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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I was on the edge of a cliff, tied to Isabelle, the ghost who had haunted my marriage before it even began. Jackson, my fiancé, stood a safe distance away, silent for a long time. In the end, he chose me, the girl he’d grown up with. It was the wrong choice. Less than three days later, they pulled Isabelle’s body from the sea. Her clothes were shredded, her face unrecognizable. Jackson never showed his grief, not outwardly. But I knew. In the quiet, hollow spaces of our life together, I could feel it. He hated me for it. For the next ten years of our cold, calculated marriage—a merger of families, not hearts—he made sure I felt that hate. The late nights, the string of affairs plastered across gossip sites. I became the designated laughingstock of New York’s elite, the woman pointed at and whispered about at charity galas. The “abandoned wife.” Through it all, he watched with indifferent eyes. I thought we would stay like that, locked in our mutual torment until we were old and gray. But then came the research expedition to Antarctica. An extreme blizzard, an avalanche. In the final, roaring moments before the world turned white, Jackson—the man who had despised me for a decade—used the last of his strength to shove me toward safety. He was swallowed by the ice and snow. As his life faded, he smiled, a look of profound release on his face. His voice was a wisp of air. “Liv,” he breathed, “what I owed you… it’s paid.” “Now I can finally be with Isabelle.” “Next life… please, stay away from us.” I nodded, tears freezing on my cheeks, my heart turning to ash. And then I opened my eyes. Back on the edge of the cliff. 1 The wind howled, a physical force against my eardrums. Just like before, I was tied to Isabelle, the abyss yawning below our feet. The kidnapper was already laying out the choice for Jackson. “One is the girl you grew up with, your little shadow. The other is the one that got away. Make a choice, Mr. Croft. The other one goes for a swim with the fishes.” I could hear the sick amusement in his voice, the thrill of a cat toying with a mouse. Jackson stood beyond the danger zone, a statue carved from indecision. His mother, Eleanor, was frantic beside him. “Save Olivia! Jackson, what are you even hesitating for? Her parents died saving your father! The Crofts do not forget a debt like that!” “Save Olivia, now!” Still, Jackson was silent. I knew why. His soul was screaming to save Isabelle. She was the great lost love of his life, the dream he never got over. In our last life, even after she was gone, he kept a part of his heart cordoned off for her, a sacred ground I was never allowed to tread upon. He only chose me because of the duty, the debt his mother had shackled him with. The kidnapper was losing his patience. He brandished a remote connected to the unstable plank beneath our feet. “The sea breeze is picking up, Mr. Croft. My thumb might slip. If you don’t decide soon, these two lovely ladies are going to take the plunge together.” We stared at each other across the wind-whipped distance. Jackson’s eyes were on me, but what I saw in them was a reflection of his own torment, a pain so profound it was about to spill over. “I choose O—” He was about to say my name, just like last time. I jerked my head up, and with every ounce of strength in my body, I screamed, “SAVE ISABELLE!” Jackson’s head snapped up. His eyes were wide with pure, unadulterated disbelief. It made sense. Since we were kids, I was the one who threw a tantrum if I didn’t get the first piece of candy, the shiniest toy. I’d learned early to demand to be his priority. The thought of me willingly handing him over to another woman—to Isabelle, of all people—was unthinkable. Everyone in our circle knew my deepest insecurity, my most profound jealousy, was reserved for her. Jackson and I had grown up in each other’s pockets. From the moment I understood what love was, I believed he was mine. I’d spent my teenage years systematically driving away any girl who got too close. But Isabelle was different. She was the first girl he’d ever truly loved. His forever girl. I had been powerless against that. What I called hatred for her was really just a bone-deep fear. The cold, salty air hit me, making me sway. I screamed it again, my voice clear and final this time. “Save Isabelle.” Don’t hesitate, Jackson. Go. Save her. I won’t be in your way this time. I don’t want your hate to be the story of my life again. In the end, Jackson pulled strings and paid a king’s ransom. For Isabelle. As he carried her trembling form away, he never once looked back at me. From my angle, I could just catch the profile of his face, and on it, a clear, unmistakable look of relief. I tried to smile, but all I tasted was the cold, bitter salt of my own tears. A lifetime of devotion. It hadn’t been enough to earn a single backward glance. The rescue team arrived faster than I expected. Just as the kidnappers were preparing to move me, SWAT descended on the cliffside like ghosts emerging from the mist. A flicker of suspicion crossed my mind. If law enforcement was this efficient, why had Isabelle died so horribly in our last life? But the thought was swept away as my best friend, Sophie, launched herself at me, a blur of motion and terrified sobs. She clung to me like her life depended on it. “Liv! You scared the hell out of me! If something happened to you, what would I do?” The ropes were cut from my wrists. I hugged her back, patting her shoulder. “I’m okay, Soph. I’m okay.” Sophie was shaking with rage, pointing back toward the path Jackson had taken. “That bastard! I can’t believe he actually chose that bitch Isabelle!” “He left his own fiancée for some manipulative shrew!” Yes. Fiancée. By morning, the headlines would be everywhere: Croft Heir Abandons Fiancée on Cliffside for Old Flame. It would be the final nail in the coffin of my reputation, cementing my status as the joke of the Upper East Side. A joke I’d written for myself, really. In my previous life, I was always the one forcing photos of us, manufacturing a grand love story that never existed. It’s pathetic, looking back. Real love doesn’t need an audience. You only show off the things you’re terrified you don’t really have. Amid the chaos of the crime scene being processed, a figure in a black trench coat caught my eye. He was there and gone in a flash. I narrowed my eyes. I was sure of it. Over six-foot-three, an aura of quiet authority that demanded attention. In this city, that description fit only one man. Ethan Blackwood. The head of the powerful Blackwood family. 2 Late that night, Sophie insisted on taking me back to the Croft estate. The butler informed us that when Jackson returned with Isabelle, his mother, Eleanor, had erupted in a fury. She hadn’t used a whip, but her punishment was just as severe. She’d frozen his personal assets and banished him to the gatehouse. He was to stay there, without access to his accounts or his cars, until he understood the gravity of what he had done. But I knew Jackson. He wouldn’t think he’d done anything wrong. He’d saved the woman he loved. In his mind, relief would far outweigh any guilt. After a decade of marriage, I knew him all too well. And I truly didn’t blame him anymore. I went to see Eleanor, to try and calm her down. My attempt backfired. It only made her more emotional. She pulled me into a fierce hug, her own eyes filling with tears. She apologized over and over for Jackson, saying she’d failed as a mother, that she had let me down. “Olivia, you listen to me,” she said, her voice trembling with anger. “I have disciplined that boy, and I will not go easy on him this time!” She squeezed my hand. “He has lost his mind! I have told him for years that Isabelle girl has a conniving heart. She will never be welcome in the Croft family!” “And he dared,” she seethed, “he dared to leave you to die for that harpy!” She gripped my hands tighter. “Don’t you be sad, Liv. I will force him to get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness. I’ll make him swear an oath to never see that wretched girl again!” Eleanor’s unwavering loyalty to me made my nose sting. After my parents died, I was brought to live with the Crofts. In all those years, I never once felt like an outsider, never had to walk on eggshells. That was all because of Eleanor. She treated me like her own daughter, often with more affection than she showed Jackson. When I was just a teenager, I’d naively confessed that I had a crush on “Jackie,” and she had immediately set the wheels in motion for our engagement. In her mind, if I wanted it, she would move heaven and earth to give it to me. I sniffed, my voice thick. “Thank you, Eleanor.” “But… it was my choice. I told him to save Isabelle.” I looked down, gathering the courage to say what I’d known I must since the moment I woke up on that cliff. “Eleanor… I want to call off the engagement.” The words dropped into the silent room like a bomb. Both Sophie and Eleanor stared at me, stunned. Everyone knew I was pathologically in love with Jackson. I’d been his shadow since we were kids, impossible to shake off. At my twentieth birthday party, when someone jokingly asked for my wish, I’d declared it to a room full of New York’s most powerful people: My only wish is to marry Jackson Croft. It’s been so long. I can’t remember the look on Jackson’s face when I said it. I just remember it wasn’t a happy one. How ironic. I should have known then. He never wanted me. Clinging, begging, giving him every part of myself—none of it worked. You can’t force someone to love you. Worse, I’d used Eleanor’s love for me as a weapon, forcing him into a marriage he never wanted. I never once considered his feelings. No wonder he despised me. Thank God, this time, I could still fix it. After I pleaded, nearly getting on my knees myself, Eleanor finally, tearfully, agreed. Armed with the freedom Jackson had always craved, I went to the gatehouse. The Jackson of this world, at twenty-six, knelt on the cold marble floor, his posture ramrod straight. His lips were pale, but his jawline was as sharp as ever in the dim light. This version of him wasn’t yet poisoned by a decade of resentment. When he looked at me, there was genuine remorse in his eyes. “Liv, I’m sorry. I—” I shook my head, my voice calm. “It’s not your fault, Jackie.” Jackson flinched. It had been years, so many years, since I had called him that, so easily and without an edge of bitterness. Probably not since the day I decided I had to marry him. He frowned slightly. But I gave him a genuine smile, one of release, completely free of shadows. I was stepping back, once and for all, into the role of the little sister. “I was the one who was wrong all this time, forcing a relationship that wasn’t meant to be. I caused you so much trouble.” “It won’t happen again.” “I just came from seeing your mother. I asked her to cancel our engagement.” When the words “cancel our engagement” left my lips, the composure in Jackson’s eyes finally shattered. He stared at me, his voice flat and certain. “You’re just saying that to punish me.” I shook my head again. I didn’t understand. Shouldn’t he be relieved? Relieved that I was no longer his problem? Relieved that he was finally free to be with Isabelle? But he just stared at me, his gaze deep and unreadable. He closed his eyes. “Fine,” he said, his voice low. And that was it. I turned and walked away. Without an ounce of regret. For us, in this life, this was the best possible ending. 3 That weekend, Sophie organized a “good riddance” party for me. Just a small group of our closest friends. Halfway through the night, the party was crashed. Isabelle, pushed forward by her shrewd older sister, appeared before me to offer a timid thank you. She still looked terrified of me. “Olivia… about the other day… thank you.” The whole table went quiet. Everyone exchanged glances, waiting for the fireworks. They were all expecting me to tear her to shreds, just like I always did. I was famous for my public tirades against her, calling her a manipulative snake, accusing her of trying to steal Jackson. But this time, I just calmly lifted my glass. I looked at the woman my husband had spent a lifetime dreaming of and gave a small, wry smile. “Don’t thank me. You were the one he wanted to save.” “If you want to thank someone, thank him.” Isabelle glanced up, studying my face, as if she couldn’t believe I was letting her off so easily. At that exact moment, a waiter rushed by with a tureen of steaming soup. Isabelle and I were standing closest to his path. There was a sudden, sharp gasp from her, and the entire contents of the tureen sloshed over her delicate arm and dress. The room exploded into chaos. Everyone looked at me, their expressions a mixture of suspicion and knowing confirmation. I lowered my eyes. Here we go again. Always finding myself in these impossible situations because of her. And just like always, Jackson appeared as if summoned. He stormed into the private dining room, his face a thundercloud. “Liv,” he bit out, his voice dangerously low. “I thought what you said on the cliff was real. I thought you meant it.” In his arms, Isabelle was sobbing, on the verge of fainting from the pain. Her arm was already blistering, turning an angry red. It looked bad enough to scar. I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The sheer absurdity of it all. The fact that Isabelle would go this far, would burn her own skin, just to frame me. But to Jackson, my laugh must have sounded like the cruel cackle of a villain who’d just gotten away with it. He stalked toward me, his hand shooting out to grab my wrist. Sophie tried to intervene, but Jackson’s security guard moved to block her. A sharp, blinding pain shot up my arm. My wrist was bent at an unnatural angle. God, it hurts… It felt dislocated. I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out. Sophie was shaking with fury. “Jackson! What the hell is wrong with you? Are you even a man?” she shrieked. “You let this venomous bitch play you like a fiddle over and over again!” She scanned the room. “Did anyone see what happened? Does anyone here dare to say that Olivia was the one who spilled that soup?” Silence. No one dared to get involved. Jackson just sneered at Sophie. “I may not know Isabelle, but you think I don’t know Olivia?” I pulled Sophie back, stepping in front of Jackson myself. I looked him straight in the eye. “What do you know about me, Jackson?” “That I’m cruel?” “That I’m incapable of letting anyone else have a sliver of happiness?” These were the words he’d used to describe me in our last life. The epitaph he’d mentally written for me. His eyes were filled with disgust. “Aren’t you?” he shot back. I shook my head. My gaze shifted to the weeping Isabelle. If my wrist didn’t hurt so much, I would have applauded. Applauded this blind, lovesick fool who had managed to fall for the same trick in two separate lifetimes. A dark curiosity sparked within me. I wondered what would happen if he ever saw the real Isabelle, the one behind the fragile, tear-stained mask. Would he spend the rest of his life regretting what he was doing to me right now? Jackson’s personal doctor arrived quickly. He had the doctor see to Isabelle first, completely ignoring me as I stood there, pale and sweating, cold sweat beading on my forehead. Today, he was determined to teach me a lesson. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing my cheek, a gesture he used to use when I was a child and had misbehaved. But his eyes were ice. “Liv,” he said, his voice soft but lethal. “Has living with the Crofts made you so comfortable that you’ve forgotten your place?” “If so, then I’ll teach you myself. When you do something wrong, there are always consequences.” 4 Jackson wanted me to serve tea to Isabelle as a formal apology. I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Why don’t you just break this wrist too, Jackie?” “I could die from the pain right here, tonight, and I would still never apologize for something I didn’t do.” A heavy silence descended on the room. We stood in a standoff, neither willing to back down. It was Isabelle who broke the tension. She leaned weakly against Jackson’s arm, her eyes brimming with tears. “Jackie, please, let it go… I’m sure Olivia didn’t mean to…” Her words were gasoline on a fire. Jackson’s expression darkened further. “You’re still as stubborn as ever, Liv.” He walked over to Sophie, nodding to his men to restrain her. My blood ran cold. Sophie was my only true friend, my sister in all but blood. Jackson knew my weak spot, and he was pressing on it with surgical precision. He wouldn’t even investigate, wouldn’t ask a single question. He had already declared me guilty. He was giving me a choice. Apologize, or watch Sophie suffer. For every minute I refused, it would get worse for her. I knew he wasn’t bluffing. I knew the man behind the polished, charming CEO persona. He was ruthless. “Time’s up,” Jackson said, his voice quiet but echoing with menace. Waves of pain pulsed from my wrist. I watched his men move toward Sophie, and finally, I broke. “I’ll apologize.” Sophie, her mouth covered, was struggling, muffled cries escaping. I bowed my head. The humiliation was a physical weight, crushing me. My throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. “Jackson,” I croaked. “I apologize.” I walked towards Isabelle, my eyes fixing on the massive floor-to-ceiling window behind her. Outside, the lights of the city glittered, a dazzling, indifferent dreamscape. I couldn’t remember how long ago it was. Right after my parents died, when I first came to the Croft estate. I was homesick but too scared to cry where anyone could see me. I would sneak out to a hidden corner of the garden to let my tears fall in silence. One night, under a starless sky, Jackson found me. He piggybacked me all the way back to the warm, glowing mansion. He’d told me, “Next time you want to cry, you come find me. I’ll always have a shoulder for you.” He’d told me, “Anyone who makes my Liv cry, I’ll make sure they never smile again.” The promises of a boy, still echoing in my ears, while the man stood before me, a stranger. The tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. I had been so foolish. I thought that even if we didn’t have love, we had history. We had fifteen years of shared memories. I choked on a sob, forcing the words out, severing the last tie between us. “You never believed me.” “In your heart, I’m always the villain. I’m always the one hurting Isabelle.” “Fine. I accept it.” “But from this moment on, you, Jackson Croft, are not my brother anymore.” Not my lover. Not my family. “We’re done. There is nothing left between us.” As I stood there, shaking with sobs, I saw something flicker in Jackson’s eyes. A moment of hesitation. I ignored it. I bent my waist, preparing to utter the lie, to give him the apology he demanded. But a deep, magnetic voice cut through the tension. “It seems I’ve come at a bad time.”

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Yesterday, I spent eight hours on the phone with a girl who wanted to die. I talked her down, pinpointed her location, and saved her life. The next day, my request for comp time was denied, and the 200 hours of overtime I’d logged for the month were zeroed out. When I saw the internal memo that defined my work—the act of saving a human being—as ‘ineffective’ and ‘unauthorized overtime,’ I just had to laugh. My supervisor chewed me out in front of the entire team. “We’re an emergency line, not a crisis hotline! Stop wasting public resources!” I lowered my head and took it. Three days later, the city’s biggest investor called in a panic. His daughter had locked herself in their corporate data center and was threatening to wipe the servers clean. He demanded to speak with one person: “the dispatcher who saved my daughter’s life.” The alternative? He’d pull every dollar of his investment out of the city. The assignment popped up on my screen. I clicked ‘Decline.’ “Sorry. The company doesn’t approve that kind of overtime. I can’t take the assignment.” 1 The last words I said into my headset were, “Don’t be afraid. Our people are at the door now. They’ll protect you.” A faint sob came through the line from the other side, followed by the splintering crack of a door being forced open. The call, which had been my entire world for eight straight hours, was finally over. I pulled off the headset and the world tilted, a dizzying spin cycle of fluorescent lights and gray cubicle walls. An oxygen-starved ache throbbed behind my eyes. My name is Stella, and I’m a dispatcher at the Metro 911 Dispatch center. Eight hours ago, a girl named Millie Pierce had called, intent on ending her life. I had thrown every piece of training, every ounce of empathy I possessed, into that call—soothing, guiding, listening. Finally, in a moment when her emotional walls crumbled, I got the key piece of information, the address that allowed us to pinpoint her location. When the green “Rescue Successful” flag lit up on my screen, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding for half a day. I slumped forward onto my desk, too exhausted to even lift a finger. At nine in the morning, after handing off my station, I dragged my lead-filled legs to my supervisor’s office and knocked on the door. “Report,” I said, my voice a croak. No answer. But I could clearly hear her voice from inside. Brenda, my supervisor, was on the phone, her tone light and breezy. “Oh my God, I finally snagged that new shade of nail polish. We should celebrate at that new Italian place downtown tonight, what do you say?” I stood there, waiting. A colleague walking by paused, shot me a look of pure pity, and then hurried away. Ten minutes later, the call ended. The door swung open and Brenda’s face, on seeing me, immediately soured, her eyebrows pinching together. “What is it? Don’t you know how busy I am? You need to make an appointment next time.” Her eyes radiated impatience. A tremor ran through my exhausted body. I placed a thick stack of overtime logs on her desk. “Brenda, I’ve logged over 200 hours of overtime this month,” I said, my voice flat. “I was on a call all night for eight hours. I’d like to request two comp days.” That stack of paper was a testament to a month of late nights and early mornings, a monument to my dedication. Brenda picked up the stack with two perfectly manicured fingers, as if it were something foul. Her face was a mask of disgust. “Two hundred hours? Stella, you’re supposed to be one of my top dispatchers. Is your efficiency really that low?” “These are all system-logged effective call times,” I said calmly. “They meet the requirements for overtime.” She let out a short, sharp laugh and flipped open the first page. “Let’s see. This one from last night. Call duration: eight hours and twenty-three minutes. For one case?” “Yes. A girl with active suicidal ideations. The situation was critical.” Brenda’s acrylic nails tapped a sharp rhythm on the desk, her expression dripping with disdain. “Eight hours? Stella, were you saving a life, or catching up with your long-distance boyfriend? We’re an emergency hotline, not a therapy clinic!” “You occupy a line for eight hours—do you have any idea how many real emergencies, people needing an ambulance or a fire truck, couldn’t get through because of you?” I tried to explain. “Brenda, saving a life, a person who is actively trying to die, is also our duty…” “Duty?” she cut me off, her voice rising sharply. “Your duty is to complete ‘information gathering’ and ‘dispatch assignment’ with maximum efficiency! Fifteen minutes per case, max! That’s your KPI!” She snatched a red pen and, right in front of me, began to scrawl across my logs. Next to the eight-hour entry, she wrote in piercing red ink: 【Serious violation. Ineffective communication. Creates risk of resource bottleneck.】 She flipped through a few more pages. “Consoling the family of a lost child, call duration 45 minutes?” 【Exceeded scope of work. Not your job.】 “Handling a caller panicking about a gas leak, call duration 1 hour 10 minutes?” 【Induced panic. Lacks capability.】 With every annotation, she would look up at me, the contempt in her eyes raw and undisguised. Finally, holding the stack of papers now covered in insulting red ink, she stood up. I thought she was going to throw it in the trash. No, she did something worse. She walked to her office door, grabbed a stapler, and with a loud thwack, she pinned my 200 hours of heart and soul to the bulletin board outside her office—the one reserved for displaying disciplinary cases. The “Notice Board of Shame,” as we called it. A public testament to my supposed failures for every single person to see. My heart sank with the percussive sound. She returned to her desk and pulled up my monthly timesheet on her monitor. In the “Overtime Hours” column, she typed a single, clean number. “0”. The digit felt like a physical blow. I clenched my fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms I thought I might draw blood. “Brenda, you can’t do this! This is real work I did!” Brenda crossed her arms, a smug, “what-can-you-do-about-it” smile spreading across her face. “On what grounds? On the grounds that I’m your supervisor, and I’m the one who signs off on your KPIs.” “Stella, don’t be so petty. You’re young. You need to have some dedication, stop thinking only about yourself! Surely you don’t just come to work for the money, do you?” 2 Before I could even process the humiliation of that “0,” the intercom crackled to life. “Attention all staff, attention all staff. There will be an emergency team meeting in Conference Room One in ten minutes. Attendance is mandatory.” It was Brenda’s voice, sharp and absolute. I walked into the conference room on heavy feet. It was already full. My colleagues’ eyes fell on me, a mixture of emotions I couldn’t quite decipher: pity, curiosity, and a few glints of malicious glee. Tiffany, who was usually friendly with me, was now sitting as far away as possible, pointedly avoiding my gaze. Brenda strode in on her high heels, her eyes like lasers as they scanned the room and locked onto me. “I’ve called this meeting today for a very specific reason.” She paused for dramatic effect, her voice turning severe. “We are an emergency response center. Every single second of our public resources is invaluable.” “However, we have a member on our team whose priorities have become… misguided.” Every head in the room swiveled towards me. I dropped my gaze to the worn toes of my shoes. “One of our dispatchers seems to think this is an emotional chat line. She can spend eight hours on a single call!” Brenda’s tone was thick with sarcasm, drawing a few stifled snickers from the room. “Eight hours! Do you all understand what that means?” she continued, her voice rising. “It means a critical emergency line was rendered useless for eight hours! In that time, a heart attack victim, a child trapped in a fire, could have died because they couldn’t get through!” In her version of the story, I hadn’t saved a person who wanted to die; I had become a criminal who endangered countless others. My chest heaved, and I fought the urge to leap to my feet and scream. Just then, Tiffany raised her hand and stood up, an expression of earnest sincerity on her face. “Brenda, I think you’re absolutely right. We have to prioritize the greater good.” She turned to me, her face a mask of concern, but her words were daggers. “Stella, I know you have a good heart, but we’re professional dispatchers, not neighborhood gossips. Your actions, objectively, caused a massive waste of resources. That’s irresponsible to the rest of the city’s residents.” This “big picture” speech earned a nod of approval from Brenda. “Well said, Tiffany! That’s the kind of perspective and strategic thinking we need from a top dispatcher!” Brenda’s attention snapped back to me. “Stella, as a senior employee, for you to make such a rookie mistake is inexcusable. You should be severely disciplined.” “But, considering you put in the effort, even if it was useless, I’ll give you one chance to redeem yourself.” She looked down at me, her expression imperious. “Now, stand up, and give everyone here a thorough self-criticism. Promise it will never happen again.” All the blood in my body rushed to my head. A self-criticism? For doing my job, for meticulously saving a human life? I clenched my jaw and said nothing. The room was utterly silent. The tension was thick enough to choke on. Brenda’s face darkened. “What? Still defiant? Let me tell you something, Stella. Rules are rules!” She sneered. “And to ensure this serves as a lesson for everyone, I’m announcing a new regulation.” “Starting today, any non-dispatch-oriented call exceeding 30 minutes will be directly tied to your monthly performance review. For every minute over the limit, ten dollars will be deducted from your pay. No upper limit.” “Furthermore, any such call will be classified as an ‘Invalid Call’ and will not count towards your logged work hours!” She finished, her eyes fixed on me in a clear challenge. “Stella. Did you understand this new rule?” 3 The conference room door closed behind me, shutting out the storm of complicated stares. I walked back to my station feeling drained, my spirit hollowed out. Just then, a call came in. I took a deep breath, put on my headset, and forced myself back into work mode. “Metro 911, what’s your emergency?” “Help! My apartment’s on fire! The address is… Maple Creek Condos, Building 3…” As I started typing, Tiffany, at the next station, began talking loudly to another colleague. “You have to see the new purse I bought! It’s gorgeous! I’ll show you a picture in a sec!” Her voice was shrill, deliberately distracting. I frowned, pressing my hand over my free ear to block her out as I tried to confirm the details. “Sir, stay calm. Is that Maple Creek Condos, Building 3, apartment 203?” “What 203! It’s 302! 302!” the man on the other end screamed, frantic. A jolt of alarm shot through me, but before I could apologize, Tiffany had snatched the headset right off my head and put it on her own. “Sir, this is Dispatcher Tiffany. I’ve confirmed the address as Maple Creek Condos, Building 3, apartment 302. The fire department is on its way. Please remain calm.” She cooed a few more sweet, standard reassurances and then ended the call. Taking off the headset, she looked at me with a sickeningly fake expression of concern. “Stella, are you okay? You seem exhausted. Mishearing such crucial information… you almost sent the trucks to the wrong address. What if I hadn’t been listening? Could you handle that responsibility?” Without waiting for my response, she spun on her heel and marched straight toward Brenda’s office. I could hear her exaggerated voice loud and clear. “Brenda, I need to report something. Stella’s really not in a good state. We almost had a major incident…” That kind of backstabbing felt worse than if she had screamed a hundred insults at my face. I sat frozen at my desk, a cold dread washing over me. I don’t know how much time passed before I looked up to see a carton of warm milk and a small granola bar sitting on my desk. I blinked, confused. My eyes scanned the room and met the gaze of an older dispatcher from another team, a quiet man who rarely spoke. He gave me a silent, almost imperceptible nod before quickly looking away. That small, unspoken gesture of solidarity, as faint as it was, was a flicker of warmth in the suffocating darkness. I wasn’t completely alone. I couldn’t let them break me. I picked up the milk, and as I did, the name of the girl from last night flashed in my mind. Millie Pierce. I distinctly remembered a moment during our eight-hour marathon when she had screamed, sobbing hysterically. “My dad’s company is Veridian Dynamics! All he cares about is his stupid investments! He’s never cared if I live or die!” Veridian Dynamics… Arthur Pierce… A name clicked into place. I quickly grabbed my phone, opened the browser, and typed in the keywords. The headline that popped onto the screen made my breath catch in my throat. Billion-Dollar Investment Secured! Veridian Dynamics CEO Arthur Pierce Signs Strategic Partnership with City. In the accompanying photo, the man beaming at the signing table was the city’s biggest new investor. His project was tied to tens of thousands of jobs, a keystone for the entire region’s economic future. I had saved his daughter. My fingertips slid across the cold glass of the screen. A plan began to take shape, cold and clear, in the back of my mind. Brenda. Tiffany. You value KPIs and efficiency above all else, don’t you? You think my work is “ineffective”? Soon, you’re going to find out just how valuable my “ineffective” work really is. 4 For the next three days, I became a machine. An unfeeling dispatch automaton. Every call, I adhered strictly to the “15-minute” principle. My call-time records became flawlessly, brutally “efficient.” My average handling time plummeted from my usual 25 minutes to just under 8. Brenda praised me by name in the daily briefing, commending my “rapid improvement” and noting that I was “teachable after all.” Tiffany chimed in with a saccharine, backhanded compliment: “Looks like Stella’s finally figured out the secret to success.” I accepted it all with a blank expression. My heart grew harder and colder with every premature, impersonal disconnection. And then it happened. A piercing, urgent alarm blared through the entire dispatch center. Every monitor was instantly flooded with a flashing, blood-red pop-up. 【PRIORITY ONE ALERT: A-LEVEL URBAN PARTNERSHIP CRISIS】 My heart hammered against my ribs as I read the details. Millie Pierce, daughter of Arthur Pierce, had locked herself inside the central server room at the Veridian Dynamics headquarters. The very server room that housed the digital infrastructure for the city’s entire development plan for the second half of the year. The alert included a direct quote from a frantic Arthur Pierce: “Right now! Get the dispatcher who saved my daughter three days ago on the line with her! Only her! If you don’t, I will pull every dollar of my investment from this city and call a press conference to tell the world exactly why!” The entire hall fell into a dead, shocked silence. Every single eye in the room was fixed on me. A second later, a new window popped up on my personal terminal. It was bordered in gold, the color code for a non-negotiable, top-level directive. 【ASSIGNMENT: Immediately establish communication with target individual Millie Pierce and provide emotional support.】 Below the text, two large, flashing buttons pulsed. 【ACCEPT】 【DECLINE】 Slowly, deliberately, I moved my mouse cursor over the button on the right. And I clicked. On the screen, two words exploded in stark, crimson letters. 【ASSIGNMENT DECLINED】 In the exact same instant, my personal cell phone began to vibrate violently on my desk. The caller ID displayed a name I knew all too well. Brenda.

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I’m Willa, the final boss of the Crimson Hollow instance. My daily KPI is consummating a marriage with some hapless outsider who stumbles into my domain. Until the day I woke up and my stomach was inexplicably round and swollen. For the love of God, who the hell is the father? 1 I stared down at my perfectly round belly, then looked over at the pigpen and did a recount. All present and accounted for. I haven’t eaten a single pig in two days. How could my stomach be stretched this taut? Could it be… constipation? I immediately sprinted to the outhouse, squatted down, and tried to channel all my spiritual energy downward. Ten minutes later, I emerged feeling immensely relieved, a faint, foul odor trailing behind me. I looked down. Not an inch smaller. What in the hell was going on? I couldn’t be… My eyes widened in terror. Could it be—a tumor? Can entities even get cancer? The Crimson Hollow instance is about to reopen for new players. In this state, I can’t even fit into my wedding gown. My mind reeling with worry, I made my way to the Miller family’s cottage on the edge of the village. Sadie Miller, in her human life, had been a grad student burning the midnight oil on her PhD in naturopathic medicine. When she couldn’t land a job after graduation, she saw an ad for the new horror game instance and, on a whim, applied to be an entity. She was a headhunted hire, part of a special talent initiative. 2 “The pulse is fluid and fast, rolling smoothly under the fingers, like a bead of mercury on a steel plate. It’s a slippery pulse,” Sadie murmured, her gaze fixed on my enormous belly. She fell into thought. “You’ve just been overeating. It’s classic indigestion. I’ll get you some herbs to help with digestion.” “You quack! I haven’t eaten a thing in two days!” I knew relying on a grad student was a mistake. “Then what did you eat two days ago?” Sadie shot me a disdainful look. Two days ago? I guess I had a couple of pigs. “At least one pig, right?” Though phrased as a question, her tone was accusatory. “The hogs you raise are 500 pounds, easy. Two of them is half a ton. What other entity has an appetite like yours? This is just your system backing up. Indigestion.” “But isn’t a slippery pulse also known as a pregnancy pulse?” A deep-seated unease was coiling in my gut. “That just shows you don’t know anything,” Sadie said, rolling her eyes. “Pregnancy isn’t the only thing that causes it. Besides, you haven’t been with any male entities. Where would a baby come from?” She paused, frowning. “Though, I will admit, your pulse does feel… unique. It’s not like the others I’ve felt. It’s probably just because of the sheer quantity you consumed.” As Sadie launched into a lengthy explanation, I went silent. She might have a point about the male entities, but there were still the male players. A few months ago… that night… that player’s abs, that lean-muscled grace… Damn. The memories of that night were hazy, but I remembered one thing clearly: I didn’t get a wink of sleep. And, I had to admit, compared to all the other players I’d… entertained… that one night had been far more memorable. 3 “You’re blushing!” Sadie circled me, a look of pure astonishment on her face. “You? You’re actually capable of blushing?” I touched my face. It did feel a little warm. Mortified, I shoved her away. “Just tell me if I can get back to normal in seven days! The instance is about to open!” “I’ll give you the strong stuff,” Sadie said, heading into her apothecary. I sat on the worn doorstep of her workshop, watching as she climbed up and down a small ladder, pulling jars from high shelves. The sixth sense I barely possessed was screaming bloody murder. “Hey, Sadie,” I began, my voice hesitant. “What if…” “Spit it out!” So much for higher education. The woman had the grace of a trucker. “What if I was with a man?” I squeezed my eyes shut and yelled, “What are the chances I could be pregnant?” CRASH! The small brass scale Sadie was holding clattered to the floor. Silence. A profound, ringing silence. I didn’t dare look at her. “You didn’t use protection?!” Sadie’s voice was a high-pitched shriek that could shatter glass. “In the heat of the moment, who thinks about that stuff?” I shot back, feeling not an ounce of shame. “Besides, this isn’t some modern-day instance. We can’t just use condoms. What was I supposed to do?” “You’re insane!” Sadie grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “It never happened before, so I didn’t worry about it.” I waved a dismissive hand. “Not every entity is a cold fish like you, you know. A girl has needs! It was consensual. What’s the big deal?” Sadie looked like she was about to have an aneurysm. She raised a fist as if to strike me, but then her eyes fell to my belly, and she forced herself to stop. 4 That same day, Sadie hitched up her donkey cart and took me into the nearest materialized town for a proper check-up. Staring at the grainy image of a tiny, pulsing little bean on the ultrasound monitor, I was overcome with joy. In this godforsaken horror game, I finally had a family. Someone who shared my blood. Sadie was just sighing, one heavy, disappointed breath after another. I blinked at her with wide, innocent eyes. “You want to keep it?” she asked, her voice flat. I hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. She took a deep, steadying breath. “You’re a madwoman. I should have known you were a goddamn madwoman.” I wrapped my arm around hers. “It’s okay! The baby can call you Auntie Sadie!” “Auntie my ass!” she snapped, rolling her eyes. “Who knows if you’ll even live long enough to give birth?” “Don’t swear! You’ll corrupt the baby!” I smacked her arm lightly. “Corrupt my—” Sadie bit her tongue, catching herself. “Fine. Let’s go to my place first.” When Sadie was recruited, the System had allocated her a condo in a materialized suburban development called Evergreen Meadows. “My pigs!” I suddenly remembered. “I’ll go back later and butcher one for you. Bring it back so you can get your strength up. I swear, I must have owed you a debt in a past life.” Grinning, I followed her to Building 2, Unit 401, of Evergreen Meadows. 5 When I woke up, the rich, savory aroma of braised short ribs was wafting from the kitchen. Sadie was a phenomenal cook, but she hated doing it. I’d only been lucky enough to taste her food once or twice when she was in a particularly good mood. Looks like I had this little tadpole to thank for another feast. Just as I was about to sneak a piece from the pan, Sadie slapped my hand away. “Drink your medicine first.” She placed a bowl of viscous, pitch-black liquid in front of me. I recoiled instinctively. “Can I… not?” “Willa! Do you have any idea how much of a drain a human-entity hybrid pregnancy is on your system? Do you have a death wish?” Sadie was officially furious. “I’ll drink it! Right after I finish eating!” I promised immediately. “Nope. It works best on an empty stomach.” Fine. I’ll drink it. Bitter. So unbelievably bitter. The moment I finished, Sadie shoved a piece of tender short rib into my mouth. I chewed instinctively. It was heavenly. Once I was full, I leaned back and rubbed my stomach. A warmth spread through me, and I felt some of my power returning. No wonder I’d been so exhausted and hungry lately. It was all this little freeloader’s fault. 6 Life in Evergreen Meadows was bliss. Sadie cooked for me every day, coming up with new and delicious things to satisfy my cravings. But the damn instance was about to reopen, and my request for leave with the System was denied. I’ve heard the human world has things like labor laws. Maternity leave! There’s absolutely no respect for entity rights here. Sadie was in the kitchen, preparing a batch of snacks for me to take back for the next few days. I was sprawled on the couch, munching on a piece of spicy-sweet beef jerky. Dr. Miller’s culinary skills were truly second to none. “You just lie there waiting for me to cook for you. Have you no shame?” Sadie called from the kitchen, our usual banter in full swing. “You’re the baby’s godmother! Of course you have to cook!” The word ‘polite’ doesn’t exist in my vocabulary. Back in the village, my belly seemed to inflate like a balloon, and with each passing day, I felt my power draining away. Sadie spent her days viciously cursing the man who didn’t use a condom. I’d just grin and curse him right along with her. 7 The day before the instance reopened, Sadie went out. As the sky began to darken with no sign of her return, a knot of panic tightened in my chest. When the game isn’t active, the wilderness at night is crawling with mindless, feral entities. Even a powerful entity like Sadie would be torn to shreds out there. After my 251st trip to the doorway to scan the horizon, I finally saw a lone figure in the distance. When Sadie stumbled through the door, she was covered in blood. Before I could even start screaming at her, she shoved something into my mouth. So accustomed to being fed by her, I swallowed without thinking. A potent wave of energy surged from my stomach, flooding every corner of my being. It was a Wraith Cap. They only grow in the Unhallowed Wilds, a place filled with retired, mindless instance bosses. “Are you insane?” I cried, helping the blood-soaked Sadie to a chair. “Birds of a feather, right? We’re both lunatics,” she slurred, completely unfazed. Sadie passed out. I carried her to the spare room and began tending to her wounds. Gently, I stroked my belly, where a tiny foot was kicking restlessly. “You have to be born safely now, little one,” I whispered. “If only to make your auntie’s sacrifice worth it.” 8 【Welcome to the A-Rank Instance: Crimson Hollow】 【Survive for 7 days by adhering to the following rules:】 【1. The people of Crimson Hollow are a close-knit and xenophobic community. Do not let the villagers discover your identity as outsiders.】 【2. There is a mysterious catacomb within Crimson Hollow. Find the entrance and place the required item.】 【3. The villagers of Crimson Hollow are the players’ targets. The more villagers killed, the higher the player’s score.】 【4. The Village Chief of Crimson Hollow will enter a berserk state on the final day. Discovering the truth can prevent this.】 【5. Crimson Hollow holds a mandatory village-wide training every evening at 7 PM. Do not be late.】 【6. An enemy force will attack Crimson Hollow on the seventh day. Identifying the enemy in advance and providing information about the catacombs may lead to a mysterious grand prize.】 I lay in bed, stroking my lively baby, awaiting the arrival of the player. With a baby on the way, my desire for men had plummeted. At the stroke of midnight, a flash of white light illuminated the room, and a man with the handle 【Spud】 materialized on my bed. Finally. Staying up late isn’t good for the baby. I fell asleep instantly. The man kept fidgeting next to me. Annoyed, I kicked him clean off the bed. The world was finally quiet. When I woke up, 【Spud】 was gone. My first stop was Sadie’s for breakfast. We had brisket breakfast burritos and a rich bone broth. It was divine. The first day is always the easiest, as the players spend their time exploring the village and searching for clues. Sadie was in her kitchen, muttering to herself as she prepared more braised short ribs for me, while I squatted outside, drooling. Suddenly, a book flew through the air towards me. I snatched it with lightning speed. “I’m writing down my recipes for you. After you give birth, you’re cooking all of this for me!” I opened it. The first page was for braised short ribs. The rest of the book was blank. “Why is there only one recipe?” I asked, curious. “With the way you eat eighteen meals a day, be grateful I had time to write down one! When you’re done with all this, you’re going to make it up to me with a full-blown, Michelin-star feast!” she said through gritted teeth. I wasn’t worried. Once the baby was born, I’d just have my daughter turn on the charm. Old Sadie would melt. She always was a sucker for a soft touch. 9 Full and happy, I started walking home and came across a group of ten strangers. They were wearing new, patched-up clothes, chattering excitedly at the village entrance. When they saw me approach, they all fell silent and, like the other villagers, greeted me with a respectful, “Chief.” I stared them down, and not one of them dared to breathe. One of the men looked… vaguely familiar. But then again, we entities have a hard time distinguishing human faces. He probably just had one of those generic faces. It was only the first day, so I had no intention of making things difficult for them. I gave a slight nod and walked on. Once I was a good distance away, I heard them start whispering about “catacombs,” “enemies,” and a “grand prize.” Must be discussing the game rules. When the male player assigned to my house returned that evening, I was gnawing on a pork knuckle. I heard him swallow hard and immediately turned my back to him. This was a gift from Sadie. No one else was getting a bite. At 6 PM, all the villagers and players gathered in Old Man Hemlock’s backyard for training. Sadie led the drills in my place, while I watched from the side, one hand on my belly. The players were all clumped at the back, clumsily mimicking the movements. It was infuriating to watch. “You’re all going to die the second the enemy shows up,” I snapped, pointing at the players. “Straighten your arms! Are you throwing a punch or inviting someone to kill you?” Sadie quickly came over and shooed me away. As I walked off, I sighed. So weak. How do they survive out there? 10 During training on the second night, I saw that familiar-looking male player again. His name was Ethan. And damn, he was well-built. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs, and handsome features. He had a pair of eyes that could flirt with a telephone pole and make it blush. I found my gaze drawn to his waist. Mmm. Nope. I’m a mother-to-be now. I have to be dignified. He kept sneaking glances at me during the drills. When I caught him, he didn’t look away. Instead, he just smiled. What’s he smiling about? My stomach is this big because of you damn men! I shot him a vicious glare and walked home, one hand supporting my back. That night, the player named 【Spud】 appeared on my bed right on schedule. He stared at my belly with open curiosity. “Chief, your stomach… did you just eat too much?” I rolled my eyes, too tired to bother with him. He, however, was a natural chatterbox and started telling me about the outside world. “You know, the player forums are going nuts. They’re saying the boss of Crimson Hollow is pregnant. Everyone’s guessing who the father is.” My heart skipped a beat. The news had spread that fast? “Some people are guessing it’s the boar demon from the next mountain over. Others think it’s the fish monster from the Blackwater Bog. And some people are guessing…” He paused, leaning in conspiratorially. “They’re guessing you devoured the last male player whole—body and soul—and just digested him completely.” I… Seriously. It’s a crime that this guy’s imagination isn’t being used to write novels. “Oh, by the way, Chief,” he said, as if suddenly remembering something. “Do you remember a player from a few months back named ‘Ethan’? S-class, super handsome?” My heart stuttered. Ethan? “Don’t remember. I’ve slept with too many men,” I said, my voice hard. Spud gave me a knowing, slightly sleazy grin. “Right, right. Part of the job description and all. But that Ethan guy was a legend. He’s the only S-class player to ever get out of here alive and completely unharmed. After that, he just vanished. Never entered another instance. Some say he retired, found a quiet place to settle down.” My mind was in turmoil. Could it really have been him? Fragments of that night flashed through my mind: hard-muscled abs, that lean, powerful grace, and the sound of ragged, suppressed breaths… My face grew hot. I pulled the blanket over my head. See no evil, think no evil. I’m a pregnant woman! 11 On the third day, the players finally found the entrance to the so-called “catacombs.” It was hidden beneath the old burial ground behind the village. Leaning on Sadie for support, I went to see what was happening. A group of players was huddled around the entrance, chattering nervously. “Is this it? It looks creepy as hell.” “The rules say we have to place an item. What item?” “Who’s brave enough to go down?” I stared into the pitch-black opening, feeling a chill myself. I’d been the chief here for years and never knew this place existed. As everyone hesitated, Ethan stepped forward. “I’ll go take a look.” His voice was calm, but held an undeniable authority. All eyes turned to him. He took off his jacket, revealing a black, form-fitting tactical shirt underneath that left nothing to the imagination. I couldn’t help but sneak another peek at his waist. Yep. That was the one. He glanced back at me, his expression complex and unreadable. Then, he leaped into the darkness. The crowd gasped. “Holy crap, is he for real?” “That’s a top-tier player for you!” Spud puffed out his chest with pride. “You know it. Ethan once took on an A+ boss single-handedly.” Sadie leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Something’s not right with that guy. Stay away from him.” I nodded, but my mind was a chaotic mess. Before long, Ethan emerged from the hole. He was a little dusty but seemed unharmed. “It’s not a catacomb,” he said, his eyes scanning the crowd. “It’s more like a… a nursery.” A nursery? Everyone was stunned into silence. “There are these… cocoon-like things hanging everywhere, with something moving inside them,” Ethan described. “In the center, there’s a stone altar with an indentation on it. That must be where the item goes.” “So where’s the item?” a female player asked. Ethan shook his head. “I couldn’t find it.” The players deflated like punctured balloons. I, however, was lost in thought. A nursery… All the entities in our village were directly deployed by the System. I’d never heard of any of us reproducing on our own. Could there be a hidden mechanic to this instance that even I didn’t know about? 12 I was distracted all through dinner that evening. Sadie tapped my bowl with a chopstick. “What are you thinking about? Your head is in the clouds.” “Sadie,” I started hesitantly, “do you think… is it possible for a player to re-enter an instance they’ve already cleared?” “Impossible,” Sadie said without a second thought. “The System has rules. For the sake of fairness, once a player clears an instance, they’re locked out. Unless…” “Unless what?” I pressed. “Unless he’s a ‘Seeker.’” Sadie glanced at me. “It’s a special status within the System, extremely rare. They can ignore the rules and travel freely between any instance they’ve visited. But there are only a handful of them in the entire game. They’re practically myths.” I fell silent. Ethan. The S-class player. The Seeker. The pieces were clicking into place, forming a wild theory in my mind. “Eat!” Sadie dropped another large piece of short rib into my bowl. “Who cares about Seekers? If the sky falls, I’ll hold it up for you. Your only job right now is to take care of yourself and bring my goddaughter or godson into this world safely.” I looked at the glistening piece of meat in my bowl, a warmth spreading through my chest. She was right. Who cares? I’ll deal with whatever comes. I placed a hand on my belly. The little one kicked back. “You’ve got to be strong, little bean,” I murmured. “Don’t let your dad… or your auntie… down.”

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The fifth year of our marriage was the year my husband, Ethan, told me he’d found his soulmate. I, apparently, was just the daughter-in-law his parents had always wanted, not the other half of his soul. As a consolation prize, he offered me a check for five million dollars and sincerely suggested I take our daughter and disappear. The day I signed the divorce papers, my mother-in-law kicked him squarely in the ass. “You ungrateful parasite,” she hissed. “Take your little tramp and get out of my house!” My father-in-law, his eyes glistening with tears, looked at me and slid a thick portfolio across the table. It contained stock certificates and the deeds to all their properties. “Finally,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “These can finally go to my real daughter, where they belong.” 1 I was stunned into silence. Ethan was even more bewildered, but he recovered quickly, his face hardening with impatience. “You think this little act is going to make me stay? Forget it. It’s over. I already lost three years with Serena. I’m not losing another minute.” He puffed out his chest, a smug look spreading across his face. “I know you’ve always wanted a grandson. Well, Serena and I have a son. He’s three years old. I’ll bring them over to meet you tomorrow. The second you see him, you’ll fall in love.” He looked from his father to his mother, his expression triumphant. “There. Are you satisfied now?” My in-laws stared at each other, their mouths agape. In their eyes, I saw a cocktail of emotions I couldn’t quite decipher. Disbelief? Pity? Utter contempt? Was I seeing things? Honestly, I’d initially agreed with Ethan’s theory. This had to be some kind of elaborate performance designed to guilt him into staying. After all, before they’d even met me, they couldn’t stand the idea of me. I was an orphan, a nobody. They’d called me countless times, begging me to leave their son alone. I was on the verge of giving up and finding a new target when they finally agreed to meet me. The moment they saw me, their attitude did a complete one-eighty. Suddenly, they were rushing us to the altar. The dowry was an eight-figure sum. Forty percent of the company stock. A real estate portfolio so vast I lost count—somewhere over eighty properties, I think. The traditional gold jewelry arrived in chests. I don’t know if marriage is a tomb, but it was most certainly a treasure vault. After the wedding, they treated me like I was made of spun glass, catering to my every whim. I remember once, watching TV, I casually mentioned that I loved a certain celebrity. The next day, my in-laws had him flown in for a private performance in our living room. He did backflips. Their adoration was so absolute that, over the years, I let my guard down. The wealth gave me a confidence I’d never known. I stopped trying so hard, stopped playing the part of the sweet, demure girl Ethan had fallen for. He started complaining. What happened to the innocent little flower he’d met? Why had she turned into a cactus? But back to the present. After a long, silent moment, my in-laws finally turned their bewildered gazes back to their son. “You’re going to bring your son to see us tomorrow?” my mother-in-law asked slowly. “He’s three years old?” my father-in-law added. “He’s… yours?” A paternal softness crept into Ethan’s smug expression. “Of course he is! I had a paternity test done. Serena and the kids have had it so tough overseas these past three years. She’s been raising four children all on her own. It’s been unbelievably difficult.” He shook his head, full of manufactured sympathy. “And she never once asked me for help. It was a complete accident that I ran into her after she moved back. That’s the only reason I found out I had a son.” “She’s strong, independent, gentle, and kind,” he continued, his voice swelling. “And her sons are so polite and well-behaved. You’ll absolutely love them when you meet them.” I was so shocked I couldn’t speak, my own expression now mirroring my in-laws’ look of pure idiocy. “Four… sons?” I finally managed to choke out. Ethan shot me a look of contempt. “A family like ours needs a male heir, Sophie. And while three of them aren’t mine, they’ll be great support for my son as he grows up. Every prince needs a court, right? Better to raise them loyal from the start.” He waved a dismissive hand at me. “As for Lily, she’s my daughter, and I won’t neglect her. I’ll make her a department manager or something when she’s older.” His eyes narrowed. “That’s the best I can do. If you ask for anything more, don’t blame me for getting nasty.” I fell silent, a dawning realization sinking in. Maybe the reason I’d successfully landed him all those years ago wasn’t because of my masterful charm, but because he was, and always had been, a complete and utter moron. Seeing my furrowed brow, Ethan’s temper flared. “What’s that look for, Sophie? Are you looking down on Serena?” “Let me tell you something,” he spat, “if an orphan like you could marry into the Hayes family, then so can she! And she gave me a son.” “And whatever my parents gave you as a dowry, they’ll give her double!” The words were barely out of his mouth when I saw my father-in-law and mother-in-law each raise a hand, all five fingers spread. Ethan blinked, and then a slow, greedy smile spread across his face. “Thank you, Mom and Dad! Fifty million! Now that’s more like it!” In the next instant, two blurs of motion cut through the air. I barely had time to blink before the sharp, wet crack of open palms against skin echoed in the cavernous living room. Ethan’s face twitched, his mouth frozen in a perfect “O” of shock. He stared at his parents, his hand trembling as he pointed a finger at them. “You… you actually hit me!” he stammered. “You hit your own son for an outsider? Have you lost your minds? After everything I just told you, you’re still siding with her? What has she done to you?” He took a menacing step forward. “I am the future of this family! You’d better think long and hard about who you’re betting on, or you’ll end up old and alone!” My mother-in-law didn’t even bother to look at him again. She just turned to her husband with disgust. “We were fools,” she said, her voice dripping with regret. “How did we raise something like this? You need to come with me to the temple tomorrow. We need to beg for forgiveness. What a terrible sin we’ve committed.” My father-in-law nodded, his face a mask of grief. “We should have never been so superficial. A handsome face, but a mind full of mud and a heart full of filth. Thank God we’re still here. Who else would look out for Sophie?” Superficial? What did they mean by that? The question had barely formed in my mind when I felt a scorching gaze fall upon me. Ethan, his face now a mottled red with rage, glared at me. “What kind of spell did you cast on them? Their own son! Their own grandson! They’re throwing us away for you!” “Don’t get too comfortable,” he snarled. “They haven’t met Serena yet. Once they see her, you think you’ll still be so smug? They’ll throw you out on the street where you belong!” I looked down at my own hand, then slowly curled my fingers into a claw. With a surge of fury, I lunged forward and raked my nails down his face. He screamed, clutching his cheeks as blood seeped through his fingers. “Sophie! You’re a damn shrew!” he yelled. “I let a viper into my own home!” I was about to let loose another volley of insults when my in-laws shouted in unison, “Bravo!” A strange feeling bloomed in my chest. Was it possible? Were they actually on my side? This wasn’t an act? I had attacked their son, the point of no return. This should have been the moment the charade ended, the moment they showed their true colors. But what was this? I had to admit, for the past five years, they had treated me better than any biological daughter could hope for. But deep down, I’d always maintained a sliver of doubt. I believed their kindness was transactional—they were good to me because I was their son’s wife, and in return, I would be good to their son. But I had just physically assaulted him, tearing the last shreds of civility to pieces, and they were… cheering me on. This had to be real. Ethan saw that his parents were still defending me, and his rage boiled over. “Just wait until Serena gets here!” he screamed, storming toward the door. “Then you’ll see what a real woman looks like!”

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The day my sixteen-year-old daughter was assaulted by her tutor, I heard her cries for help. And I did nothing. In fact, I locked the door to her room, leaned against it, and cheered him on. Afterward, my daughter’s spirit shattered. She stood on the edge of our rooftop, her dress torn, the wind whipping around her. But when the first responders rushed up, I was the one who screamed at them. “She wanted it!” “She dresses like that, what does she expect? She was asking for it!” “What are you even doing here? If she was going to jump, she’d have done it by now!” Everyone just stared, frozen in shock. My husband, Mark, lost his mind. The crack of his palm against my cheek echoed in the rooftop air, sending me stumbling to the ground. “How can you call yourself a mother?! You bitch. I’m divorcing you!” A firefighter held our daughter, Sophie, in his arms. She was sobbing, overwhelmed with grief and confusion. Even then, she was the good daughter. The thoughtful one. “If Mom just testifies for me in court,” she wept, “I’ll forgive her!” I met the weight of all their judgmental stares and let a cold smile spread across my face. “Sorry,” I said. “No deal.” 1 My parents, arriving in a frantic rush, heard that last part. They looked at me, their faces masks of disbelief, as I continued my tirade. “Are you insane? Anna, that is your daughter!” my father roared. “What kind of animal are you? How could you say something like that?” Sophie struggled out of the firefighter’s arms and collapsed into my mother’s embrace, her composure finally breaking. “Grandma, Grandpa, what’s wrong with Mom?” she cried, her voice ragged. “My tutor… he hurt me… and she just brought him a plate of fruit! She didn’t want to help me!” “Did I do something wrong? Did I embarrass her?” Every word was a shard of glass, tearing at the hearts of everyone who listened. The crowd’s gaze on me hardened, turning from disgust to pure loathing. My father, a man who hadn’t cried in thirty years, had red-rimmed eyes. He fought for control, his voice strained. “Anna, I don’t know what’s going through your head, but you need to take Sophie to the police station. Now.” “You’re her mother. It’s your responsibility. She’s just a child!” I touched the stinging red handprint on my cheek and shrugged, a picture of pure indifference. “She can go if she wants. I’m not going.” “And if any of you lay another hand on me,” I added, my voice dangerously low, “I’ll press charges for assault.” A wave of murmurs rippled through the onlookers. They started pointing, condemning me for being a monster, for abandoning my daughter in her hour of need. A police officer stepped forward, his expression grim. “Ma’am, the victim is a minor. A guardian needs to be present. As her mother, you need to come with us.” Sophie reached for the hem of my shirt, her small hand trembling. I slapped it away. My eyes were like ice as I looked down at her. “You’re sixteen years old. That’s practically an adult. If you want to go to the police, go by yourself. This isn’t my problem.” Her lips quivered, her face a canvas of terror. “Mommy, I’m scared,” she whispered. “Please, Mommy? You love me more than anyone, remember?” Mark couldn’t take it anymore. He wrapped his suit jacket around her shivering shoulders, then turned on me, his voice a raw roar. “Anna! What the hell is wrong with you?” “She’s not stable! If she tries to kill herself again, can you live with that?!” I remained unmoved. My mother was the first to break. Wiping away tears of pure disappointment, she took Sophie’s hand, her voice soft and soothing. “Sweetheart, will you come with Grandma to the station? Is that okay? Grandma will be with you.” “We’ll protect you. We’ll make sure no one ever hurts you again.” But as they took a single step, Sophie shrieked. Her body shook violently, tears streaming down her face. “I want my mommy! Mommy, save me! Please, save me!” “Get away from me! I want my mom to protect me!” Anyone could see it—the profound, primal bond a child has with her mother. It only made my parents more confused. For her entire life, Sophie had been the center of my universe. She was a fragile baby, born premature, and we nearly lost her. Doctors advised us to try for another child. Instead, I went to a clinic and had my tubes tied, determined that no other child would ever steal an ounce of love meant for her. I researched diets, therapies, and holistic treatments, running myself into the ground to build up her health until my own body gave out and I was diagnosed with stress-induced heart failure. When she started middle school, I threw myself back into my career, not for myself, but to build a fortress of security and capital for her future. The bond between us was legendary in our family. But today, watching this heartbreakingly pathetic scene unfold, I just threw my head back and laughed. I pointed a finger at my daughter, speaking to the entire crowd of onlookers. “You know,” I said, my voice ringing with amusement, “this is the same way she cried for help when she was flirting with her tutor!” For a second, there was absolute silence. No one could process that a mother would use those words to describe her own child. My husband lunged for me again, his hand raised, but Sophie instantly threw herself in front of me, sobbing. “Daddy, don’t hit Mom. Please.” “I must have done something to make her angry. That’s why she’s saying these things.” Mark let out a long, defeated sigh. “Anna, do you see this? Do you have any idea how much your daughter loves you?” “How can you be so cold?” I gave a dismissive sneer. “If you’re taking her to the station, then go. Stop wasting my time.” But Sophie shook her head fiercely. Ignoring my repeated rejections, she took my hand again, her touch as tentative as a butterfly’s wing. “Mommy,” she choked out, “I only want you. I’m so scared…” The crowd started whispering again. “That poor girl must have PTSD. I heard they were close. Her mom must have really manipulated her.” “Totally! What kind of mother is this? She’s worse than a wicked stepmother!” Listening to their insults, my parents’ faces were etched with desperation. They were practically begging me now. “Anna, we don’t understand what’s going on. But Sophie was hurt. That’s a fact. We have to get justice for her!” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “No matter what, I will not be testifying for Sophie.” Just then, a detective’s calm voice cut through the noise from behind me. “Mrs. Miller, this is now a criminal investigation. It’s not up to you anymore.” “You will come with us to the hospital, and you will provide a statement for your daughter.” Just when everyone expected me to refuse again, I surprised them all by nodding. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s go to the hospital.” The results came back quickly. Sophie had clear signs of an assault. There were bruises on her thighs and calves, angry red marks from where she’d been held down. But in her distress afterward, she had taken a shower, scrubbing away any trace of DNA evidence. Now, the only hope for a conviction rested on me. The sole witness. I saw the flicker of pain in my parents’ eyes when they heard the news. Sophie hadn’t stopped crying since we’d arrived at the hospital. Her hand never left the fabric of my sleeve, clinging to me like a baby bird to its mother. Anytime I showed the slightest sign of impatience, of wanting to leave, a police officer would place a firm hand on my shoulder, forcing me to stay. After the examination, a court date was set. My parents, holding on to one last shred of hope, asked me again. “Anna, why are you acting like this? You love Sophie more than life itself.” I lowered my gaze, my expression a frozen mask. “I told you, I won’t testify. And if I’m forced to, I will only say things that will hurt her case.” My parents refused to believe it. They pleaded and reasoned, but their words were wasted. They were destined for disappointment. In the courtroom, the judge’s voice was grave. “Anna Miller, according to the victim, Sophie Miller, you were present at the scene.” “Did you, with your own ears, hear Sophie Miller resisting or calling for help?” I looked at the defendant’s table, at the young and terrified face of the tutor, Ethan. Then I smiled, a provocative, challenging smile aimed right at the courtroom’s live-feed camera. “No.” “Ethan is a college student. He’s handsome, charming. Girls like him.” “My daughter,” I said, my voice dripping with contempt, “is cheap. She throws herself at any man who looks her way.” “I saw it with my own eyes. Sophie lifted her own skirt and sat right on Ethan’s lap. She was the one who seduced him.” The courtroom exploded. Sitting at the plaintiff’s table, Sophie’s face went white as a sheet. She swayed for a moment, her eyes rolling back, and then collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. The judge called for an immediate recess. The moment we were in the hallway, Mark’s hand cracked across my face again, harder this time. His eyes were bloodshot with rage. “You monster! Why would you lie about your own daughter?!” He turned desperately to my parents. “Mom, Dad, you know Sophie! She would never do something like that, right? Right?!” My mother’s eyes were full of a terrible, final disappointment. “Anna, as of this moment, I no longer have a daughter.” “We will raise Sophie from now on. She doesn’t need a mother as venomous as you.” Paramedics revived Sophie. The first thing she saw was the raw, red handprint on my cheek. Tears instantly welled in her eyes. “Don’t hit Mommy.” Her small, soft hand found mine, squeezing it. Her voice was a plea. “Mommy, why? Why would you say those things about me?” “Is it because you think I’m… dirty now? That I’m not good enough to be your daughter anymore?” I could see the pity on my parents’ faces. They rushed to her, hugging her tightly, their own tears flowing. “Oh, sweet girl, how could any of this be your fault? You’re the innocent one here!” But I remained completely unmoved. In fact, I started to laugh, a wild, unhinged sound. “You’re right! You are dirty! You’re not fit to be my daughter!” “I wish you’d just end up with that tutor. Since you’ve already been raped, you might as well marry him, right?” Sophie’s face was ashen, her lips trembling. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. My father was shaking with rage. “You… you ungrateful child! Shut your mouth!” He turned to Sophie. “Don’t listen to her, sweetheart. Your mother has lost her mind.” Just then, the doors to the hallway burst open. A swarm of reporters surged in, pointing their cameras at my face, carefully avoiding Sophie’s. Behind them, a detective looked at me, his face grim. He held up our home’s smart security camera. “Mrs. Miller, we found this camera in your living room and are seizing it as evidence.” A knot tightened in my stomach. “That’s useless,” I said quickly. “Ethan and Sophie were in her bedroom for the tutoring session.” Another officer informed me with an air of finality, “We’ve checked the specs on this model. It has audio recording capabilities.” “The feed is linked to your phone’s account. There should be a cloud backup of the video. We’ll need you to cooperate.” I scowled, hiding my phone behind my back. “I turned it off yesterday.” At those words, a look of utter despair crossed Sophie’s face. A reporter couldn’t help himself. “What kind of person are you? Why would you turn off the camera at that exact moment?” The detective’s voice was cold steel. “We deal in facts, ma’am. Hand over the phone.” “If the evidence is on there, it can prove what Ethan really did to your daughter!” They moved in, prying the phone from my grasp. The camera had indeed been turned off. But a technician quickly discovered that the cloud backup was still intact. The recording from that day was still there. They submitted it to the court as new evidence. In the recording’s background, you could hear it all: Sophie’s terrified screams, her voice, raw and desperate, crying my name over and over, begging me to save her. A wave of relief and vindication washed over the room. Then, on the screen, my image appeared. I walked slowly to her bedroom door, holding a plate of sliced fruit. I didn’t help. Instead, I pulled the door shut, locking it from the outside. The room was filled with gasps of shock and fury. Based on the recording, I wasn’t just a witness. I was an accomplice. “What is wrong with this woman? Hiding the truth about her own daughter’s assault.” “I bet she was having an affair with the tutor. That’s why she’s defending him.” “That would make sense. Look at her, you can tell she’s the type.” The way my parents looked at me was beyond disappointment now. It was horror. “Anna,” my father said, his voice trembling, “we raised you. We never knew you were capable of such evil.” Mark’s jaw was clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding. He glared at me. “We’re done. You don’t deserve to be my daughter’s mother.” I straightened my shoulders and looked at the police. “Since you’ve copied the recording, I’ll take my phone back now.” Sophie gently tugged on my sleeve. “Mommy? Do you believe me now?” “I really didn’t seduce him. Will you be my witness? Will you testify for me?” “Then… then everyone will stop saying horrible things about you…” I didn’t have to look to know what the comments sections on the news feeds were saying about me. I brushed her hand away and held her gaze for a long moment. Then I turned to my mother. “Mom, I need to talk to you. Alone.” She was still my mother. After a moment of hesitation, she followed me into an empty conference room. I whispered something to her. A few moments later, my mother walked out. Standing in front of all the reporters, her eyes grew red. “Sophie.” “Listen to Grandma. Let’s drop the charges. Let’s just go home.” A collective gasp went through the crowd. My mother took Sophie’s hand, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Sweetheart, please, don’t pursue this anymore!” Sophie stared at her, stunned. Then she screamed. “Grandma, are you crazy too?! Why are you just like Mom? Why won’t you believe me?!” A court officer immediately stepped between them. “Ma’am, this is a criminal proceeding. The charges can’t be withdrawn by the family at this stage.” My mother could only choke back a sob and fall silent. Her face now wore the same expression of grim resolve as mine. Soon, the recess was over. The audio evidence was played again for the court. Mark slammed his fist on the table. “It’s all my fault,” he said, his voice breaking. “If I had been home, this never would have happened to Sophie!” The judge looked at me, his eyes filled with controlled anger. “Mrs. Miller. Do you have anything to say now?” I said nothing. But across the room, at the defendant’s table, Ethan suddenly shouted. “I have something to say!” He shot a quick glance at me, then raised his voice. “Mrs. Miller, you were the one who came on to me! You told me your husband couldn’t get it up anymore!” “I wasn’t interested in an older woman like you, but then you offered me Sophie! You said I could have both of you! That’s the only reason I ever slept with you! And now you’re accusing me of rape?!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of lingerie, holding it high in the air. It was a lacy, risqué style, clearly belonging to a grown woman. “I’m sure this has Anna Miller’s DNA all over it,” he declared to the judge. “I request a forensic analysis!” Under an expedited order, the results came back in record time. It was, indeed, my underwear. The courtroom erupted. But my face remained calm. “A desperate lie from a desperate man,” I said with a sneer. I glanced at the watch on my wrist, as if I were waiting for something. The next second, the courtroom doors opened. My mother rushed in, out of breath. Her face was a storm of pain and conflict, but her hands were steady as she held up a small, pink, hardcover book. “Your Honor,” she announced, her voice ringing with conviction. “I have new evidence to submit!”

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