’ve come to call ‘the System,’ was to save her from a miserable fate—a life of abuse at the hands of some dime-store villain. The System laid out the grim starting point: 【A cheating father, dead too soon. A mother who vanished overseas. A frail, sick grandmother, and a lonely girl left to fend for herself. How do you plan to save her from this?】 I slid my McLaren to a halt in a perfect drift in front of her rundown apartment building and killed the engine. “I’m going to hit her with money,” I said. The System went silent. I adjusted my sunglasses, offering a confident smirk to the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry. On my watch, there’s no way in hell she’s growing up to be anyone’s tragic heroine.” This time, she gets to be the spoiled, ridiculously loved daughter of a second-generation millionaire. 1 My name was Audrey Croft. I went to sleep in my own bed, and I woke up here. The System explained it was a “temporal disturbance.” It promised I could go home once I lived out this new life and died of old age. A full-sentence commutation, I guess. 【Since you’re here,】 the System chimed in my head, its voice sterile and unfeeling, 【you might as well save the original owner’s daughter. In this world’s narrative, she’s the tragic heroine. She clings to a toxic, abusive man simply because she’s known so little kindness in her life. Her story is brutal. You have to save her.】 I looked out at the girl standing by the high school gates. Her school uniform was faded to a pale, washed-out gray, the cuffs frayed. A thick curtain of dark hair hung over her eyes, casting her face in a permanent, uninviting shadow. I squinted. “That’s the tragic heroine?” I asked, unconvinced. I always pictured them as delicate, wilting flowers. 【Affirmative.】 The System repeated its earlier prompt like a script. 【A cheating father, dead too soon. A mother who vanished overseas. A frail, sick grandmother, and a lonely girl left to fend for herself. Given these parameters, how do you plan to save her?】 I took off my sunglasses, my voice dripping with the bored confidence I’d spent a lifetime perfecting. “I’m going to hit her with money.” 【That’s an inefficient solution,】 the System replied, its tone bordering on digital disapproval. 【She requires an infusion of love and emotional support.】 I gave a noncommittal shrug. It couldn’t possibly understand the unique kind of therapy that only a limitless bank account can provide. Why would she want to be some pitiful, tragic heroine when she could be an audacious, unapologetic trust-fund baby? The original Audrey’s daughter is named Maya Thompson. She’s sixteen, a sophomore in high school. She lives with her grandmother. Her father had an affair when she was two and never gave her a second thought. Devastated by the betrayal, her mother—the woman whose life I’ve inherited—swore she’d become a massive success to make him regret it, and promptly left for a career overseas. She was gone for years without a word. What she never learned was that her cheating husband died in a drunk-driving accident not long after she left. The grandmother, who seemed healthy enough, was worn down by life and diagnosed with a serious illness. The entire burden of their world fell onto Maya’s small shoulders. In the original story, when the mother finally returns, rich and successful, she finds a daughter who is a complete stranger, hardened by life and filled with a quiet, simmering hatred for her. The story ends with the mother, disappointed, leaving to start a new family. Maya, trapped in a cycle of abuse with the story’s male lead, eventually takes her own life. I sighed. All of this, because some mediocre man cheated with some mediocre woman. Was that really a wound worth dedicating your entire life to avenging? 2 Maya’s grandmother, Eileen, lived in an old brick walk-up, the kind of housing the city had built for municipal workers decades ago. The paint on the railings was peeling, and the hallway walls were stained a permanent, sickly yellow. I pulled up in the McLaren, the throaty roar of its engine turning heads on the quiet street. I parked it in a spot clearly marked NO PARKING and clicked my way up to the second floor. I knocked. “Who is it?” a frail voice called from inside. It took a few long minutes of shuffling and the clicking of locks before the door creaked open. I flashed my most dazzling, enthusiastic smile and took her hand in both of mine. “Mom,” I said. “I’m home.” The old woman flinched, startled. She peered at me, her eyes clouded with suspicion, taking in my designer dress and the perfect, blood-red lipstick. “Audrey?” she asked, the name tasting like a foreign word on her tongue. I nodded brightly. “Yes, Mom! You recognized me.” Of course, the woman I was now was a universe away from the heartbroken housewife who had fled the country. I was all designer labels, sculpted waves, and a killer smile. Eileen had never been a cruel mother-in-law, but she was fiercely protective of her own son. When his affair came to light, her first instinct had been to tell the original Audrey to just “endure it for the child’s sake.” The argument that followed had shattered their relationship completely. So now, her face was a mask of cold fury. Her lips trembled as if she were searching for the right curse word, her eyes darting toward a broom leaning against the wall. “You finally know the way back, do you? Get the hell out of my house!” I bounced on the balls of my ten-centimeter heels. “Oh, come on, Mom, don’t be like that. I’m here to see Maya.” She planted her hands on her hips, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “You still remember you have a daughter?” she spat. “After all these years of silence? Do you have any idea what kind of life she’s had?” I did, of course. The System had downloaded the complete file into my brain. Maya had been a model child—obedient, quiet, always at the top of her class. During the day, she went to school. At night, she helped her grandmother run a small food cart to make ends meet. She was diligent, responsible, a miniature adult. But then, in middle school, her grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. They needed money, fast. Maya was just a kid. No matter how many part-time jobs she took, it was never enough. Her grades plummeted. She ended up at a low-tier high school where she was ostracized by the other students, and that’s when the shadows truly began to close in around her. I switched my expression to one of deep, apologetic remorse. “It’s all my fault. But I’m here to make it up to her now. Please, just tell her tonight that her mother is back. I’ll come see her tomorrow, okay?” 3 I gave them a night to process. The next day, I timed my arrival for just after school let out. The slender girl stood in the doorway, blocking it. She stared at me for a long moment, her eyes cold and flat. “Get out.” “Well, aren’t you a ball of sunshine,” I chirped. I slipped an arm around her back and gently nudged her inside, turning to give a cheerful wave to the nosy neighbors peering out of their doors. The two-room apartment was spartan. A simple table and a few wooden stools took up most of the living space. There was no art on the walls, no softness anywhere. I didn’t mind. I plopped down onto one of the stools and casually set my half-a-million-dollar handbag on the floor. I reached for the girl’s hand and squeezed it, my voice saccharine sweet. “My darling daughter, Mommy missed you so, so much.” I felt her fingers clench into a fist inside my palm before she violently ripped her hand away. “I don’t have a mother.” Her tone was so absolute it almost made me pause. I glanced around the cramped apartment and then looked at her grandmother. “Mom, this place isn’t exactly ideal, is it? I have a gorgeous condo in a much better neighborhood. How about you two move in with me?” Our past relationship may have been a wreck, but the woman had raised my—the original Audrey’s—daughter for years. That deserved some respect. Eileen just snorted with contempt, then looked at Maya and said nothing. Being ignored didn’t faze me. I opened my bag and pulled out a thick stack of cash—a few thousand dollars. “It’s okay if you don’t want to move. But you should at least eat well, live comfortably. Take this, for expenses. When you run out, just ask for more.” Don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t the limit of my generosity. It was the limit of what I could physically stuff into my purse. Perhaps it was my casual, almost bored demeanor that finally made something in the girl snap. Maya’s composure shattered. She slapped the money out of my hand, sending bills scattering across the floor. Then she grabbed the front of my dress and started pushing me toward the door. “Do you think everyone wants your filthy money? Get out! You didn’t come back then, so don’t bother coming back now!” 4 The force of her shoving left me a little disheveled, but I managed to snatch my bag off the floor with cat-like reflexes. At the door, the girl’s eyes were red-rimmed and furious. “Go,” she seethed. “I don’t want to see you.” Sigh. I let out a long, dramatic breath and pulled a few business cards and a sleek black credit card from my wallet. “Maya, I know this is hard for you to accept right now.” I held up the cards one by one. “This is my personal cell. This is my assistant’s number; he’s on call twenty-four-seven. This one is for my head of security. This is HR at my company. And this is the front desk…” Finally, I pressed the credit card into her hand. “This is an Amex Black Card, a supplementary card on my account. There’s no limit. It’s more than enough to cover any major medical procedure you could ever need. The PIN is your birthday. 121819. I hope I remembered that right.” Maya stood frozen, the cards clutched in her hand, her jaw set so tightly I was afraid she’d crack a tooth. I reached out and smoothed her hair back from her face. “Don’t throw it away,” I said softly, my voice a conspiratorial whisper. “If you don’t like it, just put it somewhere safe. You don’t want to need it and not have it.” The pride of a teenager is a fragile, ferocious thing. They have no idea what kind of price life will eventually demand of them. “Are you trying to buy your way out of our relationship?” she asked, her voice trembling. I shook my head and pulled her into a hug she didn’t return. “No,” I whispered into her hair. “I just want you to know something. I will never punish you for being angry with me. And I will never, ever use money to control you. So when you’re in trouble, please… don’t hesitate to ask me for help.” In the original story, there was a scene where she desperately tries to call her mother, over and over, while her grandmother is dying because she can’t afford the surgery. I refused to let her live through that again. 5 As soon as I got back in the car, the System dared to speak. 【I see now why the original Audrey disliked the protagonist. She’s so aggressive. If she would just act a little sweeter, wouldn’t she get anything she wanted?】 I glanced in the mirror, fixing my slightly messy hair. “Getting into a fight with a teenager who hasn’t even fully developed emotionally? What’s the point in that? If you ask me, that old version of me was the one acting like a child.” Knowing the kind of trouble a “tragic heroine” can attract, I’d just finished arranging for a security detail and a full-time caregiver for Eileen when my new head of security called. “Ms. Croft, we’ve lost visual on your daughter.” He explained that because Maya was so hostile towards him, he had been keeping his distance, waiting outside the school and leaving only after he saw her get home safely. But today, two hours had passed since the final bell. The school was locked up for the night, and she never came out. “We’ve checked the security footage and spoken with the janitor and her teachers. It appears a few of her classmates led her out through a back exit. We have people searching the area now.” I grunted in acknowledgment, not overly worried yet. But to be safe, I had them ping Maya’s phone location and sent a team that way. Before they could get there, my phone rang. An unknown number. I hesitated, then answered. “Hello?” Silence on the other end, but I could hear a muffled cacophony of teenage voices in the background. “Maya?” I tried. Finally, someone spoke, their voice trying to sound bold. “Um, hello? Are you Maya’s mom?” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Yes. Can I help you?” The girl on the other end giggled. “We were just, like, curious. We heard Maya didn’t have a mom.” The tone was a sickening mix of feigned innocence and undisguised malice. I don’t know, maybe this is just how all teenagers are. It’s been a while. So I just laughed lightly. “Did you skip health class? Where do you think she came from, a rock?” 6 The girl stammered for a second before recovering. “Well, where have you been all these years? Did you run off with some guy?” “No, sweetie, I was working. You know, earning a living? Like your dad does. Oh, wait,” I said, my voice turning sharp as a razor. “He didn’t run off with another woman, did he? Madison.” Hearing me use her name sent a ripple of panicked whispers through the group on the other end of the line. But Madison, to her credit, didn’t back down. Her voice was shrill with indignation. “My dad is not like you! He’s a big deal. He makes, like, a million dollars a year! How much do you make? A hundred thousand? You can’t compare yourself to my dad.” The moment someone tried to pull financial rank on me, the game was over. I let out a low, dangerous laugh. “Is that so? And with that little money, he’s already got a second family on the side? And here you are, wasting your time bullying other kids instead of studying. Does your mother know? You brainless little twit. You absolute pig.” It was probably the first time anyone had ever spoken to these kids with such pure, unadulterated venom. There was a stunned silence. Madison finally managed to squeak out a “You—,” but I cut her off, my patience gone. “Alright, I’m done with this. Let my daughter go. Right now. If a single hair on her head is out of place, I will personally destroy your father.” The anger was boiling in my blood now. I grabbed my car keys from the counter. “In fact, I’m on my way to see him right now.” The roar of the McLaren’s engine echoed through the phone, and Madison finally panicked. “Wait! Ma’am, I was just kidding! Maya and I are friends, we were just hanging out! Please don’t tell my dad!” Typical bully. All bark, no bite. “Who gave you permission to ‘kid’ with me?” I snarled. “You’re not in my league.

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The day before my brother’s wedding, I was picking out a dress when Liam suddenly lost his temper. “I told you, she likes the fuchsia one. Why do you always have to steal her spotlight?” At first, I thought he was just worried I’d be overdressed for the ceremony. A little too much, a little too soon. But then he added, “Isabelle only gets one wedding day. She’s already miserable enough that she can’t marry the man she loves. Can’t you just let her have this?” A silence stretched between us. I didn’t ask Liam how he knew, better than I did, who exactly his brother’s fiancée was in love with. Instead, I picked up my phone and video-called my brother. 1 My brother, Ethan, was with Isabelle for her final fitting. He was dressed in a sharp black tuxedo, his eyes crinkling with a smile that was pure, unfiltered joy. “Audrey,” he said, his voice beaming through the phone. “Your sister-in-law wants you and Liam to come over for dinner later.” Liam’s profile slid into the frame beside me. Without even glancing my way for an opinion, he agreed for both of us. Strange. He usually hated going to my parents’ house. The camera on Ethan’s phone flipped. Isabelle burst out of the dressing room in a cloud of white tulle, tiptoeing as she threw herself into my brother’s arms. “Ethan, how do I look?” At the exact same moment Ethan answered, a voice behind me, barely a whisper, murmured its own reply. I heard it. “I’ve always known. She’s never more beautiful than when she’s trying to seduce someone.” I turned my head. Liam’s face was a calm mask, tinged with a familiar shade of weary resignation. For a second, I thought I might have imagined it. He leaned in close, his mouth near my ear, a gesture of intimacy that felt like a lie. “Hey,” he whispered, his tone soft and placating. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Are you still mad?” He shifted, his voice dropping lower. “Tell me how to make it up to you, Audrey. Whatever you want. You know I’ll do it.” I thought of all the ways he had of “making it up to me,” each one more inventive than the last. We were still on a video call with my brother. A blush crept up my neck. I turned away from him, and my eyes met Isabelle’s across the screen. They were sharp with something that looked like jealousy. It was gone in a flash. She replaced it with a bright, brittle smile. “Audrey, you and your boyfriend seem so close. Are you two getting married soon?” Ethan, still fussing over the lace on Isabelle’s train, didn’t even look up. “Liam’s been plotting to marry my sister since the day they graduated. Audrey’s the one who wants to play the field a few more years.” My hand holding the phone tightened. I’d never really thought about it before. Why was it that Liam was the one who wasn’t ready for marriage, yet he always insisted I tell everyone it was my idea? His reason at the time was that he didn’t want my parents to get the wrong impression, to think he wasn’t serious about me. Now, that excuse felt flimsy, almost transparent. A stylist led Ethan away to change. I picked up the fuchsia dress I’d chosen earlier. Before I could say a word, my future sister-in-law’s eyes welled with tears. Her gaze drifted past me, landing on Liam standing just behind my shoulder. “Audrey, could you… could you let me have that dress?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Someone once promised to buy me the perfect dress, one that was just for me. But… someone else got it instead.” The hand on my shoulder tightened, its pressure unconscious and absolute. This time, I knew I wasn’t imagining it. “Give it to her,” Liam said. 2 After saying that, Liam announced he had an urgent work matter and left in a hurry. He was in such a rush, he didn’t even notice he’d put on one of his loafers with one of my house slippers. This wasn’t normal. After a moment’s hesitation, I grabbed my car keys and drove to his office building downtown. I hadn’t even made it to the elevator bank when the receptionist told me Liam had taken the afternoon off. His assistant had just called it in. My hand, hanging by my side, started to tremble. A wild, terrifying thought clawed its way into my mind, and the blood drained from my face. I took several deep, shaky breaths before my legs felt strong enough to carry me to the underground parking garage. It was the middle of the workday, and the garage was cool and silent. And then I heard it. A series of low, ragged breaths that cut through the quiet. “Do you have to marry him? He’s Audrey’s brother!” A man had a woman pinned against a concrete pillar, his hand tight around her neck, their bodies pressed so close they seemed to merge into one shadow. She was still smiling. “What’s wrong, Liam? Jealous? You’re the one who threw me away. It doesn’t matter who I’m with now. You don’t get a say anymore.” Isabelle’s taunts only made the storm in Liam’s eyes darken. He silenced her, his mouth crashing down on hers with pinpoint precision. The ragged breathing grew louder. The only other sounds in the vast, empty garage were my own, a choked sob I tried to swallow as I clapped a hand over my mouth. Liam was cheating on me. With Isabelle. My brother’s fiancée. How was I supposed to accept this? I don’t know how long I stood there, frozen, before the sounds stopped. When I looked again, Liam still hadn’t let her go. His voice, when he spoke, was softer than before, almost gentle. “Isabelle, I never said you couldn’t get married. But it can’t be him. It can’t be Audrey’s brother. Come on, break it off. I can set you up with someone better.” Isabelle’s eyes were red-rimmed, her body language a study in bruised pride. “Audrey is the love of your life. Even after I spent three years as your secret, you dropped me for her without a second thought. You made your choice. Stay out of mine.” Liam was not a patient man. I was the only person he ever let shout at him, the only one who could get away with sarcasm and moods. But now, it seemed Isabelle had been granted the same privilege. I watched him. He lowered his head, silent for a long moment, as if weighing an impossible decision. It wasn’t that complicated. It was her, or it was me. The moment I knew he had betrayed me, it was already over between us. But his hesitation, right here, right now—it still sent a sliver of ice through my heart. My car keys slipped from my numb fingers and clattered onto the concrete floor. I stood there, staring. And met Liam’s eyes as they snapped toward me, suddenly cold and sharp. In the next second, he shoved Isabelle away from him, his face a mask of panic I had never seen before. I snatched my keys from the ground and ran. 3 I cried the whole way. Tears streamed down my face, blurring the traffic into streaks of light. In my rearview mirror, Liam’s black Mercedes was a relentless shadow, chasing me through the city. Was he that afraid I would expose them? He was right to be. I was going to tell everyone. I was going to tell my brother. I was going to tell him he couldn’t marry Isabelle, that she didn’t love him, that we had all been played for fools. I screeched to a halt in front of the bridal shop. Inside, Ethan was still trying on tuxedos, his face glowing with a naive, unshakeable happiness. He looked startled when he saw my tear-streaked face. I opened my mouth to speak, but his phone rang. It was Isabelle. I don’t know what she said, but when he looked back at me, his expression had shifted. It was questioning, suspicious. “Audrey,” he said slowly. “Are you about to tell me that there’s something going on between Isabelle and Liam?” I didn’t have time to think. I just nodded frantically, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “Yes, Ethan! Liam’s cheating on me. Isabelle has been his secret mistress for three years. She only got close to you to get back at him.” My mind started to clear. From their conversation in the garage, I could tell. Isabelle wasn’t over Liam. And Liam… Liam was far from over her. But my brother’s reaction was not what I expected. His face remained calm, his eyes fixed on me. A terrible premonition began to form in my stomach. Just then, Liam strode into the shop, pulling Isabelle along with him. “Ethan,” Liam said, his voice smooth and reasonable. “I’m sure Miss Lin has explained everything. Audrey and I had a little argument. I happened to run into Miss Lin on my way to the office, and we were just saying hello when Audrey jumped to conclusions.” He spread his hands wide in a gesture of utter helplessness, as if I were a hysterical child. I understood immediately. He was betting on the fact that I had no proof. He was lying, twisting the truth to protect her. Isabelle pushed past me to stand in front of Ethan. Her eyes were puffy and swollen from crying. “Ethan, I know I’m not good enough for you, and that’s why your sister doesn’t like me. But she can’t just throw accusations like this at me… saying that I… that I’m with her boyfriend. Does she really think I’m that cheap, that shameless?” Her voice broke. “Maybe we should just call off the wedding. This is too much. I can’t take it!” She shot a frightened glance at me, shrinking back as if I might strike her. Seeing Isabelle so fragile and distraught, Ethan’s heart melted. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a protective embrace. Then he raised his hand. Before I could process what was happening, a sharp, stinging slap echoed through the quiet showroom. “Audrey,” he said, his voice cold as steel. “If you ever say another bad word about Isabelle, I will forget I have a sister. This is your only warning.” I was stunned. My parents had never, not once in my entire life, laid a finger on me. But my brother had just hit me. Faster than my shock, however, was Liam’s fist. It shot out, connecting squarely with Ethan’s nose. “Who the hell do you think you are,” Liam snarled, his voice a low growl, “putting your hands on the girl I’ve spent years cherishing?” A raw fury erupted from him, and he and Ethan became a tangle of limbs and curses. It ended with Ethan on the floor, hands raised in surrender. He mumbled an apology in my direction, his words thick with resentment. 4 Liam dragged me out to the car. He moved with a grim efficiency, not looking at me once after we got in. I stared out my own window, a silent, vibrating wall of anger between us. He drove until the city lights faded, pulling over on a deserted stretch of road on the outskirts of town. I thought… I hoped… I would finally get an explanation. Even a lie would have been something. Instead, he said, “Audrey, Isabelle is a good person. I’m not going to let this wedding happen, but not like this. Not by destroying her reputation.” He turned away, a flicker of discomfort on his face, and rolled down the window. He lit a cigarette with a trembling hand. I knew his every tell, every gesture, after all our years together. So, he could feel guilt after all. What was I supposed to say? Scream at him? Hit him? Join forces with him to stop my brother’s wedding? If none of this had happened, maybe I would have swallowed my pride, done whatever it took to protect Ethan. But now… I didn’t want to. “Liam,” I said, my voice flat. “We’re done.” I would stop this wedding. But I would do it my way. The hand holding the cigarette shook. The burning tip fell from his fingers onto his crisp white shirt, instantly searing a small, dark hole. I had rarely seen him so undone. He turned back to me, a look of genuine helplessness on his face. “So what do I have to do? Tell me what to do to make you forgive me.” Some things can’t be forgiven. For me, betrayal was the line. There was no coming back from it. I held his gaze, letting my contempt show. He looked down, and in a soft, pathetic voice, he told me everything. “I met Isabelle during the first big fight we ever had. She was… gentle. Kind. She had a way of calming me down. She was like a drug, Audrey. I got addicted. But I was never in love with her. I swear. The only reason I ended it for good was because she started pressuring me to break up with you.” My nails, already short, dug into my palms. I didn’t feel the pain. What he was saying was… if Isabelle had been content to be the other woman, to stay in the shadows forever… would he have kept her a secret from me for the rest of our lives? The thought arrived like a punch to the gut, turning every beautiful memory we ever shared into a sick joke. I opened the car door. “Liam, I will never forgive you. And I won’t let Isabelle get away with this.” Since she was so prepared to be a homewrecker, she should be prepared for the consequences. Liam’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. “So you’re still going after her?” So, he was still going to protect her. That day, Liam left me there. He drove away alone. I was on a deserted road, and the sky was growing dark. He never came back for me. 5 It was almost eleven at night when I finally made it back to my parents’ house. Ethan wasn’t there. I collapsed into my mother’s arms, my body wracked with sobs that seemed to tear me apart from the inside out. My parents were terrified. They wanted to call Ethan, to demand he come home. “No!” I pulled back, my hand instinctively going to my right cheek, which was already swollen and throbbing. The pain from my brother’s hand hurt far more than Liam’s betrayal. My own brother. He had believed Isabelle, a woman he’d known for less than two months, over me. When the tears finally stopped, I told them everything that had happened. My father, in a silent rage, swept an expensive porcelain tea set off the coffee table, shattering it against the floor. He immediately got on the phone and called the wedding planner. The wedding tomorrow was canceled. The news reached Ethan quickly. After settling Isabelle and her family, he stormed into the house. I was waiting for him, sitting on the sofa between our parents. The moment he saw me, he raised his hand again, his face twisted with fury. But before he could move, my father, his face a thundercloud, kicked him hard in the stomach. “Ethan! Have you lost your mind? Raising a hand to your own sister? Is that how I raised you?” Ethan had just finished calming Isabelle down after the call from the planners, only to have her start crying again, threatening to take her family and leave that night. He had spent hours apologizing and placating them. He truly hated me. Even with my mother shielding me, I could feel the daggers in his eyes. “Audrey, what did Isabelle ever do to you? Why are you so determined to destroy her?” He glared at me, his resentment deepening. “Oh, I get it. This isn’t about her. It’s about me. You’ve always had to compete with me, haven’t you? Always had to get a perfect score on every test just to make my ninety-eight look bad. You wanted everyone to think I was less than you. You wanted to steal Mom and Dad’s company right out from under me.” When you’ve been hurt enough, nothing really surprises you anymore. Two slaps echoed in the room as both my parents struck him across the face. He stumbled back, laughing a hollow, bitter laugh. “It’s because I’m the son, right? Not the daughter. So you always take her side. It was like that when we were kids, and it’s like that now. I’ve known for years.” He wiped his eyes and stared at us, his gaze hard. “Isabelle is the only woman I have ever loved, and I am marrying her tomorrow. If you want to keep me as your son, you won’t stand in my way.” After he left, my parents sat in silence for a long time. The truth is, they weren’t just taking my word for it. I had shown them the video from the parking garage. 6 My entire life, I was taught to be prepared, to always have proof. Especially for something like this. Something dirty. Something that belonged in the dark. I had intended to show the video to Ethan. But after he took Isabelle’s call, after he refused to even give me a chance to speak, I changed my mind. Let the fool wear his crown of thorns. Let Isabelle play him for everything he was worth. But then I thought of her becoming my sister-in-law. Of her enjoying everything our family had built, a smug smile on her face. And I couldn’t stomach it. And Liam. He needed to be punished for what he did to me. If my life was going to be a wreck, then I was taking everyone down with me. The wedding happened after all. But I wasn’t there.

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Liam Thorne chased me for three years. He proposed sixty-six times. The day I finally said yes, he sank to his knees and wept with joy. Everyone said I was the jewel he treasured above all else. Until I saw him holding an umbrella for his pretty underclassman in a downpour. They were kissing in the rain, lost to the world. I filmed it all, quietly, and sent it to the entire campus. Then I deleted my accounts and left the country. He searched for me like a man possessed, kneeling outside my family’s home for three days and three nights. “Forgive me,” he begged. “I just made a mistake any guy could make.” Later, I returned with a new man on my arm. He asked me, his eyes red-rimmed, “Then why did you accept my engagement ring?” I smiled, twisting the new diamond on my finger. “Oh, that?” “I threw it away.” Turns out, my mother was right all along. 1 My mother once told me that for a boy like Liam Thorne, love wasn’t about affection. It was about conquest and the thrill of the new. For a family like ours, for a girl with a face like mine, I was nothing more than a respectable, easily controlled stepping stone. The story of Ava Reed and Liam Thorne was the stuff of campus legend at King’s University. He was a Thorne heir, born with a silver spoon so firmly in his mouth it was a wonder he could speak. He was campus royalty, worshiped and feared, a reckless star no one dared to cross. I was Ava Reed. From an ordinary family, with little to my name besides a decent face and a permanent spot at the top of the Dean’s List. He pursued me with the subtlety of a flash flood. It was a campus-wide spectacle. Breakfast delivered to my door every morning, seats saved for me in crowded lecture halls, gifts piling up in my dorm room until it looked like a high-end department store. Every time I rejected him, he came back twice as hard the next day. “Come on, Ava. Just say yes,” he’d plead, blocking my path after class with that infuriating, wolfish grin. Three years. Over a thousand days. He got into fights for me. He pulled all-nighters to catch up on the coursework he’d blown off, just to impress me. For my birthday, he hijacked the campus bell tower’s digital display to scroll “Ava Reed, Marry Me” in glittering lights. Sixty-six proposals in total. For the sixty-sixth, he knelt by the fountain in Centennial Plaza, drenched to the bone, clutching a diamond ring custom-made by a Parisian master. His eyes were as red as a rabbit’s. “Ava,” he choked out. “I’ll die without you.” The crowd around us was a roaring sea of voices. “Say yes! Say yes!” In that moment, the plaza lights shattered in his eyes, reflecting a galaxy of desperation. Maybe, I thought, this is what love looks like. I finally nodded. He spun me around, laughing and crying like a child, asking again and again, “You really said yes? Ava, you’re going to be my wife!” He was genuinely happy then. And he truly did, for a time, treasure me above all else. Which is why, when our mutual friends saw the post I dropped on my private Instagram story—the high-definition video, filmed from a damningly perfect angle that captured every raindrop clinging to Liam’s eyelashes as he kissed her, followed by a series of crystal-clear screenshots—our entire world exploded. 2 It took less than a minute. My phone began to vibrate like a disturbed hornet’s nest, threatening to leap from my hand. The screen vanished under a tidal wave of notifications. “HOLY SHIT, AVA! IS THIS REAL?! Is Liam insane?! I thought he was obsessed with you!” “Ava, where are you? Pick up the phone! I need the tea, NOW!” “I always knew there was something weird with him and that Sienna girl. At every party, his eyes were glued to her!” “Ava, are you okay? Don’t cry over a scumbag like him!” “LMAO, Liam Thorne is FINISHED! This is gonna be the King’s University story of the year!” … The messages flooded in. An avalanche. The digital equivalent of sharks smelling blood in the water. I could picture them on the other end of the screen—shocked, gossiping, reveling in the drama, or draping themselves in flimsy cloaks of feigned sympathy. What a spectacle. The sincerity of their past congratulations now felt like a prelude to the biting mockery and pity of the present. I didn’t reply to a single one. I just opened my contacts, found Liam’s name, and blocked him. WhatsApp. Blocked. Every social media connection we shared, severed with a single tap. Then, I began to cleanse the space that had been built on lies. My photo gallery held thousands of pictures of us, from awkward beginnings to intimate moments. Delete all. Our chat history, filled with the goodnights and sweet nothings that once made my heart race. Clear. Every trace of him on my social media profiles. Erase. It felt like excising a tumor, one digital snapshot at a time. Cool, precise, surgical. Outside, the sky began to pale. The night’s rain had stopped, leaving the air with a clean, crisp, and utterly false scent of renewal. I zipped up my last suitcase and took one final look around the apartment, a place that had once been the backdrop for so many of my hopes and dreams. Everything in it—the furniture, the decor, even the lingering scent of his signature cedarwood cologne—was suffocating me. The phone was still buzzing relentlessly. A new, unknown number flashed on the screen. I knew who it was without having to guess. I powered the phone down, popped out the SIM card, snapped it in two, and dropped it into the trash. My eyes fell on the gaudy diamond ring sitting on the table. It felt cold to the touch. I picked it up, weighed it in my palm for a second, then tossed it into a box of scrap paper. Then, I dragged my suitcases to the door, opened it, and walked out. I didn’t look back. The elevator descended, the numbers dropping away. On the ground floor, the lobby TV was playing the morning news. The anchor’s polished voice was a world away from the silent chaos in my head. At the airport, I made my way to the international departures terminal. I handed my passport and boarding pass to the customs officer. “Ma’am, are you traveling to Berlin for tourism or…” “I’m moving there.” He stamped my passport. I was through. As I walked down the jet bridge, the city I had lived in for over twenty years—and the man I thought I would spend my life with—receded behind me. The plane ascended, and a familiar sense of weightlessness pressed down on me. I stared out the window at the city shrinking below, a miniature model in a life that was no longer mine. The storm-ravaged landscape of my heart had, strangely, fallen silent. You see, Liam. What you treasured, another could throw away like trash. And me? I no longer wanted it. 3 Life in Berlin felt like it was on fast-forward, set to an entirely different rhythm. I rented an apartment with a small balcony that caught the sun until three in the afternoon. My days were a blur of German language classes, prep courses for my master’s program, and navigating a foreign city’s streets and transit systems. I filled every waking moment, leaving no room for memories to seep in. Occasionally, during sleepless nights, I’d open a secondary, almost-abandoned social media account known only to a handful of my closest friends back home. I had blocked everyone connected to Liam. But ghosts from the past still flickered across my feed. The social circle we once shared, a pot of hot oil that had been doused with cold water, was now sizzling more violently than ever in my absence. At first, it was an overwhelming chorus of support for me and condemnation for Liam. “Where the hell did Ava go? Liam, you bastard, you drove her away!” “Sienna is such a snake. I always knew she was trouble, with that pathetic damsel-in-distress act!” “Liam Thorne is officially the biggest disgrace on campus!” … Then, the tide began to subtly turn. About two weeks after I “vanished,” a new post appeared, written by a girl from one of my classes who thrived on stirring up drama. “Unpopular opinion, but wasn’t Ava a little too harsh? Didn’t even give him a chance to explain, just nuked his reputation with a video and then skipped off to Europe to live her best life? Yeah, Liam screwed up, but it’s not like he killed someone. He’s been a complete wreck, looks like he hasn’t eaten in days.” A few comments below echoed her sentiment. “Yeah, relationships are complicated. Maybe it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing.” “The Thornes are a powerful family. Liam’s never been humiliated like this. I almost feel bad for him.” … I scrolled, my fingertips cold against the screen, a bitter laugh caught in my throat. There it was. The fickle nature of public opinion, the instinct to side with power and punch down. The same people who had put me on a pedestal were now eager to find a new angle, to showcase their own “rational” and “unbiased” perspective. A few days later, Liam seemed to have recovered from the initial shock and chaos. He began his counter-offensive. First, he used his family’s influence to scrub the video and photos from the King’s University online forum and most social media platforms. Then, he made an appearance at a mutual friend’s birthday party. Someone snapped a candid photo of him in profile: sitting in a shadowy corner, a drink in his hand, his expression dark, his jaw clenched. The caption read: “Liam Thorne is not in the mood. Approach with caution.” A brave soul commented below: “Still thinking about Ava?” He, who rarely engaged, replied personally. Three words. “She lied to me.” Even through the screen, I could feel the venom, the raw, wounded fury of a man betrayed. I lied to him? I lied through three years of his pursuit, through sixty-six proposals, through his grand declarations of love? What a fucking joke. 4 A month later, Sienna started appearing by his side. Or rather, she started appearing in photos, strategically placed by his side. At a charity gala, she wore a revealing evening gown, her arm looped possessively through his, a practiced smile on her face. At the polo club, he was pictured teaching her how to ride, his arms wrapped around her from behind in an intimate embrace. Someone even photographed them entering his downtown penthouse together late at night. The gossip blogs ran wild with sensational headlines: “Liam Thorne Heals Broken Heart with Underclassman Rebound? Ex-Fiancée Ava Reed is Yesterday’s News!” The comments section was a battlefield. “Of course. A man can’t stand to be alone for five minutes.” “This Sienna girl knows how to play the game way better than Ava. Look how she dotes on him.” “Family status matters. Ava was never going to fit into the Thorne family anyway.” “I’ll bet a hundred bucks this one doesn’t last either.” … I stared at the photos—at Liam’s blank, emotionless profile and Sienna’s triumphant smirk that practically screamed from the screen. The dead lake of my heart couldn’t even be bothered to produce a single ripple. It was all just… noise. The incessant, irritating buzz of flies. I closed the browser, shut my laptop, and picked up my German textbook. I had a three-thousand-word essay to write and a presentation to prepare for next week. I was busy. Too busy to care about the cheap drama unfolding an ocean away. 5 The call came on a new number, an international one. It was Liam’s best friend, Ethan. His voice on the other end was heavy with exhaustion and anxiety. “Ava… I finally found you. Are you… are you doing okay?” “I’m fine,” I said, my voice flat. “Listen… Liam… he’s…” He paused, searching for the right words. “He’s in a bad place. He’s drinking every day, and when he’s drunk, all he does is say your name. He’s ignoring his work at the company, his family is freaking out…” “Oh,” I cut him off. “And how is that my problem?” Ethan was taken aback. His tone shifted to one of pleading. “Ava, I know he was an asshole. I know what he did was unforgivable. But… you two were together for three years. He knows he was wrong. Can’t you just… give him a chance? Even just to meet, to talk things through?” I looked out my window at the gray-blue Berlin sky, where a few pigeons were landing on my balcony railing. “Ethan,” I said slowly. “Do me a favor and give him a message for me.” “What is it?” “Tell him to stay the hell away from me.” I hung up and blocked the number. The world was quiet again. 6 I thought the drama would eventually fade with time and distance. Then, one weekend, I was coming home from the library and saw a figure at the entrance to my apartment building. A ghost who had no business being there. Liam. He was leaning against the wall, wearing a wrinkled trench coat that was completely wrong for the weather. A few cigarette butts lay scattered at his feet. His hair was a mess, his eyes were sunken, and a dark stubble shadowed his jaw. He was so haggard and broken, he looked like a different person. His eyes lit up the moment he saw me, like a dying man spotting a lifeline. He stumbled forward, reaching for my arm. “Ava!” I took a step back, avoiding his touch, my gaze calm and steady. His hand froze in mid-air. The hope on his face shattered, replaced by a raw, painful vulnerability. “Ava… I… I finally found you…” His voice was a harsh rasp, thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I know I was wrong, I really, really know… Forgive me. Please, just forgive me this one time, okay?” I said nothing. He seemed to take my silence as encouragement, or perhaps it pushed him further into desperation. He continued, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “I was an asshole! I’m not human! I was drunk that day… I wasn’t thinking straight! The only one I love is you, Ava. It’s only ever been you!” He tried to step closer, but my icy stare pinned him in place. “Ava, don’t be like this… Look at me. Please, just look at me,” he begged. “Hit me, scream at me, do whatever you want! Just don’t ignore me… I can’t live without you…” “Are you done?” I finally spoke, my voice devoid of any warmth. He froze. “If you’re done, you can leave.” The color drained from his face, as if I’d siphoned the life right out of him. His lips trembled, and after a long moment, he managed to force out the words. “Ava… I just… I just made a mistake any guy could make…” I almost laughed out loud. The classic, shameless excuse. “So?” I raised an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to applaud you for this… universal male achievement?” “No… that’s not what I meant…” he stammered, shaking his head, a look of profound, desperate confusion in his eyes. “Ava, you were never like this… You were always so kind, so forgiving… Why have you become so… so cold?” Yes, I used to be kind. I used to be forgiving. That’s why I let him fool me for three years, like an idiot. Believing his sweet words while he was off kissing another woman in the rain. “Liam,” I said, looking straight at him, my voice clear and sharp. “Your love is filthy.” “And it disgusts me.” He recoiled as if struck by lightning, stumbling back a step, his body swaying. His eyes were wide with utter disbelief and a crushing despair. “No… that’s not true…” he muttered, then his head snapped up, his gaze turning wild as he clung to one last thread of hope. “Then why did you accept my ring?! You said yes to my proposal! Ava! You loved me, you know you did!” Ah, yes. The ring. The one I had casually tossed into a box of trash. I looked at his bloodshot, obsessive eyes and suddenly felt an immense wave of exhaustion, followed by a sharp, satisfying clarity. I slowly raised my hand. In the pale afternoon light, my fingers were long and bare. I met his gaze, and a faint, cold smile touched my lips. “Oh, that?” I paused, watching his pupils constrict in anticipation, and then I let the two words fall between us, soft and final. “I threw it away.”

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After the miscarriage, I stopped clinging to Ethan. I stopped sharing the little joys of my day, stopped caring what time he came home, or who he’d been with. So when I found a first-grade English workbook in his briefcase, I didn’t even ask. He offered an explanation anyway, his voice tight with forced patience. “It’s for Chloe’s son. He has a spelling bee coming up, and I picked him up from school. That’s all.” I just nodded. That’s when his eyes reddened, his composure finally snapping. His hands shot out, closing around my throat. “Why aren’t you fighting me about seeing Chloe?” he rasped, forcing me to look at him. “I’m your husband! Don’t you care about me at all anymore?” My face flushed, starved for air, but I managed a small, empty smile. Because you’ll never know, Ethan. In all those years you called me crazy… that was when I loved you the most. 1 The moment before my vision started to blur, he let go. I collapsed onto the sofa, gasping, my lungs burning. I was the one who had been choked, yet he was the one who looked utterly wrecked, his voice hoarse with a pain I no longer recognized. “I’m going to say this one last time. It’s over between me and Chloe.” He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. “Can you please just stop all this drama?” Drama? The word was so absurd I almost laughed. A year ago, when I was on my knees, sobbing, begging him to leave Chloe, he called it drama. Now, a year later, when I asked nothing and said nothing about them, he still called it drama. “Whatever you say.” I pushed myself up, my limbs feeling heavy. I offered him a vacant smile. “I’m going to bed.” My indifference seemed to hit him harder than any scream ever had. Ethan froze, a statue carved from disbelief. All his anger, his prepared speeches, were like punches thrown at a pillow. Useless. Later that night, he pushed open the door to the guest room. He slid into the bed behind me, wrapping his arms around me, pulling my back against his chest. The familiar scent of cedar and expensive cologne filled my senses, a scent that used to mean home. “Can we go back to how things were?” he whispered into my hair, his voice thick with a desperate, fragile hope. “Please, Ava?” Moonlight streamed through the window, tracing the anguish on his handsome face. Gently, I unclasped my watch and slid it off. I turned my arm over, exposing the ugly, twisted scar that snaked across the delicate skin of my wrist. He went rigid. I had a whole arm full of scars like that one, souvenirs from the depressive episode that nearly claimed me a few years ago. And where was Ethan then? He was busy trying to find any way possible to divorce me, to abandon me and our unborn child, so he could play the role of devoted partner to another woman and her son. So now, I smiled. I looked him right in the eye, my voice quiet but firm. “No.” We could never, ever go back. Because I could never, ever forget the feeling of my world collapsing, the moment I saw my best friend and my husband tangled together in my own kitchen. 2 This year marks the seventh anniversary of my marriage to Ethan. We’ve known each other for twenty years. College sweethearts, from the right families, the golden couple. That’s what everyone called us. I never imagined marrying anyone else. In the beginning, it was a fairytale. Until Chloe’s divorce shattered the calm. She was my best friend, my maid of honor. She’d married earlier than me, a pampered princess in her own love story. None of us saw the betrayal coming, the revelation that her mild-mannered husband was cheating. The day she found out, she sobbed in my arms for hours, and all I wanted to do was drive to her house and punch that bastard in the face. It was me who begged Ethan to let her stay with us for a while. It was me who begged Ethan to pull some strings and get her son, Leo, into a good preschool. And it was me who begged Ethan to give Chloe a job at his firm so she could get back on her feet. I remember how annoyed he was at first. He’d always found Chloe’s delicate, damsel-in-distress act grating. “All that pink and green she wears,” he’d grumble to me in private. “She looks like a goddamn Christmas ornament.” So later, after I’d gotten pregnant and quit my job, when a junior associate at his firm quietly warned me, “Ava, the way Mr. Prescott looks out for his new assistant… it seems like a little much. Someone saw them kissing in the parking garage,” my first instinct was to dismiss it as malicious gossip. The three of us had known each other for over a decade. They’d bickered for just as long, a mutual annoyance that dated back to our college days. They could barely get through a conversation without sniping at each other. Kissing? Impossible. But the warning planted a sliver of glass in my heart. I couldn’t ignore it, and I couldn’t swallow it down. So one night at dinner, I brought it up jokingly. I said it was time to find Chloe a new husband, maybe set her up on a few dates. Ethan was the first to put down his fork. His brow furrowed. “Just eat your dinner, Ava. Stop worrying about things that aren’t your business.” He added, with a dismissive wave of his hand, “It’s not like I can’t afford to take care of two women.” A cold dread washed over me. I looked at Chloe. She just stared down at her plate, refusing to meet my eyes. And that’s when I noticed it. The choicest cuts of steak in her bowl, the perfectly roasted asparagus—all put there by Ethan. He and Chloe were sitting so close, with only her little boy squeezed between them. They looked like a happy family of three. The rest of the meal was tasteless. In a fog of rising panic, I was starting to grasp the edge of the truth, still desperately unwilling to face the blade being held by the two people I trusted most in the world. 3 Throughout my pregnancy, I watched them. I watched them leave for work together and come home together. Every morning, Ethan would make Chloe a coffee, just the way she liked it, before gently knocking on her door to wake her up. In the evenings, they’d go pick up her son from school and then eat out at a restaurant. I was left at home with the housekeeper. It felt like a boulder was sitting on my chest, but I didn’t know how to speak the words, how to give voice to the suffocating dread. The days bled into one another in a haze of quiet misery. Finally, the day Ethan skipped my prenatal ultrasound to attend a parent-teacher conference for Chloe’s son, I broke. “Anyone would think Leo was your actual son,” I spat out, my voice dripping with a bitterness that choked me. I was breathing hard, a sharp, twisting pain starting in my abdomen. “What are you two doing?” My voice rose to a shriek. “What the hell are you doing to me!” I screamed, swiping everything off the dining table, my vision blurred by a flood of hot tears. Chloe started crying too, grabbing her son and fleeing to a hotel. Ethan stood on the balcony and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes. The next day, he rented an apartment for Chloe and her son. I thought the nightmare was finally over. But Ethan’s nights at the “office” got longer and longer. His voice on the phone grew colder, more distant. One evening, after waiting until dark, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I drove to Chloe’s new apartment. I just needed the truth. I had a key. I let myself in. And there they were. Chloe was perched on the kitchen counter, naked from the waist down, a long, soft sound that was something between a sob and a moan escaping her lips. Ethan was half-embracing her, his lips pressed to her hair, their bodies moving together in a sickening rhythm. I stood there for a full minute before the two lovers, lost in their world, finally noticed me. Chloe shrieked, scrambling to grab her clothes from the floor. Ethan just looked at me, his brow furrowed in annoyance. The executioner’s axe had finally fallen.

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New Year’s Eve. The night Leo left me, pregnant and shivering, on the side of the road. He was on his way to a fireworks show with his assistant. All for her. From the passenger seat, the assistant, Zoe, made a show of telling him to bring me along. Leo just glanced at me, my arms wrapped around myself against the biting wind. “Zoe’s been working so hard. I want this night to be special for her.” His voice was flat, devoid of pity. “You’re pregnant. You shouldn’t be out this late anyway. Besides,” he added, a familiar curl of contempt in his voice, “you’ve never understood things like this. This kind of romance.” His final words before driving off were, “I’m not coming home tonight. Don’t bother me and Zoe.” As his taillights disappeared, the sky behind me exploded in a million-dollar cascade of light and color—his gift to her. I stood there for a moment, the lone audience to their celebration, before I turned and started the long walk to the hospital, my hand resting on my stomach. To end the pregnancy. After this, I would never again have to beg Leo to come with me to an ultrasound. 1 I woke up in the sterile quiet of a recovery room, the distant pop-pop-pop of the fireworks echoing against the windowpane. The lights bursting across the dark sky blurred through the tears welling in my eyes. My poor, unborn child. Never even had a chance to see how beautiful they were. A young nurse came in, her face pressed to the glass. “Wow,” she sighed, her voice full of envy. “That’s the show from Axton Corp’s CEO, Leo Axton. For his new girlfriend, they said. A million dollars’ worth of fireworks. They’ve been going for five hours straight. Can you imagine anything more romantic?” Ten years together, and Leo had never once bought me a single firework. Whenever I’d mentioned it, he’d scoff. “What’s the point of something that only lasts a few minutes? It’s such a waste of money, Tessa. You’re so frivolous.” He never knew I adored them. Just like he never knew he was the one who didn’t understand romance. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart. “Professor Albright,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Last year… you offered me a spot in the conservatory program in Vienna. I’ve thought about it. I want to go.” His voice on the other end was electric with excitement. “Tessa! It’s about time! With your talent, you should have been one of the greats by now!” “It’s a shame…” he trailed off. A shame. Yes, it was. A shame that I had given up the piano for Leo. Given up my life to be a stay-at-home wife, my fingers gathering dust instead of dancing across ivory keys. I never imagined that the marriage I sacrificed everything for would bring me nothing but one wound after another. After a week of recovery in the hospital, I was discharged. I walked into our cold, silent house to find Leo there, a rare sight. Between his long days at the office and his longer nights with Zoe, he’d become a ghost in his own home. He saw me and let out a short, irritated scoff. “So you finally decide to come home. You throw a tantrum and run off just because I spent New Year’s with Zoe.” He crossed his arms. “Were you waiting for me to call and beg you to come back?” I looked at him, my voice flat. “No. I was in the hospital.” He froze for a second, his bravado faltering. Then, anger flared in his eyes. “And you didn’t tell me?” It was true. In the past, even when he ignored my texts for days, I would send him a full itinerary of my every move. A pathetic attempt to stay on his radar. I met his gaze without flinching. “I forgot.” My indifference seemed to enrage him more than any argument ever had. “Is this really just because I didn’t spend New Year’s with you? I’ve spent so many with you, Tessa. This was the one time I was with Zoe.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Leo, we have never spent a single New Year’s Eve together.” First, the excuse was that his startup was too demanding. Then, it was parties with friends and clients, leaving me to wait alone by the window for his car to pull into the driveway. He’d forgotten. He had actually forgotten that he had never, not once, chosen to be with me when the clock struck midnight. A flicker of memory, then guilt, crossed his face. He pulled me into an awkward hug. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into my hair. “You’re right. I’m sorry. After the baby is born, I promise. Every New Year’s Eve, it will be just us.” Ten years I’d waited for that promise. Now, it was just an empty sound. I pulled away without a word and walked to the music room, needing to feel the familiar weight of the keys under my fingers. But the room was a disaster. And my piano… my piano was destroyed. It was the piano my mother had bought me with her entire life’s savings before she passed. It was the most important thing I owned. Leo followed me in, his tone casual, dismissive. “Oh, that. Zoe was playing around on it the other day. Guess she broke it by accident.” One look told me it was no accident. The polished wood was gouged, the lid cracked. This was deliberate. Leo knew what this piano meant to me. He knew I’d fly into a rage if anyone so much as touched it without my permission. Seeing my face darken, he sneered. “It’s just a damn piano, Tessa. Zoe broke it, I’ll buy you a new one. Is it really worth getting this worked up about?” I lifted the fallboard. The keys were chipped and stained, pitted as if someone had taken a hammer to them. And lying across the mangled ivory was a scrap of pink lace and ribbon. A thong. Leo lunged, snatching it away. “Zoe must have left it here,” he said, his eyes darting away from mine. “It’s not what you think. Nothing happened.” But I knew. The placement, the desecration. They had used my mother’s piano—my sanctuary—for that. A wave of nausea washed over me. Sensing my revulsion, a flicker of guilt finally broke through his anger. He took my hand, trying to change the subject. “Tessa, come on. Let’s get you to your appointment. I’ll go with you to the ultrasound today.” He forgot. He forgot I had just come from the hospital. He never even asked what I was doing there for a week. This was the first time he had ever offered to come with me. Every other time, I had pleaded, and he had always refused, citing work, calling me selfish and needy for trying to distract him from his responsibilities. All I had ever wanted was what every other woman in the waiting room had: a husband by her side. Just once. Now the baby was gone. I no longer needed him. Leo placed a hand on my stomach, a frown creasing his brow. “You’ve lost weight. That’s not good for the baby. I’ll hire a nutritionist, get you some healthy meals.” I shook my head, my voice quiet but firm. “Leo, don’t bother.” “The baby is…” Before I could finish, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and immediately walked out of the room to take the call. When he returned, his expression was already distant. “An emergency at the office,” he said, the lie worn and familiar. “You’ll have to go to the appointment by yourself this time.” It was always Zoe. Any call from her was an emergency. I had tried to fight it in the past, tried to make him stay. It only ever made him resent me more. Suddenly, a sharp, twisting pain shot through my abdomen—an aftershock from the procedure. I doubled over, clutching my stomach. Leo’s brow furrowed in irritation, not concern. “Tessa, can you stop with the dramatics? Do you really think that just because you’re pregnant, I have to drop everything and revolve around you?” He turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him. I fumbled in my purse for the painkillers the doctor had prescribed, swallowed them with a dry throat, and collapsed onto the bed. When I woke up, I scrolled through my phone. A new post from Zoe popped up on my feed. My boss is the absolute best~ Got my period and the cramps were killing me, and he dropped everything to come take care of me~ I let out a hollow laugh. In Leo’s world, his assistant’s period cramps were an emergency. His wife’s pregnancy was a nuisance. A moment later, my phone rang. It was him. For a foolish second, I thought it might be a flicker of concern. “Tessa,” he said, his voice urgent and annoyed. “What brand of pads do you use?” The question hit me like a physical blow. “Zoe, the idiot, forgot to buy any.” I thought back to a time years ago, when my period had come unexpectedly. I was wearing white pants, and a large, crimson stain had blossomed on the fabric. I was mortified, stranded at a cafe without any supplies. I had called Leo, begging him to run to the drugstore across the street. “You’re asking me, a man, to buy you pads?” he had hissed into the phone, his voice laced with disgust. “How humiliating is that? What if someone sees me?” But now, for Zoe, there was no disgust. Only concern. “And is it normal for cramps to be this bad?” he continued, his voice a frantic buzz in my ear. “She looks like she’s in so much pain. What can I do to help? Should I buy her medicine? Or make her one of those brown sugar drinks? Does she need a heating pad? What about…” He was terrified of letting Zoe feel an ounce of discomfort. He had never, not even once since I’d gotten pregnant, shown me this level of care. The love I thought we’d had felt like a pathetic joke. “Have you ever heard of Google?” I asked, my voice dripping with ice. I hung up before he could answer. The next morning, he called again, his voice simmering with rage. “Tessa, you’ve got a lot of nerve hanging up on me. But I’ll give you one chance to make it up. Get over to Zoe’s place and cook for her. If you do, I’ll forgive you.” He paused, then added, “Oh, and she loves your honey-glazed short ribs. Make sure you make those.” The breath caught in my throat. A sharp, physical pain lanced through my chest. I finally understood. For the past year, there was a period where Leo suddenly started loving the lunches I packed for him. He was especially ravenous for the short ribs. I thought I had finally found a way to his heart through his stomach. I spent hours perfecting the recipe, my hands calloused and dotted with burns from the splashing oil, all because I thought it was his favorite. It was never his favorite. It was hers. He was just taking my food to her. I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. “Leo, you could hire any chef in the city who could cook better than I can. Why does it have to be me?” His voice became a command. “Zoe said she wants yours. You will be there today. End of discussion.” He hung up. I walked to Zoe’s apartment with a single file folder in my purse. Some things between Leo and me needed to end. Today. Zoe opened the door, a picture of faux humility. “Oh, Tessa, hi! I feel so bad. I just had a craving for your short ribs, and Leo insisted on calling you, even though I told him the cooking fumes can’t be good for the baby with you being pregnant and all.” Her voice was laced with the triumph of being his chosen one. I was no longer his wife; I was their caterer. Ignoring her, I walked past her to where Leo was sitting on the couch and placed the folder on the coffee table. “Sign this,” I said, my voice even. “And I’ll cook.” He didn’t even glance at the document. He just scrawled his name on the signature line. “Aren’t you afraid it’s our divorce papers?” I asked. He let out a derisive laugh. “And so what if it is? Is that more important than making Zoe happy? Besides,” he said, looking me up and down with disdain, “you’re pregnant. You wouldn’t dare divorce me. Who else would want you?” His casual cruelty sealed something inside me. I said nothing more and walked into the kitchen. This would be the last meal I ever cooked for him. There was a time he loved my cooking. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when that love had curdled into annoyance. As I worked, the sound of their laughter drifted in from the living room, each peal grating against my nerves. By the time the meal was ready, my body ached with a bone-deep exhaustion. I felt dizzy, my vision tunneling. Leo looked at me, not with concern, but with contempt. “You’re going to faint from making one meal? Pregnancy has made you so fragile. Zoe has cramps and still goes to the office every day without a word of complaint. You sit at home all day. You have no idea what real work is.” It wouldn’t matter what I did. In his eyes, there was only Zoe. She came over, placing a hand on my arm in a cloying gesture of support. “Tessa, you must be exhausted. Thank you so much. Oh, your shirt is dirty. Let me take you to my room so you can change into something fresh.” She led me into her bedroom. The floor was littered with more than a dozen used condom wrappers. Zoe blushed prettily. “Oops. My boyfriend is just a little… intense.” She gave me a sly, pitying look. “Is Leo that wild with you, too?” My face went cold. So this was the real reason she brought me in here. This was her trophy room. I had always believed Leo when he said he was too tired from work. The truth was, he was never too tired. He just didn’t want me. Every time I tried to initiate anything, he would call me disgusting. Our baby had been the result of a single, drunken accident. I looked at the mess on the floor and gave her a cold smile. “At that frequency, you might want to worry if your boyfriend will have anything left in a few years.” The color drained from her face. Back at the dining table, Leo was fawning over her, piling food onto her plate. “Here, Zoe, eat up.” She giggled, batting her eyelashes at him. “Oh, Leo, you spoil me! You’re the best boss in the world!” Then, she turned to me, scooping a large spoonful of crab roe into my bowl. “Thank you again for cooking for me today, Tessa.” I stared at the bowl, my chopsticks frozen in my hand. Zoe’s face crumpled into a mask of hurt. “Did… did I do something to upset you, Tessa? Why aren’t you eating?” Leo’s face darkened. He stood up and slapped me, hard, across the face. “Tessa, don’t push your luck.” Before I could react, he grabbed the back of my head and forced my face down into the bowl, shoving the crab roe into my mouth. I couldn’t even struggle. By the time he let go, an intense itching had already started, and angry red welts were erupting across my skin. Years ago, Leo had promised me, sworn to me, that he would always remember my severe shellfish allergy. He promised he would never let me near it. Now, he was the one forcing it down my throat. Zoe, who had been smiling a moment before, recoiled in theatrical horror. “Leo! Look at her! That’s so gross! Does she have some kind of disease?” Leo saw the hives covering my face and neck and dragged me to my feet, his face a mask of revulsion. He shoved me out the apartment door. “You’re disgusting, Tessa.” He kicked me away from the door. “Don’t get her place dirty.” I grabbed at his pant leg, my throat closing, each breath a desperate gasp. “Leo,” I rasped, “call an ambulance. Please.” The only answer was the sound of the door clicking shut. Luckily, a neighbor saw me and called 911. Later, as I was waiting at the hospital pharmacy to pick up my prescription, I saw them. Leo and Zoe. Leo shot me a look of pure annoyance. Zoe, clinging to his arm, smirked at me. “I told Leo it was just a tiny cut, but he insisted on bringing me to the ER to get it bandaged. He was so worried it would get infected.” Leo stroked her hair, his voice dripping with concern. “That wasn’t a tiny cut, it was bleeding.” My own bleeding, the bleeding he’d never seen from the life I’d lost, didn’t even register to him. He turned his attention back to me, his voice sharp. “It’s just an allergic reaction. Are you still here?” Thank god he didn’t know I’d had an abortion. I couldn’t imagine what he would have done. As if granting a great charity, he sighed. “Fine. I’ll wait and take you to your ultrasound check-up.” He walked off to the registration desk without waiting for my reply. Zoe leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper. “He’s so good to you, isn’t he? But if he were really so good to you, would he have spent New Year’s watching fireworks with me? Would he be living at my place?” She smiled, a slow, cruel curving of her lips. “You can’t win, Tessa. He loves me now. You’re just the old, pregnant hag he’s tired of. He even told me,” she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush, “that the stretch marks on your stomach were ugly. That they made him sick just looking at them.” My mind went blank. The marks that he found so disgusting were the only proof my child had ever existed in this world. Zoe gave me a triumphant little smile, then suddenly slapped herself, twice, hard across the face. She burst into tears just as Leo was walking back. “Tessa, please! I swear I didn’t seduce Leo! Please don’t hit me!” she sobbed. “I’ll stay away from him from now on, I promise! I won’t get in your way!” Leo saw her red cheeks and his face contorted with a rage so pure it was terrifying. He stared at me, his voice a low growl. “Tessa, is this how you bully Zoe the second I turn my back?” He took a step forward and kicked me, hard, in the stomach.

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I came home a day early from a year-long work assignment, eager to surprise my husband and our three-year-old son. But when I pushed open the door, the surprise was mine. I saw my son on all fours, scuttling across the hardwood floor like an animal, gnawing on a piece of raw meat. My husband, Liam, was holding up his phone, broadcasting it all on a private, encrypted live stream. “He can catch a live chicken with his bare hands now!” Liam narrated with a showman’s grin. “Come on, viewers, let’s see those donations light up the screen!” A scream tore from my throat as I lunged for my child, but Liam shoved me back, hard. His old flame, Chloe, who was perched beside him, offered a sickeningly sweet piece of advice. “Ava, honey, don’t be mad at Liam,” she cooed. “This is for Leo’s own good. We’re teaching him real-world survival skills. That’s invaluable, isn’t it?” Liam wrapped an arm around her waist, his smile turning into a sneer directed at me. “Chloe is a professional survivalist. Our son is better off learning from her than from a mother who’s gone half the year.” Chloe added, her voice a soft poison, “Kids today are just so coddled. This is character-building.” I looked at my son’s eyes—eyes that held nothing but a feral glint—and with a cold resolve, I dialed my brother’s number. My brother, the Green Beret. “Rhys,” I said, my voice shaking with rage. “They’re turning your nephew into a beast for a livestream. Get your guys. Come get us.” Fine. If they worship the law of the jungle, I’ll let them experience what it’s like to be at the bottom of the food chain. 1 The moment I hung up, Liam snatched the phone from my hand and smashed it against the floor. “Are you insane? What the hell was that?” he hissed, his face a mask of fury. “Your precious brother died three years ago! Who did you think you were calling to save you?” I didn’t tell him that my brother, the one he thought was killed in action, was actually commanding an elite Special Forces unit from a black site deep in the borderlands. Seeing my silence, Liam scoffed. “Everything I do is for our son’s benefit! Look at Leo—he’s strong, he’s tough. This is how you build resilience!” Beside him, Chloe chimed in with her false sincerity. “He’s right, Ava. Everyone is talking about ‘primal parenting’ now. If you’re not hard on them, the world will eat them alive.” She preened, continuing her pitch. “And the stream is for his future, too. It’s building his brand. Leo has hundreds of thousands of followers already. He’s an influencer, on track to be the next Bear Grylls! You have to trust my professional expertise.” I ignored their twisted logic. My gaze found my son cowering in the corner, and I softened my voice. “Leo? Look at Mommy. Mommy’s home.” But the child only crouched lower, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He didn’t respond to his name. His eyes were bloodshot, wild. Yet, as they met mine, for just a fraction of a second, a flicker of something gentle, something familiar, pierced through the feral madness. That flicker instantly reminded me of a horrific video I’d stumbled upon online months ago, a viral clip titled The Wolf Cub. It showed a naked, filth-caked child fighting with stray dogs in the mud over a scrap of meat. The brutality of it was seared into my memory. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I pointed a trembling finger at them. “For his own good? Primal parenting? That viral video… The Wolf Cub… that’s Leo, isn’t it?” Chloe’s eyes lit up with a disturbing pride. “Oh, you saw that? I knew he was getting famous! The engagement on that clip was incredible!” She turned to Liam, shaking his arm excitedly. “See, Liam? I told you! At this rate, he’ll hit a million followers by the end of the year!” Liam pulled her closer, his eyes soft with adoration. “It’s all thanks to you, Chloe. Leaving Leo’s education in your hands was the best decision I ever made.” Something inside me shattered. “You monsters!” I grabbed a heavy glass vase and lunged at Chloe, aiming for her face. The moment the vase left my hand, a blinding pain exploded in my abdomen. Liam had kicked me, sending me crashing to the floor. The impact felt like my organs had been rearranged. Chloe, clutching a shallow cut on her cheek, burst into theatrical tears. “Liam, why can’t she see we’re trying to help? We’re doing this for Leo’s future!” Liam’s gaze fell on the trickle of blood on Chloe’s face, and his expression turned murderous. He kicked me again, a brutal, full-force blow that made me curl into a ball, gasping for air. “You ungrateful bitch, Ava! Chloe has poured her heart and soul into making our son strong, and this is how you repay her?” Suddenly, a furious snarl erupted from the corner. Leo, my little boy, launched himself across the room and sank his teeth into Liam’s leg. “Agh! You little animal!” Liam roared in pain. He grabbed Leo by the arm and flung him against the wall with sickening force. “LEO!” A terror I’d never known ripped through me. I scrambled across the floor, ignoring the fire in my ribs, and threw my body over my son’s small, trembling form. The livestream was still running. The comment section scrolled at a frantic pace: “HOLY SHIT! Plot twist! The cub protects his mom!” “We got blood! This is what I’m talking about! So raw!” “Donations coming in! This is the content I paid for!” “Yeah! It’s not primal training without a little blood!” Chloe saw the comments and the soaring viewer count, her eyes gleaming with a manic light. “Liam, look! It’s a new record! They love it!” she squealed. “We should strike while the iron is hot. Let’s add a bonus stream: ‘Wolf Cub vs. The Hunger Hound.’ It’ll break the internet!” The chat exploded with “YES!”, “DO IT!”, and “LET’S GOOOO!” “No! Liam! Chloe! Please, I’m begging you! Don’t do this!” I sobbed, clutching Leo tighter. The numbers on the screen had made Liam’s eyes feverish. He loomed over me, his voice dripping with cold contempt. “A soft mother makes a weak son. Open your eyes and see the incredible results of my methods.” In the corner, Leo’s little body was wracked with uncontrollable tremors, his eyes wide with pure terror. Liam barked an order toward the door. “Get in here!” Two large men, security guards, entered the room. “Take the young master to the training area,” Liam commanded. “NO! Don’t you touch my child!” I screamed, trying to shield him. The guards ripped me away, pinning me down as one of them lifted Leo into the air like a sack of potatoes. Leo kicked and writhed, terrified whimpers escaping his throat. “Let him go! You’re not human, Liam! And you, Chloe, you venomous snake! You’ll both pay for this!” I was slammed against the wall, held fast by two sets of hands, able to do nothing but scream curses. Liam’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Gag her,” he said to the guards. “I don’t want her noise ruining the stream or upsetting Chloe.” A filthy rag was shoved into my mouth. My protests turned into muffled, agonized sobs, tears streaming down my face. One guard carried Leo to a large iron cage in the center of the room and tossed him inside. Leo landed hard with a cry of pain and immediately scrambled into the farthest corner. Chloe clapped her hands, her face alight with excitement. “And now, for tonight’s main event! ‘Wolf Cub vs. The Hunger Hound!’” Another guard entered, leading a snarling, emaciated-looking dog on a thick chain. The livestream chat went into a frenzy. “Here we go! The ultimate showdown!” “Place your bets! I’m putting $100 on the dog!” “Nah, I’m with the cub! Did you see him bite his dad?” “Rocket donation sent! Let’s get this show on the road!” Chloe, watching the donations pour in, announced in a high-pitched, carnival-barker voice, “Alright, family! The moment you’ve been waiting for! The odds are open! On the left, ‘Wolf Cub’ at 1.5. On the right, ‘The Hound’ at 1.8! Get those gifts in to support your champion!” A guard unlocked the cage, shoved the dog inside, and slammed the heavy door shut. In the confined space, the dog fixed its eyes on Leo, a predatory growl vibrating in its chest as it advanced. Leo was shaking from head to toe, but pure survival instinct took over. He dropped to all fours, bared his teeth, and let out a surprisingly ferocious roar of his own. “That’s it! Get him!” Chloe cheered from outside the cage. The starved dog lunged. Leo dodged, rolling to the side with an agility that spoke of horrifying practice. This was not his first time playing this “game.” A brutal dance of predator and prey began inside the cage. It was a scene from hell. The livestream was a chaotic blur of gift animations and donations that almost completely obscured the screen. The comments were scrolling too fast to read. “YES! So wild!” “Go for the throat! DO IT!” “This is way better than a dogfight!” “Take my money! This is epic!” My mouth was gagged, my body restrained, my heart shattering as I watched. My son. My baby, who should be in preschool learning his ABCs, was fighting for his life against a vicious animal in a cage. And I could do nothing but watch. I thrashed against the guards, slamming my body into them with all my might, a desperate, hopeless sound trapped in my throat as tears blurred my vision. Liam watched the revenue counter on the stream climb, a satisfied smile on his face. He showed no sign of recognizing the child in the cage as his own flesh and blood. Chloe was on her feet, giving a giddy, play-by-play commentary. The moment the dog’s jaws clamped down on Leo’s calf, his shriek of agony broke through my despair. A surge of adrenaline, of pure maternal fury, gave me impossible strength. I ripped free from the guards’ hold. Liam’s eyes darkened. “She wants to be with her son so badly?” he sneered at the guards. “Let her. Maybe she can help our little champion.” The guards obeyed instantly. One of them opened the cage door and kicked me viciously in the back, sending me sprawling inside. I landed hard, and the dog’s attention immediately shifted to me. It bared its teeth, saliva dripping from its jaws, and stalked toward me. It lunged, aiming for my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the tearing pain. It never came. I heard a pained yelp from the dog, not me. My eyes flew open. Leo, my tiny, wounded son, had thrown himself onto the dog’s back, sinking his teeth deep into its neck. The animal thrashed wildly, its sharp claws raking bloody lines across Leo’s body. Seeing my son covered in blood, a primal power exploded within me. My vision went red. I scrambled up from the floor, my fists clenched, and brought them down on the dog’s head with every ounce of strength I possessed. Once. Twice. The dog went limp, collapsing to the floor in a twitching heap. My knuckles were raw, my arms splattered with blood—I didn’t know if it was the dog’s or my own. I was panting, gasping for air as I pulled Leo into my arms, holding him tight. He trembled violently. He lifted his small face, streaked with blood and tears, and his lips moved, trying to form the word ‘Mama.’ But after so long being trained to be an animal, the ability to speak was gone. All he could produce were pained whimpers and grunts. In that moment, my heart wasn’t just broken; it was annihilated. Outside the cage, Chloe was applauding. “What a touching display of maternal love!” she chirped. “I think having Ava join the streams will be great for ratings!” Liam put his arm around her. “You’re right, Chloe. Since she’s so bad at raising a child, she can be re-educated right along with him.” The livestream chat was a mix of people complaining about losing their bets and others cheering the dramatic turn of events. But one comment stood out: “This is too much. That’s his wife and kid…” Liam saw it, and his brow furrowed. A flicker of doubt crossed his face. Chloe, ever perceptive, caught it immediately. She snuggled into his side, her voice returning to its soft, manipulative tone. “You know, Liam, maybe the training was a little intense today. We have to be scientific about this. Why don’t we let them rest for now?” Looking at her, so seemingly thoughtful and caring, the last ember of Liam’s conscience was extinguished. He looked back at me in the cage, his expression hardening into pure disgust. “See? Chloe knows what she’s doing. She understands the science behind it. If you’d been a better mother, none of this would be necessary.” With that, he ended the stream. He ordered a guard to toss a cheap first-aid kit, a bottle of water, and some bread into the cage, then he turned and left, his arm securely around Chloe, without a single backward glance. I held my trembling son, my own heart bleeding as I used the crude supplies to clean his wounds. I don’t know how much time passed as I rocked Leo, trying to give him some sense of safety. Then, I heard footsteps. Chloe had returned, alone. She stood outside the cage, the mask of sweet concern gone, replaced by a look of undisguised, triumphant malice. She looked down on me as if I were dirt beneath her shoe. “Ava,” she began, her voice dripping with venom, “I want you to know something. I’m going to train your son until he’s nothing more than a feral animal who crawls and howls, a tool to make me rich and famous.” I stared up at her, my eyes burning with hatred. Her smile widened. “And soon enough, you’ll be just like him. A broken thing. A pet, begging for scraps at my feet.” “Why?” I rasped. “Why are you doing this?” I must have hit a nerve. Her face twisted into a mask of pure rage. “Why? Because of you! You and that little bastard! You stole my place as Mrs. Donovan! He stole the place of the rightful heir—my future child!” She laughed, a hysterical, unhinged sound. Leaning down, she pressed her face close to the bars. “Just wait. Tomorrow, you’ll get a front-row seat to see all the wonderful new skills your son has learned.” Chloe walked away, her laughter echoing in the cavernous room. I pulled Leo closer. He wrapped his small arms around me, as if trying to transfer his own tiny spark of strength to me. I had no idea what new hell tomorrow would bring. I could only pray, over and over, a silent mantra in the dark. Rhys, hurry. Please, be fast. Leo finally cried himself to sleep in my arms. It was a fitful, troubled sleep, punctuated by whimpers and sudden jerks. I stroked his hair, my heart aching as I looked at the tear tracks on his dirty face. I didn’t sleep. Early the next morning, the cage door was thrown open. Several guards stormed in, forcefully separating me from Leo. He let out a sharp, animalistic cry, reaching for me as they dragged him away. I fought with everything I had, but they pinned me down easily. A large television screen outside the cage flickered to life, showing a live feed. The image was of Leo, a chain around his neck, being led by Chloe through a public park. He was naked, filthy, walking on all fours like a dog. His eyes were wide with confusion and fear. People stared, pointed, and pulled out their phones to record the horrific spectacle. “What are you looking at?” Chloe snapped at the camera, as if addressing the gawking strangers. “This is a new educational philosophy—re-wilding! We’re helping him connect with his natural instincts! You people just don’t get it!” The scene changed. Leo was now in a more wooded area, skillfully climbing a tree to pick at some unfamiliar berries. Moments later, he was being herded toward a dumpster, forced to scavenge for food amidst rotting garbage. Chloe and Liam provided commentary, praising his “precious survival skills.” Occasionally, a concerned bystander would intervene. “How can you treat a child like that? That’s abuse!” Liam would step forward, wrapping a protective arm around Chloe, and rebut them with sanctimonious pride. “This is our educational philosophy! Primal parenting! Don’t criticize what you don’t understand. Look how strong my son is! How agile! Can your kid do that?” I watched the screen, watching my son stripped of his humanity, and my tears finally ran dry. All that was left was a hollow cavern in my chest, filled with blood and hate. The memories came flooding back, sharp and painful. When I was pregnant, Liam had been so excited. He would press his ear to my belly to listen for movement. He’d been as giddy as a child the first time Leo kicked him. When Leo was born, he held the tiny bundle with trembling hands, his eyes red with emotion, and swore he would give us the world. Back then, his world was me and our son. He was gentle, attentive, perfect. Everything changed when Chloe, his high school sweetheart, came back to town. He started finding fault in everything I did. He started parroting her twisted theories about modern children being “too soft” and needing “primal training.” And I was so stupid. So trusting. I thought it was just a phase, a misguided educational philosophy. I believed that deep down, he still loved his son. I even took his advice and accepted the long-term overseas project, thinking the distance might help us cool down and reconnect… How could I have been so blind? I had personally walked my son into the hell these two monsters created. I hated Chloe for her venom, but I hated Liam more for his betrayal and cruelty. Most of all, I hated myself. It was my failure to see the truth, my lack of vigilance, my absence, that had allowed this to happen. Guilt and fury were devouring me whole. I watched the screen and beat my fists against the bars of my cage. Rhys, please, save us! Just then, the image on the screen shook violently. Liam was raising a whip, but his arm was stopped mid-air, caught in the iron grip of a large hand wearing a tactical glove. The feed cut to black. Less than thirty seconds later, the front door of the villa didn’t open—it exploded inward. Dozens of heavily armed, black-clad soldiers stormed the room. “Hands where I can see them! Now!”

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It was two in the morning, and my phone was having a seizure. I finally fumbled for it on my nightstand, the screen a blinding white in the darkness. Mrs. Wallace. Of course. “Ava,” she slurred, her voice thick with what sounded like wine and entitlement. “The thermostat in the rendering. It’s set to 24 degrees Celsius. The numerology is all wrong. Bad energy. Make it 26.” For a second, my sleep-fogged brain struggled to connect. Then it clicked. The full-home design commission. I forced my eyes open, the grit in them almost audible. “Of course, Mrs. Wallace. I’ll make that change first thing in the morning.” Ten minutes later, a FaceTime request lit up the room. I let it ring. It stopped, then immediately started again. I sighed and accepted. Her face, slick with some expensive night cream, filled the screen. “The entryway,” she commanded, pointing a manicured finger somewhere off-screen. “The shoes you placed by the door. I would never wear those. Fix it.” I mumbled an incoherent agreement. A few minutes passed. Another FaceTime call. “The windowsill,” she snapped. “The planter is white. My husband prefers blue. A cobalt blue. And the pattern on it needs to be symmetrical.” I fought the primal urge to hang up. “Mrs. Wallace,” I said, my voice strained with forced patience, “these are just placeholder details for the initial rendering. You’ll be able to arrange the decor however you like once the renovation is complete.” I thought that was the end of it. I was wrong. Just as I was drifting back to sleep, a sound ripped through the quiet of my apartment. BAM. BAM. BAM. Someone was pounding on my door. 1 All traces of sleep vanished, replaced by a surge of adrenaline. I crept out of bed and peered through the peephole. My blood ran cold. It was her. Sharon Wallace. I unlatched the door, and before I could even process the shock, she was towering over me, radiating fury. “From 2:00 AM to 4:43 AM, I initiated 132 video calls. Why didn’t you answer?” The sheer audacity of the question left me speechless. “Don’t you dare use ‘I was sleeping’ as an excuse,” she sneered. “Your job is to be on call. 24/7.” I glanced at my phone. The call log was a solid, unrelenting block of her name. A hundred and thirty-two calls. Then driving across the city to hammer on my door. The dam of my professionalism broke. “I am not obligated to answer your calls in the middle of the night, Mrs. Wallace. That is my personal time.” Her face contorted. “Personal time?” she screeched. “The client isn’t resting, so what gives you the right to rest?” She pushed past me into my apartment. “Now, open your laptop and make these changes exactly as I say.” She began rattling off a list. “One, the desk mouse is wired. I use a wireless mouse. Change it. Two, turn off that accent lighting in the living room. Are you trying to run up my electricity bill? Three, the fruit bowl on the coffee table. Pears? Pears are for farewells. Are you trying to jinx my marriage? Change them to pomegranates. For abundance.” She finally paused, glaring at me. “You have ten minutes. Send it to me for review.” That was it. I was done. “You are my client,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You do not have the right to give me orders, and you certainly do not have the right to show up at my home and pound on my door.” In all my years working my way up in my family’s business, I’d seen my share of difficult clients. But this level of aggressive, unhinged entitlement was new. “Are you leaving now, or should I wait for the police to escort you out?” I raised my phone, my thumb hovering over the 9-1-1 shortcut. She let out a string of curses and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. I thought the harassment would end there. The next day, I went into the office early to revise her files. The moment I opened the design software, a video call came through from her. “Well, look who’s alive,” she chirped. “I told you to make those changes at five this morning. What have you been doing?” Before I could answer, she cut me off. “I’m going to watch you work. Go on. Faster!” I clenched my jaw. I am the daughter of the CEO of this entire corporation. The only reason I was here, hiding my identity and taking this abuse, was to understand the company from the ground up. On my screen, Sharon Wallace was lounging on a plush sofa, a green mask on her face, pointing at the design. “The plant in the living room. The third leaf from the top has a spot on it. Get rid of it.” I said nothing, but my internal monologue was a stream of pure venom. “And white flowers in the entryway? Are you trying to curse me? Change them to roses!” I took a deep breath and swapped the lilies for roses. Then we got to the master bedroom. Her eyes narrowed. She pointed a trembling finger at the pillows on the king-sized bed. “You bitch, Ava!” she screamed. “You want my husband and me to break up so you can crawl into his bed, don’t you!” My patience snapped. “And what evidence do you have for that insane accusation?” “Evidence? The pillows! They’re green, and they’re so far apart! What kind of sick game are you playing? I see right through you!” I slammed my mouse down on the desk. “My sick game? You’re the one who requested a sage green linen set! You’re the one who said a wider spacing on the pillows looked more ‘aesthetically pleasing’ for a California king! Have you lost your mind, Sharon?” I ended the call and silenced my phone. The world was finally, blessedly quiet. The quiet lasted less than five minutes. My supervisor, Mr. Davies, burst into the office, his face a thundercloud. He marched straight to my desk. “Ava, who the hell gave you the nerve to upset Mrs. Wallace?” he boomed. “You will call her, on video, and apologize immediately. Or you can pack your things and get out.” Apologize? I hadn’t done anything wrong. I suppressed my rage, pulled up the security footage from my apartment building’s hallway, and showed him the log of 132 missed calls. “Sharon Wallace harassed me all night, and when I didn’t answer, she showed up at my apartment and tried to break down my door,” I explained calmly. “Just now, she accused me of trying to sleep with her husband. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s her.” Smack. Davies slapped his hand on my desk, the veins in his forehead bulging. “If you want to keep your job, you will apologize. Now. Otherwise, you’re fired.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a hiss. “And your final paycheck? That five thousand dollars goes straight to Mrs. Wallace as compensation for your attitude.” Every word was a command. I felt my composure cracking. I looked him dead in the eye. “Dream on.” A cold, ugly smile spread across his face. “You’re forcing my hand, Ava.” He turned and raised his voice to address the entire office. “Listen up, everyone! Since Ava refuses to take responsibility for her actions, the whole department will pay the price! For every hour she refuses to apologize, five hundred dollars will be deducted from each of your paychecks!” The room erupted in groans and angry murmurs. “Just say you’re sorry, Ava,” someone whined. “It’s not a big deal. Don’t make us all suffer for it.” Greg, from two desks over, shot to his feet. “You want to be a martyr? Fine. But don’t drag us down with you. Some of us have mortgages to pay!” Then Quinn, who sat next to me, the one I’d always considered a friend, stood up. “Guys, don’t be too hard on Ava,” she said in a placating tone. “She just… only ever thinks about herself.” She looked at me with pity. “She’s not trying to get us all fined. She’s just petty like that.” Her words were a slap in the face. I laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. “Quinn, if I recall correctly, you only got this job because my family pulled some strings, didn’t you?” Her face went pale. “I have the power to get you in here, and I have the power to get you thrown out.” She sank back into her chair, her head bowed. I looked around at the faces of my colleagues, the people I’d covered shifts for, helped with deadlines, brought coffee for. The people now glaring at me as if I were the enemy. My heart turned to ice. In front of everyone, I ripped my employee ID from its lanyard and tossed it on the desk. If the choice was between screwing over my colleagues and screwing over myself, I’d rather go back to corporate headquarters. Back to the position my father had waiting for me. “I quit.” Davies strode over, a smug look on his face. “Ava, Ava, Ava,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “A girl like you, with no connections, no special talent. Who’s going to hire you after you leave us? This firm has been good to you. Out there? You won’t even be able to afford rent.” I had lost all patience. I turned and walked toward the door. Let someone else have this godforsaken job. Just as my hand touched the handle, my phone rang. It was the corporate Compliance Department. “Ms. Scott?” a stern voice said. “Per the request of your client, Mrs. Sharon Wallace, you are required to complete her design draft as specified. Failure to do so will result in a breach of contract, and you will be liable for a penalty of two hundred thousand dollars.” I laughed in disbelief. “She’s the one making baseless demands, and you’re siding with her without even investigating?” It seemed the entire department needed a complete overhaul. I was about to hang up when the voice on the other end added, “And given your history of insubordination, this penalty will be passed to your official mentor to be paid out of his medical leave fund.” My blood ran cold. William. “This has nothing to do with him!” William was the only person in this entire office who had been genuinely kind to me. He was in the hospital, recovering from a sudden illness. He didn’t have family money; he had a wife and two kids. Without that fund, he’d be ruined. I couldn’t let a good man suffer because of me. I swallowed my pride and my rage. “Fine,” I bit out. “I’ll finish the project before I resign.” The person on the other end chuckled. “Wise choice.” They had no idea what I was really thinking. A department this corrupt didn’t need an overhaul. It needed to be dismantled, and every single person in it needed to be fired for gross negligence. I walked back to my desk. Davies smirked when he saw me. “Changed your mind? I told you. Someone like you could never survive without this company.” He then placed a small, white device on the corner of my desk—a pet monitoring camera. Before I could ask, a shrill, tinny voice erupted from its speaker. “Ava! What are you waiting for? Get back to work!” My phone pinged. An email from Sharon. I opened it. It was a 20-page document titled “Working Protocol.” I scanned the list, each rule more insane than the last. If your hand leaves the mouse for more than three seconds during work hours, this month’s performance bonus is forfeited. Bathroom breaks may not exceed three minutes. Any longer will be considered an unauthorized absence. All messages from me must be answered within 20 seconds, including nights, weekends, and holidays. When communicating with me, you must address me as ‘Mrs. Wallace.’ The final rule, on page twenty, was the kicker. If any of the above protocols are violated, you must kneel on the floor and continue your work until I am satisfied. What fresh hell is this? I rolled my eyes and deleted the file. Trying my best to ignore the camera spying on me, I quickly finished a new version of the design and sent it to Sharon. A few seconds later, her voice shrieked from the camera. “Ava! You did not address me as ‘Mrs. Wallace’ in your email!” The command followed instantly. “Kneel! Now! And state the reason for your violation!” Her voice was so loud that the entire office turned to stare. Davies rushed over and put a heavy hand on my shoulder, his face beaded with sweat. “Just do it, Ava! Are you trying to get us all fined again?” Sharon’s voice, dripping with smug satisfaction, floated from the speaker. “Let me tell you something, sweetheart. In here, I am the law. And when you break the law, you get punished.” The threat was clear. “I’ll count to three. If you’re not on your knees, your entire company will be kneeling with you.” She laughed, a low, cruel sound. “What else is a bottom-feeder like you good for, anyway? Your only purpose is to kneel and keep me happy.” That was it. I couldn’t take another second. Helping my father, learning the business—none of it was worth this level of degradation. But if I didn’t kneel, all these innocent—well, mostly innocent—people would be dragged down with me. “Three… two…” I snatched the heavy ceramic mug from my desk. With a roar of pure frustration, I hurled it at the camera. It shattered on impact. “Kneel for my ancestors!” I screamed, my voice raw. “Who the hell do you think you are to command me? Fuck your rules! I’ve had it with you, you entitled, sadistic bitch! Get the hell out of my life!” I yanked the camera’s cord from the wall and threw the useless plastic on the floor. The office was dead silent. Davies’s face was a mottled purple. “Ava,” he hissed, “do you have any idea who you just insulted? That is the fiancée of the richest man in this city’s son!” An older employee, who had been quiet until now, stood up and pointed a trembling finger at me. “You’re insane, Ava! Don’t you know Mrs. Wallace could have us all blacklisted from the industry with a single phone call? You’ve ruined us! All of us!” Quinn jumped to her feet, her face twisted in rage. “You troublemaker! The future daughter-in-law of Robert Sinclair! Are you happy now that you’ve dragged us all into your mess?” She swung her arm, aiming to slap me across the face. I caught her wrist in a vice grip and twisted. She cried out in pain. “The son of the city’s wealthiest man,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “You mean Leo Sinclair?” Davies froze, then let out a derisive snort. “So, now you realize who you’ve crossed?” I nodded slowly and pulled out my phone, opening my photo gallery to a recent family picture. In it, my brother had his arm slung casually around my shoulders. Standing behind us, beaming, was the man they all feared: Robert Sinclair. “Let me properly introduce myself,” I said, turning the screen for them to see. “My name is Ava Sinclair. And Leo? He’s my idiot younger brother.” The office was silent for a full thirty seconds. Then, it erupted in laughter. “Keep lying,” Davies choked out, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “I could photoshop something more convincing than that.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Alright, Ms. Sinclair. If Robert Sinclair is your father, call him right now. If he shows up, we’ll all apologize to you. On our knees. We’ll even slap ourselves ten times each.” I smiled grimly and dialed my father. “Dad, it’s me—” CRASH! The office door flew open, kicked in with tremendous force. My phone was snatched from my hand and smashed against the floor. Sharon Wallace stood there, flanked by two burly men who looked like hired thugs. “You worthless piece of trash!” she shrieked, her face a mask of fury. “I gave you the honor of kneeling for me, and you dare to curse me?” She lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back. I was forced to look at her two goons. “She broke the rules, and she defied me,” Sharon said to them. “Tell me, what do we do with lowlife scum like this?” “She needs to be taught a lesson, Mrs. Wallace!” they chanted in unison. I tried to break free, but one of them kicked the back of my knee, sending me crashing to the floor. The other pinned my arms behind my back. My kneecaps hit the hard floor with a sickening thud. I struggled, but their grip was like iron. Davies scurried to offer Sharon a chair. She sat, crossing her legs, looking down at me like a queen surveying a particularly disgusting insect. She extended one leg, the razor-sharp heel of her stiletto pressing into the back of my head. “Ava, since you can’t seem to learn the rules, I guess I’ll have to teach them to you myself.” At her nod, one goon twisted my arm while the other tightened his grip on my hair. A bolt of agony shot through me, and my body went limp, pitching forward. Thump. My forehead hit the tile. The world exploded in a flash of black and white. “Again,” Sharon’s vicious voice cut through the ringing in my ears. “Until I’m satisfied.” She pressed her heel down, grinding it into the floor, my head trapped beneath it. The pain was so intense I thought I would pass out. Thump. “What’s wrong, Ava?” she taunted. “Where’s all that fight? Where’s that backbone? Look at you now, kneeling like a pathetic dog.” Thump. Thump. Thump. The goon slammed my head against the floor again and again. A warm stream of liquid trickled down my forehead, blurring my vision. I bit my lip, tasting blood, and forced myself to look up at her. “When my dad gets here,” I squeezed the words through clenched teeth, “you’re finished.” Sharon froze for a second, then burst into maniacal laughter. “Your dad? What, is he some construction worker from a job site down the street?” Her eyes glittered with a new, venomous idea. “Fine. Let him come. Let him see what his daughter really is.” She leisurely stood up and retrieved a utility knife from her purse. I tried to turn my head away, but the goon held me fast. Click. The blade slid out, glinting under the office lights. “A worthless bitch like you should have it carved on your face for the whole world to see.” The cold metal traced a path along my cheek, sending a tremor of pure terror through me. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the searing pain. It’s over. It’s really over… The instant before the blade could cut— BANG! The main door of the firm was thrown open with such force it slammed against the wall. A powerful voice, filled with a familiar, grounding authority, echoed through the room. “You dare lay a hand on my daughter? Grant, liquidate every asset tied to the Wallace name. Terminate all our contracts with their family’s companies. Immediately.”

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