The new intern had a pathological need to pry. On Valentine’s Day, my husband dropped a million dollars on a handbag at the luxury boutique where I work, just to boost my sales numbers. Later that night, as I was on a date with him, a passive-aggressive message from the new intern buzzed on my phone. “Our work app shows you just logged another thousand steps. That’s the exact distance to the hotel next door.” “Wow, Lily, you really work fast. Close a million-dollar deal and head straight to a hotel room with the client?” My face went cold. I typed back a sharp reply. “With your talent for sniffing out people’s business, you should’ve been a police dog.” That night, I came home to find my doorstep covered in funeral wreaths. It was all because of a post the intern had made. It had gone viral. [The Salesgirl Who Slept Her Way to My Million-Dollar Commission!] A pair of my snagged stockings, which I’d thrown in the trash, had become her “proof” that I seduced clients on the job. The entire internet pitied the intern. I became the “slutty salesgirl” everyone was cursing. What she didn’t know was that my husband is a tech titan worth billions, and for me, this job was just a way to kill time. 1 “Oh, Lily, buying a plane ticket? Planning a little getaway?” “It’s Valentine’s Day today. Are you and your boyfriend taking a trip tomorrow?” I’d just arrived at the boutique when Vivian, the new intern, cornered me in the staff lounge. Her question caught me off guard. I had, in fact, booked a flight for my husband that morning. Without thinking, I answered, “Yeah, I did. How did you know?” A smug look flashed across her face. “Your frequent flyer app. It showed an update—211 eco-points for skipping the in-flight meal.” Before I could even process that, she finished touching up her makeup and breezed out of the lounge. A chill ran down my spine. What was wrong with this girl? Frowning, I opened the app and immediately blocked her account. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, and the more I thought about it, the more unnerved I became. A couple of weeks ago, I bought a new car and ordered a custom air freshener for it on Amazon. That very evening, she waited for me in the mall’s underground parking garage. “Hey! I had no idea you got a new car, Lily!” she’d chirped, beaming with pride. “I saw the air freshener in your order history and figured it out. Since you’re driving, can you give me a ride home? It’s on your way.” Not wanting to cause a scene, I agreed. It was not on my way. I spent nearly an hour stuck in traffic on the freeway, driving ten miles out of my way to drop her off. After that incident, I locked down all my social media accounts and even created a separate filter for her on my private photo streams. I shook my head and sent a quick text to my husband, venting my frustration. It was Valentine’s Day, and business at the high-end boutiques was booming. I’d been closing sales all day, many of them from friends and my husband’s business partners who specifically requested me. By the end of my shift, my sales were already approaching the million-dollar mark. Vivian, on the other hand, had a revolving door of customers who came and left empty-handed. Her sales were dismal. After ringing up another hundred-thousand-dollar purchase, I was heading to the lounge for a break when I saw her clutching a new limited-edition silk scarf, her knuckles white as if she wanted to tear it to shreds. Her eyes, glinting with envy, fixed on me. “You’re so lucky, Lily,” she said, her voice tight with resentment. “You’ve made a month’s commission in a single day.” I gave her a polite, dismissive smile and said nothing. Just then, as it was her turn to take the next walk-in client, my husband stepped into the boutique. “I’m here to see Lily,” he said. My colleagues barely batted an eye; it was common for clients to have a preferred sales associate. I’d never shared any details about my personal life at work. No one even knew I was married, let alone that my husband was a giant in the tech world. So, of course, they didn’t recognize him. But that small moment was all it took to show me the truly dark side of the workplace. “Lily,” Vivian hissed, grabbing my wrist. Her voice was pure saccharine poison. “It’s my turn to take a client, and you’ve hit your numbers for the day. Why don’t you let me have this one?” I winced, pulling my arm away. A patch of angry red skin was already forming where her nails had dug into my wrist, nearly breaking the skin. “Vivian, you can speak to me without grabbing me.” She just rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. I barely touched you. Don’t be so dramatic.” “Just let me have this client, Lily.” I met her gaze, my voice turning to ice. “No.” My husband, seeing my dark expression, simply handed me his VIP card, and I led him into the private viewing room. 2 “What’s wrong? Did your colleague bother you again?” “That girl, Vivian… she’s just so unbelievably weird. I can’t stand her.” I sighed, and as I turned, I brushed against a display cart. A sharp hiss echoed in the quiet room as my stocking caught on the corner, tearing a long run up my leg. “Alright, don’t be angry. It’s Valentine’s Day,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. To cheer me up, he gestured to a rare leather handbag that had just arrived. A million-dollar bag. He bought it without a second thought, and neither of us thought much of it. My closet at home was already overflowing with them. But the moment my husband left with the bag, Vivian stormed up to me, jabbing a finger in my face. “Lily! You have to give me that million-dollar sale!” “That commission was supposed to be mine! If you don’t give it to me, I’m reporting you to corporate for stealing my clients and workplace bullying!” Her outburst was so absurd I almost laughed. “And which one of your eyes saw me steal your client?” “If you’re having a psychotic break, go to a hospital. Don’t have it here.” A few of my colleagues, with whom I had a good relationship, saw I was genuinely angry and stepped in. “That’s enough, Vivian! The client specifically asked for Lily.” “He always asks for Lily when he comes in. Just drop it.” They held Vivian back as her face flushed a furious red. If looks could kill, she would have devoured me whole, all traces of her usual innocent facade gone. “You… you just wait!” she spat. Perfect. I loved seeing her seethe, completely powerless. “Instead of wasting energy trying to poach my sales,” I said coolly, “you might want to spend some time actually learning the product catalog. You couldn’t even tell half a dozen clients today whether we had their items in stock. If I were you, I’d be hiding my face in shame.” “Oh, wait, I forgot,” I added, unable to resist one last jab. “You’re too busy prying into everyone’s private lives to bother with professional knowledge.” Finally, the anger that had been simmering inside me all day was released. She pointed a trembling finger at me, so furious she was practically vibrating. I didn’t give her another glance. I walked into the staff lounge, changed out of the ruined stockings, and tossed them into the trash. That evening, my husband had booked a candlelight dinner for us at the five-star hotel right next to the mall. After my shift, I took a short, pleasant stroll over. I’d barely settled in at our table when two new messages popped up on my phone. 「Our work app shows you just logged another thousand steps. That’s the exact distance to the hotel next door.」 「Wow, Lily, you really work fast. Close a million-dollar deal and head straight to a hotel room with the client?」 The steak in my mouth turned to ash. I picked up my phone, my face a mask of ice, and shot back a reply. 「With your talent for sniffing out people’s business, you should’ve been a police dog.」 Then I blocked her. I’d taken this job to experience life, not to be harassed. If she wanted to burn bridges, fine. I had no reason to keep someone like her in my contacts. After dinner, my husband and I went to a movie. When we finally drove home, a massive ‘surprise’ was waiting for us. Our front door was surrounded by funeral wreaths. More were arriving, delivered by couriers who were assembling them right on our lawn. My heart hammered against my ribs; I thought I was going to have a stroke. The scene was so outrageous that even my husband, a man of unshakable composure, couldn’t stay calm. He was on the phone with building security in an instant. “What the hell is going on with your package screening process!” The security manager rushed over, wiping sweat from his brow. “Mr. Grant… we honestly had no idea they were funeral wreaths…” “The delivery orders just said they were Valentine’s bouquets that required on-site assembly…” 3 I stared at the banners draped over the wreaths. 「MAY THE ‘SALES SLUT’ REST IN PEACE!」 「GO TO HELL, YOU WRETCH!」 「PAYBACK’S A BITCH, AND IT’S HERE.」 … I knew, with a gut-wrenching certainty, that Vivian was behind this. I quickly pulled out my phone and found the social media account she used to promote her sales. And there it was. A post she’d made three hours ago. [The Salesgirl Who Slept Her Way to My Million-Dollar Commission!] The post was explosive. In just a few hours, it had amassed over a hundred thousand likes. The content was even more insane. It was a meticulously crafted narrative complete with photos, a timeline, and Vivian’s own twisted, Sherlock Holmes-style analysis. The top image was a photo of the snagged stockings I’d thrown away. [After stealing my client, she took him into the private VIP room. When she came out, her stockings were torn. Right after he paid, she followed him to a hotel to finish the job…] I scrolled down to the comments and felt the blood drain from my face. The internet mob was tearing me to shreds. 「WTF! It’s 2025 and scum like this still exists? Bullying new hires and stealing their sales!」 「I feel so bad for the author. I hope this evil old witch gets hit by a bus!」 「I can’t take it anymore. Someone needs to dox this trash! I’m going to serve some justice tonight and expose this homewrecking whore!」 「Guys, my buddy’s a hacker. He got her info. Here’s her home address…」 「Replying to @HackerGod: Sending you a DM! I want to send a wreath!」 … Reading through the comments, a wave of cold fear washed over me. She had spun an entire ‘truth’ from a pair of snagged stockings I’d thrown in the trash. If the man in that room hadn’t been my own husband, I wouldn’t have been able to defend myself even if I had ten mouths. The entire post was a diatribe accusing me of sleeping my way to the top, of bullying a new intern, and of stealing her commission. To paint me as a serial offender, she’d even dug up old vacation photos from my overseas social media accounts—pictures from trips I’d taken months ago. There was a casual shot of my husband and me holding hands in a first-class cabin. That photo had ignited a whole new firestorm in the comments. 「This old hag is just an international call girl who sleeps around on trips!」 「I’m done. Wreaths aren’t enough. I’m reporting her to her company’s corporate office. They need to fire this prostitute!」 … The comments made me so angry I could barely breathe. Even my husband’s face was a thundercloud of fury. “We’re calling the police.” “Don’t be afraid, Lily. I’m getting our lawyer on the line right now.” I couldn’t believe Vivian’s obsession was so strong she’d even managed to find my private accounts on foreign social media platforms. Thank God I only ever posted travel photos and never a single picture showing my husband’s face. Otherwise, she would have uncovered my real identity long ago. Our lawyer immediately began compiling a chain of evidence for the cyberbullying case. I opened my company’s work app and saw that Vivian had posted in the main corporate group chat, using her real name. 「A senior employee stole an intern’s million-dollar commission. How does the company plan to handle this?! @everyone」 The group, which had been buzzing with sales reports just a moment before, fell dead silent. Vivian wasn’t done. 「Don’t play dead! I have proof that this sales associate seduces clients during work hours and sleeps with them for sales! @everyone」 She was making all this noise, all based on a picture of stockings from a trash can. My hands clenched around my phone as I forced myself to stay calm. I typed out a reply. 「First of all, the client was a VIP who specifically requested me. There was no ‘stealing’ of your commission.」 4 「Secondly, you used a photo of torn stockings to launch a nationwide smear campaign, accusing me of sleeping with clients, and then led an online mob to dox me and leak my private information. I have already reported this to the police, and my lawyer is involved.」 My firm response prompted a few others in the group to speak up for me. 「A VIP client has a preferred associate. How is that stealing a sale? That’s ridiculous!」 「These interns these days have some nerve. I just pulled up your sales records, Vivian. You’ve been here two months and haven’t even cleared half a million in total sales. What exactly are you whining about?」 「Lily is the top seller in the entire region. She has nothing to hide. You, on the other hand, should get ready for a lawsuit and a police investigation.」 For the next half hour, Vivian was silent in the group. I thought she had finally backed down. I was wrong. She took screenshots of our internal company chat and posted them online for everyone to see. [The Slutty Salesgirl Who Stole My Commission Is Now Threatening to Sue Me!] The post was filled with images of our private conversation. I stared at the screen, a new wave of anger rising. Our employment contracts had a strict, legally binding clause against leaking internal company communications. She was truly asking for it. But the internet mob, now being used as her weapon, exploded. Within minutes, all of our brand’s official social media accounts were under siege from a massive wave of online attacks. By the time our corporate legal department could react, the entire internet was calling for a boycott of our brand. At that moment, my personal cell phone rang. It was an unknown number. “Lily, how do you like it? My little Valentine’s gift for you?” Vivian’s voice, dripping with triumphant malice, crackled through the phone. The sound of it was so repulsive it made me want to vomit. I fought back the nausea and replied with cold contempt. “Calling you a police dog is an insult to dogs. You’re nothing but a sewer rat.” A cold laugh answered me. “Tch!” “Don’t even try to scare me with your lawyers. The police can’t help you either. You’re the public enemy right now, the slut the entire internet wants to see burn.” “Oh, by the way,” she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I found some information on your VIP client. You’re finished! The man you seduced today is the billionaire CEO of a major tech company!” “And he has a wife! What do you think will happen if I give his dear wife a little call? Don’t blame me when she has you beaten to a pulp.” “Give me all of your commission from this month—all thirteen million of it—and I might consider letting you off the hook.” A cold smile touched my lips. “Go on then. Call her.” Her frustration was palpable. “I have proof you went to the hotel! You just wait!” And she did it. Vivian used the client’s number to call my personal phone. The line rang—ring, ring, ring. I answered it myself. “This is she,” I said calmly. “Vivian, is there anything else you want to say? I’ve already forwarded all your fabricated evidence to the police.”

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At my company physical, when I was nineteen, I found out I was pregnant. With triplets. A coworker made a hundred copies of my ultrasound report and scattered them all over the golf course. “You little tramp! Became a caddy just to snag a rich guy! You really think a baby is your golden ticket into high society?” “Girls like you are just toys for the wealthy. No one’s going to take responsibility for you!” The wealthy wives on the course descended on me like vultures, treating me as if I was the homewrecker who had seduced their husbands. Just as they were dragging me away, planning to force me to get an abortion, the city’s most powerful heir appeared. “The babies are mine,” he said. I smiled. Not long ago, blessed with a naturally fertile body, I was handpicked by the wealthiest family in the country. My job? To have a baby for the “barren” heir. 1 I was collecting balls on the golf course when a nouveau riche client groped me. A wave of nausea hit me, and I gagged. He stormed off in disgust, but then my brother’s voice came from behind me. “Mia… are you pregnant?” His words were like a splash of cold water. I realized I hadn’t had my period in over a month. The look on my face was all the answer he needed. “I’m such a burden!” he cried, pounding his chest in self-loathing. “If it wasn’t for my kidney failure, you never would have gone down this path!” He didn’t want to be a burden. But all I wanted was for him to live. That was why I’d taken the job as a caddy at this exclusive golf club. I had one goal: Sleep with Julian Gunn, the city’s most eligible and powerful heir, and get the money for my brother’s kidney transplant. But when I actually became Julian’s caddy, I discovered he was fiercely loyal to an old flame, practically a monk. Just when I thought I was at a dead end, Julian’s grandfather found me. “I’ve had a full background check done on you,” the old Mr. Gunn began, blunt and to the point. “You and your brother grew up in an orphanage. He has renal failure, which is why you’re here, trying to ‘earn’ money.” He put a heavy emphasis on the word ‘earn.’ My little scheme was transparent to him. But he seemed unfazed, continuing in his cold, measured tone. “You’re intelligent, attractive, and healthy. No promiscuous history. And most importantly, you’re naturally fertile. You are a perfect candidate to carry on the Gunn family line.” At the words “carry on the family line,” my head snapped up. My foggy brain cleared in an instant. Julian was the ninth-generation sole heir to the Gunn fortune. But because of his old love, Grace, he was still single at thirty. It was clear the old man was running out of patience. The Gunns knew so much about my physical condition because of the extensive medical exam I’d had to take for this job. No wonder it had been so thorough. This golf club wasn’t just a club; it was a screening ground for the Gunn family’s surrogate. I dug my nails into my palms, trying to hide the wild joy erupting inside me. But when the butler handed me the “Procreation KPI Agreement,” the strings of zeros—tens of millions of dollars—blinded me. Clause 1: A three-month probationary period. Successful conception within this period will result in a bonus of ten million dollars. Clause 2: Successful delivery of a female child will result in a bonus of eighty million dollars. Clause 3: Successful delivery of a male child will result in a bonus of one hundred million dollars. Clause 4: Successful delivery of two or more children, regardless of gender, will result in an additional bonus of ten million dollars. Clause 5: For exceeding KPIs, each additional child will result in an extra ten million dollars. The final clause: The more you produce, the more you earn. No upper limit. Suddenly, I saw a constellation of zeros floating before my eyes. It wasn’t just money. It was my brother’s life, and the future we had only ever dreamed of. “If you find the terms agreeable, you may sign,” the old man said. “Agreeable! Yes, it’s all agreeable!” I snatched the pen from the butler, terrified that if I waited a second longer, Mr. Gunn would change his mind. My unabashed greed seemed to please him. Of course. I was his employee now, and what boss doesn’t want an employee motivated by money? How else would I be driven to meet my KPIs? 2 With the contract signed, the only thing left was the ‘how.’ How was I going to sleep with Julian Gunn? The old man knew his grandson was practically immune to women, so he took matters into his own hands. He drugged him. He patted my shoulder, his voice grave. “Mia, I’m only helping you this once. The rest is up to you.” I knew what he wasn’t saying: If you’re not pregnant in three months, you’re out. Desperate for money, I seized the opportunity my ‘boss’ had created for me. That night, after Julian had drunk the tainted water, I just happened to be “passing by.” Dazed and consumed by a drug-induced lust, he pulled me into his car, tearing at my clothes, murmuring promises that he would take responsibility. A thrill shot through me. But I played my part, feigning innocence, struggling just enough to be convincing. The thought of my brother waiting for a life-saving transplant pushed all pain and shame from my mind. Perhaps the old man had used a potent dose. That night, Julian’s stamina was incredible. He took me again and again. To maintain my “innocent victim” persona, I waited until he was asleep, then, despite the searing pain in my body, I quietly slipped away. The next time I saw him was the following day. He tossed a black credit card at me. “No limit. Spend whatever you want.” So, this was what he meant by taking responsibility. As tempting as it was, I had principles. I had a contract with his grandfather; I wasn’t going to double-dip. “Thank you, Mr. Gunn,” I said, pushing the card back into his hand. “But last night was just an accident. We should both just forget it.” I turned and walked away, leaving him with the image of a fragile, vulnerable girl. A flash of surprise crossed his face. In that moment, I knew I had piqued his curiosity. 3 In the days that followed, I continued to be Julian’s caddy, but I was careful to maintain a professional distance. I could feel his unspoken questions hanging in the air. In truth, I wasn’t as composed as I appeared. Every day, I prayed that I had gotten pregnant on that one night. But I had a backup plan. Even if I hadn’t, I had at least established a certain persona in his mind. Creating another “opportunity” within the three-month window wasn’t impossible. A good employee always has a contingency plan. Perhaps fate was on my side. I had hit the jackpot. Not only was I pregnant, I was pregnant with triplets. I had exceeded my KPIs in a single month. When the doctor announced the news, old Mr. Gunn was so thrilled he slapped his thigh in delight. He immediately transferred ten million dollars to my account, and from then on, even the way he looked at me softened. I was already doing the math. If all three were boys, I’d get three hundred million. Ten million for the pregnancy, another ten for having more than one child, and ten more for exceeding the quota. The grand total could be three hundred and thirty million dollars. Oh, my God. I thought I was going to faint from sheer happiness. This money wouldn’t just pay for my brother’s transplant; it would allow him to pursue his dream of becoming a concert pianist. “Ahem.” My excitement must have been too obvious. Mr. Gunn cleared his throat, pulling me back to reality. “Mia, you just focus on a healthy pregnancy. I’ll make sure Julian gives you and the children a proper name.” A name? His words stunned me for a moment. I had assumed the plan was to take the babies and discard the mother. High-society families were all about pedigree. But it seemed that for the sake of his great-grandchildren, the Gunn family was willing to accept me. So, under Mr. Gunn’s direction, my pregnancy report was slipped into the file with the other employee health records at the club. I deliberately let a jealous coworker find it. I deliberately set the stage for Julian to “rescue” me, the poor, innocent victim. Which brings us back to the beginning, to the scene of the powerful heir playing the hero. 4 What I didn’t expect was that Julian would drive me straight to a hospital. He was stone-faced the entire way. “You’re getting an abortion. You can’t have these babies right now.” “Okay.” I ignored the second half of his sentence and only answered the first. My calm, tearless agreement seemed to throw him off. I’m sure he thought I would try to use the pregnancy to trap him into marriage. My quick compliance was the last thing he expected. The truth was, I did want to marry into the Gunn family. Agreeing to the abortion was just part of the act. “Don’t worry, Mr. Gunn. I grew up an orphan. I would never let my children be illegitimate. If you can’t give me a commitment, I won’t have them.” With that, I got out of the car and strode purposefully toward the hospital entrance. One step, two steps, three… Just as I was about to walk through the doors, Mr. Gunn arrived, right on cue. One command—the babies must be kept—and one Rolls-Royce later, Julian and I were on our way to the city hall. To my surprise, Julian didn’t protest at all. I’d heard his parents had died when he was young and that his grandfather had raised him. I figured he was going along with it out of concern for the old man’s health. He was marrying me and keeping the babies just to avoid upsetting his grandfather. But as we stood there, marriage certificate in hand, Julian leaned in and whispered, “You’re too young. Giving birth is risky for you.” “Huh?” I didn’t understand why he would say that. But then it clicked. He was explaining why he had taken me to get an abortion. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to take responsibility; it was because he was worried about me. I’ll admit, in that moment, I was touched. Other than my brother, Julian was the first man who had ever shown any concern for my well-being. Perhaps sensing my insecurity, he added, “But Grandpa was right. An abortion would be even worse for your health at your age.” “Just focus on having the babies. I said I would take responsibility, and I will. For you and for them.” A man who was rich, responsible, and caring… it was a dangerously attractive combination. But my rational mind reminded me: this is a job. Do not get emotionally involved. I immediately puffed out my chest and made a promise. “Don’t worry, Mr. Gunn! The day your old flame comes back, I’ll be out of your hair in a flash. We’ll get a divorce, no problem.” The air between us froze. The warm, gentle expression on Julian’s face vanished, replaced by a thunderous scowl. Right. The old flame. His one weak spot. I really shouldn’t have brought her up. 5 On the way back from the city hall to the Gunn estate, I sent a picture of the marriage certificate to my brother. After he’d found out I was pregnant, he had tried to kill himself, not wanting to be a burden on me any longer. Thankfully, he had been saved in time. When Mr. Gunn learned I was pregnant, he was worried my brother’s condition would cause me stress. He had a long talk with him privately. I don’t know what they discussed, but after that, my brother agreed to go abroad for the transplant surgery. Ping. A message from him came through almost immediately. [Congratulations, Mia! I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.] [Focus on your health! I’m going to work hard and get strong, so I can be there to support you and the babies.] The short message was filled with love and longing. Tears streamed down my face. As I wiped them away, I met Julian’s searching gaze. A pang of guilt hit me, and I couldn’t hold his eye. I quickly turned away, but a sudden stop sent me tumbling into his arms. His chest was surprisingly solid. Suddenly, flashes of our night together filled my mind, and my face burned hot. Thankfully, we arrived at the Gunn estate just then, and I was relieved to escape the confines of the car. The opulence of the Gunn home was beyond anything I could have imagined. The guest bathroom alone was larger than the entire space I had occupied for the first nineteen years of my life. In that moment, I truly understood the chasm that the word ‘class’ represented. And it only strengthened my resolve to climb out of the world I had been born into. I was nervous walking into the house, but the staff all treated me with the utmost respect, addressing me as “Mrs. Gunn.” A team of over a hundred people—doctors, nutritionists, chefs—was assigned to my care. Of course, I wasn’t naive enough to think that Mr. Gunn had truly accepted me as his granddaughter-in-law. This was a classic case of my value being tied to my womb. Still, it all felt so surreal that I got a little carried away. I found myself sitting at a grand piano, my fingers hovering over the keys. My brother and I had been briefly fostered by a concert pianist. He had said my brother had the hands of a musician. While he taught my brother, I would sit beside them, my chin resting on my hands, watching. For a little while, I had thought we had finally found a home… “Don’t touch that.” A sharp voice cut through my memories. I flinched, snatching my hand back as if burned. Julian strode toward me, his grip on my wrist painfully tight. “Who gave you permission to touch it?” he demanded, his eyes boring into me. “I… I’m sorry… I was just…” I was terrified, stammering to explain. “I was just thinking about my brother…” “Your brother?” Julian sneered, his eyes turning colder. “Is it a habit for both of you to touch things that don’t belong to you? No wonder you were given up so many times.” My mind went blank. So, he had investigated me too. He knew about my history of being returned to the orphanage. But his taunt didn’t hurt. I had heard worse. I was immune. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gunn,” I said softly, gently pulling my hand from his grasp. I managed a perfectly tragic smile. “I promise it won’t happen again.” Even though I didn’t care, I still had to play the victim. Julian seemed to realize he had gone too far. His tone softened. “That piano belonged to Grace. She doesn’t like other people touching it.” “I understand,” I said, forcing another smile as I gracefully retreated. His guilt was exactly what I wanted.

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Andrew, Seraphina, and I—we grew up together, as inseparable as three sides of a triangle. But those two were like oil and water, arguing the second they were in the same room. For over a decade, I was their designated peacemaker. Everyone around us would laugh and say they were rivals, and I was the prize. A week before my wedding to Andrew, a post popped up on my feed. It was a photo from a church wedding, the couple’s backs to the camera, but their silhouettes were painfully familiar. The caption read: [I wore this dress before she did. I had you before she did.] [After all these years, I’ve finally beaten her. Just once.] 1 “Miss Ashworth, our sincerest apologies. The wedding gown will need another day for final adjustments. It will be ready for pickup tomorrow.” Reading the message from the bridal studio, I clicked back to the photo from the post. I zoomed in. The specific constellation of diamonds scattered across the train—that was my design. An hour ago, Andrew had texted me: [Elara, honey, I’m so sorry. Something came up at work. I can’t make it to pick up the dress with you today.] And Seraphina: [Elara, I’m so, so sorry! Something unexpected just came up and I can’t come help you try it on. Forgive me!] Why was everyone so full of apologies this morning? I shook my head, trying to banish the ridiculous thoughts spiraling in my mind. A pinned comment sat at the top of the post: [Even from the back, you can tell they’re soulmates! You grew up together, you’re obviously in love—girl, you have to fight for him! Steal him back!] I tapped out a reply: [If they’re in love, why does he need to be stolen? Genuinely curious. Here for the story.] That evening, Andrew and Seraphina showed up at my door together, bickering as usual. “Some fiancé you are,” Sera started, jabbing a finger at Andrew. “You promised you’d go with Elara to get her dress. What could possibly be more important than that?” “And you?” Andrew shot back. “You said you’d be there to give her a second opinion. You were nowhere to be found either!” I looked at them—the two people I’d known my entire life. My fiancé. My best friend. That post… it had to be a coincidence. Right? “Alright, you two,” I said, feigning a headache. “You start fighting the second you see each other. Don’t you ever get tired?” They exchanged a look, and the corners of their mouths lifted in a tiny, shared smile. A cold dread pooled in my stomach. “It’s fine,” I added quickly. “The studio said it won’t be ready until tomorrow anyway. No big deal.” “Still, we broke our promise,” Seraphina insisted. “Let’s go out for dinner. To make it up to you, my treat.” “Your treat? Don’t steal my line,” Andrew scoffed, rolling his eyes at her. “If anyone’s making amends, it’s me.” He stepped closer to her and playfully swatted the back of her neck. I saw him freeze. A faint blush crept up Seraphina’s cheeks. “Sera? Are you okay?” I asked, a knot of worry tightening in my chest. “Your face is so red. Are you feeling sick?” “Oh! No, no, I’m fine! Let’s just go.” At the restaurant, Andrew and I sat on one side of the booth, with Seraphina across from me. When she came back from the restroom, however, she slid in on the other side, directly across from Andrew. Andrew, who had been in the middle of placing a piece of grilled salmon on my plate, paused. I saw a subtle shift in his posture, a slight movement in his lower body. Seraphina’s expression was pure satisfaction. She had a little wine and got progressively louder, insisting she spend the night at my place. When we got back to my apartment, Andrew looked at her, now slurring her words, and frowned. “Elara, I should probably just take her home. Look at the state of her. I don’t want her keeping you up all night.” I nodded. “Okay. Drive safe.” After my shower, I saw a reply to my comment on the post. [The three of us grew up together. He and I were always closer, the classic pair of bickering sweethearts. But she liked him too. And he felt he owed her his life, so he promised himself to her. I had no choice but to smile and wish them well. He couldn’t bear to see me hurt, so he took the dress she designed and let me wear it first. He gave me a secret wedding, just for the two of us, one the world could never accept. I’m so content. And tonight… tonight is our wedding night.] Attached was a new photo: four bare legs tangled in bedsheets. The nail polish on her toes… it was the exact shade I had helped her pick out last week. 2 The comments section was exploding with shippers, all of them offering her advice. [Girl, you can’t just let a love like that go! You have to fight for your happiness. It doesn’t matter if they’re engaged—even if they were married, you could still get him!] [A life debt isn’t the same as love! You need to be brave and make him see the truth!] [OMG, you should totally crash the wedding and steal him at the altar! We’ll be watching!] [+1!] The poster replied: [Oh no, I couldn’t! She’s my best friend, too. I could never betray my best friend for a man. To be honest, she’s more important to me than he is! As long as she’s happy, that’s all that matters~] [My heart breaks for you. It’s always the quiet ones, the ones who don’t cry, who get nothing. This is so unfair T_T] … I remembered playing house in our neighborhood courtyard as kids. Andrew announced that I would be his bride. Seraphina immediately burst into tears. “No, no! I want to be your bride!” “Okay,” Andrew had said, ever the diplomat. “Then you can both be my brides.” The memory, once sweet, now tasted like ash. All the adults who had laughed at our childhood game… what would they think now? I tried video-calling Andrew. He declined it instantly. An hour later, a text came through: [Elara, she was having a drunken meltdown. Threw up everywhere. I just finished cleaning up.] Soon after, the anonymous post was updated again with a gushing account of their “wedding night.” [After tonight, I have no regrets. I will stand on that stage with you, as her maid of honor. And I will wish you—both of you—a lifetime of happiness!] The words and pictures made my stomach churn with nausea, but the comment section was a sea of sympathy. [Ugh, I can’t even imagine how painful that is. Watching the man you love marry your best friend, and you have to stand there smiling and congratulating them.] [I think the guy needs to grow a spine, call off the other engagement, and marry the poster.] [Maybe the other woman is a real piece of work. Maybe the poster and the guy are scared of what she’d do.] [I hate people who force things. You can’t force love. And the poster puts her first, but all she cares about is herself.] Without knowing a single fact, they had judged and sentenced me, casting me as the story’s villain. But why? When Seraphina’s father was implicated in a major political scandal, it was my dad who pulled every string he had, who worked tirelessly to find evidence and clear his name. That was the darkest period of her life. I brought her into our home, shared my bed with her, comforted her, and relayed every piece of good news from my father the second I heard it. Andrew even complained that I was ignoring him for her. “Can you get your priorities straight? Do you see what’s happening right now?” I’d snapped at him, sending him away. Afterwards, she had clung to me, sobbing. “Elara… you’re too good to me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. If Andrew ever dares to treat you badly, I’ll be the first one to make him pay.” Twenty years of friendship. Two completely different faces. Her words were all blessings and surrender, but her actions were a knife in my back. My heart turned to ice. The next day, I went to the bridal studio. “Why are there two diamonds missing here?” I asked, running my finger over the train. The staff exchanged nervous glances. Finally, a young assistant stepped forward. “Mr. Thorne said… he said the design looked better this way,” she stammered. I called Andrew on the spot and told him to come down. When he arrived, he looked at the dress, and I saw a flicker of panic in his eyes. “Elara? Why did you come by yourself?” “There are two diamonds missing. They said it was your idea.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Oh, right. Yes. I thought it looked cleaner this way. A little more minimalist. Too many stones felt cluttered.” “And you didn’t think to mention this to me?” “It was Sera—” He caught himself, cutting the name short. 3 “Elara, are you angry?” I shook my head. “No. I just think it’s a bad omen. Doesn’t this count as… damaged?” “Of course not!” he said, his voice a little too loud, before softening it again. “Elara, don’t overthink it. The wedding is just around the corner. We’re about to be husband and wife, for real. Aren’t you happy?” I stroked the silk of the gown, not answering him. It didn’t matter how much love I had poured into this dress. It was used. Tainted. I could never wear it now. As the wedding date drew closer, Seraphina’s secret account became more active, posting a series called “Wedding Countdown.” Countdown: 5 Days. [He made me my favorite breakfast sandwich today. She’s never even had one he’s made. If I can’t be his only one, at least I can be his first.] The accompanying photo was of Andrew in our kitchen, wearing an apron, his back to the camera. I’d asked him to cook for me once. He’d refused, laughing. “Your delicate palate can’t be subjected to my culinary disasters.” Countdown: 4 Days. [He gave her the title, but he gave me the forever promise ring—the one you can only ever buy for one person. With this token, you’ll find me in our next life.] The photo was a close-up of Andrew kissing a diamond ring on her ring finger. Even with his face blurred, the tenderness was unmistakable. [I can’t take this anymore. Just get together, please! We’ll start a petition begging the other girl to let you go!] [Sign me up!] [Me too!] Her reply: [She loves him so much too. I can’t bear to hurt her, not after all our years of friendship.] [But she’s hurting you, sweetie! The one who benefits from the situation and stays silent is part of the problem! She’s not innocent!] [Exactly! If she won’t back down, we’ll crowdfund to… take care of her. Ugh, don’t judge me for being vicious, I just can’t stand seeing such a wonderful girl be so unhappy.] (Author liked this comment) [I’m with you on that one.] Reading the comments, I felt like I was plunging into an icy abyss. If they were truly in love, they could have just told me. It would have hurt, yes, but I would have understood. I would have stepped aside with grace. But they chose this. This cheap, vicious, backstabbing performance. Calmly, I saved everything. Scrolling further back, I realized Andrew had been with her three years ago, during her supposed solo trip around the world. Her photos often featured the blurred edge of a man’s shoulder, or his reflection in her sunglasses. There were videos shot from a “boyfriend’s perspective.” At the time, she’d told me love wasn’t important to her; she craved freedom. Those men were just fellow travelers she’d met along the way. During that same period, Andrew was on assignment at his company’s Northern European branch. I had been so blind. Three years, and I never suspected a thing. If it weren’t for the algorithm pushing her secret account onto my feed… Countdown: 3 Days. We were at the event planner’s office, finalizing the last details. Andrew glanced at his phone, a sly smirk playing on his lips. “Elara, I’m going to have to leave you to handle this.” “I need to run back to the office for something urgent.” Before I could respond, he was already walking away, a spring in his step. “Andrew!” He turned back, a look of mild confusion on his face. “It’s three days away. There are details you need to know. I can’t do this all by myself.” He smiled and gave me a thumbs-up. “You got this. Just sync me up later.” Perhaps Andrew had forgotten. Years ago, when his family was transitioning from politics to business, they made enemies. One night, sensing danger, he grabbed my hand and we ran, sprinting through the endless dark. A gut feeling made me glance back. I saw a man raising a gun. In that split second, without thinking, I threw myself in front of Andrew. Luckily, the man was a poor shot. The bullet only hit my shoulder blade. But the pain, a searing, bone-deep agony, is something I will never forget. 4 Through a haze of pain, I saw Andrew’s face, twisted in a mask of primal terror and rage. Later, in the hospital room, in front of both our parents, he knelt by my bed and swore an oath. He would marry no one but me. “Elara,” he’d whispered, his voice trembling, “you have no idea how scared I was. If I had lost you… I don’t think I could have lived.” For months after, he woke up from nightmares, screaming, dreaming of me lying lifeless in a pool of blood. Even after the best care, the wound left a scar and lingering nerve damage. On rainy days, it still aches with a phantom, needle-like pain. It was a permanent reminder that I had once thrown myself in front of death for a man named Andrew Thorne. I thought seeing them for who they truly were would numb me to the pain. But as the memories flooded back, I found myself shaking with sobs under my covers, the old wound in my shoulder throbbing in sympathy. Seraphina’s countdown continued. Day 3. [I know they’re going over wedding details right now. The thought of what will happen in three days is killing me. But I never imagined… I said one word and he dropped everything to come be with me.] The attached image was a screenshot of her chat with him. [I have a new present for you. Want to come see it now? 😉 ] The comments section remained a baffling chorus of support. [Ooooh, what’s the present? I’m dying to know!] [She is so selfless. She gives every beautiful part of herself to the man she loves.] [I get it. As the wedding gets closer, she’s in agony. But her sense of loyalty and morality keeps her from acting. All she can do is pour her love into him, to make his body remember her forever—remember the girl who gave him everything so selflessly.] The comment was pinned to the top. Just then, my phone rang. It was Andrew. “Elara… I have to go out of town for the next two days, to the next city over. I’m so sorry, but you’ll have to handle the final wedding prep.” He sounded slightly out of breath. “Don’t worry, I promise I’ll be back the day before the ceremony.” My voice was a dead calm. “Is it that important? More important than our wedding?” I heard him let out a soft grunt. “I’m sorry, Elara. If I could get out of it, I would… I wouldn’t be telling you this at the last minute.” The line went dead. I sat perfectly still, waiting. The post updated. [He called her while we were in the middle of it~] [From now on, every time he talks to her on the phone, I want him to remember me. Right now.] As always, the post was met with a wave of sympathy and misplaced admiration. For the next two days, they had their final, frantic farewell in the Hamptons, calling each other husband and wife. Once I had organized all the evidence, I showed my parents everything. My father’s face was grim. “Go, Elara. Take a trip. Clear your head. Leave the rest to me.” The wedding day arrived. As guests began to file in, I was boarding a flight. Andrew and Seraphina arrived separately, but close together. A smudge of bright red lipstick was clearly visible on the corner of Andrew’s mouth. His mother, Amelia, laughed. “There you are! I was wondering where you’d gone. Couldn’t wait, could you? Had to go bother Elara right before the ceremony. Go on, wipe your face before you embarrass us.” Andrew finally registered that he hadn’t seen Elara in what felt like forever. She must be in the bridal suite, waiting for her grand entrance. The thought brought a genuine smile to his face. The guests were all seated. The officiant began his opening remarks. Andrew’s eyelid began to twitch. Something felt wrong. He exchanged a nervous glance with an equally guilty-looking Seraphina. Seeing my parents, stoic and composed in the front row, calmed him slightly. The officiant repeated his cue for the bride three times. She never appeared. The large screen behind the altar, which had been cycling through a slideshow of Andrew and Elara’s happiest moments, suddenly went black. When it flickered back to life, it wasn’t a photo. It was a PowerPoint presentation. It showed screenshots of Seraphina’s posts, her comment interactions, the pixelated photos with Andrew, the suggestive pictures from their “wedding night,” the secret church ceremony… The final slide was the comment about crowdfunding to have me “taken care of,” the one she had personally “liked.” It was blown up to fill the entire screen.

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The new assistant was suffering from cramps. My aloof, aristocratic husband made her a special ginger-honey tea, and I immediately asked for a divorce. “Over a cup of tea?” Arthur Trainor looked at me, incredulous. “Yes.” “Fine,” he sneered, his jaw tight. “Just don’t come crying back to me.” Arthur and I were each other’s first love. We got together in high school; he was my entire world, the landscape of my youth. So he was certain I could never leave him. But the truth was, the tea was just the final straw. The evidence of his fading love was hidden in every corner of our lives. He saw me as a clinging vine, dependent on his support. He had no idea I was the mighty oak that had been shielding him from the storm all along. 1 “You want to divorce me over a cup of ginger-honey tea?” Arthur looked up from behind his massive mahogany desk, his dark brows arching in disbelief. “Is that really necessary?” I gave a firm nod. “Let’s just do it.” He leaned back in his leather chair, crossing his arms over his chest. A smirk played on his lips. “This has to be the ninety-ninth time you’ve brought this up.” I froze. Had I really given him that many chances? The smirk widened. “Ever heard the story of the boy who cried wolf? After a while, the threats lose their power. Just admit it, Sloane. You can’t live without me.” Just then, a soft knock came from the door and Chloe, his assistant, walked in. A man’s business jacket was draped over her arm. I recognized it instantly as Arthur’s. In the years we’d been married, I’d chosen everything for him—his suits, his ties, his cufflinks, his watches. I even picked out his socks and underwear. I knew his wardrobe better than he did. “Mr. Trainor, I came to return your jacket. Thank you… for yesterday.” “Don’t mention it,” Arthur said coolly. He glanced at me, then turned his attention back to her. “Feeling better?” In the past, hearing him show such concern for another woman would have sent a spike of jealousy through me. I would have demanded to know if he had a thing for the new girl. But after so many times, he was tired of my questions, and I was tired of asking them. So I simply turned to leave, giving them the privacy to continue their little moment of office tenderness. But I didn’t expect Chloe to call out to me. “Mrs. Trainor, please don’t misunderstand! Nothing happened. Mr. Trainor just lent me his jacket yesterday because… I got my period and it stained my skirt. He was just being kind.” I couldn’t help it. I spun back around to face her. “Which one of your ears heard me accuse him of cheating? Is this how you stir up trouble between your boss and his wife?” I took a step closer. “And another thing. My mother didn’t give me a sister. My name is Sloane.” Chloe flinched, her eyes widening as if my sharp tone had physically struck her. They immediately welled with tears, turning her into the very picture of a startled rabbit. “Sloane!” Arthur shot up from his chair. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Chloe, his voice lashing out at me. “How old are you? Why are you picking on a girl half your age? Does it make you feel powerful, bullying someone fresh out of college?” Chloe kept her head down, fat tears splashing onto the handkerchief as she sobbed. “Mr. Trainor, please don’t be angry. It was my fault, I said the wrong thing. I’ll apologize to Mrs. Trainor.” She turned to me and bowed deeply. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Trainor.” Arthur pulled her upright, his gaze turning icy as he fixed it on me. “That’s enough, Sloane. How many times have I told you not to come in here acting like you own the place?” 2 Out of the corner of my eye, in a place Arthur couldn’t see, Chloe’s lips curved into a triumphant little smirk. A bitter laugh almost escaped me. This assistant, who had been at the company for a mere three months, had so completely stolen the trust of the man I’d been married to for five years. I looked up at Arthur’s handsome, refined face. “Are you deaf? I just asked her to use my name. She’s the one insisting on calling me ‘Mrs. Trainor.’ What does that have to do with me?” Without waiting for an answer, I turned and stormed out, slamming the office door behind me. Back home, I immediately called my lawyer and asked him to draft the divorce papers. While I waited, a message popped up from my best friend, Olivia. It was a screenshot of Chloe’s latest social media post. Olivia had been a secretarial major, and after graduating, I’d helped her get a job at Trainor Industries. Now she was the lead executive administrator—Chloe’s direct supervisor. Chloe’s post read: “That time of the month has me feeling so down, but someone special made me this amazing turmeric-collagen latte to cheer me up! So warm and comforting. It feels so good to be taken care of!” The picture was of a man’s hand holding out a steaming mug to her. On that hand was a wedding band. Our wedding band. There was no mistaking whose hand it was. Just then, my phone buzzed with a new text from Arthur. “The housekeeper said you have the sniffles. Take some aspirin and drink plenty of fluids.” A artisanal latte for another woman’s cramps, and a clinical “drink plenty of fluids” for me. I gripped my phone, staring at the empty chat window as a profound coldness settled deep in my bones. From eighteen to twenty-eight, I had come to know Arthur Trainor inside and out. He was not a meddler. He would never go out of his way for a new assistant without a reason. This was real. He had feelings for her. It would be a lie to say it didn’t hurt. The helplessness of watching the man you love fall for someone else, right before your eyes, was tearing me apart. That night, my sleep was fitful and haunted. When I woke up, my pillow was damp, and my eyes were swollen shut. I splashed cold water on my face, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, and drove to the nursing home. I pushed my father’s wheelchair out onto the lawn. For the first time, we had a truly honest conversation. The old man sat there, smoking, glancing at me from time to time. “What’s with the sunglasses? Did that Trainor kid hit you?” I shook my head and cut straight to the point. “I’m divorcing Arthur.” My dad chuckled like I’d told him a joke, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. “When’s it happening? Need me to call some guys to help you move your stuff?” I shook my head again and pulled a bank card from my pocket, pressing it into his hand. “Take this. I might not be able to visit for a while.” The weight of the card in his hand seemed to finally convince him I was serious. He stared at me, dumbfounded, and it wasn’t until I was already walking away that he called out, his voice laced with confusion. “Wait, you’re really doing it? Where are you gonna find someone better than him?” 3 He was right. Everyone thought Arthur was the ultimate catch, the best I could ever hope for. He had the education, the family background, the looks. But they had all forgotten. They forgot that I, too, had graduated from a top university with a degree in a highly competitive field. They forgot that I was the one they called a prodigy, the “genius girl of the AI world” who had skipped three grades. While I was still a sophomore in college, I had already filed for multiple AI patents. Before I even graduated, I had founded Nexus AI, one of the country’s leading tech firms, with a few of my seniors and juniors. I still held sixty percent of the company’s shares. You don’t marry into a dynasty like the Trainors with a gambling, half-paralyzed father and a sweet, naive persona. On the drive home, Olivia called. “High school reunion tonight. You coming?” We had all gone to the same local high school, and our old clique made a point to get together every year. Since I was leaving, it felt right to say a proper goodbye. I agreed to go. At 8:30 PM, I arrived at The Monarch Club and found my way to Suite 603. The usual teasing started immediately. Where was Arthur? Why hadn’t he come with me? Someone chimed in, “Arthur Trainor is a busy man. Has he ever shown up to one of these things?” Suddenly, a woman in the corner snorted. “Who says he’s not here? I just saw him in the suite next door, running interference for some young girl, blocking drinks for her.” Her eyes, sharp and malicious, found mine. “Sloane, is your husband cheating on you? Are you finally losing your crown?” I recognized her immediately. Jenna. The perpetual second-best who had lived in my shadow all through high school. She’d confessed her feelings to Arthur once, right before he and I got together. He chose me, and she’d held a grudge ever since, convinced I had stolen him from her. This was the moment she had been waiting for. The others jumped to my defense. “No way. Arthur loves Sloane. Every man in the world could cheat, but not him.” “I don’t believe it either. Do you remember the grand gestures he made to win her over? When Sloane had that car accident, he cried his eyes out.” “And when his parents cut him off for dating her, he worked at a burger joint for a month just to buy her a birthday present.” They recounted all the ways Arthur had once shown his love for me, forcing a painful montage of memories to flash before my eyes. They refused to believe Jenna, pushing her until she slammed her hands on the table and stood up. “If you don’t believe me, come with me to the suite next door and see for yourselves!” “Fine, we will! We’re not scared of you!” “Come on, Sloane, let’s go shut her up!” Someone grabbed my arm, trying to pull me along. But I couldn’t move. Because I knew. I knew that what Jenna was saying was entirely possible. Olivia was about to intervene, to smooth things over, but Jenna saw my hesitation and crossed her arms, her voice dripping with scorn. “What’s the matter, Sloane? Scared?” “I always said that women like you, who have to fight and claw for everything, would lose it all one day. You were always destined to end up as nothing.” As she spoke, the door to our suite swung open. 4 Standing in the doorway was Arthur. And right behind him was his little assistant, Chloe. “Heard you guys were next door. Just wanted to stop by and say hello,” Arthur announced smoothly. “Have fun tonight, honey. The bill for this room is on me.” I glanced at Olivia, who gave her phone a little shake, silently telling me she’d texted him to come and save the day. My classmates erupted in cheers. “See? And some people were saying Sloane got dumped. Open your eyes. They’re as happy as ever.” Jenna’s face was red, but she couldn’t say a word. But then, Chloe tugged gently on Arthur’s sleeve. “Mr. Trainor, are these all your high school friends? I’d love to meet them.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Arthur draped his arm around Chloe’s shoulders and began introducing her to every single person in the room. The atmosphere in the suite instantly froze. It felt like I had been slapped across the face. I stood there, rooted to the spot, utterly humiliated. Jenna, who had been silenced just moments before, leaned in close, her voice a triumphant whisper in my ear. “I’ve never seen a boss so obedient to his assistant. Introducing his old friends to her, right in front of his wife. Looks like someone’s about to steal your title, Mrs. Trainor.” I couldn’t stand another second of it. I turned to leave. But Chloe’s eyes welled with tears as she turned to Arthur. “Is she angry with me? I just wanted to get to know your friends. I didn’t mean any harm…” The next second, Arthur’s voice cut through the silence. “Sloane, don’t throw a tantrum.” I stopped, but I didn’t turn back. Seeing her chance, Chloe grabbed a bottle of tequila from the table, poured a shot, and walked over to me. “Please don’t be angry, Mrs. Trainor. If I did something wrong, I’ll take this as punishment, okay?” She tilted her head back and downed the shot in one go, then grabbed my hand. “There. It’s done. Can you stay now? If you leave, people will think I’m Mr. Trainor’s mistress. Even if you don’t care about me, you should at least think of his reputation.” I yanked my hand away. But as I did, Chloe stumbled backward as if I’d shoved her with all my might. She crashed into the dining cart behind her, sending plates and glasses shattering to the floor. Soup and wine splattered against the wall. She fell into the mess, her palm landing directly on a shard of broken porcelain. Blood welled up instantly. “Ah!” Arthur’s eyes flashed. Forgetting we were in a room full of people, he rushed to her side, pulling out his handkerchief to wrap her bleeding hand. He turned on me, his voice sharp with fury. “Sloane, when did you become so vicious? I’ve spoiled you, that’s the problem. It’s time you learned a lesson.” He pulled out his phone and dialed his most trusted executive assistant. “Freeze all of my wife’s bank cards. Now. Yes, every single one. Don’t leave her a dime.” From the other end, a respectful “Yes, sir,” could be heard. Just then, the club manager and a waiter entered, taking in the scene of destruction. The manager presented a bill. “The suite rental, plus damages, comes to a total of twenty-eight thousand dollars. Who will be settling the bill?” A cruel smile touched Arthur’s lips as he pointed a finger at me. “She made the mess. She can pay for it.”

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My mother taught me from a young age that a woman’s body, once sullied, should be thrown away like trash. So when my wife, on the day of our tenth anniversary, abandoned me and a hall full of guests because of a hotel invitation “mistakenly” sent by a young man, I didn’t stop her. I simply smiled, tore the thirty-thousand-word letter of promises she had written for me into confetti, and made two announcements. First, we were moving the party to the hotel. Second, the young man’s parents and friends were now the evening’s guests of honor. … When our large, righteous crowd arrived outside the door of the presidential suite, the sounds from within were unmistakable. The raw sounds of their passion, punctuated by the young man Leo’s breathless, high-pitched cries of “Mommy,” echoed down the hotel corridor. The sound silenced everyone, and a cold sweat broke out on their backs. Leo’s actual mother, standing beside me, looked as if she’d been struck by lightning. At the sound of her son’s cries, her eyes rolled back, and she fainted dead away. Believing that such joy shouldn’t be kept to myself, I gave my assistant a subtle nod. In an instant, the heated scene inside the room was being broadcast live, streamed across every major news outlet and social media platform. The wedding of a titan of industry already had immense public interest. Add a live-streamed infidelity drama, and the viewership exploded. I immediately signed a dozen impromptu advertising deals, making a fortune in minutes. If I couldn’t keep the tainted woman, I might as well profit from her passionate performance. It was only fair, wasn’t it? “Mommy, am I making you happy? Am I so much more fun than that old man?” the boy’s panting voice asked. His question was answered by my wife, Isabella’s, even more enthusiastic response. While the temperature inside the room continued to climb, the atmosphere outside plunged to absolute zero. I watched the live stream revenue tick upwards, feeling no rush to knock. It was Leo’s mother, revived and frantic, who was clawing at the door like a caged animal. Thirty minutes later, through the haze of their frenzy, they finally heard her desperate pounding. The moment the door opened, the world exploded in a sea of flashbulbs. Isabella, seeing the army of cameras, froze for only a second. Her first instinct was not to cover her own body, which was a canvas of red marks, but to whip the bedsheet off the mattress and wrap it around the naked, trembling form of Leo. Once the boy was secured, she stormed towards me. There was no shame in her eyes, no guilt in her voice—only a raw, impotent fury. “Adrian Vance, are you insane? Are you trying to ruin him?” she shrieked. “He’s only twenty! How is he supposed to live his life after this? I’m warning you, get rid of these people right now and post a video clarifying this was all a misunderstanding. If you don’t, I will make you regret it.” I had to laugh. I had made the mistake of treating a dog like a person, and now it thought it had the right to bark orders at me. I kicked her aside and walked directly to the boy. I gestured for my bodyguards to rip the sheet off him. Before they could move, Leo scrambled onto the windowsill, screaming through his tears. “Adrian, brother, it was an accident! I meant to send that text to my friends, I sent it to Isabella by mistake! She was just being kind, helping me get through a tough time! Why are you trying to destroy me for it?” His shivering, sheet-clad figure was a picture of pathetic misery. Murmurs started to ripple through the crowd. “Isn’t Adrian Vance being a little too harsh? The kid’s just a boy.” “Yeah, what if he actually jumps?” Isabella was in a panic, not daring to get closer to the window. “Leo, don’t! You did nothing wrong! Adrian is the one at fault! Don’t do anything foolish!” she pleaded. I watched their heartfelt drama, raising an eyebrow. I walked over to the boy, placed a finger to my lips to silence his pathetic whining, and then, before anyone could react, I gave him a gentle push. His terrified scream echoed as he plummeted from the hundred-meter-high ledge. The crowd gasped, their eyes wide with disbelief. Isabella flew at me, her hands clamping around my throat like a vice. The veins in my neck bulged, and my breath thinned to a razor’s edge. My bodyguards surged forward, but I waved them off. Isabella’s eyes were bloodshot, boring into mine as if willing me to die and join Leo in hell. A dry, rasping laugh escaped my throat. Suddenly, this all felt so pointless. The last time I had seen such ferocity in her eyes was years ago, when one of my father’s old enemies had cornered me. She had thrown herself in front of me without a second thought, grabbing the hand that held the knife. With that same savage expression, she had guided the blade into her own body, again and again, until the food in her stomach mixed with the blood that poured out of her. A waterfall of crimson had flowed down her chest. The attacker, horrified, had turned and fled. Before the ambulance took her away, she had pressed her cold, sweaty forehead against mine, her gaze unwavering. “Adrian,” she’d sworn, “as long as I’m here, no one will ever hurt you.” But now, to protect her boy, she stood on the opposite side, ready to kill me herself. “He’s okay! He’s okay, he’s alive!” shouts from below broke through my thoughts. Everyone looked down and saw a wide maintenance platform just a few stories below the window. Leo had never intended to jump. Isabella released me, her face flooded with the joyous relief of someone who had just survived a catastrophe. She scrambled to the edge, then rushed down the stairs to get to him, pulling his trembling body into a fierce embrace. “Don’t be afraid, Leo. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.” The same words. It had only been a few short years, and now she was saying them to someone else. Fine. A cheap promise is the last thing worth holding onto. I walked over to them. Isabella instinctively shielded Leo behind her, another painfully familiar tableau. I drew the tactical knife from my bodyguard’s belt and advanced with a smirk. Isabella’s own security team moved to protect her, but she waved them away with a sharp command. Using every ounce of strength I possessed, mimicking the pressure I had just felt on my own neck, I drove the blade deep into her chest, right where her heart should be. I twisted it. Once again, I watched blood gush from her body, but this time, I felt none of the old pain. She gripped my hand, pushing the knife in deeper, her expression defiant. “Are you satisfied, Adrian? I’ll take the blame for my mistakes,” she gasped. “But I will never forgive what you did to Leo today.” I paused in the act of wiping my bloody hand on a handkerchief and tossed it onto the boy’s pathetic, naked form. “Is that so?” I sneered. “I look forward to it.” I turned to Leo, patting his cheek. “The next time you provoke me, I’ll make sure you get to experience what a fall from a hundred meters really feels like.” I just never imagined that Isabella’s revenge would involve our child. When I burst into the hospital, the first thing I saw was Leo holding my son high in the air. The baby’s heart-wrenching screams tore through me, twisting my insides into knots. Isabella just stood there, watching, her face a blank mask. “Isabella, are you insane? That’s your child too!” I stared at her, unable to comprehend. Her expression remained cold. “I told you Leo was my line. Why did you have to cross it? Get on your knees and apologize to him. Then post a video confessing that the hotel scandal was a lie you invented. Do that, and I’ll give you back the child.” My body shook with uncontrollable rage. Leo, holding my son, chuckled. “Isabella, didn’t you read that an infant’s brain is as soft as tofu? I wonder what would happen if I just… gave him a little shake?” He started to violently shake the baby. My son’s cries intensified, piercing the air. My heart shattered. “Don’t touch him! I’ll kneel! I’m begging you, please, don’t hurt the baby!” I choked out, my voice breaking. “He’s so fragile. He can’t take it.” I slammed my knees onto the hard floor, begging for a shred of their humanity. Leo started a live stream, broadcasting my humiliation to the world. Millions of viewers poured in instantly. For three hours, I knelt and kowtowed, confessing that I was a madman who had slandered my wife and the student she sponsored. A tidal wave of abuse and insults washed over me from the live chat. When it was over, I stared at Leo, my eyes burning. “Are you satisfied now? Give me back my son!” Leo finally smiled, turning off the phone. Then, with lightning speed, he lifted my son high one last time and smashed him onto the ground. The crying stopped. The world went silent. I collapsed, my strength gone. Isabella seemed surprised for a moment, but her composure quickly returned. I roared and lunged forward, but her bodyguards held me back. Leo calmly wiped his hands with a wet wipe and tossed it in the trash. He looked at my son’s twitching body on the floor and snarled, “With a scum for a father, you deserved to die!” He then picked up my child, forcing his eyes—so much like mine—to look at me. “Don’t blame me, little guy. Blame your daddy. He’s the one who killed you.” Isabella came to my side, her arm wrapping around my shoulders. “The child was always sickly. It would have ended this way sooner or later. This is what you owed Leo.” I couldn’t believe those words came from her mouth. We had struggled for years to have him. After an injury early in our marriage, doctors said it would be nearly impossible for me to have children. But Isabella loved children, so I had endured years of treatments, diets, and bitter medicines. Finally, we had our son. The labor had lasted two days and one night. I had been there for all of it. The pain she went through… after he was born, I had a vasectomy. I never wanted her to suffer like that again. He was our one and only. But now, she didn’t even glance at the body. She just covered him with a cloth, as if he were a toy to be discarded. I shoved her away and snatched my son from her. She grabbed me, one arm locking around my waist, the other pinning my torso. I bit down on her hand, hard. In the struggle, my son coughed, a tiny, faint sound. “He’s not dead! My son is not dead!” I fought free and sprinted for the doctor’s office, clutching him to my chest. My fingers were just about to touch the doorknob when Isabella struck me from behind. A blow to the head. As I fell, my son slipped from my grasp. The last thing I saw before darkness took me was his tiny body hitting the floor, blood trickling from his nose and mouth. When I woke up, I was back in our home. I demanded to know where my son was. My men hesitated. “Miss Isabella… she took the young master to Mr. Leo’s university.” “She said Mr. Leo’s anatomy class was in need of an infant specimen for practice.” A roar filled my ears. I gritted my teeth. “Say that again.” “She’s… she’s letting Mr. Leo dissect the young master.” I hurled the bowl of medicine against the wall. It shattered, the dark liquid splashing everywhere. “Get the car. We’re going to the university.” Ten minutes later, I stood in the doorway of the anatomy lab. My son was on a steel table, surrounded by a dozen students, including Leo. His small body had already been dismembered. The little bundle who just yesterday could laugh and cry and call me “Dada” was now a heap of bloody flesh. His eyes, his intestines, lay scattered across the surgical tray. Leo saw me and beamed, pulling off his gloves. He held up a photo. “Brother, I have good news! Isabella is pregnant! Look, here’s the ultrasound of my baby. Isn’t he cute?” He took Isabella’s hand and placed it on her flat stomach. “Isabella, honey, I think he just kicked.” Isabella immediately told him to kneel down and press his ear to her belly to listen. Watching them, I started to laugh, a wild, unhinged sound. I drew my pistol and fired a shot that grazed Leo’s side, just a fraction of an inch from his abdomen. “Ah!” He doubled over, scrambling behind Isabella. She finally turned and saw me. “Adrian, have you lost your mind!” she screamed. I didn’t speak. I just kept walking towards them. I racked the slide. Another shot, this one on the other side of his stomach. As I advanced on Isabella, Leo threw himself at my feet, clinging to my legs. “Adrian, as long as I’m alive, I will never let you hurt her.” I was about to kick him away when he suddenly recoiled dramatically, clutching his stomach and crying out in pain. “Brother, are you blaming me for your son’s death?” he wailed. “It was your fault he was so weak in the first place! I was just ending his suffering! If you can’t stand the thought of Isabella having my baby, if you want her to be barren, just tell her to get an abortion! You don’t have to torture me like this! I can’t take it!” He curled into a ball, trembling as if in terror. His pathetic acting was so bad it was comical. Isabella shielded him protectively. “Adrian, you are the one most responsible for our son’s death,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “It was because of you, his useless father, that he suffered so much. You should be the one to die to atone for your sins.” She knew how guilty I felt about our son’s fragile health, and she used it as a weapon, twisting the knife. From behind her, Leo added, “The day your son died was the day Isabella got pregnant with mine. It’s a sign. Even he knew you weren’t worthy of being his father, so he came back to her womb to be with a better one.” I laughed, grabbing his chin and forcing his head up. My eyes were venomous. “Or maybe,” I whispered, “he came back to her womb to claim a life for me.” I pressed the muzzle of the gun against Leo’s groin and pulled the trigger. His shriek of agony echoed through the lab. Ignoring Isabella’s screams, I yanked him up by his hair, pointing the gun at the bloody ruin between his legs. “There, little brother. I’ve eliminated the problem for you. Aren’t you going to thank me? This is what it looks like when I can’t stand you. I don’t bother with your pathetic little traps and schemes.” The next second, a gunshot cracked, and a bullet seared past my ear. Blood trickled down my neck. I followed the trajectory back to its source, my gaze locking on Isabella. My world narrowed to a single point of madness. “Isabella. You shot at me?” Her eyes were blazing. “I warned you, Adrian. He’s just a boy. Leave him alone. You forced me to do this.” Leo was howling on the floor. “Isabella, he destroyed our chances of having a family! Kill him! Avenge our child!” Before she could answer, I smirked down at him. “Forget revenge. If you don’t get to an operating room right now, you’ll never have a child with anyone.” His wailing stopped instantly, replaced by a fresh torrent of silent, fat tears. Isabella’s face softened with pity. She helped him up and rushed him towards the exit, pausing only to throw one last threat over her shoulder. “I told you, Adrian. You will pay for this.”

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My private museum was robbed. Just as the security system was about to apprehend the intruder, my wife, my personal bodyguard, threw herself in front of the thief. “Elias, I grew up with Julian. I can’t just watch him die.” Isla fought off a hundred guards, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, but she didn’t yield an inch. Soon, a sharp shard of porcelain from a shattered vase was pressed against my neck. I looked at her, and my heart felt like it was being physically torn in two. I was the one who had pulled her back from the brink of death. I was the one who had hired the world’s top trainers to teach her how to fight. But now, the wolf I had raised with my own hands had turned on me. I pointed to her heart and said, word by word, “Isla. Today, either he dies, or you do.” 1 Isla’s expression didn’t flicker. She looked at me, her eyes filled with a chilling resolve. “Elias, if I want Julian to walk out of here today, no one can stop me.” She was right. With her skills, no one here was her match. The only difference was that before, those skills were meant to protect me. Now, they were being used to protect another man. I clenched my fists and gave my security chief a subtle look. Several guards immediately circled around, cornering Julian. The sharp crack of breaking bones pierced the air. “Julian!” Isla shrieked, whipping her head around. Her eyes widened in terror. “Who told you to touch him?” Julian’s face was a mask of blood, his arms hanging limply at his sides. “Isla, save me,” he rasped. “I don’t want to die here.” In a flash, the porcelain shard bit into my skin. Isla’s eyes were bloodshot, her hand trembling as she held the makeshift weapon. “Elias, you forced my hand,” she snarled. “Everyone, listen up! If anyone moves, your precious Mr. Vance dies. Now! Clear a path!” I took a deep breath, a bitter smile twisting my lips. I never would have imagined that the woman I had poured my entire heart into would become the blade pointed at my own throat. Seeing me held hostage, my men froze, not daring to move. I glanced at Isla. She was coiled like a spring, strands of hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, but her gaze never left Julian. “This is the first time you’ve ever disobeyed me,” I said, my voice low. “If I refuse to let him go today, will you kill me yourself?” Her expression faltered for a fraction of a second, but the pressure on my neck only increased. Blood trickled down my skin. She dragged me to the car waiting at the entrance. Only after she saw Julian helped safely inside did she finally relax, her tone softening. “Elias, you don’t care about these things. With your resources, you’ll make it all back in no time. Julian is different. He’s like me. We’ve had hard lives. He was forced into this.” Such a noble excuse. My throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. I couldn’t speak. All the love, all the kindness I had shown her, had become a colossal joke. Just as Isla was about to get into the car, someone seized the opportunity and tackled her, wrapping their arms around her in a death grip. “Mr. Vance, get back! I’ve got her!” I rolled away, gasping for air. Isla’s fighting skills were brutally effective. In the blink of an eye, she had the guard in a chokehold from behind, delivering two vicious elbow strikes to his ribs. Blood sprayed from his mouth, but she didn’t even flinch. But then, a shout came from the car. “Isla, look out!” She spun around just in time to see another guard’s knife slice across both of her legs. Deep gashes opened up, blood pouring out. Gritting her teeth, she kicked the man away and scrambled into the car. As the engine roared to life, she rolled down the window. Her voice was cold, devoid of any emotion. “Elias, you saved my life once. These two cuts… consider them my repayment. From now on, we’re even.” 2 I still remember the first time I saw Isla. She was wearing rags, and her legs were a mess of infected, ulcerated sores. There was barely an inch of healthy skin visible. I was just passing through that impoverished mountain village, but she had crawled into the middle of the road with her last ounce of strength, clinging to my leg. “Sir, please, I’m begging you, take me with you,” she had pleaded. An old, withered man had chased after her. Seeing my car, he had scoffed. “This one’s not going to last much longer anyway. Can’t even sell her. If you want her, three hundred bucks and she’s yours.” He wasn’t wrong. When I brought her back, she was suffering from multiple organ failure. The doctors gave her less than a day to live. I searched everywhere for a cure, finally finding a reclusive traditional doctor who gave me a powerful, ancient formula. “This medicine is aggressive,” the old doctor had warned me, “but it’s the only thing that can keep her alive. Remember, she must take it every single day, without fail.” I never forgot his words. I personally supervised her medication every day. When she finally recovered, she knelt before me, stubborn and proud, determined to prove her worth. She threw herself into combat training, and the day she returned, she smiled at me and said, “Elias, you used to protect me. From now on, it’s my turn to protect you.” And now? The heart I had offered her so freely was balanced against two cuts from a knife. I immediately used all my connections to lock down the news and sync intelligence with Interpol. But it wasn’t long before an anonymous video appeared in my encrypted inbox. I opened it. The video showed Julian tending to the wounds on Isla’s legs. The gashes on her pale skin were gruesome. “Julian,” she was saying, her voice soft, “when you left the village, you promised you’d come back for me. I waited for seven years. I guess now… we’ve truly entrusted our lives to each other.” Then, ignoring the pain, she tilted her head up and kissed him. It was the first time I had ever seen her be so forward. I had always assumed her passivity in our intimate moments was due to past trauma. Seeing this, I finally understood. I clenched my fists, my body trembling with rage. It was a blatant provocation. But it was far from over. Julian was a master thief and a brilliant chameleon. If he could infiltrate my state-of-the-art private museum, he could easily erase his existence from the world. Recovering the stolen treasures and restoring my reputation in the art world would be nearly impossible. If he wanted to ruin me, then I would have to be ruthless. I assembled my intelligence team and launched a global manhunt. We soon traced him to Europe. My sister, who was studying abroad, helped me pinpoint his location: an ancient seaside manor. When I arrived, a small engagement ceremony was underway. When the woman in the white dress turned around, I knew it was Isla. Her face was serene, radiating a calm happiness. A waiter at the entrance stopped me. “Excuse me, sir. This is a private event. If you wish to observe, please be seated quietly.” I sneered. “An event? The bride-to-be is a married woman. I’m afraid your sacred grounds are about to be defiled.” The waiter looked bewildered. “That’s impossible. Are you saying their identification was forged?” 3 Before he could answer, I stormed in with my men and kicked over a cart laden with champagne glasses. The deafening crash shattered the romantic atmosphere. Isla rushed over, her eyes widening when she saw me. Her expression instantly twisted into one of pure hatred. “Elias! What do you want?” she screamed. “We’re even! I’ve run to the other side of the world, why can’t you just leave me alone?” I just smiled and, in fluent English, informed the guests of her marital status. The room erupted in gasps and whispers. “She cheated on her husband?” “This is the first time a scandal like this has happened at the manor. It’s a disgrace!” Isla’s face turned a deep, blotchy red. Julian stepped forward, his fists clenched. “Elias, this isn’t your territory. You’re a long way from home.” He glanced dismissively at the men behind me. “You brought this small crew to crash my party? I’ll give you three seconds to get out. Otherwise, I’ll make you lick every inch of this lawn clean.” I looked at him, my eyes cold. The last person who spoke to me like that was six feet under. I started towards him. Isla once again blocked my path, just as she had the first time we met. But this time, it wasn’t to beg for her life. It was to defy me. “Elias, this is between us. It has nothing to do with Julian. I promised I would convince him to return what he took. If it’s about the money, I can pay you back a portion of it myself.” “Do you really think I care about those things?” I said flatly. “Isla, your leg is injured. You can’t protect anyone today.” Julian’s voice dripped with contempt from behind her. “Has it ever occurred to you, Elias, that when Isla begged you for help, it was only because she had no other choice? She and I had a promise. I told her I would come back and marry her in style as soon as I made a name for myself.” I fiddled with the expensive watch on my wrist, silent for a moment. Then I ripped it off and hurled it at his face. “Don’t you dare presume to know my motives,” I snarled. He didn’t react in time. He cried out as a line of blood and tears streamed from his eye. Isla’s lips tightened into a thin line, and she fell into a fighting stance. Every punch she threw was a vicious, whistling blur aimed at my head. My guards, trying to protect me, were taken down one by one. Finally, one of her punches connected, slamming into my jaw. I staggered back, a tooth flying out in a spray of blood. An invisible hand squeezed my heart, sending waves of pain through my chest. I looked at her—knuckles raw and bleeding, face smudged with dirt—and I smiled. “Five minutes. It took you a full five minutes to land a single punch on me. Have you gotten slower, or has your heart gotten softer?” I had run countless combat simulations with her. On average, it took her fifteen seconds to incapacitate a top-tier bodyguard. She had once boasted, “Elias, with me here, no one will ever touch a hair on your head.” Now, the force of her punch hadn’t even been enough to knock me down. “Isla, I told you. I gave you your life. You are no longer of any value to me. It’s time I considered taking it back.”

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I was Sterling City’s most notorious queenpin. I died with a single bullet to the head during a city-wide police raid. The moment the news broke, the internet erupted in celebration. A crowdfunded billboard in Times Square played my black-and-white mugshot on a loop. They celebrated because I had flooded Sterling City with narcotics, tearing countless families apart at the seams. They celebrated because I had leaked the details of an operation that got my ex-husband—a narcotics detective—and thirteen of his teammates killed. Over a million people signed a petition demanding my ashes be ground into the tiles of a public restroom. To appease the public’s insatiable rage, my ex-husband, now Captain of the Narcotics Division, decided to authorize a “public memory trial”—a live stream of my entire sinful life for the world to see. … On the day of the trial, Grand Plaza was packed so tight you couldn’t breathe. “A woman like that should be drawn and quartered! She ruined so many lives with her poison!” “I heard she was so ruthless she used a three-year-old as a mule. She’s not even human!” “She got all those cops killed. Today, I’m gonna watch her burn in hell!” Kevin Cox, his face a stone mask, pressed the start button. The roar of the crowd was a tidal wave of hatred, a collective wish to see my body torn limb from limb, my bones ground to dust. But the next second, the image that flashed onto the giant screen was of me. In a crisp police uniform, my hand raised, taking a solemn oath under the flag. In that instant, a stunned silence fell over the entire plaza. … It didn’t last long. A wave of disbelief and anger, even louder than before, crashed through the square. “No way! Ava Grant, a cop? That’s impossible!” “It’s a fake! That scum doesn’t deserve to wear the uniform!” Kevin’s face hardened. He ordered the technicians to verify the memory source, to check if it had been tampered with. Cora Grant, my sister, glided to his side and gently placed a hand on his arm. Her voice was a soft, cautious whisper. “Kevin, this has to be a trick. Something she set up before she died.” “She was always a master of disguise, wasn’t she?” “Let’s just stop this, okay? I’m afraid… I’m afraid you’ll soften…” Kevin pulled Cora into his arms. He let out a bitter laugh, his eyes filled with disgust. “I’ve seen Ava’s games a thousand times.” “She could dress up as a saint, and it still wouldn’t wash the blood of my brothers from her hands.” He looked down at Cora, his tone softening just for her. “Don’t be silly. You’re the only one I love now. Nothing else can shake me.” Cora finally relaxed, melting into his embrace. Someone in the crowd recognized her, and whispers rippled through the plaza. “Isn’t that the younger Grant sister?” “It is! She’s the one who turned in her own father! I heard she donated her entire inheritance to an anti-drug foundation. She has a good heart.” “You’re right. Then you look at her sister, Ava. The second their father went down, she ran straight into the arms of the drug lord Julian Thorne.” “One turns her back on crime, the other dives headfirst into it. Why couldn’t she be more like her sister?” The technician gave Kevin a nod. The memory source was clean. Kevin’s pupils constricted. He took a deep breath and pressed play. My soul hovered in the air above, watching the pure hatred for me in Kevin’s eyes. The same eyes that once held a universe of tenderness now held nothing but icy contempt. Even in death, a pain like tearing fabric ripped through my spirit. The screen shifted to a dimly lit alley late at night. A younger Kevin had just fought off a couple of muggers. He was leaning against a brick wall, breathing heavily, a cut on the corner of his mouth. I rushed over with a first-aid kit and knelt before him. The yellow glow of the streetlight stretched our shadows long and thin behind us. I sat on the curb, fumbling with a cotton swab to clean the cut. The sting of the antiseptic made him hiss. “Trying to be a hero, huh?” I muttered, dabbing gently. “Does it hurt?” He suddenly caught my wrist, his gaze intense. “It doesn’t hurt, not when you’re here.” A blush crept up my neck, and I turned away. “You and your smooth lines.” He chuckled, pulling me into his arms. “If you’re so worried, then don’t let me go. Just stay with me from now on.” My eyes welled up. Without a word, I stood on my toes and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his lips. The image froze on our two radiant smiles. In the present, Kevin’s hands clenched into tight fists. A flicker of something—regret, maybe—crossed his face. Cora noticed his distraction immediately. She spoke up, her voice laced with pity. “Kevin, my sister seemed so innocent back then.” “It’s a shame she couldn’t resist the lure of money.” “Maybe… maybe she only got close to you to get intelligence.” The flicker in Kevin’s eyes vanished, replaced by an even deeper loathing. He looked at Cora, his voice gentle. “You’re right.” “If it wasn’t for her betrayal, I never would have known who was truly worth fighting for.” He squeezed her hand tightly, as if declaring to the world—and to the memory on the screen—that he had already found his true happiness. The scene changed. We were back at that lavish gala celebrating my reunion with my long-lost family. Beneath glittering chandeliers, my father, Marcus Grant, had his arm around me. “This is my daughter, Ava, who I’ve finally found after all these years!” he announced proudly. Before the applause could begin, the grand doors of the ballroom were kicked open. Kevin burst in, flanked by his unit, his face a mask of cold fury. He held up a warrant, his gaze like a shard of ice, pinning my father in place. “Marcus Grant, you’re under arrest for the manufacturing and distribution of illegal narcotics. You’re coming with us.” Click. The cold steel of handcuffs snapped around my father’s wrists. As they dragged him toward the police cruiser, he suddenly thrashed, fighting back like a cornered animal. In the chaos, a rookie officer’s gun went off. Warm blood splattered across my dress, across my face. My mind went blank, a roaring static filling my ears. “Daughter of a kingpin!” I don’t know who threw the first punch, but suddenly a mob swarmed me. Hands tangled in my hair, yanking so hard I thought my scalp would rip. My gown was torn to shreds. Thick gobs of spit and cold drinks rained down on me. “Your father killed my son! You deserve to die too!” a middle-aged woman shrieked, charging forward. A brutal kick slammed into my stomach. Agony tore through me, a pain so sharp it felt like my body was splitting in two. I curled into a ball on the floor, my body convulsing. A wave of heat slid down my thighs. My baby, my three-month-old baby, was gone. In the present, Kevin’s Adam’s apple bobbed violently. The knuckles of his clenched fists were bone-white. But the crowd cheered. “Serves her right! Her father killed all those people, she deserved to lose her own!” The scene jumped. I was standing outside the hospital, bandages still wrapped around my face. Kevin blocked my path. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice cracking. “Ava, what happened with your father… it has nothing to do with you.” “I’ll take care of you. The baby… we can have another one. We can start over, please?” I looked at him and started to laugh, a hollow, broken sound. “Did you know I was stolen as a child, Kevin? That I ate out of dumpsters and slept under bridges?” “I finally found my real father, and you’re the one who put him in his grave.” I pulled the wedding ring from my finger and tossed it at his feet. “I want a divorce.” The ring spun on the pavement, the sound a sharp, brittle crack in the silence. Kevin bent to pick it up, his fingers trembling uncontrollably. I didn’t give him a second glance. I just turned and walked away. In the present, Cora clutched Kevin’s hand. “My sister was just too extreme,” she sighed. “She let hatred blind her…” A snort came from the crowd. “Hatred? Looks more like greed to me!” “Exactly! Why else would she run straight to a monster like Julian Thorne?” The screen went black, then flickered back to life. It was now the grimiest underground casino in Sterling City. I was wearing a blood-red dress, slit high up my thigh. In a private room, Julian Thorne was draped over a sofa, a woman on each arm. Without a word, I picked up a tray holding twelve shots of whiskey and downed them one by one. Fire scorched my throat, and my stomach churned violently. Julian watched me, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You want to be with me?” He rose and walked to an iron cage in the corner. Inside, a hulking mastiff was tearing at a slab of raw meat, its jaws dripping with blood. “Get in there. Take the meat from its mouth.” Julian lit a cigarette, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Bare hands.” I took a deep breath, kicked off my heels, and walked barefoot into the cage. An hour later, my right arm was a shredded ruin of flesh and bone. My left hand was punctured with bloody holes. I kicked the convulsing body of the mastiff aside and limped back to Julian, holding out the mangled piece of meat. “Mr. Thorne,” I rasped. “Your dog… he’s adorable.” He laughed and patted the carpet beside his feet. “Interesting. Kneel.” My knees buckled, and I knelt before him. I picked up a bottle and, with trembling hands, poured him a drink. “From now on, you belong to me.” Julian took the glass, his eyes burning with a possessive fire. I lowered my gaze. “Yes.” From that day forward, I was his most prized possession, and the most reviled woman in Sterling City. In the present, Kevin jerked his head away, unable to watch anymore. Beside him, Cora covered her eyes, her face a mask of disgust. The memory played on. I had become Julian’s right-hand woman. The screen showed me briefing a group of terrified children, directing them to different drop points for a delivery. I pulled the smallest girl aside and pressed a crumpled map into her sweaty palm. My voice was a low, urgent whisper. “Remember, you take this route and only this route. If you don’t, your mother will disappear.” She nodded frantically, biting her lip to keep from crying. The plaza in the present exploded in outrage. “Monster! She’s using children!” “Does she have a soul? She’s pure evil!” People started hurling water bottles at the screen, the plastic cracking against the display. A few hours later in the memory, Julian’s roar came through the phone. “Ava! What the hell did you do?!” The little girl, following my map, had walked straight into a police ambush. They caught her red-handed. In the present, someone in the crowd voiced a flicker of doubt. “Out of all the possible routes, how did the cops know to be on that specific one?” But their question was drowned out by a fresh wave of fury. “She’s just an idiot! She screwed up! Stop making excuses for a monster!” On screen, Julian was suspicious. He produced a syringe filled with a new, potent designer drug. “You want to prove your loyalty? Inject this.” My eyes fixed on the needle, and my body began to tremble uncontrollably. For a split second, the memory of myself in a police uniform, saluting the flag, superimposed itself over the syringe. I closed my eyes, took a ragged breath, and with a pale, set face, I plunged the needle into my own arm. In the present, Cora shuddered. “This is horrible. How could my sister fall so far?” Kevin held her tight, his gaze on my image on the screen turning to ice. “She chose to.” The scene shifted, and now Cora’s face was in my memory. We were in an abandoned warehouse. I handed her a thick envelope. “This is all the money I’ve saved. Donate it anonymously to the narcotics victim fund, especially for the children.” A murmur of confusion went through the crowd. This didn’t fit the narrative of the greedy monster they knew. Kevin frowned, turning to Cora. “She gave you money? Why didn’t you ever mention this?” Cora froze for a second, her eyes darting around. After a moment, she stammered, “Oh, right. There was also a bag of white powder in it. She was trying to get me hooked. I got scared, so I… I threw it all away.” Kevin fell silent, a strange look flickering in his eyes. Immediately, people in the crowd rushed to her defense. “My God, how vile! Trying to frame her own sister!” “Miss Grant did the right thing! That’s drug money! It’s better off in the gutter!” “Look how scared she is just talking about it! Her evil sister must have terrified her!” Cora seized the opportunity and buried her face in Kevin’s chest. He looked down at the top of her head, his gaze lingering for a moment. He tightened his arm around her but said nothing more. In the memory, I pulled a USB drive from my pocket and pressed it into Cora’s hand. “This has all of Julian’s recent operational intel. You have to get this to Kevin. You have to give it to him personally!” My voice echoed in the warehouse, sharp with desperation. “Cora, I’m begging you. Make sure he gets it!” On the screen, my eyes were wild and red-rimmed. My hands gripped her wrist like a vice. In the present, Kevin’s suspicious gaze snapped back to Cora. Her face went white, and she instinctively took a step back. “The USB drive,” Kevin demanded, his voice dangerously low. “Where is it?” Tears instantly welled in Cora’s eyes. “Kevin,” she sobbed, “she handed it to me with a bag of drugs! How could I trust anything she gave me?” “Kevin, I was afraid it was a trap set by Julian!” she cried, her voice trembling. “I was so scared you would get hurt! I can’t lose you, I just can’t…” The crowd was swayed once again. “Miss Grant is right! You can’t trust a single word from a drug pusher!” “She was protecting Captain Cox!” Kevin looked at her, a storm of complicated emotions churning in his eyes. Finally, as if convincing himself, he pulled her back into his embrace. The memory lurched forward. We were on a cargo freighter on the open sea. Kevin, disguised as a buyer in a baseball cap, was at the deal. The sight of him made my heart stop. I forced myself to remain calm, walking past him. As our shoulders brushed, I hissed a single, frantic sentence. “What are you doing here? It’s a trap! Get out now!” He had no time to react. The ship’s alarms blared to life. A cartel member screamed in terror, “We’ve got a mole on board!” Kevin’s hand was already moving toward the gun at his hip, his eyes locked on me, filled with disbelief and betrayal. My heart sank. In that split second, I made my choice. I whipped out my own gun and aimed it squarely at Kevin’s chest. “Don’t bother looking,” my voice boomed across the deck. “The mole is him!” “Tie him to the mast!” Julian’s men swarmed Kevin, slamming him to the deck. I strode over to him. I raised my pistol and brought the butt down, hard, on his previously injured shoulder. He grunted in pain, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked up, his eyes burning with a hate so cold it was like ice. “Ava. I was so wrong about you.” I leaned down, my lips close to his ear, and laughed. “Too bad, Captain. Better luck next life. Try to keep your eyes open.” I straightened up, my laughter echoing into the storm. But no one could see the tears mixing with the rain streaming down my face. Just then, the roar of a helicopter grew louder, circling above the freighter. A rope ladder dropped, and Julian Thorne descended from the sky. He gave a slight nod, and one of his men chopped Kevin on the back of the neck, knocking him unconscious. Then, without warning, Julian turned and swung his hand. CRACK! The force of the slap sent me sprawling to the deck. “Nice acting, Ava,” Julian sneered, crouching down to grab my chin. “So ruthless, even to your old flame. I almost believed you.” “So what was the next part of the act? Faking your death so he could play the hero and escape? Hmm?” The screen suddenly went black. A confused murmur spread through the plaza. For the first time, a seed of doubt was planted about my crimes. “Wait… was she really just acting to save him?” “Even Thorne said it… something’s not right here.” A few people even rewound the footage in their minds, remembering the glint of tears mixed with the rain on my cheeks. For the first time, a few weak voices rose in my defense. In the present, Kevin’s body went rigid. He had completely forgotten my whispered warning to “get out now.” A chilling premonition snaked its way up his spine. The light on the giant screen flickered back on. The image stabilized. Kevin snapped his head up, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. The scene that appeared was something he could never have imagined in his darkest nightmares…

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The Outpost had fallen. Our only path to survival hinged on one thing: a decoy team to draw the horde away. My girlfriend, Sarah, and I each led a squad. The Governor settled the matter of which of our teams would live and which would die with a kill competition. The winner evacuates. The loser dies. In my past life, I didn’t hesitate. I chose to lose, ready to sacrifice myself, my sister, and my entire squad to give Sarah a future. But when the horde pinned us down, when I screamed for her covering fire, support isn’t what we got. What we got was the heavy machine gun she personally swiveled in our direction, firing from behind. Through the muzzle flashes, I watched my sister and every soldier who trusted me get torn to shreds by our own side. All the while, Sarah fell into the arms of the Governor’s son, Liam, a triumphant smile on her face. She walked over our corpses to be crowned a hero. I was ripped apart and turned. A shred of my consciousness remained as I wandered the wasteland, until they finally put a bullet in my head. I opened my eyes. I was back. Reborn on the morning the competition was set to begin. Just as I expected, Sarah was already there, putting on a show, trying to convince me to die for her. But this time, I still agreed without a moment’s hesitation. “Alright.” 1 “He’s finally dead. Now no one can challenge me for the captaincy.” “Sarah, you poor thing, having to put up with him for so long.” “But it’s over now. We can finally be together.” The voices of Sarah and Liam echoed in my mind. My eyes snapped open. The cold touch of the metal wall brought me back. I was reborn. Images from my past life exploded in my head. I saw my sister, Mia, leading my squad, charging toward the horde to save me. They were fighting their way back, screaming my name. “Cole!” “Captain! We’re coming for you!” Then, Liam gave the order to fire. The heavy machine gun roared. Their bodies disintegrated in a storm of lead and fire. Later, after the horde had torn me apart and I’d become one of them, my last flicker of consciousness saw the woman who once promised to have my children, passionately kissing Liam amidst a celebrating crowd. “…Captains, please come to the platform.” The Governor’s icy voice dragged me from my memories. From his perch on the high wall, he motioned for Sarah and me to stand beside him, then addressed everyone in the Outpost. “As you all know, Captain Cole and Captain Sarah are the leaders of our two finest scavenger teams.” “They have made immense contributions to our survival, and we all owe them a debt of gratitude.” “But now, the Outpost faces a crisis like never before. A mega-horde is coming. We must evacuate.” “For the majority to survive, one team must make the ultimate sacrifice. They must become the bait.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over us, finally landing on me. “The rules are simple. Starting now, you have twenty-four hours. The two captains will lead their teams out to kill the infected. After one day, we will tally the numbers. The highest count wins.” “The winner will receive priority evacuation and ample supplies. The loser… will serve the Outpost one last time.” A dead silence fell over the crowd. Serve the Outpost. A pretty way of saying ‘go get eaten.’ In my last life, I loved Sarah more than myself. I handed her the chance to live. I deliberately led my team away from dense zombie zones, even passed up easy kills just so she could win. And what did I get for it? As the meeting dismissed, Sarah immediately cut me off. Her face was pale, but her eyes held the steady calm she always projected as a captain. “Cole, we need to talk.” I turned, watching her performance with a quiet, cold detachment. “This rule isn’t fair, and you know it,” she said, looking me straight in the eye. “Your skill, your team… you’re light-years ahead of me. This isn’t a competition; it’s a death sentence for me and my squad.” She took a deep breath, her tone softening, becoming a plea. “I’m not afraid to die. I just don’t think it should be like this. We’ve both sacrificed so much for this place. Just because I’m not as strong as you, I have to lead my people to their deaths?” When I didn’t respond, she bit her lip, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper, as if it took all her strength. “And… I’m pregnant.” Pregnant? I almost laughed. I could still vividly remember the early days of the outbreak. We were hiding in an abandoned supermarket, and she was curled in my arms, whispering that one day she’d give me enough kids to field a basketball team. Thinking back on that moment of happiness now felt like the cruelest joke in the world. Liam stepped forward, his face a mask of solemn agreement. “Captain, we all know you’re the best. For the Outpost, for the future of a new life… only you can carry out this noble task.” I watched their little duet, my heart frozen solid. Behind me, the eyes of my squad were just as cold. Mia stepped forward. “Sarah, you can’t be so selfish! My brother has given everything for this place! Why should he be the one to die?” Sarah flinched, her eyes instantly welling up with tears, as if she’d been deeply wounded. I raised a hand to stop Mia. My gaze fell on Sarah’s deceitful face, and a slow smile spread across my own. As they stared at me in stunned silence, I gave a small nod. “Alright.” I looked at her, then at Mia and my team behind me. I added, enunciating every word, “This time, we go.” “And we don’t need a single bullet of support.” 2 My words hung in the air. Mia and my squad stared at me, dumbfounded. Sarah and Liam exchanged a look, their relief and joy almost impossible to hide. “Cole, you…” Sarah started, pretending she wanted to protest, but I cut her off with a raised hand. “There’s nothing more to say.” I turned to my squad and gave the order. “Gear up. We’re moving out.” “Sir!” Though their minds were reeling with questions, not one of my soldiers voiced an objection. They immediately turned to prep their equipment. These were the soldiers I had trained. Mia came to my side, tugging on my sleeve. “Cole,” she whispered, “I trust you.” I ruffled her hair but said nothing. At the Outpost gate, the contrast between our two teams was stark. Sarah’s squad was in high spirits, their members laughing and joking as if they were headed for a picnic, not a suicide mission. Liam had even diverted a shipment of brand-new weapons and ammunition to them. My team, on the other hand, silently checked their worn gear, their faces grim. On the electronic screen above the gate, two large zeros were displayed side-by-side, our starting kill counts. “Move out!” At the Governor’s command, our teams charged out of the Outpost in opposite directions. Less than a mile out, we ran into a small pack of roamers, maybe a dozen of them. “Captain?” my second-in-command, Marcus, looked to me for orders. Normally, we’d have wiped them out in under thirty seconds. Instead, I held up a hand and gave my first command. “Hold your position and fire. Do not advance.” Marcus stared at me. Firing from a distance meant lower accuracy and a massive waste of ammo. It was the least efficient way to fight. “Captain, that’s a waste of bullets!” he couldn’t help but point out. “Follow the order,” my voice was flat, emotionless. Marcus gritted his teeth, but finally bellowed, “Open fire!” Gunfire erupted. Bullets sprayed wildly, and it took a full two minutes to put down just over a dozen infected. At the same time, Sarah’s triumphant voice crackled over the public comms channel. “Command, this is Sarah! My team has engaged a horde in the east sector, over fifty hostiles! Estimated time to neutralization, three minutes!” Her voice dripped with self-satisfaction. Soon, on the screen back at the Outpost, the number next to her team’s name began to climb rapidly, jumping from 0 to 53. Ours was a pathetic 12. Inside the Outpost, the watching crowd erupted in mockery. “All that hype about the First Squad being the best. When it comes down to it, this is all they’ve got?” “Yeah, took them forever to kill a handful of walkers. Hell, our gate guards are more efficient!” “I think he’s lost his nerve. All those past victories were probably just bullshit!” Bits and pieces of their ridicule filtered through my earpiece. My face remained impassive. “Sweep the area,” I ordered. “Collect all shell casings and do a count of ammo expended.” Another bizarre command that wasted five precious minutes. Marcus’s face grew darker, but he followed my order without question. Mia said nothing, just silently reloaded my magazines for me. For the next few hours, we proceeded at this “turtle’s pace.” When we encountered small groups, we dispatched them in the most ammo-inefficient way possible. When we spotted a large horde, I ordered a full retreat, circling around them. Our kill count crawled upwards at a humiliatingly slow pace. Sarah’s team, meanwhile, was on a rampage. Reports of her victories came in one after another. Liam would periodically get on the public channel, his voice dripping with false concern. “Captain Cole, how are things on your end? Need any support? Captain Sarah is already closing in on three hundred.” Every one of his calls was a public shaming. Everyone on the channel could hear it. My soldiers were simmering with rage, their faces flushed, but they remained silent, bound by my orders. The sentiment back at the Outpost turned venomous. “Thank God for Captain Sarah. If we had to rely on him, we’d all be dead!” “I can’t believe we ever thought he was a hero. He’s a coward!” “Just send him out to die already. Stop wasting our food!” As evening fell, we took shelter in an abandoned building to rest. The score on the screen was a glaring 78 to 412. We were utterly defeated. Marcus couldn’t hold it in any longer. He walked up to me. “Captain, I just have one question. Why?” I didn’t look at him, just continued to polish my combat knife. “All you need to know is that if you follow me, you will live.” Marcus stared at me, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration. Finally, he gave a sharp nod and walked away. I looked up, my eyes fixed on the distant silhouette of the Outpost. The main event was about to begin. 3 The twenty-four hours were up. We returned to the Outpost. On the giant electronic screen, the final score was frozen. 89 to 521. A chasm of a difference that declared our utter failure. As we stepped into the central plaza, Sarah’s team came to meet us, every one of them wearing the proud smirk of a victor. The residents of the Outpost swarmed around them, cheering and hoisting them up as heroes. “Captain Sarah is our savior!” “We’re saved!” When they looked at us, their eyes were filled with contempt and relief. The Governor stepped onto the high platform. He cleared his throat, and the plaza fell silent. “The results of the competition are in,” he announced. “The winner is the Second Scavenger Team, led by Captain Sarah!” A thunderous applause erupted. The Governor raised a hand for silence, his gaze shifting to us, his expression one of fake sympathy. “As per the rules, Captain Cole and the First Scavenger Team will carry out the final decoy mission for us.” “They are brave. They are honorable. Let us give our heroes a proper send-off!” A smattering of applause followed, sounding more like mockery than respect. My soldiers’ fists were clenched so tight their knuckles were white. Mia’s eyes were glistening with tears, but she refused to let them fall. They weren’t afraid to die. They were enraged that the honor of the First Squad was being trampled into the dirt. Just then, Liam, with his arm around Sarah, stepped onto the platform and took the microphone. He smiled. “To show our gratitude for Captain Cole’s sacrifice, I propose we play a little game to send our heroes off in style. What do you say?” The crowd murmured in confusion. Liam’s smile widened. “Let’s place some bets. Let’s bet on how long our heroes can last against the horde!” The suggestion was met with a moment of stunned silence, followed by an explosion of morbid excitement. “Now that’s interesting! I bet they don’t last ten minutes!” a man shouted, pulling out a pack of ration biscuits as his wager. “Ten minutes? You’re giving them too much credit!” another man jeered. “I bet five minutes! Not a single one of them makes it out alive! I’ll put up a can of beef!” “I bet thirty seconds!” yelled another man, patting his canteen. “My half-canteen of water says they’re all dead in thirty!” “Hahaha!” The crowd went insane. They pulled out their most prized possessions—food, water, even ammunition—and eagerly placed their bets at a makeshift table Liam had set up. The scene wasn’t a somber farewell for a team marching to their death. It was a carnival, a festival celebrating our demise. Sarah leaned against Liam, a victor’s smile playing on her lips as she watched it all unfold. She even took the microphone, her voice sweet. “To thank everyone for participating, Liam and I have decided to offer ten vials of antibiotics as the grand prize for whoever guesses the closest!” The crowd’s frenzy hit its peak. In this world, antibiotics were a second life. I watched it all with cold eyes. These people, whom we had risked our lives to protect, were now gambling on the exact minute of our deaths. This was the home I had fought for. These were the people I had died for. “Cole…” Mia’s voice trembled. I turned to my squad. Their eyes held no fear, only the burning rage of betrayal. I took a deep breath. My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried to every one of them. “First Squad, fall in.” Instantly, every soldier snapped to attention, their posture ramrod straight, as if they were marching to a glorious battle, not their execution. I didn’t spare another glance at the couple on the stage, nor at the ugly, leering faces in the crowd. I turned to face the giant blast doors of the Outpost. “Move out.” 4 After we left, the party in the Outpost plaza truly began. Liam had all the wagered goods piled on the platform, creating a small mountain of supplies. “Everyone!” he shouted, raising a glass. “A toast! To getting rid of the dead weight, and to the new life ahead of us!” “To Captain Sarah! To Liam!” The crowd roared, eagerly dividing the spoils of their death pool, spoils paid for with our blood and sweat. Sarah melted into Liam’s arms, basking in the adoration. She was the queen here. She watched the Outpost’s blast doors grind shut, a small, triumphant smile on her face. “Don’t blame me, Cole,” she whispered to the empty air. “You were just in the way.” An hour later, they led the main convoy, a long procession moving toward the designated “safe evacuation point.” It was a valley surrounded by mountains on three sides with a single, easily defensible entrance—a sanctuary the Governor had chosen long ago. When the convoy arrived, a collective sigh of relief went through the crowd. They built bonfires, roasted meat, and acted as if the apocalypse was already over. Liam and Sarah stood on a high ridge overlooking the valley, like a king and queen surveying their domain. Suddenly, a massive explosion ripped through the night from the direction we had gone. The blast was so powerful it painted half the sky red. Everyone fell silent for a moment, then erupted into even louder cheers. “They’ve met the horde!” “It worked! Captain Cole finally made himself useful!” Liam’s grin widened. He pulled Sarah closer. “It’s over, Sarah. From now on, I’ll protect you.” Sarah closed her eyes, content. Just then, the satellite phone in Liam’s pocket buzzed with an urgent incoming video call. Annoyed, he answered, assuming it was his father with new instructions. The screen lit up, and a face he never expected to see again appeared. “Liam, my friend. Good evening.” Liam’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. The color drained from his face. The man on the screen was me. I was perfectly fine. Not a single rip or smudge on my clothes. And behind me, an endless, surging ocean of the dead. “You… you’re alive?!” Liam stammered. I looked at his terrified face and my smile grew wider. “Surprised? Oh, this is just the opening act.”

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The most notorious playboy in our circle, Julian Keane, crashed his car and hit his head. When he woke up, his memory had stopped three years in the past. He found me, his voice tight with irritation. “It was just dinner with my ex. How long are you going to throw a fit about it?” I froze. When I finally came to my senses, I lifted the little girl from the floor and held her close. Looking into his bewildered eyes, I said softly, “Julian, we broke up three years ago.” “I’m… married now. I have a child.” 1 After tucking my daughter into bed for the night, I leaned against the headboard, scrolling through my phone. A news alert popped up on the screen. “February 17th, 9:00 PM: Julian Keane, Chairman and CEO of Apex Global, was involved in a car accident in Los Angeles. He has been rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment. Sources report Mr. Keane suffered severe head trauma and is currently in a coma. For further updates, follow Apex News…” The accompanying photo showed a Bugatti Veyron, mangled almost beyond recognition. Julian was on a stretcher, his head slick with blood, his eyes closed. Even unconscious, his brows were locked in a tight frown. A wave of dizziness washed over me. I hadn’t seen him in three years. The whispered intimacies, the heart-shattering pain… back then, I thought I’d carry those memories forever. But in the space of a thousand short days, they had blurred, becoming distant echoes from another lifetime. I lowered my gaze, ready to put my phone away and sleep, when a frantic pounding erupted at my front door. Terrified the noise would wake my daughter, I threw on my slippers and rushed to the living room. When I peered through the peephole, I froze. It was Julian. A bandage was wrapped around his head, already seeping blood, and his face was a mask of pure frustration. “Ava, open the damn door!” he yelled. “I know you’re in there, I checked with the doorman!” My mind reeled. I felt a confusing mix of shock and dread as I unlocked the door. “You were just in an accident a few days ago,” I stammered. “How are you—” He brushed past me as if he owned the place, his gaze briefly snagging on a pair of men’s slippers by the door before moving on. “It’s freezing out there,” he grumbled, shoving his jacket into my hands. “What are you doing in a godforsaken place like this? What about the villa I bought for you? Why aren’t you living there?” His casual, possessive tone left me speechless. I couldn’t find the words to respond. The last time we’d seen each other, three years ago, our breakup had been a maelstrom of ugly words and shattered trust. Julian’s face had been a storm cloud of fury, his eyes burning with a look so intense I thought he might actually kill me. “You and your little lover better stay the hell away from me,” he’d snarled. “Or I can’t guarantee he’ll live to see another day.” But now, he acted as if none of that had ever happened. He sank into the sofa, patted his thigh, and glanced up at me with a lazy, familiar air. “Come here.” The warm, yellow light of the lamp cast long shadows across his face. His eyes, just as I remembered, were slightly upturned, sharp with a cutting arrogance. But he was so devastatingly handsome that the cruelty melted into a kind of untamable charisma. I took a step back, my brow furrowed. “What are you doing here? We’re not together anymore.” Julian scoffed. “Give me a break. You think I don’t know you?” He smirked. “You’ve probably been crying your eyes out the last two days, haven’t you?” “That’s enough,” he said, waving his hand impatiently. “So I took Isabelle to the hospital. Is that really a reason to be this petty?” When I didn’t move, Julian’s patience wore thin. He stood up, grabbed my arm, and pulled me towards him. His long, elegant fingers rested on my stomach, his voice softening with a sudden tenderness. “I know. You’re pregnant, and your hormones are all over the place, right?” he murmured. “If you really want this baby, then we’ll have it. I’ve even picked out names. If it’s a boy, we’ll call him Noah. If it’s a girl…” That’s when it finally clicked. Something was terribly wrong. The things Julian was saying… they were from three years ago. I grabbed his wrist, my voice catching in my throat. “Julian… do you have amnesia?” He paused for a second, then shrugged it off. “That’s what they’re all saying, that I scrambled my brain. It’s bullshit. My head’s a little fuzzy, but it’s nothing important. You can fill me in on the details later.” He wrapped his arms around me, tilting his head back to look at me with eyes full of adoration, as if the last three years of silence and separation had never happened. I pushed him away, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Julian, we broke up. I—” He cut me off, the warmth vanishing from his smile. “Ava, don’t push it.” A haughty curve touched his lips. “You think I’d believe that? You’ve been by my side for years. If you were going to leave, you would’ve done it a long time ago.” He leaned in, his voice a low, confident whisper. “You can’t live without me.” Just then, the sound of a doorknob turning echoed from the hallway. I shoved Julian away with all my might. My daughter, Rosie, emerged, rubbing her sleepy eyes. In her tiny hand, she clutched her favorite stuffed rabbit. “Mommy?” She frowned, her small gaze landing on Julian. “Who is he?” 2 My breakup with Julian was anything but peaceful. I was adopted by the Keane family. They called me their child, but in reality, I was little more than a companion they’d hired for their son. From the day I walked into their home, everyone made one thing clear: I was there to accommodate Julian, to take care of Julian. I was three years older than him, so I naturally fell into the role of the protective big sister. Julian was spoiled rotten from birth and had a temper to match. In the beginning, he made my life a living hell. He’d put snakes, my deepest fear, in my bed. He’d gather his friends to mock me for being an orphan. He’d burst into my room in the dead of night, dragging me out of bed just to hiss in my face. “Don’t you dare think you’re my real sister, Ava,” he’d snarl. “You’re just a dog my family took in. You get that?” I knew. I knew I didn’t have the right to fight back. In truth, I was grateful to Julian’s parents. They had rescued me from the orphanage. If it wasn’t for them, the director, who secretly trafficked the pretty children under his care, would have sold me to God knows who. But a child’s anger is a fleeting thing. Under my constant, patient care, Julian’s sharp edges began to soften. He grew closer to me, defending me from others, seeking me out on sleepless nights. He even started calling me his sister. I thought that’s all I would ever be to him. Then, when I was nineteen, Julian started dating. He fell for Isabelle. Her family was on par with the Keanes, and like Julian, she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She was a radiant, stunning girl, crowned the campus queen her freshman year, and she quickly caught Julian’s eye. They got together, a perfect match on paper. But they were both used to getting their own way, and their relationship was a constant storm of arguments. During one of their fights, Julian, wanting to spite Isabelle, kissed me right in front of her. In that single moment, everything between us changed. He and Isabelle made up soon after, but Julian never explained the kiss. We both silently agreed to never speak of it again, but we both knew. We could never go back to the simple, easy way we were before. Julian and Isabelle dated for three years, but their fiery tempers finally led to a bitter breakup. Heartbroken, Isabelle left the country. And Julian, drunk and lost, found his way into my bed. I can still feel the chaos of that night. The scent of alcohol on his breath as he murmured against my neck, his hands pinning mine above my head. “Don’t say no,” he pleaded, his actions forceful, but his voice was fragile, almost desperate. “Please, don’t say no.” I was trapped. After a long silence, I managed to ask, my voice trembling, “Julian, do you even know who I am?” His answer was a kiss. Much later, as I was drifting off to sleep, exhausted, I faintly heard him whisper into my ear. “You’re Ava.” … And just like that, we were together. There was no confession, no ceremony, not even a single “I love you” exchanged between us. I continued to play the part of his sister, managing his life, but now our interactions were laced with a new, dangerous intimacy. We’d walk along the beach at sunset, cuddle on the couch watching movies late into the night, and hold each other close as thunderstorms raged outside. For a while, I was truly happy. I don’t know when I fell in love with him, but I knew I did. So when Isabelle returned and sought out Julian, I swallowed my pride. When he ditched my birthday dinner to be with her, I endured it. I loved Julian, and I knew he was still just a boy in many ways. I was willing to give him the space to make mistakes and find his way back to me. Until I found out I was pregnant. I sent a picture of the positive test to Julian. He called back after what felt like an eternity. His voice was distorted over the phone, laced with annoyance. “Ava, I’m not ready for a kid.” “I haven’t had my fun yet. There’s no way I can be a father. You need to get rid of it.” Half an hour later, a friend of mine, an intern at the hospital, sent me a photo. It was Julian and Isabelle. He was holding her carefully, his touch as gentle as if she were the most precious treasure in the world. My friend sent a voice note: “Why is Julian at the OB-GYN with another girl? She’s pregnant. Who is she?” In that moment, I understood. Julian didn’t want to be a father to my child. He had never gotten over Isabelle. She was the girl who’d given him his first taste of love, the one he could never truly forget. Now that she was back, I, the placeholder, had to step aside. My baby and I were just trash to be discarded. I told Julian I wanted to break up. For some reason, he refused, dragging it out. Desperate, I asked an old classmate to help me stage a scene, pretending he was a new lover. I will never forget the look in Julian’s eyes that day. He stared at me as if he wanted to burn me to ashes with his gaze alone. “You and your little lover better stay the hell away from me,” he’d said. “Or I can’t guarantee he’ll live to see another day.” Then, with a final, contemptuous sneer, he’d delivered the killing blow. “You were always just a dog I kept around.” “And remember this: I’m the one dumping you. Not the other way around.” After that day, I never saw him again. He moved his business abroad and, from what I heard, got engaged to Isabelle. Both families were thrilled; they were a perfect match. The engagement party was so lavish it made the front page of the society pages. And now, here he was. A car crash had rewound his life by three years. The living room was suffocatingly quiet, the sound of late-night traffic muffled by the windows. The silence felt thick, heavy. I clutched my daughter tighter, and looking at Julian’s shocked face, I repeated myself, my voice soft but firm. “Julian, we broke up three years ago.” “I’m… married now. I have a child.” 3 It took a moment for Julian to react. His mouth opened, then closed, a look of absurd disbelief on his face. He reached for me, his hand trembling. “No, that’s impossible,” he muttered, as if trying to convince himself more than me. “Ava, there’s no way you’d marry someone else.” “You love me.” His gaze shifted to the child in my arms, and he forced a brittle smile. “I have amnesia, right? So… this is my daughter, isn’t she?” His voice was desperate. “You kept the baby behind my back?” I took a step back. “Julian, stop this madness!” “She is not your child!” The light in Julian’s eyes flickered and died, replaced by a gathering storm. “Not mine? Then whose is she?” He lunged forward and grabbed my wrist, his voice turning sharp and dangerous. “Ava, who the hell is the father?!” “That would be me.” Just as I was about to panic, the door swung open. Ethan Hayes walked in and gently took my daughter from my arms. The night air was damp, and his black suit was misted with dew, yet he looked anything but disheveled. A powerful confidence radiated from him as he studied Julian with a look of detached amusement. “We have a guest? You should have told me,” he said to me, completely ignoring Julian’s darkening expression as he handed me a small box. “That bakery you like,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “I got there late. Almost missed out on the last one.” Julian’s eyes raked over Ethan, his hands clenching into fists. “Ava, when did you get involved with him?” Before I could answer, Ethan let out a soft laugh, a sound devoid of warmth, laced instead with icy mockery. “When?” he mused. “Well, let’s see. We got together three years ago. We had our daughter two years ago. We got married this year. Which ‘when’ are you asking about, Mr. Keane?” In the silent living room, the two tall men faced off. Fury blazed in Julian’s eyes, while Ethan looked on as if observing a petulant child, exuding an air of effortless, victorious superiority. I sighed, stepping forward to take Ethan’s arm. I turned back to Julian. “He’s right.” “Julian, it’s been over for a long time. We both have our own lives now. You and Isabelle are getting married. I’m married and I have a child.” “You’re only confused because of the accident. We agreed… a long time ago…” I paused, searching for the right words. “We agreed not to bother each other anymore.” “Bother?” Julian stumbled back a step, a bitter, almost comical expression twisting his features. “Ava, we lived together for more than a decade.” “And now you call it bothering?” I looked down, my voice barely a whisper. “You’ve grown up, Julian. We were always meant to have our own lives.” Ethan moved closer, his left arm holding our daughter while his right hand found mine, a silent declaration of ownership. The three of us stood together, and though we were only a few feet from Julian, it was as if an unbridgeable chasm had opened between us. After a long, tense silence, Julian laughed. A cold, harsh sound. He stared at me, his eyes like chips of ice. “Fine, Ava,” he sneered. “You win.” 4 Ethan didn’t say anything after Julian left, but I could tell his petty streak was showing. Even when Rosie asked for a kiss, his was perfunctory and distracted. He was radiating a low-grade storm cloud of “I’m angry, you’d better explain yourself.” I sighed and wrapped my arms around him from behind. “I had no idea he was coming,” I murmured. “He just showed up, and he has amnesia. I made everything clear to him.” “It won’t happen again, okay?” Ethan ripped off his tie and threw it on the floor, sinking onto the sofa without a word. After a few minutes of stewing, he finally spoke, his voice tight. “The moment I heard he’d gotten on a plane back here after his accident, I knew something was wrong. I rushed over, but I was still too late to stop him from getting in.” He looked genuinely furious, and for the first time since I’d known him, the man who only ever dealt in sarcasm let a curse slip. “Dammit. Why didn’t the crash just kill him?” I almost laughed. Ethan always seemed so calm and composed, as if nothing in the world could faze him. But when it came to Julian, his composure evaporated. When Julian had first moved abroad, Ethan had been ready to throw him a farewell party just to get rid of him for good. Now, right after we’d finally gotten married, Julian was back to stir up trouble. Of course he was pissed. I spent a long time soothing him, swearing up and down that I wouldn’t get entangled with Julian again. He eventually calmed down, but he made sure to take out his frustrations on me later that night after Rosie was asleep. The next morning, I dragged my aching body out of bed, silently cursing Ethan. For a man pushing thirty, he seemed to have more energy than ever. Wasn’t there some rule about men going downhill after twenty-five? As if on cue, my phone rang. A number I didn’t recognize. Thinking it was a delivery, I answered, but a familiar female voice cut me off. Even through the phone, Isabelle’s condescension was palpable. “Ava, we need to meet.” I frowned. “What about?” “I think we need to talk about Julian, don’t you?” I rubbed my temples, annoyed. “I have nothing to do with Julian,” I said bluntly. “I didn’t cause his accident or his amnesia. Whatever issues you have, you can sort them out between yourselves. It has nothing to do with me.” I hung up before she could reply. I’d never liked Isabelle. It wasn’t just because Julian had chosen her over me; his feelings weren’t her fault. It was her attitude—the way she always looked down on me, as if I were something dirty she’d found on the bottom of her shoe. She was the one who had interfered in my relationship with Julian, yet she always carried herself with the air of a wronged queen. I had finally escaped that past and built a new life. The last thing I wanted was to get dragged back into the drama with Julian and Isabelle. …

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After prison, The scars on my wrist were a permanent reminder that Mason Holt and I could never go back to what we were. 1 My short hair was giving the makeup artist a headache. Half an hour later, Mason pushed the door open. “Is she ready?” “Mr. Holt, is this acceptable?” Mason’s gaze fell on me, his eyes deepening with an unreadable intensity. “Elara. Look at yourself. Do you like it?” My eyes flickered for only a moment. Beside me, the makeup artist anxiously twisted her hands. In the past, my standards were impossibly high. I had to be the most dazzling woman in the room. But that was before. The woman I was now had just spent three years in prison. The long, proud hair I once cherished was gone, shorn away. “It’s fine.” 2 I took Mason’s arm, and we descended the grand spiral staircase, walking into the full glare of the party. “Look, it’s Elara Vance.” “She’s really out.” I kept my head held high the entire time. A ghost of my former pride forbade me to bow. “Are you alright?” Before the person next to me could say more, guests were already approaching us. “Mason, congratulations. Heard you landed the ten-figure Triton contract for Holt Industries.” Mason nodded in acknowledgment, clinking his glass with the man’s. “I’m going to walk around for a bit. You handle things.” I detached myself from his side and drifted toward the edge of the ballroom. In a quiet corner, I finally let out a long breath. “I heard she just got out yesterday.” “Did Mason Holt really pick her up himself?” “Unlikely. Everyone knows the one he loves is Seraphina Curtis. His marriage to Elara is just for show.” “True. Three years ago, she could have avoided a conviction, but the Holt family didn’t lift a finger to help.” The two women walked past, their faces paling when they saw me standing there. They scattered like startled birds. I narrowed my eyes, a chill seeping into my heart. 3 A stir went through the ballroom. “What’s happening?” A waiter murmured, “The Curtis family just arrived. They presented a gilded sculpture by a renowned artist.” I pressed my lips together. “The Curtiss really know how to make an entrance. A piece like that is practically priceless.” “Heh, isn’t that just a gift from the left hand to the right?” “You’ll see. Seraphina Curtis will be marrying into the Holt family sooner or later.” “Don’t spread rumors.” “Please. Mason only married Elara because her grandfather basically blackmailed him with the Vance family fortune. I heard there was a five-year contract involved.” I turned my head, looking toward the source of the chatter, then walked away. 4 I returned to Mason’s side. “Where did you go? Your hand is freezing.” He turned and briefly clasped my hand in his. “Nowhere.” Standing beside him, I was once again the center of attention. My gaze drifted to Seraphina, who stood quietly by her father’s side. Our eyes met. There was no trace of provocation in her expression. She simply looked away, turning to greet an old friend. She was so gentle, yet it was as if a spotlight followed her, drawing the admiration of countless young heirs. But everyone knew she had been waiting for Mason for years. This married man, the most powerful figure in the city. Some said she was waiting in vain. But I knew the truth. It was a mutual longing. The whispers were all true. In all our years of marriage, Mason had never once touched me. 5 The party concluded after the 40th-anniversary appreciation ceremony. The guests departed, leaving the ballroom vast and empty. “Ma’am, how should we begin the cleanup?” The venue was one of the Holt family’s estates. Before prison, I had always been the one to plan these events. I shook my head. “Just do as you see fit.” Just then, Mason returned from seeing off the last guest. “Let’s go back to Shorelight.” 6 The car ride home was silent. He’d been drinking and sat with his eyes closed, resting. When we arrived, he went upstairs without a word. I sat in the living room, feeling adrift. “Ma’am, shall I help you with your makeup?” the housekeeper asked. “No, thank you. I’ll do it myself later.” I just looked up, watching the tall shadow of his back disappear down the upstairs corridor. “Ma’am seems like a different person since she’s been back.” “Well, it was prison. I hear it’s a dark place. Who knows what she suffered in there.” “I feel sorry for her, really. A husband who doesn’t love her, and she was born a princess, only to end up in jail.” “Remember that time a year ago when they took her out for medical treatment? I heard she tried to kill herself inside.” I didn’t go to the kitchen. I just picked up a carton of milk from the coffee table and quietly went upstairs. 7 In the bedroom, Mason came out of the bathroom to find me on the moonlit balcony, sipping from the carton of milk. “Why are you squatting there? There’s a chair right next to you.” I froze for a second, my mind catching up. My subconscious was still trapped in the habits of my cell. “Are you done showering?” I looked up, about to stand. But a wave of dizziness from my low blood sugar almost sent me tumbling. His strong arm shot out and steadied me. “Careful. Is it your hypoglycemia? I’ll have the doctor come tomorrow and prescribe some medicine to help regulate it.” I didn’t respond. I just moved to the chair and sat, watching him with a puzzled expression. He was about to say something else when my phone, resting on the railing, lit up. It was a message from Leo. “Do you want a kitten? I’ll give you one. It’s adorable, you’ll love it.” Leo. I stared at the name, momentarily stunned. He’d requested to visit me during my three years in prison, but I had refused. I didn’t want to see anyone. I picked up the phone, about to reply. “Get washed up and rest. I have an email to send from the study.” Mason shrugged on a robe, his broad back turning as he walked out. I stared at the doorway, lit by a single wall sconce. It was just like three years ago. Every night, just before bed, he would always have “work to finish.” And he would be gone for the entire night. The next morning, he would invariably tell me he’d worked too late and had just slept in the study. 8 Leo gave me an incredibly cute kitten. But I couldn’t take it back to Shorelight. Mason disliked all small animals. “I’ll look after him for now,” Leo said. I cuddled the soft, warm ball of fur. “Elara,” Leo said with a sudden smile, “has anyone ever told you that you’re more like a cat now?” “You’ve actually always had a cat-like spirit.” I didn’t understand what he meant. He had already turned to get some cat food. In the end, the kitten stayed with Leo for the time being. 9 Since my release, I had barely gone out. The only time was to visit the kitten at Leo’s. As for Mason, he was always busy. He left early and came back late; the evenings were the only time I saw him. But the story of my imprisonment never made it to the media. Mason had suppressed it—not to protect me, I suspected, but to protect the Holt family’s name. “Come down for dinner.” I turned. Mason was home. “Mrs. Gable said you’ve been in your room for hours. Are you not feeling well?” He took off his jacket and came over, raising a hand to touch my forehead. I flinched away. “I’m fine. Let’s eat.” His hand fell, empty. A few steps later, he caught up, and we went downstairs together. At the landing, I stopped abruptly. I clutched my bare wrist and turned back. “What’s wrong?” “I forgot something. You go ahead.” I hurried back upstairs, found the cool jade bangle on my vanity, and slipped it onto my wrist, hiding the tangled web of scars beneath. When I came back down, I was surprised to see Mason still waiting there. As I approached, his gaze fixed on my wrist, now covered by the bangle. “Elara. Let’s go eat. I’m starving.” 10 We ate in silence. “What’s this?” After dinner, I went upstairs and found two dark blue cards on the round table in the sitting area. “An art exhibition. Do you want to go?” Mason asked, walking over. I saw the theme was “Starry Night.” Among my few hobbies, cats were my favorite animal, and art galleries were my favorite pastime. “Are you going?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. He nodded. “The new project is wrapped up. I can take some time off. I’ll go with you.” I stared at him. “What is it? You don’t want me to come?” I shook my head. “Then what’s wrong?” The balcony doors were open, and a breeze drifted in. He reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. The warmth of his palm lingered on my skin. The air between us suddenly felt charged. I looked at him seriously. “Are you sure you can go? You’re not busy?” “I’m sure. I’m going to make more time for you from now on. I’ve neglected you for too long.” In the evening wind, he nodded, his expression firm, and slowly pulled me into his arms. “Give me a chance to make it up to you, okay?” Held in his warm embrace, I stared out into the night, stunned. With a soft rustle, the calendar on the wall flipped to a new day. 11 But if I had known what was to come, I would have avoided that exhibition at all costs. Mason did come, but he was too late. For many years after, I would wonder if the panic in his eyes that day was because the blood on the floor was mine. Or was it for some other reason? Not long after that day, we ceased to have any connection at all. 12 When I arrived at the gallery, Mason wasn’t there yet. It was an invitation-only event, so it wasn’t crowded. But even with so few people, when Bianca strode towards me, I still narrowed my eyes. “Elara?” I started to walk away, to another section. But she grabbed my wrist. “That scared of me?” I scoffed at her provocative smirk. “You should never overfeed a dog. It starts to think it’s the master.” “You—” She’d studied martial arts, and her grip was fueled by anger. I fought the urge to slap her. “This is an art gallery. I suggest you don’t embarrass your family here.” A security guard glanced our way, and she finally let go. We’d been enemies since school. I heard she’d even set off firecrackers to celebrate my three-year sentence. Since my grandfather passed away, her father had monopolized the industry our family once dominated. Her arrogance had grown with her fortune. “Did your husband tell you he had something important come up and couldn’t make it?” she called out as I walked away. I paused, then kept walking. “Aren’t you curious about the real reason he couldn’t come?” she taunted, raising her voice to make sure I heard. “So concerned about my husband. Are you delusional?” I retorted, quickening my pace. But she ignored the quiet sanctity of the gallery and shouted, “Because he’s with Seraphina! She called, and he ran! Heh. You’ll always be the pathetic little stray he never wanted.” My steps were fast, but my heart felt like it was suspended in mid-air, being squeezed, shattered, and ground into dust. 13 In another wing of the gallery, I stood silently before a painting. “You like Vernal Abode too?” I turned. It was Leo. “You’re here too?” He smiled. “It’s Master Callen’s first overseas exhibition. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” His smile was always as warm as the sun. He glanced over at Bianca, who was glaring at us from a distance. “Did she give you trouble just now?” I shook my head. “I’ve seen everything on this floor. I’m going to check out the second.” “Elara. Snowball misses you. Come visit when you have time.” “Okay.” I went upstairs, and he continued in the other direction. 14 After leaving the gallery, my taxi hadn’t arrived yet, so I went to the adjacent public restroom to wash my hands. I never expected it. A sudden force slammed me against the wall. Before I could even get up, a foot pressed down hard on my stomach. “Elara, you bitch. What’s there to be so proud of?” “Don’t… touch… me.” The pressure of her foot increased. I tried to push it away, but her friends grabbed my hands, pulling them back. Bianca ground her heel into me, bit by bit. I choked back the pain, forcing out broken words. “Assault…? You’ll all go to prison for this.” Finally, one of them got scared. “Bianca, that’s enough. Let’s go.” “What are you afraid of? Her grandfather is dead. Her family is nothing now. If she hadn’t been hiding in prison for three years, I would have taught her this lesson a long time ago.” “But… she’s still Mason Holt’s wife. No one dares to cross him.” “Mason Holt? Everyone knows he doesn’t want her. If he actually cared, would he have just stood by and done nothing three years ago?” I could barely breathe. “I am… still Mrs. Holt. The Holt family… won’t let an outsider bully me. You can try.” “Let’s go, Bianca.” “Go where? Do you know who Mason Holt is with right now? My friend, Seraphina. He’s never coming to save her.” She didn’t let up until something inside me tore. A searing, visceral rip. Bianca finally removed her foot. Clutching my agonized stomach, I fumbled in my bag for my phone to call for an ambulance. But Bianca, who had been about to leave, came back. She grabbed my arm. “You two, come back here.” I knew what she wanted. I desperately tried to hide my wrist, but she ordered her friends to pull my arm free. The jade bangle was pushed aside, revealing the ugly, tangled scars beneath. “Heh, I heard you tried to slit your wrists in there. I didn’t realize you cut so deep,” she sneered. “Tsk, tsk. Something this beautiful needs to be shared with our circle.” She took out her phone to record a video. I twisted and turned, but I couldn’t escape the lens. “Haha, look everyone! This is the former first lady of the city! Look at her left wrist! So ugly, right? She did this in prison…” “Get away… get away from me…” My struggles were useless. When she finished recording, they stood up, dusting off their hands. She pulled open the door, one foot already outside. The heavy glass ashtray connected with the back of her head. A dark splash of crimson. Leaning against the doorframe, I smiled. At the same time, my body felt like a dam had burst. Blood surged up from my throat, and I crumpled to the floor. Through a darkening haze, I saw Mason turn, his face a mask of horror. Maybe it was a trick of the light, my senses fading one by one, but I thought I saw a pair of feet running towards me from a great distance. 15 I had a long dream. It was a world of endless white. I walked and walked, one foot sinking into a deep pit, the next plunging into a glacier that cut my skin. I traveled for miles but saw no one. Frozen and broken, I lay down in the snow. As the white flakes began to cover me, I whispered goodbye to the blue sky. But when the snow kissed my eyelids, a stubborn refusal took hold. I wasn’t done. I crawled to my feet and kept moving forward. I would not die here. I would get out. I would not give up. 16 “She’s awake! The patient in Room 1 is awake! Someone get in here!” I had barely opened my eyes when a cacophony of noise erupted around me. “Elara.” A blurred figure rushed forward, blocking my view. “You’re finally awake. Thank God.” A large hand gripped mine tightly. I couldn’t tell if it was my hand that was shaking, or his. My vision slowly cleared. My mind churned, and I recognized the man before me as Mason. I looked up into his eyes, saw the deep red of broken blood vessels that stained the whites. 17 A month later. Mason hadn’t left the hospital. His assistant brought all his work to him here. He seemed like a different person. “Careful.” He took a napkin and gently wiped a speck of soup from the corner of my mouth. I studied his eyes. The redness had faded slightly over the past few days. “Why are you looking at me like that? Is it the beard? Do I look terrible?” I shook my head and leaned back against the pillows. He closed the thermos, wiped down the small bedside table, and put it away. Growing up in the Holt family, he had likely never done such things before. “Aren’t you going to the office?” He gestured to a stack of files. “They bring everything here. I can work from the hospital.” “What about meetings? Your company has so many.” “It’s the slow season. Fewer meetings. My priority right now is taking care of you.” I pressed my lips together and said nothing, turning over to sleep. Holt Industries was notoriously demanding. I had interned there once; the meetings were endless. For Mason, the CEO, it was even worse. I knew he had just moved his meetings to the evenings. On nights when I couldn’t sleep, I could hear him in the adjacent room, leading a conference call through a screen. 18 Today, two police officers came to the hospital. I thought of the ashtray I had smashed against Bianca’s head with all my might. My palm grew damp. “Mr. Holt, we’re here to take a statement from Mrs. Holt regarding the incident at the East Tower restroom.” The officer shook Mason’s hand. Mason nodded, then gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t be nervous. Just tell them exactly what happened.” I recounted the events truthfully. “Is that all?” “Mrs. Holt, is there anything you’d like to add?” “No.” After I signed the statement, the officers left. I looked at Mason. “Is Bianca’s injury healed?” “She’s… not all there anymore. The doctors say her mental capacity is that of a child.” I was shocked, my heart pounding. “I was so angry, I just wanted to fight back. Will I go to jail?” “Silly girl. You were defending yourself. Why would you go to jail? Don’t worry, the police won’t be pressing any charges.” “Really?” He placed his hands on my shoulders. “Really.” As he said, the police never came back. I never received a summons. Only then did I finally relax. 19 “Ma’am, what are you looking at?” Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, came in and followed my gaze out the window. She opened a thermos and set out the food. “Please eat, Ma’am. You need to get your strength back.” I nodded. But when your body is at its weakest, high-protein foods are the last thing you want. I had no appetite. “Where’s Mason?” “Are you missing the master? I’ll call him for you.” Mrs. Gable reached for her phone. I stopped her. “No, don’t. But if you see him, could you please ask him to come by? I have something to say to him.” A week ago, Mason had taken a phone call and hadn’t been back to the hospital since. Mrs. Gable nodded. “Of course. Don’t you worry, Ma’am. The master has just been working overtime at the company.” I said nothing, just quietly spooned some broth. 20 I pushed myself up and stood before the full-length mirror. Mason came in. “Careful.” He rushed to my side. “Why are you out of bed? The doctor said you still need to rest.” “I’m much better.” I pulled my arm from his grasp and stood as straight as I could before the mirror, holding the pose for a full minute. When I was done, I returned to the bed. “When you’re fully recovered, we’ll go to a private island for a month, get away from it all…” He was looking at me, waiting for my response. But I just stared out the window, unmoving. “Elara?” “Let’s get a divorce.”

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