I spent three years following a D-list idol. After I edited a fancam that hit a million likes, he finally blew up overnight. Excited, I flew out to his fan meet-and-greet. By chance, I overheard a conversation between him and his manager backstage. “That fan site girl is here looking for credit again? Just because she cut a few viral clips, she thinks she’s some kind of hero!” “The video went viral because my talent is undeniable. What does she have to do with it?” Hearing this, I turned around, created a burner account, and spent the night sending his rival’s best performance trending up the charts. The comments section was instantly overrun by fans from all sides. “God-tier editor! My fave needs you too!” “Liam, you better hold onto this fan for dear life!” After I dropped several viral videos in a row, the D-list idol couldn’t sit still anymore. His studio DM’d me that night: “If you come back, we’ll send you a few signed autographs.” I sneered. Sorry, but your rival has already delivered his own brother to my doorstep! 1 “If it wasn’t for my talent being so strong, what would she have to do with it?” Talent? Strong? Hearing those words backstage, I almost laughed out loud. Three years since his debut. His acting was roasted by netizens for looking like a toad; his dancing was questioned by judges who thought he was performing a séance; and his singing was so autotuned it sounded like a robot. Where exactly did Jaxon Vane get this “talent”? I was so angry I turned around and walked away. His little assistant chased after me shouting, “Harper! You don’t want the face-to-face signing?” I didn’t want it. I didn’t want the VIP package I spent five grand on. I didn’t want this D-list idol I’d chased for three years, either. I was going home tonight to edit videos for his rival. I was going to show him who the real hero was! 2 I dug out an SD card that had been gathering dust. Inside, besides Jaxon’s videos, there was footage of his rival—Liam West. At the time, they were at the same music festival. Jaxon was late, so Liam covered for him and sang a few extra songs. I was bored waiting, so I casually recorded a few “fancams” (focused shots) of him. Later, Jaxon’s fans started tearing into Liam, claiming he hogged Jaxon’s performance time. The two fandoms caused a massive earthquake in our little circle, so I never touched that memory card again. Looking at it now— He was undeniably hot! His talent was undeniably strong! Fueled by this sudden passion, I immediately registered a burner account, edited the footage I shot back then, and uploaded it to TikTok and Twitter. After doing all that, I passed out. When I woke up the next day, my “Do Not Disturb” mode turned off, and my phone exploded with notifications. Ding-ding-ding! The video had gone viral! 3 Overnight, the video surpassed 100,000 likes. The comments section was full of screaming fans. “Ahhhh! How does such beauty exist in the entertainment industry?” “Passerby here. I fell down the rabbit hole immediately after watching this.” “What are these talent shows doing? How are they missing hidden gems like this everywhere!” “Omg, my house finally has a God-tier fan site! Liam West deserves to be seen!” The top comments were all joy about discovering a hidden gem. I happily scrolled through the comments until I saw a few that had suddenly jumped to the top. “Wait… do you guys notice this editor’s cutting style and watermark placement look familiar?” “Holy crap, I see it too. She looks like the fan site admin for that idol who blew up recently. What’s her name?” “The IP address is the same. The backpack accidentally shown in the reflection is the same. It’s confirmed—this is Jaxon Vane’s fan site admin!” 4 Wait! Are netizens detectives these days? How did they dig that up so fast! I felt guilty, so I quickly turned off comment notifications on the burner account. But it didn’t end there. My main account was getting flooded with DMs from fans. Jaxon’s_GF: “Harper, are you running away?” OnlyLoveJaxon: “Harper, did you start a burner? Our fandom forbids ‘multi-stanning’ (supporting multiple idols). You know the rules, right?” These voices were relatively mild. But later on, the main account’s comments section was overrun by angry fans. “Heh, you made enough money off us and now you’re ready to bounce, right?” “Your greed is showing. If no one dug this up, were you planning to grift money from both sides?” “You harvested so many of us ‘leeks’ (gullible fans), did you finish renovating your ocean-view villa yet?” The more I read, the angrier I got. To be fair, in the three years I chased Jaxon Vane, I spent countless amounts of energy and savings. Aside from the tiny creator fund incentives from the video platforms, I was doing this purely for love! Three years. I shot countless viral videos for him and edited three clips that hit a million views! I bought his endorsements by the crate, chased every music festival, and never missed a signing event. And now I’m “scamming fans” and “harvesting leeks”? Clearly, I was the leek being harvested! Just when my heart was hurting from the rage, a friend in PR sent me a screenshot. It was from a “water army” group chat (paid bot/troll farm). Someone had placed an order for a professional team to deliberately lead the rhythm and smear my reputation. I looked at that person’s avatar and ID— I remembered it clearly! That was Jaxon Vane’s manager’s burner account! 5 My PR friend joked with me: “If you had slid into his DMs privately earlier, maybe you would have seen his true face a long time ago. You wouldn’t have waited until now.” True. If I hadn’t had such strong boundaries—if I had just thrown money at him before he was famous—I might have been the “sister-in-law” (girlfriend) by now! It didn’t end there. The video on my burner account started getting mass-reported. After going through hell to successfully appeal the ban, the data, which had already raced to 500,000 likes, completely stagnated. I was dizzy from the stress all day. That night, I opened the app and even saw marketing accounts pushing a narrative— “Do current fan site admins make money from black-hearted schemes? A certain fan site couldn’t scam enough money, so she started reaching out to…” They actually bought marketing accounts to blacklist me! Jaxon Vane! If you’re going to be unjust, don’t blame me for being unrighteous! I furiously logged into my main account, deleted every single work, and completely deactivated the account. From this moment on. Jaxon Vane’s top fan site, “Wind Trace,” completely disappeared. Replacing it was Liam West’s fan site— “Walking With Light.” 6 After the account deletion, Jaxon’s fandom experienced a massive earthquake. Millions of data points vanished. The viral edits were gone, leaving only a few low-quality reposts saved by fans. Overnight, he was back to his pre-fame state. The news even spread through the entire industry circle. #JaxonFanSiteDeleted #StationSisterUnstan #LiamWestFanSite Several hashtags hit the trending list simultaneously. My heat index even reached a level the idol himself had never achieved. The comments section was filled with cheers. “Someone’s true colors were finally discovered! I won’t say who, but this is satisfying!” “Last music festival, his fans were cursing Liam West for taking up performance time. It was clearly Jaxon Vane who had no concept of time and showed up late. We were just saving the show!” “Hello Admin, can you look at my brother? @[Name] The kid has great skills, he just lacks one viral opportunity!” “To the person above, is that your admin? You’re just shouting! Liam, you have to cling to this admin for dear life!” So heartwarming! It was so heartwarming I didn’t even sleep. I not only posted the rest of my video stockpile but also stayed up all night searching for Liam’s past videos. I fought like this for a month. I not only dropped seven viral videos in a row but also rode the tailwinds of the trending topics to get the “Walking With Light” account to 100,000 followers. Even Liam West himself was dragged into the public eye by my heat. Netizens affectionately gave me a nickname— “The Strongest Station Sister.”

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After adding my campus crush on social, I spent every day sending him the thirstiest, most unhinged messages imaginable. “I can’t sleep because I’m not sleeping with you.” “Life isn’t crushing me, but I wish you were.” “Six feet apart? Nah, I want zero distance. Skin on skin.” Then, one day, I overheard someone ask him about it. “What did you do about that girl who keeps harassing you?” “Oh, her? I pawned her off on Liam. Let him deal with it.” Liam. His roommate. The cold, sarcastic, impossible-to-read Liam. I turned around, right as Liam walked past me, his face completely expressionless. I smirked, pulled out my phone, and hit send on my latest masterpiece: “Gold is great, silver is fine, but nothing beats feeling your chest muscles.” Hey, a chase is a chase. If this guy doesn’t want me, I’ll just take the upgrade. 1 My crush, Carter, sprained his ankle playing basketball. Naturally, I rushed to the hospital, planning to surprise him with a get-well visit. Before I could even push the door open, I heard laughter from inside the room. “Dude, that’s brutal. You know Liam’s got a tongue like a razor blade. He’s gonna make her cry.” “Seriously, you gave her Liam’s number? Aren’t you afraid he’ll actually kill you?” Through the crack in the door, I saw Carter, leg in a cast, looking smug. “Liam knows I’m a softie,” Carter said. “Swapping places was actually his idea.” His other roommate leaned forward, excited. “No way. Liam volunteered? Carter, are you for real?” That’s when I noticed the third guy in the room. He was wearing a black hoodie, head down, focused intently on his phone. At the mention of his name, he glanced up lazily, his expression bored. “Yeah.” “So… are you guys still texting?” the roommate asked. Before Liam could answer, Carter rolled his eyes. “Please. He probably blocked her ages ago. Why would Liam waste time on a girl chasing me? Is he sick?” Just as Carter finished speaking, Liam suddenly stood up, walked over to the bed, and snapped a photo of Carter’s cast. “What are you doing?” Carter asked. “RA asked for proof,” Liam deadpanned. Carter didn’t suspect a thing. “Oh, okay.” He went back to chatting. A second later, my phone buzzed in my pocket. “It hurts. I need wifey to kiss it better.” I tapped the notification. The photo on my screen was the exact same angle Liam had just taken. 2 I had added “Carter” two months ago. Or rather, I thought I added Carter. Turns out, I’d been sexting Liam for eight weeks. Back then, I confessed to Carter. He didn’t reject me, but he didn’t say yes either. Just gave me a vague “let’s see later.” I took that as a green light. After getting the number, I unleashed my inner demon. I sent him the most unhinged pick-up lines. And he didn’t hold back. Three days a week, I got ab pics. He knew exactly what buttons to push. We went to different colleges, so we hadn’t met up since the texting started. I never suspected a thing. Until a few days ago. My school was hosting the city-wide basketball league, and I heard Carter’s team was playing. I signed up as a volunteer, excited to finally see “my man.” And now, here I was, standing outside a hospital room, realizing I’d been catfished by the hottest guy on campus. My phone buzzed again. Liam was spamming me. “Guess I can’t see you today, babe.” “Rain check until my leg heals?” “Hello? You mad?” My hands were cold, but my brain was weirdly calm. Whatever. A hot guy is a hot guy. If the chemistry is there, who cares about the name tag? “Yeah, I’m mad.” “I need to see Daddy’s abs to feel better.” Inside the room, Liam seemed to let out a breath he’d been holding. “Be good. I’ll show you tonight.” “No. Now.” I watched through the crack as Liam’s face twisted in a momentary struggle. Then, he stood up, face blank as ever. “Where you going, Liam?” “Bathroom.” Two minutes later, a photo of rock-hard abs popped up on my screen. It was chilly today. If I zoomed in, I could see the goosebumps on his skin. “Happy now, princess?” “It’ll do.” A beat later, he replied: “Next time I see you, I’m going to handle you.” The weekend of the league rolled around. Even though “Carter” was out with an injury, I had committed to volunteering. So, I braved the cold wind and headed to the gym. As soon as I arrived, a group of girls in red volunteer vests were freaking out. “OMG, Liam is here today!” “I thought he wasn’t playing?” “Someone got hurt, so he’s subbing in.” “Bless that injured guy, seriously. We get to see the God of Basketball in action!” I was still wondering who this “God” was when the gym erupted in screams. The team from A-State walked in. I looked up, and my eyes locked straight onto the guy at the end of the line. Liam. The moment he saw me, his lazy, bored eyes sharpened. I pretended not to know him and looked away. Turns out, Liam was a bigger deal than Carter ever was. The whole game was basically The Liam Show. Even his teammates on the bench were whispering. “Liam is playing like a beast today. He’s on fire.” “Who was the one saying he was ‘too lazy’ for this tournament last week? He’s playing like his life depends on it.” On the court, Liam sank another three-pointer. After the shot, his eyes scanned the sidelines, looking for something. Or someone. His teammate leaned over. “Something’s up. Liam is preening like a peacock. You think he’s eyeing a girl?” “No way. My dad will remarry before Liam gets a girlfriend.” The second quarter buzzer sounded. A swarm of people rushed over to hand Liam water. He ignored them all. He walked straight past them, toward his teammates… no, toward me. “You’re a volunteer?” he asked, voice low. “Yeah.” “I’m thirsty. Can you get me a water?” Before I could move, his teammate shoved a bottle forward. “Here, Liam, I got you.” Liam ignored him. He stared at me, waiting. The silence was thick. Finally, I grabbed a bottle and handed it to him. Behind him, I heard his teammate whisper, “Holy sh*t. My dad might actually be getting remarried.” 3 Unsurprisingly, Liam got MVP. During the award ceremony, I snapped a blurry photo of him. And sent it to “Carter.” Me: “This guy goes to your school too?” “Carter”: “Yeah.” “Carter”: “Why?” Me: “Nothing. Just think he’s kinda hot.” “Carter”: “You like that type?” Me: “It’s a vibe.” I paused, then typed out a lie that felt a little too true. Me: “If I met him earlier, I might not be chasing you.” He didn’t reply immediately. I looked up at the podium. Liam looked conflicted. He was biting his lip, staring at his phone screen like it was a bomb defusal manual. Someone called his name, and he snapped out of it. He tapped out a reply. My phone buzzed. “Carter”: “It’s not too late now.” I looked up again. Liam was looking right at me. Our eyes met across the crowded gym. The air crackled. This time, I didn’t look away. I gave him a small, secret smile. Then I typed: “Not too late, but I won’t chase. I have you. That’s enough.” 4 A few days later, I had an interview for a French tutoring gig. Funny enough, “Carter” had set it up. He said it was for a friend’s kid. A teenage boy, apparently well-behaved. The pay was insane, so I took it seriously. Before the interview, “Carter” was blowing up my phone with advice. “Be safe on the way. Don’t worry if you’re late.” “Help yourself to snacks during the lesson. Don’t be shy.” “If you need anything else, just ask. They’ll say yes.” It was weirdly specific. Like he was the one hiring me. I was nervous on the way there, so I brushed it off. But when the door opened, my brain short-circuited. Liam stood there in grey sweatpants and a tee, looking effortlessly good. “We meet again, volunteer.” “You… you’re the parent?” “Is it possible I’m the student?” I blinked. “What?” Who sets up their own tutoring gig through a fake identity? While he went to the kitchen to get water, I texted “Carter.” Me: “The student you referred is Liam?” A pause. “Carter”: “Yeah.” Me: “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Carter”: “You said he was hot. Thought it would be a nice surprise.” Me: “Aren’t you afraid I’ll fall for him?” “Carter”: “I trust you won’t. And if you do, it means I wasn’t good enough. I wouldn’t blame you.” I snorted. This guy. Liam walked back in with a tray of fruit. He looked totally composed, like he hadn’t just sent me a text dripping with fake insecurity. I stood up. “Sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding. I don’t think I can be your tutor.” Liam raised an eyebrow. “Why not?” “I thought I was teaching a teenager…” “I’m nineteen.” Okay, fair point. “That’s not what I meant,” I laughed. “Then what?” “You’re too hot. I’m afraid I won’t be able to control myself.” “That’s a reason?” “A pretty good one.” He looked at me, eyes intense. “What if I said… I don’t mind?” “I mind. You know about me and Carter, right?” At the mention of Carter’s name, Liam’s jaw tightened slightly. “What about him?” “I’m chasing him.” “Right…” Liam took a step closer. He was close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. He lowered his voice, husky and tempting. “What if we just… don’t tell him?”

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I was born a doormat. A chronic, incurable people pleaser. When I was a kid, my little brother wouldn’t eat his dinner, and my dad flew into a rage. He screamed, “If you won’t eat the food, eat dirt!” To diffuse the tension, five-year-old me literally went outside, dug up a spoon of dirt, and ate it just to make my dad smile. Growing up, I clawed my way into a top-tier Ivy League university just to please my relatives and fish for their compliments. The day I stepped onto campus for my junior year, I walked straight into a scene from a bad rom-com. Roses covered the quad. A crowd had gathered around a gorgeous girl. Some guy was confessing his love. And judging by his thunderous expression, he had just been brutally rejected. He stormed toward me, blinded by rage. The path was narrow, the crowd was tight, and I had nowhere to go. To avoid a collision, I panicked and dove headfirst into the campus fountain. Splash. The crowd erupted in laughter. I wasn’t sure if they were laughing at the rejected guy or the soaking wet girl in the fountain. Hearing the laughter, the guy stopped. He turned back and stared at me as I climbed out, dripping wet. “You saw me get rejected, so you jumped in the fountain,” he said, squinting. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.” I opened my mouth to explain. “Oh. You like me.” He nodded, connecting dots that didn’t exist. “That’s why you jumped.” A ten-ton accusation dropped on my head. I shivered. “Huh?” He shoved the rejected bouquet of roses into my hands and draped his suit jacket over my wet shoulders. His face was still dark. “Since you’re this obsessed with me, I guess I’ll force myself to date you.” Me: ??? But the word “No” got stuck in my throat. I physically couldn’t say it. Plus, he just got humiliated publicly… maybe he needed this to save face. As a people pleaser, I couldn’t bear to see someone embarrassed. I stared at the wet pavement and whispered, “Okay, sure.” If you know anything about people pleasers, you know we are allergic to confrontation. 1 Asher Sterling dragged me straight to his car. The heat was blasting. Asher ignored me the second we got in. It was just the stoic driver, Asher scrolling on his phone, and me. I figured the situation was too awkward, so he kidnapped me to escape the scene. I was dripping water all over his expensive leather seats. Drip. Drip. To cover the sound and break the suffocating silence, I started rambling. “Knock knock.” No one answered. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. Asher kept scrolling. “Who’s there? Water. Water who? Water you doing ignoring me?” Silence. The air in the car somehow got heavier. “Haha,” I laughed dryly. I lowered my head and pointed at the window. “You can just drop me off here.” Asher finally looked up. “Why? I just ordered a dress for you. We’re going to the hotel so you can change.” “The… hotel?” I gripped the door handle. Dating meant going straight to a hotel? Asher realized how that sounded. “Don’t get any ideas. It’s my brother’s birthday gala tonight. I just need a plus-one to save face.” Okay. Rich boy. If you tell me not to get ideas, I won’t get ideas. I pulled my phone out of my pocket. It was dripping wet. Asher raised an eyebrow, looking horrified. “Is that… an iPhone 6? With a cracked screen?” I nodded. “Yeah. My mom was throwing it away. I thought the phone would be sad, so I saved it.” Asher blinked. “You saved it because you didn’t want your mom to be sad?” He nodded, impressed by my filial piety. “No,” I corrected. “I was afraid the phone would be sad.” Asher: … 2 I changed into the dress and waited for Asher at the hotel entrance. I hate making people wait. When Asher walked out, I saw a flash of genuine surprise in his eyes. He quickly looked away, acting unnatural. “You waited out here this long? You really must like me.” I didn’t confirm or deny. We walked into the ballroom. The party was in full swing. A man walked toward us. When he saw Asher, he smirked with disdain. Then his eyes landed on me, and he paused. “Asher. Couldn’t catch the last one, huh? But honestly… I think this one is prettier.” Asher didn’t speak. He just glared, his face dark. They stood there in a standoff. The silence around us was terrifying. I decided to break the ice. “Thanks! You’re not too bad yourself.” The man looked at me again, his expression complicated, before walking away. The room exhaled. Asher leaned in. “That’s Julian Cross. My sworn enemy. Business, personal, everything. Our families are rivals in DC and Wall Street, so naturally, we hate each other.” I took a sip of champagne. “He loves trying to steal my women,” Asher whispered. I didn’t know how to respond, so I went with empathy. “That’s a little mean.” This was the harshest insult I was capable of. I was trying to please the Prince of New York, after all. Asher looked at me. “…Just a little?” I grit my teeth and went for the jugular. “Okay, that’s very mean.” Asher’s driver walked over and handed me a box. A brand new iPhone. The latest model. “My old one,” the driver lied, looking awkward. It was still in the plastic wrap. I broke my moral code for the sake of the gift. “Julian Cross is a terrible person.” Asher nodded, satisfied. He gave me a few instructions and went to find his brother. Across the room, Julian Cross raised his glass to me. I immediately smiled back. He couldn’t have heard me, right? 3 I drank too much champagne. The room was spinning. I went to the hallway to find a bathroom, but suddenly, a hand grabbed my wrist and yanked me into a supply closet. Click. The door locked. It was Julian. I looked at him calmly. Was he going to yell at me for calling him terrible? I stared at him. He stared at me, the corners of his lips twitching upward. He placed one hand on the door and the other on my waist. “Where did Asher find such a perfect little puppet? Pretty and obedient.” His warm breath hit my face. “If you’re drunk,” I said politely, “I can call room service for some coffee.” He shook his head. “Why don’t you leave him and be with me? I can buy you as many phones as you want.” I blinked. “But I only have one SIM card.” Who needs that many phones? He lowered his eyes, his voice dropping to a whisper. “If you don’t say yes, I might get hurt. I’ll be depressed. I’ll be lonely and sleepless for the rest of my life.” He sounded so sincere. I could almost see tears in his eyes. “Okay then,” I said. “Just don’t tell Asher.” Julian blinked, genuinely shocked. He didn’t expect me to fold just because he played the victim card. Sigh. It’s hard being a people pleaser. Outside, I heard Asher calling my name. He was looking for me. I moved to open the door. Julian pressed me harder against the wall. “Babe, my heart is racing,” he rasped. “Check me. Do you think I’m having an allergic reaction to the alcohol?” He pulled open his mesh shirt. What was I supposed to see in the dark? I could only see abs and chest muscles. I looked down seriously. “It looks… asymptomatic.” Asher’s voice faded into the distance. Julian chuckled darkly. He was playing Asher. And he was playing me. I looked up at him calmly. “By the way, are you trying to seduce me?” 4 The question was too direct. Julian froze. I smiled, reached out, and buttoned his shirt for him, smoothing out the wrinkles with care. “Babe, you should hit the gym. I measured with my eyes… you’re not as big as Asher.” Julian’s playful smile cracked. “Turns out you aren’t a puppet,” he murmured. I switched to my ‘admiration’ face. “What are you saying? If you want a puppet, I can act like one. I can be whatever you want.” His pupils contracted. He looked… conflicted. “I think I like this version better,” he said. I smiled. I’m a people pleaser. I’ll be whatever makes you happy. I learned to be this way to survive. In a family with too many mouths and not enough food, I had to please my parents to get the scraps left over after my brother ate. When my brother started stealing from neighbors, I stole my mom’s phone so they’d blame the theft on him, balancing the scales of justice in my own twisted way. When my parents discussed selling me to the neighbor’s mentally disabled son for dowry money, I smiled and said, “Okay.” Then I put sleeping pills in their porridge, took my ID and all the cash in the house, and ran. Compliance is my armor. Asher likes them innocent? I can be innocent. Julian likes them wild? I can be wild. I am a full-service people pleaser. Julian fixed his collar. “I originally just wanted to use you to mess with Asher. But I’ve changed my mind.” I raised an eyebrow. “So? Should I say thank you?” He looked incredulous. I pushed him aside and unlocked the door. He blocked my path. “Clarify something. Where am I smaller than Asher?” I looked him up and down. “Everywhere.” The crack in his perfect mask shattered. He dropped his arm. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell Asher we were in here?” See? One second he’s whining about being lonely, the next he’s threatening me. I made a terrified face, cupping my cheeks. “Oh no! What should I do? I’m so scared!” Then I pushed past him and walked away. I left him standing there, grinning like an idiot. My instincts told me: some dogs only chase you if you ignore them.

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1 I’ve been paralyzed for ten years. My daughter, Chloe, has taken care of me for ten years. She works three jobs to pay my medical bills. I’ve seen her collapse from exhaustion more than once. Her husband finally gave her an ultimatum: “If you keep taking care of that woman, we’re done.” Chloe divorced him without a second thought. Her devotion went viral. She was voted “America’s Most Devoted Daughter” in an online poll. The whole country envied me. Then, the wrongful death settlement from my husband’s accident finally came through: eight million dollars. I transferred every penny to my son, Leo—a good-for-nothing burnout who does nothing but party. The entire internet turned on me. “She’s a monster.” “She values that deadbeat son over the daughter who saved her life.” A reporter found me. “You’ve been paralyzed for a decade. Your daughter sacrificed her marriage, her health, and her youth for you. She’s drowning in debt for you. Why would you give that money to him? Why not give her a single dollar?” I looked at the reporter, my voice flat. “Put hidden cameras in my house. Stream it all, live, for three days. You’ll have your answer.” 2 The cameras went live. That evening, Chloe came home, dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted. She came to my bedside to clean me. Seeing the mess I’d made, she showed no disgust. Only guilt. “Mom, did you have an upset stomach last night?” she whispered, gently brushing my gray hair back. “I’m so sorry. I’ve just been so tired from work, I must have slept too deeply. I forgot to check if you were covered. You must have gotten chilled. I’m so sorry, Mom…” I just stared at her. The live chat was already flooding with comments: “My God. She comes home to that, and her first reaction is to apologize?” “I’d be gagging. She’s a literal saint.” “This is why she won the award. I’m actually crying.” Chloe didn’t know about the stream. She just started the long, difficult process of lifting me, trying to get me into the shower chair. She was so tired, her arms were shaking. She couldn’t get the leverage. Just then, Leo, my son, sauntered in from a day out. “Leo!” Chloe called out, straining. “Can you give me a hand? I need to get Mom in the shower.” Leo glanced over, his face twisting in disgust. “Ugh. It stinks like shit in here. I’m not touching her.” Chloe’s brow furrowed. “Leo, Mom just gave you eight million dollars. You can’t just party all day. The least you can do is help me lift her.” He scoffed. “She gave it to me. It’s mine. I can do whatever I want. Are you trying to guilt-trip me?” Chloe sighed. “I respect Mom’s decision. She gave you that money so you could finally settle down, maybe find a nice girl, and build a life. I just… I just wish you wouldn’t disappoint her.” “Disappoint her?” Leo laughed. “Sis, she’s a paralyzed old woman. Why do you even bother? You wipe her ass, you feed her… you’re a mess, and frankly, it’s pathetic to watch.” “She’d be better off dead.” The live chat exploded. “WHAT DID HE JUST SAY???” “He’s a demon. And she gave HIM the money?” “This is the most disgusting family I’ve ever seen. That poor, sweet daughter.” “She’s not just a bad mother, she’s an idiot. She deserves to be paralyzed for enabling that monster!” 3 Leo never helped. It took Chloe over an hour to get me cleaned, changed, and settled into my wheelchair. She was sweating and pale, but she just gently arranged my clothes. “Mom, you must be hungry. I’ll go make dinner.” She almost fainted on the way to the kitchen, grabbing the doorframe to steady herself. She just stood there for a moment, breathing, then pushed on. A little while later, she came back with a tray: steamed fish, roasted chicken, sautéed greens, and a bowl of steaming soup. She placed the tray on my lap table, carefully blew on a spoonful of soup, and held it to my lips. “Mom, I went to the farmer’s market and got a fresh organic chicken for this. It’s your favorite. Please try.” I turned my head. “Don’t want it.” Her eyes filled with worry. “Mom, you need to eat something. Your stomach is already upset. You’ll get sick.” I looked past her, my voice cold. “I’m not hungry.” Then, I looked at Leo, who was lounging on the sofa playing a video game. My voice softened. “Leo, honey. Could you bring me a piece of that cake from the counter?” Leo didn’t even look up. “That’s mine. If you want some, get it yourself.” Chloe shot him a glare, then turned back to me, forcing a smile. “Mom, please, eat your dinner first. After dinner, I’ll go buy you your own cake, okay? A fresh one.” I just shook my head, stubborn. The chat was a waterfall of rage. “This old woman is pure evil. She refuses her daughter’s food but begs her asshole son for scraps?” “I thought she was just blind, but she’s actively cruel.” “That daughter needs to RUN. Today.” “This is the most toxic thing I’ve ever watched. I can’t look away.” 4 The first day’s stream ended. I was the most hated woman in America. The next day, Chloe came home a little early. In her hand was a small, pink bakery box. “Mom! Look what I got you.” She opened it. A slice of strawberry cheesecake. “You wanted cake yesterday, so I left work early to go to your favorite bakery. Please, try it.” She held it out to me, her eyes shining with hope. I glanced at it. “I don’t want it anymore.” The light in her eyes died. It was a physical thing. But she recovered. “Okay. That’s okay. What… what can I make you for dinner, then?” I looked at her, my voice like ice. “Nothing you make.” I turned my wheelchair to head to the patio. Just as I cleared the doorway, Leo burst out of his room, phone in hand. We collided. His phone flew out of his hand and clattered to the tile floor. “GODDAMMIT!” he roared. “That was a ranked match, you old bitch! You made me lose!” He retrieved his phone and, in a blind rage, kicked my wheelchair. Hard. The chair spun and tipped. “MOM!” Chloe screamed and dove. She threw her body between me and the floor, her arm taking the full, crushing weight of the chair and me. She let out a strangled cry. When she pushed the chair upright, there was a gash on her forearm so deep I could see the white of the bone. Blood was pouring out. She ignored it. “LEO!” she shrieked, her voice shaking with a fury I’d never heard. “You could have killed her!” Leo just rolled his eyes. “She’s paralyzed. It’s not like she can feel it. God, you two are so dramatic.” He stomped back into his room and slammed the door. Chloe was breathing hard, her whole body shaking. She checked me from head to toe, asking “Are you okay? Did you hit your head?” Only after she was sure I was fine did she even look at her own arm. She just grabbed a dish towel and wrapped it, tight. Then she saw the wheel on my chair was bent. She got the toolbox and, with her one good hand, blood seeping through the towel, she began to fix it. She worked late into the night. The live chat was beyond fury. It was a collective breakdown. “She is bleeding out. SHE IS BLEEDING OUT and she is fixing a goddamn WHEELCHAIR.” “This isn’t devotion. This is a sickness. That mother is a parasite.” “I’m calling 911. This is caregiver abuse. But the daughter is the victim!” “That son needs to be in jail. The mother needs to be in a ditch.” The reporter called me, his voice shaking. “Do you have any idea what’s happening? They’re calling you a monster. A demon. This is destroying your daughter! What are you doing?!” I looked at Chloe, who was asleep in a chair, her head on the kitchen table, her bandaged arm resting near her. “One more day,” I said. “Tomorrow, you’ll have your story.”

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1 A year after the divorce, my ex-husband Rick called. His voice was cold. “You better get over here and scrape your daughter off the pavement. She got hit at the crosswalk by the school.” He didn’t even pause. “It’s her own damn fault, though. She just ran out. The driver is a friend of mine. I already talked to them. They’ll give you some cash, and we’ll call it even.” The world went silent. My vision blurred, and tears started rolling down my face. I was about to scream, to shatter the phone. And then, from the bedroom, my daughter’s sweet voice called out. “Mom, is the mac and cheese ready? I’m hungry.” My heart stopped. I’d forgotten. I called her in sick today. She’d been asleep all morning. If that was Maya… then who got hit? The tears evaporated. I put the wooden spoon down and walked to her room, pulling her into a hug so tight she grunted. “Baby, just a few more minutes,” I said, my voice shaky but suddenly lighter. “You’re not feeling well, so I’m making you soup, too. We’ll eat in a minute, okay?” “Okay, Mom.” Feeling her, real and warm, was like coming up for air. I thought about all the times I’d snapped at her over homework. It all felt so stupid now. All that matters is that she’s healthy. I was checking the soup when Rick called again, and this time, he was angry. “Where are you? We don’t have all day to sit here. You don’t show up in the next ten minutes, we’re dumping her on the side of the road. You can come find her yourself when you feel like it.” The cruelty of it… even if he thought it was Maya. His own daughter. How could anyone be so cold? I was going to explain he’d made a mistake, that Maya was safe. But hearing his voice, I changed my mind. My own voice went flat. “Fine. Leave her. Someone will see and call 911.” He exploded. “What the hell is wrong with you? I told you they’d pay you! What more do you want? You want me to roll out the red carpet?” I wouldn’t take the bait. “That won’t be necessary. I’m just not coming.” He was furious, but now he also sounded… confused. “Are you even human? Your kid is dead, and you won’t come get the body?” He asked one last time. “You’re really not coming?” “That’s right.” Before he hung up, he spat, “Fine. You asked for it.” 2 “Mommy? Did you and Dad fight again?” Maya had come out of her room, her eyes wide. She hugged my leg. “Don’t be sad, Mommy. I’ll be good.” I picked her up, kissing her forehead. “I’m not sad, sweetie. I’m just not letting a man like that upset me.” “You said you were hungry, right? Let’s get you fed.” Maya is a good kid. Quiet, tough. She’s had to be. Since the divorce, I’ve been working a food cart. It means long hours. I have to drop her off at the school’s before-care program at dawn and go buy supplies. She’s learned to be independent because I just haven’t been around enough. It breaks my heart, but we do what we have to do. I got her settled with her food. I was about to sit down myself when someone started pounding on the front door. BANG. BANG. BANG. I opened it, but there was no one there. Just a large, plastic storage tub sitting on my doormat. Something was inside, and a dark, reddish-brown liquid was seeping from the lid. Next to it was a heavy-duty black trash bag. My heart hammered. This wasn’t good. I took a deep breath, telling myself it was nothing, and slowly lifted the lid. I almost fainted. It was a child. The body was small, the face… God, the face was unrecognizable. As a mother, you can’t see that. You just can’t. “Aaaah!” I screamed, a raw, terrified sound as I fell back onto the floor. Maya ran out. “Mommy? What’s wrong?” “Don’t look!” I scrambled to my feet and shielded her eyes. “Go back to your room, Maya. Lock the door. Do not come out until I say so.” I pushed her back into her room and, my hands shaking so bad I could barely dial, I called 911. “Yes, police. Someone… someone just left a body on my front porch. A child’s body.” The dispatcher was calm, but I could hear the shock. “Ma’am, stay inside. We’re on our way.” The half-hour wait was agony. I wasn’t shaking from fear anymore. I was shaking from rage. I knew exactly who did this. 3 When the police arrived, I was still trembling. “Ma’am, are you and your family safe?” the officer asked gently. “We’re fine,” I said, my voice cracking. “It’s just… so awful. That poor kid.” “Do you know the child?” he asked, taking notes. “No.” “But,” I added, “I think I know how she died.” I told him everything. The phone call from my ex-husband, the offer of money, the threat. The officer’s eyes widened. “So, you’re saying this isn’t your daughter?” “No. My daughter is inside, safe.” “Okay,” he said, his face grim. “Ma’am, would you mind coming with us to the station to give a full statement?” I nodded. “Let me just check on my daughter.” I ran inside. “Maya, sweetie, Mommy has to go with the police officers for a little while. I need you to be a big girl. Lock the door behind me. Don’t open it for anyone. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She was scared, but she nodded. “Okay, Mommy. Be safe.” I went back out, got in the cruiser, and left the coroner’s van and the forensics team at my house. At the station, I told them the whole story. The lead detective looked sick. “What a monster,” he muttered. “To kill a kid and then be this arrogant… I want you to bring in her ex-husband, Rick Miller.” While we waited, I just sat there, picking at my cuticles, my leg bouncing. The detective got me a cup of water. A little while later, the officers returned. Rick was with them. And so was his new wife, Brenda. Of course. The interrogation started, and it all became clear. Brenda was the driver. Rick’s “friend” was his new wife. He was covering for her. My blood boiled. Brenda was the one who broke up our marriage. I didn’t fight for him—a man who cheats isn’t worth fighting for. But seeing her here… “Alright,” the detective said. “Who hit the girl? And who is she?” Rick was still trying to control the narrative. “Officer, we thought it was our daughter, Maya.” “My daughter,” I snapped. “We called Anna immediately,” he continued, ignoring me. “We wanted to handle this. We’re willing to pay, whatever it takes. We’ll take responsibility. Ask her, we called her.” The detective looked at me, then back at Rick. “That’s great. But it doesn’t matter. Because that wasn’t her daughter. Her daughter is alive and well.” 4 Rick and Brenda just stared. Then Rick shook his head. “That’s impossible. I saw her. She was wearing that same yellow dress. The one with the flowers. I see Maya in it all the time. It was her.” He was right. I did buy Maya a dress like that. It was a cheap knock-off of some designer thing, but it looked identical. No wonder he made the mistake. “Mr. Miller,” the detective said, “We need to see your daughter, ma’am. Can you bring her here?” “I have to go get her,” I said. An officer drove me home. Maya ran into my arms the second I opened the door. “See, baby? Mommy’s fine.” I looked at the officer. “You believe me now?” “We do, ma’am. We’re just glad she’s safe. But… can you please bring her back to the station with us?” So, for the second time that day, I was in a police station, this time with my confused daughter on my lap. When Rick and Brenda saw Maya, alive, their faces went white. “If… if she’s not dead…” Rick stammered, “then who… who did we…?” Brenda started to hyperventilate. “Oh my god, Rick. I’m going to prison, aren’t I? I don’t want to go to prison!” It was too late. Even if they wanted to pay, they had no victim’s family to pay off. Brenda was sentenced to two years for vehicular manslaughter and leaving the scene of an accident. Rick… Rick went insane. He couldn’t get to the victim’s family. He didn’t know who they were. He was furious that his wife was in jail over a “mistake.” So, he came after me. “This is your fault!” he’d scream outside my apartment. “If you had just come, none of this would have happened!” “Are you crazy?” I yelled back through the door. “She wasn’t my daughter! You’re a pathetic coward! You just want someone to blame! You want to find her family? Go to the school! Check the attendance records, you idiot!” He stopped yelling. I heard his footsteps running away. A few days later, the police found the family. The dead girl was in the same school as Maya, just a different class. She’d skipped school, ran out to a convenience store, and ran right in front of Brenda, who had just gotten her license and “panicked.” And Rick, seeing the yellow dress, thought it was an easy problem. He’d just throw some cash at his broke ex-wife, and it would all go away. He never imagined the girl he’d hit was a McCann.

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Chapter 1 My mother, Rebecca, always told me her husband’s eyes were for her and her alone. No other woman was allowed to look. Not even me, his daughter. The first time I ever called him “Daddy,” she sealed my lips with superglue. “You just had to get his attention, didn’t you?” she hissed, pinching my arm. “Now you can keep your mouth shut!” When he came home from a business trip and I ran to hug him, she beat me with a wire coat hanger until I bled. “You little slut! Trying to steal my husband? Not in this life!” When he took me to Six Flags, just the two of us, she waited until he was asleep. Then she threw me out the window of our 18th-floor apartment. “Let’s see if you can seduce him when you’re a pile of broken bones!” As I looked up from my shattered body, I prayed to whatever cosmic force was listening. “I’ll do anything. A hundred lifetimes of penance. Just please, next time, give me a different mom.” Darkness. Then, a voice I knew, filled with a joy I’d never heard. “Oh my god, Kyle! It’s positive! I’m finally pregnant! I’m going to be a mom!” It was my Aunt Jenna. “Please, please, please, let it be a girl!” Thank you. Thank you, thank you. Aunt Jenna was my new mom. Aunt Jenna was a ray of sunshine, but she’d struggled with infertility for years. She’d seen how I was treated; she’d even tried to adopt me. But Rebecca, my mother, refused, just to be cruel. Now, my fantasy was real. I curled up inside her womb, so happy I could burst. Then I heard it. A voice from a nightmare. My mother, Rebecca. “Jenna, we’re pregnant at the same time! Mark, honey, what if I have a girl, too?” My father, Mark, sounded thrilled. “That’d be great, Beck. Little girls are so sweet.” Rebecca’s voice tightened. “You’re already obsessed with her, and she’s not even born. What’s going to happen when she’s here? You won’t even have eyes for me anymore. I’m not giving birth to my own replacement!” Aunt Jenna was stunned. “Rebecca, what are you talking about? That’s your daughter!” “My intuition is never wrong,” Rebecca snapped. “It’s a girl. A little homewrecker. Mark, I’m getting an abortion. This baby is bad luck. I’ll give you a son.” Her fingernails dug into her own stomach, right where her fetus would be. The OB-GYN quickly intervened. “Mrs. Collins, your hormone levels… frankly, this pregnancy is a miracle. You’re not likely to conceive again.” Mark’s voice was low and serious. “Rebecca, stop this. It’s our baby. And my parents are finally getting a grandchild. You’re not getting rid of it.” Aunt Jenna tried to smooth things over. “Bec, calm down. Your husband is a grown man. He’s not going to leave you for a baby.” Rebecca knew when she’d lost. She immediately switched tactics, bursting into tears. “Oh, Mark, you scared me when you yelled! I’m just so hormonal! Of course I’ll be a good mommy!” But as soon as Mark was out of earshot, I heard her whisper to her belly. “You think you’re safe just because you’re born? I’ll make every second of your life hell. You will never take my husband from me.” Chapter 2 That venomous voice sent a chill through me. In response, Aunt Jenna’s womb felt even warmer. She started humming a lullaby. This was my mom. Both women were high-risk, so they ended up in the same luxury maternity center. When Mark was around, Rebecca was the model of a glowing mother-to-be. When he was gone, she was a demon. She’d throw her prenatal vitamins in the toilet and flush her nutrient-dense meals. I’d hear her in the hallway, smoking and chugging Red Bull. “Think you can make me sick, huh? Let’s see how you like this! I hope you’re born with defects!” She even did frantic, high-impact workouts, trying to force a miscarriage. Aunt Jenna and the nurses tried to stop her. “You don’t get it!” she’d scream. “I have to keep my figure! If I let this little bitch steal my husband and my body, I might as well be dead!” I was terrified. But this time, I was in Aunt Jenna’s belly. Who was in Rebecca’s? Maybe it was a boy. He’d probably be fine. …If she didn’t manage to kill him first. My life with Aunt Jenna was completely different. She ate well, slept soundly, and had no morning sickness. I was so well-behaved that her pregnancy barely showed. By the second trimester, she was radiant. The other pregnant women flocked to her. “What’s your secret? You’re the most peaceful pregnant woman I’ve ever seen!” “You’re not even swollen! Your skin is glowing!” Jenna would just blush. “I don’t know! I guess I just have a very calm baby.” My uncle Kyle would kiss her belly. “See? This kid knows not to give her mom a hard time. She’s already a good daughter.” He’s right, I thought. I’m here to be loved, and to love them back. I’d give a little kick, and Jenna would laugh and rub her stomach. Rebecca would watch us from across the room, her eyes burning with jealousy. She finally stomped over. “Jenna, you’ve been craving salty snacks, right? Salty for a boy. I’ve been craving sugar. That’s a girl.” She patted her own stomach. “You wanted a girl, right? Let’s just swap when they’re born. We’re family, after all!” Chapter 3 Jenna just stared at her. “Rebecca, are you feeling okay?” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “I don’t want this girl. You can have her. You give me your son. That way you don’t have to worry about him leaving you for some girl later.” Even Jenna’s patience snapped. “You’ve been smoking and drinking and trying to hurt that baby. And now you want to trade it? That is your child, Rebecca! Don’t you have any love for it?” “Love?” she shrieked. “It’s a tiny husband-stealing slut! I don’t love it! And stop acting so high and mighty. If you don’t want to swap, fine!” She stormed off, and we could hear her in her room, slamming things. She started doing burpees and jumping jacks, trying to induce labor. The nurses were terrified of her. “The baby is in my body!” she’d scream. “I’ll do what I want!” And yet, the baby stayed. Rebecca got desperate. She ordered a bunch of herbal abortifacients online. Jenna saw the strange packages and immediately called Mark. Mark arrived, his face like thunder. He swept the bottles and powders into the trash. “Are you out of your mind? This is my child, too!” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “If you dare try anything like this again, I swear, I’ll take the baby and you can get the hell out of my life. For good.” Rebecca collapsed, sobbing. “Mark, no! I love you! I just… I can’t stand it when you care about someone else! Please, I’ll be good, I promise!” Mark, my father, sighed. He actually believed her. He hugged her and swore that she would always be the most important woman in his life. He was a liar, but he was her liar. The moment he left, Rebecca started slamming her belly into the corner of her desk. “See what you did? You made him yell at me! You’ll pay for this, you little bitch!” I felt a jolt of panic. Aunt Jenna, she’s crazy. We have to get away from her. Chapter 4 I had a plan. I started kicking. But only when Rebecca was near. At first, Jenna just thought I was being active. “Ooh, feisty! Kicking for Mama!” But I was persistent. Any other time, I was perfectly still. The second she heard Rebecca’s voice, I’d kick and roll. After the twentieth time, Jenna stopped. She just held her belly, a look of deep confusion on her face. She didn’t say anything, but that night, she asked Kyle if they could transfer to a different maternity center. He was confused. It was late in her pregnancy, and it was risky. Jenna just said, “It’s a mother’s intuition, Kyle. Something feels… wrong.” He relented. They moved her to a private room at the opposite end of the building. Rebecca would stop by, but Jenna would pretend to be asleep. After a few tries, Rebecca stopped coming. I relaxed. A little. Then, eight days before my due date, I decided. I’ve been in here long enough. And I’m not taking any more chances. Mom, sorry, but it’s time! I gave one, powerful kick downwards. “KYLE! NURSE! MY WATER BROKE! I’M HAVING THE BABY!” Jenna’s shriek echoed down the hall. They were rushing her to the delivery room when Rebecca ran out, blocking the gurney. “You can’t! You’re early! We were supposed to go at the same time! Just hold on!” Mark dragged her away. “Are you insane? Get out of the way!” She was still screaming as the delivery room doors swung shut. Twenty minutes later, I was out. “Waaaaah!” Mom! I’m here! The doctor was laughing. “That’s a record! Easiest delivery I’ve seen in years! You’re a lucky woman.” My family crowded around. Rebecca, her face a mask of fake smiles, was pushed forward. “Look, Rebecca. Go ahead, see your niece. Maybe it’ll bring you luck.” She shuffled forward, peered into the blanket, and froze. Her hand spasmed. The stainless steel thermos she was holding tipped. It was full of boiling water.

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01 The bet was a penthouse apartment in downtown Manhattan. The target was me, the scholarship kid from the slums. The objective, set by Kaden Thorne, the king of Heston University’s trust-fund elite, was to get me into his bed within thirty days. So, after his very loud, very public declaration of “love” in the middle of the quad, I took the ridiculously large bouquet of roses he was holding, and dumped it in the nearest trash can. Then, I started lying. “Sorry, Kaden. One of your ‘brothers’ already told me the truth about the bet.” I saw his face tighten. “And honestly?” I added, “If you spent less time being mad that a ‘charity case’ like me stole your spot on the Dean’s List, maybe you’d actually pass a class.” Then, I turned to the circle of smirking heirs watching the show. “And as for the rest of you… I know you were just trying to get on my good side, telling me all those nasty secrets about him behind his back, but…” I shrugged. “I’m just not into men who sell out their friends. Sorry.” As I walked away, I watched the chaos erupt. Every single one of them, who had been laughing a second before, was now looking at his “brothers” with pure, unadulterated suspicion. I smiled to myself. Oh, you privileged little boys. You think you’re the players? You just walked into my game. 02 The truth is, I noticed them long before they ever noticed me. You can’t not notice them. Their entire lives are a performance of being rich. I’d spend hours hate-stalking their Instagrams, getting physically ill from the casual display of wealth, just writhing in my cheap dorm bed, consumed by pure, uncut jealousy. So, when Kaden Thorne himself, the king of the pricks, suddenly approached me, fresh off his McLaren, saying he was “in love” with me? That I was the “one pure, untouched, beautiful thing” in his world? My deep-seated hatred of the rich kept me perfectly clear-headed. I knew it was a scam. And digging through their social media, I figured it out pretty fast. These arrogant, spoiled brats weren’t just playing with my feelings. They weren’t even planning on spending any money to do it. That, more than anything, was what pissed me off. Fine. You want to be cheap? Then you can’t blame me for turning your “brotherhood” into a public dogfight. 03 Unfortunately, being right doesn’t pay the bills. I didn’t have time to savor the victory. I had to run to my shift at the diner. I was halfway through wiping tables when one of them found me. Alex Chen. The one who’d just publicly declared I was a “filthy scholarship rat.” He was furious, demanding I go to Kaden and clear his name. I just looked at him and shook my head. “No.” “I never spoke to you,” he snapped. “Why can’t you just tell him that?” I wiped the sweat off my forehead with my sleeve, my expression flat. “Because we ‘filthy rats’ have pride, too. Why would I ever help someone who insults me?” “Ha,” he sneered. “Pride. How much is your pride worth?” I gave him a look. “More than you can afford.” He scoffed and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen and shoved it in my face. It was his banking app. The balance had eight figures. “Go clear my name,” he said, “and you can have whatever you want from that account.” I stared at the numbers. I’d never even seen that many zeroes in one place. My mind went blank, filled with visions of…central heating. Of a new laptop. Of three meals a day. Then I heard his laugh. A low, contemptuous sound. “Pride’s pretty expensive, huh?” he mocked. “Thought you said I couldn’t afford it.” I snapped back to reality. Back to the plan. “You can’t,” I said, turning back to my tables. “Fine,” he said, his voice casual. “The owner of this diner is my dad’s golf buddy. You’re fired.” I froze. I turned back to him. “You’re disgusting.” “I just hate fakes,” he shrugged. “I’m giving you one more chance. Take the money, do the job. Yes or no?” I was silent for a long time. Then I nodded. “Okay. I don’t know how this works. You can just… Venmo me. I just need forty-five hundred.” Alex looked at me like I was an alien. “What, are you afraid I’ll report you for extortion? Forty-five hundred? What the hell is that?” I met his eyes for the first time. “It’s for a hearing aid for my grandmother. I was saving up from this job. But since I’m fired, I guess I have no other way.” He stared at me, his arrogant expression faltering. I kept going. “My grandma raised me. She used to collect cans to pay for my schoolbooks. One of my classmates saw her and told everyone. This kid, this real asshole, brought a bag of chips to school. He held it out and told me I could have it if I barked like a dog. I didn’t, of course… but I was so hungry. I’d never had barbecue chips before. I couldn’t help but swallow, just once. He saw it. He and his friends laughed so hard…” “I’ve never, ever forgotten that. That feeling of… shame.” I took a shaky breath, forcing down the fake tears, making my voice tremble just right. “I thought if I just worked hard, if I got the scholarship, it would all be different. But here I am, all these years later, and you’re doing the same thing. You’re right. I am fake. I’m just a pathetic, hungry girl, always swallowing my pride over things I can’t have.” “But please… just send the money. My grandma doesn’t have much time left. I just want her to hear my voice one more time.” Alex was completely thrown. “I… wait… I’m not…” I just let the tears fall, big, silent drops. I wiped them away, my expression still, looking at him with red, swollen eyes. “I’m sorry I’m ‘fake.’ Please, just leave me alone.” I bowed my head slightly and walked out of the diner, leaving my apron on the counter. 04 I walked out, turned the corner, and went straight to McDonald’s for a McFlurry. Mmm. Delicious. That $4,500 was going straight into my savings. My grandma, bless her heart, has been dead for thirty years. She doesn’t need a hearing aid. Alex Chen. You want to play mind games with me? You’re an amateur. You know that kid who tried to make me bark for chips? By the time we were in high school, he was so obsessed with me he asked me to prom by kneeling in the cafeteria. He’s still in my DMs, using burner accounts. I am a master of this game.

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1 My boyfriend Ryan’s childhood friend, Poppy, calls herself “the bravest little lamb.” When she wires money to a vendor, she enters the wrong account number three times, freezing our company’s assets. She just giggles and claps. “My mistake! But I only got two digits wrong! I’m the best little lamb!” When she sends the wrong design files to the printers, $300,000 worth of materials are scrapped. She makes a fist. “Even though everyone has to work overtime to fix it, I’m still the most amazing little lamb!” I’ve talked to Ryan about it. Repeatedly. He just says, “It’s a learning experience, Sophie. She’ll get there.” It all came to a head at the dinner with our biggest potential client. Poppy secretly switched my carefully planned menu. She ordered mango smoothies, panna cotta, and mozzarella sticks. It was corporate suicide. I immediately overrode her order, switched back to the original menu, and managed to land the fifty-million-dollar deal. Afterward, she burst into tears and ran to Ryan. “I ordered all by myself, Ryan-bear! All by myself! I was the bravest lamb!” “Why did she change my menu? Why did she steal my hard work?” “Lamb good! People bad!” To “compensate” her, Ryan decided to promote her to Project Director. I refused. Poppy ran off, got blackout drunk, was assaulted by strangers, and, unable to cope, jumped from a bridge. Ryan blamed me for all of it. On my birthday, he had me tied to a chair. “You did this,” he hissed, his face a mask of rage. “You took her from me. Now you can join her.” He force-fed me the entire catering order, twenty full entrees, until my stomach ruptured and I died. …Then I woke up. I was back in my office, on the day of the client dinner. This time, I’ll let the bravest little lamb do her very best. “Sophie, sweetie! I’m heading to The Sovereign Steakhouse to check on the private room. You just finish up and meet us there, okay?” Poppy’s voice, sickly sweet, chirped from my doorway. I looked up, my heart hammering. I saw her face, so full of naive, weaponized innocence. It was real. I was back. Last time, at this exact moment, I’d just found out she’d called the restaurant and changed my menu to something you’d serve at a six-year-old’s birthday party. I’d intercepted it. I’d called the manager, fixed the menu, and saved the deal. Poppy had cried. Ryan had tried to give her my job. And then… I looked at Poppy. She’d been with us for a year. In that year, she had frozen our accounts, cost us $300,000 in trashed materials, and alienated half the staff. And every single time, she’d just tilt her head and say, “But I’m the bravest, bestest lamb!” And Ryan would just laugh and say, “She’s still learning, Sophie. She’ll get there.” I wouldn’t let her be director. I wouldn’t let her destroy the company I’d built with Ryan from a college dorm room. Our company. Our eight years of work. So she went to a bar, got drunk, and never came home. Ryan, my Ryan, who I’d starved with and celebrated with… he found me on my birthday. He didn’t yell. He was terrifyingly calm, just like he was when he found out Poppy was dead. I thought our ten years together, our shared history, meant something. He tied me up. He looked at me with dead eyes. “It’s all your fault, Sophie. You were jealous. You couldn’t stand that she was getting ahead.” “You’re a monster. And you owe her.” He smiled, and then he started feeding me. The memory of my stomach tearing, the agonizing pressure… I gripped my phone, my knuckles white. “Sophie, I’m going to the airport to get Mr. Sterling. I’ll just take Poppy with me.” Ryan’s voice pulled me back. He was at the door, his hand resting casually on Poppy’s shoulder. “You head straight to the steakhouse. Sterling really likes you. Don’t be late.” Poppy leaned into his touch, then peeked around him to make a face at me. A flash of pure, childish spite. “Yeah, Sophie, don’t be late! Ryan-bear and I are off!” Ryan just chuckled and squeezed her hand. Last time, I thought that was just his “big brother” act. Now I see it for what it was. I forced the rage down. I looked up. I smiled. “Okay. You two drive safe.” If Ryan wants to burn his own company to the ground to play house with his little lamb, who am I to stop him? 2 I got my hair blown out and arrived at the restaurant thirty minutes early. The Sovereign’s private room was all dark wood, leather, and quiet, old money. The thought of what was about to be served here made me want to laugh. A few minutes later, Ryan walked in with Mr. Sterling, the CEO of Apex Solutions. “Mr. Sterling, so glad you could make it,” I said, shaking his hand. We exchanged pleasantries. Sterling was tough, but fair. He seemed impressed. And then the door slammed open. Poppy burst in, a bag of Doritos in her hand, crunching so loudly you could hear it across the room. Silence. Mr. Sterling’s eyebrow twitched. Poppy’s outfit was a war crime. Hot pink eyeshadow. A giant, matching pink bow in her hair. Ripped jeans so shredded they were barely pants, and—I am not kidding—rubber flip-flops. Her shoulder bag was covered in jangling blind-box toys. Last time, I’d seen her in the lobby and forced her into a spare blazer I kept in my car. She’d complained to Ryan for a week. This time, I just watched. “Mr. Sterling! Hi! I’m Poppy!” she chirped, holding out a hand covered in orange cheese dust. Mr. Sterling stared at her offered hand for two full seconds before giving it a single, reluctant tap. “A pleasure,” he said, his voice clipped. “Ryan, this is your new… assistant?” “She’s… full of energy, sir,” Ryan stammered. “You’re so right!” Poppy beamed. “I’m the bravest little lamb!” Mr. Sterling looked completely baffled. “…Lamb? Is her last name Lamb?” Ryan’s face went red. “A nickname, sir. Just a nickname. Please, let’s sit.” I deliberately hung back, chatting with Sterling’s assistant about the market, letting Ryan and Poppy go first. Just as I’d planned, Poppy, in her infinite, self-absorbed energy, bounced ahead and plopped right down at the head of the table. She then patted the seat next to her. “Come on, everyone! Sit down, don’t be shy!” I watched, fascinated. That seat was for Mr. Sterling. Ryan’s face tightened. He was about to speak. I cut him off. My voice was sharp. “Poppy. That’s Mr. Sterling’s seat. Move.” She hated when I gave her orders. As predicted, she pouted. “But Ryan-bear,” she whined, looking at him. “This seat is right under the AC vent! It’s the best spot!” Ryan, God help him, still tried to be diplomatic. “Poppy, come on. Mr. Sterling is our guest. Let him have the seat.” His voice was so gentle, it had no effect. Mr. Sterling, a true professional, just waved his hand. “Please, please. It’s fine. Young people don’t stand on ceremony. Let the girl sit where she’s comfortable.” It was a polite dismissal. His smile was made of ice. 3 Poppy, however, heard only permission. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Sterling! You’re the best!” She even stuck her tongue out at Ryan. He just shook his head, a helpless, doting smile on his face. I almost felt sorry for Mr. Sterling, who was now seated awkwardly to the side, his entire posture stiff with offense. He actually let her sit there. My God. Last time, I’d forced her to change, so she’d been late and this whole seating disaster never happened. She was full of surprises. The waiter, trying to ignore the breach of protocol, began the service. I picked up my water glass, hiding my smile. Showtime. The first course arrived under a silver cloche. The waiter lifted it with a flourish. A plate of… sweetened condensed milk buns. Mr. Sterling, who had just picked up his fork, froze. Ryan’s smile twitched. “Ah. An amuse-bouche! Just a little something to start, Mr. Sterling. The real food is coming.” The next plate came out. And the next. Coca-Cola chicken wings. French fries. Mac and cheese bites. Creamed corn. A parade of sugary, starchy, deep-fried beige. Mr. Sterling’s face had gone from mildly annoyed to thunderous. He leaned back, folding his arms. He didn’t touch a thing. Ryan was visibly sweating. He flagged down the waiter. “What… what is the main course?” The waiter replied, “A mango smoothie bowl, sir. Shall I bring it out?” “What?!” Ryan’s voice cracked. He looked at Sterling’s stony face and jumped up. “There’s been a mistake! A terrible mistake! I’ll go speak to the chef right now!” “No mistake!” Poppy chirped, beaming. “I changed the menu, Ryan-bear! It’s a surprise!” She turned to Mr. Sterling, her eyes wide with expectation. “Mr. Sterling, these are all my favorite foods! I ordered them just for you!” I had to give her credit. She was so stupid, it was almost performance art. She genuinely thought she was being creative, that this titan of industry was tired of “boring” steak and lobster. She didn’t get it. You don’t sign a fifty-million-dollar deal over mac and cheese. This wasn’t about food. It was about respect. Ryan knew. He knew how bad this was. “Poppy, be quiet,” he hissed. She immediately teared up. Mr. Sterling’s assistant, Graves, had seen enough. He slammed his fork down. He stood up. “Mr. Ryan. Is this a joke? This is how your company does business? You serve our CEO… this?” He gestured at the table. “Is there even a hundred dollars’ worth of food here?” “What’s the matter? Is your company going bankrupt?” 4 Graves was Sterling’s attack dog. If he was this angry, Sterling was furious. Ryan knew it, too. He was bowing. “Mr. Sterling, please, it’s a misunderstanding. She’s new. She… she doesn’t understand corporate etiquette. Please don’t hold it against her. I’ll re-order. Immediately.” Graves laughed. “’New’? Is it your company’s policy to let ‘new’ people sit at the head of the table? Or is she the only one you’ve got?” This was a direct insult to Poppy. She puffed out her chest. “What’s wrong with being new? I’m the bravest little lamb!” The room went so quiet I could hear the ice melting in my water glass. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from howling. Mr. Sterling let out a sound… a choked cough. His face was purple. Graves just stared. He looked… bewildered. “…The bravest… lamb?” He turned to Ryan, his voice shaking with either rage or suppressed laughter. “Ryan. Are you well? In a meeting of this magnitude, you bring… this… child?” “Are you trying to insult Mr. Sterling, or is this a hostile takeover bid via pure, uncut cringe?!” This was bad. Apex Solutions was the industry leader. We needed this deal. I’d set it up myself, leveraging a connection my uncle had. Ryan couldn’t even get in the same room with this man without me. “Poppy, shut up!” Ryan was finally, truly panicked. He turned to Sterling, almost prostrating himself. “Mr. Sterling, it’s my fault. All my fault. Please, give me one more chance. I’ll make it right.” He shot a desperate look at Poppy. “Poppy! The gift! The Pappy Van Winkle! Get it! Now!” Poppy, startled by his tone, looked confused. “What? The bourbon?” “Yes, the bourbon I told you to bring! Get it!” Poppy flinched. “But… you said that was for after we signed the deal…” “Just get it, Poppy! It’s all for Mr. Sterling!” She reluctantly fumbled with her bag and pulled out a beautiful, hand-carved wooden box. Ryan’s professional smile snapped back on. “Mr. Sterling, I heard you were a connoisseur. This is a 23-Year Pappy Van Winkle. A fifty-thousand-dollar bottle. It took me months to find. Please, accept it as a token of our esteem.” At the mention of “Pappy 23,” Sterling’s posture relaxed. Just slightly. A bottle like that… it was a serious gift. Ryan, beaming, undid the polished brass latch on the box. And we all stared.

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Clint Grogan, the scion of one of the city’s most powerful families, was under the mistaken impression that I was in love with him. He arrogantly announced that he would accept my “pursuit.” And because I was a total doormat, I was forced into a relationship with him. This scion was ill-tempered, unreasonable, and constantly weaponized his handsome face to get his way. Three years into our relationship, I still couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life with him. But, being the spineless coward I was, I didn’t dare break up with him. Just as I was agonizing over my predicament, I saw a message in his group chat: [I’ve never seen anyone with so little a personality. She keeps tabs on me if I’m even a little late coming home. It’s so annoying! Next time she does it, I’m just going to throw some money at her and be done with it.] I nearly jumped for joy. I could get paid and break up with him. My spineless self had finally hit the jackpot. 01 At six-thirty in the evening, Clint, who was usually home on the dot, was late. A thrill went through me. I expertly fished out my phone to probe his whereabouts. [Darling, I miss you so much! Are you on your way home?] After sending it, I closed my eyes, piously praying that Clint had a work dinner or a business trip. Anywhere but here would be fine. My luck was in. Clint replied a moment later. [Don’t be so clingy. I have a dinner thing tonight.] My eyes lit up, and I bounced on my feet with excitement. In a flash, I had arranged for a delivery of spicy crayfish, barbecue skewers, and beer. Clint despised such “garbage” food. Whenever he was home, I never got to eat it. I’d been craving it for over a month and had finally gotten my chance. I chewed. I chugged. Life couldn’t be more blissful. So blissful, in fact, that I completely forgot what time Clint was supposed to be home. By the time the doorman sent me a heads-up text, Clint was already at the door. I frantically called for the housekeeper to help me clear my beloved feast from the table. Then, I bolted for the bathroom. Clint had the nose of a bloodhound. The only way to hide the evidence was to take a shower. Warm water cascaded down, filling the room with steam. I stood under the showerhead, having just lathered up with fragrant body wash. Click. The bathroom door opened. Footsteps approached from behind, and a searing gaze locked onto my naked body. I cursed him as a “pervert” in my cowardly heart while hastily wrapping myself in a bathrobe, trying to tiptoe my way out of the bathroom. A little leftover soap was a small price to pay for my freedom. If I didn’t leave now, the beast of a man would surely pounce. I tried to slip past him with a strained smile and some small talk. “Honey, are you going to take a shower? Perfect, I just finished. You go right ahead…” Just as I was about to pass him, his hand shot out and clamped around my waist. With a tug, he pulled me into his arms. I gasped. His breathing grew heavy, and he lifted me with one arm, carrying me back into the shower stall. He turned the shower on full blast. The warm water soaked my bathrobe and his tailored suit. Clint loosened his tie, his eyes fixed on me. “You’re all wet. Help me wash up.” I shook my head frantically, but his quick hands had already untied my robe. A warm, calloused hand slipped inside, traveling upwards. Before I knew it, my protests had melted into soft moans as I went limp in his arms. I made one last, feeble attempt. “You must be so tired from your dinner… I feel for you. Maybe next time!” Clint’s hand, which had been deftly unbuttoning his shirt, paused. His eyes widened slightly. He cleared his throat and put on an air of great reluctance. “Fine. Then you can do all the work.” I was speechless. “!” Was that what I meant? My dumbfounded expression seemed to amuse him. He let out a low chuckle and captured my lips with his, his kiss trailing downwards. “Sophie, you didn’t rinse off all your body wash. It’s a little bitter…” I gasped, mustering a tiny spark of defiance. “Then don’t kiss it!” “Not an option.” … My cowardly resistance was no match for Clint’s beastly advances. In fact, it only seemed to egg him on. At one point, I was so exhausted I was about to drift off to sleep, only to open my eyes and find him still going. This went on until the middle of the night. When I woke up again, he was gone. I could hear the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. A dull ache spread through my entire body. I looked down and saw that my chest was a mess of love bites. That damn dog. I swear, one day I’ll break up with him. I cursed under my breath, punching his pillow to vent my frustration. My hand accidentally hit his phone. Just then, the screen lit up with a new notification. I picked it up. It was from his group chat. Someone had tagged him: [For real? Don’t tell me you’re just flexing on us again.] That narcissistic bastard, flexing? About what? I listened for the sounds from the bathroom; the shower was still running. Curiosity piqued, I opened the group chat. [@ClintGrogan, haven’t heard you complain about Sophie being clingy lately. Getting used to it?] [No. I’ve never seen anyone with so little a personality. She keeps tabs on me if I’m even a little late coming home. It’s so annoying! Next time she does it, I’m just going to throw some money at her and be done with it.] He had even attached a screenshot of our chat, of me asking when he’d be home. There was a deal this good? I nearly jumped for joy. I could get paid and break up with him. My spineless self had finally hit the jackpot. 02 The only reason I was dating Clint Grogan was because I was a total doormat. It was my junior year of college. I was in line for food in the cafeteria. Clint and his “white moonlight”—Seraphina Thorne—were there too, arguing about something near the serving counter. I didn’t care about them. My eyes were glued to the last three glazed pork knuckles in the serving tray. I watched them like a hawk, terrified they’d disappear. Just as my turn was approaching, Clint and Seraphina’s argument escalated. They moved back and forth, completely blocking my view of the pork knuckles. I’m not kidding, I was dying of anxiety. I leaned left. I twisted right. All I wanted was to see if someone had taken my precious pork knuckles. I was so focused that I didn’t realize I’d become the target of their argument. Seraphina pointed at me, my body still swaying as I stared at the food, and sneered, “Have you ever not had a girl fawning over you? Following you to lectures is one thing, but now they’re even stalking you in the cafeteria. And she’s not the only one! So you’re allowed to have simps, but I’m not?” Her voice was loud and filled with resentment. Instantly, every eye in the cafeteria turned to me. And me? I was still craning my neck left and right, my gaze locked on my beloved pork knuckles. It wasn’t until Clint walked over to me, his tall, broad-shouldered frame completely eclipsing my view, that I snapped out of it. He looked down at me, his expression complex. “You like it that much?” My mind still on the food, I looked up, confused. “Huh?” I glanced from Clint to a hostile-looking Seraphina and assumed they were mocking my love for pork knuckles. Slightly indignant, I muttered in my usual spineless fashion, “Can’t I like them? If I can’t, then I won’t…” Before I could finish my sentence, a collective “Ooooh” rippled through the crowd. Someone shouted, “You can, you can! He’s single!” Ah, in the blink of an eye, there’s only one pork knuckle left! Will I even get it? Before I could mourn my loss, someone shoved me. I managed to stabilize myself with a split. Close call. Seraphina retracted her hand and glared at me. “Have you no shame?” Then she burst into tears and ran out of the cafeteria. Naturally, Clint chased after her, leaving behind a cafeteria full of gossiping students and me, utterly bewildered and still in a split. Even then, I hadn’t grasped the severity of the situation. I happily ate my hard-won pork knuckle. But as soon as I got back to my dorm, my roommate pounced. “Sophie! When did you start crushing on Clint? You kept it hidden so well!” I was completely lost. “What are you talking about? That’s not true!” It was only then, scrolling through the campus gossip forum, that I learned all about my “secret crush” on Clint Grogan. No wonder the atmosphere in the cafeteria was so strange. What a ridiculous misunderstanding. I scrolled for a bit and saw that Clint and Seraphina had taken their argument to the campus lake. I rushed over, determined to clear my name. But when I got there, I walked right into a scene. Seraphina was locked in a passionate kiss with some other handsome guy, while Clint stood nearby, his face dark. My intended explanation, “I don’t have a crush on him,” died on my lips. Clint grabbed my hand and started walking away. Before we left, he shot a threat at Seraphina. “From now on, you go your way, and I’ll go mine. Our arrangement is over.” Then, he turned to me and declared, “Sophie, I accept your pursuit.” Wait, what? No! I hadn’t agreed to anything! I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip was like iron. I could only shake my head vigorously. “No, no, no…” Clint stopped and turned to me, a flicker of confusion in his arrogant eyes. “Didn’t you just say you liked me in the cafeteria? You don’t like me anymore?” “I don’t li—” His face instantly darkened. He took a menacing step forward, his tall frame completely engulfing my small, pathetic form. “Are you playing me?” he gritted out. I’ll admit, I was more than a little spineless. I caved. I rephrased, my voice small and resentful. “I like you.” And just like that, I was inexplicably in a relationship with Clint Grogan. I told myself he’d regret it soon enough. I could just break up with him then. But it had been three years, and we were still together. In those three years, Clint was ill-tempered, unreasonable, and constantly weaponized his looks against me. For example, he clearly didn’t love me, but he’d pull me into bed whenever he had a spare moment. Afterwards, he’d have the audacity to call me clingy, holding me tight and muttering to himself that only he could satisfy me. I mean, who says things like that? His insatiable appetite alone was enough to convince me I couldn’t spend my life with him. But I was too much of a coward to break up with him. At first, I was afraid of his temper. Now, I was afraid he’d literally screw me to death. God, my life was so hard. 03 Thankfully, it seemed Clint had finally grown tired of me. Thinking about his plan to pay me off, I couldn’t help but let out a giggle. He hated me being clingy. He hated me checking up on him. Hehe, well, I would just have to lean into that. As I was chuckling to myself, Clint emerged from the bathroom. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead. “What are you laughing about? You seem happy.” “Getting paid to break up, how could I not be happy?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. Oh, crap. I looked up, and sure enough, Clint’s face was a thundercloud. He narrowed his eyes, his voice dangerously low. “Sophie, what did you just say?” “I-I was just reading a novel. The side character in it is so lucky. The male lead gave her five million dollars as a breakup fee.” At that, Clint’s expression softened. He pulled me into his arms and scoffed. “Only five million? What’s so lucky about that? You have no ambition.” My eyes instantly lit up. So my breakup fee would be more than five million? I’ll take it! I’ll take it! 04 To make Clint despise me faster, I went into full-on drama queen mode. When he was at work, I spammed him with texts. When he was in a meeting, I blew up his phone with calls. When he was on a business trip, I’d ask him every ten minutes when he was coming back. Although Clint responded to every single message and call, after a while, I noticed the way he looked at me started to change. I was thrilled, convinced he was finally sick of me, and doubled down on my efforts. That evening, when he came home from work, I mustered all my courage, wrapped myself around him, and cooed, “Darling, I wonder if I might have the honor of tasting a home-cooked meal made with your love?” Coming home after a long day at work only to be met with a partner’s passive-aggressive demand to cook—I figured no one could tolerate that. Sure enough, Clint frowned and stared at me for several long seconds. Just as I was bracing for an outburst, he took off his suit jacket and walked into the kitchen. He put on the housekeeper’s pink apron and turned, gesturing for me, still frozen in place, to tie the strings for him. After I fumbled through it, he looked at me, his voice cold and threatening. “This is my first time cooking. If you dare say it’s not good, there won’t be a next time.” Wait, you’re planning on a next time? I complained silently but met his dark, intense gaze. My cowardice flared up again. My act fizzled out, and I just nodded and promised I wouldn’t. Hearing my promise, Clint suddenly clicked his tongue, his expression even darker than before. I was so scared I scurried out of the kitchen and spent the next hour giving myself a pep talk in the living room. Finally, Clint emerged with a single plate. On it was a piece of meat that had been almost completely carbonized. Using all my powers of imagination, I could just barely identify it as a pan-seared steak. As a foodie, I’ll usually try at least a bite of anything put in front of me. But this time, I was genuinely afraid of being poisoned. I couldn’t bring myself to taste it. I took a deep breath and resumed my act. “Did you take so long because you wanted me to starve?” “Take it away. I’m not eating it.” I kept my head down the entire time, afraid that one look at his cold face would make my voice tremble and ruin my performance. After my dramatic declaration, I scurried back to my room like a timid quail. Surely, this would make him break up with me, right? 05 Lost in thought, I accidentally fell asleep on the bed. I woke up to a gnawing hunger. “So hungry!” “Want some steak?” “Yes, yes!” I cheered before I realized it was Clint’s voice. I looked up. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, still in the shirt he’d worn home from work. He tilted his head back, looking down his nose at me as he condescendingly said, “If you want to eat, get up. I’ll go make it for you.” Making him wait on me was another way to be difficult, so I obediently nodded. Clint’s expression relaxed slightly. After a cold huff, he leaned down and put my slippers on for me. I followed him to the kitchen. This time, I watched him cook. Thawing, mincing garlic, heating the pan, adding oil… he moved with a fluid grace that betrayed no hint of a kitchen novice. The tantalizing aroma of searing steak soon filled the air. My stomach growling, I eagerly reached for the plate, but Clint blocked me. Is he teasing me? Refusing to let me eat? I looked longingly at the steak and backed away with a pout. Clint picked up the plate and walked to the dining table. Thinking his back was turned, I pulled a face at him. But he suddenly spun around. A glint of amusement flashed in his eyes, but his tone was gruff. “What’s with the face? Aren’t you hungry? Come and eat.” “Oh!” My eyes sparkling, I hurried to the table. As I passed the trash can, I glanced inside and saw several charred pieces of meat. I sat down and tried to make small talk. “Is Mrs. Gable not good at making steak? I saw a bunch of burnt pieces in the trash.” “No, her steak is great,” Clint replied nonchalantly, propping his chin on his hand. “Oh, then what about the ones in the—” Clint’s body went rigid. He shot up from his chair with a screech of wood against the floor. I looked up, confused. His ears were bright red. He crossed his arms, his face a mask of indifference. “What trash can? I didn’t make those. Don’t slander me. Searing a steak is so simple, anyone can learn it. I would never waste so many steaks just to make one for you.”

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1 My husband, Kristopher, is hopeless with directions. A GPS is just a confusing voice to him. He got so lost on the way to our own wedding that we had to postpone the ceremony for three days. On our anniversary, a whole table of food I’d cooked grew cold while he wandered the city, lost again. It didn’t matter that I was eight months pregnant when I fell in the bathroom and cried out for help. He sounded frantic on the phone, but he still got lost on the five-year-old route home. By the time he finally arrived, I was already at the hospital, and our baby had been cremated. I was drowning in a fog of grief, but everyone just offered placating words. “You know his silly head; he can’t remember roads. He wasn’t trying to be late. Don’t fight, you’ll have another baby.” I just nodded, numb. But on the way to our son’s funeral, I noticed something. Kristopher was driving without the chauffeur, and he navigated a series of back roads with perfect ease… right to his assistant’s house. “Evelyn,” he said, not looking at me, “the funeral won’t start for a bit. I need to take Zoe to the airport first. She has to get back to her hometown.” He didn’t wait for my answer. The car was already pulling up to her door. The assistant, Zoe, slid into the passenger seat like she owned it. Her words were daggers in my heart. “See how well I’ve trained him?” she purred, playfully swatting his arm. “You forget the way to my place again, and I’ll tan your hide.” She finally noticed me in the back and stuck her tongue out playfully. “Oh, Mr. Grey, I was just kidding.” I clenched my jaw, my silence a scream he couldn’t hear. After dropping Zoe off, Kristopher promptly forgot the way to the cemetery. The funeral was delayed by half an hour. As I cradled the tiny urn in my hands, my heart turned to stone. It turned out he could be an exception for someone. It just wasn’t for me, or for our child. I pushed the urn into his hands and got into the driver’s seat myself. The silence in the car was heavy enough to suffocate. Kristopher rubbed his temples, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Evelyn, I’m sorry. I even reviewed the route last night. I don’t know how I still…” His words trailed off, but a memory surfaced in my mind: Kristopher, before bed, studying a map on his tablet. The pin he’d marked wasn’t the cemetery. It was Zoe’s house. Kristopher truly was terrible with directions; he’d been getting lost since he was a child, always needing someone to find him. Before we got married, our friends used to joke about it. “Evelyn, you’re basically his human GPS. Let’s just hope your kids don’t inherit that broken compass of his.” But now I knew the truth. There was one place he could always remember. Those winding roads were never the problem. He could stay up all night, tracing the path under a lamp, completely oblivious to his wife weeping in the other room over the child they’d lost. What was I to him? What was I? At the funeral, as I placed the small urn into the earth, the tears I’d been holding back finally fell. And in that most sacred moment of remembrance, Kristopher stood up to leave. “Evelyn, something’s happened with Zoe. I have to go.” Zoe. His assistant. I couldn’t count the number of times he’d abandoned me for her. The prenatal appointment we were supposed to go to together—one phone call and he was gone. Our anniversary dinner at the restaurant I’d booked months in advance—canceled without a second thought. This time, my voice was a roar. “You dare walk out of here right now, and we are getting a divorce.” Kristopher froze. “It’s an emergency, Evelyn. Don’t make a scene.” A bitter, broken laugh escaped my lips. “A scene? I’m making a scene? Our son is gone, and you, his father, can’t spare five minutes to say goodbye? Don’t you dare tell me it’s for work, Kristopher. Anyone else can handle it. What could possibly be so important that only you can do it?” He chewed on his lip, hesitating for a fraction of a second before blurting out, “Zoe’s trying to kill herself. There’s a huge crisis with her family. I can’t just ignore it…” I cut him off. “I gave all the company drivers the day off. You wouldn’t even be able to find her place. Call the police, Kristopher. Let them handle it.” He hesitated for a moment, then walked out anyway. I stood there alone, a solitary figure in black and white, saying farewell to my child. It felt just like my pregnancy—a journey I had taken all by myself, a child it seemed only I had ever wanted. After the funeral, I turned on the location tracker I’d synced to his car. I watched as Kristopher drove five hundred kilometers without a single wrong turn. Hours later, his car’s icon stopped precisely over Zoe’s hometown. He hadn’t wasted a single minute. It seemed that finally learning to use a GPS had taken a lot out of him. He was unreachable for the rest of the night. What was left to misunderstand? I pulled out my phone and found my lawyer’s number. “I need you to draw up divorce papers.” 2 The next day, I went to visit Kristopher’s family. I wasn’t expecting him to be there, and certainly not with Zoe in tow. The expressions around the dinner table were varied, but no one reprimanded Kristopher. The unspoken blame was a heavy blanket smothering the room. After all, I had focused on my career for a decade before finally deciding to have a child, only to lose him. In their eyes, I was the selfish one. The failure was mine alone. “To lose the baby after all that excitement,” his grandmother sighed. “Such a shame. You two need to hurry up and try for another one.” No one asked why the bathroom floor had been wet that day. No one cared how weak my body was after the miscarriage, or that the stretch marks on my stomach hadn’t even faded… The weight of their judgment was crushing me. I put down my chopsticks. “There won’t be another one.” His grandmother’s smile froze on her face. Kristopher quickly jumped in, patting her hand reassuringly. “Evelyn’s just not ready yet, Grandma. We’ll try again in a little while.” Later, he cornered me. “Why would you say that? You know how much Grandma wants a grandchild.” I looked down at the divorce papers in my purse and laughed a hollow laugh. What did this family think I was? A broodmare? My children would only be born into a world of love, not to fulfill someone else’s expectations. I pulled out the documents. “Sign these. If she wants a grandchild so badly, she can find someone else to give her one.” Kristopher was stunned speechless. But before he could even process what he was looking at, Zoe appeared. I don’t know what his rush was, but he scribbled his signature without even reading the papers. It saved me a lot of trouble, but it made the two of us look like we were having a clandestine affair. A smug smile touched Kristopher’s lips. “That new project was a huge win, and with all the family drama settled, you can have anything you want as a gift. Name it.” Just as I was about to leave, Zoe looked at me with wide, pleading eyes. “Evelyn, could I have that necklace you’re wearing? Please?” My fingers instinctively went to the chain around my neck. It was a custom piece, one of a set of three for our little family. Kristopher had spent weeks sketching the design, overseeing the craftsman… He didn’t even recognize it. “Evelyn, just give it to Zoe,” he said casually. “You have so much jewelry. You don’t need this one.” Zoe’s face lit up with a triumphant smile. It felt like a fishbone was lodged in my throat. Every word was pain. “Are you sure?” Kristopher leaned in for a closer look. “Oh, it’s that one…” He paused, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He frowned at me. “Look, Evelyn, I already promised her. It’s bad form for a boss to go back on his word. How about… I’ll buy you both a new one later?” My nails dug into my palms, the sting of pain grounding me. I glanced at the signed divorce papers in my purse. Right. What was there left to care about? “Fine.” My quick agreement seemed to startle him. He looked like he was about to take it back, but I had already unclasped the necklace. Then, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the matching bracelet. The family set. Let them have it all. The moment the necklace was off, a strange sense of lightness washed over me. I planned to leave that very night. To my surprise, Kristopher followed me out. “Evelyn, are you angry? I’ll buy you a new one right now. Look, pick whichever one you like.” He held out his phone, showing me an entire collection. He was right. I didn’t lack for jewelry. What I lacked was his heart. And since he didn’t have it to give, I didn’t want it anymore. I tapped a random image on the screen and drove back to our house to pack. I didn’t expect him to follow me home. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, rubbing his hands together. “I just followed your car the whole way. Zoe’s feeling much better, so I sent her home.” I ignored him and started clearing out the nursery. He watched me for a moment, confused. “Why are you getting rid of all this so soon? We’ll just have another baby, and we’ll have to set it all up again.” Even now, he thought I was just throwing a tantrum. Of course he did. He’d never experienced the morning sickness. Never felt the baby kick. He had no idea how every tiny flutter had been tethered to my heart. A wave of emotion crested, but I forced the tears back down. I fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep. When I woke up, the last person I expected to see was Zoe. She was kneeling on my doorstep. “Evelyn, please, you have to help me,” she begged. “You’re the only one who can.” I stared at her, utterly bewildered. Kristopher tried to pull her up, but she remained rooted to the ground. “My grandmother is all alone in the cemetery back home,” she sobbed. “I want to bring her to the city. Please, I’m begging you, give her a home here.” I almost slammed the door in her face. This was a matter for a funeral director, not for me. Kristopher blocked the door. “She’s never asked you for anything, Evelyn. Just hear her out.” Zoe’s face was a mask of grief. “Your son’s plot… the baby was so small, he doesn’t need all that space. Can’t you just share a part of it? It’s just sitting there empty…” She wanted me to bury her grandmother in my son’s grave? The refusal was instant and absolute. Zoe’s eyes turned a desperate, raw red. “There isn’t another plot in the city with such a peaceful spot… Evelyn, please, can’t you see this is my last act of love for her…” “Don’t even think about it,” I said, my voice like ice. But Kristopher stepped in my way. “Evelyn, I have a say in this too. Sharing a plot isn’t that weird. Don’t be so old-fashioned.” His words were a blade that split me open. I grabbed his shirt, and my hand flew up, the crack of the slap echoing in the morning air. “You say that again. I’m telling you, over my dead body.” Zoe scrambled to her feet, shielding Kristopher. “Evelyn, if you’re angry, take it out on me! Don’t be like this! It’s fine, I’ll just take my grandmother back home.” I thought the absurd affair was over. That night, Kristopher stormed in, his eyes wild. He grabbed my shoulders, shaking me. “Zoe already gave up! What is wrong with you? Why would you send her a threatening letter? It’s a tragedy that our son had a mother like you! No wonder he chose to leave!” I just stared at him, the world tilting on its axis as tears streamed down my face. “What?” He must have realized he’d gone too far, because his tone softened slightly. “I know you’re upset, but you didn’t have to threaten her. Zoe already dropped the whole thing. You’ve scared the poor girl so much she can’t even sleep.” I was resolute. “I’m calling the police, Kristopher. I will not take the blame for something I didn’t do. And we are getting a divorce!” He actually believed her, believed this pathetic, clumsy lie. I remembered our wedding vows. He had smiled, his eyes full of adoration, and said, “Whatever you say, I’ll believe it. If it doesn’t come from you, I won’t believe it.” That privilege still existed. It had just been given to someone else. Just like I used to be his navigator. And now that he had learned to read a map for someone else, I was useless. Arguing was pointless. The front door slammed shut. Kristopher was gone again. He didn’t even realize how little time he spent at home anymore. The day I returned from giving my statement to the police, I got a frantic call from the cemetery administrator. “Ms. Reed? There’s a group of men here at your family plot. They’re trying to dig up the grave! They say they’re here for a joint burial and that your husband approved it.” My heart seized. I jumped in my car and sped toward the cemetery. By the time I arrived, they had already dug halfway down. I launched myself at them, shoving them away from the disturbed earth. “Who are you? Get away from here! What are you doing at my son’s grave?” A couple of the burly men grabbed me and threw me to the ground. “Shut up, lady. This is Zoe’s spot now. We’ll do whatever we want.” They pinned me down, their weight crushing the air from my lungs. I screamed for him. “Where is Kristopher? Where is Zoe? I don’t believe he would do this! He promised he would stop this!” They just laughed. I watched, helpless, as they opened the grave, pulled out my son’s tiny urn, and set it aside to make room for Zoe’s grandmother’s casket. My son’s ashes were just… tossed on the dirt. Then, a boot came down right on the urn. “NO!” I shrieked, my voice tearing from my throat. The small box shattered, and the ashes, my son, scattered on the wind. I was a mess, crawling on the ground, desperately trying to gather the dust between my fingers. He was so small, just a tiny handful of ashes. The breeze took him, and he was everywhere and nowhere at once. I tried with all my might, but I couldn’t save any of him. My spirit broke. I was still on the ground when the grave was sealed again. Only then did Kristopher and Zoe finally rush over. Zoe ran to the men and slapped them theatrically. “What are you doing? I told you Ms. Reed didn’t agree! We were taking Grandma back home! How could you just come here and dig up the grave on your own?” The men shuffled their feet, lowering their heads. “Uh… sorry about that, Mr. Grey. We must’ve misheard. We just thought Grandma’s final rest was the most important thing.” Kristopher looked at the chaos, at my tear-streaked, dirt-smeared face. I was clutching a worthless piece of splintered wood. Not a speck of ash remained. The anger that had started to rise in him was quickly extinguished. He crouched down beside me. “Evelyn,” he said softly, “what’s done is done. Let’s just… let it go. They know they were wrong. We can light a memorial lamp for him at a church.” I scrambled to my feet and lunged at him, a wild animal. “That man stepped on him on purpose! An eye for an eye, Kristopher! I’m going to smash his grandmother’s urn and scatter her ashes to the wind!” Zoe’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Evelyn, my grandmother was an old woman. She doesn’t deserve that kind of disrespect. Besides, my brothers are a little hot-headed, but they’re not bad people. They would never do something like that.” So my son deserved it. Kristopher, who do you believe? He hesitated for a single, damning second. Then, he moved his body, silently, deliberately, blocking my path. I stared at him, unable to believe that a father could treat his own child this way. “For Zoe?” I whispered. “You would go this far for her?” He scowled. “I just don’t want things to get more complicated. It’ll just make everyone miserable. What’s done is done. Let’s just call it even for the threatening letter.” I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. I shoved him away. “I told you, I didn’t send that letter! I filed a police report! No one is touching my son’s final resting place!” Ignoring the ugly look on his face, I took a rock and smashed the windshield of our wedding car before driving away.

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