My husband’s latest investment went belly-up, and the debt collectors were circling. I gathered the gold jewelry he’d given me for every anniversary, planning to sell it to help pay down what he owed. I was told it was all fake. I went to get our condo appraised. The real estate agent pulled up the county records right in front of me. The deed was a forgery. But the condo—a five-million-dollar property on the lakefront—was a wedding gift from Ethan. He’d promised it was in my name, and my name alone. Was anything real? With trembling hands, I snapped a picture of our marriage certificate and sent it to my best friend, Chloe, who works at the County Clerk’s office. Her reply came back a minute later: “Fake.” I looked at the crimson-bordered document, the elegant script, and a laugh escaped my lips. A dry, brittle sound. “Thank God,” I whispered. “It’s fake.” 1 Waiting for Chloe’s text, my stomach had been a knot of acid. In the five years I’d been married to Ethan, I had never once doubted his love for me. His work was demanding, and he was almost never with me on our actual anniversary. But he always made up for it with extravagant gifts and, in the days that followed, a smothering, apologetic affection that I soaked up like a dry sponge. I never questioned the authenticity of those gifts. He was my husband. I loved him unconditionally. That was the beginning and end of it. I spent an entire day, from sunrise to sunset, clutching the velvet boxes he’d given me, visiting every high-end jeweler in the city. At each stop, I endured the same gentle, pitying looks. With every polite rejection, another layer of my decade-long belief in him was stripped away. The final, killing blow came at a small downtown shop. To prove his point, the jeweler heated one of the gold bangles over a flame until it blackened and crumbled into ash. The blade I’d felt hanging over my head all day finally fell. I steadied myself against the glass counter. “But how could it be fake?” I asked, my voice thin. “I have the receipt from your store.” The clerk checked the sales record. “Ma’am, the receipt is real. But this bracelet wasn’t sold with it.” The meaning was clear: Ethan had purchased the genuine pieces. He just hadn’t given them to me. My hands were shaking as I clutched the equally fake property deed. I called the County Recorder’s Office. “I’d like to confirm the owner of the property at 101 Lakeshore Grand,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Of course, one moment please,” the voice on the other end replied. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was Chloe, delivering the final verdict on my marriage. “Audrey, your certificate is a forgery. But I ran Ethan’s name. He has an active marriage license on file. The woman’s name is Aria James.” The voice from the Recorder’s Office returned. “Ma’am? The registered owner of that property is Ms. Aria James.” Ten years ago, I had defied my parents, packed up my savings, and moved from the warmth of Savannah to the biting winds of Chicago to be with him. Ethan’s business was just a fledgling startup then, and he worked brutal hours, entertaining clients late into the night. I’d wait up for him, a pot of soup ready on the stove to ease his hangovers, never once failing in my duty. I was grateful for how hard he worked, so I took on everything else. I managed the household, I did the cooking, I did the cleaning. He never once set foot in the kitchen. His business flourished. I, meanwhile, wilted under the endless haze of domesticity, my reflection slowly morphing into the kind of tired, faded woman he clearly disdained. The constant work left me with a chronic ache in my lower back; if I bent over for too long, I could barely straighten up. He’d say he didn’t mind, that I was beautiful to him, but whenever I caught his eye, I saw the flicker of avoidance, the subtle recoil. I told myself it didn’t matter. As long as we were together, that was enough. But all along, the husband I thought loved me to the bone was sharing a life, a real life, with someone else. Aria James. The girl he never got over from high school. Now, she was a wildly popular influencer, a social media star. She’d built her brand on a risqué, flirty persona in the beginning, but had since pivoted to a philosophy of “female singledom is the ultimate luxury.” She preached to her legions of devoted followers that she was a proud, unmarried woman, dedicated to living life on her own terms. Just last week, she was trending for an interview she gave about her empowering, marriage-free lifestyle. 2 I opened TikTok and found Aria James’s profile. A single account had liked every single one of her videos, every day, without fail. A quick search confirmed it. The account was registered to Ethan’s phone number. Their profile pictures were a matching set. I sometimes made silly videos myself, goofy little clips of my day. I’d nudge him, asking him for a like the way I saw other couples do online. He wouldn’t even look at the screen. “Audrey, look at that filter. It’s embarrassing. Besides, I don’t even have a TikTok account.” But on Aria’s very first video, there he was, the first comment: “Beautiful.” I stared at my reflection in the dark screen of my phone. The woman looking back was a stranger, a ghost of the girl I’d been ten years ago. I thought my devotion, my sacrifice, would be seen. I never imagined he couldn’t even stand to look. Just then, the front door opened. Ethan was home. He dropped his briefcase and sat on the sofa in silence, expecting me to come to him with a warm drink, as I always did. When I didn’t move, he got up with a sigh. He fumbled through the kitchen cabinets for a moment before shouting, his voice thick with irritation, “Where are the glasses?” Of course. After all these years, he didn’t even know where we kept the glasses. This man, who had never lifted a finger in our home, had meticulously planned and executed a decade of deception, commissioning fake jewelry, fake documents, a fake life. What was I to him? An unpaid housekeeper? A warm body? I walked over and tossed my phone onto the coffee table in front of him. “You told me you didn’t have a TikTok account, Ethan. Then why have you liked every single one of Aria James’s videos? I checked. The account is linked to your number.” He looked genuinely shocked, as if it had never occurred to him that I might check. That I might ever stop simply believing. He stalled for a long moment before finally muttering, “It’s for networking.” “Networking? You’re too busy to look at your phone for days when I text you, but you have time for this… networking?” “Will you give it a rest?” he snapped. “Her entire career is based on engagement! What’s the big deal if I give her a like?” It was just like before we were married. Aria was a constant, haunting presence. Ethan would remember that she was afraid of thunderstorms and would video call her during every storm, even though I’d told him, quietly, that I was scared of them too. He knew all her favorite foods, and over time, they somehow became his favorite foods. After a few explosive fights early in our “marriage,” he’d become more discreet. I thought I had won. I thought his heart was finally mine. I was wrong. They had just found a different way to be together. My heart felt like a hollowed-out cavern. I turned without another word and went to the bedroom to pack. 3 “Sweetheart, the wire transfer to Ethan’s company is all queued up. I’ve gone through most of the paperwork on my end. Just waiting for your final go-ahead.” It was my father on the phone. I was in the bedroom, folding sweaters into a suitcase. I took a deep, shuddering breath. “Dad, pull it. We’re not investing.” “What happened? I thought he was out of capital. Tell me, did that boy do something to hurt you? I told you moving all the way up there by yourself was a mistake, with no one to lean on…” “No, it’s not that. I’m just… tired.” “My dear girl, if you’re tired, you come home. Your father will always take care of you.” Before I moved to Chicago, I had tested the waters with Ethan, suggesting he come visit my parents. He always had an excuse—a big meeting, a deadline. He never once met them. When my parents and I had our falling out over my decision to move, they didn’t come to the wedding. As far as Ethan knew, I was completely alone in the world, utterly dependent on him. But the rift between a father and daughter can only last so long. Years ago, my dad had secretly flown up to see me. We’d reconciled completely. When I learned about the depth of Ethan’s financial trouble, I had prepared a two-pronged solution. First, I would liquidate my own assets—the jewelry and the condo. Second, I would have my father’s firm inject the capital his company so desperately needed to survive. Just a few days ago, Ethan had come home ecstatic, telling me a major investor from the South had contacted him, that the company was saved. I had smiled and congratulated him, genuinely happy, believing I was about to see the ambitious, brilliant man I fell in love with again. I never imagined that in the grand production of his life, I was cast as the most insignificant extra. When I emerged from the bedroom with my suitcase, Ethan looked up from the sofa, bewildered. “What is this? Are you really leaving over a TikTok account? Are you serious? Besides, you don’t know anyone in this city. Where are you even going to go?” I didn’t answer. I just walked out the door and didn’t look back.

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The year I was at my heaviest, I sat on the school’s biggest bad boy and made him cry. The harder he cried, the more amped I got. I even straddled him and wiggled a few times. It felt… lumpy. From that day on, he’d sprint in the other direction the second he saw me. Three years later, at a class reunion, someone joked, “Maya’s so skinny now, she can’t make Zane Zhou cry just by sitting on him anymore.” He leaned forward, slowly crossing his legs. My entire body went hot, and I blushed all the way to my roots. 1 I’d almost completely forgotten what Zane Zhou looked like. For all of high school, he ran from me. He ran so fast that my memory of his face was just a blur. Freshman year, my new deskmate warned me. “That’s Zane Zhou. His grandfather basically owns this city. He’s bad news. If you see him, you walk the other way.” My mom had told me the same thing. You’re in the city now, Maya. Be humble. Don’t make trouble. I listened. I really did. So when I saw him on the practice field one day, cornered, one against five, I kept my head down. The five guys were seniors, and they were circling him. He saw me and actually yelled, “Maya!” I squinted, took a few steps closer, and realized who it was. I turned around and walked the long way. A second later, I heard a yelp of pain. When I got back to homeroom, I was worried he was actually hurt. So I told everyone. Then I told our homeroom teacher. When Mr. Henderson dragged the entire class out to the field, we found him. His shirt was ripped, one side of his face was swollen, and he had a black eye. It was the first time I’d ever seen him up close. All the girls in my class were obsessed with him, saying he was tall and handsome, with “deep-set, model-like eyes.” Right now, he looked like the homeless guy who panhandled outside the 7-Eleven. I couldn’t help it. I snorted. Our eyes met. He struggled to his feet, winced, and pointed at me. “You. Just you wait.” Mr. Henderson kicked him in the butt, which made him howl. The next evening, I was walking out of the cafeteria when he and his crew blocked my path. I clutched the chicken leg I was holding behind my back and swallowed hard. I’d only taken one bite. It would get cold. I forgot my mom’s warning. I forgot my friend’s warning. I was just hangry. “What do you want?” I snapped. “You’re mad I didn’t help? You were outnumbered five to one! If I jumped in and we won, wouldn’t that be even more embarrassing for you?” His friends shuffled, looking down. He just stuck his chin out. “You’re as big as a house, Maya. You shouldn’t be eating a chicken leg.” …That’s it? How juvenile. I tried to push past him. He grabbed my arm. I yanked it back, and my chicken leg—my beautiful, precious chicken leg—flew out of my hand and landed in the dirt. It was fine. I could just rinse it off. Pick the gravel out. He lifted his foot and stomped on it. Then he ground it into the asphalt, twisting his heel. My eyes slowly lifted from the greasy smear on the ground to his face. Rage, like a volcano, erupted inside me. I screamed and tackled him. One of his arms was already in a cast from the fight yesterday. His other arm was useless against my sheer mass. I sat right on his stomach. “You! Monster! You killed my chicken! That was my one chicken leg for the whole year! Waaaaah!” Zane’s face went from pale to bright red. And then, two lines of tears streamed from the corners of his eyes. A crowd started to gather. Someone yelled, “Go get a teacher!” At that, his friends scattered. The harder he cried, the more amped I got. I straddled him, grinding my hips down. Just like you did to my chicken. I didn’t know why, but it felt… lumpy. Someone finally managed to pull me off. I was depressed about that chicken leg for a solid month. The only thing that snapped me out of it was getting first place in the district on my midterms. 2 After that, Zane Zhou avoided me like I was the plague. He was a legacy admission. His mom was on the school board. I heard his middle school grades weren’t good enough for the worst high school in the city, let alone our magnet school. As a kid who’d been on the free-lunch program my entire life, I hated guys like him. Especially since he’d murdered my chicken. But I was also terrified of him. I was scared he’d tell his mom and get my scholarship revoked. Or just get me expelled. For an entire semester, I waited for the principal to call me to his office. I had nightmares about it. A rabid dog would chase me, pin me down, and just as it was about to bite, its face would morph into Zane’s. Then, at the final assembly, the principal said he had an announcement. The gym was hot and stuffy, but my back was cold with sweat. I was already calculating how to tell my mom I’d have to go work in the mines with her. The principal called my name. “Maya Chen. For the school’s new academic excellence scholarship. First place, eight thousand dollars.” It wasn’t a scholarship. It was a lifeline. It meant I had living expenses. It meant my mom could quit that job at the mine before her lungs gave out. The principal also gave a shout-out to Zane Zhou. His grades had gone from dead last to the middle of the pack. My friend, Chloe, whispered that he had a crush on Sarah Jenkins, the class “it girl.” Sarah was always top ten and had publicly said she’d never date a guy with bad grades. Zane’s desk was always piled with gifts from girls. He’d sweep them all into the trash. Except for Sarah’s. Hers, he put in his backpack. He stopped making trouble. When we passed in the hall, he didn’t call me “Fatty Maya.” Actually, he just… didn’t look at me at all. By senior year, he was the “unattainable ice-prince” of the school, turning down girls left and right, supposedly waiting for Sarah. The only other time we interacted was at graduation. Mr. Henderson, our old homeroom teacher, pulled me aside. “Zane’s mom wanted me to pass on a message. She said, ‘Thank that pretty, chubby girl in your class for me. She sat on my son and knocked some sense into him.’” I scratched my head. His mom was weird. When I turned to leave, Zane was standing in the office doorway. Our eyes met. He looked away. I looked down. We brushed shoulders as we passed. And that was it. 3 I wasn’t going to come to the reunion. I was about to start my senior year of college. I was juggling two part-time jobs and trying to lock down an internship. I was exhausted. Then Chloe called. “You have to come, Maya. This is networking. Plus, Zane Zhou is the one organizing it. Remember? The guy you sat on?” I groaned. “Chloe, please don’t bring that up. Fine. I’ll go.” I hid in the corner of my tiny apartment, my face burning. I was older now. I finally understood why it had felt… lumpy. I showed up to the reunion deliberately trying to look like I didn’t care. No makeup, a faded old hoodie, and my favorite tote bag with a supermarket logo on it. I was, by far, the most underdressed person there. In contrast, Zane Zhou was the center of the room. He was at least 6’2″, broad-shouldered, and wearing a white button-down with the top two buttons undone. It made me think of that chicken leg. I swallowed. The second I walked in, Chloe dragged me over. “Zane! Look who it is! Maya Chen!” A few people chuckled. “Maya’s so skinny now, she can’t make Zane cry just by sitting on him anymore.” Zane’s expression went stiff. He leaned forward, slowly crossing his legs. My whole body went hot, and I started fanning myself. “Wow, it’s warm in here. I’m just gonna get some air.” “Warm? Just take your hoodie off,” Chloe said, and yanked it straight over my head. The hoodie was a size XXL from my heavier days. It came off in one easy pull, revealing the thin tank top I had on underneath. I was standing right in front of him. His gaze dropped. He got an unobstructed view right down my top. I scrambled to pull the hoodie back on, my face on fire. Chloe was oblivious. “Damn, girl! You lost the weight, but you kept all the good parts! You could still make a guy cry sitting on him now.” I pulled my hoodie tight, but I snuck a glance at Zane. His ears were bright red. 4 Zane finally spoke, and we all realized this wasn’t just a party. “My tech company just opened its headquarters here,” he said. “We’re hiring. The pay is good, benefits are included. If you’re interested, send me your resume.” Chloe nudged me, showing me her phone. She’d already pulled up his company’s website. “Maya, this is literally your major.” I froze. I never wanted to have anything to do with Zane Zhou again. I hadn’t told anyone, but I’d seen him at The Stonewall, the local gay bar, when I was waitressing a private event. I’m not judgmental, but… it was weird. But I needed to move back home. My mom, trying to “help” with tuition, had secretly gone back to working in the mines. She had early-stage lung disease. I needed to be here, to take care of her. My hometown was an old industrial city. New tech companies were rare, and the ones that were here were just tiny, dead-end satellite offices. The starting salary on Zane’s website made my heart pound. That night, I tossed and turned. I had that dream again. A big, friendly dog runs at me, tackles me, and starts licking my face. Then it looks up, and it has Zane’s face. I woke up in a cold sweat. My phone rang. An unknown number. “Ms. Chen? This is ZenTek. We’d like to invite you for an interview next week.” It was Zane’s company. I hadn’t even applied. My mom’s doctor texted me. Her surgery was scheduled for next week. “I’ll be there,” I said into the phone. I had to go home anyway. Might as well. The day of the interview, Zane wasn’t there. The tech director and I hit it off. They didn’t even want me to intern; they offered me a full-time position. The starting salary was exactly what they’d advertised, no “probationary” cut. I knew I was good. I didn’t know I was this good. It would have been rude to say no. But my mom’s surgery got rescheduled, so I had to start a day late. The next morning, I ran into Zane in the elevator. “Good morning, Mr. Zhou,” I said respectfully. He swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He didn’t say anything. The elevator dinged. The second the doors opened a crack, I stuck my foot out. Through the crack, I saw a pair of long, gorgeous legs. The doors opened. It was Sarah Jenkins. She ignored me and launched herself into Zane’s arms. “Zane! I thought you were in meetings all day!” “Something came up,” he said. I stepped out of the elevator and turned back. Zane was standing stiffly, his hands hovering in the air, while Sarah hung off his neck, smiling.

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After Julian Vance’s car accident left him blind, the flock of “it girls” who surrounded him vanished. I took care of him for three years. In the third year, miraculously, his sight returned. The Vance family proposed we get engaged. Julian agreed. Shortly after, his old flame, Chloe Vanderberg, moved back to New York. That night, the usually polished, arrogant Julian Vance lost control. He cornered her at a party, his voice a low growl. “Elara Shaw. What gives you the right to even be in the same room as me?” “You want me to call off my engagement? Fine. Get on your knees and beg.” 1 Of course, Elara Shaw didn’t kneel. She just stood there, looking fragile and perfect, tears welling in her eyes. A second later, Julian yanked her into his arms. They kissed. Hard. They looked like two lovers who had survived a war and were finally reunited. I had never seen that side of Julian. He clutched her, kissing her like he was trying to devour her—possessive, wild, and desperate. It was a kiss of deep, agonizing love and just as much hate. It was nothing like how he had been with me. Julian was always gentle with me. He would cup my face, his kisses feather-light, tracing from my chin to my forehead, my cheeks to my earlobes. He was so careful, so tender, as if he were afraid he’d break a priceless piece of art. But back then, his eyes were still dark. And Chloe was on another continent. Back then, it was just me and Julian in the Nantucket house, inseparable. I was his whole world. And he was mine. 2 The next day. “Sadie, you’ve been a godsend these past three years.” Mrs. Vance smiled at me, that warm, professional smile of hers. “The family has decided to sign the deed to the Nantucket house over to you. As a thank you for taking care of Julian.” I understood exactly what she meant. You can’t let yourself get greedy. For a split second, I wondered what would have happened if Chloe had come back just a little bit later. If Julian and I had… It was a shame. We were so close. “You’re a good girl. I’ve always wanted to thank you properly for what you did for Julian,” she said, though she couldn’t quite meet my eyes. Two weeks ago, she was the one who had asked me if I’d be willing to marry her son. Now, clearly, that plan was off the table. I shook my head, forcing my voice to be steady. “You don’t need to thank me, Mrs. Vance. I was just doing my job.” I’d seen this coming since last night. 3 After leaving Mrs. Vance, I went back to the staff annex. A moment later, my mother came into my room. She tapped my shoulder and signed, ‘Are you hungry? Want me to make you something?’ I shook my head. “I’m not hungry.” She tilted her head, then signed again. ‘What did Mrs. Vance say to you?’ I debated for a moment, then told her. “She’s giving me the Nantucket house. As a ‘bonus’ for taking care of Julian.” My mother looked worried. ‘That’s too generous. We were just doing our jobs. You didn’t accept, did you?’ I nodded. Of course I accepted. If I refused, they’d think I was holding out for something else. Thankfully, the Vances had never mentioned the engagement to my mother. They’d only asked me. Suddenly, my mother’s face lit up with a huge smile. ‘Mr. Roberts said Ms. Chloe is coming for dinner tonight! I think she and Mr. Julian are getting back together. Oh, he must be so happy!’ Three years ago, Chloe had broken up with Julian and left the country without a backward glance. He’d driven to a bar, gotten wasted, and wrapped his car around a pole, costing him his sight. Everyone in the Vance household knew how much he had suffered. A golden boy, the heir to the Vance fortune, struck down in his prime, living in darkness. Now, he finally had his miracle. Not only was his sight back, but the girl was back, too. For the Vance family, this was a celebration. No wonder my mom was so happy. 4 I spent the afternoon in the kitchen, helping my mom. Chloe was, as always, incredibly particular. The lobster had to be fresh from the tank. The asparagus had to be trimmed to only the tips. The filet mignon had to be cut to exactly 1.5 centimeters. My mom was always on high alert when Chloe came to visit. At dusk, Ms. Vanderberg finally arrived, on Julian’s arm. They got out of his car, a perfectly matched set. He, the handsome heir; she, the stunning heiress. As they sat down for their romantic dinner, I tried to slip away. Chloe stopped me. “Sadie. Get me a glass of ice water.” I went to the kitchen, filled a glass with ice and water, and brought it to her on a tray. She took it and frowned. “I asked for hot water.” I was sure she’d said ice, but I just nodded. “My apologies. I’ll get it now.” I returned with a glass of warm water. She took it. Just as I was pulling the tray away, the glass “slipped” from her hand and shattered on the floor. “Ugh!” she yelped, then looked at me with a perfectly innocent, annoyed expression. “Sadie, if you didn’t want to get it for me, you could have just said so. You didn’t have to be so dramatic.” I don’t know why she always hated me. She’d been like this from the day we met. Her acting was terrible. I knelt to pick up the broken glass. A pair of white sneakers stopped in front of me. “Are you okay? Did you get burned?” Julian’s voice was full of honeyed concern. He wasn’t talking to me. “My hand,” Chloe whimpered. “It’s hot. Kiss it and make it better.” I couldn’t see Julian’s face, but I knew his ears were turning red. They always did when I teased him. Back when he was mine, I’d thought it was so strange that this powerful, confident man could be so shy. Chloe’s soft, victorious giggle brought me back. He must have kissed it. I finished cleaning up the glass and stood. “Sadie,” Julian said, his voice hesitant. “Are… you okay?” I met his gaze. It was the first time he’d spoken to me directly in a week. I gave him my best customer-service smile. “I’m fine, Mr. Vance.” A flicker of shock crossed his face. I hadn’t called him that in years. I’d been eight when my mom and I came to the Vance estate. She’d told me to call him “Mr. Julian.” I’d called him that until I was twenty-one. Until he lost his sight, and we fell in love. He’d made me promise to just call him “Julian.” He said he loved the way his name sounded when I said it. 5 I went to my room and showered. I sat at my desk and opened a GMAT prep book. A little while later, my mom came in. She signed that she’d warmed up some milk and asked me to take it to the second floor. Chloe must have left. I didn’t want to go. I told her I wasn’t feeling well. She nodded and left. A minute later, my phone rang. It was Julian. “Are you hurt?” I was confused. “What?” “Your hand. Did you burn it?” I understood. He had a glass of warm milk every night. My mom has arthritis in her knee, so for the last three years, I was the one who brought it up. He must have been waiting. “No, I’m fine. Just… must be the change in the weather. I feel a cold coming on.” Silence on his end. Then… “…I’m sorry.” And… “…Thank you.” It was abrupt, but I knew exactly what he meant. I’m sorry I can’t marry you now that Chloe’s back. Thank you for the last three years. After a long, heavy silence, I heard my own voice, sounding very far away. “It’s okay, Mr. Vance. I’ve already forgotten all about it.” He hung up.

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At dinner, my husband suddenly asked me, “What would you do if I met someone better than you?” I was quiet for a moment. “Then you should be with her,” I said. “We’ll get a divorce.” He didn’t know that I had already seen him. Seen him frantically trying to soothe that girl’s red-rimmed eyes, telling her, “Don’t cry. I’ll give you a future.” 1 He put down his fork. His face went pale, then twisted into a difficult smile. “Grace, I was just kidding.” He wasn’t. I knew he wasn’t. I had known his love. Which is how I knew, with certainty, that his heart had moved. Earlier today, at the hospital. The oncologist, who had been brisk and impatient, looked at my chart. His demeanor softened instantly. He lowered his voice. “Don’t be afraid. It’s not late-stage. If you follow the treatment plan, this is manageable. This is beatable.” I was walking out with the diagnostic report in my hand when I saw them. Noah’s arm was bandaged. The girl was looking at it, her eyes filling with tears. “Why did I meet you so late?” she whispered. “I don’t even have the right to take care of you.” Noah looked flustered. He tried to comfort her, and the fresh bandage on his arm bloomed red. “Don’t cry,” he said. “I’ll give you a future.” The words hung in the air. He froze, as if shocked at what he’d just said. Or maybe just annoyed at his own slip of the tongue. But the girl believed him. Her nose was red. She looked up at him. “Really?” Noah just frowned and said nothing. I didn’t stay to watch the rest. I knew Noah’s boundaries. As long as he was married to me, his body wouldn’t cross the line. But his heart… His heart I couldn’t control. 2 I wanted to know what kind of girl she was. The kind of girl who was, in his eyes, “better” than me. I found her profile in his phone. I had to see her for myself. What kind of girl could so easily shatter eight years of my life? We survived long-distance. We survived the pandemic. We survived being broke. But we couldn’t survive a “better girl.” I found her on her college campus. She was, as expected, bright and full of life. I watched as an elderly woman, a campus custodian, struggled with a recycling bin. The plastic bag tore, and dozens of empty cans clattered across the pavement. The girl, in a cream-colored coat, ran over and helped the woman pick up every single one. She then helped her carry the new bag all the way to the campus recycling center. I followed them, like a stalker. Suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me. A figure blurred past, blocking my view. I looked up. It was Noah. He was standing between me and the girl, his arms spread slightly, his lips trembling. “Grace, it’s not her fault…” Not her fault. Then whose fault was it? Mine? The girl finally noticed me. She turned, her eyes wide. When our gazes met, she looked away, terrified. 3 In the coffee shop. Noah sat across from me, his eyes filled with a familiar pain. “Grace,” he started. “I…” He couldn’t finish. I was morbidly curious. Now that his wife had found out, what would he do? Would he break it off with the “better” girl? Or would he end it with me? He opened his mouth, and the words came out, rough and strained. “Grace… I… I don’t think I love you anymore.” I said nothing. My body, however, betrayed me. My eyes burned. “Don’t cry…” he pleaded, helpless. He just stared at me for a long time before pushing the napkin dispenser across the table. He let out a long, heavy sigh. “Grace, we’ve been together since we were eighteen. That’s eight years… “I know I’m an asshole. I’m scum. “But Grace… after so long… my love for you, it’s turned into… family. Into affection. It’s just… it’s not love. Not anymore. We can’t fight that.” I found my voice. “And her?” Noah was silent. “Maybe it will fade with her, too,” he said. “But right now… I can’t lie to you.” He looked up, his voice bitter. “I haven’t done anything. I haven’t cheated. If you want… we can stay together. We can make it work.” “But… all I can give you is my responsibility. And my time. The love is gone.” How do you describe that feeling? Sadness? Despair? It was like being a prisoner, watching the water rise in your cell. You know you’re going to drown. You just have to watch it happen. We sat in silence. Finally, I spoke. “Let’s schedule a time. For the divorce.” 4 It was evening when I left the cafe. The sunset was a violent, bloody orange. Across the street, someone was hiding behind a bus stop. Noah saw her immediately. He ran across the street, dodging traffic. The girl jumped, her face pale with fright. “Summer,” he said, his voice sharp. “What are you doing here? I told you to go back to your dorm. You’ve been here this whole time?” The girl, Summer, glanced at me, her eyes full of apology. She looked down at her shoes. “I… I was worried about you…” His expression softened instantly. “Don’t overthink it.” A sudden, indescribable bitterness flooded my chest. I really thought I had nothing left to feel. 5 “Don’t overthink it.” He’d said that to me, our graduation day. I was sobbing, terrified of the separation. Everyone said graduation was a death sentence for relationships. He held me at the train station. “Grace, don’t overthink it. As soon as I’m settled, I’m coming to see you.” At that same station. He went north, I went south. I was in a new city. On my first birthday alone, he promised he’d be there. He wasn’t. At 12:37 AM, someone pounded on my apartment door. He burst in, breathless, and grabbed me. “I’m sorry,” he panted. “I’m so late. I ran as fast as I could.” I found out later he’d spent his last dollar on the train ticket. He couldn’t afford a cab from the station. He’d walked. It was eight miles. I thought that was my life. Full of small heartbreaks, but always ending in a late, breathless arrival. I was wrong.

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1 Eight years ago, I stood on the auditorium stage at Northwood High and publicly destroyed Cole Everett. He had just given the valedictorian speech, all brilliant and full of promise, the golden boy everyone adored. Afterward, he’d cornered me behind the heavy stage curtains, his expensive suit smelling like clean laundry, and asked me to prom. I told him I had a boyfriend. He was the kind of person who’d never been rejected in his life. He just nodded, polite, and walked away. The next day, I heard he’d turned down a full ride at Harvard. The day after that, he was on a 4 AM flight to Germany for a fast-tracked medical program. I, as usual, was clocking in for my 4 AM shift at my sister’s diner, my hands smelling like bleach and burnt coffee. Eight years later, I was on a bus to Boston, clutching the $7,000 I had left in the world, my arms wrapped around my desperately sick daughter. After reviewing her chart, the resident shook his head. “His file is complex. Honestly, there’s probably only one surgeon in the city who would even attempt this. He’s a specialist just back from Germany. He successfully operated on a similar case last month.” The doctor’s face suddenly lit up, and he called out to a man walking past us down the hall. “Dr. Everett! Perfect timing. This is the case I was just telling you about. Could you meet with the family?” For a second, I thought it might be a coincidence. Then I turned. He was wearing scrubs, not a graduation gown, but the eyes above the surgical mask were the same. Dark, intelligent, and completely, utterly cold. This was my first time back in a major city in eight years. The first hospital I went to. The first person I saw from my old life was the one person I’d prayed I’d never see again. Cole’s first words were not to me. He glanced at me, his gaze sliding right off, and spoke to the resident. “I’ve seen the file. Have Dr. Carter take her to my office. I’ll meet them there after rounds.” It was obvious. He didn’t recognize me at all. 2 I’d tripped on the curb outside the hospital entrance, too frantic to watch my step. I was so focused on making sure Annie wasn’t hurt that I didn’t notice I’d scraped my hands and elbows raw on the pavement. Dr. Carter, the colleague Cole had mentioned, was a kind man with a scruffy beard and a warm, chatty demeanor. He insisted on cleaning my wounds while we waited. “You’ve gotta take care of yourself, too, Mom,” he said gently, dabbing an antiseptic wipe on my palm. “Especially with a kid this sick. Look at you, you’re a featherweight. You’ll collapse.” I looked down. My coat, bought from a thrift store five years ago, was frayed at the cuffs. I was all elbows and cheekbones, worn down by exhaustion and fear. After Annie was born, I’d barely slept. When I ran into an old high school classmate in Syracuse last year, she’d stared at me, horrified, and whispered that she almost hadn’t recognized me. “Right,” I said, forcing a smile. “Thank you, Doctor.” “This is gonna sting a little.” Annie, who had been quietly watching from my lap, suddenly scrambled up and wrapped her tiny arms around my neck. “Mommy,” she whispered, and kissed my eyelid. “Kiss it. All better.” It was what I always did for her when she got a shot. In her world, a “kiss” could fix “all better.” “Wow, Annie. You were right. It doesn’t hurt at all anymore.” I held her tight with my good arm. “She’s adorable,” Dr. Carter’s voice softened. “So, you’re Annie, huh? That’s a great name. You’re a good girl, taking care of your mom.” Annie, who had started speaking later than most kids, answered seriously, “Mommy. Hurts, too. I’m three. I go… hospital.” Dr. Carter packed up the first-aid kit. “Well, Annie, you’re going to get all better. Then you can go to kindergarten.” He turned back to me. “Don’t you worry. My buddy Cole is the best. We’ll get you guys set up.” “Oh, right. He’s Dr. Everett. My bad. We were residents together in Germany. That’s what I call him. Cole.” It figured. Dr. Carter seemed to have opened a conversational floodgate. “Don’t let his attitude fool you. The guy’s a machine. He published twice as many SCI papers as I did. This world-famous cardiac surgeon, an old German guy who yelled at everyone, treated Cole like the son he never had. Took him on as his personal mentee, tried to keep him at his research institute.” I wasn’t surprised. In high school, Cole got perfect scores in AP Chem and Bio. The teachers used to look at him like he was a winning lottery ticket. “Hey, wait a second,” Dr. Carter said, his eyes narrowing. “Did you two… know each other? The vibe when he walked past was… weird.” 3 I tensed. “No. Not really.” He wasn’t buying it. “You knew him before, didn’t you?” “…We were in the same class in high school,” I admitted. “I knew it!” He practically slapped his knee. “Okay, spill. Did he date? Was he a player?” I thought about it. “I don’t think so. I wasn’t really… in that loop.” “Figures!” Ben said. “In Germany, the guy was a ghost. Never came to a single party. Just work, lab, home. The nurses in Berlin called him *’Der Schöne Geist’—*The Beautiful Ghost. Everyone was taking bets on who’d finally get him, but he never even went on a single date. Total waste of that jawline, if you ask me.” Cole… did have a face that looked like it would break hearts. Those sharp cheekbones, the long, dark eyelashes. He looked like the kind of guy who’d leave you on “read” and not care. But the Cole I’d known was painfully earnest. I’d heard his family was old-money strict, but he was just… a decent guy. Back then, anyway. “Although,” Ben said, leaning in conspiratorially, “the ice is finally melting! He gave up that prestigious job in Germany to come back here. Rumor is, it’s for Dr. Rachel Qin. She’s in Peds. Their families are old friends, grandfathers were in the army together or something. I mean, come on. Who’s more perfect for him than that?” I just listened. “They’re a perfect match,” I said quietly. A storybook romance. “It’s about time,” Ben said. “She came back six months ago, and bam, Cole follows. He’s totally chasing her. He’s just too stubborn to admit it. So, really, did he have a high school girlfriend? Did he ever ask anyone out?” “…” My face flushed. “I don’t know. We… we weren’t close.” Ben looked disappointed. “Yeah, that tracks. He never had many friends…” Just then, the door opened. Cole Everett stood there, hands in the pockets of his white coat. “What are we talking about?” “Nothing! Not a thing!” Ben Carter scrambled to his feet. “Chief wants me. See ya! You two chat!” 4 Cole hadn’t heard. And he still hadn’t recognized me. We were lab partners for six months in AP Chem. He wasn’t a talker, and I was too busy. Busy studying, busy working. I did my homework during class so I could go straight to the diner, work the dinner rush, prep for the morning, and get a few hours of sleep before the 4 AM alarm. We had a silent system. He sat on the aisle, so he’d always refill my water bottle when he got his, saving me the trouble. I knew he was a neat freak, so I’d fold his assignments perfectly before turning them in. But we barely spoke. Other than that one, awful day at graduation, we were strangers. So, it was normal that he didn’t remember me. “I’ve reviewed the file,” he said, sitting at his desk. He glanced at Annie, asleep in my arms, and got straight to the point. “I need more details.” He was thorough. He asked about every symptom, every procedure, typing notes into his computer, his focus absolute. Finally, he leaned back, scrolling. “Have you been handling her care alone? Where’s your husband?” I didn’t blink. “He’s busy. Work. I’ve been at every appointment. You can ask me anything.” His fingers paused on the mouse. He looked up, his eyes boring into me. “Busy? What kind of work is more important than his daughter?” I had no answer. But he seemed to let it go, turning back to the screen, his brow furrowed. “Her condition is… complex.” My heart hammered against my ribs. “She’s very young,” he continued, his voice distant, clinical. “Her case isn’t exactly like the one I operated on in Germany.” He closed the file. I panicked, my hand shooting out, grabbing his arm. “Doctor, please,” I whispered, afraid to wake Annie. “Please, save my daughter. She’s only three.” If Cole, the only hope we had, refused… I fumbled in my pocket, pulling out the thick envelope, the one with my last $7,000. I shoved it onto his desk. He froze. He looked at the envelope, then at me. His eyes narrowed. “Are you… bribing me?”

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A week after I bought my boyfriend his Tesla, he suddenly had a “carpool buddy.” He’d pick her up and drop her off, rain or shine. In return, she took it upon herself to redecorate the car’s interior, like she was the lady of the house. She put in her favorite air fresheners and even threw out the flats I kept in the passenger-side map pocket, replacing them with her own. One night, during a torrential downpour, I waited an hour at my office curb. He finally rolled up with her in the passenger seat. She turned around, smiling sweetly. “Mia, I’m so sorry. I’m such a slow eater, I made Leo late picking you up. Please don’t be mad at him.” Before I could answer, Leo playfully flicked her forehead. “Mia’s mature. She gets it. Not like you, needing to be coaxed just to finish your lunch. You’re such a kid.” 1 It was a nightmare outside. Thunder, lightning, the works. I stood under the flimsy awning of my office building, frantically checking my phone. Getting an Uber in this weather was impossible; my coworkers were all complaining about 30-minute wait times. My own car was in the shop, but I wasn’t worried. I’d just bought my boyfriend, Leo, a brand-new Tesla Model 3 last month. Tonight, that felt like a brilliant move. I waited. And waited. One by one, my colleagues got picked up until I was the only one left. Finally, his car glided silently to the curb. The window lowered. “Mia! Sorry, you’ve been waiting long?” He hit the button to open the rear door. “Hop in!” I leaned down and saw her. A girl with long hair and round cheeks was sitting comfortably in my seat. The rain was turning to sleet, so I just got in the back and folded my dripping umbrella. “Whoa, water!” the girl in the passenger seat yelped, twisting around. She pointed at my umbrella. “Hey, can you stick that in the door pocket? You’re getting water all over the floor mats. This car is brand new, and the seats are vegan leather.” Her tone—like she owned the place—set my teeth on edge. I’m not known for my patience. “Miss,” I said, my voice dripping ice, “it’s my boyfriend’s car. If the floor mats get wet, it’s our problem. Why are you so worried about it?” She flushed. Leo, settling into the driver’s seat, chimed in. “Mia, come on. She’s just trying to help, looking out for our car. Don’t be rude.” I stared at him. “So, who is she?” “Oh!” Leo fumbled with his seatbelt. “This is who I was telling you about. My carpool buddy, Chloe. She works in my building and lives in our complex. It’s totally on the way, so I just give her a lift. No big deal, right?” The car behind us honked. Leo cursed, struggling with the seatbelt buckle. Chloe leaned over, her body close to his, and clicked it in for him. She turned back to me, her voice sickeningly sweet. “I’m really sorry, Mia. We shouldn’t have been this late. It’s all my fault, I’m such a slow eater. I made Leo wait, which made you wait. You can’t be mad at him.” “What are you talking about?” Leo reached over and tapped her on the nose. “Mia’s way more mature than you. She’s not a little kid who needs to be entertained at lunch.” “I was just on my period and didn’t have an appetite!” Chloe whined. She playfully reached up and ruffled Leo’s hair. “And I told you, don’t call me a ‘little kid’ in front of other people!” 2 Chloe wasn’t overweight, just soft, with a “baby face” that made her look perpetually innocent. When she pouted, Leo reached over and pinched her cheek. They were flirting. Right in front of me. I went numb, Chloe’s words echoing in my head: “in front of other people.” That’s what I was. Other people. No, I was the clown. Leo had mentioned his “carpool buddy.” “Mia, no time for breakfast, gotta run. Chloe’s waiting downstairs.” “Chloe’s working late, so I’m gonna wait for her. Be home a little late, ‘kay?” “Babe, Chloe loved the sandwiches you made. She said she wants to try more of your cooking. Can you make an extra one tomorrow?” Chloe. Chloe. Chloe. I never, ever imagined “Chloe” was a girl. For a month, Leo had been her free chauffeur. More reliable than Uber. And tonight, in this awful weather, knowing I was waiting in the cold, he still let her finish her dinner at her own pace before moseying over to pick me up. 3 “Mia, you’re quiet,” Leo said, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Everything okay?” “Mia,” Chloe chirped, “are you frozen? I checked the weather, it’s, like, 35 degrees out. You must be so cold. Oh my god, if you get sick, I’ll feel so guilty.” As if on cue, I sneezed. “You really are cold,” Leo fretted. “Your immune system is shot. This is what happens. I keep telling you to go running with me in the morning, but you never listen.” “I have some Vitamin C!” Chloe said, digging in her purse. She held up a fancy-looking bottle. “Here! Leo got this for me. He said it’s great for boosting your immunity. Take a couple.” Leo was a health nut. He’d tried to get me to join his 6 AM runs, but I value my sleep. And yes, he always bought me Vitamin C. But I stared at the bottle in her hand. It was one of those $60 imported wellness brands. The Vitamin C Leo bought me was always the $2.99 CVS-brand bottle. When I’d complained, he said the expensive ones were “a scam for suckers.” Apparently, my boyfriend didn’t mind being a sucker for someone else. 4 I didn’t take the bottle. I looked around the car. My eyes landed on the pillows. I liked a minimalist aesthetic. The simple, charcoal gray cushions I’d bought were gone. In their place were four, bright blue, fuzzy Stitch pillows. “Where are my gray cushions?” I asked. “Oh… those.” Leo cleared his throat. “They’re in the trunk.” “What?” Chloe chimed in, wide-eyed. “Those were yours, Mia? They were so ugly, I thought they were just some free swag the dealership threw in! I tossed them in the dumpster yesterday.” …It’s amazing, the little laugh that escapes you when you’re completely, utterly speechless. I’d been so busy with a project that I hadn’t been in his car for weeks. Now, I saw it. The entire interior was… different. The passenger seat I was supposed to be in had a cheap, cartoon-character air freshener clipped to the vent, pumping out a sickeningly sweet vanilla smell. The little charm I’d hung from the rearview mirror was now wrapped in a colorful hair tie that wasn’t mine. Even the Tesla’s system name, which I’d set as “Mia’s Ride,” had been changed. It now read: “Leo & Chloe’s Tesi.” This was a total violation. Every corner of the car screamed her presence. I was the intruder. 5 Just then, Chloe glanced at the navigation. “Ugh, this rain is making traffic insane. And we had to go so far out of the way to pick you up. My feet are killing me in these heels.” “So change them,” Leo said, not missing a beat. “Your flats are in the back, aren’t they?” Chloe nodded, pointing over her shoulder. “Mia, can you grab those white flats for me? They’re in the seat-back pocket.” I looked. And there, in the pocket of the passenger seat, was a pair of white flats. My face went cold. “Where are my black flats?” “Oh, those were yours?” Chloe said, performing surprise again. “I was wondering where that big, old-fashioned pair of shoes came from! I’m so sorry, Mia. I… I accidentally threw those out, too. But don’t worry! I’ll have Leo buy you a new pair. Exactly the same!” Okay. That was it. I had planned to wait until we got home, to have this fight in private. But I could not believe the audacity. If I let this slide, I was a doormat. “You want to change shoes,” I said. I pulled two tissues from the box, leaned forward, and picked up her flats like they were toxic waste. Then I wound up and threw them as hard as I could, right at her face. “Fine! Change! CHANGE!” “AHHH!” she screamed. The hard sole of the shoe caught her on the chin. “Chloe!” Leo slammed the car into park, right in the middle of the street. He unbuckled and lunged over to her. “Are you okay? Let me see!” Chloe burst into tears, her hand flying to her face. “Leo, am I bleeding? Am I scarred? It hurts!” He saw the red mark on her chin and turned on me, his face purple with rage. “Mia, what the HELL is wrong with you? She just asked you to pass her shoes! Are you insane?”

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Liam spent $100,000 on a fireworks show for his new secretary. Then he had the nerve to text me: [Stella, for our 10th anniversary, I promise I’ll get you a fireworks show.] It’s all I’d wanted, ten years ago. We were broke. We’d just signed the papers at city hall. We celebrated by lighting sparklers in our tiny apartment parking lot. Looking at the sky explode across the Austin skyline, I found the video from that night, ten years ago. I took a screenshot and posted it to my private Instagram story. [All endings are like this.] Liam didn’t come home that night. The next morning, I had a set of divorce papers messengered to his office. Arriving in the same delivery was a letter, sent ten years ago from a “slow-mail” shop in Portland. On it, in Liam’s own handwriting: [Did you love Stella a little more today?] 1 The second he signed for the papers, my phone rang. “Stella, what the hell are you doing? “You throw ‘divorce’ around every time you’re upset. Are you serious? “You’re thirty years old, not three. Can you please, for once, be mature?” His anger was a familiar, scalding wave of blame. Before I could answer, a syrupy, young voice co-opted his speakerphone. “Mr. Chen, don’t be angry. I’m sure Stella didn’t mean it. She’s probably just in a bad mood… you know, at her age. Just be sweet to her, and she’ll be fine.” Liam’s voice got even tighter. “Jenna, shut up.” Then, back to me, “Stella, I’m coming home. We’re going to talk about this, face to face.” 2 He hung up. A second later, my phone lit up with Instagram notifications. An account I’d been watching, @Jenna_In_Austin, had posted three new stories. Story 1: [Omg he yelled at me 🥺 Guess he’s not seeing my smile for a whole week.] The photo was a pouty selfie, clearly taken in Liam’s CEO office. Story 2: [Okay, he apologized. He said the woman at home is having another tantrum and I just need to be patient. I guess I’ll forgive him. 🥰] The photo was of two trendy matcha lattes. Story 3: [He has to go home to deal with the old lady. Ugh, women 30+ are so much drama. Unlike me. I’d never stress him out. 😇] The photo was a “candid” side profile, all youthful innocence. She was Jenna, Liam’s new secretary. She’d come to our penthouse three months ago to pick up a file Liam had forgotten. I was working from home. She was… young. Early twenties, flawless skin, a high ponytail. She looked like a college freshman. After I gave her the file, she’d smiled brightly and asked for my number. “To add you to the company contacts, Mrs. Chen!” I agreed. “Stella, you are gorgeous,” she’d gushed, linking her arm with mine. “What’s your secret? You don’t look a day over 25. I’m already getting wrinkles, and I’m only 20!” Her smile was blinding. Her eyes were sharp. I gave her my best corporate smile. “My secret? I don’t say things I shouldn’t. And I don’t do things I shouldn’t.” I’d mentioned her to Liam later. He’d just laughed. “What, are you jealous? She’s a kid, Stella. Fresh out of school. She’s not a threat. “Besides, HR hired her. And you know you’re the only one for me. We’ve been together since we were seventeen. We’re unbreakable.” I’d looked at him, so sure, so confident. Our love had survived being broke, survived the struggle. But no one ever warns you that love doesn’t survive success. 3 Yesterday was the ninth anniversary of our company, Starstream Tech. It was also the day we officially crossed the billion-dollar-revenue mark. As co-founder and COO, I should have been there. But a major client in California was threatening to pull their contract. Liam couldn’t go. We’d landed that client together, five years ago. I was the only other person who could save the deal. I’d been pulling back from the company for the last year, anyway, handing off my duties. We were trying to get pregnant. So I flew to LA, handled the crisis, and flew home, collapsing into bed. I just didn’t realize how… eventful… the celebration in Austin would be. At 10 PM, Liam called. “Hey, babe. Just letting you know, the team is demanding we celebrate all night. I’m not gonna make it home. You were amazing today. Get some rest.” I was annoyed, but I let it go. The old-guard employees who’d been with us from the garage days deserved a celebration. “Fine,” I said. “But no smoking, and go easy on the drinking. We’re still trying, remember?” “Yes, ma’am!” The call left me wide awake. I scrolled through Instagram. And I saw it. Jenna’s post. [He said he couldn’t promise me forever. So he gave me the sky instead. 🎆] The post was nine separate video clips of a massive, professional fireworks display. In the center of the finale, spelled out in fire: J E N N A. I clicked the first clip. A deep, familiar voice, my husband’s voice, wrapped around hers. “Jenna, did your 18-year-old wish come true?” My blood went cold. At that exact moment, a text from Liam came through. [Hey, the company fireworks are amazing. For our 10th anniversary, I’ll get you your own show. Promise.] The same voice. Just… flatter. Colder. I clicked back to Jenna’s second clip. Her, giggling: “Is this really all for me?” Clip 3. Him: “Yes. Just for you, Jenna.” Clip 4. Her: “But it’s the company party.” Clip 5. Him: “The company party didn’t have fireworks. I added this. For you.” Clip 6. Him: “They’re just lucky they get to watch.” … Nine clips. Nine nails in the coffin of my marriage. I walked onto our balcony. From the 18th floor, I could see all of Austin. I replayed the video of us, ten years ago, on our “wedding day.” The girl with the sparkler, smiling like an idiot. It doesn’t matter how much they love you in the beginning. The ending is always like this. … I heard the front door open. Liam was home. 5 He looked tired, but his anger from the phone was gone. “Stella. Can we just… not do this?” He was holding a pink envelope. The “slow-mail” letter. I’d forgotten. Ten years ago, we’d written letters to our future selves. His was addressed to me. “Stella,” he’d whispered, “in ten years, you’ll have your answer.” A decade. A sick joke. “Liam,” I asked, looking at the letter, “did you love Stella a little more today?” His face tensed. “Of course.” “Of course what?” “Of course… Liam loves Stella.” “Who does?” He snapped. “God, Stella, can you stop being so weird? Yes! Liam loves Stella! Are you happy?” I took the letter. I opened the faded paper. “You wrote, ‘Did you love Stella a little more today?’ As in, ‘I, Liam.’ But you didn’t, did you? You gave that ‘little more’ to someone else.” “We’re not kids, Stella,” he said, rubbing his temples. “I’ve told you. You are the only one. You are my wife.” I played Jenna’s video. “Jenna, did your 18-year-old wish come true?” He snatched the phone. “Are you spying on me?” When he saw it was Jenna’s own post, he backpedaled. “She’s… she’s just a kid. She said she’d never seen a real fireworks show. It was a stupid, spontaneous thing.” His excuses were pathetic. “A hundred-thousand-dollar spontaneous ‘thing’? You’re generous, Liam.” I pointed to the papers on the table. “Sign the divorce agreement.” He finally realized I was serious. “Stella, don’t,” he pleaded. “It’s not what you think. I… she reminds me of you. When you were 20. That same… stupid, naive energy. When she said that was her 18-year-old wish… it reminded me of you. Of the sparklers. “I… I did it for you, don’t you see? I was making up for what I couldn’t give you.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. He was “making up” for his past failures by giving my dream to his mistress. I sank to the floor, burying my head in my knees. He mistook my silence for grief. He knelt, wrapping his arms around me. “Stella, please. Trust me. We’re us. Nothing can break us. In fact… I have good news.”

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For ten thousand yuan, I bought the book’s biggest, gloomiest villain and brought her home. The only problem? She’s now a cripple, both of her legs completely useless. She was supposed to die. Instead, I took her home and forced her to become my housewife. The dark, obsessive woman I remembered picked up a kitchen knife and sneered, “Yellow croaker. Guess what I’m going to do to you today? Steamed or braised? You pick.” Later, when the story’s main hero and heroine showed up at our door, she was in the middle of angrily washing a fat stray cat I’d just brought home. “All you do is drag home these… things!” she snapped, covered in suds. “And who ends up taking care of them? Me!” She glared at the newcomers. “Why are you here? Since you’re here, make yourselves useful. Go fold my wife’s laundry.” 1. The shouting started just as my shift was ending. It’s a common sound in a hospital, so common I already had the de-escalation script running in my head as I walked into the room. I didn’t even get to speak before a wheelchair slammed backward into my legs, nearly sending me sprawling. A man’s voice, sharp and bitter, sliced through the air. “You can keep the useless cripple! I’m not paying another cent for her! You want your money? Take her to the curb and let her die, for all I care!” The woman in the wheelchair was facing away from him, her head bowed. She didn’t flinch. If it weren’t for the shallow rise and fall of her chest, I would have thought she was already dead. My charge nurse, Helen, was trying to reason with the man, but he just glared at her. He shoved past us, stopped in front of the woman, and spat on the floor at her feet. “Pathetic,” he snarled. “If I were you, I’d have killed myself by now.” He stormed out. The woman remained perfectly still, a statue of misery. I grabbed a tissue from the dispenser, knelt, and wiped the spittle from the floor before it could touch her. It was only then, as I looked up, that I saw her face. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her skin was translucent, her features sharp and perfect. But her entire face was shrouded in a shadow, a palpable aura of gloom that was, in its own way, breathtaking. I stared, completely mesmerized, until I felt my face flush. I stood up and turned to Helen. “What’s the story?” Helen sighed. “That was her uncle. Car accident a week ago, severed her spinal cord. She’s a paraplegic. He’s her only family. He’s refusing to pay the bill or arrange for post-op care. She owes just under ten thousand. We… we can’t legally discharge her to ‘homeless.’” I looked at the woman. I thought about the story. I pulled out my phone and checked my savings account. Then I walked out to the hallway where the uncle was still arguing with security. “You don’t want her, right?” I said. He looked at me, disgusted. “What’s it to you?” “I’ll take her.” Helen grabbed my arm. “Zoe, don’t. You can’t just…” “It’s fine,” I said, my voice betraying a confidence I didn’t feel. “I’ve got the money.” “Zoe, you’re a physical therapist, not a charity,” she whispered. “You’re 25. You can’t just adopt every tragic case.” The woman in the wheelchair actually stirred at that. “I know, Helen,” I said, turning back to the uncle. “I’ve got this one.” I waved my phone at him. “Ten grand. I’ll pay her bill. But you sign the discharge papers. You sign away any right to her. You’re done.” He looked at me like I was insane. Then he looked back at the woman. “Fine! You want the burden? She’s all yours! Just don’t come crying to me when she ruins your life!” He signed the forms so fast his pen tore the paper. 2. I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of destiny as I pushed her chair. I’d known, ever since I was a child, that this world wasn’t quite real. I had memories of another life, another world where this one was just a story. A very dramatic, very trashy romance novel. And I, Zoe, was a background character. Seraphina—the woman in the chair—was the main villain. The tragic, ruthless ice queen. And I had just bought the story’s final boss for ten thousand dollars. When we got to my crappy one-bedroom rental, she still hadn’t spoken. The tiny apartment was filled with my nervous chatter. “So, this is it! Home sweet home. What’s your name? I mean, I know it’s Seraphina from the chart, but… are you hungry? I can make something.” She said nothing. She just stared at her own useless legs. I finally gave up. I wheeled her to the tiny kitchen table, knelt in front of her, and physically tilted her chin up. Her eyes, gray and fogged-over, met mine. “I said,” I enunciated, “are you hungry?” The physical contact seemed to shock her. Her pupils dilated. After a long, tense silence, she finally spoke. Her voice was a dry, rusty croak. “Seraphina. Twenty-seven.” It took me a second to realize she was answering my earlier questions. She still hadn’t answered the one about food. “Okay, Seraphina. If you won’t choose, I’m making what I want. I’m Zoe, by the way. I’m 25. And I’m making egg-fried rice.” I made a huge pan of it and split it between two bowls. I put one in front of her. She didn’t move. She just turned her head away. I held my ground, holding the bowl. “I’m not putting it down until you take it.” My hand started to shake from the weight. Finally, she snatched the bowl and slammed it on the table. But she didn’t eat. I lost my patience. “Who are you fighting with? Me? Yourself? Fine. You don’t eat, I don’t eat. We can starve to death together. I’m too tired to care.” She shot me a look—a quick, sharp glance of pure disbelief. I meant it. I slumped onto the couch, my body aching from a double shift, and watched her. We sat in silence. Hours passed. The sun went down. My stomach was churning. Just as I was about to pass out from hunger and exhaustion, the statue moved. She licked her chapped lips. “Can I… have some water?” I staggered to my feet. “If you drink, you eat. Got it?” She gave the faintest, most miserable nod. I got her water, with a straw. She drank it all. Then, slowly, she picked up the spoon and began to eat the cold, greasy rice. She ate a few bites, then watched me. When she saw I wasn’t eating, she stopped. She wasn’t a villain. She was a stray cat, terrified the food was a trap. I sighed, snatched her bowl, scraped it back into the pan, threw in some leftover chicken, and microwaved the whole thing. “Here,” I said, handing it back. “Now we both eat. Happy?” She took the bowl. Then, with her spoon, she carefully scooped half the chicken from her bowl into mine. When I looked up, she was already staring back at her lap, pretending it never happened. 3. That night, I moved to get her into bed. “Okay, arms up,” I said, moving to lift her shirt. “You know the drill, I do this all day.” She reacted like I’d tasered her. She gripped the arms of the chair, her face burning. “Get out! I can do it myself!” I stood back, arms crossed. “Okay.” Her face got redder. “I said, get out!” Her eyes were wet. I sighed. “Fine. Yell if you need me.” I closed the door. I heard her struggling, the scrape of the chair, the rustle of clothes. Then… a heavy, sickening thud. Before I could grab the doorknob, she screamed, her voice cracking, “Don’t come in! I’m fine!” I waited, my hand on the door, for ten agonizing minutes. Finally, a small voice. “Okay.” I opened the door. Her clothes were scattered everywhere. The wheelchair was on its side. Seraphina was on the bed, but she was tangled in the sheets, sweating and trembling, her back bare. I didn’t say a word. I just fixed the chair, picked up her clothes, and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. “What do you want for breakfast?” She didn’t answer. I understood. It takes time to accept this. To accept help. But I also knew that life isn’t a novel. She couldn’t afford to be a tragic heroine. I’d give her three days. Then the real work would start. I slept on the floor. The next morning, I woke up with my spare blanket draped over me. I didn’t give her a choice. I hauled her out of bed. She was lighter than I expected, all bone and no muscle. I carried her into the bathroom and set her on the toilet. “Can you do this yourself, or do I help?” She stared at the toilet, her face crimson, veins popping in her neck. I didn’t look away. “Seraphina. The hospital is gone. This is home. I’m a PT. I am not shy. Can you do this, or do I help?” Finally, in a voice so small it was barely air, she whispered, “I… I can’t. You help.” She closed her eyes in humiliation as I did. But she didn’t fight me. 4. We found a rhythm. But I was worried. I kept finding her with a steak knife from the kitchen, just… holding it. Testing the edge against her palm. The fourth time I found a blade hidden under her mattress, I took it and dropped it into the kitchen trash. She exploded. “Don’t I even have the right to die?!” she shrieked, a raw, painful sound. “No,” I said, my voice hard. “You don’t. I paid ten thousand dollars for your life. It’s my investment. You don’t get to throw it away.” “You… you…!” She was so angry she couldn’t speak. “What?” I said, crossing my arms. “What are you going to do? Kill yourself? That’s your big move? You know what that is? It’s easy. It’s what they want. You’re giving up.” “I have no one!” she finally choked out. “Am I no one? I saved your life, didn’t I?” She was silent, tears streaming down her face. “Why? Why did you save me?” I sat on the floor, leaning my head against her useless knee. “I’m an orphan,” I said quietly. “Car crash. Whole family. Gone. I was 16. Bounced around foster care. When I was 18, I got pneumonia. I was in my dorm, broke, and I couldn’t afford the co-pay for antibiotics. I remember lying there, thinking, ‘This is it. I’m going to die over $40.’ “I promised myself, if I made it… I’d never let anyone else feel that. That specific, cheap kind of despair.” I looked up at her. “So… just… live, okay? For me. Just live.” She didn’t say anything. She just gripped the fabric of my scrubs. After that, she stopped hoarding knives.

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She used my unborn child, due in one week, as collateral to con my in-laws out of $58,000. I didn’t know a thing until the postpartum nurse called. That’s when I learned my mother’s little scheme had just about fast-forwarded my prenatal depression straight to a postpartum suicide. She didn’t just steal the money I needed for the birth. She destroyed the last shred of dignity I had with my in-laws. I looked at my phone, then at my reflection in the mirror—my face and body swollen and distorted from the pregnancy. I suddenly realized that my mother has probably never loved me. There was only exploitation. There always had been, there was now, and… there probably always would be. 1 The phone screen lit up just as I was struggling to heave my near-term, heavy body off the sofa. It was a text message from “Wendy (Postpartum Nurse).” My heart dropped. A bad feeling washed over me. “Mrs. Shen, I’m so sorry, but I won’t be able to handle your case.” “There’s been a family emergency, and I just can’t get away.” “I’ve already refunded the deposit to your mother. You’ll have to find someone else. I’m so sorry for the trouble.” I stared at the words, my mind buzzing. Refunded? She refunded the deposit to my mom? Why hadn’t my mother said a single word to me? I forced down the panic and immediately called Wendy. The phone rang for a long time before she picked up, her voice sounding hesitant. “Wendy? What’s going on? Why are you suddenly canceling?” “Oh, Mrs. Shen, I really am so sorry. A parent in my family is sick, and I have to go back home to take care of them. I’m truly sorry.” The excuse sounded plausible, but I didn’t believe a word of it. When I’d first spoken with Wendy, she couldn’t have been more enthusiastic. She’d promised me, “You can count on me,” and thumped her chest. She said she’d been in the business for over a decade and had never once canceled on a client. Her reputation was gold, she said. A woman who treats her reputation like gold would just bail, one week before my due date? I suppressed my anger and tried to probe. “Wendy, is there some misunderstanding? Or… did my mother say something to you?” A few seconds of silence on the other end. “No, no, it has nothing to do with your mother. It’s just… I really do have a family emergency.” Her tone was even more evasive. She mumbled a few more apologies and hung up. I clutched the phone, my palm cold and sweaty. If what Wendy said was true, why hadn’t my mom told me she’d received the refund? This was for the birth of my child. Did she have any idea how hard it is to find a nurse a week before the due date? A more terrifying thought wormed its way into my head. My husband, Leo, came out of the bathroom and saw me sitting on the sofa, my face pale. He was terrified. “Mia, what’s wrong? Are you… is it the baby?” He rushed over, squatting in front of me, his hand reaching for my belly. I grabbed his hand. My voice was shaking. “Leo, the deposit you gave my mom for the nurse… how much was it?” Leo looked confused. “Eight thousand. Your mom said that’s what the deposit was. She said she found a ‘gold-medal’ nurse, so it was normal for it to be expensive.” Eight thousand. I closed my eyes. My heart sank. I remembered, clear as day, confirming with Wendy myself. Her standard deposit was $5,000. My mom had asked my husband for $8,000 and only paid $5,000. Now Wendy said the deposit was refunded. Which meant she had only returned $5,000. The other $3,000, along with my mother, had vanished. No… that wasn’t right. If she only wanted to skim $3,000, she wouldn’t have needed to cancel the nurse. Unless… she took the $5,000 refund, too. She took $8,000 from my husband and, from the very beginning, had either never paid the deposit at all or paid it and then faked an excuse to get it back. This realization made my blood run cold. This wasn’t just being greedy. This was actively pushing me off a cliff. “Mia, what is it? You’re scaring me,” Leo said, his voice cracking. I opened my eyes and handed him the phone. Leo’s handsome face went from confused to shocked, and then to a towering rage. “How could she do this! This is the nurse for your birth! Doesn’t she know that?” Yes. How could she? I wanted to ask the same question. But I knew it was pointless. Because she could. My own mother has always been a refined egoist. Everything in her life is measured by two standards: is it good for her, and is it good for my brother. As for me? I was just an accident. A tool to be used and traded for cash. 2 My mother’s favoritism for my brother was something she’d practiced since I was born. When I was little, if there was an egg, it was for my brother. New clothes? Always for my brother. I only ever wore his hand-me-downs. Even with school… my brother’s grades were a disaster, but my mom would sell the furniture to send him to the best private school. I, on the other hand, could get first in my class, and all she’d say was, “What’s the point of a girl getting an education? You’re just going to marry into someone else’s family anyway.” Later, she lost a ton of money on a bad business deal. Her credit was destroyed, and she was blacklisted by collection agencies. Her first move wasn’t to figure out how to pay it back. It was to immediately transfer the family’s only house and car into my brother’s name. It was to “protect the family’s assets” from the court, she said. Her “family” was my good-for-nothing, lazy brother. When I got married, Leo’s family gave a bridal price of $188,000. My mother took every cent and used it as a down payment on a condo for my brother. “You married well,” she’d said. “Your in-laws are rich. You don’t need this. Your brother is different. If he doesn’t have a house, how will he ever find a wife?” I fought with her, nearly disowning her. But she’d clung to my legs, sobbing, “Mia, sweetie, Mom is sorry, but I have no choice! Just help your brother this one time! I’ll make it up to you!” I relented. She was my mother, after all. Looking back, I was such a joke. When I got pregnant, she offered to come “take care of me.” I was actually touched. I thought she was finally feeling guilty. Instead, in the month she lived with us, I ate takeout for two weeks straight. Her days consisted of playing cards, scrolling TikTok, and bragging to her friends about her rich son-in-law. On the rare occasion she’d cook, she’d either dump in the whole salt shaker or serve me raw chicken. At my checkup, the doctor said I was malnourished. My mother-in-law’s face went dark. From that day on, she never let my mom near my food again. She had our driver deliver homemade soup every single day. I thought that was the limit. I was so naive. When I was eight months pregnant, my mom pulled her biggest stunt. She asked my in-laws for $100,000 for an “investment.” She said a “friend” had a can’t-miss project that would double her money in a month. I was at my in-laws’ house when she said it. I nearly passed out. I pulled my mother-in-law aside and told her the truth. “Mom, please don’t give her any money. My mother… she’s not reliable.” I told her everything. The credit blacklist, the lies, all of it. My mother-in-law is a very proper woman. She didn’t say much, but the look in her eyes changed. It was no longer warmth. It was assessment, suspicion, and… pity. I knew, in her eyes, my value had just plummeted. But I had to air our family’s dirty laundry to protect them. In the end, probably for the sake of my unborn child, my mother-in-law gave my mom $50,000. “We can’t just ignore her request completely,” she’d said. “But this is a loan. Make sure your mother signs a note.” My mom promised up and down she’d pay it back before Thanksgiving. Well, Thanksgiving has long passed. We haven’t seen a cent. My mother-in-law has brought it up to me, subtly, half a dozen times. At family dinners, she’ll “casually” mention someone who borrows money and never pays it back, and how it “shows their character.” I know she’s talking to me. I’m stuck in the middle. I kept apologizing, promising my husband and his family that I would pay it back. But I’m nine months pregnant with no income. How? I thought that $50,000 hole was the worst of it. I never dreamed she’d dig me an $8,000 grave. Using my own baby as the shovel. 3 Leo was pacing the living room like a caged animal. “No, I’m calling her. Right now. I’m going to ask her what the hell she thinks she’s doing!” I stopped him. “Don’t,” I said. My voice was calm, but my heart was in pieces. “What’s the point? Do you think she’ll admit it?” “She’ll just say she’s doing it for me. That the nurse wasn’t good enough and she’s finding a better one. She’ll say she just ‘borrowed’ the money and will pay you back. She has a million excuses, and every single one of them will make me the bad guy.” I’d seen this play too many times. Leo looked at me, his eyes red. “So what do we do? Just let it go? Mia, you’re about to give birth. What about the nurse?” Yes, what about the nurse? I was a week out. Every good nurse was booked. Even if we found one, it would be at a premium. And more importantly, my mom had taken $8,000 of my husband’s money. The $50,000 debt was still hanging over our heads. I could already see my mother-in-law’s disappointed face. “I’ll figure it out,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Leo, listen to me. Do not tell your parents about this.” “Why not? It’s her fault, Mia! Why are you covering for her?” “Because,” I said, my voice breaking, “they are already at their limit with my family. That $50,000 made them think my family is trash. If we add this $8,000… what will they think of me?” “They’ll think I married you for your money. They’ll think my mother is a bottomless pit, that we’re all just here to suck them dry.” “I love you, Leo. I don’t want you to be ashamed of me. And I don’t want you to be embarrassed in front of your own parents because of my family.” Leo pulled me into his arms, holding me so tight I could feel his body shaking. “Mia, I’m so sorry. I… I’m useless. You shouldn’t have to go through this.” My tears finally came. All the frustration, the anger, the helplessness, it all came pouring out. Why? Why was my mother like this? Why couldn’t she just… be a mom? After a long time, I pulled back, wiping my face. “Okay. Crying doesn’t fix it. We need a new nurse.” I started searching, texting, calling. Leo sat next to me, doing the same. Every agency told us the same thing: “No availability.” Just as I was about to give up, my phone rang. A number I didn’t recognize. “Hello… is this Mrs. Shen?” a cautious voice asked. “Yes, this is she.” “My name is Lisa. I’m a postpartum nurse. Wendy… your original nurse… she referred me.” I sat bolt upright. “Yes! Hello, Lisa! Did Wendy send you?” “Yes, she said you were in a real bind. I actually just had a client cancel, so my schedule opened up. Wendy told me all about your situation. The deposit is $5,000, if that’s okay?” The deposit is $5,000. Wendy had told her everything. “Yes, $5,000 is perfect,” I said, my voice steady. “When can we meet?” We set a time. I hung up. The nurse problem was solved. Leo was relieved. “You’re amazing, Mia.” Was I? I was just cleaning up my mother’s mess. Again. I opened my phone and sent a text to my mother. “Mom, when are you returning the $8,000 deposit?” No reply. She was playing dead. I sent another. “If you don’t return it, I will tell your son-in-law and his parents. I will tell all our relatives how you stole your daughter’s medical money a week before she gave birth. I’ll see how you face your card-playing friends then.” The reply was instant. A 60-second voice message. I pressed play. Her sharp, screeching voice filled the room. “You damn brat! You’ve got nerve, don’t you? Talking to your mother like that! So what if I took your money? I’m your mother! I raised you! How much of my money have you spent?” “I gave the $8,000 to your brother! His girlfriend is pregnant and needs an abortion! That costs money!” “You married into a rich family! You’re complaining about this little bit of money? Are you trying to shame me?” “I’ll tell you right now, I don’t have the money! You want it? You’ll have to kill me for it!” The message ended. The apartment was silent. Leo, standing behind me, was shaking with rage. My brother’s girlfriend… needed an abortion? So my mother stole my baby’s money… to pay for his abortion? My God. I was dizzy. I was going to be sick. Just then, the doorbell rang. It was my mother-in-law, holding a thermos. “I brought you some soup.” She walked in, her eyes landing on my pale face, and then on my phone, which was still lit up from my mother’s tirade. Her gaze went cold. She said nothing. She just put the thermos on the table. “Mia,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “We need to talk.” 4 My blood froze. “Mom…” Leo immediately stepped in front of me. “Mom, this has nothing to do with Mia. It’s my mother-in-law. Don’t blame Mia.” My mother-in-law looked at her son with a deep, weary sigh. She walked around him and gently pulled me down to the sofa. “I’m not blaming her,” she said. “I’m worried about her.” She pointed at my phone. “I heard the messages. I’m not angry about the $8,000, or even the $50,000. We’re not short on money.” “I am angry about your mother’s attitude. I’m worried that you’re about to give birth, and this… this drama… is going to affect your health. And the baby’s.” She took a breath. “And I’m worried about what comes next. After the baby is born. Will your mother and your brother see my grandchild as their new ATM?” Her words were a scalpel, cutting away the “family business” cloth I’d used to hide the wound. She was right. What was next? My mother-in-law looked at me, her eyes softening with a trace of pity. “Child, I know this is hard. But you have to understand. Some people are a bottomless pit. You can’t fill them.” “Your compromises don’t earn you gratitude. They just teach her that you’re an easy target. Today it’s $58,000. Tomorrow it’s $500,000.” “It’s time,” she said, “for you to make a clean break.” A clean break. I’d never dared to think it. Leo grabbed my hand. “Mom, I support her. Whatever Mia decides, I support her.” My mother-in-law nodded, then gave me the ultimatum. “Mia, I’m being blunt. That $58,000… consider it our family’s loss. Consider it… our payment for your upbringing. We won’t ask for it back.” “But, on one condition.” “From this day forward, you must cut off all financial ties to your family. Not one more cent.” “If you can’t do that… then for Leo’s sake, and my grandchild’s, I will have to ask you… to divorce my son.” Divorce. The word exploded in the room. I looked at her, stunned. She was dead serious. This was her final line of defense for her son and her family. I couldn’t even be mad at her. I looked at Leo. I looked at his mother. I took a long, shuddering breath. “I understand, Mom.” I picked up my phone. I created a new group chat. I added my mother and my brother. Group Name: “The Final Family Meeting.”

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I got drunk at the company dinner and called my boss “husband.” My coworker snickered. “She’s really lost it, trying to get the boss’s attention.” My boss, Landon, glared at me. “If you can’t even control your mouth, why are you drinking?” In the sudden silence, the notoriously difficult client across the table let out a cold laugh. “She was calling me,” he said. He looked at Landon. “Why are you so worked up?” 1 I had followed Landon from college right into his company, working as his executive assistant. Everyone knew I was in love with him. Dropping off a file, I heard them talking inside his office. “That’s cold, man. Maya’s a trust fund kid, and she’s here being your assistant. Are you really that ruthless?” Landon scoffed. “She wanted to be here. What was I supposed to do?” Someone else laughed. “True. She’s always loved being attached to your hip.” “Hasn’t changed a bit in all these years.” “But seriously, Landon, you’re not going to give her a shot? That girl dreams about you.” “Yeah, remember when her family set her up on that blind date? You dragged us out for drinks that night. I thought you actually cared.” After that, Landon’s tone turned frigid. “She’s a nuisance. What’s there to care about?” Outside, my hand, which had been raised to knock, slowly lowered. I grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. The room went quiet. But only for a second. “Morning, Maya! Bringing Landon his coffee?” My daily, devoted coffee run. Landon didn’t even look up, just gestured with his chin. “Put it on the desk.” I shook my head. I placed the file and a folded letter on his desk. “It’s not coffee.” “It’s my resignation.” “Check your email, Mr. Hayes.” 2 They all stared. One of them got close, read the letter, and looked up, stunned. “Maya, are you serious?” Landon finally frowned, looking up at me. “What is this?” I pushed the letter toward him. “I quit.” He glanced at it, annoyed. “Is this because I made you work late last night?” “No. I just don’t want to work here anymore.” His face slowly hardened. As I turned to leave, he called my name. “Maya.” “If you walk out that door, you’re not coming back. There’s no place for you here again.” It was half-threat, half-warning. I didn’t turn around. “I’m counting on it.” The atmosphere in the room froze. As the door closed, I heard them scrambling. “Landon, she’s just throwing a tantrum…” “Yeah, you know how crazy she is about you.” “She’ll probably regret it by this afternoon and be begging to come back…” Landon, staring at the closed door, just sneered. “Whatever.” 3 I threw out everything from my desk. In the end, there was nothing left. I almost laughed. I thought about the anonymous video I’d received last night while I was stuck at the office. In a dark, loud bar, Landon was draped over some beautiful woman, listening to his friends. “Is Maya really still at the office, doing grunt work?” “You gotta hand it to Landon. He’s the only one who could tame that princess.” It was true. I’d been his workhorse. I, a wealthy heiress, had done his bidding for years. Overtime, schmoozing clients… all of it. And it all just led to this. “Seriously, Maya is like Landon’s most obedient dog.” He, in the video, just swirled his drink. He didn’t even deny it. He just… smirked. “What do you mean, most?” The group howled with laughter. It was like a bucket of ice water. I was cold, but I was finally, suddenly, awake. I pulled out my phone and found the contact for the blind date my family had been pushing for months. I’d been ignoring it, trying to get them to cancel. But now… The best way to get over someone, right? I typed. [Are you free to meet tomorrow?] He replied almost instantly. [Yes.] 4 My blind date was a gentleman. He insisted I pick the time, and he’d handle the place. My parents had been so vague. I’d tuned them out. I had no idea who I was meeting. I arrived early, pacing outside the restaurant. What if I didn’t recognize him? I was so busy worrying, I backed straight into someone. “Sorry, sorry…” I looked up. Perfectly tailored suit. And above that, a face so distractingly handsome it was almost unfair. He was looking at me with a warm, gentle expression. “Why don’t you go in?” he asked. I stared at his mouth. I swallowed. I knew this man. Julian He. The CEO. The one Landon’s company had been trying—and failing—to partner with for a year. He was known for being ruthless, cold, and impossible to get a meeting with. I scrambled to get out of his way. “Mr. He, I’m so sorry. I’m waiting for someone, I was totally spaced out. Please, go ahead…” He chuckled. A low, warm sound. “Ms. Shi?” I froze. He knew my name. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Is it at all possible… that you’re waiting for me?” 5 I was, to put it mildly, stunned. My family had set me up with Julian He? The Julian He? I sat across from him in the private room, smiling politely on the outside, while frantically texting my mom under the table. [THE BLIND DATE IS JULIAN HE??] [ARE WE THAT RICH NOW??] [DID YOU SECRETLY BECOME A BILLIONAIRE??] My mom replied instantly. [?] [What are you talking about, honey? You’re daydreaming.] [We set you up with Julian He’s distant nephew.] [Didn’t your aunt explain?] I glanced at the man across from me. Was this the nephew? He caught my eye. I had to say something. “Um… excuse me. You… you are Mr. Julian He, right?” He nodded, a small, apologetic smile. “Yes. My apologies, I haven”t introduced myself. Maya Shi, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Julian, and I’m your blind date.” This was not adding up. “But… I was told… my date was…” Julian raised an eyebrow. He sipped his tea. “That kid? He’s not good enough for you. So I came instead.” He looked at me. “Is that a problem? Would you prefer him?” I stared. He said it so… casually. Like he knew me. “Of course not… I don’t even know him.” He smiled. “Then I hope you don’t mind the substitution.” “No…” I mean, how could I? He seemed genuinely pleased. He reached down and produced a thick, bound document, placing it in front of me. “Good. This is my resume. My personal stats, hobbies, salary, and a full list of my personal assets. You can look it over. “To be clear, Ms. Shi… I am here today with the intention of finding a wife. “My social circle is very small. I can guarantee absolute fidelity. If we marry, I will, of course, add you to my trust and ensure all assets are shared. I will never pressure you. As long as you remain my wife, you will have total freedom. “If these terms are acceptable… I hope you will consider me.” He finished this speech and just… looked at me. His eyes were so sincere it was disarming. Was this a fever dream? I pinched my leg under the table. Ow. Not a dream. I took a sip of water. “Mr. He… are you… proposing to me?” He nodded. Very seriously. “Yes. Maya. I would be very honored to be your husband.” 6 I was totally lost. Who gets proposed to on a blind date? By Julian He? “But… why me?” He seemed to expect this. “A woman with your talent, your looks, your character… why wouldn’t I want to marry you?” He leaned in. “Do I need a better reason than that?” “But… your qualifications are…” He stopped me. “Do you think I’m qualified, Maya?” I looked at the table. It was set with all of my favorite, obscure dishes. He’d done his homework. He wasn’t cold or ruthless at all. He was… perfect. “You’re… you’re great.” He beamed. “Then… will you ‘try me out’?” He meant marriage. I panicked. “I mean… we could start… by dating?” I squeaked. “Marriage seems… fast.” The light in his eyes dimmed, just for a second, before he masked it. “Of course,” he said, nodding. “Whatever you want.”

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