I sponsored Preston’s lifestyle for three years, only to find out he was never bankrupt. On the fake heiress’s birthday, my parents announced her engagement to him. A stream of comments floated before my eyes like a hallucination: [Does the side character actually think the second male lead loves her?] [He’s just using her to get revenge for the heroine.] [God, I’m already cringing. She’s about to get caught sneaking around with him.] [Wow, the male lead is here! I love a good showdown.] I was embarrassed, too. But not for the reason they thought. I was embarrassed because I had been conquering the wrong target. I stopped my march toward Preston, the man I intended to confront, and pivoted toward the aloof, elegant man standing further away. The fake heiress’s ex-fiancé, her secret crush, and the man I should have been targeting all along— The male lead, who had actually gone bankrupt. In the silence, I grabbed his arm and dragged him into the nearest side room. 1 “Ava, I know you treat me… however you want at home, but Preston is my fiancé now. How could you…” Bella swallowed the rest of her sentence. Because the man standing with me wasn’t Preston, as she had expected. It was the white moonlight she kept hidden in her heart. The man she had begged our parents not to break her engagement with, even after his family lost everything. The sole heir of the fallen Julian empire. Julian. Tears of grievance hung on Bella’s lashes, trembling but not falling. Her expression froze for a split second. “Julian? Why… why are you with my sister?” Julian’s voice was cool, carrying his habitual reticence. “Business.” “Bella, can you not even tell people apart anymore?” I let out a theatrical laugh. “Or are you just not used to your new fiancé yet?” Julian and Bella were childhood sweethearts. My family, the Yans, only secured that engagement because my biological mother, Evelyn, had once done a favor for Julian’s grandfather. Without that, we were new money; we couldn’t touch the old-money prestige of the Julian family. But the moment Julian’s family fell, my parents turned their backs. They bullied Julian, claiming the engagement was just a childhood joke since his grandfather had passed. Bella choked on my words. The floating comments were equally confused: [What’s happening? Since when is the real daughter so sarcastic? Usually, she just screams and throws tantrums.] [Ugh, get away from the male lead, you witch!] [I can’t stand seeing my baby Bella cry! Male lead, comfort her!] I looked at Julian. There was no loss, heartache, or sadness in his eyes. He just looked back at me, calm and unbothered. “Bella… what are you all doing here?” Preston arrived late, looking breathless. He immediately pulled the teary-eyed Bella into a protective embrace. Then, he turned and saw me standing with Julian. “Ava, it’s you again? Are you bullying Bella?” The guests had been dragged here to watch a scandal. With Preston’s arrival, the show became twice as interesting. The second daughter’s ex and current fiancés were in the same room. The eldest daughter was entangled with her sister’s ex. And Julian, being destitute, shouldn’t have even been on the guest list. “I misunderstood my sister,” Bella said softly, leaning pitifully into Preston’s arms. “Where were you? I thought Ava went to find you… I made a scene for nothing.” With a few words, she successfully painted me as loose and desperate. But honestly? This was way better than the script the floating comments had predicted. 2 Originally, Bella was supposed to bring the guests in to catch me clinging to Preston. I had supported him for three years. He watched me like I was an idiot, letting me send him money, paying off his “debts.” But he wasn’t broke. And on my birthday, he announced his engagement to my sister. If we had been caught, Preston would have flipped the script, claiming I seduced him. No matter how I explained, it would look like desperation. My biological parents didn’t like me anyway. A scandal like that risks the stock price. They wouldn’t take the risk—they would have disowned me on the spot. That was Preston’s original plan. Just because Bella had once made a vague comment implies she felt slighted by me. So, he decided his crush had suffered, and he needed to ruin me to avenge her. Bella, from start to finish, only had to play the victim. But reading the comments, she wasn’t exactly innocent. Everyone knew I liked Preston. He treated me like dirt. If not for Bella, he wouldn’t have feigned bankruptcy. He told me that if I paid his debts, he’d be with me. When I hesitated, he played the martyr, saying he’d find someone else so I wouldn’t be burdened. So, I agreed. The numbers were huge. My allowance from the Yan family wasn’t enough. I worked three jobs. I didn’t sleep. I scrimped and saved to pay a debt that didn’t exist. Even though I was the “real” daughter brought back to the mansion, I hadn’t lived a single day of luxury in three years. But at least now I knew. It was all a mistake. It was time to correct course. 3 “Bella, time to cut the cake.” The gossip was interrupted by the arrival of my father, Simon. His brow held nothing but doting affection for Bella, coupled with the undeniable authority of a powerful man. The crowded room fell silent. From start to finish, my biological father’s gaze never once landed on me. It was as if I were something dirty. In the ballroom, Bella closed her eyes to make a wish, surrounded by adoring stars. She was a pearl—beautiful, confident, gentle. Everyone loved her. In the shadows, where no one else could see, the corners of her mouth curled up. She shot a provocative look at me, standing in the corner. Three years ago, I came to this house full of hope. All I got was a whispered comment: How vulgar. Due to a hospital error, Bella and I were switched at birth. My adoptive mother couldn’t afford me, so at age two, she dumped me at an orphanage. When I returned, my biological parents only had eyes for the elegant, polished fake heiress nurtured by their money and love. The grades and awards I proudly presented meant nothing to them. I didn’t want to fight Bella for anything. I just wanted them to see me. To see that Ava had grown up well. That even when things were hard, I hadn’t given up on myself. But they didn’t care. They needed a perfect Yan heiress. I wasn’t the child they dreamed of. Worried Bella would feel insecure, they announced to the public that I was just a “lost daughter” found later, while she remained the true Second Miss Yan. Song—my childhood friend—was wrong. Not all parents love their children. Luckily, it only took me six months to accept that. “Happy Birthday.” A cold, clear voice sounded beside me. 4 A small velvet box was held out in front of me. I froze. I hadn’t heard those words in a long time. I turned around in a daze. In the interplay of light and shadow, Julian’s face was sharp and defined, his nose straight, his expression carrying a hint of untamed wildness. I was surprised. The live comments were confused, too: [Wait, how does the male lead know the villainess shares the女主’s (heroine’s) birthday?] [Isn’t this the part where the heroine secretly meets the male lead to say she was forced to break the engagement?] [Is the plot broken? Does the male lead like the real daughter?] [Impossible! The real daughter is plain. Bella is exquisite.] I agreed with them. Who would like a stranger? Even though he was my true target, I had just survived Preston’s betrayal. Three years of effort, wasted on a dog. I couldn’t just pivot to romancing someone else instantly. I only grabbed Julian earlier to get out of a jam. He was known as a “Flower on the High Peak”—unattainable. The difficulty level was obviously way higher than Preston. “So,” Julian asked, “where am I sleeping tonight?” I blinked. “Didn’t you say you were going to sponsor me?” He said it so casually, as if it weren’t something shady. Huh? He accepted it that fast? [Does the male lead not want to work hard anymore?] [Bro, are you really leaving with her? Look back at the heroine! She’s about to cry!] I took Julian back to the villa I had bought outside the city. As we left, I deliberately grabbed his hand. Bella’s eyes turned red with jealousy. So she did love him. Julian went to shower. I opened the gift box. Inside was a single earring shaped like a Sycamore leaf. A phoenix rests on the Sycamore. What was this? Did the fallen angel empathize with the lost orphan? A hot tear dropped onto the silver leaf. I realized my eyes were burning. But this had nothing to do with Julian. I was thinking of the boy under the Sycamore tree. Sawyer. I hadn’t let myself think about him in a long time. Across from the orphanage, there was a huge Sycamore tree. I was a loner; no kids played with me. I used to climb the tree and watch them. One day, Sawyer climbed up too. “The sunset is so much brighter from up here,” he said. That became our secret base. He saved his allowance to buy me dolls and candy. No matter how broke we were, he always bought me a rose cake for my birthday. We grew up, got into college, and left the orphanage. We worked part-time, studied, and saved money. We had dreams. But it all ended on my 19th birthday. Snap. Outside, fine snow was falling. A withered branch cracked under the weight. I walked to the balcony. It snowed like this that day, too. But on the ground, the snow had been stained a dark, rusty red. I wondered if Sawyer felt cold then. I wondered if it hurt when he fell. He was still holding the rose cake. Without him to blow out the candles, cake didn’t taste good anymore. Sawyer, I miss you. I miss hearing you say Happy Birthday. … Suddenly, a heavy wool blanket was wrapped around my shoulders. “You can’t watch the first snow without a coat,” Julian said. He wrapped me up and stepped back. For a brief moment, our skin touched. I smelled the humid heat and my own body wash on him. He closed his eyes and made a quick wish. “You believe in that?” “I didn’t used to,” Julian said. “But someone told me about it, so now I do.” “Did you make a wish?” I smiled bitterly. “I don’t ask for things from the void anymore. They don’t come true. But you can.” I looked him over. Water droplets still clung to his hair. The thin bathrobe rose and fell with his breathing, hinting at solid muscle underneath. He was wearing less than me, yet he was lecturing me about the cold. I pulled him into the bedroom. When I pushed him onto the bed, a flash of shock crossed his eyes. He tried to maintain his composure, grabbing my hand as I tugged at his robe. “Is this your wish?” His Adam’s apple bobbed silently. I ran a finger over it. He seemed to lose control of his limbs. I didn’t expect Julian to be so… innocent. The comments were going crazy: [The male lead’s first time can’t be with the villainess!] [This book is supposed to be Double Clean (both virgins)! Get off him!] [Wait, I get to see this for free?] His grip on my hand loosened. He seemed to give up resisting. The look in his eyes was heating up.

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I was the ward of the Sterling family, taken in when I had nothing. During the time Julian Sterling was blind from a car accident, we had a chaotic, accidental one-night stand. I gave birth to his son, left the baby with the Sterling family as arranged, and fled the country. Julian became a single father without ever knowing who the mother was. Five years later, I returned and married him. Everyone says I’m generous and open-minded, willing to become a stepmother at such a young age. What they don’t know—what even Julian still doesn’t know—is that I am the biological mother of his son, Joey. 1 It was lunch hour in the break room of Sterling Corp’s legal department. I stood by the counter, brewing coffee. A few colleagues were gossiping about the big boss, the company’s young CEO. “I saw a wedding band on Mr. Sterling’s ring finger two months ago.” “The CEO got married? Just like that?” “It’s a wealthy family thing. You think they’d send you an invite? It’s probably a private union.” “I’m just curious what kind of woman could tame someone as cold as Julian Sterling. Maybe it’s a business merger.” “But here’s the kicker… his new wife is instantly a stepmom.” Julian Sterling, the ruthless head of the group, is only twenty-seven. Young, capable, and intimidating. But everyone knows he has a five-year-old son. Mrs. Sterling, his mother, used to bring the boy to the office. He’s a carbon copy of Julian—undeniably his. Checking the timeline, Julian graduated from an Ivy League school the same year Joey was born. He became a father the moment he stepped out of university. He raised the boy alone. The mother’s identity has always been a mystery. One of the colleagues lowered her voice. “Forget the new wife. I’m more curious about the bio-mom. What kind of woman had the power to make Julian Sterling a dad at twenty-two?” Just as I stepped out of the break room, my manager called out, “Joanna, grab your files. We have a meeting upstairs.” 2 I returned to the States about three months ago. One month later, I married Julian. It wasn’t a business merger. I was adopted into the family, and Julian’s mother adored me. She was the one who insisted Julian marry me. To keep our professional lives separate, almost no one at the company knew about our relationship. Upstairs in the conference room, I stood in high heels at the front, presenting a risk assessment report. Seated at the head of the table was a man in an impeccably tailored suit. He was handsome, dignified, and radiated a cold, untouchable aura. His gaze barely lingered on me. To the room, we were strangers. But after work, inside the Maybach leaving the underground garage, we sat side-by-side in the back seat. When we got home, Joey wasn’t there. “Where’s the kid?” I asked the butler. Julian, handing his jacket to the staff, answered in a low voice, “Mom took him to the Estate. He’s not coming back tonight.” Not coming back. Late that night, I walked out of the bathroom after a shower. Julian was leaning against the headboard. Unlike his flawless corporate persona, his hair was half-dry, one long leg bent at the knee, his posture lazy. He wore dark silk pajamas, the top button undone, hinting at the firm muscle beneath. By day, Julian is so ascetic it feels like a sin to look at him too long. You’d think a face that cold couldn’t possibly show lust. I used to think that too. But after two months of marriage, I learned that Julian has desires. Dominant ones. He glanced at me, setting his tablet on the nightstand. As he leaned over me in bed, he didn’t start immediately. instead, he asked, “Has Mom been pressuring you for a baby lately?” My silence was my answer. “Your body is your choice,” he said bluntly. “If you want one, I’ll cooperate completely. If you don’t, I’ll shut my parents down.” We’d never spoken so plainly about this. Years ago, when I was still just the “little sister” visiting on weekends, he’d ask about my college grades. Now, he was asking if I wanted to breed. The jump was too big. My face heated up. Thinking of Joey, I shook my head. “I don’t want one yet.” “Alright.” Julian reached for the protection. Later, when the sensation became too intense, I tilted my head back, bit my lip, and accidentally let the old nickname slip out. “Brother… please, stop.” Julian paused. He had been burying his face in the crook of my sweaty neck. He lifted his head, kissed my lips, and whispered my name, his voice dark and heavy. “Joanna.” He ground my name between his teeth. “Don’t call me that. It makes me feel like I’m committing a crime.” Maybe it was the talk about children, but afterward, as he was cleaning up, he said, “You don’t have to force yourself into the role of a stepmother. If you don’t like Joey, or if you can’t get along, don’t force it.” I refuted him instinctively. “I like Joey.” “Oh?” Even Julian was surprised. I opened my heavy eyelids and tested the waters. “He’s cute. Maybe one day his mother will regret leaving…” “Her existence,” he cut me off, “served one purpose: providing biological material for Joey.” I could feel the sudden oppression radiating from him in the dark. It was rare for Julian to lose his cool like this. Joey’s biological mother was his taboo. “She schemed against me to have that child,” he said, his voice slow and dangerous. “I don’t care who she is. She better never appear in front of me. If I ever find her… even if she’s alive, I’ll make her wish she wasn’t.” 3 When I was in middle school, my family went bankrupt. My parents fled the country and left me behind. Mrs. Sterling, an old friend of my mother’s, took me in. Julian is a year older than me. By the time of his car accident, I had been calling him “Brother” for seven years. The accident wasn’t severe physically, but it caused a rare condition—nerve compression that led to temporary blindness. Doctors treated him for six months, but his sight didn’t return. Julian became cold and volatile. The whole city whispered that the heir to the Sterling empire was now a cripple. Refusing to bow to reality, he attended a business gala. But without his usual sharp senses, he was drugged. He didn’t know that his parents and I, worried about him, had followed him there. I sensed something was wrong and followed him into the resting suite to check on him. That’s when he pinned me down. It was my first time, and after he was done with me, I had a high fever for two days. In the chaos, I threw up the emergency contraceptive pill. When the pregnancy was discovered, the Sterlings almost knelt to beg me. If Julian never recovered, this child might be the family’s only future. Mrs. Sterling asked, “Joanna, you’re gentle and caring. Would you stay with him?” Even blind, Julian was breathtakingly handsome. But when he heard the proposal, he shut it down. “Mom, we took her in to raise her as a daughter, not to groom a docile wife for me,” he said firmly. “I watched Joanna grow up. I have no romantic feelings for her. She is my sister.” “As for the girl from that night…” His expression turned ugly. “Is she dead yet?” He didn’t know it was me. He only saw me as a sister. Even his parents didn’t dare tell him the truth. Later, while I was hiding away to give birth, I heard about a brilliant young ophthalmologist, Dr. Lin, who spent six months by his side during rehab. Julian trusted her enough to let her perform a risky surgery. It worked. By the time Julian regained his sight, I had already fled abroad to continue my studies. Dr. Lin, despite being brilliant, was seven years older than Julian, who was only twenty-two at the time. His parents didn’t approve. They simply presented the six-month-old Joey to Julian. Upon finding out Julian had a son, Dr. Lin quickly married someone else. No wonder he hated the mother of his child so much. Her existence had ruined his chance at love. As for why he married me years later? Probably his mother’s pressure. On our wedding night, I called him Brother. He told me to accept the shift in identity. He wasn’t a monk; he wouldn’t ignore his wife. The next morning, Joey was brought back. At the breakfast table, the boy glared at me. “Are you here to steal my dad?” “I won’t like you. Ever.” “Apologize,” Julian said, setting down his fork. His eyes held paternal authority. “Where are your manners?” Joey stubbornly stayed silent. Julian ordered the driver to take him to school. I chased after them. “I’ll drop him off.” At the kindergarten gate, the boy finally spoke to me. “If I bother you guys, Vivi invited me to live at her house.” I teased him. “Is Vivi the girl you like?” “I just like her mom,” he whispered. “Her mom is a doctor. She’s busier than my dad, but she picks Vivi up every day…” 4 That morning at the office, Nathan, the Associate Director of Tech, came over to say hello. Instantly, gossip spread. “Joanna, what’s the deal with you and Nathan?! He’s the company’s ‘High Mountain Flower’—Ivy League, successful, handsome. Even Wendy, the CEO’s assistant, couldn’t land him.” I quickly denied everything. Nathan had pursued me when we were studying abroad, but I never agreed. At lunch, I sneaked into Julian’s office to avoid the crowd. He was working but ordered food when he saw me. After we ate, he went to the restroom to freshen up. When he came out, the atmosphere shifted. He pulled me onto his lap, not caring about wrinkling his suit pants. He covered my lips with his. It wasn’t a gentle peck. His hand slid under the hem of my chiffon blouse, tucked tightly into my pencil skirt. I gasped against his mouth, glancing at the floor-to-ceiling windows. The blinds were down, and the door was locked. By the time he let me go, I was limp. He wrapped his suit jacket around me. Leaning on his shoulder, I heard him whisper, “Go to the lounge?” I bit his neck lightly, leaving a shallow mark. “We both have meetings this afternoon. Don’t go too far.” He stroked my waist. “We’re newlyweds. Whatever I do to my wife is justified.” I was still getting used to the word wife. “Are there people lining up to court my wife at the company?” he asked casually. He had heard about Nathan. “He’s just a senior from my university days.” Julian paused. “Who else did you know during those years abroad?” I didn’t understand. “I know I have no right to ask,” he said slowly. “And I don’t have some virginity complex. But I still want to know.” “Joanna… who was your first man?”

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At 2:00 AM, deep in sleep, I was shaken awake by my brother. In the darkness, he was trembling violently, his face a mask of terror as he pointed a shaking finger toward the living room. “Sis,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Someone’s in the house.” 1 I woke up instantly, panic seizing my chest as I stared at the bedroom door. From the living room came the shuffling sound of footsteps. Someone was definitely out there. My heart hammered against my ribs. Mom was out tonight. It was just me and my two younger brothers at home. Who could it be? A burglar? I pulled Hunter, my brother, tightly into my arms. That’s when I realized he was alone. Blood drained from my face. I grabbed his shoulders, hissing, “Where is Gunner? Why are you alone?” Hunter was sobbing silently, shaking his head frantically. “I don’t know. He got up to use the bathroom… and he never came back.” I felt like I was going crazy. Had the intruder found him? I gritted my teeth. I was the big sister; I had to protect him. Mom had taken the only cell phone in the house, so we couldn’t call 911. I gripped Hunter’s shoulders, staring him in the eyes. “Hunter, hide in the wardrobe. Do not make a single sound, no matter what you hear. Do you understand?” Hunter nodded vigorously, his large frame quivering. I quietly slipped out of bed and stuffed him into the closet. Then, I tiptoed to the bedroom door and cracked it open just a sliver. Through the gap, I saw a man standing in the living room. He was wrapped head-to-toe in a rain poncho. He was currently bent over the coffee table, rummaging through the drawers. One of his hands was gripping something, but it was too dark to see what. Is it just a thief? My heart settled slightly. If it was just a burglary, that was the best-case scenario. Most thieves just want money, not lives. And given our family’s financial state, he wasn’t going to find much. I sniffed the air. There was a faint, metallic scent drifting in. I couldn’t think too much about it. I widened the crack just a fraction more, desperate to spot my other brother, Gunner. Suddenly, the intruder seemed to sense something. The beam of his flashlight snapped toward my door. I ducked back instantly, heart pounding. I didn’t think he saw me. Then, he moved. He picked up whatever he was holding and slowly walked toward the kitchen. I leaned my back against the door, listening. The noise stopped. Did he leave? I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and peeked through the crack again. A pair of eyes, rolled back into a white stare, were looking right at me. Goosebumps exploded all over my body. I slammed my hands over my mouth to stifle a scream. It was Gunner’s eyes. His severed head was hanging from the top of my doorframe. Blood dripped from his neck—drip, drip, drip—onto the floor. My brother was dead. I shook violently, an uncontrollable whimper escaping my throat. He was just a thief. Why did he have to kill? Suddenly, footsteps approached again. I almost died of fright right there. I slammed the door shut and locked it. “Heh heh… so you’re awake too.” The killer’s voice drifted through the wood. Then, THUD! A heavy blow slammed against the door. I was sobbing silently now. The room was tiny, and Hunter was already in the closet. My only option was to scramble under the bed. The door was sturdy enough; he banged on it a few times but couldn’t break it down. I heard him sigh. Then, the sound of dragging footsteps moving away. My heart was trying to beat out of my chest, tears blurring my vision. I couldn’t believe Gunner was gone. Who was this? Why break into our house? Why kill my brother? I lay under the bed, weeping in silent despair. Then, the footsteps returned. My body went rigid. He hadn’t given up. Next came the sound of a key sliding into the lock. My blood turned to ice. Oh God. There’s a spare key in the living room. Click. The door creaked open. A pair of blood-soaked boots stepped into my view. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You like playing hide-and-seek?” A raspy male voice filled the room. He casually tossed something onto the floor. It rolled and stopped right in front of my face. It was Gunner’s head. The metallic stench of blood was overwhelming. Gunner’s eyes were wide open, staring into nothingness. Dead. The killer seemed to notice something. He rushed to the window and looked down. To mislead him, I had opened the window earlier to make it look like we jumped. We lived on the third floor; it was risky, but survivable. “Damn it! They ran?” He leaned out the window, cursing angrily. Then he turned around and walked toward the bed. Just as I thought he was leaving, he suddenly crouched down. A pair of bloodshot eyes stared directly at me under the bed. “Found you.” 2 I screamed, scrambling backward, trying to squeeze deeper into the darkness. But there was nowhere to go. The killer reached in, grabbed my ankle, and dragged me out with terrifying ease. I shrieked and kicked, fighting for my life. But I was a malnourished sixteen-year-old girl. How could I overpower a grown man? He pinned me down, grinning beneath his hood. “Lucky me. A little girl left behind.” He reached for my pants. I realized instantly what he intended to do and gripped my waistband with a death grip. The next second, a cold blade was pressed against my throat. “Move again, and I gut you.” I froze. The killer let out a sleazy chuckle. Just as he was about to continue, he suddenly let out a howl of pain. “Let go of my sister!” Hunter had burst out of the closet, wielding a cleaver from the kitchen. He had slashed the killer’s back. The killer let go of me and spun around. Hunter swung again, hitting him in the chest. But the killer was unnaturally calm. He caught Hunter’s wrist mid-swing and kicked him in the gut, sending him flying. I scrambled up, trying to help, but it was too late. Right before my horrified eyes, the killer brought his knife down on Hunter’s neck. Hunter’s eyes bulged. He tried to speak, but only blood gurgled out. Hunter was dead. I let out a wail of pure despair and charged at the killer. He backhanded me effortlessly, sending me crashing to the floor. Then, laughing maniacally, he hacked my brother’s head off with two brutal chops. Face splattered with fresh blood, he turned his hideous grin toward me. “Now… it’s your turn.” He took two steps toward me, then suddenly, his legs gave out. He collapsed. He looked down, realizing he was bleeding heavily from Hunter’s first strike. Glaring at me with pure hatred, he dragged his injured body out the door and fled. Overwhelmed by terror and shock, my eyes rolled back, and I passed out. 3 I was woken up by my mother’s screaming. I prayed it was a nightmare. I prayed that when I opened my eyes, my brothers would be standing there, alive and whole. But the bloodstains on the floor told me the truth. I heard Mom wailing in the living room. I struggled to my feet and stumbled out, crying as I ran to her. She was on the floor, cradling the severed heads of Hunter and Gunner, crying until she nearly fainted. I lowered my head, afraid to look at her face. I tugged her arm, sobbing. “I’m sorry, Mom… I didn’t protect them…” Mom’s eyes were bloodshot. She swung her hand and slapped me hard across the face. “What good are you?! My sons are dead, and I don’t want to live either!” My face burned, but my heart hurt worse. Mom called the police. As the only witness, I was taken to the station. “Don’t be scared, sweetie. Just tell us what you saw and heard last night.” I sat in the chair, head down, staring at the table, nervously picking at my fingernails. The officer in front of me was in his forties. Detective Miller. He had a square face but gentle features. Even meeting him for the first time, I felt a strange sense of safety. “Let me think… I can’t remember clearly.” My voice trembled. With tears streaming down my face, I knew I looked pathetic. Detective Miller looked sympathetic. He cleared his throat. “Don’t worry. We will catch the guy who did this.” I nodded and poured out the story of what happened last night. After I finished, I peeked up to gauge his reaction. He was frowning, twirling a pen in his fingers. The room fell into a weird silence. Miller seemed to be thinking. He took a sip of tea, his eyes suddenly locking onto my arm. I flinched, instinctively pulling my sleeve down. He smiled gently and gathered the files on the table. “That’s all for now. You can go back with your mother.” He looked toward the door, where my mother’s screeching voice could be heard. “She’s been waiting a while.” I nodded, standing up on shaky legs, curling inward like a wounded animal, and walked out. Miller watched my thin frame retreat, a thoughtful look on his face. Outside, Mom was screaming at a group of officers. “What good are you cops?! My sons! Give me back my sons’ lives!” Her voice was shrill, drowning out three or four officers trying to calm her down. They looked annoyed but held their tongues—she had just lost two children, after all. When I walked out, the cops looked relieved. “Ma’am, please. Your daughter is here. Comfort her.” Mom went quiet. She turned slowly to look at me. “Mom…” I whispered, keeping my head down. SLAP. Her hand cracked across my face. It was so hard my cheek turned instantly red, the sound echoing in the hallway. I didn’t dare cry. She slapped the other side of my face, then kicked me hard in the stomach. I groaned and fell to my knees. “Why?! Why wasn’t it you?!” “Why did my sons have to die?!” “You useless bitch! Why did you hide instead of protecting them?! I’ll beat you to death!” Face twisted in rage, she raised her hand again, but the officers finally rushed in to stop her. “Hey! What are you doing hitting the kid? She’s a victim too!” “She’s my daughter! I’ll beat her if I want! Get off me!” I knelt there in silence, fists clenched. After they pulled her back, she calmed down slightly. “Let’s go home.” I shivered and looked helplessly toward Detective Miller. Miller paused, thinking for a second. Then he cleared his throat. “Ma’am, actually, I have a few more questions to clarify. How about you go home first? When we’re done, we’ll drive her back.” “We want to catch the killer as soon as possible for your sons, right?” That last sentence hit the mark. She glared at me, snorted, and left. 4 Detective Miller took me to the cafeteria. He frowned as he watched me wolf down the food. “You’re so thin. Do you not get enough to eat?” I paused, forcing a smile. “No, the food here is just really good.” Yeah, at home, I ate great. Rotten cabbage, meat that smelled off, three-day-old rice even the dog wouldn’t touch. If they were in a good mood, maybe I got a bone with a shred of meat on it. Miller smiled kindly, but his eyes were scanning me. “What’s with the injuries?” I froze, swallowing a mouthful of rice. “I fell.” “Fell? Your mom hits you, doesn’t she?” I looked up. “Not always. Only when I’m disobedient.” Truly, not always. Only when she was happy, she’d give me a slap. When she was mad, she’d give me a slap. If anyone outside upset her, she’d tie me up and whip me with a cattle switch until my skin split and blood ran down my back. While she whipped me, she’d scream, “You useless little slut! Waste of space!” It was routine. She never hit my face or arms where people could see. Did my strong, healthy brothers protect their sister? No. They watched and laughed. If they were in the mood, they’d take the whip and have a go. They hit harder than Mom. After the beatings, I had to wash my own blood-soaked clothes and drag my broken body to do the chores. Sometimes I wished they’d just kill me so the suffering would end. Without realizing it, I had started crying. “What’s wrong?” Miller asked. “Nothing. Just… missed my brothers.” I wiped my tears, deflecting. Suddenly, an officer ran in, looking urgent. He saw me, hesitated, and called Miller out. My stomach tightened. I clenched my fists under the table. The officer whispered something to Miller and handed him a report. Miller read it, and his face changed completely. He looked back at me through the glass, confusion in his eyes. “Lily, come with me to the interrogation room.” My heart dropped.

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In Adrian’s suit pocket were two concert tickets. I thought they were a surprise for me. I waited eagerly for the concert date, only to watch him pack his bags—and the tickets—for a “business trip.” I pulled some strings and paid a scalper’s price for my own ticket, just to witness him passionately kissing another girl amidst the roar of the crowd and the pulsing music. Their kiss was projected onto the giant screen for everyone to see, their faces streaked with what looked like tears of joy. After the concert, I found the girl’s Instagram post: Kissing the love of my life at our favorite artist’s concert. The best birthday present I could ever ask for. The comments were a sea of well-wishes. Then, his car suddenly accelerated, and I was on the pavement. When I woke up, Adrian was sitting by my hospital bed, head bent over his phone, a gentle smile playing on his lips—a smile I had never seen directed at me. I asked him who the girl was. He just looked up, his expression blank. “I’m your boss,” he said coolly. “Now that you’re awake, focus on getting better.” He left as quickly as he could. I picked up my phone and dialed my uncle’s number. “Uncle,” I said, my voice steady. “That arranged marriage you mentioned before? I’ll do it.” 1 My uncle was stunned into silence for a moment, then his voice filled with relief. “Kristina, you’ve finally come to your senses! A boyfriend who’s kept you a secret for five years deserves to stay in the shadows forever.” “When can you come back? I just texted them, and they’re already asking to set a wedding date.” Five years with Adrian, and I was the one who was never meant to see the light of day. He was so desperate to distance himself from me that I knew he wouldn’t make a fuss about my resignation. “The sooner, the better,” I replied. “The paperwork on my end should be quick.” Just then, Adrian returned to the room, looking for his car keys. “Resignation? Is someone from our company leaving?” I knew my resignation would have to cross his desk for final approval, so there was no point in hiding it. But he was too engrossed in his phone to notice my nod. He picked up his keys. “The doctor said you hit your head and might have some memory loss,” he said casually. “I was half-afraid you’d actually forgotten everything.” “I was the one driving. It was dark, and you were looking down at your phone…” I froze. So that was it. That was why he’d pretended not to know me, even though we were alone in the room. Ten minutes ago, when he’d claimed to be just my boss, his expression had been perfectly cool and distant, a carefully measured dose of professional concern. There was no trace of guilt. But just before the impact, I had seen the car clearly. Adrian was in the passenger seat. The girl he’d been kissing was behind the wheel. He hadn’t even given me a chance to confront him, just used a flimsy excuse about being busy and fled. I had thought he was overwhelmed with guilt for hurting me, that he didn’t know how to face me. How laughably wrong I was. He didn’t care at all. “I was still a bit fuzzy when I woke up,” I said, playing along. “Sorry for not recognizing you, Mr. Wright.” He had fed me a lie, and I was serving it right back to him. He turned, a flicker of confusion in his eyes as he took in my cold expression. The girl who would have cried and demanded kisses and hugs for a paper cut was gone. Something was different. He glanced around, and once he was sure we were alone, his voice softened. “Kristina, hospitals are full of prying eyes. It wouldn’t be good if someone saw us. You just rest and get better. When you’re discharged, I’ll make it up to you at home, I promise.” I offered a polite, practiced smile. “Thank you, Mr. Wright.” In private, I used to call him “boss” as a playful, flirty nickname. But now, the word was a wall of ice between us. Adrian’s brow furrowed. Before he could say anything, the doctor came in for his rounds, and Adrian’s cool, professional mask slipped back into place. As he left, he added one last instruction. “Get some rest. And don’t think you can use your ‘special status’ to get privileges at the company. Everyone is treated the same. Rules are rules.” The doctor saw the strained smile on my face. “He’s gone now,” he said kindly. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. Your boss seems like a tough nut, but he paid for everything upfront.” My fake smile turned into a bitter one. Adrian was a master actor. That’s why, apart from a few of his closest friends, no one knew we were together. No one knew we had been for five years. I’d lost count of how many times I’d asked him when we could go public. He always brushed me off, saying the time wasn’t right. It got to the point where I wasn’t even sure what we were. Today, he gave me the answer. In that moment when he thought my memory was gone, the words “I’m your boss” slipped out. That was the truth. 2 The accident wasn’t severe. After three days of observation, I was discharged. The hospital refunded the overpayment from the insurance back to Adrian’s account. He hadn’t shown his face or even called in three days, but the refund prompted a call. “You’re already out? You should have told me. I have a client meeting today, I can’t pick you up.” “Okay,” I said, swallowing the questions that threatened to spill out. His phone’s location tracker showed he was at a hotel. I didn’t need to ask what he was “busy” with. A woman’s voice drifted through the line. “Honey, can you come dry my hair?” He hung up immediately. A few moments later, two money transfers appeared on my screen. One for $1,314. One for $520. The numbers were a play on words, meaning “forever” and “I love you.” For five years, I had dreamed of receiving these amounts from him, of finally having something to post on social media like all the other girls. He had always refused. Now that I was letting go, he finally gave me what I’d wanted. I wondered why. I looked at his new profile picture and clicked “decline” on the transfers. His avatar was clearly one half of a matching pair. But the other half wasn’t me. A series of question marks popped up from him. I didn’t reply. The apartment was exactly as I had left it. It seemed he hadn’t been back since the night of the concert. I pushed aside the memories and started to pack. In just half a day, the home I had lovingly decorated for five years began to look empty and hollow. Most of what I packed were matching couple’s items I had bought. But Adrian, with his obsession for secrecy, had refused to wear or use anything that hinted he was in a relationship. I used to joke that he was as cautious as a spy. I know why now. In his heart, I was never his girlfriend. I was halfway through when Adrian walked in. “Kristina, what the hell is this? I called, I texted. Why are you ignoring me?” I caught the scent of a perfume that wasn’t mine and held up a hand to stop him from coming any closer. I glanced at the faint, tell-tale mark on his neck. “I was busy,” I said flatly. “I didn’t see my phone.” His eyes swept over the half-empty apartment, and his face soured. “Don’t tell me you’re busy tearing the place apart. You just got out of the hospital, you should be resting.” He pointed to a few boxes of new, untouched items I hadn’t had a chance to throw out yet. “Are you getting rid of all this?” I bent to pick up a box. He took it from me. “I’ll get it,” he said, his voice laced with annoyance. “Stop buying all this useless junk. Do you have money to burn?” “Go change. I’m taking you out to dinner.” It was time to end this. From the balcony, I watched him toss the boxes of couple’s items into the dumpster without a second thought. Just like our five years together. Worthless. At the restaurant, he ordered several of our favorite dishes, but he also ordered one I despised: bitter melon with scrambled eggs. My appetite vanished. I wasn’t going to force myself anymore. “Waiter,” I called out. “Could you please take this dish back? We’ll still pay for it.” Adrian pulled the dish in front of him. “What, you’re going to be this dramatic just because I didn’t visit you in the hospital? If you had been watching where you were going, you wouldn’t have been hit in the first place.” I had seen him care for me before, so his lack of love now was painfully obvious. The man who had once carried me through the night to the emergency room in a panic when I had a fever couldn’t even be bothered to visit me in the hospital after his girlfriend ran me over. The man who knew I hated bitter melon and never let anything bitter cross my plate was now ordering it, just as he had when we first met. I gave a faint smile. “I hate bitter melon,” I said calmly. “The smell makes me nauseous.” “So don’t eat it,” he snapped. His impatience was a sharp edge in his voice. I kept my smile in place. “We should break—” Before I could finish, a girl appeared at our table. “Adrian, after all these years, you still remember I love bitter melon!” 3 I calmly looked up at the impeccably dressed woman who was staring down at me with unconcealed disdain. She squeezed in next to Adrian, sitting opposite me. “Let me introduce myself,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “I’m Adrian’s girlfriend, Nora.” I said nothing. She deliberately rubbed against Adrian’s arm. “Adrian, honey, aren’t you going to introduce us? She is…?” Adrian looked uncomfortable. Nora’s sudden appearance had clearly caught him off guard. His evasive glance was almost comical. “I’m an employee at Mr. Wright’s company,” I said smoothly. “The restaurant was full, so we were just sharing a table.” Adrian’s head snapped toward me, a flicker of shock in his eyes, quickly replaced by a wave of relief. “Ah, yes. This is one of my employees, Kristina.” Nora’s smile was dazzling. “Miss Miller must be an exceptional employee. This is the first time I’ve ever seen Adrian share a meal with any woman other than me.” She placed her phone on the table, casually pushing it toward me. The message was clear. It was a challenge. I glanced at her screen. Her profile picture was, as I suspected, the other half of Adrian’s. Even their outfits were a coordinated color scheme, a high-end designer couple’s set. Sitting together under the soft restaurant lighting, they looked like a perfect match. I put down my chopsticks and stood up to leave. Nora grabbed my arm. Where Adrian couldn’t see, her long, sharp nails dug into my flesh. “Miss Miller, you’re leaving as soon as I arrive. Did I say something wrong? I can apologize, if that’s what you want.” I had no patience for her games. I yanked my arm free. As I was examining the angry red marks on my wrist, her hand suddenly flew out and slapped a small boy who was playing near our table. The boy, shocked and hurt, burst into tears. Nora’s eyes immediately filled with tears of her own as she rushed to apologize to him. Adrian quickly followed suit, offering to pay the boy’s parents. But the little boy pointed a trembling finger at me. “It was her!” he sobbed. “She pushed that lady’s hand, and it hit me! I want her to say sorry!” Nora immediately adopted a wounded expression. “Miss Miller, I don’t know what I did to offend you. If you have a problem with me, you can take it out on me, but please don’t involve innocent children.” Suddenly, all eyes in the restaurant were on me. Murmurs and judgmental glances followed. Adrian shot me a furious glare. “What are you just standing there for? Apologize! Aren’t you embarrassed?” Emboldened, the little boy ran over and bit my hand, clamping down hard and refusing to let go. The more Nora tried to “soothe” him, the harder he bit. I wasn’t about to get into a fight with a child. I apologized. But Adrian wasn’t satisfied. He couldn’t see the blood welling up from the bite marks. He grabbed my arm as I tried to leave. “Kristina, apologize to Nora.” Nora feigned reluctance. “Adrian, it’s fine. I’m not hurt. The little boy just got a scare, that’s all.” He looked at the red mark on the back of Nora’s hand with exaggerated concern. Then he turned back to me, grabbed my hand, and shoved it into a bowl of hot soup that had just been delivered to the table. The soup wasn’t boiling, but it was hot enough. The salty liquid seeped into the open wounds, a searing, agonizing pain that made me tremble. “Kristina, how can you be so vicious? This is a lesson for you.” “Is that what you really think of me?” The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it, even though I already knew the answer. The commotion had attracted more attention. “Which one is his girlfriend?” someone whispered. “Are you blind? Obviously the one he’s protecting. Can’t you see their matching outfits?” Their gazes turned to me, filled with pity. “Hey, kid, that’s enough. You’re going to cook the girl’s hand!” My face was pale, but I looked at Adrian and laughed, a cold, empty sound. For a moment, he seemed flustered. Finally, he released my hand, took Nora’s, and swept out of the restaurant. 4 Back at the apartment, he ordered a tube of burn cream for me online. A message followed: Kristina, stop being so sensitive and targeting Nora. You’re going to be seeing a lot of her, so I expect you to get along. Did he really think a tube of cream was enough to placate me, so he could have us both? I applied the cream in silence. He didn’t come home that night. The next day at work, my colleagues stared at me with strange expressions. My friend Wendy leaned over my desk and whispered, “Kristina, everyone’s saying you tried to seduce Mr. Wright and his girlfriend caught you. There’s a whole group chat about it…” She handed me her phone. Someone from the restaurant had been there last night. An entire group had been created overnight to gossip about my failed attempt to “climb the ladder.” Before I could explain, Adrian appeared with Nora by his side. “Everyone, I’d like to introduce our new department manager, Nora Cole.” So that’s what he meant by “seeing a lot of her.” He had parachuted her in as my new boss. Every head in the office turned to look at me. The previous manager had left months ago, and I had been running the department ever since. Everyone had assumed the promotion was mine. In front of the entire office, Adrian added Nora to the company’s group chat. They both sent a message, one after the other. Anyone with eyes could see their matching profile pictures. The entire morning was abuzz with gossip. I didn’t care. I was leaving anyway. They could have the job. I emailed my resignation to HR and went to the breakroom to make myself a cup of tea. I’d barely taken two sips when Nora walked in. She made a coffee and sat down next to me, the picture of smug victory. “Kristina, I know you’ve been Adrian’s little secret for five years. But I’m his real girlfriend. Now that I’m back, it’s time for the other woman to gracefully exit. As long as you keep your mouth shut like you always have, I won’t cause you any more trouble.” She played a voice message. It was the little boy from the restaurant. “Auntie Nora, did I do a good job? Don’t forget the Transformer you promised me!” I knew it was too much of a coincidence. A sense of foreboding washed over me. I needed to get out of there. But she grabbed my cup, dumped the contents over her own head, and then smashed the cup at my feet. The lukewarm tea dripped down her face, soaking her blouse and matting her hair, making her look utterly pathetic. This woman was willing to go to any lengths to destroy me. She blocked my path. “Kristina, what are you doing?” she shrieked. “Why are you doing this to me?” Her screams brought our colleagues running. She wasn’t done. She poured her own coffee down the front of her shirt and began rubbing her neck until it was red and raw. I had had enough. I slapped her, hard. Adrian heard the commotion and burst in to see me, perfectly composed, standing over a disheveled and weeping Nora. Without a moment’s hesitation, he slapped me back. “Kristina! If you don’t want this job, then get the hell out!” Still not satisfied, he shoved me aside and swept Nora up into his arms, carrying her into his office. I stumbled backward, my lower back slamming into the edge of a table. The pain brought tears to my eyes. The HR manager, who had been on the fence about my resignation, immediately signed off on it. Adrian, busy comforting Nora, approved it without even reading it. The finance department, eager to curry favor with the future boss’s wife, processed my final paycheck on the spot. I still had client files to hand over. I bundled them up to email to Adrian, only to find that my company email account had already been deleted. The only person with the authority to do that was Adrian. I tried to send him a final text: We’re over. But my number was blocked. My social media, blocked. I walked out of the company without a backward glance. I went home, erased every last trace of myself, and went straight to the airport.

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Transported into a novel, I stood by devoted second lead Asher Shen from nothing to tech mogul. When his old flame Celeste returned, he asked for a divorce, just as the plot foretold. But she immediately betrayed him, leaking secrets and draining his accounts before vanishing. I didn’t sign the papers. Instead, I comforted him. Grateful, he swore to build a better life. Five years later, his new company went public with Celeste, now a star, by his side. The media cheered. I smiled from the audience. The first time he betrayed me, I got the “Comeback Kingmaker” system. My task: stay until his company listed. My reward: freedom and all the money. His comeback was 98% complete. This time, I was leaving him with nothing. 1 As Asher’s company soared, so did my status in the high-society circles. Every woman envied me, whispering that I had placed the winning bet. Five years ago, we were the city’s most notoriously miserable couple, him pressuring me relentlessly for a divorce. But when his company collapsed and he was left broken and bankrupt, I was the bigger person. I became the loyal wife who helped him rise from the ashes. They all said my patience had finally paid off. But I knew something was wrong. Asher was in love again. We knew each other too well. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, I saw the signs. He used to come home right on time, but lately, he’d linger in his car in the driveway, chain-smoking, the exhaustion etched on his face. When he finally came inside, silence hung heavy between us. I used to pick out all his clothes—a monochrome sea of black, white, and gray. Suddenly, he started having his assistant buy them. He wore a lot of cyan these days. It was Celeste’s favorite color. His old flame. And on her birthday, the lights in his office building burned all through the night. I had a feeling I knew what was coming. It wasn’t until today, at an alumni gala Asher dragged me to, that my suspicions were confirmed. There she was, standing right in front of me: Celeste. She smiled, extending a hand as if she’d never betrayed him, never left him for dead. Asher’s gaze was ice. He stared her down, sharp and unforgiving, and made no move to shake her hand. But I knew better. The moment he saw her, his grip on my wrist tightened, a tremor running up his arm. I kept my smile perfectly in place and patted the back of his hand. “Celeste, dear. It’s been five years since you stole the Shen family’s trade secrets and helped his rivals short his company into the ground.” My words were a jab at her, but they were also a reminder for Asher. Whatever dalliances he had in private, he had to maintain a respectable front in public. As if waking from a trance, he wrapped an arm around my waist and steered me away. That night, a video of Celeste’s interview went viral. The reporter asked why she had suddenly returned to the spotlight after years of silence. Celeste looked into the camera, tears streaming down her face like a tragic heroine. “I was young and foolish,” she choked out. “I hurt the man who loved me, and now… I just want to win him back.” Her eyes pleaded. “Asher, can you ever forgive me?” The story exploded. A beautiful, disgraced actress and a resurrected tech titan. Asher was furious. He immediately got his PR team on the phone, ready to issue a statement denying any connection to her. His face was flushed with a rage I hadn’t seen in all our years of marriage. When the PR head asked if they should sue Celeste for slander, Asher’s fury faltered. I watched him, knowing exactly what he would say. His eyes darted away. After a moment of hesitation, he shook his head. “I just don’t want to be associated with her,” he explained to me, his voice tight. I nodded with a placid smile, adding a silent footnote in my head: You’re afraid a lawsuit would ruin her career. What a pair we were. Two people, each with our own secrets, politely refusing to expose the other. When we first married, my love for him had bordered on madness. Now, watching him was like watching a play—a distant, passionless affair. But no one could have predicted how truly insane Celeste was. She came for us on the bay bridge, her car hurtling toward us in the wrong lane. I was in the passenger seat. If Asher swerved, we’d be fine. But Celeste would crash through the guardrail and plunge into the cold, dark water below. No chance of survival. If he didn’t swerve, we would all be hurt. His eyes locked with hers, a deep, mesmerizing gaze, as if they were the only two people in the world. A pair of star-crossed lovers, locked in a trance of love and hate. And there I was, the villain in their drama. Because I was the one slapping his face, screaming at him to swerve, clawing for the steering wheel. The world erupted in a deafening crunch of metal as the cars collided, twisting together in a grotesque embrace. Dazed, Asher stumbled out of our car, his hands trembling as he checked on Celeste. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth as she leaned against him. She shot me a look over his shoulder, a triumphant smirk on her face, and mouthed two words. “I. Win.” It took me a long moment to pull myself from the wreckage. A deep, pulling pain started in my lower abdomen. “Asher… help me…” I called out weakly. He snapped back to reality and rushed over, scooping me into his arms. My consciousness began to fade. In the wailing ambulance, I could vaguely hear him calling me his wife, begging me not to leave him. I felt the warmth of his tears landing on my forehead. How cliché, I thought, and let the darkness take me. When I woke up, I was greeted with two pieces of news. First, I was two months pregnant. Second, the system notified me that Asher’s comeback was at 98%. I would be going home very, very soon. 2 Asher visited my hospital room every day. And every day, he’d take a call and rush out. I knew he was going to see Celeste. But he was a master of deception. No matter how late it was, he always came back to my room, curling up on the small cot beside my bed, his body pressed against mine. Once, as he was leaving, he paused and pressed a hand to my belly, whispering softly. “Daddy will be right back.” In that moment, I found his very existence repulsive. I was done being polite. “Why don’t you take that fruit basket to Miss Celeste?” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Since you can’t seem to stay away from her.” The warmth on his face shattered. He just stood there, speechless. “Let’s not fight,” he finally managed. “The baby can hear us.” I slapped him. The sound echoed in the quiet room. “Does the baby know its father almost got it killed for his old flame?” Asher’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. His face was a mask of pleading. Just then, Celeste’s call came through. “Asher, my stitches tore again… it hurts so much…” Her voice was a syrupy, seductive purr he could never resist. He was on his feet in an instant. I turned my head away, refusing to look at him as he left. A moment later, a message popped up on my phone. It was from Mr. Davies, one of our biggest clients, wanting to discuss a contract. Davies was generous, but he had one major flaw: he insisted on sealing every deal over copious amounts of alcohol. The system warned me. If I went, I would have to drink. And I couldn’t drink while pregnant. My expression turned to ice. I knew the risks. Asher had lectured me about them endlessly. But I didn’t care. I’m leaving this world soon, I told the system. This baby was never meant to be born. It was a product of lust, not a child of love. It wasn’t something to be cherished. Besides, landing this massive contract with Davies would accelerate the company’s growth. It would push Asher’s comeback progress to 99%. I went to the dinner. I drank until everyone was satisfied, and I walked away with a signed contract. I’d thrown up three times before I got home, my stomach feeling like it was on fire. When I opened the door, I heard Asher’s voice, unusually cheerful. “I bought so many little outfits for the baby today, and a stroller! We should start decorating the nursery…” Then he smelled the alcohol on me. His words died in his throat. The atmosphere in the room dropped ten degrees. He gently steadied me, his face a thundercloud. He helped me remove my makeup, cleaned my face, forced a sobriety tonic down my throat, and called our family doctor. “You know you can’t drink while you’re pregnant!” he finally exploded, his voice low and furious. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. His eyes burned with anger, but a sheen of tears swam in them. I patted his cheek and laughed. “I was out there building an empire for you and Celeste,” I slurred. “What’s with the concerned husband act? Deep down, you’re probably hoping I drink myself to death so you can make room for your precious old flame, right?” He cut me off with a desperate kiss, trying to smother the cruel words. I shoved him away with all my strength. “Don’t touch me. You’re filthy! While I was entertaining clients, where were you?” The color drained from his face. I unlocked my phone and pulled up the message Celeste had sent me earlier. It was a photo of her and Asher. She was in a hospital bed with an IV in her arm, and he was asleep in a chair beside her. On his forehead was the clear imprint of a lipstick kiss. “It’s not what you think!” he stammered. “I just… I hate her for what she did! I wanted to see how pathetic her life has become!” I closed my eyes. I called him pathetic, a fool who deserved to be tricked, a dog who would always go back to his own vomit. After seven years, a husband and wife know exactly where to stick the knife. He stormed out. Not thirty minutes later, Celeste updated her social media. A picture of two hands, intertwined. The caption read: He’s back with me. 3 A few days later, it was my birthday. Knowing I would be leaving this world soon, I threw a large party, inviting all my closest friends. It was meant to be a farewell. But then an uninvited guest arrived. Asher walked in with Celeste on his arm. Around her neck was a stunning emerald necklace. The one I had fallen in love with, the one Asher had bought at auction as my birthday gift. He had given it to her. The room was filled with my friends, my true friends. Their gazes, a mixture of embarrassment and pity, burned my skin. Asher had publicly humiliated me. He stood before me, but before he could speak, his eyes were drawn to a scroll one of my friends was holding. It was a piece of calligraphy from a renowned master she adored. She had begged me for it countless times, but I’d always refused. Now that I was leaving, I was giving away my entire collection to people who would appreciate it. Asher’s brow furrowed. “I thought this was your favorite,” he said, his voice laced with confusion. “You looked at it every day. I had to pull so many strings to get the artist to come out of retirement for this!” I took a step back, my voice sharp. “What, you can throw away a fortune on a gift for Miss Celeste, but I can’t have the freedom to give my own things away?” He rubbed his temples, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. “Elara, you know that’s not what I mean.” He pulled me into a quiet corner, his eyes pleading. “Celeste has been trying to get a meeting with Director Zhao for weeks. He happened to be here tonight, so she begged me to bring her. That’s all this is. Don’t overthink it.” His lips brushed against my shoulder. “We’ve been married for years. Can we please just… be okay?” I wrenched my arm away, my smile bright and brittle. “Of course. In fact, Director Zhao and I are great friends. I’d be happy to make the introduction for her.” I saw a flicker of relief, then genuine delight, in Asher’s eyes. But my mind drifted back five years, to a time when I was sick in the hospital. Asher was at his lowest point then, unable to even pay the medical bills. One of his friends had clapped him on the shoulder and offered to help. Asher had glanced over at me, his expression unreadable, before finally saying, “No, we’re fine.” And so I endured the pain without medication, all for the sake of his pathetic pride. So this is what it was like for the girl he actually loved. He was willing to swallow his pride, to beg and scheme, all for her career. The difference between being loved and not being loved was painfully clear. But did he really think I would play the part of the gracious, forgiving wife? I glided over to Director Zhao, a glass of champagne in hand, and gestured toward Celeste. “She’s a phenomenal actress,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. “Played the part of a devoted lover so well she had Asher spinning in circles. She’s also a magician—when he lost all his money, poof! She vanished.” I continued, my smile never wavering. “Oh, and she’s a master of disguise. The moment she sees money, or another woman’s husband, she transforms. It’s like a dog seeing a bone.” Celeste’s smile was frozen on her face, stretched thin and tight. Asher’s eyes were practically shooting sparks at me, but I didn’t care. I was having too much fun. I gestured grandly. “Director, if your new film needs any supporting roles, you should consider Asher, too. He’d be perfect for the part of a kicked dog.” Asher’s fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. “Elara,” he seethed. “There’s no need to drag up the past! All you ever talk about is how I was tricked! Are you going to hold that one mistake over my head for the rest of my life?” He was tired of my reminders. Perhaps he was ashamed of the five years of struggle, of the humiliating climb from the bottom, and hated that I was the one who had witnessed it all. I rolled my eyes and met Celeste’s gaze, which was brimming with unshed, dramatic tears. One woman had seen him at his absolute worst, a wife who knew all his scars. The other was the unattainable first love. No wonder he could never let her go. Asher snatched the wine glass from my hand, his voice sharp with command. “Apologize to Celeste. Now.” I slapped him across the face, hard. A red handprint immediately blossomed on his cheek. “You really do deserve everything she did to you.” I turned and walked away. From across the hall, my friends were calling me over to cut the cake. We were all gathered in the main hall when, without warning, the massive crystal chandelier overhead began to shudder. Then, it fell. Screams erupted. People scattered in a panic. I heard voices shouting my name—“Elara, watch out!”—and felt hands pulling me back. But among all the cries of concern, not a single one came from my husband. In the split second the chandelier fell, he lunged in the opposite direction, shielding Celeste with his own body. A shard of glass still managed to slice her cheek. Asher stared at the thin line of blood on her perfect skin, and something inside him snapped. He whirled on me, his face contorted with a primal rage. “You planned the venue! How could you not know the chandelier was faulty? You did this on purpose! Were you trying to kill her?” A friend stepped between us, shoving him back. “Asher, what the hell is wrong with you? Elara was almost crushed to death! Have you been married to a monster for the last seven years? You don’t have a single word of concern for her?” I just watched him, a slow, knowing smile spreading across my face as his features twisted in fury. “Oh, so we’re done pretending you hate her now? Done playing the part of the devoted husband?”

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My wife secretly swapped the donor lists. The kidney that was meant for our son, she gave to her old flame’s child instead. Later, our son’s condition worsened. The doctors fought to save him, but it was too late. He died. At that very same moment, her old flame’s son was recovering from a successful surgery. My wife was so overjoyed, she handed out gift cards to the entire hospital staff. The rage and grief swallowed me whole, and I collapsed. When I woke up, the doctors told me I had terminal cancer. My life was now on a countdown. My heart a hollowed-out ruin, I checked out of the hospital, clutching my son’s ashes. In the cold silence of our home, I drafted the divorce papers. 1 It was ten o’clock at night when Hannah finally came home. The moment she closed the door and slipped off her shoes, the living room lights flickered on. She jumped, startled. There I was, sitting on the sofa in the dark, a white porcelain urn cradled in my arms. I don’t know how long I’d been waiting. “Ian, are you insane?” she snapped. “Sitting here in the dark trying to scare me to death?” Her sharp voice cut through the silence. I mechanically lifted my head and looked at her. Even at this late hour, not a single strand of her long hair was out of place. Her dress was perfectly smooth, without a single wrinkle. It was clear how much the father and son she’d spent all day doting on meant to her. She, who had always been so effortlessly casual, was now meticulously put-together for them. When I just stared at her without a word, a storm cloud of annoyance gathered on her face. “Are you still holding a grudge about the kidney?” My hands tightened around the urn. “I already told you, another donor will come along! I’m a doctor, Ian. My priority has to be the patient in most critical need. Aaron is in the optimal window for recovery. This kidney gives him the best possible chance at a full life!” “I know you’re worried about Cody,” she continued, her voice laced with impatience, as if I were some weak, irrational fool. “But he’s already waited this long. What’s a little more time? He’s my son, too. It’s not like I’m going to abandon him…” But it wasn’t just a little more time. After we lost that kidney, my son’s health went into a nosedive. He never opened his eyes again. My little boy. He was so small. Before he died, he held my hand tightly and asked why Mommy wasn’t there. He asked if Mommy didn’t love him anymore. All I could do was kiss his pale cheeks, over and over, and tell him that Daddy was here, that Daddy would always be with him. Cody never saw his mother one last time. But her first love’s son, Aaron, got the kidney just in time. And he lived. He lived because he had my son’s kidney. I hated this hypocritical, selfish woman with every fiber of my being. I never wanted to see her again. Seemingly satisfied with her lecture, Hannah finally fell silent. She tossed her jacket, heavy with the scent of expensive perfume, at me. “Take this. I need it washed and ironed before I go to work tomorrow.” I didn’t move. I didn’t reach for it. I let it fall to the floor. Hannah’s brow furrowed. I met her eyes, my voice steady and certain. “Let’s get a divorce.” The words hung in the air. She stared as if she couldn’t believe they had come from my mouth. Her eyes were wide with disbelief. “What did you just say?” A bitter smile touched my lips. “I said, Hannah, I’m divorcing you.” I pushed the papers I’d prepared across the coffee table. “Here’s the divorce agreement. I don’t want any of the assets. City Hall opens at nine tomorrow. Make sure you have your ID.” The air in the room grew thick, stagnant. Hannah didn’t even look at the papers. I could see the rage building in her, a visible storm. “Are you ever going to let this go?!” she shrieked. “You had to pick tonight to pull this stunt? Aaron needed that kidney more than Cody! How many times do I have to explain it? Ian, can you stop being so damn selfish for once?!” Her furious glare was a physical force, trying to make me back down. I ignored it, my voice still quiet, but now as hard as stone. “Hannah, I’m divorcing you. This isn’t a negotiation.” Her face turned to ice. A cold, mocking laugh escaped her lips. “Oh, so now you’re threatening me?” She snatched her jacket from the floor, pulled it on, and stalked toward the door, her face a rigid mask. Clearly, she’d decided to run from the problem. She wasn’t staying here tonight. At the door, she turned back, her voice a final, cold warning. “And let me tell you something, Ian. Even if we do get divorced, I’m getting full custody of Cody. You’d better not live to regret this.” The door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the suffocating silence. I stroked the smooth, cool surface of the urn in my lap, as if comforting a frightened child. From the moment she walked in to the moment she left, she never once asked about her son. Not if he was in pain, not if he was sleeping. She never even lowered her voice. That slam of the door was deafening. And not once did she ask what was in the urn I was holding. I stared at the empty doorway, my vision blurring. You missed Cody’s last moments, Hannah. And you’re going to miss mine, too. The next morning, I was waiting outside City Hall right on time. Nine o’clock came and went. Hannah was a no-show. I pulled out my phone and called her. Her voice exploded from the other end. “Ian! What is wrong with you? Is your life’s mission to make mine a living hell?” My own voice was calm. “Come and sign the papers, Hannah. Don’t make me lose the last shred of respect I have for you.” She came. We signed our names. The clerk stamped the papers. The divorce was final. Hannah’s face was a twisted mask of fury. A laugh, sharp and humorless, escaped her. “Wow. I really underestimated you.” “And don’t forget what I said,” she spat, turning to leave. “Custody of Cody is mine. I’ll give you three days to pack your things and bring him to me, Ian. Or I’ll see you in court.” As I watched her storm away, I wanted to laugh, but a thick, metallic taste of blood filled my throat instead. Cody’s already gone, Hannah. He died the same day Aaron’s surgery was a success. Are you happy? At least it saves you some legal fees. I never went back to that house. I had already burned all of Cody’s things. I’d thrown away all of mine. I’d cut our faces out of every photograph. Lately, the cancer was getting worse. I was coughing up blood, sometimes with small pieces of tissue in it. The only reason I had pushed for this divorce decree was so that we wouldn’t be a family anymore—not even in death. That same day, I took the small bag I had packed, held Cody’s urn close, and went back to my hometown. My parents had always respected my decisions. They had never liked Hannah, but they’d agreed to the marriage to make me happy. It was the same now. They saw the urn in my arms, saw my body that had become a walking skeleton, and they must have guessed the truth. But they didn’t ask. They just cooked me nourishing meals every day and gently wiped the blood from my lips. One day, after a particularly bad bout of coughing that left me voiceless, I saw the raw pain in their eyes and was consumed by regret. Regret for coming back to be a burden on them in my final days. As if she could read my mind, my mother wrapped her arms around me, her own tears finally breaking free. “Ian, honey, we are so glad you came home,” she sobbed. “To be with you on this last part of your journey… for us, there is no regret in that. Only peace.” My own tears fell, and a sense of calm finally washed over me. One sunny afternoon, I sat in a rocking chair on the porch. Beside me was a bowl of grapes my mother had washed. In the golden haze of the summer sun, I saw him. Cody. He was wearing the new blue jeans I’d burned for him as an offering. He leaned against my legs, smiling up at me. “Daddy! I can touch you now!” I took his small hand in mine. Together, we watched as my parents placed my urn on the shelf next to his. One large, one small. The two porcelain urns leaned against each other, just like how Cody used to sleep in my arms. Cody blinked his clear, bright eyes. “Daddy, Grandpa and Grandma can’t see us anymore…” I stroked his hair. “No, son. But they can feel us in their hearts.” I didn’t know why we were still here, lingering in this world. But after seeing that my parents had found a measure of stability, I decided to take Cody to see his mother. When he was alive, all of Hannah’s attention had been focused on Aaron in the next room. Every single day, Cody had hoped his mother would come visit, but he died without ever seeing her again. Now, I could finally grant him his wish. He could look at her for as long as he wanted. We found Hannah at the hospital, just coming out of surgery. Cody was ecstatic. He finally saw the mother he had longed for, and he danced around her in excited circles. But Hannah couldn’t feel his presence. She sat down, exhausted, paying him no mind. Another doctor walked by. Hannah seemed to remember something and called out to him. “Dr. Miles, I was just wondering… how was my son’s recovery before he was discharged?” The doctor smiled warmly. “Oh, fantastic! The treatment was perfectly timed. Not a single complication.”

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In my last life, Orion Perry’s first love died because of me. Shattered by grief, he feigned a marriage alliance only to systematically destroy my family, driving us into bankruptcy. He tormented me until I was a hollow shell, diagnosed with severe depression. In my despair, I jumped from the roof of our building. In my final moments, Orion stood over me, his expression cold, and gently covered my eyes. “Hazel,” he’d murmured, “next life, if you ever run into me and Ava again, make sure you stay far away.” When I opened my eyes, I was back. Seven years in the past, on the school path I walked every day. In the distance, Orion and Ava were walking toward me. Ava spotted me first, her face lighting up as she waved. “Hazel! Over here!” The sight of them jolted me out of my trance. A primal fear seized me. I reacted on pure instinct, flinging my heavy bookbag at them like a weapon before turning and running for my life. 1 “Hazel Jiang! Class is about to start! Where are you going?” I ignored my classmate’s shout, pushing against the tide of uniformed students. The wind, laced with sunlight, felt like it was passing right through my chest, clean and sharp. It felt so good. It felt so good to be alive. The heavy fog that had clouded my mind and body, the suffocating darkness that had tormented me until I could no longer breathe… it was gone. I was seventeen-year-old Hazel Jiang. Healthy. Alive. Bright. The Jiang and Perry families were old friends, our ties going back generations. Orion, a year older than me, had always doted on me. From a piece of candy when we were children, to a princess dress when I was a girl, to a sapphire necklace for my sixteenth birthday—his kindness had been a constant for a third of my life. Plenty of girls crushed on him, but I was the only one ever by his side. He was like a brother, and at some point, he became the person I quietly, secretly loved. That all changed at the freshman track meet, the day I fainted and Ava was the one who took me to the nurse’s office. From then on, it was no longer just Orion and me. It was the three of us. They shared the same hobbies, excelled in the same classes. When they were together, they had endless things to talk about. I slowly became their shadow. … In my past life, a rumor that Ava had been abused by her stepfather spread like wildfire through the school. The day she jumped, her hair was a mess, her eyes wild as they fixed on me. “Hazel Jiang,” she’d spat, “remember this. You’re the one who killed me!” Then she was gone, a final, decisive leap that gave no one time to grab her, no time to stop her. She gave me no chance to explain. When Orion found the note she’d left, he went mad. He grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging in like talons. A visceral hatred that chilled me to the bone blazed in his bloodshot eyes. “Hazel! Why? Why would you do this?” “You were the only one who knew!” “I…” My throat was raw, but I forced the words past the searing pain in my shoulders. “I didn’t.” “It wasn’t me.” But no one believed me. Ava’s public accusation had already branded me a murderer. Any defense I offered was just a whisper against the roar of a victim’s final words. And so, I was subjected to a level of bullying and isolation I had never imagined possible. Everyone looked at me like I was a killer. Every classmate’s gaze was a knife. Especially Orion’s. Four years later, the Perry family proposed a marriage alliance with mine. He agreed. It was as if he’d forgotten Ava completely. He went back to being the kind, doting Orion I had always known. I thought he finally believed me. He ruffled my hair, just like he used to, his eyes soft. “Hazel,” he’d said, his voice gentle. “Let’s get married.” The Orion of my memories had always been this warm, this affectionate. I thought he had finally come back to me. I was wrong. Soon after, my family’s corporate secrets found their way into his hands. He used ruthless tactics to crush our business, my parents were driven out of the city, and I was made a prisoner in our home. The hatred, the cold indifference—it filled every moment of my existence. The mask was off. His eyes when he looked at me were ice. “The suffering Ava went through, Hazel? You deserve to feel every last bit of it.” “Hazel, why don’t you just die? If you died, maybe then… maybe then I could finally forgive you.” As Orion wished, seven years later, Hazel Jiang jumped from a rooftop, just as desperately as Ava had. … I stood frozen on the street, the school bell echoing in my ears. The feeling of my skull fracturing, of my soul being torn from my body, and Orion’s cold, final words—it all began to fade. “Next life, if you ever run into me and Ava again, make sure you stay far away.” I let out a long, shuddering breath. This time, Orion, I will. I’ll stay far, far away from you and Ava. I turned and ran, not back to school, but toward home. 2 “Hazel? Shouldn’t you be in class right now?” My mom was sitting in the backyard, sipping coffee. She looked up in surprise as I burst through the door. Tears welled in my eyes as I threw my arms around her, holding on tight. In my last life, my parents’ life’s work was destroyed. They were forced out of the city by the very boy they’d watched grow up. I never even got to see them one last time before I died. “Such a big girl and still clinging to your mother,” she teased, her voice gentle. “What are you going to do when you get married?” The word “married” sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. I hugged her tighter. “I’m not getting married. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here, with you and Dad, and I’ll take over the family business and be a deadbeat rich kid who lives off you forever.” My mom feigned a sigh, but her smile only widened. “Is that so? Well, I suppose we’ll just have to let our little parasite feast on us for the rest of her life.” … It took me all night to pull myself together. The next day, I went back to school. The driver dropped me off at the gate. As I got out, I caught a glimpse of Orion and Ava, standing at our usual meeting spot down the road, laughing and talking. They were waiting for me. Terrified of being seen, I ducked my head, clutched my bag, and hurried inside. That path to school. The three of us. My eyes on Orion, Orion’s eyes on Ava. This unrequited love should have ended long ago. But the younger me had been foolish, secretly happy for every extra moment I got to look at him on that path. … After school, I dragged my feet, but there was no avoiding them. Orion and Ava were waiting by the main gate. I had no choice but to walk toward them. Ava didn’t mention how I’d run from them the day before. She just looped her arm through mine as if nothing had happened. “Hazel! We waited for you at the corner for ages today. Where were you?” I fought the urge to pull away, but I couldn’t stop myself. I gently slipped my arm from her grasp. Ava’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered. “It’s my birthday today, Hazel. You’re not going to celebrate with me?” My heart stuttered. In my past life, it was on her birthday that she’d gotten drunk, and with tears in her eyes, had confessed her deepest secrets to me. That was the night she told me about her stepfather. This time, I couldn’t be the one she confided in. I wouldn’t. I kept my head down, avoiding Orion’s gaze. “I… I have something to do at home. I can’t make it. But happy birthday.” I didn’t wait to see the hurt that I knew would fill her eyes. I turned and walked away quickly. A set of urgent footsteps followed me. “Hazel.” It was Orion. My heart leaped into my throat. I lowered my head and walked faster. He caught up in three long strides, blocking my path. His shadow fell over me. “What are you running from?” I finally looked up at him, at the eighteen-year-old Orion. He wore the familiar school uniform, his features sharp and defined. But the deep, indifferent darkness in his eyes didn’t belong to a teenager. It belonged to the Orion from my past life. A sudden, cold panic seized me. I stumbled back, nearly losing my balance. But the Orion before me stepped forward, closing the distance, his feet eclipsing my shadow on the pavement. “Hazel,” he said, his voice low and unsettling. “You seem… afraid of me.” 3 In the next second, his expression softened. He reached out and ruffled my hair, just like he always used to. “Hazel, what’s wrong? Why are you avoiding me and Ava?” “It’s Ava’s birthday today. She’ll be really upset if you don’t come. Let’s go celebrate with her, okay?” He was smiling, but I could feel him probing, testing me. It made sense. My behavior since yesterday had been a complete reversal of my old self. I was avoiding them, and I was no longer fawning over him. If… if this wasn’t the eighteen-year-old Orion, he would surely suspect that I wasn’t the seventeen-year-old Hazel. After three years of his particular brand of marriage, any love I’d had for him had been tortured out of existence. Now, all I felt was a mixture of hatred and fear. “I… I…” I tried to force a smile, but he had already turned to our family driver, who was waiting by the curb. “Mr. Henderson, it’s a friend’s birthday today. I’ll take Hazel to the party and make sure she gets home safe.” Mr. Henderson, knowing the close relationship between our families, just smiled and nodded before driving off. I had no choice but to trail behind them. Before, when the three of us walked together, I would watch Orion and Ava, their easy chemistry and endless conversations filling my heart with a quiet ache. Now, I watched them with a detached calm, my mind completely blank. I was already plotting my escape. … The night before I jumped, it was the anniversary of Ava’s death. Orion, who was always out, came home for once. He smiled at me, a gentle, soul-crushing smile. “Hazel, remember that time in your senior year when you were cornered in the back alley? I happened to be visiting the school that day. I stood at the end of the alley and watched you for a long time.” The reflection in the window showed my face, instantly drained of all color. I could never forget that day. A group of students had cornered me behind the school. They called me a murderer. They took turns slapping me. They tore my books to shreds and scattered the pages all over the ground. Finally, they made me kneel and repeat, one hundred times, “Ava, I was wrong.” I did it, my body numb, because I knew it was the only way to make it stop. On graduation day, I thought it was finally over. I buried those humiliating memories, sealed away everything related to Ava. I thought I could start again. But seven years later, Orion told me he was there. He had been there the whole time. The boy who had held my hand, who had been like a brother to me as I grew up, had stood somewhere nearby, watching impassively as I was humiliated, beaten, and forced to my knees. He leaned in, his voice a soft whisper in my ear. “Oh, by the way, Hazel. Your mother is sick, but she has no money for treatment. And your father, at his age, has to work on construction sites. He hurt his back, you know. Every day is a struggle for them.” “This is all your fault. They could have lived a comfortable life, but now they have to pay for your mistakes.” I saw my own reflection, my eyes growing dim and lifeless with his every word. I finally understood. As long as I, the “sinner,” was alive, as long as Orion was in my life, it would never end. My only escape was through death. 4 On the way, Orion called the manager of his family’s private club and had them clear out an exclusive VIP room. Listening to his calm, authoritative tone, I was suddenly reminded of the man he became after we were married, the man who had taken over his family’s empire. The man he was now was not the boy he should have been. He… he was reborn too? The thought sent a jolt of panic through me. No matter what, I couldn’t let him know I was different. If he was also reliving the past, and if events repeated themselves, I would once again be the “only killer” in his eyes. After all… I was the only one who knew Ava’s secret. In the private room, Ava shyly selected a love song and asked Orion to sing with her. The other students cheered them on. In their eyes, the refined, handsome Orion and the beautiful, resilient Ava were a perfect match, a couple just waiting to happen. I watched it all calmly, the whole affair feeling tedious and dull. Suddenly, the door opened, and a woman dressed in a designer suit stood there. “Orion?” It was his mother. Her presence was powerful, and the noisy room fell silent. Her eyes scanned the room, and when she saw Ava sitting so close to Orion, her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Then her gaze found me in the corner, and her face broke into a warm smile. “Hazel, dear. I was wondering why my Orion went to so much trouble to book this room today. It was for you.” I awkwardly stood up. “Auntie, actually, it’s…” “It’s fine,” she said, smiling at me, her eyes full of affection. “I was supposed to be meeting a client here, but this naughty boy of mine took my room. I was worried it was for some riffraff.” Her eyes flicked pointedly toward Ava. “But if it’s for you, Hazel, any room in this club, no matter how exclusive, is always yours.” The atmosphere in the room turned instantly awkward. Orion looked displeased. Ava’s face fell for a moment before she forced a smile. I tried to say something, but Orion’s mother cut me off. “Oh, Hazel, remember to come over with your parents on the weekend. I’ve hired a new chef who makes your favorite dishes.” “I…” The words caught in my throat. I couldn’t think of a polite way to refuse. “Thank you, Auntie,” I mumbled. She left, satisfied, but I was on edge. Fortunately, the others quickly moved on, and the party became noisy again. Ava, however, was clearly subdued. After a few drinks, she came and sat next to me, linking her arm with mine. “Hazel,” she complained, “Orion gave me a custom necklace today. It’s too expensive, and I tried to refuse, but he insisted it was just a casual gift.” She looked at me expectantly. “Is he always this… casual… with your birthday gifts?” I paused. With seven more years of life experience, I finally understood what she was really asking. She was testing the waters, trying to see how he treated her versus how he treated me. I smiled faintly. “No.” “Really?” A flicker of joy, mixed with suspicion, appeared in her eyes. “Hazel, you seem a little down today. Is it because… Orion only gave me a necklace?” I froze. I suddenly realized that the feelings I thought I had hidden so well in my past life had probably been obvious to her all along. “No, it’s not that,” I said quickly, taking her hand. My words were sincere. “Ava, I’m happy that Orion is good to you. I hope… I hope you’ll both be very happy together.” Across the noisy room, Orion’s head snapped in our direction. Ava was clearly ready for a heart-to-heart, but all I wanted was to get away from both of them. I feigned a sudden stomachache and practically fled from the club. … Free from their presence, a wave of relief washed over me, and my steps felt lighter. I was waiting for a cab by the side of the road when a figure materialized out of the shadows behind me. “Hazel,” Orion’s voice was low and cold. “I thought you weren’t feeling well.” My whole body went rigid. I stammered, “I… I felt a little better after I came outside.” He loomed over me, his tall frame oppressive, his eyes dark and searching. “But Hazel, I remember… you only started calling her ‘Ava, the upperclassman’… after she died.”

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My father’s old friend had entrusted his daughter to our family. Her name was Isabella, and she was a whirlwind of social energy, the polar opposite of me—the quiet, studious girl who only knew how to bury her nose in books. My father doted on her as if she were his own. My brothers chauffeured her to every trendy, Instagrammable spot in town and showered her with the latest gadgets. Even my boyfriend, Sean, the campus heartthrob, would only half-heartedly complain about how clingy and overly affectionate she was. But I saw the way his eyes would drift toward her during every club meeting. It all came to a head at the annual University Gala, when the duet I was supposed to sing with him was suddenly replaced by a four-hand piano piece he was performing with her. I stared down at the program in my hands, my name neatly crossed out. “We’re done,” I said, my voice calm. 1 Sean’s hand froze mid-air. He stared at me, dumbfounded. Before he could even form a word, Isabella, standing just behind him in a white tulle dress that perfectly matched the one I had picked out for our performance, started to tear up. “Joanna, please don’t be mad at Sean,” she sniffled, her eyes welling up. “It’s… it’s my fault. I just wanted to perform at the Gala so badly, and Sean only agreed because he felt sorry for me…” I ignored her, my gaze fixed on Sean. “I said, we’re over.” Sean’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Joanna, stop making a scene. It’s just one song. Is it really that big of a deal?” “Bella is new here, and it’s her first Gala. What’s wrong with me, as an upperclassman, helping her out?” he said, his voice rising. “I know you can be boring and quiet, but since when did you become so petty?” I looked at him, said nothing more, and walked off the stage. The auditorium was buzzing with noise; no one in the roaring crowd noticed the small drama unfolding in the wings. I tossed the obsolete program into a trash can and walked out of the building, pulling out my phone to send Sean one last message. I wasn’t asking. I was telling you. We’re broken up. When I got home, the living room was ablaze with light. My father, my older brother Chris, and my middle brother Mark were all gathered around the TV with Isabella, watching a live stream of the Gala. On screen, Sean and Isabella were playing their piano duet. The melody was beautiful, and I had to admit, they looked good together. “Wow, our Bella is just so talented! That was incredible!” Chris was the first to applaud. “Yeah, a lot better than some people who just mope around with their books all day,” Mark added, shooting a pointed look in my direction. My father’s gaze shifted from the screen to me, cold and appraising. “Why didn’t you come home with Sean?” I slipped off my shoes, my voice flat. “We broke up.” The room fell silent. Isabella was the first to her feet, rushing over to me with tears streaming down her face. “Joanna, I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault! Please don’t break up with Sean… I’ll go explain everything to him right now!” My father’s face darkened, and he struck the floor with his cane. “Enough of this nonsense! Joanna, you’re an adult. Why are you being so childish?” “Isabella is your guest, practically a little sister. Sean was right to look out for her. As the older sister, you should be gracious, not throwing a tantrum over something so trivial. Where are your manners?” I lifted my head and met his gaze, my own expression unreadable. “My manners? My mother taught me one thing before she died: never let anyone make you feel small.” With that, I turned and walked upstairs to my room to pack. A few minutes later, my door creaked open. Chris was leaning against the frame, a smirk on his face. “What’s this, Joanna? Running away from home? You think you’re three years old again?” I continued folding my clothes into a suitcase, ignoring him. “Alright, that’s enough. Go downstairs, apologize to Dad, and we can all forget this happened,” he said, his tone condescending. “Bella is a guest, and she’s the daughter of Dad’s dear friend. We’re supposed to treat her well. Why can’t you just accept her?” “It’s not her I can’t accept.” I paused, looking up at him. “It’s all of you.” The smirk vanished from his face. I zipped up my suitcase and walked past him without another word. Downstairs, Mark blocked my path to the door. “Joanna, what is wrong with you? Do you really have to make everything so ugly?” I glanced at him, then at my father, whose face was a thundercloud on the sofa, and finally at Isabella, who was weeping silently beside him. “I’m tired,” I said. “I’m tired of playing the part of the understanding, generous, and mature daughter and sister. I’m done.” I pushed past Mark, pulled the front door open, and walked out into the night without looking back. Behind me, I heard my father’s furious roar. “If you walk out that door today, don’t you ever bother coming back!” I didn’t break my stride, disappearing into the darkness. They all thought I was just throwing a fit. They thought I’d come crawling back as soon as I ran out of money and had nowhere to stay. They had seriously miscalculated. 2 I took a taxi to a luxury high-rise and rode the elevator to the penthouse apartment. The door unlocked with my fingerprint. It was an eighteenth birthday present from my mother. “My sweet Joanna,” she had said, “I want you to always have your own strength, your own way out.” No one knew about this place but her and me. I dropped my suitcase, poured myself a glass of water, and stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing out at the glittering cityscape. My phone had been vibrating nonstop in my pocket. I pulled it out. Missed calls from my father, my brothers, and dozens from Sean. I switched it to airplane mode, cutting them all off. The next morning, I went to the university’s administrative office to change my status from a resident student to a commuter. My academic advisor was surprised but approved the request. As I was leaving her office, I ran straight into Sean. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and he was still wearing yesterday’s wrinkled suit. The moment he saw me, he lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. “Joanna, why weren’t you answering my calls? Do you have any idea how worried I was? I’ve been looking for you all night!” he yelled, his voice laced with suppressed fury. Students in the hallway turned to stare. I tried to wrench my arm free, but his grip only tightened. “What the hell is your problem? There’s nothing going on between me and Isabella! I just felt sorry for her. She’s new, she doesn’t have any friends… she was all alone!” “I already yelled at her, and she knows she was wrong. Just come back with me so we can talk this out. Please, let’s not break up.” I looked at him and almost laughed. “Sean, you think Isabella is the problem here?” He stared at me, confused. “Isn’t she?” “The problem is that you chose her over me,” I said, my voice cold and steady. “You gave away the performance I spent two months preparing. And when I needed you to have my back, you called me boring and petty. So, no. We’re finished.” Sean looked lost, wanting to say something, anything, to fix it, but the words wouldn’t come. “Joanna… I…” “Let her go.” A cool, level voice cut in from the side. We both turned. It was Gavin Prescott. He was a big deal on campus—Student Council President and heir to a ridiculously powerful family. He was half a head taller than Sean, and his brow was slightly furrowed as he looked at Sean’s hand clamped around my wrist. Sean obviously knew who he was. His face darkened, but he refused to let go. “This is between my girlfriend and me. It has nothing to do with you.” Gavin didn’t reply immediately. His gaze met mine for a second, calm but so perceptive it felt like he could see right through the tough exterior I was trying to maintain. Then he turned back to Sean, and his expression turned to ice, laced with contempt. He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. He dangled the phone casually. “Tsk, tsk. Fresh material for the campus gossip forum, don’t you think? ‘Campus Heartthrob Gets Physical with Ex.’ I’m sure they’d love a post about the guy who can only solve relationship problems with brute force.” Sean’s face went from dark to crimson. He shot me a venomous glare before finally, reluctantly, releasing my wrist. “You’ll regret this, Joanna!” he spat, then stormed off. I rubbed my reddened skin and murmured a thank you to Gavin. He pocketed his phone, his eyes lingering on my face for a moment. “That was a sudden partner swap for your performance yesterday.” I nodded, offering a brittle smile. “Yeah, it was a real surprise.” He didn’t press for details. “Be safe, living off-campus by yourself,” was all he said before turning and walking away, leaving me with the image of his tall, straight back. I watched him go, a strange feeling stirring in my chest. We barely knew each other, having only spoken a few times in project meetings, yet he kept stepping in to help me. He was a man who lived in the clouds, yet somehow, he didn’t feel as distant as I’d always imagined. 3 With no classes in the afternoon, I went to a bank downtown. I had two accounts. One was a supplementary credit card my father gave me, where he deposited my monthly allowance. The other was from my mother. Just as I walked into the VIP wealth management office, the bank manager called. “Miss Vance, your father just called to freeze your supplementary credit card, the one ending in 8888.” I wasn’t surprised. It was his classic move—cut off my finances, assuming I’d come crawling back. “I know.” “And the other account?” The manager’s tone became instantly deferential. “Miss Vance, the platinum card your mother left you has the highest level of security. No one but you can access it. The current balance is…” He quoted a number with so many zeroes I could live comfortably for the rest of my life. “Okay, thank you.” After the call, I transferred a large sum from the platinum card to my regular savings account. Walking out of the bank, I saw a text from my brother, Mark. Dad canceled your card. If you’re out of money, just come home and apologize. Don’t be so stubborn. So annoying. That evening, Isabella sent me a message on WhatsApp. Joanna, please don’t be angry with your dad and brothers. They’re just worried about you. Where are you now? I can ask Sean to come and pick you up, okay? Attached was a photo. It was our living room. The four of them—my father, my brothers, and her—were sitting together eating fruit, looking for all the world like a happy family. Isabella was snuggled up next to my father, beaming. On the coffee table was an open gift box containing the newest model of a gaming console. The one Chris had promised to buy for me a few days ago. Now, it belonged to Isabella. A small, bitter smile touched my lips. I typed back a reply: Thanks, but no thanks. The next day, I went to class as usual. The moment I walked into the lecture hall, the atmosphere felt… off. Everyone was looking at me with strange expressions. My deskmate, a girl I was friendly with, leaned over hesitantly. “Joanna… have you seen the campus forum?” I pulled out my phone and opened the app. A trending post with a blazing red title jumped out at me. MASSIVE DRAMA! Joanna Vance Dumps Campus Heartthrob and Storms Out of Family Home in Jealous Rage Over New Girl! The post gave a dramatic, blow-by-blow account of the events at the Gala, painting me as a jealous, petty, and unreasonable villain. Isabella was the innocent, pitiful, and lovable victim. And Sean? He was the noble “good guy,” willing to risk his girlfriend’s wrath to help a family friend in need. The post included several photos. One of Isabella crying backstage, her face a mask of sorrow. One of Sean, looking frantic, on the phone. And one of me, my back to the camera, walking away with a cold, indifferent posture. The angle was perfect, making me look utterly heartless. The comments section was already a warzone, with hundreds of replies. “I always knew Joanna Vance was stuck-up. Turns out she’s a monster in private.” “Damn, poor Sean. He really dodged a bullet with that one.” “I feel so bad for Isabella. She just got here and she’s already being bullied.” “I heard she’s living with the Vance family. That’s gotta be awkward now. Joanna’s probably making her life hell.” My deskmate whispered, “Joanna, maybe you should post a reply? You can’t just let them say all this stuff about you.” My nails dug into my palms. For a second, I wanted to find whoever wrote that post and tear them apart for twisting the truth. But the surge of rage quickly faded, leaving behind a numb, hollow wasteland. I put my phone away, my voice flat. “There’s nothing to explain.” The truth didn’t matter. People would only believe what they wanted to believe. And I had a pretty good idea who was behind the post. Who else would have those perfectly timed, “candid” photos but Isabella herself? 4 The story spread like wildfire. By the afternoon, my reputation as the campus “ice queen bitch” was cemented. Everywhere I went, I felt eyes on me, heard whispers behind my back. Students who used to greet me now actively avoided me. One of Sean’s friends even had the nerve to walk up to me and say, “You know, Joanna, you shouldn’t be so selfish. Learn to forgive and forget.” I couldn’t be bothered with these flies. It was Gavin who surprised me. I ran into him again outside the library, and he actually asked, “That forum post. Do you need help getting it taken down?” His tone was as neutral as ever, but I could hear a hint of concern. “No, it’s fine. Let the clowns have their circus.” He gave me a long, searching look but didn’t push it. “By the way,” he said, changing the subject, “I’m putting together a project team for a thesis on the ‘Digital Preservation of Urban Cultural Heritage.’ I still need someone to lead data consolidation and analysis. Are you interested?” I was taken aback. I knew about the project; it was a major university-backed initiative, and only the top students from each department were invited to join. “Why me?” “Because you have the best grades and the clearest analytical mind,” Gavin said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve read all your past papers and reports.” I never imagined he would have paid any attention to my work. “Okay,” I said. “I’m in.” I needed something to distract me, something to pour my energy into. This project was the perfect opportunity. The following weeks were a blur of library sessions and project meetings. My father and brothers, realizing their cold shoulder treatment wasn’t working, switched tactics. Chris started spamming his social media with pictures of him and Isabella. One day they were at Disneyland, the next they were skiing, and the day after that they were on a flight to some tropical island. His captions were always the same: “So glad to have a sister. A man with a sister is a king.” Mark was more direct. He changed his profile picture to a smiling selfie of himself and Isabella. They thought this would make me jealous, make me regret leaving. I simply muted their accounts. Eye-roll. Then, one afternoon, I got a frantic call from our family’s housekeeper, Mrs. Gable. “Miss Joanna, you have to come back, quickly! The piano… the one your mother left you… your father is giving it away!” My world screeched to a halt. That piano was a gift from my mother for my tenth birthday. It was one of the few, precious things I had left of her. I hung up and hailed the first taxi I saw, my heart pounding in my chest the entire way home. When I arrived, I saw movers carrying the white grand piano out of the house. In that instant, all the blood rushed to my head. My eyes burned, but I clenched my jaw, refusing to let the tears fall. Isabella was standing nearby, directing them with a look of faux concern. “Careful now, don’t scratch it… it’s very valuable…” She saw me and flinched, a flicker of panic in her eyes, before quickly composing her face back into its usual angelic mask. “Joanna, you’re back! Your father said you don’t play this piano anymore, and it was just taking up space. A friend of mine who studies music really needs one, so…” “Put it down. Now.” My voice was low and dangerous. The movers hesitated, looking at each other. Isabella bit her lip, her eyes filling with tears again. “Joanna, please don’t be like this… I know it belonged to your mother, but what’s the point of having something if it’s not being used? Isn’t it better for it to go somewhere it can be appreciated?” Her twisted logic was exactly what Sean had used when he’d stolen my duet. “Appreciated?” I let out a cold laugh. “Its value,” I said, my voice dripping with ice, “is that someone like you is unworthy of even touching it.” I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Hello? I’d like to report a break-in and theft of private property.” The color drained from Isabella’s face. “Joanna, you… you can’t call the police! This is our family home!” “This is my house,” I corrected her. “The deed is in my name. All of you are just guests here.” I stared directly at her. “And that includes you, Isabella. You’re not even a guest. You’re just an intruder.” Before she could argue, my father and brothers rushed out, drawn by the commotion. Just then, a police cruiser pulled up, its lights flashing. Responding to a theft in this wealthy neighborhood was a top priority. My father saw the police car and his face went black with fury. “Joanna! Are you insane? Why did you call the police?! Un-call them right now! You don’t waste their time with family squabbles!” I ignored him and spoke directly to the officer. “Officer, this piano was a legacy from my late mother. It’s worth over a million dollars. These people are attempting to remove and sell it without my permission.” The officer’s demeanor immediately turned serious. He began questioning my father and Isabella. My father was trembling with rage. “You ungrateful child!” he screamed, pointing a shaking finger at me. “I am your father! I don’t need your permission to get rid of a piece of furniture!” “You do,” I said calmly. “Because it was my mother’s. And you have no right to touch anything in this house that belonged to her. In fact,” I added, my voice ringing with cold finality, “I am now officially informing all of you that I want you out of my house. You have one week.”

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My best friend Claire and I had our dream wedding, marrying the Miller brothers. I married Joe, the swimmer; she married Liam, the surgeon. But their childhood sweetheart, Scarlett, crashed our joint honeymoon. During a rafting trip, we were all thrown into the river. The brothers dove in—but swam only to Scarlett, leaving us to the rapids. We were pulled from the water, bleeding heavily. Paramedics called our husbands. Mine snapped, “Sienna, must you be so needy? Scarlett’s in the hospital. Be considerate for once!” Claire’s husband was just as cold: “This better be important.” Told we were miscarrying and needed surgery, they both sneered, “If you’re going to lie, be believable. A honeymoon baby was a mistake anyway.” Signing the consent forms alone, Claire and I made a silent pact. We were done. 1 The first thing I did after waking up from the anesthesia was call Joe to demand a divorce. He finally answered on the seventh call, his voice dripping with impatience. “What do you want now? Are you ever going to stop?” We weren’t even through our honeymoon, and he already despised me this much. I heard a woman’s soft cry in the background, followed by the urgent, caring voices of Joe and Liam. Swallowing the bitterness that rose in my throat, I cut to the chase. “The honeymoon’s over. As soon as we’re back, I’m filing for divorce.” There was a sharp intake of breath on his end, then an explosion of rage. “Sienna, are you insane? I told you, Scarlett is in the hospital! I have to be here for her.” “None of this would have happened if you and Claire hadn’t insisted on sharing our raft! How else would Scarlett have fallen in?” he yelled. “It’s bad enough you don’t give a damn about her, but now you’re pulling this jealous stunt? I married you, just like you always wanted. Isn’t that enough? Why do you have to be so petty?” “You’re right,” he spat. “The honeymoon is over. Take your pathetic best friend and get lost. Just stay the hell away from me and my brother!” He hung up before I could say another word. That’s when I realized. He hadn’t married me because he wanted to. He’d married me to grant my wish. He seemed to have forgotten he was the one who once swore he’d never marry anyone but me. And the rafting trip? It was Scarlett who had insisted on it. All she had to do was say she wanted to go, and Joe and Liam made it happen. If it wasn’t for her, Claire and I would have never set foot in that raft. Besides, a four-person raft was the perfect size. Scarlett was the extra passenger, yet Claire and I were the ones who were thrown away. After falling into the water, the rapids spun us around until we were dizzy and disoriented. We swallowed mouthful after mouthful of river water, our struggles growing weaker. At one point, my head was about to smash against a rock, but Claire managed to pull me away just in time, her own body taking the brunt of the impact. Who could have known that the babies we had longed for would arrive so quietly, only to be torn away just as silently? A tragically perfect mirror of our marriages. Claire woke up after me, only to find she couldn’t even reach Liam. He had blocked her number. We just stared at each other, silent, as tears streamed down our faces. Just then, a notification for a trending video popped up on my phone. I opened it. It was a video of the Miller brothers’ heroic river rescue, and it had gone viral. In the clip, Joe and Liam worked together, lifting a terrified Scarlett out of the raging water. No matter how powerful the current, they refused to let her go. Once on shore, she murmured something about her chest hurting, and Joe immediately began performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Liam was right there beside him, meticulously disinfecting and bandaging a barely visible scratch on her arm. The comments section was flooded. Thousands of women wished they were Scarlett, to be saved so valiantly by two gorgeous men. Scarlett herself commented under the viral video: They saved my life… how can I ever repay them? Taking suggestions! Urgent! Her comment was immediately pinned to the top with a flood of likes. The internet had spoken. A debt like that can only be paid back one way! With your body! Two ridiculously hot heroes? Go for it, girl! Don’t hesitate! You snooze, you lose! Scarlett replied coyly to her new fans: Well, if you all insist! Get the wedding bells ready, everyone! So, a love triangle wasn’t crowded after all. It was our marriages, Claire’s and mine, that had made their perfect trio feel cramped. No one noticed the two other figures in the video, being swept further and further downstream. Just like Joe and Liam, the world only had eyes for Scarlett. Well, if they wanted a show, we would give them one. With a shared, unspoken understanding, Claire and I posted our own comments under the video. Just a heads-up to the two heroes: let us know when you have a free moment to sign divorce papers. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of your real honeymoon. Scarlett’s confidence came from the brothers’ blatant favoritism. If they loved her so much, why had they married us in the first place? The moment we posted, our inboxes exploded. Mindless internet trolls told us to get out of the way and let true love run its course. A few kind souls offered their sympathy. And Joe, who hadn’t contacted me in two days, called me instantly, his voice a torrent of fury. “Sienna, who gave you permission to run your mouth online? Can you not survive a single day without throwing a jealous fit?” “Scarlett can’t swim! The situation was critical! Was I supposed to let her drown while you saved her?” “She would be dead if we hadn’t saved her! Would you have given your life for hers? Is that what you wanted?” “The rescue team got to you. You’re perfectly fine, so stop your whining. And you paid a doctor to fake a miscarriage? There’s a limit, Sienna.” “You and Claire are going to delete those comments, and then you’re going to record a public apology to Scarlett. If one more person calls her a homewrecker because of you, I’ll make you regret it.” This was the first time he had reached out to me since the accident. Not to ask if we were hurt—he assumed that since we could swim and the professionals had arrived, the worst we’d suffered was swallowing a little dirty water. He didn’t care that his demand for an apology would only fuel the online mob calling for our heads. His only concern was protecting Scarlett’s reputation. But wasn’t forcing her way into two marriages the very definition of a homewrecker? The man I had loved for five years truly had no heart for me. A five-year marathon, finally ending with the wedding he’d promised. And now, not even two weeks later, the happy marriage I’d dreamed of was ending with the death of my child. Maybe our babies knew. Maybe they decided to leave the moment they realized their fathers wouldn’t choose their mothers. The brothers had been clear: they would have made us get rid of a honeymoon baby anyway. Even without the accident, our children were never meant to be. Joe was still on the line, waiting for me to break down, to apologize, to beg. His impatience was palpable. “I’m talking to you! Are you mute?” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Are you deaf? I said, we’re getting a divorce.” 2 With me, Joe was usually a man of few words. Even during arguments, he preferred to let things cool down. The only exception was Scarlett. When it came to her, he could unleash a firestorm of rage at me. And it always ended with me being the one to apologize. I loved him, so I always gave in. I believed that since he had promised to marry me, he would honor it. Looking back, a clean break would have been kinder. On the other end of the line, Joe’s breathing grew heavy. He was clearly enraged by my defiance. “Sienna, I hate being threatened. I brought you on this honeymoon as a courtesy, not so you could compete with Scarlett like some catty teenager. Why do you have to be so damn insecure? My own brother is at his wit’s end because of your brainless friend. If you keep this up, don’t blame me when this is all over.” “Oh, it’ll be over, Joe,” I said calmly. “The moment the divorce is final.” He was stunned into silence for a second, then he hung up and immediately video-called me. His face was a thundercloud, a clear sign he was at the end of his rope. “Say that again. You want a divorce?” he snarled. “Did you think marriage was a game? You were the one rushing to the altar, and now you’re the one screaming for a divorce. Are you trying to make a fool out of me?” “You’re almost thirty, throwing tantrums and getting jealous over nothing. Who else would have married you? No one wants a woman like you!” He had spent five years emotionally manipulating me about my desire to get married. He knew exactly where to stick the knife. “What’s wrong with being almost thirty? It’s not a death sentence. And it’s not like you’re the last man on earth. And even if you were, I’d still divorce you.” Because of them, because of their choice, Claire and I had almost died, taking our unborn children with us. I would rather die than stay married to him. Marrying Joe had once been my greatest dream. I’d ignored my parents’ warnings, determined to have him. If I could be stubborn enough to marry him, I could be resolute enough to leave him. He was the wall I had to run into. Now, bruised and broken, I finally understood: marrying a man who doesn’t truly love you is a lifetime of misery. Before the wedding, no matter how much I fought with him over Scarlett, I never once considered leaving. I foolishly believed that being his first real love made me special. It wasn’t until he swam toward her, watching me get swept away without a flicker of concern, that I finally understood my place. I was just something to keep his bed warm. “Sienna, you’re not a child anymore. Are you really going to throw away our marriage over something so trivial?” Trivial. Watching me nearly die was trivial. “Yes,” I said. “For this one, trivial thing.” He once draped his swimming medal around my neck and joked that if my mother and I were drowning, he was fast enough to save us both. I was so touched at the time. I didn’t need him to lie and say he’d save me first; those were just words. But I never imagined that when a real-life drowning scenario played out, he would swim to his childhood sweetheart without a second thought. For him, there had only ever been one right answer. I was the wrong one. Two weeks ago, at our wedding, he took my hand from my father and promised to protect me for the rest of his life. His ‘rest of his life’ was short. It lasted fifteen days. “Fine! Have it your way! We’ll get a divorce. But don’t you come crawling back to me, because I never go back for seconds.” He ended the video call abruptly. I knew why. In the background, I’d heard Scarlett’s sweet voice, telling him she was thirsty. One word from her, and Joe would give her the world. He was an expert in the water, yet he hadn’t noticed that Claire and I were in real trouble. He didn’t even notice I was lying pale in a hospital bed on his video screen. Before Scarlett returned, he had been lukewarm, but he would at least stay up all night with me if I had a fever. We had been in love once, for a little while. Now, that love was gone, washed away. All it took was one look from Scarlett, and I lost everything. Joe’s voice had been loud. Claire, lying in the bed next to me, had heard every word. She crawled onto my bed and hugged me, her body shaking with angry sobs. “Sienna, we were so blind. How could we have mistaken those scumbags for the loves of our lives?” Before I could comfort her, her phone started ringing incessantly. Liam, apparently willing to unblock her just to give Scarlett a victory, was calling. Tears streamed down Claire’s face. She meant to reject the call, but a teardrop landed on the screen, and her swipe accidentally answered the video chat. “Why are you crying, Claire? Do you think red, puffy eyes are going to make me forgive your monumental screw-up?” Liam’s face filled the screen, twisted with contempt. “If you and Sienna are so bored, go find your own fun. Go to a club, hire a male stripper for all I care. But you do not get to drag Scarlett’s name through the mud online!” “She poured her heart and soul into planning this trip for us, and this is how you repay her? By getting her torn apart by strangers online? Do you have any conscience at all?” Claire’s tears became a torrent. 3 Her crying didn’t stop Liam. It only fueled his tirade, as if he and his brother wouldn’t rest until they had verbally beaten us into submission. “Don’t just sit there and cry. If you weren’t my wife, I’d give you a taste of your own medicine. With my brother’s and my reputation, turning the internet against you would take minutes.” “If I were you, I’d be crawling over here to beg for Scarlett’s forgiveness, and then I’d get the hell out of sight. Crying won’t solve anything.” Claire hadn’t even wanted to answer. Seeing her get ripped to shreds without saying a single word, a protective fury surged through me. I snatched the phone. “Liam, you’re a bastard, just like your brother. Go file the damn papers!” Claire found her voice, a choked sob. “Liam, I want a divorce!” After the call, she was a wreck, trembling with a mixture of grief and anger. I held her tight, and we cried together, letting it all out. Who would have thought? A celebrated swimming prodigy and a life-saving surgeon, leaving their own wives to die. Their polished public images had charmed everyone, including us. But we were the only ones who knew the ugliness that lay beneath the surface. “Sienna, maybe this is a blessing in disguise,” Claire whispered, her voice raw. “At least we see them for who they are now. We don’t have to waste our lives, or bring children into a loveless marriage.” “Claire, I’m so glad you can see it that way. I was so afraid you wouldn’t be able to let Liam go…” She had chased after him since she was a teenager. That kind of first love is hard to forget. She had dedicated more than a decade of her life to him, only for it to end like this. “Sienna, a heart doesn’t turn to ice in one day. I don’t regret marrying him, and I certainly don’t regret divorcing him. It was my choice, and now I’m choosing to cut my losses.” We held each other again, drawing strength from one another. Our marriages were over. We had accepted that the moment we woke up from surgery. Our only regret was for the two small lives that had flickered briefly inside us, sacrifices on the altar of our failed relationships. We prayed they would find happier homes next time. Composing ourselves, we began preparing for the divorces. Being newlyweds, there were no complicated assets to divide. All we needed were their signatures and a trip to the courthouse. Just as we finished drafting the agreements, we both received notifications on our phones. It was from a social media app. Our husbands, using their verified public accounts, had replied directly to our comments under the viral video. Joe Miller: My wife gets a little jealous sometimes and likes to make a big deal out of small things. If you have questions, ask me. Please don’t attack an innocent person! Liam Miller: My wife and sister-in-law are both excellent swimmers, and they were immediately picked up by the professional rescue team. They weren’t hurt. Please don’t get carried away by their little joke. They even posted a group photo of the four of us from earlier in the trip, trying to prove we were fine. Their posts ignited a firestorm. The internet collectively decided we were manipulative drama queens, trying to piggyback on Scarlett’s newfound fame. After all, she had leaned into the viral moment, building a brand and gaining hundreds of thousands of followers. I checked my messages and saw Joe had been demanding my login credentials. Because I hadn’t deleted the comment and apologized, he was going to log in as me and do it himself. I had to laugh. He would literally walk through fire for Scarlett. For me, there wasn’t an ounce of sincerity. All my passwords were our anniversary dates. He had forgotten. Thank god he forgot. I can’t imagine the ways he would have publicly humiliated me to appease her. Their self-righteous declarations online showed a complete disregard for the torrent of abuse we would face. It was just like in the river—they had left us to drown. You two bitches should just die. Threatening divorce like it’s a joke. You think you’re so special? Get a real divorce then, or I’ll curse you out myself! What did your husbands do wrong, you psycho? They saved someone! You’re fine, so stop being so bitter! Attention-seeking whores, get a divorce and leave those poor men alone. I can picture your ugly, jealous faces. You two are so obsessed with each other, why don’t you just get together and make room for the real queen! The internet may have rules, but online mobs don’t need a reason to attack. The pain of the drowning, the miscarriage, the decision to divorce… it was a private agony that only Claire and I could understand. Joe and Liam couldn’t see the hospital beds we were lying in, but their indifference was one thing. To actively lie and paint us as villains was pure poison. We looked at the flood of hate pouring into our phones. We were done being punching bags. If the brothers wanted to weaponize the internet to protect Scarlett, we weren’t going to just lie down and take it. We took a picture of our surgery consent forms—the ones detailing the procedures for our miscarriages—and sent them directly to our husbands.

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1 My father was suddenly rushed to the ICU. Before they took him in, he clutched my hand, his voice weak, and made me promise I would make things work with Ralph. I smiled and promised I would, just to set his mind at ease. I waited alone outside the ICU, calling Ralph again and again. Finally, around dawn, someone picked up. It was Karina. “Ralph’s busy,” she said, her tone clipped. “He left his phone with me. If you have a message, you can just tell me.” I was silent for a moment. “It’s nothing important,” I finally replied. “Just a divorce.” … My father didn’t make it. From the hospital to the funeral home, I notified relatives, his colleagues at the university, his friends, and his former students. Arranging everything wasn’t as hard as I’d imagined. Every step had a clear process, a checklist to follow. I moved like a marionette, getting it all done. The endless stream of condolence texts and murmured sympathies just made me feel numb. Everyone there who knew Ralph had something to say, their whispers laced with disapproval. Professionally, he was my father’s star protégé; he should have been there to help. Personally, he was his son-in-law; he should have been there, in mourning. But he never showed up. A quick glance at his social media showed he was at an academic conference abroad. In the photos, he was radiant, full of energy and pride. And he had every right to be. He was a young associate professor at one of the country’s top universities, juggling several nationally funded research projects. I had told him everything the moment it happened—texts, messages on every app—that Dad was in the ICU, that he was gone. But there was no reply. I tried to make excuses for him. Maybe he had no signal overseas. Maybe his apps weren’t working. Maybe, with the time difference, he just hadn’t seen my messages. Then I saw him like and comment on one of Karina’s posts. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Staring up at the portrait of my father hanging on the wall, it finally hit me. The only person who would ever love me without asking for anything in return was gone. From the moment I first saw Ralph as a teenager, I was captivated. I’d had a silent crush on him for five years and actively pursued him for three before he was finally mine. Chasing him had become a habit, a part of who I was. Three years ago, when I finally married him, I thought I had become the only one who mattered to him. On our wedding day, he told me, “Thank you for always being by my side.” I held those words in my heart. So, after we were married, I continued as I always had—quietly supporting him, making sure never to be a burden. My father was a professor at Westwood University, and the associate dean of his college. Because Ralph didn’t want anyone to accuse him of using connections, I never showed my face around his colleagues. He was always busy, so I waited at home every day, making sure a hot meal was ready the moment he walked through the door, creating a sanctuary where he could relax. I knew Karina was back in the country. I knew they were working on the same project. But I trusted him. He had promised he would be good to me for the rest of his life. But a long pursuit is exhausting. And now, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to keep chasing him anymore. “Here’s my divorce agreement. Can you look it over for me?” I handed the printed document to my best friend, Maya. She was a lawyer and had once joked that if I ever got divorced, I had to hire her. I never thought her words would come true. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen these papers. I’d found a draft in his study once. We fought about it for days. He explained it belonged to a colleague who had asked him for advice. I made him promise then that I would never have to see the words “divorce agreement” again. I never imagined the next time I saw them, I would be the one who had written them. “Don’t you worry,” Maya said, taking the papers with a determined fire in her eyes. “I’ll make sure he walks away with nothing.” She was right. I couldn’t lose my father and my financial security. Now that he was gone, I couldn’t afford to be reckless. I went back to my father’s house to pack up his things. His personal belongings were few and easily sorted. The real challenge was his study, which was filled wall-to-wall with research materials. His illness had come on so suddenly that he hadn’t had time to hand off his many industry-sponsored projects. I realized I barely knew any of his students. Ralph had always been the one to coordinate with them. As my father’s protégé, Ralph had stayed at Westwood after getting his Ph.D., and my father had funneled countless resources and projects his way. It was why, at such a young age, Ralph’s portfolio was more impressive than that of many tenured professors. In fact, the conference he was attending now was for a paper that still had my father’s name on it as a co-author. He was the only person who could handle this transition. After much hesitation, I called him. Still no answer. After the seventh or eighth try, I gave up. The automated voice, “The person you are calling is currently on another call…” was all too familiar. But this time, I didn’t feel the familiar surge of anger. I just felt tired. I ended up calling one of my father’s colleagues to help with the materials. It was from him that I learned the conference Ralph was at was a joint project with the neighboring university. And their lead researcher, who had also traveled abroad for the conference, was Karina. I froze for a second, and then everything clicked into place. Of course. That’s why Karina had answered his phone. Her voice had been thick with arrogance. “Ralph’s busy. He left his phone with me. If you have a message, you can just tell me.” “My father is in the ICU,” I’d said, my voice shaking. “Please tell him to come back as soon as—” “Got it. He’s about to go on stage to give his speech.” She cut me off. “Is there anything else?” she’d asked, her impatience clear. “No, nothing else,” I’d replied, my voice hollow. “Just a divorce. We can talk about it when he’s back.” The next time I saw Ralph was a week later. It was on campus. I was just leaving the Dean’s office when I ran right into him. The Dean had called me in personally, telling me that, per university policy, I was eligible for a position if I wanted one. He had smiled warmly, told me to think it over, and walked me to the door. And there he was. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone neutral. “Good afternoon, Dean,” he said, his eyes moving past me to greet the man standing beside me. “Ralph, my boy. You two are married, if I remember correctly? You should help your wife think about the position. Give her some advice.” Ralph nodded and followed the Dean back into his office. I politely said my goodbyes to the Dean, avoiding Ralph’s gaze. “Wait for me,” he called out suddenly. “We’ll go home together.” I stopped, stunned. A week without seeing him felt like a lifetime, yet here he was, acting as if nothing had changed. His words were meant to be kind, but they landed with a chilling coldness. “Okay,” I agreed. I didn’t want to make a scene in front of the Dean, and we did need to talk about the divorce. I waited in his office for half an hour. Finally, exhausted, I texted him that I was just going to take a cab. I had just stepped outside when I realized a torrential downpour had started. As I stood there, wondering whether to go back inside, Ralph and the Dean emerged. “Eliza, you waited for Ralph! That’s wonderful,” the Dean said jovially. “His research group is having a dinner tonight. I hope you don’t mind if I tag along.” I shook my head. It didn’t matter to me; I wasn’t going anyway. After seeing the Dean to his car, Ralph jogged back over to me. “Eliza, I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to reply to your text earlier,” he said, looking down at me. “The Dean will be at the dinner. It wouldn’t look right if you didn’t come.” So that was it. He was worried about his reputation. Seeing him so anxious, I couldn’t bear it. “Fine, I’ll go.” I gave in again. Not for him, but because I wanted this to end peacefully. His career was important to him, and I wasn’t going to be the one to sabotage it. When we got to his car, I saw that Karina was already in the passenger seat. Ralph turned to me, flustered. “Karina has been a huge help with a recent project, so she’s joining us tonight.” He looked from me, standing by the car door, to her, and his discomfort was obvious. “Karina, maybe you could sit in the back…?” “Oh, Eliza, I’m so sorry,” she said with a sweet smile, not moving an inch. “I’m just so used to sitting here. Let me get out and switch with you.” Before they could finish their little dance, I opened the back door and slid in. I glanced at my watch. “Ralph, if we don’t leave now, we’ll lose the Dean’s car.” This had happened once before. I had made a scene, insisting on my right to the passenger seat. The result was a lecture from Ralph when we got home about how I was being childish and immature. It’s just a seat, Eliza. Does it really matter? Now, I realized it didn’t. I sat quietly in the back, watching the rain streak down the window, my mind on the job offer. The Dean had said I could choose between an administrative or a teaching position, but he’d recommended the former, noting that the academic track had much higher standards for review. I understood his subtext. The administrative job was a favor. The teaching job required real qualifications. Ralph would have been the best person to ask for advice. But watching the two of them in the front seat, I couldn’t bring myself to speak. Karina was chattering away, trying to make conversation. Uncharacteristically, Ralph ignored her, his eyes frequently darting to me in the rearview mirror, trying to pull me into the conversation. But this time, I was the one who didn’t want to talk. Ralph was objectively handsome, with a clean-cut, youthful look that made him look like a student when he was dressed casually. He was wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans today, and the moment he stepped out of the car on campus, a group of his students surrounded him. I followed a few paces behind, watching them chat animatedly. I didn’t know when it had happened, but following him had become my default. And Karina had become the one who stood by his side. Just like now. At the restaurant, they naturally sat down next to each other. The table was crowded, and suddenly, I was the one left standing, the awkward odd one out. “Professor Miller, is this a new student joining our lab? Welcome, welcome!” one of his grad students said, finally noticing me and pulling up an extra chair. I finally sat down. “That’s not a student, you fool,” the Dean interjected with a laugh. “That’s your professor’s wife.” The table fell silent. Then, a female student whispered, just loud enough for many of us to hear, “Oh. I thought Professor Karina was his wife. They shared a room at the conference hotel…” The silence that followed was deafening. Ralph, sitting directly across from me, looked panicked. He was probably terrified I would cause a scene. The old me might have. But now… I didn’t care. I just lowered my head and started eating, pretending I hadn’t heard a thing. “The conference organizers were short one room,” he explained, his eyes fixed on me. “I helped Professor Karina get settled, and then I found another place to stay.” I just smiled a little, a meaningless gesture, and turned the lazy susan to get some more food, acting as if he were talking about someone else entirely. “She wasn’t familiar with the area, so I had to help her get to the hotel.” The other people at the table were starting to look uncomfortable on his behalf. “Eliza, did you hear me?” he pressed. “I know you’re angry, but…” “I’m not angry,” I cut him off. “I understand. She was in a new place, all alone.” I even started making excuses for him. “Don’t you want to ask me anything?” he insisted. Was he trying to provoke me? Did he need me to be angry? I shook my head. Why was he making such a big deal out of this, here of all places? “Let’s just eat,” the Dean said, finally breaking the tension. The conversation quickly shifted to topics I knew nothing about. I just sat there, quietly eating. Karina kept putting food on Ralph’s plate, but he barely touched it. I thought the evening would just fizzle out like that. But then, the Dean brought up my father. “Eliza, it’s such a tragedy about your father. Forgive me for saying so, Ralph, but even if you were overseas, you should have come back.” I nodded slightly in acknowledgement. The raw grief had slowly, painfully, been packed away, thread by thread, deep inside me. “Dean,” Ralph said, his chopsticks frozen in mid-air. “What happened to Professor Hayes?” The table went silent again. “You didn’t know?” the Dean said, his voice full of disbelief. “You didn’t know Professor Hayes passed away from a sudden stroke?”

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