At dinner, my husband suddenly asked me: “What would you do if I met someone… better than you?” I was silent for a moment. “Then you should be with her. We can get a divorce.” What he didn’t know was… I had already seen him. Earlier today. I watched him frantically try to comfort that girl, her eyes red from crying. I heard him say, “Don’t cry. I’ll give you a future.” 1 He put his chopsticks down. His face went pale, then twisted into a difficult smile. “Claire, I was just kidding.” It wasn’t a joke. I knew. I knew what his love felt like. Which is how I knew, without a doubt, that what he felt for that girl was real. Earlier today, at the hospital, the doctor’s bored expression softened when he read my chart. He lowered his voice. “Don’t be scared. It’s not late-stage. If you start treatment, this is manageable.” I was walking out with the diagnosis in my hand when I saw them. Mark’s arm was injured. 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.” Mark looked frantic. “Summer, don’t cry,” he said, reaching for her. Blood seeped through his new bandage. “I’ll give you a future.” The words hung in the air. He froze, as if he’d surprised himself. But the girl believed him. She looked up, her nose red. “Really?” Mark just frowned, and said nothing. I didn’t stay to watch the rest. I know Mark. As long as we were married, he wouldn’t physically cheat. But his heart? I can’t control his heart. 2 I wanted to know. What kind of girl was “better” than me? I found her in his phone. Summer. I had to see her for myself. I had to see the person who so easily destroyed eight years. We survived long-distance. We survived the pandemic. We survived being so broke we split a single instant ramen for dinner. But we couldn’t survive a “better person.” I found her on the local college campus. She was exactly what you’d expect. Young. Bright. An elderly janitor was struggling with a heavy trash bin. The bag split, and dozens of empty soda cans clattered across the pavement. Summer, in her cream-colored coat, ran over and started picking them up. She helped the woman get the new bag in place and walked with her for a block. I followed, like a creep. Suddenly, footsteps. A figure moved fast, blocking my view. It was Mark. He was standing between me and the girl, his hands half-raised. His lips were trembling. “Claire… it’s not her fault.” Not her fault. Then whose fault was it? Mine? The girl, Summer, finally noticed me. She looked at me, then quickly looked away, her face full of shame. 3 In a coffee shop. Mark sat across from me, his eyes full of pain. “Claire, I…” He couldn’t say it. I was waiting. Waiting to see if, now that I knew, he would choose to end it with her, or end it with me. He finally, painfully, got the words out. “Claire… I… I don’t think I love you anymore.” I didn’t say anything. My body betrayed me first. My eyes burned. He looked helpless. “Don’t cry…” He stared at me, then slid the napkin dispenser across the table. He let out a long, heavy sigh. “We’ve been together since we were eighteen, Claire. Eight years. I know I’m an asshole. I’m disgusting. But… in eight years… the love just… it turned into family. Into obligation. We can’t fight that. It just happens.” “And her?” I asked. He was silent. “Maybe that will fade, too,” he said. “But… I don’t want to lie to you right now.” He looked up, his voice bitter. “I haven’t done anything. I haven’t slept with her. If you want… we can stay married. We can… keep going. But all I have left to give you is… responsibility. And the rest of my time.” How could I describe that feeling? It wasn’t just sadness. It was… watching yourself drown. You know you’re going to die. You just have to wait for the water to fill your lungs. We sat in silence. Finally, I spoke. “Let’s set a date. To file for divorce.” 4 It was evening when I left the cafe. The sunset was a blinding, angry red. Across the street, someone was hovering by the bus stop. Mark saw her instantly and sprinted across the road, dodging a car. The girl flinched, her face pale. “Summer, what are you doing here?” he said, his voice rough. “I told you to go back to your dorm. Have you been waiting this whole time?” She glanced at me, then dropped her head. “I… I was worried about you…” His whole face softened. “Hey. Don’t be.” A wave of nausea, so sharp and acidic, hit me. I thought I was already at rock bottom. I thought I couldn’t feel any worse. I was wrong.

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In the third year of my marriage to Audrey, my uncle came home. He was, and perhaps always had been, the one that got away. I saw the current that still flowed between them, saw the way Audrey’s eyes clung to him when she thought no one was looking. This time, I decided to let go. The marriage between the Prescotts and her family was only ever on the table because my uncle, Grayson, didn’t want it. It fell to me. I packed my bags, erased my presence from our home, and chose a bright, clear day to leave. Audrey called. “Ethan, once I’m done showing your uncle around, I’ll be home to celebrate your birthday.” I watched the white contrail of a jet score the blue sky and said softly, “Don’t worry about it. I’m not really celebrating this year.” 1. The Prescott family has a standing dinner every month. My wife, Audrey, is a busy woman, and she rarely attended with me. When I showed up alone at the family estate, I was an easy target for their casual disdain. After years of the same remarks, you build a kind of immunity. So when my Aunt Carol started in again about my lack of ambition, about my inability to hold Audrey’s interest, I simply let my mind drift, outlining the next chapter of my novel. “Well, it’s one thing for you to be useless,” she said, her voice cutting through my thoughts, “but thank God Grayson is back today. He and Audrey were always so close. From now on, we should just let him spend more time with her.” Let Grayson do what with Audrey? My focus snapped back to the dining room. I felt a surge of disbelief. “Aunt Carol, Audrey is my wife. What are you trying to say?” She set down her fork with an impatient clatter. “What do you think I mean? They were good together. If Grayson hadn’t been so stubborn about going abroad for his doctorate, you never would have had the chance to pick up the scraps.” “Audrey is my wife,” I repeated, my voice tight. “We’ve been married for three years.” I pushed myself up, gripping the edge of the heavy mahogany table. The sudden emotion brought on a wracking cough, a familiar betrayal by my own body. Every eye at the table turned to me, their expressions dripping with contempt. I clenched my fists at my sides. I’ve always been the invisible Prescott son. Frail and prone to illness since childhood, I spent more time in bed than out of it, easily overlooked. When my mother was alive, she watched over me, even from her own sickbed. But after she died, I became a ghost in my own home, trailing behind my cousins, taking whatever they didn’t want. It wasn’t until I started earning my own money as a writer that I found any semblance of peace. Their scorn, their dismissal of me—I could live with that. But Audrey, my wife… that was the one thing I couldn’t concede. I couldn’t just play deaf and dumb while they plotted to push the woman I loved into another man’s arms. Why in God’s name should my uncle be the one to “spend time” with my wife? “I’ve lost my appetite. Please, enjoy the rest of your meal. Excuse me.” I turned to leave. “You stop right there! Who taught you to speak to your elders that way? Have you no manners?” My father’s voice boomed, his palm slamming the table. “It would make sense if I didn’t,” I said, turning back to face him, my gaze unflinching. “After all, you never taught me any.” The standoff was broken by a voice I hadn’t heard in three years. “Ethan, what’s all the fuss? Don’t ruin a perfectly good family dinner.” It was my uncle, Grayson. He sounded the same as ever—his words feigning concern while every syllable dripped with condescension, painting me as the petulant child. He hadn’t been in the house for five minutes, knew nothing of the situation, and had already laid the blame at my feet. I turned, an irritable retort on my lips, but it died when I saw who was standing beside him. A person who was supposed to be working late at her firm. “Audrey? What are you doing here?” 2. I hurried over to Audrey, my feet carrying me before my mind caught up. By the time I reached her, the reason for her presence was painfully obvious. Grayson explained with a wide, charming smile. “Today’s the family dinner, isn’t it? I was worried I wouldn’t make it in time from the airport, so I mentioned it to Audrey. Next thing I know, she’s insisting on picking me up herself.” I heard a quiet snicker from the dinner table. Before the meal, my father had asked why Audrey was absent again. I’d told them she was swamped with work. Yet one word from Grayson had her racing across the city to the airport and then all the way out to the family estate. The hierarchy was crystal clear. I forced a smile, looking at Grayson. “Uncle, if you needed a ride, you could have called a car service. You didn’t have to bother Audrey.” “We’re old friends from school,” Grayson said, draping an arm around Audrey’s shoulders in a theatrically familiar gesture. “What’s the big deal if she comes to get me? Right, Audrey?” Audrey slipped off her scarf and coat with practiced ease and handed them to me. “Ethan, don’t overthink it. Let’s just sit down and eat. Your uncle is finally back. It’s a reunion for everyone.” A sudden sting filled my eyes. She had already turned away from me, finding a seat next to Grayson. They sat shoulder to shoulder, their heads bent toward each other in conversation, looking for all the world like the high school sweethearts they once were. Anyone would say they were a perfect match. After all these years, it was like no time had passed for them. And me? After three years of marriage, was I just her convenient valet? A bitter smile touched my lips. Leaving now would only cause a bigger scene. I retreated to my original seat, directly across from them. Grayson’s presence lit up the room. He handled the relatives’ questions with the effortless grace he’d always possessed. For as long as I could remember, he was the center of attention, the golden child. I had once admired him, even tried to emulate him. Then, I grew to despise him. And Audrey… she still watched him with that same unwavering focus. My heart seized. I knew that look. It was the exact same way she used to watch him in high school. She was forever the salutatorian to his valedictorian. While Grayson worked on problem sets, Audrey would rest her chin on her desk and just stare at him, completely captivated. It never surprised me that she fell for him. Grayson was perfection on the surface. Before we were married, I had even wished them well. But now we were married. If she still held a flame for him, what did that make me, her husband? I picked at my food, the taste of it lost on me. On the drive home, Audrey said she was tired and asked me to drive. She sat in the passenger seat, eyes closed. I decided to test the waters. “Audrey, you do know that we’re married, right?” She frowned, her eyes still shut. “If you’re ever unsure, you can always look at the certificate in the filing cabinet.” I let out a breath, laughing at my own paranoia. But her next sentence plunged me right back into the ice. “By the way, Grayson’s just getting resettled. There’s a lot he’s not up to speed on here. I’m going to spend the next few days showing him the ropes.” 3. Audrey took Grayson to a corporate gala. When I said I wanted to go, she waved me off while selecting a gown. “I don’t need you there. One escort is enough. You should stay home and work on your novel.” Before I could ask why she was taking him instead of me, her husband, she offered a placating smile. “You can come pick me up when it’s over.” So I swallowed the words that might have started a fight and simply said, “Okay.” I didn’t want to fight with Audrey. Around eight o’clock, guessing the event was winding down, I packed a thermos of the ginger tea I’d brewed for her—it always helped settle her stomach after drinking—and grabbed a cashmere wrap in case she got cold. I parked near the hotel entrance, rolling down my window so I wouldn’t miss her, and waited, a sense of hopeful anticipation fluttering in my chest. At nine, she and Grayson emerged, arm in arm, and were immediately swarmed by a throng of reporters and photographers. I got out of the car and started pushing through the crowd, wanting to get her out of there quickly. She always hated the noise and flashing lights after a few glasses of champagne. But before I could reach her, I heard a reporter’s question cut through the din. “Ms. Hale, you’ve never made a public appearance with a date since your marriage. Is the gentleman with you tonight your husband?” I froze, looking up at Audrey from the edge of the crowd. She leaned into Grayson’s embrace, giggling at the question. “This is… this is the man I’ve loved for years.” In that moment, Grayson, perfectly sober, met my eyes over the heads of the press. After the reporters dispersed, Grayson and I helped a stumbling Audrey into the back seat of my car. “She’s had a bit too much to drink,” he began, a lecture forming on his lips. “Remember to get some of that tea into her when you get home. Take good care of her, Ethan, her tolerance isn’t what it used to be, you’ll have to be patient…” “Are you finished?” I cut him off. He looked at me, surprised, then clapped me on the shoulder with a reassuring, patronizing smile. “Ethan, I know they say ‘in vino veritas,’ but don’t take it to heart. Don’t fight with Audrey over this.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “She said she loved me for years. Past tense. She didn’t say she still does.” “Is that right? You really think so? That’s great. I was worried you might get the wrong idea.” The night air was cool, but a hot, frustrated anger burned in my chest. From the back seat, Audrey mumbled. “Ethan… I think I’m gonna be sick…” I shot Grayson a glare and drove home.

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She threw me out of the car on the interstate, in the dead of night, all because I wouldn’t give the passenger seat to her assistant. “You want to act so tough, Ethan? Fine. Walk home. Or die out here for all I care!” Two weeks later, a local news report about a homicide finally jogged her memory. “It’s been two weeks,” she’d muttered, annoyed. “Is he still throwing a tantrum? Does he plan on living on the highway forever?” Her head of security, Marcus, had to deliver the news. “Ma’am… Mr. Hayes… he was killed.” “Impossible!” she’d snapped. “I was just angry! I left the security detail watching him from a distance! How could he possibly be dead?” Marcus hesitated, the words catching in his throat. “Ms. Blackwood, Liam Cole ordered the detail to stand down. He said it was on your authority.” He took a shaky breath. “And… there’s something else. The autopsy report is back. The anonymous heart donor who saved you all those years ago… it was Mr. Hayes. Not Liam Cole…” 1 The shredded remains of the autopsy report rained down on Marcus’s face. Victoria Blackwood, my wife, looked at him as if he were a traitor. “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” she hissed, her voice a blade of ice. “Conspiring with him to lie to me?” Sweat beaded on Marcus’s forehead. “Ms. Blackwood, I swear! This is what the investigation uncovered. I wouldn’t dare fake something like this!” Victoria pointed a trembling finger at the paper confetti on the floor. “Let me tell you something. Ethan can fake his own death for attention, he can throw any tantrum he wants, but he will not use Liam’s heart as a bargaining chip in his pathetic games.” Her voice was low, seething with a protective fury that was never, ever meant for me. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for Liam to live with that artificial heart? The slightest chill could kill him! Does Ethan Hayes have no humanity? To steal the credit for something another man nearly died to do?” Marcus flinched. My soul, a weightless observer, hovered in the air. I almost laughed. Even now, after all this, she still believed Liam Cole was the one who had saved her. Marcus was loyal to a fault. He would never lie to her. He had to tell her the truth, even if she wouldn’t hear it. He swallowed hard, his loyalty warring with his fear. “Ma’am, Mr. Hayes’s autopsy shows… his heart was also artificial.” “Is that so?” Victoria’s smile was pure venom. “Well, if they’re going to the trouble of faking a report that detailed, they might as well go all the way.” She straightened her suit jacket, her expression hardening into something cruel and final. “Let’s make the story real. Make sure he’s dead.” She turned and walked away, leaving Marcus standing in the ruins of her office and my life. 2 Driving home, Victoria’s manicured nails tapped an incessant, agitated rhythm on the leather steering wheel. When she stopped at a red light, she, a woman renowned for her unshakable composure, slammed her fist down on the horn. She kept replaying the words from the report in her mind. “Anonymous heart donor…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. She lit a slim cigarette, leaving a perfect crimson stain on the filter, her face a mask of irritation. “Ethan, Ethan, Ethan,” she murmured to the empty car. “Your little games are getting more and more pathetic.” The car’s sound system, which she usually kept on a low classical station, had been switched to a news channel. 【…and in a major breakthrough, Olympia City Police have solved the string of recent highway murders.】 【The criminal gang’s final crime took place on the Evergreen Parkway, where their victims were a young man and a five-year-old girl.】 【Authorities say the man, whose name has not yet been released, used himself as bait to draw the attackers’ attention, buying precious time for the girl to be rescued.】 【Tonight, we pay our deepest respects to this selfless hero.】 Victoria froze. She reached out and silenced the radio. Exhaling a plume of smoke, she sighed. “Probably his sister, or his daughter…” A sad smile touched my spectral lips. No, Victoria. I didn’t know her. I just knew that it was better for one life to end than two. So I hid the little girl in a culvert beneath the highway, called 911, and led them away. I thought I could hold on until help arrived. But… I was bleeding too much. The artificial heart just couldn’t keep up. Victoria’s hand, the one holding the cigarette, paused mid-air. “The Evergreen Parkway…” She frowned. That was where she’d left me. Flicking the cigarette butt out the window, she gunned the engine as the light turned green, a cold sneer on her face. “Impossible. A man like him? We should be grateful he’s not the one out there hurting innocent people.” 3 A week passed. I didn’t come home. It was only after she threw a lavish birthday party for Liam Cole that Victoria seemed to remember I existed. “What, is he really going to live on the parkway forever?” she asked Marcus, more annoyed than concerned. “Tell him the game is over. I had plenty of security watching him. He can’t fool me with some fake autopsy report.” Marcus hesitated, then decided the truth was the only path forward. “Ms. Blackwood… Liam Cole told my men to withdraw that night. He said… it was your order.” “Oh?” Victoria’s laugh was sharp and dismissive. “Are you telling me Liam forged my command?” He swallowed hard. It seemed Victoria had conveniently forgotten. Her personal security team answered to only two people. Her, and one other person to whom she had granted the highest level of clearance. It wasn’t me, her husband. It was Liam Cole. “Impossible,” she said, her tone flat and final. “Only Ethan would stoop so low as to frame Liam with a lie like that. I gave Liam that authority precisely because I was afraid of what Ethan might do to him, out of jealousy. I knew he’d try to use his position as my husband to hurt him.” Her eyes narrowed. “Liam is not that kind of person. He would never do something so underhanded. Tell Ethan to stop trying to bribe my staff.” “Ms. Blackwood!” Marcus pleaded, his voice cracking. “I swear I haven’t taken any money from Mr. Hayes!” Victoria held up a hand, silencing him. “You’ve been with me a long time, Marcus. I’ll allow this mistake once, maybe twice. A third time will have consequences. Think carefully about your next move.” A cold sweat broke out across his brow. 4 The moment she was out of the office, Victoria called my phone. Of course, I couldn’t answer. After a dozen rings went to voicemail, she left a message. Her voice was strained, tight with forced patience. “You’ve been making a lot of trouble lately, Ethan. The passenger seat has a better view, and the open air is good for Liam’s health. I owe him my life; it’s my duty to take care of him. This is about gratitude, not an affair. Stop fixating on it. You’re a healthy man. Try to think of someone else for a change.” She paused, and just before hanging up, her voice softened almost imperceptibly. “Honey… you’ve been gone a little too long this time.” Putting the phone down, her gaze fell upon a black umbrella clutched by a mannequin in a store window. Her hand came to rest against the cool glass. It was like five years ago, all over again. She was in a red dress, heels clicking on the wet pavement as she hurried through the rain. I was walking the other way, holding a black umbrella, and as we passed, our eyes met. A spark. A moment. We both turned back to look. I didn’t know then that she was the woman who had received my heart. By the time I found out, Liam Cole was already by her side. But she must have remembered. She knew I loved black. And red. That day, my black umbrella had tilted just so, sheltering her head from the downpour. My birthday was in a week. And the mannequin… it had my build, my height. She was about to call the sales associate, to buy it, when her phone rang. It was Liam. “Victoria… I can’t breathe…” Her expression shifted instantly from wistful to panicked. “I’m on my way!” 5 In the sterile hospital room, Liam sipped the broth Victoria spoon-fed him. He managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Ms. Blackwood. I never thought the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar corporation would cook for anyone.” She brought another spoonful to his lips. “That depends on the man.” Even without a physical body, a phantom ache shot through my chest. Because I knew. That man wasn’t me. Liam’s gaze drifted to the long, elegantly wrapped umbrella leaning against the wall. “I hear you picked that out for Ethan. Are you sure it’s okay to give it to me?” Victoria paused for only a fraction of a second. “You said you liked it, too.” I had to smile at the tragedy of it all. He likes blue, Victoria. He only said he liked black after he heard you bought it for me. Don’t you see that? I closed my eyes. A soul can’t do anything. I could only pray that whatever force governed the universe would let me dissipate, let me fade away, so I wouldn’t have to watch my own wife tear me down, piece by piece. 6 The story of my heroism spread through Olympia City. The organizers of the memorial service invited the city’s most prominent philanthropist to attend: Victoria Blackwood. She accepted without a second thought. As the city’s leading corporate citizen, she even offered to cover all the expenses for the memorial. No budget. A fitting tribute for a true hero. On the day of the service, she stood in the solemn, flower-filled hall. When she saw the name on the main placard—【In Loving Memory of Mr. Ethan Hayes】—her expression faltered. “The same last name…” she murmured. Then, a bitter smile. “If only my Ethan had half the character of this Mr. Hayes, we wouldn’t be where we are today.” It was just about repaying a debt to Liam. Why did he have to make it such an issue? She just couldn’t understand. After paying her respects, the event organizer approached her, the primary benefactor. “Ms. Blackwood, someone has raised questions about the autopsy report, claiming it’s a fabrication. Should we… perform another one?” “Who’s questioning it?” Victoria’s brow furrowed. The organizer looked uncomfortable. “Well…” Victoria’s patience snapped. “This man’s face and body were mutilated by his attackers. The coroner did their best to make him whole again. Who in their right mind would want to subject him to that all over again, and for what reason?” The organizer wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. I sighed. The irony was suffocating. She had no idea. It was her own man, Marcus, who had requested the second autopsy, all because she refused to believe the first one. In the morgue, Victoria gave the final order. “Cremate him. Let him rest in peace.” “Would you like to see him one last time, Ms. Blackwood?” “No,” she said, a flicker of genuine empathy in her eyes. “No one would want to be remembered that way, stitched together and broken.” My body was pushed into the incinerator. After a final, respectful nod, Victoria walked out of the hall. “What’s trending with men these days?” she asked her new assistant. The assistant, startled, quickly recovered. “For Mr. Cole, it’s always high-end luxury. Patek Philippe, Louis Vuitton…” “I meant for Ethan.” The assistant blinked. “You’re buying a gift for Mr. Hayes?” “Yes,” Victoria sighed. “There’s been… a misunderstanding between us. This isn’t just for his birthday. It’s an apology.” She patted the assistant’s shoulder. “I’m leaving this to you. The budget is unlimited. Get it done.” “Yes, Ms. Blackwood!” Behind her, my ashes were being sealed in an urn. 7 The assistant tracked down an original, handwritten manuscript from an obscure but brilliant composer, Arthur Finch, at an old collector’s estate. I had always been fascinated by his work. But the score was badly damaged, almost illegible. “Ms. Blackwood, Mr. Hayes loves Finch’s compositions. We’ve had this professionally restored, but it’s still not perfect. Perhaps I should just commission a custom luxury item instead?” “No.” Victoria stared at the tattered pages. “Anything that can be bought with money is a cop-out. Leave it. I’ll restore it myself.” “Ma’am?!” The assistant’s eyes went wide. Victoria knew how. In the early days, when she loved me most, she had learned about antique restoration to share my passion. For five days, she didn’t leave the studio. When she finally emerged, the Arthur Finch manuscript hung on the wall, pristine, as if the ink had just dried. “When he sees this,” she whispered to herself, “he’ll come back.” Just then, her phone rang. It was Liam, his voice a ragged whisper. “Victoria… I think I’m dying…” 8 She found him by the riverbank, soaked and covered in blood. He was coughing up water and blood, his hand gripping her blazer with surprising strength. “It was Ethan…” he choked out. “He tried to kill me…” My spirit froze. After a harrowing trip to the ER, once Liam was stable, he told his story through tear-filled eyes. “I knew Ethan was upset with you because of me. His birthday is coming up, and I just wanted to find him, convince him to come home and clear the air. But when I finally tracked him down… he was by the river… with another woman.” He choked on a sob. Victoria gripped his shoulders. “What happened?” Liam shook his head violently. “I can’t say… they weren’t wearing anything…” Victoria’s pupils constricted. “Ethan said… if I came back, I’d tell you everything. He said his meal ticket would be gone… I tried to run, but they pushed me into the river. If the tide hadn’t washed me ashore… I would have never seen you again, Victoria…” He clung to her, sobbing. I watched her face, my non-existent heart pounding. Victoria… you know me. Don’t you? You know I’m not that person. He’s lying! He got into trouble with his own creditors! Victoria gently pushed Liam back onto the pillow, her touch surprisingly steady. She wiped a tear from his cheek. “Get some rest.” Then she turned, walked out, and drove home. In the studio, she stood before the restored Finch manuscript. She dialed my number. Ten times. Twenty. Fifty. A hundred unanswered calls. Her eyes began to burn. The fingers on her right hand, raw and scarred from the chemicals and tools she’d used for the restoration, throbbed with a dull pain. RIIIIIP! She tore the manuscript from the wall. “ETHAN HAYES, YOU BASTARD!” The paper disintegrated in her hands. The violent motion tore open the healing cuts on her fingers, and droplets of blood spattered across the ruined notes. Panting, she threw open the studio door. Her staff, waiting outside, stared at her in alarm. Her face was flecked with her own blood. “Get the word out,” she commanded, her voice ragged. “I’m marrying Liam Cole. Announce it to the entire city. Spare no expense.” On the last four words, her grip was so tight on the doorframe, it seemed the wood itself might splinter.

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His mother was dying, and the surgery papers were waiting for his signature. But my husband was busy trying to win back the ghost of a girl he could never forget, the one who was about to leave the country again. I made a show of frantic calling, and after he sent me to voicemail, I watched his mother slip away. In my last life, I moved heaven and earth to get the message to him. He’d dropped everything—dropped her—and raced to the hospital, only to arrive a second too late. He was met not by his mother, but by her cooling body. And just like that, the ghost vanished from his life for good. 1 He told me he didn’t blame me, but a week after her death, he knocked me unconscious and dragged me to her grave. He drove a knife into my heart, his hands twisting the hilt, turning my insides to shreds. I watched the life bleed out of me, the edges of the wound a mangled mess, and saw the crimson rage in his eyes. “Why did you have to call me? Why did you make me come to the hospital?” he’d snarled, his face a mask of madness. “I’m not a doctor. What could I have done? Because of you, I’ll never hear from Isabelle again. Because of you, she’s gone forever. So you can go keep my mother company in hell.” I opened my eyes, and I was back. Back on the day his mother died. This time, if he wanted to chase his great ‘what if,’ I wouldn’t be the one to stand in his way. The frantic beeping of the hospital monitors jolted me back to reality. I was alive again. Reborn. His mother, Eleanor, was lying in the same bed as before, her lips a dark, bruised purple—a cruel signature of her failing heart. The machines monitoring her vitals screamed in unison, a shrill, metallic chorus of doom. On pure instinct, I slammed the call button. Nurses rushed in. One look at Eleanor and they were paging her doctor. Her doctor was Mark, Ethan’s best friend since childhood. Ethan had specifically asked him to keep a close eye on his mom. Mark took one look at her charts and his face hardened. “She’s critical. We have to operate now. Get the family to sign the consent forms.” My eyes darted to the phone on her bedside table. As the nurses and I wheeled her bed towards the operating room, I dialed Ethan’s number and put it on speaker. The first call went straight to voicemail. The cold, robotic voice of the carrier service filled the tense silence. Mark’s brow furrowed. “He’s not picking up? Call him again. We can’t proceed without a signature. It’s hospital policy, and not even I can bend that rule for him.” I nodded, my hands performing a perfect imitation of a panicked tremor, and dialed again. This time he answered, his voice crackling with irritation. “What is it now? Haven’t I told you not to call me today? The hospital is full of staff, why do you need me?” The same cold indifference as last time. A chill ran down my spine, erasing any doubt. I remembered the feral look on his face as he’d killed me. “Are you with Isabelle?” I asked, my voice carefully measured. “You need to come. Your mom… it’s not looking good.” I heard him take a sharp breath. His voice rose into a full-blown shout. “It’s never looking good! How many times have I rushed over there for a false alarm? Does my mother’s health only take a nosedive the second I’m with Isabelle? What kind of game are you playing, Zoe? Is your life that empty? Can’t you survive a single day without me?” He wasn’t finished. “If she’s not well, call a doctor! What am I supposed to do, cure her myself? I told you I was busy today. Leave me the hell alone.” Before I could respond, another voice chimed in from his end, sweet and cloying. Isabelle. “Ethan, is it your mother? You should go. Don’t worry about me. I shouldn’t be complicating your life anymore… maybe it’s better if we just don’t see each other again…” He hung up before I could say another word. My nails dug into my palm, the knuckles of my fist turning white. Of course. In this life, just like the last, Isabelle was the only thing that mattered. His furious tirade had echoed from the phone’s speaker, and now every nurse and orderly in the hallway was staring at me with a mixture of pity and discomfort. They all knew. They knew I’d quit my stable government job to care for his mother. Ethan had insisted he didn’t trust hired nurses. So I’d become one, living out of a bag in this sterile, hopeless place for an entire year. And while I was here, changing bedpans and monitoring IV drips, my husband was out trying to recapture his past. The few times he did show up were after I’d frantically called him during a crisis. By the time he’d finished placating Isabelle and finally arrived, Eleanor would be stable again, the immediate danger passed. Then he’d accuse me of crying wolf, of using his mother’s health to manipulate him. His attitude toward me had grown colder and more impatient with each passing month, until he’d just started ignoring my calls altogether. A few times, when things got really bad, Mark had been the one to call, unable to watch me struggle alone. In the beginning, Ethan would drop Isabelle in a heartbeat and race over. But after a few more “false alarms,” where his mother pulled through, he started to see it as a conspiracy. He decided Mark had taken my side, that we were both playing him, scheming to tear him away from his true love. The story of the boy who cried wolf. It was our story. Except this time, I was praying the wolf would come. I wanted him nowhere near this hospital. Let his precious Isabelle bear the weight of this. Mark saw the disconnected call, his expression grim. “I’ll go in and do what I can to buy us some time,” he said, his voice tight. “You keep calling him. We can’t delay this surgery any longer.” He spun on his heel and disappeared into the O.R. A nurse placed a clipboard in front of me, the consent forms clipped neatly to the top. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her eyes full of genuine sympathy. “It’s the rules. We have to have a signature from immediate family.” I nodded, understanding. For the benefit of my audience, I dialed again. This time, the call didn’t even ring. He’d blocked my number. On the outside, I was the picture of desperation. On the inside, a profound wave of relief washed over me. I let my body slump into one of the hard plastic waiting-room chairs, finally allowing myself a moment of rest. Ten minutes later, Mark emerged from the O.R., his face heavy. He looked at a nurse. “Notify the chaplain. It’s not looking good.” His gaze found me, scanning the hallway, and his brow tightened when he saw I was still alone. “Still no word?” he asked, his voice low and sharp. I nodded, forcing two fat tears from my eyes. “It’s my fault,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have called him all those other times. Now he doesn’t believe me… he’ll never believe me again…” Mark and Ethan were close, so he knew all about Isabelle. He knew the whole pathetic, sordid story. He let out a long, heavy sigh. “It’s not your fault, Zoe. The only one to blame here is Ethan for losing his damn mind.” He stripped off his surgical gloves and marched to the nurses’ station, picking up the landline to dial Ethan’s number himself. I rushed over, my face a carefully constructed mask of earnest anxiety. The second the call connected, Mark’s voice was like steel. “Your mother needs emergency surgery, right now. You’re the only one who can sign. Where are you? Get to the hospital. Now.” The background on Ethan’s end was noisy; it sounded like he was driving, probably on his way to the airport to stop Isabelle. He was even dismissive of his best friend. “You’re there, Mark. You’ll handle it. What could possibly happen?” “Zoe playing games is one thing, but you’re in on it too? Don’t you know Isabelle is leaving today? If I don’t catch her, I’ll never see her again.” “I missed my chance five years ago, Mark. I’m not missing it again. I know you’ve always had a soft spot for Zoe, but I can’t spend the rest of my life with a woman I don’t love. That’s it. I’m driving. Gotta go.” Mark stood there, phone in hand, his face a canvas of disbelief and fury. His eyes turned red, his chest heaving. He slammed his thumb on the redial button, again and again, but each time was met with the same robotic rejection. The anger in his eyes slowly curdled into a deep, profound disappointment, and then, finally, into weary resignation. He let his fist fall onto the counter with a soft thud. My voice now a desperate, cracking sob, I begged a nearby nurse to let me use her cell phone, one last attempt to reach my husband. The call went through. The moment Ethan heard my voice, his tone dropped into a dangerous growl. “Are you fucking kidding me? Have you not had enough? You knew Isabelle was leaving today. You picked this exact day to pull this shit, didn’t you?” “Fine. I’m not coming. Let’s see what you do then. Maybe we should just get a divorce! I am sick to death of your paranoia! But I swear to God, Zoe, if you so much as touch my mother, I will make you pay with your life.” He didn’t give me a chance to reply. The line went dead. A bitter, mocking smile touched my lips. Five years. Five years of my life, wasted. Five years of playing the dutiful wife, of caring for his sick mother, of cleaning up her filth and holding her hand through the night, only to be told I was not the one he loved, not the one he wanted to spend his life with. I could still feel a phantom ache in my chest where the knife had gone in during my last life. A tear escaped, and I angrily wiped it away. From inside the O.R., a nurse shouted for Mark. He was needed. He finally gave up, all hope draining from his face. With a final, resolute look, he turned and walked back into the operating room. The words on the form left on the counter were stark and piercing: Do Not Resuscitate. I took a deep breath and sat back down. I made two calls. The first was to a lawyer, to draw up divorce papers. The second was to a funeral home. Soon, the light above the O.R. door switched off. Mark emerged, pulling his mask down with a slow, heavy hand. He looked at me and simply shook his head. The same scene as last time, but this time, my heart was filled with a completely different emotion. Ethan hadn’t seen his mother’s last moments. Ethan hadn’t been able to stop Isabelle from leaving. And this time, the person to blame for it all wasn’t me. I finally let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. But my eyes burned with tears. Last time, Ethan’s reaction on the phone had been just as cold. But I hadn’t given up. I had jumped through hoops to reach him, sending him photos of his dying mother, a snapshot of the doctor’s grim prognosis, anything to make him believe. He had been on his way to the airport then, too. The proof I sent made him turn his car around and speed toward the hospital. But all that time spent arguing, begging, and convincing him had been too much. He’d arrived just as his mother took her last breath. He had collapsed right there in the hallway, his hands clutching his head as he sobbed like a broken child. He went through the motions of the funeral arrangements with me, a hollowed-out shell of a man. When the dust settled, he discovered Isabelle had blocked him on every platform. The ghost was gone, and this time, there was no way to reach her across the ocean. For seven days, he was silent. When I tried to talk to him, he would just shake his head and say he was fine. I even booked him a flight overseas, telling him to go, to explain things to her. He refused, saying coldly that it was over between them, that this tragedy had made him realize he should cherish the person in front of him. After five years of waiting, those were the words I had longed to hear. I believed him without a second’s hesitation. I was giddy with the hope that his heart was finally coming home. Then, a week after his mother’s death, he hit me from behind and I woke up at her graveside. The indifference in his eyes was gone, replaced by a pure, chilling hatred. The moment I came to, he plunged a dagger he’d spent seven days sharpening straight into my heart. The pain was so blinding I couldn’t even scream. He twisted the handle, his face contorted into the mask of a zealot who had lost his one true god. He watched, transfixed, as the blood soaked through my shirt, turning the fabric a dark, wet crimson. Only then, as my vision began to fade, did he speak. “Why did you have to call me? What difference could I have made?” “Because of a few pictures, I lost Isabelle forever. Forever.” “Do you have any idea how long I waited for her to come back? In the five years we were married, I never stopped dreaming she would look back at me. I begged for it in my sleep. And she finally came back, Zoe. She was finally here. And because of you, she’s gone.” “Since you couldn’t take care of my mother,” he’d hissed, “you can go join her.” He ripped the knife out and plunged it into me again. And again. The blood sprayed across the tombstone, staining the photograph of his mother’s smiling face. The ultrasound picture in my purse, the one showing I was two months pregnant, never saw the light of day. After I died, my soul lingered. I watched him flee the country. I watched him find Isabelle and fall to his knees before her. Before he could even get the words of apology out, the police who had tracked him down fired a single shot, and he fell dead at her feet. Only then did I understand how laughable it was. A five-year marriage sustained only by my sacrifice. He had changed his own last name for her years ago, a bizarre act of devotion she never even asked for. He didn’t care about family. Why would he ever care about me? Thank God, I was given another chance. I took the official death certificate from the nurse and left the hospital. But I didn’t go home. My first stop was a clinic. Mark, worried about my state, stayed with me the whole time. The more he showed me a simple, human kindness, the more hollow I felt. A friend of my husband’s could see that I was fragile, that I needed someone. But the man I had loved for five years, the man whose mother I had cared for, saw me only as an obstacle on his path to true love. Mark watched me schedule the procedure. He sat in the waiting room while it was done. He never said a word to stop me, and he had no more words to defend his friend. When I came out, he gently reminded me of the aftercare instructions. I listened, nodding weakly. “The funeral is in three days,” I told him, my voice thin. “Since Ethan won’t be there, and you were her doctor… could you come? Just to see her off.” Eleanor had been good to me. I didn’t want her to be alone. Her son’s sins weren’t hers. She deserved a proper goodbye. With that, I walked out of the clinic and hailed a cab home. For three days, there was nothing from Ethan. Not a single call. Not one question about his mother. The only updates I got were screenshots from Mark, showing Isabelle’s constantly updated social media feed. He couldn’t stand the thought of me being kept in the dark. It seemed Ethan had succeeded in winning her back. His mother’s body wasn’t even cold, and they were already on a whirlwind tour of every local tourist trap. I saved every picture, every post. Evidence for the divorce lawyer. On the day of the funeral, the chapel was nearly empty. Ethan and I never had a wedding, so I didn’t know his side of the family. The only people there were a few of Eleanor’s old friends I’d managed to contact. Mark stood beside me, his eyes dark and cold, fixed on the chapel doors. I knew he was waiting for Ethan. He couldn’t help himself; he’d sent him the details for the service. But the funeral progressed, and as we reached the final moments, there was still no sign of him. Mark’s expression was frozen solid. I clutched the urn containing Eleanor’s ashes, my thin black dress doing little to ward off the chill in the air. I couldn’t tell if the feeling in my chest was hatred or heartbreak. The stark white flowers surrounding us felt like a mockery. This was a funeral for two people: for Eleanor, and for the woman I used to be. Just as I stepped forward to place the urn in its niche, a man’s roar echoed from the entrance. “What the hell are you all doing? Who gave you permission to hold a funeral for my mother? She’s alive and well in the hospital! Are you insane?” My steps faltered. My grip on the urn tightened until my knuckles ached. The familiar venom in his voice made my whole body tremble. Ethan stormed in, his face contorted with rage. And on his arm was Isabelle, a vision in a blood-red dress, a color so violently out of place it felt like a wound in the heart of the solemn room. Before I could speak, Mark stepped forward. “She’s gone, Ethan! She died three days ago! You wouldn’t listen to Zoe, and you wouldn’t listen to me. What’s it going to take, for her to rise from the grave and tell you herself?” His voice rose, thick with disgust. “This is your mother’s funeral. Are you out of your mind, bringing her here, dressed like that?” “Ethan, I am so disappointed in you, I don’t even have the words. If you’re here to cause a scene, you can take her and get the hell out. Now.” Ethan looked stunned that his best friend would turn on him. The shock quickly morphed into fury. “So you’re in on this little drama too? First, she pretends my mom is sick, and now she’s throwing a fake funeral? You love the theatrics, don’t you, Zoe? Fine. You want a funeral? I’ll give you one.” He strode toward me, snatched the urn from my hands, and hurled it to the ground. Crack. The world dissolved into a cloud of grey ash. A scream tore from my throat. I dropped to my knees, trying to shield what was left, to gather the dust with my bare hands. Ethan kicked me, sending me sprawling into the middle of the desecrated remains. The ash coated my face, my hair, my black dress. Mark reacted in a flash. He lunged forward, his fist connecting with Ethan’s jaw in a sickening crunch. “You’re an animal! How could she have a son like you?” he roared, grabbing Ethan by the collar. “Get out. Get out now, and don’t you ever say you know me again! I’ll handle her funeral myself.” Eleanor had been fond of Mark, treating him like a second son. It was pathetic. Even a near-stranger knew she deserved to rest in peace, while her own flesh and blood, the boy she raised, had just smashed her earthly remains for another woman. Isabelle rushed forward to intervene, but Mark shoved her away. She stumbled, her hand landing on a sharp shard of the broken urn. A deep gash opened up on her palm. Ethan’s eyes went crimson. He moved to help her, ready to fight, but Mark pulled Eleanor’s death certificate from his pocket and threw it in his face.

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I was reincarnated as the villain’s mother, the one who dies young. In the book, his father dies in an accident, leaving his mother a vulnerable young woman, alone. The settlement money from his death was a lure for predators. A thief broke in one night, stabbed the mother to death, and stole the money and the child. This thief was a degenerate gambler, a drunk, a waste of a man. The boy’s life with him was a litany of beatings and curses. A system tasked me with saving him, with redeeming his soul. It offered me a selection of roles to play in his life. “I want to be his mother,” I said. The system responded with what felt like a digital screech of confusion. 【???】 I just smiled. “If the goal is redemption, isn’t it better to make sure the suffering never happens in the first place?” This time, he would be a happy kid. This time, he would have a mother. 1 On a day that felt no different from any other, a system calling itself “Redemption & Rehabilitation” locked onto me, insisting I had to save a villain who’d been reborn with the memories of his dark past. 【He will be volatile,】 it warned, its synthesized voice buzzing in my mind. 【He trusts no one. There will be times he will sacrifice you for his own goals, and he will inevitably misunderstand you because of other women. But if you persevere, you will win his heart and achieve a perfect ending.】 I stared at the image it projected into my mind: a young man with eyes like chips of ice and a long, jagged scar that cleaved his face in two. He looked less like a romantic hero and more like a cornered wolf. I had my doubts. 【Now, let’s select your identity,】 the system continued, its tone brightening. 【You could be the sweet girl-next-door, his childhood friend! Or perhaps the beautiful but vicious subordinate who eventually becomes his most trusted ally…】 It paused, puffing up with digital pride. 【Basically, any female role that can get close to him. We can do it all. Pretty impressive, right?】 I nodded slowly. “Okay. In that case, I’ll be his mother.” 【……..】 “Boyfriends are fleeting,” I said. “But a son is forever.” And just like that, I became Alice, the mother of Liam. He was a newborn, just days old. His father had just died in a workplace accident, leaving the original Alice a grieving, vulnerable widow. In the original story, the settlement money was a curse. It drew the attention of a local degenerate named Bucky. One night, he broke in, killed her, took the cash, and snatched the baby. Bucky was a lifelong bachelor and a drunk; he figured he’d raise the kid to take care of him in his old age. This was an era before doorbell cameras and widespread surveillance. The crime was never solved. But Bucky didn’t raise Liam; he brutalized him. The boy grew up with fists and curses, never setting foot in a school. Years later, during a drunken stupor, Bucky let the truth of his parentage slip. Liam killed him, ran away, and clawed his way into the criminal underworld, surviving on pure, unadulterated rage. I looked again at the mental image of the man he would become. That scar on his face, a permanent reminder of Bucky’s cruelty, was a roadmap of his pain. He looked like a wolf, I thought. And the world had given him nothing but reasons to bite. 2 Liam’s father had been an orphan with no living relatives. So, I took the fifty-thousand-dollar settlement check and went home. Back to the small, rural town where I’d grown up. In this day and age, it was a small fortune, enough to make you a target. I arranged for a friend to keep an eye on our small house in the city; it would be there for Liam when he was old enough for better schools. The original Alice was an orphan, too, raised by the generosity of the entire town—a little bit of this neighbor’s pot roast, a little bit of that one’s garden vegetables. It was a place where, while not everyone was a saint, the roots of community ran deep. People looked out for one another. It wasn’t like the anonymous city apartments, where you could die and not be found for days. The townsfolk were shocked when I returned with a baby in my arms. But money talks, and after a donation to the town fund, the mayor, Mr. Henderson, approved a plot of land for me to build on. I paid good wages, bought the best cuts of meat for the community barbecue I threw, and quickly had a crew of volunteers ready to raise a house. While it was being built, I stayed with the Hendersons. Technically, I was still in the delicate postpartum weeks. Mr. Henderson’s wife, a kind, bustling woman everyone called Aunt Carol, took care of me, while their daughter-in-law, Brenda, helped with Liam. Liam was already reborn. His dark, knowing eyes held no emotion, and their stillness was unnerving. But no matter how old his soul was, his body was still an infant’s. His life was a simple loop of eating and sleeping. He had an incredible sense of dignity for a baby; he never cried. Only when he was painfully hungry would he let out a few soft grunts. He also flat-out refused to breastfeed. When Aunt Carol laid him in my arms, he just turned his head away, sticking his tongue out. I was relieved, to be honest. I’d never been a mother, and the whole process felt deeply awkward. I’d bought formula and fortified cereal in the city—luxury items out here. Brenda would mix it for him, patiently feeding him with a tiny spoon. But a baby’s bladder is small. Not long after a feeding, he’d wiggle his legs and grunt. Brenda would change him, patting his little bottom with a smile. “Going to be a stoic one, aren’t you?” she’d coo at him. “So serious, even from the start.” Liam’s tiny hands would flail as if trying to cover his face. Then, two tiny, frustrated sounds escaped his lips, and he reached for me. I smiled and took him into my arms. He stared at me, his gaze intense and curious. “I’m your mom,” I whispered, my voice soft. And this time, you’re going to have a wonderful life. 3 The new house was finished quickly, and with a little help from the system to expedite furniture delivery, Liam and I moved in. His favorite activity quickly became staring at me with those unnervingly intelligent eyes. Whenever he did, I’d swoop in and smother him with kisses and raspberries on his belly, laughing at his indignant little squirms. He’d wave his tiny fists in fury, but the moment a bottle was slipped into his mouth, his anger would melt away, and he’d be fast asleep before he finished it. And just like that, Liam turned three. He was a homebody, but my cooking was becoming locally famous, which meant a steady stream of neighborhood kids showing up at our door. He never lacked for playmates, even if he usually sat among them with a grumpy little frown on his face, earning him the nickname “Little Old Man.” Today, I dressed him up. A little sun hat, bright yellow overalls with a bunch of candies tucked into the pocket, and a small water bottle slung over his shoulder. “Go on, go play with your friends.” Liam, ever the cool customer, clung to my leg and started to climb, his voice a sweet murmur. “No, Mama. Stay.” I knelt down to his level, my voice gentle. “Today is a little warrior’s adventure. I’ll be right here waiting for you when you get back. I promise.” 4 I gently nudged Liam out the door. The system, for all its melodrama, had a useful real-time viewing function. I watched as he stood on the porch for a long moment, a pained expression on his little face. Finally, with a sigh that seemed too big for his body, his little legs started moving. He was heading for the haystacks at the edge of the village, a popular spot for hide-and-seek. I’d taken him there a few times. Several adults saw him on his way and called out. “Hey there, Liam! Where are you off to?” He took two more steps, then stopped and slowly tilted his head back. “Out to play,” he finally replied. They chuckled. “Alright then, have fun! Don’t wander too far!” He hated talking to strangers. Usually, when we were out, he’d bury his face in my shoulder. But I’d told him it was polite to answer when someone spoke to you. He gave a tiny nod, his voice muffled. “Thank you. I know.” The adults ruffled his hair. He shook his head, annoyed, and scurried off, adjusting the little blue hat I’d put on him. It had a little tiger embroidered on the front. He’d once called it “childish,” with all the disdain a three-year-old could muster. But I knew he secretly loved it. I’d catch him tracing the tiger with his finger when he thought I wasn’t looking. It’s why I started embroidering little animals on all his clothes. 5 It took him a while, but he finally reached the haystacks. The moment the other kids saw him, they swarmed. “Liam! You came out to play all by yourself?” “Where’s your mom?” A little girl pointed to the tiny yellow duck on his overalls. “Your clothes are so pretty.” Her voice was full of envy. In those days, new clothes were a rarity for kids; most wore hand-me-downs from older siblings or altered adult clothes. The boys gathered around, pointing at the tiger on his hat. Liam clutched his head and wobbled. “Don’t touch me!” he yelled. “If you touch me, you don’t get any candy.” The word “candy” worked like a magic spell. “Candy! He has candy!” Instantly, they all stood at attention, perfectly still. Liam sighed again, that world-weary sigh, and pointed a chubby finger at them. “You have to sit in a row to get a treat.” They nodded eagerly and sat down. Liam reached into his pocket and started distributing the sweets. One of the kids was so happy he started licking the wrapper after he finished his piece. “Your mom is the best,” he said. “She gives you new clothes and candy. And she cooks the best food. I wish your mom was my mom.” That opened the floodgates. “Yeah, me too! I wish she was my mom!” Another kid puffed out his chest. “She wouldn’t like you, you’re lazy.” “Well, she wouldn’t like you either, you’re too naughty!” Suddenly, Liam’s face clouded over with anger. He lunged forward, trying to snatch the candy back. “She’s my mom!” he yelled, his voice trembling. “She wouldn’t like any of you! Not a single one!” The kids clamped their hands over their mouths, protecting their treasure. Liam glared at them, but it was no use. Defeated, he turned and ran. 6 He didn’t run far. He tired out and squatted by the side of the road, opening his little water bottle for a drink. After a moment’s hesitation, he unwrapped a creamy caramel and popped it in his mouth. His cheeks puffed out immediately. He looked like a little chipmunk. I couldn’t help but smile. Just then, a sparrow landed a few feet in front of him. It tilted its head, fearless. Liam watched it for a moment, then reached into his pocket, pulled out a small cracker, and crumbled it on the ground. The sparrow, with its bright, beady eyes, watched him for another long moment before hopping forward to peck at the crumbs. The system’s voice hummed in my mind. 【Who would believe this was the same ruthless villain from the original story?】 My Liam was soft and pale, even a little chubby compared to the other kids. His hands were dimpled, his face round. A little ball of dough. “Of course,” I sent back. “Beautiful flowers grow in well-tended gardens. It’s only natural.” The system did a digital equivalent of fawning. 【His affection rating for you is already at sixty percent! This is incredible! Normally, a target this difficult would take ten, even twenty years to crack!】 I felt a surge of pride. “It’s also natural for a child to love the person who cares for them every single day.” 【Show-off,】 it grumbled. I ignored it and scooped a cup of flour into a bowl, starting on a batch of butter cookies. On the system’s screen, I saw Liam approaching the large oak tree in our front yard. I quickly wiped my hands and stepped outside, holding a caramel apple I’d made earlier. I tried to limit his sugar, which made treats like this extra special. I stood on the porch in my yellow sundress. The moment he came into view, I called his name. “Liam!” He had been walking, but at the sound of my voice, his little legs started pumping. He broke into a run, a huge, wobbly grin spreading across his face, revealing a few tiny baby teeth. It was the first time I had ever seen him smile with such pure, unadulterated joy. I opened my arms, and he crashed into them. I held him tight. “Did you have a good time today?” I asked, my voice bright. He rubbed his face against my neck, nodding vigorously. “Mmhmm.” I kissed his forehead and set him down, presenting him with the caramel apple. “A reward for my brave little warrior.” Liam’s eyes went wide. He stuck out his tongue and gave the sticky coating a tentative lick, then closed his eyes in bliss. The system zipped around him in frantic, glowing circles. 【The villain has become a little foodie!】 7 After that day, something in Liam seemed to shift. He became a little more outgoing. He still preferred being at home, but when friends came knocking, he was willing to go on adventures with them. The kids, in turn, all puffed out their chests and swore to protect him—a fair trade for the steady supply of snacks I provided. Life fell into a peaceful rhythm, punctuated only by the town gossips trying to set me up with eligible bachelors or speculate on just how much money I really had. Then one day, there was a knock at the door. Given the friendly but sometimes intrusive nature of small-town life, I usually kept the main gate latched. Who could that be? I was halfway to the gate when the system’s voice screeched in my head. 【Host, don’t open it! That’s him! That’s the thief who killed the original Alice!】 My hand froze on the latch. Then, deliberately, I slid it open. “It’s fine,” I thought back. “I know how to handle myself.” 【Oh. Right. I forgot.】 A widow living alone attracts a certain kind of trouble. The peace I enjoyed was largely thanks to the fact that I had, on a few occasions, made it clear that my fists were harder than some of the local troublemakers’ heads. The word had gotten around: the woman who’d moved back was not just wealthy, she was tough. I opened the door. A man in a clean-looking, but cheap, button-down shirt stood there. He’d clearly tried to clean himself up, but he couldn’t scrub away the stale odor of cheap cigarettes and booze that clung to him. I offered a polite smile. “Can I help you?” His eyes darted around the yard, a flicker of greed in them. “Hey there,” he said, forcing a grin. “Name’s Bucky. Been working out of state for a few years, just got back. Heard we had a new face in town, thought I’d come say hi.” I kept my smile in place. “Hello. I’m Alice. And I’m not really new, I grew up here. Just moved back home. I don’t think I remember you, though. Are you from around here?” Bucky laughed, a dry, awkward sound. “Moved here later on. Basically a local now.” Just then, a small voice called out from behind me. “Mama!” 8 I turned to see Liam, awake from his nap, standing in the doorway of the house. I beckoned him over. “Liam, come here. This is a new… uncle. Bucky.” Liam trotted over, his eyes, sharp and focused, locked onto Bucky. His whole body went rigid. He pressed himself against my leg and refused to say a word. Bucky chuckled again, the sound even more strained. He dug into his pocket and pulled out two slightly crushed cookies. “Hey there, kiddo. Ever seen one of these before? Go on, take ’em.” A few years ago, a store-bought cookie would have been a real treat for a kid in this town. But now? Liam was practically sick of them. He used his to feed the sparrows. Even the other children weren’t that easily impressed anymore. Liam looked at Bucky, then at the cookies. He reached out his little hand. Bucky’s face broke into a triumphant smile. But Liam didn’t take the cookies. He smacked them out of Bucky’s hand, sending them flying into the dirt. A flash of raw fury crossed Bucky’s face before he caught himself, plastering on another fake smile. “Ha. Haha. Kid’s got no manners, huh?” My own expression hardened. I scooped Liam up into my arms. “He’s just a child, and he doesn’t like being teased by strangers. If you’ll excuse me.” I shut the door in his face. Through the system’s feed, I saw him scratch his head in frustration, muttering under his breath. “Little brat.” He took a step, glanced at the cookies on the ground as if to retrieve them, then saw my neighbor, Patty, peering over the fence. Cursing, he stomped away. A moment later, Patty was at my door, clutching the dirt-covered cookies. She slipped inside, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Alice, honey, you’ve hit the jackpot! That Bucky’s come back with a fortune, and it looks like he’s got his eyes on you!”

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The moment I knew we were over wasn’t during a screaming match or a tearful confession. It was over a piece of cheesecake. I’d found a new bakery and was raving about it, holding out a forkful of the creamy dessert to my fiancé, Ethan. He loved sweets, usually snatching them from my hand without a second thought. But this time, he just gave me a tight, awkward smile. I didn’t think much of it, turning away to pull a compact from my purse and touch up my lipstick. But in the mirror’s reflection, I saw it. I saw Ethan carefully, almost surgically, break off the part my fork had touched. He palmed the tiny piece of cake, and when he thought I wasn’t looking, dropped it into the trash can beside our table. When I turned back, he was already putting the remaining piece in his mouth, chewing with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Wow, you’re right,” he said, his voice a little too loud. “This is incredible. We should get more tomorrow.” At the time, I brushed it off as one of his quirks, a new manifestation of a latent germophobia. It stung, left a small, cold stone in my stomach, but it wasn’t enough to end an engagement over. That stone didn’t dissolve. It sat there until a company dinner a few weeks later. Hailey, Ethan’s new assistant, took a bite of roasted eggplant, made a face, and then, in front of everyone, casually scraped the half-eaten vegetable from her plate into Ethan’s. Without a moment’s hesitation, he picked it up with his own fork and ate it. That night, when we got home, I told him I was calling off the wedding. He pinched the bridge of his nose, the picture of weary frustration. “Because I ate a piece of eggplant she gave me?” “Because she’d already taken a bite of it,” I corrected, my voice dangerously calm. “Audrey, people are right about you,” he scoffed, his voice dripping with condescension. “You’re pathologically jealous. You blow every little thing out of proportion.” “Fine,” I said, the word feeling clean and final. “If you want out, I’m not stopping you. Just don’t come crawling back to me when you realize what you’ve lost.” He laughed, a short, ugly sound. He was so sure of me, so certain of my devotion that he couldn’t imagine a world where I wouldn’t be the one to break. He didn’t understand that even the deepest love can be eroded, worn down to nothing by a thousand tiny acts of disrespect. This time, I was really leaving. 1 The next day, I told my parents I was exploring the merger with the firm in the South instead. They were surprised but, seeing the resolve in my eyes, they supported my decision. After that conversation, Ethan initiated his usual cold war protocol. My number was blocked. I was unfriended, unfollowed, and removed from every shared game and platform. It was his signature move, a childish power play designed to isolate me and force my hand. He was confident I wouldn’t be able to stand the silence, that I’d be the one to click ‘Add Friend’ and beg for his forgiveness. But this time, my cursor hovered over the button, and for the first time, I didn’t press it. A week later, a notification popped up from the company-wide group chat. “To celebrate our CEO’s birthday, Ethan is hosting a party tonight at The Crimson Lounge. Attendance is mandatory for all staff. No exceptions.” To avoid making a scene and putting my colleagues in an awkward position, I went. The moment I stepped into the private room, I saw them. Ethan was in the main booth, the king on his throne, and Hailey was pressed right up against him. Her lips were practically touching his ear as she whispered something, her hand resting on his thigh. They were enclosed in a private bubble, a world so intimate that no one else dared to enter. A moment later, they both burst out laughing, their faces so close a slight turn of the head would have resulted in a kiss. I looked away, a sour taste in my mouth, and found an empty seat in a dark corner. As people started presenting Ethan with their gifts, I ignored the spectacle, focusing on the slow burn of bourbon in my glass. It wasn’t long, however, before a shadow fell over me. I looked up into Ethan’s impeccably handsome face, marred by the familiar look of impatience he reserved just for me. “Audrey, where’s my present?” In the past, I would have started planning his birthday gift months in advance. The most memorable one took me half a year to build: a scale model of the house from his favorite movie, Up. I’d handcrafted every detail, right down to the hundreds of tiny, multi-colored balloons. When I’d launched it, the little house floating toward the sky, he’d promised we would be like Carl and Ellie, together until the very end. I’d actually believed him. I never thought his forever would have a three-year expiration date. Faced with his demanding question, I gave him a flat, empty answer. “I forgot.” My indifference clearly enraged him. His patience snapped. “Audrey, are you done with this tantrum?” he hissed, keeping his voice low. “Are you really going to let one stupid little thing ruin my birthday?” I looked at him, really looked at him, and noticed a faint smear of pink lipstick near the corner of his mouth. Hailey’s shade. The bourbon in my stomach curdled. “I’m not throwing a tantrum,” I said, my voice as steady as a flatline. “And I was serious about calling off the engagement.” For a split second, his expression froze. But then Hailey’s hand found his, her touch grounding him, and his composure returned. She was at his side, her face a mask of concern. “Audrey, please don’t misunderstand,” she said, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “I only gave Ethan my food because I hate to see things go to waste. If… if my presence makes you this uncomfortable, I won’t come to the next dinner. I can just wait and eat everyone’s leftovers at the end.” Her words hit their mark. Ethan’s face softened with a rush of protective pity. “Hailey, don’t say that. You deserve the best of everything in this world,” he said, turning his glare on me. “If anyone shouldn’t be here, it’s Audrey. Who the hell does she think she is? That everyone has to cater to her every whim?” Hailey placed a placating hand on his arm. “Ethan, don’t say that. Audrey might be a little… sensitive, but she’s still your fiancée. You should try to be patient with her. I really don’t want you two fighting because of me.” “Patient with her?” he spat. “Who does she think she is? If my parents hadn’t begged me to go through with this merger, I would never have gotten involved with her. She finds a reason to be angry about every little thing. I’m sick of it. It’s exhausting.” Hailey then walked over to me, placing a hand on my back and leaning in as if sharing a secret between girlfriends. “Audrey, listen,” she said in a tone of profound wisdom. “From one woman to another, you’re being a little dramatic this time. Ethan has been so stressed about this he hasn’t been sleeping. I know you two don’t seem compatible, but you have the merger to think about. Maybe you should both just take a step back.” I knocked her hand away. “You know what I admire most about you, Hailey?” I asked, my voice low and sharp. A cold smile spread across my face. “It’s your complete and utter shamelessness. The way you can spew that sanctimonious bullshit and steal another woman’s fiancé without even batting an eye. It’s truly a gift.” The smug satisfaction on her face vanished, replaced by a flicker of shock. Ethan, however, went from zero to a hundred. “Audrey, who the hell gave you the right to talk to Hailey like that?” “Am I wrong?” I shot back, my voice rising to meet his. “Then tell me, why does she have a matching version of every gift you’ve ever bought me, which she then makes a point of showing off at the office? Why is it that every time you and I have a fight, an exaggerated, twisted version of it becomes gossip in the breakroom, courtesy of her? And how, exactly, does she know about the birthmark on your—” “That’s enough.” The word was punctuated by a sound that silenced the entire room. A sharp, cracking smack. My world dissolved into a dull, ringing chaos. My vision, however, was crystal clear. I could see every face in the room turned toward me, their expressions a sickening collage of pity, contempt, and morbid curiosity. 2 When the ringing in my ears finally subsided, the first thing I heard was Ethan’s voice, loud and declarative. “Alright, everyone, new game,” he announced to the stunned room. “Hailey and I are taking a picture together. I want to see a thousand likes on it. The moment it hits a thousand, I’m dumping Audrey and taking Hailey to get a marriage license.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her from the room without a backward glance. Just before the door swung shut, Hailey looked over her shoulder and gave me a look of pure, triumphant victory. After they left, the room began to empty. The spell was broken. Someone snickered as they walked past. “She has no idea who she’s dealing with. Pushed him too far, and now she’ll regret it.” Another person, one of the kinder ones, stopped by my table. “Look, your pride isn’t worth losing him over. Just go apologize. You know he’ll take you back. Before he really does go and marry Hailey.” I knew, of course, that this was all a twisted test. It was his way of forcing me to bend, to come crawling back and admit I was wrong. But this time, I wouldn’t. Not even if it killed me. Soon, the once-boisterous room was empty, leaving just me and the wreckage. I picked up a half-empty bottle of tequila from the table and drank straight from it, the fiery liquid searing a path down my throat. The burn brought tears to my eyes. A relationship that had spanned decades was really over. Just like that. A corporate marriage a thousand miles south. He couldn’t bother me there. I didn’t understand why, then, my face was already wet with tears. Back at our apartment, I started packing. Ethan and I were childhood sweethearts. We’d spent more of our lives together than apart. The sheer volume of shared history was suffocating. Untangling my life from his felt like an archeological dig. Here was the little red paper star he’d won in kindergarten. He had toddled over to me, his little legs working so hard, and pressed it into my palm. I could still hear his lisping voice: “I’m gonna give all the best things to you, Audrey.” Here was the photo he’d secretly taken of my mortified face the day I got my first period. I’d missed the health class lesson and was convinced I was dying of a rare disease. I’d run to him in a panic, telling him to take care of himself for the rest of his life, that he could get a new girlfriend but she couldn’t be prettier than me. He’d been utterly baffled until he figured it out. He ran to the corner store and bought me pads, and then we sat together and looked up how to use them online. He teased me for not paying attention in class, and I, red-faced and humiliated, bit his arm as hard as I could. Years later, he told me it didn’t hurt at all, but that it was the first time he’d ever felt something different for me. Then we were a couple, separated by different colleges, our relationship measured in bus tickets and mileage. Four years. One hundred and twenty thousand miles was the distance we crossed to be with each other. Back then, his world revolved around me. He never once complained about the hours on the road. My fingers brushed against a small, hard box. Inside were the simple silver bands we’d made for each other. I had moved back to this northern city for him the day after graduation. He’d immediately dragged me to a jewelry-making workshop. I remember the weight of the ring as he slipped it on my finger. “With this ring,” he’d whispered, “you’re mine. Locked down for life. Don’t even think about leaving me.” Neither of us could have imagined that he would be the one to let go. 3 The day Hailey interviewed for a position at the company, her performance was abysmal. Ethan was openly dismissive of her. I didn’t give the under-qualified, unimpressive candidate a second thought. I never understood how, against all odds, she was not only hired but was promoted from an anonymous cubicle dweller to Ethan’s executive assistant. The first time I truly felt the ground shift beneath my feet was when I saw my ring—our custom-made, one-of-a-kind ring—on Hailey’s finger. In the beginning, when I confronted him, Ethan was patient. He’d explain, soothe my fears, and charm me back into complacency. But over time, his patience wore thin, replaced by a constant, simmering irritation. My willingness to forgive, to compromise, to appease him, only emboldened him. His favoritism toward Hailey became more and more flagrant. Company dinners were catered exclusively with her favorite dishes. She started working half-days, spending the rest of her time with Ethan at lunches, galleries, and matinees, while her actual duties as his assistant were quietly offloaded onto my plate. Her name started creeping into our conversations with increasing frequency. First, it was casual praise and admiration. Then, it became comparisons. I wasn’t as easy-going as Hailey. I wasn’t as thoughtful as Hailey. One afternoon, during a coffee run, Ethan mentioned how good his iced latte was. Hailey, sitting nearby, pouted and said she wanted to try. Without a word, Ethan slid his cup over to her. She took the straw, the same one he’d been drinking from, and took a long sip, leaving a perfect pink lipstick print behind. Then, Ethan took the cup back and, without wiping it, continued drinking right where her lips had been. In that moment, it felt like an invisible hand had reached into my chest and squeezed my heart until it was bruised and aching. After that, Hailey’s “platonic” encroachments became more frequent and more brazen. She’d rub sunscreen all over his arms and neck at company picnics, claiming she was worried he’d get burned. She started bringing him homemade lunches on the same days I did, then would eat the one I made, gushing about my “amazing” cooking skills while Ethan ate hers. He even canceled the elaborate birthday dinner he’d promised me because Hailey came down with a minor cold. Every time I expressed my unhappiness, my sense of betrayal, he would shut me down with the same infuriating line. “God, Audrey, you have such a dirty mind. Hailey and I are just friends. It’s a completely platonic relationship. Stop projecting your own insecurities onto her.” Toward the end, even he didn’t sound convinced when he said it. The blow that shattered my remaining denial came when our industry held its annual gala. It was a black-tie event, and attendance with a partner was expected. Ethan never even mentioned it to me. He took Hailey. I only found out after the fact, when several acquaintances awkwardly asked if Ethan and I had broken up. When I confronted him, he somehow managed to be angrier than I was. “I was helping Hailey network! I was developing talent for the company! Why do you have to be so damn petty about everything?” We didn’t speak for a long time after that. Long enough that I thought, this time, it might actually be the end. Then, late one night, my phone lit up with a text from him: Babe, my stomach hurts. All the walls I had built, all my carefully constructed indifference, crumbled in an instant. And so the toxic cycle began again: I would confront him, he would get angry, I would placate him, and he would forgive me. I snapped the ring box shut and threw it into the trash bag at my feet. Deep in a drawer, I found one last artifact: an apology letter he’d written me when we were eighteen because he’d forgotten to text me back once. He had been so afraid of losing me then. Now, the only person he was afraid of losing was Hailey. I took the letter and tore it into tiny pieces, letting them fall like snow into the trash. With decades of emotional baggage cleared out, the apartment felt vast and empty. My heart felt like it had been emptied out right along with it. The company group chat was still buzzing with photos from the party. Hailey making Ethan laugh, Hailey feeding him a piece of his own birthday cake. My colleagues, sensing the shift in power, were all rushing to validate the new royal couple. “OMG, Ethan and Hailey are so perfect together.” “A guy needs a girl like Hailey, not someone like Audrey who’s always miserable and nagging.” “Let’s be real, Audrey only has her job because of her family. Hailey earned her position. There’s no comparison.” I was done reading. I closed the app and dialed my lawyer’s number. I told him to begin the process of liquidating all my investments in Ethan’s company, effective immediately. 4 The next morning, I went to the office to pack up my personal belongings. I walked into my private lounge—a small, quiet office Ethan had designed for me years ago—to find Hailey reclining on the sofa, her feet propped up on my desk. She was wearing a short, silk nightgown. Her makeup, her clothes, her personal effects were strewn across every surface. My things—my books, my photos, my awards—had been unceremoniously dumped in a pile outside the door. This room was my sanctuary. A place Ethan had created specifically for me. Everyone in the company knew it was my space; no one would have dared to set foot inside without permission. Hailey’s actions were a deliberate, blatant declaration of victory. She wasn’t just moving in; she was pissing on the ashes of my territory. I didn’t even bother speaking to her. I turned around, walked out, and called the police. In the sterile mediation room at the local precinct, Hailey’s composure finally cracked. “I was just getting a file for Ethan,” she said, her voice trembling. “Do you really need to call the cops over something so small?” “That is my private, personal space. Did I give you permission to enter it?” I asked calmly. “Entering without asking… isn’t that just another word for theft?” At the word ‘theft,’ Hailey’s eyes welled up with tears. I felt a familiar sense of dread. I knew what was coming. Sure enough, I turned to see Ethan standing in the doorway, his face a thundercloud. “Ethan!” Hailey cried, rushing into his arms. “I was just trying to help you get that file, but I think Audrey really hates me. She’s insisting I was trying to steal from her. I mean, you’ve given me so many gifts I can barely fit them in my new condo… why would I want any of her old things?” This room. This tiny office was Ethan’s reciprocal gift for the Up house I’d built for him. It was our “paradise,” a space filled with so many sweet memories. I had believed, foolishly, that this one place would remain untouched, a final bastion of dignity for what our love used to be. But Ethan seemed determined to personally tear down every last one of my illusions. He stroked Hailey’s hair, murmuring comforting words, before turning to the attending officer. “This is all a misunderstanding,” he explained smoothly. “We all know each other. Sorry to have wasted your time.” Then, he turned to me, his voice dripping with disgust. “What is wrong with you, Audrey? When did you become this bitter, jealous shrew? Does it make you feel powerful, using your position to bully an innocent employee like Hailey? You disappoint me. You really, really disappoint me.” His accusations rained down on me. Before I could even form a defense, Hailey started her performance again. “Ethan, don’t blame Audrey. It was my fault for being careless.”

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I was with my fiancé, picking out a wedding gift to ourselves in a new high-rise, when I ran into the kind of real estate agent who keeps a different face for every occasion. First, she was all over my fiancé, praising him as a titan of industry for pulling up in a Rolls-Royce. Then, she was in my ear, whispering that my designer bag was a cheap knockoff, that I was just another wannabe socialite who could get a condo just by batting her eyelashes. When she found out we were shopping for our marital home, she made sure the whole showroom could hear her when she said, “You know, I thought that godfather of yours—the one who bought you two places last time—he seemed to treat you pretty well.” And then, the kill shot: “Oh, right. I seem to recall there was more than one. Do they all know about each other?” I just smiled. Because my godfathers are exactly that. And the heiress part? That’s real, too. The funny thing is, my fiancé… he was just the scholarship kid I’d put through school. 1 After Ethan finally met my grandfather, the wedding was officially on. We left dinner in the Rolls grandpa had gifted us, heading for a new luxury condo building that had just opened up downtown, ready to buy our first home together. The moment we arrived, I darted off to the restroom. I was in a hurry and accidentally bumped into a saleswoman coming out. A sharp, irritated hiss cut through the air. “Watch where you’re going.” I glanced up at her name tag: Brenda Dunne, Senior Sales Executive. She caught me looking and her lips curled into a sneer. She leaned in, her voice a low, conspiratorial insult. “Some people think a knockoff bag makes them real society,” she murmured. “Spend all day in a lobby they can’t afford, taking selfies for the ‘gram and using the bathroom. Pathetic.” I took a deep breath, my rebuttal already on my tongue, but she just shoved past my shoulder and stalked off. When I came out a minute later, the same Brenda Dunne who had just looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe was now coiled around Ethan, her whole body contorted into a pose of flirty subservience. Her voice, now dripping with saccharine sweetness, was a constant hum as she pointed out the building’s features, finding any excuse to press her chest against his arm. I looked at Ethan, and I got it. It was his first time meeting my grandfather, so he’d dressed the part. The custom suit, the Patek Philippe on his wrist—it was a uniform that women like Brenda were trained to read like a balance sheet. In a neighborhood where a square foot cost more than her car, a single commission could set her up for years. The second Ethan saw me, he flinched back, creating a careful distance between himself and Brenda. He gave me a warm, reassuring smile. “Sloane, there you are. Come over here.” Brenda’s head snapped in my direction, her expression curdling for a split second. “Oh. Miss… Montgomery. You’re with Mr. Hayes?” “I’m so sorry,” she gushed, the apology sounding like an accusation. “I saw your bag earlier and thought it was a knockoff. I just assumed you were here to use the facilities. We get so many wannabes in here for photo ops, you know how it is. You’re not mad, are you?” A knockoff? The bag was a gift from Ethan. And as for whether I was a “wannabe,” Ethan knew the truth better than anyone. Brenda’s words hung in the air. Ethan’s face flushed with awkwardness. “Sloane,” he said quickly, steering the conversation away. “The location is perfect, it’s so close to your family’s place. Should we take a look?” The last thing I wanted was to spend another second with Brenda. I walked past her, straight to Ethan’s side. “I’ve heard enough talk. Let’s just see the model unit.” Ethan wrapped a gentle arm around my shoulder, playfully tapping my nose. “Alright. Whatever you say.” While we waited for the elevator, Brenda’s eyes, shimmering with glittery eyeshadow, were glued to Ethan. “Mr. Hayes, you’re so accomplished for your age. You must be the CEO of your own company, I’m sure.” Ethan offered a polite, noncommittal smile. “Not quite a CEO.” Seeing his smile as an invitation, Brenda lowered her gaze and purred, “Oh, you’re too modest. Anyone who can drive a Rolls-Royce at your age has to be brilliant.” The elevator doors slid open. Brenda shot me a look of pure contempt before subtly tugging down the collar of her blouse, exposing the curve of her breasts. She then physically squeezed between us to get in next to Ethan. As she pushed past, her stiletto heel came down hard on the arch of my foot. A sharp gasp of pain escaped my lips. “What the hell are you doing?” Brenda spun around, her face a mask of wide-eyed innocence. “Miss Montgomery, I am so, so sorry! I was just trying to get the elevator button for you.” Her voice cracked, turning into a desperate whisper. “Please, don’t report me. I’m just a salesgirl. I don’t have it easy like you… you can just bat your eyelashes and get a condo. You can yell at me all you want later, I understand…” Ethan saw the angry red mark on my foot and knelt, his touch gentle. “Sloane, come on. It was an accident.” He looked up at me, his eyes pleading. “I’ll carry you later if it still hurts.” A hot spike of anger shot through my chest, but I thought of the reason we were here. Our future home. My grandfather had finally given us his blessing. I was supposed to be happy. I gave a stiff nod, swallowing my pride. I would endure it. But the moment we stepped into the model unit, a sharp pain radiated up from my foot. I needed to sit down. As I moved toward the sofa, Brenda’s arm shot out, blocking my path. “Miss Montgomery! Just one moment!” She scurried into the bedroom and returned with a stack of hand towels, which she proceeded to meticulously lay across the sofa cushions. “This is designer furniture, Miss Montgomery,” she said, her tone syrupy sweet. “We have to be careful, don’t we? Oh, don’t get me wrong, I do this for all my clients. It’s policy.” She paused, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Though, most of our clients from… good families… they just know these things. I guess your etiquette lessons didn’t quite cover this.” That last line was a slap in the face. I shot to my feet. “What is that supposed to mean?” Ethan looked over, his brow furrowed in concern. Brenda’s expression instantly morphed into one of fawning admiration. “Miss Montgomery! You misunderstood! I was just saying how much I admire you for finding such a wonderful husband!” Her smile was wide and predatory. “It’s not easy to marry into a family like his these days. I’m truly envious.” Ethan came over and knelt by my chair, patting my hand. “After this, I’ll get you that gelato we talked about, okay?” he murmured. “Don’t be angry. You’re not as pretty when you’re angry.” Brenda clutched her towels, her face a picture of stunned innocence. “Miss Montgomery, did I say something wrong? If I did, I am so, so sorry…” I looked at Ethan, at his placating smile, and bit my lip. It was just one saleswoman. It wasn’t worth it. “Forget it.” Ethan’s face relaxed into a relieved grin. He pulled me up, and we began to tour the penthouse. It was a duplex, almost six thousand square feet of opulent design. Even the place settings on the dining table were worth more than my car. I was admiring the view when I felt a sudden, hard shove from behind. I stumbled forward, my hands slamming onto the dining table. A deafening crash echoed through the room as thousands of dollars of crystal and porcelain shattered on the marble floor. A sharp pain seared my leg. I whipped around. Before I could even speak, Brenda burst into tears. “Miss Montgomery… how could you be so clumsy… I…” Ethan rushed over at the sound of the crash. I stared at Brenda, my voice dangerously low. “You pushed me.” Brenda’s eyes darted to Ethan, her lower lip trembling. “Mr. Hayes, I swear I didn’t… This dining set… it costs more than my entire year’s salary. Why would I ever risk having to pay for it?” I pointed to the small, discreet security camera on the ceiling and grabbed her wrist. “You say you didn’t? Fine. Let’s go watch the footage.” Brenda tried to yank her arm away, her voice rising in panic. “Ow! Miss Montgomery, you’re hurting me… Maybe you were just standing too close behind me, I didn’t see you! You shouldn’t have been standing there!” She bent down, starting to pick up the shards of glass, her tears mixing with the mascara running down her face. The short skirt and the damsel-in-distress act were quite a performance. I kicked a piece of broken glass in frustration. “What kind of person do they hire in this place?” Seeing that I was genuinely furious, Ethan pulled me into an embrace. “Sloane, it’s okay. I believe you,” he whispered. “It’s broken, so it’s broken. It’s not like we can’t afford it.” He changed the subject, his voice smooth. “You know, I’ve had a walk around. This duplex is perfect. It would make an incredible home for us.” At the word “home,” Brenda, still on the floor, flinched. Her eyes were red, her voice choked with fake emotion. “But, Miss Montgomery… you know, I think… I think that godfather of yours, the one who bought you two other units… he seemed to treat you pretty well.” She paused, letting the implication sink in. “Oh, right. I seem to recall there was more than one. Do they all know about each other?” Her use of the word “godfather” was drenched in insinuation. Ethan and I both stared at her. She recoiled as if she’d just realized her mistake. “Miss Montgomery… I didn’t mean it like that… I just… I just remembered seeing you here before.” Ethan turned to me, his face a canvas of confusion. “Sloane, what godfather?” Before I could answer, Brenda cut in. “Mr. Hayes, don’t misunderstand…” She hesitated for dramatic effect. “It’s just… last month, I saw Miss Montgomery here with an older man. I think I heard her call him ‘godfather.’ And then later, she was on the phone with someone else, calling him ‘godfather’ too…” She finished with a sickly-sweet smile in my direction. “But, you know, I could have misheard.” I drew out a long, slow “Mhmm,” a half-smile playing on my lips. “You didn’t misremember. I did buy two units in this building. Is there a problem?” I paused. “As for my ‘godfathers’…” It took Ethan a few seconds to process, but when he did, his anger was directed at Brenda. “How dare you spread rumors like that? Sloane would never be that kind of person.” Brenda shook her head frantically. “But we have security cameras, Mr. Hayes. Facial recognition. You can check the records if you don’t believe me…” I was done with her. I grabbed my purse and walked towards the door. “The agent who helped me last time was named Alice. She was far more professional than you. I’ll ask for her.” Hearing that she was about to lose the sale, Brenda scrambled to her feet. “Miss Montgomery! No! I’m sorry, I was wrong!” Ethan hurried to catch up with me. “Sloane, I believe you. Let’s just get a different agent.” Back in the main sales gallery, a polished woman in a smart pantsuit walked briskly towards us. “Miss Montgomery! It’s so good to see you again so soon.” It was Alice. Ethan looked from Alice to me, and I met his gaze. “Ethan, it’s true. I bought two apartments here a few weeks ago.” My father was in real estate. He was always buying property, even while living abroad. Ethan knew this. He didn’t press further, just squeezed my shoulder gently. “I never said I didn’t believe you. This is different. This is our home.” Alice beamed. “You’re buying your marital home? Congratulations, Miss Montgomery!” Suddenly, Brenda came running up from behind, grabbing Alice’s arm. “Alice, you know the client poaching rules!” she hissed. “I was the one who greeted Mr. Hayes first! You can’t steal my client!” Her raised voice attracted stares. The sales manager hurried over. Alice looked completely bewildered. “They’re buying a home together. Naturally, both of their names will be on the deed. But Miss Montgomery is my client. Her last purchase with me was less than 45 days ago. According to the retention rule, she’s still mine.” The manager understood immediately. “That’s correct. Per company policy, this commission belongs to Alice.” Brenda’s face contorted with rage as she glared at me. “Then why didn’t you say so earlier?!” I feigned innocence. “First, if you really recognized me, wouldn’t you already know that? Second, you latched onto my fiancé the second he walked in the door. We never asked for you. Third, I’m the customer. How would I know your internal policies?” Panic washed over Brenda’s face. She grabbed Ethan’s arm, her last desperate attempt. “Mr. Hayes, I know I offended Miss Montgomery, and I’m sorry… but maybe… maybe you could just put the deed in your name? I mean… you’re not married yet…” A cold laugh escaped my lips. My parents were covering the down payment. Did Ethan really have the nerve? He took a deep breath and shook her hand off his arm. “Everything is at my fiancée’s discretion.” The manager, realizing I was the one holding the purse strings, turned on Brenda. “What are you waiting for? Apologize to Miss Montgomery right now!” Under his furious gaze, Brenda mumbled a pathetic apology. Then, with Alice guiding us, we didn’t buy the duplex. We bought the 8,000-square-foot penthouse, the one with the rooftop garden and private pool. The total price was just over thirty million dollars. Watching the color drain from Brenda’s face as she realized she’d just lost a commission worth more than her house… I’ll admit, it felt incredible. I thought that was the end of it. But two weeks later, I got a call from Alice. “Miss Montgomery, I’m at the new Highland Greens course out in the suburbs. I just saw Brenda here… with your fiancé.” I frowned. I knew the golf course. It was a wedding gift to Ethan from my father. He’d been spending a lot of time there recently, saying he wanted to get it running perfectly. Alice continued, her voice cautious. “I don’t think she saw me. She was telling one of my clients that she was Mr. Hayes’s executive assistant.” His assistant? A real estate agent had become Ethan’s executive assistant? I forced my voice to remain calm, thanked Alice, and drove straight to the golf course. At the gate, a security guard stopped my car. “Ma’am, do you have a tee time?” he asked, looking my car up and down. “No one gets in without a reservation.” He sized me up, then added with a dismissive smirk, “And the boss says we have to verify assets. No one with less than a million liquid gets past the gate.” I slid off my sunglasses. “Is that right? Your boss has awfully low standards.” I got out of the car and strode past him. He moved to block me, but froze when I spoke again. “By the time I leave today, this club might have a new boss.” I followed the location Alice had sent me. In the distance, I saw them. Ethan’s arms were wrapped around Brenda from behind, his hands over hers on the club, guiding her swing. Their faces were pressed close together. They looked happy. Rage, white-hot and blinding, consumed me. I walked over, grabbed an iron from a nearby bag, and swung it hard against the stone pathway. The explosive CLANG made Brenda jump. “Hey! This section is closed for a private lesson, how did you…” They turned. The moment they saw me, their faces changed. Ethan dropped his hands from Brenda as if she were on fire. He forced a smile. “Sloane! You should have told me you were coming. I would have picked you up.” I pointed the club at Brenda. “What is she doing here?” Brenda’s eyes immediately welled up. She hid behind Ethan, the picture of pitiable innocence. “Miss Montgomery, please don’t blame him. After you broke that dining set in the showroom, I couldn’t afford to pay for it. The company fired me.” Her voice trembled. “I had nowhere else to go… I had to ask Mr. Hayes for help.” Her words caused a ripple of murmurs among the handful of business partners nearby. Ethan’s face grew dark. For the first time in five years, he raised his voice to me in public. “Sloane, I am the owner of this club. I don’t need your permission to hire staff. Besides, I was there. I saw you break those dishes. I hired Brenda as my assistant to make things right for her. It’s for your own good. We can’t have that kind of story getting out.” The other men nodded in agreement, siding with him. “He’s right, you should be more forgiving,” one of them said to me. “Give the poor girl a break.” The humiliation washed over me, a hot tide of red on my cheeks. In that moment, I felt utterly weak. Faced with their judgment, I couldn’t find the words to defend myself. This was the man I had loved for five years, the man I was going to marry. And he was choosing this woman, this stranger, over me. He had said he believed me. He had lied. Just then, Alice appeared at my side, whispering something urgently in my ear. The world tilted on its axis. My heart plummeted, a sharp pain lancing through my chest. Tears I hadn’t realized were coming streamed down my face. Ethan rarely saw me cry. He panicked. “Sloane, don’t do this. It’s not a big deal.” He reached for me. I slapped his hand away with a ferocity that surprised us both. “Don’t touch me!” I threw the golf club to the ground. “Ethan,” I screamed, my voice raw with pain, “the wedding is off!”

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After my daughter was brutalized by her classmates, I posted a statement online: “I do not intend to press charges, nor will I seek compensation. My child needs to go to school, and life needs to go on.” The entire internet turned on me. What kind of man, what kind of father, was so spineless? So weak? I didn’t deserve to be a dad, they said. But while they were busy insulting me, I had already resigned from my job, sold our house, and divorced my wife, leaving her with everything. Then, I started waking up at 5 a.m. to run. To lift. To practice at the shooting range. The word father isn’t something you say. It’s something you do. 1 I stood outside the emergency room, unable to accept that the person on that gurney—unconscious, covered in wounds—was my daughter. Her skin was a canvas of angry red welts and deep bruises. The doctor told me the lacerations would leave scars she would carry for the rest of her life. Looking at her, a knife twisted in my gut. It had happened because she hadn’t said hello to the right girl in the hallway. For that, she was dragged into a bathroom and beaten by a pack of them. Now, my daughter, Lily, was lying in an ER, her condition uncertain. And the girls who did this to her were down the hall, giggling with each other. They peeked out from behind their parents, sticking their tongues out at us. “Mister, you can’t blame us,” one of them chirped, the ringleader. “Your daughter should have said hi to me. Don’t worry, I won’t touch her at school anymore. But after school… no promises.” Their expressions were light, casual. Not a flicker of remorse. Even the police officer standing nearby couldn’t take it. “Ma’am, sir, could you please control your children? Don’t provoke the victim’s family.” I watched as those parents wrapped their arms around their daughters, their faces etched with protective concern. Their daughters were precious. Was mine just born to be broken? Seeing the rage building in my eyes, the school principal stepped in, his brow furrowed. “Please, calm down. We didn’t want this to happen any more than you did. But the girls know they were wrong, and their parents have agreed to cover all the medical expenses. Isn’t that enough? Let’s not blow this out of proportion.” I stared at him in disbelief. Were those words actually coming out of a grown man’s mouth? An educator? My daughter is brutalized, and when I demand justice, I’m the one blowing things out of proportion. “Why are you looking at me like that? Am I wrong?” he pressed. “They’ve apologized. What more do you want? Do you need to ruin their lives to be happy? Can’t you think about the bigger picture here?” The bigger picture? It was the sickest joke I’d heard in my entire life. Then, a man dripping in gold jewelry—a thick chain, a gaudy watch—spoke to me with a dismissive smirk. “Look, buddy, I get it. You’re just trying to squeeze a little extra cash out of this, right? Cut the act. How much do you want to make this go away?” He was the father of the ringleader. “I have plenty of money,” he continued, “but if you want it, you have to make a public statement. You have to say your daughter’s injuries were from a fall. That my kid had nothing to do with it.” When I didn’t answer, his face hardened. “Hey. Don’t push your luck. I’m giving you an easy way out. You should take it. Because I have a thousand ways to make sure you can never make a living in this town again.” There’s an old saying: the kindest people are the ones who get taken advantage of the most. What he didn’t know was that the last person who spoke to me like that has been dead for a very long time. 2 When Lily woke up, she curled into a ball under the hospital blanket and refused to come out. Seeing her small body trembling made my heart ache. It was only when she heard my voice that she finally responded, slowly peeking her head out. Her small face was a mask of terror. She scrambled out of the sheets and threw herself into my arms. “Daddy, Mommy, I’m so scared,” she sobbed. “They all hurt me. I don’t want to go back to school. I’m so, so scared.” I raised my hand to stroke her hair, but my eyes caught the angry red lines on her back, and the pain in my chest sharpened. This was my little girl, who would cry in my arms over a paper cut. I couldn’t imagine the desperation she must have felt during that hour of torture. “Daddy,” she whispered into my shirt, “you always say you only get punished when you do something wrong. What did I do wrong? I just… I wasn’t wearing my glasses, so I didn’t see her.” I held her tighter, stroking her head. “You did nothing wrong, sweetheart. Nothing. They are the ones who are wrong.” I pulled back to look her in the eyes. “And I promise you, Daddy will make sure that the people who did wrong will pay for it.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Really, Daddy?” I nodded, my voice firm. “Really.” My wife, Sarah, sat beside us, wrapping her arms around Lily, her expression a mixture of heartbreak and helpless rage. After we finally managed to get Lily to fall asleep, I drove to the police station. The officer’s words sent my heart plummeting back into that dark pit. It turned out the ringleader, Madison, had a long history of this. Her parents were both high-powered attorneys. They had used their connections to get their daughter a falsified psychiatric diagnosis—some kind of intermittent explosive disorder—which had helped her escape legal consequences more than once. “What kind of bullshit is that?” I demanded. “She gets a free pass to be a monster just because she’s a minor? A fake diagnosis makes her untouchable?” The officer let out a heavy sigh, his gaze full of sympathy. “I’m sorry, man. Our hands are tied. The best we can do is push for a bigger settlement. If they bother your daughter again, call us immediately.” So that was it. Who knew how many other kids would have to suffer at her hands? Just then, my phone buzzed. A new message. I opened it and my blood ran cold. It was a video of Lily being beaten. 3 In the video, Lily was gasping for air as several girls held her down. Her face was already swelling, turning purple and blue as she cried helplessly. “You guys are hitting her too hard,” a voice said off-camera, laughing. “You knocked her tooth out! How’s she gonna look pretty now?” Madison then pointed the camera directly at Lily’s face for a close-up before pulling out a large pair of scissors and hacking at her hair. The video ended with the girls turning the camera on themselves. They each had a foot planted on Lily’s back, and they were all smiling, flipping off the camera with their middle fingers. Beside me, Sarah choked back a sob, her tears falling onto my hand. Her own hands were trembling, unable to watch another second. “Those animals,” she whispered, her voice shaking with rage. “I’ll kill them. I’ll burn my life to the ground to get justice for Lily.” She was completely falling apart. But my heart… my heart had become unnervingly calm. When we got home, I walked straight to the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and dumped every single pill I owned into the toilet. A fake psychiatric diagnosis lets you do whatever you want without consequences? Is that how it works? Fine. Let’s see what happens when a real one stops taking his medicine. Because when the madness comes, even I can’t control myself. 4 This was my secret. No one knew except for Sarah. As a kid, I was a victim of bullying, too. It was relentless, and it broke something inside me. It gave me a gift: a severe bipolar disorder with psychotic features. The first time I snapped, I stabbed every one of my tormentors with a pencil. The second time, I cut a rabid dog that bit me into pieces. The third time, I killed a neighbor who tried to assault me. After that, I was sent away. I spent ten years in a state psychiatric hospital before I was deemed stable enough for release. The condition of that release was a lifetime of medication. Even I, a man with a genuine, violent mental illness, understood the necessity of medicine. I knew I had a responsibility to control myself, to keep society safe from what I was capable of. But Madison, with her sham diagnosis, was using the shield of mental illness as a weapon to terrorize the weak. If the sane world and its rules couldn’t give my daughter justice, then it was time for me to return to the world of the insane. 5 I gathered all our important documents and drove Sarah to the courthouse. She was silent the entire way, her hand just holding mine tightly. I signed everything away. The house, the savings, all of it. Full custody of Lily went to her. The clerk handling the uncontested divorce had never seen anything like it. She kept looking from me to Sarah with suspicion, trying to talk us out of it, but finally, she just stamped the papers. As we left, Sarah stopped me. “Whatever you’re going to do, I support you. Just one thing. Don’t hurt yourself. Lily and I still need you.” Fifteen years we’d been together. She was, and always would be, my rock. Back at our half-empty house, Lily limped over to me with a glass of water. The scabs on her face were still healing. I pulled her into a hug, my heart aching. “Lily-bug,” I said softly. “I’ve already arranged for you to take a break from school. How about you and Mommy go visit Grandma and Grandpa for a while?” She looked down, ashamed. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I caused so much trouble. It’s okay, I can go back to class. I’ll just… I’ll hide from them.” She said it was okay, but I could see the profound terror in her eyes. After I promised her again and again that everything would be all right, she finally, cautiously, nodded. At the train station, just before they boarded, Lily, wearing a hat and a mask to hide her face, turned back one last time. “Daddy, you’ll come get us soon, right? Me and Mommy are going to miss you so much.” Watching their train pull away, I took a deep breath. Don’t worry, Lily. The bad people will get what they deserve. Daddy promises. 6 That day, I posted a picture of my signed divorce papers and the agreement giving Sarah all our assets on my Facebook page. The caption was simple: Starting today, I’m back to being me. The news hit my circle of friends and family like a bomb. Messages flooded in. Why? Why the divorce? I had a sweet daughter, a loving wife. I was the one all my friends envied. Amid the dozens of messages of concern, one notification stood out: a series of celebratory fireworks emojis sent by Madison’s parents. Then, a new private message from Madison herself. Hey Mister. Heard you got kicked out. Did your wife finally dump you? How’s life on the streets? Hope you find a new wife and have a healthy daughter soon. Oh, and by the way, make sure I never see your daughter again. My… condition… might flare up. I can’t control myself, you know. Attached was a photo. A small, white rabbit, its fur shaved off, its body covered in cuts and bruises. Lily’s favorite animal was a rabbit. I suppressed the surge of rage and posted a second image: a copy of my official diagnosis for severe bipolar disorder, stamped with the red seal of a well-known psychiatric hospital. My first day off my meds, I wrote. Suddenly feeling the urge to kill someone. And one last detail. Forgot to mention, the hospital that issued this is the same one that diagnosed Madison King. Same doctor, too. As expected, Madison’s father appeared in the comments. Falsifying a medical document is a felony, you know. Are you trying to threaten us by pretending to be crazy? I ignored him. I stuck to my new routine. A six-mile run every morning. Weight training. Marksmanship drills. Fighting practice. I stopped talking about the bullying incident entirely. It was as if it had never happened. The other parents were ecstatic. They thought they had won. Life was back to normal for them. I was at the range, emptying my last magazine, when the police called. They wanted me to come in and sign the settlement agreement. I refused. I didn’t want their money. And I damn sure didn’t want a settlement. The officer pleaded with me for a long time, but finally gave up and started calling the other parents to inform them. The moment they heard I’d rejected the deal, they exploded. “We already agreed to pay! What more does he want?” “He’s just trying to extort more money! Fine, now he gets nothing! Let’s see how long he can hold out!” Lily’s homeroom teacher called to blame me for making things difficult. “If you continue this unreasonable behavior, we’ll have no choice but to expel your daughter. We can’t have our school’s reputation damaged by this.” “You can’t be so selfish. No wonder your daughter has problems. She has no sense of community spirit. How will she ever fit in?” “Do you have any idea how long the principal yelled at me today? If you want to blackmail these families for more money, fine, but don’t drag me into it! My performance review is this year! If this messes it up, I’m holding you responsible!” “And besides,” he added, his voice dripping with disdain, “it was just a little fight. Does she have to be so dramatic?” I hung up, unwilling to listen to another word. After hearing I wouldn’t settle, Madison’s father began calling me nonstop. “I’m a lawyer! I have connections you can’t even imagine! You think I can’t find out every dirty little secret about you with one phone call? I’ll have you crucified online!” I knew he probably could. But what did it matter anymore? I blocked his number. In their sprawling mansion, Madison’s parents sat on a velvet sofa, staring at the red exclamation point on their screen. Furious, Madison’s father picked up his phone and dialed a number. “I want everything you can find on Lily’s parents. Everything.” A short while later, his phone rang. “Mr. King, we found it.” “Ethan’s parents filed for divorce seven days ago. The father, Ethan, voluntarily gave up all marital assets. He also quit his job the next day. For the past week, his routine has been the same: morning runs with a weighted vest, and afternoons at a shooting range.” The voice on the other end hesitated. “There’s more, sir. This man… Ethan… he previously killed three people. He spent ten years in a state psychiatric hospital.” “Divorce? Quit his job? Shooting range? Psychiatric…?” Mr. King’s hand went limp. The glass of water he was holding slipped and shattered on the marble floor. “He… he’s really mentally ill?”

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In the end, they both lost their memories. Forgot each other completely. Started new lives, clean slates. And the heroine? She met me. A nobody. A background character. We fell in love, got married, had a son. Six years passed. Then, on a day no different from any other, my wife remembered everything. Shimmering text, like a glitch in the very air before my eyes, flickered into existence: 【OH MY GOD, THEY WROTE A BONUS CHAPTER FOR THIS ANGST-FEST?】 【YES! THE LEADS FINALLY HAVE THEIR MEMORIES BACK! ARE WE GETTING A HAPPY ENDING?!】 【But wait, they’re both married to other people now. How is this going to work?】 【Easy. They each divorce their stand-in spouses and get back together! Duh!】 That evening, I walked the city streets, hollowed out and lost. My gaze met that of another woman, her face a mirror of my own despair. A cigarette was pinched between her fingers as she spoke into her phone, her voice tight. The person on the other end asked, loud enough for me to hear: “Ma’am, he’s saying something about his memory returning. He wants a divorce to go find his first love. Are you going to agree to this?” My feet froze to the pavement. 1 I’d only just learned it from the shimmering text, the impossible truth: I am a side character in a tragic romance novel. A placeholder. After the hero and heroine both suffered from amnesia, the heroine—my wife—met me. We fell in love. We built a life. And the hero? He married the second female lead. The evening streets were a blur of nameless faces coming and going. I stared at the phantom words hovering in the air, my mind a complete blank. I walked without direction, without purpose, until I nearly collided with her—the woman with the same broken look in her eyes. She was smoking, talking on the phone. As I passed, the voice on the other end cut through the city noise, sharp and clear. “Ma’am,” the voice said, hesitant. “He’s saying something about his memory returning. That he needs to find his first love. That this marriage of convenience is over.” A pause. “Are you going to agree to the divorce?” The woman stood in the deepening shadows of an alley, the cherry of her cigarette glowing and fading, obscuring her expression in the twilight. My steps faltered. This was too much of a coincidence. It had to be her. The woman the text described as the hero’s wife. I found myself looking at her, a strange kinship pulling at me. I didn’t want her to see me staring, so I ducked behind the corner of the brick building, my heart pounding. I had to hear her answer. If she refused the divorce, then the hero couldn’t come for my wife, for Lila. And if he couldn’t come for her… maybe Lila would stay with me. Maybe our life could go on. A fragile, desperate hope took root in my chest. I waited. The silence stretched. No answer came. Confused, I risked a peek around the corner. The next thing I saw was a pair of impossibly high heels planted directly in front of me. The woman was holding her phone, a wry, humorless smile playing on her lips as she looked down at me. “Having fun back there, pal?” she asked, her voice laced with ice. I flinched. The voice on her phone was still babbling, oblivious. “…Ma’am, if the matriarch finds out she’s not getting a grandchild and you’re getting a divorce, she’ll have another episode, I just know it…” The woman’s brow furrowed in annoyance. She ended the call without a word. I was frozen, unsure of what to say. “Sorry,” I managed to stammer out. She studied me for a second, then her gaze went distant. It was clear she was dismissing me, ready to walk away. I hadn’t heard her answer. Panic flared in my gut, and without thinking, I reached out and grabbed her sleeve. She stopped, turning to look at me with cold indifference. I knew this was insane, that I was crossing a line, but I couldn’t help it. “So,” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, “are you going to divorce him?” The woman was silent for a long moment, her expression unreadable. She seemed to be trying to figure out why a complete stranger would be this invested. She pulled her arm from my grasp and let out a short, sharp laugh. “Mister, you have a serious problem with boundaries.” And with that, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the evening crowd. 2 I took a deep breath outside our front door, trying to piece myself back together before going in. When I opened it, my son, Finn, came barreling toward me, wrapping his small arms around my leg. “Daddy, you’re home!” Lila emerged from the kitchen carrying a casserole dish, a familiar, easy smile on her face. “There you are. Go wash up, dinner’s ready.” Her expression was normal. Everything was normal. Finn darted over to his mom. “Mommy, I can help!” Lila smiled and crouched down to his level, shaking her head. “That’s okay, sweetie. Why don’t you take Daddy to wash his hands?” He chirped a yes and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the bathroom. Nothing in our home had changed. Lila had picked up our son from school, she had cooked my favorite meal. Later that night, everything was the same as well. She curled up against me in bed, her body fitting perfectly against mine, and we whispered our good nights. It was just another ordinary, mundane day. She was still the wife who loved me, not the heroine of some tragic novel. The text appeared again, a chorus of despair. 【This is brutal… The heroine and hero saw each other on the street today. The second their eyes met, they both remembered everything.】 【And yet… they just looked away. Went back to their separate lives. So calm.】 【Well, yeah… It’s been six years. They both have families now.】 【I don’t believe for a second they’re over each other. Not after a love like theirs. It was epic.】 【But the heroine seems so serene… Maybe she loves the placeholder husband more now. He’s been with her for six years, after all.】 I held Lila in my arms, her steady breathing a familiar comfort, and a single thought echoed in my mind: Does she really love me more? I didn’t know. All I knew was that Lila had forgotten. Today was our sixth wedding anniversary. 3 Sleep didn’t come easily. When it finally did, it was a restless, shallow thing. I woke in the middle of the night, reaching for the warmth beside me out of instinct. My hand met empty, cool sheets. My eyes flew open. I was instantly awake. She was gone. The text flared, buzzing with excitement. 【YESSSSSS! I KNEW IT! THEY CAN’T STAY AWAY FROM EACH OTHER!】 【Rhys is still the bold one, going right to her house!】 【God, the tension, the forbidden longing… this is what I live for.】 The air was chilly; autumn had settled in. A light rain was falling outside. I went to the window and looked down at the street below. And there he was. The hero, Rhys, soaked to the bone, staring up at Lila with a look of stubborn, desperate pain. I couldn’t hear their words, but the text provided a live broadcast. Tears, or maybe just rain, streamed down his face as he asked her, his voice thick with emotion, “Lila… is this really it for us? Is this how it ends?” My wife just stood there in silence. His composure broke. He grabbed her hands. “It should have been me! I should be the one married to you, sleeping next to you, having children with you! It should have been me!” His voice cracked. “He stole my place… Lila, this is all wrong. We were never supposed to end up like this…” Lila’s back was to me, hiding her face. After a long moment, she slowly reached up and gently touched his cheek. All she said was, “You’ll catch a cold.” His hand froze on hers. He stared at her for a second, his eyes searching hers. Then, throwing all caution to the wind, he leaned in and kissed her. Lila seemed to resist at first, her hands coming up to his chest. But he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His wet lips met hers in a kiss filled with the bitter taste of tears and regret. He was crying, his eyes red-rimmed as he murmured against her mouth, “We used to do this all the time… Are you really going to push me away?” Lila went still. And in the end, she didn’t push. She didn’t run. 【Oh, my heart… it’s breaking. Can’t they just get back together already? For my sake!】 【This is so tragic. They were once the closest people in the world, torn apart by amnesia, missing out on so many years.】 【My ultimate star-crossed lovers. Please, universe, just give them a break. Please.】 I stood at the window, watching my wife kiss another man. Their story was a tragedy, no doubt. But as I stood there, a numb, hollow question formed in my mind. What about me? From twenty-two to twenty-eight. Six years of my life. The entire youth I spent with Lila. What was I supposed to do with that? 4 Just then, a mechanical voice echoed not in the room, but inside my head. It introduced itself as the System. It got straight to the point. 【Greetings, Host. I am the System that governs this world.】 【Would you be willing to accept a mission? Successful completion will result in a substantial financial reward.】 I blinked, stunned. “What mission?” I thought, not daring to speak aloud. The System replied: 【In order to satisfy reader demand, you must facilitate the happy ending between the male and female leads.】 【You will need to complete a series of tasks to ensure the hero and heroine end up together.】 The absurdity of it hit me like a physical blow. “You mean… you want me to personally push my own wife into the arms of another man?” “Don’t you think that’s a little messed up?” The System was silent for a long moment. Then, with a mental flick, a torrent of information flooded my brain. My head swam for a few seconds. I was seeing their entire history. Lila and Rhys. From their first meeting to their passionate, all-consuming love affair. It was exactly like a novel—dramatic, thrilling, epic. They fought their families, they fought the world, they overcame every obstacle just to be together. The System’s voice was cool and clinical in my ear. 【No one could ever forget a love that profound. They were always meant to be together.】 I understood. Its logic was brutal and flawless. Their love story was so powerful, so foundational, that even if I did nothing, Lila would leave me eventually. It was inevitable. My role was simply to make it happen sooner. The System added another incentive. 【Upon successful completion of the mission, you will be rewarded with fifty million dollars. Enough for you and your son to live comfortably for the rest of your lives.】 【So. Have you made your decision?】 I looked down at the two figures on the street, still clinging to each other. I thought about the last six years. Six years of marriage. Lila’s meticulous care for me, the clumsy way she learned to mix formula for Finn, how she knew all of my favorite foods and Finn’s little quirks. But when I replayed those six years in my mind, a highlight reel of our life together… it only took five minutes. She had been a wonderful wife. An amazing partner. But that was before she remembered. I took a deep, shuddering breath. “Tell me what I have to do.” The System immediately issued the first task. 【Convince the second female lead to divorce the hero.】 5 The next day was Saturday, so Finn was home from kindergarten. He was in a clingy mood, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave him. I ended up taking him with me to complete the mission. Following the System’s directions, I found the hero’s wife’s home. My plan was to feel out her attitude first. My timing, however, was terrible. A butler showed me into a lavish living room where the woman from the street, Seraphina, was slouched elegantly in an armchair, being lectured by an elderly woman. “Twenty-nine years old, and you haven’t even given me a great-grandchild. I’m asking you, will I get to hold one before I die?” Finn, shy in the unfamiliar environment, clutched my pant leg and peeked out from behind me, his eyes wide and curious. Before I could say a word, the old woman’s eyes lit up. Her stooped back straightened, her shuffle became a surprisingly brisk walk, and she headed straight for us. She bent down, her face beaming with affection. “Oh, my goodness! My sweet great-grandson, look how handsome you are!” She reached out to pick Finn up. It all happened so fast that no one reacted. It was Seraphina who moved first, stepping between them and gently prying the old woman’s hands away. “Grandma,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind, “this isn’t your great-grandson.” “Nonsense!” the old woman retorted. “I’d know him anywhere! Give me back my great-grandson!” Seraphina turned to me with an apologetic sigh. “She gets confused sometimes. My apologies.” Then, she narrowed her eyes at me. “However—Mr. Ethan Cole, husband of my husband’s first love,” she said, her tone dripping with irony. “To what, exactly, do I owe the pleasure?” I wasn’t surprised she knew who I was; of course she’d have done her research on Lila and her family. Looking at her, I felt a strange sense of camaraderie. We were in the same impossible, miserable boat. I chose my words carefully. “It seems your husband doesn’t love you.” Seraphina gave me a deadpan look. “Tell me something I don’t know.” I was at a loss. “…” “So… can you divorce him?” She seemed genuinely surprised by my directness. “Are you sure about that? After I divorce him, he’s going to come for your wife.” She smirked. “What is this? Are you so in love with your wife that you’re willing to set her free for her own happiness?” I was stuck. I couldn’t mention the System. That was the only plausible explanation left. So I went with it. I looked her in the eye, my expression pleading. “Yes. So, will you help them? Will you set them both free?” This time, Seraphina was silent for a full thirty seconds. “Fine. I’ll grant the divorce. But I have one condition.” “What is it?” “You have to be my boyfriend.” I stared at her, confused. “Why?” She gestured toward her grandmother, who was now trying to coax Finn into playing with her pearls, and shrugged helplessly. “You see how it is. The old dear isn’t well. She obsesses over a great-grandchild.” “After the divorce, I’ll need someone new to play the part of my husband. And my child.” Her words clicked with the information the System had given me. Seraphina had married Rhys as part of a family business merger, but also to give her ailing grandmother peace of mind. I thought about it. “Okay,” I said, nodding. “I can do that. I can pretend for your grandmother. Just call me when you need me.” “It will also require a certain level of public affection in her presence,” she added. I clenched my jaw. “Fine.” A slow, genuine smile spread across Seraphina’s face. “It’s a deal then, my dear pretend-boyfriend.” 6 When I got home, Lila had dinner on the table, just like always. I had barely stepped inside when there was a knock on the door. It was a delivery guy from the dry cleaner’s. He handed me a garment bag. “Your order, sir.” I didn’t remember sending anything to be cleaned. I unzipped the bag. It was Lila’s overcoat. And even though it had just come from the cleaners, I could swear I smelled the faint, sharp scent of a man’s cologne. The scene from last night flashed in my mind. The rain, the kiss. Lila walked over from the kitchen. “What is it? Why are you just standing there…?” Her voice trailed off as she saw the coat in my hands. Our eyes met. For a split second, I wanted to scream at her. To demand to know why her coat smelled like him, why she forgot our anniversary, why she was tearing our lives apart. But under the warm lights of our home, Finn was watching me with his innocent eyes. On the table, a hot meal, cooked by my wife, was waiting. Everything looked so painfully, beautifully normal. It was a happiness so fragile that I lost all courage to shatter it. It felt as if, as long as I didn’t ask, as long as I didn’t say a word, I could keep this perfect, crumbling illusion intact just a little longer. I took a breath, folded the coat calmly, and handed it to her. “Your coat.” Lila watched me for a long moment before taking it in silence. As she did, something small and heavy slipped from the pocket and clattered onto the floor. I looked down. It was a small, velvet box. “Huh?” Finn said, pointing. “Mommy, you still haven’t given Daddy his present?” A present? I froze. Finn had been telling me for weeks, in that secretive way little kids have, that Mommy had a special surprise for me. This must have been it. The anniversary gift she had forgotten to give me. The box lay on the floor between us. It felt as if the fall had cracked the very foundation of the life we were pretending to live. Lila stared at the box, her expression momentarily blank, followed by a wave of panic. She finally remembered. The sixth anniversary she had let slip her mind. She quickly picked it up, her face a mask of apology. “Ethan… honey, I’m so sorry. Work has been so crazy, I completely forgot about our anniversary.” “This is for you. We’ll celebrate properly soon, I promise. Okay?” I looked up, studying her face, searching for a tell. This was the same pleading, cautious expression she always wore when she thought I was mad at her. It had always worked before. I’d never once doubted her sincerity. But this time, I stared into her eyes for a long, long time, trying to find a single shred of evidence that she still loved me. Seeing my silence, a flicker of fear crossed her face. She did what she always did. She stepped into my arms, tilted her head up, and peppered my face with soft, apologetic kisses. “Are you angry? It’s my fault. Please don’t be angry with me, honey.” Finn tugged on her sleeve, pouting. “I wanna kiss Daddy too!” Lila stroked his hair. “Daddy’s upset right now. Let Mommy make him feel better first, then he’s all yours.” Later, after dinner, she was all over me. For six years, she had been a perfect wife, a perfect mother. Whenever I was upset, regardless of whose fault it was, she was always the first to smooth things over. Comforting me seemed to be an instinct for her. She pulled me close, her lips finding mine with a familiar warmth. For a moment, I could almost believe she was back—the Lila who loved me, and only me. After the kiss, her breathing grew heavier. She slid her hand under my shirt, her palm flat against my stomach. “Honey,” she murmured, her voice husky, “let me take care of you tonight. Anything you want, as long as you’re not mad anymore.” When I didn’t respond, she took my hand and placed it on the firm muscles of her abdomen. “I’ve been working out,” she whispered, a little vulnerably. “Want to… check my progress?” Lila had always been a good partner. In every sense of the word. Finally, after a long silence, I lifted my arms. And wrapped them around her waist. … When I carried her to the bathroom later, she was so exhausted she could barely open her eyes. I cleaned her up, carried her back to bed, and held her as she fell asleep. I woke up sometime in the night. Lila was sleeping soundly beside me. Her phone on the nightstand lit up with a new message. I squinted, picking it up. The bright screen stung my eyes. On her lock screen, a single text message glowed in the dark. 【Let’s wear a tux and a gown, just once. Fulfill our promise from when we were eighteen. After that, we can go our separate ways. For good.】

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My best friend and I were job hunting when we got an offer from the Rhys family—one of the country’s wealthiest dynasties. They were recruiting wives for their two sons. One son was a notorious ice king; the other was in a coma after a car accident. The deal: survive one year of marriage and walk away with ten million dollars. Conveniently, I had a nursing degree. My friend, Blaze, had a Ph.D. in seduction. It was a perfect match. We looked at each other, and the decision was unspoken. When a fortune that obscene falls into your lap, you say, “I do.” But less than six months in, the ice king’s old flame—the one that got away—came back. That’s when Blaze pounded on my door in the middle of the night, a storm in her eyes. “That ghost of his is no saint, Sienna. I’m making a run for it. You in?” “I’m with you,” I said without hesitation. I glanced down at the stacks of cash I’d been counting. “I’ve only saved up about five million. I’ll have to crash on your couch.” Blaze finalized her divorce one day; I filed mine the next. But the night before I was supposed to leave, as I was packing my bags to make a clean getaway, my comatose husband woke up. His arm snaked around my waist from behind, his body pressing against mine. “My brother’s old love came back,” he whispered, his voice a low, warm hum against my skin. “I don’t have one. So where do you think you’re going?” 1 I was humming to myself, delighting in the neat stacks of cash spread across my bed, when Blaze burst into my room. “Sienna, I need sanctuary.” She collapsed onto my mattress, rubbing her lower back with a pained expression. “And if I ever hear another person call Donovan Rhys an ‘ice king,’ I will personally tear them limb from limb.” She groaned dramatically. “One more night like that and my spine is going to turn to dust.” As Blaze writhed on my bed, I patted my own chest in silent, grateful relief. Thank God my husband was in a coma. My duties were simple. Every day, I took a warm towel from the nurse, gave him a quick sponge bath, and clocked out. All for a salary that would make a CEO weep. Six months ago, Blaze and I were sending out resumes to anyone who would take them. Then, we both got a call from the Rhys family. It wasn’t until we arrived at their palatial estate that we learned the position was “daughter-in-law.” Eleanor Rhys, the family matriarch, dripped with diamonds and quiet authority. She handed us each a check for twenty thousand dollars just for showing up. “Ms. Hayes, you studied nursing, correct?” I nodded. A satisfied smile touched her lips. “Then I have no reservations about placing my younger son, Asher, in your care.” My friend Blaze, on the other hand, had a different set of qualifications. On her application, under the ‘special skills’ section, she’d cheekily written “Master of Seduction.” Somehow, it had caught Eleanor Rhys’s eye. After settling things with me, she turned to Blaze with a look of intrigued curiosity. “Ms. Astor,” she began, “my eldest son, Donovan, is… emotionally distant. He has no interest in women. But if you were to find a way to get pregnant, to give me a grandchild—” Eleanor let a platinum credit card glint under the light. “—then a ten-million-dollar bonus is yours.” Blaze and I lived by a single motto: “Wise women don’t fall in love; they build empires.” The second that card flashed, Blaze’s back straightened. “Consider it done,” she said, her voice pure confidence. Eleanor nodded, pleased. “I understand that marrying my sons under these circumstances is a significant sacrifice.” “After one year of marriage, you will each receive ten million dollars for your time and trouble.” We both nearly dropped to our knees in gratitude. This wasn’t “time and trouble.” This was a winning lottery ticket delivered by an angel. And just like that, Blaze and I married into the Rhys family on the same day. 2 “Sienna, honey, could you just… right there,” Blaze moaned from my bed. “Can I sue our mother-in-law for false advertising? Her son isn’t an ice king. He’s a ravenous beast sent to destroy me.” Our “mother-in-law,” of course, was Eleanor. I kneaded her lower back, my sympathy genuine. For the first two months, Donovan had lived up to his reputation. He barely glanced at his new wife and often stayed out all night. But Blaze was no shrinking violet. She’d always claimed that no man was immune to her charms; she could turn a saint into a sinner with a single look. And with ten million dollars on the line, she unleashed her entire arsenal. Two months later, even though our suites were on different floors of the mansion, I could often hear… evidence of her success. Once, Blaze complained to me in a hushed, conspiratorial tone that Donovan had actually broken their bedframe. I was about to offer some words of comfort when a deep, masculine voice echoed from the hallway. “Blaze. I know you’re in there.” Donovan’s tone was low, insistent. “Come back to our room. Now.” Blaze shot up like a startled cat. After a silent, pleading look at me, she was lured out of my room under a mix of threats and promises I couldn’t quite hear. I was about to settle in with a movie when I remembered I hadn’t done my daily rounds with my own husband. Sighing, I threw on a silk robe, grabbed a fresh towel, and padded into the master suite’s inner bedroom. With practiced movements, I dipped the cloth in warm water and began to gently wipe down Asher’s smooth skin. Even after six months, I couldn’t help but admire him. A quiet sigh escaped my lips. “Such a waste,” I murmured to the silent room. “If you weren’t… you know… you’d have women lined up around the block.” Speaking to the empty air, I undid the buttons of his pajama top. A perfectly sculpted chest was revealed. And an idea, wicked and tempting, sparked in my mind. If I just… touched his abs… he’d never know, right? A debate started in my head. Sienna, have some respect! one voice scolded. But another, more persuasive one whispered, He’s your husband. Technically, his body is your body. What’s a little exploratory touch between man and wife? The mischievous voice won. Taking a deep breath, I reached out a trembling hand and tentatively stroked the firm muscles of his abdomen. Then again, more boldly this time. It felt… incredible. That’s when I noticed it. A faint flush was creeping up Asher’s neck, his cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink. My own face burned. But I brushed it off. He wasn’t objecting, was he? That was basically permission. 3 In the days that followed, it was like a whole new world had opened up to me. Every time I went in to give Asher his bath, my hands would wander, taking their sweet time exploring his physique. It became my favorite part of the day. And every time, without fail, that handsome blush would spread across his face. At first, I felt a little guilty, but now it was just part of our routine. I even started teasing him about it, my voice a low whisper in the quiet room. “You owe me this, you know,” I’d say, my fingers tracing the lines of his stomach. “Look at your brother, a regular stallion. I got the short end of the stick here. A few extra touches are the least you can do to make it up to me.” One afternoon, after lunch, I shooed the day nurse away, closed the door, and was just about to begin my… duties… with my husband. But a sharp knock echoed through the suite. It was Blaze, dressed in a stunning but disheveled evening gown. “Sienna! I’m leaving! I’m done!” Her hair was a mess, and a dark red stain, suspiciously like wine, was splattered across the front of her dress. I opened the door wider. “What happened? Who did this to you?” My sleeves were already halfway up my arms. Anyone who messes with my best friend messes with me. Blaze’s voice was shaking with fury. “Donovan’s old flame is back! That bitch, Isabelle, ‘accidentally’ spilled a glass of cabernet all over me at the fundraiser and then played the innocent victim. She’s a goddamn snake!” I froze. I knew Donovan was emotionally unavailable, but I’d never heard anything about a great lost love. Blaze was getting more worked up by the second, punching one of the decorative panels on my door. “Donovan isn’t an ice king! He’s a goddamn monk, saving himself for Saint Isabelle! And now that she’s back, he not only lets her humiliate me, he tells me I need to apologize to her! I can’t do this anymore!” Her eyes flashed with a terrible realization. “All those nights… was I just her stand-in? I’m out of here, Sienna. I’m filing for divorce today!” A cold anger settled in my own stomach. What a bastard. Blaze grabbed my hands, her gaze intense. “Are you coming with me?” I glanced back toward the bedroom, a pang of regret for the abs I wouldn’t get to touch tonight. I swallowed hard. Looking into Blaze’s desperate eyes, I made my choice. “Best friends bail together. You go today, I’ll go tomorrow.” We sealed the plan with a pact. “There’s just one problem,” I admitted. “I’ve only got about five million saved up. I might need to borrow some cash.” Blaze waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry. To get rid of me, that cheating bastard gave me the deed to our villa on the coast. I’ll sell it, cash out, and we’ll split it fifty-fifty.” It sounded like a solid plan. Our great escape was officially in motion. 4 As the story went, Donovan didn’t come home after the fundraiser. He was too busy escorting his precious Isabelle. With me as her witness, Blaze called him. In an instant, she transformed. Her eyes welled with tears, her voice trembled with heartbreaking sorrow. “Donovan,” she whispered, “I want a divorce.” There was a long silence on the other end. “Blaze, I just drove Isabelle home,” he said, his voice laced with annoyance. “What are you trying to pull now?” “She threw wine on you because you provoked her,” he continued coldly. “You brought it on yourself. As of today, you can move into the coastal villa and think about what you’ve done. I’m bringing Isabelle back to the estate. Don’t let me see your face here tomorrow.” Before Blaze could even respond, he hung up. She shrugged, the tears vanishing as quickly as they’d appeared. “Plan A failed. Time for Plan B.” Plan B was to fake her own death. She moved with terrifying efficiency. The villa was sold, her assets were liquidated and transferred, and once everything was in place, she purchased a burial plot. On the day of her staged “fatal car accident,” I followed her instructions and called Donovan. He answered, sounding surprised. “Sienna?” I choked back a sob, my voice thick with manufactured grief. “Donovan, it’s Blaze… there was an accident. It’s bad. She wants to see you one last time. Can you please come to the hospital?” A bitter, humorless laugh came through the phone. “Do you take me for a fool? She knows I haven’t been home in days. This is just another one of her pathetic little games.” His next words were like ice. “You tell her if she’s going to die, she should just get on with it. But she can do it far away from me.” I met Blaze’s eyes and gave her a subtle nod. The signal. Take my money and go. I’ll meet you soon. I had one last scene to play to make sure he truly believed she was gone. Three days later, just as I was practicing my grief-stricken expression in the mirror, Donovan burst into my suite, his eyes wild and red-rimmed. “Sienna, where is she?!” I looked at him, my face a mask of cold sorrow, and squeezed out a single, perfect tear. “She’s gone.” His body went rigid, the color draining from his face. “That’s impossible.” I showed him a doctored video of a fiery car crash on my phone, pulling it away before he could get a clear look at the victim. Then, I drove him to see the fresh grave. “She just wanted to see you one last time,” I said, my voice heavy with accusation. “You wouldn’t even grant her that. She died all alone.” Donovan stared at the name on the headstone, his expression one of utter devastation. “How could this happen?” he whispered. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the cold stone. Finally, he choked out the words, “It’s for the best. It’s better this way.” A chill went down my spine. It was true what they said about marrying into these families. They didn’t see you as a person. They saw you as a commodity. 5 Everyone knew Blaze was dead, but she was just a temporary daughter-in-law. No one bothered to investigate. Eleanor Rhys shed a few crocodile tears and moved on. Donovan didn’t say a word, disappearing back into his world of late nights with his precious Isabelle. Life returned to how it was before Blaze had arrived. And I had my exit strategy ready. A forged medical certificate from the hospital—another one of Blaze’s photoshop masterpieces—diagnosing me with terminal cancer. Tomorrow, I would approach Eleanor and ask for a divorce from Asher. She doted on her younger son; surely she wouldn’t let a dying woman continue to care for him. She could just hire a new wife. That night, I was packing my last few things when I heard a faint noise from the bed behind me. I froze, listening. Silence. Must be hearing things, I thought, my nerves frayed from all the scheming. I was about to go back to my packing when an arm wrapped around my waist from behind, and a warm body pressed against my back. His breath was hot and intimate against my neck. “My brother’s old love came back,” a low voice murmured in my ear. “I don’t have one. So where do you think you’re going?”

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