I’ve been the family curse ever since I was a child, all because I can see the countdowns hovering over the heads of my loved ones. I saw my grandfather’s. Then my father’s. Then my mother’s. They all died, on the day their timers ran out, in a string of perfect, terrible accidents. My three older brothers decided it was my fault, that my words were a curse. They hated me for it. But my little sister, the one whose birth cost our mother her life, she grew up bathed in their love. Sophie, they called her, our little lucky star. The moment she was born, everything started going right for the family. But they forget. Mom died because of her. On the morning of my eighteenth birthday, I saw my own reflection in the bathroom mirror, and a countdown of my own floating above it. So I went out and bought myself an urn I liked. Then I went home and cooked a feast, an entire table full of food, hoping for one last meal with my brothers. But the timer ran out, and I was still waiting. No one ever came. 1 It started when I was little, seeing those numbers. A clock ticking down to zero, visible only to me. The first time I saw one, it was over my grandfather’s head. I told my parents, but they just chuckled at my childish fantasy and ruffled my hair. A day later, I saw him again. He was lying in a bed, covered by a white sheet. The room was full of people crying, but I was too young to understand what it all meant. Then, the numbers appeared over my dad’s head. When I told him, his smile froze for a second before snapping back into place. That night, he didn’t come home from the office. Instead, the phone rang, sharp and frantic. My mother answered, and the color drained from her face. Her belly was huge by then, pregnant with Sophie. She ran for the door, desperate, but she was too clumsy, too panicked. She tripped on the front steps. And in that instant, as she lay on the ground, the familiar 24-hour countdown appeared over her head. That was the day Sophie was born. It was the day my mother bled out on a hospital bed, the day the doctors said there was nothing more they could do. I stood helpless in the hallway. My third brother, Ryan, shoved me to the floor. “You’re a monster,” he spat, his face twisted. “You cursed them. You killed them.” The cold floor scraped my palms, and tiny beads of blood welled up on my skin. I wanted to cry out from the pain, but when I looked around, no one moved toward me. Their eyes were filled with fear and disgust. I couldn’t make a sound. I bit my lip, pulled myself up, and brushed off my little dress, whispering to myself that it was okay. I curled myself into a ball in the corner, listening to the waves of sobs coming from her hospital room. I hugged my knees and whimpered into the fabric of my dress. “Daddy… Mommy…” I must have fallen asleep like that. When I opened my eyes again, the hallway was empty. They had all left. Why didn’t anyone wake me? Had they just… left me here? A knot of panic tightened in my chest. I scrambled to my feet, but my legs were numb from sitting for so long, and I pitched forward, hitting the hard floor again. In the sterile quiet of the long corridor, only the flickering fluorescent lights kept me company. My body ached. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I cried. From that day on, everything was different. My three brothers showered Sophie with affection, but they avoided me like I was a disease. Even the housekeepers treated me with a thinly veiled contempt. I often went to bed hungry. Still, somehow, I survived to be eighteen. Ryan always said only the wicked live long. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was so bad that death didn’t want me. 2 I climbed out of bed, my worn slippers shuffling against the floorboards as I made my way to the bathroom. My hair was brittle, my cheeks hollow. No one would ever guess I was the eldest daughter of the Hayes family. Not that it mattered. Because I could finally see it. Through the mirror, the crimson numbers hovered just above my hairline. 23:59:47. The day had finally come. I wanted to laugh, but all I could manage was a slight curve of my lips. I set my water glass down on the counter and stared at my reflection, my mind a blank slate. I had no friends, hardly spoke to anyone. How was I supposed to spend my last day on Earth? After a long while, I slowly got myself ready and descended from the attic that served as my room. My original bedroom had been converted into a walk-in closet for Sophie years ago. I used to watch her through the small attic window, a carefree girl playing on the manicured lawn, her laughter echoing in the air. I was a ghost in my own home, a secret observer of their happiness. I didn’t expect to see my second brother, Ethan, and Sophie still at home. As I came down the stairs, I heard Sophie’s bright, cheerful laugh. “Here, Ethan, let me do your tie,” she offered, full of self-importance. Ethan bent his head down, a fond smile on his face as he let her fumble with the silk. She tied a lopsided, crooked knot. Sophie stepped back to admire her work, her brow furrowed. “Oh, it looks all wrong. Maybe you should just do it yourself.” But he didn’t undo it. He just reached out and affectionately messed up her hair. “No way. It’s our Sophie’s first attempt at a tie. It’s perfect.” He smiled. “Come on, I’ll drive you to school today.” Sophie beamed and took his hand. A bitter ache spread through my chest. I remembered when I was little, knitting my first scarf. I’d stayed up for nights, my fingers clumsy and sore, until I’d finished a slightly lumpy, uneven scarf for Ethan. I presented it to him, my heart pounding, desperate for a word of praise, for the gentle head pat he used to give me. He wouldn’t even take it. His face was a dark cloud. “Who knows if I’d be cursed just by wearing it,” he’d muttered. I ended up giving the scarf to our family dog, Buddy, hoping it would make his bed a little warmer. The next day, I found it in the trash can, cut into a dozen pieces, impossible to ever put back together. Ignoring the grime, I reached in and picked out every single scrap. I took them back to my room, washed them, and put them in a box. I never looked at them again. The front door opened. Just as they were about to leave, I decided to try. “Ethan. Sophie.” They turned, their expressions shifting. Sophie’s eyes lit up for a moment. “Ellie!” she called out happily. Ethan’s face hardened. He looked like he was about to say something sharp, but a glance at Sophie made him hold his tongue. “Could we… could we all have dinner together tonight?” The words felt heavy and awkward in my mouth. I held my breath, waiting. “Just this once.” “Of course!” Sophie chirped, at the exact same moment Ethan said, “We can’t.” The two opposing answers hung in the air. Sophie looked up at Ethan, confused. “Why not?” Yes, why not? “Don’t you remember?” Ethan said smoothly. “You promised Liam you’d go with him to that charity auction. It’s tonight.” “I did?” Under Ethan’s firm gaze, Sophie’s memory seemed to suddenly click into place. “Oh, right!” She turned back to me, her face a mask of apology. “I’m so sorry, Ellie. We can’t do dinner tonight.” Then her bright smile returned. “How about tomorrow? The whole family can have dinner together tomorrow, I promise.” The whole family? A smile that felt more painful than a sob stretched across my face. The bitterness in my heart was a flood, threatening to drown me. I don’t have a tomorrow. But I nodded anyway, watching them leave. Just before the door closed, Ethan shot me a warning look, his eyes as cold and sharp as a scalpel, as if he wanted to dissect me right there in the foyer. “Eleanor,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Don’t get any ideas.” “If you do anything to hurt Sophie, you’ll regret it.” “Stay away from her.” 3 I watched them disappear down the driveway. The fragile bubble of hope that had swelled in my chest moments before popped, leaving me cold and empty, like I’d been plunged into ice water. Is that really how he saw me? A villain? A monster? My heart ached, and a sharp pain flared in my stomach. I went to the kitchen to find something to eat, but there was nothing. Nothing except half a stale bagel sitting on the counter. I used it to crack open a couple of walnuts I found in the pantry, but it did nothing to quiet the gnawing hunger. One of the housekeepers walked past, rolling her eyes in a way she thought I couldn’t see. When she noticed the bagel in my hand, she let out a theatrical gasp. “Oh, my! Miss Hayes, you weren’t going to eat that, were you? I was just about to throw it out.” Her tone was laced with false concern. “It’s a shame, Mr. Hayes and Miss Sophie are always up so early, so we make breakfast then. If you’d like something, I suppose I could cook for you now.” Her pitying act made my skin crawl. I stared at her blankly and shook my head, my stomach twisting into a tight knot. I turned and went back up to my room. There was no place for me in this house. Even the staff treated me with their own special brand of passive-aggressive cruelty. The burning in my stomach was getting worse, so intense it was hard to control my emotions. My hands trembled as I fumbled with a bottle of painkillers, dry-swallowing a couple and chasing them with cold water from the tap. The pain slowly subsided to a dull throb. I changed my clothes and put on a little makeup, trying to make myself look less like a ghost. My first stop was a funeral home. With only one day left, I couldn’t get anything custom-made. I settled on a simple, elegant mahogany box with a silver inlay. It would be my new home. I walked out clutching the urn, feeling the curious and startled glances of people on the street. I ignored them and continued to my next destination. I found myself walking past the university that my third brother, Ryan, attended. It was between classes, and the campus was alive with the sound of laughter and conversation. I watched them with a pang of envy. The vibrant, hopeful energy of youth. My own education had stopped when I was ten. Just as I was about to turn away, I saw Ryan getting out of his car near the main gate. This was my last day. I took a deep breath, gathered my courage, and started towards him. As I got closer, I saw he was on the phone, his brow furrowed in a serious expression. His eyes flickered towards me, and a flash of suspicion crossed his face. I heard him say into the phone, “I know. I’ll handle it.” He hung up and strode towards me. I wanted to ask him to come home for dinner, but the look in his eyes froze the words in my throat. “Eleanor,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “If you want to keep living in this house, you’ll learn to keep your pathetic little schemes to yourself.” “If I find out you’ve done anything to upset Sophie, I will personally make your life a living hell.” 4 I froze, my body turning to ice. Sophie again. I knew instantly who had been on the phone: Ethan. Of course. In their eyes, I was born bad luck, the girl who cursed her own family to death. A shiver ran down my spine as I remembered Ryan’s cruelty. Right after our mother died, a kind nurse had driven me home. Ryan locked me in the small pantry in the basement. For three days, no one came. No food, no water. The memory is still a dark stain on my childhood. On the third day, just as I thought I was going to die, our oldest brother, Liam, appeared like an avenging angel. He let me out. He never asked what happened, never spoke a word about it, but over the years, he was the one who treated me with the least amount of malice. I was sure Ethan had already called him, too. Seeing my silence, Ryan must have thought I was scared. He leaned in closer, his voice a chilling whisper right next to my ear. “You know, with my resources, making someone just… disappear… is remarkably easy.” My pupils constricted. I stood there, rigid, as he turned and walked onto campus without a backward glance. I walked away, my feet moving automatically, my mind numb. My next stop was a portrait studio. The young woman at the front desk was kind. When I told her why I was there—for a memorial portrait—her eyes filled with a sympathy so genuine it hurt. She said a few soft words of comfort. And just like that, the dam inside me broke. It’s funny how the simple kindness of a stranger can undo you when your own family gives you none. I buried my face in her shoulder and sobbed, wetting her blouse with my tears. She didn’t say a word, just gently patted my back until I was finished. She was a stranger, but in that moment, she gave me more warmth than I had felt in years. After I left the studio, I just sat on a curb for a long time, hugging the urn and the portrait of my own smiling face, staring at nothing. Finally, I decided to go to Liam’s office downtown. I’d never been there before, and it took me a while to find the right building. The receptionists at the front desk stopped me. No appointment, no entry. The boss was in a meeting. I didn’t give up. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number I knew by heart. It rang and rang, then went to voicemail. I tried again. And again. Nothing. I found his profile on a messaging app, the one connected to his number. It’s my last day, I typed, my fingers trembling. I just want to see you. Please. Just for a minute. I sent the message and waited, my heart hammering against my ribs. Two hours passed. The message remained unread. Time was running out. I didn’t want to die on a city street. I went home. The house was empty; the housekeeper was out running errands. The silence in the huge villa was absolute, cavernous. I started cooking early, clinging to a sliver of hope that they might come home. My phone stayed silent. No replies, no notifications. I sat at the dining room table, using a small hand mirror to watch the countdown above my head. Three hours left. All I wanted was for them to be with me. I wanted to see their faces when I died. Would they be happy? Relieved, probably. That’s what I told myself. In this world, no one cared if I lived or died. The people who were supposed to be my family hated me. I cooked a feast. Hot oil splattered onto my hand, the stinging pain a distant sensation, overshadowed by a strange, manic excitement building inside me. My body started to tremble uncontrollably. Two hours left. I sat at the table, my eyes glued to the front door. With shaking hands, I picked up my phone and called Liam one last time. “Liam.” He answered. Silence on the other end. My voice was tight, strained. “Can you… can you please come home? For dinner?” “I’m going to die.” 5 The moment the words left my mouth, I could hear my own heartbeat, loud and frantic in the silence. All this time I’d told myself I was ready for death, but now, at the end, I found myself desperate for one more look at the world. The room was so quiet I could hear the air moving in my lungs. Just when I thought he wouldn’t answer, his voice cut through the silence, and I felt myself fall. “Eleanor, do you really think a lie like that will make us feel sorry for you?” “You are unbelievable. The lengths you’ll go to for attention. Do you think we’re still the gullible little kids you used to fool?” “Have you forgotten how Grandpa and Mom and Dad died?” My heart shattered. No, it’s not like that! I screamed inside my head, but no sound came out. Tears streamed down my face, silent drops splashing onto the floor. I felt like a marionette with its strings cut, slumping in my chair. “I’m not lying,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash. “Please. I’m begging you. Just this once. Please?” The line went dead. Just before he hung up, I thought I heard Sophie’s happy laugh in the background, calling his name. The frantic energy that had coursed through me moments before vanished, replaced by a profound, crushing emptiness. I sat stiffly at the table laden with food and began to talk to myself, imagining them there, re-enacting the loving scenes I had only ever witnessed from the shadows. I think I was going crazy. Lost in my own one-act play, I started to laugh, a hollow, broken sound that grew louder and louder until it was choked with sobs. The minutes ticked by. No one came home. I waited until midnight. Three minutes left. I tried to look back on my life, but it was a short, simple story. There wasn’t much to review. A tragedy from the moment I was born. The final countdown began. I rested my head on the table, my urn and my memorial portrait standing beside me like silent dinner guests. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… The numbers vanished. Everything went still. The world became utterly silent, not even the sound of my own breathing to fill the void. And then, I heard a click from the front door. Someone was home.

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I bought myself a Koenigsegg. I was about to take my girlfriend, Jenna, to a car club gala—the perfect place to finally come clean about who I really was—when she snatched the keys from my hand. “Alex,” she said, her voice a little too bright. “A buddy of mine, his crew is doing a cruise through town. Do you think we could borrow your car? Just to make an impression.” I froze. “Jenna, this car was nearly four million dollars. It’s not really something I can just lend out.” Her eyes immediately welled up. “You can’t do this one thing for me? He never asks for anything.” Before I could answer, a guy with electric blue hair strolled into my private garage, nodding at Jenna. “Jenna, baby. This the boyfriend with the lame-ass driving skills you were telling me about?” My fists clenched. “Who let you in here?” He shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “Jenna, your boyfriend doesn’t even know who I am? I’m Ryder Stone. You know, the champion of this year’s Apex Rally?” His words hit me like a physical blow. Funny, I didn’t remember my three-time championship title being interrupted by this clown. 1 Jenna tossed the keys to Ryder. He didn’t hesitate, sliding into the driver’s seat and firing up the engine with a guttural roar. “Get out.” I grabbed the edge of the scissor door. “This is my car.” He just laughed, ignoring me completely. Jenna’s voice softened, turning pleading. “Alex, I’ve never asked you for anything…” For a split second, I felt a pang of weakness. But then I remembered the old saying: never lend out your car or your girl. My resolve hardened. “No.” I pulled out my phone to call the police, but Jenna snatched it, hiding it behind her back. Her eyes were red as she turned on me. “Do you have to make this so ugly? What’s the big deal if they borrow it for a couple of days?” Ryder, still in my car, sneered and pulled out his own phone. “You wanna play it that way?” He yelled into the receiver, “Boys! Get in here and check out the big shot’s ride!” The garage door slid open, and two guys reeking of stale beer stumbled in. One was bald with a mess of tattoos, the other wore a hideous Hawaiian shirt. They were holding selfie sticks. “Yo, what’s up, livestream!” the bald one shouted into his phone. “Check it out, a multi-million-dollar Koenigsegg! We’re about to show you how the other half lives!” In the chaos, Ryder gunned the engine. “Get out!” I lunged for the door, but the two goons grabbed me, holding me back. Ryder was laughing for his online audience. “Drop a hundred in the tip jar and I’ll get this baby up to one-fifty for you!” “Stop it!” I roared, struggling against their grip. “What’s the rush?” The bald guy shoved his selfie stick in my face. “Say hi to the camera! Let’s show everyone what the owner of a four-million-dollar car looks like when he’s being a little bitch!” The chat feed exploded with a stream of bile: “Damn, he looks like a Ken doll with a stick up his ass. So cheap.” “Look at that loser. Bet he drives it like a grandma.” “Where’d a punk like that get that kind of money? Daddy a crooked politician?” “Nah, he’s definitely some rich cougar’s boy toy.” “Let him go!” Jenna’s voice cut through the noise. A wave of relief washed over me. I thought she was finally coming to her senses. But then she said, “Alex, you should stand there and learn how a real pro drives! When it comes to skill, you’re not even worthy of washing his tires!” I stared at her, the words not computing. This was the woman I had loved for two years? I’d kept my real identity a secret, yes, but my love for her had been the truest thing in my life. How could she say that? Ryder honked the horn victoriously from inside the cockpit. The car screeched forward, and he started doing tight, aggressive donuts in the spacious garage, the smell of burning rubber filling the air. “See that?” The guy in the Hawaiian shirt slapped my back so hard I almost fell over. “That’s a burnout, buddy! Something a putz like you who only knows how to cruise has never experienced.” Jenna was frowning at me from the side. “Alex, why are you making that face? Can’t you just be a good sport about this?” Ryder slammed on the brakes, the car executing a perfect, beautiful drift before stopping inches from us. “How was that, Jenna? Better than your boyfriend, huh?” Jenna actually giggled. “Way better. You’re so much better than him.” Ryder’s laugh was greasy and loud. “Oh yeah? I bet I’m better in other ways, too.” Jenna playfully swatted at the air. “Oh, stop it!” she said, giving him a sultry look that made my stomach turn. A hot rage flooded my veins. “What the hell is going on between you two?” I demanded. 2 Jenna rolled her eyes at me like I was an idiot. “I told you, we’re just friends.” “You’re ‘just friends’ with these guys? A woman, with a crew like this? Do you have any concept of boundaries?” Her expression soured. “Are you from the Stone Age? Why are you so damn old-fashioned? You can’t even take a joke. Why can’t you be more like Ryder and his friends?” I was trembling with fury. “Be like them? You want me to be a thief who steals other people’s property?” Ryder heard me. His face hardened. He stomped on the accelerator, and the Koenigsegg shot toward one of the massive concrete support pillars of the garage. He swerved at the last possible second, the carbon fiber body missing the pillar by a whisper. “Ahh!” Jenna screamed, but it was a scream of exhilaration. “Ryder, that was so cool!” The bald guy and his friend whooped and cheered. “Ryder, you’re a legend!” The livestream chat was a waterfall of digital gifts and emojis. Ryder was beaming, pointing at me. “Jenna, what’s the point of being with a coward like this? Let me take you for a real ride.” He leaned over and pushed open the passenger door. And then, the moment that shattered everything. Jenna ran towards the car, her face lit up with pure joy. “Jenna!” I yelled, my voice raw. “If you get in that car with him, we are done!” She paused, her face clouded with annoyance. “Oh, my God, you are unbelievable. I’m just going for a spin with a champion driver. You’d break up with me over that? I’ll be back in a little while. Can you stop being such a baby?” Without another look at me, she slid into the passenger seat. Ryder let out a triumphant laugh, gave me a downward-pointing thumbs-up, and floored it. The car vanished out of the garage in a blur of motion and a scream of engine noise. “Whoa, did you see that, people?” the bald guy said, pointing his camera back at my stunned face. “The owner is just standing there like a statue! His girlfriend just took off with the champ!” The Hawaiian shirt guy nudged me with his elbow. “Hey, man, don’t take it so hard. Jenna and our boy Ryder, they’re a perfect match. You’re just… you know, the opening act.” I ground my teeth, my jaw aching. I was about to reach for my phone—my real phone, from my other pocket—when I saw the screen of the bald guy’s phone. It had switched to Ryder’s point-of-view, clearly being filmed by Jenna. The camera was angled on Ryder’s profile as he expertly shifted gears and weaved through traffic. “This car is insane, folks!” he shouted over the engine noise. “A total waste on that loser owner!” Jenna’s voice, full of adoration, chimed in. “Go faster, Ryder! Faster!” “You got it, baby! Hold on tight!” The two goons watched, mesmerized, occasionally glancing over to mock me. “Hey, Jenna told us you’re working with a real toothpick down there. Is that true?” The bald guy cackled. “Oh, I heard! Just like his driving—limp and boring!” The words were so vile, so degrading. I didn’t know if they were making it up or if Jenna had actually said that about me. Either way, it was unbearable. “Shut up,” I snarled through clenched teeth. “Ooh, defensive, are we?” the Hawaiian shirt guy added. “Why else do you think she’s so close with Ryder? He knows how to perform, if you know what I mean. Hahaha!” On the screen, Ryder was steering with one hand. His other hand… it moved and draped itself around Jenna’s shoulders. She didn’t push him away. Instead, she giggled and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Whoa! We’ve got live-action romance, people!” the bald guy yelled into his phone. Then, Jenna tilted her head up and planted a kiss on Ryder’s cheek. He laughed, turning his head to catch her lips in a deep, sloppy kiss. My brain short-circuited. A girlfriend who would do that? Why was I even hesitating? It was over. What was I waiting for? An engraved invitation to my own public humiliation? 3 There was something naggingly familiar about Ryder’s arrogant face. I knew I’d seen him somewhere before, and it definitely wasn’t on a rally podium. While the two goons were distracted by the livestream, I discreetly pulled up some information on Ryder Stone. And what I found was very, very interesting. I dialed 911. “Hello, my Koenigsegg has been stolen by a man named Ryder Stone. He’s currently driving recklessly through the city, speeding…” Before I could finish, the bald guy rushed me, slapping the phone out of my hand. “Fuck! You little snitch, you actually called the cops?!” “You really don’t know when to quit!” He stomped on my phone, crushing it on the concrete floor. The Hawaiian shirt guy grabbed me in a chokehold and dragged me backward while the bald one quickly called Ryder. Less than five minutes later, the Koenigsegg screeched back into the garage. Ryder leaped out, storming toward me, and drove his fist straight into my gut. “You want to die, you piece of shit?” Jenna walked up to me then. She didn’t check if I was okay. She didn’t show a flicker of concern. Instead, she slapped me hard across the face. “Alex! You coward! It was a small thing, did you really have to blow it up like this?” I clutched my stomach, the pain a white-hot nova. I looked at the woman I once loved, her face now twisted into an ugly, unfamiliar mask. Ryder spat on the floor and grabbed a fistful of my hair. “Looks like we have to teach you a lesson you won’t forget. Tie him up!” I struggled, but it was two against one. “Ryder, what do we do now?” the bald guy asked. Before Ryder could answer, the doorbell to the main house rang. A flicker of hope ignited in me. I tried to make a sound. Ryder’s face changed, and he shot me a venomous look. “Jenna, you go talk to them.” He then nodded to the Hawaiian shirt guy. “You go with her. Make it look convincing.” I could hear a police officer’s voice through the door. “We received a report about a stolen vehicle?” The Hawaiian shirt guy’s voice, suddenly friendly and calm, answered. “Oh, that was me, officer! Total misunderstanding! My friend just took the car out without asking, and I kind of freaked out and called you guys. He just brought it back. Everything’s fine now.” Jenna immediately backed him up. “My boyfriend just has a bit of a temper!” The police saw the car, parked and undamaged. They took some notes and left. The second the door closed, their true natures returned. They dragged me out from behind a stack of storage bins and threw me to the ground. Ryder kicked me hard in the stomach, and my vision swam with black spots. Jenna stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching with cold indifference. “Hey, tough guy,” the Hawaiian shirt guy sneered, squatting down to pat my cheek. “Not so tough now, are you? Did you learn your lesson?” 4 They had gagged me, so I couldn’t scream the curses I was thinking, but I made sure my eyes conveyed all the hatred I felt. “Ooh, still defiant?” the bald one grinned. “Boys, I think he needs a little something extra to help him cool off.” Ryder grinned cruelly and started to unbuckle his pants. “I’ve been holding it in. Thought I’d give you a taste of some golden champagne, cool you off!” A hot, foul stream rained down on me, soaking my hair and shirt. The humiliation was so absolute, so suffocating, I nearly passed out. “Hahaha!” The two goons roared with laughter. Jenna actually let out a snort of amusement. “Ryder is a rally champion. It’s an honor for him to even drive your car. You really don’t know what’s good for you.” Ryder zipped up his pants and kicked me again. “Can’t handle that? Oh, the fun is just getting started.” He motioned to his friends. “Go to town on him. Don’t hit the face, but make sure he remembers this. Teach him some respect.” A storm of fists and feet descended on my back, my stomach, my ribs. I curled into a ball, each blow punctuated by their vile taunts and crazed laughter. “Think you’re hot shit with your fancy car?” “Useless coward!” And through it all, Jenna never said a word to stop them. When they finally got tired, they stopped. Ryder nudged me with his shoe. “Kid, let this be a lesson. We’re taking the car. If you dare call the cops again, it’ll be a lot worse than a beating and a golden shower. Got it?” The Hawaiian shirt guy asked, “Ryder, what about him?” Ryder stretched, satisfied. “Just leave him tied up. Keep him out of trouble.” Jenna added, “Yeah, that way we can have some fun for a couple of days without him bothering us.” Ryder wrapped his arm around Jenna’s waist. “Let’s go, baby. I know a place where we can have a real good time.” Just as they were about to leave, there was a sharp, authoritative knock at the door. The laughter died instantly. Ryder’s face soured. “Don’t tell me the cops came back.” His friends looked nervous, exchanging glances. “Quick! Shove him back there!” They scrambled to drag me back into the corner, behind the storage bins. Just before they stuffed the gag back in my mouth, I yelled at Ryder, “Your good times are over!” My words made him pause, then his face contorted with rage. He rushed over and kicked me viciously one last time. “You son of a bitch! You dare curse me? I’ll deal with you later!” The moment the door opened, the smile on Ryder’s face froze. He stood there as if he’d been turned to stone.

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The day of our seventh wedding anniversary, as I was waiting for Elias to come home, a video with a staggering number of views popped up on my feed. It was a photo of a recommendation letter, the text glowing over it. “She is my star student. Incredibly resilient and handles pressure well, though she can be a bit clumsy. Please, take the time to mentor her.” “If there are any issues with her work, tell her directly, but please don’t yell at her. She’s all alone, so far from home.” “Be advised: my student talks a lot and loves to complain to me. I have no children of my own, and I have a habit of playing favorites.” Every word was steeped in a genuine, tender affection. It was obvious this professor adored his student. I smiled, about to scroll away, when my thumb froze. For a split second, the world went numb. The signature at the bottom read: Elias Dawson. The shock lasted only a moment before I shook my head, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping my lips. It couldn’t be him. Elias was famously rigid, a man of unforgiving standards. He had refused to write a recommendation letter even for me, back when I was his student. In the seven years since, not a single one of his graduate students had ever received one from him. They’d complained to me in private about his cold, unyielding nature. Thinking of it now, the smile on my face deepened. The only thing that notoriously severe man had ever done that broke from his character was proposing to me. That single act had been my anchor. So even when our married life remained as coolly methodical as his academic papers, even when he adhered to a strict rule of seventy thrusts in bed—no more, no less—I knew, I just knew, that I was special to him. But then my thumb slipped, and I tapped on the user’s profile. The warmth in my veins turned to ice. The student’s pinned video was a blurry, candid shot of her professor in profile. It only took a single glance. It was Elias. 1 My fingertip, trembling, hovered over the screen. I played the pinned video again and again. The profile was out of focus, a fleeting moment captured by a loving hand, but I saw it with perfect clarity. How could I not recognize the man I had shared a life with for seven years? My mind was a blank slate of roaring static. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to take a breath. There has to be a mistake. A man like Elias simply did not write letters of recommendation. Especially not one overflowing with such raw, undisguised devotion. But as I scrolled through her profile, the details sharpened into a cruel reality. The student’s location tag was for our city. Her university affiliation was Northwood, where Elias taught. Could it all be a coincidence? My heartbeat hammered against my ribs, loud enough to fill the empty house. I shouldn’t be doubting him. I knew him better than anyone. I shouldn’t— “I’m home.” The voice, as flat and predictable as ever, cut through my thoughts. My head snapped up to see Elias stepping through the door, his face a familiar, placid mask. When I didn’t respond, his brow furrowed slightly. He looked over at me, his tone clipped. “What’s wrong?” I instinctively hid my phone, forcing my lips into a smile as I stood to take his coat. “You’re late. Everything okay?” Elias’s movement was almost imperceptible, a slight hesitation before he answered. “I was helping a student with her work.” A cold dread seized me. My mind flashed back to the comment section of that video. A chorus of strangers was shipping the professor and his student, begging her for updates. Just half an hour before Elias had walked in, she’d replied to one of them. “Tee-hee, my advisor just finished helping me pack up my apartment!” I inhaled, and the scent that clung to his coat wasn’t the sterile, unscented laundry detergent of our seven-year marriage. It was a cheap, cloying gardenia perfume. He didn’t seem to notice my distress. He strode into the living room, then stopped short. His gaze landed on the bouquet I’d bought on a whim earlier that day—a ten-dollar bundle of gardenias from the discount bin at the grocery store. “Married this long and you’re still buying flowers?” he asked. His voice was devoid of accusation, a simple statement of fact, but it felt like a shard of glass in my heart. My throat felt tight, as if a hand were squeezing it shut. It took a moment to find my voice. “They were on sale.” Elias just nodded, saying nothing more as he walked into the bathroom. His phone was on the coffee table, just a few feet away. I stared at it, unable to move. The truth was likely right there, a coiled snake waiting to strike, and I was terrified to touch it. It felt as if opening that phone would transform seven years of what I believed was love into a slap across the face. The sound of the shower started. My heart steeled itself. I walked over and picked it up. The password was his birthday. It hadn’t changed. At first glance, his messages looked normal. With everyone but me, he was a man of few words. He hadn’t even given me a pet name; my contact was just “Grace.” Except for one. A contact named “Lily.” My hand shook as I opened their chat history. It looked innocent enough. She was the talkative one, sharing everything from what she had for lunch to a photo of the sunset. A few hours ago, she had texted him complaining about how tiring it was to pack. Elias’s replies were short, but he replied to every single one. “Looks delicious.” “Beautiful.” “I’ll come help you.” “Open the door.” “I’m leaving. Lock up.” In that instant, the carefully constructed fortress around my heart crumbled into dust. Tears flooded my eyes. A moment later, a large hand snatched the phone from my grasp. “Grace, you have no sense of boundaries.” 2 His sudden movement startled me, and I stumbled backward, landing hard on the floor. Elias instinctively reached out to catch me, but his hand froze in mid-air. He stood over me, his brow furrowed, his voice still a cold, flat line. “You’ve never gone through my phone before. I’ve told you I don’t like people invading my privacy.” He sighed, a sound of pure exasperation. “This time, I’ll let it go. But I expect this to be the last time.” He bent down, extending his hand to help me up. I flinched away from his touch, scrambling to my feet on my own. A bitter laugh escaped me. “People?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Elias, we’ve been married for seven years. I’m your wife.” His jaw tightened. His expression didn’t change, but the pressure in the room dropped. He was angry. Because I saw his messages with Lily? “Who is she?” I demanded. “A student.” The words were clipped, dismissive. He turned and walked to the dining table, taking his seat as if the conversation was over. I followed him, my voice rising despite my attempts to stay calm. “A student?!” I cried. “You don’t treat your other students like that! When you told her that her lunch looked delicious, you were eating the breakfast I made for you! A breakfast I asked you about, and you told me was just ‘fine’!” “When you told her the sunset she sent was beautiful, I had sent you a picture of the very same one, and you never even replied!” “She says she’s tired of packing and you drop everything to go help her? Elias, do you really think that shows a sense of boundaries?!” The fork in his hand finally clattered onto his plate. He looked up, his eyes flat and filled with a profound disappointment. “Grace, what’s happened to you? You’ve lost all sense of gracefulness. All you talk about is the rising price of groceries at the market. And now you’re screaming at me like a madwoman. Do you find this fulfilling?” He stood up, his chair scraping against the floor, and walked towards the guest bedroom. “I told you. She’s just a student. If you don’t believe me, feel free to investigate it yourself. Just stop making a scene in my house. It’s exhausting.” The door slammed shut. I stared at the elaborate anniversary dinner I’d cooked, a feast for two. My first thought, absurdly, was that if we didn’t eat it, it would go bad. I sat down and began to mechanically spoon food into my mouth. The steak was tougher than I remembered. Tomorrow I’d have to go to a different butcher. The asparagus wasn’t overcooked this time, which was good, but it tasted too salty. My eyes felt hollow as I raised a hand to wipe my cheek. It wasn’t the asparagus. I was tasting my own tears. A jolt went through me, sharp as lightning. I had become her. The woman Elias complained about. A frumpy, nagging housewife. Seven years ago, I was vibrant, full of life and passion. How did I become this? My heart ached with a hundred different sorrows. The food in my mouth tasted like ash. I numbly cleared the table, washed the dishes, and went to our bedroom alone. I didn’t sleep a wink. The next morning, Elias left for the university at eight o’clock, sharp, just as he always did. I got up and followed him. Even though I knew, deep down, what his behavior meant, I had to see it with my own eyes. 3 He was only a few steps from the faculty parking lot when a young woman in a preppy plaid skirt and knee-high socks came bounding up behind him, throwing her arms around his waist in a playful hug. My steps faltered. I pressed a hand to my mouth to stifle the sound that threatened to escape. Elias stopped, a long-suffering sigh escaping him as he gently pried her arms off and turned her around to face him. “What are you doing here so early?” Lily’s face was glowing with excitement as she pulled out her phone. “Look! The video has three million views! Everyone is shipping us! Isn’t that hilarious?” Her phone’s volume was low, but I heard every word with piercing clarity. I had spent the entire night watching that same video, tears streaming down my face. Elias’s brow furrowed. He took the phone from her, studying it for a long moment before his voice turned cold. “I wrote you that letter to help your future, not for you to post frivolous videos like this.” “Delete it.” A wave of relief washed over me. He didn’t know. He hadn’t approved of it. But then Lily’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “I just wanted to have a record of our time together. Why can’t I post it? Once I start my new job, I’ll barely get to see you. When I miss you, I can watch the videos.” Elias, the man who had always been completely unmoved by female tears, let out another sigh. This time, it was softer. He reached out and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. “Don’t cry.” “I’ve already submitted my resignation to the university.” “The company that hired you offered me a position as a senior consultant. I accepted.” “You’ll still see me.” I bit down hard on my lower lip, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth as my vision blurred. Three years ago, the tech giant I worked for had tried to recruit Elias, offering him a generous package. He’d turned them down flat. “My life’s work is in academia, Grace. I won’t abandon it for anyone. You know that.” And I did know. I hadn’t complained. But now, every small sacrifice, every moment of loneliness I had endured over the past seven years, felt like a series of sharp, stinging slaps. I suddenly realized that Elias wasn’t immutable. He wasn’t the rigid, unbending man I thought I knew. He was capable of writing heartfelt recommendations. He was capable of changing his entire life for someone. Just not for me. Lily’s joyful cheer echoed in the quiet morning air. I couldn’t take it anymore. I surged forward and swung my handbag with all my might, catching him across the face. He staggered back, his face a mask of shock that quickly curdled into dark fury when he saw it was me. “Are you following me? Grace, when will you stop?” Seeing my red, swollen eyes, Lily let out a delicate laugh. “Oh, you must be the professor’s wife. My goodness, your eyes are so puffy. Were you crying all night? What did he do to make you so upset? He can be so dense sometimes, you can tell me all about it.” She chattered on, reaching out as if to comfort me. I shoved her away, and she stumbled to the ground with a small cry. Ignoring her, I pulled out my phone, brought up the video, and held it in front of Elias’s face. “This is the letter you wrote for her. And you still claim there’s nothing going on?” I screamed, my voice cracking. “When have you ever written a recommendation for anyone else?!” “Elias, you—” “Have you had enough?!” His face was a thundercloud. I had never seen him this angry. It was because I had pushed Lily. He helped her to her feet, shielding her with his body as he glared at me. “One more scene, Grace, and we’re getting a divorce.” The last sliver of hope in my heart died. Suddenly, a strange calm washed over me. I looked at the man before me, truly looked at him, as if for the first time. He couldn’t see the dark circles from my sleepless night. He couldn’t see the eyes that were raw from crying. He couldn’t see the seven years of compromises, the swallowed resentments, the slow erosion of my own spirit for his sake. He couldn’t see my hysteria, my pain, my grief. All he could see was that Lily had been pushed. And in that moment, I felt an immense, soul-crushing exhaustion. Elias turned, taking Lily’s arm to lead her away. As I watched his retreating back, my voice, though trembling, was clear. “Fine.” “Let’s get a divorce, Elias.” 4 Elias paused for a fraction of a second. He didn’t turn back. His voice, cold and distant, drifted back to me on the wind. “As you wish.” I went home, packed a suitcase, and waited. My phone buzzed. It was my best friend, Olivia. “Grace, have you seen the posts online?! What the hell is going on with your husband? Is he really messing around with a student?” I frowned, not having a chance to process before she sent me a link. “Just look! That girl, Lily, posted that video of him last night, and someone figured out it was Elias! Now all of his former students are crawling out of the woodwork, saying he never wrote a letter for any of them and that something shady is definitely going on! I mean, Elias is the youngest tenured professor at Northwood, everyone knows who he is. People are posting all the photos they’ve taken of him and Lily together on campus!” “The way they’re standing so close… Anyway, I won’t say more. Just look for yourself. Call me if you need anything. I’m here for you in San Diego.” The call ended. Holding my breath, I clicked the link. The post had even more traction than the original video. Of the hundreds of thousands of comments, the top-rated ones were all from Elias’s former students. “We all studied under Professor Dawson. As far as we know, he’s always been incredibly strict and has never, ever written a student a letter of recommendation. The fact that he wrote one for Lily, plus all these photos? How is that not a smoking gun?!” “Also, his wife—Grace—was his student too! He didn’t even write one for her!” My hand trembled as I scrolled through the photos in the comments, one after another. So many days when I had waited for a reply that never came, he had been with her. Taking her to a flower shop, buying a huge, extravagant bouquet that made my ten-dollar bargain bin flowers look pathetic. Taking her to the movies. They were even watching a children’s animated film, the kind of thing he’d always called a waste of time. Taking her for walks across campus, something I had begged him for for seven years, and never once gotten. I looked at each photo, and with each one, my heart grew colder, calmer. My phone buzzed again. A message from Olivia with a screenshot of a flight confirmation. “Tonight’s flight. Come stay with me. Don’t argue. You only have me now.” I didn’t argue. She was right. I had no one else. In the past seven years, both of my parents had passed away. I had let my social circle wither, my entire world revolving around Elias. After my miscarriage three years ago, I fell into a deep depression and even quit my job. I caught my reflection in the dark screen of the TV. I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me. I refused to become even more of a stranger to myself. Elias didn’t come home until late that night. The fury on his face was undisguised. He stormed over and threw his phone at me; it landed softly on my lap. “This was your doing, wasn’t it?” he seethed. “Do you have any idea what this will do to Lily? To her reputation?” “Why did you have to drag an innocent person into our problems?! There has to be a limit to your irrationality!” I clenched the phone in my hand and stood up. I placed the signed divorce papers on the table in front of him and let out a hollow, self-mocking laugh. “Elias, in your eyes, I’m the innocent person who got dragged into this, aren’t I?” I asked softly. “Seven years. You’ve done things for her that you never once did for me. Is that how you treat a student? Because it feels like I’m more of a student than she ever was.” “Just sign it.” Elias stared at me for a long time, as if finally realizing I was serious. A flicker of panic crossed his face. He reached for me, but I pulled away. “Don’t touch me,” I whispered. “You reek of gardenias. It’s nauseating.” The flowers on the table had started to wilt, their sweet scent turning cloying and sour, just like the smell clinging to him. The stench of decay. He understood my meaning perfectly. His face turned ashen. After a long, tense silence, he snatched the pen and signed his name with a furious scrawl. His voice was a low growl, squeezed from between clenched teeth. “You’ll regret this.” I smiled and picked up my suitcase. “No, I won’t.” I had just reached the elevator when I heard his footsteps pounding down the hall behind me. But they stopped abruptly at his apartment door. A moment later, I heard Lily’s frantic, wailing voice through his phone’s speaker. “They’re all attacking me online, Professor! I can’t take it anymore, I want to die—” “I’m on my way right now. Wait for me!” Elias burst out of his apartment, shoved past me without a glance, and jabbed the elevator’s down button. I didn’t fight him for it. I calmly watched the doors slide shut. Then, I turned and walked to the other elevator. If I couldn’t have his love, his special favor, then I didn’t want any of it anymore.

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The house was on fire with my parents inside when I called my husband for help. His voice was unnervingly calm. “Don’t be so dramatic, Sienna.” “The power was out. Stella was just being thoughtful, dropping off some candles for them.” “It’s probably just the candlelight flickering,” he said. “You’re far away. You’re seeing things.” My voice trembled. “It’s real! The flames have already…” He cut me off, his tone like ice. “If they get themselves killed playing with candles, that’s their own damn fault.” In utter despair, I raced to the scene, meeting the rescue crews there. What we found were two bodies, charred beyond recognition, blackened silhouettes against the smoldering ruins of my childhood home. I saw Stella standing a short distance away and screamed, pointing a shaking finger. “You! You did this! You’re a murderer!” My husband, Grant, lunged at me, his hand connecting with my cheek in a vicious slap. “What the hell is wrong with you!” he snarled, pulling Stella behind him protectively. His eyes were cold, vicious. “If you want to blame someone, blame your useless parents for not having the brains to get out of a simple fire!” He looked down at Stella, his voice softening. “Stella’s already traumatized by this disgusting scene, and you’re here making false accusations. You owe her a million dollars for emotional damages!” Just then, my phone rang. I answered, my hand shaking so hard I could barely hold it. My mother’s familiar voice came through the line. “You silly girl, did you forget your brother’s birthday? We’re all waiting for you. Finish up whatever you’re doing and get over here.” In the background, I could hear my father’s cheerful laugh. “Drive safe, sweetheart!” I froze, the world tilting on its axis. The phone nearly slipped from my grasp. If my parents were at my brother’s house… Then who were the two people who had just burned to death inside my home? 1 I stared at the two charred bodies on the ground, about to step closer to try and identify them. Grant grabbed my arm, his eyes filled with revulsion. “Sienna, they’re charcoal. Are you really going to touch that? How disgusting can you be?” Leaning against his chest, Stella immediately covered her mouth and made an exaggerated gagging sound. A chilling coldness spread from my heart through my entire body. Those were two human lives, and to them, they were nothing more than repulsive garbage. The hushed whispers of the neighbors reached my ears. “Does she have any shame? The fire trucks were here twenty minutes ago, but her car was blocking the fire lane. That’s what held up the rescue!” “The worst part is, she doesn’t have a scratch on her, but she just sat on the ground crying that her legs were too weak to move the car. And the guy was even worse! Instead of moving the damn car, he was too busy comforting her, just watching the flames get bigger and bigger…” “It was awful… you could hear them screaming for help inside. The firefighters couldn’t get through. They were burned alive…” Every word was a hammer blow to my soul. I trembled with rage, pointing at Grant. “You monster! Those were two people in there! You just let them die!” He was utterly unapologetic. “Stella was having a panic attack! Was I supposed to just leave her there? Besides, I didn’t start the fire. What does it have to do with me?” His voice dripped with scorn. “Sienna, the only reason you’re on this moral high horse is because you think it was your parents who died.” “They were too incompetent to watch a single candle. They were asking for it. Who else is there to blame?” This man, whom my parents had treated like their own son for five years, could say something so cruel after hearing of their deaths. I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “Are you even human!” Stella cried out, jumping in front of him. Her voice was thick with manufactured tears. “Sienna, please, it’s all my fault…” she sobbed. “I was just trying to be helpful, bringing them candles for the blackout. How was I supposed to know they’d be so careless they’d burn themselves alive? I wanted to save them, I really did, but I’ve always been terrified of fire. My legs just gave out…” “If you’re angry, hit me! Don’t hurt Grant! If you can’t forgive me, then… then I’ll go in there and pay for it with my life!” She made a show of trying to run into the smoldering wreckage. Watching her pathetic performance, a dark part of me wished she’d actually do it—that she would pay the price for the lives that were lost. But Grant was too quick. He swept her into his arms, holding her tight. “Stella, you’re too good. It was their own damn fault. How could this ever be on you?” I was done with them. I walked over to a police officer. “Officer, I’m the homeowner, Sienna Hale. Have you determined the cause of the fire? And have the victims been identified?” Before I could finish, Grant’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Sienna! When are you going to stop?” he snapped. “I already signed the incident report. It’s in black and white: accidental fire. And as for Stella’s car blocking the fire lane, I signed a waiver on your behalf. Just drop it.” His tone softened slightly, laced with a kind of patronizing pity. “Look, I know this is hard for you. I’ve already had my assistant select the best burial plots. Consider it a condolence gift from me for the loss of your parents. Let them rest in peace.” 2 I could barely breathe. The man who once cherished me was now twisting the truth, all for Stella. “Grant, this is my house that burned down! What right do you have to sign anything on my behalf?” My voice rose. “And more importantly, the people who died in there were not my parents! So on whose authority do you forgive Stella?” Grant looked at me as if I’d told the world’s greatest joke and let out a short, sharp laugh. “Sienna, have you lost your mind? At this time of night, your parents would have been in the kitchen making me dinner. If it wasn’t them, who else could it be?” Stella, right on cue, reddened her eyes. “She’s right, Sienna. The fire chief had Grant and me identify some personal effects earlier. The watch on the male victim’s wrist, the jade bracelet on the female’s… they were the ones your parents wore every day. There’s no mistake.” I pulled out my phone, ready to call my parents and prove them wrong. Grant snatched it from my hand, threw it to the ground, and crushed it under his heel. “Sienna, are you deaf? They’re dead! How long are you going to keep this up?” Shaking with fury, I turned back to the police officer. “Officer, please,” I begged, “I swear to you as the homeowner, the victims are not my parents. You can call them right now to verify it.” My voice grew firm. “Two strangers died in my home. I have to know who they really are.” Seeing my conviction, the officer took down my parents’ number and dialed. But the phone that had rung just minutes ago now met a cold, continuous busy signal. A flicker of triumph, almost imperceptible, crossed Stella’s face. “Sienna, I know it’s hard to accept that they’re gone… but you can’t make things difficult for everyone. How do you expect the officer to bring your parents back to life?” I ignored her, insisting that the police open a formal investigation. The officer, realizing something was amiss, gave me a solemn promise. “We’ll send the remains to the medical examiner for DNA analysis immediately,” he said. “Please come with us to the station to cooperate with the investigation.” After giving my DNA sample at the station, I went straight to the morgue. My breath caught in my throat when I saw the evidence tray. There was the old watch, engraved with my father’s name, and the jade bracelet with its tiny, familiar hairline crack. These two items… my parents truly never took them off. This was getting stranger and stranger. Who broke into my house, put on my parents’ most personal belongings, and died in a fire? As my mind reeled, the door swung open and Stella walked in. Under the stark, fluorescent lights, the two charred bodies looked even more gruesome. She took one look and couldn’t stop herself from dry heaving. Grant immediately pulled her into his arms, covering her eyes. “Don’t look. It’s filthy.” Stella, however, put on a pained expression. “It’s all my fault… If I hadn’t brought those candles, they wouldn’t have died. I should be the one to apologize to them…” She suddenly looked up at me, the light catching a defiant glint in her eyes. “But then again, with an IQ like that, they were just wasting oxygen. Their dying was probably a public service. Don’t you think, Grant?” Even though I knew they weren’t my parents, her callous disregard for human life made the rage in my stomach boil over. I lunged forward and slapped her hard across the face. “Two human lives, and they mean nothing to you?” I snarled. “You want to apologize? Fine. I’ll kill you right now and you can apologize to them in hell.” I moved to strike her again, but Grant grabbed my wrist. His eyes were devoid of any warmth, only a chilling warning. “Sienna, don’t push your luck.” “At the end of the day, it was your parents’ own incompetence. They burn the house down with a candle and die for it. They got what they deserved. Why should Stella take the blame?” Seeing him defend her so fiercely, I felt a wave of nausea. I looked him straight in the eye, my voice perfectly calm. “Grant, let’s get a divorce.” He was clearly taken aback for a second, then a mocking sneer spread across his face. “What, you’re trying to threaten me with a divorce? You really think too highly of yourself.” He squared his shoulders. “Stella just moved back. She’s about to launch her new design line, and she can’t be associated with any negative press. You want a divorce? Not until you agree to drop this whole fire thing. Forget it.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Stella and they walked out. As I watched their retreating figures, the last ember of love I had for him finally died out. 3 Determined to stay on top of the case, I spent a miserable night curled up on a bench at the police station. The next morning, however, an officer informed me that the case was already closed. Just as Grant had said, the fire was officially ruled an accident. He had already signed the paperwork and taken custody of the two bodies that were burned beyond recognition. Grant… for Stella, he was willing to trample all over the law. A surge of fury shot through me. I drove straight to Harrison Corp. Grant showed no surprise at my arrival. He calmly slid a credit card across his desk toward me. “Here. Compensation for you,” he said with a smirk. “You should really thank Stella. She has such a kind heart, she insisted on giving you ten thousand.” I stared at the card, utterly bewildered. Stella, kind-hearted? Impossible. Grant lifted his chin contemptuously. “Stella arranged an afterlife partnership for your parents.” “The intermediary paid her a hundred-thousand-dollar finder’s fee. It’s a joyous occasion, after all, and she thought you, as their daughter, should share in the good fortune. See how generous she is?” My voice trembled. “You sold their bodies?!” Stella smiled sweetly, picked up the card, and tried to press it into my clenched fist. “Sienna, on your parents’ special day… you should take this. Consider it the last thing they can give you.” I slapped the card out of her hand and onto her face, my voice a raw scream. “Stella, you soulless monster! Making money off the bones of the dead! Aren’t you afraid of being struck by lightning?” Employees began to gather, their whispers filling the air. “Why is the Design Director fighting with someone? That woman keeps hiding behind the CEO. Is she the other woman?” “I heard there was a fire at her house last night. Her parents died. The bodies she’s talking about… are they her parents’?” “Oh my god, is Mr. Harrison insane? Not only is he flaunting his mistress, but he let her sell his wife’s parents’ remains? That’s inhuman!” Hearing the escalating accusations, Stella’s face went from flushed to pale. Suddenly, she dropped to her knees with a thud, slapping her own face as she wailed. “Sienna, I was wrong! I shouldn’t have spent so much time with Grant just because I wanted to repay his kindness… I let you misunderstand our relationship…” “And I shouldn’t have brought candles to the house when the power was out. But I swear, I didn’t know your parents were… mentally unwell. I never thought they would burn themselves alive with a candle.” She looked up, her eyes swimming in tears, her voice growing more earnest. “As for the afterlife partnership… your mother told me about it herself, before she passed. She said she was forced into an arranged marriage with your father and never got over her first love.” “She couldn’t be with him in life, so I just wanted to grant her that happiness in death!” she cried. “And once she had found her partner, I couldn’t just leave your father all alone, could I? So I took the liberty of finding a match for him, too… I consulted a spiritualist. They are both perfect pairings!” Grant immediately rushed to help her up, his face grim as he turned on me. “Sienna, you are so ungrateful! It’s a fact that your mother was in love with someone else. Stella was trying to do a good thing, and you not only refuse to thank her, you attack her?” Stella’s cheeks were now red and swollen, making her look exceptionally pitiful. With Grant backing her up, the crowd’s opinion began to shift. “The director is being way too aggressive. The poor girl just sees Mr. Harrison as a brother, and she’s being accused of being a homewrecker!” “And her own mother was unfaithful, pining for another man. Miss Stella tries to honor her last wish and gets treated like this? That’s just cruel!” I was shaking with rage. Stella was smearing my mother’s name with disgusting lies. I lunged forward, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and slammed her head against the wall. Seeing this, Grant kicked me hard, sending me sprawling to the floor. His voice was glacial. “You bitch. Who gave you permission to touch her?” “I have only ever seen Stella as a sister, nothing more. But you, with your narrow, jealous mind, have constantly harassed her. Now your own parents get themselves killed, and you try to pin the blame on her.” “I see I’ve been too lenient with you. If I don’t teach you a lesson today, you’ll never learn.” He straightened his suit. “Security! Get her out of here. Tie her to the flagpole out front until she’s ready to reflect on what she’s done.” Just then, a familiar, anxious voice cut through the crowd.

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The night my parents were kidnapped, my brother, a cop, was on his way to take the girl who replaced me bungee jumping. I didn’t try to stop him. I just hung up, called the police, and started arranging the ransom. In my last life, Ethan blew off the fake-tress to save our parents. The bungee cord snapped. She fell into the canyon, and they never even found her body. Afterward, my brother said nothing. Not a word. Then, on my birthday, he drugged me and drove me to that same canyon overlook. “You planned the kidnapping,” he’d hissed, his face a mask of cold fury. “All of this, just to get their attention. You’re a monster.” “Sophie’s gone. Now you can be, too.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the kidnapping. Only this time, Ethan wasn’t running a rescue. He was running to her. And later, he would be ripped apart by a regret so profound it would nearly drive him insane. 1 My eyes snapped open, my forehead slick with sweat. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs, threatening to shatter my chest. The phantom sensation of falling still clung to me, a cold dread that only began to recede as the familiar floral wallpaper of my bedroom swam into focus. I glanced at the clock. I was back. Reborn. It was the day my parents were taken. In five minutes, the kidnapper would call, demanding an impossible sum within the hour, or they would be executed. I am Paige Sinclair, the daughter who was lost for eighteen years. I’d been back in my parents’ arms for less than a year, and they had become my entire world. I couldn’t let the tragedy of my first life happen again. Not this time. I flew downstairs and planted myself by the landline, my police-officer brother, Ethan, following close behind in his tactical jacket and cargo pants. “Paige, who are you putting on this little show for? Mom and Dad aren’t even here,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “Weren’t you the one who arranged for their ‘kidnapping’?” A sliver of ice slid down my spine. In that single, mocking smile, I knew. He remembered, too. His expression was a cold, clear message: Don’t bother fighting it. It’s useless. Without him playing along, my “little drama” would be over before it began. Last time, he was convinced I’d masterminded the entire thing—a desperate, pathetic ploy for the attention I felt I was losing to Sophie. I never understood how he’d reached such an insane conclusion. This time, he was simply choosing to sidestep my “trap” altogether. “Paige, let me give you some brotherly advice,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Conspiracy is still a crime. When you end up behind bars, don’t come crying to me to pull you out.” I opened my mouth to argue, but the shrill, insistent ring of the telephone cut me off. Each ring was a needleprick to my heart. Ethan acted as if he didn’t hear it. As he turned to leave, a flicker of contempt crossed his face. “Go ahead, play your games. I’m going to take Sophie to Eagle’s Peak.” He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “They’re not in any real danger, so don’t bother calling me.” That wasn’t what he said last time. In my first life, Ethan had used his years of detective skills to pinpoint the kidnappers’ location in record time. He’d brought our parents back, shaken but unharmed, in just over an hour. I was so consumed with their safety that I completely missed the suspicion and rage simmering behind his eyes. I only understood when he had me dangling over the edge of that cliff. He told me then that during the rescue, Sophie—the girl my parents had adopted to fill the void I’d left—had called him over and over. He didn’t answer. So she went bungee jumping alone. And the cord failed. Now, the phone’s ringing was a relentless death knell. I snatched the receiver, and the kidnapper’s voice, gravelly and distorted, filled my ear. “Five million dollars. You have two hours to get it ready. Or your parents die.” My eyes widened in terror. What? Last time, it was only two million. 2 My hand tightened on the receiver, a cold sweat beading on my skin. It seemed this new reality wasn’t an exact copy. If the ransom was different, the kidnappers’ location might be, too. My confidence shattered, and a raw panic began to set in. “Can you give me a little more time? I…” I pleaded, my voice cracking. The line went dead. I slammed the phone down, forcing my emotions back into a box. I knew weakness was useless against men like this. The priority was the money and the location. My hand trembled as I scribbled down what I remembered from last time. Two kidnappers, both young men. The location was one of their apartments. The drop-off was two million dollars in a duffel bag, left in the third trash can outside the south entrance of the train station. Ethan had busted them before they could even collect it. Money safe, parents safe. With that thought, I grabbed my cell and dialed 911. Then, I called my father’s closest friend and business partner, Marcus. “Marcus, it’s Paige. They have my parents,” I choked out. “The kidnappers—” “I’m on it, Paige,” he said, his own voice tight with alarm. “Call the police. I’ll handle the cash.” A tiny sliver of stability returned to my world. Two minutes later, a patrol car pulled up. But when the door opened, my heart sank. It was my brother’s partner and best friend, Ryan. He walked in without a hint of urgency, his expression soured. “Paige, Ethan just called me. Lucky I was in the area,” he began, not even trying to hide his annoyance. “You know filing a false report is a felony, right?” In that single moment, all my courage, all my hope, collapsed. Ethan, so certain of my guilt, had dispatched his best friend to shut down my “hysterical little game.” Without the police, without a trained detective to analyze the situation, how could I possibly win? The note in my hand, filled with clues, crumpled into a tight ball. The image of my parents, terrified and at the mercy of violent men, flooded my mind, and a sob tore from my throat. “Officer Ryan, I’m not lying,” I cried, the words tumbling out between gasps. “I’m an adult. I’ll take full responsibility for my actions. Please, I need your help. I need you to help me save my parents!” I was hyperventilating, my eyes darting to the clock on the wall. Nearly ten minutes had passed. Time was slipping away. Ryan leaned back on the sofa, casually scrolling through his phone as if I were a mildly interesting television show. My tears didn’t seem to move him in the slightest. “They say kids who grow up in the system get real cunning,” he said with a sigh. “You think turning on the waterworks is going to manipulate me?” He shook his head. “Ethan was right. You can’t raise a kid for a few years and expect them to be family. Their heart’s just not in it.” He paused. “Sophie is so much more mature than you.” Sophie. My replacement. Taken in by my parents at eight years old, raised like a precious jewel. My brother’s devotion to her was almost pathological; even after they were both adults, they still sometimes slept in the same bed, curled up together. The ticking of the clock pulled me back. I forced down the wave of rage and despair, compelling myself into a state of cold calm. “Ryan,” I said, my voice level and firm, making him look up. “You responded to a 911 call. You are obligated to investigate my report.” A cruel, mocking laugh escaped him. “Oh, a real little princess, aren’t you? Think just because you’re a Sinclair now, you can order everyone around? You’re still just an outsider in this house.” His words were like shards of ice in my veins. “Ethan told me everything,” he continued, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl and taking a loud bite. “He said Mom and Dad don’t even love you that much. They’re always mixing up your name with Sophie’s. He said you schemed and plotted to get attention until Sophie couldn’t take it anymore and had to move out.” I knew these weren’t his own observations. They were poison, dripped into his ear by my brother over months. In their eyes, I was nothing more than a manipulative, jealous shrew. I stood before him, my own feelings irrelevant. “What will it take for you to believe me? My parents are in mortal danger. If we miss the window to save them, can you live with that responsibility?” Ryan’s hand froze mid-air. He pushed himself up from the sofa. “Go ahead and report me, then. A spoiled little brat like you needs to learn a lesson…” He never finished the sentence. Two uniformed officers were standing in the open doorway. “We’re looking for Paige Sinclair? We received a report of a kidnapping.” My legs gave out, and I nearly crumpled to the floor. Finally. My parents had a chance. 3 Ryan’s face paled. He immediately shifted gears, walking over to the officers with an outstretched hand. “Hey, fellas. I’m a colleague. Just came by to check on Ethan’s sister.” It was only then that I noticed Ryan was in his street clothes. He’d come here off-duty. As the officers stepped inside, he tried to slip past them, but one of them calmly blocked his path. I hurried forward. “Officers! My parents have been kidnapped. I have a recording!” I had instinctively recorded the call on my phone. The moment the distorted, menacing voice filled the room, the color drained completely from Ryan’s face. “But Ethan said… he said it was an actor,” he stammered. “He told me this was all a performance you staged.” I shot him a withering look, too exhausted to waste another word on him. I carefully smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper in my hand. Rummaging through the hazy, fragmented memories of my past life, I tried to grasp the smaller details. I pieced them together in my mind until I found a plausible way to present the information I had. “Officers,” I said, my voice gaining strength. “I think I can provide information on the suspects. I saw two men hanging around the neighborhood recently. Their voices… they sound very similar. They asked me for directions once. I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but…” It was enough. A sketch artist was brought in, and monitoring equipment was set up on the phone line. I focused all my energy on describing the two kidnappers’ faces. The sketches were cross-referenced with a database of individuals with prior offenses, and we got a hit. Two young men with a history of robbery. One of them had rented an apartment under his real name. A tactical team was immediately dispatched. I sank onto the sofa, feeling as if I’d been pulled from a frozen lake. My clothes were soaked through with cold sweat. Twenty minutes later, one of the officers who had stayed with me received an update on his radio. He turned to me, his expression grim. “Paige… I’m sorry. Your parents weren’t at the location.” His voice softened. “But we did find this.” He showed me a picture on his phone. The kidnappers’ apartment was wallpapered with surveillance photos. Photos of my parents, and photos of me. “They’ve been planning this for a long time,” the officer said gently. “Don’t worry. These two won’t get far.” My mind felt like it was about to short-circuit. My worst fear had come true. They had moved my parents. My intel was useless. Across the room, Ryan was on the phone with my brother. He was trying to keep his voice down, but I heard every word. “It’s real, Ethan. It’s a real kidnapping. They have suspects. You need to get back here now.” I heard Ethan laugh on the other end of the line, the sound tinny but clear. He was speaking loud enough for me to hear. “Just stop, Paige. The bigger the lie, the harder you’ll fall. When Mom and Dad have to disown you to save face, don’t come crying to me.” The terror and resentment of my past life surged through me. Even if he hated me, the sister he’d only just gotten back, how could he refuse to believe his own partner? I had done nothing wrong. Our parents had done nothing wrong. The son they had loved and nurtured for over twenty years was, at this very moment, choosing a day of fun with his surrogate sister over their lives. If they knew, their hearts would break. I ached for them. As I wiped a tear from my eye, the landline screamed again. The officer in charge of the wiretap caught my eye and gave me a subtle nod. My heart hammered against my ribs. The kidnappers were calling back. 4 The officer gave me a thumbs-up. My hand was trembling so violently I could barely hold the receiver. One of his colleagues held up a small whiteboard. 【STALL FOR TIME】 I took a shaky breath. The words still came out as a sob. “I’m getting the money. Please, I’m begging you, don’t hurt my parents.” A harsh laugh crackled through the line. “Then move faster! You’ve got one hour left. When time’s up, so are they.” The officer scribbled on the board again. “Where do I bring the money? And how do I know my parents will be safe?” The man’s impatience was palpable. “Leave the money in a locker at the main bus terminal. Don’t worry about your parents. The money shows up, they show up. Simple.” My temples throbbed. The drop-off location was different, too. I kept talking, trying to give the tech team more time to get a trace. “Are they okay? Can I please just hear their voices?” He swore under his breath. “You’re a real piece of work.” A moment later, I heard the muffled, terrified voices of my parents. “Paige,” my mother cried, “finding you again was the greatest gift of our lives. We have no regrets.” “Don’t you risk anything for us,” my father added, his voice strained. “You just take care of yourself.” “Paige, I need you to know,” my mother’s voice broke, “we love you more than you can ever imagine. We wanted to make up for everything… we just didn’t know how.” My father’s older, weaker voice came through. “Honey, I’m so sorry I lost you at the park all those years ago. If I ever get the chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing to your face.” Tears streamed down my face. I opened my mouth to tell them I didn’t need apologies, I just needed them to be safe, to hang on, that I would save them— The kidnapper cut them off. I heard a dull thud, as if he’d kicked someone, followed by a stream of curses. “Enough of this rich-people-crying bullshit! Get the money there, or I can’t guarantee your parents will come home in one piece.” The line went dead. Every officer in the room looked at me, then shook their heads. No trace. The kidnappers were using sophisticated tech to block their location. My anxiety exploded into full-blown terror. The money had to be delivered. It was the only thing keeping my parents alive. I frantically redialed Marcus, the man who had promised to get the cash. The call wouldn’t go through. It went straight to voicemail, over and over. On my tenth try, my cell phone rang. It was Ethan. His laughter echoed in my ear. “Had enough of your little play yet? It’s time for the curtain call.” A cold dread washed over me. “What did you say to Marcus?” Ethan’s voice was breezy, unconcerned. “The truth, of course. I told him not to give you a dime. Five million dollars? That’s a steep price for a little stunt, even for you. I told him you were just trying to drain the family fortune the second you got back in the door. He’s not going to call you back.” In that instant, my world fell away. I was a balloon that had been pricked, all hope hissing out of me. Without that money, my parents had no chance of survival. I remembered the case file from my last life. The two kidnappers already had blood on their hands. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill again. If the money didn’t arrive, they would murder my parents. The landline shrieked again. The kidnapper’s voice was a razor’s edge against my heart. “Time’s almost up. You don’t bring the money now, I kill them both. Right now!” 5 An invisible hand clamped down on my heart, squeezing the air from my lungs. Sweat dripped from my forehead into my eyes. The ticking of the clock was a hammer blow, each second an eternity. I grabbed the receiver, my lips trembling as I spoke. “The time’s not up yet. We’re getting the cash from different banks,” I lied, my voice shaking. “It’s a lot of money to withdraw at once. It takes time.” The kidnapper snorted. “The Sinclair family? Don’t have that kind of cash lying around? Don’t bullshit me.” I held my breath, terrified of saying the wrong thing. In the brief, crackling silence that followed, I heard it—a faint but familiar sound in the background. The mournful wail of a train whistle. The officer monitoring the call heard it too. He gestured frantically for me to keep him on the line. “Let me hear their voices again,” I demanded, trying to sound stronger than I felt. “I need to know they’re still safe.” The kidnapper’s anger flared. “Who do you think you are, some goddamn queen? Everyone has to do what you say?” A pause. “Last thirty minutes. If I don’t see the money, you’ll never see your parents again.” He hung up. Thirty minutes. He’d cut the time. Arguing with a man like that was pointless. The room erupted into controlled chaos as officers began coordinating with banks to expedite a cash withdrawal. But I was frozen, my mind replaying the last few seconds of the call. I was sure of it. That sound. The ghostly echo of wind rushing through a narrow space. I grabbed the arm of the listening technician. “Play back the recording! The last few seconds, now!” Startled by my intensity, everyone paused. The technician complied, isolating the end of the call. And then they all heard it: a low, eerie howl, like the moan of a ghost, just before the line went dead. I shot to my feet. “I know where my parents are.”

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The designer bag in my hands was a perfect replica, a beautiful lie, and a death sentence. My roommate, the queen bee of campus, gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. I thanked her, and then I immediately engineered a swap for the real one owned by the wealthiest heiress in the country. I could do this because, for me, this wasn’t the first time. I’ve lived this before. In my last life, that fake bag was my undoing. Veronica, my roommate, had somehow linked herself to a “Spending-Split System”—a kind of financial curse. As long as I carried the counterfeit bag she gave me, every single dollar she spent, anywhere in the world, was split evenly between us. She was the daughter of a millionaire, a girl who treated shopping sprees in Paris and Milan like a part-time job. I was a scholarship kid who spent her nights in the library, the fake bag sitting on the floor next to me as I studied. With every swipe of her credit card, the money my parents had scrimped and saved for my future vanished from my account. Eventually, the debt became a tidal wave. It dragged me under, and the loan sharks she was unknowingly connected to made sure I never came up for air. They filled my pockets with stones and threw me in the river. So, this time, I knew the game. Veronica loves splitting the bill, does she? Well, dragging a broke student down with her is small-time. Let’s see how she likes splitting the tab with a billionaire. 1 My fingers tightened around the faux-leather handle of the bag, a flawless imitation of the season’s most coveted luxury satchel. This was my eighteenth birthday. Again. The only people who remembered were Veronica Thorne and her lapdog, Ashley. No, that’s not right. They didn’t remember my birthday. They remembered the day their trap was supposed to be set. Veronica’s arm was linked through mine, her touch a proprietary gesture disguised as friendship. “Happy birthday, Josie,” she cooed, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “This bag is just so you. You have to promise me you’ll wear it every single day.” It sounded like a gift, but it felt like a command. Ashley, ever the hype woman, immediately started her performance. Her voice was loud enough to echo down the dorm hallway. “Oh my god, Ronnie! You are the best friend ever! Josie, do you know how much that costs? That’s like, a five-thousand-dollar bag!” Her tone was a masterclass in exaggerated envy. Thirty percent praise for her queen, seventy percent a spotlight on the chasm between their wealth and my lack of it. I clutched the bag, my knuckles white. The memories washed over me like icy water, a phantom current pulling me under. I saw myself carrying this exact bag, its counterfeit gleam a constant reminder of my own inadequacy. I saw Veronica laughing on a yacht in the Mediterranean, swiping her card for another case of champagne. And I saw myself in the university library, my phone buzzing with one bank notification after another, each one a death knell for my savings. The money my parents left me, my scholarships… all of it siphoned away by that parasitic system until there was nothing left. She lived in luxury while I drowned in debt. The loan sharks, the final, brutal chapter. The cold water closing over my head. My heart seized, a knot of pure terror in my chest, and I had to fight to draw a breath. A chill snaked up my spine, the ghostly embrace of a predator. Veronica, smiling at me, wasn’t my roommate. She was a demon in Dior, a harbinger of a fate I had already suffered. I forced down the bile of hatred rising in my throat. My voice, when I finally found it, was so devoid of emotion it scared even me. “Thanks.” That was all I said. No gushing, no tears of gratitude. Just a single, flat word. The smile on Ashley’s face froze, then curdled into a scowl. “What is wrong with you, Josie?” she snapped, her voice sharp with indignation. “Veronica gets you a gift that costs more than your entire wardrobe, and that’s all you have to say? Have you ever heard of the words ‘thank you’?” Veronica, ever the benevolent martyr, raised a hand to silence her attack dog. “Ash, stop it,” she said, feigning kindness. “She’s probably just in shock. It’s okay, Josie. As long as you love it, that’s all that matters.” Her words were honeyed, but her eyes held a triumphant glint. She was certain she had me. She was sure that the poor little scholarship girl would treasure this fake status symbol, carrying it like a holy relic until it destroyed me. She was already waiting for the punchline. I lowered my head, pretending to admire the bag’s craftsmanship, but really, I was hiding the murder in my eyes. Just then, my phone screen lit up. A news notification. Heiress Seraphina Monroe to Attend Northwood University’s Charity Art Gala as Guest of Honor this Weekend. My heart began to hammer against my ribs like a drumbeat. Seraphina Monroe. The only daughter of the richest man in America. The article featured a photo of her at a recent event. She was wearing a couture gown, and on her arm was a bag. The exact same brand, the same limited-edition model, as the fake one in my hands. The real one. A plan, audacious and terrifying, began to crystallize in my mind. My breath hitched. What was the point of dragging me, a nobody, into the abyss? This time, let’s see how Veronica Thorne enjoys splitting the bill with a true one-percenter. I looked up and offered Veronica a small, hesitant smile. She took it as the gratitude she so desperately craved. I tightened my grip, making a silent vow. This time, I wouldn’t be the one to break. 2 The next day, I brought the bag back to our dorm room. Veronica and Ashley were in the middle of their elaborate makeup rituals, whispering conspiratorially. The moment I walked in, they exchanged a smug, knowing glance. I ignored them and walked over to our third roommate’s desk. Brianna was sweet, but hopelessly obsessed with status, constantly fawning over Veronica’s designer everything in a desperate bid to be accepted into their circle. I casually set the bag down on her textbook. “Brianna,” I said. She looked up, her eyes wide with a gossip-hungry curiosity. “You like this, right?” My voice was even. “You can borrow it for the day.” Brianna’s jaw dropped. She reached for it instantly, her fingers twitching with excitement as if she were about to hold the Holy Grail. But before her hand could even graze the strap, Veronica’s entire demeanor shifted. The sunny facade vanished, replaced by a dark, thunderous scowl. She shot up from her vanity chair, moving with a speed I’d never seen before, and snatched the bag off Brianna’s desk. “This was a gift for Josie,” she said, clutching the bag to her chest as if it were a life raft. “It’s not something you just pass around.” Her voice was glacial. Her over-the-top reaction confirmed everything. The system wasn’t bound to a person. It was bound to the object. She was scared. Terrified that if Brianna carried the bag, the system would activate and her secret would be exposed. Ashley quickly jumped in, her tone dripping with passive aggression. “Seriously, Josie. That’s so tacky. This was a meaningful gift from Veronica. You’re supposed to treasure it.” Veronica hugged the bag tighter, her eyes locking onto mine with a venomous glare. It was a clear warning: don’t screw this up. My heart stuttered, but I kept my face a blank mask and simply lowered my gaze. It was all crystal clear now. I had to act fast. I couldn’t afford to wait. My plan to switch my fake bag with Seraphina Monroe’s real one at the charity gala had to work. I pulled out my phone and went straight to the university website, looking up the event details. I needed a legitimate reason to get close to Seraphina. Without a second’s hesitation, I signed up to be a student volunteer. That afternoon, I got a call. It was Veronica. Her voice was practically singing with smug satisfaction. “Hey, Josie. I heard you signed up to volunteer at the gala,” she began, the sound of magnanimous charity oozing from her words. “I actually pulled a few strings for you. I got you assigned to the main VIP lounge. You’ll just be directing guests. It’s super easy, and you’ll get to see all the important people up close.” I had to stop myself from laughing. She wasn’t helping me; she was fast-tracking her own demise. She wanted me in a high-traffic area, guaranteeing that I’d be carrying her cursed bag all weekend. She wanted the system to start billing me the second the gala began. I pitched my voice to sound overwhelmed, on the verge of tears. “Ronnie… that’s… that’s so nice of you. Thank you.” Then, for the final, gut-wrenching twist of the knife, I added, “I’ll make sure to carry the bag you gave me. I won’t let you down.” The performance was so convincing, I almost believed it myself. Veronica hung up, clearly satisfied, and I could hear her derisive chuckle just before the line went dead. A moment later, a notification lit up my phone’s lock screen. A text from Veronica, clearly meant for Ashley, that I caught just before it disappeared. Can’t wait to watch her go broke by Monday. A peasant like her won’t even know what hit her. My hand balled into a fist, my nails digging into my palm. Rage, pure and hot, churned in my stomach. My legs felt weak. She was still dreaming of my destruction, completely unaware of the hell that was about to break loose. Just then, the dorm room door opened and Veronica walked in. She saw me and strolled over, tapping a perfectly manicured nail on the bag I was holding. “Wear this on Saturday,” she said, her voice a low, menacing purr. “I’ll be checking.” I nodded meekly, my voice catching in a sob. “I will.” As she turned away, a triumphant smirk on her face, the corner of my mouth twisted into a smile that was anything but grateful. 3 On Saturday, the day of the art gala, I walked into the grand hall with the counterfeit bag slung over my shoulder. Just as I expected, Veronica and Ashley were already there, lurking in a corner. Their eyes, like those of twin vipers, were locked on me, tracking my every move. When they saw the bag on my shoulder, they exchanged a look of pure, malicious glee, already imagining my financial ruin. But I was prepared. Before leaving the dorm, I had gone to an ATM and withdrawn every cent from my bank account, leaving only a single, crisp $100 bill in my pocket. My debit card, Venmo, PayPal—all of it was at a zero balance. I had even proactively blocked my own access to any cash advance apps. Veronica’s first test of the system was going to be a spectacular failure. She didn’t wait long. I saw her tapping away on her phone, a sly grin on her face. A few minutes later, an expensive-looking afternoon tea delivery from a five-star hotel arrived at the VIP lounge. It was a test, a probe to see if the spending-split had begun. But for her, there was no satisfying “ding” of a successful transaction. My bank account balance was zero. Veronica’s smile faltered. A frown creased her brow, and her face grew dark. I saw her shoot a questioning text to Ashley. Ashley understood immediately. She “happened” to wander past my station. “Josie, you look exhausted!” she said, her voice loud and performative. “You should go buy yourself a bottle of water or something. Take a break before you burn out!” She was trying to bait me into making a purchase, any purchase, no matter how small. My heart jumped into my throat, but my plan was already in motion. I put a hand to my throat and shook my head, looking flustered. “I’m okay, really,” I mumbled, my voice low and timid. “Besides, I left my phone in my locker. Didn’t want it to be a distraction.” Ashley was momentarily stumped, an annoyed look flashing across her face. Veronica, however, was done with subtlety. She stormed over to me, her patience clearly gone. “I saw you with your phone when you left the dorm!” she seethed. She opened her Venmo app and, right in front of me, sent me $500. Her voice was sharp, an undisguised command. “There. Go buy drinks for all the volunteers,” she ordered. “Now. I’ll cover it.” The $500 was an ultimatum. She was trying to force my hand. My pulse hammered in my ears. With a look of reluctant defeat, I pulled my phone from my pocket. The screen was black. “Oh, no, Ronnie, I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice trembling with manufactured distress. “It must have died. I can’t accept the money.” I turned to another volunteer nearby, my expression pleading. “Hey, could I possibly borrow a hundred dollars in cash? I’ll pay you back as soon as I can charge my phone. It’s to buy water for everyone.” I used the borrowed cash to make the purchase, successfully avoiding any transaction linked to my own accounts. Veronica never got the notification. Her face was a mask of thunderous fury. She stared at me, her eyes filled with suspicion. She knew something was wrong. A wave of triumphant satisfaction washed over me. Carrying the tray of water bottles, I walked into the VIP lounge. Seraphina Monroe was there, engaged in conversation, radiating an aura of effortless power. And there, resting on the plush velvet sofa next to her, was my target. The real bag. This was it. I placed the water on a nearby table and pretended to straighten some pamphlets, my gaze locked on that bag. I had one shot at this. My entire future depended on it. Through the lounge doors, I could see Veronica peering in, her expression growing more furious by the second when she saw I hadn’t used the bag to go shopping. 4 Veronica’s patience finally snapped. With no split-spending notifications to soothe her predatory instincts, she stormed into the VIP lounge, her face a mask of rage poorly concealed by a phony smile. “Josie, you must be exhausted!” she chirped, walking toward me. She said a few more meaningless things, then suddenly “tripped,” her body lurching forward. The full glass of red wine in her hand flew through the air, splashing in a perfect, bloody arc across my chest. “Oh my God, Josie, I am so sorry!” she shrieked, her voice high and piercing. “You’re soaked! Go! There’s a designer boutique next to the gallery. Run over there and buy yourself a new outfit, quickly!” Her panic was entirely theatrical. Her words were a command. “The money’s on me! We can’t have you looking like that in front of these people!” Her plan was transparently desperate. She was going to force a transaction, even if it was just a few hundred dollars on a new shirt, to trigger the system. The force of her “stumble” sent me staggering backward. I let my body fall onto the sofa. Right next to Seraphina Monroe’s handbag. My heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of my chest. My eyes were wide, fixed in a look of horror at my wine-stained shirt. Every eye in the room was on me. It was now or never. As people rushed toward me, clucking with sympathy, my trembling fingers found their purpose. In one swift, fluid motion, hidden by the chaos, I shoved my own fake bag deep into the crevice between the sofa cushions. And my hand closed around the cool, buttery leather of the real one. I held my breath, my entire world narrowing to that single, silent exchange. I scrambled to my feet, clutching Seraphina’s bag. My face was a picture of frantic embarrassment. “O-okay, Veronica,” I stammered, my voice thick with unshed tears. “I’ll go change. I’ll be right back.” Veronica and Ashley exchanged a look of triumphant, venomous glee. They thought they had won. Clutching the real bag, I didn’t go anywhere near the boutique. I ducked into the nearest restroom, locked myself in a stall, and pulled a plain t-shirt I’d hidden in the bag that morning from its depths. After a quick change, I slipped out a service exit, unseen. Back in the lounge, Seraphina Monroe finished her conversation. As she stood to leave, her assistant dutifully retrieved the bag from the sofa—the fake one I had planted—and handed it to her. Seraphina took it without a second glance. “That antique vase from the auction earlier,” she said casually to her assistant. “I’ve decided I want it.” “Go ahead and settle the final payment. It should be around two million.” My heart stopped. The fuse had just been lit. Across the room, Veronica was still fuming that I hadn’t returned with a shopping bag. Her phone buzzed violently in her hand. DING. A text message from her bank appeared on the screen. [CITIBANK ALERT: Your card ending in xxxx has been charged $1,000,000.00.] 5 Veronica stared at her phone, her mind refusing to process the numbers. [CITIBANK ALERT: Card balance is insufficient. Funds have been withdrawn from your linked savings account. Current available balance: $15,350.00.] A million-dollar charge. She couldn’t connect that astronomical sum to me, the pathetic charity case. “A… a million?” A strangled gasp escaped her lips. Her head snapped toward Ashley, her eyes wild with disbelief and fury. “Where is Josie?” Veronica’s voice was a low, dangerous growl. “She was supposed to be changing! What the hell did she buy?” Ashley’s face was chalk-white. “Ronnie, calm down,” she stammered. “It can’t be Josie. She’s broke. Her phone was dead, remember?” Veronica’s eyes were wide with dawning horror, as if she’d been struck by lightning. “It’s impossible,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “My Venmo transfer didn’t even go through. She only had a hundred dollars cash on her!” Her phone buzzed again with a news alert. Headline: Seraphina Monroe Acquires Rare Dynasty Vase at Charity Auction. Ashley’s breath hitched. “Oh my god, Ronnie. That vase is worth two million! Do you think…?” “Shut up!” Veronica screamed, cutting her off. “The bag is with her. The system is linked to her!” She gripped her phone so tightly the screen threatened to crack. But before the shock could even settle, Seraphina had apparently decided to do some light shopping. A blizzard of text messages began to fly in. [CITIBANK ALERT: A shared charge of $150,000.00 has been processed.] [CITIBANK ALERT: A shared charge of $320,000.00 has been processed.] [CITIBANK ALERT: A shared charge of $288,000.00 has been processed.] Veronica clapped a hand over her mouth, a silent scream trapped in her throat. Her account balance was plummeting like a stone. Within minutes, every one of her cards was maxed out, tipping into massive overdrafts. Her phone began ringing incessantly—automated fraud alerts from her bank. Her mind was a maelstrom of white noise and panic. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead, and her knees buckled, sending her crumpling to the floor. “No, no, no,” she whimpered, rocking back and forth. “I didn’t buy anything! I didn’t spend any money!” Then came the call she truly dreaded. Her father. His voice, usually a booming sound of authority, was a furious, confused roar over the line. “Dad, I swear, it wasn’t me!” she sobbed into the phone. “I didn’t spend it!” But her parents, having just received a series of frantic calls from their bank manager about a daughter who had seemingly lost her mind, weren’t listening. With a few furious clicks, they froze every single one of her accounts.

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I had been with the company for eleven years. Then the owner’s son appeared out of thin air and became my new boss. To establish his authority, he decided to make an example of a veteran employee. That veteran was me. The first fire he lit was right under my chair. In front of our biggest client, he threw a cup of coffee squarely in my face. “This is what you serve our most important partner? This swill? You’re embarrassing the entire company.” Rage boiled in my lungs, but for the sake of the firm—my firm, in so many ways—I swallowed the jagged pieces of my pride and endured it. At the next company-wide meeting, he slammed my proposal onto the floor. “This isn’t a retirement home. We can’t afford to carry dead weight like you who just takes up space.” The next day, I didn’t quit. Instead, I had my personal assistant post a notice on the digital display in the lobby of the corporate building: 【Due to the emotional instability of the renting party’s management, the lease for the 17th floor will not be renewed upon its expiration next month.】 1 That notice sent a shockwave through the company. But the aftershocks hadn’t yet reached Preston Hayes’s feet. He probably figured his mother would hold up the sky if it ever decided to fall. His most pressing concern at the moment was pulling me out of his side like the thorn I’d become. “Ian. I’m surprised you have the nerve to show your face here today.” I’d just sat down at my desk when Preston’s voice slithered over my shoulder. He stood over me, arms crossed, chin tilted at an angle that suggested a deep personal relationship with the ceiling tiles. “I thought after yesterday’s dressing-down, you’d have the decency to pack your things and crawl away. You’ve got a thick skin, I’ll give you that.” I didn’t even look up, just calmly booted up my computer. “Preston, it’s working hours.” My composure seemed to needle him. He let out a sharp, grating laugh. “Work? Fine. Let’s find you some work, then. Can’t have anyone saying Horizon Media Group pays people to do nothing.” He slapped a file onto my desk so hard that the water in my glass sloshed onto the surface. “That Seraphina Monroe account. You’ve been on that for a while, haven’t you?” A knot formed in my stomach. Ms. Monroe. The “most important partner” who had been sitting right there yesterday when Preston had thrown his fit—and his coffee—at me. She was the firm’s biggest client of the year, the head of a project I’d personally nurtured for six months. After yesterday’s fiasco, her assistant had called, politely informing us that the partnership required “re-evaluation.” Preston was setting me up to take the fall. “Ms. Monroe has already made it clear she’s terminating the contract. I want you to go over there and win her back.” He dropped the command like a dead weight, then turned and swaggered away in his polished Italian loafers. He paused at the end of the aisle and added, “And if you can’t, don’t blame me when I humiliate you in front of the entire company. Again.” It was a mission impossible. Everyone in the office knew it. This was Preston’s way of forcing my resignation. A colleague, Rick, leaned over from the next cubicle. “Ian, he’s just trying to screw with you. Nobody could land that account now. It’s a suicide mission.” I managed a tight smile but said nothing. Picking up my phone, I dialed Seraphina Monroe’s assistant. “Hello, this is Ian Wright.” There was a brief silence on the other end. “Mr. Wright. Hello.” “I’d like to request a meeting with Ms. Monroe. Just to discuss the project itself, one last time. Regardless of the outcome, I feel we both deserve a proper conclusion.” The assistant sounded hesitant but agreed to pass along the request. Five minutes later, my phone rang. “Mr. Wright, Ms. Monroe has agreed. This afternoon at three, at The Cypress Lounge.” I hung up, a strange calm settling over me. When Preston saw that I’d actually secured the meeting, a flash of disbelief crossed his face before he masked it with a sneer. “Well, look at you. Don’t get your hopes up. You know the consequences if you come back empty-handed.” I ignored him and began preparing the materials for the meeting. Half an hour before I was due to leave, I walked toward the printer with the freshly organized proposal. Preston emerged from the break room with a cup of coffee, almost as if he’d been waiting for me. As he passed, his shoulder slammed into mine in a way that was anything but accidental. The folder flew from my grasp, and a snowstorm of white paper scattered across the floor. “Oh, my God, I am so sorry,” he said, his voice dripping with mock concern while his eyes danced with triumph. “I didn’t see you there.” Before I could even bend down, one of his shiny leather shoes landed squarely, deliberately, on the most critical pages of the proposal—the architectural diagrams. He ground his heel into them, leaving a dirty, scuffed footprint. He leaned down, his voice a low hiss only I could hear. “It’s all just garbage anyway. Don’t thank me for helping you take it out.” 2 A dead silence fell over the surrounding cubicles. No one dared to even breathe. Preston savored the moment, watching me, waiting for the explosion he so clearly craved. But I just looked down at the ruined proposal. Then I lifted my gaze to meet his and offered a serene smile. “It’s alright, Preston. You have a good day. Watch your step, it’s a long way down.” With that, I picked up my flash drive from the floor and walked away. The smirk on Preston’s face froze, his victory curdling. This was not the reaction he’d been expecting. Once outside, I went straight to a print shop near the lounge and had a fresh copy of the proposal printed and bound. The Cypress Lounge. The atmosphere was serene, the decor minimalist and calming. Seraphina Monroe was already there when I arrived. She wore a tailored, casual blazer, her focus entirely on the delicate tea set before her. She radiated a quiet confidence. When she saw me, she looked up, her eyes lingering on my face for a half-second too long. “Mr. Wright. Please, sit.” Her voice was softer, warmer than it had sounded over the phone. “Ms. Monroe, I want to apologize for yesterday’s… scene,” I said, getting straight to the point. She waved a hand dismissively. “I have no interest in commenting on your company’s internal politics.” Her tone was even, but her words were sharp. “I only want to know one thing. If a company can’t respect its own senior staff, how can I possibly trust it to respect my project?” The question was a dagger, pointed and direct. I paused for a moment. “You’re right, Ms. Monroe. I won’t make excuses for my company, or for anyone in it.” I pushed the newly printed proposal across the table toward her. “I came here today simply as the project lead, to give the proposal I’ve spent the last six months of my life on the presentation it deserves. It’s my responsibility, and it’s the respect your project is owed.” I didn’t mention Preston. I didn’t play the victim. I just walked her through every detail of the plan, every creative decision, and all the groundwork our team had laid. Seraphina listened quietly, never interrupting. When I finished, she spoke slowly. “Ian.” It was the first time she’d used my first name. “This proposal is excellent. Better, even, than I had anticipated.” I felt a sliver of relief. “But,” she continued, her tone shifting, “my contract is with a team, with a company. Not with one man.” “I understand,” I said, nodding as I gathered my materials, preparing to leave. Just as I stood up, she said, “I will reconsider the partnership.” The ambiguity of her statement caught me completely off guard. Back at the office, my colleagues looked at me as if I were a soldier returning from a hopeless battle. Preston, of course, was the first to charge. “So? Rejected, weren’t you? I told you you were useless!” I ignored him and walked back to my desk. He followed, his voice rising an octave. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue? Have your resignation letter on my desk by tomorrow morning. Don’t make me do it for you!” Just then, my phone rang. It was Seraphina Monroe’s assistant. “Mr. Wright, Ms. Monroe asked me to inform you that the partnership is moving forward. However…” The entire office was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. “She has stipulated that you are to be the sole point of contact for the project. She will be in touch with you personally to discuss the contractual details.” The color drained from Preston’s face, then returned in mottled shades of red and purple, as if his blood were at war with itself. 3 Preston Hayes had probably never been so humiliated in his entire life. He’d tried to use this project to force me out, but instead, the project was back on, and all the credit was being laid at my feet. The look he gave me was murderous. But he couldn’t lash out in front of everyone, so he forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Well done, Ian. Guess even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while.” With that, he stormed into his office, slamming the door behind him. The next few days were quiet. Preston left me alone, though every time we passed in the hallway, his glare was sharp enough to cut glass. I ignored his petty theatrics and poured all my energy into Seraphina’s project. One day, while I was in a video conference with her team, Preston barged in. “Ian, I need you outside. Now.” His tone was hostile. I frowned, apologized to the people on the screen, and stepped out. “What is it, Preston?” “You know the company is moving next month, right?” he asked, the question coming out of nowhere. I suppressed a smirk. Of course I knew. I was the one who had my assistant post the non-renewal notice. But on the surface, I remained impassive. “I heard something about that.” “My mother wants you to handle finding the new office space. The requirements are: a location no worse than our current one, a space no smaller, and the rent has to be cheaper.” He finished, then crossed his arms, a smug, expectant look on his face. He added, “Besides, the landlord of this dump is a pain in the ass. So many rules. It’ll be good to move. My mom is sick of dealing with the headaches over the lease.” It was another perfectly designed trap. Prime office space in the central business district was nearly impossible to come by. Adding the “cheaper rent” condition made it a fool’s errand. He wanted to watch me scramble and fail, giving him the perfect excuse to fire me for incompetence. “Understood,” I said flatly. “This came directly from my mother. If you screw this up, don’t expect any mercy,” he threatened. I didn’t grace him with another response and turned back to my meeting. I could feel his eyes burning into my back as I walked away. He thought I couldn’t do it. He had no idea that I owned nearly all of the top-tier office buildings in the entire CBD. If I wanted him to move, he would move. And if I didn’t want him to find a new office, he would never lease another decent square foot in this city again. Over the next few days, I went about my work as usual, never mentioning the search for a new property. Preston grew impatient, repeatedly stopping by my desk to ask for updates. “Ian, how’s the search going? Don’t you dare slack off on me!” “I’m looking into it,” was always my reply. His patience finally snapped. This afternoon, he marched to my desk and threw a stack of papers in my face. “This is what you’ve found? A bunch of dumps in the middle of nowhere? Do you want us to move the company to the suburbs to be eaten alive by mosquitoes?” The edge of a paper sliced my cheek, a sharp, stinging pain. I looked up at him, my expression cold. “Preston, for a prime location in the CBD, this is what the budget allows.” “I don’t care! My mother gave you this task, and you will get it done! If you can’t, then you can get the hell out!” he screamed, his voice echoing through the silent office. Everyone was frozen at their desks. Slowly, one by one, I picked up the scattered papers from the floor. Then, I looked directly at him and said, enunciating every word, “Preston, there’s something you might not understand.” “Over half of the Class-A office buildings in this CBD are owned by a single individual.” “And that individual has a reputation for being… particular. He has a strong aversion to unprofessional, emotionally volatile, and frankly… rude tenants in his properties.” Preston stared at me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He didn’t get it. I smiled, pulled out my phone, and dialed my assistant. I put the call on speaker. “Marcus, please notify all CBD property managers. Add ‘Horizon Media Group’ to the restricted leasing list.” A crisp, respectful voice came from the other end. “Right away, Mr. Wright.” I paused for effect. “And Marcus? I don’t want to see that company name in any of my buildings. Ever.” The office was utterly, profoundly silent. “Mr.… Wright?” Preston’s voice trembled, as if he’d just seen a ghost.

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He was forced to step down after being declared sterile. Today, his family is holding a press conference to announce that his illegitimate half-brother will inherit the empire. A courier arrives at the press conference, holding a baby high in the air. “Who’s Marcus Davenport? I’ve got a special delivery for you: your son.” “Someone sign for this, please. I’ve got another order to run.” 1 I asked a courier to help me deliver a son. The courier asked, “To who?” I said, “The sterile CEO, Marcus Davenport.” He was forced to step down after being declared sterile. Today, his family is holding a press conference to announce that his illegitimate half-brother will inherit the empire. The courier arrives at the press conference, holding a baby high in the air. “Who’s Marcus Davenport? I’ve got a special delivery for you: your son.” “Someone sign for this, please. I’ve got another order to run.” The press conference was a sea of flashing cameras and hushed whispers. Suddenly, a single voice cut through the noise, and every journalist in the room pricked up their ears. “Is he serious? I thought Marcus Davenport couldn’t have kids. Wasn’t that the whole reason the Chairman is ousting him? To put that other son on the throne?” “It was that earthquake three years ago. He was saving a kid from the rubble during an aftershock and got impaled by a piece of rebar. Lost the ability to have children, just like that. Became the ‘Sterile CEO.’ The Chairman immediately announced he had another son studying abroad, that the family line wasn’t broken. He said he’d be grooming the illegitimate one to take over.” Three years had passed. Derek, the son who was once a dirty secret, was now the golden boy. The moment he returned to the States, he moved to force Marcus, the only legitimate heir, to abdicate his position as CEO of Davenport Industries. In a quiet moment before the press conference, I overheard Derek taunting Marcus. I was in the next bathroom stall. “I almost feel bad for you, my dear brother,” Derek sneered, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “But really, who can I blame? You?” “Who told you to be a hero? An earthquake hits, and any sane person runs. You run toward it, join a damn rescue team. Haven’t you ever heard the saying? No good deed goes unpunished.” “You saved one kid and lost the ability to ever have your own. Tragic, really. I almost want to pity you. How does it feel to have been dealt such a perfect hand and just… fumble it all away?” “I honestly thought I’d spend my whole life as the dirty little secret, living in your shadow. But look at this. A total win, and I didn’t even have to lift a finger. Hilarious, isn’t it?” I happened to be at the adjoining mall, working a miserable gig in a furry mascot costume to make money for formula. I’d just ducked into the restroom and was on my way out when I heard that smug bastard’s voice mocking the father of my child. A switch flipped inside me. I decided then and there to do something big. I found out Davenport Industries was holding the press conference today. I found a courier waiting for a pickup nearby. “I’ll Venmo you fifty bucks,” I said, my voice muffled by the giant cartoon rabbit head I was still wearing. “I need you to make an express delivery to the Davenport Industries press conference. Right now. Can you do it?” He eyed my costume. “What are you delivering?” I pulled a warm, pink, impossibly tiny baby from the oversized pouch of my costume. “Deliver him to the sterile CEO, Marcus Davenport.” “Tell him this is his biological son.” “And if he doesn’t believe it, tell him to run a paternity test.” The courier’s eyes went wide. “For real? You’re not kidding me, right? You didn’t, like, kidnap this kid?” “Everyone knows Marcus Davenport is sterile,” he added, his voice a whisper. I didn’t know how to explain the whole… situation. But then, his expression shifted. “I’ll do it,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “I can’t stand seeing these bastards take what’s not theirs. Let’s do something big.” Ten minutes later, just as Chairman Davenport was on stage announcing that Marcus would be taking an extended leave of absence to “rest and recuperate,” and that the title of CEO would be transferred to Derek, the courier burst in. He held my son aloft like a tiny, squirming trophy and bellowed: “Who’s Marcus Davenport? Got a special delivery for ya—your son.” He scanned the shocked faces. “C’mon, somebody sign for this. I’m on the clock here, I’ve got another order to run.” The room erupted. It was pure chaos. Every reporter spun around, their cameras refocusing on the courier and the baby. One journalist shoved a microphone in his face. “Could you repeat that? What are you delivering?” The courier’s voice boomed. “Marcus Davenport’s son.” “Don’t interview me, man. I’m just the delivery guy. I don’t know anything else. Where is he?” He raised his voice again. “Mr. Davenport! Your son is here! Can you come sign for him, please? Chop chop, I’m in a hurry.” 2 I was watching a livestream from my phone just outside the venue, practically rolling on the floor with laughter. I could only imagine the looks on everyone’s faces, especially that arrogant prick, Derek. And Marcus. The father of my child. It all started a year ago. I’m a shifter. A Scottish Fold bunny shifter, to be exact. That night, my monthly cycle was hitting me hard. The hormones were a wildfire in my veins. I was tossing and turning in my little burrow of a den, unable to sleep. Finally, I shifted to my human form. I jumped on my beat-up Vespa to go to the pharmacy for suppressants. The heat was already making my head swim. I got distracted, forgot I was colorblind, and blew right through a red light. A Maybach swerved violently to avoid hitting me, careening into the path of an oncoming semi-truck. The impact was horrific; the Maybach was sent flying. The truck driver, seeing no witnesses, panicked and sped off. I immediately ditched the Vespa and ran to the mangled car. Inside, I found Marcus Davenport, slumped over the steering wheel, barely breathing. “Hey,” I whispered, shaking his shoulder. “Don’t you fall asleep.” It took every ounce of my strength, but I managed to pull him from the wreckage. I checked for a pulse. It was faint, thready. He was fading fast. He wouldn’t make it by the time an ambulance arrived. And this was my fault. He crashed because of me. In a moment of pure desperation, I let my two front teeth extend. I bit down. Hard. On his neck. Lucky for him, during our cycle, we bunny shifters have a temporary, super-charged healing ability. “Ngh… what are you doing? Let go,” he groaned, his body trembling from the pain. “Shut up if you don’t want to die,” I growled, my voice rough. “Or I’ll really give you something to complain about.” He went quiet. After biting him, the heat raging through me got even worse. This man… he was a work of art. That face, that chest, that waist, those legs… Every inch of him was intoxicating. It was enough to make a good bunny go bad. It was a dark and moonless night. The perfect setting for a crime of passion. The stars had aligned. It was too perfect an opportunity to pass up. And he was barely conscious. Completely at my mercy. I remembered a comment I’d seen online once: [So what if he’s a genius in the boardroom? The guy’s equipment is busted. What high-society woman wants an empty suit?] I licked my dry lips. The internet might not want him, but the hormone-crazed shifter in me definitely did. Besides, his “equipment” might be broken, but mine was working just fine. All he had to do was lie there. I could handle the rest. 3 The hormones were taking over. I couldn’t fight it. I dragged him back into the relative privacy of the wrecked Maybach. What happened next was a blur of chaotic, primal energy. “What… what are you doing?” “Stop it. Who said you could touch me?” “How dare you… are you still touching me?!” He was making too much noise. I ripped off his silk tie with a satisfying tearing sound. I used it to blindfold him. Then I leaned in, my lips brushing against the frantic pulse in his throat, and whispered, my voice a low, dangerous purr. “Be quiet. I saved your life. Now you’re mine for the night.” When it was all over, I could hear the faint wail of sirens in the distance. I scrambled to pull myself together and ran. Before hopping on my Vespa and disappearing into the night, I turned back, struck by a sudden, ridiculous impulse. I threw a line at him, my best attempt at an alpha-male declaration: “Remember this. You’ve been marked by me. So even if you are sterile, you better stay faithful.” “And in return,” I added, my voice softening just a little, “this bunny will protect you for life.” He probably thought I was insane. But I meant it. And I never expected I’d have to make good on that promise so soon. Honestly, I hadn’t expected any of this. I thought sleeping with him was consequence-free. The internet said he was sterile. No need to worry about birth control. Then came the morning sickness. You have got to be kidding me. So much for “unable to have children.” Well, once I was pregnant, there was only one thing to do: have the babies. A strong, independent woman raising kids on her own? It sounded kind of perfect. So I gave birth to a litter. A litter of seven. Six of them were born in their bunny forms. Fluffy, pink, and impossibly cute. Only the seventh, my little Seven, stubbornly held onto his human baby form. He must take after his father. I never planned on using my son to claim a spot in the Davenport dynasty. But then that bastard, Derek, had the audacity to bully the father of my children. The man I marked. He was my man. And if I have one weakness, it’s that I’m fiercely protective of my own. My second weakness? I absolutely live for chaos. 4 The press conference was in shambles. Only Marcus remained in his seat, perfectly still. He clearly didn’t believe the child was his. But his mother, Eleanor Davenport, was already on her feet. She strode purposefully toward the courier, took the baby from his arms, and burst into tears of pure joy. “My god,” she gasped, her voice thick with emotion. “He… he looks exactly like Marcus did as a baby. This is my grandson. There’s no doubt.” She turned, her eyes blazing, and fixed her stare on her husband. “Richard! Do you see this? I have a grandson! Are you still going to tell me Marcus isn’t fit to be the heir?” This was her counter-attack. First, Eleanor had to face the public humiliation of her son’s infertility. Then, the sting of her husband’s betrayal, his illegitimate son brought out of the shadows. And finally, the indignity of watching that same son try to usurp her own child. She was done being a victim. At that moment, she didn’t care if the baby was truly her grandson or not. She held Seven aloft like a shield and a sword, ready for war. Chairman Davenport hurried down from the stage to see the baby. “What… Marcus, what is the meaning of this?” Marcus remained silent, a statue amidst the storm. Reporters swarmed him, shouting questions. “Mr. Davenport, is this really your son?” “We were told you were unable to have children!” “Who is the mother?” “Mr. Davenport, is this just a stunt to disrupt the press conference and protect your position?” “What does it feel like to be sterile, Mr. Davenport?” Marcus didn’t answer a single question. It was Derek who broke the silence, his voice high and frantic. “Dad, you can’t believe this! The baby came from nowhere! For all we know, they hired some woman to bring a random baby here just to stir up trouble!” “It’s pathetic, but is it going to work? No! One DNA test and this whole charade falls apart.” “Just make the announcement,” he pleaded. “Announce that I’m taking over as CEO of Davenport Industries.” Eleanor, still clutching the baby, walked right up to Derek. She raised her hand and slapped him, hard, across the face. The sound cracked through the room like a whip. “A DNA test? This is my grandson. I don’t need a test to know my own flesh and blood.” Derek flinched, his hand rising as if to strike back, but he caught himself. In front of all these cameras, he held back. “Dad, do you see this? They’re panicking. They know they can’t do a DNA test. That baby is not my brother’s.” Suddenly, Marcus stood up. He ignored everyone—his mother, his father, his brother, the reporters. He walked away from the chaos, his shoulders slumped. He didn’t look back. He looked broken, defeated, and my heart ached for him. The cameras followed his retreat until he was escorted out a side door by his security team, vanishing from sight.

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I found a half-dead werewolf in the woods. I pinched pennies and skipped meals to buy him medicine, brewing potions until my eyes were raw. And in the end, he said to another, “I would never fall for a notorious witch.” I found that bizarre. “I don’t know what the customs are for you werewolves,” I told him later, “but for the record, I don’t date pets.” 1 I’m a witch. I live deep in the forest. My dream is to have a dog. The first time I saw Rhys, bleeding out on a bed of moss, a little shriek escaped my lips. Finally! It was my turn to find a stray! It wasn’t until I’d dragged him home and washed him off that I realized I’d picked the wrong species. The coat of shimmering silver fur wasn’t fur at all, but a ruined pelt he was wearing. Beneath the tangled, matted hair that covered his face was the face of a man. The ears and the fluffy tail, however, were real. Wolf ears and a wolf tail. I went still. My hand, mid-scrub, froze. I considered how to put him back exactly as I’d found him. The dog whimpered. No, that wasn’t right. It was a man’s groan. His lashes fluttered, and his eyes slowly opened. They were dark and brilliant, like polished obsidian from a deep forest cave. He did look a bit like a puppy, though. Fine. I’d just raise him like one. 2 I went back to scrubbing him clean. “How about I call you Lucky?” I muttered as I worked. “Sound good?” Lucky’s gaze drifted upward. “I have a name,” he whispered. “It’s Rhys.” “Right,” I said. “Lucky.” Lucky was silent. Lucky shut down. He closed his eyes again. Youth is a wonderful thing; he was asleep in an instant. It took me the rest of the day to get him clean, even combing the knots out of his hair until it was straight. I tried to wake him for some broth, but he was dead to the world. He’d passed out again. I managed to trickle some healing potion between his lips, and his eyes fluttered open. Rhys ran a hand through his hair, a thoughtful frown on his face. I puffed out my chest. “Your hair was a total mess! It took me all afternoon to get it straight.” “I have naturally curly hair,” he said, his voice flat. The silence that followed was deafening. I forced a laugh. “Well, think of it as a new look.” 3 Rhys’s injuries were serious. But when you take in a pet, you have a responsibility to see it through. I’d always been a broke witch, living meal-to-meal. Now, saving up for Rhys’s recovery, I was lucky to get one meal a day. A bundle of pain-dulling herbs cost a silver coin. A poultice of blood-clotting moss was two. Every day, I’d squat by the door with a stick, scratching figures in the dirt. The more I calculated, the more I thought Rhys was horribly unlucky to have been found by a pauper like me. I used the cheapest herbs, but the potions I brewed were flawless, distilled with a practiced hand. I often stayed up all night by the cauldron, my eyes burning from the smoke, and then spent the day tending to the half-dead Rhys. His wounds would begin to heal, but on the night of the full moon, they would tear open anew. He’d break out in a cold sweat, his already pale face draining of all color. He’d bite his lip until beads of blood formed and dripped onto his collar. I’d hold a wooden bowl to his lips, feeding him the analgesic potion one spoonful at a time. I hummed a little tune to distract him. “Hush now, little puppy, hush now, be good. Smart and so lively, a sweet, gentle boy…” He listened in silence. When I paused to take a drink of water, he told me, “I’m a wolf.” I nodded, unbothered. It was an easy fix. “Hush now, little wolfie, hush now, be good…” Rhys closed his eyes, his expression peaceful as he leaned his head against my shoulder. I could smell the scent of cedar clinging to him, a fragrance that reminded me of a pine forest blanketed in snow. 4 When Rhys was mostly healed, I started him on physical therapy. He hadn’t been on his feet for weeks, which is terrible for a wolf. I bought a bone from a local hunter, scraped it clean, and tossed it across the yard while Rhys watched. “Go get it, Lucky!” Rhys was sitting in a wicker chair, reading one of my spellbooks. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, dappling his fine features. He was too beautiful for a common dog. He gave me a look, then returned to his book. Unimpressed. I tried a sweeter tone. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll make your favorite bone broth for dinner.” Rhys’s lips tightened, but he said nothing. He gently set the book aside and then, he was gone. A true wolf. His form was a graceful, powerful arc, a shooting star against the green of the forest. In the blink of an eye, he was back, the bone held gently in his hand. He looked down at me, his eyes shining. “Here.” I took it and immediately threw it again, even farther this time. Rhys: “?” I stood on my toes and patted his head in praise. Then I commanded, “Go get it.” Rhys let out a soft sigh. And took off running. 5 Once he was almost fully recovered, Rhys started hunting. In the mornings, he’d lean against the doorframe with the crude bow and quiver I’d made him, listening as I listed the potion ingredients I needed. “A frog, a fish eye, two sprigs of myrtle…” I finished the list. He didn’t move. He just stood there, looking down at me with that brilliant gaze. “Is there anything you want?” he asked. I looked up at him and smiled. “I’d love some baked bread.” I used to save up my coins to buy fresh bread from the town. But since I’d started saving for Rhys’s medicine, it had become a luxury I couldn’t afford. Rhys nodded. From then on, he came back every day with a small loaf of bread for me. At night, he would light the candles in the cabin and organize the herbs in my medicine cabinet. Then he would sit quietly, watching me stand on a stool, humming “Hush Now, Little Wolfie” as I brewed his potions. He would bend down, letting me stroke his fluffy ears. He’d listen as I absentmindedly called him “puppy” or “Lucky.” And late at night, he’d pick up his pillow and retreat to the small room I had built just for him. He was my healing little puppy. But the beautiful dream didn’t last long. 6 One day, Rhys left at dawn and didn’t come back. He was always back by dusk. I grabbed my wand, hopped on my broomstick, and flew out to find him. I knew Rhys might have enemies. But I was once a very powerful witch. I was confident I could save him from anyone. But I didn’t see any enemies. I saw Rhys at the edge of the forest. A werewolf with gray ears and a gray tail was bowing respectfully, addressing him as “Your Majesty.” Rhys, still holding the loaf of bread he’d gotten for me, stood bathed in the silver moonlight, his expression unreadable. His voice, when he spoke, was a low current of sound, cold enough to make you shiver. “I will return soon.” “You can reassure the pack. I would never fall for a notorious witch.” Neither of them saw me. I was perched high in the branches of an old oak, shielded by an owl. Its round eyes glowed in the dark as it hooted a strange call only I could understand. “Leora,” it cooed softly in my mind, “even the Wolf King in his Northern Ridge has heard of your reputation.” I lowered my head, silent. Of course I knew. I was the “notorious witch” he spoke of.

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

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