My brother sent a text to his girlfriend, but it came to me by mistake: “Babe, I’m at the school entrance. Where are you?” I narrowed my eyes, a malicious smile creeping onto my face. “Babe, I just got out of my last final.” The chat bubble showed he was typing… then stopped. I kept going. “Babe, did you wait for me so we could go home together? I’m so touched!” “Babe, why aren’t you answering?” He finally snapped: “Are you insane? That’s enough!” Five minutes later, a Venmo notification popped up. “I’m begging you, don’t tell Mom and Dad I’m dating someone.” 1 The SATs were over. As I walked out of the testing center, I switched my phone off airplane mode. Notifications exploded. Just as I cleared them all, a text from my brother, Alex, popped up. “Babe, I’m at the school entrance. Where are you?” I physically recoiled. My brow furrowed. What kind of fever dream was this? I stared at the text, mulling it over. Then I remembered, a few weeks ago, I’d overheard him on the phone, calling someone “babe.” I’d always suspected he was dating someone, but I never had proof. When I’d ask, he’d just give me that arrogant denial. Today, he’d delivered the evidence right to my doorstep. A wicked smile spread across my face. I typed out a reply: “Babe, I just got out of my last final.” Calling my brother “babe” made me want to gag, but the thought of how much it was freaking him out made it all worthwhile. The second I hit send, his chat bubble appeared: Alex is typing… It popped up. Disappeared. Popped up again. Ten minutes passed. I had walked all the way from the testing hall to the school’s front gate, and he still hadn’t replied. He was playing dead. Trying to ignore it. Hoping I’d just let it slide. I wasn’t about to be that nice. “Babe, did you wait for me so we could go home together? I’m so touched!” “Babe, you’re the best!” I laid it on thick. “Babe, why aren’t you answering?” 【Babe???】 Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. His reply was furious: “Chloe, are you insane? That’s enough!” I laughed at the screen. “Babe, I think someone’s in a relationship!” “I bet Mom and Dad would be very interested to know.” Five minutes later. A Venmo notification. $50. His tone was a pathetic grovel: “I’m begging you, don’t tell Mom and Dad.” I remained unmoved. I didn’t accept the money. I didn’t reply. I could already see Alex standing at the gate. I had to admit, my brother hit the genetic lottery. Even in a crowd of students, his face and build made him stand out. I slowed down, hiding behind a nearby pillar. I wanted to see who this girlfriend was. I waited five or six minutes. No girlfriend appeared. Instead, someone… unexpected. A guy in a white t-shirt and black pants coasted up on a bike, stopping next to Alex. Sharp, handsome features. A clean, crisp aura. When he smiled, his profile was brighter than the summer sun. Leo. Our school’s “King,” and my brother’s best friend. Top-tier looks, top-tier brain. Half the girls in our grade were in love with him. As valedictorian, he’d already gotten early admission to Yale. He just stood there, and a crowd of eyes was drawn to him. He was so good-looking it made me dizzy. From my hiding spot, I saw Alex and Leo chatting, but Alex kept scanning the crowd. I ducked, avoiding his gaze. A moment later, a girl with a high ponytail bounced up and grabbed my brother’s arm, smiling sweetly up at him. I immediately pulled out my phone and hit record. I recognized the girl’s face. Jenna. A well-known beauty in the art program. Damn it. My brother was eating good. 2 I took a video. I took photos. I sent one of the photos to Alex. From a distance, I saw him look down at his phone, his expression souring. My phone buzzed. “You like Leo, don’t you?” “I’ll help you get him.” I raised an eyebrow. He was using that to negotiate? To shut me up? Leo and I are neighbors. He’s always been nicer to me than my own brother. Good-looking, smart, good family. Not only was he sweet to me, but he also gave me little gifts all the time. It was hard not to like him. He was a natural charmer. I was only human. I sent back an “OK” emoji. Then, I walked out, jogging over to them, pretending I’d just spotted them. “Alex!” My brother looked at me, his face grumpy. Jenna quickly let go of his arm, blushing as she said hi. Leo just smiled at me. “How’d the test go?” “Pretty good,” I smiled back. I looked at their faces. “You guys have plans?” Leo nodded. “Yeah.” My brother’s voice was cold. “We’re busy. You go home.” I ignored his dismissal. “Can I come? I’m bored now that exams are over.” I aimed the question at Leo. “Please?” He was a head taller than me. He looked down, his handsome eyes crinkling at the corners, and smiled. “Sure,” he agreed, his voice gentle. “No!” That was Alex. “Chloe, you’re not invited. Stop trying to butt in.” I just stared at him. The atmosphere turned awkward. Jenna tugged on his sleeve. “It’s fine, really…” Leo spoke up too. “Let her come, Alex. It’ll be more fun. She’s not a stranger.” My brother suppressed his annoyance and bit out, “Fine. Whatever.” He grabbed Jenna’s hand and stormed off ahead. Leo patted the top of my head, then leaned in close, his voice low. “Don’t be upset. He just… doesn’t know how to act around you.” My heart skipped. His closeness was overwhelming, surrounding me in his scent. He smelled like fresh laundry. I didn’t answer him. 3 Alex and I are twins. We’ve had a terrible relationship our entire lives. Arguing and fighting were daily. Being loving siblings was a fantasy. When we were five, he “lost” me. I was gone for five years. I was lucky, “adopted” by a kind family. When my parents finally found me at age ten, I stood in front of them and accused Alex of abandoning me on purpose. All I got was their defensiveness. “You’re remembering it wrong.” “Your brother isn’t like that.” “It was an accident.” “You need to stop blaming him, do you understand?” From that day on, I hated my brother. I hated Alex. At my worst, I’d wish for him to fall down the stairs, to choke on his water, to be struck by lightning… These five years of separation didn’t earn me more love from my parents. It earned me… distance. They thought I wasn’t the “sweet, cute” girl I used to be. They thought my five lost years had “ruined” me. Petty. Spiteful. Ungrateful. Low-class. Those were their private assessments of me. I’d heard them. Late at night, unable to sleep in my new-old house, I’d gone looking for them and overheard them talking in the living room. It felt like someone had taken a hammer to my skull. I choked back my sobs, crying in the dark. I saw a crack of light from the room next to mine. My brother’s door. He had heard it too. Through my tears, I saw him hesitate, wanting to approach me, then pulling back. When he finally took a step toward me, I fled to my room and locked the door. After that night, I learned to be “good.” I learned to pretend. 4 I followed them to dinner. At the table, Leo took good care of me, constantly putting food on my plate. My brother was miles away, lost in thought. Probably plotting how to kick me out. Jenna was mid-bite when she suddenly dropped her chopsticks and waved at the door. I turned. My heart sank to my stomach. Bianca. The person I hated most in the world. She was the girl my parents brought home to replace me during those five years. When I first came back, I raised hell to get her out of my house. My brother knew exactly how much I despised her. So, all these years, they’d been in contact behind my back. They were so close they had their own little friend group. I shot a hateful glare at Alex. He was looking right at me, his expression cold and mocking. “I told you not to come. You insisted.” His words were always so sharp. Leo frowned, kicking my brother under the table. “Alex!” he warned. I swallowed my anger, staring at Leo’s profile. My heart ached, but it was a sweet ache. He was the only one who defended me. Bianca walked over, all smiles. “Sorry I’m late!” Her eyes landed on me, and her smile faltered. Her expression became cautious, surprised. “Chloe? You’re here too?” Maybe I’m biased. Maybe I’m just sensitive. But her tone felt… wrong. Like she was implying I shouldn’t be there. I’ve never been nice to her. But in public, especially with Leo here, I always kept my cool. I forced a tight smile and a nod. Bianca looked at the seating, feigning confusion. “Where should I sit?” Leo gestured to the spot next to him. “Here, sit by me.” It was a six-person table. I was sitting next to Leo. Alex and Jenna were across from us. Bianca could have easily sat on their side. When Leo said that, my smile collapsed. “Great! These are all my favorites.” Bianca slid into the seat on Leo’s left, beaming at the dishes. She ate with gusto. “So, how’d everyone do on the SATs? Are we feeling good?” “We all promised we’d end up at the same college, remember? No backing out!” She chattered on. My brother laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m good.” Jenna chimed in, “I think I did okay too.” Leo just smiled. “Well, you guys have fun. I’ll be all alone at Yale.” “Oh, shut up, you’re flexing on us,” Bianca teased. “Yeah, seriously! No Ivy Leaguers allowed in this conversation!” They laughed, talking about shared memories and inside jokes I wasn’t part of. Their easy rapport was an invisible barrier, walling me out. I ate in silence. The food tasted like ash. Half the dishes on the table, the ones Leo had ordered… Were all Bianca’s favorites. Listening to their laughter, I stared at my teacup. I’d ordered tea out of habit. They all had sodas. I was the odd one out. I watched the film of oil on the surface of my tea and felt sick. So, Alex, Leo, and Bianca were this… trio. Even Jenna and Bianca seemed like old friends. But I, the twin sister, had only just met my brother’s girlfriend. And only because I’d caught them. I was the fifth wheel at their four-person party. I was his sister. I’d known Leo first. But I was the one who didn’t belong. 5 “Chloe, what college are you aiming for?” Noticing my silence, Leo brought me into the conversation. I looked up, meeting his eyes. They held that familiar, gentle smile. I loved his eyes. Smiling, soft, and when he looked at you, so focused. Like you were the only person in the world. I knew I wasn’t special. I knew he was just polite, nice to everyone. But I was greedy. I wanted to be the only one. I only wanted him to be nice to me. I held his gaze and slowly said two words. “Yale.” The table went silent. Bianca laughed. “Chloe, you’re joking, right?” My brother just studied me, thinking. Jenna played along. “Aim high!” Leo’s eyebrows lifted, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Then I’ll wait for you at Yale.” Bianca’s face fell. She kept her smile frozen as she asked Alex, “Is Chloe’s… score usually that high?” Alex nodded faintly. “Top ten in the grade.” He glanced at me, then added, “But Yale is still a stretch.” Now Bianca’s smile was genuine again. “Well, good luck, Chloe.” Hmph. I looked down, hiding my cold smirk. This whole table was so fake.

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Julian Thorne is the crown prince of Manhattan, and he is a certified psycho. He is also obsessively in love with me. On our wedding day, my sister, Chloe, showed up in her own wedding gown to crash it. She screamed that she was a “Protagonist” and that if she didn’t marry my fiancé, she would die. Julian, without blinking, just said, “Then die.” His security team dragged her to the rooftop of the hotel. She looked down once and fainted clean away. 1 Julian Thorne is New York royalty—reckless, ruthless, and completely ungovernable. And for one year, he was my quiet, secret boyfriend. The “secret” part was my idea. Julian hated it, but I always managed to put him off, saying the relationship was “too new” or “not stable enough.” On our first anniversary, I came home from a shoot, and Julian suddenly presented me with a stack of binders. “Elara,” he said, “these are my companies, my properties, my cars, my private equity holdings…” He had so many assets it was absurd. He even owned a few small islands. It took him over thirty minutes to list everything. Goddamn capital. My eyes were burning with the sheer, blinding injustice of it all. “Julian, what is this?” “Elara, we’ve been dating for a year. We’re stable. Marry me. When you do, I’m transferring everything into your name.” With that, he got on one knee and produced a ring. I finally understood. This was a proposal. The theme of this proposal, to summarize, was: “What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is still yours.” This kind of deal doesn’t just happen. I didn’t trust it. “You’re just saying that.” “No,” he said, his face dead serious. “You won’t go public because you don’t feel secure. They say men turn bad when they get rich. If I give you all my money, you won’t have to worry about me turning bad.” “That’s not a guarantee.” My sister, Chloe, has a thing for taking what’s mine. In high school, in college… anytime a guy showed interest in me, Chloe would appear. And just like that, those guys would only have eyes for her. It proved that a man’s loyalty has nothing to do with his bank account. This was the real reason I’d kept Julian a secret. I was terrified that if I brought him to a family dinner, he’d be instantly, magically charmed by Chloe. I’d finally found someone who chose me. I wanted it to last. “If I ever cheat on you,” Julian said, his voice flat, “you have my full permission to confiscate my… assets.” “Confiscate your… assets?” He coughed. “Castrate me.” I was drinking water. I choked, sputtering and coughing. He rubbed my back, all concern. “Slow down.” His deep-set eyes were full of genuine worry. I ended up saying yes. A man who was willing to bet his family jewels on his own fidelity… how could I not trust him? I mean, it definitely wasn’t about the billions of dollars. Absolutely not. Ugh, this box of deeds is surprisingly heavy. 2 The first thing Julian did after I said yes was post on Instagram. A picture of the ring. The caption: Mine. I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong. He started posting three times a day, more reliably than he ate. 【Wife is at work. Miss her.】 【Three days until I see my wife.】 【Woke up to this. #blessed #nofilter】 The captions were so sappy I couldn’t even read them. He’s Julian Thorne. The comments section was just a sea of fawning “omg goals.” I was embarrassed. He was defensive. “I’m making up for a year of lost time.” I texted back: 【Whatever makes you happy.】 Because of Julian’s reputation, everyone in his circle knows not to leak his personal life to the press. So, despite his non-stop posting, not a word of it hit Page Six. He didn’t stop at Instagram. He gave his entire company a three-day paid holiday. His employees were ecstatic. The company-wide Slack channel blew up. “Thank you, Julian’s girlfriend!” “Julian’s girlfriend is a national hero.” “May Julian and his girlfriend live long and prosper.” “A happy CEO is a blessing upon us all.” When I still hadn’t told my family, Julian cornered me. “Elara. Is it me? Am I not handsome enough? Not rich enough? Or… am I not good enough?” As the heir to the Thorne empire, his status was untouchable. His face was better than 90% of the actors I worked with. As for “not good enough”… I shot him a look and rubbed my lower back. He had the nerve to ask. “I just want to tell my family in person,” I said. “Before we make a public announcement.” “In person?” He blinked, and then a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. “You’re taking me home? I didn’t realize you were this serious about me.” He’d misunderstood. I wasn’t taking him home to introduce him. I was taking him home to test him. If he, like all the others, took one look at Chloe and was instantly bewitched, then this relationship didn’t need to be announced. It needed to be terminated. But if he passed… if he could withstand her… then it was real. The monthly family dinner was on the 15th. 3 We’d just stepped inside the front door when I heard voices from the living room. “Chloe, honey, you’re saying your sister slept with an investor? And then she had the nerve to steal your role?” It was my mother. Chloe’s voice was a pathetic little sob. “Yes. The director promised me the part. He said it was mine. Then, right before signing, he said a new, massive investor came on board… and that he and Elara were… involved. The investor made him give her the part.” That was not what happened. The director and writer had approached me from the beginning. They said they’d written the script with me in mind. The day before I was supposed to sign, my sister heard about the film, met with the director, and suddenly, he changed his mind. He told me Chloe just “had the right energy.” If she was right for the role, I wouldn’t have cared. But the character was a cold, cynical detective. My sister has the face of a cartoon chipmunk. Chloe just has this… magic. She makes people adore her, makes them want to give her whatever she wants. And the thing she wants most… is whatever I have. I should have been used to it. But it still hurt. I’d been in a funk for days. Julian, seeing me upset, found out why. To “cheer me up,” he invested an obscene amount of money in the film on the non-negotiable condition that I was cast. I learned that day that my sister’s magic charm was no match for a nine-figure check. She was furious. So she ran straight to our parents. My mother’s voice was sharp. “How did I raise such a shameless, disgusting thing? We gave her everything, and she repays us by becoming some investor’s whore? And to do it to her own sister!” “Mom, Dad, don’t be mad at her,” Chloe said, her voice dripping with fake concern. “She’s just… lost. This industry is so toxic. If you just talk to her, I’m sure she’ll see the error of her ways.” My father sighed. “Chloe, if only your sister were half as decent as you.” My mother snarled. “I regret the day she was born.” Julian’s face went dark. His entire posture shifted, radiating a cold fury. I was… calm. I’d seen this show a hundred times. It was always my fault. I was always the one who had to apologize, to give my things to Chloe. I’d stopped being sad about it years ago. I’d given up on them. Julian started to step forward, and I squeezed his hand. Wait. I needed him to see this. To see my sister for what she really was. Maybe then, he wouldn’t fall for her. A moment later, the housekeeper saw us. “Oh, Ms. Elara, you’re here!” My parents hadn’t seen Julian, who was slightly hidden by a large plant. My mother stormed over. “Elara! You have the nerve to show your face? We don’t have a daughter who sells her body! Get out!” She pointed a finger at me. “But before you go, you will call that director, give the role back to your sister, and apologize.” I kept my voice level. “I’m not sleeping with anyone. That investor is my boyfriend. And the movie was written for me.” “Sister, I heard you’ve been ‘dating’ for over a year,” Chloe said sweetly. “If he’s really your boyfriend, why haven’t you ever brought him home? The director was clearly just making an excuse for you.” My mother was even angrier. “You ungrateful brat! Chloe is defending you, and you’re still lying! You break up with that sugar daddy now, or you are no daughter of mine!” Julian had heard enough. He stepped out from behind the plant, his voice like ice. “Who, exactly, are you telling her to break up with? She doesn’t have a sugar daddy. I’m her boyfriend.” “Sister… this is your… boyfriend?” Chloe’s eyes locked onto Julian. I saw a flicker in them. A bright, hungry spark. She was interested. 4 Julian Thorne is a big deal. Even my social-climbing parents knew who he was. “You’re… Julian Thorne?” my father stammered. Julian gave a curt, cold nod. My parents’ entire world revolved around climbing a ladder that Julian’s family had built. They looked from me to Julian, and their faces instantly melted into grotesque, fawning smiles. My mother grabbed my arm, her grip suddenly affectionate. “Elara, darling! Why didn’t you tell us you were dating someone so… wonderful?” Chloe composed herself and glided over to Julian, tilting her head to show off the line of her neck. “Mr. Thorne, hello. I’m Chloe, Elara’s sister.” Her voice was soft, harmless, and impossibly sweet. Julian said nothing. He just… stared at her. For a solid ten seconds. Chloe’s lips curved in a tiny, satisfied smile. Here it is, I thought. She was thinking, Elara, you lose again. I glanced at Julian. I was strangely calm. I’d prepared for this. I’d brought him here for this. If he was this easy to steal, he wasn’t really mine. Better to know now. I have my career. I don’t need a man. Still… it stung. I thought he was different. I started to pull my hand from his, but he gripped it tighter. What happened next, I was not prepared for. “Mr. Thorne?” Julian sneered. “Is ‘brother-in-law’ too complicated for you? Don’t be so familiar. We’re not friends.” Chloe’s smile froze. In her entire life, I don’t think a single male had ever spoken to her like that. My heart, which had been sinking, slowly started to rise. He… he was different. Chloe tried to pivot, her voice turning wounded, flirty. “Julian… brother-in-law… I just thought it was friendlier. Why are you being so mean?” Julian laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “And how should I be? ‘Oh, Chloe, thank you so much for slandering my fiancée, you must be exhausted, please have a seat’?” Chloe’s face went from white to red. She’d never been humiliated like this. She immediately went to her signature move: she looked down, her eyes filling with tears, her shoulders trembling. The “I’m just a poor, fragile girl” routine. “I… I’m so sorry, sister. The director… he implied… I just misunderstood…” I sighed. Even now, she was trying to throw the director under the bus. Julian had already told the director exactly who he was. The director wouldn’t dare slander me. Chloe knew my parents would believe any lie she told. Julian watched her “fragile” act, and his eyes just got colder. Chloe was stunned. This wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working? The air was thick. My mother finally jumped in. “It’s Chloe’s fault, yes, but she didn’t mean any harm! Elara, don’t be mad at her. She was just worried about you!” “Sister, please forgive me?” Chloe looked at me, her eyes brimming, as if I’d be a monster to say no. Oh, she wants to play. I put on my best “heartbroken” expression. “It’s okay, Chloe. I’m… I’m used to it.” Julian’s aura turned arctic. “A hell of a way to show ‘concern’,” he snapped. “You hear a rumor from a stranger and you immediately, viciously, attack your own daughter? Do you even see Elara as family?” He had shattered the thin veneer of our “happy family.” My parents looked horrified. My father, especially, had been dreaming of an alliance with the Thornes. Finally, my grandmother, the only person in this house who ever loved me, came down the stairs. “Elara, you’re here! And this must be your young man! My, what a handsome couple. Why are you all standing at the door? Come in, come in!” Julian, seeing the genuine love in her eyes, relaxed. I nodded at him. “Let’s go in.” “Okay.” He held my hand and led me inside. I could feel Chloe’s jealous, hateful glare burning into my back. This was not over.

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The Thorne family heir is a psycho. Anyone who crosses the person he protects is met with savage, absolute reprisal. Unfortunately, the person he protects is my stepsister, Chloe—the person I hate most in this world. The day after Chloe deliberately smashed my mother’s urn, and I broke her wrist in response, I was dragged into a dark warehouse by the Thorne heir’s men. They shattered my hands and feet and severed the tendons in my wrists. Using my last ounce of strength, I begged my most trusted bodyguard for help. The kidnappers just watched, then one of them spoke to him. “Mr. Thorne,” he said, “she’s broken.” In that moment, I knew. I gave up. And as I welcomed death, Julian Thorne finally broke. 1 I found Julian Thorne on the street. It was pouring rain, and a group of men had him cornered in an alley. I leaned against my car window, idly watching the man struggle to survive the storm. He was beautiful. The way he fought was an art form, his rain-soaked shirt clinging to the lean muscle of his back. Every punch, every kick, was mesmerizing. I could see the raindrops atomize on his skin. Even when they broke his nose, the blood only served to paint his beauty with a sharp, tragic edge. He was a perfect, violent masterpiece. But he was outnumbered. They finally beat him to the ground. After he’d taken a kick that I was sure broke his ribs, I finally pushed my door open and dialed 911. The thugs scattered. I walked over and held out my hand. “I save your life,” I said, “and you protect me for three years. Deal?” The rain hammered his face, carving lines through the blood. He looked up, his dark eyes as deep and cold as a quarry, and said nothing. I took his silence as a yes. I’m not a good person. It was a whim, a moment of aesthetic appreciation. No one in this world loved me; I just wanted to choose a single person for my “family.” He was beautiful, he was broken, and he was alone. A perfect stray. I chased him for three years. For three years, he remained just as cold. He was a feral cat that refused to be tamed, treating every attempt at affection with aloof disinterest. It was, honestly, compelling. He didn’t love me. But when I was in danger, he was always the first one there. That was enough. Until the gala. Until he saw my stepsister, Chloe. Until he fell in love with her at first sight. And until my life ended. The day after Chloe “tripped” during an argument with me, I was pushed down a flight of stairs, ending up with a severe concussion. The day after my best friend, fed up with Chloe’s venomous, two-faced act, “accidentally” spilled a drink on her, I was held down and had three bottles of vodka poured down my throat, perforating my stomach. In just a few months, I was a wreck, the target of a relentless, invisible campaign of terror. The perpetrator was the psycho heir to the Thorne fortune. No one knew how Chloe had met him, but all of New York knew he worshipped her. Touch a hair on her head, and you’d lose a limb. Slowly, my friends vanished. My best friend stopped calling, her last words a warning: “Stop fighting Chloe, Elara. That psycho Thorne will literally kill you.” So what? When Chloe “accidentally” knocked my mother’s urn off the mantle, watching it shatter, I didn’t hesitate. I beat her, right there in the living room, until I heard the snap of her wrist. The next day, I was abducted. Warehouse. Tendons severed. Hands and feet shattered. “Mr. Thorne, it’s done, just as you ordered.” The kidnapper’s phone was on speaker. I heard the voice. “Warn her. Next time she dares to touch Chloe, I’ll kill her.” Cold. Detached. The same ruthless cruelty I’d always found so compelling. I couldn’t believe it. How could it be him? How could it be him? The kidnapper repeated the warning, then threw a phone onto the floor beside me. “You can call your savior now,” he sneered. “Remember the lesson.” To make the act more degrading, they had smeared the phone’s screen with a viscous, milky fluid. The stench was vile. I didn’t move. I just lay on the concrete, staring at their triumphant faces. After ten minutes, they got bored and left. As the heavy door slid shut, I heard one last snippet of their call. “Mr. Thorne, the phone is with her. She trusts you more than anyone. I’m sure she’ll call you first… just like always…” The last spark of hope in me died. Julian Thorne. My bodyguard. He really was the psycho heir. 2 I stared at the phone. I remembered when Chloe got “stuck” in our home elevator. She’d called me for help. I ignored her and went for a walk. That night, men grabbed me. I was locked in a dark room. Three days. No food, no water. The hunger, the cold, the suffocating blackness. Julian had a tracker on my phone. He was the only one who could find me. I called him, sobbing, begging for help. His voice was flat. “Just apologize to Chloe, Elara, and I’ll come get you.” I refused. I called the police. But somehow—somehow—they couldn’t find me. When the cops showed up at my father’s house, my father, my brother, and Julian all told them the same story: I was unstable, prone to drama. It was a false alarm. I was blacklisted for filing a false report. That time, I lasted three days. I broke. I cried. I apologized to Chloe. It was the first time I had ever bent to her or her mother. She’d smiled, standing over me. “I’m so glad you finally see the error of your ways, sister.” My father and brother were “relieved.” I was “finally behaving,” “learning my place.” When I got out, I was diagnosed with severe claustrophobia. I’m terrified of the dark. I’m terrified of small spaces. But lying here, in this dark, silent warehouse, I felt nothing. You can only feel fear when you still have the will to live. I didn’t touch the phone. I lay there for three days. I thought about my mom. I thought about how, when she was sick and dying from chemo, my dad stopped coming home. I thought about the photos that woman—Chloe’s mother—sent to my mom’s hospital bed. Photos of her and my father, in our home. I thought about how she and Chloe came to our house for my mother’s “last birthday.” My mother, weak from treatment, had a heart attack. She never recovered. My brother, Marcus, held me as I cried. He promised me. “It’s okay, Elara. I’m here. I’ll never let those monsters hurt you.” Mom was gone for less than a month before Dad moved them in. At first, Marcus was my ally. When did he change? Was it when Chloe offered him her only piece of candy, her hand trembling? Was it when she’d get “bullied” at school, only to cry in the hallway where she knew he’d find her? Like her mother, she was an expert at playing the victim. And I… I was always the villain. The day he first defended her against me, I demanded to know how he could forget what they did to our mother. He snapped. “Mom had cancer, Elara. She was going to die anyway.” The same words my father had used a hundred times. In that moment, I had no family left. And now, the person I had chosen as family, the one I’d rescued… was using that same blade to kill me, all for the same two women. I looked at my broken hands. I looked at the filthy phone. I laughed. This life… it was nothing but betrayal. It was pointless. I didn’t touch the phone. I just lay there. And I waited. 3 I thought I would die. But on the third day, the warehouse door was kicked open. “Why? Why didn’t you call me? ” Julian stumbled in, a man possessed. In the dim light, he saw me. The blood-caked mat, the mangled wrists, the leg bent at an unnatural angle. All sound died. “Elara. Don’t you die. I forbid you to die! ” His hands were shaking as he lifted me. He was acting like he actually cared. I smiled, my lips cracking. “Elara! Elara, please, stay with me!” Something wet hit my face. Are those… crocodile tears? Pathetic. I was rushed to the hospital. I survived. When I opened my eyes, he was there, red-rimmed and hollowed out from lack of sleep. “Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you ask me for help? Why?” He stared at me, desperate for an answer he couldn’t comprehend. He didn’t understand why the person who had once trusted him implicitly would rather die than dial his number. “Why didn’t you call me?!” He was unraveling, his voice a raw, broken whisper. I found it hilarious. You wanted me dead. Who is this performance for? I glanced at the phone he was clutching. He immediately held it out to me. And as the phone, still crusted with filth, touched his own skin, he finally realized. The dry, foul-smelling stain melted against the sweat of his palm. As a man, he knew exactly what it was. He froze, his entire body going rigid. “They broke… my hands,” I whispered, my throat like sandpaper. “They wanted me… to use… my tongue.” Julian staggered back, as if I’d hit him. He was shaking his head, his face a mask of disbelief and pure, animal horror. I smiled. Julian Thorne. You’re the one who ordered it. How long are you going to keep up the act? I closed my eyes. 4 The doctor came in. “The bones will heal. The tendons… that’s the real problem. The damage is severe. If she’d been brought in immediately, we could have guaranteed eighty percent recovery. But now…” He shook his head. The attending physician, a woman, looked at me with pity. “The VIP patient on the floor above… Ms. Chloe… she’s here for a minor wrist fracture. The Thorne family flew in a specialist team from Johns Hopkins. Our chief of surgery went to ask them… but they said… they said they would only operate if you knelt at Ms. Chloe’s bedside and begged.” She looked down, ashamed. “I was told to relay that message. It came from her brother.” My brother. I smiled. “It’s fine. I can just die.” The doctor blanched. She knew. When a patient says that calmly, they mean it. Julian exploded. “Elara, stop being so dramatic! You hurt her first! It’s just an apology! Is your stubborn pride worth more than your life?” I turned my head and stared at him. “Apologize… to the woman who helped kill my mother? “I’d. Rather. Die.” The veins in Julian’s neck bulged. I’d never seen him this out of control. He wanted me to kneel to Chloe that badly? I would never give them the satisfaction.

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I was on the interstate when the dashboard screen flashed: [BRAKE CREDITS: 1. RECHARGE REQUIRED.] I froze. My scalp went cold. This had to be a joke. I was about to stab the “Recharge” button when a new menu popped up: [$99.99 – PLATINUM PACKAGE: 10,000 BRAKE CREDITS. (Instant Activation)] [$49.99 – GOLD PACKAGE: 5,000 BRAKE CREDITS. (Activation may take 24 hours)] Gritting my teeth, I selected the $99.99 package. The screen refreshed again. [Please watch the following 30-second advertisement to activate your purchase.] [To skip this ad, please purchase our AD-FREE VIP PASS!] 1. “Buy! Buy it! Authorize payment!” As I was yelling, a semi-truck pulled into my lane up ahead. My brake credits hadn’t activated. I could only slam my foot off the accelerator, letting the car coast, trying to manage the gap. But another big rig was now tailgating me, its headlights flooding my cabin. My heart hammered against my ribs. Do I swerve into the fast lane? What if someone is coming up behind me? What if I get boxed in? I couldn’t slow down. I was pinned between two 18-wheelers. Maybe the shoulder? At night, the shoulder is a death trap. The car’s calm, cheerful AI voice chirped: [Please select your Ad-Free VIP Pass tier.] [Monthly: $28.88. That’s less than a dollar a day!] [Annual: $168.88. That’s less than fifty cents a day!] I was roaring, “Authorize! Pay! Just activate the brakes!” [I’m sorry, I cannot process your request until the current promotional message is complete. Please listen patiently.] I was on the verge of a panic attack. The truck behind me was getting closer. I slammed my hazards on and laid on the horn, hoping the driver behind me would get the message and pass. But that’s not standard highway communication. The truck was just getting closer. I had to accelerate to avoid being crushed from behind, but the truck in front of me was a wall. If I sped up, I’d just plow right into it. Worse, in the second I hesitated, a sedan shot into the fast lane, its blinker on. If I changed lanes now, I’d be trapped, forced to match his speed. We’d all be dead. I remembered a few days ago, the dash had prompted me to pay for a “vehicle diagnostics report.” I figured, it’s an EV, what’s to diagnose? I ignored it. I never imagined “diagnostics” included the number of times I could stop my own car. Is this even real? Does a car company get to charge for brakes? Did I pay seventy thousand dollars for a metal box where every basic function is a microtransaction? I kept scanning my mirrors. The sedan was closer. The truck was closer. Then, the truck behind me slowed and put its left turn signal on. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. He understood. I checked the dash. The AI was finally finishing its speech. […Or get our Ad-Free SUPER-VIP Pass for only $588.88/year, which includes a free streaming subscription and bonus data!] “Buy the monthly pass! Authorize payment!” I was saved. My life was my own again. And then the screen froze. A loading icon spun for a few seconds. [Purchase page cannot be loaded using complimentary data. Please purchase a premium data package to complete your transaction.] [Would you like to open the Premium Data menu?] I… I had no words. “Open… open the premium data menu,” I choked out. The calm voice returned, listing data plans. But as it was speaking, the traffic situation changed instantly. The truck in front of me slammed its brakes. The sedan in the fast lane cut behind me, also braking hard. The truck behind me flashed its high beams. What was happening? A crash? Debris on the road? I only had one stop left. 2. “There’s a car on the shoulder!” My heart sank. My plan to just ditch the car on the shoulder was gone. Up ahead, a car had smashed into the guardrail and was now blocking the emergency lane. The fast lane was littered with pieces of a bumper. That’s why everyone was slowing down. All three lanes were now a parking lot. My car was wedged between a wall of steel, with no way out. I was tapping the accelerator, just trying to maintain my position, terrified of rolling backward or forward. And the whole time, the AI was calmly listing data package options. I tried to just stab the screen, but the interior camera flashed. [Driver, please focus on the road for your safety!] I was going to have a stroke. “You worthless piece of crap!” I screamed. “You want me to focus? Give me my brakes! You want me to die with a clear view of what’s about to kill me? IS THAT IT?” I’d been on the highway for an hour. I’d used my brakes maybe… five times? This wasn’t a warning. This was an ambush. The car knew I was on the highway. It knew I’d be forced to buy the most expensive “instant” package. It was holding my life for ransom. Finally, we crept past the accident. The sedan and the truck behind me sped up and passed. I immediately swerved onto the shoulder and slammed my hazards on. I got out, put the reflective triangle 150 yards back, and got back in the car, shaking. Time to pay the ransom. The data package had the same logic. The expensive one was instant. The cheap one would activate in 24 hours. I paid $68 for the data. I paid $588 for the ad-free VIP. I paid $99.99 for the 10,000 brake credits. By the time I was done, I was exhausted. I’d just survived a hostage negotiation. I opened the dashcam footage. I was going to sue this company into the ground. But… if they could do this with my brakes, what could they do with my footage? I took out my phone and started recording the dashcam screen. Just as I expected, when I tried to export the file, a message popped up: [Dashcam footage is proprietary and cannot be exported.] It’s my car. My footage. I tried again. My phone rang. An unknown number. “Hello, Mr. Evans? This is Aura Customer Support. We detected an attempt to export dashcam footage. Are you reporting an accident?” I didn’t give them anything. “Yes.” “Thank you, sir. An Aura engineer will be in contact with you shortly to assist in retrieving your footage.” I agreed. I hung up and looked at the dashcam. The screen was now black. [Dashcam Malfunction. System error. Format to restart? (Y/N)] 3. I drove the rest of the way under the speed limit and got home. I never wanted to see this car again. “Sarah,” I said to my wife, “we need to talk about getting a new car.” She frowned. “What? You just got a promotion and you’re already trying to spend it?” “That car is two years old, Mark. We’ll lose so much on a trade-in.” I looked at her. I didn’t want to scare her. But she rides in this car. I lit a cigarette. “It’s not safe. I almost died tonight. On the highway.” Her eyes went wide. “What? But… they said it was the safest car on the market! It’s an Aura! We paid seventy thousand dollars for it! We drove a ten-thousand-dollar Honda for a decade and never had a problem!” I told her everything. The brake credits. The ads. The data ransom. Her eyes filled with tears. She hugged me, hard. “We’ll sell it,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “We’ll sell it tomorrow. You’re the only thing that matters. If anything happened to you…” “We’re selling it,” I agreed. “But they’re not getting away with this. They have to answer for it.” The next morning, my phone rang. “Mr. Evans? This is Aura. You requested your dashcam footage?” “Yes,” I said, my voice ice. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Evans, but we cannot provide that service. Downloading footage involves proprietary manufacturer protocols.” “I need that footage for a lawsuit.” “I’m very sorry,” the rep said, in that same dead, monotone voice, “but we cannot provide that service. Is there anything else I can help you with today?” It was a human, but he was reading a script. Then, I’m pretty sure, he just toggled the AI. I hung up and drove to the dealership. I found the manager and told him the story. He nodded politely. “Sir, I am very sorry for your trouble. But our dealership is just sales and service. The software subscription model… that’s not us. That’s Aura corporate.” “Wait,” I said. “Hold on. When I bought this car, you sold it to me as an Aura. The Aura Infinity. Now that it’s trying to kill me, you’re telling me it’s a Momentum Motors car?” “Sir,” the manager said, his face a plastic mask, “your issue is with the software provider. You need to file a complaint with Aura.” He turned to walk away. I lost it. “You’re all still buying this crap?” I yelled at the other customers in the showroom. “They’re selling you death traps! They sell it as an Aura, then blame Momentum when it fails! Is that how this works?” Two security guards grabbed me and started hauling me toward the door. The manager pulled out his phone. “Yes, police? There’s a man here… he’s trespassing and threatening my customers.”

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After we got back together, I stopped being all over Julian. I no longer asked when he’d be home from his work dinners, and I stopped offering to pick him up. I didn’t get angry when he was friendly with his female colleagues, and I stopped checking his phone. Julian finally couldn’t take it. “I feel like you’ve changed. Why aren’t you… all over me anymore?” I looked up at him and said quietly, “You used to say I was suffocating you. You told me to be more independent. Isn’t this what you wanted?” He just stared. 1 I was already in my pajamas when Julian’s call came in. He was clearly drunk. It was loud on his end, and I could hear someone else shouting. “Dude, I’ve dropped like six figures on my girl this year, and she won’t even come get me! Fuck! Jules, your turn. Call Nina. I bet she won’t come either!” “No way, man, Julian’s girl is obsessed with him. She chased him for years. She’ll be here. She’s always calling to tell him not to drink, she’ll pick him up no matter how late. She’ll come.” It was some stupid, drunken bet. Julian’s voice, slurring with laughter, came closer to the phone. “Guys, shut up… Hey. I’m drunk. Come get me.” I said, flatly, “I’m already in bed. Get an Uber.” The background noise on his end vanished. Someone whispered, “Holy shit. She… she said no. She came in that ice storm last year…” Julian’s silence was heavy. When he spoke again, the laughter was gone. “Nina, you—” I cut him off. “I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.” I hung up before he could say another word. The screen went black, reflecting my blank face. I turned my phone off, rolled over, and slept soundly. … I hadn’t dreamt of the past much since we got back together. But maybe that call triggered it. In the haze of sleep, I could smell the rain again. It was the big nor’easter of 2023. Julian was out with friends. I’d called him, worried. “Hey, the storm’s bad, maybe drink less?” His voice was clipped, impatient. “Got it. Stop calling.” By midnight, he wasn’t home. He wasn’t reading my texts. I called again. Straight to voicemail. I panicked. What if something had happened? I grabbed my coat and called an Uber, not caring about the storm. The rain was so heavy the wipers were useless. The driver almost T-boned a car that ran a red light, and he laid on the horn, screaming, “FUCKING ASSHOLE, LEARN TO DRIVE!” He kept muttering and cursing the whole way. I just clutched my phone, terrified. It took an hour and a half to get from my place in Brooklyn to the restaurant in Midtown. My hands were clammy. When the Uber finally pulled up, I jumped out. Even with an umbrella, the wind and rain soaked me instantly. I saw Julian walking out of the restaurant and sagged in relief. I ran toward him. “Julian—” I stopped. He wasn’t alone. A woman was beside him, wearing his suit jacket. Claire. Under the restaurant awning, she was perfectly dry. High heels, perfect makeup, laughing up at him. The smile on Julian’s face vanished when he saw me. His brow furrowed. “What are you doing here?” I just stared at him. “You weren’t answering your phone.” “I told you I was busy. I told you to stop calling.” He sounded exasperated. “What is so important?” I wanted to ask why Claire was here. He’d said it was a “guys’ night.” Claire was his childhood friend. They’d grown up together, and he’d been crazy about her. She’d only just moved back from London. He’d not only hired her at his company, but he texted her constantly. The man who sent me one-word replies would stay up late, smiling at his phone, talking to her. When I’d confronted him, he’d snapped. “We talk about work, Nina. She’s not like you. She’s brilliant, she’s independent. She’s not just… thinking about relationships all the time. God, you’re so suffocating.” I should have been screaming. I should have asked him why he was lying. But I just wiped the rain from my face. “…I was worried. I came to pick you up.” Claire laughed. “Nina, are you checking up on him? I’ve heard you keep him on a tight leash. Wow.” His friends behind him snickered. “I’m taking Claire home. You go on,” Julian said. He sounded… embarrassed. He started to walk past me, then stopped. He reached out and took the umbrella from my hand. “You’re already soaked, anyway.” I just stood there, stunned, watching him hold my umbrella over Claire. She leaned into his side, glanced back at me, her red lips curved in a smile. I couldn’t tell if it was pity or a warning. “Nina, men are like sand,” she said, her voice sweet. “The tighter you grip…” “Don’t bother, Claire. She wouldn’t get it. Let’s go.” He walked her to his car. The taillights disappeared into the rain. He never asked how I got there. Or how I was getting home. One of his friends, trailing behind, looked at me. “Uh… how’d you get here, Nina? I can give you a ride if it’s on my way.” I just stood there for a second, numb. “Thanks,” I whispered. “I’d appreciate that.” 2 Loving Julian was just… a fact of my life. My friends had called me an idiot a hundred times. I knew all the reasons I should leave. I just couldn’t. I met him when I was working part-time at a 24-hour bodega. A drunk guy came in for cigarettes, got mad I was slow, and then actually swung at me. I flinched, but the punch never landed. A long-fingered hand had caught the man’s wrist. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, I saw a guy my age, handsome, with a sharp jaw and dark eyes. He was wearing a black hoodie. “Pathetic,” he said, his voice cold. “Taking your shitty day out on a girl?” The drunk mumbled something, but the guy just tightened his grip. The man winced and scrambled out. I was shaking. “Th-thank you.” “Whatever,” he said, paid for his Red Bull, and left. It didn’t take long to find out who he was. Julian King. A finance major. A campus legend. His family was old money, but he was completely estranged from them. He’d built his own software company from his dorm room. His resume was as flawless as his face. The more I learned, the more I fell. Who wouldn’t? I was a lost cause. But I knew I was out of his league, so I just watched from a distance. The few minutes he spent in the bodega every night were the highlight of my day. One night, I got brave and paid for his drink before he could. “It’s… for helping me. That night.” He just put a twenty on the counter, his face blank. “It was nothing. I don’t need it.” My face burned. “Oh. Okay.” Tons of girls liked him, but he never dated. I told myself it was because he was focused on work. I started using our “classmate” status to get closer. His stomach was bad; he always skipped breakfast. I started bringing him breakfast. It rained; I brought him an umbrella. He played pickup basketball; I washed his jersey. It took three years of this. I learned why he was estranged. His father’s affair had literally driven his mother to a nervous breakdown, and she’d never recovered. He’d cut his family off. I started spending holidays with him, the ones he would have spent alone. Finally, after a New Year’s Eve we spent just the two of us, he was a little drunk, and he just said, “Nina. Let’s just… be together.” No flowers. No “I love you.” My heart exploded. I just whispered, “Okay.” For two years, I was the perfect girlfriend. He was distant, but I just told myself that was his personality. Until Claire came back. Until I saw him smiling at his phone at 2 AM. I finally admitted the truth. He wasn’t incapable of love. He just didn’t love me.

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Everyone said I, a no-name girl from rural Ohio, hit the jackpot. Three months after meeting Julian Sinclair, I had his ring on my finger and his name on my bank account. But I knew the truth. Julian didn’t love me. He was in love with Chloe, a girl his family deemed “unsuitable.” To force their hand, to make them accept her, he did the unthinkable: he married someone even worse. Me. Before the wedding, his terms were brutally simple. “This is a business arrangement, Ms. Hayes. You play the part of the dutiful wife for one year. In return, I’ll transfer five hundred thousand dollars to your account.” I needed that money for design school in Berlin. I agreed. A year later, I took the money and flew across the Atlantic. He followed me. He found me, standing outside my apartment in the rain, looking wrecked. “Maya,” he said, his voice raw. “Marry me again. For real, this time.” 1 Julian took me to the Sinclair Industries annual gala. It was my second public appearance as his wife. I was nervous. The first one had been a disaster. His prep-school buddies had cornered me while he was parking the car, their curiosity turning to visible disappointment. “This is her? She’s… plain.” “I heard she’s from a trailer park in Ohio. Sinclair’s really lost it.” “Guess he got tired of debutantes. Probably a freak in bed.” Julian had walked in just in time to hear that last part. I’d never seen him move so fast. He grabbed the man by his tuxedo jacket and laid him out with a single punch. He’d stood over him, fixing his cufflink, and scanned the silent room. “She is my wife. If you can’t learn to respect her, you and I are done.” Tonight, things were different. Everyone smiled. They called me “Mrs. Sinclair.” They offered me champagne. His defense of me had bought their politeness. But my luck was bad. I was standing near the towering, backlit bar when a top-shelf bottle, knocked loose by a clumsy bartender, tipped over. It fell directly toward my head. A blur of motion. Julian tackled me, shoving me against the wall and shielding my head with his own body. The bottle shattered against his shoulder. I felt the spray of glass and the wet soak of expensive scotch. His white shirt bloomed red. “My God,” someone whispered. “He really loves her. He didn’t even hesitate.” He ignored them, ignored his own bleeding shoulder. He gently brushed the hair from my face, his expression full of panic. “Are you hurt? Maya, are you okay?” His touch was so tender it made my stomach flip. Then, as the crowd sighed at the romantic display, he leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. His words were ice-cold, a stark contrast to the warm hand on my cheek. “It’s just for show, Maya. Don’t, for one second, think this is real. And whatever you do, don’t fall in love with me.” 2 I always knew our marriage was a transaction. I’d met him at the equestrian center upstate where I worked as a stable hand. A hedge-fund client had gotten handsy, cornering me in the tack room. “C’mon, five grand for the night? Ten if you’re a first-timer.” He was strong, his hand clamped on my arm. I was trying to knee him when Julian appeared. “Don’t you feel disgusting just saying that?” he’d asked, his voice quiet but terrifying. He’d pulled the man off me and stood there until security arrived. “Thank you,” I’d called out as he left. He turned, and the sunset caught his face. He smiled. “It’s nothing. Forget it.” But I couldn’t. It was the classic suspension-bridge effect. My heart was hammering. “Let me buy you dinner. As thanks.” He looked annoyed. “No, that’s not necessary.” I pushed. “Please. I insist.” He sighed, looking at his jacket, which was smeared with dirt from the scuffle. “Fine. If you must do something, get this cleaned.” I took the jacket. I hand-washed it, ironed it, and folded it perfectly. A week later, I saw him by the rings. I proudly handed him the bag. He smiled, thanked me, walked twenty feet, and dropped the bag into the nearest trash can. I froze. I heard him talking to his friend. “Had to save some stable girl. She got a little obsessive. I’m a total germaphobe, man. I was never going to wear that again.” That was the day I learned he was Julian Sinclair. His family owned the equestrian center. He wasn’t just in a different tax bracket; he was on a different planet. Any tiny, stupid crush I’d felt instantly withered and died. I avoided him after that. Until, three months later, he sought me out. “Ms. Hayes. I hear you’re from Ohio?” I nodded, confused. “And you’re saving up for design school in Berlin?” I nodded again. He looked at me, his gaze calculating. “Good. How would you like to marry me?” 3 I thought he was joking. Then, I thought he was insane. He explained. “This is a contract. One year. You get half a million dollars. Enough for your entire education.” He told me about Chloe. Beautiful, smart, from a respectable middle-class family. But the Sinclairs wanted a merger with another dynasty, not a “love match.” “My family is making my life hell,” he said. “They’re making her life hell. She finally broke it off.” “So what does this have to do with me?” “You,” he said, “are the perfect solution. You’re… no offense… everything they hate. You work in a stable. You’re from a trailer park. You have no family, no connections.” His logic was cruel and flawless. “If I marry you, the family will be so horrified, so desperate to get rid of you, that the idea of me ‘settling’ for Chloe will suddenly seem like a blessing. You’re the shock therapy, Maya. You make her the cure.” I agreed. The money was life-changing. The wedding was a quiet affair at City Hall. His parents showed up and called me a “gold-digging piece of trash.” Julian stood in front of me, taking the full force of their rage. His father slapped him, hard. That night, Julian came home with a split lip. “The old man is trying to force an annulment. He cut off my trust.” I got the first-aid kit and cleaned the cut. My hand was steady. A month later, it was his birthday. His friends threw him a massive party at some club. He came home late, drunk and melancholy. “It’s stupid,” he slurred, “but my mom… before all this… she always made me grilled cheese and tomato soup on my birthday. Just… simple.” I filed that away. The next day, I made him grilled cheese and tomato soup. “Here,” I said, putting the plate on his desk. “Belated birthday present.” He stared at it for a full minute. “Thank you, Maya.” As a ‘thank you,’ he offered to teach me to ride. He was, ironically, a terrible teacher. He spooked the horse, and it bucked. We both went down, rolling in the dust. He twisted mid-air, landing first and pulling me against his chest to protect my head. We lay there, tangled up, his heart hammering against my ear. He cleared his throat. “You’re a good person, Maya.” “Hmm?” “When this is over… I’ll find you a good guy. Someone who deserves you.” It was another warning. Don’t look at me. Don’t want me. I got it. Loud and clear. Until the night he called me from the Hamptons. 4 He was at his family’s estate for a weekend. He called me, and his voice was wrong. Slurred and tight. “Maya… you need to come get me. Now. Please.” I drove the two hours upstate. He was waiting on the gravel driveway, stumbling into the passenger seat. He was burning up, his shirt torn at the collar. “What happened?” “My mother,” he hissed, clenching his fists. “She spiked my drink. Tried to set me up with the DuPont heiress.” “My God. What do we do?” “Drive home. Fast. I just… need a cold shower.” The drive back was torture. He was fighting it, but the drug was strong. He kept staring at me, his gaze hot and unfocused. “Can’t you drive any faster?” “It’s a red light, Julian! I can’t just run it!” We got home. He went straight for the master bathroom. I heard the shower blast on. A minute later, I grabbed a towel and a change of clothes and knocked. “I left your things by the door.” The door flew open. He pulled me inside, slamming me against the wall. The water was still running. “Julian, what are you doing?” “It’s not working,” he panted, his body pressed against mine. He was soaked, and shaking. “The shower isn’t working. Maya, I need help.” “You mean… you want me to call someone? A doctor?” “No,” he growled, burying his face in my neck. “I don’t want someone. I want you.” I panicked. “Julian, stop! You’re not thinking straight. I’m not Chloe.” He grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were dilated, but his voice was suddenly clear. “I know exactly who you are. You’re Maya.” He kissed me. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was desperate, raw, and full of a need that terrified me. And a tiny, treacherous part of me thought: He’s beautiful. I’m single. It’s just one night. I let my eyes fall shut. He picked me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. As he pressed me against the cold tile, I whispered, “Have you… have you ever been with… anyone else?” “No,” he breathed against my skin, his voice a low growl. “Only you.” He didn’t say Chloe’s name once. He said mine. Over and over.

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For five years, I was married to my stepbrother. Then, he killed himself. The only thing he left me was half a piece of paper with three words written on it: I hate you. And he should have. I’d repaid his family’s kindness by drugging him, climbing into his bed, and forcing him to break up with the woman he loved. I knew he didn’t love me, but I couldn’t let him go. I suffocated him until he chose death. And then, I died in a car crash on the way to his funeral. I thought that was it. Then I woke up, back on the night I drugged him. 1. Ethan was dead. I got the news while I was at a cafe, finalizing the divorce papers with my lawyer. “He can have the money. He can have the house, all of it.” My lawyer looked stunned. “Ms. Miller, you’re planning on walking away with nothing?” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “From what I understand, Mr. Thorne was the one who initiated the separation. Legally, you are the aggrieved party…” I held up a hand. “Just write it up that way, please.” It was all his, anyway. I’d already poisoned his life for years; I wasn’t going to steal his assets, too. “Well,” the lawyer said, “I’ve handled hundreds of divorces, and you are by far the most generous client I’ve ever had.” I gave him a bitter smile. If he knew what I’d done, “generous” isn’t the word he’d use. “Crazy” was the one Ethan’s friends preferred. The psycho who’d trapped her own stepbrother. “If you’ll just review this and sign here…” My hand was shaking. I’d just written the first letter of my name when my phone buzzed. “Is this Chloe Miller? This is City General Hospital. Your husband, Ethan Thorne, has been admitted…” The pen clattered to the floor. I hadn’t seen him in six months. Not since he’d finally asked for a divorce. “Isabella’s back,” he’d said, looking out the window. “After all this time, I never forgot her.” He looked away. “Name your terms, Chloe. I’ll give you anything. Just sign the papers.” I’d lost it. I smashed everything in the living room, screaming at him. “A divorce? Don’t even think about it, Ethan! The only way you’re leaving me is in a body bag!” He didn’t say anything. He just silently started cleaning up the broken glass, the way he always did. I thought I’d won. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. His clothes, his pictures, his toothbrush. Like he’d never existed. And now, he’d made my words come true. I was finally a widow. 2. By the time I got to the funeral home, he was already an urn of ashes. The moment she saw me, his grandmother slapped me across the face. “You evil girl,” she sobbed. “How dare you show your face here?” I just stared at his black-and-white photo. His grandmother shoved me out. I tried to push back in, and she threw a folded piece of paper at my chest. “Read it! This is all he left! This is what he thought of you!” I picked it up. And I saw the three words in his familiar, sharp handwriting. I hate you. 3. I waited outside the funeral home all night. When his family left in the morning, I got in my car and followed them. It was raining, and the winding canyon road was slick. Just let me see him buried, I prayed. Just let me get through this, and I’ll do anything. As if in answer, a boulder, loosened by the rain, broke free from the hillside. It came crashing down right on top of my car. The last thing I saw was that half-sheet of paper, fluttering onto my lap. I hate you. He really didn’t want me at his funeral. As the world went dark, I made one last promise. “Ethan. If there’s a next time, I swear, I’ll leave you alone.” 4. “Chloe, are you insane?” “I’m your brother! And you drugged me?” The voice was rough, familiar, and… alive. “I’m sorry,” I whispered automatically. The words were barely out of my mouth when a strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me against a hot, tense body. “A little late for sorry, isn’t it?” I snapped my eyes open. Ethan. He was alive. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils blown wide. “Ethan?” I scrambled away from him, my hand flying to my own face. Slap. The stinging pain proved it was real. I burst into tears, a relief so profound it buckled my knees. “I’m not mad at you. Why did you hit yourself?” he slurred, pulling me back. The guilt was suffocating. This was just like last time. Even drugged and confused, his first instinct was to worry about me. Last time, I’d taken advantage of that. He’d woken up, full of shame, and taken all the blame. His fiancée, Isabella, broke it off. His grandmother was furious. And he never once told them what I’d done. I tore myself out of his arms. “Ethan, I’m so sorry! I… I was just testing it! I didn’t know if it worked! I’ll call 911!” I fumbled for my phone, but he grabbed my wrist. His voice was a low growl. “You… tested it on me?” His eyes narrowed. “Who were you planning to use it on?” It was a stupid lie, but it was an exit. And maybe, if he thought I loved someone else, it would be the clean break we both needed. I forced a blush. “Lucas. From the architecture department. I’ve had a crush on him for months.” His grip on my wrist tightened until it hurt. “You’d drug a man, Chloe?” “He’s the love of my life,” I whispered, staring at the floor, terrified he’d see the lie in my eyes. “I’d do anything for him.” He let me go. “You’re unbelievable. You’d better hope it’s worth it.” He threw me out of his hotel room and slammed the door. “Ethan, wait!” I knocked. “It’s a strong dose! Do you want me to call an ambulance?” No answer. I was about to call security when the elevator dinged. “Chloe? What are you doing here?” Isabella. She held up a small pharmacy bag and smiled. “Here to see Ethan. I’m guessing you are too?” The door behind me opened. Ethan was standing there in a bathrobe, his hair wet. He looked exhausted. He frowned when he saw me. “Why are you still here?” He called her. The realization was a punch to the gut. Of course he did. He loved her. This was his chance. This was good. This was what I wanted. “I… I was just leaving. You two… have a good night.” I ran.

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The day we broke up, everyone tried to console me. “It was just a few messages, Maya. It’s not even an emotional affair.” I just shook my head. “Every ‘meaningless’ little thing they shared was a bid to be part of each other’s lives.” And an endless desire to share is just love, looking for a connection. 1 I was planning Evan’s birthday surprise when I stumbled on the Reddit post. Title: [r/relationships] I want to confess to my crush on his birthday, but he has a girlfriend. AITAH? The comments were a sea of “YTA.” She kept editing the post, desperate for support. [EDIT 1: I’m a med student, currently in residency at a top-tier hospital. My education and future career potential are, objectively, far beyond his current girlfriend’s.] [EDIT 2: His GF got into her program through some scholarship fast-track. I don’t need to explain what that implies about the ‘rigor’.] [EDIT 3: Our whole resident group has known him for almost a year, and none of us have ever seen a picture of this girl. I honestly don’t think he’s that into her.] [EDIT 4: The GF seems a bit… clingy. I see his texts. She just sends these long, angsty paragraphs. I, on the other hand, can show my affection through actual, practical support. I’m smart, a solid 8/10, and people say I have a high EQ. We’d be a power couple. He knows I can be a real asset to him.] [EDIT 5: We’ve known each other for 332 days. Our Snapchat streak is 300 days.] … I clicked on the photo she’d attached. A close-up of a man’s wrist resting on a steering wheel. Even without a face, I recognized the watch. It was the gift I’d given him for his twenty-fifth birthday. 2 I was flying into Austin to surprise Evan. I hadn’t told him I was coming. Just half an hour ago, he’d texted me a location pin. A new Korean BBQ place they were trying after their shift. [Evan: Smells amazing. If it’s good, I’m definitely taking you next time!] He was, as always, keeping me in the loop. I shut off my phone and changed the destination in the Uber app. By the time I got to the restaurant, they had just arrived. I was wearing a baseball cap and took a booth directly behind them. I watched Evan come back from washing his hands. A girl I didn’t recognize—pretty, wearing scrubs under a hoodie—walked up to him holding two small sauce dishes. “This is their house special, and this is the one you always get. I made you both.” Evan took them from her, a perfectly natural gesture. He dipped a piece of brisket in one. “The special is pretty spicy. You should probably skip it.” She beamed. “Thanks for the heads-up.” The two residents sitting closest to me were whispering. “Are they really not together? I don’t buy it.” “I know, right? All those med-school girls were all over Evan and he never gave them the time of day. Turns out his ‘destiny’ was waiting for him in residency.” “Seriously. The guy is drowning in work, but he still double-checks Chloe’s charts on her overnights. That’s ‘power couple’ material.” “Well, she’s all in, too. It hasn’t even been a year, and I heard she’s already been to his place to do his laundry…” … Destiny. Power couple. Doing his laundry. My phone buzzed. A new edit on the Reddit post. [EDIT 6: At K-BBQ with my crush! He’s so thoughtful, he even worried the sauce would be too spicy for me. How could anyone not fall for a guy like this?] A comment popped up almost immediately: [He could be the greatest guy in the world, but he’s still someone else’s boyfriend. Maybe get your own relationship status sorted out before you get ‘the feels’.] The comment was deleted seconds later. At their table, Evan and the group were laughing, complaining about everything from the case they’d scrubbed in on to the terrible cafeteria food. Someone shifted the topic. “Hey, isn’t it Evan’s birthday in two days? We should all go out.” Evan shook his head. “Appreciate it, but I’ve got plans. It’s just a birthday, no big deal.” “Oh, come on. Is it because Chloe didn’t ask? Chloe, say something!” The girl—Chloe—put down her chopsticks, her voice suddenly sharp. “He has plans with his girlfriend. What am I supposed to say?” “Girlfriend? Wait, I heard rumors, but… you actually have one?” I slowly lowered my eyes. This was the eighth year of our relationship. We had survived the seven-year itch. Our parents had met. I never cared if he posted photos of me on his Instagram; he barely used it anyway. But in this one moment, I was terrified of what he would say next. I took a sip of water and choked, a sharp pain burning in my chest. “Yeah, I do,” Evan said. His voice was perfectly calm. “But we’re long-distance.” I remembered my freshman year, the first time I flew from Boston to visit him at his college. He’d insisted on dragging me to his macroeconomics lecture, practically vibrating with the need to show me off. When a guy in the front row turned to ask if it was raining outside, Evan, completely misreading the situation, grabbed my hand and said, “How’d you know my girlfriend was visiting?” Now… his answer had a ‘but’. A ‘but’ that explained everything. Before I could even process it, Chloe spoke up, her voice tight with emotion. “Is it because you don’t have better options? Aren’t you tired enough already, trying to maintain a relationship that has zero practical benefit for you?” “Love isn’t… about ‘benefit’,” Evan said, his tone stiff. “Then let’s talk about love,” she shot back. “Does she know how exhausted you are? Does she understand the pressure you’re under? Can you even talk to her about your work? Don’t you have even a single… regret?” Her voice was trembling, thick with a sense of injustice. The table went silent. It felt like an eternity before I heard Evan’s voice. He said, “I have regrets. But I’m forcing myself to make peace with it.” … My eyes snapped shut. It was my fault. I was the source of his regret. I was the one he had to ‘make peace’ with. He seemed to have forgotten that the whole point of us was that we were each other’s peace. “Okay, okay, this is getting too heavy for K-BBQ,” someone said, trying to break the tension. “Evan, what do you want for your birthday?” Chloe scoffed. “I don’t know what you guys are getting him, but I know what his precious girlfriend got him last year. A card. With two sentences in it. They weren’t even complete sentences.” “What? Seriously? I thought his girlfriend was smart.” Chloe glanced at Evan, a knowing, sympathetic look on her face. “You’d think. I remember what it said. Something like ‘Stay safe’ and ‘Stay by my side.’ I’m not kidding, she’s… a little dense. If you can’t write a love letter, at least Google some poetry, right?” My hand, holding my chopsticks, went numb. I didn’t even feel the hot oil from the grill splatter onto my skin. Last year on his birthday, my advisor had me running a critical data set. It was the first birthday we’d ever spent apart. I’d tried to write him a long, beautiful letter, something to prove how much he meant to me. I wrote and deleted, wrote and rewrote. And I realized that, after everything, all I wanted to say—all that mattered—were those two simple prayers. Stay safe. Stay by my side. And now, that prayer was being served up as a punchline. In that single second, I knew Evan was unforgivable. 3 I stood up, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out of the restaurant. In Austin, one cold rain is all it takes to signal winter. I pulled my hoodie tighter, walking aimlessly. A shop down the street had a long line. It was that specialty bakery, the one that made the jalapeño-cheddar kolaches I loved. I remembered back in high school, freezing in my uniform, muttering to my desk-mate, “God, I’m craving one of those kolaches from ‘The Czech Stop’. But they’re only good warm.” My friend tossed me a granola bar. “Eat this. You can get one next year.” But Evan, sitting behind me, had heard. Before our last class, a small paper bag was on my desk, steam fogging the plastic. Evan didn’t even look up from his textbook. “I was in the neighborhood. Eat it while it’s hot.” That night, when the class rankings were posted, I was still one spot ahead of him. My desk-mate joked, “Evan, you let her beat you again? If I were you, I’d have poisoned her kolache.” He’d laughed, but his eyes, when they met mine, were serious. “I’m not here to compete with her.” Before graduation, we made a pact: we’d both go to college in Boston. I got in early with a full-ride scholarship. He was supposed to fight his way in through regular admission. Fate had other plans. He was waitlisted, then rejected. He ended up in Texas. The day my parents drove me to the airport, they were fine. He was the one crying. “You’re going to meet someone smarter at Harvard and forget me, aren’t you? Maya, I’ll work so hard, I promise.” I hugged him. “Never.” The day I said yes to him, I was promising to hold his hand through every season, for the rest of our lives. Sophomore year, I flew from Boston to Austin as a Christmas surprise. I had his friends trick him into going to the campus square. When he saw me jump out of a giant gift-wrapped box, he just… stared. For a full minute. “Maya, we’re going to get married, right? I just… I really, really want a home with you. I want to see you every day.” … The memories played back, one after another. Just yesterday, I had declined my advisor’s offer to join his new research firm in Boston. I couldn’t bear the thought of Evan being alone anymore. I just didn’t realize he hadn’t been alone for a long time. 4 I went back to Evan’s apartment. I still had my key. I had to get my things. His laptop was on the coffee table, screen awake. He was still logged into Snapchat. The girl was Chloe. Their streak was, just as her post had claimed, 300 days. They talked about everything. I scrolled up, and up, and up. My own hypocrisy made me sick. They went from sharing funny medical memes to swapping AI-generated joke photos of each other. They talked about their high schools, their college regrets. They talked about the new coffee shop on the corner and the sunset on their drive home. When Evan was so busy in surgery that he didn’t have time to answer my texts, he somehow found time to console Chloe when a patient’s family yelled at her. This past year, I’d felt so guilty about his brutal overnight shifts that I never, ever bothered him unless it was an emergency. But Chloe felt just fine blowing up his phone, complaining that he’d almost let their streak die. While I was ordering him meal-prep kits and reminding him to at least walk on the treadmill, he was celebrating Chloe’s “first successful solo night” by taking her on a food truck tour of Austin’s best barbecue. And then I saw it. The date from two months ago. The day I found an impurity in my control sample, destroying two months of my doctoral research. I’d had a total meltdown. I called Evan, desperate to hear his voice. He declined the call. He never even texted back. I’d told myself he was in surgery. He wasn’t. He was with Chloe. He’d taken her to her first-ever concert. … Now I understood. The impurity in my petri dish only cost me two months of work. The impurity in my relationship had cost me eight years. Tears streamed down my face. A new Snap notification popped up on the screen. It was from Chloe. [Chloe: So… you’re sure you can’t hang out on your birthday?] [Evan: Next time. I promise.] [Chloe: …Promise?] [Evan: Scout’s honor. ;)] [Chloe: (Smiling selfie)] Simultaneously, the Reddit thread updated again. [EDIT 7: He dropped me home! We almost broke through that last barrier tonight. I’m what you’d call an ‘initiator’ in relationships, and I know I can help him realize his true feelings. The timing just isn’t right… yet. I hope he figures it out soon.] The attached photo was taken from the passenger seat. In the dim glow of the dashboard, Evan’s hand was on her head, ruffling her hair. He was smiling. I calmly packed my things. Then I sent Evan a text. [Me: Not coming for your birthday.] His reply was almost instant. [Evan: What? Why? Are you that swamped with work?] I turned off my phone. It’s not just this birthday, Evan. It’s all of them. Busy or not, I won’t be there.

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We were on the subway when four security guards carried a girl past us. They had her by the arms and legs, spread-eagled. Her skirt was thrown up over her face, and from the neck down, she was completely naked. They were dumping her out of the car. My boyfriend, Mark, shoved closer. He lifted his phone and started a TikTok Live. “Y’all, this is insane,” he narrated, his voice giddy. “Subway chick stripped bare. She’s got an amazing body, super pale, super smooth. You don’t want to miss this. Smash that follow button, show your boy some love…” The stream was blowing up. Ten thousand viewers. I finally snapped. “Are you insane? You can’t stream this!” I grabbed his phone, swiped the live feed off. As I was about to rush forward to help the girl, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me back. “You’re the crazy one! That’s money! Give me back my phone!” I couldn’t break free. I could only watch as they threw her onto the platform. More people swarmed in. Mark slapped me, hard, across the face. “You bitch. And you’re crying? Do you have any idea how much money you just lost me?” I didn’t know how much he’d lost. But I knew that girl… she could have been his own sister, the one his family worshiped. 01 It was Thanksgiving weekend. After six months of him begging, I’d finally agreed to go home with him to meet his parents. It wasn’t even a big trip. Just a thirty-minute subway ride from my place to theirs. As we waited on the platform, Mark held my hand, lifting his phone for a selfie, looking smug. “Babe, that outfit is perfect for the camera. You look amazing,” he said. “How about we go live right now? With our looks? Total power couple. We’d go viral for sure.” I didn’t say no. I’d spent a lot of time on this outfit. My hair alone took four hours last night. The look was “gentle and smart,” but still “sweet and obedient.” Paired with my job as a college instructor, I was the perfect daughter-in-law package. Mark was a fitness coach, but his “real” job was his influencer brand. He was always editing workout videos, occasionally going live to shill some protein powder. He had just opened the TikTok app when the subway doors opened. A wave of chaos spilled out. Screaming, crying, laughing. It was a mess. 02 That’s when I saw her. Skirt over her face. Bra gone. Panties tangled around one ankle. Four guards carrying her, ready to toss her. The memory, the one I’d buried for four years, slammed into me. I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. I couldn’t breathe. My hand tightened on Mark’s, my last lifeline. But he pulled his hand away. My support was gone. My legs gave out and I crumpled to the ground, my knee cracking against the tile. A sharp pain shot up my leg. I just stared, numb, as Mark pushed right up to the girl’s legs, phone high, camera aimed directly at her private parts. “Guys, this is wild. Subway girl stripped bare. Amazing body, pale and smooth. Don’t miss this, smash that follow… Location is Northgate Station…” Rage flooded my system, clearing the fog. I staggered up, ignoring my knee, and lunged for his phone. The viewer count was already past ten thousand. “Are you crazy?” I screamed. “You’re livestreaming this?” 03 Before he could react, I killed the stream and stuffed his phone deep into my purse. The girl’s sobs were right there. “Please, stop… I won’t do it again… please, just give me a piece of clothing…” “Don’t look… please, don’t film me… please…” “Help… somebody, please help me…” Her screams were knives in my chest. Four years ago, I was her. Helpless. No one would help. Everyone just… watched. They wouldn’t let their entertainment be interrupted. I tried to push forward. “Claire, what the hell are you doing!” His voice was a snarl. My scalp exploded in pain. He had me by the hair, forcing my head back. “Mark, let go! Let go! I have to help her!” I clawed at his hands, trying to break his grip. But I stood no chance against his gym-built muscles. “Help her? Why? You know her? Everyone’s watching, what makes you so special? Stop being such a goddamn bleeding heart!” The pain in my scalp was blinding. “Let me go, please, Mark, I’m begging you… I have to help her…” He just sneered. “Give me back my phone!” I couldn’t get free. I fumbled in my bag, grabbed his phone, and threw it on the floor. “Take it! Just let me go!” He finally released me. But it was too late. The guards threw her, hard, onto the cold platform. A crowd instantly swarmed her. I couldn’t get through. Mark, enraged, slapped me across the face. “You bitch. And you’re crying? Do you know how much money you just lost me?” The force knocked me down again. I just lay there, my hand splayed out as people stepped on my fingers. Through a forest of legs, I saw her. Curled up, frantically trying to pull the skirt down from her face to cover herself. “Please, stop filming… please… Let me go, please… I’ll never refuse to give up my seat again, I promise…” She was on her knees, kowtowing to the crowd, her face a swollen, purple mess of finger marks. The four security guards stood over her, laughing. “Yeah, sorry now, aren’t you? You were pretty cocky in the car.” “What was it? Your period? Who gives a shit about your period? That man was seventy years old! He needed the seat more than you!” “A woman on her period should stay home, not be out here asking for it.” “Disrespectful bitch. You deserved it. Bet you’ll give up your seat next time.” Their eyes were glinting with a sick, ugly satisfaction. 04 My palm felt wet. I looked. Blood. Bright red. I looked back. A small, dark trail on the floor. Her period… A bitter wave of nausea hit me. The irony… this was the priority seating area. A girl, sick on her period, forced to give up her seat to an old man who looked healthier than most of the 9-to-5 zombies in the car. Just because he was old. And if she refused, she deserved… this. The world had gone completely insane. “Claire, are you coming or not?” Mark’s voice was sharp. I looked up. The light was behind him; I couldn’t see his face. Looking back at what just happened, I realized I’d never seen his face. Not really. I didn’t answer. He bent down, annoyed, to pull me up. I flinched away. His patience snapped. “What’s with the attitude? My parents are already texting. My sister, Maya, literally changed her travel plans just to come home and meet you. And now you’re covered in filth. We have to go buy you new clothes. More money. God, you’re annoying. Get up!” His complaints… My heart felt like a block of ice. This was the man I was going to marry? A family that raised this… was that a family I wanted to meet? I didn’t want to go anymore. I opened my mouth to tell him it was over, but I glanced back at the girl in the crowd. The dress. It was familiar. I looked closer. The swollen face… even distorted, it was familiar. I searched my memory. A flash. Oh, my God. That girl… was Mark’s sister. Maya. The one his family worshiped. The one who just got into Yale. That dress… I’d picked it out myself, had Mark mail it to her.

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There was a bakery near my office, “Sweet Bliss,” that was amazing and affordable. I loved it so much, I set them up as the vendor for our entire company’s daily afternoon snack break. On a day off, I was craving their stuff and saw they were on DoorDash. I was shocked when I got to the checkout. The total, after all the promos and a coupon, wasn’t just cheaper than our corporate rate—it was almost half the price. And the portions were bigger. I called the owner to ask why. “Why is our 150-person bulk order more expensive and smaller than a single DoorDash delivery?” Her response? “You shouldn’t complain about a free meal.” “You don’t pay a dime for it, your boss does!” she snapped. “Your CEO isn’t whining, so why are you making a scene?” She was right, I’m not the CEO. The CEO’s my dad. And if DoorDash is cheaper and better? Fine. Let’s have the entire company order from DoorDash. 1 When I saw the total, I thought I’d messed up the order. Nope. Taro Boba and a Strawberry Swirl Cupcake. Same as always. But the price… it was $7 cheaper than our corporate rate. I checked the bakery’s page. There was a “30% off orders over $15” promo, plus a $5 “DashPass” coupon I had. My total came to $8. Our company pays $15 per person for the exact same items. I figured this must be the catch. Everyone knows delivery portions are a rip-off. It would probably be tiny and stale. But when the Dasher handed me the bag, I realized I was the one being played. 2 The boba was amazing. The cup was coated in a thick, purple taro puree. The ones at work? They had a sad, single-spoon smear at the bottom. And the cupcake. The ones at the office had a thin layer of frosting. This one was piled high with a three-layer swirl, studded with actual, visible chunks of strawberry. On top of that, they’d thrown in a free mango mochi. A little sticker on the mochi box read: “5-star review + pic = $3 off your next order!” I was confused. Did she make a mistake? Did she grab someone else’s deluxe order? Or… had she been intentionally ripping us off this whole time? I couldn’t let it go. I dialed the shop. The voice that answered was sickeningly sweet, “Hi! Thank you for calling Sweet Bliss Bakery, how can I help you today?” I tried to keep my cool. “Hi, I’m calling from Aura Cosmetics—” She cut me off. Her voice was suddenly sharp, like scraping a fork on a plate. “Ugh, you girls again. My husband just dropped off your order.” “You all need to put your requests in the notes. I don’t have time to deal with this every day. You’re all so high-maintenance. ‘Half-sweet,’ ‘no ice,’ ‘extra hot’… I’m not just serving your company, you know! I have delivery orders piling up!” Her rant floored me. Aura Cosmetics is a beauty startup, so yeah, 95% of our staff are women. A free coffee and a pastry in the afternoon is a small perk that keeps morale high. I took pride in setting it up. I’d been so happy to give Sweet Bliss the business. We guaranteed them 150 orders, every single day, at a $15 per-person budget. We paid our invoices weekly, on the dot. We’d been their biggest client for four months straight. 3 “And another thing,” she was still going, “you always call right at the lunch rush—” I cut her off. “Why is our 150-person bulk order more expensive than a single DoorDash order?” The line went silent. “And why,” I continued, “are you so nice to a random customer, but so rude to your biggest client?” She coughed, trying to recover. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry! I’m just so swamped. I just… I feel like we’re so familiar, you know? I can be casual with you. Don’t take it personally.” “Familiar? Really? Then what’s my name?” She stammered. She couldn’t say it. “You don’t know who I am,” I said, my voice cold. “This isn’t ‘casual.’ This is taking us for granted.” “Now, answer my question. Why is the same order $7 cheaper on DoorDash, and it comes with a free mochi and a coupon?” “You said you were giving us your absolute rock-bottom price.” I expected her to apologize. Instead, she got defensive. “Look, you’re trying to have it both ways! You used a bunch of coupons. Those are platform promos! DoorDash pays for that, not me!” “That’s a lie,” I said. “I know how the platform works. The ‘30% off’ promo comes directly out of your margin. And DoorDash still takes its 25% commission. On my $8 order, you probably made $2. But you charge our company $15 for a worse product? You’re not just overcharging us. You’re robbing us.” She was still trying to gaslight me. “We do delivery for volume, not profit! I set the menu price at $15 for everyone. I even gave your company a 50-cent discount on that! What I do on DoorDash is my business!” I laughed. “Oh, really? So the watery boba and the dry cupcake we get are just ‘group discount’ quality?” 4 That finally broke her. She dropped the fake-sweet voice and went full-on nasty. “You’re just a little employee, mooching off a free perk, and you have the nerve to complain? Did you pay for it? No! It’s company money! Why are you so obsessed? You’re just a broke-ass brat.” “You freeload at the office all day, then go home and try to scam promos on DoorDash.” “I can’t stand girls like you, all dressed up in your nice clothes, but cheap as hell underneath.” I was stunned. “What do you mean, ‘mooching’?” I said. “It’s an employee benefit. We have a right to know what we’re actually paying for.” She let out a high-pitched, mocking laugh. “Oh, honey, you really think you’re special, don’t you? You really think that company is your house?” “If you hate the corporate order, go ahead and buy your own. Oh, wait… you’d never do that. You’d never pass up a free handout.” “Our CEO hasn’t said a word. So who the hell do you think you are, making a scene?” “Why don’t you call me back when you’re the boss.” Click. She hung up on me. I was so angry I was shaking. But then, I just felt… cold. Why was she so confident? Why wasn’t she afraid I’d report her? I pulled up a map. Our office park is in a new, remote development. It’s cheap rent, but it’s a food desert. I checked the apps. Besides Sweet Bliss, there were three other options: a sad-looking deli, a Starbucks (where $15 wouldn’t even cover a drink and a pastry), and a tiny mom-and-pop place that couldn’t possibly handle 150 orders. Brenda knew she had a monopoly. She thought she had us. That was a big mistake. I opened our company-wide Slack. I sent a message to the general channel. [@everyone, Hi team. Quick update on the afternoon snack. We’re pausing the group order with Sweet Bliss. Instead, starting tomorrow, please order your own snack from the ‘Sweet Bliss Bakery’ on DoorDash. Here’s the fun part: Create a new DoorDash account to get the new-user promos. Stack all the coupons you can. The company budget is still $15 per person. You’ll be paid back on a reimbursement. Any money you save… is yours to keep. Let’s see who can get the best deal!] The channel exploded. Not only were they getting a better-quality snack, but they were also getting a cash bonus. My phone buzzed. It was Brenda.

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