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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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.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385861”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

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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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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My best friend was dying. Her surgery had failed. I was sobbing, my cries raw and ragged, clinging to her as her life slipped away. But then she leaned in and whispered a single sentence in my ear. The words stopped my tears cold. A hysterical laugh bubbled up from my chest. Just moments before, my best friend had been in a catastrophic car accident. Her only hope was an emergency surgery that only two people were qualified to perform: my brother and my husband, both renowned surgeons. My brother was also her husband. I called him first. “Shane, it’s Zoe! She’s been in a horrible accident! You have to get to the hospital, you’re the only one who can do this surgery!” “What kind of stunt are you two pulling now?” he’d snapped. “Does Zoe ever get tired of the drama? It’s Seraphina’s birthday today. I’m busy. Stop bothering me.” He hung up. When I tried to call back, his phone was off. Desperate, I called my husband, Jake. “Jake, you have to—” He cut me off before I could finish. “I already told you I’m busy with Zoe’s birthday celebration. What part of ‘leave me alone’ don’t you understand?” Then he hung up and blocked my number. With no other choice, another doctor had to perform the surgery. But it wasn’t enough. It failed. 1 After Zoe died, I handled everything myself. She’d told me a long time ago that if she died first, she wanted her ashes scattered in the ocean. She loved the sea, and besides, she said, she didn’t belong to this world anyway. There were no roots to return to. It was dark by the time I finally got home. The house was blazing with light, extravagantly decorated. My entire family was in the middle of a lavish birthday party for Seraphina. The house was filled with guests. “Maya, where have you been? Don’t you know it’s my birthday today?” Seraphina asked, her face a perfect portrait of innocent, doe-eyed concern. “And where’s my sister-in-law? Why isn’t Zoe with you?” Only Zoe and I knew the darkness that lurked beneath that pristine, angelic facade. My brother, Shane, wrapped an arm around her. “Ignore them,” he murmured. “They’re professional party-poopers.” “Shane!” I cried out, my voice cracking. “Zoe’s surgery failed. She’s gone. This is her death certificate.” He took the paper, glanced at it, and then he laughed. “You and Zoe really know how to commit to a bit, don’t you? You think this piece of paper is going to fool me?” He ripped the certificate into tiny pieces and tossed them into the air like confetti. “So Zoe’s hiding now, is she? Well, if she doesn’t come home tonight, she can stay gone for good!” He turned away, his arm still around Seraphina’s shoulders. As they walked off, Seraphina glanced back at me, a triumphant smirk on her lips. Her eyes screamed a message loud and clear. See? It doesn’t matter if you’re their real daughter. I’m the only one they’ll ever truly care about. Zoe and I were both transmigrators. This was our tenth year in this world. I was the real heiress to a billionaire family, switched at birth, while my “sister,” Seraphina, was the fake heiress they had raised for twenty-five years. Zoe had fallen in love with my brother, and I had fallen for Jake. It’s why we chose to stay. But Seraphina made us see that our love was worthless. We both wanted to leave. Zoe left first. Now, it was my turn. I remembered her last words, whispered in my ear. “Don’t be sad, Maya. I’m just going back to our world. When I get there, the System is giving me a billion dollars as a reward. I’ll take care of you.” 2 I went to my room and had just set up my phone to record when a group of people burst in. I recognized two of them. They were Seraphina’s thuggish friends. “Who let you in? Get out!” They just grinned sleazily and locked the door behind them. A cold knot of dread formed in my stomach. “What do you want?” They advanced on me, their smiles turning predatory. “I wonder what it’s like to mess with a real heiress. Bet she’s fun.” One of them lunged, pinning me down with brutal force. “You go first, bro,” the other one said. “I’ll take my turn when you’re done.” The man on top of me started unbuckling his belt. Pure terror seized me. “Don’t you dare touch me! I’m a Prescott!” “A Prescott? Please. Your parents treat you like a stray dog they took in.” “You really think a little shared blood makes you their precious princess? Seraphina is the only Prescott heiress. You’re just trash.” “And just so we’re clear, Seraphina is the one who sent us here to teach you a lesson.” A surge of adrenaline gave me strength. I bit down, hard, on the hand clamped over my mouth. “Ah! You bitch!” He recoiled in pain, and in that split second, I scrambled onto the windowsill. “Stay back! If you come any closer, I’ll jump!” “This is the third floor. You jump from here, you’ll be crippled for life, if you don’t die!” They rushed towards me. Steeling myself, I threw myself out of the window. The ground below was tiled. I was lucky, I suppose. I only broke my leg. Ignoring the blood soaking my clothes, I dragged myself through the house, searching for help. “Jake! Jake!” No one answered. But from a room in a secluded corner of the ground floor, I heard familiar, unmistakable sounds. I shoved the door open. There was my husband, tangled up with my sister, their clothes in disarray. “What are you doing?” Jake slowly sat up, calmly buttoning his shirt. “I had too much to drink. Mistook her for someone else.” “I look nothing like Seraphina. And what about her? Did she have too much to drink and make a mistake, too?” “God, you’re so annoying! I said it was a mistake, so it was a mistake!” He turned and finally saw me, his eyes widening in shock. “What happened to you? Why are you covered in blood?” “I jumped from the third floor.” “Are you insane? Why would you jump from the third floor?!” “Because Seraphina sent two men to rape me! I had to jump to get away!” The words came out on a choked sob. Seraphina, a master actress, burst into tears on cue. “Maya, I know you’ve always hated me, but you can’t say such horrible things! You can’t accuse me of something so vile!” “I would never, ever do that to my own sister!” Jake immediately pulled her into a protective embrace. “Maya, that’s enough! How could you frame your own sister like this?” Before I could argue, my parents and Shane appeared in the doorway. Without a single question, my father strode forward and slapped me across the face. 3 My head rang from the impact. “Dad, why did you hit me?” “We heard everything from outside! How dare you use such a disgusting lie to frame your sister? You deserve to be hit!” “It’s not a lie! It’s the truth! Look at me, look at my injuries! My leg is broken!” Shane glared at me. “Stop the theatrics. This is just another one of your pathetic bids for attention. My God, Maya, to hurt yourself like this just to frame Seraphina… you’re truly despicable.” I looked at the four people who were supposed to be my family. My husband, my parents, my brother. They all looked at me with the same expression: disgust and contempt. “You all think I’m lying? Fine. I have proof. Follow me.” I dragged my broken leg and started hobbling towards the stairs, but none of them moved. “Mom, Dad, Shane… just let it go,” Seraphina sniffled. “It’s my birthday. I don’t want to fight with Maya.” Shane sighed. “See? Seraphina is always so gracious. Unlike some people, who are just full of schemes. It’s sickening.” “What’s wrong? Afraid to come with me? Afraid of the truth?” Jake frowned. “Seraphina is trying to protect you from embarrassing yourself further. Why do you insist on being so difficult?” I stopped trying to convince them. I just dragged my broken body up the stairs and back to my room. On the desk, my phone was still recording. I stopped it and replayed the last few minutes. Good. It had captured everything. I sent the video to the family group chat. Within seconds, they all stormed back into my room. Shane held up his phone. “What is the meaning of this video?” “Isn’t it obvious? It’s Seraphina’s friends admitting she sent them to assault me.” My father shook his head. “Impossible. Seraphina would never do that. Those men must have acted on their own. This has nothing to do with her.” Seraphina started sobbing. “Maya, you have to believe me! I didn’t send them! We have to find them, I need to confront them!” “They ran off the second I jumped, of course,” I said flatly. “Did you expect them to stick around and wait for me to tell on them?” My mother’s eyes filled with a flicker of pity. “Maya, darling, jumping from the third floor… does it hurt terribly? We should get you to a doctor.” But Jake was already planting another seed of doubt. “Wait a minute. How did you manage to record that? Did you set it all up with them?” I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “Jake, those men are Seraphina’s loyal lapdogs. Why would they conspire with me?” “Maybe you paid them!” Shane chimed in, his eyes lighting up. “Jake’s right! You paid them to frame Seraphina!” Seraphina’s sobs grew louder. “Maya, I’m your sister! Why would you do this to me?” The pity in my mother’s eyes vanished. “Maya, I am so disappointed in you.” My father snorted. “We never should have brought her back in the first place.” In that moment, any lingering trace of affection I had for this family turned to ash. “You want to know how I got the proof? Fine. I’ll tell you.” 4 “I was recording because I was about to film my last words.” Jake scoffed. “Your last words? Can’t you come up with a better excuse? You were going to kill yourself? Please.” “Yes. Today is the day I leave this place.” “Don’t be ridiculous. If you die, I’ll eat my hat.” “Maya, are you sick in the head?” Shane barked. “Why are you suddenly talking about suicide?” “You’re the one who framed your sister, and now you’re playing the victim? You have some nerve.” My vision blurred with tears as I looked at my brother. “Shane, is there anyone in your heart besides Seraphina? Do you even remember you have a wife named Zoe?” “Mom, Dad, do you remember your kind, loving daughter-in-law?” “Zoe is dead! She’s dead because none of you would answer your phones to perform her surgery! You were all too busy celebrating with Seraphina! And because of that, she died!” “Zoe is gone, and so is my last reason for staying in this world. I’m going to be with her.” Their faces were masks of disdain. Shane chuckled darkly. “Are you and Zoe still not done with this act? What is this, a soap opera?” “What’s next? Is she going to pop out of a coffin to scare us?” “No. You’ll never see her again. I had her cremated. Her ashes are in the sea.” Jake put a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “Come on, man, let’s not engage. She’s only putting on this show because she has an audience. If we ignore her, she’ll stop.” My father pointed a stern finger at me. “You will stay in this room and think about what you’ve done! You will not get a single bite of food until you are ready to apologize to your sister!” “And you can suffer with your injuries. We’re not calling a doctor until you’ve apologized!” They all turned and left, flocking around Seraphina. At the door, she looked back and mouthed two words at me: You’ll never win. But her taunts didn’t sting anymore. I was about to be free. Free to go back to my world, reunite with Zoe, and live a life of fabulous wealth where my best friend would take care of me. I had planned to die quietly in my room. But they deserved a parting gift. I climbed up to the roof of the villa. Directly below was the massive swimming pool. The whole family was in the water with Seraphina, laughing and tossing a ball around. I sat on the edge of the roof, pulled a small fruit knife from my pocket, found the artery in my wrist, and sliced down without hesitation. A torrent of crimson erupted from the wound. I heard a scream from below. “Someone’s on the roof! They’re going to jump!” Every head turned upwards. “Maya!” my mother shrieked. “What are you doing? Get down from there!” My father snorted. “Leave her. Even if she jumps, we won’t forgive her until she apologizes to Seraphina.” Shane’s brow was furrowed with irritation. “Are you still not done with this act, Maya? We’re tired of watching!” Seraphina started her crocodile tears again. “Why is she doing this to me? Is she trying to use her suicide to prove her lies were true?” “Now I’ll never be able to clear my name! Maybe I should just die too!” Jake held her tight. “Seraphina, don’t. That’s exactly what she wants.” Then he yelled up at me. “If you’re going to jump, then jump! Stop putting on a show!” “If you actually jump, I’ll change my last name to yours!” I was fading fast from blood loss. My vision was tunneling. With my last ounce of strength, I screamed back, “Then you better get used to it, because my name is White!” And then I pushed off, falling like a stone into the center of the pool. The splash sent a wave of bloody water raining down on all of them.

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